#trying to fill himself with something comfortable and familiar but no flowers will take root

[eriophorumcallitrix]

thinking about how flowers have been symbolic throughout bads time on the island, little signifiers and symbols in an individual way. pomme, dapper, richas and the rest of the eggs have been the biggest contributor to bads attachment of flowers up until forever started giving him flowers daily. and now since he’s been back he’s been picking so many flowers as a self soothing mechanism………. im going to be violently ill I think ^_^

[crimsonophelia]

hi basil !! can i request for an imagine with zhongli and an adeptus reader? the reader has been in love w him since the archon war but never told him bc they were scared, and when rex lapis “dies” they’re absolutely crushed. but when they see a certain funeral consultant preparing his funeral, they tell him about their friendship w rex lapis and how they regret never telling him how they felt. thank you!

featuring: zhongli x gn!reader

warnings: angst, a little suggestiveness, some god complex stuff if you squint hard enough, typos lol

published: may 14, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: hi anon! thank you for the request~ i’m assuming reader recognizes zhongli in his mortal form and confesses in that way! in canon, it’s kind of dubious whether or not zhongli explicitly told the adepti that he actually isn’t dead, but i’m going to take some creative liberties and assume that he tells some of his adepti friends that he’s alive in person, like so~

Time slowed to a halt, as the body of the magnificent dragon, Rex Lapis, plummeted to the earth from the heavens, like a meteor summoned by Celestia. You felt like it was all a cruel, eldritch dream that the Archons had cursed you with, frozen among the crowd of onlookers, as the body tumbled, tumbled, and fell in a lump at the alter. Not a single sound emerged from the crowd, as they all stared in horror.

To them, their deity, their Archon who had pulled Liyue from the depths of the abyss and ascended it to wealth and prosperity, had come crashing down to earth in front of their eyes. But to you... Rex Lapis was your world. It was not Liyue that he saved from the grasp of darkness, but rather, you, you were the one he rescued. It was you to whom Rex Lapis had shown more compassion than you had ever thought possible coming from any living being—warm hands grasping your cold limbs, pulling you up, up, and up, into the light of day, giving you a purpose. A reason to live.

The body lied there, as Lady Ningguang acted fast, trying to ease the onlookers, her own horror still painted visibly upon her usually cold and composed countenance. The corpse of your god still retained some semblance of life, you thought, scales still glimmering with a slight sheen, mane fluttering in the wind of commotion, almost as if he were glowing with vibrant life not a few moments ago.

Please. Rex Lapis. Please don’t leave me. I have so much left to tell you. 

*****

“Master!”, you called. “Wait for me!”

You ran to catch up with archon, who had begun his daily routine of assessing the growth of his blossom trees. Tianheng Shan was a favorite location of Rex Lapis, particularly in the springtime when all the flowers on the treas began to bloom, and the glowing flowers that sprouted from the ground took root and broke up from beneath the soil.

Rex Lapis, hands locked behind his back, looked back at you, as you joined him at his side.

“Hello there, [y/n]. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The archon really did behave like an old-spirited mortal, you thought. He had the mannerisms and idiosyncrasies down to a tee, certainly the polar opposite of the likes of Barbatos.

“I was just about to view the blossoms as well! They should be in season within a week or two”, you responded innocently. This certainly wasn’t an opportunity purely to spend time alone with Rex Lapis. You would never be so silly.

The both of you strolled along the banks of the river, eventually reaching an opening where tens, even hundreds, of pink-blossomed trees wove their way about the bottoms of the cavernous cliffs, some delicate petals already beginning to fall, sprinkling upon the river like memories across the stream of time.

Rex Lapis proceeded past you, craning his neck upwards to get a closer look at the blossoms. As he did so, the hood of his robe fell back down onto his shoulders, revealing long, silky locks of earthy amber resting upon shoulders as hardened as Cor Lapis.

“Quite lovely, aren’t they?”, he mused, almost absentmindedly. “These yinghua are often mistaken for taohua—yinghua do not produce fruit, and their blossoming period is much shorter.” For some reason, you thought, the archon’s gaze seemed to stray elsewhere, somewhere beyond the mass of trees.

“That is why the yinghua is renowned for its beauty. Its life is fleeting, yet so utterly captivating.”

Now, it was all gone. All that was left was a husk—a shell of the god you loved and devoted every ounce of your existence to. A mere gnarled tree that once possessed a beauty that transcended seasons.

*****

You entered the foyer of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, hearing the bell jingle solemnly as the door closed behind you. The place seemed to be rather empty, with nobody manning the front desk. Assorted coffins and various floral wreaths adorned the rooms of the parlor, a rather gauche little showroom of death. The taste and aesthetics reflected quite well the nature of the parlor’s director.

You treaded through the silent shop, wood creaking beneath your feet. The building must be quite old, you supposed.

“Hello?”, you called out. “Is anybody here?”

Before you could take another step, you heard a man’s voice coming from a back room, tucked away behind the main desk and obscured by a curtain.

“Just a minute, please. I will be with you shortly”, the voice called back.

After some further rustling emitting from what you guessed was the storage room, a man stepped out from behind the curtain, slightly ducking below the doorframe due to his rather imposing height.

Dressed in sharp formalwear, hair tied neatly behind his head in a long ponytail, he stepped forward from behind the desk. You noticed a geo vision dangling from the belt at his waist. How familiar, you thought. Something about him tugged at a string deep inside you, but for the life you, you couldn’t put a finger upon it.

“Greetings, how may I be of service to you?”, the man queried, amber eyes penetrating into you. There it was again. Maybe it was his voice, or his gaze, or perhaps just the way he carried himself, that felt so awfully familiar. His words seemed so... warm, even. Like some fond old memory that is slipping off the precipices of your brain. I must be going mad, you thought. One thousand years and still fawning over every handsome man I see.

Clearing your throat, you replied, “Yes, I am here on behalf of Lady Ningguang and the Qixing. We are looking for a supply of flowers to send off Rex Lapis at his funeral next week.” The man eyed you, curiously. “I was wondering if perhaps you could suggest a suitable flower wreath, preferably something in-season.”

Without a response, your odd companion began to walk towards an adjacent room attached to the lobby, hands crossed behind his back, quite like an old man, although he looked to be in his early thirties, at most. Assuming you were to follow, you stepped into a side room filled with vibrant flower wreaths of all sizes and colors.

The man begun to the scan the selection closely, as you stood to the side and watched him work. Oddly enough, the silence in the room wasn’t awkward, but was even quite comforting, in the same way a blanket warms a body.

Settling upon a modest, pink-flowered wreath of bouquets, he turned to you, indicating that he has decided upon a suggestion. He turned to you, those same eyes once again boring into you. Those were not the eyes of a young man, but something much, much more ancient, and for a moment, you stood frozen, frightened.

“Might I suggest the lovely yinghua? They are a personal favorite.”

White. White was all you saw for seconds, and when you opened your eyes, everything looked crisper, like a veil had been lifted. The world felt clearer, your thoughts came at you with greater clarity, but above all, it was no longer the funeral parlor manager that stood in front of you.

It was him. Rex Lapis.

The room started to twist and warp again, but this time not because of the spell of fog that the archon had cast to maintain your ignorance, but rather because of the salty tears clouding your vision, and the pressure of pure relief, joy, and utter agony that brought you collapsing to your knees, right then and there.

You couldn’t believe it. What about the body? Was that a mere fabrication ? Or was this vision before you an illusion, an echo of the past that had somehow manifested itself in front of you? Why would Rex Lapis do this to you, make you endure such pain? If he knew how much you loved him, how much gratitude you felt for him, how much you didn’t want to move on without him—

“Oh Archons, [y/n], please, I’m so, so sorry—”, he uttered. You felt a soft pressure surrounding you, as you became vaguely aware that the man you loved was now embracing you, the both of you huddled on the floor. “Please forgive me, I hate myself for it but I had to do it, and for the pain I have caused you, I’d much rather die, myself. ”

You could barely understand his words over the sound of your own weeping, forgoing all manners and letting your tears run free. You felt your master tighten his arms around your middle, as if scared to let you go, after already sacrificing you once.

You mustered up the strength to look up at him, seeing that now the dragon’s eyes themselves had become watery with emotion, something you had never seen in the archon before. The regret you felt was threatening to burst from your throat, a lump preventing you from being civil, or talking like a proper adeptus, or confessing your feelings to the man who you owed your life to. No more. No more weakness that plagued your heart for centuries. You may never have this opportunity again.

“[y/n], I beg of you, please forg-“

You pulled your savior’s face towards you, and without hesitation, placed your lips upon his. Too long, had this moment been forgone, and the both of you knew it, as the archon gradually deepened the kiss, intertwining his hands through your hair. This was life. The clarity of it all, the energy surging into you from the points where your skin touched, the infinity of your lips melding against his. This is the god you worshipped and would lay your life down for. Without him, there is nothing.

His lips, initially hesitant, grew more confident, more desperate as they clung onto yours. His fingers were soft as they traced the back of your neck, as if trying to memorize each one of your vertebrae. A feral yearning, something only a dragon was capable of, was unhinging behind Rex Lapis’ ministrations, as you proudly latched yourself deeper into him. The silence of the parlor was now filled with heavy pants and the rustling of fabric, as the two of you clung onto each other, one not wanting to depart before the other.

As you felt the breath in your lungs dwindling, having given all of your life and energy to Rex Lapis’ mortal body, you pulled yourself off of him. Streaks of wetness along his cheeks glinted in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows. His hair had become undone in the minutes where he had been attached to you, and his face showed something of a quenched desperation. He was mortal, and he was perfect.

“Promise me. Promise me, that you will stay by my side forever.”

a/n: ohoho i hope you like it anon~ this is a little bit spicier than i usually write but tbh i kinda vibe w it

[rosiehufflepuff]

☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇

☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️🍑☁️

DRACO X FEM READER !!

House : hufflepuff

Blood line : pure blood

Summary : you and draco has been friends for two years without anyone knowing however lately the secret is out , and people are shaming you about , you (a hufflepuff) is friends with the prince of the slytherin -draco Malfoy - which make him feel bad and ashamed leading to him push you away

Warning : it is little lengthy

Warning : self shame, angry! Draco, bullying, angst, TOO MUCH FLUFF, FLUFFY!DRACO

Year : fifth

Best friend ( maybe secret crush ) trope

——————————————————————————————

For two years we have been friends, two years you have been my safe place, two years , you both would meet in astronomy tower or the forbidden forest in  the night , on the weekends , hidden from the preying eyes of the other people , not cause embarrassment or disgust in fact both of you and Draco loved that this was your thing , a secret , the time for you and him only , it felt like the world was empty and no human was other than you both together and all weight that was on your shoulders would left away , you would spend time together , talking , laughing , reading , or you writing and Draco painting silently enjoying the peace you both had till one day this imaginative world , this world that was owned by you both vanished in thin air ....

A gossiper student saw both of you, resulting of the next day the entire magic craft school, to know about the friendship and it wasn’t just knowing and being silent , no it was vicious and fast like a burning fire scattering through a woodland , that it pushed the Slytherin boy over the edge of anger and spite , resulting in him scanning every inch of the school, running around threatening the students till he found the one and only lavender brown , fueled by anger , seeing nothing but red , the boy corned her in some empty class, he shoved his wand in the Gryffindor neck , if he hated Gryffindor before , it was underestimated now as he despises them with every inch of his body  .

To Draco , Gryffindor took the only opportunity for him to be in peace , to have control over his existence . They all were fortunate bustards , they were the heroes and painted him as the villain , he just wanted to be happy like them but they weren’t allowing it , to Draco they were the only genuine villains.

Nevertheless before the boy can do anything, Snape entered the class, seeing the scene in front of him, alarmed about the mix of anger, tensity and tears that crammed the room, the professor separated both of them by a spell of his wand , as he took the pale boy wand in his hand, shaming him for his doing and lack of control over his emotions with his gaze , ignoring the girl that crawled out of the class, as she thanks merlin for giving her another chance to live and probably now having the Slytherin house head as her favorite professor after this.

Of course this incident didn’t pass quietly, no, it reached Dumbledore , causing Draco to be called and putting Snape in the circumstance of defending the boy and only letting him go with losing 20 points from Slytherin and detention for two weeks , “of course albus would do that !! Any chance to push up his golden house “ draco mind filled with this belief as he raged out of the room, with heat filling his body to the Slytherin room ,all he wanted to be in his atmosphere immediately, away from all the preying gaze that he responded with glare directly making shy away in fear .

Throwing his body on the soft silky sheet of his bed , he couldn’t help but shove his head in hands , he knew!!!! he fully knew!!!!! , that the occurrence with the annoying Gryffindor girl will fuel the whole thing!! But he let his emotions out of control!!! He was so ashamed of his lack of control that he couldn't stop shaming himself till the sun rose up for the next day

His thoughts were correct ..... Merlin..... The following day, the whole school is either talking about the incident with the annoying girl or .... the second thing....... Which hurt him the most ... people were shaming y/n cause she was close to him? Draco was used to people believing terrible of him, .....truth......he wanted that to be his reputation but not that extreme ......... people were shaming her .... about how a Hufflepuff can be close with a nightmare like him .... and if she was a real Hufflepuff.........if she is going to be the first death eater from Hufflepuff.....

” Merlin... Doesn't this academy quiet ever......” draco couldn't help but whisper under his breath as he was done with this school.

Throwing himself in a seat of the slytherin ‘s eating table in the grand hall, hoping it would be quieter but Salazer........he was wrong

“ soooooooooo........ Malfoy!!!! what is with you and the badger girl “

Theo asked with smirk, earring him a sharp scowl from the pale boy, that brought shivers of fear that ran all over his body.

” first there is NOTHING , this school made a whole bloody mountain out of nothing!!!!!, next one more word about this on the table and I will hex anyone to the oblivious!”

the seriousness in Draco ’s words was exhibited , it was powerful that it shut the whole house members down, making everyone eat in silence, in the opposite side of the room, was the Hufflepuff table, he saw you, you have been friends for too long, of course he would be able to identify you so easily. His sharp cloudy grey eyes stopped on ur smiling figure, sensing outrage take over his body....... the words that was talked behind your back were something you never deserve it!!....... , to him .... you were like a flower and everyone tried to kill you from the roots and he was ready to do anything to protect you even stepping on his own heart ....

On your table things were quite different, everyone was cackling and chatting, no one bothered you or gossiped about you, cause as Hufflepuff, the morality of judging people without knowing them was odd, yes some questioned you and Draco friendship cause, well ...he is a git and you are wonderfully nice and cheerful ’so how did that happen? ’ to the rest of the house that was remarkable event

abruptly you felt strong gaze on you, as you notice who, you smiled and waved to the boy on the slytherin table, but his response gave you knot in your stomach, he frowned and got up from the table and walked away...’did I do something wrong ’ , that was weird reaction from the boy, he never behaved like that, sure he wasn't open, carefree and loud if he was he would be in Gryffindor but he was thoughtful with you, as he tried to act more with care as he didn't want to harm your feelings so this response stung a bit.

Then potions class came, you and Draco shared the class, he sat in front of you as he worked alone while you sat with your pal Luna Lovegood from ravenclaw, you finally had the opportunity to talk to your Slytherin friend and check on how is he doing .

so as soon as Snape turned to the board, you patted the boy shoulder to get this attention ” Draco...hi....” no response ” draco, are you okay? ” no response ” i fully know.. That you must be annoyed now but-” ” can we not talk now! I'm trying to concentrate on snape here ” he wasn't yelling but the sharp tone of his voice send you back down to your spot ” I'm sorry... ” even though, you know he must be mad, you couldn't help but get hurt, noticing the reaction on your face, Luna put her hand on yours as you both lock hands as giving you a smile assuring you that it is okay and she is here

she knew you and she knew Draco, it was fascinating to hear how you both are friends but yet she understood how Draco ’arse’ attitude was just a face for his household so she was happy that he got a friend like you in his life perhaps to free him but also she wasn't pleased about how he treated you now but all she can do was just to hold your hand to soothe your feelings .

But it wasn't only Luna who wasn't pleased no Draco himself, he heard the pain in your words and he was conscious of the Ice dripping in his tone, he hated how he couldn't control how feels, he trained all his life for that but he is failing that now ”wonderful malfoy , just incredible “

The potions class was done and you couldn’t be happier , you were out of this room finally Draco out of your sight ! ...you wanted to yell at him and be mad at him for hours, you wanted also to cry but no way in Merlin ’s bread you would cry for a boy , you always were tough emotionally and no way a icy tone will break you in tears “ we are not going to be this low now , hold it “ looking at yourself in the mirror of the girls bathroom , you took deep breathes as your walked yourself out, moving to your next chosen class which is magical music

this was your comforting class but now thanks to a current slytherin , you can’t put up with the music that plays but thanks to Helga kindness from her grave you have Luna with you a familiar face to look at when you crave to scream “ you look upset “ Luna calm voice cut your doze off , you sigh as you respond “ I’m Luna ..... and I shouldn’t be ... I understand his emotions but I’m furious... that he is dismissing mine !! Aren’t we friends !” “SHHHHH” Whispering louder than you aimed at , earned you undesirable scowlled looks , leading you to apologizing to the instructor and your class mates

“ well ..... why you don’t ask him ?? “ “ I want to......but it is hard finding Draco anywhere in Hogwart alone.........he always has people around.......” “ no he is ...” “ what ...wait ! ... what ? Really ??!”” “ SHHHHHHH” dismissing the glare from the male instructor , you and Luna continued the conversation “ Draco is a perfect , he can go out after the allowed hours as they quote to check on students “ “ yes I know this ..... “ “ but the point that is concealed that the Slytherin , use this privilege to spend time introverted in library .... I always saw him.......but...........I’m not his favorite person nonetheless yes ... that can be beneficial for you “

knowing what Luna meant, you nod slowly giving the girl big smile for her help “ Luna the words thank you , doesn’t explain how much I’m thankful for you “ both of you turned to the professor cause till now you both weren’t focusing with noticing how the teacher and class started to fed up on your missing notes, that was the best thing to do.

After finally the pain that you gave to your self and your fellow classmates with your messing notes in the music , you rushed to your dorm to change fast into more relaxed outfit that will suit the cold air that won’t only come from the late night but also from Draco himself , you changed to white shirt dress layered with V neck sage green sweater dress , skin colored stocking and beige combat boots , taking a deep breath to calm the anxiety that was slithering to your soul about meeting the slytherin after the incident, not knowing what his reaction will be as he sees you , you shoved this feelings in the very back of your soul , as you got out of the warm room, and faced by the coldness of the the schools hal, you fought the fear that tried to convince you back to your dorm , as you hurry to the library .

Reading a book in some quiet table alone in the very dark corner, that was your strategy for hiding from madam Irma prince, and somehow it worked as your presence went unnoticed by her or that is what you hoped so .

Soon the time passed soon it became the after hours , as you wait for the slytherin prince, somehow deeply inside , you wanted him to come and not come in same time ....

you didn’t know why but you felt uncomfortable about seeing him after the incident but the need to see him now and to converse with him about his attitude was a must for you.

glimpsing a white hair belonging to a faint dark body passing by, nearly like a ghost, you jumped up on your feet as you strode fast , trying to be calm as possible, you tug on the boy arm. Causing him to rotate, as he shoves his wand to your face with scowl before noticing you ”y/n!!!?! BLOODY HELL!! I almost hexed you!!! ” laying his wand away as his face softened a bit ” I'm sorry...but I need to talk to you.....” lifting up his eyebrow at you , questionably for a second before his Straight face appeared

“ we can’t talk anymore ...”

the words that you feared came scrambling hitting you like a train causing your mind to go blank for a sec before you speak again

“ what !!?? Why !!! We were fine till -“

“ yeah till! .... Till that gryffindor wrecked it ! And for that we can’t be friends anymore ... we can’t be seen together! ......Bloody Salazar, I need to report you to your perfect ! “

“ AND ALL OF THIS FOR WHAT !! CAUSE IM HUFFLEPUFF!! CAUSE YOU ARE SLYTHERIN !! CAUSE YOUR STATUE !! CAUSE THE PURE BLOOD SUPREMACY !! CAUSE SLYTHERIN IS THE ONLY HOUSE !! THAT IS ACCEPTED!!??”

Tears filled your sight, you didn’t care if whole hogwarts heard you , you were hurt , how did he toss you so easily after two years from being friends just cause his status , were you that cheap and meaningless to him? , were you just something for filling his unoccupied period ?.....didn’t he take you as friend or care about you? ...... Were people right about Draco and you are just naive...?

Your mind halts as your ears catch a heavy breathing sound , looking up to the boy in front of you resulting in your eyes growing enormous from the sight in front of you .....

You saw many emotions of draco , many than what most people think there are, but you never ever see him crying before , his gaze was wailing pain and hurt as his breaths was heavy in attempt to process his emotions ....

” you don't comprehend... I don't care about that... I deal with that day-to-day.... I'm the villain in the people eyes!! I was sorted in slytherin y/n... For Merlin sake!!! I'm a death eater in their eyes....no matter what !! ALL ’CAUSE THESE BLOODY BASTARD GRYFFINDORS... THAT WHAT WILL I ALWAYS BE... But you!!! You don't deserve that!! You don't deserve to be treated like that.....you are a good individual...”

” I don't mind draco!!!”

” BUT I DO!! .... You don't listen to what they say about you ......”

” who cares about what they mumble!! THEY ARE STRANGERS! ....Draco if you believe that I'm a good person......Then....You would know I would never mind about what people say and leave you for it !! I Care about my friend Draco here that I know!!!! anyone else no...hell with them to Godric’s fire!! ”

you went closer to draco, locking both of his hands in yours ” I would never quit on you, I will be here to support and...... draco you aren’t villain .... you are just a git that is all, but you are my best git and I’m here for you permanently “

you smiled looking at draco sobbing ’s eyes as you wiped his tears by one of your hands however not allowing his other hand to be out of your hand, squeezing it lightly as a way to confirm your message .

Peaceful moments passed by, with you both staying in your position, finally relaxing after some long day.

Till the slytherin decided to cut the silence

“ You fully understand that .... I wouldn’t ever report you to your perfect ..... “

“ yes I comprehend that, dear “

“ dear ? “

“Hey don’t get cheeky right now ... I just saw your fluffy side “

“ m’sorry, now shut it “

———————————————————————

MY FIRST EVER IMAGINE !! GO EASY ON ME !! I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE IT !!

[getyouasenju]

Dragging Along.

*Spoilers if you haven’t finished the shinobi war arc :) nothing too major though*

Word Count: 1.2k :)

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“You’re being ridiculous”

“Oh look! a new word for you, shouldn’t you be saying that I’m being- oh yeah! a drag? your girlfriend is being such a fucking drag right now isn’t she? say it, I know you want to”.

She didn’t mean for it to come out that harsh. She hated arguing with him, was it supposed to be this hard? She peered up at him. One hand on his hip, the other on his temple squeezing, eyes slammed shut. He looked entirely done with the conversation, done with her. She had just gotten back from her mission, the feeling of matted hair, blood, dirt and who knows what else, was all too familiar. Her Jōnin jacket was basically a sponge for the downpour outside and she was still sporting the soggy shoes she’d travel in for weeks.

“Girlfriend? I guess that ring you’re wearing means nothing to you then, huh? you’re not my fucking girlfriend (Y/N). I wouldn’t take this shit from a girlfriend. you’re my fucking fiancée”. The words quickly tumbled out of the Nara’s mouth. He let a sigh pass his lips before slightly tugging on his loosened ponytail. They were supposed to be in love. Not ripping each others throats out in their living room.

“Take my shit?” (Y/N) hisses. He’s talking about having to take her shit when he was the one ready to leave the night in a huge rainstorm to see her. For fucks sake why the hell was she in the leaf anyways? “So why do you Shikamaru?” She’d been gone for weeks but he was still as fresh in her mind as he always was, she loved him. He’s been so busy being helping Naruto transition into his term as the new Hokage and her still being a shinobi, that they haven’t seen or spent very much time together. They haven’t even began planning their wedding. Does he even want one at this point?

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~4 months ago~

Shikamaru was as nervous as he’d ever been. They’d been together for four years. They’d been through a war together, they grew up running in the same circles and this lead them to each other. His mother screamed when he told her he’d planned to propose. Ino screamed loud (much to his distaste) and demanded to pick the flowers for the set up. So, there he was in their shared house surrounded by dozens of beautiful flowers. He picked a simple but beautiful ring, he knew she’d love it- but yet he was still anxious. He thought back to his younger days. “Someday, I just want to marry a regular girl who isn’t too ugly and not too pretty. Have two children, first a girl, then a boy. Retire after my daughter is married and my son becomes a successful, and spend the rest of my life playing shōgi or Go. Then die of old age before my wife”. He laughed to himself.. not too pretty, not too ugly.. regular..There wasn’t a regular thing about (Y/N). She was hands down the most gorgeous girl he’d laid his eyes on. The determination she had, the way she kept so many people save in the war, the way his friends love her, the way she comforted his mother after his fathers death. He had no doubt she’d make a good mother, wife and all around life partner. Oh he was nervous alright, but when the the door knob turned- his heart swelled. He was smitten, all he had to do was teach her how to play shōgi correctly and he’d be set for life.

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“So why do you Shikamaru?”

The sudden question pulled the Nara out of his head, he snapped his eyes open and looked at his soaked fiancée. What? This caught him off guard. “Because I love you (Y/N)” He let another breath go, where was she going with this?

(Y/N) smiled bittersweetly. “Okay, it’s settled then. You love me, and I love you. So we’ll both be staying here tonight. together. Like two people in love do, Shikamaru” she walks past the Nara after kicking off her soggy shoes, moving to unzip the heavily soaked vest. As she reaches the bedroom door she glances back at the man. “Are you coming fiancé?” Shikamaru stood rooted in his position by the door. he shifted, putting his hands in his pocket looking to his right, “(Y/N), I still need to go, She needs me”.

A dry laugh came from the small woman. Dropping the soaked jacket to the floor, it was long forgotten now. “She needs you. Okay, for what. what could she possibly need you for shikamaru!” she yelled. By this point (Y/N) was livid. What man that was supposedly so in love with her would go running to another woman in the middle of the night- in a fucking rainstorm! She tried to be calm but he was breaking her down, she could only take so much before she really exploded. “Why is she even here, she isn’t from here and at the snap of her fingers, you come fucking running!” (Y/N) basically had steam coming out of her ears. “I thought you were Naruto’s right hand, not Temari’s”.

Still avoiding eye contact with her the Nara speaks again, “I-I.. I need to see her (Y/N). Please. You know how much I love you”. Another dry laugh filled the space. (Y/N) spoke slowly, “I didn’t ask you if you loved me. I asked you why the fuck are you running to her side when your fiancée is back after not seeing you for weeks, soaked and upset!”. It was silent, you could hear the rain hit the window and then something made (Y/N)’s stomach churn.

She walked up to the boy she loved and asked him, “Has she been in our house Shikamaru?”, her heart was sinking, racing and breaking all at once. The silence was all she needed. Shikamaru made directed eye contact with his girl, “Nothing happened”.

“No, but you see- that’s enough for me” shaking her head (Y/N) steps back trying to put enough distance between them. “(Y/N) lis-” (Y/N) shakes her head again. “I’ve been listening to you speak in circles this entire time. I’m done, you can go see her now. I won’t stop you I promise, but before you go- please take this with you”. Slipping the delicate ring off her finger, she forced it into his palm. “Don’t worry,” she smiled at him, it was bittersweet “I won’t be here when you get back”. She turned around and went into the bedroom.

Shikamaru looked down at the ring he spent so much time picking out for her as he tried to slow his racing heart.

What the fuck just happened?

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – :

Hi guys. New here! This is my first writing! Don’t be afraid to message me, I wanna be friends! ALSO- If you saw this before. I had to remake an account, the blog was a secondary one and I needed it to be primary for interactions!

Until Next time! xxo (▰∀◕)ﾉ

Part two!

[strawberri-blonde]

Daisy - Draco Malfoy

Summary: You have a secret admirer who gifts you your favorite flower, after three times he reveals himself but it doesn’t go as planned.

Warnings: None

Laughter filled your body as you listened to Ron go on and on about how Hermione will never feel the same as he did. “What are you all talking about?” The beautiful Gryffindor nudged your shoulder making you giggle as the boys instantly shutting their mouths to scared to get caught. Rolling your eyes at Harry’s widen eyes and Ron’s shuttering you replied.

“We were talking about how Ron absolutely sucks at potions and he is too intimate to ask you for help.” Ron gave you a look but Hermione tilted her head. “You know how boys get. Their egos are fragile.”

“Hey.” The red head threw a crumb at you while Harry laughed along with Hermione.

“I’ll help you Ron.” Seeing the blush appeared on his pale face you picked up your cup to shield the smirk that was to evident if you didn’t try to hide it.

“Pssh, if you think Granger can help you, you’re crazy Weasley.” Hearing that familiar voice that caused chills to run down your spine. You quickly brushed off the feeling as Ron spoke.

“Ah, shut it Malfoy.” You set your cup down then reached for your fork and rested it in your hands.

“Please, Draco can we have one day without you terrorizing us?” The blonde looked at you and his  stature stiffened. Luckily, no one noticed it and he was able to concentrate on the real reason he was here.

“Honestly, Y/n.” He leaned down placing his arms on the either side you, making your heart race but you kept a straight face. “I don’t know why you hangout with these mugbloods.” And just like that you rolled your eyes and turned to him making it so your lips were only inches apart.

“Because they’re my friends Draco. You should try to get some other than your minions.” Sucking in a breath as his eyes trailed down your face towards your lips. “That’s not a friendship.”

“Hmm.” The two of you stayed in that position until the boys spoke up.

“Back off Malfoy.”

“Yeah just leave her be.”

Clearing your throat, Draco leaned back and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robe. “When you’re ready to be around your on kind you know where to find me.” You rolled your eyes again then turned back, not facing the boy then dropped your fork to pick up your cup to take a sip from it.

“Not in a million years, Draco.” The golden trio plus others that couldn’t help but listen in snickered at the platinum blonde. The pure blood only rolled his eyes and turned away but not before sparing you one more glance.

Harry and Ron carefully watched the Slytherin walked off to sit with the members of his house. “Good, he’s annoying.” The Weasley snipped before taking a bite of his food.

Letting out a sigh, you put down your cup and went to grab your fork but when you did something else was in its place. A white daisy. “What in the-”

“Y/n, did you do that?” Picking up the delicate flower you turned to Hermione and shook your head in confusion.

“No, I...” you paused to inspect the beauty, quite literally in shock. “I didn’t do it.”

Harry squinted his eyes at the flower. “Maybe you did it on accident.”

Ron nodded in agreement. “Or someone could’ve cursed your fork?” This caused all of you to turn to Ron in disbelief. “What?”

“I don’t think someone would curse my fork to turn into something like a flower.” Hermione grabbed onto your arm and let a smile cover her beautiful features.

“Maybe someone did it because they have a crush?”

Your eyebrows rose and eyes widen at this. “I don’t think so Hermione.” Feeling her hands slip off your arms you brought the flower closer towards your face and smile at it. “But I have to say I do enjoy the sweet surprise.”

-

The crowds roaring echoed in your ear lighting up the fire inside as you yelled with them. Hermione and you were jumping up and down from the Gryffindor team scoring a point tying with Slytherin. “Merlin, we need to win this.” Hermione nodded in agreement clenching her hat onto her curly long locks. “Go, boys!” Surprisingly enough, it seemed as though Draco somehow heard you through all the ruckus and y’all locked eyes for a brief moment. He was the first to look away and knock a Gryffindor off his broom. Smirking towards yourself you hated that you found it hot.

“What was that?” Hermione’s question startled you a bit causing you to grab at your chest in shock.

You pushed back some of your hair as you kept your eyes onto the match, not daring to look the girl in the eye. Because you knew that if she did, the girl would know your secret. “What are you talking about?” Gryffindor blocked a goal causing you to scream but Hermione crossed her arms over her chest giving you her signature look.

“Oh don’t give me that?” You sighed making a cloud surround your face because it was so cold. “You like him. You like Malfoy-” insanely you turned around and covered her mouth with your hand.

“Don’t.” Your voice came out very squinky making you wince. “Please Hermione, not right now.” The brunette squeezed your biceps in comfort and when you let go of her mouth a smile had taken over.

“Okay, but later-Y/N!” Hermione pulled you toward her as a golden snitch came flying your way. You lifted your arms up to cover your face and flinched expecting to feel pain but it never came. Instead you felt the slightest touch. Slowly you moved your hands away from your face and looked down to see a daisy. Hermione bent down and picked it up to hand it to you. “Someone just saved your live with a daisy.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as you reached out to grasp the flower. Looking at the beauty, it looked the same as the one that appeared in the dinning hall. “I guess I’m lucky.”

After that, Slytherin had won the match, with Draco scoring the winning point for his team. Of course you were upset that your house had lost but seeing Draco’s smile made it a little better.

Walking down the main hall, you took off your hat and ran your fingers through your hair still holding onto the white daisy. “Y/n.” Surprised to hear the voice you turned around quickly to look over at the platinum blonde.

“Draco? What are you doing?” His hair was pressed to his forehead from the sweat and his cheeks were flushed from all the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Surprisingly, he smelt amazing despite having sweat all over.

“I-I was wondering if you were okay.” A sweet smile danced its way onto your face as Malfoy neared.

You took a step forward making it so you were only a few distances away. “Well,” you said as you twirled the daisy in between your thumb and pointer finger. “I didn’t get knocked out by a snitch sooo I think I’m doing okay.” Draco laughed at this and stepped a little closer.

“Well that’s a good thing.”

You grinned at him before replying. “Was the great Draco Malfoy worried about little old me?” The boy dragged his tongue across the inside of his cheek to the bottom of his lower jawed under his bottom lip. His eyes never left yours making you giggle. You reached forward with the hand that held the daisy, you grabbed the collar of his green rob and pulled him until his body was touching yours. “It’s a good look on you Malfoy.” And just like that all the confidence the Slytherin had was gone. You seeing how flushed the boy was, laughed in response and pulled away from him. “Have a nice night Malfoy.”

Cursing at himself for being so weak, Draco smiled at you one last time before you turned around to turn in for the night. “You too.”

-

Frustrations ran high as you stared at the piece of paper going over every ingredient, every little detail trying to get this potion right but for some reason it just wasn’t working. “Fuck me.” You groaned tugging on your roots.

“Is that an invitation?”

“Merlin.” You gasped turning around in shock. The moon shined through the window causing some light into the library but the fire did most of the work. You really didn’t expect for anyone to be in the library this late but here you were. “Draco? What are you doing here?” His slider body made his way over to where you were sitting and pressed his hands against the table.

“I was terrorizing 2nd year mugbloods and I lost them. Then I saw the light in the library and got curious.” You rolled your eyes then rested your chin into your hand.

“You know curiosity killed the cat right?” Now it was Dracos time to roll his eyes as he pulled out the wooden chair to sit across from you.

“Now it’s your turn.” You both had a mini stare off as you finally let out a sigh in defeat. You reluctantly turned the book around and showed it to the Slytherin.

”I cant figure out this spell and Snape has been giving me hell.” Draco’s eyes watched as you palmed your face in distress and his heart became heavy. “I’ve read everything at least seven times and I keep messing it up. And if I don’t get it right in class Snape will quite literally have my head.”

Chuckles filled the room as Draco grabbed onto the page. “We can’t have that can we?” Reading over the potion Dragon Dung Fertilizer. You watched carefully as his eyes gazed over the ingredients and looked at the materials. “Okay put it together like you have been because I think I know what you’ve been doing wrong.” You gave him a look but he just laughed. “I did the same thing too.”

“Whatever.” You laughed out then started to put all the ingredients together then at the last step toasted dragonfly thoraxes you grabbed your wand and lightly burned them. Before you could even put them in the bowl, Draco clicked his tongue against his teeth. “What?”

“I know it says toasted but you basically have to fry them.” You gave Draco a look but he rested his hand onto his chin. “Just trust me.” Giving the boy one last look you enknighted the spell that caused fire to spew from your wand and you burned the thoraxes to a crisp. Gently you set the ingredients all together and mixed them perfectly. Once everything seemed set you picked up the dead plant that came from Harry’s and Ron’s room and applied the fertilizer to the soil. At first nothing happened but then the golden potho came alive and grew a foot long in leaves.

“Draco!” You squealed out, dashing from your seat to grab him into a hug. Draco was stund but quickly adapted placing his arms over yours. “Thank you.” You mumbled a thanks into his chest giving the boy butterflies.

“Yeah no problem.” You pulled away first to look over at the plant and that’s when Dacro noticed the daisies in your book of spells. You were trying to see who was sending them. “I have to go it’s late.”

“You’re right.” You nodded while tidying up. “I’ll see you tomorrow Draco. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.” You listened to his footsteps until they disappeared then as you lifted up the pothos plant that’s when you saw it. A daisy.

-

“Oh it’s so Draco.” You let out a scoff as you pulled up your skirt then turned to your dorm mate. “I don’t know why you deny it so.”

“I’m denying it, Mione.” You looked back towards your mirror to brush your hair. “I’m denying it because I don’t want to get my hopes up.” Granger jumped up from her bed and walked behind you to comb your hair for you.

“So you like him.” Sharing eye contact through the reflection you nodded shamefully.

“Since second year. I know he’s mean to you and the others and I shouldn’t; but I see through all that. He’s going through pain and instead of standing up to his dad he takes it out of others.” Hermione gave you a soft smile, finishing up your hair.

“And that’s why we love you Y/n. It’s because you care for others who really don’t deserve it.” Shrugging your shoulders you turned to face the beauty. “But if you like him, Ron and Harry will get over it.” Her comment made you scoff. “It might take a while but they will.”

You stayed quiet but decided to shake the comment off. “I have to get to class.” Not giving Hermione a chance to start the conversation back up you threw on your robe and grabbed your wand, and books for class plus paper and a quill. “We’ll talk later. Promise.” You raced out the door not really looking at to where you were going. Once you turned a corner your body seemed to crash into something. “Bloody hell.”

“I’m sorry.” Looking up you were surprised to see the infamous Draco Malfoy.

“What-what are you doing on the girls dormitory floor?” You both bent down to pick up your stuff but once Draco handed you your book he grabbed your quill. He was the first to stand back up then lended a hand to help you up. Without hesitation you took it, and he helped you onto your feet. “Thanks, it’s seem quite the morning.” Draco let out a laugh and watched as your eyes landed onto your quill. Nervously, the platinum blonde grabbed his wand and pointed at the pen and whispered a spell.

Tears formed in your eyes as you saw the pink daisy. “Are you trying to joke with me Draco because it’s not funny.” Instantly the boy gapped and began to stutter making you push at his chest. “You saw the daisies or either heard about it from someone and thought that you could turn my pen into one pretending to be someone who might actually like me?” You pushed him again but Draco tried to grab your wrist but it didn’t work. “That’s low even for you Malfoy.” Quickly, you turned on your heel to flee from the boy but he grabbed your wrist.

“It was first year and you were talking with Hermione about how daisies were your favorite because that’s what your father gave your mother.” Hearing his words caused your heart to swell in your chest, and your eyes widen as you looked into his. “So I wanted you to know how I felt by giving you white daisies like your father.” He lifted the pink daisy and sighed. “I did it in secret because you make me nervous and I knew I would mess up.” You continued to stay quiet as you watched Draco put the flower behind his back and not even a second later he revealed a new set of a dozen white daisies. You smiled sweetly as you grasped them into your hands. “I like you Y/n Y/l/n.” A blush formed on both of your cheeks. “And I was wondering if you would company me on a date?”

You inched closer to the boy and stood on your tippy toes to press a kiss on his cheek. “I’m free tonight at 7.” Collecting yourself you moved past the boy to start walking down the hall. “And Malfoy don’t be late.”

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 6/?: Roots

It's pouring rain by the time Sasuke awakens, a tempestuous sort of hush awash a village swathed in grey. He's gotten a very good night's sleep, only waking once around five to groggily hearken as the pitter patter of droplets began against the asphalt and metal of the roof. He'd watched the beads of liquid slowly connect to others, forming small rivulets pulled downwards by gravity on the glass of his bedroom window, before he made the decision to try to fall back asleep. To his bewilderment, it had actually worked; a rare occurrence, as it usually doesn't. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful emptiness, like he was allowed for once to drink in the moisture of rest like a tonic, exuding into his being much like the precipitation trickling into the soil outside.

It's nine thirty when he rolls out of bed, reluctant to leave the warm requiescence of his comforter, but also wanting to give himself plenty of time to get ready. He'd like to shower before he heads over to Sakura’s, and he also wants to eat something light for breakfast first. He decides on ochazuke, because it’s relatively easy to prepare and he thinks he would like more tea; two birds with one stone. There are sesame seeds in his cupboard that he could sprinkle over the dish, at the end. He sets a portion of brown rice to boil before brewing a cup of the caffeinated green sencha to eventually seep over it.

It smells really good as it permeates into the hot water, earthiness propelling upwards and sinking into his nostrils. He'll have to thank her again today, now that he knows what her gift actually contained.

While he lets things stew, Sasuke considers the kitchen table, where he left the remainder of the gifts yesterday. Now is as good a time as any to find a place for each of them, he supposes. He makes quick work of washing the paring board before setting it aside to dry. The cough drops find a home in his bathroom's mostly empty storage behind the mirror; he takes the two lozenges left from the hospital and puts them there, too, to use before he opens any of the new packages.

He decides that the photo should go on the bedside table, next to the clock. He can always move it, if he changes his mind. It catches his eye for longer than is strictly necessary.

Eventually he returns to the kitchen, removing the strainer from the tea and stirring the pot of rice twice as he waits for it to finish cooking. The barrage has lessened since daybreak, not overly loud, but enough to create an ambient sort of background noise that is a nice change of pace; less of a storm and more of a quenched thirst for the earth, emptying from rooftops down the gutters and into the ground. Sakura’s building is older, too; it probably will sound much the same at her apartment.

He savors the ochazuke once it’s finished, a simple but enjoyable way to start the day, caffeine threading its way into his system gradually. Washing the dishes is his next task, followed by an extremely lengthy shower, temperature near thermogenic. The bruises from his two spars with Naruto are still sore, but not terrible; the heat feels good on the marred skin. Water drifts across more bruising that has bled into existence overnight on his shins, before it sinks between his toes and vanishes down the drain. He’s not sure why he watches it; it just seems compelling today for some reason, everything pulling downward.

When he’s dry, he throws on a comfortable pair of black pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t want to read more of his book since he has a little less than half left of the one on kenjutsu, so he decides to complete some meal prep instead, testing out the paring board by chopping and slicing various produce; mushrooms, bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, and burdock roots are slowly removed from his fridge, cleaved into neat pieces, and then returned to their respective assortment of bags and containers. The small bits of metal attached to the board allow for cutting goods with ease, a bit ingenious. It works extremely well, much more efficient than the hassle of summoning a clone to simply stand there holding each item still. It’s not that he doesn’t have the chakra to spare, but it feels more dignified this way.

After enough time has passed, Sasuke pulls on a pair of grey socks, sandals, and his cloak before he leaves, library book concealed and protected by the black garment.

It’s marginally chilly outside, but not terribly cold like it would have been earlier in the morning. Petrichor overwhelms him, an aroma he is well acquainted with. He is reminded of the scent of the foliage the handful of times he passed through the Land of Rain, and also of drizzly days spent as a child here in Konoha. Every bit of vegetation he glimpses on the way to Sakura’s apartment complex is drinking up the liquid greedily, drop after drop of nourishment with which they will sustain themselves and use to grow.

The puddles are starting to join in their crevices, small streams of gentle cascades forming. It captures his attention like the shower drain did earlier, and it feels nostalgic for some reason, like there is some forgotten secret that the land beneath is whispering through the medium of interconnected pools, rippling outward until they touch more solid soil.

His hair is a bit damp when he arrives at her building just prior to eleven. Illumination flows from beneath doorways of variegated colors; everyone else is inside today, too. The tonality is similar to the harmony overheard at his own apartment, as he expected; he finds it comforting.

He knows he’s a little early, so Sasuke takes his time going up the stairs. Once he reaches the sage green of her threshold, he raps twice and waits, studying Sakura’s plants in their terracotta pots. There are a few amongst them that he doesn’t recognize, which is curious, given that he’s wandered so many places and has grown familiar with a vast diversity of flora. There is lucky bamboo pushed towards the back of the array, in the area that gets the least amount of light. A spider plant is to its left, and a golden pothos, along with a snake plant, are sandwiched to its right, towards the corner. A lilac moth orchid blooms near her door, a paler variety than he has seen anywhere else. Coral kalanchoe spill out the side of a taller planter, next to pink and pistachio mums, faded yellow butterfly ranunculus, and a small vessel filled with white daffodils, sunny insides flourishing outwards. There are succulents, too, tricolor lavender scallops sprinkled throughout several of the ceramic containers, along with a strain he doesn’t recognize.

Yarrow and jewelweed emerge from smaller pots on the edge of the spread, which makes him wonder if the few plants he’s unfamiliar with are being grown for useful purposes rather than decorative. Perhaps she keeps them for her work crafting antidotes; he knows that the roots of plants can often carry medicinal benefits. One of them is quite odd looking, now that he is peering down at it closely; dark plum-colored stems spread upwards with circular leaf-like shapes at the crown, trains of spiky white flowers budding from them. Another one he can’t identify has a tiny whitish yellow flower, dwarfed by the huge wrinkled leaves that surround it.

They appear as if they have been tended already, the loam damp as it is outside with no opportunity for warmth to dry them as of yet, though this verdure is more tame, less wild. She must water them in the morning. All of them are so different, yet they are all alike, too, stringy germinations and rhizomes expanding to suffuse through their similar planters.

Her door clicks open, and he shifts. Sakura smiles up at him, sunshine on a rainy day accented by a dimple, wearing an extremely comfortable-looking outfit: an oversized cream crewneck that slips off one of her shoulders a little, and a juniper pair of jogging pants that he thinks would be too long for her if not for the gathering at the ankles.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she greets, eyes he loves radiant on his. "It's almost ready; come in."

He responds, “Morning,” and follows her inside, placing his library book on the console table momentarily, where her lamp is already switched on. As he shrugs off his cloak and toes off his sandals, she drifts back to the kitchen, something likely needing her attention there. He notices as she goes that there is an extremely fuzzy pair of beige socks on her feet.

As he hangs his cloak, he realizes that her apartment smells like roasted tomatoes and toasting bread, overpowering any vague notes of her tea cabinet in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sasuke reaches for his book from the console table and goes further into her living space, where the rest of her lamps are also turned on already; no hard lighting. He assumes they'll read on her couch, so he sets the text on the end table, closest to the side where he’d sat the previous night. There are two blankets thrown over the sofa now that weren't there yesterday, one appearing plush that is a color somewhere between mauve and lavender, and the other one a knit heather grey. It’s probable that they came from her bedroom; perhaps the walls are some variant of violet, a color he would not have expected.

As he turns, intending to join Sakura in the kitchen, his eye catches on a familiar photo, and he stops. Perched on one of the few empty areas of one of her bookshelves is their original Team Seven portrait, in a pale wood frame, near white. It's different in finish from the other frames adorning her walls near the kitchen, much lighter in color.

He is struck by it for multiple reasons; it wasn’t there yesterday, meaning it probably has also come from her bedroom, and it is very close in finish to the wood of the uchiwa fan he gave her as a birthday gift. He hasn’t seen it; Sasuke knows most women keep ornamental fans like that in storage for safekeeping. He vaguely recalls his own mother used to keep hers, though less ornate and made of paper rather than silk, in boxes, stored securely for future use at festivals and such in her closet. She’d shown them to him, once, and he’d seen her carrying them on special occasions, from time to time.

Sasuke studies the picture and the wood grain for a long moment, gaze softening. He wonders if she moved it out here to make him feel more at home.

He breaks his contemplation by making his way to her kitchen finally, where Sakura is flipping a grilled cheese sandwich over in a pan, one of two. A slow cooker lies atop the counter, lid condensed with moisture, with plates, bowls, and spoons laid out next to it.

It smells really good.

Green eyes fall on him, bright and filled with exuberance. "These are on their last minute, I think, so if you wanted to, you could dish up the soup while I finish them. There’s a ladle in there.” She gestures towards the drawer beneath the counter where the slow cooker rests. “It's tomato miso; I hope you like it. It should be done by now.”

His stomach suddenly feels tied in knots in the best sort of way. A gilding of warmth spreads throughout his entire being, veins and arteries and capillaries slowly immersed in something numinous.

“...I’m sure I’ll like it,” he murmurs, reveling in the blush that inks its way onto her cheeks, all the way back on her cheekbones to surround the freckle he’d touched yesterday. She looks away shyly, grinning like he has given her some grand compliment. The corners of his own mouth twist upwards.

Sasuke pulls the ladle from the aforementioned drawer, where it sits amongst other utensils, setting it in one of the bowls already placed on the counter. When he removes the lid, his olfactory senses instantly flood with a wave of savory miso; by the aroma, she must have used red, middle range, a perfect foil for the acidity of tomatoes. When he grabs the ladle again, he stirs it a few times; quartered shiitake mushrooms, kombu, scallions, and tomato chunks - he thinks they are of the plum variety - circle the pot, filling it near to the brim just below the surface. Sakura has made a considerable amount of it, much more than is needed for a single meal for two.

He shifts the plates closer to the slow cooker, bowls set atop them, before ladling soup in, careful not to spill and making sure to get an even mixture of produce with which to fill the broth in each. He rinses the ladle clean, and she mentions that there are small plates in the cupboard to his upper left, to rest the ladle on; he grabs one as she moves to open a different cupboard behind him.

Sasuke returns the lid to its place to trap in the slow cooker’s heat, rotating the dial from hot, past low and into the warming setting. When he turns back to Sakura, she’s shutting the stove off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Both of the sandwiches are resting on a cutting board, sliced diagonally.

The sandwiches smell really good, too. She veers the halves onto the empty space of the plates using the knife, before leaving it, along with the paring board, in the sink.

They each grab a plate and spoon before heading to her dining table, in front of the northern window. The dangling market lamp is already turned on, and fat droplets are slipping down the glass.

It’s a calming lunch they share, a steady lulling of inclement background noise alternating between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup as they watch the street below. The avocado is good in grilled cheese; it’s something he would have never thought to add. Sakura dips hers into her soup, so he tries it, too, and finds he likes it even better that way. The soup on its own is something else, though; filling and savory, near perfectly spiced. She’s a good cook.

“It’s good. Thank you,” he compliments halfway through as she chews and swallows a bite.

She beams at him. “You’re welcome.” She studies him before adding, “There’s enough for leftovers, if you’d like any more.”

He nods and takes another mouthful, looking out the glass thoughtfully. The residential buildings across the way are also lit up, soft light blurred through the fractals of raindrops.

“Do you think Naruto’s doing his homework on a day like today?” Sakura asks eventually.

“Tch.” He turns his gaze to her. “I doubt he’s even awake yet.”

Her grin is mischievous. “You’re probably right. It's his weekend. No Hinata around to wake him up? Definitely still asleep.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “Kakashi-sensei will be so disappointed. Though it’s better than copying someone else’s, I guess.”

“...Did he used to copy yours?” He’s more amused by that prospect than he should be, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Sakura furrows fine pink brows as if she knows that he knows the answer, too, but she’s still smiling. “He used to ask if he could. I was too good of a student to let him.”

“...Figures.” A ghost of a smile overtakes him, a cleansing sort of sentimental fondness for bygone days during which their third squad member was at his most annoying.

“I think Shikamaru used to let him. It was too much effort to say no that many times.”

Sasuke exhales through his nose, a rendition of a laugh as she takes another bite of her sandwich, dipping it first in the soup and looking amused. Nara would.

He also takes another bite, and mulls over his next words.

Swallowing beforehand, he inquires, “...What’s in Suna?”

Sakura blinks in surprise, analytical eyes quickly working out that he’s referring to her comment yesterday at Ichiraku’s. She turns to the window, smirking and chewing her food as if considering something of great importance. The dimple sinks in and out as her mouth moves; he averts his eyes back to his plate before he gets caught staring.

When she swallows, she’s quiet for a long moment, then says ambiguously, “I’m not sure I should say anything. Insider knowledge.”

Interesting. Sasuke is sure she has the same friendly camaraderie with Nara that she has with everyone else, but he assumes the insider knowledge must have actually come from Ino; she is the type to know everyone’s business, given how much she apparently shares her own with Sakura, and she is Shikamaru’s teammate, though they're both Jonin now.

“...No hints?” He presses, pinning her with a stare. Now he’s more curious; it must be something good, if it’s a secret of this magnitude.

She bites her lip, still grinning, then bites into her sandwich, watching precipitation race down the glass.

“One,” she finally acquiesces, as if it’s a monumental conspiracy. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation.

“It’s in Suna sometimes. Other times, not.”

He narrows his eyes and suppresses an urge to twitch, because that could really be anything, given their line of work, but based on her bemused expression, he’s not going to get more than that. He settles for studying her until she looks elsewhere, a shy giggle escaping her throat as if this is very funny.

“Sorry. Not mine to tell.” She raises another spoonful of soup to her lips.

“...But Kakashi knows?”

She swallows. “Oh, yes. He might have known before anyone else caught on.”

“Naruto?”

Sakura appears to be deliberating. “...Mmm, he’s more observant than when we were kids, so he might. I kind of doubt it though. They’re pretty good friends now, but…”

Sasuke hadn’t known that. He waits for her to finish her thought, staring at her pointedly. Her gaze flicks back up to his after a second.

She shrugs, then. “He’s a good strategist. I kind of think he’ll hold a higher-up position, once Naruto becomes Hokage, if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t promote him before that. He’d be an asset as an adviser.”

Shikamaru became the chief coordinator of the Shinobi Union, after the war. That type of advancement would make a lot of sense. He would be well-suited to assist the Hokage even now, moreso in a few years. It speaks to Naruto’s increase in awareness, Sasuke thinks, that he would be planning ahead to compensate for areas he is less strong in by appointing sensible counsel. A clan head is an astute choice, especially one who has put in efforts to make peace.

It’s odd, to think of the roles everyone in their generation has come or will come to fill, the more he considers it. Distinctively different plants with roots distending into analogous vessels, like the terracotta ones on Sakura’s doorstep.

“Nara’s a good choice for that,” Sasuke finally says, realizing he should respond.

Sakura inclines her head before lifting her bowl to her mouth to drink the last of her broth. She’s finished her sandwich now. He’s about finished with his, too.

This is nice, he thinks as she smiles at him before glancing outside again. “It’s really coming down now, huh?”

It’s the type of question that doesn’t really need an answer, but he nods anyway, because it is. Meager ponds are collecting in the street, rills tracing pathways over the awnings of the building across the thoroughfare. Pitter patters on the roof have grown in intensity to rival those of the early morning. It reminds him almost of the summer monsoons Konoha tends to get, though this clearly isn't one, still being in the throes of spring. Moisture is good for roots, he supposes.

He sips the last of the broth from his bowl, and she looks back to him. “Would you like another bowl? Or maybe some tea? I can brew some while I do the dishes.”

Sasuke considers the offer. It was a pretty filling meal, the soup piquant and packed with produce as it was. “...Tea would be good. I can help.”

Sakura seems like she’s going to protest, so he adds, “Thank you for the sencha… and the rest. I didn’t have loose leaf yet; I like it.”

She flushes, smiling at him softly. “You’re welcome.”

A silence filled by drizzle passes in which they regard each other, and then she’s standing to collect her plates, so he follows her example and grabs his own before trailing behind her to the kitchen.

It’s early enough still that they can have caffeinated tea, so she cycles through the loose leaf options she has as the sink fills with suds; matcha, chai, ginger peach, white monkey, and rose bouquet white. “The white monkey isn’t as sweet as it usually is; I think I got a unique batch. It’s more woody and peppery than anything; I’ve been mixing it with matcha.” There are the pre-packaged versions, too, but she doesn’t read them off, since they have more specifically sweet flavors, like caramel vanilla, banana dessert, and strawberry shortcake.

He picks white monkey at her recommendation of it not being too cloying, and she grabs one of the banana dessert pre-packaged tea bags for herself. Sakura makes short work of setting the water in the kettle to boil before procuring two teacups and siphoning some of the white monkey blend into a small strainer she pulls from another drawer.

Once she’s done that, she unplugs the slow cooker and reaches for something from a lower cupboard - two hand towels - to put on the counter; he assumes one is to utilize as a dish mat and the other is to actually dry with.

“If you really want to, you can dry… But you’re a guest, so you don’t have to,” she murmurs, expression affectionate in a way that makes his neck warm.

So Sasuke helps. She washes and rinses - her dish soap is lemon-scented - and strategically sets each piece atop the first towel he’s laid out. He dries one side of the plates and bowls, then flips them over one-handed to dry the other, stacking them on the clean expanse of counter to his right. It doesn’t take very long with them working together. When she goes to empty the sink, she gives it a scrub and a rinse with the soapy sponge she’s been using, efficient as always, before rinsing any remnant suds from her own hands.

“I can show you where everything goes,” Sakura says, so Sasuke helps her put things away, too, mentally cataloging what’s in each cupboard for future reference. Her storage system is well thought out, organized in a way that makes the most sense for the layout of the space.

When she reaches upwards to put the cutting board back in its place, the sleeve of her top slips further to one side, gravity pulling the fabric downwards on her slender frame and exposing some of the skin of her upper back. There is a dusting of tiny freckles just above the interior portion of her left shoulder blade that he hadn’t known was there. The way they are scattered reminds him of serpens caput, missing only one of the constellation’s general equivalent of stars. He forces his stare away, ears reddening, when she turns to remove the pot from the slow cooker.

“Thank you for helping.” Sakura adds coconut creamer and sugar to her own cup of tea, stirring. “Would you like lemon with this one?”

Sasuke thinks, still a little distracted by dainty freckles, before shaking his head. If it’s woody and peppery, he’ll probably like it fine on its own. She pushes his teacup towards him on the counter with a look that tells him to test it, so he does, and finds he was right; it’s herbaceous, with a scant amount of woodiness and pepper lurking underneath. Maybe the tiniest hint of sweetness, but barely.

“It’s good,” he tells her quietly, before taking another sip.

Apparently the grey blanket is reserved for him; she takes the lavender once they head to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with it, tea and her book on the table. Based on her bookmark, she’s about halfway through hers. Sasuke does the same on the other end, mirroring her pose, back propped towards the side of the couch with feet extending to the middle rather than going off the front. He keeps his knees slightly bent so he doesn’t invade her space too much, though he doesn’t think she would mind.

He steals one last glance at her before opening his own book to get lost in the different ways to wield a blade. The rain on Sakura’s roof is ataractic, accented by the pleasant smell of tea, the sensation of a full belly, and a warm blanket that smells like her, though it’s more raspberry this time than any lingering antiseptic.

It’s nearly three by the time he finishes his book, mind swimming with descriptions of sword forms. Sasuke peeks at her and sees she’s almost done, too, so he rereads the more engrossing passages, the ones that were particularly well fleshed-out. He’s so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep despite the caffeine, if he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes; focusing on rereading should help him stay awake.

Sakura closes her book after a bit; he looks upward at the sound, meeting green.

“How was your book?” She asks, lips twisting upwards; she must have noticed he finished his, despite still reading her own.

"...Good."

“Learn anything?”

“...A bit.”

Her smile widens as if she is amused; maybe he should elaborate, but he’s not sure if practical applications of swordsmanship are something she’s interested in.

Evidently they are, because she questions, “Care to share?”

Sasuke begins explaining the concept of iaido, derived from iaijutsu, the samurai skill of drawing one’s sword and cutting in the same movement, rather than cutting from an assumed stance after already drawing the weapon. It’s a simple idea, one he’s experimented with in the past, but there had been illustrations on a few of the pages showing different forms, and two of them he has never attempted. The pictures helped; he thinks to himself when he visits the library again, he’ll seek out one containing more visual aides.

He expounds upon the chapter on dual swordsmanship, too, primarily utilizing one sword to attack and another to defend; the defensive stances detailed are some he would like to try, specifically tailored as they are to be used with one arm. Some of them he’s already used intuitively, but one of the forms captured his attention, involving a slight variant sweeping of the blade to repel an attacker that would situate them at a more advantageous angle. It could be useful, if he ever needs to draw an enemy into a trap.

“Interesting,” Sakura remarks, and it seems genuine. Maybe it is interesting, in the case of someone who has, at least to his knowledge, never used a sword. He would like to ask her about medical ninjutsu sometime. “So it was a good read?”

He inclines his head to indicate yes. “...And yours?”

Sakura grimaces. “It… wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I didn’t really like the author’s writing style. Ino and I differ in that regard. She reads things more for the story itself than the way it’s told, so sometimes this happens.”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow so she’ll clarify. She shifts slightly, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. “It was too… straightforward. Limited and repetitive vocabulary, not a lot of dialogue structural variation, though it’s well-researched; I’ll give it that. It takes place during the second Shinobi War. A civilian woman’s husband going off to battle, they have to evacuate the area, the costs of conflict, that sort of thing. The ending was sad…” Her voice trails off, punctuated by the plunk of deluge, then she adds, “I guess it makes sense that the protagonist would think in limited language given the rudimentary basic education structure of everything back then, but it’s not very… poetic. It was like the author felt nothing as they wrote it, a kind of detachment from the whole thing.”

He suppresses an urge to smirk, reminiscing on her letters and extensive vocabulary. “...You like poetry.” It’s just an observation, but it’s something he hadn’t known about her, prior to now. Very Sakura.

Color floods across her cheekbones, and she looks at him with an expression that is very tender, as if there’s something else she would like to say. He could stare for hours, entranced by her as he is. “...I do.”

Sasuke wonders, then, if any of the books on her bookshelves are poetry books. He hasn’t read the titles carefully. It occurs to him that she might have more books in her bedroom, now that he’s thinking about it. When he was younger, he used to keep many of his own in his room, too, sorted by genre.

“Did you finish your other book already?” Sakura asks him, then, expression inquisitive.

He nods, eyeing her as he contemplates what he would like to say. He decides not to phrase it as a question this time; he wants her to offer, so he knows he's not requesting too much. Give her an out. She trains with Ino in the morning on Mondays and has lunch with her after, but she hasn’t said anything about her plans for the afternoon.

There’s still something in him that’s nervous, tightening as he speaks, careful to specify time. “...I was thinking of going tomorrow afternoon to get some new ones.”

Her smile unfurls slowly; Sakura really can read him well. “...I was, too.”

His chest rushes with warmth, anxiety released in a single relieved breath; it's not too much, then. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and that seems to encourage her, because she adds, “Ino and I are usually done with lunch by around one. It’s supposed to be nice out, I think. We could…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s considering. “...We could meet at the library around one thirty, and then maybe… take books to a quieter area to read, after. If you want. I... think I know a spot that should be fairly dry by then.”

“...I can meet you here,” Sasuke offers in a low voice, a confession he's more comfortable with now. The way she glows in response as she agrees is captivating.

Sakura invites him to play go with her, after. He agrees, because he wants to, and also because he doesn’t want to leave just yet. They set up the board on her dining table, a gridded battlefield of sorts beneath the market light.

She absolutely demolishes him in the first round, carefully surveying the board before each play of her white stones with careful calculation and syllogism. It’s to be expected, because she has always been smarter than him, but also because he hasn’t played in years and is woefully out of practice, ill-prepared to deal with this sort of onslaught. The second round is closer, but he still loses. It’s a challenge, as he knew it would be; Sasuke finds her moves to be quite roundabout, more about the long haul tactics of trapping than any short and quick route to victory. There are times where he realizes he unknowingly played right into a ruse more than five turns previous.

It’s four thirty by the end of the second match. Sakura’s attention flashes to the clock once as she puts away the board; he helps, sorting his own black pieces into their respective container. He will have to head out soon, though he’s not looking forward to it. He is quite comfortable here, with her.

“It’s still coming down out there,” she muses as she rises to store the box, peering through the glass before turning to make her way to the bookshelf she’d retrieved the set from earlier.

“...It is.” He gazes out the window, distracted by the puddles and their ripples below them in the street. It feels almost as if something is tugging on him to focus on them, suggesting something orphic, beyond simple rainwater.

The soft clicking of teacups and small plates being collected from her coffee table resounds behind him, so he turns to her, thinking he could offer to help wash them.

“I made enough soup for leftovers, so if you want to take some home, you can.” Sakura says, before the words make it out of his mouth. Outwardly he remains blank-faced, but something in him sighs. He’s not really sure what he's going to do with the rest of the day. Sparring with Naruto would be unwise on a day like today; he’d probably catch a cold. He could go by a store and buy a book to read, he supposes.

Being back in Konoha is odd like that. He used to just… walk, if he didn’t have anything to do on his journey, or read her letters, but now that he has had the opportunity to spend time with her, he selfishly just wants more of it. Time spent alone seems dimmer in comparison.

He would like to take some soup back to his apartment, though. It was kind of her to offer; he should probably say something.

She looks contemplative when he looks to her, though, carefully clutching porcelain, and thank you lingers in his throat, unspoken.

“Or… If you would like to stay for dinner, and do something after... you could.”

The faintest of stings begins behind his retinas, something long in the tooth stirring, aged roots buried so deeply he had perhaps forgotten they ever existed in the first place. He thinks it is the feeling of being wanted, of having a place in someone’s home.

He hopes she’s offering because she genuinely wants him to stay. She has a mountain of responsibilities, he knows, although it is her day off.

“...You’re sure?”

Pink brows furrow as if she’s confused how he could ask such a thing; she shuffles her weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Of course.”

An interlude passes in which the torrent measures time, the beat of a ballad that is very old. Her next words are hushed, pianissimo lyrics that he’s sure she has no idea just how much he has yearned for; she’s biting her lip and peeking at him from beneath pink lashes as she says them.

“I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.”

The daunting prospect of a lonely evening evaporates completely. His tongue feels tied up in his mouth, but he nods, hoping she can read in his eyes his gratitude; he’s fairly certain that if he spoke, it would come out hoarse, not at all suitable as a response to the song she has just offered to him.

Sasuke thinks that she can see it just fine, because she gives him a breathtaking smile that could sustain him for a long time, a drop of honey added to an overflowing teacup in which he sips the surplus, with a tinge of an aftertaste that isn’t too sweet for his liking.

The dishes are tackled together. After they finish, she reheats tomato miso soup and cooks two more sandwiches for supper. Another meal is shared at her dining table, overcast skies overlapping into evening, the lights from the windows of Konoha glowing more and more as time passes. It’s just as good the second time, flavorful and filling.

They watch a geology-focused documentary on her television about lava, earthquakes, and landslides. Sakura questions him afterwards about the little time he was in the Land of Volcanoes, south of the Land of Mountains. He hadn’t stuck around for any extended time due to the extreme heat, but what time he did spend there is seared into his memory due to the intensity of it. He had come rather close to one of the region’s volcanoes, within sight of a smoking center mere miles away with lava tendrils trickling outwards, in the process of cooling but still alarmingly hot.

It makes him feel more appreciative for the rain here today, recalling it. Here in Konoha, he could touch the streamlets if he wanted to; he doesn’t need to keep a distance.

They follow up the documentary with a movie after; this time he tells Sakura to pick one. It’s unique, including some fantasy elements, about a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans living on its edge that consume its resources. The protagonist is cursed by an animal attack, and seeks out a cure from one of the deities. While traveling, he sees other areas in which humans are ravaging the earth and warring with the gods of nature, a thought-provoking contrast considering they’ve just viewed a program detailing the inner mechanisms and wrath of volcanic eruptions, much like gods of nature in their own rights. The conclusion is open-ended; though the hero tries to broker a peace between humanity and the spirits, there is no feeling of resolution or success, no guarantee that one side will mediate with the other. It isn’t quite what he expected it to be, but he notes that the characters were quite realistic, allowing for the viewer to identify with them and better experience what they must be feeling secondhand; it was not told in a detached sort of way as she’d said the book from earlier had been.

Sakura makes earl grey tea, after, and they visit for the better part of another hour, quiet voices awash in auriferous lighting, relaxed by bergamot malt and lemon slices. She inquires about his travels, which places overall were his favorite in the four other great nations. The way she looks at him as he answers makes his heart thump, as if she is hanging on his every word.

It’s near eleven at night by the time he rises for the entryway. The kiss they share before he leaves feels like the drizzle of the rainwater outside, mellow collections grown slowly but surely deeper from time spent together, inexplicably telluric like submerging into soil.

He steps in a few unavoidable collected pools of moisture on his way back to his own apartment, drenching his socks. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic again for some reason, a reminder of a place’s capacity for change, to absorb something and thrive again.

Sasuke has seen many parts of the world now, absorbed as much as he can through his brother’s eyes, and has just relived his favorites by describing them to Sakura. She didn’t ask him about his favorite place in the Land of Fire, though.

It may easily become Sakura’s apartment.

XXX

When he sinks into slumber, he is pulled further downwards into a memory from a very long time ago, something quondam that has since dissolved.

The recollection is hazy in the ways that dreams are, slightly murky as if he is viewing it through a puddle tinged with the loam of Konoha, but perhaps there is something about Sharingan vision even unactivated that embeds the visual acuity into one’s optic nerves, to live there in perpetuity for eventual retrospect. It is one of his earliest memories, he thinks; he would have been maybe four, meaning Itachi had to have been nine or ten, though there is no one he can ask to confirm.

There had been a summer monsoon, perhaps the first one he was old enough to remember, water temperate enough to exult in without catching cold. Their mother warned them not to be outside too long in the storm, and occupied the covered porch, observing them to make sure they heeded her will. There had been no precipitation for a while prior - he thinks there may have been a drought - so the moisture was welcome. Plashets collected in their sprawling yard, causing Mikoto Uchiha’s prized white lilies to appear as if they were emerging from small lakes. She had expressed concern that they may drown upon Sasuke’s examination of them, framing the boundary of their home, but he, in that naive viridity that small children have before the world beats it out of them, thought they were strong enough to persevere.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sasuke,” his brother had said supportively, before showing him a path that allowed a step in every puddle on their family’s grounds. They had raced to the far end of their property and back; he had clumsily fallen at the end of the first pass, getting soaked, as if he wasn’t already from the warm rain coating both of them from the ashen sky above. Mud stuck between his toes, squelching and cushioning his fall while simultaneously making him filthy. It had sloughed off so easily back then in the deluge, corroding all at once and bleeding into the mess of their yard to immediate murky liquidity.

Itachi helped him up by his left hand, getting covered in his muck before the water rinsed their digits clean, and then he was being challenged to a second sprint. Sasuke emerged victorious this time, though now, looking back with eyes that are not his own, he realizes his brother obviously let him win, trained Shinobi that he was by that point. Coming to terms with that is horrifying, because he can see now that his brother was still just a child, wisdom beyond his years be damned. Sasuke is sure Itachi would have to have killed people on missions by then, completely at odds with the soft-spoken and gentle countenance he portrayed at home.

Eventually there was enough drizzle that miniature rivers of connected pools formed, capillaries of nourishment interlacing everything. Sasuke had been fascinated by the changing landscape, until Itachi had ambled up to the porch to speak with their mother. Disappointment swept into him like a tide; he had thought that his brother didn’t want to play with him anymore. But then their mother had risen and gone indoors, and Itachi motioned for him to join him at the edge, beneath the awning.

She came back carrying a small pile of paper, which confused him. He’d watched, enthralled, as Itachi folded one of the pieces into something reminiscent of a boat, simple yet perfect.

“If you put them by the gutter, the force will push them sailing across the yard,” his brother had said; he remembers the inflection so clearly, strange because it is from a time when Itachi was young enough to have the voice of a child, so unlike the rich timbre he’d held later in life.

He had trailed after his brother to the gutter, and sure enough, the paper boat was propelled by the rain streaming down from the roof; it took off as soon as Itachi let go. Sasuke had stomped after it with approximately zero grace, mud coating him up to his ankles, until it reached the boundary fence, saturated through and less buoyant due to the barrage of droplets dampening it from above.

The absolute joy he felt, when he had sprinted back to tug on his brother’s sleeve to ask if he would show him how to make one, and he’d agreed. They’d returned to the pile of paper guarded from the elements by their mother, and Itachi showed him each step, creating another one alongside him as an example. His small hands were not very coordinated back then; his boat hadn’t turned out as nice, all wrinkled sloppiness instead of crisp, clean folds.

“You just need more practice,” Itachi had murmured. “My first one was messy, too. I’ll help you.”

Larger hands had closed around his, creating skillful creases and shaping with dexterity. The second boat turned out much better. Sasuke had given his first one to his mother, then, so she could race, too. Remembering the smile, the genuine look of motherly gratitude she’d given him, bruises something in his soul, precipitation on frail roots entombed deep; it reminds him of the struggle of swallowing a gulp of water after traipsing through the desert, dry mouth making it almost painful, a gargantuan effort that takes everything in him not to look away.

She’d followed them from the porch over to the corner eaves, staying under the cover to avoid getting drenched, and the three of them had released their creations. Sasuke thinks they had to have given him a small headstart, surrendering theirs just after his, so his boat would make it to the other end of the yard first. He’d run after it, Itachi meandering along behind him at a slower pace, while their mother stayed beneath the awning.

His brother had smiled at him as he jumped puddle to puddle in glee. They’d grabbed the now-soaked paper boats at the conclusion of their path, and brought them up to the porch to set in a pile. Then they constructed and raced more, a veritable treasure of a late morning. For his last of the day, Sasuke had tried folding one on his own again, and it turned out better than his first attempt. Though a little lopsided, it hadn’t capsized, sailing strong in the current unaided just like Itachi’s.

Their mother had made them shower and then drawn them a hot bath after, to ensure they were clean and warmed. She had parted his toes to get the mud stuck there out, soil spiraling and dissolving down the drain as he watched. He’d splashed Itachi in the bath after, and folded one more boat with a piece of paper his mother brought him, so he could see how much time it took for it to sink without getting flooded from above, an experiment in buoyancy.

She made miso soup with rice for a late lunch, with something from their aunt and uncle’s shop as a treat after, some variety of warmed pastry. Itachi had let him try his in addition to his own; Sasuke’s had been strawberry, but Itachi’s tasted of peach, gooey sweetness to top off a perfect day that wasn’t even over yet. Their mother must have made herself some tea, too; he remembers the aroma of jasmine filling the space, warmed by lamplight cast on dark wood. When she’d told Sasuke it was time for a nap, he’d become extremely sullen, because he didn’t want to sleep; he’d wanted to spend more time with his brother. It wasn’t often he was home for a full day, prodigy that he was by then and always on missions.

Itachi had surprised him. “I’ll take a nap, too. It's important to rest sometimes. You can join me, Sasuke.” His refusal morphed instantaneously to greedy acceptance. Sasuke crawled into bed with his brother in his room, huddled in the comforter for warmth as the deluge continued for hours, the dousing on their roof and peaceful breathing composing a conciliating symphony with which to lull him to sleep. Eventually he'd succumbed, tuckered out and content, though he'd tried to stay awake as long as he could so he didn't miss out on time with Itachi.

Ten year olds don't usually take naps. His brother may have feigned sleep just to get him to do as their mother wanted. That realization is trenchant, too, sharp like a blade, because it’s a cycle that would repeat itself until Itachi’s end, Sasuke never understanding until the moment had passed, always a step behind and looking backward instead of forward.

When he’d awakened later in the evening, he’d smelled food cooking, miyabi soup and some kind of grilled fish. Itachi hadn’t been beside him anymore, but after blinking groggily, his brother had appeared like an apparition in the door frame.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Sasuke.”

Drizzle is still pummeling his apartment building when he rouses in a dark bedroom, alone. No one appears in the door frame this time as he blinks unsteadily, throat choked before the silent tears come, because this memory aches, haunting his heart like some kind of drowned spectre, dripping muddy stains onto clean floors. Sasuke moves to wipe them away with his left hand, the one Itachi used to help him up from the mire, until he remembers that he doesn’t have a left hand anymore. Making a paper boat now would take twice as long.

Everything in him hurts, marcid marrow writhing in his bones as if they are dead roots that have gotten a drink after a decade spent in drought, someone trying to nurse something deceased or rotting back to life. He goes to the memorial stone under the tenebrose cover of two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like his brother is there. All he has of him are the eyes drowning in his sockets and excruciating retrospection, intermixing with the rain soaking him outwardly.

I miss you, he thinks as he tries not to asphyxiate on the memory, hoping that his mother at least hears his thoughts here, echoed in the ponds collecting around the stone that bears her name. He has to leave eventually, because he starts picturing white lilies emerging from miniature lakes, full of life and swaying with wind and torrent, instead of cold and motionless grey granite, and he thinks he is going to start sobbing.

Sasuke returns to his apartment after the better part of an hour and stares out his living room window, nursing a miniscule cup of sencha tea, weak so as not to unsettle him too much. The weather lets up eventually, turning from a drench to a drip between the fine branches of the cherry blossom tree across the street. The puddles slowly begin to sink in, though there are remnants of dirt collected in the grooves of the pathways due to the overflow. The tree is starting to lose its petals; they float atop the collected areas of water, a hint of hope buoyant atop sorrow like a paper boat.

He isn't at all hungry, but Sakura said he should try to gain weight, so he forces down a very early breakfast of plain rice, tasteless, before he goes to rifle through the box in the closet. He averts his eyes as he lifts the lid, fumbling to turn the photo upside down without looking at it and moving it to the bottom of the container before sifting through Sakura’s letters.

He picks a favorite of his, one she wrote to him while he was passing through the Land of Savanna, the first autumn season of his journey.

Sasuke-kun,

I was so happy to see your hawk on the horizon today. I gave him some water since he had a long journey.

The way you described the grasslands changing color in Savanna was lovely. The trees are changing here, too, shedding all of their leaves and making the roads a sea of color. Naruto slipped on a scarlet one the other day coming out of Ichiraku’s. He almost dragged Hinata with him, but thankfully no one was hurt. That's providence, I suppose, though it's not a red thread.

Soon it will be the season for chestnut-flavored everything. Stout squirrels come next, and Tsukimi will be happening, too. I've only ever seen it here in Konoha and once in Sand, while we were on a mission. You'll have to tell me if the moon looks any different where you are. Don't forget to make a wish.

The air is turning crisp here, like the leaves, so I imagine it will be there, too. Please stay warm.

I miss you.

-Sakura

Sasuke comes to the realization then that he’s sitting in damp clothes, and that he is kind of cold; he hadn't thought to grab his cloak earlier, too overcome with mourning. He carefully puts the letter back, and makes the decision to take a hot shower. The heat makes him feel incrementally better, thawing him from the inside out. It also makes him realize his mouth feels dry; he’s probably dehydrated, and needs to drink more than a weakly brewed half glass of tea. He prepares another cup, stronger this time.

A mission summons arrives around nine. He uses the mirror of his bathroom to make sure he doesn't look too disheveled - the shower helped, he thinks, though he’s slightly pallid - before heading to the Hokage’s office.

He's the first one of those requested to arrive, though not by much. Naruto is sitting in his designated chair with the scroll again, looking for all intents and purposes like he just woke up.

"Teme?! Eh, really?!" The dobe turns in his chair to glare metaphorical daggers at Kakashi, who pointedly ignores him. "You're seriously not sending me with?! Bogus."

Kakashi simply inclines his head towards him, not even sparing Naruto a glance. "Sasuke. Good morning. Ready for a mission?"

He nods mutely, wondering what it could be. Naruto whines some more, but Sasuke tunes him out. There's nothing like his teammate’s complaining that grinds on him in the morning, though he’ll inwardly admit it is helping to coax him back into some sense of normalcy.

His replacement walks through the Hokage’s door next, impassive as always. He inclines his head politely at Sasuke, so he returns the gesture. Naruto heaves a sigh. "Oh, come on!"

Sai doesn't miss a beat, turning to Kakashi, absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion as he delivers Sasuke’s favorite invective. "Is Dickless not coming?"

Sasuke barely manages to suppress a snort as Naruto guffaws, launching an entire container of pens at Sai. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Not all of Sai's nicknames are poorly chosen. He loathes the one he has for Sakura, but Sasuke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Naruto’s. It improves his mood measurably.

Shikamaru Nara saunters through the doors last, looking extremely apathetic already. Shrewd eyes flick to Sasuke’s momentarily, too quickly for him to read anything from them, then to Sai’s, then to the pens Naruto is picking off the floor, before settling on Kakashi.

Interesting. So it’s the escort mission, after all.

Naruto is outright mad now, glowering but past the point of saying anything as he returns to his seat in silence. It seems he at least knows when to give up, these days.

"Now that I have you all here, I'm afraid I must break the news that this won't be a terribly exciting mission. Simple escort to Sand for our diplomat tomorrow. It may be a bit… overkill, but there will only be three of you on the return trip, and my newest batch of missions didn't have anything terribly exciting in it. It's better to complete something useful with enough time to get back in case we need you for bigger tickets next week; it can't be helped." Kakashi shrugs, before adding, "Sending Sai should shorten the trip and make it less taxing, at least, flying birds and all. Shikamaru will lead, like usual."

Kakashi goes on to disclose that they'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Apparently it's only a four day round trip with his replacement's jutsu involved; this means they’ll leave on Tuesday morning and be back on Friday evening, should nothing go awry. It’s not likely that it will; Suna and Konoha are strong allies at this point.

“Any questions?” Kakashi asks at the end of the briefing. Neither Shikamaru nor Sai say anything; he doesn’t, either. An escort is simple enough, especially one of a fellow Shinobi.

His old sensei smiles in a way Sasuke feels is directed mostly at Shikamaru. “Alright, then. Dismissed.”

Nara strolls lackadaisically out of the office as Sai follows. Sasuke gets the inkling that this will be a rather silent journey, between the three of them. He’s a bit thankful he hasn’t been assigned a mission with more talkative comrades, at least not for his first one back.

“Teme!” Naruto pipes up as he turns to leave as well, so Sasuke lingers. “Wanna spar this evening?”

His brows knit together while Kakashi looks between them, as if amused. Sakura has not invited him over for the evening, but he thinks of soft words yesterday anyway.

I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.

“The day before a mission? You’re stupid. Pass.” Sasuke says, both because he’s hoping to spend the twilight hours with her, too, but also because he knows it will annoy the hell out of Naruto. They really shouldn't go all out the night before one of them leaves for a mission anyways; if one of them breaks something, Sakura will be stuck fixing it, and it’s supposed to be her day off.

Naruto looks miffed, a lone blond brow twitching, so he adds, “...Saturday, early morning. If you’re even awake. Dobe. ”

Before he turns away from Naruto’s spluttering, he catches an all too knowing gleam in Kakashi’s visible eye. Sasuke is suddenly sure that their old sensei is well-acquainted with Sakura’s work schedule. He can feel the hole being burned into the back of his head by blue eyes and a single dark one as he leaves the Hokage’s office, the dobe still struggling to come up with a response to his quick refusal.

He feels marginally better as he walks leisurely back to his apartment, noting along the way that more of the puddles are already beginning to dry up.

Sasuke fixes something more substantial for lunch, since he knows Sakura will eat with Ino; a chicken curry, fragrant with garlic and ginger and carrots, poured atop rice. He doesn’t have any potatoes, so he substitutes with other produce, a unique mix for curry; bell peppers, green onions, and burdock roots. It’s not bad, but maybe he’ll pick up some potatoes when he gets back from Sand.

He is looking forward to going on a mission again, he realizes as he eats. It’s probably going to be a rather routine one - it’s not likely that they’ll face any enemies in friendly territory - but it will be good to be amongst allies again, contributing to fulfilling a purpose, however slight. Sasuke thinks maybe he should make more of an effort to interact with Sai. It appears as though he and Sakura are close, if he’s been to her apartment; Ino was there, too, he supposes, but still.

Sasuke spends the remainder of his time doing the dishes and making sure everything in his fridge is wrapped well, to ensure it doesn’t spoil in the time that he’s gone.

XXX

Sakura’s hair is damp, pink more saturated than it normally is, when he meets her on her doorstep; she must have showered. The scent of mixed berries is renewed, and suddenly he is certain that it has to be some kind of soap, perhaps a body wash. She has her single fiction book in hand.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him with a disarming beauty that makes his heart skip. Her hair clings to her neck when she locks her door behind her; Sasuke focuses on a ranunculus bloom instead, noticing that there are two small cuttings of the flowers missing, taken from its rear portion, until she turns back around.

“...Hi.”

“How was your morning?” She questions kindly as they make their way down the stairs and out the glass door, spring sunshine filtering in.

He blinks once as he considers how to answer. “...Fine. I had a mission briefing.”

Sakura’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything exciting?”

He exhales through his nose, a shadow of a laugh. “No. Just an escort.”

Jade eyes twinkle. “Ah, I’m guessing… Sai and Shikamaru.”

“...Kakashi might listen to your squad suggestions more than Naruto’s.”

She chuckles a little. “No, it’s just that he usually sends them for that. You must have replaced Naruto; he’s the third squad cell member, most of the time. Sai’s jutsu makes it a quicker journey, especially with Temari’s fan techniques; she can create updrafts.”

Sasuke thinks he vaguely remembers a blonde woman who is Gaara’s sister; that must be the diplomat. The sibling of the Kazekage would be well-suited for such a job.

“...Maybe I’ll find out what’s in Sand.”

She smiles while biting her lip. She’s very pretty.

“Maybe,” she finally offers cryptically.

They weave through the road on their way to the library, taking care to avoid the water still lingering; it has sunken into the earth for the most part by now.

Sasuke checks out three books this time. One is another on historical samurai, this one with more illustrations as he’d wanted. The second is a historical account of the establishment of Nunogakure, in the Land of Silk. He had passed through the country twice, and had always been interested in learning more about its history, given the establishment of its hidden village by kunoichi and their record of hostility with the ruling daimyos. The third is a fiction book about an old man at sea, suggested to him by Ichika as she scans Sakura’s books, then his.

“It’s kind of proverbial, and not terribly lengthy. You seem like the type who would like it,” the librarian offers, so he adds it to his pile. It’s not quite an old lady giving him vaguely prophesying teacups, but it sounds interesting enough. He appreciates her kindness; not everyone in Konoha gives him this particular brand of easy acceptance after the debacle that was his past. Sasuke thinks perhaps showing up with Sakura helps. Ichika looks at his empty sleeve for a long moment this time; she must not have noticed the last time he was here, the unfilled end of it hidden by the counter.

Sakura says there’s a spot towards the slope of Hokage Rock that drains off the cliff, a hill that should be dry enough to sit on, so they meander upwards. It’s on the western side, just at the juncture where the grass begins to give way to harsher stone. A wild cherry blossom tree that he spotted from a half mile away is clinging to the precipice, a bit off the beaten path. It must have sturdy roots, he thinks, reaching deep into the dirt and bedrock to give it the strength to soar upwards even here on uneven ground.

As they near it, he observes that it’s losing its petals, too, late in blooming like the one across the street from his apartment; small green buds are starting to take the flowers’ place.

They read for a bit under its branches, sprawled out on the hillside. She was right; the ground is dry here, already soaked into the soil or run off the slope. It’s not too warm or cool out, an enjoyable spring day where everything is freshly watered. The book Ichika recommended is pretty good, full of oceanic metaphors, some of which he finds unnervingly relevant. Sakura might like it; it’s written somewhat artfully. He gets about a third of the way through its pages as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky.

It’s around four when he allows his focus to wander away from his book to her. He's been leaning up against the tree, in the only spot someone could; the rest of the area by the trunk is too asperous to sit comfortably, roots twisting ruggedly, but strong. Much stronger than white lilies, hardy enough to weather even the harshest storms. Sakura is on her back a few feet away, book open above her and pink hair settled in a halo on the grass. She looks extremely comfortable, as if lying like this in the small amount of shade offered is something she does all the time. Maybe this is a place she visits often.

Her book is titled Hazel Wood; he can tell by the cover it must be fiction, but he's not sure what exactly it's about. He's thinking maybe he’ll ask her later. He's also thinking maybe he should ask if she wants to do something after this; he would like to, if she's free.

She shifts slightly, and he slides his eyes to the skyline so he doesn't get caught staring, very suddenly becoming conscious of the fact that he’s been admiring her for the better part of a few minutes. When he looks back over warily, she is picking up a stray petal and situating it between the pages, sticking out like a bookmark to mark her place. Then she regards him, smiling like she's amused.

He arches a brow, unsure what could be funny, but she's setting her closed book neatly aside and pushing afoot to close the distance between them. He tilts his head up towards her as she walks to the tree trunk, and then she's reaching out. Two fingertips skim his scalp, and then she's handing him a cherry blossom petal that evidently had been caught there.

"A bookmark, if you want one," she offers, her expression saying she is incredibly entertained.

He blinks once before taking it, lone hand brushing hers for a millisecond. He's distracted by how soft her fingertips feel again.

"...Thank you." He puts the petal in his book to mark his spot as she straightens.

Now would be an opportune time to query her evening plans, but she beats him to it. "Would you want to stop by the market quick with me and then come over for dinner?" Comely green melts into charcoal when he looks up. "I was thinking of making teriyaki atsuage and cucumber salad, but I'm out of cucumber."

His agreement is immediate, insides twisting pleasantly.

As they head down the hill together to beat the evening rush, books in hand, a single crow passes overhead, swooping low towards the center of the village extending before them.

That’s providence, he thinks, though it’s not a red thread. He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost until it disappears.

He helps her cook this time. Sakura handles the cutting and chopping while Sasuke seasons and turns the tofu as it fries in one of her pans, mixing together mirin and soy sauce to create the teriyaki dressing while she slices cucumbers and tosses them with other ingredients; she loads the salad with peanuts, sauces, garlic, and red chile flakes.

It’s another gratifying evening together. They play three rounds of chess this time, and it’s just as challenging as go; she cycles through positions intuitively, sometimes with seemingly little thought involved. Sasuke thinks she might be analyzing her next moves in her head during his turns, having a few planned out and simply narrowing it down based on whether he moves a rook or a pawn. He comes close to winning the final match, at least. With more practice, he might win once in a while.

Sakura offers to make tea again, after. He accompanies her to the kitchen, and when she opens the cupboard, his throat closes, because two new jars of loose leaf sencha from the tea shop have mysteriously appeared, one for the caffeinated shelf and one for the decaffeinated shelf.

Sakura’s expression is tentative. “I thought maybe sencha this evening. I… picked some up on my way back from lunch, earlier today.”

He nods weakly, tongue-tied and endlessly grateful.

She makes some for the both of them, finishing off her own with sugar and honey. Sasuke watches her swirl the spoon in the now fading luster of her kitchen, thinking the way she takes her tea is like her very being, so sweet.

Verdant eyes peek up at him when she walks him to her entryway, hours later. He sincerely hopes that she’s enjoying spending time with him as much as he is with her.

Then, Sakura’s voice lilts up to him, a quiet murmur, "Will you… come see me, when you get back?"

He blinks, sugar and honey pouring into him now, because it’s almost an answer to the question in his head that he hadn’t vocalized. Then his brow furrows, because maybe he’s failed at conveying that he'll spend literally any amount of time with her that she allows him. Sasuke knows his communication skills aren’t the best, and he has never been in any sort of romantic relationship, so everything is new territory, stunted by his lack of practice.

Her gaze flits away from him. "Just… so I know you're okay."

Oh. She means coming to see her right after debriefing, so she'll know he's returned safe. Something pleasant pools in his belly, sinking to the extremities in a way that feels nurturing. He realizes he is taking too much time to respond; she looks nervous.

"I will."

Jade centers back on him, reassured now, and he's not sure how he's going to go four days without it, this limitless green that soothes him to no end.

"Oh. Good. Thank you." Her expression changes to one that is considerably more relaxed, a tender look directed upwards that he has never seen her wear for anyone else.

Sasuke presses his lips to hers for a long time before he departs, a soft goodbye he’s hoping will convey all the words that are caught in his throat, gratitude and affection that have been stewing there since they were thirteen.

He thinks he feels love press back from hers, a delicate flickering that makes him ache, and perhaps providence. Sugar and honey, too. Sweetness doesn’t hurt him like the recall of pastries does, when it’s experienced secondhand like this.

XXX

The mission goes smoothly. Sai's jutsu does speed things up considerably, and the Sand delegate, Temari, uses her giant fan to give them a boost in places that are lacking in higher gales. He rides with Sai on the way there, while Shikamaru and Temari drift on the other; Sasuke thinks the separation must be so she can use the jutsu, strategically getting behind his replacement's bird to give him a boost before Sai can control it and have theirs catch the subsequent updraft, too.

Sasuke and Shikamaru fulfill lookout roles, him scanning ahead and Shikamaru scanning behind. It is refreshing to see the land from above, giving way from forests to grasslands to the beginnings of desert edges. He finds himself thinking about what his hawk saw, all of the times he brought correspondence to and from Sakura. It’s not as hot this way, traveling through the air with breeze ripping around them, though they make an effort to stay hydrated, still.

Sai is quiet, but Sasuke is, too, so he can't knock him for it. He wonders, scanning the horizon for the upteenth time, if Sai knows what's in Sand that interests their squad leader. He would have to, dating Ino, but he doesn't feel comfortable asking him something like that.

They spend most of the first day in relative silence, only spying a single squad of comrade ninja from Suna traveling hundreds of feet below them, just leaving the desert. Towards the end of it, as they finally cross into the first area that is truly all sand as far as the eye can see, Sai surprises him by speaking.

"Beautiful says Ugly is stupid happy that you've returned. I am certain that Dickless is, too."

The effect the words have on him is a little jarring and complex. There is the immediate familiar disdain for Sai’s inaccurate nickname for Sakura, intermixed with immature amusement at Naruto's epithet. A feeling of brotherhood follows, and his heart blooming with something tender, vines twisting or perhaps not-so-dead roots getting another drink. Stupid happy doesn’t sound like a phrase common to Sai’s vernacular, leading him to believe it was Ino’s exact wording, likely after spending the morning with Sakura yesterday.

He thinks it over as they soar over the last bit of terrain for the day, sorting through the different emotions. His answer isn't hesitant; it just takes preparation for him to muster the gall to vocalize it to someone he's not terribly close to.

"...I am, too." It’s an understatement.

XXX

They arrive back in Konoha on Friday evening, as scheduled. No issues, just more lookout duty and enjoyable wind offering relief from the heat. Peacetime is nice; anyone they saw to or from Sand was an ally, no foes. They only utilize one of Sai’s creations on the return trip, Shikamaru still observing the rear but this time atop the same bird as them. It’s a slightly longer trip, without the diplomat to speed things up, but they still make good time.

It's a bit after six when they leave Kakashi’s office, mission report paperwork folded neatly into his satchel. Naruto wasn't there; Sasuke assumes he's either been sent on a mission or has gone home for the day already. He supposes he’ll find out tomorrow, if a banging erupts on his apartment door after sunrise. It must have stormed again recently; the soil is damp, and everything is faintly greener than it was before.

He finds he missed it, the smell just after it rains that was decidedly not present in Suna, even if it does bring hard memories.

“Good work,” Shikamaru says simply to both of them as they step outside, ready to go their respective ways. It’s not necessary for him to say it, but Sasuke appreciates the acknowledgement. He’s aware it is probably not easy to trust him, after everything. Not everyone has the same confidence in him as Team Seven does.

Sai nods towards Shikamaru, then turns to him.

"Tell Ugly I say hi." His tone sounds almost kind as he turns to part ways from them in the street. Shikamaru glances at Sasuke for an instant, expression not containing an ounce of surprise, but he doesn't say anything as he turns to head the other way.

Tentatively, Sasuke starts out in the direction of Sakura’s apartment. She should be home right now, if she didn’t stay late at the hospital. He wonders as he gets closer if maybe he should wait a bit; she might be in the middle of cooking, or eating dinner.

He wants to see her, though. He's missed her greatly, and she did say to come by; he tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

Soon he's knocking on a sage green door that is beginning to look familiar. The plants are still damp indoors, too; maybe it rained as recently as this morning. It has to have been overcast for a good portion of the day, for the sunlight through the diamond window to not have dried the moisture from her watering them just yet.

Sakura opens the door wearing a smile; it grows wider upon seeing it's him, like she can’t help it.

His heart skips a beat when she says his name. "Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura."

She steps aside while holding the door open, a silent invitation for him to come in, so he does. He stands in her entryway uncertainly for a second, until she offers, "I'm making tenmusu; there's enough for two. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Everything in him relaxes, any and all ambiguity dried by her kindness in an instant. "...I would. Thank you."

Little flecks of gold shimmer in the lamplight, facets atop something burgeoning with warmth. There is love there, in her eyes and upturned lips. He wonders if she can see it in his, if she has any idea of the true gravity of his feelings for her, all of the things that flare to life in his belly at the mere thought of time spent here.

It’s a break in routine, but there is something he would really like to do, something he has been working up the courage for over the past few days, so he takes the risk, pulse quickening; he hasn't kissed her anything but farewell yet, really, aside from their first, which was somewhere in the middle.

It is better than he imagined, vespertine devotion saying hello rather than goodbye. He skims the freckle on her cheek again as his lips brush hers, hand tender against her skin and silky pink locks. When she leans into his touch, he finds himself wishing there was a way for his soul to graze hers, to tell her the utterly selfish thing he wished for after her letter so many moons ago. Sakura’s soul would be warm to the touch, he thinks, like freshly-brewed tea or the flux of a summer monsoon, but much more illimitable, and endlessly ardent.

Her hands on his shoulders are becoming a familiar weight, grounding him like the roots of her namesake.

When they part, she blinks up at him once, and then suddenly her arms are wrapping around his center instead of his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart swells, and he hooks his lone arm around her waist.

She smells like home, he realizes. "...Tadaima," he murmurs against her hair.

"Okaeri," she responds, soft and sweet against his chest.

[fuckyeahmoriharu]

In This Corner

In This Corner | MoriHaru | SFW | 2k word count Love can begin in the most unlikely of places but stranger still, it can flourish in a place long forgotten. Now in university Takashi and Haruhi choose to meet where the light doesn't reach, where students never wander, where dust collects and book spines age in shadow. Sweet kisses, honest smiles, and requited feelings thrive in this corner.

Light was sparse in this corner of the grand library, one of few dark corners hidden far between the elegantly arranged shelves of texts and literature. Social couches, well lit tables, and an inviting floral atmosphere with potted plants and flower vines hanging from painted ceilings centered the library where students would normally gather for quiet study. The thick aisles of books mazed throughout the space leaving little welcome within its far shadows.

However, in this dim corner tucked away behind the oldest shelving in philosophy of law, where the nearest window faced a moss covered concrete wall and towering bookshelves walled them into the shadows, was where they found their solace.

Satchels placed against the wall, textbooks and notebooks opened to corresponding pages, and a blanket to soften the dusty carpet, set underneath the one ray of light that snuck past its many obstacles. It was their little corner of peace, of quiet, of earthy cologne and strawberry spritz.

They had claimed this corner for themselves, seeing it as all but abandoned by their university populace. No one cared to stroll though the law section of the library since most of the books shelved here were outdated and no longer required in class, skeletons of education’s past.

It was perfect for them, a quaint space in the universe held only for them, a haven they could step into and step out from the stressful responsibilities of being university students on the brink of graduation and just beginning.

Haruhi absentmindedly bit her bottom lip as she read over the same worded question, trying to make sense of what it asked her. A black compound notebook sprawled across her lap, balancing on her crooked knees, with her pen held in a lazy grip while she tapped it’s end on the paper’s edge.

She felt his weight shift beside her, inching closer to peer over her shoulder. He sat relaxed with one arm perched on a bent knee and the other slung over her shoulders, his long fingers gingerly tracing her goosed skin.

“In case of any misstatement in the prospectus, the persons liable are; promoters, directors, or experts,” Haruhi read out loud, pausing her methodic tapping, “I don’t understand what it’s asking me.”

Takashi leaned a little closer, barely brushing his lips against her ear, not seeing the blush creeping up her neck at the feel of his skin, and mouthed the words as he silently read them.

“What do you not understand?” He asked, his breath carrying remnants of his earlier chai brushing her flushed face.

Haruhi leaned into his closeness, letting her cheek find a curve in his side beneath his tented arm, and sighed, “It feels like a trick question because all the answers are right, yet there’s no option for multiple choice. It’s like I have to choose one of the right answers.”

Takashi nodded, having to agree. The correct answer would be to choose them all but unfortunately there wasn’t the option. He thought whoever wrote out the textbook assignment had forgotten this one crucial detail.

Haruhi gripped her pencil and began to write in the white space between the question and answer options. Her fist blocked his view until she was done and moved her hand away. There in small lettering she wrote; answer not available, all of the above.

Takashi smiled and rubbed her arm approvingly while she bookmarked her notebook before closing it and returning her pencil to the side pocket of her satchel.

“You’re done for the day?” He asked her, raising an eyebrow as he watched her work to pack everything up. His own textbooks lay beside him on the floor, stacked in volume order. He always brought his old textbooks in the rare case she needed to look something up, which has happened four times already. They were bulky, heavy, cumbersome, but he still chose to bring them every time they met to study. The strong kendoist didn’t mind, he’d carry an entire library on his back if it meant to see her again.

Haruhi nodded, her back turned to him while she organized the space in her satchel, “I’m pretty tired after today so I don’t have a lot of brain power to push through the last set of problems. I’ll finish them after a nap.”

Takashi grunted in response, not needing to say more than his acknowledgement. University demanded more than their astute intelligence. For Haruhi to keep her scholarship for Ouran University she’d have to continue her striving efforts to remain at the top of her classes. Although her friends were more than willing to offer their own money toward her education to relieve her of such liability, her commoner pride wouldn’t allow herself to fall back into their debts. She had already learned that lesson once.

“Oh!” Haruhi nearly jumped as she suddenly sat up, remembering a very important detail to their afternoon. She twisted herself around to face her startled boyfriend, for a moment finding his jarred expression humorous. She beamed triumphantly, “I got a question right.”

Takashi relaxed into a soft smile and nodded. She had chosen the right answer, although it hadn’t been listed for her to choose.

She twisted herself around to face Takashi again, her knee brought against the wall as she scooted from her satchel. Takashi didn’t have to move, only to wait for her to still herself, until she was comfortably sitting in front of him.

The dim light in their corner allowed enough for reading their textbooks, nothing more than hazy sunlight filtering between oak and stone. However, as Haruhi sat in front of Takashi, nervously rubbing her knees, her bright chocolate eyes still shone as glimmering pools of honey. Her lengthening hair nicely framed her maturing features, allowing this young maiden who had once been mistaken as a boy to flourish into a beautiful young woman. She sat before him with expecting eyes, watching between his gaze and his lips, her patience beginning to wear thin as her knees ran red beneath her palms.

Takashi allowed a smirk as he bent over, glancing from her pools of honey to her soft lips beginning to purse. He couldn’t deny her just rewards after getting a correct answer. She was driven enough to take her assignments seriously but his minor incentive helped soothe the headache of fussing over strongly worded questions and mathematical equations that eventually blended into blurs. A sweet kiss for every correct question, promptly delivered after she’s finished scribbling in her notebook.

His lips met hers, gently pressing soft skin against the shine of cherry chapstick. A slight shift enough to snare her bottom lip coaxed a humorous moan from her throat.

He pulled back, fixated on her satisfied half-lidded eyes but was stopped short when he felt her fingers tug at his university vest.

“Technically I got three answers correct.” She whispered with a conviction, darting between his stone gray eyes and his parted lips, catching a shimmer of her chapstick where he kissed her.

His smile widened as he considered her suggestion, resisting the urge to laugh at her quickwits. She would make a fine lawyer one day.

He leaned forward and replaced his lips against hers, pressing in his adoration and reverence for his keen girlfriend. She never failed to surprise him with her canny observations, sometimes her remarks even making him uncharastically burst out laughing.

She liked his laugh, as she had said many times before, stating his baritone carried it well.

He placed fleeting kisses as she moved to keep pace, remaining a step ahead amidst her following his rhythm. One kiss, two, three, four, five, losing himself in the familiar high that was Haruhi Fujioka kissing him back until he knew he’d given more than he’d needed to. His hand lifted from its perch on the floor to find her chin, moving his fingers to cradle her blushed cheeks and feeling her smile within his calloused palm, swatting away the modesty tugging at his propriety because frankly he didn’t give a damn.

In this corner of the library, where only flies happened to cross, their privacy was held safe behind dusty bookshelves and unflattering windowed views. Where light seemed scarce compared to the brightly jovial center filled with lively hushed chatter and foliage bringing the beauty of nature indoors. Where students wisely chose to congregate.

In this corner of the library a rare beauty pulsed to life, growing with strength and solidity with every kiss, every smile, every quiet laugh, and every ruffling of hair as they could manage to fit into one evening. A flickering flame; fragile as the single ray of sunshine that caught the golden stars scattered throughout her chocolate eyes yet strong as the Morinozuka’s undying loyalty that forever coursed through their veins.

In this corner of the library, where dust collected under the shadows of long forgotten shelves filled with outdated books, where the skylights and fluorescents barely skimmed this corner so out of reach, where no one cared to walk through for there was nothing for them to find, this was where true love in its purest form grew. Like a spring sapling, roots forged in their days of the host club and grabbing purchase amidst fond memories and secret feelings.

At first they dug their heels into their friendship, unwilling - or too afraid - to dare cross the line that tempted them with every shared strawberry and gracious head pat. However, like every young sapling, the seeds that were planted needed time to grow, to strengthen its foundation before it could bear fruit.

Haruhi pulled away, dragging Takashi on a kiss’s tail, and flattened her palms against his chest. The sun would set soon, what little light they had would fade, and she began to feel the lull of much needed sleep. Kisses always tasted sweeter at the edge of conclusion.

Takashi caught his breath as he slowly retreated, pressing his forehead to hers to keep her close. His fingers lazily traced her face while his hand fell away, releasing her from his intimate hold. A part of him never wanted to let go, to forever keep her safely tucked inside his palms. To have and to hold…

Haruhi folded the blanket while Takashi situated both their satchels on his left shoulders and his pile of heavy textbooks with the crook of his right arm. No matter her protests he insisted on relieving the burden, allowing her to carry the blanket on what she considered an unfair compromise. He had to smile upon seeing her captious glare comparing their differing loads but she chose not to speak on it. At least this time.

Together they left their corner, skirting around study groups hunched over tables and freelance vines nearly touching the floor. Bright skylights and lively whispers, a refreshing ambiance far contrasting where they had spent their last hour. However their tired smiles held no regret, content with returning the next day.

Takashi held the heavy oak door open for Haruhi, keeping it open for a group of young seniors entering the library just as they left; nodding their appreciation as they walked beneath his arched arm. He rejoined Haruhi’s side in the marbled hallway and together headed toward the nearest exit. Takashi’s apartment was closer than Haruhi’s dormitory this way but he insisted on walking her back, arguing her safety was more important than his convenience.

Haruhi checked his hold on the satchels and textbooks, searching for signs of struggle as she normally unconsciously did each time they left together. Takashi knew to treat it as her courtesy. She seemed to forget he’d spent the larger portion of his life in his family dojo.

Haruhi broke the minute silence blanketing their clacking steps, “I’m not very tired anymore.”

Takashi looked down, meeting her gaze and immediately seeing the tell-tale signs of exhaustion in her relaxing features. An arched eyebrow begged the question she knew he’d ask.

Haruhi shrugged, breaking eye contact to check their surroundings, “I’m just saying I don’t need a nap anymore. I guess I just needed to stretch my legs.”

Takashi jostled the satchels further onto his shoulder and allowed a smile to betray his skepticism, unable to hide his relief in their evening far from ending, “Mitsukuni brought back uji tea from his visit in Kyoto. He gave me a bag. It’s at my apartment.”

“At your apartment?” Haruhi didn’t need to ask, already knowing his answer before she finished speaking.

Takashi nodded with an affirming grunt, neither hiding his enthusiasm. He learned to cherish every moment with her when in high school he had to share her among friends and eager suitors alike. As the years passed those suitors slowly fell away at her kind rejections until Takashi was the last one standing among them. Until one day he realized he had gained her undivided attention just as she had stolen his many tears ago.

Haruhi turned to meet stone gray eyes that seeped into oblivion, the deepest shade of requited love, and smiled, “Tea sounds lovely.”

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do. 

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  angst.  general.    

tags / warnings.  the angst is heavy in this chapter.  there’s also mentions of drunk driving, a reference to drug use, and really, just a lot of sadness.  proceed with caution! 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ and @periminkle​ i lob you both! 

wc.  2.8k

chapter one.

You’ve barely moved an inch, rooted to the spot by fear and sadness and three long years of distance.  It feels far too strange to be so close, to see him somewhere other than an illuminated screen.  You know you should say something, do something - anything - but every tired bone in your body is telling you to run and that’s something you can’t do.  Not after you’ve come so far. 

So you take a deep breath - deep as you can manage without bursting the dam that packs itself with flimsy sticks and stones - and step forward.  It feels monumental, far more than a single footfall. 

He’s watching you, carefully, as he’s always done, with awe written into every line still visible beneath bandages.  You see the way his jaw tenses, how the muscle works in agitation and hopelessness.  He’s holding himself back, much to your surprise.  You think you only recognize that because you know him so well.

And then you remember - you don’t know him at all.  Not anymore.

Because he might seem like the same boy you’ve loved for most of your life, but he’s nothing but a ghost now.  A figure from your worst nightmares, draped in white linen and gauze.  

His hair’s far longer than it’s ever been, sweeping over the sharp contours of his cheeks, past the singular scar he’d gotten in third grade.  It curls over his ears even in its dishevelled state, looking in desperate need of a cut and yet endearing all at once. The way he stares at you remains the same - intense, achingly familiar - and his smile - a little battered and bruised now - stretches like pavement, concrete and grounding.  

You hate that it does something to your heart, the delicate frame of your rib cage rattling with the way the organ nearly launches itself out of your throat and into his hands.

You take another step.  Jungkook doesn’t look away.  

“I missed you,”  he says, as if you’re an old friend, someone who’s come to hold his hand.  As if he hadn’t broken your heart into a million pieces and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him since you managed to piece it back together.  

How you’d managed to rebuild yourself after that, you’re not sure.  You’d collected the broken bits, filled the cracks with gold, and mended it into something different.  A bit flawed and imperfect, but whole - stronger and illuminated.  You’d done that all on your own.

That doesn’t mean it doesn't still beat for him, just a little.  

A part of you aches to return his words.  It’s halfway off your tongue when you cut it off, severing it with a bite of your teeth and a resolve that just barely holds on.

You reach his side - still a good foot from the edge of the bed - and settle into the worn leather chair to his right.  It’s comfortable, surprisingly so, but you can’t find it in yourself to relax.  You’re ramrod straight, line of your spine strung like a bow.

It’s hard to look at him directly - to recognize the parts of him you’d once called yours - so you don’t, instead allowing your gaze to bounce across the room.  There are large bouquets of flowers against the few surfaces, all larger-than-life arrangements that look at odds with the barren body that’s laid up beside you.  You wonder, idly, who they’re from.  Friends?  Family?  Your heart stutters.  Fans?

There’s a bag and personal effects on the couch.  Black leather, exorbitantly expensive, embossed with his initials on the interior pocket.  The gift you’d gotten him for your last anniversary - the same one he’d nearly lost on tour despite the fact that it cost you more than you’d have cared to admit.  Something like anger simmers in your stomach at the sight of it.

When he speaks again, you’re still glaring at the bag, unable to tear your eyes from the supple material and all the memories it carries.  

“Pumpkin?”  

The nickname tears you from your reverie.  You can’t help the way you suddenly stare at him - all wide-eyed surprise.  “What?”

Something close to relief floods his expression, spilling like wet paint over the curve of his mouth, the corners of his eyes.  It spreads delight into every inch, unrelenting and unrepentant.  “I said I missed you, Pumpkin.”  He repeats himself not because you haven’t heard him but because he wants that reaction again - the one that tells him everything he needs to know.

You resent him for it.    

“Please don’t call me that.”  You wish it were stronger - that you were stronger.  It’s hard.

You know you shouldn’t love him anymore and that none of this should affect you.  After all, he’d thrown your heart into a blender with three shots of vodka and chased it down with some pills and cigarette smoke.  He’d filled all the space you’d given him with other things - riches and women and thin white lines - and he’d had the audacity to be surprised when your own sadness had slipped in, too. 

He’d always imagined you’d keep it locked up, held so closely he’d never have to face it.  You’d thought so to, really.  Hadn’t expected the way it spilled out regardless, too much misery to be kept in a little glass house. 

There was only so much you could take before it all came crumbling down. 

So, it’s hard.  You love him because he’s him and you’re you and that means more than you can possibly put into words.

“Don’t call you what?”  It’s almost patronizing, like he can’t quite believe his ears.  

“You know what.”

He scoffs - a low, broken sound that catches halfway out, muffled by chain-smoking and not nearly enough sleep.  “You never used to have a problem with it.”

“We were together then,”  you retort quietly, sandpaper grit and burnt coffee bitter. 

“Just tossing me aside then?”  

You’re not quite sure where he pulls it from - the sheer, idiotic confidence he somehow fits into his words, framing them like you’re in the wrong.  You wonder if it comes from years in the spotlight because it certainly wasn’t there before. 

“Don’t say it like that.”  What’s meant to be reproachful comes almost pleading, soft and sad and stained with saltwater.  

“Then don’t tell me what to do.”

The silence that falls is paradoxical, miserable and fulfilling all at once.  

It hurts in the worst of ways, sparking from the tips of your toes to the tops of your ears.  It feels like being outlined in neon - vivid pain in shades of pink and green that burn through your veins.  Proverbial I told you so’s curl over your ankles and around your heart, little reminders that this is who he is now and every path would’ve led you here anyway.  Parallel lines meant to converge only once before diverging once more.

“I’m sorry.”   His apology feels infinite, as if it’s meant to make up for multitudes.  “I just…”

Nothing further comes.  You don’t know what you’d expected. 

“It’s fine,”  you say, even though it’s decidedly not fine.  Absolutely nothing about this was even remotely fine.  You weren’t even really sure why you’d agreed to come.  You were still working through all your reasonings, turning them on their heads in hopes of receiving an answer other than the glaringly obvious ones that spilt out like salt grains. 

“Is it?”  Something about how he speaks, how the question seems so small, prompts you to meet his eyes.  You wish you hadn’t.

There’s an infinite galaxy swirling in his irises, a million words he hasn’t spoken.  They beg to be loved regardless, to feel even a semblance of the warmth your smile had once offered.  It breaks your heart all over again, splitting it into pieces where the cracks and crevices haven’t quite fused together fully.

“I missed you, Pumpkin.”  You don’t have it in you to rebuff him.  Not when he reaches for you - a feeble gesture that pulls his figure close, entire bruised frame reassembling like a shuddering skeleton.  He’s starry-eyed and intoxicating, drawing you into the Jungkook-shaped supernova you’re helpless against.  “I missed you so fucking bad.”

“Jungkook.”  

His name sounds like it’s about to break apart just like your heart, shattering wide open into a thousand splintered fragments.  

“Please don’t do this.”  Not again, you think.  Not after all this time.

“I can’t,”  he says and it’s shipwrecks and car crashes, misery in the form of broken teeth and battered bones and endless blue in his eyes.  “I need you.  I need you.”

It doesn’t escape you that you’ve heard these words before.  You’d tucked that memory into the furthest corner, up and above your head in a shelf that you’d never touch.  You’d folded it away into the box labelled JEON JUNGKOOK and tried to forget about it.  You haven’t been able to.

It bursts out now, bouncing around your skull and in your ears - a feedback loop that won’t stop.

“Please.”  You try again.  

He’s gripping your hand so tightly - with a strength that feels far too much for someone only a day past a terrible accident - and it feels white hot and alive.  Where his skin touches, he burns candle wax and coaxing - honeyed and warm.  You imagine you’ll peel the drippings off later and be left with scars in the form of his hands.  You wonder just how much more you can take.

“Please.”  You try a third time.  It’s feeble, frayed from holding on too long and too tight.

He hears it just as well as you. 

“Stay with me.  I don’t have anyone else.”

A part of you wonders how true that is.  Surely, he had his family - his lovely parents that you’d practically considered your own.  You can’t imagine they’d leave him here to rot. 

Your resolve still crumbles, just a little, from the topmost pillar. 

Ever the opportunist, Jungkook watches the fall of your Roman empire with rapt attention, hopeful as a new god.  If only you weren’t so easy to read - full hand laid out on the table. 

“What happened?”  You pose the question in place of an agreement, words offered in the same instance you remove your hand - or try to, anyway.  It doesn’t get very far.  He seems adamant in keeping your fingers twined, knuckles stark white and riddled with tension.  You wonder if he’s oblivious to it or if he just doesn’t care.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

So focused on the way he holds you - claims you in the iron shackle that he deems he needs - you almost miss the way his features contort, rolling through a myriad of emotion before settling into a defensive mask.  

You hadn’t expected a bared soul or a confession of all his sins - you knew enough of them already - but you’d hoped for some semblance of honesty. 

By his expression, you wonder if you’ll even get that. 

“I was in an accident.”  It’s short, terse and held tightly between his teeth.  

You don’t mean it in any way but observational.  “I see that.” 

He still takes it the wrong way, scowl fitting like a glove.  It steels his jaw and hardens the line of his mouth, the moulting of purple over and around his eye doing little to hide the storm that grows in his stare.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You can feel a headache coming on - the first pinpricks of it just behind your eyes and at your temples.  It forms in bits and pieces, a silhouette of a man that burns your retinas and makes your grit your teeth. 

“Nothing, Kook.”  It comes far more tired than you expect it to, weighed down by something you can’t quite place.  It feels like you’ve run a marathon in this small room.  You wonder if this is what it’s always like - draining and miserable and reminiscent of the hell of tenth grade gym class.

“I’m sorry.”

How many times has he said that now?  Will it ever be enough?  For him?  For you?

You shake your head, a slow gesture that doesn’t really register at first.  You’re so used to appeasing him - even three years later - and it comes of its own accord, bobbing your neck on your shoulders like second nature.  You could hold it back, but you seem just as intent on repeating yourself as he does.  “It’s fine.”

Maybe this is what the two of you are destined for - two lost lovers stuck on a merry-go-round.  

“It’s not fine.”  He’s released your hand now - you try to ignore the sudden, overwhelming disappointment that crashes into you like a tidal wave - and uses the bruised, bandaged one of his own to scrub down the side of his face.  It’s a surprisingly tired gesture, as if all of a sudden the weight of his situation has settled on his shoulders.  You barely catch the words that fumble out next, hidden behind the palm of his hand and the ink that swirls over his ink.  “I just…”

You’re hopeful for a split second.  Hopeful that he might let you in, despite the fact that you know you shouldn’t even be knocking at that door. 

“I don’t want you to look at me differently.”  It comes so small, your heart clenches in your chest. 

Then you wonder - what had he done?

“I won’t.”  It’s not a promise but it sounds like one, filled with sunbeams and reassurance.  You wish you could offer it any other way, maybe with careful regard and just the right amount of distance.  Instead, you’re committed, poker chips piled high on green felt.  All or nothing.  You can’t help it.

“I fucked up.”  

For the first time, you see him as he was those years ago - full of promise and hope, eager for a taste of the unknown.  You see him as the Jeon Jungkook you’d known and loved, vulnerability threaded through all five feet ten inches of his frame.  

You want to help him.  You shouldn’t, but you do.  “You can tell me.” 

“We just finished the tour.”  Pride colours his answer in glimmering strands of gold, threads that glint as he speaks.  Charisma oozes out of every pore, shimmering like precious stones hidden behind his molars and within his stare.  It’s easy to understand how he’s done so well for himself.  “I was… celebrating.  You know.”  You certainly don’t, but you nod along regardless.  “Things got a little out of hand.”

His attention seems far away, focused on something you can’t see.  He continues carefully, cherry picking his words.  

“I probably shouldn’t have driven.  She—”  Everything comes to a stuttering halt, his doe-eyed stare suddenly finding yours with alarm.  “—I mean, they.  Uh.”  The damage is already done.  You can feel it taking root - that same hurt you’d felt creeping into your throat before you’d stepped foot into this space.  You swallow it down as best you can, tearing your gaze from his to train somewhere on the cotton that rests in his lap.

“Go on.”

He’s stuttering just a bit, because he can’t help it.  He knows he’s been caught.  You know he’s been caught.  Gone is the Jungkook you’d once known.  You see him for all he is yet again - a poor boy dressed in leather and lies.  It hurts far more than it should.  

“Uh.  W-w-we were in, uh, the car.”  The intensity of his gaze feels like two little laser beams.  You can practically feel them burning through the top of your head as you refuse to meet his eyes.  “I was— I was drunk and I didn’t— I didn’t see the other car.”

You’ve heard enough.  

You wonder if the way you’re staring at him now is the way he’d most feared.  It must be by how his face falls, crumples like a house made of playing cards.  

“I’m glad you’re okay.”  You mean it - really, you do - but that’s the only thing you can give him.  

For his and for your sake, you need to leave.  Now.

“Please remove me as your emergency contact.”  Your voice wobbles, falling apart as you speak.  You worry the tears will follow soon after.  You can barely make out his expression, the wetness crowding heavily along your lashes and turning everything into a strange amorphous blob.  

It’s getting harder to breathe the longer you stay.  Each step towards the door feels like your head on the chopping block.  Once you cross that threshold, it’ll be severed clean off.  You’ll leave your heart in this room, with this boy who hasn’t grown a single day in the last three years.

You think he must be speaking to you but you can’t make it out.  Everything’s muffled, like you’re underwater and about to drown.  It fills your ears and steals your senses, narrowing your focus to the polished steel door handle that’s just within reach.

“I’m really, really glad you’re okay.”  It’s all you can manage before the dam breaks and you’re throwing yourself into the hallway and the waiting arms of your brother.  You don’t know how to stop the noise that rips out of your throat, wet and desperate and barely coherent.  

Yoongi was right - you shouldn’t have come.

author note.  this was quite short but it didn’t feel right with another scene added to it.  the next chapters will move the story along a lot more.  ty for reading!  💖

tag list.  @jalexa83​ 

[boogiewrites]

Burning Star

Chapter 1

Characters: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian / Reader / You

Summary: Din Djarin is a long-time associate and friend. When faced with the truth about the creed he's taken, doubts begin to grow in his mind about his choices. He comes to you, looking for a confidant and he finds more than he bargained for. Begins latter part of S2, porn with plot. A growing romance between two characters that thought of themselves as solitary creatures now wanting to no longer be alone. But with The Mandalorian being who he is, things can never be so simple.

Warnings/Tags: Sexual Content. Dry humping. Confessions of feelings. Hurt/Comfort. Touch Starved. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

You couldn’t recall the exact BBY you’d met The Mandalorian. But then again, you weren’t even sure of your birth year, so dates tended to blend into one another in your memory. You recalled every encounter though, every mission he’d asked you to assist him on, the times you’d healed him and his ship, and especially the time he’d come to your planet for refuge with a strange but endearing little green creature. Your small, backwater planet didn’t have much. But that was one of the main things that had drawn you to it. Your parents were nomads, and you’d adopted the same after their death. So you made yourself a home on a green little planet after years of travel. It homed tiny hubs for weary travelers dotted along with the mountainous surface. But the one they called Mando always came to yours.

You had entertained the idea of becoming a Mandalorian after your parent’s death. They were prospectors, planet-hopping and hoping to make a fortune. On one expedition the Imperials decided the planet you and hundreds of others were on was now theirs for the resources. If you want to call it luck, you did live. You were taken in by an orphanage, one of many overrun with children just like you. You were full of anger and hurt and wanted revenge.

You were caught one night, trying to leave, and a woman fatefully saw you and brought you back in, having the first real heart to heart you’d had in your life. With tears in your eyes, you said you wanted the people who killed your parents, dead. You didn’t see this as unreasonable and you still didn't truthfully. You had read about The Mandalorians and were going to join them you’d told her. You were going to learn to fight and be a warrior and take your revenge. Young and full of rage, this was the only thing that made sense. But this woman, who had been watching you knew better than you did. She saw your softness, that capacity for love and sensitivity, and stopped you.

“Do not let their hate make you hard. It’s what they want. You will act recklessly and in their interests with hate in your heart. The only way to defeat evil is with kindness and love.”

It didn’t make sense at the time and when you were in a heated mood you liked to act like it still didn’t. But she was right.

You had previously spent your days reading and learning, drawing the various landscapes your parents took you too and trying to befriend the local fauna. You were a curious child that grew into a curious adult and you had fought hard to keep that sensitivity the woman told you of. So far, it had served you well.

This didn’t mean you didn’t fight. You had to to survive, but when the opportunity for kindness arose you always gave the other being a chance. But if they betrayed that trust you killed them. It seemed fair when it all came down to it. Philosophically speaking, anyway.

You had settled a store for supplies on a long-abandoned mining planet where a nearly extinct mutated species of Nexu lived in the caves under the planet’s surface. You’d protected them for generations now and they trusted you. But they were deadly to anyone else. There were rumors of the mines not being empty, of treasures left behind because they were too tricky to extract. You knew this wasn’t true. You and your toothy, furry associates had explored every bit of the caves that you could find. But that didn’t stop the desperate from trying. This was unfortunately the root of most of the violence in your life. At least you were protecting others in the meantime.

Maybe that’s what drew your Mandalorian to you. He had taken one way, The Way, and you had taken another. You saw in each other what you could have been. He’d given in to his anger and rage when he was young, and you had learned to see past yours. You had the empathy that came from years of self-reflection and control. You had taken different paths, and you both found what was missing in each other. You had the excitement of helping him on quarry hunts on a handful of occasions and he could hide and mend when needed. It was a balance, much like the force you’d read about, and it fell into place without much effort.

Wasn’t it the way that days that began like any other would lead to things you’d never expected? This day was no different. You had previously been most excited about the stew you’d been brewing for the second day, taking your sweet time with an old recipe you’d found in one of the books one of your neighbors had given you. The term neighbor is used loosely as it would be a day's walk, at the least, to the closest person.

The excitement sparked inside your chest as you went out to greet whoever happened to be landing in the field by your settlement. Then you saw the relic hovering above the broken blades of grass. You hadn’t seen a Razor Crest since his and it was easy to know who was going to come off the ramp when it happened upon your humble patch of the planet. You shield your eyes from the burning sun, close this time of the year as the glint off his Beskar armor sends a shock to your eyes.

It was a relief to see you, he thought. Something familiar, consistent, and warm to come back to after the turbulent journey he’d found himself on with the child.

“Hey, stranger!”You call out loudly, waiting for him to be closer so you didn’t have to shout and scare the foul in the surrounding trees. “I know it’s not repairs bringing you in. Your ship is shining like the Bright Star it’s in such good condition. You been on a vacation or something?”

He knew you were joking, his eyes relaxing under his helmet even though you couldn’t see. “Just got back.” his voice hits your ears, the gritty muffle of mechanical filter making it feel remote. You let him approach you, before reaching to hug him. It was something he’d had to get used to, and something you insisted on. After growing close during your time spent on his ship, the trauma bonding of violence and high stakes forced intimacy between two otherwise solitary creatures. For as long as you spent apart, the time picked up where it started when you came back together. Almost dying is hard work, and saving another from it tends to fasten the bond between people with surprising speed.

You had never shied away from him, he’d never given you a reason to. You approached life with an open heart and only shut it to protect yourself when needed. The contact felt soothing despite his hard outer layers. Both physical and figurative. A wrap of strong arms around his helmet, the weight of someone against him, a slight tug down from the height difference. It all felt very sincere, very human to him. At the moment that’s all he was certain about. The helmet hid the troubled eyes that would’ve given him away, and he found himself thankful for it.

“Always good to see you, Manny.” you give him a good squeeze, a kiss to the helmet that you polish out, cooing up at him with attentiveness. You’d refused to call him Mando any longer after one particularly heinous mission. Calling him something everyone else did, something so generic, didn’t fit. So a pet name it was. He’d never had one before. He secretly preferred it. “This Beskar keeping you safe?” you ask, buffing the spot with your sleeve and then patting his chest plate.

“Yes.” he nods. “Except for all the people trying to kill me for it.” You laugh and pat his hard head.

“Can’t blame them. Stylish... strong... beautiful. Just like you, huh?” you give him a wrinkled nose snort and you hear the grunt of amusement and note the subtle nod.

“What I’m best known for. My looks.”

He spoke with such a monotone delivery that his jokes might’ve not landed to someone more fearful and not as knowledgeable of the Mandalorian's personality under all that flash. “Where’s your little guy?”

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth than a gurgle and chirp from a perfectly him sized sack hanging off his shoulders appeared the little green wrinkly friend. “Always close by. Except when I tell him to be. Then he prefers to wander.”

“This goo ball wouldn’t be bad would you?” he tilts his oversized ears and blinks at his father figure as if he’d brutally insulted him. “Never.” you coo and give him little rubs under his jowls. His eyes shut and he happily soaks up the affection. “C’mon. Let's get inside. I bet you’re hungry.”

“He’s always hungry.” a slightly disgruntled Mando grumbles behind you.

“Sounds like you need to eat too.” you retort, hears his heavy footsteps behind you as you enter the humble building you’d built. It was made from the trees that used to fill the little clearing where the landing pad and accommodations were now. They grew fat and had many low, heavy limbs, perfect for construction. The floor was wooden, the walls a mixture of found metal, clay, and beams, same as the roof which made a lovely sound when it rained and kept the harsh seasons out. Dried flowers and herbs hung from low rafters, all part of the long list of things you did to keep yourself busy. You loved making, and your space reflected that. Despite it not being used by anyone but yourself that often, you kept it clean. Shelves and bins as you entered, a small counter for business off the side, a few small tables and chairs on the other side of the large square space with a small kitchen and refresher through doors on the far wall. It wasn’t much, but you’d made it all and it’d served its purpose thus far.

You sit the child down on a table with a cushion in it, letting his round head reach just over the tabletop. He reaches for the flowers in a bottle while you speak and Mando keeps the child's hand from breaking anything.

“Here you go. Been simmering for two days. Broth, meat, and some herbs and veg from the garden. Doesn’t get better than that little one.” You hand him a tiny spoon you’d carved for his equally tiny hands and he makes a confused sound.

“She made that for you, remember? Be nice, use your manners.” he motions towards it with a nod. You watch the child struggle for a moment before giving up and raise the small bowl.

“That works too.” you grin. “You want some? You could get the broth through that absorption accessory I made you.”

“It was destroyed during a mission recently.”

“Ah.” you nod and purse your lips. “I think I have parts to make another.”

He was used to paying for things being made for him. But you and your hobby of tinkering in a little bit of everything had led to a few things that were one of a kind. You’d made a long device that could fit under his helmet to allow liquids to be consumed without removing his helmet. He thought it was thoughtful but it was purely selfish as you were tired of him not eating your food. Before, you had bartered to eat together in separate rooms so you could get feedback. He wasn’t very good at it. Eating to live was his main purpose of doing it at all, not like you that lived to eat.

“Thank you.” is his quiet reply. There’s an easy silence watching the child burp and gulp and making a mess of himself in the process.

“What brings you in this time? You need me to open up the hut? I’ve still got fuel.”

“I’ll refuel before I leave.” You were used to his pauses, but something felt different, you could feel the consideration for his words churning in the silence. “I came to speak to you about something.”

“I can’t tell if this is good or bad.”

“I’m not sure myself.”

Your brow furrows and you lean across the table to engage him. “In trouble again?”

He is still and quiet for another beat. “I found other Mandalorians.”

Your eyes grow wide, “Oh.” you process the information, your surprise clear on your face, you had never been good at keeping control of your expressions. “Is that... not good?”

“We found a common ground and helped each other. But I feel as if I have more questions than I did before. I was so certain before of my standing within the Mandalore creed. I was raised by it, swore to it. And now...”

“What happened Manny?” you reach across and put your hand over his, the child coos at the action. The child could feel emotions, pick up on non-verbal things others couldn’t, and he knew when you were around, his protector was much happier.

“I come from a segment of Mandalorians that broke away from society. They have very different views of The Way. They told me I belonged to a cult of religious zealots.”

“Wow. They didn’t sugar coat that at all did they?” you pat his hand and try to not come off as condescending about it.

“I was not aware of this. This… difference.” you give him a sympathetic smile even though you aren’t sure if he’s looking at your face.

“What do you mean differences?”

“As soon as I met them they removed their helmets.”

“Oh well, yeah that would…” you nod, “That’s a big difference.”

“Have you read about the Children of the Watch? I know you were fond of reading of Mandalore as a child.” he asks with a touch of warmth to his words, as if it made him proud to say it about you.

‘A bit yes. There’s not much about them out there. They’re very strict and secretive. They didn’t want the progressive Mandalorians corrupting what they saw as the true Way. You all believe in being warriors and protecting what’s yours. The helmet thing seems to be the biggest deal.”

“It’s given me… concerning thoughts.”

“Do you mind if I give my opinion on it?”

“That’s what I came for.” his words made you feel special, like you mattered. They didn’t have the tainted burn of someone that wanted to use you or what you for their gain. He came to you to talk. You were flattered.

You turn your body to face his direction, both hands on top of his large, still armored one that he stared at for a moment while you spoke. Watching your hand's flowery movements to accompany your points broke his concentration on them. “I believe this equates to my discovery that I’m not human.”

His attention is grabbed, head swinging up and the child taking notice.

“I am mostly, but I have Cathar in my bloodline....”

It made sense, he thought, he pieced things together, your angled golden eyes, the large swell of hair you styled in various ways, sometimes wild and free and sometimes braided for more function when fighting. Your nails were long and sharp, your teeth a bit pointed as well, he’d never noticed if you could retract them, he thought you’d styled them in that way. Most importantly he could see the strength your ancestors had instilled in you. Even now. You were fierce, proud, loyal, and passionate. It explained your quick temper for those who harmed others for their selfish benefit. If someone had only glanced at you, human would be the general assumption. But if someone took the time to know you as he had, it was easy to believe there was something else in your blood.

“I grew up with what I assumed were humans, but I’ll never know that now. I could’ve been a foundling for all I know. So I had this loyalty to them, what I thought was a bond, a call to be a part of that. But once I came of age and... things started to appear a bit more complicated I went to someone to see what was wrong with me. Turns out nothing, I’m just not human.” you chuckle and shrug, recalling your awkward memories. “I was then left with the questioning of where my loyalty lies. Who was I? Was I Cathar enough to call myself that? Was I human enough to remain within that species, to live and love and fight with them? I was missing such a large portion of who I was, in my blood, I was someone I’d never known. I had so many things I might’ve missed out on you know? Hunting, hierarchies, mating, having family, a pride. We were known for litters, did I have siblings?” you sigh and you feel the sadness well up as it always did when you ponder the unknowns of your existence. “I digress… what I have concluded, and you may take into consideration is that you are in fact, both. Neither is more or less important. They are born of the same thing, they were once one single unit and all future and past components of Manda. You have your war gods, so do they. You have your morals, your duties, your... Way. Even if you were not a Child of the Watch, if you broke those creeds they specified, you are still a Mandalorian. You are not what you speak after all, you are your actions. Both sects believe neither to be a part of the other, but yet they helped you? You help your fellow Mandalorian. It is only a title, The Way is beyond titles, Manny, you know this.”

“I did not know that about you.” was his response.

“There’s far more we don’t know about our fellow man than we do know.” you smile at him and pat his hand. “You are usually quiet and prefer not to discuss frivolous matters. So I don’t bother you with trivia about myself.”

“I don’t believe that you or your beliefs are frivolous.” He pauses a moment, looking at your hand before placing his on top of yours. Both of his now tentatively trying to comfort yours. He didn’t show physical affection, it wasn’t natural to him. You took notice but kept your eyes on the way his hand gently stroked your own as he tried to elaborate the best he could. “You are... very well-read. An… admirable warrior of high morals. Your ideas have helped me with this. I still have concerns...questions. But for the first time since I learned this I feel… better understood.” You could almost feel the pain of him pulling those words out himself to give to another. This wasn’t his strong suit and you knew it. Was it some of the most endearing conversation you’d ever shared? Yes. Did it make your chest ache just slightly with the sweetness he was presenting even though his eyes were hidden? Also yes. He must be hurting, truly upset, and overwhelmed to try to share the burden of it with someone else.

You look back up to him and hold his hands tightly. “You’re very welcome.” you share a connected moment, eyes to the dark void of his visor as your hands move softly and slowly within the others’. “Would you prefer to continue talking about it? Or would you rather us take one of our walks? I think a break might help clear your head.”

“I think you're right .”

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

You took the opportunity to carry about the child, stopping to let him feel leaves and touch branches, pinching tiny bites of native fruit for him to experience. It was lovely, the scenery and the company. You kept the conversation light, talking about the books you'd read, the things you’d made, how the local Nexu’s were doing, and what the former guests had been up to. He’d met many of the foundlings that had eventually found their way to you. They had been in the same orphanage as you had. He’d scared most of them, and you couldn’t blame them, but he had always asked how they were when you spoke regardless. The child to him was the first foundling he’d taken in, lived with, cared for, and protected. You had helped with the younger children at the orphanage as you grew up and had taken in a handful over the years. And as children did, they would leave once they felt they were ready or the itch to be free came. You were concerned about how your Mando would take losing his little guy. You could tell they had a strong connection. You walked back both holding one of the outstretched arms of the very slow child, you could see how it was easy to be swept up by the little creature.

You had him care for the child, readying him for bed and getting what was needed out of his ship before locking it down and coming into the small clay and brick temporary home next to yours. It was modest, like yours, built from the clay in the hills you’d gathered yourself and decorated with various stones and tile. It was more than enough compared to what he was used to. A small room for the child to sleep, tucked away safe and cozy and you once again held the father figure and wished him a goodnight up against the cool metal of his helmet. He thanks you for your help, as he always does.

You tell him not to mention it, he’d do the same for you, as you always did. The parting goodbyes were always rather special and tender to you. He would tell you he hoped you found yourself in the favor of the maker, to be safe, vigilant, and that he would see you again. He’d always kept his promise.

---------

Going without sleep wasn’t something new for him. So sitting in the light of one of the four moons in the sky wasn’t exactly unexpected when you saw it from the dark interior of your home. He knew you were there. He had detected the movement in the building with his helmet without even looking in your direction. He sat on the stone stoop outside, helmet slowly shifting between looking down to the dirt path in front of him and up into the bright sky. It was the only glint off him from the moonlight, he was without his usual covering of Beskar armor on the rest of his body. He was in his black fabric shirt and pants, odd to see him without the visual breaks the shapes of his armor made. He still had his boots and his helmet on. You had yet to see him without them. You put on a robe to cover yourself in your summer-light sleeping shift and decided to see if you can be of any help.

He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or more anxious at the sight of you. He felt naked suddenly, despite all of his body being covered except his hands. He became hyper-aware of the small patch of skin around his neck that was uncovered, the wind tickling and reminding him he was in his most exposed state around someone in decades. You looked soft as you take slow steps towards him across the grassy garden between the buildings. It wasn’t just your loose hair, the free, flowing fabric showing skin he didn’t recall seeing before. The glow of the moon lent him to think he could see the energy around you as you approached and it bounced off your skin. But unlike The Way he was taught, he didn’t think less of you for appearing delicate. He knew better, but it seemed to help make him feel more at ease in his state of what he would call undress.

“Hey Manny.” your voice was considerate like a mother's and full of affection he didn’t feel he deserved. “Would you like some company?” you ask, tilting your head and holding out a small cup of cold liquid down to him. “Brought tea.” you mumble before moving to stand near him, the edges of your robes reaching out to caress the shaft of his boot on occasion.

With his head low, shielding his chin from your view he takes a sip. At this point in his inner monologue, he didn’t have it in him to ask you to turn away while he drank, hiding in the shadows was good enough.

“Put the kid to bed but you forgot to put yourself down too?” you give him a sleepy smile. You hear a long exhale from the filter in his helmet. “Still too much going on in your head to sleep, huh?” you say with a nod, already knowing. You sit your cup on the corner of the small stone landing in front of the door. You kneel before him, settling in and studying him dutifully. You’d never seen him look so vulnerable before, and you were mixed on your decision about how to approach him.

“Yeah. Still too much.”

“I’m all ears if you want to spill.” you offer with upward palms.

“I don’t want to keep you up. You should go back to bed. You were resting before you saw me.”

“And now I won’t be able to go back to sleep until I know you’re okay.”

A small grunt of acceptance comes from the helmet. “I feel angry and it confuses me. I shouldn’t be angry. I’ve made my decisions. Most a long time ago. But I am. I’m trying to practice humility, acceptance. But there’s only anger and this feeling of being betrayed.”

“That sounds normal to me.” you nod in support, thankful he was finally sharing with you what was going on in his mind. You’d had glances inside before, stories he’d told, where his morals lie, but this felt different. “They did help you. Maybe it’s good to focus on that?”

“I’m not angry at them.”

Your brow shows your confusion.

“I’m angry at the Children of the Watch.”

That was different. You understood him being angry at those that called him a zealot and dismissed his beliefs. Despite them being so similar.

“No matter how small of a part of my creed may have been a lie. It was still a lie. Now I wonder what else was a lie. None of it? All of it? I’ve given my life to this.”

“It’s not... simple.” you offer gently, eyes to the ground, not wanting to antagonize him.

“No. It’s not.” you let him think, studying his bare hands. It gave you plenty to do in the downtime. You’d seen bits of him before when healing him, but you couldn’t recall if you’d seen his hands. The warm brown skin was marked with light and dark scars alike from the years of abuse his body had taken. They were bigger than yours, more square and sturdy in comparison. “The things I’ve sacrificed for a lie.” it was almost a hiss, and you feel the burn of it in your chest for him.

“I know it’s not my apology to give,” you say quietly, rising on your knees to touch his forearms, suddenly aware of the softness and warmth underneath your hands as you touched him. There were no bracers to block you or worry about activating, there was just a man under there after all. “But I am sorry about how much this is upsetting you.”

“You are never a source of upset, Jaira.” Your name came off his lips like a whisper. He had so seldom used it. He wanted to reach out and touch your hands, but the thought of skin against his made him more agitated in multiple ways, both good and bad. Your expressive face told him you had known this but thanked him for the kind words all the same.

“Nor you to me, Manny.” you said his name in the same tender way, making it feel almost vulgar as you rest so close together.

He looks away, you can see the gears shifting from his subtle body language. “I believe it’s long overdue… in the interest of exploring the things I’ve sacrificed... you’ve earned my real name.” Your eyes go large, a quick jerk upward as he moves, bravely so, to place his hand over yours. His skin felt as hot as the sun. “My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

“Din.” you say with an unintentionally sickeningly sweet sigh of revelation. You give a smile that grows larger slowly, feeling it reach up into your eyes. “Din. That’s such a… gentle name. I like it.” you insist with a nudge forward of your chin.

“Yours reminds me of a phrase we have in Mandoa.” he looks down, now preoccupied with his decision to touch your hand. It was so giving, warm, and feeling distinctly feminine when paired with his.

“What’s that?”

“I think it would translate best to luck… destiny. Bright stars that light the good course to take.”

Your eyes went wide like a forest animal. You couldn’t help it, it was one of the sweetest sentiments anyone had ever given you. “Say it for me, Din.”

He felt his chest jerk at the word. He wasn’t used to being affected by them. Certainly not his name. “Jate’kara.”

“I’ve not been able to find much about your language. Would you be willing to teach me someday?”

“Of course.” he sounded borderline offended at your statement.

“Did I say something wrong?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“No, no.” he shakes his head. “You don’t have to ask things of me like they’re favors.” he clarifies. “Whatever you need of me...I’ll do it.”

It sent a flip to your insides. This felt like a lot of responsibility. You could just... request things from this myth-worthy Mandalorian? It was an odd power rush you weren’t truly capable of dealing with in this rather intimate setting. You were close, almost between his knees, hands clasped together and speaking quietly into the warm night air. The condensation ran cool on your skin, the wind leaving bumps over your skin in its wake. The buzz of animals and insects was loud but faded when you were so close and so deep in conversation. If he said you could ask anything of him. Then perhaps you would. Why sit on the intensity of the moment? Strike.

“What is it that is bothering you? You feel... different. Not angry. I’ve seen you angry this is more subtle more...deep. I feel like you’re holding back. What is it that's making you so angry? You are so logical and reasonable in your approach to things. What is it that's so distressing you can't sleep?”

He takes a deep breath. He hasn’t wanted to say and be thought of as simple or even crude. But you'd asked and he was left with no excuse. “There are things that men want...even need that arent considered with The Way. I am a Mandalorian. But I am also a man. I've given so much of myself to being Mandalorian that I've had to deny myself things that are a part of that human side of me.”

“And with learning of the lies, you’re angry because you feel like you've been suffering for no reason.”

“Yes.” a stern answer and a strong nod to accompany it.

You almost lost your nerve, but with the way his thumb kept sweeping across your skin and the voltage it felt like it created with every touch you would’ve cursed yourself if you didn’t ask. “What have you sacrificed unwillingly, Din?”

Your eyes gave you away if your tone hadn’t. His helmet doesn’t move, he is as still as stone, gray, and shining like a polished river rock as he bores into you. “That is a bold question.”

“You have given me bold answers. I return the earnestness with the things I want to know.”

“You want to know these things?”

“I want to know you.” a direct answer and a slight leaning forward to keep him close as if he might run away in fear. Which was the most ridiculous imagery you could imagine. “I always have. I’ve been witness to your good and the bad actions. I’d like to be a bearer of your thoughts tool. I can’t help but want to understand what makes you, you. Of all the creatures and people I’ve met, you are the only one to hold my attention so completely both with and without his presence.”

Your words made for the most interesting combination of occurrences in his chest and stomach. It was fire and ice, a pull to the man in him, and a calling of praise for the life he led. His cheeks burned, a rare occurrence. It had all been a fantasy before now. But you with your fond words and their heated meanings were making them feel more real by the second.

“You do know how to appeal to both sides of me that I’m talking about.” he pauses and observes your face a moment, and no sign of retreat is within your eyes. “There's been no place for the… physical intimacy that men can crave. I am not one to pay, and I don't have the time to put into such efforts that I believe are needed for such… intimate things. They’re as sacred as an oath. I might've not acted that way when I was young. But clarity is gained with experience.”

“I share the sentiment.” a touch of sadness he understood well was in your eyes and it made his chest ache. A being like you shouldn’t know these feelings. A flash of anger lit within him for the injustice in a universe where a woman like you would ever feel lonely in such a way.

“You’ve taken no oath to hold you back from such things.”

“But I have not had the time, place, or person to swear such sacred oaths.” you give a subdued laugh, throwing his words back at him. “Or… at least I didn’t think I did… because I wasn’t sure if they could.” you look away and he sees it. You meant him.

“They can,” he answers, a deep fearless voice emanates from the helmet that holds your entire body at attention. “There are… obstacles to overcome. But they can.”

With a rush of confidence, you move closer, your chest against his legs and your hands on his knees. “Do you know of any obstacle I have yet to overcome?” a smirk that catches him off guard appears, a playfulness to your eyes bright and doting on him makes him catch the fever you were trying to spread.

“No.” a breathy answer through Beskar.

“Then let me help.” you offer. “I have grown so fond of you over these years. I wasn’t convinced you felt the same.”

“I do.”

“We can approach this issue together and… overcome it the same. As we have before.”

“As we will again.” He recites part of the toast you liked to give before leaving on missions. He remembered it. He did care.

“What obstacles are there? You know you have my silence with such things.”

Where did he even begin? He didn’t feel prepared and ironically he was unprepared for such actions to take place and feelings to be felt. “I know. I trust you.” There was nothing but the truth in his words and you reach to put your hand to the side of his helmet as if it were his cheek. You had always accepted this part of him, treating the helmet as if it WAS him and not an external thing. Which is how he thought of it most of the time. There was never a wish for him to remove it or invasive questions. You were knowledgeable about the Mandalorians and knew their armor was sacred to them, and you assumed as such about this man and his helmet. He places his hand over yours, the warmth between them registering on his helmet display and building condensation on its surface. “Let’s go inside.” he instructs, taking your hands, a flush of warmth through his bones at the touch of another.

“Is the child-?”

“Fast asleep.” he quickly answers, leading you to the small bedroom in the earthen home.

He stands at the long side of the bed for a moment, hand in yours and trying to get his bearings, it had been so long since he’d done anything like this. You saw his head moving and taking in the room and then you and back again, you could sense the uncertainty. “Din, relax.” a warm smile comes across your face, taking the lead, and that was fine with you. You almost coo his name, your hands moving to his upper arms to rub them reassuringly.

“Hard when it’s been so long.” he regrets it as he says it, thinking it might sound a bit pathetic.

“Believe me it’s been a very long time for me too.” you console him, standing chest to chest to start. You follow the hills and valleys of his arms, strong and lean under the pliant fabric to his bare hands, lacing your fingers together, feeling him hide the twitches and jerks from the sensation of touch. “Sit down on the bed. Let me get close to you.” he sits down, sat up far too straight. “Put the bend of your knees against the bed... there we go.” he feels your hands on his thighs and an audible gulp hits your ears that you ignore. “You know I’m not going to judge you. I want this… I want you too.” He feels you close the space between you, your legs sliding between his naturally wide splayed ones. “Now tell me what obstacles did you mean before? Talk to me and let me know what you need.” your hands trace the dark lines on his helmet and a shiver runs down his back.

You were being far better about this than he warranted. It made him want you more, a hunger in his lower stomach slowly growing past his anxiety. “Helmet stays on.” was his first thought, spoken almost too quickly.

“Of course.” you keep your voice quiet and soothing, hands making their trek up and down his arms, waiting to feel them lose their tension. “Do you have to leave everything else on?” you coax him with a squeeze to his biceps, putting one leg up, now visible from beneath your robe over his.

You can’t see it but you get an actual grin out of him. “No.” a more confident response, feeling more relaxed with your unintentional playful humor. You see him look down to see the bare skin, the touchless friction between your bodies growing hotter by the second.“But let’s not get carried away.”

You hear the laugh this time, he sees your expression shift, a triumphant smile for getting him out of his own head. “I know I can be sensitive when I’ve not... been touched in a long time.”

“Yeah?” he liked the sounds of you talking about it a little too much. He wanted to hear anything you’d tell him about your body.

“Yeah.” your breath catches, “Are you?”

He nods, he didn’t have the confidence in this area yet to own what he saw as shortcomings.

“I want to sit in your lap. Can I?” You wanted to take it slow. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off. There is a fine line between indulgence and going too far when it came to dealing with a man like him.

“Yes.” another quick nod, and you are happy to give in, your hips settle well on his strong thighs, feeling secure. To him, it felt it took forever and didn’t last long enough. The drag of your bare skin against his thin clothes was a lot. The weight of what felt like a lifetime of neglect to himself and his needs weighs as heavy on him as you do. He had known touch only through violence for decades now, the tenderness you were offering him willingly was almost overwhelming. He was taught the ways of war and violence since he was young. The ways of more fragile things; of love and intimacy he’d had to learn on his own.

“I’ll go slow.” Slow was the opposite of how your hearts were beating. Your fingers wanted to touch that strip of skin unveiled around his shirt collar, but you only stared at it for the moment. His head pauses just above your chest, your arms resting on his shoulders, fingers light on the edge of his helmet and hungry to move farther down.

“Thank you.” a simple but honest answer.

You’d been close before, seen large spaces of bare skin and carried one another, slept shoved into a single space too small for you both but it had never felt like this. Everywhere your bodies met was warm and giving, both now very aware of the gap between both your hips in this position. You took the time to study him up close, the metal of his helmet was unbelievably smooth as your fingers traced invisible lines and doted on the hard surface separating you from him. Did you want his helmet off? Yes. You wanted to know, to be the only one to know, to touch and feel and savor every inch of him. The more you thought about it, the closer you got to him, the harder it was to recall a time you didn’t think of him this way. Repressing your wants and needs was something you were both personally familiar with.

“It doesn’t bother you when I touch your helmet like this does it?”

“N-no. I like it.” his face a melted mess under the guard. He watched you so close, your bright eyes glowing with the light the moon beaming down. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew everywhere you touched, spots lighting up red with heat, pulsing where more pressure was applied. It was a good introduction to being touched again. You push forward, a single kiss to where you believed his cheek to be. When you pulled away, he answered before you could ask. “Go on.” a heated hiss through the filter deep and dark and heavy as it hit your ears. You place another to the other side, tilting his head you give him another to his forehead. His eyes would close when you were near, a happy sigh, a weighted exhale is let out, feeling his shoulders slumping with each dot of affection. You hold his metal cheeks, a faint kiss to the tinted part of his visor. You press your forehead against his, barely a measurement worth noting separating you as he gives in to your touch, wanting to fall into you, to give you back what you were giving him.

You move your hands slowly, giving him time to register and adapt before moving on, your arms wrap around his helmet, holding him close before leaving a trail of smaller kisses behind, bringing his head only slightly down into your chest. Underneath he was a slack-jawed puddle. Your arms made their way down his shoulders to his back, you could even feel the raised skin of scars you’d helped suture, fingertips light along them, exploring new ones. After your flat palms explored his back, finding his breathing steady and deep you tried something new. A drag of your nails against the fabric drew a deep groan from him. “Good?”

“Ung-” a deep enthusiastic grunt escapes the helmet pushed to your collarbone. “Yes.” You continue, you scratch his back and he swears he could cry at the sensation. You didn’t move away or avoid his scars, the patchwork he felt his body looked like. You embraced it, all of him, and it was hitting him harder than he expected it to.

You take a deep breath, another kiss to soothe to the cold metal. “Do you want to...see me? Or- touch me back?”

He hadn’t even thought about it, his brain hadn’t moved past the feel-good moments you were covering him in.

“Yes.” a simple but hungry answer. As you see his helmet tilt downward towards your chest.

“I want you to too.” Your sincere tone struck him, he watched your agile fingers reach for the belt that held your robe in place. It fell silent, blood in your ears as it was your turn to feel the taste of nervousness on your tongue. Your body was something that did things for you, it wasn’t something you often stopped to consider the aesthetic of. The quiet noises that he let escape as you took off the robe left any hesitation behind with it as it laid on the floor abandoned. His hands didn’t move, his chest did noticeably, as yours mirrored, picking up speed as you moved forward. You take one of his hands, thumbs rubbing circles, leaving small kisses on his fingertips as the sounds beneath the Beskar grew louder. The rhythm of his breathing was now audible, helpless sounds you never expected to hear from anything but pain brushed against your ears and touched you in places no one had in ages. You kiss him palm, nose nuzzled into the only slightly trembling fingers. After you felt the skin-to-skin contact was enough to calibrate him, you meet what you felt to be his eyes, taking his hand and placing it over your breast. You were still covered with the thin sleep shift but it was made for breathability in the heat of summer and didn’t leave much to the imagination. You take him by the wrist of the awkwardly avoidant hand and put it on the curve of your hip. “Is this-?”

“Yes.” he rushes out and sees you smile, causing another kiss to be given to his helmet where you were aiming for what would be his mouth. He groaned, feeling your nipple harden against his palm, the other feeling the silky slip of fabric as he let himself give a firm grip to your fleshiest parts.

“Go on, Din,” you whisper into his visor. “Touch me,” you ask of him. A strangled noise breaking through bitten lips is your answer. You place your hand gently on top of his, showing him it was okay, reminding him how to, helping him give in. Your hand forces his to cup the weight of your chest, the exhale of pleasure fogged up his visor as you had your head rested against his. “Like that, yeah.” you wet your lips and his hand begins to move on its own. Soon his hands are kneading at you, a simple brush of thumb over your nipple forces an inhale he drinks up the sound of.

He fondly recalled this now, that static in the air, the shared breaths and the power he felt with a woman in his grip. He relaxes his head against the bend of your neck, mouth open and watering, hidden from view but the sound of his breathing was enough to tell you he was giving over to it now. The tentativeness leaves, his hand pulls your hips closer to him, both inhaling at the feeling of touch against the places your arousal was spreading from. You let out a small whine at the feeling of the seam of his pants, pressed against by his growing erection.

“Fuck.” you hear exhaled into your shoulder and you shudder. “You feel...so good.” his hand grips you firmly, “Like velvet in my hands…” his lips brush against his helmet and he wishes it was your skin. He was famished for touch, for this connection and lust he’d repressed for so long. But here it was, in his hands, in his lap asking him for more. His hands ran up your bare chest, feeling the pulse under your skin and the slick your sweat had created. “You’re as hot as a star under my hands.” he groans.

You audibly swoon at the comment, feeling that distinct masculine roughness of well-worked hands as his palms moved into your hairline. “And you’re as hard as Beskar under me.” You move your hips, a grind against his, and a fully formed moan escapes, neck going limp and the heaviness of the helmet resting on your shoulder now. You whine, the friction feeling even more delicious against your glossy wet center. He encourages you wordlessly, a hand on your ass to keep a slow rhythm, a painful drag of your engorged clit against the perfectly fit shaft of his cock. Such a thin piece of material between you, you thought. You reach between your legs, a wet mess on both of you and it’s no surprise. “I’m as wet as Kamino, Din.” you hum and smile, the front of his helmet against your neck again. You feel the vibration of his groan against your skin. “Look what you’re doing to me,” you whisper, mouth pressed against his helmet where his ear would be. He sees the light hit your fingers as you raise them. “See that?”

“Fuck...yes little star I do.” he groaned heavily, his chest heaving a bit. You get bolder, your hand moving from your lips to the painfully hard throb in his pants. Another long groan, a jerk of his hips as you palm him, a back and forth against the pressure, feeling him jump against the confines. “Unf - I - I won’t- “ his hips jerk and his hand moved faster than you can register to your wrist. A firm hold that makes you moan and stop. There was that strength you had wanted to be obedient to. “That might be a bit… much for me.” He stopped you out of fear of not being able to stop. He didn’t want to scare you, unleash something he wasn’t ready for or couldn’t control. It was a concern he’d cum too soon and embarrass himself, this wasn’t something he could just jump back into and impress anyone.

He was thankful you weren’t disappointed, “Do you want me to make you cum, Din?” Every time you said his name with such lust in your voice it made him moan. But he didn’t feel the least bit weak for it.

“I wanted us both to...enjoy this.”

“If you think I’m not enjoying myself you’re welcome to put that hand between my legs and find the contrary.” Another moan that makes him slump comes heavily from him. “If you do want to...enjoy this…” you let out a small breathy laugh he raises his head to. “I can arrange that.” you offer, your nose gliding affectionately against the center indent of his helmet. “Relax and enjoy this with me, Din.” you give him a reassuring smile, lining your hips up again. You grind back and forth, his hands finding their place on your body quickly. You straighten your back to give him a view of you, and you finally let your fingers dive under the neck of his shirt, feeling the slightest glimpse of hair at the base of his neck, your fingers go as far into his helmet as they can. You start that back and forth against him, over and over, lazy growing more urgent as each time he gives a harsh drag across your clit, the stimulation you needed. “I’ve thought about you like this, you know.”

A small “Ungff.” was the only response he could manage.

“Wanted my hands to feel your skin, just for pleasure. Wanted to know how you’d feel... thick and throbbing beneath me like this.”

With a deep grunt, his hand holds your hip sternly, the other moving to the back of your head, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes-keep talking like that, fuck.” The demand was thick in his voice, his hands no longer gentle, giving away the need they were trying to find an outlet for.

“You’ve turned me into something I’m not for anyone else. Some needy young girl, hungry for a taste of flash and flesh with a man.”

“You’re so, fuck you’re so soft.” he moans, helmet pushing back against you like a bull, and you were happy to ride. "Your so good at that."

You let it build, focusing on the feeling between your legs, you let your breathing take over, every grind a release of sound, and a step climbed together towards your peak. “I knew you would be impressive. You had to be. Look at you.” You pant and you feel his fingers sink into your hair, a fistful slowly tightening as you held onto his back and head, leveraging and letting your hips do all the work. “No man’s ever made me such a greedy woman with only his hands before Din. No one. Only you.” The filter slips and your mouth falls open, breath fast from exertion, both sets of hands now with a white-knuckled grip against each other's bodies.

It was hot and fast and what you needed to satiate your needs. His hands and sounds told you everything you need to know for now. He wanted you, needed you, craved you. He was giving you the power to make him weak, a rush to your head that wasn’t just your impending orgasm.

“Fuck Din I’m close.” you admit, your mouth open and panting, tongue shamelessly lapping at his helmet, your lips kissing him as if he could kiss back. Once again, he returned the kisses with his hands, switching grip one went to your back, the other back to your breasts bouncing out of their thin confines.

“Fucking do it.” he bites out through gritted teeth, fingers tugging your top down to expose you and give your nipple a pinch.

“Mmmph!” a slight whine but a plea for more. “Yes fuck I love that Din, harder.” your words rush out and he eagerly follows.

“Cum for me. Cum on me. Please.” he growls, and it ignites something in you. Something primal. “C’mon little star, fuckin burn for me.” he commands, a barked order, caught up in it all, the heat, the friction, and the haze of lust around you both he cums. Unexpectedly but it didn’t matter at this point. With that solid thrust against you, a hand gripped into the flesh between your shoulder blades, the masculine energy you’d craved washes over you in the grunts and expletives that leak from the helmet.

“Yes, fucking cum Din. Give it to me.” you moan shamelessly, head falling back. A yip of “Yes.” building from whines to full roars overcomes you as you do as he asks and explode into a white bright hot light that consumes you. You try to keep the pace, the contact but your body stutters and begins to shake. The now warm metal of his helmet presses between your bouncing tits as your head tilts back and he holds you up with both hands, you never felt fear of falling when his hands were on you. At least not falling into the floor.

It was as if his mind cleared, and he was left soaking in this gleaming woman cumming hard in his arms. He held you up, seeing your chest heave, the pink flushing your skin, how much desire he felt in his growled name as you gnashed your teeth and came on him.

Fuck he felt good.

He got to scoop you up, a trembling and panting shadow of the primal goddess you’d just been, arms wrapping around your waist, one hand moving to see your face as it fought to regain its bearings.

"You glow like a star when you're like this." He isn't sure if he's overstepped, he doesn't know if the shine in your eyes is from the recent orgasm or his words. “Fuck you are… beautiful. You know that?” your mass of hair falls forward as you look down at him, chest still finding its normal pace.

Your eyes blink, a flutter of disbelief and, if he read you correctly, a slice of fear for only a second. “Beautiful?” you ask, feeling a bit bewildered.

His hand stops its gentle stroking against your hair and face. “You act like you’ve never been called that before.” You can feel the subtle laugh in his chest when he says it.

When your face remains still for a moment, eyes bright and full of memories he wishes he could access you reply almost sheepishly, “I've not.”

With the simple, quiet answer he was given more information about you than you knew you'd given up. You'd never let anyone in like this before. No one had ever held you and told you the things you longed to hear from another you cared for. You were like him after all.

With a light hand, you rest against his helmet again, stroking it as if it were his hair. "It means more coming from you than it would anyone else."

Now you've taken his words from him. You managed to make him feel special. Something he had denied his entire life. Something he wasn't sure he even believed anyone could be. In the same sentiment as your confession, he was glad it was you that was changing his changing his mind about such things. Learning the truth about the Children of the Watch, and the questions it brought up about his life was the first in a wave of realizations he'd face. Perhaps it was time to reevaluate how he lived his life if it meant missing out on things like you.

I tagged those who wanted in my Javi fic and interacted with my posts about making this fic. If you want to be added or removed just let me know.

@jaegeeeeer​ @likedovesinthewnd​ @inkededucatednnerdy​  @biharryjames @ladamari68​ @past-romantic​ @weliketomoveit @shikin83​ @ookamikuro​ @anglovesthis​ @swol-bear @louist91syndrome​ @guiltylitpleasures​ @nfnoofiii​ @hellothefriend​ @beatha-dubhach @l-e-i-n-t-h​ @firehart9​ ​

[fallingappleshurt]

Bumblebees and Buttercups

Tommy knows how to get into the forest and even though it’s against the rules he can’t resist showing his friend

Hiiii I disappeared for a bit- sadly but I am back with a little snack sized fic that could probably use more polish!

This takes place in my DFF AU and here is the ao3 link!

Hope you enjoy!

A soft breeze brushed against Tommy’s skin as he pulled on his friend’s floppy, threadbare, sleeve.

“Come on! It’s not that far now!”

“Where are we even going? We’re all the way in the fourth ring!” Tubbo said, jumping over a dip in the road, Tommy had insisted on showing him a ‘very cool and important secret’ after school that day but wouldn’t explain a single thing else.

“You’ll see- now come on! You’re so slow!”

Tommy missed Tubbo’s eye roll and tried to urge him along, hoping to avoid the more dodgy areas Phil warned him about years ago.

He led them past Skeppy’s shack, past the dilapidated buildings, and towards the fence. They ended up close to the gap that Tommy had followed Techno through a few weeks earlier.

Tommy ducked behind a house, motioning dramatically for Tubbo to follow, Tommy looking for the telltale willow tree vines that hid the gap, ignoring Tubbo’s questions.

“There it is!” He started to run but skidded to a halt, cautiously checking the area, then crept forwards, waving for Tubbo to join him.

He peeled back the gangly green vines and looked to Tubbo for a reaction.

“What- what is this?”

“The forest outside the rings!”

“Well obviously- how did you find it?”

“That’s not important,” Tommy grinned, “What is important is that we have access to the outside world.”

“What are we even gonna do with this?”

“Well- I don’t know- it’s- it’s cool! It’s just cool-” He paused, “Not like you would get cool.”

Tubbo nodded, taking a step closer to the fence, “What do you think is out there?”

“Nothing we can’t handle! Come on- it’ll be fun! We can do anything we want!” And without waiting for a response Tommy marched in, Tubbo sighed before trailing behind.

The edge of the forest looked worse than the last time Tommy had seen it, more litter was scattered in the foliage and trees, the thickets were sharper and pulled at already thin clothing and pricked his skin but that didn’t stop him.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Of course! I’ve been here loads of times!” Tommy jabbed a thumb at his own chest proudly.

“How many times?”

“Uh- too many to count!” Tommy stammered, scrambling over a mossy log, intentionally crunching on the leaves. “Just know that I am a professional!”

Tubbo snorted, optioning to crouch under the log instead.

They continued deeper into the woods, soft sunlight dappling through the canopy of leaves, emerald green grass brushing against their ankles, the chittering of nearby animals filled their ears.

“Do you think there are bees in here?”

“Of course- there have to be!”

“I’d like to see them- I’ve only seen a few in the rings…”

“Hell yeah! Let’s go find us some bees! There are probably some close by!”

The pair bounced through the woods, crossing little creeks and streams, hopping from rock to rock and trying to swing on the low hanging weak vines on the trees.

Tommy had tried a particularly weak one, slipped, and landed flat on his back.

They happened upon a little flower patch, immediately taking notice of the buzzing coming from the vibrant flowers, a few yellow specks fluttering about.

Tommy watched as Tubbo crouched down and inched closer, biting his lip to stop from laughing.

“Ya know Tubbo- I don’t really get why you like those things.”

“I don’t know why either, I just think they’re neat, come and watch them.”

“No- that sounds boring.” Tommy said as he shuffled closer to Tubbo, who was poking tentatively at the bees. “Moths are better.”

“No they’re not,”

“Yes they are!”

“If they are so much better then where are they?”

“They-they’re not out right now- because-” Tommy trailed off briefly.

“‘Cause they’d get eaten.” Tubbo filled in nonchalantly, not bothering to look up.

Tommy shrieked, “Aw no! That’s sick- that’s so sick! You’re so twisted!”

“I’m not twisted- that’s just how nature works-”

“Nature is stupid!”

“You’re stupid-”

They bickered back and forth for a moment before the argument dissolved and they sat in a not awkward but not comfortable silence.

Tubbo broke it, rubbing a soft yellow flower petal between his fingers, “I wonder what type of flower this is- the bees seem to really like it.”

Tommy looked up, briefly stopping from pulling up grass, “They’re buttercups.” He said simply.

“You answered that fast.” Tubbo teased, watching Tommy’s head shoot up.

“Well- well yeah! Because I’m so smart I just know these things!”

Tubbo laughed, plucking a bee free buttercup from the ground and laying it across Tommy’s busted up shoes.

“Sure big man.”

In turn Tommy took it and tried to weave it between the laces, after he mangled the steam just enough to get it to stay he picked a buttercup of his own and stuck it in a free button gap on Tubbo’s shirt.

They grinned at each for a moment before Tommy cleared his throat and looked over at the bees, “Hm, they aren’t so bad.”

“They’re great- at least they actually do things for the environment- unlike moths!”

“I’m tired of your shit! Moths are great and it’s not my fault that you’re too stupid to see that!”

The banter continued until they heard the bushes rustle and froze, it was too strong and too loud for it to be a small animal. Tommy put up a hand and crept forwards, taking care to not step on anything that could alert the thing of his presence.

He stood on his tiptoes and looked out to see something slinking forwards, hissing softly, not in his direction, it almost blended in with forest as it.

He wasn’t able to recognize it but knew it was bad news, just looking at the monster’s bend form sent sharp shivers down his back.

Tommy let out a shaky breath and took a step back, he had heard Techno say there were monsters in the forest before but he thought Techno was just trying to scare him.

He tried to rationalize to himself, it was fine, the monster didn’t even know he was there, they just had to sneak away- which was totally doable!

Tommy took a one cautious step backwards, still keeping his eyes locked on the monster. He took another, didn’t make a sound, and the monster's head snapped to the side, zeroing in on him.

It’s eyes narrowed and it let out a sharp, grading, cry before charging forwards at full speed.

Tommy shrieked and ran towards Tubbo, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him up, babbling about a ‘something big something bad- monster- run run run’.

They rushed through the trees, trying to stick close to one another without tripping, jumping over large roots and avoiding vines they didn’t dare bother to look back.

“We need to move around more- so we’re harder to follow!” Tubbo called to him, Tommy shook his head.

“No! We could get lost- besides we can out run that bastard!”

The land started to look a little familiar, the trees started thinning and the chitters of the animals were dying down.

Tommy dared to look behind him and skidded to a halt, chest heaving, he didn’t see the monster behind him and flopped on the ground, trying desperately to suck down as much air as possible.

He heard Tubbo stop too, looking over to see him leaning against a tree, sweat dripping down his forehead.

“So- besides- besides the monster- I think that went pretty well.”

Tubbo gave him a look before laughing, “Yeah- yeah it did.”

They waited for a few moments, trying to get their breathing back under control, Tommy took to breaking a twig into smaller pieces while Tubbo fiddled with the flower still stuck in his shirt.

After a while Tommy sat up, immediately regretting it as all the blood rushed from his head, tossing the shredded twig bits aside.

“We should probably get back home,”

Tubbo nodded as Tommy climbed to his feet then rushed over and grabbed Tubbo’s shoulders.

“You can’t tell anyone about any of this, okay Tubbo? It has to be a complete secret.”

Tubbo nodded again, putting his hands on top of Tommy’s, “Got it!”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay- now let's get out of here.” They walked to the edge of the forest and after making sure the coast was clear ran over and ducked back through the fence, pushing the swaying willow vines away.

The fourth circle was quiet, the cracked cobble brick roads were barren, the sun was just starting to set so they picked up the pace.

They couldn’t have gotten three houses down the road until they ran into Technoblade, he barely spared them a passing glance, in favor of messing with a hole in his sleeve.

“There you guys are.” He said, “Knew you were out here.”

“What- how?”

“It’s a sense- I can tell when you’re doing something stupid.”

“That’s rude- I don’t do stupid things-”

“Sure Tommy, now lets get home.” Techno had already turned to walk away.

“Get home?”

“Yes.” He looked over his shoulder, “You have people who worry about your wellbeing you know.”

‘I don’t think you know that.’ Tommy wanted to retort but kept his mouth shut, trailing behind Techno who didn’t seem to understand there wasn’t a rush to get home and there was no need for him to walk that fast.

The walk back was mostly silence saved for a few questions about the weekend's homework. The trio eventually reached the rusty metal stairs, Techno turned to Tubbo.

“Can you make it back to your place okay?”

Tubbo nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be fine, see you later.” He waved and continued down the street.

They watched him leave and Tommy felt his nerves settle just a little bit when;

“You were in the forest.” It wasn’t a question.

“Uh-”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Tommy froze, not sure of what to do, was Techno mad at him or just annoyed? He could never tell.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Techno sighed, Tommy shook his head.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t see anything weird in there?”

“Nope.” Tommy felt like it was probably better if Techno didn’t know about the monster even if it didn’t get that close- better safe than sorry.

Techno eyed him up and down. “Okay you’re definitely lying.”

“What! No I’m not- you stupid-”

“Yeah yeah- just get upstairs.” Techno sighed again, nudging Tommy towards the stairs.

Tommy stuck his tongue out but headed up towards the apartment anyways, grinning when he looked down and noticed the buttercup still wrapped in between his shoe laces.

It was busted up and missing a few petals but was still soft between his fingertips and glowed softly in the dim light of his room.

He put it in a little glass of water on his desk for a reminder of his adventure with his friend.

[alwayspondering]

Roots Intertwined

Hi! I’m absolutely honored to have had such a wonderful artist to work with in @mysme-rbb​ : Loli! Their art style is spectacular and it is a perfect visual for the story below. Check out Loli’s Instagram HERE! ^^

Note: I posted this before, but accidentally pressed the wrong button and deleted the original post. If you could leave a note to build it back up to what it was, that would be lovely!

Warnings: some implied reference to neglect and abuse, spoilers for Rika’s Behind Story, religion

Finally. A moment alone with my thoughts. That was rare.

As quiet and serene the ancient walls of the cathedral were, it was rare to find a moment of peace.

Perhaps “peace” is a loose term. Peace can be defined in countless ways, flexible from person to person. One thing is universal – everyone gets peace of mind from security, from support, from compassion. Peace of mind is one thing, but surviving is entirely different. Too much security is dangerous.

I had learned that early on. No matter what happens - or whoever enters my life - that mindset will always be with me. It protects me. That is the only thing I know for sure in this world.

V tells me that he is my security, the one I can trust, the one I can love - my Sun.

V tells me he will help me rid of the darkness in my mind.

I want to believe him. I want to trust him. I want to love him as much as he loves me. I want to be worthy enough for the handsome, sentimental man that had so sincerely promised his life to me.

A part of me wants to embrace the darkness that I pushed away for so long. Is that so wrong?

The all-too-familiar feeling of dread washed over me. I suddenly saw Mina, curled up on a church pew. The screeching voice of Mother - of the Pastor - berading every thought that could have spun the flashback away.

“This is just a ritual to cleanse the devil from you-”

“Serena, you’re possessed by Satan-”

“This thing will spread its germs! Dear Lord, smite this fiend out of this place-”

“Begone!”

“Satan!”

“I need your help, good people of God!”

A small, trembling hand reached to point at the Preacher, tears streaming.

“Amen, amen...”

Though a million different phrases raced through young Mina’s mind, nothing dared escape her lips. Mina was silenced. Serena was silenced.

“Lord, protect us from this Satan!”

I was silenced.

“Do something about her! The Satan might reach out to us, too...!”

“Get her! Now!”

Silenced. Restrained. Helpless.

Slowly - painfully - the image of Mina soon began to shift. Mina’s emerald doe eyes faded into vibrant golden ones, filled with the same amount of helplessness. Her wavy blonde hair faded into a tousle of red.

“...Miss Rika?” A soft, mouse-like voice snapped me out of the nightmare.

Saeran.

I knew how to recover quickly from these episodes. I learned how to don a mask of innocence and happiness for the rest of the world, at the flip of a coin.

Saeran needed someone who was stable - someone who could be his rock. Just like V was for me. I had to be that for Saeran no matter what. I could never abandon him.

“Hello, Saeran.” My once-dazed expression melted into a smile as he ran to meet me on the bench in the prayer garden that had become my escape.

“I’ve missed you, Miss Rika! So, so so much!” Saeran nearly tackled me into an embrace that I returned warmly.

“V and I have missed you just as much!” I heard my own voice chime out, the smile on my lips genuine now as the lingering dread washed away.

“...You did?” Saeran pulled away from the hug, his head tilting to the side. His eyes were just as doe-like as Mina’s. The same innocence - and fragility - she had once had was evident in him, too.

“Of course we did. How could we not miss such a goofball like yourself?” I rustled his hair, a light-hearted giggle escaping the young boy’s lips. The small peal of laughter was soon interrupted by a sudden expression of uncertainty.

“A ‘goof-ball’... Is that a bad thing?” Saeran enunciated each syllable of this new word, unsure of himself. My own expression shifted as I could sense a new anxiety in the young boy. One that was very familiar.

“A bad thing? No, absolutely not. Being a goofball is one of the best things to be, Saeran. It’s a good thing.” My voice was reassuring, almost motherly.

“A good thing... Hm.” I could see the cogwheels turning through Saeran’s mind after he spoke, and then - “Mother says I will never be anything close to good.”

Tears began to form in Saeran’s eyes but it was obvious he was trying his best to hold it all in. It seemed like he had experience with holding in that emotion. Just like Mina.

“Saeran…” I watched as he struggled to keep an unbothered expression.

He was fighting hard.

His thoughts were so obviously spiraling.

“...Saeran… You don’t have to hide any of those emotions from me. Okay?”

Saeran’s expression remained as stone-cold as he could muster. His eyes glared back at me with bewilderment. It was as if he’d never heard reassurance like this from anyone.

I figured that was accurate, from the way little Saeyoung had spoken of their mother. There was obviously a reason he never talked about her.

Without another word between us, I enveloped Saeran into a nurturing embrace.

As if a burden had been lifted, he sunk into my arms - effortlessly, as if he had belonged there.

His heaving sobs were silenced as he buried his head in the ruffles of my dress. His breathing soon became hitched - broken - gasping for air.

I could only hold him tight, and comfort him as best as I could. That was the least I could do for this poor child.

Soon, the gasps turned into hyperventilation.

“Saeran, darling - Breathe…” I spoke tenderly, in the most comforting voice I could muster.

His breaths were still fast - too fast. “You are safe here with V and I. You are safe with me… Please, just breathe…”

Slowly, but surely - painfully - Saeran’s breaths began to calm.

“That’s it - just keep breathing… Three counts in, three counts out…” I recalled the breathing strategy V had coached me through countless times. Saeran followed my advice, and soon his breathing pace settled further.

I held Saeran close, like I always wished my mother had. I held him tight. I wanted to protect this child from this world. Even if it meant sacrificing myself.

“...Can you talk to me, Saeran? Tell me what’s swirling through those thoughts of yours.” I asked gently, taking care not to overstep and push him away.

In response, Saeran pulled away from the embrace, staying close but retracting in by wrapping his arms fully around his small torso.

The young boy’s sniffles were the only sound other than the birds chirping in the near distance.

A look of deliberation - of hesitancy - suddenly appeared on Saeran’s face. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his torn, thin shirt. A bony wrist moved to roll up both pant legs to reveal two raw, red bruises around his ankles.

A sharp gasp instinctually escaped my lips at the sight.

Though I kept it hidden, rage for the monster that shackled this poor child boiled up inside.

“It hurts…” Saeran whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. The tears trailed down his cheeks silently.

“Your mother did this to you…?”

A sharp nod in response.

“A mother should never treat their child that way.” My voice was suddenly colored with a new darkness.

“...Why does she?” The young voice chirped, pining for an answer. That was an answer I wanted to figure out for myself. I could hardly fathom how anyone could even think of hurting such a weak, broken child.

A child who needed someone to help him survive in this world.

“Some people in this world are evil, Saeran. Unfortunately, your mother is one of them.” I spoke in a calculated, composed tone. There was no need to let my true emotions out.

“‘E-vil…’ Is that something bad?” Another inquisitive chirp.

I nodded in response before taking his small hand in my own. At first, he flinched at the touch - but soon relaxed.

“...But you know what? I know how to spot the evil people in this world.”

“You can…?”

“Yep, I can. It’s my super power.”

“Wow, really?”

“Well, not really. But I’ve never been wrong about a person, ever.” A laugh escaped my lips before my expression shifted to that of true sincerity. “...I want you to know that I’m going to do everything I can to protect you from her. I will always protect you, Saeran.”

“...Why me?”

I considered this for a moment. I had to gain his trust. I had to be careful. One misspoken word, and I could lose everything.

“Believe it or not, you and I are actually quite similar, Saeran.” I wiped a tear from Saeran’s cheek and realized he was entranced at my words. My eyes searched the ground, settling upon a burst of yellow just beyond the shadows of the bench. Reaching down, I deftly picked it from its shady haven.

“...You and I are like this daffodil. Fragile, beautiful, sprouting even from the darkness.” I spun the stem in between my fingers. “...This daffodil needs someone to take care of it. Someone who will protect it. Someone who will help keep it alive.”

I took a moment to phrase my words - cautiously.

“I will be that someone for you, Saeran. Will you let me be?” I handed the delicate flower ever-so-carefully to Saeran. He twirled the stem in between his fingers, his expression colored with new melancholy.

“You… really want to protect me?” Hesitant curiosity coloured the child’s voice now.

“Of course I do,” I continued, “I’ll care for you, protect you, and help you survive in this world, Saeran.”

Saeran blinked in an almost disbelief, a tear trailing slowly down his cheek. That disbelief melted into a hopeful smile.

That was the smile of a child who was fit for the Paradise I had been dreaming of.

“...Okay.” Saeran’s gaze flickered back towards me, his golden eyes as doe-like as ever. He twirled the stem giddily in between his fingers.

Saeran was the daffodil - as delicate and fresh as the tiny flower he held so carefully. I will do everything in my power to keep him from being crushed, from being choked out by the weeds he would inevitably find himself ensnared in.

No weeds would ever dare ensnare anyone I deemed fit for my Paradise.

[goldafterglow]

hold me in the meadows

Summary: You are Ezra’s dreamcatcher and he is your burrow.

Request: “The sleepy prompts!! Lovely! Can you do “I have had nightmares every night for the past three weeks and now they’re gone because of you, how did you do that?” with (can you guess??) EZRA” - the love of my life, @opheliaelysia

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k+

Tags: angst?, fluff, more metaphors that don’t mean anything, weird touching lol idk what the fuck this fic is, this is also not beta read so send the flood send the flu

Author’s Note: If you left a like or comment or reblog on Dissolve Me I’m telling you with as little shame as is humanly possible that I definitely reread it at least 3 times. Feedback means the word to me! also this was supposed to be a 500 word drabble and now it’s over 4.5k words if that tells you anything about me. I apologize in advance I think I’ve really outdone myself w/ my bullshit this time

Gif Credit: @pascvl; Also shout out to @pascalplease sorry I spammed you for nothing dsfgdsg

Ezra is staring at you.

He’d met you on one of those toxic moons, one of those deceitfully picturesque mirages where the dust glitters like lily petals but the air would kill you before you could think to appreciate it. You were a floater; a nomad with no place to call home, but you figured you liked it that way. Homes were permanent. They set lives and futures in cobblestone and trapped spirits in gated properties, keeping just about anything and everything tethered under the farce of security. Homes make paraffin casings around dragonfly wings and turn footprints to concrete. So you never had one, and you never wanted one. Ezra had found you amusing. You had found him to be better company than just yourself. So with great reluctance, you established a partnership. Not one forged in steel or bronze but something still fleeting, its true meaning always escaping your lips like a forgotten thought. It’s too much work to try and think about it anyway.

You had let him invite you to reside in his tent. It took coaxing, required copious amounts of golden honey spilling from Ezra’s tongue to get you to tenaciously stick to him, but you were no match for his silver tongue. He did everything he could to assure that this wasn’t a habitat, but merely a shelter - a thing that could be taken down and built back up somewhere else, anywhere you wanted. So you had obliged. He let you take the cot closest to the zipper door; you liked being closer to the exit, just a rotation away from being back on your feet. He tries to let you truly feel like if you wanted to escape, wanted to elope with liberty and run away from the loose bonds of the canopy, you could.

Three weeks of sleeping adjacent to him and you still don’t want to.

Ezra is used to temporary relationships. He has done his fair share of companion hopping, although he wasn’t really making an effort to do so. It scares him a little - why can’t he make anyone stay, make anything last? Partners passed him by, either to traverse on their lonesome or to stay with that greedy man in the eternal sky. Teams disbanded around him like glass castles shattering in his wake. Ezra, whether he liked it or not, was accustomed to transience.

He is not, however, accustomed to fearing that sharp brevity. Ezra is constantly on his toes around you, frequently wondering if he’s pushing you away or pulling you closer. You aren’t skittish, don’t constantly question everything he says or get offended by the sound of his voice, but he’s still scared of losing you. Every time he looks into your eyes he sees wonder, a certain fascination with life that he tries so hard to match because he wants to find things as beautiful as you do. As beautiful as you are. He wants to mis-quote your favorite novels that you force him to read so that you’ll scold him so affectionately and tell him that perhaps he had garnered a little brain damage from his previous escapades. He wants to trip over tree roots that have herniated through the soil so you can laugh at him, maybe lay there on the grass with him for a little bit. Just a little bit.

In your own mind, you are guarded. You try your very best not to get too personal, too deep, too much. Because you don’t like it when people can see your flushed, bloody insides. You just know that the moment you open your chest, someone will steal your heart right out of your rib cage and like the pass of a hummingbird, all of your secrets will be free to float in the breeze like the ashes of your lost quintessence; it’ll all be gone and then you’ll really be empty.  So how could you ever know what you mean to Ezra?

He knows what a truly locked up person looks like. He’s spent hundreds of cycles with people that don’t make a noise. He’s sat in bustling pods of people and felt like the only man in the room, like solitary confinement for his mind. No, you are not some warning-covered steel box, padlocked and duct-taped and glued shut so that even if he’s sitting right next to you, he’ll have nothing more than his own voice bounce to off of your walls and fly right back to him. You’re a music box, a gold-trimmed heart-shaped sound bottle, and he learns that if he winds you up the right way, you’ll sing so pretty for him.

He has spent so long talking, nonsensically making those arbitrary noises burst out of his throat until they lose all meaning, but finally, for the first time in so fucking long, Ezra gets to listen.

He listens to you tell him you think his hair is stupid and that sometimes he smells bad. He listens to you lament about barren dig-sites and wasted time, about how it’s so fucking hot in your suit. He listens to you fantasize about touching the trees, burying your face in your flowers and squeezing the moss in your hands. About drowning in the river so that your body is filled with the water and then rolling in the sand so that it all sticks to you and you have to dive back in to clean off. About feeling something.

Sometimes, Ezra just wants to hear something other than his own voice. And you’re the cold towel to his inflamed skin, refreshing and addictive. You’re much braver than you think, so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, because for once, Ezra can talk into the forest and know that there’s someone to listen besides the leaves. He doesn’t feel alone.

Every night, when the moon has turned its back on the narcissistic Sun and opened its arms to the thousands of other stars, each just a prick of light but understanding of their place in the tapestry of the darkness, the two of you retire to that tent. You both redress into comfortable clothes, backs turned on each other under the guise of respect, and climb into your respective cots. Ezra would turn off that shitty lantern that illuminated the enclosure, and your shadows would dissipate into the darkness.

Except Ezra’s shadows don’t disappear; they hide. They blend into the black and mold into one man-engulfing untamable beast to possess Ezra’s throat. And they manifest again in his mind. They poison that movie that plays once you slip consciousness, instills fear into his bone marrow until he doesn’t feel safe in his own body, his own thoughts.

These slumber illusions haunt Ezra. His right arm waves at him in his sleep, the souls to which he was the conduit bridging life and death haunt his diaphragm with toothy grins to mock him, screeching into his cavities. They remind him that he was never really alone because he has the suffocating embrace of those spirits that are sewn so tight to his eyelids. Every night he somehow manages to pull himself from the darkness only for his own demons to pull him back by the throat. He is always oscillating between consciousness and unconsciousness, being tossed around like a helpless rag with no hope of liberation. Nothing scares him more than his own thoughts.

And you know. You know all of it. How could you not? You were born a tumbleweed, wandering across desolation, so of course you’re a light sleeper. And you can hear Ezra’s choked cries, his tossing and turning as he drains himself of any sense of safety. But this man is a stranger to you. He is just a person you reside with, talk to all the time, nudge gently and tease and smile with. He is just the person that you wake up wanting to see, whose attention you always crave. A stranger.

So every night you turn your body to face the zipper of the tent and pretend that you can’t hear him cry. Pretend that you don’t sometimes cry with him. A pretty lavender lie that smells sweet, tastes sweeter.

You, in your cowardice, let him destroy himself. Watch as the bags under his eyes get bigger and greyer and the strings holding his shoulders up lose their tension.

Ezra, in his flawed cratered embodiment, is only human. And he had gone so long without holding anyone, without being held. He knows what he wants, knows who he wants. But he also knows how jittery you are, how fluttery your heart is, and he doesn’t want to approach it too fast lest he startle you and you fly off into the stars. But he can’t keep doing this, can’t live with himself when he knows he’s not the one in control but those horned, slimy creatures that claw at his maxilla with their venomous grins.

The lights are out in the tent per usual, so Ezra can’t really see you. His careful eyes can trace the outline of the curves of your body - or is it that his delusional eyes are envisioning some arbitrary glow around you, convincing him that what he’s seeing is real? Reality is a concept with which he is no longer familiar.

You, laying in your cot, decide that you just can’t take it anymore. You can’t stand to let this intruder of your life break you down the way he is without even trying. How dare he look into you, how dare he listen to you without passing judgement, how fucking dare he make you feel like a flower in bloom?

Ezra hears your breaths - they’re uneven. You haven’t gone to sleep. What are you waiting for?

“Ezra?” you practically squeak into the void. His ears perk up immediately; your cotton candy voice is enticing to him, flossing its way through his veins.

“What are you doing up, birdie?” Ezra asks softly, the air of his lungs floating on top of his words. He doesn’t mean to keep you awake, but he isn’t mad that you are. It’s stimulating his nerves enough to keep himself awake, and that’s something he probably won’t ever be able to repay you for.

“I-um….” Shit. You hadn’t expected to get this far. What would you say to him? How could you tell him that you wanted to help cleanse him, that you wanted to grovel in lime-coated thumb tacks with him and absorb his pain into your tissue paper skin? “I can’t sleep.”

Not a lie. Ezra knows you mean it. He just doesn’t know why.

“Well that won’t suffice,” he decides, outstretching his left arm blindly off the edge of his cot until his fingers brush against what he’s looking for: that goddamn lantern. With a little more fumbling, a weak but good enough orange glow is emitted on the floor between the two of you. You both catch each other’s pitiful gaze. You want to take care of each other, want to shield each other from the red sprites that nip angrily at each other’s hearts. Ezra holds his left arm out to you, tentatively. He’s never been more unsure in his life. He watches you glance at his arm, and then quickly to the side. You’re trying to decide if you’ll let him add another tether to you. If you’ll let him become something sewed so tight to your bleeding skin that to leave would rip you apart.

You slowly get up and walk over to his cot.

Ezra lets out a soft breath and his lips turn to a soft smile. He’s soft.

“C’mere, dandelion” he mumbles to you, and he hasn’t missed his right arm so much as in this moment. He wants to hold you properly, wants to keep you as close to him as possible. You’re hesitant, and he can tell. You’ve never been this close to him before, and you want to savor it. When your head finally touches his shoulder, it’s like a catalyst ignites underneath the two of you. You mold into each other the way the gods intended, like lake water seeping into the smallest of crevices of an empty river bed. Like the opposing poles of two magnets, like a key penetrating a lock. Like you were made for each other. Your arms immediately wrap around him, his neck now a fixture of your body, and his arm leads you to lay down on the cot. Without words, without that candid discourse that Ezra was so fond of, his face is buried into the warmth of your chest and he feels like you’ve cast an ethereal shield around him.

Ezra doesn’t need to hold you tight because you’re holding him tighter, like you’re trying to cling to something invisible and foreign before it can even think to leave you. Before it realizes that it doesn’t want you. Don’t leave. He can feel you breathe him in, face smashed against his wild hair, and he can’t blame you because he’s breathing you in too.

“Sweetheart-” he breathes, fanning against your skin in a way that sends a deep shiver down your spine and shakes your shoulders.

“Shh.” And for once in his cursed life, he’s speechless. There’s so much, too much that he wants to say to you, but his mind is shouting all of it at him at once and he doesn’t even know where to start. So he shuts the fuck up. He feels you. He feels your heat melt him until he can barely control his own muscles because they’ve gone limp, unable to perform a single contraction because his fibers are relaxed, are at peace.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep.

When Ezra wakes, you’re still sweet and motionless around him. The lamp was still on, still shining pathetically on the ground. He doesn’t feel the need to look around or squeeze his lids closed in an attempt to wring the bad rest out of him.

Rest?

He thinks fucking hard. When had he woken up last night? When had his banshees infiltrated his thoughts and cried into the void of his packed mind? All he can recall are caramel dreams, whipped cream clouds and berry trampolines for him to jump high into the cotton candy sky. He thinks he might like it that way. Maybe every night can be like that, every morning can feel this transcendent.

He hears you moan quietly as you stir not long after him, breaths shuddering on their way out of your nose as you slowly come to your senses.

“Good morning, birdie,” Ezra finally says. He doesn’t know what to say to you, what he can say to you, without making you flip a switch and realize that it’s all a mistake, that he is a mistake. His eardrums smile as your sleepy whining settles.

“Morning, Ezra,” you whisper, throat not ready to talk yet. It’s okay; you’d rather hear him talk to you anyway.

“Did you…were you able to achieve some sort of comfort?” Ezra asks. For a second you’re confused until you remember what you’d told him last night, and you realize that you’re holding him the same way you were when you’d gone to sleep. He hadn’t woken up.

“Yeah, Ezra,” you finally say after letting yourself simmer in the silence for a second. “Thank you.”

He smiles wide against your skin, the blunt tip of his excitement the battering ram that beats against his racing heart. He’s given you something worthy of your gratefulness, and the feeling of being worthy light his chest with blue flames.

“It’s not my intention to blow you away, dandelion,” Ezra says, his nerves manifesting into his characteristic breathy laughs, “but I can’t deny how direly I want to just touch you.” You feel the air get knocked out of you as your diaphragm begins to spasm; what is he asking? You’ve thought about it before; god, of course you’ve thought about it before. To lay back as you let him study you, memorize you and then let you do the same. Analyze the sculpted marble of his body to remind yourself why you love it so much.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, a secret told to the wind, but Ezra hears you. Ezra always hears you.

So Ezra’s fingers begin to wander along your skin. He wants to map out the scars on your body, wants to learn the shape of you so intimately that he could remodel you if he wanted to. He wants to know your body the way he knows when you’re disappointed or frustrated or amazed or confused. He wants to just know.

You feel the calloused pads of Ezra’s fingers put a little pressure onto that dip of your thoracic vertebrae, draw circles above your hip right under the fabric of your sweatshirt, caress your shoulder. He’s slowly exposing your skin to the humid chill of the dank enclosure, carefully making your top cover less and less of you, but you’ve never felt warmer.

As Ezra’s mind begins to really warm up and the cogs begin to grease themselves, his words begin to flow out the way you’re used to. The way you’ve learned to love.

“Sweetheart, I have had nightmares every night for the past three weeks and now they’re gone,” he blurts. Fuck. His hand stutters against the small of your back. He’s done it now, he’s really gone and blown it, because now you know he’s fucking broken and you’re smart enough to know when to avoid damaged goods. You have to know that if you were to take your hands and try and feel him you’d just get bumps and ridges and cracks. But Ezra is selfish, can’t help himself or his thoughts, so he keeps rambling. “It is not my intention to come off as presumptuous, but I just know it’s because of you. How did you do that, birdie? You never told me you were sent to me as a dreamcatcher.”

You can’t help but smile into his scalp a little at his words. You didn’t mind taking all of his bad dreams and refracting them far away into the space between the stars for him. A light, breathy laugh rolls off your tongue like a huff, because fuck, if you were going to be embroidered to something it might as well be him.

Your breath hitches again as the back of his hand runs flat along your stomach. It travels back around and up to the nape of your neck, tracing your shoulders and then over to your clavicles, paying close attention to the dips. You can’t help but wonder if this means as much to him as it does to you; it means everything to you.

“You’re right. I’ve been holding out on you all this time,” you say, and he can hear you smile through the roses of your words. He slowly and with purpose lifts his head from your embrace so that he can look up at you, maybe even catch a glimpse of that pretty grin of yours and burn it onto his lenses.

“I’m not confident that you’ll ever know how fortuitous I was the day I met you.” Ezra’s voice is low as he speaks, his drawl stretching and fraying the ends of his words, and you soak in every last syllable. You soak in the meaning of his words. He feels lucky to have you.

You look down at him, bringing a hand to run through his hair. That stupid blonde streak snatches your attention for a moment and you thumb at the strands. You want to tease him about it, mock him a little, but you don’t. The moon marine in your arms holds so much unbridled beauty, and it’s all yours to look at.

Ezra is all yours to look at.

Ezra’s hand travels up to your face, cupping your cheek while his thumb toys with the corner of your mouth in a way that makes you bite your lip through a smile. Throwing all caution to the wind, you turn your head and press a shy kiss to the heel of his palm. Ezra’s skin burns where you’ve sanctified him. His hand begins to crave your touch in other ways, he is craving something more from you, but he knows he does far too much taking. He’s already taken so much from you, has already stolen so many moments from you out of sheer gluttony, but it’s not always his fault because you’re so giving. He knows you were a little hollow from the start, knows you were a little frayed in the first place, but still you share your thoughts and companionship with him because whether you know it or not, you’re a little taken by this space mutineer. If you fled this little thing you’ve built with him, you’d be leaving the prettiest parts of yourself behind for him to keep taking care of the way a mother makes her son’s bed after he leaves for college because what if you want to come back?

But you haven’t left, haven’t abandoned him and in turn, yourself. You’re right here, letting him bask in your reverent lavender radiation, and as he looks at how you’re giving off your own intrinsic glow because the shitty orange light on the ground isn’t enough, he knows he hasn’t earned it. He doesn’t think this is a very fair transaction at all, but he’s too selfish to stop you from paying a little extra. You’ll let him keep the change.

Ezra wordlessly lifts his head, nosing at your wrist so that you’ll bring it lower and let him kiss the delicate skin there. He looks up at you with wide, eager eyes of adoration. His feelings for you are beginning to bubble underneath the surface of his silk-lined thoughts and he is willing them to stay at that low simmer because he doesn’t want to think about anything except how fucking gorgeous you look in the lamplight.

“I’m growing rather fond of the way you feel against me,” Ezra finally says. Everything is so foreign now, so new, so he tries to do the one thing you both know, the one routine you can both dance without needing to think about it: talking.

“I like it too Ezra,” you giggle. Not a long, flittery one, but a pass of air with a note under it. You’re a little nervous too.

“I reckon I could get accustomed to this,” he whispers. Your lip betrays you, curling itself to reveal your reply before you even say it. Your teeth capture your lower lip for the act of treason, but it’s too late. “But I’d just hate it if I made you feel like you’re bearing my baggage.”

“Ezra, you don’t have crippling baggage,” you insist. What is this man talking about? You were the one with issues. You were the one that had to be convinced to stay with him, you were the one that insisted on the right cot, you were the real coward here. You were broken. “Everyone has their demons. There is so much more inside of you. You’re so full.”

Ezra’s eyes go a little wide at your words. You didn’t think he was half a man? Some incomplete mosaic that would never find his missing pieces?

“You flatter me,” he chuckles; no, he giggles.

“Well…I just figured there’s no way a broken man could handle his broken partner the way you deal with me.” His expression melts into something more than pity and less than ignorance - confusion. The tap in Ezra’s tongue pops loose and his words begin to cascade from his lips like some majestic phenomenon, like holy water spraying the filth off of your brow.

“I need you to look at me, firefly.” His voice is more stern now, his words more articulate as he shifts up the bed slightly so that he’s eye level with you. He’s still on his side, his left hand is still gripping the flesh at your hip. “I don’t think you’ll ever truly comprehend how much you’ve done for me these past cycles, but this life is quiet and toilsome. You’re capable of recognizing beauty in things I wouldn’t have even taken note of in the first place, and I hang onto your every utterance whether you’re aware or not. It’s easy for me to sit here and tell you how bad I always want you because you fill my thoughts, pretty dandelion. And if someone came here and regurgitated your exact words to me, it still wouldn’t hold a candle to the way you sing when you wonder out loud. I don’t need to ‘deal’ with you, sweet rose. I want you.”

Your lip quivers a little; you know Ezra likes talking to you, he’s told you before. But you couldn’t help but assume Ezra just likes talking, period. That he liked having you around about as much as he’d enjoy the company of any other talker. To think that someone wants you, your passions and afterthoughts and pondering notions, meant more than anything you could articulate.

“Ezra-” you start, but you cut yourself off. You want to let his words turn into condensation on your skin, to form little rain clouds above your head so that they pour back down on you in delicate drops. You want to let him linger, to sit and hang above you like the sky hangs above the ocean.

You look straight at him, deep into his inquiring brown eyes as you both begin to breathe the same air, scents mingling between you like the heat between two stars. His nose is right up against yours and you can feel his lashes caress your cheekbone. He’s so close, but you want him closer, need him to move his hand or blink his eyes or do something, because you can’t take the nothingness anymore when you’ve got everything pressed right up against your face.

Ezra decides he wants one last thing from you.

“My rose, I don’t want to ask too much of you, but I suppose if that were true I wouldn’t have invited you to stay with me anyway. In the tent, of course. Not the cot.” Fuck, what was he saying? He lets out a soft laugh as he tries to reorganize his thoughts, a blushing mess under your gaze because he’s so used to knowing exactly how to get what he wants, but he’s really pushing your boundaries and bending your fence posts now. You’re turning him into a man who fumbles, a man who doesn’t always have to know what he’s about to say, and he doesn’t mind being a little less talk around you and a lot more touch.

Suddenly, he’s reminded of what he wanted to ask you.

“Sweet creature, could I kiss you?”

You don’t miss a beat in this soft ballad you’re playing with him, letting out a gentle “yeah, Ezra.”

You don’t like homes, don’t like to be told that you’re forever nailed to walls and wood. But maybe, as Ezra’s scruffy chin leans up to slot his lips against yours, you could build a tent in him. Maybe this leaky soul was your permanent, your unyielding, your perpetual.

As Ezra tilts his head towards you with a soft moan so he can kiss you the way you deserve, speak to you through the blinding sensation of his mouth telling you how he wants you, needs you, loves you, without using a single word, he is confident that his hollow cavities are beginning to be filled by your amber essence. He can tell you’re letting yourself finally take root in him, clearing out the wretched foliage so that you can curl up in the meadow of his soul and rest your bones within him.

Yeah.

You’re home.

people who asked to be tagged:  @bobafvtt @catfishingmorales@keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @cryptkeepersoul

people who definitely didn’t ask to be tagged oops: @glowingpena @bestintheparsec @ezrasarm @murdermewithbooks

not me tagging strangers for clout-

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be added/removed to my tags, I promise I’m not scary💕

[yandere-society]

hi, can u do jeongguk yandere which he’s a werewolf and the oc childhood sweetheart???

Moon Bound

Jungkook, YN’s childhood best friend, abandoned her their senior year of high school without a word. Determined to forget him, YN attends college across the country. But what will she do when he shows up on her doorstep rain soaked and sharp toothed, confessions and craziness slipping from his lips?

Warnings: Yandere themes

Admin @chimchimsauce

YN always hated storms. Ever since she was but a small tot, the bright flashes of light and loud boom that shook the air after terrified her to her core. Without fail, she would run towards whoever was nearest for comfort.

That’s how she met Jungkook. Her parents and his had decided to get together for dinner after Jungkook and his family moved in next door. It started off fine. Jungkook was shy kid with big eyes and a small smile who agreed to play with the stuffed animals she insisted on bringing over.

After eating, the adults talk about whatever adults talk about while YN and Jungkook play in his bedroom.

“You know,” six-year-old YN said as she raised a purple giraffe into the air, “You don’t talk very much.”

Jungkook’s cheeks went red in an instant and the eye contact he struggled to maintain fell away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice quiet and small smile gone.

YN could tell right away that she hurt his feelings.

“It’s not a bad thing,” YN found herself saying, “You can be quiet if you want. I can talk for the both of us.”

And just like that the smile was back and a best friendship was formed.

Jungkook and YN were best friends for over a decade. They saw each other every day at school and then saw each other some more during the evening when they hung out. They were inseparable, closer than two people could possibly be.

And it was heaven. Jungkook understood YN better than she understood herself. He supported her when even her parents were against her decisions. He was there for the bad days just as wholeheartedly as he showed up for the good ones. And of course, because he was Jungkook, the sweetest and kindest best friend, the years were incredibly kind to him. He bloomed like a rose, beautiful and eye catching and tempting to all who swarmed around him.

But he never abandoned YN. Because if Jungkook was a rose, YN was the moonlight watching over him. Sure, sunshine brings out the best in people, helps them shine the brightest, but the moon knows your deepest secrets. The moon watches over you with gentle reassurance and a knowing smile, a peaceful friend.

Jungkook’s life was perfect. Perfect, until his senior year of high school when he came home to find a giant beast lurking in his living room. Before he could scream, his mother came out form behind the beast, a gentle smile on her face.

“Get away from that thing, Mother!” Jungkook shouted, rushing towards her and hiding her small body behind his larger one.

“There’s no need to be afraid, darling,” his mother says, “He will do you no harm.”

“He? Mom, it’s a wolf! He could kill us!” Jungkook says, terrified.

“He’s also your father,” his mother says.

One simple sentence changed his life forever. That night, over a steaming hot cup of cocoa he didn’t touch once, his parents explained that Jungkook wasn’t human. They told him of the Moon’s curse and the way it passed from generation to generation, from father to son. They told him of the changes he would soon be experiencing and the role he was to play in this world he didn’t know existed.

“What do I tell YN?” he asked, mind reeling.

He wanted nothing more than to run to her and let her comfort him, tell him that his parents were crazy.

But he’d seen the beast transform into his father right before his eyes. As much as he wanted to, Jungkook knew that there was no way this was fiction.

“You can’t tell her,” his father says sadly, “I know the two of you are close, but that will have to stop. It’s too dangerous. We have to keep our secret to keep us all safe.”

“She wouldn’t tell anyone! I know she wouldn’t! You know she wouldn’t!”

His mother places a pitying hand over Jungkook’s tightening fist.

“YN is a very sweet girl. A very good girl. But she’s also human.”

“SO ARE YOU!” Jungkook roared out, standing up with a force strong enough to send his chair tumbling.”

“But I am your Father’s moon bound,” his mother continues, “The one the mood goddess chose to love him and help continue his legacy.”

“But I love her!” Jungkook insists, desperation beginning to take over.

He’s known YN nearly his whole life. She’s his best friend, the person he trusts more than anyone on the planet.

“You may feel that way now, son, but -” his father starts to say.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Jungkook screams.

“But the moon goddess knows what’s best for you. She will send you the one who is truly meant for you.”

“It’s YN, I know!” Jungkook says, “It has to be!”

“You will find out on your twentieth birthday. That is the day that your transformation will be complete. Until then you have to stay away from her.”

“No!” Jungkook says.

His emotions are all over the place. He’s scared and angry and confused and it swirls together into a violent storm in his brain.

“You could hurt her, Jungkook. These next two years are going to be difficult and dangerous. You never know when your body will change or when your mind will yield to the wolf’s call. You could end up killing her.”

That knocks the air out of his body. He’s never lay a hand on her, never.

“I-”

“That’s why you will be going to the University meant for Werewolves as soon as you graduate. It’s best if you just cut YN off now before anyone gets hurt.”

And that’s exactly what he did. Without a single word to her, Jungkook forcibly removed himself from YN’s life. He ignored her in school, blocked her number, and never answered her when she rang his doorbell. No matter how much she tried to talk to him, Jungkook rbushed YN off like she was an annoying fly, never so much as giving her an explanation. 

It hurt. It hurt more than YN wanted to admit. She spent most nights her senior year crying herself to sleep, unaware that Jungkook’s newfound senses caused him to hear her pain. Her grades slipped, she lost weight, and that glimmering personality that she carried with her faded into nothingness.

It was like she was an entirely different person, the old her dead and gone right along with Jungkook’s friendship.

So when she graduated, YN wanted out. She refused to spend another moment thinking about Jungkook, glancing out her window into his with the feeble hope that his blinds would be open. She moved across the country, leaving her old persona behind her, lit with fire to become someone she would be proud to look into the mirror and see.

And she did. For once, YN was the flower, digging strong roots and blooming under the sunlight. The only thing she carried with her from her past was her fear of storms.

Right now, thunder booms loudly in her ears and she huddles under her sheets, trying her hardest to keep calm and breathe evenly. When a loud ring sounds through the air, YN startles, wondering what it is. When it comes again, she recognizes it as her doorbell.

Odd. She doesn’t usually get visitors this time of night. Still, YN goes to answer the door, bringing her blanket with her. It’s too dark for her to see out of the peephole, so YN unbolts the door and opens it fully. 

For a moment, everything is black. Then lightning zooms across the sky and illuminates a face she never thought she’d see again.

“Jungkook?” YN asks, breathless.

Thunder booms again and she shrieks, only to be swept up into once familiar arms and ushered back into her home, the door slamming shut behind them.

“I missed you so much,” Jungkook says, his voice muffled by YN’s hair as he hugs her tightly, “So so much.”

“What are you doing here?” YN asks, uncomfortable, “How do you know where I live?”

Jungkook ignores her questions and pulls away to look at her face, caressing it.

“I love you so much. I’m so glad that it’s finally time for us to be together.”

YN rips herself away from him, growing scared.

“What are you talking about? Why are you even here? I don’t want to see you,” she hisses out.

The venom is minimized by the way she jumps when thunder sounds again.

“You don’t mean that. I know i have a lot of explaining to do but -”

“No,” YN says, “I tried to talk to you every day for an entire year. You don’t get to pop back into my life like this. Get out, Jungkook. I don’t want to see you.”

For a moment, all is silent. Jungkook’s face falls in the dim light. He looks so different now, bigger and more filled out. Gone is any trace of the little boy she used to play with. 

“You’re going to see me,” he says, his voice completely devoid of any and all emotion, “I didn’t kill my moon bound for you to reject me, YN.”

A chill shoots down YN’s spine. She has no idea what he’s talking about, but she does know that he’s insane. YN grips her wet blanket close to her body, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe she can make a run for it?

Thunder booms again and YN shinks back, terrified. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” she says, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks.

“I’d never hurt you, YN,” Jungkook says adoringly, “Never ever. I don’t care what the mood goddess says. I’ve always known you were mine. Why worship her when I have you?” he says, pulling her close once more and nuzzling into her neck.

YN feels something wet and warm glide along her skin and she freezes, stiff as a statue.

“Now why don’t I run you a bath and we get caught up, okay? It’ll be like I never left,” he says, pulling away.

Lightning illuminates the room and YN can see the blood caked onto his fingers and his teeth, much too sharp and much too bright. Jungkook catches her staring and nods innocently, having the gall to look ashamed. 

“I should have cleaned up before I came, but I was so excited to see you! I’d kill anyone who tries to keep us apart. Now how about that bath?”

YN can do nothing but nod, looking at the boy she once loved and seeing nothing but a monster.

[jaskiersvalley]

I love your writing so much, so thank you for gifting us all

I am so happy you like my writing, Nonnie! In these miserable times people like you reaching out makes things that bit happier. Thank you for being a ray of sunshine on cloudy days!

Like before, here’s a little ficlet of thanks. Today’s flavour is blind Jaskier.

They had separated months before with plans to meet up again when their path crossed. Only, it had been too long since Geralt had even heard bout Jaskier, something wasn’t right. So he change his course, his path still took him all over the continent but this time, he had intent. He was looking for his bard, the brightly coloured fool who had a knack for bedding the wrong person. Nobody had seen such a bard. It wasn’t that Geralt was worried but he was nervous. Jaskier had never been one to disappear like that.

His travels took Geralt to places he’d thought Jaskier would be. Oxenfurt, Tretogor, even Cintra. He was nowhere. Not even whispers of him passing through. Even the coast had come up empty, they hadn’t even heard of Jaskier. Geralt knew he had to change tactics, to track down Jaskier somehow. He hunted down where he was last seen and tried to go from there. The innkeeper had told him which direction Jaskier had left in but by the time Geralt got to the next town over, nobody seemed to have heard of him.

“The one who played the songs about the White Wolf,” Geralt tried again when descriptions didn’t help. “Toss A Coin, Her Sweet Kiss, Fishmonger’s Daughter,” he listed off some of Jaskier’s songs, hoping to find any whisper about his bard.

“We know those songs,” a stableboy perked up. “The Blind Bard sings those from time to time down at The Rose and Horse.”

Not many had the eclectic ability to sing such a range of songs. Even if this Blind Bard wasn’t his Jaskier, they might still know of him, point Geralt in the direction of his next clue.

The Rose and Horse wasn’t too busy, it was early evening but there was already the familiar strum of a lute and soft humming coming from a corner. Humming that sounded all too familiar. Turning, Geralt had to take a moment to understand what he was seeing. It was Jaskier, no doubt about it. But he was in muted colours, no longer radiant. His head was tipped forward, hair falling in his face, eyes closed. Stepping closer, Geralt came to within four steps of him when the lute playing stopped and Jaskier’s head turned. He didn’t look up at Geralt though, head tilted curiously as if he was listening intently and took a deep breath. A small, fond smile played on his lips.

“Jaskier.” Geralt greeted.

Head snapping up, Jaskier turned. And Geralt wished he hadn’t. Jaskier’s gaze was off, staring somewhere to his right and sightlessly glazed over.

“There’s a voice I never thought I’d here again.” A hand reached in Geralt’s direction and he grasped it tightly. “What are you doing here, old friend?”

Despite his easy words and small smile, Jaskier’s hand clutched at Geralt tightly, silently keeping him close.

“I came looking for you. You never came back. Were nowhere to be found. What happened?”

Standing up, Jaskier kept a good hold of Geralt’s arms.

“Marissa, I will be back to earn my keep when we fill up a bit more. I have a personal matter to attend to.” He tucked his lute under an arm and began to slowly make his way along the wall, hand out to catch any wayward chairs in the way. Geralt could hear him counting steps quietly under his breath.

They made it to a small room at the back of the inn, on the ground floor, just behind the kitchen. It was warm without a fire lit in it, the bed pushed against the wall shared with the kitchen and Geralt realised the warmth was from the fires in the other room.

“Sit, sit.” Jaskier finally let go of Geralt and patted the straw mattress next to him. “You’ll have to tell me about your new adventures so I can compose more songs.”

The words were the same as ever, chatty, bright and said with a wide smile. But they rang hollow, lacking the genuine thirst for adventure and dramatics. Rather than reply, Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the chin to turn him and look at his eyes. He didn’t miss the violent flinch at being suddenly touched.

“Jaskier, what happened?” The question was soft, nothing like how Geralt had ever really been. “You’re blind. Who did this to you?”

“It was a very rainy day.” Jaskier shrugged and pulled his chin free, eyes unseeingly fixed on Geralt’s shoulder rather than his face. “I probably shouldn’t have gone out but there were some pretty flowers. Buttercups. I wanted to pick a couple and was running back with them when the downpour started good and proper. Well, I slipped, smacked my head. Woke up a few days later and the world was gone.”

So it wasn’t even something Geralt could avenge and rage against. He couldn’t very well take on the god of rain and mud, not that he was unwilling, he’d taken on worse foes before. But it wouldn’t help Jaskier. The worst part was, he didn’t know what could help Jaskier.

“I couldn’t find you. There were no talks about a bard as bright as a parrot. I feared the worst had come to pass.”

A small, bitter laugh bubbled out of Jaskier. “Some days I think that would have been the kinder outcome. But here I am. And I had to shift my focus, colours were no longer a priority but comfort was cost was. Food and board in exchange for my playing four nights a week. Plus I get to keep tips. It’s not a bad living.”

But it wasn’t the living Jaskier had wanted or deserved. He was a caged bird now, slowly fading away, songs dulling along with his visage.

“On the plus side, I don’t have to worry about the latest cut of fashion chafing or a doublet laced tighter than a comfortable because it is what is considered handsome.” Jaskier was obviously trying to convince himself as well as Geralt at that point, his face was falling and as expressive as ever. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this.” He pulled away from Geralt and grunted as he unexpectedly hit the wall. “Please see yourself out. Tell Marissa I’ll cover your food bill.”

Geralt didn’t move. Too stunned as he watched Jaskier battle tears and thinking he understood. Over the months, Jaskier had almost made peace with his new life. Managed to find himself somewhere to stay and where his singing would keep him fed and sheltered. Then along came Geralt, signifying everything Jaskier had lost - freedom, adventure, friendship. Geralt very much doubted anyone wanted to lay with a blind bard. He wondered whether Jaskier would trust anyone enough to sleep with them without seeing them anyway.

“Come with me,” he murmured, his fingers nudging Jaskier’s on the bed before twining them together. “I’ll take you to all the healers, mages, sorceresses. Let me find you a cure. If no, I’ll take you to Countess de Stael myself and ensure you can be her court bard. Or Cintra’s. Or any other court that strikes your fancy. I’ll make it happen.”

A soft sob was his answer. “How could I follow? I can’t spot a root or pothole to stop me twisting my ankle. So how do you think I’d manage on the road? When you’re off chasing some monster. Or we get bandits jump out at us? I’m more helpless than Roach who can at least run to safety.”

At a loss for words, Geralt tugged lightly at Jaskier’s hand, pulled him until he was resting against his chest. Arms wrapping around a body that was definitely slimmer than when they parted, Geralt desperately tried to find solutions.

“I’ll keep you safe, I promise. You’ll ride Roach. We’ll stay at taverns where you can lock doors if I’m off on a contract. I’ll work enough to keep us both fed and clothed. Take contracts near healers who could help you. I don’t want to leave you behind, I can’t leave knowing you’re wasting away in some town not worthy enough of being remembered by name.”

They were big promises, a lot of pressure on Geralt but he wasn’t going to let Jaskier fade from his memories. Not like this. Hands traced up his chest and neck until fingers were feeling the contours of his face. Geralt closed his eyes and let Jaskier feel him.

“It’s you, it’s really you,” Jaskier whispered. “I dreamt of and dreaded the day you’d come.”

“Please, let me help.” Geralt wasn’t begging but he wasn’t known for asking nicely. “I want you by my side again.”

He didn’t say that even if Jaskier never regained his sight, Geralt would stay with him. It went almost without saying. If Jaskier needed a secure home, they would settle, maybe near the coast where Jaskier had grown up. And Geralt would always return home to him. It seemed that his intentions were understood when hands on his cheeks guided him and soft, dry lips pressed against his.

The next morning, Geralt led Roach out of the town, walking next to his horse while Jaskier sat atop, strumming his lute and humming.

[f0xwrite]

A snippet from Andaman...written circa 2018. (Rated T for alightly mature themes)

The sound of cool, clear waves lapping against the entrance of the cave in the moonlight mixed soothingly with the subdued gusts of the ocean’s tropic breeze, lulling Walter into a sleepy daze. Somewhere in the distance,dolphins still splashed in the frothy brine, their noise mixing strangely with the steady hum of insects, and the haunting call of the occasional bird. A small and dying fire crackled along the edge of his hidden cove, charring the remains of his barely-touched dinner.

He’d given up on trying to summon Morgana. Varied macabre attempts at trying to get her attention had proven futile. It didn’t matter which variety of star-lit ritual she performed, or how many times he said her name, there was never any answer save for the island breeze. He would have done better to stay in Myeik at the Hotel Grand Jade, drinking his weight in the jugs of palm wine he’d bummed off of one of the locals. The hotel was dated, but comfortable. He’d paid for his stay in cold cash--as untraceable as it was uncanny--and from the top floor he’d felt safe enough staking out until he could chart a course to North Sentinel Island. Not many would be willing to take the chance of drawing close enough to the island for him to easily swim ashore, especially at night.

The indigenous peoples of North Sentinel Island were known to be hostile, rejecting all contact with the outside world and killing anyone who stepped foot on their sands. Many had died in the pursuit of aiding or interfering with their lifestyle, or had been arrested by the Indian navy for coming too close. It would take a hefty sum to convince anyone to charter him across. Arriving in his own vessel was not an option—he’d have to sink the boat, and the risk of being spotted in unfamiliar waters was too high. Money wasn’t an object, of course, as long as he’d been around, but people often wanted something less traceable, in case the government came a-looking.

He’d purchased a motorcycle, one with a small enough engine to maneuver easily through the streets, but powerful enough to make a quick getaway if needed--Janus would be on his heels in moments if they caught wind, and he’d been in the hierarchy long enough to know that they were never very far behind. Thus outfitted, he’d traveled, often ferrying to Andaman island to search for the idea hire. To the people there, he looked relatively normal--a traveler, but one well versed in their ways and culture. Instead of his typical brown suit and jumper he wore a light tunic, sandals, and khakis. His hair had grown longer—partially induced by a spell—and the light traces of a beard cast shadows around his face. After years in clean-cut Arcadia, he’d barely recognized himself in the mirror. Barbara, even if she hadn’t been stripped of her memory, would struggle to find familiarity in this new visage.

Barbara.

For every memory Vendel’s incantation had taken from her, his seemed to have increased tenfold. Every impossibly blue wave reminded him of her eyes, every hungry fire of her flame-brushed hair, every tremulous star of her vibrant soul. Much like the water in her namesake, there was no shape he could find that she couldn’t fill, save for the gaping holes she’d left in him.

Every step of his journey, he’d been haunted.

He’d managed to track down a willing candidate to take him to the island. An younger fisherman man with a new family who was in desperate need of a new form of transportation. For the cost of a the motorcycle, he’d found himself sneaking off on a small fishing vessel in the middle of the night. There had only been one small scare with a navy boat, but they’d gotten lucky, and the journey was otherwise flawless. When he’d finally waded onto the perilous sands of North Sentinel’s shore, dry-sacks in hand, and waved his hired hand off, he was met with an eerie silence.

The bustle of the city and the boats had been some distraction, but this..he would never stop thinking about her.

And he hadn’t, not even two months later, no matter how many times he tried to summon Morgana back. Now, by his crackling fire, he thought of her again, and of her son, and of how he’d wronged them. He’d caught wind of Angor’s defeat and Jim’s disappearance into the Darklands in an internet cafe before he’d stranded himself. Oh course the boy had gone alone. Altruism at his finest. He wondered if Barbara even knew, and if she did, god help him.

To these thoughts, he drifted into a sleep-like trance, where the memories always flooded in:

He’s standing in the California breeze, two ice cream cones in hand, searching for her blue eyes in the sea of moving faces on the street.

“Walter!” he turns to see her making her way through a cluster of teenagers. School is out for the afternoon, and the world is buzzing with the excitement of Friday night. Her face is warm and bright as she strides up to him, and he spreads his arms wide to avoid dripping on her lab-coat as she slides her arms around him in a hug.

“Fresh from the parlor,” he pecks the top of her red head before pulling away to lower the cone in front of her. “Strawberry, as the lady requested.”

“I see you got the same thing.” She smiles as her hand wraps around the pointed cone.

“How could I resist?” His tongue flicks out to catch a drop of cream along his own cone, smiling when her pupils dilate.

The next few minutes are spent happily licking away as they walk through the warm spring air, making their way toward the local park.

It’s when they’re walking by the pond, that it catches his eye.

“Dr. Barbara V. Lake,” He reads aloud, pausing to stand in front of her. “I haven’t seen this coat before. What does the V stand for?”

“V for very, very, very happy to see you right now.” She jokes and then bites into the cone.

“Oh, come now.” They both wince as she gets brain-freeze. “Surely you’ll tell me.”

“Hmm, what do I get out of it?” Her smile grows coy.

“Dinner,” he clears his throat, brandishing his own sultry look as he finishes his cone. “Chinese. I’ll buy extra eggrolls.”

“You really know how to woo a woman.”

“I do,” he bites his lip.

“Viviane.”

Something jolted within him—a bit of memory, a quick blur—causing the foundations of his soul to settle, as though they’d been out-of-sorts his entire life.

“It’s beautiful.” He bent low to kiss the space above her ear. “And it suits you.”

He watches as his voice makes her spine shiver shiver, and she almost drops her cone. “Well, I hope so. It was my grandmothers name. I take after her in almost every regard. She was a nurse in the army, you know. Traveled the whole world. I used to listen to all of her incredible stories.”

“I should thank her for raising such an incredible spirit.”

“I wish you could. She’s gone now.” Barbara’s eyes grow heavy, “died right around the time that James left, actually. She would have <i>loved</i> you,” she smiled into his neckline.

“Oh really?” Humor bubbled from his throat.

“Well, you have an intoxicating sense of charm, and she had this massive thing for piano-hands.”

Stepping back, Walter moves to wrap his arms around her from behind as they gaze over the pond. “Couldn’t blame her. I’ve got some rousing sonatas up my sleeve.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it was just about the musical skill.” She chuckles. "Grammy was a fireball."

“In that case, I also have some ‘a’rousing sonatas,” he said in a beat.

They both laugh, melting into the syrupy sweetness of the moment, bodies swaying, pendulum-slow in a half-dance that leads them nowhere.

He woke.

“Viviane” He muttered to the silver-tipped waves, eyes blinking past the moonlight. “I’ve heard that name before. But where?” A scuttling crab distracted his gaze, and then his head fell back against the palm-fronds.

The next dreams weren’t rooted in his memory. They were silly, really, nothing of consequence--full of deep and ancient forests, bloodied horns against bovine fur, and the soft, bright bloom of a fragile flower.

[lordseochangbin]

Commitment

Request:  can i request jisung arranged marriage + fluff/smut ??

A/N: Side note but I think Ima start that Felix FBI agent AU soon. I’m excited hehe the thought of Felix being an agent sounds :D

You could not believe it. 

A few years later after your mom lost her job, you had found yourself taking double shifts, cleaning shit from your neighbor’s yard, eating tubs of ice cream and mourning the cause all together. Your mother opposed it as well, her child having to take over all this labor. Her only way to help? Tie the knot with some rich, stupid guy and hope you’ll benefit from it somehow. 

“He’s an idiot mom! I cannot be with or be SEEN with Han Jisung!” Those were the only words that left your mouth when your mother said you had to be with him. 

“It’s what your father would’ve wanted honey, just give him a chance” A pat on the shoulder and she leaves the room so it’s just you and your thoughts. 

Next thing you know, you find yourself at a golden door. The palace looks marvelous honestly, and if you had to put your mind to it- you’d ask yourself why such a handsome and rich man would need to be forced into marriage. People would kill to be with him. Unfortunately, the least you would do for him is cut a flower from its soil, drying its roots and unwatering its petals, leaving it to its lonely life just like he had done to you. Simply from existing. 

What takes you by surprise is when a half-naked woman opens the door, your mouth dropping when the open door reveals Jisung slumped over on the couch with more naked women. 

“Daddy, someone opened the door” The girl calls him, making you roll your eyes at the nickname. 

“Are you Han Jisung! What the fuck is this?” Oh dear, the look on his face when he hears someone call him by his real name. Walking towards him, you grab his wrist despite the women around him and explain, “We were supposed to go on a date today, and you’re here living it up with other women, what an amazing husband you are” 

“Aww sweetie” He teasingly replies, facing himself towards you before lying a finger under your chin. His black trousers and shirtless figure explain the simplicity of his actions, how normal it was for him to be caught in a situation like this. Is he even turned on by the number of girls here or was it some gesture to piss you off?

“Don’t ‘aww sweetie’ me!” You say, pushing his hand away. “We’re going to this date, whether you like it or not” You tell him off, asking the ladies to leave. 

“Aww c’mon Y/N, you’re ruining the fun!! Why are you kicking them out?” He pouts, leaning closer to your ear. “Unless you wanted to have fun with… just me”

“Oh fuck off Jisung!” You retort, pushing him away before closing the door as the ladies leave, “I’ll be downstairs.. you better come.. and put a shirt on for fuck’s sake!” 

----

After dinner, you come back to Jisung’s apartment. Over a plate for two, you were surprised at how kind yet shy he was. It was hard at some points to get him to talk or start a conversation, but once you brought up one of his interests- it got him talking on and on. He was actually kind of… cute? With every bite of his cheesecake (which he demanded for dessert), his cheeks would bunch up as he smiled and chewed, taking in each bite as if it were the last. 

“Umm.. usually it’s the guy who walks the girl back to their house but, thanks for taking me here I guess” He said, itching the nape of his neck out of nervousness. 

“No problem” You smiled in response. Maybe he was the right guy after all. Your hopes felt high for Jisung. Maybe he would be the right guy- that was until you remembered the amount of girls inside of his room hours before. The sudden memory made your heartache, he was a straight up player. 

“Oh! I almost forgot” He exclaimed, opening his apartment door and peeking inside. “My mother asked me to give this to you, I didn’t look inside but I’m assuming it’s some big ass jewel or something” 

You walked into his apartment, following the steps to his bedroom as he picked up a box from his dresser. “This is for you,” He smirks, watching as you opened the box. 

He wasn’t wrong. It was a big ass jewel made to impress you. A secret message from a mother just sent ‘I know he’s stupid, but can you marry him please?’ Chuckling at the jewel, you put it back in his drawer. 

“Thanks, but I don’t want it, Jisung. What I want is this-” You gestured at the space between you two “to work. If we’re really going to do this.. I really want your commitment” 

Jisung scoffed at the comment. “Commitment? Please. I would commit to a girl who at least knew how to flirt, even kiss at least” 

You bit your lip at his response, “Are you saying I look like a bad kisser?” 

Jisung internally laughed at the comment, taking a step forward. A quick sniff of his cologne had you swifted, your heart beating at the close proximity. 

“Are you denying it though?” 

You rolled your eyes before taking a deep breath and muttering a quick, “How’s this?” before closing the gap between you two. 

Letting your tongue slip into the kiss, you stepped forward causing Jisung to fall on the bed between him. A small gasp left him as he fell onto the bed, his hands reaching out to grab your waist before he could pull you closer. “Not bad” He smirked before locking his lips with yours. 

You let your knees press against the soft comforter beside his hips, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you hold onto them. Softly pressing against his crotch, you watch as he tilts his head back at the action.  

“What’s wrong Jisung?” You ask him as he takes a deep breath. “J-Just give me a second, fuck” He curses, a confused expression meeting your face at his concern. 

“Jisung, we don’t need a condom. I’ll take the morning after pill, okay?” You smile, kissing his forehead as he sighs in relief. His eyes look glossy, relieved. He couldn’t help but to smile back. No matter how hard he tried to piss you off, you stayed with him. He realized you weren’t in this relationship for the money, you genuinely liked him- and he would prove that he loves you just as much. 

“Babe, sit on the bed… let me make you feel good” He whispers, watching as you slowly lay on your back, pressing your head against the pillow. 

His fingers run under your dress, slowly lifting the piece of fabric before rubbing circles on your heat. 

“J-Jisung, please” You whimper, your hands grabbing the sheets next to you as he pecks the bare skin on your thighs. 

“So wet for me babe, just be patient” With a soft chuckle, he lifts your dress over your head, one hand cupping your breast as the other continues to toy with your heat. 

With every touch you find yourself trying to stay still, whimpering when he lets go and bucking your hips into his fingers when he hits your sweet spot. 

The second you bite your lip, you shut your eyes as the sight of Jisung slowly removing your bra. He takes the time to lick around your breasts before his lips could close on your erected nipple. His fingers quicken its pace and you find that all too familiar pit inside your stomach. “Jisung, I-I’m so close” 

His lips leave our breasts and attach to your neck, softly humming against the skin before meeting your ear. “Cum for me babe” He whispers, making you gasp as his finger brushes against your sweet spot, your back arches as your wet juices coat his digits. 

“Mmm, Fuck” he curses, getting on his knees to unbuckle his jeans. “You’re driving me insane” He mutters as he unzips his jeans, freeing his tight member of its restraints and pumping it with his hand. 

He takes no mercy as he presses his cock between your walls, his nails digging into your hips as he rides his hips against yours. 

His grip on your hips is so strong that you feel your chest constantly slam into his, Jisung taking pride in the way your breasts bounce against your skin. He doesn’t want this now, but he wants it forever. To see you at night like this and in the morning cuddles in his arms. 

“Jisung, god” You whine as he slows his pace, letting his tip meet your soft spot again. It was almost embarrassing how fast he got you to reach your high again, your walls clenching around his member. “You must love how good my cock fits inside your tight cunt, you love it don’t you babe?” 

You let out a small whimper, throwing your head back as you lift your leg, letting him hit your sweet spot from a different angle. “God babe, you’re even asking for more. You’re dangerous” He says, his words filling your mind as your sight starts to become foggy. 

You’re holding on to Jisung for dear life, letting him fuck you like his little ragdoll, his little toy. “Shit, I’m gonna cum” He curses, your walls tightening around him again as you meet your orgasm. 

“Cum inside me Ji” You breathe out, holding him closer to you as his dick twitches inside you, filling you with his warm cum. 

“Fuck, babe” he sighs, grabbing your hips and turning you around so you’re on top of him. Your hips meet again as you hide your face in his neck, slowly peeking up as the two of you reach your high. 

Jisung smiles as his eyes meet yours, his hand reaching out to place a stranded piece of hair behind your ear. 

“I hope you learned a thing or two about kissing after this.” He chuckles, raising his eyebrows. “Or even more” 

Slapping his shoulder in embarrassment, you pant out a small laugh before replying, “and I hope you learned a thing or two about commitment after this”

“Maybe this will teach me a thing or two about commitment” Jisung chuckled before capturing your lips in a kiss, “I’ll only stay with you now”