#I was up late making these changes but haven’t sewn the hair in

[danvssomethingorother]

Update on my Leon doll. I changed his hair because I couldn’t get it right before. Looks better. One day he will have clothing.

[r3starttt]

Amoeba

a/n: third part of don’t delete the kisses (lmk if you noticed the Dina x Ellie reference 🤞)

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.4

Warnings: a little bit of angts(? lots of fluff. homophobia. mentions of suicide.

“Between the gasps, I was swimming laps”

Echo chambers inside a neighborhood

In centerfold, humility’s shown

You’re not as good as what your mama’s sewn

Nobody yet everything, a pool to shed your memory

Could you say you’ve been tired? You haven’t called your family twice

I can hope tonight goes differently, but I show up to the party just to leave

The delicious and soft aroma of sweet bread wakes you up. Before you can even open your eyes properly, you feel your stomach growl. How much have you been sleeping for?

The warm of the sun coming from a big window besides you doesn’t help as you try hard to open your eyes. You rub them, yawning and stretching your legs.

It was probably the first time since you moved to this place that you didn’t felt exhausted.

You grabbed your phone to check the time, it was 10:30 am. How on earth could you slept for so long? you usually don’t make it pass 9 am, your body simply wakes you up and once your eye open there’s no way to feel tired enough to go back to sleep.

“Did I wake you up?” Ellie’s voice bring you back to reality, you finally turn around, there’s two plates on top of the kitchens counter with what seemed like hotcakes in them. Your heart felt like melting. “No… did you just cook our breakfast? How long have you been awake?”

Still a little bit sleepy you stood up from the couch you’ve slept in last night. Giving slow dizzy steps towards the counter and sitting on one of the few chair that were along it.

“Not too long, probably an hour” you could only see her back and her messy hair as she looked trough the many cabinets of the kitchen “what’re you looking for?” “The fucking maple syrup! I literally bough it like… three days ago”

“I bet you forgot it at the store” a sleepy chuckle came out of your mouth, already craving the very tasty hotcakes displayed in front of you.

“No I didn’t, I’m not that stupid” just before you could speak back she found it, whispering a ‘yessss’

She turned around and sat next to you, covering her plate with and exaggerated amount of syrup “That’s a lot” “it’s not” “it is”

Probably she was just as hungry as you were because none of you spoke again último both plates were empty, not even a crumb left.

“No, lemme do it” you pushed her away from the sink, she’d already done more than enough by cooking something for both “Why did you wake up so early? Didn’t you say how your day started like…. suuuper late?” with your hands you lifted both sleeves of your sweater, starting to wash the dishes.

“Couldn’t really sleep” she replied, almost too fast “Why?” she stood in silence for some seconds before explaining “It’s gonna sound super cheesy, just forget it”

“Now I really wanna know” you laughed “Did you dream of me? Of us? Did you marry me and started the most pretty cliche life with me?” she groaned

“Actually yeah, but you were so different…. and we were younger too” could it be? “did I have the same name?” you glazed at her quickly, but enough time to see her sudden change of expression “How’d you know?”

“I’ve had the same dreams, I freaked out when I first met you” you could hear the way the chair moved abruptly, her footsteps getting closer to you

“It made me feel nostalgic” her figure finally appeared on the corner of your eye, you were about to finish cleaning the last glass “and you haven’t even got to the best part” the sarcasm on your voice made her feel so confused,

Were you being serious right now? “What does that even mean?” her arms rested on the counter, watching you clean the glass “I’m not gonna spoil you our failed romance, just go to sleep and you’ll see” “You’re fucking with me” her hand slapped your shoulder slightly “I’m not! You’ll see what I mean tonight” all dishes now clean, how convenient.

“Is this what you meant yesterday? Is that why you asked me about-“

“Yes, but you don’t believe in those things, it’s fine”

“We’ve really met before then? Isn’t creepy?”

“Not really, I mean, not literally”

“You think we are soulmates then?”

You shrugged

Wooden floor sounding loudly as you walked to a small coffee table where you’d put all your bags the day before. Everything you’d bought and everything Ellie had insisted on buying you. There were just a few bags, you didn’t want to carry much.

“I can’t believe you suddenly believe in all this” you chuckled “well, we both dreamt about it. It’ll be too creepy if it was just a coincidence or something” she was just following you through the apartment, walking behind you whenever you moved.

“Have any plans for today?” you we’re hoping she didn’t, it would’ve been cute to stay all day with her, or maybe go out again. But she nodded, she did have plans for today.

“Gotta go see my parents, family reunion or some shit” you hummed “then I’ll go already, I don’t want you to be late or anything”

“I won’t”

-

“You know if you bring a girl this is over” Ellie’s mom looked furious. Her dad was just sitting besides her, trying to calm her wife down and trying to convince Ellie to stay a little more to properly talk.

But both of them were so stubborn and easily blinded by anger. No one could really intervene once they started shouting at each other.

“What’s the matter with it? I’ve been a fucking perfect child for this entire family but I’m not allowed to do one thing for myself?” she was so mad, her fists tightening more and more every time her mother spoke back.

“You are, just….not something like this” her mom finally calmed down, sitting besides her husband and staring back at Ellie with the must blank expression ever. it was infuriating.

“We’ll it’s either her or you two, and I’m not gonna quit to my life anymore just to please you” the whole room stood in silence. Everyone could fill the tension but it was completely quiet.

“Then don’t ever dare to come back”

This words made everyone feel disgusted, an unexplainable shiver running trough the ambience, touching every inch of skin of those present.

“No… shit, mom I’m sorry alright? I just” the knot of tears forming on her throat didn’t allow her to speak properly “what am I supposed to do? why can’t you accept it?”

“Get a man Ellie, grow up and start acting like an adult”

“Why not a woman? If it’s about the money, she’s rich alright? She has a great job, she lives in my same building, you know it’s not-“

“She lives there?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“You’ll find another place then. I don’t want you to keep talking about this, I trust you’re gonna do the right thing”

-

You haven’t heard of Ellie since that day in the morning when you left to your apartment. You could hear her when she came back but decided not to bother.

She’d told you about her parents, how they weren’t so supportive now that she’s an adult. She’d told you how much it overwhelmed her the idea of visiting them or just having any type of contact with them.

And it’s not that you could do much about it either. You’d only have one date and knew her for almost two months so far so you weren’t quite sure about how to help or comfort her, also, you didn’t have the time to go and find out right now.

You were busy placing every new decor you’d bough with her and taking the chance to clean everything.

However you were thinking the whole day about her, well, the old Ellie you’ve met somewhere else. Could she have any effect on your new Ellie? on your new relationship?

It gave you anxiety to think about how she’d react when she knew what had happened, if she ever got to see it.

Would she understand? Would she hate you? Would she just ignore it? Would she even let you know If she knew what happened?

And the most darker and cozy the ambience got the more your anxiety grew, because you feared that night came and Ellie could see something that made things change. That maybe it’ll affect her as much as it did to you when you first saw it all.

You feared that the story could somehow repeat again, maybe as a karma type of thing. You feared that not you or her could handle it.

Because you’d wait her forever, you’d do anything for her. But something you did knew and something you were sure about was that whenever someone hurt her, she’d never forget about it, she won’t forgive, not easily.

10 pm

Weird to not have a single text from Ellie, she always sent you dumb stuff or tried to convince you to go with her to work or eat together.

“You haven’t texted me all day. U good?”

“Can you come over? I feel like shit”

“Wanna talk?”

“Just cuddle, hurry”

-

She’d been sleeping next to you for almost an hour now.

When you came in she didn’t say anything, her eyes looked puffy, her nose and cheeks were slightly red and her hair was a mess.

You decided not to ask any questions, she’ll tell you everything eventually, when she’s ready to talk about it.

You’d been running your hands trough her hair, caressing her back and arms, hugging her tightly and whispering to her how everything will be fine, how you wouldn’t leave her side ever. Reassuring her that you would stay as long as she needed. Until she fell asleep.

So now you were just cuddling with her. Arms around each other’s warm bodies, the whole apartment in complete silence, just Ellie’s heavy breathing as your hands kept on palming and caressing her back.

She started to cry on her sleep, saying random words and murmurs that made no sense. Whispering a bunch of unfinished phrases and letting out small whimpers.

You assumed maybe it was the stress, or whatever situation her parents had put her in some hours ago.

Until you heard your name. Could she be dreaming about the two of you again? Should you wake her up? Was she experiencing what you feared the most? So fast already? Maybe you-

Her eyes opened abruptly, letting out a loud gasp as if she was out of breath.

“Ellie, hey…. I’m here shhh” small pats on her back as she tried to compose herself. She was breathing extremely heavily “What happened?”.

Her eyes met yours and only there you realized about the tears on them, about the sweat on her face making some of her baby hairs stick on her face.

“You’re here” her body practically jumped to yours, embracing you with her arms, tightly “What is it? did you have a nightmare or something? El?” you could practically hear her heart beat, so loud and unsteady. Almost too fast.

She murmured something, her voice was too shaky and teary to speak properly “I don’t wanna lose you”

Your hands ran trough her hair, trying to not panic and make things worse for her. You leaned on her and kissed her head, gently.

“Good….”

-

“Why’d you do something like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Leave everyone and everything like that”

“That wasn’t really me, don’t worry ab-“

“Just why? you had so much privilege and fucking friends, I was dating you, we were best friends”

She couldn’t go to sleep after that, she didn’t really tell you about the dream she had but you already knew.

And you thought she’d understand, but maybe you were wrong, maybe she never did and you just convinced yourself about it because you two were in love.

“I felt overwhelmed, I thought you-“

“I feel overwhelmed too but it’ll pass, there no fucking need of killing myself”

Was she being serious? How were you supposed to reply back?

“Is it because of your parents? We don’t need to talk about this if you’re not feeling like”

“No it’s not” it is “and It’s important that we talk about it because that fucking detail just changes everything, how am I supposed to live like this with you knowing you could do it again?”

You’d make her dinner this time, but at this point it wasn’t possible for either of you to even touch the food anymore.

“Did you see what happened after I died?” she nodded, maybe the lack of knowledge was troubling this whole thing. “Is that why you’re mad? I didn’t see it”

You were trying your best to not explode, but you felt like punching her right in the face. How could she speak like this about you? About everything?

How could she be so selfish and stupid right now.

“I’m mad about the whole situation, why’d you leave me and not even talk to me about it? Why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling? Why’d you have to be so selfish? I was left alone after that, your parents moved out of the town.”

So they did take care of her as you’ve asked them to. And she did search for them to have some support as you’ve insisted.

“That was someone else Ellie, things are different here. I won’t leave you, I’m fine”

“How do you know? if we met again is for a reason”

“To actually end together maybe?”

“I don’t think so”

The immediate regret on her face was something you’ve never seen before. But you’re now too focused on your own pain to care.

“You know, the reason of those letters, the reason of why I didn’t died earlier and the reason why I’m here right now, making you fucking dinner Is because I care about you more than I could ever care about myself”

You could feel the salad flavor of tears slowly appearing in your throat. The tears slowly blinding you as rage built in your heart. It was physically painful.

“And it sucks and I know it’s not how any of this should’ve been but it it’s, and we can’t change what we’ve experienced” she stood up from the chair she was eating at, almost running towards you “but I’ve tried over and over again to make us work, and I’m tired of you not understanding. You’re supposed to love me Ellie, why can’t you?”

“I really thought you’d get over it, I really thought you’d understand in this life too. But you always let the anger in you fuck everything”

She tried to hold you, to speak, anything to try and talk and not fuck yo things again. Because you were more than right and she knew it.

“I guess we’ve changed, maybe you’re right snd we are just not meant to be anymore”

“That’s not what I meant! my mom she- they don’t want me to be with you, I’m sorry I’ve been feeling like shit today, please let’s talk Mhm?”

Her hands were on your face, cleaning every tear that ran along your pretty eyes and your pretty nose, along your shaky lips and all the way to your jawline.

But you stopped her, because you didn’t care about any explanation she had now. It was fucking stupid from her to act the way she did and maybe she was right, maybe you two weren’t meant to be.

Maybe it was all an illusion.

“I’m mad at them and you’re right, I let the anger blind me but I’ll promise I’ll control it. Just let’s talk, please” you wouldn’t reply, not verbally or physically and it made her feel so horrible to see you like this.

“She wants me to stay away from you, but I chose you over them. I love you, I really do-“

“I’ll make her a favor then”

Hopefully it was an illusion.

[sleeponthephone]

(this is a whisper. we don’t cast this in the face of the sun.)

his father died, close to his 21st birthday. he went out with friends and his partner to vegas, celebration and grief packaged up for exploring in the city best suited for it. isn’t that such a coming-of-age moment, your father dying just as the world finally admits you’ve grown up. it ignored it all before, but the government print on your license doesn’t lie. I remember when he was learning to drive, being so afraid for him.

his ring doesn’t fit me anymore. fifteen-year-old hands are formed differently. they carry less of the weight you gain through love and sickness. two of the best polaroid photos we took were on half-ruined film. he gave me his most recent sketchbook once he’d filled it up; I have the record of the year he fell in love with me. I lock him back up at least once a year, and at least once a year I pull him back out again, the sparse guts of it that I was left.

I told you your story might end differently than mine. don’t worry- I am finding love too, in my own small ways. I am learning to breathe deeply enough to straighten out the crooked lines in how I see other people, in how I allow myself to think of them and how I let them love me.

a little over half a bottle of red in the fridge,

for two months? three?

I had no inclination to finish it;

I have to already be tipsy to reach for it.

you brought it with you to the rug and you drank straight from it,

as I pulled your hair loose,

as I slid down to join you.

three months perhaps it sat untouched,

swirling every time I opened the door,

a small peck of guilt and worry over its age.

it went to the best end.

they made dinner. we began learning each other’s faces, doing makeup in the dark. they flirted flirted flirted, and said they thought I would do something about it if I was drunker. and they brought up november again- I never bring up november, it’s always them. and they said that they consulted friends on the gift they made for me, that they think about me when I’m not around, that I’m one of their closest friends, that they’re willing to stick it out through my bullshit. they looked into my eyes and held my hand and said I am not leaving.

I can’t look at their face in pictures now without the sunrise blooming back into me. I see the tunnel light at the end. everything here is a passing-through, a transitory state.

I don’t care. my fingers busy themselves with yarn. I go out and buy more wine. I add another song to the playlist about them, the one I haven’t touched in months. I think about the letters that were inspired by them. I see a poem that makes me want to write one about them. I craft half their gift in a day. I change the color of my hair because my heart can’t stop beating. I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d asked to kiss them. I wonder if I’ll get the chance again. I tell myself the story again and I ask myself what it means.

it doesn’t matter, does it. a moment late at night, your eyes in mine, a question question question I don’t want to answer out loud. you finished the red in my fridge. you kissed my forehead. what does it matter what anything means? this is love, right here. I already had the answer, the whole day I was casting about for it. we are practicing love and healing and compassion here. I love you, and it is enough. you love me, and it is enough. it will never matter what we call it. you are my friend, the dearest one to me. that is the soil it grows in. if I ever kiss you, it will only be an extension of that. I have no cause for worry. there has been no doubt sewn.

tomorrow we will be calm. we will have ramen and we will work our little crafts and we will watch a ghibli movie, and the sun will come in and the world will be warm. it will be a breath, a short reprieve from the business of being people. my anxieties steady out; this love has all the room it needs to simply be.

(- the world is giving me love, and patience, and a million other things beside. I buy concert tickets and conjure a dream of inviting him and the nights we spend in that city, and then I invite my friend instead as we sit on the balcony. I redirect the bad reflexes into better energies. I fall in love with mornings and afternoons, add a new flavor to the loves already growing in my garden. I could not ask for better. I think of you and I hope you are well. I hope the spring is kinder than the summer, than the autumn, than the winter. I hope you are loved well.)

posting this because it was a response to the most recent original post i made. <3

[kirsteninthesun]

Expanding Emily’s Collection

I’ve made this post before, but I want to make it again, because I’m trying to bond more with my Emily.

Emily’s School Uniform: I think this is part of what she’s wearing when she meets Molly. You could probably make this out of the Harry Potter collection, if you dyed the skirt blue. It would be a navy blue skirt, brown oxfords, a striped tie, and a short sleeved white shirt. Ideally a blue blazer as well. @alittlebitbethany, you would know more about British school uniforms, so if you have suggestions I’d appreciate them!

Emily’s Patchwork Dress: Made by her mother, this dress is made up of scraps artfully sewn together to create a fun short sleeved, full skirted play dress. She wears it when gardening in America or playing with Molly.

Emily’s American Halloween Costume: In the movie, Emily would be living with the McIntires for Halloween. The girls decide to switch up- Emily dresses up like an American, while Molly dresses like a British person. Emily wears cowboy boots and borrows Ricky’s western clothes- a button up plaid shirt and jeans. She also wears a cowboy hat and carries a lasso.

Emily’s Thanksgiving Dress: Emily celebrates her first Thanksgiving in America with a brand new dress. It’s a fall plaid with a burnt orange ribbon and trim, and she wears it with her brown shoes and a bow in her hair. Emily, her aunt, and Mrs McIntire coordinate to surprise everyone by bringing Emily over to celebrate.

Emily’s Boxing Day Outfit: Boxing Day originated as a tradition in which Europeans, especially the British, would give back to the less fortunate just after Christmas. When Mrs. McIntire casually asks Emily what Boxing Day is about, it starts a conversation that leads to the local elementary school collecting boxes of donations to send to individual children in Europe, mostly outgrown clothes and toys. Emily contributes her teddy bear, saying that the bear helped her through the war and now he will help another child. During this, she wears a plaid flannel dress with a ribbon around the waist, Christmas buttons, and decorative stitching around the hems. She also wears a huge green bow in her hair. This would also come with a cardboard box, a can for collecting donations, and Emily’s bear. 

Emily’s Ice Skating Outfit: Emily goes with Molly, Susan, and Linda to ice skate on New Year’s Eve. They stay up all the way to midnight watching the fireworks and skating on a local pond. She wears a navy blue dress with star embellishments, a white ribbon in her hair, and a plaid coat. 

Emily, Homeward Bound: When Emily returns to England, she wears a special dress for her sendoff and for her arrival. Mrs. McIntire and Molly pick it out for her and throw her a party, complete with a lemon tart and bananas. I haven’t decided on the fabric for this yet- my local fabric store has lots of great 40s prints- but it will be similar to her meet dress, with fun trim, and it will be very cheerful and happy, probably with fruit prints (maybe lemons or strawberries), something that brings new beginnings and spring to mind. 

Also: I love Claudie’s bed, but I don’t have space for Claudie. (I say this now but it could absolutely change). I might get the bed for Emily and Nellie- it could be Nellie’s bed at the Edwards house and Emily’s bed at her aunt’s house. Molly can come over and play. Claudie’s bed is one of my favorite things AG has done lately.

[morifinwes]

Lauraa I finished all the fics, apart from decay (currently reading that now) and I love it sm! Especially the lip gloss one lmao the whole thing was so hilarious to me XD but also like the concept of lwj wearing lipgloss is >>> -yibobibo

@yibobibo then i'm going to rec you some more!! the lip gloss one was !!!!! ajsksks yes!! lwj wearing lipgloss is just so!! good!!

modern

this one is the painful one i talked about:

visitations by var_abelasan (12K, wip, divorced wangxian, post divorce, most of this is angst, uhm lowkey don't but also do want wangxian to end up together, it's messy, the jiangs & lans are shitty, wwx was in prison (brief mentions of that but it's kind of a major plot point), mxy & xy are the little brothers he never wanted but wwx picked them up anyways)

"Wei Ying-" Lan Zhan says, stutters, "I'm sorry." 

And now Wei Wuxian sees it, the red rimming Lan Zhan's eyes, the rumpled edges of his blazer. There is an old, familiar urge for him to reach over, to hold Lan Zhan's hand and smooth his hair, to tell him that everything will be fine. 

"We're all a bit sorry about this, I think," he says instead, and finds that he means it. For Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and everyone else in that Guanyin temple, the pain must be unbearably fresh, like skin just flayed open. But Wei Wuxian's chest had been cracked open a long time ago, his wounds licked and cauterized and sewn shut over five long years - Ever hurting, but a dull, constant ache, "It's really alright, Lan Zhan."

 

Five years after being accused of corporate espionage and losing everything, the Guanyin Scandal breaks open and Wei Wuxian finds a familiar face at his door.

please don't let me be misunderstood by sysrae (3K, partly deaf!wwx, lwj notices, nobody else does though, idk wwx is like made out of fucking steel or some shit)

Lan Wangji has known Wei Ying for a fortnight, the first time he sees him get hit by a car.

light by redkosmos (10K, blind!lwj, which causes angst, but they manage it, best friends to lovers, fluff, lwj being insecure and feeling like a burden, college au kind of? but it doesn't matter too much)

The realization slowly dawns on him.

He can never again see the brightness of Wei Ying's eyes, the way they crescent when he smiles, never again see the rich black of his hair, the mess of it in the early mornings, never again see the beautiful tan of his skin, the beauty of the scars and marks adorned on it, how he wears his clothes, how it hugs his frame beautifully, how he looks like he's adorably swimming in cloth when he wears Lan Zhan's, and-

(Lan Zhan loses his vision in a car accident and learns to cope with it.)

don't leave me by trippinonskies (19K, brief very brief mention of lwj cheating, he doesn't but wwx is afraid lwj is cheating on him or just wants to break up with him, (he doesn't), marriage proposal, lwj acting distant = wwx's insecurities show up, fluff, angst and comfort)

Lan Zhan! Where are you lost today?” Wei Wuxian finally asks, at the end of his patience.

Lan Zhan looks a little guilty as he looks at Wei Wuxian, “Sorry, just a lot of work to deal with.”

Lie.

If there is one thing Lan Zhan can’t do, it’s lying. Especially to Wei Wuxian. But he doesn’t question Lan Zhan. He just accepts the reply, too scared to know that he is right. Too scared to know the truth.

// or where Lan Zhan is too hung up in planning the perfect proposal and ends up accidently ignoring Wei Wuxian making the other think that he wants to break up //

want you closer by xiaobucephalus ((3K, HORSES, only in the background tho, but wwx is an equestrian vet, which is so fucking valid bro, the lans own horses, a sick bunny, lwj the bunny parent!, super cute, dark bay throughoutbred chenqing is honestly so valid)

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Don’t thank me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying laughed again, his voice warming the chill of fear that had settled in his chest. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get into your hutch for a while anyway.”

safe in your thoughts by anonymous (20K, it's a cherry magic au???? (i haven't watched it, but you have i think?), horny lwj but only for wwx (always for wwx))

Wei Wuxian learns three very important things on the night of his twenty-seventh birthday.

One, that Lan Wangji is ridiculously funny, which Wei Wuxian had known before but what Wei Wuxain hadn’t expected was Lan Wangji to be funny at his brother’s expense.

Two, that Wei Wuxian had finally gone mad, absolutely mental at the ripe age of twenty seven because nothing else would explain the third thing he had learnt.

Third, and the most unbelievable of the lot, that Lan Wangji wants to fuck him.

iura by yoo_im_finally_writing (1K, only added bcs op is right and wwx would've the cutest german accent, it's more fun if you understand german so hit me up if you want translations for the german sentences)

Wei Ying calls in the middle of the night to talk about German law, and Lan Zhan tries very hard not to fall asleep. Or at least, not to let Wei Ying notice he's falling asleep. (As best friends do.)

breathe in the air, the last of its kind by wereworm / @neverdoingmuch (27K, getting together, jealous!lwj, but also kind of supportive, brief mention of cheating bcs of miscommunication, no actual cheating tho, college au, lwj pov)

Following Wei Ying’s line of sight, Lan Wangji can barely prevent a smile from crossing his lips when he sees the short row of rabbit statuettes placed at the front of the display. Silver, with bright gems for eyes, they look elegant yet lively and animated.

“A-Yuan would love one of those,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost as if to himself.

Lan Wangji frowns; the rabbits, while cute, don’t seem like a suitable gift for Wei Ying’s A-Yuan.

...

It’s only when he glances back at the rabbits and notices what has been placed on display behind them, that the pieces fall into place. They’re engagement rings, there’s no doubt about it. Lan Wangji feels his heart sink – Wei Ying isn’t just dating A-Yuan, he wants to propose to him.

Or: the five times Lan Wangji thinks that A-Yuan is Wei Ying’s boyfriend and the one time he learns the truth.

paint smears on sunny days by snowshadowao3 / @angstsexual (53K, getting together, art teacher!wwx, single parent!lwj, they're rich if i remember right, wwx & lwj are both good with kids!!!, this is so good actually, fluff)

To say that he runs to his car would be incorrect, as he is a Lan, and running is both undignified and unnecessary unless in immediate danger. Nor does he slam his key into the ignition, or aggressively swerve around the cars on the freeway, or have a mild panic attack at the fact he is picking A-Yuan up late from school for the first time ever.

He comes close, though.

By the time he arrives, it’s 4:35PM, and he has imagined about fifty different worse-case scenarios. The door is partly open when he gets to it, a messy label of 104B—Art Room scrawled with chalk on a placard next to the faded wood. As he opens it fully, he expects to see a wailing, terrified child, or perhaps a scene of utter misery and betrayal.

What he finds is his son, hands covered in paint, being sung to by a beautiful, dark-haired stranger.

“Ducks live in the pond, yellow ducks, happy ducks!”

Lan Wangji stops in his tracks.

(Or: Falling in love with your son’s art teacher, in five parts)

no bunny compares by gusucloudbunny (4K, god this is cute, fluff)

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cornered his friend one week before his birthday. “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

Lan Wangji furrowed his brow at Wei Wuxian, not exactly sure how to answer that question in a truthful manner that didn’t involve confessing his undying love for his best friend.

Wei Wuxian is on a mission to get Lan Wangji the perfect gift for his birthday. What Wei Wuxian doesn't know is that the only thing Lan Wangji truly wants is him.

wei wuxian's week of realizing things by photojenny (12K, i have read this multiple times, i always forget what happens, idk why but my notes say it's good, the tags say drunkji makes an appearance and i'm always up for that)

"Lan Zhan, do you like Mianmian?" asked Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji blinked, and stared. It was not the first time Lan Wangji had questioned the perceptiveness of the boy he had a crush on. Wei Wuxian had been smart in the class they had taken together. Yet time and time again, Wei Wuxian had tested the old wisdom that there are no stupid questions.

---

Lan Wangji must figure out how to confess when Wei Wuxian is the most oblivious person he's ever met.

are you my wisdom tooth? because i'd like to take you out by yellowcarnations (1K, crack, fluff, lwj stop flirting with a stranger, even if he is your husband, drunkji but make it to max level)

Lan Zhan wakes up and he has no idea where he is.

There are bright lights and his jaw hurts, he doesn't who this man next to his bed is but oh he might be in love, maybe, probably, definitely.

–

based off that guy-forgets-who-his-wife-is-and-hits-on-her vid but its wangxian.

beep! goes his heart by wearing_tearing (3K, fluff, lwj is like "he, he likes me right? he likes me" and everyone is like "yes, yes he does")

“Wei Ying’s heart monitor,” Lan Wangji starts.

Wen Qing blinks at him. “Yes?”

“It beeps.”

“That’s… what they generally do, yes.”

“The beeps change,” Lan Wangji continues, “when others are around.”

*

Wei Ying’s heart only sings for Lan Wangji.

canon

obedient and bellicose by thunderwear (19K, lwj is cursed by the lan elders, they notice too late, fix-it fic kind of?, lqr being a good uncle and lxc is a good brother, wwx accidentally uses the curse but he doesn't know about it)

It took Lan Wangji a long time to realize he was cursed. Too long really, anyone else would have noticed so much sooner. The problem was, he liked following the rules.

Ella Enchanted AU that no one needed but I wanted.

hello my old heart, how have you been? by ravenditefairylights (10K, amnesia, fluff, wwx taking care of lwj, so much fluff and softness, angst too but not that much)

The issue is, Lan Wangji brings his thoughts back before they stray too far, that it is impossible for someone to be in his bed, unless Lan Wangji himself invited them. He has not. He would remember doing so, and besides, all his night clothes are still on and there is no headache to imply that he was inebriated last night. No, the situation is simple.

There is someone in Lan Wangji’s bed. It is impossible for anyone to be in Lan Wangji’s bed, and yet that doesn’t seem to have stopped the stranger.

or lan wangji wakes up, and wei ying is there. he doesn't understand how or why, and he can understand even less why his hallucination of wei ying is so insistent on bathing him, and braiding his hair, on holding him and fixing his clothes. why the hallucination of wei ying seems so happy to see him.

teach me the way by likeafox (58K, rogue cultivator!wwx, horny wangxian, lwj wants wwx to teach him how to be a good lover, ....wwx is a virgin, the porn is the plot, but there's less of it than i thought)

"I do not wish to leave my future spouse… dissatisfied with my intimate knowledge,” Lan Zhan says, very seriously. “I am hoping to find an instructor, to better prepare myself for such matters."

Wei Ying feels his mouth drop open. He's pretty sure the Second Jade of Lan just told him he's a virgin who wants to learn how to do sex good.

Rogue Cultivator Wei Wuxian is the stuff of local legends. Some of those legends are even true! The ones about his tremendous experience in bed, on the other hand, are not so true. Which becomes a problem when Lan Wangji, on the verge of an arranged marriage and worried he won’t know how to please his future spouse, enlists Wei Ying's help to teach him the art of love-making. Wei Ying's great at improvisation, though, and is pretty sure he's got this sex mentor thing under control. What could possibly go wrong

other aus

of god: my love unholy by tunnelodfawn (3K, tw blood / war, dark!lwj, god!wwx, kind of poetry)

Lan Zhan takes everything as a sign from his god. The blood staining his fingertips—a holy anointment. He sanctifies himself through blood. The strings of his guqin gleam red in the sun—a divine blessing. This is an instrument of destruction. A single note—a cry of power—and in this note the voice of his god unravels the earthly threads tethering man to earth.

The Yiling Patriarch blesses Lan Zhan with war. Wei Wuxian blesses Lan Zhan with agility. Wei Ying blesses Lan Zhan with love.

The base of the Yiling Patriarch’s shrine is the home of Lan Zhan’s knees. He worships. There is something of the blasphemous and the unholy in his prayers. He prays not for victory but for the sight of Wei Ying. Bless me with your presence, he begs.

Or, wherein, Lan Zhan bridges the gap between the mortal and the divine—the worshipper and the god—with blood.

the river and the sea by sasamelons / @sasamelons (7K, soulmate au, arranged marriage (wangxian with each other), they're both kind of dumb but i love it)

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, wishing to just be left alone. "I am looking for my soulmate," he ground out.

"Oh."

It took Lan Wangji a few moments to realize that Wei Wuxian had stopped following him. When he looked back, the other boy seemed to be frozen to the spot, eyes wide and lips still parted. He quickly looked away when he saw Lan Wangji looking back. "I see. Well, have a good trip!"

--

At six years old, Lan Zhan met his soulmate on the streets of Yiling and promptly lost him again.

At sixteen years old, Lan Wangji met his betrothed and was determined not to like him.

[jvnghxope]

love sewn | final

final part;

◦ pairing: Jungkook | reader

◦ genre: boy next door au; fluff, angst 

◦ word count: 9k

◦ warnings: angst, mentions of self-hatred, cheating, infidelity

◦ abstract: You’ve never cared about the thin-as-paper walls of your beloved apartment until Jeon Jungkook moved next door. You could hear everything –from his late-night parties on Saturday, to the quality time he spent with his girlfriend in the intimacy of his bedroom. One day, everything ceases. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and you find yourself knocking his door before you can think it twice.

⇥ prologue | part one | part two | part three | final

◦ a/n: It took me a lot more than anticipated to edit it, but it is finally here! Thank you so much for all your love and support. I hope you have enjoyed this ride as much as I did. 

A numb feeling spreads throughout your body as you stare dumbfounded to his cellphone. 

You don't know if their conversation continues and you don't care. It's like your mind has shut down. You feel a giant knot inside your throat like you just swallowed a big-ass pill without water. This is awfully like that night two years ago and you feel the breath hitch in your throat. 

“Hey," Jungkook says as he appears in the hallway, dressed in jeans and a naked torso as he slides inside a t-shirt. “I was thinking we could go to this park after breakfast. It has a majestic view and you can draw something and I could take some pics– What’s wrong?” He asks the moment he sees your expression and then, his eyes fall to the cellphone. 

“You have, hmm, a new text,” you say as calm as you can and hand him his phone. 

Maybe it's not a good idea that you stay here. Yes. You need to go. You move past him to walk to his bedroom but he stops you, taking your wrist. 

"Did you read these texts?" He asks. A part of you expected him to be mad at you for invading his privacy, but he sounds more worried than anything. 

"It was not my intention," you reply, your voice just above a whisper. "I wanted to check the hour…" 

"Let me explain."

“There’s no need to explain.” 

"It is not what you think." 

You take a deep breath and turn around to face him. 

"What I think is that you have unresolved feelings for your ex."

There, you said it. The confusion in Jungkook's eyes only confirms it. He has an internal struggle. 

"It is complicated," he finally says. 

At that, you smile. "I know." 

You can assume by his expression that he feels genuinely torn. 

“Jungkook," you murmur, taking the hand that was holding your wrist in yours and squeezing it tightly. "I am not your girlfriend. You don’t owe me anything.” 

Words that are hard to pronounce but the truth behind them might give him some perspective. 

He shakes his head, "Don't do that." 

You frown, "Do what?" 

"Minimize this," he points at you and him. "Come here." He tugs you by the hand and leads you to his couch. 

"I hate to burst your bubble Kook, but we had one date." 

He nods, "I know. We might not be a couple. But that was something I was hoping we could be in the future. That we've dated once doesn't change the way I feel about you." 

The small layer of ice that was beginning to form around your heart warms at his words. 

"What about Zoe? Do you still love her?" 

He sits there, silently, pondering his answer carefully. 

"I'm going to be honest with you," he starts and your heart clenches, already fearing his words. "I don't know. I haven't seen her or spoken to her for over a year. But she was a big part of my life. I just can't forget her completely." 

You nod. You understand that. "I'm not asking you to do that. I just… I think we moved too fast. Last night–" 

"I don't regret what happened between us," he snaps. "Not at all. I thought I made myself clear when I told you about my feelings. I know I am a mess, and yes, maybe it was too quick. But last night was genuine and beautiful. I would do it again." 

The tears sting in your eyes. Jungkook caresses your cheek with his thumb when one of them falls. 

"Last night was special for me too. But there's something you need to understand. I don't think I could be with you until you resolve this. I don't want to be insensitive or selfish, or anything. I just know that, if we continue this, if we continue living inside a bubble, one day it will burst and someone is going to get hurt. What if when you meet her again you realize your feelings for her haven't changed at all? The three of us will be in a more complicated situation than none of us want to be. Believe me." 

At this point, the tears are cascading freely down your cheeks. 

"Don't you think that is a little pessimistic?" 

You sniff and wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, "It is realistic. I've been in the same position before. I've been the second choice and I don't want to be again. So, I think I should go." 

You stand from the couch. 

"Wait!" He stops you. "What does that mean for me? For us?" 

"I think that's up to you. But, for now, maybe we should take some time to think and revalue our situation." 

He chuckles dryly, "That sounds awful to 'I don't want to see you anymore'. I don't blame you. I wish things were different." 

"Maybe right now it was not our time."

"I don't believe that. Everything happens for a reason." 

Ugh. Even in times like this, he is so stubborn. He stands from the couch, too. His eyes are red and he looks defeated. It only makes your heart sink even more. You hate seeing him like that. You wish things were different, too. 

Summoning all the courage you have, you take his face between your hands and raise on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his lips. Jungkook's arms find their way around your waist. 

"Take care of yourself, Jungkook." 

You murmur against his ear, hugging him. At that, his arms tighten around you. 

"Is this goodbye?" He asks, his voice strained and face buried on your hair. You choose to not reply and give him one last kiss to his cheek. 

After you've gathered all your stuff, you walk towards the door. But when your hand touches the doorknob, you hesitate. 

Is this really the right choice? 

It is, you tell yourself. And with that, you walk out of his apartment without looking back. 

Seeing you walking away broke his heart in a million pieces. 

He wanted to run after you so bad. Hug you and tell you everything was going to be okay. But he didn’t. He knew he needed to let you go. If seeing you walking was heartbreaking, seeing you cry because of him almost killed him. 

Waking up the next day after your departure felt surreal. Like he was dreaming. For a moment, he forgot what happened the night prior. He stood up and made himself something to eat. As he was breeding some coffee, he was waiting for your arrival like every Monday morning.  But of course, that didn’t happen. You didn’t come. And then it hit him. You didn’t swing his door open with that smile of yours he adores so much. 

He wanted to call, even send a text. But every time he picked up his phone, his mind was blank. Would you pick up if he called? If so, what should he say? He wished things were different. He wished he met you in different circumstances. 

He avoided all of Zoe’s attempts to approach him, too. Every call, every text since the last one. It has been a year. She had all those months to do it. Why was she contacting him now when his life was somewhat normal? She made everything more complicated than it already was. 

“...so, that’s the reason why we should keep it casual,” Yoongi finishes the sentence and turns to his friend. “Are you even paying me attention?” 

“W-what?” Jungkook blurts. 

“That’s a no,” Yoongi giggles and punches him softly on the shoulder. 

“I’m sorry. I logged out for a second." Jungkook rubs his temples and takes a sip of the coffee he left on the table. It is not even hot anymore, but the taste is enough to give him some comfort. 

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asks. When Jungkook nods, he hums. "You don't seem okay." 

Jungkook glares at his friend. 

“Yeah. I was just… thinking,” he says. "I have a lot in my mind."

"Yeah, no wonder." 

It is strange. He sometimes forgets how close to you he has become in the past few months. He is probably aware of the whole ordeal from both sides. 

"Shut up." 

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something snarky but gets interrupted by a newcomer: a cute redhead in a pretty business dress.  

"Hello. My name is Lisa and I’m the assistant of miss Hyeri. She will receive you now," she greets them and urges them to follow her. 

Then the realization hits him. Jungkook and Yoongi are about to have an important meeting with one of the curators of the most important museums in town. He doesn't have the time to be nervous because the next second the receptionist is opening one of the many wooden doors. 

A gasp falls from his mouth at the sight of the meeting room. It is both mesmerizing and massive. Most of the space is occupied by an enormous table. A woman is waiting for them at the end of the table. Jungkook recognizes her from the gala. 

"Min Yoongi, Jeon Jungkook" Hyeri greets them and shakes their hands. "Please, take a seat. Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Maybe something to eat?"

“I’ll have a cup of tea, thank you,” Yoongi says. Lisa nods and disappears through the door. Not much longer after that, she reappears with a cup of hot tea. 

“I’m so glad you guys could meet us here with so short notice.” 

“It is no problem,” Yoongi comments after taking a sip of his tea. 

"We were wondering why we are here,” Jungkook adds. 

“Oh, right,” she claps. “I have good news. One of my permanent artists recently decided to part ways with the museum and now that we have a free spot, we would like to offer it to you guys.” 

For a moment, they just stare at her with wide eyes and mouth agape. Yoongi is the first one to jump into action. 

“Seriously?” 

Neither of them can believe it. 

Hyeri nods with a smile. “The Museum is a big fan of your work. I've been following it for over a year. It is really impressive what you guys have accomplished.”

“Wow. That means a lot coming from you. Thank you,” Jungkook musters and then exchanges a look with Yoongi, slightly panicked. He has always admired Yoongi’s ability to hide his emotions. He is there, completely serious when Jungkook is freaking out. He is both excited and afraid. They have never had a boss. Never had to meet deadlines. To be honest, Jungkook is not very good with deadlines. He likes to work at his own pace. 

“So, how would it work?” Yoongi asks. 

“Unless there is a special occasion, we change the exhibitions every month or two months. If you agree to work with us, you’ll have a little over a month to work on your first one.” 

“Will we have creative flexibility?” Jungkook interjects.

"Totally. Unless there is a special theme or it violates our politics, you are free to create what you want.” Then, she hands them a folder. "Everything is explained in the contract. You can check it out. There is a money offer too. If you want to change it, we are open to negotiation." As if in cue, Lisa opens the door and waits with a smile. “I apologize but I don’t have more time. Please, feel free to arrange another meeting with Lisa whenever you have an answer. I look forward to hearing from you guys.” 

"No, it’s okay. We understand. Thank you again for receiving us," Yoongi says as he shakes the curator's hand. Jungkook does the same. 

"Thank you so much for coming. Have a nice day," she has enough time to wave them goodbye before her phone starts to ring. 

They follow Lisa out of the door with dumb smiles and full of hope. 

Thirty minutes later, Jungkook opens the door of their gallery. 

“I didn’t expect that,” he musters as Yoongi closes the door behind them. 

“Then why did you expect?” 

Jungkook shrugs, “I don’t know. A part of me thought she wanted to steal Vante from us.” 

Yoongi snorts, “And why would she tell us?”

“Good manners?” 

“Right.” 

"Anyway. It sounds like a good offer, right?" 

"Yeah," Yoongi answers. "I gave it a quick check. They are willing to pay us twice the money we earn in two months at the gallery. That sounds pretty good. But I want to call Taekwoon, first. Maybe he can come next week to check the contract before we make a decision." 

"Good idea," Jungkook agrees. 

“Why are we here, anyway?” Yoongi asks while scrolling down his contacts. 

"I need to pick something up from the office. Do you want to go to grab something for lunch? I am starving and in the mood for Thai food.” 

“Can I pick the restaurant?” 

Jungkook chuckles. “Sure.” 

He leaves Yoongi in the entrance as he makes his way to the office. It was Yoongi's idea to have the office behind a hidden door. More like an office is more like storage. They keep there all the photographs and paintings. Theirs and their artists. But Jungkook didn’t find what he was looking for there. So, he returns to his friend. 

“Hey, Yoongs. Do you know where is the portfolio of my trip to Machu Picchu? I don't find it and I want to use some pictures in the next exhibition…" 

Jungkook stops on his tracks and a gasp falls from his lips. 

"Zoe…" 

She is there, Jungkook's ex, standing in front of him with a very awkward Yoongi. 

"What are you doing here?" He manages to ask after staring at her for a couple of awkward minutes.

"I came to see you,” she says and the sound of her voice moves something inside his chest. 

"You can stand,” he blurts. 

"Yeah,” she laughs, embarrassed. “We have a lot to talk about." 

Jungkook's face turns to Yoongi. "Go," his friend says. "I'll wait at your apartment and I'm still picking the food." 

Twenty minutes later, they are both in one of the cafes near the gallery. 

Jungkook shifts awkwardly on his seat. 

“So, about what you wanted to talk about?”  

"Well, I don't know where to start." Zoe takes a sip of her latte nervously. 

And that is what sets him off.

“Since when can you walk?” He tries so hard not to sound mad but that is an impossible task. All the anger that he has been holding back for a year is finally pouring off of him. 

"Two weeks after the accident, I started to feel the tip of my toes. After a month, I could feel my legs completely. After a lot of physical therapy, I finally can walk without any type of help." 

Her face lights up at the memory and Jungkook doesn't know if he feels relieved or still angry. Maybe a little bit of both. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" He deadpans. "Picking up the phone was really that hard?” 

Zoe gulps at that. “I wanted to reach you, but I was not in a good place. I was dealing with a lot and my body was getting used to the medication again…” 

“A text would have been enough... “ he counters attacks. “Do you even realize how I lived the next months? How hard was it? I know is nowhere near what you have been through, but living with the guilt… almost broke me." 

At this point, tears are running down Zoe's cheeks and his heart clenches. 

"I know I'm late, but I am so sorry." She reaches out to grab his hand. He stiffens but doesn't pull away. "Jungkook, the accident was not your fault." Somehow, those words managed to lift some weight off Jungkook’s heart. He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words until now. Especially from her. It is like he can breathe properly again. “I know what I said. I regretted it the moment I said those words. You didn't ruin my life… You saved me.” 

Jungkook can’t help but snort. “Saved you? How? I almost killed us!” 

A soft smile spreads across her face. “That night, I was in the middle of a crisis. I was a danger to myself and others around me. You might not understand how much you helped me that night. Despite what happened.” 

She uses one of the napkins to wipe her eyes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Maybe I could have done something more.”

“It was nothing personal,” Zoe replies, taking a sip of her already cold coffee. “I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 12. When I told my friends, they started to look at me weirdly. Like with pity. I couldn't bear the look in their eyes. It made me feel like there was something wrong with me. So, when I started high school, I decided to not tell anyone about it. Ever since then, only my family knew about it.” 

Jungkook nods, understanding. 

“I was feeling so good,” she continues. “In my stupidity, I stopped using the medication. I thought I didn’t need them anymore. The first month I was okay. Fine, actually. It was in the second month when the problems started. I guess it was around the time we started fighting over nonsense…” 

Jungkook finds himself squeezing her hand in comfort. Of course, he remembers those fights. But right now, they don't seem important anymore. 

“But, are you okay now?” 

She sniffs. No matter how many times she wipes her eyes, the tears keep coming. “Yeah. The medication is working. These last two months are the first time I’ve been genuinely happy in the last year.” 

A smile tugs the corner of Jungkook’s lips. “Who is he?” 

Zoe looks at him with wide eyes, “What?” 

Jungkook chuckles at the way she is looking at him. “I know you like the back of my hand. Who is he?”

Suddenly, Zoe’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “I met a guy in my support group three months ago. He is an athlete too, with an injury in recovery. We officially started dating a month ago. It's pretty new.” 

“He makes you happy?” 

“Yes," she says with a radiant smile enough to light up the entire cafe. 

"Did you tell him about it?" 

She chuckles, "Yes. I'm not going to make the same mistake again."

“Good. I am really happy for you.” He offers her a smile. 

It is true. There is no jealousy. He really feels happy that Zoe found someone that understands her and what she's been going through. 

“Thank you,” she smiles back. “What about you?”

“Me?” Jungkook can’t hide his surprise and a smirk appears in Zoe’s lips. She still looks beautiful with puffy eyes and smudged mascara. 

"Come on. I know you too like the back of my hand. I know how your 'I'm sad because a girl' face looks like. What's up?" 

"Do you remember my neighbor? ____?" 

She nods. "She's really beautiful. What about her?"

“Well, we had one date," he confesses. 

“And? How was it?” Zoe asks excitedly and Jungkook smiles shyly. Talking about you makes his heart flutter. 

“Good. Really good, actually. I asked her to be my date at the gala.” 

“That’s so cute. So, are you two a thing now?” She coos. 

“No," he says and Zoe notices the change in his mood right away. "It is complicated."

"What happened?"

"There was a misunderstanding… I think… And you are involved.” 

Zoe chokes on her coffee. “Me? Why?” 

“She thinks I still have feelings for you and I was not much of a help either.”

"Do you still have feelings for me?" 

"No." 

"And why didn't you tell her that?" She accuses him. 

"Because I was confused when she asked me!" He exclaims. Zoe frowns and he raises a hand before she starts to speak. "We didn't talk for a year. Our relationship ended literally out of nowhere. We didn't have the time or the will to talk about it. So, I buried my feelings. At the time, they were not worth dwelling on." 

Zoe shifts on her seat. “It makes sense. I think we can both agree that we shared something magical, passionate and it didn't last that much. We never get the chance to celebrate our first anniversary." 

Jungkook chuckles, sharing the nostalgia. "Yeah. We had a lot of plans for that day." 

“Sometimes I think we were so stubborn and more in love with the idea of love rather than with each other. If the accident it would not have happened, maybe we would have broken up in the next couple of months.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah. We need to admit we were not compatible enough,” Zoe shrugs with a smile. “Anyway. One of the reasons I contacted you, besides apologizing to you, of course…” 

“Of course.” 

She ignores him, “...is because I miss you and I want us to be friends.” 

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Really?”

Jungkook throws her a bag of sugar, “What do you mean ‘really’? You know my family abandoned me a long time ago. So I made a new one: Yoongi and you. For a while, we were only the three of us and everything was fine. One night, that changed. I lost a member of my family. Again. Of course, I want you in my life.” 

“Owww, Jungkook…” She wipes fake tears. “I forgot you were such a corny.” 

He snorts. 

“I’m going to get another coffee and then you can tell me everything about her and we could come up with a plan because I didn’t raise you to be this stupid.” 

And with that, she stands up and walks towards the bar. 

Just like that, two old friends reunite. As the last months never happened. 

The next day Jungkook wakes up feeling as light as a feather. It felt nice to talk with an old friend. He feels like Seokjin, Anna and the other guys are more friends of yours than his. It feels nice to have someone else by his side besides Yoongi. Finally, he feels he can breathe properly again. After a year of living full of guilt. Now, he can finally move on with his life. He spends the morning thinking about what he should do next. 

He was looking for some of his old photos when he finds one of your sketchbooks. You must have left it here the last time you visited. He knows how important the sketchbooks are for you. They are like a window to your soul. He needs to return them. With that in mind, he takes the sketchbook and walks to your apartment. 

If things were as they used to, he would enter unannounced and straight to your room. But things are different. Now, he knocks as any normal slash civil neighbor and waits. Some minutes pass before he realizes there's no one inside. Jungkook sighs disappointed. Part of him wanted to see you again. 

"Jungkook?" Someone behind him calls his name. "What are you doing here?" 

Seokjin is standing behind him with a lot of bags of groceries.  

“Hey," he greets him. "____ forgot one of her sketchbooks at my place. I was wondering if I could leave it in her bedroom." 

Seokjin nods, “Do you mind helping me first?”

"Ah, yes," he takes a couple of bags of Seokjin's arms. 

“Thank you." 

Seokjin opens the door and Jungkook follows him inside. Seokjin places the bags in the kitchen counter and throws the keys into the table. 

“Wow, these are a lot of groceries.” 

Seokjin smiles sheepishly, “Yeah. I want to perfect some recipes.” 

“More than they already are?” 

He chuckles, “Yes. I want everything ready when I open my new restaurant?” 

“Wait a minute,” Jungkook gasps. “When did that happen?” 

He suddenly feels bad for not keeping in touch with him after the little fight he shared with you. His friend only shrugs, keeping his hands busy as he places the ingredients he is not going to use at the moment in their respective cabinet. 

“I bought a nice place downtown last week,” he confesses. “But I’ve been planning it for a while now. It seemed like the next step.” 

“Wow, congratulations!” Jungkook beams and pats Seokjin’s shoulder over the counter. 

“Thanks,” the older replies. “Actually, I may need your assistance with something.” 

“What can I do for you?”

"Someone told me you are good at video editing." 

A small blush appears on Jungkook’s cheeks, “I wouldn’t say good, but I am decent enough. What do you want to do?” 

"I figured if Gordon Ramsay can teach cooking through videos, I can show my recipes too. Will you help me?" 

"Of course." 

The elder hums and a comfortable silence fall upon them. After a while, Jungkook’s gaze shifts toward the hallway that leads to your room. Seokjin notices, even when he is busy chopping some vegetables. 

"___ is not here," he comments. 

"Oh…" Jungkook already knows that but that doesn’t mean that he feels any less disappointed. "Is she out?" 

Seokjin nods, "She went to visit her sister for the weekend. I thought she told you.” 

“Well, we are not exactly in speaking terms,” Jungkook confesses, his eyes falling to his hands. "When is she coming back?" 

"Possibly Monday after work,” Seokjin throws the vegetables he just chopped to a strainer. “What happened between you two?” 

“She didn’t tell you?” Jungkook asks surprised. 

He shrugs apologetically, “Kind of. But every story has two versions." 

At that, he stays quiet. Seokjin doesn't push him to talk, which Jungkook is thankful for. The elder keeps doing his magic in the kitchen and soon it starts to smell really good. 

“A year ago,” Jungkook starts. “I was in a car accident with my former girlfriend. I was driving. She was the most affected. She had several injuries. She blamed me for everything and I accepted that blame. We didn’t talk or saw each other for a while until she contacted me the night of the gala. She wanted to talk. ___ saw it. We had a little… argument about it.” 

“What happened?” 

Jungkook's face return to look at his friend.

"That night was our first date. I was so excited and nervous. I have never felt like that about someone before. The date went pretty well. Until she saw the text." 

He can still see your face. Trying so desperately not to cry but failing nonetheless. It has been printed behind his eyelids. 

“She told me that we couldn’t be together until I figured my feelings for my ex. She started to ask questions I couldn’t answer at the moment. I’ve been confused for a long time and denied it for a while.” Jungkook groans and buries his face inside his hands. "I think I ruined everything with her." 

“No, you didn’t.” Jungkook raises to meet Seokjin’s gaze. "Is valid to have unresolved feelings when your relationship ended abruptly. Especially after a tragedy. You didn't get closure."

"You didn't see her face." Jungkook chuckles dryly when a shot of tequila appears in front of him. It reminds him of when things were less complicated. 

"She is hiding." 

"Why?" 

Seokjin shrugs, "You know her. Her heart is bigger than her body. She is the type to help strangers when they are at their lowest. She is that selfless."

Jungkook blushes at that. He still feels bad at the way he treated you those first days. 

“But when it comes to romantic feelings… She is scared."

"Why?" Jungkook finds himself asking. You never told him about his past relationships and he never asked.

"Someone broke her heart," Seokjin confesses with a sad smile. "It took her some time to recover from that." 

"What happened?" He whispers. 

"Well…"

Three years ago. 

"So, when is the opening night?" You asked Seokjin over the phone. You searched inside your handbag for your key. 

"Next week," he replied and then groaned. "I still haven't found the perfect hostess." 

"Jinnie, everything is going to be fine. You are an amazing chef. Everyone in the city is going to love your food,” you tried to calm him. “You’ll find the perfect hostess before you know it.”

"Thank you," he replied gratefully, "You are coming, right?" 

You tsked, "Of course." 

You opened your front door and placed the keys over the small table near the entrance. You made your way towards the kitchen. 

"Are you going to bring some of your stuff? Anna brought some boxes the last time she visited and she is going to move in next month. I found this cute apartment. It is kind of expensive, but considering we're four…" 

"Yeah, about that…" 

"You haven't spoken with Jimin, have you?" He interjected before you could continue. It was impressive how well he could read you even when he was a mile away. 

"I will! Is just… Everything is moving so quickly. You moved to the city 6 months ago and you are going to open your restaurant in a week. Anna found a good job. What if I don't get the internship?" 

You finally voiced your worries. 

"You will," he assured you. "You are really talented. And if they don’t, there are other companies you can apply for." 

"I know. Thank you, Jin. I really needed to hear that today," you said as you took your bag from the counter and walk to the mini-studio. "I promise I'll talk to Jimin and of course I will be on your opening night." 

"Sounds good!" He chimed. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I left something in the oven." 

And he hung up before you could say goodbye. You chuckled and placed your phone over your desk. With a sigh, you took your sketchbook out of your bag and opened it. You meant to work on your designs to finish your portfolio but your stomach suddenly growled. 

"Jimin! Do you want to grab dinner?" 

When it became apparent you were not going to get a reply, you left the studio and went to the bedroom. Till then, you didn't realize how quiet the apartment was. You frowned. You were 90% sure Jimin's car was at the parking lot. But then again, one of your neighbors had the same car. 

The bedroom door was half-opened and you heard the faint sound of the shower. Entering the room, you were about to scroll through Uber Eats when you noticed someone lying on your bed and it was not Jimin. 

"Hmmm, Who are you, and why are you lying in my bed?" The blond girl staring at you looked… worried. She opened her mouth but got interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. 

"Hey babe," Jimin murmured, a towel around his waist. "I think you should go. My girlfriend will arrive soon…" He stopped the moment he saw you, standing there, in your shared bedroom.

Every word felt like a dagger. Your suspicions were confirmed. Your boyfriend was cheating on you. You wanted to cry, scream, throw stuff, destroy everything around you. But you were frozen in the same spot, unable to do anything your aching heart craved to. 

Maybe it was a dream. Yes. You were still sleeping and this was a nightmare. Your mind couldn't wrap around the fact of Jimin –your sweet and lovely Jimin– doing such thing as betray you. 

The sound of your name brought you back to the painful reality. You gathered all the courage you could to look at him. 

"What it this, Jimin?" You managed to whisper. 

It was a dumb question to ask when the answer was right in front of you, but a part of you wanted to be a misunderstanding, still hoping this was a sick joke. 

Jimin, the man you fell in love with, was looking at you with so much sadness that it made you sob. 

"Please let me explain. I never meant to hurt you. You were not supposed to know like this." 

What was he talking about? 

"Know what? That you were cheating on me?" You said. "Is this the first time?" 

"I wish I could say yes." 

What?

Involuntarily, your eyes turned to the woman you found in your bed. At least she was dressed now, a pretty sundress hugging her body. You gulped. Did he found her prettier than you? At that moment, when you were using a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, you definitely felt she was prettier than you. You hated to feel this way. 

"Why?" You finally found the courage to ask him. 

"Don't pretend you haven't felt how we've drifted apart."

Oh, you noticed. He had been weird the last couple of months. At first, you thought it was because of school. He gets really moody when it comes to exams. But he graduated and things were the same. There was less communication. He used to be your best friend… And now was like you lived with a stranger with whom you happened to have sex occasionally. 

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, but you didn’t want to push Jimin in to talk about something he was not ready to share. Who would know that something was him cheating on you? 

“Is that enough reason?”

“My parents are getting divorced,” he confessed then, taking slow steps into your direction. Your whole body tensed. The last thing you needed was him to get closer. “My father started to drink again.” You opened your mouth to say something but Jimin raised a hand. “No, please. Let me finish.” You pursed your lips and let him continue. “I didn’t want to bother you with my problems. You were busy working at the cafe or working with your designs… They were not yours to handle, so I didn't tell you anything. Then, I met Hannah at one of my lectures. We clicked right away. I invited her for a coffee one day and it was like I could tell her anything." 

"And you fell in love with her," you finished for him. You felt hot tears running down your cheeks. You couldn't hold them anymore. 

"___, you need to understand…" he took another step closer. “I never meant to hurt you.”

"Well, you definitely did a great job. Why didn't you tell me when you realized that you had feelings for another woman?" You confronted him. By the look on his face, you guessed that was not a question he was expecting. Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you looked at him expectantly. 

“I-I tried… But I couldn’t find the right time…” 

He was close enough to take your hands in his. You tried to pull away but he didn’t let you. “Really? In the six months, you’ve known her, you couldn’t mention something?”

“How am I supposed to tell the person who used to be the most important to me that I may have feelings for another woman?”

If you were not feeling like your whole world is crumbling down, you probably should’ve noticed the desolated expression in Jimin’s face. 

“You are talking in past tense…” you murmured. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you repeated. 

Fresh tears fall down cheeks. You closed your eyes. Suddenly, something warm pressed against your skin. Jimin’s fingers. Your eyes slowly fluttered open. Fixed on his face, it was the first time you realized they were tears on his cheeks. Jimin was crying too. A pair of strong arms encircled your body and pushed you against him. You resisted at first, but he was holding you with so much force. Being between his arms for the last time was the last thing you could handle and you found yourself hugging him back tightly. Three years of your life were slipping between your fingers like water and there was nothing you could do about it. 

It was over… 

“I’m sorry, ___,” he chanted against your hair. “I am so sorry…” 

That night, you drove all the way to the city and never looked back. 

When Seokjin finishes the story, Jungkook is speechless. 

His heart aches for you, for what happened to you. 

“She was broken. It took her a while to recover. She is strong. She just needs some time.”

“I just miss her a lot…” 

“I know.”

His friend offers him a smile and continues with his handiwork in the kitchen. 

Jungkook stays silent in the next 20 minutes, lost inside his mind. It takes him some time to take everything in. Now, he understands why you reacted the way you did and wishes he handled the situation better. His trail of thought is interrupted when Seokjin places a bowl of homemade noodles in front of him. It smells delicious. 

“Eat up. I want your opinion.”

“Thank you.” 

The sound of a door being opened catches his attention and Anna appears in the hallway. 

“Oh, Kook. You are here,” she greets him. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?” She sits in the stool beside him and squeezes his shoulder affectionately.

“Good. How about you?” 

“Full of work but I smell Jinnie’s special noddles and I realized I was starving,” she was and takes a mouthful of noddles. 

“Where can I leave ____’s sketchbook?”

“You can leave it at the studio. I’ll tell her you left it there,” Anna says. 

Jungkook nods. 

The rest of the meal, they talk about random stuff. Jungkook tells them the news about his possible new partnership with a museum and Seokjin talks more about the plans he has for his new restaurant. Soon, the moon sets and Jungkook is full of deserts. Before leaving, he walks to the studio and places the sketchbook on your desk. He takes a blank sheet from Anna’s desk and a pen and he starts writing: 

Dear ___…

"So, in conclusion, you ran away because you are scared," she murmurs softly. 

“Did you even heard what I just said?” 

“I did and you are an idiot,” she stands from the couch and walks to the kitchen. “Do you want more ice cream?”

“Yeah.” You follow after her. “Do you really think I am an idiot for leaving him there?” 

“Yes, I do.” She notices your panic. “Look. I know you are afraid. But this is not the same situation. The story isn’t repeating.” 

She serves two more balls of chocolate ice cream into the bowls. 

"I don’t want to live that hell of self-hatred again. It took me a while to understand it was not because of me and even more to realize Jimin and I were not meant to be. So yeah, I ran. I thought Jungkook would have chosen his ex if he needed to choose. They have a long story." 

She squeezes your hand, "And you removed yourself from the equation so he wouldn’t have to choose." You nod. “That’s why I think you are an idiot.”

“Hey!” 

“I’m serious. He can choose you. There is a possibility. But you decided to run instead to fight for him.” 

She takes the bowls and returns to the living room. Then, she turns Netflix off. You stopped paying attention to the movie anyway. You lay down and place your head on her lap with your bowl of ice cream over your stomach. You feel so tired. 

"Let’s get this clear. For what you have told me, it looks like he likes you a lot. You were his muse at the gala!" She starts to pet your hair softly, "Listen. I know it hurts. Sometimes, you just need to take the risk. You can't hide here forever. Whatever that happens, you'll be fine. You have me and your friends." 

You shift your body to face her, "Thank you. I really needed to hear that."

She grins, "What is family for?"

You stayed with your sister the whole weekend, eating tons and tons of ice cream and watching tons and tons of movies. It was soothing and calming. It helped you get your mind off the situation. And it gave you time to think. 

You were back at your apartment morning-evening after work. You are finishing unpacking when Seokjin enters your room. 

“How it went?” He sits at the end of your mattress. 

“Pretty good! I missed my sister a lot.” 

“Maybe you should visit her more often,” he jokes. 

You giggle, "She told me the same thing. How was your weekend?" 

Now that all your clothes are scattered all over your bed, you throw all the dirty ones into your laundry basket. 

"Good. I tried a new noodle recipe... and Jungkook came looking for you." 

He is playing with one of your jeans, folding and unfolding them. 

You drop what you are doing immediately, "Really? What did he want?" 

You try to keep a serene face but on the inside, you were going crazy. The tiny smile on Seokjin’s lips only confirms that you are not very good at hiding your emotions. You’ve lost your touch. 

"He brought your sketchbook back," Seokjin says. "Apparently, you left it at his place. It is at your desk." 

"Oh… Thank you." 

"I’ll have dinner ready in 20 minutes." Seokjin smiles sweetly and walks out of your room. 

You finish unpacking and tidying everything up before going to the studio. You left Jungkook’s place in such a rush that you forgot that your sketchbook was even at his place. You run your fingers over the leather cover. It is one of the fewest sketchbooks that you own that doesn’t have anything to do with your work or designs. It is more like a journal were you draw anything that came to your mind. Flipping through the pages, you remember that one time when Jungkook took you to his favorite park. According to him, the sunset looked majestic from there and he wanted to take some snaps. You were supposed to draw it but Jungkook's beauty was more enticing and you end up drawing him. 

You keep going through the pages for a while. The sketchbook is full of memories of him… of memories of your times together. There is this one, where you draw the two of you.  But before you arrive at that page, you receive a call from Anna. Dinner is ready. With a smile, you place your sketchbook with the others you’ve finished in the box under your desk unaware of the fact that there is a letter Jungkook wrote for you. 

One year later. 

It is Monday morning and you are at your office. It is surprising how much work can accumulate in one weekend. The workload helps you to ignore the curious glances Taehyung sends your way since you arrived at the office. It becomes pretty annoying at the meeting you both attend to check some details about the newest collection before sending it for approval. 

Around 11 am, you go to the coffee station to make yourself some tea. Taehyung is there, too, taking some coffee. And there’s the stare again. “Some say a picture lasts longer.” 

He chokes on his coffee. You take your favorite mug from the countertop and purr hot water. Today is chamomile day. 

"Are you okay?" You ask him. He nods like he has not been acting weirdly all morning. 

"Yeah. I am okay." He leaves his now empty cup in the sink. "Do you, by any chance, have received any texts or calls today?"

"From someone in particular?" 

"You know what? Forget it. I'll see you at lunch." 

And he walks out of the coffee station before you could ask him what he meant. 

Yep. He is definitely acting really weird. 

The rest of the morning passes quickly and you don't have the opportunity to confront Taehyung about his weird behavior. He is hiding something. That much is true.

Exactly one hour before lunch, your phone buzzes, and for a split second your heart rate increases until you see the caller ID. It is your sister. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, stranger!" she chimes. "How are you?" 

"I'm fine! A little busy. And you?" 

"Good! At what time you leave your office?" 

"At 5PM. Why?" 

"I have a surprise for you: I am in the city! So, I was wondering if you want to have dinner with me today." 

"Wait, is everything okay?" You sit straight. If something is wrong, she would have told you, right?

"Yeah, silly. Don't worry. I came to buy some stuff and, of course, visit you. So, do you want to go to dinner or what?" 

You giggle, relieved. "Sure." You start to think of possible choices. It is the third time your sister comes to the city. You want to take her to somewhere special. "Do you want to go to Seokjin's new restaurant?" 

"That sounds perfect." 

"Good. Let me text you the address." 

You put the phone on speaker to find the message with the address Seokjin sent to you a while ago. You know how to arrive there but you don't remember the street name. 

You do small talk with your sister as you do your search, but your Skype goes crazy out of nowhere.

"Hey," you interject between her story. "I will text you the address later. My boss is looking for me." 

"Ok. Don't worry. I'll see you tonight." 

You arrive at 7:15pm at Seokjin's restaurant. 

In less than 6 months, the restaurant is now one of the most exclusive restaurants and one of the best places to eat. That's why the place is at full capacity for Monday night and there are even more people outside waiting for a table or place at the bar. 

Tonight Seokjin is the host. He receives you with a heartwarming smile. 

"Your usual table?" he asks. 

“Yes, please.” 

He nods, “You are lucky you know the owner,” he adds with a smirk and you roll your eyes.  

“Thanks, Jinnie.” 

You walk through the restaurant. The table you like the most is located in one of the corners, near the kitchen. It is kind of hidden but you can see the whole restaurant from there. You’ve spent hours and hours there sketching the people that come by. 

Your eyes scan the menu as you wait for your sister's arrival. Jin adds new recipes to the menu every once in a while. 

"Does this sit is taken?" 

You raise your head to look at the newcomer and you do not expect what you see...

"Jungkook?" 

For a split second, you think you might be hallucinating. But no. He is really there. It is the first time you see him in a year. He smiles sheepishly and you remember that there's a question you haven't answered yet… 

"I'm waiting for my sister…" 

And then, it clicks. 

Do you, by any chance, have received any texts or calls today?

"You planned this with my sister," his smile widening is your confirmation. "But, you don't know her. How?" 

"We have a mutual friend." 

"Taehyung and Seokjin knew about this," you accuse. 

Jungkook nods, "The guys helped me to plan this. So, can I sit?" 

"Yeah, I guess," you reply. "Is my sister even in the city?" 

"Yes. She is waiting for you with Anna at your place." 

You don’t know how to reply to that, so you stay silent. You take the opportunity to look at him. He looks… different. His hair is longer. He is wearing a plain grey shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket that fits him so well. He gained weight. The sharpness of his face is gone. His lips look more full in the way they stretch into a smirk. There’s a spark shining on his eyes. He knows you are checking him out. 

You clear your throat. 

"So, why did you take so much trouble when you just could have called me yourself?" 

Jungkook shrugs, "I thought you wouldn't have come if I was the one who contacted you." 

Before you could reply, one of the waitresses approaches the table. 

"Are you ready to order?"

Jungkook gazes at the menu, "I'll have the Special Noodles, please." 

She nods and turns to you, "And you, ___? The usual?" 

"Yes. Thank you, Eli," you reply with a smile. 

"Right away," she says and walks to the kitchen. 

Once she is gone, the heavy atmosphere around you returns. 

"Did you broke your phone?" You finally ask him the question you were dying to since he appeared.

"I know. I'm so sorry" he takes your hand in his. It feels so good to feel his warmth again. "You don't know how much I wanted to call. Or even go to your place to see you in person. But I made a promise to myself: I wouldn't contact you until I was in peace with myself." 

It is selfish to feel this way. You know it. He did the right thing, but a part of you resents him. He disappeared. For one year, you didn’t know anything about him. Now, he appears out of nowhere and expects you’d receive him with open arms. 

“Jungkook, why am I here?" 

He seems confused, "What do you mean? I wanted to talk to you." 

"About what?" 

"About us?" 

"Is there really an 'us' to talk about?" 

"What?" 

You shift in your seat. “You left without saying goodbye. With no type of explanation.” 

He shakes his head, “What do you mean? I left the letter. Did you not read it?”

You frown, more confused by the minute. “What letter?” 

“The one that I hid in your sketchbook. Do you really don’t know what am I talking about?” You shrug. “Well, that explains a lot,” he chuckles awkwardly. 

“So, what was in that letter?” 

He smiles over his glass of water. “It explained why I left, why I did it, and what happened with Zoe.” 

“Yeah, about that… What happened? Because all this time I thought you ran away with her.” 

A smirk appeared on his lips. It is not the type you like. It is the smug one. It makes you want to smack him on his pretty face. 

“We talked. We resolved things. We stayed as friends,” he replies nonchalantly. 

“G-good,” you manage to say and his smile widens. “Where were you staying, anyway?” 

“I stayed a while with Yoongi and little with Zoe and her boyfriend. He is really cool.” 

“That bastard!” you yelled and sank in your seat when a few customers turned to look at you. “When I asked him if he knew where did you go, he lied.”

Jungkook smiles apologetically, “He promised not to tell you.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” you huff, a little annoyed at Yoongi. He is going to hear you out the next time you see him. “You could have texted me or something. Do you know how much time is one year? That means I spent 365 days wondering if I would ever see you again." Jungkook opens his mouth but you raise your hand, "Please, let me finish." 

He nods. 

"One year is enough to meet new people…" You finish what you wanted to say. 

Jungkook's smile falters, eyes widening, "Ohhhh… Does that mean you met someone?" 

"I had a couple of dates," you confess, watching carefully his reaction. "But the two of them went really wrong."

His face illuminates at your words, "Why?" 

"Because they were not you, idiot!" 

He starts to laugh at your outburst. Wow, you forgot how much you liked his smile. His eyes turn into beautiful crescendos and his nose scrunched. His laugh is contagious you start to laugh back. 

"I'm really glad to hear that." 

A comfortable silence falls between you two. At the same time, Eli arrives with the order. 

“Oh my god,” Jungkook moans after his first bite. “They are better than the last ones I ate.” 

“Well, Seokjin had a year to perfect the recipe,” you mock. 

While you eat, you talk about random stuff: how the recent partnership with a museum went; the brand new collection you and Taehyung are designing from scratch. Stuff like that. It almost feels like time hasn’t passed at all. 

“So, you didn’t answer my question,” you say once you have ordered the desert. 

He takes a sip of his water. “What question?” 

“Why am I here?”

“Oh, I wanted to see you and talk to you,” he says, suddenly shy. “I know you didn’t read the letter I left for you. But I want to explain to you, in person, why I left…” 

It doesn’t make sense. How can someone who looks as good as Jungkook does can be shy?

“Go on.”

“I know it was selfish to leave. But I needed to do it. I was not myself when we met. I was lost. Even when you helped me to raise my feet again, I was not entirely okay. I left because I didn’t want to be emotionally codependent of you. If we are together, is because we want to, not because we need each other to survive. The time I spent away helped me to rediscover myself. Now, I am more me than I have ever been. I hope you will give me another chance.” 

His beautiful words make your heart flutter. He is looking at you with so much intensity and hopes that you feel bad for being cold with him for the past hour. You stay silent for a moment, though. You suppress the smile that tugs the corner of your lips. Maybe you enjoy a little bit much the way his expression turns in panic. 

“Well,” you finally speak up. His shoulders tense in anticipation. “Taehyung and I have an important dinner next week. Some important designers are coming to see our collection. Taehyung is taking his girlfriend. So… Would you like to come with me? You know… As my date?”

The end. ♡

[superspookywombat]

Concentration {r.h}

Request by @soggy-enchilada “Random 1 and 12 with Rosalie and her human girlfriend?”

1st prompt: “Quit touching me, your feet are cold!”

2nd prompt: “Give me attention.”

a/n: most of it is a little angsty, but it ends in fluff so it makes up for it. i hope this lives up to your expectations :) enjoy! 

Laying under the stars in the Cullen’s back yard was one of Rosalie’s favorite things to do with you. She knew about all of the constellations, and she’d point them out and explain them to you as she’d lay her head in your lap, leaving your wandering hands to play with her hair. It was something you did a lot of nights, Esme had even sewn a specific star-gazing blanket for you two to lay on instead of the dewy grass. Tonight, however, you had to dismiss your usual plans with her to study for an upcoming exam. 

Though you weren’t under the stars, you were still at the Cullen’s house, taking advantage of their extensive library. You sat on the leather couch in the house's office, a book splayed out in your lap, your hair tied back and your bottom lip bit between your teeth as you concentrated. You were in the middle of taking notes when Rosalie entered the room, sighing as she plopped down next to you. She laid back against the arm rest, as she rested her feet on your thighs. 

“What’s up?” You ask. She flips her hair over her shoulder, laying her head on the back of the couch and gazes lovingly at you.

“You’re cute when you’re concentrating.” She says. You smile, but don’t look up from your notebook.

“I can help you study, if you’d like.” She says. You knew she’d had more than her fair share of studying, so thinking you were being nice, you rejected her offer. 

“I’m okay by myself, but thank you.” You respond, still not looking up at her. Her smile falters a little, but she quickly catches herself. 

“Oh, okay.” She says. You turn the page, scrawling down something in blue ink. Rosalie stays quiet for a few minutes while you continue studying, her feet wiggling around impatiently. When her toes touch your bare arm, you flinch from the coldness.

“Quit touching me, your feet are cold!” You say, your tone harsher than you meant it to be. Her mouth falls open slightly, and she immediately stands up and strides out of the room. You groan, throwing your head back and running your hand down the side of your face. You didn’t mean to snap, of course, but with exams coming up you were stressed and exhausted from the long nights of studying. A few minutes after she left, the guilt had gotten to you so much that you couldn’t concentrate. Slamming the heavy textbook shut out of frustration, you exited the room and practically ran down the stairs and almost right into Alice.

“Oh! Sorry Alice.” You apologize. “Have you seen Rosalie?”

“She just left with Carlisle to go hunting, sorry.” Alice says. You nod, then take a deep breath and think about your next move. 

“Well, when she gets back can you tell her to call me, please?” You ask shyly, itching an imaginary itch on the back of your neck while staring at your shoes. 

“Don’t worry, she’ll forgive you.” Alice reassures, placing a sympathetic hand on your arm. You thank her and leave the house, driving back to your dorm. 

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

A few days later, you return to the house to hang out with her. Opening the door to the garage, you see her rolled under one of the Cullen’s many vehicles, only her legs in sight. 

“Hey, Rose.” You greet her, sitting down on the unusually clean cement floor. She responds with a mumbled ‘hi’, causing you to wonder if everything was okay between you two.

“Hand me the socket wrench in front of you.” She says. You’re surprised by her tone, but obey her nonetheless. You hand the tool to her, your fingers brushing hers. The short contact leaves you wanting more, but she doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you. 

“Come on, give me attention.” You whine. She doesn’t bother to roll back out as she answers. 

“I’ll be done soon.” She says. You sigh, twirling the first tool that you touch around in your fingers. Yeah, it was hot to watch her work, but A) you could barely see her and B) you missed her. A lot. 

“I finished studying, so I thought maybe tonight we could lay out in the backyard?” You suggest. She sighs, rolling out from under the car. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, just enough to keep her long locks out of her eyes while she worked. There were small smudges of grease on her cheek and shirt, but she still looked like a million bucks. 

“I don’t know, Y/n, I’m all dirty.” She sighs, grabbing a rag that sits on the ground and wiping the grease from her face. You grab her hand, intertwining her cold fingers with yours.

“Since when has that ever stopped us?” You tease. She doesn’t respond, she just avoids eye contact by staring at the closed garage door. “Rose, look. I’m really sorry for snapping at you the other night, I didn’t mean to. I’ve just been really stressed lately, and I haven’t been sleeping well. I know that’s no excuse for being a jerk to you, but that’s what happened and nothing else. I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.” 

“Of course I forgive you.” She says, making you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You smile at her and she smiles back. “Let me get changed and I’ll meet you outside.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You answer, spit pooling in your mouth from her wink at the end of her sentence. 

After laying out the blanket, Rosalie joins you in the backyard. She leans up on her hands while you rest your head on her shoulder, sneaking a kiss in every other minute while she points out the stars. You glance up at her, her body draped in a moonbeam while her skin sparkles.

“I love you. And I really am sorry.” You whisper. She turns to capture your lips in a kiss, her cool hand reaching up to cup your cheek as she lays you on the blanket, her body hovering over yours. Her hair hangs like a curtain as your lips move in sync with hers, your hands trailing up her torso and hanging just below the bottom of her breasts. Her thick, vanilla scent fogs your mind as it lulls you into her caress. She breaks the kiss, remembering that humans still need to breathe, and rests her forehead on yours.

“I know you are.” She says, her sweet breath tickling your cheek.

[themorphine]

3rd Times a Charm chap 2

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I was in bed, my eyes feeling sewn shut. I moved around, and I suddenly felt an arm around my waist. This feels nice, I thought. I turned around to see who was there and let out a scream of terror.

Tamlin was there. His smile was evil, and when I tried to get away he pulled me closer in his iron grip. I couldn't get out, couldn't do anything. I struggled and squirmed b-

I woke up with a start. My heart was pounding, it felt like it was coming out of my chest. I was breathing heavily, my whole face sweaty. Just a dream. I reminded myself. Honestly, I felt proud of myself. Usually, my nightmares would be much worse. This was nothing compared to the ones I had a few years ago.

I then realized that the beeping was coming from my phone. I picked it up and turned off the alarm. It was 10 a.m. Even though it was Saturday I still had a commission I needed to finish. The lady was so nit-picky about the landscape, but she was paying me a good amount so I didn't complain. The landscape was also nice to paint, it was not a field or a garden, it was a night sky of a city. The lady who got me to do it was a woman named Morrigan. The painting was for her cousin. I hoped her cousin will like it. I thought.

By the time I finished the painting, it was 2 pm. Alis had brought me lunch and I gave her a grateful look and a muffled thank you as I dug into the sandwich. She chuckled and left the room. at 2:30 I finished the sandwich and decided to go shower because no way in hell was I showing up to a date with paint on every inch of my skin.

20 minutes later I was out of the shower, a towel on my head and waist. As I was walking through the hallway to get to my room, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw something in front of me.

Not something but someone. The man in front of me was breathtakingly beautiful. He had smooth tan skin, a sharp jawline, and high cheekbones, full lips, and gods those eyes. They were an impossible shade of violet, and I wondered for a second if they were contacts. He was wearing a plain dark blue button-up with black slacks. the shirt was rolled up, and I saw the corded muscle on them. I blushed a bit. I finally looked up at his face again.

His eyes were wide, and I could see a twinge of pink on his cheeks. I realized that I had not changed, and was still in only a towel that barely covered my body. I blushed furiously and looked down, embarrassment washing over me. When I looked up again his face had changed. He was smirking. I scowled at him.

"It seems that there was more to this visit than my cousin told me," He said, looking up and down at me.

I scowled at him. "Who are you? How did you get in here? D-"

"Woah Woah, slow down Darling-"

"DONT call me Darling-"

"Alright, darling. I am Rhysand, but everyone calls me Rhys. Your living partner I presume invited me in. My cousin Morrigan told me to come here to pick up something. She also gave me a note to deliver. I was not to read it or else I would face her wrath."

My head whipped back to him. So he was the cousin the painting was for. I snatched the note from him and read it in my mind:

Hey Feyre!

So if you haven't guessed, this is the cousin the gift is for. Sadly he was the only one who could pick it up in time, my other friend had a date today. MAKE SURE HE DOES NOT SEE IT. If you can please wrap it or put it in a bag that is big enough so he can't see. Thank you so much! I also venmoed you the rest of the money to you, as well as a tip :D

-Mor

I looked back up at him. "I'll get it but DO NOT MOVE. you got it?"

He looked a bit surprised that I raised my voice, but he agreed, and I went off to fetch the painting.

You have a date today Feyre, get it together. I told myself. I decided to change before I saw Rhysand again. I changed into my outfit I was going to wear. I put on some light makeup and combed my hair. I was planning on styling it but let's be real, the god in my apartment was making me rethink about going on that date with Cassian.

That God!! I totally forgot he was still here! I quickly wrapped up the painting, adding a happy birthday note inside so he would hopefully hate me less for making him wait so long. I ran out of the room when I collided with something.

Again not something but someone. They were warm and hard, and smelt like citrus, jasmine, and impossibly like the sea. I had to fight the urge to breathe the heavenly scent in. But when I heard a low chuckle, I immediately knew who it was.

I sprung back to see Rhysand smirking, his eyes a bit wide as he took me in. "I didn't know you were getting all dressed up for me darling."

I rolled my eyes. "If you must know you insufferable prick, I have a date tonight, and I don't want to be late " I looked at my watch. it was already 4:30 pm. Ritas was a good 20-minute walk from here.

He looked disappointed, but it left so quickly that I told myself I imagined it.

"Do you need a ride?" He asked, his voice a bit hopeful.

My eyes softened a bit and I smiled a bit. "Thank you, but my date would be confused why I would be coming out of another man's car."

"Alright. I'll see you around..."

"Feyre" I added in

"See you around Feyre Darling." he winked and walked out the door. Half of my mind wanted to cancel my date with Cassian and chase after him

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

By 4:55 pm I arrived at Rita's. I looked around the place, looking for Cassian. He wasn't hard to find. He looked huge in front of everyone in the club. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

Mother Above, why are all the men I'm meeting today hot?

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 17)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: Alisha learns that there’s more to her nature than she initially realised and a surprising death of an adversary brings its own problems.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @wonderlander594 @madamquacklemore @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @she-who-is-named-katie @ordinarymom1 @fuzzyflowervoid @maybelightning @lady-lazarus-declermont

The Story So Far

———

Baldwin remained silent as she spoke, listening intently to the torrent of pent up worries regarding her sudden linguistic abilities.

He only moved to gather the bedcovers around her shoulders when he sensed her temperature lowering from the high of their previous exertions.

“It’s an old building,” he explained his actions when she stopped speaking in surprise, “I don’t want you to be cold.”

She took a deep breath, in part because of the length of time she had spoken but also to defeat the tears stinging her ducts, touched by the tender gesture.

“Thank you,” she gave him a faint smile, clearing her throat, “but that’s everything up until now, I didn’t even realise you had been speaking...Italian?” She asked.

“Yes, although it was a slightly archaic version. I spent a lot of time in Florence in the late 1500’s.” He mused.

“So, what do you think this means?” She asked, her eyes brimming with hope that he had an explanation.

“Not to discount your distress or concern,” he asked before lightly stroking his knuckles over her cheek tenderly, “as they are both clearly very real, I simply ask for clarification, is that the total measure of your stress at this moment.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be glad to alleviate it,” he looked relieved, an expression that confused her, “there’s nothing wrong with you, nothing in you has changed, you are a daemon.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“My brother hypothesises it has to do with the daemon’s innate drive to communicate,” he started, “he discovered that daemons have an instinctual proficiency for understanding more than their native tongue. I suppose this is the first time I can be grateful for his little sociological study, if only because I can use it to reassure you.”

“But, I never had a talent for languages.”

“Apparently you do.”

Alisha opened her mouth to argue but the sense in his words reverberated in her mind. In truth, she hadn’t really tried before. Any language classes in school were so boring they all blended into the other subjects she had no interest in.

Which was all of them.

Trying to differentiate one experience from another in high school usually just led to a dull grey haze.

She looked away sheepishly, feeling the rising warmth of her cheeks.

“It’s not widely known, at least not at a confirmed scientific level, there’s no reason you should have known this, so there’s no reason for being ashamed of it.”

“I still feel like an idiot for not realising sooner,” she shook her head, “you already have a crisis on your hands with the vampire killing.”

“It’s real enough to upset you so it’s real enough to be a problem.”

“You have more important things to worry about.”

“Not more important than you.”

She nodded but still averted her eyes.

“Alisha,” he spoke quietly, “you are my wife, not my servant, my underling or my employee, you can share your concerns with me, it doesn’t matter how major or minor you deem them to be. Do you understand?”

Somehow, Baldwin knew that the inhale of breath she took was not to affirm her understanding but to protest.

Before she could give voice to her disagreement, he cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her attention.

“Tell me that you understand.”

“I understand.”

Upon receiving the answer he wanted, his own attention wandered down to her lips and he leant down to press a soft kiss there.

His domineering manner fired a predictable impulse within her, one which prompted her to return his kiss with fervour, pressing her body into him.

Baldwin’s hand moved from her chin to the side of her neck as the other slid up her back to hold her firm against him.

“What’s this?” He asked between kisses as she moved to straddle his lap.

“Don’t think you can handle not being in charge for a while?” She teased, pushing him down onto the mattress.

“I am always in charge, little nightingale. You should know that.”

“Maybe, but I’m sure it’s not everyday that Baldwin de Clermont is put on his back.” She clasped his hands in hers and leant forward, kissing him whilst moving his hands over his head and pressing them down onto the mattress.

“It isn’t but I am exactly where I want to be, the view is exquisite.” He countered, allowing his gaze to sweep her naked form in admiration.

“If I let you go will you take over?”

“I haven’t yet, have I?”

The intimation was clear, her position over him was a temporary allowance, but an allowance nonetheless.

“I don’t know if you’re allowing this because you trust me or because you don’t perceive me to be a threat.”

“My dearest wife, you are very much a threat,” he chuckled, “in two thousand years there has been no-one as capable of distracting me so thoroughly. I think you could convince me to destroy empires, if you were so inclined.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she giggled, releasing his hands to lightly drag her fingers down his chest, “I was told that vampires are part wolf, is that’s true?”

“We do have some shared traits.” He admitted.

“The hunting and the growling?”

“Does it bother you?”

“The growling bothers me, but not in a bad way, I find it actually kinda hot!”

“Is that a fact,” He placed his hands on her thighs, “what else ‘bothers’ you?”

“You’re the vampire, can’t you tell.”

“Of course I can but I like to hear you say it.”

“Why?”

“Because you get the sweetest blush in your cheeks when you discuss intimate things,” he cocked his head to the side and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, “yes, just like that.”

“Do I,” she teased, biting her lip as she shifted to sink down onto him, slowly, less to torture him and more to let herself accommodate his size in the unfamiliar position.

“Yes,” he groaned lightly in triumph, sliding his hands up her back as he sat up, “and I need to be closer to admire it.”

He murmured, moving to wrap her legs around his waist, somehow deepening himself within her, making her shudder with the sensation.

“A compromise?” He suggested, brushing the hair from her shoulder to place a kiss there.

“I knew you couldn’t help it.”

She kissed him, moving slowly, gradually finding a rhythm that kept them as connected as possible.

“You’re always so warm,” he observed with wonder.

Baldwin steered clear of warm-bloods in terms of intimate partners. There was too much risk of exposure if they weren’t a creature and too high a risk of manipulation if they were.

Vampire sex tended to be a much more competitive event with both sides vying for dominance and that definitely had its advantages in terms of satisfaction.

This was different, even for him.

The blood rushing to bloom under the skin of her cheeks and chest irradiated his entire being with intense heat.

He had previously observed that her sweet apricot scent became stronger when they made love but again, there was something else he sensed, something even more overpowering yet somehow hidden.

Instinctively he knew it wasn’t the result of the mate bond and yet it was also something that he had sensed before.

He swiftly chided himself for allowing his mind to overpower the moment that he had been craving whilst they were apart.

Growing more bold, she leant back, bracing her hands on his thighs and using the extra leverage to increase the tempo.

Initially missing the direct contact of her chest against his, he could not object to the sight of her body pulled taut before him.

He effortlessly moved to support the small of her back with his hand as the other rested on the side of her neck.

He reached up and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip, subtly suppressing a groan when she opened her mouth and closed her lips around it, sucking whilst keeping his gaze.

With the digit sufficiently lubricated, he reluctantly withdrew from her welcoming mouth and swept it lightly across her clitoris, feeling her clench in an attempt to keep building the high he was pushing her towards.

“Very good little nightingale,” he praised, “hold it for me, until I say you can let go, can you do that?”

“As you command my lord, my husband,” she sat up, again bringing her body flush against his and kisses him deeply, “my king!”

The growl that escaped his throat tested her resolve, it was so deep, primal and rippled straight through her core.

“My apologies, sweetheart.” He rasped.

In an instant, she was on her back.

Despite the contrition and show of dominance, he caught her gaze, looking for any indication she was uncomfortable or displeased.

Instead, she gave him an enthusiastic nod to continue.

Baldwin leant forward, his lips just ghosting over hers as he reached under their pillow and produced the sewn favour she had made him as a wedding gift.

“Bound by your heart to my will?”

“Always,” she replied instantly, “just tell me, what is your will and I will happily obey it.”

Baldwin’s gaze fleeted around their bed for a brief moment.

“There’s a bedpost just behind your head, reach behind you and feel it.”

“Got it!” She grinned, in the heat of excitement and anticipation.

In reply, he proceeded to tie her wrists together around the post with the favour.

When he was satisfied that she couldn’t move away, he again rejoined her on the bed.

“If I have to leave for a short while again, it is this scene I want in my head,” he entered her again, “you are completely bare to me, open and honest.”

His motion was deliberate and slow, almost reverent, especially in the way he admired her body.

“I am yours, all of me.”

“Yes, you are,” the almost animalistic, possessive nature of his words somehow spoke to a dangerous and hidden part inside her heart.

He resumed his attention to her clit, gradually slowing his strokes as she grew closer and quickening after letting the impending climax fade.

“Please,” she whined after the third trip to the edge and back again.

“Anything, ask for anything my darling and it’s yours, you need only ask!”

“Let me, please?”

He shook his head with a tut.

“Be specific, let you do what?” He leant down, taking her nipple into his mouth before releasing it and blowing his cold breath over the puckered flesh.

Erotic talk was not her forte, it felt fake and vaguely pornographic to her. But she was desperate, he was challenging her and he wasn’t giving in for anything less than a spirited plea.

“Let me cum,” she blurted out, “please.”

“Such a polite little thing but still such a sinful mouth,” he teased.

“Baldwin-“ she pleaded, desperation in her eyes and he knew he could not deny her longer, not when she gave that look.

“Sweet Nightingale, you can fly, go on.”

The release was all the more powerful for the brief denial that she didn’t even feel him release her wrists from the bindings.

Still, he must have because when her senses returned, he was placing the tenderest kiss on first one then tying the favour around the other in a bow.

“Now, I want to please you.” She moved to sit up but he shook his head.

“I’m sure you will but I am not done with you yet.”

“But-“ she protested.

“Consider this a teachable moment,” he kissed her lips, then between her breasts, “you begged me to let you, what was the word?” He teased, his kisses trailing down her stomach.

“I can’t say it now.” She blushed furiously and he stopped to look up.

“Trust me, you will, teachable moment, remember,” he settled between her thighs and licked a light strip over the still sensitive bundle of nerves, “be careful what you wish for.”

Alisha woke up to find the bed empty, the sound of hushed argument coming from the lower levels of the chateau.

A short time later, a decidedly annoyed Baldwin returned to their room as the sound of a departing motorcycle echoed back down the large driveway.

“Was that Gallowglass?” She asked sleepily.

“Unfortunately it was.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Is everyone okay?” She asked, the worry evident in her voice.

“Everyone who matters is fine, the one person who isn’t is Peter Knox, a witch and a fairly powerful one.”

“What happened to him?”

“Killed by a vampire. Luckily I have an alibi and as omnipresent as the witches believe me to be, it would be impossible to both kill him in London and satisfy my wife here, all at the same time.”

“In that case,” she yawned. “you must be innocent because I can barely move.”

“Is that a good thing or-“

“Definitely a good thing .”

“Alisha-“ he started, his tone contrite, “we need to-“

“Return to Sept-Tours, I know,” she stopped him with a comforting smile, “I’ll go get ready.”

“Thank you,” he placed a kiss on the top of her head, “for being so patient with me.”

“I know who I married.”

It was a day later that she finally saw him, having been locked in meetings with his Knights, the other de Claremont’s, hunting.

Alisha barely even heard the door open as she repacked her overnight bag, just in case.

“Did you find Miyako?” She asked, turning to look at Baldwin.

The vampire had left before they arrived, a fact that had greatly aggravated Baldwin.

“I spoke to her, briefly,” he nodded, offering nothing more, clearly in his ‘War General’ frame of mind.

Alisha approached him carefully, stopping to place a kiss on his cheek.

He looked down at her and for a fraction of a moment, his stony expression cracked.

“Baldwin, I think-“ she started.

“The grounds aren’t safe,” he interrupted instead, “stay within the walls of Sept Tours.”

“Alright.”

He looked away for a moment, his mind clearly fixed on something.

“But there’s something else,” she prodded.

“Hmm, yes, I forgot to ask, do you know when Michael found out about the murals? I don’t think he would have trusted Peter enough to discuss it with him. If they plan on pinning it on us, I’d like to at least have an alternative suspect.”

“Well, I know Michael was not in the Congregation when he took me in and if he dropped off the map like Christina said, that was at least twelve years ago.”

“You moved in with Michael after your parents’ death, yes?”

“Yes, I already told you that, our first date, I know a lot’s happened since but it was only a few weeks ago.” She teased.

“I remember, of course, I am sorry.”

“Baldwin, that was a joke, you have a lot of spinning plates. I understand that.”

“You really are too good to be true.” He placed a gentle kiss on her temple and headed to a side table to pour himself some wine from a decanter.

“This is a sample from one of my - sorry - our Tuscan vineyards, would you like to try it.”

“Of course I would but, word of warning, I’m not good with wine. I’m afraid my critique won’t be more sophisticated that ‘good’ or ‘bleugh’.” She warned, taking a seat at a small table.

He chuckled a little as he approached, placing a glass of wine in her hand.

“Thank you.” She took a drink and nodded, “hmm, oaky, earthy, freshly cut lawn-”

“Okay, point made,” he gave her a smile that was almost sad.

“No, but wait, I’m getting subtle notes of tyre fire,” she took another drink, “hot air balloon-“

“Be serious, for a moment.” He asked.

“Fine. It honestly tastes a bit metallic but other than that, perfectly fine.”

“I didn’t mean the wine,” he placed his hand over hers, “you know that I love you and would do anything to protect you?”

“Yes, I think you said that you would protect and adore me.”

“And what was your obligation in return?”

“That I would love and obey you,” she noted that he was avoiding her gaze.

“Baldwin, what is it?”

He stood, collecting their empty glasses and placed them on a table, his back to her.

“Michael disappeared out of the blue, he just left one day, but that was two years ago, not fifteen.” Baldwin told her evenly.

“No, he was in New York, with me.”

“He had a secure posting at Cambridge University in England, he was well celebrated in his faculty until one day he just fell off the face of the earth.”

“So, what are you saying? If only the last two years are possible, everything that I remember from before that...“ she trailed off.

“We could find no trace of an accident at the time you said, not one with the surname Black, or caused by a drunk driver.”

“I-I don’t-“

“Alisha, if you can give me any details about your parents that will help narrow it down.”

“There are photos of them in my home, in New York-“

“Yes, I had them sent over for you,” he nodded towards her small frames on a table, “go look, tell me what you see.”

“These are my frames...” she picked one up and turned to look at him, “but what is this symbol, where are my photos?”

“Do you not recognise the symbol?”

“No, I, wait-“ she realised, “it’s the same one on my violin but why are they in here, where are the photos that were here?”

“We don’t believe there ever were any.”

“I’m sorry, we?”

“Sarah and Emily,” he answered carefully, “it looks like a binding spell, perhaps even a memory spell.”

“I thought only witches could be spellbound, not daemons.”

“You couldn’t be spellbound as a witch, because you’re not one.”

“Exactly, I-“

“Nor are you a daemon,” he interrupted, “Alisha, you are not a daemon either, Marcus was checking the effect of the solution you took, comparing it to DNA profiles from daemons in their study, yours does not match theirs, or witches, or vampires, or humans.”

“This’ insane, I’m a daemon, of course I am, what else could I be?”

She swayed, a sudden fatigue started lapping at the edges of her mind. Baldwin was there in an instant to steady and lead her to sit on the edge of their bed.

The feeling was sickeningly familiar, when Christina had drugged her with vampire blood to get her to safety.

The metallic tang of the wine suddenly made sense.

“Baldwin, what am I?” She asked, hoping to play off her realisation of her husband drugging her as understandable panic about her situation.

She had to get away, not knowing how or why, all she knew is that she had to escape from him in that moment.

“You are my wife, that’s all that matters right now but you must tell me,” he framed her face in his hands, a genuinely earnest look on his face, “is there anything about your past, about your parents that you have not told me?”

“No,” she answered truthfully, “everything I know I have told you already.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer and answered in a language she did not recognise.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he noted her confusion, “it is a quote by a very old friend, it means ‘those who are sincere are always in a state of worry’, I never realised how true that was until now.”

The fatigue seemed to be spreading more slowly than before, evidently, Baldwin gave her a lower dose in order to interrogate her before she passed out. Still, the undertow was pulling stronger with every passing moment.

“Can I have some water, please?” She asked.

“Yes, of course.” He got up to retrieve the filled, and iced, water jug Francois had brought to the room.

With his back turned, she bolted for the door, opening it a crack before his hand pushed it closed.

“Those are stone steps,” he cautioned from behind her, “you wouldn’t make it to the ground floor before passing out and the fall would kill you, that’s not happening.”

Her shoulders sagging in defeat, she leant her head against the heavy oak door.

“You drugged me.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact, a recrimination.

“I had no choice, please, come lie down.” He placed his hand on her arm but she wretched it from his grasp.

“Let go!”

She backed away from him, unsteadily.

“Alisha, listen to me-“ his calm, measured tone was infuriating.

“You betrayed me.” She hissed.

“Never,” he answered firmly, “I promised to protect you and that is what I am doing.”

“By knocking me out cold, how do I know any of this is even true, its all just your word and now I know how much I can trust that.” She swayed, taking another step back when he moved forward.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“When you fall I will catch you, I really don’t care how you feel about that! I will not let you get hurt.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I need you to trust me and if believing that what I say is the truth will convince you then I am sorry to do this, knowing it will hurt you.”

“How much more could you possibly hurt me?”

“By asking you,” he sighed, “Alisha, tell me the names of your parents?”

She laughed at the ridiculous assertion that she wouldn’t be able to and opened her mouth, fully expecting herself to speak their names, as though on automatic pilot.

But there was nothing, no names, no faces.

It was as though waking from an extremely vivid dream, those first few seconds of confusion and disbelief that what had happened was not real.

It had to be real, she was there, she felt it.

A whooshing darkness clouded her senses, accompanied by the sensation of floating.

She fought to stay present for no other reason than sheer defiance.

When she managed to open her eyes again, she was on the bed, a comforter pulled over her as Baldwin sat in silent contemplation by the bed.

“Baldwin-”

“Sweetheart,” he took her hand in his, “I promise that everything will be well, and in time, you will understand why this was necessary. On that day I will beg for your forgiveness but right now, I will do what I must.”

She shook her head, willing herself to yell, scream, fight but she had lost the battle and the warm lure of unconsciousness was proving hard to resist.

“I will see you soon, my little nightingale.” She faintly heard him speak before feeling a light, cooling kiss on her forehead.

Gallowglass looked between the heavy locked door and Baldwin as the older vampire outlined his instructions.

“It’s easier to contain her in a few rooms on the same level than in my tower.” Baldwin explained.

“You’re asking me to be the lass’ jailer, ‘easier’ really doesn’t come into it.”

“I’m not asking you anything,” Baldwin answered coldly, “I’m telling you to keep her contained in those rooms, she is not to leave, no-one is to go in, save Francois for meals.”

“I imagine they will protest at her being kept a prisoner.”

“If they do not wish to reside here under those conditions, there is a simple remedy for that.”

“Marcus has given them sanctuary.”

“And I don’t intend on revoking it, but it does not mean they get to dictate what happens while they are here.”

“And what if you can’t find out where she actually came from, what will you do?”

Baldwin froze him with a glare and turned to leave.

“If you’re considering what I think you are, just know that not only will I not do it for you, I won’t let you do it either.” Gallowglass called after him.

“There is no record of her existing before two years ago, her memories are a constructed fiction, she can speak and read languages that she has never learned and is not any creature that still exists today. Now, if someone plans on using her to try to destroy us-”

“Then they will not have to lift a finger, because If you kill her, it will destroy you.”

Baldwin stared in response.

“Under protest,” Gallowglass added with a visible exhale, “I will do as you command, I’ll keep her safe.”

Baldwin gave a definitive nod.

“Thank you, I-“

“Even from you, if I have to,” Gallowglass added, “because I could not bear to be under orders of the sort of monster killing that lassie would turn you into!”

Baldwin glanced at the locked door before leaving without another word.

[amazingmsme]

Careful Distraction

AN: This is my fic for the fic exchange I did with @tickle-fic-chick , sorry this is late, been kinda hectic with the end of summer. But here it is, I hope you like it! Enjoy some geraskier fluff & check her out if you haven’t already!

Geralt made his way back to their camp after receiving his pay for the contract. It was a fairly simple job, a small nest of nekkers for a decent amount of coin. The town was more hostile towards witchers, and Geralt knew from experience with this particular town that it would serve them better to stay in the woods rather than the inn. He smiled upon seeing Jaskier and held the bag of coin up triumphantly. Jaskier smiled back before dipping his head back down. He walked over to Roach, storing it in one of her saddle bags.

Jaskier seemed to be busying himself, fiddling with some string and something small in his hands. He finally addressed him once he sat down beside him.

"Alright, take off your shirt."

Geralt nearly gave himself whiplash, "Excuse me?"

Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Don't play dumb Geralt, I saw that nekker tear into your side. Off with it then," he said, clapping his hands as though that would make him comply. 

Geralt grumbled to himself, starting to undo his armor. Jaskier smirked triumphantly and Geralt couldn't help but roll his eyes. When he tossed the armor piece aside, Jaskier could see the torn bloody shirt clinging to his chest.

"Mhm, just as I thought. Take that off so I can wash it after I patch you up," he said. Geralt was already halfway through taking it off when he paused, fixing Jaskier with a look. "I'm fine, I don't need any "patching up."" Jaskier raised a brow, eyes darting to the deep open gash on his side.

"Pft, sure you don't."

"Really, it's fine Jaskier. It'll be healed and scarring over in two days time. Trust me, I've had worse," he said, tossing his bloody shirt aside. Jaskier held the needle over the flame.

"Yes, but that still poses a risk for infection, however small. And wouldn't you prefer it heal in one day rather than two?" Geralt finally resigned, sitting up a bit straighter and moving his arm out of the way. "Excellent!" Jaskier went and grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a cloth from one of his bags and came back. He sat down and poured the contents of the bottle onto the rag, gently dabbing away the blood. "Besides," he spoke as he worked, "Just because you've had worse doesn't mean you don't deserve a little bit of care when it's needed." Geralt only scoffed.

With the wound now clean, he began his meticulous work. Piercing the skin with the needle, he pulled it through, watching the thread run to the other side. Geralt never even flinched, the last of his potion still providing relief from the small pain. He repeated the motion and created the second stitch, and the skin began to pull closed.

Geralt watched him work. "How'd you get so good at that?"

"My mother liked to sew, and I enjoyed her company. She taught me how when I was still young. But you've given me lots of practice," he said with a smirk. Geralt couldn't decide if it was a chastise or a tease. He decided it was a bit of both.

"Hm," was all he said.

"This should heal nicely," Jaskier said, pulling the needle through the skin once more. With each gentle tug of the thread the flesh beneath his hand tightened. His fingers grazed Geralt's side making him jerk underneath his hand. Jaskier pulled away with a worried look.

"Oh my gods I'm so sorry! Did u hurt you? I can be more gentle, I-"

"Jaskier," Geralt said, his voice tired but soft. "You didn't hurt me, I'm just-" he stopped himself and rethought his wording. "I just felt weird is all," he said, hoping that would suffice. Jaskier hummed in thought, tilting his head to the side. His lower lip jut out almost in a pout.

"Oh," he said. It wasn't what he expected, and he had a feeling that wasn't the whole truth. But now wasn't the proper time to pry. Geralt couldn't leave the situation if he didn't like his questions. And the last thing he wanted was for the man to feel trapped. He worked mostly in silence after that, the only sounds being the crackle of the fire and his low hums.

He finished, leaning back to examine his work. "There you go, all fixed up!" Geralt looked down at his stitches, nodding in approval. He changed into a new shirt and settled into his bedroll. Jaskier has just finished putting away the medical supplies when he went to grab his dirty shirt.

"Leave it. It can wait 'til tomorrow," he said.

""It really won't take that long," Jaskier said, looking over his shoulder at the nearby river.

"Come to bed, it's late. I already kept you awake long enough." When Jaskier looked at him, hair tussled and skin glowing in the firelight, their bedrolls pushed together, he really couldn't say no. He laid down next to him, snuggling underneath the thin blankets. Geralt hummed, rolling over on his side that wasn't sewn shut. He soon fell sleep with Jaskier pressed against his chest, an arm thrown over his body.

They both woke well rested. By the time Jaskier rose, Geralt was already up and in the water washing his clothes. Jaskier made his way over to him.

"I said I could do that," Jaskier said. Geralt smiled softly at him.

"I know, but you've already done more that you had to," he justified. "Besides, I didn't want the stain to set for too long." He was just about set the shirt on a rock to dry when Jaskier spoke.

"How's it look? Your side I mean?"

He shrugged. "Haven't looked."

"May I?" he asked, gesturing towards him. Geralt nodded, coming closer and raising his shirt. Just as he had predicted, the wound was completely healed over. He smirked at Jaskier, "Told you it was fine."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes but it would still be healing without those stitches," he said, prodding around the fresh scar gently to make sure there was no bruising or any other cause for concern. Geralt's breath quickened, short huffs of air through his nose. When Jaskier looked at his face, he noticed the corners of his lips fighting to form a smile. Could he be... no it wasn't possible... but what if?

Be lightened his touch, using his nails to drag across the skin. Geralt flinched away violently, the smile on his face undeniable by now. "A bit ticklish are we?"

"No," he tried to deny, but as soon as that word left his lips, Jaskier scratched his blunt nails along the base of his spine. Geralt barked out a loud laugh, arching his back to get away from those wicked fingers. He twisted his body, trying to reach behind him to grab Jaskier's wrists.

"I can't believe after all this time you lied to me Geralt! I also can't believe I haven't found out sooner based on that reaction."

Even without the telltale sign of a blush, Jaskier had memorized every minute expression. The wide eyes, flared nostrils, and puffed out cheeks: Geralt was embarrassed. And it was adorable. Jaskier beamed.

"It's just me, no need to be embarrassed," he said casually, moving to flutter his fingers across his toned, bare stomach. Geralt took a step back, smiling so much his dimples were showing. The one on the right side was more prominent, carving out a crevice on his cheek. He grabbed Jaskier's wrist, holding it away from his body.

"I'm not," he all but growled. Jaskier tilted his head innocently.

"Not what? Embarrassed, or ticklish?" he teased. Geralt glared at him.

"Both." Jaskier was grinning from ear to ear, tongue poking out between his teeth.

"Hate to break it to you, but you are." He slipped his hand to his other side and squeezed. Geralt barked out a laugh, quickly trying to stop the flow of laughter that was soon to follow, but the damn broke. He doubled over, deep yet bubbly chuckles spilling from his lips. Jaskier rose his voice to be heard above the laughter, "You really are."

"Nohohoho!" Jaskier couldn't tell if he was denying the obvious still or if he was protesting his current treatment. He raked his nails over the muscle on his stomach, and Geralt threw his head back as booming laughter erupted from his chest. He squirmed away, but didn't bother to shove him off, not putting in that much effort to actually escape. But in the flurry of fingers and rumbling chuckles, neither of them watched their footing. They both let out a yelp as they tumbled into the stream with a loud splash. Geralt emerged from the water, sputtering and wiping hair from his face while Jaskier's bright laughter filled the air.

"You are so in for it," Geralt said with a glare. Jaskier propped his chin in a hand, resting his elbow on his knee.

"Oh am I?" he asked, eyes half lidded and was staring at him in an almost dreamy way. Geralt wasn't paying attention, too busy pulling back his wet hair.

"Yes. As soon as I get my hands on you-" Jaskier wasn't sure how he would've finished that sentence before drilling his thumb into his exposed armpit. His arm crashed down to his side, head tilted back and mouth opened wide as cackles flew from his mouth.

And if they were both soaked to the bone well past lunch time, well, neither would complain.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Winx Club Season 8 Thoughts Part 2

Well, this is it. Last part of the last season (that has come out) and I haven’t even watched any of it (though, I have heard things). Part 1 can be found here.

8x14:

- Why is this opening with a concert scene when literally the second to last scene in the previous episode was a musical number? At least there was that cute Stella and Brandon moment after to make up for it.

- This is actually a legitimate issue but I do not expect the show to handle the fact that Sky has clashing responsibilities on his shoulders well. They’re already implying that it’s more important for him to be a Specialist rather than a prince and that is not true. Eraklyon will suffer without a good king. Though, on the other hand... how good a king would Sky be? Maybe this is better, after all. At least someone actually interested in doing the job can take over.

- They legit made Erendor a lot thinner than he originally was? And somehow ruined his design also. As well as Diaspro’s. Ugh, why is there gonna be drama with her again????????????????? How many times?!?!?! For fuck’s sake! Just let it end!

- Seriously? They’re all blaming Stella for Bloom’s gloom? Stella has the right to talk about her own relationship as well. And when the fuck have Musa and Riven ever talked? Not to mention that now Riven is trying to communicate with her but she doesn’t even want to give him a chance!

- Valtor has become more cringe than he used to be. At least the Trix seem to have become smarter. We didn’t need him to tell us who they were, however. Also, why does he think that they will not use the star for themselves.

- His new powers literally come from stolen star energy and he just said that stars are made from the sparks that witch and fairy magic are also made of. Aka his magic should be compatible with that of Winx and the Trix as well.

- Oh, great! Now they belong to him. They really didn’t have to make season 8 Valtor a Darkar 2.0 and yet, they thought it was a good idea. I just... nggggggh!

- The Wishing Star... is a woman? And wait, what... They’re saying that Valtor is over a 1000 years old now? Yeah, ‘cause a 1000-year-old sorcerer/demon will totes lose against a bunch of high-schoolers. Makes fucking sense.

- How did Stormy summon an asteroid field?

- What... the hell just happened? Don’t tell me the Star made herself fall apart in the different colors of the color spectrum and they’ll need to gather all of them in the stupid star-shaped box!

- Twinkly is back on Lumenia? Did we really need her back? And why is the star-shaped box chasing her?

- If I were Sky, I probably would be scared to tell Bloom that it is Diaspro texting. She can have terrible reactions to just the thought of Diaspro. Though, to be fair I have no idea why Sky keeps speaking to Diaspro. He has every right to just cut her off completely after what she did in seasons 3 and 6.

- Brandon, you know very well who Diaspro is! And no, I don’t care that they are giving a really crashing crash course to the new audience. This is terrible! Also, you have to love how Sky didn’t even think about calling Erendor to ask about the mission. He just took Diaspro’s word for it. Because she is sooooo trustworthy.

- I was almost right. Instead of colors they are going to be collecting Prime Stars instead. I still got the right idea, though. It is a bit... lame.

- Enchantix looks a lot less elegant and a lot more... second-hand fabric sewn together poorly. Also, I hate the fact that they had the transformation song from the first movie and not the original. And they basically used the same sequence as the one for Sirenix but they are only popping their Enchantix on instead.

- “I didn’t think it would be so easy.” Same! Finding that Compass was the easiest thing ever and it doesn’t matter that things will get heated now that the Trix are here because the Compass didn’t pose a challenge of its own.

8x15:

- I am living for the dramatic opening of this episode.

- Why aren’t the rest of Winx covering Bloom so that she can grab the Compass? Five against the Trix should be enough for her to take it.

- Really? You can’t figure out who freed them? I love that they told Bloom to ask herself. That was great!

- I was getting excited that Valtor showed up but it was just an illusion of Darcy’s. Anyway, the question that came to me involves the Trix as well so... How come they followed Winx in the box since Winx needed to use Enchantix to miniaturize?

- So it turns out that it wouldn’t have been so easy to take the Compass even though it looked that way in the beginning.

-Tecna!!!!!!!!!!!! What Musa is hearing is the key to getting the Compass, you idiot! It is important and not something to leave for later!

- They’re just gonna chase after it without paying attention to what the voice told them? Fucking amazing! And Bloom is sending her Dragon after it? I am so glad that this is not working!

- Lmaooooo @ Layla catching Bloom in a baseball glove. XD

- Why are they so fucking dumb? The whole thing is controlled by the notes Musa heard SINCE IT’S A FUCKING MUSIC BOX, NOT LIKE THERE’S MUCH TO IT! and they just need to figure out the pattern. That’s what they were told. “Only the one who listens” Come on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- I love the spells they’re using, though. They seem to be more creative with their powers here and it is actually interesting enough to distract from their zero comprehension skills and abilities to make deductions.

- Oh, I love the balance thing in the labyrinth! And the Compass hitting Icy on the head was just priceless! But why are you so rude to Stormy, Icy? Don’t be like that.

- Yes, you will make the same mistakes because you are still not FUCKING listening goddammit!!!!!!!!!

- Oh, come on! Don’t tell me Bloom will be the one solving this!

- Good! It was actually Musa that fixed the whole thing. I still cannot make sense of the musical theme of this challenge in-verse but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be so I’m gonna close my eyes for that.

- Why didn’t they try to capture the Trix or something? They just let them go.

- Arken got this right in no time at all and knew it had been Valtor who had freed the Trix. Why is he the only one thinking?

- Is Valtor really going to try to pit the Trix against each other once again? God, please, tell me that they will not be falling for that this time! It is ridiculous!

- Why would Wizgiz be in a trashcan? And they just destroyed the entire classroom looking for him while I suspect he is actually truly just running late... Yep, got that right.

- Don’t tell me Bloom will see Sky with Diaspro at Red Fountain! He’s supposed to be on a mission, not at school!... Oh, good. He’s not there. But why is Bloom weeping? He is on a secret mission! It may endanger the job, him or anyone that knows anything to reveal details! Can she just not be a baby for 3 seconds?

8x16:

- HE’S ON A MISSION! HE MIGHT BE TIED UP!!!!!!! CHILL FOR A FEW MINUTES!!!

- Diaspro is actually climbing? She could just fly! But I guess they didn’t want to draw her fairy form. Don’t tell me they’re retconning her being a fairy! I will smack someone if that’s true!

- She legit threw herself off the rocks just to make sure Sky wouldn’t text Bloom? Crazy much? What if he hadn’t managed to catch you? Girl, you need some perspective! Sky is so not worth this.

- Griffin looks and sounds horrible. And why the actual hell is she exactly as tall as Faragonda?!?!?!?! She used to be half a head taller!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Disguise? You call that disguise? You changed your goddamn hair color!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And what is worse - IT ACTUALLY FUCKING WORKED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How did Stella not recognize them? You’d think that she will when she is supposed to be such an expert on fashion and makeovers! And this didn’t even have magic involved in it! (they could have changed their hair without magic is what I’m saying)

- Wait, they actually extended the Cosmix song? Is that new or did I just not notice because I’ve been skipping the transformation sequence?

- I LOVE Griffin and Faragonda’s opening! They are both showcasing the fact that they’re opposites and also being the dramatic bitches that they are and I am so here for it! Yes, this is everything I have wanted (if only it could have been in the old art style).

- The plants won’t speak to Flora? I actually like the fact that they have to work all together AND it is not convergence! This is more like it!

- No! I don’t want the Trix fighting because of Valtor again!

- Why is Stormy playing twister? XD But I love the implication that there are different tests given to anyone who enters but they all require teamwork! That is awesome! Just, please, make something good with it!

- I just thought that Winx were really gonna beat the Trix with a lot this time but it turned out they are not paying attention to their colors! This is kinda like the finale of season 2, except it doesn’t feel as dumb for some reason. Maybe because Stella is just as useful as everyone else.

- Another game? I actually like this? There is the need for logic to be applied here.

- I wish the Trix would just stop fighting! Well, it’s just Icy and Darcy. Stormy is being calm and thinking! I honestly thought that their portal would close while they were fighting but it sucked them in instead.

- They’re gonna be having more fun with the spheres again. Just like with the Compass, I have a feeling there is a catch here.

- Wait, what did Darcy do? Weren’t they supposed to work together? How did she figure that out on her own? That didn’t make sense but okay.

- I love how Valtor is actually gonna fuck himself over because he is trying to make the Trix fight but in order to find the Prime Stars they’ll need to collaborate. This is some delicious irony!

- And Winx found it!

- If I were Diaspro, I would actually have a fake map at the very least instead of a heart of me and Sky on the parchment. If he takes one look, he’ll know she’s deceiving him!

8x17:

- They’re having a test about their biggest insecurities in the episode in which they’ll be looking for the Prime Star of Confidence? And why are these things always about Stella? The Gem of Confidence back in season 5 was also on Solaria and she was the one to get it. Also, I am not thrilled about the fact that they will be pushing each star on a single girl from now on since there are six more to get after the first one that they had to get through teamwork.

- Musa’s biggest insecurity is making mistakes? They could have done something that would speak about why she is so unwilling to get back with Riven but no. Instead Bloom’s biggest insecurity is about Sky because of course it is! God forbid she has something else on the brain!

- Why are we doing the Stella and her parents’ divorce again? And in the exact same old way we have already seen it back in seasons 1 through... about 5? Issues evolve! They could have put a new spin on it!

- How is making a dress going to solve this?

- At least Stella asked for help after she figured out she can’t do it on her own! And I always love seeing Tecna and Stella moments! Stella and Musa are good too!

- We’ve seen that dress already. Stella wore it in season 6. Come on, writers!

- Ah, I see. Stella is trying to please both her parents and is not being herself aka not being confident. Fucking fantastic.

- I think Stella and Stromy passed because they were the first ones to do so and the challenge accepted them as contenders. So now they are separated form the rest because they have to handle it on their own.

- Awww, poor Stella! I think that kids of divorced parents are not the only ones that can relate to her problems! This is so heartbreaking!

- I am getting some bad vibes from Stormy over here, though... Oh. No. She actually totally rocked this because she has confidence in herself and her sisters! That was pretty awesome!

- Woooooo, the Trix actually got the second star? And they left with it?! They are actually making this interesting????? I cannot believe it!

- I absolutely love how both Winx and Stella’s parents showed her how much they love her. And Luna and Radius are not fighting! *wipes away tear* Beautiful!

8x18:

- Bloom is so not here. And Palladium really chose her even though she is distracted after Stella would injure herself because she was so eager to do the potion? Fuck you, show!

- Well, he got what was coming for him! XD And Stella got the last word. Yes, I stan that!

- Damn! I’d completely forgotten about Twinkly. And I could have had that continuing but they had to bring her back.

- If Bloom doesn’t lose her shit over the unicorns and finally stops thinking about Sky, I will be so mad. They already gave her the unicorn obsession! They are obliged to put it to good use at the very least!

- Aaaaand cringe! They had to bring back “starsome” as well.

- Oh, god. They really retconned the fact that Diaspro is a fairy, didn’t they? Otherwise, why would they give her a gadget to fly? Also, please, don’t tell me that they’re at the same place that the Winx are.

- Well, the unicorn lumens seem to imply that they’re at the same place that Bloom and the Winx are.

- See? This is why you need an actual fake map instead of just a doodle of you and Sky! Now he found out! Love how it took him a while to grasp the fact that there is no medallion as well. And wasn’t that a pendant the first time they spoke of it?

- I honestly thought he would let the lumens handle Diaspro but he didn’t. I can’t say if I’m disappointed or impressed. Or kinda both.

- At least Winx missed Diaspro and Sky and the drama that would have started. Thank everything sacred!

- So that’s what Twinkly was for. To make sure Winx don’t have to fight the other lumens. But the Trix will probably have to so that will give Winx an advantage. Just don’t tell me this will stretch for over an episode.

- I loved the way Layla was holding Stella bridal style... right until she threw her to the ground. Dammit, Layla! Be a little more patient! You know how Stella is. And you don’t have to risk breaking all her bones!

- Well, what luck that there are exactly six unicorns. I would be a little worried about Stella’s outfit because that is what allows her to travel through space. So what if it doesn’t work when it’s damaged? But damn, they’re really trying to stretch this to take up two episodes! After they retconned Stella already being a cowgirl as we’ve seen in season 1.

- Poor Stella! She has a fear of heights and her unicorn seems to be an asshole for no reason.

- Why are Sky and Diaspro still there? At least Sky is actually not letting her get away with everything just like that this time. But Diaspro’s arguments are stupid.

- THAT’S “him”? A black uni-pegasus? It looks evil but it probably isn’t. *sigh* And why didn’t Sky just fly up when he faced that rock? It would have ended eventually and he could have passed above it!

- Oh, come on! The drama will be in the next episode and that is why they were stretching out this one? W.H.Y?????? Also, how is Sky flying in the synopsis for the next ep if he broke his flying gadget? Don’t tell me he actually gets Diaspro’s and they leave her there to sulk while they go get the star? (That might actually be the one good thing coming out of all this.)

8x19:

- Of course, Bloom would fly right into Diaspro! (Well, Diaspro was screaming for help but still).

- What happened with Sky? The black unicorn was about the blast him into oblivion at the end of the previous episode but now he somehow got away? And how did Diaspro get there as well? He left her on a much smaller rock island.

- Well, of course, the black unicorn isn’t evil even though he’s just been trying to kill two people. Didn’t I tell you so?

- Ah, so Tecna fixed Sky’s gadget. I thought that would be the other option to fix it.

- I was just gonna say that the horn of the black unicorn looked chipped. Poor guy. They actually made it understandable that he was so mad.

- And Bloom is absolutely exploding. I can understand that she would be angry Sky didn’t tell her and hid the truth from her. But that was not what she was mad about. She was mad that he even WENT on the mission which is stupid because, for all she knows, it could totally be an official mission ordered by his father.

- I knew it! I knew the black unicorn would pick Diaspro. Except, I have zero idea why the hell he would do that. Why, after being hurt? Diaspro is not the most polite person and he saw that for himself. Wtf, writers? I could understand it if Diaspro had been like she was in season 2. But this?!?!?!?! And that was just,.. there? Like, there was nothing more to it. Just a loose end. We didn’t even get to see what happened with Diaspro.

- At least Bloom and Sky are actually talking about the hiding things issue. I have to say, though, that I can’t fully support Bloom because Sky is right. She freaks out over just hearing Diaspro’s name which, again, would have been a totally reasonable reaction considering Diaspro brainwashed Sky if they hadn’t COMPLETELY IGNORED THAT FACT AND PRETENDED IT HAD NEVER HAPPENED. Bloom is not mad because of how much Diaspro has hurt them both but because she doesn’t believe Sky will keep choosing her if Diaspro is around. And this is an issue SHE has to work on.

- The Trix are still bickering. But at least they look a lot more competent in this season. But did they all really think that Stormy wouldn’t have her dramatic ass entrance? If I could summon thunderstorms, I definitely would for making my entrance. Just saying.

- Layla’s morphix bubble was so powerful! I love!

- Wait, Sky and Icy will be fighting for the Prime Star while Bloom was left looking at them disappearing after she stopped her own fall like she should be able to do instead of having to be saved despite being able to fly? Wow. This is getting interesting.

- I should have known they would fuck it up! They should have left Sky and Icy to fight it out instead of having Bloom go in there and “trust” Sky to get himself out of a cage that wasn’t even closing in on him? She could have just went after Icy and freed him after she was done. There was no immediate danger for him. There was no reason for their great trust.This scene had so much damn potential and they wasted all of it. Great going!

- Why is there a musical number when the only public is the landscape (okay, and the lumens and unicorns)? This was so unnecessary. We got it that they trust each other now. Stop driving nails in our heads.

8x20:

- Dammit! I thought that they would head to Linphea right after the unicorn realm. But they’re back at Alfea? And since when is Griselda teaching about plants? That was always Palladium’s job! Wtf?!?!?!

- You’d think they already know all of this about plants considering that Butterflix was a GODDAMN NATURE TRANSFORMATION!

- Griselda is cutting them slack because of saving the universe? Yeah, right.

- How long will Stormy keep bragging about getting the Prime Star? They act like that’s the only thing she ever did. Also, why is she so hung up on being the one to bring Valtor the Prime Star? Her test was legit about her standing up to him (which went over too easily considering Valtor is supposed to have control over them since he even put his mark on them but that did not appear in the vision for a second in order to make it actually complex or something).

- Well, Miele looks younger than she used to in season 7 but they didn’t totally reverse her back into a kid. Yet, it’s stupid that they are still having the argument of “this is too dangerous for you” after season 7 and her saving them. Besides, Flora should know damn well that Miele will follow. She always does! It’s like the writers have no idea who Miele is if they aren’t having her following secretly and proving that it is not too dangerous for her to go.

- They can’t use magic in the forest? Come again? This is such bullshit. It has never been the case on Linphea. I hate it.

- Why do they have to do ballet to open a stupid gate? But I love the fact that Darcy made illusions of them to perform the dance and let the Trix pass as well. She was using her head. And her magic in a really cool way. Plus, it would have been OOC to have the Trix dancing ballet. Can you imagine? XD

- So we’re learning to plant seeds and water flowers? Since when is this one of those shows that are for ages 0-3?

- Is that... a carnivore radish or something? And yeah, Flora, that totally doesn’t look aggressive!

- When is Flora gonna stop treating Miele like she’s three after all the times she’s proven herself (I don’t care if this is a soft reboot)? Though, Miele would have been more convincing if she hadn’t thrown a tantrum and then started crying much like toddlers do.

- Of course, Darcy will use Miele. That was so damn obvious. Love how Miele didn’t even get to transform. Honestly, at this point I am not even sure whether I want Winx or the Trix to get this Prime Star. They’re all being annoying and I don’t care enough for either side to root for their victory.

- Now you’re taking Miele with? When she can’t move? Fucking sound logic!

- Ooh, I guessed that that was actually Darcy disguised as Miele a few seconds before she revealed herself. But if I were Flora, it might have been enough to regain the advantage.

- Darcy just left Miele sleeping out there in the forest? Not that evil. She could have done something much worse.

- What, Layla? Like none of you ever got tricked?

- They are really playing it as if this was Miele’s fault? Man, this season is really starting to waste opportunities which is really annoying because they actually have interesting premises. They just need to do better during the execution.

- At least I hope that Stormy will shut up about recovering a Prime Star now that Darcy has done the same. Ironic how Icy is the only one that hasn’t managed yet. But I suppose that she will also recover one for a 3 on 4 with Winx and a final battle turned cooperation for the usage of the Prime Stars.

8x21:

- At least Griselda is back to self-defense classes. Though, why the hell is she teaching them deflection spells? They should know those already! They had that lesson in season 2! And why are Knut and Kiko assisting her? Kiko has been sidelined with Knut all season! It feels like he’s not Bloom’s bunny anymore!

- Why does this show hate Kiko so much and has him getting hurt all the time? At least Bloom caught him when he got catapulted. But poor Griselda. I have to say that this is her most OOC moment yet. And she even let them go again. She didn’t have to end the entire class, though. She could have kept going with the rest of the students but once again, the world revolves around Winx.

- You want Riven to SHOW his feelings? Which he has been doing ever since he came back so, like, ALL FUCKING SEASON?!?!?!?! WOW. Fuck you, Musa!

- Whyyyy did they think the Trix wouldn’t show up on Melody? But I am glad we skipped the obligatory Valtor scene because it is unnecessary.

- Galatea doesn’t look too much like herself.

- Bullshit. Stella made them much better outfits when they went to Magix in season 3. And there were other designs that were better than these that, frankly, look pretty bland.

- Sooooo... Musa, the fairy of music, isn’t going to be in the dance competition? Are they trying to level up things? And are you seriously telling me that the Trix are going to dance? Ugh, what the hell?!

- Awwwww, look at Riven! He really wants to try and he is even opening up to the guys about his relationship problems. I love it! Idk what Musa’s stupid problem is.

- This dance competition is so dead. You can only hear Galatea. The public isn’t cheering. But aww, at Bloom catching Stella when she got yeeted off the dance floor. That was really cute.

- I guess competitiveness can make even the Trix dance. It doesn’t change the fact that the competition is still fucking dead! And their dancing feels so arhythmical and slow. The music is fucking dull and practically non-existent.

- Ho-boe doesn’t feel like himself either. And doesn’t the house look so different as well? Also, did they ever do anything that doesn’t involve music? I know they’re a musical family but they must have done something else as well!

- Tecna is killing it! But Stormy’s abundance of energy seems to give her a big advantage here. Though, I still love how confident Tecna was! I have to say that this would have been absolutely epic if the music had been intense enough to match their moves. Why did they have to do these scenes so dirty by barely having any tune to them?! If I’m watching a dance competition, I want it to be good!

- Musa and her dad are talking about Riven? And there is a Riven and Darcy confrontation?!?!?!

- Scratch that! They fucked it up in 0.3 seconds! Are you serious? This is literally Riven and Darcy’s first meeting ever since they broke up in season 1 and THIS is how it goes?! She hypnotizes him to use against Musa?!?!?! I hate this! At least let this be the end of their stupid drama.

- Why did the synopsis of the next episode instantly spoil that Stormy will win the fifth Prime Star? You just revealed all the surprise there will be next ep! Man, they really don’t know how to advertise, do they? Also, this dance battle is really stretching over two episodes?

8x22:

- Now all I wanna do is write a fic in which Darcy gets really violent and there are heavy consequences after Riven’s fight with Musa.

- Wait! “...rough and soothing combine artfully and that perfect sound will yield the Star of Harmony”? And the harp that Ho-Boe says needs to be played by two people? That’s gonna be Musa and Riven, isn’t it? And they’ll get the star which will be the twist and that is why they spoiled Stormy wins in the teaser at the end of the last episode.

- Thank you, Musa! It took you long enough! He is so obviously spelled. Though, I kinda love how Darcy was there like “You can’t resist”. This could be so dark if it weren’t a kids show. And now I wanna write it!

- Dammit, Musa! You have your stupid Enchantix in this season! Use your goddamn fairy dust! Or any other kind of magic! And you’re really so damn surprised that it is Darcy?! It was obvious!

- That was the big idea? That Riven is “finally” proving his feelings by refusing to hurt her? Gee. And that’s how the battle between Riven and Musa and Darcy is going to go down? With some stupid formless monsters?

- Well, of course, Bloom beat Icy. But I suspect that Layla is gonna lose against Stormy so it doesn’t matter much.

- You’re now starting to get used to fighting alongside Riven even though he’s been gone a year and they were together for 4 years before that and fought together for about 5-6 years? Really? And that was the big battle with Darcy? They all had about 3 movements!

- Why is Bloom still in this? They should have given us Layla vs Stormy! We know Layla is the best at dancing (or tied with Musa).

- Why doesn’t Ho-Boe know how they met? They used to date for years before Riven left!

- When have you ever felt harmony in your relationship, Riven? Don’t start lying now! And why does he know how to play the harp? I saw this coming but it still kinda doesn’t make sense!

- Finally! The Layla vs Stormy dancing duel we deserved! And the music is more lively now! At last!

- Oh, come on! That’s how Stormy beat Layla?! By distracting her?!?!?! I wanted it to be a fair fight. And why the hell is there goo or jello or whatever falling on Layla? This is terrible. You wouldn’t catch me taking part in that dancing contest. Not to mention that they competed in vain. Although, it was a nice touch to have them misinterpret the riddle.

- Okay, but Riven is definitely not the rough part in that “rough and soothing” combo. He has been nothing but amazing all season while Musa has been pouting and whining!

- The sad thing is that the Trix would have gotten the star if Stormy hadn’t blabbed to Layla where Darcy was. But her cheating came back to bite her in the ass.

- It would have been nice if Musa had saved Riven instead of having Bloom melt him.

- Oh, Riven is a part of the band now? But seriously, will we ever see them talking? Like, actually communicating which is always where their problems lie? Of course not. Why would that be important?

- They’re really saying that Layla is more impulsive than Bloom? Yeah, fuck that big time! Also, don’t tell me that the last star will be obtained by all six Winx again and that is why they will be combining Tecna and Layla in the next ep. Or even worse - by Winx and the Trix together.

8x23:

- “An ounce more or less won’t matter”? That is so not like Layla! It is more like Stella and even Bloom! What the hell? I hate what they’re doing just to set up their stupid conflict for this episode!

- Okay, that shot with the Trix sitting all over Valtor’s throne was pretty cool! And I actually like the fact that he is not exploding at them about the fact that their last mission failed. That was a nice change of pace! Also, digging Darcy and Stormy taking over the throne and the way Valtor is collecting the Prime Stars when he doesn’t have the box. It is... symbolic.

- Be my guest, Flora, and get between Stella and her tanning!

- Reasonable question, Stella! I was also gonna ask why the hell there are corals on dry land. And the Compass is going all crazy.

- Oh, goodie! Hawaiian lumens. In case we’d forgotten about the first half of the season. Which I honestly had.

- Bloom, you really have no other choice but to split up because Tecna and Layla will kill each other otherwise. And yes, Stella sure doesn’t sound distracted now. Only panicky and possibly on the verge of becoming hysterical over the volcano.

- You mean, this isn’t Valtor creating the lava gollems? At least it’s implied that there is one for each girl so the split-up doesn’t put them at a disadvantage.

- Poor Stella, being used as bait. And they just made more of the monsters. I guess her shining personality is not going to be enough to spare the others the notice.

- Did Valtor actually say “boo”? Wow, okay.

- How is a shell the symmetry between light and shadow? It is on the land and not halfway between land and sea! This was absolute bullshit! Meanwhile, Stella and Bloom are getting overwhelmed back there at the volcano against six opponents!

- Valtor cut in just in time! I thought his presence would have been useless. But he upgraded to adapt to his “inability” to touch the Prime Stars even though the source of his magic is literally stars in this season!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I just cannot even anymore.

- Yeah, and this bullshit choice again between two things that are important. We’re using this for the third time in ten episodes! Really need to come up with something else over here.

- And we didn’t even see Bloom and Stella really do anything. This episode is put together in a horrible way. Plus, how the fuck are you getting in a volcano that is already erupting! I would have loved for Bloom to use her Dragon Fire here because at least that would have made sense instead of this bullshit we got!

- At least we got that cute Layla and Tecna hug!

8x24:

- Tecna turning into a sheep seemed OOC. And Flora choosing a tiger? Why didn’t she just stop chasing after “Stella” when she saw she was scaring the poor thing? That was unnecessary.

- Stella skipped classes to write homework? And why the hell did Wizgiz give everyone homework when it was obvious that they didn’t know about Stella’s deception?

- Icy could have played that *dramatic pause* cooler. She was being obviously panicky about going to Diamond. She’s better at pretending than this. And her keeping a crystal flower? Waaaay OOC. I don’t care if it is about her dead/lost sister which they totally pulled out of nowhere to make her “relatable”.

- Shouldn’t Sky have asked if he can come along instead of just tail them? He can help resolve things faster... or he can become the reason for their defeat.

- The architecture on Diamond looks kinda... Russian (which would make sense if they’re trying to parallel Siberia with the frozen land). But I am dying at the idea of Icy being Russian. XD

- What trees, Bloom? Where did you see trees? Everything is deep frozen!

- Don’t tell me that fox is Icy’s sister. That will be too dumb.

- Well, of course Bloom doesn’t like Icy’s home planet. How could she? That would have been too mature a notion for the writers. After all, she must hate everything icy.

- What temper? That fox has legit not done anything. Also, it has got to have something to do with Icy. Look at its eyes! And now Icy is attacking Stormy because of it?

- Aaaaand now we’re getting a flashback. You have to love how they made it look like Icy is the little sister when she’s not, And I hate how they made her younger and “untainted” self so different! Like, dammit, a tragic backstory does change you but you need to keep something from your core personality! She is being a totally different person and this totally came out of nowhere! I hate it!

- Took Sky long enough to catch up. Why is he the one saving the fox? And Icy totally went nuts here. This is more like her but still... the dissonance between season 1 and this... Why?

- I knew he was gonna fuck up this whole thing.

- Damn, the fox is looking so lovingly at Icy. It might as well be her sister. But it may just be one of those foxes we saw that isn’t aging because of the ice that appears to be magical. I still can’t decide what they’re doing here.

- Why the fuck do they need Sirenix? But I have to say that Crystal Sirenix (which they totally just made up here because that was never actually a thing and would have been nice to have been mentioned when Daphne was using elemental magic in season 6 since she is the Nymph of Sirenix) looks better than ordinary Sirenix. Except for the... capes? The animators need to consult Edna Mode!

8x25:

- Sky is actually fine? Well, in the very real danger of drowning but still fine-r than I thought he would be. Sky, think about yourself. Bloom is not the one that is this fucking close to dying!

- Aaaaand... she saved him. He wasn’t even underwater that long! Why wasn’t he waking up?! Man, the Dragon Fire healing is getting annoying.

- Yes, spend time together while putting yourself in mortal danger. Sounds like fun times! You can even be buried together!

- Sky is supposed to be a Specialist aka capable of handling himself. And how many times is Tecna gonna be fixing his gear? Though, I am at least glad that Icy’s first instinct was to damage his flying gadget.

- So the fox is her sister. Fucking great! Why are they alone and talking about leaving? Where the fuck are their parents? Also, how does that fit in with the fact that the Trix are descendants of the Ancestral Witches?

- Firing all my thoughts here at high velocity: Who the fuck is that? We don’t get a name? Fucking splendid! Why is Sapphire still transformed? Icy is super powerful at this point and if the Shaman Witch is so powerful, why the hell hasn’t she conquered any other realm? Why does she need a whole planet that is completely frozen? Where is she now? What the fuck is up with all of this? And what happened to Icy’s mother? Was Icy a witch all along? Her being so “obedient” in that flashback is so totes OOC. I hate all of this. And we didn’t need the parallel between Bloom and Icy.

- Icy saying that the Trix are “friends maybe” and the the only real sister she has is Sapphire? Worst moment of the whole season! How fucking dare you?! I never thought that they were related by blood but that didn’t mean that they weren’t sisters!

- Yes, Stormy, tell everyone else (aka Winx) where you are! Or bury all three of you in an avalanche. Such planning! Much consideration!

- Icy, stop being a wimp! Yes, this is all hard but she is not behaving like herself at all! You need to get it together if you want to help your sis, girl! And how do you plan on getting the power to save your sister without the Star to bring to Valtor?

- Why is the Star going in the box? Oh, it’s not. But I hate the implication that only “sisterly” love can get the Star. Icy has been sisters with Darcy and Stormy since season 1 and Winx are all like sisters as well! Fuck that! Also, why is it that this one could have only been earned by two blood sisters? That means that Winx didn’t have the chance to take it at all! This is really stupid!

- The Trix are free now? How did that happen? And Sapphire is back aga- Oh, wait, no! Wtf????? Do they even know what they’re doing anymore? This is becoming such a mess! And why is the finale only one episode long when we wasted two episodes on 3-4 of the Stars? This is stupid!

8x26:

- What the fuck are these things? “Brothers from the Dark Dimension”? What the absolute honest genuine fuck? Why have these things never been introduced if they have always been a part of his plan? What the fuck, writers? You just sent the whole structure of the season to hell!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How was any of this a good decision?!?!?!?!

- The Trix just showed up at Alfea? And Kiko is beating them single-pawed-ly? Why? But I like the idea of the Trix at Alfea.

- Oh, it was actually Winx. This is part of the plan for beating Valtor, isn’t it? Damn, I was just getting hyped that the Trix decided to work with Winx to fix this whole mess and make sure Valtor won’t trap them again once they disobey.

- Is Icy going to give him the star? Oh, no. She wants to challenge him to get the other Stars. Goddammit! But I love how excited Darcy is about getting to explore more of her illusion powers! Also, Icy both being grateful that they’re with her but telling them to save themselves if things get rough? THAT HUG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Stormy was so ready to cry! Ugh, that was so amazing! Almost enough to make up for the bullshit they said about them not being sisters!

- They didn’t feel it? That was like a goddamn earthquake!

- I have a question, though. Why didn’t the Trix try to take on Winx? That implies that Valtor is weaker than Winx. But at least the Winx’ plan is actually pretty good.

- Why isn’t Stella Darcy, Layla Icy and Musa Stormy? They could have covered if they needed to use their powers! Stella could have dimmed the light as if Darcy is using her darkness powers. And the other could have pretended to be Stormy and Icy as well!

- Okay, but Winx’ voices are still the same! Why can’t Valtor tell that it’s not them? He’s literally so not paying attention and they fucked up with the spell because it is incomplete!

- And now the plan went to hell because Bloom decided to crash the party! Great going! So it was all for nothing.

- Now Valtor is back in his demon form? That was a curse his mothers put on him and Bloom destroyed that form in 3x26! But at least the remake looks better than the original!

- Why would Valtor destroy the universe? Where is he gonna go after that? Also, what the fuck? You’re making this Icy’s motivation?!?!?! For helping the Winx?!?!?!?!?!?! THE TRIX LITERALLY WERE ABOUT TO DESTROY THE MAGIC UNIVERSE IN SEASON 1 AND IT WAS THEIR ORIGINAL PLAN! NOW SHE’S LIKE “I WON’T WATCH ANOTHER WORLD GET DESTROYED”???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? FUCK ALL OF THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Is it only me or does this really remind of 3x25? Because the writers were probably trying to cash in even more nostalgia?

- If they don’t bring Icy’s world back, it will be really stupid because that was why she was even doing any of all this (according to this whole season).

- They wished for a power-up? I’m sorry, a power-up driven by how noble they are? The bullshit is unreal. I cannot even.

- No one cares about all the lumens! They should have given the Trix something for their trouble after all of this bullshit and used the screen time in a better way.

- OH, COME ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY GET A CONSTELLATION NOW?!?!?!?!? THEY WOULD HAVE NEVER WON WITHOUT THE TRIX WHO WERE LEFT WITH A BIG DAMN ZERO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (except for being freed, that is)

- In my book this is the absolute worst finale this show has ever had! It contradicted everything we know about certain characters as well as events from previous seasons, had a theme that sucked completely and had Winx make a seemingly selfless wish that actually seems super shady, gave them glory they do not deserve, introduced a new plot point at the beginning of the very last episode, fucked over the Trix (or at least Icy), did not tie up their loose ends and just completely failed to be thrilling in any way because everything was upside down! I cannot even.

This season started out so well. The first three episodes were extremely promising and had the writers kept their streak, this season could have risen to the levels of the first seasons or even surpassed them. However, things quickly started derailing. First, just lightly and then totally going off the rails. The two halves of the season felt super disconnected, the villain plan sucked, Valtor was destroyed as a character (and as a villain) and the Trix were just... what happened there? The new backstory Icy was given was dreadful because of how much it contradicted what we know about all three of the Trix and it destroyed their sense of unity by obviously placing the narrative emphasis on her not just as the leader but as the one that is most important of the three. The second half got stupider and stupider until it reached a finale that just didn’t logic in any correct way. There was so much wasted potential here that it is unreal. Season 7 had nothing going on but it did not enrage me as much as this one (and especially the last few episodes) because there wasn’t so much absolute waste of perfectly good opportunities. Season 6 retains it’s place as the worst season in my book but the end of season 8 annoyed me enough to make me feel like I could put it over season 7 for worst of the series.

[geminimoonbeamx]

Moon lit Serenades

A/N: Dedicated to the reader, may you find happiness. I am so nervous for TROS, I saw a rumor that Poe dies and lost it. That plus the fact that there is literally no Plus Sized ReaderxPoe community? I had to remedy that. This is porn.

Warnings: This is porn. Serious smut from pretty much start to finish. Please enjoy.

Summary: Poe seeks comfort after a particularly hard mission in the only way he knows how. A Poe x Plus Sized Reader story

I am a moth, who just wants to share your light.

I’m just an insect, trying to get out of the night.

I only stick with you, because there are no other’s.

You we’re all I need.

I’m in the middle of your picture.

Lying in the reeds- Radiohead 

War had finally caught up with Poe Dameron.

Had finally taken it’s toll, and far more then it’s chunk of flesh. Battle wary and blaster shocked, it was hard to think of the resistance these days as just that- a resistance. No, this was more of a bloodbath.

War.

He’d never thought of it like that before, always held his head high, a defiant flame in his eyes. This was fuck the system- fuck the First Order. Fuck anyone who tried to tell him what to do. He was willed, motivated by the sheer rage that anyone would have to live their life in oppression. Under the thumb of Snoke or Phasma, dead and gone now- Hux and Ren hopefully to follow sooner rather than later.

And that fire to see them fall was still there...but it was dimmed.

Had been stomped on, choked out.

Watching people you love die for you, because of you on a daily basis...it wasnt something he’d wish upon anyone. Friends, family. Allies, brothers and sisters in arms. His fleet which had once flourished with dozens of pilot’s was down to a mere handful of lucky ones.

He was willing to breathe and bleed for the cause. It was in his blood- the sticky substance that matted his dark hair to his head as he climbed out of his X-wing. His parents had been the same.

Was he willing to keep watching others die for it though?

He couldn't stop form pondering the question as he and his unit arrive back to the makeshift base, in the middle of nowhere on a planet in the outer rim- the name of it he could barely pronounce. The shabby hut like quarters made the memory of D’quar and its green covered everything throb longingly in his gut.

That seemed so long ago, now.

No matter. No time for getting attached. They’d be on the move again within a fortnight, never staying any one place longer than a month at a time. Rey usually kept them one step ahead, connected to Ren through the force in a way that made Poe’s stomach churn, but that came in handy with them not getting caught.

Thinking about Kylo Ren always made him sour from the inside out. Muscles clenched in memory of the torture he’d endured at the hands of what used to be Leia’s son, but was now just a shell with his dead fathers nose and the mark of his dead uncles betrayal on his black soul.  

Poe would kill him in an instant if he got the chance. He prays to fuck that one day he does.

Clenching his fingers into fists is painful right now- the small mission had gone awry and they’d had to punch their way out of it. Literally. He’s feeling the aftermath of it all over, aching and sore.

He doesn't have it in him to attend the debrief. Can't muster the will, not right now. Maybe after a hot shower, maybe after he gets some food in his stomach and allot’s himself a moment to wallow. He forces himself to stand straight, spine elongated in a way that has his bones and muscle screaming.

Poe tries not to limp, as he scurries away to lick his wounds. He fails.

“Poe, you need to see a medic!” Finn insists, somewhere behind him. Always worried, always caring. Poe has nightmares about the night that he eventually loses him, too.

“Don't worry, I will” Finn wonders how someone who looks like they’re going to keel over at any moment- can manage to sound so cheeky.

Rey, who stands beside Finn, bruised bleeding herself wonders if he realizes that Poe is on the verge of tears. The pilot rippling and vibrating so hard she could feel it, taste it on the air.

Neither of them say anything though. The just watch him disappear into the stormy, starless night.

----

Sleep isn't something that comes easy to you as of late.

Not only did you spend your days(and most hours of your nights, too) in the Med Bay, you had never been the kind of person that could handle big changes, sharp adjustments. This hop forts every couple of weeks trend was killing you.

Your mind couldn't relax, R.E.M. State was always just out of reach.

Especially when he was gone...which also seems to be a trend these days. The missions just kept getting longer and longer- the time that he was on base shorter and farther between.

But it was raining tonight- the soft rhythmic  pitter patter of it on the roof of the hut reminding you of your home planet, you could almost pretend you were there; the smell of petrichor tricking your brain. Making it easier to curl up on the bed that was really more of a cot and cozy into the Resistance standard blanket.

For the first time in two weeks- you sleep. Hard. Like a rock. The exhaustion finally overtaking your body, and putting you out of commission. General Organa was right to send you back to your bunk, physically removing you from your post.

You feel kind of, extremely, guilty for the attitude you’d thrown at her -

“I’m fine, if I don't do my job, who’s going to?”-

aimed her way even though she didn't deserve it. She was right, of course. She tended to be most of the time. Why anyone ever doubted her, why you ever doubted her, you didn't know.

The sleep is dreamless, just the way you prefer it...you hadn't always, but nothing was better then the nightmares. Nothing is far from peace, but close to quiet. A middle ground that could be called purgatory, depending how you looked at it.

So when there's a knock at your door, the wooden one that gave you more privacy then you’d had in months, that wakes you from your much needed slumber, you can't help but feel the irritation surge through you. Your hypothetical feathers bristled as you huff and puff and pull yourself out of bed, yanking a pair of breezy sleep pants up your chubby legs and a robe over your shoulders- not wanting to answer whoever it was in the near nude.

When you pull open the door- well, it was the one person who wouldn't have minded if you had greeted him in your panties.

“Poe?” You question, because your eyes still haven't adjusted, your mind still three fourths asleep and one fourth confused.

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart” And oh? Sweetheart? In that gravelly voice, tired and worn and fragile...you're instantly aware of what kind of state he’s in.

When you pull him inside, flipping on the light orb, and are able to see him. Clearly now; all bloody and bruised, you inhale sharply. His eye is blackened on the same side of his face that seems to be saturated in crusted crimson.

“Stars, Poe” You whisper as you crowd him, urging him to sit on the cot that’s still warm from your body heat. Poe frowns, pretty lips pulled down as he takes it, and you in. Your hair rumpled, your robe falling off your shoulder as you gather medical supplies from what seems like all over your small “room”

The first thing you do is take out a small capsule full of neon blue liquid from a jar and hand it to him. He takes it gratefully, tossing it down the hatch before you can even offer him water. Painkillers aren't the easiest to come by since they’ve been on the move.

“I woke you up, didn't I?” He inquires, after he swallows.

“Obviously” You answer as you step back into his orbit, close enough that he can smell your skin. That his eyes can trace each of the freckles that dot across your nose, your cheeks. You put your finger under his chin and tilt his head up, and fuck, isn't that a pretty view?

“I’m sorry” He whispers, hissing between his teeth as you, gently but deftly, begin to clean his head.

“Mmm, it’s fine. I’m awake now,  Kriff Poe, you look like warmed over shit. This gash in your hairline is going to need stitches” You’re focused, wiping and dabbing as you speak.

He didn't realize, until that moment, just how much he missed your voice.

“Your bedside manner is spectacular as ever” He grins as he says it, even though it hurts to do so. His busted lip is next on your itinerary.

“Well when you show up at my bedside and not the other way around, I’m pretty sure that changes up the rules”

“Didn't you miss me...at your bedside, that is?” He pushes on, he wants you soft and sweet for him but he knows from experience it takes a bit to get there. Especially since he’s been gone so long.

“Stop distracting me” You mutter. You're only half pretending to be completely focused on the task at hand, at this point you could probably stitch a wound with your eyes closed.

“M’sorry” He’s not. It’s selfish, but he really isn't. He’s not sorry for barging in on you and waking you up, or for sitting in your bed reeking of blood and days worth of dirt. How can he be, when this feels so good? Your soft little hands working at him, healing with every touch. There’s no hurt when he’s around you- only good.

The painkiller makes the edges fuzzy, makes the fact that your repeatedly pulling a needle through his skin seem mild. It’s not like it’s his first time getting sewn up, and he highly doubts it’ll be his last.

Poe can't stop staring at you, dark eyes hooded. Hungry in a way that he doesn't care to hide. Drinking you in, gulping. It’d been almost a month and he was dying to get his fill. Your round body, nothing but curves and dips that he was itching to touch, is mostly covered, but the robe is still hanging off your shoulder. Satin skin exposed, so pretty and pristine.

It’s almost out of his control when his hand skims up our arm, skin seeking out skin. His palm sears as it settles on your upper arm. The plush flesh so soft under his calloused hands that he’s almost worried that it would give if e pressed down too hard.

In the back of his mind he knows better, though. Recalls just how much you can take.

“Poe” You warn tightly, lashes fluttering as you shoot him a look. One that makes him chuckle, because you're not fooling him.

He’ll play, mostly because he wants to, but he knows you missed him as much as he missed you.

You wonder if he can feel the way that you're trembling, already shaking for him. It’s stupid, you feel stupid, and yet you cant stop it. You have healers hands, medic’s hands- and at least you can get them to stay still as you finish with his head, then his lip.

Going insane from the simplest touch, from the way that he rubs his thumb in circles over and over on your upper arm. You remember when that would have made you uncomfortable, big arms that you wanted covered at all times used to be a big no-no.

But with Poe it was different. He wasn't there to judge. He just wanted to feel.

You don't want to pull away, but you have to. Your brain is torn, but ultimately resorts back to it’s resting state: health driven. Medically inclined.

“You need to go take a shower, wash the rest of the blood out of your hair. The hot water will help to start to bring down the swelling” you instruct, and it would be how you talked to any patient. Except for the way you cradle the side of his face, your voice breathy as you touch is thick locks that are greasy. A bit tangled.

Poe nods, he knows your right. Knows he should have done that before he even came here…

“Can I come back?” It’s hopeful, he spits it quick- desperate.

It feels like someone yanked, hard, on a loose thread inside your chest.

“Always. You know that��

--

While he showers, forced to go a few huts over to the community bathrooms, you’re a flurry of anxious thoughts and movement. Tidying up the small space and yourself the best you can. You’d showered earlier in the evening, using the last of the last of the Obsidian Lily oil that you’d carried with you. You still smelled good, pretty.

Your hair was wild, but not untamable and you end up brushing it smooth. You hadn't shaved since before he had left and curse yourself for not doing so earlier. How were you supposed to know that he was coming back tonight? Growing up on your home planet, there was a moss based soap that everyone used that minimized body hair. But still…

You wished, like you had more than once, that you could be better for him.

You're trying to swallow that horrid ugly little thought back down when your door opens, Poe not bothering to knock this time. Barges in, and he seems a bit more like himself in that moment.

His hair has gone back to his natural curls, thick and bouncing, dripping and the navy, loose materialed sleep clothes hang on him. Dont cling to him with dirt and sweat...all and all, he looks so much better.

Or so you think. Until you see him in the right light, his top falling open and revealing his chest.

“Poe!” You exclaim and his thick brows furrow, he had been drying his hair with one of your spare towels.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt” You demand and one side of his lips pull up- a smirk that doesn't meet his eyes.

“You know if you ask me nicely, sweetheart, I’ll give you whatever you want” It’s a purr, a ploy. Many a person- male, female and Wookiee had fallen for that charm of his. Your own name thrown in that pot.

But he was hurt, had to be in pain, and that thought cut through the others that that coy tone had stirred up.

“I’m serious, that bruising looks deep- why didn't you show me this earlier? You could have internal bleeding! Something could be broken”

Poe would never let it be known, would deny it to the ends of the galaxy...but he loves the way you fret over him. It makes him feel warm.

“Okay- Okay!” He sighs as you start to reach for him demandingly, knowing that you'd pull it off yourself if he didn't. There's a handful of winces as he tugs the fabric up and over his shoulders. You’re silent the whole time, and then for a long moment after.

“Oh...baby”

It’s the first time you've called him that tonight. In weeks. The first time an affectionate name has slipped from your mouth.

You can't help it, can't help the overwhelming feeling of...horror. Of shock and worry. His tanned chest and abdomen are hard, dusted with ebony hair that matches that of which grows from his scalp...and covered in bruises.

Four huge patches of yellow, and black and purple and blue...he looks like a fucking water color painting. You’d seen him in some pretty bad states over the years, and this was up there with some of the worst. The worst? Well you didn't like to think about that particular bloody day.

You reach out, fingertips tracing the purple bloom on his left ribs.

“It’s not so bad” And that’s Poe in a nutshell. Always trying to convince not only the people around him, but himself, that things were going to be okay.

“That one’s a deep tissue bruise” You point out to him, fingers gently probing, trying to detect if anything is broken “It has to hurt like a bitch, it’s going to get worse before it feels better”

“Not so bad” He loves the way you're touching him, and his hand, that big paw, goes to our waist. Holding you. Urging you to keep going “Those painkillers are something else”

You snort through your nose. He’s something else- you tell him of that fact, often.

Poe can only be so patient, can only allow you to touch him, feather light, for so long. Eventually, his impulses win out. Just like the always do.

You’re almost done, checking his bones, when he grabs your hand, envelopes it in his large one. It’s still for a moment- the air sparkling with energy. His eyes are mahogany, dark wood. Deep forests as they stare down at you.

The want in them is raw, unbridled.

“I missed you, so fucking much. Every day. Have I told you that yet?” His words, mixed with the timbre- vehement. Honest. It makes you want to squirm.

“No- you haven't” You wish your voice at that moment wasn't so anxious, weak and almost a whisper. Something about Poe had always brought this out in you. He was so bright, beaming. Everyone around him flocked to him, in hopes of just being able to taste a fraction of his light.

Sometimes, you still couldn't believe that he let you fill your cup, that he sought you out, parted the crowd for you.

You had never been a weak woman; had never let your weight or your too loud opinions or your tendencies to be overly emotional make you feel small, or less then...but being with Poe-- the level of intimacy was suffocating.

You felt burned up. Icarus who flew too close to the sun, who willing allowed himself to be burned up just to feel its warmth for a moment...you could relate.

“I did” Poe continues “I missed the way you feel, the way you taste-”

You close your eyes at that, images of the last time you’d gotten a moment alone with him, of a head of dark curls between your legs, assaulting you. Smacking you right in the face.

“-You taste so good, Y/N. Should've bent you over when you came to say goodbye. You would've let me, huh? Let me get one more taste- you have no idea how bad I want to stick my tongue inside of you. All the time. No one else gets to taste, right?”

Poe is well on his way to being rock hard, already. It had taken all of him to not jerk off in the showers.

“No one, Poe. You know that” you’d meant to tell him to fuck off, that you didn't belong to him. That he couldn't just have you whenever he wanted you. That came out instead.

“I need you” He tells you, roughly “feel how bad I need you, Y/N, fuck” he still has your hand in his grasp, againts his chest. When he begins to slide it downward, you know where its destination will be.

That doesn't stop the thrill, the flip flop of our tummy that comes with Poe pressing your hand to his crotch, hard and hot. The thin pants the only layer between your palm and his erection.

“You’re the only one who gets me like this, I need you to make it better, Y/N”

The switch is flipped then. Hard.

You’re surging forward, and he's meeting you halfway, your mouths slotting together. Lips and tongue, so much tongue. He talks all about how you taste, but stars, the way he tastes is intoxicating. Want to suck the taste of him off his tongue, off his cock.

Its blurry and ferocious. Hands everywhere. Touching, grabbing. While you are gentle with him and his tattered body, he doesn't extend that same sentiment. He’s groping, fingertips bidding into flesh. Groaning into your mouth as he clutches your thick, dimpled thighs. Reaches around to squeeze our ample ass.

Best ass in the galaxy, he'd write fucking sonnets about it, if he was good at anything but flying.

Clothes are shed, way too fast you worn Poe who doesn't listen. Because he never does- and he ends up hissing in pain, and relenting, sitting on the cot and letting you take off his pants. Slowly. You make it up to him by standing over him, grabbing his hands and guiding them to strip you. Slow drags of fabric over supple skin.

You’re so fucking sexy, and he tells you so as he urges you into his lap, you stay on your shins to mind his middle. Poe worships with his words. His fingers and lips do their fair share of praying next.

“Fuck I missed these the most” your breasts are large, heavy globes. Puffy sweet nipples are pebbled and just begging to be sucked on. He licks them messy, wet before he does just that; sucks them into the hot cavern of his mouth.

“Oh, oh, ugh” Your hands are twined in his hair, dripping down onto his thighs already, when Poe feels the wetness drip on him, his fingers go searching, hand pressed in between your thighs. Fingers slipping through sopping, heated flesh. You grasp, a high sound as he presses up and circles your clit, firm and pointed.

It’s so good, pleasure shoots down your legs, all the way to the tips of your toes.

It’s not enough. For either of you.

“Poe, fuck. Please” He’s injured, and you know it hurts him to do, and you should scold him for it, but when he manhandles you, flips you easily onto your back to that he can climb on top and situates himself between your thighs-

It’s just as hot as it always is. You know you have to be dripping down onto the cot, can feel your slick covering your thighs, slipping down your crack.

Kiss, Kiss and Kiss and Kiss and Kiss and…

You get lost in it, caught up in the way his stubble burns. His fingers slide back inside you and he watches your face as he crooks them, pumps them fast. Finger fucks you until you’re sobbing, letting out animal sounds.

“Do you still have the implant” he pants, head swimming. He gets like this when you let him make you feel good- wants to go down on you, but wants to be inside you even more.

“No, I took it out in the last few weeks” You’re cheeky, even with his fingers burried inside you. He loves that about you, “Of course I do, Poe”

You’d be damned before you ever brought a child into this world.

Poe holds your thighs wide, staring between them, your pussy wet and clenching around nothing. You’re so vulnerable for him, it makes you dizzy. He lines himself up, clock head dipping into your slit, resting against your hole, when thrusts inside of you it’s in one fluid movement.

You mewl, so full it’s hard to breathe and Poe makes a punched out sound. Like he’d been shot by a blaster in the chest and his hips start undulating, needing to be deeper. It feels so right inside of you. Feels safe. He wants to tear into your softness, rip you open and nestle inside. Settle himself in your bones.

You let him take what he needs, how ever he needs it. On your back, on your hands and knees. You bounce on his cock when he gets to achy,letting him run his hands all over your tummy, sides, breasts.

He can have it all.

After, the two of you lay spent, cuddled tight to one and other in the small cot. Standard issue thrown over your naked bodies, the sound of the rain starting up again mixed with Poes breathing is a lullaby you hadn't known you needed.

This...thing between you might have started as a way for both of you to numb the pain. To seek support. But it was more now. You were so in love with him that it made your eyes sting if you thought about it for too long.

“You’ll always come back to me, right?” Its so, so timid that he almost doesn't catch it and you almost hope he’d miss it.

Poe does what he always does; tries to convince you both that it’s going to be okay.

“Always”

You let yourself believe him.

Well I wasn't expecting this to turn into pure porn, but here we are lmfao. I loved writing for Poe and there will definitely be more of him coming soon! If you are able- listening to All I Need by Radiohead and the Hot Like Fire cover by the XX really sets the tone for this. I actually dropped a line from hot like fire in this- who can point it out?lol

As usual, I'm going to ask that if you can please give me some feedback. I truly love interacting with my readers and would love to hear your thoughts and opinions.

[this-song-thats-only-for-you]

A Christmas In July Collaboration:  [Favorite Christmas]

Summary: Christmas was your favorite holiday of the year, but what happened when your perfectly laid out plans get thrown out the window?

A/N: I mentioned to @prettywordsyouleft​ that I missed doing Christmas in July this year, so we decided to still do it, and alas this collab was born! I hope you enjoy our little fluff stories!

Genre: Christmas Fluff

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Word Count: 1,705

  Christmas was one of your favorite holidays of the year. You were already in full Christmas mode by the time December first came around, and it was no surprise to your boyfriend when you had involved him in all your holiday plans.

“Please, this is the best time to collect a beautiful Christmas tree for our living room. It will be perfect, but I need your help.”

He stood across from you, his arms folding gently against his chest as he watched your whole demeanor change. It was something he loved seeing in you, your passion shone brightly every December, and although he protested playfully, he knew he would always do what you asked.

“Of course Y/N, anything for you.” He smiled cheekily as he stepped forward, closing the space between you as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, his lips pecking your cheek softly.

“You don’t have to humor me Seonghwa, if you’d rather not do it..”

“I will help. I know how many tasks you have on that Christmas to do list of yours. At least this is one thing I can do without you coming in behind me and redoing it.” Chuckling he ruffled your hair vigorously before quickly making his exit, grabbing his car keys instinctively as he closed the door.

“I’m not that bad!” you shouted back in reply, albeit too late as you rolled your eyes in amusement before continuing with your long list.

 A week had passed and Christmas Eve was upon you, your list almost nearing it’s end. Seonghwa had retrieved the Christmas tree, and decorated it – with your guidance – placing it firmly in the middle of your living room. Everything was overflowing with Christmas charm. Christmas lights hung from the fireplace in your coordinated color scheme, below them two stockings with your names sewn on them were already filled with a few little presents. Ornaments decorated the rest of the space, filling in the gaps and making your house all the more inviting. It really was the best time of the year.  You sat comfortably underneath the warmth of a woolen blanket as you soaked in your surroundings, smiling proudly at just how much the two of you were capable of. Lost in thought you jumped faintly when Seonghwa nudged you, holding out a cup of hot chocolate for you to take. You smiled in thanks as you took it, your hands instantly bringing the drink to your lips as the scent overwhelmed you.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Our hard work. It’s lovely isn’t it?” You asked, taking another sip of your drink as Seonghwa moved the blanket and he made himself comfortable underneath it too, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him, his lips kissing your head affectionately.

“You always know how to make it just the right amount of Christmas. How do you do it?”

“It’s my little secret.”

He laughed softly, his chest vibrating into you as he did so. It was the simple moments like this that you enjoyed the most. Just spending time together huddled up in the warmth of your home, not doing anything in particular but appreciating the others company. You knew that the holiday season always took it out of the both of you, so you savored these moments when time stood still and you could breathe. Closing your eyes once more you nuzzled into Seonghwa further, forgetting about all the stress and tasks you had still yet to finish.

“Hey don’t fall asleep on me yet, or I’ll have to carry you to bed.” He whispered jokingly in your ear, sending shivers through your body.

“I’m not asleep.” You mumbled, a cough following a moment later.

“Are you getting sick?” his voice laced with concern.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You argued adamantly as another cough rattled through your chest.

“Okay, no more hot chocolate. It’s time for bed.”

“But..” ”No buts. I can’t have you sick on Christmas.” Seonghwa placed his own mug down before taking yours from you. He left no room for arguing as he picked you up, blanket and all as he carried you into your bedroom. Watching you with concern in his eyes as you both readied yourselves for bed, he couldn’t help but worry that you had overdone it this past week, wanting to make everything perfect for tomorrow that you had neglected your own well-being. He knew that nothing would stop you from enjoying the day, and only hoped you would wake up feeling a little better than you did right now. Seonghwa made sure you were securely under the duvet and sleeping soundly before he relaxed enough to close his own eyes and join you.

 You laid there unable to move, or register where exactly you were, your mind drifting back to the night before and the images of Seonghwa carrying you to bed made you smile. It was then that the sudden realization hit you. It was Christmas Day. You bolted upright, regretting it immediately as your body convulsed into a coughing fit.

“Oh no.”

“Merry Christmas Y/N.”

Your thoughts were interrupted as the door opened revealing a pajama clad Seonghwa entering the room with a tray full of delicious breakfast foods.

“Now don’t worry. I have everything under control.” He nodded determinedly as he placed the food tray on the bed beside you, helping you adjust into a sitting position. “All I want you to do is eat breakfast and rest up.”

“But I’ve got to cook Christmas lunch..”

He cut you off as he pressed his finger lightly over your lips.

“It’s already in the oven cooking, and before you ask, yes the table is set and Santa has left presents under the tree.”

“But how?”

“I followed the rest of your to do list Y/N. It can’t be that hard when you’ve planned everything so thoroughly.”

You could tell he was trying to cheer you up, his affectionate teasing becoming more apparent as he tried to ease your worries.

“I suppose.” You answered reluctantly. Today was a big day for you, and you couldn’t believe you let yourself get sick. You forced a smile onto your face as his brown eyes pleaded with you to stay put.

“Excellent. Now I’ll be back shortly. I’ve laid your Christmas pajamas out in the bathroom. I figured its just the two of us, we could spend the day in them. What do you think?”

You nodded instantly as his smile grew larger, he leaned forward kissing you on the cheek before he left to attend to the food cooking in the kitchen.

Christmas was definitely going to be different this year.

 An hour had passed, you’d finished your breakfast and put your pajamas on and decided to make your way into the kitchen to see how he was doing. You could already smell something not quite right as you entered the room, Seonghwa’s back was facing you as he leaned down towards the oven.

“Is everything okay?”

He jumped, startled and hitting his hand on the oven door as he turned around to face you. His cheeks were rosy from the heat, and his hair was a little disheveled as he tried to answer you, words were failing him however.

“It’s..” he paused sighing in defeat as nothing came to his mind to rectify the situation in front of you. “I burnt the turkey. I tried to follow your recipe but somehow it looks like this instead.”

He moved out of the way as you closed the space between you and the oven, a loud gasp followed by a croaky cough as you laid your eyes on the bird in question.

“It doesn’t look that bad.”

“Don’t humor me, its horrible.” He sighed in defeat, falling to the tiled floor, his head hanging low.

You bit your lip trying to stop the laugh from escaping but failed as you made your way to the tiled floor along with him.

“Do you know how cute you are right now?” you poked his shoulder gently as his head snapped up, an incredulous look on his face greeting you.

“Seriously? Is that all you can say to me right now?”

“Mhm.” You nodded as you leaned forward, your hand pulling his face towards you as your lips pressed onto his softly. “Really cute.”

“But I’ve ruined our Christmas.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, well apart from the turkey.”

“Hey!” he retorted, elbowing you playfully.

“But you tried and today is about celebrating being together and sharing love. We still have each other and dessert.” You reiterated, pointing towards the other foods spread across the dining room table.

“And presents.”

“And our favorite Christmas tradition.”

You could see his attitude change as you continued, his smile lighting up his whole face as he pushed himself up from the ground before reaching out to help you up.

“Now that sounds like the perfect Christmas to me. How about you go sit on the couch and I’ll bring the goodies over and we can start on those traditions?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He smiled at you once more before he made his way to the table, busying himself with collecting everything to take to the living room.

“Hwa?”

“Hmm?” he stopped, turning to face you.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” he asked curiously, placing things down on the coffee table.

“For looking after me when I’m sick, and trying to do everything.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather spend today with.” He placed his hands either side of your face, wiping a few loose strands out of your eyes as he stared into them lovingly “And you know I would do anything for you.” his lips came crashing down, kissing your with such affection it took the breathe from you. Gasping for air you coughed, breaking the loving moment.

“Even when you are sick.” You nudged him playfully as he guided you towards the couch, turning the television on as you made yourself comfortable. Although Christmas day didn’t go according to your thoroughly laid out plans, and that you had now found yourself a new tradition you decided that you wouldn’t change a thing. This year was your favorite Christmas yet.

[poptod]

Aren’t We Monumental? (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

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

Prompt: Fishing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, my prince?”

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… special?”

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

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

“How do you know?”

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

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

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wish I wasn’t alive.

+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

“What’s your favorite color?”

“… what?”

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

“Uhh… blue,” he answers slowly.

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

“That counts as interesting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you deserve kindness.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did?” He says, his voice tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Like me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but aren’t you afraid of death?”

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

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

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

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

“I saw you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallows thick as you continue.

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

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

“… birds?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Though I may know you for a century, I’d give myself for a minute more.

The dearest touch of what is known -

I beg to gently press my kiss to your chest,

to hold your tender heart as my own.

You’re much closer to him as you sing, knelt beside him as you strum. He almost wants to sing along, but it’s finished much faster than your last song, and he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Do you have these written down somewhere?”

“Not everyone can write, Ahkmen,” you say with a soft laugh, once more putting the lute away, hidden from sight. He nods as he remembers where he is, and who he’s talking to - perhaps I’m still too used to palace life, he thinks, and not for the first time that day.

With a small yawn, you undress, and as usual Ahkmen does a full turn to avoid staring at you. Once you’re dressed in night clothes, you make yourself comfortable on the cot, wrapping the thick blanket over your shoulders and pulling your knees to your chest.

“I made this bed big enough for three people,” you tell him, and when he looks it doesn’t really seem it. Then again, his bed is about the size of your entire house, so he assumes his doubt has to do with his status once again. He wonders why you bring it up, but you take his hand, pull him to his feet and sit him down next to you on the cot. With drooping eyes you lean against him, yawning again. “We can sleep together tonight.”

He freezes, nearly choking on his own spit.

“What?”

“It’s gonna be cold,” you mumble, not bothering to elaborate as you lie down, your head on the pillow and the blanket fully wrapped around your own body. Still finding it hard to breathe, all he can do is watch you, your little hums of comfortable pleasure pulling him deeper into his consternation. Slowly, his eyes never leaving you, he leans down till his head is beside yours, staring at your tired face.

“You… want me to sleep… with you..?”

“Mhm,” you hum, surprising him - he’d asked the question, yes, but he thought you were already asleep. Without opening your eyes, you pull another blanket out from a nearby basket, handing it to him with very little grace.

“Why?” He asks, but at that point you’re asleep, your breathing even and slow. To calm himself he tries to match his breathing to yours, watching your lips just barely part in your sleep.

“You need to do something about me, you know,” you say as he wakes in his dreams, the sky above clear and blazoned with an eternity of stars. You’re sitting cross legged on the soft grass near the waters’ edge, his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean?”

“Love is an unsure thing, naturally it cannot be hindered or birthed… it’s a choice as much as it is unavoidable. Though you have loved me for so long, choosing to keep loving me… you say nothing,” you murmur, and when he meets your eye they’re sparkling with tears barely there. He sighs, knowing you’re right.

“I’ve really only known you for five days though,” he says, and though he’s right you shake your head.

“A soul may know another from the beginning of time and past the end of it. Sometimes these souls meet each other in the physical realm, but memories are fickle - don’t take our chance meeting for granted. Tell me of your dreams, I’d love to hear it, even if you don’t think I do. I care so deeply for you,” you say with such honesty he can’t help but believe, the ache of your heart reaching through your words and into his mind - maybe you do care for him.

When he wakes in the morning, the feeling is gone with the storm; you’re lying on top of him, hair tussled with sleep as your breath tickles the bare skin of his chest. For a moment he cherishes, you stay asleep as he brushes his fingers against your face, working his way up to your hair that he combs till it’s untangled, though it takes a good long while.

He doesn’t say anything about his dreams, about his infatuation for the entirety of the day as he helps you clean up the mess the storm left in its’ wake. In fact he doesn’t even bother to think of it for months until it’s staring him in the face, too clear that even the blind would see and the deaf would hear - in the middle of the village market he feels as though every person in a hundred mile radius would know all his doubts and fears were proven wrong. He’s known you for months know, stayed with you what seems like forever, but you still surprise him.

It was very simple, really; a gesture anyone could give. People had done it to him before, always looking to gain his favor or coerce his opinion, in fact most people had gone a level above. But you’re different, he’s convinced you’re special in a way no one can never be.

In the middle of the bustling trade market, he’d lost sight of you for a moment - you left him on a bench with a pastry you’d bought a few minutes earlier, telling him you’d be back soon. Trying his best to believe you he sits quietly, watching people flit past in their busy lives and keeping a lookout for you. Eventually you return, bag in hand and a smile on your face as you sit beside him.

“I got something for you,” you say, handing the bag to him.

Eyeing you nervously, he looks down into the bag. There’s paper in the way, blocking the gift from view, so he looks back up at you.

“What is it?” He asks slowly.

“Check for yourself,” you reply, your smile growing as you tear off a piece of the pastry to eat.

Once more he looks to you, then removes the paper. Underneath is a blue scarf - the edges are lined with gold fabric and down the center are sewn white flowers. Holding it in his hands he feels its’ softness, nearly as soft as his own royal robes, and he wonders, astounded, how you managed to afford it.

“How… how did you get this…?” He asks in a quiet, confounded voice, his brow furrowed as he examines each stitch and its material.

“Over there. Traders from Persia, I know them well. I know you don’t really have much to your name right now, so I asked them to keep an eye out for something that you might like… something blue,” you murmur, your smile fading slightly as you get quieter. For a moment you allow him to admire it, answering any question he has with answers that leave him adoring you even further.

“You asked them to get this? How long ago?”

“The trek to Persia and back is long, but not too long, fortunately. I asked them the day after you told me your favorite color.”

“That long ago?”

“Something like that, yes,” you say with a giggle, leaning closer to inspect the scarf with him. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, caught up and enraptured in your smile. Your eyes drift over the material, delicate and detailed, humming to yourself when you find nothing wrong. “Um, yeah. It’s pretty. Can I - can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning back to see him fully.

“I think I’m in love with you,” is what blurts out of his mouth, and while he originally planned to go for a much less direct approach, you’re still blushing dark red.

“Oh, um…”

When you don’t answer immediately he can already feel the stinging of his eyes, anticipating tears before they form. I shouldn’t’ve said anything, he thinks to himself, repeating the phrase over and over again as he’s shocked into paralysis. Staring at you, waiting for your reply, he can’t move, can’t run away as he desperately wants to.

“No one’s… no one’s ever said that to me before,” you mumble, half embarrassed and half surprised.

“Seriously?” He asks, finding his own surprise in your statement. “I thought you would’ve heard it quite a bit.”

“Well I don’t know that many people to start off with, so…” you trail off, finding your words again a moment later. “Ahk, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to love me.”

His heart could’ve stopped beating and he wouldn’t have noticed - all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the numbness of his arms, and his thoughts repeating that he shouldn’t’ve said anything.

“I do adore you, more than anything I’ve known, but my place is here. Your place is with your family. Sometimes love isn’t enough,” you say, your voice cracking with the tears you’re trying to hide.

“I’d stay with you forever if it meant you’d love me,” he replies, dropping the bag to the ground to take your hands, holding them in his lap against the silk of the scarf.

“You can’t give up everything for one person. It’s not healthy and -“

“Meryt, we are fated to be together -“ you try to interrupt him - “just listen to me… please?”

Slowly, you nod.

“I dreamt of you. Long before I knew you, before I even thought I needed help, I dreamt of you nearly every night. You’d tell me these wonderful things, you’d hold me close and whisper to me, and I don’t know how it’s possible but I’ve known your love for so long I think I would surely waste away without it,” he pleads with you, searching glassy eyes for your gaze.

“That’s why you looked the way you did, when we first met, isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Will you let me stay with you?” He asks soon after, desperate for an answer.

“I… your father will look for you, he loves you very dearly,” you say, your fingers trilling soft pressure into his palm.

“Then we’ll run away, join those Persian traders,” he says, smiling wide when you giggle at the idea.

“They aren’t Persian, they just go there to trade,” you say, still laughing as a tear runs down your cheek.

“Is that a yes then?” He asks, holding you closer than before, still searching for any sign of an answer.

“… yes.”

+

The traders welcome you happily, mostly thanks to your previous connections to them - they know you’d never steal or cheat them, and by extension they trust Ahkmen. As grueling as the travel is, the people you meet always spark your interest. More often than not a simple hello turns to a long, drawn-out conversation about birthplaces and life stories, to the point where Ahkmen usually has to drag you away, still smiling to himself the entire time.

Though you kiss him often, and did it far before the prospect of a romantic relationship was ever a thought, you don’t really kiss him until you’re sitting in a desert oasis, far away from the nile that used to comfort him so deeply. You and Ahkmen have the habit of staying up the latest, watching the stars swarm the sky, sometimes shooting across the darkness as your campfire dies out.

“My mother says she makes a wish when she sees a shooting star,” Ahkmen murmurs, not breaking his stare into the endless sky. You hum, nodding distantly as you silently make your own wish.

After a moment, he asks, “what did you wish for?”

“I’m not telling you,” you say, laughing. “That’s bad luck.”

Caught up in the golden swirl of his eyes, you lean in, eyes half lidded as you come close enough to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. When he leans in the rest of the way, he feels the softness of your lips for the first time - endearing and forever his.

I like that, he thinks to himself, melting further into your touch as you move to be closer to him. Your chest against his you trace your fingers down his face, temple to jawline, before cupping his chin and pulling him in deeper. 

Forever his.

+

End Notes: hope y’all enjoyed Ahk’s trip to Ye Olde Mental Hospital. I gave it an AU ending because it was the only way to make everyone happy and I’m tired of the sadness. We all deserve love.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Lullaby

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- Things are looking grim ahead , please don’t kill me.) (Chapter Summary- Y/n’s wedding day arrives, and contrary to popular belief, its not really every girl’s dream)

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Warnings- Angst, like, lots of it.

Chapter 16

6 Weeks Later A calming breath, slow blinking and a palm pressed firmly to the center of her chest. It was usually enough to ground her when she needed it, but that morning, it wasn’t nearly enough. The hand that wasn’t firmly at her chest clutched a fistful of her silk robe, scrunching the smooth material between her fingers, hoping that all the anxious energy would travel from her fingers to the garment.

Y/n had always dreamed of her wedding as a child. When they were kids, she and Jillian would take turns throwing each other pretend weddings; Y/n had been married to her family’s dog well over a dozen times. And as she’d grown into a teenager, Y/n had fantasized about what it would be like when the day actually came; how old would she be? Would she be head over heels for him? Would he be everything she dreamed of or a pleasant surprise? Though, she never thought that it wouldn’t be her choice, that she wouldn’t really love the man at the top of the altar and have someone else on her mind while she got ready to say ‘I do’. 

But there she was, locked in the bathroom of her old bedroom, near having a panic attack. Tears weren’t falling, but her breaths were heavier than usual and her stomach churned ominously. Y/n wanted to run away, disappear, anything really. “Honey?” It was Catherine, knocking on the bathroom door, sounding worried as ever, “Everything okay?”

It took a minute, Y/n knew that if she spoke immediately, she’d give herself away, though, maybe she’d done that when she hastily ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, right as they’d brought the garment bag with her dress in it. “Yeah,” she eventually managed, sliding to the ground, barely hitting the marble floor with a soft thud.

Everything before that had been somewhat easy to fake; the engagement party, going around for fittings and preparations, and even the rehearsal dinner. But the actual act of getting into the dress, and then taking the limo down to Vibiana? Y/n wasn’t sure if she could do it. This was a wedding, a legal commitment, something she’d be stuck in, for probably the rest of her life. 

“I don’t want to rush you,” Catherine probed gently, “But we’re running late already, the guys are going to be leaving for the ceremony in a bit-”

“Sweetie, you’re mom’s being a bitch, and she really wants to get this shit show on the road,” that was Tracy, who’d flown in like the rest of her girlfriends to be a part of the bridal party, “Maybe if I get you some whisk-”

“Trace!” Jillian snapped, scolding her, “Aunt Heather will kill us if we get her drunk and-”

“Will both of you just shut up?” Amanda hissed, proceeding to direct her attention to Y/n, who still sat, huddled on the bathroom floor, “Y/n/n, I know this probably isn’t what you wanted, and I wish, we all wish,” she corrected, “That this was different for you, but its not, and locking yourself in a bathroom isn’t gonna change that. Now, you can get outta there, and stand up to your mom and stop this before it gets worse. Or you can come out and go through with it. But you can not stay in there.”

Standing abruptly, Y/n cleared her cheeks of any fallen moisture, then pulled the door open with renewed, though frustrated vigor, “You think I haven’t tried that?” Y/n didn’t know where the swell of anger came from, but suddenly, it was there and she couldn’t contain it, “I have tried breaking the rules, standing to them, fighting for what I want, and this is what I’ve gotten. So I’m sorry if I’d rather stay in there than get stuck in a loveless marriage.”

Everyone stared at her and Amanda sighed heavily, “Babe,” her voice broke, half from being startled by Y/n’s outburst and the other for seeing her friend distressed, “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Deep red lips quivered as she nodded, the anger disappearing as quickly as it surged up, replaced by her recently usual despair, “I know,” she admitted tearily, grabbing Amanda in a hug, which everyone else inevitably joined, “I just….”

“We know,” Jillian assured. They stayed like that for a while, holding Y/n in the center of a swirling ball of sisterly affection, but as long as all good things come to an end, so did their prolonged group hug, “So what are you gonna do?”

Y/n mulled on it for a minute, knowing that there was only one answer to the question; running away would get her family’s name dragged in a scandal, and possibly Keanu’s too, and putting her foot down and not marrying Daniel might just get her disowned. Everything had repercussions and the last thing she wanted for everyone else’s image to go up in flames with hers. This was bigger than her, it always was. “What I have to do,” she’d put up a good fight at the beginning, but every other solution would just make things worse; Y/n was their only child, she had responsibilities and they were her parents, “I’m gonna marry him.”

An uncomfortable silence clung to the room and it felt like everyone was trying to accept the faith with her, sharing in the heaviness of the burden. Though, while Y/n appreciated the solidarity, it wouldn’t help her, so, straightening her back, she looked towards the very large garment bag laid on the bed, next to several white boxes held closed with silk ribbons, all containing additions for the dress. “That’s it?” She pointed a manicured nail towards the clutter, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Jillian sighed, joining Catherine as she went over to pick up the bag and bring it over “Ready to put it on?”

Slowly, and reluctantly, Y/n nodded, “As I’ll ever be.” Those were the last words exchanged among the group, and not too long after, the zipper of the bag was being pulled down, revealing a gorgeous white, satin and tulle, ballgown wedding dress. The sweetheart neckline gracefully led to off the shoulder sleeves while hours upon hours worth of hand-sewn, delicate, pale gold details with pearls and rhinestones only added to the gown’s obvious beauty and finally, the train stretched for at least four feet, more intricate embellishments beautifully leading to the hem. 

Getting into it alone was a task; the gown was heavy and even between the five of them, it was hard to sort the top from the bottom when they pooled it on the floor so Y/n could step in through the open top. The daunting task was eventually overcome though, and eventually, Catherine and Jillian were helping Y/n pull it up over her delicate, white bridal lingerie while Tracy and Amanda worked on getting out the veil at the jeweled hair piece meant to hold it in place.  

“Have you gained weight?” Jillian queried absently as she did up the back of Y/n’s dress.

“What?” She scoffed, incredulously and obviously offended. When she’d tried the dress on a few weeks ago, at the final fitting, it had been fine. Then again, so much had happened since that day, and everything had been so much of a blur that Y/n hadn’t even been paying attention to her weight, she’d really just unconsciously assumed it was going to stay the same. “I don’t know,” she shrugged, trying to look back and meet Jillian’s puzzled gaze, “Maybe?”

“I...uh,” Jillian stuttered, now aided by Catherine in fixing the corset inspired back-work, “Okay,” she declared, “My bad, I think I might have laced it up too tight before.”

Exhaling audibly, Y/n nodded slowly, relieved; the last thing she wanted was to have to explain to her mother that the custom made, designer wedding gown that they’d put on rushed demand couldn’t fit because she’d unknowingly gained a couple pounds. Knowing Heather, she'd probably think that Y/n was intentionally sabotaging the day anyway. 

Immediately after that was over, Y/n was whisked to her vanity, sitting patiently as Tracy and Amanda added the finishing touches to her hair so they could perfectly place the veil. Through the mirror, Y/n spectated as Tracy lowered a rose gold and diamond floral tiara to her hair. She’d read somewhere that it was usually the bride’s mother that did that; adding the decor to the bride’s hair. But Y/n hadn’t even seen her mother since the rehearsal the night before, and even then, she’d been too busy barking orders at the wait staff or on her phone, making sure everything was in order at the venue. In fact, throughout the entire ordeal, Y/n hadn’t even gotten a single strand of motherly advice from Heather, and it went without saying that she wasn’t planning on coming to help Y/n get ready. 

A huge part of Y/n wished that Heather was different, that she was the kind of mother that she could go to about anything, who’d give her advice and wouldn’t force her to marry someone just to block a relationship with someone Y/n loved. Y/n loved her mother, she did, but, then more than ever, she wished she was someone else, someone who cared. But Heather was who she was, and Y/n had to pay the price.

“And in other news; heiress Y/n Warren is carded to marry Daniel Wang; the son of business magnate; Li Jian Wang and former model; Alice Wang. The ceremony is due to start within the next hour at Vibiana in-” Keanu turned the television off, tossing the remote to the coffee table before heading towards the kitchen, nearly empty coffee cup in hand. As he set the mug down in the sink, Keanu gripped the lip of the counter, casting his head down, letting himself wallow in the feeling of loss. He’d seen Y/n just the night before, but she hadn’t been herself; even after getting engaged to Daniel, she’d still managed to enjoy their stolen moments together, but that night she’d been in a sour mood and had snapped at him twice, cried once and had eventually apologized, blaming her behavior on a headache. Keanu didn’t take any of it to heart though, knowing that try as he might, he couldn’t begin to understand what she was going though, and the least he could do was be there for her, be her sweet escape.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting too though; the only woman he had thought of getting serious with for the first time in a while was getting married, and it wasn’t to him. With a huff, Keanu pushed away from the sink; knowing that wallowing wouldn’t get him very far, he decided to go have a shower and then get ready for a ride. He wouldn’t call his friends for that one, not in the mood for  company, instead, Keanu would just go out on his own, hoping the rush of wind in his face and the open road would help him clear his head and shake off the despair. 

He was nearing the staircase, just about to start getting ready when Linda, his housekeeper, caught him, “Mr. Reeves?” He hummed absently in response, shifting his gaze to her. Linda was an older woman and she’d worked for him since he’d bought his house nearly fifteen years ago. By then, she’d become more than just the woman who cleaned up after him, putting up with his occasional bouts of sloppiness without protest, she had become a friend, someone who’s opinion he trusted. “Amanda,” his assistant, “Dropped this off, she said it came late yesterday.” In her outstretched hand, she held a little parcel, and upon reliving her of it, Keanu found that it wasn’t particularly heavy either. 

“What is…..” impatient, Keanu tore the tape off the top, ripping the brown box open and shifting around the bubble wrap hastily, his face falling when he finally dug out a little jewelry box, “Oh,” he shook his head.

Worried, Linda mirrored his frown, strands of dull blonde hair falling out of her loose bun as she tilted her head, regarding him thoughtfully “Is everything okay?” When Keanu didn’t respond, simply standing there, with his head down cast and his thumb ghosting the foreign, gold-threaded inscription on the top of the little grey box, she swallowed thickly, “It’s for her isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he choked out, eyes stinging once again and emotion thickening his words. He’d ordered the necklace after they’d returned from New York, when Y/n wasn’t engaged and when they were blissfully unaware of the turmoil that lay in wait. She’d loved it so much, and Keanu had desperately wanted to see her get that excited over something, and show that he remembered, even if they'd both been drunk out of their better senses when they first saw it. But surely, he couldn't do that now, she was getting married within the hour, "I'll have to get rid of it later," he mused, more to himself.

"You're just going to throw it away?" Linda scoffed, folding her arms across her apron clad chest, "You need to give it to her."

Keanu chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head, "Give it to her?" Moistening his lips, Keanu brushed the thought off, "Yeah, I'll just go to the wedding, give to her and send her down the aisle with a kiss. I don't even have an invitation."

"You're Keanu Reeves and you need an invitation?" Linda rolled her clear blue eyes, shaking her head, "Are you really willing to let your last chance just pass you by like this? You need to go down there and give it your best," sighing heavily, she went on a bit firmer, "I've been with you for fifteen years, I've you bring women here and I've seen them walk out of here like it didn't even matter, but I've never seen you care for one the way you care for Y/n. You make each other happy, you love each other. So, you need to get down there and speak your piece, it'll do you both some good. Or at the very least, you'll get closure."

Keanu pondered on Linda's advice for a moment, eventually nodding slowly, "Yeah," he sighed, defeated, "Thanks Linda," gently hitting the railing with his fist, Keanu started the journey up the stairs.

Upon reaching his bedroom, Keanu dumped the box on his made sheets, pulling his t-shirt over his head about to get into the shower. That was, until he decided to flop onto the bed, feeling around until he found the jewelry box again, opening it to stare at the byzantine pendant. Even with Linda’s advice, Keanu didn’t have any intention of going to Y/n’s wedding. What was the use anyway? Going down there would only hurt them both and Keanu didn’t think he could stand the pain or even see it reflected her eyes. She’d already spent too much tears on him. 

For what felt like hours, Keanu laid there, the box eventually falling to his chest as he succumbed to a fretful midday nap, soft snores adding to the sound of his even breathing and dreams of Y/n running rampant. In his dreams she was his, there wasn’t heartbreak or fights, no one stood in their way. They could just be, together, happy and in love. But at some point, even the dreams turned troubling, starting to mirror their reality, tempestuous and painful to bear. She was leaving, yelling about how he didn’t fight for her, how she was being taken away and he hadn’t even helped. In his dream turned nightmare, Keanu tried to say something, anything that would soothe her sobs, but nothing would come, his lips were sealed shut.  

When Keanu awoke with a startle, his eyes instantly went wide and he could help the guilt that rose up in his being. It was getting dark out, but there was still time, he had to do something. 

The party was in full swing. People were dancing, others were chatting and almost everyone was drinking. Daniel had momentarily left her side to go involve himself in the antics of his cousin's children; dancing and playing games with them. Y/n hadn't interacted much since the reception began, though she didn't think anyone noticed. The glass of champagne in her had was probably her fifth for the evening, but she had only just started to feel the slightest tingle, the makings of emotional numbness.

For a while more, she sat at the head table, in her designated chair, which was meant to look like a small throne, with gold painted carvings and floral decorations about it, sinking deeper and deeper into her thoughts. The ceremony hadn't been as bad as she'd imagined it, her father had given her away, they’d read their rehearsed, somewhat impersonal vows with soft violin music as their background and when she and Daniel had kiss after they'd first been pronounced man and wife, their guests had clapped haughtily. All in all, it was a beautiful affair, Y/n's only despondence laid with who she'd had to share it with.

Daniel wasn't Keanu.

Taking a long drag from her flute of bubbly, Y/n jumped when her mother touched her shoulder, her cold grip growing firmer when she leaned near Y/n's ear, "Did you tell him to come here?" A harsh urgency hung heavy in her tone. She and Heather had barely spoken all day and Y/n found it almost laughable that the first full sentence she said to her would be about something she had no clue on.

"What?" Y/n scrunched her nose, annoyed, "Who are you talking about?"

"Him," Heather pointed accusingly to the farthest corner of the large ballroom. Y/n couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed him before, but there Keanu stood, reclused from the rest of their guests, dark strands falling over his face, hands in the pockets of his black slacks and staring right her, looking smolderingly handsome and attractively broody, “Did you ask him to come here?” Heather was insistent, even if she’d probably already made up her mind on the matter.

“You think I’d ask him to come here so you’d have something else to bitch about?” Y/n sneered, she was at her limit with her mother’s demands and insults and the only thing keeping her from screaming that the entire day was a sham was the fear of embarrassment and ultimately being kicked to the curb by her dad.  

“Do not take that tone with me,” her mother warned, the little vein on her forehead standing out, a clear sign that she was already at her rope’s end, “You need to deal with this, now.”

For a minute, Y/n stared at her mother defiantly, partly wondering how they could even be related. She wanted to yell at her, throw a fit, something. Y/n’s jaw clenched as the urge intensified, but that wasn’t a fight she would win, she’d never win. Without another word, she stood, the chair scraping loudly on the marble floor, gathering heaps of her dress in her fists before stomping out of the nearest exit. Y/n bypassed Keanu, hoping he’d get the message and follow her. He did, staying a few paces behind until they’d broken out onto a balcony several feet away from the party, hopefully safe from prying eyes and intrusive disturbances.

“What are you doing here?” Y/n spun just as Keanu shut the glass door behind himself.

Absently, he shook his head, drinking her in, thinking of how gorgeous she looked it white, how much it hurt knowing that it wasn’t for him. He looked so lost and pained, his striking features pain stricken and his eyes red. Y/n looked like that before they made her up that morning and just like that, her anger was melting, he was already as hurt as she was, Y/n couldn’t stand to make it worse. “I…..” Keanu’s breath caught breath caught in his throat, and deciding that he probably wouldn’t get anything else out, he reached for the inner breast pocket of his sport coat, eventually producing a little box, “I got you something,” he choked out.

“No,” Y/n walked backwards into the brass railing, “You shouldn’t have done that, Ke, you shouldn’t even be here…...this….I….” She was supposed to be ending things, not encouraging them.

“Please,” he pleaded, taking a couple steps forward but still leaving a little space between them. Keanu knew that he should say more, but he couldn’t find the words, “I just need to give this one last shot.”

“You can’t,” hot tears prickled at Y/n’s eyes, threatening to fall as she put her foot down. She couldn’t let him finish, if he said what he wanted to, Y/n knew that she’d be gone, that she’d want nothing more that to give up her life to be a part of his. But she couldn’t just do that, it was wrong, at least, that was what she’d been taught, “It’s over Keanu, we’re over.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged.

Shaking her head, Y/n hastily swiped at her eyes, “It’s the truth. I’m sorry, but you need to go,” the words felt like battery acid on her tongue and would poison her memories forever, “We can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep doing this,” the running around, hiding, everything else. It was too complicated, they’d get into too much trouble. “I need to get back, and you need to leave,” already she was trying to walk off.

“Just kiss me one last time,” Keanu pleaded, grabbing her forearm, just below the sleeve of her dress, draped over Y/n’s delicate shoulder. His hold was a little firmer than he’d planned, but it was all in a show of his desperation. He didn’t want her to go, if she left, it’d be over, and Keanu didn’t want it to be over. Maybe it was too late, maybe he’d change her mind.

Y/n licked her lips, tears clouding her vision and her lips quivering ever so slightly. It would only hurt more to let him go if she did it, but Y/n didn’t think it would be right to end the past few months so abruptly. So, instead of denying him, Y/n let Keanu draw her in, submitting without hesitation when Keanu secured his strong arms around her waist. The warmth, the security, everything down to the physical feeling and his smell; she’d miss it all. Her heart raced in a way that was absent the very first time they’d shared affections and Keanu’s nerves were starting to get the better of him, his hands shaking and his knees weak.

This was it, their last kiss.

“I love you,” he breathed, gravitating towards Y/n the way snow fell to the earth, so slow that neither of them was sure it was happening. In turn, Y/n tilted her head, allowing him access, her lips awaiting his.

Her slow blinks were in an effort to stop tears that came nonetheless and her pain weighed the words down when Y/n finally returned them, “I love you too. I’ll always love you,” she had to be sure that Keanu knew, there couldn’t be even a shadow of doubt in the phrase, for it would ache her soul if they’d gone on with any indecision. 

“I know,” he assured, and before either of them knew it, Keanu’s lips were brushing hers, like the slightest breeze on water, rousing reaction but still barely there. The moment felt fragile and singular and Y/n could feel everything; the chilly evening air on her mostly bare arms, the dewiness of nightfall but above all, Keanu’s heartbeat, beating in time with hers, reminding them both that those moments spent on the balcony belonged not none other but the two of them. 

Again, he brushed his lips with hers and really, their endearment only deepened when one of Y/n’s hands rose to tangle in his dark locks, silky strands laced with lithe fingers while the fingertips of her other hand steadied his jaw. Keanu’s grip firmed up, a silent plea for their kiss to be prolonged. Their tongues tangled, dancing around each other and their salty tears mixed. It was everything packed into one gesture, love, loss and a pain that would last a lifetime. Two bleeding hearts intertwined, souls connecting and beginning to not be broken apart. 

How could it be over, when forever together wouldn’t be long enough?

“Please,” he whimpered pitifully when they broke. Keanu could have sworn that he felt his heart break when Y/n eventually untangled from his hold. 

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her thumb ghosting the apple of his cheek, the warmth of her touch lingering even as Y/n moved her hands. The ache was excruciating and Y/n knew that the minute she said it, she’d never be the same; the heartbreak was one she’d carry to her grave and the look on Keanu’s face was branded to her mind as a punishment for the consequence for things that were out of her control. “Goodbye,” she managed, scuttling back towards the hallway, hoping to seek refuge in some empty room or the other.

“Goodbye Y/n,” Keanu breathed, though, he knew she was gone and hadn’t heard it. Scrubbing one hand over his face, Keanu moved to lean on the guardrail, letting the emotion take him, sobbing softer than Y/n had been.  He hadn’t realized it before, but he was still holding onto the box. The urge to throw it, or just open in and destroy the necklace tried to consume him, but he simply couldn’t. Instead, he’d keep it, as a reminder of the woman he loved, the pain they’d caused each other.

He’d keep it as a memory of the woman that was gone, forever, the one he’d hold onto for the rest of his life. 

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @a-really-bi-girl​  @baphometwolf666 @sdaff2   @green-forest-dreams @weird-civilian @magnificentclodpiebanana 

[imagine-what-would-happen]

Since the Beginning (Ben Solo Fan Fiction Part 3)

Here ya go guys! Enjoy and don’t forget to let me know if you want to be tagged in future instalments!

Words: 2.4k+

Warning: A bit sad/ morbid, talks about falling/ jumping off a cliff.

Tags: @bensoloslover​

Link to Part 2

Link to Part 4

Link to Masterlist

Ben had probably never slept this much in his life. Between homeschooling, training in combat, training to become a Jedi, late nights up with Y/N, and then doing absolutely everything for the dark side... he was lucky to get a few hours of rest every other day; he would never admit it, but he was starting to break fairly quickly. He wasn’t keeping track of days properly, nor plans. As the light fighters brought Ben to the awaiting ship he tried desperately to keep his eyes on his best friend, his heavy heavy eyes. A blink seemed harmless, so he did it. Then another. Soon he would blink and they would already be aboard the ship ready for lift-off, everyone strapped in safely. Another blink and he caught Y/N looking at him, he couldn’t make out her facial expression. One more blink and he saw her laughing and talking with everyone. It was only a pure second of a moment but he could see the happiness in her eyes, the feeling of belonging she had among them. It made his heart sink. He had only ever felt that way with her, he thought it had been the same for her. He finally let his eyes remain closed, enveloped in the darkness that was inevitable for him.

In the darkness, Ben saw remnants of light passing by his closed eyelids. Swaying back and forth, at first it was peaceful, right until it wasn’t. Trying to press his eyes closed even harder only gave him a headache. Reluctantly he slowly started blinking awake, light piercing his dark eyes. He could see the source of the overbearing light source, a tear in the roof of his tent. Tent. They weren’t on the ship anymore. Ben carefully pushed himself up, wincing with every uncomfortable breath he took. He could feel the air pushing through the ripped part of the tent and shivered, shivering made the wound feel worse. It was only then he realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Although being in a fairly good physique, he hated people seeing him shirtless, it meant that they saw him bare, saw him for who he was. There was nothing more to hide behind. He wouldn’t have it.

Gently he slid off the makeshift bed, holding his bandaged abdomen he began shuffling around the area, searching for his sweater, or anything at all to cover him. It's not like he was even in a room by himself, it was a tent, barely anything to separate him from the ruckus the resistance fighters were making outside. Odd, he stopped in his tracks. It sounded as if they were celebrating, although it seemed to only be morning, early afternoon at best. He shook it off, he would deal with them later. As he kept shuffling around and finding nothing but supplies he became aggravated. Dropping useless materials to the ground impatiently. Those idiots out there probably stole his shirt as some dumb childish prank. He walked over to the entrance to the tent to go give them a piece of his mind until he was met face to face with Y/N who was holding his sweater as she entered his tent.

“H-hi...” She said softly, a lingering smile on her bright face, it was beautiful, all of her was deeply beautiful to him.

“Hello,” Ben replied, and without thinking, taking his sweater out of her hands. “Should I ask what you were doing with this?” he questioned as he pulled it over his head, his arms sliding through the sleeves. Did she have a hand in the supposed prank or did she retrieve it back from them? He had made his way back a few steps from her. He wasn’t sure what to think yet... he still needed space from her. The person before him, although familiar in a way, was a stranger in a million other ways.

The smile faded rather quickly from her lips, “Ben I was getting it sewn up for you, that is unless you want your abs on display for everyone here? Show them how the dark side does it?” She smirked, crossing her arms. He could tell she felt satisfied with herself being able to hold this light vs dark situation over him. Would she call him a traitor? He felt so uncertain of himself around her.

Ben watched her from across the tent, the light source flickering around the mostly covered space, it would have been distracting if it was anyone else in front of him. “Get over it.” He sighed, “Or don’t, either way I’m leaving.” He put his hands on his hips, suddenly realizing he didn’t have his lightsaber. “Damn it” he muttered, feeling frantic all over again, beginning the search through the tent once more.

“Ben, you’re not gonna get your weapon back, at least not any time soon. And you’re not leaving.” She followed him around the tent, trying to push herself in front of him to get his attention. “Leia told me that they took apart your ship. You sure wouldn’t be allowed to take one of ours back to your Superlamacy” She tried to laugh but could tell that he was not amused.

He turned his attention to her. “Leia. How about we start with that? Or how bout we start with this?” He reached for her lightsaber, dangling at her waist, not realizing how close it was connected to her belt, he ended up pulling Y/N’s body onto his. For a moment he was going to be embarrassed but he could not get over her newly unveiled life... how close she truly was all this time.

“Ben.” She whispered in a pleading voice. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but don’t leave.” She searched his dark eyes, pressing her hand onto his chest.

He let go of her, turning around and running his hands through his hair, tugging just slightly. “I can’t just abandon the First Order!” He stated matter of factly but it came out harsher than he meant it.

There was silence. “Oh but you can abandon your family.” There was a sigh.

Ben didn’t know what to say, he looked at the ground, pulling at the back of his neck. Where was she all this time...? Had she been imprisoned for a full year? He doubted it, with how important she seemed to everyone, it had probably happened fairly recently. That only meant that she knew what was happening in their connection and decided to not contact him anymore, not even try to reach out through other means to him. She could really just end their relatio- friendship... just like that.

“Y/N, they haven’t been my family for a long time. But you’ve always been, even after all this time.” He whispered. “I need you to understand”, he paused, it was quiet, turning around he saw was alone in the tent. Force or not, at least her disappearing act hadn’t changed after everything that had happened.

It had been several hours until Ben decided to unveil himself from the ripped tent, the celebrations were still going and no one paid any mind to him. They had realized that they didn’t win the war, right? Although, he couldn’t quite blame them. He was sure that if he had been around Y/N for as long as them, he probably would have had the same reaction to her return. He had known her since they were children, but they didn’t have enough meetings that were long enough, they didn’t know anything about one another. Well, he guessed he just didn’t know anything about her in the end.

She knew he was Ben Solo and yet, she never said anything, never treated him any differently. He couldn’t tell if he was hurt or ecstatic at the fact. He didn’t want to be treated differently, but if she knew, and didn’t care who he was... It could have saved him a lot of worried nights and panic attacks whenever someone would near say his last name while he was seeing her through the Force. He would near tackle people to shut them up, it was difficult making up excuses for both Y/N and the person being tackled but he didn’t care. As long as his secret was kept. As long as nothing changed between them. But everything had changed... everything.

He saw all the people. They were drinking, feasting, dancing, all talking to one another, they were one big family, it seemed impossible with how many there were of them but it was if they all knew one another their entire lives. War truly did bring people together, in some strange way. Ben took a deep breath. It felt too much for him. He wasn’t sure if he was just overwhelmed by all the idiots, or just jealous that he never had this; he never had the chance to get this, any of it, the love and happiness, the cheers and laughter. It felt as though the position he was born into, the lineage he carried within his veins, it stripped him of all his rights to happiness.

Slowly, after trying and failing to make his way through the bubbling crowd of people to find a spacecraft, he made his way into the woods. He stumbled, trying to grab onto each tree trunk, taking deep breaths, memories flashed past his mind. All those days alone at home, all the times he was excluded in his Jedi lessons because everyone knew who his grandfather was or thought that their master was favouring him. Every intoxicating moment with Y/N, just to have it slip through his fingers and stab him in the back. The one true thing in his life was just a lie, another thing he couldn’t have. Pressing his back into the tree trunk he slid down until he hit the dirt, his fingers pressing deep into it, needing to grab onto something. Seeing a small boulder across from him he 

began levitating it using the only thing he could control anymore, the Force.

He saw its deformities, the dents, the sharped edges, the dirt and bacteria surrounding it. Although, he pondered, was it really deformed? Could someone pick up a single boulder or rock and say this is it, this is the perfect boulder that all others must be like. He figured not, obviously, stupidly... but then, why did he feel that he had that same weight upon his shoulders? Trying to hold up several tons of boulders with nothing but the flesh that he is... He would never be enough to hold up the responsibilities and consequences of his lineage, just as the boulder would not be enough, not be enough to anyone. It would be paid no mind. Just like him.

He sent the boulder flying, picking himself up, he heard a crash and walked away without a flinch. He was going back to the only place anyone held regard for him. He was going home.

The son of Organa and Solo walked along the edge of the cliff, he thrived when under pressure. Focusing one foot in front of the other one at a time, he heard the waves crashing below, the air flying its way upward to him, he breathed it all in. He would in fact miss this. He missed being on planets... When he would become Supreme Leader, he would make their base on a beautiful planet, enough being worried about being blown up and sucked into the vacuum of space constantly. If he was going to take over absolutely everything, he would do it in style.

Taking one last look at the setting light over the horizon, Ben thought over his options or lack thereof. He had to leave, there was nothing else he could do here as if anyone wanted him here. But... leaving Y/N, maybe never seeing her again. He was reluctant to follow through with the thought. She had gotten caught once, what if the next time she wasn’t taken prisoner, what if... what if he took her as his prisoner?

A sly smile formed around the young Solo’s lips. He was not going to lose anymore, he would take what he wanted. He would make her happy, he would make her see that she would be safer with him. Just as he was about to step away from the cliff he sighed heavily, stopping before he made any tracks, he knew he was blindsiding himself. He knew before he ever met her in person that she loved the thrill of danger, she was happiest here. She was happy even when he wasn’t in her life. He groaned sitting down on the edge, letting his legs dangle over. He wished to fall.

He didn’t want to fall to die, but just to release all power over everything. Let gravity take over as it pulled him to its core or as close to it as it could. Let the airflow through his clothes, past his dark locks, breathing in the cold air to fill his lungs as deeply as possible. Letting his stomach feel as if it were rising through him as he fell. He adored the feeling of falling.

There were a few favourable memories he had with his father, but the few that he did have were spectacular. He amused over the one time he was brought aboard the Falcon, his father did tight twists and turns past several asteroids. Ben was initially hiding behind his father’s piloting chair, gripping the leather, but soon realized his father was perfectly in control of every moment. As soon as he knew he was safe he let himself get pulled around the ship as the turns and bumps came, laughter erupting from him so loudly and much that his stomach began to hurt but he couldn’t care for the life of him.

Ben found a lingering smile on his lips. Could he really leave again? As much as he felt out of place here... what if he could become one with these people? Finally, make a name for himself properly. He was beyond confused as to what to do. As the dark settled and the familiar stars above began to glimmer in their posthumous way he decided he would make the final call in the morning. Laying back on his elbows, he looked on in wonder, trying to figure out if he knew any of these constellations. He had always wanted to do this with Y/N... their time together was never long enough for it to happen. He never had enough time for anything, for once, he was going to relish in these quiet moments of darkness.