#he just lost the ability to will himself away in a cloud of sand

[moderndaypandora]

Hob is going to come home one day two months into Dream's retirement (and seven weeks into their marriage) and Dream's going to be full Victorian maiden on the chaise lounge, arm covering his eyes.

Hob, who is not a fool: Want to talk about it, or want to be consumed by the agonies for a little while longer while I prepare dinner? You got groceries, right?

Dream: [horrible groaning dirge of assent]

Hob: I'm starting to get a little concerned, dearest

Dream: I went out to. Obtain groceries. And the woman at the till said 'enjoy your food'.

Hob: And you said?
 Dream: "My thanks. you as well."

Hob: My poor love. Have a kiss to ease the sting.

Dream: [accepting the forehead kiss as his due] I can't go back to that grocery store in this lifetime.

Hob: Understandable.

Dream: Can we fake our deaths tomorrow?

Hob: Give me two weeks to wrap everything up, then we can.

Dream: <3

[fandomfluffandfuck]

*giggling, kicking my feet, twirling my hair* You're back to requests‼️‼️ anything evanstan 🥺 I feel like it's been so long 👉🏻👈🏻 maybe even fluff?

I am!

It's been too long--I'm excited about it, but at the same time, I'm like, oh no, what if I've lost the ability? Let's be real, though, every idea I write ends up running away from me, so I'll be fine 💀💀

Maybe it's the fact that I spent a few hours washing my car after my final exam was done, maybe it's completely unrelated, who's to say, but earlier I was actually thinking about something softer and sweeter with Chris and Sebastian, so here you are!

I don't doubt Sebastian's ability to be a grown man and function for himself at all. However, I do have the sneaking suspicion that his life experience hasn't led to him being a stereotypical "handyman" with tasks around the house. Having moved around quite a bit and now living in NYC, he doesn't strike me as someone who would just pull out the tools and fix that leak in the faucet or kill a few hours on a Sunday sanding down and repainting his kitchen cabinets. It's completely possible that his Mom or his step-father taught him how to do those things, but even so, Sebastian doesn't strike me as the type of person who would enjoy those tasks.

However, you know who does strike me as that kind of person?

Chris.

All the way, absolutely, Chris gives off those casual repair, handyman, DIY vibes.

The first time Sebastian agrees to spend a few interrupted months with Chris in his house up in Boston, it's in the leaning months, spring to summer. The weather is warming, nature shaking off the frost and unfurling new soft, green leaves, gently budding into new beginnings. New York City is always changing and always exciting. Boston, the few glimpses he's had of it--which haven't been much - just a few long weekends that were mostly consumed by Chris, too busy to pay too much attention, alone and taking advantage of it, wrapped around each other--is much slower. Boston has more stillness, especially Chris' corner of the city. Sebastian understands why Chris couldn't leave--even if he himself needs times of rushing traffic and restless feet and always-illuminated neon, he gets it.

Contrary to all that stillness and peace, Sebastian is finding that the air between spring and summer is electric. Filled with change and anticipation. And Chris is, as well, moving and vibrating, ready to embrace the sunshine and humid, breathy wind.

In the hustle, Sebastian finds that the more time extends, the longer he's been at home with Chris, the more they can spend time apart. In regular routine, the first few days, they're attached at the hip and mostly, confessionally, naked. But, once they have their appetites wetted--not satisfied, never satisfied--and their bodies know the other isn't going to disappear back into the cloud of new work and new sets and new scripts and ever changing timezones apart... they can unfuze. A little bit.

Chris will read while Sebastian will scroll on his phone; Chris will scroll while Seb catches up on that TV show he's been meaning to start; Sebastian will figure out what they're going to eat tonight, consulting Dodger, who, of course, cannot talk back, while Chris hops in the shower real quick; Chris will stay up an extra hour to answer that email that's been gnawing at his brain all day aa Sebastian retires to bed. It's so good to be around each other for so long that they can relax.

Somewhere in the relaxation, not needing to be constantly in each other's presence, Chris starts leaving Sebastian to his own devices in the house while he goes outside. And here, here is where Sebastian discovers what a moving, exciting, living, breathing handyman Chris is. His own city. Bustling and busy, welcoming summer in, ushering spring [politely] out. Good manners for a good Boston boy. He knows what to expect. He's been here his whole life, and his heart beats in time with the rhythm of this sliver of the world.

He works around the house, making sure the sprinklers are good to go into the drier part of the season, coming inside for a kiss on the sun-warmed cheek, grass stains on his dirty jeans. He does a brief check over the pool and all the systems that go with it, more pipes and filters and everything. Sebastian rides shotgun because he has nothing better to do anyway, when Chris realizes he needs to go into town to get a few more bottles of algae clarifying chemicals to dump in the water before it's good to swim. From his place in the passenger seat, Sebastian keeps a hand on Chris' thigh, focusing on the way he feels under his palm. His blue jeans are thick, not torn, but soft from so much wear and work. Beneath the denim, Chris' muscles are ever-present, strong and thick, too, just like the clothes he slid into this morning, but it's especially prominent in Sebastian's mind now. That strength. Built for looks on the silver screen initially, gym-honed, but all the better for everyday, relaxed, domestic life. Chris doesn't bat an eye before throwing himself into labor. Muscles bulge and work and support him--he looks good no matter what he's doing. Digging through dirt, fucking with the sprinklers, hefting up bottles of cleaner, twisting off screws, and scrubbing down his car when they get back from the store. His forearms and biceps flex effortlessly as he articulates the sudsy sponge squeezed between his thick fingers--it looks strikingly small in his big, squared hands.

Chris washes his car with Dodger trailing him, right at his heel as if herding him. Later, Dodger spooks hilariously when the hose moves on its own--a snake!--Chris around the corner, tugging it to reach the back of his ride. Then, barking accusatorily yet wagging his fanned, fluffy tail, ready to play, when Chris sprays him with a jet of water. He growls in good fun when Chris stops, deciding that the only way to get his attention back is to try and bite and eat the stream of water coming from the hose, jumping in front of it while Chris belly-laughs, accusing him of being a goof.

Later, Chris finds a window screen with a rip in it, some stray cat--curious raccoon, or unfortunately placed tree branch in a windstorm--so he takes it out and replaces it with a new one.

Meanwhile, Sebastian shamelessly watches him work as he replaces that screen and all the other work he's done as the seasons change through the large, picture windows.

Embarrassingly enough, Sebastian actually ends up cleaning the inside of Chris' Boston home windows for him, just to make sure he has the best view possible of his boyfriend. No pesky smears to get in the way of the teasing slice of pale, freckled, hairy, and well-toned stomach. His tummy exposed between the band of his work jeans, cinched around his trim waist by that beloved, well-worn red belt, and the bottom hem of some old t-shirt, reaching up. (When he bends down, it's the same story, save for it being the small of his back and those indecent Venus Dimples being exposed to the warm light of day, framing his pretty flexing spine).

Sebastian can't take his eyes off of him.

Somehow, though, peering out at him makes Sebastian feel like a peeping Tom. A peeping Tom in reverse, perhaps? Staring out rather than in? Yet, he doesn't feel guilty enough to stop. Not by a long shot.

So, he is treated to an eyeful daily with how Chris keeps himself busy, compling odds and ends around the house. Not every day. He doesn't leave Sebastian lonely in his home by working outside and taking care of his home everyday, not that Seb could be lonely when he has a spectacular view to occupy him, but he does what he needs to do. It's responsible. It's domestic.

Sebastian hasn't really ever led this life, lounging within a suburban home, comfortable and air conditioned, while a man outside in torn-up, stained work clothes that stick to his sweaty skin takes care of business, keeping everything in tip-top shape, but he's rapidly acclimating to it. It's a bizarre feeling. It's almost laughable. He might laugh, just a little, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, when he's hit with an overwhelming wave of love, oddly, right as he rounds a corner at the front of Chris' house just in time to perfectly catch Chris framed through the window, kneeling in the driveway, adding air to his summer tires.

Sebastian is so in love.

He's in love with Chris when he's anxious and out-of-his-mind with stress in the middle of a press tour for a movie he isn't actually allowed to talk about, he's in love with Chris when he's lazy and pouting about being made to roll out of bed before 10:00 am, and he's in love with Chris when he's pleasantly busy, whistling to himself, his footsteps in and out of the house echoed by Dodg. He's so in love with him all the time. And that doesn't change, not for a moment, when Chris tweaks the wrench too far as he's attempting to remedy that troublesome kitchen sink drip and ends up sending water spraying like a fire hydrant into the ceiling. In fact, the look on his face right after? Sebastian might be more in love. If possible. That boyish, uh-oh, caught red-handed, expression is unfairly endearing. It makes his heart squeeze so tight that his chest starts to ache in a funny way.

God, Sebastian loves all of him.

I hope you enjoyed! Nice job on being the first person to hit me up with a request this year 😘

[tychodorian]

One Pale Reflection: The Coward

I wrote a short story!

In this short story, Mortacai O'Brien, a determined young wizard-in-training, embarks on his final quest to prove his worth and become the revered Mage of Sand Stor Stad. Armed with his magical abilities and an unwavering spirit, Mortacai must navigate treacherous landscapes and face formidable challenges along his journey.

As Mortacai ventures deep into the enchanted forests and treacherous mountains, he encounters terrifying dark forces, solves intricate puzzles, and uncovers long-lost secrets of ancient magic. With each obstacle, Mortacai's resolve strengthens, and his skills as a wizard are put to the ultimate test.

This short story delves into Mortacai's personal journey of growth, resilience, and self-discovery. Will he succeed in his final quest and fulfill his destiny as the Mage of Sand Stor Stad? Dive into this captivating tale and experience the magic and wonder that awaits within the pages.

Here's an excerpt:

When the branch of a tall evergreen finally blocked out the relentless sun with its long, feathery leaves, the sweltering heat of the day relented into a surprisingly sharp chill. A man ran his fingers through his hair, nearly as orange as a nectarine, to wick away desert sweat as he looked back over his shoulder toward home. Home. It was almost home. He had grown up halfway across the country in a place where scorpions stayed away from the insides of your boots and the sun coquettishly hid behind clouds most of the day. Still, this harsh red and brown landscape had become a deep part of himself. That did not change the fact that, since arriving in Sand Stor Stad, he had never dared to go much farther than the city’s edges. To call the desert unforgiving would be a kindness. From where he stood, just beyond the border of the timberland at the base of large mountains that shot up from the earth like the spines along a dragon’s back, he paused. He could still make out the adobe tops of the buildings and thought for a moment about turning back, calling the whole thing off. It wasn’t really worth it anyway, was it?

If you want to read the whole short story, you can do so on Wattpad! I would be absolutely honored if you popped over there to read the whole thing and gave it an upvote.

Here's the link to the short story.

[raewritez]

zuko one-shot

requested?: no

word count: 1.1k

The breeze ruffled your hair, coolness caressing your cheeks as the steady crashing of waves upon the shore rang like music in your ears. The moon high in the heavens, light beaming down and kissing the horizon, silver-lined clouds floating in the midnight sky. You pressed your body against the ground, sand sliding through your fingers and tickling your toes. A soft smile made its way to your face, loving the peacefulness and serenity in the Ember Island twilight.

Zuko watched you from afar, his lips curving with fondness. He had woken up from nightmares, memories of his father plaguing his mind and chasing him from the sanctuary of sleep. He left the house to clear his head, to sulk in solitude in the fallen paradise of his childhood, when he spotted you sitting by the shore. A soft chuckle leaves him, amused but not surprised to see you here in the middle of the night. You loved the ocean, after all. 

His feet carry him towards you, toes slipping through the grains that litter the earth’s surface. He arrived to loom behind you, grinning down at your content expression as you lay sprawled out on the ground.

“Having fun?”

Your eyes shot open abruptly, a short gasp ripping from your throat as you push yourself up. Your eyes shot around frantically before landing on Zuko, a sigh escaping your lips and a smile spreading across your face.

“Hey, Zuko. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he smirked, lowering himself next to you. His arm pressed against yours as he sat, a pleasant shiver making its way up your spine. He spread his legs out in front of him, his feet barely tickled by the incoming waves.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, subtly leaning into each other. Your eyes flickered over to his profile, pale skin glowing under Yue’s beams and onyx hair waving around his face, amber eyes gleaming through the darkness.

“What’re you doing up?” he asked, shifting his gaze to stare at you. He thought you looked very pretty, hair messy from the ocean breeze and starlight reflected against the smoothness of your skin.

You shrugged. “Just couldn’t sleep, I guess. It’s nice out here. What about you?”

He scratched the back of his neck, a grimace making its way to his face. “Oh, um...just couldn’t sleep either.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in concern, sensing there was more to awakening than he let on. You decided not to push it, instead averting your attention to the rolling waves and glistening horizon. A slow smile made its way to your face.

“Wanna go swimming?” 

Zuko turned to you, surprise painting his face. “Swimming?”

You nodded enthusiastically, standing up to shed your robe. “It’ll be fun! Come on, Zuko, please?” 

His breath caught in his throat at your pout, your puppy-dog eyes coercing him to bend to your will. He peered at you with pretend sternness, fighting back his amusement. Only you would ask him to go swimming in the middle of the night.

The longer he stared, the more your hopeful smile eroded his inhibitions and his ability to deny anything you could ever ask of him. He wordlessly stood up, peeling off his burgundy robes and glancing back at you with a grin before bounding off into the awaiting waters.

You laugh, quickly running after him and diving under the waves. You popped up next to him, his unburdened smile mirroring your own. You bobbed next to him, the moonlight beaming against his glistening skin in the most delectable way. You took a moment to gather his content expression; his lips turned upwards and brows lacking their usual furrow. You pushed through the water, gliding past him and into deeper ends until your feet no longer touch the sand.

Zuko pulls up next to you, shaking his head and sending droplets flying towards you. You splash him playfully, ruefully taking note of his ability to still stand, before leaning back and closing your eyes.

You feel the coolness of the waves, the heaviness of your body. Eyes closed, you can still see the brightness of the moon through your eyelids and can feel the silkiness of the breeze.

Zuko stares at you; the freedom and tranquility of your expression bringing lightness to his heart. He feels liberated - the terrors of the night seeming so far away as he basks in your reprieve. Your eyes suddenly fly open, body caving in on itself and sinking below the glassy surface. He laughs, reaching out for you and holding your waist with his palms. You smile gratefully, eyelids drooping once more.

He holds you in his grasp, delicate fingers tracing pointless circles on your hips, warm palms supporting your weight as you sway in the waves. He smiles softly down at you, memorizing every detail of your face. Feeling his gaze, you pry your eyes open to settle them on the firebender.

You move your hand to his arm, lightly skimming them across his skin in a way that makes his breath hitch and stomach fill with butterflies. He studies you, lips parted as you slowly trail your eyes up his body before finding his face, pausing at his lips for just a moment too long.

He notices, flickering his stare to find yours. It happens slowly, thoughtfully. Zuko leans down, sliding one of his hands to cradle your head as you lay still above the waves. He looks to you, a silent question full of yearning in his irises. You get the message, responding by nudging your nose towards his, eyelashes dancing across his skin.

His eyes flutter shut, lips finally pressing against yours and thumb coming up to stroke your cheek. His arm is wrapped securely around your waist, holding you to him. His mouth moves against yours in a flurry of adoration and longing, his repressed emotions and feelings for his friend coming out of him in a warm embrace. You curl your arm around his shoulders, fingers combing through his water-soaked tresses and tenderly caressing the rough skin of his scar.

You pull apart with short gasps, drunk off the taste of one another's lips and closeness. You breathe deeply, thirsting for air as Zuko nuzzles his face closer to yours. His lips are only a whisper, ghosting across your own and pulling away with a beaming smile. You both chuckle, his mouth coming to press against your cheek with a fondness that makes your heart melt. You stroke his cheek lovingly, grinning up at the prince as he brings you closer to the warmth of his body. Starlight cascades over the gleaming ocean surface, illuminating the two teens lost in their paradise and painting the sky with silver whisps, the moon the only witness to the tenderness of the night and softness of the heart.

[kingdomtual]

So, had some thoughts on Jahan’s character...gonna probably keep making these types of theory/thought posts on kingdom’s lore and whatever else comes to mind...bet you thought I couldn’t get more annoying? ;) but I even have a special link to these on my blog now so this is probably gonna keep happening LOL check out my thoughts below if you so choose

So, basically I’ve been thinking about how Jahan has the most characterization prior to his chapter, and I find that super interesting. I don’t know if it’s because his chapter is last so they’re building him up, but I’m super curious!

And that’s not to say that the other kings didn’t have any characterization before their chapter, but I think their chapters usually leave a lot of surprises we don’t know about them. (I’m sure Jahan’s chapter will have surprises for us, too)

Like, most notably, Ivan’s chapter was wild to me. We got to see a lot of ‘Fate’ Ivan prior to his chapter, but then we were introduced to Chaos Ivan, and then chaos Ivan killed the Ivan that we had known LOL and for Dann, we’ve seen his tough guy side a lot and his helpful leader side, but we didn’t really get to see that sorrowful side that we see in Ascension. I could go on and on.

But for Jahan, prior to his own chapter, there are sooooo many interesting character beats about him. I think they’re most notable in Excalibur and Karma, but we see it again in Ascension, too.

So let’s dive in, starting with Excalibur.

Obviously in Excalibur we get to see a bit about all of them. Mostly pertaining to their fighting skills and whatnot, they’re usually surrounded, but there are some unique points for a lot of the characters, like Ivan and Louis have some sort of magic, Dann seeming to know more than he’s letting on by showing Arthur the destruction that he somehow didn’t know about, Chiwoo just vibing on that swing, etc.

Jahan, though, in Excalibur is super interesting to me. He has a very mysterious look, obviously he’s holding sand because he comes from a desert land but I always thought that the way he letting sand sift through is hands was also kind of like how an hourglass has sand falling...like they’re running out of time, but he also most notably saves Arthur’s life.

Jahan rescues Arthur from explosions and then swears allegiance to Arthur with his special knife that we see him fighting with later. 

Jahan comes across as a benevolent aid who seems to put himself at risk for others very easily, and he sees Arthur’s determination to retrieve his crown and knows they share the same goal. He makes me think that he’s the guardian of the other kings, honestly, because of his ability to just swoop in for the save him. He knew without Arthur they would be lost.

Now, onto Karma.

Jahan plays a big role in this story, too, and one that isn’t too different from what we saw in Excalibur. Less fighting, sure, but it still holds true to some of the same themes in his character.

Jahan is mostly seen alone in that room with the tree, and he’s kind of tending to it, trying to take care of it and such. It almost feels as if that place is like a sad memory to him, and I think it’s because of where Chiwoo ends up. 

So, Jahan in this chapter is obviously Chiwoo’s closest confidant. We don’t see Chiwoo spending time with any of the other kings, but he goes to Jahan often. I think it’s to be speculated that Jahan was one of the ‘reasons’ why Chiwoo fell into disarray, because he was trying to protect everyone he cared about and not paying much attention to his subjects, but then that leads into the curiosity as to why Jahan or the other kings needed protection. The Kingdom of the Clouds seems to be far and away from most things, so maybe it was a haven to them at one time when they were in danger, but in protecting them he lost everything else.

But we see Chiwoo whispering to Jahan, we see them meeting up in this room with the tree. Jahan remains there, while Chiwoo does not, which I think is interesting. It’s almost like Chiwoo goes beyond Jahan’s influence and he can’t bring him back, can’t try to talk him into doing ‘the right thing’ or whatever he needs to do to save his kingdom. But Jahan is still waiting there to see if he can talk to Chiwoo again.

But I think the main point with Jahan’s character in all of this is that once again he is the confidant/guardian that is doing what he can to help the king. He’s being there for him when things aren’t going well, he’s trying to help. In the end, the kingdom still falls, but I doubt Jahan’s efforts to help Chiwoo in some way, or to create a strong bond of friendship, were wasted. 

Now Black Crown. 

Much less happens with Jahan in Black Crown. The main focus of that MV is really just the raging battle between Fate and Chaos, and the corruption of the Black Crown. 

I think it’s interesting to note, however, that during that scene with all of the kings standing around the crystal ball and they’re arguing with each other...Jahan is the only one who really isn’t. He’s present, but he’s not actively engaging in the argument like all of the others are.

It might be nothing, but I think Jahan had the least amount of faith in the black crown and therefore was just...there to watch and possibly do what he could to protect the others. Again, that guardian behavior that we have seen in the past two chapters.

He’s also quite powerful, because we see him in the chapter when all the others have fallen, and he rouses them to get up again. He withstood the attack when others could not, but he did not abandon them and made sure they were alright.

Onto Ascension

That first thing I noticed was that all of the glory versions of the different kings were very peaceful, very pretty. Mujin’s got his pretty fan, Ivan has his calligraphy, all of them are just chilling, but Jahan...Jahan most notably has a sword with him the entire time. 

I think possibly the only time he doesn’t have it with him is during that scene where they are all on the bridge together. But otherwise, Jahan is always ready. It’s almost like he knew what was coming before it came, or perhaps that he truly is just that guardian figure that is looking out for all the other kings, no matter the era.

But what am I saying all of this for??? Well, mostly because I think it’s interesting how we’ve had so much insight into Jahan’s character before his chapter and I think this understanding of him is going to be crucial in his chapter! He’s this guardian and benevolent confidant that has served all the other kings in some way, but when his chapter comes...who will protect him? 

Extra Note: My friend @baobeejun​ reminded me of the Kingdom of Sun’s motto: ‘In the end, the sun will protect you.’ I had completely forgotten, and what a fitting motto for Jahan! Maybe...just maybe...my thoughts on him aren’t too far off!

Anyway, those are just my thoughts on Jahan. Please, share yours! Would love to hear them! Or if you wanna talk about the other kings! Yeah! My inbox is always open!

[qingxin-s]

༉₊˚✧ꜱᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ : xɪᴀᴏ x ꜰ.ᴀʀᴄʜᴏɴ.ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

synopsis: [y/n], the goddess of hydro, is adamant on fighting in the archon war- desperate to protect her people and nation. xiao however grows to regret letting her take part

genre: angst to fluff

word count: 1,195

warning(s): mentions of injury + blood, mentions of character death, not proof read fully so may be some mistakes

taglist: @senkuwu-chan​

◈ ━━━━━━ 2,000 years ago ━━━━━━ ◈

Wind tapped against the silk curtains, causing them to billow around her figure as she stood on her balcony- looking out at the region she adored so much. But it wasn't the same. The crisp smell of salt water that fluttered through the air had been replaced with the stench of charcoal. The lapis sky had been replaced with dark clouds. Every time more damage occurred to the town, it felt like part of her broke along side it.

"Madame, your weapons are ready" A low voice spoke, breaking her out of her thoughts and causing her to turn her h/c haired head towards them. It was one of her assistants, a large polearm placed on a pillow in their hands.

"Thank you, my dear. I'll be ready in a moment" She smiled in return, walking over to pluck up the weapon. It was light, but she could tell it would pack a lot of punch.

"I've never fought in a war before" She murmured, her e/c hues flickering up to her open window where a figure now stood. This had become the usual thing, she learned to recognise his presence. He huffed in response, taking a few steps inside.

"I still think you're being idiotic, (Y/N). You have no experience, you can't protect them forever" He huffed as his yellow eyes narrowed, and she smiled sweetly in response. By the tone of his voice, she could tell he too was anxious. There had been a rise in the amount of demons spotted in the areas around Liyue, and he was constantly overworking himself to fend them off. She adjusted the polearm in her gloved hands as she stepped towards him.

"You worry too much, Xiao. I'm going to be fine, Fontaine will live to see another day" (Y/N) sighed as she looked back out the window, not noticing his tensed physic. The two had become well acquainted shortly after he was dispatched to fend of the demons, and their bond had only grown since.

"It's not Fontaine i'm worried about. It's you, and you know that" Xiao growled, but she was quick to place her palm on his cheek- which he instantly melted into. He didn't mean to snap like that...he was just worried sick. He didn't want to lose her.

If he lost her, he'd lose part of himself.

"I'm going to be okay. I promise you" She whispered, her palm curling slightly and her thumb brushing over his cheek. Her touch was warm, comforting. Xiao didn't notice that his hands were balled into fists, it was only when he looked down at the floor to avoid her gaze that he realized.

"I'll see you after, Alatus" (Y/N) said softly as she broke away from him, and he so desperately wanted to reach out and throw his arms around her- preventing her from leaving. But all he could do was watch as she walked away.

◈ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ◈

The war raged for days...and days...and days. And the more she fought, the more she realized the Yaksha was right. She had no battle experience whatsoever, and the most she had ever used her powers for was healing her people. So she was completely and utterly exhausted. Not to mention...she was injured.

A cry left her lips as she collapsed to the sand, feeling numb to the waves of salt water that washed over her as she curled up. Decarabian had gotten the better of her, his attack impaling her and injuring her gravely. He was here to gain yet more power, just to hold over his peoples heads like bait. He was a monster.

Normally for any injuries she may receive, she would just heal them. It was simple and always incredibly effective. But as her life slipped away from her bit by bit, so did her ability to heal. She spluttered as a wave hit her, the water turning crimson as it mixed with her blood. This is what she got for fighting in her human vessel...and for being weak.

"Xiao..." She coughed as the pain she was experiencing melted away, her eyes feeling heavier and heavier with each passing second. Images of the yaksha flashed through her brain as she rested her head on the gritty sand, and a smile graced her chapped lips.

"So long"

◈ ━━━━━━ Now ━━━━━━ ◈

Not a day passed when the yaksha didn't hate himself with every fibre of his being. Not a day passed where he didn't think of the hydro archon. Where was she to calm him down? Where was she to progress through life with him?

Why did her life have to be taken? Why was he the one to come across her lifeless body?

Fontaine seemed to have moved on quickly after her death, even welcoming a new person to take over her power. How dare they? It happened so long ago, but the rage still bubbled inside him like it happened yesterday. The only ones that seemed to care about her death apart from him was Barbatos and Morax- but even then, they didn't fully understand.

They didn't fully understand why he distanced himself, refusing to talk to anyone when he could avoid it. Refusing to take breaks from his work of purging demons off the face of the Earth.

"Xiao, you're scowling" Verr Goldet spoke as she wiped down her desk, causing him to knit his eyebrows even more. All he wanted to do was eat his almond tofu- it was one of the only things he had left to remember her. She had taught him how to make it one day when she was feeling hungry, and it quickly became his favourite thing. He pushed it around with his fork, staring down at it intently. If he ignored the boss, maybe she'd leave him alone.

"Excuse me, I hope i'm not too late. I was wondering if you had any rooms available" A kind voice asked, and his heart skipped a beat. Why was this voice...so familiar? He was just overthinking things, after all- he was just reminiscing on their time together. He heard the boss shuffling around as she flicked through paperwork and finally, he heard the noise of a key.

"Of course. Please take the staircase up next to the young man over there, it's the first room you see" The boss bowed, and he could hear the mystery girl express her thanks. He heard footsteps approach him as she walked towards the staircase and without meaning to, his amber hues looked up- and his body froze.

He was greeted with the same h/c haired hair he loved so dearly. The same e/c orbs that he could get lost in. The same kind smile that guided him away from darkness. How could this be? Her eyes met his, and she sent him a grin- and he quickly jumped up from his seat. He wanted to reach his hand towards her, to hold her in his arms and breath in the salt fragrance he adored so much.

"(Y/N)!" Xiao called as she walked past him, and she froze in her tracks. Slowly, she turned to him- tears rolling down her face as he stumbled towards her.

"I haven't heard that name in so long"

[duxhess-kryzewan]

Obitine First Kiss?

- Drowning -

When they had first landed on Corellia, Obi-Wan was relieved to be somewhere that had plenty of fresh water. The last planet they had been hiding on was dry and dusty and even Satine - born and raised on a desert planet herself - had became sick of the terrain.

The novelty quickly wore off the longer they trekked through the jungle. The forestry was dense, the humidity unforgiving. Every breath he took came with the unsettling sensation of drowning on dry land.

Qui-Gon had left them the night before last, leaving Obi-Wan with coordinates on where to meet the following day. He had a contact - a long time ally - who resided on miles away from the forest they were hiding in. If all went according to plan, they would have a new and unrecognizable ship and a safe means off the planet. All he was tasked with was keeping Satine safe in the mean time.

He didn't like to read too much into why Qui-Gon was so keen on leaving them alone together.

"The sky looks like it'll be clear tonight." Satine comments as they move into a clearing.

"It' seems so," He says, "Let's just hope it stays that way."

Storms were frequent and often unpredictable. One minute the sun would be shining, only for the clouds to roll in mercilessly pelt the planet with rain.

"From desert to storm," She huffs, "I can't tell which is worse."

He observes her intently as she walks; how her damp hair clung to her neck, how she would periodically run the back of her hand across her brow line. He sympathized with her discomfort. The air felt sticky, the breeze heavy as it blew past them. Satine had long since abandoned her attempts at maintaining her regality. There was no point anymore. She had been with them long enough to know they wouldn't judge her in the slightest for slipping out of her Duchess façade, and the climate made it nearly impossible to look the part.

Not that it mattered much. Obi-Wan didn't think there was anything that could make her any less beautiful.

He tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. An irrevocable attachment to her was the last thing he needed.

"Can we stop for the evening?" She asks.

He marvels at the gentleness in her voice. Before, in the beginning weeks she had been placed under their protection, she had huffed and whined until he relented and gave into her requests. The near death experiences and friendship they managed to forge over the passing weeks had humbled her some, and gave him enough insight to realize she was more than just an entitled Duchess. He was grateful they had found a way to be more civil to one another.

“As you wish."

They were nearing one of the many lakes that covered the planet anyway; a more than ideal place to set up camp for the night. Fresh water was something neither of them took for granted after their stay in the desert.

When they stop Satine wastes no dropping to the ground and leaning back against one of the trees that surrounded them. Foliage was another thing they both had become more appreciative of recently. The cover of trees, the simple ability to rest against something other than the hot sand, even the always lingering dampness of the soil.

He busies himself looking around around for wood dry enough to start a fire. It was by no means necessary for warmth, but it would be there luck that the temperature would drop with the arrival of night time, and it wouldn't hurt to have a source of light. The stars might have been bright on Corellia, but he would be hard pressed to consider it enough illumination for them.

His mind had been so preoccupied on setting up camp that he hadn't even noticed Satine's absence until a splash broke through the silence.

"Satine?"

He turns just in time to see her disappear below the surface of the water, and for a fleeting moment panic floods through him. What if she can't swim? What if something was in the water? And why is she in the water in the first place?

The relief he feels when she reappears is almost insurmountable.

"What are you doing?" He half yells, trying his best not to let the worry in his voice show.

She grants him an amused smirk, and something about the sparkle in her eyes sends a warmth trough his chest, despite how hard he tries not to let it do so.

"Cooling off, Obi-Wan." She says matter-of-factly, "You may not mind being covered in sweat and grime after trekking through the jungle all day, but I refuse to stew in filth."

He has to repress the urge to laugh. Roughing it may have humbled the young Duchess, but there was always going to be a part of her that was prim and proper.

"I'm a bit more preoccupied with your safety than worrying about my personal hygiene."

He glances to the pile of discarded clothes at the waters edge and is grateful for cover twilight provided him. If Satine could see the blush that colored his cheeks at the thought of her undress she would never let him live it down.

Satine scoffs and swims closer to shore, "As if you have to choose one or the other. Honestly, Obi-Wan."

She was right, of course. He hated the stickiness from the humidity and sweat that clung to his skin, but it hadn't been at the top of his priority list.

"Priorities, Duchess."

She laughs lightly and disappears under the water again.

The fire he was attempting to start was a lost cause, he decided. There was too much moisture for a flame to start. As much as he didn't like it, they were going to have to fair out without one for now.

So he settles for laying out his cloak in the driest area he could find and depositing their items on top of it. Qui-Gon didn't leave them with much, but the few items they did have were more than essential to their survival the next few days.

Obi-Wan decides that, so long as she is content in the water, he'll sit along the lakes edge and meditate. It had been too long since he had a chance to do so, and this was he could keep an eye on her.

​He settles at the waters edge, lightsaber and top layer of his clothing discarded beside him. The muggy air proved to be a challenge when taking a deep breath, but the sounds of the water and quiet of the night soothed him.

That was, until an unexpected splash of cold water hit him.

He sprang to his feet, the sudden chill catching him off guard. Below him, he found Satine smiling mischievously, still partially submerged in the water.

"Have you lost your mind?" He manages to sputter out.

She laughs, "Don't act like it didn't feel good. You know as well as I do the temperature is less than favorable."

He glares at her, but there's something to her smile that almost makes him forgive her. Rarely over the course of their time together has he seen anything resembling genuine happiness grace her. For all of the things that drive him crazy about her - and there were many, many things - there were just as many that made him adore her in ways a Jedi certainly should not. Seeing her smile was one of them.

“I was meditating."

"You do that quite enough."

"Its an integral part of connecting with the force."

Satine rolls her eyes, "Yes, so you've reminded me many times."

They had managed to cultivate something close to a friendship during their time on the run. Qui-Gon had insisted that he try and get along with her, both for the sake of their mission and for the sake of the Duchess.

He's sure neither Qui-Gin or himself could have anticipated the less sudden feelings that would blossom between him and the Duchess. Feelings that most definitely went against the code.

It scared him that part of him didn't care.

"Swimming in a random lake on an unfamiliar planet doesn't seem very becoming of a Duchess," He counters with a smirk, "Especially one so preoccupied with appearances."

"Neither is being on the run with a Jedi, but I've had to learn to adapt with what's given to me."

Her smiles falters for a moment, and suddenly he's filled with guilt. He could feel her emotional struggle through the force; how much anxiety and guilt she carries for leaving her planet in the midst of a civil war.

"I'm sorry," He says, "I didn't mean to imply anything."

The smile returns. It's softer, more understanding, but there all the same. He likes to see it on her.

"Forgiven," She stands, the shallow end of the water only reaching her waist, "Though I would appreciate your assistance."

She reaches out a hand towards him, all while he tries his best to ignore the way her wet underlayer of clothing clings to her. He hopes the cover of nightfall masks his blush.

"As you wish, your grace."

He takes her hand in his, fingers gripping her smaller ones tighter than what was strictly necessary, and just as he goes to pull her up onto dry land she roughly yanks him towards her.

He topples into the water, barely managing to catch his balance before he was submerged completely.

"Satine!"

She backs up quickly into deeper water, swimming away from him with a newfound sense of urgency. It doesn't stop the laughter though, or the wide smile she wore. It was the first time he's seen her that amused, and if he wasn't so distracted by his sudden frustration he would marvel at just how beautiful happiness looks on her.

"Have you gone mad?"

Satine laughs some more, "Oh please, it's just water Obi-Wan. You're doing little more than bathing and cooling off. Master Qui-Gon wouldn't be too pleased if I was left alone because you suffered heat stroke."

It was pointless to argue that the temperature wasn't near hot enough for heat stroke to actually overtake him and, though he would never admit it, the cold water did make him feel a great deal better.

"I'm not much use as a protector while unarmed and in the water." He decides to counter with, though he knows its a weak point. If the situation suddenly became dangerous he would just as well protect her here as he would on dry land.

Satine doesn't answer him and instead disappears once again below the surface of the water. The sky was clear, but not even the planets stars could provide him enough light to see where she had vanished too.

He had grown accustomed to the many facets of her over their time together. There were versions of her he learned how to handle; from a stubborn Satine to a solemn one. A mischievous Satine however was uncharted territory, and he didn't know whether to fear her or be amused by her.

There's only inches separated them when she ascends out from under the water, and he quickly settles on terrified.

He's utterly terrified, because never has another person looked so beautiful to him as she did in that moment. Lips parted slightly, wide eyes staring back into his.

"Satine..." It's a warning, but he knows deep down his heart isn't really in it.

"Obi-Wan."

She's kissing him then. Gently; a ghost of a touch that he almost isn't convinced is real. Her lips are cold from the water, breath warm against his skin.

Before he can think better of it, his hand finds hers under the water, his other sliding up the slope of her neck and coming to cup her cheek.

"We shouldn't be doing this." He whispers against her.

Satine pauses for a brief moment, "No we shouldn't."

He wonders what it says about them that neither make a move to stop.

It crosses his mind what Qui-Gon would say if he found them like this; pressed together in shoulder deep water, disregarding the promises both of them made to their people and to themselves.

Her hand slide up the back of his head and tangles into his hair, her fingers grasping his Padawan braid tightly between them.

"We should stop." Satine says before kissing him hard with a newfound sense of urgency.

"We should." He agrees, kissing her back with just as much force.

Her legs suddenly wrap around his waist and it renders him breathless. The code was cracking around him with every passing second, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to stop kissing her.

It dawns on him then; that he has fallen irrevocably in love with Satine Kryze.

[aurabird]

Guidance for Guilt

How does one deal with the guilt and regret they feel when they see the way people look at them? You seek out another that has been in the same situation before.

Also on Ao3

Despite the title, this doesn’t actually have angst in it.

-----------

Sausage went by horseback as he left Mythland, too afraid to even touch the corrupted elytra he once wore for longer than a few seconds let alone wear it again.

The ride through the desert was slow despite the well-worn paths from trade routes, the unrelenting heat miserable for both him and his stead and briefly he debated turning back and borrowing an elytra from someone.

Night fell as the moon took the place of the sun. It was a respite from the heat sure, but out here, night brought a chilling cold. The Mythland king would never understand why anyone would want to live in the desert, and yet one of the largest and most powerful empires was nestled at the heart the said biome.

The Vigil of Pixandria shone like a beacon in the night as if to lead those weary and lost among the dunes to shelter from the elements. Sausage grimaced briefly at the fact that the last time he was there, he’d built a fake embassy and trapped it, the aim to kill the empire’s king. He had been struggling to fight off the corruption then and even though he had the self-awareness to know what he was doing was wrong, he did it anyway.

To be fair, his mind argued, Pix HAD issued a challenge to all that wished to prank him to make sure their attempts were more than a pathetic pitfall trap... so was it really Sausage’s fault if the oracle had asked for something so explosive in the first place?

Sand began to transition granite and brick as Sausage entered the oasis of an empire. The streets weren’t empty, but the citizens of Pixandria that were around spoke in hushed whispers of intrigue at him. They didn’t know who he was, he’d worn his assassins guild attire strictly so that he could hide his face.

After all, he was still technically enemy number one in pretty much every single empire. If the Pixandrians had known who had entered their city, then their reactions probably wouldn’t have been the most welcoming.

He found an inn in the center of this residential area and paid the stable boy the money required to leave his horse there before continuing to the capitol of the empire.

As he entered the familiar area he found it mostly empty, understandably so given how late it was, and took time to look at the Vigil; the colorful candles and lanterns that decorated the are around it just as stunning as the last time he’d been here.

Pix had told him once that the Vigil was for the twelve empires alone since in Pixandrian beleif they all had to exist regardless of what terms they were all on lest the balance of the universe be upset. He shuddered at the realization that if his journey in the spirit realm had ended in failure that he could have caused something far more catastrophic than whatever Xornoth would bring to occur.

Then came sadness at the thought of how many of the recorded deaths were by his own hand? He’d been told of the arena fight, how he’d gone on a murder spree when the corruption took control over him entirely...

"I had a feeling you’d show up eventually.” Came a familiar voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sausage turned to face the speaker and found the Copper King himself casually leaning against the wall of a building that looked like a shop of sorts.

Sausage wasn’t surprised that he’d been expected, Pix was a unique individual in the fact that he was an oracle not only with the ability to see deaths seconds before they happened, but he would sometimes get prophetic visions every now and again. He was a wise and kind ruler, albeit with a streak of mischief at times as well. The man no doubt had questions about Sausage’s recent death by Gem’s hand and his delayed respawn, but that’s not why the Mythland king had come to see him.

After the death of the enderdragon, the Copper King had exiled himself in his guilt and regret, heading into the harshness of the desert with almost nothing but the clothes on his back. Signs of his struggle could be seen in the form of scars and burns. This, is why Sausage had come.

“I’m...probably not at the top of your list of people to see right now...but I...I need guidance, Pix. I don’t know how to cope with what I’m feeling.”

Pix gave him a gentle smile, “Come, we’ll discuss it inside.”

The interior of Pix’s abode was something Sausage had only seen once and, at the time, he’d not been in complete control of his body and actions. Now that the haze in his mind was gone, the place was stunning. Sandstone and striped birch made up walls accented with copper. The sandstone and glazed terracotta floor accented with dried honeycomb, desert plants filling pots nestled into corners and on shelves. It was a humble place as opposed to the massive castles and towers of the other empires.

He sat down at an oak table while Pix went off to grab something, returning with a glass of water which Sausage graciously accepted. Pix then sat down opposite of him and spoke "So, since you sit here now, I assume your trip to the spirit realm was successful?“

Of course Pix would know about that, “I think so? I don’t feel corrupted anymore and the haze that used to cloud my mind is gone so...maybe? I...still don’t understand how going there cured me.”

“In Pixandrian beleif, those with damaged souls go there to heal or pass on. Xornoth corrupted yours entirely and when Gem killed you, that’s where you ended up. You were dead to the world for a week, Sausage; the only sign that you were going to come back was because that spirit tether of yours was glowing.”

Sausage pulled the strange object he’d been given by Sir Carlos out and looked at it, “That’s what this thing is called?”

Pix nodded in response, “Most souls that end up in the spirit realm pass on while others get lost and eventually fade away over time. A spirit tether ensures that a soul will find its way back to its body. They are extremely rare so I was surprised to find you had one.”

“A friend gave it to me...I guess I quite literally owe him my life. But my spiritual journey is not why I came here; I see the way everyone looks at me, to them I’m still the servant of evil, Xornoth’s corrupted Champion. I have nightmares of what I’ve done and who I’ve hurt, I have permanent scars to remind me of my mistakes...there’s so much guilt and regret, Pix...I don’t know what to do.”

"Guilt and regret are hard wounds to heal; even now, I still cannot forgive myself for what I did to the enderdragon and, honestly, I don’t think I ever will. Speak with those you wronged, even if they don’t believe you at first. It will take time and effort to fix what has been broken and there will be scarring that remains once the wound heals, but I know you, Sausage, and you’re pretty hard to stay mad at for very long.”

A pained smile crossed Sausage’s mouth at those words, “Even though I’ve caused so much greif and pain?”

"I don’t speak for the others, but the way I see it, if we’re going to stop Xornoth, we need to be united. The sooner we put our quarrels aside, the sooner we can deal with him.”

“Joey is still drunk with power and praise and I’m pretty sure that crown of his is messing with his mind somehow. We need to save him first, Pix, before he’s too far gone for us to do anything.”

Pix nodded, “Agreed. But, for now, you’ve traveled a long way to get here. Why don’t you stay in Pixandria for the night and head off to Mythland to make amends with the others in the morning?”

As if in agreement Sausage yawned, “Alright, thank you Pix, for everything. And...I’m sorry for the embassy trap but you did kinda ask for us to do better pranks.”

A laugh escaped the Copper King at the comment, his brown eyes glinting with mischief, "I did, didn’t I? Well, you know me, my retaliation will be tenfold so I hope you’re ready, Sausage.”

Sausage let out a chuckle and a sly smirk, “Bring it on, Copper King.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - A Gentleman’s Promise

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (君子一诺) which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Features S2 Shaw

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s fourth S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

The first time Teacher Zeng met Shaw was three or four years ago.

Back then, he was just a little over thirty, and was still at an age of surging vigour. Based on the results of his online searches, Teacher Zeng carried a bag, bringing along some tools, and came to this mine shaft alone.

Lifting a torchlight with a weak light, he carefully observed the surroundings, trying to search for the stone tablet with the symbol “8″. Despite walking quite far in, he had not been able to glean anything. It was most likely another instance of “mistaken information”.

But he had to admit - this mine shaft was built too loosely. As a graduate in archaeological studies with practical experience, Teacher Zeng guessed that there was sandy soil underneath. For safety reasons, he decided to leave this place first.

That was when the accident suddenly happened.

Teacher Zeng happened to walk into an exceptionally narrow space. Perhaps the mine shaft was too dark and there wasn’t any space for his feet. Just as he planned to turn around, Teacher Zeng felt the ground beneath his feet soften. Knowing that he had unfortunately stepped onto soil which was too loose, Teacher Zeng reacted quickly, attempting to lunge forward. However, the sinking sandy soil was even faster than his thoughts. He was about to fall -

Before he faced imminent peril, he felt an external force grabbing him suddenly!

In the next second, the sandy soil filled the air, collapsing from above. How could a person’s strength withstand the speed of the collapsing soil? Almost immediately, Teacher Zeng attempted to free himself from the other party’s grip, not wanting to become another person’s liability.

As though sensing Teacher Zeng’s intentions, the other party shouted in a muffled voice, “Hey, grab tight!”

All of a sudden, lightning as bright as daytime appeared out of thin air. In the next second, a loud crackling sound of electrical currents seemed to gather into a ball. Along with a few "boom” sounds, the sandy soil and the wall of the mine were instantly exploded open by lightning.

Taking in light and air once again, Teacher Zeng was still badly shaken up. He subconsciously looked at his “saviour”, who appeared to be a young man of around eighteen or nineteen years of age. His head of bluish purple hair was very striking despite the sand and soil that had fallen on it. And in his palm, there seemed to be some electrical currents releasing buzzing sounds.

Even though he’s an ordinary person, Teacher Zeng had seen enough over the years to guess that this young person was likely an Evolver with an ability related to thunder and lightning.

While a sizeable number of ordinary people had issues against Evolvers, Mr Zeng naturally felt very grateful that his life was saved. He panted loudly, thanking him repeatedly. “Little Bro, I’m truly grateful to you.”

“That’s enough. It wasn’t as exaggerated as you said.”

“But you should consider yourself lucky. Leaving someone in danger isn't my style.” The young man arched his brows while speaking, his tone sounding very flamboyant. He looked Teacher Zeng up and down, his gaze sweeping past his weak handheld torchlight and shovel. While brushing his hair lightly, he casually asked, “You brought quite a number of tools. What are you doing here?”

At the same time, Teacher Zeng also noticed the other party’s protective equipment used in archaeology.

That mine shaft was definitely not a normal site for exploration. But according to Teacher Zeng’s knowledge, there were quite a number of people like him who were searching for the “historical ruins” represented by that special stone tablet. He might have the same goal.

Probably because the earlier rescue left a favourable impression on Teacher Zeng, he deliberated for a moment before testing the waters. “I heard there might be an unusual stone tablet in the vicinity. I came to have a look since I was curious. What about you?”

Hearing this, the man’s brows arched high. He patted the sandy soil off his body, standing up in an agile manner. Only then did Teacher Zeng notice that he was really tall.

Carrying a black bag, his lips hooked into a smile. “It’s good to be curious. Looks like we’re kindred spirits.”

Watching the man’s back as he left with large strides, Teacher Zeng couldn’t help but surmise where exactly he came from, and how he dared to take action alone at such a young age. However, when he thought about the other party’s skills, Teacher Zeng tossed aside the thoughts in his head: He should be concerned about himself first.

With this thought in mind, Teacher Zheng opened the notebook he brought along with him. Out of habit, he hastily made a brief record before preparing to leave.

It’s a pity that this was yet another futile exploration.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The next time he met Shaw, several years had gone by.

A few years isn’t exactly long, but it was enough to gradually morph Teacher Zeng’s perseverance in the face of returning empty-handed again and again, into a state of giving up on exploration and finding historical ruins.

That morning, Teacher Zeng reached his work department: the Ancient Literature Society of Loveland City. After conducting the routine selection of a theme, he suddenly received a call from the front counter, telling him that someone was looking for him.

Right after stepping out of the elevator, he instantly noticed the especially striking head of bluish purple hair next to the pillar. Teacher Zeng subconsciously furrowed his brows, feeling as though he had seen such a conspicuous hair colour somewhere. Just then, the other party turned his face leisurely, meeting Teacher Zeng’s line of sight.

The young man narrowed his eyes slightly, giving him a contemplative glance from top to bottom, and an almost indiscernible interest appeared in his eyes. On the other hand, Teacher Zeng remained stunned in place, the memories from relatively far away stirring in his mind.

“You’re that...”

Before Teacher Zeng finished speaking, the young man arched his left slit eyebrow. “...it’s really you.” He swept a glance at the surroundings. “This place isn't convenient. Let’s chat somewhere else?”

The desolate flower nursery at a corner.

“The last time we met was an accident, and we didn't get to introduce ourselves.” The 10am sunlight filtered downwards through the clouds, providing a contrast to the glistening colours in the young man’s eyes. “I’m Shaw. The reason why I looked for you today...” 

“The reason why you looked for me today couldn’t be because of what happened a few years ago, right?”

Not expecting Teacher Zeng to be so direct, the corners of Shaw’s lips curled upwards. “Since you’ve already asked, I’ll get straight to the point.” While speaking, he retrieved a slightly yellowed old photograph, holding it before Teacher Zeng.

Once he saw the photo, Teacher Zeng lifted his head in surprise. “Why do you have this photograph?”

There were two people in this old photograph. One of them was an obviously younger version of Teacher Zeng, and the other was, astonishingly, Shaw’s mentor.

[Note] Shaw’s mentor is introduced in his 2020 birthday R&S!

Shaw raised the old photograph. “That old man standing next to you left this to me, and said I could look for a helper based on this photo if I ever needed it. I found it a while ago, and realised the person the old man let me look for was actually a ‘familiar person’.”

Teacher Zeng was stunned. So he’s...

Even though Shaw didn’t make it clear, Teacher Zeng already had an answer in his heart.

Shaw rolled his shoulders casually, then continued. “The old man said that you’re really skilful when it comes to online searches and exploration.”

“I’m not that good, maybe just a little faster in searching than ordinary people.” Suddenly hearing Shaw bringing up his mentor, nostalgia flashed across Teacher Zeng’s eyes. “Come to think of it, I just graduated back then, and many things were based on trial and error. Being guided by your mentor for a while was truly a huge fortune.”

“That old man...” Shaw couldn’t help but laugh, but he quickly returned to the earlier topic. “You should also know that we aren’t the only ones searching for the ruins.”

“The speed of one person is limited, so I’m looking for a ‘helper’. How is it? Are you interested in working together?”

After Shaw finished saying this, Teacher Zeng unexpectedly hesitated, growing quiet.

Along with Teacher Zeng’s silence, Shaw slowly retracted the smile in his eyes.

“Actually, in recent years, I haven’t continued in this matter...” A wave of perplexity appeared in Teacher Zeng’s eyes. “I’ve been disappointed too many times over the years. So many times that I’ve gradually lost my motivation despite being unwilling to.”

Shaw’s tone was very calm. “Anticipating failure is something archaeologists should have gotten used to since a long time ago.”

“You might say that, but what exactly is this so-called “ruins”? Whether or not it truly exists - even this answer is a blank space-”

“It doesn’t count as a blank space.” Shaw interrupted him. “Whether they are those picture scrolls kept by the old man, or the notes he left behind, all the records and markings are traces of the real existence of the ruins. As long as they’re around, it’s worth exploring.”

“The instincts of an archaeologist tells me that the secret hidden within it is definitely related to a certain mysterious civilisation. And we might just be missing that final push.”

Teacher Zeng was left in a daze, and he didn’t speak.

Hearing Shaw bringing up his mentor’s picture scrolls and notes, Teacher Zeng’s own notebook, which already had hairy edges, suddenly flashed in his eyes. Actually, there were many times when he wanted to store the notebook in the bottom of his box. But until now, the notebook remained at the top of his drawer even though he couldn't fathom why.

"Although there are times when I dislike how the old man goes on a wild goose chase,” Despite how Shaw said “dislike”, a small smile appeared in his eyes, “But he said something which was correct. As long as you persevere, there will come a day when the secrets within will be revealed. So, as long as there’s a shred of hope, it doesn’t count as a disappointment.”

After saying this, Shaw kept the photograph, then shrugged when he saw how Teacher Zheng remained stunned in place. “But people who are as stubborn as the old man are truly a rarity of rarities. If it’s too difficult, forget it. I’ve never forced anyone into doing anything.”

“All right, that’s all. I’m off.”

“Wait!”

Teacher Zeng called out to Shaw without realising it. His mouth hung open. For a moment, he had no idea what he wanted to say.

A person’s subconsciousness is always the most honest. It turned out that he had never completely let go of searching for the historical ruins. And what he needed was perhaps a person to give him another push.

With this thought in mind, Teacher Zeng met Shaw’s bright eyes. “If you really need it... I could try helping you out once or twice.”

-

[ Chapter Three ]

After agreeing to Shaw, Teacher Zheng spent the following week using codes and calculations to search almost every corner of the panoramic maps on the internet. He meticulously searched for new locations of the historical ruins, not expecting the progress to go even more smoothly than expected.

“With such speed, you truly live up to your reputation.”

Teacher Zeng sent the location to Shaw. “I’ve found two likely positions. One of them is this abandoned factory building which seems more plausible.” Shaw stared at it fixedly for a few seconds, then curled a corner of his mouth and said, “Okay, got it.”

Next to the railing on the roof, sunlight seemed to be even brighter than usual. Magnificent solar flares leapt in between Shaw’s bluish purple hair. He straightened up, his confident expression even more dazzling to the eyes than the sunlight in between his hair. Shaw kept his phone away. “Since I don't have anything on tomorrow, I might as well take a look first.”

Hearing Shaw saying this so lightly, Teacher Zeng instinctively wanted to give him a cautionary warning. However, since it was only their third meeting, he didn’t really know how to phrase it. 

Tidying the hair on his temples which were blown messy by the breeze, Teacher Zeng finally spoke. “I might be overthinking it, but I feel as though it’s been going too smoothly. In the past, I’ve always had to exert double the time to find hazy markings and traces. In short, be more careful tomorrow.”

Shaw arched his brows. “Got it.” Shaw lowered his head to check the time, then waved his hand. “I have class in the afternoon, so I’m heading off.”

-

That evening, Teacher Zeng slept without a peace of mind, and he woke up just as the sky started to brighten. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he subconsciously tapped open the address that he had discovered earlier, but realised that the markings he saw earlier had vanished!

Were the markings he saw earlier false information by someone on the internet?

Teacher Zeng was startled awake completely. After checking for the third time, he immediately contacted Shaw, but realised that he couldn’t get through no matter what. Feeling anxious, Teacher Zeng rushed to the abandoned building with his quickest speed. 

The moment he entered, he saw countless rusty iron sheets and iron pipes. He keenly detected a strange atmosphere: this place was abnormally quiet.

Just as this thought flashed in his mind, a deafening sound drifted from the building in the next second. Thinking of how he had not contacted Shaw yet, Teacher Zeng trembled with fear, sticking himself against the wall of the staircase, and running up quickly.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

“BOOM-!”

While Teacher Zeng was rushing up, Shaw was facing an unknown attack.

The attacker was hiding in a dark place, and was probably an Evolver who could control metal. The iron pipes in the surroundings were pulled mid-air in an astonishing angle, sent smashing in Shaw’s direction. The air was very quickly mixed with the muffled echos of metal.

Shaw’s eyes keenly swept towards the dark area. As though accurately predicting the other party’s thoughts, he unfurled his palm in contempt, sending crackling lightning towards the iron pipes which are not too far away. With a muffled thud, the attacker was struck down.

Perhaps the consecutive failures had left the attacker in a complete frenzy. In the next second, a loud sound of metal exploded in the air.

But Shaw’s reaction was even faster.

His fingertips instantly crackled with electricity. With a flick of his wrist and a stretch of his arm, along with a frigidly cold “hmph”, the loud sound of electrical currents followed the expanse of metal pipes, striking the attacker like a sharp blade.

Most likely sustaining heavy damage, the attacker no longer cared about anything else, fleeing by jumping from the window in a flurry.

In a single breath, Teacher Zeng ran to the roof of the building, but only made it in time to see the moment a hazy figure leapt out of the window.

Shaw furrowed his brows, lifting his hand in distaste as he wiped the rust off his face. “Tch, I actually let him get away.” He turned his head and saw Teacher Zeng who had suddenly appeared, then pursed his lips. “What are you doing here?”

Teacher Zeng explained softly. “I just found out that this could be a trap, but I couldn’t contact you, so I rushed here without thinking too much... it’s a good thing you’re skilled.”

Shaw casually tidied his drooping fringe, revealing his eyebrows, which were arched high. After all, they were “co-workers”. Hearing these words blurted out by Teacher Zeng, the initially sharp expression in Shaw’s eyes turned indiscernibly gentler.

While heading down with Shaw, Teacher Zeng released a sigh, then laughed bitterly. “It’s been so many years. From what I know, due to the lack of progress, people who were searching for the historical ruins like me, you, and your mentor, gave up in succession. I just never thought that aside from there being no progress, it actually became even more dangerous...”

“That’s enough. This matter had nothing to do with you. Searching for the ruins isn’t dangerous.” Hearing Teacher Zeng’s self-abasement and guilt, Shaw interrupted him. “In the process of searching, I accidentally made a few enemies. The one from today was probably just targeting me.”

While speaking, they walked out of the abandoned building.

Despite going through this shocking wrestle, it was only daybreak. The rosy dawn served as a foil to the rising sun, elegantly travelling thousands of miles in the sky, the rose red rays of light spilling across the overgrown land, spilling into Shaw’s serious eyes which refused to concede defeat.

“When it comes to things worth persisting in and challenging, I’ve long since mentally prepared myself for protracted warfare.”

Shaw’s lips hooked upwards, an earnest spirit leaping in his eyes. “They will definitely lose.”

Seeing the stubbornness and seriousness hidden in the depths of Shaw’s eyes, Teacher Zeng’s heart suddenly received a jolt.

At first glance, the young man in front of him looked youthful and flamboyant. But his tenacity and dedication far surpassed the imagination of most people, and made Teacher Zeng re-discover the surging emotions he once had in his earlier years.

He’s akin to a giant creature hiding in the deep sea. Once he bit onto a goal, he would never let go.

For some reason, Teacher Zeng found this emotion rather familiar. It’s as though time had flowed backwards to several years ago. Back then, under the guidance and assistance from Shaw’s mentor, he had once seen a similar expression and tone of voice in the other party.

When the faraway memories surged up, Teacher Zeng stopped breathing. What accompanied this was that smiling face reminiscent of a mischievous child, the web pages he found after days and nights of searching, and all the locations he had once explored without a regard for the results...

Emotions he had not felt for a long time suddenly surged in Teacher Zeng’s heart.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

The weather today is very humid, and there doesn’t seem to be a single gust of wind.

After lunch, Teacher Zeng heads to the grocery store to buy a box of cigarettes. Then, he makes his way to the small flower nursery at the corner. Just as he breathes a few mouthfuls of smoke, the sound of footsteps suddenly drifts from behind him.

Teacher Zeng bites on the cigarette bud and turns around: it’s Shaw.

“Good afternoon.” Shaw has a hand stuffed into his pocket, elongating his words teasingly. “Since you’re smoking to entertain yourself, looks like Teacher Zeng has been pretty bored lately.”

Teacher Zeng chuckles softly. “Why are you here today?”

Shaw purses his mouth. “This might sound baffling. This morning, someone dressed in black suddenly attacked my antique store, wanting to search for some leads...”

Teacher Zeng ponders on this.

Slightly irritated, Shaw kicks a pebble at his feet. “It isn’t that easy to defeat me. We have to find the starting point for the ruins first.”

He lifts his eyes and looks at Teacher Zeng, arching his brows. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned being able to help “once or twice” that day. I’m now asking for that second round of assistance.”

Ever since they parted ways the previous time, Teacher Zeng had been giving it much thought. Perhaps Shaw’s persistence moved him, or Shaw’s mentor made him feel sentimental for the past. Regardless, a certain thought in the depths of his heart is especially clear: Actually, he had never let go of searching for the historical ruins. Since that’s the case, he might as well be involved in it entirely, and it wouldn’t put the years of accumulated knowledge to waste. 

Teacher Zeng has a small smile as he speaks leisurely. “Helping out is definitely not a problem. I’ve already been searching for new leads over the past duration. But I’d like to change the conditions.”

Shaw shoots him in glance with deep interest.

Extinguishing the cigarette bud beneath his foot, Teacher Zeng turns his head and says, “If you face more problems, it’d no longer be ‘once or twice’. We’ll work together formally. Can you accept this condition?

Finally, the clouds on the horizon seem to be dispersed by the wind slightly, revealing rays of light.

Shaw arches his brows. “Deal.”

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[kreidewaltz]

summer shivers | k.t.

pairing. kageyama tobio x f!reader

about. spending the day on the beach with your boyfriend. and the unfortunate events of meeting his former teammate lead to a silly competition of showing off each other's partner.

word count. 3.1k 

genre & warnings. fluff, comedy, suggestive themes, timeskip, making out on the beach (covered w an umbrella), female petnames, drinking at the bar.

author's note. i played around and made this fic descriptive and uhm sorry not sorry for the amount of teasing and tension ??? i needed to transform my kags brainrot to a fic so yeah and thanks amy for the beta-ing ily

while you and your boyfriend are walking mindlessly around the beach, your feet are being tickled by the soft, brown sand below. your boyfriend's fingers loosely intertwine with yours as his thumb rubs over your hand, something he knows you love. the pale green polish covering your toenails is fading as time goes. it wasn't a pleasant thing to look at, but you adored this look more— a little messy and flawed.

"tobio? wanna rest or keep walking?"

he gives your hand a soft squeeze and your love-filled eyes fall on him, which results in heat spreading subtly to your cheeks, and the pounding of your chest gets a little out of hand. he has three buttons of his loose, pale blue shirt undone and is wearing a simple pair of khaki shorts, his raven colored hair looking like a mess because of the strong breeze that passes. both of you decided to go barefoot while strolling around, smiling at the other tourists, and fawning over the adorable babies you see on the beach and restaurants when you pass by.

"let's walk. i miss these moments with you. needed a break from games and everything," he murmurs as his gentle, soft gaze falls on you. and in that moment you stop walking and take your time to quietly admire your partner under the bright, monstrous sun, along with the fluffy, huge clouds floating beside the light. his other hand pushes some of your hair behind your ear, doing it with delicacy and letting his fingers leave a trail of adrenaline since his delicate touches twists your fragile heart and makes your toes curl involuntarily.

"mhm, okay. but... when did you become that smooth?" you look to the other side so he doesn’t witness the red madness happening in the apples of your cheeks. you try to the best of your ability to stop the wide grin blooming on your face. but he carefully threads his fingers on the back of your head, and you unconsciously bite your strawberry balmed lips as you stare at him again.

"i guess i learned from you. and the karasuno guys." his hand rests on your nape before it slides to your back. a low, heartwarming chuckle comes from your boyfriend as he watches you crumble under his soft gaze. you bury your head on his chest and gripping the hem of his shirt and letting out a series of breathless giggles. as you're occupied with tobio's warmth, you fail to notice him running a hand through his short, black hair, and the lovesick smile growing on his face. he tries to distract himself by playing with your hair, and basks in the lavender scent of the shampoo you have in the apartment you share. cupping your cheeks for a moment, he takes his utmost time to admire your ethereal face matching with the glowing sunlight in the background. he gives you a peck on your temple and wraps his hands around your petite body, not saying a single word. he’s just taking in your warmth and admiring the beautifully painted sun behind the both of you, mesmerizing and serene.

you know, he knows.

-

"what are you doing here?” tobio's hands settle on your waist as he narrows his ocean-like eyes across other figures, his former high school teammate with his girlfriend. he shakes his head in disbelief, running your hand on his bicep through his arms— which is a sight that diverts your attention every time. it's harder to not keep your eyes on his build when you're in that time of the month, and he has to begrudgingly indulge in your adorable whining and countless compliments about his physique. 

back to the present time, seeing the tall blonde across from you with his newfound girlfriend- who you call your acquaintance because you were casual in school since you were classmates with her for a year. unfortunately, you’re a witness to how these two idiots’ feelings bloom into something complicated- you had to force them to meet after school. tsukishima didn’t thank you or anything but the way he carefully cares for her and treats her with respect, a little affection is more than enough for you. after all, he kind of helped you talk to kageyama when you were in first years. 

"oh my! how is ms. kageyama doing?" she yelps as you slowly walk to her because her voice tends to get pretty loud. her hands tug you into a friendly hug as you pat her head, amazed with the little braids on the side of her head since it fits her. her outfits are simple yet eye-catching (in high school she wore bright hair clips), and has too many accessories on her hair. but somehow she can pull it off. 

“tobio had a one week vacation.. and now we’re here.” 

she loops your arms together and slowly walks towards the waves, relaxation coursing through your body as you inhale the ocean scent, and feel the softness of the sand even though the waters crash every time. 

“that’s nice! don’t tell kei this because... his pride,” she rests her head on your shoulder and subtly puckers her lips on your back.- as you turn around your eyes land on your boyfriend and tsukishima bickering- and a stinging pain welcomes your head as you mindlessly cover your feet in sand. she giggles and you get the clue, so you keep your stare ahead, feeling all your worries away as you watch the waves and the cool breeze dance every so often. 

“he’s gonna meet my fam later and he’s nervous!” her voice is laced with agitation as she jumps in place, and you raise your brows in amusement. 

“ehhhh, that’s normal, duh.”

“no no wait! my family’s a little uptight with who i date.. because of my shitty relationships-”

“just say one night stands. i get it.” you cut her off and bite your lip to not laugh at the offended look on her face. you can’t forget that. she puts a hand over her chest and dramatically falls back, the sand messing her styled hair. she was curious about those things, and hooked up with a few men to get experience. but you’re glad she found tsukishima, because her past is what prevents her from having a good, long term relationship. but he stands beside her and gently takes care of her, and years later they’re together, ecstatic and it seems you can’t tear them apart.

it’s true what they say, the right one won’t leave.

-

with the huge, black umbrella covering the upper part of your body, you couldn't help but indulge in his soft, plush lips, which are nipping your own right now. his left hand is cupping your cheek, tilting your head to his desire so the gentle, yet passionate kiss dives in deeper- in all honesty it makes your knees weak. his dainty hands works its way under your baby pink sundress, and give your bare hips a soft squish.

"heh, never knew you're this naughty, tobio." you break away from the kiss, but your faces are near each other, running your fingers through his hair for a moment. you stare at his mesmerizing, blue eyes to regain consciousness because his fiery lips are hovering yours, easily getting hazy just from the feeling of his lips. the way he controls your body as you get lost and drown yourself to the pleasure, and how tingly and ecstatic you become when he finally, finally touches you bare. even if you're the one getting attacked with his star-struck kisses and feather-like touches all over your precious body, your pleasure-headed mind always asks for more.

"no.. no let's stop, angel." you capture his swollen, red lips in another sweet kiss and savor in his lips that are tasting like faint strawberries before breaking the kiss. if there's one thing you learned from being in a relationship with your boyfriend, you had to stop yourself, because those supposed study sessions for him to pass his exams or stacks of school works, always leads to kissing or even slow, heartwarming make out sessions on the beige couch in your living room. or quick, messy sessions in his bedroom because he's utterly distracted by you in your school uniform. and the next day you couldn't even blame each other because you both enjoyed it. after all, sometimes it ends with sleepy kisses and slow, burning touches while the only thing covering your bodies are his dark gray sheets.

"huh, you say that and keep pulling me closer." you thread your fingers with care through his hair, and run your fingernails on his scalp. his one hand supports his weight in order to not fall on top of you, his other busy with caressing your hips. you try your best to avoid squirming under his hold because the atmosphere you two put yourselves in is scorching hot. it makes your body sweat, your lungs tighten from suffocation but you keep swimming, so desperate for his touch and warmth that keeps you sane every time.

"shut.. up, tobio." panting for a moment, you clumsily push the umbrella above you to get some of the fresh air and the natural scent of the ocean across from you. you’re sitting up as you move ahead of him and plop yourself in your boyfriend’s arms. 

"what's with earlier, tobio-chan? gettin' all antsy and... you had to give them a show by us kissing hard, all messy, and sloppy." fiddling with your fingers, you treasure the rose gold promise ring he bought for your second anniversary, which you never removed from your hand- even when the relationship is experiencing a tough road throughout the journey. he’s silent as he leaves a tender kiss on the top of your head, his other hand occupied with the necklace he’s loosely wearing- and instead of another pendant, he used the silver ring that matches with yours. there is a faint tint of rose gold on his, the design is simple- on the top part there are bits of diamonds that twinkle under the sun, and an infinity sign weaves through the band seamlessly.

it’s beautiful, tobio muses to himself as he threads your fingers together. the rose gold circlet on your ring finger looks so gorgeous. he appreciates this about you, being silent as you lose yourself in his warmth. if his doubts and the inner voices keep ringing in his head, all he'd do is take a glimpse of the gorgeous ring fitted on your finger perfectly and those thoughts dissipate from his head. they are exchanged with the happy, smiley thoughts of you that overlap.

"you kissed me back, who's at fault now, pretty angel?" before you could react and hit his bicep playfully, he tightens his embrace on your body, squishing you a little until you’ve settled and formed into a puddle because of his touch- your hands sliding on his arm. you’re not shaking your feet anymore deep on the brown, soft sand. he cocks his head to the right as his navy, blue eyes slowly close and with a turtle’s speed, he brushes his soft, tempting lips below your ear, nipping, and blowing on that spot he knows drives a whimper out of you.

tobio’s such a discreet bastard, you muse as you bury your head more to the crook of his neck and attempt to think of a payback to him later. because what he’s doing to you clouds your mind with hazy pleasure, and he hums lowly as he listens to your breathless symphony he couldn’t get enough of it.

-

“kags did change a lot, huh? probably because of you.” her hands are occupied with holding a small shot glass carefully as she moves her hand. her eyes are glued to the swaying of the tequila. a soft snort comes out of you— shaking your head instinctively because, if we're being honest, you bloomed differently because of your boyfriend. he's taught you so many things. from being passionate to that one thing you love, that there’s someone who is going to save you when you’re breaking, or that the display of affection isn’t equal to the love and adoration he’s feeling for you. 

“i only helped him, don’t wanna make this all about me.” you take a big sip of your favorite cocktail, the cosmopolitan, mainly because of the blush pink color and the tinge of sweetness that suits your taste better. your boyfriends are on a journey to find the restroom and it has been a while. the loud, open bar the internet recommended is true to its word, the variety of colored lights flashing in an hour, the songs being played on the speakers are prominent, although you’d prefer if they turn the volume up because strangers are drunk and are pretty loud- like they didn’t need to prove they’re all over each other physically. 

oh damn, they need to up their flirting game. 

“what about tsukki? are you guys good?” you smoothly change the topic and inwardly sigh because you’re relieved she didn’t push the topic further. it’s not that you don’t want to talk about your boyfriend. your perspective is leaning on the realistic side and you don’t want to bore her with your life realizations- and you forbid yourself to sound like an old woman while telling about your real feelings and thoughts. 

“yeah! even though he’s still snarky, and teases me before... he’s better now. you know, one time he asked, asked for cuddles! it’s so cute..”

"and i wonder why our classmates are so shocked when he displays affection–like, man–he's a human. he wants touch, his pride gets in the way!" your hands are moving around you to emphasize your opinion, and you smack her lightly on the head the second you hear chuckles coming out of her. you stand on your opinion though, the shield on his heart just needed a hard hit- and successfully she did that. slowly entering his heart and letting his mask crumble when he’s with her. 

"right! still thankful for you that you pushed us to confess... or say some words." you roll your eyes playfully at her statement because you could witness their feelings for one another grow and grow– yet they keep their guard up and wait for the other to make the first move. their relationship reminded you of an anime you watched before, and you push them to confess after school, giving them encouraging words, but mainly you throw them playful threats. 

"just say you confessed." 

"whatever.. oh! remember the time you and kags were all over each other at the res—!" putting your hand over her mouth, muffle out her words in a rush before she can continue. heat blossoms to your neck as you reminisce that memory. it was supposed to be a chill, enjoyable double date even though your man and hers had this urge to be competitive on every thing you did. you ended in another restaurant (which was fancy and expensive). after the course meal, she ordered two wine bottles and tobio got tipsy. you were a bit tipsy but you could make out your surroundings, but the soberness came to a halt when he tugged you and gave you a hard kiss., it wasn’t the problem but- oh god his calloused hands kept moving around your body. for a moment you forgot you were in public and your friends are here—watching you. you pulled away for a moment and went to the bathroom, your happy face turned beet red, the realization coming in and making you more flustered if that was possible.

“what!? you got us tipsy. don’t even turn the tables when i actually saw,” you lower your voice on the end to make her panic which is evident in her eyes. you acting dramatic and slap a hand over your mouth as you shake your head, and your eyes focus on her, along with your finger pointing her body and let out your thoughts in the form of screeching and overreacting—-that’s what you’re good at—-she told you before in college. and your boyfriend instantly nods which resulted in a good old silent treatment for a few days. 

“with my two own eyes, you are taking those kinds of photos for tsukishima!” a teasing smirk is forming on your face and you’re taking another sip of the cocktail. as you’re about to finish the drink, she hits your legs with her little black handbag while she squeals. before you could pay your petty revenge, your boyfriend and tsukishima’s voices make you tense on the wooden stools. making eye contact with her, you pray that they didn’t hear the last part of your conversation because they weren’t supposed to hear that. if they did, they’ll be so embarrassed. 

"angel."

"baby."

turning around to see your boyfriend’s eyes on you, you get distracted by his dirty white long sleeves and the first two buttons that are open, and khaki shorts. he walks yet he never tears his dark gaze from you, his eyes now focusing on your tinted lips. his hand swiftly slides on your waist and you have to bite your lip to suppress your whimper since his hold on your body tightens. as for tsukishima, he whispers something to her and you know what’s going to happen. 

"see you tom!! ‘bout to get punished again." you wave the couple a goodbye as you and tobio walk back to the hotel you’re staying in. while you’re going back, he gives a soft peck on your temple and holds your bag. he suddenly stops walking and pulls you away from the crowd. he cups your cheek, which is getting red as he faces you. you’re becoming flustered by the stupid smirk growing on his face and, he rests his chin on your shoulder. his breath fans on your ear before he murmurs, his voice getting husky which makes your knees weak.

“oh angel, just take me well, yeah?”

[doridoripawaa]

Time was fickle, with too much power in her hands

Leaving foolish mortals subject to her demands.

One never seemed to know just how much time had passed

Or which breath they breathed would become their very last.

Relentlessly, the sands of time had flowed each day

And the lives these twins should have shared, drifted away.

When they should have been together, they were apart

Until they ceased to understand the other’s heart.

Fate would have denied them a chance to live at all.

But they faced their demons with their chins held tall.

Side by side, the star-crossed twins had once again met

And acted together without any regrets.

Now reunited, only one question remained.

The time the brothers had lost… could it be regained?

~~~

“...ran.”

A gentle voice, accompanied by a pair of warm, tender golden eyes.

“Saeran.”

A little shake of the shoulders accompanied the whispers this time.

“I know you aren’t sleeping, Saeran.”

As dawn’s light poured in through the windows, a young man with snow-white hair groaned and flitted his eyelids open. The soft pinks, oranges, and yellows of the outside that filtered in through the windows was enough to illuminate the eager, but fretful, face poised over his sleeping body. His emerald eyes narrowed as he scrutinized that face, which was finally starting to fill out around the edges again after the travesty he had endured. Apparently Honey Buddha chips and PhD Pepper could, actually, be beneficial for one’s health.

“I’m…” Saeran closed his eyes again and turned over onto his side, away from that burning golden gaze. “I’ll sleep now, Sae… Saeyoung.” The name felt bizarre on his lips, as if it were a name he wasn’t uttering himself. He knew it had been a great source of comfort in his youth, but after so many years of lies and deception, Saeran… had a lot to unlearn and relearn, to say the least. He still struggled to look directly at Saeyoung’s face, the face that reminded him of their past.

“Come onnn,” Saeyoung whined, and a small smile began to tug at the edges of the younger twin’s lips. Even though he wasn’t facing him, Saeran could easily picture the redhead’s lower lip sticking out in a pout and his freckled nose wrinkled up in frustration. “The sky is awake, so let’s wake up, Saeran.”

“Big talk coming from someone who also didn’t sleep,” Saeran commented casually, and he tried to pull up his blankets to cover his face.

The older twin, however, was not having any of his brother’s sass this morning.

“Rise and… shine!” Saeyoung chirped, and before Saeran could react, he grabbed onto the younger twin’s blankets and ripped them clean off of his body, giggling gleefully as he did so.

Saeran groaned inwardly (and perhaps outwardly, judging from the way Saeyoung was smirking at him) and pulled himself upright into a sitting position. The absence of blankets certainly would not stop him from sleeping, but candidly, he knew that his restless night wasn’t about to end in slumber anyway. He was trying to catch up on his years of sleep debt--he really was--but old habits die hard, and he was still the type of person who’d rather finish all of his tasks before taking any rest for himself.

Letting people down was the last thing that Saeran ever wanted to do.

He had taken up the torch of living for himself, but that did not mean that he suddenly stopped caring for all of the other people in his life. And despite everything, despite everything…

Saeyoung was near the top of his list of people he wanted to protect.

“You’ve got me,” Saeran conceded with a sigh, earning a hearty “yahoo!” from his brother. “Well, now that we’re both up,” he went on, brushing his bangs out of his minty eyes, “what did you have in mind for us for today?” He couldn’t be exactly certain of what his brother had planned; the elusive 707 was a mysterious, curious little cat, always sneaking this way and that. He must have had some sort of scheme up his sleeve, and Saeran was going to end up being dragged into it. He was happy to see Saeyoung being so playful, so mischievous, so cheerful again… but he could also be a bit of a headache.

“Fufufu,” Saeyoung chuckled, and his twin could have sworn that he saw a tail flicking eagerly behind him, “you see… I have nothing planned!” He put his hands behind his head and struck a wide grin at his brother. “Nothing at all!”

Confusion. Consternation. Curiosity.

Saeran narrowed his minty eyes at Saeyoung suspiciously. “Then… why are we awake?”

That, of course, was a question to which both of them knew the answer but neither of them wanted to vocalize it.

“Well, I just thought…” Saeyoung began, and then his arms dropped to his pockets, and his glittering golden gaze suddenly became clouded over with a hint of embarrassment. Embarrassment? Was Saeyoung… flustered? “I promised all those years ago that we would get to live freely, that we would get to do what we wanted.” A soft laugh slipped from his lips, but it was a sorrowful, pitiful sound, rather than a joyous one. As he lowered his head, Saeran couldn’t quite make out the expression in his eyes; the sunrise was reflecting off his glasses, obscuring his eyes--and his true feelings--beneath. “Well, the time has finally come!” He lifted his head and beamed at his twin again. “You’re in charge today, bro. Tell me how you want to spend the day!”

Saeran couldn’t shake this anxious feeling that crept up along his spine, sending a gentle shudder throughout his body. “Can… can we bring--”

“Brotherly bonding day!” Saeyoung interrupted him, and he folded his arms over his chest. “You. Me. That’s all.” His cheeks were nearly as red as his fiery curls, but Saeran could see how desperately he was trying to conceal just how uncomfortable and awkward he actually felt. The younger twin couldn’t help but admire his brother’s spirit; his ability to find laughter in even the darkest moments was a quality that had served him well.

“I’m in charge, then?” Saeran asked, looking for reassurance. He still felt his hair stand up and his nerves begin to prickle whenever he got too close to Saeyoung, but he was desperate to get over these feelings of dread. This was his beloved brother, his closest companion, his absolute ally. A day to catch up on lost time sounded… almost too good to be true. “Then, you’d better wear something comfortable.” Now a smirk played onto Saeran’s lips as Saeyoung tipped his head to the side curiously. “Be ready in 30 minutes.”

~~~

Through glades and underneath trees, traveled the twins

The elder being led by the younger one’s whims.

As birds chirped above and squirrels chattered in the trees,

Saeyoung couldn’t help but look at Saeran with glee.

“Are we there yet?” Saeyoung asked, but Saeran’s reply

Was but a shake of his head and an amused sigh.

“Be patient,” he murmured with a chuckle so soft,

That Saeyoung felt his heart soar high and aloft.

But then Saeran stopped, and with a smile on his face,

Turned ‘round and whispered, “Welcome to my happy place.”

The pair entered a field that was vibrant with life.

Of blooms, buds, and blossoms, the gorgeous field was rife.

“I come here when I need to breathe,” Saeran explained.

“When the world is getting tough and my heart feels pained.”

Just then, to the younger twin’s cheeks rose a soft blush,

“I want to share it with you,” he said in a hush.

Touched to his core, Saeyoung clutched his chest with his hand.

His brother had trusted him with this secret land!

“I want to make a crown for my lover, you see,

And I figured I’d let you accompany me.”

That was all Saeyoung needed to hear, ‘fore he said, “Let’s make beautiful crowns for your beloved’s head.”

As the sun traveled across the sky through that day,

The twins sat making flower crowns in their lil glade.

After making many wreaths of roses and mums,

Hunger began to rumble in both of their tums.

“If it wouldn’t be a hassle,” Saeran began,

“Not too far from here, I know of an ice cream stand.”

One twin wore a crown of lilac, one of aster,

As they raced to the shop to see who was faster.

One opted for strawberry, one for vanilla,

And they sat to watch folks from the nearby villa.

The sun was on the horizon, with bright pink rays,

To signal that the end was coming to the twins’ day.

As the first few stars twinkled in the growing night,

“Let’s head back,” Saeyoung prompted with a smile so slight.

Upon their return, the two climbed up to the roof,

One with a huge grin, the other a bit aloof.

But both were enchanted as they pointed up high,

Tracing constellations in the evening sky.

Saeyoung dared to turn his attention to Saeran,

And what he saw made his heart flutter yet again.

His twin was smiling, looking genuinely glad

As though the day with his brother weren’t half bad.

“Saeran,” Saeyoung whispered, his voice but a mumble.

“Thank you for today,” he said with a smile humble.

Saeran turned and replied, much to Saeyoung’s surprise

“Thank you, Saeyoung,” with a glimmer in his mint eyes.

~~~

A pair of flower crowns sat on the counter as the two brothers began to settle in for the night. Saeyoung yawned and stretched, ready to just fall asleep in his green pullover hoodie instead of actually changing into any pajamas. He wasn’t exactly sure how a day of weaving flowers and eating ice cream had taken so much of his energy, but he was willing to attribute that to a lack of sleep from the night before.

Well, a lack of sleep plus the constant fear gnawing at him that his brother secretly still loathed him and that he was just masking his fury and frustration as humility and timidity. Saeyoung had proposed the bonding day just as much for Saeran’s sake as for his own; they needed to make up for lost time, to try to reach out and understand one another again. Once they had been so close, they had been the other’s only ray of light in a world that constantly tried to snuff them out in darkness.

Now? He wasn’t exactly sure where they stood. Saeyoung didn’t know if he could ever again become that guiding light, that lighthouse in the night. But maybe, just maybe, he could be a candlestick, with a little flicker of hope, light, and warmth that could help lead his brother to safety and security.

‘Time for another sleepless night,’ the redhead thought, barely suppressing a sigh as he began to head towards his bedroom. “Thank you, bro,” he repeated once he saw that Saeran was also getting ready to turn in for the night. “It… it means a lot to me that you spent the day by my side.” A bit of a cheesy admission, sure, but in his efforts to change for the better, Saeyoung was trying to be more open about his feelings.

Maybe not to everyone, quite yet, but at least to his brother, his confidant.

“Well… good night, Saeran,” Saeyoung concluded at last, and he turned to open the door to the bedroom, eager to collapse and at least rest his eyelids even if sleep would never come.

A slight tug on his sleeve prompted him to stop before he ever reached the handle.

“S-S…” A soft whisper like a hiss trickled from the white-haired boy’s lips, and as Saeyoung turned his head to cast his twin a quizzical glance, he immediately noticed the vibrant vermillion that coated Saeran’s cheeks. “Saeyoung,” he managed to utter at last. “I… did not sleep at all last night,” he admitted finally, and Saeyoung almost began to worry that his brother wasn’t even breathing, judging from how red his face had become. “I kept… having nightmares.”

Saeyoung blinked sympathetically at his brother. He understood that feeling all too well. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a full night of sleep without some sort of haunting memory creeping up in his psyche, too.

“I think… I would sleep better… if I knew that I’m not alone, that I’ll never be alone again.” His gaze softened as he drifted away into his thoughts, his memories, his feelings. “If I had a reminder that I am enough, that I have strength and courage, when I think I am alone and powerless.”

The intensity of the aquamarine gaze that bored into Saeyoung’s golden eyes almost set the older twin ablaze himself. “I need that reminder,” he admitted. “Which is why…” His voice trailed off, but he quickly regained his composure. “Saeyoung.”

“Yes?” Saeyoung chirped, standing straight at attention. What was fueling his brother’s fire?

“Would you… be my guardian angel tonight?” Saeran murmured at last. “Would you… stay by my side until I can fall asleep?”

Guardian angel. A chance to be the candlelight in his brother’s life, once again.

“Be ready in 10 minutes,” Saeyoung told him with a smirk and a wink. “I’m going to tell you a bedtime story.”

He certainly didn’t expect the day with his brother to go so smoothly.

He certainly didn’t expect the day with his brother to end like a dream.

He certainly didn’t expect the day with his brother to result in him finally getting some sleep.

But as the twins lay side by side, both passed out in slumberland, for the first time in years, they finally looked at peace with one another.

I am delighted to have written for @megami606sama 's beautiful art for the @mysme-rbb !

[samingtonwilson]

Sweet Creature

Summary: sam is in love with the girl at the front desk of the VA, but he has the ability to help-- so he will. (named after the harry styles song but not ENTIRELY based off it. takes place pre-TWS, through AOU, until right before CW) 

Pairing: sam wilson x reader

Warnings: language. NSFW, sexual content, 18+. very slightly angsty.

A/N: i don’t usually write smut and here i am, writing 2 sex scenes in one one-shot. anyway sam wilson is an angel who has been through a lot and is still full of love.

gif below isn’t mine.

She’s hired in autumn and it’s like color bursts with every step she takes. 

Dull grayscale fades into red and yellow leaves, orange and pink sunsets. The burning sun finally cools, grains of desert sand stuck to his every memory slowly trickle away with the chilly breeze. Jack-o-lantern grins hurt his cheeks less, words exchanged over lukewarm coffee now spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg come easier. 

He hears the whistling of birds at dawn without the thought of malfunctioning wings, sleeps in a bed of softness without an ironic longing for dirt and rock mattresses under attacking stars. 

He falls in love in autumn. And smiles.

A smile that’s gap-toothed and silly by winter. A smile that brings warmth and sweetness to bitterly frozen December mornings. One which he offers her as he slides a cardboard cup across her desk, a white napkin tucked underneath it. 

She sees him listen in winter. Sees him as he lets others bleed on him while he bandages himself in silence. 

She hears him give heavy advice with a lightness that makes the others chuckle, like glittering rays of sunlight tearing through the blanket of clouds which is spread by mid-afternoon nowadays. 

He demystifies plastic bags that resemble harbingers of death, dispels blame and shamefully missed opportunities in favor of forgiveness and acceptance. He offers ribbon to tie a broken heart together, balm to ease the tightness of guilt. 

And it’s all done real easy. Pain isn’t discounted. It’s merely no longer thought of as the sublime mountain range of Romanticism. It’s real and surmountable, it has a slow-acting— but acting, nonetheless— antidote. There is liberty to be attained. Enlightenment.

There’s hope. A word which had lost its meaning until it’s said with those hot cocoa eyes and that woolen smile. A word that hurts less each time it’s used. 

She watches him radiate heat in the form of realistic optimism in winter. And falls in love. 

They’re setting up chairs one morning in spring. Half-past eight, the smell of percolating coffee and a greasy pink box of donuts in cool air. Sam’s phone is connected to the AUX cord, it plays something bluesy. A little sleepy sounding, but infinitely smooth. 

It reminds her of his voice as he greets her each weekday morning, his smile a saxophone solo and laughter a symphony. 

“I’ve been thinking.” 

Setting a chair beside the one Sam has just unfolded, she smiles. “That’s never a good sign.”

Deep brown eyes narrow in playful annoyance. “Cute.” 

“I’m aware.”

“I want to take you out.” 

She stills, rubber caps fastened to the end of the chair legs like boots are suspended just above the floor. Her eyes meet Sam’s as he stands a few feet away. He wears an effortless, confident smile and she stifles one back. Albeit miserably. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about? Asking me on a date?” 

“Among other things.” 

Something about the way he says it, that soft glimmer in his eyes and slyness in his smile, makes heat rise to her cheeks. She doesn’t look away, though. Simply narrows her eyes and sets the chair down. “Yeah? Like what?” 

He leans in her direction to take a folded chair from the rack behind her. She can smell his cologne, feel the warmth which rolls off him in waves, and something in her seems to catch on fire. Softly, he replies, “Say yes and we’ll talk about it on the date.” 

“Bribes don’t work on me,” she says, nose wrinkled as it almost bumps against his. She smooths his collar with nimble fingertips, gently brushing the cotton of his button-up. 

He watches as she looks up at him through her eyelashes and he nearly loses his balance— clumsy at the sight even as he stands still. 

“Give me until the end of the day to think about it?”

“Take as long as you want,” he breathes before he can help it, practically putty. 

Her nod comes with a smile. Something gentle and sweet. Steps slow and casual as she walks to the door. 

“Sam,” she calls, fingers wrapped around the wooden doorframe. Everything about her posture speaks to a reluctance to leave, a reluctance to follow that stupid advice from her old college roommate to mask eagerness. She grins when he looks up from the coffee he’s pouring. “I want you to take me out, too.” 

He grins as well. The coffee pot is set back down and he slips his hand into his pocket. Casual. 

Right? 

He hopes so. “You free tomorrow night?” 

“Tomorrow night?” she repeats with a laugh. Colorful against the beige walls, scuffed tile floors. “A little eager?” 

A shrug. Casual. 

But the look he gives her? Far from. “Maybe.” 

She looks away with a frown of consideration. Sends a smile to one of the regulars of Sam's sessions as he slides past her to enter the room with a short wave in greeting, sun-creased fingers and anemia-paled nails a brief flourish. “How about tonight then?” 

The gushing red of the first date seems to bleed into the second. 

The days between pass with sly looks, smiles hidden behind coffee cups and wrapped around smoothie straws. It’s as if his eyes have remained in hers since that night over a dinner she can’t remember the taste of. That same glimmer, that same miserably hidden desire and elation she knows are in her eyes, too. 

He touches her more in those days when the sun lingers a bit longer and the petals of flowering dogwood blossoms stick to the bottom of her shoes. Deep amber toned skin meets hers when a thumb sweeps over her knuckles, when a hand is placed at the small of her back, when fingers tangled together are hidden between them as they walk to the Hall C vending machine together— whispers about no other vending machine having the ginger ale she likes. 

There’s longing in those touches and whispers. In the looks exchanged across the lobby of the VA. In his posture as he stands in her doorway, a single long stem white rose in his hand. And especially in his gaze as he scans the length of her, done up all pretty for a movie he doubts he’ll be able to pay attention to. 

It’s just as well, though, as they don’t make it to the movie.

She invites him in, mumbling something about needing to fasten an earring, and forgets about it as soon as he takes a step to invade the space she’s kept open for him all along. 

A gentle breath when she thinks her eyelashes might caress his skin before she can and her laugh is a little nervous when she plucks the rose from his gentle grip. “I should put this in water.” 

He nods, but neither of them move. It’s only a second that his eyes slip a glance to her lips. But in that second he’s conveyed the shakiness in both their chests and the rose is forgotten at her feet as his lips claim hers. 

Warm fingers curve around the nape of her neck, holding her steady as he pours every bit of longing and withheld desperation into the kiss. She grasps the softness of his thin sweater in her fists and pulls him closer, smiling against his lips when a groan is ripped from his chest. 

A blind kick— one which has Sam worried that he’ll put a hole through her wall— shuts the door and a graceful spin has her back pushed into the splintering wood she’d painted turquoise a week after moving in. 

The brass knob digs into her side but it’s entirely ignored. All she can perceive is every solid, stone-like inch of his body— hot like fire beneath burgundy cotton— pressed against her, his soft but urgent lips moving with hers. 

It’s another minute, hour, decade perhaps of firecracker heat before he breaks the kiss. He smiles at the weight keeping her eyes closed, forehead lazily set against hers. He visually traces the slight swelling of her lips, the smudged gloss he’s sure is smeared over his own mouth in a thin, shiny layer on her cupid’s bow and the skin below her bottom lip. 

She sweeps her tongue over it, as if it’ll help bring her back to Earth. Her eyelashes flutter up toward her brows. Irises a mere ring around pupils blown wide, she gazes at deep brown eyes just barely honeyed by overhead bulbs. 

He watches his thumb glide over her cheek, feather-light over her lips. Commits the image and feel to memory. 

There’s amazement in his eyes. Perhaps at the confirmation that she is just as soft as he’d imagined. Perhaps at the feeling of finally. And, through harsh breath, his voice is hoarse as he says, “The movie’s in twenty minutes.” 

Before she can reply, he presses a kiss to her left temple, her left cheek then her right. Another kiss at the corner of lips now pitched upward and smooth lips glide over her jaw, then just below. She cranes her neck for him. “I have movies here.” 

His smile is felt rather than seen and it inspires one of her own. A strong arm winds around her waist, tight and answer enough. But, once he’s kissed his way to her lips again, he voices one anyway, “Even better.” 

She closes whatever centimeters of distance separate their lips and sighs when his hands slide behind her thighs, lifting her so that she can hook her legs around his waist. Her arms wrap around his neck and, somehow, she feels as if they aren’t close enough. Not with the layers of fabric separating them, not as he stands only feet from her door. 

His step backwards is hesitant, slow. 

“Down the hall,” she tells him, lips brushing his, “first door to the left.” 

His eyes open, but struggle to remain so when she presses kisses everywhere he had. Barely a foot past the hall entryway, she nips the skin beneath the hard line of his jaw a bit harshly. A soft hiss through his teeth and her tongue soothes the sting. It has his steps faltering until he presses her against the wall to join their lips in a deep but quick kiss. 

Her bedroom door is ajar and requires only the gentle push of her fingers to allow them through. The setting sunlight streaming through her drapes paints patches of her white comforter a deep gold, shining over her mirror and closet door. 

Everything about the space is warm and inviting. From the rumpled grey faux fur throw blanket and the floral rug placed before her bed, to the melted candles in glass jars and sloppily made porcelain vases he thinks she must have thrown and glazed herself. 

He lowers her onto the bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows haphazardly thrown near the headboard, and firmly kisses her lips— but only for a moment. “Baby, are you—” coffee brown eyes pop open to meet hers. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—” 

“I know we don’t have to.” Her nose wrinkles before she smiles up at him, sun outlining her features. “It might be a little soon, but I’ve wanted this for a while.” 

He grins in return. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So have I.” 

She narrows her eyes. A jesting glare, a contradictory smile. “And you waited this long to tell me? Disgraceful, Wilson.” 

“I’ll make it up to you.” The pitch of his voice is lowered, he ducks his head so his lips skim the skin behind her ear. He hears the hitch in her breath when his teeth scrape a particularly sensitive spot and shifts his weight so his hips rock into hers. “Over, and over, and over.”

The grind is faint. Barely there. But her mind reels, her nerves spark. Voice a mess of sighs, she asks, “How do you plan on doing that?”

“Guess you’ll have to be patient and see,” he says, but only once he’s nudged his nose against hers. Spared a long look into her eyes. Watched as her tender bottom lip is bitten.

His hands— such, such good hands, all warm and strong and safe— are everywhere. One grips the tip of her chin to mould their lips together, one skims bare skin just below the hem of her shirt. Fingers soft and the press of them gentle, blunt nails run up her side to follow the curve of her waist, tracing the band of her bra and just barely along the underside of a lace cup. 

He tips her chin upward to trail his lips to her throat. She gasps at the feel of a bite, the lap of a tongue just as his fingers pop the button on her jeans, and the muscles in her abdomen contract as he moves lower. 

His hands now push the knit fabric further and further up— slowly, inch by inch— until, in impatience, she lifts her shoulders and strips it away. Chin set just above her waistband, Sam grins at her. His low laughter is more felt than heard. “A little eager?” 

He’s met with a glower as she reaches back to unclasp her bra and toss it aside— and it only makes him laugh harder. However her frustration is merely a thin veil. A veil which has gone sheer the moment she struggles against a smile. 

Though there hasn’t been a loss of the heat in either of their eyes, their movements are now decidedly unhurried. The drag of his knuckles as he pulls black denim and lace the color of marigolds over her ass and down her legs once he’s tucked his shoulder under her thighs. The slow lift of his gaze as he seems to study every inch of her. The path of his lips and tongue from her belly button to her breasts to her lips. And the languid kiss that follows. 

Her leg hooks over his hip and, though she breaks the kiss, she speaks against his lips, “You’re a little overdressed.” 

Feeling him smile, she pushes against him and manages to roll him onto his back so her knees dig into the mattress. A playfully smug waggle of her eyebrows and she giggles— and, oh, he thinks his heart might burst at that. At the sight of her disheveled and a little scuffed from his ministrations. At the sight of her so bare and vulnerable, but so trusting and strong and happy.

He stares up at her, not hiding any bit of wonder or love, as she imitates the way he’d pushed the fabric of her shirt up her torso until he pulls it off the rest of the way. When she leans over him to kiss him once more, his hands cup her face to hold her there, barely registering in his mind how she unbuckles his belt and undoes his jeans. 

Thoroughly kissed silly, she presses swollen lips to his jaw, his neck, shimmying lower until she’s knelt between his legs. A lift of his hips helps her remove the bothersome fabric and she gives him a slow study of her own. That deep shade of his skin— interrupted only by a few lifted scars littered over his chest— seems to glow and reflect the golden shade of sunlight. Early evening sunlight which brightens already sparkling eyes, an already shining smile. 

Just as she makes to lean down a bit, intending to teach him the feel of his hard length down her throat, he sits up, fingers comb through her hair to guide her lips back to his. 

His arm then wraps around her waist and he pulls her into his lap, those soft, deliberate fingers slipping between her legs. The kiss gains further urgency when she moans into his mouth. When she rolls her hips to grind against his fingers. When he slips in a finger, then two, as his thumb moves against her clit and she arches into him. 

A slight lift of her hips only to bring them back down, Sam’s lips are at her neck now. A stroke of his thumb, a curl to his fingers as they’re thrust deep inside her. Her whimper is broken, a little choked as her walls tighten around his fingers. “Fuck. God, Sam.” 

He looks up at her. Stares at the shadow her eyelashes cast over her cheekbones, the plumpness of her parted lips, that wrinkle of tension between her brows. His hand moves faster, impatient as if he can feel the tight coiling in her stomach, the heat slowly creeping through her limbs. 

A whine escapes his throat as she practically shivers at a particularly slow, purposeful stroke of his thumb. “There we go, baby. Come on, I’ve got you.”

She says something. Something she herself doesn’t grasp. Stutters it, stammers it, slurs it.

Arm resting on his shoulders, her nails dig into his back harshly as the coil snaps. All at once. Walls fluttering, pulsing around thick fingers. Heat impossibly higher in trembling legs and tense arms. 

But it’s not enough. 

Not until, a slight burn and quiver in her thighs, she rises to her knees and grasps him at the base. She swallows over the thickness in her throat as she twists her wrist in a slow stroke of her own. Over his answering shudder, she says, “Condom.” 

A steadying breath. “I’ve got one in my wallet.”

He looks over her shoulder to the floor where the dark denim has been carelessly tossed and nearly whimpers.

Then she giggles. Presses herself closer and tilts a little to the left to reach into a drawer in the bedside table. She tears the package and seems to go purposefully slow as she rolls the latex down the length of him, smiling as her hand, loosely gripping him, sweeps back up and he softly groans. “Did you come here with expectations, Sam?” 

“Just precautionary.” 

Another laugh and a skeptical, “Uh-huh.”

So stiff she feels empathetic pain, she sinks down on him with little resistance. A bit of a lift, then down further. 

She, resisting the downward pull of her eyelids, watches him. As his eyes close, lips part, chest falls. All as he sighs. A loud rumble of relief from deep in his chest. 

He hits a point so far inside of her, it very nearly hurts. So thick, she feels she might have been split in two had he not taken the edge off so expertly. 

And he finds himself having to regulate his breaths. Not to choke at the silky feel of her stretched around him. Not to embarrass himself so quickly because it’s been so long. Since he’s had sex, yes— but especially since he’s felt anything near what she inspires in him, from wonderment to adoration, from blissful to so much love. 

“You doin’ okay?” through light laughter, she asks. Her voice is not much more than an exhale and there’s a soft squeeze around him. Not nearly at the strength of his fingers on her hips, though, bruising and stilling as she experimentally rolls her hips. 

She can’t help her smile at the hissed grunt he lets loose, at his own reacting laughter— dry, a little embarrassed. “Gotta give me a second, baby.” 

It’s only a few seconds— seconds she spends familiarizing herself with the heavy weight of him inside of her— before those same hands beckon movement. First by adjusting her legs so she crosses her ankles behind his back, then by pulling her impossibly closer.  

She pulls off of him inch by inch, sighs a moan at the slow drag of him, and whimpers at the snap of his hips, his voice gruff as he grinds out, “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.”

He punctuates the statement with a hard thrust, drawing a gasped whimper from her, and effectively takes control as his hands guide her hips forward and back. One hand, however, slides across her skin to her neck, his fingers curving around her nape and tangling through knotted hair to pull her into a messy kiss. 

She pants against his lips, kiss broken when his hips— definitely showing off— take on a somewhat circular motion as he thrusts. Her head tips back as he relearns the taste of her throat. 

His teeth scrape that spot he’d learned about just a few minutes— although it feels like a lifetime— ago just as his fingers slide between her legs, carefully passing over that bundle of nerves before pressing down fully with rapid movements. 

It’s as if that firecracker heat now sparkles up her spine, back arching into him as her vision seems to white out. Her walls tighten, her moans broken. 

“God, fuck.” His voice is harsh. Deeper than usual as he watches himself disappear inside her, each thrust more difficult than the last with the way she clamps down harder. 

He tries to stall the warmth that spreads through him, tries to hold himself back, but as his eyes trace every bit of her before focusing on the way pleasure twists her features, he thinks he might snap. Voice now verging on revelatory, he breathes, “So fuckin’ good, so perfect.” 

“Sam— Sam, I’m—” 

He doesn’t voice how thankful he is. Doesn’t praise the heavens aloud because fuck knows he wasn’t going to last much longer at all. 

He thrusts deep, hard. Sweet words mere babble against her lips, hips and fingers working quicker until—

His name is a mantra. The mingling of kaleidoscopic visions beneath shut eyelids and alight sandalwood incense nerves a kind of meditation. 

“Goddamn.” He slows but doesn’t stop working his hips against hers. The sounds from his throat blending with hers as he feels the quick squeeze and release around him, pulsing waves overtaking him entirely. “Fuck, fuck.” 

One last thrust. As far as he can go. And he spills white hot into the condom, words a mixture of curses and praises, declarations and damnations. She’d forgotten her own name in the throws of it all until he says it. Repeats it. A confirmation of reality to them both.

Silence apart from jagged breaths. Sunlight depleting, but she finds his skin still glows, eyes are still bright as he stares right back at her. 

It starts as a silent chuckle through her nose, one that is more felt as she shakes than heard. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip in an attempt to hold it in— this odd, messy laughter of happiness, and surprise, and so much love. It bubbles out of her anyway, especially as he grins in return. 

She doesn’t care about the goofiness of her laughter. The hiccupy punctuations liberally littered throughout. Doesn’t care about the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, along the bridge of her nose. The smudged makeup it sharpens. She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his lips, smiling when he follows her after she pulls away. 

“So are we gonna talk about that condom you brought?” 

A groan born of a snicker, he buries his face in the crook of her neck. His hands follow the curve of her waist, the indents of her discarded bra against her back and shoulders. Touches meant to memorize, rather than rouse. His thumbs sweep across her ribcage. “Told you. They’re just precautionary.” 

She gasps. Entirely too dramatic. “‘They’?” Her nails dig into his shoulder a little mean when he refuses to loosen the strong arm around her waist. 

He immediately lifts his head to glare at her and she glares back, far more convincing than he could ever be. “‘They.’ ‘They’!” 

She pokes her fingertip into his side. Once, then twice when his hold on her only tightens. “Did you have a big night planned, Sam? Huh?” 

Twice more and he sighs, pushes off the bed to roll the two of them over, smiles at the surprised squeak falling from her lips. He slips out of her as he holds himself above her. “You never know what might happen.”

“At the movies?” she asks. He’s sure he would’ve been able to hear the grin in her voice even if he hadn’t seen it stretching swollen lips. Another jab to his ribs and he hisses. “Just in case we fucked at the movies?”

In one hand, he grasps both of her wrists and pins them against the mattress. “Try it now.” 

Though his grip is loose enough for her to simply twist out of, she glowers up at him. But the glimmer in her eye, the way her toes trace up his calf stirs something still burning inside him. Tone deadpan, she murmurs, “Oh, no. What a terrible position you’ve got me in. What will I do now?” 

Though night falls quickly, draining the room of light but not desire, she sees her bedroom walls turn pink, her comforter now the hue of strawberry bubblegum. 

It seems to blossom more and more each night they spend tangled together beneath her sheets. On the kitchen counter after an early morning trip to the farmer’s market. In her car when the film is just too boring and she kisses him just too fucking much to stay in that fucking theater any longer. Against the wall beside his front door after he’d vanished with that new super-friend of his to chase down a ghost story on a busy highway. 

A pink balloon which pops before summer. Wilted scraps cast a shadow over cotton candy skies, browning once-green grass now gone unwatered. The sun burns tense skin and she fans herself with an informational brochure from the plastic pockets mounted to the wall. 

A summer like the frosty can of lemon-lime soda she drops after having just purchased it from the Hall A vending machine. Barely contained, set to combust at the first purposeful touch. Bent. Entirely wrong. 

She watches as new counselors take over Sam’s sessions. Watches as regulars fall away. Watches as CNN pundits berate a different Steve Rogers than the Please, just call me Steve who drops by monthly with a fresh donation check signed by Tony Stark— a Steve allegedly semi-responsible for the destruction of Sokovia. Watches as the story shifts to one of hope in the glowing hands— and on the wings— of new recruits. 

He stands outside her door that August evening. Shadows under his eyes, a scar below his hairline. “I can explain,” is his greeting. 

The green of a freshly mowed lawn stains her white canvas sneakers. Humidity leaves a sheen of perspiration over the high points of her cheeks. One of the Mickey Mouse band-aids the VA jokingly stocks in the break room first aid kit pasted over her knee. He stores the sight away, something nice to hold onto. “Can’t you always?”

He follows her inside, she knows she shouldn’t allow it. 

He stands too close, she knows she shouldn’t allow that either. “It’s been two weeks. You’ve called maybe twice. You won’t tell me where you’ve been.”

And she believes him when he says, “I can’t tell you where I’ve been. I told you, some things are classified.” 

“Jake Tapper on CNN says you’re moving to New York,” her voice is as small as she feels under the warm, safe hands he holds her face— and every bit of her heart— in. 

There’s little anger in the eyes she watches him with, almost none in fractured words. And he’s fully aware he’s undeserving of that. Of her neverending kindness, that small smile hidden under the long-suffering frown she’d offered upon seeing him in the hall, the home she provides. 

But not the warm apartment with the gauzy drapes and mismatched dining chairs— it’s the heart she somehow hasn’t taken back. Neither through the Steve needs me to find someone explanation which is meager at best, nor the I’ll be back as soon as I can goodbye each time he gets even the faintest lead on the assassin who owes him a new steering wheel. 

He isn’t sure why she’s stuck around. Or why she’s allowed him to walk in and out this way. He sighs and gives her the most detailed explanation yet, “Things are a mess upstate. Steve, Natasha, Stark… They’re scrambling. Trying to get everyone who can help together to avoid another Sokovia.” 

“You could’ve asked my opinion.” She wishes she could sound more stern to even herself. But her voice is a plea and overhead lights do for her filled eyes what the sun does for the ocean. Blinding glitter. “I wouldn’t have said no.” 

“I wanted to tell you in person. Talk to you about it face to face.” 

Though he’s made his decision. Made it the second Steve asked. And she knows it.

Because this is the same Sam with ribbons, balm, and hope. The same Sam who knows there is no liberty to hold when it isn’t made available to everyone. The same Sam who does what’s right no matter the personal cost— and what’s right is helping, simply because he can. 

She forgets that, beyond the barren walls and slowly emptying shelves of his home, summer still scalds bare shoulders and lemonade made from concentrate is still being sold by five-year olds from plastic lawn tables. Too busy boxing up his life. Too tired from nights— and early mornings— marked by urgency and premature goodbyes. 

It isn’t like the first time. Tears punctuate laughter. He holds onto her tighter and thrusts into her harder. Leaves marks as if reminders of himself he knows will physically fade but hopes remain emotionally. Each kiss an attempt to imprint the shape of his lips on the brightness of the soul she’s already embroidered his every touch onto with sharp needles and gilded thread. 

On the eve of his departure, he’s a sinner in confessional. Tells her everything as he rolls them over, a delicate entangling of their fingers while the movement of his hips is anything but. “I love you,” is said against her lips, repeated when he hears her breath stall. But this time as he looks into her eyes. “I love you. I have for so long.” 

He finds himself unable to stop. Strung out on each moan and gasped breath of hers and how long it might be until he can hear it again. How long it might be until he can feel her tighten around him again. “You’re so good. My sweet, beautiful girl. I love you so much.” 

She can’t speak. Not around the knot which has tightened itself at the base of her throat. The knot which only lets his name through, only lets please’s and profanity wrapped in the voice of an angel through. 

She loses count of how many times he says it. Only remembers the different inflections each time. From revelatory and amazed, urging and pleading, to firm, as if it’s indisputable fact. And that, coupled with the way he angles himself to drag against her clit with every bit of push and pull, causes her to fall over the edge twice— nerves overshot and almost painfully sensitive. 

He wants a third. Needs to give her a third. Something to remember him by. So his fingers shoot down between them, thumb hooked between her legs. Even as she grasps his wrist. Her eyes shut, her back arched and head thrown back. 

“You have one more in you,” his voice is rough. Slurred syllables, dragging consonants. His free hand grabs her chin, an attempt to physically bring her gaze back to his. But her eyelids remain closed. “Look at me.”

Eyelashes with remnants of the day’s mascara flutter up toward her brows. Hazy. Yet through it all— through the sparks shooting up her spine as she comes for the third time and through the tears which seem to have found a home above her lashline throughout the past week— she sees him. She’s always seen him. She always wants to see him. 

So as he paints her pulsing walls in warm white ribbons and tells her he loves her for the nth time, she breathes, “I love you, too. Also have for a long time.” 

A beat of silence. Shallow breath held. And he smiles. Silly and warm, like winter in summer. “And you waited this long to tell me? Disgraceful, baby.” 

She rolls her eyes— well-meaning and fond. A giggle that makes him lose his mind. Thumbs brush feather-light over his cheekbones. “Come back to me in one piece and I’ll make it up to you. Over, and over, and over.” 

He makes her a promise that night. 

One he echoes the next morning and every subsequent night they manage to catch each other on the phone. The promise which becomes a goodbye whenever, after a day or two of personal leave as far as SHIELD and the Avengers are concerned, he’s set to take her heart back to New York with him.

“I’ll always come back to you.” 

---

[ellewritesathing]

Infernal VII

Summary: In your sleepy little town of Greendale, nothing ever slept for long. And ever since October, everything felt like it was waking up. Everything except for you, that is. One teensy trip to Hell (and an infuriatingly cute guy) later and suddenly you felt wide awake.

Word-count: 3.3k+

Masterlist Prev. | Part 7

A/N: we’re back witches

The Shores of Sorrow was never meant to be a peaceful place. It was perfectly designed to torture lost souls for eternity, to damn them to an existence where they are forgotten by all except the high tides that mercilessly embraced them. Perfectly designed for torment, and yet you felt nothing but peace as the waves washed over your feet and the sun clung to the horizon … that is, until you sensed the demon behind you. 

With a quick exhale, you summoned the Harpe and let it guide your muscles to cut down your attacker as you turned. Though it had been clumsy and cumbersome when Caliban had first given it to you, you’d grown used to the weight of the sword and learned the necessity of the sickle. The Harpe was an extension of yourself. 

“Careful, love.” Caliban wielded his smile as dangerously as you wielded the Harpe. He’d jumped out of the way of your blow, but his The Doors t-shirt was too slow. The Harpe tore through the right side of his shirt, barely missing his skin. “You could hurt someone like that.” 

Tilting your head to the side and leveling your sword at him, you said, “That’s kind of the point, babe. Sorry about your shirt though.” 

Caliban looked at the Harpe for a moment before smiling to himself and stepping backward. Kneeling down and sinking his hands into the sand, he said, “I think it suits me better this way, don’t you?” He rose with twin obsidian daggers.

“I think it would look a lot better if you weren’t threatening me.”

“I’m not threatening you. I’d like to see what those malignants have taught you.”

“Oh, would you now?” 

Grinning, Caliban twirled the daggers and struck out. He was fast, but you’d been trained to be faster. 

You pulled the Harpe in to block the dagger headed for your chest and swiped to knock it to one side. Caliban turned into the movement so as not to lose the blade. He circled you with a dangerous smile, searching for a weak spot. You knew he’d found one when he tossed one of the daggers in the air and caught it with an overhand grip. Yet his determination still surprised you when he lunged and aimed a strike at your side. 

Dropping the Harpe, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer - ignoring the stinging in your side to make a play for the other dagger. Caliban laughed at the clumsy attempt until you kneed him in the gut. 

Twisting out of his hold, you summoned the Harpe and readied yourself for the next attack. For a while, Caliban moved in insufferable silence, but soon he started throwing witticisms and critiques your way as well. As distracting as the words were, they kept you from overthinking. Your moves were smoother, hits were harder, and strikes quicker. Still, you were restrained; no matter how easy it would have been to lean into the Harpe’s viciousness, you couldn’t risk hurting Caliban. 

The sparring only stopped once you’d knocked each other to the ground, a dagger pressed to your ribcage and the Harpe at Caliban’s throat. You were frozen, the never-setting sun washing his features in pale pink light and contrasting the flecks of gold in his eye. He smiled. 

“If this were a real fight-” he pulled the dagger back to twirl around his index finger before throwing it into the sand, “I would have cut out your heart by now.” 

“If this were a real fight-” you leaned down slightly, applying ever so much more pressure to the Harpe “-I would have summoned Hellfire in your lungs and watched you burn alive by now.” 

With a dangerous smile of your own, you pulled the Harpe back and let it vanish as you rolled over to a seat. The sun hung ambivalently on the horizon, blanketed in clouds. With the water slowly washing the shore, you could almost forget the souls of the damned drowning further out to sea. 

As you sighed, Caliban rolled on his side to face you, head cradled in his hand. He touched your elbow and ran his index finger along your arm as he said, “Summoning Hellfire is new. Last week you just threatened to stop my heart.” 

Truth be told, you couldn’t have stopped his heart even if you wanted you. You’d learned to master many of the gifts Lilith had given you, but telekinesis always gave you a nasty headache. “Keeping track of my powers in case I’ll follow through one of these days?” you asked, turning to him with an easy smile. You reached over and pushed some of his hair behind his ear. 

Catching your hand with his, Caliban said, “Not at all.” Carefully, deliberately, he ran his thumb across the outside of your hand, connecting the scars scattered along your skin. “I won’t mind if you do, but I only ask in a vain attempt to determine when Lilith will be satisfied with your training.” 

You choked out a laugh. “Lilith is never going to be satisfied with my training.” Rolling your eyes, you moved from your seat to lie in the sand. You stared at the clouds ahead, darker than you’d ever seen in Hell. “Every time I get the hang of one ability, she comes up with some fresh punishment. I’m hoping she’ll chill out once my replacement is born.” 

Caliban was quiet. He looked at you with the same curious, indecipherable expression he’d used when you met on the Shores of Sorrow; jaw clenched, mouth barely upturned, and eyes searching. You asked what he was searching for.

“I was wondering where exactly I fit in the grand plan,” he said.

“Right next to me?” He didn’t seem convinced. You reached for his hand again. “Honestly, I don’t know where I fit into the plan either, but I do know they’re showing all the Alien movies at the Paramount this Friday. Maybe you could-”

A drop of rain landed on your face, but when you wiped it away, your hand was smeared black. You bolted upright, and the world around you shook. 

“Caliban, what’s happening?”

“Someone’s trying to wake you, but you have to be careful-”

Electricity cracked through your skull, the pain so overwhelming that you didn’t register the tightness in your chest at first. Every muscle in your body ached, cramping from the sudden tension. You’d only experienced this kind of pain your first time using dream manipulation, when Lilith purposely pulled you out too suddenly to teach you the dangers of the waking world. 

Lilith wasn’t the one who woke you this time. The white spots faded from your vision to give way to your dad, frantic and shaking you. By the time your hearing came back, he'd moved to the window. He rocked on his heels as he peered between your curtains. His words were incomprehensible. 

“Dad, what’s wrong?” 

Your dad turned his whole body to look at you. He blinked twice, slowly, before saying, “Oh, good. You’re awake. All the lights are out.” 

Gingerly, you tested your muscles before trying to sit up. Everything still hurt, but you could move. “Did you try messing with the breaker?” 

“I was an English major,” he told you seriously. 

You rolled your eyes, thankful that he was at least lucid enough to crack a joke. He’d gotten better when Lilith was still coming around, but she stopped visiting almost as soon as she started. “I’ll go see if it’s affecting anyone else or just us.” 

Crawling out of bed, you waited for the world to come into focus before making your way through the house to the breaker in the garage. You were just about to open the door when the toaster dinged behind you. It was working perfectly. The fridge was cool inside, even if the light wasn’t working. The only flaw you could find with any of the appliances you checked was the lack of light. 

With a shudder, you told your dad that you were going to Sabrina’s. 

He’d seemed completely himself since you woke up, but now he looked at you with a glassy expression that you knew all too well. Instead of telling you to be careful or that he’d see you soon or that he loved you, he said, “The instruments of darkness tell us truths.” 

“Right,” you said with a sigh. You grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair. “I’ll keep that mind.”

---

One thing that you never understood about the Spellmans was that they never locked their doors. You understood now that a lock couldn’t keep out the threats they faced and there was no need to keep out their friends, but you still smiled to yourself as you let yourself in through the backdoor. Once inside, you found Sabrina, Ambrose, Nick, and Prudence huddled around the breakfast table as Ambrose warned them against something he called the eldritch terrors. 

He told them to imagine a world without light, just perpetual darkness. Chaos would follow, and eventually so would death. You shuddered at the dark clouds in your dreams. “Worse comes to worst,” he said, “We cannot allow the darkness to escape Greendale.”

Prudence promised to work with the coven to seal Greendale’s borders as Nick offered to work with the Fright Club to contain the miners. Sabrina and Ambrose would work to disperse the darkness. None of them sounded very hopeful.

You took a step forward and tried to sound braver than you felt. “I can help.” 

“Okay, sure,” Sabrina said, nodding at Ambrose over her shoulder. If she was surprised to see you after lurking in the corner of her kitchen, she didn’t say anything about it. “You can help Nick look for a spell to stop the miners.” 

“No, Brina, that’s not what I meant.” Taking a deep breath, you held out your hand, palm up to the sky. You summoned the Hellfire and let the dark paint the flames and your eyes black. “I can help.” 

There was only one time in your life that you’d ever left Sabrina Spellman at a loss for words: you were nine years old and Billy was testing the limits of the school’s zero-tolerance bullying, Sabrina was using her words the way Aunt Hilda had told her to, and you used your push-kick the way your dad had told you to. The speechless that overcame her now, however, was a different breed. When you were young, it had been a kind of admiration; now, it was a kind of betrayal. The quiet of a broken promise. 

While Sabrina was still processing how her best friend could summon Hellfire, Prudence leaned in closer. She tilted her head as she took you in, intrigued by you for the first time since you’d met her. Even as Nick dragged her out, she kept her eye on you like a cat watches a mouse. Just before she disappeared, she winked at you. 

You’d been so caught up in the whirlwind that is Prudence Blackwood that you didn’t notice Sabrina’s recovery and Ambrose’s diatribe. She pointed out that even if you could keep the darkness at bay long enough for her to create light, her powers wouldn’t be enough. Ambrose argued that the consequences of her suggestion would be cataclysmic. 

“Aren’t we facing something cataclysmic?” she asked. 

Ambrose sighed. Sabrina, begrudgingly, had made a fair point. “How do we go about this? No one other than myself can see the two of you together.”

“Uh, hi?” You stepped forward carefully. “Could one of you please explain what’s going on?” 

Sabrina looked at Ambrose uncertainly. He nodded - after rolling his eyes - and she took a deep breath. “Remember when I gave up being Queen of Hell?” 

“Yeah…” 

“I didn’t really do that. I broke a time loop and created another version of myself so that I, Sabrina Spellman, could have this life and she, Sabrina Morningstar, could continue being Queen of Hell.” 

“Damning the rest of us to a universe that could potentially fold in on itself in the process,” Ambrose finished. 

“Oh.” You couldn’t say that you weren’t surprised that there were two Sabrinas - it didn’t make sense for Caliban to tell you stories about Sabrina advocating for reforms in Hell when you’d seen in her homeroom that same morning stressing about a trig midterm - but you were surprised she’d managed to keep it a secret so long. “This explains why you were muttering about time paradoxes when we were researching the fairy circles outside the Academy,” you said to Ambrose. 

All Ambrose could do was choke out a laugh and shake his head. “Yes, Scout, that is why I was muttering about time paradoxes and why I will die prematurely,” he said, turning on his heel to focus on Sabrina. “Get Sabrina Morningstar, keep contact to a minimum, and we will meet you both at the mines.” 

“Got it!” With a grin, Sabrina disappeared to prepare a glamor. 

Ambrose stared at her, stunned, before saying, “I think she’s actually enjoying this.” 

“What’s not to enjoy?” you asked. You laughed at Ambrose’s outrage over your joke and told him you’d meet him at the mines. There was one thing you had to do before you took on the eldritch darkness. 

Ambrose didn’t ask any questions; he just told you to be back as soon as possible. 

Luckily for you, teleporting to Hell took almost no time at all. The only reason it took you so long to get back to the mines was that it was nearly impossible for both Lilith and Caliban to slip away from the Courts unnoticed. If getting them in a room together was nearly impossible, then getting them not to tear one another’s throats out required a miracle. 

It seemed the only thing the two of them could agree on was that it was too dangerous for you to go into the darkness alone. 

“I won’t be alone,” you said for the umpteenth time. Careful not to mention the other Sabrina, you explained, “I’ll have all the Spellmans with me. All I’m asking from you is …” What exactly were you asking from them? Help? Forgiveness? 

Lilith rolled her eyes. “While the Spellmans may have an uncanny ability to vanquish their foes, I severely doubt their ability to ward off one of the eldritch terrors. Especially without their resident Morningstar.” 

“And what exactly are you suggesting we do, Lilith?” Caliban asked. He said her name as if it were a poison. He used the same steely voice to talk to her that he used when he challenged her claim to the throne, even if he paired it with a smile in your presence. 

Lilith simmered, pulling her lips into a tight smile. Some part of her, you thought, enjoyed the fact that Caliban was defiant, but you knew that an even larger part of her disliked others doubting her. Turning to you, she said, “No one other than the three of us can know about your claim to Hell. I cannot help you face the darkness, but if we bind our powers together, you may have a chance of surviving it on your own.”

“Even with your power, how would I even go about fighting something like this?” you asked. “I can’t make light.” 

“You don’t need to,” Lilith said. “You can feed on the dark, acknowledge it as yours, and draw power from it.” 

Caliban doused the fire building in your veins with water as he stepped forward. “The effects of absorbing that much darkness could be deadly.”

“So is doing nothing,” Lilith said. She tilted her head up to him and narrowed her eyes. “So, Prince of Clay, unless you have any better ideas, I suggest we get a move on before the eldritch dark ends us all.” 

---

You weren’t sure what to expect from the other Sabrina. You’d supposed they would be the same as Wardwell and Lilith: they’d share a face and be impossibly different from one another, but that wasn’t the case. Sabrina Morningstar was an exact double of Sabrina Spellman; if anything, she seemed to be a more hopeful version of your best friend, despite her extended stay in Hell. 

“I see what you mean about the energy down here,” she mused, looking ahead to where the Darkness lay. “It’s … evil. And old. I feel terrible.”

The Darkness didn’t feel evil to you. It felt sad, bottomless, and empty, but not evil. 

“And that will only get worse once you’re inside,” Ambrose said. He tore his eyes away from the Darkness. “Prolonged and acute exposure to the Darkness is lethal. Death by despair.” He sighed. “So who’s first?” 

Sabrina Morningstar shifted next to you. “Me.” 

She squeezed your hand before letting go to pick up the giant lightbulb at her feet. She threw you a trademarked Sabrina smile before disappearing into the Darkness. Even in the pit of despair, there was a light in her that seemed utterly unable to be snuffed out. 

You took a deep breath, shook every other thought out of your head, and focused on the dark. The Dark wasn’t evil, it wasn’t cold. It was pulling faces over a flashlight under the covers with Roz, Theo, and Sabrina. It was Tommy teaching you and Harvey about astronomy through a cracked telescope. It was warm, and sweet, and deeply, intrinsically sad.

The Darkness filled every cell of your being, replaying every birthday you spent wishing that your mother had loved you enough to stay, echoing every degrading word school bullies had said to you. It was smothering.

Sabrina stood right next to you, but her voice was barely audible. “Something’s wrong, Ambrose. The- the light’s fading.”

“I’m afraid so, cos,” Ambrose said. 

You fought to pull yourself out of the Darkness, but it was like shedding a second skin. The Darkness felt like a part of you, more you than yourself. 

The instruments of darkness tell us truths. 

Breathing in, you opened your eyes and steadied yourself. The Darkness was a part of you, maybe the truest piece of you, but that’s all it was: one part of you, one version of the truth. You reached for Sabrina’s hand and forced a smile. 

“Let’s go help her.”

Sabrina stepped into the Darkness first, but then she froze. She couldn’t feel the energy in the dark like you. Carefully, you led her through the Dark until you found Sabrina Morningstar, Darkness seeping out her nose and eyes. She was crying, hope snuffed out. 

Hope, it turned out, took the form of Sabrina Spellman. She picked the pieces of Sabrina Morningstar off the floor and told her that they could face the Darkness, and anything else that came their way, together. And maybe with a little help, you added, as you knelt with them. 

Taking their hands in yours, you drew the Darkness out of their hearts. While Sabrina Spellman hadn’t let very much in, Sabrina Morningstar had worn her heart on her sleeve. She felt every emotion the Darkness threw at her with full force and let her shattered past cut her open. Taking her Darkness was one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, but it was worth it to see the two of them smile over a lightbulb filled with Absolute Darkness. 

Ambrose was a wreck when you found him again. He looked ready to cry at the sight of you. “Congratulations! Unbelievably, the three of you have managed to do what is nearly impossible: you trapped an eldritch terror.”

“We did it,” the Sabrina’s said, each squeezing one of your hands. 

“We should get that lightbulb somewhere safe,” Ambrose said. He took another shaky breath and shook his head as Sabrina Morningstar scooped the Darkness up and started wading through the mines. “I can’t believe that actually worked.” 

“Yeah,” you said softly, watching them disappear down the tunnel. Lifting a hand to wipe your nose, you saw the familiar sticky Darkness painting your fingertips. “Neither can I.”

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[outofsstyles]

So much for summer love and saying “us”

a/n: hola! this is my very late fic for @helladirections’s Summer Feeling Challenge!! My prompts were beach + summer rain so yeah! If yall know me you know I could not have miss Taylor release a whole album and not get inspired by it (for this piece particularly it was the song August) so yup this is it. Anyway no more rambling, let me know what you think :)

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: angsty 🤭

Also this takes part after *this blurb* you don’t have to read it to understand but I do recommend it!!

Salt air, and the warm summer breeze messes with your hair. Your fingers get caught on the knots as you run your hands through it, feeling grains of sand lost in the strands, trying your best to untangle it. Even with your attempt to restrain your locks, some still manage to dance along with the wind, whipping in your face in the process, and taking your attention out of the open book resting on your thighs.

With a huff, you pull up your sunglasses from where it rests on your nose, holding your hair back as you use it in a last attempt to repress it. Looking up, now without the darkened vision due to the lenses, you realize the weather has toned down considerably. You pick your phone from where it rests under your legs, pressing the lock button just to check the time and you realize it’s been almost eight hours since everyone first strolled down from the house and settled on the mild pale sand.

Not long ago, the sun was shining proudly in the clear blue sky. It wasn’t as hot as it had been around lunchtime, when you went up to the house to fetch the sandwiches you and Mary made for everyone, almost burning your feet on the heated cobblestone in the process. Instead, it was like a warm hug, a nice contrast to your cooled skin from when you and the rest of the group went out for a swim.

Now, however, the sky was painted in a grayer tone. The sun hiding behind the clouds, no longer shimmering on your skin, reminding you of the rapid approach of summertime.

No else seems to notice (or care) about the change in the weather, really. Maya still reading her book on her beach towel set next to yours, lying on her belly as she flicks through the pages, humming along to the distant song blasting through the speaker. The boys were playing volleyball not too far from where you two lie -- well, at least the best they could with two people on each side. You look in their direction for the first time in the last hour, letting your urges win as your eyes set on the one person you’d been avoiding for the whole day.

The whole week, actually.

It’s been just about a week since your drunk confession to Harry. When you’d said you loved him with your whole chest right as he was about to press play on Coraline. You still cringe at the memory, especially when you recall his reaction, saying it back in the most calculated voice you’d ever seen him use -- you’ve decided he only said it for your sake, as to not make the moment more embarrassing than you’d already made it. He had promised to talk in the morning, but you feel like you can’t be blamed for running away as soon as your eyes fluttered open, and the events of the night prior hit you like a brick in the face.

You feel a pang of guilt about it, of course, for completely avoiding him like you are. Not like it’s a simple task. You live together after all, but you still managed to do it for a whole week. With your term being over, you fell into a routine of meeting with the girls for breakfast in the mornings and hanging around at their flat until the sun was setting and you had to catch the subway before it got too dark. As soon as you got home you’d lock yourself in your room and fall asleep to an episode of Stranger Things.

It was the easiest way, though. Limiting your interactions to a casual ‘Good morning’ or ‘There are some leftovers in the fridge’. No discussion of feelings. No explanation of your remorseful confession. No putting him in the place of having to reject you. No straining in your friendship.

You just pushed back the pain in your heart that came with having to look at his face twice a day and tried your best to ignore him to the best of your abilities.

That is until you couldn’t anymore.

This summer trip has been planned for months now. Since one of your mutual friends explained he’d have his family’s vacation home to himself all summer at a Christmas dinner and wanted to have everyone over for a week or two. It was exciting, of course, having a two weeks getaway with your group of friends seemed like the perfect idea to start your summer break on the right foot. What you’d never expect was that by the time the trip came along the last you’d want was to be in the same house as Harry without having anywhere else to run to.

Sighing, you gaze back at your forgotten book, your eyes sweeping over the words, not able to fully concentrate on them. And just as you give up, opening your mouth to announce you’re joining Mary in the house, a ball hits the spot just below your feet, making the sand around it jump and a small squeal to leave your lips.

You reach for it, leaning forward to hold it in your hands before looking up at the presence approaching you. It’s hard not to feel the jolt in your heartbeat as you meet his jade eyes, there’s almost a hesitance to his steps as he gets closer. You force a smile to tug on your lips as you hand him the ball, ignoring the electric hush that shoots down your spine when your fingers brush just slightly -- it’s the first time you’ve touched him in a week.

“Thanks.” It comes out rushed and you almost miss it. You think he’ll turn around and join the game again but he lingers for a moment, expecting you to say something.

You simply nod, not sure what to say, and that sends him back to where the rest of the boys are waiting for him. It’s hard not to stare as he walks away, the muscles of his broad back moving with him, skin tanned and a bit reddened around the shoulders. If things were normal, you’d have made him put on sunscreen after going for a swim, knowing how easily he gets sunburnt, and you’d pester him for not listening to you once he asked you to help apply the moisturizer that soothes the pain. You’d smooth your hands on his skin and spread kisses along his neck when he flinches as you rub a sore spot. You’d be mindful not to drag your nails through it once he had you under him, panting his name as his head rests between your thighs.

Looking back down at the cover of The Shining, you shake your head at yourself. Things are not normal, and they probably never will be again.

“I don’t even recognize you two anymore.” Maya’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. She closes her book, setting it down on her towel as she looks up at you from behind her sunglasses.

“What do you mean?” You run your eyes from the stare, choosing to gaze at the ocean instead, noting the way the waves are crashing closer to where you lay than they were in the morning.

“You know what I mean.” She shifts to lie on her back, propping herself up on her elbows. “Ignoring him like this is not the solution you know.”

You sigh, fidgeting with the loose strands at the hem of your towel. “I know.”

“You’re just hurting him.” She presses further, taking her sunglasses off and letting it fall on her stomach.

You look at her, eyes silently begging for her to drop this conversation but you know now that she’s brought it up she won’t let go easily. “Maya--”

“It’s the truth, and you have to hear it.” She sits up fully, turning to face you as she crosses her legs. “How long do you plan to keep going like this? You can’t just avoid him forever.”

“I-- I don’t know.” You say honestly, adjusting your glasses on top of your head nervously as you trow a quick look to his direction, making sure he’s still occupied with the game.

“Talk to him.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Well, it’s what they say, life is not simple, darling.” She argues, “You’re hurting with this just as much as he is.”

Your shoulders drop, just barely, hating how well she knows you. “But not for the same reasons.”

“Really?” Maya’s voice pitches as she tilts her head. “How so?”

“He doesn’t see me like that.”

“You don’t know that.”

Looking up, you take a deep breath, feeling your throat tightens. “But I do know that, Maya.”

“You don’t.” She says softly, leaning forward to reach for your hand. “He loves you.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t--”

“It’s true...” She squeezes your hand, shifting closer so she can rest her head on your knee, eyes searching for yours. “You’ve slept with him every single weekend, for... What? The past year?”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” You wipe away a stubborn tear that slides down your cheek. “You don’t love all the men you fuck.”

“Well I don’t live with them, thank god.” She tries to humor, her smile still tender as she rubs her thumb on your hand.  “You two don’t just fuck, you know that, babe.”

You let out an exhale, chewing at your inner cheek as you let the sounds of the waves and the whistle of the wind fill the air between you two. She’s right, even if you hate to admit it, you can’t go like this for much longer. As easy as it is to ignore your feelings, you know they’re still there, and at some point, you’ll have to face them. The longer you wait, the worse it will be. But you can’t help but feel like any chance of fixing it has slipped through your fingers already. Your relationship with Harry - whatever that was - seems so distant now it’s like an image you can see but can’t quite reach. And it’s all your fault.

Maya sighs after a beat too long of silence, squeezing your hand, “Talk to him, please.”

“I--” you start, but you’re interrupted as thin raindrops begin drizzle from the sky.

It’s gentle, a summer rain clearing the warm air that hugs you with cold drops running down your skin. You and Maya jolt up from where you sit, quickly gathering your towels and patting them against your skin to get rid of some of the sand that stuck to it. Thankfully, Mary took the rest of your belongings with her when she went back to the house, so you don’t have to bother with them as you wrap your towel over your head, hugging your book close to your body so it doesn’t get ruined by the droplets of water. You can hear the commotion behind you from the boys as they interrupt the game, but you don’t turn around, only rushing towards the few steps that lead to the house in search of a cover.

The cobblestone is slippery as you jog in the patio barefooted, and you have to mindful as not to slip down and make matters worse to you with a broken back. But you manage to make it to the covered area without any accidents, thankfully, your feet only sliding slightly against the floor. The double glass doors that lead to the living room are slid open, and you can see Mary sitting on the L shaped couch inside, scrolling through her phone.

She peeks up at you when you approach the door, Maya coming not too far behind you. “Leave your dirty towels on the chairs outside, I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

You do as she says, hanging the towel on one of the rattan chairs arranged in a semi-circle next to you. Mary appears on the doorframe, leaning against it as she crosses her arms under her chest. She’s no longer dressed in her teal bikini set, one you’d complimented as soon as you saw her wearing it. Instead, she’s in some pink pajama shorts, hugging a cream ribbed cardigan close to her body as a rougher strand of wind rips around. Her hair is damp and pushed back behind her ears, you reckon in the short time she was alone in the house she must’ve taken a shower. Which is probably something you should do as well, you think.

Before you can walk inside, though, someone calls you out from behind you. Turning around, you see as the boys approach the house in much less of a hurry you had been in. You find the voice that screamed for you belongs to Declan as he’s leading the rest of them, a taunting smirk painting his face.

“Are you two made of sugar or what?” The words all but stumble out of his mouth and you have to suppress a giggle, he’s probably still drunk from the numerous White Claws they’d consumed throughout the day.

You shake your head. “I’m not trying to get a cold, thank you very much.”

“You’re no fun.” He stops just before entering the covered area, the rain still pouring on his body as he wiggles his hips. “C’mon loosen up a bit.”

You take a step towards him, opening your mouth to bite back but before any word can come out he’s reaching for your arm, drawing you to him. “Declan, no!” You giggle, trying to set yourself free from his grasp but he starts walking backward, pulling you with him. “Stop!”

His other hand that’s not wrapped on your arm is holding the Bluetooth speaker, waving it over his head as he presses his thumb on the volume button, turning it up. Starships starts blasting in the air, blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the ground. You can barely contain your laugh now, wondering how in hell this song even ended up on his playlist. Declan takes the opportunity to fully pull you out in the rain, hugging his arm on your waist and moving his hips along to the beat, bumping it against yours.

He points at Mary who’s still leaning against the door frame, watching the scene with an amused grin.  “I know you love this one.”

“Not a chance Dec.” She calls back from where she stands, earning a loud ‘boo’ from the boy.

His arm doesn’t leave you side as he keeps moving along to the song, his voice slurring the lyrics so loudly next to you it almost swallows the sound coming from the speaker. The drops tickle down your skin, as the rain pours down your body, soaking you as if you’d just dove into the ocean. Your hair is weighing down on your head, and you reach up to push it out of your forehead as you try to follow Declan’s moves but he starts jumping around, making it harder for you.

You watch as Maya decides to join in, skipping to her boyfriend. Looking over your shoulder, you notice the rest of the boys haven’t gone inside and are still standing in the rain, much like Declan. You’re still laughing, almost incredulously, at the scene unfolding in front of you. Seemingly, it’s a clear consequence of the alcohol still very much present in their bloodstreams. But as a sober observer, you can’t help but giggle at the sight of four shirtless men barely keeping their balance as they dance along to Nicki Minaj.

Once the last chorus comes up, Declan unwraps his arm from your waist, reaching for your hand and without much notice spins you around. You stumble on your feet at the sudden move, trying your best to keep yourself from falling down. He doesn’t give you a second to recompose, repeating the move once more, but just as you’re turning around, he lets go of your hand. Without anything to hold on to and keep you steady, your feet slide on the wet stone.

There’s a brief sense of panic that strikes on your body as you feel yourself falling back. But before you can hit the ground, a set of arms catch you, holding on to you a bit awkwardly. You don’t need to look behind you to know who they belong to, the ink hugging his skin being all too familiar to you. Harry’s chest is damp against your back, and his arm is draped around your stomach, the contact of his skin against yours almost burning as you become aware of it.

With his help, you quickly stand back on your feet, untangling yourself from him as soon as you’re on your feet again. Turning around, you don’t miss the way his face is scrunched in a frown, a crease set between his brows and lips tugging downwards. It tugs at your heartstrings, so you give him a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he nods.  

For a moment you just look at him, lips parted, feeling as if you should say something else. It’s way too similar to the interaction you had only a few moments ago down at the beach. Or more like all the other interactions you had for the past week, really. His eyes are searching for yours, asking a thousand questions that are left unspoken. Lingering in the air between the two of you. His hand reaches to push back a damp lock of his hair stuck to his forehead, you note how his usually hazelnut strands have taken a darker shade. Much like his tattoos, standing out on his skin, glimmering as the raindrops dance freely down his body.

You know it’s been a beat too long of silence for it to start feel a bit awkward. And can’t help but set a silent prayer for something, anything, to take you out of this situation. You wonder if it would be too bad to just turn around now and pretend nothing happened, pondering if it’s the best decision to run away once again. Thankfully, as if on cue, a thunder roars in the sky, interrupting your thoughts as you squeal, jumping slightly, startled. A chorus of curses follow up from behind you, the rain starting to shower rougher from above.

“Okay that’s enough fun in the rain, everyone back inside now!” Mary screams from her spot, motioning with her hands for everyone to leave the outdoors.

“You must be really fun at parties, sweetheart!” Declan shouts back, you notice he’s managed to go all the way around the pool.

“Unless you’re feeling like getting hit by lightning from dancing next to a pool, I suggest you all come inside now.” She yells with a roll of her eyes, her voice taking a stern tone. “I’m not cleaning up anyone’s body for being stupid.”

He lets out a mischievous laugh, jumping his way around the edge. “Okay, mom.”

The towel scratches on your skin slightly, due to the grains of sand still stuck to it, as you try to dry yourself to the best of your ability. In the background, you can hear whines coming from Maya, complaining about not being able to have a bonfire tonight. You linger long enough to hear someone suggest a movie night instead. But as they begin the discussion of a film choice, you’re soon walking past the double glass door and into the house. Wanting to tuck yourself inside your room as soon as possible.

At this moment you give yourself a mental pat in the back for choosing the only room located downstairs. Regardless of it being the smallest, thus being the easiest one to claim, it was an easy choice for you. Not only you’re the furthest from the other rooms (and being on vacation with a couple, that’s a big pro) but you also have a bathroom all to yourself. Of course, it can barely fit two people inside if it came to it - not that it will - but you don’t mind the narrow space. On top of it all, you’re the closest to the ocean. Meaning that, when you’re drifting to sleep, it’s almost as if the waves are crashing at the end of your bed instead of the cool nightly sand, meters away from where you lay. So soothing you can easily ignore the creak of the wooden steps of the stairs right next to your door every time someone feels like coming down for a midnight snack.

The same creak that you hear as you pace your way on the light oak floor, careful to avoid the rugs that come on your way as to not soak their fabrics. And soon enough, you’re alone in the small space you get to call your own for the week. Away from any potential awkward interactions or silent pleas. The loudest noise filling the air being the raindrops knocking on your windows and your thoughts swallowing you whole.

You don’t rush on your shower. Letting the warm water run through your body in a smooth massage, allowing your muscles to relax as you breathe in the coconut-scented steam surrounding you. It does help to soothe you a little, but the weight in your chest still makes itself present.

Leaving the bathroom hugged in your comfiest set of pajamas, you make your way out of the room. As you enter the living area, you notice Mary sitting alone in the same spot she was on the couch, leaning back on the cushions and scrolling on her phone. Her eyes peak up once you approach her, letting the device fall to her chest when you come to a stop at the end of the couch.

“Everyone still in the shower?” You ask.

“Yup,” she nods, picking her phone back up. “Boys left a wreck for you in the kitchen, good luck with it.”

You huff, already regretting volunteering for the cleaning up duty today. Turning on your heals, you make your way towards the archway leading to the kitchen.

“We’re watching Mamma Mia later, by the way!” You hear Mary call out from behind you. “If you wanna make popcorn, I won’t be opposed.”

Throwing her a look over your shoulder, you shake your head as you look at her face, puppy eyes illuminated by the screen of her phone and lips pursed in a pleading pout. You disappear in the kitchen without giving her an answer -- even though you both know you’re also not opposed to the idea of it.

Analyzing the scene you’re met with, hands coming up to rest on your hips, you realize it’s not as bad as Mary made out to be. It’s messy, sure, but manageable. The cooler lies on top of the counter, a puddle pooling around it, and lid crooked on top as someone probably didn’t bother to close it properly. A couple of dishes from lunch still sit inside the sink, waiting to be washed, but not enough for them to pile on top of each other.

You start with them, humming along to a beat that’s been stuck in your head but you can’t quite put a finger on it as you rinse the plates until they’re shimmering clean, the white porcelain reflecting the ceiling light. It doesn’t take you long to get through all of them, lining them on the rack that sits right next to the sink. As soon as you’re finished, you turn your attention to the cooler, taking the lid off completely so you can check the inside. The ice that filled the box has completely melted, as you expected, pooling at the bottom of it. A couple of empty cans, amongst filled ones, float on top of the water.

Picking them up, you try to fit all of them in your hands as to make a single trip to the bin. When you manage to do it, you give one last check inside to see if you missed any. You look up from it at the same time that Harry steps through the archway into the kitchen space. The sudden appearance makes you stop midstep. He also seems to be taken back by your presence, stopping on his track as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. The pang in your heart doesn’t fail to make itself present once again.

He’s fiddling with a water bottle in his hands. Much like you, he’s probably already taken a shower, now dressed in a pair of ash grey sweats and a graphic white tee -- your favorite one, with a blue cartoonish drawing of a smiley bee in the middle and the words “Enjoy health, eat your honey” circling it. Your lips twitch in a smile as you take notice of it. It’s the shirt you love to steal from his closet in hopes of him not missing it, even though he does every time it happens, but still lets you do it cause he says it looks better on you anyway.

He realizes where your gaze has gone, peeking down at his clothes. The smile that takes over his lips, even if small, helps to soothe the knot in your stomach.

Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence this time, voice coming out a bit hesitant. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You nod.

There’s another beat of silence before both of you realize what you’d been doing before being interrupted by the other. And as if on cue, you start walking almost coordinated, crossing your paths as he makes his way to the sink and you reach the bin across the room. You can hear the tap opening and the water filling the inside of his bottle. As you turn to walk back to the counter you watch his broad back facing you, his hair curling at the base of his neck and you can tell he’s looking at the dish rack.

“Did you wash the dishes?” He says, peeking at you from over his shoulder. You meet his gaze, nodding once again as you watch him turn the tap off, turning around as he closes the cap of his bottle. “Shouldn’t have done it all by yourself, you know, could’ve helped you.”

“It was fine.” You reassure with a shrug, placing your hands on the cooler, looking for something to do as you feel him staring.

He stays quiet for a moment, but you can almost hear the wheels in his head turning above the light tapping sound of raindrops outside. You keep your eyes fixed on the cans as you begin taking them out of the cooler, even when you hear him call out your name, only offering a light hum to let him know you’re listening. “Do you, uhm--” He pauses, sighing as you keep yourself focused on the task in hand. “Do you think we can talk?”

You take a sharp inhale, coughing slightly to cover it up as you move the lid to close the container. Chewing on your lip, you keep your eyes trained on your hands as you rest them on the counter, not ready to face what you’ve been so desperately pushing back. Still, you remember what Maya said to you earlier, and you know you can’t keep running away.  “Sure.”

“Love,” his voice comes out pained, tightening a lump that’s forming on your throat. “Can you at least look at me?”

You meet his gaze, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks as you meet his eyes. “Harry--”

He shakes his head slightly, shoulder dropping. “‘S killing me.”

A mesh of voices interrupts your conversation before you can even process what he just told you. You can tell by the sounds of the steps along with the creak of the wooden floor that they’re coming down the stairs. Turning your head, you try to listen closely to foresee if they’re about to enter the kitchen or not. They get louder as they approach, but you can tell they stopped at the living room when Mary’s voice joins the conversation. Harry’s watching you, but the crease settled between his brows tells you he’s also paying attention to the chatter happening outside.

“Maybe we should talk after the movie.” You say after a moment of trying to figure out the loud chatter in the next room.

“Can you meet me in my room?”

“Maybe at mine?” You suggest.  “It’s just more… secluded from the rest, I guess.”

“Okay.” He nods. “After the movie, then.”

The rest of the night blends together as a bit of a blur if you’re honest. And not due to the poorly made strawberry cocktail you have in your hands -- considering you haven’t had more than a sip off of it, and, thankfully, everyone else seems to be too buzzed to notice your untouched cup. No, it’s all thanks to the anxious feeling that has been eating you from the inside out since your brief conversation with Harry. For what seems to be the hundredth time in the past hours you feel your eyes wandering back to him. He’s fiddling with his filled drink, leg bouncing nervously as he leans back on his seat. As if he can feel your eyes set on him, he glances up, meeting your gaze with a raise of his brows.

It’s a simple gesture but you understand the silent question that comes with it, wondering when you’ll be able to sneak out to your room. You had thought that throughout the movie the rest of them would slowly get knocked out, feeling the long day under the sunlight weight on their eyelids, allowing you to settle back in your room without causing any commotion. Surely, Mary was snoring quietly next to you within the first chorus of Honey Honey. But seems like you underestimated everyone else’s capacities of staying awake, for as soon as the end credits were scrolling up on the screen, Declan was up on his feet to suggest a cocktail night.

So here you are, a wink past midnight, watching your friends stumble on their feet at, yet another, Just Dance battle, barely able to understand a single word slurring drunkenly out of their mouths.

You hold Harry’s gaze for a moment, pursing your lips as you ponder how to slip out for the night. Mary’s still sitting next to you, her body relaxed so deep into the cushions it’s like she’s swallowed by it. Her head has fallen back, chest moving along lazily with her breaths, if it wasn’t for the occasional blinks, you would’ve assumed she’d fallen asleep once again. You lean forward, setting your filled glass on the mahogany center table before turning back to her.

“Tired?” You ask.

Her head falls heavy on her shoulder as she looks at you, a small smile tucking on her lips when she nods. “If they decide to take out UNO, I swear to god…”

“I don’t think they ever sleep if I’m honest.” You chuckle just as the last few chords of Sugar come to an end. The sound of the boys’ laughs takes over the brief silence that set in the room, their chatter mixing with the sounds of the wind shaking the glass on the now-closed doors that lead outside. Shifting closer to your friend, you lower your voice just enough for her to hear it, “Feel like now’s the best chance to call it a night.”

“You know,” she sighs. “That was probably the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

You smile, sparing one last look to Harry, only to find him still watching you. Giving him a small nod, as to let him know your intentions, you scoop to the edge of the couch, standing up with a big stretch.”Okay, guys think my bed’s calling me.”

“What?” Maya’s voice yelps on top of the chorus of protests. “But I was about to get my Twister mat!”

“Some of us need to sleep.” Mary’s voice speaks up as she shifts to get up from her cozy spot, her movements much more lethargic than yours. “Shocker, I know.”

You hear echoes of objections and teasing mumbles but don’t really register their words, only sparing a final wave to the group before making your way towards your room. You make a quick stop at the bottom of the staircase, binding Mary a goodnight and watching her for a moment as she ascends the steps, dragging her feet lazily on the groaning wood. Once you finally make it to your door, it takes everything in you not to glance over your shoulder. The back of the chair he’s sitting is facing you, but you wonder if your eyes will meet once again. If he’s searching for yours as desperately as your searching for his.

You don’t look, though. Closing the door behind you as fast as you open it. As if the barrier between you two will somehow help dull the aching in your chest that’s now growing stronger with the realization that you have nowhere to hide from your feelings anymore. Taking deep breaths, you back away until the back of your thighs meet the smooth fabric of the blue comforter hugging your mattress, crossing your legs as you sit back on it.

The room is dark, as you didn’t bother turning on the lights when you first walked in, the only illumination coming from outside, due to your curtains still being pushed open. Thankfully, the rain from earlier is long gone, clearing the night sky so the moon can shine proudly and fully amongst the sea of stars dotted around it. It gives the space a silver glow, giving you an odd sense of calmness as you look out the big window across the bed. The whispers of the wind are still loud against the tree branches, as well as the waves crashing angrily at the shore. Still, the sounds of nature do nothing to quiet down the laughs that come from the other side of the door, even if faint, they’re still loud, and it snaps your attention back to the reason why there’s an anxious twist set in your stomach.

It feels like hours have passed of you sitting alone, chewing at the nail on your thumb, feeling your thoughts drowning you. Every so often your eyes dart to the door, waiting for a creak of steps or a soft knock. But every time you’re met with silence, the door still closed, almost mocking your nervousness. You wonder if he’s given up, you know he hasn’t forgotten about it, there’s no way he would, but maybe he just realized there’s no reason on fighting for whatever’s left between you two. Or maybe he’s just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Letting you sink in the silence and doubt until it floods every cell of your body. Or maybe he’s just trying to find the words to reject y--

The moment you fall back to your cushions, the lump in your throat becoming suffocating at this point, a sound you’ve been waiting for breaks you out of your mind: a quick knock followed by the door opening. The lights of the hallway creep in the room along with Harry, as he pokes his head in.

“Come in.” You clear your throat when your voice comes out in a whisper. Watching as he opens the door wider, just enough to fit the rest of his body, shutting it behind him with a click. You shift a bit, motioning to the spot on the bed in front of you as you try to untie the knot that tightens in your chest.

“Sorry it took me so long,” He sits in front of you. “They really insisted on playing a round of that fucking game.”

“It’s fine.” You give him a weak chuckle. “I was just…” You trail off, shrugging as your eyes set on your lap. “I don’t know, thinking, I guess?”

He nods. “Yeah, I was thinking, too.”

“So…”

“So,” You can feel his eyes searching for yours, so you glance up. There’s a crease set between his brows, his whole body tensed as he chews on his bottom lip. “How do we even start this?”

“I don’t know.” You answer truthfully, trying to find the words to explain everything that’s been flowing in your mind for the last week. But before anything, you know you owe him an apology, so you sigh, the words slipping out of your mouth shakier than you’d intended. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to apologize.” He says in a blink, shaking his head softly. His voice is low, but tender, “I want to understand what happened.”

“I--” The crack in your voice makes you exhale in frustration, blinking rapidly as you look up at the ceiling, focusing on the pattern of shadows cast due to the moonlight slipping through the tree branches outside. You don’t want to cry.  “I don’t even know, just…” Taking a deep breath you meet his eyes again, knowing there’s no reason to beat around the bushes anymore. “That night, I was so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“Cause I was drunk and--” You rub your hands over your face, wandering your eyes anywhere but on him. No need to beat around the bushes, you think again, you should just go straight to the point.  “And I had a stupid breakdown after kissing someone else.” “

“It wasn’t stupid, lo--” He cuts himself off, and you’re sure if it wasn’t for the loud thumping of the wind he could hear the crack of your heart from where he sits. “Your feelings aren’t stupid.” You watch as he looks down at his lap, fingers fidgeting with the string of his sweats as he shuts his eyes tight. “But you didn’t have to shut me off.”

The emotion behind his words is so clear, even with the darkness surrounding you, that you can’t help but scoop closer to him, hesitantly reaching your hand to rest on his shoulder. “I know.”

“Do you know how much it killed me to have you not even look at my face?” He looks up again, his waterline glossy, pooling with tears, only twisting the knot that’s settled in your chest. When he speaks again, it’s just above a whisper, “It’s like I lost you.”

You’re not sure why is it that as soon as the words leave his mouth you recoil from him. His declaration feeling nearly unfair to you, only serving as for increasing your frustration at the whole situation in hand. So you can’t help as to increase your voice slightly, a pinch of anger hidden behind it.  “Well I’m not--” You stop yourself as it comes out louder than you’d intended, the annoyance quickly dissolving into pure sadness as you register what you’re about to say. “I wasn’t yours for you to lose, Harry.”

The breath he takes is audible, your words hitting him like a brick. He nods, more to himself than to you, shrugging slightly as he looks dows at the wrinkles on the comforter, the empty space between the two of you. “Maybe I want you to.”

You blink at him, lips parting as it takes you a second to understand what he just said. “What?”

“You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“I’m sorry.” You can’t help but repeat yourself, unable to control the tear that trickles down your cheek. Sniffling, you rub it out, “I was just…”

“Scared?” He finishes as you trail off, now it’s his turn to shift closer to you, hand cupping your cheek as he caresses another tear that trails down your skin.

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared too, baby.” The petname slips off his tongue, sending a spark of electricity down your spine and tugging a smile on your lips. You don’t hold back anymore, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tucking your head at the base of his neck. Breathing in, the familiar scent of his shampoo mixes with the faint whiff of his cologne, and even a hint of sunscreen. It hits you all at once, how much you missed the closeness to him, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your middle, and the softness of his lips pressed on the side of your head. His voice is muffled by your hair, “Hate that we’re like this.”

“I hate it too.” You nod against his neck, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to, H.”

“Shh, I know.” His hand comes up to massage your hair, the action so loving your hands grab at his shirt trying to pull him even closer. “We can fix this, though, okay? Me and you?”

“Yes.”

“No running away anymore.”

“I promise.” You fall silent for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s embrace. When you feel him press another kiss at the side of your head, you pull away, just enough to lock your eyes on his. “Harry?”

“Yes, love?”

“Can you stay tonight?”

“Course.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Can stay every night you want me to.”

[kemendin]

An Offer of Freedom

A short scene between Dhamari, my half-Maormer OC, and Nelaath, an injured Maormer he rescued on the Summerset coast.

Dhamari could feel the Maormer’s marbled eyes on him as he loosened one of the lines to the dinghy’s single sail. He hunched his shoulders against the ongoing scrutiny, focussing on tying off the rope again. Fortunately there were few adjustments to be made; Nelaath had done most of them himself, and seemed confident that the little boat could make the journey to the western islands. Dhamari was privately less certain, but he also was honest enough to admit that his knowledge in this area was limited, and so he kept his doubts to himself.

“There. That should suffice.” Nelaath spoke without approval, and he eyed the boat disdainfully as Dhamari swung himself back onto the sand. “Not much of a specimen, even for a landwalker craft, but I’ll make it work for us.”

Dhamari shook his hair back over his shoulder, and ran a hand across the still unfamiliar plane of skin along the side of his head. It was an almost nervous gesture, and he shifted his weight slightly before looking over at Nelaath. The Maormer still bore the marks of the fish hooks that had gouged into him, but thanks to the crew’s care they were nearly healed now - faint scars that puckered his shoulders and sides, and one that made his mouth a wider line as it stretched from his lips to his cheek.

Nelaath was still watching him, the suffused light of a barely-broken dawn causing his features to look even more colourless. Dhamari’s jaw tightened, and his fingertips made another pass over his stubbled head before he said lowly, “I am not going with you.”

Canting his head, Nelaath considered this for a moment, then appeared to dismiss it just as swiftly. “No? Where are you going, then?” The unmarred side of his mouth curled rather unpleasantly, almost knowingly, and Dhamari felt his hackles rise.

“I am staying with my ship,” he growled.

Nelaath had apparently anticipated this answer, and he barked out a derisive little laugh, almost before Dhamari had finished speaking.

“Your ship,” he repeated. “A motley assortment of ignorant groundcrawlers pretending to know how to traverse the seas.” He straightened. “That is not a ship or a crew. That is a barge waiting to be sunk.”

Dhamari’s lips drew back for a moment, and then he moistened them with his tongue, eyeing the Maormer balefully. “You do not know them,” he said, at the same time wondering why it felt so hollow to say it.

“I do not need to.” Nelaath’s voice dripped with scorn, then hardened abruptly. “And they do not know you. If they did, they would never have brought you aboard.”

Dhamari felt his hands and his chest clench in unison. “What do you mean?” he snapped, with a sharp upward jerk of his chin.

Nelaath leaned sideways, resting one hip against the curved wood of the boat. “What are you, to them? A token? Someone to chase away a few clouds when the weather turns?” Somehow his milky eyes were boring into Dhamari. “Do they let you fight, and bring the storm upon your enemies? Do they understand what it is to crest the highest waves and feel your pride rise with the wind? Or do they temper you, and restrain you, and hold you back from the freedom that is yours by right?”

The last word came out thick and harsh. Dhamari stared at the other Maormer, rigid except where the sea wind tugged and looped through the long fronds of his hair. He said nothing.

Nelaath straightened again and strode closer, honing in on Dhamari’s conflicted expression.

“You know that everything I’ve said is true,” he hissed. “I can feel the storm inside you, writhing to be unleashed. What you did to those Altmer on the beach? You can do it again, and more, many times over. There is another offensive planned, and soon. Come back with me. You would be a welcome asset to the King’s forces. Appreciated. Valued. And free to use your abilities as you wish.”

The Maormer was too close now. Dhamari took one step back, trying to brace himself in the soft sand as sparks flared, unsummoned, around his tightened fists. He couldn’t deny that he was tempted. But he was also wary, unable to suppress the instincts telling him that this was more than it appeared. Too enticing. Too right.

Just another promise waiting to be shattered.

“No,” he growled. “You speak an adder’s words. You think I would be welcome, halfblood that I am?” He made a sharp gesture at his tilted brows, at the black, black void of his eyes. No Maormer had eyes like that.

“You have no freedom to offer to someone like me. All I am - all I have ever been - is a weapon, to be used by others.” His teeth ground together. “I will not be that again.”

Nelaath’s serpentine features shifted, flattening into a hard look made more sinister by the scar slashing across his jaw. “Then you will be nothing,” he spat. His voice had suddenly lost its sibilant allure. “Go. Go back to your ship, to your so-called crew, and pretend that you belong there. Such treacherous waters will reveal your folly soon enough.”

He pivoted in the wet sand and strode the short distance to the water’s edge. Dhamari watched with lowered ears, his expression stricken as Nelaath shoved the little boat from its berth on the beach and vaulted gracefully into it. The Maormer expertly angled the sail to the dawn breeze, and within moments, it seemed, the dinghy was receding towards the western horizon, an ivory silhouette against the deep cobalt of the waves.

Taken aback by Nelaath’s abrupt departure, Dhamari watched until the boat had vanished into a distant haze. He could feel the first breath of sunlight rising along the back of his neck. Slowly he sank into a crouch on the beach, where coral shadows hid him from the gleam of dawn. His fingernails scraped briefly against the scaled skin of his arm, and then he wrapped both arms around his knees as he sat there, a solitary figure rocking back and forth in uncertainty.

[penisman420-69]

A gentle glow from the computer screen washes over the dark desk, colors flickering in rapid motion. The monitor whirs in self defense of the growing heat. The ceiling fan lays mockingly silent in the stifling air. Reclined in his seat, Dream's head is tilted back to watch the wooden slats for the slightest tremor.

Betrayal.

Beads of sweat collect near his hairline. He tugs absently on the sticky plastic of his headphones, where they rest around his neck. The small light on the exterior blinks green.

"Dream?" He hears George say faintly.

"Wait, did he leave?" Sapnap asks.

"It says he's on the call, still." George's voice slowly grows closer. Dream begins to detach his eyes from the fan. "Dream?"

The concern in his voice makes Dream sit up. He pushes his headphones back on and wipes his face. "Yes, yes, hello, sorry. I zoned out for a sec." He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing green grass blocks and Sapnap's avatar crouching in front of him. "Shoot, did you end the stream?" He quickly tabs out just in time to see George laugh.

"No, but I'm about to. Couldn't end it without you saying bye," George says. The small considerate act is enough to bloom a warmth in Dream's chest.

He smiles. "Oh, alright. Bye stream!"

"Bye!" Sapnap yells.

George waves to the camera. "Bye you guys, thank you so much. Also, pray for Dream's air conditioning."

"And my broken fan," Dream adds.

"Bye bye," George repeats, then disappears from Dream's view. This stream has ended. A familiar feeling creeps into Dream's chest whenever that message appears post-stream; disappointment clouded with confusion. Today, it is accompanied by trickles of regret.

He frowns. "Sorry I spent so much of your stream complaining about the weather," he says, clicking back to the server. Sapnap has placed an oak sign before him that reads: wee waa dream can't take the heat. He rolls his eyes and breaks it.

"It's fine, really. I just feel bad for you," George says. His avatar bounds over and starts placing doors on the ground. "Any idea when it'll be fixed?"

"Soon, I hope," Dream answers with a huff, opening and closing the doors to appease George. "I don't think I can take much more of this." They'd been playing for the past three hours, meaning Dream had been accumulating enough sweat in his boxers to stick to his chair for much longer than any man should. Physical comfort was a key component for him to stay mellow, and not much could distract him from itchy tags and blistering heat. Not much, that is, besides gaming. "Seeing you was nice, though, something about your cheerful face distracts me from my agony," he confesses, words leaving his mouth before he can attempt to filter. He cringes. What was that?

"Oh my god, shut up," George says. He sounds embarrassed.

Sapnap coos. "Maybe I should stream with my camera on too."

Dream laughs, running away from the two of them to ease his sudden spike in nervousness. "That would keep my attention."

"Oh yeah, are my streams not interesting enough for you Dream?" George says, flying after him.

"What?" Dream says, feeling a pang of guilt. "What makes you think that? I love your streams."

George continues to act offended. "If you loved them you wouldn't zone out randomly."

"I didn't mean to," Dream whines, which only makes the other two laugh. "I just got distracted by my misery, and tried to airbend a breeze in here."

"Yeah right," Sapnap says, "you couldn't have been doing just that for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Dream repeats, bewildered. He didn't feel it had been that long; he was exploring the map and then clicked onto George's stream to see where he was, and of course George was smiling and yelling, but somehow so full of energy and spirit, and the hot air started to seep into Dream's soul—

"You were AFK for a while," George says, "we were still talking to you though and thought you'd muted yourself or something. Chat thought it was embarrassing."

"Oh," Dream says.

"Hold on, did you mean to mute yourself?" Sapnap asks, laughing as his own words leave his mouth. "Lil too excited watching George?"

Both Dream and George explode in disgusted yells. Good lord, Sapnap.

"Sapnap!" George sends a series of hits raining down onto his avatar. "You are so inappropriate off-stream."

"You're gross," Dream says with a laugh, but it's feeble and half-hearted. His pulse is rapidly drumming inside his skull. He is not lost to the strange dilemma of why he faded from their call for so long to stare at his George-less ceiling. Why did George have anything to do with it? Envy, perhaps, of his friend's ability to be wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer. He brushes it off. "It's true, though. George's face does get me excited."

George groans, making Sapnap and Dream laugh. "Now you're just trying to make me uncomfortable."

"Flustered, you mean," Dream inputs quickly.

"Okay, no, I'm sick of you two," George says, immediately exiting their server. "Consider this a rage quit."

GeorgeNotFound has left the game. Dream sends a :( into the chat.

"Noo, Georgie," Sapnap pleads.

"You did a great job today," Dream says, wholeheartedly. "I'm going to re-watch what I missed of it later." George laughs.

"I seriously have to go. I'll talk to you soon," he says, a small sound emitting from Discord signifying he's left the call.

The feeling returns to Dream's chest—it's akin to the cold rush that follows when he removes his hands from a steaming coffee mug. Some nights after their friends have logged off for good, he'll do anything to avoid giving in and going to bed. Twitter, mini-games, coding, creating playlists. His favorite nights, though, are when George wakes up early enough to keep him company. Their conversations radiate with the warmth of both the Florida night and the English sunrise.

So whenever George jokingly becomes angry with him, Dream can't dispel the tiny tremor of worry that maybe he's gone too far. He doesn't like to mull over the thought of them really fighting; it would terrify him like nothing else. He knows George will call again tomorrow, and that he isn't nearly as upset as he lets on. Yet he still finds himself carefully watching the dot next to George's name switch from green to a pale grey.

"I think I'm gonna hop off too," Dream says to Sapnap.

"Alright, seeya."

After disconnecting, he swivels around in his chair to face his bed. The dark comforter has been kicked to the floor, sheets askew. The window above his bed is shut tight to keep out the humid air and insects, but he can see the soft orange streetlights in the distance.

He sighs and wishes for rain.

He remembers running barefoot on his neighborhood streets as a child when storms would roll in from the sea, splashing in gravelly puddles and letting the cool raindrops dampen his hair. That space was always euphoric—a brief temperance from the smoldering air, green palm trees swaying in the wind, the hint of thunder and lightning—but it feels so far from him now. Especially in this dreadful weather.

He turns off his computer and begrudgingly gets in bed. He's nearly grown accustomed to the dark when his phone vibrates, the notification lighting up the room. He squints.

A text from George.

I feel like this song is a good way for me to get back at you, it reads. Dream clicks on the link, opening his Spotify to a new 'Glass Animals' song.

"Heat Waves," he responds, smiling. Very funny.

He'll listen to that in the morning. As he sets his phone back on the nightstand, Dream finds himself warmed by the gesture, even though it was an insult on his behalf. George is a thoughtful guy. Nothing wrong with appreciating that. Not that Dream finds it unnerving that interacting with George has a direct correlation with his general contentment and moods; in fact, it isn't worth the overthinking.

Settled by his own logic, he allows his body to focus on sleep. He slips in and out of shadows, occasionally tossing and turning in irritation at the cotton sheets. The fabric clings to his dampened skin up to the moment he sluggishly kicks it away. Something clatters to the floor, but Dream rolls onto his side.

Eventually, the night cools enough for him to sink deeper, and deeper, until he turns his head from his soft, warm pillow to a cold pile of sand.

Confused, he grasps at the foundation beneath him only for the rocky grains to slip through his fingers.

He sits up rapidly, glancing at the beach now surrounding him. Although the image is narrow, he can tell there is a murky-purple lagoon lapping a few feet before him. The moon ripples across its ominous surface. The night is quiet; a taunting breeze brushing the back of his neck and bringing chills down his spine.

He looks down at his hands, seeing his bright sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. Bright green.

A sinking feeling begins to rot in his stomach as the familiarity sets in. He's been here before. He shifts his head cautiously, realizing where the shadows at the edge of his vision are coming from, and raises a hand to gently graze the ceramic covering his face. He doesn't need a mirror to know what the mask looks like.

He pulls up his hood, tensing as he anticipates the next subject he'll recognize. At any moment, behind his right shoulder, a voice will call from the edge of the trees that'll say—

"Dream?"

He freezes. That's—that's not right, it isn't supposed to be—

"George?" He asks quietly, turning around with caution. George stands a few feet behind him, goggles perched atop his head and an axe in his hand. He's looking around their location, dazed. The starry sky reflects itself on his lenses.

He walks across the sand towards Dream slowly. "Where...are we?"

"Um." Dream considers curling in on himself, but can't help fighting the comfort of honesty. "My head, I guess." He knows from experience that this place values integrity more than anything. Facing it head on, so to speak. He just doesn't know why he'd let George in here—it isn't safe.

"It's pretty," George says, sitting on the sand next to him.

Dream's heart aches faintly at his remark. Once, he'd thought it was pretty, too. He can't find the words to tell George that after so many years of frantically slipping on the sand, coughing up lung-fulls of the dark water, and running from the woods—it has become a thing of nightmares.

He stares at George. Can he feel the memories here?

"So this is..." George gestures around with his axe vaguely. "Florida?"

Dream cracks a smile. "Yeah, you finally made it," he teases softly. George's grin is bright enough to make him look away. "It's a lagoon I used to come to as a kid."

"You make it sound like that was lifetimes ago."

Something foreign and lost weighs on the tension in Dream's features, forgotten behind the ceramic. "Maybe," he says, "I've had multiple lives here."

George says nothing. He lifts a moon-soaked hand to point at the water. "Do you see those?"

Dream turns his head, and small glowing blobs appear near the shore. Their light blue color is stark against the darkness as they float idly.

"They're moon jellies," Dream says in disbelief. He's never seen them here before. The curling darkness steals all hint of life besides him, his beating heart, and occasional whispers in the wind.

George hums in approval. Dream looks at him again, grateful for the mask covering his own features. Pale moonlight makes George's skin glow a soft porcelain, pink lips pressed together in a delicate brush stroke.

The word bubbles up from deep in Dream's chest, winding into his bloodstream and landing gracefully in his head.

Beautiful.

He wants to back away from it, to shove it deep down. But for once, it feels safe here, safe to admit it to himself without needing an air of humor to skate by on. Here, it isn't a joke.

"Why are we here?" George asks in a murmur, gaze lifting to face Dream. The word here hangs with a heavy lilt, as if he'd meant to say, what brought me? Who pulled me?

Was it you?

In his large brown eyes Dream can see the faded reflection of his sloppy black and white smile.

"I know why I'm here," Dream says carefully, "but I don't know why you are." A brief rustling of leaves and twigs behind them causes him to tense again. "It's dangerous here, George. We should go."

"Why? Don't you want to stay in this memory?"

Dream ignores the comment, and lightly wraps an arm around his shoulders to help him up. George doesn't try to stand. He keeps them rooted to the white shore with a confused frown.

"Nothing is going to hurt us when I'm here," he says.

Dream feels his face grow hot. "Knock it off. This is serious."

George looks at him earnestly. "I'm being serious."

Now that his arm is draped protectively over George's small frame, Dream becomes extremely aware of how close they are. He can sense George's body heat, watch his chest rise and fall, see the goosebumps on his neck. Dream's heart begins to pound. For how long has he wanted to meet him? To hear his voice in person? The fear inside him slowly begins to ebb away into fondness.

The moon jellies rapidly multiply until the lagoon is dappled blue, and gleaming.

George grins. "I told you it's pretty."

"Because of you," Dream says warmly. Even though George rolls his eyes, he means it. They laugh lightly at each other, glowing water and gentle sparks blooming as the moment passes.

George's gaze lingers on Dream for a few heartbeats, before letting go of his axe. He raises his hand to reach for the ceramic mask.

Dream freezes as his eyes follow the motion. His hood falls when George runs his fingers gently through his wavy hair—he can't remember the last time he let someone do this. It feels intimate. It feels terrifying. His eyes shut when George finds the metal clasp on the back of his head, he exhales when he feels the weight of the mask drop from his face.

The breeze is cold on his cheeks. He can smell the nearby saltwater. He opens his eyes, and sees twice as many stars as usual.

"How did you do that? I've never..." He looks at George, who is smiling softly.

"I know honesty is important to you," George says. His hand moves to gently touch Dream's cheekbone.

Dream reaches and delicately takes George's hand in his, slender knuckles and fingers sliding together with timid grace. He feels alive. He leans closer, studying George's eyes until he slips down, further, to his soft lips. His breath is trembling.

"And what if I kissed you right now?" He murmurs, heart racing. "How honest would that be?"

George's eyes grow wide. "I—well, Dream—you—" he stammers, giving Dream exactly what he needs to let go.

Their movements happen nearly all at once—the inclining of George's jaw, the slide of Dream's hand into his hair, the connection of their lips. The kiss is raw with emotion, and gentle. Hot embers rise from Dream's chest to heat his face. The soft presence of George's mouth against his own is surreal, as their senses collectively slip away into the dreamland. His hand rises to softly cup George's jaw. He pulls his face closer, breath hot, heart stuttering. Nervous energy quickly ebbs into a strong hearth of longing, as he kisses George again, and again, and again. George emits a soft noise that makes Dream melt. He can feel George's hands in his hair, then on his neck, then on his chest.

Dream pulls away to capture brief puffs of air. His chest rises and falls rapidly, as he looks at George's flushed cheeks and mouth kissed red. Because of him. A low feeling stirs in the space just below his ribcage, the first flickering of a dangerously hot flame. All of it, all of George, just for him.

Dream parts his lips to say something, anything—and promptly wakes up.

I have heatwaves saved on my computer it doesn't phase me anymore I've read this several times you can't hurt me with this