#oh well. i should have breakfast before i freeze in the desert all day

[oliviajdjarin]

Chapter 1: a tug

Warnings: PTSD, sadness, depression, panic attack, mentions of violence

Author’s note: this is part one of my series called “Burning Red.” This is kind of boring because it is a set up for the main storyline, but I hope you enjoy it! Any constructive criticism and support is greatly appreciated. And if I missed a warning, please let me know!!

After everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve done, everyone you’ve hurt, it felt good to just lay low.

A mechanic on tatooine was not what you imagined, but it did the trick.

No one saw you for who you truly were, and that made you happy.

Well, except for Peli.

You came to her sick and angry and alone, and she nursed you back to health. You would be rotting in the desert if it wasn’t for her, and you felt you owed her a little something.

So, you used your “uncommon” set of abilities to help her with her mechanics in any way she needed.

This included: cooking, cleaning, repairing, negotiating, and most importantly, defending.

Peli was no dummy. She knew you had more experience in that field than she did. So she recruited you, and paid you back with whatever she had laying around. A new outfit once and a while, a warm bed, a hot dinner, and a couple of credits so you could go shopping and get out of her hair.

You couldn’t blame her. You were a hell of a lot of trouble to be around.

Constant nightmares, paranoia, and regret surrounded your aura like a fog. Any normal person wouldn’t notice, but someone like Peli could. And it pissed her off a good majority of the time.

“Stop moping and help me clean this oil off my droid,” and sentences like this one, were said pretty frequently around your place.

Was it even your place? All you did was survive. Is that enough to say you lived there instead of just survived there?

You really liked Peli. She gave you a base. A “home” of sorts, and for that you were forever indebted.

But something in you always called you back to your real home, and that scared you more than Peli’s tough love. More than you could even describe.

~~*~~

It was a pretty normal day on Tatooine. The wind howled, the sand covered everything in its wake, and the heat. You would never get used to it.

You were eating your breakfast when a ship landed on the landing pad, and you could already tell it was a doosey just by the way the left engine was sputtering.

If this ship explodes, we better get a damn good pay, you think to yourself.

The ramp starts to open and you take that as your queue to start the walk to your makeshift room. It was really a storage room, but you didn’t mind.

When you get there, you squat down to the ground behind your door and grab your apron and set of tools. You knew Peli would need some help with this ship.

You hear the ship’s ramp hit he ground and you feel it.

A tug.

Not even a tug, a lurch. It felt like a rope had been tied to your soul and pulled you back into your old self.

This was a tug you hadn’t felt in so long. So long, it almost knocks you off your feet.

I closed myself off from this, you think. I shouldn’t feel this. I don’t want to feel this.

You already feel a headache coming on from the shock and ache in your bones, so you start walking back to the landing pad to tell Peli you aren’t feeling too well.

If I get recognized, we are both dead.

You’d rather get a scolding from Peli than a scolding hot gun wound in your chest.

“Hey,” you hear Peli shout at the client, and you pick up your pace. Your heart is hammering in your chest and you feel the panic ooz through your body.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt this, but you hate how it makes you feel alive.

You finally make it to Peli and you see her speaking very loudly (she doesn’t like to use the word “yelling”) at what seems to be your client.

But this is no ordinary client. This is a Mandalorian.

A very broad Mandalorian who, no offense to Peli, could knock her out in his sleep.

You had heard legends of their kind. But worst of all, you had fought them. And damn were they good.

You hadn’t seen any since the purge. You had heard rumors of them hiding under ground, but they had always been peaceful people. You hated how they got dragged into a war.

“You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it,” Peli says, and you really wish she would use a more peaceful tone.

The last thing you want to do right now is fight a very impressive looking Mandalorian covered entirely in beskar while your entire body is tingling.

Is he the one who is force sensitive?

“Just keep them away from my ship” he says, and you are surprised at how well he is taking Peli’s annoyance.

“Yeah? You think that’s a good idea?” Peli responds in a tone dripping with sarcasm and you take this as your moment to try to sneak away.

This however, was unsuccessful.

“Come on y/n. Let’s take a look at his ship,” she says and the Mandalorian turns his helmet towards you.

You probably look like an absolute mess. Your chest is heaving, you are sweating, and you are not at all prepared to do any sort of repairs. You are basically in your pajamas. The Mandalorian’s gaze has you nervous enough, but this familiar feeling in your stomach has you dizzy and nauseous.

Just hold on......

You start to follow Peli to the ship while still looking at the Mandalorian. You learned very early on in your life to never take your eyes off a predator. He follows your form and you try your best to mask his incredibly strong force connection gripping your chest.

This man isn’t even trying to hide it? It’s almost as if he is reaching for me?

You make it to Peli where you finally take your eyes off of him. You can see why Peli was so mad now.

“Oof! Look at that,” she says as she scans the ship with her eyes. “You’ve got a lot of cabron scoring up top. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in a shoot out.”

Oh my God, he was in a shoot out.

This is really not good. This man could have been followed and you could be surrounded at this very moment. You were a skilled fighter, but those kinds of odds were almost unbeatable. Especially when you were still trying to hide your identity.

You are so tense you feel like you could snap. You still feel his eyes on you, and you are praying to whatever is out there that you can just stay alive. That’s the only thing you’re good at.

“Name’s Peli Motto. That’s y/n,” she says as she points to you with her wrench.

She did not just tell him your NAME.

“This is my operation. You’re not gonna find a better mechanic on the planet,” she says as she leaned in closer to the engine.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to rotate that. You’ve got a fuel leak. Look at this, this is a mess. How did you even land?”

All you wanted to do was scream.

He is a MANDALORIAN who was just in a SHOOT OUT. He is probably being FOLLOWED and we could be dead because of ME.

“That’s gonna set you back,” she says.

She is concerned about MONEY right now?

Peli is a smart woman, but she was walking you into a trap. You didn’t want her blood on your hands. You didn’t need any more of that.

All of this is happening while you are still on the verge of a panic attack.

This Mandalorian is strong with the force. It is squeezing your lungs and your feet and your hands and your brain. All rational thinking is out the window. You had to get out of here before he manages to suffocate you.

God you hate this feeling. A few years ago you lived with this constantly. It became a part of you. Something you enjoyed. But now...

“I’ve got five hundred imperial credits,” the Mandalorian says.

Imperial credits. Great. How did he get his hands on those?

“That’s all you got? Well..” she says and looks back at you.

“What do you think,” she asks in a teasing tone.

You try to plead to her with your eyes. You are sweating beyond belief and your brain is about to explode.

She tightens her brows in confusion at your state, but continues to bargain.

“That should at least cover the hanger,” she says and you feel your jaw almost drop to the floor.

How can she not see it?

“I’ll get you your money,” the Mandalorian mumbles and you try to take a deep breath. Passing out in front of one of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy who may be here to kill you would rip off the last bit of pride you had left. If you are going down, you are going down with a fight.

“I’ve heard that before,” Peli responds and looks at you in a joking way. Like she was trying to coax you into laughing with her.

You try to chuckle back, but it just comes out in a low breath.

You sound insane.

“Just remember—,” the Mandalorian starts

“No droids. I heard ya,” Peli finishes.

“Why do you think I keep this girl around,” she says chuckling with a pat on your back.

You muster up the strength to smile and feel holes burning in your head from the Mandalorian’s gaze.

He really knows how to stare.

The Mandalorian leaves the hanger, and it takes everything in you not to pass out right there.

You thought with him leaving it would die down, but it’s only getting worse.

“Are you ok,” Peli asks and helps you lower yourself to the ground.

You are breathing frantically now and your hands are clutched to your chest.

“He has it,” you say and you know Peli knows what you mean.

She looks at you with wide eyes and you see the realization on her face.

“Oh my god.... he was in a shootout,” she says.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out. The desperate force connection is starting to fade and you feel your lungs fill up with air once more.

“He could have been followed! Or he could be here to—“

“Kill us,” you say. Peli hates when you finish her sentences, but there was no point in caring right now.

“Ok. Get inside. If I need you I will call for you,” she says and you nod, slowly getting to your feet.

You start to walk back to your room, with Peli’s arms guiding you, while taking deep breaths, but you freeze when you sense something else coming out of the ship and you snap your head to the ramp.

“What,” Peli says as she follows your gaze.

Your heart flutters. The force is slowly starting to ease its nasty grip on you.

If you didn’t sense the creature, you would miss it.

A little green baby, wrapped in what looked like a potato sack, was strolling down the ramp, looking directly at you.

“It’s him,” you say.

“He has it.”

[stiltonbasket]

how my love springs deep

by stiltonbasket

(read here on AO3!)

Summary:

My Lan Zhan, his husband calls him. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.

Or, the one where Wei Wuxian feeds rabbits, and Lan Wangji reads a love letter.

(brief a/n: this fic was inspired by this heartbreaking work of beauty by @pakhnokh--I had to write Lan Wangji getting adored after witnessing it, come join me on the angst parade T~T)

____

My Lan Zhan, 

    It has been two years and more since I last wrote you a letter, for marriage has joined us both at the hip, and ensured that we are never more than a touch or a cry away from one another. I have you by me always, in every hour of every day; and every love-word that crosses my mind finds its way to my lips in the very moment of its birth, and reaches your ears just as quickly, for I could no more keep silent in my devotion to you than swim the full length of the Songhuajiang against the current. And so I go about my days hence, calling “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan” all the while: but today I have woken before chenshi, and you are still asleep beside me with Xiao-Yu in your arms, and though my every nerve and vein is aching for love of my husband, I cannot bear to wake you to say so. 

    Lan Zhan, sweetheart—when we were first married, you told me once that I colored the world for you the instant we met, and brought every shade of the rainbow with me from Yunmeng to make the Cloud Recesses beautiful. You said that the air that touched me at the gate smelt as if lightning had passed through it, and that the very stones I knelt on in the lanshi’s courtyard began to glitter after I departed, though they had never done such a thing before—and that the Cloud Recesses itself, having been a place of peace and reflection before my arrival, was filled with delight and warmth after my coming, as if that first day was the dawn after a long, long night, and I the sun who gifted it to you. 

    Heaven knows I had no equal words with which to worship you then, my darling, for I was young and still bewildered to know that you loved me. But I have been your husband for nearly three years now, and so I must tell you this—you have driven me mad for love of you, Lan Zhan, and it has been so since we first crossed swords on the rooftop gate when we were eighteen. 

    How mad, you ask? The classics say that love is a proper, courtly thing, to be shown with modesty before others and in its full force only in confidence. But I have never been proper, and so I must tell you that if you were a flint and steel, seeking only to light a flame and a tinder-heap to light it in, I would take form as a sun-parched forest, and set myself afire at your touch so that I might be beside you thus. If you were a god, roaming the heavenly kingdoms while my mortal flesh kept me constrained below, I would take the habit of a priest and devote myself to your prayer; and if you were a grain of sand in the Gebi desert, and I a traveler sick with thirst, I would fall to my knees and sift through every dune and basin to find you before drinking even a drop of water. 

    If I were freezing in the great mountains above Gusu, whose peaks are lush in the springtime but shrouded in snow in the winter, I would be well and happy if I had the warmth of your hand in mine; and when I am in my jishi, with the doors thrown open to let in the wind, I drop my knives and tools at the sound of your voice and stand there enraptured until you fall silent again. My heart nearly beats out of my body with everything you say, and everything you do; and when you look at me I lose all knowledge of speech and reason, recalling nothing but your name and your smiles unless some show of wit is necessary—which it very well might be, with you and I being what we are, and all our doings riddled with puzzles that would have bewildered even the scholars who founded our clan. 

    Lan Zhan, I love you so desperately that to be away from you is torment, and to be with you has always been paradise, even when you were sitting on one side of the library pavilion and reading Lan An’s poetry, and I was on the other with my brush and parchment, pretending to copy lines while I sketched a portrait of you and painted flowers into your hair. You have made me more your own with every passing day, though in every moment I fully belong to you, and there is no strangeness in it—as if new pieces of my spirit are formed shichen by shichen, and bound unto you before drawing their first breaths.

    I could go on endlessly, xingan, and exhaust even the lanshi’s stocks of paper in my adoration—but it will soon be breakfast time, and the hens have not been fed, nor the eggs collected, and neither have the rabbits been given their greens. I must go and tend to them now; only wait for me, and I will be back at your side again before you have time to miss me. 

    Ever yours, my husband—

        Wei Ying.

    P.S.—I left a pot of ginger porridge on the table by the bed, if you should wake and be hungry before I return. There is only a little, since the rest is still cooking in the kitchen, and you and A-Yu will still have an appetite for breakfast if you finish it all. 

_____

After Lan Wangji wakes and reads the folded letter on his bedside table, he scarcely glances at the tiny blue pot of ginger congee before stumbling out of bed and putting his shoes on. He is dressed in nothing but a thin white undergown, since he gave up dressing warmly at night when he first began sleeping beside Wei Ying; but he does not bother putting on a coat, and pauses only long enough to tuck a sleepy Xiao-Yu back under the covers before bounding out of the jingshi and hurrying downhill in his nightshirt. 

“Wei Ying!” he calls, when he passes the tidy chicken pen—home to ten brown hens, which Lan Wangji brought to the Cloud Recesses as a gift for Wei Ying before they were married—and finds the chickens pecking away in the yard, eating grains of fresh corn that had clearly just been thrown out by Wei Ying’s dear hands. But Wei Ying must have finished collecting the eggs, and gone on towards the warded field on the fringes of the bamboo forest to scatter vegetables for the rabbits; so Lan Wangji presses on, running with the wind at his back and the sharp pebbles underfoot almost piercing through his slippers. He reaches the rabbit field in less than a minute, careening between stalks of bamboo like a man possessed, and throws himself at Wei Ying so forcefully that he knocks his husband backwards into the soft grass at their feet. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wheezes, as his lettuce basket flies out of his hand and lands near the entrance to a burrow: mercifully, the basket of eggs must have been set aside somewhere else before Wei Ying arrived to feed the rabbits. “Lan Zhan, sweetheart, what are you doing here? Is Xiao-Yu—?”

“Do not worry. Xiaohui is still asleep,” Lan Wangji assures him, bringing Wei Ying’s sun-warmed hands to his mouth and kissing them. “I came to find you because I read your letter.”

Wei Ying smiles, beaming from ear until Lan Wangji finds himself gasping for breath at the beauty of the sight before him. “I thought you must have. You were cuddled up against me when I woke up, and you were holding Xiao-Yu between us to keep him warm...and I couldn’t help it, Lan Zhan! You were so sweet that my heart could scarcely bear it, so of course I had to write it down for you.”

“Perhaps I should take up the habit of writing you love letters,” muses Lan Wangji, kissing Wei Ying’s delighted grin straight from his lips. “What do you think, xingan?”

“I think that waking to find you beside me every morning already brings me so much joy I could burst, darling. If you really did start leaving love letters for me to find, I would fold myself into your arms and never come out again.”

“Mm, perhaps you would. But that would please me greatly, so I suppose I will have to do it.”

His husband pinches his cheek. “Lan Zhan!”

“I am listening, beloved. With all my heart.”

Wei Ying covers his face and tries to roll out of Lan Wangji’s grasp, wriggling about six inches away before Lan Wangji takes him by the waist and draws him back. “Lan Zhan,” he wails, as a couple of baby rabbits hop up onto Lan Wangji’s back. “You can’t say such things, you silly man! See how my face is burning, look!”

“I’m looking,” Lan Wangji teases, tracing Wei Ying’s red cheeks with the pads of his own pale fingers. “I am always looking. I love my husband dearly, and he is very beautiful to look at.”

“Well, my husband is not so young as he used to be. Perhaps he is mistaken.”

“Oh?” He punctuates the inquiry with another searing kiss, pulling Wei Ying up into his arms and holding him so close that he can feel the stutter of his breathing, and his pulse beating quickly against Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Do you really think so?”

But the only reply Wei Ying gives him is a tender look that shakes Lan Wangji down to his jindan, and leaves him struggling for air all over again as Wei Ying wraps his arms around him. 

In the end, they do not leave the clearing until nearly half an hour later; the grass is as comfortable a cushion as two sweethearts could want, and the rabbits keep leaping around them and making Wei Ying laugh, so they lie there, cheek to cheek and chest to chest until they remember Xiao-Yu, all by himself in the jingshi with no one to hear him cry if he wakes up frightened to find himself alone. 

The thought of their son has Lan Wangji leaping to his feet with Wei Ying’s hand in his, and then they bolt back towards the house and retrieve the basket of eggs on the way, running nearly fast enough to outstrip Wen Ning at his swiftest before Wei Ying throws the doors open and barrels into the bedroom. 

“A-Yu!” he calls, letting out a shout of laughter as Lan Wangji comes jogging up behind him. “Xiao-Yu, baobei, what are you doing?”

“I’m eating ginger porridge,” Xiao-Yu chirps. The little lotus-shaped pot of congee is nestled snugly in his arms, and A-Yu is eating out of it with the large spoon Wei Ying left behind for Lan Wangji. “Papa and A-Niang went out, so Xiao-Yu is having breakfast.”

“Aiyah, Xiao-Yu,” Wei Ying groans, taking the pot away from A-Yu and wiping his dirty face with a handkerchief. “That was for you and Papa, sweetheart, since I was going to be late back. How will you eat your breakfast properly now?”

“But A-Yu is still hungry,” the little boy insists, trying to grab the spoon. “A-Niang, let me finish?”

“Wait a little longer,” scolds Wei Ying. “I still have to cook the rest of the porridge with steamed dan, and make chicken soup to go with it. Now be a good child and go with Papa to take your bath, and breakfast will be ready when you finish dressing.”

Xiao-Yu nods and jumps off the bed, scurrying off towards the washroom on the other side of the house, and leaves his parents to embrace each other once again before they part to attend to their own duties. 

“What do you want this afternoon, qinai?” Lan Wangji murmurs, as Wei Ying’s head falls onto his shoulder. “The tradesmen ought to have sent up the day’s groceries by now, so I will make lunch while you teach your talisman class.”

Wei Ying blinks, very slowly, and then he stands up on his toes and plants one last, lingering kiss between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. 

“Teach my talisman class with me,” he entreats. “When we get back, we can make lunch together.”

(And so they do, and just like all the other dishes Lan Wangji has shared with Wei Ying, that afternoon’s luncheon tastes fresher and sweeter than every meal before it.)

[ironmariposa]

(I’ll be your) Sanctuary

Pepper watches as Tony comes to terms with Peter being gone.

Found on Ao3

Tony swipes the glass of water off his tray and it shatters against the wall.

“Jesus.” Happy says shaking his head as he leaves the room to presumably get something to clean up the mess.

Pepper for her part hasn’t moved an inch, “Feel better?” she asks with a touch of sarcasm.

“Not at all. Fuck!” He slams his hands down on the tray and then brushed it aside with a crash as well, “What were they thinking? What the fuck were they thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Pepper whispers as she sits on the edge of his bed, reaching out a hand to brush over his leg. A lazy show of comfort they both know, but still effective as the anger inside of him calms.

“They weren’t. They weren’t thinking at all and now…” Tony’s breath hitches as tears fill his eyes and slide down his cheeks. Pepper freezes, she can count on one hand the number of times she has seen Tony cry. Eleven years with this man and only one hand.

“Now my only chance to get him back is gone.” He drops his face in his hands as the door cracks open and Happy sticks his head in, Pepper shakes her head at him and he just as quietly leaves, “My kid is gone and I don’t know how to… I don’t… Oh God, Oh God.”

Pepper slides up the bed and grabs the back of Tony’s neck, pulling him to her, she says the only word that has ever helped him during past panic attacks. “Breath.”

He attempts a deep breath but it catches in his throat and she rubs his neck then slides her hand down his back, “Okay try again. With me. In.” And she sucks in a loud breath then “Out.” She slowly lets it out. He manages a few deep breaths before settling back against the bed.

Sliding out of her shoes, Pepper climbs up beside him, tucking his head against her chest, “Just breathe with me.”

His first breath hitches but eventually his breathing settles enough that he falls asleep.

“I’m pregnant.”

Tony’s eyes widen and he drops the toothbrush, “You’re?”

Pepper gives him a half smile, “Pregnant. I didn’t know it at the time you asked, before..” she waves her hand, “but you obviously did.”

He silently stares over her shoulder and she tries to stop herself from saying it but the words just fly out, “I’m so sorry.”

That jerks him back to her and he steps to her, pulling her into his arms, “Whatever for?”

She has her face tucked into that spot between his neck and shoulder, it’s one of her favorites. She breathes in deeply and regardless of him going to space and nearly dying on her, he still smells the same. “I just know this isn’t the best time to announce a pregnancy. We’re all grieving. You’re grieving the loss of a child.”

Tony inhales sharply, “He wasn’t..”

Pepper pulls back and reaches up to hold his face in her hands, her eyes searching his, “He was Tony. He very much was in all ways but one. Don’t deny yourself that. He was your kid and you’re allowed to grieve as any father would. I know,” Pepper chokes on her words as tears fill both of their eyes, “Peter would agree and so would May.”

His hand tangles in her hair as he pulls her back to him and hides his face in her hair, “How is she? Have you talked to her.”

“No. But Happy is with her now. He’ll let us know.”

They’re quiet for so long as he holds her against him. Her arms are curled around his back and she grips his shirt. She has moments where she remembers just how close she was to losing him. And this is the only thing that anchors her. His touch. His scent.

Pepper’s not a genius. Not in the ways that Tony, Rhodey or even Peter is, was, but she knows what Tony is considering.

She catches him standing in the room's doorway for the third time and approaches him quietly. Brushing her fingers over his back.

She lets him know she’s okay with it one night as they lay in the dark, his arms wrapped around her from behind, his fingers splayed over her stomach, “We can make it his room.” His fingers freeze but he doesn’t respond, and she covers his hand with hers, “you know just in case he…”

He pulls away from her, rolling into his back and covering his eyes with his arm. Slowly, she rolls over to face him.

“He’s not.” his voice is rough.

“I don’t one hundred percent believe that.” She whispers, “between you and Cap and the others, you’ll figure something out.”

“Doubtful.”

Pepper sighs. Tony has so many moods and she knows them all, including this one. It’s his stubborn, I’ve given up on the world mood. It usually doesn't last long but also things have never been this bad.

“I love you.” She kisses his cheek and lays her head on his chest. She’s nearly asleep when she feels his arm move from his eyes to wrap around her side.

“Love you too.” He mumbles into her hair.

Pepper remembers the first time she met Peter. It was the night before their engagement party and she had come home to Tony and a kid asleep on the couch with a movie playing on the screen. The two of them weren’t touching or close by any means but they were both turned to one another. As if in sleep it had come naturally. Pepper knew Peter had been spending more time at the compound with Tony in the lab. But this was the first she knew of them spending time outside of the lab. She also knew Tony was growing more and more fond of the kid. When he was interested in something he never stopped talking about it and lately it had been “The kid this” and “The kid that.”

The next morning as she watched Peter and Tony verbally banter as they made breakfast, she had a vision of having a kid with Tony for the first time ever.

Rhodey helps with the nursery. They find out they’re having a girl. Pepper is silently relieved. She’s not sure how Tony would handle having a boy so soon after Peter. They both agree on naming her Morgan.

They decide to have a quiet wedding by the lake. Just the two of them with Rhodey as their ordained minister. Happy and May as their witnesses.

“He should be here for this.” She hears Tony say as May hugs him. She just shushes him as her hand slides up his back. Pepper turns away to smile at what Rhodey and Happy are talking about.

Natasha and Bruce show up a month before Morgan is due. Pepper stops them with a stare from the front porch.

“How is he?” Nat asks her and Pepper doesn’t answer.

Bruce wrings his hands, “We’re just worried about him Pep. Wanted to make sure you both were okay since we haven’t heard from you.”

She is fond of both Avengers. But she loves her husband more. So she sends them away without them seeing Tony or him seeing them. She reassures them they are all fine.

Morgan is born into the world on a dark, warm night. Pepper had been having contractions most of the day but she keeps it to herself until they start to settle into their evening routine. Most nights they sit together on their front porch swing, talking, reading, eating desert. It's then that she finally turns to Tony and says the words.

“It’s time.”

The words don’t seem to break through his thoughts right away. He just hums and settles onto the swing. She waits for a moment. Two, when it happens. He’s up and out of the seat in a flash, his eyes wide as he repeats her words.

They meet Helen at the local hospital and all goes smoothly. They’re home with their daughter a day later.

Happy and Rhodey visit first and don’t ever really leave for very long. They have their own rooms downstairs, Pepper and Tony like having them there. May comes and she holds Morgan for so long, Pepper gets her first full night of rest. She wakes up both her back and breasts aching.

When Morgan is three months, Nebula, the blue alien Tony says saved his life while in space, visits but she refuses to hold Morgan. Just stares down at her until Morgan flashes Nebula her first real smile. When they all stop celebrating Nebula runs a single blue finger over Morgan’s dark head of hair. “She favors your son.”

Pepper looks to Tony to see a gentle, easy smile on his face. And May sniffles, “I know it’s not possible, but she does.”

At six months Tony starts telling Morgan Spiderman bedtime stories. He cries every night after putting her down but soon he’s able to get through a night without tears. Pepper isn’t sure if it’s an accomplishment or not.

At nine months she starts walking. Surprising all of them but Tony or May. “I was the same.” He says and May smiles softly, “Same with Peter.”

Pepper just holds her arms out to their daughter and laughs as Happy follows closely behind her.

At a year old, Morgan has a long list of words including her favorites, “Mama, Dada, Unc and May.” All her very favorite people.

They have a small party for her out by the lake. Tony shows up with an Alpaca.

“How the hell is that a birthday present?” Happy protests and Pepper agrees but she just shakes her head. Because it’s Tony.

He laughs and laughs at her reaction. His laugh she hadn’t heard in so, so long.

And finally Pepper thinks, they’re okay.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon XVII

Jason is a CEO: Part XVII

masterlist; my links

we are not big grand gestures,

we are little moments

—strung together

on a polaroid wall—

instances that freeze

in time;

timeless anyway

—badpoetry

[image has alt text]

Helping his friends had never been a difficult choice. Even now, three days into what was supposed to be a relaxing holiday, he didn’t feel anything but the overwhelming urge to “sort it out”. Despite the fact that he hadn’t taken more than a day to himself in three years; despite the fact that he was halfway across the world from his home and the people he loved; despite the fact that it was his ex girlfriend who asked for help; despite, despite, despite, that he had woken up this morning with a man who looked like a god and smelt like cool forests and laughed like he was born with an instrument in his throat, wrapped around him. They were all arms and legs and skin. So much glorious, glowing skin. Brown, golden, freckled, smooth, soft, calloused.

And still all Jason Grace could think was, “I need to help her.”

“Percy,” He whispered, “Angel.” How could he disturb such a creature of peace. It seemed almost immoral.

Long black lashes blinked and fluttered, before blurry green eyes trailed the room lazily landing on him. “Well, if it isn’t a good morning indeed.” His gaze travelled the length of their bodies, drinking in the entanglement of their limbs. That voice was made from rolling hills and crunching gravel.

He couldn’t help the smile that fell to his lips as he watched his friend stare at their bodies. “Pretty isn’t it?”

“Ethereal.”

“I have to get up.”

The pout that greeted him almost crumpled his willpower. “Do you have to?” Green eyes were wide. They looked like emeralds under a microscope. Detailed in their pleading. “I can actually stay in bed today. We can have breakfast together, right here.” A brown hand patted the sheets, right near his own fingers. He felt the heat of their skin but nothing touched him.

“I have to help Zoe.” He wanted to snuggle under the duvet and bury his face in the crook of Percy’s neck. “She needs me.”

“What if I need you?” There was no judgement on that beautiful face, just curiosity and mild concern.

“Do you?” He breathed. His lungs were folding in on themselves.

There were several beats of quiet, filled only by their gentle breathing, and the thundering of his heart.

“No.”

Jason cracked in half. He became the canyon in the desert. He became the earthquake in the house. He became the bridge with no rope. He snapped a million times.

“Oh.” The answer was small, and broken.

“I will love you though.”

The world exploded. Jason saw stars become blackholes. Jason became a new universe entirely.

They looked at each other and suddenly he saw the thousands of lives they had lived. He saw the thousand more they would still live. Most especially he saw the one they were living right then, and it was the most beautiful of all.

“Shall we order breakfast?” It was the only thing he could choke out. He would send Reyna’s number to Zoe. They could sort it out. He was here. He wanted to sort himself out.

The beam that graced his friend’s face was worth every screaming thought in his mind that riddled him with guilt.

They both got up to freshen up before diving back into bed, shoulders brushing as they scrolled through their phones and let the sound of a peaceful morning wash over them.

He had thought it would be at least a little weird to be sleeping next to a man he only knew for a year but it felt like some part of him had been comfortable with Percy since the day they were born. Everything was easy: from the way they sat, fitting besides each other, gravitating towards each other; to the things they talked about; every silent question had an answer, every story had shared feelings. Jason knew he wouldn’t fall in love; he would stroll towards it, confident, assured, and excited for the moments to come. He would not look back, not even once.

Breakfast came in a flurry of silver trays and mouth watering smells. They pounced on it as soon as the door shut. Croissants, and pastries, and fruit, and yoghurts. It was a feast that could carry them through the next week. He should have known Percy would order the entire menu.

“Strawberry my good sir?” A brown hand waved near his face, offering him the bright red fruit.

Jason opened his mouth, closing his teeth around the berry which burst with sweetness in his mouth. He couldn’t stop the hum of appreciation that vibrated his throat. The sparkle in those green eyes made him wonder if he should keep making those sounds.

“Are you back at the labs today?” He asked around a croissant, distracting his unsavoury thoughts.

“For a little, and then i have an onsite meeting with the coastal guards and lighthouse keepers.”

“Oh are they a big part of your job?”

He hummed “They know the area and the patterns of the sea better than anyone.”

There was a light in his eyes that made Jason wonder if he ever looked as full of joy when he was talking about his own work. His friend pulled him out of his thoughts with another fruit offering, mango this time.

“I don’t want to talk about work,” He frowned contemplatively. It was rather unfair that even with a crease between his brow, and his mouth quirked Percy still seemed to look like a model, or a god, or something from a Studio Ghibli piece. “Tell me your happiest memory from the last year.”

He leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes as he lost himself to the time reel of the year. It felt both a thousand lifetimes ago and one second from now. “I can’t choose just one.” His eyes are glittering with life past. He refuses to let memories fall down his cheeks.

“Choose three, choose five, tell me everything if you want.” Percy’s voice was a rope over the mountain. He was reaching for it even as he fell.

“The dinner we shared at the university.” He starts. One hand caught the rope.

“The day we met huh?”

“The morning Zoe pitched up at my house and made me late for work.” The ground was so close, and he was still falling.

Percy laughed at the implications hidden in his answer.

“When we danced at the club, I’ve never felt so alive in my life.”

He heard the soft intake from his friend, surprise and… something else coating their thoughts.

The rope was strong under his fingers and he was pulling himself up with ease. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find green ones staring directly at him.

“Do you ever wonder what could have happened if time had slowed down even a fraction of a second the night we met?” The question had sat on his tongue like salt, cutting his tastebuds.

“I’d drive myself insane thinking about all the ways we could have been.” Percy said lowly “I prefer,” He swallowed thickly. Jason wanted to trace the bob of that throat with his tongue. “I prefer to think about all we can do now, now that we can.”

“I think I’ll die if you break my heart.” The fear crystallized him like sugar in a cooling pan. It was the one bridge he still wavered on.

The black-haired man took his hand, fingers cold and warm, and gentle. With a softness that bowed his fear Percy placed Jason’s hand on his chest. His heart was steady, thumping under his palm. He felt the assurance of comfort against his skin. He felt at ease.

“This will belong to you one day,” His friend said quietly, “And when it does it will be fully and completely and without restraint.”

He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t even breathe. All he could do was feel that constant beating heart, and the warmth of a chest, and the glimmer of emerald eyes, and the first blooms of a new beginning.

“I cannot break your heart Jason Grace,” Percy brushed a thumb across his cheek, “Because I will be breaking mine, and my days of self-destruction are long behind me.”

He melted into being and couldn’t help the sigh of happiness that escaped him. If he did nothing else in life, at least he had had this. These quiet minutes that enveloped every fear in a rose scented bag and let the wind take it away. Far, far away.

“Okay.” He finally rasped. His voice was lost to the sea.

Soon after that Percy had to go to work which left him to laze around in their room and snack on the breakfast feast and doze in the warmth of the sun. He didn’t even bother to put on his robe, preferring to feel the rays against his skin, save for the rectangle of boxers he slept in. 

Some part of him wanted to get out and do something but it was quickly squished down by every other part of him that just couldn't do it any longer. Couldn't keep him moving and functioning and thinking.

He summoned up the last bit of energy he could muster and called his lawyer.

“Jason, babe.” Her strong, husky voice ran clear through his speaker, “What can i do for you?”

“Hello Arellano,” He couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity of her. So straight to the point, no nonsense, full of energy. “It’s not actually me that needs your help it’s Zoe.”

“Heavens Grace,” He heard the sigh building in her voice. “I mean I loved her as much as the next and I was sorry to hear you guys had broken up but seriously man how are you helping an ex… again?”

He winced, flashbacks of Luke calling on him again and again even after they had parted screaming through his mind. “I’m not technically helping, I’m just sort of recruiting you to help?”

“What sort of trouble is she in?”

“Her father is forcing her to marry an absolute scumbag of a man.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, “You remember the potential business investor, Octavian?”

“Oh gods,” Reyna groaned, and he couldn't help but share in her sentiment. 

“Yea.” He pulled a face. “Is there anyway you can get her out of this mess and help her with protective immunity or whatever?”

“I’m gonna have to pull some strings and get digging into some seriously shady shit but I think I can.” He heard the grimace in her voice but there was not a trace of reluctance or potential regret. 

“You are incredible!” His sigh of relief was audible enough for the birds outside to imitate it. “I’ll send you her number, and just bill everything to me.”

“You sure?”

“It’s the only way I can help so I will.”

“Then let me get to it.” And then she was gone, already starting the next project.

It’s no wonder they were friends. A bunch of workaholics.

His final call was to Thalia, in which they had a fun little chat that ended with confirmation that Bianca Di Angelo would be paying both Octavian, and Zoe’s father a visit that may or may not result in sudden disappearances and two new people cropping up in another country.

After the morning of maneuvering he couldn't even bear to move from his bed. So he didn't. He wondered if this was what a cat felt like, and then decided it wasn’t possible simply because even cats did more than he had done.

By the time Percy got home, he had showered and was already mostly asleep. Moonlight bathed their bed, the curtains rustled softly, he smelt the sea. The bed dipped just as he drifted off to sleep. 

He didn’t hear the whispered, “Goodnight, my love.” that caught in the blossoms by their nightstands. He didn’t feel the gentle brush of fingers against his cheek. All he felt was peace. His dreams were sweet that night.

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[koolkat9]

In the Deep (Ch. 3)

The Gift

I didn’t get much sleep that night. Ludwig’s pained eyes and deep frown flashed behind my eyes every time I closed them, leading me to spend most of my night tossing and turning. I eventually fell into a light sleep, only to be woken a couple of hours later by Francis calling me for breakfast.

“Fuck off,” I groaned, but got up nonetheless. Despite how tired I was, it was obvious my option of restful sleep was out the window. I got dressed hastily, not even bothering to tie my hair up (at least for breakfast, I’d probably have to put it up for work, but that would be future me’s problem).

“You look terrible mon ami,” Francis tsked at breakfast. I couldn’t be bothered with anything more than a grumble and instead focused the little energy I had on eating. Today’s meal was croissants (homemade most likely) with some fruit and juice. As much as I hated to admit it, Francis had a way with food.

“Trouble in paradise?” The Frenchman went on.

“I told you I’m  not  seeing anyone. At...A-At least not like you’re implying.”

A mischievous glint crossed his eye. “Oh ho? So there is someone?”

“Don’t look at me like that! He’s just a friend.”

“But there is an issue?”

I should have shut up right then and there. Why I had said so much prior is still something I don’t understand, but there was nothing I could do about it at that moment other than keep quiet. Whether it was because Ludwig's sad face was still ingrained in my mind or the pure exhaustion I was feeling, I just kept going: “I don’t know...I guess I pried a little too much and made him upset. H-He said it was okay and I apologized, but I worry I may have pushed him away. There was so much pain in his eyes when we parted ways last night.”

For the first time since I met this man, his usual smirk melted into that of a soft, comforting smile. “Perhaps an apology gift is in order?”

“What good will that do?” I bit back.

“Sometimes a physical action is better at conveying how you feel over words. If that doesn’t work, at least he should be happy with the gift.”

Part of me felt he was trying to dig at me in that second half, but I brushed it off, taking out my frustration on an unsuspecting piece of fruit. “I don’t even know what to get him.”

“Don’t worry dear Arthur. You are in good hands! I’ll take you around town to look after I finish cleaning up here.”

Great, now I was going on an outing with Francis of all people. Could this morning get any worse? Indeed it could because by the time we had cleaned up the dishes from breakfast and were heading out, it began to rain. At least Francis could provide us with the umbrella, but at the same time, it forced us too close together. He smelled stereotypically French, reeking of wine and cheese mixed with the scent of some flowery beauty product.  

I tried to focus on it, turning my gaze to the shop windows, showcasing all kinds of knickknacks and products. ‘What do you even get a merman?’ I thought as we looked over a particular display of books, all of which piqued my own interest. Could he even read? Even if he could, he spent most of his time underwater so a book would not work. Now that I was thinking about it, that crossed off a whole bunch of items: clothing, flowers, blankets, stuffed animals, all out of the question. Every store we went into seemed to only lead to dead ends.

Eventually, we had to stop for lunch empty-handed. Francis took me to a local pub in the town square where he ordered us some potato-based dish, though I was too distracted to catch the actual name. “This is coming out of your paycheck,” He warned, “it's the least you could do for me after all our wild goose chasing today.”

“You’re the bastard who suggested this in the first place.”

“I didn’t realize how troublesome it would be. Usually, you get them flowers or chocolates and then you make up, but your lover seems to hate everything.”

There he was going again, calling Ludwig my ‘lover.’ My cheeks turned red at the statement, not helping my case. “For the millionth time, he’s  not  my lover.”

“Whatever it is, this seems like a lost cause.” For the first time since meeting him, a tired frown replaced his usual cheeriness. It didn’t fit him even though it often annoyed me.

Though I was uncomfortable, I wasn’t good and comforting people (especially those I barely know), so I let my gaze wander to the window. A group of children were chasing each other around the fountain while their mothers talked amongst themselves. Other couples and families were walking from store to store, mostly just browsing in the windows. It was calming looking at the mundaneness of it all while my life was turning into anything but. As I scanned the square, I noticed a jewelry shop just across the way from us and something clicked. Ludwig seemed to like sparkly items considering how much he took to the pendant.

“I think I found something,” I said, turning back to Francis. He gave me a quizzical look, but nonetheless, requested for the bill, paid, and we were on our way.

I led him to the shop I had spotted, admiring the window display once we were there. Something particular caught my eye, a beautiful silver chain with light blue jewels hanging from it. It appeared to be a bracelet of some sort. This was it, this was the gift. It was shiny, blue like Ludwig’s eyes and scales, absolutely perfect.

“You’ve got expensive tastes mon ami...or I guess it's more of this mysterious man. But by the look on your face, it seems perfect.”

I hadn’t even realized I had been smiling. Feeling suddenly exposed, I gave an awkward cough and tried to cover my tracks. “W-Well yes. It looks just like his eyes. I-I’m just...yeah...um...going to go in and buy it. Y-You, don’t have to wait up for me.” So much for covering my tracks. Without another word, I made my way into the shop, ignoring whatever tease came out of that damn Frenchman’s mouth.

---

It wasn’t long before I was back at the inn. Francis gave me the rest of the day off, so I retreated to my room for some rest before going out to meet Ludwig. As I collapsed onto my bed, I grabbed my purchase from the nightstand. Taking the bracelet from the box, I lifted it above my head, allowing it to sparkle in the sun. Ludwig’s scales were far more beautiful, shining even brighter than any jewel, but this would have to do. At some point, my eyes began feeling heavy, my exhaustion returning once everything had calmed down. It wasn’t long before I had fallen asleep.

The sun had almost set by the time I got up. I blinked in a daze before realizing I was late to meeting Ludwig. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck” I angrily whispered to myself as I collected my things, hoping Ludwig had waited up for me.

When I finally got there I found our spot deserted. “God damn it,” I sighed, taking a seat in defeat. At least I could watch the end of the sunset and admire the waves. Like for most of the day, luck was not on my side as dark clouds began rolling in and the breeze picked up. With a sigh, I got up and began making my way back to the beach. As I walked, the weather only seemed to get worse, especially the wind that was whipping me every which way. Like history repeating itself, a particularly strong gust of wind sent me crashing into the water.

Of course, I had been blown in in a deep area, leaving me once again flailing unsuccessfully to keep my head above the water (at least the waves weren’t as bad as last time). As I became more and more desperate and fear took hold I surprisingly found myself shouting for Ludwig. He probably wasn’t around or able to hear me above the storm that was setting in, but he was my best option for help at this point. Soon the cold and exhaustion was getting to me and my world was slowly becoming dark, but before I passed out I heard the faint call of my name.

---

I was back in my room at the inn when I came to. My mind was fuzzy and everything felt sedately warm. It was as if I was wrapped in a soft flame that didn’t burn, but instead wrapped me in a comforting grasp. Although I felt a strange weight around my waist, I paid it no mind as my head was pounding and my nose stuffy. I felt miserable so when sleep began to tug at me once more, I was content to accept it. That was until I felt something move beside me. I immediately shot up, spooking Ludwig who was laying beside me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I screeched. When I noticed I was naked, I immediately pulled the covers up to my chest.

Ludwig’s eyes went wide and his cheeks went red. “I-I’m sorry...I just...your friend said this would help.”

“What?” My scowl deepened when I realized who had put him up to it. “That damn frog,” I seethed, though more to myself than Ludwig.

“I’m sorry. You were freezing...I-I’ll just go,” Ludwig blabbered as he clumsily untangled himself from the sheets and got out of bed.

“Wait...H-How are you…” My mind had finally woken up enough, realizing Ludwig was here, on land, without a tail or scales.

“Oh...I never mentioned we could become human?”

“No.”

“Oh...uh...well I can. I don’t usually, but you were shaking so much so I knew I had to get you home..er… where you were staying so I took it upon myself to get you here. It wasn’t easy, but...shoot I’m rambling aren’t I?”

My gaze softened. Ludwig was far sweeter than any man I had ever met. I couldn’t stay angry with him even if we woke up in a...compromising position (if anything it was Francis’ fault who told him to do it). “So...what exactly happened this time?”

“Well, there was a storm. I found you just as you were about to go under, so I immediately grabbed you. When I got you to shore you were freezing and… I-I didn’t know what else to do so I grabbed my spare clothes and began searching for the inn. That blond man was standing at the door and he recognized you and urged me to bring you inside. He explained I had to get you out of your wet clothes and under the blanket. Th-That’s when he suggested for me to lay beside you...t-too warm you up. I’m sorry again for that. And now we’re here.”

“Well, I-I suppose a thank you is in order,” I said, laying back down on the bed. My wooziness was finally catching up to me. It was clear I was starting to come down with a cold.

Ludwig loomed over me, an unreadable look on his face. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Some water would be nice. Why don’t you go ask Francis.”

He gave me a small nod and made his way to the door. “Oh, Arthur. By the way, that box you were holding onto so tightly is just on your nightstand.”

“Oh.” I looked over to see that velvety, blue box that held Ludwig’s gift perched safely on the table beside my head. “Thank you. For everything”

“Anytime.”

As the door closed, I snuggled into the blankets once more, still chilled either from the ordeal, my cold, or both. Tomorrow for sure I would give him his gift. Right now I was tired and sick, not wanting to do much more than sleep. However, it did not come so easy as the bed felt empty without Ludwig there and that warm, comforting feeling seemed to have gone with him. But sooner or later, my eyes closed and the lingering feeling of Ludwig’s embrace lulled me to sleep.

Ch. 2

Ch. 4

[thou-crusty-batch-of-nature]

Je me laisserai derrière

-I will leave myself behind-

requested by @seriouslysiriuss: hello :))) could i request with prompts 9, 12 and 18 with either sirius or remus?? congrats again on 100 followers!! 🤍🤍💕💕

9."I love you!" "Lying has never been a good look on you.."

12."She's not yours." 

18."Is that my shirt?" 

A/N: ngl i spent so much time working on this fic and i hope with all my heart that you like it:)) thank you so much @approved-by-dentists​ for beta reading it and letting me rant about this fic<333

pairing: sirius x reader

warnings: fluff and a lot of angst™ (i warned you)

gif not mine

You could feel every wall you tried so desperately to hold up shatter one by one. You could feel your heart bleed from the shards they left behind. How could you pretend you were fine? You held your breath and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold your tears back, but your mind kept replaying all those moments you spent together. As if it tried to show your foolish heart what went wrong - where and when you stopped being enough. But how could you ever be enough for him? 

You let your head fall back, hitting the bedpost. You saw your reflection in the mirror on your desk and your eyes - your betraying eyes - slipped to the side of the bed where he used to sit. Where he used to hug you and play with your hair, then tell you how everything would be alright. You needed that lie right now. 

You slid against the bedpost until you let yourself lie on the floor. How many lies did he speak as truths?How many times did you believe him, even when your instincts told you otherwise? He could have told you the sun sets in the east and you would have believed him. You felt numb. You felt like a fool. You still loved him. And that hurt you the most. 

You started crying again. 

***

You got up. It was 4:11 am and you couldn't sleep. It was unexpectedly hot for this time of the year - it was autumn, for crying out loud, you only had jumpers packed! And with Sirius, the human-heater himself, holding you in his arms all night - not that you were complaining :) - you felt like a pumpkin pie in the oven. 

You catch sight of Sirius' t-shirt thrown on a chair. Should you…? I mean, no one was wearing it right now, so who would mind? You confidently slid out of his arms, careful not to wake him, took the shirt and quickly changed your festive pajamas. T’was a bit oversized, but it’s too comfortable for you to mind. You quietly went back to sleep. 

You were woken up by the sound of your alarm. You opened your eyes and saw him - you thought he looked angelic in the morning; his dark curls messily fell on his chiseled face, his full rosy lips sketching a smile every time he felt your touch. You slowly grazed his cheekbone and kissed him, and he tightened his embrace, giving into the kiss. 

He opened his eyes, seeming more awake than ever. He gave you a ravishing smile and kissed you again. 

"Morning Sirius is my favourite." you admitted, aware of the blush blooming on your cheeks. 

"So do you just take advantage of me in the evenings and afternoons? You are so cruel." 

"No, I also love Padfoot." 

"Do you now? I didn't know I was that good at licking…" he unceremoniously declared. 

"You aren't, I just like it when you don't talk." 

"How fascinating!" He propped his chin in his palm, smirking. "Then let me show you what I can do when I don't speak!" 

He tried to kiss you again, but you quickly pushed him and jumped out of the bed. "As much as I wish to do that, we have Transfiguration in 10 and I don't think Minnie would love it very much if we arrived late for the third time this week." you explained, though Sirius wasn't listening. He wasn't even pretending to, as his eyes were travelling all over your body. 

" Is that my shirt?" he got up and asked you in his morning raspy voice. 

" Yes… I was too hot last night and it was the only thing I could find. I can take it off if it bothers you or-" you played it off innocently. Oh, how you liked this game! 

"Love, the only thing that bothers me right now is that we have to go to class." Then, he plodded to the bathroom and took what you assumed to be a freezing cold shower.

***

Sirius lit his third cigarette. 

He didn't think he could hate himself more. Why did he have to ruin every good thing he had in his life? Every time he closed his eyes he saw you. You, sitting with your head in his lap, roses bloomed on your cheeks; you, in the library working on your essay, biting your lip in frustration and now you, sitting by the door of his dorm, blood drained from your face as you saw him with that girl. 

He knew he lost you. He ran after you to your dorm, and when you closed the door in his face he realised: you were gone. He ruined everything you two had, he ruined you. 

He let himself get scared. He had everything he wished for and more, and when he realised you weren't going to leave, he panicked. 

He waited. He waited three hours by the door, listening to your sniffles, then screams, then silence. The silence was the hardest to bear - it was when he realised how deep the scars he left behind would be. 

After that he left. And now he was by the lake. He finished his cigarette and threw it in the water. He hated himself. 

He let his head fall in his hands. Then, he cried. 

***

"You see that? That geometrical hotdog dog constellation, that is Canis Major!" He drew the figure with his wand. "And that -" he pointed to a star "-that is Sirius!" 

You were lying on the quidditch field, watching the stars. "It really is the brightest star in the sky!" you pointed out. 

"Well, did you expect any less from me?" 

"My petty small puppy!" you cooed. "Who is the brightest? You are, yes you are!" you ruffled his curls, earning a growl. "You know, sometimes you act more like a dog when you are a person than when you transform!" 

"I sometimes think you like Padfoot more than me!" 

"I do, but you do know I'm a cat person, don't you?" you asked in your most nonchalant voice. You didn't think you'd ever seen Sirius this disgusted before. 

"But - but they are so MEAN!" he whined. 

"Relax - I'm kidding! Cats are barely in my top 10!" 

"Then which are your favourites?" 

"Definitely stags!"

***

Lily was tired. 

She got to her dorm late after spending her whole afternoon in the library, studying with James. She felt her heart clench when she saw you sleeping on the floor, dried tears glimmering in the dim moonlight. 

She carried you to your bed and tucked you in, then sat next to you. She stayed up all night, holding you tight, making sure you wouldn't be alone if you woke up. The next morning, she kissed your forehead and promised to bring you breakfast when you refused to get up. 

She sat down next to James, who seemed just as tired as she was. He pushed a plate filled with food in front of her. 

"Sirius too?" The boys nodded. "The cheater - heartbroken! As if it wasn't his choice!" she retorts angrily. 

"It was a choice he made he will never stop regretting. He hates himself for what he did." James tried to calm her. 

"As he should!" She cut him. "Y/N doesn't deserve this! No one does! Why, why would he do this?" 

"I wish I knew." he whispered. 

"How is she holding up?" Remus asked.

"I found her on the floor last night. She cried herself to sleep." She could swear she saw something break in Remus' eyes.  

After breakfast, she went back to her dorm with a large plate in her hands. She was entering the common room, when she saw him on the sofa, staring at the crackling fire. 

"Lily, wait!" 

"What do you want, Sirius?" Lily snapped and turned to face the boy. Oh, if looks could kill! For a moment, though, she felt bad for the lad. It was safe to say, she thought, that Sirius Black looked just as miserable as you. 

"How is she?" 

"How do you think she is?" 

Not a flicker of emotion, nothing - his face was a blank canvas. "I need to see her." 

The way his voice broke made her eyes soften "She's not yours. Not anymore. I'm sorry." 

Sirius turned to leave. "Why did you do it?" she demanded. He faced her, and Lily saw the tears pooling in his eyes. "Because I'm an idiot. Because I love her so much that I got scared." 

He got up and left. 

***

With the Marauders Map in your hands, you made your way through the deserted halls, trying to find Sirius. You had seen him on the seventh floor, but then his name mysteriously disappeared. You stopped in the place where you'd last seen him and waited. 

Suddenly, an enormous wooden door came into sight. You reluctantly opened it, only to find yourself inside an posh, ancient house. You were in a spacious dark green room, decorated with intricate tapestries. 

The main tapestry depicted several small portraits, all connected through a tree. 'Licorus Black', 'Magenta Black', 'Phineas Nigellus Black', 'Arcturus Black I', 'Hesper Black', and there was 'Sirius Orion Black'! It was the Black's family tree, which meant that you were inside the Grimmauld Place! But where was…? 

You saw Sirius sitting in a corner with a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. "Sirius?" you asked softly. He lifted his head and you could see pearly tears rolling down his cheeks. 

You sat down next to him and hugged him tightly. "I am here for you. I'll always be. You can tell me when you're ready, or not tell me at all, but I want you to know that you are not alone." His hands sneaked around your waist and he buried his head in the crook of your neck. 

"They disowned me" you heard him whisper. "And I knew I shouldn't care, hell-" his voice broke, "-I hate them, but it still hurts so much." 

You were left speechless.You hated the Blacks with a burning passion, but you knew your fury wouldn't make him feel any better. So you kept quiet, holding him close. 

Sometimes, words weren't enough. Sometimes, simply being there for someone was the only thing that helped. You gave them time and space. And sometimes, that meant the world. 

***

You skipped all your classes and called in sick. You stayed in your bed for two days, thinking and crying. The only times you tried to act fine were when Lily came in the evenings. Even then, you'd ask her about him. You felt pathetic. 

Today it was the Hogsmeade trip, which meant you could go anywhere in the castle and be all by yourself. Truth was, the weather was fantastic; it was the first sunny day in months of cold gloomy autumn. It was 12 o'clock when you made your way to the kitchen to fetch some food, then ate it in silence in the Great Hall.

After that, you walked by the Black Lake and sat down in your usual spot. This place carried so many memories, memories you grew to hate. You were staring at the water, watching the sun reflect off the waves when you saw the shadow of a silhouette nearing you. 

Of course it's him. He sat down next to you, copying your actions. 

"So many things have happened in this spot." he said nostalgically. 

"What are you doing here?" you retort. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Answer the question. What are you doing here?" 

"I needed to talk to you." 

"Why?" 

"I owe you an explanation." 

"You owe me a fucking big explanation, Sirius Black." you responded, "But that's not what I was talking about. Why did you do it?" you tried to hold your tears back. 

"I got scared."

"You got scared!" you chuckled drily. "Of what? Me?" 

"Of myself. I lost so many things, Y/N. When you came into my life, it was as if I saw the sun for the first time." A tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe it. "I loved you so much that I got scared that if I ever were to lose you, I wouldn't be able to bear it. That it would destroy me." he turned to face you. "I still do. I love you."

"Lying has never been a good look on you." you scowl. "If you'd loved me that much, you wouldn't have cheated in the first place." Tears were streaming down your face. "Was it me? Was I not enough?" 

"I wasn't enough. And I will never be. I don't deserve you." he admits. 

"You are a fool, a stupid fool, Sirius." 

"I am truly sorry, Y/N." 

"Me too." 

You both stayed by the lake for hours without saying a word - pretending that you're fine, not wanting to let go.

***

"I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I love you more than anything in my life." he whispered, taking your hand in his. You stood next to him, your head on his shoulder, watching the sun hide under the waters of the Black Lake. 

"I love you too. And I could never stop loving you."

 taglist: @futurewriter2000, @puppycat714, @booksbeforebois, @screennamealreadyused, @fific7

[xjoonchildx]

house of cards | knj x reader chapter three: now

summary: you already know how this is going to end.  that’s not going to stop you from doing it anyway. pairing: namjoon/reader word count: 7.2K rating: 18+ genre: smut with feelings| idol!namjoon warnings:  slow burn, angst, pining (a lot of pining OKAY), sweet to start, smutty to finish

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03

*****************************

A week after Namjoon’s out-of-the-blue text message, he sends another. It’s laundry day, and you’re busy folding clothes at the laundromat down the street from your tiny apartment in Seoul when you see his name come up on your phone. You drop the shirt you’re folding and immediately pull up the text.

can you meet me in two days? [ 2:07 PM ]

Two days? You have a thousand questions you want to ask, but you exercise enough self-control to keep your response short and straightforward.

you: yes [ 2:09 PM ]

His response is immediate. 

not in seoul. out of the country [ 2:09 PM ]

You assumed he was talking about getting together for coffee or maybe a drink. You didn’t expect him to ask you to get on a flight and to where? You sigh out loud to no one in the empty laundromat.  The truth is, every fiber of you wants to see him and you’d be willing to fly anywhere. No use in denying it.  

you: where? [ 2:10 PM ]

It takes a few minutes for him to respond.

i need to get back to you [ 2:10 PM ]

you: okay [ 2:11 PM ]

You stare at the clothes tumbling in the dryer for a moment, in a daze. He’s still thinking of you. Knowing that alone is enough to make your heart pound, but this? Him asking you to meet him out of the country in secret? That makes you so nervous you start to sweat. 

*****************************

You’ve had a lot of time in these past few weeks to think about what you want to say when you’re alone with Namjoon.  Without a job to occupy you, without friends to distract you, you’ve managed to get ridiculously inside your head over this entire debacle.

Those thoughts all fly out the window the minute you see him again.

He’s seated in a private room in the back of this very small restaurant, wearing an oversized sweater and black rimmed glasses.  He looks up from the menu as you walk in, stands when he sees you and looks as though he’s just walked off the page of a magazine. It takes you a moment to realize you’re holding your breath.

“Hi,” he says, mouth curving into a small, apprehensive smile. You answer with a reassuring smile of your own.  “Hi.”

He motions for you to take a seat and helps you settle in. From this side of your table, you can take in the large window behind him, the picturesque view of this rocky island. It’s cold outside and the wind is whipping waves against the coastline. If he looks like a magazine spread, the view outside is the postcard. Both are just a little too perfect and you feel a little out of place.

“Thank you for coming,” he says quietly. You nod, stomach in knots.

“How did you manage this?” you ask.  It couldn’t have been that simple for him to get away from so many prying eyes. It’s a miracle he made it out of Korea alone, without handlers.

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, waits for the server who is quietly filling your water glasses to finish and move on. He waits until she is entirely out of the room before speaking.

“It’s a long story. Only one person knows,” he admits, grabbing a bottle of wine from chilled carafe at the end of your table.

“Yoongi?”

He quirks an affirmative eyebrow at you and smiles as he pours you both a glass. “Yoongi. Though Jin is the one who told me about this place. He came here to fish one time and said it’s the most privacy he’s had in years.”

He looks as though he wants to say more, but the server enters this tiny private space again to ask if you’re ready to hear the food presentation. You don’t miss how Namjoon’s body tenses, how he sits quietly, politely, never looking her in the eye as he asks for a few more minutes. Your chest tightens when you think of how much personal risk he is taking being here with you right now. Any stranger with a smartphone and a social media account could expose him, expose you both and embarrass him and the group.  

He waits for her to clear the room again before speaking.

“They knew about our…” he pauses to choose the right word, “friendship early on. Someone saw me coming to your room one night.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and straighten your shoulders.  “Oh.”

“I only found out about that later,” he says, meeting your eyes with his. “I had no idea at the time.  Please believe me.”

You nod slowly. Just talking about your firing rehashes the anxiety of that day you had to face Bang PD and hear those words.  You take a deep breath in and out.

“I do.”

“I made mistakes,” he continues. “I was not as -- careful -- as I should have been.  And...and I’m so sorry,” he finishes. 

You blow out a breath. It feels like you’re both at fault and somehow not at fault at all. Nothing ever happened. 

“I knew what could happen,” you say carefully.

 “And besides, what’s done is done.” 

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, works his fingers back and forth on the stem of his wine glass. An awkward silence stretches for just a beat too long.

“So…” you start, “You asked me to come here to...apologize.”  

You wish you didn’t feel a dull pang of disappointment at the idea that his guilt is what brought him all this way to see you. You could almost laugh at the stupid hope that you’d allowed to blossom in your chest, at the idea that he wanted more from you than closure and the assurance that you didn’t blame him for blowing up the incredible opportunity you had. You pick up your wine and take a drink, just to give your nervous hands something to do.

“Yes,” Namjoon admits, ”But I also…”

He stops short as your server enters the room again, this time with food. You watch, numb, as she places two beautifully plated salads down and quietly slips back out of the room. She’s clearly figured out that you both want privacy, and is doing her best not to be intrusive. You stare down at the food, aware that you haven’t eaten in hours at this point, but suddenly feeling as though you have no appetite.

“Yes,” he starts again, once she leaves. “I wanted to apologize. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about what happened to you and,” he sighs, “I feel responsible.” The look on his face is hard to read. Regret and guilt and something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

“Well, you’re not,” you say, more sharply than you’d intended. You’re a big girl, you made your own decisions, actions have consequences. You open your mouth to say just that, but he cuts you off.

“-- I wanted to see you.”

Your stomach flips. He sits back, scrubs a hand across his mouth and meets your eyes with his. 

“One time, Hoseok really like this girl that came to work for us. She really liked him, too...and then one day, she was just gone.” He picks up his wine glass, takes a drink, shakes his head at the memory. “He was furious. Telling me he was sick of not being able to have normal relationships. Telling me he was sick of having to keep secrets,” he sighs. “And I was there listening, but acting the part of the leader. Telling him that this is the way we have to live right now. That we have to follow the rules or one of us is going to slip and do something that hurts the entire group.”

You nod sympathetically, heart aching for Hoseok and for Namjoon and for them all. The kind of pressure they’re living under could break even the most disciplined person.  

“But now,” he says, looking directly into your eyes, “I know that some things are easier said than done.”

Your cheeks heat. You want to ask him to elaborate, to be clear about whatever it is he’s trying to say, but your tongue feels thick and all you can do is stare back.

Namjoon clears his throat, looks down at his plate. “We should eat,” he says. “Wine hits me harder than beer.”

*************************

You’re glad for your warm sweater and coat tonight, because the breeze coming off the water is this close to freezing. The sun had set by the time the two of you finished dinner and Namjoon suggested you could walk along the shoreline for a bit. You’d tried not to let your mind wander to thoughts about how this night might end. 

He’d booked you both rooms at a nearby bed and breakfast within walking distance of the restaurant. At this hour, the island looked deserted, with only a handful of lights coming from homes along the coast and a few boats on the water. You could almost believe the two of you were alone out here. You wish that were actually the case. 

You spend a few minutes walking in relative silence, letting the air hang thick and heavy between you. It feels like there’s so much he wants to say and doesn’t. You feel a wave of frustration building inside you the longer the silence stretches on. 

You walk ahead of Namjoon when you spot a cluster of rocks large enough to climb. He stays on solid ground while you maneuver your way to the top and only smiles and shakes his head while you try to wave him up with your hands.. The moon is high and bright tonight -- so even without the sun you can see past a row of docked boats and into the open water. You have a clear view of a lighthouse towering over the coast across the way. 

“You should come up here,” you call down. “The view is better.”

“The view I have right now is pretty great,” he teases, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat and you look down at where he stands with hands in his pockets, a soft, dimpled smile on his face. 

It should have been endearing, that tiny flirtation. It should have made you smile.

Instead it makes you furious. 

Your patience cracks as months of tension and frustration come to a head. Whatever this is, you’re sick of it. You’re tired of hovering between sentences and trying to decode innuendo and all of a sudden you’re fed up with this entire situation.

“Don’t say that,” you say icily, standing to get down from your perch. 

Namjoon holds out a hand to help you down, but you refuse it.  “I’m sorry,” he says as you wrap your arms around yourself and walk away. He follows. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

You go faster, to where you’re not exactly sure, but at this rate your blood is boiling and you need to walk it off. You can see him following out of the corner of your eye.

“Wait --” he calls out.

You round on him, eyes flashing with outrage. “Stop talking. I’m tired of it,” you seethe, and his eyes grow round with surprise. You can’t blame him for being taken aback by your sudden anger, but now you’ve started pouring out your frustration and it feels like you can’t stop. “Don’t say what you think I want to hear and don’t say things you don���t mean.” The hostility in your voice takes him by surprise. If you weren’t so angry, you’d have to laugh at the confused look on his face.

“I d--” 

“Why am I here tonight?” 

“I wanted to see you,” he says, defensively. “And you said you felt the same.”

“Why do you talk like you want something from me and never come out and say it, huh? Why do you make it seem like you want me and never act on it?” You turn away from him, start to walk ahead of him on the shore again. He follows close behind.

You stop suddenly, whirl back on him again.

“Why have you never kissed me?” you demand. “You look at me like you want to kiss me and you never do,” you stop yourself for a moment, take a deep, steadying breath. When you hear your voice again, you’re glad that it sounds more calm. 

“Why are you doing this?”

You gesture around at this beach, at this place you’ve agreed to meet him.

Namjoon stares off into the water for a moment, purses his lips like he’s debating how much he’s willing to share with you. You shake your head in disgust and turn to leave.

“Wait.”

You stop. He makes up the distance between you in a few long strides and gets close -- so close to you that you stop breathing for a moment. He leans over you, body towering and near enough for you to feel his warmth.

Here, in the dark, he reaches out his hand and tips your chin upwards with his fingers. He forces you to look him in the eye.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, voice low and dangerous. A shiver spreads across your back. “But if I start, I don’t think I can stop.” His fingers stay firm under your jaw and you feel your breathing start to get erratic as he pins you with his gaze.

“And that’s not going to be enough for me. Because I’m going to start kissing you. And then I’m going to ask you to come back to my room,” he refuses to break eye contact. You swallow thickly as his words trickle over you.

“And then I’m going to spend the next 8 hours doing everything I’ve fantasized about doing to you for the past six months.” 

The jolt of arousal that shoots straight up your spine is so strong your knees nearly buckle. He licks his lips nervously and looks away from you, into the water.

“And you’re going to hate me after that. Because this is all I can offer you.”

You stand stunned, staring. Because he’s right, and you know he’s right. There is no scenario that plays out with a happy ending. There is no way he can be all the things you want him to be. His honesty is simultaneously reassuring and disappointing. 

“I know that,” you say softly. 

He looks back at you.

“Now you don’t say things you don’t mean,” he says tightly, throwing your words back at you. You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear with shaking fingers.

“I’m a big girl, Namjoon. I understand what you’re saying,” you say quietly. “I understand this isn’t going anywhere.” 

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, looks a bit pained at hearing you spell out the situation so plainly. But at this point, there’s nothing to do but call a spade a spade.

“And I want you to kiss me anyway,” you finish.

The look in his eyes when he turns back to face you steals your breath. Whatever he’s been holding back these past months, whatever thin grasp of control he’s maintained around you is gone.  He takes your hand firmly in his large grasp.

“Let’s go.”

**********************************

The walk to his room is a blur. 

You have the presence of mind to put one foot in front of the other, but that’s about it. Between the wine pulsing through your veins and the thoughts running through your mind, you couldn’t testify in court as to how you got here.  

The space is perfectly cozy, tastefully decorated, and you are glad for the fire burning in the hearth at the center of the bedroom.  Namjoon doesn’t bother with the lamps -- there’s enough heat and glow coming off the flames to make up for the lost light.

He hasn’t let go of your hand since you walked together off the beach. Your hand feels small and cold inside his warm grip and the tiny part of your brain that’s still functioning properly is working overtime to commit the feeling of his skin on yours to memory, afraid to let this moment come and go too quickly. The moment the door latches securely behind you, Namjoon leads you to a massive, ornate four-poster bed. 

He drops down, sitting on the edge of the plush mattress and pulls you in close with his hands. You stay on your feet, watching the firelight dance across his body, heart pounding so violently you can feel it pulsing at the base of your throat.  You wonder if he can tell how nervous you are.

He brushes a piece of hair out of your face, lets his fingertips linger for a moment before tipping his head up to touch his lips to yours. 

You stop breathing. 

Never in your life have you waited this long to kiss someone, never have you anticipated a kiss more than the one you’re getting right now. His full, soft lips are even better than your imagination — his woodsy, clean scent intoxicating. You can taste wine on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and uses his hands against your back to pull you even closer.

“Take this off,” he urges against your mouth, tugging at the bottom of your sweater.  You shudder at his quiet command but comply instantly, pulling the garment over your head. The moment you’re left in just a bra and jeans, he pulls back, assessing you with a heavy-lidded gaze. You step closer, slotting your knee in between his thighs and reach behind yourself to take apart the closure of your bra. 

The warmth of the fire can’t stop the shiver that courses through you when he runs his palms up and down your back, burying his face in the soft skin between your breasts. He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses up that path, and you let your head drop back at the sensation. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he murmurs against your skin, nuzzling your breast before taking one aching nipple into his mouth. Your hips jerk at the sensation and his hands come back down to your waist to keep you steady. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, sighing out your satisfaction as he takes his time about tasting you.  You can’t help the soft whine that escapes your throat when he turns his attention to your other nipple.

“You don’t know,” you gasp as his teeth drag gently over the sensitized bud, “how long I’ve wanted you to do this. How many times I’ve thought about this.”

You feel rather than see his answering smile against the swell of your breast. From where you stand, anchored against him, you can also feel his answering hardness in his jeans. He groans when you lean forward to push against it.

“You need to take off some clothes, too,” you say. 

“I do,” he admits, dragging himself away from you long enough to pull his own sweater and undershirt overhead. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight of his strong, muscled chest and you lean forward to run your hands across the defined planes.

“You are so beautiful,” you sigh, leaning closer to kiss him again. His hands slip down to the button of your jeans to start working them off. 

“You keep stealing all my words,” he laughs, pushing your jeans down your hips and watching as you kick them off. 

Under other circumstances -- with other men -- you’d be feeling self-conscious right about now. But not with Namjoon.  He rubs his fingers across his mouth and leans back to take in the view.  The way he’s looking at you, drinking you in, tells you everything you need to know about what he’s thinking right now.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” you say finally, interrupting the too-long silence.  

Namjoon’s eyes snap up to your face like he’s just come out of a trance and he immediately gets to work. He leaves his boxers on, cock straining heavily against the expensive cotton and you consider complaining but in the next moment he’s pulling you down on the bed, covering you with his large, warm body and all other thoughts evaporate.

He overwhelms you from this angle, weighty and firm on top of you, his scent on you, his breath in your ear.  You slowly draw your hands up his back, enjoying the play of his muscles underneath your fingertips. You admire the corded strength in his arms as he braces himself just above you and drops his face into the crook of your neck. His teeth gently tease the sensitive skin there, lips and tongue moving into the dip of your collarbone as his hands skim down your sides.

His thumbs hook into the band of your panties and he pulls gently but doesn’t take them off.

“Is this okay?” he asks, mouth warm against the shell of your ear. You want to laugh at the absurdity. The promise of his hands on you, inside you is the only thing tethering you to sanity right now.  You exhale a shaky breath, and manage a thin “God, yes.”

He slips the flimsy fabric down your legs, pressing kisses down your torso and abdomen -- so close to where you are aching for him -- wet between the legs and throbbing for his touch. He sucks a gentle bruise into the soft skin just above your mound.

“This is all I can think about right now,” he murmurs, moving lower. “Tasting you here -- “ he says, gently pushing one of his fingers inside your heat. You can only moan your reply, nerves shot at the feeling of this welcome invasion. You know how wet you must be right now, could feel the slippery mess between your thighs before he even made contact. He sinks his mouth down onto your center as he licks a thorough and unhurried stripe directly over your slit. Your hips buck involuntarily and he uses those impossibly large hands and long fingers to keep you still — to keep you from shying away from the sharp pleasure.

“Better than I imagined,” he whispers against your thigh before turning back to bury his face in your wet warmth again.

You are mewling now, uttering nonsense and he seems satisfied with your response, sucking and licking harder -- spurred on by the nonsensical praise falling from your lips.

“Please don’t stop,” you beg, twisting the fingers of one hand into his hair while the other claws uselessly at the sheets. 

He groans, using both his hands to firmly cup under your ass and drag you closer to his mouth. You cry out at the change in the angle and open unfocused eyes to look down at him. He’s savoring you like you are a rare delicacy, and you very nearly come apart at the sight of his beautiful face between your thighs. 

“No one here but us. Let me hear you,“ he murmurs, purposely bumping your clit with his nose and using the flat of his tongue to soothe the sensitive nub directly afterwards. You stop trying to muffle your cries and your hips seem to move of their own volition, rolling against Namjoon’s tongue in a desperate search for relief. You can’t help the strangled moans you’re making, can’t stop the thrum of pleasure pulsing heavy in your core. 

“Please, Namjoon,” you whimper, “I’m so close.” 

“I’m not going to stop,” he soothes, slipping two fingers back into your warm heat. You keen from the stimulation inside and out.  “I’m not going to stop until you come for me.”

The throb between your thighs sharpens to a point and then shatters. Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm starts to detonate, and you hear him whispering praise as he licks you through it, not stopping the tortuous slide of his tongue and lips until he’s certain he’s wrung every last drop of pleasure. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper when the roaring in your ears starts to subside, and you smile at his answering laugh. 

You are sedated — utterly loose-limbed as he makes his way back up your body and immediately sets his teeth to the lobe of your ear. You let your eyes fall closed for a moment just to enjoy the warmth of his body on yours, the feeling of his mouth in the crook of your neck. You realize that at some point, he’s shed his boxers and now his cock is hard and insistent against your leg. You reach for him. 

He releases a long breath when you wrap your hand around him and give him an experimental stroke. You watch him watching you with heavy-lidded eyes as you work your hand up and down his length for a moment, enjoying the answering pulse of his excitement under your grip and the way his eyes fall shut.

“I want to make you feel as good as you just made me feel,” you whisper. 

You want to taste him so badly, want to know his flavor and feel the weight of him on your tongue — but the moment you start to move in that direction he grabs your hand to stop you. 

“You can’t”, he groans. “I’m going to come before I ever get inside you if you don’t stop.”

The thought stills you because stupidly, you haven’t even thought about protection.

“Namjoon, I don’t have anything,” you say quietly. He quirks an eyebrow at you, missing your meaning. 

“A condom.”

He rolls over on his side and produces a packet from the drawer of the ornate wooden bedside table. 

Thank God one of you has your head on straight. 

You gaze at him as he gets up on his knees, cock rigid and straining into the air. Flickering light from the fire dances across his chest and thighs and you have the presence of mind to commit the image to memory because you’ve never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. 

“I want you,” you breathe, “So badly.”

If you weren’t already ridiculously turned on — already alarmingly aroused — the look that passes over his face would have been your undoing.  

But you’re well past that point by now. 

He slips the condom on and moves to cover your body with his once again and you welcome the pressure of his weight hovering over yours. You feel the head of his cock nudge your entrance and your entire body tenses in anticipation. 

”I’ve been driving myself crazy for months,” he says, dipping down to steal a kiss. “Thinking about you like this. Fantasizing about having you.”

You lift your hips, desperate to connect the part of you that’s aching to the part of him that can relieve the ache.  “Don’t think about it anymore,” you challenge. “Do it.”

He exhales something that sounds like a half-laugh, half-groan and sinks into you agonizingly slow. You can’t help the whimper that escapes at the deep stretch.  He feels huge and the fullness and friction are almost too much given how sensitive you are from your orgasm. He pauses for a moment when he’s fully seated inside. 

”Are you alright?” he whispers into the shell of your ear and you feel a shudder run the length of your body at the onslaught of sensations. 

“Yes,” you whimper. “So good. Please -- “ 

You don’t have to finish that plea because he’s moving now, and what starts a few careful, experimental nudges quickly changes to deep, driving thrusts. Some desperate sound inside you escapes each time he bottoms out and you bring both your hands up to grip the tight muscles of his arms as though the contact can somehow steady you.

“Shit,” he groans, brow knit in absolute concentration. “You’re so tight, I -- “

You swallow his next words with a kiss -- a desperate, messy meeting of tongues and lips and teeth. You push your hips up to meet his each time he grinds back into you, savoring the pressure against your clit. Namjoon’s arms stay locked around yours, caging you in, but his head drops into the crook of your neck again. He is whispering frantically in Korean, blessings or curses you can’t be sure, but you can damned near hear the steady build of his orgasm in the tremor of his voice.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” he groans, like it’s a bad thing, like he’ll somehow disappoint you for losing control so fast.  Your hands reach up to his back, palms flat against the undulating muscle covered in a sheen of sweat. You can feel the strain as he tries to hold himself back, teetering on the verge of explosion and you want so badly to give him the release he’s craving.

You squeeze your inner muscles tight, buck harder to meet his now sloppy thrusts.

“Stop holding back. Come for me right now, “ you command, arousal bleeding through each tight word. “I need to feel you.”

The words are barely out of your mouth when you feel him start to come on a particularly deep snap of his hips. The whispers in your ears build into shouts as his orgasm explodes, body shuddering with stimulation. You talk him through his release, whispering into his ear about how good he feels, how you’ve never wanted anyone else this badly. 

He kisses the words off your lips as the steady pump of his hips slows to a stop. 

You wait for him to sag against you, but instead your eyes pop open when you feel his weight lift off of you entirely.

“Wait --” you start, disoriented by the sudden parting. 

Namjoon surprises you by immediately moving back down your body, dropping his head back to the space between your thighs. Any protest you were about to make dies in your throat when he wraps his full lips around your clit once again. The release you were certain had dissipated in the final moments of intercourse starts stirring again.

“Namjoon, I don’t think -- fuck,” you fail to complete a single coherent sentence as he feverishly works his lips and tongue back over your aching clit. You’ve never had back-to-back orgasms, you probably can’t come again so soon, and you want to tell him so but your mouth isn’t working.

“Yes you can,” he soothes, tongue insistent and hot against you. “And you will.”

You whine at the onslaught, too trapped in your own head to surrender to the sensations. Namjoon seems to sense it.

“Stop thinking.”

He growls the words into your core. The vibration from his low tone causes a ripple effect that jolts you out of your head and back into the moment. 

“You’re so close I can feel it.”

Holy hell, this man.

His long fingers wrap possessively around your thighs, fighting back against your unconscious attempt to close your legs and escape the overstimulation. He holds you open, raw and senseless and doesn’t let you pull away from what he’s giving you.

There’s no slow, delicious build to this orgasm. It hits you like a bullet and your hands fumble through his hair as you soundlessly succumb to the sharp pleasure.  Your body seizes as the release works its way from your core through every nerve ending. For a moment, you lose focus -- but your surroundings sharpen when you hear rather than see Namjoon stand up from the end of the bed to tie and toss the condom away.

You are wide-eyed, panting into the air when his weight dips the bed again and you feel him settle at your side.

You laugh.

Not a delicate giggle, not a sweet peal of laughter -- but a full-on, chest-heaving laugh. He’s silent for a moment before chucking himself.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, chest rising and falling rapidly. “What did you just do to me?”

You feel his answering smile against your skin when he drops his face into the crook of your neck for a kiss. 

“Did it feel good?”

“No,” you tease. “I’m looking for a word that’s much better than good, but I can’t think straight. I’m going to have to get back to you later on that.”

He pulls you closer, skin on skin and you settle your head on his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart under your ear as your breathing calms. Your bodies are both slick with sweat and you shudder with a sudden chill as you start to feel the cool air inside this room. He reaches down and pulls the covers over your bodies. You both relax in the quiet, hearing the occasional pop from the flames in the fireplace.

“Namjoon?”

“Mmm?”

“Where are the people who work here?”

“I asked them to take the night off,” he admits, nosing your hair and inhaling deeply.

“So you...paid the staff to leave and made sure to have condoms on hand? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you planned to get me into bed tonight.”

He chuckles.

“I would have been...very stupid not to prepare for that possibility. I didn’t want to take the chance.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you whisper into his chest, fingers drawing lazy circles across his skin. 

There’s so much more you want to say, about how you feel and this entire situation but you’re afraid to ruin the delicate silence with an untimely reality check. You settle for quiet.

Minutes later, body limp with wine and exertion, your eyes fall closed.

*********************************************

You wake to the sensation of Namjoon’s nails running up and down your back. 

“What time is it?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“There’s time,” he says, a non-answer. But you’ll take it. You pull away from him, stretch your sore limbs. 

“Did you sleep?”

A tired smile passes over his face. 

“No. I’ll get some sleep on the plane.”

The plane. You don’t want to think about that right now, don’t want to dwell on the fact that in a few short hours you’ll both be boarding flights to opposite sides of the globe. You shut your eyes and ward off the sad throb that sounds in your chest at the thought.

“Shower with me,” you say, climbing out of the massive bed. You take part of the sheet with you, wrapping yourself modestly as if this man hasn’t seen and touched every part of you intimately already.  You hold a hand out in invitation and he accepts.

This picturesque bed and breakfast was once an old home. Instead of modern stone and high-end furnishings, the space is adorned with refinished hardwoods and tastefully selected antiques. The wood motif extends into the bathroom, where a spacious shower awaits.

Namjoon lets the water run for a moment until he’s certain it’s warm enough and you join him under the hot stream. 

He doesn’t hesitate in backing you against the tile, pinning you against the shower wall with one knee as he blocks much of the falling water with his back and kisses you deeply. Droplets fall from his hair as he licks into you, hands roaming down to your waist and then lower.  This time, you’re the one to reach out and still his hands when you feel his fingers warm and probing on your wetness.

“No,” you say against his lips, wrapping your hand around his and pushing him back. He pulls away from you, breathless.

“Let me touch you,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.”  

You go up on your toes to kiss the slow smile that comes over him. 

“I can do that,” he breathes.

You grab for the soap and he bends down to allow you to lather his hair. You run your nails lightly against his scalp and enjoy the groan you earn as you massage his head in earnest. Then you take your time about lathering his body, reveling in the way his skin feels under your fingertips. His muscles twitch in response as you work your hands down his broad chest, across his back, down to the firm roundness of his ass. He leans his body toward the shower wall, locking his arms to keep upright and caging you in. 

You fill your hands with soap again and then steal a kiss when you wrap one searching hand around his cock, already hard and throbbing.  You finally have a chance to appreciate how firm and large he feels under your fingertips, and your core throbs at the memory of him inside you. He hums his appreciation into your mouth as you work your hand up and down the rigid length, your enjoyment coming from watching his. 

“You are like a statue,” you whisper. “Like a work of art, but the real thing. Just --” you pause for a moment to look down and take in the sight of your fingers working up and down his cock, “ -- incredible,” you manage to finish.

You sink down to your knees, use your hands to rinse him off and peer up against the falling water to steal a look at his face. His eyes are heavy, lips parted as you tentatively touch your tongue against him. They fall completely shut when you slip the head of his cock into your mouth.

His thighs tense under your palms as you pull him in deeper.

“Shit.”

You can barely hear his groan over the sound of the falling water, but something about his tone sends a shiver down your spine.  Your knees are starting to protest against the hard shower floor but you can’t be bothered to consider them when you take him down as far as you can go. Namjoon makes a broken sound deep in his chest when you pull off of him, breathless.

“That feels so good,” he croaks, arms still braced against the shower wall. 

His praise motivates you to work harder -- when you sink your mouth back down on his cock this time, you use your hands to stroke any part of him you can’t reach. Your mouth and hands fall into rhythm, working him with your fingers and tongue until you can see the muscles in his legs and thighs twitching.

“I’m close,” he groans, head hanging low between his shoulder blades as you pull your mouth away again to get a good look at him. Both of your hands work his cock in the absence of your mouth, stroking and cupping him and keeping him right at the precipice because you know he’s close. He looks ready to burst. 

You wait for him to open his eyes, then meet his hot gaze with one of your own. 

“Let me taste you,” you say, immediately taking him back down as deep as you can go. You can feel the tension in his hips, sense that he’s dying to rock into your mouth even further but he’s holding back. You cup his ass with your hands and give him a gentle push, silent permission to let go and surge into you. The moment he realizes you’re asking him to give more -- to lose a little bit of control -- he does, thrusting gingerly into your mouth. It only takes a few more thrusts for his rhythm to falter, for his hips to stutter and you brace for his release.

“Fuck, I -- “ his words are choked as he tries to pull away from the inviting wet warmth of your mouth, but your hands grip harder on his ass, refusing to let him off the hook. He is panting, body taut with tension when he finally stops resisting and the groan that starts deep in his chest when he starts to come is the single sexiest sound you have ever heard in your life. His hips jerk and you struggle to remain upright the moment you start to taste his release on your tongue, hot and thick.

You can’t take all of him, not with the water pouring down on you at the same time. You need to breathe. You pull away and sag against the shower wall.  

Namjoon falls to his knees in front of you, pulling you roughly into his chest and kissing you so hard you’re forced to break away for air again.

“I can’t breathe,” you laugh against his mouth. 

“Neither can I,” he smirks. 

You sit together on the shower floor like that for a while, chests heaving and skin to skin.  

“I still need to get clean,” you say after a moment. “We’ve wasted enough water as it is.”

He stands then, offering his hand to help you to your feet and then he returns the favor — lathering and massaging you from head to toe and helping you rinse off when he’s done. 

When you both slip back under the sheets you are clean, bodies warm and sated. And this time, you both get some sleep. 

*****************************

You jam your bag into the overhead compartment before settling heavily into your seat. Thankfully, this flight is damned near deserted and you’re not having to arm wrestle some stranger for your personal space. You pop your earbuds in but don’t turn any music on, just let your eyes fall shut for a moment of silence. 

This is the first time you’ve been completely alone with your thoughts since you said goodbye. He’d fucked you once more just as the sun was starting to stream in through the cracks in the curtains, so tender and slow it brought tears to your eyes. You’d laid in bed as long as you could, silent and thinking -- until it was no longer possible to avoid the inevitable.  

Of course, you’d walked into this arrangement with eyes wide open, but that didn’t mean the thought of him on a plane back to Seoul right now didn’t make your chest ache. That didn’t dull the sting of the realization that you’d never see him again.  

When the flight attendant passes by, you order a mimosa. You’d really prefer something a bit stronger but it’s before noon and you think asking for the vodka tonic you really want could earn you a look at this hour of the day. Alongside the booze, you add distraction to your list of coping mechanisms and splurge on in-flight wifi. You refuse to be left alone to your own devices -- to simmer in your self-pity. Instead, you’ll marinate in champagne and orange juice and scroll mindlessly through apps and websites.

You’re three mimosas deep when your eyes start to droop. There’s no one in the seat behind you, so you feel comfortable leaning back in full recline. You angle a few pillows for comfort, pull a blanket over your chest and shut your eyes.

You’re in that hazy space between awake and asleep when you feel your phone buzz at your side. 

Instantly, you’re alert again when you read the message on your lockscreen.

i need to see you again [ 12:47 PM ]

please [ 12:47 PM ]

[docholligay]

Follow Water Down

I have been wandering around in the woods since I was a small child. My family was not particularly well off, and from the ages of probably 3 to 16, the only vacations we ever took were camping trips. We left the house for the woods nearly every weekend. I live in Montana, and so when I say camping trips, I don’t mean we headed off to the KOA with a pool, I mean if I walked away from the campsite I was in the goddamn National Forest. I was genuinely happy with this arrangement, as I was a strange child who grew up to be a strange adult, and I enjoyed the quiet, the sense of exploration, the smell of the trees. 

I began leaving the campsite nearly from the word go, and by the time I was about 8 or so, I was very much off by myself in the woods for the majority of the day, which leads us to our post today. There are people who would call my mom grossly neglectful for having allowed me to do so much on my own at such a young age, and even she gets bashful when she talks about it, but I credit it with a lot of positives: 

I have an extremely good sense of direction

I have a strong core of self-sufficiency and am not easily overwhelmed by anxiety

I can be alone in the quiet with my thoughts

I am rough and tumble as HELL, owing to many many many falls down the sides of mountains, huge gashes in my legs, being stalked by a mountain lion, and one very memorable miscalculation that ended in me falling off a (small) waterfall

When I meet my fear, I can master it*

So what I am here to present to you today are very basic survival skills such as I would teach my own child, such as I was taught as a child. This is by no means comprehensive, and if you intend to get seriously into outdoor life, I recommend both doing far more research, and taking a a Wilderness First Aid class, which are frequently offered when it’s NOT Covid, and which I take about once every 3-5 years (I am due). This is a primer for those who are young, or new, or mostly want to experience the wilderness by reading about me doing it. 

Follow Water Down. 

I cannot remember how old I was when I learned this. It’s the sort of thing that is a part of my makeup, my mother must have told me when I was only a toddler and its stuck with me so hard that it’s one of the first things I tell people. 

If you are lost: 

Water will always lead you back to civilization eventually. Join up with the stream. See which way its going. Go that way. This is obviously not significantly helpful if you are lost in a flat desert plain but then again, I did start this by saying I was a child of the woods and not the desert. This seems like such an easy trick that people often ignore me when I say it, but it is the simplest thing for a child to remember. 

I can’t remember how old I was when I got lost in a tangle of hills and mountains in the Little Belts, where the trail faded but I kept going in my normal bullheaded way. But I was well and truly lost by the time it was about 3 pm, and in some ways I wish I had worn a step tracker back in those days because I am extremely certain I went miles and miles, as one does when they leave immediately after breakfast and don’t come back till dinner. I had no idea where I was, where the campsite was, or what direction I should be going. 

I was not thrilled. 

But I was not a kid who sat down and cried, in that I had smaller concerns before, and so could easily grow to meet the larger ones. I simply walked down the mountain, knowing a valley was more likely to have a stream I could easily join. Lo and behold, there in that little valley was a snowmelt creek, and I followed it downstream, knowing eventually there would be a house, or a campground, or something. In a twist of glorious good luck, it actually led me back toward where the campsite was, and as I began to recognize things, I easily clipped into our campsite long before any sign of trouble. 

Follow Water Down. If you aren’t near a stream, head for the nearest valley, and follow the valley. This will generally lead you to water. People will tell you to stay put and that is WAY smarter than wandering aimlessly in circles, which is why I say to follow something. You think you won’t go in circles, but you will. By following a streambed, not only are you doubtlessly heading back to civilization on a long enough timeline, but you keep yourself from doing that. 

Your Pack: 

Before you go out for the day, you should have a simple day pack. Mine is an Osprey Hikelite 18, but I hike all the time, and you don’t need something that technical. A plain ol Jansport will work as long as it fits you well. I do however, really approve of and recommend a waist clip. I also think a pocket for a water bottle on the outside is really useful, but you’re not going to fucking die if you have to take off your pack to get to your water bottle. I just find it takes up space I don’t want. 

Gear:

More important than your pack itself is what you have in it. Again, this is according to people named Doc, who are me. This is stuff I always take with me when I am by myself, on a trail where it would be realistic to assume I would not see someone else for hours. This is like 95% of Montana trails, or any time that I am off trail. 

Compass. You can get fancy, pretty compasses, but a lot of times they lack the actual essentials you need. I like this guy, which is well made, can be clipped to you backpack easily, and is inexpensive. I don’t have the time or space to really try to teach you how to use a compass, but here’s a really good simple primer from the American Hiking Society. 

Paper Map. I sometimes break this one, admittedly, but I shouldn’t. Having a paper map of the area is always a really smart practice, and used in combination with the compass, can help you get unlost quickly, or at the very least give you an idea of how close to any given outpost you are. 

Water Bottle. Please don’t tell me you were going to attempt to leave without this. I have no preferences on one, shockingly, and I’m being serious. I’ve been given to use an old disposable one, who gives a shit. 

Water Filter. Now THIS I did not have as a child, because my parents didn’t know any better, but if I follow in the grand tradition of my people and release my child into the mountains, I will give them one for certain. I knew what kind of water to look for if one was going to drink from a stream, and I did so, which probably explains why I am not susceptible to ~tummy upsets~ to this day. However, it would have been smarter for me to have one of these. I like LifeStraw but Sawyer makes a perfectly good one. Look for lightweight, it’s a day pack, kids. 

Knife. I have many many feelings about knives, which would require its own post, but this is fairly essential for being out and about. This is not a thing I would necessarily cheap out on, though there are fine options at most price points. This is my knife:

The Gerber Propel AO. The serrated and straight blade edge means there’s a lot of options for use as a tool, I find the blade to be strong and hold an edge well. Most American-made Gerbers (be sure and check, as they have a much shittier Chinese-made division) are incredibly well made knives. Leatherman multi-tools and Swiss Army Knives are, if you ask people named Doc who are me, a waste of weight and size, but if I were to buy a Leatherman, it would be a Free K2X. I would not buy a Swiss Army Knife. 

A jacket/fleece/pullover. Listen, i am the last one who wants to carry this shit but if you get lost overnight (as has never happened to me, kinehara.) you are going to want it. Read up on what the lowest temperatures are, and rate it to that. Depending on what mountain you are in, this is going to vary widely. And for the love of god, wear pants. I know, I know, it’s in the 70s and you’re hoooooooot but seriously, you’ll be less likely to injure yourself and you won’t fucking freeze. 

Flashlight/headlamp. 

There are fancy firestarters, but honestly I just throw in a bic. 

Food! Clif bars are great for this, lightweight, high calorie, keep well. this is in addition to your sandwich or whatever you’re packing for planned eating. 

Sunscreen/bug spray. Don’t be stupid. 

Whistle. Three sharp shot blasts is the easy and international sign for help. 

FIRST AID KIT this has its own thing. A first aid kit can be very basic to very intense. Our group first aid kit is more intense, but when I’m stuffing a day pack, I want stuff that’s light. 

Ibuprofen

Bandages

Gauze

Leukotape

wound wipes/antibac

Imodium, benedryl, caffeine

Oxycontin. This is leftover from long ago and basically exists in case I break my leg and have to drag myself out of there, or, as we like to say, a Worst Case Scenario. 

That’s it! It essentially fits in a bento box. 

You will want to be wearing a sunhat of some sort, sunglasses at hand, and a watch. Not a smart watch, a watch watch. It’s good to know what time it is, better to know that after your phone dies. Attach bear bells to your pack, or your shoe, or something. You do not want to surprise a bear, that is how people die. 

You may notice that I do not have a phone, external battery, GPS tracker or anything like that listed. GPS trackers are not a bad idea if you want to invest the money in backcountry--my wife has one--but I never have and I do not consider them essential. Phones and external batteries are not useful to me, and in the places I go there’s often not service. If there IS service, I find I’m more irritated than not by the people with me, who often can’t pull their faces out of telling their audience how much of a life they have to actually have one. Be alone with your fucking thoughts for once. 

Which leads me to my next thing: DO NOT WEAR HEADPHONES TO HIKE OH MY GOD. Being able to hear what’s going on around you is key to safety, and also to allowing you to get your bearings. If you are listening to music or something, you are far more likely to sneak up on something, or allow it to sneak up on you. Don’t do it. It’s a terrible idea. 

Should I bring bear spray? This is an excellent question! We have ample bear spray, and I often wear it but I just as often wear Montana Bear Spray (a gun). It’s easier to practice with a gun, I feel more sure of how to use it, and I’m comfortable around it. That being said, this is not the story for most of America, and I understand that. So make sure you are VERY familiar with how to use your bear spray. 

I suppose this went off the rails into supplies more than “tips for survival” but honestly I would rather help you all AVOID trouble than help you out of it. It’s easier to pack clif bars than set a rabbit snare, and its easier to not get lost than it is to build shelter. Also, this is already at 2,000 words, so if you have a SPECIFIC question, let me know! 

*Apologies to Phillip Pullman, but if I were going to get anything from HDM tattooed on me, this sentiment would be it, the only problem being the actual line is “You ent afraid are you?” “Not yet. When I am, I shall master the fear.” which doesn’t look as good but damn has that resonated with me since I read it.

[poptod]

Aren’t We Monumental? (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His reality is splitting at the seams - you’re in his dreams, a comfort as he loses his grip on what makes him happy.

Prompt: Fishing

Notes: I’m all for historical accuracy so I’ve decided that from now on, in my Ahk fics that take place in Ancient Egypt, the reader is going to have dark skin. I myself have incredibly pale skin and I have no problem reading about it so @ any pale people reading these, you shouldn’t either. Also, your name is Meryt! It means beloved :) The songs in this are written by me, because I didn’t want a recognizable modern song and I’m not sure how to write ancient egyptian song lyrics. Gender neutral again. Warnings: Ahk is PRETTY depressed in here and develops some major symptoms of anxiety. 

Word Count: 12.4k AO3 Link: Aren't We Monumental?

In the distance he sees the unapproachable, casting a net to the water. Every dream he’s had as of recent is plagued by you, far away and unreachable. With every step closer he grows further away, till tonight he sees the futility of his actions, and sits on cold ground, staring at your blurry form. For the first time you turn to him, watching over every breath he takes. With a wave, he finds himself beside you, staring up at you. You’re distinct, clear against a backwash of a dark, unseeable background. Aimlessly you stare forward, pulling the net from the water and back into your hands; it drips freezing water onto his hands.

“There’s a love in simplicity that cannot be achieved in any gluttony,” you say, still staring ahead at nothing. Casting the net back into the water you drop down, sitting cross legged next to him on the wooden dock.

“What?” He asks, his brow furrowed. Now that he’s met you, the first thing you say makes absolutely no sense. He tries to not let it irritate him.

“Work with your hands, good fellow,” you tell him, and for the rest of his dream you don’t say another word. Silence encompasses the both of you, only broken by your net dragging back up to shore. Again, no fish, but there is a rock inside that looks rather beautiful. There isn’t anything particularly special about it, no swirls of color, no skeletal shape inside, but it’s very smooth, and very dark - in his hands it shines in dim moonlight, the shadow of his reflection staring back at him.

“Can I keep this?” He asks, holding the rock up to the moon and admiring the odd shape of it. You don’t reply, you don’t even move, so he, perhaps incorrectly, assumes it’s alright and holds the stone tight in his grip.

His awakening late in the morning is slow, rays of sunlight prodding him gently to consciousness. As always his servants dress him, and as he stares dully ahead they push a crown atop his head. In the mirror he spots it, the gold catching his eye.

“I haven’t seen this before. What is it?” He asks his servants, taking the crown off his head to examine it. A braid of gold encircles its entirety, a cobra with fangs unsheathed sits at the front. It’s well made, he notes, though he’s not quite sure as to its purpose.

“It’s a gift from your father,” Naguib, his personal servant, tells him, head bowed politely as always. Ahkmen sniffs, setting the crown back on his head - it doesn’t look bad, he decides, and for another moment he admires himself in the mirror. Yellow isn’t his favorite color, but status is enshrouded in gold, and status is of the utmost importance to his father. Thus, the only cloth he wears has gold sewn into it, and gold is somehow assigned to him. Blue is Kahmuh’s color, which is unfortunate - he favors blue over gold, while Kahmuh envies the amount of gold Ahkmen is constantly surrounded with.

His day continues as it usually does; there’s the daily fight at breakfast as Kahmuh inevitably has another outbreak about how much he hates Ahkmen. This time, it’s about the gifted crown, and how he doesn’t get a crown. His father just rolls his eyes, shakes his head with a sigh, and ignores his eldest son, while their mother attempts feebly to calm him down. Kahmuh storms out of the room, and the rest of the morning is spent in silence. In Merenkahre’s meetings Ahkmen stands by his side, opposite of Shepseheret like a mirror image. They’re a perfect family without Kahmuh, who watches the court from the shadows of the archways leading into halls.

By afternoon Ahkmen is back in his room, his head hanging off the bed, staring listlessly up at the ceiling and trying to remember what exactly happened in his dream. As important as it was to him, he always has trouble with his memory, an unfortunate genetic trait. Caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice Naguib enter his room, tapping his shoulder.

“Um, my prince?”

He perks up, staring upside down at his servant, who is carrying a basket in his arms, his shoulders tight with nervousness.

“Yes?”

“You told me to tell you when I was going into the city again… you didn’t tell me why, though,” Naguib says quietly, unsure of every word. With a deep breath Ahkmen gathers himself, standing up and brushing out the folds in his clothes.

“Will I draw much attention like this?” He asks him, opening his arms for observation of his outfit.

“Quite a bit of attention,” Naguib tells him honestly. Nodding, he changes quickly into something more inconspicuous - a simple skirt and necklace.

Distantly he recalls asking Naguib to tell him, and though the exact reason escapes him he assumes it was for fun. He and everyone close to him knows he doesn’t get out much, and certainly not without being noticed and paraded as a prince. He loathes the attention, always self-effacing and hesitant to think of himself as above anybody else, even though it’s what he’s been told all his life. But Naguib knows the streets well, helps him not to be noticed, taking him through lesser known paths filled with fewer people than the main markets.

“What are we looking for anyway?” He asks as Naguib grips his wrist and pulls him into an alley as a large group of nobles pass by.

“The physician’s assistant is off on some adventure, so I’ve been filling in for them. Adom needs herbs of some sort… I don’t remember the name, only what they look like,” Naguib explains, glancing around the new street the two of them find themselves on. Ahkmen hums his acknowledgement, trailing after Naguib when he leaves suddenly into the rush of the crowd.

Amongst a mass of people he sees a variety of things he’d consider odd - though, when mentioning these things to Naguib later, he doesn’t react the same way. Apparently carrying live fish in a water basket isn’t strange, and neither is snakes in pockets. There is one thing he hesitates to mention, back in the safety of his room; something he is convinced didn’t really happen, but the memory is so clear that he’s at war with himself.

In the end he doesn’t tell Naguib what he saw. Instead he lets it haunt his memory, the image of a black jackal baring its’ teeth lucid like nothing else he’s seen. It jumped at him, or at least he thought it jumped at him, as by the time it should’ve landed on him the mirage dissipated. Luckily, in the crowded market no one noticed one man flinching away from nothing.

By evening time his parents are berating Kahmuh for reckless behavior again. According to them, he wandered out into the desert, but according to Kahmuh, he was hunting for a specific animal. Though, considering he can’t seem to name the animal, Ahkmen doesn’t particularly believe his story. As he does during most dinners, he eats in silence, blocking out the arguing and yelling. Quietly as he possibly can he slips away, tucking his chair back underneath the table and heading off to what he hopes is a good nights’ sleep.

When he opens his eyes to his dreams his hand is heavy. Looking down, he finds the rock, and in sudden clarity he remembered what had happened - now, he’s lying down in a hut, a fire burning beside him. The cot he’s laying in is soft, softer than it should be, and out the open door he sees you’re on the dock again. Slowly he moves to his feet, leaving the rock behind on the bed as his eyes never leave you. The echo of his feet against the wood is loud, making you turn and smile when you see him approaching.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you say, fixing his messy, sleepy hair with your free hand. The other hand holds the line connecting the net back to land.

“How long?” He asks, unsure of why he’s asking it.

“I’m still waiting,” you tell him, softer and regretfully forlorn - with half lidded eyes you stare back out to the wide river. The other side, which last night he saw so easily is so far away all he sees in the distance is fog.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his conscious self still confused, but something inside him speaks without his permission. You just nod, a gentle, homesick smile growing slow on your face.

As conversation quiets you pull your net back, finding nothing in it. Sniffing, you reel the rest of it in and with a mighty throw, it’s back in the water.

“I…” he starts, thinking back to the jackal he saw in the market, wondering if you’d have anything to say on the subject. “I saw something today. Something I’m not sure I should’ve seen.”

You respond with silence, no nod or any acknowledgement that you heard him, but nonetheless he continues - you’re dangerously easy to talk to, he notes.

“I was in the marketplace with my servant, and when we reached this crowded area… I turned, and there was a jackal, a black jackal staring at me. He was growling, ready to lunge at me, but when he did.. he disappeared.”

“What comes from nothing becomes nothing itself,” you finally respond, the words useless to him. Exasperated he sighs, wondering why he thought it was a good idea to tell you in the first place. “Don’t worry on what can’t hurt you. Anything that can cause worry can bring peace… if you can fix it, there’s no need to worry, and if you can’t fix it, find solace in your helplessness.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, the exclamation coming out involuntarily. He stares at you, his brow knitted together as he tries to figure you out - unlike anything he’s seen before, and so painfully familiar, like a cosmos he’s admired for too long. “What if it happens again?”

“If it frightens you, tell someone who may help you, good fellow,” you say, and with a short glance to the water and back to you, you’re gone.

“Where did -“ he starts, but realizes before he’s through that it’s fruitless to call for you. He doesn’t know your name, or anything you might respond to, and you seem like the type of person who wouldn’t reply anyway. Disappointed, he wanders back into the hut, slipping away into nonsensical dreams that he can’t care to remember.

Your words calm his thoughts, but only temporarily - by morning he’s forgotten exactly what you said to him, only recalling you told him not to worry. With a sigh he curses himself and his horrid memory, going about his day in a thought-heavy wander that brings his health to question.

It isn’t for another three days that something odd happens to him again, though this particular version of odd is different from the jackal. In the palace, there’s an absurdly long corridor that leads to the water gardens - it’s empty, barren of torch or painting, and it’s an unsettling sight one must go through to see the beauty of the outdoors. Ahkmen has asked his father three times to put something in the hall, but there’s always been something more important, and thus nothing has ever happened to the absurdly long corridor. When he turns down it, he sees the end as usual, a small rushlight set on the single shelf at the end. But, as he walks nearer, a fog rushes in from the corner - a sick scent fills his head, and the world turns dizzy. The smog draws closer and closer, growing thicker till he can’t see. He can’t feel his heartbeat, can barely feel anything, but the shaking of his fingers is a telltale sign of his anxiety returning to him. Swallowing thick and shutting his eyes he crouches, trying to find a wall to ground himself against but he can barely see the floor he stands upon.

No one finds him. No wise words are imparted upon him, and anxiously he waits for night to receive any answer. You’re the only person - can he call you that? a person? - that he’s trusted thus far; no one else knows of the visions he has. The smog, the jackal, it’s something he’s heard of before, though accounts vary on what exactly it is. He can’t remember what exactly they’re called, or what they may mean, and he doesn’t bother to search for answers before talking to you. He goes to bed early that evening, and finds himself sitting on the edge of a very familiar dock.

This time, you’ve already caught a fish - out of the side of his eye he spots you, tending a small fire, a fish impaled and roasting slowly over the heat. Stumbling to his feet he makes his way to you, his steps slowing as he nears.

“It’s happened again,” he says, desperate for any answer you could give. Anything nonsensical, even - he hasn’t heard you speak in a long while, it feels. Yet you give him nothing, carefully watching your catch cook. With a half-groan he kneels on the ground, watching the fish with you, and wondering if he copies you, you’ll finally talk to him. “Fog, this time,” he continues. “I felt like I was suffocating, and I hated it. I mean, obviously I hated it. I don’t know why I said that.”

Still nothing.

“I also had an orgy with seventeen people,” he says, a shocking lie to get you to respond, but still you say nothing.

For a good while he just watches, irritated at your silence and coming up with ways to get you to talk. When the fish is done and safely set on a plate too fancy for your home, you finally turn to him, staring him direct in the eye. Digging into your pocket you pull out the rock, and vaguely he remembers the beauty he’d admired so indefatigably only four evenings ago.

“You forgot this,” you say, almost stern, but still more caring than what fits the relationship you have with him. Extending your hand to him, you wait for him to close the gap, which he hesitantly does - his hand hangs open, palm upwards and below yours. Your grip loosens and the rock falls too heavy into his hand. He almost loses his grip, watching with a quick panic as his hand drops with the weight of the rock.

“That’s… heavy,” he says, the words instant and he regrets saying it the moment you look up. With one short glare that almost says as if I didn’t know, you turn back to the cooked fish.

“I used to dream of you. Since then I have never known peace,” you tell him, doing nothing but confusing him further. Heaving a tired sigh he sits on the ground, watching the flames of your fire reach lower and lower, till they dim to glowing embers.

When he closes his eyes he expects to wake to his bedroom, but he doesn’t - the cloth of the bed is a dark red, darker than blood, the bed floating lazily down a slow-running stream. He evens his breath, takes a look at his surroundings, glancing twice at the empty space beside him. By the third time he looks you’re lying there, not sleeping, not quite alive and not yet dead, horribly pale and still.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, setting a hand on your shoulder. Your touch freezes his fingers, spreading up his arm till he grows as pale as you, like a white paint coating every inch of his skin. Somehow he manages to not panic, simply lying down next to your unmoving body, waiting for something to happen. Wishing for you to speak again. In the entirety of the dream you haven’t said a single thing that could help him, only words that add to a story he can’t understand. He turns his head to you, your eyes open and dripping a steady flow of tears. A shiver runs through him; the sight is unsettling in a way he wishes he couldn’t know.

By the next morn he’s up earlier than usual. Dreams bring him no solace, so he turns to books and whatever knowledge they may store. He knows he’s heard of his condition before, these images that feel so real, so real he can’t know they aren’t until they’ve disappeared. Ta’i, the bookkeeper, leads him down rows of scrolls and clay tablets till they reach the medical section, where Ta’i leaves him. He can’t trust anyone with what’s been happening to him, not when he’s got the status he has - if it slips out to the general populace that their prince is unwell, it welcomes invaders and those who would dare to usurp power from the rightful family.

Most scripts don’t mention his condition, thus leading to a search that spans much longer than he originally intended. Without the help of Ta’i telling him exactly where specific books are, he’s left to what little knowledge he has of the organization of the library. It isn’t until afternoon that he finds anything that even mentions it, and it isn’t till evening comes that he finds any actual information on it.

Some scholars say visions are prophetic, and a gift - others say it’s a curse, that Gods vowed their hate upon the victim. Others say it’s magic. All he can feel is hunger, and he remembers, dusting off older parchments that he hasn’t eaten all day. Leaving the papers open upon the desk he leaves, wandering down crowded halls to the kitchen, barren of people.

When he emerges, date bowl in hand, the halls are empty save for Naguib, carrying a massive basket of lotus flowers. Curious, he stops him, asking what the flowers are for - when Naguib answers, nothing comes out but silence, and he continues on down the hall towards the physician’s room. A little shaken from the encounter, though not deterred, Ahkmen resumes his research, and comes up with little comfort besides the fact that he’s not the only one.

During dinner his parents coddle him, asking where he was all day - apparently he missed the unveiling of some sort of garden temple, and his mother tells him he’ll have to go see how beautiful it is at some point. He registers the words, knows what they mean, but it doesn’t process in his head; he’s far too lost in the information he’s read.

He resumes his search after dinner, and as night grows long he falls asleep at the desk - Ta’i doesn’t have the heart to wake him and kick him out, so they leave him there, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape.

Back on the dock, he opens his eyes to see you wading in the deep waters of the nile. He almost stops you, anxious that you’ll drift away in the current, but you seem perfectly fine - calm, even. More welcoming than ever before you smile at him, waving in a friendly-stranger sort of way.

“Still looking for answers?” You ask, your voice raised to be heard across the distance. He laughs, though he doesn’t know why, and sits on the edge of the wooden dock, his feet dipping into the warm water.

“I’m still at a loss for answers, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies, watching you drag fish traps out of the nile.

“Perhaps you’re asking the wrong questions,” you say, huffing with the effort you give. Hair falls in front of your face despite the fact that it’s brushed back, and you tuck the stray strands behind your ear. At the simple motion he feels his heart quicken, careful to observe the way you smile, and the way you express your exhaustion. In all the time he’s known of you, you’ve only ever caught one fish, and it wasn’t exactly a very big one. Watching you set the traps up, he wonders how you get by, the fact that you’re a dream escaping his mind - all that’s left is the fact that you’re standing before him, moonlight reflecting off the sheen of sweat on your dark skin. And in that moment, he finds you’re very beautiful, and he wonders how he never noticed before.

There isn’t anything grand about your stature, the way you carry yourself, or the way you dress and look - your words are are the only unearthly thing about you, but still he finds himself staring at you.

“What do you think I should do?” He asks you when you begin wading to shore. You don’t answer till you reach the sand.

“Look at the causes. Not the symptoms,” you tell him with a soft smile, patting his shoulder with a wet hand. “Know you are loved. Wake up.”

“What?” He says, furrowing his brow. Wake up?

“Wake up,” you say again, and he wakes with startling clarity - his father has a hand on his shoulder and is shaking him awake.

“My son, what are you doing here? It’s so late,” his father says, quiet and worried.

“Oh, uh… fell asleep. Sorry,” Ahkmen mumbles, his eyelids still heavy with exhaustion.

“No need for apologies. Get yourself to bed,” he instructs him, patting his shoulder once more. Without another word he drags himself to his room, forgetting about the open scrolls on the desk, and falls asleep on top of the blankets of his bed.

He doesn’t dream, not of anything, and not of you.

Come morning time he hears voices outside his door, whispering their woes in hushed voices, ones he barely recognizes. Blearily he comes to his feet, padding over to the door to open it - on the other side stand his parents, who halt their speech at his appearance.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Ahkmen, we’ve been… discussing something. Father found you last night amongst a lot of our medical scrolls, and we’re worried you’ve been hiding a condition or illness from us,” his mother says, pinching her lip with her fingers as she speaks. A wave of anxiousness shocks his body, his shoulders and hands tensing. His fingers shake as he tries to come up with some sort of excuse.

“I - I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he says, a half truth. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

“You could at least tell us what’s wrong, your symptoms. Adom might be able to help you,” his father says, his arms crossed as his weight switches from foot to foot.

“I’ve - can we talk about this later?” He only asks to gather a semblance of a good excuse for not telling them, and the fact that he just woke up. “Breakfast maybe?”

“Alright. We’ll see you there,” his mother murmurs, kissing his forehead, and leaving with his father when he closes the door. Heaving a sigh he groans, clutching his head and rubbing his temples as he tries to reckon with the fact that his little issue isn’t a secret anymore. Muttering excuses to himself, he doesn’t notice Naguib enter, carrying his usual day clothing.

He doesn’t say anything, only directing Ahkmen to the right positions to set the clothes round his body. Ahkmen hardly pays attention, doesn’t look at himself in the mirror - the last time he looked, he didn’t have much skin on his body, and a fear seizes his heart whenever he catches his reflection in any object. When he’s done, Naguib bows and leaves the room, and Ahkmen makes his slow way to breakfast. There’s still no excuse, at least no valid one in his arsenal of excuses that would explain his reluctance to talk about his condition. As he sits at the table, he decides the truth is the only thing left to say.

His parents, sitting next to each other, stare expectantly at him, while Kahmuh at the far end of the table is glaring at him as per usual. He hates to show weakness in front of his brother, and can feel that hatred physical halting his speech, but he tries to get words out.

“I’ve been seeing things,” he finally gets out, a weak explanation that doesn’t clarify anything.

“Like… with your eyes?” His father asks, promptly hit by his mother. No one says anything more, so he tries his best to continue.

“Little things, sometimes. Like I’ll see a light in the corner of my eye, but when I turn it’s not there. But sometimes it’s…” he eyes Kahmuh, who is watching him intensely, “bigger things. The other day I saw a spider crawl up my arm, but when i went to get it off it wasn’t there anymore.”

“When did these visions start?” His mother asks, always the first to comfort and pretend as though nothing’s wrong with him.

“A good while ago. I was in… the garden,” he lies, “and I saw a jackal.”

His mother and father share a look of concern, and don’t reply - breakfast continues as normal, just much quieter. By the end they direct him to Adom’s study, following him to make sure he really goes, which is fair enough - the thick atmosphere of the room is sickening to him, let alone the stench.

It isn’t for another several weeks that Adom really comes to a conclusion as to what’s really wrong with Ahkmen. During that time, he doesn’t see you quite as much in his dreams; you’ve wandered past that, into another apparition that wanders the palace in silence. The urge to chase after you grows stronger with each day, and with each incorrect prognosis his vision of you becomes clearer. You don’t talk to him in this real-life form, you hardly even interact with the world, but you’re there, leaning over his shoulder and listening to Adom. The night before Adom’s final diagnoses he finally has his first coherent dream in weeks.

“I’ve seen the roots, and seen the skies,” you sing when he opens his eyes to the roof of your hut, the sight a familiar comfort. Sitting up, he sees you tending the fire - you toss in a couple of twigs, continuing to sing. “But I’ll see you again, my love…”

“What.. what are you singing?” He mumbles, deep and warm in a way he doesn’t expect. The melody isn’t anything he’s familiar with, nor is it similar to anything he’s heard before. You keep humming till you turn to him, a knowing smile on your face as you stand. Sauntering over to him, he lets his legs hang off the cot, and you kneel before him, one hand on each knee.

“I haven’t forgotten you, you know,” you say, your smile growing into a giddy grin. As usual when it comes to you, he’s left with many questions, but you stay knelt before him, unlike your usual ‘speak-and-leave’ method. “I kept your rock.”

“My what? Oh, oh. Right,” he mumbles, remembering the smooth pebble from long ago. “You didn’t need to. It’s not that important.”

“You thought it was important once. Eventually, anything that was once important will become so again.”

“I thought I was important, once. I’m still not important,” he says, and the words don’t weigh heavy in his heart. He’s already fully convinced himself that it’s the truth, but you tut, reaching for his hand and tracing veins it with your fingers.

“Perhaps now you think you’re unimportant…” your eyes dart across every feature his face has, every imperfection and mark, every impeccability. “But the feeling will come and go, just like every other feeling. One day you will know you’re special.”

“… special?”

“Incredibly. Have you met anyone that looks like you? A person who walks with your stride, or smiles in the way you do? I’ve never known a soul who thinks the way you do. Not one.”

“You aren’t real, though,” he says, for once remembering he’s only dreaming.

“How do you know?”

“You’re just in my head, like those damned visions I have,” he says with a biting hatred, his throat tightening along with his hand, fingers curling to dig his nails into his palm.

“Have you met every person on earth? There’s no proving I don’t exist somewhere. But… for now, breathe,” you murmur, reaching up to rest your hand against his cheek. He sniffs, and you wipe away the single tear the escapes him, smiling softly in a way he wishes you wouldn’t. The care evident in your eyes isn’t something he’s equipped to handle, a love he hardly ever gets is unbearably strong in your hold. His parents’ coddling can hardly count as love, and outside the palace he hasn’t got any friends - and to be fair, he hasn’t really got any friends in the palace, either. The closest he has is Naguib, but he can’t exactly count him.

Only then does it hit him how incredibly distressing his life is. He doesn’t have a single outlet for stress except for dreams he can barely remember, and the constant arguing between his parents and his brother has to have some sort of toll on him, even minor, though at this point it’s safe to say the effect is major. The only real happiness he finds is in sleep, either in the nonexistence of his consciousness or your presence, which is comforting even though it really shouldn’t be. When he finally sees out his own eyes again, you’re still kneeling before him, gazing into his soul and knowing what he’s thinking. With a sigh, he melts into your touch for the first time, letting you hold him.

“Oh, my dear. How long you have yearned for a warmth you’ve never known,” you say, smiling sadly at him.

+

His parents stand beside him, one at each shoulder as they collectively listen to Adom’s deductions and explanations. The study isn’t quite as smoke-filled in the afternoon sun, and the smell is down to a tolerable level, not that he wants to tolerate it. Adom prattles on for a good while, discussing the different symptoms Ahkmen is experiencing, and is astoundingly correct on most accounts, before moving onto the many conclusions he came to, before the final one, which is more conceivable than previous ones. At least, conceivable for Ahkmen - prophecies of the future didn’t seem quite right, but stress-induced hallucinations sounds much more plausible.

“What could be stressing him out?” His mother asks, worried if not scared.

“A number of things. He’s a prince, for one. But Ahkmen could tell you more about it himself than I can,” Adom tells them, and all eyes fall to Ahkmen, who is starting to wish he hadn’t attended this meeting.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, barely hearable but the message gets across. Neither of his parents are satisfied with that answer.

“Well we can’t just let it be, you said these visions are disturbing, so you want them to end, right?”

“Of course I do,” he retorts at his mother, “I don’t want to talk about what’s stressing me out, is all.”

“Ahkmen, if it’s a girl, we’re fine with that. We aren’t going to punish you for anything,” his father says, but it only works to irk him further.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He snaps, his fists clenching tightly as he storms out of the room. They watch him leave, hesitant to follow after, for which he’s grateful, though the emotion is blurred by his anger. First he thinks to go to his room, before quickly remembering that that’d be the first place they’d look to find him, so instead he heads towards the kitchens. The people there are kind, quiet, and tend to avoid talking to him, which is exactly what he needs.

As expected, he finds the kitchens mostly empty save for a few servants, dutifully preparing for his family’s next meal. Pulling aside the head chef, he instructs her to tell no one of his whereabouts, and doesn’t wait to see if she agrees or not - instead, he goes direct for the wine cellar, where it’s dark enough he doesn’t have to think about anything too hard. Without thought for anything except that he doesn’t want to fully exist anymore, he grabs a pitcher, filling it with wine before chugging it. He’s never drunk this much at once, and a sick feeling swells in his heart that makes him nearly choke on the drink. His world is crashing in on itself and he feels no need to keep experiencing whatever life has to offer - but perhaps it’s all his fault.

Tucked away in the dark corners of the wine cell, tears burning their way down his cheeks, he wonders if maybe it’s all his fault. Maybe he should open up to his parents, and get a grasp on his life, make some real connections, but when the thought occurs to him an anxious shiver runs down his spine.

I’m not ready, he repeats to himself in his head, over and over until he drinks himself into a blackout.

+

“My dear, good fellow,” you murmur, running your fingers down his cheek. Blearily he opens his eyes, seeing a sky holding so many stars it might as well be daytime, though the earth he lies on is dark.

“What…” he rasps out, slowly coming into his senses as his consciousness slips fully into his dream.

“Panic attacks take a heavy toll on the soul, especially one as gentle as yours,” you say with a doleful smile.

“Panic attack?” He repeats, trying to sit up, but you hush him and tell him to lie back down.

“Don’t think on it, don’t worry, we’re taking you somewhere you’ll be happy,” you tell him, your voice strange and not fully yours.

“What? Where - don’t take me anywhere,” he begs, gripping tight at your shirt, his voice cracking with the force of his speech.

“Shh, don’t worry,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

With a sigh he realizes reality is seeping into his dreams again, and there’s little to do about it. The last time he tried to force himself to wake up, he had a dream about waking up, which led to an even worse dream. So he lets you stroke his hair, comfort him with your touch while knowing all the while that it’s most likely his mother.

They’re probably taking me somewhere where I can be someone elses’ problem, he thinks to himself bitterly, finding it harder and harder to just lie there. Still, he manages it, trying to enjoy ‘your’ affections to pass the time.

I wish I wasn’t alive.

+

“Ahkmen, we’re here,” his mother says in her usual, soothing voice, though it does little for his anxiety as of late. He opens his eyes to white sails tied to a mast, the smell of salt thick in the humid air, and he safely assumes he’s near the ocean. His mother hangs over him, his head in her lap as she runs her fingers comfortingly through his hair.

“Where are we?” He asks, his voice hoarse. When she halts for a reply he slowly sits himself up, looking around at the land brightly lit by a blazing sun overhead. Squinting, he realizes he’s still in the Aur, surrounded by palm and date trees - a relieved sigh leaves him at the idea that he hasn’t really left home. The nile still flows, and he can still live beside it. He glances at the other side of the nile, the sight making his breath catch in his throat, his heart beating too fast against his chest.

He knows this place. The riverside hut is too familiar, the bonfire circle to the left of it something he’s known for a long while, and with wide eyes he watches his father speaking to someone he can’t see. They’re standing half inside the hut and half outside, but his father is much bigger than they are, so the little he does catch of them isn’t helpful. Fingers shaking, he tries to get a different angle, anything to try and confirm his creeping suspicion. Turning back to his mother, he gestures his confusion, attempting to get an answer out of her, any answer.

“Your father thought it’d be a good idea for you to get away from whatever is stressing you out. I suppose it is a little presumptuous, to assume being a prince is the thing stressing you so terribly -“ he’s astounded their guess was correct - “but I think time away will be good for you either way.”

With a nod from his father, his mother helps him to his feet and leads him off the boat, and down the wooden deck he’s known but only now felt - an impending dread fills up his head and heart as he grows closer to the entrance of the little hut, thickening his blood and slowing his thoughts. At long last his father steps to the side to make room for him and his mother, and he sees you - smiling politely at him, your hand outstretched to shake his.

Gingerly he clasps his hand in yours, the short touch electrifying his nerves, but he manages to keep himself under control as his father introduces you to him.

“This is Meryt,” he says with a smile, “and you’ll be staying with them until you think you’re well enough to come back home.”

I don’t think I’ll ever want to come back home, he thinks to himself distantly, feeling out of place in his own body. How, exactly, a real person becomes a character in his dreams, complete with the right house and job escapes him - all he can see is the gold pattern of the sun shining through the thin canopy and onto your skin. Your eyes glitter a brilliant color, staring into his soul without a care in the world. As his father continues talking, muted into the background, he wonders if you already know how important you are to him.

It’s a few hours before his parents leave, sailing up the nile in the royal barge, leaving him with you. Behind the little house, the sun is beginning to set, and you pull a net out from a box on the dock, pulling it to the edge and throwing it out into the water. Looking up at him, you pat the wood beside you, and he sits carefully down beside you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ahkmen,” you say with a pleasant smile, your head drifting from side to side gently to music you hear in your head. “As your father said, my name is Meryt. My friends call me Merry.”

“Merry?” He asks, surprising himself with how quiet he speaks.

“Yeah, you can call me that if you’d like,” you say, and when a silence spans between you, you start humming. He sits beside you for a good long while, wondering how to bring any subject up - his dreams, the reason he’s here, the fact that he’s probably a damper on your daily routine. Before he can think of anything to say, you tie the net line to the dock, and head inside. He almost follows you, but you remerge a second later with two cups. Handing one to him, you sip from the other, sitting back down next to him, your legs dangling off the edge.

“So, um,” he stares down at the gold liquid in his cup, “what is it you do here?”

“Various things,” you answer vaguely, giggling when you see his confusion. “I fancy myself a fisher, though I’m not very good at it. It was really more my fathers’ thing. I’m a brewer, sort of.”

Glancing at you, and back down at his cup, he takes a sip - it’s beer, which he usually doesn’t have, but it’s certainly sweeter and kinder to taste than the brews he’s had in the past. When he looks back up you’re watching him, gauging his reaction, so he smiles, thanking you for the drink.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s what I sell in town, but the beer itself I buy from Umut, who’s the actual brewer. I just add some special ingredients, but other than this, I don’t get around much. Most everything I need can be supplied by what I already have.”

“Probably why I’m here,” he mutters to himself, the simplistic lifestyle a clear reason as to why his parents would bring him here of all places.

“I heard you’ve been having visions,” you say, quiet and sincere. He looks away, a blush crawling to his cheeks as he scowls. “I have a friend that used to have those. Though, I don’t think they were as bad as yours are… is it alright to talk to you about this?”

He nods, slow and shy, but a definite yes.

“She used to see these lights, like stars but close by… this mage from the East said they were fairies. Your parents didn’t tell me much, but I don’t think yours are like hers, are they?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them close.

“Mm. You can talk about it, if you’d like, or we can do something to get to know each other a little better,” you suggest easily, and it almost annoys him how kind and down-to-earth you are. You’re nothing like his dream, at least not thus far, but he doesn’t know what he expected anyway - you aren’t a dream, you aren’t solely his, at least not anymore. He retracts the thought a second later, but for a single moment he wishes you were entirely his own, a secret safe from a world he’s started to fear.

“Do you have any advice?” He asks weakly, flinching when he hears his voice crack.

“Advice…?” You think for a moment, staring out into the nile before looking back at him. “There’s… there’s no way to tell if you’re doing the right thing, or if the path you’re on is the one for you - but there’s comfort in the inevitable, and in the unchangeable, just as there is love in the ever-changing.”

“Oh,” he gets out in a whisper, staring at you as you watch the water ripple with the breeze. The way you smile strikes an uncommon warmth in his heart, welcoming and anxious all at once - in this moment, watching your lips turn up at the sight of turtles at the shore, more than anything he wants to be close to you in a way he knows he can’t. People have boundaries, he warns himself, though the ache to know the softness of your hair and the blush of your cheek against his fingertips is more enduring than anything, and for a fleeting moment he thinks maybe it’d help him. Maybe you could help him. But when he breaks from the trance, he’s far too terrified of poisoning your innocence with his brokenness to do anything of the sort. Instead he watches you, the dying light of the sun casting shadows across your skin, dipping around the creases your smile makes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m not very good at giving advice.”

“No, no… it’s good. I think it’s good,” he mumbles, his nails digging into the wood of the dock.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

For dinner you make an assortment of fruits and vegetables, and though it’s not exactly the cuisine he’s used to it isn’t bad. Sitting at the fireside, the hut sheltering you from the wind growing stronger as night grows, the two of you eat in silence. Afterwards, you share another cup of beer, and you tell him a little bit more about your life and what you do.

“You know quite a bit about me now,” you say after sharing the basic information about yourself. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m - I’m not very interesting, I’m afraid,” he blurts out, almost choking on his drink when you ask.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“… what?”

“Your favorite color,” you repeat. His mouth hangs open, confused as his eyes dart from side to side.

“Uhh… blue,” he answers slowly.

“There you go, that’s something interesting,” you say with a brilliant smile. For the first time in months he laughs, shaking his head.

“That counts as interesting?”

“Of course it does. Everyone has interesting things about them. There’s a story in everyone… why’s blue your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t know, um… I just like it, I guess,” he mumbles, thinking just how I like you as the words come out.

“It’s a nice color,” you say with a kindly smile.

“So does my favorite color tell you anything about me?” He asks, taking another swallow from his cup.

“Just what type of things to get you. Now if I see something blue that I think you might like, you’ll like it even more.”

“That’s…” he wants to say dumb, because it’s really such a childish gesture, but what instead comes out is, “… really nice of you, actually.”

“Well, you deserve kindness.”

He begs to differ, but instead of pursuing that, he changes the subject.

“How do you know my father? I’m sure he didn’t just drop me off here without knowing you,” he asks, and in a few aspects he’d be right.

“My father knew yours when they were young. Unfortunately, my father was a very solitary man, never told much about himself… I think the only person he ever opened up to was maybe my mother.”

“That explains why your home is sort of in the middle of nowhere.”

“Do you believe in soul bonds?” You ask out of nowhere, taking him by surprise. Furrowing his brow, he shifts uncomfortably.

“Um… I - I don’t know what that is,” he tells you honestly, setting his cup down and fidgeting with his fingers, staring into the low flames of the fire.

“People who are meant to meet, connected beyond status and distance,” you try to explain, and he understands for the most part.

“I’m not sure,” he answers, thinking of how he dreamt of you, wondering for a moment as his eyes flicker to you if he’ll dream of you again tonight.

“Fair enough answer,” you say. “I just thought you might, because when you looked at me, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I did?” He says, his voice tight.

“A little - are you alright?” A concerned look grows quick on your face as you shift to be on your knees, scooting closer to him, looking over his face.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He says, but his voice is still cracking and far too high. I’ve forgotten how terrible a liar I am, he thinks as your hand brushes against his. Swallowing thick, he tries to ignore your attention, staring into the fire.

“Ahkmen, if you’re seeing something you can tell me. I won’t think any differently of you, I’m here to help you after all,” you say with a weak chuckle, clearly too worried to fully comfort him.

“It’s - can I tell you later?” He gets out in a rush, unable to catch his breath long enough to speak a full sentence. You back away, sitting back down on the floor as you watch him, curious and concerned.

“Of course. Take your time,” you tell him, gently patting his hand curled into a tight fist. You take his cup and plate and your own, cleaning and putting them away. By the time you get back, he still can’t breathe right, his chest strained and heavy with anxious weight.

When you sit next to him, you place your fingers on the side of his face, turning him to look at you. His eyes flit across each of your features, clear as day without the muddling of his dream-state, and he nearly cries at the care in your half smile.

“Breathe with me,” you murmur, taking his hand in your own and pressing it upon your chest. Slowly he feels you, your heat, and the even movement of your breath. He tries desperately to match, watching with a frightened intensity as his fingers shake against you. Every second moves embarrassingly slow as he notices every detail of you, watching every move you make, but he’s in your bed before he knows it.

“Wait, where are you going to sleep?” He asks, already drowsy from his panic as he holds your wrist.

“I have a blanket,” you tell him, and for hm, the answer is hardly satisfactory.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he mumbles, barely able to keep awake.

“Go to sleep,” you say, kneeling before him and petting his hair. With an undignified hum, wishing you’d just take your own bed, he falls into sleep.

The following couple of days he tries to distance himself from you, and though it’s clear you don’t understand why, he thinks his reasoning is obvious. When you cast your line out to fish, you ask for him to sit next to you, but he often refuses - he doesn’t want to be a hindrance to your life. When you prepare food, he eats as little as he can - he knows you’re not exactly rich, and food can be hard to come by, even if it is a plentiful summer. Still you push him to eat more, saying the portion you give is what you can afford, often noting his noisy stomach.

“I don’t -“ he tries to get out how he feels, attempts feebly to tell you what he means, but the words clog his throat till he can’t speak anymore.

“You’re not a bother. Your basic needs physically cannot be a burden, not on me. Not on anyone. Certainly not on yourself,” you tell him, pulling his hands away from hiding his face. “Hey,” you murmur. “I know you’re hungry. Eat.”

Staring into your worried eyes he relents, sighing as you smile, pushing a plate into his lap.

By the fifth day you’re fully comfortable with him - the same can’t be said for him. He’s still a nervous wreck in your presence, complete with sweaty palms and weak knees, and a variety of reasons for this go through his head. It could be that he simply doesn’t know you very well, or it could be that you’re still in his dreams, kissing and touching him where he’s rarely ever touched, or it could be that you’re more strikingly handsome than any foreign princess. Eccentric and classic, you’re a succor he’s desperately needed for so long a time.

The more comfortable you grow with him, the more you begin to act like you do in his dreams. Quiet, thoughtful, and never one for direct answers; it gets to the point where the only way he can tell the difference is that in his dreams you touch him incessantly. In real life you always ask, uncertain of his wishes and hesitant to comfort.

“Looks like there might be a storm,” you say, gathering up the net from the water to put away.

“What?” He asks, pulled out of the memories of his dreams, looking up at you. As usual, you’re to the left of him, though this time you’re standing as he sits, his feet just barely touching the warm water below the dock. Your clothes are beginning to soak with the net gathered in your arms, sticking tight to your skin.

“The wind comes from the north, which,” you point to the gathering clouds, “is where the clouds are coming from. I’ve been expecting it for a while now.”

“Really? You didn’t say anything,” he says, hurrying to his feet to help you.

“Wasn’t sure until now. Either way, I’ve been stocking up food, so if it’s bad, we’ll be okay,” you say with a charmingly positive smile. He doesn’t understand your unending optimism, and doubts he ever will, but he most definitely appreciates it.

After helping you pull the rest of the traps out of the water, the wind growing steadily harsher, he follows you inside and shuts the door. By the time he turns around you’re already working on starting a fire, sparking your flint against the wood. All around the outer walls the wind begins to howl, growing louder as rain begins to fall down. Once the fire is fully started, the rain pelts down on the roof, a far too loud white noise, but luckily quiet enough that he can still hear you talk.

“Did I tell you my mother built this home?” You say, sighing when you finally relax into your makeshift seat on the floor, a bundle of pillows and blankets set out in front of the stone hearth. “Except for the fireplace. That was my father.”

“It’s well made,” he says, unsure of what response is appropriate. Often, you’ll talk without any meaning, not expecting a word from him though appreciative when he does add his input.

“Yes…” you breathe out, glancing up at the ceiling, then back down at the fire. “Well made. Like you.”

“… Like me?”

“You were made with love in mind. We’re all creatures of hopeless regard and admiration, dedication and loyalty,” you say, poking him right where his heart sits.

“Not everyone,” he points out, remembering court stories of rape and abuse.

“The Gods have a story in mind for every one of us. In the heavens each of us are crafted from nothing… isn’t that beautiful?”

“One time you said what comes from nothing becomes nothing,” he says, growing quieter as he remembers that’s something you said in his dreams. But you just go with it, your mouth parted slightly as you try to think of answer, shifting in your seat.

“That’s true. But until then, we exist as love incarnate,” you murmur, smiling soft and hesitant at him in a way that far too often makes his heart stop. “Don’t forget our world came from nothing. Ptah came from nothing.”

Technically, you weren’t wrong, but it didn’t settle well in his stomach anyway - you’re pure, wonderfully positive and endlessly loving. He feels like he’s nothing, he knows he’s nothing, his life can’t mean anything, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you. He must’ve had a look about him, because you scoot closer, tracing the soft skin of your fingers down from his temple to his jawline, and at the motion he lets out a shaky sigh and closes his eyes.

“Every king and kingdom, every emperor that claimed to live forever came from nothing. We are all equal. Your father has as much power as a peasant - if they switched positions, no one would know the difference.”

“That’s treasonous talk, you know. I could have you stoned,” he jokes weakly.

“You could,” you say as though it doesn’t matter. It does, it matters a great deal to him - you should feel fear at the thought of your death, but you’re at peace with death just as much as he’s at discord with living.

“Merry, you can’t… you can’t just agree with me,” he gets out in a whisper, squinting as though it’ll help him understand you.

“But you’re not wrong,” you point out, and he grumbles, irritated.

“No, but aren’t you afraid of death?”

“A little. Fear is natural. I don’t wish myself to be in pain, but… death is just the next step and it’s necessary. It’s something we all go through in the end. Fortunately we have a little leeway on how we die,” you say with a curt smile, patting his knee.

“To be honest,” he says, interrupting you from almost standing, “I’m not sure if I believe in Gods anyway. Even if they did exist, I don’t think my father would be one.”

“I think of Gods more as magic. The beauty in the world,” you say, nodding your head distantly before meeting his eye again.

“Well, yes, there are little bits of magic in our world, but… nothing absolute. I’ve never seen any god, nor any trick to warrant belief… but.. I want to believe. Have you ever seen magic? Actual, true magic?”

“I saw you.”

He scoffs, almost rolling his eyes as he looks away from you. It’s such a corny answer he can’t decide if you’re joking or not, but by the way you scoot closer, it’s safe to assume you’re being completely serious.

“Hey,” you say softly, resting your hand against his cheek to push him to look at you. “Look at me. If you think about it, you’re phenomenal. Gods can number many, and the stars are innumerable but there’s only one of you. Ahkmen, galaxies are more commonplace than you! A unique being, capable of complex thought - isn’t that wonderful? Aren’t you monumental?”

Stunned into silence he can’t respond, his mouth barely parted as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. Smiling soft and sweet, so commonplace he’s almost used to the sincerity, you stand.

He watches you pull ingredients from your various cabinets, throwing them together in a mix and placing it inside the fireplace. As you pull down a loaf of bread to slice, he intervenes without word, cutting for you. In your appreciation you peck his cheek quickly - you’re not tall enough to reach his temple, but the affection still leaves him blushing bright red nonetheless.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you tell him, still smiling brightly - he can’t find it in himself to respond, but he tries to smile without meeting your eye. Instead he concentrates on the bread, trying to pick out the smell or think of the ingredients as you handle your own task behind him.

As he finishes, pulling the honey down from the cabinet, he hears music, and he halts - he hasn’t heard music since being in the palace. You usually don’t sing, at least not in front of him, and he doesn’t play any instruments. Turning around, honey pot still in hand, he sees you standing with your eyes closed, swaying back and forth to the music you play on the lute. You don’t notice him staring as you start to sing, melodic and breathtaking; he nearly drops the pot.

“… and in the dust, you are saccharine sweet to the endless you seek… You spoke to me, whispered in my ear, ‘lets live forever!’ But we chase the lust of living for creations’ dissever…”

He swallows thick as you continue.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he rasps out, throat dry by the time you finish.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. But I’m good enough for children, and for birds,” you tell him, setting the lute down behind a chest.

“… birds?”

“That’s usually who I sing to,” you tell him, taking the pot from his hands and drizzling it over the bread, taking a pinch of your spice mixture to sprinkle over it.

“Did you write that song?” He asks quietly, frozen in place.

“Yes, actually… it’s a hobby of mine.”

“I.. I never learned any instruments,” he says, kneeling in front of the fire.

“I’m self taught, but I could help you start if you’d like,” you say, sitting beside him and handing his plate to him, a row of small slices on one side as you pour the vegetables from the fire on the other side.

“No, I, um… I like hearing you,” he mumbles, pinching his skin as his anxiety spikes up at his own sincerity.

“Thank you,” you giggle, ruffling his hair.

The rain creates a nice ambience, he decides, the muted pattering on the roof working in tandem with the crackling the fire. Like a melody he can’t decipher, completed by your presence beside him, comforting and nerve-racking all at once - sparing a glance at you, you’re still off in your own world. He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you sing again but has no idea how to bring it up again, so he decides he’ll settle for just hearing you talk.

“How does the chimney stop the rain from coming in?”

“Hm? Oh, the chimney has a hat,” you tell him, quickly returning to your meal.

Damn, he thinks at the short conversation that could barely qualify as a conversation. The rest of dinner he tries to think of another topic, of anything to get you to talk, but before he can think of anything you’re cleaning up the dishes and he’s tending the fire to continue burning as the two of you sleep. When you finish with your task, you sit beside him again, a little closer than usual, and you breathe a little harsher than normal - absently he wonders the cause.

“Ready to sleep yet?” You ask, watching him for any reaction. He doesn’t turn to you.

“Can you play another song?” He asks weakly, still not facing you.

“Of course,” you say with a smile, patting his shoulder as you stand to fetch the lute.

I’ve known you from a distance, longed for the sweetest shame,

But it’s been far too long since I’ve felt the embrace of someone dear to me,

so cling to me, the sweet ambition, cradled in innocence’s swath -

Though I may know you for a century, I’d give myself for a minute more.

The dearest touch of what is known -

I beg to gently press my kiss to your chest,

to hold your tender heart as my own.

You’re much closer to him as you sing, knelt beside him as you strum. He almost wants to sing along, but it’s finished much faster than your last song, and he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Do you have these written down somewhere?”

“Not everyone can write, Ahkmen,” you say with a soft laugh, once more putting the lute away, hidden from sight. He nods as he remembers where he is, and who he’s talking to - perhaps I’m still too used to palace life, he thinks, and not for the first time that day.

With a small yawn, you undress, and as usual Ahkmen does a full turn to avoid staring at you. Once you’re dressed in night clothes, you make yourself comfortable on the cot, wrapping the thick blanket over your shoulders and pulling your knees to your chest.

“I made this bed big enough for three people,” you tell him, and when he looks it doesn’t really seem it. Then again, his bed is about the size of your entire house, so he assumes his doubt has to do with his status once again. He wonders why you bring it up, but you take his hand, pull him to his feet and sit him down next to you on the cot. With drooping eyes you lean against him, yawning again. “We can sleep together tonight.”

He freezes, nearly choking on his own spit.

“What?”

“It’s gonna be cold,” you mumble, not bothering to elaborate as you lie down, your head on the pillow and the blanket fully wrapped around your own body. Still finding it hard to breathe, all he can do is watch you, your little hums of comfortable pleasure pulling him deeper into his consternation. Slowly, his eyes never leaving you, he leans down till his head is beside yours, staring at your tired face.

“You… want me to sleep… with you..?”

“Mhm,” you hum, surprising him - he’d asked the question, yes, but he thought you were already asleep. Without opening your eyes, you pull another blanket out from a nearby basket, handing it to him with very little grace.

“Why?” He asks, but at that point you’re asleep, your breathing even and slow. To calm himself he tries to match his breathing to yours, watching your lips just barely part in your sleep.

“You need to do something about me, you know,” you say as he wakes in his dreams, the sky above clear and blazoned with an eternity of stars. You’re sitting cross legged on the soft grass near the waters’ edge, his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean?”

“Love is an unsure thing, naturally it cannot be hindered or birthed… it’s a choice as much as it is unavoidable. Though you have loved me for so long, choosing to keep loving me… you say nothing,” you murmur, and when he meets your eye they’re sparkling with tears barely there. He sighs, knowing you’re right.

“I’ve really only known you for five days though,” he says, and though he’s right you shake your head.

“A soul may know another from the beginning of time and past the end of it. Sometimes these souls meet each other in the physical realm, but memories are fickle - don’t take our chance meeting for granted. Tell me of your dreams, I’d love to hear it, even if you don’t think I do. I care so deeply for you,” you say with such honesty he can’t help but believe, the ache of your heart reaching through your words and into his mind - maybe you do care for him.

When he wakes in the morning, the feeling is gone with the storm; you’re lying on top of him, hair tussled with sleep as your breath tickles the bare skin of his chest. For a moment he cherishes, you stay asleep as he brushes his fingers against your face, working his way up to your hair that he combs till it’s untangled, though it takes a good long while.

He doesn’t say anything about his dreams, about his infatuation for the entirety of the day as he helps you clean up the mess the storm left in its’ wake. In fact he doesn’t even bother to think of it for months until it’s staring him in the face, too clear that even the blind would see and the deaf would hear - in the middle of the village market he feels as though every person in a hundred mile radius would know all his doubts and fears were proven wrong. He’s known you for months know, stayed with you what seems like forever, but you still surprise him.

It was very simple, really; a gesture anyone could give. People had done it to him before, always looking to gain his favor or coerce his opinion, in fact most people had gone a level above. But you’re different, he’s convinced you’re special in a way no one can never be.

In the middle of the bustling trade market, he’d lost sight of you for a moment - you left him on a bench with a pastry you’d bought a few minutes earlier, telling him you’d be back soon. Trying his best to believe you he sits quietly, watching people flit past in their busy lives and keeping a lookout for you. Eventually you return, bag in hand and a smile on your face as you sit beside him.

“I got something for you,” you say, handing the bag to him.

Eyeing you nervously, he looks down into the bag. There’s paper in the way, blocking the gift from view, so he looks back up at you.

“What is it?” He asks slowly.

“Check for yourself,” you reply, your smile growing as you tear off a piece of the pastry to eat.

Once more he looks to you, then removes the paper. Underneath is a blue scarf - the edges are lined with gold fabric and down the center are sewn white flowers. Holding it in his hands he feels its’ softness, nearly as soft as his own royal robes, and he wonders, astounded, how you managed to afford it.

“How… how did you get this…?” He asks in a quiet, confounded voice, his brow furrowed as he examines each stitch and its material.

“Over there. Traders from Persia, I know them well. I know you don’t really have much to your name right now, so I asked them to keep an eye out for something that you might like… something blue,” you murmur, your smile fading slightly as you get quieter. For a moment you allow him to admire it, answering any question he has with answers that leave him adoring you even further.

“You asked them to get this? How long ago?”

“The trek to Persia and back is long, but not too long, fortunately. I asked them the day after you told me your favorite color.”

“That long ago?”

“Something like that, yes,” you say with a giggle, leaning closer to inspect the scarf with him. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, caught up and enraptured in your smile. Your eyes drift over the material, delicate and detailed, humming to yourself when you find nothing wrong. “Um, yeah. It’s pretty. Can I - can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning back to see him fully.

“I think I’m in love with you,” is what blurts out of his mouth, and while he originally planned to go for a much less direct approach, you’re still blushing dark red.

“Oh, um…”

When you don’t answer immediately he can already feel the stinging of his eyes, anticipating tears before they form. I shouldn’t’ve said anything, he thinks to himself, repeating the phrase over and over again as he’s shocked into paralysis. Staring at you, waiting for your reply, he can’t move, can’t run away as he desperately wants to.

“No one’s… no one’s ever said that to me before,” you mumble, half embarrassed and half surprised.

“Seriously?” He asks, finding his own surprise in your statement. “I thought you would’ve heard it quite a bit.”

“Well I don’t know that many people to start off with, so…” you trail off, finding your words again a moment later. “Ahk, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to love me.”

His heart could’ve stopped beating and he wouldn’t have noticed - all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the numbness of his arms, and his thoughts repeating that he shouldn’t’ve said anything.

“I do adore you, more than anything I’ve known, but my place is here. Your place is with your family. Sometimes love isn’t enough,” you say, your voice cracking with the tears you’re trying to hide.

“I’d stay with you forever if it meant you’d love me,” he replies, dropping the bag to the ground to take your hands, holding them in his lap against the silk of the scarf.

“You can’t give up everything for one person. It’s not healthy and -“

“Meryt, we are fated to be together -“ you try to interrupt him - “just listen to me… please?”

Slowly, you nod.

“I dreamt of you. Long before I knew you, before I even thought I needed help, I dreamt of you nearly every night. You’d tell me these wonderful things, you’d hold me close and whisper to me, and I don’t know how it’s possible but I’ve known your love for so long I think I would surely waste away without it,” he pleads with you, searching glassy eyes for your gaze.

“That’s why you looked the way you did, when we first met, isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Will you let me stay with you?” He asks soon after, desperate for an answer.

“I… your father will look for you, he loves you very dearly,” you say, your fingers trilling soft pressure into his palm.

“Then we’ll run away, join those Persian traders,” he says, smiling wide when you giggle at the idea.

“They aren’t Persian, they just go there to trade,” you say, still laughing as a tear runs down your cheek.

“Is that a yes then?” He asks, holding you closer than before, still searching for any sign of an answer.

“… yes.”

+

The traders welcome you happily, mostly thanks to your previous connections to them - they know you’d never steal or cheat them, and by extension they trust Ahkmen. As grueling as the travel is, the people you meet always spark your interest. More often than not a simple hello turns to a long, drawn-out conversation about birthplaces and life stories, to the point where Ahkmen usually has to drag you away, still smiling to himself the entire time.

Though you kiss him often, and did it far before the prospect of a romantic relationship was ever a thought, you don’t really kiss him until you’re sitting in a desert oasis, far away from the nile that used to comfort him so deeply. You and Ahkmen have the habit of staying up the latest, watching the stars swarm the sky, sometimes shooting across the darkness as your campfire dies out.

“My mother says she makes a wish when she sees a shooting star,” Ahkmen murmurs, not breaking his stare into the endless sky. You hum, nodding distantly as you silently make your own wish.

After a moment, he asks, “what did you wish for?”

“I’m not telling you,” you say, laughing. “That’s bad luck.”

Caught up in the golden swirl of his eyes, you lean in, eyes half lidded as you come close enough to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. When he leans in the rest of the way, he feels the softness of your lips for the first time - endearing and forever his.

I like that, he thinks to himself, melting further into your touch as you move to be closer to him. Your chest against his you trace your fingers down his face, temple to jawline, before cupping his chin and pulling him in deeper. 

Forever his.

+

End Notes: hope y’all enjoyed Ahk’s trip to Ye Olde Mental Hospital. I gave it an AU ending because it was the only way to make everyone happy and I’m tired of the sadness. We all deserve love.

[lesbianshinobus]

the lodgers, part two ;

tanjirou, zenitsu, inosuke, nezuko & reader, kimetsu no yaiba. you had prepared for house guests, but nothing could have prepared you for them. part one / read on ao3.

heads up, this fic is different from others in that the reader interacts with all four characters (including nezuko), with romantic hints sprinkled in. this is because i’m conflicted on which pairing should be the “true” one, plus this way you all can enjoy your favourite pairing.

i’m not sure how many parts this series will have, but if there’s interest, i’ll do my best to write more. :^)

It begins as a regular morning. You awake, freshen up, and start on your chores. It isn’t time for breakfast just yet, so you let the demon slayers be.

It’s easy to forget you have house guests this time of day. You balance a basket of clothes on your hip and step outside, into the courtyard, to wash them. You had done laundry the day before, of course, but this bundle was for the demon slayers. Their uniforms were durable, but there was a faint odor to them that could be removed with a wash. Soap suds slip through your fingers as you wring the fabric; once you’re done, you hang them along the clothesline to dry.

Just as you’re hanging the last item, though, you hear the door to the courtyard slide open violently.

“THERE YOU ARE!” booms a voice from behind you. “THIEF!”

You swing around to see the boar-headed boy. Inosuke. He’s in the yukata from last night and his boar head is missing, revealing pretty features and intense eyes. It makes sense, you think to yourself even as he advances on you, since he must have been sleeping just moments ago.

As Inosuke closes the distance between you, seething, you hold your hands out in supplication. “Inosuke-san, I’m not a thief,” you say as calmly as you can. You’ve dealt with angry demon slayers before, but none that suspected you to have stolen something. “What did you lose? Maybe I can help you find it?”

“HAH! It’ll take more than that to fool me!” Inosuke jabs an accusatory finger at the clothesline. “Clearly! You stole my clothes!”

You stare at his finger and follow it to where his uniform hangs, fluttering in the slight breeze. Slowly, you turn back to him. “...Inosuke-san, I took those to clean and dry them. Just like I did with Tanjirou-san and Zenitsu-san’s uniforms.”

He blinks, the enraged expression on his face freezing. “You stole them...to clean them?” You purse your lips at ‘stole’ but nod. “Oh.” After a moment, he turns to the clothesline and inspects it with a frown.

You scowl, affronted. Is he not gonna apologize for wrongly accusing me of stealing? You’re quickly learning that this boy has no manners to speak of.

“Why’ve you put our uniforms on this thing anyway?” Inosuke says instead.

Does he not know what a clothesline is? Or the concept of basic hygiene? “I hung them on the clothesline so they’ll dry in the sun,” you say, before you raise an eyebrow. “How do you clean your clothes?”

Inosuke shrugs. “I just toss them in a stream then put them out over some rocks.”

It’s clear he’s not from a privileged background, as some demon slayers are. That...explains a lot. “It’s the same idea, pretty much.” You lean down to pick up the empty basket. “We should head inside. Grandmother will be finished making breakfast soon.”

He perks up at that and hurries inside the house, as if the confrontation never happened. You shake your head as you follow behind at a more sedate pace.

The morning is already off to an interesting start.

✧

Even before you slide open the door to the demon slayer’s room, you can hear Zenitsu’s anguished cries. You’re greeted by his teary, snot-filled face once you do. He’s still lying in his futon, blankets wrapped snugly around his body.

“IT HUUURTS!” he yowls to no one, fat teardrops falling down his cheeks in rivulets. “That’s it! I quit! I can’t do this anymore!”

You stare at him, stupefied. He wants to...quit being a demon slayer? Demon slayers only retire when they can’t swing a blade decently, or so you thought. You turn away before your gawking is noticed.

“Quit your whining already! I’m going deaf!” Inosuke says, yelling at the same volume as the other boy. You force yourself not to deadpan at him and instead bring in the foldable trays one by one, breakfast balanced atop them.

Tanjirou, who looked miserly when you came in, rises to his feet eagerly. His brow furrows with pain, before it smooths out moments after. “Here, let me help—”

You set the tray in your hands down carefully, ignoring his offer. “Tanjirou-san, you need to rest. Too much strenuous work will only further aggravate your injuries.” You’ve heard Grandmother say this to demon slayers so many times, it’s as if you’re reading the lines off a script.

“Right...okay...” He visibly wilts. You almost feel bad for reprimanding him. Almost.

You straighten up once you’re done. “If you need anything else, do not hesitate to inform me or Grandmother,” you say, bowing your head.

Tanjirou bows back, before he presses his hand to his injured ribs. You frown at him, displeased. He smiles apologetically. “We will. Please thank your grandmother for making us breakfast. And thank you for bringing it!”

You purse your lips before nodding and making yourself scarce. As you walk down the corridor, you marvel at these house guests. They are so...strange.

You don’t know what to make of them.

✧

You stay out of the demon slayers’ path for the rest of the day. You throw yourself into work, being excruciatingly thorough and taking your time with every chore. Grandmother takes their lunch and dinner to them, while you clean out pots and pans and wait for her to return so you can eat together.

At dinnertime, Grandmother pauses while eating, her chopsticks inches from her mouth. “Oh dear,” she says, lips pressing into a thin line. “I didn’t give the demon slayers the desert I made.”

You chew your food, making sure to swallow before you say, “It’s okay. They can have some in the morning.”

But Grandmother shakes her head. “It should be enjoyed while it’s fresh and hot,” she insists. When she moves to put her chopsticks down and stand up, you stop her with a heavy sigh.

“Alright, alright. I’ll give them the desert.” So much for keeping your distance.

You take a single tray to their room, balancing three bowls on it. The demon slayers had been loud and raucous all day, but they’re silent now. You wonder if they’re sleeping. You would leave without disturbing them, but you know Grandmother would be disappointed to see you return with the desert uneaten.

So you slide open the door with a foot, announcing yourself, “Demon slayers, I have brought you—”

Tanjirou shouts your name. “W-Wait! Don’t come in!”

He sounds so horrified, you think you walked in on them changing. But all three of the demon slayers are wearing their yukatas. They’re staring at you in shock.

You blink at them, confused.

Then you notice the girl.

She has wide, pink eyes, and she’s blinking back at you innocently. A bamboo stick is strapped between her lips. Thick, dark hair cascades down her back. All things considered, she’s really pretty. Except for the fact that she’s a demon.

The tray slips from your frozen fingers. “D-D-D—” You fall onto your behind, stammering and pointing. “Demon!”

What is going on? How did a demon manage to stumble into your home? Why haven’t the demon slayers killed it yet? Why are they just watching? Your heart is in your throat, beating furiously.

You stare at the three boys, then whip back towards the demon. “What are you doing?”

“It’s...It’s not what it looks like,” Tanjirou says weakly.

“It’s not what it—” you sputter, before growing firm. “Is that not a demon?”

“Well, yes—”

“Are you not demon slayers?”

“We...We are—”

“And is it not your duty to kill demons?”

“Technically, yes—”

“Then why aren’t you killing it?!”

Zenitsu jumps in front of the demon, his arms splayed out. At first you think he’s—very stupidly—trying to protect the rest of you. Then you realize he’s glaring at you. “How dare you! No one is killing Nezuko-chan!”

“Nezuko...chan...” You feel faint. A demon slayer...is protecting a demon...from a human. What in the world is going on? Have you fallen asleep in your dinner again, and this whole confrontation is a dream?

You turn to Inosuke, hoping that he will be the rational party at least. He isn’t even paying attention. He’s crouched, inspecting the fallen desert with a thoughtful frown.

On second thought, you shouldn’t have expected Inosuke to be the most rational out of the three of them.

Tanjirou steps forward, sweating. “It’s okay! Really!” he says. “This is my sister, Nezuko. She’s a demon, but she hasn’t eaten anyone. She’s safe, I promise!”

You stare at him. “That makes no sense,” you say slowly. “It’s a demon. All they do is eat humans!”

“I’m telling the truth,” he insists. “It’s been two years, and during that entire time, she hasn’t harmed a single human!”

You want to run out the room screaming. You want to force them to leave. You want the demon gone. Then you realize, looking around Zenitsu’s shoulder, that the demon has yet to attack. It’s just staring at you with its wide, pink eyes.

Is Tanjirou not lying?

While you try to process this information, Zenitsu coos over the demon. “Are you alright, Nezuko-chan?” he asks. “You must be so frightened! Don’t worry, no harm will come to you. Not while I’m here!”

The demon—Nezuko—turns to him. You get the feeling she has no idea what he’s saying.

You realize you’re still sitting on the floor. Slowly, you stand up, dusting yourself off. “I...I must speak with Grandmother about this,” you stammer.

“Then speak,” comes Grandmother’s voice from behind you. All of you jump at the sound, whirling towards her in surprise.

“What did I say?” Zenitsu whispers furiously to Tanjirou. “She’s a monster! A real monster!” He earns a punch in the gut from his friend. Good.

You race to her side. “Grandmother, they have a demon with them,” you explain quickly. “They’re claiming that she hasn’t...she hasn’t eaten a human since she turned.”

“I heard,” she says. “You all were quite loud.”

Tanjirou blinks. “Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Grandmother says. Her expression remains serene. “You can continue to stay here, demon slayers. If you say that she is not a threat, then we believe you.”

Your eyes bulge. “Do we?” you hiss at Grandmother. She nods her head.

“It’s late,” she continues. “We’ll let you turn in for the night.” She turns to you. “Could you clean up the mess, dear?”

You sway on your feet, shocked by the turn of events. “S-Sure, Grandmother.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, everyone.” She leaves without another word.

Slowly, your head turns to the other occupants in the room. “I’ll...pick up the desert...” you say, your voice devoid of emotion. “I apologize...for the mess...”

Inosuke stands to his feet, licking his lips. “That desert wasn’t bad,” he says. “Tell the old lady I want it tomorrow too.”

You look at the ground. It’s spotless. He must have eaten the desert off the ground while the rest of you were talking. “...Right...”

You collect the tray and bowls, but before you can finally leave, Tanjirou stops you. “Are you...okay?” he asks, concerned. “I’m very sorry for not telling you about Nezuko earlier.”

You stare at him. It would be easier for you to parse your thoughts and feelings about the matter if he wasn’t so goddamned nice. “It’s just as Grandmother said,” you say eventually.

His pinched features clear up, and he grins. “Thank you for believing in us! I promise, no harm will come to you as long as we’re here!”

You’ve had enough of these guys. “Uh-huh. Goodnight, demon slayers...and demon.” You walk out the room on shaky legs, wondering what the hell Grandmother signed you up for. If you’re lucky, when you wake up tomorrow, this will have been a terrible, elaborate dream.

Of course, because your life is just a series of misfortunes, it’s not.

[envision-fandom]

Scandal

Fred Weasley fanfiction

Couple: Reader x Fred Weasley

Rumors spread around Hogwarts like wildfire and the latest rumor was the most scandalous ever.

The rumor was you were a slut.

It all began on your first day at Hogwarts, when you, a muggle born, was placed into Slytherin.

You were instantly outcast from your peers. No one in your house wanted to be friends with someone from your caliber, and no one from the other houses had an interest in befriending a Slytherin.

The rest of your problems however, began in your fifth year at Hogwarts, regarding this ridiculous rumor.

Until now you had managed to avoid any real issues, by keeping your head down and hiding away at the top of the Astronomy tower to study.

Of course, you still received snide remarks about your blood status, especially from the ring leader Draco Malfoy. But all in all, you lived a quite life at Hogwarts.

The night before the rumor began, you were studying as usual in your favourite spot in the astronomy tower, you books piled beside you, whilst you dangled your legs over the side and admired the view. The sunset slowly descending behind the hills always managed to provide you with the feeling of tranquility and peace.

You packed your books away into your bag, readying yourself to return to the common room for the night, when you heard two sets of footsteps approaching.

Afraid they would belong to a teacher, you hid yourself behind one of the large golden telescopes, not wanting to be caught and have your secret hiding place discovered- the astronomy tower was out of bounds except for classes after all.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the foot steps didn’t in fact belong to a professor after all, but rather two sets of pupils. Blaise Zabini from Slytherin and a random girl from Hufflepuff.

You prayed they had simply been sent to fetch something and would leave soon, but your prayers were not answered and instead you edged further back into the shadows, not believing what you were witnessing.

The two students had begun to undress themselves and lay on the floor, bodies tangled together, inches away from where you were sitting earlier.

Not wanting to watch anything else begin to unfold, you stealthily crept along the room, edging towards the only door into the astronomy tower.

You managed to get there unseen and slipped through the slightly ajar door, unnoticed.

You sprinted down the staircase, not caring if they heard your footsteps, as long as you managed to get away safely.

You reached the bottom of the staircase, your cheeks burning red and struggling to catch your breath.

You stopped for a moment, to compose yourself, wanting to push aside the thoughts of what you had just witnessed and began to return to the common room, trying to act as innocent as possible.

The next day the rumors had begun to spread.

You were sitting alone, in your usual spot at the Slytherin table for breakfast, when you heard a glimpse of the conversation, between a group of girls sitting next to you.

“Yes I heard she saw her coming down from the astronomy tower, all breathless and flustered.” One of them whispered.

“But how do you know that’s what she was up to?” Another asked, not entirely convinced.

“Because not long after Blaise came down the stairs, and he was also breathless, buttoning up his shirt, with the zipper on his trousers still undone!”

‘So someone found out about them then?’ You thought to yourself ‘Well they weren’t exactly stealthy about it. I was standing only a few feet away, and they left the door open.’

You continued to listen in, wondering who it was who had caught them.

“I can’t believe he would stoop so low though.” Pansy Parkinson interrupted “He wouldn’t actually like a mudblood like her, I bet he is just using her for sex.”

You were used to people calling you a mudblood, but you didn’t expect the Hufflepuff girl to be referred to as once, simply from being in a different house.

“Honestly, I always knew she was a slut that Y/N Y/L/N!” Pansy finished, no longer bothering to keep her voice down.

You couldn’t help but jump at the sudden mention of your name. You looked over at the group and was shocked to find them all glaring daggers in your direction.

Surely you must have heard wrong. There was no possible way everyone thought you were the one spending the night with Blaise in the astronomy tower. Unless…

Someone must have seen you leaving, and Blaise had obviously heard your footsteps and rushed down after you!

By the third lesson the rumor had spread like wildfire, and there was no way for you to extinguish it. You had no friends to confide in, or help you plead your innocence and quite frankly no one would believe you anyway.

What you did find strange however, is why Blaise hadn’t tried to shut down the rumour, surely, he wouldn’t want everyone thinking you were together.

However, by lunchtime it all became clear.

There Blaise was, surrounding by a large group of guys, bragging that he had slept with you. You couldn’t believe it.

Without a second thought, you stormed over to his table, ignoring the calls and shouts of the guys surrounding him and poured his drink over his head.

He stood up, towering over you menacingly, but stopped in his attack when he looked down and noticed you pointing your wand towards him.

“If you say one more lie about me, I will fucking curse you! Do you understand?” He nodded his head slowly and you lowered your wand.

You left the hall instantly, not wanting to attract the teacher’s attention and risk getting expelled. But where could you go? The common room was a definite no go, and you didn’t want to risk going back to the astronomy tower until the rumours had died down.

You strode out of the school, wanting the fresh air to help cool down your burning rage. As soon as you reached the edge of the grounds you began to stroll around vacantly, allowing the tears that had been threatening to escape finally run down your cheeks.

You eventually ended up at the lake and sat on the end of the peer, manipulating the water to form different shapes with your wand.

“Hey that’s pretty cool. Mind teaching me that spell?” You jumped at the sudden voice, and let out a small squeal. Fred Weasley was standing behind you, a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yes you did.” You reply sharply “Otherwise you wouldn’t be smirking, clearly pleased with yourself” You turned back to look out at the lake, hoping he would get the idea that he wasn’t welcome and would leave.

Instead he took a seat beside you “Okay so maybe I did mean to scare you a little bit.” He admits “I just didn’t like seeing you with such a sad look on your face.”

“I don’t have a sad look on my face.” You turned to him defensively.

“Well not anymore you don’t!” He chuckled “Now you just look pissed off.”

“Hmm I wonder why?” You reply sarcastically, causing him to let out another light hearted laugh.

“Well I sincerely apologise for offending you, would you please forgive such a foolish man as myself?” He bowed towards you, causing you to smile slightly.

“And what will you do to earn my forgiveness?” You ask, playing along.

He stood up abruptly, startling you slightly “My good lady, I would climb mountains for you, travel across deserts. I would even jump in this squid infested lake for you!”

“Words. They mean nothing to me! I want to see actions!” You smile up at him, glad for his presence and the fact that he was trying so hard to cheer you up.

“If that is what my lady wishes.” He began to take off his shoes and robe.

You stared up at him questioningly “What are you doing?”

His shirt was suddenly undone and he began to unbuckle his belt. You stood up defensively “Just because there is a rumour going around that I had sex with Blaise, does not mean I am up for doing it with anybody!”

Fred suddenly edged towards you, his hands raised “Oh no Y/N, that’s not what I’m doing. I know you didn’t do it with Blaise. I promise…”

“…Then why are you getting undressed?!” You interrupted and he suddenly had a serious look on his face.

“Because I’m going to jump in the lake for you. You did say words meant nothing.”

You stood, staring at him in shock “You’ve got to be joking?”

He smiled mischievously down at you “I’m afraid I’m not this time.” He carried on unbuckling his trousers until he was standing there in nothing but his boxers.

You watched him for a moment dumbfounded and impressed by the view, before you realised he was already walking to the edge of the pier.

“Fred, stop! You don’t have to actually do this! I was joking.”

He turned and winked at you, “Sorry but when I promise something, I never break that promise.” He went to step of the edge, and before you could stop yourself, you were latching onto his bare chest, trying to stop him from going into the lake.

Except, your plan to save him didn’t go as planned and the next thing you knew, you were also falling into the lake with him.

The cold water engulfed you, temporarily freezing your muscles. You fought against it and pushed you way to the surface, spluttering.

You were shaking from the cold and looked around in panic for Fred. A mound of red hair suddenly shot out of the water “Jesus fucking Christ it’s cold.” He turned towards you suddenly “And why did you jump in with me?!” He swam towards you, and wrapped you up in his arms.

You pressed against his body, a slight blush on your cheeks “I was trying to save you.” You replied timidly.

He laughed heartily “And in the process you killed us both!”

“Hey we are not dead!” You defend yourself, “Well at least not yet, but I think if we stay in here any longer, we may catch hypothermia.”

You reluctantly pushed yourself away from Fred and swam back to the bank of the lake, with Fred following closely behind. He helped you out of the water and ran to get his clothes.

You struggled out of your wet robes, and stood shaking, waiting for him to get dressed.

Fred sprinted back over to you and forced his jumper over your head “Here this should keep you warm for now.”

“But what about you?” You asked worried for his health.

“Don’t worry about me my lady.” He put on a joking voice “I am here to protect and serve your every command.”

“Well then, I command you to run back to your common room as quickly as possible and dry off before you catch a cold!”

He once again smiled down at you, a playful glint in his eye “As you wish.”

[geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek]

eat your heart out, lover

geraskier | 2.5k | teen | modern witcher au, canon-typical violence

he reads, again, the string of messages from one of geralt’s followers, describing a beast that looks like a cephalopod of some kind that floats in the air, attacking with quick strikes and engulfing its poor victims in its tentacles, leaving them half-eaten if they’re lucky, and brain dead if they’re not.

jaskier shudders, and it’s not from the cool bite in the air. it sounds a bit unbelievable, a flying octopus-squid that eats people, but jaskier has been with geralt long enough to know all manner of creatures roam the earth.

( read on ao3 )

“So, what are we hunting again?”

“Not sure,” Geralt replies. He sweeps his flashlight across the edge of the beach, illuminating the waves gently rolling in. Their steps are muffled in the sand as they walk.

There’s no moon visible tonight, just a sky full of stars, and Jaskier thinks it might be considered romantic if not for the lingering smell of rotten flesh and overall atmosphere of death now permeating this once-tranquil place.

It makes Jaskier roll his eyes, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “Oh, joy,” he mutters, pulling up Twitter, “Just what I wanted to do for Valentine’s day: sneak around a beach in search of something we don’t even know. Excellent! We could be at home, eating dinner and making love, but no!”

Geralt just grunts, and Jaskier looks up long enough to imagine the smirk Geralt throws back at him, because it’s too dark for him to see it properly. “Like you don’t get all hot and bothered watching me get covered in gore.”

He’s not even wrong, that’s the thing. Jaskier sputters in offense anyway. “That’s—! Wholly beside the point,” he finishes lamely, and Geralt snorts. “Shut up.”

Geralt does, and Jaskier looks back at his phone, muttering under his breath. He reads, again, the string of messages from one of Geralt’s followers, describing a beast that looks like a cephalopod of some kind that floats in the air, attacking with quick strikes and engulfing its poor victims in its tentacles, leaving them half-eaten if they’re lucky, and brain dead if they’re not.

Jaskier shudders, and it’s not from the cool bite in the air. It sounds a bit unbelievable, a flying octopus-squid that eats people, but Jaskier has been with Geralt long enough to know all manner of creatures roam the earth, mostly keeping to themselves until humans start intruding on their spaces.

Either way, the description of this particular monster is absolutely hideous, and Jaskier makes a face. They drove all the way to the coast for this one, two restless days in the car with maybe nine hours of sleep between them. They’d crashed at a little bed and breakfast about three miles from where the sightings had been to wait for night, when the creature was most active, according to the owner.

And, well. It is now very dark and very spooky on this particular beach, and Jaskier wraps Geralt’s hoodie he’d stolen on the way out the door tighter around his body, moving closer to Geralt.

“Scared, Jas?”

Jaskier scoffs, bumping his shoulder into Geralt’s. “As if,” he says haughtily. “Disgusted, mostly. Nothing about this thing sounds even remotely interesting. A cephalopod that eats people? Talk about the tables turning. Do you think they call us sushi?”

It makes Geralt laugh, and Jaskier smiles to himself. They might be on a deserted beach in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, searching in the dark for a creature that supposedly might eat them, but at least they’re together.

They walk a handful of steps further, and the temperature suddenly drops, a freezing sort of chill engulfing them, much more ominous and unsettling than before. Geralt is immediately on high alert, swinging the flashlight toward the rocky outcrop ten or so meters in front of them, where a faint, almost indiscernible glow pours into the night.

“Stay behind me,” Geralt says, and Jaskier huffs, but does as told. He’s not useless—he can put Geralt on his ass three times out of seven in their practice spars at the gym, and he’s been taking self-defense classes for almost four years now—but he supposes with unknown creatures, it’s better safe than sorry.

Satisfied that Jaskier is going to listen, Geralt pulls out his sword—Jaskier hears the shing! of it leaving the sheath—and they creep closer to the outcrop. Jaskier’s skin crawls, and the stench of death gets stronger, curdled milk and rotten eggs and sewage that’s almost suffocating. There’s soft, low growling, and something squelches in a way that makes his stomach turn and his insides squirm uncomfortably.

A sudden screech pierces the air, and Jaskier stumbles back as something rushes out of the rock, presumably emerging from its cave. It’s only by sheer reflex that he catches the flashlight as Geralt tosses it to him, and he immediately points it at the thing hovering—actually floating—several feet before them.

Tentacles—actual tentacles! Holy shit!—undulate beneath an almost humanoid upper body, graceful and hypnotizing in the most bizarre way. Its arms reach toward them, billowing what almost looks like sleeves behind them, and it screeches again. It leans back, and Jaskier has a bad feeling as he watches the tentacles twist and wind up, his heart beating fast against his ribs and blood rushing to his ears, and he wants to close his eyes so he won’t see whatever’s coming but he can’t—

—and Geralt is in front of him, sword braced against the lunging attack, the tentacles hitting the silver and flying apart as the creature is forced back with a simultaneous burst of Aard from Geralt’s palm.

“Get back!”

Jaskier doesn’t have to be told twice—he turns and runs, hopping lightly over the sand to put as much space between him and the creature as possible while Geralt stays on the offensive and attacks. He doesn’t go as far as he probably should, because as utterly terrifying as that thing is, he won’t leave Geralt alone, and heightened witcher senses or not, having an actual light source does help, thank you very much.

He keeps the flashlight trained on Geralt, adrenaline pumping through him and making him itch to move. The creature has retreated a bit, tentacles calm once again as it watches Geralt approach, feet placed precisely where he means, stance solid, sword raised.

It really is a hideous thing—the description was spot on about the octopus-squid parts, but Jaskier is mildly intrigued by the almost human upper-half, the way it almost looks like it’s wearing a high-collared coat typical of pirate period fashion.

He is, inexplicably, put in mind of Davy Jones, and this is truly shaping up to be one of their weirder hunts for sure.

He must laugh or make a noise of some kind, because the creature suddenly jerks its head in his direction, and Jaskier has only a beat to think before it’s coming at him, a horrible sound erupting from it as it lunges, and Jaskier scrambles back, nearly dropping the flashlight.

It opens its mouth, and Jaskier is frozen in place as a fine, chilled mist pours from it, immediately engulfing him. He lets out a yelp, fingers twitching and his skin stinging, eyes watering and doubling over. When he breathes it in, he chokes on the sickly sweetness of it, saccharine to the point of tasting sour and rancid.

“Jaskier!”

He coughs, falling to his knees, trying to avoid the tentacles as he crawls away from it. The creature’s attention is drawn back to Geralt, and Jaskier claws at the sand to pull himself out of the mist.

“I’m fine!” he shouts back, though it’s very much belied by the hacking retch that follows. The sting in his skin is abating slowly, and his eyes don’t hurt quite so much, though there’s now a deep ache in his bones. “I think it’s just meant to stun! Not poisonous!”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert? You were the one complaining we don’t know what it is!”

Jaskier hears Geralt grunt as the thing launches itself at him again, screeching when it comes up against the silver sword and another burst of Aard. He huffs, spitting up the taste of rancid sour candy, and manages to roll his eyes. His witcher sometimes, honestly.

“I’m still alive!” he shoots back, gripping the flashlight he’d dropped when the creature came at him. “That’s got to mean something!”

“Yeah,” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier can hear the eye roll, “it means you’re fucking lucky, you idiot!”

When Jaskier gets the beam of light trained back on where he thinks Geralt is, he sees him taking swings at the creature, aiming to cut off the tentacles or even one of its arms when it makes to grab him. He lands a solid hit to its chest, knocking it back, and it roars in outrage, backing away and floating higher in the air.

Jaskier sees its next attack in slow motion—the beam of the flashlight catches its attention as he moves to follow the creature, to keep it in his sight. It looks directly at him, face contorted, and rears up again, tentacles twisting beneath the tails of its coat. Jaskier is rooted to the spot, watching it with wide eyes, unable to move, foreboding and fear gripping his limbs and keeping him still.

“Jaskier, move!”

But he can’t—and the creature dives, an ear-shattering screech piercing the air, and Geralt is quick but not quick enough, not this time, and Jaskier forces his legs to work, to move, to run—

—but it’s too late.

Cold, slick appendages wrap around him, dripping with mucus or slime or some combination of both, Jaskier isn’t sure, but it makes his skin crawl and his stomach heave as he’s pulled from the ground. He wants to yell, to scream, but his mouth is full of the slick-mucus-slime as the creature pulls him into itself, and tiny, razor-sharp needles latch onto him like teeth, piercing his skin and drawing blood, and he’s suddenly very dizzy, and it feels as if his brain is on fire, being pulled out of his ears and nose and mouth and eyes, suffocating and choking on his own spinal cord, and he hurts, he hurts so much, please stop just stop please please please just stop stop let go let go—

“JASKIER!”

There is a roar, and a squelch, and a squeal, and Jaskier is suddenly falling, dropping back to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs as his knees buckle beneath him. He gasps for air, coughing and spitting out the rotten taste of dead flesh, and he wipes away the sticky substance from his eyes to try to stop the burning. His face and neck sting, as well as his hands, and he can tell he’s bleeding.

Gods, he’s going to need so many bandages and Neosporin.

The dizziness has abated, thank the gods, and he can think clearly. He looks up, squinting in the dark, and the flashlight has fallen so that it illuminates the space in front of him where Geralt stands, steel sword now drawn, held protectively in front of Jaskier’s head while the silver sword is brandished in his other hand.

The creature drips a sickly colored substance—blood, maybe—and cries out, lunging at Geralt in one last, desperate attempt at an attack.

Quick, graceful as a dancer, Geralt brings the steel sword up and forward, shoving it into the center of the creature’s chest.

It screeches, thrashes, arms swinging wildly, and makes another grab at Geralt—

—and Geralt shoves the silver sword through its head, deep into its brain. He breathes heavily, muscles tense, braced in the sand, and with a yell he brings the swords toward himself, cutting through the creature and yanking blood and organs and meat and flesh along with it, and the creature dies with an agonized sound, dissolving into the air in a mist of shimmering blue dust.

And it’s over.

The tension stringing through his own body snaps, and Jaskier sinks towards the ground, unable to hold himself up. A long, silent breath leaves him, heart pounding against his ribs, and he closes his eyes as the adrenaline fades.

Warm hands cup his cheeks, trailing gentle and feather-light over his skin, and Jaskier melts into Geralt’s touch, melts into Geralt.

“Are you okay?” Geralt asks, and his voice is tight and thin, worry and anger threaded into his normal rough tone. “Jaskier. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” Jaskier says, and enjoys the attention. He’s absolutely shot in the brain, is what, and he doesn’t want to think. “Looks worse than it is, I’m sure.”

Geralt growls, something dissatisfied and upset. “It looks like you were mauled, Jas. Gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Battle scars,” Jaskier says, waving it off. He reaches up to grip Geralt’s arms, hanging on tight—grounding himself. The slime from the creature squishes between his fingers and he makes a face. He’s disgusting right now. “I’ll heal.”

Despite being covered in strange muck and probably half an intestine, Geralt leans forward and presses his lips to Jaskier’s forehead, lingering and inhaling the smell of him. It can’t be pleasant, not covered in monster goop like he is, but the tension leaves Geralt’s shoulders and he relaxes too, wraps Jaskier in his arms and holds him close.

They stay like that for a long moment, feeling each other alive and breathing and well, if not covered in strange substances and blood. Eventually, Geralt pulls away, no doubt looking over Jaskier with his heightened witcher sight. He makes a sound in his throat, but at Jaskier’s exasperated look, he bites his tongue and doesn’t comment, which Jaskier appreciates.

They’re alive, and the monster is dead—Jaskier will take his victories where he can.

Geralt puts his arm around Jaskier and they hobble to their feet, ready to head back to the little bed and breakfast. They pause so Geralt can look at the remains, mostly just entrails and blood, and Jaskier holds the flashlight pointed at the mess on the sand, wrinkling his nose when Geralt steps over to inspect it.

“If you touch any of that, you’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” Jaskier warns him, shuddering in revulsion.

Geralt, standing back up from where he was poking around in the gore, gives him a cheeky grin and holds out his hand. In it, crusted in drying blood, and oozing something out the side, is what looks like a lump of grey matter, and Jaskier thanks his lucky stars he hasn’t eaten in almost twelve hours.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Geralt says teasingly, and Jaskier realizes it’s the thing’s heart that he’s holding out to Jaskier.

It’s disgusting and vile and Jaskier wants to set it on fire so the ooze doesn’t get on his shoes—

—and it’s probably the most romantic thing Geralt could have done for him on a night like tonight.

With a shake of his head, Jaskier reaches out and takes the gross thing in his hands. It feels as slimy as it looks, and Jaskier kind of wants to throw up at the smell.

“I hate you,” he says, with feeling, “and I love you, you insufferable witcher.”

Geralt just laughs, and Jaskier supposes it’s only in the spirit of the day that he shut him up with a kiss that tastes like creature ooze and stale breath mint.

[denyingmyselfalways]

you can trick my mind but you can’t infect my soul

Set before Avengers Age of Ultron

Manhattan, New York. Present Day.

It was a typical Wednesday morning. Pepper made him get up at 7:04 to attend one of his drawling meetings, was forced to eat breakfast, and was restricted to two coffees. He was up and out of the meeting room as soon as it was over, making some snide remark in response to questioning. And then he was free. Free from responsibilities and anxieties for the day until three in the afternoon for another pointless meeting.

Tony scrubbed his face with one hand, the other sporting his second coffee. He needed to get out. Out of the stifling Tower with its facilitated air and important businessmen. As much as the Tower was a work of art, even Tony Stark needed a breath of fresh air every once in a while.

He wandered to the elevator and told FRIDAY to take him to the ground floor. The tiny vibrations beneath his feet kept him grounded, and he closed his eyes just for a moment to gather his thoughts and just breathe. It had been a while since he’d had enough time to do that.

The elevator doors opened, and Tony made his way to the exit, waving off any of his employees who questioned if he was supposed to be somewhere or if he would be safe.

He was Iron Man. He’d be fine.

 Queens, New York. Ten Years Ago.

Peter’s brain couldn’t process what was going on. There was red in his vision, and people in black running around everywhere, and his father, his dead father laying on the ground in front of him. He felt as if he should be crying, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to tears. Instead, he just felt numb, as if the coldness of death had gripped him too.

Peter’s legs went out, his knees hit the ground, and his small, six-year-old hand reached out to grab his father’s. He was inches away from contact when a hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

And then the world went black.

 Present Day.

Something wasn’t right. Tony could taste it in the air. Perhaps years of being Iron Man had trained him to be more alert. Perhaps it was years of being under a target for his money and fame. Perhaps the two spies he was friends with had rubbed off on him. He didn’t know what it was that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but it made him uneasy.

Tony, waiting on a street corner for the crosswalk to turn, checked his watch, reaching his other hand up as if to adjust it. Instead, he tapped its surface and woke up FRIDAY. The lens of his glasses lit up with his interface, but he didn’t have the suit on him, only his glasses and a wristwatch.

He murmured for her to check his surroundings for any suspicious activity. With all the people around, she couldn’t pinpoint anything, but Tony was still uneasy. He felt like he was being watched. And not the awed kind of watched he’d gotten used to from being famous.

His jaw clenched as the light turned and the crosswalk opened. He walked swiftly across, made his way down a block, and ducked into a deserted alley. It smelled like used socks and sewage, but he didn’t acknowledge the environment as he double-tapped the watch and pulled the Iron Gauntlet over his hand.

The world seemed to still for a moment.

Tony’s gaze switched from one end of the alleyway to the other, his ears straining to hear footsteps amongst the madness of the city.

But no footsteps came.

 Ten Years Ago.

The world focused a few particles at a time. Peter heard a groan and realized it had come from his mouth. He felt his eyes blink once, twice, three times, but his vision cleared no faster.

His head felt heavy.

He wanted to fall back asleep, but he forced himself to shake his head. He squeezed his eyes tight and popped them open and finally he could make out his surroundings. He was laying in a single bed in a small, windowless room.

He was alone.

Peter sat, up, rubbing his face with his hands and trying to remember.

There had been people, loud bangs, and then his parents…

The tears that had not come before, sprang into his eyes.

His parents, Mary and Richard Parker were dead. They had just been out for ice cream. His parents had created something big, something they’d told Peter he wouldn’t understand. He didn’t really care, he just wanted ice cream.

They were leaving the parlor when the first bang went off. His mother dropped to the ground.

He heard his father screaming, but his mother, struggling to breathe had told them to run, to go.

So his father scooped him into his arms and had run.

The second bang went off and the world turned upside down as Richard fell and then… and then…

Peter was still trying to figure out that part.

The door creaked open.

Peter scrubbed his eyes, trying to hide the tears as a tall, elderly woman stepped into the room.

“Hello, Peter Parker.”

He managed a wobbly, “Hello.”

She smiled tightly, but the smile didn’t hold warmth. “We are great fans of your father’s work.”

Peter said nothing, too afraid and upset to respond.

The woman straightened. “I am very sorry about your parents.”

Peter curled into himself a little. “C-can I go home now?”

The woman’s tight, unwelcoming smile returned. “Oh, Peter. This is your new home.”

Peter’s eyes widened, his whole body tensing. “Where… where is here?”

“Well Mr. Parker, this is the Red Room.”

 Present Day.

Still shaken from his earlier paranoia, Tony made his way back to the Tower as fast as he could. Earlier the fresh air had felt freeing, but now he just felt exposed. He wanted the safety of his suits and his tower and the presence of Pepper Potts.

He walked straight through the entrance of the Tower and took the elevator all the way to the penthouse before he allowed himself a breath of relief. He was safe. He was home.

However, the adrenaline slipping away also took his distraction, and the anxieties of his life returned.

He collapsed into his desk chair and put his head in his hands. Nightmares, Ultron, Pepper. All fresh wounds. The nightmares were returning, Ultron was his fault, and Pepper was leaving. Maybe. Probably.

He was alone, he was alone, he was alone.

The Avengers were no longer at the Tower, Rhodey was off being a Colonial, and Pepper. He shouldn’t cry because Stark men were made of iron and Stark men didn’t cry. Tony must not be made of iron.

He needed her. But he blew it.

His whole body trembled as he held in his tears. He’d hoped getting out today would help but all it did was distract him for a moment. In the end, it would always come back to Pepper.

Something shifted in the air.

Tony felt it again. The hair on the back of his neck rose, his shoulders tensed, his eyes began darting around the room. His ears had picked up on a shuffling. An almost-imperceptible shuffling in the vents.

“FRIDAY?” Tony chirped as if he hadn’t just been holding back tears, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Be a dear and make sure our ventilation system is clear. The air is feeling a bit stuffy.”

Before she could even respond, the vent in the ceiling burst open and a masked figure in an all-black bodysuit landed on all fours. Tony blinked, stumbling up out of his chair and calling out for FRIDAY to dispatch his suit, but the man in black ran to the window, barreled straight through, it and fell out of view. Tony sprinted towards the opening, looking down for a corpse landed on the pavement, but there was no body, living or dead.

Tony stumbled backward, scrubbing at his eyes. “FRIDAY, am I seeing things?”

“All visuals are down, boss.”

Tony frowned. “Excuse me?”

“My video feed has been completely disabled.”

“Why didn’t you alert me?”

“You told me not to.”

Tony’s frowned deepened, but when the reality of the situation hit him, he sighed and plunked down in his desk. “FRIDAY, get Pepper up here. Tell her we have a situation.”

“Yes, boss.”

A beat of silence.

“May I ask what kind of situation?”

Tony chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head as he picked up his phone to make some calls. “Well Fri, you’ve been hacked.”

 Ten Years Ago.

Peter’s footsteps echoed in the dim hallway. The woman leading him hadn’t said a word since they’d left the room, and Peter was feeling more and more anxious. The longer they walked, the more Peter’s chest ached with a loss he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t know where he was going, or who was now taking care of him, or where his parents really were. He just wanted to go home.

The woman stopped abruptly next to a door and turned to unlock it. Peter shivered, terrified of what lay beyond.

The door opened seamlessly, and the woman looked at Peter expectantly.

“Well,” she said when he didn’t move. “Go on.”

Peter took a few tentative steps forward, before freezing in the door frame. It was a small room, with a single chair in the center and a man in the corner hunched over a table.

“Master Mikhailov, this is Peter Parker.”

The man turned around, and Peter tensed. But the man wasn’t hideous or creepy or anything that Peter had expected. He was just a normal-looking, middle-aged man.

The man smiled at Peter, but it felt as warm as the woman’s smile had. “Hello, Peter. I am Master Mikhailov.”

Peter said nothing, only blinked back in response.

The man’s gaze hardened, and he turned back to messing with the items on his table. “Come in,” he ordered, his voice had no give to it.

The woman turned on her heel and walked swiftly back down the hallway, leaving Peter with very little choice in the matter. He took a slow step inside, still unsure.

“Sit,” Master Mikhailov commanded, his back still facing Peter. Peter trudged to the chair and plunked down into it. “We’re just going to do a little medical procedure, make sure your body’s in prime physical condition.”

Peter tried to listen, he really did, but his memories kept pulling at his skull. His brain dragged him back to his parents and his city and his friends and his home and how this was not home. This was terrifying and nothing about this place felt right. His eyes began to water, and Peter sniffed, trying so hard to keep his composure. He didn’t want to cry in front of people that did not seem at all friendly, but his eyes refused to dry at the thought of living here, with these people that had no words of kindness or softness in their smiles.

The master came to stand in front of him and clicked his tongue. “Ah mister Peter we cannot have crying, now can we?”

Peter scrubbed his fists in his eyes, trying to hide his vulnerability. “I want my mom!”

“Your mother is gone, Peter.” The master said, no sympathy in his voice. “Hold out your wrist for me, please.”

Peter did, not looking up at the man. “I want to go home,” he murmured, his tears beginning to diminish before he really wanted them to. Now that he’d begun letting out his emotions, he didn’t want to stop. “I want my dad.”

Something soft brushed against his arm.

“Oh, Peter, didn’t Madame B tell you? This is your new home.”

A tickling sensation made Peter’s gaze snap up at his wrist a second before the spider sitting on it sunk its fangs into his skin.

 Present Day.

The Wolf Spider hung upside down by a single thread, twisting through the air silently. His eyes were closed, his senses open to the bank and the people bustling beneath him. The businessmen and women were too preoccupied with their little nothings to glance upward and see his dark form. He listened beneath his mask without saying a word.

He shouldn’t have been caught. He should’ve been more careful. Stupid Tony Stark and his paranoia. If only he’d been better. If only he’d been quieter. There were a thousand if only’s but he couldn’t focus on the past now, he could only focus on this next mission and going back and fixing it. He couldn’t have another person hurt because he failed.

His eyes snapped open and his pupils dilated as the hair across his arms rippled. He could feel it. The presence of an insect buzzing its way towards his delicate web of death and carnation.

The insect in question was a balding man with the navy suit and the dark gray suitcase making his way towards the teller’s desk. The Wolf Spider, holding onto his thread with one hand, raised the other to his mouth and yanked the switch on his wristbands with his teeth. He raised his wrist to eye-level and aimed with his now activated kill switch. His hand began to tremble as the target and the weapon matched up.

He growled at himself and shook it out. He’d killed before. He could do it again.

But this man is innocent, a small voice in the back of his head whispered.

“So were my parents,” Peter murmured to himself, took aim again, and fired.

[taronfanfic]

Fast Forward

Chapter 24

The loudest chorus of birdsong woke you and Taron at the same time, a simultaneous groan of annoyance making you both giggle and then move in closer together beneath the covers.

“Let’s go back to sleep.” You hummed as Taron’s thumb stroked gently across the soft skin of your stomach. Having him spoon you was one of your favourite things; you felt so safe, secure and loved. You closed your eyes and hoped that your sleepy state would wash back over you and give you another hour of rest in Taron’s arms.

“What time is it?” He asked before placing a few quick kisses to the back of your neck. You opened your eyes again and groggily reached out to the bedside table for the watch you’d gifted him the morning before.

“8:40, ish.”

“Ok.”

“Just another 20 minutes.” You mumbled as you closed your eyes again, but Taron wasn’t staying settled behind your back and the feel of his arousal pressing against your arse told you why. His hand drifted down to your core, his index finger rubbing softly between your folds and finding your nub. “Taron.” You groaned.

“Yes, love?” He answered innocently.

“Mmmm, god you’re impossible to resist.” You caved instantly and turned onto your back, opening your legs wider for him and taking him between your thighs as he moved himself over you.

“I know,” he smirked, “just relax, we’ll take this one slow.” The morning sunlight had his eyes looking a lighter shade of green as he gazed down lovingly at you. The sex the night before was hot and filthy, eyes were dark with lust, skin sweaty and your bodies moved heavily against one another. It was intense and full of pleasure and passion. The tone for the morning was the complete opposite. Taron pushed himself into you slowly, checking you were alright after the pounding he’d given you just hours before and you nodded up at him sweetly to let him continue. He circled his hips a few times before lowering his chest down against yours and taking the tender kisses you had on offer. Your hands stroked through the back of his hair as you kissed him good morning, both of you smiling happily as Taron continued to fuck you slowly. There was a flinch of pleasure which flashed across your face as he found the sweet spot inside you.

“There, yes.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling your knees up higher so you could wrap your ankles over him.  

“I’ve got you.” Taron replied as he kept his position and started to work a little faster to keep the momentum. The loving softness had your head spinning for him. It wasn’t often that both of you were in this mood but when it happened you were completely inseparable for the rest of the day. He couldn’t be any closer to you physically, but still you craved more, reaching up to kiss him with a hunger this time. Your hips rocked together, bodies taking each movement with ease and heating up to your releases. Moans were soft but encouraging, hands clinging and stroking tenderly as the pleasure built. You panted out again and again as Taron’s thrusts became that bit sharper and harder. There was no holding back or waiting on the edge, your body was all too willing to let go and you tensed around Taron’s length over and over as he pushed through your orgasm to his own release. Heavy sighs filled the room as Taron pulled out and rolled off you onto his back.

“Fuck the 20-minute snooze, I’ll have that every morning thanks.” You said with a big smile as you turned to face him and placed your hand to his chest. “That was really, really nice.”

“It was, and I’m so pleased I ordered us a massive breakfast because I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”

“Shall I go see if it’s been delivered?” Taron placed a kiss to the back of your hand before admiring your naked body as you left the bed to collect the breakfast hamper from the hatch. All the sweet treats he’d ordered for you were in there; warm pancakes and waffles with syrup, cream, fruit and a selection of pastries on the side. The smell was divine, and Taron’s face lit up with excitement when he sat up in bed at the sight of you returning with the huge hamper.

“Oh my word!”

“If the rest of the day carries on like this, it could well be the best day of my life.”

“No pressure then.” Taron laughed nervously and you softly hit his shoulder before passing him the plate of pancakes and little bottle of syrup.

“Shush, you. I was joking… My Mum always says the best day of her life was the day I was born, so I guess I should hold off with that declaration until we’re a good few years down the line.”

“How many kids do you think we’ll have?” Taron asked without a single hesitation and it left you smiling widely to yourself.

“At least 2, maybe 3 though? 4 seems like a lot.”

“Space them out enough and it would be fine… keeps the fun coming, right?”

“In which sense of the word?” You laughed. “Contraceptives exist for a reason!”

“Good job too at the rate we’ve been going in the last 24 hours!”

“It’s a hard life being this attractive, let alone having to spend 24 hours with the most gorgeous man in the world.”

“Such a chore.” Taron rolled his eyes and you laughed together before noticing the rain tapping against the glass doors as it started to fall from the ever-darkening sky.

“I think we should stay in bed until we have to leave.” You were deliberately suggestive but Taron shook his head.

“I packed for the weather so we’re walking down to the beach whether you like it or not!... but I think you will like it.” He grinned. “And it’ll be deserted as no one else will be foolish enough to go out with this storm on the way.”

“You’re mad.” You shook your head as you wondered why you were agreeing to it.

“But that’s why you love me.” He grinned.

***

The zip on your coat couldn’t go any higher up, you had two pairs of socks on to help fill your wellies and your burgundy beanie hat helping to keep the wind from filling your face with hair as soon as you stepped out the door. Taron pulled the hood of your coat up over your hat before kissing your forehead.

“You look so adorable.” Adorable wasn’t the look you were going for, but you didn’t have much choice, and somehow Taron still managed to look hot with his hoodie pulled up over his baseball cap and his thick coat looking much warmer than yours felt.

You started the walk hand in hand, arms swinging happily between you despite walking into the blustery wind and steady light rain. The road stopped at the last treehouse and a style guided you over the wooden fence and onto the footpath through the dense forest. It took you down towards a small stream which was flowing quickly over the rocks and you stopped for a minute to take in how secluded your surroundings were.

“Think how packed the spa is gonna be today.”

“It’d be horrendous.” You replied, pulling your hood down now the forest had given you more shelter from the rain. “This was a much better idea.”

“I’m not just a pretty face.” Taron joked before pulling you in against his chest and hugging you tightly. “I love it when it’s just us.”

“Me too.” You placed a kiss to his cheek and he demanded you gave him another one whilst he took a photo on his phone and immediately set it as his background.

“Do you think about anything else when we’re together like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do other things ever appear in your mind like friends, or work, family, things you need to do when you get home? Mundane life stuff.” Taron clarified as he kept his arm around your shoulders whilst you continued the walk down through the forest.

“I guess sometimes, but less than normal. Why? What’s going on in there?” You tapped the top of his head softly.

“It’s just you, and us. Honestly. I don’t know if it’s because it’s today… our anniversary away, but it’s like time slows down when I’m with you. Everything else isn’t important. It doesn’t even feature.”

“Really?”

“Is that weird?”

“No, it’s the sweetest thing… it makes sense too. I do get lost in you too, but I think recently I’ve been more aware of other things because they’ve worried me. It’s harder to let worries go.”

“Understandably.”

“But since I spoke to my Mum yesterday it’s been nothing but you in here.” You smiled at Taron as you placed your finger to your temple. “I’ve loved every single second of it too.”

“Well good, and now I know it’s not just me being completely besotted by you.”

“Oh it’s reciprocated alright!” There was a shared cheesy grin between you before the forest started to open out and the harsh wind started to batter against your faces again.

“Fucking hell!” Taron shouted as he turned his back to the wind.

“Have we got far to go?” You called out as you pulled your hood back up over your hat and squinted out ahead of you, trying to work out if the horizon was pure cloud or if some of it was actually the sea.

“I don’t think so, come on.” He took your hand again and you laughed as you leant forward to try and walk into the wind. Before long the last few trees and shrubs ended and a path down onto the half pebbled, half sandy beach appeared. There was no one else in sight, not even a lone dog walker at the far end of the beach. Taron let go of your hand and ran down into the harshly breaking waves, backing off as they splashed up his wellies and started to dampen his jeans. “Shit!” He mouthed out at you, not noticing a bigger wave breaking behind him until it splashed up the back of his jeans and took him by surprise.

“You’re such an idiot!” You laughed as he ran back up the beach to join you.

“It’s fucking freezing! Don’t do what I just did.” He laughed with you.

“I wasn’t going to, you’re alright.”

“Found anywhere sheltered yet?”

“No! It’s a deserted beach with a gale force wind coming straight off the sea.”

“Ah… I’ll just have to shout then.” Taron commented before turning his back to you for a moment.

“What?”

“I said I’ll just have to shout!” He repeated before dropping to one knee in front of you, clutching a small black box in his hands.

“Taron, no!” You shook your head in total shock, your hands covering your eyes as you turned away from him in disbelief.

“Y/N!” He shouted, waiting for you to look back at him before he continued. “I’ve known you’re the one I want to marry for so long now. To spend the rest of my life with you, to have you carry my children and bring them into this world… it would make me the happiest I could be. I want you by my side forever, as my wife, so please, will you marry me?” You took a second to wipe the tears from your eyes and commit the sight of Taron down on one knee to your memory before nodding quickly at him.

“Yes! Of course I will!” You shouted your reply over the wind and placed your hands to Taron’s cheeks before leaning down to kiss him. “Yes.” You repeated against his lips. He tugged you down by the waist to sit in the pebbles next to him so he could slide your engagement ring safely onto your finger.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you more.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tightly. “That was such a surprise!”

“I knew I could get you.” He smirked as he locked his lips to yours for another kiss. “I know you’ll be thinking that I really was going to ask you last night, but I promise you I wasn’t. This was always the plan.”

“No, I believed you last night which is why I didn’t see this coming today at all!... I was happy to wait, I didn’t think you’d, oh wow we’re really engaged!” You looked down to the ring, shining and sparkling even in the gloomy weather and Taron could only giggle back at your reaction.

“We should head back before we get soaked.”

“Let me take a photo first, because no one’s gonna believe you did it in this weather!” With photos of your ring and wellies, your windswept hair, rosy cheeks and beaming smiles and one of Taron’s sea-spashed jeans for good measure taken, you let him help you back to your feet and made your way up through the forest to the treehouse.

Your wet coats and boots were left by the door to dry, Taron changed out of his soggy jeans too and then joined you under a blanket on the sofa to warm up. It was a rare moment of calmness as you both sat looking out at the view, taking in everything that had happened and wondering how you got so lucky in life. You found Taron’s hand beneath the blanket and linked your fingers through with his, noticing how different it felt now there was a new ring on your finger.

“Is it bad that I don’t want to tell anyone else yet?”

“Why not?” Taron asked softly.

“Things are better when it’s just you and me. It’s never complicated.”

“Let’s keep it between us for a bit longer then. Everyone else can wait and we can have our moment in peace.”  

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled to Taron as you snuggled in against his side and rest your head on his shoulder. “The perfect day continues.”

Taglist: @egerton-sweetie  @amanda-tallmadge @lizziespidiepridie @leanimal90 @anantheminmyheart22 @aynsleywalker​ @bohemianrhapsody86​ @butterfliesslugswormsandothershi @manners-maketh-taron @livingincompletesilence@marvelmakeuplover @ohsosmutty@misspygmypie  @manners-maketh-a-kingsman@courtmr @baileythepenguin@thomaslefteyebrow @witchymarvelspacecase @samanthasmileys@nellietara @i-cant-remember-my-old-login @wheresmylightinthedark@kurtis-conner@hoe4dior @toky-9101 @mayaslifeinabox@fluentlyspeakingtreason @yallyallblanchett @whiskeylipsx@emmaelizabeth2014​ @primaba11erina @fightuntilyoucan @carlita2025 @rocknrollmadden@walking-stressed-mess @dogmom2014 @aberystwythboy

[b99fandomevents]

Thank you again to the awesome folks who joined our first ever Fic Exchange!!! We hope you enjoyed writing your fics as much as we loved reading them. 

Under the cut is a masterlist of all the submitted works, compiled and arranged in alphabetical order by the amazing @amez-santiago. ♡ (If you don’t see your fic here or notice any errors, please let us know!) 

If you’re interested in joining the Fall 2019 Fic Exchange, definitely keep an eye out for our next announcement post within the next couple of weeks. 

a summer rain is passing over, and it feels like a dream | AO3

↝ by @exploding-snapple for @storyinmyeyes​

Amy takes Jake to go see a play, but it’s really the walk home afterward that he enjoys the most. (set a few weeks after 3x02)

Cause you’re what I always wanted | AO3

↝ by @sandylovesfandoms for @a-wren-d

Rosa shows Gina Babylon, and sparks fly

Coming Out | AO3

↝ by @the-poodles-of-pulitzer for @yaboring-yabasic

Rosa’s POV for coming out.

Dancing around each other | AO3

↝ by @disruptedvice for @amydancepants-peralta

“Ah! Amy! Help!” Jake shrieked the moment she answered her phone, not really concerned about volume control since he was kinda trying to not die at the moment. It had gotten through four rings before she finally picked up, and this would’ve been it for Jake if it’d gone straight to voicemail. Amy frowned, looking around as if he could see her, but soon brushed it off as her being paranoid. “Jake? What’s wrong?” “I’ve got the goose!” He shouted, jumping to dodge another swipe that could only be described as intelligent and intent. “The goose is here! The goose is here!”

Soulmate AU where one person finds a goose who leads them to the other person. The difficulty comes in not being mauled by a goose 

doggone summer | AO3

↝ by @timeforginasopinion for @sandylovesfandoms

Amy should have known it was going to be an awful summer from the moment Jake Peralta appeared on her front doorstep carrying a dog. “Morning, Ames,” he chirps, irritatingly cheerful, as if he’s passing her in the hallway at school rather than standing in front of her house during the sadly fleeting time of year she’s supposed to be free of this bullshit. “Cheddar, say hi to Amy.” The corgi swaddled in his arms, predictably, doesn’t respond. Jake fixes it with an offended frown. “Well, that was rude.” Amy sneezes a lot and thinks longingly of her bowl of oatmeal squares, now growing soggy on the kitchen counter. Her life was so much simpler ten minutes ago.

everything's good, everything's just as it should be | AO3

↝ by @fezzle for @the-poodles-of-pulitzer 

“Jake,” she starts, slow and deliberate. “Do you know who I am?” He stares at her a moment before shaking his head, and her stomach swoops. Oh my god. or Jake gets an appendectomy, and there happens to be an amusing side effect as he wakes up from his anesthesia.

foolishly, completely falling | AO3 [E]

↝ by @fezzle for @kamekamelea

“Are you… asking to hook up with me?” Amy asks slowly, every syllable enunciated carefully. “Whaaaat? No! Nope. No, I definitely was not! What I meant to say was -’’ “Becausetheanswerisyes.”Jake freezes, eyes bugging. “Wh-What?” “I-I said yes.” or Jake and Amy are friends with benefits. What could go wrong?

Heads and Hot Dogs and the Best Day Ever | AO3

↝ by @vernonfielding for @nerd-husbands

Nikolaj spends a day at the precinct not helping Rosa solve a case. He's never been happier. 

hold me in this wild, wild world | AO3

↝ by @dmigod for @santiagoswagger

He wants to say he doesn’t know how he got into this situation, but he knows exactly how it happened (or, at least mostly): with a bet. It’s not news to anyone that he and his professional partner are competitive—Santiago is a type A tightwad who feels like she has to prove herself to everyone (except him), and Jake, well, Jake likes to spite her. And to win. He really, really loves winning.

hold me in this wild, wild world | AO3

↝ by @johnny-and-dora for @meepmorpperaltiago

“It takes every ounce of willpower he has left not to kiss her like it’s their last night on earth. Despite the odds, he refuses to kiss her like he’s saying goodbye.” or, a forbidden love/royalty/fairytale au in which jake comes up with an alternative solution to amy being forced into an arranged marriage with the most boring man in the seven kingdoms.

i found a mirror for my soul (i don’t need no other) | AO3

↝ by @b99peraltiago for @exploding-snapple

When she realizes her sleeve has rolled up a little, showing the skin of her wrist and tries to cover it again, it’s already too late. Jake’s seen it. He’s caught sight of the glowing “S” printed there. “S” as in, Soulmate. Amy finally found hers – and, obviously, it’s not him. (Post-4x22 soulmates AU, in which Jake and Amy are not soulmates and she finds hers while Jake is in jail.)

i’ll put it all on the line | AO3

↝ by @amydancepants-peralta for @callginalinetti

"We have to find her, Jake!” He looks up from an evidence marker, furrowing his brow. “I’m sorry … her?” “Your mystery woman! The beautiful woman you were stuck on the subway with. She’s obviously your soulmate.”

I’m going home, to the place where I belong (where your love has always been enough) | AO3

↝ by @storyinmyeyes for @outofinspo

It’s moving in day for Jake and Amy and she’s a little stressed out over all the boxes that need unpacking, but in true Jake fashion, he provides a distraction.

I’ve got a really bad feeling I’m gonna love you so good | AO3

↝ by @amesantiagos for @romanovember

A typical Friday night at Shaw’s bar with the Nine-Nine …or not quite. “Really, I just wanted to check if you’re okay.” “Why wouldn’t I be?” She frowns at him, her eyes dark in the dimly lit booth, “and why do you even care?” “Well, first off, that’s rude,” he raises he eyebrows at her, “and secondly, because you’re my partner, and I know I normally come across as a badass, emotionless action-hero like type– ” “No, you don’t.”

if they’re meant to be together, they won’t stay too long apart | AO3

↝ by @startofamoment for @e11evenseggos

They’d first met in the fall of their freshman year. Amy can still remember it with perfect clarity: how Jake rushed into the lecture hall, hair unruly and plaid shirt rumpled. He looked like he’d just woken up, or maybe never slept. Perhaps he’d pulled an all nighter in prep for their big exam. (She had gotten the recommended eight hours of sleep, naturally, and had gotten up with more than enough time to have a balanced breakfast and to go over her review sheets.)

It is like Oatmeal……. | AO3

↝ by @dancezwithwolvez for @cheddar-the-dog

Another chance.

it’s your love i’m lost in | AO3

↝ by @stolethekey for @ofbuttsandbombs

She smiles. “That’s been the theme of the entire Holt-Cozner relationship. Finding love, despite everything telling them that they cannot. Being confronted with danger, with fear, with risk, but making the incredibly brave choice to love anyway.” or, an mcu post-snap au in which holt and kevin renew their vows

julian santiago and the case of the sister’s mystery boyfriend | AO3 

↝ by @amyscascadingtabs for @397bartonstreet

Eventually, he makes the educated guess that there must be someone else in her life. She must have wanted for this to break-up to happen, he figures, and a new mystery lover could very well be the reason. Julian simply has to figure out who it is.

long live all the magic we made | AO3

↝ by @benwvatt for @startofamoment

He deserves to know about cheering charms, or spells that change mice into teapots, or a potion that could double his age. He belongs in her world, she thinks. If only he were. Rule number one of being a Santiago: Neighbors like the Peraltas don’t have any business knowing about magic. Amy ignores it and finds everything she was dreaming of.

of babies and binders

↝ by @a-wren-d for @acanoftrash

domestic peraltiago

Of Debates and Chickenshit Boys | AO3

↝ by @professionalpenthief for @imalloutofhoots

Amy’s happily dull life turns upside down when a mystery admirer’s love for her goes viral in her high school. As she navigates the new uncharted territories of being in the public eye, she finds love does defy all expectations. 

Regarding The Incident In Which Raymond Ran Away To Mexico | AO3

↝ by @nerd-husbands for @amesantiagos

“Can you clarify,” Kevin said into his cellphone, using his other arm to hail a cab, “how much wedding cake did Cheddar eat?"  The Honeymoon episode, from Kevin’s perspective.

Run, Hide, Fight (Show Me Going) | AO3

↝ by @cheddar-the-dog for @vernonfielding

around two days after the active shooter situation in Brooklyn Heights Hotel Rosa wakes up from a nightmare that she soon realizes was not a nightmare at all

sailing home once and for all | AO3

↝ by @kamekamelea for @disruptedvice

In the universe where Jake is a sailor from New York, he finds himself coming back home to this one special girl - detective Amy Santiago.

Sick Leave | AO3

↝ by @winnietherpooh for @amyscascadingtabs

Amy decides that Jake needs a vacation after he returns prison, and he finally begins to open up about his recovery as they read Harry Potter together.

Something more than a catalog of non-definitive acts | AO3

↝ by @chipmunksallshipklefan for @professionalpenthief

Jake and Amy go undercover as a couple.

The Beer Burglar | AO3

↝ by @outofinspo for @cheeto-anaconda

Brooklyn Nine-Nine and The Good Place crossover where Jake arrests Eleanor

The Date Night 

↝ by @meepmorpperaltiago for @amazingsantiago

Based on the prompts: jealous Amy and Jake being Amy’s hype man

The Desert Sucks, But Being a Damsel in Distress Isn’t Too Bad | AO3

↝ by @romanovember for @fezzle

I’m never drinking again. Jake Peralta thinks as he comes to consciousness, his mouth full of cotton swabs and sandpaper and his head pounding like a sledgehammer on concrete. Or maybe 50 million sledgehammers, a freight train and another 24 elephants. Ugh Jake rolls over, and pulls his crinkly and hot duvet closer, relaxing his aching and hungover body into the cool embrace of… sand? And on his head? An honest to god cowboy hat. Yeehaw?

The in-between | AO3 

↝ by @disruptedvice for @amydancepants-peralta

Amy’s thoughts between ‘go back to being colleagues’ to ‘screw light and breezy’

the interrogation room | AO3

↝ by @yaboring-yabasic for @timeforginasopinion

one-shot based loosely on the prompts badly trying to keep a secret, locked in, and kid fic with some peraltiago, dianetti, and the whole squad.

the smell of coffee runs through my veins | AO3

↝ by @elsaclack for @winnietherpooh

five times jake smells like fresh coffee grounds (and one time he doesn’t)

the stars lean in a little closer all because of you 

↝ by @peraltasames for @b99peraltiago

baby peraltiago + beach house 2.0

there was a time when a moment like this wouldn’t ever cross my mind | AO3 [E] 

↝ by @kamekamelea for @disruptedvice

She looks deeply into his eyes, dark from the desire overwhelming him and whispers straight into his lips in an authoritative tone. “No, Jake. Fuck me with my uniform on.”

THIS BOY WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME | AO3

↝ by @ofbuttsandbombs for @stolethekey

Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago, self- proclaimed 'best detectives of the Nine-Nine’ (and 'of the NYPD’, 'no, USA!’, 'no,the entire freaking world!!’, when they get a little drunk) are handed a routine murder investigation which goes off- track. Will this cause their already fragile relationship to change? The journey from 'Peralta and Santiago’ to 'Jake and Amy.’

time is ticking away (and there are too many things I wanna say) | AO3

↝ by @what-about-gay for @johnnydora

Amy is stressed because she can’t find her soulmate, while Jake couldn’t care less about his soulmate. Time is ticking and they have to find their soulmates, because when the clock is at zero and you haven’t found your soulmate yet, you and your soulmate both die.

Variations on sharing a bed 1/2/3 | AO3 [T to M]

↝ by @disruptedvice for @amydancepants-peralta

Peraltiago drabbles + sharing a bed trope

We Are The Greatest Love Story (The World Had Ever Seen) | AO3

↝ by @cheddar-the-dog for @dancezwithwolvez

the night they meet his life changes forever and he’d never go back to before or how the story of Kevin and Raymond found its start

we could be a beautiful miracle, unbelievable | AO3

↝ by @stolethekey for @johnny-and-dora

Kylie hums, reaching over to unzip the back of Amy’s dress. “Well, whatever you’re not anxious about is going to lose his mind when he sees you in this. Seriously.” “He has a girlfriend,” Amy snaps, shimmying out of the dress and snatching her leggings off the wall. “And this isn’t for him.” - in which Amy throws a New Year's Eve party that subsequently implodes.

we were good at faking forever | AO3

↝ by @johnnydora for @dmigod

David Santiago has super powers. No matter how much effort Amy gives to everything she does, he always manages to beat her tenfold, including obtaining the girlfriend of his parents’ dream. With ten days until her brother Miguel’s wedding and no date, Amy has no choice but to convince the next person she sees to fall madly in love with her.

we were wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart | AO3

↝ by @santiagoswagger for @benwvatt

Desperate to find a last minute gift for her mom, Amy stumbles into the only open flower shop in her neighborhood. Unfortunately, the florist is very annoying.

we won’t run (we can fight) | AO3

↝ by @amydancepants-peralta for @chipmunksallshipklefan

“Be careful who you give your midnights to, my darling. Midnights are for talking - for old friends and new; for truth and never for lies. When you’ve only got the stars to illuminate, everything else falls away. Midnights are for confessions.” Her hand falls to Amy’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “They’re for falling in love.” Well that’s just ridiculous. She and Jake were definitely not falling in love. Oh. Medieval AU where the evil King Vulture is ruining Brooklyne. Amy and Jake work together to take him DOWN.

whelp, this might be your view for the next seven years | AO3

↝ by @callginalinetti for @galaxygaydreams

sometimes you get to meet your soulmate twice (basically a new version of how jake and amy meet and fall in love)

When You’re Home

↝ by @397bartonstreet for @peraltasames

jake and amy’s first night back together after the ambulance scene in coral palms pt 3 + fluffy reunion goodness.

where’d you go, david santiago | AO3

↝ by @acanoftrash for @brillliant

when amy’s brother goes missing, she hires private detective jake peralta to find him.

You Already Know | AO3

↝ by @e11evenseggos for @what-about-gay

a one-shot of Gina and Rosa’s wedding ceremony.

you showed me something i can’t live without | AO3

↝ by @amazingsantiago for @dailyb99

Alternative ending to Casecation. Jake is left reeling after Amy’s “start over” comment. Title from ‘I Believe’ by the Jonas Brothers.

[the-fiction-witch]

December 7th: Frozen River

TV SHOW: GODLESS COUPLE: WHITEY WINN X READER RATING: MILD SMUT + CUTE

I moved a little I bed wrapping my covers around me tighter trying to keep warm, the fire slowly dieing but I was too sleepy to get up and fix it, I could feel the icy chill around my feet, it crawling up my legs causing my whole body to shiver slightly in the unusual cold

"I'm so cold" I complain

"Come a little closer then darlin'" whitey groaned turning over towards me wrapping his arms around my waist, he was not to much warmer then I was but I still melted into his cosy grip, his bare chest pressed against my back his head nuzzled to my neck "ahh! Ya are cold"

"sorry" I smiled

"Its alright darlin' It's very cold this morning" He yawns nuzzling closer to my neck "what are we gonna do today y/n?"

"I have laundry today" I sighed

"Oohh... Did ya want me to come?" He yawned

"If You like too whitey" I smiled moving back a little as he was cosy and warm feeling his naked body behind me "I might do darlin' depends if I can be bothered to get up" he groans "can't we stay in bed a little longer?" "No whitey, I'm freezing..." I complain "I don't wanna die, freezing to death naked in bed with you" I laughed "Why not?" He asked "it's how I'd wanna die" "Because, well be very cold naked ghosts forever" I told him "Ahhh good point" he sighed moving his hands up to grope my breasts "it would have it's perks thought wouldn't it darlin'" "Whitey!" I complain pushing his cold hands away "Awww too cold? Maybe I should warm my hands up the place I know that's always nice and toasty" he smirked slipping a hand between my legs "ummm nice and warm" he smirked stroking me softly playing with the juices that had formed in my sleep but I pushed him away getting my dressing gown on and getting up, even if I felt even colder without the sheets Around me I began making breakfast even if I shivered making whiteys coffee he got up slipping his tight pants on going over and poking the fire trying to throw on a log or two to get it going again "Hun ya seen my shirt?" He asked looking around the house he sounded like he was shivering too "On the clothes horse dear" I told him "Thank ya darlin'" he smile giving me a kiss as he got his shirt and started doing it up so I found my underdress and began getting dressed with almost as many layers as I could spare given it was laundry day as whitey had his coffee having gotten his jumper on "it's bloody freezin'" he complained hugging his coffee "Language!" I complain holding my tummy "It can't here when I swear y/n" he laughs "Yes he can, if he can hear when we cuddle he can hear you swearing Mr Winn" I told him "Fine" he sighed "so laundry?" He asked finishing his coffee and I nodded getting the baskets sorted out and we opened the door "oh my god... It snowed! Snow! In the desert!" He complained "I'm as surprised as you are whitey" I replied "can ted get thought all this?" I asked "Uhhh I hope so" he nods so we went and loaded up ted that poor horse he must have gotten tucked away in the hay all night till we woke him up and we gently and carefully rode off much much slower then whitey normally goes "Why so slow?" I asked "Strangely enough y/n, I've not ridden in snow before" he says "plus I need to be slow and gentle, very precious cargo today" he smiled giving my cheek a kiss and holding me close somewhat for love, somewhat for making sure I wouldn't fall but I think mostly because of warmth. "I wouldn't want ya to fall and have somethin' happen to baby" he smiled till eventually we got down to the river and we where shocked the little River we get our water to bathe and do our laundry the river was ice It was frozen "now what?" He asked "Uhhh good question whitey" I shrugged "Uhhhh I guess get some ice and maybe take I home melt it back to water over the fire?" He suggested "Maybe" I sighed going and taking a step onto the ice "Y/n! Are ya crazy!" He complained stopping me "don't tread on the ice ya could fall thought, or slip and Hurt baby" "I'll be okay whitey" I smiled giving him a kiss taking some slow gentle steps onto the ice it was fun walking on the ice "come on whitey it's fun!" I yelled "Okay" he says very nervous taking a timid step on the ice he looked scared so I went over giving him a hand till he got his balance even if his long legs slid all over the place at first like a baby deer trying to take its first steps but I managed to keep him up "There see" i smiled "Not so much fun darlin' as unrelenting terror" he complained "Ohh don't be such a baby whitey" I giggled "I'm not bein' a baby! I just don't like this" he complained "Then go back to land I'm happy here" I smiled "No, I can't let ya go on ya own, what if somethin' happened" he warns trying to follow me as I slidded ontop of the ice whitey mostly staied by the side holding a tree trunk close by so he wouldn't Fall as I slid around on the ice for a while "I really think ya should stop not y/n the ice is meltin' it's gettin' kinda thin" he warns "Five more minutes whitey" I told him "Y/n come on come back here" he complained trying to come after me but as he did- CRACK! We both froze as I looked down to see whitey panicking a small crack on the ice below his feet slowly but surely growing "Okay, okay whitey don't panic" I told him "Yeah....yeah... Don't panic... No need to panic... When ya not the one on breakin' ice!" He yelled "I know I know whitey" I told him "trust me okay" I smiled carefully trying to help him move away from the cracking ice even if each step made it grow "I'm gonna fall, I'm gonna fall, I'm gonna die!" He whined "this is not how I wanted to die! I wanted to die in bed with you" "Your not gonna die whitey your gonna be fine" I told him "trust me, trust me as the mother of your child you are not going to die" I told him giving him a little kiss but as we pulled away we heard an even louder crack and before I could stop it his grip left mine and whitey fell under the ice into the just thawed river.

Whitey sat by our fire as close as he could get wrapped up in three blankets and the covers from our bed naked as I had to get him out those wet cold clothes as soon as possible, a frost already coming over as night drew closer a snow flurry already on the horizon, he was shivering like crazy, his skin pale and little bits of ice in his hair. I smiled giving him some warm soup which he cuddled tight starting to slowly have some as I checked on the water it was done so I poured the last load into the little steal bath tub it was far to hot it would be fine when he's finished his soup so I went to sort other things when I saw him going to climb in "Whitey no! It's boiling!" I told him but he ignored me and climbed in his naked body relaxing in the warm water "And I'm freezin', so now I should just about balance out" he explained "You scold yourself I have no sympathy" i told him "and you burn your dick with nearly boiling water I'm not kissing it better whitey" "Ya could have offered to kiss it when I was freezin'" he smiled rubbing the hot water all over himself "How did I ever let you impregnate me" I sighed going over to play with his hair "I believe three bottles of whiskey and a shot gun where involved" he laughs "Indeed they where whitey" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss.