➥ Chris knocks on your door to ask for a feline visit pass, but next thing you know, you're all on a "family" shopping trip.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚙𝚜𝚎
“Daddy, can we have Missha time today?”
If anybody point-blank asked, Chris would firmly deny it, but he was beyond glad the twins had developed an attachment to a certain marble cake and that they were still at a “chaperone required” age. The feline visits were the only excuse he had to knock on his neighbor’s door this frequently without feeling like he was perjuring himself under oath.
SO WHAT if he was an anally cautious man? He had to make sure conditions were just right to ask a simple fucking question, yes, what about it?
Do you wanna like… run into each other on purpose sometime?
CRINGE!
Nevertheless, surely you had better things to do than let his girls play with your cat like it was bootleg daycare, and he needed to fucking cool it before he prematurely wasted all his entry tickets to your house. He was hoping to secure a season pass one day, but it was still some ways away.
Well… If ever.
“Maybe some other time, okay, baby?” he refused sweetly. “We shouldn’t ask to come over so often.”
“But we love Missha’s mom,” Harper flashed her huge eyes for a stronger appeal. “She loves us, too.”
“She does, huh?” his lips curled involuntarily.
“Yes, but she loves us more than you,” Piper chimed in to back her sister up. “Deal with it, Daddy.”
“Yeah, deal with it, Daddy!”
“CADE! STOP TEACHING YOUR SISTERS HOW TO THROW SASS, IT’S THREE AGAINST ONE HERE!” Chris howled towards the makeshift intercom system of the stairs.
Unfortunately, the major bug in a devoted father’s operating system is the inability to say no to his kids. When the girls toggled to relentless whining mode with ample amounts of “Pleaaaaaase~”, Chris had no choice but to march his ass across the street, hoping he wouldn’t hear something along the lines of, “Brother, you have got to get a life since I very much have one.” He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, but instead of the homeowner, a good-looking bouncer in his late teens greeted him.
You weren’t kidding at all with that description, huh?
“I remember you,” the boy squinted. “You’re the dude across the street.”
“Right! You were looking for Missha that day,” Chris flashed a dimpled smile.
“How do you know my girl’s name?”
Uh oh…
Why the FUCK was he getting nervous like he was at the doorstep of his prom date, talking to her father?! This was a kid! He had one of these in this size himself!
Then Chris suddenly realized, in his handful of “attempts” so far, the other party had always been either single or had daughters. There was no one to perceive him as a threat. This was the very first time he was meeting the son of a… of a potential…
You know.
“She… had a collar. I’m the one who found her,” he extended his hand like an olive branch rather than a greeting. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Chris.”
“You’re damn right we haven’t, very attractive hunk man. I shall be known to you as Ryder the Grinder,” the boy narrowed his eyes even more, not even a little bit affected by the charming accent. “Are you here to see my mom?”
Chris wasn’t under oath, so it wouldn’t technically be perjury if he kept that overly passionate “HELL YEAH!” to himself, so…
“Uh… Yeah, is sh—?”
“You shall pass only if you can solve my riddles three, hunk man,” the bouncer declared his entry requirements.
“Of course,” the intruder respectfully bowed his head.
“You’re ripped,” Ryder scanned Chris’s body from head to toe. “Are you a looksmaxxer or something?”
“I don’t know what any of those words mean,” Chris stared at him blankly.
“I’m asking if you’re a gymbro.”
“Not… necessarily? I mostly work out in my garage,” he answered, stressed the fuck out like he was sitting for an oral defense exam. “And the beach, I guess. I teach surfing.”
“Can I use your equipment?”
“By all means!” Chris agreed in a heartbeat and continued exercising extreme caution. “Though if you don’t mind me saying, these weren’t riddles.”
“Silence! I’ll be the judge of that,” Ryder raised his hand, posture Gandalfesque. “Now, the most important question of all. Are you or are you not…”
He leaned in super close, staring daggers at Chris with a threatening stance somewhere in between a girldad and a mafia boss, and let it rip.
“...a fuckboy?”
“RYDER, WHAT THE HELL?!”
You yelled at the top of your lungs while descending the stairs whereas Chris started wheezing his lungs out, not at all as a taunt but because that was exactly what he would say if Cadence brought someone home to meet him one day.
In slightly different vocabulary, but the gist would remain fully intact.
“I’m a father of three girls, my good man, so no worries on that one,” he eased the overprotective bouncer’s mind.
“You’re still not answering my question.”
“I hate the entire human population between ages 5 and 18 on principle,” Chris submitted the response that he knew would get a passing grade. “You know how it is.”
“I’m watching you, hunk man,” Ryder pointed at him with peak intimidation, then kissed you on the cheek. “I’m off, Mom.”
“Don’t be late, or I’m watching the new season without you!” you yelled after your self-appointed bodyguard, then greeted Chris with a warm smile. “What’s up?”
And just like that, WHAT ARE WORDS?
Chris put his brain in aggressive overdrive, trying to remember what the hell he was there for. It had something to do with the twins, but why would he come to your house for the twins? Oh, okay. OKAY, the playdate.
“The uh… T–The girls… They were um… wondering if… if they could have… Missha time today.”
“Anything that won’t have them asking for iPad time!” you enthusiastically responded, but your expression quickly morphed into regret as the bearer of bad news. “But unfortunately, I have to go to the store today.”
“Oh…”
Chris looked so disappointed as if you had just told him Christmas was cancelled, flashing you huge puppy eyes, and you suddenly felt horrible. You were trying really hard to find something to say to make him feel better, but your mind was entirely blank!
Meanwhile, Chris realized the silence had dragged on for too long, and he had to fill that fast.
“I mean, Y–YEAH OF COURSE!” he yelled out of nowhere. “I’m really sorry they keep asking. They’re just… They’re really fond of her.”
Seeing his dimples instantly loosened the death grip on your chest, and you awkwardly laughed. Luckily, the soft rubbing you felt against your ankles pulled you back to reality a little.
“No worries at all!” you vehemently reassured him, knowingly smiling. “I don’t think they’re the only fond ones, though.”
FUCK!!!
Did he make it that obvious?! At least you didn’t seem entirely repulsed by the idea. Besides, you were the one who said the opportunity could hold onto some hope if it wanted, weren’t you? Well, guess what, the opportunity happened to be clawing at hope for dear life right now, and if this was his opening…
“I uh… I–I mean, I was wondering—”
“Right, girlie? You’re fond of them, too,” you picked Missha up. “Look, it’s your man.”
Chris’s heart dropped from his chest when he heard you say ‘your man’ to refer to him, his knees damn near giving way. Oh, this was bad. This was so bad, and if he couldn’t contain the aggressive endearment within him, he was going to punch a hole in your front door!
Thankfully, his spiral was successfully blocked by Missha reaching for him as if to say, “Hug me.” He let out a relieved sigh, holding the furball in his arms as delicately as he would hold a newborn.
“Hey, baby girl! Missed me?”
If anybody point-blank asked, you would firmly deny it, but you were beyond glad that your marble cake had developed an attachment to a certain topless drummer because you were running out of believable excuses to knock on your neighbor’s door. One day, it was to ask for flour. Another day, it was to ask for a car jack. At some point, he was going to ask you if you were aware that a mall existed in town.
“We’ll wait for your invitation then,” Chris placed a little kiss on Missha’s tiny head, handing her back to you. “I’ll tell them not to insist.”
“WAIT!”
Missha rightfully hissed at you for temporarily deafening her. When Chris turned around and looked at you like that, your knees damn near gave way. Oh, this was bad. This was so bad, and if you couldn’t contain the aggressive heart eyes you had for him, you were going to latch onto his lips for the entire neighborhood to see!
“W–When I was babysitting the girls,” you shook your head to gather your thoughts and continued a bit more seriously, “they showed me their wardrobe.”
Chris’s shoulders drooped as he sighed in defeat, dragging himself to your doorstep again.
“Look, I know I’m not the best stylist, and I’m so sorry you had to see that clusterfuck,” he apologized for no reason. “Cade never comes shopping with us, and the store clerks always say whatever I pick looks great, EVEN when I assure them I will be buying stuff and just need an honest opinion. I mean, we always get the things the girls say they like, but… I mean…”
“NO, IT’S FINE! I didn’t mean it to come across as judgemental or anything,” you immediately held your hands up, assuming a defensive stance. “You should have seen what Ryder’s wardrobe looked like until he told me to back off. I just wanted to tell you that they told me they wanted skirts.”
“They did?” he nervously scoffed.
“Is something the matter?” you tilted your head.
“I think you can understand why I need someone with me for this, and Cade’s not very uh… a girly girl. She’s never cared about clothes and stuff until she imposed a no-color rule on her wardrobe,” Chris confessed. “And she loathes going to the mall unless it’s for records and books, so…”
You barely held yourself back from smugly declaring, “Say less,” incredulous of your luck that it landed on your lap so easily. There could not be a more apt opportunity than this for your semi-ulterior motives!
“I… told the girls I would ask you to go shopping together,” you told him somewhat shyly, all but pressing your index fingers together. “IF you’d like, of course. I don’t want to impose.”
“Oh, I’d LOVE THAT! Do you wanna go today?”
As soon as he finished the sentence, Chris mentally punched himself as a reminder to practice the bare minimum impulse control. You had just told him you weren’t available today, and at this rate, he was going to earn a fucking restraining order, let alone a season pass!
“Oh, s–sorry, got a bit too excited that my misery was about to end,” he exhaled, exasperated with himself and internally yelling ‘GET IT THE FUCK TOGETHER!’. “You’re uh… You’re going to the store today.”
“That I own, yes,” you chuckled, tickled by his eagerness. “We can do some shopping, then I can show you guys my little shrine. You need to upgrade from Singing Giraffe anyway.”
“In that case, can I be your driver?”
SHUT UP???
Why, YES, he could be your driver. He could be whatever the heck he wanted, actually, as long as he was going to smile at you like that what the FUCK?!
“S–Sure,” you nervously giggled, then placed a big smooch on Missha’s tiny head. “Sorry, baby, I’m stealing your man today.”
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
Chris was a fully monogamous man, and you were an evil woman getting him all excited at the prospect of fucking cheating! Yes, steal him. Steal him right now, and never give him back actually.
Well, is it even cheating if the relationship is open, though?
“I’m sure she understands,” he reached to scratch under Missha’s chin. “She’s too independent to be tied down anyway, right?”
Only when your eyes met did you both realize just how close you were standing to each other. Your fond smiles instantly gave way to eyes widened in panic, and you simultaneously flinched as if you were electrocuted with impeccable comedic timing.
“I UH… I–I’LL TELL THE GIRLS THEN! MEET YOU OUT IN FIVE?” Chris screamed at your face.
“SURE!”
You slammed your door close and leaned against it with your heart beating in your throat, letting Missha run inside for her sixth nap of the day. Nervous out of your mind, you dashed to your bedroom to change as fast as you could, going through all the t-shirts you owned as if you were summoned for an impromptu date.
This was NOT a goddamn DATE, and you needed to GET IT THE FUCK TOGETHER!
Walking to Chris’s driveway, however, your anxiousness started to evaporate, promptly replaced with overwhelming affection when you spotted two little rays of sunshine running towards you with open arms.
“WE’RE GETTING SKIRTS!!!” Harper yelled.
“Yes, you are, baby!” you hugged them both in each arm. “Tell me, what are your favorite colors?”
“Yellow!”
“Orange!”
“No wonder Cadence doesn’t prefer coming with you,” you cackled as you looked up at Chris.
You safely sat the girls in their carseats and settled down in the front, and as soon as Chris put the gear in drive…
The scene turned into FULL delulu fuel.
FUCK this man for looking this attractive while driving, all laid back and legs spread out like a whore. His sleeveless shirt accenting those bulging biceps, lips shaped into a pout with peak focus, brows slightly creased like he was mad at something…
Was this what he looked like when he was mad, and on a completely irrelevant note… did he get mad in the bedroom at all?
Focus!
You discreetly pinched your own thigh both to exorcise yourself of the horny and to snap your wits back, and once the unholy thoughts subsided, this time the scene turned into a wholesome kind of delulu fuel. It felt like you were on a road trip with your little family. Oldest kids sent to college to live their best lives, younger ones with you at home, allowing you to taste the joys of parenthood all over again with a rock to lean on this time.
OH MY GOD, FUCKING FOCUS!!!
Instead of the crowded mall, you had given Chris the address of a street filled with cute little boutiques, on which your store was also located, and what started with an innocent question of “Do you have skirts in yellow and orange?”
…turned into an entire haul.
Suddenly with all the time to kill in the world, you let the twins try on all the items they pointed at, mixing and matching everything from little sundresses to nightgowns, slippers, bathrobes, hair pins, shoes, pants, coats, you name it. Before you knew it, you had fashioned not one but two wardrobes, one for spring/summer and one for fall/winter. Despite Chris’s protests, you threw in a few print shirts and a pair of badass boots for Cadence, firmly stressing you weren’t going to be offended if she chose to return them.
“Look who it is!”
And as you were trying to close the trunk of the car, a woman’s voice echoed behind you.
“Oh my god, hi!”
You hugged her tightly, and it wasn’t long before she noticed the charming man standing next to you, silently waiting to be introduced.
“This is Chris,” you pointed at him, then at your friend. “Lily and I were roommates in college. She teaches kindergarten now.”
“No way, I was looking into schools for my girls just yesterday!” Chris shook her hand, the ‘naur way’ making you giggle for no reason at all, then introduced the rays of sunshine curiously looking at the nice lady. “Harper and Piper. My daughters.”
“So nice to meet you! I’m Lily,” she immediately kneeled to be on their eye level, gently shaking their hands, then turned to Chris for a casual invitation. “We actually have an open house for parents today. Would you guys like to come? It’s just down the street.”
“HECK YEAH!”
Chris’s abrupt enthusiasm was quick to die down when he met your gaze, flashing you the puppy eyes again, and it was becoming more and more obvious to you where the twins learned that trick from!
“I–I mean…Would it be okay if we went?”
“Of course!” you burst out laughing.
The entire way, you and Chris listened to Lily talk to the twins like they had become best friends over lunch, and watching how easily she was able to communicate with them, you were beaming with pride with a smile that said, “Yis, that is my friend.” The girls talked about Singing Giraffe, their Aquaman Daddy, their Batsister Cadie, and much to your heartache…
Their angel mom.
“You can’t see her because she’s invisible,” Piper continued.
“Oh? So I can’t meet her?” Lily asked, pouting a little.
“You can when she comes back from protecting heaven,” Harper explained.
You almost fell to your knees with how hard your heart was wrenched. You needed something, anything to change the mood because a coat of mist had started invading Chris’s eyes, and it was killing you to see him like this.
“Aquaman? Batsister?” you gently nudged him with your elbow. “Is someone a bit too into comic books by any chance?”
“Maybe,” Chris smiled after taking a deep breath, then asked as you followed Lily into the building. “Did Ryder go to this school, too?”
“Oh hell yeah. This is like the family business of the Wilsons,” you answered him. “Lily’s mom taught Ryder, and that’s why my dude can’t shut up about dinosaurs.”
“Dinosaurs?” Chris furrowed his brows. “Let’s just skip the open house right now. They are going here, period.”
After leaving the girls in the care of the teachers in the playground, Lily gave you a personal tour of the grounds first, patiently answering every single question Chris had, then introduced you to the principal. The chat was a bit of a formality as Chris seemed to have already made up his mind about the school, greatly reassured by your reference, as well.
“Looks like the girls are having a great time here, so if you’d like a few hours to yourselves, you can leave them with me,” Lily offered, knowingly smiling at you. “I’m well aware couples don’t get much alone time when they have kids this age.”
NAUR WAY.
Turns out, you weren’t the only one in delululand today, huh?
You had no idea why the assumption rendered you completely mute. You knew you had to say something to correct the misunderstanding, but you just… couldn’t.
What’s worse, a part of you simply did not want to.
“Ac–Actually, we aren—”
“And you promise you won’t judge me if I take you up on that offer?” Chris immediately interjected, squinting.
“Off the record?” Lily leaned in, speaking quietly like she was letting you both in on a well-kept secret. “Brother, I have two kids of my own, and if my husband and I didn’t have mandatory date night once a week, we’d be divorced ages ago. Trust me on this.”
“Summerland fucking rocks!” Chris cheered, not even noticing how much your flabbers were gasted. “Girls!”
The call was greeted with instant protests from the playground, perfectly executed with the heartstring-slasher pouts.
“DADDY, NO!”
“We don’t wanna go!”
“Do you want to keep playing?” Chris asked upon Lily’s ‘Told ya’ shrug.
“YES!”
“Then can I go play, too?”
“BYE, DADDY!”
“Unbelievable,” Chris scoffed and turned to you. “Mini Bieber walks in, and it’s like I don’t even exist!”
“Aww, come on, it’s cute!” you broke into a massively endeared giggle fit.
“No one is good enough for my babies. I’ll see him in court,” he toggled to Dadzilla mode scarily fast.
“Just walk,” you softly pushed him from his back, and all of a sudden…
The delulu fuel struck back at full force because this did feel like a goddamn date!
Oh, you were so not getting it the fuck together…
Taking the deepest breaths of your life to calm yourself, you walked for a little while, just shooting the shit. Chris talked about a song he’d been working on and his passionate frustrations with finding rhymes for certain words. You talked about a few authors you’d been eyeing for a book signing and your hopelessness regarding how to convince them to come to a town this small.
“So um… Since you’ve done such a great job with the girls,” Chris eventually broached the subject, “do you mind styling me?”
“Did you want skirts, too?” you smirked at him with ample amounts of mischief.
“Ha funnny,” he deadpanned. “All I have is tanks for summer and hoodies for winter. I don’t have anything else to wear for any other occasion.”
“What kind of occasion?”
“I don’t know. A date?”
If you were sipping on a drink, it would be all over his stupid gorgeous face because…
Well…
“You… have a date coming up?” you asked as nonchalantly as you could manage.
“Not presently, but you can never be too prepared, yeah?” he stopped in front of a shop and pointed at the door with his thumb. “Just one store?”
“Alright, what should I be looking for?” you asked while crossing the threshold.
“Whatever you’d wanna see you date in.”
You stopped dead in your tracks and looked at him, your lips slightly parted, because how could you NOT? Was he…? Just messing with you, or…? Was this his indirect way of…?
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t elaborate further. No ‘I’m jaurking,’ or anything of the sort, either. He just stood there, one hand keeping the door open, and stared at you with a shit-eating grin.
This motherfucker…
Exerting the effort of a lifetime to not spontaneously combust, you handed him a few picks and sent him to the changing room to hunt for more items. It wasn’t that you were suddenly super into fashion; you just needed to be away from him to regulate your heart rate to prevent untimely cardiac arrest.
Which… wasn’t as helpful as you hoped for.
“I found a few shirts,” you approached the cabin a bit too carefully like your life was in danger. “Should I hang them on the door?”
“Um… actually can you get in here?”
“W–WHY?!” you shrieked, unknowingly clutching the clothes in your hand.
“I think I’m stuck.”
The unexpected answer made you wheeze your lungs out, and with your nervousness melted away, you saw no problem fulfilling his request. You hung the clothes in the rack behind you and opened the door, which was a FUCKING MISTAKE!
Your laughter abruptly stopped like you had swallowed it whole. Well, naturally, because you were expecting to see something of comical nature.
NOT what could only be described as soft porn!
Hottest fucking thing you ever witnessed with your own two eyes. GORGEOUS physique out in the open, and it was such a ridiculously effective stimulant that you could literally feel it between your legs even though he was only fucking you in your head. The amount of restraint it took not to lick those abs… The iron-cast willpower it took not to close that door right behind you… And as if that wasn’t enough, bro went ahead and inked his fucking COLLARBONES?
You couldn’t remember a single time someone had awakened such intense urges within you, but it was clear that you needed to upgrade your… self-care collection as soon as possible. Just the thought of experiencing these feelings every time you saw Chris was absolutely mortifying, and you had to get whatever this was out of your system fast.
You violently shook your head to snap out of it, laser-focused on the area from neck up, and carefully moved his arms to free him from the fabric trap.
“No tight-fit shirts for you without buttons,” you attempted a half-joke. “Duly noted.”
It was nothing short of sleep paralysis. You knew you were supposed to take a step outside, but you couldn’t move. You just could not move!
And someone seemed to be getting a kick out of it.
“See something you like?” Chris cheesed, enjoying the way you were staring at his broad chest a bit too much.
“NO?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“T–Telling you?”
When he broke into those giggles, you did want to slap the shit out of him, which had to be a good sign that you were coming back to your senses.
“If the view is nice, you can tell me, you know,” he held up the too-tight-to-handle shirt. “I could use a compliment after this fiasco.”
Compliment, huh? He wanted a compliment? So, what, like you were supposed to tell him you would totally ride those abs? That he must feel rock hard to the touch? That you kinda wanted to know what his body weight would feel like on you? That you had a bit of a thing marking hickeys on a partner and his skin looked like he bruised easily?
Was that what he wanted to hear?!
“I mean,” you mumbled under your breath and averted your eyes, quickly grabbing the shirt before bolting out of there. “I would throw my bra at that.”
Having the time of his life and content with your picks for him, Chris didn’t insist on doing more shopping, and you finally made it to the bookstore. As soon as he entered, he looked around with complete fascination in his eyes, unable to stop smiling.
“Do you have any historical romance books here?” he asked out of nowhere.
“Y–You read… historical romance books?” you widened your eyes, utterly appalled.
“Cade loves them.”
“Seriously?” you inadvertently let slip, immediately covering your mouth. “Shit, I–I’m so sorry. That sounded so presumptuous!”
“Oh, presumpt away. Five years ago, her Christmas wish was the entire Goosebumps set, and she has a shrine dedicated to Stephen King, so…” he confirmed your sophisticated guess. “She’s very analog. If you have any recommendations, I’d love to get her a few.”
“Do you know what she already has?”
“Not by heart, but I think I’ll remember when I see the titles.”
“‘Sup, boss?”
A college-age boy appeared from behind the shelves with a large box in his hand, making his way to you.
“Well, today is your lucky day because I actually have an expert on site,” you spoke to Chris, then turned to the boy. “Hey, Oliver. Anything to report?”
“One tasteless incident of— FUCK, YOU’RE CHRIS BANG!”
“Uh… Hi,” Chris greeted the freaked-out guy.
“Dude, we cover your band’s songs all the time!”
“NO WAY!”
Maybe it was the ‘naur way’ or maybe it wasn’t, but something in your chest was tickling you so much you couldn’t stop smiling.
“Chris has a daughter who is very into historical romance,” you informed your right hand. “Anything in the Dracula avenue, you show him.”
“I got just what you need. Follow me,” Oliver took the lead to the romance shelf, still hardcore fanboying. “I canNOT believe it’s really YOU!”
While you took care of some business, Oliver and Chris basically combed through the entire store and returned to the cash register with two big stacks in their arms, including upgrades for Singing Giraffe. You and Chris started sparring in the form of credit card aikido, where you adamantly refused to accept payment from him whereas he did not take no for an answer, claiming it was compensation for your styling services today.
And Oliver was a big help watching the whole thing from the sidelines with a huge grin on his face.
When you were finally done with work, you left the store, picked up the exhausted twins beaming with happiness, and returned home. As soon as they saw the shopping bags, they perked up in the blink of an eye, running to their rooms to try on their new clothes.
“Thank you so much for today,” Chris expressed his heartfelt gratitude with extra deepened dimples.
“Anytime! I haven’t had this much fun in a hot minute.”
The silence was dragging on for too long again, and Chris had to fill that fast.
The conditions seemed… just right this time. A great day was had, pleasant fatigue was in the air, and there was also the changing room incident, which was a very welcome surprise to him. You didn’t seem… terribly bored to spend time with them.
Was this the time to ask? It was time, right?
“Listen, um…” he intently stared at his shoes. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
He was kidding to himself earlier that day, but why the FUCK was he getting nervous like he was actually about to ask you to prom?! He was a grown man! Who wanted to spend some time with an equally grown woman!
He mustered all the courage he possibly could, and finally fucking went for it.
“Do you wann—?”
“CADENCE, WAIT!”
You both turned your heads towards the concerned voice of Ryder and watched Cadence storm into the house crying, Chris immediately running after her. Ryder looked distraught, but also totally guilty of something. Your brows started creasing, and you could feel something boiling hot rising from the pit of your stomach as you stared daggers at your son.
“What did you do?” you calmly asked him.
“It’s nothing. I w—”
“What the FUCK did you do?!”
The explosion scared him a bit as he rarely saw you like that, but Ryder didn’t even have it in him to protest.
“Today was the auction results. Emotions ran high. I…” he started explaining himself, unable to look you in the eye. “I said something in the heat of the moment and—”
“Say it.”
“Mom, please…”
“If you could throw the words so casually at her, you’re gonna say it to my face. Say it.”
It was so obvious he knew he messed up, and you didn’t particularly enjoy confronting your son like that, but in your defense, there had never been an instance that you had to. His shenanigans with his friends were one thing, but this was NOT one of his boys in question.
“I called her a ghoul that reeks of death.”
Hearing those words felt like Ryder poured molten lava all over you and didn’t even blink. You could not believe your own son was even capable of uttering something so despicable out loud. It was as if the entire world went mute, and the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat in your ears, feeling yourself descend into a full spiral. This was your fault, wasn’t it? You didn’t raise him right. You had never been enough. Maybe if he had a father, this would have never happened. Tears were filling your eyes to the brim, and your brain was going numb.
You weren’t a violent person by any means. If anything, Ryder’s number one complaint about you was that you loved hugs a bit too much.
But that didn’t mean the occasional pinch on the arm was off the table for moments of massive fuckups.
“Ow!”
“Was it worth it, huh?” you spat through your teeth. “Was it worth hurting her over a goddamn TOY?!”
You grabbed him by his hand and dragged him to Chris’s front door, knocking on it hard like you wanted to break it down. You wouldn’t even be surprised if he didn’t open it, but thanks to whatever country you saved in your previous life, he did, the frown on his face painfully telling of how upset he was.
“HI! This is my dumbass son, and he would like to say something,” you flashed a psychotic smile at Chris, then nudged Ryder forward with a death glare. “Do it.”
“I’m really really sorry, Cadence,” Ryder didn’t even hesitate as he addressed Cadence sitting on the couch inside, hugging a pillow. “I–I didn’t know that your—”
“No, you didn’t,” she interjected with a trembling voice.
“I SWEAR on my mother and Missha I didn’t mean anything by it. I know it’s not an excuse, but I only use that kind of language around my best friends. Ask Mom! She knows how bad the boys and I bash each other!” he continued his fervent begging, then suddenly slowed down. “For a second, I… completely forgot you don’t… roll with me like that.”
All eyes turned to Cadence, waiting with bated breath as to how she was going to react. And much to no one’s expectation, especially Ryder’s, she got up to her feet and slowly walked to the door.
“We’re…” she relaxed her scowl, surprised despite her apparent anguish. “We’re friends?”
“Of course we are. Wasn’t it obvious?” Ryder faintly smiled, holding onto the tiniest bit of hope. “Why else would I get that vicious when I was basically raised in Gentleman Camp? MOM, STOP PINCHING!”
“Save your snark,” you hissed at him.
Cadence didn’t say anything else and left, leaving Ryder to sigh in her wake with drooped shoulders.
“I understand if neither of you ever wants to see me again, but please know I feel horrible about it,” he apologized to Chris this time, bowing his head in regret. “I’m truly sorry.”
You dared look at Chris despite your embarrassment, realizing he was looking back at you. It sucked so much that you didn’t know what the right thing to do or say was here because it felt like you were the one hurting him, which you technically did, no matter how indirectly.
“I will NOT be this calm if I hear you hurt my baby again, hunk man junior,” Chris spoke flatly, though clearly ticked, “but if you’re really sincere with your apology, I’d better see you make an effort to make things right.”
Ryder nodded solemnly and asked to go for a walk to clear his head. And while you were on the verge of grounding him, you couldn’t find it in you to say no for how genuinely apologetic he seemed. You silently gave him permission with a nod, finally accepting there would never come a day you’d finally go, “This is it, and I’ve seen everything,” for a mother.
“Call me crazy, but I’m sensing some tension between the kids,” Chris uttered, watching Ryder walk away with his hands in his pockets.
“What was your first clue?” you turned to him with furrowed brows as if you were asking a genuine question. “I wholeheartedly apologize for his behavior. I thought I’d raised him better than this.”
Chris looked inside the house, then walked out to the porch, closing the door behind him.
“Listen, I know this isn’t the type of thing to ask for someone who’s almost a grown woman, but I’d really like it if Ryder and Cade got along,” he voiced his heartfelt request. “She has the confidence of gods, but she… can’t make friends easily.”
Well, wouldn’t you know a thing or two about that? The black eyeliner wasn’t the only thing about Cadence that reminded you of your younger self.
Something to get these two dummies closer, huh? But what?
“What are you guys doing this weekend?” you asked, a sudden lightbulb going off in your head.
“Nothing scheduled. Why?”
“Wanna take the whole family to the beach together?” you proposed with an up-to-no-good grin.
And after almost twenty years, this was the second time Chris was asked out by the woman he was falling in love with right before he could do it himself.
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to go to a kindergarten open house with Chris.
This story is crossposted here. If you search for my work and can't find it one day, that's where I'll be. You don't have to subscribe for anything; a follow like you would follow a Tumblr blog is enough to read. Thanks.
Ryder the Grinder! I’m cackling. 🤣 boy is so protective over his mom. I love it. And I feel like we are still third wheeling with the cat! I was a blushing mess this chapter, too. Mans can still look hot while stuck in a shirt 😵💫
➥ Contains: Chris the girl dad causing simultaneous ovary explosions everywhere all around the world, Missha debut, "That's not very nice", Bang twins as roastmasters, Chrissha origin story
➥ The news of the hot guy moving into 1546 Ocean Drive takes the entire neighborhood by storm. While you're not indifferent to his impossibly good looks, you would have appreciated a heads-up that he would also be moving into your life.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙼𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚗
Super chill Saturday morning in progress on the quiet, pine-lined street. Sun shining, birds chirping, squirrels squirreling…
And a tortoiseshell cat stalking them by the kitchen window like a sharpshooter.
“They know you don’t intend to be friends with them, Missha,” you picked up the sassmeister and gently spanked her fluffy thighs, guiding her towards the very heated Call of Whatever game taking place in the living room. “Look, there are many eligible bachelors for you over there!”
The super chill part was a massive understatement, of course. When Ryder started high school, you had invited his friends over for breakfast one time, and three years later, Saturday Pancakes was still going strong with the exact same set of kids. No, sir, you were NOT going to acknowledge these rascals were about to be of age in the eyes of the law very soon. They were teething just yesterday, when the FUCK did they even start applying to colleges?
Somebody make time stop ASAP.
“Oh, shit!”
“RYDER, LANGUAGE!!!” you growled, pointing the detergent-covered spatula at him.
When you had ‘the talk’ with your son, your first words were basically threatening to disown him if he got a girl pregnant at least before college graduation. While your parents did not approve of the emotional blackmail with their snotty tsks, you were hellbent on not having some girl live through the same fate you did. No one was ever ready for the responsibility of a child at such a young age. What responsibility when you’re a child yourself? Of course it wouldn’t work out if you got married just because you gave birth out of wedlock.
Nevertheless, life had a way of making up for what seemed like the biggest fuckups at the time. You’d been blessed with a wonderful boy who might have matured a bit too early. Although it used to give you the worst case of cuteness aggression when he said stuff like “I’m the man of the house,” he was still eight when he first said that. Ten years later, however, nothing much had changed, really. Still a menace. Still so protective of you. Still your reason to live. On his way to becoming a wonderful man.
“NOPE, no becoming a man till you’re 30, brat, sit your ass down,” you mumbled under your breath, scrubbing the spatula harder like it offended your entire lineage.
You would have loved to share your heart with one more person, of course, but you were getting a bit sick of your blind dates’ reaction to your motherhood. As if you were telling them you had a litter of eight. It wasn’t like you had a vast selection to pick from in a town as small as this, either. Anyone would eventually give up, and so did you, not that you were dying to trap someone in the first place. Your nuclear family of two finally expanded when you adopted Missha five years ago, and that was pretty much your life now. Uneventful, definitely chaotic, but at least happy.
Genuinely happy.
You heard some commotion outside, growing even louder than the one in your living room. So much so that even the boys hit pause on their excessively stressful digital warfare and crowded the kitchen window.
“What the hell is happening over there?” you lowered your head to get a better view.
There was a moving van parked by the house across the street, which had been on the market since January. A man was standing at the front door, talking to a small crowd made up of the entire single population of the neighborhood as well as a few moms. They were trampling each other to welcome this extremely good-looking new resident, and he was politely nodding at each of them, though slightly scared.
“Noooice, Khaleesi, you finally got your match,” Trevor smirked once he spotted the man among the trees. “We approve.”
“Who the fu—?”
You shot an instant death glare at Ryder, your eyes psychotically widened.
“Fine, I’ll keep it PG,” he sighed. “Who the heck are you to approve, my guy?”
“What? She’s our mom, too.”
“I think the goshdarn not!”
“It doesn’t have the intended effect when you have the kids mode on, FYI,” Trevor patted Ryder’s back, then turned to you with the most up-to-no-good smile he could flash. “Go say hi.”
“EW, NO!” you immediately protested.
“Why the goshdarn not?!”
Because that would be desperate? Even you were judging the crowd about to swoon at that doorstep; who the fuck knows what people would think of you if they saw you among those groupies. Christ!
“It’s not something you can understand unless you’re a divorced woman, little man,” you pointed your Saturday regulars in the direction of their duffel bags. “Go get your butts ready. I’ll drive you to practice.”
Twelfth time that day…
Chris was going to have to replace the front door at this rate because people have been knocking on it all day to introduce themselves. With no regard to decorum, at that. Yes, it was hell degrees outside, and his personal uniforms consisted of tank tops and shorts, too. Nevertheless, with kids living under this roof, it was hard not to get uncomfortable when complete strangers showed up at his doorstep in nothing but swimwear, so revealing that they might as well have been naked.
“Daddy, it’s Singing Giraffe time!”
Two girls clung to their father’s legs as he was in the middle of getting acquainted with yet another neighbor.
“Oh, you have… kids,” the blonde who looked like the latest Playboy centerfold grimaced. “Is their mother home? I’d like to say hi.”
Smooth, Chris internally scoffed while the twins glared at the woman. Before he could produce an answer, however…
“Why? Are you going to ask us to go away because we don’t have a mom?” Harper hijacked the mic.
“Girls!”
“Oh, it’s alright! Kids say the darndest things, don’t they?” the clearly early-twenty-something laughed way too loudly. “So you’re… single, huh?”
“Daddy, what does single mean?” Piper looked up with gigantic eyes.
“It means go upstairs and get ready for bed,” Chris led his girls inside. “Say bye to Lisa.”
“Bye, Lisa,” they deadpanned in unison, and Piper added with no sense of self-control.
“Your boobies are out, Lisa. That’s not very nice.”
Chris was absolutely mortified, and if the ground had any plans of splitting open and swallowing him whole, right now would be ideal.
“I am… so sorry,” he bowed his head in embarrassment.
“It’s fine. Really,” Lisa giggled, subtly touching Chris’s arm. “I’ll see you around then, Daddy.”
Yup, Chris might have been guilty of enjoying a certain address back in his glory days, but ever since the day he learned he was going to be a father, it was now just… Well, it was no longer something he wanted to hear from girls barely above the legal drinking age. He mustered his very last drop of energy to drag himself to the twins’ room, but before he could take two steps, he heard yet another knock behind him.
“I swear to fucking GOD I’m getting a ‘Closed’ sign tomorrow,” he marched back to the front door and harshly opened it. “WHAT?!”
“Chill, man. I was just going to ask if you’ve seen a cat around,” a boy in his late teens stared him down, then gestured something like a rock in the air. “A small tortie, about this big, yellow collar around her neck?”
“Oh, I’m… so sorry, I thought you were… No, I haven’t seen any cats around, unfortunately,” he shook his head. “I’ll be on the lookout.”
“Thanks,” the boy bolted as quickly as he had appeared.
Instead of going inside, Chris heaved a deep sigh and walked out, plopping on the porch swing for a moment’s peace. What a day. Yes, he had chosen this town himself because he’d heard great things about its people, but he certainly wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome. He couldn’t even get to unpacking, let alone finishing it.
The pine-lined street was finally calm. He was trying his best to resist the lullaby of crickets chirping and waves crashing in the distance, but when the warm night breeze started rocking him to sleep, he just gave in. Just five minutes. But he needed to put the girls to bed first. But five minutes. No, he needed to get up right now. But five—
“OW!”
A phantom punch in his stomach made him cough his lungs out. Ready to knock down some raccoon that manifested out of thin air, Chris immediately assumed a fighting stance. Well, at least he tried to, but that sleep paralysis demon weight wouldn’t budge an inch, sinking its claws deeper into his favorite sleeveless shirt to stay in place.
A cat.
“Oh, wow, you’re beautiful,” he scratched under her chin, “even though you scared the bejesus out of me just now.”
When he turned the collar charm around, he saw a phone number engraved in there with a little message that said ‘I’m lost. Please call.’
“Smart. Maybe I should get one of these for my girls, too, yeah?” he giggled to himself and sat up.
The cat got super comfortable in her new location, kneaded some biscuits, and curled up into a croissant to sleep. Fondly smiling at the little furball, Chris spent quite a while petting her. He couldn’t help but wonder if this marble cake was sent by some divine power because it seemed to have some freakish healing powers. The more she happily purred in his lap, the more he felt this block of lead weighing him down for years on end…
…shrinking.
“HARPER! DADDY GOT A CAT!”
The scream of severe cuteness aggression startled the new couple on the swing to death, effectively concluding the peace-and-quiet time. As the cat tried to hide away inside his shirt, Chris very carefully pulled her out, earning himself a few scratches as souvenir tattoos.
“Shh, easy,” he pacified his girls. “She’s not ours, baby. Be very, very gentle, okay?”
As the twins were petting the cat like they were entrusted with delicate china, Chris reached for his phone and dialed the number on the collar, admittedly a bit reluctantly.
“Hi, is this the human of… Missha?”
The window between returning from your carpool duties and Ryder coming home like a miniature Hulk was all the time you had to tend to work affairs on Saturdays. The stampede danger was finally eliminated with the crowd dispersed. You could hear yourself think again.
“Oh my god, like, you’re so cuuute! Is your dad home?”
Why would you jinx yourself like that? Just why?
You looked through the kitchen window to spot the source of the shriek that disturbed Missha. Someone was calling on your new neighbor again, but instead of him, there were twin girls at the door, looking visibly annoyed.
“Yes,” the one in sun-patterned pajamas answered, though with the exasperation of a woman who had been through five divorces.
“Can I see him?”
“No.”
“But why not?”
“You’re a stranger.”
“My name is Lisa. Now can I see your dad?”
“Girl, you just do not get father-infant daughter relationships at all, do you?” you contorted your face in cringe, sipping on the coffee you had started brewing before leaving home.
“You don’t even know our names!” the one in the moon-patterned pajamas yelled this time.
“Okay, what are your names then?”
“Daddy says plastic is harmful. You can’t come in.”
SLAM!
“Jesus christ, is that what he teaches these girls?!” you tsked to yourself, then settled down at the kitchen table to get to work.
You thought you had a solid few hours to complete the day’s checklist, but alas… You could recall blinking at some point, then all of a sudden, it was nighttime. If it weren’t for Ryder’s majestic entrance, you weren’t even going to realize it was dinner time already.
“Hey, Mom! I’m hitting the shower. I’ll be right down,” he stormed in and immediately dashed towards the stairs.
“Ryder, door first,” you called out to him to close it, your eyes still on the screen.
But no clank was heard.
“Ryder!”
Not a peep.
“I swear to fucking god. Every time,” you grunted to yourself and closed the door on His Majesty’s behalf. Considering the immense pain right below your right shoulder blade, it was probably time you called it a day anyway.
Per the commandments of your household, the cuntress had to have her meals first. You refilled Missha’s bowl, which she could normally hear from ten miles away and teleport herself to the kitchen, but the entire house was completely still. You scoured each room, looked inside all the cracks large enough for her to pour herself through, but…
“RYDER, GET DOWN HERE! MISSHA’S GONE!!!”
You took the left side of the street while he took the right, but the door-to-door search yielded no results. Damn this girl’s camouflage coat that made her blend into any backdrop. You started to freak out even harder when you returned home empty-handed. It was dark out; who knows what the hell kind of wild animals were out there. The street wasn’t super well-lit, either. What if a passing car didn’t have its headlights on?
“What’s the protocol for lost cats? DO WE CALL THE POLICE?!” you started frantically pacing in the kitchen.
“First, we calm down,” Ryder held your shoulders and sat you down on a chair. “I’ll go grab my computer, and we’ll look into this, okay? I promise we’ll find her.”
You were taking deep breaths, which, apparently, was a total bullshit recommendation being perpetuated. It had zero impact on calming you down. Your hands were still trembling, and you were nervously shaking your legs under the table.
You almost knocked over the entire table when you lunged at your phone to pick up the call from an unknown number.
“Hi, is this the human of… Missha?”
“YES!” you screamed, already grabbing your car keys and heading out. “Could you give me your address, please? I’ll be right over.”
“Uh… I was going to offer to bring her home, but sure,” the man on the phone answered. “1546 Ocean Drive.”
You stopped dead in your tracks, then slowly turned around to look at your door with 1545 written next to it. When you narrowed your eyes and stared into the darkness, the only thing you could make out was some white shirt of sorts thanks to the streetlights ricocheting off of it.
“Are you the dude on the porch right now?”
He turned to his left to spot someone on the phone and eventually saw you standing by the front door.
“Oh, hi!” he waved at you as a makeshift location pin. “Yes, I w—”
You immediately hung up and booked it towards the white shirt guy. The approaching stomps were growing so loud that even Missha’s fur was standing on end out of fear.
“THERE YOU ARE!” you hugged the crap out of the poor animal. “You scared the bejesus out of me. Don’t run away like that again!”
The man looked at you with something akin to surprise in his eyes, then flashed a bright smile.
“I am so sorry. She gets really feisty when she’s stressed. I hope she didn’t scratch too deep,” you addressed your lord and savior at long last.
“Feisty?” he cocked a brow. “She’s been sleeping on my lap the whole time.”
“Girl, did you have something against me all along?” you gasped at Missha’s betrayal.
“Can’t we please keep her, Daddy?”
Only then did you realize that you weren’t alone on that porch. The twins, and frankly the best roastmasters you’d ever seen, were pulling on their father’s hands, with eyes so huge that you had half a mind to offer joint custody to these girls.
“They’ve been begging for a cat forever,” he scratched his nape.
“But she’s my little girl,” you kneeled at their eye level. “You would be very sad if someone took away your daddy, too, right?”
They nodded in unison, still pouting.
“What are your names?” you asked with a smile.
They looked at their father for permission. When they received the approving nod, they graced you with an answer.
“I’m Piper.”
“I’m Harper.”
“Nice to meet you, Piper and Harper. I’m Missha’s mom,” you shook each of their tiny hands.
“Are you a teacher, too, Missha’s mom?”
“I own a bookstore,” you replied. “Do you like books?”
“Daddy reads Singing Giraffe to us every night.”
“Daddy might need an update on his repertoire,” you looked him up and down, then pointed at your house. “Tell you what. If your dad gives permission, would you like to be Missha’s new friends?”
“PLEASE DADDY, CAN WE?!”
“Only if I can be her friend, too. I mean, we already got a situationship going on, so…” the man set forth his sole condition. “But NOT if you don’t go to bed right now!”
“Good night, Missha’s mom!” the twins bolted inside right away.
You waved them goodbye, unable to control your endeared laughter. They reminded you of the day you learned Ryder’s gender all of a sudden. If the doctor said ‘It’s a girl’ then, would this be your reality by any chance?
“Welcome to the neighborhood, by the way,” you extended your hand to the man still staring at you with a smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t drop by earlier. Your front porch was like a meet and greet.”
“Chris,” he warmly shook your hand. “I apologize for the scene. The neighborhood is a little… friendly.”
“What an interesting spelling for DILF hunter,” you uttered with a completely straight face. Even though he burst out laughing, he seemed a bit flustered.
“Is it… that obvious that I’m single?”
“Hmm,” you squinted and started checking out the surroundings. “Sedan in the driveway, zero plants on the front porch, your wife would have killed you already if she saw the porch this muddy, so yeah, you’re basically glowing in the dark.”
“Wow, you’re good,” he let out a heartfelt laugh.
That sound reached your ears, and you felt something flutter in your chest. Something familiar, but not quite. Something you seemed to have long forgotten.
Still on the tip of your tongue somehow.
“Good night, Chris,” you excused yourself. “Thank you once again.”
“Anytime,” he nodded, smile still intact.
Once your door closed in the distance, Chris finally went inside to take the stage for his daily Singing Giraffe performance. Unlike any other evening, however, the girls seemed to be extra alert this time, whispering stuff to each other in absolute glee.
“What are you giggling about so much?” he asked as he took his seat by the bed.
“Daddy?” Harper clung to his arm.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Missha has a mom.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Can’t she be our mom, too?”
Of course, she didn’t mean any ill by that; they were just tiny, pure souls. They had no way of knowing how crushing it was for one parent to hear this when they were trying so hard to be both.
Knowing full well they were never going to be a match for the missing half.
“I don’t think she’d want that, baby,” he caressed his girl’s curls that were identical to his. “Shall we continue Singing Giraffe now?”
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to read Singing Giraffe to twins with Chris.
I asked you who your Comfortopher is, and you said you wanted the DILF dude, so here he is. Time to make your metaphorical ovaries explode.
Welcome to Summerland!🏝️
Summerland is part of an emotive project Mari and I started alllll the way back during Rockstar era, and it's finally seeing the light of day. It's the "happiness" installment of the collection, so I'm legally obligated to put a cw here:
CAUTION: DISGUSTING AMOUNTS OF TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF AHEAD!
Bring out your polaroid cameras and enjoy this wholesome journey that has no other purpose than giving you the warm and fuzzies. Let me know what you think! ^^
P.S: Missha is my goddaughter, and she is as unamused irl as she is in the story.
➥ Idiots in Love, Secret (Mutual) Crush, Fluffy Sexy
➥ Contains: Just down bad Bartender!Chris railing you flat on a pool table after hours because my brain is R O T T I N G, a somewhat cute twist on the overused porn trope "I don't have money, how about I suck your dick?"
➥ You challenge the stupid hot bartender to a game of pool to get out of paying the gigantic bill your entourage racked up.
*a/n: Just one of the 971003 fics you will surely see about these pictures. And y'all are bad frens for not telling me about them as soon as they were out.
“Come ON, man! It’s Chae’s birthday, and we’ve been your regulars since THE DAY you opened this place!” you protest vehemently, pointing at your very inebriated group of friends waiting for their Ubers out front.
“And thank you for your continued patronage,” Chris responds flatly. “Was there a point?”
“I may or may not have said I’d pick up the tab as a birthday gift,” you grimace, then bat your eyelashes at him like a cartoon bunny. “Can’t tonight be on you just this once?”
“You want me to gift you a night for thirty people?” he snorts. “You guys dried out my entire inventory!”
“It’s good manners, and you haven’t even wished her a happy birthday,” you fake a pout.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHAEEE~!” Chris yells towards the entrance with a big smile, and she waves back at him with childlike joy, making hearts with her hands. He then looks back at you with murderous intent, sliding the bill across the counter like he wants gambling debts to be paid off. “Manners went out the window when you decided to trash my bar. In addition to your friends’ sailor drinking, you’ll be paying for the damages.”
“IT SAYS I OWE YOU LIKE TWO GRAND HERE, WHAT THE FUCK?!” you scream when you see the grand total of four digits.
“The pinball machine is broken, the toilet is overflowing, the wall needs to be plastered and repainted because your frat-ass himbos poked holes all over it with the missed darts, the darts weren’t the only things they couldn’t aim, AND they emptied the entire condom machine in the restroom,” he cites all the charges against you. “You’re lucky I’m not getting your house foreclosed.”
“Ugh, FINE, can I at least split it into four cards?”
“Can’t. The POS terminal doesn’t work.”
“I’ll pay you tomorrow then.”
“Oh, you’re not fucking going anywhere without paying me,” he sternly denies your motion.
“Where am I gonna find this much cash at this hour?!”
You look outside and watch your dear, dear friends wave you goodbye with dumb smiles as they get into their Ubers. As Chris wholesomely smiles at them all, the pool table at the back of the now-empty bar steals your attention.
“I’ll play you for it,” you propose.
“‘Scuse me?”
“I’ll play you for the damages,” you lean into the counter. “One hand. If I win, you clear the tab.”
“And when I win, you’ll still owe me money,” he scoffs. “What do I get out of this?”
“I don’t know, figure something out!” you raise your voice. “Just make it doable.”
You make it too easy for him sometimes. Chris bites his smile to keep the mask intact and declares his bet.
“Fine,” he crosses his arms against his chest. “You lose, you flash me.”
“Flash y— What?”
“You flash me,” he repeats. “Doable enough, yeah?”
“You can’t be serious,” you look at him blankly.
“I didn’t ask to fondle your tits. I just wanna look,” he says seriously, but is clearly trying to suppress a smirk. “All your friends saw it when you were playing truth or dare. Why shouldn’t the guy who served you the entire night?”
“Fine,” you grit your teeth as you extend your hand, shaking his like you want to break it rather than make an agreement.
Ultra content with your end of the bargain, Chris locks the front door and turns the sign on it to ‘Closed’ while you rack up the table. Ever the gentleman, he lets you go first and only lasts two turns before he starts dissing your skills.
“There is no way you’re gonna win like this, just saying,” he reaches for the chalk. “You’re making a few crucial mistakes.”
“Yeah, Cue-ristopher? ENLIGHTEN me, please,” you deride.
Chris takes that to mean ‘Legit give me a tutorial on how to properly play pool’. He gets behind you and practically hugs you, moving your arms like a puppeteer.
Meanwhile, you’re trying to think of ways to not die.
Not only is this the first time you’re alone together with the unofficial Chrome Hearts ambassador, but you have never stood in a proximity from each other that’s not at least a bar counter’s length apart. Now add the fact that you would suck this man’s soul out of him if you ever got him alone. Which is… right now… kinda sorta…
Fucking crazy he still hasn’t figured out why you’re forcing your entourage to hang out at that bar every goddamn night.
“See how the ball is too close to the pocket?” he points at your target. “If your bridge is this short, you’ll hit with too much force and send the cue ball right into the pocket. Longer bridge, slower speed, more control, yeah?” He then checks your grip and adjusts your posture. “Relax your wrist. Arm 90 degrees to the table. Don’t hold the very end of the cue.”
He holds your hand and slowly slides it a few inches up. You know you’re reading too much into this, but the way he moves is too reminiscent of… something else.
“Move up…” he softly instructs into your ear, “right here.”
HOW ABOUT HE MOVES UP RIGHT INSIDE YOUR PUSSY, THOUGH?!
“Now your front hand,” he leans forward and places his hand on yours. “Hook your index finger over the shaft.”
Is he picking these words on purpose, like…?! Since when is pool filled with innuendo for terminology? And more importantly, why is his body a million degrees behind you? Why is he taking deep breaths?
Is this a preview of what it would feel like to feel his body weight on you?
“That’s right,” he approves and gives you your final order. “Now hit that.”
You hit with remarkable accuracy, sending the cue ball to the very edge of the pocket, but it doesn’t fall into it. You can’t care less. You’re trying to brainstorm more ways to feel Chris closer. It’s going to look super tacky if you just said, “Fine, I quit,” right now and flash him, especially right after he’s shown you how to hit like a sniper. Will he think you’re just trying to get out of paying if you made a move on him right now? Will it make you look easy? Does he even find you attractive, or is the “Try this cocktail I’m experimenting with” thing something he does for a lot of people?
In the middle of your spiral, you feel a whisper in your ear, and it’s so soft that it makes you shudder. Nevertheless, you can swear you felt a little throb on your hips just now as he quietly speaks the words with a huge grin.
“Good girl.”
AAAND you snap.
You slowly turn around, resting the butt of the cue on the floor, and lean against the table. Your eyes narrow as if to scan him because something doesn’t make sense here.
“All the things you could ask from me, yet you asked me to flash you,” you recount the terms of your bet. “Why?”
“Can’t a man just want to enjoy a good view?” he retorts.
“He can,” you acknowledge, “but you’re an ass man.”
“How would you know?”
“When I’m by the bar, you never slip no matter how much of a low cut I wear, but you always check me out when I leave the stool,” you touché the crap out of him. “So spill.”
He feels so busted, breaking into a big smile as he averts his eyes from you. Now that it’s out in the open, he sees no harm in being more direct. He rests his hands on the table on either side of you and cages you under him.
“Maybe I was building up to something else,” he responds.
“Why not just go ahead and ask to fuck me then?”
“And you would agree?”
“If you can persuade me.”
He looks down at your chest and lightly brushes the back of his fingers from your exposed collarbone down to your cleavage. You gasp when you suddenly find yourself in the air in his arms, and he makes you sit on the table. He hooks his fingers into the belt hoops of your jeans and pulls you a bit closer, slowly undoing the button.
“So if I just… got on my knees for you right now,” he drags the zipper down, “gave you a nice, sloppy head…”
He slips a hand inside, gently caressing your soaked folds with two fingers. Then he removes them and spreads his fingers apart, licking his lips at the sight of the slick between them. You can’t help how thickly you gulp when he looks right into your soul as he licks them clean.
“...would that be persuasive enough to let me fuck you on this table?”
“What a freak,” you chuckle. “First time getting physical, and you want a threesome with the table?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he tsks. “It’ll be awkward between me and the table tomorrow since we work together.”
You burst into laughter, and he joins you. You feel like you can breathe again, but it’s short-lived. When the laughter dies down, the air immediately starts thickening again.
“You know,” you pull him closer from his collar, “your experimental cocktails have too much pineapple juice in them.”
“If you don’t like it, then stop drinking them,” he counters.
“Then stop feeding them to me.”
“Then stop accepting it.”
“Then stop acting like you’re not trying to get me to taste better,” you hold up his damp fingers. “Did it work, at least?”
“That’s a myth. I figured if you bought into it, you would start associating me with cum,” he replies with a smirk. “You taste so fucking delicious as it is, I should make a cocktail out of you.”
Yeah, you throb between your legs a little bit, and what about it?
“So if I just… paid a one-off service fee instead,” you slide your hands down his chest, “can we just call it even?”
“Just so you know, gratuity is not included,” he informs you before he leans in for a kiss.
His lips are impossibly soft, moving within yours with such a memorized rhythm as if you’ve already been kissing each other for years. His hands move to peel your pants off of you, and he drags them down to your ankles, spreading your legs while kneeling before you. You don’t get a heads-up before he dives right in, hands wrapped around your thighs as he drags his tongue all over your slick folds.
You can’t believe you have actually manifested your most frequented wank session material into existence.
“There is no way you’re gonna make me cum like this, just saying,” you lie your ass off for the sake of snark. “You’re making a few crucial mistakes.”
“Enlighten me, please,” he slurps into your entrance.
“Get your fingers wet,” you instruct him as you spread your lips. “Then wrap your lips around my clit.”
He follows your orders to perfection, and you move his hand towards your entrance.
“Now hit that,” you urge him.
And man, does he hit.
It has nothing to do with pace. Chris doesn’t rush. He sticks his tongue out, relaxes it, and presses it against your clit, moving his head in a circular motion and occasionally closing his mouth on your pussy. His middle and ring fingers keep working you as he eats, stimulating a delicious spot inside you in an almost languid rhythm. Yet it works so well that the slick you’re oozing is dripping down his wrist.
“Don’t–Don’t stop…” you moan, your eyes rolling back. You need something to grab onto and squeeze, but there’s nothing around you other than him. “So wet, god, Chris, you’re fucking killing me…”
He chuckles into your pussy so softly that something shoots up from your crotch and hits the ceiling of your head. When he notices how your legs shake, he starts moaning into you more, quiet but deep, and it sounds so lewd as if you’re the one satisfying him. You hold his head in place and ride his tongue, trying your hardest not to go insane while listening to his sounds of pleasure, and when he starts slurping on your clit, you snap.
Chris doesn’t remember ever witnessing something so obscene and so beautiful in the same breath.
He gets back up on his feet, and you almost lose your mind seeing half his face covered with you. He seems proud of it. He seems like he wants a reward for it. A kiss, a compliment, a flash of your tits…
He unbuckles his belt and takes his cock out, his tip flushed dark pink with how hard he is. It’s so mouthwatering that your hands move on instinct to feel him, tracing the bulging veins with your thumb.
“Any mistakes here I need to be aware of?” he asks, aligning himself with your entrance.
“Just hit that,” you hold onto his shoulders with a fucked out smile.
A deep groan rips from his throat as he disappears into you. You lick your palm, reaching under to cup his balls, and he starts smiling to himself with his eyes closed like he’s getting high. His girth makes you feel so full, and your mind goes more blank with every thrust, unable to form a single thought. Before it becomes a full white space inside your head, your end of the bargain knocks on the door of your consciousness, and you peel your top off, pressing your breasts together while pinching your nipples a little bit. His face contorts at the sight, and he leans in to suck on them, his pace suddenly turning erratic.
“Lie down for me, beautiful, I’m gonna cum on them,” he requests. “Play with those for me, yeah?”
You lie on your back and get your fingers wet, looking right into his eyes as you rub your nipples. He feels incredible being buried deep inside you, all swollen and wet for him, but the way he makes your tits bounce just makes him wanna hit that harder.
“Oh, fuck, you’re so hot. Yeah, like that. Like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cum so hard for you, baby, clench. Clench harder. Harder, yes. Yes. FUCK!”
The warm, thick strings of his seed land on your breasts, and it feels so strangely satisfying. You smear it all over your skin like your bespoke moisturizer, and even though he’s just cum, Chris loses it a little bit. You hold onto his hands and pull yourself up, kissing him through his faded euphoria.
“For your information, I was just trying to be a gentleman,” he holds your face, “I’m also a tits man.”
“You don’t say,” you narrow your eyes, joining his silly giggles, and as you put your clothes back on, your phone goes off with a notification.
Chaerry Blossom
say thank you to chris again for the gift <3 he’s the best
also hit that already before someone else does smh
“Um… Efren Reyes, yes, hello,” you snap your fingers in front of Chris’ face. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“About what?”
“What does Chae mean with ‘gift’?” you show him the screen.
Chris reads the text, then fashions a response template for you. “Tell her I said, ‘Anytime, and happy birthday’.” He buttons his pants back on and fixes your hair. “The mention of hitting that is up to you, but if you do, a five-star review of my performance would be appreciated.”
“What are you saying?” you furrow your brows.
“Oh, come on, it was her birthday today. Wouldn’t be good manners to take money,” he explains with the most vexing smile. “Consider it a gift from me.”
“So… we didn’t have to do this shit at all,” you purse your lips, brows knit so tightly with the realization of being hustled that a valley forms between them. “In very camp porn fashion, you were already planning to fuck me for the tab.”
“I never opened a tab for you guys tonight.”
Your mouth parts open, and all that comes out for a while is ceaseless stammering. What does he mean he didn’t open a tab? What does he mean consider it a gift from him?
“What the heck was that whole production then?!” you eventually yell at his face.
“Wanted to shoot my shot. I was prepared for you to cuss me out, and if that happened, I was just gonna say I was messing with you,” Chris shrugs. “Which, I technically was.”
“You freaked me out just for the LOLs?”
“I freaked you out for a chance to finally get you alone so I can ask you out,” he confesses.
Your flabbers are gasted, your dumbs are founded, and your thunders are struck. You don’t know what to say to him for a while, much less when you realize some things you’ve been carrying around for the longest time might not have been one-sided at all.
“We’re… literally here every night,” you state the obvious.
“Yet every night you come in together with your friends, too busy chatting it up at your booth, then leave together,” he gives an executive summary of your nightly routine. “Even when you guys go to the restroom, you move in flocks, like what’s up with that?”
“We’re not rampant alcoholics, dumbo. Why would we hang out here every night?” you emphasize once again.
Chris takes a moment to process your words, then his dimples start to deepen. It’s like a yawn effect—every time you see him smile, you inadvertently smile, too.
“Well, at least we were able to test how sturdy the pool table is,” you caress the green surface, then look at him with a smirk that’s up to no good. “Wanna go test how sturdy my bed is?”
“I can tell you the results up front; it’s so failing the test,” he melts into your lips again.
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Chris hit that.
genre: dungeons and dragons au | pairing: paladin!chris x f!reader | wc: 4.6k-ish | warnings: sexual explicit content, mentions of death, depictions of violence, religious themes, ptsd struggles
Summary: Four months is a long time without your best friend especially one who is out on an a risky expedition, but you've managed. You have your apothecary shop and his letters to keep you company. But when he stumbles through your door one afternoon, you both are reminded that life is indeed finite.
a/n: the biggest thank you to my dearest friend @abiaswreck for beta reading and keeping me motivated to finish this piece <3
Hollow Roots; a two-story shop planted between Eilean's Maztican Delights and Sharkroar - Harth Shalark's Broadsheets in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. Vines crawled up the stone chimney that sat in the middle of the front and flowered shrubs of various colors lined the exterior to create a separation between the other two shops. A large window sat on the right with the name etched into the glass in gold script. The interior was filled with plants, shelf to shelf with different greenery, flowers, herbs with some hanging and some in pots. Behind the wooden counter was a large built-in shelf stocked with colored glass bottles that were filled with different salves, potions and elixirs; not only was Hollow Roots a plant shop, it doubled as an apothecary. Toward the back was a set of wooden stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. Near the front was a crackling fireplace with a cauldron sitting on a trivet used for crafting remedies. Two worn armchairs sat facing the flickering flames. There were a few small tears in the deep red fabric, but nothing a needle and thread could fix. And rugs. There were rugs everywhere: in front of the door, under the armchairs, in front of the counter, behind the counter. Circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. Everywhere.
But it was cozy.
It was a home.
And it was yours.
The evening sun set on the horizon, casting a beautiful painting over the ocean waves of the Sea of Swords. You were scribbling in your ledger, making sure today’s numbers were indeed correct. Your assistant Mayrina, a small elven woman with bright green eyes, left an hour ago after helping with the stock. Herbs and various flowers were now hanging on drying racks or wrapped and stored in the cupboard below the counter. You sign off today’s page with your initials and date on the yellowing page with a smile on your lips, then stick the quill back into the inkpot. You were rather excited as you’ve finally got a hold of some devil’s claw bundles. It was used in supplements, lotions, and salves for anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving purposes, and you’ve been sold out of your stock for months. Your customers loved the stuff, and you were thankful when your supplier had some available.
You stuffed the ledger back into the drawer and began cleaning up the shop a little: rearranging bottles, sweeping the floors, wiping the counters. It was the usual routine after close until the tiny bell attached hanging above the door pulled your focus.
“We are closed—oh.” You peeked around one shelf with your broom in hand. A smile spread across your lips as you spotted the man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Christopher!”
He mirrored your smile when you said his name, only with two dimples carved out in his cheeks. His hair was shorter, much shorter, but still dark brown with the tiniest curl to it. He wore his silver armor with gold accents and had his helmet tucked under his left arm. He held up an empty glass container with a gloved hand that rattled when he moved. “Care to top me off? My apologies for not making it before closing. The temple has kept me busy.”
The Hall of Justice was located in the Castle Ward. It was a busy place, popular with many magistrates, watchmen, and bureaucrats. It was also the home of the Triad made up of the gods: Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm. You remember celebrating with Christopher and a few friends at the Swinging Sword tavern after his oath ceremony. He was finally a paladin. You remember him telling you about the dream he had as a boy. A figure with wings of gold visited his dreams and gave him a divine missive to set him on his path. He said he knew differed from the other children growing up, but after that night, he knew for certain.
The broom clattered to the floor as you rushed over to tackle him in a hug; his armor clanked as he stabilized you both from toppling to the floor. His laughter filled the room, and you swear tears flooded your waterline. You were insanely proud of him, but gods, you missed him. He spent four entire months on an expedition in the Neverwinter Wood. A large horde of gnolls, vicious hyena-human hybrids, was wreaking havoc on local villages to prove their loyalty to their demon lord Yeenoghu. You still have the letters he had sent you stuffed in the dresser drawer in the bedroom upstairs, but honestly no amount of ink could ease your worry. Christopher was your best friend, the literal angel to brighten your day.
You smashed your cheek against the cool steel, hoping it would calm you down, and it somewhat helped. “You’re not crying, are you, petal?” Christopher wouldn’t want you shedding tears over him, but too late.
“No!” you squeaked, then his chest shook when he chuckled again at your failed attempt to hide. You felt his arms wrap around you tighter.
“No more tears for little ol’ me, yes? Told you I’d make it back in one piece!” He beamed, those dimples digging impossibly deeper in his cheeks somehow. “Only at the cost of a few fingers and toes.”
You looked up at him, horrified, then shoved him away gently when he laughed. “Not funny!” You snatched the glass jar out of his hand as you headed back to the counter, slipping behind it as you wiped your cheeks. “I’m revoking my pineapple upside-down cake for a year!”
His jaw dropped as he approached the counter. He shed his gloves. “No! You wouldn’t!” A small smile spread across your lips as you filled the small container with his salve. A comfrey mixture that smelled like lavender and wintergreen that he used for his muscle pain.
“Look, my fingers are very much intact.” He drummed them on the counter that you approached with the sealed container wrapped with wax paper and a small rope.
“And toes?”
He laughed softly. “And toes.”
“When did you arrive? From your last letter, I would’ve assumed at least another week.”
“We took care of the problem quicker than we thought. No easy feat either...” He cleared his throat. “But nevermind that. I got in two nights ago. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep, and have been rather unsuccessful.”
Your heart broke. Christopher was the most selfless man you knew and would give anything to protect the people, even at the cost of his own well being. Behind those eyes held a pain, a heaviness, and a duty that he was born into. It ran through his very veins: the aasimar blood. These beings were descended from celestials or angels to protect the common folk.
You picked up a small pouch that sat on a small rack on the left side of the counter. “Some chamomile tea to help you sleep.” You dropped into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He’ll protect everyone, but you’ll protect him. Even if it was from himself.
“Thank you.” He said, placing a hand over your own and squeezing. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin. You felt the slightest frown pull at the corner of your mouth as he pulled away, leaving your skin feeling cold. “I should head back to the temple to get some rest. I just wanted to see you first.” He collected his gauntlets and the tea and tucked them inside his helm. “I’ve missed you, petal.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite stew.”
After Hollow Roots closed for the evening, you spent the late afternoon upstairs preparing dinner: a nice brisket stew served in a homemade bread bowl. Flour coated the small table and your hands as you kneaded the dough for a few minutes before plopping it in a bowl. You hummed to yourself as you covered it with a damp towel and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen counter. The entire room smelled savory and smoky from the giant pot on the stove that simmered on low heat. Another hour went by, and you were pulling out some bowls from the cupboard when you heard a knock on the door. You smiled as you headed downstairs quickly, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. When you opened the door, you found Christopher with his dimpled cheeks, holding something behind his back. He looked much more relaxed than yesterday in his casual blue tunic and brown pants. “Hello, petal.” He presented a small bouquet from behind his back. You beamed, graciously accepting the flowers immediately and inhaling the fragrant petals. They were some of your favorites all wrapped into one: roses, daisies, baby’s breath, even sunflowers and some greenery accents.
“Thank you, Christopher. You really didn’t have to.”
“Too late. I will say though, it was nearly impossible to find flowers prettier than you.” He cooed as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. You rolled your eyes playfully, then led him upstairs.
“The stew is in the pot and the bread is on the table. Help yourself!” You headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass vase in the cupboard then to the sink to cut the stems. “Oh! And don’t you think I forgot about dessert! I made your favorite.”
“You spoil me.” He chuckled as he dished out some stew into a wooden bowl. “And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.” He set it on the table with a soft thud and took his seat. You laughed and served yourself before sitting across from him. He closed his eyes in prayer, whispering his thanks in his head before digging in. Conversation between the both of you flowed naturally as it usually does between old friends. You talked about your shop while he talked about the temple. He asked about Hyunjin, a childhood friend of his who was out visiting family in the High Forest. He owned Oddinary Tomes in the North Ward district on Saerdoun Street. The bowls had been empty for a while now, and the loaf was three quarters gone. You had brought out the cake and cut him a slice, then wrapped the rest up for him to take home later. You were currently telling him some ridiculous gossip that you heard in the market the other day, but honestly? He drifted off.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you. Yet the more he saw of you, the more he feared losing you. His petal. His pretty petal. He blinked once, then twice to find you again with a content look on your face. He adjusted in the chair that squeaked slightly, but it felt loud in his ears, almost echoing in the room. The scraping of wood reminded him of that village and gods, the screaming, the fires, the clang of steel against steel, against flesh. Mouthfuls of flesh from innocent victims muffled the growls from the knolls. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was back there. He could smell the blood; the metallic taste kissed his tongue as he lay in the dirt.
Because his mouth was full of it.
“Christopher.” A voice spoke. Your voice, so soft and kind as always. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in your home, panting with a racing heart. Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.” The chair he was sitting on knocked back behind him, and the cake he ate knocked onto the floor along with the silverware. His golden eyes slowly simmered down to reveal eyes filled with terror and tears.
He couldn’t even form the words before they caught in his throat with a sob. You pulled him into the biggest hug you could muster, and he complied, returning the sentiment tenfold. He cradled the back of your head like fine china and pressed so many kisses to your temple that you thought his lips would leave an imprint. You whispered gentle affirmations in his ear to calm him down. You held him for a long time before pulling back and wiping his wet cheeks. He grabbed your hand before you could pull it away and pressed it to his skin. He pressed his lips to your warm palm. It soothed his soul and made your heart flutter again. You offered that kind smile and sad eyes when you truly saw the man underneath that armor: the one who carries so much. A man who cleans wounds before his own. A man who is exhausted and afraid. Your Christopher. In his panic, wings sprouted from his back: white with a faint glow to them. They were a gift with his aasimar blood to boost his radiant strikes and give him flight when he was in need. However, these wings were in a state of... disarray. Although his wings come from his divine magic, they are still very much real and beautiful when kept up with. They lasted around an hour, though. “Let’s sit, yeah?”
You guided him to the bed tucked in the corner that was hidden behind a folded divider, and he sat with a heavy sigh. He slumped over with his head in his hands while you rubbed his back. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“No,” he said and grabbed your wrist when you took a step away. “No tea. Please. Just stay with me.” His gaze was full of desperation and panic.
He didn’t have to ask twice when you sat next to him. He kept hold of your hand. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened in Neverwinter. I thought I could just move past it like I’ve done before, but...” You felt the tremble in his hands. “.. um,” he swallowed thickly and looked at you with tears streaking down his cheek. “I’m here.” You reminded him, and he squeezed your hand in response.
“I was helping a family out of a burning house. There was a little girl with her mother and her son. They were covered in ash, dirt and blood. Their mother had passed out from the smoke and suffered serious injuries. She had lacerations on her stomach. Those two children were trying to help her up, but they were just so little.” He swallowed. “I found them though, used the last ounce of divine magic I had in me and healed her wounds. I got them out, and Brother Kai escorted them to the camp we had nearby for survivors.” A few more tears tracked down his cheeks, and he looked down at your intertwined hands.
“Two gnolls ambushed me.” He recalled the sickening squeal of the spear being lodged in his stomach from behind. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They stabbed me.” Then his crunch of his shoulder as his bones shattered from the gnoll's jaws as it bit down on him. His screams echoed in his mind as he fell into the dirt, into a pool of his own blood, as well as the yips and barks of the gnolls above him, their teeth full of his own flesh. He had always imagined what death felt like: like a warm hug from your mother, floating away in the river under the moon, or just a snap and it’s over. Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes; others say a bright light washes over them, but for him?
He remembered when he first met you.
He was still in training at the temple. It was a cloudy day, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was still a few miles out before it let loose over the city. After a taxing sparring session in the yard with Brother Leon, he washed up then headed to the market. From his trouser pocket, he fished out that scrap of paper. He squinted to read the messy handwriting. He had stopped at Oddinary Tomes a few days prior. Christopher’s shoulder had been bothering him again. He pulled it in training awhile ago, and ever since then it has had the occasional flare-up. Usually, he’d just ignored it, but it was getting to be a bit much, and no holy magic he weld could ease pain; it only healed flesh wounds. Hyunjin was in a rush with customers that afternoon, and honestly tired of him ignoring that damn shoulder. He quickly scrawled down a name and shooed him out.
After an entire minute of piecing together the chicken scratch, he found his way to Hollow Roots. The bell that chimed was charming. Mayrina greeted him first with a soft smile and offered to assist him. You were helping another customer, wrapping up a wooden box of some kind. “My left shoulder is in constant pain. I’ve tried icing it and a hot compress, but nothing works.” He explained to Mayrina, but he didn’t know that you had hired her only a couple of weeks ago. She was still learning.
You wandered over to help a minute later with the prettiest smile he has ever seen, and those eyes of yours were sparkling in the candlelight. “Muscle pain?” You clarified, and he nodded because he couldn’t speak. You had his stomach in knots already, and he had only known you for a full minute.
“Lucky for you, I just got a shipment of devil’s claw in this morning. Perfect for muscle pain and a very nice anti-inflammatory...” You rambled on about the properties of the plant, and he found himself smiling. You blushed when you stopped yourself, or was it because you saw those adorable dimples?
As he bled out in the dirt, he feared he would never know.
“The moon looked so beautiful that night. And the stars. But gods, how could they even compare to you, petal?” He held your hand to his lips and spoke into your skin. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to see you at that moment. To hear your laugh, to see your smile, to smell your perfume, to tell you how much you mean to me.” Tears spilled over your cheeks as you listened to him. “To tell you how much I love you, and to know that I wouldn’t have the chance to...?” He looked up at you with red eyes. “I thought I died that night, petal. I didn’t remember much after I woke up a few days later back in the temple in Waterdeep. Jeongin, the cleric who was caring for me, informed me that just before I passed out from blood loss, I mustered up enough strength to cast a death ward on myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and even laughed pathetically. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s like Tyr himself gave me enough strength to push through, to survive and make it home. To you. I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday. I should’ve told you the truth...” You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You pulled him into your arms and cried into the nape of his neck. The softness of his feathers tickled the tips of your fingers. He almost died.
Died.
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe. You’re home now.” You whispered.
To think that there would have been a chance you would have never seen him again horrified you. To never hear that accented voice, the cheesy jokes he makes, see the feathered wings, the curly hair, the golden eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs, and those gods damned dimples dug into that olive skin. He almost died, and yet, he was here, baring his soul to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, with your noses brushing. His warm breath washed over your lips, so close, yet so far away. You were looking into those eyes again, the same ones that flickered down to your lips for a second before closing that gap.
Warm plush lips that you had dreamed about moved with yours like a waltz: smooth, soft, delicate. Then, his large hands traveled downwards, closer. His body was hard; hills and valleys of muscles felt even under the cotton of his tunic. His hands were greedy, but you were greedier. Fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, and you gasped against his mouth when you felt that jagged scar of skin. The stab wound. “It’s okay.” He whispered into your mouth.
With his permission, you pushed up his shirt and tossed it away. It stole your breath seeing it in the flesh. The red line arced over the adonis line. Your fingers traced it, then drifted up his torso. He sucked in a small breath at the chilliness of your touch, and tears gathered in your eyes when you ran your hand over the wound on his shoulder. You met his eyes when he placed his hand on yours, then moved it to his heart. It beat wildly in his chest, thundering like a raging storm. You gently pushed him back on your bed, and he took you with him; his white wings stretched out on either side. You started with his lips first, already addicted to their softness and the taste of his tongue. A shiver ran through you when a small whimper fell from his lips when you broke apart and began your descent. His cheeks, his nose, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his scar; you worshipped each place with a kiss. You smiled against his skin when you heard the flutter of his wings and felt the hardness of him through his trousers.
He sat up abruptly and crashed his mouth into yours. No more waiting, no more time lost, he needed you.
Now.
“Please, petal.” He pleaded against your lips, voice low as your hands fumbled to free is cock. “Let me have you.”
In any other circumstance, you would’ve teased him. Have him aching with need until his sanity nearly breaks. Instead, you cave as his calloused hands push up your gown until it gathered at your waist, and when he sinks into you for the first time, he swore he saw Tyr himself. You felt perfect: so warm, so tight, like you were made just for him.
Your hips shifted to ride him lazily, mind blank as you enjoyed every inch of his cock sinking impossibly deep inside of you. Christopher could only watch in awe. A goddess in the flesh, with beautiful lips letting out unholy moans that curl his toes.
Despite the way your walls hugged his cock, it wasn’t enough. Chris needed to feel all of your skin pressed against his. Both hands shifted up, tearing through into the threads of your corset which was laced in the front. The mess of fabric was tossed away with the rest of your clothes.
Now stripped, he pushed you off of him, pinning you to the bed. His wings stretched out and flapped once as he crawled up your body with his mouth. You were completely surrounded by feathers. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when he slipped back in, and he silenced yours with his lips. He pushed your knee to your chest, and you felt him even deeper. A moan ripped from your lips, and your hands found his shoulders first, then his plumage in the center of his back. The down feathers were the softest. You felt him twitch inside you as soon as your fingers intertwined with them. He moaned into your neck. Loudly.
Oh.
“Fuck, that feels so fucking good..!”
Oh.
Your fingers moved higher and deeper into the down, and he practically whimpered into your neck. His wings shook. “N-No! Enough, enough..!” He grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He smirked down at you with blown out eyes. The gold was barely even there. “Gotta get you there first, petal.” He kissed you so sweetly, and it gave you whiplash when he took your other knee and pinned it to your chest. You felt his cock so deep inside you that you thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears. How in all the nine hells can he switch up so fast?
You clenched around him tightly, so close to the edge as he kept up that brutal pace. His name fell on your lips in a desperate whine, begging for release. He slowed the roll of his hips and released the hold on your legs to sneak a hand down to rub fast circles against your clit. “That’s it. Cum for me, petal. You look so beautiful.” His velvety words, his calloused fingers, and that cock of his had you jumping off that cliff and into the crashing waves. He leaned back down to kiss you through it while still hitting the spongy spot inside you.
Typical Christopher.
Always taking care of others first.
Meanwhile, your hand sneaked back into his down feathers, and he crumbled within seconds. Already at the edge, his wings quivered as he filled you, and you kept him there by wrapping your legs around his waist. He panted against your chest, then nosed your damp neck that’s covered in bruises, and all he thought of was… finally. Finally, he could love you openly.
An hour drifted by in comfortable silence and his wings had faded away, leaving traces of feathers spouted on his back and shoulders. Christopher could just be Christopher for a while. All thoughts of his expedition, anxieties, and traumas were buried for the moment. Your fingers had found his curls that carefully ran through them. He was fighting for his life to keep his eyes open, but there was one more thing you wanted to do first. “Christopher?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers. At least the new sprouts on your back.”
He smiled sleepily then rolled off of you onto his stomach, but not before giving you a kiss of appreciation first. “Please do. They are quite.. itchy. Been meaning to preen them entirely, but..”
“I understand.” You finished and pulled on a nightgown from your dresser, then crawled back into the messy bed. Christopher buried half his face in a pillow with his arms underneath it, waiting patiently. Your fingers begin the gentle task of twirling the keratin capsules to break them open to release the baby feathers. You also remove a few loose ones as well. A relaxed sigh fell from his lips as he allowed his eyes to finally close.
“Feels good, I take it?”
“Very. It’s like an itch that’s finally been scratched.”
You smiled softly. “Remember when you took me flying for the first time?”
“And you wore those cute little goggles.” He chuckled.
“I wanted to see the town below without my eyes watering.”
“No judgement. It was a smart move. I’d love to take you again. Perhaps during sunset when the sea is the prettiest.”
“It’s a date.”
You continue to work quietly for a few more minutes. You then slipped into the washroom to grab a small jar of coconut oil to rub over the feathers to keep them moisturized. When you returned, you laughed quietly to yourself when you heard the little snores coming from the aasimar in your bed. You carefully sat back in bed, then applied the oil before capping the jar, then laid down next to him. In that moment, your heart was the fullest it had ever been in the longest time. You reached out for the last time that night and ran your fingers through his curls and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you too, Christopher.”
Please reblog, comment, or send me an ask! I'd love to know your thoughts!
genre: dungeons and dragons au | pairing: paladin!chris x f!reader | wc: 4.6k-ish | warnings: sexual explicit content, mentions of death, depictions of violence, religious themes, ptsd struggles
Summary: Four months is a long time without your best friend especially one who is out on an a risky expedition, but you've managed. You have your apothecary shop and his letters to keep you company. But when he stumbles through your door one afternoon, you both are reminded that life is indeed finite.
a/n: the biggest thank you to my dearest friend @abiaswreck for beta reading and keeping me motivated to finish this piece <3
Hollow Roots; a two-story shop planted between Eilean's Maztican Delights and Sharkroar - Harth Shalark's Broadsheets in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. Vines crawled up the stone chimney that sat in the middle of the front and flowered shrubs of various colors lined the exterior to create a separation between the other two shops. A large window sat on the right with the name etched into the glass in gold script. The interior was filled with plants, shelf to shelf with different greenery, flowers, herbs with some hanging and some in pots. Behind the wooden counter was a large built-in shelf stocked with colored glass bottles that were filled with different salves, potions and elixirs; not only was Hollow Roots a plant shop, it doubled as an apothecary. Toward the back was a set of wooden stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. Near the front was a crackling fireplace with a cauldron sitting on a trivet used for crafting remedies. Two worn armchairs sat facing the flickering flames. There were a few small tears in the deep red fabric, but nothing a needle and thread could fix. And rugs. There were rugs everywhere: in front of the door, under the armchairs, in front of the counter, behind the counter. Circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. Everywhere.
But it was cozy.
It was a home.
And it was yours.
The evening sun set on the horizon, casting a beautiful painting over the ocean waves of the Sea of Swords. You were scribbling in your ledger, making sure today’s numbers were indeed correct. Your assistant Mayrina, a small elven woman with bright green eyes, left an hour ago after helping with the stock. Herbs and various flowers were now hanging on drying racks or wrapped and stored in the cupboard below the counter. You sign off today’s page with your initials and date on the yellowing page with a smile on your lips, then stick the quill back into the inkpot. You were rather excited as you’ve finally got a hold of some devil’s claw bundles. It was used in supplements, lotions, and salves for anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving purposes, and you’ve been sold out of your stock for months. Your customers loved the stuff, and you were thankful when your supplier had some available.
You stuffed the ledger back into the drawer and began cleaning up the shop a little: rearranging bottles, sweeping the floors, wiping the counters. It was the usual routine after close until the tiny bell attached hanging above the door pulled your focus.
“We are closed—oh.” You peeked around one shelf with your broom in hand. A smile spread across your lips as you spotted the man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Christopher!”
He mirrored your smile when you said his name, only with two dimples carved out in his cheeks. His hair was shorter, much shorter, but still dark brown with the tiniest curl to it. He wore his silver armor with gold accents and had his helmet tucked under his left arm. He held up an empty glass container with a gloved hand that rattled when he moved. “Care to top me off? My apologies for not making it before closing. The temple has kept me busy.”
The Hall of Justice was located in the Castle Ward. It was a busy place, popular with many magistrates, watchmen, and bureaucrats. It was also the home of the Triad made up of the gods: Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm. You remember celebrating with Christopher and a few friends at the Swinging Sword tavern after his oath ceremony. He was finally a paladin. You remember him telling you about the dream he had as a boy. A figure with wings of gold visited his dreams and gave him a divine missive to set him on his path. He said he knew differed from the other children growing up, but after that night, he knew for certain.
The broom clattered to the floor as you rushed over to tackle him in a hug; his armor clanked as he stabilized you both from toppling to the floor. His laughter filled the room, and you swear tears flooded your waterline. You were insanely proud of him, but gods, you missed him. He spent four entire months on an expedition in the Neverwinter Wood. A large horde of gnolls, vicious hyena-human hybrids, was wreaking havoc on local villages to prove their loyalty to their demon lord Yeenoghu. You still have the letters he had sent you stuffed in the dresser drawer in the bedroom upstairs, but honestly no amount of ink could ease your worry. Christopher was your best friend, the literal angel to brighten your day.
You smashed your cheek against the cool steel, hoping it would calm you down, and it somewhat helped. “You’re not crying, are you, petal?” Christopher wouldn’t want you shedding tears over him, but too late.
“No!” you squeaked, then his chest shook when he chuckled again at your failed attempt to hide. You felt his arms wrap around you tighter.
“No more tears for little ol’ me, yes? Told you I’d make it back in one piece!” He beamed, those dimples digging impossibly deeper in his cheeks somehow. “Only at the cost of a few fingers and toes.”
You looked up at him, horrified, then shoved him away gently when he laughed. “Not funny!” You snatched the glass jar out of his hand as you headed back to the counter, slipping behind it as you wiped your cheeks. “I’m revoking my pineapple upside-down cake for a year!”
His jaw dropped as he approached the counter. He shed his gloves. “No! You wouldn’t!” A small smile spread across your lips as you filled the small container with his salve. A comfrey mixture that smelled like lavender and wintergreen that he used for his muscle pain.
“Look, my fingers are very much intact.” He drummed them on the counter that you approached with the sealed container wrapped with wax paper and a small rope.
“And toes?”
He laughed softly. “And toes.”
“When did you arrive? From your last letter, I would’ve assumed at least another week.”
“We took care of the problem quicker than we thought. No easy feat either...” He cleared his throat. “But nevermind that. I got in two nights ago. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep, and have been rather unsuccessful.”
Your heart broke. Christopher was the most selfless man you knew and would give anything to protect the people, even at the cost of his own well being. Behind those eyes held a pain, a heaviness, and a duty that he was born into. It ran through his very veins: the aasimar blood. These beings were descended from celestials or angels to protect the common folk.
You picked up a small pouch that sat on a small rack on the left side of the counter. “Some chamomile tea to help you sleep.” You dropped into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He’ll protect everyone, but you’ll protect him. Even if it was from himself.
“Thank you.” He said, placing a hand over your own and squeezing. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin. You felt the slightest frown pull at the corner of your mouth as he pulled away, leaving your skin feeling cold. “I should head back to the temple to get some rest. I just wanted to see you first.” He collected his gauntlets and the tea and tucked them inside his helm. “I’ve missed you, petal.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite stew.”
After Hollow Roots closed for the evening, you spent the late afternoon upstairs preparing dinner: a nice brisket stew served in a homemade bread bowl. Flour coated the small table and your hands as you kneaded the dough for a few minutes before plopping it in a bowl. You hummed to yourself as you covered it with a damp towel and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen counter. The entire room smelled savory and smoky from the giant pot on the stove that simmered on low heat. Another hour went by, and you were pulling out some bowls from the cupboard when you heard a knock on the door. You smiled as you headed downstairs quickly, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. When you opened the door, you found Christopher with his dimpled cheeks, holding something behind his back. He looked much more relaxed than yesterday in his casual blue tunic and brown pants. “Hello, petal.” He presented a small bouquet from behind his back. You beamed, graciously accepting the flowers immediately and inhaling the fragrant petals. They were some of your favorites all wrapped into one: roses, daisies, baby’s breath, even sunflowers and some greenery accents.
“Thank you, Christopher. You really didn’t have to.”
“Too late. I will say though, it was nearly impossible to find flowers prettier than you.” He cooed as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. You rolled your eyes playfully, then led him upstairs.
“The stew is in the pot and the bread is on the table. Help yourself!” You headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass vase in the cupboard then to the sink to cut the stems. “Oh! And don’t you think I forgot about dessert! I made your favorite.”
“You spoil me.” He chuckled as he dished out some stew into a wooden bowl. “And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.” He set it on the table with a soft thud and took his seat. You laughed and served yourself before sitting across from him. He closed his eyes in prayer, whispering his thanks in his head before digging in. Conversation between the both of you flowed naturally as it usually does between old friends. You talked about your shop while he talked about the temple. He asked about Hyunjin, a childhood friend of his who was out visiting family in the High Forest. He owned Oddinary Tomes in the North Ward district on Saerdoun Street. The bowls had been empty for a while now, and the loaf was three quarters gone. You had brought out the cake and cut him a slice, then wrapped the rest up for him to take home later. You were currently telling him some ridiculous gossip that you heard in the market the other day, but honestly? He drifted off.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you. Yet the more he saw of you, the more he feared losing you. His petal. His pretty petal. He blinked once, then twice to find you again with a content look on your face. He adjusted in the chair that squeaked slightly, but it felt loud in his ears, almost echoing in the room. The scraping of wood reminded him of that village and gods, the screaming, the fires, the clang of steel against steel, against flesh. Mouthfuls of flesh from innocent victims muffled the growls from the knolls. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was back there. He could smell the blood; the metallic taste kissed his tongue as he lay in the dirt.
Because his mouth was full of it.
“Christopher.” A voice spoke. Your voice, so soft and kind as always. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in your home, panting with a racing heart. Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.” The chair he was sitting on knocked back behind him, and the cake he ate knocked onto the floor along with the silverware. His golden eyes slowly simmered down to reveal eyes filled with terror and tears.
He couldn’t even form the words before they caught in his throat with a sob. You pulled him into the biggest hug you could muster, and he complied, returning the sentiment tenfold. He cradled the back of your head like fine china and pressed so many kisses to your temple that you thought his lips would leave an imprint. You whispered gentle affirmations in his ear to calm him down. You held him for a long time before pulling back and wiping his wet cheeks. He grabbed your hand before you could pull it away and pressed it to his skin. He pressed his lips to your warm palm. It soothed his soul and made your heart flutter again. You offered that kind smile and sad eyes when you truly saw the man underneath that armor: the one who carries so much. A man who cleans wounds before his own. A man who is exhausted and afraid. Your Christopher. In his panic, wings sprouted from his back: white with a faint glow to them. They were a gift with his aasimar blood to boost his radiant strikes and give him flight when he was in need. However, these wings were in a state of... disarray. Although his wings come from his divine magic, they are still very much real and beautiful when kept up with. They lasted around an hour, though. “Let’s sit, yeah?”
You guided him to the bed tucked in the corner that was hidden behind a folded divider, and he sat with a heavy sigh. He slumped over with his head in his hands while you rubbed his back. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“No,” he said and grabbed your wrist when you took a step away. “No tea. Please. Just stay with me.” His gaze was full of desperation and panic.
He didn’t have to ask twice when you sat next to him. He kept hold of your hand. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened in Neverwinter. I thought I could just move past it like I’ve done before, but...” You felt the tremble in his hands. “.. um,” he swallowed thickly and looked at you with tears streaking down his cheek. “I’m here.” You reminded him, and he squeezed your hand in response.
“I was helping a family out of a burning house. There was a little girl with her mother and her son. They were covered in ash, dirt and blood. Their mother had passed out from the smoke and suffered serious injuries. She had lacerations on her stomach. Those two children were trying to help her up, but they were just so little.” He swallowed. “I found them though, used the last ounce of divine magic I had in me and healed her wounds. I got them out, and Brother Kai escorted them to the camp we had nearby for survivors.” A few more tears tracked down his cheeks, and he looked down at your intertwined hands.
“Two gnolls ambushed me.” He recalled the sickening squeal of the spear being lodged in his stomach from behind. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They stabbed me.” Then his crunch of his shoulder as his bones shattered from the gnoll's jaws as it bit down on him. His screams echoed in his mind as he fell into the dirt, into a pool of his own blood, as well as the yips and barks of the gnolls above him, their teeth full of his own flesh. He had always imagined what death felt like: like a warm hug from your mother, floating away in the river under the moon, or just a snap and it’s over. Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes; others say a bright light washes over them, but for him?
He remembered when he first met you.
He was still in training at the temple. It was a cloudy day, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was still a few miles out before it let loose over the city. After a taxing sparring session in the yard with Brother Leon, he washed up then headed to the market. From his trouser pocket, he fished out that scrap of paper. He squinted to read the messy handwriting. He had stopped at Oddinary Tomes a few days prior. Christopher’s shoulder had been bothering him again. He pulled it in training awhile ago, and ever since then it has had the occasional flare-up. Usually, he’d just ignored it, but it was getting to be a bit much, and no holy magic he weld could ease pain; it only healed flesh wounds. Hyunjin was in a rush with customers that afternoon, and honestly tired of him ignoring that damn shoulder. He quickly scrawled down a name and shooed him out.
After an entire minute of piecing together the chicken scratch, he found his way to Hollow Roots. The bell that chimed was charming. Mayrina greeted him first with a soft smile and offered to assist him. You were helping another customer, wrapping up a wooden box of some kind. “My left shoulder is in constant pain. I’ve tried icing it and a hot compress, but nothing works.” He explained to Mayrina, but he didn’t know that you had hired her only a couple of weeks ago. She was still learning.
You wandered over to help a minute later with the prettiest smile he has ever seen, and those eyes of yours were sparkling in the candlelight. “Muscle pain?” You clarified, and he nodded because he couldn’t speak. You had his stomach in knots already, and he had only known you for a full minute.
“Lucky for you, I just got a shipment of devil’s claw in this morning. Perfect for muscle pain and a very nice anti-inflammatory...” You rambled on about the properties of the plant, and he found himself smiling. You blushed when you stopped yourself, or was it because you saw those adorable dimples?
As he bled out in the dirt, he feared he would never know.
“The moon looked so beautiful that night. And the stars. But gods, how could they even compare to you, petal?” He held your hand to his lips and spoke into your skin. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to see you at that moment. To hear your laugh, to see your smile, to smell your perfume, to tell you how much you mean to me.” Tears spilled over your cheeks as you listened to him. “To tell you how much I love you, and to know that I wouldn’t have the chance to...?” He looked up at you with red eyes. “I thought I died that night, petal. I didn’t remember much after I woke up a few days later back in the temple in Waterdeep. Jeongin, the cleric who was caring for me, informed me that just before I passed out from blood loss, I mustered up enough strength to cast a death ward on myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and even laughed pathetically. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s like Tyr himself gave me enough strength to push through, to survive and make it home. To you. I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday. I should’ve told you the truth...” You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You pulled him into your arms and cried into the nape of his neck. The softness of his feathers tickled the tips of your fingers. He almost died.
Died.
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe. You’re home now.” You whispered.
To think that there would have been a chance you would have never seen him again horrified you. To never hear that accented voice, the cheesy jokes he makes, see the feathered wings, the curly hair, the golden eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs, and those gods damned dimples dug into that olive skin. He almost died, and yet, he was here, baring his soul to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, with your noses brushing. His warm breath washed over your lips, so close, yet so far away. You were looking into those eyes again, the same ones that flickered down to your lips for a second before closing that gap.
Warm plush lips that you had dreamed about moved with yours like a waltz: smooth, soft, delicate. Then, his large hands traveled downwards, closer. His body was hard; hills and valleys of muscles felt even under the cotton of his tunic. His hands were greedy, but you were greedier. Fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, and you gasped against his mouth when you felt that jagged scar of skin. The stab wound. “It’s okay.” He whispered into your mouth.
With his permission, you pushed up his shirt and tossed it away. It stole your breath seeing it in the flesh. The red line arced over the adonis line. Your fingers traced it, then drifted up his torso. He sucked in a small breath at the chilliness of your touch, and tears gathered in your eyes when you ran your hand over the wound on his shoulder. You met his eyes when he placed his hand on yours, then moved it to his heart. It beat wildly in his chest, thundering like a raging storm. You gently pushed him back on your bed, and he took you with him; his white wings stretched out on either side. You started with his lips first, already addicted to their softness and the taste of his tongue. A shiver ran through you when a small whimper fell from his lips when you broke apart and began your descent. His cheeks, his nose, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his scar; you worshipped each place with a kiss. You smiled against his skin when you heard the flutter of his wings and felt the hardness of him through his trousers.
He sat up abruptly and crashed his mouth into yours. No more waiting, no more time lost, he needed you.
Now.
“Please, petal.” He pleaded against your lips, voice low as your hands fumbled to free is cock. “Let me have you.”
In any other circumstance, you would’ve teased him. Have him aching with need until his sanity nearly breaks. Instead, you cave as his calloused hands push up your gown until it gathered at your waist, and when he sinks into you for the first time, he swore he saw Tyr himself. You felt perfect: so warm, so tight, like you were made just for him.
Your hips shifted to ride him lazily, mind blank as you enjoyed every inch of his cock sinking impossibly deep inside of you. Christopher could only watch in awe. A goddess in the flesh, with beautiful lips letting out unholy moans that curl his toes.
Despite the way your walls hugged his cock, it wasn’t enough. Chris needed to feel all of your skin pressed against his. Both hands shifted up, tearing through into the threads of your corset which was laced in the front. The mess of fabric was tossed away with the rest of your clothes.
Now stripped, he pushed you off of him, pinning you to the bed. His wings stretched out and flapped once as he crawled up your body with his mouth. You were completely surrounded by feathers. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when he slipped back in, and he silenced yours with his lips. He pushed your knee to your chest, and you felt him even deeper. A moan ripped from your lips, and your hands found his shoulders first, then his plumage in the center of his back. The down feathers were the softest. You felt him twitch inside you as soon as your fingers intertwined with them. He moaned into your neck. Loudly.
Oh.
“Fuck, that feels so fucking good..!”
Oh.
Your fingers moved higher and deeper into the down, and he practically whimpered into your neck. His wings shook. “N-No! Enough, enough..!” He grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He smirked down at you with blown out eyes. The gold was barely even there. “Gotta get you there first, petal.” He kissed you so sweetly, and it gave you whiplash when he took your other knee and pinned it to your chest. You felt his cock so deep inside you that you thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears. How in all the nine hells can he switch up so fast?
You clenched around him tightly, so close to the edge as he kept up that brutal pace. His name fell on your lips in a desperate whine, begging for release. He slowed the roll of his hips and released the hold on your legs to sneak a hand down to rub fast circles against your clit. “That’s it. Cum for me, petal. You look so beautiful.” His velvety words, his calloused fingers, and that cock of his had you jumping off that cliff and into the crashing waves. He leaned back down to kiss you through it while still hitting the spongy spot inside you.
Typical Christopher.
Always taking care of others first.
Meanwhile, your hand sneaked back into his down feathers, and he crumbled within seconds. Already at the edge, his wings quivered as he filled you, and you kept him there by wrapping your legs around his waist. He panted against your chest, then nosed your damp neck that’s covered in bruises, and all he thought of was… finally. Finally, he could love you openly.
An hour drifted by in comfortable silence and his wings had faded away, leaving traces of feathers spouted on his back and shoulders. Christopher could just be Christopher for a while. All thoughts of his expedition, anxieties, and traumas were buried for the moment. Your fingers had found his curls that carefully ran through them. He was fighting for his life to keep his eyes open, but there was one more thing you wanted to do first. “Christopher?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers. At least the new sprouts on your back.”
He smiled sleepily then rolled off of you onto his stomach, but not before giving you a kiss of appreciation first. “Please do. They are quite.. itchy. Been meaning to preen them entirely, but..”
“I understand.” You finished and pulled on a nightgown from your dresser, then crawled back into the messy bed. Christopher buried half his face in a pillow with his arms underneath it, waiting patiently. Your fingers begin the gentle task of twirling the keratin capsules to break them open to release the baby feathers. You also remove a few loose ones as well. A relaxed sigh fell from his lips as he allowed his eyes to finally close.
“Feels good, I take it?”
“Very. It’s like an itch that’s finally been scratched.”
You smiled softly. “Remember when you took me flying for the first time?”
“And you wore those cute little goggles.” He chuckled.
“I wanted to see the town below without my eyes watering.”
“No judgement. It was a smart move. I’d love to take you again. Perhaps during sunset when the sea is the prettiest.”
“It’s a date.”
You continue to work quietly for a few more minutes. You then slipped into the washroom to grab a small jar of coconut oil to rub over the feathers to keep them moisturized. When you returned, you laughed quietly to yourself when you heard the little snores coming from the aasimar in your bed. You carefully sat back in bed, then applied the oil before capping the jar, then laid down next to him. In that moment, your heart was the fullest it had ever been in the longest time. You reached out for the last time that night and rang your fingers through his curls and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you too, Christopher.”
Please reblog, comment, or send me an ask! I'd love to know your thoughts!
genre: dungeons and dragons au | pairing: paladin!chris x f!reader | wc: 4.6k-ish | warnings: sexual explicit content, mentions of death, depictions of violence, religious themes, ptsd struggles
Summary: Four months is a long time without your best friend especially one who is out on an a risky expedition, but you've managed. You have your apothecary shop and his letters to keep you company. But when he stumbles through your door one afternoon, you both are reminded that life is indeed finite.
a/n: the biggest thank you to my dearest friend @abiaswreck for beta reading and keeping me motivated to finish this piece <3
Hollow Roots; a two-story shop planted between Eilean's Maztican Delights and Sharkroar - Harth Shalark's Broadsheets in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. Vines crawled up the stone chimney that sat in the middle of the front and flowered shrubs of various colors lined the exterior to create a separation between the other two shops. A large window sat on the right with the name etched into the glass in gold script. The interior was filled with plants, shelf to shelf with different greenery, flowers, herbs with some hanging and some in pots. Behind the wooden counter was a large built-in shelf stocked with colored glass bottles that were filled with different salves, potions and elixirs; not only was Hollow Roots a plant shop, it doubled as an apothecary. Toward the back was a set of wooden stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. Near the front was a crackling fireplace with a cauldron sitting on a trivet used for crafting remedies. Two worn armchairs sat facing the flickering flames. There were a few small tears in the deep red fabric, but nothing a needle and thread could fix. And rugs. There were rugs everywhere: in front of the door, under the armchairs, in front of the counter, behind the counter. Circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. Everywhere.
But it was cozy.
It was a home.
And it was yours.
The evening sun set on the horizon, casting a beautiful painting over the ocean waves of the Sea of Swords. You were scribbling in your ledger, making sure today’s numbers were indeed correct. Your assistant Mayrina, a small elven woman with bright green eyes, left an hour ago after helping with the stock. Herbs and various flowers were now hanging on drying racks or wrapped and stored in the cupboard below the counter. You sign off today’s page with your initials and date on the yellowing page with a smile on your lips, then stick the quill back into the inkpot. You were rather excited as you’ve finally got a hold of some devil’s claw bundles. It was used in supplements, lotions, and salves for anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving purposes, and you’ve been sold out of your stock for months. Your customers loved the stuff, and you were thankful when your supplier had some available.
You stuffed the ledger back into the drawer and began cleaning up the shop a little: rearranging bottles, sweeping the floors, wiping the counters. It was the usual routine after close until the tiny bell attached hanging above the door pulled your focus.
“We are closed—oh.” You peeked around one shelf with your broom in hand. A smile spread across your lips as you spotted the man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Christopher!”
He mirrored your smile when you said his name, only with two dimples carved out in his cheeks. His hair was shorter, much shorter, but still dark brown with the tiniest curl to it. He wore his silver armor with gold accents and had his helmet tucked under his left arm. He held up an empty glass container with a gloved hand that rattled when he moved. “Care to top me off? My apologies for not making it before closing. The temple has kept me busy.”
The Hall of Justice was located in the Castle Ward. It was a busy place, popular with many magistrates, watchmen, and bureaucrats. It was also the home of the Triad made up of the gods: Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm. You remember celebrating with Christopher and a few friends at the Swinging Sword tavern after his oath ceremony. He was finally a paladin. You remember him telling you about the dream he had as a boy. A figure with wings of gold visited his dreams and gave him a divine missive to set him on his path. He said he knew differed from the other children growing up, but after that night, he knew for certain.
The broom clattered to the floor as you rushed over to tackle him in a hug; his armor clanked as he stabilized you both from toppling to the floor. His laughter filled the room, and you swear tears flooded your waterline. You were insanely proud of him, but gods, you missed him. He spent four entire months on an expedition in the Neverwinter Wood. A large horde of gnolls, vicious hyena-human hybrids, was wreaking havoc on local villages to prove their loyalty to their demon lord Yeenoghu. You still have the letters he had sent you stuffed in the dresser drawer in the bedroom upstairs, but honestly no amount of ink could ease your worry. Christopher was your best friend, the literal angel to brighten your day.
You smashed your cheek against the cool steel, hoping it would calm you down, and it somewhat helped. “You’re not crying, are you, petal?” Christopher wouldn’t want you shedding tears over him, but too late.
“No!” you squeaked, then his chest shook when he chuckled again at your failed attempt to hide. You felt his arms wrap around you tighter.
“No more tears for little ol’ me, yes? Told you I’d make it back in one piece!” He beamed, those dimples digging impossibly deeper in his cheeks somehow. “Only at the cost of a few fingers and toes.”
You looked up at him, horrified, then shoved him away gently when he laughed. “Not funny!” You snatched the glass jar out of his hand as you headed back to the counter, slipping behind it as you wiped your cheeks. “I’m revoking my pineapple upside-down cake for a year!”
His jaw dropped as he approached the counter. He shed his gloves. “No! You wouldn’t!” A small smile spread across your lips as you filled the small container with his salve. A comfrey mixture that smelled like lavender and wintergreen that he used for his muscle pain.
“Look, my fingers are very much intact.” He drummed them on the counter that you approached with the sealed container wrapped with wax paper and a small rope.
“And toes?”
He laughed softly. “And toes.”
“When did you arrive? From your last letter, I would’ve assumed at least another week.”
“We took care of the problem quicker than we thought. No easy feat either...” He cleared his throat. “But nevermind that. I got in two nights ago. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep, and have been rather unsuccessful.”
Your heart broke. Christopher was the most selfless man you knew and would give anything to protect the people, even at the cost of his own well being. Behind those eyes held a pain, a heaviness, and a duty that he was born into. It ran through his very veins: the aasimar blood. These beings were descended from celestials or angels to protect the common folk.
You picked up a small pouch that sat on a small rack on the left side of the counter. “Some chamomile tea to help you sleep.” You dropped into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He’ll protect everyone, but you’ll protect him. Even if it was from himself.
“Thank you.” He said, placing a hand over your own and squeezing. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin. You felt the slightest frown pull at the corner of your mouth as he pulled away, leaving your skin feeling cold. “I should head back to the temple to get some rest. I just wanted to see you first.” He collected his gauntlets and the tea and tucked them inside his helm. “I’ve missed you, petal.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite stew.”
After Hollow Roots closed for the evening, you spent the late afternoon upstairs preparing dinner: a nice brisket stew served in a homemade bread bowl. Flour coated the small table and your hands as you kneaded the dough for a few minutes before plopping it in a bowl. You hummed to yourself as you covered it with a damp towel and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen counter. The entire room smelled savory and smoky from the giant pot on the stove that simmered on low heat. Another hour went by, and you were pulling out some bowls from the cupboard when you heard a knock on the door. You smiled as you headed downstairs quickly, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. When you opened the door, you found Christopher with his dimpled cheeks, holding something behind his back. He looked much more relaxed than yesterday in his casual blue tunic and brown pants. “Hello, petal.” He presented a small bouquet from behind his back. You beamed, graciously accepting the flowers immediately and inhaling the fragrant petals. They were some of your favorites all wrapped into one: roses, daisies, baby’s breath, even sunflowers and some greenery accents.
“Thank you, Christopher. You really didn’t have to.”
“Too late. I will say though, it was nearly impossible to find flowers prettier than you.” He cooed as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. You rolled your eyes playfully, then led him upstairs.
“The stew is in the pot and the bread is on the table. Help yourself!” You headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass vase in the cupboard then to the sink to cut the stems. “Oh! And don’t you think I forgot about dessert! I made your favorite.”
“You spoil me.” He chuckled as he dished out some stew into a wooden bowl. “And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.” He set it on the table with a soft thud and took his seat. You laughed and served yourself before sitting across from him. He closed his eyes in prayer, whispering his thanks in his head before digging in. Conversation between the both of you flowed naturally as it usually does between old friends. You talked about your shop while he talked about the temple. He asked about Hyunjin, a childhood friend of his who was out visiting family in the High Forest. He owned Oddinary Tomes in the North Ward district on Saerdoun Street. The bowls had been empty for a while now, and the loaf was three quarters gone. You had brought out the cake and cut him a slice, then wrapped the rest up for him to take home later. You were currently telling him some ridiculous gossip that you heard in the market the other day, but honestly? He drifted off.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you. Yet the more he saw of you, the more he feared losing you. His petal. His pretty petal. He blinked once, then twice to find you again with a content look on your face. He adjusted in the chair that squeaked slightly, but it felt loud in his ears, almost echoing in the room. The scraping of wood reminded him of that village and gods, the screaming, the fires, the clang of steel against steel, against flesh. Mouthfuls of flesh from innocent victims muffled the growls from the knolls. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was back there. He could smell the blood; the metallic taste kissed his tongue as he lay in the dirt.
Because his mouth was full of it.
“Christopher.” A voice spoke. Your voice, so soft and kind as always. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in your home, panting with a racing heart. Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.” The chair he was sitting on knocked back behind him, and the cake he ate knocked onto the floor along with the silverware. His golden eyes slowly simmered down to reveal eyes filled with terror and tears.
He couldn’t even form the words before they caught in his throat with a sob. You pulled him into the biggest hug you could muster, and he complied, returning the sentiment tenfold. He cradled the back of your head like fine china and pressed so many kisses to your temple that you thought his lips would leave an imprint. You whispered gentle affirmations in his ear to calm him down. You held him for a long time before pulling back and wiping his wet cheeks. He grabbed your hand before you could pull it away and pressed it to his skin. He pressed his lips to your warm palm. It soothed his soul and made your heart flutter again. You offered that kind smile and sad eyes when you truly saw the man underneath that armor: the one who carries so much. A man who cleans wounds before his own. A man who is exhausted and afraid. Your Christopher. In his panic, wings sprouted from his back: white with a faint glow to them. They were a gift with his aasimar blood to boost his radiant strikes and give him flight when he was in need. However, these wings were in a state of... disarray. Although his wings come from his divine magic, they are still very much real and beautiful when kept up with. They lasted around an hour, though. “Let’s sit, yeah?”
You guided him to the bed tucked in the corner that was hidden behind a folded divider, and he sat with a heavy sigh. He slumped over with his head in his hands while you rubbed his back. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“No,” he said and grabbed your wrist when you took a step away. “No tea. Please. Just stay with me.” His gaze was full of desperation and panic.
He didn’t have to ask twice when you sat next to him. He kept hold of your hand. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened in Neverwinter. I thought I could just move past it like I’ve done before, but...” You felt the tremble in his hands. “.. um,” he swallowed thickly and looked at you with tears streaking down his cheek. “I’m here.” You reminded him, and he squeezed your hand in response.
“I was helping a family out of a burning house. There was a little girl with her mother and her son. They were covered in ash, dirt and blood. Their mother had passed out from the smoke and suffered serious injuries. She had lacerations on her stomach. Those two children were trying to help her up, but they were just so little.” He swallowed. “I found them though, used the last ounce of divine magic I had in me and healed her wounds. I got them out, and Brother Kai escorted them to the camp we had nearby for survivors.” A few more tears tracked down his cheeks, and he looked down at your intertwined hands.
“Two gnolls ambushed me.” He recalled the sickening squeal of the spear being lodged in his stomach from behind. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They stabbed me.” Then his crunch of his shoulder as his bones shattered from the gnoll's jaws as it bit down on him. His screams echoed in his mind as he fell into the dirt, into a pool of his own blood, as well as the yips and barks of the gnolls above him, their teeth full of his own flesh. He had always imagined what death felt like: like a warm hug from your mother, floating away in the river under the moon, or just a snap and it’s over. Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes; others say a bright light washes over them, but for him?
He remembered when he first met you.
He was still in training at the temple. It was a cloudy day, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was still a few miles out before it let loose over the city. After a taxing sparring session in the yard with Brother Leon, he washed up then headed to the market. From his trouser pocket, he fished out that scrap of paper. He squinted to read the messy handwriting. He had stopped at Oddinary Tomes a few days prior. Christopher’s shoulder had been bothering him again. He pulled it in training awhile ago, and ever since then it has had the occasional flare-up. Usually, he’d just ignored it, but it was getting to be a bit much, and no holy magic he weld could ease pain; it only healed flesh wounds. Hyunjin was in a rush with customers that afternoon, and honestly tired of him ignoring that damn shoulder. He quickly scrawled down a name and shooed him out.
After an entire minute of piecing together the chicken scratch, he found his way to Hollow Roots. The bell that chimed was charming. Mayrina greeted him first with a soft smile and offered to assist him. You were helping another customer, wrapping up a wooden box of some kind. “My left shoulder is in constant pain. I’ve tried icing it and a hot compress, but nothing works.” He explained to Mayrina, but he didn’t know that you had hired her only a couple of weeks ago. She was still learning.
You wandered over to help a minute later with the prettiest smile he has ever seen, and those eyes of yours were sparkling in the candlelight. “Muscle pain?” You clarified, and he nodded because he couldn’t speak. You had his stomach in knots already, and he had only known you for a full minute.
“Lucky for you, I just got a shipment of devil’s claw in this morning. Perfect for muscle pain and a very nice anti-inflammatory...” You rambled on about the properties of the plant, and he found himself smiling. You blushed when you stopped yourself, or was it because you saw those adorable dimples?
As he bled out in the dirt, he feared he would never know.
“The moon looked so beautiful that night. And the stars. But gods, how could they even compare to you, petal?” He held your hand to his lips and spoke into your skin. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to see you at that moment. To hear your laugh, to see your smile, to smell your perfume, to tell you how much you mean to me.” Tears spilled over your cheeks as you listened to him. “To tell you how much I love you, and to know that I wouldn’t have the chance to...?” He looked up at you with red eyes. “I thought I died that night, petal. I didn’t remember much after I woke up a few days later back in the temple in Waterdeep. Jeongin, the cleric who was caring for me, informed me that just before I passed out from blood loss, I mustered up enough strength to cast a death ward on myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and even laughed pathetically. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s like Tyr himself gave me enough strength to push through, to survive and make it home. To you. I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday. I should’ve told you the truth...” You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You pulled him into your arms and cried into the nape of his neck. The softness of his feathers tickled the tips of your fingers. He almost died.
Died.
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe. You’re home now.” You whispered.
To think that there would have been a chance you would have never seen him again horrified you. To never hear that accented voice, the cheesy jokes he makes, see the feathered wings, the curly hair, the golden eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs, and those gods damned dimples dug into that olive skin. He almost died, and yet, he was here, baring his soul to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, with your noses brushing. His warm breath washed over your lips, so close, yet so far away. You were looking into those eyes again, the same ones that flickered down to your lips for a second before closing that gap.
Warm plush lips that you had dreamed about moved with yours like a waltz: smooth, soft, delicate. Then, his large hands traveled downwards, closer. His body was hard; hills and valleys of muscles felt even under the cotton of his tunic. His hands were greedy, but you were greedier. Fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, and you gasped against his mouth when you felt that jagged scar of skin. The stab wound. “It’s okay.” He whispered into your mouth.
With his permission, you pushed up his shirt and tossed it away. It stole your breath seeing it in the flesh. The red line arced over the adonis line. Your fingers traced it, then drifted up his torso. He sucked in a small breath at the chilliness of your touch, and tears gathered in your eyes when you ran your hand over the wound on his shoulder. You met his eyes when he placed his hand on yours, then moved it to his heart. It beat wildly in his chest, thundering like a raging storm. You gently pushed him back on your bed, and he took you with him; his white wings stretched out on either side. You started with his lips first, already addicted to their softness and the taste of his tongue. A shiver ran through you when a small whimper fell from his lips when you broke apart and began your descent. His cheeks, his nose, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his scar; you worshipped each place with a kiss. You smiled against his skin when you heard the flutter of his wings and felt the hardness of him through his trousers.
He sat up abruptly and crashed his mouth into yours. No more waiting, no more time lost, he needed you.
Now.
“Please, petal.” He pleaded against your lips, voice low as your hands fumbled to free is cock. “Let me have you.”
In any other circumstance, you would’ve teased him. Have him aching with need until his sanity nearly breaks. Instead, you cave as his calloused hands push up your gown until it gathered at your waist, and when he sinks into you for the first time, he swore he saw Tyr himself. You felt perfect: so warm, so tight, like you were made just for him.
Your hips shifted to ride him lazily, mind blank as you enjoyed every inch of his cock sinking impossibly deep inside of you. Christopher could only watch in awe. A goddess in the flesh, with beautiful lips letting out unholy moans that curl his toes.
Despite the way your walls hugged his cock, it wasn’t enough. Chris needed to feel all of your skin pressed against his. Both hands shifted up, tearing through into the threads of your corset which was laced in the front. The mess of fabric was tossed away with the rest of your clothes.
Now stripped, he pushed you off of him, pinning you to the bed. His wings stretched out and flapped once as he crawled up your body with his mouth. You were completely surrounded by feathers. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when he slipped back in, and he silenced yours with his lips. He pushed your knee to your chest, and you felt him even deeper. A moan ripped from your lips, and your hands found his shoulders first, then his plumage in the center of his back. The down feathers were the softest. You felt him twitch inside you as soon as your fingers intertwined with them. He moaned into your neck. Loudly.
Oh.
“Fuck, that feels so fucking good..!”
Oh.
Your fingers moved higher and deeper into the down, and he practically whimpered into your neck. His wings shook. “N-No! Enough, enough..!” He grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He smirked down at you with blown out eyes. The gold was barely even there. “Gotta get you there first, petal.” He kissed you so sweetly, and it gave you whiplash when he took your other knee and pinned it to your chest. You felt his cock so deep inside you that you thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears. How in all the nine hells can he switch up so fast?
You clenched around him tightly, so close to the edge as he kept up that brutal pace. His name fell on your lips in a desperate whine, begging for release. He slowed the roll of his hips and released the hold on your legs to sneak a hand down to rub fast circles against your clit. “That’s it. Cum for me, petal. You look so beautiful.” His velvety words, his calloused fingers, and that cock of his had you jumping off that cliff and into the crashing waves. He leaned back down to kiss you through it while still hitting the spongy spot inside you.
Typical Christopher.
Always taking care of others first.
Meanwhile, your hand sneaked back into his down feathers, and he crumbled within seconds. Already at the edge, his wings quivered as he filled you, and you kept him there by wrapping your legs around his waist. He panted against your chest, then nosed your damp neck that’s covered in bruises, and all he thought of was… finally. Finally, he could love you openly.
An hour drifted by in comfortable silence and his wings had faded away, leaving traces of feathers spouted on his back and shoulders. Christopher could just be Christopher for a while. All thoughts of his expedition, anxieties, and traumas were buried for the moment. Your fingers had found his curls that carefully ran through them. He was fighting for his life to keep his eyes open, but there was one more thing you wanted to do first. “Christopher?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers. At least the new sprouts on your back.”
He smiled sleepily then rolled off of you onto his stomach, but not before giving you a kiss of appreciation first. “Please do. They are quite.. itchy. Been meaning to preen them entirely, but..”
“I understand.” You finished and pulled on a nightgown from your dresser, then crawled back into the messy bed. Christopher buried half his face in a pillow with his arms underneath it, waiting patiently. Your fingers begin the gentle task of twirling the keratin capsules to break them open to release the baby feathers. You also remove a few loose ones as well. A relaxed sigh fell from his lips as he allowed his eyes to finally close.
“Feels good, I take it?”
“Very. It’s like an itch that’s finally been scratched.”
You smiled softly. “Remember when you took me flying for the first time?”
“And you wore those cute little goggles.” He chuckled.
“I wanted to see the town below without my eyes watering.”
“No judgement. It was a smart move. I’d love to take you again. Perhaps during sunset when the sea is the prettiest.”
“It’s a date.”
You continue to work quietly for a few more minutes. You then slipped into the washroom to grab a small jar of coconut oil to rub over the feathers to keep them moisturized. When you returned, you laughed quietly to yourself when you heard the little snores coming from the aasimar in your bed. You carefully sat back in bed, then applied the oil before capping the jar, then laid down next to him. In that moment, your heart was the fullest it had ever been in the longest time. You reached out for the last time that night and rang your fingers through his curls and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you too, Christopher.”
Please reblog, comment, or send me an ask! I'd love to know your thoughts!
genre: dungeons and dragons au | pairing: paladin!chris x f!reader | wc: 4.6k-ish | warnings: sexual explicit content, mentions of death, depictions of violence, religious themes, ptsd struggles
Summary: Four months is a long time without your best friend especially one who is out on an a risky expedition, but you've managed. You have your apothecary shop and his letters to keep you company. But when he stumbles through your door one afternoon, you both are reminded that life is indeed finite.
a/n: the biggest thank you to my dearest friend @abiaswreck for beta reading and keeping me motivated to finish this piece <3
Hollow Roots; a two-story shop planted between Eilean's Maztican Delights and Sharkroar - Harth Shalark's Broadsheets in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. Vines crawled up the stone chimney that sat in the middle of the front and flowered shrubs of various colors lined the exterior to create a separation between the other two shops. A large window sat on the right with the name etched into the glass in gold script. The interior was filled with plants, shelf to shelf with different greenery, flowers, herbs with some hanging and some in pots. Behind the wooden counter was a large built-in shelf stocked with colored glass bottles that were filled with different salves, potions and elixirs; not only was Hollow Roots a plant shop, it doubled as an apothecary. Toward the back was a set of wooden stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. Near the front was a crackling fireplace with a cauldron sitting on a trivet used for crafting remedies. Two worn armchairs sat facing the flickering flames. There were a few small tears in the deep red fabric, but nothing a needle and thread could fix. And rugs. There were rugs everywhere: in front of the door, under the armchairs, in front of the counter, behind the counter. Circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. Everywhere.
But it was cozy.
It was a home.
And it was yours.
The evening sun set on the horizon, casting a beautiful painting over the ocean waves of the Sea of Swords. You were scribbling in your ledger, making sure today’s numbers were indeed correct. Your assistant Mayrina, a small elven woman with bright green eyes, left an hour ago after helping with the stock. Herbs and various flowers were now hanging on drying racks or wrapped and stored in the cupboard below the counter. You sign off today’s page with your initials and date on the yellowing page with a smile on your lips, then stick the quill back into the inkpot. You were rather excited as you’ve finally got a hold of some devil’s claw bundles. It was used in supplements, lotions, and salves for anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving purposes, and you’ve been sold out of your stock for months. Your customers loved the stuff, and you were thankful when your supplier had some available.
You stuffed the ledger back into the drawer and began cleaning up the shop a little: rearranging bottles, sweeping the floors, wiping the counters. It was the usual routine after close until the tiny bell attached hanging above the door pulled your focus.
“We are closed—oh.” You peeked around one shelf with your broom in hand. A smile spread across your lips as you spotted the man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Christopher!”
He mirrored your smile when you said his name, only with two dimples carved out in his cheeks. His hair was shorter, much shorter, but still dark brown with the tiniest curl to it. He wore his silver armor with gold accents and had his helmet tucked under his left arm. He held up an empty glass container with a gloved hand that rattled when he moved. “Care to top me off? My apologies for not making it before closing. The temple has kept me busy.”
The Hall of Justice was located in the Castle Ward. It was a busy place, popular with many magistrates, watchmen, and bureaucrats. It was also the home of the Triad made up of the gods: Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm. You remember celebrating with Christopher and a few friends at the Swinging Sword tavern after his oath ceremony. He was finally a paladin. You remember him telling you about the dream he had as a boy. A figure with wings of gold visited his dreams and gave him a divine missive to set him on his path. He said he knew differed from the other children growing up, but after that night, he knew for certain.
The broom clattered to the floor as you rushed over to tackle him in a hug; his armor clanked as he stabilized you both from toppling to the floor. His laughter filled the room, and you swear tears flooded your waterline. You were insanely proud of him, but gods, you missed him. He spent four entire months on an expedition in the Neverwinter Wood. A large horde of gnolls, vicious hyena-human hybrids, was wreaking havoc on local villages to prove their loyalty to their demon lord Yeenoghu. You still have the letters he had sent you stuffed in the dresser drawer in the bedroom upstairs, but honestly no amount of ink could ease your worry. Christopher was your best friend, the literal angel to brighten your day.
You smashed your cheek against the cool steel, hoping it would calm you down, and it somewhat helped. “You’re not crying, are you, petal?” Christopher wouldn’t want you shedding tears over him, but too late.
“No!” you squeaked, then his chest shook when he chuckled again at your failed attempt to hide. You felt his arms wrap around you tighter.
“No more tears for little ol’ me, yes? Told you I’d make it back in one piece!” He beamed, those dimples digging impossibly deeper in his cheeks somehow. “Only at the cost of a few fingers and toes.”
You looked up at him, horrified, then shoved him away gently when he laughed. “Not funny!” You snatched the glass jar out of his hand as you headed back to the counter, slipping behind it as you wiped your cheeks. “I’m revoking my pineapple upside-down cake for a year!”
His jaw dropped as he approached the counter. He shed his gloves. “No! You wouldn’t!” A small smile spread across your lips as you filled the small container with his salve. A comfrey mixture that smelled like lavender and wintergreen that he used for his muscle pain.
“Look, my fingers are very much intact.” He drummed them on the counter that you approached with the sealed container wrapped with wax paper and a small rope.
“And toes?”
He laughed softly. “And toes.”
“When did you arrive? From your last letter, I would’ve assumed at least another week.”
“We took care of the problem quicker than we thought. No easy feat either...” He cleared his throat. “But nevermind that. I got in two nights ago. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep, and have been rather unsuccessful.”
Your heart broke. Christopher was the most selfless man you knew and would give anything to protect the people, even at the cost of his own well being. Behind those eyes held a pain, a heaviness, and a duty that he was born into. It ran through his very veins: the aasimar blood. These beings were descended from celestials or angels to protect the common folk.
You picked up a small pouch that sat on a small rack on the left side of the counter. “Some chamomile tea to help you sleep.” You dropped into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He’ll protect everyone, but you’ll protect him. Even if it was from himself.
“Thank you.” He said, placing a hand over your own and squeezing. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin. You felt the slightest frown pull at the corner of your mouth as he pulled away, leaving your skin feeling cold. “I should head back to the temple to get some rest. I just wanted to see you first.” He collected his gauntlets and the tea and tucked them inside his helm. “I’ve missed you, petal.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite stew.”
After Hollow Roots closed for the evening, you spent the late afternoon upstairs preparing dinner: a nice brisket stew served in a homemade bread bowl. Flour coated the small table and your hands as you kneaded the dough for a few minutes before plopping it in a bowl. You hummed to yourself as you covered it with a damp towel and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen counter. The entire room smelled savory and smoky from the giant pot on the stove that simmered on low heat. Another hour went by, and you were pulling out some bowls from the cupboard when you heard a knock on the door. You smiled as you headed downstairs quickly, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. When you opened the door, you found Christopher with his dimpled cheeks, holding something behind his back. He looked much more relaxed than yesterday in his casual blue tunic and brown pants. “Hello, petal.” He presented a small bouquet from behind his back. You beamed, graciously accepting the flowers immediately and inhaling the fragrant petals. They were some of your favorites all wrapped into one: roses, daisies, baby’s breath, even sunflowers and some greenery accents.
“Thank you, Christopher. You really didn’t have to.”
“Too late. I will say though, it was nearly impossible to find flowers prettier than you.” He cooed as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. You rolled your eyes playfully, then led him upstairs.
“The stew is in the pot and the bread is on the table. Help yourself!” You headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass vase in the cupboard then to the sink to cut the stems. “Oh! And don’t you think I forgot about dessert! I made your favorite.”
“You spoil me.” He chuckled as he dished out some stew into a wooden bowl. “And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.” He set it on the table with a soft thud and took his seat. You laughed and served yourself before sitting across from him. He closed his eyes in prayer, whispering his thanks in his head before digging in. Conversation between the both of you flowed naturally as it usually does between old friends. You talked about your shop while he talked about the temple. He asked about Hyunjin, a childhood friend of his who was out visiting family in the High Forest. He owned Oddinary Tomes in the North Ward district on Saerdoun Street. The bowls had been empty for a while now, and the loaf was three quarters gone. You had brought out the cake and cut him a slice, then wrapped the rest up for him to take home later. You were currently telling him some ridiculous gossip that you heard in the market the other day, but honestly? He drifted off.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you. Yet the more he saw of you, the more he feared losing you. His petal. His pretty petal. He blinked once, then twice to find you again with a content look on your face. He adjusted in the chair that squeaked slightly, but it felt loud in his ears, almost echoing in the room. The scraping of wood reminded him of that village and gods, the screaming, the fires, the clang of steel against steel, against flesh. Mouthfuls of flesh from innocent victims muffled the growls from the knolls. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was back there. He could smell the blood; the metallic taste kissed his tongue as he lay in the dirt.
Because his mouth was full of it.
“Christopher.” A voice spoke. Your voice, so soft and kind as always. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in your home, panting with a racing heart. Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.” The chair he was sitting on knocked back behind him, and the cake he ate knocked onto the floor along with the silverware. His golden eyes slowly simmered down to reveal eyes filled with terror and tears.
He couldn’t even form the words before they caught in his throat with a sob. You pulled him into the biggest hug you could muster, and he complied, returning the sentiment tenfold. He cradled the back of your head like fine china and pressed so many kisses to your temple that you thought his lips would leave an imprint. You whispered gentle affirmations in his ear to calm him down. You held him for a long time before pulling back and wiping his wet cheeks. He grabbed your hand before you could pull it away and pressed it to his skin. He pressed his lips to your warm palm. It soothed his soul and made your heart flutter again. You offered that kind smile and sad eyes when you truly saw the man underneath that armor: the one who carries so much. A man who cleans wounds before his own. A man who is exhausted and afraid. Your Christopher. In his panic, wings sprouted from his back: white with a faint glow to them. They were a gift with his aasimar blood to boost his radiant strikes and give him flight when he was in need. However, these wings were in a state of... disarray. Although his wings come from his divine magic, they are still very much real and beautiful when kept up with. They lasted around an hour, though. “Let’s sit, yeah?”
You guided him to the bed tucked in the corner that was hidden behind a folded divider, and he sat with a heavy sigh. He slumped over with his head in his hands while you rubbed his back. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“No,” he said and grabbed your wrist when you took a step away. “No tea. Please. Just stay with me.” His gaze was full of desperation and panic.
He didn’t have to ask twice when you sat next to him. He kept hold of your hand. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened in Neverwinter. I thought I could just move past it like I’ve done before, but...” You felt the tremble in his hands. “.. um,” he swallowed thickly and looked at you with tears streaking down his cheek. “I’m here.” You reminded him, and he squeezed your hand in response.
“I was helping a family out of a burning house. There was a little girl with her mother and her son. They were covered in ash, dirt and blood. Their mother had passed out from the smoke and suffered serious injuries. She had lacerations on her stomach. Those two children were trying to help her up, but they were just so little.” He swallowed. “I found them though, used the last ounce of divine magic I had in me and healed her wounds. I got them out, and Brother Kai escorted them to the camp we had nearby for survivors.” A few more tears tracked down his cheeks, and he looked down at your intertwined hands.
“Two gnolls ambushed me.” He recalled the sickening squeal of the spear being lodged in his stomach from behind. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They stabbed me.” Then his crunch of his shoulder as his bones shattered from the gnoll's jaws as it bit down on him. His screams echoed in his mind as he fell into the dirt, into a pool of his own blood, as well as the yips and barks of the gnolls above him, their teeth full of his own flesh. He had always imagined what death felt like: like a warm hug from your mother, floating away in the river under the moon, or just a snap and it’s over. Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes; others say a bright light washes over them, but for him?
He remembered when he first met you.
He was still in training at the temple. It was a cloudy day, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was still a few miles out before it let loose over the city. After a taxing sparring session in the yard with Brother Leon, he washed up then headed to the market. From his trouser pocket, he fished out that scrap of paper. He squinted to read the messy handwriting. He had stopped at Oddinary Tomes a few days prior. Christopher’s shoulder had been bothering him again. He pulled it in training awhile ago, and ever since then it has had the occasional flare-up. Usually, he’d just ignored it, but it was getting to be a bit much, and no holy magic he weld could ease pain; it only healed flesh wounds. Hyunjin was in a rush with customers that afternoon, and honestly tired of him ignoring that damn shoulder. He quickly scrawled down a name and shooed him out.
After an entire minute of piecing together the chicken scratch, he found his way to Hollow Roots. The bell that chimed was charming. Mayrina greeted him first with a soft smile and offered to assist him. You were helping another customer, wrapping up a wooden box of some kind. “My left shoulder is in constant pain. I’ve tried icing it and a hot compress, but nothing works.” He explained to Mayrina, but he didn’t know that you had hired her only a couple of weeks ago. She was still learning.
You wandered over to help a minute later with the prettiest smile he has ever seen, and those eyes of yours were sparkling in the candlelight. “Muscle pain?” You clarified, and he nodded because he couldn’t speak. You had his stomach in knots already, and he had only known you for a full minute.
“Lucky for you, I just got a shipment of devil’s claw in this morning. Perfect for muscle pain and a very nice anti-inflammatory...” You rambled on about the properties of the plant, and he found himself smiling. You blushed when you stopped yourself, or was it because you saw those adorable dimples?
As he bled out in the dirt, he feared he would never know.
“The moon looked so beautiful that night. And the stars. But gods, how could they even compare to you, petal?” He held your hand to his lips and spoke into your skin. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to see you at that moment. To hear your laugh, to see your smile, to smell your perfume, to tell you how much you mean to me.” Tears spilled over your cheeks as you listened to him. “To tell you how much I love you, and to know that I wouldn’t have the chance to...?” He looked up at you with red eyes. “I thought I died that night, petal. I didn’t remember much after I woke up a few days later back in the temple in Waterdeep. Jeongin, the cleric who was caring for me, informed me that just before I passed out from blood loss, I mustered up enough strength to cast a death ward on myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and even laughed pathetically. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s like Tyr himself gave me enough strength to push through, to survive and make it home. To you. I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday. I should’ve told you the truth...” You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You pulled him into your arms and cried into the nape of his neck. The softness of his feathers tickled the tips of your fingers. He almost died.
Died.
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe. You’re home now.” You whispered.
To think that there would have been a chance you would have never seen him again horrified you. To never hear that accented voice, the cheesy jokes he makes, see the feathered wings, the curly hair, the golden eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs, and those gods damned dimples dug into that olive skin. He almost died, and yet, he was here, baring his soul to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, with your noses brushing. His warm breath washed over your lips, so close, yet so far away. You were looking into those eyes again, the same ones that flickered down to your lips for a second before closing that gap.
Warm plush lips that you had dreamed about moved with yours like a waltz: smooth, soft, delicate. Then, his large hands traveled downwards, closer. His body was hard; hills and valleys of muscles felt even under the cotton of his tunic. His hands were greedy, but you were greedier. Fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, and you gasped against his mouth when you felt that jagged scar of skin. The stab wound. “It’s okay.” He whispered into your mouth.
With his permission, you pushed up his shirt and tossed it away. It stole your breath seeing it in the flesh. The red line arced over the adonis line. Your fingers traced it, then drifted up his torso. He sucked in a small breath at the chilliness of your touch, and tears gathered in your eyes when you ran your hand over the wound on his shoulder. You met his eyes when he placed his hand on yours, then moved it to his heart. It beat wildly in his chest, thundering like a raging storm. You gently pushed him back on your bed, and he took you with him; his white wings stretched out on either side. You started with his lips first, already addicted to their softness and the taste of his tongue. A shiver ran through you when a small whimper fell from his lips when you broke apart and began your descent. His cheeks, his nose, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his scar; you worshipped each place with a kiss. You smiled against his skin when you heard the flutter of his wings and felt the hardness of him through his trousers.
He sat up abruptly and crashed his mouth into yours. No more waiting, no more time lost, he needed you.
Now.
“Please, petal.” He pleaded against your lips, voice low as your hands fumbled to free is cock. “Let me have you.”
In any other circumstance, you would’ve teased him. Have him aching with need until his sanity nearly breaks. Instead, you cave as his calloused hands push up your gown until it gathered at your waist, and when he sinks into you for the first time, he swore he saw Tyr himself. You felt perfect: so warm, so tight, like you were made just for him.
Your hips shifted to ride him lazily, mind blank as you enjoyed every inch of his cock sinking impossibly deep inside of you. Christopher could only watch in awe. A goddess in the flesh, with beautiful lips letting out unholy moans that curl his toes.
Despite the way your walls hugged his cock, it wasn’t enough. Chris needed to feel all of your skin pressed against his. Both hands shifted up, tearing through into the threads of your corset which was laced in the front. The mess of fabric was tossed away with the rest of your clothes.
Now stripped, he pushed you off of him, pinning you to the bed. His wings stretched out and flapped once as he crawled up your body with his mouth. You were completely surrounded by feathers. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when he slipped back in, and he silenced yours with his lips. He pushed your knee to your chest, and you felt him even deeper. A moan ripped from your lips, and your hands found his shoulders first, then his plumage in the center of his back. The down feathers were the softest. You felt him twitch inside you as soon as your fingers intertwined with them. He moaned into your neck. Loudly.
Oh.
“Fuck, that feels so fucking good..!”
Oh.
Your fingers moved higher and deeper into the down, and he practically whimpered into your neck. His wings shook. “N-No! Enough, enough..!” He grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He smirked down at you with blown out eyes. The gold was barely even there. “Gotta get you there first, petal.” He kissed you so sweetly, and it gave you whiplash when he took your other knee and pinned it to your chest. You felt his cock so deep inside you that you thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears. How in all the nine hells can he switch up so fast?
You clenched around him tightly, so close to the edge as he kept up that brutal pace. His name fell on your lips in a desperate whine, begging for release. He slowed the roll of his hips and released the hold on your legs to sneak a hand down to rub fast circles against your clit. “That’s it. Cum for me, petal. You look so beautiful.” His velvety words, his calloused fingers, and that cock of his had you jumping off that cliff and into the crashing waves. He leaned back down to kiss you through it while still hitting the spongy spot inside you.
Typical Christopher.
Always taking care of others first.
Meanwhile, your hand sneaked back into his down feathers, and he crumbled within seconds. Already at the edge, his wings quivered as he filled you, and you kept him there by wrapping your legs around his waist. He panted against your chest, then nosed your damp neck that’s covered in bruises, and all he thought of was… finally. Finally, he could love you openly.
An hour drifted by in comfortable silence and his wings had faded away, leaving traces of feathers spouted on his back and shoulders. Christopher could just be Christopher for a while. All thoughts of his expedition, anxieties, and traumas were buried for the moment. Your fingers had found his curls that carefully ran through them. He was fighting for his life to keep his eyes open, but there was one more thing you wanted to do first. “Christopher?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers. At least the new sprouts on your back.”
He smiled sleepily then rolled off of you onto his stomach, but not before giving you a kiss of appreciation first. “Please do. They are quite.. itchy. Been meaning to preen them entirely, but..”
“I understand.” You finished and pulled on a nightgown from your dresser, then crawled back into the messy bed. Christopher buried half his face in a pillow with his arms underneath it, waiting patiently. Your fingers begin the gentle task of twirling the keratin capsules to break them open to release the baby feathers. You also remove a few loose ones as well. A relaxed sigh fell from his lips as he allowed his eyes to finally close.
“Feels good, I take it?”
“Very. It’s like an itch that’s finally been scratched.”
You smiled softly. “Remember when you took me flying for the first time?”
“And you wore those cute little goggles.” He chuckled.
“I wanted to see the town below without my eyes watering.”
“No judgement. It was a smart move. I’d love to take you again. Perhaps during sunset when the sea is the prettiest.”
“It’s a date.”
You continue to work quietly for a few more minutes. You then slipped into the washroom to grab a small jar of coconut oil to rub over the feathers to keep them moisturized. When you returned, you laughed quietly to yourself when you heard the little snores coming from the aasimar in your bed. You carefully sat back in bed, then applied the oil before capping the jar, then laid down next to him. In that moment, your heart was the fullest it had ever been in the longest time. You reached out for the last time that night and rang your fingers through his curls and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you too, Christopher.”
Please reblog, comment, or send me an ask! I'd love to know your thoughts!
genre: dungeons and dragons au | pairing: paladin!chris x f!reader | wc: 4.6k-ish | warnings: sexual explicit content, mentions of death, depictions of violence, religious themes, ptsd struggles
Summary: Four months is a long time without your best friend especially one who is out on an a risky expedition, but you've managed. You have your apothecary shop and his letters to keep you company. But when he stumbles through your door one afternoon, you both are reminded that life is indeed finite.
a/n: the biggest thank you to my dearest friend @abiaswreck for beta reading and keeping me motivated to finish this piece <3
Hollow Roots; a two-story shop planted between Eilean's Maztican Delights and Sharkroar - Harth Shalark's Broadsheets in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. Vines crawled up the stone chimney that sat in the middle of the front and flowered shrubs of various colors lined the exterior to create a separation between the other two shops. A large window sat on the right with the name etched into the glass in gold script. The interior was filled with plants, shelf to shelf with different greenery, flowers, herbs with some hanging and some in pots. Behind the wooden counter was a large built-in shelf stocked with colored glass bottles that were filled with different salves, potions and elixirs; not only was Hollow Roots a plant shop, it doubled as an apothecary. Toward the back was a set of wooden stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. Near the front was a crackling fireplace with a cauldron sitting on a trivet used for crafting remedies. Two worn armchairs sat facing the flickering flames. There were a few small tears in the deep red fabric, but nothing a needle and thread could fix. And rugs. There were rugs everywhere: in front of the door, under the armchairs, in front of the counter, behind the counter. Circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. Everywhere.
But it was cozy.
It was a home.
And it was yours.
The evening sun set on the horizon, casting a beautiful painting over the ocean waves of the Sea of Swords. You were scribbling in your ledger, making sure today’s numbers were indeed correct. Your assistant Mayrina, a small elven woman with bright green eyes, left an hour ago after helping with the stock. Herbs and various flowers were now hanging on drying racks or wrapped and stored in the cupboard below the counter. You sign off today’s page with your initials and date on the yellowing page with a smile on your lips, then stick the quill back into the inkpot. You were rather excited as you’ve finally got a hold of some devil’s claw bundles. It was used in supplements, lotions, and salves for anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving purposes, and you’ve been sold out of your stock for months. Your customers loved the stuff, and you were thankful when your supplier had some available.
You stuffed the ledger back into the drawer and began cleaning up the shop a little: rearranging bottles, sweeping the floors, wiping the counters. It was the usual routine after close until the tiny bell attached hanging above the door pulled your focus.
“We are closed—oh.” You peeked around one shelf with your broom in hand. A smile spread across your lips as you spotted the man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Christopher!”
He mirrored your smile when you said his name, only with two dimples carved out in his cheeks. His hair was shorter, much shorter, but still dark brown with the tiniest curl to it. He wore his silver armor with gold accents and had his helmet tucked under his left arm. He held up an empty glass container with a gloved hand that rattled when he moved. “Care to top me off? My apologies for not making it before closing. The temple has kept me busy.”
The Hall of Justice was located in the Castle Ward. It was a busy place, popular with many magistrates, watchmen, and bureaucrats. It was also the home of the Triad made up of the gods: Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm. You remember celebrating with Christopher and a few friends at the Swinging Sword tavern after his oath ceremony. He was finally a paladin. You remember him telling you about the dream he had as a boy. A figure with wings of gold visited his dreams and gave him a divine missive to set him on his path. He said he knew differed from the other children growing up, but after that night, he knew for certain.
The broom clattered to the floor as you rushed over to tackle him in a hug; his armor clanked as he stabilized you both from toppling to the floor. His laughter filled the room, and you swear tears flooded your waterline. You were insanely proud of him, but gods, you missed him. He spent four entire months on an expedition in the Neverwinter Wood. A large horde of gnolls, vicious hyena-human hybrids, was wreaking havoc on local villages to prove their loyalty to their demon lord Yeenoghu. You still have the letters he had sent you stuffed in the dresser drawer in the bedroom upstairs, but honestly no amount of ink could ease your worry. Christopher was your best friend, the literal angel to brighten your day.
You smashed your cheek against the cool steel, hoping it would calm you down, and it somewhat helped. “You’re not crying, are you, petal?” Christopher wouldn’t want you shedding tears over him, but too late.
“No!” you squeaked, then his chest shook when he chuckled again at your failed attempt to hide. You felt his arms wrap around you tighter.
“No more tears for little ol’ me, yes? Told you I’d make it back in one piece!” He beamed, those dimples digging impossibly deeper in his cheeks somehow. “Only at the cost of a few fingers and toes.”
You looked up at him, horrified, then shoved him away gently when he laughed. “Not funny!” You snatched the glass jar out of his hand as you headed back to the counter, slipping behind it as you wiped your cheeks. “I’m revoking my pineapple upside-down cake for a year!”
His jaw dropped as he approached the counter. He shed his gloves. “No! You wouldn’t!” A small smile spread across your lips as you filled the small container with his salve. A comfrey mixture that smelled like lavender and wintergreen that he used for his muscle pain.
“Look, my fingers are very much intact.” He drummed them on the counter that you approached with the sealed container wrapped with wax paper and a small rope.
“And toes?”
He laughed softly. “And toes.”
“When did you arrive? From your last letter, I would’ve assumed at least another week.”
“We took care of the problem quicker than we thought. No easy feat either...” He cleared his throat. “But nevermind that. I got in two nights ago. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep, and have been rather unsuccessful.”
Your heart broke. Christopher was the most selfless man you knew and would give anything to protect the people, even at the cost of his own well being. Behind those eyes held a pain, a heaviness, and a duty that he was born into. It ran through his very veins: the aasimar blood. These beings were descended from celestials or angels to protect the common folk.
You picked up a small pouch that sat on a small rack on the left side of the counter. “Some chamomile tea to help you sleep.” You dropped into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He’ll protect everyone, but you’ll protect him. Even if it was from himself.
“Thank you.” He said, placing a hand over your own and squeezing. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin. You felt the slightest frown pull at the corner of your mouth as he pulled away, leaving your skin feeling cold. “I should head back to the temple to get some rest. I just wanted to see you first.” He collected his gauntlets and the tea and tucked them inside his helm. “I’ve missed you, petal.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite stew.”
After Hollow Roots closed for the evening, you spent the late afternoon upstairs preparing dinner: a nice brisket stew served in a homemade bread bowl. Flour coated the small table and your hands as you kneaded the dough for a few minutes before plopping it in a bowl. You hummed to yourself as you covered it with a damp towel and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen counter. The entire room smelled savory and smoky from the giant pot on the stove that simmered on low heat. Another hour went by, and you were pulling out some bowls from the cupboard when you heard a knock on the door. You smiled as you headed downstairs quickly, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. When you opened the door, you found Christopher with his dimpled cheeks, holding something behind his back. He looked much more relaxed than yesterday in his casual blue tunic and brown pants. “Hello, petal.” He presented a small bouquet from behind his back. You beamed, graciously accepting the flowers immediately and inhaling the fragrant petals. They were some of your favorites all wrapped into one: roses, daisies, baby’s breath, even sunflowers and some greenery accents.
“Thank you, Christopher. You really didn’t have to.”
“Too late. I will say though, it was nearly impossible to find flowers prettier than you.” He cooed as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. You rolled your eyes playfully, then led him upstairs.
“The stew is in the pot and the bread is on the table. Help yourself!” You headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass vase in the cupboard then to the sink to cut the stems. “Oh! And don’t you think I forgot about dessert! I made your favorite.”
“You spoil me.” He chuckled as he dished out some stew into a wooden bowl. “And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.” He set it on the table with a soft thud and took his seat. You laughed and served yourself before sitting across from him. He closed his eyes in prayer, whispering his thanks in his head before digging in. Conversation between the both of you flowed naturally as it usually does between old friends. You talked about your shop while he talked about the temple. He asked about Hyunjin, a childhood friend of his who was out visiting family in the High Forest. He owned Oddinary Tomes in the North Ward district on Saerdoun Street. The bowls had been empty for a while now, and the loaf was three quarters gone. You had brought out the cake and cut him a slice, then wrapped the rest up for him to take home later. You were currently telling him some ridiculous gossip that you heard in the market the other day, but honestly? He drifted off.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you. Yet the more he saw of you, the more he feared losing you. His petal. His pretty petal. He blinked once, then twice to find you again with a content look on your face. He adjusted in the chair that squeaked slightly, but it felt loud in his ears, almost echoing in the room. The scraping of wood reminded him of that village and gods, the screaming, the fires, the clang of steel against steel, against flesh. Mouthfuls of flesh from innocent victims muffled the growls from the knolls. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was back there. He could smell the blood; the metallic taste kissed his tongue as he lay in the dirt.
Because his mouth was full of it.
“Christopher.” A voice spoke. Your voice, so soft and kind as always. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in your home, panting with a racing heart. Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.” The chair he was sitting on knocked back behind him, and the cake he ate knocked onto the floor along with the silverware. His golden eyes slowly simmered down to reveal eyes filled with terror and tears.
He couldn’t even form the words before they caught in his throat with a sob. You pulled him into the biggest hug you could muster, and he complied, returning the sentiment tenfold. He cradled the back of your head like fine china and pressed so many kisses to your temple that you thought his lips would leave an imprint. You whispered gentle affirmations in his ear to calm him down. You held him for a long time before pulling back and wiping his wet cheeks. He grabbed your hand before you could pull it away and pressed it to his skin. He pressed his lips to your warm palm. It soothed his soul and made your heart flutter again. You offered that kind smile and sad eyes when you truly saw the man underneath that armor: the one who carries so much. A man who cleans wounds before his own. A man who is exhausted and afraid. Your Christopher. In his panic, wings sprouted from his back: white with a faint glow to them. They were a gift with his aasimar blood to boost his radiant strikes and give him flight when he was in need. However, these wings were in a state of... disarray. Although his wings come from his divine magic, they are still very much real and beautiful when kept up with. They lasted around an hour, though. “Let’s sit, yeah?”
You guided him to the bed tucked in the corner that was hidden behind a folded divider, and he sat with a heavy sigh. He slumped over with his head in his hands while you rubbed his back. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“No,” he said and grabbed your wrist when you took a step away. “No tea. Please. Just stay with me.” His gaze was full of desperation and panic.
He didn’t have to ask twice when you sat next to him. He kept hold of your hand. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened in Neverwinter. I thought I could just move past it like I’ve done before, but...” You felt the tremble in his hands. “.. um,” he swallowed thickly and looked at you with tears streaking down his cheek. “I’m here.” You reminded him, and he squeezed your hand in response.
“I was helping a family out of a burning house. There was a little girl with her mother and her son. They were covered in ash, dirt and blood. Their mother had passed out from the smoke and suffered serious injuries. She had lacerations on her stomach. Those two children were trying to help her up, but they were just so little.” He swallowed. “I found them though, used the last ounce of divine magic I had in me and healed her wounds. I got them out, and Brother Kai escorted them to the camp we had nearby for survivors.” A few more tears tracked down his cheeks, and he looked down at your intertwined hands.
“Two gnolls ambushed me.” He recalled the sickening squeal of the spear being lodged in his stomach from behind. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They stabbed me.” Then his crunch of his shoulder as his bones shattered from the gnoll's jaws as it bit down on him. His screams echoed in his mind as he fell into the dirt, into a pool of his own blood, as well as the yips and barks of the gnolls above him, their teeth full of his own flesh. He had always imagined what death felt like: like a warm hug from your mother, floating away in the river under the moon, or just a snap and it’s over. Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes; others say a bright light washes over them, but for him?
He remembered when he first met you.
He was still in training at the temple. It was a cloudy day, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was still a few miles out before it let loose over the city. After a taxing sparring session in the yard with Brother Leon, he washed up then headed to the market. From his trouser pocket, he fished out that scrap of paper. He squinted to read the messy handwriting. He had stopped at Oddinary Tomes a few days prior. Christopher’s shoulder had been bothering him again. He pulled it in training awhile ago, and ever since then it has had the occasional flare-up. Usually, he’d just ignored it, but it was getting to be a bit much, and no holy magic he weld could ease pain; it only healed flesh wounds. Hyunjin was in a rush with customers that afternoon, and honestly tired of him ignoring that damn shoulder. He quickly scrawled down a name and shooed him out.
After an entire minute of piecing together the chicken scratch, he found his way to Hollow Roots. The bell that chimed was charming. Mayrina greeted him first with a soft smile and offered to assist him. You were helping another customer, wrapping up a wooden box of some kind. “My left shoulder is in constant pain. I’ve tried icing it and a hot compress, but nothing works.” He explained to Mayrina, but he didn’t know that you had hired her only a couple of weeks ago. She was still learning.
You wandered over to help a minute later with the prettiest smile he has ever seen, and those eyes of yours were sparkling in the candlelight. “Muscle pain?” You clarified, and he nodded because he couldn’t speak. You had his stomach in knots already, and he had only known you for a full minute.
“Lucky for you, I just got a shipment of devil’s claw in this morning. Perfect for muscle pain and a very nice anti-inflammatory...” You rambled on about the properties of the plant, and he found himself smiling. You blushed when you stopped yourself, or was it because you saw those adorable dimples?
As he bled out in the dirt, he feared he would never know.
“The moon looked so beautiful that night. And the stars. But gods, how could they even compare to you, petal?” He held your hand to his lips and spoke into your skin. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to see you at that moment. To hear your laugh, to see your smile, to smell your perfume, to tell you how much you mean to me.” Tears spilled over your cheeks as you listened to him. “To tell you how much I love you, and to know that I wouldn’t have the chance to...?” He looked up at you with red eyes. “I thought I died that night, petal. I didn’t remember much after I woke up a few days later back in the temple in Waterdeep. Jeongin, the cleric who was caring for me, informed me that just before I passed out from blood loss, I mustered up enough strength to cast a death ward on myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and even laughed pathetically. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s like Tyr himself gave me enough strength to push through, to survive and make it home. To you. I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday. I should’ve told you the truth...” You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You pulled him into your arms and cried into the nape of his neck. The softness of his feathers tickled the tips of your fingers. He almost died.
Died.
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe. You’re home now.” You whispered.
To think that there would have been a chance you would have never seen him again horrified you. To never hear that accented voice, the cheesy jokes he makes, see the feathered wings, the curly hair, the golden eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs, and those gods damned dimples dug into that olive skin. He almost died, and yet, he was here, baring his soul to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, with your noses brushing. His warm breath washed over your lips, so close, yet so far away. You were looking into those eyes again, the same ones that flickered down to your lips for a second before closing that gap.
Warm plush lips that you had dreamed about moved with yours like a waltz: smooth, soft, delicate. Then, his large hands traveled downwards, closer. His body was hard; hills and valleys of muscles felt even under the cotton of his tunic. His hands were greedy, but you were greedier. Fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, and you gasped against his mouth when you felt that jagged scar of skin. The stab wound. “It’s okay.” He whispered into your mouth.
With his permission, you pushed up his shirt and tossed it away. It stole your breath seeing it in the flesh. The red line arced over the adonis line. Your fingers traced it, then drifted up his torso. He sucked in a small breath at the chilliness of your touch, and tears gathered in your eyes when you ran your hand over the wound on his shoulder. You met his eyes when he placed his hand on yours, then moved it to his heart. It beat wildly in his chest, thundering like a raging storm. You gently pushed him back on your bed, and he took you with him; his white wings stretched out on either side. You started with his lips first, already addicted to their softness and the taste of his tongue. A shiver ran through you when a small whimper fell from his lips when you broke apart and began your descent. His cheeks, his nose, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his scar; you worshipped each place with a kiss. You smiled against his skin when you heard the flutter of his wings and felt the hardness of him through his trousers.
He sat up abruptly and crashed his mouth into yours. No more waiting, no more time lost, he needed you.
Now.
“Please, petal.” He pleaded against your lips, voice low as your hands fumbled to free is cock. “Let me have you.”
In any other circumstance, you would’ve teased him. Have him aching with need until his sanity nearly breaks. Instead, you cave as his calloused hands push up your gown until it gathered at your waist, and when he sinks into you for the first time, he swore he saw Tyr himself. You felt perfect: so warm, so tight, like you were made just for him.
Your hips shifted to ride him lazily, mind blank as you enjoyed every inch of his cock sinking impossibly deep inside of you. Christopher could only watch in awe. A goddess in the flesh, with beautiful lips letting out unholy moans that curl his toes.
Despite the way your walls hugged his cock, it wasn’t enough. Chris needed to feel all of your skin pressed against his. Both hands shifted up, tearing through into the threads of your corset which was laced in the front. The mess of fabric was tossed away with the rest of your clothes.
Now stripped, he pushed you off of him, pinning you to the bed. His wings stretched out and flapped once as he crawled up your body with his mouth. You were completely surrounded by feathers. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when he slipped back in, and he silenced yours with his lips. He pushed your knee to your chest, and you felt him even deeper. A moan ripped from your lips, and your hands found his shoulders first, then his plumage in the center of his back. The down feathers were the softest. You felt him twitch inside you as soon as your fingers intertwined with them. He moaned into your neck. Loudly.
Oh.
“Fuck, that feels so fucking good..!”
Oh.
Your fingers moved higher and deeper into the down, and he practically whimpered into your neck. His wings shook. “N-No! Enough, enough..!” He grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He smirked down at you with blown out eyes. The gold was barely even there. “Gotta get you there first, petal.” He kissed you so sweetly, and it gave you whiplash when he took your other knee and pinned it to your chest. You felt his cock so deep inside you that you thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears. How in all the nine hells can he switch up so fast?
You clenched around him tightly, so close to the edge as he kept up that brutal pace. His name fell on your lips in a desperate whine, begging for release. He slowed the roll of his hips and released the hold on your legs to sneak a hand down to rub fast circles against your clit. “That’s it. Cum for me, petal. You look so beautiful.” His velvety words, his calloused fingers, and that cock of his had you jumping off that cliff and into the crashing waves. He leaned back down to kiss you through it while still hitting the spongy spot inside you.
Typical Christopher.
Always taking care of others first.
Meanwhile, your hand sneaked back into his down feathers, and he crumbled within seconds. Already at the edge, his wings quivered as he filled you, and you kept him there by wrapping your legs around his waist. He panted against your chest, then nosed your damp neck that’s covered in bruises, and all he thought of was… finally. Finally, he could love you openly.
An hour drifted by in comfortable silence and his wings had faded away, leaving traces of feathers spouted on his back and shoulders. Christopher could just be Christopher for a while. All thoughts of his expedition, anxieties, and traumas were buried for the moment. Your fingers had found his curls that carefully ran through them. He was fighting for his life to keep his eyes open, but there was one more thing you wanted to do first. “Christopher?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers. At least the new sprouts on your back.”
He smiled sleepily then rolled off of you onto his stomach, but not before giving you a kiss of appreciation first. “Please do. They are quite.. itchy. Been meaning to preen them entirely, but..”
“I understand.” You finished and pulled on a nightgown from your dresser, then crawled back into the messy bed. Christopher buried half his face in a pillow with his arms underneath it, waiting patiently. Your fingers begin the gentle task of twirling the keratin capsules to break them open to release the baby feathers. You also remove a few loose ones as well. A relaxed sigh fell from his lips as he allowed his eyes to finally close.
“Feels good, I take it?”
“Very. It’s like an itch that’s finally been scratched.”
You smiled softly. “Remember when you took me flying for the first time?”
“And you wore those cute little goggles.” He chuckled.
“I wanted to see the town below without my eyes watering.”
“No judgement. It was a smart move. I’d love to take you again. Perhaps during sunset when the sea is the prettiest.”
“It’s a date.”
You continue to work quietly for a few more minutes. You then slipped into the washroom to grab a small jar of coconut oil to rub over the feathers to keep them moisturized. When you returned, you laughed quietly to yourself when you heard the little snores coming from the aasimar in your bed. You carefully sat back in bed, then applied the oil before capping the jar, then laid down next to him. In that moment, your heart was the fullest it had ever been in the longest time. You reached out for the last time that night and rang your fingers through his curls and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you too, Christopher.”
Please reblog, comment, or send me an ask! I'd love to know your thoughts!
TL;DR: Instead of generic "fuckboy chan who"s, I say give this delicate piece a chance. It's so refreshingly different from anything you'll read here.
This is something I mentioned elsewhere, but fanfiction writing isn't fair game at all, man. If Salmonella Somethington "wrote" something like this using ai, prompting it to "stay true to the style of [an author they admire]", bitches would gobble it up. But just because this story lives on tumblr dot com under #bang chan smut and features a niche au, it's hidden 20000 leagues under the sea, and I won't have it.
The surprise of it all when you give things a chance...
Listen, I am EMBARRASSINGLY ignorant about D&D, or anything fantasy-related for that matter. I actually have no idea about what it is and how it works, so I sat down to read this story in the simplest way my mind rendered it: Chris as a knight feat. medieval aesthetics (might be ENTIRELY inaccurate factually). End result:
Onto my screaming (clears throat):
“Hello, petal.”
You're sick, demented, need to be either jailed or locked up in a psych ward for this, woman.
“And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.”
Hmmmmmmmmmmm ascending I take off touch the suuuooooooaaaaaan~ 🎶
Had to do it, not sorry at all.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you.
Bro has come back from death and losing it as we speak, and mc be like "DID YOU HEAR?" Girl, read the room.
Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.”
PAUSE! I need several moments. Oh, he has golden eyes 🥺 Oh, I'm gonna cry with him 🥺 NO ONE HURTS MY BABY!!!
A man who cleans wounds before his own.
MOM, SHE'S BEING VERY MEAN TALKING ABOUT WINGS AND SHIT!
“Please, petal. Let me have you.”
YOU'RE FUCKING SSSSSIIIIIIIIIICCCCCCKKKK!!!!!! I don't know what it is, petal is doing a number on me HARDCORE.
“I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers.”
I seriously have no idea what's going on with me. This sentence caught me so off guard like TALK ABOUT ACTS OF SERVICE WHAT DO YOU MEAN POST-NUT PREENING WHAT THERE ARE WINGS WHAT AND THEY EMBRACE ME WHAT I'M-
In conclusion, I am the bard above singing the tales of these two. Thank you for introducing me to something I've never experienced before, Britt. This was soooooo refreshing and actually inspirational for me 🪽🥰
I'm giggling and kicking my feet at your commentary. <3 You are a gem, Ren!! Thank you so much for reading and enjoying pallytopher/angel boy/loml!! I hope to write more of him in the future!!
➥ Bang Chan x Reader (f) x Jake — 7.1k (~30 min. read)
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Mind games, Jake is a little insane and we love it, threesome with stepbrothers, FFM encounter, double vaginal penetration (see casebook for more)
➥ You and Chris are about to pull a stunt that upgrades you to “Channie & Clyde”, and his stepbrother will gladly assist you if it means he can touch you however he wants.
The entries of this collection are standalone and only loosely connected.
*a/n: This was supposed to be a drabble, then I discovered "Outside" exists.
He’s SO husband, but, like, in a daddy way.
Yeah, if you’re into swinging maybe.
Girlies were so busy swooning over Chris’ dimple-frosted rizz that whenever they heard an allegation painting him as an unhinged freak, they were clutching their pearls with a dramatic “He would nev–ver!” by default. Even if you livestreamed the events right from his bed, you would probably be dubbed a deepfaker because the delulu stans of academia were convinced Dr.-to-be Bang was the service dom of the century. You know, just like a daddy husband would be for his bride.
Talk about perception management, jesus christ…
In addition to a few joint papers, Chris was the author of some of your nastiest memories, so you knew firsthand that the fastidious husband material act was a flaming pile of bullshit, probably concocted by the aggressive lawyers retained by the Bangs. It was even more appalling that no one seemed to notice anything when he was hiding in plain sight—he was literally turning the department building into his own debauched playground some nights. It was actually such a common occurrence that every time you had to work late, you were expecting him to misbehave somewhere.
It wasn’t like you were out looking for him, okay? Crucial instruments were needed for the advancement of science, like coffee or the staple sitting in your desk drawer, and during your side quests, you just happened to hear things passing by an empty classroom, his father’s office, the faculty lounge…
“Do it again. She gets wetter when you’re mean.”
…or the restrooms, as was the case that particular night.
Throughout these staged coincidences, you were used to hearing people having pleasure seizures or Chris performing the raunchiest dirty talk, but you did not know who that voice belonged to.
Of course you would be intrigued!
You pressed on the door handle extra carefully to suppress the god-awful creak, but maybe you didn’t even have to. The wet sounds that welcomed you were so loud that you wondered if this was a deliberate attempt to make the passersby outside hear what was going on in here. No one was out in the open—the sounds were coming from one of the stalls, but it made no sense. The building was almost entirely empty anyway; why couldn’t they pick a much more comfortable location for… whatever the fuck this was? Why the restroom? Why the stall?
Questions, questions…
“D–Deeper…”
“We told you. Squirting’s extra.”
Squirti— Extr— We?
HUH?!!
The questions multiplied to the size of a platoon and charged at your mind at full force. This voice did belong to Chris, but the other man was not one of the seven usual suspects. And from the way he worded it, this seemed like a uh… a professional service.
Just who the fuck was in there with him?!
“Stop teasing!!! Make m— Make me cum.”
“Tsk, but that’s also extra,” the unfamiliar voice taunted. “You pay me to eat your pussy, not to make you cum.”
The conquest of the night was on the brink of committing manslaughter at best, first-degree murder at worst. She didn’t have any control over her volume whatsoever, either because of excess pleasure or sheer helplessness, and her response came out as a spectacularly frustrated whine.
“FINE! HOW MUCH MORE DO YOU WANT?!”
“Fifty bands. Can you afford it?”
Evil. This was straight up evil. The two men were sinisterly laughing at each other, but they seemed to have no intention of ceasing whatever wet contact they had established with her skin. If anything, the sounds were getting lewder, louder, meticulously designed to drive her clinically insane.
And something about this was so profoundly erotic that you were dripping between your legs.
“Didn’t think so,” the stranger’s emotionless voice echoed in the dark room, and a pornographic slurping sound followed, making the woman properly sob.
And maybe, just maybe, you stayed in the stall nextdoor, wishing they were devouring you instead, listening in on this sweet torture until you quietly made yourself cum.
Maybe.
The next day, you were feeling some type of way when you walked into the lab, a.k.a. the designated space for your research group that looked more like a luxury lounge and less like a beacon of knowledge. Chris was chilling on one of the gargantuan bean bags, reading a stack of stapled papers like he was enjoying some beach read. He showed no signs of being even slightly hungover, looking fresh as fuck as if he wasn’t the one playing the most wicked games within these very walls just hours ago.
“Papers are graded and on your desk,” he informed you without even looking at you.
“Alright, Superman, I don’t know how to word this in a politically correct way, so I’m just gonna go ahead and say it,” you dropped your bag on the couch a little too hard, exasperated as fuck with his limitless antics. “Are you running an illicit cunnilingus ring around here?”
He cracked up so hard, and you physically felt your annoyance turn into a bullet train in your veins because your intention was not to entertain him.
“That’s a great name for it, actually,” his stupid heart-melting laughter finally died down, “but I prefer the term side hustle.”
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
“I never joke about eating pussy,” he uttered with a straight face. “How’d you hear about it?”
“I was forced to. You weren’t exactly being discreet last night,” you scorned, feeling petty for reasons unknown. “I’m pretty sure that’s against college policies. You could get fired for that, you know.”
“No, you could get fired for that,” he pointed at you, clicking his tongue with a wink. “I run this shit, baby.”
“You mean your father does,” you sneered at his spoiled brat entitlement.
“Does it matter? I’m immortal all the same,” he put his papers away and clasped his hands under his nape, getting into a more comfortable position. “Why’d you ask? Are you interested in my services?”
“Don’t I already get your services for free?” you cocked a brow. “Like, twice a week.”
“No, you don’t. What you get is the base model,” he obnoxiously answered. “You didn’t really think the view from the third floor would be the same as the penthouse, did you?”
This fucking peacock of a man… You took a deep breath through your smile, discreetly biting inside your cheek to keep your poise.
“Another guy was in there with you,” you took a seat on the couch diagonal to him, “and he wasn’t from your entourage.”
“That would be Jake.”
“I’m enlightened all of a sudden,” you scoffed. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“I should hope so. Everybody knows he’s my brother from another mother.”
“I thought your resident wingmen were the red hot chili peppers of Scoville.”
“No, I meant it literally,” he took a bit of a dramatic pause for some reason. “He’s my stepbrother.”
“He what?”
Yup, there it was. Who knows what your face looked like when he volunteered that information, but he suddenly looked very pleased. Turns out the more you tried to avoid entertaining him, the more you were doing exactly that.
“Interested now?” he smugly grinned.
Fuck yeah, you were, but openly frothing at the mouth had never been your style. There was a certain… class to this, if you will. The view from the third floor and the penthouse might not be the same, but neither were their residents.
That was what made all the goddamn difference.
“I guess it would allow me to cross one more thing off my bucket list,” you nonchalantly looked at your nails.
“What the hell kinda list has stepbrothers in it?” he reacted way too chalantly in response.
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, I really do.”
“Well, I prefer something more elegant than sneaking around in restrooms, so I have something more… elaborate in mind,” you pretended you didn’t hear him. “If you’d indulge me, of course.”
“We’ll see,” he challenged you. “Intrigue me.”
Truth be told, you hadn’t been able to think about much else since last night’s fever nightmare. Whenever you closed your eyes, all you could see was that restroom. You kept imagining yourself in there. What you would say. What you would have them do. If you were paying them, they were supposed to cater to your whims, and you kept thinking about what those whims would be. What they could be. How you could extract every last drop of pleasure out of it. Out of them.
You wore a smile as sinister as the laughs you heard the night before as you broke everything down for Chris, all the way down to the tiniest details your imagination let you conjure. When you were finished, he just stared at you, flabbers thoroughly and utterly gasted, looking like he was running out of self-restraint to practice.
“I said intrigue, not make my heart stop,” he snarled at you, “but I knew there was a reason I’m this attracted to you.”
“Yeah? Which is?”
“You’re one sick bitch,” his parted lips slowly curled into a grin, “and I mean it as the highest compliment.”
“You think your sidekick would be down?” you softly asked him.
“I think you should ask him yourself,” he reached for his phone.
“Why can’t you just ask for me?”
“Oh, trust me, you won’t wanna miss this,” he placed the call, still cheesing.
It had only been fifteen minutes when the aforementioned sidekick barged into the office, annoyed out of his mind that he suddenly got subpoenaed, speaking as fast as he could to signal his patience reserves were completely depleted.
“The fuck was so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone? I had to make a U-turn in goddamn traffic,” he berated Chris. “Make it quick, I gotta be at th— Whoa…”
Whoa, indeed.
You weren’t expecting someone this hot to show up, either, but that wasn’t even the surprising part. You had never seen someone actively melting at your sight before, and for whatever reason, this man that you were seeing for the first time looked somewhere between starstruck and lovesick as he walked towards you.
“I can’t fucking believe it’s you,” he held your hands, squeezing them like he was afraid to let the love of his life go. “It’s really you!”
Confused wouldn’t quite cover the state you were in—you were thoroughly dumbfounded. He seemed too much like he was majoring in fuckboy sciences to be interested in your h-index, which meant you had ZERO leads on why he was acting like this.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” you hesitantly asked.
“Yeah, you kinda have,” Chris cleared your confusion when he could take a break from having the time of his life watching his brother’s severe crashout. “He’s your top subscriber.”
“You’re retriever15?!”
“FUCK, SHE KNOWS ME!” Jake started freaking out in earnest. “You heard that, right? She knows me!”
“Cool it, bro, this isn’t a hi-touch event.”
“My face doesn’t even show in those,” you spoke, unsure if you should be impressed or alarmed. “How did you know it’s me?”
“Motherfucker can’t attend a class for two weeks back to back, but when pussy is involved, all of a sudden he has a PhD in stalking,” Chris kept giggling in his corner.
“That’s WILDLY inaccurate. I wasn’t stalking, I was just educating myself on her lore,” Jake corrected him quite seriously. He then sat next to you, his arm stretched on the backrest, sneakily moving to pull you into a hug. “Golden boy here says you need my help with something?”
“I’d say it’s more service procurement than help,” you reached for his hand on your shoulder, blatantly pulling it down so you would properly be in his embrace.
“Then how may I be of service to my princess?” he asked with a crooked smile, his eyes involuntarily darting to your lips.
Okay, real talk? You had no idea what it was about you or your content that made him like this, and his intensity was a bit scary. Nevertheless, it also made him the perfect yes man, so who were you to complain?
You walked Jake through your little scheme, as well. Unlike his brother, he kept his composure throughout the whole thing, lazily playing with your hair as he listened, somehow taking this whole thing way too seriously. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was his default mode during business negotiations, or if he was like this because you were requesting something from him.
“Your setup is fine, but it’ll work better if Chris goes full asshole by the end,” he eventually commented on your gameplan with so much conviction.
Evil. This man was straight up evil. He was drooling all over you just two seconds ago, but all of a sudden, he was a war room general now?
“Because?”
“You want your target to be vulnerable enough to cave,” he informed you, clearly speaking from experience.
“Can you believe they call this doberman a golden retriever?” Chris asked you, but it didn’t sound rhetorical at all. No. No, you could not.
In fact, this simp seemed to be just the right kind of sick in the head to show you a good time.
“Damn, you’re not just a pretty boy, are you?” you brushed the back of your hand against his cheek.
“No, I’m a professional slut,” he declared, kissing the fingers caressing him, “and of course there’s gonna be a fee for services rendered.”
“Fine, quote your price.”
“You say that like you’re ready to pay anything,” he smirked, eyes beaming with lights in the deepest shades of red. “Should I start having hopes?”
“You should start putting your money where your mouth is,” you responded.
“Can I put you where my mouth is?” he licked his lips while pulling you closer. “I swear I’ll make you cum like you never have.”
“I said, cool it, bro,” Chris threw a pen at him.
“Fucking buzzkill,” Jake deadpanned, rolling his eyes, then gave you your answer. “It’s nothing astronomical. I’m gonna be the one playing your boyfriend.”
“That’s it?” you creased your brows. “I thought you were gonna ask for something insane.”
“I mean, I’m a very affectionate boyfriend,” he intertwined his fingers with yours, “I don’t shy away from PDAs at all.”
“Still not as insane as you think,” you chuckled.
“Which also includes fucking you in public,” he brushed his nose against yours. “Insane enough now?”
Question marks started appearing on your face at long last. Chris, on the other hand, was acting like this whole exchange was an SNL episode, intermittently giggling to himself.
“I mean, not public public,” Jake quickly explained, dragging his fingers down your neck, and already on his third round of eyefucking you. “I just wanna finger you a little bit while we slow dance to some whore anthem and make out. I’m a romantic like that.”
“I’m obligated to inform you that I bite when I get too horny,” you grazed your nails on his neck a bit too harshly.
“Hickeys on my neck marked by you? Fuck yeah.”
“Some romantic you are,” you snorted.
“Well, I’m also a whore, so…”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Chris rose to his feet.
“What? If you’re gonna be getting your dick wet, she should have her fun, too, Chrissy,” Jake faked a pout. “That pussy’s not gonna eat itself.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d start to suspect you’re trying to wife her up or something,” Chris narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“I’d be so down,” Jake barely dodged frothing at the mouth, then spoke in a deliberately tragic tone worthy of a soap opera lead role. “All the meaningless munching leaves me so empty, I’m year–ning to cockwarm the love of my life into fucking her awake at night.”
“You’re already so down bad, christ, go jerk off somewhere else,” Chris heaved an annoyed sigh. “You in or what?”
“The day I say no to that, check me into a psych ward,” Jake smiled really big, adoring eyes kissing all over your face.
On D-Night, you walked into Lobos flanked by the yin-yin brothers—because there was nothing yang about them—and it was damn near impossible not to have an ego orgasm. Everyone in the room was ogling them. As the number one hater of weirdly possessive guys, you were utterly perplexed as to why you enjoyed it a bit too much when they put their hands on you, a hand holding yours, an arm around your waist, even a few kisses here and there, as if to make it crystal clear to everyone who you belonged to. Maybe it had something to do with knowing this was all an act.
Or maybe it didn’t.
One thing you did notice, however, was how Jake was constantly reaching for the upper hand whenever he was around Chris, making everything a matter of pride. Whose car they were going to take. Which booth they were going to sit at. Whether they were going to order bottle service or not.
Who was going to hit that first…
“I have a good feeling about this,” Chris smiled at you, though nowhere near wholesome, once the stack of shots Jake ordered arrived at the table. “I mean, if it doesn’t work, we can always visit the staff restroom again, right?”
“Staff restr— Wait…” Jake turned to Chris. “You’re telling me you two hooked up already?”
“Not did,” Chris corrected him, having too much fun divulging the factual reality. “We do.”
“Can you fucking see what’s on my back?!” Jake borderline screamed, legitimately offended. “It’s a knife!”
“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know she existed, so fucking focus. We don’t have a slot for your tantrums on our program tonight,” Chris slapped him on the back, then pointed at someone by the bar. “What about her?”
“That’s Riki’s side piece. If he hears you looked at her wrong, he’ll probably put a hit on your ass,” Jake answered, jaw still clenched in annoyance, and nodded towards another one at a crowded table. “That one.”
“Nah, I know her. Too bitchy for my taste,” Chris scowled.
“I think I found her,” you smiled to yourself, staring at a girl in a blue dress on the dance floor.
After a swift deliberation amongst themselves, the brothers gave their stamp of approval for your choice, and you all started downing shots one after another as if to numb yourselves prior to the main course.
“We ride,” Chris slammed the last glass on the table and stood up. “I’ll see you guys home.”
No wonder he was the “golden boy” because the levels of efficiency this man worked at were insane. You and Jake watched Chris blend into the crowd and seamlessly pull the girl to dance with him. She didn’t even protest. Fine, he was charming and whatnot, but just what the hell did he exude that allowed him to get into any pants he goddamn wished?!
“So,” Jake pulled you close from your waist as well as back to earth. “You wanna pay me right now or…?”
You inadvertently chuckled. If this man had no tolerance for one thing, it was any amount of attention paid to his older brother when he was around.
“You know, you seem like the type to fall in love very quickly,” you started playing with his collar.
“I’m not sure if fall in love is the right word here,” he held your hand and locked his fingers with yours.
“I agree. I should have said become heavily obsessed for no apparent reason.”
“No apparent reason? You’re hurting my feelings,” he faked a pout. “I’ll have you know I was like this even when I didn’t know what your face looked like.”
“You still knew what my pussy looked like.”
“By that logic, I should be in love with all of my fleshlights.”
“You’re not in love with me.”
“How would you know?”
“You can’t produce one substantial reason as to why you’re like this, so we both know you’re just pussy drunk,” you refuted him once and for all, “and you haven’t even had a sip, mind you.”
“Okay, science diva, let’s see if you’ll find this substantial. It’s nothing too complicated, just simple math,” he instantly launched his rebuttal. “You’re an attention whore, and I have infinity amounts of it to give, which means we’re compatible as fuck.”
“To what do I owe this stellar review?”
“Oh, sorry, were you masturbating for strangers online out of the goodness of your heart?” he tilted his head, his words perfectly marinated in sarcasm. “You love it when someone gets horny because of you.”
You burst out laughing at the overly candid response because, well…
“Touché,” you acknowledged.
He looked so pleased with himself just for making you laugh, smirking with the captions that read “That’s more like it,” as if that was the only correct reaction you should give him, but it instantly vanished when you finally established the skin-to-skin contact he’d been waiting for. Your hands were moving up his neck, encouraging him to walk as boldly as he talked.
“Have I ever told you how sexy you look in this blazer?” you spoke dangerously close to his lips.
“No, but I can definitely get used to it,” he answered, one hand gliding down your hips.
You took his bottom lip between your teeth, gently tugging on it, and his eyes rolled as if he was getting his dick sucked. That was his last straw.
He pulled you into a deep kiss, and by god you almost surrendered your soul right then and there. If he was able to get you that wet just from that, who the hell knew what else he was capable of doing with that mouth?
“Imagine,” he started painting you a picture, his hand sliding up your bare thighs. “Me right here all day, your legs shaking on my shoulders so hard you can’t even walk. Doesn’t it sound fucking amazing?”
“You wanna be my on-call plug?”
“I don’t wanna be on call,” he heaved a deep sigh, sinking his teeth into his lips just at the mere thought. “I wanna fucking live here.”
“Which one are you really?” you chuckled at his overenthusiasm. “A doberman or a golden retriever?”
“I don’t show fangs unless you cross me.” He placed your hand on his cheek and rubbed himself against it. “Keep me happy, and I’ll become the best boy.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’m begging you to let me fuck you.”
It was endearing in a twisted way that he seemed ready to do whatever you asked him to do, and part of you did want to give him a to-do list to complete. And maybe you would someday. As his tongue swirled around yours, you had mentally jotted down fifteen delicious items already.
“We can slow dance here, too, right?” you held his hand and moved it further up your thighs.
He shuddered when his fingertips made contact with your wetness, but he was quick to take the hint. A whore anthem was playing, you were making out, and there was only one thing missing from the scene.
“Wet…” he teased your entrance, inches away from losing it entirely. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”
He slid two fingers inside you with great ease, and your eyes widened at the impact. He was loving the way you were reacting to him, heavily breathing into his mouth with your forehead pressed against his, trying to make him move faster to absolutely no avail.
“Jake…”
“If you moan my name like that again,” he lovingly pecked your lips as if he was in the middle of a romantic gesture, “I’m not gonna take responsibility for what I’m gonna do to you.”
“What… What are you gonna do?”
“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” he grazed his teeth on your jawline, “but it will be wet.”
You turned towards the dancefloor to see how the other hand of the operation was doing. Chris and the blue dress girl were now by the bar. As she was telling him something with big hand gestures, his eyes were on you, watching you get fingered with blank eyes. It was probably just for a few seconds, but it felt like hours to you. When Jake followed your line of sight, he noticed what you were looking at, and the smile he flashed was all kinds of perverse.
At long last, Chris snapped out of it and scratched his nape, which was the agreed-upon signal telling you to take position.
“To be continued,” Jake finally stopped his torturous teasing and shoved his glistening fingers in his mouth. “Let’s go home, beautiful.”
The ride back home was silent. Neither you nor Jake was saying anything, but something was buzzing in the air. You were both smiling, sharing knowing looks and risky touches at the back of that cab, probably imagining your own versions of how the events of the night were going to unfold.
As soon as you walked into the warm room, Jake received a text from Chris telling him he was on his way. You needed to set everything up before his arrival, but the first words you uttered had nothing to do with the plan.
“Can I get a t-shirt or something?”
“T-shirt?” Jake arched his brows.
“Aren’t you my boyfriend? I’m entitled to your wardrobe.”
You were also entitled to the ownership of his mental faculties because he was all but drooling just imagining you in something of his. He quickly snapped out of it and led you to his bedroom, forcing the very last drop of his self-restraint to stop himself from drilling you into his bed.
“Have at it,” he slid his wardrobe open.
“You know what the best thing about this is?” you asked seriously as you picked a loose flannel shirt.
He knew what words were before you started stripping right in front of him, discarding every item of clothing until you were buck naked. He just watched you in complete awe, jaw slack, spacing out while you put on nothing but his shirt.
“It’s gonna smell like me after I leave,” you broke into a convincingly innocent smile.
“If you’re trying to make me cum hands-free, I’ll aim it at your face, just saying,” he found his voice again somewhere at the back of his throat.
“That’d be cute to watch you try,” you chuckled and handed him a t-shirt and sweatpants. “Put these on.”
Your eyes savored the trailer of the blockbuster you were about to enjoy soon as he stripped. Chiseled lines, slender figure, his honey skin screaming at you, “Kiss me or bite me, but fucking do something.”
“Now we look like a believable couple.” You opened your hand and extended it to him. “Paw.”
“Woof,” he placed his hand in your palm.
“Good boy,” you stole a quick peck from his lips and headed to the living room, leaving the poor guy to combust in your wake.
Once he was done kicking his feet over exchanging numbers with you, you started a muted video call with him, then set your phone on the coffee table while Jake left to place his inside Chris’ nightstand drawer. When he returned, he immediately snuggled up to you on the gigantic couch, putting on the horniest show he could find to, quote, “tense up so the release would be better.”
Because constantly caressing you from the waist down with kisses on your neck wasn’t enough torture apparently.
Your people of interest let you know they arrived when the blue dress girl’s loud laughter echoed in the hallway. When the bedroom door closed in the distance, you positioned your phone against a glass on the coffee table, making sure it captured a wide angle. Shortly after, the picture was up on the screen—Jake’s phone was out of the drawer, currently being placed above the headboard to only show a shirtless Chris. He must have been done blindfolding the girl.
The second you and Jake made eye contact, you grabbed his shirt and crashed into his lips. You were stripping each other so fast, paying no mind if you were tearing fabric or ripping some buttons in the meantime.
“Showtime, baby,” he smiled into your mouth and lay you down on the couch, perfectly angling your pussy towards the camera.
On the screen, you could see Chris moving in a languid rhythm. He was so focused on the lens that it felt like he was fucking you, looking straight at you as Jake descended between your legs. You were already too on edge from being teased all night, and if Jake stalled any longer, the anticipation was going to kill you.
When he closed his mouth on your pussy at long last, you finally understood why bitches were paying him bank to get their pussies eaten because HO–LY SHIT!!!
One swipe, and you sounded just like the woman from the restroom stall. Loud, guttural moans were ripping from your throat with each lick, and you were clawing the couch cushion, trying to ride his tongue for more friction. He hugged your thighs tighter to stop you from moving, devilishly smiling at you with his mouth full, but you could still hear his eyes saying, “You’re not getting what you want.”
“J–Jake… Please!”
“What did I tell you about moaning my name, huh?”
He abruptly stopped and sucked on two fingers, sliding them in so excruciatingly slowly that you had half a mind to break free of his grip and ride him to death. But when he hit the spot…
Fuck the stars, you were seeing entire galaxies behind your eyelids.
“Right—Right there!!!”
“That’s it, baby, let go.”
His tone was so comforting, but what he was doing made it impossible to calm down. He had your clit trapped between his lips, sucking on it as his tongue kept teasing, fingers massaging your deepest corners with firm motions, pace climbing dangerously fast. Your entire body consumed by hellfire, your sanity in shambles, your reality all distorted, you were just waiting for the alarmingly tightened coil inside you to snap. Any minute. Any minute.
Any minute now.
“Let go for me,” Jake kissed your clit. “Let go. I earned this.”
The coil didn’t snap; it nuked the entire room into a measly pile of debris.
Your back arched so high that you almost sat up straight, completely drenching the spawn of satan between your legs, and on the screen, you saw Chris violently convulse watching this. Even when you had no drops to squirt anymore, Jake didn’t stop, tongue still gliding all over your soaked folds as if he wanted to see just how far he could push it.
Well, turns out not very far.
“He fucking lost it, didn’t he?” he chuckled, then climbed up to kiss you.
You couldn’t tell how long had passed as you lay there, just tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands eventually reached below his waist, but he stopped you in a panic.
“Hold on just a little bit more,” he tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’ll be worth it.”
You turned off the camera and put your clothes back on. This was Chris’ cue to run this home now. It was so quiet that you could hear everything going on down the hall.
“Beat it,” he dismissed the blue dress girl. “No sleepovers.”
“Huh?”
“Are you deaf? I said move.”
“Fucking jerk!!!”
“Show me what you got,” Jake whispered into your ear.
The door swung open, and you heard angry stomps approach closer. You rose to your feet and walked to the hallway to make it look like you were just going to the bathroom.
“Whoa, whoa, are you okay?” you suddenly stopped the blue dress girl with a concerned face.
“Your roommate is a total asshole!”
“Easy,” you put your hands on her shoulders and gently nudged her towards the living room. “Come, sit for a bit.”
The TV was back on by then, and it really looked like a couple was having a cozy night in. Once she took her seat on the couch, you sat between her and Jake, listening to the rundown of events that you already knew. You and Jake were forming the most generic sentences of comfort, but the fact of the matter was, every word she uttered fell on deaf ears. You weren’t interested in any of that.
What you really wanted was currently resting between her legs.
“I’m really sorry about all that,” you held her hand, gently caressing it with your thumb. “Guess you played to the wrong audience tonight, huh?”
“Wrong… audience?”
Jake rested his head on your shoulder, and you both looked at her silently. Currently, the blue dress girl was a) mad, b) vulnerable, and most importantly, c) frustrated.
The lineup couldn’t get any better than this.
“We’re at least courteous enough to let our guests finish. If you’re interested, of course,” you said almost wholesomely. “If not, we’d understand.”
You weren’t even going too hard on the rizz, but she was still blushing. You slowly leaned in to kiss her, and she reciprocated, her frustration working wonders on how fast this was progressing already.
Though you almost ruined it when she unwittingly crossed a red line by attempting a move on Jake, and your reaction made his heart stop for a good three seconds.
“That’s mine,” you stopped her. “You can’t touch him.”
“Oh, s–sorry!”
“But you can watch him,” you flashed a calm smile to appease her. “I know he will.”
You pulled her legs to make her lie down and spread them wide, arching your hips towards Jake as you got comfortable. She was in such a rush to get out of here that she hadn’t even put her underwear back on, and the sight was…
Jesus christ…
Chris had done a perfect job creaming her pussy, and to think that this had happened because of you… While watching you…
Maybe it was because of that fact, or maybe Chris actually tasted like narcotics, who knows?
Behind you, Jake slid your shirt up to get your back bare again. Shortly after, his warmth enveloped you as he kissed your neck, the chain of his necklace tickling you a little bit, then he started paving a wet trail of kisses down your spine. You felt his tip prodding your entrance, still throbbing from the mayhem he caused not too long ago, and when he started sinking into you, fully hard and ready to destroy, you just could not help the unholy sound you made.
And the blue dress girl lost it.
Only a few licks in, she was already falling apart on your tongue, but the way Jake made you moan into her pushed her to the ledge pretty quickly. You didn’t pay much mind to her pleasure; this wasn’t about her. This was about you wanting to relish Chris on your taste buds from a vessel he bullied, and a little bit about Jake for being such a good boy so far. If she didn’t cum by the time you were done with her, tough—that would simply mean two major Ls for her in one night.
Luckily for her, she found it a little too hot to handle to watch a beautiful woman eat her pussy and her man cumming inside her. Even if she didn’t finish by then, Jake’s next insane move would probably end her anyway.
“Share with me,” he held your chin and turned you around, kissing you deep enough to taste the man he secretly hated just a little bit.
“Now you can leave,” you giggled at the blue dress girl. “We’ll be calling it a night now.”
Ever the graceful hosts, you and Jake saw her off as if you were the ones inviting her back here. As she was about to leave, she pulled a card from her clutch and handed it to you.
“If you ever wanna repeat this,” she knowingly smiled, “call me.”
As soon as the door closed, however, Jake snatched the card from your hand and ripped it into unglueably small pieces.
“No one’s calling anyone,” he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to his room. “You give your undivided attention to me.”
You stripped and got into bed together, but all he wanted to do was kiss. You kissed for a long while until your lips were raw. Maybe he actually thought he was your boyfriend then, but you decided to give him this. If he wanted to be delusional for a little while, so be it. That was the least you could do after everything he’d done for you tonight.
By then, he was so hard that you could trace the veins on his leaking cock. He was the one about to die of anticipation now, just waiting for you to take him down yout throat already, and a part of you just wanted to drag him to hell and back for what he put you through. As you were having the time of your life teasing him, you felt cold kisses on your back out of nowhere, and the room suddenly smelled like the ocean.
“That was one hell of a production just to eat my cum. Couldn’t you just suck my cock?”
The whisper in your ear gave you goosebumps. You just knew he felt you clench from the way he softly laughed immediately after.
“Shut up and get down there,” you ordered Chris.
“Anything you want, baby,” he kissed your waist.
As you were busy changing Jake’s life in your mouth, Chris lay under you, licking the white drops dripping down your thighs first. Then he started munching on your clit, and the volume of your moans immediately tripled, growing even louder as he lazily dragged his tongue all over your pussy. When you least expected it, his fingers slid inside you, fucking Jake’s cum back into you while letting out content sighs. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could feel the words within your body.
“Cum for me. Like you always do.”
Your body convulsed so hard that you almost crushed him between your legs. Unfortunately for Jake, your stamina hit subzero before he could finish, and even though Chris making you suck on his cum-covered fingers almost did the trick, it still wasn’t enough.
“Delicious, right? Can’t hold a candle to your taste, though,” he took a gentle bite from your ear, then addressed Jake firmly. “Switch with me.”
He got comfortable against the headboard and pulled you on his lap, spreading your legs wide so Jake could see how he disappeared into you.
“Eat her pussy,” Chris ordered him.
A diabolical smile appeared on Jake’s face when he saw you flinch. He could see you still pulsating with aftershocks, which meant you were still sensitive, which meant if he licked your clit right now…
“Too much. Too much!!!”
“It’s only too much if I say it’s too much,” Jake loudly slurped. “You’re a big girl, you can take it.”
You were thrashing on Chris’ lap, trying to escape the overly ticklish sensation, but to no avail. All you could do was listen to him sweetly laugh in your ear as he stretched you more, while his worse half was decimating you on his tongue.
You had zero complaining rights because if it was too much to take, then you shouldn’t have wished for exactly this.
“You’re fucking perfect,” Chris drowned you in kisses. You weren’t sure if you heard it right when he spoke to Jake again. “Come up. She’s ready.”
As Chris slowly pulled out of you, Jake finally gave you some respite and got on his knees. He stroked himself to full hardness, then offered his cock to you to devour, letting the pleasure run a few laps in his veins before he got to the closer of the show. You let him go with a loud pop, and what you felt next was…
Both of them.
Pressing.
Against your entrance.
“You can take it, baby,” Chris encouraged you. “She can, right?”
“Of course she can. This is the home stretch now,” Jake concurred. “Deep breaths. Hold my hands.”
They kissed you everywhere they could, your neck, your shoulders, your lips, as if this was wholesome lovemaking and not the pinnacle of debauchery. They were moving slow and deep, gradually making their way in, and you let them. You let them devour you. You let them swallow you whole. You let them meet inside you to maybe put an end to their petty fight.
And at long last, they were fucking you in tandem, scarily reminiscent of a well-oiled machine, almost in a rehearsed rhythm like they had done this before.
And not just once.
“See? Perfect. You’re perfect.”
“God, you’re so fucking tight… I love it.”
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. I can’t blow yet.”
“Oh, fuck…”
“I said don’t—”
“FUCK!!!”
It reminded you of the blue dress girl a little. Granted, these two paid so much mind to your pleasure at first, but by the end, this wasn’t about you. This was about them hitting rock bottom of pleasure together, and just having you along for the ride. And you let them. You let them devour you. You let them swallow you whole.
Just like you wished.
After the dust cleared, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing and hums of satisfaction. Arms and legs tangled with each other, you were floating on cloud nine, high on the filthiest kind of bliss you had ever experienced in your life.
“You know I’m not gonna pay you for this, right?” you spoke once you deemed their wits were back enough to process your words.
“We wouldn’t take your money,” Chris snuggled up to you, “but we will take your pussy.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means if you think you’re getting out of this debt, you got another thing coming,” Jake buried his head in the crook of your neck. “I know what your cumface looks like now.”
✉ Enjoyed this? Your feedback & reblogs free my stories from the draft prison.
This fried my brain so bad that it feels like it got DPed. What the fucking fuck is wrong with you??? (Affectionate) Now I don't know if I need a cold shower, my vibrator, OR a cigarette.
intended souls | a lullaby on his throat chapter five
pairing: demigod!hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 13k | genre: mythology au, romance | warnings: adult and sometimes dark themes ; complicated feelings ; angst ; elements of contemporary fantasy ; explicit sexual content. This work is for adult audiences only.
You had known it before, but you were certain now—you would love him even if it annihilated you molecule by molecule. It was not something you could control and yet it felt like a choice, a conscious decision. You loved Hyunjin, and for as long as your heart would beat and perhaps even after, you would continue to love him.
One never really gets used to solitude.
There is no getting used to loneliness, there is only an illusion of it. The origin of this mirage most often comes from one’s foolish desire to be anything but hollow. Because, at its core, isn’t this what loneliness is? To be lacking something, something substantial enough that its absence alters us? Not everything can cause such a feeling. Loneliness, the true kind. Not everything holds enough weight for us to be off-balance once it is taken away from us. Or rather, once it is taken from within us.
Sometimes, it can feel as though something precious melted and disappeared, or like it waited while we were looking the other way before sneaking out. There is violence in that, in this betrayal—it’s difficult to process the shift when we do not see it unfold.
Other times, solitude is expected—but only truly lonely people can understand such a thing. Some people are made lonely and others are born lonely. In this case, it is much like a curse, something that follows us everywhere we go, lurking, but never far.
In this case, it feels like the beautiful and precious thing has been denied to us. Like, perhaps, we failed some sort of test and were proven unworthy of it. There is no suitable analogy for it—we could compare it, however, to having our chest cut open with a badly sharpened knife before our heart is torn away. Most of the time, they don’t bother sewing us back up, and then we become the wound that was inflicted upon us. Bleeding, raw, unsightly enough that people look the other way so they don’t have to see it.
Only the best things can cause this sort of pain, only the most beautiful things can become so foul, so terrible.
When something makes you fly high, it means the fall is harder, more brutal, but unfortunately not lethal.
You never got used to solitude.
It followed you all your life, really—at one point, you told yourself that you were meant to be alone, so you tried to embrace it. And you did so successfully, but to embrace and to get used to it are two very different concepts, and, in fact, they have nothing to do with one another.
It was as you reflected on solitude that you came to realize that a large room full of people sounded a little like the ocean. Murmurs of conversations came all together to form a whole, the sound of it echoing on the walls and the high ceiling, like ripples on water. At its faintest, when fewer people were speaking, you could swear it sounded just like a river.
It reminded you of the river that ran through the city, coursing in curves, flowing gently and delicately, with pretty lights reflecting on it. The music of a violin playing and tickling your ears.
There were, more or less, three hundred guests attending the gala tonight.
It changed nothing to the fact that you had never in your life before felt as alone as you did in that moment, surrounded by people you knew and by strangers, too, in a place that ought to be familiar but wasn’t really.
The sea of them continued to whisper and talk and laugh, the sound of it often punctuated with glasses clinking or chairs scraping on the old floor when people pushed themselves up or sat down. A group of four passed near you as they returned from outside, smelling faintly of cigarettes and winter. You recognized one of the four as the head curator of a museum in Italy, one that you had visited during your Master’s and that you had particularly liked. The man, older now, noticed you and stopped as the rest of his group continued toward their table, a little farther down the room.
“It’s an honor to be invited here tonight,” the man told you, and you had to look up so you could look him in the eyes, or rather, to pretend that you were still human. He shook your hand, but in the end held both your hands in his, squeezing them. “I remember when you were a student, coming to the museum every day… I knew then that you were special. Congratulations, dear.”
You offered him a smile and a thank you, doing your best to look like you meant it. You did mean it, only you couldn’t figure out if it was relevant. If he had truly believed that something set you apart from the masses years ago, wouldn’t he have told you then?
Why wait until now to do it?
The background noise changed when the crowd began to clap politely. You looked at the front of the room, where a small stage had been put in place for the night. It was nicely decorated with warm lighting and real flowers and plants. As you were sitting very close, you could smell them, fresh and sweet. The focus of the decor, however, was the few pieces from the Deities exhibition that had been brought here, into the museum’s atrium. There were three paintings. The first one, on the left, was Agatheia and her three children, depicting the demigoddess sitting in her lush garden, smiling as she was surrounded by Kyma, Prokopios, and Hyathos, who, however, was staring out at the horizon, not quite living in the present moment. It had always been one of your favorite pieces.
The second, on the right, was a large painting showing most of the ancient gods. The scene did not exist in the myths—the gods were never mentioned to have been at the same place all at once, as too many of them were enemies or rivals. At the very top of the frame was Minhas, god of the skies, inevitability, and mortality. He could be seen watching the other gods from his high viewpoint, observing all of them pensively.
Just below, Amaranthos and Perikles were looking down upon the chaos that they had stirred while fighting one another—the first had a sword made of obsidian and the other, a spear made of gold. Kyma, being taken away by Thoros, with Agatheia holding her daughter’s hand, looking like she was trying to get her daughter back from the King of the Underworld. However, Prokopios lay dead at their feet, his skin drained of color, his eyes open and rigid. Sophronia was alone, the goddess of flowers sitting on a rock, weaving a crown of roses. Her gaze, however, was turned to Agatheia. Some texts said that the two goddesses kept a secret friendship, and that it was Sophronia who gifted Agatheia the most beautiful flowers of her garden.
Beneios was there, not too far from Perikles, holding his dead sister’s body, her heart pierced by one of Perikles’ golden arrows. His expression could not be seen, but one could understand his pain and mourning in his posture and in the love with which he held his sister.
At the center of it all was Ismene, on her island, tall and radiant. She stood, towering over the god of light himself—Feliks was with her, on his knees as though he was seeking atonement, or simply begging his aunt for something. There were tears in his eyes and they resembled sun rays, illuminating his despondent expression.
Hyathos was with no one else. Unlike Sophronia, he wasn’t just alone—he was lonely, an arm outstretched, his fingertips caressed by the light spilling from Feliks’ tears. He stood, his ankles caressed by tall grass, his long, soft-brown hair floating in the wind. The expression on his face was complex, often named by art historians as one of the best portraits of its time. He was yearning for something and yet dreading it at once, nostalgic, bittersweet. The more one stared at him, the more emotions appeared—grief, fear, envy, anguish, curiosity. His eyes, it seemed, held whole entire worlds inside of them. You had written well over a hundred thousand words about this depiction of Hyathos alone, and it seemed like there was just as much to say about it still.
The last of the three paintings had been placed at the center. With no great surprise, it was The Cypress Tree, the most sought-after and cherished painting from the exhibition. Even from here, it seemed like you could feel the warmth emanating from it, from its lifelike radiance. It reminded you of the way the sun used to look—a debate that was still ongoing, as some people perceived a change in the color and aspect of sunlight while others did not. Scientists were studying the phenomenon but absolutely nothing hinted that something had changed in the atmosphere, the sky, or with the sun—the sun was the sun, as it had always been. Only, to you, and to some others, it looked different, in a way that could hardly be explained with words. It was in these moments that you envied painters. You thought that Arthur Calverley, who had so beautifully painted sunlight in The Cypress Tree, would have been able to convey this new luminescence with accuracy.
You watched as a woman made her way to the stage, stopping behind the reading stand, lowering the microphone until it was at a comfortable height for her. She seemed at ease in her professional-looking cocktail dress, gazing at the vast room with a smile on her face, looking amused.
The room fell silent almost instantly and all the heads turned in her direction, except for yours. Even as she began speaking and introducing herself as the Dean of the university that presented the Alden Breay Award. You had spoken with her a few times over the phone and again tonight, meeting her in the flesh for the first time. She was a hyper type of person, yet intelligent and witty. It showed as she spoke to the crowd, explaining how the award had come to exist.
You, however, were contemplating how it would be you, very soon, standing on that stage, giving your speech. In front of all of these people and a handful of cameras. Tonight’s ceremony was one of the most highly anticipated of the year, maybe especially since it also happened to be the day you launched the first three books on Cipherian. The first one was a dictionary, and the second was an analysis and explanation of the language’s complex grammar, including its even more obscure dialects.
The last book was the one you hated most. Or loved most. Or, somehow, both at once. It was the one you had begun to write before you had even processed the fact that you had suddenly acquired this language—the one you had so ardently wished to share with Hyunjin.
It was a huge book—a complete translation of the most important texts of the ancient myths, accompanied by comprehensive and detailed essays that you wrote, from the perspective of the only person on earth who could understand them completely. For now, at least, as you had no doubt that linguists and amateurs alike would soon know Cipherian as well as you did, or perhaps even better, rendering you useless once again. Some days, you couldn’t wait for it to happen, wanting nothing more than to be invisible and forgotten, knowing very well that it would leave yet another scar the day it would come true.
It was that book you were the most proud of. You would write other books like it—had already started to do so—with more texts and more translations. Now that you knew the language they were written in, the ancient myths were deeper, more textured. More real, too, somehow.
You did not pay much attention to the Dean as she spoke, instead you focused on the rest of the room, maybe trying to get used to the sight of all these people.
Jisung must have sensed your unease because he reached for your hand under the round table, squeezing it in his. He was most likely just as nervous as you were, considering how clammy his skin was. Yet you appreciated the gesture, turning to him with a joyless smile, to which he responded with an equally flat one. He looked especially nice tonight with his hair combed to the side and a fancy navy-colored suit. He was sitting between you and Seungmin, who also looked especially dapper in a charcoal outfit.
You shared your table, also, with the staff from the museum. Minji sat across from you, obviously agitated but in a giddy kind of way, almost childish. You envied her—she was, a little, the girl you wished you had been at her age. But unlike Minji, you had been born lonely, and you could not change that. When Mrs. Yoo noticed that you were looking in her direction, she mouthed a gentle It’ll be alright at you, making you wonder if it was very apparent that you felt like you were about to throw up.
“Deep breaths,” Jisung whispered into your ear. He had sprayed a little too much cologne tonight, but its vivid scent served as an anchor.
Deep breaths. Easier said than done.
You put a hand over your chest in a lame attempt at calming down. You could feel your pulse through your ribcage, crazed and unsteady.
Your fingers ran into something cool and you wrapped your hand around it, suddenly remembering the existence of the necklace hanging around your neck.
A few hours ago, as you were getting ready for tonight, Jisung entered your hotel room with a small box. It’s for you, he said, handing it over. A gift. And he had never really been the one to buy gifts, so it was suspicious. The gift turned out to be an absolutely stunning yet delicate white gold chain with a small pendant. The pendant was a green garnet whose deep shade of viridian fascinated anybody who looked at it. It was reminiscent of the ocean and a forest at once, and everything in between.
There’s no way you bought this, you told Jisung. Your reasoning was simple—he didn’t buy gifts, and if he was going to buy gifts, they wouldn’t be as nice as this necklace. Only someone with refined taste would pick this over other necklaces. And, lastly, there was no way in hell he could afford it, even if you paid him well. You chose this necklace?
The thing with Jisung is that he is a terrible liar. It was actually that very fact that led to the demise of your situationship. When you clearly began showing signs of the Catching Feelings disease, he recoiled immediately and was not inconspicuous about it, no matter how hard he tried. And you knew he tried just so he wouldn’t hurt you. And it was such a stupid thing to do, yet everyone did it—there was no way one could fully protect another from the truth. Nothing could soften the blow—it could only be delayed.
Of course I chose it. But when he saw in your eyes that you didn’t believe him, Jisung added, The lady at the store helped me. Which made total sense, and you probably would have believed him if you didn’t suspect this necklace to be custom-made and worth several thousand dollars.
You wondered if maybe Jisung needed to get laid. After all, he had left this girl he had started seeing after you. He said things didn’t work out. He had been with her for less than a month, even less time than he had spent fooling around with you. After that had been the beginning of the chaos, and he had started following you anywhere—you were not aware of him seeing girls. So you figured that maybe he was hoping you would fuck him in exchange for this insanely expensive necklace.
Thing is, you could be convinced. Maybe you would suck his cock after the gala, in the car on your way back to the hotel suite that had been offered to you since it was closer to the museum than your apartment was. You knew it made him crazy when you looked him in the eyes as he spilled himself into your mouth. After that, you could let him fuck you in the hotel room, on the couch maybe, or against a wall. Jisung fucked desperately, always. You used to like it because you had believed he was desperate for you. You had been a fool, though.
You did not love him. There had been a time when you thought you loved Jisung. But that was before you knew what love was really like.
You nervously fidgeted with the necklace, fully aware that daydreaming about letting your almost-ex hit it just to feel something was not the best coping mechanism.
On stage, the Dean had just spoken your name, inviting you to join her so she could officially hand you the award you had been granted. Your heart jumped in your chest and it felt like it came to a stop, much like your breathing, or the flow of time. For a brief moment, silence reigned in the atrium.
Your gaze flew upwards, lingering on the large skylight that the ceiling was made of. The sky was dark and raindrops rolled down the curved glass.
The thing with solitude is it doesn’t matter if you’ve had it for a long time or not, if you expected it or not—it is always quiet and furtive and violent. And it hit you exactly at that moment. The magnitude of your loneliness. The weight of it—crushing and unforgiving. Maybe you had known for a while but hadn’t been brave enough to admit it to yourself.
You would never be truly happy again. Not without Hyunjin.
You had tasted what genuine contentment was like, you had known what true love felt like, and now everything was bland compared to it. There was no point in chasing a similar feeling because it wouldn’t exist, not without him. There would be days when you would feel joy but you would never be really happy. Something would always be lacking in your life, lacking from you—he had left, it felt like, thousands of little voids in your body and your soul.
You did not want the award. You never asked for it. You let Seungmin and Jisung convince you that you should take it, if only for the monetary prize that would be split between you and the museum. You didn’t need money. You did not want it.
The person you wanted to share all of this with was gone.
A comforting hand pressed itself in between your shoulder blades—Jisung gave you a gentle nudge as a reminder that you had to stand up.
Your legs were weak, trembling yet stiff, but you managed to push yourself up, a little too aware that all the heads were turned toward you, now. As soon as you stood straight, the entire room erupted in enthusiastic applause, the sound of it echoing on the walls, made even louder by the acoustics of the room. You smoothed out your pretty ball gown before closing your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palm, as Jisung stood after you, now pressing his hand at the small of your back to invite you to come with him. He took his role of security guard very seriously, but then he had also taken himself very seriously when he had been head of security here, so it shouldn’t surprise you.
“Let’s go now,” you heard him mutter as he guided you toward the front of the room, regularly looking around as if he was fully expecting doom to fall upon you. He kept you close. The plan was that he would wait by the stage while you gave your speech, but now you found yourself wishing he would climb up there with you just so you wouldn’t be alone.
Then you remembered the rift between alone and lonely.
He did help you up the steps though, holding your hand until the last second and giving it a squeeze before releasing you. The spotlights were warm and blinded you enough that you could barely see more than a few tables away—you couldn’t even make out the far end of the atrium, for which you were grateful. You could only imagine it would be easier to read your speech.
The Dean welcomed you warmly, introducing you once again into the microphone while an assistant was bringing the trophy. It was smaller than you expected it to be, yet no less beautiful—made of glass, gold and bronze, it depicted a woman, Alden Breay’s wife, sitting at a desk and seemingly writing. It was his wife’s essay on geopolitics that had inspired him the award in the first place, because, at the time, institutions wanted nothing to do with an essay on politics written by a woman. Breay had to claim the essay as his for it to see the light of day. He had sworn that worthy scholars should never go unheard and ignored again.
You were handed your trophy, which was heavier than it seemed and cool to the touch. You looked at it for a few seconds while the applause gained in volume and ardor. A nervous smile painted itself on your lips, and you took a moment to observe the trophy again, on which your name had been engraved, followed by for her immense contribution to the world of history, linguistics, and art, which changed the world.
You put the trophy down, causing the applause to slowly come to a stop, but not before you heard a few familiar voices calling your name—Minji and Mrs. Yoo, but also your mother, your sister, and your uncle, who had traveled for hours just to be here tonight. Tears welled up in your eyes while the importance of the moment was trying to make its way in the deepest corners of your mind.
From his spot, Jisung handed you the two sheets on which you had printed your speech—it had taken many hours to settle on a final version, and many people had helped. You unfolded it with shaking hands, staring at the words on the first sheet, reading the first sentence. Thank you for being here tonight. It is an honor to stand before you to accept this award.
Not inaccurate or anything, and yet.
Almost painfully, you lifted your head, really looking at the room. Now that your eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the lights, you could see better, although the faces remained unreadable. There were so many people. You gave lectures sometimes or participated in various speaking engagements, but never in front of a crowd like this. You hadn’t even been this nervous during your PhD presentation.
You cleared your throat, reporting your attention to the sheets you were holding. You suddenly felt the urge to look at something familiar, at something comforting—and since the thing you desired most was not available, you turned around, glancing at the paintings behind you. The gods, the gods that you understood better now. You allowed your gaze to linger on Feliks underneath his cypress tree, and then on Hyathos and his heavy expression, and the rest of them. To you, they had become so real that it was hard to distinguish fiction from truth, but you had no desire to perceive reality anyway.
The room fell quiet—a silence so thick you could almost feel it on your skin as it reached you. You inhaled it when you took a deep breath to ready yourself, but as you opened your mouth to begin reading your speech, something shifted within you. It seemed like those words on this piece of paper—words that you had composed, typed, and printed yourself—were no longer accurate.
You folded the sheets again, trying very hard to conceal the uncontrollable shaking of your hands. You remembered exactly at that moment the way it used to feel when you and Hyunjin would exchange emails back and forth, writing entire essays about the myths just for each other. How easy it had been with him—this, and everything else. There was so much that you wished you could talk about with him now that you truly understood the myths.
At the beginning of your essay book, one could read, To you who made me love these stories more than I ever did - each and every one of these words is for you.
Maybe it did not matter. Whether he loved you or not. Because you loved him, and nothing could ever change that about you. And you loved that part of yourself, the part that had fallen in love with this honeyed-skin stranger. You loved the part of yourself that had allowed it to happen, that had gone with him for dinner the very night you met him. So the fact that he didn’t love you as much as you loved him only mattered in the sense that you were alone and would always be, but this love would always have a home in your heart.
“Uh…” You began, recoiling slightly when a slight screech echoed after your voice. You pulled away a little, making sure to speak a few inches farther so the microphone would work well. “I, uh, I spent hours writing this speech, but… But there is more I want to say. And of course, I want to say thank you to those who decided I deserve this award. Never in my life did I imagine something like this would happen to me. So I’m grateful, I really am. And yet—we all know how I came to make the discoveries I made, and so much of it relies on luck that I almost refused the award.”
That declaration was punctuated by murmurs across the room. The more you spoke, the easier you could breathe, it felt like.
You went on. “But language… Language brings people together. To me, instead of being a barrier, it is a gate, an entrance into another culture. I always felt this way, even before Cipherian was Cipherian, back when we only knew a few words of it. And so I think this is why I’m here tonight—apart from the fact that I was persuaded by people close to me—because I believe in the importance of this discovery, regardless of my actual involvement in it. I want to keep writing about it. I don’t think I will have enough of my life to say everything there is to say about the beauty and the intricacy of it.
“You know how they say that learning a language changes you, alters your brain, the way it works, and the way it processes information. I’ve always known that to be true, but it was never as real as the day I sat down to read every word of the myths we had not yet been able to understand. I read about arra, a concept that doesn’t quite exist in our modern world. The authors of the myths thought that love came from light—among other sources, because it could also come from blood, or the ocean—and that it was visible to the naked eye. Love. Arra is what lights up someone’s eyes when they see their soulmate. But even soulmate isn’t quite that in Cipherian. The exact translation would be intended soul, as in, there is only one soul we are meant to bond with. To these people, arra could be seen on someone. And that changed me.”
At this, the crowd’s whispers grew a tad louder, but the voices were appreciative, impressed, even.
“I remember it. Arra. I remember when it once illuminated my eyes, and now that the light went out, I see the world a few shades darker, but at least I have a word that explains the phenomenon.” You paused then, the shaking of your hands calming down only for you to begin feeling it in your throat. “But that’s not all. Cipherian opens a brand new perspective on the concept of legacy. To them, it’s called syn hsar avīmhyphaei. Essentially, the literal translation of that is continuity. Because, what is legacy for us? Let’s put it simply—it is what we leave behind after we’re gone, which is not a concept that can be applied to the gods, can it? How could immortal beings perceive legacy the same way we do if they never cease to exist? Hsar means circle in Cipherian. Syn hsar avīmhyphaei is the circle that continues. The gods’ legacy is what always was and what always will be.
“We do not know well the authors of the myths and even less those whose stories, written in the even more obscure language of the gods, inspired them. But whoever they were had a sensitive and beautiful vision of life, an understanding of it that our brains can barely comprehend.
“So, I think, this is why I’m here tonight. I think it’s the only way I could make sense of this award—because I want people to read those books. I want people to open their minds to this new perspective on life, which I think changes us for the better. It rewires our brains and our hearts and forces them open in a painless, loving way.
“Above all… I wish for people to come together. Exchange, debate, discuss, learn. Love. There is nothing that can be compared to it—the act of bonding with someone because of a shared passion, or a common goal. Maybe the authors took themselves for gods—maybe that was what they wanted us to believe, that their legacy did not follow the rules of time, that it had no beginning and no end. And I think they were right. Let the myths and Cipherian be the bridge that brings people together. Together, let’s create a new and more beautiful legacy.”
The applause that followed your speech deafened you momentarily, but it wasn’t because of its volume per se, it was because, for those few seconds, nothing else existed, not even you. Your soul left your body for a short moment while you were recovering from the immense stress of speaking in front of such a crowd. The return was brutal—the spotlights, it seemed, were warmer than ever, and your dress felt awfully light all of a sudden, as though it did not cover enough skin.
You reached for your trophy and let Jisung escort you back to your table, except everyone on the way there stopped you to congratulate you or shake your hand. Assistants were, however, asking attendees to stand while they cleared some space, as the next part of the gala would be the core party where people could dance and drink, and have dessert after the dinner earlier.
You let Minji take you to a corner to touch up your eye makeup. She did so in silence with a concerned look on her face, a look that you knew very well by now. You hadn’t quite descended from the high of the speech—in fact, you couldn’t remember any of it, not even a sentence—but focusing on Minji’s strange behavior certainly felt like a gentle slap back to reality.
“What’s going on?” you questioned as she handed you your lipstick, which had a nice, creamy peach color. You had too much money now, more than you wanted, so you bought things that cost a ridiculous price. This lipstick was one of these things. “Did I make a fool of myself?” Your heart sank in your chest.
Minji shook her head vehemently. “No, god, no!” she assured, looking properly shocked. “On the contrary—it was great. You were great. You didn’t even look nervous.” She waited until you had reapplied the lipstick and put it back into her purse. “I’m just really proud of you.”
You knew there was more to Minji’s sudden mood shift so you didn’t believe her made-up excuse. You did trust her, though—you could only imagine that she was withholding information from you because she thought it was the absolute best thing to do at this moment. Maybe it had something to do with the annoying journalists from the red carpet—because there had been a red carpet even though you insisted it was absolutely not necessary.
Have you guys been dating for a long time? Asked about you and Jisung, because he was effectively your date for the night—as your personal security, of course.
I love your dress! Who designed it? The dress was nice and you had found it at a luxury shop. A few haute couture designers had approached you, offering to design you a dress for tonight’s event, but you had politely declined.
With which of the gods would you most want to go on a date? A question you had assumed was some sort of bait, considering you had been ridiculed during your university years when you admitted having a crush on one of them. The way a girl has a crush on a guy that doesn’t exist, but it hadn’t stopped the others from giggling not just behind your back, but right at your face.
Most of these so-called journalists had requested a camera interview with you, and Seungmin had politely let them know there would be no such thing tonight.
You didn’t need media exposure. Cipherian, the myths, and even your essays were all over the news and the internet.
“Thank you,” you finally told Minji, making yourself smile. “I owe you and the others a lot.”
“No need to be humble tonight,” she reminded you playfully. “How about I take your trophy upstairs to your office? Seems inconvenient to carry around.”
It was excessively heavy indeed, but now that Minji was offering, what you really wanted was to go with her. Just to be away from all of these people for five minutes. Or maybe twenty.
Or maybe an hour.
“I’ll go with,” you said. You figured you ought to give her a little excuse just so she wouldn’t suspect anything. “There’s something I wanted to check anyway.”
A hand pressed itself on your back, and you recognized Jisung. “Nope, no work tonight.” He had a faint smile on his face when you turned to him. “Besides, you need to eat.”
Jisung took his hand in yours, guiding you away from Minji and toward the tables covered in food at the other end of the room. Since the beginning of the night, it was more of the same—everybody who saw you waved at you or gave you a solemn nod, and you did your best to give the appropriate response, but your throat was shut tight and you just felt weird. Like you expected more from tonight, or perhaps less, in a strange way.
Once you made it to the food, Jisung asked for a few random items on the table, and the server carefully put everything on a plate. “With two forks, please,” Jisung added. “Thank you.”
You also offered the server a smile, just so people would at least believe you weren’t completely miserable. Jisung once again took your hand, so you could go sit somewhere to eat. You weren’t hungry, but you’d eat a few bites just to shut him up—or rather, just so he wouldn’t worry about you too much.
As you walked away, though, you caught sight of the plaque with the caterer’s name on it. It was a bakery somewhere in town, with a very funny name. Familiar in an excessively bittersweet way.
“BabyBread,” Jisung read on the plaque, stopping in his tracks and following your gaze. He chuckled. “That’s a weird business name. But kinda funny, isn’t it?” When he saw that you weren’t responding, he went on, “Do you know this place? The pastries look delicious.”
Did you know this place? Yes. But you hadn’t been inside the bakery per se. Hyunjin, however, intended to take you there for dessert after your first dinner together. Your first date, for all intents and purposes. Yet you yearned for it, for a memory that didn’t exist. You had never tasted the food made over there because instead, you and Hyunjin slow-danced outside. And it changed your life. And it changed you.
“Thank you sir,” the caterer employee retorted with a smile. “Freshly baked today by yours truly.”
“Oh, are you the owner of the bakery?” Jisung asked, making small talk with this stranger. “The name really is something.”
“It’s an inside joke, but yeah, it’s me.” The young man offered both of you a wide, heartfelt smile. He turned to you. “Miss, I want to extend my congratulations on your achievement. I can’t wait to buy your books and read them.”
Two things went through your mind at that moment—the first was that you had a box with copies of the books upstairs and that you would have someone give them to him. The second was that Hyunjin, that first night, had said he knew the owner.
“Please speak to my assistant,” you told him. “Tell her I want you to have the books—I have some in my office.” Before he could refuse though, you continued. “Sir, excuse me, but… There is someone I know, a friend, with whom I almost visited your bakery once.” It was a little more than a year ago—time flew a little too fast to your taste. “He said he knows you.”
The man’s eyebrows raised in a pleasantly surprised expression. “Did he?” His smile softened. “Who is that friend we have in common, then? He never told me he knew THE woman who deciphered the gods’ language!”
Jisung tugged at your arm but you let go of his hand. You closed in the distance between you and the table—the closer to it you got, the more you could smell the sweet scents emanating from it.
“His name is Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.” Simply uttering his name out loud like this felt like a free fall, and there was nothing you could anchor yourself to.
The young man squinted for a couple of seconds and he tilted his head to the side, just slightly. “Yes, Mr. Hyunjin. We became acquainted when I noticed it was him in a clothing ad across the street…” He let out a soft laugh but the more he spoke, the colder your heart felt. “He used to visit my bakery quite often.”
You swore you could hear Jisung’s impatience and unease as he stood a little behind you. But this baker was the closest thing you had to Hyunjin in months, even though he was just someone who knew him.
“He left the city,” you responded, your voice cracking unexpectedly. You cleared your throat, feeling the familiar prick of tears in your eyes.
The man frowned. “Are you sure, miss?”
Out of habit, you glanced at Jisung, who had an unreadable expression on his face, but was still dutifully holding the plate of pastries with the two forks on it. For an instant, he seemed puzzled, and then forced himself to look neutral again.
“Y-Yes,” you replied, turning to the baker again.
He nodded slowly before shrugging. “I could swear I saw him earlier.” He gestured vaguely at the room behind you. “Must have been a trick of the light.”
The free fall came to an abrupt stop when you landed in a pool of ice-cold water, then sank to the bottom of it, only to end your journey in lava. Too thick to move and too hot to breathe. Almost with fear, you turned around, looking at the ball taking place in the atrium.
“Everyone looks so dapper and fancy tonight,” the man went on with a light tone—maybe he had seen something in your eyes. Maybe, for an instant, you had let your sorrow shine through them. “Probably got confused with someone else.”
Except there was one thing you were sure of, and it was that nobody who had a functional pair of eyes could ever confuse Hyunjin for somebody else. He looked too out of this world for that.
You froze in place, scanning the faces before you, looking for the one you had been so adamantly yearning for. Could it really be? No, it couldn’t, right?
Jisung intertwined his arm with yours again before you could sink any deeper. “We can eat later. Let’s dance. I like this song.”
The song had just begun. Jisung had never been one to dance, not like that. It was a slow-paced classical piece, one that you had never heard before, yet it sounded both nostalgic and sad.
He left the plate on the nearest table and dragged you to the dance floor under the gazes of several people. You wanted to cry. You wanted to leave. You did not want to dance, but when Jisung put his hands on your waist, you let him. He was looking at you gravely, almost like he was sorry that it was with him you were dancing and not somebody else.
You loved him. Hyunjin. It had been foolish to love him but it was not the sort of thing one could control. You knew nothing about him except, you knew his soul. It felt like that. You didn’t know about his family—he avoided the topic always—and you didn’t know about his childhood either, but you knew about his deepest and darkest feelings. And it had been enough to make you fall in love with him.
And now you saw him in everything.
You saw him in the river coursing through the city. You saw him in the cold nights and warm afternoons. You saw him in the strangeness of the world and in its beauty, too. He had become a part of you and that could never be undone, not even after he left. He had become a phantom limb, but the space he occupied in your heart had remained unchanged. You felt him in everything. You felt him in the smoothest silk of fancy hotel room robes. You felt him in the most poignant music, whether it was piano, harp, or cello. You felt him in the emptiness of your bed. In the emptiness of your cunt, and the one of your heart, too.
Jisung led the dance, holding you firmly as he did his best to sway beautifully among the other dancers. Your gaze lingered at many places as you danced—Jisung, the peculiar expression on his face as he held your waist as though he was running out of time. The skylight, displaying nothing but darkness and raindrops. The walls, displaying some of the most significant art the world had ever come to see. The crowd, some of them dancing to the rhythm of the sorrowful melody playing in the room. Others stood around and watched those who danced while drinking champagne. It made you crave more of it. Champagne, or something stronger.
You saw Hyunjin in everything. You saw the color of his eyes in a bottle of luxury cognac, you saw the color of his skin in a glass of expensive white wine, or in a jar of honey left by a sunny window.
You saw Hyunjin in the language of the gods. In the deep and intricate way the myths illustrated love and yearning. You saw Hyunjin in the madness that was taking over you—the one the gods called ceinōahk, a word whose literal translation was everyday love. The concept would be difficult to explain, but essentially, it describes a love that is as natural as breathing, cooking food, or looking at the sky. Actions done on a daily basis, out of need for survival or just because they make life better and are a part of it. You saw him in other words or in grammar rules. You saw him in the commas and other symbols that adorned the ancient texts, like the one you had named the ōleiandyi, for oleanders were the inspiration behind it. A straight line ending in what looked like a star but was a flower with five petals. It took you a lot of practice to get it right because of the specific shape of oleander petals.
The oleandi’s line would be traced below a series of words that needed to be insisted on, with the flower placed at the end to further emphasize the importance of the sentence. It felt as though every word he had ever spoken to you ought to be adorned with the symbol.
Your mind was so obsessed, so broken, so consumed by him, that you even saw him here, tonight, standing across the room, his gaze on you. Staring at you as if he had never left. Like he had been gone for two or three lifetimes.
You had known it before, but you were certain now—you would love him even if it annihilated you molecule by molecule. It was not something you could control and yet it felt like a choice, a conscious decision. You loved Hyunjin, and for as long as your heart would beat and perhaps even after, you would continue to love him.
Even if it killed you. Even if it kept you alive in the most unfair of worlds, which was to say, a world without him.
Bet she sucked her way through that PhD. Sloppy.
The voice that echoed in Hyunjin’s head was so loud and invasive that it might as well have been his own, only it wasn’t. It was plaguing his thoughts the way his father used to. Like poison. Like a nightmare one cannot wake up from.
Like a smear of blood on the cuff of a white button-down.
It had dried already. The blood. Much like the voice haunting his mind, it did not belong to Hyunjin, and it would not go away, no matter how hard he scrubbed or how much handsoap he poured onto it. He knew he wasn’t supposed to get water on it because it was silk, but he needed it gone.
Girls like her always act like they’re stuck-up nerds but next thing you know, they’re giving you a handjob in the bathroom at some wine tasting thing and ask you to finish on their tits.
Hyunjin only wanted to get some fresh air. He could never have predicted he would run into these pigs, men he had never even seen before.
He might have taken it as a sign that he shouldn’t have come here at all. Seungmin had given him ample amounts of warnings. “Are you sure about this?” his former manager had asked him when Hyunjin gave him the necklace that he got for you. “What am I supposed to tell her?”
“Just don’t tell her it’s from me. You can tell her it’s from you, or Han, or a fan. I want her to have it. I’ll be there, but I’m not sure I’ll… talk to her.”
Nobody else in the world knew how much danger you were in. He had tried to warn Han Jisung. He had begged him to keep you safe, but what could possibly protect you from the wrath of the cruelest gods?
He would see you on the news sometimes, or on a documentary series. Each discovery, each translation was a new window for mankind to look into another world. He knew you were drawing a lot of attention to yourself with your work. From mortals. From gods.
He knew he was making it worse, too. Hyunjin did his best to avoid you and thoughts of you, but that was like asking an irredeemable heroin addict to stop thinking about his vice.
They would kill you for it. They would kill you for understanding them, for understanding life the way they did. They would kill you to punish him for falling in love with you.
Hyunjin knew he took a risk by coming here tonight but he told himself he would stay away. That he would watch you being crowned with the award, being recognized by your peers, and that he would leave after. He knew what he had to do. Maybe he had known before, but it had all appeared clearly to him when he learned about your car “accident” a few weeks ago.
His father had called him selfish many times and it had taken all this time for him to realize he had been right all along. Weak, selfish, and self-absorbed. He should not have asked you to dinner that day at the museum. He should have walked out of there as soon as you made his heart jump in his chest. He should have run away when your words made his soul turn from a dull monochrome shade to vibrant with color.
There had been something in your eyes. And it was still there tonight. It was difficult to explain it with words—perhaps you, who possessed the language he had once known but had been taken away from him, would know how to describe it. It was as though you were begging to be loved. Please love me, your eyes said. But stay away.
He was running out of time. To love you. To save you. To make things right. But he was selfish, which meant he was here tonight so he could love you one last time.
She probably rode a dick for that award too.
Or took it in the ass.
I know a guy who can get us into the afterparty.
How about we go say hi and maybe get a few drinks in her?
Hyunjin only stepped outside for one minute because the sight of you in that green tulle dress overwhelmed him. It had been so long since he saw you, since he was in the same room as you, breathed the same air as you—he could only take so much of it at once.
There had been a few other guests scattered around the stairs leading to the front entrance. Hyunjin chose a spot he thought would be the most peaceful, but his attention immediately turned to the three nearest men when he understood that you had gone to university with one of them. They were drunk, meaning the conversation was not happening at a quiet volume.
And they were talking about you.
Hyunjin had never been intimate with rage. It was the very reason why his father hated him. Amaranthos had always wished to witness his middle child become more like himself—ruthless, filled with fury, and thirsty for violence and disorder. Hyunjin, up until now, had always been the exact opposite of all these things. He had no wish to get involved in his father’s wars because he had no bias in them. He had no claims in them. To Hyunjin, all of it had always been so futile—why fight over a territory or an ideal?
It had never been important enough for him. Not those wars, not any other, not anything.
And then he met you.
It was ironic, almost comical. As he felt more and more of his divine essence dissipating, Hyunjin began to display, finally, some of the qualities his father had wanted to see in him for so long.
He rinsed the soap off for the third time, examining the cuff of his shirt under the ceiling light. The blood was still there. Paler, but there nonetheless.
Hyunjin could tell that it was not just the free alcohol served at the award ceremony that made these men speak the way they did. It wasn’t even just lust or jealousy, although it was also that. The one who studied with you, he could tell, envied your success and resented you for it at the same time. Because you were better than he would ever be. And maybe he felt some sort of guilt for letting you give him a handjob in some bathroom at a wine tasting event and treating you like a disposable fleshlight.
Like a shooting star.
Everyone gets tired of me, Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.
He heard his father in these men. His cruelty. His impudence. Like poison. Like a nightmare. Like a stain of blood on white silk. He would recognize it anywhere—the corruption, the rot, now seeping through these mortals. Their impulses required so little divine intervention, but it was there. Their minds were too simple to fight their primal urges anyway. The kind of men who were just a little too eager to stick their cocks into something warm. Many gods were like this, too.
When you get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you be gentle with me?
Hyunjin never had to use violence before. He witnessed it many times, he felt it, and he hated it. He was the victim of it often. But it was the first time he tried it with his own hands. His own fists. Grabbing this bastard by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into the pillar behind him, realizing that the hatred he had for this guy extended to himself.
Smashing his face with his fist. One time, two times. Getting hit in return but not the pain that should have come with it. Maybe because he still had some immortality to him, or because he could not let these assholes defile your name like this and not react. Maybe this was his father taunting him—maybe he never meant to send them after you. Perhaps Amaranthos was just reveling in seeing his son’s facade break.
He was stronger than he thought he was. It only took a few punches until the man fell to his knees, mostly knocked out, but with still enough stamina to call Hyunjin a few nasty names. He was bleeding a lot from his nose and his lip was cut open. One of the other two just fled—the last one stared at the scene, frozen, apparently unable to react. Maybe he was trying to decide if it was worth risking getting his nose broken to show his loyalty to his friend.
Hyunjin did not care. He let go of the guy’s collar. He was bleeding all over his sleeve anyway. He backed up. The guy spat at his feet but ultimately just rested his head and stared at Hyunjin with a complicated emotion in his eyes. Guilt. Hatred. Shame. Ecstasy. It shone underneath the rest the same way obsidian reflected moonlight. It gave Hyunjin chills—he let two security guards take him away just so he wouldn’t have to look at the man anymore. And at the poison in his eyes.
Hyunjin avoided the worst of the commotion by bribing the head of security. The museum had hired an outside firm, so he was not familiar with anyone working at the doors tonight. It cost him all the cash he had in his wallet—and it was a lot—but he didn’t care.
When you get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you be gentle with me?
He could not wash the blood off his shirt.
Giving up, Hyunjin used a paper towel to dry himself as best he could, daring a glance towards the mirror in front of him. He barely recognized the reflection staring back. A man in a velvet tuxedo. A man stuck between two worlds, a prisoner of his own longing. With someone else’s blood on his sleeve and shadows in his eyes. It wasn’t Hyathos that he was seeing.
It was Hyunjin—in his most broken, human form.
He felt so small then, alone in this bathroom. Like the weight of the entire world was crushing him. Only, he had never been much more than that. Whatever this was. This was the most he’d ever be—a man who loved you and who had once been loved by you, too.
He took a deep breath, exhaling in a long sigh that left a smudge of condensation on the mirror, blurring his face. The air had become too heavy in here, too thick, much like the silence stuffing the room. He couldn’t hide in here forever anyway, could he? He knew that security rounds were done every ten minutes or so, which meant he had very little time to get out.
The hallway was a little less quiet—the party permeated through the floor here, as though it filtered between the old wooden planks. He wasn’t technically allowed here because it was the administrative wing on the second floor. Hyunjin just did not think it would have been a good idea to wash blood off his hands and shirt in the public bathroom downstairs, so he snuck up here. He knew this hallway because it’s where you brought him that first night. After dinner and slow-dancing in the park. After showing him the hidden painting.
He passed the door to your office, remembering how it felt to hold you and kiss you there. The floor creaked beneath him, but the sound of you in his mind, moaning so prettily in his ear, was louder. Louder than the other voices, too, the cruel ones.
Nothing mattered as much as you did.
And yet Hyunjin slowed down when he walked past the large window just before the staircase. It was so wide that it spanned nearly the entire wall. When he stood at the largest frame in its center, it was all he could see.
And, now, the night took up all of the space within it.
This window should have a similar view to the one in your office, meaning he should be able to see the park and the tree under which you sometimes sat. Only, it seemed like that part of the neighborhood had a power outage. Everything was dark and still. It was a strange sensation—Hyunjin knew it was there. The street below, the park across, the tree, the other museum wings. But the night had swallowed all of it.
His heart tightened in his chest—he had to hold onto the nearest window frame for a few seconds, his head spinning. He almost lost his balance. Almost.
He remembered his orchard.
He had built it, all of it, from nothing. Selecting only the best seeds and planting them with care. The trees grew in the fertile soil between the ocean and a pine grove, and so the fruit carried the taste of the land it grew on. Iodine. Timber. Sunlight. His father tried to convince him to tear down the pine grove so he could plant more trees and harvest more fruit. Hyunjin, mainly, grew peaches, but also apples and plums. He even had a few cherry trees, whose pretty blooms, in the spring, always moved him. He liked the trees he had, but he did not need more. He was content with his orchard. Satisfied. The fruit was juicy and sweet and fragrant.
His father always wanted more. He always wanted him to want more.
Hyunjin used to spend a lot of time there, alone, walking barefoot in the earth or the high grass, tending to his trees. Sometimes, he would venture into the pine grove. And sometimes—especially towards the end, before his father sent him here—he would go beyond the pine grove.
The pine trees were tall and ancient, older than time itself. They swayed gently in the wind, so he took his time, admiring the view on his way, walking the narrow path leading to the other side, stopping only when he reached it. He could not have gone any further anyway because that was also where the land stopped.
It did so dramatically—with a high, steep cliff, overlooking the ocean below. The perfect diving spot.
Hyathos was a demigod. He could not die, as in, death always evaded him or he always evaded death. But he would dive into the restless waters, over and over, as though colossal waves weren’t crashing onto the cliffside. As forceful as it was mesmerizing, the ocean broke onto the sharp rocks. The foam darkened their ochre-colored surface, drying only when the sun would kiss them come sunrise.
Hyathos was a demigod. Patron of desire, of disasters, and fruit trees. He had been loved by light itself, once, but not enough to be its sole craving. It was during one of his dives that he understood that being the god of desire did not mean he was meant to be desired more than anybody else—god or mortal alike. It meant he was more intimate with desire. It meant he felt it deeper and stronger and harder.
Hyathos could not die. But sometimes, as his immortal body hit the water, he hoped he would. He had been interested in mortals before, but it was around this time that he became fascinated by them, visiting witches and warlocks to inquire about the mortal world and the people who inhabited it. What they did. What kind of things they liked.
Their purpose.
Hyunjin’s fingers found the latch of the window in front of him. He could not take his eyes off the darkness below. Truth be told, he did not miss his life as a god, nor did he miss the dominion over which his father ruled, as it never truly felt like home. However, he did miss his orchard a little.
And this window reminded him an awful lot of staring down at the sea from the top of the cliff on a moonless night.
Hyunjin tested the latch—his fingers acted before his mind could think. He wondered what would happen if he jumped. If it would feel the way it used to feel when he dove into the ocean. He wondered if he would die. Could he die, yet? Was Minhas already watching him?
It made no difference. Whether he was watching or not. The latch did not move when Hyunjin tried it. Of course not—it was sealed.
He knew temptation invaded his mind out of fear. Or rather, grief.
He could, maybe, force this safety latch open.
Or he could go back downstairs and watch you in your beautiful dress. He could face you one last time. And if you let him, maybe, hold you again. Just tonight.
Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.
This whole time, you had it all wrong. It was he who was the shooting star, and you were the night sky, vast and deep and complex and beautiful. And he would endure all the anguish in all the universes if it meant he could love you in just one of them, just for a little while.
Hyunjin adjusted his bowtie, using his reflection in the window in front of him before making his way downstairs again, searching for you. Always you.
He saw it in your eyes when your gaze met his. Arra. Maybe it had been there since the beginning. He thought so.
Hyunjin felt it in his chest when your gaze met his. Belonging.
It had been there since the beginning.
Upon seeing Hyunjin, your body came to a halt, Jisung crashing into you. You almost toppled over but caught your balance at the last second, which could be classified as a miracle considering how you didn’t even feel your body. Or perhaps you felt it too much, kind of in the same way severe burns affect someone. As in, those burns go through the skin and damage the nerve endings, cutting all sensation. Protecting one from the pain.
It was what you were thinking of as you stood there, staring at the other side of the large room. That something within you was trying to shield you from whatever consequences would arise following this phenomenon.
Because either he wasn’t actually here, or this was somehow a hallucination. You could believe that—you could see how longing for him too much had just caused your brain to produce this illusion, making him appear out of the blue, perhaps as an attempt to soothe this visceral need that you felt. Your mind had produced an image of him. A wraith. Not real, no matter how tangible he looked.
Or he was actually here. Standing there, motionless, as handsome as ever, wearing a black velvet tux, his complex eyes riveted on you. But he had been there before, and then he had left without a word. So perhaps his coming back meant nothing.
Maybe he was here and he would just leave again.
It wasn’t burn injuries you thought about when he moved—Hyunjin, or the mirage of him, stood straight, walking slowly and steadily towards you. Something else came to your mind—it was as though each one of his steps was a detonation in your chest, instead this time there was no destruction. It was as though he was holding your heart in his hand and every inch of distance he closed between you was another not-so-gentle squeeze on it, forcing you back to life, breathing air into your lungs, allowing blood to course through your veins again. He was here. No illusion could have such an effect on you—only the real Hyunjin could find a way to your soul, bypassing any and all defenses on his way. He was the only thing you would ever let anywhere near your heart, even if it killed you.
He was standing right in front of you before you knew it, bringing with him his elaborate scent, enveloping you in it. Woody petrichor, with amber and floral undertones that made him smell like the exact moment when the sun pierced through stormy clouds.
It really was him. His not-brown eyes, something darker, something brighter. Heavy with a burden that could not be expressed with words. His pomegranate lips, his honey skin, his delicate yet violently beautiful traits, framed by his silky dark hair. Its shade of black was so rich it was reminiscent of a night sky that had northern lights dancing in it. A black with furtive undertones—damp, rich soil. Solar eclipses. Burnt wood. The warmth that you remembered radiated from him, deep, soft, peach-colored, and just as sweet.
All you could do was stare at him, taking in the sight of him, the elegance with which he held himself, the grace he exuded just by standing there.
Your gaze returned to his eyes, studying them. There was something in them that you hadn’t seen before. Not that it hadn’t been there—because it had been. You just had not known to look for it because you hadn’t yet known it existed.
Arra. The force lighting somebody’s eyes as they gazed upon their soulmate—or rather, their intended soul.
His bottom lip quivered, yet Hyunjin parted his mouth open, his eyes dancing all over you. “Darling,” he breathed, and his voice hit you like a storm. He said it again. “Darling…”
Relief came first, then fondness, followed by familiarity. You had thought about it a lot in your mind, the moment you would see Hyunjin again. Not because you assumed it would happen, but because you couldn’t help it. Whatever indifference had inhabited you in the first months after his disappearance had evaded you long ago, and the truth was that you could hardly fall asleep at night without imagining a scenario in which you saw him again. Sometimes, it was grandiose—he broke into a radio station while you were giving an interview, or he himself went on TV to give one, talking about how much he missed you. Other times, you just ran into him on a street somewhere.
When you questioned him about it, Jisung told you that Hyunjin needed to leave or else you would be in danger. He did not know too much about it, but it had something to do with Cipherian, the myths and the translations. You couldn’t wrap your mind around any of it and Seungmin was no help. Despite having been Hyunjin’s agent for years, he also had no idea of his involvement in any illegal activities, and certainly not anything related to linguistics. Therefore, you did not think it was true.
It’s not like there’s a price on my head, you pointed out that day. To Jisung, who had been hired by Hyunjin to be your personal bodyguard. Because, well, there was some kind of price on your head.
Maybe it made you hate him a little less. Hyunjin. Maybe you resented him less, too. Whatever involvement he had in it—a foolish part of you wanted to believe he truly did it for your safety. For your own good. That he left reluctantly. That Jisung didn’t lie when he said Hyunjin loved you.
So when you slipped under your covers at night—whether it was in your bed or in an unfamiliar hotel room—you thought about him. Hyunjin. And about the moment you might see him again in a place that wasn’t an ad in a magazine or a billboard on the side of a road, whether his body was used to advertise perfume or a car or expensive jewelry. You thought about the true him, in the flesh, about his honey skin, the unnatural warmth that always emanated from him, the silky sensation of him underneath your fingertips or under your tongue.
Maybe it made sense that it would be here. In this museum, under the very skylight where you met him first, surrounded by the same walls, and even, for the most part, the same people. You wondered if you were the same woman you had been back then, all those months ago. It felt like you weren’t. Like he had changed you somehow.
You let relief wash over you for all the seconds it required—it was truly Hyunjin standing there, and he seemed healthy. He seemed fine, so nothing bad must have happened to him. He also didn’t look like he had developed some kind of hatred for you over time, which, selfishly, comforted some part of you. You became aware that something else was lurking underneath the relief—it was sharp, unkind. Ugly.
For a second or perhaps two, you thought the world came to a stop but it turned out it was quite the opposite. Around you, it kept going. The world kept spinning and so did the dancers, intertwined, beautiful, relishing the moment, unaware of the storm going on in your chest. It was you who turned motionless. It was your heart that turned stagnant and inanimate. Maybe it wanted nothing to do with what was coming.
But you couldn’t help it.
The tears burned your eyes. They were hot. Scalding. As though it was acid rolling down your cheeks. You took a step back, feeling Jisung somewhere there but ignoring him. The world kept spinning. The whole time, the world had kept going, and you had been forced to follow along. You had been obligated to get up in the morning and to continue existing without Hyunjin. And he hadn’t even said goodbye.
When you spoke, your voice came out all wrong. Foreign. As though it was acid spilling out of your lips, too. “You lied to me.” Your throat felt so tight it hurt. “You said you’d be back soon.”
The memory was fuzzy, but it was undeniably there. You were sitting at your computer, writing compulsively, your naked body wrapped in a blanket, your pussy still sore from your earlier passionate lovemaking with Hyunjin. The scent of his cum lingered on you, musky and sweet. Remembering it was more painful than remembering all the months during which you were without him. Or all the other times you had been abandoned. All the other times you had been made ephemeral.
Will you be back soon? you had asked him.
Soon, he had said. And it had been a lie.
“You lied to me,” you repeated, louder, your voice turning into a growl and a sob all at once. Your legs felt weak and your arms weaker, but you reached for him, Hyunjin, because you wanted to hurt him, maybe. Hit him in his perfect face.
He caught your fist before it struck him, staring at you with wounds instead of eyes. He parted his lips, searching for words, but they never came. Still, he held your hand in his, inches away from his cheek, daring to squeeze it tenderly every few seconds.
“I bet you’ll say it was to spare me,” you added before Hyunjin could say anything. “I bet you’ll say it was so you wouldn’t hurt me. Well, guess what? It didn’t work!”
You were vaguely aware of the heads turning in your direction, but you were mostly aware of Hyunjin and of the way your hand felt when it was being held by his. Because he was not letting go, even if you tried to pull away. He looked a little like you had stabbed him in the chest. For an instant, it felt like you were looking into a mirror. For once, your pain had found its match.
“I know,” he murmured, a scowl appearing between his eyebrows. He made no attempt to apologize. He did not ask for your forgiveness.
He did not let go of your hand.
Instead, he pulled you closer. You tried to find something to say. You searched for strength within you—not to hit him, not really, but to scream at him. It was what you wanted to do. The entire time, since that day you finally allowed yourself to miss him, it had been what you had wanted to do. Scream at the top of your lungs. As though you needed an exorcism. People had hurt you before Hyunjin. Objectively, people had hurt you in worse ways. People had cheated on you. People had taken advantage of you. They sometimes said cruel things behind your back.
And it had affected you. All those times. Deeply. Or so you thought.
It all seemed so meaningless now. As you were facing Hyunjin again after all this time, you came to realize what love was. You had known for a while that you loved him and that it was true love. The truest, most forthright kind of love you had ever felt, and that you would ever feel, too. But you hadn’t really thought that you’d see him again.
But you hadn’t really thought that he loved you the same way you loved him.
He did not let go of your hand. He was just inches away now, his face so close that you could only see the details of him—the moles on his honey skin, the fine lines adorning his pillowy lips, their pomegranate shade. The strand of silky hair that fell over his dark eyes. His purposeful and deliberate and troubled gaze.
His breath smelled like the wine they served. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly damp. Hyunjin did not let go of you.
You only became aware of the inert quality of your heart and soul as it dissipated the very moment Hyunjin kissed you.
He pressed his lips onto yours, his mouth warm and trembling, unsure yet unequivocal. It might as well have been your first kiss with the way it made you come alive. It might as well have been the thousandth time he kissed you with how familiar it felt—known but not mundane. Lips that were more than just a memory. Lips that you had longed for, that you had craved for, but you had not dared hope for. Because the absence of them had left you suffocating—and how could one even hope without air in their lungs?
Hyunjin deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, and you let him, moaning faintly into his mouth. He breathed into yours. And you in his. Kissing him was easy and soft and mighty. His lips reminded you of a late summer peach. You couldn’t let go of him, and he did not let go of you, still, his tongue finding yours, tasting you, feeling you.
You thought of the first time he kissed you.
And the last time.
And everything in between. The agony of it.
He kissed you again, tightening his embrace. You had never experienced such ecstasy. It was him. It was really him. And you felt his love on his lips. You saw it in his eyes. His kiss felt like a plea. It felt as though there were only the two of you on earth.
At least until somebody bumped into you as they danced with their partner.
You allowed the kiss to break, but Hyunjin caressed your lips with his thumbs, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Darling,” he murmured, and you heard him over the music and the crowd. You would have heard him over thunder, over an avalanche, over anything. “Let’s get out of here, yes?”
Of course. You would follow him everywhere if he asked you. Your hand was still in his. You glanced at Jisung, who seemed reluctant to let you go, and offered him a reassuring smile. The smile came easily to your lips—it wasn’t rehearsed or forced. You realized that you meant it.
You felt the cold air before even stepping out—someone took their time closing the door behind them, and you remembered you had left your jacket in your office upstairs. Somehow, this did not bother you.
It was cold enough that the rain had turned to snow.
Thick snowflakes fell lazily from the sky, quieting the city, melting in places, and covering the ground in white patches in others.
Hyunjin held your hand still, but with the other one, you caught a snowflake on your palm. It dissolved almost instantly, but it remained long enough for you to see its intricate lines, unique yet familiar.
It was too early in the year for snow. The fact that it snowed was strange, but it did not bother you, nor did the cold. Hyunjin was staring up at the sky with eyes full of tears, as though it meant something to him.
One day, you told yourself, you would ask him.
If he stayed, that is. But at least now you were choosing to follow him and to let him unmake you. His love, your love—it was worth paying whatever price.
to be continued...
Author's note: 🧍♀️ well. I never expected I'd be here, posting this, today. But here I am... and you know I want to thank you all, my readers who have stayed loyal & patient despite my VERY long hiatus. So, thank you. It's just nice to come back home and not find the house completely empty, you know?
But I cannot not thank my dear @cb97percent, without whom I would have given up a long time ago. She believed in me while I didn't believe in anything. She still does. But much like Chris caught Hyunjin just in time on that infamous day at the studio, she doesn't seem to want to give up on me, so I really wanted to say a special thank you.
I am so, so privileged to be here, and to have my readers and friends and this space. I just want to say, I'm so grateful. To everyone who made it possible: please know you've contributed to something deeply meaningful for me.
permanent taglist: **this is my taglist as it were the last time I posted something which is a long long time ago. I'm so sorry to have tagged you in something you don't care about if I have. If you want me to remove you, please DM me and I'll just do it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please also let me know**
Oh Lullaby, I've missed you so and all of your beautifully crafted stories on my feed Mari. What a blessing it is to step into your worlds just by reading them. <3 I hope you continue to heal and carefully craft your worlds. And no matter how long it takes, know that I will be here waiting patiently!
Now as for Lullaby... my heart hurts for them. I want them to be together and have a happy ending so badly. I'M SCARED FOR WHAT IS COMING HONESTLY, but still very excited. Also the BabyBread reference was lovely. xD What a cute name for a bakery!
genre: dungeons and dragons au | pairing: paladin!chris x f!reader | wc: 4.6k-ish | warnings: sexual explicit content, mentions of death, depictions of violence, religious themes, ptsd struggles
Summary: Four months is a long time without your best friend especially one who is out on an a risky expedition, but you've managed. You have your apothecary shop and his letters to keep you company. But when he stumbles through your door one afternoon, you both are reminded that life is indeed finite.
a/n: the biggest thank you to my dearest friend @abiaswreck for beta reading and keeping me motivated to finish this piece <3
Hollow Roots; a two-story shop planted between Eilean's Maztican Delights and Sharkroar - Harth Shalark's Broadsheets in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. Vines crawled up the stone chimney that sat in the middle of the front and flowered shrubs of various colors lined the exterior to create a separation between the other two shops. A large window sat on the right with the name etched into the glass in gold script. The interior was filled with plants, shelf to shelf with different greenery, flowers, herbs with some hanging and some in pots. Behind the wooden counter was a large built-in shelf stocked with colored glass bottles that were filled with different salves, potions and elixirs; not only was Hollow Roots a plant shop, it doubled as an apothecary. Toward the back was a set of wooden stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. Near the front was a crackling fireplace with a cauldron sitting on a trivet used for crafting remedies. Two worn armchairs sat facing the flickering flames. There were a few small tears in the deep red fabric, but nothing a needle and thread could fix. And rugs. There were rugs everywhere: in front of the door, under the armchairs, in front of the counter, behind the counter. Circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. Everywhere.
But it was cozy.
It was a home.
And it was yours.
The evening sun set on the horizon, casting a beautiful painting over the ocean waves of the Sea of Swords. You were scribbling in your ledger, making sure today’s numbers were indeed correct. Your assistant Mayrina, a small elven woman with bright green eyes, left an hour ago after helping with the stock. Herbs and various flowers were now hanging on drying racks or wrapped and stored in the cupboard below the counter. You sign off today’s page with your initials and date on the yellowing page with a smile on your lips, then stick the quill back into the inkpot. You were rather excited as you’ve finally got a hold of some devil’s claw bundles. It was used in supplements, lotions, and salves for anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving purposes, and you’ve been sold out of your stock for months. Your customers loved the stuff, and you were thankful when your supplier had some available.
You stuffed the ledger back into the drawer and began cleaning up the shop a little: rearranging bottles, sweeping the floors, wiping the counters. It was the usual routine after close until the tiny bell attached hanging above the door pulled your focus.
“We are closed—oh.” You peeked around one shelf with your broom in hand. A smile spread across your lips as you spotted the man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Christopher!”
He mirrored your smile when you said his name, only with two dimples carved out in his cheeks. His hair was shorter, much shorter, but still dark brown with the tiniest curl to it. He wore his silver armor with gold accents and had his helmet tucked under his left arm. He held up an empty glass container with a gloved hand that rattled when he moved. “Care to top me off? My apologies for not making it before closing. The temple has kept me busy.”
The Hall of Justice was located in the Castle Ward. It was a busy place, popular with many magistrates, watchmen, and bureaucrats. It was also the home of the Triad made up of the gods: Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm. You remember celebrating with Christopher and a few friends at the Swinging Sword tavern after his oath ceremony. He was finally a paladin. You remember him telling you about the dream he had as a boy. A figure with wings of gold visited his dreams and gave him a divine missive to set him on his path. He said he knew differed from the other children growing up, but after that night, he knew for certain.
The broom clattered to the floor as you rushed over to tackle him in a hug; his armor clanked as he stabilized you both from toppling to the floor. His laughter filled the room, and you swear tears flooded your waterline. You were insanely proud of him, but gods, you missed him. He spent four entire months on an expedition in the Neverwinter Wood. A large horde of gnolls, vicious hyena-human hybrids, was wreaking havoc on local villages to prove their loyalty to their demon lord Yeenoghu. You still have the letters he had sent you stuffed in the dresser drawer in the bedroom upstairs, but honestly no amount of ink could ease your worry. Christopher was your best friend, the literal angel to brighten your day.
You smashed your cheek against the cool steel, hoping it would calm you down, and it somewhat helped. “You’re not crying, are you, petal?” Christopher wouldn’t want you shedding tears over him, but too late.
“No!” you squeaked, then his chest shook when he chuckled again at your failed attempt to hide. You felt his arms wrap around you tighter.
“No more tears for little ol’ me, yes? Told you I’d make it back in one piece!” He beamed, those dimples digging impossibly deeper in his cheeks somehow. “Only at the cost of a few fingers and toes.”
You looked up at him, horrified, then shoved him away gently when he laughed. “Not funny!” You snatched the glass jar out of his hand as you headed back to the counter, slipping behind it as you wiped your cheeks. “I’m revoking my pineapple upside-down cake for a year!”
His jaw dropped as he approached the counter. He shed his gloves. “No! You wouldn’t!” A small smile spread across your lips as you filled the small container with his salve. A comfrey mixture that smelled like lavender and wintergreen that he used for his muscle pain.
“Look, my fingers are very much intact.” He drummed them on the counter that you approached with the sealed container wrapped with wax paper and a small rope.
“And toes?”
He laughed softly. “And toes.”
“When did you arrive? From your last letter, I would’ve assumed at least another week.”
“We took care of the problem quicker than we thought. No easy feat either...” He cleared his throat. “But nevermind that. I got in two nights ago. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep, and have been rather unsuccessful.”
Your heart broke. Christopher was the most selfless man you knew and would give anything to protect the people, even at the cost of his own well being. Behind those eyes held a pain, a heaviness, and a duty that he was born into. It ran through his very veins: the aasimar blood. These beings were descended from celestials or angels to protect the common folk.
You picked up a small pouch that sat on a small rack on the left side of the counter. “Some chamomile tea to help you sleep.” You dropped into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He’ll protect everyone, but you’ll protect him. Even if it was from himself.
“Thank you.” He said, placing a hand over your own and squeezing. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin. You felt the slightest frown pull at the corner of your mouth as he pulled away, leaving your skin feeling cold. “I should head back to the temple to get some rest. I just wanted to see you first.” He collected his gauntlets and the tea and tucked them inside his helm. “I’ve missed you, petal.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite stew.”
After Hollow Roots closed for the evening, you spent the late afternoon upstairs preparing dinner: a nice brisket stew served in a homemade bread bowl. Flour coated the small table and your hands as you kneaded the dough for a few minutes before plopping it in a bowl. You hummed to yourself as you covered it with a damp towel and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen counter. The entire room smelled savory and smoky from the giant pot on the stove that simmered on low heat. Another hour went by, and you were pulling out some bowls from the cupboard when you heard a knock on the door. You smiled as you headed downstairs quickly, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. When you opened the door, you found Christopher with his dimpled cheeks, holding something behind his back. He looked much more relaxed than yesterday in his casual blue tunic and brown pants. “Hello, petal.” He presented a small bouquet from behind his back. You beamed, graciously accepting the flowers immediately and inhaling the fragrant petals. They were some of your favorites all wrapped into one: roses, daisies, baby’s breath, even sunflowers and some greenery accents.
“Thank you, Christopher. You really didn’t have to.”
“Too late. I will say though, it was nearly impossible to find flowers prettier than you.” He cooed as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. You rolled your eyes playfully, then led him upstairs.
“The stew is in the pot and the bread is on the table. Help yourself!” You headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass vase in the cupboard then to the sink to cut the stems. “Oh! And don’t you think I forgot about dessert! I made your favorite.”
“You spoil me.” He chuckled as he dished out some stew into a wooden bowl. “And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.” He set it on the table with a soft thud and took his seat. You laughed and served yourself before sitting across from him. He closed his eyes in prayer, whispering his thanks in his head before digging in. Conversation between the both of you flowed naturally as it usually does between old friends. You talked about your shop while he talked about the temple. He asked about Hyunjin, a childhood friend of his who was out visiting family in the High Forest. He owned Oddinary Tomes in the North Ward district on Saerdoun Street. The bowls had been empty for a while now, and the loaf was three quarters gone. You had brought out the cake and cut him a slice, then wrapped the rest up for him to take home later. You were currently telling him some ridiculous gossip that you heard in the market the other day, but honestly? He drifted off.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you. Yet the more he saw of you, the more he feared losing you. His petal. His pretty petal. He blinked once, then twice to find you again with a content look on your face. He adjusted in the chair that squeaked slightly, but it felt loud in his ears, almost echoing in the room. The scraping of wood reminded him of that village and gods, the screaming, the fires, the clang of steel against steel, against flesh. Mouthfuls of flesh from innocent victims muffled the growls from the knolls. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was back there. He could smell the blood; the metallic taste kissed his tongue as he lay in the dirt.
Because his mouth was full of it.
“Christopher.” A voice spoke. Your voice, so soft and kind as always. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in your home, panting with a racing heart. Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.” The chair he was sitting on knocked back behind him, and the cake he ate knocked onto the floor along with the silverware. His golden eyes slowly simmered down to reveal eyes filled with terror and tears.
He couldn’t even form the words before they caught in his throat with a sob. You pulled him into the biggest hug you could muster, and he complied, returning the sentiment tenfold. He cradled the back of your head like fine china and pressed so many kisses to your temple that you thought his lips would leave an imprint. You whispered gentle affirmations in his ear to calm him down. You held him for a long time before pulling back and wiping his wet cheeks. He grabbed your hand before you could pull it away and pressed it to his skin. He pressed his lips to your warm palm. It soothed his soul and made your heart flutter again. You offered that kind smile and sad eyes when you truly saw the man underneath that armor: the one who carries so much. A man who cleans wounds before his own. A man who is exhausted and afraid. Your Christopher. In his panic, wings sprouted from his back: white with a faint glow to them. They were a gift with his aasimar blood to boost his radiant strikes and give him flight when he was in need. However, these wings were in a state of... disarray. Although his wings come from his divine magic, they are still very much real and beautiful when kept up with. They lasted around an hour, though. “Let’s sit, yeah?”
You guided him to the bed tucked in the corner that was hidden behind a folded divider, and he sat with a heavy sigh. He slumped over with his head in his hands while you rubbed his back. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“No,” he said and grabbed your wrist when you took a step away. “No tea. Please. Just stay with me.” His gaze was full of desperation and panic.
He didn’t have to ask twice when you sat next to him. He kept hold of your hand. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened in Neverwinter. I thought I could just move past it like I’ve done before, but...” You felt the tremble in his hands. “.. um,” he swallowed thickly and looked at you with tears streaking down his cheek. “I’m here.” You reminded him, and he squeezed your hand in response.
“I was helping a family out of a burning house. There was a little girl with her mother and her son. They were covered in ash, dirt and blood. Their mother had passed out from the smoke and suffered serious injuries. She had lacerations on her stomach. Those two children were trying to help her up, but they were just so little.” He swallowed. “I found them though, used the last ounce of divine magic I had in me and healed her wounds. I got them out, and Brother Kai escorted them to the camp we had nearby for survivors.” A few more tears tracked down his cheeks, and he looked down at your intertwined hands.
“Two gnolls ambushed me.” He recalled the sickening squeal of the spear being lodged in his stomach from behind. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They stabbed me.” Then his crunch of his shoulder as his bones shattered from the gnoll's jaws as it bit down on him. His screams echoed in his mind as he fell into the dirt, into a pool of his own blood, as well as the yips and barks of the gnolls above him, their teeth full of his own flesh. He had always imagined what death felt like: like a warm hug from your mother, floating away in the river under the moon, or just a snap and it’s over. Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes; others say a bright light washes over them, but for him?
He remembered when he first met you.
He was still in training at the temple. It was a cloudy day, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was still a few miles out before it let loose over the city. After a taxing sparring session in the yard with Brother Leon, he washed up then headed to the market. From his trouser pocket, he fished out that scrap of paper. He squinted to read the messy handwriting. He had stopped at Oddinary Tomes a few days prior. Christopher’s shoulder had been bothering him again. He pulled it in training awhile ago, and ever since then it has had the occasional flare-up. Usually, he’d just ignored it, but it was getting to be a bit much, and no holy magic he weld could ease pain; it only healed flesh wounds. Hyunjin was in a rush with customers that afternoon, and honestly tired of him ignoring that damn shoulder. He quickly scrawled down a name and shooed him out.
After an entire minute of piecing together the chicken scratch, he found his way to Hollow Roots. The bell that chimed was charming. Mayrina greeted him first with a soft smile and offered to assist him. You were helping another customer, wrapping up a wooden box of some kind. “My left shoulder is in constant pain. I’ve tried icing it and a hot compress, but nothing works.” He explained to Mayrina, but he didn’t know that you had hired her only a couple of weeks ago. She was still learning.
You wandered over to help a minute later with the prettiest smile he has ever seen, and those eyes of yours were sparkling in the candlelight. “Muscle pain?” You clarified, and he nodded because he couldn’t speak. You had his stomach in knots already, and he had only known you for a full minute.
“Lucky for you, I just got a shipment of devil’s claw in this morning. Perfect for muscle pain and a very nice anti-inflammatory...” You rambled on about the properties of the plant, and he found himself smiling. You blushed when you stopped yourself, or was it because you saw those adorable dimples?
As he bled out in the dirt, he feared he would never know.
“The moon looked so beautiful that night. And the stars. But gods, how could they even compare to you, petal?” He held your hand to his lips and spoke into your skin. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to see you at that moment. To hear your laugh, to see your smile, to smell your perfume, to tell you how much you mean to me.” Tears spilled over your cheeks as you listened to him. “To tell you how much I love you, and to know that I wouldn’t have the chance to...?” He looked up at you with red eyes. “I thought I died that night, petal. I didn’t remember much after I woke up a few days later back in the temple in Waterdeep. Jeongin, the cleric who was caring for me, informed me that just before I passed out from blood loss, I mustered up enough strength to cast a death ward on myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and even laughed pathetically. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s like Tyr himself gave me enough strength to push through, to survive and make it home. To you. I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday. I should’ve told you the truth...” You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You pulled him into your arms and cried into the nape of his neck. The softness of his feathers tickled the tips of your fingers. He almost died.
Died.
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe. You’re home now.” You whispered.
To think that there would have been a chance you would have never seen him again horrified you. To never hear that accented voice, the cheesy jokes he makes, see the feathered wings, the curly hair, the golden eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs, and those gods damned dimples dug into that olive skin. He almost died, and yet, he was here, baring his soul to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, with your noses brushing. His warm breath washed over your lips, so close, yet so far away. You were looking into those eyes again, the same ones that flickered down to your lips for a second before closing that gap.
Warm plush lips that you had dreamed about moved with yours like a waltz: smooth, soft, delicate. Then, his large hands traveled downwards, closer. His body was hard; hills and valleys of muscles felt even under the cotton of his tunic. His hands were greedy, but you were greedier. Fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, and you gasped against his mouth when you felt that jagged scar of skin. The stab wound. “It’s okay.” He whispered into your mouth.
With his permission, you pushed up his shirt and tossed it away. It stole your breath seeing it in the flesh. The red line arced over the adonis line. Your fingers traced it, then drifted up his torso. He sucked in a small breath at the chilliness of your touch, and tears gathered in your eyes when you ran your hand over the wound on his shoulder. You met his eyes when he placed his hand on yours, then moved it to his heart. It beat wildly in his chest, thundering like a raging storm. You gently pushed him back on your bed, and he took you with him; his white wings stretched out on either side. You started with his lips first, already addicted to their softness and the taste of his tongue. A shiver ran through you when a small whimper fell from his lips when you broke apart and began your descent. His cheeks, his nose, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his scar; you worshipped each place with a kiss. You smiled against his skin when you heard the flutter of his wings and felt the hardness of him through his trousers.
He sat up abruptly and crashed his mouth into yours. No more waiting, no more time lost, he needed you.
Now.
“Please, petal.” He pleaded against your lips, voice low as your hands fumbled to free is cock. “Let me have you.”
In any other circumstance, you would’ve teased him. Have him aching with need until his sanity nearly breaks. Instead, you cave as his calloused hands push up your gown until it gathered at your waist, and when he sinks into you for the first time, he swore he saw Tyr himself. You felt perfect: so warm, so tight, like you were made just for him.
Your hips shifted to ride him lazily, mind blank as you enjoyed every inch of his cock sinking impossibly deep inside of you. Christopher could only watch in awe. A goddess in the flesh, with beautiful lips letting out unholy moans that curl his toes.
Despite the way your walls hugged his cock, it wasn’t enough. Chris needed to feel all of your skin pressed against his. Both hands shifted up, tearing through into the threads of your corset which was laced in the front. The mess of fabric was tossed away with the rest of your clothes.
Now stripped, he pushed you off of him, pinning you to the bed. His wings stretched out and flapped once as he crawled up your body with his mouth. You were completely surrounded by feathers. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when he slipped back in, and he silenced yours with his lips. He pushed your knee to your chest, and you felt him even deeper. A moan ripped from your lips, and your hands found his shoulders first, then his plumage in the center of his back. The down feathers were the softest. You felt him twitch inside you as soon as your fingers intertwined with them. He moaned into your neck. Loudly.
Oh.
“Fuck, that feels so fucking good..!”
Oh.
Your fingers moved higher and deeper into the down, and he practically whimpered into your neck. His wings shook. “N-No! Enough, enough..!” He grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He smirked down at you with blown out eyes. The gold was barely even there. “Gotta get you there first, petal.” He kissed you so sweetly, and it gave you whiplash when he took your other knee and pinned it to your chest. You felt his cock so deep inside you that you thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears. How in all the nine hells can he switch up so fast?
You clenched around him tightly, so close to the edge as he kept up that brutal pace. His name fell on your lips in a desperate whine, begging for release. He slowed the roll of his hips and released the hold on your legs to sneak a hand down to rub fast circles against your clit. “That’s it. Cum for me, petal. You look so beautiful.” His velvety words, his calloused fingers, and that cock of his had you jumping off that cliff and into the crashing waves. He leaned back down to kiss you through it while still hitting the spongy spot inside you.
Typical Christopher.
Always taking care of others first.
Meanwhile, your hand sneaked back into his down feathers, and he crumbled within seconds. Already at the edge, his wings quivered as he filled you, and you kept him there by wrapping your legs around his waist. He panted against your chest, then nosed your damp neck that’s covered in bruises, and all he thought of was… finally. Finally, he could love you openly.
An hour drifted by in comfortable silence and his wings had faded away, leaving traces of feathers spouted on his back and shoulders. Christopher could just be Christopher for a while. All thoughts of his expedition, anxieties, and traumas were buried for the moment. Your fingers had found his curls that carefully ran through them. He was fighting for his life to keep his eyes open, but there was one more thing you wanted to do first. “Christopher?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers. At least the new sprouts on your back.”
He smiled sleepily then rolled off of you onto his stomach, but not before giving you a kiss of appreciation first. “Please do. They are quite.. itchy. Been meaning to preen them entirely, but..”
“I understand.” You finished and pulled on a nightgown from your dresser, then crawled back into the messy bed. Christopher buried half his face in a pillow with his arms underneath it, waiting patiently. Your fingers begin the gentle task of twirling the keratin capsules to break them open to release the baby feathers. You also remove a few loose ones as well. A relaxed sigh fell from his lips as he allowed his eyes to finally close.
“Feels good, I take it?”
“Very. It’s like an itch that’s finally been scratched.”
You smiled softly. “Remember when you took me flying for the first time?”
“And you wore those cute little goggles.” He chuckled.
“I wanted to see the town below without my eyes watering.”
“No judgement. It was a smart move. I’d love to take you again. Perhaps during sunset when the sea is the prettiest.”
“It’s a date.”
You continue to work quietly for a few more minutes. You then slipped into the washroom to grab a small jar of coconut oil to rub over the feathers to keep them moisturized. When you returned, you laughed quietly to yourself when you heard the little snores coming from the aasimar in your bed. You carefully sat back in bed, then applied the oil before capping the jar, then laid down next to him. In that moment, your heart was the fullest it had ever been in the longest time. You reached out for the last time that night and rang your fingers through his curls and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you too, Christopher.”
Please reblog, comment, or send me an ask! I'd love to know your thoughts!
genre: dungeons and dragons au | pairing: paladin!chris x f!reader | wc: 4.6k-ish | warnings: sexual explicit content, mentions of death, depictions of violence, religious themes, ptsd struggles
Summary: Four months is a long time without your best friend especially one who is out on an a risky expedition, but you've managed. You have your apothecary shop and his letters to keep you company. But when he stumbles through your door one afternoon, you both are reminded that life is indeed finite.
a/n: the biggest thank you to my dearest friend @abiaswreck for beta reading and keeping me motivated to finish this piece <3
Hollow Roots; a two-story shop planted between Eilean's Maztican Delights and Sharkroar - Harth Shalark's Broadsheets in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. Vines crawled up the stone chimney that sat in the middle of the front and flowered shrubs of various colors lined the exterior to create a separation between the other two shops. A large window sat on the right with the name etched into the glass in gold script. The interior was filled with plants, shelf to shelf with different greenery, flowers, herbs with some hanging and some in pots. Behind the wooden counter was a large built-in shelf stocked with colored glass bottles that were filled with different salves, potions and elixirs; not only was Hollow Roots a plant shop, it doubled as an apothecary. Toward the back was a set of wooden stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. Near the front was a crackling fireplace with a cauldron sitting on a trivet used for crafting remedies. Two worn armchairs sat facing the flickering flames. There were a few small tears in the deep red fabric, but nothing a needle and thread could fix. And rugs. There were rugs everywhere: in front of the door, under the armchairs, in front of the counter, behind the counter. Circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. Everywhere.
But it was cozy.
It was a home.
And it was yours.
The evening sun set on the horizon, casting a beautiful painting over the ocean waves of the Sea of Swords. You were scribbling in your ledger, making sure today’s numbers were indeed correct. Your assistant Mayrina, a small elven woman with bright green eyes, left an hour ago after helping with the stock. Herbs and various flowers were now hanging on drying racks or wrapped and stored in the cupboard below the counter. You sign off today’s page with your initials and date on the yellowing page with a smile on your lips, then stick the quill back into the inkpot. You were rather excited as you’ve finally got a hold of some devil’s claw bundles. It was used in supplements, lotions, and salves for anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving purposes, and you’ve been sold out of your stock for months. Your customers loved the stuff, and you were thankful when your supplier had some available.
You stuffed the ledger back into the drawer and began cleaning up the shop a little: rearranging bottles, sweeping the floors, wiping the counters. It was the usual routine after close until the tiny bell attached hanging above the door pulled your focus.
“We are closed—oh.” You peeked around one shelf with your broom in hand. A smile spread across your lips as you spotted the man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Christopher!”
He mirrored your smile when you said his name, only with two dimples carved out in his cheeks. His hair was shorter, much shorter, but still dark brown with the tiniest curl to it. He wore his silver armor with gold accents and had his helmet tucked under his left arm. He held up an empty glass container with a gloved hand that rattled when he moved. “Care to top me off? My apologies for not making it before closing. The temple has kept me busy.”
The Hall of Justice was located in the Castle Ward. It was a busy place, popular with many magistrates, watchmen, and bureaucrats. It was also the home of the Triad made up of the gods: Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm. You remember celebrating with Christopher and a few friends at the Swinging Sword tavern after his oath ceremony. He was finally a paladin. You remember him telling you about the dream he had as a boy. A figure with wings of gold visited his dreams and gave him a divine missive to set him on his path. He said he knew differed from the other children growing up, but after that night, he knew for certain.
The broom clattered to the floor as you rushed over to tackle him in a hug; his armor clanked as he stabilized you both from toppling to the floor. His laughter filled the room, and you swear tears flooded your waterline. You were insanely proud of him, but gods, you missed him. He spent four entire months on an expedition in the Neverwinter Wood. A large horde of gnolls, vicious hyena-human hybrids, was wreaking havoc on local villages to prove their loyalty to their demon lord Yeenoghu. You still have the letters he had sent you stuffed in the dresser drawer in the bedroom upstairs, but honestly no amount of ink could ease your worry. Christopher was your best friend, the literal angel to brighten your day.
You smashed your cheek against the cool steel, hoping it would calm you down, and it somewhat helped. “You’re not crying, are you, petal?” Christopher wouldn’t want you shedding tears over him, but too late.
“No!” you squeaked, then his chest shook when he chuckled again at your failed attempt to hide. You felt his arms wrap around you tighter.
“No more tears for little ol’ me, yes? Told you I’d make it back in one piece!” He beamed, those dimples digging impossibly deeper in his cheeks somehow. “Only at the cost of a few fingers and toes.”
You looked up at him, horrified, then shoved him away gently when he laughed. “Not funny!” You snatched the glass jar out of his hand as you headed back to the counter, slipping behind it as you wiped your cheeks. “I’m revoking my pineapple upside-down cake for a year!”
His jaw dropped as he approached the counter. He shed his gloves. “No! You wouldn’t!” A small smile spread across your lips as you filled the small container with his salve. A comfrey mixture that smelled like lavender and wintergreen that he used for his muscle pain.
“Look, my fingers are very much intact.” He drummed them on the counter that you approached with the sealed container wrapped with wax paper and a small rope.
“And toes?”
He laughed softly. “And toes.”
“When did you arrive? From your last letter, I would’ve assumed at least another week.”
“We took care of the problem quicker than we thought. No easy feat either...” He cleared his throat. “But nevermind that. I got in two nights ago. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep, and have been rather unsuccessful.”
Your heart broke. Christopher was the most selfless man you knew and would give anything to protect the people, even at the cost of his own well being. Behind those eyes held a pain, a heaviness, and a duty that he was born into. It ran through his very veins: the aasimar blood. These beings were descended from celestials or angels to protect the common folk.
You picked up a small pouch that sat on a small rack on the left side of the counter. “Some chamomile tea to help you sleep.” You dropped into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He’ll protect everyone, but you’ll protect him. Even if it was from himself.
“Thank you.” He said, placing a hand over your own and squeezing. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin. You felt the slightest frown pull at the corner of your mouth as he pulled away, leaving your skin feeling cold. “I should head back to the temple to get some rest. I just wanted to see you first.” He collected his gauntlets and the tea and tucked them inside his helm. “I’ve missed you, petal.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite stew.”
After Hollow Roots closed for the evening, you spent the late afternoon upstairs preparing dinner: a nice brisket stew served in a homemade bread bowl. Flour coated the small table and your hands as you kneaded the dough for a few minutes before plopping it in a bowl. You hummed to yourself as you covered it with a damp towel and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen counter. The entire room smelled savory and smoky from the giant pot on the stove that simmered on low heat. Another hour went by, and you were pulling out some bowls from the cupboard when you heard a knock on the door. You smiled as you headed downstairs quickly, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. When you opened the door, you found Christopher with his dimpled cheeks, holding something behind his back. He looked much more relaxed than yesterday in his casual blue tunic and brown pants. “Hello, petal.” He presented a small bouquet from behind his back. You beamed, graciously accepting the flowers immediately and inhaling the fragrant petals. They were some of your favorites all wrapped into one: roses, daisies, baby’s breath, even sunflowers and some greenery accents.
“Thank you, Christopher. You really didn’t have to.”
“Too late. I will say though, it was nearly impossible to find flowers prettier than you.” He cooed as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. You rolled your eyes playfully, then led him upstairs.
“The stew is in the pot and the bread is on the table. Help yourself!” You headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass vase in the cupboard then to the sink to cut the stems. “Oh! And don’t you think I forgot about dessert! I made your favorite.”
“You spoil me.” He chuckled as he dished out some stew into a wooden bowl. “And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.” He set it on the table with a soft thud and took his seat. You laughed and served yourself before sitting across from him. He closed his eyes in prayer, whispering his thanks in his head before digging in. Conversation between the both of you flowed naturally as it usually does between old friends. You talked about your shop while he talked about the temple. He asked about Hyunjin, a childhood friend of his who was out visiting family in the High Forest. He owned Oddinary Tomes in the North Ward district on Saerdoun Street. The bowls had been empty for a while now, and the loaf was three quarters gone. You had brought out the cake and cut him a slice, then wrapped the rest up for him to take home later. You were currently telling him some ridiculous gossip that you heard in the market the other day, but honestly? He drifted off.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you. Yet the more he saw of you, the more he feared losing you. His petal. His pretty petal. He blinked once, then twice to find you again with a content look on your face. He adjusted in the chair that squeaked slightly, but it felt loud in his ears, almost echoing in the room. The scraping of wood reminded him of that village and gods, the screaming, the fires, the clang of steel against steel, against flesh. Mouthfuls of flesh from innocent victims muffled the growls from the knolls. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was back there. He could smell the blood; the metallic taste kissed his tongue as he lay in the dirt.
Because his mouth was full of it.
“Christopher.” A voice spoke. Your voice, so soft and kind as always. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in your home, panting with a racing heart. Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.” The chair he was sitting on knocked back behind him, and the cake he ate knocked onto the floor along with the silverware. His golden eyes slowly simmered down to reveal eyes filled with terror and tears.
He couldn’t even form the words before they caught in his throat with a sob. You pulled him into the biggest hug you could muster, and he complied, returning the sentiment tenfold. He cradled the back of your head like fine china and pressed so many kisses to your temple that you thought his lips would leave an imprint. You whispered gentle affirmations in his ear to calm him down. You held him for a long time before pulling back and wiping his wet cheeks. He grabbed your hand before you could pull it away and pressed it to his skin. He pressed his lips to your warm palm. It soothed his soul and made your heart flutter again. You offered that kind smile and sad eyes when you truly saw the man underneath that armor: the one who carries so much. A man who cleans wounds before his own. A man who is exhausted and afraid. Your Christopher. In his panic, wings sprouted from his back: white with a faint glow to them. They were a gift with his aasimar blood to boost his radiant strikes and give him flight when he was in need. However, these wings were in a state of... disarray. Although his wings come from his divine magic, they are still very much real and beautiful when kept up with. They lasted around an hour, though. “Let’s sit, yeah?”
You guided him to the bed tucked in the corner that was hidden behind a folded divider, and he sat with a heavy sigh. He slumped over with his head in his hands while you rubbed his back. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“No,” he said and grabbed your wrist when you took a step away. “No tea. Please. Just stay with me.” His gaze was full of desperation and panic.
He didn’t have to ask twice when you sat next to him. He kept hold of your hand. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened in Neverwinter. I thought I could just move past it like I’ve done before, but...” You felt the tremble in his hands. “.. um,” he swallowed thickly and looked at you with tears streaking down his cheek. “I’m here.” You reminded him, and he squeezed your hand in response.
“I was helping a family out of a burning house. There was a little girl with her mother and her son. They were covered in ash, dirt and blood. Their mother had passed out from the smoke and suffered serious injuries. She had lacerations on her stomach. Those two children were trying to help her up, but they were just so little.” He swallowed. “I found them though, used the last ounce of divine magic I had in me and healed her wounds. I got them out, and Brother Kai escorted them to the camp we had nearby for survivors.” A few more tears tracked down his cheeks, and he looked down at your intertwined hands.
“Two gnolls ambushed me.” He recalled the sickening squeal of the spear being lodged in his stomach from behind. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They stabbed me.” Then his crunch of his shoulder as his bones shattered from the gnoll's jaws as it bit down on him. His screams echoed in his mind as he fell into the dirt, into a pool of his own blood, as well as the yips and barks of the gnolls above him, their teeth full of his own flesh. He had always imagined what death felt like: like a warm hug from your mother, floating away in the river under the moon, or just a snap and it’s over. Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes; others say a bright light washes over them, but for him?
He remembered when he first met you.
He was still in training at the temple. It was a cloudy day, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was still a few miles out before it let loose over the city. After a taxing sparring session in the yard with Brother Leon, he washed up then headed to the market. From his trouser pocket, he fished out that scrap of paper. He squinted to read the messy handwriting. He had stopped at Oddinary Tomes a few days prior. Christopher’s shoulder had been bothering him again. He pulled it in training awhile ago, and ever since then it has had the occasional flare-up. Usually, he’d just ignored it, but it was getting to be a bit much, and no holy magic he weld could ease pain; it only healed flesh wounds. Hyunjin was in a rush with customers that afternoon, and honestly tired of him ignoring that damn shoulder. He quickly scrawled down a name and shooed him out.
After an entire minute of piecing together the chicken scratch, he found his way to Hollow Roots. The bell that chimed was charming. Mayrina greeted him first with a soft smile and offered to assist him. You were helping another customer, wrapping up a wooden box of some kind. “My left shoulder is in constant pain. I’ve tried icing it and a hot compress, but nothing works.” He explained to Mayrina, but he didn’t know that you had hired her only a couple of weeks ago. She was still learning.
You wandered over to help a minute later with the prettiest smile he has ever seen, and those eyes of yours were sparkling in the candlelight. “Muscle pain?” You clarified, and he nodded because he couldn’t speak. You had his stomach in knots already, and he had only known you for a full minute.
“Lucky for you, I just got a shipment of devil’s claw in this morning. Perfect for muscle pain and a very nice anti-inflammatory...” You rambled on about the properties of the plant, and he found himself smiling. You blushed when you stopped yourself, or was it because you saw those adorable dimples?
As he bled out in the dirt, he feared he would never know.
“The moon looked so beautiful that night. And the stars. But gods, how could they even compare to you, petal?” He held your hand to his lips and spoke into your skin. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to see you at that moment. To hear your laugh, to see your smile, to smell your perfume, to tell you how much you mean to me.” Tears spilled over your cheeks as you listened to him. “To tell you how much I love you, and to know that I wouldn’t have the chance to...?” He looked up at you with red eyes. “I thought I died that night, petal. I didn’t remember much after I woke up a few days later back in the temple in Waterdeep. Jeongin, the cleric who was caring for me, informed me that just before I passed out from blood loss, I mustered up enough strength to cast a death ward on myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and even laughed pathetically. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s like Tyr himself gave me enough strength to push through, to survive and make it home. To you. I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday. I should’ve told you the truth...” You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You pulled him into your arms and cried into the nape of his neck. The softness of his feathers tickled the tips of your fingers. He almost died.
Died.
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe. You’re home now.” You whispered.
To think that there would have been a chance you would have never seen him again horrified you. To never hear that accented voice, the cheesy jokes he makes, see the feathered wings, the curly hair, the golden eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs, and those gods damned dimples dug into that olive skin. He almost died, and yet, he was here, baring his soul to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, with your noses brushing. His warm breath washed over your lips, so close, yet so far away. You were looking into those eyes again, the same ones that flickered down to your lips for a second before closing that gap.
Warm plush lips that you had dreamed about moved with yours like a waltz: smooth, soft, delicate. Then, his large hands traveled downwards, closer. His body was hard; hills and valleys of muscles felt even under the cotton of his tunic. His hands were greedy, but you were greedier. Fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, and you gasped against his mouth when you felt that jagged scar of skin. The stab wound. “It’s okay.” He whispered into your mouth.
With his permission, you pushed up his shirt and tossed it away. It stole your breath seeing it in the flesh. The red line arced over the adonis line. Your fingers traced it, then drifted up his torso. He sucked in a small breath at the chilliness of your touch, and tears gathered in your eyes when you ran your hand over the wound on his shoulder. You met his eyes when he placed his hand on yours, then moved it to his heart. It beat wildly in his chest, thundering like a raging storm. You gently pushed him back on your bed, and he took you with him; his white wings stretched out on either side. You started with his lips first, already addicted to their softness and the taste of his tongue. A shiver ran through you when a small whimper fell from his lips when you broke apart and began your descent. His cheeks, his nose, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his scar; you worshipped each place with a kiss. You smiled against his skin when you heard the flutter of his wings and felt the hardness of him through his trousers.
He sat up abruptly and crashed his mouth into yours. No more waiting, no more time lost, he needed you.
Now.
“Please, petal.” He pleaded against your lips, voice low as your hands fumbled to free is cock. “Let me have you.”
In any other circumstance, you would’ve teased him. Have him aching with need until his sanity nearly breaks. Instead, you cave as his calloused hands push up your gown until it gathered at your waist, and when he sinks into you for the first time, he swore he saw Tyr himself. You felt perfect: so warm, so tight, like you were made just for him.
Your hips shifted to ride him lazily, mind blank as you enjoyed every inch of his cock sinking impossibly deep inside of you. Christopher could only watch in awe. A goddess in the flesh, with beautiful lips letting out unholy moans that curl his toes.
Despite the way your walls hugged his cock, it wasn’t enough. Chris needed to feel all of your skin pressed against his. Both hands shifted up, tearing through into the threads of your corset which was laced in the front. The mess of fabric was tossed away with the rest of your clothes.
Now stripped, he pushed you off of him, pinning you to the bed. His wings stretched out and flapped once as he crawled up your body with his mouth. You were completely surrounded by feathers. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when he slipped back in, and he silenced yours with his lips. He pushed your knee to your chest, and you felt him even deeper. A moan ripped from your lips, and your hands found his shoulders first, then his plumage in the center of his back. The down feathers were the softest. You felt him twitch inside you as soon as your fingers intertwined with them. He moaned into your neck. Loudly.
Oh.
“Fuck, that feels so fucking good..!”
Oh.
Your fingers moved higher and deeper into the down, and he practically whimpered into your neck. His wings shook. “N-No! Enough, enough..!” He grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He smirked down at you with blown out eyes. The gold was barely even there. “Gotta get you there first, petal.” He kissed you so sweetly, and it gave you whiplash when he took your other knee and pinned it to your chest. You felt his cock so deep inside you that you thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears. How in all the nine hells can he switch up so fast?
You clenched around him tightly, so close to the edge as he kept up that brutal pace. His name fell on your lips in a desperate whine, begging for release. He slowed the roll of his hips and released the hold on your legs to sneak a hand down to rub fast circles against your clit. “That’s it. Cum for me, petal. You look so beautiful.” His velvety words, his calloused fingers, and that cock of his had you jumping off that cliff and into the crashing waves. He leaned back down to kiss you through it while still hitting the spongy spot inside you.
Typical Christopher.
Always taking care of others first.
Meanwhile, your hand sneaked back into his down feathers, and he crumbled within seconds. Already at the edge, his wings quivered as he filled you, and you kept him there by wrapping your legs around his waist. He panted against your chest, then nosed your damp neck that’s covered in bruises, and all he thought of was… finally. Finally, he could love you openly.
An hour drifted by in comfortable silence and his wings had faded away, leaving traces of feathers spouted on his back and shoulders. Christopher could just be Christopher for a while. All thoughts of his expedition, anxieties, and traumas were buried for the moment. Your fingers had found his curls that carefully ran through them. He was fighting for his life to keep his eyes open, but there was one more thing you wanted to do first. “Christopher?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers. At least the new sprouts on your back.”
He smiled sleepily then rolled off of you onto his stomach, but not before giving you a kiss of appreciation first. “Please do. They are quite.. itchy. Been meaning to preen them entirely, but..”
“I understand.” You finished and pulled on a nightgown from your dresser, then crawled back into the messy bed. Christopher buried half his face in a pillow with his arms underneath it, waiting patiently. Your fingers begin the gentle task of twirling the keratin capsules to break them open to release the baby feathers. You also remove a few loose ones as well. A relaxed sigh fell from his lips as he allowed his eyes to finally close.
“Feels good, I take it?”
“Very. It’s like an itch that’s finally been scratched.”
You smiled softly. “Remember when you took me flying for the first time?”
“And you wore those cute little goggles.” He chuckled.
“I wanted to see the town below without my eyes watering.”
“No judgement. It was a smart move. I’d love to take you again. Perhaps during sunset when the sea is the prettiest.”
“It’s a date.”
You continue to work quietly for a few more minutes. You then slipped into the washroom to grab a small jar of coconut oil to rub over the feathers to keep them moisturized. When you returned, you laughed quietly to yourself when you heard the little snores coming from the aasimar in your bed. You carefully sat back in bed, then applied the oil before capping the jar, then laid down next to him. In that moment, your heart was the fullest it had ever been in the longest time. You reached out for the last time that night and rang your fingers through his curls and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you too, Christopher.”
Please reblog, comment, or send me an ask! I'd love to know your thoughts!
No one is more excited than me that this is out in the world for people to enjoy. Our beloved Chris in all his paladin glory.
Now I can word vomit my feelings. Again. Lol
First of all, the fact he calls her “Petal/My petal/pretty petal” always has my heart hurting because of how cute it is. It’s fitting. It’s something so precious and fragile to him that he can lose.
Then I love the chemistry these two have. The thing about slice of life fics that I like most is when you can clearly see their dynamics. These two are the best of friends with a lot of skirting around feelings that hadn’t been discussed. You can pick up on that immediately. You get to see him in real time realize what matters most to him. That he can’t keeping going without being honest. I eat it up. It’s so beautiful. He loves her so much and he needs to tell her before he can’t.
Then boom, it’s mutual and the flood gates open as they make up for lost time because it didn’t happen sooner. But I think it happened when it meant to. They are stronger because of it.
I’m still hung up on the way he gives consent to her. That scar is very fresh in his mind even if it’s healed. It’s still wound he’s processing. She still hesitant and waits till she’s sure he’s ready. We don’t see that a lot in fics. Let men give consent too.
Now, we all know we love to write Chris as a selfless character. Because he is. He will take care of everyone else before himself and the fact that she takes this time to worship him has me biting my fist. He has a whirlwind inside of him with his thoughts and heart. She is showing appreciation for all of him. For coming home in one piece and allowing her to have him so intimately. And he loves it. Because he knows she loves him and wants him, but this care multiples all of the feelings. It’s like two puzzle pieces coming together and he sees the whole picture. It almost makes it more real for him and not just thoughts in his head. He knows this is mutual. I don’t know. I’m rambling.
Then you get me with his desperate please. I love a man that begs for what he wants. Then with all that freedom he feels comfortable to take over and rocks her world.
AND NOW IM DEAD IN THE GROUND BECAUSE OF THE WINGS PART. I hoped and prayed for something with his wings and you delivered more than I was expecting. Oh, bless this art. I’m so happy it exists. I know I’ve said that but it’s true.
Also edit to add: I keep telling you this, but I love how visual your scenes are. I’m so envious. I literally closed my eyes and could see every detail of the shop. Plus his pretty soft wings. 😩😩😩
CRYING; YOU JUST GET ME OK???? I'm super happy you loved this (said it like twenty-five times, but it's true!!!!!!) My favorite fics to write are hurt/comfort/angst ESPECIALLY in a fantasy setting. CALL THE JONAS BROTHERS CAUSE I'M A SUCKER FOR LIKING CHEESY ROMANTASY STUFF.
The reassurance was honestly my favorite part and the sexiest imo. Cause come on people, consent is so sexy!!!!! And the wingplay of course which I would personally like to thank all the my hero hawks fanfics I wrote way back when <3
But on a more serious note, I really wanted to write something about that shows the pressure of having to put on a brave face/pushing down traumatic experiences/realizing that relationships aren't forever. So I'm super happy that you could recognize all those themes!!
BUT UGH I LOVE YOU. You're the best, seriously!!! And I promise that I won't hurt you with Minho, but you gotta not kill me with your werewolf fic first 🥴
genre: dungeons and dragons au | pairing: paladin!chris x f!reader | wc: 4.6k-ish | warnings: sexual explicit content, mentions of death, depictions of violence, religious themes, ptsd struggles
Summary: Four months is a long time without your best friend especially one who is out on an a risky expedition, but you've managed. You have your apothecary shop and his letters to keep you company. But when he stumbles through your door one afternoon, you both are reminded that life is indeed finite.
a/n: the biggest thank you to my dearest friend @abiaswreck for beta reading and keeping me motivated to finish this piece <3
Hollow Roots; a two-story shop planted between Eilean's Maztican Delights and Sharkroar - Harth Shalark's Broadsheets in the Castle Ward of Waterdeep. Vines crawled up the stone chimney that sat in the middle of the front and flowered shrubs of various colors lined the exterior to create a separation between the other two shops. A large window sat on the right with the name etched into the glass in gold script. The interior was filled with plants, shelf to shelf with different greenery, flowers, herbs with some hanging and some in pots. Behind the wooden counter was a large built-in shelf stocked with colored glass bottles that were filled with different salves, potions and elixirs; not only was Hollow Roots a plant shop, it doubled as an apothecary. Toward the back was a set of wooden stairs that led to the living quarters on the second floor. Near the front was a crackling fireplace with a cauldron sitting on a trivet used for crafting remedies. Two worn armchairs sat facing the flickering flames. There were a few small tears in the deep red fabric, but nothing a needle and thread could fix. And rugs. There were rugs everywhere: in front of the door, under the armchairs, in front of the counter, behind the counter. Circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. Everywhere.
But it was cozy.
It was a home.
And it was yours.
The evening sun set on the horizon, casting a beautiful painting over the ocean waves of the Sea of Swords. You were scribbling in your ledger, making sure today’s numbers were indeed correct. Your assistant Mayrina, a small elven woman with bright green eyes, left an hour ago after helping with the stock. Herbs and various flowers were now hanging on drying racks or wrapped and stored in the cupboard below the counter. You sign off today’s page with your initials and date on the yellowing page with a smile on your lips, then stick the quill back into the inkpot. You were rather excited as you’ve finally got a hold of some devil’s claw bundles. It was used in supplements, lotions, and salves for anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving purposes, and you’ve been sold out of your stock for months. Your customers loved the stuff, and you were thankful when your supplier had some available.
You stuffed the ledger back into the drawer and began cleaning up the shop a little: rearranging bottles, sweeping the floors, wiping the counters. It was the usual routine after close until the tiny bell attached hanging above the door pulled your focus.
“We are closed—oh.” You peeked around one shelf with your broom in hand. A smile spread across your lips as you spotted the man with dark hair and golden eyes. “Christopher!”
He mirrored your smile when you said his name, only with two dimples carved out in his cheeks. His hair was shorter, much shorter, but still dark brown with the tiniest curl to it. He wore his silver armor with gold accents and had his helmet tucked under his left arm. He held up an empty glass container with a gloved hand that rattled when he moved. “Care to top me off? My apologies for not making it before closing. The temple has kept me busy.”
The Hall of Justice was located in the Castle Ward. It was a busy place, popular with many magistrates, watchmen, and bureaucrats. It was also the home of the Triad made up of the gods: Tyr, Ilmater, and Torm. You remember celebrating with Christopher and a few friends at the Swinging Sword tavern after his oath ceremony. He was finally a paladin. You remember him telling you about the dream he had as a boy. A figure with wings of gold visited his dreams and gave him a divine missive to set him on his path. He said he knew differed from the other children growing up, but after that night, he knew for certain.
The broom clattered to the floor as you rushed over to tackle him in a hug; his armor clanked as he stabilized you both from toppling to the floor. His laughter filled the room, and you swear tears flooded your waterline. You were insanely proud of him, but gods, you missed him. He spent four entire months on an expedition in the Neverwinter Wood. A large horde of gnolls, vicious hyena-human hybrids, was wreaking havoc on local villages to prove their loyalty to their demon lord Yeenoghu. You still have the letters he had sent you stuffed in the dresser drawer in the bedroom upstairs, but honestly no amount of ink could ease your worry. Christopher was your best friend, the literal angel to brighten your day.
You smashed your cheek against the cool steel, hoping it would calm you down, and it somewhat helped. “You’re not crying, are you, petal?” Christopher wouldn’t want you shedding tears over him, but too late.
“No!” you squeaked, then his chest shook when he chuckled again at your failed attempt to hide. You felt his arms wrap around you tighter.
“No more tears for little ol’ me, yes? Told you I’d make it back in one piece!” He beamed, those dimples digging impossibly deeper in his cheeks somehow. “Only at the cost of a few fingers and toes.”
You looked up at him, horrified, then shoved him away gently when he laughed. “Not funny!” You snatched the glass jar out of his hand as you headed back to the counter, slipping behind it as you wiped your cheeks. “I’m revoking my pineapple upside-down cake for a year!”
His jaw dropped as he approached the counter. He shed his gloves. “No! You wouldn’t!” A small smile spread across your lips as you filled the small container with his salve. A comfrey mixture that smelled like lavender and wintergreen that he used for his muscle pain.
“Look, my fingers are very much intact.” He drummed them on the counter that you approached with the sealed container wrapped with wax paper and a small rope.
“And toes?”
He laughed softly. “And toes.”
“When did you arrive? From your last letter, I would’ve assumed at least another week.”
“We took care of the problem quicker than we thought. No easy feat either...” He cleared his throat. “But nevermind that. I got in two nights ago. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep, and have been rather unsuccessful.”
Your heart broke. Christopher was the most selfless man you knew and would give anything to protect the people, even at the cost of his own well being. Behind those eyes held a pain, a heaviness, and a duty that he was born into. It ran through his very veins: the aasimar blood. These beings were descended from celestials or angels to protect the common folk.
You picked up a small pouch that sat on a small rack on the left side of the counter. “Some chamomile tea to help you sleep.” You dropped into his palm and closed his fingers around it. He’ll protect everyone, but you’ll protect him. Even if it was from himself.
“Thank you.” He said, placing a hand over your own and squeezing. The warmth of his palm seeped into your skin. You felt the slightest frown pull at the corner of your mouth as he pulled away, leaving your skin feeling cold. “I should head back to the temple to get some rest. I just wanted to see you first.” He collected his gauntlets and the tea and tucked them inside his helm. “I’ve missed you, petal.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make your favorite stew.”
After Hollow Roots closed for the evening, you spent the late afternoon upstairs preparing dinner: a nice brisket stew served in a homemade bread bowl. Flour coated the small table and your hands as you kneaded the dough for a few minutes before plopping it in a bowl. You hummed to yourself as you covered it with a damp towel and stuck it in the corner of the kitchen counter. The entire room smelled savory and smoky from the giant pot on the stove that simmered on low heat. Another hour went by, and you were pulling out some bowls from the cupboard when you heard a knock on the door. You smiled as you headed downstairs quickly, your slippers shuffling against the hardwood. When you opened the door, you found Christopher with his dimpled cheeks, holding something behind his back. He looked much more relaxed than yesterday in his casual blue tunic and brown pants. “Hello, petal.” He presented a small bouquet from behind his back. You beamed, graciously accepting the flowers immediately and inhaling the fragrant petals. They were some of your favorites all wrapped into one: roses, daisies, baby’s breath, even sunflowers and some greenery accents.
“Thank you, Christopher. You really didn’t have to.”
“Too late. I will say though, it was nearly impossible to find flowers prettier than you.” He cooed as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. You rolled your eyes playfully, then led him upstairs.
“The stew is in the pot and the bread is on the table. Help yourself!” You headed over to the cupboard to grab a glass vase in the cupboard then to the sink to cut the stems. “Oh! And don’t you think I forgot about dessert! I made your favorite.”
“You spoil me.” He chuckled as he dished out some stew into a wooden bowl. “And pardon my language, but this smells fucking divine.” He set it on the table with a soft thud and took his seat. You laughed and served yourself before sitting across from him. He closed his eyes in prayer, whispering his thanks in his head before digging in. Conversation between the both of you flowed naturally as it usually does between old friends. You talked about your shop while he talked about the temple. He asked about Hyunjin, a childhood friend of his who was out visiting family in the High Forest. He owned Oddinary Tomes in the North Ward district on Saerdoun Street. The bowls had been empty for a while now, and the loaf was three quarters gone. You had brought out the cake and cut him a slice, then wrapped the rest up for him to take home later. You were currently telling him some ridiculous gossip that you heard in the market the other day, but honestly? He drifted off.
He focused on the way your mouth moved when you spoke, the wondrous sound that filled the air when you laughed, the smell of your cooking, your perfume, your hair, the flowers, the brightness in your smile, your voice, just you. Yet the more he saw of you, the more he feared losing you. His petal. His pretty petal. He blinked once, then twice to find you again with a content look on your face. He adjusted in the chair that squeaked slightly, but it felt loud in his ears, almost echoing in the room. The scraping of wood reminded him of that village and gods, the screaming, the fires, the clang of steel against steel, against flesh. Mouthfuls of flesh from innocent victims muffled the growls from the gnolls. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was back there. He could smell the blood; the metallic taste kissed his tongue as he lay in the dirt.
Because his mouth was full of it.
“Christopher.” A voice spoke. Your voice, so soft and kind as always. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in your home, panting with a racing heart. Your hands cupped his cheeks and wiped his falling tears with your thumbs. “Christopher, I’m here. I’m right here.” The chair he was sitting on knocked back behind him, and the cake he ate knocked onto the floor along with the silverware. His golden eyes slowly simmered down to reveal eyes filled with terror and tears.
He couldn’t even form the words before they caught in his throat with a sob. You pulled him into the biggest hug you could muster, and he complied, returning the sentiment tenfold. He cradled the back of your head like fine china and pressed so many kisses to your temple that you thought his lips would leave an imprint. You whispered gentle affirmations in his ear to calm him down. You held him for a long time before pulling back and wiping his wet cheeks. He grabbed your hand before you could pull it away and pressed it to his skin. He pressed his lips to your warm palm. It soothed his soul and made your heart flutter again. You offered that kind smile and sad eyes when you truly saw the man underneath that armor: the one who carries so much. A man who cleans wounds before his own. A man who is exhausted and afraid. Your Christopher. In his panic, wings sprouted from his back: white with a faint glow to them. They were a gift with his aasimar blood to boost his radiant strikes and gave him flight when he was in need. However, these wings were in a state of... disarray. Although his wings come from his divine magic, they are still very much real and beautiful when kept up with. They lasted around an hour, though. “Let’s sit, yeah?”
You guided him to the bed tucked in the corner that was hidden behind a folded divider, and he sat with a heavy sigh. He slumped over with his head in his hands while you rubbed his back. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“No,” he said and grabbed your wrist when you took a step away. “No tea. Please. Just stay with me.” His gaze was full of desperation and panic.
He didn’t have to ask twice when you sat next to him. He kept hold of your hand. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened in Neverwinter. I thought I could just move past it like I’ve done before, but...” You felt the tremble in his hands. “.. um,” he swallowed thickly and looked at you with tears streaking down his cheek. “I’m here.” You reminded him, and he squeezed your hand in response.
“I was helping a family out of a burning house. There was a little girl with her mother and her son. They were covered in ash, dirt and blood. Their mother had passed out from the smoke and suffered serious injuries. She had lacerations on her stomach. Those two children were trying to help her up, but they were just so little.” He swallowed. “I found them though, used the last ounce of divine magic I had in me and healed her wounds. I got them out, and Brother Kai escorted them to the camp we had nearby for survivors.” A few more tears tracked down his cheeks, and he looked down at your intertwined hands.
“Two gnolls ambushed me.” He recalled the sickening squelch of the spear being lodged in his stomach from behind. He squeezed his eyes shut. “They stabbed me.” Then his crunch of his shoulder as his bones shattered from the gnoll's jaws as it bit down on him. His screams echoed in his mind as he fell into the dirt, into a pool of his own blood, as well as the yips and barks of the gnolls above him, their teeth full of his own flesh. He had always imagined what death felt like: like a warm hug from your mother, floating away in the river under the moon, or just a snap and it’s over. Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes; others say a bright light washes over them, but for him?
He remembered when he first met you.
He was still in training at the temple. It was a cloudy day, with dark clouds rolling in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm was still a few miles out before it let loose over the city. After a taxing sparring session in the yard with Brother Leon, he washed up then headed to the market. From his trouser pocket, he fished out that scrap of paper. He squinted to read the messy handwriting. He had stopped at Oddinary Tomes a few days prior. Christopher’s shoulder had been bothering him again. He pulled it in training awhile ago, and ever since then it has had the occasional flare-up. Usually, he’d just ignored it, but it was getting to be a bit much, and no holy magic he weld could ease pain; it only healed flesh wounds. Hyunjin was in a rush with customers that afternoon, and honestly tired of him ignoring that damn shoulder. He quickly scrawled down a name and shooed him out.
After an entire minute of piecing together the chicken scratch, he found his way to Hollow Roots. The bell that chimed was charming. Mayrina greeted him first with a soft smile and offered to assist him. You were helping another customer, wrapping up a wooden box of some kind. “My left shoulder is in constant pain. I’ve tried icing it and a hot compress, but nothing works.” He explained to Mayrina, but he didn’t know that you had hired her only a couple of weeks ago. She was still learning.
You wandered over to help a minute later with the prettiest smile he has ever seen, and those eyes of yours were sparkling in the candlelight. “Muscle pain?” You clarified, and he nodded because he couldn’t speak. You had his stomach in knots already, and he had only known you for a full minute.
“Lucky for you, I just got a shipment of devil’s claw in this morning. Perfect for muscle pain and a very nice anti-inflammatory...” You rambled on about the properties of the plant, and he found himself smiling. You blushed when you stopped yourself, or was it because you saw those adorable dimples?
As he bled out in the dirt, he feared he would never know.
“The moon looked so beautiful that night. And the stars. But gods, how could they even compare to you, petal?” He held your hand to his lips and spoke into your skin. “All I could think about was how much I wanted to see you at that moment. To hear your laugh, to see your smile, to smell your perfume, to tell you how much you mean to me.” Tears spilled over your cheeks as you listened to him. “To tell you how much I love you, and to know that I wouldn’t have the chance to...?” He looked up at you with red eyes. “I thought I died that night, petal. I didn’t remember much after I woke up a few days later back in the temple in Waterdeep. Jeongin, the cleric who was caring for me, informed me that just before I passed out from blood loss, I mustered up enough strength to cast a death ward on myself.” He shook his head in disbelief and even laughed pathetically. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s like Tyr himself gave me enough strength to push through, to survive and make it home. To you. I’m sorry I lied to you yesterday. I should’ve told you the truth...” You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. You pulled him into your arms and cried into the nape of his neck. The softness of his feathers tickled the tips of your fingers. He almost died.
Died.
“Don’t apologize. You’re safe. You’re home now.” You whispered.
To think that there would have been a chance you would have never seen him again horrified you. To never hear that accented voice, the cheesy jokes he makes, see the feathered wings, the curly hair, the golden eyes that crinkle in the corner when he laughs, and those gods damned dimples dug into that olive skin. He almost died, and yet, he was here, baring his soul to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, with your noses brushing. His warm breath washed over your lips, so close, yet so far away. You were looking into those eyes again, the same ones that flickered down to your lips for a second before closing that gap.
Warm plush lips that you had dreamed about moved with yours like a waltz: smooth, soft, delicate. Then, his large hands traveled downwards, closer. His body was hard; hills and valleys of muscles felt even under the cotton of his tunic. His hands were greedy, but you were greedier. Fingers dipped under the hem of his shirt, and you gasped against his mouth when you felt that jagged scar of skin. The stab wound. “It’s okay.” He whispered into your mouth.
With his permission, you pushed up his shirt and tossed it away. It stole your breath seeing it in the flesh. The red line arced over the adonis line. Your fingers traced it, then drifted up his torso. He sucked in a small breath at the chilliness of your touch, and tears gathered in your eyes when you ran your hand over the wound on his shoulder. You met his eyes when he placed his hand on yours, then moved it to his heart. It beat wildly in his chest, thundering like a raging storm. You gently pushed him back on your bed, and he took you with him; his white wings stretched out on either side. You started with his lips first, already addicted to their softness and the taste of his tongue. A shiver ran through you when a small whimper fell from his lips when you broke apart and began your descent. His cheeks, his nose, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his scar; you worshipped each place with a kiss. You smiled against his skin when you heard the flutter of his wings and felt the hardness of him through his trousers.
He sat up abruptly and crashed his mouth into yours. No more waiting, no more time lost, he needed you.
Now.
“Please, petal.” He pleaded against your lips, voice low as your hands fumbled to free is cock. “Let me have you.”
In any other circumstance, you would’ve teased him. Have him aching with need until his sanity nearly breaks. Instead, you cave as his calloused hands push up your gown until it gathered at your waist, and when he sinks into you for the first time, he swore he saw Tyr himself. You felt perfect: so warm, so tight, like you were made just for him.
Your hips shifted to ride him lazily, mind blank as you enjoyed every inch of his cock sinking impossibly deep inside of you. Christopher could only watch in awe. A goddess in the flesh, with beautiful lips letting out unholy moans that curl his toes.
Despite the way your walls hugged his cock, it wasn’t enough. Chris needed to feel all of your skin pressed against his. Both hands shifted up, tearing through into the threads of your corset which was laced in the front. The mess of fabric was tossed away with the rest of your clothes.
Now stripped, he pushed you off of him, pinning you to the bed. His wings stretched out and flapped once as he crawled up your body with his mouth. You were completely surrounded by feathers. A deep groan rumbled in his chest when he slipped back in, and he silenced yours with his lips. He pushed your knee to your chest, and you felt him even deeper. A moan ripped from your lips, and your hands found his shoulders first, then his plumage in the center of his back. The down feathers were the softest. You felt him twitch inside you as soon as your fingers intertwined with them. He moaned into your neck. Loudly.
Oh.
“Fuck, that feels so fucking good..!”
Oh.
Your fingers moved higher and deeper into the down, and he practically whimpered into your neck. His wings shook. “N-No! Enough, enough..!” He grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He smirked down at you with blown out eyes. The gold was barely even there. “Gotta get you there first, petal.” He kissed you so sweetly, and it gave you whiplash when he took your other knee and pinned it to your chest. You felt his cock so deep inside you that you thought your brain was going to melt out of your ears. How in all the nine hells can he switch up so fast?
You clenched around him tightly, so close to the edge as he kept up that brutal pace. His name fell on your lips in a desperate whine, begging for release. He slowed the roll of his hips and released the hold on your legs to sneak a hand down to rub fast circles against your clit. “That’s it. Cum for me, petal. You look so beautiful.” His velvety words, his calloused fingers, and that cock of his had you jumping off that cliff and into the crashing waves. He leaned back down to kiss you through it while still hitting the spongy spot inside you.
Typical Christopher.
Always taking care of others first.
Meanwhile, your hand sneaked back into his down feathers, and he crumbled within seconds. Already at the edge, his wings quivered as he filled you, and you kept him there by wrapping your legs around his waist. He panted against your chest, then nosed your damp neck that’s covered in bruises, and all he thought of was… finally. Finally, he could love you openly.
An hour drifted by in comfortable silence and his wings had faded away, leaving traces of feathers spouted on his back and shoulders. Christopher could just be Christopher for a while. All thoughts of his expedition, anxieties, and traumas were buried for the moment. Your fingers had found his curls that carefully ran through them. He was fighting for his life to keep his eyes open, but there was one more thing you wanted to do first. “Christopher?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “I know you’re exhausted, but I’d love to help you preen your feathers. At least the new sprouts on your back.”
He smiled sleepily then rolled off of you onto his stomach, but not before giving you a kiss of appreciation first. “Please do. They are quite.. itchy. Been meaning to preen them entirely, but..”
“I understand.” You finished and pulled on a nightgown from your dresser, then crawled back into the messy bed. Christopher buried half his face in a pillow with his arms underneath it, waiting patiently. Your fingers begin the gentle task of twirling the keratin capsules to break them open to release the baby feathers. You also remove a few loose ones as well. A relaxed sigh fell from his lips as he allowed his eyes to finally close.
“Feels good, I take it?”
“Very. It’s like an itch that’s finally been scratched.”
You smiled softly. “Remember when you took me flying for the first time?”
“And you wore those cute little goggles.” He chuckled.
“I wanted to see the town below without my eyes watering.”
“No judgement. It was a smart move. I’d love to take you again. Perhaps during sunset when the sea is the prettiest.”
“It’s a date.”
You continue to work quietly for a few more minutes. You then slipped into the washroom to grab a small jar of coconut oil to rub over the feathers to keep them moisturized. When you returned, you laughed quietly to yourself when you heard the little snores coming from the aasimar in your bed. You carefully sat back in bed, then applied the oil before capping the jar, then laid down next to him. In that moment, your heart was the fullest it had ever been in the longest time. You reached out for the last time that night and ran your fingers through his curls and placed a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you too, Christopher.”
Please reblog, comment, or send me an ask! I'd love to know your thoughts!
genre: dungeons and dragons au | warnings: suggestive themes, sexual explicit content, religious themes, heavy depictions of violence and gore, death, alcohol use, language
"Someone should have dared, long ago, and done so as often as it took to break you of this serenely wrong view of the ways of the world. Hear this, Narantha, and hear it well: Faerûn is not going to change to your will. Either you must change to dwell in it, or it will break you." - Florin Falconhand of the Knights of Myth Drannor
➥ Childhood Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Sentimental Sexy
➥ Written for A Very Merry KPOPmas❄️ ⁞ Unresolved Resolutions
⚠ — Heavy pining, angst frosting, smut with feelings.
➥ On December 31, 2024, you and Chris made New Year’s resolutions, and he’s been in hell ever since. Well, that’s actually a bald-faced lie.
He’s been in hell ever since the first time you watched the stars together.
*a/n: This, my children, is what happens when you mix this cursed footage with this banger a.k.a. the mentos and coke of feelings. Happy belated Christmas to everyone who celebrates it, and a Happy New Year to all in advance. May your sky be full of stars in 2026~
Do you sometimes miss seeing the stars? Because he does.
He can remember the very first time like it was yesterday. Clear as day. On the rooftop of your aunt’s house when the entire family was having a sleepover on a warm summer night. You were 15 when you told him it wasn’t a few stars in the vast sky but just a tiny island of sky among an ocean of stars. You were 18 when you made a wish upon a shooting star for the first time, holding his hand so tightly like you were terrified to fall.
To this day, he thinks of you every time a star falls. He thinks of you a lot.
He’s been thinking of you longer than he’s known himself.
He can’t stand people. Never has. Not even his own mother sometimes. It comes easy to him to curse a mouthful, slam doors, then walk out without a denouement, but he’s never managed to do it once to you. Not even when he was furious with you. Not even when he really really wanted to. Not even when you were in the arms of another man.
He knows you don’t love him like that.
That’s the sole reason he doesn’t believe in love. Never has. Because he knows it’s futile. He knows it’s in vain. It’s just an endless spring of suffering because there is no such thing as a happy ending. He’s so despicable that he knows no one will stand by his side. He’s so unlovable that he knows no one would attend his funeral if he died. He just can’t admit it out loud because he still has some pride.
But when you look at him like that…
In his wildest dreams, he imagines one day you might just love him like that.
You think he’s all intimidating because his voice is deeper now, don’t you? He might have a harder shell now, but how come you can’t see that deep inside he’s still the same boy you knew? The one you walked to school with hand in hand. The one you watched stars with on rooftops.
He needs a lifetime’s worth of courage just to stand next to you sometimes. How come you can’t see that?
He absolutely loathes dancing, but he still took you to your senior prom. He still took you to a club on your birthday when he would have preferred some calm. He still let you wrap your arms around him when it was raining hell outside because he will dance with you whenever you want. Even though he doesn’t know how to move much. He will do anything to feel your touch.
Anything.
You were a lot older when you were babbling to him about some guy. He had no idea what the hell you saw in this motherfucker so much. Someone that cold, that stoic, that indifferent didn’t fucking deserve to know what it was like to feel your touch. You told him you didn’t want to risk getting rejected because it would be awkward afterwards. He told you if worst came to worst, he would be there to hold your hands.
Because he always has.
He was bleeding through every orifice of his body on the day of your alleged confession, but he promised you he would wait for you at the park. He had resolved to be there for you whether you were beaming or completely in the dark. Hours passed, but you were a no-show. He thought he could survive it, but maybe he wasn’t ready for this blow after all. He was already halfway home when you called him to ask him if he was still there. He told you he was, booking it back but still clinging to a prayer. He wanted you to be happy, but not if you were going to slip through his hands.
He couldn’t have been any more relieved when you didn’t follow through with your plans.
He tried his utmost best to look like he was listening, but he wasn’t able to focus at all. Most of your words went in one ear and out the other. It was the hardest fucking thing not to look into your eyes with the stupidest, fondest smile, and he was the lightest breeze away from screaming his undying love for you at your face.
How come you couldn’t see that?
He told you his hopes. He told you his fears. There is only one thing he never told you, and he is going to take it to the grave. He just doesn’t want to risk getting rejected because it will be awkward afterwards. He hasn’t known a life without you, and he doesn’t want to find out if his hypotheses are true. He already knows it isn’t worth much.
Would it kill you to at least try to see him like that?
He knows you have him wrapped around your finger. He knows he can never escape it. If he moves ten thousand miles away from you, your ghost will come with him, too, he knows. But he doesn’t care because he needs you.
He needs you because you’re everything he’s not.
He needs you because you’re all that he’s got.
He has never once said he loves you because he always thought that you knew.
He has never said it once because that would be a lot more than he could chew.
He only finds the courage when he drinks, but time after time he has to strike that.
He just can’t tell you because you don’t seem to love him like that.
Not when you’re in love with another man.
A simple question you ask him. Out of everywhere in the world right now, where would you want to be?
He asks you where you are so he knows where to flee.
He loves it when you laugh. It always works like a charm. Even if he’s in the foulest mood, life suddenly becomes worth living again. The sun shines, the birds chirp, the colors become warmer, and he feels faint because of how overwhelmed he is with his undying love for you.
Do you sometimes miss seeing the stars? Because he does.
He yearns for the times he could have you all to himself sometimes, but he is aware neither of you is 18 anymore. You have a life of your own. A lot has happened since that night on the rooftop, and now you’re all grown. He will settle for being alone, but not without you etched somewhere in the fabric of his life.
He would much rather have you be his wife, but he knows you don’t love him like that.
Everything you want to do, he hopes that you do. Every dream you have, he hopes it comes true. He has indulged you when you wanted to make a New Year’s resolution, too. It was supposed to be a challenge where you stood by each other’s side to keep the other accountable. For one year. To do that one thing neither of you has ever managed to do. You begged him to tell you what his resolution was, but he just wouldn’t. Something about how the brain thinks the goal is achieved if you say it out loud. Whereas he just didn’t want to risk getting rejected because he knew what he wanted was not allowed.
Days have passed. Weeks. Months.
Before he knows it, it’s December again.
He will never forget how happy you are when you show him the four digits in your savings account. You are so so proud, talking about how you made the impossible possible, and now you are demanding proof of his promise from him. In all honesty, he is ashamed of his end result.
Because continuously failing for 365 days, 5 hours, and 59 seconds feels like a horrendous insult.
No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t stop loving you. No matter how much he resolves to.
He will die knowing you will never love him like that.
He’s been trying. God knows he’s been trying so damn hard to get over you, but he just can’t replace you with someone new. It will take a lot more years than just a few. As long as the sky you are both under is blue, he knows he’s never going to be able to.
When he tells you he couldn’t live up to his promise, he wishes you didn’t look at him like that.
He wants to curse a mouthful, slam doors, then walk out, but he’s never managed to do it once to you. Not even when he was furious with you. And he isn’t about to.
He loathes himself so much for disappointing you, but there is no way he can offer a believable excuse. He would much rather pretend to be obtuse because he told you all his hopes, all his fears, but there is no way he can let his biggest secret loose. He swore to take it to the grave.
For years, you watched him. You watched his insufferably obstinate ways. You watched him turn into the biggest recluse. You watched him make all the wrong moves, terrified he was slowly drifting away from you. You haven’t known a life without him, and you don’t want to find out if it would really be that grim. You already know it’s not worth much. How come he can’t see that?
How come he can’t see you love him like that?
You have been yearning to feel him on your skin longer than you’ve known yourself. You knew he absolutely loathed dancing, but you still asked him to take you to your senior prom. You still asked him to take you to a club on your birthday when you fucking knew he would have preferred some calm. You dragged him out into the pouring rain because you would do anything to feel his touch. But the more time passed by, the more your excuses didn’t amount to much.
You were wishing he could see through them so that he’d fucking realize you loved him like that.
You already failed to open your heart to him at the park, making up yet another story about some guy that didn’t even exist. Your latest and lamest excuse was making New Year’s resolutions together because you really believed one year was enough time to put these devastating feelings you’ve been carrying around for years into words. This time, you would do it. You just had to tell him the 143; there was nothing to it.
But you spectacularly blew it.
December 31. 23:41. His apartment. His living room. His couch. Too much wine as courage juice. When it’s time to show your work, you choke and watch yourself show him your bank account instead. You make up yet another story about making the impossible possible whereas you’ve already been saving that money for over two years on the off chance that he would say yes to going to Japan with you. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t stop loving him.
And it seems like nothing is going to happen unless you go out on a limb because he doesn’t seem to love you like that.
You wonder if he ever misses seeing the stars because at this point, they are nothing more than a reminder of your scars. All the sendoffs you could kiss him but didn’t. All the sleepovers you could love him but couldn’t. Something at the back of your head kept telling you you shouldn’t, but you are going to die the most torturous death if you can’t hold him in your arms, chest to chest, palm to palm, cry-whispering into his ear that you have always loved him like that. That ever since that one night on a rooftop somewhere, all your wishes on shooting stars have been a plea to kiss him just once.
In a momentary lapse of sanity, you renounce everything that’s not him and empty an entire clip on the unbearable agony of his absence.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself when you suddenly kiss him like that.
He is in disbelief that you are touching him like that. That you are loving him like that. He has dreamed of this for so long that if he dies right now, he will be the happiest man. He wouldn’t even care about the zero attendance at his funeral. He certainly doesn’t give a fuck about the wine glasses that crash on his hardwood floors, staining them in the exact shade of his soul-crushing longing for you.
It’s not as slow and romantic as he always pictured it to be—he is all but ripping your clothes off of you, his lips never leaving yours, your hands latched to his face, breathlessly devouring each other as if you would die otherwise, but he wouldn’t trade this moment for the world. How imperfect it is is perfection itself.
He forces himself to slow down. Really slow down and just take you in for a while. How you look at him with the biggest anticipation in your eyes. How your body is already covered in goosebumps. How he can physically see your pulse just from the vein on your neck, getting faster if he so much as leans in to kiss you.
He won’t survive the night, that much is true.
Your scent on his nose is narcotic. He feels high just from mere kisses down your chest, and he loves how it makes you flinch as he makes his way even lower. He has to pull through. He has to be strong enough not to pass out when he finally meets the subject of his wildest wet dreams in the flesh.
He groans like he is in pain when he witnesses the glory of your nakedness for the first time. He feels like he’s about to cry.
He has never seen anything as beautiful as your pussy.
Self-restraint is the worst form of torture, but he has to endure it. He has to take it slow. He has to savor you to avenge the years you spent away from each other, fully clothed, in different rooms, different apartments, even different cities at one point, but you’re just so beautiful, and he is one pathetic man. It’s just one taste of your slick, just one drag of his tongue on your clit…
…and he doesn’t know what takes over him.
He buries his head between your legs, licking you like you have the antidote to his years’ worth of self-deprecation there. If this is a dream, he doesn’t want to wake up. If he’s hallucinating, he never wants to return to the ugly reality of not knowing what your skin feels like. He licks, he licks, and he licks, melting into a puddle with each moan you let out, growing louder in his ears. He wants to hear it. He wants to hear you moan his name. He wants to hear you moan you love him, and promise to never let him go, and convince him that this is indeed real. He wants to make you happy. He wants to make you cum. He wants to build a life together with you even if it means he has to give up everything.
Fingertips sinking deeper into your thighs, head buried deeper into your cunt, he falls deeper in love with you when you fall apart on his tongue.
He will burn this world down for you if you ask him.
You don’t want to come down. You never want to come down when you’re with him. You don’t allow yourself a moment’s respite and pull him up, tasting yourself on his lips like you indulge in the most decadent delicacy. He trembles under your touch even though his fireplace provides more than enough warmth, even though your body is in flames, even though he has hell itself in his beautiful soft browns. You don’t peel your eyes off of them as you strip him bare, your heart breaking into a million pieces at how scared he looked. You want to embrace him. You want to shelter him. You want to shield him from everything ugly in this world so that he only knows happiness. So that he only knows love.
He has hated himself enough to last five nations for three lifetimes.
The firmness of his skin is such a delightful contrast to the softness of his gaze. The hardness of his cock is maddening on your soaked folds. You nod at him, encouraging him to let loose, set himself free, unleash his insanity on you so he can finally finally get a moment’s peace. You are more than willing to carry half his burden for him. All of it, if he ever lets you. You want to make him happy. You want to make him cum. You want to leave it all behind and run away with him even if it means you have to forsake everything you’ve ever known to be true.
You will move heaven and earth for him even if he doesn’t ask you.
He pants as he sinks into you, and you gently hold his face, gazing deep into his eyes. To ground him. To remind him that you’re here and always will be. To convince him that it’s just you two against the world now. You pull him closer and melt into his kiss, and that’s the moment he decides to let it…
…go.
His tensed body relaxes, and he starts to pave his way into you. Languid thrusts first. Very close to that ‘slow and romantic’ he always pictured it to be. But the deeper he sinks into you, the more your sounds of pleasure turn from bashful moans to deep growls, the more he loses it. He picks up his pace, caving to his pleasure with zero willpower at play, eventually turning erratic. How is he supposed to control himself when you look at him like that? How is he supposed to be all ‘slow and romantic’ when you’re scratching all over his shoulders like that, urging him to drill you into that couch with all kinds of obscenities spilling from your lips?
How is he supposed to love you when all you’re ordering him to do is to fuck you like his life depends on it? Don’t you know your wish is his fucking command?
He throws your legs over his shoulders and takes off, dying a little inside with every push. Oh, he can definitely get used to this. He can do this first thing in the morning and last thing at night, even if you ask for it or not, because he has a lifetime’s worth of cravings to satisfy, and it was a horrendous move on your part to repeatedly tell him to, quote, “have his way with you”.
Of course he will. He will fuck you like a whore, then love you like the goddess he will dedicate his entire life to. Every day.
You hold onto his shoulders for dear life, eyes so wide with how deep he reaches inside you, relishing each drop of sweat that drips on your chest. He pants quicker and quicker, bolting towards the finish line at full speed, and even then, all he thinks about is just how much you own his heart. He has never known love like this. He has never known pleasure like this, experiencing the highest of highs just by looking into the eyes of the woman he has spent his entire life loving. Then he hears it.
Oh, he hears it loud and clear.
He hears you moan his name, over and over and over again, eyes squeezed shut, hands groping him hard, legs locked around him just to make sure he doesn’t even attempt to pull out. On the ledge of his free fall, staring at the first day of the rest of his life, he moans the loudest 143 he has ever spoken, the very first one he ever truly means, and empties himself inside you, thoroughly, fully, until there isn’t a single drop left in him. Until he becomes one with you.
Just to make sure you don’t even attempt to be apart from him anymore.
“Chris, do you sometimes miss seeing the stars?”
You know what? He no longer does. Not when he can witness entire galaxies in your eyes.
Not when he knows that you love him like that.
✉ Enjoyed this? Your feedback & reblogs free my chapters from the draft prison.
god, this was so beautiful! that interview made me WEAK. CHRISTOPHER :( time to take him to a desert so he can see ALL the stars.
and oh what is that??? tears on my cheeks??? oh okay.
mutual pining.... my weakness, but oh my gosh. i was so worried that he was going to miss his chance. but yay reader for taking the leap and yay for the liquid confidence. I CHEERED IN MY OFFICE WHEN THEY KISSED.
vaporwave
2087
stormborns
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
germansingergirl
romaincrisis
