#its the final countdown once again

[ejsuperstar]

i love playing witch dicey dungeons (lying)

[sturnioz]

stalker!matt who changes things about himself the second he hears you complaining about them.

you tell your friends you like guys with facial hair? razor's gone by the morning.

tw. stalker behaviour ofc. please be cautious when reading this au. feel free to block the [ ☆ stalker!matt ] tag in your settings to avoid reading this certain trope.

matt sits at the table behind you and your friend, his cap pulled low and a hoodie draping over his frame, chewing on a toothpick, pretending to be engrossed in his phone when in reality, his attention is solely on you — the sounds of your laughter sending shivers down his spine.

then, his heart drops when he hears you shyly confess your attraction to men with facial hair, and you friend gasps excitedly, claiming that she has a picture of someone you might like.

the thought twists like a knife in his gut.

matt's hands clench into fists around his phone at the idea of another man possibly taking you away, it ignites a fire of jealous and anger.

he hates it — it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

after a while, you and your friend finally leave the diner in giggles, and he waits just a few moments before bolting out the door. his heart races as he hurries home, every step taken fuelled by a mix of desperation and determination. once home, he shoves the front door closed and beelines to the bathroom, his pulse roaring in his ears.

he yanks open the mirror cabinet, rifling through the chaos of pills and other trinkets, searching for his razors, and the adrenaline pumps through him as he pulls each razor from its place, each clink of the blade against the sink echoing like a countdown.

his heart thumps louder and louder, drowning out everything else around him as he slams the mirror cabinet shut, staring at his reflection. his eyes dart down to his recently shaved face, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface. he prods at his cheek with his tongue, getting angrier as his knuckles turn whine from gripping the counter tightly.

regret soon washes over him; cursing at himself for the stupid mistake of shaving that morning. anger then fuels him as he grabs the razors, shoving them into the small trash can beside him with a loud clang, the noise echoing in the bathroom.

for the next few days, matt avoids you physically — he still scrolls through your social media accounts every day, he still answers your texts and calls, but when you try to facetime, he lies, claiming he has a fever.

it's a flimsy excuse, but it buys him time to grow out his facial hair. for you.

and god, when you finally see him again after more than a week, his unshaven face presented to you like a trophy, it's the look in your eyes that gives him the rush of euphoria and has his jeans feeling uncomfortably tight around his cock, making him feel like he's on cloud nine.

you're looking at him — really looking at him — and instantly knows he's finally becoming the man you're attracted to.

he's won again.

[herlv3r]

tip toe

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.

୨୧ synopsis: as le sserafim’s comeback had just released, your girlfriend is extremely busy with promotions and is under strict supervision. her managers have clearly warned you to stay away for the time being, but is that really going to stop you?

୨୧ pairing: gf!chaewon x fem!reader

୨୧ genre: fluff

୨୧ a/n: stream fimmies new mini album or else i WILL hunt you down

you grip on your fimbong as anticipation builds up in you like you’re about to explode. sitting in front of your tv, the screen counts down from its final minute. as the countdown nears its end, you can’t help but to stand up, adrenaline filling your veins.

even though your girlfriend already spoiled you their new song, you can’t help the excitement as if you’re hearing it for the first time all over again.

memories begin rushing in from when she first auditioned for woollim entertainment, then her time with izone, and finally le sserafim. you were there with her every step of the way. to say how proud you are is really an understatement.

your eyes gleam seeing chaewon’s outstanding visuals. and hearing her sing through the screen blesses your ears. how’d you get so lucky with her?

your phone rings violently as a call from chaewon comes through. answering it, a soft voice warms your ears.

“babe did you watch?!?” excitement is evident in her tone. you giggle at her question when it’s obvious you did. “of course i did! i wouldn’t miss even a second of it.”

you hear her small laugh amidst the busy background. “okay i gotta prepare for the showcase. i love you and i miss you.” your stomach fills with butterflies hearing those words escape her mouth. “good luck! i’ll be cheering for you.”

every comeback is always filled with busy schedules and strict rules. you can’t even remember the last time you’ve held her in your arms. you know dating a kpop idol comes with an unspoken requirement of being patient but you long for her.

the last time you attempted to see her during promotions got you banned from stepping in their dorms. as much as you want to see her, you have to do what’s best for your girlfriend.

hours past since the showcase and you haven’t heard anything from chaewon ever since. slumping in your seat, your brows drew together thinking heavily on what she could be doing at the moment.

suddenly a text notification causes your phone to vibrate. “i want to see you. pick me up at my dorm?” that burst of adrenaline comes rushing back to you, as you read word by word. excitedly getting up and gathering everything you need, you rush out the door without looking back.

who cares if you get banned again, it's worth the risk. after all, it's her personal request. how can you pass on something like that?

pulling up to her dorm, you hurriedly park and skipped your way to her room. once reaching her floor, you make eye contact with chaewon, her eyes widen in shock. the dumb smile on your face is quickly replaced with a terrified expression after realizing she's talking to her manager.

making the fastest u-turn in your life, you rush back down the stairs nearly tripping in the process. panting for air, you arrive back at the lobby searching for a place to hide.

several minutes past and you've finally calmed down. that was a close call you thought. as you slowly peek over your hiding place, a hard slap stings your head. looking back to see who it was, you're met with chewon glaring down at you. without saying a word, the expression on her face clearly says, "you're such a dumbass."

swiftly standing up, you engulf her in your arms as you squeeze the air out of her. "chaechae i missed you!!" in response, she pinches your waist causing you to squeal and back away.

attempting to rub the pain away, you look at her in confusion. why is she so violent today? has she finally lost it?

"god that was a close call. if my manager saw you first then our whole sneaking out plan is over." you swear you can see steam escaping from the top of her head as she complains.

tilting your head down, a sly smile forms on your lips. "but he didn't see me, so it's all good." she scoffs at you, rolling her eyes and taking your hand in hers. "come on let's go before we get caught." she drags you behind her as she sneakily makes her way back to your car.

you've been aimlessly driving for the past couple of minutes, unsure if chaewon even notices. you weren't expecting a spontaneous hang out today, so you were severely unprepared.

you're terrible at hiding things from her especially with the occasional side eyes you've been giving. she eventually catches on to you.

"how about a convenience store run, just like old times?" pursing your lips you glance at her as if you already had that thought. "pfft, yeah i was already heading there."

"but you just missed the turn..." staring at you, she furrows her eyebrows. "babe i can't see, it's dark out here." out of habit she smacks your arm causing you to swerve a little bit. too busy laughing uncontrollably to even notice.

arriving at the parking lot, you instruct chaewon to stay in the car hoping to avoid any unwanted attention.

walking in the store, you can't help but feel a little guilty. it's such a big day for chaewon but the only thing you can give her is cheap food. still, it's no excuse to not try to make the best out of the night.

making your way down several isles you surprisingly bump into chaewon already picking out items. stopping in your tracks, you cross your arms and tap your feet in disbelief. you cough deliberately, attempting to gain her attention.

"pfft, what?" she doesn't even bother looking at you. "what do you mean, 'what'?" slowly approaching her, you snatch the kimbap she was holding. quickly turning her head, she raises a brow.

"babe you're such a hypocrite. you got mad at me earlier for almost getting caught but look at you now." she snatches the kimbap back from your grasp. "it's okay, i'm covered up good."

finally acknowledging your disappointed look, she squeezes your cheeks. "baby i'm sorry. i'll be careful." giving in to her soft touch, you let it slide. how can you possibly get mad at her?

luckily you were able to leave without anyone recognizing your girlfriend. you wouldn't know what to do if someone did.

getting in the drivers seat, you're hit with realization of not knowing where to go next. resting your head on the steering wheel, you release an exasperated sigh as you struggle to think of a destination.

"make a right turn and take the next exit."

shooting your head up, you stare at the gps. confused as to why it spoke. your gaze shifts back and forth between chaewon and the route displayed on the car's screen, wondering if she had anything to do with it.

chaewon smiles as she comfortably sinks in her seat, "just drive baby." you study her expression, suspicious of her little scheme. "mhm... should i trust you?" the blank expression sitting on her face hints at you to just go without question. you nod in defeat and turned on the engine.

for what seemed like 30 minutes, you're starting to doubt your gps when it leads you to an isolated road. the only source of light that's surrounding you is the brightness of your headlights. it's like you're in a horror movie where you encounter an eerie girl standing on the side of the road.

an uneasy feeling in your stomach begins to stir just by thinking about it. you quickly glace at chaewon whose face is as pale as snow. "you good? you don't usually look as white." she grips on to her thighs and swallows hard. "why wouldn't i be? hehe..."

you knew what she felt at the moment. she's scared shitless. your heart starts to beat . "hey you can't be scared?! because i'm scared... we can't both be scared!"

her grasp transfers from her thigh to your shirt. "girl, just drive!" you immediately step on the gas without a second thought.

"you have arrived. your destination should be on the left." pulling up to a secluded area, a single bench facing a cliff sits under a soft lit lamp post. not creepy at all...

"welp, ladies first," you laugh awkwardly as you unlock the doors. she shook her head in disagreement. "what, you can't do that! you took me here." you lifted an eyebrow and crossed your arms.

"don't make me go out there first, please baby," the look in chaewon’s eyes has you completely entranced. heat rushes to your face, staining it red. it took you a moment to form a response. “you’re a coward,” you murmured.

you push your car door open and hopped out. stepping foot on the rocky ground, the cool evening breeze sends shivers down your spine. you felt vulnerable being outside the walls of your car. in a snap you hurriedly ran to the other side to open the door for your girlfriend.

chaewon steps out and gently pats your cheeks as a thanks. “okay come with me.” she interlocks your fingers, leaving you no choice but to follow.

as you slowly approach the edge of the cliff, the view of the city lights comes into sight, leaving you mesmerized. who knew such a place existed that overlooks the city. chaewon lets go of your hand, letting you take in the scenery.

gawking for too long, you didn’t even notice the feeling of fear had completely washed away. discovering chaewon’s slipped away from your side, you promptly turned around only to see her resting on the bench behind you. she pats the empty space beside her gesturing you to sit down.

“so how’d you know about this place?” you drop your weight on the old wooden material. chaewon shifts closer to you and rests her head on your shoulder.

“i used to come here a lot with my grandma. we’d clear our heads and just talk.” you’re left speechless as you figure out where this is heading. “i wanted to share it with you for awhile now.” your heart softens at her words, realizing you occupy a special place in her heart.

you chuckle as you start playing with her hair, "thank you."

you both sit in comfortable silence just admiring the night sky. after a short while, you felt chaewon's grip on your hand loosen. turning your head to look at her, her eyes completely closed as her chest rises and falls.

looking at the time, it's nearing 1 in the morning. she must be exhausted after such a busy day. you can't even imagine what she'll have to go through later.

you lightly squeeze her, attempting to not startle her. "baby let's take you home yeah?" she groans in response with her eyes still glued shut.

crouching down, you force her to get on your back. you carried her back to the car and gently placed her in the passenger seat. you slowly walked back to the drivers side, taking in the view one last time. bringing her back here for your anniversary would be lovely, you thought.

as you comfortably sunk in your seat, you removed your jacket and wrapped it around chaewon's small figure. she shifts in her spot, turning in your direction giving you a tired smile.

"i'm sorry, did i wake you?" you rub her cheek with your thumb. she timidly shakes her head no.

"if i had known you'd take me here, i would've prepared much more." she chuckles at your statement. "don't be silly, being here with you is more than enough." shutting her eyes again, she falls back asleep. releasing a satisfied hum, you start the engine once again.

the streetlights illuminated the quiet streets and cars sat empty in parking lots. parking in front of her building, you sat there admiring how peaceful and cute she looked.

you shook her softly, "chaewonie we’re here." she yawns heavily and stretches in her seat. rubbing her cheeks, she slowly opens her eyes taking in her surroundings. taking hold of her soft hand, you walk her inside.

arriving at her front door, she turns to you with her head down. "i don't want you to leave... stay with me a little longer?" she tightly clutches on the hem of your shirt. "please?"

without warning, the door bursts open revealing a fully awake eunchae. she looks at you and chaewon cringing. "damn guys it's late. wrap it up please."

"isn't it past your bed time?" chaewon lifts a brow. eunchae crosses her arms as she leans against the door frame. "do you want me to rat you out."

chaewon's eyes widen at eunchae's response. lifting a fist in the air, she makes a threatening gesture. "i'm your leader, you can't tell me what to do." she pushes eunchae back inside, shutting the door at her face.

rubbing your eyes, you can't help but laugh at their interaction. "what's so funny?" she nudges you. tucking her hair behind her ear, you sigh in contentment. "you're so cute, you know that?" she shyly giggles at your compliment.

wrapping her arms around your waist, she pulls you into her embrace. "well you better go in before she comes back out." moving her hands from your waist to your neck, she brings you in and pecks your lips.

a stupid grin forms on the corner of your lip, "do it again." she laughs at your request. connecting your lips once again, it lasts longer this time. her hands explore your back, drawing you even closer. this is what you longed for.

"maybe i should stay for a bit," you whisper into the kiss. pulling away chuckling, she punches your shoulder. "shut up and go home."

opening the door, she finds eunchae waiting, mocking her with kissy faces. "omg eunchae! didn't i tell you to go to sleep?!" you can hear eunchae hysterically laughing on the other side as she makes a run for her room.

your girlfriend turns back to you, pinching the bridge of her nose. "ugh, kids..."

"text me when you get home and as soon as you wake up. i love you and drive safe. good night my lover girl~" peeking throught the small gap of her door she gives you a cheeky smile.

"i love you too. good night~" leaning in, you shut the door for her.

[actual-changeling]

No, because has anyone ever thought about that last New Year's Eve they spent together??????

They were not-really-pretending anymore, probably at the bookshop getting drunk and talking about all the historical special events they had experienced during that time, the New Year's Eves they spent alone, and the few rare ones they celebrated together.

Do you think they were both sitting on the sofa, shoes toed off, Crowley sprawling like usual, while Aziraphale was propped up in a corner, one leg folded underneath him? The television was running on mute in the background so they wouldn't miss the ball drop, a particularly special bottle of champagne was waiting on the table, knowing better than to lose its chill.

Do you think Crowley was talking, his hands flying to accommodate his words, when he felt Aziraphale's stare on him? Do you think he stopped in the middle of his sentence, turning his head to fully look at him, meeting eyes with pupils so wide that the blue was drowning in a sea of black?

What? Crowley asked, the counter ticking in his periphery. Two minutes. For a reason he refused to acknowledge, anxiety began fluttering in his stomach—once upon a time, it had been excitement, but he had learned better than to hope, to expect.

Do you think Aziraphale shuffled closer, ignoring the champagne, ignoring the television, simply holding his gaze with a soft smile on his lips?

The sound returned as the final countdown began, but Crowley did not hear a single number, dizzy with a fondness so ancient no words would ever be able to do it justice.

Do you think as the cheering faded into a buzz, Aziraphale leaned in and pressed a kiss right to the corner of his mouth, close enough to count, too distant not to? Do you think Crowley froze in place, forgetting to breathe, blink, speak, exist, caught between the urge to chase after him and the fear of what would happen once the late-night giddiness wore off?

Happy New Year, Aziraphale whispered, reaching for the champagne and opening it with a pop that echoed like a gunshot.

(aimformymouth, aimformymouth, aimformymouth)

Do you think he wanted to say something, anything, and yet all he could do was accept the champagne flute being held out in front of him, a low, garbled noise escaping him? Do you think Aziraphale's smile grew as he made himself comfortable again, resting one hand on Crowley's ankle and saying, It'll be a good year?

To a good year, angel, Crowley forced out, the glass chiming softly as they clinked them together.

To a good year, my dear.

Do you think that night plays on repeat in his head months later?

It'll be a good year.

Aziraphale is gone now.

It'll be a good year.

His chest is tight with grief and memories, and the wine glass meets the wall before he can stop himself, listening to the glass break and crumble.

It'll be a good year.

It had been a good year—right up until it wasn't.

[suguwu]

christmas countdown

Your company is taking on a new project and desperately wants the backing and expertise of retired CEO Jing Yuan. Dispatched out into the countryside to bring him on board, you find it won't be as easy as you think.

Jing Yuan strikes a bargain with you: spend the upcoming days with him, until Christmas Eve, and he'll tell you exactly what it will take for him to come back if you don't figure it out yourself.

Let the Christmas countdown begin.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

pairing: jing yuan x gn!reader

word count: 16k (whoops)

notes: this came about through dms with my beloveds @petrichorium and @lorelune! they both were invaluable, and lore also was kind enough to beta for me, along with another friend. this fic feels like it possessed me; i wrote it in just over a week.

fic notes: hallmark au, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), jing yuan is taller than the reader, age gap (jing yuan is in his early 50s, reader is in their late 30s), this is mostly just fluff.

divider by @/cafekitsune.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“This is the third Christmas you’re missing,” she says, voice thickening, and you can almost see the way her eyes are going glassy with tears, shining beautifully in the light.

“I know. But this project is huge and I’m so close to the promotion—”

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“This is different. The CEO herself asked for me,” you say with a sigh.

“When would you leave?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“That’s almost a week until Christmas! Maybe you’ll get back in time! Or maybe it can wait until the new year?”

“No, Mom. The project is waiting on getting this person on board, it can’t wait that much longer. It’s just Christmas, I don’t see why this is such a big deal.”

“It’s time with your family,” she snaps, the words shattering at the edges, honed keen with hurt. 

“I’m sorry. Next year, okay?”

“That’s what you said last year.”

“Mom.”

“Fine. But think about it, please. We miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you guys too.”

The conversation continues on from there; she tells you that your father has taken up gardening, renting out a space in a greenhouse nearby, coaxing it into a full lushness that has him coming home flecked with flower petals. He’s already plotting out a vegetable garden come spring. 

You listen as she chatters away, throwing in the occasional “uh-huh” as you scroll through your emails, typing as quietly as you can. You pause as she goes silent.

“Mom?”

“Are you working right now?” 

You wince. “I just had a few emails—”

The line goes so quiet that you reach for your phone to see if your earbuds have disconnected. They haven't. Your stomach roils.

“Mom?”

“We’ll talk later, then,” your mother says, and the pit in your stomach grows at the sorrow threading through her voice. “Good night.”

You hesitate. Then your email pings again.

“Night, Mom.” 

She hangs up, and the click of the line sounds like a dour bell, but it’s chased from your mind by the bright chirp of your email. You settle back down with your laptop, digging into work once more. 

When you finally glance up from your laptop screen hours later, your eyes stinging, you realize it’s snowing. 

In the orange glow of the streetlights, the flakes look like embers flickering through the sky, like the sparks of a bonfire on a summer’s eve. It’ll be stomped into slush tomorrow, trodden under so many boots, but for now the snow dances through the air, a ballet all its own.

It muffles the world, blanketing your apartment in oppressive quiet, and not for the first time you feel small in your own home. You shiver. The high ceilings of your apartment feel like a gaping maw, arching and empty. 

You shift uneasily and turn on a soft lofi playlist despite the headache that’s settled in at your temples. It fills the air, creeps all the way to the empty corners of your apartment and softens them with sound. 

You let out a gentle breath. Still, something cold uncurls behind your ribs, sinks its teeth into bone until it hits marrow. You pick up your phone, swiping up to your messages with your best friend, and you’re halfway through typing out a message before you catch yourself. A quick glance at the clock makes you wince. Your phone thunks against the table as you toss it down. 

It’s late and she has a new baby—she needs as much sleep as she can get. You can’t disturb her, not for something as silly as this. You scrub a hand over your face and get to your feet.

It’s quiet as you get ready for bed, even the soft music doing little to soothe you. You turn on every lamp in your bedroom, flood the room with light, until it’s as if the sun has risen and is cradling you in its warmth. You keep them on until the last moment, flicking them off only when you’re tucked in bed. 

That cold thing stays with its fangs sunk in until you fall asleep. 

***

The airport is nearly deserted by the time you land.

It’s late, night blanketing the terminal, held at bay only by the light pollution of the airport. Your shoes click against the linoleum as you hurry through the empty hallways, eager to be done with your exhausting day of travel. 

The taxi driver that heaves your suitcase into the trunk is talkative, but you’re too busy checking your phone, flicking through the emails that poured in while you were in the air. The car rumbles to life beneath you as you pull up an attachment, scanning over the analysis quickly, scratching out a few notes on a scrap piece of paper you’ve pulled from your bag. The countryside rolls by as you work, pitch black except for a few lit windows from passing houses, little lighthouses in the deep sea of the night. 

“Here we are,” the taxi driver says cheerfully, killing the engine in front of the inn. 

It’s clearly old but well-maintained, a piece of the past caught in the resin of time. There are fake candles guttering in each window. The wreath on the door is almost as big as the door itself, dotted with lights that twinkle like little silver stars and topped off with a perfect crimson bow. 

“Thanks,” you say to the driver, trading a tip for your suitcase before heading up the steps of the inn. The scent of pine wafts around you; you step inside before it can stick to your clothes. 

“Hi,” you say to the receptionist, who puts down her magazine. “I’m here to check in.”

“Name?”

You tell her. She nods and you check your phone again as she checks you in. Luckily, it doesn’t take long, because the long day is beginning to weigh on you, an ache deep in your bones. 

“Let us know if there’s anything you need,” the receptionist says.

“Thanks.”

You pay little attention to the room, simply stowing your suitcase before pulling your laptop from your carry-on bag. There’s a small desk that you settle at; your laptop screen glows brightly as you open it. The world blurs, smears like a watercolor. You blink the fuzziness away to answer a few more emails. 

A few turns into many, catching up on all of your current projects now that you have another project to take care of. The headache that slowly blooms is familiar; it lingers behind your left eye, throbbing like a wound. It’s what finally gets you to set down your laptop for the night. It’s late enough that when you peer out the window while getting ready for bed, even the stars seem to have gone cold, twinkling faintly. 

By the time you crawl into bed, you don’t even want to look at the clock. Still, you see it when you set your alarm, and you wince. You only have a few hours before it goes off. You curse yourself and roll over to finally, finally go to sleep. 

Tomorrow comes too quickly. You wake with the sun, before your alarm, watery light pouring into your room, pooling in soft gold puddles on the floor. It catches on the prism dangling from the window, throwing rainbows against the walls, a whirling ballet of color. 

You make a mental note to close the curtains tonight. You hadn’t even realized they were open, with how dark the countryside is around the inn, far too used to the ambient light of the city. When you peer out the window, all you see is woods framing a large, clear space still dusted with snow. 

In daylight the inn is even more quaint, brimming with Christmas decor: with thick garlands draped over the doorway arches, weighted down with golden ornaments that catch the light, sending it flickering like the flames roaring in the fireplace. Sprigs of holly are tucked among the garlands too, little fireworks of color. Add in the mounds of fake snow lining a sprawling ceramic village and it’s a picture-perfect display. You trace a finger over the tiny wreath on the village bakery’s door. 

“Mornin’,” someone says behind you, a deep rumble of a voice, shaking through you like thunder splitting the sky. You turn around and find a man beaming at you.

“Good morning,” you say.

“Looking for breakfast? It’s in the dining room, right through there.” 

“I was really just looking for coffee.”

“That’s in the dining room too,” he says. “I’m Lee. I own the inn with my husband.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s nice. It’s lovely. I’m sorry, though, I really have to get to work.”

He raises a brow. There’s a whole conversation in that brow, you think. One you’re not interested in having. 

You give him a tight smile. “Excuse me,” you say. “That coffee is calling me.”

“Sure,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

You trade nods with a few other guests as you get your coffee, but you’re in and out of the loud dining room in a matter of minutes. Your room, foreign as it is to you still, is a welcome respite from the chatter that fills the inn. 

The coffee is good. It’s rich and nutty, the warmth of it warding off the slight chill that lingers in the room from the large windows. You try to peer out one of them but it’s whorled with frost, ice spun over the glass like embroidery, just opaque enough to let in the light.  

You settle back down at the little desk and boot up your laptop. Your inbox has slowly filled up again, and you’re starting to work through it when your boss slacks you. 

Qingzu: You’re off your regular projects for now.

Me: ??? I’m almost done with the analysis.

Qingzu: Fu Xuan wants you to concentrate on bringing Jing Yuan on board. I’ll delegate your usual tasks. 

You wince. Your coworkers are going to hate you.

Me: I can still do the analysis at least.

Qingzu: What the CEO says goes. Focus on the job she gave you. 

Qingzu: Also it looks like the address we have on file for Jing Yuan is outdated.

Qingzu: You might need to do a little searching. 

Me: Okay.

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face before exiting out of your email. Not for the first time, you wonder why Fu Xuan didn’t reach out to Jing Yuan herself, considering she’d succeeded him at Luofu Corp. You’re not sure how negotiation from a stranger is the better option. And it would certainly have made your life easier. 

At least she’s given you a profile on him. The picture is unnecessary considering how many magazine covers the man has graced, but it’s there, and you won’t say no to looking at a pretty face. Even in his official picture, there’s a small, lazy smile on his face. He looks half-asleep, but his golden eyes are knife-sharp.

A tactician's mind, Fu Xuan said, and you believe it. 

You read through the profile carefully, taking in details large and small, trying to get a sense of the man you’re supposed to lure out of retirement. He’d retired early, barely into his fifties, and he’d only picked up a handful of projects in the last two years since, mostly charity work. You sigh, deeply jealous, and read on. 

The profile isn’t particularly helpful; to be honest, you hadn’t expected it to be. You’ll need to meet him and gauge him for yourself to see what the best avenue is.

You shrug on your coat before leaving the room, slipping past a ragtag group of children. They’re led by a little girl in a hat bigger than her head, the fuzzy flaps of it bouncing as she scuttles down the hallway, her face shining triumphantly, a mug of hot cocoa carefully balanced in her hands.

You hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, glancing between the door and the front desk. You sigh and head towards the front desk. Lee smiles at you.

“Whatcha need?” he asks.

“I’m looking for someone in town,” you say. “I was hoping you could direct me to them.”

“Sure. Who is it?”

“Jing Yuan.”

His smile shatters at the edges, a slowly spreading crack. He leans back on his heels and eyes you up and down.

“You a reporter?”

“No.”

He nods to himself. “Should have known. You look a little too corporate for that.”

You smooth down your coat self-consciously. Maybe you should have brought some more casual clothing for this trip. 

“Can you tell me where he is?” you ask.

“He’s not interested.”

“What?”

Lee shrugs, rocking back on his heels again. You think of a great pine tree swaying in the wind, bending, never breaking. “Whatever you want him for, he’s not interested.”

“How about he tells me that himself?”

“I’m sure he will,” he says. “If you can find him.”

“Which I assume you aren’t going to help with.”

“Sorry.”

You roll your eyes and stalk towards the door, wrenching it open and fleeing into the outdoors. The sun is shining but the air is frigid, the type of cold that sinks right through clothing and into your marrow. You shudder and pull up the collar of your coat to try and block the worst of the chill as you walk towards downtown. 

It’s an easy walk; you find yourself in the heart of downtown in just a few minutes. It’s just as quaint as the inn, the lampposts lining the street decorated with wreaths faintly dusted with pristine snow. You glance up at the lights strung between buildings, shimmering like the icicles they’re mimicking. 

It’s pretty, you suppose. You think people would flock here if they knew about it. Still, despite how small the town is, the streets are filled with people, some of them shouting greetings back and forth.  

You duck into the crowds and weave your way through them carefully, pausing just before a cafe. A thought occurs to you as you take a quick peek through the frosted window. You peel off your gloves, holding them in your hand as you step into Auntie’s. 

“Excuse me,” you say as one of the waitresses comes over to you, a tray balanced against her hip. “A man dropped these a block back and I thought I saw him come in here. I was hoping to return them. He was tall and had long white hair that he was wearing tied back. I think it was with a red ribbon.”

“Sounds like Jing Yuan,” she says. “You sure paid close attention to him.”

You cough, fidgeting with the leather gloves and she laughs. “Most people do,” she reassures you. You flash her a small, embarrassed smile. “He’s hard to miss, handsome as he is. I can give them to him next time I see him.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “If you know where he is, I don’t mind bringing them to him. I’m just enjoying wandering around town.”

Her eyes narrow; ice seeps into them, the slow creep of the first frost. Her grip tightens on the tray. 

You blink at her guilelessly, trying not to hold your breath. 

Her shoulders uncoil. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just—nevermind. I haven’t seen him today. I’d check along Aurum. That’s the main street. If you don’t find him, you can come back here and I’ll give ‘em to him.”

“I’ll just check a few more shops,” you tell her. “I’m on the lookout for Christmas presents, anyway.” 

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?”

“I know, I know,” you say. “I’m so bad about it. Thank you!”

“Bye.”

You hurry out the door, flexing your fingers against the cold as you keep your gloves in your hands. The second and third store yield the same results; the fourth shop is a bust too. The locals are more protective of Jing Yuan than you’d thought. You get a suspicious look every time you describe him, and that’s without even mentioning his name. 

You step outside the fourth shop with a huff. At this point, you’re worried that someone is going to insist on keeping the gloves. There’s only so many times you can spin the same story before it bites you in the ass. Plus, your hands are freezing; the sunlight is doing little to warm the day despite the rays bathing half the street gold. 

One more store, you think. Just one more.

You groan when you see the next store is a bustling toy shop. Children tug at their parents’ hands and smudge their noses up against the windows with gap-toothed grins. They spill out of the entrance like little ants, almost tripping over themselves as they babble excitedly to their companions. They part around you like flowing water as you make your way inside.

“Excuse me,” you say to the first person wearing a nametag that you see, holding out the gloves. “A man dropped these a few blocks back. I tried to catch up but couldn’t, but I thought I saw him duck in here. Have you seen a tall man with white hair tied up with a red ribbon?” 

“Funny,” a rich voice says from behind you. “I don’t think those would fit me.” 

You freeze. 

The man peers down over your shoulder; a few strands of fluffy white hair brush against you as he examines the gloves you’re holding. He tugs one free of your slackened grip and holds it up against his hand, which dwarfs the glove. His low hum resonates through you, a honeyed drip of sound, soft and warm.

“A little small, don’t you think?” he asks.

You turn around.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it. There’s a wicked amusement tucked up secret in the corner of his full lips; you try not to scowl. 

You see why Fu Xuan called him a scoundrel. 

Still, there’s no way out of this. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” you say with a shrug. “And I did find you, so.” 

He chuckles. “That you did.”

“I—”

“Uncle!”

You blink as a blond blur zips past you and almost crashes into Jing Yuan. The blur turns out to be a young boy—no older than twelve—carrying a sizable sword. It’s almost as big as he is. 

“Uncle,” he says again, tugging at Jing Yuan’s sleeve. “Look what I found!”

“It’s a very nice sword, Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says, his smile softening. “But let’s wait and see what Christmas brings, hmm?”

Yanqing pouts for a moment before he glances at you. You realize he shares his uncle’s eyes, as golden as the sun. He blinks. “Are you another reporter?”

Jing Yuan leans down to be closer to his height. “Worse,” he whispers. “They’re corporate.”

The boy wrinkles his nose. 

Jing Yuan’s smile threatens to turn into a grin. “Go put the sword back, please,” he tells Yanqing, and you watch him dart off again. 

“Could I—”

“I’m afraid I’m busy,” Jing Yuan says. “And you may have heard that I retired.”

“I know, but—”

“Business has no place in a toy shop, you know.”

“That’s not what the toy seller would say.”

He tilts his head, a sliver of a smile unfurling on his lips. “I suppose so,” he says thoughtfully. “Either way, I am busy.”

“Fu Xuan sent me,” you try.

He sighs. “Yes, I had assumed.” 

“If I could just get a bit of your time—”

“Not now,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m with my family.”

“But at some point?”

“You’re at the inn, yes?”

“I am.”

“I’ll come find you tomorrow. Does that work?”

“Really?” you say and cough as he smiles, golden eyes twinkling like the ornaments decorating the toy shop. “I mean, that works. Here, here’s my card.”

He takes it; it looks tiny in his hand. He says your name, rolling it over his tongue like he’s tasting it, like it’s something to be savored. Your cheeks heat. A small smile plays across his lips. 

“Tomorrow, then,” you say.

He nods, his white hair swaying with it, like dandelion seeds caught on the wind. “Tomorrow. Come on, Yanqing.”

You start as the boy goes past you like a little darting fish, settling at his uncle’s side and tugging on his sleeve. “Can we go to the smithy?” he asks as the two of them turn to leave. “Please?”

Jing Yuan laughs, the sound rich, spilling over you like smooth chocolate. “Just to look,” he says, and they’re almost out the door when you realize—

“Wait!” you call out. “You still have my glove!”

Jing Yuan pauses and glances back, one golden eye rising like the sun over the mountain range of his shoulders. “Oh?” he asks, raising a brow. “I thought you said it was mine?”

Behind you, the employee stifles a laugh. Your cheeks burn. “I—”

He chuckles. “Here,” he says, handing it back. “I’d hate for you to be cold.” 

Then he and Yanging are out the door, leaving you standing in the middle of the bustling toy shop. You clutch at your glove; it’s still warm from his hand, like the soft heat that lingers in the hearth stones long after the fire has gone out. 

It occurs to you that you may be in over your head.

***

The feeling doesn’t go away the next day. 

“Where exactly are we going?”

Jing Yuan flashes you a smile; the edges of it curl into something smug. He’d called early and met you at the inn, coaxing you into putting your coffee in a to-go cup before shuffling you out the door with no real explanation. “Christmas tree shopping.”

“Christmas tr—I thought we were going to talk about the project!”

“We are,” he says easily, pulling into a gravel parking lot surrounded by towering, barren oaks. In the distance, you can see a grid of pines, laid out like an embroidery pattern. “But it’s Christmas.”

“It’s five days away.”

“That’s basically Christmas,” he says cheerfully. He slides from the pickup with feline grace, the flex of his thighs obvious even under the thick denim of his jeans. You stay put in the passenger seat. He raises a brow. “You don’t want to talk?”

That sends you scrambling for the passenger door. 

Jing Yuan doesn’t bother to hide the little smile that blooms on his lips, an unfurling flower. You scowl at him as you join him next to the pickup; it has no effect.

“Shall we?” he asks. 

You huff and follow him onto the tree lot. He clearly knows where he’s going, weaving through the pines with a dancer’s ease despite his size. You stop at a row of sizable trees, their blue-green needles rustling in the wind. They’re dusted in the lightest layer of snow, like frosting sugar has been sifted over them. 

You’re searching for the words to start your pitch when he hums. 

“What do you think of this one?” he asks, testing the thick branches of a plush pine, watching critically as needles scatter everywhere. It releases a waft of the sharp tang of pine. 

“It’s a tree.”

“Noted,” Jing Yuan says dryly. “Thank you for your input.” 

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” you tell him as he moves on to the next tree. “I thought we would go to your office.”

“I don’t have an office,” he says. “And the rec center needs a Christmas tree.” 

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

He glances at you. His eyes are the color of amber shot through with sunlight, a deep, rich gold. His gaze is knife-edged, a flaying thing, and it sinks beneath your skin to open you on its blade. You fidget with your sleeve.

When he smiles, it’s soft and maybe a little sad. He doesn’t say anything; he just hums again and moves to the next tree.

“Jing Yuan!”

“Keep moving,” he says. “We have to deliver the tree too, you know.” 

“We have to what?”

He laughs, loud and bright. “You heard me,” he says cheerfully. “Now come on.” 

You follow him through the rows, giving him clipped answers when he asks your opinion about a tree. Finally, after several more trees—that all looked the same to you, tall and full of pine needles—he finds one that he’s pleased with. 

He tells you to wait with the tree and disappears down the row.

When he comes back, he has an ax.

“Um,” you say. 

“Hm? Oh. It’s fine,” he says, resting the ax nearby as he ties his hair up into a high ponytail.

“Is it?”

He hefts the ax up and motions you back before swinging. He strikes true, the trunk starting to splinter under the hit, and the next one is in the exact same spot. The tree groans in protest, but Jing Yuan doesn’t pause. His powerful shoulders bunch and flex as he keeps the ax in motion with ease, though he’s beginning to pant a bit by the time he’s halfway through the trunk. Sweat glints on his brow; it dampens the edges of his hair, darkening it to the silver of the moon. 

He swings the ax again, his biceps bulging, and a crack splits the air. The tree starts to topple, falling into its neighbor, which keeps it mostly upright. Jing Yuan wipes his brow, chest heaving, and belatedly, you realize you’re staring. 

Behind you, there’s the crunch of pine needles under boots. Two men wearing name tags stride by you and clap Jing Yuan on the shoulder. They confer with him for a moment before they pick up the tree and start carrying it back towards the parking lot.  

“There,” Jing Yuan says, sounding satisfied. “We can go now.” 

“Do you often just…cut down trees?”

“Only at Christmas.”

You snort. He chuckles before gesturing you back to the parking lot. You head back and come up to the pickup just as the two men finish tying off the tree in the bed of the truck. Jing Yuan gives them firm handshakes; you pretend not to notice just how much cash is transferred between their palms. 

The two of you climb back into the truck. You have to move your briefcase in order to sit comfortably and the sight of it sets you back on track.

“You said we’d talk about the project,” you accuse.

“You didn’t say anything,” he says, putting the truck into gear. “So there wasn’t anything to talk about.”

You scowl at him. He pulls out of the parking lot; the truck trundles down the road. 

“Insufferable,” you mutter, but from the way the corner of his lips lift, he’s heard it. 

Quiet falls. The radio is crooning a soft Christmas song, but it’s faint, like an echo of the past. The heater is on, and the truck’s cab is soft with warmth, like sinking into bathwater after a long day. You lean against the window. Your breath fogs over the glass, a marine layer, and you resist the urge to draw something in the mist. 

The rec center isn’t far; you pull up to it just a few minutes later. Your phone rings just as Jing Yuan hops out of the truck.

“I need to take this,” you tell him. “It’s work.” 

He hums, something flashing across his face. It’s gone quickly, rolling by like a summer storm, and you’re already picking up the phone, your coworker’s harried voice filling your ears. 

The phone call takes a while. At one point, the truck rattles around you—a quick glance in the rearview shows a group of teen boys pulling the tree free from the truck bed, leaving a sea of needles in their wake, a forest floor brought home. Their laughter fills the air, audible even through your earbuds. You turn up the volume.

Jing Yuan shows back up just as you’re finishing your call. There’s silvery tinsel woven into his hair, barely visible except when it catches the sunlight, a lightning strike gleam. “You must be cold,” he tells you. “Come inside.”

You shake your head. “I need to go back to the inn,” you say. “I have a project that just went sideways.”

He sighs. “As you wish,” he says, and climbs back into the truck. 

You flick through your phone as he drives back to the inn, answering emails and trying your best to put out the embers of the fire that had sprung up on your project. When you reach the last one, you click your phone off and glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye.

The cold wind has nipped at his cheeks until roses bloom on his pale skin. The tinsel in his white hair shines, the full moon draped in ribbons of silvery shooting stars, and he’s beautiful in an untouchable way, a statue come to life.

Except—there’s a small, lopsided smile tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. It sweetens his mouth and adds a puckish curve; it makes him real again. It’s a contentment that you didn’t know existed, a quiet happiness that radiates from him. 

Something in your chest goes tight.

You clear your throat. He glances over at you, that tiny smile fading into something more polished. 

“Something to share?”

“The project.”

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

“Yes, that.”

“I suppose you have me trapped, don’t you.”

“For as long as the car ride,” you agree.

“Go on, then.”

You give him a basic overview, sweeping over the vast lay of the project, upselling things you’ll think he’ll care about while cutting out a few of the things you think he won’t. It’s hard to tell how it’s landing; you’re slowly realizing that Jing Yuan is a hard man to read. You suppose it makes sense, considering his years at the highest level in corporate, but it feels odd.

“I can see why Fu Xuan wants me on board,” he says as he pulls into the inn’s driveway. “And it is the type of project that appeals to me, which she knows.”

You let out a soft breath. “I don’t suppose that means you’ll come on board?”

He parks. “No,” he says.

You sigh. “I thought not. What would it take for you to come on board?”

“Don’t you think it’d be more fun to find that out yourself?”

You scowl at him, ignoring the way the corners of his lips lift. 

“No.”

Jing Yuan glances at you, his eyes gleaming, the sun come down to earth.“I'll tell you what,” he says. “Spend up until Christmas Eve with me. You can talk to me about the project until then. And if you haven’t figured it out by then, I’ll tell you exactly what will get me onto the project.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Deal,” you say, sticking out your hand. He shakes it, his grip firm. You can feel the heat of him even through your gloves. It’s soft like the early spring sun, a gentle warmth that blooms through you. 

“Not that I mind, but I will need my hand back.”

You let go immediately, snatching your hand back like you’ve been burned.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, eyes crinkling. 

“I have to go,” you say, scrambling for your briefcase. You think you hear him chuckle under his breath as you pop the door open. You don’t even say goodbye; you slam the door shut before striding off towards the inn, pretending your dignity isn’t lying in pieces. 

At the inn’s door, you can’t help yourself. You glance back.

Jing Yuan smiles and gives you a little wave.

Your cheeks go hot, a supernova burn. You retreat into the inn quickly. 

Lee calls out a greeting, but you ignore him and rush to your room. You curse Jing Yuan’s name as you boot your laptop up. Your cheeks are still warm. You scrub your hands over them as if that will help. 

Your email pings. With a sigh, you scrub at your heated cheeks one more time before you delve into your inbox. 

The rest of the day passes in a blur of phone calls and emails; by the time you look up, stomach grumbling, the sun has set, leaving behind only its reflection in the moon to lead the way. You push back from the desk and rub at your stinging eyes.

When you go downstairs to grab something to eat, the inn’s lounge is full of people. You balk, unsure, but your stomach rumbles again. You make yourself a plate and sit down at the edge of one of the crowded tables, picking away at the food as laughter fills the air around you. 

There’s a couple at the other end of your table, hands intertwined as they talk, pressing close to hear each other over the noise. The shorter woman smiles at her partner, quick and bright, a shooting star burning through the night sky, and you look away. 

Across the room, a group of teens are laughing among themselves, draped over each other casually. You watch them for a moment. They vie for the handheld console they’re playing with, passing it back and forth as they chatter excitedly.

Something cold slithers behind your ribs. It winds around the bones like ivy, sending roots down into your marrow.

You take the rest of your meal upstairs. 

***

The morning light streams through the frost on your windows, the feathered whorls of ice glittering as they cast dancing shadows on the walls. Beyond your window, the inn’s yard is full of bundled up families swooping down the slight hill in brightly colored sleighs, their whoops barely audible. 

You watch a little boy tug his father up the hill. He’s so wrapped up in layers that he’s waddling. He throws his hands up in the air as they coast down the hill, snow kicking up behind the sleigh, his father wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. 

Someone says your name.

“Sorry,” you say, coming back to yourself and the conference call you’re on. “Could you repeat that?”

They do and you refocus, tapping away at your keyboard as you sip at your coffee. You’ve stepped back into some of your usual projects now that you’re at Jing Yuan’s whim. He’s clearly a late riser, based on the time. 

He calls when you’re on your third cup of coffee. He tells you only to meet him in front of the inn in fifteen minutes. You’re out the door in ten, stamping your feet on the inn’s porch to keep warm, tucking your chin into your coat’s collar in hopes of keeping warm. 

Jing Yuan pulls up a few minutes later. He slides from the car gracefully, looking cozy in a fleece-lined bomber jacket. You tuck your chin further into your coat collar as the wind gusts. He eyes you for a moment.

“Do you have anything warmer?”

“I brought clothes for business meetings, not whatever you have planned,” you say irritably. 

He chuckles. “Fair,” he says. “Hold on.” 

He disappears to the trunk of the car. When he comes back, he’s got a thick scarf and hat with him, the knit of them full of lumps, clearly handmade. There’s a neon bright pom-pom on the top of the hat. 

“No,” you say flatly.

He chuckles. “Alright.” 

The wind chooses that moment to gust heavily, biting through every layer to kiss frigid against your skin. “Shit,” you bite out, and when Jing Yuan holds out the hat and scarf again, you take them.

You jam the hat on your head and wind the scarf around your neck before burying your chin in it, pulling it up over your mouth and nose. When you breathe in, the air is tinged with what can only be traces of Jing Yuan’s cologne, a faint hint of warm cedar and bergamot, woodsy and bright. Beneath that, there’s a hint of smoke, of woodfire. It drapes over you like a soft, warm blanket. You resist the urge to close your eyes to breathe it in again.

“Cute,” Jing Yuan teases. You glare at him, but from the smile he gives you, it’s not very effective. You glare harder. 

“Let’s go,” he says, urging you towards the car with a gentle hand at the small of your back. You can feel the weight of it even through the thick material of your coat. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. He chuckles as you glance away. 

“Where are we going?” you ask as you slip into the passenger seat.

He flashes you a coy little smile. “You’ll see.”

You huff; he just smiles.

It doesn’t take you long to get back to the rec center, but you make the most of it, chattering to him about the project, trying to figure out what to highlight based on his reaction. He responds amiably, even asks a few questions, but it’s not enough. You know it’s not enough. 

When you arrive at the rec center, Jing Yuan pulls around the back of the building. Before you can even ask, the answer comes into view.

“Oh,” you breathe, cutting yourself off mid-sentence about the marketing strategy, taking in the massive skating rink. The bleachers are covered with twinkling lights and pine garlands, massive red bows dotted along them like flowers. There are lights overhead, too, dripping down like icicles. A Christmas tree sparkles in the far corner of the rink, weighed down with ornaments and topped with a shining star. 

Jing Yuan parks and you balk.

“We’re not—”

“We are,” he says cheerfully, the corners of his lips curling up into a lazy smile. 

“What does this have to do with the project?” you ask desperately. 

“Ah ah, that would be telling.”

You gape at him. He chuckles and gets out of the car; you follow him after a moment. He guides you to the skate shoe rental hut and before you realize it, you have a pair of skates on and are at the edge of the rink. You’re not even sure how he convinced you. 

Jing Yuan is already on the ice. He moves like a dancer despite his bulk, swaying over the ice like kelp in a current, rippling and beautiful. There’s something utilitarian to it too, not a single move wasted. An athlete’s precision. 

He comes close to the edge and holds out a hand to you. “Ready?” he asks.

“I know how to skate,” you snap at him. 

“Okay,” he says, skating backwards to give you enough room to kick out onto the ice. 

It takes you a minute to find your feet, skates almost skittering out from under you, but you find your balance quickly and start to skate through the rink. The ice is smooth beneath you, perfectly slick, and you pick up speed. When you glance to your right, Jing Yuan is there, keeping up with you effortlessly, a small smile unfurling across his lips.

His hair is streaming out behind him, barely tamed by the thin red ribbon holding part of it back. You think of the pelting snow of a blizzard, beautiful and dangerous, and look away just as he turns to you.

“So shy,” he says, a laugh rumbling in his chest, and you consider how much it might hurt the potential of the project if you hit him. 

“I’m hardly shy,” you tell him.

“That’s true,” he says. “I don’t think anyone shy would have claimed their gloves as mine.”

The tips of your ears go hot. “I needed to find you.”

“I’ve heard that you can ask people things.” 

“I tried. They’re protective of you, you know.” 

His smile softens, goes tender at the edges. “More protective than I deserve,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost in the whipping wind. 

You bite at your lip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye; his smile is distant now, like the sun dipping just below the horizon.

“Jing Yuan?” you say tentatively. 

He blinks. “Hmm? Oh. Sorry.” 

You hum. “You skate well,” you say instead of the question that’s lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“So do you.”

“My mom was a skater,” you say, looping around a tottering child. “She taught me when I was little. I haven’t gone in forever, though.”

“How come?”

“Too busy.”

“Too busy working,” he says, and it’s not a question.

You think of the Instagram photos from a few weeks ago, all of your friends at a nearby rink, glowing under the lights as they pile into the frame, caught eternally in joy. The pictures of the food afterwards, of the drinks they used to warm themselves up, each one dotted with a little sprig of holly. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Too busy working.” 

He hums. 

You push yourself to skate faster. He keeps up with you smoothly, his footwork impeccable. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You glance at him; he meets your gaze steadily, his eyes the color of sunlit whisky, deep and rich. “I’m not upset,” you say. 

“Alright.” 

The two of you skate quietly for a long while, keeping an easy pace around the rink, avoiding the wobbling tots being coaxed by their steady parents. Teens spin around in circles until they’re dizzy, falling to the ice with a laugh. There’s a girl holding hands with another girl as she scrambles across the ice like a baby deer. You watch them bobble along, a little smile blossoming on your lips.

“Careful,” you hear Jing Yuan warn, and you look up just in time to see a teen boy windmilling his arms as he comes straight at you. Before you can even blink, there’s an arm around your waist, tugging you out of the way. The momentum sends you directly into Jing Yuan; he turns the two of you quickly and grunts as he hits the rink’s edge, taking the brunt of the impact. 

You end up pressed together. His arm is still slung low around your waist, holding you to him, the tips of your skates just barely touching the ground; you’ve fisted your hands in his coat to keep from falling. You can’t help but lean into the warmth of him. This close, you can smell his cologne more clearly. It’s different on his skin, the woodfire scent all but gone, while the cedar and the bright flash of citrus from the bergamot still lingers.

“You okay?” he asks, setting you down. His big hands are gentle as he steadies you, touching you as if you’re something fragile, something to be protected. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You still have your hands fisted in his jacket. You let go one finger at a time before stepping back. 

“I’m fine,” he says, straightening up. “Doubt it will even bruise.”

“Thanks,” you say. “For the save.” 

“You’re welcome. Think I’m done with skating for the day, though.”

“Me too.”

The two of you skate to the edge of the rink; Jing Yuan holds out a hand to help you from the ice. By the time you’re done returning the skates, the sun is setting, the fiery orange horizon giving way to the encroaching teeth of night. 

“I should get back,” you say. “I still have some work to do.”

Jing Yuan glances at you. His gaze is assessing, golden eyes keen, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be under his scrutiny when he was still a CEO. If other people felt his gaze like an autopsy cut, opening you for his perusal. 

“Sure,” he says easily. “If you have to.”

“I do.”

He takes you back to the inn. Your goodbye is quiet, though he takes one last jab at how you look wearing the hat and scarf as he insists you keep them for now. 

You watch him drive off, unable to shake the feeling that somehow, you’ve disappointed him. 

You work for a while, your room quiet, before you give up in the middle of an email. You shut down your laptop and get ready for bed. 

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

***

“Do you really get up this late?” you ask, checking your watch as Jing Yuan climbs out of his car. 

“No,” he says, sounding amused. “Do I give that impression?”

“They literally called you the Dozing CEO.” 

“There are worse things to be.”

“That’s true,” you say thoughtfully. “Anyway, I wanted to talk about the second stage of the pro—”

“Later,” Jing Yuan says. “Right now it’s time for coffee. Let’s go to Auntie’s.” 

The snow crunches under your boots as the two of you walk into town. The crowd is even bigger today, filling the streets. There’s a band at one end of Aurum, the musicians bundled up as they play lively Christmas music. They take a request from a passing child and they clap in delight as the band starts to play. 

“Is it always like this?” you ask.

Jing Yuan nods. “The holidays are a big deal around here,” he says, holding the door to Auntie’s open for you. “It’s a close-knit community.”

He greets the hostess by name and asks about her family; she chatters familiarly with him as she leads the two of you to a booth.

“I can tell,” you say once she’s left. “Is that why you came here?”

He pauses. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, giving you a little smile. It’s soft, that smile, and sweet at the edges. Your cheeks heat a bit. “But yes, that’s a large part of it. That and I wanted to be out of the city.” 

“Really? I thought you loved the city.”

He tilts his head in question.

You cough. “Most of the profiles I’ve read say you like the city.” 

“When I was younger,” he says. “But now, I find the quiet suits me.”

The waitress comes by with a coffee for him; he thanks her kindly before returning his attention to you. 

“The quiet here has been nice,” you admit.

“Would you ever leave the city?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I’ve been there for almost twenty years now. I moved there when I was eighteen. Besides, that’s where my job is.”

He hums lightly. “So it is.” 

“Speaking of—”

He sighs, cupping his coffee between his big hands to warm them. “Go ahead,” he says. “I said I’d listen.” 

You launch into the second phase of the project, outlining the plans and how they’d be executed, as well as what his backing and involvement might look like. Jing Yuan drinks his coffee as he listens, only pausing you once so he can ask the waitress a question. 

You wind down and he smiles at you. “You’re very convincing,” he tells you. “I can see how you got Feixiao to come on board for the last project that Luofu did.” 

“But—” you say, knowing what’s coming.

“But I’m not sold.” 

“Of course you aren’t,” you grumble under your breath. Jing Yuan breathes out a laugh and your face goes hot. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine.” 

“You’re very tolerant.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.” 

He chuckles. “I suppose I am,” he says. “Retirement has taken much of the bite out of me, I’m afraid. Though I don’t consider that a bad thing.” 

“It’s not.” 

He rests his chin on his palm, gazing at you from under his long lashes. Only one of his eyes is visible; the other is behind the silver of his hair, a sun hidden by clouds. His eye is heavily lidded, but his gaze is as keen as ever. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.” 

“Right,” you say, flustered and unsure why. “Me too.” 

“I find the best part of retirement is the softness,” he says. “It gives you room to be gentle. With yourself. With others.”

“You sound like a self-help book.”

“I do meditate quite often,” he says, eyes crinkling with his smile. “I would recommend it.” 

“I don’t have time to meditate.”

“All the more reason to find some time for it,” he says mildly, taking another sip of his coffee. A droplet clings to his lower lip; he catches it with his thumb before licking his thumb clean. You almost choke on air.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a coy smile unfurling on his lips. 

“F-fine.” 

That smile grows larger, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Alright. Let’s have a late breakfast, shall we?”

“Okay.”

The food comes quickly, filling the air with the scent of crisp bacon and the sharp, woody tang of rosemary. The eggs melt on your tongue, perfectly fluffy, and Jing Yuan smiles when you let out a pleased sigh.

“Good?”

You nod eagerly, taking another bite.

“Good.” 

You’re both quiet as you eat; when it comes time to pay, Jing Yuan doesn’t even let you reach for the bill, simply handing the waitress his card with a flick of his wrist. His playful glare silences you before you can even protest. 

When you stand to leave, he gestures you in front of him. He follows you out the door of Auntie’s and the two of you stop under the awning—hung with crystalline stars that catch the sunlight as they sway in the wind—to stay out of the way of the crowds. 

“Walk with me,” he says, tugging lightly at the end of your (his) scarf. 

“Okay.”

The two of you thread through the crowds; eventually, they thin out and you settle beside each other. You take in the quieter part of town, still Christmas ready, with fake candles flickering in the windows of the offices and thick wreaths adorning the doors. 

“Pretty,” you say absentmindedly, toying with a ribbon as you pass, the material velvety under your fingertips. 

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says, sounding fond, and he’s already looking at you when you glance at him. “Come along, we’re almost there.”

“Where?” you ask, but you round the corner and the answer is there.

The park is beautiful, even barren, with the tree’s empty branches reaching towards the yawning sky. A light dusting of snow covers the ground, though it’s turned to slush on the paths. You and Jing Yuan pick your way around the worst of the melt, until you find a massive gazebo. 

It’s a sight. It’s draped in garlands, each dotted with sprigs of holly and bright little lights that flash like shooting stars. Poinsettias line the gazebo, their stamen golden starfish amid the sea of crimson. 

“Wow,” you say. 

“It’s my favorite place in the park,” Jing Yuan says. “Though it’s normally a bit more subdued.”

“I would hope so.” 

“But it’s not what we’re here for.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he says, resting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you forward. “Let’s keep going.” 

You talk quietly as you wander through the park until you suddenly notice there are a lot more people than there were before. Before you know it, you’re in a line. You look at Jing Yuan, but he simply smiles.

“No,” you say as the horse-pulled sleighs come into view.

“That’s what you said about skating, too.” 

“Why is this town so into Christmas?”

“Why not?”

You sigh and let him guide you forward, abruptly aware that his hand is still at the small of your back. The weight of it prickles along your skin. He gives you a light push towards the front of the line. 

The sleigh that pulls up in front of you is large. It’s decked out in garlands and holly, filled with soft, fuzzy blankets that look like they would keep you warm on even the coldest nights. The mare in front of it nickers, her tail flicking from side to side. 

Jing Yuan slides into the sleigh with feline ease, though he’s broad enough to take up most of it himself. You hesitate.

He chuckles, patting the spot next to him on the bench. “Indulge me,” he says.

You sigh and slide in before sitting down. You immediately regret it. “It’s cold,” you whine, the chill seeping through your pants, but he simply tosses one of the blankets over you and tucks it in at the side, blocking out any chilly air. 

“There,” he says. “Ready?”

“Okay,” you say, and the driver flicks her reins, sending the mare into a trot. The sleigh starts to slide forward and you grab onto Jing Yuan’s arm without thinking, sinking your fingertips into the muscle of his forearm. 

He chuckles again and pats your hand. “You’ll get used to it,” he tells you. 

“And if I don’t?”

“You can always keep holding on to me.” 

You immediately let go. 

He gives you an indolent smile. His eyes crinkle with it, and you want to curse him for being so handsome. Instead, you huff and bury yourself deeper under the blanket, which has slowly been heating.

“I could be working,” you mutter.

“Would you rather be?”

You blink, not having expected Jing Yuan to be listening to you that closely. “I—It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.” 

“I just—it’s what I’m good at,” you say, and it sounds like a question even to your own ears. “I’m a good worker. A hard worker. I don’t really have much else to offer, so it makes sense to work all the time.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

“What?”

“You have much more to offer than just work,” he says gently. 

“I really don’t,” you say miserably. “I barely see my friends and I worry about overwhelming them, and my family is just—”

You pause. “And I also just said all of this to you, basically a stranger and also who I’m supposed to be recruiting, so this is just embarrassing now. Goodbye.” 

He catches you by the wrist as you start to throw the blanket off and try to wiggle away from his side.

“And here I thought we were more than strangers by now. I’m a little hurt.”

“Jing Yuan!”

“Alright, alright,” he says. “But it’s okay. I’m here to listen if you want.” 

“I don’t,” you say, refusing to look at him as he reaches over you to tuck the blanket back in around you. “Just forget I said anything.”

Silence falls, broken only by the steady trot of the mare and the soft jingling of the bells you hadn’t noticed on her bridle. 

“That’s part of why I retired, you know.”

You glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring off into the snowy treeline, his golden eyes hazed over, the sun under morning mist. “I wanted to be good at something other than work. And I wasn’t.” 

“That’s not true,” you say softly. “You and your friends—”

“Fell apart,” he says, and you subside. You know just as much about the group of company heads deemed The Quintet as anyone does, which is to say that you only know of their end. Their exploits, their dreams, all overshadowed. Companies—people—that rose into the sky and then fell, burning up in the atmosphere until they were meteors, destined to crash. 

Jing Yuan, barely out of his twenties, was the only one left standing.

“I put in years of work to try and get everything right again,” he says. “To acquire their companies and do right by them. I did it, too. And then I stayed. Because I was good at it. Because I didn’t know what else to do.” 

You chew on your lip before throwing caution to the wind. You rest your hand on his forearm and don’t move when he jolts. His eyes cut towards you, burnished amber, and the sharp edges of him soften. 

“You’re more than just work,” he says. “I can promise you that.” 

“Okay,” you say softly, because what else is there to say? “Okay.”

The both of you are quiet for a few minutes. You chew on everything that’s been said, careful not to sink your teeth into the meat of it. You’ll leave that for later, preferably in the dark of your own apartment. Next to you, Jing Yuan seems perfectly at ease, and not for the first time, you’re jealous of his composure. 

“Look,” he says suddenly, nudging you gently. He points to where the park meets true forest, where the saplings grow teeth. “Rabbits.”

“Where?” you say, leaning around him to try and see it. “I don’t see anything.” 

“Here,” he says, and suddenly you’re encased in warmth, his arms wrapped around you as he points. You peer down the line of one bulky arm and finally see a family of hares in the underbrush, their downy fur as white as the snow that surrounds them. 

“How did you even see them?” you breathe, watching as one of them noses at another, who shifts back into the brush. “They’re beautiful.” 

“They are,” he says.

The horse nickers and the hares freeze before darting off deeper into the underbrush. You watch until you can’t see them anymore. You settle back before realizing you’re almost in Jing Yuan’s lap, his strong arms still wrapped around you. He’s warm against you, his chest firm despite the slight softness around his middle, and you can feel his voice rumble through you as he asks the driver a question, one you can’t quite make out through the static in your ears. 

You push away quickly, settling on the far side of the sleigh. It doesn’t do much, considering his size, but at least you’re further away from him. Hopefully without alerting him to anything.

From the puckish curl of his lips, that hope is dashed. Still, he says nothing, continuing to talk with the driver as you stare out the side of the sleigh, huddling under the blanket now that you’re bereft of his warmth.

After he’s spoken to the driver, he turns back to you, that same little smile blooming on his lips, an unfurling flower. You brace yourself. 

“If you’re cold, the ride’s almost over,” he says. “And then I assume you need to go back to work?”

You almost say yes. You almost take the out he’s given you, but you look at him instead, at the way his expression crinkles his eyes and the way his aureate gaze has softened. You look at Jing Yuan and something behind your ribcage writhes, battering against the bones.

“No,” you say quietly. “I think I still have more time.”

He smiles.

***

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the park, meandering through the expanse of it and chatting the whole time. You only turn back towards the inn when it starts snowing, a light fall of fat, fluffy flakes. They catch in Jing Yuan’s lashes when he turns his face up to the sky, his white hair cascading behind him, a river of starlight. 

He’s beautiful. You’d known that before, of course—the man was a staple on magazine covers for a reason—but like this, it’s a different type of beauty. You wish you had words for it. Instead, you content yourself with watching him.

He cracks open an eye and sees you looking. “You’re staring,” he says, a small, sly smile blooming on his lips. “Something on my face?”

“Snow,” you say dryly. “You’re going to catch a cold.” 

“Ah, so you do care.”

“Maybe,” you say, and relish the fleeting look of surprise that he can’t quite hide. It’s gone as soon as it came, replaced by his usual small smile, but you think there’s a pleased edge to it. “Now hurry up, it’s cold.” 

He lifts his face to the sky for a moment more, letting a few more flakes drift down onto him. You wait for him. You’re cold even with the hat and scarf, but he looks so content that you can’t bear to drag him away. 

Finally, he strides to your side. The two of you head back into town, taking a route that extends the walk. You chat quietly for a majority of the time, though sometimes you lapse into a comfortable silence, simply watching the snow fall. 

He insists on accompanying you all the way to the inn’s doorstep, citing the icy path. You roll your eyes but don’t argue; his smile makes something in your chest twist. 

“Thanks,” you say at the doorstep. 

“For?”

“Everything,” you say, a little bit helpless.

He smiles again, gentle like the spring sun, and then says: “I’d like to take you to the house tomorrow.”

“The house? Whose?” 

“Mine.”

“Oh,” you say.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” 

“You haven’t murdered me yet.” 

“True,” he says, that same little smile unfurling on his lips. “There’s still time, though.”

“Jing Yuan!”

He laughs, low and rich, more a vibration than a sound, as close together as you are. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” you say. “See you then.”

“Goodnight,” he says. But he stays until you give him a tiny shove. 

You go to sleep with a smile lingering sweet on your lips.

***

It’s still snowing the next morning. The flakes fall delicately, dusting over the trees like icing sugar, coating the inn like a soft blanket. You watch it as you sip your coffee. It’s slow and steady, like a snowglobe settling after a flurry. 

You can tell when Jing Yuan pulls up; your phone vibrates on top of your closed laptop. You gulp down the rest of your coffee before throwing on your coat. The walk from the inn to his car is short but cold. You shiver as you slip into the warmth of the car; he reaches over and tugs your hat down a little more firmly.

“Thanks,” you say. “Definitely couldn’t have done that myself.”

“You’re welcome,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s go.” 

The drive to his house is longer than you thought. It’s on the far outskirts of town, set back into a grove of pine trees, not at all the modern manor you’d thought it would be. It’s still large, but there’s a modesty to it that fits him.

He pulls into the garage and leads you inside, where you immediately hear running footsteps. Jing Yuan smiles as Yanqing rounds the corner, all but throwing himself at his uncle.

“You took forever,” he complains.

“I had to go pick up my friend here,” Jing Yuan says, patting the boy on the head. “We can get started now, though.”

Yanqing peers at you. “Are they helping?”

“Helping with what?” you ask, shrugging out of your jacket at Jing Yuan’s gesture. 

“Gingerbread, duh.” 

“Oh, um—”

“They’re helping,” Jing Yuan says smoothly, ushering you forward into what you quickly realize is the biggest kitchen you’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with sleek kitchenware. There’s already ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter, perfectly arranged.

“I’m afraid to touch anything in your kitchen,” you say. 

He laughs, rolling up the sleeves of his dark red sweater. You watch his forearms flex, the muscle rippling beneath his skin, the tendons in his hands cording. 

“Don’t be,” he says. “Now let’s get started before Yanqing eats all the chocolate chips.”

Yanqing pauses with another handful of chocolate chips almost to his mouth. He gazes at his uncle for a moment and then defiantly pops it into his mouth. Jing Yuan sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The boy chatters at the two of you as you measure out the ingredients for gingerbread, though he mostly speaks to Jing Yuan. For his part, Jing Yuan listens intently, paying as much attention to Yanqing as he would to any adult. He nods seriously when Yanqing complains about something that happened at school.

“And then they took away my sword—”

“Wait,” you say, stopping in the middle of mixing. “Sword?”

Yanqing stares at you. “Yeah. My sword.”

You look at Jing Yuan, who laughs. “He’s a fencing champion,” he explains.

“I’m the best in the region,” Yanqing informs you, his chest puffed up. “But one day I’ll beat Uncle.” 

You start mixing again. Jing Yuan is a former champion—that has been detailed in almost every magazine he’s ever interviewed with. With good reason, too. You’ve seen the photos of him in his fencing gear, his face mask by his side, his strong thighs outlined by the uniform. He’d been sweaty and smiling broadly, his senior Jingliu at his side, her lips pressed together sternly but her eyes gleaming. 

“Ah, this old man can’t keep up with you anymore,” Jing Yuan says, ruffling Yanqing’s hair. 

“Liar,” the boy grumbles. 

Jing Yuan laughs again. “That looks ready,” he says to you. “Yanqing, do you want to roll it out?”

“Nope.” He’s already sorting through the candy that’s on the other counter, unwrapping various ones. “I’m picking decorations.” 

“It’s up to you, then,” Jing Yuan says to you with a little smile.

“I don’t see you doing very much work,” you say. He’s leaning against the counter, looking half-asleep. 

“I’m supervising.”

You point your spatula at him. “You dragged me here. Come help.”

“Of course,” he says, pushing off the countertop. He pauses to stretch, reaching high, just enough for his sweater to reveal a slice of his belly and the tiniest hint of silvery hair. You almost drop the spatula. He grabs it before you can, a smug little smirk playing across his lips. 

But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to lightly flour the countertop and dump the gingerbread dough onto it. He flours the rolling pin as well, his big hand easily reaching around the fullest part of the thick pin. When he starts to roll it out, his hands and forearms flex with each motion, the veins protruding slightly from beneath his skin. 

You decide it’s better for you to look at something else. You focus on Yanqing, who is humming happily to himself as he picks out varying decorations. 

“Those would make good pine trees,” you say, pointing to the waffle cones. 

He eyes you. “How?”

“Like this,” you say, flipping them over so the mouth of the cone is against the counter. “And then you pipe on icing to make it look like a tree.”

He deliberates for a moment. “We can try it,” he allows.

“Okay.” 

He slips away to another counter that’s got piping bags and tips laid out all over it, along with several different colors of icing. You glance at Jing Yuan. “You really have everything, don’t you?”

He smiles, cutting out a few shapes from the rolled out dough. “Not everything,” he says. “But I do try to stay stocked for gingerbread house day.” 

“Do you do it every year?”

“Yup,” Yanqing says, sliding in next to you. “Since I was little.” He concentrates on the piping bag for a moment, pressing the tip down until it’s at the bottom of the bag and then grabbing a glass and pulling the edges of the bag over the edges of the glass. It holds it nicely and he starts to pile icing in.

“I can tell,” you say, watching his careful precision. He doesn’t reply, too busy piping on the first bit of icing. 

There’s a blast of heat at your back as Jing Yuan opens the oven to put the gingerbread pieces in. The pan clinks against the rack and then the heat at your back is softer, a gentle warmth instead. Jing Yuan leans over you to see what Yanqing is doing, his long white hair draping over your shoulder, a waterfall of moonlight.

“Clever,” he says. 

“Pretty sure I read it in a magazine.”

He hums. “Still clever.” 

“I guess.”

“Look!” Yanqing says. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Very good,” Jing Yuan says, and he’s not lying. Yanqing has an eye for details, swirling the piping to achieve a needle-like texture in the deep green icing. “Now you can put ornaments on it.” 

“Yeah!”

You watch him fish through the varying candies to find a handful of circular red and gold ones, which he starts pushing into place in the icing. He works diligently, setting them into patterns, but you’re distracted by the heat of Jing Yuan against your back. He shifts behind you and your fingers flex.

The timer saves you. Jing Yuan pulls away as it dings; you hear the oven open and close again as he sets the gingerbread on racks to cool.

“Make one,” Yanqing says suddenly, shoving a waffle cone into your hands. “We need more for the forest.” 

“Is there going to be a forest?” Jing Yuan asks mildly. “I thought we were making a house.” 

“We can do both!”

 “I see.” 

The three of you work on trees as the gingerbread cools. Yanqing chatters away, telling you all about his most recent bout and what he asked for for Christmas. It’s cute, really, watching him and Jing Yuan interact, his hero worship obvious even from such a short amount of time.

You’ve just put the finishing touch—a silver gummy star—on top of a tree when the doorbell rings. Jing Yuan pushes to his feet with a groan and goes to answer it.

When you look up from your tree, Yanqing is staring at you.

“Uncle doesn’t usually bring corporate people to the house,” Yanqing says. “So how come you’re here?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Yanqing’s gaze isn’t quite as knowing as his uncle’s, but it’s gutting in its own way. “I think it’s because you’re sad,” he tells you. 

“I’m not sad!”

“Okay,” he says in the way that pre-teens do. “Lonely, then.”

He grins in triumph when you can’t refute that. Then his brow furrows. “I think he’s lonely too,” he confesses. “He doesn’t want to say it, though. But he is.” 

Your stomach twists.

“Yanqing—”

He glares at you. “He is!”

“I’m not saying he isn’t,” you say softly. “I just don’t think you should be talking about it with me.” 

“But you understand!”

You sigh. “Yanqing,” you say. “If Jing Yuan wants me to know something, he’ll tell me himself, okay?”

“No he won’t,” he mutters.

“That’s his choice.”

His brow furrows; his lips twist, a sour lemon kiss. “Fine,” he says.

You bite at your lip but he doesn’t say anything else. “Let’s build the house?” you offer. 

“We have to wait for Uncle.” 

“What’s he doing?”

“Delivery, probably.” 

That certainly explains the scuffing noises that have been coming from the hallway. Before you can go investigate, though, Jing Yuan reappears.

“Did I miss much?” he asks, before looking at the still dismantled house. “Oh, you didn’t start.”

“We were waiting for you,” Yanqing says.

“Oh? So considerate.” 

“Let’s build already!” Yanqing says, practically bouncing in place. “Uncle, c’mon!”

Jing Yuan laughs and joins the two of you at the counter, looking down at the pieces of the gingerbread house. “Yes sir,” he says. “Where do you want to start?”

“Here!” 

It takes several tries to even get two of the walls to stick together. Yanqing makes you and Jing Yuan hold them together as he pipes in royal icing to be the glue; the two of you crowd together on one side of the counter to try and keep them upright. This close, you can feel how thick Jing Yuan’s bicep is as his arm presses against yours, courtesy of his broad shoulders. 

Finally, the icing sets. When you and Jing Yuan pull away, the walls stay standing, earning a cheer from Yanqing. He immediately picks up the next wall, gesturing for Jing Yuan to hold it in place. You take advantage of your moment of respite to pull up one of the kitchen stools, nestling into the plush of it. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Jing Yuan warns. “We’ll be putting you right back to work.” 

“Yeah,” Yanqing says. “You’ve gotta hold the next wall while the other one sets.” 

“Okay, okay,” you say, reaching for the next piece of gingerbread. You set it in place, holding it carefully, bracing the corner of it with your fingertips and the side of it with your other hand. Yanqing ices it quickly, and you wince as he manages to get a good amount of icing onto your fingertips. 

“Oops,” he says, looking abashed but not sounding particularly sorry.

“It’s fine,” you say, lifting your fingers away from the join of the walls, still bracing the wall itself with your other hand. You pop your fingertips into your mouth one-by-one without thinking, the sweetness spreading across your tongue rapidly, the sheer amount of sugar enough to make your teeth ache. 

Jing Yuan coughs. 

When you look at him, he’s already gazing at you, his eyes darkened to topaz, a deep, rich golden brown. For a second, his lazy smile goes knife-edged, something hungry tucked up into the corner of his mouth, but it’s gone when you blink, only a faint amusement remaining. 

“There’s a sink if you would find that more useful,” he says, nodding towards the farmhouse sink just behind you. “Though far be it from me to stop you.”

Your cheeks heat. You wait a moment, letting Yanqing take the brunt of the gingerbread wall before you pull away. You wash your hands as the two of them chat behind you, the water burning hot as you try to compose yourself. 

The little smirk Jing Yuan sends you when you turn around doesn’t help. 

You take in a deep breath before rejoining them, taking the final wall and putting it into place. The three of you continue building, chatting the whole time. Yanqing’s delight is infectious and you find yourself laughing with every mishap and quietly cheering each time a wall stays up. The roof is the most precarious part; it takes the three of you several tries to get it situated. 

“Now it just has to fully dry,” Yanqing announces. “Then we can decorate.”

“And in the meantime?” you ask. 

“I’m going to my room!” he says, taking off down the hallway. You blink and glance at Jing Yuan.

“He means he’s going to snoop under the Christmas tree,” he says. 

“Oh.” 

“He thinks he’s sneakier than he is.”

“Don’t all kids? Besides, didn’t you peek under the tree when you were a kid?” 

“I would never,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Who do you think I am?”

“The type to sneak under the tree. I bet you shook boxes and everything.”

He chuckles. “I stopped after I accidentally broke one of the presents doing that.” 

“You didn’t!”

“I’m afraid so.” 

You laugh, the sound bubbling from you like a spill of champagne. “Oh my god.” 

Jing Yuan smiles, his eyes crinkling with it. “Don’t tell me you never shook the presents.”

“Of course I did. I just never broke anything.”

He hums. “Of course not.”

“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You’re so annoying.”

He smiles, popping a candy into his mouth. You watch the way he licks the residue of it off of his lips. “Now, now, be nice.” 

You pick up a candy too. It’s watermelon, the taste bursting over your tongue, stickily artificial. “Are we spending all day on a gingerbread house?” you ask. 

“There’s a Christmas market that I’d intended to go to.” 

You hum. “Alright.”

“No need to sound so excited about it.” 

“Excited about what?” Yanqing says, flouncing into the room. He’s pink-cheeked and looking pleased with himself. You assume the present shaking went well. 

“The Christmas fair.”

The boy’s face lights up. “We’re going, right? Right?”

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says. “After we finish decorating.” 

“Is the icing dry yet?”

You test the gingerbread house carefully, seeing how well the walls and roof hold up. They don’t move under your gentle prodding nor when you apply a bit more pressure.

“I think so,” you say. “Let’s decorate.”

The three of you set to work. You and Jing Yuan mostly follow Yanqing’s direction; you build a chimney out of non-pareils, the uneven sides like trendy stone work. The fir trees are sprinkled around the yard, each one more decorated than the last; the shingles to the roof are made of gingerbread too, carefully cut into a scalloped edge. The very top of the roof is lined with gumdrops, the rainbow of them like Christmas lights. Chocolate stones make the pathway to the house; the path is lined with little licorice lamps. 

Altogether, it’s probably the fanciest gingerbread house you’ve seen. Granted, Jing Yuan had clearly gone all out on different types of candy—so many types that you barely use half of them—but Yanqing’s eye for detail makes it all come together. 

“Wow,” you say, putting a final star-shaped sprinkle in place over one of the windows, where it joins a line of others, a draping of fake Christmas lights. “This is really good, Yanqing.”

The boy puffs up. “I’ve won my school’s decorating contest before,” he says.

“I can see why.” 

He beams and then turns to Jing Yuan. “When are we going to the market?” he asks.

“After we clean up.” 

A pout creases his face for a moment, his lips turning down in an admittedly endearing way. “Fine,” he sighs, looking at the messy counter. You’d tried to keep the mess to a minimum, but between icing and sugar-dusted candies, you hadn’t quite succeeded. As Jing Yuan and Yanqing start to sort the candies and put them away, you start scraping up the dried-on icing. 

For a moment, you think Jing Yuan is going to protest, but when you flash him a little stare that dares him too, he subsides without saying a word. You grin triumphantly and he smiles, soft and sweet. Something in you twinges. 

You push the little flutter aside, wetting a paper towel to scrub off the worst of the icing. The three of you work away, chatting lightly, until the kitchen is almost as pristine as when you got there.

“That’s good enough for now,” Jing Yuan says, taking in the kitchen with a critical eye. “We’ll get the candy in the pantry later.” 

Yanqing perks up. “Christmas market?” he asks.

Jing Yuan nods, a fond little smile unfurling across his lips. “Go change your shirt.” 

Yanqing looks down at his shirt, which is spattered with icing from when he got a little overenthusiastic with the piping bag. “Okay!” he says, running off. 

You head to the sink to wash your hands again; they’re sticky with leftover icing. Jing Yuan meets you there with a dish towel to dry your hands. His fingertips linger over your palm as he hands it to you. You take in a soft breath, but the touch is gone as soon as it comes.

Yanqing returns and the three of you bundle up—apparently the market is an outdoor one. Jing Yuan fixes Yanqing’s hat despite the boy batting his hands away. Then he turns to you and tugs at the end of your scarf. 

“Ready?” 

You nod. The three of you pile into one of Jing Yuan’s cars. The ride is mostly quiet, with Yanqing and Jing Yuan chatting here and there, but you’re busy looking out the window at the rolling countryside. It’s picturesque in a way no painting could ever capture, the trees lit golden by the setting sun, the snow glittering like stars as it sits heavy on their branches. The firs bend under its weight while the bare oaks soar into the sky, as if they’re painted in long, sweet strokes. 

You pull into a stuffed parking lot. You shiver as you get out of the warm car, burying your chin into the scarf as your breath puffs out in a gentle mist. 

The fair is stunning, little stalls lining the closed-off street, each decorated in its own way. Each of them is festooned with lights and garlands, with little stockings hung carefully from the tables. There’s a baker with bread shaped like wreaths, the crust of them perfectly golden-brown, tucked into star-patterned cloth; a weaver with stunning blankets with complex designs; a blacksmith with all sorts of metalwork, each more beautiful than the last. And those are just the first few stalls.

“Wow,” you breathe.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jing Yuan asks. “I hear it’s grown through the years. It seems to get bigger every year.”

“I’m surprised this place isn’t known as a Christmas destination.”

“It is,” he says. “If you know the right people to ask.”

“How did you find it?”

“A friend,” he says, and there’s something in the set of his mouth that keeps you from asking more. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

“I want to go to the blacksmith!” Yanqing pipes up.

“Go ahead,” Jing Yuan says. “Don’t go far, please.”

“Okay!”

The two of you watch him take off into the crowd, his golden crown of hair bobbing along, dodging adults and other children alike. Jing Yuan sighs, shaking his head, but gestures you along to the first stall. 

You linger over some textiles, including a beautiful tablecloth embroidered heavily with holly, each sprig carefully woven to look as real as possible. You can tell that love was stitched into it, and going by the stall owner’s gnarled fingers, she’s been doing it for a long time. 

“It’s beautiful,” you tell her, stroking your finger over a holly leaf. She smiles and starts to tell you about her process; you listen intently, Jing Yuan lingering patiently at your side. 

When you finally move to the next stall, someone calls Jing Yuan’s name. He smiles as they approach. They chat amiably for a few minutes before he excuses himself. 

As you wander through the market, you notice that it’s a pattern. Multiple people come up to Jing Yuan, all full of smiles and good cheer, talking to him like he’s an old friend. Some of them eye you curiously, but just nod your way when you’re introduced, going back to catching up with some news they’ve heard or thanking Jing Yuan for a favor he’s done.

“You’re popular,” you tell him as you both step into another stall, this one filled with ornaments. They shine brightly under the twinkling fairy lights strung over the stall’s top. 

“Am I?”

“Mhm.” 

He hums, picking up a snowglobe ornament and giving it a little shake. You watch the fake snow settle at the bottom, revealing the little girl building a snowman, her figure exquisitely made. “They’ve been very welcoming since I’ve moved here,” he says. “I’ve been lucky.” 

“I think it’s more than luck,” you say quietly. “I think you give as much as you get.”

He flashes you a little smile. “Maybe so.” 

The two of you continue on before someone stops Jing Yuan again, this time near a stall that’s too full for the three of you to step into. You do your best to shift out of the way of the people making their way through the market, but it’s hard to do so with so little room. 

You’ve just been knocked into when Jing Yuan loops an arm around your waist and tugs you into his side. It pulls you out of the line of fire for the crowds filtering by. He’s a line of heat against you and you feel it when he chuckles, the sound rumbling through you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, cheeks hot. 

“Good,” he says, and leaves his big hand high on your hip, keeping you close. He goes back to amiably talking to the other person as if he hasn’t noticed. If you lean into him, just slightly, no one but you needs to know. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. You take him in, from the moonlight spill of his hair to his sunrise eyes, to the little smile on his lips as he chats away.

He belongs, you realize, watching him slot back into his conversation with ease. He’s a part of the town, and based on how many people have come up to him, an important one. You think of the way the locals had eyed you when you’d been asking about him. It makes sense now. The town protects him as one of their own because he is one. And he’s happy, a subtle glow to him, a type you’ve rarely seen and likely never achieved yourself. 

Something in your chest squirms, fluttering against the bones of your ribcage, trying to slip through the gaps. You resist the urge to press a hand to your chest. 

He pulls away from the conversation a few minutes later, the hand on your hip dropping to the small of your back as he guides you forward. He stops to talk to a few more people, his eyes crinkling with his smile each time as they come up to him. It’s mesmerizing to watch. 

And you’re asking him to give it all up.

Not all of it, you remind yourself. It’s a project, not a job, but something in you winces nonetheless. Your chest tightens, like a ribbon wrapped around it is cinching in. 

Jing Yuan glances at you as you step away from his warmth, his hand falling from where it’s been resting on the small of your back. His brow furrows, but it passes quickly, a guttering candle. 

You keep your distance for the rest of the fair. You’re still close enough to almost touch despite the thinning crowds, but the gap feels like a gulf between you, as if you’re oceans away. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you say, but from the way Jing Yuan eyes you, he doesn’t quite believe you. He opens his mouth, but you’re saved by Yanqing, who runs up with sparkling eyes.

“Uncle!” he says. “The blacksmith says we can go to the forge and watch him!”

Jing Yuan chuckles. “Did you badger him into it?”

“No!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll set up a time with him later, okay?”

Yanqing pouts but nods. You hide your smile behind your scarf. 

“Let’s go home,” Jing Yuan says. Night has fallen, the sky velvety and dotted with stars. He glances at you. “Would you like me to drop you at the inn?”

You nod. He hums. “Alright.”

The three of you pile back into the car. The inn isn’t far—you probably could have walked, but the cold night has only gotten more frigid. Jing Yuan comes up to the inn’s doorstep with you, catching you by the wrist when you’re halfway up the stairs. You turn around and he looks up at you, his golden eyes shining under the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and it takes a moment to gather yourself, too focused on the way his thumb is rubbing small circles on the delicate skin of your inner wrist. You realize you’re leaning towards him, a flower to the sun. He smiles at you, eyes crinkling, and you see it again, that soft glow to him. 

Something clicks into place. 

“Nothing will make you come on board the project, will it?” you ask, sounding too calm even to your own ears. You shake off his hand. “There’s never even been the slightest chance.” 

Jing Yuan lets out a low, slow breath. “No,” he says. “There hasn’t been.” 

“Right,” you say. “Okay. Thank you for everything.”

“What?”

“My job is done,” you say. “If I can’t convince you, there’s no point in me being here.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say. Your chest hurts. Something sinks its teeth into your ribs, chipping away at the bone. “I came here to get you on board.”

“That’s not what the last day or two has been,” he says softly. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He reaches for you, brushing his gloved fingers against your cheek. “Yes, you do.” 

You pull away. “I’ve been here to get you on board, Jing Yuan. To do my job. That’s all.” 

“You—”

“I’ll catch a flight tomorrow,” you say. “It shouldn’t be hard, since it’s Christmas Eve.” 

He lets out a low, slow breath. He gazes up at you, his golden eyes flickering with something you don’t dare name. 

“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“It’s time for me to go,” you say. “It’s been time for me to go since I got here, apparently.” 

He says your name softly. It rolls over you like morning mist, blocks out the world. You take in a shuddering breath.

“Goodbye, Jing Yuan.”

He sighs. “If you change your mind, I’m having a Christmas party tomorrow. You’ll always be welcome.” 

You nod sharply, turning on your heel to go inside. Jing Yuan says your name again. You glance over your shoulder. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. And then—

“Travel safe,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say, and then you’re inside the inn, leaving Jing Yuan standing out in the cold behind you. You don’t wait to see if he lingers, ignoring Lee’s cheerful greeting to make your way back up to your room. 

You book the first flight you find. It’s late in the day, but that’s fine—you can catch up with your emails and calls. You’ve barely checked your phone today. You can’t quite bring yourself to do it now.

After your flight is booked, you close your laptop and fold your arms, resting your head on them. The fangs sunk into your rib bones dig deeper, hitting marrow. 

“Fuck,” you say, sitting up and scrubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck.” 

You stare out the window, into the deep bruise of the night. The woods rise beyond the hill, the trees skeletal as they reach for the sky, barely visible in the dark. Stars glitter coldly high above; the moon shines like a lonely mirror. It all feels distant, like a world you’re not part of.

You let out a deep, slow breath. It does nothing to loosen the string wound tight around your chest; if anything, it tightens. 

You get ready for bed slowly, that fanged thing still biting deep, leaving teeth marks that ache deeply. 

When you fall asleep, the last thing you see is Jing Yuan’s eyes.

***

The next day dawns too early. You once again wake with the sunlight, having forgotten to close the curtains as you drifted around the room last night. The watery light pools on the floor, sweetly golden. The wooden floor is warm under your feet as you cross through the puddles of sunlight. 

You get ready for the day quickly. You pack up carefully, rolling your clothes up so they fit better before you tuck your toiletries in. You keep your laptop out to answer emails as they come in. The sun stretches along the floor as you work, barely coming up for air.

You don’t dare give yourself time to think.

You check out in the early afternoon. The receptionist is the one who checked you in. She’s quick and efficient, and you find yourself on the doorstep of the inn waiting for a cab in just a few minutes. 

The taxi driver is quiet;  you find yourself wishing for the same talkative driver as before. At least it would fill the air, give you something to concentrate on beside the noise in your head. 

It’s all mixed together, a slush puddle that you keep stamping through, expecting to not get splashed this time. Jing Yuan, the project, your work, the promotion—it runs through your head non-stop, circling over and over again. Your work, all for nothing. Your possible promotion, just beyond the tips of your fingers. Jing Yuan with his golden eyes and his lips with a smile tucked up secret in the corner of his mouth. Jing Yuan with his laughter and his dedication to the town. 

You check your email but it doesn’t help.

You’ve already told Qingzu that you’ve failed. She had taken it in stride; she made sure you knew that no one was going to blame you. The project is going to go forward with or without Jing Yuan. You knew that, but the failure stings anyway. Fu Xuan had asked for you specifically; she must have believed you could do it. 

You should have been able to. 

Except—you think of the quiet glow that Jing Yuan had yesterday. The way he’d slipped seamlessly into the town’s community, how they treat him as one of their own. He’s happy in a rare way, deeply content with his lot. How you’d felt at his side in the last few days, even as he dragged you around. What it felt like to not be so focused on work all the time; how it felt to live life again. 

Something in your chest warms. It rises through you like sparkling champagne bubbles, fizzing across your nerves.

You think of the way Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. 

“Sir,” you call out to the taxi driver. “Can you please turn around?”

***

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. There are people coming and going; laughter drifts out the door every time it opens. The path is brightly lit, with Christmas lights lining the side and elegant wreaths hanging from posts, each big red bow perfectly tied. They’re glittering with tinsel, woven expertly in through the pine boughs.

You slip inside quietly. It’s completely different from just yesterday: there are tables set up inside, piled high with an entire array of hors d'oeuvres, from tiny little tarts to a bacchanalian cheeseboard, overflowing with plump, glistening figs, wine-red grapes, and fine cheeses. The decorations have multiplied. There are fairy lights everywhere, twinkling merrily. They’re tucked into vast, lush garlands that drape along the tables; there are candles flickering in their ornate holders, little wisps of smoke dancing from the flames. 

It's easy to find Jing Yuan; he’s holding court by the Christmas tree, perfectly visible from the doorway. He’s chatting away with the small group that’s gathered around him, but there’s something different about him. Something you can’t quite name. 

He looks wilted, almost, like the flowers in the last days of summer, still thriving but sensing their end. He smiles at someone and there’s nothing tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. Your chest aches, something howling between the gaps of your ribs. 

He glances up and your eyes meet. He goes still, and then there’s a brilliant smile spreading across his lips, the sun come down to earth. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over to you. 

“Hi,” you say as he draws near, a little bit breathless.

“Hi,” he says.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words rushing from you like water. “The last few days haven’t been nothing. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m sorry that I led you astray.”

“Why did you do it?”

He sighs. “I remember what it was like to work like that. To give up everything for the job. No one should live like that. And you seemed so lonely.” 

You wince.

“Sorry,” he says. “But it’s what I saw.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like you were wrong. And you made me less lonely, Jing Yuan.”

He reaches out and sweeps his thumb over the apple of your cheek. You sway into the touch, turning until your cheek is cradled in his palm. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “All I want is for you to be happy.” 

Someone whistles. You balk, starting to step back; Jing Yuan catches you before you can go far, pulling you in close.

“You’re under the mistletoe,” someone calls. 

You look up, and sure enough, there’s mistletoe hanging innocently above you, the tiny flowers white as snow. It’s tied off with a perfect red ribbon.

“We don’t have to—”

“It’s tradition,” you say, and then you’re surging up to kiss him. He meets you halfway and as his lips brush yours, warmth blooms inside your chest, embers stoked to flame. He cups the back of your head to pull you closer. You make a little noise; he swallows it down. 

There’s a certain greed to the kiss; a longing, too. He steals the breath from you; takes in your air and makes it his own. You kiss him harder, as if he might disappear. 

When you break apart, he leans down to press his forehead against yours. You close your eyes. You can hear people murmuring, but they seem far away. Only Jing Yuan feels real. You open your eyes and glance up at him. He smiles at you, his golden eyes crinkling at the edges. Your heart flutters behind your ribs, beating against the cage of them like a bird’s wings.

“Merry Christmas,” you breathe. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says softly.

He kisses you again and this time, it feels like coming home. 

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 5 EPISODE 11 || JOURNEYCAKE||

#83daysofoutlander☆

It had taken some experimentation to put the microscope together properly; it wasn’t much like a modern version, particularly when reduced to its component parts for storage in Dr. Rawlings’s handsome box. Still, the lenses were recognizable, and with that as a starting point, I had managed to fit the optical bits into the stand without much trouble. Obtaining sufficient light, though, had been more difficult, and I was thrilled finally to have got it working.

“What are ye doing, Sassenach?” Jamie, with a piece of toast in one hand, paused in the doorway.

“Seeing things,” I said, adjusting the focus.

“Oh, aye? What sorts of things?” He came into the room, smiling. “Not ghosties, I trust. I will have had enough o’ those.”

“Come look,” I said, stepping back from the microscope. Mildly puzzled, he bent and peered through the eyepiece, screwing up his other eye in concentration.

He squinted for a moment, then gave an exclamation of pleased surprise. “I see them! Wee things with tails, swimming all about!” He straightened up, smiling at me with a look of delight, then bent at once to look again. I felt a warm glow of pride in my new toy.

“Isn’t it marvelous?”

“Aye, marvelous,” he said, absorbed. “Look at them. Such busy wee strivers as they are, all pushing and writhing against one another—and such a mass of them!”

He watched for a few moments more, exclaiming under his breath, then straightened up, shaking his head in amazement.

“I’ve never seen such a thing, Sassenach. Ye’d told me about the germs, aye, but I never in life imagined them so! I thought they might have wee teeth, and they don’t—but I never kent they would have such handsome, lashing wee tails, or swim about in such numbers.”

“Well, some microorganisms do,” I said, moving to peer into the eyepiece again myself. “These particular little beasts aren’t germs, though—they’re sperms.” “They’re what?” He looked quite blank. “Sperms,” I said patiently. “Male reproductive cells. You know, what makes babies?” I thought he might just possibly choke. His mouth opened, and a very pretty shade of rose suffused his countenance.

“Ye mean seed?” he croaked. “Spunk?” “Well . . . yes.” Watching him narrowly, I poured steaming tea into a clean beaker and handed it to him as a restorative. He ignored it, though, his eyes fixed on the microscope as though something might spring out of the eyepiece at any moment and go writhing across the floor at our feet. “Sperms,” he muttered to himself. “Sperms.” He shook his head vigorously, then turned to me, a frightful thought having just occurred to him. “Whose are they?” he asked, his tone one of darkest suspicion. “Er . . . well, yours, of course.” I cleared my throat, mildly embarrassed. “Who else’s would they be?” His hand darted reflexively between his legs, and he clutched himself protectively. “How the hell did ye get them?” “How do you think?” I said, rather coldly. “I woke up in custody of them this morning.” His hand relaxed, but a deep blush of mortification stained his cheeks dark crimson. He picked up the beaker of tea and drained it at a gulp, temperature notwithstanding. “I see,” he said, and coughed. There was a moment of deep silence. “I . . . um . . . didna ken they could stay alive,” he said at last. “Errrrm . . . outside, I mean.” “Well, if you leave them in a splotch on the sheet to dry out, they don’t,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Keep them from drying out, though”—I gestured at the small, covered beaker, with its small puddle of whitish fluid—“and they’ll do for a few hours. In their proper habitat, though, they can live for up to a week after . . . er . . . release.” “Proper habitat,” he repeated, looking pensive. He darted a quick glance at me. “Ye do mean—” “I do,” I said, with some asperity. “Mmphm.” At this point, he recalled the piece of toast he still held, and took a bite, chewing meditatively. “Do folk know about this? Now, I mean?” “Know what? What sperm look like? Almost certainly. Microscopes have been around for well over a hundred years, and the first thing anyone with a working microscope does is to look at everything within reach. Given that the inventor of the microscope was a man, I should certainly think that . . . Don’t you?” He gave me a look, and took another bite of toast, chewing in a marked manner. “I shouldna quite like to refer to it as ‘within reach,’ Sassenach,” he said, through a mouthful of crumbs, and swallowed. “But I do take your meaning.”

As though compelled by some irresistible force, he drifted toward the microscope, bending to peer into it once more. “They seem verra fierce,” he ventured, after a few moments’ inspection. “Well, they do need to be,” I said, suppressing a smile at his faintly abashed air of pride in his gametes’ prowess. “It’s a long slog, after all, and a terrific fight at the end of it. Only one gets the honor, you know.” He looked up, blank-faced. It dawned on me that he didn’t know. He’d studied languages, mathematics, and Greek and Latin philosophy in Paris, not medicine. And even if natural scientists of the time were aware of sperm as separate entities, rather than a homogenous substance, it occurred to me that they probably didn’t have any idea what sperm actually did. “Wherever did you think babies came from?” I demanded, after a certain amount of enlightenment regarding eggs, sperms, zygotes, and the like, which left Jamie distinctly squiggle-eyed. He gave me a rather cold look. “And me a farmer all my life? I ken precisely where they come from,” he informed me. “I just didna ken that . . . er . . . that all of this daffery was going on. I thought . . . well, I thought a man plants his seed into a woman’s belly, and it . . . well . . . grows.” He waved vaguely in the direction of my stomach. “You know—like . . . seed. Neeps, corn, melons, and the like. I didna ken they swim about like tadpoles.” “I see.” I rubbed a finger beneath my nose, trying not to laugh. “Hence the agricultural designation of women as being either fertile or barren!” “Mmphm.” Dismissing this with a wave of his hand, he frowned thoughtfully at the teeming slide. “A week, ye said. So it’s possible that the wee lad really is the Thrush’s get?” Early in the day as it was, it took half a second or so for me to make the leap from theory to practical application. “Oh—Jemmy, you mean? Yes, it’s quite possible that he’s Roger’s child.” Roger and Bonnet had lain with Brianna within two days of each other. “I told you—and Bree—so.” He nodded, looking abstracted, then remembered the toast and pushed the rest of it into his mouth. Chewing, he bent for another look through the eyepiece. “Are they different, then? One man’s from another, I mean?” “Er . . . not to look at, no.” I picked up my cup of tea and had a sip, enjoying the delicate flavor. “They are different, of course—they carry the characteristics a man passes to his offspring. . . .” That was about as far as I thought it prudent to go; he was sufficiently staggered by my description of fertilization; an explanation of genes and chromosomes might be rather excessive at the moment. “But you can’t see the differences, even with a microscope.”

He grunted at that, swallowed the mouthful of toast, and straightened up. “Why are ye looking, then?” “Just curiosity.” I gestured at the collection of bottles and beakers on the countertop. “I wanted to see how fine the resolution of the microscope was, what sorts of things I might be able to see.” “Oh, aye? And what then? What’s the purpose of it, I mean?” “Well, to help me diagnose things. If I can take a sample of a person’s stool, for instance, and see that he has internal parasites, then I’d know better what medicine to give him.” Jamie looked as though he would have preferred not to hear about such things right after breakfast, but nodded. He drained his beaker and set it down on the counter. “Aye, that’s sensible. I’ll leave ye to get on with it, then.”

He bent and kissed me briefly, then headed for the door. Just short of it, though, he turned back.

“The, um, sperms . . .” he said, a little awkwardly. “Yes?”

“Can ye not take them out and give them decent burial or something?” I hid a smile in my teacup.

“I’ll take good care of them,” I promised. “I always do, don’t I?”

36 WORLDS UNSEEN ~THE FIERY CROSS

[hwaightme]

Burning

(masterlist) (taglist)

🔥 pairing: best friend!mingi x gn!reader 🔥 genre: fluff, healing, friends to lovers, slice of life 🔥 summary: down winding roads, through the golden fields and into the shimmering night, you and mingi embark on a journey to live and love once again 🔥 wordcount: 5.5k 🔥 warnings/tags: editing??, language, indie film style, loosely inspired by murakami's 'barn burning' + youth mv, injuries/scabs, band aids/treatment, escapism, restarts, running away, love through hardship, healing, implied trauma, food/eating, reflecting on the past, mingi would do anything for you, arson 🔥 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🔥 a/n: happy birthday to @byuntrash101!! my most wonderful cat, i love you, thank you for every moment and here is to many more <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🔥 playlist: the last stop of our pain - hanroro, the setting sun - the poles, bye - car the garden, summer night - jeon jinhee, 14:30 - damons year, silence - sunwoojunga, so life goes on - heo hoy kyung, dear my all - mingginyu

You looked down at your hands, spreading the fingers out and relaxing them again, watching the movement of every line and wrinkle. Band aids bent and took on the shape you commanded; the one in an off-white shade after having taken on the brunt of the physical burdens, - a ring that was wrapped around the middle finger of your right hand was frayed at the edge, having had to through the test of the elements and of haphazard lugging of items in and out of the white car on which you were sitting. The other, skin toned, sturdy and strictly not letting anything dare infect you, hugged the side of the same hand and spread a little to your palm. The markings of a person who ‘could’, and a person who ‘did’. 

Gaze travelling downwards led you to a leather bracelet with a silver charm - a simple accessory, but one that held years of history, meaning and memories that tied you to the original owner. You were never one for big celebrations, having gotten used to treating every day the same as the rest - a uniform, dark reality where you were nothing but a little cog. The only mission you had ever had before this moment was to keep on turning. This bracelet was a promise, and a hope for a new beginning. 

Golden fields and a warm grey sky blending into a hazy blend of yellowish green and burnt sienna. A tired breeze that had long lost its fight reminded you that you could still feel, running through your hair, dancing across your skin. The sweater you had borrowed was much too loose at the shoulders, and thus offered little to no protection from the elements. Nonetheless, the comfort it offered, along with the aroma that had permanently intertwined with the threads of the cotton fabric brought more than enough warmth to your heart, and caused a blush to rise on your cheeks. It was a considerable contrast to your still slightly tear-stained, exhausted eyes around which the signs of last night’s terrors were still remaining. But even then, the despair that had come with the sensation had been washed away by a caring thumb, a loving hand, a single impression that solidified that you were never going to be alone.

You moved to run a finger across the plasters, curious as to how the cuts beneath were healing. Little scars of a warrior. You had fought for your way and for your life and for your right to smile and breathe and enjoy the earthly wonders. The last days before your final decision to escape were somewhat of a whirlwind, tainted by persistent insomnia, demons that haunted you day and night and the yelling of far too many people, projects and parasitic ponderings. Even the things that had been under your control grew minds of their own and searched for ways to destroy you, be it in hiding a mistake in a word, an error in a table or a fiendish administrative problem. Those days were a countdown, until in one last effort to survive, you cried out for salvation and admitted that it was all too much. And in that chaotic flood that was threatening to swallow you whole, one person had been waiting, and before you knew it, you were safe, had someone cheering for you, sharing your anguish.

“Hey don’t do that. We don’t have any band aids left and I’m not about to go Rambo mode and go picking grass to wrap you up,” you turned to follow the sounds of the low, raspy voice, smiling softly as you met your friend’s mildly concerned expression. Black hair, softly tousled; you barely could restrain yourself from reaching out and ruffling those locks. Beauty marks like stars on that wonderful, charming face. Slightly parted lips that appeared to be holding back sagas and everlasting tales. Lips that you could watch move forever.

“It’s fine, Mingi, I was just checking.”

“That was some intense checking you’re doing, refrain from it,” he retorted and crossed his arms while pinching the sleeves of his black knit sweater so as to not let them slide up.

“Says the person who keeps picking at their face like no tomorrow. Without bandages, mind you. At this rate-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll sort myself out, alright?” Mingi winced as his tongue darted to the scabbed over gash on the side of his mouth, making you exhale sharply, bemused. You could sense him taking his words back with a shake of the head. One step back, another, and in a quiet mumble he added: “...at the next rest stop we’ll fuel up the truck, fuel ourselves and maybe get a proper first aid kit.”

“Sounds good.”

Turning one of the many rings on his fingers, your friend could not hold your gaze and resorted to studying the ornate silver patterns and precious embedded stones. It had been the same when he had first offered this way out for you. A man, supposedly tall and impressive in physique, but appearing so small as he stumbled over his words, one idea pouring and drowning another out until they connected like a puzzle and formulated a vision that was somewhat concrete. Though, even if there was no final agreement in his mind, you would have agreed anyway. All that mattered was that each sentence carried a ‘we’. And with that, you were more than happy.

Was it long ago that you had met him? It felt like eternity. You could not imagine any other life, at least not one where you had a chance at happiness. Sure, you had your fights and squabbles. It would be a big lie if you were to say everything was sunshine and rainbows. Both snappy and hot headed at times, you had each said a fair share of things you did not want to say. But it was the awareness and growing from mistakes that had led you to where you were now. You had both walked through some dark times, and ended up in the golden hour, surrounded by an equally glowing expanse of flora, reaping what you two had sowed.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t get it, I know I have the thing on my cheek but… hate to break it to you, you don’t have healing powers,” ever so logical, Mingi was, once again, trying to establish a chain of thought. You had gotten better at explaining your thinking out loud, as did he, but in times where you were particularly wistful, words escaped you.

“I don’t know…”

“As if I do. Are you hungry?”

“I’m not a cat-”

“Then why?” he chuckled, lips automatically stretching into a toothy grin as you chuckled.

“‘Cause I can.”

“Okay then,” a breath escaped you as you stared at his hand, suddenly falling to meet the car’s surface and looked up to see him leaning over, staring intently at you. Through you. Like he could read you. Any courage you had disappeared, and you shook your head in defeat.

“Fine, fine,” how could someone put into words the feeling of wanting to picture an individual in everything and everyone? 

How could you say that even in the grass that surrounded you, in the long winding roads, in the cloudy skies you were glad to be able to see Mingi. It had been a lifetime indeed. A lifetime of seeing him without realising it, a lifetime of looking forward to being together with him and falling apart when you weren’t, and now, when you were side by side with only the sun, moon and empty fields to bear witness, you were scared to blink. Like all this time would disappear. Priceless seconds. Mingi was merciful enough to note a tinge of nervousness, and backed away. It was obvious enough that he did not quite let your reaction go, but neither you nor him were ever ones to push further than necessary and beyond the other’s personal limits. 

“Right, time to get going if we want to make it to the barn by midnight.”

“Okay.”

“Want to ride in the back or-”

“With you,” you did not mean to sound so ambiguous, but thankfully as Mingi was busy opening the door to the driver’s seat, he did not catch on, or courteously did not pry.

“Ah, you’re right. It’ll be getting cold pretty quickly, won’t it?” 

As if you were not wrapped up and huddled in the bunch of blankets, backpacks and crocheted pillows just last night when you were parked at the last rest stop, silently accepting your friend’s reassurance as you mourned a past you were not going to miss. He knew what you were going through, and so he stuck beside you instead of heading for those plasters when he technically could have. 

“A few hours won’t change these little cuts, but they can change you, and I’d rather be here so you’re not alone.”

The phrase resonated in your heart as you took your place beside Mingi, staring out at the windshield. With a quick glance to your left you could just catch his reflection in the glass, and with another tilt, the man himself. His plush lips, the beautiful curve of his nose, how the black-framed glasses that he had fished out of the cupholder between you suited him so well. Focused, he turned the key until a satisfying rumble consumed the vehicle, signifying its awakening. On instinct, Mingi’s arms flew to their respective positions, and he drove out of the improvised parking spot back out to the infinite line of cement - the one sign of civilization that had the ability to assure you that you were indeed going in the right direction. Since Mingi was familiar with this part of the country, however, you would not have minded even a sudden, more wild change in the scenery. 

Choosing to not surf the radio stations in search of something remotely tolerable, you drove to the sound of your musings and let the last of the grey haze wash over you before the sun that was concealed by the thick cloud would inevitably fall into a slumber. For the first time in a while, you could enjoy the quiet without it being interrupted by a cacophony of inner qualms and disturbing rage. You could catch the occasional note from Mingi’s humming - a habit of his that you had grown to love. Every time, it was something unexpected. Be it a tune he was making up on the spot or one that you were familiar with, you never tired of how his thoughts travelled, and were delighted by the soundtrack which he was subconsciously crafting for the life you just so happened to share. Serendipity, writing a future that Mingi was taking you towards.

The idea he had proposed might have been radical, but it was the only one that made sense. Besides, it was not going to cause any harm. At the end of the day, the property belonged to a distant relative, said relative had no use for it, so… the conclusion and final decision basically made itself. The act to mark an entry into being your new self had to be grand, a lot more grand than what you had already done, and Mingi, being a creative mind, of course could be trusted to invent a performance of the century. Just for you.

A dreamlike day turned into an equally surreal evening as you halted at the gas station attached to the last rest stop of your adventure, with Mingi’s call dragging you out of your thoughts. You confirmed to him that you were fine with a quick smile and followed him out of the trusty Dodge. Patiently, you idled about as Mingi unscrewed the opening to the fuel tank and reached for one of the nozzles, rolling a stray piece of gravel under your shoes. Crickets, a myriad of crickets hidden under the cover of nighttime launched into a crescendo of their trill song, so much so that the buzz of the fluorescent lamp that illuminated the lonely station was almost completely drowned out. A light touch on your upper arm alerted you that Mingi was done, and you promptly followed him to the convenience store.

As though by newly found habit, he gravitated towards the bright red canisters lined up by the register, while you gave him a wary glance before ambling towards the ready to eat meals. Soon enough, Mingi joined you, satisfied by his quick perusal, and with a basket in his hand. Without a word, he picked up your favourite snack and was about to toss it in:

“This one, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

It never failed to be amusing how, despite the innumerable occasions when you two had eaten together, Mingi still liked to check with you that your favourite foods were, in fact, still your favourite foods. You had to admit that it was very endearing and comforting to you. Without even considering it, he always gave you room for change, in every way you could imagine. Or maybe you were exaggerating and letting your fantasies speak for themselves. You could not help but dart your eyes at Mingi when he turned his back to you, spotting the two beaded necklaces you had made for him some time ago still being a part of his usual outfit. And so, you wondered, how large was the room for transformation? What could this brand new future of yours include?

“Ah… wait… band aids… should we get that… What was it? Antiseptic-”

“You said a whole kit.”

“Right. Let’s go try and find it… wait what if they don’t stock one?” eyebrows weighed down with doubt, Mingi looked at you like he was about to apologise. You sighed, moving to run a hand down his back. The gesture startled Mingi, but he did not stop you, instead choosing to wait it out and see your intentions. You noticed him lightly biting his lower lip as he stared back at you, perplexed.

“We’ll find the essentials then. It’s not like we are disappearing from society for the rest of time, yeah?”

“Yeah…” had he continued, you swore he would have expressed his wish for what you had joked about to be the case. Luckily, you were pleasantly surprised by the wide selection of items to pick from, and left confident in the remainder of your trip.

In the fluorescence of the small store, and then inside of the parked car as you devoured your pre-made dinner, you were suspended in pure bliss. To your right was your partner in everything, friend or however your silly racing heart wanted to call him. Above you, the stars - a vista worth driving further out from the rest stop for. Propped up on the cushions, this was your definition of heavenly and healing. Colours had regained their vibrancy, and finally, you were no longer too fatigued to notice the intricacy of things that had previously passed you by. Who could have guessed that the packaging of the sandwiches you used to buy before work to throw in the office fridge had changed? And apparently a bit of time ago, too? What else have you been missing? For certain, you had been missing out on times like this, where you could hold a comfortable pause with Mingi, simply enjoying each other’s company while digging into your meals. It was astonishing to think how many breakfasts, lunches and dinners that you could have had with the one person who always believed in you were ripped away from you by obligation and unwanted routine. Not for longer. 

“Mingi.”

“Hm?” he hummed while chewing, eyes widened as he turned towards you. Quickly enough, he swallowed the bite, and waited for you to continue.

“I’m glad… that we can be here like this.”

“Oh… I…” at a loss for words, he let himself swim in your spontaneous confession.

“I am just… happy. Very happy. Thank you. Thank you for being the one who I can trust, thank you for sticking with me through complete and utter chaos, thank you for being you,” the words came naturally, buried under layers of hurt that needed time to evaporate. But now, the ritualistic expedition was wondrous in combating your inner demons, and in turn, let you speak for yourself, for your own feelings rather than those of illusory authority that had previously spoken for and was in charge of your every action, whether you were aware of it or not.

“No biggie. Things get in the way sometimes, but we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Yes, that we are.”

“It’s going to get even easier soon, just you wait.”

A hand in midair, waiting for you to lift yours and meet it. Confused, you did so automatically, yelping when Mingi moved it closer to himself, and in a swift motion planted a soft, almost shy kiss on the back. He was careful to not put any pressure on the cuts which he had just re-cleaned and covered, along with the miniature wounds that only found themselves under the stinging alcohol solution, but kept on holding onto you, debating whether you would let him stay like this to his heart’s content, or if you would pull away. The tips of his digits reached the bracelet, and you could imagine a thrum of kindred energy reconnecting the item and the man. Shock prevented you from acting rashly, and so you simply read the fire in Mingi’s sparkling eyes, your favourite blaze that helped you out of a chasm, one that you would protect with your entire being until the world collapsed on you. And even then, you would stand up and try again.

Relief was evident in his features, from the curling of his lips to the relaxing of his shoulders. Clearly, an unfathomable pressure was lifted from his exhausted body. Every mile travelled, you were making revelations, it seemed. Venturing into the unknown, you were not quite sure who you were looking at anymore. Of course, you were confident in his name, in his presence, in his significance, but the many roles which he played in your years on this tiny planet left you struggling for words. Who was Mingi to you? Who were you to Mingi? Long gone were the days where you two had been moderately content with a distant and rapidly cooling friendship separated by glass and busy schedules. You were close. So close, that if the recklessness of acting on instinct caught up with you, you would get burned. 

Burning, like your hand despite Mingi having let it float in solitude some time ago to stand up and hop out of the back of the pickup truck. Set ablaze like your heart and soul that were feverishly awaiting a shining dawn. Your tired eyes could only watch your one wish turn the key in the ignition again, determined to help you start over. Could he be your sun? If you were to say anything more than a hollow whisper to the moon, would you fall away and lose him? You were about to bring the fingers of your left hand to run over the other, but you stopped, remembering Mingi’s comedically stern words. Instead, you imagined him pressing his lips against it again, heat rising to your cheeks upon recollection. A quick glance to the driver’s seat, and you could swear you caught the ghost of a smirk dancing across your so-called friend’s face, but chose not to comment so as to not spark a conversation you knew you would not be able to continue. 

“We’ll be there soon. There’s a neat shortcut we can take so it shouldn’t take us more than an hour.”

You nodded, trusting his judgement. Your thoughts were elsewhere, anyways and could not offer many suggestions in terms of the journey. These parts were foreign to you, and your decision-making here was as good as whenever you had a professional point to prove or a dream to follow; both flew out of your hands to be smited. At least in the case of the meandering roads, you had Mingi to shield you, letting you wander in your own mindscape for as long as you needed. The mind was a mysterious place, traversing memories both from years ago and ones that documented your most recent escapades much the same, though, maybe now they were all in brighter hues. The last of what was tying you down was packed and stashed right behind you and Mingi, both in the tiny space between the seats and the back of the cabin as well as in the exposed trunk outside. The monochrome madness stuffed into rucksacks, swaddled in sheets like a crying infant manifesting your prayers for the noise of a prior existence to cease demanding your attention. You were ready to let it all turn to ash, and be reborn.

It was fascinating how quick Mingi was to jump into action. Part of you wondered whether it was due to the times you had helped him, and he wished to somehow repay you. Or was this a genuine devotion? As the road turned into an unruly dirt path, you were certain it was the latter.

‘It’s our journey. I might not know everything that’s going on behind your forehead, and you would not know that about me, but the least we can do is stick through the worst storms.’

The grumbling of the engine turned into a roar as Mingi’s heavy combat boot pushed down even stronger on the accelerator. When people spent enough time together, they were bound to become more and more similar; such was the case with you and him. Parts had been exchanged, parts blended, and it was hard to think of a picture where there was a lack of the other’s presence in some form. Be it in behaviour or in little bits of jewellery. Mingi was driving selfishly, because he was driving for you and for the few breaths of air you had remaining in your lungs after holding up boulders of others’ opportunities at the cost of your own passions. There was experience, there was development, but there was also a need for self-preservation and a necessity to stop for the sake of health and mental clarity, and Mingi was not about to lose you. 

“D’ya want to roll the window down? You…” used to do that when you and him were teens. He did not have to say it. No matter the weather, even if for a few seconds, you wanted to be one with the air, a flightless bird that finally got a chance to glide with the wind, pleasantly lost in the elements. Maybe one day you could return to that same carefree nature. You shook your head.

“It’s a little cold outside.”

“How about this…” while slowing down a little to not lose control of the car, Mingi reached around and behind his seat, fishing for something. Finally, having found what he was looking for, he flashed a triumphant grin and produced his dark grey denim jacket, letting it land on your lap.

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of what your friend was implying. But as soon as the first hint of a breeze hit you and you saw the window start its slow descent under Mingi’s command, a chuckle escaped you. So it was not a question after all, but an encouragement, perhaps even a challenge. Giving in, you pulled the jacket over yourself like a blanket, and stared at the all-knowing constellations that decorated the cosmic expanse - the best reminder of just how small you really were, and to what priceless insignificance your troubles amounted to. In the grand scheme of things, nothing really mattered, and so, you did not see anything as ‘too out of pocket’ anymore. Might as well enjoy life instead of letting it race past you for once.

It was a mystery to you when you fell asleep; you could only recall the ghostly pale silver and ashen blue that spread over the wheat fields and another serene, barely audible serenade hummed by Mingi. But just as quickly as you had drifted into a dreamless slumber, you jolted awake at the sound of your name being repeated once, twice by your best friend. Momentarily lost, you waited for your vision to focus before following the sounds of the truck door clicking shut and of rubber soles hitting gravel by fumbling for the handle. As soon as you opened the salon, you were embraced in full by the omnipresent hum of wildlife and distant rustle of leaves and tall grass, the field at which you stopped having been long abandoned and left barren, with only dirt to present as a fruit of labour.

Stepping onto the soft earth, you could feel the cool dampness beneath your shoes, a tactile reminder of the quiet countryside that surrounded you as far as the eye could see. Mingi, his presence like a comforting shield in the stillness of the night, paused in his search for the tools he had packed. A profound hush settled over the landscape, prompting you to tilt your head and look on further, to spot the target barely a couple hundred metres away. So this was it. The promised sacrifice. The place where the past could finally quit holding on to you and tearing you apart. The abandoned barn loomed ahead like a relic from another universe and a time long gone.

The moonlight painted the barn in ethereal shades, casting a melancholic beauty upon its worn facade. Mingi's eyes held the weight of a thousand untold stories and observations, and in the quiet exchange of glances, you detected a shared understanding – a recognition that you had the right, and more than deserved to forgive yourself, and throw away the hurt you had accumulated over the years with a light heart. He stood beside you, holding onto the sacks that you had stuffed full of items that haunted you, mutely berated you and induced agonising ruminations. Papers, trinkets, utter garbage that you had never been able to throw out on your own, all collected like nightmare capsules and you were more than elated to bid them farewell.

He had not yet taken off his glasses, eager to move onwards and upwards. One of these days you might muster up the courage to tell Mingi just how handsome he was in whatever style he chose, but that was a mission for a more courageous you. From tonight into the myriad of tomorrows. Your partner in self-revolution stretched his arms towards you, gingerly passing the hefty items over and waiting for you to get a better grip. To think that there were clouds of buzzing paranoia and dread attached to either one - suffocating, persistent.

While regarding Mingi’s tranquil resolve, you discovered a sliver of a near-boyish excitement, so characteristic of him before growing pains had changed your relationship and all that came with it, that your heart ached, and a prickly sensation made itself known on the back of your hand where he had left a solitary peck. And yet, he still was not giving up on you. From the pocket of his jeans - appearing to take on the shade of a washed out chrome under the shining skies, Mingi produced a box of matches, and upon leaning closer to the truck, grasped the handle of a stick protruding from a miniature canister. More than enough to carry out the impending transformation. Mingi’s stunning orbs met yours, and without words, he conveyed a mixture of determination and sorrow, a silent promise and cheer for the grand finale.

"Here’s to letting go, and to holding on to the things that make us right," he uttered, his voice carrying the power of a truth that echoed in the night air.

“Then… I’ll be right back.”

“I will be here. Cousin said everything’s unlocked. Put things in places where the fire’ll reach.”

One step. Another. Walk turning into run, you chased after who you wished to become and propelled yourself with unprecedented pride. You could do this. With one quick push the door to the barn creaked open, and you made haste in lining the walls with who you used to be. You could taste ash on your tongue and see the fire in your pupils even though you were consumed by pitch black; here, you had the final say. Upon throwing the sacks into whatever direction, you felt your way back out, and returned to Mingi who, apparently, had the time to reposition the car a little to have the back be facing the barn. With a mischievous grin he greeted you, and pulled you into a quick embrace before giving you a matchstick and the box and leading the two of you to the structure one last time.

This had been an agreement between you - you were the one to light the first flame, and he was the one to do the rest. Though this was a journey of healing, he did not wish for you to delude yourself into a guilt-ridden state. Mingi could bear the brunt of that for you and wear it like a badge of honour. As though patrolling the grounds, he went in a circle around the barn, leaving behind the acrid stench of splattered gasoline. Suddenly, the act felt more and more real. A yelp caught in your throat as Mingi shoved the empty canister inside through a loose wooden board, now only holding onto the unlit torch. Gazed at you, awaiting the monumental execution. 

Trembling just a little, on the third try you managed to light the match, and stepped to the building full of your painful memories. the flames danced in the blackness like whispers of farewell. As you approached the ancient barn with Mingi in toe, the match's glow illuminated the grains of wood that had weathered countless storms. The night seemed to draw its breath, as though it sensed the profound act about to unfold. Outstretching the judgement between your fingers, you hesitated for a fleeting moment. The gravity of the act hung heavy – the acknowledgment that setting fire to the past was a painful necessity for new beginnings. Nevertheless, you were certain. The barn, with its history that you will never learn, became a symbol of surrender, resilience and perseverance. Holding your breath, you dropped the match, but when the result did not satisfy you, you sensed a wave of rage. You wanted more, you needed it all gone from sight and experience. 

“Mingi.”

“Hm?”

“The torch, please.”

“Oh?”

“Please.”

With a silent understanding, Mingi raised the torch, the flames licking eagerly at its edges, and passed it to you. The blade that would slash through it all. The full stop at the end of this turbulent chapter. As you touched the fire to the barn, a crackling symphony echoed through the night. The dry wood, with the base generously coated in gasoline caught quickly, and soon the barn was ablaze, a kaleidoscope of oranges, reds, and yellows against the backdrop of the moonlit fields.

The flames danced with an insatiable hunger, consuming the old wood with a fervour that mirrored the intensity of emotions in the hearts of the witnesses. Shadows flickered and danced on the ground, casting ephemeral images of what once was, each crackle of the fire a poignant reminder of the release happening before your eyes. Mingi turned to you, his eyes reflecting the blaze that mirrored the intensity of his and your emotions. In that poignant moment, the warmth of the fire contrasted with the chill in the night air, echoing the bittersweet nature of letting go.

"We are making room for something new," he whispered before pulling you into a long-awaited kiss, as searing and filled with longing as the soaring flames that illuminated your bodies. The crackling fire served as a cathartic release, and in its glow, you saw promise. As soon as you parted, the two of you rushed to the truck, climbing to take the front seats to admire the masterpiece, not daring to sit apart, holding onto each other through it all.

As the fire continued its dance, the night bore witness to the act of relinquishing the old, a solemn ritual that paved the way to more and more. Together, you and Mingi stood amidst the mesmerising spectacle, your hearts intertwined with the rhythm of the burning, ready to step into the unknown and shape a destiny yet to unfold.

🔥 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @shakalakaboomboo @uwuheeseungie @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

thank you for reading. please do consider leaving a reblog if you enjoyed!

[shypen]

ㅤ — ༿ີ۪۪  ͏ ͏ r3al!ty ㅤ ⠀⠀𓋜‎ 𝒫JS

𝓈ynopsis . you love playing games, he loves playing games, its perfect right? but what’ll happen when jay’s intense game addiction gets in the way of your relationship? the irritating sound of clicking buttons on the controllers. its basically all you and jay ever did, play play and play. trying to spend quality time with him in any other way is almost impossible, its ruining your relationship. so much so you have to help him with his hallucinations, eventually getting so bad he has a difficult time differentiating between game and r3al!ty. ✧‎ ‎ ㅤ𝑔enre . angst , fluff , comedy (i tried) , enemies to lovers 3.6k

a.n :: for kam ara rain jazz and lissie (are you happy now.)

𝓅airings . gamer!jay x gamer!reader 𝓌arnings . bl00d (sorree!!) , st@bbing , g4ns , ++

req status :: taking requests ^-^

reminder . everything here is FICTIONAL, meaning NOTHING HERE IS REAL! these things never happened. if u dont like my work dont read it pls and ty !

© shypen 2024. do not copy, plagiarize or repost.

“on your left—” heeseung yells, the clicking of you and his controllers filling the room. multiple ‘pew’ noises come out of the tv’s speakers. ‘game over’ text appears on the tv on your side. “you didnt warn me early enough,” you speak through gritted teeth, turning toward your brother. "you looked too late," heeseung fights back, making direct eye contact with you. you groan in frustration. "whatever. another game?" you ask, getting ready to click on the 'play again?' option. he shakes his head, getting up from the floor. "it's late, ill go sleep," he yawns, stretching. you chuckle and nod, waving goodbye to him as he exits your room.

you, however, are not tired in the slightest. you were determined to atleast get one win that night, even if you hear birds outside. you start up a new game, readjusting your headphones. you clutch the controller in your hand as the game starts to countdown. immediately as the 'go' text appears you start to gain power ups for future enemies. as you were about to grab another power up, your screen color turns gray, on the side some red text. "jongpro0313 has killed you. respawn?" you shrugged it off. "no big deal," you told yourself, respawning. you won't shrug it off anymore. every. single. time. each round he kills you atleast 50 or more times, the same 'jongpro0313' person. your knuckles turn white from gripping the controller each time you see the same exact game over screen. no matter how much you try to kill him back it's no use. is he using aimbot or something? why is he targetting me?

"1 unread message - new chat. open?"

you click the accept button. "jongpro0313: lol u kinda suck ngll soz the final straw. "ynnetta180: what did i do dude" "jongpro0313: just playing the game sweetheart ;)" you scoff at the message. you spot him afk in a hiding spot and you chuckle, aiming at him and finally killing him, making him lose his streak. grabbing his loot, another game over screen appears. "jongpro0313 has killing you. respawn?" "jongpro0313: could only kill me once i was afk. how cute" that made your blood boil. "jongpro0313 has sent you a friend request. accept or decline." is that man crazy? decline, of course.. "accepted." oh youve gotta be joking me. "jongpro0313: accepted my friend request? what, are you expecting some aiming lessons, darling? lolll ur funny" "ynnetta180 has left the game." fighting the strong urge to bash your head against a wall and throwing your controller, you take deep breaths before climbing onto your bed, grabbing your phone and checking the time. "4:27 AM" you're used to it by now. placing your headset and phone on your nightstand, your eyelids start to get heavy, automatically closing, drifting off into a peaceful sleep. if only that was the case. you tossed and turned all night, doubting your skills as you get flashbacks about the countless times youve gotten endlessly killed by one. person. you snatch your phone, logging into your account and searching the exact username targeting you all night. (technically day). "search: jongpro0313" "bio: name: jay / jongseong seattle area im too goated" you scroll down to view all of the achievements he obtained the whole time he's been playing, and goodness, he is goated. you gulp as your scroll through all of his whopping 7,581 badges. you click off his profile.

the agitating melody of chirping birds can be heard through your window, giving you a migraine. you jump once you hear your brother's alarm originally set for 7:00 am. you groan, clearing your throat. "HEESEUNG WAKE UP," you yell, banging on your bedroom wall so he hears you. "IF YOU BREAK THE WALL I'M NOT PAYING," he yells back, immediately hearing a loud thud after. out of concern, you sprint to his room, opening the door and seeing your brother laying on the floor, drool coming out from the corner of his mouth and his hair overly messy. "you seriously fell from the-" you get interrupted by the sound of his loud snoring, honestly impressed by how fast he falls asleep. unless he's unconscious. you walk over to him and crouch down, tugging on his arm. "gross, you're drooling. get up."

heeseung groans, fluttering his eyes open. "fine, i'll make your breakfast in a sec.." you squeal a quick, "thanks, hee!" dropping his arm and skipping happily back to your room, shutting the door. "you're seriously not gonna help me off the floor, y/n.."

your eyes lighten up seeing the smoothie bowls heeseung lays on the table, snatching them almost immediately. "thank you, heeseung!!" you exclaim. he mumbles out weak a 'welcome,' sitting next to you. about to take a bite, your phone starts to buzz. not just buzz, but blow up. so much so that you're surprised your phone isnt overheating. "messages kamryujin poo!! GIRLL CHECK TWITTER RIGHT. NOW."

"messages jazztomatoes <3 HAVE YOU HEARD?" "messages ara ara ara ^-^ DID YOU CHECK TWITTER TODAY?" "messages rainy rain reyna ( = . = ) ARE YOU COMING TO THE COMPETITION TOO??" competition?

your search history is now filled with every detail about the competition, your eyes glued to your phone even as you place your bowl in the sink. "aren't you gonna wash your dis- oh, okay i guess ill do all the work," heeseung glares at your as you walk to your room, not even glancing at where you’re looking.

“upcoming call from: ara ara ara ^-^”

accept.

“your coming, right?” your friend ara exclaims. “waitwaitwait how does it work though?” you scratch your head. “ummm basically players come together and randomly partner people up, competing til the best players go one on one im pretty sure..” she mutters. you nod and smile. “sure. ill go. do you know how to participate for it?”

“yeah, of course, the thirdwheel gc is coming too,” ara giggles. “wait, rain, kam, jazz, and you??” “yupp. if we have to go against each other i’ll cry but the chances of us being partnered up is low depending on the people participating.”

“aaah got it. ill sign up for it! byeee,” you both say your goodbyes. you turn your phone on again, the time reading “7:53 am Saturday”

you twist your doorknob open to talk to heeseung, aggressively swinging his door open. you find him in the bathroom, warming up the water for a shower. “what do you want..” he groans, still grumpy from the dishes incident. “do you think you could drive me here on wednesday?” you show him the map on your phone leading to the competition. “you can drive yourself, just borrow my car,” heeseung sighs, beginning to take off his shirt. your hands immediately fly up to hover over your eyes. “not in front of me you weirdo,” you say, turning back and running out of his room, hearing his menacing laugh fading away as you do.

_________________________________________________________

“let me check you,” the security guard says, an australian accent pooling out. scanning you for any dangerous items for confirmation before handing you a participants pass. “enter,” he mumbles, and you smile. before you enter the building, you catch a glimpse of his nametag: “sim jaeyun.”

the inside is spacious, tons of people crowding certain booths, etc, the booths there to keep people entertained as they wait for the competition to start. let’s just say your car broke down as you were driving, sooo you were a teensyy bit late. but you arrived just in time for the competition to begin.

they seat you down next to a randomized partner, a big projector screen in front of both of you. its usage? to display the game as you both play. you both are given controllers, immediately beginning the game which completely catches you off guard. looks like your partner is even more caught off guard, the ‘game over’ screen showing on their side.

it continues on like this, a few tough opponents but you make it through a lot of the rounds. you’re now given a brief intermission, some time to get water or practice even more. you decide on water, after all, you’ve beaten every opponent already, right?

“last players y/n and jay go up!” you hear someone say from a megaphone. it blares in your ears, you flinch slightly and immediately start to run back to the chairs. you take a seat, your opponent already next to you. “last round. users?”

you try to keep your composure when you hear “last round.” last round? as in you and the boy next to you are finalists?

“hey,” your opponent nudges your shoulder. “he asked for your username, doll.”

“o-oh, sorry. ynnetta180,” you stutter out, from the corner of your eye you spot your opponent smiling to himself. the staff press the start option, counting you both down. almost automatically, you start to rapidly press and click buttons, trying your best to shoot your opponent. until something caught your eye.

“nametag: jongpro0313”

oh you’ve gotta be kidding me

he’s obviously gonna win, right?

“hey— what are you doing..” you stop pressing buttons to turn your head at him. he leans on his chair, hands behind his head. “you can only kill me when i’m afk, right? go on,” he insists. you roll your eyes as you kill him in game, eyes not leaving his. he gets up from the chair as you follow. “good job,” he extends his hand toward you. you nod and grab his hand, shaking. "we've met before, haven't we?" "yeah, you gave me free kills yesterday," he chuckles. you and his hands are still intertwined, he uses it to walk away from the competition site with you, after all, crowds are too overwhelming. plus, the prize is automatically mailed, you aren't required to stay around for long.

"why'd you just let me win like that.." you ask him and he turns his head to you. "i've won for last years competition, i felt like there was no need in winning it two years in a row so i wanted to give a chance to my opponent, didn't know you'd be the opponent though," he scoffs playfully. "jay," he stops walking, letting go of your hand. you smile at him. "y/n. you live by here?" "yeah, over at xxxx xxxx street, visit me sometime," he replies, hands in his pockets as he walks away to one of the booths in the building. you brush it off and walk back home. once again you hope that was the case. you collapse onto your bed and start to kick your feet, grabbing a pillow beside you to scream in. heeseung walks in your room, a concerned expression on his face. "GET OUTTTUH," you whine, throwing the pillow that you just screamed in at him. "GOODNESS FINE... whats your deal today, gee.." he closes your door and you immediately grab your pillow back, screaming muffled by it. theres no denying he was HANDSOME, no questions there. not only is he hot, his voice also sent chills down your spine. of course you wouldn't tell heeseung that, he hates you talking to boys.

"1 new unread message from jongpro0313. open?" your eye widen as you stare at your phone screen from across the room, immediately tossing the poor pillow on the floor for the second time, bolting to your phone. you type your password in and open the message. of course, you forgot you accepted his friend request. jongpro0313 "hey, did you get home safe?" ynnetta180 "yess thanks for asking, you?" jongpro0313 "yeah" jongpro0313 "xxx-xxx-xxxx" ynnetta180 "whats that for" jongpro0313 "my number sweetheart" it takes every power of your being to not scream at the top of your lungs right now. its like your hands move by themselves, copy and pasting the number jay gave. you grab another pillow from your bed and clutch it tight, texting him a 'hey.' you two talked all night, even playing a few games on call too. jay and you ended the night with "ill teach you how i play tomorrow okay? visit me," "okay. goodnight jay!" and so you did, the next thing you know you're knocking on his door with 3 bags of chips in your hands. he opens the door with a toothbrush in his mouth, hair all over the place, and tired eyes. "i told you to visit me but not visit me this early.." he's muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth. he's right. it was 6 am. "deal with it," you giggle, making your way in his house. you set the snacks down on his kitchen counter. "whatever, i'll just brush my teeth again.." jay walks back to his bathroom.

you open up his fridge to see if he has some soda, and thankfully he does. you grab the cans and set it on the counter along with the bags. you rip open one of the bags and take a bite of a chip, justtt a little bit while you wait for jay. fortunately, you arrived and knocked on his door midway through him brushing his teeth, so he emerges out of the bathroom pretty quickly. “cmon, ill teach you how to play,” he smiles, heading to the couch. this is the first time you get a good glimpse of his side profile, his jaw is so sharp its identical to a knife. you walk over to the couch, plopping on it. “i know how to play, its just.. you aim like a bot.”

“is that an insult or a compliment,” he chuckles, grabbing two controllers, tossing one to you. “half and half, and thanks,” you hold back your smile as he starts up the game.

the presses a button causing the round to immediately start, and you freeze in surprise before actually moving around.

during the match, you two help each other. jay’s “on your left,”’s and “on your right,”’s help a lot. during intermission, his warm hands take hold of yours, guiding you and teaching you where to aim your crosshair.

you couldn’t lie to yourself no matter what you did, but you felt some butterflies floating around in your stomach whenever his hands held yours. you two ended the night with a wave goodbye, and you walk back to your house. loud buzzer sound. you ended up staying up with jay til 3:42 am. figuring its too late to drive back to your place, he offers a sleepover. you reluctantly accept, which leads to you waking up in his arms. a red hue flushes your cheeks, trying to pry his hands off but he's sound asleep. you end up waiting 'til he wakes up. you get home later that day with jay walking you, but that ends up not going so well once you see your brother's aggravated face. "where have you been, your breakfast is cold," he says sternly. "i was out, calm down.." you reply, setting your jacket on the coat rack. "yeah, out with a boy. who is he?" "heeseung literally calm down its just a friend i made at the competition," you sigh, kneeling down to take your shoes off. "i'll see about that," heeseung walks to the front door, opening it to find jay, but all he sees is jay waving bye to him and driving off with a cheeky smile, and heeseungs eyebrows furrow. "is he atleast good to you.." he shuts the front door. you take off your shoes, nodding. "yeah, he is." "I KNEW YOU WERE DATING HIM," he points at you, wide bambi eyed. "NO IM NOT LEAVE ME ALONE," you fight the urge to throw your shoe at him. "yeah yeah sure whatever you say," he crosses his arms, watching you run to your room. from that day you and jay start to talk and hangout a lot more, something you never thought you would do back when he kept killing you. the day that him and heeseung met was.. interesting to say the least but hey, heeseung approved of him! (barely)

you and jay are dating now. everythings perfect. atleast it was.

of course you two are game addicts, right? but thats the one thing thats ruining your relationship.

“jay, spend some time with me,” you place a hand on his arm, only for him to pull away, eyes glued to the screen. “one more round,” he always says, it’s so frustrating, and yet you always deal with it. you love him too much to lose him, but you feel as if your insignificant. you two barely hang out anymore because of how much he plays video games, you’d say it’s cause he likes video games too much, but deep down, you don’t think thats the case. this is a severe addiction.

it’s to the point where he basically never goes outside, you have to go out and grab him groceries and run errands for him.

it’s time to have a talk. "jay.. honeyyy... can we talk for a bit?" you approach the couch, tapping on your boyfriend's shoulder. "hm," he nods his head, not even making eye contact with you. agitated, you grab his controller and hit pause on his gamematch. he turns to you, eyebrows furrowed. "what was that for?" "we need to have a talk. like right now," you sit down next to him. "can it wait? cmonn, i brought new gear."

as much as your tempted to play with him, you stop yourself, reminding your mind about your goal. "can we go out together, jay? it's been so long.." you sigh, tugging on his hand gently. "honey, you know i dont like-" "pleasee" you tug on his arm harder, and surprisingly, he finally gives in. that was all in your head. you give in and he hands you new controllers, and you grab his extra set of headphones. "1 round only, okay? then we'll have that talk," you blurt, eyes staring intently at the tv screen. "yeah, yeah.. start it up," jay replies and you click the start button. it's perfect—it feels like when you two first met, playing at his house. the game not only has guns, but also recently added knives. it's been so long since you played, maybe about a month. the new feature shocks you, and each intermission after every round you buy new knife crates to unlock new knives. thankfully, you still have your skills despite the lack of playing, and it feels like you time travelled. it's been a year since you and jay have started dating, and you eventually got tired of staring at the screen all day, which is how you two have grown distant. this round, the theme are teams. the blue and red team, you and jay are unfortunately in separate teams, but you guys promise to avoid each other at all costs, killing all of your teammates and his instead. jay however, had different plans. he plans on pranking you, harmlessly killing you once so you lose your streak. on the left? no.. on the right? no sight of you either. he has an xray ability. he uses it to locate you and you're hiding behind a wall, using a glitch you found within the map not so long ago. unfortunately for you, jay realizes what you did. he sneaks up from behind, the animation of being stabbed playing on your screen. jay laughs, on the side noticing a "friend kill" text appearing on screen. "that was funny," he chuckles, expecting to get a reply only to be met with silence. "right, y/n?" "y/n?" "y/n..?" sirens.

everything flashes. the atmosphere is dark, overwhelming, overly foggy and cloudy, the high humidity adding to the discomfort. the darkness and fog contributing to a sense of claustrophobia. jay’s head is swirling with questions, the pitter patter of rain hitting the hard cement interrupting his thoughts. everythings dark, but the dim light from a neon sign of a building nearby illuminates the alleyway, including his knife he left in your stomach, the concrete below you stained with blood. red and blue hues approach behind jay, only noticing it when he gains his composure and realizing what's going on. that the gaming match you two just played wasn't a game. the blaring sirens behind jay didn't matter to him as he drops to his knees at the sight of you. everything felt empty. it was just a game it was just a game it was a harmless prank it was a harmless prank its not my fault its not my fault its not my fault its not my fault but is it his fault. screaming shouting and resisting when he feels the handcuffs wrap around his wrists, yelling his sorries and and desperation as he sees the life leave your precious eyes he always used to adore. apparently he didnt adore enough of it as he won't even see that same life in your eyes again.

taglist:: @kwanholic @quhrtz @jenos-eye-smiles @hmusunoo (HAPPY BIRTHDAY) @st1llm0nster @hursheys @lonelybutterflytae @vveebee @taehyunsthings @kim2005bomi @engentiny

[curioscurio]

[Short Story]

80 Percent

One day, we developed the technology to completely map out and visualize every single living creature and object in the ocean. The machine had been running for a few years and received an extraordinary amount of funding from scientific organizations around the world.

When it finishes its job, the results are to be instantly shared around the world.

On the final day of the countdown, everyone started getting giddy with excitement and curiosity while waiting for the results.

"This is really magnificent. Who knows what incredible forms of life we're going to find?" An intern in New Zealand bounced with nervous energy and smiled.

"I hope it's hiding epic and delicious sea monsters, like in hollywood movies!" A lighthearted seafood chef in Spain jokes.

"There could be a sponge out there with the cure to cancer!" A sick child in America coughs out to their nurse.

Oil and fishing industries everywhere were hosting company parties; celebrating the new abundance of supply to support the crushing weight of demand.

A salaryman in Hong Kong playfully groans. "Anything but the same old boring fish we see all the time. I'd love to see something like a never-before seen creature with octopus-like intelligence!"

"It's nice to know that, despite all of mankind's careless neglect of the ocean, there's still an abundance of nature still untouched by humanities pollution." An environmental activist in India comments.

Deep in the middle of the Atlantic, a scientific research boat sits filled with passionate marine biologists.

Someone hastily bought a cake to celebrate the hard work everyone had put into the project over the years. The team didn't know what kind of discoveries they'd run into, so it was decided that a baby shower themed cake would have to do. On the top, in blue frosting, was written: "Congratulations! It's a____!"

Presumably, the blank was to be filled in once the data from the machine was compiled.

The machine beeps once, echoing throughout the research vessel, and everyone races to the screen as fast as their legs will take them.

They read the results.

No one says anything.

"That can't be right. Someone go and reset the device and run it again." The head scientist sighs, confident that they had run into an error.

Another twenty minutes go by.

The machine beeps once.

The updated model is largely the same as the previous one.

"...maybe it's not done loading." Someone shatters the silence, and the crowd of scientists flinch, but no one dares take their sights off the screen. Nobody breathes. It's the same outcome on the third try, as well.

The visual simulation on the computer screen shows a complex 3D model of all the life in the entire ocean.

There are whales gliding between continents, sharks feasting on squids, and squids feasting on sharks. Gorgeous and intelligent octopus that can change the color of their skin at will. A pod of humpback whales could be seen off the coast of Antarctica. All of the diverse and colorful life living in the ocean swim before their eyes in a transparent globe of digital seawater.

It looks just like a modern map of the ocean as we know it.

"I don't understand. It looks exactly the same." Someone whispers.

"Exactly. Humankind has only been able to explore around 20 percent of the entire ocean on planet Earth." The head scientist gulps, eyes still hooked to the glassy screen.

"So," someone's voice begins to waver. "You're saying that the other 80 percent..."

No one answers. No one blinks.

"It's... empty. It's not detecting any life signs that we haven't already discovered. It's empty." Someone says.

Someone thinks about pollution.

Someone thinks about shark fin soup.

Someone thinks about the stock market.

Someone thinks about a pet store; shelves lined with dozens of fish that float upside-down and belly up at the top of their tanks.

"... we're all that's left." Someone says.

[lizardboiii]

ANGER MANAGEMENT┃R. Sukuna

[Possessive!Sukuna x Fem!Reader]

・❥・

│Summary: Anger management was by no means your strong suit. No amount of lessons or prayers could change that. In fact, it feels like you’ve been doing a lot worse lately with the appearance of a new neighbor in your next door apartment.

“You're an insufferable bastard and I hope you move.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Fuck you.”

・❥・

│cw: 18+, NSFW, violence, vulgar language, terrible humor

│w/c: 3.2k

│chapters: (i) (ii) (iii) (iv) (v) (vi) (vii)

│notes: NeighborsAU!, AncestorsAU!

・❥・

│Chapter I : IRATE

“You're an insufferable bastard and I hope you move.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Fuck you.”

The pinkette moved to slam his front door shut before you caught the painted wood with your hand. Its pristine white coating had already started to chip away on the side where, like many other nights, you’ve managed to catch the door and pry it open.

You snarled at his annoyed expression, “I’m not finished yet, Pinkiepie lookin’ freak.”

The vein in his jaw pulsated as he looked down on your smaller figure in disgust, “Piss off, rat. I didn’t steal your fucking package.”

Your grip on his door tightened. The familiar feeling of hot burning rage once again coursed through your bones, “IT’S ONLY ME AND YOU ON THIS FLOOR, DUMBASS!”

He let out his own frustrated growl as he swung his door back open, almost knocking you off balance, “I DIDN'T STEAL SHIT FROM YOU, WOMAN!” 

The world felt like it slowed down for a moment. The feeling of your bottled rage finally reaching its limit. From the tips of your toes to the top of your forehead, you could feel the urge to punch, kick, and scream. A calling to let loose all your feelings you held inside.

Now normally this is where you’d remember your anger management lessons. Countdown from ten to zero, take deep breaths, and blah blah blah. 

But no. Ever since your fuckhead neighbor moved in next door your rage has been through the roof. From his overly obnoxious music taste, to his various romantic partners, you couldn’t catch a break. So, what if you let loose a bit?

Your fist swung before you could even think about the consequences of your actions. Sure, you’ve gotten into plenty of arguments with your new neighbor. But never once have you raised a hand.

The satisfying thump of a head recoiling against an open door made your heart race. The feeling to continue on, to fight, to destroy was overwhelming. Alas, no feeling could ever beat seeing the stunned face of a man who just took a punch to the face.

Swiping the blood from his nose, he glared at you with new vigor, “What the fuck?”

Another swing, this time your hand was swiftly captured in a brawny fist. You clenched your teeth in pain as he squeezed your smaller hand excruciatingly tight, his other hand capturing your shirt's collar.

You struggled against his holds, brow twitching in agitation, “Where the fuck is it?”

The scent of mint flooded your senses as he pulled your collar closer to his face, “I don’t have your goddamn package. Now give me one reason why I shouldn’t paint the floor with you right now?”

You tore your hand away from his weakening hold and flipped him off, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Brother?”

Surprised, you both turned to another, much smaller, pinkette. An almost identical copy of the asshole still clutching your shirt. Though, this one was a lot easier to get along with.

The larger man sighed deeply above you before letting you go, “Yuuji, why are you here so late?”

You grunted as he harshly shoved you back. Shooting your arm out, you caught yourself on the doors frame. Cocky fucker. Grinding your teeth together, you decided to spare your shit neighbor because of one reason only.

“Hey, Yuuji. How’s university?”

You could feel a dark stare on the side of your head, relentless and unwavering. Yuuji smiled brightly at you as he came closer to the door.

“Great! Professor Gojo totally let us slack off all day today!”

You threw a smug smirk at the man still glaring daggers at your head. How’s it feel to be ignored?

As if hearing your question his grip tightened on his crossed arms.

“Megumi, Nobara, and I went out for ice cream after class too. I didn’t think it’d take this long though,” Yuuji scratched the back of his head embarrassed.

You smiled at his shy form only to stop yourself when you noticed the man standing next to you smiling as well. Bastard. What the hell is he enjoying life for?

“I see. Alright, come on I made dinner,” his eyes trailed from Yuuji to you, “for two.”

You rolled your eyes at his hostility. Like you’d want to eat his food anyway. Knowing him it probably tastes like shit.

Not sparing a second glance at him, you waved goodbye to Yuuji and strolled back to your humble abode. A satisfying conclusion until you realized you never got your damned package.

・❥・

“I told you already, Mom. I’ve been getting better. I think my lessons are finally starting to work.”

“Are you sure, sweetie? You know if it ever gets too much again you can always come back home.”

You sighed heavily at your mother’s worried tone, “I’m very sure, mom. I mean come on, I just have one more day until my one month without an outburst!”

Your mother laughed slightly on the phone, but the thick layer of concern was still evident. Quickly dismissing any more of her anxiety, you wished her goodnight.

Shoving your cracked phone into your pocket, you hit the fourth floor button on your apartment complex’s elevator. With a quiet hum, the metal box slowly took you up to your floor.

The fourth floor was nice to live on. It was practically a penthouse. The reason being because you were its only occupant. Although, there was no sound reason for the building's vacancy, you just assumed no one in the area wanted to live in a second rate apartment. Especially when power outages were frequent.

That didn’t really concern you though. You had a home with zero people around. Not something you’d complain about.

Stepping into the outdated hallway, you took a deep breath of the stale air. Cracking a knuckle here, popping a joint there, you made your way to your lone room near the end of the hallway.

Automatically, your brows furrowed at the sight of large boxes decorating the floor around your door and the one next to it. You didn’t order anything.

Not so calmly making your way over to the mysterious boxes, you frowned as you realized the next door apartment’s door ajar. Neighbors?

A twinge of annoyance shot through your body before you quickly extinguished it. You thought back to the group lesson of today. The main focus was on allowing yourself to hear people out. Understand another person’s reasoning before you flip your shit. Having a ‘civilized’ conversation.

While someone moving in isn’t really what the lesson had been meant for, you figured you’d might as well give it a shot. Another step forward if you will.

Preparing yourself, you maneuvered around the scattered boxes in front of your new neighbor’s door. With a determined fist you knocked on the familiar white wood that matched your own. 

Movement could be heard coming from behind the door, yet there was no answer. Your jaw twitched as you knocked again causing whoever was moving to curse.

Just as you were about to knock again, the door violently flung open revealing a disheveled man. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have to pick your jaw up off the floor. 

The tall man loomed over your form threateningly. It was clear as day that you only reached the tops of his collar bones. An observation you confirmed after noticing the man’s lack of a shirt.

Speaking of which, you had to pick your jaw up again at the sight of a chiseled body. Saying he had the body of a god was no understatement. You could grate cheese on those abs. Even more striking were the strange black tattoos that marked his skin. You traced the thick black lines that covered his chest with your eyes. They only aided in the dark and mysterious vibe to him.

Begrudgingly moving your eyes up to his face allowed for a third drop of the jaw. Similar tattoos to his chest and arms only accentuated the sharp cut of his jaw. His eyes were a piercing deep red which matched perfectly with his surprisingly pink dusted hair. Did a Greek god just move upstairs next to you?

“Are you done checking me out yet?”

You felt your face burn as you glared at him, “I wasn’t ‘checking’ you out.”

A dangerous smirk pulled on his lips, “Listen, woman. I don’t have all day to play around with you. Get to the point.”

You felt a familiar rage spark in the pit of your stomach. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you threw him an exaggerated smile.

“I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself to my new neighbor,” you lifted your hand out in front of you for a handshake, “I’m (y/n) (l/n), I hope we can get along.” 

The man scoffed at you in amusement before taking your hand in his roughly, “Sukuna.”

The handshake was quick but firm enough for you to rub your hand after in soreness. The familiar twang of anger once again rose before you quelled it.

You clenched your fists, eager to just go back into your apartment, “I was wondering if there was anything I can help you with? With you being the new and only neighbor and all.”

You begged him in your head to say no. You weren’t sure if you could continue this ‘civil’ conversation for much longer.

“Sure,” you swallowed hard as he leaned against the door frame, “Do you know anyone decent enough to fuck around here or are there only women around here that look like you?”

You felt a cord snap, “What the fuck did you just say?”

A flash behind his eyes showed the clear amusement he was getting from your new attitude, “I said, is there anyone half decent enough to fuck around here or are there only noisy little pigs in this building?” 

You growled at his arrogance, “You’re one to talk, pretty boy. Do you normally piss off everyone you talk to?”

His smirk deepened, “Of course. Did you think you were special?”

Like a leaf in the wind your thirty day chip flew away from you. Bye bye progress. Back to the start you go~

White hot rage filled your senses as you poked a finger into his exposed chest, “YOU WANNA GO, ASSHOLE? THE FUCKS YOUR PROBLEM?”

Amusement slowly formed into irritation as he slapped your hand away, “You're even loud like a pig.”

You snarled at him, “Listen here you piece of shit, at least I don’t look like I crawled out of a fucking kids cartoon with that stupid ass hair color.”

Pissed, Sukuna stood to his full height and crossed his arms, “Watch your mouth, dwarf.”

You craned your neck up and shot daggers at him, “Watch your own mouth, motherfucker! God to think I was trying to be a helpful neighbor and see if you needed anything!”

“Helpful neighbor my ass. All you’ve done so far is yell at me in my own home.”

“We’re in the hallway, dumbass!”

Sukuna backed up and rubbed his brow, “I don’t have time to deal with a little kid's temper tantrum.”

As he slammed the door in your face, you caught the closing door by the edge, “I’m not a goddamn kid!”

Sukuna shoved the door closed harder “Then don’t act like one, bitch.”

Eventually his strength overpowered your grip and he flung the door shut. The sound echoed tauntingly throughout the hallway leaving you with your own thoughts.

You looked at your hands disappointed and sighed. Looks like you’ll need to wait another month, but with that asshole next door you weren’t sure if you could make a day anymore.

Greek god your ass, more like a curse.

・❥・

It’s been a month since your dear neighbor Sukuna moved in, and without fail you two have argued in that hallway everyday. Today was no different, though maybe you took it too far by punching him.

You groaned and rolled around on your bed. You felt bad but no way in hell were you apologizing. Burying your head in a pillow you screamed into it. Why was that prick such an asshole??

Sitting up in your bed you hit your pillow repeatedly against your worn mattress. All this stress and worry was making you antsy. After jumping the poor pillow, you threw it against your wall harshly. The pillow hit the plaster with a soft thump before making its way to the floor. You growled in annoyance at the wall your pillow hit.

That very wall was connected to what you assumed was Sukuna’s room. With the amount of noise that came from it every night it had to be. 

Though the first few nights he moved in it was quiet, after a week the noise of various rock bands leaking into your room made you bang on the wall in anger. Though you figured this only fueled the desire to infuriate you as he turned it up even louder.

Another contender for why you figured his room was next to yours was the fact you had to sit through multiple nights of him railing the shit out of some poor girls. The first night it happened you remembered blindly walking over to his door and slamming your fists against the wood. 

・❥・

“Rick, I'm in love with you!”

“My dear Isabella, I can not reciprocate. For I have already fallen in love!”

“With whom, my love??? That skank Isabell!?”

“No, it is… Steffanie.”

“YOUR HAMSTER?!”

You snorted at your daytime tv while shoveling popcorn into your mouth. Your friend had been right about this channel. It really was absolute nonsense.

You watched as the woman on the screen fainted into her former lover's arms. Wow. Imagine being left for a hamster. Shifting in your seat you paused when you heard a faint noise.

Turning down your television volume you waited. Nothing. Huh, maybe you needed to get your ears checked-

“Ngh~”

The popcorn situated in your mouth fell onto your bed silently. What the fuck?

“Harder!”

Now that's where you couldn’t pretend anymore. Was your new neighbor fucking someone right now? At 10am? On a Sunday??

Your question was quickly answered by louder and whinier moans. Listening closely, you could just barely register the deep grunts of a certain bastard neighbor.

Oh hell no. You were not about to sit here and listen to some fuck fest. Abandoning your comfy bed, you stormed out of your room and over to a familiar door. 

Seething with rage, you pounded against the door harshly. The wood shook and rattled at the strength used against it. You growled at the silence behind the door and knocked louder.

“OPEN UP, FUCKHEAD!”

The door finally ripped open revealing an aggravated Sukuna, “What the fuck do you want?”

Your eyes widened as you took a moment to take in his appearance. Pink hair laid messily against his forehead, an unusual look compared to his normal gelled up style. Though most concerningly, he wore no clothes other than a thin white sheet lifted up to cover his manhood.

Trying to conceal your blush, you fumed at him, “Keep it the hell down! I can hear the goddam thrusting.”

Sukuna’s face twisted into a grin, “Jealous your dried up ass gets no action?”

You slammed your fist against the hallways wall, “At this rate I don’t need any action when I feels like I’m in a fucking threesome.”

You shivered at the deep chuckle he let out. You watched as his eyes trailed your form, feeling exposed to his watchful stare. The action made you regret not throwing anything over your tank top and shorts.

“Threesome?” He licked his lips when he returned his gaze to your eyes, “I can arrange that if you're begging for it.”

A shift of the sheet caught your attention. Sukuna lowered the thin fabric allowing for more skin to show. You felt your face burn. So the carpet does match the drapes. 

You flinched at his mocking chuckle, “Though I’m kinda busy right now, mind coming back later?”

You let out a frustrated yell and thundered off, “J-JUST KEEP IT DOWN!”

Laughter followed you as you slammed your door shut and slid down the cool wood. Fuck.

・❥・

Shaking yourself out of the embarrassing memory you glared at the wall spitefully. Boiling in rage you threw your remote against the drywall. Piece of shit. 

A harsh knock back from the other side made you clench your fists. So now he wants to complain? You went to put your hand through the drywall and yank a kicking and screaming Sukuna through before you heard a grunt.

You furrowed your eyebrows. You swear to god if you have to sit through another bang session you would really get violent. Pausing for a moment, you waited to hear the usual high pitched sounds that came from his pick of the night. Nada. Slowly you crawled across your bed and pressed an ear against the wall.

Now, don’t get yourself wrong. You were not a creep in any way shape or form. Plus, this didn’t even count if it’s your wall right? You were just trying to figure out what he was doing. As a nice neighbor would.

A hushed groan made you flinch away from the wall before returning. Resting a hand against the wall, you felt your heartbeat pick up as your ears adjusted to the quiet noises. Was he-

A strained sigh confirmed your thoughts. You bit your lip as you leaned into the wall further. His sounds almost encouraged you to listen on. Against your will, the familiar feeling of heat between your legs rose. You clenched your thighs together, trying to get a hold of yourself.

You should stop. You should get up and leave the room. Even if you hate the bastard you're still invading his privacy. So why are you staying? 

A drawn out hiss pulled you back in. Like an incubus he drew you to him. Your hand slowly started tracing down your abdomen. Have you always felt this way? There’s always been tension but you’d always figured it was just to piss you off.

You shuddered as your hand crept its way under your waist band. You hesitated for a moment. Was this morally right? A rough curse from the thin wall wound you up again. Fuck, how could someone’s voice do this to you?

Shyly, you pressed a curious finger against your wet slit, dragging up against your heat to your throbbing clit. You let out a shaky breath as you started to rub timid circles against your bud.

Sukuna’s deep groans slowly became more aggressive, sending another throb to your lower half. You bit your wrist in an attempt to contain the needy moans that managed to escape. Quickly, your movements became more and more erratic as you chased your high. 

Eventually, Sukuna’s moans died out without you realizing. You were too focused on the pleasure you were indulging yourself in. You bit your wrist harder, drawing blood, as your hips grinded themselves onto your fingers. The thickness of your wrist barely contained your ragged breathing as you finally reached your peak.

Mouth agape, the cord in your stomach snapped as stars flashed in your eyes. Your fingers moved by themselves, helping you extend your high for even longer.

With a final gasp you leaned against the wall and pulled your hand out of your bottoms. The clear substance that coated them looked back at you with mockery. What the hell do you just do?

・❥・

[mask-of-prime]

TLG: Final 10 Episodes Sketch Dump

September 2nd once again fell on a Labor Day, like it once did when the final 10 episodes of TLG dropped on WatchTLG (due to its early release on the old DisneyNOW app). The alignment of the exact day, month, and holiday five years later put me in the spirit to sketch away as I rewatched these episodes.

I was there when the countdown on the WatchTLG site had about an hour left. I hadn't seen a full episode of TLG until that point because I at the time thought I wouldn't be into it. I saw the synopses for these episodes leaked somewhere online and was doubtful yet VERY hopeful that the one with Vitani's Lion Guard was going to be a real episode simply because I wanted to see her in new content, regardless of my familiarity with the show.

When I binge-watched these final episodes with a friend, my relationship with the show improved as I went to watch the rest of the show over the next few months. I was so grateful to see so much content and worldbuilding for the TLK universe

Sketch descriptions under the cut:

1. Friends to the End

I've said this before in a review of this episode, but whether or not the writers intended this, their portrayal of irritability brought on by an anxiety attack is astounding. Kion's anxiety is piled up more and more when he's in a hurry to find a cure at the Tree of Life, Bunga repeatedly tells him he's becoming like Scar, and the rest of the group just "blind leading the blind"-in their journey SO badly because they're a bunch of unsupervised freshman-aged kids who are in their "Well I wouldn't go THAT far" or "Can I be the devil's advocate" phase.

This situation of fearing becoming like a shitty family member and being told you are by people when you're already in a vulnerable state is just SO vile and unfortunately so real. I found myself relating hard to this episode due to Kion's valid af anger in this episode, which is why I had to draw Kion claiming his "Don't you just wanna go apeshit??" era.

Kion is basically me throughout this episode and the entire first half of Season 3. It is SO HARD to get through this season sometimes when these same couple of lines keep coming at least once per episode. As soon as I hear Fuli saying "Uhh... Kion?" or "KION!!" I know exactly what's coming.

2. The Tree of Life:

Since we never get to see Sahasi and Ananda's color palettes they had in life, I took what I could make out from their spirit forms as well as some creative liberties, and came up with what they may have looked like on Earth.

Ananda is where Baliyo gets his freckles and dull, dark pelt, and where Rani gets her purple pupils, red nose, and dark tail. Sahasi is where Rani gets her richer pelt and where Baliyo gets his nose gradient, multicolored mane, and lighter tail color.

Fun Fact: According to some email responses from a member of the team who worked on TLG, they said that Sahasi was meant to be Janna's son, which for me, puts an end to a debate I had in my head where I was stuck between either him or Ananda being Janna's child: On one hand, I liked the idea of Sahasi and Surak being the foils of Mufasa and Scar, but also liked the idea of Ananda as Janna's daughter and heir since they looked so alike, as well as it solidifying the martriarchy headcanon I have for the Night Pride. Though the team member didn't straight-up provide Sahasi's relation to Janna and Surak as an absolute fact, rather it was simply the gist they got from the creation of Sahasi's character, it's an answer from a team member at all, which I can absolutely settle with. I decided to give him a similar fur color to Surak because of that.

3. The River of Patience:

I just HAD to doodle eepy Kion. It's like the one part of this episode that sticks with me outside the wholesome therapy dynamics and Kion heroically holding the flower between his teeth. This is basically him but if he fully succumbed to falling asleep waiting for the log.

4. Little Old Ginterbong:

Can I just say that I fucking LOVE Mama Binturong's character?? She's absolutely insane and constantly looks like an addict that needs her fix. She makes me nostalgic for some reason, and I think it's gotta do with her Mama Gunda vibes (which is odd because I wasn't even that young when I saw Tarzan II). I had to draw her doing the thing lol

5. Poa the Destroyer:

All I could think about throughout this episode besides the rare Evil Beshte is how insufferable Pinguino is. I mean it in kind of a good way, his personality is so ridiculous that he's made me laugh a few times.

6. Long Live the Queen:

Surprisingly, the sketch regarding this episode is probably the least expected subject matter out of anything I could've put here: An idea that's been forming in my head for a bit now was the idea of Bunga and Binga continuing the fostering/babysitting business of Bunga's "uncles". Bunga is shown to be a natural with young animals in a few episodes, and it continues in the subplot of this episode where he watches over Varya's cubs.

7. The Lake of Reflection:

The one thing that viscerally stuck with me in this episode was the unbelievably cute design they gave bby Cheezi. Had to sketch him.

8. Triumph of the Roar:

Obligatory Askari sketch because I actually love drawing him and making headcanons of his era. Looking back... he kinda looks like he's looking down at the events of the bottom drawing in slight disappointment.

9. Journey to the Pride Lands:

Drew Azaad (for what I think might be the first time) with the only thing he seemed to be doing throughout this episode -- taking any opportunity he can to comment about how much better cheetahs are at basically everything. He's fun to draw and I'd like to do more art of him one day.

10. Return to the Pride Lands

This is a sketch of what I deadass thought was gonna happen during this scene the first time I saw this episode lmao. At the time, the previous two episodes were fresh on my mind so I thought Kion was once again going to spam his tornado ability, but with Vitani as his subject for his demonstration. She already knew so little of the Roar as it was, given her absence throughout most of TLG's storyline, but could you imagine what she must've been thinking seeing how much Kion's Roar evolved?

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Lost in the moment (part 2)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: After their friendship ended unexpectedly, Nico and (Y/N) continued their lives on different paths, but what happens when they meet again? (part 2 of 2)

Warnings: Once again a little angst, female reader

Note: I was honestly surprised how well the first part of this fic was received. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

(part 2 of 2)

Find part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/733720166569033728/lost-in-the-moment-part-1?source=share

Hope you enjoy <3

The years that followed were a relentless storm for both Nico and (Y/N), each navigating their separate paths with the ghost of their past lingering.

Nico’s championship victory and the soon-following retirement propelled him into the dazzling spotlight of Formula 1, becoming a charismatic figure both on and off the race track.

However, the memory of that final race continued to linger in the back of his mind, a bittersweet victory tainted by the absence of someone he had considered a confidante. Someone he had loved. Of course, he had seen the notifications of her calls once the celebrations had stopped. But whereas at first, he didn’t call her back simply out of spite and having been hurt, the more time went by, the more he feared actually hearing her speak his suspicions of having been betrayed into existence.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) on the other hand, had to face the daunting task of fighting her way back into the world of reporting. Having lost her job at Countdown Magazine , the young woman found herself feeling lost in the working world. The void left by Formula 1 was a constant ache, a reminder of the dreams she once had to forfeit and the pain of not having been there for Nico during his triumphant moment was an emotional wound that refused to heal, casting a lingering shadow on her achievements. However, she found that her luck hadn't completely run out, for after a few unsuccessful jobs, she was offered a position as a reporter for a small, upcoming motorsport journal called The Racing Project.

Although over the years both Nico and (Y/N)  followed a similar career path, their paths did not actually cross until the much-anticipated Las Vegas Grand Prix.

The stage was set, the racetrack buzzing with fervour, as Nico stood filming a live segment in the paddock, delivering his commentary with practised ease. The cameras captured every word he spoke, but his mind was elsewhere. As he scanned the crowd, his eyes unexpectedly fell upon a familiar figure- (Y/N).

Time seemed to halt, the cacophony of the racing world drowned by a flood of memories and emotions. Nico’s heart quickened its pace, a turbulent storm surging within him. The very sight of his former friend, after all these years, sent his thoughts spiralling into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. 

The ex-racer stumbled over his words, a subtle tremor in his voice betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him. “And…and as we witness this….um, remarkable race unfolding before us,” he managed to continue, though the words suddenly felt foreign on his tongue.

Nico couldn’t tear his gaze from (Y/N)’s form, caught between the past and present. The weight of their shared history bore down on him, each moment they had shared flashing through his mind like a movie reel. His eyes conveyed a mixture of surprise, longing and a hint of regret for the years of silence, that had separated them.

The subtle changes in Nico’s demeanour didn’t go unnoticed by the camera and crew. His usual composed demeanour wavered, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability surfacing in his eyes. The inner conflict that churned within him was evident to those who knew him well, a battle between the duties of the present and the ghosts of the past.

As the blond shrugged to maintain his composure, the words of the commentary became a blur as the realization that (Y/N) was back in his life hit him. He tried to regain his focus, attempting to steer the commentary back on track, but the presence of (Y/N) in the crowd continued to pull at the threads of his composure.

 It wasn’t until the segment was finally finished, that Jenson, who had moderated the segment along with Nico and was well aware of the history between him and the female reporter, leaned in and whispered, “I didn't know that (Y/N) is working as a Formula 1 reporter again after her sudden release just before your championship race.”

Jenson’s statement led revelation to hit Nico like a tidal wave. The pieces of the puzzle all of sudden fell into place, and the weight of misunderstanding and regret bore down on him. “Excuse me.” Nico stuttered out, freeing himself of the broadcasting equipment before hurriedly plunging into the bustling crowd, determined to confront the past. 

Rushing past crew members and paddock guests, his blue eyes scanned the crowd with restlessness before finally landing on the all-too-familiar shape of (Y/N).

“(Y/n),“ he called out, his voice carrying the echoes of years of silence. 

Upon hearing his voice call out to her, the woman turned, eyes widening in surprise, before narrowing again in anger. The air around them was suddenly buzzing with the electricity of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. “Nico,” she replied coldly, her voice betraying a simmering anger beneath the surface. 

Nico took a cautious step closer, the atmosphere fraught with tension. “I…I didn’t know. I thought you used me for stories. I didn’t know what happened that day.” his words came out rushed, as he struggled to keep up with his own thoughts. Lifting her chin,  (Y/N) crossed her arms, a defensive gesture as she glared at him. “Well, glad you’ve figured it out by now.” her voice cut through the noise of the racetrack. “I lost my job, Nico. I lost everything I had worked for, and you didn’t even bother to hear me out. You think an apology fixes this?” 

Nico reached for (Y/N)’s hand, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness. “My mind was too clouded by the fact that you weren’t by my side during my victory, to be able to think rationally. I should have known.” he tried to explain himself, voice haunted by the regret of misplaced assumptions.

(Y/N) pulled her hand away from his grasp, a scoff escaping her lips. “Known? I would’ve never expected you to just know. But you should have asked, Nico. You didn’t give me a single chance to explain myself. Instead, you just disappeared.” with the last word, she jabbed an angry finger at his chest. 

Nico opened his mouth to respond, but (Y/N) cut him off “ You don’t get to just waltz back into my life after all these years and expect everything to be okay. You have no idea what it was like for me, losing my job and feeling abandoned by my best friend.” 

The man’s face fell, the reality of the pain he had caused written across his features. “(Y/N),please. I didn’t know the truth, and I-”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice sharp.”You didn’t bother to find out. You just assumed the worst, and I won’t just forget that.”

The tension between them was palpable as they stood there, the racetrack humming with the distant roar of engines. Whereas (Y/N)’s eyes held a mixture of anger and hurt, Nico felt the weight of his past choices pressing down on him. The heavy silence between them was once again interrupted by her voice, the anger now morphed into frustration. “You made your choice back then.” She sounded defeated. Nico struggled to find the right words, his chest tight with regret. “I messed up. I should have trusted you, and I’m sorry.” 

Unwilling to meet his gaze, (Y/N) turned away. “Sorry doesn’t erase the past, Nico. I don’t need your apologies now, I got work to do.”

The gravity of her words hung heavily between them.Once determined to seek reconciliation, Nico faced the consequences of his assumptions.The racetrack, witness to their shared highs and lows, now became a battleground for a different kind of race- a race against time to repair the fractured bond between them. As they lingered in the charged silence, a new layer of tension emerged. The unspoken truth of feelings that had never found a voice in the past now hovered between them. They had danced around something more profound than friendship, an undercurrent of emotions that had remained buried.

Deciding to try a different approach, Nico’s tone softened. “Remember that night when I waited for you in the pouring rain?”

As she turned back around to him (Y/N)’s eyes flickered with curiosity, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her defensive stance. “What?” 

Nico’s eyes nervously searched hers, an unsure, almost shy smile on his lips. “I stole that umbrella from Toto and to this day I am unsure of whether I was more nervous about waiting for you or the possibility of Toto finding out I was the reason he got drenched to the bone.”

A breathless chuckle broke through her frown, the sound like music to Nico’s ears. “You stole an umbrella from your boss, just so you could go on a walk with me?” her voice was laced with amusement and disbelief. “Mhm,” he hummed in response, his smile widening into a grin, blue eyes sparkling as he thought back to that very evening. “I actually hid around a corner for like 10 minutes, because I could hear how on edge he was, asking crew members about where his umbrella went.” A genuine laugh escaped (Y/N) at that, eyes glistening as she was hit by a wave of nostalgia. There was another moment of silence between the pair, although this time it felt more intimate.

“You know that when it came to us it was never about the job right?” her voice was barely louder than a whisper and if Nico hadn’t already been paying such close attention to her, he would have surely missed it. 

His eyes bore into (Y/N)’s, the weight of her words sinking in. The revelation hung in the air, an unspoken truth that had shaped their past interactions. With her vulnerability laid bare, (Y/N) waited for Nico’s response, the air heavy with anticipation. In that moment the racetrack seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them suspended in an emotional crossfire.

Nico, grappling with the unexpected confession, searched her eyes for clarity. The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. Their unspoken connection had always transcended the confines of a professional relationship, a truth buried beneath the surface of camaraderie and shared passion for Formula 1.

Studying his face, (Y/N) could watch as a  myriad of emotions played across Nico’s face- surprise, regret and a hint of realization. 

“(Y/N)”, he murmured, his voice tinged with astonishment and understanding, as his brain struggled to find the right words.

The woman’s gaze wavered, and she nodded, a mixture of sadness and acceptance in her eyes. “You were so focused on the rivalry and the championship, that I didn’t want to complicate things. I thought, maybe one day…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken “one day” hanging in the air. 

Nico’s mind raced, grappling with the weight of missed opportunities and the realization of their connection has been far more profound than he had ever comprehended. “I had no idea. If I had known, I would have-” She cut him off, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s in the past Nico. We can’t change it now.” Shaking his head, the blond reached out, tentatively taking (Y/N)’s hand and this time she allowed their fingers to intertwine, a silent acknowledgement of the emotions that had lingered, unspoken for years. “(Y/N), I wish I had known. I wish I had seen it then.” She met his gaze, the raw honesty of the moment reflected in her eyes. “We were caught in the whirlwind of the Silver War, and I didn’t want to be another distraction.”

Nico’s thumb gently traced circles on the back of her hand, as his gaze locked onto hers. “You were never a distraction, (Y/N).” Nico’s voice was stern. “If anything, you were the constant that I failed to appreciate.” 

As they found themselves standing at the crossroads of what could have been and what might still be, their hands lingered together, a silent testament to the depth of their connection. The unspoken feelings that had been tucked away for years now demanded recognition, weaving an intricate tapestry of emotions.

Nico took a step closer, his heart pounding with a mixture of uncertainty and hope. “Do you think we could start over…try to make up for the time we lost?”

(Y/N) looked up at him, eyes meeting his, and he thought to see a flicker of hope in their depths. “Nico-” she sighed clearly conflicted “It’s not that simple. We’ve both changed.”

He nodded a sense of gentleness in his understanding gaze. “I know, but what if we explore what we have now?” he leaned in a little closer, hand reaching up to gingerly cradle her cheek. “Let’s start from here, from this moment. Forget the misunderstandings, the lost chances and see where this takes us.” 

The warmth and sheer softness of his touch seemingly eased the mental conflict within (Y/N)’s mind and a tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Will you steal another umbrella from Toto?” her question was accompanied by a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. 

The suddenness of her request made Nico knit his brows in confusion. Taking a second to process the question, this time it was him, who laughed in disbelief. 

"Yes.” he chuckled, thumb tracing her cheekbone, loving eyes studying her face as to memorise every single feature. “I'd happily steal yet another one of Toto's umbrellas for you." Underneath his gentle touch, Nico could feel her timid smile grow into a cheeky grin. "Well, then I am happily willing to give us a second chance."

As they stood there, enveloped in each other’s presence, the soft glow of the racetrack’s lights painted their faces in a warm hue, mirroring the warmth that radiated between them. “I never thought I’d feel this way again,” Nico admitted, gaze still fixed on (Y/N) as if she held the answers to questions he’d never dared to ask.

 “I’ve missed this” he muttered softly “Talking to you, being here, it feels like coming home.” (Y/N) felt the words dancing on the tip of her tongue but unable to escape. Her heart fluttered as she realized there were no words adequate to convey how she felt. With a quiet resolve, she slowly leaned in, breath mingling with his. Nico’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before softening, understanding dawning upon him. Time seemed to pause as her lips met his in a tender, feather-light kiss. It was a silent confession and a promise for the future. 

Drawing back, a rosy hue dusted (Y/N)’s cheeks and if her heart hadn’t already been racing before, it certainly was now upon seeing the lovesick smile on Nico's face.

“Welcome home, Nico.”

[supermanshield]

@t-oriand said:

i’ve been thinking a lot abt bruce helping clark do some research on his kryptonian features. like does clark need food? or just sun? how long can he go without the sun? thinking a lot of tender moments in the bat cave, and bruce realizing how much clark trusts him,,, that sort of thing. also could be some fun gadgety stuff bruce makes to measure clark’s various skills and fun training montage type stuff with superman running comically fast on a treadmill

I'm really sorry this prompt fill is - checks calendar - 4 months late, but here it finally is. I hope you still enjoy it! I'm trying to get back into things and writing a bit more again.

I love this prompt! I changed it a little bit (hope it's okay) and now we're not in the bat cave anymore, we're only testing one thing, not many gadgets involved, and I went with a pretty smug Clark and Bruce with the biggest crush on him. I hope you like it!

---

The icy blue clouds of Neptune drain the red from Clark's costume, leaving him clad in monotones of navy and black. He reaches up again, extending his arms and straining the fabric of his suit, distracting Bruce once more, and they haven't even started yet. He's only setting up all the equipment they've brought over.

"I want to test my strength again and I need someone on the controls. Do you want to help?" Clark had asked the day before, a welcome break in Bruce's more-boring-than-boring monitor duty.

"Yes," he'd replied too fast and too eager.

A hesitant smile danced around Clark's lips. "Okay... Now you'll have to tell me whether you got so excited because you actually want to see me exert myself or because you want to record the data for the sake of the League."

"Who says it can't be both?" Bruce had dared to say.

And so, now they're setting up equipment from the fortress and the watchtower on Neptune, because Clark didn't want to mess with Earth's gravity. He had said it so casually, but it reminded Bruce how nothing was normal for a man who could push planets. Something as simple as maxing out on squats or shoulder press had to be done at the edge of the solar system.

Even from behind the thick glass shielding and inside the body of inch-thick metal of their ship, Bruce can sense the weight of the equipment Clark is putting in its place, as he goes over his controls and monitors inside the rig one more time.

"Ready?" Clark's voice finally crackles through the comms. Outside he's already holding up one thumb and grinning at Bruce, the question echoed in his eyes. It should not send butterflies to Bruce's belly but it does.

"All set," he replies.

Clark gets into place, and he looks comically small underneath the structure he's about to test the limits of. It should not be possible. It isn't physically possible, and yet there Clark is. It still breaks Bruce's brain a little after all this time. Clark still breaks Bruce's brain a little.

"Batman? Don't tell me you're bored," Clark teases through the comms.

"Right." Quite the opposite, he thinks. He's supposed to initiate the countdown. He scrambles for the controls, pressing the logging button and locking in Neptune's position to be able to monitor that Clark doesn't accidentally move it. Gravity is about 14% higher here, which they've accounted for in their calculations, and should help mitigate the risk of breaking laws of physics.

They start. As Clark is pushing up against the thing, and Bruce incrementally increases the force pushing down on him past what he's ever seen him lift, he's reminded once again that Clark is always holding back, and hopes he never has to see him use all his strength. It seems impossible, but he's afraid he might get scared. Scared of what it all means, scared of what it would do to his perception of the world and to science. Scared of Clark. Scared of what it would do to Clark.

"Superman," Bruce has to break their steady back and forth after a while. "The weight is approaching critical mass. That of the planet you're standing on."

"Hrm." At least Clark sounds like he's actually reaching his limit. His biceps are bulging, his suit pulled taut across his abs and thighs, and still Clark is smiling right at him. Bruce bites his lip to refrain from sighing at the sight.

"No conclusive answer today, I'm sorry." Bruce slowly turns down the dial again. The scientist in him is disappointed, but maybe it's just as well, he thinks on a different level. Because now hope remains that there's always a way

At least now I know what I can lift," Clark says, predictably, too stubborn to admit the test was not satisfactory. Too stubborn to acknowledge that there might be a limit to who he can help, because there's always a way. 

Clark waves at him after he sets down the structure again. “Your heart rate is elevated. Everything okay?”

“Uhh, yes, all good,” Bruce scrambles to say. “So is yours.”

Clark laughs. It's a warm thing, as if Bruce made a joke that only he understands. “I just lifted a planet, Batman.” 

“Which you now still have to bench press, Superman.” Bruce doesn't mean to, but he's smiling. Clark just draws it out of him. 

“Alright, alright.” Outside, Clarks small figure moves around and starts disassembling and reassembling his setup. Bruce wonders how often he uses it in the fortress. As Clark casually displaces a ton of weight over his head, his voice crackles through the comms again. “It's always good watching you lift your weights in the cave. Thought I'd return the favor for once.”

Bruce almost chokes. If he didn't know any better he'd swear Clark was flirting with him. “Ugh, you don't know half the things you do to me,” he mutters under his breath. 

“What was that? The atmosphere is thinner up here. You have to use the communicator, B.” Of course Clark could still hear him. 

“I said I'd spot you but I can't exactly return that favor,” he manages somehow.

“And yet, you're doing literally just that right now.” Clark turns to watch him.

All Bruce is doing is pressing buttons and reading dials, and yet Clark finds a way to bring him to his level. Maybe that's his only power that matters. He smiles, and lets his feelings for Clark wash over him. It's warm. It's good to be in love. Suddenly, Bruce doesn't mind. But Clark doesn't need to know that, yet.

“Hrm. Focus, Superman. There's still a lot to be done.” 

Clark shakes his head. “You're insufferable,” he says, and gets into position again. Out there, in the icy blue clouds of Neptune lifting the weight of the earth for warm up sits the man Bruce is madly in love with. He'll tell him, some day. After all, there's always a way. Bruce just has to find the right time. 

[fluentmoviequoter]

Imagine: being in a long distance relationship with deacon and you surprise him at home. He doesn’t know it and is still at the HQ. Hondo knows about your surprise and sends him home with a knowing smile after the shift. When Deacon comes home he finds you sleeping in his bed

Oh my gosh, this is adorable. I'm not totally sure if you wanted a fic or not, but I wrote one! I hope you like it and please let me know what you think!

Warnings: fluff!

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Long Distance to the Future

Since you left Los Angeles to take a new job across the country, you’ve stayed committed to Deacon and he to you. The job is supposed to be temporary, only it is indefinitely temporary. It’s been nearly three years since you started dating Deacon, but it will be your first anniversary away from him. It would be a lie to say long distance is easy, but it’s worth it. You haven’t used a single vacation day since you started, so you’re checking the price of flights to LAX, hoping you can afford to surprise Deacon for your anniversary. The first few months of long-distance were surprisingly easy since you were getting settled and forming a new routine, but now that things are settled, you miss Deacon more than anything. The screen finally loads, and you cheer in your quiet bedroom when the low price appears. You quickly book your ticket, prepared to see Deacon in person again. You text Hondo and ask him to call when he has time, hoping to get his help in the surprise.

Your phone rings less than a minute later, and you answer before the second ring. “Hello?” you greet, expecting Hondo.

“I have big news!” your boss cheers. “You got the promotion; if you want it, its yours!”

“Are you serious?” you ask, experiencing the second miracle in less than ten minutes. “This is such an honour, I don’t know what to say.”

“Think it over for a day or two then let me know, okay? Congratulations, you deserve it!”

“Thank you! I- can I sign the contract while I’m on my trip?”

“Oh, I forgot you’re off this week. Yes, we can do it online or we can just get a written acceptance and handle the paperwork when you get back. I’ll let you get back to your vacation, but I couldn’t wait to tell you. Have a great time and talk soon.”

The call ends, and you lay back on your bed, kicking your feet up in excitement. Your phone rings again, and you see Hondo’s name, smiling as the pieces of your plan begin falling into place.

✯✯✯✯✯

The landing in LA is a little bumpy, but nothing can take the smile off your face. You practically skip through the airport, energized by your countdowns until you are back in the same time zone, state, county, and now, city as your boyfriend. Hondo is leaning against his car, smiling, when you walk out.

“Thank you so much,” you tell him, hugging him before he takes your bag to put in the trunk.

“I should be thanking you. He misses you,” Hondo replies as he opens your door.

“I missed him, too.”

“When do you leave?”

You let the question hang, waiting until Hondo is in the driver’s seat with the door closed to answer, “About that.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Hondo drops you off at Deacon’s house, giving you his spare key to get inside before Deacon returns from work. Waving at Hondo, you go inside and lock the door behind you. You leave all of the lights off and hide your shoes and bags in Deacon’s closet so there is no evidence of you visible when he walks in. Checking your watch, you see that Deacon should be home in about an hour, so you order his favorite food for dinner and wait in the kitchen, away from the windows (in case he gets home early), for the delivery. Once the food is dropped off, you hide the containers in the microwave and throw away the bag before walking to Deacon’s bedroom to wait. The adrenaline is wearing off, and you’re getting tired, even though you know Deacon should be home soon. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you wipe your eyes before realizing how tired you are. You yawn once and fail to find the motivation to get back up.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Alright, Deac, head out and get some rest,” Hondo says. “The rest of us got behind on our paperwork.”

“Okay,” Deacon says, his brows furrowed as he walks by. “Have a good night, guys. Don’t work too hard.”

He walks out to his car, a little suspicious as to why Hondo seemed so eager to send him home, but he’s tired and misses you, so he’s okay with a quiet night at his house.

Parking in his driveway, Deacon sighs before exiting the car and going inside. He puts his backpack in the front closet and then walks toward his bedroom, ignoring the kitchen and planning to order food later. When he walks into his bedroom, he freezes, part of his mind telling him to get a weapon while the other works on recognizing who is sleeping on his bed.

He whispers your name and smiles when you move your arm, exposing your face. He sits on the edge of the bed beside you and lays a hand on your back, leaning down to kiss your temple. You stir slightly under his touch, unconsciously moving closer to him.

Running his fingers over your hairline and down your jawline, Deacon keeps his attention on you, questions to ask when you wake up flooding his mind.

You stir again and crack your eyes open. When you see Deacon, you sit up slightly and blink before asking, “Deacon?”

He nods, slipping his arm around your waist to help you sit up. You lean against him and look up into his eyes. You missed his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was trying to surprise you and didn’t realize how tired I was, I guess,” you apologize, pinching Deacon's shirt collar between your fingers.

He takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb, looking into your eyes as he speaks. “Don’t apologize. I’m so happy to see you. Why am I seeing you?”

You laugh at his question, leaning against him as he twists you so your legs are draped across his lap as he leans against his headboard.

“I had a bunch of vacation days built up and.. I really wanted to see you. I missed you so much and our anniversary is coming up,” you explain.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” you and Deacon say together.

“Well, it’s an excellent surprise. You didn’t leave any evidence you were here. Although, how did you get in?”

“Hondo let me use his key.”

“Hondo. Of course. That’s why he wanted me to go straight home. Are you hungry?”

“I ordered food. It’s hidden in your kitchen,” you reply.

“You’re amazing.”

“I know. You’re pretty amazing, too.”

“This was an excellent surprise. Thank you,” Deacon says as he pulls you to your feet.

“There is one more thing,” you say, squeezing his hand.

“Okay,” Deacon says slowly.

“I got a promotion.”

Deacon’s eyes widen as he picks you up, twirling you around. You laugh, holding onto his shoulders. Your hands stay on his shoulders as he sets you back down.

“That’s amazing! Congratulations, you deserve it!”

“That’s not the good part.”

“What’s the good part? That seems pretty good.”

You lean up, close enough to kiss him, as you say, “It’s in Los Angeles.”

Deacon closes the small gap, kissing you like you’re his source of life. When you finally pull back, breathless and feeling whole with Deacon in your arms, you know you made the right decision to come home and take the job.

“Did you forget about the food?” you ask, laughing as Deacon kisses your cheek.

“We can reheat that. I had food earlier, I haven’t seen you in,” he looks at his watch to say, “11 months, 2 weeks, and 14 hours.”

“No minutes?” you ask.

“Just this one,” he replies, pulling you in just to push you backward onto the bed where he found you.

You laugh and cup his face in your hands. “I love you, Deacon Kay.”

“I love you,” Deacon says, his eyes glancing toward the top drawer of his nightstand, where a black velvet box is hidden. Future Mrs. Kay, he adds to himself.

[orangeave]

not even ghosts are this empty

wednesday addams x gn!reader

summary: you dug a grave for two but you lay in the casket alone.

words: 1.2k

orange speaks: part two to the great war, with more angst (whoops?). hope y'all enjoy.

Plumes of smoke echo slowly out of your mouth, the blunt in your hand burning the edges of your fingers. You make no move to ease the subtle ache, secretly enjoying the weight of the blisters that form in their wake. A cough flowers in your throat when you inhale the sharp sting of night air afterwards but you hold it in place, forcing it to expand downward to create a rattle in your chest. It encompasses the entirety of your ribcage, swallowing the meat of your organs whole. 

The sensation is fleeting and you mourn it as it fades. There’s an emptiness that follows, one you’re making an unwilling acquaintance with since you left Wednesday’s dorm those short months ago. Time has been infinitesimal in the grand scheme of things, passing by in hiccups of memory that never truly stick. 

The first few days following that night go by in denial, refusing to believe you had lost her. A hollow ticking resounding in your ears proves it to be true; vaguely signaling a countdown that tells you that you now carry a solar flare where your heart should reside, and it’s only a matter of time before it implodes. 

Loving Wednesday isn’t easy but neither is letting her go, and when the denial dwindles into tormenting acceptance, you are left with only the ghosts of her. They haunt each corner of your existence – both mental and physical – creating dark circles beneath your eyes that resemble tattoos more than they do skin. 

You attempt to exorcise Wednesday from your being and the vacancy within you becomes a cathedral; you pray at its illusionary, cobblestone steps but you are bent at the knees before a false god, incapable of offering reprieve. Wraiths have risen in relief’s stead – fallen too far to be ghosts any longer – and they are starving, snarling at the altar of your shortcomings. You will find no peace here when your body, laden with a lifetime of grief that ages you, is pirouetting upon crumbling earth. 

Resorting back to the roach in your trembling hands, you yearn for it to bring some semblance of life into the space you ache to fill. As you exhale, a shadow gathers in your peripheral in the shape of a girl you cannot escape. 

“I see you’ve come to dislike functioning lungs.” Wednesday dishes out, coming to stand by your sitting limbs that stretch out into the pond in front of you. Fathoming why she’s here, in the spot that once belonged to the two of you, is something you can’t grasp. 

Casual conversation is the last thing you want to participate in. It feels cheap; hollow. You deserve more than astute observations and meaningless slights. Something she’s averse to giving you, it seems, and the part of you that continues to die in its place hates her for it.

Youthfulness is forgotten when you are a rotting carcass forcing itself to breathe to a tempo that no longer comes naturally, dangling on flimsy strings that Wednesday commands, waltzing to the tune of her desires. A puppet master is what she is and you find no solace in this dance, not when the past lingers so close to the surface; of who you were to each other but will seldom be again. 

“Something like that.” You monotone, a slight shrug lifting your shoulders. 

There’s a tense set to her own shoulders at your response, the lack of expression in your voice pulling her entire body taut. A vengeful part of you revels in it, only to diminish into nothingness just as quickly, as everything else before it has. 

Your desolate eyes finally raise to meet Wednesday’s, causing hers to widen almost imperceptibly. They trace the heavy bags beneath your lashes then down to your still shaking hands and you come to understand her astonishment because up till now, you’ve managed to avoid her – a feat you were proud of. 

“Y/N…” She murmurs, reaching out for you. Wednesday’s fingers barely get the chance to brush against your arm before you’re recoiling away from the touch, water splashing up into your lap from where your legs hang in the pond. 

Oh, god.

There’s something to be said about the inbetween of dreams and reality; a certain dissonance that easily perpetuates the disruptive cognitive faults which riddle a half-aware person that the past haunts. Nightmares of memory which lead to dark, twisting backdrops that muddy the truth and serve to create monstrosities of unchecked thoughts. 

Falling asleep has always been a terrifying experience for you. In a moment's notice, you are suddenly the backseating, side character in the fluttering reel of torment plagued by the emergence of day. You have absolutely no control over the fate of each suffering you were forced to face and only hold the capacity to watch as it unfolds once again.

You are not asleep but you have spent the past months half-awake, and Wednesday’s touch yanks you right back to that night where your roles were in reverse. The details are still so fresh and it’s too much. It’s not fair the hold she has on you even now. 

“No, you don’t get to do this. Not now.” Your voice cracks, clumsily lifting your limbs from murky depths and rising to your full height. Water cascades down your form, leaving you shivering in the night air. A gasp chokes in your throat, panic seizing you and the ticking in your ears reaches a deafening roar. “I- After all this time, why now?”

Wednesday hesitates, the pause hanging in the air between you.

“Say something!” You bellow, panic turning into anger at her silence.

She shrinks back as you close the distance between you and it is wholly unlike her but you ignore it, invading her space. 

“I will never be good enough for you, will I?” You unevenly gasp out, realizing a long forgotten truth, “I plead, and I bargain, and I sacrifice, in the name of love. To heal the cracks in our façade but you stand before me, stoic as the day I met you, and give absolutely nothing in return.”

Her eyes follow your stance, expression shuttering to impassive and unseeing – hollow in a way you’ll never be able to change. All the anger drains out of you and when she goes to finally respond, mouth tentatively opening as she comes to know the sickness sinking beneath your mirage that you were never able to cleanse, you simply shake your head. 

In loving and losing her, you have lost yourself. You no longer know how to breathe air she does not exhale and disgust flares at who you’ve become; at who you’ve let her make you. Some cowardly thing, bent to the whims of a devil in the disguise of a god. 

Love is a fickle thing, so easily transforming into a monstrous being when betrayal hangs heavy in the space once wrought with the finer side of a bottled heaven. The feeling you welcome in love’s place should terrify you – for a moment, it does – but power is a corrupter in the hands of a widow. 

The implosion within you is beautifully damning – strings held in commandeering fingers snap, the corpse of you reborn in the ash of your submissiveness; flesh of the burnt coagulating into an armor made to pressurize the weight of your footsteps until the force of them cracks the earth, widening the gap of reality between the duality of life and death till it is but a mere phantom pain. 

Say, what’s a soul really worth?

You’ve already lost everything, what’s a little more? 

(– vultures have come to feast upon your bones; only the vulture is you and you’ve gorged upon yourself.)

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 1 EPISODE 12 || LALLYBROCH ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Broch Tuarach means “the north-facing tower.”

From the side of the mountain above, the broch that gave the small estate its name was no more than another mound of rocks, much like those that lay at the foot of the hills we had been traveling through. We came down through a narrow, rocky gap between two crags, leading the horse between boulders. Then the going was easier, the land sloping more gently down through the fields and scattered cottages, until at last we struck a small winding road that led to the house. It was larger than I had expected; a handsome three-story manor of harled white stone, windows outlined in the natural grey stone, a high slate roof with multiple chimneys, and several smaller whitewashed buildings clustered about it, like chicks about a hen. The old stone broch, situated on a small rise to the rear of the house, rose sixty feet above the ground, cone-topped like a witch’s hat, girdled with three rows of tiny arrow-slits. As we drew near, there was a sudden terrible racket from the direction of the outbuildings, and Donas shied and reared. No horseman, I promptly fell off, landing ignominiously in the dusty road. With an eye for the relative importance of things, Jamie leapt for the plunging horse’s bridle, leaving me to fend for myself. The dogs were almost upon me, baying and growling, by the time I found my feet. To my panicked eyes, there seemed to be at least a dozen of them, all with teeth bared and wicked. There was a shout from Jamie. “Bran! Luke! Sheas!” The dogs skidded to a halt within a few feet of me, confused. They milled, growling uncertainly, until he spoke again. “Sheas, mo maise! Stand, ye wee heathen!” They did, and the largest dog’s tail began gradually to wag, once, and then twice, questioningly. “Claire. Come take the horse. He’ll not let them close, and it’s me they want. Walk slowly; they’ll no harm ye.” He spoke casually, not to alarm either horse or dogs further. I was not so sanguine, but edged carefully toward him. Donas jerked his head and rolled his eyes as I took the bridle, but I was in no mood to put up with tantrums, and I yanked the rein firmly down and grabbed the headstall.

The thick velvet lips writhed back from his teeth, but I jerked harder. I put my face close to the big glaring golden eye and glared back. “Don’t try it!” I warned, “or you’ll end up as dogsmeat, and I won’t lift a hand to save you!” Jamie meanwhile was slowly walking toward the dogs, one hand held out fistlike toward them. What had seemed a large pack was only four dogs: a small brownish rat-terrier, two ruffed and spotted shepherds, and a huge black and tan monster that could have stood in for the Hound of the Baskervilles with no questions asked. This slavering creature stretched out a neck thicker than my waist and sniffed gently at the proffered knuckles. A tail like a ship’s cable beat back and forth with increasing fervor. Then it flung back its enormous head, baying with joy, and leaped on its master, knocking him flat in the road.

“‘In which Odysseus returns from the Trojan War and is recognized by his faithful hound,’ ”

I remarked to Donas, who snorted briefly, giving his opinion either of Homer, or of the undignified display of emotion going on in the roadway. Jamie, laughing, was ruffling the fur and pulling the ears of the dogs, who were all trying to lick his face at once. Finally he beat them back sufficiently to rise, keeping his feet with difficulty against their ecstatic demonstrations. “Well, someone’s glad to see me, at any rate,” he said, grinning, as he patted the beast’s head. “That’s Luke—” he pointed to the terrier, “and Elphin and Mars. Brothers, they are, and bonny sheep-dogs. And this,” he laid an affectionate hand on the enormous black head, which slobbered in appreciation, “is Bran.” “I’ll take your word for it,” I said, cautiously extending a knuckle to be sniffed. “What is he?” “A staghound.” He scratched the pricked ears, quoting“Thus Fingal chose his hounds:Eye like sloe, ear like leaf,Chest like horse, hough like sickleAnd the tail joint far from the head.” “If those are the qualifications, then you’re right,” I said, inspecting Bran. “If his tail joint were any further from his head, you could ride him.” “I used to, when I was small—not Bran, I don’t mean, but his grandfather, Nairn.” He gave the hound a final pat and straightened, gazing toward the house. He took the restive Donas’s bridle and turned him downhill. “In which Odysseus returns to his home, disguised as a beggar,…” he quoted in Greek, having picked up my earlier remark. “And now,” he said, straightening his collar with some grimness, “I suppose it’s time to go and deal with Penelope and her suitors.” When we reached the double doors, the dogs panting at our heels, Jamie hesitated.

“Should we knock?” I asked, a bit nervous. He looked at me in astonishment. “It’s my home,” he said, and pushed the door open.

26THE LAIRD’S RETURN ~ OUTLANDER