#that does sound like the dream to my lonely frozen heart

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

My MW2 Soulmate AU idea: Price

Warnings: angst, there’s nothing happy in this one sorry

So this soulmate AU kinda has a few other ones mashed together because why not

Soulmates can feel each others pain (not fully, more like discomfort or a dull ache where the pain originates)

Soulmates can see each other in their dreams, they can experience dreams together (they can communicate but it’s difficult) and can share memories

Soulmates will always, eventually meet each others. They’re pulled to each other

Price

Lies to himself and says that he doesn’t want a soulmate

Believes he doesn’t have one either considering he’s has never seen you in his dreams or experienced your memories

You also rarely ever get hurt, and when you do any of the dull aches that he feels on the place you were hurt he believes are just from the job

At night when he can’t sleep and he’s laying in bed staring at the ceiling, he lets his mind wander to the possibility that you might exist

You’re a civilian for sure. You most likely have a pretty regular job with a regular life, something normal or at least nothing that would put you in danger.

The complete opposite of his life and his job

It’d be a clash of worlds if you two ever met. He’s certain that it wouldn’t work.

He’s gone all the time, too busy and always putting himself into danger. He could put you in danger, he knows it’s possible and the thought of that happening makes him feel sick

But he tells himself there’s no point in feeling that way because he doesn’t have one and doesn’t want one

Even when he’s laying in bed alone, or walking around his empty house with a whiskey in his hand and a headache

Even when he feels a deep pit in his stomach as he thinks about how it’s always been this way, how he’s always been this lonely

You meet for the first time ever on a sunny day and Price is the first to spot you across the park courtyard that he was taking as a shortcut to get takeout.

The moment his eyes land on you, he knows you’re the one, he knows you’re his soulmate and he’s stuck frozen in place even though he wishes he could run away.

You’re completely oblivious to him at the moment and he’s eternally grateful for the time he has to take you in uninterrupted.

This is the moment where you’re supposed to meet, where you’re supposed to look at each other and then the world would fall into place.

And yet all he can feel is sorrow.

You’re lovely, the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. The way the sun hit your hair and your eyes, the way you smile at your friend and oh god how your laugh makes him feel alive even though he’s far from you. It does things to him, it carves deep into his heart and he finds himself placing a hand over it instinctively.

He knows you’re kind, too kind for someone like him, he can just tell from the way you’re talking.

Price let’s himself think of the possibility, the dream of what life would be like with you.

Mornings with you beside him in bed, getting to see the sun hit you closer and the warmth from you body. The feeling of your presence in his house that’s far too empty because he’s not there often enough to really find it a home.

Eating meals with someone, doing mundane things like shopping for groceries or cooking together.

It sounds perfect. It sounds like a life he’s never had before, one that he only just realized he wants.

But he knows it’ll never happen. He knows it should never happen because he would end up neglecting you, his job is top priority.

He studies your face. He takes in every detail in hopes that he’ll remember it because he doesn’t want to see you again. He doesn’t think he can handle it if he has to, even in his dreams, so he hopes that months from now he’ll remember what you look like after this moment.

He lets himself have this one moment before he turns and walks away, hoping this is the last time he will ever be this close to you.

And yet he can feel it when you see him.

Price tells himself it would be better if he walks away. If he turns around and speaks to you, he knows it’ll be over for the both of you but he stops when he hears your voice.

“It’s a nice day.” Your voice is sweet, better than anything he could’ve imagined. “It’d be a shame to spend it alone.”

He turns around and looks at you, a sad smile pulling at his lips when he sees the light in your eyes, hope about this finally being the moment where you can have the life he knows you’ve thought about as well.

He should turn you away, break your heart so you don’t feel anything for him even though you’re his soulmate but he can’t bring himself to be that harsh.

Instead he nods and puts his hands in his pockets. For just a moment, he lets himself believe he can have some sort of relationship with you.

“Fancy lunch then?” He wonders and his heart breaks when you grin at him.

“I’d love that.”

Lunch doesn’t last long, in fact neither of you eat as Price decides to be honest and break your heart. He can’t fathom leading you on, he has to part ways with you as fast as he can or else he’ll make the terrible mistake of getting attached.

He explains with little detail that it won’t work, that his job is dangerous and he knows you know that since you’ve felt his injuries before.

He’s not sure what hurts more, the knowing and hurt behind your bright eyes or the fact that you’re still smiling at him.

You’re nothing but understanding and he hates it. Part of him wishes you would fight him, push back against his doubt and tell him it will be okay, but he gathers that you’ve always known it wouldn’t work.

Price isn’t mean though. He tries to be polite as he breaks your heart and turns you down and you don’t lash out to him.

By the end of the impromptu date, if you could even call it that, he wants to get drunk and forget about this.

The goodbyes are awkward and he can see the sadness in your eyes as they bounced around his face before you give him a solemn wave. He can hardly say anything back to you and you’re the one who has to leave first as he’s stuck there watching you leave him.

It’s for the best, he tries to tell himself

Because losing you is worse than never having you at all.

A/N: this was supposed to be out like forever ago and I was supposed to add all of the 141 but I just couldn’t so expect other posts in this AU sometime later with the others. For now, enjoy some Price angst

[voidrifter]

application.

In her dream, it’s him again. 

“Why are you doing this?”

It’s the same question again.

“...”

It’s the same answer.

The Herrscher of Finality plants her hands on her hips. It’s just them here, perhaps the first indication that this is all a dream. A pocket in reality, a moment in the heat of battle, frozen and utterly still. One Kaslana to another, the past to the future.

Sometimes she asks the question over and over until her throat burns and her hands tremble, sometimes she tells him about her day. About who called or how long she trained or about how lonely it is on the moon, and how she wonders if he would understand that. Probably. She doesn’t know much about him, except for that he was like her once.

Suddenly she isn’t the Herrscher of Finality anymore, she’s just Kiana. The cuff of her jacket between her thumb and forefinger– a nervous habit– and her eyes at the ground between them.

“I don’t think I’m gonna end up like you did.” He doesn’t answer because he can’t, she knows that. This is a dream and he’s dead anyway. “The world always mattered to me before anything– people, y’know?”

She’s happy, in the end. They all are, where it matters anyway. Or she thinks, at least. There’s no reason not to be– all they fought to save has been realized, their war is as over as a war ever can be.

“Was it hard, being by yourself?”

Again, there is no answer. Kiana’s weight shifts, right to left, eyes snaking shyly up to the silhouette that makes his profile. 

“It’s hard for me, but I was never really by myself before. Even when I felt like I was, when Mei left and stuff, I wasn’t really. There was Fu Hua, and always Bronya and Seele, and…”

Sirin. Her heart aches somewhere distant. This body of hers was always made to be shared, empty without a second heart to beat inside of it. She hadn’t liked the Herrscher of Void, no, and that absence is for the better.

But for the better, Kiana has learned, doesn’t always feel good. Sirin was gone for the better, Kevin was gone for the better.

“You were good once, right? Mei tells me stories sometimes, Fu Hua too.” 

It’s never fair, what all the bad in the world can do to the good. “Sometimes I wonder, though. I guess everybody does, huh? Maybe it’s just the moon getting to me. So I can kind of see why you would…” Well, no she can’t, but maybe a little bit. Kiana shakes her head, ponytail swaying with the motion. Even if it’s hard sometimes, or she misses people all the time, she still wouldn’t change it. Not a single thing, no matter what. 

“Guess that makes me tougher than you, doesn’t it, uncle?” She doesn’t know why she’s teasing him– he doesn’t care, he isn’t real. Even if he was, he still wouldn’t. This isn’t the Kevin her friends tell stories about, it’s a Hero so lost to his own war that he has forgotten why it even started. 

“We both know how this fight ends, anyway.” But she doesn’t think that makes her tougher. “I can’t say this in front of my friends, they’ll just argue with me, so you best keep it a secret.”

Not like he could tell anyone if he wanted to, anyway.

“I don’t really think I’m all that strong, honestly. Sure, I guess if you’re asking physically…” But even then, so are Mei and Bronya and Fu Hu and- “I act all confident, y’know? I mean, I am,” a laugh, sheepish, “but I know I’m not all that, either. I wouldn’t be half of what I am without my friends.”

She’s looking at the sky now, wondering where about that endless sea of stars her friends are now as she sleeps. She hopes that they’re happy, that they’re safe. That they miss her at least a little.

“I know I’ll always be remembered for this,” for you, “but I think I wouldn’t care if I was remembered at all. Those kinds of things just don’t mean that much to me in the end, y’know? As long as the people I love never forget me I- hey! Where’d you go?”

The sound of an alarm cuts clean through the night sky, startles her straight to sitting up in bed. A mess of sheets, made worse as she fumbles for her phone to turn the damn thing off. A notification flashes in the alarm’s absence, a single line.

M: miss you!

Yeah, she’ll never be like him.

[liberty-or-death]

铁马冰河 Armoured Horse Icy River; SVSSS' Luo Binghe's Name and Blood of Youth's Li Hanyi's sword. (Storm on the Eleven Month Fourth Day 十一月四日风雨大作 by Lu You 陆游)

When I first watched 少年歌行 Blood of Youth, I was thought Li Hanyi’s sword 铁马冰河 Armoured Horse Icy River sounded awfully familiar.  It took me half the series to realise that I was also looking at SVSSS’ 洛冰河 Luo Binghe’s name quite literally LOL.  In fact Icy River = Binghe.  IT WAS RIGHT THERE. 🤦🏻‍♀️

The “Storm on the Eleven Month Fourth Day 十一月四日风雨大作” was written by the poet Lu You 陆游 in 1192. He was living in the countryside of his hometown, Shanyin, after his dismissal from the government in the 16th year of the Southern Song Dynasty (1189 AD). The poet was 68 years old at that time, but his strong desire to improve the country was impossible for him to come to fruition in reality, so on a "stormy" night, his feelings arose, and he realised his wish of galloping to the Central Plains in his dream.  Throughout his life, Lu You wrote 11000 poems but he’s known for his various patriotic poetries, and this was one of his more famous pieces.  

风卷江湖雨暗村，四山声作海涛翻。

The wind has swept across the Jianghu.  Rain has fallen on the the village, seemingly dimming it.   There is the sound of wind and rain from all four sides of the mountain, like the waves rolling over the sea.

溪柴火软蛮毡暖，我与狸奴不出门。

The bundles of firewood from Ruye Stream and the felt wraps around me to keep me warm.  I stay at home with my cat. 蛮毡 This was a type of felt that was produced in the Southwest China and some areas in the South.

僵卧孤村不自哀，尚思为国戍轮台。

Living in a poor and lonely village; I’m not sad over the state I’m in.  In my heart, I have still have thoughts about guarding the frontiers for my country.

戍轮台 This was a common defensive structure in Xinjiang during the ancient times. 

夜阑卧听风吹雨，铁马冰河入梦来。

Night is coming to an end as  I lay in bed and listen to the storm outside.  I dreamt that I was riding an armoured warhorse across a frozen river to the northern frontier.

风吹雨 This is literally translated as “listening to the wind blowing the rain” but I’ve summed it up as the storm in my translation.  This is an allusion to turmoil within the Song Dynasty’s court, which was why the poet couldn’t sleep at night.

Analysis

I think 铁马冰河 Armoured Horse Icy River’s sends a pretty obvious image; it’s that of someone charging into war.  In the case of Blood of Youth, this sword was supposed to be one of the most powerful in the Jianghu.  So it is indeed a very pretty name. 

In the case of SVSSS, it’s also a fitting name for a protagonist of a stallion novel.  I’m guessing MXTX wanted a name that sounded like the lead character of an action novel lol.  His surname 洛 Luo does sound like the River Luo, or it could a possible wordplay on the word 落. Luo (ie. His name would be “Fallen into the Icy River” which was where hew as found). However, I felt that it could also be a reference to the river goddess 洛神 Luo Shen who was known for her beauty and her love story.  I’ve previously analysed a famous poem that describes her.  Perhaps MXTX wanted a “softer” surname to balance out his name XD

Additional Links

Li Hanyi's Name

More Blood of Youth Meta

Poetry Analysis

[lovelybarnes]

stood up- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, anderson x reader (?) warnings: angst, getting stood up, language, unrequited feelings about: prompts (DA29) “i got stood up.” + (DF30) “i think you’re my soulmate.” +(DF41) “are you going to cry? please don’t cry. a/n: i love to hurt but dw it’s a happy ending, i actually like this fjsk, a the time i finished this, i just posted another imagine, so i can’t wait for you guys to read this one in a couple days

every passing second makes you hyperaware of all the sympathetic stares that are currently directed at you. the feeling of pity is enveloping you whole, wrapping you in a thin layer of shame that you think must be related to the careful makeup you caked on your face for this date. your recently manicured nails scratch at the tablecloth, trying to avoid your new expensive dress, deep midnight color clinging to your nervous self. teeth stress your dark wine bottom lip, anxious eyes darting across the restaurant.

with each face that enters the place, none of them being his, the presumption that he isn’t coming solidifies. with it, comes the embarrassment. you can feel the warnings of tears, already threatening to ruin the mascara you had applied so carefully, not bothering to choose the waterproof one because why would you be crying on your date?

you suppose it’s your own fault- how dare you attempt to get over bucky? how dare you trust the words of a shield agent? you pick at your nails, gathering up the courage to stand up and leave. your waitress, however, beats you to it, a faux apologetic look on her face. “oh, so you’ve been here for, like, half an hour and it seems no one is coming, and we kind of need the table, so…”

you hold back an uncomfortable cringe, nodding stiffly as you stand. “right. i’m sorry. i don’t need to… pay for the water, right?” you ask dumbly, ducking your head when she shakes her head condescendingly.

pushing the door open, you step into the brisk air of the night, clouded over with an uneasy disappointment that you’re sure is because of you. you stand for a second to look at the stars, realizing how pretty of a night this would be if you weren’t so damn frustrated. the upset hasn’t passed yet, although the beginnings of anger are peeking up in your stomach.

while you stare up at the moon, the universe decides your getting stood up wasn’t enough, choosing to gift you with cold droplets of water that make your mascara run. it’s unbelievable, you nearly scoff tearily.

you walk to your car then, the moonlight that should have been romantic when you walked out of the restaurant now only making you feel lonely. you don’t let the tears come yet, having enough pride to not let the smitten couples appreciating the romance of the rain see you cry, deciding to put that off until you’re in the quietness of your room.

you drive in the sound of the pattering rain, concentrated on keeping your breathing even so as to push back the tears, not wanting to have an accident on the way back home because your vision was clouded over with sadness.

-

the relief you feel when you arrive at the compound is immeasurable; the knowledge that all you have to do is walk quietly to your room, and you can release the pent up emotions that eat you whole is unbelievably satisfying. the horrible itching feeling that comes with the tears arrives again when you notice your reflection in the impressively clean windows of the stark compound. through the stains of your ruined makeup, you can see the remnants of how dolled up you were, how much time was spent with the intricate details that made you smile when you looked at yourself in the mirror.

you swallow back the painful lump in your throat, opening the doors and sniffling at the dimly-lit room. your heels click tiredly on the floor, precious bracelet lightly jangling when you move. you can’t find it in yourself to care when you realize you’re dragging water inside, resigning to letting stark lecture you in the morning.

as you stand in the elevator, waiting for it to reach your floor, the emotions you’ve pushed so far down decide to spring back up in the form of an overwhelming dejected exhaustion that makes you physically slump. you lean against the cool of the metal railing, shutting your eyes hard to avoid looking at yourself. you only pry your eyes open when you hear the soft ding of the elevator, surprised and once again embarrassed to see bucky standing between the open doors.

“y/n?” he asks quietly. his demeanor immediately changes when he takes you in, body softer in the way it always is when you’re with him. his reaction makes you fall deeper, which reminds you exactly why you were going on your failed date. you straighten, clearing your throat, “um- i have to get to my room.”

your voice is thin, heightening his worries and stopping you with a gentle hand to your arm before you step off the elevator, “what’s wrong? what happened? are you okay?” he asks, and you nod blindly at all of his questions, realizing that the longer you stay with him- with his warm hand that you can’t help but lean into pressed against your cold arm- the more you really want to cry and scream because it’s not fair that he’s been given to you, yet you can’t have him, even if he has you.

“i’m fine,” you lie obviously, forcing your eyes again from his. “y/n, what happened? you’re clearly not fine,” bucky pushes, the hand on your arm beginning to rub stressed circles into your skin. you give up then, looking back at him. “i got stood up,” you say finally, words cracked. you shake your head, “and i just spent so much time on everything and-”

“that’s stupid. who would stand you up?” bucky interrupts, eyes genuinely confused while you scoff. “apparently anderson from security,” you respond bitterly, looking away. “he’s stupid, y/n. he has to be to not go to a date with you.”

you exhale frustratedly, “maybe not. maybe there’s something wrong with me and i’m the stupid one for even thinking someone would want to go out with me,” you countered. “hey, no, you are- you are amazing, y/n. amazing and stunning and intelligent and he missed his chance to be the luckiest guy in the world,” he insisted, gently pulling your attention back to him with a gentle hand on your cheek. you give him a watery laugh through the loud, unfair questions in your head: why don’t you love me like i love you, then?

you don’t realize the tears that run down the streaks of already ruined mascara until bucky points them out, wiping them away with his fingers, “no, no, don’t cry, please don’t cry,” he begs. you can’t help it, though, biting your lip to hold back your unrequited confessions of love.

“nobody wants me. i don’t even think i want me anymore,” you weep, oblivious to the breaking of bucky’s heart when he hears your words, pulling you flush against his chest. “don’t say that, doll. that’s not true-”

“it is. what other reasons can you think of that explain why i’m the only one that’s shown up to the rare dates i’ve been on? why have i had to go on those stupid dates just to forget how pathetic i am that i can’t get over you?”

you’re too deep in the ocean of your thoughts to realize what you’ve said, too little light available in the dark to let you realize the hints you have and will undoubtedly let out if you continue blubbering into bucky’s shoulder like the mess you are. your feelings are scattered, words so disorganized that any way you piece them together will be a mistake. “why else does the one person who i actually want to love me back not want me?”

bucky can make sense of the words you’re saying, the heavy weight they carry when he realizes exactly what they mean, and what you imply. he’s frozen, heart simultaneously fluttering at the mere thought of his feelings being returned and breaking at the cries you’re letting out because of him.

he’s refused to ever be the source of your pain, restricting his own poems of confessions because he didn’t want to hurt you, never wanting to be the reason you cried. he supposes now it was the wrong choice, one he needs to fix.

the bead of insecurity buried stubbornly in his mind shrieks, however, because he’s as clueless as you are and can’t possibly imagine someone like you- so kind and pure and good- loving him back. so he needs to make sure, needs to hear you say it in your voice.

“what?” you let out a watery scoff, full of embarrassment rather than annoyance at him, “don’t make me say it, bucky, please-”

“please say it- i- i need you to say it.”

a beat of silence passes before you sniffle, pulling away from the man you’ve called your best friend and wanted nothing but to be able to call him more. “i love you, bucky. in a way that makes me pretty sure you’re my soulmate because i don’t even believe in that but you make me feel like i should.”

bucky’s storm clouds lighten, doubts dissolving when he listens to what you said, tasting your words and examining each one just to remember it. he pulls your lips to his when they’ve barely processed. “you should,” he says when he pulls away for a second, only to make you lose your breath again when he aches for you immediately, kissing you again, “believe in soulmates.”

“why is that?” you ask breathlessly, letting him pull you back in because you both have been waiting- dreaming about this for so damn long, and he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to keep away from you now that he has you. he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, so perfectly imperfect when your teeth clash and you both laugh gently, noses nudging each other when he leans his forehead on yours, “because we’re meant to be, y/n. in that way that soulmates are.”

[dovechim]

lonely hearts club (m)

➾ 11k

➾ summary: jeon jeongguk has annoying little brother energy™. you know this deep in your bones. wedding after wedding, you keep running into him at the goddamn singles’ table, and he just won’t leave you alone. until you start to wonder... is he your ticket out of the lonely hearts club? 

tdlr: enemies to lovers

➾ warnings: hate sex, public sex (in a photobooth lmao), impregnation role play, oral (f receiving), jk has intensely annoying energy, it gets unbearably cheesy towards the end

➾ a/n: wow, addie is back???? finally??? gosh, even I can’t believe it. please enjoy, and thank you for waiting :)

The first few times, it was lovely. Watching your friends find their partners and get married in holy matrimony, their faces filled with bliss as they walk down the aisle together towards their happily ever after. You tell yourself that you are truly happy for them, and you are. But you can’t deny that deep seated feeling of envy buried within you, and the sense of dread every time you receive a new wedding invitation.

Why’d all of your friends have to be so good at getting their shit together?

Which then begs the question, what are you actually doing here?

Other than celebrating your friend’s wedding, obviously. You crane your neck to look around the large, luxurious ballroom for any sign of Kim Seokjin and his husband, and you think you spot them at one of the tables up front.

You scan the attendees at your table surreptitiously. It goes without saying that anyone can see that this is the singles’ table, it’s obvious enough by the way no one talks to each other and how the host has made the painstaking arrangement to alternate the genders. You have no idea where this tradition of a singles’ table came from, and why you’re relegated to it at every single wedding you attend.

You sniff in indignation as you take a sip at the flat soda in your glass. For all they know, you could have a secret celebrity boyfriend hidden away somewhere. The both of you have decided to keep your relationship under wraps so as not to risk the wrath of the public, so that’s why you can’t bring him to events like this. There. Let that be your saving grace.

It’s embarrassing to be at the singles’ table at a wedding, even more embarrassing when you realise that the faces at the table come and go, all except for yours. In fact, you spot a few familiar faces integrated into other tables, drinking and laughing happily with their significant others by their sides, while you remain a permanent resident of the singles’ table.

This is your fifth wedding in as many months; and at this rate it seems like you’ll never graduate from the singles’ table.

A sudden movement interrupts your moment of drowning in self-pity, and you glance to the side only to realise that the empty seat beside you has been filled. All night long the empty seat had been mocking you, reminding you of what could have been a lovely night in with a few bottles of soju and some chicken, but now it presents you with a new contender to the singles’ table.

And God damn, you can feel the women at the table perk up at his presence, some of them shooting you envious looks because you happen to be seated next to him. The girl on his other side seems to be swooning already, but you staunchly refuse to react. Refuse to even look at his side profile.

Two singles matching up at the singles’ table is practically every host’s wet dream. So much so that you refuse to let it happen. No matter how good looking he is, you won’t let yourself stoop so low.

Are you bitter? Yes.

But are you willing to admit it? Most definitely not.

“No way- Jeon Jeongguk?” The gentleman on your other side stands with his arms spread in what can only be the bro code. “What are you doing here? God damn- I never thought the day would come when I meet Jeon Jeongguk at the singles’ table!”

Wait, why does that name sound so familiar? You can hear the smirk in the newcomer’s voice as he stands as well, and the two men embrace each other in a manner that involves a lot of back slapping and chest bumping.

It’s only then that you unwillingly catch a glance of his face, and immediately an unwanted thought occupies the front of your mind persistently. He is most definitely, without a doubt, the most eligible single man at your table right now.

Jeon Jeongguk looks like the kind of man who is aware that eyes are on him at any given moment and milks every single second of it to show off. His broad shoulders are the first thing that catch your attention, he fills out the jacket of his dark blue suit just right, and yet the tapering of his torso into an impossibly slim waist has you questioning if he’s even real. You stop yourself from going any lower.

His face is a whole other matter, a cocky smirk pasted onto his face, charming doe eyes that lock right onto yours as he sits back down.

“Well, for my first foray into the singles’ club, I can’t say I’m disappointed,” he lowers his voice so that only you can hear it.

Scandalized at how he’s already prepositioning you within minutes of meeting, you make the mistake of turning to face him, witnessing how he adjusts his suit jacket as he makes himself comfortable in his seat, spreading his muscled thighs under the banquet table.

“For someone who’s sole hobby is the gym, I’m surprised your vocabulary range is better than a five-year old’s,” you shoot back at him, immediately annoyed by his very existence itself.

“So you admit you think my body is nice?” He raises an eyebrow and leans into your personal space, causing you to cross your legs and angle your body away from him in response. “You aren’t wrong there, but I could give you a much better idea of what’s under these clothes.”

Your hand tightens around your glass, getting ready to swing your entire body and drench his stupid good looking face with flat, lukewarm soda, but a loud burst of laughter ruins what could have been a perfect moment of humiliation.

“Ah, _______! Jeongguk! I see you two have met!” Kim Seokjin, approaches with Kim Namjoon on his arm, and the two of them look like they are glowing with happiness. “It’s about time, I can’t believe you guys are finally here!”

Finally? What is he on about?

You stand and Seokjin gives you a warm hug, a kiss on the cheek and you immediately feel slightly better, and more than slightly guilty at almost having caused a scene at one of your closest friend’s wedding. Namjoon greets you with a bright smile as well, holding out his arms and embracing you tightly.

Having always been the more sensitive of the couple, Namjoon holds you at arm’s length for a moment. “You alright there?” Namjoon’s gaze wanders over to the table behind you, and it’s like an epiphany strikes him. “God, I’m sorry! I wanted to put you at the table with my parents, seeing as you’re already like a daughter to them, but Jin wanted you to have another chance at…”

“Love,” you grimace as you complete his sentence for him. “I’m used to it by now.”

Namjoon looks like he’s about to say something else, but then Seokjin gets your attention, his arm slung around Jeon Jeongguk’s neck.

“______, as I was saying, I can’t believe you guys only met now. Jeon Jeongguk, meet _____. The sole reason why I managed to graduate from university on time. And ______, meet Jeon Jeongguk, the reason why I almost couldn’t graduate on time.”

Jeongguk snickers and elbows his hyung in the ribs, and you stare in shock at their camaraderie. Seokjin takes in your frozen expression and gestures wildly to get his point across.

“Hello? Remember Jeon Jeongguk?” Seokjin waves his hand in front of your face. “He basically lived in our dorm for a year without even attending our school because he wanted to see what university was like. You always complained about him leaving his cereal bowls in the sink!”

No fucking way. That snot faced brat became… this?

“How you doing, _____?” Jeongguk has the audacity to wink at you. “I see you’ve grown up a little.”

You eye him up and down in shock. From what you remember, Jeon Jeongguk was a scrawny little kid who shadowed Seokjin everywhere, to classes and even to the washroom. He was just a wide-eyed high schooler who worshipped both Seokjin and Namjoon back then, and cowered at your very presence.

“I see you haven’t,” you reply coolly, inwardly praising yourself for thinking of a comeback that quickly. You will not let this stupid brat intimidate you with his looks. Just because he grew up a little and got some muscles doesn’t mean he isn’t the same person who begged to carry your books to class for you.

You remember how he basically lived as a parasite in your dorm that year, irritating the hell out of you with his messy living habits, puppy dog eyes and basically taking turns to follow you everywhere you go. Now the memories are coming back, and so are the teasing laughter from your friends who thought he was your cute little younger brother and doted on him every chance they got, not aware that he’s actually the devil incarnate.

“You guys are getting along right?” Seokjin grins from ear to ear, likely already more than tipsy. “My two bestest friends, and my husband, all in the same place. This calls for a toast!”

“We’re getting along amazingly, aren’t we, ______?” Jeongguk says with a sickening grin as he passes you a champagne flute. “In fact, she was just complimenting me on my workout routine, and I was about to tell her that I’d be more than glad to incorporate her into my home workout too-“

“Toast to the happy couple!” You immediately cut him off, feeling your cheeks burn at his insinuation, raising your glass and avoiding Jeongguk’s gaze. “Congratulations Mr Kims!”

The happy couple moves off, and in your wealth of experience, you know that the night is coming to an end, and so is the event that you dread. You start to gather your things just as everyone starts to rise from their seats to gather in the middle of the ballroom, where a space has been cleared out. Instead of making your way with the crowd, however, you go the opposite direction, ready to make the practiced and unnoticed slip away out into the night.

But this time, a hand on your wrist stops you. It’s Jeon Jeongguk, a slight frown on his handsome features.

“Hey, where are you going? They’re about to do the bouquet toss.”

You pry your arm out of his grasp. “I know.”

And without a single glance back, you slip out of the back entrance of the ballroom, unnoticed by all except one.

*

The next time you see Jeon Jeongguk, it’s at Kim Taehyung’s wedding.

It’s a lovely wedding, a little abstract for your tastes, but totally Taehyung’s style. Expensive paintings worth more than your entire lifetime’s earnings adorn the ballroom, the menu is Italian cuisine, and the wine is exquisite. Him and his blushing bride are gorgeous, the night is perfect, were it not for one tiny little…

“Nice dress, bet it’d look nicer on the floor of my bedroom, though,” Jeongguk eyes your navy blue halter dress that shows off your shoulders.

The two of you are once again reunited at the singles’ table, and the fact that he’s seated right next to you has you in a foul mood.

“Why don’t you just slither off back to whichever hole you came from?” You hiss at him, finishing your third glass of wine for the night. “I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing you again.”

“And leave you all sad and alone at this miserable singles’ table?” Jeongguk grins. “I don’t think so. In fact, I can’t imagine how you managed to survive all these weddings without me. Why do you even hate me that much?”

What a question indeed. There are a million and one reasons as to why you hate Jeon Jeongguk, number one being his cocky personality, number two being his unfair glow up, while you’re still stuck looking pretty much the same as you did back in the first year of uni, if not more tired and world-weary.

“Oh, I managed alright,” you say through gritted teeth. “Not that I’m curious or anything, and I’d hate to give off the impression that I care even one iota about your existence-“

“Don’t worry, you can ask anything about me and I’d be more than happy to indulge,” Jeongguk says with a maddening smile.

“… why don’t you just get a girlfriend and graduate from this sad little island of singles? It’s not like you don’t have a ton of girls falling at your feet everywhere you go,” you roll your eyes as you witness the girl on the other side of him leaning over so far to show off her cleavage that she nearly falls off her seat. “It should be so easy for you.”

“Why would I do that when it’s more fun to stay here and annoy you instead?” He grins, topping up your wine glass, and that’s the only reason why you hesitate from smacking him on the head. His arm lingers on the back of your chair in a manner far too intimate for your liking, but if you were to smack him it would mean you have to touch him, and that’s a definite no-no.

Today he’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, showing a hint of his toned chest. His jacket features a dark grey floral print that matches nicely with the abstract, artsy theme of the whole wedding.

You’re saved from having to reply when it’s time for the couple to cut the cake. In true Taehyung fashion, he smears a dab of wedding cake on his bride’s cheek, causing her to gasp in shock and everyone around them to coo in adoration. Photographers are snapping away, capturing the perfect moment.

“I’d want to get married on my birthday too,” Jeongguk remarks off handedly beside you as the applause dies down. “You know it’s Taehyung’s birthday today, right?”

“Of course I do, what kind of friend would I be?” You roll your eyes at him. “And in response to your other statement: I don’t care.”

But Jeongguk continues as if you haven’t said a word. “I bet they’ll be spending lots of time in their birthday suits tonight.”

“Ew!” You can’t help but react as you turn and smack his arm. Just the thought of imagining Taehyung, your best friend since childhood, naked and doing… those things…

Jeongguk grins salaciously. “First contact: success.”

Still trying to stave off all the unwelcome images of Taehyung, you frown at him in confusion. “What?”

“It’s a rule I personally go by. No matter how interested I am in a girl, I always keep my physical boundaries until she breaks the touch barrier by initiating physical contact with me first.”

Hmm, who’d have thought the bastard would have a sense of morals?

“Well, you’re completely wrong because I’m not interested in you at all,” you turn your head away from him. “And if you think that one touch from a girl entitles you to do all kinds of lewd things, then you’re sorely mistaken on what it means to be a gentleman.”

“Who said anything about lewd?” He leans in, and you smell the sweetness of the tiramisu on his breath that is oh so tantalizing. “I think you’re the one who brought it up first.”

Snagged, you reach for your wine glass to take another chug, hoping that it might explain away the redness on your cheeks.

“You know, most people become more relaxed the more they drink, however with you I think it’s the opposite.” Jeongguk comments, swirling his wine in his glass casually as he studies your side profile.

You can’t help but get a little flustered at his attention. You can see the envious gazes of the other women at the singles’ table, and once again you are reminded of how very eligible Jeon Jeongguk is, especially amongst the rest of the males at the table.

“What would a guy like me have to do for company for his lonely heart?” Jeongguk turns his sparkling doe eyes on you, and at the same time, the lights in the ballroom dim as Taehyung directs everyone’s attention towards the ceiling.

While everyone looks up at the now bedazzled ballroom ceiling, amazed by the projection of multicoloured galaxies and shooting stars, you find yourself unable to look away from Jeon Jeongguk.

Then, while the lights are still off and everyone’s attention elsewhere, he leans in closer until you can feel his breath on your cheek. When you don’t make a move to push him away, Jeon Jeongguk places a hand on your chin and coaxes you those last few inches towards his lips, and you find that you don’t exactly hate the feeling of kissing this obnoxious brat.

His lips are soft, and the kiss is more demure than you’d expected it to be, judging from his fondness for dirty jokes and double entendres. You taste a slight bitterness from the coffee powder in the tiramisu on his tongue. He takes it slow, exploring every inch of your mouth with his, and it’s obvious that he enjoys kissing.

Jeongguk draws away just before the lights come back on. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you jerk away from him in a panic, just as the emcee calls everyone together for the bouquet toss and hightail your way out of the ballroom.

* “Why do you always leave before the bouquet toss?”  

“God, you have such annoying little brother energy,” you sigh, taking your eyes off Jung Hoseok’s grinning face as he dances and sings on stage, with his bride standing off to the side.

“Do you still think of me like that?” Jeon Jeongguk looks a little taken aback at this statement, though he recovers quickly. “My sources tell me that we aren’t far apart enough in age for you to be calling me that.”

“I don’t know who your sources are, but they’re wrong,” you shoot back at him. “Wait, are you stalking me now?”

“I hardly think asking around constitutes stalking,” Jeongguk says defensively. “And is that all you think of me? An annoying little brother?”

“What else could you be to me?” You cover a yawn with one hand as one of Jung Hoseok’s relatives comes on stage to make a speech.

“I highly doubt you kiss your younger brother like that,” Jeongguk smirks, one hand brushing your hair off your shoulder to expose your collarbone. “Unless…”

“I don’t,” you hiss at him, half annoyed at him, and half at yourself for letting him wind you up like this again. “You’re like… an annoying little punk who thinks he’s a man.”

To avoid any further conversation with him, you get up and head for one of the photobooths hired for the occasion, fully intending on getting a photo to prove that you’d been here, say your congratulations to the happy couple, and get out of here as soon as possible.

Jung Hoseok has chosen an outdoor wedding, and the venue is nothing short of spectacular. It’s a starry night, Shakespearean theme, and the décor is absolutely gorgeous. Having attended ballroom weddings for the past few months, this is most certainly a breath of fresh air, but you’re a little worried about how you’re going to get out of here, seeing as it’s quite literally a field in the middle of nowhere.

You’d better leave after this photo and try and call an Uber outside.

However, much to your consternation, Jeon Jeongguk follows you into an empty photobooth, planting himself right next to you on the tiny little loveseat, with his solid thigh against yours. He draws the curtains shut, and since the photobooth is automatically set to go off on a timer, it means that the two of you are currently very much alone in a confined space.

Inwardly you curse Jung Hoseok for having even the photobooths built for two.

“What are you doing? Get your own photobooth!” You growl at him.

“Not until you tell me why you’re running away from me,” he persists, crowding you on the small seat so that you’re nearly on top of him.

From this close up, you feel your resolve weakening, he might be a jerk but he’s a damn good looking one.

“I can feel you want me.” Jeongguk says with his lips pressed against your ear. “Don’t fucking deny it.”

Oh fuck it. It might be the folly of those earlier shots at the bar that makes you grab his collar and pull him into you, your lips crashing together in a clash of tongue and teeth. Unlike last time, the kiss is anything but gentle, and your touches are anything but demure as the two of you grope each other like animals in the small confined space.

“I fucking hate your cocky little mouth,” you hiss at him, biting down hard on his lower lip and eliciting a delicious little whine from the back of his throat.

Jeongguk responds by grabbing your waist and pushing you onto the seat, just as he swivels to end up on his knees. He’s tall enough so that he’s able to kiss down your neck, sucking and leaving behind bruises on the way.

“mhm… show you what this cocky little mouth can do,” his muffled voice sounds more like a threat, growing bigger by the minute as he kisses his way down your throat, to your collarbone as he pulls down the sweetheart neckline of your dress to mark the top of your breasts with his lips and teeth.

There is a moment of hesitation as his fingers pause at the top of your glittery black dress, just shy of exposing your bra. You answer his unasked question for him by pushing it down yourself. Once your breasts are exposed to his reverent gaze, he doesn’t waste any time in cupping them with his large hands, rolling your nipples expertly with both hands, pinching it every so often to make you wince.

“I hate your stupid, gorgeous hands,” you gasp at a particularly hard pinch. “And I hate your fingers.”

It’s those very fingers that are currently travelling up your bare thighs, your dress having ridden up from sitting down. You can feel the cool metal of his rings on your heated skin. Jeongguk doesn’t respond to your declarations of hate for him, instead he’s far too interested in exploring what lies between your thighs, in finding out whether the noises you make are the same as what he’s been imagining all these nights with just his hand for company.

You hate how he leaves you feeling, desperate for his touch and just to feel him everywhere. Hate how exposed he makes you feel, dress and bra pushed down inside a photobooth in the middle of a wedding.

“Could someone with little brother energy make you feel like this?”

With a surge of strength you hadn’t expected, Jeon Jeongguk pulls you to the edge of your seat so that your thighs are draped on his shoulders, legs spread to his liking. He has a front row view of how your panties are already soaked. Pushing the saturated material to the side, his tongue explores your folds eagerly, lapping up every drop of you and teasing the hell out of your clit.

It’s all you can do to keep silent, other than cursing him and his stupid mouth over and over again as he eats you out. His fingers dig bruises into your inner thighs as his lips start to suckle at the most sensitive part of your body, tongue flicking in and out. This for sure isn’t his first rodeo, for he adds his fingers into the mix deftly. You can feel yourself completely drenching his face, and a part of you would be embarrassed had you not already thrown your pride away when you first let Jeon Jeongguk kiss you with that filthy mouth.

“Oh my god,” your arms flail out in search of something to anchor yourself with and find purchase on his hair. Taking pleasure in messing up his perfectly styled hair, you urge him not to stop, both with desperate tugs on his silky black locks, and egging him on with every insult you can think of. “Don’t fucking stop, I swear to God…”

“Like my cocky mouth that much?” Jeongguk grins as he takes a breather, resorting to his slim fingers as he glides them in and out of your drenched cunt. “How about my fingers? Or my cock?”

“Shut up and make me cum,” you dig your nails into his scalp, making him wince a little. “Your fingers are probably the only part of you that doesn’t disappoint.”

His eyes darken just a smidge before he re-doubles his efforts, flattening his tongue against your clit and licking until you are near tears. With a final thrust of his fingers inside you, he sends you over the edge, relishing how you tighten deliciously around him as your body tenses in orgasm.

Jeon Jeongguk lazily thrusts his fingers in and out to help you ride out your high, pulling out to lick your essence from his fingers when you push him away.

“Well, doesn’t seem like you hated that,” he grins in a self-satisfied way that immediately irks you once more.

You close your legs and pull your dress to cover yourself, ignoring the fact that your thighs are still shaking from that orgasm. “I guess you aren’t that bad at going down on someone, which is a blessing considering that disappointment you’re packing in your pants.”

The dark gaze that you caught a glimpse of earlier comes back into view again, and just as your standing up, straightening your dress and gathering your wits about you, Jeon Jeongguk slides his arm around your waist, pulling you against his body in with a sudden movement.

“Does this feel disappointing to you?”

You can feel him pressed up against you, the considerable bulge right against the swell of your backside has your words caught in your throat, and you can’t bring yourself to refute his claim.

Jeongguk gives a low chuckle that sends shivers down your spine. “Didn’t think so. But don’t worry. I won’t fuck you here. Only good girls deserve my cock.”

He finally pulls away, and the space in between the two of you allows you to breathe and get your senses back once more. Throwing a disinterested glance over your shoulder, you bend over to collect the pictures that have dropped into the little slot on the machine, well aware of his eyes jumping from the curve of your ass just exposed to your chest still marked with the imprint of his lips.

You toss him one strip of the pictures, along with a parting shot.

“Who said I wanted to be your good girl?”

*

If you thought that weddings were bad, that was because you hadn’t experienced baby showers yet.

It hadn’t even been more than a month since you attended Kim Taehyung’s wedding, but the baby shower cum announcement invitation shows up in your mail anyway. You highly suspect that this wasn’t the result of their wedding night, but you all knew that Taehyung was the most eager out of all of you to start a family.

Right, back to why baby showers are even worse than weddings.

There isn’t even a hint of a singles’ table here at baby showers. Everyone here is happily married at least, some of them are pregnant, but either way they are more taken than your sad, single self.

“_____! So glad you could come!” Taehyung approaches you with what looks like a diaper stuck onto the front of his suit. “Ah, sorry about this, I was playing pin the diaper on the diarrhea…”

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from grimacing as you intercept his full-on bear hug with a side embrace instead. You can see Namjoon and Seokjin off to one side, laughing and proudly showing off scan pictures of their surrogate baby. Jung Hoseok and his wife are grinning happily just behind them, tanned and blissful having just returned from their honeymoon trip, and judging from the way that his wife has one hand protectively on her lower belly…

“Did you manage to get a drink yet?” Taehyung grins, an arm around his suddenly very pregnant wife. You have no idea how she managed to appear svelte and slim at her wedding just a few months ago.

“Ah, no, I was wondering if there was anything… stronger,” you grin weakly, holding up a glass of orange juice.

“No there isn’t,” Taehyung says with an embarrassed frown, reaching to scratch his neck. “I thought since this would be mostly couples who were kind of starting a family themselves…”

You force a smile onto your face at the confirmation that there isn’t a single drop of alcohol at this god forsaken baby shower. Surely the rules don’t apply to Namjoon and Seokjin??

“It’s fine,” you wave away Taehyung’s embarrassment. “Congratulations, by the way! Do we know if it’s a girl or boy yet?”

“Not yet,” Taehyung’s wife giggles, exchanging a look with her husband. “We want it to be a secret.”

You smile awkwardly as husband and wife exchange a loving kiss, but glance at your watch to see how much time has passed. Off handedly your thoughts suddenly stray to one Jeon Jeongguk, and you wonder if he’s here.

You have to say that having him present at one of these events really makes them a lot more tolerable, and you are feeling the effects of his absence, especially so without alcohol. It’s not that you like him, god forbid, but it’s just… he’s become somewhat like your partner in crime at events like this. He may be annoying, but his stupid jokes and handsome face helps pass the time quicker.

You suddenly find yourself wishing Jeon Jeongguk were here.

“Miss me?”

And the devil speaks. You whirl around to find Jeon Jeongguk dressed down in a pair of ripped black jeans and a white shirt with a casual blazer thrown over, hair grown out a lot longer than the last time you saw him. It frames his face in slight waves, giving him a far more carefree look than the last time you saw him, sharply dressed in a suit with his hair pushed back off his face. He looks even more annoying with his long, unkempt hair like this, and you have a great urge to just tangle your fingers in it and pull till he cries.

“No,” you say just to spite him. By now, Taehyung and his wife have wandered off to another group, so you feel safe enough to say your next words. “This party was a bore. Just looking for a semblance of intelligent life.”

“And alas, I come when called,” Jeongguk smirks at his double entendre, placing a hand on the small of your back to lead you to a small corner of the garden party. His touch sends shivers down your spine, brings your mind back to the last thing you did with him.

“I’m afraid I’m still looking,” you retort without any real heat in your voice. Bickering with him has become normal now, it’s comfortable with him like this.

Jeongguk feigns being stabbed in the heart, then takes a swig of his drink. Judging from his reaction, that is most certainly not plain soda, and you grab his hand, bringing his glass to your lips for a taste.

Definitely not soda.

“Where’d you get this from?” You hiss, feeling like a druggie on withdrawal.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Brought my own. Y’know, since this is supposed to be a baby shower and all, I cam prepared. You’d obviously come expecting virgin drinks.” He takes out a cleverly concealed flask from his blazer.

You help yourself by uncapping it and tipping it into your half full drink, sighing when you take a sip and the alcohol burns on the way down. Jeongguk watches you with an amused smirk, thinking how there isn’t any other girl who gets him just like you do.

“What?” You catch him staring at you, finishing your drink with one more gulp.

“I was thinking…” Jeongguk starts with a slow drawl.

“Oh wow, that’s a first for you-“

“… why haven’t you jumped me yet? You and I both know I’m the most eligible man at the singles’ table. Being here only strengthens my argument, I’m the most eligible single man here.” Jeongguk is enjoying riling you up, likes watching you spit insults at him and exchange banter like there’s no tomorrow. Just for good measure, he throws in a last jab. “Judging by your age too, I don’t think you have much time if you want to pop out at least three of my children.”

For a moment your eyes narrow in your annoyance. “I have plenty of time left, thank you very much. I’m still on the right side of 25-“

“-not for much longer,” Jeongguk helpfully throws in, gleefully delighting in the way you glare daggers at him.

“- and who said I want three of your children?” You cross your arms, stopping just short of stamping your foot. “Maybe I’ll go and be Namjoon and Seokjin’s surrogate!”

“Be my guest, I’d very much like to see how you look when you’re swollen and pregnant,�� Jeongguk lowers his voice as he crowds your body with his, and you realise how much taller and broader he is. “Preferably if the baby is mine too.”

“W-why’d I want a baby who’ll grow up to be as insufferable as you?” You know your comeback is weak, but you find your mental faculties really at a limit especially when he’s this close. “He’d have the mentality of a five-year-old for his entire life.”

Jeongguk gently takes your empty glass from your hand and sets it down on a nearby server’s tray. Taking your hand, he leads you into Taehyung’s house, where much of it is empty as compared to the garden party outside.

“He’ll at least be as handsome as me,” Jeongguk offers with a hopeful grin, closing the door behind him to ensure no one accidentally wanders in. “So, do I still have that annoying little brother energy after what happened last time?”

At this point you’ve gone too far with him to straight up deny it. “Fine,” you admit. “You might be half decent at oral. But my theory that you have small dick energy still stands. You’re just a little brat who thinks with his dick and is used to girls dropping their panties for him-“

“I seem to recall you spreading your legs for me just as easily,” he hums as he traces a finger down your covered thighs, slightly displeased at your choice to wear a longer dress today.

“You’re just asking for it, aren’t you,” Jeongguk tsks under his breath, his tattooed fingers coming to rest on the front buttons of your modest midi dress. “Pretending to be all demure and modest like a good girl when in actual fact you’re a slut who lets random men eat her out in photobooths.”

“You’re not just any random-“ the words slip from your mouth before you realise it, and Jeongguk looks up sharply at you.

“What was that, babygirl?”

You cover up your own slip by bursting into slightly exaggerated laughter at his pet name of choice. “Babygirl? Oh my god. You’re the kind of guy who likes to be called ‘daddy’ in bed, aren’t you?”

Feeling slightly attacked, Jeon Jeongguk’s sky high confidence dips a little, and you spot the tell-tale signs of his eyes widening in shock, giving you a glimpse of his younger, more vulnerable side.

“Wh-what’s wrong with ‘daddy’? It’s a classic.”

“Only for those who actually fit the bill,” you say, placing your hand on his cheek and trying your best to ignore the sharpness of his jawline. “For your information, I only use ‘daddy’ when it comes to real men. Not stupid young punks like you.”

His eyes flicker with anger, jaw clenching even tighter so that a muscle jumps in his cheek, and the sight of it sets off a thrill in your lower belly, your heart racing in your chest, and it makes you feel even bolder.

He attempts to take back control of the situation by grabbing your waist with both hands, pushing you up against the wall and supporting your entire weight as if it’s nothing. Jeon Jeongguk obviously likes to show off his strength, and while you are indeed impressed, it’s not like you’ll ever show it, not unless you want to stroke his already inflated ego.

You loop your arms around his neck to keep your balance, feeling his hands on your ass and thighs and his bulge right against your centre. Taking advantage of your proximity, you lean in to suck right under his ear, leaving behind a red mark.

“’Daddy’ is only for men with big dick energy,” you whisper, breath hot against his neck. You draw back to take in his reaction, and he does that thing with his tongue against his cheek that tells you he’s really pissed off.

“Shut up,” he growls, one hand on the front of your dress as he tears the buttons open, exposing your bra in one movement. “I’ll fucking show you what ‘Daddy’ is.”

Another rip and your bra falls open, exposing your breasts to him as he harshly bites and marks you, enough to replace the fading marks from last time. While doing this he also grinds into you, letting you feel how hard he is through his jeans.

“I’m gonna fuck you right up against this wall, with all our friends just outside,” Jeongguk breathes into your neck, taking one hand off your ass to push your dress up. “Gonna rip your panties off so you’ll have to go home with no underwear like the whore you are.”

“Do it, if it makes you feel more like a man,” you urge him on, and that bastard really does rip your underwear, tucking it into his pocket for later like the pervert he is.

He ignores your jibes at him to push your body weight against the wall with his own, one hand supporting you as he slides two fingers against your core to find out how wet you are. They come away soaking, and it boosts his confidence further as he licks his fingers.

“Could anyone but a man make you this wet? Even without touching you?” He smirks, using one of his thighs of steel to support you better as he starts to stroke your clit with his thumb, plunging his fingers into your tight cunt to stretch you out.

“Still so fucking tight for me, creaming all over my fingers like a dirty girl,” his words are getting filthier and filthier the more you egg him on, and you are indeed coming all over his fingers embarrassingly quick. You bite into his shoulder to conceal your moans, and he hisses a few curses under his breath.

“You’ll be calling me Daddy by the time I’m through with you,” Jeongguk casts you a dark look as he struggles with the zipper on his jeans with one hand.

You throw your head back with a laugh. “Go ahead, baby boy.”

The nickname only infuriates him more, and he spanks your clit once, making you dig your fingernails into his arms. Already overstimulated from the first orgasm, Jeongguk doesn’t let up as he continues to rub your clit until you weaken in his arms, only then does he feel like he’s got the upper hand once more.

You have to say that you’re impressed with his strength so far and you help him out by unbuckling his belt, tossing it to the side and lowering the zipper on his jeans. He pushes it, along with his underwear, down to his knees, and while he’s doing that you take the opportunity to push his shirt up, exposing his rock hard abs that make you want to grind against them.

“Like what you see?” Jeongguk is smirking, he knows all his hours at the gym pays off well.

“I’ve seen better,” you say with a sniff, but you’re lying and the both of you know that from the way you can’t keep your hands off his chest and abs.

Jeongguk pushes his underwear off, and his cock slaps against his belly, the head an angry red and fully erect. At the first sight of it, you’re tongue tied. While some men are blessed in girth and some in length but not both, he seems to have the best of both worlds, and his entire length spans almost three quarters of your forearm.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” He presses a suckling kiss against your collarbone, pushing his sticky cock against your inner thighs.

He’s left with a satisfied smirk when you really do have nothing to say, instead reaching down to stroke him. The feeling of your small hand on his cock makes him swear under his breath, sweat dripping off his forehead as he thrusts forward into your grasp involuntarily.

“Have protection?” You remember at the last minute, placing a hand on his abdomen to stop him from thrusting into you bare.

“I got a vasectomy,” Jeongguk answers, and you nearly choke on your saliva.

“Wha- whe- I-“

“I knew it! You want to have my babies,” Jeongguk snickers at your reaction, but not for long when you grip him tighter and he groans. “I’m kidding. Don’t worry, I’m as fertile as a bull in the china shop.”

“That’s not how the saying goes- you know what, just shut up and tell me if you have any condoms. You’re a lot more attractive when you aren’t talking.”

“In my blazer pocket,” he answers, and you reach for it, finding a foil packet and tearing it open, rolling it over his cock.

You note how the packet says extra-large, and in your mind, you can already imagine his cocky little self walking up to the pharmacy and fucking asking for the extra larges even though there is stock on the shelf.

Jeon Jeongguk is just that kind of cocky little bastard.

“Big dicks aren’t everything, Jeon,” you say at last, guiding him towards your centre. “Not if you cum after the first three strokes.”

“I’ll fucking show you what stamina is,” Jeongguk growls as he surges forward into that delicious, warm heat, your pussy tightening around him despite having been stretched out earlier. You cry out against his shoulder as he fucks into you, having mercy enough to give you shallow thrusts at first before building up to sheath his whole length into you.

“Haven’t cum yet? I’m surprised,” you mock him, tightening your core around him and feeling his steady rhythm falter.

“Fuck you,” he grits his teeth, using the power in his thighs to fuck up into you.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you’re gonna cum too soon aren’t you,” you coo at him, petting his cheek and babying him, all of which you know by now he absolutely hates. “Cute little Jungkookie’s all grown up.”

“Don’t fucking call me cute when I’m pounding my cock inside you,” Jeongguk leans forward to bite your lower lip in a harsh, punishing kiss, effectively shutting you up as he pistons his cock in and out at an unforgiveable pace.

Since you came once already, you thought your second orgasm would be way far off, but you’re proven wrong especially when Jeongguk buries his cock deep, limiting his thrusts so that he’s just grinding his cock against you, his pelvic bone rubbing against your clit just right. He then shifts so that his arms slide under both your thighs, opening you up even more for him as he fucks you against the wall with his incredible strength, and you feel yourself tightening around him again.

When he smirks against your neck you realized you must have called out his name when you came. But in this position you can’t do much other than wrap your arms around his neck as he gives you the pounding of your life.

“Ready to call me daddy yet?” Jeongguk pants against your neck, leaving his cock buried so deep that he can feel your cervix.

“No fucking way,” you refuse to relent.

“Then how ‘bout you make me a daddy instead?” He proposes, pulling out suddenly to the tip and slamming back in, making you whine his name again. “That’s right baby girl, I saw all your envious looks at all the couples out there.”

“Wha-? I…”

“Don’t fucking deny it. You’d look so much better swollen and pregnant than all of those women out there. You know you want to, especially when I started teasing you about getting too old. You want a baby, you want mybaby fucked into you.”

You don’t know what kind of roleplay this is, but all you know is that you get even wetter around his cock, and all you want is for him to fuck you against this wall until you forget your own name and you can’t walk tomorrow.

“Fuck… keep going. Tell- tell me more,” you pant against his neck for more as Jeongguk starts fucking his cock into your pussy once more, every thrust ending so deep that it taps your womb.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you at our friend’s baby shower,” Jeongguk grips your thighs hard. “You want that? Hm? Then next it will be our turn to have a baby shower. Though I think we’ll have it before our wedding, where everyone will see you round and swollen with my baby.”

“Wh-who fucking said I wanted to marry you-?” You can barely get your words out of your mouth as you dig your fingernails into his shoulders. There’s something about how primal his thrusts feel when he talks about fucking a baby into you, and you want more.

“I can give you a baby right now and then you’ll have one more reason to marry a cocky little bastard like me,” Jeongguk smirks against your neck as he lets one of your legs drop to rub your clit, and you squeeze around him again, crying out into his neck.

Your thighs are quivering, cunt clenching around his still pounding cock as Jeongguk grunts. You feel his cock twitching, and even though all of this is make believe- the condom wrapper on the floor reassuring you… you wouldn’t exactly hate it if it were all real. Being with Jeon Jeongguk… doesn’t sound that bad after all.

Feeling him close to his orgasm, you wrap your arms around him tighter, legs around his waist as you feel his desperation soar.

“Give it to me. Your baby, I want it,” you whisper against his cheek, not knowing how much of it is just for the heat of the moment, and how much of it isn’t. All you know is you love his reaction to your words, the way his thrusts stutter in rhythm and he lets out a deep groan.

He moans your name in the most beautiful way as he spills his load, continuing to thrust to ride out his orgasm, his hips pinning you against the wall as his hands encircle your waist.

The both of you remain like that for a moment, his harsh breaths against your neck as you find yourself stroking his back and leaning your cheek against his broad shoulders. Gingerly, Jeongguk puts you down so that your feet are once more touching firm ground, and he slips out of you in the process.

It’s slightly awkward now that everything is over, and Jeongguk turns away, pulling the used condom off his softening cock. While his back is turned, you start to straighten your clothing, realizing that the bastard has really ripped all your underwear and even your dress too.

Cursing him loudly enough so that he hears it too, you stuff your now useless bra into your bag, trying the best you can to button your light blue lace midi dress back together again and failing miserably. You cross your arms as you glare at his broad back, until Jeongguk feels the weight of your glare and turns around.

He disposes of the used condom in the trash, and has the gall to check you out, particularly lingering on your half exposed chest.

“Quite a number you did on my arms… this’ll last for a while definitely-“

“You fucking ripped my dress! How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?”

Jeongguk can’t keep that stupid smile off his face as he shrugs out of his blazer, coming towards you and draping it across your shoulders so that it covers you adequately. Despite being pissed off at him, you can’t help but notice how much bigger he is- his shoulders stretch as he assures his blazer is securely on you and the concentration furrows his brow as he buttons it up.

“There. Like that. I think you look much better, to be honest.” He takes a step back, smirking in satisfaction before he turns you around with one arm around your shoulders. “Look. I am a gentleman. I’ll even walk you out so that we can call a cab together.”

“Are you crazy?” You shrug his arm off violently. “We can’t go out like this together! Everyone will know we just fucked!”

“Well, we just did…” Jeongguk has a stupid grin on his face as he states the obvious, and it makes you want to smack him.

“You stay in here for five minutes then come out. Look like you just came in here to piss or something,” you shove his chest in an attempt to get him to stay, trying to ignore how firm his pecs feel under your touch, and how he barely even moves.

Jeongguk has an amused smile on his face as he watches you arrange your hair, check your makeup for any smudges before gingerly stepping outside, all while oblivious to that fact that you wearing his blazer is the biggest telltale of all.

Truly, he’s never met a girl like you.

*

Jeon Jeongguk’s goal is to get you to stay for the bouquet toss just this one time.

More specifically, he wants to find out why you always leave before it happens. Personally, it’s his favourite part, aside from the free flow booze and food and cake. He particularly likes seeing the women’s faces when they spot him, and then see how desperate they are to catch the bouquet later on especially when he’s in the crowd.

But today he’s more interested in seeing one particular person’s face when the bouquet goes sailing through the air.

Jeongguk rubs his hands together in glee with a devious smile on his face, peeking around the corner to find his best friend Eun Woo and his bride at the center stage, taking pictures with guests.

“Bro! So glad you came!” Eun Woo greets him with a wide grin that reaches his eyes, spreading his arms wide to embrace Jeongguk.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jeongguk grins back, slapping his friend on the back a few times before pulling away. “You remembered my request, right?”

Eun Woo clasps Jeongguk’s hand cordially. “Of course man. Just point her out to me and we’re good to go.”

Jeongguk steps back to let Eun Woo go back to his bride and entertaining his guests, all the while keeping a close eye on the door. You hadn’t showed up for the wedding ceremony nor the dinner that followed, and Jeongguk knows from sources that you’d been invited to this wedding too. He fidgets anxiously, wondering when, or if, you’ll show up.

After what seems like forever, you slip in quietly, alone as always, wearing that same light blue midi dress that he had the pleasure of ripping off your body.

You weave through the crowd in order to get to the front, wanting to get it over and done as quickly as possible. When you catch a glimpse of Cha Eun Woo dressed to the nines, smiling and laughing with his bride, you feel a small little pang in your chest, considering that you had a crush on him once.

In fact, that was the main reason why you decided to only show up at the end. When you received the invitation, it wasn’t like you were shocked or anything because you knew the two of them had been dating for a while, but the same old blues just crept up on you, and you don’t think you can bring yourself to sit through another wedding and watch another couple find their happy ending, when all you wanted was to find it yourself.

So here you are, forcing a smile on your face as Eun Woo springs to his feet once he sees you, engulfing you into a hug for old times’ sake.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” he says with a pout, and your heart almost melts.

Eun Woo just has this way of speaking that makes anyone feel incredibly important to him. It’s the way his voice softens to an intimate tone and his eyes focus on you entirely. He holds you at an arm’s length to really look at you.

“Long time no see,” you laugh, extricating yourself from his embrace, all too aware of his bride standing beside him looking a little out of place. “Congratulations, brat. I’m so happy for you.”

Eun Woo grins, a heart-achingly handsome smile directed just at you, and damn if it doesn’t make you feel special even when you’re here attending his fucking wedding. Your moment of regret is interrupted by a slight shove to your back that puts some distance between you and Eun Woo, and you turn your head in annoyance to see who it could possibly be.

Jeon Jeongguk sure knows how to ruin a moment, for he steps in between you and Eun Woo, bro hugging him generally making a lot of noise. Before you can quickly slip back into the crowd, however, Jeongguk grabs your arm, tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

“Did you meet ______ yet?” Jeongguk says, winding an arm around your shoulders tight to stop you from escaping. Slippery little minx you are.

Eun Woo hesitates for a second, and some kind of unspoken communication goes on between the two men, and you roll your eyes, wanting to just leave now that you’ve shown your face.

“______?” He says your name with such surprise in his voice, and his eyes widen, as if seeing you for the first time, taking in Jeongguk’s arm around you. Then he coughs awkwardly and tries to play it off smoothly. “Dude, we go way back since uni, my partner in crime when it comes to project work,” Eun Woo shoots you a fond little grin, and you feel your heart flip.

Jeongguk catches this little interaction and frowns.  “Wait, you guys… know each other that well?”

“Yeah. We even-“ you cut yourself off, realizing that this isn’t the best time to bring it up.

“Oh, you can say it, Eun Woo told me and it’s all cool,” his bride grins, casually looping an arm around her husband. “I know you guys used to date for a while.”

You can feel Jeongguk’s grip tightening slightly around your shoulders. “Um… wow. Okay. That was… uh, unexpected.”

You shoot him a sharp glance, wondering why he’s being so weird and saying such weird things and trying to figure out if he’s trying to be funny and embarrass the both of you. But Jeon Jeongguk seems genuinely flustered, the tips of his ears growing red.

“Anyway, uh, congrats you two,” you clear your throat and give them a slightly subdued smile. “Wishing you guys happiness always.”

Eun Woo reaches out to grasp your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Thanks, ______. I really appreciate it. You guys, stay till the end of the event, ‘kay? We have something really special planned.”

The two of them are soon dragged away by another group of friends, leaving you and Jeon Jeongguk alone in the crowd of strangers.

“Okay, what was that?” Jeongguk demands, folding his arms across his chest.

You’re still staring somewhat wistfully as Eun Woo and his wife as they wrap their arms around each other. “What? It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You were practically making love eyes towards him!” Jeongguk points out indignantly.

You roll your eyes and start to head for the refreshment table, figuring you should at least get something to eat and drink while here. “It’s all in the past. We used to date for a while, that’s it. Maybe there’s still some lingering feelings for him. Maybe I’m feeling a little bitter while attending my crush’s wedding. What’s it to you?”

Picking up a flute of champagne, you down it in one gulp, feeling much better once the alcohol hits your system.

Feeling the urge to outdo his best friend, Jeongguk steals a chocolate covered strawberry off your plate and pops it into his mouth, making sure his lips wrap around the strawberry. He sucks it for a moment, making eye contact with you to capture your attention before he bites it off, closing his eyes as the sweetness bursts on his tongue. Jeongguk has to make you forget about your long lost crush.

“Stop it!” You hiss at him, at the way he licks his chocolate covered fingers obscenely.

“What?” Jeongguk shoots back, eyes wide and innocent. “I’m not doing anything!”

It’s ironic, the way practically everyone here is dressed for a black tie event, and here Jeon Jeongguk is, bow tie and suit, licking chocolate off his fingers like a five year old. But strangely, rather than irritate you, it’s kind of… endearing.

You like how he’s not afraid to make a fool out of himself even at events where everyone seems to be doing their best to pretend they’re sophisticated adults. He makes boring, stuffy old events like this more fun, and you realise… you want him in your life.

“You’re an idiot,” you say without any real heat in your voice, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“I see you’re wearing the same dress,” Jeongguk comments with a glance down your body, and you fold your arms protectively.

“Yes, because washing machines are a thing,” you roll your eyes at him. “Sorry I don’t earn enough to debut with a spanking new dress every time one of our friends decide to get hitched.”

“God, you’re so defensive,” Jeongguk attempts to pry one of your arms loose. “I was just thinking that perhaps I didn’t do a good enough job of tearing off your body. How’d you even get it to be in one piece again?” Jeongguk watches the way red blooms across your cheeks. “So, am I still little brother energy?”

Judging from the way the cocky little bastard grins, he already knows the answer, but he just wants to hear you say it.

“No… but you’re far from daddy,” you add the last bit just to stop his ego from inflating so much that he can’t walk out the door later. Doing him a favour, really. You take your plate of cakes and pastries and find a seat somewhere in the ballroom, in a nice and secluded corner where no one will notice you stuffing your face.

Jeon Jeongguk follows you, grabbing more glasses of champagne along the way and handing them to you once you’re seated. “You said you had feelings for Eun Woo.”

“Yeah. Key word, had,” you clarify. “Past tense.”

“And me?” Jeongguk holds his breath in anticipation. “Do you… have feelings for me?”

You let the plate rest in your lap for a moment, considering how to best word your emotions. As much as you want to deny it and say he’s just an annoying little punk… it’s gone too far for you to do that. “I guess… yeah. I do. Don’t get me wrong though, you’re still annoying as fuck and you irritate the hell out of me sometimes, but I guess somewhere along the way… I stopped minding it so much and even started to miss it when you weren’t there to annoy me. It’s not just because we fucked or anything like that, but… having you beside me at all those weddings made me see how happy everyone around me was, only because… you kind of made me happy to begin with. Attending all those weddings by myself and seeing everyone get their happily ever after… I was kind of lonely, but now I’m not anymore.”

Embarrassed at your sudden show of emotions, you glance away, nearly spilling your glass in the process, but Jeongguk saves you by taking it away from you. An insatiable grin is on his face. “So… you’re saying I make you happy by annoying you?”

“And your dick is pretty nice too,” you grumble under your breath, in an attempt to distract him from how raw your emotions are feeling.

“I know,” Jeongguk steals a monster bite of your cake without asking. In the midst of his chews he sneaks a kiss on your cheek so that he leaves some cream behind. “I like annoying you too. I want to keep annoying you for the rest of my life.”

Just when you’re about to smack him for being so cheesy and disgusting, a voice comes over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our lovely bride and groom will now be preparing for the bouquet toss and the garter throw. If you would kindly gather, please.”

Jeongguk takes your plate and puts it aside before grabbing your hand securely in his, but there’s no need to, because you’re not going anywhere without him at your side. There was a time where you would have rather died than witness the bouquet toss, see the bundle of flowers being thrown into the air and hoping against hope that you’ll be lucky enough to catch it… but this time, with Jeon Jeongguk by your side, all you feel is warm and content, like you’ll be happy as long as he’s with you.

Jeongguk guides the both of you to a prime spot at the front, where you see Eun Woo’s bride seated in a chair, and Eun Woo on his knees before her. Realising you’re about to witness what’s called a garter toss, your eyes widen in shock when you see Eun Woo dive under his bride’s skirt. The crowd reacts with giggles and wolf whistles as Eun Woo seems to struggle a little, but a few minutes later he emerges, hair ruffled, but victorious with a lacy band between his teeth.

“We’re so gonna do that at our wedding,” Jeongguk murmurs under his breath with a squeeze of your hand.

“Getting a little ahead of yourself hmm? I never said I’d marry you,” you reply with a half-smile.

Eun Woo stands up, holding his wife’s garter high in one hand before he extends his other hand towards her, and together they turn their backs to face the crowd. You can see his wife’s beautiful bouquet of pastel peonies, tiger lilies and baby’s breath, held over her head.

The crowd is holding their breath with anticipation, and you can feel the people around you jostle slightly in their eagerness. You see Eun Woo lean down to whisper something to his wife, and she giggles, nodding in return before casting a glance backwards at the crowd behind her.

Eun Woo does the same, and his eyes lock onto yours before shifting slightly to beside you. Then he turns his back, and with a count of one, two and three, husband and wife toss their respective items high into the air.

For the first time, you see the bouquet sailing in the air towards you, and it’s as if everything is in slow motion. The crowd around you disappears, miraculously no one is pushing or shoving against you, and… could it be? The silk wrapped bouquet looks like it’s actually going to… this is impossible. The chances are so slim, there are so many people here…

And yet, your arms move of their own accord, the bouquet lands in your grasp, and you smell the sweetness of the flowers immediately as the sheer size of the entire silk wrapped bundle blocks your vision entirely.

Then, time unfreezes and sound filters back in. People around you are cheering and clapping, they’ve given you some space now. You start to shy at the attention, lowering the bouquet and half-panicking over what Jeon Jeongguk will think- will he take this as a sign that you’re a psycho who wants to marry him even though it’s this soon? What if he’s scared off by this?

But as you lower your bouquet, you realise that Jeon Jeongguk isn’t empty handed either, he’s holding a lacy garment in his hand, grinning from ear to ear with that annoying little smirk of his that tells you this went exactly as he planned.

Welcome to the lonely hearts club: table for two, please.

[dontbipanicjonsa]

A confusing clusterfuck of thoughts re: Jonsa

Or: why the fuck are Jon and Sansa so compatible if they're not canon, huh?

He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. - Bran III AGOT

So....Jon is going to lose memory of all warmth? I'm going to separate the changes brought about in post-resurrection!Jon here as changes caused by death and changes caused by Ghost. This post is only speculating about the changes caused by death i.e. loss of memory of all warmth.

More foreshadowing for that-

Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. - Jon III AGOT

"It was. The fort is in a sorry state, admittedly. You will restore it as best you can..." ... You'll sleep on stone, too exhausted to complain or plot, and soon you'll forget what it was like to be warm, but you might remember what it was to be a man. - Jon II ADWD

So, I did a word search for warm and memory and I found some interesting stuff. Read under the cut.

1. Home

Jon- warmth and memory of home

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon II AGOT (thinking about Arya)

The weariness came on him suddenly... So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man's body. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black... - Jon III AGOT

...Iron Emmett was still urging on his charges in the yard. The song of steel on steel woke a hunger in Jon. It reminded him of warmer, simpler days, when he had been a boy at Winterfell matching blades with Robb under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Ser Rodrik too had fallen, slain by Theon Turncloak... All my memories are poisoned. - Jon VI ADWD

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it.-Jon XII ASOS

So, these are the memories of warmth he'll lose? This warmth, that he associates with Winterfell (and the Starks), is the first memory of warmth Jon has.

Dany- memory of home

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind... and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.

"… the dragon …" - Daenerys IX AGOT

Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? - Daenerys VI AGOT

..."What shall we talk of?"

"Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world."

Missandei did her best. She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire. - Daenerys VIII ADWD

Dany's idea of 'home' changes over the course of the books. In the beginning she uses home for Illyrio's house, or the house with the red door. She very clearly doesn't think of Westeros as her home. After Viserys's death however, there's a sudden shift. Now, Westeros is her long lost home that she must return to someday. It's jarring. Interestingly enough, she pretty clearly rejects the idea of Dothraki khalasars as home, and the only time she calls Meereen home is in her last chapter of ADWD where she's trying to convince herself to return there. But we know that she ultimately rejects that too, in the same chapter.

Sansa- memory of home

Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? Already the snowfall lay thick... The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the long summer of her childhood. - Sansa VII ASOS

Last of all came the Royces, Lord Nestor and Bronze Yohn... Though his hair was grey and his face lined, Lord Yohn still looked as though he could break most younger men like twigs in those huge gnarled hands. His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. - Alayne I AFFC

She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend... She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell... - Sansa II ACOK

Arya coz why not

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.… Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you …" - Arya II AGOT

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

Again, all this (and much more) is stuff that reminds Sansa (and Arya) of home. This is, presumably, shit that Jon is gonna forget. Or maybe he'll retain the memories and only lose the emotions (warmth) associated with it?

2. Suitors or romantic/sexual partners (+Ben Plumm)

Jon

Many a night he lay with Ygritte warm beside him,... - Jon V ASOS

So, Ygritte becomes his second memory of warmth.

When he turned he saw Ygritte.

...cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon's heart leapt into his mouth. "Ygritte," he said.

"Lord Snow." The voice was Melisandre's.

Surprise made him recoil from her. "Lady Melisandre." He took a step backwards. "I mistook you for someone else." At night all robes are grey. - Jon VI ADWD

AT NIGHT ALL ROBES ARE GREY...yea I know, this is a well established connection between the Girl in Grey and Ygritte. Since Jon associates Ygritte with warmth so strongly, I think it's safe to assume that the Girl in Grey might play a role in warming him too (hehe).

… one hears queer talk of dragons."

"Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit."

"My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons." - Jon IX ADWD

Yikes.

Dany

"If my queen commands," he (Jorah) said, curt and cold.

Dany was warm enough for both of them. "She does," she said. "She commands...

When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon. - Daenerys IV ASOS

So, here the warmth is because of anger (woken the dragon).

Dany could feel the warmth of his fingers. He was warm in Qarth as well, she recalled, until the day he had no more use for me. She rose to her feet. "Come," she said, and Xaro followed her through the pillars... - Daenerys III ADWD

She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted... Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust?- Daenerys VI ADWD

This is twice that Dany associates warmth with people who use/betray her.

"You're hurt," she gasped.

"This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. - Daenerys VI ADWD

Dawn always came too soon.

...If only she had the power, she would have made their nights go on forever, but the best that she could do was stay awake to try and savor every last sweet moment before daybreak turned them into no more than fading memories....

Dany wrapped her arms around her captain and pressed herself against his back. She drank in the scent of him, savoring the warmth of his flesh, the feel of his skin against her own. Remember, she told herself. Remember how he felt. - Daenerys VII ADWD

Ok, I forgot how smitten Dany was with Daario. It would be cute if Daario wasn't so horrifying. Girl has some seriously questionable taste.

Interestingly, the phrase 'fading memory' is used four times in the text (as far as I can find) and three of those times are in Daenerys's POV. One is in the above quote, where she's commanding herself to remember her time with Daario before her marriage to Hizdahr, and the other time is while thinking about the red door. Both these are memories that are important to her, that connect her to the hopeful/little/not-dark girl she once was.

Sansa

Gently, he spoke of Braavos, and met a wall of sullen courtesy as icy and unyielding as the Wall he had walked once in the north. - Tyrion VIII ASOS

"I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her." - Sansa VII ASOS

"Alayne." Her aunt's singer stood over her. "Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you." - Sansa VI ASOS

You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands." - Sansa VII ASOS

Yea no. Sansa has not had a good experience with people offering to warm her (unfreeze her? melt her?)

Looks like in TWOW there's going to be two people in desperate need of some warming.

It's pretty neat actually. Jon associates memories of warmth with two things primarily: Winterfell/the Starks, and Ygritte. Sansa is both a Stark, and a much (much) improved Ygritte.

Sansa's iciness-wall-armour is a form of protection that she employs against predatory men. The only person who can melt her frozen heart...is someone who is not predatory. Someone who cares for her. Jon.

It fits perfectly. They fit perfectly.

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers , Chapter 13

Fields of Wildflowers 

Chapter 13

A Sihtric x OC story

Previous chapters. | My masterlist

AN: Firstly, apologies for not updating or posting any original content for a few weeks.  I was on vacation and taking a small personal break.  But rest assured that this story will be concluded and that I have other content and other OC’s I will write for when this story is done.  So thank you for your patience and continued reading and support!  My timeline for events during the siege in Winchester is different from the show.  I almost combined this chapter with the events for the next one but they would have been too long.  Also, this chapter still does not feature much of Sihtric, but he will be in the next chapter! I promise! And the beautiful moodboard is from @serasvictoria. Check out her blog - beautiful and original work.

Warnings: non-con, male on female violence, self-defense violence, assault, sexual assault, I think that is all.

Word Count: 3553

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

Since learning of Eardwulf’s presence in Winchester and the disturbing images in her dreams, which had continued nightly, Cwen’s composure had begun to falter.  Shadows in lonely corners continually leared in the edges of her vision.  A loud noise or commotion was enough to startle a gasp from her lips.  While returning to the kitchens one evening, a dark haired man with a slim frame similar to Eardwulf rounded a corner, reeking of ale and stumbled into Cwen and Eadith grumbling to himself.  The encounter was enough to leave Cwen shaking like a leaf in a gale. For the rest of that evening, Eadith couldn’t coax a word out of her friend.

Eadith was truly worried about Cwen and tried not to leave her alone when possible.  The two women continued working in the kitchen and waiting for chances to sneak words to their friends.  Although there was no real news to relay to them.

The siege continued.  Sigtrrygr still had the upper hand and for all intents and purposes appeared to ignore Edward’s attacks on the walls outside.  Cwen and Eadith had managed to speak a few more words through the door to Lady Aelswith and were confident they were managing as well as they could.  Although held as prisoners, they were fed and given water.  They were not ill treated.  

A bit shockingly, Stiorra was being treated with even more dignity and respect.  Cwen had managed to volunteer to bring Stiorra food a second time from the kitchens.  All had gone smoothly and it had done Cwen some good to venture on the errand without the comfort of Eadith’s presence.   

Stiorra had embraced her and assured her of Sigtrrygr’s kindness and courtesy towards her.  And it was true that the young woman Cwen saw looked refreshed and lively.  Cwen thought that Stiorra seemed quite taken with the conquering Dane.  He, apparently,  spoke with her as an equal and conversed with her, challenged her.  And Cwen felt glad for the young woman.  Seeing the blossoming of a potential young romance did make her heart ache to feel herself once more in Sihtric’s arms.  She wished to move beyond the hard words spoken between them when they left one another. 

When she had returned from delivering Stiorra’s food, Cwen felt a bit more like herself.  Eadith had noticed the change in her friend as well.  That one errand on her own had brought back more of the determined and confident woman Eadith knew.  

Cwen still was watchful.  She still steadied herself and her breathing regularly.  But she had stopped her quaking and stuttering movements or being startled at every noise or turn.  Her nightmares had also lessened.  

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

The chance to bring Stiorra her afternoon meal presented itself again several days later.  Frig had yet again barked an order to any kitchen maid available to bring bread, cheese, and water to the woman, Stiorra.  Careful to not seem too eager, Cwen had moved to gather the items and a basket in which to carry them all.

She paused just outside the door of the kitchen and gathered her breath.  She could still see Eadith through the doorway and managed a small smile before taking a steadying breath and moving on her errand.  Along the hallways, Cwen strode with confidence having become accustomed to walking the halls now occupied by Danes.  She held her head down to avoid unwanted attention but walked with purpose to avoid unneeded questions.  No one usually disturbed her or Eadith while they were about their business but all the same, Cwen thought it best to blend in and become unassuming. 

As she turned the corner, Cwen heard muffled voices coming from the room where Stiorra was kept.  Still several paces down the hall, she slowed her steps and strained her ears to better hear who was within.  Thus far, her path had not crossed with Sigtryggr while he visited Stiorra. It might be best to completely avoid arousing suspicion that they knew one another. 

But if Sigtryggr knew food should be on its way and she delayed it’s arrival would that not also be suspicious?

Cwen kept her head down and decided she would simply walk into the room and deliver the food.  She could then see how events unfolded casually.  Cwen was startled from her thoughts when the door to Stiorra’s room opened.  And a voice she recognized spoke.

“I would always choose fear.”

Eardwulf backed out of the door and turned after closing it again, leaving whomever else was inside shut away.

The man appeared haggard and dejected. Fearful even. 

As he turned, Eardwulf’s glare caught Cwen.  She stood transfixed.  A deer frozen after hearing the snap of a twig.

“What are you doing here?” Eardwulf sneered in a low voice as he stalked towards Cwen.

He reached a hand out to grasp at her sleeve, but it snapped life back into Cwen’s blood and she stepped to turn and run.

But he was himself too quick and easily grabbed her from behind and pushed her into an alcove of the hallway.

Eardwulf was quick to muffle Cwen’s cries with a hand over her mouth.

“If you are here then it means my whore of a sister must also be here.  What is the plan then, eh? Have you two in here to spy and to snoop?” Eardwulf prattled on about the injustices and failures he continually faced all the while never removing his hand from Cwen’s mouth. 

She stared, terrified at the man and his condition. Dark shadows rested in the hollows underneath his bloodshot eyes. His eyes themselves appeared deranged. 

Finally, Eardwulf paused while bringing his head to rest against Cwen’s brow. His hand still clamped across her mouth making it hard to breathe. The pressure of his fingers was bruising. 

“I will show them,” he whispered, not speaking to Cwen any longer but to some unknown collective. 

“They will watch in fear as I show them what will become of those who threaten me.”

He drew back from Cwen, catching her eyes. 

His breathing was haggard. Matching her own. 

Cwen cursed herself for having Sihtric’s knife hidden strapped to her calf. Out of her reach. 

Not like the knife Eardwulf now drew from a sheath at his waist and held up to her, the tip grazing along the dip in her clavicle. 

“Not a word, Cwen. You are coming with me.”

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

Cwen could not help but comply as Eardwulf led her, knife pressed against the small of her back, at the kidneys. The same place Sihtric had instructed her could incapacitate an attacker. 

Her mind worked feverishly trying to find a means of escape from him. Or to even determine what he meant to do with her. How and who was he planning to strike fear into?

But realization soon struck her as Eardwulf escorted her up a set of stairs and out into the rampart. Facing Edward’s army on the field below.  Facing her friends. Sihtric. 

“Edward!”

Eardwulf’s voice grated as he shouted for the king’s attention. 

“Edward! My Lord King!”  

Eardwulf’s focus was now on garnering attention from the king, his grip had shifted, clasping an arm tight around Cwen’s throat and the knife held in his free hand. Braced against the stonewall of the parapet. 

Cwen clasped her hands onto his arm desperately trying to break some of the hold he had on her. But his strength and size overpowered her. She watched as his fingers flexed and then gripped the knife repeatedly as he waited for any sign of reply from the king. 

And then she heard him. Crying out to her with such fear and anguish that it almost broke her. 

“Cwen!” Sihtric called, rushing forward from the base of the tree in the field.  Osferth and Finan were quick to restrain him, to stop him from coming in range of any archer's arrows.  What sounds followed in the next few moments we’re not words but the sounds of a man crazed. An animal desperate to act and protect what was his. 

“Is that your man now, Cwen?”

Eardwulf’s words were hot against her cheek. Cwen could do nothing but watch while Sihtric struggled and fought against Finan and Osferth.

“I have struck fear in him. The rest will follow,” Eardwulf paused, scanning the crowd assembled to watch on the field.  Edward had stepped out from the ranks of his men but had made no move to reply to Eardwulf.  Seeing this, Eardwulf shifted his focus.

“Lord Uhtred!” He now called. Taunting. 

“Lord Dane Slayer! Come forth Uhtred!”

Cwen watched helplessly as Sihtric finally stopped struggling against his brothers. He stared up at her, panting and flexing his jaw.  Then Uhtred was beside them and striding forward several paces in front of them. 

“We have your daughter, Uhtred.”

Eardwulf’s words stopped Uhtred in his tracks and caused the rest of his men to still. 

“She is almost as good a hump as this one here,” Eardwulf yelled the words while releasing his grasp around Cwen’s shoulders to shove her forward by the nape of her neck. 

Finding courage from his deception, Cwen yelled, “He lies! She is treated fairly and with respect,” but Eardwulf’s hand shoved her forward so that her head connected with the stone wall, dulling the last of her words. 

Feeling dazed, Cwen could hear shouts from the men below. Sihtric’s voice was chief among them. 

Then Eardwulf’s voice rose again over the shouts and protests.

“Now do I have your attention?” He paused while the soldier’s voices died down.  “We hold the city.  And we will continue to hold the city.  Do you know how Sigtryggr took your city?  I told him it was left undefended.  It was me!”  He paused here scanning the crowd and breathing hard.  His hand still held Cwen bent over, braced against the stone wall.

“Too often I was overlooked or underused.  Swept aside and discarded.  But no more!” His words were coming out desperate now, pained.  “Now you would have cause to fear me.”

Struggling to push herself upright, Cwen retorted, “you are nothing but a snake in the grass.  A coward.  That is why you will never rise.  You will never become anything more.”

Cwen could feel the anger radiating off of Eardwulf.  His entire body quivered with malice.  She knew she needed to keep him off guard.  Keep him impetuous if she was to find a chance to save herself.  It was a dangerous game to play, to goad him on, but if she did not then she was sure this would end badly.  

“Shut your mouth, whore!”  Eardwulf snapped while dragging Cwen back upright against him.

“Sigtryggr has the power here, Edward!  I have the power.” 

Cwen flinched at his words.  He had brought the knife back up to her torso, pressing against her breasts.  But it was clear his attention wasn’t truly focused on her.  Chaos and rage were emanating off of him.  Cwen could feel his breath catching and the sobs seizing in his throat.  The turmoil and fury he battled had won.

“And you will watch as I wield that power! I will hump this bitch now and then I will find your daughter, Uhtred, and I will hump her too.  And you will not be able to do anything to stop me.”

Eardwulf’s final words were bellowed at the crowd below.  It was then that Cwen felt the buzzing in her ears once more and time felt sluggish.  

She could hear the shouts from the men gathered below.  The din of the noise and the buzzing were too loud for her to pick out Sihtric’s voice, but she knew the anguish he would be feeling.

She felt as Eardwulf shoved her body forward once more, discarding his knife and bodily pressing himself against her.  He fumbled with the bundles of her skirt, reaching down to grab handfuls of the fabric. 

Cwen felt herself desperately try to push her body backwards, to gain any sort of leverage or purchase.  In her struggle, Cwen brought her leg up bracing against the wall.  And her hand brushed the handle of Sihtric’s knife.

With no hesitation, Cwen grasped the handle and pulled it from the sheath.  Bellowing, she drove the blade back with an upward thrust from her hip with all the strength her arm could muster at such an odd angle.  And she felt the weapon sink into flesh.  

Immediately, the pressure holding her against the stone eased.  Cwen ripped the knife from Eardwulf’s gut and whirled around.

Eardwulf’s hands were grasping at his abdomen where blood had begun to seep through his fingers.  

Cwen was vaguely aware of boots clamoring up the stairs to her left.  But she was more focused on the rush of adrenaline coursing through her body.  Eardwulf turned his eyes back up to meet hers and lurched forward, hand reaching for her throat.  And upon instinct, Cwen brought the knife up between herself and Eardwulf.   She felt the tremor of the blade sinking into flesh once more as she pushed the blade outward and Eardwulf’s own momentum came crashing against it.  The knife ripped past the flesh and scraped off of the bone, then tearing into his vocal cords. Cwen felt as slick, crimson gore seeped over her hand.

The buzzing had stopped.  The running feet had stopped.  The sounds of the shouts and yells from the field below were still slow and distant to Cwen’s ears.  Slowly, she pushed Eardwulf’s body away from hers and let go of the knife.  

Stepping to the side, Cwen watched as he dropped down on his knees and his head lolled forward.  Fresh blood pooled out of his mouth.   Cwen’s heart hammered in her chest and she felt a tingling moving along her body.  First in her toes, then along her fingers, and traveling up her arms.  Adrenaline roaring through her veins.

It was after a few more moments that Cwen became aware of the other person on the ramparts.  Raising her eyes, Cwen saw that Sigtryggr stood only a few paces away, surveying the scene before him.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of peace and slowly walked forward.  His eyes never left Cwen.  Not when he closed the distance between himself and Eardwulf.  And not when he stooped to grasp the knife handle, ripping it from Eardwulf’s neck.  The gesture brought a new spurt of blood and elicited several choked coughs from Eardwulf.  

Slowly, Sigtryggr grasped Eardwulf by the shoulders and pulled him up to his feet.  The man’s life was slowly ebbing away.  Cwen listened as Sigtryggr spoke to Eardwulf.

“Do you see what ruling through fear has earned you, Christian?  I doubt there will be any who mourn your death.” 

With those final words, the Danish conqueror grasped onto Eardwulf’s shoulders.  He moved to the stone and shoved the man bodily over the parapet to crash on the hard earth below.

The shouts from the Saxons died on their lips. And Cwen watched as Sigtryggr held out his hand to her.  The knife laid flat in his palm.  An offering to her.

“He can hurt you no longer.”  Sigtryggr’s voice was calm and low.  It was collected and composed.  And Cwen studied his eyes before she reached out to take the knife.  They showed only sincerity.

Once she had taken the knife and stepped back a pace to have some space, Sigtryggr turned his attention towards the Saxons.

“King Edward of Wessex,” he shouted, “That man did not speak for me.  And he is of no concern now.”  Sigtryggr paused here, searching the crowd to see if he could find Edward among his men.

“Come on out, King.  I have shown myself.  Now let us see you.  Come and meet me at the gate.  I wish to speak with you, eye to eye.  One man to another.”

Hearing his words, Cwen turned to scan the crowd.  But while Sigtryggr was searching for Edward, her eyes were hunting for Sihtric.  And he was there.  His eyes were trained on her.  Cwen could still see the desperation emanating off of him.  The overwhelming yearning to be embracing his lover while only able to gaze from afar.  Cwen felt it too.  A physical pull lifting off her chest that there was no choice but to resist.  Slowly, Sihtric’s gaze eased her breathing and Cwen felt the drain of exhaustion creep into her bones.

Sigtryggr’s next words caught Cwen’s attention.

“Bring the boys,” he spoke quietly to the guards standing along the stair to their left.

Cwen watched as Aethelstan and another young boy, Aelfweard presumably, approached.  Without hesitation, Cwen reached her arms out to envelope Aethelstan.  The boy embraced her wordlessly and headless of the blood Cwen noticed had begun to dry on her hands and arms, turning sticky.  Sigtryggr watched while Cwen held her arm out to the second child, offering him a bit of maternal comfort and presence as well.  Sigtryggr made no move to stop the boys nor even a face of disapproval.  His eyes held merely curiosity.

“Meet with me, King Edward,” he called, turning back to face the warriors. “Come,” he paused, seeing that Edward had stepped forward, “and talk to us at the gate. Your sons wish to see their father.”

After an interminable time, Cwen watched as Edward’s standard bearer shouted up that the king would approach the gate and treat with Sigtryggr.  

After he had confirmation that Edward would approach, Sigtryggr turned and gently ushered Cwen and the boys down the stairs, his men shifting to make room for their descent.

Cwen stiffened when she felt Sigtryggr place a hand on her back guiding her away from the front gate.  Almost instantly, the hand was removed.

“Forgive me, lady,” he paused, questioning as Cwen turned to face him, the boys still clutched tightly to her, “I do not know your name.”

Cwen studied the man’s face once more.  Standing closer to him, she could see more details surrounding the scars he wore along his brow and cheek.  She also saw a startling depth and gentleness behind his eyes.

“Cwen,” she replied, “My name is Cwen.”

Sigtryggr’s lips quirked upward slightly in amusement. “Ah, so you are one of the young women who traveled the countryside with Stiorra in Mercia while I took Winchester?”

When Cwen did not answer, he continued, “Stiorra has mentioned you on several occasions. She likes you.  Respects you,” he paused to turn and glance at some of his men and the gate, “I do not know how you came to be inside the walls, but it is of little concern.  And I assure you that no more harm will come to you.  I will have you taken to be with Stiorra.  But the boys will come with me.  I do not wish them harm.  And let us pray to all the gods that their father will see reason and help us avoid that outcome.”

Cwen moved to place herself in front of the boys, but Sigtryggr’s men instantly were on her, overpowering her.

“Stop!” Sigtryggr had held up a hand and yelled the command.  “You will unhand them.”  

His men obeyed him without delay and he approached her placing a gentle but firm hand on her arm.

“You must give them to me now, Cwen.  Trust me when I assure you that I wish to be different from the Northmen who have come before me.  A better man than the Danes who have raped and ravaged your people.  I do not,” he emphasized the word, “want them harmed.  But this is what must be done.”

Sigtryggr held out his hands, one towards Aethelstan and one towards Aelfweard.  Cwen turned her face to meet Aethelstan’s eyes.  They boy nodded at her before reaching out and taking the outstretched hand.  He was followed closely by his half-brother and Cwen slowly felt them both slip from her fingers.

Turning to walk to the gate, Sigtryggr spoke to the man nearest him.

“Bring her to Stiorra and see that she is allowed to clean herself and be fed.  I will check that this is done later.”

“No,” Cwen protested, finding her voice frail and wavering.  But gathering her courage, she spoke once more, “No!”

Sigtryggr stopped and turned his face over his shoulder to watch her.

“I,” she stammered, hesitating, “I was not alone here.  Another woman, another friend of Stiorra, Eadith is here with me.  I must find her.  I fear for either of us to be alone.”  Cwen’s eyes searched Sigtryggr’s face, pleading.

After a moment, the Dane gave a single nod before turning back to stride towards the gates.

Taking one step backwards and then another, Cwen turned and rushed off to the kitchens in search of Eadith.

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

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list.

Tagging: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world @evelynshelby @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @trenko-heart @0hsappho

[imalwaystiredzzz]

C4: Sisyphus happy. Yan Zhongli x Reader

Warning: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationships

< Sisyphus happy chapters >

“You must follow that sound  through the windings of the labyrinth, and, by and by, you will find him.” ― Theseus and the Minotaur‎

════════════════════════════════════

When did the winds begin to speak and the dust retained memories? 

They whisper in the night, like ghosts that caress the skin as your husband thinks you sleep soundly in the dark. “Follow. Follow. Follow where the winds blow and dig the dust that has built, the birds sing of riddles. The earth holds your soul.”

Yet come morning it is all that rings in your head like a nightmare that leaves your skin crawling and your sweat cold as the autumn’s breath, a lone tear falling when your eyes open. “Is it another one of your dreams?” Zhongli’s familiar voice asks, wiping them away with his gloved fingers and you try to think of a time when you have seen rather than feel his skin beneath the clothes, but all there is are touches shared in the dark of the night when not even your eyes can see a single star. 

“Yes, I feel like it is ringing in my head like a broken tune.” This simple question and answer becomes more frequent than good mornings in autumn as the routine continues like clockwork. The tea is quite different today, as you have made one for comfort on the cold even though you never tell him that it never helps.

“You should rest for today.” Rest. Rest. Rest. He keeps asking you to rest, and you are thankful because your joints hurt from the cold and you wonder if you are about to be frozen come winter. 

“I will after checking on the garden and making the medicine for your young helper, poor boy must be going through a lot in the cold.” You smile and walk beside him to the door ready to part ways, with a promise to be home tonight. Like usual. Like always.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay home to be with you.” His amber eyes are filled with guilt and longing...longing? You wonder why, he holds you at arms length and hides in the dark but looks at you as if you were home, but this is another one of the things you brush under the rug until it is long forgotten as you reply: “It’s okay I love you.”

By afternoon, the winds have stopped their ballad yet it howls with the promise of rain. Your land’s unpredictable weather isn’t much so when you smell its change, but nothing could have prepared you for a knock on the door.

No one has ever knocked on that very same door. 

No one, not even Zhongli who simply opens it.

No one has ever been up this mountain, for as long as you can remember. 

So curiously, cautiously, with shaking hands you open to peek at the visitor and lo behold a man with hair of fire. “I hear that a herbalist lives in the mountains, I seek a cure for my master.” 

“I’m sorry the herbs that I have made are already in the city brought by my husba-”

“I am not here for medicinal herbs, I am here for medicine of an ailing heart and probably mind.” He cuts you off with a sharp gaze, voice firm with resolution as if he knew already what you were to answer before you even dare to open your mouth. 

“I’m sorry I don’t cure sickness like that. I make herbs from plants for the ailing body.” You stood before this figure, tall and imposing, as if you are nothing but a mere child who knows not what is left nor right.

“I see…” he mumbles something under his breath, that not even the wind tells you of the words. It is quiet in his presence, hiding and you think if it is scared or did it know that this one is to be trusted?  “Then, I am sure that you could lend me a word, rather, so as to not render my journey pointless.”

It is neither a question nor a suggestion, it is an order that you immediately pick up and offer him entrance to your home. You lead this nameless man to the dining where, like the morning before, you make him tea.

“My lord had seen a woman not for what she is, rather what it reminds him of, yet the moment that she has gone he claims her soul to be haunting him as he had tied the lady to a promise not even death can break.” He begins, looking around the house from where he sat, squinting at bookshelves and fabrics. Passing a glance, longer than any other, at the teapot beside you while you brew. 

“Her ghost is woven by his own memory, no one has the heart to tell him so, not even I for who am I to halt such a small selfishness for someone who has endured years of loneliness that not even he recognizes.”

The sound of a cup being filled is the only thing that could be heard after, thinking of a way to answer such a riddle if it was. “A tale of a poor soul that cannot pass on to rest where all must go and a lover who holds her captive, one must take the initiative to break the chain of suffering or they are for sure set to madness.” You place the cup before him, steaming and the aroma just perfect that it relaxes the air enough for you to continue such a bold answer if the person’s lord is from a respectable position. 

“Would you have let them continue on this path as long as it meant you lord’s happiness?” 

“Even if it meant indulging in his madness, yes.” 

He looks at the window where the sun has begun to set and the world to be engulfed by night, a thought passing behind those eyes that seem a bit familiar, and takes his hat with new found resolve or was it that he finally got the answer that he was looking for? You would never know as he thanks you for the tea left half empty, and heads for the door.

“As you have given me great advice, I should return the favor lest I am called ungrateful. One should listen to the intuition for it knows more truth than a fragile mind.” 

He closes the door behind him, and you run. Run as if something was finally in your grasp, a semblance of something that you cannot begin to comprehend, enlightenment, truth, yet another riddle that keeps you wide awake at night? You do not know, all that will be answered if you had asked the right questions yet when you open the door all that is laid before you is a lit lamp the sound of flapping wings from birds disturbed by your sudden unrest, and finally eternal darkness. Nothing but pitch black beyond the well lit lamp. 

 When Zhongli comes home, for the first time you hide a secret from your husband. Staying quiet as you dine and the secret rises to your throat like vile poison to be spit out for the world to hear. You swallow it, along with the food that you cannot stomach, then hold it there hoping that it does not rise again as you lay down in bed. 

“To love a mortal, one must sacrifice eternity and learn of the passing time and death.” The wind whispers one last time as you lay wide awake at night, thinking of a crane and the dust as it flaps its wings in the air and this time you are sure. Sure as the very bones that creak like a tired machine under your ever so cold skin, that this is not just another dream. 

[figonas]

As Warm As The Sun-Part 1

“When he wakes there is crisp sunlight streaming through his chambers, yellow as a daffodil and nearly as warm as Jude felt in his arms. In limbo between awake and asleep Cardan thinks he might have dreamt that part of the evening as well”

Summary: Takes place during The Wicked King pretty much right before the Queen of Mirth scene and Chapter 15. This is just a soft, fluffy response to the prompt “hug me I command it”.

Words: 1623

Rating: GA

Links: Part 2-Jude POV | AO3

A/N: Tumblr user @jurdanhell brought this prompt up to me and our initial discussion that it didn’t really fit Cardan morphed into “wait yes this is exactly Cardan behavior”. This is my first work on AO3 so kudos would be greatly appreciated, if it gets enough love I might re-write the scene from Jude’s perspective!

********

Revels all tended to blend together, an endless stream of music and alcohol that somehow left Cardan feeling as desperately alone as always even when in a room bursting with folk of all shapes and sizes. This particular revel was different, if only because Jude was still hovering around him long after she would have normally retreated to her chambers or the Court of Shadows. He could feel her eyes on him, as heavy as the weight of his crown as she stared daggers at him from her position to the side of his throne.

Ordering Jude to do anything would be ordering a knife thrust into his own back, High King or no. So Cardan merely asked Jude to attend the revel in its entirety, but he did so in front of the Living Council, several members of the Low Courts, and Locke who rose to challenge and prod Jude without needing to be asked. There was no way for her to refuse that wouldn’t be seen as backing down from his challenge, so through gritted teeth, Jude graciously accepted his invitation. He didn’t know why he had asked her, perhaps he simply wanted to annoy her in a way that would require little effort from him, or perhaps he wanted to know how she would retaliate. A small part of him whispered that he just wanted her company but he made sure to drown that part of him with plenty of wine earlier in the night. Too much wine though Cardan is loath to admit it, and now as the night winds down he’s not entirely sure he can make it back to his rooms on his own. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his guards has dragged their High King to bed and dropped him on his royal ass but Cardan dislikes the idea all the same. Moving to stand he lurches too far forward and nearly falls off the raised dais before Jude’s hand closes on the back of his cloak pulling him backward where he crashes into her solid presence. “As much as it would amuse me to watch you fall after you made me stand here all night for no reason, I’m too tired to pick you up off the floor,” Jude hisses in his ear, she throws one of his arms across her shoulders as her other arm snakes around his waist. “Dearest Jude, are you trying to take me to bed?” Cardan tries his best to wiggle his eyebrows at her but he’s too focused on his feet as they descend the dais steps and begin the long trek to his rooms. “Don’t push your luck or I’ll leave you to sleep on the floor in the middle of the burgh”. He laughs despite her threat and out of the corner of his eye he sees a small smile on Jude’s lips.

Cardan’s inebriated mind is not as trained at quashing his feelings for Jude as his sober mind is. As they make their way through the palace halls he has the sudden, sickening thought that he likes this, being embraced by Jude Duarte even if it’s only to help him to his rooms. She seems to have forgotten she’s repulsed by him, letting him lean on her as much as he needs. Cardan decides that he would get mindlessly drunk every night if it meant Jude would hold him this way but, perhaps mercifully, they make it to his rooms before he can voice this out loud. The moment she releases him he misses her warmth, her feeling of life and strength, of mortality. Before he knows what he’s saying he opens his mouth to speak. “Embrace me again,” he says, drunk and foolish, he can see the shock on her face despite her desperate attempt to hide it, but even Jude master of power and control, cannot stop the flush rising across her cheeks. Is it desire? Anger? Embarrassment? Cardan doesn’t care, he likes this Jude best; off her guard, almost susceptible to his charms but not quite, she is Jude Duarte after all. She recovers quickly, her expression cooling into something like boredom. “Go to bed Cardan” she points at the monstrously empty bed and he imagines it will be just as cold and lonely as he feels now. “But I am your king, Jude I command it,” he says with what he hopes is a playful smile, but is more than likely a fool’s grin. “So I say again, embrace me and then I will concede and go to bed”. Jude opens her mouth to speak but quickly shuts it with an audible snap of teeth.

She’s at war with herself he realizes suddenly, he can nearly see the thoughts racing in her head. He expects her to push back and fight with him, or to leave him where he stands not caring if he makes it to bed or collapses on the floor right here. Impossibly she does neither, instead, she reaches for him and wraps her arms around his midsection, her cheek resting on his shoulder. Cardan is frozen for what feels like an eternity but is only a handful of seconds as her warmth seeps into his very bones. He wraps his arms around her, returning the embrace before she changes her mind. “I’m only doing this because I’m too tired to fight with you about going to bed,” Jude mumbles softly, Cardan barely hears her above his pounding heart, but he can feel her words from where she’s pressed against his chest. He wants to tighten his grip on her to ensure himself this is real. He wants to bury his face in the crook of her neck and inhale the scent that haunts his dreams; her scent, so uniquely human, so wholly Jude. Through sheer force of will, he stops himself from indulging in either of these fantasies that would most likely only shatter this tender moment or result in him getting stabbed, he is equally disappointed at the thought of either possibility.

Jude seems to forget, if only for a moment, that it’s Cardan’s arms around her, his shoulder her cheek rests on, his neck that she tickles with her soft exhales. She relaxes just a little in a way he didn’t know she could, her palms flattening against his back, the ever-present tension leached slightly from her shoulders. He indulges in the impulse of stroking her lower back with his thumbs, he’s emboldened to tighten his grip on her just a fraction when Jude doesn’t react to the small movement. They stand in silence for several moments, Cardan’s heart racing at a worrying speed. Suddenly, Jude inhales deeply which turns into a wide yawn and she steps back rubbing the heel of her hand across one eye. “Alright, Your Majesty I indulged your wishes,” she’s interrupted by another, smaller yawn which she covers with the back of her hand. Cardan’s hands are still resting lightly on Jude’s waist, she doesn’t move from his touch. “Now to bed with you so I can get in my own. One of us has to be alert enough to run the kingdom,” she points in the direction of his bed and Cardan drops his hands. He is again shocked by how cold his room feels without her pressed against him. He quashes the urge to touch her again, he knows she will not indulge him a second time. When he turns he sways slightly, Jude rolls her eyes and places her hand on the small of his back guiding him to bed. “Careful with your orders Jude or I will tell everyone that you were kind to me,” he laughs to himself though it is not at all funny. “Though I don’t think anyone would believe me”. “You won’t remember this tomorrow anyway,” they reach the bedside where she gives him a gentle shove and he drops unceremoniously onto his too-large bed. The motion sets his head swimming. He steals one last, longing look at Jude before closing his eyes; her cheeks flushed, eyes tired, impenetrable walls lowered the tiniest bit. Cardan tucks the image away to think of when she’s gone and he’s left alone in the sea of cold blankets. “Oh Jude, loveliest of afflictions, I will remember this night for years to come,” he hears her scoff as she steps away from the bed. “We’ll see about that tomorrow,” she sounds amused as she speaks and if Cardan’s head wasn’t spinning so badly he would peel his eyes open just to see one of Jude’s rare smiles. He hears her footsteps retreating toward the door where she stops, he’s nearly overtaken with sleep when he hears her voice call softly back to him. “Goodnight Cardan”. She’s gone before he can respond and Cardan succumbs to sleep only moments later.

She’s there in his dreams as she is most nights. Cardan tries to speak to dream Jude, but the only word he can say is her name; Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude. Over and over again, he calls her name like a curse, a prayer, the last desperate words of a dying man, a humble supplicant whispering the name of an honored deity. When he wakes there is crisp sunlight streaming through his chambers, yellow as a daffodil and nearly as warm as Jude felt in his arms. In limbo between awake and asleep Cardan thinks he might have dreamt that part of the evening as well, but as he shifts under the sheets her scent wafts from the fabric of his shirt into his nostrils. He clutches the fabric tightly, inhaling deeply he smiles to himself before drifting off again to a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

[wolvesandpetals]

Loki x Sylvie Post-Finale Fanfiction (Angst, Rated Teen) Part 1 of 2

SPOILER ALERT.

It's probably just the alcohol, but the beats of the music are starting to sound a little bit like a marching drum that's announcing war. She can feel herself dancing along to it, but her whole body is on alert, ready to switch to fight and flight any second.

"So, cool place huh?" The bloke in the leather jacket asks.

She tries to remember his name. Jeff something. Or maybe Jed. No, not Jed, she's thinking of Star Wars again. That's what happens when you binge watch a multiverse of movies in a single day.

Oh, yeah, that's right. She broke the multiverse.

Another shot of tequila, and she takes not-Jed's hand in hers. It doesn't feel right, at least not the way-

No.

She realises he asked her a question, but she can't remember what, and she just laughs, because that always works.

Encouraged, he leans in close and whispers into her ears. "How about we get out of here?"

"And go where, exactly?" She asks, but she's not sure he understands, not with how slurred the words come out.

She laughs again, and this time, it's bitter. This time, she's laughing at how this is so him, this getting drunk in the face of imminent danger and making a mess of things.

(But I'm not you.)

---

She's frozen in her place the second the glowing yellow door appears. But it's not for her, at least not this time.

She hasn't been on the run for a while. Doesn't need to be. Because even though she is the one who unleashed the chaos, it's the chaos that needs to be contained immediately. She's low on the list of priorities.

The TVA will come for her. But not right now.

---

It's extremely easy pretending to be a psychic. All she has to do is take her client's hands and enchant him, find a memory, describe it back to him.

Sometimes she does it just for fun, just to see the look of amazement on their faces.

Other times, she does it for the money she needs to survive.

"And I see a blonde woman. Very beautiful."

"That's my wife."

The way he smiles, loving and proud, makes her heart drop.

"What do you see in her future? Is she happy? Does she get the job at the magazine?"

There is definitely at least one timeline where she does get the job, but The Enchantress cannot exactly tell if it's this one. She can't actually see the future, after all.

She sees the colors drain from his face as her silence swallows the room. "She's going to be okay, right? I just want her to be okay."

(I just want you to be okay.)

There's that bitter laugh again, because-

No. She can't do this right now.

"She loves you very much", she whispers, to the man in front of her, and to the man who is not there to hear those words.

---

Mobius finds her in the middle of a concert by a Nirvana where Kurt Cobain never died. She can easily slip away, disappear into the screaming, writhing crowd if she wants.

Or she can just take him some place quiet and hear him out.

"Help us", Mobius pleads. He sounds exhausted, and not just physically. "We're outnumbered and outwitted. Our world is in danger."

"This isn't my world", she reminds him.

"Yet, you're here", he retorts.

Her smile is pained. "Where else will I go?"

He is sympathetic, like he always has been. And he offers her a new glorious purpose. "Come with me. We need you. He needs you."

She feels the air find its way out of her lungs the same way she pushed him out of her life- painfully, forcefully. "H-how is he?"

"He's okay... all things considered."

Now there's a cocktail of relief and disappointment that will give her months of sleepless nights.

"Tell him I'm-" she starts, but she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. What can she tell him? That she's sorry for not trusting him when she should have? That she's sorry for making the universes collide?

That she's sorry for betraying him and breaking his heart?

(How will I know you won't betray me at the end?)

"Nevermind."

---

It's been really hard facing the consequences of her actions, watching the timelines bleed into each other and destroy people's lives- families torn, achievements gone, every little anomaly delving into death and destruction. Every headline on the newspaper is her fault, and she has to live with that.

But that seems so easy compared to this moment where she has to face him.

The plan was to send him away, kill He Who Remains, give people their free will back, save the world, then come back to him. Yeah, he'd be mad at her at first, sure, but he'd forgive her eventually, she was confident.

Then the timelines started to branch the minute she stuck the dagger in that terrifying man's chest, and she knew she had screwed up.

She had sunk to the ground in defeat as the realisation of the repercussions hit her, and she did what she has always done- run.

She didn't even realise she had sent him to the wrong universe until she teleported herself into another universe as well. The journey back was long and lonely, but she dreamt of him in colors while the world was bleeding red, and that was enough to keep her going.

She doesn't really know what she'll do when she sees him again. Neither does she know what reaction she expects from him. Nothing he can say to her can be worse than what she thinks of herself.

A part of her hopes he would be overwhelmingly happy, he would come running to her, just like he did at The Void, greet her with the smile that has won a hundred hearts- including hers, and tell her everything will be alright. Another part of her fears that he would be furious, and he would confront her with accusations of unleashing havoc on all worlds- especially his.

What she never expected is this eerie calm that makes her feel like she is standing in the storm center.

His walls are up.

And it causes her to redirect the anger she feels at herself towards him. There's venom in her voice. "So you do get to rule, after all."

"I don't feel much like a king." He shrugs. "I'm more of a multiversal janitor. Mopping up multiversal messes."

"My messes."

"Our messes." He corrects, his features softening around the edges. "We made a mistake." He has been saying that ever since he found himself in the alternate TVA, and that hasn't changed even after getting back to his own version of the bureau. Always "we", never "she". He simply cannot bring himself to blame her without taking accountability for his part in the mess.

"Don't patronize me." Her hands are shaking, just like her voice, a sharp contrast to his steady silhouette, and can he just hold her, please? "I don't need you to take the fall for me."

His eyes go cold, like they were forged in the heart of Jotunheim. "Of course not", he says, fully composed. "You don't need me for anything. It's not like we're in this together."

(Maybe we can figure it out-together.)

---

She now knows her walls don't- can't- keep the hurt out- it just keeps her locked inside this cage of distrust and insecurities. And the price she has to pay for it is too high.

They could have been lying on a beach somewhere, sipping mimosas right now. Instead, they're here, in the vast, silent library of the TVA, sitting on separate tables, reading files on variants.

The only thing worse than bearing the weight of his gaze is having him stare at his files without looking in her direction even once. She can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry." She suddenly blurts out.

He looks up, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry for what I did." She repeats. It's difficult to start an apology, but once she finds the strength to begin, the rest of it flows automatically. "I'm sorry I messed up everything. I'm sorry I broke the timelines. I'm sorry the world is in danger." She takes in a deep breath. "And I'm sorry I betrayed you."

His smile is the saddest kind. "A Loki betraying a Loki. That's the least surprising thing in the world. What's shocking is how I didn't see it coming. You really had me going with that kiss. Very nice distraction. Very Loki."

Free will comes with the fine-print of living with the consequences of your choices. And she has to live with hers every day. The tears finally spill out of her eyes. She hasn't let herself cry for a long, long time. But now she's breaking down worse than the multiverse. "I didn't do it to distract you. I did it to say goodbye."

He gets up, and she panics that he's leaving. Instead, he sits down in front of her, reaches for her hand, but changes his mind mid-way and lets them fall to his side. "You didn't have to say goodbye."

"It's all I've ever known." She feels like that scared little girl, far from home, running from minute men, with nobody to turn to but herself. "I told you, I don't have anyone."

"You had me."

That's the saddest part of it all, isn't it? Everything else in her life is the TVA's fault. She's torn from Asgard? Hasn't seen her parents in years? Can't remember her brother Thor? Spent her whole childhood running and hiding? All TVA.

But this? This is all her own doing. This is the one time she had something real, something worth holding onto, someone worth fighting against the world for. Instead, she questioned his intentions, didn't hold on, fought him and ruined everything.

"I didn't want to rule, Sylvie", he finally tells her. "I wanted you."

She has dreamed of this moment when he tells her how he feels. They have come so close to it so many times, the words dangling off the edge of his tongue but never quite finding their way out. She has always known- every word, every action pointed to it. But it was so hard to imagine someone could love her.

It's so hard to imagine someone can love her again. The past tense in his wording terrifies her worse than any danger ever could. "Is it too late to fix things?"

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "We are fixing things. That's why we are here. Saving the universe."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't know how to trust you again, Sylvie." He tells her point blank- no deception, no lies, no Loki-ism. "And you never trusted me to begin with."

That's not entirely true. She trusts him more than she has trusted anyone. "I really thought I was doing the right thing."

"I know."

(Not to be dramatic, but yeah, we're saving the universe.)

---

The Avengers are much nicer than Loki described them, considering they don't kill her for what she has done, instead tell her about their own journeys towards redemption. Wanda tells her about the man she has loved and lost, and the pain she has caused to an entire town. Barnes talks about his past as a brainwashed assassin. Clint tells her the story of Natasha and how she took charge and changed her life.

Thor is the kindest of them all. He talks about how far Loki himself has come. He tells her stories of his version of Asgard, the nine realms, the glorious battles, the beauty of earth.

She still dreams of death, but sometimes she doesn't.

Sometimes, she hopes.

---

(To be continued)

[beskar-cowboy]

A Close Call

Part Three of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series

Summary: After bounty hunting in the jungle, Mando comes back to the Crest with many pent up... feelings. (6k words) ao3 link here

Warnings: NSFW, smut, canon typical violence, descriptions of injuries, blood, yearning, mutual pining, rough sex, the helmet stays ON, breeding kink if you squint cause its Mando, also no season 2 spoilers

A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (which will be linearly in my masterlist) <3

The sweltering heat was heavy, drowning you in your own sweat as you walked deeper into vines, tall grass and thick foliage of the unfamiliar jungle.

The air was humid, the forest vast and dense, filled with shades of greens that you never thought you’d experience with your own eyes. You were seeing colours you had only previously dreamt of. It was such a stark contrast to the ice planet you had been on maybe a week prior to this. You weren’t sure which extreme you preferred but you were not the biggest fan of the way the humidity was making your hair puff out, curl exaggeratedly and stick to your neck and forehead with the sheen layer of sweat coated on every inch of your body. Your clothes were beginning to stick to your skin as well.

Mando was a fan of that, however. Yet the helmet gave away nothing, as always. 

The moment you landed on the planet, he noticed the way your chest heaved, taking in the supple, fresh air for the first time. The look of wonder in your eyes, taking in the flora and fauna you could only have only ever dreamed of previous to this. You were very endearing, it made his heart feel heavy, tense, as if you were squeezing it in your perfect little hand, bleeding him dry.

You couldn’t believe this was your life now; travelling with a deadly bounty hunter, caring for him and his adoptive child day and night. What was even stranger, perhaps, was that you were having the time of your life.

No matter how cold Mando could be, how rude, closed off or just straight up silent he could get some days. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. This was much better than your life on that dingey planet, working that dead end job in the scummiest bar in town. You tried not to think too much of your past, but you couldn’t help the few untamed thoughts that crossed your mind every now and then. You shrugged them off with relative ease, usually being whisked away in some task the Mandalorian asked you to complete, or by the cries of the Child.

No matter how hard the days could get, no matter how lonely you felt some nights, you were thankful for the loving affection of the kid, you were thankful for how much he seemed to care for you. And you cared for him in return. Not because it was what you signed up for, to more or less be his babysitter, but because you truly cared and maybe even loved the little green booger like he was your own. He was very sweet, kind, curious and reckless like Mando. You liked how they seemed so similar in some strange little ways, it made your heart feel heavy.

Heavy with some emotion you wouldn’t dare name because it would only fuck you up further, fuck up the missions, fuck up your tasks, fuck up everything. That sickening feeling you got in the pit of your stomach everytime you caught Mando talking to the Child, staring at him sweetly, catching the way he seemed to stare at you sometimes too. At least you think he was. Whatever, that helmet made it near impossible to ever tell what he was thinking, feeling or even just looking at.

No matter how little he was actually beginning to warm up to you, he was still extremely apprehensive and closed off. He had his moments of perceived kindness, gentleness or whatever it really was, but he always seemed to take five steps back when he realized he had been too vulnerable with you. 

You couldn't blame him though, he was on the run from people who were trying to take the kid from him, or busy chasing after bounties himself, he didn’t have time for… whatever it was you were feeling. Whatever emotion you were terrible at suppressing, you know without a doubt that Mando didn’t have time for such trivial, childish things.

You huff and look down to your side, the Child’s pod floating seamlessly along your side, the two of you just a few steps behind Mando.

The Mandalorian was tracking a bounty and he said there was a good chance he’d be on this jungle planet seeking refuge with a friend or something like that. You had literally begged him to come along, not wanting to spend another day alone in the ship with the Child. It had taken a few days to get here, and you desperately needed to stretch your legs and breathe some fresh air. Mando was reluctant, very reluctant, but after enough begging and pouting from you he allowed for the two of you to come along, figuring it would be a pretty easy quest anyways.

Oh how he was wrong about that.

His visor display was showing multiple footsteps having walked in the same direction that the three of you were now walking. The footsteps were strange, seeming to be left by a herd of long bodied, four legged animals. Mando had no way of knowing if they were a threat or not, but he had a feeling he’d be finding out soon enough. The Child’s safety and… and yours was not something he felt like gambling with today.

Mando stopped dead in his tracks and you nearly walked right into him, having been engrossed in a more or less one-sided conversation with the Child.

“Head back to the ship.” Mando commanded, his voice trying to give the sense that there was no room for discussion. He barely even turned around to glance at you, but you noticed his hand hovering over his blaster.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Your own hand now hovers over your own blaster, technically Mando’s but he had trusted you to wield it after that one stunt back on Batuu when you saved him and the Child.

“Animals. Too many of them, you’ll be safer on the Crest.” He turns to glance at the Child who coos back up at him, his ears turning downwards as if he too knows of the animals which creep up on the three of you.

“No, I can stay and fight. I’m not leaving.” You, I’m not leaving you, you want to add. But you bite your tongue.

You can’t see because of the hemet but Mando is rolling his eyes at you, at your stubbornness but also your resilience. How eager you are to stand by and help him almost blindly. He doesn’t doubt that you judge him or criticize him in your mind, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a negative comment leave your mouth. You’re always sweet to him. Sweet girl.

“Our job is to take care of the Child, make sure he’s safe,” He huffs, pressing a few buttons on his vambrace and suddenly the Child’s pod is floating away at a leisurely pace, back in the direction you’ve just come from. “Follow it back to the ship, close the hatch and do not leave until I’ve returned.”

You glare at Mando and how he’s given you no choice but to head back to the ship. There was no way you’d leave the Child floating unattend, and without Mando’s directions, you had no way of finding the ship again on your own. You sigh but turn on your heels after the pod, following its lead through the jungle and back to the Crest like Mando had programmed it to.

//

It’s been hours.

Or at least it feels like it’s been hours. You aren’t aware of the planet’s day cycles so you have no idea if it's been minutes, hours or days but it was dark now and you’d been trying to keep the kid occupied, distracted from the fact that his dad wasn’t here and you had no idea when he would be.

Luckily, the Child was in an agreeable mood so he was distracted pretty easily, playing with various shiny things that he usually reached for on the ship. You made him a couple of snacks with what you managed to find stashed away, he took a nap and you cleaned up the tiny mess he made. Overall, a pretty good day for him.

You on the other hand, were fucking stressed.

It was dark, really dark, and Mando hadn’t even contacted you on the comlink, not that he even did that before but you think that if he comes back- no, when he comes back - you’re definitely going to make that a new rule.

The Child was rocking sweetly in your arms, you had been trying to get him to fall asleep for the past thirty minutes and he was finally getting a bit dopey. Those big eyes of his seeming to get heavier, his blinks growing slower. His little hand was wrapped around your thumb and you quietly hummed a random song to him, maybe it was one your mother sang to you, you’re not quite sure but it seems to be doing the trick.

You can hear small disturbances outside the hatch and you use your hand which isn’t holding the Child to hover over your- Mando’s blaster. You lean against the wall, blaster in hand, hoping, praying it’s him.

Please be him, please be him, please be him.

The hatch groans as it releases its locks and opens slowly to the ever humid jungle. That familiar beskar glints and shines in the moonlight like a precious jewel. You exhale a much needed sigh of relief, Mando was back.

You tuck the blaster back into your holster as you watch him roundup the quarry into the ship, pushing him aggressively up the inclination. He stands wide, broad and big as he does his job. He’s tired and annoyed, you can tell. You can always tell, but he’s strong too, always strong.

The quarry’s hands are shackled, his face beat up and bloodied. Mando really did a number on him… 

The quarry’s eyes meet yours, take in the sight before him, a beautiful young girl cradling a strange little green baby. He seems confused, he looks back to the intimidating Mandalorian inquisitively. It’s the last thing he sees before he’s frozen into carbonite.

You say something something to him, to Mando. You sound worried, but he can barely make it out. He had seen the way the quarry’s eyes racked the length of your body, landing on the Child as well. Mando saw red, his adrenaline still pumping heavy and potent in his veins, coursing through his body from the chase, the act of hunting. 

So much so, that he hadn’t even realized he had come to tower over you, caging you in against the wall which you had been leaning against.

You look up at him with wide, worried eyes, you look flustered, lips red and swollen. He wants to touch you, he… he wants to do more than touch you-

The Child’s sleepy cooing breaks him out of his wicked mind. He looks down at the kid who reaches for him sleepily with his tiny hands, eyes half closed. He takes him from you, out of your motherly hold. Your hands brush and he wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“W-What did you say?” He finally asks, remembering you had said something to him and he heard absolutely nothing.

“I said your arm is bleeding, Mando.” Voice so small, gentle. 

Mando huffs, barely acknowledging it before he steps away from you, turning to the Child’s pod and placing him gently inside. It closes with a hiss. You suck in a shuddering breath.

Mando rummages around for a few moments before pulling out his tool kit, sitting down on the edge of his cot and pulling out his taser-like contraption. You watch almost dumbfounded, trying to piece together what exactly it is he’s doing. He reaches for the tear in the thick material of his sleeve, pulling on it and tearing it further to better show off his wound and his… his skin.

Flesh. Mando’s arm.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to be looking, maybe you were breaking his creed by seeing part of his skin but you couldn’t look away, and he made no motion for you to do so either. So you stand transfixed as he begins to shoddily cauterize his tanned skin.

“L-Let me help you, please.” You take a step forward, towards him, hands reaching out.

“I’m fine.” He basically growls at you, his rough tone startling you, stopping you in your tracks.

So you stand by idly, watching him burn his own skin, attempting to close his open wound.

You only interject again when he starts taking longer breaks between each electrifying tase. When his hand starts to shake and his movements slow down, motivation and determination leaving him as he slowly accepts the pain of the deep gash on his arm, blood trailing down his toned bicep.

“Here…” You say quietly again, hoping he listens to you this time. You reach into the tool kit, pulling out his bacta gel before coming to stand in front of him, your knees grazing his bent one from where he sits on the edge of his cot. 

He seems to have listened, his movements having stopped, the taser held weakly in his hand. You take it from him, setting it back in the metal box before zeroing in on his bleeding cut.

You shudder at the sudden proximity, his pent up adrenaline and anger palpable, intoxicating. It lays thick and heavy in the air between your two bodies. Your hands shake as you gently douse the wound with the gel, trying to stay focused, trying to get the bleeding to stop. You fingers brush gingerly along toned, scarred skin and you try, you try so fucking hard to focus. To not let your fingers linger, not let them wander to regions unknown to any other living thing.

Mando groans as it begins to seep into the wound and you wince as well, feeling his pain as your own. You mumble a quiet ‘I’m sorry’ but continue to apply the thick substance to his bicep. 

His gloved hand suddenly shoots out and latches onto your hip bone, fingers grasping the clothed flesh in a deadly grip, as if trying to ground himself to you, to the ship, to ignore the throbbing pain. You didn’t realize it would hurt that bad, maybe it went deeper than you thought. 

When you’re finally done with the gel, you turn slightly to get some gauze to wrap the wound in. Mando’s touch never leaves you, his hand seemingly welded into your form. His thumb begins to absentmindedly rub up and down in soothing motions, you try to ignore the way it makes your heart pound but… but it's not really a big deal is it? No, Mando’s touched you before, what's so different about it now?

The air? The tension? The way he looks up at you, through that mask, begging to be seen?

God, you wonder what colour his eyes are.

You bet they’re soft, beautiful, kind. They probably give away how secretly gentle he is, something no one else would notice or dare assume about the deadly Mandalorian, but you know. You know because he’s been touching you more lately, especially since the ice planet. Just passing touches but still, you can’t imagine how much significance a simple touch holds for a man covered head to toe in armour, and who’s never shown his face to another living being in decades.

“Who are you?”

His voice startles you. It’s dropped several octaves since he last spoke, it felt like hours had passed since he last spoke- or more, growled at you.

“What?”

“What are you? H-How do you do this to me?” He helmet tilts to the side as he gazes up at you and your heart fucking pounds in its cage, trying to escape and expose itself to this metal man, expose everything you’ve been feeling since you met him.

“Mando-” You don’t understand what he’s saying, he’s not making any sense. Could the pain really be that bad? Making him this incoherent?

“You’re not real… you’re too good, to us, too good to the child… to me-” He was rambling. Mando was rambling. When has he ever spoken this much to you before?

Never.

“You’re good to me too.” You interject meekly.

“But not as sweet… not as sweet as you.” His words make your next intake of breath sharper than usual, no doubt he catches it by the way his helmet tilts up further. You wonder if he’s looking you in the eyes. It sure feels like he is.

“I-I don’t know what I would do if, if anything happened to-” His fingers tense on your hip as he lulls over his words, tossing them around on his tongue, afraid. “The Child… or you.”

“You keep us safe Mando.” You try to reassure him, but you’re not sure if he’s listening. His left hand joins his right one, both sides of your hips now engulfed in his large, strong hands. You throb everywhere, your body pulses for him.

Mando thinks about just letting his helmet fall forward, to let it rest against the softness of your belly but.

But he can’t. He’s too fucking scared. You scare him more than anything. More than any unknown animal in an unfamiliar jungle, more than any quarry, bounty chase, Mythosaur. More than anything, you scare him more than anything because this is the only domain Mando truly always fucks up. Feelings or whatever the fuck going on in his head right now.

“You take such good care of us.” He says, deflecting your words.

He pulls on your hips and you rock forward, almost losing your balance but your hands come forward to lean against his beskar covered shoulders, dropping the gauze you held. You shudder at the cool bite of the metal on your warm, overheating palms. Mando barely budged at your added weight, and you look down at him from where you now tower over him.

Your eyes rake over the sharp edges of his helmet in the low light of the hatch, down to his wound which still needs to be wrapped up but he was... Seriously distracting you for lack of a better word. You notice the heave of his chest, the heavy fall of his breaths like he’s having trouble getting oxygen into his body. And then you notice- you notice the bulge forming underneath his thick pants.

Mando takes you in as you do the same, watching as you finally notice his state, finally notice what you do to him. What you’ve been doing to him since the moment he met you.

“Take your pants off.”

You think your brain short circuits.

Because there’s no way that’s what Mando has more or less just ordered you to do, judging by his harsh tone.

“Wha-”

“Take them off or I will.” He groans, hands squeezing your hips again.

You whimper and bite your lip, trying to see through the pitch black T of his visor, trying to find the man underneath the beskar. You remove your trembling hands from his shoulders, standing up straighter and letting them travel down, down, down towards the button and fly of your utility pants.

“M-Mando, I-”  

“Don’t make me ask you again, sweet girl.” You whimper at the nickname, it wasn't the first time he used it but this was probably only the third time at this point. With his thumbs relentlessly caressing your hip bones, you shiver underneath his touch.

You had been dreaming of this for months now, dreaming of his hands on you, sexual or not, you were so deprived of intimacy, having gone months now only barely touching, grazing each other. You both needed this, both needed this more than fucking anything esle right now and you were no one to deny him of what he wanted.

Mando keeps the helmet trained on you as your nimble fingers pry the button open, admiring how easily persuaded you were by his thick, lust-laced words. He couldn’t believe he had managed to draw this out as long as he did, his urge to just tear your clothing away from your body and sink his raging cock into your tight heat the moment he entered the Crest was…. overwhelming to say the least.

But he had barely touched you up until now, and he wanted to work you up to it, no matter how much restraint that meant he had to have on his part.

The sound of your metal zipper sliding down below your belly button tests that restraint. He keeps his eyes on you even though he knows you wouldn't be able to tell where he’s looking. He knows you feel it, knows you feel the way his eyes burn holes into you, devouring you silently, pleading with you, please, please show me.

He feels your hands come to rest over top of his gently, as if you’re still nervous about touching him. You interlace your fingers with his and lower your pants, shimmying them down your hips and thighs together. It makes Mando’s breath catch in his throat and his heart pummel in his chest. 

Never had he undressed someone before. Never had the patience, never cared to. But with you, oh with you.

Maker, did he care.

Maybe cared too much, but now was not the time for such ill inducing thoughts. You were becoming more and more bare to him as the seconds passed. You only let go of his hands once your pants went past your knees. Pushing them down to your ankles, you stepped out of them, kicking off your boots as well.

There you were, standing before him in a black tank top and that fucking thong of yours… of course that’s what you had decided to wear today. Mando groans as his hands come up to touch you again, tentatively this time. He can’t believe you were allowing him this, letting him touch you, letting yourself be vulnerable with him when he wasn’t sure how ready he was to be vulnerable in return.

Maybe he could learn.

His hands travel up to your hips again, toying with the thin waistband of your panties, letting his gloved hand run along your pristine flesh that was once covered in ugly bruises. He-

He thinks he wants to be the only thing to bruise you. From now on, he made a promise to himself (and to you, secretly) that he was the only thing in this galaxy that could mark you up, claim you.

Mando’s hands travel back, reaching for the supple meat of your ass, clutching it in his large hands, kneading it before he pushes you forwards again, into him. You yelp as you land in his lap, catching yourself quickly as both of your knees rest on either side of his hips. You readjust and sit back down, your minimally clothed cunt coming to land on his hard bulge, you gasp, eyes wide as you look into his visor. He was so hard, he felt big too.  

“S-Sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“What are you apologizing for now, hmm?” He asks tauntingly, helmet tilting slightly to the side, as if he were considering you. 

His gloved hands come up your sides, going underneath your tank top and brushing along the underside of your breasts, feeling the tight skin. You unintentionally rock in his lap, creating friction on your already embarrassingly wet center. Mando’s hands tighten at your sides, groaning as he tries to still your movements but. But it feels too fucking good to stop.

He brings a gloved finger to your lips, running the worn leather over the pillowy flesh as if to let you taste it. You look at him, confused.

“Bite.” He instructs, voice clipped, sharp. 

Without needing further instruction, your teeth latch onto the absolute tip of his glove, letting him slip his hand out of its leather confines, revealing to you the most precious amount of skin of his you’ve ever seen. 

Tanned skin, thick fingers, large palm, perfect. Him. The urge to litter the rough calloused skin in kisses, lick his entire hand, just put the whole fucking thing in your mouth was all consuming. Yet you sat there in his lap staring at his hand like it was a vase of water and you were a flower, parched for water. He asked you to do the same with the other glove and of course, you did as he asked. You quickly found yourself wanting to please him.

You stared at his bare, rough, strong hands in awe, watched as he let them peek underneath your thin top to skim along your silky smooth flesh, an expanse unknown to him. His fingertips brush over your nipples, feeling how the pretty buds pebble for him. He twists and pulls them in between his fingers, watching the way your face contorts in pain and in pleasure. It’s his new favourite thing, he feels drunk off of you already.

“Please.” You aren’t quite sure what you’re begging for, Mando isn’t really sure either. But he knows one thing, and it's that the sweet sound of your voice, begging for him, begging for anything, just so desperate, was enough to make him cum in his pants. His fingers dig into your skin, trying to cool his overheating mind, trying to slow down a bit before he actually does cum in his pants, before he’s even properly seen you.

His bare hands come down to your panties, toying with them again between his agile fingers.

“You want this?” He asks, daringly pushing your panties to the side, getting the smallest glimpse and your slicked up and drenched pussy. He thinks he could die right now, die happy, never want anything, ask for anything again.

“Yeah, yeah I do, always- have.” You choke on a hiccup, emotions welling in your eyes already from how fucking built up all of this is. You feel like you were both about to burst at the seams. You still couldn’t believe this was happening, even if it were to stop now and not progress any further, you couldn’t believe he had allowed you this much of him.

Mando wraps his arm around you completely, gripping your waist tightly to spin you around, pinning you underneath him in the tight space of his cot. You gasp, shriek at the sensation of it all, as he comes to rut against you, grinding his thick bulge into your cunt.

You notice how his arm has begun to bleed again, the skin ripping open and the deep red liquid trickling down what little part of his bicep was exposed, further proving his humanity, exposing the man beneath the beskar. You really felt like you could cry.

Lost in your whirlwind, Mando pulls off your thong, throwing it somewhere unpreciously behind him before doing the same thing with your tank top. Completely vulnerable, you laid bare before him as he hovered above you, covered head to toe, save for his hands, in beskar. That fact alone made you throb deep inside. The sheer power and size of him enough to get you off. 

You knew what little he had already decided to show you was all he could afford, you were so grateful for it anyway, that he was even willing to show you his hands, the little glimpse of his bicep. His skin was beautiful, but you couldn’t possibly grasp the words to tell him.

So you hook your legs around his backside and pull him to you, silently begging him to do something, anything. You would take anything he gave you, you’d even thank him for it at this point.

“Fuck.” Mando growls, bare hands coming to work at unbuttoning his pants, pulling them low enough to pull out his engorged, thick cock.

Mando was… he was huge.

This came hardly as a surprise to you, however. You would have had to be blind to not noticed how he walked. He walked like it was big, talked like it was big, fought like it was big. But fuck.

You were not prepared for that.

“Mando, I-I don’t know if it’ll-”

“It will.”

You moan and arch your back towards him, needing it now, needing that sweet burn and stretch that you know is about to come.

And oh does it come.

Mando thrusts into you without further warning, giving you no time or preparation to adjust to what he was packing. 

He makes you take it. He makes it fit.

The stretch burns, it bites and it knocks every single breath and thought from your body as he nestles himself all the way up against your cervix. Your body convulses in retreat, trying to push him away from the aggressive intrusion but your mind wants more, needs more. Needs him to fucking split you in half on his cock.

You scream and Mando growls, loud, his helmet falling forward and resting in the crook of your shoulder which meets your neck. His helmet is cold and your skin is burning hot, it creates a fog on his visor and he desperately tries to wipe it off on your skin, trying to look at you so up close. The way your eyes screw shut, squeezing tears out, watching the beautiful dew drops roll down your cheek so perfectly.

It hurts. Maker, does it hurt but fuck does it feel good. The pleasure overrides the pain more than you could imagine and you find yourself begging him to give you more even though he’s already started thrusting into you like he’s on a mission, a mission to sever you in half with his cock.

He was surely succeeding.

Mando watches you cry in pleasure as he fucks into your pussy with such aggressive fervour, like someone had a gun to his head. One hand on your hip and the other around your neck, bruising your skin in that beautiful way he always wanted, how he always dreamed of. He holds you in place so that his hips don’t drive you up his cot because they surely would from how fucking deep and hard he’s pounding into you. Stars, you think you can feel him in your stomach, in your throat.

The hand on your hip travels up to one of your bouncing breasts, kneading the sotf flesh in his palm and watching you wither beneath him. So desperate -

“S-so helpless.” He moans, watching your body bend to his will beneath him.

“Mando- oh my god.” You cry, hands and arms flailing at your sides, not knowing where to put them. Mando sees your struggle and takes both of your hands into each of his, pinning them above your head and using it to drive into you even harder somehow.

Your pussy squelches obscenely, trying to suck him in deeper, keep him inside forever. The only sounds in the cot are fucking lewd, skin on skin rhythmically slapping. You pray the Child can’t hear any of this from inside his pod, you pray he’s asleep.

“So fucking wet... You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” You nod your head so fast you think you’d give yourself whiplash.

“A-Anything, anything Mando- fuck.” That familiar coil was beginning to tighten in your belly, your toes curling, fisting gripping onto his, no doubt cutting off some of his circulation.

Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your chest arches up, up, up your breasts rubbing against unforgiving beskar. 

Underneath said beskar, Mando felt like he wasn’t getting nearly enough oxygen into his helmet, his skin flushing underneath the heavy armour but the pleasure rolling off of you and into him would be enough to sustain him for hours, he thinks.

Your pussy was squeezing him so tight, the ridges of your inner walls so soft, warm, wet, inviting. You felt like home. Absolutely fucking drenched, no wonder you were able to take him whole with almost zero preparation, you had fucking wanted it that way. Wanted him to be rough like this.

“I’ll never leave- never leave this sweet pussy...” He moans, hips stuttering, rolling and grinding deeper and deeper and you felt your orgasm quickly approaching, his words were only bringing you that much closer.

“Please, I- I…”

“Cum for me ner mesh’la, need you to cum for me.” He groans, cool and sharp edges of his helmet resting on your cheekbone.

You envisioned the faceless man deep inside you, what his face must look like now, deep in the throes of pleasure only inches from yours. You pictured the tanned skin covering his entire body head to toe, flushed and splotchy, hot to the touch. 

Would his eyes screw shut? Would his mouth hang open, little pants, groans, moans slipping through swollen lips, only loud enough for the ears of his lover to hear?

Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, you try to look into his visor as your orgasm wipes your mind blank, eyes screwing shut, an endless stream of tears falling onto already damp cheeks as you moan and cry his name into the tight space of his cot.

Mando.

Mando.

Mando.

You don’t think you could recall anything if anyone asked you. Not the name of the planet you were currently on, not the name of the planet you were born on, the bar you used to work at, your old bosses name, your name. Nothing.

With two, three, four more thrusts, Mando’s hips still after he drills himself into the deepest and darkest parts of your hot cunt, spilling white hot cum into you with the lowest moan you think you’ve ever heard flowing deep from within his chest. You gasp at the sensation, that warm pleasant feeling of being absolutely stuffed full, somehow more than you already were.

He draws his cock out before pushing it back in, plugging you up with his cum, pushing it deeper and deeper inside of you. You cry, bordering on overstimulation, his cock only softening in the slightest so the hard intrusion was almost too much for you to bear.

“Fuck Mando I’m- I don’t have the implant..” You whimper, suddenly worried, voice coming out uneven with your ragged breaths. 

Mando feels another surge of blood to his cock at your words, groaning as his dick twitches and thrusting into you a few more times…. For-

For good measure, he thinks.

Not that he would necessarily want that right now but fuck. Fuck did the mere idea of it make him painfully hard against his own will. You…. swollen with-

“Fuck.” He growls, pulling away from you a bit to better look down at you. Your eyes are shiny, lashes coated thick and wet with your precious tears. Lips swollen, chest flushed. You look worried, but beautiful. His. 

Mando remembers your old job at the bar…. Wouldn’t they have made it mandatory for all the girls to have the implant to prevent them from getting pregn-

“But- your job, you-?”

“I didn’t do that, I didn’t fuck them… just drinks.” You smile up softly at him due to fatigue, bashful nonetheless. 

Mando likes that, it puts him at ease in some fucked up way to know that those men in those types of places couldn’t get too far with you, even if they wanted.

“We can, I can get it for you on the next planet if- if that’s what you want?” He asks, hips still gently thrusting into you and you start to see stars behind your eyelids. You whimper, feeling his cum mix with your and gush back onto his cock and down the backs of your thighs.

“O-okay… thank you.” Mando nods but says nothing, pulling his cock from your fluttering pussy. You gasp at the sudden loss, feeling terribly empty and used. More cum dribbles from you and you quickly cup your cunt with your palm, trying to stop it from leaking everywhere on his cot.

Moving quicker than you would have expected him to, Mando stands up straight and tucks his wet cock back into his pants before walking away abruptly. You, however, barely notice as you lay flat on your back, head staring up at the ceiling with eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, regain some sense of self after getting all of it fucked out of you.

You’re made aware of Mando’s return by the touch of a warm and damp washcloth to your abused pussy. You gasp and sit up on your elbows, looking down the length of you to see the Mandalorian between your thighs, wiping away the mess that both of you made. Together.  

You want to thank him again but you can’t find the words within you, all of them lost to you because of this sudden display of dare you say affection.

“Stay here, gonna put us into hyperspeed. Once we’re up there, go clean up.” Mando orders softly, nodding his helmet at you. You nod back, still breathless, still shaking.

[thanekrios]

A desert of his own

Summary: Shepard dreams of a dead planet. Irikah tells Kolyat a myth of creation. And Thane sees a desert.

Note: I wrote this many years ago. Posted it here when I was galifreyas, so the original post is lost. This is still up @ my much abandoned AO3.

Let us start with a planet that has been dead for centuries. Let us tell some fictions and some realities about it. It is up to you to believe which ones are true.

What about a woman who dreams of the deserts of Rakhana? Deserts carpeted with purple weeds that are inhabited by silvery lizards she has named the afa’el. In her dreams, the afa’el sing – no, that’s not what they do, the old melodies once sung by burning stars echo in them. Sometimes it sounds like they are humming and others, they appear to be reproducing three songs at once. She watches the ira, cactus-like succulents, glowing in announcement of the dawn of a new season as the cavernous voices of an ancient creature or a sinking sun make their way across the planet, from afa’el to afa’el and finally they reach her. She hears and understands their wordless mellow stories.

They tell her of the Endu, the biggest flower to ever exist in any world, which according to legend had bloomed in an unforgiving desert and was encountered by a group of nomads who sought it as a symbol of Arashu and built the biggest civilization around it.

She learns of how Rakhana came to be. How it was once a frozen egg, drifting away in the Sea of Stars, and how a maiden made of gold nourished it back to life.

The woman, whose name is Shepard, visits the great desert of Alasere religiously. She enjoys standing there, sinking her feet in a golden ocean, listening to the afa’el murmur words in Rakhani long forgotten.

She learns of fihanda, which roughly translates to the guilt a child feels when they recognize dishonesty in their parents or in an older authority figure. There is amuefto, the gift of finding beauty in a person and seeing it reflected in their faces, regardless of their looks. Taverena, an expression of gratitude only used when someone has made a true impact one’s life, making it out of the ordinary. And then, tah-sehe.

“I will miss you, Shepard. Tah-sehe,” had been the last thing she heard from Thane’s lips before he left the Normandy. For a while, she whispered tah-sehe to herself while embracing the mundane. It would fill the room in the form of a silly melody muttered while she watched the rain pour; or as a gurgling sound while she took a shower. It was imprinted on her mind. It isn’t until the afa’el sing morosely about the last chapter in their planet’s history, that she discovers tah-sehe is not a word to be said lightly.

She comes to understand why Thane, who turns the simplest of sentences into splendid verses, had felt it necessary to utter that word – because I will miss you was but a fragment of what he wished to convey. Tah-sehe meant more than to miss someone; it was a profound emotional state of infinite yearning, of not being able to experience life to the fullest, of having lost the most significant part of oneself. The concept originated during the great exodus of the 1980s, as the first generations of drell settled in Kahje carried the name of the tah’sehen, the ones who dwell in what’s lost.

It didn’t matter whether those were dreams weaved by longing. Tah’sehe migrated from her head to her heart.

During the days, as the Vancouver rain attempts to wash away her dreams, she convinces herself that if she can capture at least a fraction of the beauty of the deserts she wanders in and if she can translate it into a form, any form, the dormant planet of Rakhana will be awaken.

For a while, Shepard considers writing about every beast, plant and insect she has come across in her journeys but she has never been one to confuse her desires with her abilities. Writing, just like dancing, does not come naturally to her. And while she is a gifted saxophone player, she was never much of a composer. Yet, she tries.

Thane had caught her once practicing one of her unpolished pieces, one she referred to as “if calluses were a song, this would be it.” He had asked her to play it for him. She knew he’d listen, he’d truly listen, and not just that…he’d remember.

“Ugliness is abundant in this galaxy. Let’s not add up to it.” She said, putting down her sax.

“When you play, I hear a reminder of beauty and laughter and life. What you do is extraordinary, siha. To transform the dreadful slices of the universe, its eruptions and its vast darkness into a stream of ecstatic sounds, a blast of playful rhythms. You create things when there is but destruction around you. There is value in that. I hope you see it someday.”

Encouraged by his words, she composes a few songs that don’t come to even faintly remind her of the fierce and dry winds scattered across the planet. She can’t feel its vibrant colors in her slow and melancholic tunes, as they are permeated by the city she sees through her window and a sky that won’t stop weeping.

That is when she starts making terrariums resembling the deserts she visits. She thinks, if she is ever lucky enough to see Thane again, she’ll hand him a desert of his own. She can still hear him:

“I would much like to see a desert.”

* * *

After Kolyat leaves Huerta Memorial, so does Thane. He sees him walk away in a pristine white hallway and at the same time, a young Kolyat attempts to step on his father’s footprints. He can smell salt and iron and antiseptics and detergent, and hear machines beeping and waves crashing. Kolyat is saying something, he wants to be heard, but what might have been the most important words ever spoken are drowned by the roaring of the sea. He just stares at him and waits for his father to react and after a pause, disappointment is written all over his face. Thane asks him to hurry up and a young Kolyat walks reluctantly towards him, this time ignoring the trail of footprints left by his father.

He wishes his recollections were malleable, he often hears of humans enriching their past with fictions; or of conflicts among them springing from a poor recollection of events. But a drell’s memories are unforgiving –they can, on occasion, overlap with reality–but never be rewritten.

His mind takes him to that same evening, after Kolyat asked him to dance with him but he refused, as he was getting ready to go to work. He doesn’t see blighted hope but despondency in his child. Kolyat still wishes him a pleasant journey, as he always does, and runs to his room. He should have kissed his forehead. He should have made him feel like he was the brightest sun in the Zahel Sea cluster, the most vital spring of energy in his life.

As he is lacing up his shoes, he hears Irikah’s voice. Whenever she puts Kolyat to bed, her voice is soft and gentle. Like most nights, she is telling him a story. Irikah was always the better storyteller. Irikah was always the better everything.

“Now as everybody knows, the Land of Whistling Dunes was the child of a maiden made of gold, whose heart’s one desire was to drink from the Sea of Stars” says Irikah.

“The Milky Way” Kolyat mouths the words as his mother speaks them.

Irikah nods gently before continuing her story:

“The maiden, who shoned in silence in the skies, knew her womb was barren for a blazing flame lived inside of her. She watched the ages pass and her younger sisters descend to the Sea and drink from its starry tides; and one by one, they all bore and gave birth to the Sea’s children. And as eons passed, the children danced around their mothers; and the mothers swayed gently in the Sea.

The maiden, lonely and scorching, continued to long for the Sea’s kiss, until the day all eyes turned to the death of her older sister, whose cries of pain were carried by the waves, scattering them across the galaxy. And with her passing, her children came to perish too. It was then the maiden dove into the Sea of Stars and gulped its darkness greedily, for she desired children of her own.

The waves whipped her mercilessly as punishment for her insolence, tearing her flesh open. But the maiden didn’t yield; she drank until no more fire dripped from her mouth, she drank until the tides had dragged her sisters and nieces and she had swallowed them whole, she drank until the radiant sea was almost pitch-black.”

Irikah pauses. Something is happening.

Thane hears a gasp that doesn’t fit in their house, it doesn’t belong in the past. A horrified gasp. He recognizes the padding of shoe soles brushing against the floor and the sharp rhythmic piercing sounds of heels. There are many of them. Nurses, patients, visitors, doctors. They’re gathering near him. A man raises his voice, demanding everyone to be quiet. Another voice protests, only to be followed by Doctor Michel shushing the crowd and asking someone to turn down their hand terminal’s sound, so everyone can listen to the same thing.

Then, Irikah’s narration comes to him in long, heavy echoes.

He wants to be home as much as he wants to discover what is happening around his body. He can feel reality piercing its way through, the white pristine light of Huerta Memorial filtering through a crack in the wall he always meant to fix. Another voice slides in, distant and resonant, and he can’t make out what it says. He ignores it. He needs to hear the end of Irikah’s tale. That memory must remain unspoiled, uninterrupted. It’s the last story he ever hears her tell.

He hangs onto it; everything else must wait just a little longer.

“The Sea, heartbroken after witnessing the death of so many of his kin, felt conflicted as he desired retribution but didn’t wish to feel emptiness any further. He then presented the maiden with a choice: he would spare her life if she looked after an egg that had lost its guardian centuries ago; and if she was able to give life to a daughter who existed suspended in a shell of ice and yearned to see the light, her crimes would be forgiven. As the maiden accepted his offer, the pale egg rose up out of the sea. She held it tight, keeping it warm until the day it hatched and came to love it. And so, a winged silvery lizard was born. Her name was Rakhana.”

“Reports are coming in from the cities of London, Seoul and Vancouv—“

She is almost done. Let her finish.

“It’s said that Rakhana’s mother could not stand her daughter flying far away from her, for she was terrified that her only companion would abandon her. So Rakhana, who very much loved her mother and wished to make her proud, danced near her despite the sultriness she felt around her. Eventually, her entire body blushed with red desert flowers and her skin blistered and turned hot and dry. The lizard curled up and fell into a deep slumber as her skin turned to soil; and her breath became wind; and from her backbone a mountain range was born; and while she gave life to many, she failed to save them from the maiden’s fire. And so, Rakhana’s body continued dancing around her mother and her mother swayed gen...”

He sees a large group of people gathered a few feet away from where he is sitting. It takes him a moment to put together the pieces of the situation, of what it is being broadcasted through every terminal, of why Doctor Michel is shaking while she buries her face in her hands.

A myth of creation is replaced by news of destruction.

* * *

Thane always enjoyed looking at her fish. Once more, he sees them travel with glee from one side of the tank to the other. He used to feed them whenever she forgot, which was more often than she would care to admit. Half a lifetime ago.

He presses one of his fingertips against the fish tank’s glass and draws small invisible circles. A Thessian Sunfish follows his finger, even when he begins to trace unpredictable shapes. Shepard can’t see his face but she likes to think he’s grinning, greeting his old friends.

From all the stories and words that spun inside her head, tah-sehe is the only one she has felt pounding violently inside her. She wonders, even if she doesn’t know its true meaning, if perhaps there’s a word that encases an opposite feeling, the sensation of her chest being cluttered with emotions; and the impulse she is struggling to oppress, of talking about everything at once, the things she has seen and done and felt. And on the same time, she doesn’t want to talk at all, she wants to reach out and touch and caress and experience.

So, she asks.

“Is there a word in Rakhani for…this? Say…what you feel when you are reunited with someone? Like you with the fish right now.”

Thane turns around slowly; his hands are behind his back. The hint of a smile turns the corners of his mouth.

“I believe the closest word is sehifa. Even though I wouldn’t use it to describe my reunion with the fish. Is there a similar word in human language?”

“I don’t know if there’s a word for it in one of the human languages, but there isn’t one in English. At least the translator didn’t find an equivalent.”

“Ah. I see. Sehifa is a hard concept to condense into a single word. Perhaps it can be defined as the dusk of missing someone. Although it means more than that. It also refers to what you feel and what you do when you are reunited. The emotional closeness that is rekindled. Perhaps even physical intimacy. The warmth you feel in your chest. And what is exchanged. A memento or a present perhaps. Even the stories that your loved one wished to tell you for a long time, when they are finally said out loud and heard by the person who was meant to hear them. How each action or touch is meaningful.”

The dusk of missing someone. That’s it. That’s what it is.

Her cheeks feel warm and her heart full. She smiles the brightest of smiles and starts to laugh. It is a deep, explosive burst of laughter. The sort that seems to pour out like liquid gold to illuminate an entire room.

When Shepard runs out of laughter, she holds his gaze:

“I have something for you. A memento or a present or something of sorts.” She disappears for a couple of seconds and emerges from the bathroom holding something round made of crystal, around the same size as a fishbowl. “Remember what you told me? About creating? It’s funny. All this time I believed all I could ever make were bad songs. But in truth, there were worlds I could create. I can’t really share them with you, not with words at least, so I made a thing. It’s not really finished and it’s not as pretty as what it looked in my dreams but reality rarely pairs up with your expectations, right? I wanted to work on it for a while longer but, after what you just said, I just can’t wait anymore. Here.”

She shakes her head and hands it to him.

Thane holds it up.

It’s a terrarium.

She had created a harmonic ecosystem, filled with lively-colored succulents and cacti, each of them she handpicked herself to resemble the desert of Alasere. She knows that Rakhana will remain arid and dormant; and the worlds that live inside of her aren’t supposed to be more than just dreams. Yet, somehow, Thane is holding a slice of one of them between his hands. One of the things he wished he could see with his own eyes has come to him. In a way, a dream they dreamt of together became real.

He puts the terrarium down with care, next to her terminal, and he reaches over and cups her cheeks with both hands. He calls her by her first name, as he rarely does. He leans down and presses his forehead against hers. He smiles a very rare smile. He is somehow doing it with his entire face. His eyes are deep pools of bliss and warmth and tenderness.

“A desert” he says. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

She nods calmly. He knows Shepard is good at locking her nostalgia away behind more curtains than just her eyelids, but right then, her voice breaks.

“I really wanted you to see that desert, Thane.”

He utters a word in Rakhani used to convey a specific form of gratitude. And while taverena escapes from his lips, Shepard hears him say:

“Thank you for giving me the extraordinary.”

[retroellie]

If I Ever Were To Lose You

Summary: Y/N helps Ellie through a nightmare

A/N: This sucks ass and I’m sorry but enjoy <3

Warnings: Death, nightmares and talk about NSFW 

Word Count: 3K 

“Y/N?” Ellie called out. 

She frantically ran around the building, opening doors and breaking glass just to find you. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, she’s not sure what happened. All she knew was the knot in her stomach grew and you were gone. 

“Shit! Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?” She basically screamed out. 

Her heart beat grew louder, she swore it could pop right out of her chest. Door after door, she couldn’t find you. The emptiness of the building was terrifying, it felt lonely and especially since she didn’t know where you were. Worry and fear clouded her mind, she couldn’t lose you. 

She was beginning to lose hope, to finally accept defeat until she heard a strange growl coming from the last door down the hall. Her last bit of hope carried her down the hall. 

“Y/N” She shouted. 

She ran down the long hall that only seemed to get longer. Broken glass and unopened broken doors pasted by her, it seemed to go on forever. She came to a screeching stop when she reached the door, busting it open. 

“Y/n?” She asked once more. 

She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. It was empty, the only sound was the creaking of a broken light, swinging in the light breeze sweeping through the room. She had lost hope, the last person she loved and cared for lost. 

She pressed her back against the wall, trying to catch her breath but the lump in her throat choking her. She let out a few broken sobs, finally giving in. She had no one to be strong for, no one to love and be loved by. She had no one. 

“Ellie?” A voice called out

Ellies had shot up, she  recognized the voice from anywhere, she heard that phrase come out of your mouth many times. Either that was laughing it out or in broken sobs and gasp or even breathy moans. It was music to her ears. 

“Y/n” She gasped. She stood up, bringing you into the biggest hug she’s ever giving you. 

“Ellie..” You laughed. “You’re strangling me.” You joked, attempting to pull her off of you. 

“Sorry.” She chuckled, pulling away from you.”I-i just thought i lost you.” She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. 

She took a good look at you, you looked different. Your eyes were darker than normal and your skin looked almost like rubber, like you weren't real. 

“I’m sorry baby,” You started. “I saw a kitty, I had to go after it.” 

Ellies eyebrows knitted together in confusion, you were never that reckless no matter how much you loved animals. Something was off, you didn’t seem like yourself. 

“Y/n? Is something wrong?” She asked as she started to feel weird 

You just gave her a big smile, it was too big of a smile. Your skin started to droop, like it was falling off. Your smile got bigger and bigger until your skin started to crack, it was like a scene from a horror movie. Ellie backed up, not sure if she should run or not. 

“Everything is fine, my love.” Your voice echoing through the room, turning into almost a growl. 

Ellie slowly stepped back, terrified at the sight in front of her. Your skin began to fall off revealing cyst and bumps, your eyes had turned almost black, your skin turned a sickly grey color and a big bite mark on your neck was now seen. Ellie now realized what was happening, you had gotten bit and you're now tuning. She couldn’t save you. 

Her eyes started to burn and her heart had stopped for a minute, realizing her failure. You were Ellies most prized possession, She believed you were too good for this horrible world. You didn’t deserve to go out like this, bitten by one of those monsters and eventually a bullet between your eyes. 

She could've run but she didn’t want to leave you to die here by yourself, she wanted to die by your side. She knew you had already turned, there was no stopping it so she just watched as your skin cracked open and cyst formed on your soft skin. 

“I’m sorry.” Ellie whispered in defeat. “I couldn’t save you.” 

You didn’t even look like yourself at this point, you weren't yourself. She didn’t know if you were in there anymore or if you were trapped inside this monster's skin. You took a step closer, one foot after the other making your way to her. She just let you, she stood there completely frozen ready for her slow death. 

“You never deserved this Y/n.” She sobbed out, watching your every step. It was torture as you slowly limped to her. “You were always too good for this world, too good for me...”

You were inches away from her, arms reached out to grab her. She moved into your arms, wanting it to go faster. She looked into your cold dead eyes once more before closing hers, preparing herself for the pain. She was ready for it, ready to be consumed by the sweet release of death. 

She felt your hot breath on her neck, your short and panted breaths. You wrapped your hand around her throat before letting out a terrible screech, finally sinking your teeth into her neck. She let out a strangled scream, the pain hitting her hard and fast. 

It hurt so bad, she felt her heart pound in her ears. She grabbed onto your shoulders, the pain making her feel faint. The blood pumping out of the wound, she felt her body rush to the ground, she was moving in and out of consciousness. Her own throat strangling her, stealing her oxygen from her. Her eyes felt heavy and her brain fuzzy. Is this what death felt like, like your oxygen being stolen away from you. She let out a single breath and her heart stopped pumping. She laid there cold, dead and alone, just how she knew she would. 

-

-

Ellie's eyes shot open, her heart feeling like it was going to jump right out of her chest. She shot up, not being able to breath. She put a hand on her chest, feeling like she was having a heart attack, she gasped for air. She didn’t know where she was or if she was dead, nothing made sense to her. Until she felt a hand on her shoulder, She reached into her pocket grabbing her knife. She flung her body around holding the knife to the person. 

“ellie, hey! it’s okay.” The person whispered yelled. 

She saw who it was, it was you. Her body eased up when she saw it was you, her breath finally coming back to her. She dropped her knife and let out a big breath, a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in. 

“I’m sorry.” She choked out. 

You crawled over beside her, laying your head on her shoulder and rubbing soft circles on her back. That calmed her down a lot, her breathes were still coming out in short gasps. 

“It’s okay baby, you’re doing great.” You whispered encouraging words into her ear. “Just keep breathing for me, okay?” 

She did what you said, no longer having to fight for air. She didn’t know she was crying until she felt the wetness on her cheeks. She wiped the tears off her face, letting her body relax. 

“You’re okay baby.” You whispered once more. “You're safe, nothings gonna hurt you.” 

She turned her head to look at you, you looked sleepy. She must have woken you up. Your hair was messy, the illumination of the fire brought out your slight eye bags. She thought your were the most beautiful woman she has ever seen, she was so in love with you she couldn’t even hide it sometimes. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” She whispered. You just smiled, giving her a small kiss on the tip of the nose. 

“It’s fine, I was already awake because of Tommy's snores.” You giggled. 

Ellie looked over to see two shapeless blobs right next to them, That’s when everything came back to her. You guys had been on your rounds with Tommy and Joel  before it got too bad outside, the snow was physically hurting when they decided to just camp out at one of the lookouts. It was a nice cabin, it had a great view and a huge fireplace. 

“He does snore pretty loud.” Ellie jokes, putting a hand on your thigh. 

“Right! I've had to kick him so many times.” You grinned. 

Ellie chuckled, looking back over at you. You were staring back at her, with a soft expression on. Not even 5 minutes ago Ellie saw your skin fall off and you turn, now she was here with you. She was able to touch and hold you without you biting her face off. She held a hand up to caress your face, eventually pulling you into a kiss. 

You kissed back, it started off innocent. Her hands softly caressing your skin, yours running  through her hair comfortably. Then it became more passionate, like it was the last time you would be in the same room with each other. Ellies hand wandered under your shirt, her cold hands making you perk up. You gasped into the kiss, giggling because her hands were so cold. 

“Your hands are so cold.” You whispered, pulling away from her. Ellie just grinned, keeping her hands up your shirt.

“Your boobs are so warm though.” She joked, placing her cold hands on your bare boobs. 

The coldness of her hands made your yelp too loudly for your liking. She quickly removed a hand and covered your mouth. You both looked over at the sleeping men, they were both still passed out. She looked back over at you and laughed. 

“You're an asshole.” you said, pulling her hand away from your mouth. 

You shifted to lay down, your hair sprawled out on the pillow perfectly. You looked like an angel, the fire highlighting your face. If Tommy and Joel weren’t in the room Ellie would’ve pinned you down, pleasuring you until you couldn’t see straight but she had to behave. 

“You love me.” She replied, moving a hand to your bare thigh. 

“Yeah, right” You rolled your eyes. “Now come here, i’m cold.” 

You held your arms up hinting at her to lay with you. She chuckled, shifting to lay in between your legs, laying her head on your chest. She watched the fire dance, causing soft shadows on the walls. She finally had time to rerun her dream, what happened and how it felt like the ground below her got yanked out below her. 

“Y/n?” Ellie spoke softly. 

“Hmm.” You replied back. 

She felt your hand run through her hair, something that always put Ellie to sleep almost instantly. This time she doesn’t even know if she wanted to go back to sleep. 

“Please don’t leave me.” She sighed out. 

She felt your arms tighten around her, your heart and the heat of your embrace lulling her to sleep. 

“Ellie, baby.” You spoke, your voice making her move her head to look at you. “I’m not going to leave you, i don’t know what you dreamed of but i’m not going anywhere.” 

Ellie saw your eyes gloss over, either that was you about to cry or the lack of sleep you had gotten but the pure emotion in your voice and in your eyes made her believe you. 

“I just..” she started, hesitant of what to say. “i just don’t want you to get hurt or turn, if you were immune it wo...” 

“Ellie stop.” Your voice was stern but not stern enough to scare or embarrass her. “ I’m not planning on getting bit any time soon and even if i do it’s not your fault.” 

You pushed her hair out of her face, her puffy eyes watering once again. You knew about her immunity and how she went to the fireflies, you don’t know what went down there but you knew if there was a cure it wouldn’t have done much, people were still dicks in the old world and you knew they weren’t going to change all of a sudden. 

“This entire situation is not your fault, I know you want things to be different but they're not.” Your voice was still silky smooth to Ellie, no matter how stern you were trying to be. “I don't care about that right now though Ellie, you're here with me. You are all I need.” 

She nodded and turned her head back to the fire, she wanted to believe you but she couldn’t. She blames herself for a lot, but this was the one that made her break down every time. You felt the hurt she felt, you would give anything just to make her realize there was nothing she could do. 

“Plus people are assholes, i don’t think they deserve part of you inside them.” You attempted to lighten the mood and it worked. 

Ellie let out a stifled laugh, shaking her head. You chuckled along with her, closing your eyes. To say you were exhausted was an understatement. 

“I love you weirdo.” Ellie whispered, her eyes falling closed as well. 

“I love you too, asshole.” you replied. 

Ellie snuggled closer to you, hearing your soft heart beat drum in your chest. Your hand is still running through her hair, allowing her to feel safe and relax while she fell asleep. 

-

-

“Come on, wake up love birds.” A voice spoke, waking Ellie up from her slumber. She groaned as her eyes fluttered open, the sun peaking through the windows. 

“Come on, we gotta get back to Jackson.” The voice said again. 

Ellie looked over to see Tommy packing up his backpack. Joel was by the kitchen table, strumming his guitar strings. Ellie groaned once more, looking down at the still sleeping girl below her. 

“What time is it?” She asked, slowly getting up. 

“I don't know, 11 maybe 12.'' Tommy spoke. 

“Damn, we slept in.” Ellie gave a good stretch and stood up, causing you to turn over on your side

“You're gonna wake up sleeping beauty over there.” Tommy nodded over to you. 

Ellie looked over at you, you were still passed out. Your hair was covering your face and your hands were placed by your head. She grinned down at you and shook her head. 

“I’ll let her sleep for a little longer, she had a long night.” She replied, walking over to the table she laid her stuff on. 

She started packing her stuff up along with yours, she knew you would be too tired to do it. You didn’t sleep in often so she thought you could use the extra sleep. 

“Was that y’all talking last night?” Joel asked, putting down his guitar and putting his backpack on. 

“Yeah, sorry we didn’t mean to disturb you or anything.” She said, zipping her backpack up and moving on to yours 

“No it’s fine, I was dead to the world anyways. Just wondering.” Joel said.

Ellie nodded and went on with packing your bag up, she even folded your stuff up nicely. The two boys got ready for the small and cold trip, putting on layers and layers of clothes. You were still passed out, Ellie was dreading having to wake you up. You were so calm and peaceful when you slept. 

“Alright, you should wake her up. I’ll bring in the horses.” Tommy stated, throwing his backpack on. “Maria’s probably got the whole town looking for us.” He joked. 

He walked out the door, Joel following him but stopping in the doorway, turning to ellie. 

“I’m glad you're talking to someone.” Joel spoke, causing Ellie to look over at him. “You know, you're not holding stuff in. I'm glad, she’s a real nice girl” He finished. Ellie nodded, leaning on the table. She looked down at your jacket and smiled. 

“Yeah, she’s good.” She smiled, there was an awkward silence between them for a minute. 

She was glad Joel approved of you. She knew you and Joel got along well, you liked Joel real well but Ellie wasn’t sure if Joel was okay with you two being together, he was from the old world. It was different back then but that statement just confirmed he was okay with it. 

 “Well, I gotta go wake up the princess.” She chuckled. 

“Yeah, i’ll go help him with the horse.” Joel said. 

Ellie nodded as she watched him leave the house, looking down at your jacket again. She sighed knowing it was going to suck having to wake you up. She grabbed your jacket, making her way to where you were. Your chest rose and fell calmingly, it almost made ellie wanna crawl back into bed with you. 

She kneeled down and moved the hair from your face, bending down to pepper your face with soft kisses. You squirmed a bit, your eyes fluttering opened and seeing her. 

“Come on, we gotta get going.” Ellie spoke, giving her a peck on the lips. You stretched your body a bit before sighing. 

“Can’t yall just leave me here, i’ll walk back.” you joked. 

“Come on weirdo, you can attempt to sleep on the horse.” Ellie replied back. 

You rolled your eyes before sitting up, Ellie handed you your jacket. You slipped it on and stood up. Ellie went to go get your backpack but you pulled her into a hug. She didn’t refuse your hug, she melted into it. You stood on your tippy toes and kissed her, Ellie kissed back. The kiss was long and innocent before you pulled away. 

“Good morning to you too.” Ellie grinned. 

You laughed, pulling her into another kiss. This one was more passionate, it was the kind of kiss that left you breathless. 

“Okay come on you two, enough face eating. we’re ready” Tommy interrupted. 

You both laughed and Ellie pecked your lips one last time, loosening her hold on you. 

“To be continued.” She whispered. 

-

-

-

!Credits to gif owner!

[seaswalllow]

(warning for; implied violence and death, discussion of violence and death.)

athazagoraphobia

--

your name is nothing. you do not need a name. you have never needed a name, only the fear and the knife in your hand.

--

you’ve known fear. watched deer break their legs as they flee, and bray as the wolf pounces. watched shepherds tumble down cliffs, bears crash through frozen lakes into the icy depths.

death is your birthright. fear is your bread, and adrenaline your butter.

--

and then you blink, and you are watching a boy of 12 steadfastly avoid his own eyes in the mirror at midnight.

you smile. he does not see the way that the glass shudders and warps to match. you have seen empires crack under their own weight, and gorged yourself upon the last, desperate cries for help from sunken ships. yet something, something thrums under the skin of this little boy, oily and afraid, and you think that you will be sated indeed by the magic curling underneath.

--

come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly…

hello?

there’s plenty to see, and plenty to feast, by the by…

who’s there?

beware the strings, and beware the knife-

i’m not scared-

oh, bull-fucking-shit. i can hear your heartbeat from miles away.

--

who- who are you?

you. well, the you that you’re afraid to see in the mirror.

i’m not afraid-

oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t make us do this again. i don’t appear unless you’re afraid. and for whatever reason, your jackrabbit-y little heart decided to pound hard enough to let me know where to pop up. do you really think that you can lie to us about the one thing that’s summoned me?

us? are there-

you. and me. let me tell you, as your new shadow, you can’t lie to yourself any more than you can lie to me.

… i don’t want you as my shadow, what do you mean-

hah. sorry, kiddo, you don’t get a choice.

sleep tight, jackaboy. who knows; maybe on your first night, i won’t bite.

--

it’s as amusing the tenth time as it is the first time. leaning out of the mirror, you tap your knife on his shoulder. he yelps. he spins, and then he runs.

this is the first time that you are able to peel out of the mirror and into his shadow in time.

you don’t pay any attention to it, at first. the distance that you must keep ebbs and flows.

anti, stop, he pleads, stumbling over roots, leaping over fallen trunks as he delves further, and further into the forest. joy crackles through your veins, and the shadows at the edges of your vision resolve into crisp focus. you feel alive like you have never before.

--

what the fuck did you just call me?

i- anti, i couldn’t just keep calling you nothing-

--

you can’t stop smiling. joy sings through you, crisp and clean, sharper than the claws digging into your palm.

--

say that again.

..what?

anti?

what a stupid name.

--

you’ve caught him, as always. you will always catch him. but this time- this time you are marvelling at the oilslick rainbows playing through your shadows, the sharp breath in your lungs, the burn of the chase in your chest.

--

and then one day, when you catch him, you feel the steel of the blade as it presses into the back of his neck. you feel it in your hands, you feel a ghost of it on you.

--

being a shadow means just that: you’re disconnected. you can feed, you can see, you can touch, but you cannot be touched. for the better part of centuries, you have had only the velvet darkness to wrap around you, and that was that.

and along comes a boy of 14 with old magic, old fear carved into his bones, and with a name, he has done the impossible.

he’s made you.

--

you are never afraid. you are the fear.

--

there is fear, cold and familiar, coiling in your gut, reflecting off of bared teeth and a blade.

--

you drive him off, and then you sink down, into the shadows, onto an overgrown forest floor that prickles at you, and against a tree that digs into your back. splinters dig themselves deep under impossible skin, and you laugh until it sounds like you’re screaming. it burns.

it burns, it burns, and you love it, and you hate it.

--

you can’t let him see you like this. not now, not ever.

--

he sleeps better than he ever has that night. and you just watch.

--

(you will berate yourself for that, later. it will only prove his point, later, when you are older and angrier.)

--

but for now, you let the headiness of your giddy joy rush through you. it’s not as sweet as toddler’s; not as finely nuanced as an elder’s. but it will do, and when your jackrabbit tells you i’ve never seen you smile this wide, i’ve never seen it reach your eyes, it is the only thing that prevents you from following through with your threat of carving him into much less joyous pieces.

--

and then quite abruptly, the soap bubble pops.

--

he’s made you, and that means that he’s changed you. you take that knife-sharp paranoia, and shape it. hone it, until you can hold it just above the tender skin that pulses atop his jugular, in the pitch black night. you are not afraid; you are the fear, and you will use it as you can.

--

how did you do it?

how- how did i do what? anti, anti, put the knife away. you’ve never come this close, put it away.

how did you make that name? nobody’s made a name before.

did nobody think to?

why would they? fear doesn’t need a name. you don’t need words to feel your wheezing breath and the way that your hands go all icy numb in the way that you hate because you can’t move fast enough, and never will.

that sounds so lonely.

to you, maybe. solitude’s the worst, isn’t it? ‘cause there’s nothing left to be scared of except what you dream up in that thick little noggin of yours. who knows- it might be a monster with sharp teeth like mine, or it might be a slower death.

answer my question.

how did you do it?

i don’t know! i just did! i just- you’re everything i’m not. we’re not. so i-

so you named me anti and it fucking stuck. somehow. after decades upon centuries, a little boy made stupid by his fear rounds it out nice and even-

--

(here’s the secret: it’s not your first time.)

(here’s the secret: you will take that with you to whatever grave awaits an undying creature.)

so you clamp down on that knife-sharp paranoia and you pull it all back to yourself, feeling your edges swell and settle with something like relief.

--

don’t do it again, you spit at him, false heart hammering as hard as his own.

--

he does it again anyways. when you sneak into his dreams and watch his face twist like a funhouse mirror, he shouts for you to stop, all in that unfamiliar name.

he does it again, when you jump at him while his back is turned.

and again.

--

it’s not an unfamiliar name.

--

no, no, no.

--

he tries to reach a hand out to you. you eye it lazily at first, until he draws closer. the hesitant calm snaps something in your gut. you flinch, and leave it dripping.

--

what happens to you if there’s nothing left from him to feed on? what happens to you if there’s nothing left to be afraid of? routine breeds familiarity; familiarity breeds comfort. you are forged from everything he is not- this leaves no room for his soft edges and gentle smiles.

--

you feel calm, for the first time, and it sets your false heart jackrabbiting faster than it ever has before. so you bite, and you flee.

--

and then you have to fix the problem.

--

(there is a thick, ropy scar across your necks. he won’t stop flinching every time he sees you, in turn. it sits, warm and rotten, as it makes a home in your gut; you purr as you take your fill.)

(he flinches as he feels you curl up, warm and content, in the bleeding space under his heart. this makes you purr harder.)

(but you haven’t fixed the problem. his neck prickles as yours does. why didn’t it fix the problem?)

(this is the problem: your heart beats the same as his does. this is the problem: you want it to stop. this is the solution: the cold weight of your fear and your fury in your palm. this is the solution: if something is making you weak, you cut it out.)

--

and then something snaps in your guts as you lunge and he screams in your voice. and then you are burning and burning and burning-

-

and then there is nothing at all.

[nicole-lynne]

There You Are, Love - F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Description: Fred Weasley saves you from an uncomfortable situation. Now he has to pretend to be your boyfriend to keep you safe, or so you think.

Warnings: Minor sexual harassment

Nothing was going right that morning. You’d woken up late, knocked your cup of coffee all over your favorite sweater so you had to change, and when you’d unlocked the door to Flourish and Blotts, you’d discovered that the new display had fallen overnight and knocked over three other shelves. Books were scattered across the floor with cracked spines and ripped pages. You let out a strangled screech and stomped over to the counter, slamming your bag down harshly.

The unfortunate thing was that you’d actually woken up in a fairly good mood, but it was clear the universe had other ideas in mind. You made a mental note to check the star chart at some point - one of the few things you’d kept up from your days at Hogwarts.

Sighing, you turned to clean the mess before you could start the rest of the day. You crouched down and reached for a pile of books, freezing at the sound of a loud crack. You winced as you slowly pulled out your wand from your back pocket - snapped into two pieces.

Great.

Tears blurred your eyes at that next thing to go wrong. There was no way around it, you’d have to get it fixed. Vaguely you remembered when Ron had broken his wand in second year - it had been a complete disaster that had resulted in your bangs being burned off in charms class.

Taking a deep breath, you wiped the tears off your cheeks and grabbed your bag, hastily writing a note that the shop would be open late, and locking the door behind you. You threw a glance at the Weasley’s joke shop as it erupted with lights and sound before scurrying past to Olivander’s. What could they possibly be doing at nine in the morning that required fireworks. You had never had a conversation with the twins but you’d always admired them from afar at Hogwarts, and you knew they were always getting into some kind of trouble or commotion.

The past year you’d worked in Diagon Alley with them only confirmed that as you’d watch the displays and demonstrations they’d perform to the crowds from the window.

The doorbell to Ollivander’s jingled as you stepped into the small shop, and you felt the same comfort that you had when you stepped in when you were eleven, getting your wand for the first time. Mr. Ollivander had been so kind to you and helped you navigate Diagon Alley so you didn’t get lost. Over the years, you’d always taken the time to stop in and say hello to Mr. Ollivander and he’d be happy to see you every time. Now that you were running Flourish and Blotts, it was common for you to drop off lunch to him or go round for a cup of tea.

It was quiet this morning so hopefully he could quickly mend your wand and get you back in business, but he still hadn’t come out from the back.

“Hello, Mr. Ollivander? It’s me! Do you mind if I come back?” You called before moving behind the counter. A handsome man with dark hair popped out around the corner and you jumped in surprise, not expecting anyone but the older gentleman. He grinned, dimples deepening, at seeing you startled. “Oh, excuse me, I was expecting-”

“He’s not feeling well this morning, so I told him I’d come in.” The guy said, moving into the light, and held out a hand. “I’m Christian, I’m apprenticing to be a wand maker.”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you.” You shook his hand quickly, but he held on tight for a moment before you could pull back, excitement shone in his bright blue eyes. Your stomach twisted with discomfort, all your instincts telling you to leave. “I just needed to get my wand mended but I’ll just wait until tomorrow.”

“Nonsense, I can fix that up for you. I may not be Mr. O, but I can get the job done.” He said, giving you a slimy smile.

You grimaced a smile in return before turning to leave. “That’s alright, I’ll just-”

“Come on,” he grabbed your wrist tightly and tugged you to the back room, “we’ll get you fixed up in a jiffy.”

You trailed behind him into the tiny workshop that you’d sat in a dozen times, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. Usually the fireplace was roaring, warming the whole room, and there was a plate of red currant tarts in the corner. Today, the fireplace was quiet and there was only a lone light dangled over the workbench, casting shadows on the wall.

Christian held his hand out to you and you, reluctantly, handed over your wand pieces. He stood at the bench and examined the pieces. You wrapped your arms around yourself and edged toward the door.

“You should come look at this, you might find it interesting.” He said, breaking the silence.

“That’s alright, I’ll just let you work. I need to get back to the shop soon so I can start opening.”

“It’ll just take a second, come here.”

You really needed to learn how to say no to people.

Taking a few steps forward, you looked down at your wand, entirely unaware of what you were supposed to be seeing. Christian pointed out a few facts about repairing dragon heartstring, dropping a compliment or two about having to be a powerful witch to handle a dragon core wand. You nodded impatiently and moved to step back again. Christian’s arm snaked around your waist and brought you in tight to his side.

“I think it’s really great to meet a witch who must be able to perform some of the hardest spells. It must mean you’re incredibly intelligent.” He gave you another slimy smile, his eyes trailing down your body. “Intelligence on top of being drop dead gorgeous, you’re the dream girl.”

Your insides rolled, “that’s nice of you, however, I really should get back. You can just have a messenger send the wand along-” You struggled to get out of his grip that was tightening on your hip, you could already imagine the bruises that would be there.

“Why don’t you stay a while, the shop’s already closed.”

“I don’t think so.” You whimpered at the sensation of his nose trailing along your jaw.

Christian opened his mouth to say something else, when the door to the workshop opened. “Hey, Mr. O, can you help me out-”

Your eyes flashed up to see Fred Weasley standing frozen, staring at the situation. He glanced between Christian, who had moved a few steps away from you bashfully, you, whose eyes were wide with terror, and down to the red marks shining on your wrist.

“There you are, love, I’ve been looking for you all morning.” Fred said, a bright grin on his face, and he opened his arm to you. Quickly, you darted under his arm and he tucked you in close.

Christian cleared his throat, his eyes darting from you to Fred, before reaching forward to shake Fred’s hand. “I’m Christian Lindt, I’m apprenticing with Ollivander. And you are?”

Fred just stared at the open hand, disgust in his eyes. “Fred Weasley. My brother and I own the joke shop up the way.” You rested your cheek against Fred’s chest, letting his calming scent of smoke and cinnamon comfort you.

“I didn’t realize that you had a boyfriend.” He directed the question at you and you squeaked in response. Fred’s arm tightened around you protectively and he glared at Christian.

“I don’t think that really matters, does it? At any rate, she does and I would suggest that the next time you want to put your hands on someone, you make sure they want you to.”

Your heart was pounding in your ears. The thought of how horrible this situation could have gone and how lucky you were that Fred had stepped in. Him and George had always seemed like the protective type and you were thankful he’d shown up when he did.

Christian scowled slightly before continuing. “I would do nothing less. Was there something I could help you with? I heard you say you were looking for my boss.”

Fred ignored his question to tilt his head down and make eye contact with you, his big brown eyes filled with concern. “What were you doing here, darling?”

Clearing the lump from your throat, you pointed to your broken wand on the table, “I needed to get my wand mended. I accidentally snapped it this morning.”

“Oh silly girl,” Fred rushed to collect your wand and shoved it into his pocket. “We’ll just run down to Kiddell’s and he’ll take care of it.”

“You’re going to go to that crackpot? He doesn’t know anything about mending dragon heartstring.” Christian scoffed.

“I’m positive we can figure it out without you.” Fred snarked as he led you toward the front door. Your eyes were fixed on the floor, taking one step at a time, not risking the chance of making eye contact with Christian.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, sugar.” Christian called out, a fake sweetness in his voice.

Beside you, Fred tensed, and on instinct, you reached for his hand. You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face at the feeling of his calluses rubbing against your soft skin. He shot you an appreciative grin and let the door slam behind him loudly.

Letting out the breath you’d been holding, you moved to drop his hand, but he kept holding on, not ready to let go of the tether keeping him from going back in and beating that guy’s face in.

“Don’t let go, he’s still watching us.”

You resisted the urge to look back, and let Fred lead you toward the joke shop, his face made of stone. Pausing, you lifted your head up to watch the automated Weasley twin lift his top hat at you, intensely aware of Fred’s eyes boring a hole into the side of your head. You turned to look at him and he gestured to follow him in.

Across the shop, George lifted his head at the sound Fred of returning. “Did you figure out why the wands were sprouting- Oh, who’s this?”

Fred gave George your name tersely, “she took over Flourish and Blotts.” George nodded vaguely, still not placing you, Fred continued, “we’re going to the back, just let me know if you need help.”

George waved them on and ducked back behind the shelf he’d appeared from. You trailed behind Fred, your hand still in his, to the back workshop. Your steps faltered for a moment at the memory of the back room at Ollivanders as Fred opened the door. Looking over his shoulder, Fred’s face relaxed.

“Don’t worry, I would never hurt you.”

You didn’t hesitate to believe him. You’d heard stories over the years at school about what great guys the Weasley twins were, different than the prat their younger brother could be sometimes. This time, you stepped forward with no hesitation, letting Fred close the door softly.

The room was larger than you’d imagined, trinkets and tools were scattered on every surface, and boxes were stacked until they almost touched the ceiling. There were two desks shoved into the corner and papers covered every inch. You took your time, wandering along the workbench, taking all of it in. Spinning around, your eyes met his instantly.

“You know who I am.” Was all you could say.

Fred cocked his head to the side, “what was that?”

“Erm - just then, when George asked who I was. Well, you knew my name.”

“Why wouldn’t I? We went to school together for four years. You’ve worked across the street from me for a year. I’d be an absolute loon not to notice you.”

Your mouth gaped open in surprise, “I’m pretty sure George has no clue who I am.”

“Yeah, he can be a bit blind when it comes to pretty girls. Only has eyes for Angelina and whatnot.” Fred said absentmindedly, waving his wand and a chair pulled out from the desk.

Your face flushed at the words, and you dropped into the chair. For the first time, you closed your eyes for a second, letting the events of this morning sink in. After a moment, the sound of rustling hit your ears and you opened your eyes to find Fred digging through the desk drawers.

“I have some salve here somewhere, it should take away the bruising. We had a bit of a problem with our boxing telescopes a few months ago, our sister-”

“Ginny.”

He gave you a curious look, “yeah, Ginny, she almost hexed us if we didn’t get rid of her bruise immediately.” He settled into the chair across from you, he’d shed his purple jacket and was left in a lavender button up, rolled up to the elbows, tucked into dark purple pants. Gently, he dipped his fingers into the yellow goo, lifted your wrist and dabbed it over the marks, and your eyes widened in surprise that they began fading away.

“Um, do you think you can take care of these too?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you lifted the hem of your shirt to reveal where he’d grabbed you. Fred let out a vicious growl at the sight and jumped out of his seat.

“I’ll kill him.”

Nervously, you grabbed his hand and he stopped in his tracks. “Please don’t leave. I just want to forget that it happened.”

Fred searched your face for any sign that you wanted him to go pummel the guy. When he found none, he took a deep breath and sat back down. With one hand still holding yours tightly, he used the other one to take care of the bruises on your hip, his cool fingers causing goosebumps to raise on your skin. The silence between you two was comforting, as if there were no words needed, you just understood how each other was feeling.

“Thank you, for everything, Fred. I appreciate you getting me out of there.” You rubbed your thumb against his, hoping to comfort him some. He raised his eyes to yours and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “I’m sorry you had to pretend to be my... well, anyways, I had better get going. I need to get the shop opened eventually.” You winced as you caught a glimpse of the clock.

“You still need to get your wand fixed right?”

Groaning, you dropped your head into your hands and a lump grew in your throat, “ugh, I’d forgotten all about it. That idiot Kiddell won’t know a thing about fixing it.”

Fred drew your hands away from your face and wiped away the tear that was rolling down your cheek. “Hey, hey, none of that, it’ll be alright. If you can live without it for the day, I’ll take it to Ollivander’s personally tomorrow and get it fixed. Okay?”

“Fred, you don’t have to do that...”

“I’m not letting you go back there with that slimeball around, besides, I had a question for Mr. O anyway. Now, you don’t worry about it for another second. I’ll bring it by tomorrow afternoon.”

He opened the door for you and followed as you weaved through the shelves of Weasley products, making note of the products you found the most interesting as you passed. From a few rows over, George’s nod was the only thing that showed he’d noticed you leaving. Just as you stepped back into Diagon Alley, Fred took your hand again, casting a dark glare in the direction of Ollivander’s, and walked you all the way to the front of Flourish and Blotts.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at four. I hope the rest of your day goes well, but don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“I’m a big girl, Fred, I’m sure I can manage to do my job.” You teased him softly. “Thank you again, I’ll keep an eye out for you tomorrow. If you get too busy, just send the wand with a messenger.”

“I won’t be too busy for you, love.”

Butterflies flew around your stomach at his words, then he was striding back to Weasley Wizard Wheezes, not giving you a chance to reply.

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

It’d been two months since Fred had saved you at Ollivander’s. Two months since Fred had told Christian that he was your boyfriend. And it’d been two months of Christian’s leery stares from across the alley that made you keep up the charade.

You’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm with Fred because of this. You’d started to use the floo network out of his flat every day, where he’d walk you straight to the shop door, then he’d pick you back up at the end of the day and bring you back to the flat. Sometimes he would pop in at lunch with ice cream from Florean’s, always remembering your favorite flavor.

“Life is uncertain, love, eat the dessert first.” He’d always say when you pestered him about eating sweets so early in the day.

On the good days, you’d stay for dinner, enjoying the company of the twins. After dinner, you and Fred would sit on his couch and talk for hours. His favorite thing was listening to you reminisce about their pranks from an “outsider perspective”, as he called it, or all the things the other houses said about the twins. Embarrassingly you’d blurted out one night that the other houses all assumed Fred and George shared everything, even girls.

His eyes had darkened and he said harshly, “I definitely don’t share.” Then he was back to normal, asking you to tell another story. Your stomach had done somersaults for the rest of the night thinking about how husky his voice had gotten and how his stare had zeroed in on you. Something that had begun to happen more often as you spent more time with Fred. Sometimes you forgot completely that this was a pretend relationship. Your heart had certainly forgotten after him always calling you nicknames or holding your hand every time he had the opportunity.

Now it was the week before Christmas and you’d left Fred’s alone, while he was tucked into bed recovering from a cold. You’d shouted a quick goodbye to George as you dashed out the front door, already deep in thought about the chicken noodle soup you planned to bring Fred at lunch that you hadn’t noticed Christian saunter into the store and lean on the wall.

“That’s a cute sweater.” He drawled loudly.

Your eyes widened at the sound of his voice and you looked down to see Fred’s christmas sweater, a large ‘F’ on the front. He’d given it to you last night when he’d noticed your goosebumps and you had selfishly taken it home with you, unable to part with the soft wool and his soothing scent.

“What do you want, Christian?” You snapped as harshly as you could muster.

He peeled himself off the wall like gum on the bottom of a shoe, giving you a wicked grin and began to walk around the shop. “Where’s your ‘boyfriend’, sugar?” He used his fingers to make quotes around the word boyfriend and flush grew up your neck.

“Where Fred is, is none of your business. Now either tell me what you need or kindly leave.” You said sternly, trying to keep the growing knots in your stomach from getting worse.

He rolled his eyes and kept on strolling, a spider weaving its web. “What I think is that he got tired of carrying around dead weight. Got tired of having to pretend that he was into someone as bland as you just so I couldn’t have a go. I know he isn’t really your boyfriend, sugar, and I’ve been waiting for him to grow bored of running back and forth with you every day.”

Your heart sank at the thought of Fred getting tired of you, unable to recognize the truth from Christian’s cruel words. You’d been enjoying every wonderful moment you got to spend with the red-headed troublemaker, who had pleasantly surprised you with a genuine heart and an unwavering ability to make you laugh. But maybe Christian was right. Fred had only made up that lie to keep you safe, had kept track of you so that you couldn’t be bothered again. Maybe you really were a burden on Fred’s life.

“I don’t know why you bother with that sad excuse for a man anyways,” Your head whipped up at that comment and you narrowed a glare on him, “him and his lousy brother are just a disgrace to the name of wizard.” He had stepped behind the edge of the counter at the last word, a nasty sneer on his face.

“You will never be even half the man that Fred, or George for that matter, is. All you are is a lowlife with nothing better to do than prey on women. And let’s be honest,

the only woman who’d be interested in you would have to be blind and deaf.”

“When are you going to give this up? I can tell that you want me, just stop playing hard to get.” His voice dripped with venom as he trailed his fingers up your arm.

Stepping back, bewildered, you yanked out your wand and pointed it at him, “petrificus totalus!” Sparks shot out and whirled around him. Christian’s body snapped together instantly, his eyes wide with panic, and his large body tumbled backwards with a loud thump.

You easily slipped your wand back into your jeans and stood over Christian, a spiteful smile on your face. “Now, I suggest you keep the Weasley’s names out of your mouth or I may be convinced to give you a tail.” You looked up at the sound of the doorbell to see George standing there, a shocked expression on his face. “George, would you mind getting Mr. Ollivander? I need to discuss his apprentice’s hobbies with him.”

George smirked at you, “remind me never to get on your bad side.”

The rest of the day had disappeared in a blur. You’d had a long discussion with Ollivander about Christian’s behavior, had fielded hundreds of customers all day with the holidays looming, and all you wanted to do was crawl into your bed and sleep for a day.

Before you could, you had one last person you had to talk to. You’d waved at George, receiving an encouraging smile in return, before you trudged up the stairs to the flat. Letting yourself in, you took your time walking to Fred’s room, stopping outside the closed door. You knocked softly, praying that he might be too tired to talk.

A soft ‘come in’ came from the room and you opened the door to find Fred sitting at his desk, papers all around him. He peaked over his shoulder, a smile spreading on his face at the sight of you.

“Hello doll, I was wondering where you were at.”

“I kept the store open late for all the last minute customers, it’s been crazy all day.” You said, sinking onto Fred’s bed across from him. “Looks like you’re feeling better?”

“Loads.” He stood up from his desk and moved to the open spot beside you, casually wrapping his arm around your back. “George said you had an eventful morning.”

Forcing yourself to look at him, you blanched, “he told you about that?”

“Of course he did. I was hoping you’d come visit me at lunch to tell me yourself.”

“I wanted to see you, I just got busy with all the customers.” You swallowed at the lie. At the fact that you were just too chicken to stop this thing with him. “I guess now you don’t have to bother with me anymore.”

Fred raised an eyebrow at you, confusion in his eyes, “what are you talking about, love?”

“You know,” you gestured between the two of you, “this can end. You don’t have to keep pretending to be my boyfriend. Mr. Ollivander said he was terminating Christian’s apprenticeship, so we don’t have to see him anymore.”

“I know that, darling, George told me.”

You shook Fred’s arm off you and stood up, starting to pace back and forth. “So, you know, you don’t have to be bothered with me anymore. You can go back to your normal life, forget I exist and all of that.” Fred chuckled and you paused to shoot him an angry look.

“Darling-”

“Don’t darling me, Fred. I’m not blind, I know you could have any bird around and I’ve just been putting a damper on that-”

“But-”

“No buts, Fred. You’re clever, generous, utterly hilarious, and any girl would go absolutely batty to have your affection. I just can’t stand in your way anymore, I need to let you find someone who’s going to make you happy-”

“Woman, will you just stop talking and let me say something?” Fred interjected as he moved in front of you, his hands landing on your shoulders. You shivered at the sensation of his thumbs running along your neck, every word disappearing from your mind. “Well?”

“You-you told me to stop talking...”

“Right, I did.” He hesitated, his brown eyes scanned your face and your body warmed as they lingered on your lips for a moment too long. “Sweetheart, I know that this may have started because that little prick didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself, but when I saw you that day, looking so scared and alone - I’ve never wanted to take care of someone more in my life.”

“Fred-”

“It’s my turn to talk, love. I haven’t been spending all this time with you as some game or some reason for your safety. I like spending time with you because you make me smile. I look forward to the moment I get to see you in the morning, I spend all day thinking about how I might get you to stay a few more minutes every night. God, I love the sight of you, standing here in my sweater.” He swallowed thickly, “I-I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Blood rushed to your ears, muffling the world around you. Fred’s hands on your shoulders were the only things keeping your knees from buckling. Stumbling backwards, you sat back down and stared at him. He rubbed his hands against his thighs nervously, watching to see what you would do next.

“God I just screwed that up. I hadn’t meant to say it like that. I had planned to make you a nice dinner and get you some flowers. Preferably not while I was still in pajamas. I’m so sorry, darling. Please say something.”

“You love me?” You croaked out.

“Does that scare you?” Fred knelt down in front you, his hands brushing your waist as he pulled you closer.

“Yes- No- I’m not sure. It only scares me because I’m not sure I’m worthy of you.”

“Wor- what are you talking about? George told me about how you stuck up for us and that wicked hex you put on Christian. Bloody hell, I’m in awe of you, woman.”

You were at a loss for words, the sincerity in his voice bringing you to tears. Giving him a shaky smile, you draped your arms around his neck. He leaned back to get a better look at your face, nervous that you might reject him still.

“Fred Weasley, I’m falling in love with you too.”

An astonished grin spread across his face, his brown eyes shining with glee. Gradually, Fred leaned closer, his lips hovering inches from yours. Your breath hitched and you closed the distance swiftly, sinking into a deep kiss. A quiet moan escaped you causing him to lift you up flush against his chest.

Sooner than you’d wanted, he pulled back, letting your lip snap back reluctantly. Quickly he pecked another few sweet kisses on your lips and you sighed at the feeling. His forehead rested against yours and you giggled quietly at the suddenness of everything.

“What do you say, love, can I still tell people you’ve got a boyfriend?” Fred asked cheekily.

Chuckling, you said, “only if that boyfriend is you.”

“It’s about time you two figured it out.” Splitting apart, you both turned around to find George leaning against the door frame, a cup of tea in his hand. Fred yanked a pillow off the bed and chucked it in his direction, barely missing George as he dodged it. “Alright, alright, I’ll give you two lovebirds some privacy. Have fun.” You listened for the door to click before you leapt forward to kiss Fred again.

[lucientelrunya]

Like a lonely house pt 3

Phew, I feel a little like that bird meme "the risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math" (which I really am *points to the 70 years that are actually 80 years* !!), with how I went "Huh, there is no 50.000+words slow burn of them, but I want!!!" and my brain was like "well, do it yourself. Here, have Chapter 1, 3, 6 and 9, I already prepared them. Oh and here is some Ba Ye+Wu Xie-friendship" And then I struggle with how to bridge the gap between those chapters.....

This part is me struggling really hard. Trying to bridge those gaps and trying to puzzle Mystic Nine-Canon and Book-Canon together. Like, Wu Laogou??? He wasn't even born? My perfectionism can't handle this!! But I guess I am like Hamilton, I'll never be satisfied *sigh*, so ... yeah. Feel free to point out any mistakes you spot!

I should definitely add that this is canon-divergent... ish (which canon???), I'm not sure if there is anything I should warn about in this part, maybe just more sadness? But @psychic-waffles and @gaiahenshin wanted someone to hug Zhang Rishan so ... here you go I guess ^^°°° (I see those tags and reblogs and favorites and I am beyond thrilled every single time, I don't even know how to react!)

It takes a conscious effort to make his lungs work properly again and take a deep breath. Fo Ye had entrusted him with his legacy and he will do everything he can to not disappoint him any further. He has to face the consequences of what he has done, he has to. But before he can get a grip on himself someone tips his chin up to shine a flashlight right into his eyes. He automatically flinches back from the blinding light, dislodging the hand from his face in the process and finds Huo Daofu staring at him, flashlight in his hand and one brow raised. “Back with us?” he asks, eyes scanning Zhang Rishan’s face methodically and only taking a step back once he nods slowly. How long had he stood frozen, trapped in his thoughts for Huo Daofu to come over and start to worry?

“Good. Any more insights on god-radio?” What is he talking about? "God-radio?" Zhang Rishan repeats slowly, confused, which only makes Huo Daofu raise both brows this time. He pointedly looks over at the mural where Zhang Rishan's fingers are still touching the picture of said god. Ah, they must have thought it was still somehow communicating with him.

“Time travel”, Zhang Rishan mutters, trying to ignore the way Luo Que hovers anxiously at his side and the way Ba Ye has his hands wrapped around his upper arm like he had always done when he wanted to hide behind him or was whining about something (and the possible connection between those two things). His words cause several confused “huh”’s from different directions. Taking a slow deep breath he braces himself to say the words, to confess and take the blame for this mess. “No, I didn't get any further godly insights, but I think Ba Ye is right, he never died, he was, as you phrased it so nicely, plucked from the past and put here, now”, he says, inclining his head at Wu Xie.

“But why?” Ba Ye asks and Zhang Rishan makes himself turn his head to look at him when he says his next words. “Because of me.” And there it is. “Because this god was inside my mind and it was so incredibly thankful I gave it its freedom that it wanted to give something to me in return, to grant me a wish.” Not that he had wished for Ba Ye to be ripped out of his time, exactly, his thoughts had been a jumbled mess at that moment. He had never consciously wished for anything in particular. But Ba Ye’s sudden disappearance in the middle of a war had torn a hole into Fo Ye’s heart and, by extension, into Zhang Rishan’s (not only by extension, of course, because Ba Ye had been important to Zhang Rishan, too - is important - but to Fo Ye he had practically been family). He could have said how Fo Ye had looked for Ba Ye for months, for years, with a war raging right on their doorstep, when thousands of people were dying or disappearing, when the city they had so desperately tried to protect had been burned to the ground. How Fo Ye had never truly gotten over not being able to find him - save him - or at least find out what happened. He had felt Ba Ye’s absence all his life, a regret he couldn’t let go of, not even on his deathbed. A regret Zhang Rishan had taken into his own heart, after Fo Ye’s death, added to his own regrets and moulded into a lump of regret-failure-pain-bitterness-sorrow that his trained mind still hasn’t filed away properly. He has failed Ba Ye, too, and has missed Ba Ye, too. And this is his mess, this is what his jumbled thoughts had made a god do, so he leaves it at that.

Zhang Rishan is prepared for anger, for reproaches, for being smacked again, but Ba Ye’s face is unreadable and he doesn’t say anything, his fingers around Zhang Rishan’s arm only slightly tightening their grip. He waits for something - anything - to happen, (maybe for the sky to fall down or the earth to open up and swallow him), for him to wake up and realize everything’s only just been a dream - nightmare? - or for one of them to tell him he’s crazy and there’s no way this could be possible. And someone does: “But that’s impossible, that would be a paradox”, Wu Xie says and Zhang Rishan looks at him pointedly.

“A bootstrap paradox, to be exact”, Huo Daofu remarks and really, that’s the part of all of this he wants to comment on? “A what now?” Pangzi asks, squinting at Huo Daofu and Zhang Rishan is glad he is not the only one who has no idea what Huo Daofu is talking about. “A bootstrap paradox. It basically describes phenomena with a cause-effect-loop just like this. I mean, you don’t know my gran, but she was absolutely obsessed with the famous Qi Tiezui so I don’t know how many times I heard the story of his tragic, mysterious disappearance and all the questions and the search and Zhang Da Fo Ye’s heartbreak.” He looks like he wants to roll his eyes in annoyance at the mention of his grandmother. “But that’s exactly that. He vanished and you wanted to find out why and that wish brought him here in the first place. So what came first? There is no discernable point of origin for- what, I like Sci-Fi, don’t look at me like that!”

It is somehow reassuring and disconcerting at the same time that Huo Daofu of all people manages to sum up his thoughts like this, aside from his guilt. And that he is able to put a name to this, even if that doesn’t mean it’s a real thing. Fiction is fiction after all. How can there even be such a thing? But then, how could there be a god chained to a cave or a mysterious force controlling people like that or golden coffin water that saved people from certain death? After everything else he has already seen and lived through or just heard about in his life he shouldn’t be so doubtful. It’s also quite unsettling how much Huo Daofu knows about Ba Ye’s disappearance and how casually he mentions those details. But Ba Ye doesn’t seem too upset about the mention of Fo Ye’s heartbreak, at least for the moment. Instead he perks up at Huo Daofu’s words.

“Good, good! After all you heard and all you read about that then it must be a real thing, so I think we can all agree that all of this is real and I am real!” And, curiously, Wu Xie looks at Liu Sang, who jerks his head in a small gesture of confirmation that’s not really a nod. But it is obviously enough for Wu Xie to smile at Ba Ye and nod. “Yes, I think we can. And I wanted to ask you something. You were the one who stole one of my grandpa’s dogs, right?” The question makes Ba Ye laugh awkwardly and let go of Zhang Rishan’s arm, so he can gesture at Wu Xie.

“Of course that’s what he would tell his grandchildren about me. Let me tell you, I took out that dog’s gallstones and I brought it back safe and sound! And he acted like I murdered it!” Wu Xie laughs at the face Ba Ye makes, or maybe his helpless gesturing. “He always said you kidnapped that dog just to get back at him.” Zhang Rishan isn’t sure if he imagines how the conversation tiptoes on the line of ‘friendly conversation’ and ‘fishing for information’. But he hadn’t been present for the whole Dog-stealing-thing, so he keeps listening, ignoring Pangzi who starts to tease Huo Daofu about his obvious love for science fiction and then continues to question him about his favorites.

“Aiyah! That’s just what I told Fo Ye, that Wu Laogou would never give me his dog if I asked him because he would think I wanted to get back at him. But I really wasn’t! We needed his gallstones to cure Mo Ce so Fo Ye said I had to steal it if I wouldn’t ask for it. So I stole it, but as I said, I brought it back better than new, freshly cured. And he even made me apologize to the dog!” That is actually something he hadn’t known, but Wu Xie laughing and saying “Of course he would!” is enough to finally fully convince him that all of this is real. It puts his mind at ease and shifts his focus to other things he still has questions about.

They should definitely find out more about this god and the people that imprisoned it. He takes out his phone to take some photos of the mural and finds it mostly covered in white, but just like before it just crumbles away in little flakes. Surprisingly his phone still works and there is no trace of dampness to it. For a moment he stares at the screen and then at his arm, where Ba Ye's hands had grabbed him. The dried white stuff has crumbled away where the cloth had been moved or touched, leaving no trace, no lingering wetness. Deliberately taking note of every part of his skin he realizes that actually nothing feels wet or damp, even though he practically swam in that liquid. He can only recall the feeling of the liquid clinging to him and dragging him down like water-soaked and heavy clothing would do, but it seems highly unlikely that he was unconscious long enough for his clothes to completely dry. It's like whatever was in the pool only wrapped itself around him, like a cocoon, but didn't soak through anything.

Luo Que is still beside him, silently watching him. His arms are covered in white flakes, too, so he must have helped Pangzi get him out of the pool. “Do you remember what the liquid felt like?” Luo Que looks confused for a moment, furrowing his brows until his eyes drift down to his own arms and he seems to get what Zhang Rishan is asking. “Not really like liquid, it felt cool but not wet at all”, he answers, rubbing at one of the larger stains that crumbles away under his fingertips. This only confirms his suspicions, he wants this stuff analyzed. Luo Que finds a zip-lock-bag somewhere in his backpack and together they manage to get at least some of the white flakes and dust into the bag, although it seems to disintegrate once it gets shaken off whatever surface it had clung to.

Wondering if this is even really a tomb he takes pictures of the whole mural. It seems more like a temple - no, they didn’t worship the god here, so more of a prison for a god if there is a word for such a thing. He turns only to find Ba Ye watching him, staring at his phone. Of course, the kinds of cameras Ba Ye knows were big and bulky so he hands it to Ba Ye. “It’s a camera and a phone”, he explains, which only makes Ba Ye stare harder, turning the device in his hands. “It’s so small!” His wonder makes Zhang Rishan smile and he promises to show Ba Ye what it can do later.

Which seems almost like a cue for them to decide to carefully explore the rest of the tomb for more information and to find out if it really is a tomb. They take the dagger, the only remarkable thing on the altar and maybe something that can help them find out more about the people that used it. Maybe at least how old this cave is. Zhang Rishan is still unsure if it’s a tomb or a prison, even after they find two more caves with clay jugs filled with human ashes. Cremation is not exactly a common burial tradition for this region and there are no grave goods at all. Not one single treasure, to Pangzi’s great disappointment, no more murals, no scripture, nothing. It’s mostly a disappointment in terms of exploration, but maybe they can find out some more.

Since it already got dark when they reached the tomb they decide to spend the night in the cave with the pool, which is the only one with enough room for all of them (and they don’t really want to sleep next to rows of human ashes). It’s still quite dark, even with Pangzi’s heater instead of a fire but more comfortable than outside where Liu Sang had heard rain and thunder. None of them goes to check, there is no need to hurry back, they can spend one night in the cave and hopefully the rain will have stopped the next day.

Reception in the cave is strong enough to mail the pictures to some contacts and ask them to look into it. Ba Ye watches him curiously while he types in the message and Zhang Rishan shows him all the other functions - or at least everything he frequently uses his phone for, which makes Pangzi laugh. “Ahh, President Zhang,” he scolds, using the title he had never used before. “You are all about work! Show the poor man some good things! Here, look at this game,” and he tucks on Ba Ye’s shoulder to get him to lean over his own phone.

“Pangzi, the ‘poor man’ doesn’t have a phone to send you money for your stupid game”, Wu Xie leans on Pangzi’s other shoulder, grinning and obviously finished with his phone call. “Ah, Tianzhen, pay attention. I’m already done with that one, this is a new one. Here, look!” Judging by the way all three of them look at the phone it must be something cute and Zhang Rishan finds himself smiling again, glad and thankful that they include Ba Ye so effortlessly. He will need people who can care for him and help him if he decides he won’t forgive Zhang Rishan after they get a chance to talk about everything that has happened since Ba Ye vanished.

This thought wipes the small smile off his face and he distracts himself by texting Liang Wan, asking her when she will be back from her trip because he wants her to check Ba Ye, blood tests and all. He will do everything he can to make sure Ba Ye is okay (or as okay as he can be) and has everything he needs for a life in the 21. century. Which is another reason why he offers Ba Ye his sleeping bag, who simply refuses, adamant that they can share. They end up with Zhang Rishan sitting on one half, leaning his back against the wall and Ba Ye using his leg as a pillow, curled up next to him on the other half. It’s familiar, but he represses the memories, busying himself with shrugging out of his coat without waking Ba Ye to drape it over him because he can feel him shiver against his leg. It seems to be getting colder but he doesn’t mind. Ba Ye doesn’t wake, but when he looks back up Wu Xie smiles at him from where Pangzi is halfway wrapped around him, head on Zhang Qilings lap.

When they pack up the next morning it’s still raining and it’s really noticeably colder than before. Zhang Rishan lets Ba Ye keep his coat, he will need some protection against the rain in his thin changshan, even if the thick forest they had hiked through should offer some protection against the rain. But when they leave the cave there is no more forest, only muddy ground where lush undergrowth had been and some tree stumps that look long dead.

“Well, the forest was unusual”, Liu Sang says but still seems just as perturbed as everyone else. For a moment they just stand there and look around them. “I guess they really needed that god to grow something around here”, Pangzi jokes, but he sounds uneasy about it. And how could they not be, with miles of dead land around them where hours before there had been fruit trees and berry bushes in abundance. Zhang Rishan represses a shiver of uneasiness and just wants to leave this place as soon as possible. He is not the only one. Instinctively they walk faster on their way back, or as fast as they can. The rain had made the ground slippery with mud and dead plants. None of them feels comfortable about stopping for the night but it’s safer than trying to navigate through the dark. Thankfully the rain stopped some time before that and they manage get a fire going, but still all of them are quiet and thoughtful, no trace of the easy banter of the day before.

They are packed and ready to go with the first light of the next day. Without the rain the ground dries up fast and the sun is too bright and too warm, which is actually typical for this region. At one point they cross a very visible line where the dead zone ends and there are plants and trees again, but they don’t stop to inspect it further, too glad to be out.

It’s mid afternoon when they reach the end of the road where they had left their cars and from there it’s only roughly another two hours to drive to the small village where they had spent the night before setting out on this endeavour. The villagers don’t seem to know that a whole forest has vanished and happily accommodate them again in the small inn. They had seemed to avoid the general area of said forest and hadn’t wanted to talk about it before, just whispering about local legends of a ‘man-eating wood’. Luckily the owner of the small inn doesn’t seem to remember their exact number or he simply doesn’t care that they left the allegedly cursed forest with an additional person. He gives them the same rooms (which are actually the only rooms available) and goes off to prepare dinner.

They disperse to their rooms to clean up and rest for a moment until dinner is ready. Wu Xie had made sure that Zhang Rishan shares his room with Ba Ye so they can talk, but both of them seem a bit reluctant to start. They wash in a somewhat uncomfortable silence until Zhang Rishan takes off the bandages, inspecting the two cuts on his arms and is surprised at the 2 neat rows of staples. He hadn’t realized they were that long and deep that they required stapling and is actually impressed at Huo Daofu’s level of preparation for such a small trip. He obviously knows what he is doing, the cuts are clean and already healing nicely. “Let me help you”, Ba Ye takes the fresh bandages out of his hand, and starts slowly wrapping them around Zhang Rishan’s arms.

“I understand there are a lot of things that have happened since I disappeared, so just tell me”, Ba Ye’s voice is quiet and he keeps his eyes on his hands. And, taking a deep breath to brace himself, Zhang Rishan tells him. About the second attack on Changsha, the third, and finally the fourth one when they lost and everything they had tried to protect had been destroyed. He doesn’t go into detail about all the lives that were lost in the war, while Ba Ye’s fingers work slower and slower until they stop, hovering over Fo Ye’s bracelet. Zhang Rishan pulls his arms away to tuck down his sleeves, hiding the bandages and the bracelet alike, while he only briefly mentions the destruction and despair. Ba Ye had seen enough of that after the first attack on Changsha. He tells him about the years after the war, how they slowly rebuild and how Fo Ye kept looking for Ba Ye. There are not only sad things to say - Fo Ye had been happy in his marriage with Xinyue, Er Ye had been pleased with his new apprentice, the Huo-Clan had thrived, just like the Xie-Clan - although those outweigh the good things, because one by one he recounts the deaths of everyone Ba Ye knows.

“I’m sorry”, he finishes and hates that the words don’t do justice to the depth of his feelings. “You lost them too”, Ba Ye says, his voice surprisingly steady and almost gentle, and Zhang Rishan stares at him, at a loss. Yes, he did. But little by little, parts of his world crumbling away, piece by piece, until only duty remained. He’d had time to adjust to the holes, find ways around them, new paths that had grown old and used and then been torn away, too. What he had lost in the course of 80 years Ba Ye had lost in one day, one moment, one blink of an eye.

“Yes”, he says and doesn’t know how to put into words that their pain shouldn’t be compared, because there are not enough words to even begin to describe this. Pain is something he has been trained to file away into different threat levels, into different boxes. He is not allowed to have one named ‘unbearable’, but he doesn’t know how else to label the pain of that one moment when the worst thing has happened and it feels like the world just stops, just shatters and falls to pieces, never to be whole again. But everything stays the same. It’s just his world that shattered, his heart that has been torn apart never to be whole again. He is the one who changed, not the world. And he doesn’t even fathom himself how he had to change to survive that, who he had to become. Because he had become a person that would cause that kind of pain to someone else like this. He had killed countless people in his lifetime, on purpose as a Zhang, as a soldier, in the war or by mistake, by failure, by not being able to save them but he had never thought himself capable of such cruelty.

Whatever Ba Ye reads in his face (or maybe in his heart, because Ba Ye had always been good at reading hearts), it makes him knit his brows. Not in anguish or sorrow but something more akin to chagrin and he grabs the sides of Zhang Rishan’s sweater to roughly tug him forward into a bone crushing hug. And Zhang Rishan allows himself to be moved, just like he had always allowed himself to be moved whenever Ba Ye was tugging on him.

Ba Ye presses his face into the crook of his neck, arms wrapping tightly around his sides, fingers digging into his shoulder blades and Zhang Rishan can feel the shaky inhale against the bare skin of his neck. Carefully he wraps his arms around Ba Ye’s shoulders and holds him up when he feels the other man lean most of his weight on him. He doesn’t say anything, when he feels the wetness of quiet tears against his shoulder, just closes his eyes, offering whatever comfort he can offer like this.