#i'm anxious about there being new fic i like in the remaining days of the year

[peachdues]

Your Beauty Never, Ever Scared Me

A/N: oh boy, I just couldn't leave this storyline alone, could I?

Inspired by a post from @aagod who pointed out how amazing the trope is of touching/kissing/caressing one's scars, and I was a WHORE for it. This is inspired by that one line from this song.

But because I have never been brief about anything in my entire life (that's why I'm about to be an attorney), I had to write out a full-length fic set in the Wind & Moon universe.

I also had fun with expanding upon the concept of the Lunar Hashira, including a new breathing form, as well as a special weapon for Y/N! See the end for a link to a visual of a naginata (pole) blade.

Word count: 6.3k

CW: angst, fluff, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, fucking in a hot spring. Pining Sanemi, soft Sanemi; shoulder injury, improper setting of a dislocated joint; scar worship (?).

Bon appetite!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was supposed to have been a one-time thing.

Even though he had asked her to return to his estate for nightly training sessions, she had told him “no.”

It isn’t that Y/N doesn’t want him — she does very much so, to the point it pains her — but agreeing to continue this thing that had grown between them was a door she would not open.

She couldn’t.

Not when a career with the Demon Slayer Corps was akin to putting one foot across the line to the afterlife. Not when opening her heart up meant losing everything again.

And Y/N knows she already cares for the Wind Pillar far too much.

It pained her to establish distance between them over the last two weeks, even more so whenever she saw Sanemi Shinazugawa’s eyes linger on her for a second too long at their Pillar meetings, the hurt and longing in his eyes undeniable. He does not act any differently towards her, but she casn see the question torturing him every time she met that lilac gaze.

Why?

Because she wanted to. Because he had kissed her first, so really, it was his fault. Because she had melted the second his lips crashed against hers, and she had been so tired of wanting but never being allowed to have, and she wanted for once to be selfish.

But she had been selfish, and every day since she has been the direct cause of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s pain, and the thought is slowly wearing down the remains of her tattered heart into nothing.

But she loves him too much to want to lose him, so she does nothing.

——————————————-

They are sent on a mission together the next day.

The target is a suspected Lower Moon, located in some dense forest on the other side of the mountainous range surrounding the Demon Slayer Corp’s safe haven.

Rationally, Y/N knows why they’ve been paired together. She knows that his offensive Wind Breathing coupled with her more defensive style of Lunar breathing complement each other well in battle, each breathing style able to make up for the pitfalls of the other.

Still, Y/N thinks the universe is playing a damn cruel joke in making their fighting styles so compatible. It almost feels like a taunt.

They make small talk as they travel towards the demon’s location, every step fraying what’s left of Y/N’s delicate nerves. Her hand closes and releases the smooth shaft of her niichirin naginata blade — a specially forged weapon uniquely suited to her command over Lunar Breathing — as they near their target, her anxiety palpable.

She is not necessarily anxious over the fight — she is more anxious about whom she is fighting beside.

Nervous, because she told Shinazugawa that they could only ever be friends, yet she knows the second she thinks he might be in danger, she won’t hesitate to pitch herself in front of him. A hypocrite.

As she mulls over the thought, Y/N sourly thinks that the Master was probably right about relationships amongst the Hashira. She could not be trusted because she wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice the world to keep her Wind Pillar safe, even though he wasn’t hers at all.

The pair come upon the ruins of a small village, most of the buildings in great disrepair and in various stages of decay. Both slayers, however, pick up on the foul odor emanating from one of the more stable buildings to their left.

Y/N looks to Shinazugawa, who nods in confirmation. That is where their target is most likely lurking.

“I’ll go through the front. Can you find your way in from the back or from above?” Shinazugawa asks, drawing his blade.

Y/N nods. “I’ll cover you.” She brings her naginata to her front, swiping the blade in a long, graceful arc up as she summons her first form, Night of the New Moon, to act as a temporary cloak for the Wind Pillar.

“See ya inside,” Shinazugawa takes off into the crescent-shaped void, not wanting to lose the temporary advantage her technique provides them.

Y/N darts around the side of the crumbling hut and finds a hole large enough to slip through in its rotting roof, joining the battle already raging within.

———————-

The fight against the Lower Moon had been relatively easy — it had almost seemed a waste to send two Hashira to complete the job, given how quickly they had managed to incapacitate the demon. But the tricky part had been in the demon’s blood art, with it capable of creating full, flesh and blood clones of itself that were just as strong as its main body. Though Sanemi ultimately manages to lob off the head of the main body while Y/N held off four — four — of the accursed demon’s equally powered clones at once, the Lower Moon is able to hurtle one last attack towards the Wind Pillar, who is still airborne as he comes down from wielding the final blow.

Sanemi is just barely able to brace himself for impact as the flash of red light sluices towards him, and he feels a slight twinge of dread because he knows he is unable to twist out of the way as he falls through the air. But just before the posthumous attack can land on its target, a flurry of silver and black materializes before him, naginata spinning rapidly in her hand as she summons her eighth form to shield him for the second time since they had started fighting together.

Y/N’s Lunar Eclipse technique absorbs the full force of the demon’s attack, but because she launched herself from the upper balcony of the rotting house where she had been battling the demon’s clones to guard him mid-air, she is unable to get into the requisite defensive stance Sanemi knows she needs for the proper execution of the technique.

So he is helpless to watch as the recoil from the clash of the demon’s attack with Y/N’s defensive maneuver sends her flying backward through a crumbling wood wall, helpless to do anything but yell her name, his free hand grasping uselessly at the air as she sails away from him.

Sanemi feels a sick sense of deja vu as he tears through the rubble into the adjacent room where she has been thrown, thinking back to the first time she had used that breathing form to save him, when she had nearly lost all of her internal organs. Hot panic roils in his stomach as he clamps down the roar building in his chest, moving to yank a large, broken piece of wood out of his way, uncovering the scowling Lunar Pillar.

Sanemi wastes no time grabbing Y/N by the waist and hauling her up to inspect her, eyes wild and frantic as he looked over her for injury.

Y/N groans, sending a fresh wave of anxiety sludging through him as he waits for the coppery tang of blood to hit his nose, to confirm his worst fears that she is seriously wounded, too much so to be able to wait for the Kakushi, and-.

“Shinazugawa,” Y/N’s voice breaks through the roaring in his head. “Shinazugawa. Sanemi.” She grits out, left hand rising to grasp his forearm, nails digging into his skin to command his attention. “I am unharmed.” Sanemi finally meets her eyes, breath still coming fast and hard in his panic, though his erratic heart begins to slow at her words.

Y/N winces, the hand around him flying to the shoulder of her sword arm as she hisses through clenched teeth.

Sanemi sees then the odd slump of her shoulder, as though the joint were sitting lower, an odd gap forming in the fabric of her haori.

Sanemi recognizes the injury, his jaw clenching as anger chases away the panic that had been bubbling within him. “Your shoulder. You dislocated it.”

Y/N shimmies from his grasp, head falling forward slightly to avoid his gaze.  And for some reason, her refusal to meet his eyes makes him furious. Furious because how could she look him in the eyes and tell him that what happened during their sparring session could not happen again, because they couldn’t afford to have emotional attachments as demon slayers, yet not two weeks later, she risks her own neck for him again?

Sanemi opens his mouth, ready to rip into her, to curse her for her stupidity and her hypocrisy, because how dare she tell him not to care for her but rush to give her life for his.

Before the words can form, however, Y/N looks up at him, her eyes so soft and yet so full of an emotion he instantly recognizes as self-loathing that the words died on his tongue.

At that moment, Sanemi knows only one thing: there is no insult, no mockery, no barb he can throw at her that she isn’t already screaming at herself.

No point in beating a dead horse, really.

Sanemi doesn’t want to think about why she looks so guilty because to think about the why meant giving himself hope that she was hurting just as much as he was, even though he knows why she rejected him; understands it with every fiber of his being.

So, he says nothing as she stands, makes no sound as she stomps past him and out through the decaying wood doorway, towards a dying tree in the middle of the courtyard. He watches dumbly as she lines her arm up on one side of the dry bark, inhaling once, twice through her nose before she jerks herself with all her might in the opposite direction, a pained shriek tearing from her lips.

Sanemi has spent many years with the Demon Slayer Corp. He has seen countless injuries, far worse than a dislocated shoulder, and heard far worse screams from the dying as they succumbed to demons.

Yet, as he listens to Y/N’s scream of pain, his blood runs cold.

No, Sanemi thinks, he never wants to hear that sound ever again. Thinks it would drive him mad if he were ever forced to.

But he doesn’t tell her this, because she made it abundantly fucking clear that they cannot be more than mere colleagues, so he tucks the knowledge away that his limit is apparently her pain deep into the recesses of his mind.

Sanemi tries not to think about what that means for his heart.

————————-

They arrive at the Wisteria House just after the stars in the sky had winked out, dawn not too far away. The mistress of the house promises that there is a large hot spring just behind the small estate, up a winding path and that they are both welcome to use it. Y/N was so enthralled at the promise of hot water on her aching muscles that she hadn’t thought to ask the Wind Hashira if he too planned to bathe.

Which was how she found herself in her current predicament.

It was stupid.

It was so stupid.

They had seen each other naked for crying out loud, had shared their bodies with each other. But now, here they were, stuck in opposite corners of the hot spring, resolutely turned away from one another as though neither of them had anything to hide from the other at all.

As though he hadn’t spent an entire evening inside of her, making her call out his name until her voice went hoarse.

His first name, at that.

Y/N hopes to conceal her flushed face from the Wind Pillar for as long as possible, so she hugs her good arm across her chest tighter, wincing slightly as her poorly re-set shoulder throbbed. Y/N predicts a visit to the Insect Pillar’s infirmary was in her near future, and the thought of her aching shoulder having to be poked and prodded anymore made her want to vomit.

If Y/N had been alone, she would have groaned, loudly, until she felt the weight slowly crushing her begin to lighten. But she is not alone, because she so stupidly failed to ask Shinazugawa who should bathe first, and now he is here and so is she, and they are both naked.

Still, the Lunar Hashira cannot deny the pang of longing in her heart as she furtively glances over to where the Wind Pillar stands, magnificently muscled back facing her, as he cups water between his hands to bring over his head, dampening it from white to a darker silver color.

His hair is shorter than it had been two weeks ago, she realizes, and she bites down on her lip as she realizes she likes it – a lot. Her eyes then fixate on the silvery jagged lines of the scars which crisscross his back, tracing her gaze down to where the top of his hips disappears into the glowing turquoise of the spring water. He has more scars on his back than he has on his front, she notes, evidence of his years of brutal training.

Evidence of his loss; great, unimaginable loss.

Because even the most skilled soldiers cannot save everyone, a truism she knew tore Sanemi apart. As memories of their past conversations came flooding back to her, memories of Sanemi telling her exactly what had happened to his family, his partner in the Corps, Y/N feels the oily slick of guilt seep into her gut.

It is ironic, that Sanemi Shinazugawa of all people, had felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with her, — both physically and emotionally — but she had run at the first opportunity for her to return that vulnerability.

She, who had prided herself on being someone that others could depend on, could turn to in moments of need.

But she had run.

Because she is a coward.

He is beautiful and good and selfless and she is a damn coward.

Y/N’s shoulder throbs so violently it feels as if it has its own heartbeat, but Y/N doesn’t pay it any mind. She does not sink deeper into the beckoning warmth of the spring water to try and relieve the ache that is so deep it makes tears sting her eyes.

Such comfort is the least she deserves for the pain she has caused him.

——————————

He hadn’t meant to look. He swears he hadn’t.

But Sanemi accidentally turns when he hears her hiss, an instinctive urge to respond to a threat, to protect her forcing his head around, only to see no threat existed at all. Rather, the sound seemed to have been made in response to her shoulder wound.

She is not turned away from him completely — he has a perfect view of her side profile, the side of her injured shoulder facing him directly. Though her body is mostly concealed by the thick curtain of dark hair that spills down to her waist, he can see that Y/N still has her good arm locked snugly around her chest, in some futile attempt to conceal her ample breasts from sight.

Sanemi bites his lip to keep from snorting. Did it seem stupid, considering he had seen her in a far more intimate setting just a couple of weeks prior? Obviously. But Y/N’s discomfort with the situation had been obvious the moment she had stumbled across him in the hot springs, and Sanemi isn’t about to push her any further.

Especially after the stunt she just pulled on their mission.

He means to turn around once he confirmed that she was safe, that there was no threat looming in the woods surrounding the rocky hot spring. But his eyes snag on her face, on the grimace that twists at her mouth and the furrow of her eyebrows as she massages the tender skin around her swollen shoulder joint.

He hates to see her in pain. Hates it so much, it makes him want to rip the world apart with his bare hands.

And maybe it was because it tore at him to see her in such pain that he feels compelled to speak up, even though he knew he was opening himself up for more rejection, even rejection as her friend.

“You need heat,” Sanemi says, turning fully towards her.

Y/N startles slightly at the sound of Sanemi’s voice cleaving through the silent tension that had been steadily building between them. She turns her head slightly to face him, good arm tightening its hold over her chest.

He is standing in the water, body turned fully towards her. The blue-green spring water laps gently at the toned muscles of his lower abdominals, but Y/N can still make out the start of the impressive “v” of his hips. Her cheeks warm at the sight of the small trail of silvery hair that began just beneath his navel winding down and disappearing beneath the surface of the water to the crop of neatly trimmed hair that she knows frames his thick, proud length.

Y/N’s mouth runs dry as the memory of what Sanemi did to her with that length on the training grounds of his estate flashes through her mind.

So lost in thought is she that she almost forgets to respond to what Sanemi has said, flushing a deeper shade of crimson when she realizes that he had been talking about her wound.

“O-oh, I know. It’s just hard to do when I’m — well, you know.” Y/N laughs shakily, wiggling her good shoulder and the position of her arm across her chest.

Sanemi stares at her for a moment, eyebrows raised incredulously, though Y/N drops her gaze from him before she can see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I can help — if you’re comfortable with it, that is.” Sanemi offers.

Y/N feels her heart lurch at the silver-haired man’s proposition, guilt sliding back into her veins. She does not deserve his kindness, does not deserve his help after how she has treated him, and yet he offered nonetheless.

Y/N cannot deny him again, not when he seems so earnest in wanting to help ease her pain, so she nods. Something like relief flits across Sanemi’s face as he begins to make his way through the water towards her, keeping his eyes fixed behind her out of respect.

When Sanemi is close enough to reach out and touch her, he stops, the water having risen slightly up his waist now that he is in a deeper portion of the spring.

“You can — you can turn away. Put your back to me.” Sanemi says, awkwardly shifting his weight between his legs.

Y/N nods and turns to face away from him. Sanemi’s proximity sends chills across her skin, and Y/N’s belly dips in anticipation as she waits. The thick, damp air of the spring combines with the hot water licking at her upper waist makes her feel dizzy. Wordlessly, Sanemi cups a handful of hot water and brings it up over Y/N’s bruising shoulder, opening his palms to let it pour over her skin.

Though her arm remains firmly placed over her cleavage, for the first time in a long while, the Lunar Pillar feels her body begin to relax under the exquisite heat of the spring water Sanemi delicately pours over her tender shoulder.

So relaxed is she that she does not realize she is drifting backwards, not until her head thuds lightly against something hard and warm. Jolted by the sudden contact, the Lunar Hashira’s silvery eyes fly open and collide with the lilac irises above her, the surprise in his gaze a mirror of her own. 

He is now much closer to her than he had been, and it is with no small amount of embarrassment that the Lunar Pillar realizes that in her haze, she has sunken back against the taut, warm body of Sanemi Shinazugawa.

There is a hint of red that begins to spread across the girl’s cheeks as she looks up at him that makes Sanemi’s ears burn, and he quickly moves his own gaze to somewhere — anywhere — that isn’t the ethereal creature now peering up at him with those haunting eyes.

He wills his other head to not react to the feeling of the girl’s head against his sternum; to not react to the silkiness of her hair or the thick haze of jasmine and honeysuckle soap which now enveloped him.

God, has she always smelt this good?

There is no making sense of what happened next. the Lunar Pillar lifts her head from Sanemi’s chest and turns to face him completely, her left arm still failing to totally obscure the luscious swell of her breasts from view. She peers up at him, as he continues to try and glare at a nearby rock in a futile attempt to not show that he has been watching her every bit as much as she is watching him.

Slowly, the Lunar Hashira lifts her free hand to lightly graze a thick scar that slants Sanemi’s left pectoral. She marvels at how it is both jagged and thick but surprisingly smooth and soft beneath the gentle press of her fingers.

Her touch is feather-light but Sanemi feels the skin beneath her soft caress erupt into flames, his cock beginning to stir at the slight contact.

She begins to trace her fingers to the start of another scar lacing his chest — slightly lower than the first — when Sanemi’s hand snatches up to grab her own, stilling its movements.

“Don’t-“he hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes screwed shut as though in pain. His grip on her is firm, but not harsh. “Don’t touch me like that.”

The Lunar Pillar feels the guilt and shame, hot and relentless, course through her blood. Of course he doesn’t want her to touch him — she rejected him after all. Though she had realized there was no point in trying to run from the blossoming warmth she felt her in her chest every time she looked at the stone-faced Hashira, that did not mean he wanted her, too.

Swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat, she moves to quickly pull her hand away, an apology already falling from her lips at her complete lack of professionalism, at her idiocy—

Sanemi’s grip on her hand tightens before she can remove it, pressing her hand harder against his chest. “Don’t touch me like that,” he repeats, opening his eyes to look down at her startled, red face, “because I won’t-.” He winces, trying but failing to cut himself off before he could make the admission that would surely damn them both.

“Because I won’t be able to stop myself if you do.”

Y/N’s eyes fly up to meet Sanemi’s burning stare, her breath catching in her throat. She curls her fingers against his chest, her arm falling from its position across her breasts so that she is fully exposed to him, and Sanemi thinks his heart might fly out of his chest. She steps closer to him until the soft plush of her chest lays flush against his upper abdomen, the heavenly feeling causing Sanemi’s cock to throb as she leans in close.

Sanemi’s free hand itches to touch her, to rise to rest on the dip of her waist and tug her close, but he holds back, insistent that he gives her an out, a window to walk away if that was what she still wanted.

Instead, Y/N stares up at him through a thick cluster of dark lashes, her gaze setting his skin on fire as she further presses herself against him.

“Then don’t.” She whispers.

Sanemi’s heart skips several beats, and his fingers tentatively rise to brush the skin of her waist, Y/N’s eyes fluttering softly at the contact. He lifts his hand, however, to cup her jaw, forcing her to look back at him, needing to see her eyes to confirm that she truly wanted this — wanted him.

“If we keep going, that’s it. No more running from one another.” He warns, voice hoarse with desire and emotion. “There will be no one else.”

Y/N leans her face into his touch, and Sanemi thinks his knees might buckle right then. “There never was anyone else,” she says earnestly, raising her good arm to parrot the hold he has on her face. “It’s only you, Sanemi. It has only ever been you.”

Whatever resolve Sanemi had kept tethered within himself snaps, as he crashes his mouth down against Y/N’s, her mouth opening easily to allow his tongue entrance. He crushes her face against his, desperate to give everything he has and to take whatever it is she can offer him.

Y/N moans deeply into his mouth, her fingers threading themselves through his damp hair. Sanemi’s kiss is so deep that she feels as though he will consume her whole, but she cannot find it in herself to care because, for him, she would let herself burn.

His lips are still locked on hers as he drops his hands from her face, reaching down to grip under her thighs and lifting her up, Y/N’s legs locking around his waist with ease. Sanemi makes his way towards a small, rocky island that separated the hot spring into two, connected pools, wading seamlessly through the water. 

Y/N breaks from the impassioned kiss with a gasp as the cold, rough edge of the rocky bank scrapes against her back. Sanemi uses the opportunity to readjust his hold on her, lifting her slightly up to press her against the island so that he has better access to her neck and below, though he does not drop the iron grip he holds on her hips.

Sanemi dances his lips down the elegant length of Y/N’s neck, pausing to suck on her sensitive pulse point and eliciting a high, keening moan from her. He moves one hand from its bruising grip from its position on one of her thighs, wrapped tightly around his waist, trailing it teasingly under her to knead the soft flesh of her backside. Y/N moans again, grinding her hips against him, desperate for the tiniest bit of friction against her core which was now aching with her need.

Sanemi growls as Y/N’s core brushes against his throbbing length, his teeth sinking into the juncture between her good shoulder and neck as he nipped her in warning. As much as he wants to bury himself in her intoxicating heat, he will not do so until he knows she is good and ready to receive him.

He pulls away from her neck to look at her, his eyes dark with need and with something deeper, something tender that Y/N won’t name right now, even though she cannot deny that she feels it, too. His cheeks are dusted pink, and his lips are reddened by her kiss. His hair, though still damp, is perfectly tousled from her fingers, and his chest heaves as he tries to control his breathing.

Sanemi is beautiful and Y/N knows in her heart that she is doomed. Doomed because there will never be anything as good as this — as good as him.

He doesn’t hesitate to pounce back on her, hand dragging down the front of her torso to fondle her breast, his lips following down the same path. Before Y/N can draw another breath, her breast is sucked into Sanemi’s deliciously hot mouth just as a rough, callused finger runs over the slit at her core, dipping below slightly to brush against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. Y/N cries out then, her fingers moving to clutch onto Sanemi’s shoulders, and she finds that it is easy to ignore the throb in her injured shoulder when he is working to relieve the pulsing ache between her legs.

Sanemi begins murmuring against Y/N’s breast as he slides one thick finger into her, causing Y/N’s hands to fly up to grip his hair, pulling harshly at the strands as she is overwhelmed by the sensation. He tells her she is beautiful, how perfect she feels clenching around him, and how he cannot wait to be inside her and make her sing. He slips in another finger, his thumb pressing against her clit as his teeth graze her nipple, and Y/N shatters in his arms.

“Mnnnh, Sanemi,” she pants, thighs tightening around his waist as she grinds herself relentlessly against his hand. “Oh!”

Y/N comes with the prettiest moan Sanemi has ever heard, and it takes everything in him not to follow suit just by the look of blissful pleasure on her face. Sanemi cuts off her cries with another kiss, fingers curling inside her as he brushes against the sensitive spongy patch on her inner wall, causing Y/N to fall apart all over again, a gush of fluid coating his hand for a second before the water washes it away.

Y/N feels delirious from pleasure, but a cold sting rushes through her, cutting through the hazy fog in her mind as Sanemi removes his fingers from her needy core, her walls still clenching in the aftershock of her successive orgasms. The sting does not last, however, as Sanemi readjusts her thighs around his hips, unhooking one of her legs to bring it up to her side against the rock island, bending it at the knee. He hikes her other leg higher up his waist so that her core is now pressed flush against his demanding length, its weight heavy and hot as it rests against her sensitive flesh.

He rubs his cock against her dripping folds, the friction causing Y/N’s head to fall back against the rocky bank with a thud, uncaring as a wanton moan rips from her throat. Sanemi has one hand supporting the leg pinned against the rock at her thigh, and the other grips her waist tightly, using the rest of his body weight to keep her slightly upright and pressed against the stone.

The grip on her waist tightens as he calls her attention back to him. Through half-lidded eyes, she sees him staring intently at her, eyebrows raised in question, and she realizes that he is waiting for her signal.

The thought that he would still wait for her consent, that he is still offering her an out if she wanted it, is enough to make her want to cry. But she can’t stop now, can’t stop ever, because Sanemi makes her blood sing and she is so tired of denying herself the happiness she feels whenever he is near.

“Oh Sanemi, please. Please.” She begs, rolling her hips towards him, desperate for him to claim her all over again, to make her his and his alone.

Sanemi does not waste any more time as he carefully sinks into her, a strangled groan falling from his lips as he no doubt was overly sensitive from having waited so long. Y/N’s head falls back against the stone embankment and she cries out, finally feeling whole as he seats himself fully inside her.

Sanemi does not wait long to start moving and for that, Y/N is grateful. But unlike their first pairing at his estate, Sanemi takes his time, rocking his hips into hers, cock hitting her so deep that she cannot tell where she ends and he begins. Their first time had been the product of repressed sexual tension that had been steadily building between them, hard and fast and needy, but this?

This was different.

This was passion. This was both the end and the beginning, a sacred covenant between them that bound their hearts together, entwined their souls for infinity.

As Sanemi’s hips pick up the pace against her, the water stirring and sloshing and breaking around them with the force of his thrusts, Y/N realizes that until now, she has been on fire.

She had been from the moment their lips had met during training at his estate. She had been engulfed in an inferno that had only grown hotter, had only consumed her more, when she had tried to run, tried to deny the love that had bloomed in her heart well before she had ever offered herself to him for pleasure. For the last two weeks, she has burned and burned because she had known deep in her soul that she loved Sanemi Shinazugawa and had put herself in hell trying to deny it — to deny him.

Yet he had come and saved her, again, had pulled her out of that pit of fire and brimstone and smothered the flames with his tender heart and tender kiss, and now she was no longer burning; she was just warm.

Warm and safe and in love.

“Y/N,” Sanemi rasps, his forehead pressed against hers as his eyes bore into her, his mouth falling open. His hands clutch her tighter against him, the possessive drag of his cock making Y/N see stars as she clings to him, moaning and whimpering as she feels her release building inside her belly.

And though she is unable to stop the words that fall from her lips, she means them with every ounce of her heart.

“I love you,” she whimpers, fingers digging into Sanemi’s back as his hips stutter slightly against her at her words, the movement resulting in a delicious spike of pleasure against her clit. “I love you, Sanemi.”

Sanemi’s forehead pulls away from her own, his eyes wide and so full of hope it breaks her heart. He does not say anything, but the way he then kisses her makes her taste his response.

I love you, too.

Y/N breaks the kiss, her moans growing louder as her end nears, and from the way Sanemi’s movements quicken, becoming slightly uneven, she knows he is near as well. So Y/N presses her hands against the sides of his face, thumb running over the jagged scar cutting across his cheek as she tilts his head up to look at her.

Lavender eyes meet hers and Sanemi tumbles headfirst over the edge.

He comes with a shout, the tendons in his neck straining as his hips press hard against her. Y/N feels the warm rush his seed start to fill her and she follows after him, clenching so hard on his cock that Sanemi moans again, his release prolonged by Y/N’s pulsating walls around him.

They are both finally spent but Sanemi cannot yet bring himself to pull out, instead burying his face in Y/N’s neck as he tries to catch his breath.

“Did you mean it?” He pants against her sweaty skin, his breath causing goosebumps to ripple across her. “Did you mean what you said?”

Y/N moves to cup his face, pulling him away from her neck so he can meet her eyes. Though he is inside her, he blushes as she peers up at him, her expression serious.

“I love you, Sanemi. I have for a while,” She pauses, considering. “Longer than I was willing to admit two weeks ago.”

And her words are so honest, spoken with such conviction, that Sanemi cannot stop the grin that spreads across his face, and Y/N thinks she has never seen a more beautiful sight than a smiling Sanemi Shinazugawa, as he leans to kiss her slowly and languid.

————————

It’s hours later, and the two have not left the hot spring, even though they’ve long stopped feeling the heat of the water.

They had not stopped themselves from having one another again and again. Sanemi had still been buried inside of her when she had felt him harden as she professed her love for him again, and so she had had no choice but to move him under her and ride him until he shouted her name, filling her back up with his essence.

Y/N now rests her head on Sanemi’s chest, fingers tracing the outline of the scars dancing across his pectorals.

God, he was beautiful.

His scars told a story — a story of a warrior who gave every part of himself to the dream they shared of ridding the world of demons.

A story of strength; of survival. A warning that he had won every encounter with every demon who crossed his path.

It was a beautiful story. He was a beautiful story.

“Ugly, aren’t they?”

Sanemi’s derisive tone startles Y/N from where she lay, and she looks up at him in alarm. Though the expression on his face was soft — contented, even — there is an unmistakable hardness in his eyes as he glances down to where her fingers rested.

“What on earth do you mean?” Y/N demands, fanning her hand out protectively across his chest.

Sanemi does not respond, merely choosing to smile ruefully at her.

But Y/N shakes her head. “No. No, they’re not ugly; not in the slightest.” She moves so she’s sitting on his lap and bends over him, brushing her lips along the outline of each scar that crosses his skin.

“You’re beautiful.” Y/N insists between the press of her lips to him.

Sanemi reddens but shakes his head at her.  “They scare kids, ya know. And girls. And most people, for that matter.”

Y/N looks up from the scar she is currently lavishing and sees Sanemi watching her intently. She sits up, reaching a hand to cup under his chin so that he won’t try and hide from her, won’t try to avoid what she is about to say.

“Your beauty has never scared me, Sanemi. Ever.” She swears, voice firm and steady.

Sanemi’s heart feels like it is going to punch through his chest and dance across Y/N’s lap. At that moment, Sanemi realizes that nothing else matters to him, nothing at all, except for the woman with the kindest heart he’s ever known and the moon in her eyes.

So he sits up, and cradles her face while he kisses her softly, breaking away from her only to respond to her earlier declaration.

“I love you, too.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

I hope you all enjoyed it!

Here is the reference for the Lunar Pillar's naginata blade -- fun fact, naginatas were historically used by Japanese noblewomen for protection!

Tag-list:

@stuckinthewrongworld @ladytamayolover @sweetblueworm @kazehayaaa @horror4themasses @catzpawn @lollypoporabullet @fuckimgenderfluid @sobbing-bunny @otaku-reblogs @umekohiganbana @mydreamissleeping @finnydraws

[cc--2224]

Late Night Caf

Pairing: Tech x Jedi!Reader

Summary: From the ask found here; You were recently made a jedi knight and as your first assignment, you were placed with Clone Force 99. A sleepless night on the Marauder turns into late nights watching Tech work.

Warnings: A ton of fluff!!! Brief mentions of insomnia?

Notes: Thank you for the request and I'm sorry it took so long!! As a reminder, requests are open if you'd like to make one!

Word Count: ~2.1k

Tags: @lady-violet @booksandtitts-blog

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future fics!

It hadn't been long since you had gone through the trials to become a Jedi Knight. With the war in full swing, there was a need for knights more than ever, so while you didn't feel ready, you were able to pass.

You were given your first assignment almost immediately following your appointment. You were to accompany a squad of clones on their missions.

It was easier than being assigned to an entire battalion, but when you heard some of the other clones' comments about the squad you were assigned to, you began to feel anxious.

Clone Force 99 had a reputation of not following the rules and doing things their own way. They weren't like the clones you had gotten to know during your time as a padawan, and that intimidated you – not that you'd let anyone know.

On the day you were meant to meet them, you stood in wait on the landing platform in front of the Jedi temple. They were late. You sighed to yourself and did everything you could to avoid pacing. In fact, you could almost hear your former master's voice echoing in your head, telling you to be patient.

Finally, you saw their ship approach. It landed on the platform rather harshly but by now you were just ready to meet them, rather than criticize their flying ability.

When the four of them disembarked their ship, you had to do a double take. Not only did their reputation define them as unlike most clones, but so did their appearance.

You looked at each of them from right to left, starting at the tallest one.

"You must be the new general!" He said, his voice echoing across the platform.

"Oh no, I'm no general, just a jedi," you corrected. "What can I call you?"

He grinned, "Wrecker."

"Nice to meet you, Wrecker." You told him, then looked at the next one, the one with a tattoo covering half of his face.

"Hunter." He informed you before you could ask. "What should we call you? If you're not a general."

"You can call me by my name." You told him before providing them your name.

The next clone looked down at you with a sour expression on his face. A crosshair tattoo adorned his right eye, and a toothpick was slotted between his lips.

"And you are?" You asked.

"Crosshair."

He said nothing else, instead just stared at you before your attention shifted to the final clone.

"I'm Tech." He said before you could ask, adjusting the goggles he wore.

Your gaze lingered on him longer than you had intended, before you looked away, growing embarrassed.

It wasn't like you to be bashful, and yet looking at Tech seemed to erase any confidence you had. You didn't speak; all you could do was give him a small smile and a nod before Hunter spoke up again.

"Now that we've been introduced, I'm sure that you have questions."

"I've heard reports about your squad, how much of it is true?"

"Hah! All of it, I bet!" Wrecker said, a bit too enthusiastically.

"Depends on what you've heard." Hunter added.

"I have read the reports that come through regarding our squad. Most of them are accurate," Tech began, then held up his datapad to gesture to the reports he had available. "However, some disciplinary reports come through with slight embellishments. We do not start every fight."

"Usually finish them, though." Crosshair adds in with a shrug.

"Despite the reports, you will face no difficulty to fulfill your duties, and we will ensure your safety remains a priority."

You smiled at Tech's reassuring tone, and soon the others started boarding the ship once again.

"If that was your only question, c'mon up, we'll give you the tour." Hunter offered as he walked up the ramp. You followed after him with Tech following behind you.

– – –

Your first night in the Marauder was strange, and unfortunately, sleepless.

You could never fall asleep comfortably in a new place. You had this problem as long as you could remember. It was a hindrance on all the planets you visited with your master as a padawan, he had tried to teach you meditation techniques to help with insomnia, and you used them, but the unknown always kept you awake.

You used to joke about how it was residual anxiety from when you were first brought to the temple as a toddler, but the council was not very pleased when they heard that joke.

After giving up on your meditation, you decided to roam the ship silently. You exited your bunk and walked through the empty corridor, now much more quiet than it had been when you were first shown around. The only sound that could be heard was the hum of the engine and the muffled snores of one of the clones.

You walked toward the cockpit and the door wooshed open, revealing that you were not the only one still awake.

Tech turned around in the pilot's chair to see who was there, and he raised an eyebrow when he noticed it was you.

"It is late, you should be asleep." He chided.

"What about you?" You countered.

"I am often awake much later than the others, this is the best time to focus on any tasks I need to complete."

It sounded like he was hinting that he'd prefer to be alone right now, so you turned back toward the door.

"You do not have to leave, if you do not wish to."

You looked over your shoulder. "I thought you wanted silence?"

"Yes, however you are much more quiet than my brothers. You are welcome to stay."

A smile tugged at your lips, and you crossed the cockpit, sitting down in the co-pilot seat next to him. He was typing into his datapad, and there were open crates next to him.

"Inventory." He explained, noticing you raising your eyebrow. "I am just about finished."

After a few moments, he turned and closed the crate before standing up to put it back where it belonged.

When he sat back down in the chair, he swivelled the chair to face you.

"So, why are you still awake?"

You shrugged, "I've always had a hard time sleeping in new locations."

"Is that not difficult considering you are a jedi?"

"Only when I go to new planets. It's not like I never sleep, I'm just most comfortable with places I know."

"I suppose that makes sense. Eventually, you will get accustomed to the ship."

He turned back toward the console and began to tinker with some of the panels, unscrewing the plates and fixing the wiring beneath them.

You watched him as he worked. Your eyes trailing from his hands delicately holding the tools he needed, toward his arms; his armor had been discarded so you could see the way that his undersuit wrapped around his muscles– he looked much stronger without his armor, and eventually up to his face; his look of concentration behind the goggles he wore, his lips pressed in a firm line.

You were mesmerized watching him work. There was something about him that was so inviting and comforting. You wanted to get to know him better, but you weren't sure how that would be possible.

As you continued to watch him, you didn't notice yourself beginning to drift off to sleep in the co-pilot chair. The engine humming and the quiet whir of the hydrospanner must have lulled you into a place of comfort. Tech glanced over at you once, noticing your arm perched on the armrest, holding your face in your hand, your eyes closed, and your breathing steady.

He quietly said your name, checking if you had really fallen asleep, and when you didn't answer, he smiled slightly to himself before standing up. He gently scooped you into his arms and brought you back to your bunk.

– – –

Late nights spent with Tech had slowly become the norm during your time with Clone Force 99.

Even after you had gotten used to life on the Marauder, it had just become a habit to sit with Tech as he worked long after his brothers had gone to sleep.

Tech didn't question it, he seemed to enjoy being able to ramble on about his latest projects, even if he had to take a break from them on several occasions to bring you to your bed after you had fallen asleep in the chair next to him.

One evening, you had left your bunk and stopped at the caf machine before making your way to the cockpit.

You left a mug in front of Tech before sitting down next to him with yours in hand.

"Oh, thank you." He said, reaching out and eagerly sipping the hot beverage. He glanced over to you, noticing the mug in your hand. "You do not wish to be carried back to your bunk this evening?"

You felt your face heat up slightly. You were mortified when he told you about that, and the fact that it had happened multiple times, and it had never become less embarrassing. His teasing tone did not do well to ease your embarrassment.

"Really, I do not mind," He said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You shook your head and took a drink from your cup without answering him.

Silence soon overtook the room. You looked out the viewport, watching the stars as they passed, and Tech continued drilling into a panel, fixing something that likely wasn't even malfunctioning to begin with.

He said your name, pulling you from your thoughts, and when you looked over at him, his focus remained with what he was working on.

"I have been wondering. Are you still uncomfortable being here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You had told me that you had trouble sleeping until you were comfortable, and you still spend most nights out here despite the time in which you have spent with us." He looked over at you now. His expression was new to you. His normal confident demeanor had seemed almost sad. There was something in his eyes that you couldn't quite place. "If you are not comfortable, you can request a transfer. None of us would be offended."

You offered him a reassuring smile. "I don't want to transfer, Tech. I'm comfortable here."

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You are?"

"Of course. Why do you think I fall asleep so easily out here? You make me feel comfortable and safe."

His head snapped back to what he was tinkering with, trying to hide his flushed face from you.

After a moment, he spoke again. "I see. I am glad for that, then. It would have been... regrettable if you had chose to leave."

You raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

His jaw clenched slightly. You could feel the tension as soon as you asked, but eventually, he sighed.

"I just meant that I would feel responsible if, after all this time, we did not make you feel welcome." His tone was resigned, and you knew there was something hiding behind it.

Part of you had hoped that what he was hiding was in line with what you had felt since the first time you had met him, and you figured now was as good a time as any to finally talk about it.

"Tech." You began. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you did all you could yo avoid focusing on your anxieties. "I don't think either of us are very good at this, if I had to take a guess. But I... Enjoy spending time with you, I have ever since the first night I spent here. I would not choose to leave the squad, I wouldn't choose to leave you."

He stared at you wide-eyed. This may be the only time that you'd see Tech completely speechless.

In his silence, you stood from your chair, setting your mug down on the console and quietly stepping toward him.

You reached out a hand, gently resting it on his cheek and tilting his head up to look at you before you moved in and kissed him softly.

His hands hesitated before one of them held your free hand, squeezing it gently as he deepened the kiss.

You smirked at him. "Maybe it's a good thing that I was placed with your squad then. You don't follow rules either."

Before long, he broke the kiss but stared up at you, finally speaking, "I did not know you felt as such. I thought that the jedi had... rules to follow, that they could not..."

[aziraphales-library]

hello there! thank you so much for all the work you're doing, it's amazing:)

i was wondering (since i tried to search ao3 myself and found nothing), if you know about any pretty woman AUs? thank you so much and have a great day!

I do! Not a complete one unfortunately:

Pretty Boy by SerenityStargazer [E], WIP

Aziraphale Fell, real estate tycoon, finds himself in need of a companion during a business week in London. He meets Crowley in Soho and finds he enjoys the younger sex worker's company. They spend the week together and both are surprised to find themselves falling in love.

"Hey, handsome," Crowley purred, "want a date?"

"Right now," the blond man replied in a very proper, educated accent, "what I need are directions to the Ritz. Got myself turned around, I'm afraid."

"Five pounds for directions, luv," Crowley said calmly.

"Five pounds? That's ridiculous!" the man sputtered indignantly.

"Ten pounds. The price just went up."

"You can't charge me for directions!"

Crowley grinned. "I can do whatever I want, angel. I'm not lost." He stood up and turned his back, letting his arse lean against the window frame.

"Oh, very well," the man said, pulling out his wallet. Crowley opened the door and climbed in.

"For a twenty, I'll take you there personally," he offered.

Aziraphale handed the twenty over silently then tried to find first gear.

Other fics with similar premise:

The (Half) Boyfriend Experience by ZehWulf [M]

The image on the monitor remained static for another minute or so, but then the door to the connected room opened, and the pale, curly-headed figure of Crowley's client—a man who went by Fell at the club—stepped through. As always, he stopped just after closing the door behind him to collect himself, gaze trained on where Crowley's lower half was splayed wide on lewd display. There was a whole ritual of straightening cuffs and waist coat and shifting his weight that he would go through before approaching.

Crowley felt their lingering scowl soften as they watched with vague fondness as he worked himself through the motions. At first, they'd wondered if the whole process was some sort of pre-sex psych-up, or a fussy-looking-middle-aged man version of reflexive peacocking. But, Fell had been requesting them for long enough by now that they'd been able to observe the way things evolved over time: the gestures loosening up, the amount of time spent shortening.

The poor bastard was just anxious.

OR

Crowley works part time as a sex worker at a club, and one of their favorite, most baffling clients comes in looking like he's had just as bad a day as they have.

Dreaming of You by TawnyOwl95 [E]

AJ Crowley likes helping people discover and heal the neglected parts of themselves. Even if that's only for their scheduled session. He likes being a sex worker, although he's started to dream of some genuine intimacy.

Aziraphale Fell knows he isn't deserving of romance. As much as he might like the idea, a lifetime of neglect has left him insecure and afraid to reach for what he wants. He still dreams that one day he might be brave enough to take a chance.

Hired Heart (illustrated by many artists) by GayDemonicDisaster (scrapheapchallenge) [E]

As a result of his sheltered upbringing, Aziraphale made it to 50 without exploring his sexuality or coming out. After 50, all that changed - he's gay, he's out, and wants to find love. He also wants to have sex. He's a tad nervous about that. His friend Agnes suggests he consult a professional and get some no-strings practice and advice, and build some confidence. And her friend Tracy runs an agency…

Crowley has quite the breadth of sexual experience: he’s a high class escort. He’s been in his line of work for a long time, though in this industry, that’s not exactly an advantage. He likes his work, but the more he’s reminded that he’s not as young as he once was, the more he contemplates his exit strategy. When his bookings manager and friend Tracy gives him a new, nervous client, Crowley finds him unexpectedly captivating. In fact, Crowley can’t seem to get him out of his head.

A Smitten Crowley is also a very silly Crowley, so prepare for giggles and fluff along with your love story and smut...

Seirbheis by Kalimyre [E]

Human AU - Crowley is a sex worker, hired by the wealthy and eccentric Ezra Fell for a long weekend. He goes in expecting it to be just another job. But Ezra is not like other clients, and Crowley is soon in over his head.

In which our beloved ineffable husbands have clear, honest communication, a whirlwind romance, and tremendous amounts of soft, tender, kinky sex.

~Mod N

[q1ngqve]

Your aventio fic got me in a chokehold and now I'm frothing??? I'm being tormented by the same principal but with Jing Yuan and Dan Heng. Reader being the anxious babe that they are avoiding them at ALL costs outside nessasary things since they don't think that their pursuit is genuine (or that they're pretty or smart enough to be with them) Anti-stalking x 100. Like "hello??? The GENERAL and IMBIBITOR LUNE, interested in me??? Sounds fake af" but their also secretly down bad as well, and having bracelets corresponding to them at all times? A subtle marking of their claim over you by your own volition would probably stir something within them.

I'd think the general would enjoy the hunt while Dan Heng tries to not but can't help but be lured in by readers sweetness. A hidden archive dedicated to you is kept by Dan Heng and updated regularly, Jing Yuan sends his retainer to check up on you from time to time. And if they discover what the other is doing??? Would they team up? Mayhaps, and If so, good luck since you have a LION and a DRAGON, pursuing you. Isn't that perfect? But good luck, once your in their grasp you are not leaving untill the only thing you can remember is their names.

I'd find it even funnier if they got access to their fanfic reading list. For me that's sacred but for them it'd be a GOLD MINE, especially when it comes to readers kinks (praise kinks, marking??? Oral??? Oh~ breeding? Now thats jnteresting) WHAT ABOUT THE FANFICS WRITTEN BY XIANZHOU NATIVES??? BRUH READER HAVING SO MANY FEATURING THEM SAVED AND HAVE WRITTEN SOME THEMSELVES CONFIRMS THE FEELING ARE MUTUAL.

Waiting untill the perfect time, they pounce. Conveniently bumping into Dan Heng during the Lunar Festival celebrations and making small talk before the General bumps into the two before suggesting getting food to celebrate the new year's. Timidly excepting the rimvife dinner goes normally untill it doesn't. The restaurant is small yet not busy despite the festivities. (they call reader nicknames (darling) that were used in readers fanfic that make reader flush) (giving genuine praise and watching them flush. Eventually Dan Heng suggest staying at the attached inn due to how crowded it is Outside " oh no! There's only one room remaining! I guess wr have to share a room. How unfortunate." 🤔 and thus all three end up getting one conveniently large private suite.

Once the door is closed they Sandwich reader between the two as Jing Yuan and Dan Heng confess their feelings, trapping reader so they dont run away. When reader objects, Flustered and in disbelif Jing Yuan cant help but tease about their "little findings" while Dan Heng eyes the bracelets on their arms. Posessiebess blooming at the epiphany of the btacelets meanings as their vidyahara traits peak out. If the insecurities come out to? Then they'll have to make sure that reader (and their body) remembers their love by devouring them whole.

( Even better if those findings are used against reader. Awe is their darling shy? And theyre tryjng to muffle their moans and hide their face? Don't worry, those two make sure reader drowns in so such pleasure that it'll be the furthest thing from their prettty little mind)

If reader ends up cover in marks almost impossible to hide and unable to walk for days after and having to be carried out of the suite the next day? Then that's none of our business.

(Sorry if this is long, I'm frothing at the mouth and losing my mind. That aventio fic has rewired my brain in the best way possible and I need to get this out of my mind ajdbdhdindkdn)

✒️

hello anon…? you are so big brained and for what 🤭ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི i had a good time gobbling this shit up

[sirowsky-stories]

The Old Prince

Part 4

Author's Note: Hello, again! I still can't get this story out of my head. I'm introducing a new element to it in this chapter, which we'll all get more acquainted with in the next one, but I'm adding an image at the end of this one, to give you all an idea of what it'll look like.

Description: After realizing that Oberyn hasn't been honest with you, life back home has becomes anxious, filled with questions that you fear may never be answered. But you still have to try and find some normality, and this year's Thanksgiving Ball seems like a good place to start.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, eventual romance, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, lots of angst in this one, overprotective coworker, slightly jealous Oberyn. Word Count: 6030 Author's Masterlist

   You’re back at work already the next day. Halloween has come and gone, which means it’s time to prepare for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and since you’re one of only four employees at the local holiday specials store, you’re sorely needed. September through December are the busiest months for this type of store, so every day you’re not all working is a minor disaster.    But if you’re honest, it isn’t your loyalty to the job that’s responsible for your quick return or the extra hours you’re putting in.

   It’s simply because the job is the only thing that takes your mind off him.

   When you’re home, he’s all you can think about. You hear his voice as clearly as if he’s standing in the room with you, asking questions about your life and then letting you prattle on for hours. Something you had attributed to his kind nature and polite manners.    Now though, it seems more like he was trying to learn as much about you as he could, for reasons you don’t dare to even imagine.

   He’d asked you about trivial things, like what book you’d last read or if you prefer to stack your firewood bark side up or down, which you still can’t see the harm in having told him. But he’d also asked you about your work, your people, your interests and how you spend your days, the answers to which must’ve allowed someone of his age and accumulated knowledge of people, to fully grasp your personality and character.

   So, why is that making you have a mild panic attack every time you think about it?    Because you have no idea what he might do with that knowledge. Maybe he was just curious. Maybe it makes no difference at all what you’ve told him. It is possible that he really was just happy for the company.    It’s the “what if” that plagues you.

   Because if he does decide to use his knowledge against you, the odds will be entirely in his favor, since you know nothing about him in comparison.    You want to believe that you wouldn’t have fallen for him (and you did fall for him) if he is indeed the monster that tried to kill you. But in truth, there’s no way that you could know that with any certainty.    Just like there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself from him, either way.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   The hours are endless and deafeningly silent in the days after your departure.    He has never been one to wander, to have that restless tremor within, pulling one to their feet and refusing to let them remain still. But he does now.    The stone will quickly turn polished with all his wandering, should the feeling not subside soon enough, which it gives no indication that it will.

   So, he wanders. Through each of the nine wings and up into each of the nine towers, yours being the tallest, and the only one he lingers in. The only place that now offers him peacefulness.    He is aware that he still calls it yours, even though your stay was brief, and you will never again reside there. But it holds so much of your scent still.

   He sits there for hours sometimes, forgetting time all together as he drinks in your skin, hair, the faint lavender scent of your own sheets which you brought with you to this bed. He wonders how long it will take before he will no longer recall the softness of your lips. He thinks of them often, in the hopes that the memory might remain fresh to his senses for a little longer.

   But after only one week, his resolve is already faltering. He dreams of you. Wakes up screaming and drenched in sweat at the memory of his teeth embedded in your soft and tender flesh.    And other times, when the dream has been wonderful… he wakes up erect, longing so desperately for the mere touch of your skin against his own, that he cannot refrain from pleasuring himself to the very thought.

   This does not shame him, though. He is much too old to concern himself with the public perception of what is considered right or wrong among the many varieties of carnal pleasures.    The modern world would likely frown at his history of dalliances, as he has always been a man of omnivorous taste. He has never coveted children, but gender has never been an obstacle to pleasure, in his eyes.

   He has found that women offer a comfort and an emotional closeness that the males with which he has explored enjoyment in the past, have not given as freely. But this was long ago. The world has changed much since then, and gender appears to have become less rigid of late, which Oberyn finds most agreeable.    Still, it’s in a woman’s embrace he has most often felt at home and wanted, beyond that of the carnal.

   And then there is you.    His Valya, though his only by name, not commitment. The first person ever to command such control over his mind and senses. He feels almost enslaved by your very being, as though your mere existence demands his servitude.    And surprisingly, he has no objections to this.

   A terrible fatigue and weariness with the centuries upon centuries of managing himself, always fearful that a moment’s loss of control will result in carnage, has taken root within his being, and will not be untethered.    It festers there, making him increasingly agitated, whilst also draining him of all desire and every grain of levity that he had once possessed.

   But in your company, all this turns pale, irrelevant and silenced. You have freed his heart and brought light back to his soul, and now that he has felt it once more, he cannot stand the loss.    The slow, but still so noticeable, reversion to that caged and lonesome man who spends every waking moment fearing the dragon more than any man who might encounter him.

   Still, you are not as a drug to him. He does not crave you the way a drinker craves the bottle, enslaved by the need to consume, dull, and forget. Instead, he feels only brightened, strengthened and awakened by you.    In your presence, Oberyn comes alive, for the first time in ages feeling stronger than the beast, and therefor less controlled by it.

   Every waking moment, his mind looks for ways to relate to you. Everything he sees, smells, touches, it all somehow becomes about you, because that is how dearly he misses you.    And it’s getting worse.    Each day, he battles with himself over whether he has just cause to seek you out once again, and every day, pushing the victory to your favor becomes that much harder.

   He knows that he will eventually fail, because even if he flew to the other side of the world, there would be nothing to stop him from returning. Your house, work and people are known to him, so the day that he eventually fails to convince himself that you are always safer away from him, he will have no trouble finding you.

   It was you that kissed him. He did not ask you to. And that is the carrot which forever dangles before his lips, sweetening his thoughts with the notion that you might do so again, if given a chance.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   It takes three weeks before you begin to be able to walk around outside your own house after dark, without fighting panic at the sight of every deep dark shadow, expecting to see golden eyes glowing as they stalk you.    The fear is still there, but with every day that passes without any sighting of the serpent, you’re starting to become less controlled by it.

   You tell yourself that he wouldn’t have let you go just to come after you again, that would’ve been pointless.    But you also wonder if the woman who’d owned this house before you, and who’d vanished without a trace one day over eight years ago, had really wandered off and gotten lost like people think, or if she too could’ve encountered your captor.

   All in all, over the past fifty years, the Seven Hills have claimed nearly thirty lives, half of which have been accidents when people have underestimated the danger of some of the trails, falling to their deaths over cliff-edges, or simply getting lost.    But the other half are unaccounted for. People who just vanished out there. Assumed to have fallen into crevasses or perhaps been buried under mudslides. Natural events.

   If Oberyn hadn’t brought you back, you would’ve become part of that statistic. Which is a frightening thought.    It’s all frightening. Just the reality that dragons aren’t a myth is enough to make you shiver in your bed when you’re trying to sleep, which you haven’t been able to do much of recently.    Fortunately, the holidays are tightly packed at this time of year, so you have no problems staying busy.

   The city council made a brilliant move around a decade ago, with the decision to create a separate account for all profits earned by tourism. The Seven Hills isn’t a city which depends financially on tourism, so it didn’t affect the overall economy. And the brilliance of this move, lay in what that money has since been earmarked for.    Which is celebrations.

   Holidays, anniversaries, and other significant events are all celebrated with parades, formal balls or just big parties, all at the expense of that one account.    The idea had come from a police officer, who had been concerned about a steady incline of violent crimes, and her hope had been that people who have fun together might be less likely to harm one another. Which had happily turned out to be correct.

   So, when you wake up on Thanksgiving morning, having managed to scrape together a handful hours of decent sleep, it isn’t a family dinner you’re planning on going to.    Not that you have any family to celebrate with, even if you’d wanted to. You were an angel baby, left at the front steps of the local church when you were just days old.    The woman who’d ended up raising you had been lovely, and your relationship with her had been good, right up until she’d died shortly after you’d turned sixteen.

   After that, the city had become your family, albeit a distant one. You like your coworkers and you do hang out with them outside of work now and then, but you’re not close. You don’t talk to them about personal stuff.    Perhaps because you’d started your life being abandoned, that’s what you’ve come to expect from everyone, so you shield yourself from caring too much. From letting people in.

   Which is why Oberyn’s betrayal hit you so hard. Because you did let him in. Against the wisdom of all your experience and even the fact that you had literally no reason at all to trust him, you’d told him everything that you never tell anyone.    In just a few days, he’d somehow managed to make you feel safer with him than with any other person you’ve ever met, and he’d done that despite knowing that he was the one who’d almost killed you.

   “Stop it…” you tell yourself, closing your eyes for a moment over your morning tea, because you’d promised yourself that you’re not gonna let him ruin this day.

   Not Thanksgiving. Not the one day of the year specifically dedicated to remembering and celebrating the positives.    This year, the city’s celebration is gonna be a ball at the old courthouse. It’s the fanciest building in town, made of stone and actually resembling a castle more than anything you’d normally associate with legal matters.

   It was commissioned in the late 1800’s by a wealthy lord who wanted criminals to know just how far removed from greatness they were, so he had every piece of metal within the courthouse coated with gold and silver, and every chair was made for comfort and splendor. Except the one offered to the accused, which was just the simplest and cheapest wooden chair that could be made.

   Because of the small fortune of precious metals, the house was prone to burglary and vandalism, so over time, its splendor lessened and by the time they stopped using it, some fifty years later, it was far from the opulence of its original state.    But around thirty years ago, the city decided that since it’s a historic building, it should be preserved, and spent two years and a lot of money on restoring it. And while the metals are fake these days, it still looks every bit as pretentious as it was always meant to.    It’s a perfect venue for any kind of party, though. And especially a ball.

   You’ve had a dress picked out and ready since before Halloween, but because you’re also part of the crew for this event, you won’t be putting it on until you’re already there. It’s packed and ready, along with some makeup and hair styling stuff, all of which you’ll need to remember to bring so that you can get changed once your work is done.    All the staff from the shop try to help out for these kinds of events because you’re the town’s experts on decorations, and you all enjoy getting to apply your skills on a bigger scale now and then.

   The party starts at 4 pm, with the mayor of the city giving his annual thankfulness speech, which is never as dull as it sounds, because the mayor is a former standup comedian, of all things. And although he’s pushing seventy now, he still knows how to work a crowd and get a good mood going.    After that, the dance begins. It’s a blend of classics like foxtrot and waltz, as well as line dance and even hip-hop, but the first one is always a traditional square dance.

   Everyone who lives here knows that one, because if you chose not to participate in the first dance, hardly anyone will talk to you for the rest of the evening because they’ll assume that you’re a person who just hates fun.    You know that because you made that mistake as a teenager.    After the dance, when everyone’s gotten their appetite going, the Thanksgiving dinner is served, and then the program ends and people can just hang around or go home.

   You arrive at the courthouse shortly before 9 am, after tending to Casper and triple checking that you remembered everything, finding two of your colleagues already there.

   “Hey, Boo,” Simon calls to you as you walk in with your bags.

   It’s a nickname you’ve earned over time, by managing to individually scare every one of your coworkers into falling to the floor, just by saying “boo”.

   “Hey, Si. How are we doing?” you answer, dropping your stuff in a corner and then looking over the boxes of decorations.

   “We brought all the labelled boxes, and Kelli remembered the glitter cannons.”

   “What about the balloons?”

   “Oh, yeah, Micah’s already working on those,” he says, and gestures casually towards an unspecified area of the building.

   “Great, then I’ll get started on the leaves and garlands. Unless you want help with the tables?” you ask, looking out over the large open space that had once been the waiting hall and grand foyer.

   It had been made to look like something out of the roman empire, with giant marble pillars recessed into the walls, serving no purpose other than to add to the grandeur of the room.    The hall cuts through the entire length of the building, perhaps a hundred yards long, and easily thirty yards wide, with a curved ceiling around fifteen feet off the floor at the center, and five big crystal chandeliers dangling from up there.

   It’s full of tables today, but the size of the room makes them look like something from a dollhouse.    In contrast, the empty courtroom which will serve as the dancehall, looks smaller than it is.

   “Nah, I’m good. You get going on that, I’ll let you know if I need your help,” Simon replies, so you smile and nod, before grabbing a box and setting off to the right where the big double doors to the courtroom stand open.

   It’s fun work, getting to decorate a place like this, and while all four of you initially work separately, soon enough, you’re all helping Simon in the foyer, because the tables always take longest and requires the most precision.

   “You know, you really didn’t need to bring your makeup, Boo,” Kelli says when you’re working side by side on the finishing touches of the table decorations.

   “What do you mean?” you ask her, but you have an idea of where she’s going with this.

   “Look, I don’t know where you went, but if it’s true that you were just lost in the woods, then you must’ve found the fountain of youth or something.”

   She doesn’t sound envious or even annoyed, just disappointed, and you want to retort so badly. To rebel against the notion that you’ve lied about getting lost in the woods just to cover up a trip to some fucking beauty clinic, or whatever.    But you can’t, because you can’t explain the change in your appearance.

   “Oh, I found something…” you say between tight jaws, unable to hold back your frustration at the mere thought of the slithering serpent.

   She can tell from your tone that asking any further questions isn’t gonna end well, so she changes the topic, instead getting back to the evening and how excited she is.    But when the time comes for the four of you to get ready, you find yourself standing there in your dress, staring in the mirror at the face that isn’t yours, and yet, is somehow also the perfect you.

   Not perfectly symmetrical or flawless in that kinda way, but just… perfect in a sense of natural beauty, perhaps.    Kelli’s right, putting makeup on is basically redundant, since there’s nothing really to improve. And if you’d had a choice in the matter, it might not have felt so artificial. But it does. It feels anything but natural.

   “Not today,” you remind yourself, meeting your own eyes in the reflection. “You can wallow as much as you want tomorrow, but today, you’re thankful to be alive and to have all the comforts you need.    And for Casper, your white knight. Even though he ran away.”

   When you walk back out into the grand hall, you’re met by the sight of people pouring in through the massive, double oak doors, in a slow and happily chatting procession. They’re allowed to sit at the tables if they want to, even though dinner isn’t for several hours yet, since there are only a few stone benches available throughout the building for anyone needing to rest their legs.

   Everyone knows who you are, so as you make your way through the crowd, you’re met with greetings and polite nods, but also a lot of slightly stunned and gaping faces as they look you over. You try to ignore it and just focus on finding your colleagues, but soon enough, you’re hearing people whispering about you as you pass them.    And suddenly you’re regretting picking such a glamorous dress.

   It’s golden in color, which you’d picked because of how perfectly it compliments your skin tone, but which now makes it feel flamboyant and excessive.    But it’s also the simplicity of it that drew you to it. There aren’t any garnishes, it’s just a softly flowing fabric that hugs your form in a very gentle and comfortable way. Not too tight anywhere, not restricting your movements at all, since the skirt is designed to make it look like liquid gold in motion.

   By the time you reach Simon, standing at the door to welcome people, you’re regretting having come here at all today.

   “Hey… are you alright?” he asks when he sees you, and while you notice that he too roams over your form with wide eyes, unlike everyone else, he doesn’t comment on it, and his gaze returns to your face with a concerned wrinkle between his brows.

   ��Everyone looks at me like I’m a freak,” you whisper, dropping your head forwards to not have to see anyone’s scrutiny anymore.

   Ordinarily, you wouldn’t be particularly concerned about people’s opinion of you, and again, if this change had been your choice, you could’ve held your head high and ignored them.    But since it wasn’t, you’re left feeling unfairly judged, and knowing that you’re also incapable of defending yourself on this matter just makes it that much worse.

   Instead of trying to comfort you by telling you that there’s nothing wrong with you, Simon turns away from the crowd and gives you a long and firm hug. Because that’s the kind of person he is. He suffers from terrible anxiety himself, something he’s learned to live with and knows how to manage for himself, but which also makes him really good at understanding that words can be powerless against feelings sometimes.

   You thank him before he lets you go, because he’s already made you feel better, and he just smiles in return before getting back to work. You stay there next to him, letting his calm and positive energy infect you while you try to avoid looking at any one person for too long as you help him welcome them to the celebration.    The mayor is the only one who stops to shake your hands and thank you for your work, before he steps inside and prepares to deliver his speech.

   As always, he executes it with practiced ease and has the crowd in tears of laughter before the end, even though he’s managed to fit in serious things like being thankful for the continued decline in crime rates, or how well the city has recovered after a local factory had burned down six months ago.    He finishes by encouraging everyone to step over to the courtroom for the dance, and everyone does.

   The wonderful thing about dancing is that no one cares all that much what anyone else is wearing or how they look, as they move across the floor together. It’s just about having fun and letting the rhythm take you.    Still, once the square dance is done, Simon kindly comes to your rescue when no one on the floor offers to pair up with you for the next dance, which is a foxtrot.

   He’s not the best dancer in the room, but again, none of that matters as the point is to let go of expectations and enjoy yourselves free of judgement.    He doesn’t step away when the song ends and you’ve taken your bows, preparing to lead you on for the next one as well, but just as you take your positions, there’s a voice to your right.

   “May I cut in?”

   You stop breathing at the mere sound of it. The voice that’s haunted your thoughts and dreams for weeks now, the voice that heats your blood and sends shivers along your skin.

   “Uh… sure,” you hear Simon hesitantly agree, since you’re not objecting, and then step away.

   Still not breathing, you look up as the much taller Oberyn takes his place, confidently taking your waist and then your hand, sending sparks through you with his mere touch.    He looks exactly the same, donning his customary green coat and black trousers, as suitable at a black-tie event as they’d seemed in the dark and mysterious castle.

   The coat is one of those stand-up collar ones, with around fifteen silk buttons leading from his Adam’s apple down to his waist, where the weight of the fabric holds the two sides close together down to just below his knees.    And the sleeves stop over the base of his hands, not at the wrist, so whatever he might be wearing underneath, no one can see it.

   The only other time you’ve been this close to him (aside from the kiss) was when he’d carried you inside that first day, and you hadn’t been paying this close attention to him then.    But you are now. Because you wholeheartedly suspect him of being a monster underneath those clothes.    Still, not one bone in your body is telling you to run.

   “Breathe, Kaivalya,” he whispers close to your ear, and your body responds as if it had been a command, desperately filling your lungs until you start to feel dizzy.

   “You… you shouldn’t be here,” you whisper back, just as the dance begins and he starts to waltz you around the room as elegantly as if he’d been a professional dancer.

   “No, I really shouldn’t,” he agrees, and then pauses before adding: “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

   The air flowing over his skin as he moves sends his natural fragrance straight into your nostrils, and it makes your knees weaken, stoking the heat that already simmers somewhere in your gut, clouding your thoughts with desire.    But it’s that feeling that gives you the strength to push away from him.    It scares you. The hypnotic way that you react to him. And that fear is enough to give you back your senses.

   You step back, almost colliding with another dancing pair, and when he lets go of you, you turn and start to make your way to the exit.    The air suddenly feels thick and hard to inhale, strangling you as you try to free yourself of the crowd, the music, and the strange sensation of your brain being caged by your own senses.

   Reaching the brisk winter air outside of the main entrance, you stop, holding on to a lamppost at the top of the stairs not to fall over with how dizzy you feel.    A hand comes to rest on your shoulder, but it isn’t Oberyn’s. Simon has noticed what’s happened and followed you outside. He’s a good guy, and you can imagine how that scene in there must’ve looked to him. But you would’ve preferred it if he’d left you alone this time.

   “Who is that guy, Boo? You want me to get rid of him?” he asks, but before you can answer, you feel him twitch and pull away from you.

   “You could not remove me however hard you tried, boy,” Oberyn says, and you can hear a dark tinge to his voice now.

   But it’s not arrogance. It sounds more like… jealousy.

   “That’s not up to me. If my friend doesn’t want you here, then you’re not staying, and I’ve got plenty of people here that’ll back me up if I ask them,” Si persists, entirely undeterred by the other man’s superiority.

   There’s a slightly possessive edge to the way he says “my friend” which would ordinarily have made you feel appreciative of his protectiveness, because you’re not actually that close. But today, it makes you feel like a toy being fought over, and you don’t like it.    You straighten up, having finally gotten yourself under control, just in time to see the serpent step closer to your colleague.

   “That’s enough, both of you!” you call out to get their attention. “Simon, go back inside.”

   “Boo-…” he begins to protest, but you cut him off.

   “I just needed some air, I’m fine. Please, just go so that we can talk.”

   He hesitates, throwing a suspicious glance at the other man, but then does what you’ve asked. Because in the end, he knows that you’d never agree to be alone with someone that you fear might hurt you.    But the things is, you do fear that Oberyn might hurt you. You just also need answers, badly enough that you’re prepared to demand them now that he’s here and can answer you.

   “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either,” you admit once the two of you are alone. “But I’m pretty sure that we have very different reasons why.”

   He remains at a respectful distance now that you’re not dancing, and you notice that the heat from before is starting to fade, leaving you exposed to the winter chill.    You cross your arms over your waist to keep them warm. There are no sleeves on your dress, so the slight breeze is already threatening to make you shiver.    Why is it that whenever you’re around this man, you’re either too hot or too damned cold?

   “What are your reasons, my lady?” he asks, and his voice is soft now.

   Not inviting or seductively soft, but more like it’s been subdued by worry and trepidation.

   “I need to know… what you are,” you say quietly, watching his face without blinking for fear that you might miss some revealing detail.

   But his features remain unchanged, and no answer seems to come to his lips, so you step closer while trying to fortify yourself against something, but you’re not even sure what.

   “Are you the one that bit me?” you ask, damned near choking on the last two words, but still, he remains statuesque before you, driving your fear into frustration. “Damned it, you owe me answers, Oberyn! Tell me the truth…… Are you the serpent?”

   For what seems like one endless moment, he merely stares back at you. But then, ever so slowly, a terrible sadness begins to flood his eyes.    He bows his head and closes them, perhaps trying to stop the feeling, but it just spreads. Spilling into his brows and forehead, and then down to his cheeks and mouth.    It’s subtle, and yet so distinct. So unmistakably sorrowful, as if drawn from the sky and the deepest recesses of the earth, filling every cell of his being with a pain unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

   “I will not ask your forgiveness… I could never earn such a thing,” he says, speaking so quietly now that you have to step even closer just to hear him. “I ask only that you believe me when I say that I never wanted to hurt you.”

   He opens his eyes again, and when he finds you standing closer, he backs away and shifts his hands behind his back, as if trying to keep them from reaching for you.

   “I saw you running, and I tried to distract myself by going after Casper, but it was too late. I had already caught your scent,” he explains, and you’re mildly impressed that he isn’t making excuses or trying to convince you that he’s worthy of redemption.

   “And if I were to run away now?” you wonder, trying to understand how the man and the beast are connected.

   “I would let you,” he replies quickly, clearly eager to make you feel as safe as you can around him. “In my human form, my human instincts are in control. You are never in danger from… me.”

   “But if you were to become that thing right now…?” you press on, still far from convinced of your own safety.

   He thinks on that for a moment, and there seems to be something uncertain to his conclusion.

   “The real reason why I sedated you for the journey home, was because I needed to fly you back,” he begins, and you can’t stop the sharp gasp and the two steps that you stumble backwards, away from him, as you hear that. “But even the beast is enchanted with you now, Valya.    I want only to protect you, no matter what form I might take,” he finishes, unable to keep himself from coming closer and extending a hand to you.

   “No, you stay away from me,” you warn, stepping back further.

   He stops cold, and the sorrow in his eyes transforms into something you can only describe as the purest pain imaginable. It cuts and tears at your heart, because even though he did hurt and lie to you, he doesn’t deserve to suffer this severely for it.    But however much you might want to ease his pain, you don’t know how, because you can’t reconcile with what he’s done to you.

   “As you wish, my lady,” he says, and his voice breaks at each word.

   He straightens himself, and then bows fully, dropping his entire torso halfway forwards in a perfect display of submission. And when he rises again, tears have filled his eyes to the brim.

   “Always…” he adds in a barely audible whisper, and then he turns and starts to walk down the front steps of the courthouse.

   The air cools significantly as he departs, and you wonder if that’s just your senses tricking you, or if he really does warm his surroundings by his presence alone.    Then, just as he reaches the ground, a faint glow appears in the sky, maybe a hundred feet to his left, and seems to swoop down over him.    He sees it, and stops walking to follow its journey with his gaze, as it makes an elegant turn which changes its direction towards you.

   And when it does, you can see that it’s an owl. But not like any you’ve ever seen before. It’s almost transparent, and when it flaps its wings, they seem to leave entire galaxies of stars behind them, fading as quickly as they appear.    It flies straight at you, landing on top of the half-pillar that makes up the corner of the stone railing to the staircase, where it folds its wings back and just stares at you.

   Mesmerized by its large blue eyes, you stare back, feeling as though an infinite mass of knowledge lies within this creature, and that it uses this knowledge to judge you.    It’s about the size of the golden eagle named Marahute in that Disney movie with the mouse rescuers, but the fact that you can almost see through it makes it slightly less imposing.

   If it is judging you in some way, it can’t be too damning a conclusion because you feel no discomfort from the being. In fact, for the entire time it stares at you, you feel nothing at all.    Then suddenly, it opens its wings and takes off with one large leap, fading into nothingness within just one little second.

   “Wow…” you breathe, having completely forgotten your worries for a moment.

   “You saw it?” Oberyn asks from his spot on the ground at the bottom of the stairs.

   “Yeah, it was amazing. What is it?” you wonder, taking your eyes from the sky and back to him, finding him looking extremely puzzled.

   “She is the Sky-spirit: Caelum. But…… humans cannot see her.”

   You stare into his eyes while his words reach you, and the implication behind them slowly sinks in.    The temporary reprieve of your emotional turmoil is wrung from you with ruthless force, and this time, it’s your eyes that are suddenly brimming with tears, your frame that’s brutally tortured by the inescapable truth.

   “What did you do to me…?” you accuse, glaring at him now because all you have left to turn to is anger. “What am I? What did you turn me into?”

   But as horrible as you feel, as much as these thoughts are plaguing you, your feelings still somehow pale compared to the enormity of his.    The knowledge that he’s robbed you of your own reality, seemingly without him even knowing how or understanding why, is mercilessly demolishing him from the inside.

   “I don’t know…” he confesses. “I am so deeply sorry, my dear… I have no answers.”

   Your tears fall as the cold finally creeps into your blood and makes you shiver. Hugging yourself, trying to come to terms with the thought that you don’t know who you are anymore, you feel so lost.    But then the air around you is warmed up once again, and you look up to find Oberyn before you. He takes you in his arms and hugs you close, flooding your body with that same heat as before, even now when you’re in too much distress to feel anything good.

   “But I will not stop until I have found them,” he promises, then he kisses your temple, pulls away, and with a gust of wind, he’s suddenly just gone.

Part 5

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer. (No, I didn't miss one. You'll see.)

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@kittenlittle24 @joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[ovwechoes]

Hi! I was wondering if you're willing to, write a drabble or fic or whatever you wish of Mauga with a reader who gets his name tattooed on them somewhere so that way 'He's always with them?"

If you're closed or anything feel free to ignore this request!!

Tattoo Drabble: Mauga x Reader (GN/SFW) Hiya! I'm happy to write this for you, it's an interesting idea and, as someone with multiple ones, I like thinking about how ovw characters would react to em - thank you for the ask and it's under the cut, enjoy c: Word count: 2805

Your thigh was covered for most of the day by your loose fitting joggers, concealing something you knew would shock the Samoan that was walking side by side to you. You had asked to meet somewhere private, because you had something to show him, with Maugaloa more than willing to oblige. It was something you were thankful for, but couldn't shake the anxiety of finding out what his response would be.

You had been with him for a while, and could gauge how his mood was based solely on his eyebrows and how furrowed they were in the moment. It would be an understatement to say you two were close, not just as partners but as people. You wanted something to show how much you value the man beside you, as a token of your gratitude for his undying love and support. With Maugaloa, though, he can be unpredictable, so how would he react when you finally showed him what was under the cling film concealing your thigh? How would he react to see flesh he consistently kissed, praised, and adorned on in private marked with something near and dear to him? You didn't know, and it pained you to be left in limbo like this.

And yet, here you were, almost at the agreed spot with Maugaloa. It was a corner of Talon HQ training grounds, somewhere he had told you time and time again that Sombra's cameras didn't reach this far, it was his own personal blind spot for the two of you. The closer you got to your designated space, the more your heart pounded in your chest. Your heartbeat was echoing throughout your skeleton, as though it was music alongside his own mechanical ones humming and whirring within his chest.

Maugaloa's voice was aired out by your anxiety - his idle chats about how training's going, how Siebren wouldn't stop talking to him about the fabric of the universe being soft like silk, and how Gabriel's testing his patience with each and every jab at his ego. You usually stayed attentive, stayed observant, and stayed in the moment with your partner. But the numbness travelling through your thigh was distracting you, as though it was reminding you of all your anxious thoughts. It was too late now though, and you had to rip the band aid off eventually and show him what you had done. It was inevitable. Bound to happen. You might as well take the moment by the horns and control it as much as you could.

“Hey, are you listening to me? What's going on with you?” Maugaloa stopped dead in your tracks; if he hadn't drawn you out of your thoughts so quickly, you would've walked head on into him. He stood, towering over you, watching you with curiosity and concern. It wasn't like you to be silent, stuck in your mind and focused on something other than his smooth words and slick voice. It struck him quickly, and he made it his new goal to pry out of you what's wrong.

“It's nothing, don't worry babe.” you replied sheepishly, with Maugaloa's brow arching the more your words slipped from your lips with anxiety coated into every syllable. It was obvious it wasn’t just nothing, and he intended to make the awkward silence speak for itself, refusing to move until you told him what was happening with you. Quickly, he crossed his arms in front of you, his personal way of telling you he's not satisfied with the answer. His gaze never left you, remaining above and on you, analysing any small inconsistency in your presence.

“Honestly, trust me, it's nothing important. Just thinking about what I want to show you, that's all. I'm alright, okay?” you spoke with more confidence, not wanting to completely crumble in front of the cameras nearby for eyes that didn't need to see them. He watched with less concern now, his shoulders dropping with ease, and coming back to your side. Maugaloa's nod of approval meant he was content with your answer now, letting you both continue to your spot before any more time was wasted.

And soon enough, you were there. Your beloved spot. But now, it felt dreaded. The time had come, and your confidence whilst in your appointment had shattered itself, overridden with concern and anxiety. You wished for time to stop there, to replay each and every scenario to pick the best outcome. You knew it had to be done, and there was no point in wasting time.

You watched carefully as Maugaloa sat to the side, his eyes leaving you momentarily as he steadied his muscular body onto the cold floor. He rarely felt the cold anymore, but even this spot made him shiver at times. It was endearing, and helped you distract yourself from your internal screams of anxiety. You watched as he motioned you to sit next to him, facing away for a moment. This was the time, you thought. Now or never, right?

When Maugaloa turned to face you again, your joggers were dropped, leaving you exposed to the cold. His expression became hot and heavy, feeling as though you were insinuating something more sultry with him. His mind went to dirty places, as though it was a pig seeing mud puddles again after a drought. He was always like this, excited over small gestures you did. You stood there, exposing yourself, watching as his eyes trailed over skin he had seen multiple times. Maugaloa knew your body better than you did, you swore at times, but it still took him some time to see the cling film bandaging that stuck to your skin, concealing something…

He finally noticed it, with his expression changing to curiosity. Maugaloa wasn't a stranger to tattoos, but he never expected you to be wearing something even he knew was typical of a freshly applied one. He knew the process as though it was eating, and was covered with tattoos. You often asked about them, listening to the stories behind each and every one, with your ears often ringing with his voice after his ramblings. But never, not once and not ever, had you suggested you'd like one. It was a well kept secret, and Maugaloa couldn't tell if he should be impressed or shocked that you didn't fold and tell him as soon as the idea of getting one crossed your mind.

Maugaloa studied your body, intending to decipher what was being covered by the layers of film. It was a game for him now, as he mentally began to decode the words left on your upper thigh. You watched his face twist and turn, he never had a good poker face, truly. This moment proved that, and you couldn't help but feel as though this was dragging on much longer than it needed to be.

“Maua, quit staring and just ask me what it is already!” your voice came out squeakier than you intended - you wanted to sound assertive, grab his attention quickly to kill the fear in your chest that was building up ever so slightly with each passing second. It was killing you, watching him try to figure this out, and he finally took the hint, giving into your pleas.

“Fine, do you have to ruin the fun?” he replied, in a playful tone that you weren't unfamiliar with. “What's under the wrap, ma’asoama?” his voice was more breathless, as though he was giving into you, letting go of the thrill of seeking answers himself. 

A sharp breath invaded your throat, as you bent over, unwrapped your tattoo, revealing the pet name you had constantly called your partner marked into your thigh. It was the most fitting place, really.

He loved your thighs, loved digging his teeth into them, touching them, making sure they were within his grasp at all times. Maugaloa's intentions weren't always sexual either - he just has an affinity for them. It's his kryptonite, if you will. So, you couldn't help yourself from getting the nickname ‘maua’ tattooed on you, in a Polynesian-styled font that the artist insisted on you getting. Your tattoo was done the traditional way, the way that Maugaloa preached about and always spoke highly of within his culture. You wanted to experience it too, and embrace him in every way possible. That included marking his favourite place on you with a name that often broke down his walls and let you creep into his heart. 

As soon as he processed what he was witnessing, his skin darkened at the cheeks, frozen as though he was a picture in a moment. He didn't move, his lips were apart, and it seemed as though he was holding his breath. Maugaloa's poker face was finally working, why did it have to work now? You desperately wanted to know what he thought, what he was feeling about it, if he approves of it. And yet, you couldn't tell just yet. The anticipation was killing you from the inside out, causing your legs to shake slightly.

Maugaloa found his hands quickly touching your thigh, carefully avoiding touching the sensitive area around and at your tattoo. He knew all too well how fast things can go downhill with them, and he wanted to preserve this one perfectly. Not once in his life did he think someone cared enough about him to get something like this tattooed on them, and he, for once in his life, was left speechless. Maugaloa would usually brush moments like this off with a snarky comment, a chuckle, a joke or flirtatious compliment. But this time, something about this time, changed that usual expectation. He was stunned.

“So… what do you think?” you tried to break the silence in a soft, humble way. You didn't want to be overbearing, but deep down your patience was running thin and you were begging for a way to seep yourself into his mind and find out what he was thinking. You loved the tattoo, and what's done was done. But that didn't mean that your anxiety wasn't valid. Your heart continued to race, his hands on your leg keeping them in place but still feeling the tremors run through your muscles.

Silence. Silence was all that was present now as he admired the work on your thigh. It was as though he was trying to kill you, give you a heart attack right now.

“Maua, come on. Tell me already.” you spoke, attempting again to pry any information out of the Samoan man sitting in front of you, not speaking and letting emptiness fill the air for the first time in your relationship. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and you felt yourself growing more desperate with each moment that passed by.

Before you could even stutter out your response, you felt his warm lips kiss at the area surrounding your tattoo - not close enough to be painful or cause any issues with the tattoo itself, but close enough to know that he was appreciating it. You felt yourself burn up, covering your lower face with your hand as you watched him plant kiss after kiss along the skin he so deeply enjoyed. You were used to this, but this moment felt different. As though the moment was marinated in passion and appreciation in a completely different way. You didn't know how to take it, and were left quiet as he continued kissing slowly, leaving trails of his DNA across your tender skin.

Maugaloa stopped below your tattoo, and brought his face back from your leg, watching as the tattoo glistened with plasma and ink. It was breath-taking for him, seeing the word ‘Maua’ on you now. He wanted to touch it, feel it's grooves on your skin, but knew he couldn't. And so, he knew he had to finally use his words. Find the right ones to explain his contentment with this commitment.

“It's beautiful…” was all he could find in his arsenal. Usually, a man like Maugaloa would have tons of things to say. But he genuinely was left helpless, his usual wittiness abandoning him in the face of something so genuinely sweet and loving. Even the thought itself was enough for him to appreciate you more, so seeing it in person, in this way, as a surprise was something he couldn't describe as anything more than beautiful. You watched as he didn't face you to compliment you, as though he was embarrassed to admit it out loud and show his weakness in front of you. Something about you always brought him to this point.

One of your hands found themselves in his hair now, rubbing at the roots and playing with the loose strands that were between your fingers. You loved to do this with him, and it was your way of showing you heard him and acknowledged what he said. You were still covering your face though, the compliment seemingly making you feel more hot inside. The cold that infected this spot was long gone, and your body felt as though it was burning up. All because of your partner. As per usual.

“Thank you, I wanted to get something to show you how much you mean to me, you know?” you spoke softly, with his hums of approval encouraging you to continue.

“I'm glad you like it, I even got it done the traditional Samoan way, the way you told me about…” your voice trailed off, realising how vulnerable this made you seem. You couldn't help it though, you wanted him to appreciate and see how far you were willing to go to make him apart of your life, apart of you. How much you appreciate his culture, his identity, his name, and his very being. You felt so much love for him, and the tattoo was the perfect way to show it off to him and anyone else looking there.

His hums of approval continued, as he enjoyed this moment longer than expected. He didn't respond, instead letting the air fill with love and admiration. Maugaloa was usually a man of words, and yet right now, he wanted nothing more but to sit back and enjoy the view left in front of him. You didn't mind, though, and encouraged him all the more as your fingers danced in his hair, petting him as he touched you more and more.

After some time, he finally wrapped it back up, realising that it might not be good for the tattoo to be exposed for such a long time to the air, to him, and to the cold. He wanted to preserve it as perfectly as possible, and would take care of it for you to get the best possible results from the healing process. His fingers lingered on the cling film, before fully concealing the tattoo again, covering up something he desperately, deep down wanted to keep observing and watching. It pained Maugaloa to do this, but it was for the best, and he appreciated being able to see it now rather than never. You enjoyed moments like this with him - it felt as though words could never be enough to describe the loving nature in his actions, his demeaner, his body language. You wanted to be soaked into his gaze, but knew he was looking out for you, keeping your tattoo safe. 

When he had finally finished putting the film back on, moving further back and letting his hands drop to his sides, you pulled your joggers up quickly. The cold hit you again like a brick, making you shiver and feel as though you were never warm to begin with. You steadied your body, made sure you were careful with sitting down next to him, and found your usual spot at his side. Nothing could've prepared you for such an affectionate display of emotions, but you were incredibly thankful for being able to witness it first hand. 

You found your head nestled on his shoulder quickly, the usual way you two would start to cuddle in your secret spot. It was endearing, and you wanted to be as close to him as possible. Warmth radiated from him, and not just with his body heat. You both sat there in silence, enjoying the thoughts running in your mind about the tattoo. Who knew something so simple would leave a usually chatty man mute?

“I bet you cried like a baby getting it though.” he spoke through chuckles, breaking your silence. You weren't going to admit to it, knowing that if you told him it was the most painful thing you've ever paid for, that he'd never let you live it down. Soon enough, the other taunts and jabs rolled in, one by one by one. Maugaloa was back, and you felt nothing but love for the man at your side, playing with your emotions to conceal his own.

[nerdieforpedro]

WIP Wednesday

When is the last time Nerdie did one of these? Technically Sunday, but that was a few days ago, we got new old stuff! 🤗 Nerdie is in her fluff and fantasy era it seems. The water is cool but she's adjusting and could use a rum punch or mojito.

From chapter 6 of Weddings 101 with Dieter that is still in progress:

Hanri knocked on Oscar’s hotel room door, he’d done as his boss asked and felt horrible about it. He was dropping off his boss’ usual order of tequila and three bags of hot Cheetos that he likes to eat in the evening. He had been propositioned by Vanessa and happily agreed to get her in the hotel and a private meeting with Mr. Issac. After getting her in, he left her to it and headed back to his room with his money. Oscar heard the door and called for the young man to bring him his snack.

I have made Oscar Issac into a villain, I'm fine with it. I honestly think the real Oscar would find it hilarious because this 'evil' Oscar does as many random things as Dieter does. He'd have a ball and the blooper reel between the two of them would be insane. This Dieter fic is purely for my amusement. All my fics are, but I write this one when I need a hard laugh. 😂 It has it’s moments but is just ridiculous and I love that, just silly.

Second from part 4 of Our Journey Across the Star Ocean:

Your breastplate was purple, but your pauldrons, vambraces and leg armor were all silver like Din’s. Nodding after assisting you to put them on, The Armorer clapped. “You look ever more like a warrior, dear girl. Djarin should train you further in hand to hand combat, not just with your blaster. Tell him this, yes?” The small gold wrench was moved to the right instead of being on the left where it had been. A circular depression remained on the left side.

I just wanna be sweet with our Mandalorian okay? And also make him very anxious, I may need to do some introspection on that one. 🫡 I’ll also write smut eventually for him again. I just haven’t had the right motivation to do so and none of the words seem right. Bah 😑

Lastly is my untitled Pero x Dragon fic. I've had a few people beta it and I think the first chapter is good, working on the second. Maybe by then it will have a title? And Pero is...well Pero is fine but worse for wear?

The mercenary grinned and licked his bottom lip, “I would say you are the one with base instincts you reptile. Pinning a man like this when speaking of desires only leads to one outcome. Whatever great being you’re supposed to be and not aware of what human men think of when a woman has her legs open in front of him.” Was he really interested? Mildly, he hadn’t been to the brothel for a warm cunt since before this latest job. Pero was trying to unnerve her since she was acting ‘mightier than thou.’ He hated those types, looking down on everyone. She is literally looking down at him though. “You disgusting ingrate. You will not move me Pero.” Pressing the soles of her feet into his forearms, she squinted her eyes. “I am called Calista. You will show proper reverence to a dragon! Should count yourself blessed to even meet me, let alone be essence bonded with me.”

Did I not say that Pero would antagonize an angel, demons, monsters or gods? He would, laugh about it and find a way to kill it and earn more coin. He stays alive, is about his coins and friends, in that order. I figured I would try not only a fantasy fic, but also enemies to lovers? I haven't done that one too much or at least on Tumblr I think. Or maybe on A03 and in my WIPs but those are hidden deep. 🤣

Let me know what you all think. 🥰

NPT: @fhatbhabiee @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @inept-the-magnificent @secretelephanttattoo

@rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @grogusmum @djarinmuse @maggiemayhemnj

@trulybetty @lotusbxtch @604to647 @connectioneverywhere

[coffee-writesthings]

I may or may not have been feeling inspired-- might try to expand it into a proper fic later but this is more of a refined-ish idea dump. A fic of a fic (Taking Running Blind by @thetriggeredhappy and having a similar plot with different main characters. Congrats, your peer pressure worked! :))

Summary: Spy is blinded, and after an earnest attempt to hide it, Engineer and Sniper notice (not crossteam btw, tho that would be another cool angle). They try to help him as best they can. (It's those 3 being shipped together, since I have trio relationships on my mind lately cus i read this rly good book with one in it it's called Iron Widow you should go read it rn)

At the moment it's more like an organized-ish infodump that I might turn into a proper fic at some point

Okay so Spy going blind, I think he would still be able to see light but nothing else. It'd happen because of some sort of injury that Respawn couldn't cover for some reason and that leads to Medic and Engineer getting anxious as all hell about Respawn. Medic would make Engineer take breaks, and it's during these breaks that he is trying to help Spy deal with day-to-day stuff.

I think the first to notice would've been Sniper, honestly. Looking through a scope it's not hard to assume that his sorta-friend is struggling with backstabs for a reason he can't place. What's going on with the Spook?

It gets even more obvious when Spy's knife lands, not into someone's spine, but their shoulder. it still does damage, but it's not a backstab. he's killed immediately by Pyro who was nearby and he's still blind. He thought maybe respawn would fix it but no nothing was fixed. Fuck.

Since he can only perceive light, he has to hide out for the rest of the match, using his Cloak and Dagger to remain alive and make an excuse as to why he wasn't seen on the field. I think he would hide out with Sniper, trying his damndest to not give the game away.

It's in this next half-hour that he starts getting used to how loud everything else is, without the visual clutter to distract him. For some reason he hears the other team's Heavy nearby, and it tips him off that that's actually the other Spy, using a new tactic.

The knife sinks into Sniper's back easily, but he never expected the second spy (our pov spy) to pin him down and start stabbing wildly, finishing him off with a carefully aimed gunshot before returning to the shadows.

Once the match is over, he makes his way back to the base, using the light and large colored arrows he can process as a guide. All of this is under the guise of his cloak, so nobody notices.

Or, at least that was the plan. He manages to fall into the Engineer, knocking both of them over.

"Spy what the hell are you trying to pull?"

"That's not your business." is the lousy attempt at a coverup he gives. If he knew the only way he could tell who he was talking to was by the sound of his voice... that would be bad for him.

"Then get off me, will ya?"

He does so without making eye contact, he couldn't imagine what his eyes looked like at the moment but it couldn't be good (they probs look normal, if the research i've done is correct)

There isn't another battle for two weeks, so during that time he rests up and figures out some very basic echolocation so he can make his way around the base. it's better, in his mind, to look competent than it is to be hidden. So long as nobody can tell he has a problem, that's fine by him.

~~~

Engineer and Sniper get to talking, and find they both think something's up.

"You think his sight's gotten worse?"

"I can only tell ya what I saw mate, and I saw him swinging blindly. You've seen how his stabs usually are, they're point-perfect on that specific spot on everybody's spines! Just doesn't make any sense."

"He did trip over me... Kinda thought it was some short joke but, now that'cha bring it up, it's kinda suspicious."

"He'd never want us to notice."

Engie snorts, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he'd rather die than admit he needs help."

"What do we do then?"

"We help him, whether he admits he needs it or not."

~~~

The first way they try to help him is subtle, reaaaaal subtle. Sniper asks to take him on a walk, holds his hand and tries to talk to him about that day's battle-- he's a bit blunt but he's got the spirit. Spy complains some, but doesn't really say anything substantial. He's actually surprisingly good at not getting off-track (i've been doing things with my eyes closed as an experiment and your steps can legit get wobbly), using sniper's voice as an anchor of sorts

~~~

Engineer takes the next attempt at getting him to open up, just sort of chilling together though. It's a normal thing they do every couple of weeks to de-stress after battles. Today he thought that it would be nice to watch a tv show together, and it's some history thing idk. He describes some of the images to him, which makes Spy feel a mix of thankful and scared about-- Did he notice something? And he confronts Engie on it, asking what's going on?

"It's been both you and Sniper, what do you think happened?"

"There's no think to it. He pointed it out to me-- you botched a buncha backstabs and it looked like somethin' happened.

"This stays between the two of you and me..." he proceeds to explain what he knows about what happened. He does admit that he is, in fact, blind. He explains that he can perceive changes in light but nothing else. "It's... something like closing your eyes, permanently."

Engie is conflicted, having very little of an idea how to care for someone having vision in a state like that. He's especially not sure what to do in terms of telling Medic for instance (since respawn didn't fix it like expected)

~~~

Still though, he tells Sniper about it after staying up all night doing research on like a million specifics about vision loss (causes, treatment, what to do if it can't be fixed, etc etc)

"Huh, so what can we do right now?"

"He's gonna be real concerned about visibility, so honestly our best bet might be teaching him echolocation."

"You're kidding me!" he lets out a wheeze of a laugh, "Spy, echolocating? Yeah right. By the way when was the last time you slept?"

Engineer responds, "uh, yesterday."

Sniper proceeds to herd him into bed like a border collie, doing everything up to and including a brief attempt to pick him up over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Engineer blushes, maybe makes some joke about being a princess

~~~

So anyway they teach Spy how to echolocate (Sniper does, specifically, since he just forced Engineer to get some sleep).

Spy: 'this is a joke, right?"

Sniper: "do you want to do this without help or not? I don't see you being willing to get a white cane" (note: it's super good actually for figuring out ur surroundings and materials, i didn't think it would be as good as it looks but the way it works sounds really damn useful)

Over the next hour or so they do echolocation together, starting with simpler sets of noises (snapping, clicking of tongue, things like that) and then just walking and talking around the base. After a little bit, Spy is able to get a general idea (hehe i misstyped that at first to be gender. Spy is certainly able to get a gender alright) a general idea of the layout of the base. He can't really figure out the rooms without touch and counting the individual doors, and stairs are his worst enemy, but he can do the base mostly.

~~~

The next day is a CTF battle (completely spontaneous for some unknown reason) and Spy hangs out with the intel with Engineer (yknow what fuck it i'm being fancy this isn't 2fort it's Landfall, the foresty one), hoping that the administrator will just think he's having a bad day. They chat while Engie builds and tinkers, about all manner of things. Probably more about what Engie found and remembered in his research.

~~~

Anyway I've been sitting on this a few days, felt like sharing a collection of vibes which may someday be expanded. Btw writing this actually inspired me to take a different direction in an original work lol, I might try to share some of that in the future when I have proper snippets to share

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xviii)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: general angst, brief allusion to ed, imbibed john paul jones

a/n:  shoutout to the anon who has said wf reminds them of lady chatterly i'm sorry i've never responded to you

pt. xviii, nightshade

“I think I want to. I think I’m ready to get back at it.”

The sound of keys jangling, scraping into the lock. Skkrrt…skrr…thnk…thnk…

Then his cursing. “Bloody hell.”

I made my way from the stairs to the door; the front hall was lit sparely by a candelabra wall sconce, casting eerie shadows on the dark wood paneling.

It was late. And he’d told me not to wait up, but I couldn’t stand to be in bed alone. I’d become so accustomed to his body next to mine, his warmth and weight always just a brush away.

More keys jangling. Mumbling. Another key shoved into the lock, angry and wrong.

Truthfully, I’d been anxious since John told me he’d be going to Plumpton for the evening. It was a last minute thing, a phone call that morning from Peter or Jimmy. Never clear which. The girls and I were already sitting around the breakfast table, his space auspiciously empty.

“Where’s Daddy?” Kiera asked.

“Yes, Julia, where’s John?” Annie followed up, vaguely scathing.

I glared at her. Ever since Annie came back, nighttime was the only time John and me could safely spend together without fear of her critical eye. No more playing house or stolen kisses while the girls’ backs were turned.

For all of John’s attempts at smoothing things over after Annie walked in on us, she remained relatively cool, at least to me. Our conversations always had a tense undercurrent. We could be near to enjoying ourselves when Annie would suddenly remember my indiscretions and freeze up on me.

Or she’d just be plain rude.

“Girls, you start eating. I’ll go check on your father,” I said as I got up from my spot at the table.

“Yes, who knows how long it might take Julia to…do whatever she does,” Annie added.

I turned to her sharply. “Do you mind?”

She didn’t look up from scrubbing a pan in the sink. “Pardon?”

“Do you mind holding back your commentary, Anna?”

Annie smiled at me saccharinely. “No, don’t mind at all.”

I rolled my eyes, but as soon as I turned to go, John swept in through the door, nearly walking right into me. “Oh!”

“Ah!” John exclaimed.

The girls giggled as we slapsticked around each other like the Three Stooges. That was our new default. Being terrified to accidentally touch in front of anyone.

“I was just coming to get you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” John went to his seat at the table, giving each of the girls an affectionate kiss. “Was caught up with a phone call. Hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“My eggs are cold and my juice is hot,” Tamara said with a dramatic sigh.

“Good thing today is a topsy-turvy kind of day,” John replied.

I sat back down. “What kind of phone call?”

John’s eyes shot up to mine. “Uhm. Business.”

I pursed my lips. This was a question I would not have asked when I was only his employee. As we’d gotten closer, I felt more entitled to know about his life. Follow-up questions, though, were for a wife. Not a…whatever I was.

It turned out, though, his caginess was not because I asked.

“I have to go out to Plumpton tonight,” John said to Annie and me after sending the girls to the playroom, the three of us sitting around the table over coffee and cigarettes.

“Whatever for?” Annie asked.

He sighed in resignation. “Peter’s insistent it’s just a ‘friendly get-together’. You know the boys, their wives. To which I said I couldn’t possibly be there. But then he pushed and pushed and it became clear quite quickly that this was much more of a…professional engagement.”

Annie poured him another cup of coffee. “You think it’s the same old song and dance, then?” 

“Naturally.” John sipped his cup. “And you know when Peter wants something, he can be very persuasive.”

“That’s a generous description,” I said.

John hid a smile. “Anyway, I won’t be at dinner tonight.”

“Well, we’ll be just fine. As always.” I wanted to reach out and squeeze his wrist, but with Annie’s eyes on us, everything was off-limits.

John sighed. “Not worried about you. Worried about me. They’ll all be their with their wives and they’ll have me cornered into conversation after conversation. Trying to convince me of something we have to do to stay relevant. They convinced me to do the bloody film, they convinced me of the label, and now all that’s left is an album. And that's Pandora's box.”

“You just tell them no as you always have. Simple,” Annie said. Then, she looked between the two of us. “Or you take Julia.”

“What?” I scoffed.

“Well, if he’s worried about being the center of attention, you could completely distract them, couldn’t you?”

Neither John or I spoke.

“Oh. I forgot,” Annie replied drolly. “You’re just friends. ‘Scuse me.” She got up from the table and went to get started on laundry.

John took a long drag on his cigarette. “Well. She’s in fine form isn’t she?”

My mouth was hot. I waited a moment longer, hoping he would ask me to join him. But that’s not what this relationship was. Just friends in the daylight, just lovers in the night. No in between, not since Annie came back. I was getting tired of this light switch flipping off and on. “You’ll be alright tonight?”

John smiled at me. “You worried about me?”

“Hasn’t that been painfully obvious for a while now?”

John eyed me through the smoke of his cigarette. “Aren’t you sweet?”

I blushed.

John stamped out his ciagarette, got up out of his chair, and poured the rest of his coffee into the sink. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before. And besides –” He crossed to the kitchen door and gave me one last look. “I’ve got a trump card over Jimmy if I need to use it.”

“You wouldn’t say anything.” It was a fact. He wouldn’t.

John shrugged. “No. But if anyone’s giving me any guff, I can just imagine you with your knickers ‘round your ankles and that’ll be quite a pleasant distraction.”

My jaw dropped but I had no time to respond before John slipped out of the kitchen to the studio.

We’d been about this affair a little over a month now. And it was honestly getting a bit stale. The flirtatious comments and stolen kisses held less excitement. I was starting to wonder if and when things would change between us, hopefully for the more permanent. However, there wasn’t a lot of time to consider any changes between us when things were so busy. I was preparing the girls for back to school the first week of September and John was attending to business matters more frequently. He was also more “inspired” than he had been in a while. That’s the word he used: inspired. Inspiration often struck at night. Sometimes, he’d let me join him in the studio while he tinkered around. Other times, I’d leave him alone and awaken to him slipping into bed with me. Always in my bed, never in the master.

That night, I hadn’t settled since John had left even though the girls were in good spirits over a dinner of macaroni cheese and a jaunt into town for a sweet treat. I was distracted by thoughts of John at Plumpton. Was anyone asking after me? After everything at Montreux and the way I’d left things with Pat, certainly she’d be inquiring. But men weren’t quite like that. They asked after wives and children, not lovers. Or nannies.

Despite him saying not to wait up for him, I waited with a copy of Lady Chatterly’s Lover in my lap going unread.

Every sound of the creaking house had me going to the door to listen and see if it was his keys or his car.

Hour after hour passed. I felt for sure he would call if he were to stay over. Or maybe he wouldn’t to avoid suspicion.

But then I heard it. The jangling, the cursing, the wrong key in the lock.

I opened the door, revealing John. He fumbled forward and grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. His ring of keys rattled against the door. “Julia! You’re up.”

John’s eyes were wobbly. “Don’t tell me you drove drunk,” I said.

“Not drunk, just a little –” He paused, looking down and swallowing back the slurring cadence of his voice. “Tipsy. Only a little.”

“John…you could have gotten yourself killed.”

John took a step forward and stumbled right into my arms, clinging to my shoulders. “Oh, come now, Julia. It’s just a half hour drive.” He kissed me. I tasted fermented grapes on his lips. “Mm. I’ve missed you.”

I couldn’t help but swoon “It’s only been a few hours.”

“A few is too many hours. Especially when everyone was asking about you.”

Oh, how my heart soared to not be too far from his mind. “Well, I missed you too.”

John smiled, leaning in for another kiss. “Pat wanted to know why you haven’t called.” His breath was hot and stale smelling.

I pulled back. “Your breath is –”

 “Peter wanted to know why you hadn’t come along.”

I dodged his mouth again. “John…”

“And Jimmy asked as innocently as he could how you were doing.”

I laughed. “Cheeky bastard.”

“And I realized I had no idea how to answer that question because I haven’t asked you that in some time.”

I stopped, furrowing my brow in bewilderment. John took advantage of my pause and softly kissed me.

“How are you, Julia?”

“Ehm. Fine.”

John pouted out his lower lip. “Just fine?”

“Is that not a good enough answer?”

John raked his hand through my hair, scratching my scalp. “I want you to be more than fine.”

I leaned my head into his hand. In the night, with him, when nothing was off-limits, I felt more than fine. My questions were starting to outpace my enjoyment.

John went in for another kiss.

“Easy,” I giggled, catching his kiss on my cheek. “I wish you would have stayed the night there than risk driving in this state, John.”

“Even if you had to sleep alone?”

“Even if I had to sleep alone. Yes. Now, let’s get this coat off, hm?”

John wriggled his arms, the sleeves sloughing down his arms. “Goddammit.” He started spinning around, trying to get them off.

“Hold still, I’ll get it,” I giggled.

I followed him around in a circle like he was a toddler until I managed to snag the collar and yank the coat off. “Ough, thank you. Thought I was trapped. Like one of those, uh…” He pointed his fingers together in front of him. “Those finger traps, you know?”

“Goodness, how much have you had? Or what have you had?”

John put his hands on my shoulders, intense concentration folding his brow.

“What is it?”

He took a breath as if to say something important. “I’m very hungry.”

I patted his stomach. “Poor thing. Didn’t you all have anything to eat there?”

“No, Jimmy never has anything. I’m not sure he even has any food in the house let alone for guests.”

“So that’s why you’re so tipsy.”

John rolled his eyes in thought. “Mmmwell, I did have a couple of mints from Pat’s purse.” 

I laughed. “Alright. I’ll make you something. Let’s get your shoes off first.”

John tripped past me to the hall bench, landing with a thud on his backside. “Oof.”

I finagled his keys out of the lock and shut the door quietly. The girls had been asleep for several hours and I didn’t want them waking up and asking questions.

“I’ve only had some wine and grass, by the way,” John sighed, leaning forward to undo the laces on his loafers.

“Really? That’s it? I’d hate to see what literally anything else does to you.”

“Out of practice.”

I scoffed at the idea of drugs and alcohol being considered a practice. “Here, let me help.” I knelt to the ground.

“I can undo my shoes, Julia.”

“You can, but you’re being awfully slow about it.” I waved his hands away. “Let me.”

I liked to make myself useful to him in any small way. It was the best way I knew how to show my affection and perhaps lead him to be unable to picture a life without me. I was a woman so perfect, I’d get on my knees just to take off his shoes.

Clearly, I was getting desperate.

“So tell me. How was it?”

John didn’t reply. His breath was heavy, thick with drink. I could feel his eyes watching me. Waiting for something.

I tapped his calf. “Off.”

He pulled his foot out of the shoe and twiddled his toes in the sock.

“Was it what you thought it was?” I asked.

“Hm?”

“Were they trying to get you to start back on the album?”

“Oh, yes, yes. Yes, they were.”

I undid his other shoe and started to pull at it.

“I think I want to.”

I froze. Certainly I must have misheard him. But when our eyes met, I knew I hadn’t.

“I think I’m ready to get back at it.”

I opened my mouth to respond. All that came out was a sound of hesitation.

“It all sounds rather exciting again. I haven't felt that in a while. But knowing you’re here with the girls, I didn't feel quite as worried. And I’m feeling more –”

“Inspired, yes.”

John smiled in such a way that broke my heart. Like a young boy asking his mother if she was proud of him. He wanted my approval.

If I had been more to him, I might have felt compelled to tell him what I really thought. That the girls weren’t ready. That I wasn’t ready.

But I was only the nanny. What he said was gospel. 

“What do you think?”

I swallowed back my concerns and placed my hands on his thighs, getting up on my knees. “It’s wonderful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’m thrilled for you. I’m sure everyone is…just so thrilled.”

John wrapped my face in his hands and kissed me. “You’re my angel. I would never have felt ready without you.”

“Nonsense.”

“No, really, Julia. Really, really. I…” John was losing cogency by the moment, brain saddled with drink. “I never thought I’d be ready again, but...I just think it’s time. I really do.” The more he spoke, the more assured he was.

“When will you leave?” The word leave stuck in my throat.

“I’ll stick around for the girl’s first day of school and then be off.”

That was barely a week away. “How long?”

“Well, as long as we need. Probably the month. But it’s a short drive. I can visit.”

A month. When the girls were just starting school, Kiera her very first year.

And we…

I had no right to “we”. That was clear now.

I took his hand and squeezed it. “You said you’re hungry. I’ll make you something. What do you want?”

“I’ll eat anything. I’m ravenous.”

I got to my feet, but John did not let go of me. He pulled me down into his lap and buried his face in my neck.

“I’ll have you if you like,” he murmured.

My stomach turned. There was nothing I wanted less at that moment than for him to whisper lewd things in my ear. I squirmed in his arms. “I’m on the rag, John.”

“Mmwhat’s that matter?”

“I’m tired.”

“You won’t have to do anything.”

“I’ve got cramps.”

“It’ll help.”

I finally made it out of his arms and started down toward the kitchen. “Come on and be quiet about it.”

John laid off once we made it into the kitchen and he remembered his empty stomach. He was indeed ravenous, scarfing down a sandwich and babbling on about various events of the night with no regard to chronology or clarity. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t listening. Everything was about to change even more than it already had. And that was all I could focus on.

The next morning, after a fitful night of sleep made even worse by John’s liquor laden snoring, with the girls gathered around the breakfast table and Annie listening as she cleaned, John delivered the news.

“It will only be a few weeks. And I’ll come home as often as I can. And Julia and Annie will be here, of course.”

The girls all looked to me. Their eyes pleaded with me to say something, anything that would validate the way their stomachs had just dropped.

I have regrets in life. For a person to say they haven’t got them is a lie. And sitting at that table with a smile plastered on my face instead of speaking to their fear is one of many regrets I have.

“How does that sound?” John finished with an eager smile.

Tamara spoke, holding her head high, “Good.” She would lead in her appeasing, eldest child way.

“We’ll have a lot of fun,” I said and reached for Jacinda’s hand that was clenching her fork. She looked at me warily. I squeezed harder. “And we’ll talk to your father every day on the phone.”

“Yes, absolutely,” John added. “We’ll have lots of chats and you can tell me everything.”

The girls were silent. They’d been here before. Old hat. Better at this than me.

“And there’s plenty of time before I leave to spend time together. We can do whatever you’d like. Whatever at all.”

“Anything?” Kiera asked. She did not have the skill of conceptualizing the true feeling of John's absence. She would be the hardest to care for.

“Sky is the limit,” John replied. “We’ll start today. Tell me, what would you like to do?”

I couldn’t sit there any longer with my irritated grin. I excused myself from the conversation, saying I needed to use the bathroom. But the moment I left the kitchen, tears filled my eyes.

He couldn’t leave. He shouldn’t. Not when things were so unsure.  

I stumbled to sit at the bottom of the stairs and tried to steady my breathing. A tear rolled down my cheek. I smacked at it like it was a fly. One tear became two, became a deluge. I buried my face in my lap to muffle any sound of my sobs.

Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Familiar, yet nowadays so rare. Annie.

She guided me into her arms and held me against her bosom. I wrapped myself around her as if she was my very own mother as she stroked my hair.

“Oh, poor heart…” she murmured. “He’ll be back for you. I promise you that.”

I lifted my head from her lap, finding her foggy gray eyes. Annie cupped my cheek in her hand.

The next thing she said, I’ll never forget.

“But you have to be careful, Julia. This is his life. This will always be his life. The coming and the going. Do you think you can handle that?”

My head knew the answer was “no”. However, my heart was not willing to let him go. Not when we had just begun.

“I can. I can.”

Annie's brow pinched together only momentarily, but enough to let me know she didn't believe me. But instead of carrying on another moment, she kissed my forehead. “Of course, you can.”

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @edal-weis, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @rebel-without-a-zeppelin, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @thepinklovewitch, @babyl222, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @t4ngerinedr3am, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @matty-heally, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54 (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Life Eternal (chapter 2)

This is an HOTD fanfic based off *another* fanfic, Second Sons by @avengingangelfanfic

Read the beginning here: Chapter 1

Rating: T for language, mentions of violence, alcohol consumption, mentions of arranged marriage (nothing else I think warrants a legit warning other that my writing is corny af. Like, I'm not being self-deprecating here. You might roll your eyes right out of your head lmaoooo)

Word count: 2900

Author's Note: Yes, I shoehorned even more videogame references in this one..... One of the names Jacaerys is called I pulled from Fallout: New Vegas and Catelyn's previously unnamed dragon is also from Skyrim, like her brother's.

Disclaimer: The events in this fic are NOT canon to the canon events of AvengingAngel's story! It was just an idea bouncing around and I asked for permission, which was graciously given (thank youuuu), to put it in words. Gif credits for any gifs used will be in the images themselves. With that in mind, thank you for reading.

Faceclaims:

Daemon Targaryen- Aemond as portrayed by Ewan Mitchell, except without the missing eye and his hair in a single ponytail

Royce Baratheon- King Edward from The Last Kingdom, as portrayed by Timothy Innes

Alphonse Baratheon- Osferth from The Last Kingdom, as portrayed by Ewan Mitchell

Catelyn Baratheon- Gemma Ward, circa 2023

King Jacaerys Targaryen- Aragorn as portrayed by Viggo Mortensen (Just imagine him with slightly grayer hair after the timeskip in this chapter lmao)

Daenerys Targaryen, granddaughter of Jacaerys- Marienne Bellamy as portrayed by Tati Gabrielle in season 4 of You (She literally has the perfect hair for this imo)

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

18 YEARS AGO…

The dragon pit buzzed with the huge crowd, everyone gathered to hear the new King speak on what the next step would be. War, surely. 

Jacaerys felt like a boy of fifteen again, his fear causing a bitter taste in his mouth, making his chest thump with anxiety.  His face remained blank, but inside, he was screaming and scared.  How pathetic, he thought.  He was King now and he was afraid, so very afraid.  

It had been a fortnight since the loss of his mother and Daemon.  Since his entire world had collapsed and the Crown Prince had made way for the King he apparently now was.  Days of investigating and hearing all of King’s Landing grow more rage filled by the hour.  Only five days since the funeral.  King Wait-and-see, they had begun calling him.  Others whispered the cruel moniker “King Craven”.  Or so he had heard.  The people were angry, that much he was certain of (Mostly due to the fact that no news had yet been relayed as to what the Crown planned on doing to avenge Queen Rhaenyra and her Lord Hand’s deaths), but Jacaerys wondered…how angry were they with him?  A truly distraught son would be chomping at the bit for revenge, he thought bitterly.  Instead of lingering about, doing what felt like nothing. 

It was his queen who soothed him, quelling his dragon fire.  Baela reassured him that only a few loud voices were the ones branding him with disrespectful names, that the majority of the smallfolk supported their new ruler and were just anxious for an answer concerning what was to come.

Well, they would have their answer now, Jacaerys thought.  

Still, he hesitated.  

Would they really fight for him?  Would they love him as much as his mother and Daemon?  He felt such a heavy weight in his heart despite Baela’s fiercely reiterated beliefs over these last few days that the people of Westeros would follow their King to the seven hells, if need be. “I certainly would.” She had said, clenching his face and holding his gaze with those blazing eyes he loved oh so dearly.

 The crowd continued their murmuring.  Jacaerys let himself gaze over them for a moment.  His mother always seemed to know just what to say, what to do, in any situation.  How could he possibly measure up to her?  To Daemon?  More than anything, he wished he could ask them for advice, but they were no longer here to give it.  

Aemond, newly made Hand of the King, along with the rest of the Targaryens, stayed behind at the Red Keep and conferred with the war council, seeing to it that Jacaery’s orders were followed.  Only Baela came with Jacaerys to the dragon pit.

It helped his crippling feelings of inadequacy, to have her here with him.  No other could possibly know, could see him as the terrified man he currently was.  Especially not his own son, Aemon, now first in line for the throne.

Raising a hand to silence the crowd, King Jacaerys Targaryen stood for a few minutes until the murmuring and whispers died down to nothing.  Then he spoke.

---------- STORM'S END, PRESENT DAY----------

Every member of the royal family was making their way to the Red Keep for the nameday celebrations of Aegon the Elder’s twins. Daenerys, Aemon’s daughter by his sister-wife Daella, had stopped by Storm’s End the first week Daemon had been there (she was returning from Dorne).  In that week, dinners had been full of laughter and jokes. 

Daemon felt lighter and happier than he had in months.

“Your mother cheated whenever she trained with your father.” Daenerys had told him over dinner one night.

“No!” Daemon cried.  He was just recovering from laughing at the story of everyone spying on Aemond while he asked for Lyanna’s hand.  “What happened to the ‘ absolute paragon of honor’ that I kept reading about in every damned history?!”

“Your mother was as honorable as they come, but the cheating in the training yard?” Royce said, ever so slightly drunk. “Oh, she resorted to that every chance she got.  I would too, to be honest BUT she was an honorable lady, I promise you!”

“Hmm, certainly wasn’t very honorable of her to toss a book at our Lord of Driftmark and give him a black eye.” Daenerys added, slicing into her lamb. Royce spit his wine laughing.

“WHAT?!” Daemon cried.

“Grandsire told me.  When Lyanna carried your sister Catelyn, she was rather quick to burn.” Daenerys said with a sly grin.  “Oh, our Aemond had to take her dagger and sword away.” 

“Whatever happened to that dagger?” Daemon asked.  He silently pondered for a moment, the boisterous humor in the atmosphere having been immediately replaced with a relaxed nature as desserts were brought to the table.  No one was uncomfortable at this.  They were family, after all.  

“Alphonse has it.” Daenerys looked to Daemon.

Daemon was frozen. No…Alphonse would have told him so!  Wouldn’t he? Then again, he had never thought to ask of it himself.  How could he fault his nephew for his own inaction? 

Daenerys continued “Of course, if grandsire had not decreed to leave you alone  concerning stories of your parents, I’m sure he would have told you.  Alphonse is the type to have informed you the moment he himself knew.”

Oh…oh, of course.  The decree. 

“If you will both excuse me, I think the ale did not agree with me.  I will retire for the night.  Daella, will you join us hunting pheasant tomorrow?” Royce said, swaying as he stood but still somehow in possession of enough of his faculties to speak coherently. 

“I am Daenerys, my lord.” came the response, with a chuckle. 

“Oh!  So you are.  My apologies!” Royce burped and quickly begged their pardons.  An attendant hurried to his side to escort him to his chambers.

“Unfortunately, though, I must away to King’s Landing tomorrow.” Daenerys said, as Royce was led away.  “Pressing matters to do with my works in Dorne.  I fear my horse might run away without me if I stay longer, she is not fond of storms.”

“Oh, very well!” Royce called from down the hall he was led in.  “I shall see you at the nameday hunt in a few weeks time!  Daemon, I shall see you tomorrow!”

“You knew all this time, that Alphonse had my mother’s dagger?!” Daemon accused, once Royce had gone. “Why on earth would he tell you about it?  It doesn’t seem like information that is of much use to you.”  Annoyed, he jabbed at his slice of sweet cake.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow.  “Why are you irritated with me?  I’m not the one in possession of it!” 

The dagger was not the main issue, Daemon thought.  The fact that Daenerys knew his nephew had it…not many knew that, he was sure. Why in the seven hells would a dagger, even one belonging to his mother, be a regular topic of conversation? A great deal of time would have to be spent together for the subject to even come up casually.  And why had she come to Storm’s End before King’s Landing? She did not answer to orders from Lord Royce and she was not particularly close to him.  Nor had she known Daemon would be there…

Daemon rolled his eyes and continued to eat his cake.  The two Targaryens slipped into a comfortable silence but Daemon’s mind was restless.  He had learned so much of his parents these past few days.  Their courtship made him want to tear his hair out.  How could they not have seen it for so long?  It was maddening…and somehow, it was happening again. 

Alphonse and Daenerys pined for each other.  He was sure of it. Yet, both refused to give voice to their desires and become officially betrothed.

 Before, Daemon had been content to leave them be, confident that they would eventually sort it out themselves.  He had confronted Alphonse about it several times long ago and each time his nephew had insisted he would resolve the issue himself.

 Daemon had never confronted Dany about it, he’d sooner fight his dragon naked.  Others did not know who the object of Alphonse’s affection was and simply took this to mean Alphonse was nervous around maidens.  

“Do you…are you fond of men?” Daemon had asked him once, before he understood the situation.  Alphonse had buried his face in his hands. 

“No!  If I were, I am certain I would not have the issue I do now.”

And so Daemon had listened as Alphonse poured out his heart, lamenting the fact that Daenerys would never be with him because she had vowed she would never marry again after the death of her husband.

Daemon contemplated his plan of attack on the matter as Dany excused herself from the table to go to sleep.  

Everyone was approaching this all wrong, he thought.  They were hounding Alphonse to find a bride but since no one but they three knew he was in love with Daenerys, none of them had even approached her to make a move.  It was clear what the solution was: the prospective bride herself would have to ask for the hand of Alphonse Baratheon.  Propriety be damned. 

Daemon made the decision then: when he would leave in a few weeks, he was determined to go straight to Daenerys and inform her that she must ask his nephew to marry her. To do so here in his good brother’s home, Alphonse’s own father,  would be terrible manners.  They’d already be stomping on tradition enough as it was, no need to add to it.   He suspected Catelyn would foam at the mouth with rage that her son wasn’t the one doing the asking, but that did not matter.  What mattered was love.  Real, true love.  Like the one his parents had shared. No one, not kings or lords or ladies or thousands of years of precedence, should stand in the way of that. 

----------KING'S LANDING, ONE MONTH LATER----------

The mostly empty dragonpit upper chamber echoed with the rumbles of Caraxes and Alduin, Catelyn’s fearsome jet black dragon, stomping off to the caverns below. 

Jacaerys stood a ways near the entrance doors, smiling at his cousins’ arrival. 

It had been a month since Daemon had gone to Storm’s End.  He would return in time for Jahaerys and Jahaera’s nameday celebration in one week, Catelyn and Alphonse choosing to go directly to King’s Landing to save themselves a trip and to deliver results of their negotiations in Braavos. 

“Your Grace!  I am famished for a genuine Westerosi lemon cake!” Catelyn declared, marching over, already undoing her braid.  Alphonse followed beside her, laughing.  “Our Braavosi allies, seven help them, do not have the slightest clue as to the proper ratio of sweetness to tanginess that a well made lemon cake should have,” Catelyn complained. “I almost fumbled our trade deals, having to suffer eating such bland pastries.” 

“I appreciate what you have endured to gain good prices for our people, cousin.” Jacaerys joked, accepting Alphonse into a hug and then Catelyn.  “Aegon will certainly appreciate it, I know.  He is having the time of his life, planning this upcoming hunt.  Claims it will rival the one for his second nameday!”

“How would he know how lavish it was?” Alphonse asked.

“I certainly don’t remember my own second nameday.  Perhaps he should plan my wedding, when I have it.  Please ask him for me, cousin.” The three made their way out of the large building, guards waiting outside with an open, topless carriage.

“Firstly, records of such events exist. Secondly, Aegon is like to have an apoplexy if Jacaerys asks that of him.” Catelyn said, climbing in first with the help of a guard.  “Being Master of Revels here is his true calling. Far too many Lords and Ladies to host for him to go gallivanting off elsewhere to plan a wedding.”

“Mother, you only say that because you have had my wedding planned since the day I was born and do not wish to be usurped from further preparations.” Alphonse grumbled.

“Hmm..” Jacaerys looked to the skies, Catelyn and Alphonse stopping their bickering for a moment, looking in the same direction.  A swift, vibrant white dragon was flying towards the open nesting grounds a little ways south of the city.  Daemon had come. 

Jacaerys climbed into the wagon next, sitting in front of Catelyn.

“Has he written?” Alphonse asked, finally climbing in last and seating himself next to his mother, looking to Jacaerys as the wagon began to move.  Guards on horses flanked both sides, trotting in pace with it.  Catelyn continued to look at Parthurnaax fading into the distance.  

“Not one raven, but Lord Royce has. He assures me the talks were pleasant..mostly.  Daemon was eager to know many things.  They went for a great many walks and had countless dinners running late into the night.”

“No doubt Royce will follow soon after on horseback.” Catelyn said, giving a small wave and smile to the people.  Many had now noticed the wagon containing the King driving by.  “My husband never was fond of traveling on dragonback.  The war was the only time he mounted Alduin with me.  I fear it may have ruined his experience with flying.”

Jacaerys nodded with a smile.  He knew Catelyn was avoiding it, talking of Daemon and the questions he would have of Aemond and Lyanna for all of them when he got to the keep.  No matter.  He would not force things.

“Now father is coming, perhaps you and him can see to the matter of arranging a marriage for me at-” Alphonse began, before abruptly being cut off by Catelyn.  She held up a stiff finger in his face. Her own parents had been a love match and she was determined that each of her boys would have the same fate. Her youngest, Orys, had already married.  Her other two sons were currently courting twin daughters in Dorne, grandchildren of Prince Doran.

“You are four and twenty. You will find your bride to be on your own.  How can you expect to be Lord of Storm’s End one day if you cannot even do this?” Catelyn scolded. “If we choose one for you, she might be the wrong fit.  The Stormlands would suffer if their Lord is too busy preoccupied with the conflict of a sour marriage.  No, you will do this yourself, Alphonse.”

“Mother, but I need-”

“Alphonse, Orys chose Margaery Tyrell himself, despite other maidens flocking around him.  I suspect he will become a father before the year is out.  You will make your own match. This matter is closed.”

“But Aemon had his marriage arranged! So did Lady Rhaena with Lord Lucerys! I don’t see why-”

“I do believe the Lady has spoken, Alphonse.” Jacaerys said, in a now stern tone. Alphonse looked to him pleadingly.  

“Cousin, please.  You could-”

 “Each Lord’s and Lady’s habits are their own.” Jacaerys said, cutting him off.  “I trust each of them to run my kingdom well and I will not interfere unless it is to avert disaster or right egregious wrongs, as is my duty.  You being too nervous to approach a prospective future wife hardly qualifies as a matter that needs my attention.” Jacaerys shrugged and waved to the smallfolk lining the streets. “Especially when you have three brothers who could take up the mantle of Lord…should you fail in your responsibilities to marry and sire heirs.” 

That final admonishment had its effect and Alphonse nodded in a defeated manner.  Jacaerys acknowledged his response, continuing his waves to the people of King’s Landing.

It never ended, this guiding of the younger generation, Jacaerys thought.   At 15, he could barely make his own brothers behave. Much yelling had been used at the time.  Now at 60, he seldom saw the need to raise his voice in court or around family. He corralled and kept his loved ones in line with such an ease he was sure his late stepfather would have been impressed.

As the wagon slowed coming into the Red Keep, Catelyn hopped off immediately, irritated.  Jacaerys bade Alphonse to stay a moment. “You are a handsome man, able with the sword and skilled with the bow.” He began in a low voice, only for them two. “You ride Caraxes.  You are kind and quick to make a joke.  Whatever could you possibly think is counting against you in finding a bride?” he asked, a hand on Alphonse’s shoulder. 

Alphonse mumbled something Jacaerys couldn’t quite hear. 

“Come again?” 

“...I said…the fact she does not wish to marry, for one…” Alphonse managed to say, barely loud enough to hear.  He was still looking anywhere but in the eyes of his King.  

Jacaerys paled.  Alphonse could only be speaking of one person.  His only granddaughter by Aemon, Daenerys…the complete opposite of her namesake in attitude, who declared every chance she could get that she would never marry again, no one would make her. Already widowed at eight and twenty, with no dragon and no children…Gods be good…

“Oh, does he know now?” came the voice from the gates.  Jacaerys and Alphonse snapped to attention of the speaker.  There stood Daemon Targaryen, windswept and grinning ear to ear.  

“Uncle!” Alphonse cried, leaping from the wagon.  Jacaerys smiled at the two reuniting, still in quite a shock at the recent development. Why on earth Alphonse thought springing a betrothal on Daenerys through him would work…It was beyond all sense…

The upcoming hunt was sure to be interesting.

CHAPTER 3

[rasp-passion-tea]

A small (big) update/catch-up post for anyone curious on where I've been and where I'll be:

*rides in on a skateboard with sunglasses and a mocktail in hand* yo

The past couple of years, I've been pretty M.I.A. I'd feel bad if I'd have any remaining folks who cared about me are left in the dark (as much as that anxious part of me will try to convince myself otherwise, I did build genuine connections on here 🥰). There also just might happen to be old inactive friends of mine who might randomly wonder where that random raspberry girl on tumblr ended up only to come back to see that she might've disappeared,,, or been sold on the dark web 🧐. There could also be any eventual new people to our small community to wonder that. So y’know what 🤔 I'll keep a little post up top so people can know (also, it'd be nice to give a speech once more to my imaginary audience c:)

With that said, I'll ramble about sum up under the cut:

So, where ya been, Rasp?

Well, to start things off, I'm doing really good :D looking back, I might've given people the vibe I was majorly depressed and that might've woried some people 🥲 it was never anything major, but I was still dealing with some teenage girl stuff, and this blog and ship and the fanbase I joined because of it became my mini safe spot. Simply put, I didn't have any sources to be able to properly word that to. I have that now and feel much more grounded and capable, and that's all I could've wanted years ago :)

You might've already guessed, but I've been busy lately, with adult stuff specifically. Yup, the fandoms resident little sister is grown now. She's working!! And she's in college!!! Wow!!1! I HAVE BASICALLY NO MORE FREE TIME!!!!!!!11! :DDD That, and a bunch of other reasons have made it harder to focus on one thing at a time, which is why I've been pretty scarce on this app, and online on general.

Soooo how ya been then, Rasp?

Uhhh... good question. Fine, I suppose 😗 kinda just existing right now. I have a feeling a lot of that has to do with me being unmediacted at the moment, so I haven't been able to do a lot of the things I love the past few years. Sooo... if you're wondering why I never posted those fics I teased in the past, that's why 🥲 I have a feeling I will one day, though. Just a matter of time. Speaking of, let's go into my last point:

Does that mean you're abandoning this account, Rasp?? ☹️

Mmm not quite. I've been popping in every couple of months, and I might keep doing that. But I definitely won't be as active as I used to. Couple reasons:

I mentioned a lot of reasons why, but I've been. Very busy 🥲 being online hasn't been at the forefront of my mind lately, so I've decided to not stress about it right now. Like I mentioned before, I'd like to come back to all this one day, but that's not now. Speaking of:

As much as I feel bad saying this, once the show ended, the ship and its fandom got really quiet. For me that makes it harder to participate in things if there's not a large community. I've joined other fandoms cuz of that, but not like this one... this fandom was special...... *looks off into the distance*

Bonus reason that ties into the last one: a lot of my friends are inactive with me not having any way to reach out, and that makes meeee very sadddd 😔 So if anyone I've met happens to see this:

...heyyy 🤪 I hope you got something out of this post,,,, like I said before, I'm unmedicated and have been very scatterbrained recently, but I tried to make this as cohesive as possible 😭 guess to end this off I'll link some other socials:

My side blog: rasp-passion-two

(Also pretty inactive on there, but if you wanna see what I've been into lately, that's the spot (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I'm pretty sure I never ended up sharing it fsr lol)

My discord: rasp-passion tea#5877

(I'm not active in servers anymore cuz I think I grew out of using discord, but if you wanna chat? Let's chat (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ we could also do it on here but vsiwjsisvqisgwu)

...that's it lol. I think I'm kind of an enigma on here now, but thats alright. Uhhhh not sure how to "close" this off, so I guess I'll just say: if you read this whole thing?

🤍🖤🩶

^me rn

I'll see you all when I see you, but I'll always be here!!

~Tayah, AKA Rasp (and yes, it's pronounced "Razz" 😤👋🏽)

[isabellafoster13]

This was requested on Wattpad by Bellaboo097023.

Okay, MinLu has grown on me quite a lot. I used to not be much of a fan, but as time went on and I ran out of fics about the ships that mainly liked, I decided to give it a chance. I'm honestly surprised at how few MinLu fics there are. From what I have seen, there are more Jackal x Lucy fics than there are Minerva x Lucy fics. Moving on from that, though, MinLu isn't too bad, honestly. I haven't made my love of the Hero x Villain/Reformed Villain trope a secret. I LOVE it. So, the fact that MinLu has really grown on me shouldn't be very surprising. I think that they look great, so I really like them together. 

I hope you enjoy!

Falling in Love with an Old Enemy (Minerva x Lucy ft. Natsu)

Lucy and Minerva made their way to Fairy Tail, hand-in-hand. Blonde looked at her girlfriend with a smile, stopping when she saw that she was visibly nervous. Lucy turned to face Minerva and asked, "what's wrong, Min?" 

The woman from Sabertooth was silent for a few moments before she looked up at her girlfriend and said, "are you sure that they'll accept our relationship?" 

Lucy kissed Minerva's forehead and answered, "of course. I promise that my guildmates won't care that we're together. After all, your guild was fine with us."

Minerva chuckled at the memory of when they had announced their relationship to Sabertooth. All were perfectly fine with the fact, Yukino lost her mind with happiness, and Sting asked the two women what their sexualities were. 

Lucy pulled Minerva into a short kiss, saying when they pulled away, "Fairy Tail doesn't judge anybody, you know that. They won't care that we're together." 

Minerva looked in the direction of the Fairy Tail guild, questioning, "about all of the things that I've done? Befriending someone who has hurt you is one thing, but dating them is different." 

Lucy brought her hands up to cup that black-haired woman's face, softly telling her, "Min, I promise, they will not have a problem with our relationship. We might be asking a lot of questions by Mira, but nobody will have a problem. Nobody holds any of what you did against you." Minerva sighed and smiled at Lucy, leaning forward for another kiss. The pair pulled away and resumed their walking. 

Upon reaching the guildhall, Lucy stepped in front of her girlfriend, asking, "are you sure you still want to do this?"

She watched as Minerva looked at the closed doors of the guildhall, her brow scrunched up in uncertainty and nervousness. Lucy was excited to tell her guildmates about her relationship, but she doesn't want to if her girlfriend wasn't comfortable with it just yet. 

She took the Sabertooth mage's hand into both of hers and cooed, "we can just go back to my apartment and do this another day."

Minerva exclaimed, "but, you want to do this! And we already told my guild!"

Lucy shook her head, whispering, "I'd rather you tell me that you're uncomfortable with doing something than do it just to make me happy. You're very important to me, Min. I love you. I don't want you to feel pressured to announce our relationship to my guild. If you aren't sure about this, then we can go do something else." 

Minerva wrapped her arms around the celestial wizard, pulling her into a hug. Lucy returned the hug tightly, being careful to not hug her too tightly. They remained like that for a few moments before pulling away. Minerva took a deep breath and released it before she spoke, "I'm sure about this."

Lucy tilted her head forward slightly, ensuring, "really? Are you sure?"

Minerva nodded her head, biting her lip. "I'm just anxious, I guess."

Lucy gave her a soft smile and stepped forward to stand right beside her girlfriend, hooking her arm with Minerva's. She chirped, "let's do this then!" She pushed open the doors, shouting to her guildmates, "I have great news!" 

All of the mages turned to look at the two women. Minerva blushed lightly and held onto her girlfriend's arm as Lucy pulled her closer, announcing with a grin, "Minerva and I are dating!"

Immediately after the announcement, the Fairy Tail mages broke into cheering, calling out their congratulations to the couple. Lucy smiled at Minerva, telling her, "see, they don't care."

Minerva returned the smile with one of her own, responding, "I guess I was overreacting." 

Lucy shook her head as she spoke again, "no, you were just anxious. That's perfectly understandable."

The guild quieted down and everybody's attention was directed toward the second floor of the guild when Makarov questioned loudly, "what's going on?"

Mira squealed from where she stood behind the bar, encasing her sister in a bone-crushing hug, "Lucy and Minerva are dating!"

Makarov turned his gaze onto the couple who were still standing in front of the entrance to the guild. He was silent for a few moments, causing Minerva to shift anxiously. Was he going to disapprove of their relationship? Was he going to demand that they break up? The Guild Master grinned at them as he threw up his arms into the air and shouted, "let's celebrate!" 

The guild wasted no time in breaking into a party. Lucy laughed and pulled Minerva over to the bar, sitting down with her on the stools. Mira strolled over, asking, "how long have you two been together?"

Lucy proclaimed proudly as she wrapped her arm around her girlfriend and pulled her closer, "almost a year." 

Mira clapped her hands, a large grin gracing her face. She then placed her hands on the bar, leaned forward across the bar toward Minerva, and questioned, "what's your sexuality, Minerva? I know that Lucy is pansexual. What about you?" 

Minerva leaned away from the white-haired woman, responding, "um...what?"

Lucy sighed as she pushed Mira away, "not you too."

Mira exclaimed, "I'm just curious!" 

"That's none of your business!"

"Is she pansexual like you?"

"That's none of your business!" 

Minerva laughed at the pair before she turned to Mira and answered, "I'm a lesbian."

Mira clapped her hands, cheering, "that's great!" She then clamped her hands together in front of her chest and asked, "would either of you like something?"

Lucy requested, "my usual, please."

Minerva smiled as she also requested, "the same thing as Lucy, please."

Mira nodded and walked away to get their strawberry milkshakes. Minerva turned around in her seat and looked at the partying mages. She spotted Erza and Gray sitting at a table across from Natsu. She raised an eyebrow in confusion. Why weren't Lucy's teammates approaching her to talk? It was strange. Deciding that she wanted to befriend them, the Sabertooth mage turned to Lucy, telling her, "I'll be right back." Lucy nodded and she stepped off of the stool she was sitting on. Making her way over to the three mages, she soon stopped when she came into earshot of them. 

"Look, man, it's not something you can control, so let it go." Gray crossed his arms over his chest, predictably shirtless. 

Natsu moaned, "why did she have to fall in love with a Sabor?" He then dropped his head onto the table. 

Erza shook her head, scolding, "Lucy can fall in love with anybody. You have no right to criticize who she falls for. Minerva has redeemed herself. Everything she's done is in the past. It is time to let it go."

Natsu jerked his head up to look at his two teammates and demanded, almost angrily, "have you forgotten what she did to Luce? How can Luce date her?"

Gray narrowed his eyes at the dragon slayer, "and you think that Lucy should date you? You didn't even realize that you loved her until the announcement!"

Natsu slammed a fist onto the table, exclaiming to his two friends, "why couldn't Luce fall for me? Minerva tortured her! All I have done is protect her!" 

Erza glared at him angrily as she almost yelled, "that isn't how it works! Lucy has forgiven Minerva and she doesn't owe you a relationship with her!"

Minerva didn't linger to hear more. Instead, she made her way to the guild's doors and pushed them open, walking away from the guildhall. She didn't know where she was going, but she did know that she didn't want to be in that guild. 

Natsu was right, she didn't deserve Lucy. She was a horrible person for such a long time. She tortured Lucy. She shouldn't be dating her. The black-haired woman wrapped her arms around herself, a failed attempt at trying to comfort herself. She felt tears well up in her eyes, but she didn't bother to wipe them away. Natsu was a better option for Lucy. He protected her while all she did was hurt her. 

As Minerva walked, stuck in her thoughts, she was stopped by a hand gripping her shoulder and pulling her back. The Sabertooth mage turned around to see Lucy, tears brimming her brown eyes which were filled with confusion and concern. The blonde asked with a whisper, "why did you leave? What's wrong, Min?"

Minerva stepped backward, away from Lucy. She looked down at the ground as she answered in a hushed tone, "we shouldn't be together." 

Lucy exclaimed, her voice sounding hurt, "why? I thought you were happy with me!"

"Of course I'm happy with you!" 

"Then why do you want to break up?"

"Because I hurt you! Because Natsu would be better for you! Because I don't deserve you!"

Tears streamed down her cheeks as Lucy lunged forward and pulled her into a tight hug. Minerva stood in place, unable to bring herself to push her girlfriend away. She wanted to, but the embrace was so familiar, so comforting, that she couldn't. Instead, she buried her face into Lucy's shoulder and allowed the tears to fall, sniffling occasionally. 

She then heard Lucy speak, her voice dripping with sorrow, "you've been forgiven for all of the things that you've done. I've forgiven you for the things that you've done. I love you, Min. Natsu is my best friend, and I do love him, but not in the way that I love you. I don't want him. I want you. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to feel loved. I know that you're still going through things. I know that you're still hurting. I will always be here. I promise, I will stay by your side and help you through this." She pulled away from Minerva and looked her in the eye with a tearful smile, tightening her grip on the black-haired woman's shoulders. She whispered, "I love you, Minerva."

Minerva let out a sob as she wrapped her arms around Lucy, pulling her into another hug. The couple allowed silence to fall upon them, relishing in the comforting feel of each other's arms around the other. When they finally pulled away, they shared a kiss and made their way to Lucy's apartment. 

[rosie-love98]

Timing With Nick Hobbes:

So, with that Snape-Hardbroom-Hobbes fic I'm working on, I initially was going to have Nick be born on Christmas morning, 1987. It would've been a sweet (but saddening) present for both Snape and Hardbroom who had to give Nick up for adoption a few days later.

However, with Nick being a first year in "Weirdsister College", he had to have started school at 11 in 1998. The same time as Mildred Hubble and Ethel Hallow. So, had he been born in December of 1987, he would've been 10 in September of 1998.

Granted, Nick's birthday could be Christmas, 1986, but there's a problem. In "Hogwarts Mystery", Christmas of 1986 was when Snape was looking after Hogwarts (including Charlie Weasley) and was given the Holiday Blancmange on Boxing Day.

Granted, his more depressed mood at this time could've been due to his and Constance's failing upcoming divorce, along with Nick's adoption arrangements. And used his longing for the Blancmange as a cover-up as Snape and Hardbroom's marriage and child were kept in extreme secrecy. Only Dumbledore, Pomfrey, McGonagall, Amelia Cackle, Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel were in on it all. Besides, this is SNAPE we're talking about-like he'd tell a student such personal matters.

There's also the matter of when Severus could've been able to see Constance and their newborn son. Along with the matter of (most likely) being more irritable, anxious and upset that he had to be busy with the school/working overtime rather than spending the remaining time with his family. How did Snape, Pomfrey or McGonagall NOT give Dumbledore grief with all of this in mind?

The same could be said for January 1st, 1987, New Year's Day. This holiday should also be fitting as (in my opinion), Nick seems like a Winter child. Yet, wouldn't Snape still be in charge of Hogwarts.

Another contender could be August 1st, 1987 as that holds the holiday, Lughnasadh, which is said to celebrate Lugh; diety of kingship, war, and skills among other things. And if we know anything about Snape, Hardbroom and/or Hobbes, it would be a little bit fitting. Even if this would make Hobbes more of a Summer child...

There's also November 5th, which holds Guy Fawkes' Night. On the one hand, it'd be fitting as the autumn suits Hobbes season-wise. Not to mention, if my research is correct, their is something rebellious about the holiday; almost like Nick, himself. Yet, the real rebel, Fawkes, was defeated. Another irony is that Constance Hardbroom's school, Cackle's Academy was based off of Jill Murphy ("Worst Witch" author)'s experiences...at a Catholic school...

In other words, the "Murphy" Wizards/Ex-Codices are the Catholics while the "Rowling" Wizards/Imperiums are the Protestants. Make that what you will...

Anyway...

@theworstwitch @theworstwitchforever @worstwitchstudent @snapeaddict @nickhobbes @rp-constance-hardbroom-blogconstance @constancehardbroompics

[otterandterrier]

Happy New Year, Han/Leia folks!! Like last year, I’m sending this one off by sharing some of my favourite fics written in 2018. Since I’d already posted a rec list for Fanfic Writers Appreciation Day back in August, I left those out this time and included only the new ones I’ve read since (that’s why this list is a lil’ short!). Also, I limited myself to one story per author to be fair, but please check out their other works as well, they’re worth it!

✨ A Triple Sight in Blindness - BlossomsintheMist

✨ Baby, Let Your Hair Hang Down - @yoyomarules

✨ Fake Date - @winterbythesea

✨ Fallacy of Accismus - @suburban-white-queer

✨ It ain’t what they call you, it’s what you answer to - @three-course-dessert

✨ Love Like Starlight - Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome 

✨ One Night - @lajulie24

✨ The Family Ties That Bind - DesertVixen 

✨ The Great Alderaan Fire - @organanation

✨ Summer Solstice - @letswookieswin

✨ Undercover Kiss - @nicolleorgana

✨ What Comes Next - @inelegantprose

✨ Whore - @madame-alexandra 

Thank you, writers, for giving me such terrific stuff to read 💖 If you liked these fics, please remember to leave kudos/like/fave or a comment on them 😊 Remember also that the purpose of a rec list is to share those stories that one has personally and subjectively liked. It’s not possible for me to read all the Han/Leia stories to be found or to like them all. If you don’t like my selection, feel free to share your own rec list in your own blog 😉

2017 Rec List

Mid-2018 Rec List

[johnsamericano]

𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝓁.𝓉

This is a continuation to ten’s fic I wrote for 23 days of NCT, which you can read here. There will be more chapters to this, so I hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of sex.

summary: Your mother hires the most wanted tailor in town to design a new dress for the ball, who turns out to be completely different from what you’d expected. But you couldn’t allow yourself to catch feelings for him, not when you were finally so close to marrying your childhood crush.

Threads of destiny m.list.

“Is everything alright, miss y/n?”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been locked in your room for about ten minutes now. Do you require my assistance?”

“Please, I'm having trouble with my corset.” You tried fastening it by yourself, but it turns out your arms weren't that long.

The maiden twisted the doorknob, walking in with her head down to avoid any sort of eye contact. Her cold hands slid along your back as she tied up the piece of clothing, triggering memories of what had just happened a few moments ago. Once again, you could feel that warm sensation installing at the bottom of your tummy.

“Mr. Seo looks very handsome, he's dressed in a white suit.” She said with a hint of mischief.

Ah yes, the white suit. A popular tradition amongst the town inhabitants. Whenever a gentleman intended to ask for a lady’s hand, he'd dress in all white to meet with the male in charge of her family.

You knew it was bound to happen, but not so soon, especially after your short encounter with the tailor.

“That’s...great.”

The special corset Ten had confectioned had to be discarded as neither of you knew how to adjust it. You never had the chance to look at the dress with it on, but it didn't look so bad with a traditional one.

“Let’s head out, Miss y/n.” The maid bowed, leading the way to the spiral staircase.

Johnny looked extremely handsome, his black hair perfectly slicked back as he spoke with your oldest brother, his best friend. But for some reason, the butterflies in your stomach didn't awaken at the sight of him like they usually did.

“There she comes.” Your mother stood up from the sofa she was sharing with your father, a bright smile plastered on her face. “You should leave for the ball already, it's getting late.” She encouraged.

Johnny and your father exchanged a firm handshake as if they were sealing a deal. Had he already asked for your hand?

“May I?” He extended his muscular arm your way, your fingers wrapping around it delicately, almost afraid you'd ruin the white fabric if you squeezed too hard. “Let’s get going.”

While riding on the carriage, Johnny was wearing his brightest smile, playing with something inside his pocket.

“You look adorable.”

Adorable. You didn't want to be adorable, you wanted to feel sensual, just like Ten had made you feel almost an hour ago.

‘Stop thinking about him.’

“Thank you, you don't look so bad yourself.” Johnny loved how cheeky you were, it was hard to find a woman like that in a small town like yours.

“I talked to your father.” He declared, unable to contain his excitement. But why couldn't you share his emotions?

“Really?” His hand rested on top of yours, warm as it squeezed your fingers, an improper action for an unmarried couple. Not as improper as letting another man touch your naked body, of course.

‘Stop thinking about him, y/n!’

Throughout the rest of your short trip, none of you brought up the topic again, but his hand remained on top of yours. The ride was calm, no sound but the birds chirping outside. A beautiful spring day.

“We’re here.”

If you’d known what awaited you inside the ballroom, you would've run in the opposite direction as fast as possible.

Not even half an hour into the event, Johnny dragged you along to the dance floor, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly while he gave small steps around the center of the room. Dancing was the only acceptable time where a man could touch a woman, and Johnny never missed the chance to use said privilege.

Normally, you enjoyed being pressed against his muscular chest, but not today. All your mind could think about was the tailor’s body, how well-formed it looked even though it wasn't nearly as big as Johnny's.

“Is everything alright?” Johnny inquired worriedly, his eyes looking for your lost ones. “Are you feeling sick?”

To be honest, you were. All those pairs of eyes staring at you with big smiles made the knot in your stomach tighten. The motive of the party was getting clearer with every person you saw leaning to whisper something to another with their eyes still glued on you.

“Everything’s alright.” You closed your eyes.

Just like your grandma used to say: out of sight, out of mind.

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

Nonetheless, Johnny decided it was best to take a seat, just to avoid any incidents. He sat down with a very pale version of you right at the center of the large table. Something was definitely going to happen.

“You made it!” With a dashing smile, Johnny stood up, walking towards a figure you knew all too well. “Look who’s here, y/n.”

Was this a divine punishment? Cause it sure felt like it.

“The dress turned out better than I expected. Nice to see you again, lady y/n.”

“H-how...?”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids, I recommended him to your mother.”

Ten remained as calm as ever, offering a comforting smile as his friend explained the nature of their relationship. But your mind was drifting to earlier that day when you let a simple tailor like him touch you. Stupid, stupid y/n.

“My lady?” He called for you with his high-pitched voice.

“Huh?”

“If you're not feeling well, I'll call the driver so we can get you home. Parties always come and go.” Your soon-to-be fiancee was about to stand up when you finally snapped out of it.

“I’m fine. You were saying your families had been friends for generations?”

“Oh, yes!” Your sickness was soon forgotten as he resumed the story. “He’s the first son of a foreign aristocrat family, though he gave up the family business to be a tailor. Quite a strange man as you can see.”

“A wealthy tailor, how odd.” It's all you had to say about the newly acquired knowledge.

An hour later, a group of maids came into the ballroom with treats of every flavor and cups of tea with the smallest flowers painted on them. Considering how nervous you were, having Ten just a seat away from you, you stuffed your mouth with every edible item on the long table. Johnny had taken notice of your strange behavior already, but he remained silent, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere the guests had created.

Right after the tea, the long table was quickly taken out of the room by trained butlers, leaving the dancing floor clear for any couple to dance on its elegant and shiny, cedar wood planks.

“May I have this dance?” The band had just installed themselves at a corner of the room, ready to start playing as soon as someone gave them a cue. Everyone seemed to be looking at you, expecting you to be the one to open the dance floor.

“You may.” Your elegant fingers wrapped around his hand, only squeezing lightly, a gesture proper of a lady like you.

As Johnny made his way to the center of the ballroom with your hand still in the warmth of his own, all eyes were fixed on you, the most popular couple in town. You were expected to be married by spring next year, though the idea didn't seem nearly as exciting anymore.

With a hand in the curve of your waist and the other one holding your fingers, he started spinning around, pacing his steps with the melody playing in the background. His chocolate orbs were staring into your soul with a tender smile, anxious for what would be coming after the ballad ended.

“Do you like me, y/n?” He didn't give you time to articulate an answer, the words coming rapidly out of his mouth as the beat started dying. “Because I sure do like you, and even if your feelings aren't as strong as mine, I'll make sure to even them throughout the coming years.” The room was silent, only the crack of his knee echoing through the fancy walls as he kneeled, pulling out of his jacket a small, wooden box with your initials and his written with gold. “Will, you, Lee y/n, do me the honor of being my wife?”

You were supposed to be looking at him, smiling at the good news. But your eyes were busy scanning the room, looking for him. Once your eyes met, he simply smiled, raising the glass of champagne he was holding as if making a toast.

He knew. He knew from the very beginning, and still, he decided to play innocent and steal your precious flower.

“Yes, my dearest Johnny. I'd be honored to spend the rest of my days with you.”

His lips gently pressed against the back of your hand, the sudden warmth of his plush, rosy pillows sending chills through your spine. You turned back to your now-fiancee right when Ten’s hand tightened around the glass, the tips of his fingers turning white from the pressure.

He envied his friend, for he’d never be able to have a lady such as you by his side. After all, despite his family’s wealth, he was nothing more than a simple tailor.

[in-superbloom]

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.