⸻ leaf on the wound: christopher bahng
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!
