#oh lordy did this take time and effort

[probablygayattorneys]

karma's a relaxing thought

aren't you envious that for you it's not?

(karma, taylor swift)

[aaaaafro]

Yes yes... Feel the pull... Join the dark side 😈

Haha jk. Take your time 😊 All depends on the writing juice in the end

Give in to the lewd side of Tumblr

So I see Twice, ITZY, NewJeans, Le Sserafim, NMIXX, IVE and 'a lil bit of (G)-IDLE' on your radar

Do you mind sharing your biases in each group? 😁

How long did it take to write the Yunjin fic? Was it originally longer or shorter before you changed it?

Is black hair Yunjin with glasses your weakness?

Thanks for giving Yunjin some love. I like how you use the photos according to the sequence of your story. 😚

Ahhh damn it dont tempt me!

I'm kidding but hey maybe after the Mina fic I might join the darkside

Okay, with the groups

For TWICE obviously it's my Yoo Beep beep.

For ITZY it'll be my LIA-ve of my life (but my CHAERY is up there, just dont tell Lia she gets jelly at times.)

For NMIXX my BAEby but that voice-crackin' aegyo-hatin' HAEWON is getting on my nerves.

For NewJeans honestly I haven't really dived into them yet but let's say Haerin for now.

For IVE oh god I love me some japanese so Its REI but holy shit how close I've come to changing it to Yujin and Gaeul those little- AAAAA!

For LE SSERAFIM in all honesty I'm not a hard stan to any of this group like I dont watch all their stuff but I love their musics and that's why my bias will be Yunjin

For (G)-IDLE oh lordy this is a tuffy since I don't really know how to say it but ever since Soojin left I kinda fell off of their train but nonetheless I still fucking love them and I'm going with my twerk queen Miyeon.

Okay so for the Yunjin fic, I guess people knows this about my works, that most of them are Impulsive Writing. Like *ping* then boom I write and you could say that the Yunjin fic could've been written in like one sitting but i got mad adhd and I can't fucking do a single sitting work. So that one took me 3 days to finish 😭 i know it's stupid but im serious. Also about the photos I used I do like to put a little effort in whenever there's like a visual representation in the scene, like let's say in my Mina fic there's a period where she's blonde, so whenever I describe a scene where Mina is I'd like, do my best to find a photo with her blonde and the scene I'm describing. Idk just a little petty I guess. Glad it work tho.

So Yunjin with dark hair and glasses, in all honesty I'm weak for k girls with glasses, like seriously for example

LIKE FUCKIN HELL THEY BE BEAUTIFUL WITHOUT AND YOU TELL ME THEY CAN WEAR ONE LIKE WTF?!

That was too long lol but hey I love some asks makes me feel relevant, jk I hope you enjoyed my answers, thank you for your appreciation for my works, it's because of you that I do them ❤️❤️

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Romanced! Male!Companions react to Sole/Lone/Six being unable to walk the morning after.

I’ve got M!Companions from FO4, FO3, and FONV here, but let me know if you guys want me to include anyone else at all! 

Might be just a little NSFW?

;)

Fallout 4 --

Danse: 

     Danse would feel absolutely horrible. After the initial flush on his cheeks at the mention of sex, his expression would turn to one of devastation. There honestly wouldn't be any sense of satisfaction whatsoever at having hurt you, and he would internally berate himself for not being as attentive to you, and as aware of your reactions as he should've been. That day he would tell you to take it easy and he would be at your constant beck and call in an attempt to make it up to you. He would spend all day beside you, working on cleaning and repairing your weapons and armor, engaging in idle conversation, and maybe listening to the radio. The next time you two are intimate he will be exceedingly gentle with you, and will take extra care to ensure you are more prepared for him before really getting into it.  

Deacon: 

     He would feel really bad to have hurt you enough to impact you like this, but also he would feel just a small twinge of satisfaction at having been able to do so. He'll do his best to take care of you after you tell him about it though, spending the whole day with you in bed, just chatting away, playing little games with you, like “two truths, one lie” or 20 questions and the like. When the time does come for you two to be intimate again, he'll have you take the lead a few times in a row to get an idea of your preferred pacing so he can replicate it better and hopefully not hurt you in the future. But, and he's not particularly proud of this, he will ask your permission to tell some of the others back at HQ what had happened. (He just really just wants to see the look on Carrington’s face, and prove a certain something to Glory about his anatomy. But, of course, he wouldn’t use your name if you didn't want him to. Discretion is this man’s forte, after all).

 Hancock: 

     Is it still considered aftercare if it happens the day after you've had sex? Well, whatever it’s called, Hancock would do all that he can to make up for how he had made you feel. He should know better after all by now, he would feel horrible and try to think back to the way you had reacted to some of his movements in an effort to pinpoint what exactly had hurt you so he could make sure to never do it again. If you wanted chems to numb the pain, he'll surely offer them, and besides that, he'll spend the whole day just looking after you. Holding you close, telling you jokes and stories, making you food, maybe giving you a message, just anything to make you feel better. And when you two are intimate again, he'll be sure to make it up to you. Big time.

 MacCready:

     Initially, he might feel a distinct sense of pride at having rendered you immobile with his vicious love, but once his brain wraps around the fact that you're actually in pain, he'll feel pretty bad. Maybe not as bad as he should, which he tries to hide, but it's pretty obvious given his little grin he has plastered on his face all day. But he’ll be sure to take good care of you, grabbing snacks and refreshments before curling up next to you with a couple of comic books, really just taking full advantage of the day off. From now on, when the two of you do have sex, he will try to prevent this from happening again by having you be in control for the most part, at least until he learns your body and its limits a bit better. He still might not completely ease up, but he’ll at least make it seem like he’s not as proud of what he’d done as he actually happens to be. And just a heads up, he may just bring up the fact that he was the one who “loved you so hard that you couldn’t walk” at every given opportunity, so just be aware of that.

Nick: 

     The poor old detective would feel dreadful, this was part of the reason he'd been hesitant to engage in physical acts of intimacy with you in the first place. Even if you assured him it was nothing more than some temporary soreness, he'd have trouble rationalizing being with you intimately for a little while. He would also take an easy day himself so he could keep an eye on you and get you whatever you might need. When you did manage to convince him that you would be okay to have sex again, he would be overly tender and gentle, just to make sure that you know how much your well-being means to him, and to assure you that he would never repeat the actions that had ended up hurting you ever again. As far as he was concerned, he wanted you to wake up feeling good after being with him, to feel satisfied and giddy and maybe just a little tired, but certainly not in pain. 

Preston: 

     Oh lordy, good luck trying to get him to touch you again after he finds out that he hurt you. Initially, his brain would send a little spark of pride to the forefront of his mind when you first told him, but his conscious self would instantly shut it down, disgusted by the fact that it was present at all. He would insist you take the whole day off and would try to keep up on his work while also looking after you in every way possible. You'll really have to work to get him to be with you intimately again anytime soon, as he'll be quite worried about you, and once you do manage to convince him, he'll be extraordinarily gentle and slow. He's very sweet, but you'll have to be patient with him as he pauses with every heavy breath you release, or gasp you take, or moan you utter. Even good noises are scary for him, but don't worry, he'll get back to his usual pace eventually, and now be extra aware of your every reaction to him; which, as it turns out, can be quite handy. 

X6-88: 

     The courser will be conflicted. On the one hand, you were aware that X6’s lovemaking is rough, you've known that from the start, so the two of you wouldn’t be unused to scenarios like this occurring. However, for it to have escalated to physically impairing you enough to prevent you from walking… that made him feel an ache of regret in his chest. Luckily, X6 doesn't miss a thing, and likely will recall which aspects of the night had led to this specific outcome, and he would try to eliminate those factors from future interactions. As for now, he will ensure that you are safe, and as comfortable as possible; he will guard you as you take the day to rest, and will fetch you anything that you require. Normally, when you were hurt, he would recommend paying a visit to the Institute medical facility, but in this case… he would rather try and help you himself if it comes to it. You’re not entirely sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed, or just possessive over certain areas of your body now, but you’d say his crimson cheeks were a bit of a giveaway.  

Fallout 3 --

Butch: 

     On the outside, he would be the prime example of the sympathetic boyfriend. He would apologize and spend the day cuddling with you, playing with your hair, eating snack cakes and drinking nuka cola. On the inside, however, he would feel a certain sense of fulfillment, and would have to consciously hold back the wicked grin that threatened to spill onto his lips at the thought of his lovemaking being wild enough to make it so that you couldn’t walk. He certainly wouldn’t actively try to do it again, but he also wouldn’t necessarily try to prevent it from happening, so just be prepared for anything. But whether or not he’s successful in making you sore again, he’ll fully dedicate himself to caring for you afterwards, ensuring that you’re comfortable and content in his arms at the end of each night. 

Charon:

     The ghoul can’t say he’s surprised, he did warn you that this might happen, after all. His previous sexual experiences have all been initiated by past employers, so most of them have ranged from pretty negative ordeals to downright violent encounters, and though he'll try to leave that in the past, it's tough for him to let go of it completely since it’s really all he knows. That being said, he will still feel bad about hurting you, and will really try to take more care the next time the two of you are intimate. You'll have to work together on communication and focus more on foreplay in the future, but Charon aims to please, and would never purposefully try to hurt you (unless, of course, if you told him you were into it ;). 

Jericho:

     He’ll honestly just grin nice and big when you tell him. Sorry. If you wanted tenderness and sympathy, you should probably look into being with someone else. Jericho would consider this to be an achievement on his part, and assure you that this was a sign that the two of you had really done it right. He might complain a bit about having to stay in for the day, but that doesn't mean he won't still take care of you, in his own sort of way. He'll offer you a drink (or a few), or a cigarette (or a whole pack), and would probably just end up falling back into bed next to you and taking a nice, long nap at your side. He wouldn't really promise to change anything the next time the two of you have sex, but he might try to reassure you that it will get easier with more "practice."

Fallout New Vegas --

Arcade:

     Oh, he would definitely laugh, because it's a joke. Obviously you're joking with him… right? No!? But-- how? He would be confused by this, and too busy thinking through what he possibly could have done to make you physically unable to walk, to actually address the issue. Once he snaps out of it, he'll ask if you're okay and try to keep his snarky and sarcastic quips to a minimum for the day. As much as Arcade loves giving you a hard time in general, this time he'd be too embarrassed to bring it up. In the event that you do mention it, you'd best be prepared for the pink hue that would adorn, not just his cheeks, nor even his face, but his entire body. When the two of you do have sex again, Arcade will be happy to let you take the lead so you can better control the pacing and keep from hurting yourself at all, (which really is just a win-win scenario, considering the fact that he really prefers you being in control anyway.)

Boone:

     His brows would furrow at the news, barely noticeable through his sunglasses, but he would simply set down his rifle and bag and settle back into bed with you. The ex-soldier would curl his arms around you and stay beside you for the remainder of the day, rubbing his arms along your body comfortingly. He’s not big on small talk, but Boone would love to just sit and listen to you ramble all day long. When the evening comes, he’ll be sure to get up and make you both dinner before encouraging you to go to sleep early. Despite his stoic exterior, he's actually quite the tender caretaker. The next time you two are intimate together, he'll consciously focus on being more gentle and controlled with his movements, and certainly won't be shy in making sure you're properly "prepared" for him when he does get a little more rough. 

Raul:

     Aw, the poor old ghoul would feel horrible about hurting you, the ridge above his eyes would crinkle upwards as he flashed you a sympathetic smile. He'd be a little embarrassed about it as well, feeling like it was rude of him to let his self-control slip enough to have ended up hurting you. He'd take care of you for the day, taking the opportunity to tidy up your living space as he chats with you about anything and everything, telling you stories of his life from before the bombs dropped, teaching you some words in Spanish, and telling cheesy jokes to make you laugh. He would give you a bit of time to recover before agreeing to sleeping with you again, and this time he would suggest either you taking the lead, or using a safe word in case his control started slipping again. 

[lordabovehelpme]

Small Fingers- Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: The children of the covert are fascinated with you. 

masterlist

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

Little hands trace your features. Soft fingertips run through your hair. The children of the covert have never seen someone’s face other than their parents. They find you fascinating and you’re happy to let them explore.

When you first got to the covert the children had looked up at you in awe. Din had to talk to the armorer so he left you, but took the child with him. The few brave ones slowly made their way to you, the others soon following behind. One of the older ones promptly asked why you had no helmet. When you explained you were with Din they all got closer, trusting Din’s judgement.

Now, you’re sat on the floor with twelve kids piled on top of you. Each taking turns tracing your eyelids or braiding your hair. The smaller ones are sat in your lap while the bigger ones explore. Giggles and laughter fill the hall.

Some of the parents are smiling at the scene unfolding in front of them. One very pregnant mother ushers her barely walking son to you. Noticing the tired way her limbs move, you smile and open your arms for the small boy to run to. He looks at his mom before stumbling his way to you. Flashing the mom a smile, she nods and walks into a room.

The children fill you in on all the gossip of the covert. How so and so’s parents won’t let them out of their room today because they were bad. They tell you stories of what they had for breakfast and what games they played before you arrived.

One little girl taps your shoulder before asking, “Can you tell us about the world outside?” At first you are taken aback, but then it all makes sense. Of course you would keep the children inside where they are safe.

“Sure I can!” Cheers are made from the children as they all sit down in front of you. However, the little boy sits himself down in your lap, focusing on twirling a strand of your hair. “Well, where should I begin?”

“Have you ever seen an ocean? My dad says that there are places that hold so much water, you can’t see the other side.” An older boy asks.

“Yes, I have seen oceans. They really are amazing. Your dad is correct, oceans are giant bodies of water.” All the children lean in further. “However, the water is not still, it moves and shifts with the tides. Giant and powerful waves crash against the land where the water stops. It’s also not like drinking water, it’s salty.”

“Salty!?” One girl interrupts.

You nod and smile at her excitement. “It is also a brilliant blue color.”

“But water is clear!”

“Yes, but when you have so much water in one place it reflects the light more and it appears to be a magnificent color.”

Ooo’s erupt from the children. “What else have you seen?”

***

Where could she have gone? Din had just finished giving some credits to the armorer for the children when he made his way to where he left you. He sets his son down as he looks around.

The child runs off in the direction of the main hall. “Hey, kid, where are you going?”

Cooing, he continues to run before turning a corner and disappearing from Din’s watch.

When he turns the corner after him, he stops in his tracks.

“And then it all went silent. Nobody made a move.” You’re standing in front of the covert children, one hand in the middle of portraying the story you’re telling. You have the newest addition to the covert on your hip, holding him steady as you describe the scene. The children are obviously enthralled as they clutch one another.

“Then the ground started to rumble, and out of the ground he flew from the dragon's mouth. Finally killing the great beast!” The children laugh and squirm as you finish your story.

A hand lands on Din’s shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you killed a Krayt dragon!” One of Din’s oldest friends greets him with a strong hug.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Well you’re little lady sure had the entire covert holding their breath for what happened next. She sure is great with the kids.”

He turns his head to really look at you. Your hair is in lots of little braids and you practically have all the children hanging off of you. Warmth fills his body as his heart swells with love.

“She is, isn’t she.” Din can’t help but agree.

“So when are you planning on having your own?” His head spins and he chokes.

“Oh...uh”

A loud laugh comes from his friend. “Don’t worry, I’m just teasing you. But really, you should snatch her up before someone else does. Trust me, the children are not the only people here she’s caught the attention of, especially with how motherly she is.” Patting his back once more, the friend leaves Din to himself.

“Come on, it’s time to go.” He says to you. Instantly, all the children groan and wrap themselves around you. You give him these eyes, the eyes he hates because they always work.

“Just a little longer?” Pushing your bottom lip out, you fully pout at him.

He sighs because he can’t say no to you. “Five minutes.”

A wide smile works itself onto your face as the children cheer and pull you around, insisting you play one last game.

Din goes to sit down at one of the tables near the side of the room. One of the male mandalorians approaches him.

“Hey man, so are you and her like a thing?” When Din makes no effort to reply he continues, “Great because I wanted to make sure before I go make a move.”

“We are.” It’s gruff and possessive.

“What did you say?”

“She’s mine.”

“Oh sorry.” The mandalorian holds his hands up and walks away. Din stands up and makes his way to you.

“Time to go.” He grabs your arm, as if he wants to physically pull you from the heap of children.

“Wait, let me say goodbye.” He drops your arm and watches as you say goodbye to every single child. However, the little boy won’t let go of you. He watches as you sway and pat the boys back, whispering things into his ears that even his helmet can not pick up. He sees the little boy nod and when you set him down he gives you a wave. You turn back to face Din, swooping up his son into your arms. “Okay, I’m ready.”

***

“Din, what's wrong? I can feel your annoyance all the way from here.” You’re sitting in the co-pilot seat, next to him, with the child fast asleep on your lap.

“Cyar’ika?”

“Yes…” You trail off with confusion evident in your voice.

“I want-... I just... seeing you with the children. It made me realize something.” His visor turns to meet your eyes. He sees you nod reassuringly. “I love you, Cyar’ika.”

Your head snaps to meet his visor. Placing the sleeping child in his old pram, you launch yourself into Din’s arms. “I love you too.”

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

I am going to start working on requests again! I have just been super busy lately. Hope you guys liked this one.

Love, Lordy. 

[mel-the-fangirl]

The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

---------------------------------------

You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you,  let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little. 

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough. 

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock. 

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year. 

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour? 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

-------------------------

The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times. 

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking. 

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

[ourimpavidheroine]

Lordy lordy. I think it’s pretty funny when people reblog something I posted 6 years ago and tell me I’m wrong because of later canon that hadn’t been written yet. Congrats for digging through all the crap on my blog to find a six year old post but uh, I’m not omniscient. Always check the timestamp, kids!

I think it’s even funnier when they get all worked up telling me why I’m wrong. Especially on a post I just threw together for shits and giggles. (Which, let’s face it, most of my posts here are just exactly that.) And we’re not talking a friendly sort of hey, that’s cool but did you ever think of it this way kind of thing. Oh no. No, we’ve got lots of big words to prove how smart we are. Lots of cherry-picked quotes to show how out of touch I am. Lots of faux-outrage. Entire paragraphs (and photos and gifs if I am really lucky) making sure that I, personally, understand exactly why my wholly uninformed opinion is simply not acceptable to anyone with any kind of good sense, intelligence and understanding of the canon material. (And so many Serious Tags, oh my god, like 3,000 tags that are clearly meant to be searched, none of which will ever show up in any kind of search because this is Tumblr.)

My Dude. (And it’s always, always a dude.) It’s so predictable. I swear to god there must be a manual out there.

How To Make Sure Everyone Knows How Smart I Am And Why My Opinion Matters And Yours Doesn’t On This Six Year Old Post That Only Has 10 Notes In Total, by Better Than You Fandom Dude. 

Now I myself don’t care enough and/or think my own opinions are superior enough to rate a reblog of other people’s posts in order to bloviate as to why they are wrong. If I am going to bitch about something fandom related I’ll just happily create my own post about it. Obviously other people don’t feel the same way and there it is. It’s a free internet (or at least where I live it is). But here’s the thing for me: fandom discourse is all well and good and can be pretty enjoyable, especially when people are gleefully digging into canon itself as a mutual kind of thing. Sometimes, it might not be enjoyable but it can be a learning experience, especially when someone who is part of a minority group takes the time and effort to educate you. Both of those things I can appreciate for what they are.

But come on. When you purposefully reblog a post in order to refute a person’s opinion not because you have something of interest to say or because you actually want to engage in discourse with the OP but because you have a sudden urge to make sure that everyone will acknowledge your superiority on the subject matter at hand? Man, zip those pants back up. That ain’t discourse. That’s just wank. Wank alone, my friend. Wank alone. Don’t do it all over my blog.

Honestly, though. I’ve dealt with Better Than You Fandom Dudes so many times over the years that as soon as I hear the phantom zippers go down I just hit the back button, roll my eyes, and leave it alone. Whatever, Dude. Whatever. I mean, I spent my day today going to buy a new colander at Ikea and wondering why Finnish cosmetics companies insist on using the word bilberry when everyone calls it a blueberry instead, not writing a thesis on a 6 year old TLOK post that nobody gives a shit about. You’re clearly better than me. Good job! You win!

But. But. All that being said? If you’re going to call me dumb in the tags? Friend, that’s an instant block. Nobody needs to put up with that. Not me, not any of you, not even Better Than You Fandom Dude who called me dumb in the first place. I don’t care what How To Make Sure Everyone Knows How Smart I Am And Why My Opinion Matters And Yours Doesn’t On This Six Year Old Post That Only Has 10 Notes In Total told you about it. Nope. Nuh-uh. No. Not putting up with people calling me dumb, for any reason. Not on the internet, not in my real life, not anywhere. Instant block. The end.

Use your block button, people. That’s what it’s there for. 

[yourlocalfandomfreak]

Death the Kid with a Witch!S/O whose sweet, powerful, and not at all evil or associated with the rest of the witches in the Witch Order. Recruited by Kid to help with DWMA missions and teachings that require witch-base knowledge and skills. His partner’s reactions with him dating a witch? His friend’s? His own father? Also, I imagine Witch!S/O facing discrimination by nameless students and faculty and Kid just is having NONE OF IT. (Sorry for another Kid x Reader ask. I couldn’t help myself. XD)

Oh lordy, this is a really creative request. Let’s see what I can do with this one. :0

Death the Kid x Witch!Reader HCs

💀 It came as quite the surprise to the entire DWMA student body when they heard the news.

💀 Every student, teacher and staff member knew that witches were no good, next to the corrupted souls weapons would collect. But you? You were different.

💀 As a self proclaimed “good witch”, you did not associate yourself with the Witch Order and you had no ties to Medusa or Arachne whatsoever. So, with that being said, Death the Kid took this opportunity to conduct an experiment. 

💀 The son of Lord Death recruited you not too long ago as part of an “experiment”, so he liked to call it, to assist with various DWMA missions that required knowledge and skills only a witch would possess. It was really just an experiment to see if someone like you could be trusted.

💀 To everyone’s shock, you were actually very polite and kind to those around you, not just because you were being supervised by Kid during your time at the academy. You were a nice and genuine person.

💀 Liz and Patty were very taken aback at the fact that their partner was dating a witch, Liz especially freaked out. Patty was somehow a little less upset, but Liz was especially skeptic. She even tried to talk Kid out of it behind your back. It took a lot of work and a lot of effort to prove to them that you could be trusted.

💀 His friends were very distraught as well; Black*Star lost his mind. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, KID; DATING A WITCH?!? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDI-” Tsubaki knocks him out before he can finish. 

💀 Maka is obviously very suspicious, Soul as well. “Do you really want to go through with this, Kid? Have you thought about the outcome to this whole thing? What if something goes wrong?” She would whisper to Kid.

💀 Kid, of course, is very upset at the fact that his friends, partners and the other students didn’t trust his judgement. 

💀 If anyone at the school even breathed in your general direction wrong, he let them know right away that he wasn’t going to take it. 

💀 The only person who actually took the news well was his father. 

💀 Lord Death, being the.. rather wholesome and supporting father figure he is, accepted his son’s decision to trust a witch. He still had internal suspicions due to past experiences with witches (i.e. Medusa), but he trusted Kid.

💀 “I don’t know about what you’re getting yourself into, son, but if you truly think that this is the path you want to go down, then I will trust your decision. I wish nothing but the best for you.” He was so calm and supportive about it, god bless-

💀 Kid loves you no matter what. Damn the haters and skeptics, he loves and trusts you. He’s been getting to know you the past few months you’ve been working with academy and you two have created a great relationship with each other. Maybe some witches aren’t so evil, after all.

Hope you like, OP. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[mymoonagedaydream]

Part 4

Summary: After everything that’d happened in the last few days, you somehow found yourself right back at square one

Pairing: College/Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: Lordy, I write the dialogue and then get upset about how the characters are behaving this is a slippery fucking slope

---

Waking up the next morning, you felt different. Not sad or angry, just… flat.

Slowly rolling over onto your back, you glanced over to see Sam facing away from you, still fast asleep. 

Your mind wandered back to yesterday morning, a wave of dejection washing over your body when you remembered how it’d felt waking up completely enclosed in Bucky.

He hadn’t texted or called. You probably wouldn’t have responded, but him not even trying made you feel even more like he’d just moved on. Like being seen with that other woman was nothing more than a mere inconvenience, like it didn’t matter to him.

Letting out a laboured sigh, you clambered out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom, hearing faint movement stir behind you.

‘Come back baby.’ Sam croaked. You peered over your shoulder to see him lying on his side, sleepily smirking at you.

‘I have to get ready.’

‘C’mon, you got five minutes.’ He pulled back the sheet and patted the bed next to him.

‘I’m already late, I don’t have time.’

Huffing and flipping onto his back, he mumbled under his breath. ‘Bet you had time with the dude whose cologne is all over your sheets.’

You didn’t even bother acknowledging that comment, it wasn’t worth the fight.  

You stood underneath the shower head and let the cold water hit your face, abruptly yanking you out of your dull drowsiness. When you finished and walked back through to your bedroom, Sam was gone, and you were pretty relieved.

Things were good when you met up with him last night, he was kind and apologetic, but it really didn’t take long before he started to slip again. This morning it just felt like everything was back to exactly the same as before.

You got dressed and headed towards the front door, walking past Steve eating cereal shirtless in the kitchen.

‘Oh hey, Sam just left.’ He pointed towards the door with his spoon. You smiled at him and nodded. ‘Are you back with him? I thought you and Buck had a thing going.’

‘So did I.’

‘Ah.’ There was a slightly awkward silence, you figured that Steve knew Bucky well enough to work out exactly what’d happened. ‘You mind if he still comes tomorrow?’

Fuck. You’d completely forgotten about Nat’s birthday drinks.

The strategy you’d come up with was just to avoid him for as long as possible, assuming that, given time, you’d get over it naturally. So this was really the last thing you needed.

What the hell could you do? Ban him from someone else’s party?

No, it’d be alright. Nat had booked a huge table and invited loads of people so, as long as you effectively buried yourself between her and Sam, you could probably avoid talking to him all evening.

‘I don’t mind, it’s fine. I’ll see you later Steve.’

---

The whole next day you just felt dread churning in your stomach.

You skipped Bucky’s lecture, obviously, figuring you’d be able to catch up from someone else's notes. After your first date, you’d never got round to applying for that unit transfer. Now the deadline had passed, so you were stuck with it and doomed to fail as a result of nonattendance.

The evening came around much too quickly. 

You got dressed up and walked to the bar with Nat, really trying your best to hide your growing reluctance and just enjoy her birthday. When you were shown to the table, you went to great effort making sure that you ended up slotted between her and Sam. Fully shielded on both sides.

Sam slouched in his chair and threw his arm around your shoulders possessively, not at all seeing the irony in doing that whilst focusing all his attention on Nat’s friend Wanda, who was sitting on his other side.

As soon as you saw Bucky walk in you felt yourself completely tense up. You made a point not to look at him as he sat down at the table, instead engrossing yourself in the fascinating fine-print on the side of your beer bottle.

Things were alright for a while, you managed to ignore him and even relax a bit while chatting to Nat. 

You saw the light at the end of the tunnel, there was a growing chance that you might manage to survive this evening without any drama.

Then Sam turned his head back towards you.

‘Me and Wanda go to the same gym, how about that?’ You leaned forward slightly and gave her a polite smile. ‘You should join too.’

‘Oh. I don’t really have time for-’

‘There’s always an excuse.’

You narrowed your eyes at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I just think you could take better care of yourself.’

Nat and Steve obviously overheard, because they immediately stopped talking and snapped their heads towards you.

‘Is there a certain way you want me to look or…?’ 

You tried to keep your tone light-hearted, but you were really struggling to hide how pissed off you were. As the argument escalated, the rest of the table slowly fell into silence, and all eyes became glued to you two.

After a while, you just gave up. You told him that you needed some air and stormed out of the bar. 

It was freezing, you were alone and you struggled to hold back your tears, but it was still better than being inside next to him.

A minute later you heard the door open again. Bucky stepped out of the bar and walked towards you.

‘Hey.’ You just raised your eyebrows passive aggressively, avoiding looking at his face. He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s pretty cold, huh?’

You shook your head, in complete disbelief that he was actually trying to small-talk you. ‘What do you want?’

‘I just- I wanted to say that I’m sorry I didn’t call. I knew I was going to see you today and I really wanted to talk in person.’

‘There’s nothing to say.’

He stepped closer. ‘Just let me explain-’

‘Please don’t, just don’t.’ You wanted to sound firm and angry, but your voice cracked pretty harshly as you said it, making you wince. ‘I’m not stupid, I know how this works. I know how you work.’

‘It wasn’t like that with you.’

‘Oh, great line. I wonder how many girls have heard that this week.’

He was quiet for a second. 

For some reason, you found yourself internally willing him to fight you more. You wanted him to make a convincing case, to talk you round. You wanted him to make you believe what he was saying. 

‘Look, if you don’t want anything to do with me, I understand.’ He stepped closer again, almost coming toe-to-toe with you. ‘But I can't stand by and watch you throw your life away on that asshole.’

‘That asshole actually stuck around, which is more than you fucking did.’

‘So you’re just willing to put up with him treating you like shit in front of all your friends?’ A hint of anger crept its way into his voice, but he softened his tone when he spoke again. ‘C’mon y/n, you're worth more than that.’

He placed a hand softly on your shoulder. You finally found the courage to look into his eyes, immediately feeling your knees shake and your stomach tighten.  

‘I know I hurt you, I’m really sorry. Just please let me-’

‘Everything alright out here?’ You hadn’t even noticed Sam come out of the bar and walk up behind Bucky.

The hand dropped from your shoulder as you squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to untangle some of your thoughts. 

You rubbed your forehead, let out an exhausted sign and started heading back towards the door. ‘Yeah, fine. I’m coming back in now.’

‘Hang on a second.’ Your eyes flicked up to Sam’s face, seeing him glaring at Bucky, some kind of recognition dawning on him. ‘I remember you from Steve’s party. The fruit guy, right?’

A bolt of dread shot down all your limbs at the way he said that, like he was gearing himself up for a fight. He squared his shoulders and took a step towards Bucky.

‘So what was it you two were talking about?’

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ You tried your best to diffuse, grabbing hold of Sam’s arm and trying to pull him away, but he just shook you off and took another step forward.

Bucky didn’t step back, instead planting himself firmly in place and clenching his hands into tight fists. ‘How about you back the fuck up man?’

‘How about you make me?’

At that point, you were done. 

If those two wanted to beat each other down in the gutter outside a bar then fine, but you sure as hell weren’t gonna stick around to watch.

You traipsed back inside to grab your jacket and apologetically tell Nat that you were leaving early. You also told Steve what was going on outside, in the hopes that he might be able to break it up and talk some sense into them.

As he shot out the door, you tried your best to slip away unnoticed, but Bucky spotted you. He ran over and placed himself in your way, making you stop dead.

‘Let me walk you home, there’s more I need to say.’

You looked back to see Sam storming around and Steve sticking to him like a trainee matador, doing his best to keep things calm. ‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Alright then, fuck it. Cards on the table right here. I really like you.’ Your head immediately snapped back towards Bucky. ‘But it freaked me out. I don’t know why, there’s definitely something wrong with me.’

He caught you off guard with that one, you accidentally let a stunned laugh escape your lips.

‘I know I fucked up, but I’m gonna swallow my pride and beg you for another chance.’

You wanted so much to say yes. 

For reasons you couldn’t possibly understand, you really did care about him. You still wanted him to make you laugh and annoy the hell out of you and hold you while you slept. That hadn’t changed. You weren’t sure if it ever would.

But you didn’t trust him. 

That feeling you had when you saw him with someone else, that shattering, sinking punch in the gut, you couldn’t just forget that.

‘I can’t do this again Buck. I’m sorry.’

---

You spent the next few days mainly holed up in your room, avoiding everybody other than Nat. You turned your phone off as soon as you got home that night after the bar, and you hadn’t turned it back on since.

You just needed time and space to think, to decompress. You needed to reassure yourself that you’d made the right decision, cause you were really starting to second guess it. 

After a day of catching up with some of the classes you’d missed, you trudged out of your room and down the corridor to get a drink. 

As you approached the kitchen, you started to hear Steve and Nat talking to each other quietly, barely above a whisper. You stopped dead when you heard Steve say your name.

‘Do you know if y/n is back with Sam?’

‘Definitely not.’ Nat chuckled lightly. ‘The guy’s an ass.’

‘D’you think there’s a chance she might still be into Buck?’

‘Why are you asking?’

Steve let out a loud sigh. ‘I’m really worried about him. He’s barely left the couch for the past few days, all he does is watch TV and drink whiskey. I’ve never seen him like this before.’

‘Shit.’

‘You think she’d be willing to call him? Even just to tell him to take a shower?’

‘You can ask her, but I doubt it.’

You’d heard enough. Not wanting to face them, you silently retreated back to your room.

All you could think about that night was Bucky, you couldn’t even sleep properly. Christ, he’d really gotten under your skin, you almost resented how concerned you were about him.

After thinking it over for a long time, you resolved to go to his next lecture and just see how he was from afar. Steve was probably just exaggerating anyway.

At least you hoped he was.

---

Part 5

---

@shawnie--jo @all-art-is-quite-useless @maevemarethyu @tcc-gizmachine @amazonianbeauty @connie326 @inactivewhore @nnuree @broco8 @release-your-sweets @navegandoaciegas

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist

---

[hale-13]

Syncope

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 18 Prompt - Collapse

Peter Parker was weirdly magnetic. He was also an absolute dumpster fire of a person much to Tony’s chagrin.

Words: 1552, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner

TW: Fainting

Read on AO3 of below the line break.

Tony would be the first to say that Howard Stark was a pretty shit parent. He would also be the first to say that, when he met Peter Parker and drug him off to Germany to fight the Avengers that he could be considered to be a pretty shit mentor. He was determined not to repeat the sins of his father if it was the last thing he did which is why, after Peter turned down his spot on the team, Tony groveled to May Parker and, finally, offered the kid a real, bonafide Stark Industries internship.

Tony tried to remain professional – just some tinkering with the Spidey suit, the chance to play with some cool tech – but Peter Parker was oddly magnetic and, well, could you really blame Tony for quasi-adopting the kid? Once their weekly meetings evolved to twice a week and then into movie nights May Parker set up what she coined ‘co-parenting lunches’ and gave Tony a very firm talking to on what his behavior better look like going forward.

He resolved to never introduce her to Pepper after that conversation – he’d never survive.

That was months ago, though, and things were going pretty swimmingly if Tony said so himself. Peter was over increasingly often and had his own room in the penthouse, May had started to warm up to him more due to their bi-weekly lunch dates and Ross was – for once – off his ass.

Yeah everything was coming up Tony.

“Hey kid,” he called as the music in his workshop cut down and the doors slid open to admit Peter. “Be with you in a sec!” He was so close to finishing this segment of his repulser – it had been a right pain in the ass the whole day and he was ready to just be through with it. Peter didn’t respond but he sometimes didn’t when he could tell that Tony was super busy so he just carried on, finishing about ten minutes later with Dum-E’s… assistance… and he dropped his precision tools with a sigh and a pop of his back.

“Sorry about that buddy,” Tony called as he turned around. “You wouldn’t believe how long that’s been – what’s wrong with you?”

Peter ducked his head quickly but not fast enough to keep Tony from seeing his bright red cheeks, pale features and gigantic eye bags. He was wearing the MIT hoodie Tony had given him (definitely a comfort item whether Peter wanted to admit it or not) but also subtly trembling. Peter let out a suppressed and hoarse cough and muttered a unconvincing ‘Nothing,” that had Tony rolling his eyes.

“Yeah sure,” Tony agreed, standing from his stool and coming to stand in front of Peter, reaching out with the back of one hand to feel the kid’s sweaty and clammy forehead – Peter failing spectacularly at dodging and nearly falling off his stool in the process – and grimacing at the clear fever he could feel. “Your brains melting a little there kiddo.”

“I’m fine,” Peter insisted, his voice cracking and nasally doing nothing to assuage Tony’s concern. “Seriously I am,” Peter said after shirking under Tony’s raised eyebrow. He followed this up by sneezing violently three times and then having the gall to try and paste an innocent look on his face.

Teenagers. Gremlins the lot of them.

“You’re really doing great work making me believe you,” Tony told him pointedly. “I mean look at me – totally convinced.”

Peter deflated a little and pouted, full on sulking now. “You don’t have to rub it in,” he groused and Tony chuckled at him.

“Want to actually tell me what’s going on? Or do you plan to just suffer? That’s a Gen-Z thing right? Suffering?” Peter ignored his jabs and coughed Welty into his elbow before wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt making Tony crinkle his nose in disgust.

“Just a cold,” Peter tried, not even trying to meet Tony’s eyes. Guilty. Oh so guilty.

“Uh huh. A cold,” Tony nodded. “And how long have you had this cold that comes with a… uh fever check FRI?” He called out to his AI, making Peter whine in protest and drop his forehead down to rest on the lab table where he was seated.

“103.1 Boss,” FRIDAY called out in her soothing lilt and Tony winced a little in sympathy.

“Thanks dear. A 103.1 degree fever apparently. Jeez kid please tell me you didn’t go to school like this,” the set in Peter’s shoulders, however, told Tony all he needed to know and he let out a put upon sigh. “So you went to school like this. Great. You’re in luck – Bruce happens to be around today to take a look at you. Come on – up!”

“Noooo,” Peter griped, not picking his head up from the table or making any effort to stand at all. “I said I’m fine! I don’t need to go to the MedBay!”

“You’re resting temperature is usually around 96.5 so, yes, your fever alone qualifies you for an all expense paid visit. Don’t make me drag you – neither one of us wants that.” Tony said firmly, poking the side of Peter’s head insistently. Peter groaned again and clumsily batted Tony’s hand away before going to stand up. Halfway to his feet Peter’s eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped like a lead weight, Tony only barely able to catch him before he knocked his head on the side of the table.

“Should have expected this,” Tony grouched, lowering Peter carefully to the floor to rest with his head on Tony’s thigh. It wasn’t the first time the kid had fainted on him and Tony was regretful to say that he was old hat at it now. Tony cared about the kid but, Lordy, if Peter wasn’t an absolute magnet for danger and problems. “FRI?”

“Dr. Banner has been notified. He says to bring Peter up when he regains consciousness,” FRIDAY relayed and Tony nodded, expecting as much.

“Alrighty then. Time to wake up Pete, this isn’t a good look. You don’t want me to have to call May at work do you?” Tony threatened without heat, he would be texting May an update later but there was no need to pull her from work, rubbing the ridges of his fist against Peter’s sternum to stimulate a response.

“Ugh,” Peter groaned, pinching his eyes shut further and flinching away from Tony’s hand. “Stop,” he grunted, turning his face into Tony’s stomach to block out the light.

“No can do kid,” Tony told him, tapping the side of Peter’s face with a couple fingers to keep him awake and alert. “You just took a lovely little nose dive so no sleeping until Brucie looks at you comprende?”

“I passed out?” Peter asked, confused but cracking his eyes open to slits and looking more irritated than anything.

“Oh magnificently,” Tony confirmed, slipping an arm under Peter’s shoulders and lifting him up to sit, leaning, against the leg of the desk. “You feel dizzy or anything? Gonna faint again if you stand?”

“I’m good,” Peter said, swaying for a moment before listing into Tony’s side. It didn’t inspire much confidence.

“Sure you can,” Tony sarcastically mumbled with an eye roll before slipping one arm under Peter’s knees and the other under his back, lifting him into his arms with a grunt. Peter groaned out his displeasure but made no effort to try to escape, solidifying Tony’s decision to just carry him upstairs.

Bruce, to his credit, didn’t seem too surprised by this turn of events and was well aware that Peter was a little human disaster with no self-preservation instincts at all and was quick to get Peter situated on the exam bed much to the kid’s obvious displeasure. “How long have you felt sick and what are your symptoms?” Bruce asked brusquely, rolling a stool over to sit next to the bed, StarkPad perched precariously on his crossed legs.

“It’s just a cold,” Peter told him prompting yet another eye roll from Tony and a put upon sigh from Bruce. Peter rolled his shoulders inward and crossed his arms over his chest in submission. “Since yesterday,” he admitted.

“Symptoms?” Bruce prompted, typing something onto the screen of the tablet.

“Coughing and sneezing for sure and I’m assuming a headache as well. Obviously the fever and the fainting. Am I missing anything Pete?” Tony asked, answering for the kid when it was clear Peter wasn’t going to himself without them literally pulling teeth.

“That about covers it,” Peter said, staring into the corner with his arms still crossed over his chest.

Bruce nodded like it was all to be expected. “Probably some sort of virus then,” he said. “Not a cold but we’ll do the normal battery of bloodwork and cultures to be sure. I’ll send a nurse in to get everything in a few minutes.”

And with that the man bustled out of the room, leaving Tony to perch on the abandoned stool next to Peter’s bed. “Can we just agree to have you tell me the next time you’re sick instead of passing out on me?”

Peter just groaned and tried to smother himself with one of the pillows while Tony laughed – at least he wasn’t stabbed again.

[hunting-winchester]

My thoughts on the finale

(Sorry, this ended up being soooo much longer than I intended, but it was also therapeutic for me to get it out, so if you read it all, sorry again, but thanks!)

I’ve been sitting on this for the past week trying to sort through my feelings about all of this. But the finale of Supernatural, while it did make me cry because my comfort show for the past 3 years (has it really only been 3 years since I started this side blog?) has ended, which was my distraction from the deaths of not only close family but also a friend whose death still affects me today. The newer seasons helped me more in the dealing with death, and I’ll explain that later, but I feel like the end of the show kind of took all of that and threw it out the window with a note that states “we don’t care.”

I’m not here to be mad at the actors. I know none of this is their fault. They did their best to make a great end to a show that was written for them. Their acting was spot on and made me feel for the characters that both them and I love so much. However, the ending took that love and put it through the grinder and I do put most (if not all) the blame on the network.

So I binged Supernatural in the summer of ‘17 within a month. I started it because I remembered my mom watching an episode when I was about 7 or 8 and I was so fascinated by it (episode Route 666 where Dean hangs up on Sam after the ghost truck disappears because Sam had a hunch that the truck couldn’t drive on hallowed ground. Dean didn’t like the idea that it was just a hunch, sticks in my mind). Within the first 5 episodes I was in love with the boys, and while I loved them both I became drawn to Dean over the next few seasons. Now I love them both, but like many others I started to see myself in him. Some anger issues with a heart so big that he would do anything to help his family. And a little bit of self depreciation that starts to escalate a bit more as the seasons go on.

Then I made it to Lazarus Rising. I met this absolute badass character who later becomes part of the family. He grows into the most kind hearted character that tries to do everything in the name of good, even when it tends to go a little off the rails. Then I saw a little bit of me in him as well. Good intentions, sometimes misguided, and only wants the best for the ones he loves.

I’ll focus more on the season I was here live for, not because the earlier seasons didn’t matter but because this is where things became really personal in my life. Supernatural 13 started on October 12, and on the 23rd I lost my friend. Everything started falling apart around me and nothing made sense. Nothing made sense about why them because it should be the terrible people that die terrible deaths, not good people. And while nothing seemed right in the world, I knew one thing for sure- that Supernatural will still be on just as scheduled and nothing could take that from me. So I made sure to still find time to watch that episode because I’ll be damned if I let this whole week go to hell. Let me find at least one good thing to happen. And while the scene didn’t fix the shitshow that became my life that week, a little bit of happiness raised in me when I saw Cas in the last scene of the episode.

So especially from that point on the show became of my little world away from reality. My reality sucked and, sure the Winchester’s lives weren’t all sunshine and rainbows, it was a nice distraction for an hour a week when I can watch the characters I care about continue to keep loving the ones they love.

The season continued then ended with a nice lead into season 14. I love Jensen and was ready to see how he would tackle the new role of Michael. So ready for the new season, in a new town 3 hours away from my hometown, (motivation being that I felt too close to everything that happened with my friend) and just ready to see where life would take me. Then I lost my Grandfather and my Aunt within a month of each other and absolutely no one would hire in the town I moved to. So another shitty summer and I end up moving back home within 3 months.

I continued watching Supernatural when it aired again in October; grateful for the hour weekly distraction again, and I kept up with it. I would log onto here after the episode, reblog things and read people’s reactions. I enjoy this community so much. Then the episode came in ‘19 where Dean was in the infirmary after having his head bashed against the wall a couple times and Jack was worried about whether he’d get through it. And the speech Cas gave is something that has stuck with me ever since then, because since the death of my friend it had been the same thing I had been telling myself.

Jack: What’s the point- if everyone I care about is just gonna leave?

Cas: The point is that they were here at all and you got to know them. When they’re gone, it will hurt, but that hurt will remind you of how much you loved them.

This felt absolutely validating to me. I was tired of hurting. I was done with and angry at everything and felt as if I just wanted it to be gone, but I kept telling myself that it only hurts because I loved them so much. When I heard that line, watching my favorite character recite it to Jack, it felt as if he was talking to me because it was something that I needed to hear at that point in my life. It felt as if they knew I needed saving and reached through the screen to pull me up and say what you’re feeling is valid and there are people out there who are feeling like you are now, and all of you will end up okay.

So I took this to heart and lived the best I could everyday. I turned that into my mantra and started living the life I knew they would want me to; with kindness and love and understanding.

I owe a lot to these characters. I owe my ability to go forth with kindness and understanding to Cas for making me feel valid. I owe my ability to move past my anger and finding my identity to Dean. I owe a lot to Misha and Jensen to bringing these characters to the point that I can feel all of this. To get to the point that I may be a little healthier than I was 3 years ago. 

And then season 15. The final season. The season where I say goodbye.

It started out as a nice tribute I believe. They had brought back some old characters that we had missed (lordy I missed Kevin and Adam). They did some things that we had talked about a lot on this platform that we would love to see before the series ended. It seemed like it would be a good ending to a show we all love. We saw what our boys went through all these years and they were evident in the beginning of the season and was slowly being pulled through the season. We saw how they differed from the early season and got to see them with their new-found family. Do I wish more of the episode included more of TFW 2.0? Of course, but I’m still happy we got as much as we did... up until the end.

Episode 18. We knew it was coming before it happened. There was so much speculation about this after the convention where Misha and Jensen had both talked about the emotional scene that Richard Speight Jr. directed. How it was a hard day on set and that absolutely no one was cracking jokes during this time which was a really big indication about how important this scene would be. We knew what would happen, but we didn’t know what all would happen.

We got Cas’ confession, and as much as some are like “you can interpret that as you like,” we knew what was meant here. We knew where Cas was coming from and to see his happiness to save the one that he loves was something I will never forget from when I first watched it.

And after all this hype for this after the fact, not just from fans but also the actors, we knew there had to be more to this. This was a monumental moment! There had to be more! But we know where this is going.

Episode 19. Not much to report. Which as Jensen had put it, episode 19 was the season finale and episode 20 would be the series finale. Episode 19 ended like I thought it would generally. Chuck is finished. Jack is the new God (which some of us guess would happen at the beginning of the season. I feel amazed we got something right after the fiasco that is episode 20). I still don’t understand the montage at the end of 19. That’s what I would have expected at the end of 20. If only we knew that was the first of SO. MANY. DAMN. POINTLESS. MONTAGES. But I’ll move on for now.

Episode 20. If you would have asked me 13 years ago how this show would end, I feel as if this episode would be pretty damn close to my answer. That’s not good writing. “Oh Dean dies and Sam gets to live and have an ‘apple pie’ life. Makes total sense!” And that would make sense if nothing in the last 13 years happened. There has been so much growth in not only the last 13 years but also just within the last season, and it’s just all gone. Dean dies, not because he wanted to, but because of another hunt that his dad didn’t even finish. Something that could have been done in season 1. He dies, not ready, not having the chance to finally experience freedom from his “destiny” (something that this show has made them fight against since the introduction of the angels might I add!), not giving an ounce of effort to stay alive, and not ever really finding peace. I’m sorry but there was absolutely no way that Dean could find the shred of peace he deserved within 2 weeks of escaping Chuck’s grasp. But this is where I started having issues in the episode.

Dean, a character I love and saw myself in for years, dies before he finds peace and in all honesty, true happiness. A character that has been known for suicidal actions and thoughts (episode 13x05 ring a loud bell?) and you decide to say he needs to die before it gets better? Or were you saying that it only gets better or peaceful for people like him after he dies? Because either way that sends a really shitty message. I don’t think I have found my peace. I think I’m better than I was a couple years ago, much like Dean, but I sure as Hell haven’t found my peace. So are you telling me that death is the only way I find it? Because I’m sure I’m not the only one reading it like this.

Dean gets a small hunter’s funeral (if you want to even call it that). No one they befriended or became family with along the way is there (sure, blame Covid. I’m sure it was part of it, but Hell. Surely something could have been done to bring at least a couple more people in for this). Then we get Dean’s heaven where Cas is mentioned in a throw away comment that you would miss if you weren’t intently paying attention (he’s out of the empty and helped with Dean’s heaven. Awesome. Show him then). We literally only see one person in Dean’s heaven. Bobby. Which he is great, but what about the “everyone we lost on the way” that was seriously just mentioned the episode before? They not there?

And from here, we get even more montages. Why the Hell, do we need to fast forward through Sam’s life, with shots of Dean driving around heaven? Why not explore more into Sam’s family (not just the wife and kids but also check up on Donna? Jody? Sweet goodness any indication of what the Hell happened to Eileen!?) Why not show Dean seeing his loved ones in his heaven? WHY NOT SHOW DEAN SEEING CAS AFTER WHAT HAPPENED IN 18? So much could have been done following up what happened in 18 and it was chosen to be ignored! Which is awful in so many damn ways, but it doesn’t matter for this because it was completely ignored. And after that 10 min montage (which montages should not last that long. I don’t care what anyone says. If a montage lasts that long, they could have made important scenes pertaining to that) Sam dies old and is greeted by Dean in Heaven and we look off into the sunset because finally we’re all happy... and dead.

All of this, and it feels like the message through this whole thing is “yall can fight for happiness, but yall won’t get it until you’re 6 feet down in a grave!” No peace. No found family. No fighting the good fight. Just death is the end, and that’s all that matters... and that’s where it all stings. I watched the characters I see myself in for years, got validation from them and felt as if things for them could get better after all of this, maybe they could for me too. Only things didn’t get better for them. It ended in death and only “happiness” after the fact. This isn’t a message I expected from this show, but it sure as Hell is the message I received.

So thanks C*W. Way to make all of this “keep fighting” mean absolute shit. You did a bang up job murdering a show you housed for years.

[indomitablemegnolia]

Languishing at the bar, ruby lips caressing my glamorously green margarita; the midnight purple dress hugged my body like a sports cars paint, black beaded fringe thrummed on my thighs as I moved my hips to the music, all road signs spoke of warning hazards; my goal, mayhem; I am tired of being this good reliable human; I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond this daily life; I am here at this lovely bar, to test the morality of a priest, I am prowling, wanting, needing desperately to have an itch scratched, and finding; and needless to say, oh Lordy he was no priest. The single purple jeweled flower pinning my hair slipped making the picture perfect, exquisite, glittering in the sunshine of preening laughter showing the dulling edge of my personal lack of compunction and slipping morals. I watched his dark eyes watch me in the mirror, why him, I licked my lips, he was just the kind of naughty I had in mind; oh yes, there he is, exactly what I was hoping to find; I was just thinking, I am in the mood for some Latin spice. He watched me from a distance just waiting for his opening and here it was, I swilled the last of my drink through the red straw, reaching my tongue out to lick seductively at the salt; the song changed my laugh was unstoppable as the bartender flirted with me; he pounced sliding next to me; “Dos margaritas por favor” he held up two fingers; the bartender waited for me to approve before starting assemble the drinks in a shaker; he stood there smiling that suave smile at me sliding in close to me, running a hand along my back, I didn’t pull away “It is too beautiful of a night to be drinking alone.”

I took it, shrugging evocatively, dipping my top lip over the edge I took in a fair-sized drink, “So, how is the weather in Albuquerque?” I settled closer to him but not touching, never taking my eyes off of him in the mirror, he expected me to turn and look at him, I smiled a half smile and waited swirling my drink slowly.

Oh, the way he just let his full bottom lip lower, then hang still a little knocked askew; god that lip, so provocative, so titillating, so kissable; it was the perfect mismatch for his shaped cupids bow top lip; God though, the way his sensuous, heavy, pouty bottom lip hanging slightly ajar, showing interest and the evaluation that was being made; so enticing, seductively evocative; when his assessment was finished the muscles tensed in his cheeks pulling that mouth into the most provocative suave smile; given the deep, wildly dark abyss of his eyes that were swimming with approval and temptation; lord with the light crinkle to the corners and that smile sharp teeth and delicious dimples a belying innocence it was a dead certainty that he may well be Lucifer himself; solidifying my assumption as he spoke dropping the delicious sound-sex of his carnal voice down a full octave; letting it rumble through his chest; his simple words not seductive in and of themselves; goddamn, the concerted effort together all served to bring my pulse to life; his chuckle danced on my skin. I watched his satisfied lazy smile draw his lips as the offhand phrase that taunted like a dare. “Perhaps, we are lost in translation.” God that Latin lilt at the end of his words. The Oxytocin running through my veins thick as honey; “though as long as you stay, I hope that we are never found.” He clinked the rim of his glass on mine.

My eyes drawn away from those lips’ reflection; “Oh, darlin’, there is no translation for this, just instinct.” I licked the salt, snagging the cherry stem from the rim I pulled it into my mouth; I watched those terrible, sexy fingers rolling deliciously, accentuating the dare, telegraphing a none too subtle promise of delicate fiddling with my vivid, hungry nerves. Yes, this might be a mistake, but if all I do is all I have ever done, nothing will ever change; I have to break the cycle; nibbling the fruit from the stem my mind wandered from those hands.

God, this time of year, this season, there is not much in it to make me smile; it is not yet, not quite yet, the saddest time of the year; yet, there is a haunting sense of the imminent doom, like a bleak abeyance of life; it’s not stark introspective weather, grey and bleak, but none the less the blue skies, fresh green, seemed to be festering, suppurating, killing my soul, I know that time had run out; that horrible clock with the second hand ticking tightening the garrote around my neck painfully, slowly; Jesus what a sick suffocating weight; there are too many things that I wanted to feel, wanted to do and always time… that small hyphen between birth and death the ultimate cause of death… that time; I tied the stem into a knot using my tongue, pressing it back between my shiny lips, pulling it cleanly from my lips with a thumb and forefinger. The time to hesitate was through; my hand shook as I watched a delectable twinge running along that delicious bottom lip, like a smile still trying to hide; waiting for the trap to spring when I ask a simple single syllable question, the ubiquitous air of his words raised several; or did I miss part of the conversation? Should I ask… mmm why, or what, but no, I so not want to play his game; I double down and call the bluff, answering with a simple whispered. The trap is sprung, I really have no idea if it is, he who is caught or me.

“Yes.” My whisper much huskier than I had intended, my margarita wavering in my hand, my hip bumping his; his delicious thick brow shot up tilting his head slightly to the left, he let out a silent ‘what?’ I watched him in the mirror behind the bar, he hovered those dark delicious eyes staring into mine; I nodded, and again “Yes.” I smiled chewing lightly on my straw; I took joy in his face caught off guard, lazy smile pulled the edge of his lips; again, his lips waved in a silent, ‘what?’

“Oh, come on, I answered your real question, the one written in your eyes and on that sensual pouty lip, the answer is yes.”

He looked even more confused, “What is the question are you are answering?”

“Well, I have read promises written loosely in your fingertips, I saw previews of plans in your eyes, and lies you will tell to get there, on that lip.” I turned and stepped to him, running my thumb along that bottom lip. “Why go with pretense, so simply, I said yes, should I include a please?”

He chuckled and edged behind me turning me back to the mirror, pressing his forehead to the back of my head, his cool fingers sweeping my hair out of the way, he kissed the back of my hair, “Then no, mi cariño don’t say anything.” His eyes so lusciously dark and turbulent never looking away from mine in the mirror; “I want to watch you revel in the feel of my hot breath against your ear. Now I ask you;” he breathed in deeply, the cool air passing my skin into his lungs sent a shiver down my spine; the contrast in temperature mind blowing, my skin prickled into Goosebumps; “do not move.” He let his breath excite yet again, the warmth had all those tiny hairs stand to attention, his lips touched feather soft, moist warm breath, my heart kicked a little each pass of his lips, then words. “Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo ni de dónde.” I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. His lips caressed the skin just behind my ear, “Te amo simplemente, sin problemas ni orgullo.” I love you simply, without problems or pride, his hands with those delicious rolling fingers danced down the satin at my sides, my breath shuddering; “te amo de esta manera porque no conozco otra forma de amar sino esta,” I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, his lips ghosted just along the edge of my ear sending small shivers through me, “en la que no hay yo ni tú, tan íntimo que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mi mano. Tan íntimo que cuando me duermo tus ojos se cierran.” so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close. My eyes reflexively flutter closed, and I lean back into him. I took a long breath, pulling away looking right into his

“Coelho?” Arching one eyebrow, I downed my margarita looking somewhat the part of the provocateur

“Si.” He looked cocky, he looked far too self-assured, so much so that I almost forgot my goal.

“Esto no es amor, es lujuria.” this is not love but lust… hmm, in my current state lust even the delectable word sounded so much more alluring en español.

“En este momento la lujuria functiona para mi.” in this moment lust works for me, oh yes it does for me as well. Good lord that word in his Spanish just added a delicious wanton edge to the overdose of libidinous delight that he wrought in me, making my head literally spin. His soft cool fingers delectably caressed the other side of my throat, his tongue ran lightly along the rim of my ear; I shivered still our eyes connected in the mirror, I was putty in his hands.

His lips danced along my neck commanding my already tittillated nerves into a frenzy; nuzzling with intent, his cheek pushing my head to a delicious angle, he feasted on the left side; his lips and teeth acting in a beautiful tango so delicious that I leaned back into him reaching behind me for an anchor; he gripped my wrists in one hand, using his other to sweep my hair such as it was to the other side as his libertine lips began to such and feast on the right side, “Ser mío no es fácil. Tengo expectativas Yo hago demandas.” Being mine is not easy. I have expectations. I fell back into him, his warmth reminding me that I was indeed alive for now, his tongue caressing the side of my neck. “Cuando ofrezco mi corazón espero devoción.” I make demands. When I offer my heart, I expect devotion, he devoted his tongue and teeth to appreciating my flesh, and I accepted. “Insisto en la pasión, cruda y completa, necesitada y fuera de control.” I insist on passion, raw and all encompassing, needy and out of control. He pulled me roughly to him, his hands claiming parts of my soul, “Quiero que me duela el corazón cuando estamos separados. Quiero que mis manos sean incapaces de no tocar su piel cuando esté cerca.” I want my heart to ache when we’re apart. I want my hands to be incapable of not touching your skin whenever you are near. His hands seemed to somehow bypass the satin of my dress and let him feast of my skin directly, I shivered; “Quiero que nuestros cuerpos se quemen cada vez que nos besamos. No puedo y nunca aceptaré nada menos. Por eso ser mío no es fácil, pero créeme, vale la pena.” I want our bodies to burn every time we kiss. I can’t and I will never accept anything less. That’s why being mine is not easy, but believe me, it’s absolutely fucking worth it. Needy and out of control I could do, I was on a mission for exactly that; I let myself ease into the moment, feeling as much as I possibly could devouring it as if it was my last chance at living, enjoying the sweet and the salt and … oh gosh, my eyes flared as he kicked it up a notch his tongue sliding from just behind my ear to the spot where all nerves collide where shoulder and neck meet, my eyes fluttered; apparently to get my attention back his free hand traced across my bare flesh just above my modest neckline, dipping lightly between my breasts.

Jittery my attention came front and center back on his eyes; I raised a single eyebrow; "¿Quién dijo que era tuyo?” Who ever said I was yours? His lips again moved along my neck to the place where neck meets shoulder, I became soft in his hands; his free hand caressing up to the edge of my chin, coaxing my head turning it, he kissed along my clavicle; my eyes finally rolled closed as he kissed my lips, he tasted of strong tequila, lime and dreams; I moaned softly.

“Oh, you just did, right there. No translation needed for that…” his hands more licentious pushing farther “Voy a probar, disfrutar del calor de su sabor embriagador.” I want to breathe in your sighs. He kissed me roughly, my breath leaving in a sigh, “Quiero respirar tus suspiros; quiero sentirte desde adentro,” I’m going to try, to enjoy the heat of its heady taste; he kissed me deep again, “I am drawn to you, like a moth to fire, he kept his glorious mouth moving, all tongue and teeth and temptation, “I see a frantic almost panic on you;” his hand still holding mine in check, “I have you safe here,” his loose hand pulling me to him; “I hunger for your touch after get you excited and how easy it is.” Neck kissing, is honestly the most sensual, seductive things that I have ever known, but when it is done as well as this gorgeous man is… it is not just a syllogy for sex, I feel his talented tongue slide on my skin, we may as well be going at it right on the bar. “Deliciosa, caliente, con una gota de salsa picante” Delicious, hot, like a drop of hot sauce. He gripped my wrist spun me on the stool, taking off at a run.

We made it as far as the dance floor where he stopped suddenly, turning with accentuated drama. The smooth rolling bass, guitar plucking with an ironic blusey twang; my soul soaked deep in the delicious vibrations; the difference in the textures of the sound, graceful single plunking guitar with that light percussive slap, reverent, erotic. He closes the distance of those few inches between us, his dark deep eyes searching my face; I stretch my arm up above my head, arching back, his hands pulling me closer. At that second the song hits a soaring note, my pulse kicking up making me dizzy I confuse the feeling and I set myself soaring; my hips tolling into his, arms dropping to drape around his neck; we spun in tight circles; I laugh, his face intent; I watch the gentle subtle light refract through the beads of sweat that graced his brow. His grip on my waist strong, lifting me high on the music and we sink into the slower rolling bass again; a natural rhythm to our clashing hips, searching hands in this pulsating dance. His steps now slow rocking, like a playful cat pounce back and forth, rocking up onto the toes; delicious salty perspiration bonded his heather gray shirt to his glorious chest. Then closely he held me as we spin in small circles in a circuit around the room, he spins me out, only to retract me even closer to his tall frame. The music builds again soaring, romp of cross over foot work and dramatic hip work, our bodies meeting and clashing lending a dramatic friction between bodies, two souls.

Slowing again to that now extremely sensual bass roll, spinning in wide circles this time rolling me back into almost a dip on each half revolution, every time he pulls me back up we make a sizzling eye contact, the zing of it traveling my entire body making it to the tips of my toes. He spins me out pulling me back, his front to my back.

The pace picks up again, we step in a syncopated pattern, he pulls my arms in tight holding my body so close to his we may well become one, then spreading my arms wide, our hips taking a wide swinging cadence as we step, step, then spin. He spins me out leaving us at arm’s length from each other, the music slows rolling. He lowers his head; I take retreating steps as we keep to the sensuous rhythm. He pulls me in and close then out spinning me so many times I leave the earth far behind. Pulling me to him tight we keep the playful foot work a back and forth pounce, my face tucked close to the collar of his shirt, his fresh lavender and tea tree scent relaxing the last of my senses.

“So if you wake up with the sunrise;” he sang along with the music, “with all your dreams still brand new;” his lips caressing my neck, my ear; “happiness is what you need so badly…” his hands lifted me again, “girl you know it’s up to you…” he spins us again

Soon it feels as if my feet leave the earth, slowly using a foxtrot step on a delicate cloud, the rest of the world disappears and it’s just the riot of music, his hands and the feel of my soul on the melody singing my own vow of love, the moon and all the stars. The soft strum of guitars transports us away. His lips finding the rim of my ear caressing it sweetly whist we are spinning in small circles, making a completely transcendent feeling. We continue dancing for endless moments close, held in a spell. Slowly the world returns and finally I notice there is no longer that melody cradling us in its soft arms. I look up at his classic beautiful face; the world comes back into focus but the ethereal feeling still there. We smile softly at one another.

He danced me in circles, whirling me making me feel as if I were flying. He dipped me and lightly kissed me as the song ended. An argentine tango starts. He stops in his tracks and spins me to face him, a motion soaked with drama. I chew my bottom lip unsure of my ability; he wiggles that delicious eyebrow, giving me a new amazing smile. His beautiful straight teeth taking on a Big Bad Wolf glint as the look in his eyes goes from that ever-charming cavalier to dazzlingly predatory. My stomach drops out like the upswing on a roller coaster completely titillated, entranced by this new facet of his nature. With that smile he pulls me tight to him, our frames lock, we step and we are gone. My chin lowered nearly touching my chest a coquettish shyness over taking me. My eyes looking up into his gloriously seductive gaze, his face looks as if to say, all the better to eat you with my dear, a provocative and risqué promise to me, body and soul. His pearly white grin showing more of his straight sharp teeth than usual, my heart speeds its rhythm, thumping hard in my chest. Spinning in tight circles we make a circuit of the floor, the background swirls the only thing clear and constant in my vision was his fantastically angular face enveloped in secreted promise. As I step into him, keeping pace, not being shy of how our bodies are clashing and rubbing, one of his fantastic eyebrows slowly rose. The look on his face now completely Big Bad Wolf thrilled that Red Riding Hood snapped up his challenge. I tenaciously add flair as I keep step with him and boy did he step.

Our gazes locked, he spins me out to arm’s length, inertia and drama send my outer arm and leg flinging artfully as he retracts me like a yo-yo.

He pushes me around the floor his chin lowered a predatory look to his eye growing deeper, darker. He spins me twice under his arm and out and leaves me out there. I wrap my arms around myself and sway he adds a little light stepping pizazz. Suddenly he stops looking straight into my eyes. He hesitates one, two, three, beats then slowly stepping with a stalking intent towards me, I retreat, stifling a welling up giggle. I gather my skirt in my hands not entirely sure if it is just part of the act of the dance or if I truly was about to bolt. That look in his eyes tied my stomach in knots, I retreat two steps but his beautiful legs eat up the ground between us. His lovely long legs moving to a sensual rhythm he catches me around the waist, I freeze. He steps between my separated feet, pulling me tight to his chest. Our eyes, hips and arms locked. My insides nearly gelatin, the rhythm, the dance and his looks affecting me drastically, my breath coming out in short pants, desire kicking up to amazing levels. He pushes me around the dance floor our legs stepping in the syncopated pattern he draws us in. Spinning me under his arm holding my back to his front, I hear his faint growl in my ear, the hair on my neck stands on end as we again spin in tight circles around the floor, a high note on the accordion signals him to spin me out again. Retracting me, pulling me tight to his chest face inches from mine my heart roaring in my ears. We undulate together, hips colliding adding drama to the dance. My eyes lock onto his beautiful blue green depths and he sweeps me away, sparking my truly libidinous nature. Sensuality and passion overtaking me, I had never felt as free or as alluring as I used every ounce of my soul to keep up with him, dips, twirls and some of the sexiest looks I have ever seen.

As always the entire world fell away as we danced, nothing existed but he and I and the music, desire racing through my veins, ratcheting up every time our hips touched, I had only eyes for him. Our bodies match in a fantastic unison he anticipates my foot falls and I knowing when he is going to use me for a frisbee. This was the most intimate and carnal experience, fantastically delicious nearly out of body moment in my life. As the music spools up for its dramatic end, my cheeks are cramping from the smile. A laugh escapes me as we crescendo, nearly hitting an erotic plateau. A sudden sexy spin sets me out and retracts me, my back to his front. The last pose full of drama, his arms wrapped around me, holding my one my hand pulling my arm across my torso to my hip, as the last keening note peals across my ears; my arm tossed up and behind his neck, my palm caressing his cheek. My eyes closed, breath coming in heaves. I enjoyed his delicious rasping breath on my neck a step above a growl. I turn my face to him, our gazes lock; slowly our faces magnetically nudge closer, our lips all but touching in a kiss before the applause breaks into our private universe. Confusion floods my brain as he chuckles the cavalier returning to his face. He spins me out, and bows, I take his cue offering an awkward curtsy, laughing like mad.

He pulls me tight to him his hands delicious on my skin he pulls me to a dark corner and pressing my back to the wall he kisses me with a passion I had never felt, hot, searing like kissing the sun; he pushes for more my hands greedy grabbing him deliciously, one finding his rump, the other pulling his lightly sweaty hair. He leaned in closer, his hand ghosted my face, his finger ran along my cheek, his tongue playing merry hob in my mouth, his warm, fingertips lightly whisper along my throat, coaxing me, and honestly it didn't take much coaxing; I surrendered, returning the kiss, my breath now coming billowing pants, he frames my face with his hands. His jittering hands held a desperation that ratcheted up my own to a frenzy; the hip that had cocked toward mine pressed delightfully as it came to meet mine dominating, rocking lightly; a knee nudges slyly between mine making my skirt wrap tightly around my thighs. I bite his full bottom lip playfully, his hands glide down the sides of my neck tickling, he nips me back, my hands gathering his suit jacket tight in my fists; I slide my body along his, rising on my tip toes, flicking my tongue along the roof of his mouth; the clean sweetness of margarita and his flavour making such a heady delicious cocktail.

My hands loose themselves from his lapels, hunting for more of him; caressing along his jaw; his fingers finding their way beneath the edge of my blouse, flitting along my waistband; the small tickling caress sending shivers through my body; my hands pushing into his curls, they wrap around my fingers invitingly, I fist my hands pulling lightly; pressing into me, bending me slowly backward, his kiss deepens, air and breathing become elective, superfluous. He growls, his fingers now gripping, pulling, demanding; I am overcome, letting out a breathless whimper. He slows. He sighs, dropping his chin to his chest, emerging from the throughs of passion.

God do I want him… I want him so badly; I try to clamp my legs together until the wanting passes, but I find his knee there, keeping me from relieving pressure; in fact, he added to it. He grips both my wrists swinging them above my head; I am lost in feeling, watching his hands, those fingers, feeling his determination; I shiver as he chuckles, letting it rumble deep in his chest; the thrill of his gasping breath dancing across my face with the delicious sweet libidinous sigh making the loose hairs at my forehead dance; his scent exhilarating, and so intoxicating to me. I watch a surge of electric passion wash over his features like an ocean wave, intention evident in his every motion.

He slowly presses into me, holding me securely in place; he stood close, but not touching, simply dominating with his presence, using that delectable knee pressed between my own; he pressed it higher adding even more libidinous pressure to my need; my slim fit skirt worked like hobbles holding my thighs in place for his teasing; his posture holding me lightly suspended secured, but freely dangling in his grasp pressed against the wall for his rapacious perusal; he raised that knee higher, eliciting a shiver from me and a full smile from him, all locking us into place, using his muscled thigh pressed deep between mine coaxing, caressing, keeping me bent to his will. My breath escaped as a ragged sigh, my heart hammering in my chest feel my pulse surge," yeah, no kidding, I was a rabbit being toyed with; he dips his head, his lips and tongue dancing along my neck as my blood thrums along the column of my throat under his lips, my body reacts as I try to regain control, but I am simply left to move against him.

His voice quivered, his hands shook: I, myself was a leaf in a hurricane. His breath was shaky as he went on, caressing the place where neck meets shoulder. God it’s hard to admit this, but the feeling of him holding my wrists above my head with one hand, trailing the other lithe fingered, free hand flowing down the inside of my arm, tracing the edge of my blouse, dipping a single sticky finger in deeply caressing the edge of the lacy black longline bustier and the side of my breast. Lifting my chin with that same reverent fingertip, tilting my head back. Gently, pushing my hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear, letting his hand slowly softly caress down my neck. Finally, I look up into his wide exotic deep dark soul-searching eyes, he peers down into mine… into my soul, his holding a particularly delicious intensity that changed his from a tranquil, reflective, mirrored abyss to a raging blackhole pulling me in. As those fiery orbs, searing with the desire I am sure matched the one burning deep in mine. I barely stop myself from devouring him whole.

He leans in close letting his shaking, raspy breath tickles my face, caress my ear. He almost inaudibly whispers his wanting wish so close, so low; “Ah, dios mio is that answer still, Yes.” It may as well have been coming from my soul, speaking in that delicious rumble of rolling thunder voice adding to the evocative question.

“Si.” I feel him shiver as I become boneless in his hands, His long-lashed lids flutter closed as he finally leans into me, his hand softly finishing the descent to my hip. Then, only then does he softly brush my lips with is sweetly supple soft lips, I feel him sigh, warm against my lips. I kiss him slowly, intently, but playfully, it will be a dance, a dance of caress, a give and take, a feel and respond. I never would be the first to break that kiss. My hands strain against his hold, but he never lets loose. Not even when the passion notches up quickly in this kiss.

@keeper0fthestars @pedeka @writernotwaiting @iamhisgloriouspurpose @freudensteins-monster

Last try at regaining my words.

[ephemeral-writings]

Baby steps // friends who supports one another stays together…sort of. what about best friends who falls in love with each other?

kyungsoo x reader (best friends to lovers!) feat. chanyeol word count: 10k genre: fluff, angst —

🌵 

You’re six and too feisty for your own good. It usually gets you into trouble--a few too many scrapes on your knees and elbows is to show, but your dad finds it far too amusing when you discuss your day with him over dinner about the mean boy you stood up to who pulled on your braids to tell you that no, it’s not nice to call Chanyeol a dummy for touching a girl’s hair without her permission.

Tonight, you tell him about the new kid in school, a transfer from Seoul, and how interestingly wide his eyes are. You hold two spoons to your eyes to emphasize your amazement, even imitating the way the little boy introduced himself to the class this morning. “Hello, my name is Do Kyungsoo,” you repeated in a failed Seoul dialect. 

The next few weeks, you try to befriend the odd boy from Seoul that no one else wants to be friends with. Kyungsoo is quiet, mostly because Chanyeol makes fun of his dialect, but where he’s silent, you make up for by running off your own mouth with stories that you think Kyungsoo is ignoring. 

“My mom went away when I was two years old, so it’s just me and my dad and sometimes grandma and grandpa,” you tell him. Everyone in your town knows about this, and you figure it was only time before Kyungsoo learned about this, so decided to tell him yourself. Maybe he’ll appreciate it and see your efforts to be friends with him.

Surprisingly, Kyungsoo is intrigued by this information, so he asks, “Where does she live now?” 

Your small right hand rise in the air and point to the clouds above. “My dad says that mommy is always watching me from the sky.” 

Kyungsoo’s eyes grow the slightest bit bigger, if possible, and he stays gawking at you the rest of the recess as you talked and talked. 

🌵

You’re eight and still don’t know how to control your temper. Your dad took a pair of shears to your hair this weekend, saying that it’s not practical to have such long hair in Daegu’s heat, but you don’t like how your hair falls just barely below your chin. It’s suppose to be long and pretty, like your mom’s was in the family portrait. 

You’ve always had long hair, cherished every time your dad braided it, so the moment Chanyeol calls you ugly on Monday and, “Aw, does that mean I can’t pull on your hair anymore?” You lose it and push his big, fat meanness to the ground despite being taller than you. Chanyeol makes a scene and tells on you, your teacher sends you to a time out where you cried big, fat tears in lieu of not being able to restore the length of your hair. 

“Ms. Lee says that you can come back in now.”

Kyungsoo is staring down at you from where you’re kneeled on the floor. Slowly lowering your arms, you rub the snot from your face which makes Kyungsoo judge you but you don’t care. You’re still sulking about your hair. 

“Why are you crying?” He asks. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t understand why Chanyeol’s bullying makes you so upset when it’s just Chanyeol, the mean kid who doesn’t have a sensitive bone in his body. He picks on Kyungsoo, too, but the smaller boy never bats an eye and instead turn the other cheek from his incessant mockery. 

“I look prettier with my hair long, didn’t I?” You’re not really expecting Kyungsoo to say that you look pretty, because Kyungsoo was your best friend and you know that he would never say something that like. And just as you know him so well, he replied with, “You’re ugly either way.” 

Kyungsoo calling you ugly isn’t as upsetting as Chanyeol doing it, you know that Kyungsoo can be mean and really harsh sometimes, but he was your best friend and would never hurt you hurt you. 

Kyungsoo thinks he should probably say something to make you feel better, but can’t bring himself to. You’re his best friend, and maybe that makes it harder, but just when he thinks he’s made you upset again, you break into a grin and retort sassily. “You’re ugly too, Soo,” you chortled, poking a finger to his chubby cheeks. 

🌵

You’re 15 and don’t understand boys at all. And that includes your dad. 

“She’s really nice, sweetheart, and she’s been wanting to meet you for a while now,” your dad coos. Your dad, get this, has a girlfriend. The world has stopped spinning, all the fishes in the sea stopped swimming, and you’ve stopped functioning. 

You knew your dad had a friend that was a girl, but what? When? What? You’ve started hanging out at your grandparent’s place more often, and tonight, your dad decides to disclose this crucial information that he’s in love with a woman...that wasn’t your mom. 

You start crying without even noticing, your mouth still full of rice that’s suddenly really difficult to swallow down. Your dad pulls you in a hug immediately, shushing your cries with gentle ‘don’t cry, baby, it’s all right, everything will be okay’. 

---

You’re uncharacteristically quiet and Kyungsoo notices right away when you’re just poking around your slowly melting ice cream. 

“Why do you have this look on your face like something died in your ice cream?” Kyungsoo goes to take a spoonful for your strawberry swirl and makes a face when he’s tasted the sugary confection. “Yuck, you’re gonna get diabetes if you keep eating that. But nothing died in there, so what’s wrong with you?” 

“Soo,” you croaked, “My dad doesn’t love my mom anymore.” 

Kyungsoo gives you a perplexed look. “What do you mean?” 

“He says he has a girlfriend and he’s, he says he loves her,” you whimpered. “What do I do, Soo?” 

Kyungsoo isn’t fond of sentiments. He doesn’t know what to say to make you feel better, but he thinks it’s not ‘better’ that you need, it’s the truth and Kyungsoo can do truths. He’ll try to be less bleak about it, though. 

“Don’t you want your dad to be happy and be in love?” He starts off. You nodded hesitantly, wanting to add more to it, but Kyungsoo shushes you with a look to let him finish. 

“Look, your dad falling in love with another woman doesn’t mean he doesn’t love your mom any less. But your mom has been gone for a long time. Who knows, maybe it’s a good thing that your dad will have someone to love instead of just missing your mom all the time.” Kyungsoo shrugs his narrow shoulders, acting nonchalant, while you’re absorbing everything he said. Everything he said is right. Kyungsoo is smart and logical for a boy his age. How did he get so wise, you wondered. 

“And before you pull the ‘but he has me to love’ card, he does. But you’re his daughter. He expects you to fall in love on your own and eventually leave him as well. It’s life, you dummy.”

Oh, no, you’re tearing up again. You don’t want to leave your dad in the future. You love him with all your fifteen year old heart. 

You hear Kyungsoo’s chair screeching as he stands up to go ask the cashier for napkins, and soon he returns, shoving the wad of napkins in your tear-stained face. He lets you cry for a while, awkwardly smiling at a lady who looks at him in disappointment. Geez, you’re such a handful. 

“Well, that’s assuming that you’ll find someone that can handle you for the rest of their lives.” 

🌵

You’re 18 and lordy lord is it a weird time in your life. You’ve come to terms that you have to share your dad with your step-mom now, but you’ve never thought that one day, you’d have to share Kyungsoo with another girl in his life. His mother didn’t count because she left them when he was young. So, as long as you’ve known Kyungsoo, he’s always been just yours. 

Okay, fine, he doesn’t belong to you, but point sustained. 

Her name is Sohee, and she’s in the same grade as you and Kyungsoo. Her mother is some hotshot realtor and she lives in the biggest house in town. When she moved here six months ago, she took an immediate interest in Kyungsoo, and after many attempts at confessing, Kyungsoo finally accepted her.

She’s pretty, like really pretty, so it confuses you that she liked Kyungsoo, your ugly, stupid, and ugly best friend. Okay, fine, fine. Kyungsoo wasn’t ugly. But you can’t say he was good looking either! It’s just not right! All you could give credit to him was that he grew into his button nose and wide eyes.

There’s a knock on your door and your step-mom pokes her head through the crack. You invite her to step closer and walk into your room. She briefly glances at the photo of you as a baby and your parents sandwiching you between them on a bed. 

“I was going to ask you if you needed any help getting ready, but it seems like you’ve got it all under control,” she smiles tenderly. You return it just the same. 

“Do I look okay?” You’re wearing a slight bit of makeup and you’ve curled the ends of your long hair. It makes you look really girly and so unlike you, but you’re going out with Kyungsoo and Sohee and a few of her friends for barbeque so you think that maybe you should look at least good enough to hang with them. Geez, where’s all this insecurity coming from? 

“You look pretty, dear, you always do,” she replies. She brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face and inspects you closely, motherly, and you appreciate the gesture however much it makes you miss your real mom. 

---

You shouldn’t have been surprised that Sohee was friends with the popular kids. You just hate that you didn’t see it coming, to see Park Chanyeol sitting on the opposite side of the only available seat left. 

“Hey, Y/N! You made it!” Sohee cheers. It’s just a casual lunch hang out, and you’re aware she looks pretty every day, but you’re floored by how pretty she looks in a flowy white dress and her hair in a half updo. Kyungsoo gives you a ‘sup nod when you meet eyes. He’s sitting on the left of his girlfriend, your seat being on the right of Sohee. You greet everyone else at the table as you settle in, and they all respond kindly despite probably not knowing who you are.  

Everyone talks amongst themselves and across the table. You yourself try to engage, but can’t really find anything to add to the discussions. You keep quiet for the most part and eat the grilled meats when it’s ready. Suddenly, you feel someone tug on your hair and look up from the grill to see Chanyeol smirking at you. 

“You grew out your hair again,” he speculates the obvious. “I forgot how fun it was to pull pranks on you, Y/N.” 

Your cheeks turned red unconsciously, and Chanyeol is quick to point it out and friendly mock you out loud. His boisterous laugh is loud enough to catch everyone’s attention at your table. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, Y/N! You still get worked up so easily over something so small.” Chanyeol guffaws. He leans towards you and tease, “Would you believed me if I told you that I actually liked you back then?” 

You glare at Chanyeol, spiting the fact that he’s grown up handsomely and too tall for you to glower at when he’s taller than you even sitting down, and he’s making you blush right now. No, you don’t like Park Chanyeol, but he’s teasing you again and pulling on your hair like you guys are six again and you hate how belittling it feels. You’re pissed.

“Am I suppose to feel flattered, Park?” You snap. By now everyone is watching you two, glaring down one another. Kyungsoo growls your name, and snaps you out of it. You turn to meet his hard stare and his subtle head shake. He’s mad at you? Oh, hell no.

“Sorry,” you mumble to the whole table. “I forgot that I have to help my mom with something.” In your stricken state, you let the three letter word slip. But it was too late. Your heart sinks when you see the look in Chanyeol’s eyes shift. 

“Don’t you mean ‘step-mom’?” 

This time Kyungsoo calls out Chanyeol’s name, deep and threatening. “Yah, Park Chanyeol.” 

The shift in attention from you to Chanyeol is all you need to slip out of your seat and out of the restaurant. 

---

You don’t go home after leaving the restaurant. You know better than to worry your step-mom by coming home early, just an hour after you’ve left. 

Instead, you go to the ice cream place that you and Kyungsoo have been religiously visiting since you guys were fifteen. You get three hefty scoops of your favorite flavor, courtesy of the worker who knows you a little too well. 

You park your bum on one of the stools, refusing to sit in your usual spot without Kyungsoo there. Just when the thought your best friend crosses your mind, your phone chimes with a new message. 

‘U ok?’ 

‘Yeah’ You send back quickly. Three minutes pass, and you figure Kyungsoo saw your reply and is leaving it at that. But then another one comes through shortly.

‘Ok. Don’t finish all that ice cream, there’s too much sugar in that crap’

Your smile comes reflexively. 

---

Around 4pm, you go home. You sat in the ice cream shop for a total of three hours, talking to the worker there, until he clocked out and left you bored out of your mind for the last hour. 

Your dad is home from work, the evidence in his usual work shoes sitting in its shelf slot. 

“I’m home,” you announce. Your step-mom greets you back from where she is in the kitchen, preparing dinner. You head towards the kitchen for some water to wash down the sugar still in your mouth. 

“Where���s dad?” You ask. 

“Showering. Dear, would you mind watching over the stove?” 

You agree to, standing in front of the pot of soup and stir it in interest. It’s dad’s favorite.

“How was lunch with your friends, hm?” Your step-mom asks as she chops up stalks of green onion. 

You pretend to be really interested in what was cooking on the stove top, responding distractedly and vaguely. “It was fun. I’m still a little full from how much I ate.” Lies, you felt sick; you should’ve listened to Kyungsoo and not eaten all that ice cream.  

Your dad walks into the kitchen, giving you a smooch on your cheek and then your step-mom. 

Your step-mom resumes what she was saying before your dad walked in. “You can have a small dinner, so that way you won’t go to sleep hungry later, okay?” 

Dad butts into the conversation. “You’re not hungry, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” you grimace. “I had lunch with Kyungsoo, and Sohee.” You add the last bit almost as an afterthought. It makes you strikingly uncomfortable that every time you mention Kyungsoo nowadays, it’s followed with Sohee’s name. Now you really feel sick, period. 

After dinner which you sat through just for the sake of keeping your dad and step-mom company, you took a quick shower. You had forgotten about the makeup on your face, and came out of the shower looking like a panda. 

You’re wiping your eyes with makeup remover when there’s a knock on your door. 

“Come in,” you say, assuming it’s your dad or step-mom. However, it’s Kyungsoo. “Oh, hey.” 

“Hey,” he grunts, shutting the door behind him as he makes himself comfortable in your room. He sits on your bed, right by where you’re sitting on a chair in front of your vanity. He watches you finish removing your macara. 

“What’s up?” You questioned him after you’ve completely rid of your panda eyes. 

“Do you think I should break up with Sohee?” 

Trust Kyungsoo to come in like a wrecking ball with this sudden quandary. You’re shocked to say the least. 

“Wait, what?” 

Kyungsoo repeats the same question, and that’s when you notice how tired he sounds. He sounds completely drained as he sighs. You’re not sure what to do or say in this uncharted territory. In fact, the entirety of Kyungsoo and Sohee’s relationship was uncharted territory.

You ask the obvious question. “Do you not like Sohee anymore?” 

He sighs again, digging his palms into his eye sockets. “That’s the point. I’m not even sure if I ever liked her to begin with, Y/N.” 

You probably give him the stupidest face reaction ever, one of confusion and judgment. “Kyungsoo, you can not be stupid enough to call her your girlfriend for almost four months and not have had a single feeling towards her.” 

Kyungsoo shrugs. You steadily breathe through your nose to maintain your composure. 

“Okay, fine. Then why the sudden epiphany that you don’t want to be with her anymore?” 

“I mean,” Kyungsoo massages the back of his neck. “This isn’t sudden. I’ve thought about this for a while now. Today, after what happened, it just made it more clear.” 

“What do you mean?” You go to sit next to him on your bed. 

“Sohee kind of got upset after you left. We talked it out just before I came here, but she said she didn’t like how I got in between you and Chanyeol, like I was acting jealous that Chanyeol could have really liked you.” 

You snort. “Chanyeol did not and does not like me. He’s just being a jerk.” 

“That’s what I told her, but she wouldn’t believe me,” he groans. 

“That’s dumb. Is she insinuating that you actually have feelings for me? Me.” You point a finger at yourself and laugh. “There’s literally no way.” 

“...I know. So, what do you think I should do about Sohee?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know, Soo. Just do whatever you think is right.” 

---

Chanyeol eventually apologizes, a few weeks after the sour encounter you had. He corners you at school, said he didn’t mean to say the things he did and apologized for the low blow. He was being sincere, you could tell, so you accepted his “I’m sorry for being such a dick, even when we were younger I wasn’t nice to you at all, so I’m really sorry’. It felt too formal to shake it off, so he opted for a boyish one arm hug that melted away all your bitterness about the past. 

You tell Kyungsoo about your truce with Chanyeol later that night. He’s over at your house again, this time staying for dinner with your parents as well. Your dad always liked Kyungsoo, ever since you told him about ‘the boy in your grade who also lost his mother’. Of course, you learned later on in life that your mother’s passing was different from Kyungsoo’s mother leaving him and his father for another man. 

“So you guys are friends now?” Kyungsoo questions, moving your potted cactus to a spot he deemed more suitable. You let him do as he wishes since it was his gift for you, and you got two brown thumbs.

“We basically bro-hugged it out, and he apologized for what happened last week,” you say, shrugging. “It hardly constitutes as friendship, but at least we’re not enemies anymore.” Kyungsoo hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t respond with anything else on the matter. 

“So,” you start, sudden trepidation flooding your heart. “I heard about you and Sohee.” 

Kyungsoo doesn’t bat an eye as he continues organizing your desk, merely makes a sound of acknowledgment that he has heard you. 

“Are you okay, Soo?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just silently replacing your notebooks into your file boxes and pens into your upcycle candle jar. Kyungsoo’s bedroom in comparison to yours is shockingly different. Whereas you find comfort in feeling as if your room was homey, Kyungsoo kept his immaculate. He cleans it daily, you swear, and there’s never an item misplaced. It drives Kyungsoo up the wall when you refuse to do the bare minimum as to reorganize your desk after a week of use; your bed and clothes, he doesn’t care for, but desk clutter is the worst kind of clutter, according to him.  

When he’s finally satisfied, he turns to join you on the bed, planting himself on the opposite end, right by your outstretched legs. 

“I’m not sad, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he starts. “We were dating for four months, and if I’m being honest, I wasn’t happy at any point in time during those months. 

“I think I only agreed to be her boyfriend because she had this power over me, urging me to just say yes, so I thought - what the hell - she’s pretty,” Kyungsoo confesses to which you have to force your eyeballs not to roll back. “But she was also controlling.” 

You frown at this, very deeply, and very hurt that you didn’t know about how Sohee was treating your best friend. 

“Bottom line is, I wasn’t happy with her and I’m so glad I finally broke it off.” Kyungsoo is grinning, relieved and wistful. 

“I’m sorry,” comes your apology. Kyungsoo questions it, baffled at why you were saying sorry as if his dumb mistake was your fault. “I don’t know. I feel like maybe I should’ve noticed something like this. I feel bad that you were unhappy this whole time when I had no clue.” 

You’ve always pride yourself in understanding Kyungsoo a little more than anyone else. He was your left arm and right leg for goodness sake. Kyungsoo had his tendencies, to bury everything remotely burdening and bare it all himself, but you should’ve been able to pick up on that. Right? 

Kyungsoo shrugs, as if saying, “Whatever, what’s done is done.” You’re left staring at each other for a good few seconds before you’re lifting your arms up, wondering, “Hug?” 

“I told you I’m fine, Y/N,” Kyungsoo repeated, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m not talking about you,” you muttered as you crawl towards the end of the bed. “I need it. For me.” 

Kyungsoo, though the least affectionate person you’ve ever met, can never say no to you when you look genuinely sad? Why were you sad? He simply opens up, allowing you to crawl into his arms and wrap your arms underneath and up around his shoulders. You squeeze him tight, surprising Kyungsoo who is virtually your pillar from toppling over--and shit. You’re suddenly crying. He makes sure your sniffles are crying sniffles, but honestly he could already feel the unevenness of your breathing from the way you’re pressed against his chest and he knows that you’re suppressing your cries. 

“Why are you crying?” He asks. He opts to play with the ends of your hair, unable to bring himself to comb his whole hand through it. Kyungsoo hopes and prays that you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating. 

You don’t though because yours is pounding in your own cavity, so heavy and aching that all you really feel from Kyungsoo is his warmth. 

“I missed you,” you whispered. You realize the weight of missing Kyungsoo was different than missing your mom. You hate to think that you’ve gotten used to the absence of your mother, but Kyungsoo was here the whole time yet you felt so far from him these past few weeks, months even. He tells you this, you predicted he would. 

“I’ve been here the whole time, though.” 

“Shut up, Soo, I know that. Just...give me a moment. Please?” Your plea settles in the valleys of his chest, seeping into his veins in lethal waves. 

Kyungsoo, now patting your head occasionally, sighs a deep sigh. You stayed in that position for five minutes until Kyungsoo finally complains about his aching back.

🌵

You’re finally the ‘A’ word, inevitably, age 22 and fresh out of college. You got a degree in history and working on getting your credentials to teach. You went to college in your city; it was small and humble, but you couldn’t imagine yourself leaving Daegu’s familiar charm. Everyone you knew, had grown up with left the minute summer was over, and they shipped off to different cities and countries and whatnot. Okay, maybe not every single person you knew. Park Chanyeol actually came back after three semesters at uni, deciding that school just wasn’t for him. 

Presently, you’re on baby watch while your parents are on a five-day vacation, one that you suggested and only mildly regret doing. 

“Seojun, it’s time for lunch. Aren’t you hungry?” You ask the two year old sitting in his playpen. He’s banging on his little toy that is suppose to promote motor skills but he has yet to figure out that it doesn’t require mindlessly banging on the dang thing. 

Halfway through setting up his lunch, the doorbell rings. You make sure he’s still occupied before taking your sights off him. 

“Kyungsoo?” He standing there, on your threshold, like it was the most casual thing for him to show up on a random Saturday afternoon. “What are you doing here?” 

Kyungsoo cracks a grin as he eyes your stained shirt. “Visiting. Can I come in?” 

You attempt to smooth out the creases on your shirt due to Seojun’s grabby hands as Kyungsoo walks further into your house. He easily makes his way over to your baby brother who’s curious about the strange man he’s only met through videocall. 

“I’m going to finish up preparing his lunch,” you tell Kyungsoo, and he nods with a soft look on his face. 

As you roll rice balls into baby bite-sized rounds, you steal glances at the man playing with your baby brother, attempting to will your heart to stop fluttering at how utterly gentle he was being. 

His hair is shorter than the last time you saw him-- through a screen-- it’s now shaved on either sides, leaving the top just a few inches longer than the rest. He’s wearing a grey sweater that fits snug against his chest and biceps--

“Done!” You shout, a little too loud for Seojun who trembles cutely on his wobbly bum. “Would you mind bringing Seojunnie over?” 

You shouldn’t be as mesmerized at the sight of Kyungsoo’s taut forearm supporting Seojun’s bottom as much as you were. He seats him on the high chair and Seojun goes to town with his lunch without much prompting. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” You ask while sliding him a cup of water. 

Kyungsoo takes a sip before responding. “I messaged you this morning,” he defends, but you actually haven’t seen your phone all day. You were occupied with Seojun since yesterday and you normally don’t expect calls or messages. Kyungsoo knows this so it doesn’t entirely puts him in the clear.

“You hadn’t mentioned anything last week when we spoke,” you grumbled. “So, how long do I have you for this time?”

Kyungsoo usually stays in weeks at a time, never going longer than three weeks unless it was the holidays. 

“I’m done with my internship, decided to move back for a little while,” he explains. Kyungsoo studied and graduated with a major in engineering, and started interning at a company right after he finished. That was almost two years ago, and he was finally done. 

You try not to think about how little is a little while, focusing on how for now, you have your best friend back by your side. 

---

Turns out it wasn’t that long. Kyungsoo was gone again by the following month, landing a job in Seoul, with benefits and a pay more than you could dream of with your teaching job. You’re happy for him, extremely happy, and so proud to watch him grow and succeed in life. So you suck it up, brush away the ache in your chest, and send him off with a happy smile. 

🌵

You’re twenty-five, turning twenty-six today, and life is okay. You’re a high school teacher as planned and you like your job and where you are in life.  

You wake up to Seojun jumping on your bed, screaming, “Happy birthday noona!” You literally have to peel him off like a leech after a while when he wouldn’t let you go to get ready for work. He says it again at the table over breakfast, followed by a chorus of happy birthdays from your parents as well. 

“Thank you, thank you all,” you say, voice full of mirth. You make a mess of Seojun mop of a hair before parting for work. 

The day goes by quickly when it’s filled with smiles and thank you’s towards your colleagues who greets you a happy birthday. Few of the ladies expressed their envy of your youth, being the youngest teacher and all, but all you could think in the back of your mind was whether you were ready to be another year older. 

You’re meeting up with Chanyeol for dinner later that day. You try, but to no avail, to stop your mother from giving you suggestive looks when you tell her that you’re spending your birthday with Chanyeol. 

“He’s just a friend, Mom,” you said. “Chanyeol and I will never, ever be, so just give it up already, okay?” 

Your mother simply walks out of your room with a singsonged, “Whatever you say, dear.” 

Chanyeol picks you up at seven. He comments on how nice you look in your little black dress, to which you thank him and return to him the same; he wore a pinstripe shirt with a blazer thrown over for a casual but put-together dinner look. Chanyeol, being the popular guy in high school like he was, was always aware of his wardrobe. He had his admirers to please, and you make a joke to him about it.

“You’re not trying to impress me, are you, Park?” 

He shrugs. “Depends on if you’re impressionable.” 

You chortle goodnaturedly. “Not since you called me ugly when we were eight.” 

He winces. “Damn, I hope Seojun doesn’t learn to hold grudges like you do.” 

The drive to the restaurant that Chanyeol had made reservations with was fifteen minutes away. You had made him promise not to go overboard for your birthday; you’ve only spent your three previous birthdays with Chanyeol but he always somehow manages to make the celebration bigger than it should’ve been. The previous year he took you to the aquarium, and the year before that, he surprised you in your classroom. Let’s just say the kids were more than ecstatic that the classtime spent was more or less than unproductive. 

You couldn’t explain how Chanyeol and you had gotten so close. After bumping into him at the market, you rekindled the unlikely friendship that was you and Park Chanyeol, the popular high school kid who was expected to evolve into your typical college frat boy but surprised the world when he returned to his hometown. That and the fact that you both understood each other quite well. 

“Order anything you want. It’s my treat tonight.” The waiter comes over with a bottle of champagne that Chanyeol had reserved. The menu consists of steaks and seafood specialties. The steak, good lord, is almost over $50, so you smother your usual craving for beef down and tell Chanyeol that you’d like the seabass with a salad and veggies which was still up there. 

“Seriously, Y/N?” Chanyeol gives you a doubtful look. “You can eat five-six rounds of brisket when we barbecue and you’re telling me you want seabass?” 

You pinked at his frank observation. “It just sounds interesting! I want to try it and you can’t stop me,” you argue, adding a sassy hair flick over your shoulder. 

Chanyeol succumbs reluctantly and flags the waiter down who takes your order. Chanyeol orders your seabass and the steak for himself, and you just know it’s his sly way of giving you want you actually want. 

“Have you spoken to Kyungsoo today?” Chanyeol asks when the waiter walks away.

Kyungsoo. A name once so homey, but foreign as of late. 

You shake your head at the question, reaching for your glass to wash the imaginary bitterness away. 

“He’s probably busy with work.” At least that’s the reason he’s been giving you whenever you try to contact him only for him to message hours later that he can’t talk at the moment. You don’t blame him of course; life gets busy and it wasn’t like you weren’t the same. Teaching proved to be an around the clock job as you spend as much available time when you’re not teaching, planning lessons and grading papers. 

You wonder, but try not to dwell, on the fact that he’s forgotten your birthday. Maybe even forgotten about you. You scoff out loud at the thought. The slight sweetness that was in the wine had gone sour all of a sudden.

Chanyeol, of all people, was the first to recognize your feelings for Kyungsoo. Yes, you had feelings for your best friend, if you could still call him that. Feelings that weren’t all platonic and that scared you at first, when you got really moody during his last relationship with some girl at his uni. 

Even your parents brushed it off as your first mid-life crisis where you refused to leave the house and ignored every soul that wasn’t under the roof.

It was Chanyeol who eventually called you out on your feelings when you both were drinking one night, and you got mad at him for saying nonsense. After sobering up(and brooding for 2 days), you called Chanyeol and apologized for calling him terrible names and kicking him in the shin. He wouldn’t accept your apology until you fessed up and admitted your feelings. 

“You’re killing me here, Y/N,” Chanyeol presently groans, making you roll your eyes. He’s become somewhat of a part-time relationship confidant to you, though you’d never admit what a mess you were out loud.

The food arrives and you both dig in. Chanyeol cuts off a chunk of his steak and puts it on your plate, as you expected. You get ready to scold him, but with one look at his stern expression, you pause, letting all arguments die in your throat. 

“Thank you, Chanyeol,” you say. There’s a heaviness in your chest because no matter how great Chanyeol was to you, you still wish that it was Kyungsoo that was taking you out to dinners and visiting you at work and taking you to the aquarium. Not that you were comparing Chanyeol to Kyungsoo...but technically they both aren’t compared in any other ways besides being your best friend. Damn, now you just missed Kyungsoo, period. 

“Yah, yah,” Chanyeol admonishes when he notices your smile quivering. “None of that today. We’re celebrating your birthday, okay?” He picks up his flute and motions you to do the same. “To 26,” he cheers, softly connecting your glasses together in a faint clink. 

For the rest of the night, you catch up with Chanyeol; his life as a chef was interesting to say the least as he shares stories about all the various people who visits his restaurant. You talk until Chanyeol shakes off his slight buzz in order to get behind the wheel. When it’s out of his system, Chanyeol grabs the bill and drives you guys back to a convenience store near your house. 

It’s a funny look-- both of you dressed for a fancy dinner but are sitting on the table outside the store with bottles of soju, doing shots. Well, you’re doing shots. Meanwhile, Chanyeol is nursing you who’s getting drunker with every shot. He takes one for every five you take. 

You were doing good, not dwelling on Kyungsoo for the most part, but the alcohol messes with your coherence to block him out, and next thing you know you’re flooded with all these damn emotions. 

“Chanyeol, have you ever loved someone?” 

“Yeah,” he answers. 

You think he might be joking so you retort back with, “And it can’t be your mom or sister, Yeol.” He surprises you when he simply smirks and repeats his answer. 

“Do I know this person?” You ask. This was news to you. Chanyeol, as far as you knew, never dated in high school and hasn’t gone out with a girl in a few years. He was flirty by nature, but despite girls flocking around him, he’s never made one his girlfriend. 

Chanyeol asserts that, no, you didn’t know this person. He simply states that it was a girl he knew of since he was young. You wanted to ask him if he still loves this girl.

You’re downing another shot when, suddenly, your phone rings with an incoming call. 

“Yah, Kyungsoo is calling you,” Chanyeol informs you, knowing you probably can’t see straight to read his name.

“Should I pick up? What should I do? I’m not thinking straight.” In your sluggish, panic state, you stumble and slur on your words. Chanyeol answers the call for you before it’s too late.

“Hey, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol says into the device. “Y/N is a little out of it right now.” Kyungsoo says something back that Chanyeol relays to you. Whispering, he tells you, “He says he still wants to talk to you.” 

Reluctantly, you take the phone and put it to your ear. 

“Hey, Soo!”

Kyungsoo sighs softly on the other end. “Are you drunk?” 

You make a sound that sounds vaguely similar to an excited baby. With your heart pounding in your ribcage, you don’t trust yourself to vocalize anything, nevermind coherency. 

“How was your birthday?” He asks after a few seconds. 

“Work, dinner, now soju,” you summarized, giggling at the end. You hear shuffling of papers in the background. “Are you still working?” It’s almost midnight, and he was still working? 

Kyungsoo hums in response. 

“Soo, it’s too late for you to be still working. Whatever it is, it can wait. Get some rest, hmm?” 

“I’m getting ready to leave,” he says. 

“Good.” You smile over the phone, feeling safe that he can’t see the love pouring out of you. Damn, you need to keep. It. In. Check. 

 “Just wanted to make sure I get in my birthday wish before it’s over,” he mumbles. There’s a somber tone to his voice and you recognize it as the same one he used before when he told you that he wouldn’t visit for the holidays because of deadlines. 

“It’s okay, Soo. I’m okay,” you murmur back. “Thank you.” Kyungsoo goes silent on the other end for a minute. 

With both of you not saying anything, Chanyeol mouths, “Did he hung up?” You shake your head. 

In another few seconds, Kyungsoo sighs before telling you to get home safe and that he’ll give you a call tomorrow morning.

You give Chanyeol the phone back(even though it’s yours) and knock out on the table. To twenty-six!...

🌵

You’re still 26. It’s one month after your birthday, and Kyungsoo surprises you with a call during your lunch break. It’s odd because you sent him an article talking about how sugar was once considered medicinal, and that was this morning and he hadn’t responded. Leave it to Kyungsoo to ghost your message and skip right to phoning. 

“Transferred? What do you mean?” You wipe the sauce that drips down your chin. Gross. 

“I put in a request to move to the office closer to Daegu, so I’m moving back.” Kyungsoo tells you over the phone.  

“But-but why? I mean, not that I’m not happy about this news, but…” You don’t voice out the fact that Kyungsoo being in Seoul made your coping to stop thinking about him a little easier. Not that it was ever successful, but that’s besides the point. How will you keep your feelings in check with him living fifteen minutes away from you? 

“Well, Chanyeol was the one who gave me the idea.” You make a mental reminder to murder Chanyeol later. “I just went ahead and asked to see if it was possible. It took one month for them to agree, but they finally did, so, I guess I’m coming home,” he concludes. 

---

Even though Kyungsoo is back, it’s different from before. You guys aren’t teenagers anymore, but adults with obligations and a proper job that requires you both on tight schedules. Even so, you guys are making an effort to make up for lost time and try to see each other on the weekends.  

You don’t know why it takes three weeks after his return for your family to invite Kyungsoo over for dinner, but your mother brings it up in the morning over breakfast, and tells you to message Kyungsoo. 

‘Parents ask if you wanna come over for dinner??”

‘Sure. Tonight?’ 

‘Yep :)’ 

‘Ok’ And just like that, Kyungsoo was coming over for dinner with you and your family. 

Your dad gives Kyungsoo a fatherly hug when he arrives, clapping his back twice and saying things like, “You’ve gotten big, son. You working out?” and “It’s great to have you back, so I have a second pair of eyes to keep an eye on Y/N,” —he whispers that last part but really, he wasn’t even trying. You roll your eyes with a pointed look. 

Seojun was always a social kid-- just like you were in most ways-- so it doesn’t surprise anyone that Seojun is accepting Kyungsoo so easily. You and your parents observe the little boy who won’t stop bothering Kyungsoo throughout dinner just to blabber something irrelevant to the man. Kyungsoo takes it all in stride, even letting Seojun settle on his lap in order for Seojun to at least have his dinner while playing with his new hyung.  

“So, Kyungsoo, are you seeing anyone?” Your dad asks, making you choke mildly on your dinner. 

“Dad!” You exclaim in place of Kyungsoo who couldn’t express his shock that your dad out of all people was inquiring about his love life. Your dad mouths, “what?” at you. You haven’t even touched that subject since he got back, for both of your benefits. If Kyungsoo wanted to tell you, then he would at his own time. 

Kyungsoo smiles goodnaturedly, and answers, “Not at the moment, sir.” You try not to ponder his very specific answer paired with the gentle look on his face. Does that mean he had a girl in mind? 

“Dad, quit it,” you grumble when he goes off tangent about the know-hows of courting a woman. Your step-mom jumps in with, “Honey, we all know that it was me who had to pursue you before we finally started dating.” While your parents begins a discourse about the beginnings of their relationship, you quietly finish your dinner and began on the dishes since your mother did the cooking. 

“Need some help?” 

You turn around to see Kyungsoo with his used bowls walking towards where you’re standing in front of the sink. 

“Wanna help dry?” You suggest but Kyungsoo shakes his head, offering to do the washing instead. You shrug and let him take over as he pleased. Kyungsoo was always the more neat and clean one of you two.

“It’s Sunday tomorrow,” Kyungsoo states. “Are you doing anything?” 

“I’m meeting with Chanyeol tomorrow,” you reply, replacing the clean and dried utensils in the drawer. “We’re watching a movie and probably grabbing lunch afterwards.” You tell him. You’ve been hanging out with Chanyeol regularly on Sundays because it was his only day off.

“You could join us for lunch, if you want to,” you say. 

Kyungsoo hesitates for a while. “You sure? Shouldn’t you ask Chanyeol to make sure it’s okay first?” 

“He won’t mind, seriously. We see each other so often that I’m surprise he isn’t sick of me yet. He’ll be more than happy to have someone other than me there.” You scoff.

Kyungsoo doesn’t answer to that, but agrees with a pensive look as he completes the dishes. He doesn’t voice out whatever he’s thinking about the rest of the night.

----

“I still can’t believe how hard you cried.” 

You and Chanyeol are sitting at the pizza place you told Kyungsoo to meet you at, having your typical banter. This time, it’s about the movie that you guys just watched. 

“Look, it was sad, okay? Simba literally had to watch his dad struggle and die right in front of him! After he made that promise to always be by his side, too? Devastating, and you don’t have a heart if that didn’t kill you inside, Y/N.”

“Yes, but you were literally sobbing, Yeol. Parents were giving you looks.” You mimic some of the looks you saw, from worried to straight up judging. 

“I don’t care. Simba lost his father, I deserve to mourn.” Chanyeol frowns deeply, sinking further into his seat. You’re mumbling about how even some of your students were more mature than this gigantic man when Kyungsoo arrives.

“Yah, Do Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol’s mood immediately turns, and he’s all big and goofy grin as he claps Kyungsoo’s shoulder in greeting. “It’s been awhile, dude!” 

Just because you’re still bitter that Chanyeol called you heartless, you mock the way he says dude, as if he doesn’t call you dude half the time. Kyungsoo grins at your silliness while Chanyeol blatantly ignores you.

While the two reacquaint themselves, you go to order the food after a short discussion of what flavors everyone wanted. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” The worker manning the register asks kindly. You return the smile he gives you that oddly resembles a puppy. You focus on the menu in your hand as you repeat the different flavors and items you wanted. He types it all into the machine, repeating your order back, and completing with, “Anything else, pretty?” 

You almost choke on your spit. Looking up at the worker, your eyes made a brief glance at the name on his tag that read: “Baekhyun”. You’re too shocked to answer right away, which this guy, Baekhyun, notices. 

“Sorry,” he meekly apologizes. “I couldn’t help myself because you look so pretty.” Apparently the idea of subtlety wasn’t in this guy’s dictionary, and you couldn’t help the red from painting across your cheeks at his frank compliment. 

“No, it’s okay. I was just taken aback, but thank you,” you shyly beamed. Baekhyun smile becomes even brighter when you’ve responded positively. You have to look down again to hide your blushing cheeks when you decided how utterly cute the guy was.

“If that’s all then your order will be ready in fifteen to twenty minutes, pretty.” You manage to meet eyes with him again, thinking it’d be rude to not when he’s clearly talking to you, and he steals the short moment to send you a flirty wink. 

Dazed, you walk back to your table not too far away. You can only hope that Chanyeol won’t embarrass you about your red face in front of Kyungsoo.

But, alas. “Dude, I can feel the heat of your face all the way from here.”

“Shut it, Park.” 

If Kyungsoo wanted to join in on Chanyeol’s antics, he doesn’t show it neither does he comment on what he and Chanyeol most likely witnessed. You only kinda want to kill Chanyeol for his irresponsible mouth because the compliment from Baekhyun, though a little too forward for your liking, was still nice and pleasant overall. 

For the next hour or two, you guys spent lunch catching up on each other’s lives while reminiscing about the simplicity of the past. Kyungsoo learns about Chanyeol’s profession as a chef; he looks mildly jealous at this revelation. 

“Kyungsoo really likes cooking, actually,” you find yourself telling Chanyeol. Since high school, Kyungsoo would occasionally surprise you with homemade lunch that he would make alongside his father the night before. And because he was Kyungsoo, it always tasted better than you’d expected.

“We should get together and cook a meal one day!” Chanyeol blurts excitedly. He also rudely adds, “Y/N burns everything she touches.” 

“Yah!” You throw punches to his arm that actually hurts. 

“It’s the truth!” Chanyeol howls. “I feel sorry for your future husband! Better hope he has an iron stomach!” 

“Then I’ll just marry someone who can cook for the both of us!” Two seconds after, you realize the implications of your statement and regret everything instantly. Chanyeol hides his smirk while you give him a death glare to shut up. Kyungsoo, again, stays quiet. 

The lack of response makes you both glad and upset, leaning towards upset and you didn’t enjoy the way your heart clenched tightly. It feels similar to when baby Seojun would hold onto your fingers with a vice grip.

Kyungsoo was a man of few words, sure, but you’d rather have him and his snide remarks than this silence. Silence meant that it wasn’t even worth his breath to acknowledge, nevermind be affected by.

After lunch, Chanyeol parts ways to run some errands--so he claims, but the subtle wink he sends you tells you otherwise. Kyungsoo is the one to suggest getting ice cream. 

“Maybe at your favorite place?” 

You perk up at that, telling him that you haven’t visited that place in a while. The shop recently underwent some renovation due to a leak, or so your inside man tells you. 

“Are you sure you don’t want the strawberry swirl?” Kyungsoo asks for the fourth time while setting the scoop of red bean ice cream in front of you that you requested. He has a scoop the mint chocolate chip for himself.

“Sadly, I’m not like I used to be,” you frowned. “Last time I tried eating the strawberry swirl, I got a major headache from all the sugar.” 

Kyungsoo snorts. “Guess I don’t have to say I told you so anymore.” 

“You don’t, but why do I still hear you saying it in your head?” You place your chin on your propped up palm, cocking your head to the side in mockery. Kyungsoo simply chuckles before shoving a spoonful of his ice cream into his mouth. You shouldn’t be, but you find yourself staring a few seconds too long at his lips. They’re plump and pink and too inviting. 

“Y/N?” You hear someone call out. Looking up, you see a tall man, burly and jacked up. It’s Son Hyunwoo, a fellow teacher who was closest to you in age, being four years older than you, though his looks could easily fool anyone.  Standing by his side was a little boy whose eyes looked uncanny to his father. 

“Hyunwoo oppa!” You beam brightly. Unnoticed by you, Kyungsoo is thoroughly confused because you called this man with such delight and affection. What even. 

Hyunwoo walks over with his six year old, a little cutiepie named Hyuk. 

“Hi, Hyuk-ah!”

Being just like his father, Hyuk face is straight even as he politely bows his tiny little head with his hands on his belly, greeting you. He’s so darn cute that you can’t not fuss over him. 

“I almost missed you because you look so different with your hair,” Hyunwoo comments, ruffling the top of your head as you had just done to Hyuk. Usually, you wear your hair in a low bun because your female colleagues had once said that you looked more mature with the particular look. Without the do, your hair is still on the shorter side, barely grazing your shoulders. 

Consciously, you curl the hairs framing your face behind your ears, all the while simpering like a teenager in front of her crush. At least that’s how it looked to Kyungsoo who has to choke on his spit for you to remember his presence. 

“Oh, right,” you startle. “This is Kyungsoo, my childhood best friend,” you announce, gesturing to poker-faced Kyungsoo. “And this is Hyunwoo oppa. He’s an athletics teacher at our school.” 

Hyunwoo smiles amicably, offering Kyungsoo a handshake. Without a choice, Kyungsoo puts his hand in his awaiting ones, but regrets it immediately when he notices you outright ogling at Hyunwoo’s huge biceps flexing in front of you.  

“I thought we were interrupting a date, but good thing it’s not one, right?” Hyunwoo grins, seemingly harmless but it ticks off Kyungsoo anyways, especially when you quickly jump in to deny such assumptions. 

You know that Hyunwoo says the darndest things, but this was top-tier blasphemy and not because you didn’t like Kyungsoo that way(unfortunately); you’re trying your best to play it off because you didn’t want what Hyunwoo said to make Kyungsoo uncomfortable. And you’re slightly emotional again. 

“Appa,” Hyuk suddenly interrupts by pulling on his father’s hand. “Ice cream.” He pouts adorably, having been patient enough as his dad talks, but he’s getting anxious to get the ice cream his dad promised him after their doctor visit.  

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N,” Hyunwoo says to you, offering Kyungsoo a curt nod. His hand lingers on your shoulder too long for Kyungsoo’s liking, something he makes apparent after the father and son leaves. 

“Isn’t he a little too comfortable with touching a woman that’s not his wife?” Kyungsoo mutters. 

“What? Hyunwoo oppa? He’s not married,” You say, bewildered and slightly peeved by Kyungsoo’s tone of voice.

Kyungsoo frown deepens. “What?” 

“He’s a single father, Soo. His wife passed during childbirth, so it’s only him and Hyuk.” 

If the ground could open up and swallow Kyungsoo whole, he’d like that every much. God, he feels like a complete douchebag. He didn’t even have the right to feel...jealous, not when you weren’t his g-

“You could be really insensitive sometimes, you know that?”

“What? I didn’t know!” Kyungsoo voiced loud enough to attract the attention of the workers. You shot a glare at him to not start, not now. “That’s not fair, Y/N. I’m sorry that I don’t know everyone that’s in your life, and the details of their lives.” Maybe we don’t even know each other. “Maybe I should be sorry for moving back here in the first place,” Kyungsoo snaps. 

The thought has crossed your mind, of why Kyungsoo decided to come back. A foolish part of you allow you to think that you were the reason. Your eyes are flooded with tears before you could try to will them to stop, wallowing up so high until they had no choice but to let gravity pull them down. Kyungsoo’s heart drops to his stomach seeing you cry, wanting to apologize immediately when he knows just how fucked up what he just said was. 

Feeling hopeless and utterly gutted, you managed to lock eyes with Kyungsoo, rendering him speechless. You nod once in silence, unable to speak at this point, letting more tears trickle down your face before you’re getting up and walking out of the ice cream shop. 

---

Would you have believed Kyungsoo if he told you that he sort of started loving you from the very beginning? Okay, okay, maybe not from when you almost broke his arm from pushing him too hard on the swings. Maybe it’s from when you consoled him after catching him crying, that was when you were fourteen.

Kyungsoo sure as hell think not, just like how you didn’t believe Chanyeol. Kyungsoo’s exhausted the idea of you and him as something more than best friends at this point, and somehow he was still not sure-- not confident that either of you would be happy being together. He tried distancing you, doing the most as to move back to his hometown to study and start up a new life, leaving you behind. But distance be damned because Kyungsoo couldn’t stop thinking about you. Of your stupid quarells, getting heated over debates about trivial matters. You serving him burnt food with a guilty smile on your face. You falling asleep while studying together, and you crying because you hate studying period. 

Kyungsoo can function perfectly without you. He cooks well, studies well, earn well, even socialize well contrary to popular belief. But when he’s alone in his bed at night, reflecting on his day, he finds nothing remotely significant to end his day with. It was honestly how he finally gave up on his act of “busy settling in” and finally gather the nerve to call you. Since then, phone and video calls were the loopholes to his effort to stop...feeling things for you. When it became too difficult to not see or talk to you, that’s when he finally snapped out of it. He found himself a nice girl in his engineering club and they dated for a few months. She was smart, pretty, and a lot like his first girlfriend. Then he realized what a shitty thing it was to do, use a girl as a distraction from who he really wanted, and broke up with her. 

Kyungsoo knows when he has messed up. He doesn’t apologize often but he does when it counts. He knows today’s event went considerable south because he was simply too cowardly to admit that he loves you, and that he wants and maybe even needs you. Kyungsoo realizes, albeit late, that he’s fucked up. Royally. And he needs to act before he regrets it.

---

The rest of your family is out of town, visiting relatives in the city, so when the doorbell rings, at 1 in the morning no less, you’re worried that something’s gone wrong. 

With a nervous heart, you open the door only to reveal Kyungsoo. His frown is deeper than ever, his hair messy like he couldn’t stop running his fingers through them all night. 

You let out an audible groan. “What are you doing here, Soo? God, I thought,” you pause mid sentence, scared to voice out your pessimistic thoughts for the universe to hear. 

“Can I come in?” 

Without answering, you wordlessly retreat into the house as Kyungsoo closes the door and follows behind you. You start to put on the kettle to brew some tea. After that scare that woke you up, you’ll need some help falling back to sleep. 

“What do you want? What’s so important that you have to scare me shitless when I have to be awake in five hours?” 

You’re standing by the kettle, watching it closely with your arms crossed, hips resting against the counters. Your countenance exudes hostility, but inside your nerves eats away at your insecurities. 

Kyungsoo stands a few feet away, looking stiff and troubled as he figures out what to say. He promised himself he was going to do it, now, tonight. 

“Do, do you know why I moved back?” Kyungsoo takes one step closer towards you, beginning to round the island. 

You make a face. “What?” He repeats his question and this time you answer. “Yes. You moved back because you got relocated for your job,” you say, confidence flowing through your voice. 

Kyungsoo smiles woefully. “And how about why I moved away in the first place?” 

“This is getting ridiculous. The answers to these questions are so obvious that I don’t understand why you’re asking me this, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo makes his way closer. “No, they’re not that obvious, Y/N, because you’re wrong.” 

With less than five feet between you two, you’re getting unnerved by the sher scent of him that emits and propagates the kitchen space. Kyungsoo doesn’t look away from you once, as he continues speaking. 

“The answers to both of these questions are the same. There’s only one single person in this whole world that can turn and flip my world upside down and it’s you, Y/N. I left because I couldn’t be with you; staying next to you while feeling the way I did towards you and not lose myself in you. We pick fights with each other like it’s our job, and we forgive each other in the end like it’s a given. But I didn’t want that. I wanted,” Kyungsoo falters, before continuing. “To hold your hands, to kiss...to kiss away your tears, and be the man you deserved.”

“I felt stuck between being your best friend and wanting to be more. I got frustrated because whenever I looked at you, at us, all the signs in the universe said that we wouldn’t work. I did what I thought was best and left, but it was the stupidest decision I ever made because I never, ever stopped liking you once after I realized the way I felt. I can’t go on, not having you know this. And I know it was cowardly of me to do that...I know that you might not...not feel an ounce of romantic feelings for me, but I’d rather tell you now before it’s too late.” 

Following Kyungsoo’s confession, there’s only the sound of the water boiling rapidly filling the air. Kyungsoo brings it upon himself to walk over and turn off the fire, but that also meant walking closer to you; you who is stagnant, utterly speechless at the revelation. Your ears heard the words Kyungsoo said, but your brain short circuit the minute he said the words ‘feelings’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence with the pretense that he. Fucking. Loved. You. 

“Y/N, say something, please.” 

“Give me a sec,” you growl, gnawing at your lips. It’s bad enough that this is how you have to confess, but to realize that you both could’ve just said something years ago and you wouldn’t have cried your stupid heart out. Zeroing on that thought alone, your first instinct was to stir a fight. 

“I can’t fucking believe you made me cry all those times just because you couldn’t-- okay, fine. I’m also at fault because I’ve liked you since god knows how long and didn’t say anything, but,” you pause abruptly to finally look at Kyungsoo in the eyes, and you notice how he’s just inches away. You’re aware of the warmth that his body radiates, and it pulls you in closer. 

It’s Kyungsoo’s turn to be confused because, what, you liked him too, and for how long? He really wants to punch himself. 

“Look, we can’t turn back time, so we’ll just leave it at that,” Kyungsoo says, reaching for your hand. When he finally grasp it, it’s small and soft compared to his and he thinks for a moment that he wouldn’t mind holding your hand for the rest of his life. “I’m sorry for being a coward, sorry for making you cry when all I wanted was for you to be happy, and healthy. I promise to try my best because that’s what you deserve.” 

You’re mad blushing and frowning at what he said. “We have to make up for loss time though, somehow. God, we’re so stupid.” You stare intently at your intertwined hands, heart fluttering at how Kyungsoo draws his thumbs across your knuckles as if he was familiarizing himself with your hands. He swings it back and fro absentmindedly. 

“I’m in no rush,” he says. “Baby steps, anything is fine with me.” He tugs a little more intently, pulling you towards him. You think you might die with how many butterflies are living in your stomach and how he makes your heart pound erratically. Next thing you know, you’re untangling your fingers from his’, disappointment briefly falling on his face, but then you’re wrapping your arms around his waist. You’re so warm, from blushing no less, and he feels it through your clothes as your body mold against his. 

With some bit of confidence with not having to look at Kyungsoo in the eyes, you softly ask, “Does that mean you’re not even going to kiss me?”

You think-- think-- you felt Kyungsoo’s heart skip a beat, but it could’ve been your own heart also. Kyungsoo hums, as if contemplating, which makes you nervous because maybe you shouldn’t have asked. But then he grabs your arms from around his waist and unleashes himself from your embrace, keeping your hands safely in his. Kyungsoo peers into your perturbed eyes before dropping his gaze to your lips. He gives you half of a smile, one filled with adoration, and leans in to plant a kiss. You’re pleasantly surprised with the forehead kiss he gives you, sending a new wave of warmth across your cheeks and spread down your neck; the butterflies decidedly have settled to live permanently in your tummy.  

Kyungsoo pulls away after eons have passed. “Baby steps,” he murmurs, rubbing your exposed arms when he feels goosebumps manifesting.

Baby steps, he says, but Kyungsoo doesn’t tell you how he might not sleep a wink if he chooses to kiss your lips. Someday he will, but for tonight, he basks in the feeling of you in his arms in the middle of your kitchen, kettle long forgotten. Though he almost, almost, threw out all his inhibitions when you send him off with a kiss on his cheek, treading a little too close to his lips, and whisper good night. 

A good night implies that you and Kyungsoo got some sleep, but in your respective rooms that night, all that went through your minds was what the future held for you two. As best friends. As lovers.

[deliasbabe]

OMG!!!! SO when I read your jealousy headcanons, I was immediately in love with the idea that you potrayed BIllie as the "I can see other people but you're mine" type and I was hoping that you would elaborate more onto how that would play out if you were just beginning your relationship with her and ALSO, bonus time, who else would be that type out of Sarah's characters :)

OH LORDY I HAVE SOME FEELINGS ABOUT THIS!!

Ok, so I want to start off and say Billie Dean is a complicated woman, alright? She’s afraid of falling in love and therefore is kind of a player because of it. She doesn’t want to commit, even when she’s head over heels for someone, so she tells them it’s casual and goes out with other people just to keep her distance. The QUEEN of avoidance.

But then she meets you, and she knows she’s screwed, because you have this way of getting her wrapped around your little finger and she HATES IT. She hates how she swoons when she hears your sleepy morning voice, she hates how good you look in her button up shirts, and she absolutely without a doubt HATES how adorable you are when you dance around her kitchen while drinking your coffee.

So she pushes harder, tells you it’s casual, and goes on as many dates as possible. Every event she’s with someone new, but she can’t even enjoy herself because she’s thinking about you. And if you two happen to be at the same event? Her eyes are on you all night, no question.

Now, you and Billie have talked about your dating life before, mostly at the beginning of your relationship. They never went well and you two would spend many nights laughing at the disaster that they were, but after your relationship progressed you started to notice whenever a date went well Billie would become snippy, or if it went too well she would practically throw you in her bed and refuse to let you leave until she got exactly what she wanted out of you. You figured out she was jealous pretty quickly, so you avoided taking dates to events you knew she would be at, taking your friends instead.

But eventually you grew tired of Billie’s games, and you wanted her to commit. You knew she was in love with you, and you knew she was too afraid to say it, so you decided to play her like a damn fiddle. You wore a dress you knew she couldn’t resist, and you brought someone who you knew wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off of you. They were kind of sleazy, but tolerable, and it worked like a charm. Billie was going CRAZY, despite having her own date, and not even an hour after you arrived she was trying to fuck you in the coat room.

But despite Billie being utterly irresistible, you held your ground, not giving in until she explicitly said that you were exclusive. Except she wouldn’t, because saying it just made it that much more real, and she needed to be in denial for a bit. So you left her high and dry and went back to your date. You had made it your mission to make her say it and she had made it her own mission to get you in bed regardless.

She tried to get you in the bathroom, twice, but you managed to slip out of her grasp each time, and when she dragged you off a third time you finally gave her an ultimatum that you were either exclusive or you were done. But Billie is a special kind of stubborn and she originally just said you were done, so you went on your way and planned to drown your sadness in a few too many drinks and drunk sex with your date. They weren’t terrible looking, after all, and it wasn’t like you had anything to lose.

As soon as you left the party so did Billie, going home and realizing how empty it was without you there. She knew she fucked up, but she was too proud and scared to admit it. She made it all of three days before she cracked and called you, but you didn’t pick up, so she drove to your house and practically broke down the door.

Now let me say this, Billie has NEVER begged for someone, ever. She’s the smooth talker who can get exactly what she wants without much effort, but her tricks don’t work on you and she knows it, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t try. She first tries to get you in bed, but that doesn’t work, so she tries to talk you back into your previous arrangement, and you still don’t give in.

And she’s frustrated as hell and doesn’t want to admit that she’s in love with you, so you fight, and you call her out on her bullshit, and tell her that you are done playing her game because she’s afraid to actually commit, and she breaks the fuck down and cries, because she’s actually a tiny scared cinnamon roll, ok?

You’ve never seen Billie cry, so it throws you for a loop. But then she finally says fuck it and says your right and explains that because of her job, she’s seen a lot of shit and heartbreak and she’s fucking terrified. Billie Dean has never been in love y’all.

So basically, Billie Dean doesn’t normally get jealous, but she is with you and ONLY you because she cares. And if you want to see this concept in action, I have a fic I’m currently writing that deals with this explicitly and it should be out very soon ;)

And as for your bonus, I can totally see Xandra acting this way. Venable and Audrey under certain circumstances.

[aesirfalling]

From your writing asks: #1, 8, 10, 26, and 28 :) I wasn't sure if you had wanted me to answer any specific ones myself, but since it was an ask I wanted to respond properly~

I definitely wanted you to answer some specific ones yourself :^)

What themes would you like to write about that you feel don’t get explored very often?

I think this is obvious to everyone who’s read my more recent fics (so like... my fics from 2016 onwards?), but I like to write “realistically,” especially in regards to joys and pain. When people write about angst things like breakups and depression and physical illnesses they are sometimes hesitant (rightfully or understandably so, in many cases) to really get into the nitty gritty, and in many cases, uglier parts of them, but like, they’re a part of life and people in our lives don’t have a good time (or even many good moments at all) when these kinds of things happen to them. Those moments are still important, though, and I personally feel like embracing the dark aspects of those things makes getting through them in the end more emotionally and existentially powerful? If that makes sense. I’m definitely still wrestling with, like, the extent to which I should write such things (esp. since like, in most cases, fic readers are not reading your fic to suffer), but I think my underlying sentiment as a writer is to examine/meet feelings and life unflinchingly and with some kind of grace.

(I’ll get to the joys eventually. I swear. I have that draft of the second chapter of Lost and Found in my Google Drive. There’s Radiance and the mood in that, too. I just don’t like to write too much preemptive joy.)

The other thing I want to bring up as well is a kind of like... infrastructural realism? Or is it like, socioeconomic, worldly things? Like we’ve talked about this as well RE: how I’m covering Hope in my fics and how you worldbuild a lot around missions and such in yours. I think this is mostly a fic thing since to do this well requires a longer fic with a lot of forethought, and most people don’t have time for that. And honestly most people don’t like Hope for the structural engineering work he put into building new planets either

Favorite dialogue in your wip? (If asked more than once, respond with a new piece each time)

Oh man this interlude is going to be CHOKE FULL of dialogue that will kill me and most of them haven’t even been written yet

But the things that I’ve already put down on my dump file are like all dialogue

Here I just wrote up this thing

Snow: Go on then. Tell me that you don’t miss the stars. Tell me that you are okay with just sitting here day by day, pretending that you don’t know anything, pretending that you don’t have regrets and wants. Tell me that you don’t care if I won’t invite you to the wedding with Serah, if Light finds another man, or if some orphanage is burning on the other side of town. Tell me - 

Hope: I don’t think you understand. I never needed anyone to motivate me.

Hope: I needed someone to stop me.

What scene was the most fun to write for you and why?

Hmm... we might have to establish a definition for ‘fun’ :P

I think in more recent memory, I’ve had the most fun writing the dialogue between Hope and E1 in the Intermission, because I relish all opportunities to write him (especially in FWWCH where I’m usually banned from writing in his POV) and writing two of him is just double the fun. I also adore all occasions where introspective idiots have to talk to other versions of themselves because it’s kind of like. The inevitable 404 error when they realize they are actually empathizing with themselves is tearjerker and heartwarming central.

What do you feel like you need to work on as a growing writer? How can you improve?

Oh lordy there are so many things. Lemme just list a few off the top of my head

1) Linguistic ability: There is definitely a part of me that is sad about the fact that leaving my home country at the age of 11 has left me in a place where I am kind of bilingual but kind of... not really “Native” in either. Like, I have this lingering feeling that I’ll never get to the level of a “Native” English speaker/writer, and I definitely hit like language ability walls all the time when I write - things wouldn’t feel naturally lyrical, I’d run out of words, I wouldn’t know how to describe something the way it should be described, the sentence structure variety is pitiful, etc. I think it’s especially apparent when you’re writing a long fic, where like you have to deal with the same things over and over (e.g. writing Hope cooking, or how Lightning physically perceives him, etc) and there’s more of a limit on where natural inspiration can take you. I should read more good prose (since that’s apparently how I get better at English) but, ugh, effort.

2) Characterization: how many times have I whined about how much I suck at writing Lightning lmaooooooo I think the general thing is like, everyone is decent at writing someone they personally relate to, but we struggle when we try to write outside of our comfort zone. Lightning is definitely the poster child of “character unlike me that I’m trying to get a hold of,” but I think I struggled even more trying to write Fang, and I’d probably struggle trying to write someone like Cid seriously. I think a large part of the struggle is trying to morph yourself into that character (or, like, dissociating from yourself and just... “becoming” that character depending on how you view writing meta??) since like, just understanding someone is not enough. Just understanding someone won’t let you write convincing dialogue where they talk and move around the way they usually do. You have to like, become them and that’s really hard when you have a strong writer’s ego (I know, shocking, coming from me.)

3) Worldbuilding: wtf am I even doing with Hope’s White Lotus thing lmaoooooo anyway a world could always be more interesting, consistent, realistic, nuanced etc. And not necessarily through more word count on the worldbuilding-y stuff. I think it’s more about understanding the factors driving the world than anything else. Like what the resources are, who has power/agency, how things are done (e.g., in our world, decisions are mostly made by individual nation states, although large corporate entities often have immense political influence). AND THEN JUST LIKE CHARACTERS THERE’S THE STRUGGLE WITH EXECUTING THEM - like just because I understand there are rich oligarchs behind things doesn’t mean I’m good at writing the Great Gatsby. I dunno, I have a perpetual sense of imposter syndrome when I try to understand and write things about the world, regardless of whether or not the world is real. I feel like a large part of this goes back to the fact that I’m still only in my 20s and haven’t seen much of the ‘real world’ as they say, although I guess I’m technically still way ahead of most fic writers.

4) General writer’s attitude: this influences themes and the heart of one’s writing. When I say that I care a lot about the grace and dignity of my narratives and my characters, it ties back into this - I want to tell human stories, and I want to tell stories that reflect on our struggles and our faith despite said struggles. It’s the kind of lens that I filter all my words through and impacts every word I write. The obvious problem, then, is that my writing’s only ever going to be as perceptive or sympathetic as I am, and that’s something that I can and should always work on. Am I too obsessed with tragedy? Am I honestly far better at posing questions than providing solutions, even when I highly value solutions? How do I become the kind of writer and person that I want to be without driving myself insane or losing touch with the people that I want my writing to speak to?

5) Discipline: Am I ever going to finish FWWCH (or H&L or any of my other WIPs lmao)? Stay tuned.

I think a lot of my self-doubt as a writer comes from just how much I know I can improve on tbh

Do you need background noise to write? If so, what do you listen to?

I wouldn’t say I work with “background noise” - I work with mood-appropriate playlists (did you know I’ve been gratuitously naming all my fic chapters after songs?), or you know, the good ole 2 o’clock cosmic silence. It’s pretty interesting to me actually, since I also have an engineering degree and like... I need silence when I’m trying to logick things like math or the correct wording for a formal writing thing (e.g. a grant or policy proposal). So my creative hemisphere wants stimulation while my mechanical brain wants silence. Figures.

[lordabovehelpme]

Ahh I came across your page and your writing is amazing! Can I put in a request for a Kylo fic? Something like you two get in a fight and you leave, but it only makes him realize how much he loves you and wants to marry you. You come back and he proposes to you?? 🥰🥰

I’m Busy- Kylo Ren x Reader

A/n: Hello! Thank you for requesting! I am so sorry this took so long for me to finally write too. I hope it’s what you wanted! I’m super glad you think my writing is good! Thank you for the encouragement! :)

Summary: You walk out of Kylos life after one too many nights away.

Masterlist

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

It’s been four nights in a row now that Kylo has not returned home. He hasn’t even checked in with you. The quarters are so quiet and cold without him. You understand that with him being supreme leader he has more jobs and work to do, but he should have a second for you.

Where is he? You walk through the vast halls, trying to bring lunch to your boyfriend. You had made one of his favorites, spaghetti. He will never admit it, but he would kill for your homemade cooking.

There he is; standing in one of the conference rooms, looking out the window. “Kylo! I brought spaghetti!” He turns around to peer at you. Why are you getting a vibe that he doesn’t want you here?

“Love?” You stop in your tracks.

“Why are you here?” There is no affection in his voice.

“I brought you lunch. Did you not hear me?”

“I’m busy.”

“Oh come on,” you sigh, “you’ve never been too busy for my cooking.” You move to touch his arm. He flinches and pulls away from you and your heart shatters.

“Go back to your quarters. I am busy.” He turns back around to peer out the window to the loading dock. You can feel the tears welling up, threatening to fall. He is being insufferable. Maker, you’re just so hurt and frustrated.

“Kylo?” A few drops have left your eyes now.

“Why can’t you understand? I am busy!” He is now yelling at you.

You frown as audible sobs can be heard from you.

“You know what?! My quarters? Of course they’re my quarters because you haven’t been in them in four days. You haven’t even asked me a single question in the past four days. I understand that you’re more busy but you should have at least one second to ask me how my day is!” You’re yelling at him back now. He moves back to face you.

“You-”

“No! Listen here SuPreMe LeADer! I have been trying so hard to support you and you are refusing it!” You have to stop to inhale oxygen. Your breath is coming in short gasps, you’re too overwhelmed to control yourself.

“You’re being unbearable.” Kylo jabs at you.

Your jaw drops to the floor. “How dare you! If anyone is unbearable, it is you! I am bringing you lunch as your wonderful girlfriend and you don’t even want me. If you’re too busy for me then I will leave!” He doesn’t even flinch.

“Leave then.” He says it too calmly. Like he doesn’t even care.

“I will! Goodbye! Enjoy your lunch because it is the last you will have from me!” You throw the spaghetti container at him and stomp out the door.

You lock the doors to your quarters and run yourself a shower. Locking the fresher door for extra measure you sit under the hot water. Your heart is pulling to the pit of your stomach and your tears are being washed away by the water.

***

He opens the door to your quarters, after using the force to unlock it. He feels terrible after how he treated you. Knocking on the fresher door he hears a pathetic whimper from you. Steam flows from under the door, however the water is no longer on.

“Go away.” You sound broken. He feels broken.

“Listen-”

“No. I am leaving.” You open the door and grab a packed bag, walking out of the quarters and out of his life. “I hope you find someone who loves you as much as I did.”

He hiccups. All of your pain flowing into him from the force bond you two share.

When he realizes you’re not coming back he falls to his knees. Flicking his lightsaber on he starts to destroy the wall next to your bed. When the damage is enough, he sighs. “I have no time for this.” He mumbles to himself, forcing all his emotion away from his mind.

***

It’s been a month. You have been making friends with some technicians and pilots, trying to fill the gap that Kylo once owned. Smiles are hollow and laughter is just a sound. Kylo has seemingly not been fased. He is still ordering people just as he was before. When you passed him in the hall earlier he paid you no mind.

***

It’s in two months when you are finally starting to get over him. However, Kylo is breaking, his soul is tearing. He never realized how much you did for him. Whenever he sees you laughing he hurts even further. He misses you terribly, he hasn’t been taking care of himself.

He needs you.

***

It’s three months when you don’t even really think about him anymore. You’ve found yourself a wonderful group of friends and you’ve taken a job as a medic.

Kylo yearns everyday for the energy to even get out of bed. You always used to kiss him awake while you served him breakfast. Then you would help dress him before kissing his helmet as he left. Now he just throws on whatever he can find. He finds he has not been eating full meals, you always brought him food. Why did he let you go? You were his everything. You were the reason he got up in the morning.

Then it hits him.

He wants to marry you.

***

“Kylo is requesting you in the west conference room.” A stormtrooper informs you.

“Do you know what he wants?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Oh, okay.” You set down your book. What could he possibly want?

You were finally getting over him.

***

The conference room was filled with candles and rose petals. You stop in your tracks. One end of the table has a nice cloth on it. Culinary is placed in front of two seats. The plates are covered with cloche.

“Oh, Stardust, here.” He gestures to the table. Pulling out your seat for you, he pats the bottom. When you sit down he pushes your chair in.

“Kylo, what is-”

“No, wait. Don’t say anything. Just let me make up for everything.” It's hard to be mad when he gives you puppy dog eyes and when he is being such a gentleman.

He opens the plater and you are met with the most wonderful smelling soup. “I made it.” He seems almost shy when he says it. You hum at him before trying a spoonful. A melody of flavor dances on your tastebuds. You can tell it is a squash soup, but the other ingredients are unknown.

He sits down across from you. But it is now when you realize how terrible he looks. His undereyes are almost black with loss of sleep and his face looks sunken. Has he lost a few pounds?

“Stardust?” His warm brown eyes lock with yours. Pain and tenderness pour out of his soul. “I am so sorry for everything. For yelling and for not spending time with you.” He is starting to tear up. “I was so stupid for letting you go, for taking advantage of your kindness. I can’t live without you. I realized how much you do for me and how little I do for you. I am so sorry.”

He takes your palm into his. “Please, Stardust, let me try again.”

“Oh Kylo.” You sigh. “You hurt me so bad. You can’t just say sorry and hope it gets better.”

“I know! I have a plan. I will cook dinner every night when I am home and there will be designated hours for us to spend time together. But please, give me a shot. I love you.”

You ponder his options. For a couple minutes before saying, “Well, okay. But you have to promise to listen to me. And you have to make an effort to come home to me.”

He gets up and you think he is going to hug you. But then, he gets on one knee.

Your world stops.

“Stardust, over these past months I have realized how wonderful you are and how much you mean to me. I am so happy when you are in my arms and I fell apart when you left.” He pulls a box from his pocket and opens it. It is a simple silver band with diamonds but the gem in the middle is a red crystal. You could recognize that gem anywhere. It is a part of his kyber crystal from his lightsaber. You hiccup and put a hand over your mouth, trying to conceal your sobs.

“Will you make me the happiest man and be my empress? You can rule the universe alongside me.” He is filled with passion as he asks.

Maker, how could you deny this puppy of a man any longer. You already feel so much better than you have in the past months.

“Yes.” Jumping into his arms, he wraps himself around you. He takes your hand and places the ring on your finger.

“Thank you for giving me a chance when no one else would.”

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

Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks again for requesting!

Love, Lordy.

[chaoscalled]

Left Us Broken

An attempt at a fix-it for 8x04.  Not downright happily ever after, but definitely more hopeful than the show left us.

GENDRY

He should’ve just let that arrow hit him.  He wished that arrow had hit him.  He had been given so much.  A name.  A title. A home of his own.  And not just a home.  A bloody castle!  Just… given to him.  Like it was nothing.  But he was a lord now.  And lords had the power to choose.  And he chose Arya.

But she didn’t choose him.

Gendry slammed his fist into the stone wall barely feeling it when his knuckles burst and began to bleed. He slammed his fist into the wall again. He was so stupid.  Stupid stupid stupid.  He turned and pushed his back against the wall and slid down it.

Fuck a lordship.  Fuck a castle.  Fuck Arya fucking Stark.

Gendry felt guilty for thinking it before he’d even finished the thought.  It was his fault, really.  He should have known better.  He did know better.  Just because she looked like a lady didn’t mean that was what she wanted.  She was beautiful.  She killed the Night King.  She saved the world.  That’s who Arya Stark was.  Not a wife.

Still… he had hoped she loved him.  He thought she did.  The way she’d acted the night before he was sure.  None of the girls he’d been with before had ever kissed him like that.  Like their whole life depended on him kissing them back.  She had gone to him.  She’d chosen him and she could’ve chosen anybody.  That had to mean… something.

“You get into a fight withou’ me?”

Gendry craned his head up to look at Tormund Giantsbane wobbling over him.  He stunk of wine and that disgusting fermented goats milk he liked to drink so much.  Gendry’s eyes still felt hot from pain and embarrassment.  He looked away.

“Not really.”

Tormund leaned his head against the wall and stared blearily down at him.  Gendry tried not to show how uncomfortable he was.

“You’re a lord now.” Tormund slurred.  “Like Lord Snow.”  That made the wildling chuckle.  “Goin’ to ride a dragon like him?”

“No I’m not going to ride a dragon!” Gendry snapped.

Tormund frowned.  “Afraid, Lordy Loo?”

“Ah, shut it.  I’m not a lord.”

Tormund used his forehead to push himself off the wall.  Gendry watched as the big man teetered precariously.  After a beat, the wildling stood upright.

“That silver queen says you are.  Thought you were happy about it.  You even smiled.” Tormund pointed at his face.  “First time I seen you smile.”

“Yeah, well, all that doesn’t matter now does it?”

Tormund frowned.  “Doesn’t matter?  You forget we fought off those White Walkers together?  We survived the Long Night together, you and me. Everything matters now.”  Tormund turned and slumped against the walls beside him.  “’Course, I was a lot happier when death loomed over our heads.  When I still had hope that the big woman would be mine.”

“Eh? Big woman?”

“Brienne.” Tormund explained.  “Beautiful woman with the strength to rival bears.”

“The one with Jaime Lannister?”

Tormund growled and flung his horn against the far wall.  “Fuckin’ Lannister!”

Gendry leaned on his knees and tried to ignore the pain in his heart.  In his gut.  Everywhere.

Tormund’s meaty hand dropped down on Gendry’s shoulder.  He jostled him roughly.  “What about you?  You hit someone?”

Gendry turned his hand over to look at the bloodied knuckles.  His hand looked garish.  He flexed his fingers, wincing as he tried to pull them into a fist.  Punching the wall was stupid.  How was he supposed to hold his hammer with his hand smashed to bits? Stupid.  Stupid stupid stupid.

“Well?”

“Huh?”

“What’d you do?  Who’d you hit?”

“Oh.  Uh.  The wall.” Gendry answered sheepishly.

Tormund tipped his head up against the wall and squinted as if expecting to see the stone broken where he’d hit.  Gendry gritted his teeth.  Maybe if he’d really been strong enough to crush stone beneath his fist Arya would think he was worthy of her.  Maybe she’d love someone like that.

“What’d the wall do to ye?” Tormund asked seriously.

“Wasn’t the wall, but it’s not like I can punch myself in the face.”  Gendry griped.

“What?  You want to be hit in the face?”

“Well, sort of feels like I al–”

Tormund slugged him on the jaw hard.  His head snapped sideways so far the other side of his face hit the wall.  Gendry let out a gasp and rubbed his jaw.

“Fucks sake!”  Gendry shouted.

Tormund shrugged at him nonchalantly.  “Man tells me he wants to be hit in the face, I hit a man in the face.”

“I didn’t ask!”

Tormund shrugged his big shoulders again and withdrew a flask of wine from somewhere in the folds of his clothes.  He unscrewed the top and took a big drink before passing it to Gendry.  Gendry glared at the man a few seconds more before accepting the flask and drinking deeply.  They sat in silence for a while passing the flask back and forth.

“So,” Tormund started. “Why’d you ask me to hit you in the face?”

“I didn’t ask –” He huffed knowing full well the wildling didn’t care if he asked or not.  “I asked a girl to marry me, but she said no.”

“You Southerners and your marriage.” Tormund scoffed.  “Just find a good girl to fuck and be done with it.”

Gendry shook his head. “I love her.”

“I love Brienne.  But she’s in there fucking that golden twat.” Tormund chuckled.  “I like that word.  The Dog taught me that one.  And cock.” He chuckled again.  “Your girl fucking some other twat then?”

“No!” Gendry said quickly. Then paused.  He looked around the yard.  “I don’t think she would be.  She’s not… that kind of girl.  She wouldn’t do that.”

“They all do that.” Tormund argued.

“Not her.  She wouldn’t.  I mean, she never had before me anyway.” Gendry felt his face heating just remembering last night.

Tormund scoffed.  “They all say that.”

“What?”

Tormund gave him a pitied look.  “There’s not one girl in fifty that’s untouched even if she says she is.  They’ve all fucked and been fucked and they think that we’re all too dumb to know the difference.”  Tormund tapped the side of his nose.  “I always know.”

Gendry was quiet for a second.  “How do you tell the difference?”

Tormund laughed.  “I’ve only lain with two virgins in my life, but they were both so skittish.  Like they’d never seen a cock before.  They take a while to warm to the idea.  Mostly they just lay there whimpering while you fuck them.  Non-virgins have already warmed to the idea.  They don’t always lie there.  They take charge.  Gods.  I love it when they do that.  Then you get to be the one that sits back while they have a go.”

Gendry frowned in thought. He cleared his throat.  “Suppose she’s just a feisty girl.  She’s a fighter.  Someone who can kill White Walkers and murderers and rapists.  What about that?”

Tormund cackled.  “You’ve never met a wildling woman.  That’s all of them!  They’d as soon cut your cock off as sleep with ye!  It’s always a gamble.  Even with the virgin ones.  …Especially with the virgin ones.”

Gendry got to his feet with no shortage of effort.  He’d had a lot to drink before he’d finally found Arya.  If he had to guess, he’d say he’d just drank twice that sitting with Tormund who had the magical ability to pull flasks of wine and rum and whiskey from seemingly nowhere.  Gendry leaned against the wall for balance.

“You’re wrong.  Arry’s not like that.” Gendry slurred.  “She wouldn’t lie to me.”

Tormund scoffed again. “We all lie when it suits us.”

“Not her.”

Gendry stumbled away from him and into the courtyard.  He squinted blearily around him.  Jon’s dire wolf tripped over to him and licked at his bloody hand.  Gendry patted the animal’s thick coat absently.

He didn’t know what to do with himself.  He knew he’d gotten by just fine without Arya for four years when he thought she was dead and he was hiding away in King’s Landing.  He had done it before.  Before…. If only she hadn’t kissed him!  He’d be able to remember what to do without her if she hadn’t kissed him.  He wouldn’t have made such a gods damned fool of himself if she hadn’t kissed him.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid!  

He stopped and looked around.  Somehow he’d wandered to the main gates of Winterfell and through them.  He stared out at the ash blackened snow.  Before him lie the King’s Road.  He could take it south.  Just start walking and never look back.  What was the point in staying?  Sure, he was meant to be fighting in the queen’s war, but what was the point of that?  Cersei would be killed with or without his help.  And even if they took away Storm’s End again what did it matter?

He heard a woman’s voice speaking in a different language approaching from the gates.  A man’s voice answered her in the same language. Gendry sniffled against the bite of Northern cold and shuffled to the side so they could pass.

“Lord Gendry?” The woman said in the common tongue.  

Gendry looked up at Missandei.  He sniffed again and shook his head.  “Don’t call me that.” Gods I’m turning into Arya.

Missandei looked at Torgo Nudho with confusion.  “But you are Lord Gendry Baratheon now.  Our queen has made it so.”

Gendry’s hands fisted at his sides.  “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

The two foreigners were quiet.  He knew they were likely exchanging sidelong glances about his ungrateful behavior. He stared at the ash piles and thought of the dead.  If Arya hadn’t been around he’d be just another pile of ash.  Or worse.  A White Walker.

“Did you lose someone?” Missandei asked carefully.

Gendry glanced at her and back out at the piles of ash.  He nodded solemnly.  “Yeah, I guess….”  He cleared his throat.  “Yes. I did.”  Just the love of his life.

“Maybe you should go back inside and get some rest.” Missandei suggested gently.

Gendry looked back through the gate and tried not to think about who was still on the other side. Maybe he really would be better off walking back to King’s Landing.  He let out a heavy sigh and pushed his gloved fingers into his left eye.

“Yeah, sleep.  I should probably sleep.”

ARYA

“None of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me.  So be with me.”  Arya shoves the heels of her hands into her eyes.  What did he have to go and do something stupid and propose for?  

She sat in a chair by the fire in her room.  The rest of the castle was asleep.  She should be asleep, too, but instead Gendry and his damned proposal was sticking in her head.

“You’re beautiful and I love you.” He’d said.

Beautiful.  Her?  Arya Horseface?  But Gendry said it like he meant it.  Really meant it.  And he loved her.  Arya pulled her knee up to rest her chin on it.  She didn’t deserve that.  He didn’t know anything about what she’d done.  How many people she’d killed.  He didn’t know and if he did he wouldn’t say something stupid like he loved her.

Arya watched the sun rise slowly into the sky.  He loved her, but she couldn’t love him.  She did.  But she couldn’t.  It wasn’t possible.  She wasn’t a lady.  She wasn’t going to be graceful and elegant and spend her days ordering servants about. Sit on the sidelines while the men think up war strategies.  She was the savior of the realm.  She would not sit idle.  Not even for Gendry.

So she couldn’t love him. She couldn’t.  And she definitely couldn’t marry him.  Arya glared at the fire like it had offended her.

“’Be my wife’ he says,” she snarled at the flames.  “I’m not Sansa.  I’m not taking a backseat to this war.  I’m not a lady.  I’m a wolf.” She told the fire.

Her shoulders sagged. She wished they were back in the Riverlands.  Gendry Waters would have never asked her to marry him and be his wife.  That was something Gendry Baratheon did.  Lord Gendry Baratheon.  Arya preferred the bastard.

He was so happy. Excited for his new name.  His new title.  And why shouldn’t he be?  He’d lived so long with nothing.  He should be happy.  And who knows?  Maybe some fair maiden would appear to steal away his heart and be Lady of Storm’s End for him.

Something vicious and bitter rose up in her chest.  She’d told Gendry as much earlier, but it left a sour taste in her mouth.  She didn’t want him with other girls.  She covered her face again and shut her eyes. Horrible.  Everything was so horrible.  She couldn’t be with him the way he wanted her to be and she couldn’t bear the thought of him moving on.

She had work to do.  She had names to cross off.  The Mountain still breathed as did Cersei.  And she figured she might as well cross Euron Greyjoy off, too, in honor of Theon.  Maybe if she survived she could start to think –

Why the hell did he have to propose?  They could’ve been in bed together if he hadn’t been so….  Arya found Cat’s Paw in her hand without remembering pulling it from her waist.  She flipped it uneasily.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  One hand then the other and back again.  

“Cersei, the Mountain, Euron.  Cersei, the Mountain, Euron.  Cersei, the Mountain, Euron.” Arya said quietly.  As long as she thought about the names, she could stop thinking about Gendry.

A knock sounded at her door. She flipped her dagger in the air and caught it up again.  She eyed the door suspiciously.

“Come in.” She invited.

The door creaked open and Sansa stood in the doorway.  Arya turned and looked back into the fire.  The forge fires burned brighter. Her thoughts came unbidden.  Gendry always looks best in front of the forge fires.

“Are you coming to the war council?”

Arya blinked at the floor and looked back at her sister.  She didn’t like Daenerys.  Didn’t trust her.  Arya didn’t know her reasons, but she trusted her sister more than a stranger.

Sansa squinted at her. “Have you slept at all?”

Arya glared at Sansa. She didn’t respond.  She only slipped Cat’s Paw back into the sheath and stood up.  She hadn’t even tried to undress last night.  Too many thoughts of Gendry’s hands on her skin.  His lips.  

“You’re alright?” Sansa insisted.  She put her gloved hand on Arya’s shoulder in an effort to be a comforting big sister. Arya shook the hand off.

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Are we going or what?”

“Wait.”  

Arya turned back and arched her left eyebrow at Lady Stark.  Sansa pursed her lips thoughtfully.  It was more a scowl than anything else.  An amusing look for Arya to see on her demure sister.  Scowls were decidedly not ladylike.  Just ask Septa Mordane.

“Can you tell me honestly?” Sansa asked.

“Can I tell you what honestly?” Arya returned, guarded.

“What do you think of the queen?”

Arya frowned thoughtfully. “Which one?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Arya.”

“She isn’t worse than Cersei.  Her and her dragons saved us.  Without them, I never would have gotten to the Night King.”  Arya sighed.  “But I know you don’t trust her and I trust you.  You have good instincts.”

Sansa seemed baffled at the admission.  “But what do you think of her?”

“I already told you what I think.”

The war council was not the most interesting part of her day.  The queen refused to wait.  She wanted her throne.  No matter the cost to her people.  Arya didn’t appreciate that.  If they had done as Sansa suggested and held off just a bit, Arya could have nipped down to King’s Landing and knocked the crown off Cersei’s blonde head with no one the wiser.  She still could, it would just be a bit harder now.

No.  The most interesting part of her day was Jon telling them that he was really Aegon Targaryen and that their father – the honorable Ned Stark – had lied about his true parentage to protect him.  Arya stayed with Bran at the Weirwood tree long after Sansa had stormed off and Jon had gone helplessly after her.

“You have choices ahead of you now.” Bran announced from his chair.

“Everybody has choices ahead of them.” Arya lobbed back.

“You’re back at the crossroads.”  Bran insisted.  “Which way will you go this time?”

Arya stared at her brother. He kept insisting that he wasn’t really. He was the Three-Eyed Raven.  Not Brandon Stark.  Not her brother or the Lord of Winterfell.  And Jon wasn’t her brother anymore either.  Was Sansa really the only sibling she had left?  

Gendry had disappeared completely.  She knew he was hiding from her.  She also knew there was nothing she could do to make him feel better.  He didn’t understand.  Loathe as she was to admit it, she loved him.  She wished she didn’t.  It would make everything between them less painful.  For both of them.

Arya looked at the face in the Weirwood.  Two nights ago she had stood in this exact spot and plunged her dagger into the heart of the Night King.  Arya let out a heavy breath and turned away from the tree.  Away from Bran.  Away from the North.

SANDOR

“Where’d you run off to after you robbed me and left me to die?” Sandor asked over their fire.  Arya was skinning the rabbit she’d caught. She looked over at him evenly.

“I went to Braavos.” She told him simply and returned to skinning the rabbit.

Sandor scoffed.  “What’d you go there for?  Hoping to find your dancing master alive and well?”

“No.  I went to train with the Faceless Men.” Arya set the prepared rabbit over the flame and sat back while it cooked.

Sandor frowned at her. He’d heard of the Faceless Men. Crazy assassins, the lot of them. And expensive.  With good reason.  Whisper a name to a Faceless Man and you had a guarantee that whatever cunt you wanted dead was six feet deep.

“You joined a bloody cult.” He grunted out at last.

The corner of Arya’s mouth twitched up reluctantly.

Sandor sighed.  His mouth had started watering at the smell of cooking meat.  “Why’d they let you go then?  Too mouthy?”

Arya pulled a flask out and took a sip before tossing it to Sandor.  He caught it deftly and took a big swallow.  Then another.  He sighed and leaned back against a rock.

“I learned what I needed. I didn’t want to stay anymore.”

“And they just let you go?” Sandor found that hard to believe. He hadn’t been joking when he’d called them a cult.

Arya shrugged and pulled the rabbit from the fire.  She pulled off a leg and handed the spit to him.  Sandor accepted the rabbit, but glared at her silence nonetheless.  He never thought he’d miss her unending chattering.  In fact, it had been the first thing he missed after he came to at that Septon’s home.

Two days later, Sandor could stand the silence no longer.  If she wasn’t going to talk why bother riding with him?  He took a drink from his own flask and passed it over to Arya.  She took a drink and handed it back.

“That smith was looking for you back at Winterfell.  He ever find you?”

Sandor looked over at her. Her face was strangely blank. Like she was putting in extra effort to remain emotionless.  She didn’t say anything.  She didn’t even acknowledge that he’d said anything.  He knew full well that she had heard him.  They were the only two around for miles.  

“Girl, if you aren’t going to talk what did you follow after me for?” Sandor snapped at last.

Arya frowned.  “I told you I’ve changed.”  She said in that deadened voice of hers.  He hated it.  Hated how lifeless she always sounded now.

“Did he do something to you?” He didn’t really think the twat had it in him to do anything awful to her. Idiot that he was, the boy was hopelessly in love with her.  Anyone with eyes could see that.

“Went and had himself made Lord of Storm’s End I suppose.”

Sandor scowled at the road ahead of them.  “So? Havin’ something against him now he’s a lord is just the same as if you had something against him being a bastard.”

Arya was quiet for a long while.  Sandor wanted to rip her head off her shoulders and kick it down the road.  She was more infuriating now than when she was spontaneously stabbing soldiers with his knife.

“He asked me to marry him.” She said at last.

Sandor nearly fell off his horse.  Stupid fucking twat!  When he asked after Arya he hadn’t thought the stupid fucking idiot meant to do something like that.  It was lucky Sandor had decided to ride out on his own.  He was of the mind try to beat sense into the fool.  Lord or not.  What kind of idiot asks a girl to marry him just like that?

“Running away then.” Sandor said decisively.

“I’m not running away.”

“Sure you’re not.” Sandor said acerbically.  

“It’s true.  I’m going to kill Cersei.  And Euron Greyjoy.  And the Mountain.”

Sandor felt the scars on his face prickle.  “You listen here, girl, the only one’s going to kill my brother is me.  You understand?  This is my justice.  Mine.”

Arya looked at him with those steady grey eyes.  He watched them dart over to the right side of his face.  Assessing.  She tipped her head at him in acquiescence.  

They were quiet a long while after that.  Three days, maybe four, passed without so much as a grunt passing between them. Sandor stopped to piss and noticed a large paw print in the mud in front of his tree.  He fixed up his trousers and started back for Arya.  The horses looked like they were ready to bolt. Something spooked them.  Arya looked over at him when he returned.

“Wolves in the area.” Sandor reported.

Arya nodded and looked out into the trees.  Sandor squinted at her.  She looked almost hopeful.  Sandor remembered the size of the paw print.  The last time he’d traveled down the road with the Stark sisters they’d both had dire wolves.  The little bird’s beast was slain not a day’s ride up the road.  Arya’s had disappeared.

She said nothing, just mounted her horse again and started down the road without waiting for him. Sandor cursed and hurried after her. She rode faster after the wolves. Sandor thought that was strange seeing as how hopeful she had been to see them.  Hoping that one of them was her beast most like.  She pulled up at the inn at the crossroads.

“There’s good food here.” She told him simply.  She dismounted and handed her reins to the stable boy without waiting for his input.

Sandor jumped down from his mount and dropped the reins in the stable boy’s outstretched hand.  He followed Arya into the inn.  There weren’t many people inside.  In a day or two, the place would be packed with soldiers. Arya sat at a table facing the door and waited for Sandor to sit down opposite her.

Arya was looking for someone.  He could see it.  She was expecting someone here.  That’s why she was rushing.  Sandor scowled.  The food had better actually be good there.  Not that he’d complain either way.

Suddenly, Arya’s whole demeanor changed.  She didn’t look easily confident anymore.  She almost looked… scared.  It was hidden well, but Sandor could see hints of it poking out.  He looked around, wondering what she’d seen or heard.

“Hot Pie!” An old woman bellowed.

A few seconds later, a fat boy around Arya’s age came tripping from the back of the dining room up towards their table.  He paused as he caught sight of Arya.  Then, the kid’s chubby face brightened.

“Arry!” He cried.  “Can’t believe you came back.”  The kid glanced at Sandor and shrank in on himself as much as a fat twat could shrink.  “You’ll never guess who else is here!  I thought he was dead to be honest.  Anguy said the Brotherhood had to give him over to some priestess when he was in last. That was ages ago.” The fat lout babbled.

Arya had gone stone faced. Sandor watched her curiously.  He looked up at the fat boy.  He recognized him vaguely.  He hadn’t gone with the Brotherhood like Arya and the lord smith had. He’d just assumed the kid belonged to the inn.  Apparently the two of them had history.

“Gendry!” The fat boy shouted.  “Gendry, come here!”

Sandor looked back at Arya. She had shut her eyes.  Sandor understood now.  She had heard that stupid twat’s voice.  That was what brought on the stone face.  Sandor was also learning that when she did that, it usually meant she was hurting.

Arya bolted.  She shoved past fat boy and disappeared out the door.  A few seconds later, Sandor saw the idiot stand up.  He turned to look at the door.  His look of pain was more open than Arya’s.  Undisguised.

Gendry looked over to fat boy before landing on Sandor.  He turned red and grimaced before shuffling over.  The fat boy looked between Gendry and the door.

“You’ll never guess –”

“What are you doing here?” Sandor graveled.  “Thought you’d be riding with Snow and his army.”

Gendry looked at the table. “Wanted to get a head start.” Sandor knew what he meant. Wanted to get out of Winterfell more like.

“Stupid fucking cunt.” Sandor growled at him.  “What did you think was going to happen?  Springing a proposal on her like that.”

Gendry flushed deeper. “She told you?”

“You proposed to someone?” The fat boy asked interestedly. “Who?”

Sandor and Gendry both stared at the fat boy.  He hadn’t thought to find a boy stupider than the lord smith.  Sandor crossed his arms and fixed Gendry with a fierce stare.

“Go on, Lord Gendry. Tell your friend.”

Gendry ran his hand over his mouth and grimaced again.

The fat boy caught on at last.  “Not….” He looked at Arya’s vacated seat. “Arry?  You asked Arry to marry you?”

“I was drunk.” The twat said defensively.

Sandor stood up and grabbed him by the front of his tunic.  “You stupid fucking cunt.  You get a title and a castle and you think that means something?  That girl saved the whole fucking world and you think you get to own her ‘cause she fucked you once?”

Gendry was so red he was almost purple.  “Stop. I already know.”

“Arry did?”  Sandor dropped the lord smith and looked back at the fat boy he’d forgotten was there.  “She saved the world?”

“Killed the Night King.” Sandor confirmed.

The fat boy blanched. “Night King?  Like the White Walker from the stories?  He’s real?”

“Was real.  Arya Stark knifed the bastard in the heart.”

“What?  Really?  Like Azzi Ahip?”

“Azor Ahai.” Sandor corrected with a groan.

“Right.”  The fat boy nodded and looked at Gendry.  “Does that make you Nissa Nissa?”

Gendry rolled his eyes at the boy.  “Azor Ahai actually loved Nissa Nissa.” He muttered.

The fat boy frowned.  “Arry loves you though.  Me and Lommy used to think she was a pervert when we didn’t know she was a she.  Lommy used to laugh at the googly eyes she’d make at you whenever she thought nobody was looking.”

Gendry didn’t look happy to hear that.  He scratched the back of his head.  “She’s not Arry, Hot Pie.  And she….” Gendry let out a sigh and rolled his head back with his eyes shut.

Stupid boy never finished his thought, just pushed his way out of the inn and outside.  Sandor stood up, looking down at the boy impassively. Hot Pie.  Stupid name.  The boy looked up at him fearfully.

“You leaving, too, then?” He squeaked.

“Have to catch up to that girl you chased off.”

“Me?  I didn’t!” Hot Pie yelped.

“Whatever.” Sandor moved for the door.

“Wait!” Hot Pie shouted. “Let me get you some food for your travels.  You didn’t eat.”

The boy was quick about it. He came out with a basket, the inn keep smacking him about the head and berating him for burning something.  Hot Pie handed the basket to him sheepishly and shuffled back to the kitchen after the inn keep.

Sandor collected his mount and started down the road.  It hadn’t been that long.  She couldn’t have gotten far.  Especially not as dark as it was.  They should have stayed at the inn.  Dumb children couldn’t suck it up for a night and just sleep.  Sandor missed real beds.  Even the cold ones in Winterfell were nicer than the ground.

“-going to finish my list.”

“I know about your list. I was there, remember?”

“Then you know I need to do this.”

“I know!”

Sandor slowed his mount. He couldn’t figure out if they were moving or not.

“If you know, why would you ask me to give it up?”

“When did I ever ask you to do that?”

“Lady of Storm’s End.” She spit.

“Yeah, okay.  I never should have said that.  Never should have asked you to be my wife.  I was running a little hot at the time what with almost dying a few hours before.  And being legitimized and made a lord.”  The idiot paused for a beat.  “And the wine.”

“So you don’t want to marry me?”

“Of course I want to marry you!” He shouted.  “You wanted to be my family, too, once upon a time.”

“You wanted me to be your lady.  Not your family.”

“I didn’t want that.  That’s just what we would have been.  Soon as you went back to your family.  You know it’s true.”

They were moving at a leisurely pace.  Arguing on horseback.  Leave it to two idiots to have this argument in the dead of night while a pack of wolves roamed the woods.

“I wouldn’t have let that happen.” Arya insisted.

Gendry scoffed.  “You wouldn’t have been able to prevent it.”

They were quiet a while. Sandor was about to start his horse into a trot to catch them when he caught something moving in the woods from the corner of his eye.  The horse caught it, too.

“I shouldn’t have asked like that, but I didn’t lie, Arya.  I love you and nothing is worth anything to me without you in my life.”

Sandor pushed his horse forward faster.  He pulled up between the lovebirds startling them both.  He looked at Arya.

“Wolves.”

Arya turned her gaze into the woods.  Sandor looked around, too, hunting for the wolves he knew were there.  Arya was remarkably calm.  She sighed as the horses began to fret.

“We’re surrounded.”  She announced.

“Surrounded?” Gendry repeated.  He turned in his saddle.

Arya whistled.  Sandor pulled his horse into the middle of the road. Gendry’s horse went where Sandor’s horse nudged it.  Arya didn’t move.  She just kept looking into the woods.

Gendry let out a startled gasp.  Sandor followed the boys gaze and landed on two of the largest wolves he’d seen that weren’t Stark wolves.  Arya didn’t look bothered by their presence at all.  She was waiting.  Three more wolves appeared behind them.

“Survived the undead to be slaughtered by wolves.” Gendry muttered.  “Perfect.”

Arya’s shoulders sagged as a monstrous beast stepped out of the woods.  She smiled and reached her hand out.

“Nymeria.” She breathed.

The wolf sniffed her hand and moved forward to sniff her leg and belly.  Arya set her hand on the wolf’s neck tentatively.  When the beast didn’t immediately tear her arm off, she scratched it affectionately.

“I could’ve used your help a few days ago.” She told the dire wolf.  “Your brother helped out.  It’s just you and him left.”

Nymeria stretched her big head up to lick Arya’s cheek.  She let out a small laugh.  Sandor was disgusted at the beast’s ability to reach her head while she was on horseback. He felt a tugging at his boot and noticed the heavy breathing of his mount fidgeting beneath him.

“That’s real sweet, wolf girl, but how about you call off the rest of these beasts?” He snarled.

Arya reached into her saddle back and pulled out the remnants of a rabbit she’d caught earlier that morning.  She tossed it to her beast to scarf down.  Nymeria sat down and stared at Arya expectantly.  Arya frowned.

“We’re going to King’s Landing.  Just like we were before.  I’m going to kill Cersei.  She’s the one that had your sister killed, remember?”

Sandor couldn’t believe what he was stuck with.  An idiot lord smith and an idiot wolf bitch.  And the wolf bitch was talking to her wolf like it was going to talk back. The only thing stopping him from leaving them both behind right there and then was the pack of giant wolves everywhere.  There were more than a dozen on the road now and another dozen or more behind the tree line not including Arya’s monster.

“You didn’t want to come to Winterfell.  Do you want to come to King’s Landing?” Arya patted the beast’s neck.  “It’s alright if you don’t.  I’ll understand.”

Her beast lifted its head and let out a haunting howl that sent chills through Sandor.  It was one thing when they were pups.  And Jon Snow’s beast never howled.  Sandor knew they were dead if Arya’s beast decided on it. There were nearly forty unnaturally large wolves on the road.

Arya glanced at Sandor and Gendry.  She nudged her horse forward who jumped at her touch.  The horse started forward slowly.  Clearly spooked like the other two.

“Come on you two.” Arya called over her shoulder.

Gendry started after her immediately.  His horse bucked a bit and the idiot clutched at his saddle until it calmed down again. Arya’s beast padded along beside her. It’s back came up almost as high as her horse’s.  Sandor felt a chill crawl up and down his spine.  He shook it away and started after them.

GENDRY

“She’s bigger than Ghost.” Gendry said, nodding to the dire wolf pacing their campsite.  Arya smiled.

“Ghost was the runt. Not quite part of the family….” A tinge of sadness whispered over her eyes before she locked it away.

Gendry cleared his throat and cast a cautious eye at the Hound who was snoring nosily on the other side of the fire.  “I’m going to Maidenpool.”

“Maidenpool?” Arya repeated.

Gendry nodded.  “I’m supposed to be at Dragonstone.  I’m going to take a boat from there.”

“Why didn’t you go to White Harbor?  Take a ship from there?”

Gendry scratched just above his eye and wrinkled his face.  “Got lost… a bit.”  He admitted sheepishly.

Arya looked back to Nymeria. She nodded.  Gendry pushed away the twinge in his gut.  He’d hoped she’d at least look a little sad to see him go. Once again, he hoped for too much.

“I thought you’d go to Storm’s End.” She said.

Gendry shook his head. “Gotta win the war before I’m lord of anything.  Besides, I already told you I don’t know the first thing about being a lord.  Dunno what they do or how they do it.  Just know they live in castles and get all the best food.”

Arya snickered.  “Food you have to use forks to eat.”

“Yeah, alright.  Maybe I’ll just die at King’s Landing and I’ll never have to embarrass myself trying to run a holdfast without knowing how to read.”

Arya was quiet.  “Don’t say that.” She whispered.

“What?  It’s true.”

Arya frowned deeply. Her brows knit together in concern. “Maybe you should just go to Storm’s End.”

“I’m just as much a fighter as you are.” Gendry resisted the urge to add a ‘M’lady’ at the end.

“Fine.  Just don’t go into battle thinking you’re going to die.” She ordered.

Gendry couldn’t resist. “Why?”

Arya pursed her lips. “I don’t want you to die.”

Gendry knew he shouldn’t smile.  Still, he couldn’t help it.  He liked to hear her admit she cared about him.  Even just a bit.

“You don’t hate me, then?”

Arya wrinkled her face at him.  “Why would I hate you?”

Gendry pulled at the grass. “For asking you to marry me.”

Arya rubbed her eye and looked at the Hound across the fire.  He looked dead if he weren’t snoring so loudly.  Arya stood up and reached her hand down for Gendry.  He stared up at her in wonder.  He didn’t know if he should take her hand or if it was somehow a trap.  Arya looked further into the trees, waiting for him to decide.

Gendry took her hand and got to his feet.  She led him into the trees.  Away from the fire.  Gendry licked his lips nervously.

“Should we be this far from the fire?” He whispered.

Arya looked over her shoulder at him.  “What are you afraid of?  Wolves?”

She got him there.  He didn’t suppose there were any wolves enough to rival Nymeria’s pack.  Arya found a small clearing in the trees and turned to him.  She moved slowly.  Waiting for him to stop her.  A part of him said he should, but his need of her won out.  She kissed him slowly until Gendry returned the kiss.

His arm went around her waist as he kissed her.  Irresistible. That was the word he would use to describe Arya Stark.  She pushed his cloak off his shoulders and undid hers.  Gendry pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.

“Here?”

Arya pulled at the stays on his tunic.  “You have a room nearby?”

Gendry let her pull his shirt off while he worked at her tunic.  She kissed him again as he worked.  It was okay by him.  He didn’t need to see to finish the task.  They broke apart to peel away their shirts.  It was cold.  He wished they at least had a fire to keep them warm, but Arya’s touched burned wherever she touched.

Arya shucked her pants and pushed him down on the blanket of clothes they had made.  Gendry pulled her head down to kiss her again.  His hands wandered over her body.  His mouth went to her neck.  He relished the small gasp that escaped her lips.

She was working herself down over him before he knew it.  Gendry grabbed her around the waist and turned them over.  Arya stared up at him wide eyed.  He grinned down at her before rocking his hips forward.  He saw the delight light in her eyes.  She hitched her legs higher and spurred him on like he was one of the horses.

She sighed beside him with content.  Gendry sat back and stared down at her.  He wondered if it would be enough for him.  To have her like this.  Not as a wife, but as a lover.  So long as she was willing, he would never take a wife.  There would only ever be Arya for him.  Couldn’t she see he would do anything for her?

Gendry’s eyes dropped down to her scars again.  He could just barely see them in the dark of the forest.  Arya could see him looking.  She sat up and started pulling her clothes back on.  Gendry reached out to her too quickly.  She pulled away a bit.

“Wait.” He begged.  He kissed her again.  “Do we have to go back just now?”

Arya dropped her eyes down his body.  She looked back at him.  “It’s cold out here.  We could get sick.”

Gendry sighed and sat back, working his shirt from under Arya.  It was wet and cold, but he put it on anyway.  Arya slid into his lap and kissed him long and good.  Gendry fell back in the wet grass and let her have her way. No sooner had they finished again than Tormund’s drunken words came back to him.

“Was I really your first?” He asked like the idiot he was.

Arya pulled up her pants and worked at the ties.  She frowned at Gendry.

“You’re my only.”  She assured.

Gendry pulled up his own pants wearing the biggest grin he’d ever had.  He knew Tormund was full of shit.  That wildling may have had more experience than he did, but he didn’t know Arya.  He shook his cloak out as best he could before tying it back around his shoulders.  He looked at Arya.  He couldn’t think of any woman he’d ever want to be with more than her.  If he had to give her the moon for that to happen, he’d do it.

The Hound was up when they got back to the fire.  He took one look at them and groaned so loud he sent the wolves howling.  Gendry sat down beside the fire and tried to warm back up. Arya stood a ways away plucking at leaves stuck to her clothes with dew.

“Here I had hoped the wolves had dragged the two of you off.” He grumbled.

Nymeria stood and began to sniff at Arya.  Her hair was a mess and filled with grass.  Her cheeks were flushed.  Arya scratched at the wolf’s ears.  Ears that were as large as her hand.  Gendry remembered the first time he’d seen Ghost.  Jon’s wolf looked like a puppy beside Nymeria.  The wolf pressed her nose against Arya’s belly sniffing deeply.  Gendry’s stomach dropped when the she wolf turned its big, yellow eyes on him.

The animal stepped over to him.  It was unnerving that it could be so silent as big as it was.  It’s nose was cold against Gendry’s cheek.  He ducked his head and leaned away.  Nymeria sniffed at his cloak and tunic.  Her teeth were as long as his fingers.

“Nymeria, you’re scaring him.” Arya admonished.

Nymeria’s ears flicked back at the sound of her voice.  She gave a final huff and plopped down beside him.  Arya stared at the wolf with a blank expression.  Gendry wished she’d just say what she was thinking.

“We’ll reach Harrenhal tomorrow.  We’ll sleep in an inn.  Unless your damned wolves kill the villagers.” The Hound grumbled.

“If they do, it just means we don’t have to pay.”

The Hound gave a short laugh and shook his head.  “Cold bitch.” He muttered.

Arya moved to the fire at last and lay down.  She pulled her cloak around her and shut her eyes.  Her cheeks were still flushed and grass and leaves still clung to her.  He could watch her forever.  Whatever she did.  Wherever she went.  He’d always found her fascinating.  He’d never known a girl so fearless.  Maybe not fearless.  He’d seen her afraid too many times to count.  But brave.

They shared a room at an inn outside Harrenhal.  Arya dropped 10 gold dragons into the innkeeper’s hand in exchange for their fattest pig.  She took it outside for Nymeria and the pack.  One pig wouldn’t be enough to feed them all, but Arya explained it might stave off any attacks on the villagers.

“I start east tomorrow.” Gendry said though he knew she already knew.

Arya had relaxed around him again.  She’d been cagey since his proposal.  His stupid stupid proposal.  Arya locked up again.  She rolled onto her side away from him.  He touched her tentatively.  Just the tip of his fingers smoothing down her arm.

“You might get lost again.” She said.  “Then what will you do?”

“Hot Pie said it was a straight shot once I hit the Bay of Crabs.”

“What does Hot Pie know about traveling?”

“Well, he works at the crossroads.  Talks to a lot of travelers.  I figure he must’ve picked up something over the years.” Gendry reasoned.

Arya had nothing to say back to that.  Gendry flipped onto his back and looked up at the ceiling.  His chest hurt all over again as a sudden realization dawned on him. There was a very real possibility that this was the last he would see of Arya Stark.  Either of them could die or they both could.  Even if they survived, she didn’t want to be with him.  She might vanish into the trees or across the seas.

“Do you remember the last time we came to Harrenhal.  When we were in chains?” Arya whispered.

Gendry looked over at the back of her head.  “Yeah, and I almost had a rat eat through my gut?”

“I thought we were going to die a thousand times over, but we never did.”  She sounded strangely hollow.  “I was sure we were going to die at Winterfell.  I thought the Others would take us all, but we didn’t.  We both survived.”

“Thanks to you.”  He pointed out.  Arya was quiet for a long while.

“You can’t die this time either.” She said at last.  “You have to survive and you have to go and be Lord of Storm’s End.  And you have to marry some highborn lady and have a family and live happily.”

Gendry felt the life whoosh out of him.  

“I won’t.” He said.  “You’re all the family I’ve ever had.  You’re it.  Just you.”

“Please.  You had those three other girls.”

Gendry turned Arya onto her back so she would look at him.  “I never loved them.  Never.”

Arya avoided his eyes. “You could.  You could love someone else.”

“I never will.”

“Gendry –”

Gendry silenced her by kissing her fiercely.  If it was to be their last night together he’d rather they spent it happily.  He didn’t want it to be true.  He didn’t want them to never see each other again.  To never touch each other again.  Never kiss each other.

He woke up to an empty bed. It hurt, but he was unsurprised. They hadn’t left long before him. A few wolves still lingered.  They looked at him expectantly as they followed him down the road.  When he reached the fork leading east, he faltered.  If he continued south he’d meet up with them again.  He’d see her again.

Gendry turned his horse to the left and started for Maidenpool.  The wolves started after him at first until they realized he wasn’t going to join up with their pack.  Then, they abandoned him, too.

ARYA

“If you love him so much, why’d you turn him down?” The Hound graveled.

Arya fixed her face for the lie.  “I don’t love him.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Arya looked down at Nymeria, still padding along beside her.  Not even Grey Wind had been so big when she’d seen him at Riverrun.  Arya remembered what it had felt like to see him slaughtered in his cage.  To see her brother’s headless body paraded around.  She remembered thinking that her father must have looked the same at the Sept of Baelor.

She spent her life having her family snatch away from her.  Her home.  Everyone she loved.  The ache she got in her chest just thinking about them was near unbearable.  She didn’t want to love anyone else.  Gendry made it so hard not to love him.  If she didn’t, maybe she wouldn’t be so terrified that he would be just another body to burn.

Cersei, the Mountain, Euron.  She thought.  The Hound had inssited he be the one to kill his brother, but until the man’s body lay at her feet, his name would stay on her list.  She repeated the list in her head over and over again.  She must have said it a million times by the time the golden city appeared before them.  Nestled on the shore.

Arya had been excited to go to King’s Landing back when she was a child.  It screamed of adventure and excitement.  By the time they’d reached the crossroads, Arya’s excitement had waned.  Now she rode side by side with the man who ran down her friend all those years ago. Mycah who was just as excited to see King’s Landing as she had been.

“Looks like shit.” Arya announced, staring at the city.  Nymeria and the pack had run off to hunt.  Arya wasn’t worried.  She’d either come back or start back for the Riverlands.

“Smells like shit, too.” The Hound agreed.

They rode down from the hill towards the gates.  She had no idea how the Hound planned on getting through the gates without someone recognizing him.  There wasn’t a soul in all of Westeros that didn’t know his face.

Arya pulled up on her reins. The Hound left to take a piss. She had to work quickly.  She’d already changed out of her Northerner garb at Harrenhal.  Now she pulled out a dress.  She’d had Sansa make it for her special.  She pulled found her serving wench’s face and changed.  She was tying a scarf around her hair when the Hound reappeared.

He squinted at her and then at the horse.  Arya smiled. The serving wench had a pretty face and a nice smile.  Most men looked lustful when they saw her.  She remembered Walder Frey smacking her rear lasciviously before she slit his throat.

“Who’re you?” The Hound growled.

“Annara, M’lord.” She said with a flutter of her lashes.

The Hound moved over and snatched her horse’s reins from her.  “Best you leave here while you can, girl.”

“Leave?”  She frowned.  “That’s just what I intended, but m’lord snatched away the horse.”

“This isn’t your horse. If you were smart, girl, you’d run the other way before the horse’s owner gets back ad sees you tried to steal from her.” The Hound warned.

Arya wanted to laugh. He was using Arya to threaten a stranger.  Annara sashayed over to the Hound and settled her hand on his forearm flirtatiously. Just to see what he would do.  The Hound scowled down at her and snatched his arm away.

“Go before the wolves come.” He snapped.

“Wolves, M’lord?”  She asked innocently.

As if summoned, they appeared out of the forest around them.  Nymeria came last.  Annara looked frightened.  She looked up at the Hound.  Even he looked wary.  Almost as bad as when they’d been surrounded by them at the crossroads.

“Where’s that damned girl when you need her?” He muttered.

Nymeria stepped over to Annara and stuck her nose in her face.  She snuffled and Annara squeezed her eyes shut with fear.  Nymeria lowered her head and nuzzled Annara’s belly.  She sighed in defeat.  She could fool a hound, but not a wolf.

Annara scratched at the wolves big head familiarly.  Her muzzle was coated with blood.  The pack must have been successful in their hunt.  

“Faceless Men.” The Hound rumbled.  “Fuck’s sake. I thought the shapeshifting was a myth.”

Annara patted Nymeria and rolled her eyes at the Hound.  “I can’t very well walk into King’s Landing as Arya Stark and expect a private meeting with the queen.”

“You think a lowborn girl is any better?”  He challenged.

“Annara will get me through the gates.  Once I’m there, I can get myself a new face.  I’m thinking her hand will give me the access I need.”

“And how do you plan on getting to the hand?”

Annara smiled easily at him. “Oh, well, I have information about the queen’s brothers.  Very important.”

The Hound frowned at her thoughtfully.  “My brother’s still mine to kill.”  He grumbled, mounting his horse.

“Unless he kills you first.” Annara tossed back.  Her peasant’s dress made it harder to ride.  “Pull up your hood, Father.”

The Hound scoffed to mask a chuckle.  He did as she said and they rode toward the gates in relative silence.  The Hound pulled up before they left the trees.  He stared first at the gate then at Annara.

“You’re right, you know. He might kill me.  So if I die, I want you to promise me something.”

Annara nodded easily. Annara could promise anything. She wasn’t real.

“Arya, promise me.” The Hound insisted.

“It’s Annara.” She corrected.

“Yes, but I’m talking to Arya Stark.  The bitch that killed the Night King.  And I want Arya Stark to make me a promise.”

She never gave the Hound enough credit.  He was smarter than anyone would guess.  She pulled Annara’s face away and met the Hound’s eyes evenly.

“What?”

The Hound looked back at the gate again.  “If you don’t die in there I want you to find that smith.  You don’t have to marry the idiot, but you do have to find him.”

“Why do you care?” Arya asked, startled by his request.

The Hound glowered at her. “Because I don’t want you to spend all your thinking on death just so you can end up a miserable old shit like me. You’re alive.  He’s alive.  And you love each other.  I may not like the cunt, but I know he’s good for you.  Promise me.”

Arya looked down at Nymeria at her side.  Wild as she was, she’d come when Arya had needed her.  She was here with her whole pack.

“Arya.”  The Hound insisted.

“I promise.”

She pulled Annara’s face back over her own.  She had promised.  It didn’t feel like a lie.