#i call this set 'green sweaty and distressed'

[six-demon-bag]

DANIEL BRÜHL as Ernst Schmidt THE CLOVERFIELD PARADOX (2018)

[cokou]

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝙻𝚊𝚠 × 𝙵! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

sum. an unknown substance had hit your face causing you distress, Law helped you rid of it. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tw. sex pollen. office sex. rough sex. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n. I love this trope and was kinda hoping to write it one day, which is this day!! Hope you guys enjoy :3 // do not translate or transfer to any other platforms, this is my only account, will not be crossposted anywhere. POLL DECISION.<33

As soon as the submarine resurfaced, you couldn't help but explore the newly discovered Island that was infront of your very eyes. Getting off the ship then walking to explore the forest like Island, you left trail remembrance of ribbons in each tree branches. While on your walk, you acknowledge all plant types that you come across of, such as tree's with various sizes, or various patterns of green, even small bushes that grew kinds of small red berries.

Walking around and distinguishing which berries or fruits are edible and poisonous, you come across a vine with a strange leaf and flower pattern, the flower being bigger than the vines itself, causing the vines to slowly give up on it. The flowers color hue was different, it was shaded a blackish red that faded into a greyish pink towards the middle. The vines were deep green colored and it grew thorns on it.

Curiousity took over you as you recalled all vines that you had studied on a book you had recently bought, most types of growable plants were there, but you certainly haven't come across this one. As you leaned your face closer to examine it, it's scent took over, the scent was flowery, sweet, and it reeked the smell of freshly cut grass.

Leaning your fingers through the vines, you touched the flower. As you tried picking it up, it squirted a pollen into your face, latching itself into your eye, causing you to scream at the sudden pain. As the others scream your name behind you, asking if you were okay. You had told them that something had just gotten into your eyes and that it wasn't such a big of a deal.

As the sun sets and the sky turns darker, you all had decided to call it a day and head back into the submarine before anything bad happens outside. Walking back behind several crewmates, you felt a burning sensation across your whole body, your mouth turned watery as heat pools between your legs. You had thought that you were just tired, or maybe even hungry and shrugged off the sudden feeling.

But as you make your way to your room, you felt the heat through your body again, rethinking about the way pollen had gotten into your eyes from the flower earlier, making you a tad bit concerned. You backed away from your room and proceeded to find your captains whereabouts to let him know what had happen. By the time you had catched him inside his office, you couldn't help but feel irresistibly horny.

—

"So you're telling me that a powdery substance got into your face, and that now you feel like you're burning?" Law makes sure that he had heard you correctly as you identify all the details of what had happened earlier.

"y-yeah, and I'm telling you— it's getting worser." As you finished the sentence, your cheeks had grown an even more pinkish hue.

"..That isn't likely to happen, what type of flower- or vine was it?" Even more confused, Law had no idea of what vine nor flower you talking about, talk about bad day.

"Well, it had a blackish red color and a bit greyish by the middle, and— the vines were dark green.." You were such sweaty mess right now, it's taking such a huge toll on your personality, causing you to slighty hump the chairs edge as you urge yourself to masturbate under the table while consulting Law, or just fuck it and take Law right here in his office.

"Hmm, well you do have a book th—"

"Fuck it Law! Please, take me right here right now!" As you ball your fist onto your thighs, having your thoughts win, you felt a pang of embarrassment wash over you.

Law looked towards you shockingly, examining how your face was bright red, and how you were 'burning'. He finally understood what you were trying to ring up on his mind. It wasn't any type of regular pollen that had brushed through you, it had some sort of aphrodisiac on it, causing your behavior to be distressed.

"Come here." He gestured you towards his lap. You obeyed him and made your way infront of him, slowly lowering yourself onto his thighs.

You felt his hands hold your hips, wasting no time, he lowered your bottoms all the way towards your ankles. Unzipping his pants, he lowers it to his knees together with his boxers, freeing his semi-hard cock, giging it a few pumps to harden its current state. He positions your legs onto his arms, and slowly lifting you up.

He latches you towards his cock, your wetness being enough to lube both of you up.

"Are you sure?" Taking a moment to reassure that you'll be fine with this.

"y-yeah, please." You reassured him.

Satisfied with your answer, he decides to slowly move you on his cock, making you bite a moan out of your lips. He continued thrusting you onto him slowly, making sure that you'll be just fine on his hands.

"No— don't hold back, please!" You held his hands, which were holding onto your legs.

Law hesitates with your order, but gives in as he knows that with your situation right now, you'd probably need it. Without a warning, his grip tightens and he continues thrusting you onto his cock faster.

The harder you contain yourself from biting back your moans, you eventually give up, your lips swollen from your teeth biting against it, causing blood to form on it. You released a low moan, enough to be heard by Law, followed with a much louder one, as you get used to letting out noises for him to hear.

Law jolts as you released a stream of moans from your mouth, causing his dick to twitch inside you. Feeling his dick grow inside you, your moans increase volume enough for the whole room to hear. Law hugs your figure whilst still holding your knees and thrusted harder and faster inside you.

You felt heat rushing through you as you about to hit your edge, you warned him with your upcoming release and he nods in response. A bit later, you felt climax jolt onto you as you released on his cock, embarrassment pangs through you as you realized what you just did.

Law slows his pace and continues thrusting inside you, making you release shaky breaths and panting. Law didn't stop even when you had reached your climax, now you felt a second one coming through. His pace once again picked up, being faster than earlier.

"L-Law— i'm, c-coming again—" warning him with your upcoming orgasm again, his pace picks up once again— this time it felt like volts of light colliding, your skins producing noises that you sworn could be heard miles away, your moans being louder and clearer, it was obvious that he was close.

"m'close— (name).."

"i-inside me— please!" As his pace slows down, you felt his release deep inside you, it was warm, warm enough to feed the coldness of his office.

He removes you from him, his release dripping off your entrance.

"Better?" He was panting and out of breath.

"Yes, thank you—" You stood up while holding onto the table for dear life.

"We should get you cleaned up, especially your face, you wouldn't want that happening again do you?" He leads you into the bathroom and hands you a towel.

If it meant by Law fucking you like that, maybe you shouldve preserved that little flower that gave you trouble, right? Definitely.

©Cokou 2024,all works belong to me. DO NOT TRANSLATE OR TRANSFER!

[rubber-ducky143]

𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕊𝕖𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕞𝕚𝕟

🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕

A/N: Again, sorry for not posting yesterday!! I was yapping to my gf on a 3+ hour call and then a few hours after, I went to Rutland! I had fun though and omw home, I thought of this and since it’s Easter, it only makes sense to post it today instead of postponing it to next week! Plus, I have a lot energy (I got a Monster this morning) so I feel like writing :3

Word count: 1586

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x gn! Reader (they paint their nails if that means anything!!)

Warnings: Fluff, “Easter Bunny”, light swearing, lmk if I missed anything :3

You woke up, any ordinary day. You were sleepy and honestly just wanted to get back to sleep but when the thought crossed your mind that your cousins and parents along with your aunt were coming over for Easter, you immediately wanted to get up and get ready for the day. 

You tried to get up but Seungmin wouldn’t let you. For someone who doesn't like physical touch, he was oddly clingy. Especially today. 

“Seungmin, I gotta get up and get the baskets, breakfast and the egg hunt ready,, I only have like an hour.. And on top of all that, I have to get myself ready..” “Why do you only have an hour..? Aren’t they coming over around 10..?”

You sigh and roll your eyes.

“Yeah but it’s 8:52, almost 9..”

“Really..?”

‘Yeah. Really.”

Seungmin sighs and rolls over, still as tired as ever. He gets up, nonetheless. 

🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕

You both get out of bed after 8 or 9 minutes of stretching, almost falling asleep, and cuddling.

“Do you want my sweatshirt?”

You hear Seungmin ask. He was still sitting on your shared bed while you were in the bathroom, trying to fix your hair.

“The 1987 one?” “Yeah, what else?” “I’d say yes if you hadn’t slept in it.” “You sleep in the same clothes and wear them all the time! What’s wrong with wearing clothes I’ve slept in?” “It’s sweaty.” “You wear this sweatshirt even if I’m sweating after practice. What’s the difference between sweating during practice and sweating while unconscious?”

You sigh and roll your eyes once more. You didn’t really understand the difference yourself. You could’ve just said you didn’t want to wear it but he would’ve asked why because that sweatshirt of his was your favorite on him and to “borrow”.

You don’t end up wearing the gray 1987 sweatshirt. You end up wearing your own clothes. A Harley Quinn shirt with some distressed jeans/shorts/skirt. You didn’t bother putting socks on. 1, you were in your own house and weren’t going anywhere and 2, you didn’t paint your toenails just to hide them. Not that anyone would look at your feet anyway. If they did, I suggest being slightly concerned unless you like it. No judgment :)

🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕

Once you and Seungmin are both done getting ready, you make your way to the kitchen.

“Hey, Seung? Can you help me set up?”

“I was planning to anyway. We only have about an hour, right?” You nod and kiss Seungmin on the cheek before walking to the kitchen and gathering the bags of the eggs, candy, stuffies, baskets and other easter things.

“What can I do to help?”

Seungmin asks, standing patiently (somehow) in the doorway of the living room. “Can you put the eggs around? They should be all filled already.. If not,” You place a green-basket looking bowl on the table. It has candy of all kinds. Chocolate eggs, Reese's eggs, Marshmallow bunnies, Peeps, and much more.

Seungmin nods as a grin spreads across his plush lips. He was hoping you’d ask him to do that. He just wished you wouldn’t know what he was planning.

“No putting them in unreachable places, Kim Seungmin.” “Yeah, yeah. No promises.” Seungmin takes the box of eggs and starts placing them around the house. Most of them are in reachable places. Most of them. 

🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕

While Seungmin is placing the eggs for your little cousins, you set up their baskets. Each one with similar items. A blue basket with a blue bunny plush. This was for your youngest cousin, Myla. Even though she was barely 3, you knew she still loved bunnies. The next basket was themed yellow. It had extra peeps in it because you knew your second youngest cousin, Cosmo. Cosmo was 5, almost 6 and loved peeps with his whole little heart. He was always so happy when he found them in the store. And for your last, oldest cousin. (Oldest but still years younger than you). Constance. Her basket was purple themed. When she told you she wanted a purple themed basket from the Easter Bunny, you immediately noted that. Constance was 11. Her favorite color was purple and she liked playing Animal Crossing. Also noting that she loves Animal Crossing, you got her a plush of her favorite character, Blaire.

After you finished setting up the baskets and Seungmin was (almost) done with setting the eggs up, you called your mom to see if they were on their way.

“Hello?”

You hear through the speaker of your phone.

“Hey, mama, are you about to leave?”

“Yes, why?”

“Just wondering, do you want me to make some food? Besides lunch, of course. Snacks or drinks?”

Your mom thinks for a moment with a “hmm” sound coming from the other side of the line. You hear her ask your dad, aunt, and cousins if they wanted anything. You almost immediately hear a scream for Shirley Temples and Lay’s Salt and Vinegar chips. You laugh and make note of those 2 things.

“Anything else?” You ask. You felt like you were asking if someone at Subway wanted anything else with their order. 

You hear your mom chuckle before responding.

“Fruits, preferably Mangos, Peaches and Strawberries. You can add other things to your liking, I just know everyone here will love those 3 things.”

“Alright. Thanks mama. I’mma go now, bye.” “Bye kiddo, we’ll see you in about 30, 40 minutes.”

You hum and hang up.

“What do they want?”

Seungmin asks from behind you. It scared you but you turn around, nonetheless.

“Fruits, Lay’s and Shirly Temples.”

“Oh, okay. We do have Sprites, Ginger Ales and that Grenadine stuff. I don’t know about fruits though. Do they want specific fruits or?”

“They want Mangos, Peaches and Strawberries. I know we have mangos and strawberries but I don’t think we have peaches. I’d also like some Watermelon and Pineapple..”

Seungmin nods and walks to the door.

“Where are you going?”

You ask, slightly surprised.

“Going to get fruits. Do we need anything else? Anything for lunch? Any drink preferences?”

“Uhm.. We could use some more coffee powder. Some milk too. I think that’s it.”

You get up and check the fridge along with your pantry to confirm your request.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Seungmin nods and kisses you goodbye before heading out to the grocery store.

🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕

While Seungmin is shopping for your list of groceries, you make some coffee with the last of the espresso mix you have. Luckily, it was just barely enough to make 1 last serving. 

You enjoy your coffee while leaning against the counter. 

After about 20 minutes, Seungmin comes back along with your family arriving. 

When you see them enter the door, you’re quick to grab the groceries from Seungmin and place them on the kitchen island, peck Seungmin on the lips, and then hug all three of your cousins at once.

Once you get your cousins occupied with their baskets, you chat with your mom, dad and aunt, Seungmin prepping 4 Shirley Temples (3 for each of your cousins, 1 for you) and the snacks.

After chatting for almost an hour and your cousins complaining they’re bored and hungry, you prepare lunch while Seungmin entertains your cousins with whatever he finds funny. 

🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕💐🪺🐇🥕

Once everyone is full with food, drinks and candy, you ask your cousins if they want to start the egg hunt. They all exclaim a loud yes and run over to Seungmin who was holding color-coded baskets for each of them. Purple, Blue and Yellow, just like the ones their things came in.

You, Seungmin, your mom, dad, and aunt all enjoy watching your 3 little cousins run around to gather as many eggs as they can. Some, Seungmin or your dad had to get for them because someone decided to put them in unreachable areas even though you specifically remember telling that someone not to.

You all share laughs and make new memories with each other. As much as they wish they could stay, your cousins hug you and Seungmin goodbye before you hug your parents and your aunt.

You make sure your cousins have everything and finally wave to them as they all walk out of the front door to go back home.

Once everyone leaves, you and Seungmin (half-ass) clean the house and end up cuddling each other on the couch, enjoying the silence after hours of 3 little kids running around and screaming.

“You’re cousins are little shits, you know that right?”

Seungmin teases.

You nod your head and laugh. You knew that. They were annoying to deal with but you love them anyway. You know Seungmin does too. He just refuses to show it.

“Happy Easter, Seung..”

You say quietly. Almost falling asleep even though it was around 5pm (17:00).

“Happy Easter, Y/N..”

[lilypadlys]

Domestic December Day 20 - Forgetting Things

Phantom misplaces his beloved bat wing hoodie.

Notes: Prompt list by comp-lady. See prompt list here

Missing hoodies and comfort below the cut or on AO3

Phantom is bone tired. He loves performing; truely. Loves how the audience eats up his antics; loves building off of the energy of his pack members on stage. But once the bows are over, he’s ready to collapse. He follows the rest of the pack offstage and suddenly the post ritual exhaustion hits him like a truck.

He stumbles a little, tripping over his own feet. Fortunately Mountain catches him with a steadying hand. Phantom notices Cirrus doing the same for Aurora in his periphery.

“Tired?” Mountain asks.

“Yeah.” Phantom nods, leaning into Mountain as they walk. “How do you guys do it?”

“Hmm, just used to it I guess. Don’t worry, you’ll build up your stamina the more shows you play. In the meantime though, wanna ride to the dressing room?”

Phantom smiles and makes grabby hands. Mountain laughs and scoops the quintessence ghoul up into his arms. He carries Phantom to the guy’s green room and gently sets him on a couch. Mountain kneels to help Phantom undo his boots before sitting next to him to unlace his own.

After tossing aside his mask, Phantom grabs his duffle bag that he’d chucked at the foot of the couch before the show, and rifles through for a change of clothes. He finds his sweats, t-shirt, and tennis shoes easily, but his hoodie evades him. He digs through his bag with more urgency. “Where is it?” He mutters to himself.

Mountain notices his strained expression.

“What’s wrong, Bug? Lose something?”

“My hoodie.” Phantom can’t hide the whimper in his voice and Mountain frowns sympathetically. Phantom’s beloved batwing hoodie is probably his favorite possession. Mountain knows how much it means to him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” Mountain helps Phantom scour his bag again and then the room. When the hoodie doesn’t turn up, Phantom gets increasingly distressed.

“What if I left it at the hotel? What if it’s gone? What if-”

“Shh. It’s okay. We’ll find it.” Mountain soothes, waving Swiss over. “Swiss, can you sit with Bug for a second? I need to run out to the bus.”

Swiss catches on quickly, seeing Phantom’s distraught expression.

“Yeah. Hey, c’mere sweet boy. I’ve got you.”

Mountain smiles in thanks before throwing on his own tennis shoes and darting out of the room. He’s still in his sweaty costume, but he doesn’t care. The only thing on his mind is helping Phantom. He runs outside and scales the stairs to the ghoul’s bus. He pokes around the rows of seats in the front to no avail. Now he’s starting to get worried.

Fortunately, when he parts the curtain to Phantom’s bunk, there his hoodie lies. It's bunched up at the foot of the mattress and tangled in the undone sheets. He grabs it, as well as Phantom’s bat plushie, and returns to the green room as fast as he can.

When he returns, Swiss has coaxed Phantom out of his costume and into his change of clothes. He seems calmer but still on edge. His eyes light up though when he sees Mountain return, hoodie in tow. He springs up to hug Mountain.

“You found it! Thank you!” He immediately takes it and pulls it over his head.

Mountain smiles. “Of course Bug. Can’t let you get too cold.”

Phantom also gratefully takes the proffered plushie and hugs it to his chest.

Crisis averted, Mountain changes into his civies and helps clean up.

Cirrus pokes her head in the door. “Bus call in five.”

“Okay, thanks.” Mountain turns to Phantom. “Got everything.”

Phantom nods and makes his bat plush nod as well.

“Okay, let's head out.” Mountain slings his own bag over his shoulder and scoops up Phantom to carry him again. Swiss carries his own as well as Phantom’s duffle bags. After one final sweep of the dressing room they head out to the buses.

[steeb-stn]

pls have 800 words of the inside of my head, featuring hurt/comfort, cee and her daddy issues, ezra and his daughter issues, and ezra and his issues with his daughter’s dead father

enjoy!

He should have known she was coming down with something - the jungle planet they’d been working on was a cesspool of every plague and malady known to fleshly bodies. Now they’re up here on this Keva-forsaken station, with barely half a first-aid kit that he could cobble together. Cee’s already burned through the half-dozen fever reducers he managed to kick up, and now all he can do is try to keep her cool with wet cloths, and try to get her to drink. Their tiny pod doesn’t even have a tub he can put her in. 

She’s been speaking to him as if he were her father for the past hour. He’d tried halfheartedly to convince her otherwise, but had since given up, a little afraid that her preoccupation with Damon, in combination with reminders of his own person, might lead her fever-addled mind back to the last ill-fated encounter between the two men. That was the last thing either Ezra or Cee needed at the moment. 

“I’m sorry, dad.” She said plaintively, pulling the wet cloth from her neck for the hundredth time. “I didn’t mean to. I’m really sorry.” 

“You’re alright, birdy,” Ezra replied, replacing the cloth for the hundred-and-first time. “Just rest. There’s nothing you need to do right now. Just let this fever burn out.” 

She pulled it off again immediately, throwing it across the room fitfully where it hit the opposite wall with a splat. She was getting more distressed as the fever wore her out. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise. It was an accident. I’m sorry.” To his horror, little sobs followed this last apology. “I’m really sorry, dad. Don’t be mad.” 

“It’s alright, birdy. No one’s mad at you. Everything’s okay.” He smooths her sweaty hair back from her temple, feeling physical pain in his chest at the tears on her flushed cheeks. Never had he felt so helpless as he did now. And of course the only person in the galaxy who could have possibly made it better was the same one he’d dispatched in the Green so long ago. 

Even now, Damon still haunts him. 

But Damon’s not here, only Ezra is. Cee has no one now but him. He scrambles for words that might set her at ease. 

What did you call her in your more tender moments, Damon?

His limited acquaintance with the man, on top of what little he has garnered from awkward conversations with Cee, doesn’t lead him to imagine much. Nor does the way the man’s daughter feels compelled to entreat her father for forgiveness in the midst of her delirium.

If it was him, though. If it was him, father to a young girl. A younger, softer Cee, younger even then that little girl in the Green who forever changed his life. That he can imagine just fine.

“I’m not mad, honey. No harm done.” 

“I promise I was being careful!” Tears and snot stream down her face. He wipes her nose gently with the cloth.

What did you say to your girl when she cried, Damon? 

This Ezra doesn’t have trouble imagining, unfortunately. The impatience, the harsh rebuke. In his own imitation he tries to soften the words.

“Don’t cry, now, Cee. It’s alright.” At the command she stops sobbing immediately, as Ezra had suspected she might. As if she had practice at it.

Oh, Damon. Will you ever stop disappointing me?

Disappointing her? 

“I’m sorry.” She swipes a hand under her nose. “Please don’t be mad.”

“It’s all right, honey. It’s nothin’ the two of us can’t fix, now, is it? It’s alright, now. I know you were being careful.” He smoothes his thumb over her forehead. “Will you drink some water for me? There you go. Good girl.”

She lets him pull the water bottle away, dropping her head against the pillow. She looks a little better. Eyes a little less glazed. ‘Dad?’

He breathes deep, continuing the stroking of her hair. It seems to calm her. ‘Yeah, honey.’

“I really am trying. I’ll get better, I promise. You don’t have to take the book away. I promise I’ll do better next time.’

‘That’s alright, Cee. I know you will. You’re my smart girl. I’m a lucky man, ‘you know that?” He cups her fevered cheek. “I’m lucky to have a girl like you.” 

You were so much luckier than you deserved, Damon. 

So am I.

He knows, he hopes, that she will forget this moment of near unbearable vulnerability between them, that it will melt away like a bizarre dream, like the fever that’s sweating off her. But there’s also a part of him that wants her to remember. Remember, at least, this bit.

Remember what she should have learned from her father, what should have embedded itself in her bones where no one and nothing could touch it, not a fever, not a dead man, not even a scoundrel like Ezra himself. Don’t forget, Cee. Don’t you forget how proud I am. There’s nobody in the whole galaxy who’s got a girl like mine. 

Nobody. 

[buggyswritingcorner]

My huntress

I did a little bit of a twist on the readers parents :D

Neteyam x !RareColoringOmaticayaReader, sweet fluff

masterlist

You had been hunting in the forest for a good few days. Riding your Pa'li between the thick greenery of the rainforest. Your skin had been dealt a few scratches and your squad was getting tired.

As the leader of your hunter squad you had to know many things. Even knowing when to return to the safety and warmth of your home.

So you set out on the journey back. Your hunt had promised a feast the whole village. Na'vi only took what they needed so the gatherers would bring much more.

As you rode into the village your people cheered greetings, celebrating your return. Your cerulean eyes searched for one person only.

He stood next to his brother and sulked. He had gotten injured on his last hunt so he had to recover in the village the past few weeks. Thankfully his leg was not fractured.

You pitied him, you yourself wouldn't know what to do if you couldn't go into the forest.

You dropped off your horse and jogged up to the brothers.

The feast was soon prepared and continued long into the night. Soon the sky was covered in green hues and most of the clan sat around to watch the dance of colors.

Neteyam found you in the crowd, took your hand and led you through the forest.

"Come I know a good place."

You smiled casting your eyes onto the grass beneath your feet. His hand felt very warm and maybe a little sweaty.

You reached your destination as he led you onto the branches of a particularly massive tree. You looked to where the light was bouncing off the pond water the cyan blues reflecting in your eyes.

Neteyam couldn't look away. He was absolutely enamoured with you ever since he had met you as a child.

Your avatar - like that of Jake's had five fingers. What Jake did not share was your lighter tinted skin and eyes that resembled the coastal beaches of the east.

You were once a human child brought into life on Pandora. You were much too weak and so your mother a great scientist created an avatar from your DNA. As soon as your human body showed signs of distress you were transferred into the avatar.

His three fingered hands held yours. Even though your fingers surrounded his own, his hand was still considerably larger.

He stopped in front of a plant pod and climbed in. The plant resembled a hammock sofly swinging side to side with your movements.

Sitting with your legs crossed in front of each other you stared at him waiting for an explanation.

An then you got impatient.

"Why did you take me here Nete."

"Can I not enjoy time alone with my favorite huntress?"

"Not without reason I am a very busy woman."

"I have many reasons."

"Such as?"

Pause.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

Three hea-.

"I missed you."

His voice was quiet. Even the droplets of humidity were almost louder as they tapped on the leaves.

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Not that you weren't glad to hear.

"Don't you always?"

"It's been different."

"How."

"I do not know myself. How can I miss someone.. so deeply." His ear twitched. His eyes were glued onto the bark of the tree.

"I am glad to hear."

"Glad to hear of my pain? You at least had the hunt to distract you but what of me and my limp?"

You giggled at his childish antics.

"It's your own fault you got ballsy my friend."

He frowned at that. Huh.

"What is it? Are you not happy to be called my friend." You held your breath in anticipation. Could his feelings have changed?

"I'm glad. Of course. Yeah." Five heartbeats passed before his eyes finally shifted to yours. Beautiful pools of honey illuminated by swirls of blues.

You knew exactly what he wanted. You recognized the solemm look from your very own reflection. Truthfully you had thought about it far too often yourself. Even feeling restless at night with worried thoughts.

And so with the confirmation you needed you proceeded to move closer. The pod wobbled with your attempts and you half fell onto Neteyam.

You mentally facepalmed. Eywa take me now you thought with embarrassment.

He just chuckled and hugged your frame.

"No need for jumping me my huntress I would offer myself to you freely." His smile was teasing. His eyes crinckled around the corners just the way you loved.

Rolling your eyes you pulled yourself upright careful to not hurt his almost healed leg. You leaned in slowly. He held his breath trying to contain his excitement, it was adorable. First kissed his eyelids, then his cheeks and nose and lastly the lips.

Gently pecking them at first soon your lips brushed like tiny waves.

His hands soon started playing with your braids and you reached for your braid. Placing it over your collarbone you pulled away and stared at him.

His eyes widened and he flushed.

"You.. I.. You would want to?"

You were very well aware of your gesture. Creating a Tsaheylu with another Na'vi meant you were mated for life, connected, inseparable.

"I see you, Neteyam."

And so the bond was made. And you knew your fates would be intertwined and you would both meet your end together.

[wordsafterhours]

Songs About You - Chapter 9

Author's Note: I spent all day writing this because I wanted it to be perfect and have some substance. I wanted to develop their relationship on a level we hadn't yet seen in this story. Apologies if it's choppy or repetitive. I need work on my progression of stuff, which will come in time because I haven't written consistently in a very long time. Practice makes perfect as the saying goes. Thank you for all who read this and stick with it despite my short comings, you really do push me to do and write better.

*I'm very excited for the next chapter as there will be a major reveal :)

Word Count: 4.7k (heyooooooo, longest one yet)

Snippet - Chapter 9 Poster

Masterlist

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

The first thought that crossed Aelin’s mind wasn’t that her cheek was pressed into Rowan’s bare and sweaty chest, or that his hands were splayed across her exposed lower back, holding her close, or that again, he had managed to catch her off guard. 

No, the first thought was how he smelled like Yulemas and Oakwald Forest in wintertime, of pine and snow. How she had never noticed before now was a mystery, especially considering how close they had been the night before. But her mind had been completely focused on something else entirely in that moment. 

Now, flush against him, her nose and brain had no choice but to recognize yet another fact about Rowan Whitethorn. With all the physical labor he had been doing, he should have smelled strongly of sweat and masculine odor, but it was only faintly present and not the least bit off putting. Aelin was certain he was now one of her favorite smells and this moment would be ingrained in her mind for the foreseeable future.

She felt Rowan’s chest vibrate as he let out a small chuckle. “That tickles,” he confessed.

Confused, she craned her head back as far as her current position would allow, now able to see his pine green eyes sparking with light. Arching her brow, she encouraged him to explain.

“I think you were, uh, sniffing me. You kept moving face back and forth and it tickled,” Rowan said quietly in the space between them.

Aelin’s brows rose in shock. She hadn’t realized how obvious she had been, and it was mortifying he’d noticed. What would he think if he knew how she’d watched him silently from behind a tree? Unconsciously, she stepped back, trying to distance herself as she withered in embarrassment. His arms wouldn’t allow it though, tightening, pressing her back into his chest has he let out a low tut. 

Was this his way of telling her it was okay? Was this a pity hug? Perhaps holding her close and plotting his next truth bomb? 

She wasn’t sure the man knew how to lie. He always seemed to be so forth coming with whatever he was thinking, giving no care to how it made the other person feel. It was both refreshing and distressing. No one else she knew would have called her out on the sniffing. 

Deciding he wasn’t letting go, Aelin tentatively put her arms around him, naked skin to naked skin. Her earlier assessment of his physique had been correct—Rowan was nothing short of defined muscle and hard planes. The pads of her fingers easily discerning the corded sinew beneath them. It took every ounce of self-control for her not to trace them. 

A weight pressed upon the top of her head as Rowan rested his chin, still refusing to let go. Several times, she opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but trepidation at what might follow, stopped her. Instead, she relaxed into him, enjoying the feeling of resting against him and allowing herself to just pause for a moment. 

Whether this man knew it or not, he was giving her a gift by forcing her into whatever this was. Aelin wasn’t sure when the last time someone had just held her. Maybe that was her fault for the tone she’d set in her relationship with Chaol, keeping him close but somehow still at arms’ length, not allowing him to cross her deepest walls. 

It was easier to ignore her problems and the spiraling depression that threatened to drown her most days if she never talked about it with anyone, never gave it an inch more in her life than it already had. To her friends and the outside world, she was strong, confident, resilient. A girl who had overcome life ending tragedy by finishing college and opening a successful business in the very district her parents had helped restore and preserve. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had the world at her feet.

It was exactly how she wanted it.  Showing only enough of herself to get by. Yet, as she leaned harder into his tall frame, owning up to just how tired she was didn’t seem daunting if he would be there to catch her. Aelin was only kidding herself though, the day when she gave into vulnerability and voiced how broken she was would never come because that would mean laying her heart bare, laying it open to be bulldozed again by loss. She would not survive it. 

“Thank you,” Aelin mumbled into the warm skin of Rowan’s chest. He was owed at least that for quieting all the noise. 

His arms tightened slightly in acknowledgement before loosening, signaling the moment had come to a close. Rowan stepped back and looked her up and down, his face betraying nothing. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for but assumed he was satisfied when he chose to speak, “I didn’t think you were going to show.” 

Aelin waffled between telling a lie or being truthful. “I wasn’t, but curiosity won out.” 

Not entirely truthful but not an outright lie either. 

“I would have been at the house to greet you if you’d let me know,” he supplied without the usual barb he so often used when chastising her lack of manners. 

“Want to know what I thought about on the way over here?” 

He dipped his chin in a silent yes.

“I half thought I was on my way to be murdered. I thought I lived off the beaten path, but it doesn’t have anything on your house. Which is very you by the way,” she admitted sheepishly. 

Rowan’s laugh was belly deep, reaching down into her very soul, further pushing Aelin into bewitchment. There was something so wonderous about other peoples’ joy, his especially, and she found herself laughing, too. “I’m glad you find my terror funny.” 

“You have to admit it is a bit ridiculous.” 

“It’s not! You say that because you’re not a woman. Besides, haven’t you watched true crime documentaries?” 

“I say that because I’m a rational human and I like to think I don’t give off serial killer vibes. Maybe I’m wrong,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking expectantly at her for an answer. 

“I don’t know, your personality is a little bit erratic,” she replied, trying her best to keep the tone flat and even. Inside though, she was smirking. 

Rowan said nothing, appearing to be mulling over what she had said. The silence drug on and Aelin wondered if he had been that easily offended by her words. She was about to apologize when he jumped in her direction, acting as though he was going to grab her, and Aelin yelped, scrambling back and tripping over the same root from earlier. 

A string of muttered curse words escaped her lips as she sat on the ground, trying her best to remain dignified despite having fallen on her ass. Rowan’s shadow loomed over her as he approached, extending his hand to help her up. Her turquoise eyes narrowed when she noted the subtle shaking of his body. He was laughing at her. Again. 

Aelin ignored his olive branch, standing on her own and dusting herself off. “I rest my case,” she threw over her shoulder, refusing to look at him. 

“Fair enough,” he acquiesced. She could hear him moving around behind her and felt something lightly graze her head. 

“I’m not sure how you did it, but this was in your hair.” A scraggly branch entered her right periphery. 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, if someone didn’t go around terrorizing me, I wouldn’t end up with sticks in my hair.” She turned, meeting his smiling face with her glare. 

Was she being a child? Absolutely. Did she care? No. 

“You started it by saying I had characteristics similar to a homicidal maniac!” 

“So, acting like you’re going to grab me doesn’t provide evidence for the point?” she asked, throwing her hands up. 

He did have the gall to look slightly sheepish, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “I can see where that might have been a bit alarming.”

“A bit? ‘A bit alarming’ he says.” 

“How was I supposed to know you were going to fall on your ass?” His green eyes were alight with mirth clearly enjoying this too much.

“You’re just supposed to know. I guess you need to get better at premeditating others’ actions based on your own. You’d make a terrible serial killer, you’re right,” Aelin jested. 

He flashed her a large smile, waving his hand for her to follow as he brushed by, his shoulder playfully bumping into her side. “Just so you know, no one is worth going to jail over. I’d sooner rot than be sentenced to the Salt Mines.”

An instantaneous wave of nausea brought on by crippling anxiety had her bending over, hands braced on her knees as she tried to breathe through the overwhelming urge to heave. She could hear the loud pounding of her heart in her ears, drowning out everything, even her own thoughts. Trying to regain composure over herself, she started counting the dead leaves on the ground at her feet. One. Two. Five. Thirty-three. 

Rowan was new to her life. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that those simple words would and could bring her very world to its knees the minute they were uttered. He wasn’t like the rest of her friends and boyfriend, who had learned so quickly what triggered panic attacks. He hadn’t been around to see how she avoided newspapers, journalists, social media. How she avoided her remaining family. How she had essentially filtered her daily life to prevent anything triggering from falling through its cracks.

But she hadn’t accounted for him. Hadn’t accounted for someone who didn’t know that you couldn’t even joke about something like that, because it was never a joke to her. For her, it was real life and trauma and a house for her own monster come to life. Yet here she was, struggling to pull breaths in and out, drowning on dry land, unable to call for help. A victim of her own short-sightedness. 

The stomach acid burned her throat, tears falling from the corner of her eyes as she refused to give into the panic more than she had. The blackened edges of her vision lessening and the thrumming white noise in her ears quieting just a little. Two hundred and five. Two hundred and six.  Two hundred and seven.  Aelin continued to count all the leaves she could see, eventually loosing count of the ones she had and hadn’t counted.  

Exhausted and a little worse for wear, she stood and waited for the onslaught of questioning from Rowan she was sure she would get. Instead, she found him staring at her with a concerned expression, the dogs sitting at his feet. He was farther away than she had anticipated, and she wasn’t sure where Fleetfoot or Elliot had come from. In the moment, her panic attacks felt as though they lasted forever but only really were a couple minutes. This one, though, seemed like it had drug on for some time. 

Neither said anything, waiting for the other to broach the elephant. If he didn’t have the conviction to ask her, Aelin wasn’t going to volunteer the information herself. With an exaggerated shrug her only response, she closed the distance between them, falling to her knees at his feet. The two dogs were immediately upon her, nuzzling her tear-stained face with their cold noses. 

Fleetfoot seemed to be especially intrusive into her personal space, likely discerning how poor her emotional state was. Aelin hadn’t had a panic attack like that in front of her dog and it saddened her because she didn’t want to stress her out. “I’m okay girl,” she reassuringly cooed into golden fur. 

Rowan dropped a hand onto Aelin’s shoulder, and she flinched, not expecting it. He quickly withdrew, stepping back. 

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. 

“It’s fine,” she quickly supplied, standing up and doing her best to appear unbothered. 

He started several times to say something but eventually opted to pick up his axe instead. He pointed to a log carved into a sitting bench, never saying anything. He went back to splitting the large stump he had laid out before and she took her seat, mindlessly watching him. Too lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t realized he had stopped until a book was thrust in front of her face. Her fair hands grabbed it and Rowan sat down at the opposite edge of the bench, drinking from his bottle. 

Aelin ran her hands over the worn, faded leather cover. Her fingers could feel slight indentations on the front and spine but couldn’t make out the title, lettering long gone. She opened it, leafing through the worn pages—it was a book of poetry. A lick of surprise went through her, and she briefly looked over at the silver-haired man, trying to reconcile this new fact against what she knew about him. Whatever she had expected the book to be, wasn’t this. 

Looking back, the noted the page she had stopped on to be particularly discolored at the edges and the top right corner creased, indicating it had been dog-eared many a time. Aelin was familiar with the writer of poem, e.e. cummings but hadn’t read much of his work. The poem at hand, “Little Tree”, seemed fitting given their current location. Opting to read it aloud, she cleared her throat before beginning:

little tree

little silent Yulemas tree

 you are so little

you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest

and were you very sorry to come away? 

See I will comfort you

Because you smell so sweetly

I will kiss your cool bark

And hug you safe and tight

Just as your mother would, 

Only don’t be afraid

Look the spangles

That sleep all the year in a dark box

Dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,

The ball the changes red and gold the fluffy threads,

Put up your little arms

And I’ll give them all to you to hold

Every finger shall have its ring

And there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

Sometime during the reading, Rowan had leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes. She might have thought him asleep if not for the pleasant smile he was wearing and the occasional tap of his foot against the ground. She went back to the book, finding another tattered page, again reading its contents audibly. 

It was several poems later when Rowan finally found his voice again. “This was my mother’s favorite book. She started reading these to me before I was even born, and I can remember begging for her to read to me as a boy. When she passed, I started reading them to my father by the fire after dinner as a way for us to keep her close.” 

Aelin turned towards him, finding his eyes still shut, his face marred with nostalgia. “When my father passed, the book became a way to keep them both close. I’m certain one day that I will have worn the very ink from those pages and will only know what they should say because I’ve spent my whole life with them,” he lamented in sad candor.  

She wanted to say a million things to him, to acknowledge how much she understood the feeling. She wanted to tell him how each day she had to fight with herself to get out of bed because she too had lost her parents and it had left a gaping hole in her chest. She wanted to tell him that she had a book, just like this, that she kept in her bedside table and read in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep because the words felt like a hug from her parents. She wanted to tell him how his hug earlier had soothed something inside of her that had been crying out for years. But she did none of those things. 

Instead, she only offered up a sliver of a response, “I used to read to my dad by the fire after dinner, too. I think it’s probably where my love of literary works started.”

The pair fell into comfortable silence after her admission which Aelin was glad for. She wasn’t sure how much of herself she could volunteer up before he started asking questions that she wasn’t ready to or willing to answer. She liked Rowan, liked him even more because he could be held at arm’s length without much of an explanation. They were friends at best; she didn’t owe him anything at this point. 

Deciding to mimic Rowan’s position on the bench, Aelin untucked her legs and stretched them out, toeing the forest floor with her boots. As she drug them back and forth in the dirt, it occurred to her, he had never disclosed why he’d asked her over in the first place. Or why she needed good shoes. 

“Why am I here?” she blurted out. 

“What?” he countered, sounding half asleep. 

“Why am I here? You never told me.”

“It’s Saturday.” His succinct response left her feeling like she was supposed to know what that meant. 

“And?”

Rowan, clearly frustrated at her lack of understanding, huffed as he stood. “Hiking. The hiking group I lead meets on Saturdays. It’s Saturday.”

He had mentioned that in the bookstore during her probing about Lyria. It hadn’t really registered in her mind at the time because it wasn’t the most important part of their conversation. Now she remembered and felt slightly dumb in having forgotten. “I remember now. Sorry, it was a long night, and my brain still is bogged down by the aftereffects of drinking.” 

“Well, you can have aspirin and water back at the house, it should help. We need to head back that way anyways, it’s almost time for people to start showing up.” 

Rowan didn’t wait for response before plucking the forgotten book off the bench and letting out a low whistle to garner Elliot’s attention. She didn’t bother calling for Fleetfoot, as the two were connected at the hip.  Aelin followed close on Rowan’s heels, taking in the last moments that they would have together, just the two of them. He hadn’t put back on his shirt, leaving her the opportunity to slyly look him over once more. The man was unfairly attractive. 

As they ascended the gentle slope behind his cabin, Aelin could see a light on through the back window. She thought it odd. There had not been light on before and Rowan had been with her the entire time. Rowan didn’t seem to notice or if he had, likely thought he had left it on. 

He opened the back door but stopped in the entry way, surprising Aelin. Her hands unconsciously splayed out on his back to steady her. He felt tense beneath her hands, and she didn’t know why. His frame took up the entire doorway, limiting her view which made her impatient. The promised glass of water and pain medicine was calling her name.

“Hey, I wondered where you were,” Lyria said, her voice light, warm, and betraying a level of familiarity between the two. Aelin didn’t need to see her to know the smile the dark-haired woman was wearing. 

“Lyria,” he acknowledged in a clipped manner. 

Aelin didn’t know Rowan well, but she knew enough to know that he wasn’t happy with Lyria being in his house. She pushed slightly on his back, hoping to move him forward. He could sort out his boundaries or lack thereof after he let her in the house. It was awkward to be hidden behind him. 

He didn’t move much to Aelin’s chagrin. “You didn’t call.”

“No, I saw your truck was here, so I figured you were out somewhere with Elliot. I wanted to set up the snacks and drinks I brought before the group showed up,” Lyria explained. 

“Well, next time can you give me a heads up that you’ll be hijacking the kitchen?”

“You usually don’t mind,” she answered. “But yes, I’ll let you know in the future. Now, come inside and try these! It’s a recipe from Doranelle. I can’t remember the name… it loosely translates to ‘meat on a stick’.”

Aelin’s breath caught in her throat as she listened to what Lyria said. Her mind flashing back to first day she met Lyria in Present Tense when the woman was looking for a cookbook with Doranelle recipes. Now here Lyria was, using the cookbook Aelin had procured for her to impress Rowan. The porch suddenly felt too small. The awkwardness she felt earlier was nothing compared to what it was about to be. 

Rowan maneuvered his left arm behind him, grabbing and pulling her forward as he side-stepped into the house. She had no choice but to confront the situation head on.

Lyria’s chestnut eyes flashed quickly in what looked like disdain but disappeared too quickly for her to be certain. The smile affixed on her face seemed forced. “Hi, Aelin! I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I had a free weekend and thought I’d try something new,” Aelin lamely answered. Given more time, she would have come up with a better lie, but her anxiety seemed to be short circuiting her brain. 

“You know I love having new people join us,” Rowan’s lilting voice sounded behind her. 

“Yes, you do,” Lyria agreed enthusiastically closing a cupboard door a too harshly. 

“I’m going to go rinse off. I can feel woodchips stuck in places they ought not to be stuck. Can you get A a glass of water and some aspirin, please?” he asked before heading up stairs she hadn’t noticed until now. 

With ease, Lyria opened the appropriate cabinets, grabbing a glass and bottle of medication. She filled the glass and set it on kitchen island looking expectantly at Aelin. 

Aelin opened the bottle, quickly downing two pills with water. She cautiously sat down and watched Lyria continue to plate the spread. The meat on a stick smelled excellent, as did the bread she was slicing. “That looks wonderful. I see the cookbook came in handy,” she praised.

Lyria’s movements faltered slightly with Aelin’s compliment, and she wondered if she shouldn’t have said anything. “I won’t say anything to him,” she said quietly to her, trying to undo whatever hole she’d just dug for herself.

“It’s not any of my business what you two talk about. Although, I wasn’t aware you two did much talking.”

Aelin’s brows pinched in confusion, her mind attempting to work through what Lyria was implying. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Lyria stopped slicing the bread altogether, laying the knife down. Her expression was hard, her chestnut eyes roaming over Aelin’s face. “Rowan hasn’t mentioned you two being friends. I know all his friends. He’s a pretty private person and doesn’t share his personal time with people outside his friend group.”

There it was. 

Lyria was marking her territory: Rowan. And by proxy, his friends, this house. Elliot. She didn’t have to say it in so many words but her actions, her attitude, they said more than plenty. Aelin once thought her terribly sweet but now, she saw her for what she was, a flowering thorn bush. Pretty at first glance yet with closer inspection, riddled with barbs. 

Aelin wanted to give into the anger she could feel burning beneath her skin’s surface, to knock Lyria down a few pegs, but she did not. It wouldn’t help. “I don’t know that we’re really friends. I think he invited me because he felt bad for his past behavior.” 

“Past behavior?” 

That hole she mentioned earlier, it was quickly on its way to being her grave. “He got into a fight with a customer in the store,” Aelin casually presented in explanation.  

“That doesn’t sound like Rowan at all,” Lyria countered in disbelief. 

“Well maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

Lyria rounded the island coming to stand in front of Aelin, which was more like over her, as Aelin was still sitting. “I know him better than anyone else,” Lyria angrily declared into the limited space between them. 

Aelin slid her stool back and stood, toe to toe with Lyria. If she thought she was going to intimidate her, she had another thing coming. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here Lyria, but I don’t like it. Quite frankly, Rowan is grown enough to decide who he talks to, and he does not need anyone’s permission, lest of all yours.” 

“I’m just making sure you know where I stand in his life,” Lyria stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Understood, message received,” Aelin confirmed with an embellished thumbs up. She tried to stop there but when Lyria looked a little too satisfied, she couldn’t stop what came out next, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a boyfriend and I’m not out to steal the one you don’t even have.” 

Aelin brushed past Lyria, refusing to give her a moment more of her time and headed out the backdoor, harshly closing it. The idea of hiking through the woods with Rowan and his club hadn’t sounded terrible until now. She didn’t see her dog anywhere and Fleetfoot wasn’t responding to her whistles, but she knew she’d come running when she started the SUV. Fleetfoot loved to go for rides.

As she rounded the front of the house, making for the driveway, the front door opened, and Rowan came barreling out yelling her name. She ignored him, getting into the vehicle and starting it up. Damn Fleetfoot for not already being in the car.

“Aelin, open the door. Or roll down the window. Talk to me. Where are you going?”

Still, she ignored him, watching the rpm handle bob up and down as the engine idled. 

“Can you at least open the door for your dog or are you leaving her too without an explanation?” he asked, angry. 

His words stung. Her turquoise orbs welled with tears, this all feeling a little too much like something Chaol would say to her.

Aelin hastily threw the driver side door open, narrowly avoiding Rowan and Fleetfoot only because he had been paying attention. She couldn’t see his face but could tell his hair was down, water darkening the t-shirt where it touched. Afraid her voice would betray her, she motioned for him to put the dog into the driver’s seat. 

Carefully, he bent down, stuffing his upper body into the vehicle as he loaded Fleetfoot up. She expected him to move so she could leave but instead, he remained in the doorway. 

“Can you move please; I want to go home.”

“Not unless you tell me what happened. You were fine when I left you and gone when I came back. Lyria said you weren’t feeling well.” One of his hands tipped her chin up, forcing her to acknowledge his gaze and line of questioning. 

“It’s nothing,” she lied, attempting her best to be convincing by keeping the answer short, concise. 

“If it was nothing, Aelin, you’d be staying. Would you not?”

“I wish everyone would quit telling me about me. It’s maddening,” she declared, throwing her hands up and shrugging his off in the process.  

“What happened?” he pleaded again, stepping towards her. 

She stepped back, shaking her head. He stepped forward, not heading her “no”, she stepped back again. “Aelin, what’s wrong?”

Angry Rowan pushed her buttons. Half-naked Rowan made her core flush with heat. Laughing Rowan warmed her soul. Pleading Rowan, with his lilting accent, he had the power to lay waste to all her defenses if she let him. Her resolve was wavering and if she didn’t give him the smallest bone now, she would regret it later, or worse, he might after he realized how good and truly fucked up she was. 

“Go ask your girlfriend,” Aelin yelled, shutting the door to her SUV and throwing it into drive. Further tormenting herself, she glanced in the rearview mirror to see him still standing there, watching her leave.  

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

Tag list:

@rowanaelinn @theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart  

(Let me know if you want to be added)

[yourdeepestfathoms]

melting fire

Bela had never been so hot before.

Delirious and fever-stricken, she squirmed on her bed, desperately trying to escape the burning heat inside of her. It was like she was laying in the hot sand of a desert, slowly being fried by the sun that wasn’t there. Because she was in her bedroom, shrouded by dim shadows, and the only light was coming from a singular gas lamp on her desk, flickering faint yellow-gold across the floor. But it was so hot, the blankets like plains of fire on her skin, doing little to bring her any comfort.

A soft moan managed to escape Bela’s flaking lips. Her mouth was dry, tongue like burnt coals. She desperately needed water--not even blood, but nice, cold water--but she couldn’t get up. She could barely even move aside from her twisting and turning in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

Her breath came out thin, reedy, and too-hot. She thought she could spout flames, maybe. She had to be burning alive.

There was a squeak as her bedroom door creaked open. She pried open her heavy eyelids to see two silhouettes creeping towards her bed. She instinctively bared her teeth and spat at the trespassers, too weak to raise her claws to defend herself.

“Someone is cranky,” teased a voice.

Wait-- she knew that voice.

Bela settled as her sisters perched on the edge of the bed.

“Sorry,” she rasped, her voice weak and hoarse from illness. “I’m kinda delirious.”

“Kinda?” Cassandra raised an amused eyebrow. “Do you know what you were doing before you passed out earlier?”

“Do I want to know?” Bela asked nervously.

Daniela helpfully supplied her with details: “You were all wobbly and Mother set a hand on your shoulder and said it was to keep you from falling. Your response was, ‘It’s okay, five-second rule.’”

Bela’s face flushed red--redder than it already was than her fever. “Oh--”

Daniela didn’t relent: “And then you started stroking Mother’s arm hair and said, ‘You’d make such a good carpet.’”

“Okay, that’s enou--”

“You also said, ‘my bones feel wet, may I have a napkin?’”

“Daniela--”

“Oh, and we can’t forget, while at breakfast and you were still trying to act like you were okay: ‘Coffee doesn’t taste like coffee, but it sure does taste like brown.’”

“Okay, okay!” Bela yelped, then coughed into her blankets. “I get it. I was out of it.”

“Very out of it,” Cassandra said, stroking her claws through Bela’s sweaty hair. Bela, rationalizing that she couldn’t get any more embarrassed than she already was, leaned her head into her sister’s touch, letting out a soft purr of contentment. Cassandra’s talons were nimble and uncharacteristically gentle against her burning scalp.

“Where is Mother?” Bela asked.

“Aww, are we not good enough company for you, Beli?” Daniela teased playfully.

“I didn’t say that!” Bela squeaked. She hunched her shoulders in. “I was just wondering.”

“Somewhere around here,” Cassandra said vaguely. “She’ll probably come to check on you soon.”

Bela nodded sluggishly. Her head was beginning to fill with fog again. “Alright…” she murmured.

“Aww,” Daniela cooed. “She’s getting all silly again.” She reached out and lightly dragged her claws down one of Bela’s clammy cheeks, probably thinking she was being comforting, when really her touch was just ticklish.

Bela bared her teeth at her, though she barely opened her eyes. “Shut it.”

Daniela tittered.

“Well, we’ll let you rest,” Cassandra said, tugging on Daniela’s arm.

“Sleep well!” Daniela said as she was pulled out of the room.

“Thanks,” Bela replied.

The door shut and she was left in darkness once again.

Bela rolled onto her side and curled up in her blankets. A moment later, she rolled onto her other side, but it did little to help her discomfort. Her body was aching all over and no position was good enough.

Outside, the wind was howling. Another snowstorm was blowing in, loud and powerful. She turned over again to watch the snowfall. The snowflakes flew like dozens of little whiteflies behind the glass, twisting and twirling through the air. It made her think of her own flies, and she broke off a piece of her skin into a cluster of insects. She was desperately lonely and wanted something to interact with since she didn’t have her sisters or mother there with her.

With blurry eyes, Bela watched dazedly as her insects flew around her head. She held out a finger and they lined up on it in a perfect arrangement: blowfly, flesh fly, dogbane beetle, Spanish fly, black vine weevil, drain fly, green bottle fly, clothes moth, click beetle, room spinning, ears ringing, eyes shutting…

Bela’s head jerked back when she began to nod off, sending her bugs into a scattering cloud of frantic wingbeats. She blinked her eyes furiously, but it did little to dispel the fuzziness over everything. It was like she was looking underwater. She rubbed her heavy eyelids, and moving her arms was like trying to move solid beams of lead.

Her fever flared. She moaned weakly in pain.

Her skin was baking, boiling right off of her bones. Her limbs were sacks of heated stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt like they were lit on fire. Her cheeks felt like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, she was like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin…

Bela squirmed, whining faintly. She couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t take this heat. She used to think the cold was bad, but this-- this was just awful.

She had to escape it.

As though beckoning her, the blizzard howled.

Bela raised her head--which was rather difficult, as it felt like it weighed a ton--and squinted. The snow usually wasn’t very enticing, but something about it now seemed to call to her. It was inviting her to join its cool embrace, promising to soothe her raging fever. She had to oblige to it.

Sliding out of bed, Bela staggered towards the window. The glass was cool against her palms when she pressed her hands to it, but felt even better on her burning forehead. She let out a sigh of relief as the chill invaded her, but it wasn’t good enough. She needed more. She needed to be rid of this fire inside of her.

Bela pushed against the window. It didn’t budge. She whined and pushed harder. It still didn’t budge. Mother kept them locked for good reason, but Bela needed to get out now. She felt like she was being cremated and didn’t know how much longer she could handle it.

Finally, after a few moments of desperate struggling, the window relented under her assault and she was embraced by the soothing cold. It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. It felt…nice.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Bela relaxed her body and shut her eyes to rest.

--- --- ---

Alcina was alerted by the sound of glass shattering. She had been idly flipping through a book when she heard the horrendous smashing sound. Instantly, she snapped to her feet and began striding down the hallway until she got to Bela’s room. Upon opening the door, she was greeted by a blast of cold air, which was as freezing as the black ice that suddenly sprinted through her veins.

“Bela?” Alcina shouted. Stepping inside, she noticed that the window was broken open and her eldest daughter was nowhere to be seen. “Bela?!”

Alcina rushed over to the crater created in the glass and looked out. Despite the darkness of the night, she could still distinctly make out the figure of Bela in the snow below.

She didn’t look like she was moving.

“Bela!!”

Alcina ran out of the room, where she was promptly met by her other two daughters. They both instantly leaped away from the doorway with yelps when the cold wind brushed against their legs. She quickly shut the door.

“Mother, what happened?” Cassandra asked.

“Stay here,” Alcina said instead of answering. She then turned and sprinted down the hallway and outside, nearly clipping her head on the doorframe.

When she found Bela, she may have been more concerned about her falling from the second-story window if it wasn’t for how leached her skin was. Her eldest daughter was icy to the touch, her skin as brittle as weak glass in the unforgiving cold. Alcina scooped her up into her arms, holding her close to her chest to protect her from the vicious lashing of the snowstorm as she carried her back inside.

Bela had been out there for less than three minutes, but Alcina’s mind was still running in panicked circles. Was it enough to kill Bela? Was her baby girl about to die in her arms? Alcina’s heart seized at the mere thought of losing one of her daughters. She frantically went over her own notes in her head: the flies generally began hibernating at temperatures below ten degrees Celsius, and it was definitely below ten degrees Celsius out there. When that happens, their metabolism drops and they go into a state of lethargy, which then causes extreme weakness and fatigue. There was also the pain and sensitivity that came from the cold, and though Bela didn’t seem like she was in freezing agony, Alcina still couldn’t be too sure.

It was then that Bela stirred, and Alcina snapped her head down. Bela was squirming in her arms, whining ever so faintly. She didn’t seem to be in pain, she just seemed distressed and very uncomfortable.

“Mother,” Bela panted. “Please--”

“It’s alright now, my love,” Alcina said, carrying Bela over to one of the many fireplaces in the castle, swiping up a blanket folded over a cushioned chair as she went. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” She squeezed her daughter close to her chest, not quite realizing that she may have been smothering her. “It’s okay. Mother’s here now.”

“No-- no--” Bela tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but she was much too weak. “Hot-- too hot--”

Alcina frowned. She had been wondering how and why Bela got outside, but now it made sense.

Was her fever really that bad?

“You can’t be cold, darling,” Alcina said, crouching down in front of the fire, not releasing Bela from her vice. She wrapped her in the blanket, despite her wriggling. Under her touch, Bela's skin was still worryingly frigid and dry. She hoped the snow wouldn't leave blisters. “You must stay warm.”

“No--” Bela’s claws tugged feebly at Alcina’s dress. If it weren’t caused by illness, then it may have been cute. “Mother, please…”

Alcina sighed. She shifted Bela into one arm (it wasn’t exactly hard to do) and brushed her sweaty hair out of her face. Bela leaned into the touch, her eyelids fluttering shut. She purred faintly.

“You need to be warm,” Alcina told her. As hard as it was to resist her child’s begging, she couldn’t just go throw Bela out into the snow. She had to keep her near the fire, where her body could go back to its normal temperature.

Alcina cupped the back of Bela’s head and pressed her face into her neck, rocking her slowly. She should have kept a better eye on her. She should have been there, taking care of her. Now an awful chill had taken lodge in her precious daughter’s body and she was worried that it wasn’t going to come out.

“Mother?”

Alcina turned to see Cassandra and Daniela. They both looked simultaneously curious and worried.

“Is Bela okay?” Daniela asked.

“She will be,” Alcina answered, holding Bela closer until she was holding onto her like a baby koala bear. She was hoping her body heat would help dispel the ice inside of Bela’s own being. “Your sister thought it would be a good idea to break her window and go out into the snow.”

“I’m hot,” Bela whined. She quickly followed her words up with a purr as Alcina stroked her hair.

Daniela giggled. “Beli, I thought you were the smart one!”

“‘M gonna…turn you into a ceiling fan,” Bela growled without opening her eyes. “But…too tired… Maybe later…”

Daniela giggled again. Cassandra snorted into her hand. Even Alcina, despite her worry, couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Darlings, can you get a wet rag for me?” Alcina asked her other two daughters.

Bela chuffed against her neck.

“A moderately cold one. But not too cold. Just slightly below lukewarm. Please.”

Cassandra and Daniela both nodded and raced off to retrieve the item before the other.

Slowly, the cold was draining from Bela’s body, chased away by the tag-team effort of the fire and Alcina’s body heat. Her fever, however, quickly became apparent once again, searing right through the back of her gown and into Alcina’s hand while she rubbed up and down her spine. No wonder she had broken a window just to get outside; she was burning up.

“I’m sorry for not keeping a better eye on you,” Alcina said, shifting her daughter in her arms. “I should have been watching you to make sure this never happened. Though, I never expected you to break a window…”

“Not your fault,” Bela said, her breath hot against Alcina’s neck. “I was being stupid.”

Alcina leaned her back slightly, cupping the back of her head with one hand. “Are you slightly more awake now?”

“A little,” Bela said, her eyes glassy and half-lidded. “Feel like I’m on fire, though…”

Alcina frowned and tucked Bela back against her. She worriedly ran her fingers through Bela’s hair, which was damp with a mix of sweat and melted snow.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, my darling,” Alcina said. “Damn, why did you and your sisters have to be weak to the cold? I would run you an ice bath if that didn’t put you at the risk of--” She didn’t finish that sentence. She shook her head. “Why flies? Why something that can’t survive in the cold? Why not something like-- like-- like birds!”

“Better than being hurt by heat,” Bela pointed out. “Then the fever probably would have killed me already.”

Alcina winced. “I suppose you’re right.”

“‘Course I am. ‘M the smart one.”

That got a small chuckle out of Alcina. “Your hubris is showing, darling.”

“No, yours is,” Bela mumbled, drifting off into a feverish, half-awake daze of slurring and purring.

Despite her remaining worry, Alcina couldn’t help but chuckle once again. She rocked Bela slowly until Cassandra and Daniela returned with the rag, Daniela being the one to present it to her. She thanked them, then shifted Bela in her arms so she could wipe her face down with it. Bela shuddered at the cold water on her heated skin, but let out a soft coo of pleasure.

“Thank you,” Bela whispered, cracking open her eyes slightly.

Alcina gave her a tender smile. “You’re welcome. Now, rest, my sweet girl. I will watch over you until you feel better.”

Afterward, she would make arrangements to strengthen the windows.

[astranva]

Daffodil

Word Count: 3.1k

Category: Angst

Warning: Some strong language.

Inspired by lines from Lana Del Rey’s excerpt from her poetry book – ‘L.A, Who Am I To Love You?’

“And also I can't sleep without you No one's ever really held me like you Not quite tightly, but certainly I feel your body next to me.”

Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings.

 It was suffocating.

Oxygen wasn’t always an ally, at least not there and then for Harry. He had changed t-shirts 4 times after each one got soaked with his own sweat, before finally resorting to taking a shower.

His body felt limp, like it was on auto-pilot mode and he wasn’t in control of it, only watching as his legs dragged him to the room he tried to avoid if it was anything of no necessity.

He remembers a time when he loved the full-body mirror that stood in the room. He remembers the amount of pictures that one mirror caught, the amount of kisses it had witnessed. But as he passed, his stomach flipped upside now.

He had been avoiding seeing his face for far too long, could go as far and say that he hadn’t seen himself since it happened, a month ago.

But he caught a glimpse of himself and he couldn’t help but divert all his attention to the reflection that stared back at him. His hair was greasy, red blotches on his cheeks that seemed to mock him for crying too much for his skin’s own liking, puffy eyes, dry lips that reminded him that the alcohol he sipped at wasn’t what his body needed and that it needed water. He looked…pathetically sad.

But he was okay with it, being sad. Of course he was, how couldn’t he?

He looked dull – dead. Harry grimaced at the sight, his heart seeming to break and shatter even more – if possible – at the sight, feeling as if he couldn’t really recognize himself.

He took a shaky breath, tearing his gaze away from the reflection before moving along with the simple task; showering.

He hadn’t bothered taking out clothes prior to stepping inside the bathroom, wanting to just get it over with.

Harry took off his t-shirt and boxers, throwing them in the hamper before his eyes caught sight of it. Her toothbrush.

His mind was loud, screaming at him to keep his hands to himself, to get his shit together and maybe throw the damn brush away but he shut that off, reaching to grab the vibrant green toothbrush with rough bristles, as if confirming the absence of its owner.

“Fuck,” he cursed, feeling his nose itch before he set the toothbrush back in its rightful place, right beside the hair cream she used to use.

It probably didn’t help that he used her minty shampoo and coconut shower gel, mindlessly doing so. He hated how dependent he was on her, even when she wasn’t there but he didn’t know any better and he didn’t want to.

Harry’s shower was quick, as if he was in hurry to get out of the place that held so much of her belongings. The cold water didn’t soothe his muscles either, it only tensed them more, making him shower with a clenched jaw as he struggled to get used to the cold temperature – it was too cold and he fucking hated how it made sense.

It was all too cold.

Without her.

He had dried his body quickly before reaching towards the cabinet underneath the sink to take out the microfiber towel which she had gotten him,

“The material just causes lack of friction, know what that means? Less frizz. It also dries your hair faster than the cotton ones.” She had said as she dried his hair one night after her trip from the grocery store, the pink microfiber in her hand thoroughly drying Harry’s wet hair before she began scrunching some of the long lockets of hair.

He loved the towel.

He loves her.

Walking naked and barefoot, he opened the wardrobe, taking out a pair of shorts and resting them on his shoulder before opening a drawer to take out briefs. Harry contemplated wearing a top at all, but then reached to grab one – the one right on top.

Hers.

His movement halted as he felt the material in his hand, looking at the familiar watermelon-printed t-shirt.

“H!” She ran to him the moment he stepped inside their home, a wide grin on her face as she looked at his amused face. How couldn’t he be? She was standing in a watermelon-printed t-shirt and Toy Story-themed shorts. “Look what I got!”

It was that damn t-shirt and the love they made that night that had him write Watermelon Sugar.

That t-shirt.

His chest seemed to clench around his heart, almost begging him to put the t-shirt away, and that time, he listened and folded the t-shirt and put it behind his pile of t-shirts, nonchalantly grabbing another t-shirt before speeding out of the room to put on his clothes somewhere else.

Harry wasn’t stupid, but at times like these, he really thought he was.

He was stupid enough to think that it was the room he could escape when in fact, she was implemented in every little nook, every cushion – everywhere. Hell, even the coaster he had put his cup of tea on in the morning was one she had gotten.

After putting his clothes on, he walked to the kitchen. Surprisingly, he found his phone on the kitchen table, lit up as it released no sound and he was more amused by the fact that he had forgotten he placed it there.

‘Gem’ the screen had read, showing him a picture of him and his sister from when they were kids.

Harry debated picking up the phone. They all had been checking up on him, almost pleading to visit him but he was set every single time;

“I want to be alone.” He had said, every time.

He knew they were concerned, knew they cared about him but he couldn’t not cringe and grow even more melancholic when he heard the pity in their voices and, worse, he knew that in their minds, they probably called him a few names;

Pathetic.

Coward.

Dick.

He knew they probably liked the state he was in because after all, it was all his fault.

He gulped, taking his phone in his hand before answering, putting the phone on his ear and waiting for his sister to speak first.

“Harry? You here?”

He hummed, “Yeah.” His voice came out hoarse and scratchy, making him clear his throat.

Gemma sighed through the phone and he wasn’t sure what type of sigh was that, but it seemed to be as one of relief. He really needed to assure them more often.

“How are you?”

Harry had begun to hate the question. He didn’t like lying, but how could he reply with the same miserable answer every time? If you wanted an honest answer, he would give you one that went like that:

“Never been worse. I’m sad, I’m hallow. I think I need therapy but I know I need her more. I miss her but I’m a fucking dick.”

But he didn’t settle on that one for Gemma, no. Instead, Harry moved to fill the kettle with water while balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder, and gave her an answer anyone would want to hear,

“’M fine. How are you?”

But Gemma wasn’t just anyone. She wasn’t a distant relative nor was she a friend he hung out with every other year – she was his sister and she knew him better than that.

“You can be honest, you know?” She reminded him, “I understand.”

It assured him, really. Not enough to make him smile, but it felt somewhat nice but nonetheless, he hummed.

So, Gemma went on, “I want to head to the flower market, what do you say about joining me?”

Harry’s movement halted, standing straight and holding his phone with his hand, “Which?”

She was glad he didn’t decline right away, but knew she still had to choose the right cards to play. “Columbia Road’s.”

“Th-I-That’s one of her favorite places.” He commented.

“What are the odds that she would be there, Harry?”

“Yeah, what if she was, Gemma? I-I can’t, ‘m sorry.” He shook his head, feeling anxious at just the mere possibility of seeing her.

“Please,” Gemma said gently, “You love that place.”

Because of her, he wanted to say. It was her who made him love that place despite the amount of people with their phones out, taking picture after picture of the flowers instead of actually buying or learning about them.

“I’m telling you; some people spend so much money on carnations and boast about their blue colors, but they always have no idea that they’re actually dyed.” She had told him once as they strolled through the market, hand in hand.

Gemma knew she was making a risky move, but she took her chances. “What if you see her? What happens if you do?”

Harry’s heart dropped, his palms got sweaty and millions of scenarios raced in his head.

Gemma knew he had heard her, but she wanted an answer, whatever it could be. “Harry?”

“She hates me,” He began, rubbing his hairline in distress as he felt his eyes grow tearful, “I-I can’t see her and see the amount of hate she has for me. It’s already killing me, Gem, I can’t.”

“But she doesn’t,” Gemma said, hearing him sigh in annoyance, “No, you listen to me. You’re feeding yourself bullshit and you’re forcing yourself to believe it. Did she say that? Did she tell you that she hates you?”

“She fucking implied it!” Harry shouted, “She said she regrets falling in love with me, what does that sound like, for fuck’s sake?!”

“Sounds like disappointment to me, Harry!” Gemma exclaimed, growing frustrated with how thick her brother could be. And to be honest, she was getting tired of tiptoeing around the truth – one he needed to hear. “Sounds like she was hurt that the one person she trusted and loved for years decided to tell her one day that she couldn’t fit in his life and he couldn’t fit in hers! Sounds like she was hurt to me, Harry, especially because she didn’t expect you to break up with her, no one did!”

That was the last straw for him. Harry’s tears fell, plopping himself down on one of the kitchen chairs, burying his face in his hand as he cried.

Gemma’s heart broke at the sobs she heard through the phone, but she knew he needed it. “You have been scared to see her, to talk to her since the moment she walked out of that door, Harry, but till when? It’s not doing either of you any good.”

Harry sniffled, “D-Did y-you talk to her? Know anything about her?”

“Yeah,” she said sadly, “She’s not okay.”

Another wave of tears hit him, shaking his head at himself.

“I’m a fucking idiot.” He repeated to himself, over and over.

“I’ll pick you up in 10. I was already on my way before calling you.”

Harry gave her no response except for a sniffle.

“Harry?”

He hummed in question.

“I love you, alright? I’ll help you fix this.”

---

Harry wasn’t lying when he said the flower market was all about her.

Without her by his side, it seemed like all flowers lost their beautiful blooming colors, devoid of the saturation. It seemed like his mind loved playing tricks on him so much that it refused to make him smell anything but her scent, even when surrounded by dozens and dozens of petals.

A pair of sunglasses hid his puffy and red eyes, and he hadn’t bothered to change out of the sweat shorts and t-shirt, only put on a pair of socks and jogging shoes.

Gemma was beside him, walking quietly with a pair of her own sunglasses perched on her nose, her arm linked with his.

She dragged him to one vendor, checking the flowers and bouquets before pointing at pretty, blue carnations. “Look at these, they look beautiful, don’t they?” She asked her brother.

“They’re dyed.” Harry had instantly replied, Gemma more surprised by the fact that he talked than by the statement.

“Ah, you know a secret,” The vendor smiled at Harry, “You read a lot?”

“My girlfriend d-“ He paused at his slip, feeling Gemma give him an assuring squeeze on his bicep, “Someone once told me that.”

“Better hold on to them, not everyone is interested enough to learn about stuff like that nowadays.”

Harry felt bitter, like he wanted to tell the man to shut up and ask him if he knew anything about what happened, ask him if he was mocking him, but he knew that that was his mind playing another goddamn trick on him.

He was getting sick of the tricks and the amount of times his mind mocked his state, because when he turned his head away from the man and spotted her, he wanted nothing more than to have a one-on-one fight with his mind.

His jaw dropped, his green eyes widened from beneath his sunglasses, and he felt like he no longer was in an open-air place.

There she stood, in flared jeans, a half-sleeved shirt and eyes hidden beneath a pair of Seven Wonders sunglasses that Gemma had gifted her when she launched her brand. In her hands was one single yellow daffodil, holding it gently and with care, reminding Harry of the days and nights when she would hold him, exactly as a flower.

“Ha-“ Gemma stopped, following his gaze before her eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t say she was very surprised, because she knew how much Sundays at the flower market meant to her friend and brother’s ex.

Gemma also knew it was the first time since the breakup that Y/N visited the place and she couldn’t be any happier for her friend for kicking herself out of the bed and to the one place she enjoyed being at.

Y/N seemed oblivious to the Styles siblings’ fixed gaze on her, carrying herself with grace despite the ache in her heart and the memories that clouded her mind with that one special someone – someone who was standing nearby.

Time seemed to go slow, as if someone had added a slo-mo effect. She had turned, and she was going to miss him if it weren’t for her double taking.

The daffodil almost dropped from her hands, and her knees almost gave out on her.

As if she was pulling the leash on her heart, she turned away quickly before beginning to walk away in big steps, Harry’s heart aching.

“Go!” Gemma urged him, “Fucking go after you, you shit!” She pushed his back.

“I-“ Harry shook his head at his sister, not being able to tear his eyes away from Y/N’s figure as she walked among the crowd, leaning to the side as to not lose sight of her.

“You can, Harry!” She groaned, before tugging on his arm, making him look at her stern face, “It’s now or never, Harry. Your call.”

More often than not, Harry was thankful and grateful for his older sister; like when she took him sightseeing in London for the first time when he was 16 during the boot camp stage of The X-Factor, or when she would help him with his science and English coursework back when he was at school as a kid.

Like that moment, as he ran after his love.

It was easy to spot her. It was easy to run towards her.

Reaching her, Harry gently held her elbow, halting her movement before she turned, and fuck, 

what now?

He expected her to shout at him, tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him but she was quiet, looking up at him as she waited and Harry didn’t know whether he was thankful or despised the fact that he couldn’t see her eyes – was she glaring at him? Was she not?

He opened his mouth before closing it again, slowly removing his hand from her arm, unaware to her longing for his touch.

“Say anything, Harry, dammit.” She almost pleaded, pushing her weight to her right leg and – finally – putting her glasses on top of her head.

Harry definitely wished she kept them on.

Because the moment he saw her puffy eyes, clearly from crying, he wanted nothing but to cry out himself.

As if to assure her though, Harry mirrored her and placed his own on top of his head, letting her see how the eyes she adored so much, the color she decided was her favorite, was hidden beneath the puffiness and red.

“I don’t know what to say, fuck me,” he cringed at himself, reaching up to aggressively rub his eyes with his palms as to calm himself.

But then she gave him that look, that one look she gave him before walking out of the door a month ago – she was disappointed.

She shook her head at him, eyes judging him. “Forget it.” She was about to turn again when he, again, held her, but that time, Harry’s hand reached for hers.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted.

God, what exactly was he sorry for? What exactly was he apologizing for? Kissing her one moment then breaking up with her the other? Not calling her? Standing in front of her and being a coward?

But she had always been patient with him, and as much as her friends advised her against, she was still patient with him that moment.

“I can’t read your mind.” She said gently, stepping closer to him and looking him directly in the eyes, searching them. “Use your words.”

“I can’t do this without you,” Harry’s tone matched hers, staring down at her and stealing a glance at her lips before going back to her eyes, “I was- No, I am a dick. I’m an idiot. It’s taken me too long because I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit when he’s sorry and,” he shook his head, “But I am. I fucking hate myself for letting you leave, for saying the bullshit I said, for- for disappointing you,” he gulped down the tears that threatened to fall,

“I can’t sleep without you. Can’t eat, can’t function like a normal fucking human without you and I am to blame.”

Y/N listened, eyes getting glossy before she took a breath in, gulping as she tore eye contact before looking back at him, “Would you have said all that if you hadn’t seen me here?”

Harry stared at her a moment.

“Would you have called me? Visited?” One single tear betrayed her and fell, “Because I waited for you, all damn month.”

Before he was even aware, Harry nodded, taking the risk to reach forward and cup her face in his hands, watching as she closed her eyes at the feeling. “I would have.”

“I can’t-” She let out a sob, looking up at him with an almost childish frown, “I can’t afford having my heart broken by you again, Harry, because it fucking sucked.”

His breath hitched in his throat but it didn’t stop him from pulling her into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her, hiding his face in her hair, his senses waking at the whiff of her shampoo.

“Never again.”

Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings.

[camdentown-library]

The flames in your eyes || ENG ver. Ethan Torchio x reader

❝ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚. 

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠. ❞

Genre: Fluff ;; romantic ;; slowburn

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x fem!reader

Warning: English is not my native language, I may have made grammatical errors. do not hesitate to correct me

N / A: The facts told are purely the fruit of my imagination, it is not my intention to do any wrong to any person mentioned, and above all the character of Ethan could (surely) not reflect the person in reality.

Happy reading to you all!

CHAPTER 1

The first rays of July had cast on the roofs of the houses in Rome, giving the off-white plaster and rosy tiles a golden sheen that tasted like honey. The wisteria were in bloom, as was the medlar tree under Marlena's house; the scent of life in the full act of her cycle, always knocked on her dining room window, filling it with sweet fragrances.

The girl used to take her place at the table during the late morning hours, surrounded by books and tomes quite old and gnawed by the dust, with the good resolution that even that day she would read and study those very boring pages of that equally boring examination. of Egyptology. The university summer session had already begun, she had just taken a couple of exams last June and was now preparing two more that she would take in the first weeks of September.

That time could seem apparently short, Marlena didn't care that much, what could ever distract her from her work? She had no friends, and by now, even though she had crossed the threshold of 21 years in the autumn, the girl was now completely extinct her naive youth, as well as her desire to laze.

The out of tune and unexpected sound of the intercom triggered her head bent over the books of the young woman, who after having heaved a sigh perhaps a little annoyed, she decided to get up from her chair, leave the dining room and cross the wide and not too long corridor in the shape of an "L" of his apartment, finally arriving at a brisk pace towards the device it had croaked in order to answer.

"Yes?" she asked quite firmly but not too cordially.

"I'm the postman, will you open me?" answered a stranger, as she pushed the button to open the gate.

Marlena therefore opened the heavy old door of her house, remaining patient to wait for the man to arrive at the door. Although she had lived in that condominium with her father for as long as she remembered it, she had not yet found a rational explanation for its lack of mailboxes. Was it because it was a palace built in the 1920s? Well that would explain the absence of an elevator as well, but a damn mailbox wouldn't be hard to add.

The man's gasping breath brought her back to reality as her eyes saw him peeking from the flight of stairs. Was he already that tired after not even crossing the second floor? The young woman wondered a little disappointed.

"Are you Madam Levavi?" the postman then asked, catching his breath and rummaging through her purse. Marlena wrinkled her nose instinctively.

"Ahm ... not madam, I'm her daughter" she replied shaking her head, what could that postman ever care if she was "miss" or "madam"? The girl lightly bit the inside of her cheek as a reproach.

"Here you are. How many floors are there still?" She asked the man wiping her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief after giving her the mail.

"Two more ..." Marlena replied disinterestedly as she closed the door, observing her letters.

Bills for electricity, water, the tax to be paid for the next university year and ... a letter?

Well, it certainly wasn't sent by her father...

The girl looked at the text of that letter once more, rereading it and rereading it several times, wrapped in a silence that was probably inherent in memories that clouded her common sense, while slowly after taking a few steps back, she gently placed her back to the wall.

"Dear Marlena,

I know perfectly well that it might have been easier to call you, but you know I've always enjoyed writing you letters.

Unfortunately I noticed that in the last few I sent you you didn't answer, I guess it's because the university keeps you very busy ...

However, I learned that your father is out of Italy on a business trip and he will be away until the end of August; It seemed only right to invite you to spend these last months of summer in our house outside the city.

I know that since your mom left, you haven't had the desire to visit us anymore, but I think it would do you good to change the air for a while. The place is quiet, there is the sea and also a large and extensive countryside with a pine forest and the locals are really friendly and helpful.

You can also bring Lapo if you want, I know you are very close.

Either way, let me know your verdict.

A strong hug.

Grandmother Agata.”

She had distant memories of that house, distant but still happy. He remembered when he woke up early in the morning with grandmother Agata and grandfather Laertes to be able to go to the sea and his little hands while looking for hermit crabs and shells on the shore, as he remembered the music in the square and the laughter echoing in the same way as the bells of the church on Sunday, everyone was happy ... and life seemed to be less unfair to those who deserved it less, it tasted like jam and fruit jellies, salt on the lips and bees flying.

Marlena's chest swelled with air, as if she had been holding her breath until then...perhaps because diving into one's childhood was like floundering in a stormy sea pretending to stay afloat.

The cheerful barking of her dog Lapo brought the young woman back to the present, who decided to place the letters on a window sill not far from the front door and set off together with the playful animal towards the kitchen. Lapo was a nice Bernese Mountain Dog, with a black, brown and white coat. It had been given to her five years ago, perhaps because her father had sensed that even his absence had created in the heart of his only daughter, a sense of distressing loneliness, which had consumed her to the bone making her totally apathetic for certain verses.

But Lapo, Lapo had saved her from her, with Lapo she spoke and shared gestures of affection, such as caresses and little licks between her fingers and hair. Sometimes Marlena fell asleep in her bed, with the bulky dog ​​on her, because feeling her warm and humid breath on her blankets reminded her in her sleep that she was not alone in the dark of the night. As long as Lapo's heart had beaten the young girl she was not afraid of having to wake up or sleep.

Although she tried to convince herself that staying in her comfort zone would be easier than answering "yes" to her grandmother's request, a part of her was again attracting her to that letter; her gaze was captured by the horizon of her mind, while in the distance she could almost hear the sounds and flavors of a place almost too fairytale to be part of the material world.

"I know I should answer..." she murmured as she was intent on washing the peel of a red apple in the kitchen sink. Meanwhile the dog sat up looking at her intensely while she wagged his tail waiting for her.

"...It's just that, that place...and then I should finish studying, I have an exam to take at the end of the summer, Lapo" but the dog tilted his head in disappointment and then got up and trotted out of the room, looking for of who knows what amusement, leaving Marlena to her thoughts, as she bit into the freshly dried fruit with the kitchen towel.

All of this would only be for a little over a month and a half, just a month and a half and then she would leave it all behind her again, as she did a long time ago.

“Hello grandma. I'm Marlena..."

Marlena after putting the letter back next to her bedside table, she grabbed the cell phone not far away and typed some numbers on the screen, not too convincingly, and then brought the object to her ear.

There were those ten seconds of waiting that seemed the stroke of half a century, until a voice said "Hello?".

Marlena had brought two large bags with her. One for clothes and the other full of junk such as: books, objects for the dog, tricks and everything that for her mind, not so familiar with travel, she considered indispensable. She was not so convinced that both of them would enter the trunk, but the exemplary ability to know how to adapt and make do with her grandfather always left her with amazement on the edge of her lips.

It took two days before grandfather Laerte's small and overly backward FIAT Punto made its peerless entrance next to the bottle-green gate of the small cloister of the Marlena palace.

The man had taken more or less ten minutes just to park, the niece had wondered how long it would take him to get there and start again.

The young woman was sitting in the back seats, together with Lapo. She held in her hands a small bunch of tulips that Laertes had brought her, made by herself. He said to her:

"I went for a walk in the countryside and tried to capture the most beautiful of all, like my granddaughter!" followed by a proud, croaking laugh. Laertes had always been a proud and incurable romantic, without ever giving up some of her drama, grandmother Agata did nothing but remind her of it in her letters.

Like when Marlena pointed out to him, that the steering wheel of the car was too damaged for the latter to be considered in accordance with the law, but he had always replied that a good soldier and partisan would appeal to his driving experience and a little 'of elbow grease, in order to be sure that the itinerary of the journey would be peaceful and without unpleasant hitches.

Lapo let out an enthusiastic bark when the croaking car left the endless concrete of the highway behind, and then took a narrow, winding, uphill road that would have led them to the small town.

Her gaze stared blankly at what was running, like tape in a movie camera, out the window; She saw the buildings of the city become less present, as well as the stench of smog, then there was a long stretch of highway, immersed in the wheat fields and every now and then some small farm or spare parts industry or other jobs would emerge.

In the car there would have been complete silence, had it not been for the old radio which played an entire disc of all of Lucio Dalla's masterpieces; Marlena's grandfather liked that singer, but not in the same way chatting while driving, because according to him it would have increased the chances of road accidents by 50%, and frankly, the granddaughter didn't mind at all this acknowledgment ... she didn't even know where she should have started and however much her relatives tried to make her feel at ease, she imagined herself as a stranger, a stranger, who had knocked on their door and was now just trying to learn and remember their common manners.

"If you look to the right you will see the sea, Marlena" Laertes informed her, while he struggled with the steering wheel at every bend, but he did not dare to make even a moan under stress. The girl decided to accept those words, and looking out (after rolling down the window) a crisp air of salt pervaded her nostrils like the balm of a mint. Her eyes tried to show as little as possible the defeat of an amazement that had overwhelmed her like a raging wave, making her heart pound.

The sea. Marlena loved the sea. And for a few moments she was wondering what she had forced her to shut up in the house all that time, but then her mind went back to static and clear. She knew why, and there was no other reason to get her back together, even if it was difficult.

Yet there seemed to be few people around the streets, perhaps because at that time anyone with a minimum of wit would have holed up in the cool four walls of their home, just to escape the scorching heat that did not yield until the stroke of five in the afternoon .

By now it was almost two in the afternoon when Laertes' car passed the threshold of the square of the small town, while the attentive (even if apparently lost) gaze of his granddaughter observed everything in detail.

Nothing seems to have changed in that place since the last one who went there. The street was always covered with the usual, old and coarse slabs of white stone and eroded by the weather, as well as the various shops that surrounded the square and the small houses side by side, glazed with a fresh off-white plaster and dark brown roofs, the fountain in the center, and the small restaurant with its balcony overlooking the long pine forest that extended at the foot of the modest hill that supported the town.

A jolt suddenly shook Marlena, when her grandfather decided to pull over and pull up the handbrake of his FIAT, thus causing a slight recoil unexpectedly enough to suddenly wake the girl from her thoughts. She cleared her throat, while she opened her door, so that Lapo could finally trot and wag his tail excitedly around, on the other hand she didn't blame him, it must have been hard for a dog to stay good in the car for so many hours.

"Here we are!" proclaimed the elderly man putting the car keys in his pocket and then ring the bell of the small house next to FIAT "Your grandmother will be so happy to see you, I bet she will have prepared ciambelle with red wine to celebrate your reunion" he added while he waited for the woman he mentioned to open to him, already anticipating on his lips the pungent and sweet taste of those sweets he loved so much.

"So I suppose you made at least thirty" commented the young woman ironically, as she dragged out the two bags with extreme difficulty, attracting the attention of Laertes who, hastily adjusting his frizzy white hair, hastened to reach his niece to give her your support.

“Ah don't worry, kid. I'll take care of it, maybe you can ring the door, your grandmother has now gone deaf as a bell...” he said as he gave a slight snort and then muttered something.

"C’mon, grandpa" Marlena replied then raising her eyes to the sky trying not to smile, how melodramatic could that man be?

After pressing her finger on the bell again, the girl waited for someone to answer and hearing the approach of some quick steps together with the rubbing of flip-flops on the floor, made her realize that Agata had finally heard their arrival. Marlena did not even have time to greet the elderly lady, who took her in her arms, wrapping her in an embrace that caught her unprepared and to which she did not respond immediately.

“Oh my love! I’m so happy to see you again! But look how you have grown! It seems only yesterday when you reached mid-thigh and now...” the hands a little gnarled, but from the soft fingertips of the woman, gently took the face of her niece like a cup, as if to feel if her presence was only fantasy or reality "...You are a woman to all intents and purposes" she whispered and then fussed with kisses all over her face, while Marlena whining pretending to be somehow annoyed.

After climbing a short flight of stairs that led to the house located on the upper floor, the girl's nostrils and consciousness were flooded with memories and sensations already savored. She observed the now old floor of the house, granite tiles that alternated with one hand painted and another not; Marlena rejoiced with a touch of amusement when she as a child she spent boring afternoons playing on them, jumping only on the decorated ones because according to her imagination those remains were made of incandescent lava.

The walls were always the same, covered with a light blue paint and slightly lumpy at times, she could feel it, when the index and middle fingers of her right hand absently brushed the surface.

The house of Marlena's grandparents was very simple and perhaps apparently a little cramped. Having opened the wooden entrance door, after having passed the landing and the stairs, she had in front of her a corridor that extended along to her right, thus marking the various doors of each room that the house gathered inside. Almost parallel to the entrance there was the kitchen door on the opposite wall, without doors, next to it the bathroom door, and then the door to the room of the two elderly spouses. At the end of the corridor there was a small balcony with the railing covered with hanging vases where, like a multicolored waterfall, a thick branching of coral red bucanville came out which, in addition to poetically letting itself fall from the small niche, climbed elegant and graceful on the handrail of the then hug the outside walls of the house.

Marlena took advantage of it, to be able to peep there, while she deeply breathed the fragrant and velvety scent of those petals, mixed with the sea breeze that came from beyond the pine forest that surrounded the town. She observed the small houses around her while if she winked she could distinguish the clear line of the flat and calm sea that merged in perfect alchemy with the clear sky on the horizon.

The young woman tried in every way to convince herself that that enchanted place, that little corner of paradise had never failed her...but she suddenly proclaimed herself foolish for having thought such a cynical thing in the least.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

[capitainelevi]

For @pufferssss, happy late birthday!! ❤️

Waiting for sunrise

Words: 2968

The first and last time Levi visits Petra`s grave.

Levi arranged his cravat again, self-conscious at the thought of visiting her for the first time. He stood frozen in place, with a bouquet of orange lilies in his hand. Her favorite flowers. Just a mere coincidence, not an effort on his part, of course. He never imagined he would visit her here so early on. Staring at the newly carved headstone, he tried to set aside the nagging thought that the earth underneath it only held an empty coffin.

What should he say to her?

“Your dad came to see me after the mission, and I had to tell him that I don`t even have a body to bring back home to him”?

“I failed in getting justice for you and the guys”?

“I miss your tea”?

The only words he could spurt out were “Hi, Ral.”

He groaned at his awkwardness and settled on presenting her with the flowers he chose for her. He could feel his hands getting sweaty from anxiousness, much to his confusion. He had nothing to be nervous about. It was just Petra in front of him. His subordinate. Petra, who fought by his side for years. Who swore to devote her life to him. Just his Petra.

Levi sat on the ground next to the gravestone, unconcerned about the dirt he would have to clean out of his clothes at the end of the day. “I hope you can hear me, wherever you are. I like to think you`re listening.” He never spent much time concerning himself with death and the life that supposedly followed it, but ever since losing them as well, he found himself wishing they were happy. He knew that those brats would be wasting the rest they earned to look over him, no matter how much he objected.

“I hope you like the spot I chose for you. It`s sunny, but you also get some shade from the tree. I thought you`d like listening to birds singing." On their free days, he could always spot Petra with a book on her lap, under the shade of the oak tree in their yard. He never dared to bother her, worried he would disturb the angelic aura of the image, content with being fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of it. He never dared get so close to the sun.

"I`m going to bring some flowers we can plant next time I visit. I know you had a green thumb.” Levi omitted in letting her know it only took a month for the plant in his office that she cared for years to wither away in his care. Or maybe it just knew Petra would never be back.

Levi closed his eyes, lulled to sleep by the quietness around him and the feeling of the afternoon sky on his skin, considering if someone would bother him if he moved to the tree trunk to nap. He craved some peace.

“I`m sorry I didn`t get to come earlier. You missed a real shit show in Sina.” He took a glance at his wounded leg and sighed. “It`s not as bad as it looks, no need to mother me.”

Without raising his eyes from the ground in front of him, Levi admitted to her in a hoarse voice- “I kept calling out orders for you, and Erwin had to remind me that you`re not here anymore. Like I could ever fucking forget.”

Despite the emptiness in his chest, he went on- “Eren misses you. I really wish you could help me manage that brat. You always knew what to say to him. Hange misses you. I… everyone misses you.” They left a hole behind that he doubted he would ever patch.

Levi cleaned off some dust from her headstone before promising her he would be back as soon as he could.

As promised, the second time Levi visited her, he got her some daisies to plant next to her resting place. After wiping his hands clean on a rag, Levi sat down against the tree trunk to admire his work. He was sure Petra would be proud of the progress he made regarding gardening. He had even gotten a new plant to replace the one on his desk.

“Tch, not talkative today, are we? That`s alright, you know I always talk a lot.”

Visiting her calmed his restless spirit. His anxiety over the plan, his worry over Erwin`s wellbeing, his longing to have his old squad by his side again, they were all pilling up for the last few days. Levi found himself losing even more sleep lately. But he would never tell her that since it would most likely end in another one of her scoldings.

“You`re missing it, the final push. The brat`s finally going to do it, he`s going to seal the Wall.” Levi hoped that they would be able to carry out the mission. That his squad`s sacrifice to keep Eren alive would not have been in vain.

“You`re not being fair, are you? You already know what we will find in the basement, and yet you keep it all to yourself. Tch, be like that.” Would it all be worth it? The pain, the countless sacrifices, and the lives lost along the way? He wished Petra could answer that for him.

He never wanted to upset her, but Petra always encouraged him to let others help him carry the burden. Levi took a deep breath before speaking again- “I think Eren misses you. He`s been going on about how he wants to visit you again. Bring you flowers. To help me maintain this place clean." Levi rolled his eyes again and the memory. "Like I would ever need his help with that.”

Levi took the ribbon out of his pocket and started fiddling with it, ignoring the slight pang of guilt at how he came into its possession.

“I hope you won`t mind I took that.” The first night he spent without them, Levi found himself roaming the empty corridors of the castle. When his steps took him in front of Petra`s door, the urge to hold on to something physical to remember her overtook his sense of shame. He was aware that her belongings would go back to her parents in the next few days, but he hoped the red ribbon Petra used to tie her hair with would not be missed.

“I took your patch at first. I was going to keep it in my breast pocket. To have a reminder of your sacrifice. But when I saw that kid eaten up by guilt, I knew what I had to do. I knew what you would have wanted me to do with it.” He had no regrets about that. It was the perfect way to honor the kindest soldier the Survey Corps ever had.

When the light began to fade, Levi got up from his spot and left without saying another word to Petra. He did not want to say goodbye to her. Levi felt no need for it since death could be in his cards the next day. And he could get to see her again sooner than he thought.

The third time Levi visited her, it was not with a flower bouquet in his hand but with a bottle of cheap alcohol he found on Moblit`s desk. That night, Levi allowed grief to consume him.

"Erwin died. But I have a feeling you know that already, don`t you?" Levi wiped his nose with the back on his hand, too absorbed in his anger to even care about the disgusting habit.

"Are you mad at him? Are you mad that he chose to sacrifice your life?"

But only silence greeted him.

"Are you mad that I didn`t even question it?"

No answer again. The rage burning inside him overtook him, and Levi smashed the bottle against the headstone.

"Shit. I`m sorry, I shouldn`t have done that." Levi crouched down and collected the pieces of the bottle into his handkerchief. The grief, the anger, and now the shame for denigrating her place of rest were eating him alive.

"We found out the truth, you know? It`s a shitty world out there, Ral. But I have a feeling not even that would have cut off your wings."

Levi found himself craving touch. Her touch. And for the first time in his life, he felt the need to be comforted. He smiled to himself bitterly. How cruel must the deity who created him be for making him desire the impossible?

The fourth time Levi visited her, he brought a special gift for her. A small, odd thing that Armin called seashell.

“We saw the sea today. Just a big old pile of saltwater. But you would have loved it.”

Seeing the brats play in the water with carefree smiles on their face made him yearn for a glimpse of amber hair in the picture. He missed them all dearly.

“I would have to pull you out of it by the collar of your shirt, I bet.” For as devoted and strict as she was, Petra always seemed to cause him distress. Not that he minded it, of course. Levi found himself wishing to hear her timid knocks on his door again, even in the middle of the night. He longed for those times, where she shyly approached him after needing his help in whatever problem she found herself stuck in again.

While that was not his intention when he first came to her, his heart was heavy with words he never said to her. "The world hates us, Ral." He could never imagine how someone would ever detest someone as kind as Petra just for the blood running in her veins. But if he had to be true to himself, a part of him hated Petra as well.

"Maybe I hate you too."

Petra broke his promises to him, after all. Two years ago, when death was imminent on an expedition, and Petra put down her swords in acceptance, Levi fought with her. He made her promise she would make it to the end. That she would be by his side the day they kill the last titan.

"Do you remember your promises to me? Such bullshit. Never thought you were a liar, Petra."

But Levi knew she would have never left him had she had a choice. That she would have fought for even just a second more by his side. But it never dulled the pain of losing her.

With a heavy heart, Levi said his goodbye for the evening, guilty for blaming her for things out of her control.

The fifth time Levi visited her, it was snowing outside.

It was always a wonder how someone radiating light and warmth could be a winter child. But Levi was sure he memorized the date right. It was an important one for him, after all. Levi fought to make sure he had enough time to get ready for celebrating her birthday. She deserved nothing more than a perfect day. Hange had been more than understanding, the wound left by losing Moblit still fresh in their heart.

Levi put the bouquet of twenty-two golden roses on the frozen ground. “Happy birthday. Twenty-two, huh? You`re turning into an old woman, Ral.” The irony of his words made a slight pang of guilt rise in his chest. The passing of time would never touch her again.

“I have your favorite”- he said, lightly shaking the box containing a small vanilla cake. Sugar was a rarity, but getting a cake was an unspoken rule in his squad. Their lives were too short to worry about the money. The first thing Levi noticed about Petra was the faint flower smell emanating from her. The first thing after setting his eyes on her clean nails, of course. On her first birthday that they celebrated as a squad, Levi gifted Petra a bottle of scented body lotion. And some high-quality cleaning rags, of course. But she did not pay attention to that. She and the rest of the Survey Corps never knew how to appreciate the finer things in life. But Levi did not miss the way her face lit up when he noticed something she enjoyed.

“I could never understand your sweet tooth, but today, I`m going to have a slice of cake.” Levi always refrained from indulging in this vice. Having grown unaccustomed to sugar, the idea of sweetness was unappealing to him. He always felt bad for disappointing her each year when she sat in front of him, with a small piece of cake she had cut for him. “Or two slices. Two is more appropriate anyway. If I get cavities, it`s on your ass.”

The ground was too cold for him to sit down on, and Levi made a mental note to build a small bench close to her headstone. He opened the box and eyed the cake wearily, considering if he should change his mind. He took a small bite of the cake, and he almost choked on it. “Oi, this is so damn sweet. How the fuck could you eat so much of it?” But it did not stop him from finishing his slice.

Levi expected to find some flowers lying in the snow or at least some tracks leading up to her grave.

“Does your old man still come around? I`ve never crossed paths with him since the expedition.” Sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, he could still recall Mr. Ral`s pained expression when he realized there was no one left for him to wait for.

“Maybe it`s for the best. I bet he doesn`t want to see me again.” To see the face of the man who was supposed to protect his daughter. The face of the man his daughter wanted to devote her life to. The man who could not even bring him a body home to bury.

“I`m a shit. Ruining your birthday with talk like this.” Levi was never good at this. In his spot, Eld would have teased Petra about her first expedition. Tell her how now that she was a big girl, she ought to refrain from soiling herself again. Petra would turn red from embarrassment and elbow Eld in the ribs. Gunther would point out that despite their age, they are still children. And proceed with teasing Petra himself. Oluo would try to defend Petra`s honor to gain her attention, which would make him the target instead. Levi gave a small smile at the thoughts. He missed them dearly, more than he would ever care to admit.

Levi crouched down and cleared the layer of snow covering her headstone. He ran his finger alongside the letters of her name, wishing he would have had more opportunities to write it down.

“Happy birthday again, brat.”

The last time he visited her, Levi had company. Gabi and Falco did not give it another thought before offering to help him see her again before they would all leave for a new life. A better life, he hoped. But without her by his side, it was never going to be perfect. Gabi set down the flowers before they gave him privacy. While they never asked him about who she was, they knew Levi must have cared for her a great deal.

"Hi, brat. It`s been a while."

He had so much to say to her, and yet, he did not know where to start. A part of him expected to join her during the last battle, but fate always had something new in store for him. Levi was uncertain if it was luck by his side or a curse to watch everyone he ever cared about die. But life was looking brighter, and Levi promised himself he would never lose anyone again.

"Are Hange and Erwin with you now? How about the guys?" He wished for nothing more than to be there by their side. But Levi knew they would never forgive him if he did not try to live the remainder of his life to the fullest. And for them, he would try.

"Does Oluo still bite his tongue? Did he try to flirt with you again? Is Eld still teasing you? Does Gunther still treat you as a little sister?" Levi chuckled at the memory of their antics. He learned the hard way that he never appreciated them enough before he lost them.

"I hope there is an afterlife. I hope it`s peaceful. You all deserve it. Such a shitty end..." He closed his eyes and sighed at the words coming out of his mouth. "I`m sorry, I didn`t mean it. But you already knew that. I was always an open book to you."

Levi felt guilty for leaving the home they bled for behind, but if he were truthful, it had not felt like home to him for years. With no one left by his side, nothing was keeping him in Paradise anymore. While neither of them voiced it out, he had dreamed of a future with Petra by his side. And for her, he would try to live a long and happy life. Before he got to be with her.

"I`m sorry... for the future I never got to offer you. The one you deserved. I`m sorry for the house I never got to build for us, for the vows we never got to take, for the brats that will never play in my backyard." Levi knew Petra would encourage him to find love, but he never would again. He could never imagine a future by someone else`s side.

Levi glanced back at her grave for one last time before he set out for the remainder of his life- "I`ll see you soon. Wait for me."

ao3

[gophergal]

So this is the third oneshot I've finished this week (second I've posted here. The other that isn't posted here is already up on Ao3.) Don't expect this often, I just wanted to get some WIPs off my plate and I still have many to finish. This is just a short, sweet ficlet, but may have a companion or sequel later on. Who fucking knows. This is a sort of a collection of short moments with the two of them. No real plot, just fluff.

Home On The Range

Word Count: 2,000+ | Rating: T+ | Michael Myers x Jason Voorhees (Western AU) | M/M

Warnings: Implied Murder, Description of Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Failed Hanging Mention, Rushed Ending, Fluff

Samhain plodded along wearily, his rider slumped forward in the saddle as he made his way toward safety. The shootout in town, when the Shape had been driven from its prey, had resulted in Michael being shot thrice, twice in the shoulder, once center mass. He'd fled in a haze of pain and blood loss, mounted his horse, and eventually passed out.

And so that led Samhain to his current situation, following instinct to get he and his master somewhere safe, preferably somewhere with abundant food and water. The stallion stopped for a moment, ears perking up as he caught the sound of whistling coming from the valley below. A tall man, his head covered in a feed sack, was the source. The horse tentatively descended from the hilltop towards the strange man, focused on his joyful whistling.

Hearing the careful clop of hooves behind him, the large man turned, ready to strike with the ax in his hands, which he quickly lowered. Samhain snorted weakly where he stood, far away enough that the man couldn't grab him. Instead, the bag-headed man reached into a pocket on his tattered jacket, and pulled out a half eaten stick of peppermint, holding it out to the stallion who took it, eating greedily. His rough hand pet the horse's black, velvety nose and he hummed reassuringly. The horse's rider did not move, even as the tall man took the reins from his hands and led the horse away from the area.

Trees became more dense as they walked until they came upon a small cabin. Samhain's head perked up as his rider was removed from his back, and he let out a piercing whinny. The man hummed again, reassuring the distressed animal, who slowly returned to a relaxed state. Michael was taken from the horse's back, draped limply in the big man's arms like a doll. He groaned, still unconscious, but alive. After taking the smaller man into the tiny log cabin, the large man returned and removed the tack from the black stallion, running his hand along the sweaty, matted coat that had been beneath, then led the horse to a small stream by the halter, leaving him there to graze and drink the fresh cool water that flowed so freely.

Back in the cabin, Jason studied the man he'd sat on his bed, scratching his beard through the rough burlap of his hood. The dark haired man was covered with a layer of cold sweat, his face twisted in pain, even while asleep. Grabbing a basin of clean water and a rag, Jason set to work undressing the man's torso, looking at the bullet wounds that littered his flesh, nestled alongside other pale scars, some fresher than others. While dabbing the blood crusted injuries, he examined them, determining that the shoulders had been entered and exited cleanly. They would only need liquor poured on them to fight infection. The shot in the abdomen, however, looked more serious, and had no exit wound, all but guaranteeing that the offending lead was lodged within. Jason debated whether he should remove the bullet while the man was unconscious or not, deciding to finish dressing the other two wounds beforehand.

When the alcohol was administered, the man roused with a shout of pain, startling Jason, who in turn fell backward. The man looked around in panic, wearily reaching for his gun, which was no longer on his hip. There was a fire in his eyes, which Jason could now see were mismatched, one black as the horse he rode in on and the other milky white. Rolling off the bed, the man struggled to get to his feet, groaning quietly in agony. Jason approached slowly, as one would a wild animal, which earned him a glare. Disregarding this, he grabbed the man's good arm, careful to help him get seated on the mattress. He did not fight back, but kept scowling weakly, allowing his saviour to do as he pleased. With little fuss, his wounds were bandaged, the pressure of it relieving some of the aching.

Michael fell back onto the cushion, flinching in pain that radiated from his midsection. He inhaled sharply, looking over at the bag headed man who gestured to the leaking wound. He mimed pulling something out, which Michael nodded in response to. Steeling himself in preparation of the pain and biting down on the rolled cloth which was put in his mouth. His eyes screwed shut at the first penetration of the hole, burning pain blinding all his senses as the man's fingers searched for the bullet. It seemed to last forever, and Michael threatened to black out.

His stomach turned as the white hot agony coursed through him, reaching every point on his body. Finally, the man extracted his fingers, and he relaxed slightly, breathing heavily around the fabric gripped tightly in his mouth. When he looked up, the man held the bullet in his bloodied hand. Which he set down beside the basin of water. The pain had subsided enough that Michael could feel the touch of water on his abdomen as the man cleaned his wound again, and finally wrapped it.

“Michael,” he rasped, exhaling sharply and extending a hand to the other man, who said nothing in reply, instead holding his hand after shaking it, and drawing wobbly letters into his palm with a finger. He did this twice, then again, writing on his palm until Michael picked it up: J-A-S-O-N. Michael nodded in recognition, leaning back into the mattress and shutting his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, recalling what had happened in the past week. Then shoving it aside. Yet again, the Shape had led him into danger, just as it always had in search of feeding its insatiable hunger.

A few days passed with Michael resting up and Jason keeping his wounds clean. The two would sit in each other's presence, drinking in the peace. Samhain was well, happy to munch on the green grass of the field nearby. It was nice, but Michael was growing restless. His wounds were beginning to close and hurt far less than they had at first. As soon as he was well enough to ride out again, he'd go after that damned Marshall's head. The thought was delightful and served as his sole motivator for remaining at the cabin. So he told himself, that is.

The other big reason was standing out in the clearing around the back, the muscles of his arms shifting as he chopped firewood. Jason had the strength and stature of no one Michael had ever seen. Even the big bastards he'd get in fights with while swacked on whiskey were puny in comparison, though Jason didn't seem the type to fight drunkards in run down dead-fall saloons. No, he seemed like a good enough man that Michael felt no worry around him. Even if he hadn't seen the man's face, which Michael figured was his right to hide anyway, he could tell in his gut that Jason could be trusted. Michael stirred the pot of stew on the stove as he tried to figure out his plan for when he'd head out.

The more he thought about it, he began to realize that he had no idea where to start looking for Marshall Loomis. In theory, he could just go to the nearest town and start shit, then wait while word spread of his whereabouts, but that just wasn't the way Michael liked to do things. He'd much rather be the hunter, waiting in the shadows for his prey.

Jason walked in, skin still glistening from his hard work outside. It should be time for supper soon, he figured. After all, the sun was hanging low in the sky, ready to set within a couple hours. Jason stopped in the doorway, watching as Michael stood at the stove. Something was nice about watching the smaller man (and that's smaller, mind you, not small. Michael was a large fellow in his own right) tend to their supper.

It was very thoughtful of him, despite how Jason tried to keep him off his feet, lest his wounds reopen. There was also something about the scene that caused warmth to bloom in his chest. He pushed it down. Michael would leave at some point. Jason would be on his own again. He didn't even know why he'd helped the younger man.

A month later, December brought cold, dry weather and Michael sitting in front of the fireplace with Jason, whittling away at a chunk of wood. As he whittled, he made excuses for why he should stay now that his wounds had fully healed, now just marks on his skin where the skin dipped low. He owed it to Jason to repay him for all he'd done in nursing him back to health. Samhain needed time to recuperate. Things to justify his extended stay.

With a glance to his side, he stopped carving for a moment, taking in the picture of Jason, his burlap hood nowhere to be seen. His red hair burned vibrant in the firelight as he mended the hole in a shirt. Michael stopped lying to himself, knowing in his heart that he stayed for his own selfish reasons. Jason was a warm presence. Comforting in a way Michael had never felt.

It was contentment, he supposed it would be called. The closest he'd ever gotten was the come down off an adrenaline high of fighting or the fuzzy, numb stupor he would often find at the bottom of a bottle, but neither of those quite fit the word. It just felt good to be around the red haired man. Michael was good at reading people, a trait that came from many years of playing poker to pay for his needs, but he didn't need any of that to know that Jason felt the same. Michael just couldn't leave him now, he simply had no desire to.

Jason had once showed his face freely to those around him. Back when his mama was alive. He remembers the name calling, the tears Mama wiped away, the accusations after her death, the first bit of darkness when his head covered when he was to be hanged, all of the things that led to his hiding. He'd been nervous when Michael saw his face that first time. Washing his burlap hood in the stream, he'd been suddenly confronted by the brunet. His good eye scanned Jason's face with curiosity. He didn't say anything, just looked. There was no laughter or disgust, just the fire of interest, then of concern when they dropped to the faint ring of scarring around his neck. The two sat there quietly, a silent understanding forming.

That had been within the first couple weeks of Michael's stay. Now, Jason kept the hood off. Only putting it back on when trespassers came to their land, in need of disposal. Michael showed no hatred of that horrible face, but often looked at him, focused as though he were looking at the brightest star in the heavens. Jason allowed himself to hold onto the warmth it brought this time, savoring the way Michael brought him comfort.

Michael rode off to take his vengeance on the Marshall in mid spring. He'd put it off long enough, for as much as he wished to stay with Jason, true peace would not come to him until Marshall Loomis was dead and buried. There was a kiss goodbye, a lingering farewell and promise of return, then suddenly the red haired man was left alone once again. The land was emptier now without Michael. Jason busied himself with protecting their home (for now it was just as much Michael's as it was Jason's before) in the meantime.

It was incredibly lonesome, more than he'd expected. It's not as though Michael left without warning, he'd mentioned he would, and yet Jason was worried. Worried that he'd never see the dark haired man again. Had those silent confessions of adoration been lies? They never were on Jason's part, but Michael's face held no clues to the truth. He supposed Michael would been great at bluffing. It reminded him of something Mama once said: You ought not trust a poker player, Jason, they'll steal everything from you, and they'll make you feel special when it happens. He didn't want to think about that, and held on to the memory of the last time he held the black eyed man.

Days began to blend together before Michael returned on his black stallion. He'd been injured again, but nowhere near as badly. He fell into Jason's arms two months after he'd first left. He was weaker now, a husk of who he'd been. Anger no longer held him together. Jason could tell that he'd ate little and slept less since he'd been gone. His heart was simultaneously broken at the sight of his frail state and filled with his presence. He didn't want to ever let him go again. After a few days rest and many good meals, Michael looked much better physically, but something was different still.

Touching was more common than it had been before. When they sat in front of the fireplace of an evening, Jason would often find Michael reaching out for his own calloused hand, weaving their fingers together and scooting closer. Once, he pushed a curly, red lock of hair behind his ear, the corners of his mouth quirked up in an unpracticed smile. Jason melted at that first smile and every smile after. The weight that had been lifted from Michael's shoulders would never be commented on by either of them. They were simply too wrapped up in the pleasure of one other's presence and comfort to bring up that pain.

There was no pain or unhappiness in their little home that they built, not anymore. Not so long as they had each other to look out for them.

[gureishi]

can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland

A day late this week, but here is chapter 3! From now on, expect updates every Sunday :) This chapter is SFW. Again, a reminder: this is a Choi sandwich fic, so please be cautious/skip this one if this pairing isn’t your cup of tea <3 

Pairing: Saeran X Reader X Saeyoung

Rating: E; Chapter rating: T

chapter three

You never got the chance to talk to Saeyoung the next day, because he had, it seemed, stopped speaking to you.

It took a few hours for you to notice. You woke late, having slept restlessly in spite of your exhausted mind. You’d woken too frequently to remember your dreams, but flashes stuck with you: sideways glances and dizzy touches. Saeyoung’s absence wasn’t surprising, at first: you didn’t particularly expect to see him while you made your coffee or sat at the little table by the window sipping it, Saeran working quietly on his laptop beside you. This little morning ritual was usually for just the two of you; in the daytime, it was normal for Saeyoung to be hidden away—in his office, or in the garage, or passed out after staying up till sunrise.

Afterwards, you followed Saeran outside, perching on an overturned bucket to watch him work in the little garden he was starting to plant behind the bunker. You didn’t expect to see Saeyoung out here, either—he was (and there was no better way to put it, you thought) an indoor cat. You rested your face in your hands, watching quietly as Saeran worked. Since moving back into the bunker, he’d made three trips into town already, browsing various plant nurseries, accumulating an assortment of plants and seeds—all things that were low maintenance and hardy, because Saeran would never put something in the ground that would die without constant attention. Not when he wasn’t sure how long you’d be living here.

He was on his hands and knees in the dirt, carefully carving out a little line of earth. You’d seen people garden standing up, using long-handled tools to dig and weed and turn the earth; Saeran never did it that way. He liked to be inside the garden, as close to the plants’ roots as he could be. It was the way he heard their voices best.

“What are those?” you asked, peeking at the seed packet in his hand. He turned to you and—oh, he’s radiant, you thought: his cheeks were sun-warmed, there was dirt on the tip of his nose, and his hair practically glowed in the afternoon sunlight. He was beautiful to you in the morning, half-asleep as you dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead; beautiful to you in the evening, nudging you with his hip as he cut up vegetables beside you in the kitchen; but he was most beautiful like this, you thought: sitting amongst his neat little rows of newly-planted seeds. This was the way you always pictured him in your mind’s eye: a quiet smile, surrounded by greenery.

“They’re gentians,” he said, eyes glowing with pride as he held out the seeds for you to see. “They’re extremely strong. They’ll grow under almost any conditions.”

You peered at the delicate drawing on the packet. They didn’t look hardy to you—in the picture, they looked soft and fragile. But you’d long learned that appearances meant nothing at all about fragility and strength.

“I love them,” you told him. You really did. “I hope we get to see them bloom.”

Saeran shook a few of the seeds into his palm; he pressed them into the earth with extreme care.

“We will, eventually,” he said softly. “If not this year, then in the future.”

You nodded slowly. No one had brought up, yet, what would happen next. For now, you lived here; your poor, overwrought mind couldn’t even fathom thinking more than a few hours ahead.

But the question hung in the air: where will we go?

And there was another question, perhaps more pressing; it came to you, against your will, making your head ache.

And when we do leave here, what about Saeyoung?

“You haven’t seen Saeyoung today, have you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice level. There was no need to worry Saeran unnecessarily; it was possible, you thought, likely even, that he’d been underneath one of his cars all day, entirely unaware of the passage of time. It was possible that the strange feelings that had been slowly coalescing in your body, gradually solidifying into concrete thoughts, were actually baseless, nothing but ephemeral dreams.

Saeran hummed thoughtfully.

“No,” he said; your stomach turned. “No, I haven’t.”

You tapped one leg restlessly, chewing your lip. Saeran peered up at you, the delicate seeds cupped in his palm.

“Did you want to look for him?” he asked, and if there was any suspicion behind that soft smile, it was undetectable. Often, Saeran was wide open for you: emotions laid bare, exposed for your perusal. But occasionally he was inscrutable; his light green eyes, made brighter by the afternoon sun, gave away nothing.

You sighed heavily, knowing there was only one way to assuage the anxiety coiling in your chest.

“I guess I do,” you said. Saeran’s expression was enigmatic. You wondered—and not for the first time—how much he saw, how much he understood.

“Let me know if you find him,” Saeran said. His eyes were on the earth again, his focus impeccable; his nimble fingers worked at the soil, burying his seeds by hand. You took a deep breath, wiping your sweaty hands on your jeans, and turned back to the bunker, which loomed almost prison-like behind you. There was nothing else for it—at the very least, you needed to see him. At best, you needed to ask him…

Ask him…

Ask him what?

You took the steps two at a time; now that you’d decided, you were suddenly impatient. You felt strongly that it would be imprudent to call his name; instead, you kicked off your shoes by the back door, padding down the long hallway. 

Outside, everything was springtime: bright and airy and scented like rose petals. Inside, the air felt stale: there was a constant hum from the fans that cooled the computers, and the temperature was regulated and always just slightly too cold.

He was in none of the common areas, but that was to be expected. His bedroom door was open; hesitantly, you peered inside, but it was dark. The bed looked—just as it had when you’d first found the place—untouched.

At the very end of the hall—as far as possible from the rest of the home, which you supposed he’d done on purpose—was his office. You’d been in here often when Saeyoung had been missing; Saeran had unabashedly gone through files and programs you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and you’d sat on the hard little couch in the corner, chewing your fingernails and waiting for a miracle.

Since Saeyoung had returned, you’d barely set foot in this room. It felt different, with him here. It felt off-limits.

You knocked on the door.

You knew you’d found him right away: there was the sound of a rolling chair shifting, a few keys clicking. You waited, hand on the doorknob, eyebrows raised. Was he going to ignore you?

“Yeah?” he called, and at the sound of his voice your stomach did a funny little flip. Oh no, you thought. What is happening to me?

“It’s me,” you said, perhaps unnecessarily. Suddenly, your tongue felt too big, like you couldn’t quite remember how you normally fit it in your mouth. Your palms were sweaty.

There was a prolonged pause and a part of you wanted to turn tail and run: run back to the beautiful, warm outdoors, and your beautiful, warm boyfriend in his beautiful, warm garden. You stood firm; hands balled into fists, nails leaving little half-moon shapes in your palms.

“Sorry,” he said finally. There was a different tone to his voice now, neither playful nor teasing nor gentle. He sounded angry. “I’m busy right now.”

“Oh…”

You took a step back. There was no reason to bother him if he was busy, of course; after all, there was nothing in particular you’d needed to say. But something about the way he spoke to you shook you to your core. It was as if you were a stranger.

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” you said. You retreated slowly, not even sure if he’d heard you; when you were halfway down the hall—and you couldn’t explain why you did this—you started to run.

It was only when you were at the back door, stuffing your feet into your shoes with a ferocity that took you somewhat by surprise, that you realized: busy with what?

You turned, reaching for the doorknob—only to come face-to-face with Saeran, who’d just opened the screen door. He took in your odd posture: eyes wide, one shoe on. You must’ve looked so distressed, you thought: frozen in place, full of feelings.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking your face in one dirt-streaked hand. You didn’t mind—Saeran was earth and rain and wind. He could be soaked and muddy and desolate and you’d still wrap him in your arms.

“I…” you took a steadying breath, not sure how to answer him. Were you okay? His eyes were soft and you felt better, all of a sudden, safer, with his gentle, dirty fingers on your cheek. “Yeah,” you said, somewhat truthfully. “He’s, uh…busy.”

Saeran kissed your cheek, letting his fingers fall from your cheek (you missed them immediately). He slipped off his shoes, lined them up by the door, set his shovel in the little basket of gardening tools. The back of the house was gradually becoming his: neat rows of shoes and organized tools. It was every bit as tidy as Saeyoung’s office was disorderly.

“Busy with what?” he asked. 

Good question, you thought. 

As he slipped past you to the little half-bathroom by the back door, he grazed your waist with one hand—a phantom touch, barely there, but enough to soothe the inexplicable fears that had begun building in that dark hallway, outside Saeyoung’s office door.

“I’m not sure,” you told him—this time, completely truthfully. You followed him, leaning against the doorframe of the small, industrial bathroom, waiting as he scrubbed his hands. In this, like everything, he was meticulous: he got soap between all his fingers, carefully rubbed away every last bit of dirt. Something about the way the steam illuminated his fingers—thin, agile, prominent—enthralled you and made you feel hot and fidgety. 

“I can’t think of anything in particular he’d be working on,” Saeran said thoughtfully. He turned off the water, dried his hands with one of the towels you’d bought on a recent expedition into town. Saeyoung’s house, previously, had had none of these things—no soap dispensers or bath mats or hand towels. If you hadn’t known better, you’d never have thought anyone was living here at all.

“Oh,” said Saeran; and suddenly, he was in front of you again, startlingly close, quick and quiet as ever. His lips curved upward in a playful little smile, and you found your eyes lingering on them—delicate, impossibly pink. “There’s dirt on your cheek.”

Coyly, tongue poking out between those enchanting lips, he leaned in. He brought his thumb to your cheek—warm and a little rough—and something about the way he rubbed your face clean with his fingertip stirred up the mess of emotions swirling inside you.

He seemed focused, intent on his task, but you didn’t miss the pink dusted across his cheeks, the way his breath quickened—also, you were pretty sure there was no more dirt on your face. Almost cheek-to-cheek with you, he shifted his gaze; you were hit all at once by the full force of those intense green eyes and you felt your knees go weak.

“Saeran.”

Oh, he was baiting you—he held two fingers to your cheek, waiting for your next move.

And it all whirled together in a delicious, complicated, colorful mess in your mind: Saeran’s rough finger and the dirt on your cheek and the careful way he washed his hands and Saeyoung’s angry voice and the warm sun and the cold air in the hall and the way Saeyoung’s eyelashes would have felt against your face if you’d just leaned in a little closer last night and Saeran’s cool body against yours in bed. And then your mind went blank.

Roughly, clumsily, you threw your arms around Saeran’s neck and kissed him, pulling his body flush against yours with a force that took you both by surprise. You parted your lips, panting into his mouth, and his lithe tongue swiped across your bottom lip. You deepened the kiss, molding yourself to him; you felt lightheaded and, somehow, sure that his lips were the only thing tying you down to the earth.

As if sensing this, his hands came to your waist, steadying you; at the same time, you felt his fingers digging in, gripping a little too hard. Experimentally, you pressed against him , wiggling your hips; without breaking the kiss, he growled, low in his throat, and you felt victorious. Yes, he needed you.

Suddenly, you were moving; he’d broken the kiss and was staring down at you, eyes searing, and then he was walking you back, back, till you were pressed up against the doorframe. It was study behind you, supporting you; he brushed his lips, feather light, against your jaw, and your legs went numb.

And then his lips were on yours again, sugary sweet, and you were grabbing at his shirt, bunching it in your fingers. He pressed you harder into the doorframe, kissing you with the hunger of the lost, lonely boy that still lived inside him.

Your head was full of him; his hand drifted to your hip, to your thigh, and you pushed back against him, making him gasp; he pulled back and his eyes were begging you to touch him more and—

and—

—and there was a sound in the distance—a cough, a breath—that startled you out of the trance where everything was Saeran and Saeran’s hands and Saeran’s lips. Slowly, hands on his chest, you turned toward the sound. 

Oh.

Saeyoung was there: frozen in place at the far end of the hall, one hand still on the doorknob to his office. The world narrowed, in that moment, to just three things: you felt Saeran’s hands, one gripping your waist, one positioned dangerously on your inner thigh; you felt the hard wood frame against your back; and you saw Saeyoung’s face, eyes wide, wild, mouth slightly open. He was pale, like he’s just seen a ghost.

But he hadn’t seen a ghost. He’d seen this; and you only realized, then, just how it must look: Saeran’s hand on your thigh, parting your legs; your faces: pink cheeks, bright eyes.

You couldn’t quite put the expression you saw on Saeyoung’s face into words. Afraid, you thought. Exhilarated. Surprised. Needy. Miserable.

“Saeyoung…”

You dropped your hands; Saeran shifted beside you—and Saeyoung was gone. With the swiftness you were still not quite used to, he disappeared around the corner. You heard the door to the garage slamming: open and shut.

For a moment, neither you nor Saeran said anything. You could feel his eyes on your face, and you turned to him. He licked his lips, coughed softly. You put a hand to his face—it was hot.

“Are you okay?” you asked, always sensitive to his subtle shifts in temperature, always searching—perhaps needlessly—for any sign that he was feeling sick. A part of your heart still didn’t believe that he would tell you.

“I am,” he said, a hand on his chest. He was peering down the darkened hallway now as if the phantom of his brother was still standing there and would tell him what on earth was going on. “I’m not sure what just…” He trailed off. You took his hand: hot face, cool hands, as always.

“I think I should…go after him,” you said. You felt such a strange mixture of dread and longing.

Saeran nodded slowly. “You understand him better than I do,” he said.

You squeezed his hand. “There are things the two of you understand that I never will,” you told him. You weren’t talking about computers are programming languages—there were other things, subtle, vulnerable, frightening things, that only the two of them knew. Saeran pressed his lips to your forehead, just beside your eyebrow. “But I think, in this case…”

“Exactly.” There was a moment, then, when his green eyes flashed and you could see the pieces falling together in his brilliant mind. Then he turned from you and the moment passed.

Pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, you left him, making your way down the long hall. You pried open the door—you hadn’t heard a car engine, so Saeyoung was still somewhere in the garage. You tiptoed outside, though your feet still sounded so loud on the cold, concrete floor. You didn’t want to startle him.

Not that I could sneak up on him even if I tried.

He wasn’t hard to find: he was leaning against the hood of one of his cars, a strange little silver one, and his face was in his hands. You supposed he felt safe here, the way Saeran did in his garden. They were so similar in this way, you thought—retreating to the places that made them comfortable when the people around them made them afraid.

“Saeyoung,” you said softly. He didn’t move; of course he already knew you were there. “I…”

You what?

Now that you had him here, in front of you, you found you had nothing at all to say. And you were good with your words—your words had gotten you here, in the first place, to this magical reality where, against all odds, the people you loved were safe.

And yet…

Here, in the cold, musty-smelling garage, with Saeyoung in front of you—still, silent, face hidden—you had no words at all.

“Go back inside,” he said, sounding as though he had armed himself against you—you heard a battalion in his voice.

“I want to talk to you,” you said. This much you knew was true.

“But I don’t want to talk to you,” he answered. He dropped his hands from his face then; his glasses were pushed haphazardly up on top of his head. Without them, his eyes blazed—the anger you saw there frightened you.

But you’d been here before, borne the brunt of the unfounded anger of someone you cared about. Then, too, it was because he was so tormented by the way you made him feel.

You took a careful step toward Saeyoung; he bristled and you almost expected him to growl, warding you away like a wild animal.

“Saeyoung, please…” His shoulders were hunched; there were shadows under his eyes, more evident without his glasses. You wondered if his dreams had been like yours: frantic, yearning.

For a moment, you thought you had him—his eyes softened a little as you drew near; he leaned forward, almost as though he hoped you would hold him. Oh, but you wanted to.

You paused. He paused. A moment passed where you were certain that you could reach for him and he would let you, would fall into your arms and melt with you. And then the moment was gone.

Saeyoung crossed his arms; all the light left his eyes.

“I don’t think I should stay here,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m going to leave,” he repeated, sounding almost surprised, as though he was deciding it in that very moment. You felt that he was opening up your chest with those long fingers, reaching inside and taking hold of your heart.

“You can’t,” you said, too loud, and he glanced up at you, his eyes hard. You wanted to take that stupid, warm, hard, beautiful face in both your hands and…

And what?

And kiss him till he was breathless, till his eyes clouded over and he forgot who he was.

That stubborn little voice in your head, loud and almost corporeal now, cheered. But your heart was falling to pieces.

“I thought I would be able to do it,” he said—quieter, as if he wasn’t quite sure he wanted you to hear. “Living here with you. But I was wrong.”

“I…” You couldn’t find the right words. I thought I would be able to do it, he’d said—so he’d known, all along, that it would be difficult for him. You clenched your hands, squeezing them together till they hurt—an old habit.

And then he was moving, taking advantage of your moment of weakness. He was opening the car door, sliding in. His expression was unreadable. He started the engine.

“Where are you…”

“I’m just going for a drive,” he said. Cold voice, cold eyes.

“You’ll be back, right?” you said. Your hands hurt.

He paused and you were afraid he was going to say no, never, but instead he pulled out his phone, used it to open the garage door. He was backing out already, one arm thrown over the passenger seat (how you wished you were that stupid little leather seat), when he finally answered you.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be back. But…” But. “But I’ll leave for real, as soon as I can.”

The engine hummed softly and he was pulling down the driveway, looking anywhere but at your face. And he was driving away, fading away, and you said his name but he didn’t hear, or pretended not to. He was drifting, turning…gone.

He was gone.

Your legs were weak. Your heart was weak.

You let yourself sink to the ground, tucking your knees to your chest, sitting on the cold concrete.

And, alone in the big, empty garage, your mind formed the meaningless shapes and colors and sounds and fears into a concrete thought. At last. As though you’d known all along.

I love him, you thought, feeling so small here in the dark, surrounded by his cars and his tools and his scent and the memory of his cold, sad eyes. I love him, don’t I?

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta @hunterelys @pamakali @strwbryflvr @bootiful-face @mammonprotectionsquad @firelordtsuki @rebeckathefloof

[saturnwritings]

how’d you break your arm?

tw // suicide attempt

The lava licked at his skin, numbing him so much it felt like nothing more than a warm embrace. His lungs filled and he could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper, his whole body unfeeling. Lava; what had once seemed like a fiery, unforgiving lake of despair, had now become a boiling coffin.

Under the lava, he couldn’t hear the frantic footsteps on wooden planks or distressed screams or the clanking of glass bottles. What he could hear, though, was the sound of the lava above him splashing once, his desensitized skin barely registering the sudden current of the lava around him. Opening his eyes for what he thought would be the last time, Tommy saw a blob, a figure, either black and white or his eyes weren’t working from the lava.

Perhaps if he were more receptive to touch, Tommy would have been more startled to feel a hand - gloved? - grab onto his elbow and pull him towards it. Perhaps he would have registered something circular being pushed against his lips instead of subconsciously swallowing the liquid that flowed down his tongue and then his throat. 

Ultimately, it didn’t matter, because the next second his eyes were fluttering closed, and he was only able to catch snippets of the figure dragging him to the surface of the lava before his vision went dark.

Tommy wished the bandages Ranboo was wrapping around his forearm would hide his embarrassment and shame instead of his fading scars. The bubble sounds of potions brewing caused Ranboo to be distracted and turn away. He came back and presented Tommy with what seemed like the hundredth sparkling, fuschia potion, a healing potion. 

The round bottle was raised to his face, but before he could be bottle-fed and lost more of his dignity, Tommy winced as he grabbed the bottle and downed the potion. The pleasant taste of sweet honeydew melon with a hint of bitter cherry flooded his senses before he immediately started feeling the strength return to his body as his mind cleared. 

Shifting awkwardly from his spot on his battered cot, layed out sloppily and haphazardly against the draped wall of TNRET, he could almost feel Ranboo’s expecting stare burn a hole into his already injured head. Albeit still dizzy, sensing the awkwardness, Tommy stood.

“Well, thanks for helping me. That was a close call!” He plastered a playful smile on his face. Ranboo's eyes narrowed as his head tilted.

“Yeah… what happened, exactly?” 

The drop of sweat falling down Tommy’s face was almost comical. Pausing for a second, as to not stumble on his words, Tommy gathered his thoughts.

“I was in the nether, I was looking for blazes… for potions, and… I thought I could speedbridge over the lava,” Tommy thought that was pretty believable. He turned away from Ranboo and occupied himself by rummaging through the contents of the chest at the foot of his cot. 

Useless. Pathetic. No one cares about you.

No, Tommy knew that that wasn’t true. Ranboo saved him, which means he cared about him.

Or he acted on instinct upon seeing someone dying in lava.

In all the time Tommy had been in exile, he had tried time and time again to tune out the voices in his head, the intrusive thoughts, to no avail.

“That’s all?” 

“What do you mean?” Tommy’s heart was beating so loudly it hurt his ears. Ranboo cocked an eyebrow.

“You just slipped?” 

“Well, I mean, yeah, I slipped. I tried to, like, grab onto the bridge, but my hands got all sweaty and shit, ‘cause it’s so hot in the nether, so I just… fell?” Tommy was scrambling, he tried to not make it so obvious, but his hesitant and unsure tone betrayed him. 

“I just thought, you know, you're on your last life, ‘thought you would’ve been more careful.” God, Tommy hated how composed and calculated Ranboo sounded, completely juxtaposing his nervous blunders. 

Tommy wasn’t an idiot, he was almost certain Ranboo knew what had happened, but he didn’t want to deal with embarrassment that came with admitting it. Giving up was weak, and Tommy would do anything to make people think he was Not A Pussy. His whole life he had created an image of confidence and strength and energy, willingly confessing he had gotten to a point so low he was ready to give up, to end it all, would compromise his facade.

“I was just really in a hurry, is all.” Tommy heard the other hum.

Ranboo turned back to the brewing stand.

“...The fortress was in the other direction, there was a sign.”

Tommy froze. The unsettling feeling of anxiety welled up in his stomach. His hands started to shake, but he used his shaky hands to push himself up from the cot.

You can’t even kill yourself without fucking up.

He stood and quietly muttered, “I didn't see the sign.” He hurriedly started to make his way out of the tent when he was stopped. Ranboo caught Tommy’s arm.

“How did you fall into the lava, Tommy?”

“I slipped-” Tommy got cut off before he could defend himself.

“Really? Is that what happened?” Ranboo’s voice started to raise, his tone having the slightest hint of impatience, like a parent waiting and being fed up with their child.

“Yes, it was. I slipped and then I lost my grip and then I just… I fell so…”

Ranboo grabbed both of Tommy’s shoulders and spun him around, his eyebrows were furrowed, and his red and green eyes glowed as they searched Tommy’s eyes. His grip tightened as he seemed to look for the right words.

“Did you fall, Tommy? Or did you let go?”

Oh.

Tommy felt his body become paralyzed as he tried to take a shaky breath. He snapped and pulled away from Ranboo’s grip to wrap his arms around himself and look away defensively. 

“I fell.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Ranboo sighed, yet desperation creeped in his voice, “You know, just because… you tried to kill yourself, doesn’t mean I think anything less of you. It won’t… make me think of you any different or think that you’re weak or anything.” It was almost scary how Ranboo knew exactly what to say.

“I mean, you were alone, and for so long,” he paused, “I’m sorry that I didn’t visit more often. Every time I came you always looked like you had everything together and, and I know that isn’t a good reason, and I was worried about you, but, yeah, there isn’t really any excuse for not visiting you.”

Ranboo dropped a comforting hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “I think… that you’ve handled this situation really well. I mean, anyone would get messed up in some way if they were in, like, isolation for that long. I think you’re really strong for holding up as long as you have.” 

They stood in silence for a while, barely even noticing the sun setting, it was almost dark. Tommy bit the inside of his cheek.

“I let go.”

haha poggers anyway follow my twitter @/sailorsatxrn_ 👍

[wthtorke]

Wild Fire.

A lil background first, s/o is a pyromaniac and well, he’s murdered ppl as well lmao

Jesse wanted a bit of fun, so he started researching some crazy-ass motherfuckers like him because one, he was bored and two, someone had the gall to tell him he needed some friends.

Out of 10 files in his hands, he picks out two.

One of a strange masked man and another one that’s blurry as fuck because there’s a raging fire in the background, but he can make out the faint outline of a face.

All the info they had on them didn’t make one full page.

Jesse loved a good challenge.

So Jesse sets his people on the hunt for these men. The pyromaniac seemed to move a lot while the masked man had one very broad area of terror.

It was fun, being on the chase he set up, seeing rushed pictures, asking around, torturing people to get answers. It was fun.

It was really fun.

The masked man, 'The Collector' as he came to know, noticed something was off and disappeared while the pyromaniac called him from a disposable phone to ask why the fuck was he 'snooping up on his shit'.

Jesse couldn't recall the last time he'd laughed that hard. How the fuck did he even get the number? Well, it didn't matter now, it would later, but it didn't matter now.

Not as he set up a 'date' with the pyromaniac, surprised when he showed up, sitting across Jesse in some restaurant they agreed on. Jesse had at least 3 snipers ready to blow his brains up had he tried anything.

He let him know and in return, he also said the place was littered with explosives and that they'd both most definitely die.

Jesse has never had a more fun date.

As time went by, they grew closer and closer, Jesse liked the absolute chaos the man could bring up in such a short time and the awfully charming and interesting conversation he could muster up. But what he loved more was the contrast of that to the moans he made when Jesse was buried to the hilt in his ass.

They still had to find The Collector, however. Jesse's partner had one look at the file and made a small 'ooh, I know how to get him'.

Hell, he fucking did actually.

He was the one survivor in one of The Collector’s little games, pretending to be scared and even crying as he was shoved in a trunk, the micro-camera in his shirt giving Jesse one hell of a show.

Jesse worked quickly so his partner wouldn't, well, be tortured by Asa just yet. Jesse talked to Asa, and Asa didn't really have anywhere to run. Even if he killed the man he captured, Jesse would still know.

So he played their game, getting...really into it somewhere between letting his newest piece (who also seems to be his partner now) out of his trunk and months later when the same man kissed him breathlessly in the shower in one of Jesse's houses.

The three had done some work together, each having fun with victims and then having fun with each other back home.

One time, however, things didn't go according to plan.

Jesse doesn't really know where or when things went wrong. All he knew was the cold spike up his spine when he saw the knife sinking into their 'Butterfly's abs as two escapees ganged up on him after running from Jesse himself.

The last thing Jesse's brain registered was the distressed, painful cry that left his lover’s throat.

When he came back to himself, there was blood. Blood, bits of face, flesh, and scalp in his hands. His knives were filthy, his boots were beyond salvation.

And then Asa.

Asa shook his shoulder while still holding a very pale man in his arms, his hands struggling to press his own mangled shirt to his abs to contain all the blood.

The ringing stopped. Jesse got them out of there, calling the doctors he always had set and prepared in case things went wrong.

And things went very wrong.

The surgery lasted many hours, more than Jesse had the patience to wait for, Asa himself couldn't stay still.

'He's gonna be okay' was the phrase that had them both finally breathing again. Jesse rarely thought about other people, he didn't have to.

Normally, he'd say 'nice' and go out again, call to have news if he felt worried, and only set foot in there when the man could at least walk again.

But he couldn't do that this time.

He didn't want to, he couldn't bring himself to even think about leaving them now.

Asa took a few days off work and they wouldn't really leave the house, both knowing the man was resting upstairs, still unconscious from the surgery, still breathing shallowly. 

The blade hadn’t gone too deep, he wouldn't have trouble eating or well, shitting.

''He pulled back a bit in time,' the doctor said, 'it was just a fright'.

When he woke up, they were both at his side.

He was... surprised like he didn't expect them to be there.

But happy, nonetheless. 

As the days go by and he slowly recovers, he finds himself always in the company of one of them. Jesse pressed into his good side, arm wrapped around him, resting against the couch. Jesse's face buried into his neck, peppering kisses up and down his neck, stopping briefly to nip at his earlobe before a hand came up to his face, Jesse bringing his face closer to kiss his face while he himself just wanted to watch some damn TV.

Not that he was complaining, though. He definitely didn’t mind the open displays of affection he was getting. It was good to be pampered, and he was enjoying every second of it, sighing every time he thought about it ending when he got better.

Asa himself was more attentive, letting his hand drag back and forth as he caressed whatever part of him he could reach, be it his arm, his shoulder, letting his fingers drag into his hair, holding his hand when he was reading by his side and just holding him close as he dozed off to some documentary about spiders playing in the background.

As he got better and better, the wound fading into a pink scar, they were finally given the green sign to...resume their bedroom activities.

If he had thought he was being pampered, he definitely wasn't prepared for the amount of touching, praise, and kisses he got their first night back together.

Asa would whisper into his ear as Jesse kissed down his chest, stopping briefly over the fresh, sensitive scar, softly blowing over it, and smirking at the slight shiver he felt underneath him.

Usually, they’d go for over one round. There were three of them, rarely all of them felt sated with just one, but all three were pent up and tired, stressed from all the days of recovery so he soon found himself sandwiched between the two most dangerous murderers he'd ever met, panting, hot, sweaty and coming down from the high of their orgasms.

Jesse turned on the ac and just slumped back into bed, barely pulling up the skull-printed boxers around his hips as he wrapped his arms around the tired pyromaniac between them. Asa mostly let Jesse hold him, just draping an arm over him but making sure they tangled their legs, so he'd know he was also there.

That they weren't going anywhere, ever.

[inyourfantasyfanfics]

Arya Stark x Fem!Reader

"Breath of Fresh Air"

*SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8*

It was no easy task for Arya to leave Winterfell after she had just defeated the Night King. Many eyes were on her, after she trained so long to disappear it was slightly unsettling for so many people to seek her out. 

She gathered what she would need to survive trying to kill Cersei and spotted Sandor setting his saddle on a horse, 

'maybe the road won't be so bad with some unexpected company' the fiery girl thought to herself. 

But as Arya had spotted an old friend so had y/n and she was more than a bit saddened to see the woman she admired for so long, packing and ready to leave.

"Arya?" Y/n said quietly as if she was going to startle her long time friend. Arya's gaze fell upon y/n and for a moment she let herself feel a little bit of remorse for wanting to leave. 

"You want to leave don't you?" Y/n said with a bit more confidence trying not to let her voice give away her worry, yet her voice still failed her and she sounded a little more weak than she wanted to. 

"I'm going to kill Cersei, you know I have to." Arya stated more than said. Y/n nodded, she knew how much her friend had changed since she left for Kings landing so many years ago. So had she, y/n studied medicine becoming a makeshift nurse in the north, she had seen her share of blood throughout the years but probably not as much as her companion that stood before her. She thought for a moment before letting the next few words slip from her mouth...

"I know you do. That's why I will want to go with you." Arya paused for a moment considering it, but a wave of everything that could ever go wrong washed over her. 

She knew y/n was by no means weak, when they were children her and y/n would sword fight in the woods with sticks. Arya accidentally hit y/n square in the mouth knocking out a baby tooth. Much to Arya's worried crys y/n couldn't control her laughter even when she was bleeding from the mouth. Oh how they both got in a good deal of trouble that day..

Turning away slightly from y/n, Arya faintly smiled at the childhood memory. Her smile quickly faded and became somber. "You know I can't let you do that. I may never even come back.." Arya trailed off.

Y/n expected this answer and nodded. She had anticipated this but it secretly wouldn't really stop her. Both girls turned to each other and a familiar feeling washed over them. 

Y/n knew it was looked down upon to love another woman, many suspected she was one for the same gender due to her refusal of all men who have tried to court her in the past. She knew that she had been in love with Arya and the feeling grew once they were reunited. Contrary to y/n, Arya didn't know what to make of this feeling. It wasn't by any means what she felt for Gendry, her small crush. It was much stronger. In her Younger years she thought she was just jealous of y/n, now she was just left confused. 

Y/n moved forward and cautiously wrapped her arms above Arya's strong shoulders and lightly rested her cheek on Aryas. With a deep breath Arya wrapped her sore and aching arms from the fight only days earlier, around her confusing childhood friend.

Y/n pulled away as she felt her eyes start to burn with tears. Quickly she turned to the door and paused at the frame to utter a "Be safe, please." Y/n felt her heart ache and her stomach churning as she walked away.

The night after Arya left Y/n snuck a horse out of Winterfell and set course for Kings Landing. Y/n knew deep down she just had to follow after Arya or she may regret it for the rest of her days.  

It was a harsh ride but once y/n got to Kings Landing the gates were closed she mentally cursed heavier than the men of the night's watch. She saw the dragon and heard the faint yells of confused men and women on the other side of the wall. soon enough she didn't feel so horrible as the bells rang

this could mean peace, Arya wouldn't have to risk her life if she already hadn't, the thought gave y/n a little bit of hope but the feeling soon died where it arose and only got worse as Denarys’s dragon roared and blasts of fire erupted over the wall, the girl turned her horse and rode from the wall till she made her way onto a small hill to get a better feel for what could possibly be happening and to get a sense of the new danger that may be arising.

What felt like hours y/n could only see the city crumble with fire from a distance. Smaller spots erupted with green flames. She felt her mouth dry and her eyes stung once she blinked; she had been staring for long enough for it to hurt. Her body felt numb as she clamered off her horse.. she could only hear screams, horrific screams of children calling out for their mothers and vise versa, the pained screams of men being stabbed, slashed and possibly much worse. innocence being burned alive was apparent through the stench and horrific screams. This is what filled y/n's senses, slowly but frantically the gates were thrown open and the people of King's Landing poured out, but they were only small amounts of people compared to the vast population of King's Landing. Y/n's legs started moving without her fully acknowledging it, she rushed into the crowd of bloody, burned and dirt covered crowds. As more filed out of the gates. She rushed to many people's aid, y/n carried basic medical supplies with her from the trip to Kings Landing. But despite her efforts she saw many die as she searched for something, anything that could possibly help.

Sweaty, clothes covered in blood and out of breath, y/n stood and slowly walked towards the quieting city gates she saw northern soldiers and Dothraki exit the city looking just as bad as the citizens who survived. They lined themselves a ways out of the city. Y/n's heart pounded and hurt as her eyes frantically searched for Arya, but had no avail.  

Arya who had just seen the worst of it all, slowly rode out of the city on a surviving horse her lungs burned and eyes were fogged and dirt and blood covered her whole body, she was aching and in massive pain, suffering from many head traumas, but somehow she lived. And this was something she had never expected. Although she didn't get to kill Cersei herself she knew that the so called queen could have never survived the fall of Kings Landing. So she made her way out of the city.

Still outside of the walls Y/n was gaining more anxiety by the minute as her eyes locked with Jon's, concern grown in both of their faces, they made there way to each other

'What are you doing here??'

'Where is Arya??'

Both of them said simultaneously

"Arya is here?" Jon said with more worry in his voice than before. Y/n's stomach dropped, her chest heaved as she ran a shaky hand through her disheveled hair, and looked around catching glimpse of a figure covered in greyish white ash. Without completely thinking she ran towards them leaving a more than worried Jon behind her

"Arya!" Y/n called rather breathlessly as the stress of laboring hours took a toll on her. Hearing her name being called through the ringing of Arya's ears she looked to the source and a welling of to many emotions spilled over once her eyes locked on to Y/ns distressed figure running to her in the distance, and she stumbled off of her horse trying to run yet limping at the same time suddenly everything made sense to her, she loved y/n she felt nothing but breathtaking relief, pain, grief and...love.

The two met practically falling into each other on contact. Both landing their knees y/n broke down and let her tears that had been held back for so long fall, Arya breathing so heavily was desperately holding onto the girl she loved for so long like she would somehow disappear. After everything holding on to y/n was like, a much desired and needed.. Spark? Fire? She couldn't think of the right words for the experience but she didn't care.

The weeks that followed the two didn't really need to say that they loved each other. both knew exactly how each other felt the moment they embraced outside Kings Landing. Y/n knew once Arya said she wanted to sail west that there would be no debating on whether she would stay behind. Arya didn't try to either, both were inseparable.

On the ship ready to set sail Arya looked to Y/n who was looking out at sea next to her. 

"Don't stare too hard you might knock me off the boat" y/n said jokingly with a small chuckle looking back at Arya who then smiled a genuine smile, leaning in their lips connected. It didn't feel like fireworks or anything super extravagant but no less important, as they kissed Arya finally found the words to describe the feeling she had after Kings Landing, y/n was like...

A breath of fresh air.