#I think. I found a level of rendering I’m really pleased with. finding brushes I like painting with helped too

[rattbones]

slamming your hereditary enemy up against the wall purely for intimidation purposes (and definitely no other reason)

a little gift for my dear friend @scarves-and-jumpers, love you and them so so much <33

[sturmhondsbitch]

YOUR POWER

Aleksander Morozova

“Your Power” by Billie Eilish

TW: darkling, reader gets used kinda, falling out of love, corruption, um Alina’s technically a minor.

Aleksander Morozova was seen as the hero of Ravka. Not entirely, you may argue, the Sun Summoner would be the true hero of the Grisha, but Aleksander would have been the one behind her, right? Aleksander, or more commonly known as The Darkling, would forever hold his place as the Shadow Summoner, the man who would set the Grisha free, the man who would destroy the fold created by his ancestors so long ago. And he would wear that title like a crown.

Manipulation is a scary thing. And Aleksander could manipulate even the most observant of people. Which made him even scarier than he already was. Alina became roped into his tricks and set up for failure at a young age. There seemed to be no way out.

“She’s a child Aleksander! This would ruin you if someone were to find out!” Y/n fumed as she paced around the chambers they shared, awaiting the moment Aleksander would use his shadows. She always hated the shadows, they followed her everywhere, a haunting memory of the life she used to lead.

“No one will find out! If someone finds out you’ll regret every decision you’ve ever made for the rest of your mortal life.” Aleksander sneered, malice present in his tone.

“As if I already don’t! You really think I want to be in this predicament! with you? I never wanted to be with you!”

“You were the one who planned the wedding!” Aleksander shot back.

“Not with you! I planned the wedding with the man I loved. The man I married, is not the man I’m talking to. Something changed. For the worse.” She let the sad look return to her face as the shadows loomed over him.

“The man you married is never coming back. The man you married died along with the Black Heretic. The man you married is gone, long gone. And soon you will be too.” Aleksander threatened.

She rolled her eyes, storming out of the room back to her quaint spot in the library she had set up when Aleksander became too much to handle. As she stormed out she passed Alina in the halls, flustered, clearly having been kicked out briefly while Aleksander yelled at Y/n. “Y/n? are you alright?” Alina called after her.

“Splendid.” Y/n snarked. She didn’t mean to be rude, but it was already too much to handle. She didn’t need the reason she was to be killed acting all innocent toward her. Child like. Though, she was a child. Aleksander was corrupting a child. And though from what she just went through it would seem Y/n wouldn’t think any different of Aleksander. That he truly would use a child to get what he wanted. To ruin the life of a girl destined for greatness. She truly didn’t believe he would. But oh would he.

Y/n sat in the small corner of the chambers she shared with her husband crying. He never liked it when she cried, he always got angry, making her cries louder, making him more upset. So, on the rare occasion she sat in the dark corner, tears flowing down her cheeks and soft cries leaving her mouth. It worked for a while, he usually never came in, but this time she left the door open. And in came Darkling, Alina stumbling in after. It seemed she had interrupted their intimate moment, Alina hanging off Aleksander’s neck as they kissed. She should be upset, but she knew this was happening, she knew it was going to happen. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop him.

She stilled her cries and swiftly got up, walking past the two out to the hallway where she was greeted with cold air, a nice response to the hot tears still streaming down her face. “Y/n?” A heart render who went by the name of James asked as she slid down the wall of the courtyard. “Y/n!” James exclaimed, rushing toward the girl, holding her in his arms as she cried. She knew she shouldn’t let him, it could end badly for her, but he was so comforting. A much different and nicer response than she was used to.

Her cries died down a bit and her head rested on James’ shoulder now. Her eyes closed softly as the night air nipped lightly at her exposed thighs, James’ kefta sitting loosely on her shoulders. “Do you want me to slow your heartrate a little? It’s picking up again.” James offered, casting his gaze toward the girl who sat curled up in his lap.

“Please,” She responded, awaiting the comfort of his hand on her chest.

He placed his hand on her chest and mustered up his power to level out her heart beat. Her heart rate slowed and so did her breathing, her eyes settling closed as she fell asleep.

Aleksander fumed as he stormed into the library a quarter past eight. Y/n was never late in the mornings. He knew she came to the library, it was always her favorite place. She loved the smell of books, and the quiet the books kept. It was all too peaceful for Aleksander, but it was Y/n’s safe place. As he came upon an empty library he sighed, trying to think of where else she would be.

As he came upon the window out to the courtyard he saw a glimpse of a red kefta. No one should be outside yet, who was that? Pushing open the door he stumbled into a heart render he didn’t know the name of, and his wife, cuddling by the door.

He bent down level with the pair, breath coming hot and heavy from his nostrils. He plastered on a smile and brushed the hair from Y/n’s face. “Y/n love, we must go to the war room.” He simpered, picking her up from the heart render’s lap and pushing the kefta from her shoulders. “C’mon darling, we gotta go.” He murmured, resting her head on his shoulder as she lulled off back to sleep. It was moments like these, when she was obedient toward him, even though she was barely conscious, he felt like he truly loved her. But those moments were rare. And so was his love.

James would never see the light of day again. As a Grisha he should live quite a long life, but by some mysterious accident James was killed. No one knows how, or why. Everyone except Y/n and Aleksander.

A horrible guilt filled Y/n as she stood at the grave of the heart render who only tried to help her. She was the reason he’s six feet under. It should be her, not him. He was innocent. No ill intent could be found in his actions. But here he was, dead, and never remembered again. Simply collateral damage.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” She asked quietly as they stood in their shared chambers.

“Because I need you. And it would have been too easy for you if I killed you. You need to know this all your fault.” He explained, keeping the tone that made it seem like it was all okay, the complete opposite of the words spilling from his mouth.

When Aleksander met Y/n, before the fold, the two were inseparable. A Shadow and an unknown Sun Summoner, the missing pieces. He made her feel things she didn’t know she could feel. And she made him feel human. She humbled him, an egotistical man, and he raised her up.

But, as most things do, she became useless to him. He needed that sense of power. And humbling him would take away that power. She became too much for him. So, when the fold was created and blamed on the Black Heretic, he knew he needed someone else to fuel his flame. The new Sun Summoner.

Alina Starkov was a boring girl. There was really no nice way of putting it. She was a boring, plain girl. Just what Aleksander wanted. Y/n was fun to have before Aleksander realized the power he truly held, and before he became fragile. Now, he needed someone who fueled his power. Someone naive, fresh, inexperienced, innocent. He needed someone new to corrupt.

[insufferablelust]

i have had this in my head for days now and i need to tell you about it lol so a lot of fics on here have the concept of being a brat and a bad girl and I love those but it got me thinking about spencer being with someone whos s u c h a good girl for him like the most obedient little girl who never breaks the rules no matter what he says or does and he absolutely loves it and he asks her why she never breaks the rules and whatever her submissive reply is makes him go FERAL

wow you’re a genius, i’m actually loving this piece so much because this is screaming me, i’m super subby it’s unbelievable🥺 anyways, i hope you enjoy love! thank you so much for the req and support, love you. xx MASTERLIST.

WARNINGS : Soft!Dom!Spencer x Sub!Reader, lots of praising so praise kink, soft cute dom and sub dynamic, oral (f receiving), bit of rough sex but its cute still, and pure submissive and dominant dynamics meaning it might seem like the sub is way too subby but in reality they hold the same amount of control, its just how the dynamics go. :) oh and fluff!

There’s something about Spencer Reid that always amazes Y/N, the way he handle things, the way he talks, the way he thinks, the way he manages all the things inside his head. He was rather complicated, but the mesmerizing kind that always caught her attention, the kind that stopped her from doing anything else but to listen and to cater his every need. He has her whipped for him like a puppy to it’s owner, but she loves it- she loves him, he’ll always her devotion— but so will she from him.

Y/N adores a lot of things, a lot of people— like Penelope Garcia and all her quirks, or David Rossi and all his wisdoms. But no one ever comes close to get the same amount of adoration and respect from her, as Spencer. The moment she joined the BAU, she knew that she had to give him her all, so she did. Now 2 years later, working in different divisions with him still in BAU and her in the human recourses division, their relationship remains strong, even stronger than ever.

Its rather challenging for them both to find the time together with him on case duties while she waited at their shared apartment considering that she spends more time on desk job rather than the field, but lately since he got his mandatory 30 day off, their time with each other becomes more and more interesting and sparked the utmost pleasure.

Of course he has lectures to teach, and papers to grade or sometimes on call cases to help, but that all means he’s mostly home with her. When they started the relationship, her intense adoration for him only sparked to greater level which is submission. When they started dating, she revealed that part of her instantly which ignited something inside the Doctor.

You see, Spencer was experienced but when they met, he never seen someone so devoted... so obedient... and so submissive to him like her. She’s the epitome of raw beauty not because she’s weak when she submit, it’s because she trusts him to take control but in order for him to take control, she’s also the one that holds the wheel— if she said the word, he’ll stop. Their dynamics are as harmonious as an instrumental piece. She submit to him in more ways than one— he owns her and most importantly he takes care of her like she takes care of him.

Y/N is not the one to misbehave, of course there are times when she wanted to be bratty, to break the rules he set for her, which was fairly simple; like she must tell him how she feels at all times (communication is key), no touching herself and no orgasms unless he’s there to give her the permission, and don’t disobey him. And she really wanted to be bratty, and tease him until his palm twitch and bend her over his lap, yet every time she was about to break one of his rules, the guilt settles in, and she thought,

You’re his, you’re his baby, his love, his bunny, his doll, his person, his home— he said so. What are you doing disobeying him? ungrateful brat.

The submissive in her just melt down its brattiness and pushed her deep to subspace, where all she wanted was to please him anyway possible, to be as good as she can be, to behave, to obey, and to serve. She’s willing to do anything to hear his sweet praises and to see the blissed proud expression featured on his face when she did something that pleased him. The euphoria from the praise seared her core, and sent her to heaven.

The atmosphere of this situation always have and always will be the most comfortable content thing in the world for her— and Spencer couldn’t agree more. Praising and taking care of his beautiful lady, seeing her so submissively devoted to him sent a venomous thrill to his bloodstream, and hearing her beg for him just makes him want to stay with her forever— and they planned to stay forever.

———

Y/N found herself pacing around the bedroom as she pouted cutely at the flashing thoughts of their late night rendezvous last night, she could still feel the burning sensation on her inner thigh, the way he whispered on her ear, the way his palm collided with her skin several times, the way his teeth graze on the skin of her breasts— claiming her for the 100th times, the way he fills her up to the brim that rendered her into a pathetic panting mess at the end.

Saying that she’s soaked through her panties surely is the statement of the year, because god she was soaked— dripping at the thought of his sinful immaculate fingers, how does one get excited and aroused by their dom’s fingers?!Certainly Y/N. He was currently inside his study, grading and preparing for his next lecture which is tomorrow, they spent their morning together with over-sugared coffees and pancakes before he went to do his professor things and Y/N went upstairs to.. apparently think about getting fucked by her dominant genius boyfriend.

She was contemplating to just hump the sheets or using the shower head for less evidence, or just touch herself then and there— he won’t know right? he’s busy downstairs, when the doctor is busy, he won’t come here. So here she was, walking slowly to the master bathroom, as she chew on her bottom lip. The closer she got to where she needed to be, the greater her guilt arisen.

“He took such a good care of you last night, he gives you multiple orgasms, give you the privilege of having him inside your mouth and princess part— now you want to disobey him? disobey the man you love?”

She whined at herself before pulling the bathroom door harshly to close it— maybe a bit too harsh because one minute later, Spencer ran to where she was at the front of their bathroom, eyes brimming with tears and lips in a constant pout.

“Hey Baby, come here.. what happened? are you hurt hm? let me see your eyes, dove.” His voice made her whined ever louder and sunk her head even deeper as she fluttered her eyes shut, ashamed that she was even considering to disobey him. “Baby please look at me..” Spencer tried, pulling her close to his chest and rubbed her back.

He knew the look, she’s deep inside her space, what’s gotten him so confused was that they didn’t do anything this morning, she only gets like this after they have a rough session or when she feels— ah.. His mind clicking on its own, and its his job to make sure she crack her shell.

“Y/N, look at me.” Y/N’s eyes snapped open at the authority behind the tone of his voice, causing her to squirm against his front and then she looked up at him, even though she’s not ready to face his disappointment laced on Spencer’s face. Yet when she did look, she found no disappointment but rather a gentle smile and a sigh,

“There you go, Missed your pretty eyes my love.” He mused wiping the tears off of her cheeks before carrying her bridal style to their bedroom and sit down on the edge of the bed. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s gotten you so upset that you fell under deep like this, princess?” His voice is gentle, laced with adoration and hint of worry which made her swear he’s an angel.

“I-I..” Her lips trembled as she looked up at him, it’s then that he realized just how deep she’s under— her eyes focuses solely on him and the only think that crosses her eyes is him- just Spencer, Spencer, and Spencer.

“Shh, i’m not mad, i’m not disappointed, now let me know what has gotten you like this angel?” His velvet voice sent chills yet the calming kind onto your guts and you sighed, crawls up to his lap and hide your face in his neck, before mumbling cutely,

“I was um thinking about last night... and i just.. Spence i was about to use the um shower head but i didn’t! i stopped myself cause i won’t ever disobey you sir! i promise!” The way she talked made his heart bursts inside his chest, god he’s so whipped for her and she’s clueless sometimes.

So Spencer leaned in to place a lingering kiss on her lips, closing his eyes and transferring all his adoration towards her onto the kiss that surely has her needy by now.

Her lips moved in sync with his, both’s raw emotions could be seen on the kiss, they projected each other’s desires and wrapped it up with a gentle smile. He pulled back a little, caressing her flushed cheeks before muttering, “Baby—“

“So you’re not mad?” She beats him to it, batting her eyes innocently at him, the sight made him weak on his knees, that all he wanted was to worship her in every way he could.

“No, no i’m not mad petal. You’ve done nothing but pleasing me and making me happy.” He could see the way her eyes gleamed at that, the way her lips smiles so big, and the way she held onto him so tightly like an adorable koala, He muttered a low “Fuck me.” under his breath but of course she heard, every one of her senses were sensitive in times like this so of course she heard.

“W-What’s wrong?”

“No no baby, i said it because fuck.. how are you so perfect hm?” Spencer leaned to brush their noses together before trailing kisses from Y/N’s flushed cheeks to her ear where he whispered, “You’ve never broken any of my rules, always obeying me like a good girl, the perfect little love for me... how hm?”

Y/N was visibly shivering at the praise, a whine was stuck inside her throat, as she breathed heavily at the feeling of him biting softly on the skin below her ear causing her to gasp. “Ah!”

“Answer me, dove.” He groaned before making yet another mark, he could feel the way she squirmed that it sent a huge amount of pleasure toward his sweats covered cock.

“Sorry! i just.. just.. I wanna be good, i will always be good for you because you take care of me but most importantly.. you own me sir, i’m yours, body and soul. You can do anything, tell me anything, and just— i’m yours.” Oh to see her was one thing but to hear her high pitched voice spewing out those words awoken something inside of him, The absolute Feral need to claim her again and again. Cause she’s so damn precious and fucking his.

When she didn’t hear a respond from Spencer, she was about to pull away for a second to see if she has made any mistakes, but got cut off quickly when he flipped them over, pinned both of her wrist against the headboard. “Don’t move.” He whispered sternly, and she nodded, all the blood is rushing to her every sensitive nub.

“You’re fucking mine, just me, i will get you a collar, something that will show everyone that you’re mine.” His voice was rough, deep, and dripping with authority as he rip her flimsy nightgown open, trailing marks all over her smooth skin. He was worshipping her, owning her, making her his again and again.

“I’m yours— oh!” Y/N let out a yelp at the feeling of his lips enclosing on one of her nipples, gently rolling his fingers on the unoccupied one, before switching from time to time— making Y/N moaned every time he tugged too hard, suck too long, or licking way too fast. Her whole chest was on fire, overly stimulated yet couldn’t- and wouldn’t stop it.

“That’s right, you’re mine.” His growls were animalistic, as he trail his kisses down from her sternum down to her tummy, lips never missing an inch of its trail without marks. Y/N was positively buzzing with oversensitivity and pleasure, god she could just cum like this.

“My good girl, my best girl.” His praises has her closing her legs which Spencer quickly denied by spreading her thigh as wide as possible and lay on his tummy in between them.

“Sir.. please..” She kept pleading, eyes soaked with tears, panties soaked with arousal, and lips bitten red and raw. Totally a damn sight. “What do you want?” He demanded, he was the one pulling the strings whilst she laid there taking everything he’s going to give her. She wanted to say that she wants her to make her cum, but her submissiveness muttered something else,

“Whatever you want, whatever you think i deserve, whatever you choose for me.” Although her response were shaky, the message was clear enough for him to suddenly yanked her panties down and buried his face on her sweet sweet peach. Licking, and exploring every inch of her burning core as she squirms like a kitten. Spencer Hummed against her sensitive numb at the sound that she was making, lapping every drop of her sweet nectar, and suck on her pearl like there’s no tomorrow.

“Sir! Oh so good! thank you..” She was getting close, he could feel how her walls contracted around his wandering tongue, and her toes curling as her back arched. “Ask for permission like a good girl i know you are.” His voice against her cunt sent right to the edge.

“Please! please may i cum sir?” She was sobbing at this point, positively burning with pleasure and the adrenaline of being his. It was like there’s molten lava that swallow them both to a new world where the only people exists were Y/N Y/l/N and Spencer Reid.

“Cum, now.” He ordered, and she obeyed, instantly. Releasing onto his tongue which he happily lap every bit of it until she’s screaming due to overstimulation which he then pulled back, knowing just how sensitive his girl is at this point.

As he looked up at her, he could see how shivery she was, with a satisfied smile on her face and wrecked with his mark. “Thank you.. Spencer..” She drawled, nuzzling close to him before getting on her knees in the bed to straddle him shakily,

“Hey hey what are you doing?” Spencer grasp her trembling wrist stopping her from moving anymore. “Please let me ride you! please Spencer.” She does the thing with her eyes again, the one that Spencer would never ever dream of dishonoring her every requests.

“Baby, aren’t you tired?” His voice laced with worry as he thumb her lips, which made her instantly suckle on the thumb, and shakes her head. “Please sir! let me be your good girl, wanna show you how good i am.”

“Shh i know that you’re good baby, you don’t have to do that.” Y/N frowned as she suckle even harder on the thumb before releasing it and whined, “But i want to, doctor please!” even in her mushy state she could still think about one of Spencer’s biggest pet name.

“You should be glad, i love you this damn much pet.” He muttered yet still very pleased at the name. “Now come on, ride me, show me you can be good.” He doesn’t hold her, he just place his hand on his sides and watch her intently.

Y/N blushes under his intense gaze, as she took out his cock (finally) from his sweatpants, and god— his cock was so pretty, tip ruddy red, and the veiny skin was hard, her mouth watered at the empty filling inside her mouth— wanting so bad to feel the heaviness warmth on her tongue. “Gonna eye my cock forever like an undeserving brat or are you actually going to be good hm?”

His voice pulled her from her thoughts as she let out strings of apologies which he stopped with a sealing kiss.Y/N graze the tip of his cock against her opening as she took a deep breath before sinking down his length softly, his eyes never leaving his even when she moaned lewdly and shaking.

“You’re so good, warm and tight for me love.” He whispered, feeling immense pleasure being wrapped up inside her, he wished he could stay like this forever. “go on baby, bounce like a little bunny for me.”

And so she obeyed, placing her palm on his chest before bouncing slowly at first yet keep on picking its pace on his cock, their faces flushed, keeping eye contact as Spencer gripped her hips so hard before helping her bounce faster— making sure to hit her spongey spot each time.

“That’s it bunny, good girl.” He praised, earning a scream from her, her eyes rolled back and lips parted as she tightened her walls around his cock “Fuck Y/N..” His eyes shut now at the intense pleasure from the tightness of his girl’s walls.

He then pulled out for a second, flipped them over, before putting himself back in and then continue pounding her into the bed with a brutal pace yet its all so sweet and full of passion towards each other. “So good Spence! oh oh so full and deep!” Her pornographic moans send him over to the edge.

“Cum baby, now come with me.” He grunted against her lips before pulling her into an intoxicating kiss, and then both of them cum at almost the same time— they trigger each other’s pleasurable desires and needs like a soulmate would.

—————

“Shh good girl, I love you so much Y/N. You’re the best girl ever.” He wrapped his arm around hed after he cleaned them both with a damp towel, changing her into a pajama and then change himself.

“I love you.. Spencer...” She whispered, her eyes still swimming with the thought of him, she’s his.

“I need you to come back to me Y/N, come on.” Before they sleep he needs to coax her out of it, or else she would be sad and grumpy the next morning.

“I’m here!” She giggled as she stared at him, pressing onto his pouted lips and then eyes widen at the sad expression on his face that was one of the way to show her how she really needs to sleep now. The next minute she opened her eyes, he could feel the warm graze of hers and Her voice were small but its Y/N’s wonderful voice nonetheless.

“Spencer?”

“Hi Y/N, here with me?” Spencer intertwined their fingers together before pulling the covers up to their chest and then cuddled around her.

“Yeah.. yes baby..” Her voice droopy, Spencer then let out one more ‘i love you princess’ before she drift asleep, as well as him.

——————

Blurb requests and taglist are open so send me a message if you have ideas or want in!

[bevioletskies]

dream a little dream of me

summary: Ryunosuke had never been one for gloomy, rainy weather, had always preferred the comforting warmth of a clear, sunny day. When a particularly heavy rainstorm keeps him and Kazuma in bed for hours on end, he finds himself slowly starting to think otherwise.

word count: 2.4k | read on ao3

a/n: For @asoryuu-week, day four of seven (prompt: "domestic"). This fic takes place post-Resolve; mild spoiler warning for Adventures and Resolve, where events may be alluded to but not described in detail. All names and honorifics are taken from the official localization, with the exception of Sherlock and Iris.

Fic title is from the song Dream A Little Dream Of Me by The Mamas & The Papas.

“Remind me, Ryunosuke, what is it they say about a heavy head? Because yours is certainly making it harder for me to breathe.”

Ryunosuke sighed, lifting his supposedly heavy head from his partner’s chest to level him with a sleepy glare. “Good morning to you, too. Must you demean me before we’ve even gotten out of bed?”

Kazuma’s warm, slightly raspy laughter soothed Ryunosuke somewhat, though he still couldn’t help but feel slightly irritated. “Well, it’s hardly my fault you’re so fun to tease. No one else reacts quite like you do.” Then, Kazuma cupped Ryunosuke’s jaw in one hand, running his thumb across Ryunosuke’s mouth. “And I mean that in all manner of things, if you get my meaning.”

“You’re terrible,” Ryunosuke informed him, though he allowed Kazuma to kiss him anyway, grunting slightly when Kazuma rolled over to straddle him, sinking his entire body into Ryunosuke’s, fingers digging into his sides. “Mm...Kazuma, th-they’re waiting for us downstairs - ”

“Let them wait,” Kazuma murmured, playfully nibbling Ryunosuke’s bottom lip. One of his hands had now moved to Ryunosuke’s thigh, caressing him teasingly. “It’s been too long since we’ve had some time to ourselves.”

“You were only here two nights ago,” Ryunosuke said breathlessly; Kazuma’s mouth had quickly made its way from his neck to his collarbone, leaving a heated trail of kisses down the length of his throat. “Remember? That’s when I finally agreed to - ”

“Ry-u! Kazz-y! Won’t you be joining us for breakfast?”

“Damn,” Kazuma muttered, reluctantly climbing off so he could smooth out the front of his jinbei. Despite Ryunosuke’s continued annoyance at Kazuma’s insatiable nature, if he wanted to put it kindly, he also couldn’t help but admire how flushed Kazuma’s ears, neck, and chest had become in the last few minutes alone. “We’ll be right there, Iris, sorry for keeping you!”

“That’s okay!” Iris called back, her footsteps already beginning to fade away. “Just as long as you’re both properly dressed, alright?”

Ryunosuke groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “This is all your fault, you know that?” Kazuma merely scoffed, rifling through his bag so he could find the fresh set of clothes he’d packed for his overnight stay. “Though I suppose nothing will ever be as bad as the time you pulled me aside in the middle of an investigation and - ”

“I thought we both found that to be a thrilling and memorable experience, but fine,” Kazuma said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll see to it that we won't try anything that adventurous ever again.”

“We almost got caught!” Ryunosuke exclaimed, agitatedly flapping his shirt in Kazuma’s face. “Don’t you realize how much trouble we would’ve been in?”

Kazuma stared at Ryunosuke in complete and utter disbelief. “...Ryunosuke, you’ve committed treason. You’ve implicated so many government officials, exposed so many government secrets - ”

“...all the more reason not to take a chance?” Ryunosuke offered sheepishly. “Anyway, let’s get dressed before they come looking for us again. I swear I can hear Susato-san’s footsteps coming up the stairs.”

A little over an hour later, Ryunosuke, Kazuma, and Susato returned to the attic, pleasantly sleepy from the generous meal that Iris had prepared for everyone. The rain was still thumping against the windowpane, an erratic tap-tap-tap that filled the entire room, rendering the three of them barely able to hear themselves or each other.

“I know you were planning on returning to your own flat, Kazuma-sama, but I would advise against it in a storm like this,” Susato mused, momentarily brushing the curtains aside so she could look out over the soggy, sorry state of London’s streets. “And I’m sure Naruhodo-san wouldn’t complain if you stayed.”

“I’m sure as well, though Ryunosuke is clearly in no position to answer either way,” Kazuma said dryly, gesturing in Ryunosuke’s direction, where he was currently curled up on the floor by Susato’s tea set, half-asleep and hugging his daruma to his chest. Susato watched, giggling, as Kazuma walked over to gently prod Ryunosuke in the shoulder with his foot. “Come now, Ryu, don’t make me carry you back to bed.”

“We both know you’d like that,” Ryunosuke mumbled. Susato only just managed to refrain from rolling her eyes at them - she’d been privy to far too many of their supposedly private conversations for her liking - instead electing to pat Kazuma on the arm.

“I think this is the perfect weather for a nap, personally,” she said, looking at him meaningfully. “If you plan on returning to bed as well, I can let Iris and Mr Holmes know not to disturb any of us until dinner.”

“That would be great, Susato-san, thank you,” Kazuma said sincerely, though he secretly suspected she just wanted to leave them be. Once she disappeared back down the stairs, he looked down at Ryunosuke with an irrevocably fond sigh. “Ryunosuke…”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m getting up,” Ryunosuke yawned, reluctantly pulling himself to his feet. “Bed?” Grinning, Kazuma wordlessly took Ryunosuke by the hand and led him towards his bedroom - their bedroom, really, given how often he stayed over these days. Moments later, they clumsily tumbled back into bed, having changed into their sleepclothes once more.

“You’ve still got a bit of egg on your face,” Kazuma observed, wiping Ryunosuke’s cheek. “How does this keep happening to you?”

“Eat too fast,” Ryunosuke murmured, turning to kiss the palm of Kazuma’s hand. “Food...good.”

“Your grasp of both the Japanese and the English language is incredible,” Kazuma drawled, carding his fingers through Ryunosuke’s hair. He then pulled him closer, burying his face into Ryunosuke’s neck. “I thought you went back home to finish school, did you not? Surely you can do better than ‘food good’.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Ryunosuke said, sighing, letting out an exaggerated exhale directly in Kazuma’s face. Still, he turned over so he could wrap his arms around Kazuma’s waist, snuggling contentedly into his chest. “I really should just kick you out and make you go home.” Laughing, Kazuma kissed the top of his head.

“Not in this weather, you wouldn’t,” Kazuma replied. As if to illustrate his point, there was a loud, thunderous crack that practically shook the entire room. “If this storm keeps up, I might have to live here indefinitely.” Ryunosuke merely grunted in response. “Well, you don’t have to sound so pleased about it.”

“Oh - no, it’s not that,” Ryunosuke reassured him, sitting up somewhat so he could look Kazuma in the eye. Despite Kazuma’s typical brusque, yet affectionate nature, he could tell that Kazuma was slightly hurt. “I was just thinking about how much I dislike storms. Rain is fine on occasion, but...it seems as if London is in a permanent state of misery sometimes, you know? And it makes us miserable all the while.”

Kazuma’s clouded expression cleared up instantly. “It’s been ages since we’ve had sunshine,” he agreed, now dropping his head to rest on Ryunosuke’s shoulder. “It would’ve been nice to go for a walk together before I leave...whenever that is.”

“Like we used to do before class,” Ryunosuke said quietly, nodding. “You could never convince me to join you during your morning exercises, though.”

“Forget morning exercise, I had to literally drag you out of bed sometimes,” Kazuma snorted, tangling their fingers together. “I hear Susato-san hasn’t had any luck with getting you to exercise more, either.”

“I exercise enough,” Ryunosuke huffed, pinching Kazuma’s side; much to his dismay, Kazuma merely laughed in response. “I do plenty of pacing up and down during trials, you see.”

“I do see,” Kazuma teased. “I should look for permanent scuff marks behind the defense bench and the witness stand the next time we’re in court. You have a tendency to drag your feet, after all.”

Rolling his eyes, Ryunosuke made a show of yanking his hand out of Kazuma’s grasp and turning over with his back to him, pulling his side of the blankets over his head. “...I’m really starting to think you have nothing nice to say about me at all.”

Even when he wasn’t looking at him, he could tell Kazuma was smirking. “Oh, I think I praise you plenty. But in case you were wanting to hear it…” In one quick motion, Kazuma swept the bundled-up Ryunosuke into his arms, Ryunosuke’s back pressed against his chest, his breath ghosting the shell of Ryunosuke’s ear. “...I love you, Ryunosuke. And I’ll say it as many times as you’d like; all you need to do is ask.”

“Wonderful, now I just sound needy,” Ryunosuke said, sighing yet again, though he craned his neck to kiss Kazuma anyway, tossing the blanket around his shoulders so they were both enveloped in its warmth. Kazuma slowly lowered him onto his back, onto the mattress, knees braced on either side of Ryunosuke’s hips, fingers digging into Ryunosuke’s waist.

“You can insult me back, I don’t mind,” Kazuma murmured, sucking a bruising kiss along the crook of Ryunosuke’s jaw. Though they’d crawled back into bed for a nap, Ryunosuke was starting to feel more and more alert by the second. “Do your worst.”

Ryunosuke hummed, thinking. “...sometimes, you try too hard. You need to relax more, Kazuma. There have been some jurors and witnesses who’ve been intimidated by you, even though you aren’t trying to be malicious.”

“Fair enough.” Kazuma’s voice was low, raspy, sending shivers up Ryunosuke’s spine. “Anything else?”

“You have a bad habit of interrupting people,” Ryunosuke continued, prodding Kazuma in the chest with an accusatory finger. “Even Iris seemed annoyed with you last night, when she was asking us about our latest trial. I know you think you were helping, but I can speak for myself just fine. We’re not in school anymore.”

“...ah.” Kazuma looked humbled, almost remorseful. “I...I’m sorry, Ryu, I didn’t realize. I honestly thought we were just telling them about what happened together.”

“And you need to stop biting me like I’m a piece of meat - ”

“No one can see them!”

“Kazuma, you're doing it again - ”

“Doing wh - oh.” Kazuma burrowed his face into Ryunosuke’s chest, cheeks burning hot with shame. Ryunosuke couldn’t help but laugh; it wasn’t often that he got to embarrass Kazuma and render him speechless. “I...see that I’m not quite the partner I’d thought or, or hoped I was.”

“Last, but definitely not least - ” Ryunosuke abruptly took Kazuma’s face in one hand, squeezing his cheeks until his lips puckered “ - you don’t need to be quite so dramatic, either. I still love you all the same, Kazuma.” He smirked. “And I’ll say it as many times as you’d like; all you need to do is ask.”

Kazuma stared down at him with wide, imploring eyes. Then, he cocked his head to one side, his frown melting into a warm, radiant smile. “...again.”

“I love you.” Ryunosuke kissed Kazuma’s cheek, then the tip of his nose, then finally, his lips. Beaming, Kazuma kissed him back, a little sweeter this time, a little less sensual. “Especially because you’re a little needy, too.”

They fell silent for a few minutes, save for the steady sounds of the rain and thunder and wind whistling past their window, exchanging slow, languorous kisses and simply enjoying one other’s company. Though Kazuma spent more nights at Baker Street than not, in a way, it still felt as if they had months, even years, of lost time to make up for, even though they hadn’t been apart - or a part of each other’s lives, for that matter - for that long. It was times like these that Ryunosuke found himself reminiscing about their university days, the early days of their companionship, when they’d have spirited debates that ended in spirited laughter and meandering conversations about nothing in particular.

“I can hear you thinking, partner,” Kazuma murmured, brushing Ryunosuke’s hair out of his eyes. “Something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Ryunosuke said, pulling away momentarily to yawn. “Only that we were supposed to be taking a nap, and instead, we spent the last ten minutes poking fun at each other. Though I suppose that’s just an extension of the way we speak to each other in court at times.”

“Susato-san has been scolding you about that as well, has she? Perhaps we do need to - I need to be more careful,” Kazuma corrected hastily when Ryunosuke leveled him with an impressively Kazuma-like glare. “Though we’d be in even more trouble if I were to, say, openly comment on how handsome you looked in court just last week, when your hair was a little bit longer in the back. I thought it suited you.”

“Why do we need to be in trouble at all?” Ryunosuke retorted, elbowing him a little harder than necessary. “I’d rather we do our jobs like the proper lawyers that we are - ”

“Well-behaved schoolboys, you mean,” Kazuma teased.

“ - and come home at the end of the day, where we can do as we please,” Ryunosuke finished.

Kazuma looked at him consideringly, his gaze impossibly soft. “Ryunosuke Naruhodo, are you implying you’d like me to move in someday?”

“What? I - ” Ryunosuke stared at him, momentarily stunned. Then, he relaxed, his head dropping back to his pillow, where Kazuma followed him down, their eyes still locked. “I, er...I thought that was a given. Though I worry that...that people might talk, as they’re wont to do.”

“Professor Mikotoba lived here with Mr Holmes for some time, did he not?” Kazuma pointed out. “Besides, even if people talk, why listen? All that matters is what we think of ourselves, as trite as that might sound.” He leaned in close, pressing a lingering kiss to Ryunosuke’s forehead. “So, just know that whenever you decide to ask, you already have my answer.”

“Then I think I’ll make you wait for just a little bit longer before I do...if only to get back at you for two nights ago,” Ryunosuke added with a smug smile, laughing when Kazuma glared daggers at him in response.

“And you think I’m the cruel one,” Kazuma muttered, pulling Ryunosuke into his arms once more so he could hold him rather possessively, their legs loosely intertwined beneath their mess of blankets. “You told me you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did, believe me,” Ryunosuke grinned, blushing faintly at the sudden vivid memory that had come to mind. “But just this once, I’d like to have the upper hand.” He then leaned in to kiss Kazuma’s exaggerated pout. “Anyway, we really should be getting to sleep now, or it’ll be time for dinner before we know it. I can barely keep my eyes open at this rate.”

“Agreed,” Kazuma said, yawning. He shuffled closer, dropping his forehead down to rest against Ruynosuke’s. “Good...morning, Ryunosuke.”

Ryunosuke shot him one last sleepy, fond smile before letting his eyes drift shut. “Good morning to you, too, Kazuma.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my fourth entry for Asoryuu Week 2021! We've moved on from sad Kazuma hours to semi-horny Kazuma hours, I guess? Blame it on Kazuma talking about getting Ryunosuke off and holding his hand over a hot plate and finding ways to shut him up; you can't tell me he's not doing this at least a little bit on purpose. Anyway, I always love writing plotless cuddling fics where they basically talk about nothing. I could've made this way, way longer, easy, but we've still got three more days to go!

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[rainecreatesstuff]

escaping is not the same as running away- chapter 3

thoughts are not for the lonely:

Characters: Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy, Michael_Beloved

Relationships: Ranboo & Tubbo (qp), Tommy & Tubbo (p), Tommy & Ranboo (p), Ranboo & Michael_Beloved (f), Tubbo and Michael_Beloved (f)

Warnings: Mentions of martyrdom and martyr ideologies, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks.

Summary: 

Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy, and Michael continue their journey to escape the SMP. Includes Bench Trio goofs, Allium Duo heart-to-hearts, and Michael_Beloved. Enjoy! :)

Ranboo glanced up at the sky as he rowed. The moon was reaching its apex, shining down brightly on the waves that surrounded them. A few clouds dotted the sky here and there, but overall, the skies were clear, giving a view of a beautiful starry sky. Tubbo was gazing at the stars with admiration. Ranboo wondered if his husband had ever seen the night sky so clearly before.

“Hey Tubso, you alright there?” Tommy asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” Tubbo glanced back to Tommy for a moment, then returned his gaze to the sky.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ranboo gently poked Tubbo’s foot with his own.

Tubbo pulled his gaze down to Ranboo, and paused for a moment, as if he were recollecting his thoughts.

“Just can’t remember the last time the sky was this clear.”

“God, yeah, last time we saw this many stars must’ve been before L’Manburg, huh?” Tommy rowed a few meters ahead of them, then took his hands off the paddles and stretched.

Looks like they were taking a break, then. Ranboo slowed the boat down, bringing it to float beside Tommy’s.

“Was the light pollution all that bad in early L’Manburg?” Ranboo stretched his back, bringing his hands above his head.

“Eh, early-early L’Manburg not so much, but once the walls were built…”

“Yeah, we had torches on the top, and also buildings n shit were popping up all over the place, so.”

Ranboo hummed.

“Then, of course, Manburg was pretty shit, and there was a bunch of light, and you were there for New L’Manburg, which glowed like a Christmas tree that's been set on fire, so, y’know, not a lot of stars.” Tubbo carefully shifted Michael in his arms as he spoke, laying the toddler down so his head rested on Tubbo’s lap.

“There were a lot of lanterns,” Ranboo stated grimly.

Tubbo laughed.

“Yeah, there were. Gotta admit they were pretty though.”

“Oh, definitely. Definitely fit the aesthetic.”

Tommy snorted.

“‘The Aesthetic.’ You can say spruce wood.”

“Oh shut up, spruce is a great block to build with.” Tubbo cut in.

“You could have chosen oak wood and cobblestone, but you went with spruce.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we didn’t want it to look like an abomination.”

“Oak and cobble are lovely blocks! You know why so many villages are built with them? Because they look good. You know why so few villages are built with spruce? It’s a lesser block.”

“Mhm, you’re one to talk about what looks good. Not like you’ve built several ugly cobblestone railroads.”

“My railroads are beautiful.”

Ranboo laughed as quietly as he could at the back and forth, not wanting to draw their attention away. They continued arguing, and Ranboo saw Michael stir a bit.

“Tubbo.”

Tubbo’s head shot in his husband’s direction, then down at Michael, who was blinking sleepily. Tubbo’s face became one of pure agony.

“It’s alright, go back to sleep. Sorry about that Mikey.” Tubbo gently ran his hand through Michael’s mane, soothing him back to sleep.

The toddler mumbled something half-heartedly, and was out again. Partially against their own wills, Ranboo and Tubbo both let out a sigh of relief.

“Who knew all it took to make Tubbo go soft was a piglin child,” Tommy said, an amused smile on his face.

“You haven’t dealt with a toddler that doesn’t want to sleep before man.” Ranboo gazed at Tommy with what he hoped would be read as horror.

Tubbo laughed quietly as Tommy snorted.

“Can’t be that big of a deal.”

Tubbo perked up.

“Great! Once we’ve got our houses and stuff built, he can stay in yours for a night! I’m sure you’ll have so much fun!” Tubbo spoke with a practiced smile and a faux-cheery tone, his eyes aflame with something sinister.

Sometimes Ranboo was reminded of just how happy he was that he wasn’t Tubbo’s enemy.

“Ahahaaa… yeah… sure…” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, “Let’s keep going, yeah?”

Tubbo cackled, and Ranboo rolled his eyes fondly.

“I thank the gods above every day that you’ll never have the opportunity to be a suburban mom.” Ranboo took the paddles back in his hands and began rowing again, straightening out so he was travelling in the right direction.

“Fuck you, I’d be a great suburban mom.”

“Yeah, that’s my fear.”

“He’d be terrifying. He would rule the neighbourhood with an iron fist. Michael would be an iPad kid.” Tommy tossed in.

“Oh gods, no. Not an iPad kid.”

“Yes, Ranboo, an iPad kid. And you would be a malewife.”

Ranboo spluttered, laughing.

“I- why?”

Tommy levelled him with an unimpressed look.

“Well, look at you.”

Tubbo turned away sharply, holding a fist to his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop himself from laughing. The other hand still ran soothingly through Michael’s hair.

“Gee, thanks, Tommy, really- really means a lot, man.”

Tommy snickered as Tubbo coughed into his fist. Tubbo eventually regained his composure, and turned back to Ranboo.

“Aw, it’s okay Boo. You’d make a great malewife.”

“I hate every part of this. I’m going back.” Ranboo mocked jumping out of the boat.

“Noooo, Boo, I didn’t mean it. You’re not a malewife I promise.”

“When we find land I am throwing you.”

“You will not.”

“I will.”

“No.”

“The decision has already been made, Tubbo. There is no going back now.”

Tubbo groaned lightheartedly as Ranboo laughed quietly to himself. Tommy laughed beside them.

“Tubbo will simply kick you lots. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Tubbo froze, and Ranboo paused, slowly turning to face Tommy.

“Wait, have you never picked up Tubbo before?”

“Not successfully.”

Ranboo grinned. Tubbo glared at him with fire in his eyes.

“Ranboo. I will make you regret every decision you have ever made if you tell him.”

“Jokes on you, I already regret most of my decisions,” Ranboo turned back to Tommy, “So, like he just doesn’t let you, or…?”

Tommy’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I- yeah? Like he just kicks you, right? And then squirms out.”

“Tommy, my friend, you have been going about this the wrong way,”

“Ranboo I swear to all things holy if you mutter another word-“

“So, basically, you kinda just have to-“

“Ranboo-“

“Put your hands under his arms and hold him out, like a-“

“I’m going to kill you-“

“Displeased cat.”

“You’re so dead. You are all types of dead. I am going to push you out of this boat.”

Tubbo reached over and shoved Ranboo as much as he could without waking up the toddler asleep on his lap. Ranboo laughed evilly as Tommy watched the two with confusion.

“What, and he’ll stop kicking?”

“Oh, no, he’ll still kick, but his legs won’t be able to reach you. He’ll just tire himself out until you can carry him normally.”

“I hate you so much.” Tubbo pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

Ranboo giggled, “Aw, thanks, love you too, Bo.”

Tommy was looking between Ranboo and Tubbo with something akin to awe.

“Ranboo. My friend. You have made a revolutionary discovery. You have done the gods’ work.”

“Tommy if you even try to pick me up, I will just kill you in your sleep.”

“Ah, but now I have the knowledge that I can simply just pick you up and you will be rendered defenceless.”

Tubbo huffed.

“You two are lucky you’re my friends.”

“We are,” Ranboo said without thinking.

Tubbo visibly softened, like a switch had been flipped. He looked as if he was about to say something, then stopped himself, tilting his head downwards to look at Michael as his hand combed through the kid’s hair. Tommy fake-gagged, and Tubbo rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Shut up, Tommy.”

Tommy laughed, and a pleasant quiet settled over the trio. Ranboo and Tommy rowed in silence as Tubbo began humming a song Ranboo had never heard before. They continued on until it must’ve been one or two in the morning, what with the moon being where it was. Ranboo was beginning to grow sore, and he was sure Tommy must be as well. Tubbo yawned as Ranboo slowed down the boat, Tommy coming to a drift beside them.

“Should we take a break for now?” Ranboo let go of the paddles, not waiting for an answer.

“Please.” Tommy shook his hands before pulling them to his chest and examining them.

Ranboo hoped he hadn’t gotten any splinters. Those would be a pain to deal with right now.

Tubbo rubbed his eyes before turning his head back up to face Ranboo.

“Do you want me to take over for a while?”

“No, you need sleep too, you haven’t slept well recently.” Ranboo reached across the boat to brush Tubbo’s hair out of his eyes, making eye contact with him briefly.

That was something Ranboo had been noticing recently. As much as Tubbo did try to accommodate for his usual dislike of eye contact, he hadn’t found himself becoming agitated at eye contact with Tubbo for a while. If he held it too long, it became uncomfortable, but he suspected that it was mostly just social awkwardness, nothing Enderman-y. He did find that he enjoyed making eye contact with Tubbo though, just for a couple moments when they were safe at home. It felt the same way that giving a hug did.

Tubbo blinked once, then drew his gaze away from Ranboo’s. Ranboo tried to ignore the disappointment that came with it.

“I’ll be fine if I need to.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to. Get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

Tubbo eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ll wake me if you need anything. Got it?”

“Of course.”

“… Alright.” Tubbo carefully pulled Michael into his arms, then slowly sat down on the floor of the boat.

Ranboo turned around and grabbed a blanket from one of their bags, draping it over Tubbo and Michael. He passed Tubbo a rolled-up hoodie, which Tubbo put behind his head to act as a sort of travel pillow. Tubbo yawned again, pulling a yawn from Ranboo and Tommy as well.

“Goodnight, Boo.”

“Night Bo.”

“Night Toms.”

“Sleep well Tubs.”

And with that, Tubbo promptly passed out. Ranboo quietly giggled to himself at how quickly Tubbo fell asleep. A part of him was glad Tubbo felt so safe around him, but another worried how tired he must have been to have fallen asleep like that. Ranboo turned around, surveying their surroundings.

A shoal was just a hundred or so metres away. He pointed it out to Tommy, who groaned theatrically, then picked his paddles back up and began rowing in the direction of the shoal. Ranboo followed, and they carefully docked their boats as best they could in the sand. Ranboo grabbed a piece of rope from his own bag, and tied his and Tommy’s boats together.

“Just in case.” He smiled, and Tommy nodded.

Tommy stretched, and got into a similar position to Tubbo’s. Instead of falling asleep, though, he turned to the horizon, watching the waves.

Ranboo opened his bag completely, checking on Enderchest, who seemed displeased. The cat meowed unhappily as Ranboo picked her up, placing her on his lap. She stepped off his lap and onto the seat, batting at his hands as he tried to stop her. She settled on the edge of the boat, looking down into the shallow water curiously. With a quick whap at the water, her ears flattened, and she returned to Ranboo’s lap.

He pet her for a while until a loud purr rumbled from her throat. Ranboo opened his inventory, grabbing a couple small fish, and fed her.

“Get why Tubbo calls you a catboy now.”

“C’mon, man, it was so peaceful.”

Tommy cackled.

“You did start purring the second your cat did. You are literally just a big cat.”

Ranboo tried to will his tail to stop hitting the floor in an annoyed manner. It did not work.

“No. Go to sleep.”

Tommy laughed, but pulled a blanket onto himself.

“I take it you don’t plan on sleeping?”

“No. I figure someone should stay awake, just in case something happens. A storm could roll in, or something.” Ranboo idly pet Enderchest as he spoke.

He didn’t mention that being surrounded by water prevented him from calming down enough to sleep, but it seemed like minor enough of a detail to leave out.

Tommy hummed.

“You mentioned… You mentioned Tubbo hasn’t been sleeping?”

Ranboo bit his lip.

“Yeah. He’s, uh, he’s been staying out later, not coming back until well after Michael’s gone to bed. And then he’ll usually stay at his desk for a few hours before I can convince him to come to bed. At least, at least when I’m around.” Ranboo sighed.

“Can’t say I haven’t found him asleep at his desk when I’ve come to visit, though.”

“Really?” Tommy seemed taken aback.

Ranboo frowned.

“I mean, yeah? It’s not really all that surprising that he stays up late, I mean, when I’m there I usually have to like- lure him to bed with promises of like, his favourite breakfast or something in the morning.”

“…Huh.”

“Is that.. abnormal, for him?” Ranboo’s tail swished against the floor.

“Uh, no, not the overworking part. Surprised you find him at his desk though. As long as I’ve known him he’s always woken up at sunrise.”

“Even when he’s been up late?”

“Especially then,” Tommy picked at a loose thread in his blanket, “He slept pretty lightly most nights, but especially when he was up late, so he’d wake up the second the sun got in the windows.”

Ranboo hummed. That was… weird. Since he began staying in the same house as Tubbo, Tubbo usually wouldn’t wake up until at least eight or nine. He told this to Tommy, whose eyebrows raised with surprise. Ranboo watched as Tommy bit his lip, then looked up at Ranboo pensively. Ranboo suddenly felt the urge to sit up straighter.

“What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You. And Tubbo.” Tommy’s gaze drifted over to the goat hybrid, who was still fast asleep beside his son.

“What about us?”

“… Just that it’s good you help him sleep ‘n take care of himself ‘n shit.”

Ranboo felt his face grow warm against his will.

“Oh, I don’t- I don’t think it’s me, I think it’s probably just ‘cause he’s, he’s uh, not president and stuff anymore? So he’s probably been a lot more relaxed.”

Tommy looked at him amusedly.

“I’ve known Tubbo for a while. When we first met, he’d wake up at sunrise to take care of his bees and check up on his redstone machines. He was a bit like a farm boy in that regard,” Tommy said, turning his gaze back to the ocean.

“Then, the independence war happened, and we were trained to wake up at sunrise every day. Even when we stayed up until ridiculous hours, sitting around a campfire and singing and being dumb, Wilbur would be in our bunks at five in the morning with a bell. You don’t just lose that kind of training. Hell, I didn’t lose it ‘til I stayed with Techno.”

Ranboo wondered a bit where this was going.

“Then of course there was the Schlatt presidency, and Pogtopia. And I think I saw Tubbo sleep a total of three times when he was with us. Then he was president, and I’m not sure his sleep schedule ever improved.”

Ranboo hummed.

“Yeah, I get that. I, um, used to wander around L’Manburg at night sometimes and, and he was usually also out, or his lights were on.” Ranboo recalled.

“Exactly. Even when he first started Snowchester, as far as I know he never stopped waking up at sunrise. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he didn’t sleep much.”

“Yeah. He, uh, he seemed like- gaunt, almost.”

“Yeah.”

Tommy sighed.

“Point is, you’ve gotten him to break that habit, which is pretty fucking awesome, so. Good job, or whatever.”

Ranboo felt distinctly out of his area of expertise. He hadn’t really done anything. If anything, he’d probably annoyed Tubbo into sleeping in.

“I- um, thank you? But honestly, I really didn’t do anything.”

Tommy glanced back over to him for a moment.

“Alright.”

The two fell into a soft silence, the only sound being the waves gently lapping against the side of their boats. Enderchest curled up in Ranboo’s lap, falling asleep quickly as he pet her. Tommy yawned, drawing a yawn from Ranboo as well.

Tommy stared out the side of his boat opposite to Ranboo, his gaze settled on the horizon. Ranboo wondered again how Tubbo had managed to convince Tommy to come with them. Of course, Ranboo was almost certain that if Tommy hadn’t come, they wouldn’t have left in the first place.

Even if he and Tubbo hadn’t been as close recently as they used to be, Tommy was Tubbo’s person. His “other half,” if you want to get cliche. There was no Tubbo without Tommy. At least, not the same Tubbo.

“How are you holding up with… with leaving?”

Tommy rolled his head back in Ranboo’s direction.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Memory Boy?” He grinned.

It was still deflection. Ranboo bit his lip.

“So. Um. I take it not that great, then?”

Tommy laughed quietly to himself.

“I don’t even know at this point. One second I’m over the moon and the next I feel like screaming.”

“I get that,” Ranboo spoke softly, “Or, I guess I don’t get it, really, but I understand. You guys have been there a lot longer than me. There were probably a lot of places and people that were really important to you.”

Tommy hummed.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s weird, innit? Knowing you’ll probably never see some of those people again.”

Ranboo had to agree. The fact that he might never hear Niki’s voice again nibbled at the back of his brain like a mouse. He hoped she’d be open to talk through their communicators, but really, at this point it was a coin toss with most people in the SMP.

“A bit, yeah. It feels kinda odd knowing that I’ll probably never pass by Foolish working on some big project again.”

“Or by Eret’s castle. That’s one of the big ones for me. Don’t know why, honestly.”

“Fair. Her castle was kinda like… a staple of the SMP.”

“The only thing that hasn’t been blown up at some point.”

“Gods bless the power of pride flags.”

Tommy laughed, his head falling back and hitting the seat gently. Ranboo smiled.

“The two greatest powers of the SMP: Withers, and six stripes of colour.” Tommy quipped.

“I mean, Techno’s house was technically blown up.”

Tommy threw him a curious look. Ranboo giggled to himself for a moment.

“Okay so, you know how Phil will like, hyper-focus on things sometimes?”

Tommy nodded.

“So, basically, he was showing his flock something, I think it was some trinket he’d found while he was adventuring. I guess he must’ve left the doors open, because this creeper just walked like, right in, nothing stopping it, and blew up.”

Tommy snorted.

“Dude, Phil was freaking out. Techno was literally on his way home from the Nether and like half of Techno’s chests and paintings and stuff had been blown up. So I go over to see what’s happened, and Phil is just sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of paintings like it’s a puzzle.”

“Oh god, the old man has no spatial reasoning, did he fix it in time?”

“He saw me walk in, yelled ‘Don’t just stand there, help,’ and then threw a box of ripped up paintings at me.”

Tommy laughed, loud and clear, and Ranboo grinned.

“So we’re sitting there on the floor frantically putting these paintings back together, and Phil’s getting messages from Techno saying he’ll be home soon, and that’s just making us mess up more. And you’ve seen Techno’s house, half the paintings have the exact same colour palette, so we end up getting half of it wrong and slapping it on the wall anyways.”

Ranboo laughed quietly as Tommy buried his head in his knees to avoid laughing.

“Long story short, we did eventually get them figured out, and Techno walked in like, literally a minute later. Thing is, we forgot to cover up the scent of gunpowder, so.”

“Oh god, what did the Blade do when he found out?”

“Oh, man, it was terrifying. It was Phil, so of course Techno didn’t care, but Phil was gonna blame it on me. I would’ve died, man, that would’ve been it for me.”

Tommy chuckled.

“Nah, Techno’s got a soft spot for you. No way he’d kill his favourite random teenager he picked up off the street.”

“Oh! Speaking of that!”

Ranboo opened his inventory, carefully pulling out the netherite Techno had given him. He handed the full set to Tommy, who looked at it with awe in his eyes.

“Yoooo…” Tommy whispered, running his hands over it.

His hand paused at the collar of the chest plate, where the enchantments were inscribed.

“Techno made this.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement.

“Oh, yeah, I guess his writing is pretty recognizable.”

“No, I mean,” Tommy began handing it back to Ranboo, “He probably wouldn’t want me to use it, ‘specially if he gave it to you.”

Ranboo frowned, pushing the armour back.

“He gave it to me for you.”

Tommy looked taken aback, his mouth open slightly and his eyebrows high on his forehead. He pulled the armour back to his chest, running his thumb over the engraved enchantments.

“Good thing I left him the axe, then.” Tommy muttered.

Ranboo hummed.

“Do you want to try it on?”

“Nah, it’ll fit.” Tommy stared at the armour a moment longer, then woke from his stupor, opening his inventory and carefully placing the four armour pieces inside it.

If Ranboo didn’t know any better, he’d think Tommy was in shock. He was just kind of staring ahead of himself, a soft frown on his face. His hands fiddled with the blanket at his chest, and he chewed on his lip.

“Tommy? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, just thinking.”

“You seem to do that a lot.”

“Yeah.”

Ranboo continued petting Enderchest, praying silently that the lull in the conversation wasn’t an awkward one. He couldn’t always tell, so moments like these were a bit stressful. He felt like he should be filling it up in some way, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make Tommy talk if he didn’t want to.

“I, um, I know we’re not like, super close or anything, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here to listen.” He offered Tommy a smile, and Tommy smiled back awkwardly.

“Thanks big man.”

“Of course.”

Tommy stared at the water again for a few moments, before drawing in a breath.

“How has Techno been? Since, uh, since Doomsday? Haven’t really spoken to him.”

“Oh! I think he’s been doing pretty well. I uh, know it’s kind of a sore topic, but, uh, I think blowing up L’Manburg kinda got most of the vengeance out of him so, that’s good.”

Tommy snorted.

“Oh, Niki’s kind of been hanging out with us recently. Not a lot, but I think Techno really enjoys having her around. She’s very skilled and I think he respects her a lot.”

Tommy smiled.

“Good for them. He and Niki were friends back in Pogtopia, you know? So it’s nice they’re like, talking again.”

“Yeah. It was nice having Niki around. I think being around us also helped her. She seems happier than when she started coming around.”

“Yeah, Niki’s awesome.”

“Phil really likes having her around too, they’ll bake together some days. The crows love her, but they love pretty much everyone, so.”

Tommy stifled a laugh.

“Please, do not remind me of the birds. I was outside one day and I guess they thought my hair looked like gold because they decided to start plucking it.”

Ranboo laughed.

“You’ll be happy to know I’ve added one more bird to the ranks then.”

“You are everything that is wrong with this world.”

His laugh dissolved into a giggle, and Tommy giggled as well. The air had loosened again, and Ranboo could barely hold back his sigh of relief.

“But uh, yeah, Techno’s been well. He hibernated for a long while, and he’s been training quite a bit, but every time I’ve spoken to him he’s seemed pretty happy. Uh, until today, that is.”

“Did he give you trouble leaving?”

“Not really, but I think before I explained everything he kind of thought I was just leaving them? So he seemed kinda bitter at first, but once I explained everything he seemed fine.” Enderchest nearly rolled off his lap as he spoke, so he gently picked her up and placed her back in his bag, zipping it up halfway.

“That’s probably my fault.” Tommy’s voice was tinted with regret, the emotion evident on his face.

Ranboo bit his lip.

“I don’t think it’s your fault. He kind of put you in a difficult situation. Everyone did, if I’m being honest. You were kinda forced to choose between two people you cared about which pretty much never ends well.”

“I don’t regret choosing Tubbo. Do regret leaving Techno a bit. Weird innit?” Tommy rolled his head back, “That I can both regret and not regret the same decision.”

Ranboo hummed.

“I mean, I don’t think so. You were kinda forced to make two decisions, one being going with Tubbo and the other being leaving Techno. They were on opposite sides.”

“That’s your whole thing, yeah? Choosing people, not sides.”

“Yeah. I try not to choose sides whenever I can. I think it’s unfair to have to choose between people just because their ideologies don’t perfectly match up.”

“Fair. Would’ve been interesting to have you around during the first war. ‘M glad you didn’t come until later.”

Ranboo tilted his head.

“Why’s that?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably.

“There was a lot of choosing. Dream used to be our friend, y’know? Then, of course, Wilbur started L’Manburg and I guess Dream lost it a little bit. It was kinda like, if you weren’t on our side, you were on theirs, which obviously doesn’t make much sense in hindsight.” Tommy sighed.

“Just, you probably wouldn’t have had a very good time. Wilbur was… a little extreme at times. D’you know I died twice during that war?”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, once in the final control room, then again in a duel with Dream.” Tommy rubbed his chest as he spoke, like he could still feel the wounds.

“Yeah. Wilbur had a bit of a ‘Your country is more important than your life’ approach to things. Not that he wanted us to die, but. Y’know how it is.”

Ranboo distinctly did not “know how it is.” He wondered how often Wilbur spoke like that. He could feel dots connecting themselves as Tommy spoke.

“Did he say stuff like that a lot?”

Tommy shrugged, “Eh, not all the time, but quite a bit, yeah. You’re leading a war, you kinda have to give the big speeches about martyrdom ‘n all that.”

Part of Ranboo wanted to hop into Tommy’s boat and give him a hug, though he knew Tommy was still re-adjusting to touch and wouldn’t appreciate it. He and Tubbo must have been, what, sixteen? And they had one of the people they looked up to the most telling them their country’s independence was more important than their own lives. Whether he believed it or not, Wilbur must have been a pretty bad guy to even consider putting that thought in their heads.

Ranboo felt a bit ill just thinking about it. He was reminded of all the times he’d panicked at some stupid thought he’d had, and Tubbo had been forced to help him out of it, and felt a bit guilty. Tubbo must have gone through so much worse than anything Ranboo could ever imagine. He deserved to rest. So did Tommy. Everything about the situation was just so messed up.

He was glad they’d gotten out before something else went wrong and added onto the ever-growing list of reasons why Ranboo wanted to protect Tubbo and Tommy.

“Don’t look so upset, man. That’s just how war is.”

“You shouldn’t have been there. You don’t deserve to go through that.”

Tommy’s lips tightened into a line.

“Maybe not. But what’s done is done. Nothing we can do about it now.”

“You know that what he was saying isn’t true though, right? Nothing is more important than you being alive and safe.” Ranboo spoke in a soft tone, his voice quieting even more so than before.

Tommy stared at him.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” His voice went a bit high pitched, and he cleared his throat, “I, uh, yeah, no yeah, it was a bunch of bullshit.”

“M’kay, good,”

Tommy was eyeing him weirdly, he could feel it, even as he didn’t see it. He shifted in his seat, biting his lip. His hands began fidgeting with the hem of his jacket.

“I just, um, know what it’s like, a tiny bit, to have thoughts kinda like that in your head, and it’s not- it’s not fun, so. Just wanted to, uh, make sure you’re okay.” Ranboo smiled as best he could.

Tommy watched him curiously, but didn’t push.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He shrugged.

“Okay.” Ranboo sighed to himself, making sure Tommy wouldn’t hear.

Deep conversations were hard.

“Are you gonna at least get more comfortable? We’re probably gonna be here a while.” Tommy said as Ranboo shifted again.

“Probably a good idea.” Ranboo carefully sat on the floor of the boat, opposite Michael so he could sit comfortably with his knees to his chest.

As he readjusted, Tubbo groaned in his sleep. Ranboo moved carefully, grabbing Tubbo’s hand in his own and holding it. Tubbo squeezed back in his sleep, and Ranboo had to stop himself from audibly cooing.

“Ugh. How long do you think you two are gonna be all gross and husbandy?” Tommy asked with mock disgust.

Ranboo stifled a laugh.

“If all goes according to plan, forever.”

“Ew.”

Ranboo broke into a giggle as Tommy snickered from the other boat.

“Whatever. Just don’t be gross in front of me. Frankly, it’s weird.”

“I literally just held his hand.”

“Disgusting.”

Ranboo rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Alright Mr. I Built Myself A Girlfriend.”

“I’ll have you know she was wonderful and treated me right.”

“She was a log with a jack o'lantern on top.”

“Small details.” Tommy made a gesture of waving Ranboo off.

“Mhm, mhm.”

“If you were not allergic to water I would be splashing you with it right now.”

Ranboo snickered.

“Aw, you do care.”

“Alright fuck it.”

Tommy made a show of drowsily splashing water against the side of Ranboo’s boat, and Ranboo snorted in amusement. Tommy sighed like he was exasperated, then yawned.

“Try to get some sleep dude.” Ranboo’s tone softened.

“You shouldn’t have to be up all alone,” Tommy mumbled tiredly.

Ranboo made a mental note to himself to write down that tired Tommy was sweeter than awake Tommy.

“It’s alright, if I need anything I’ll wake you up, alright?”

“Wake me up, not Tubbo.”

“Okay, I will.”

Tommy eyed him suspiciously, accidentally making eye contact with Ranboo. Ranboo decided it was definitely worse than eye contact with Tubbo, but nowhere near as horrible as it used to be with Tommy. Slight discomfort, not panic-inducing.

Baby steps, he supposed.

Tommy glanced away quickly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night Ranboob.”

Ranboo sighed loudly and saw Tommy smirk as he closed his eyes.

And then there was one.

Ranboo took the opportunity to write in his memory book. With his luck, he’d wake up at some point in the next few days expecting to be back in the tundra, and he didn’t want Tubbo to have to pull him out of that panic.

He jotted down the events of the day, and some of the things he’d talked about with Tommy. He left himself a small reminder to keep a close eye on Tubbo, to make sure he was doing okay. And on Tommy, as well. And Michael.

He hoped they’d made the right decision by doing this. Maybe it was foolish to run off so quickly, without letting it sink in. It worried him to think that they might regret it later down the line. But right now, at this moment, Ranboo couldn’t find much in him to care. All he could focus on was the fact that now, his family would be safe. No more war bunkers, or TNT cannons (unless Tommy happened to be bored, he supposed). They could just grow up, and raise Michael, and live without the fear of death lurking around every corner.

Maybe they would regret it. One day. But today was not that day.

And so, Ranboo settled into the night, listening to the distant caws of seagulls and the occasional chirp from dolphins. He sat, and listened, and allowed himself to hope and daydream for a while, as the moon shifted in the sky. Eventually, the sky began to turn orange, the early rays of the sun peeking above the horizon.

He watched the sunrise, and for the first time in a while, he felt at peace. Not the faux-peace they had created back in the SMP lands, but really, truly peaceful. He felt as if he was finally coming home after a long day in the mines. Tired, but calm, and warm. And he could be with his family, and laugh, and feel safe.

Safe. What a precious, beautiful thing to feel.

A soft groaning arose from the other side of the boat. Ranboo turned, and saw a pink ear twitch. Soon, a tiny, hoof-like hand rose from the blanket and rubbed his son’s tired eye, who finally blinked his eye open and looked at Ranboo.

“Boo?”

“Hey, bud. Good morning.”

“Good mornin’.” Michael yawned, crawling out from under the blanket carefully, and flopping down beside Ranboo, leaning on his side.

Ranboo gently rubbed Michael’s arm, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Did you sleep well?”

Michael groaned in response, and Ranboo giggled. He really did take after his other father.

“Do you want some breakfast?”

Michael nodded, and Ranboo opened his inventory, grabbing some bread. He ripped a small piece off for Michael, who looked at it for a moment in contemplation, then promptly shoved it in his mouth. Ranboo sighed.

“You’ve spent too much time around Mimi.” He smiled, petting Michael’s mane.

Michael grinned up at him, taking another bite of bread. Tubbo began to stir across from them, his eyes blinking open slowly.

“Morning Bo.”

Ranboo was met with a groan. He giggled to himself quietly.

“Five more minutes.”

“You can have as many minutes as you need.”

“It’s too early for you being nice, ‘m gonna accidentally tell you to fuck off. Leave me alone for like- just one more minute.” Tubbo mumbled.

Ranboo laughed, and Michael giggled beside him, chewing on his bread. Tubbo stared up at the sky, then glanced around, getting his bearings. Eventually, he brought his gaze back to Ranboo, and Ranboo leaned forward a bit until Tubbo got the hint and moved to bonk their foreheads together.

“Ugh. It’s too early for your husband shit.”

Ranboo sighed good-naturedly.

“Good morning, Tommy.”

He looked over to Tommy’s boat, where Tommy was stretching. He seemed a bit tired, but not as grumpy about waking up as Michael or Tubbo were.

Tubbo stretched as well, then reached into his inventory, retrieving some baked potatoes and steak. He handed them to Ranboo and Tommy, then took some for himself.

The group ate in silence for a while, letting the morning set in. Ranboo finished, and returned to his seat as Tommy did in the boat next to him, grabbing the paddles.

“Ah, no, I’m rowing now. You did it last night.” Tubbo stood carefully, gently kicking Ranboo’s shin.

Ranboo bit his lip. Tubbo had been so tired, and had gotten so little sleep. Ranboo could survive a couple more hours of rowing if it meant Tubbo got a bit more rest.

“Oh, that’s alright. I’ll be fine, I’m not tired.” Ranboo offered him a smile, to which Tubbo raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t care. Sit your bony ass down on the other seat or I’ll skin you.”

“Why do you always jump to skinning me?”

“Ranboo.”

Ranboo sighed. He supposed Tubbo could row for a bit, and then they could trade again…

“Fine.” Ranboo carefully moved around Tubbo, sitting on the seat opposite him.

Michael jumped up, sitting beside Ranboo and leaning into his side again. Tommy reached across the boats and untied them from each other, tossing the rope down onto the floor of his boat. Tommy and Tubbo began rowing, heading North.

“Hey, Tommy, are you sure you don’t want me to row for you for a while? You didn’t get much sleep last night, so…”

“I got enough. Rest, dumbass.”

Ranboo sighed, resigning to spending the next couple of hours doing nothing. He released Enderchest from his duffel, to which Michael squealed with delight. Enderchest purred as the toddler pet her gently, eventually curling up beside him on the seat.

Ranboo retrieved one of Michael’s books from his bag, and read to him for a while as the toddler clutched his plushie with one hand and pet Enderchest with the other. Ranboo finished the book, and returned it to its place in Michael’s bag. He opened his inventory, grabbing a couple small fish, and turning back to Michael.

“Here, can you feed Enderchest for me?”

Michael nodded excitedly. Ranboo smiled warmly.

“Alright. Hold your hand flat, like this.” Ranboo demonstrated with his own hand, holding it flat with his palm facing the sky.

Michael copied his movement, holding his hand out flat towards Ranboo. Ranboo carefully placed the fish on Michael’s hand, and the toddler wrinkled his nose. Ranboo laughed gently.

“Okay, now you can just move your hand in front of her, and she’ll eat them up!” He carefully guided his son’s hand in front of Enderchest, whose ears perked up at the scent of fish.

Her eyes opened, and she gingerly took one of the fish from Michael’s hand. Michael giggled, leaning backwards. Ranboo steadied him from behind, a grin on his face. Tubbo watched across from them, his eyes and smile soft. Ranboo’s tail wagged happily, gently slapping the inside of the boat.

Enderchest plucked the last fish from Michael’s hand, and Michael pulled his hand back, flapping it happily.

“Can I hug you, Mikey?” Ranboo asked.

Michael nodded, and Ranboo scooped him up, enveloping him in a hug. Michael hugged back as tight as he could, then pulled away, bumping his forehead against his dad’s. A soft purr rumbled from Ranboo’s chest, and Michael flopped down beside him again.

Ranboo yawned, and Tubbo lifted an eyebrow.

“Did you not sleep well last night?”

Ranboo paused. The tendrils of anxiety started gently tugging at his stomach and lungs. He could tell Tubbo he hadn’t slept, but then he would ask why, and Ranboo didn’t want him to think they were bothering him in any way…

“Oh, no, I did, I’m all good, just still a bit tired from travelling all night.” Ranboo smiled what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Tommy’s brow furrowed, “You stayed up to keep an eye on the boats.”

“I, um, fell asleep after you did?”

Tubbo frowned.

“That shouldn’t be a question, Boo.”

“Right, um, sorry, but, I really am okay! You know Endermen need less sleep than humans?”

“That’s a lie.”

“…Yeah.”

Ranboo wrung his hands nervously. Shoot, he’d probably just worried Tubbo more, and it wasn’t like there was anything either of them could do about the issue anyways. He didn’t really feel all that tired either, so it wasn’t really a problem. It’s not like he’d continued to travel all night, he had rested, he just hadn’t, y’know, slept.

“Did you not sleep at all? We could have taken turns, if you were worried. You don’t get to sacrifice your sleep just ‘cause you want us to sleep.” Tubbo watched him carefully, as if watching for any tells he might show.

“It’s, it’s not that, well, maybe it is, a bit? But, um not- not totally, at least, um…” Ranboo rubbed the back of his neck as his friends looked at him quizzically.

He really didn’t want to worry them. Or make them feel guilty. But he was probably just worrying them more by lying. Right? Or maybe not, maybe they were just upset that he’d lied, not worried. But Tubbo looked worried. Ugh, this sucked.

“So, you know how we’re, like, surrounded by, by water?” Ranboo began nervously.

Tubbo and Tommy nodded cautiously. Ranboo bit his lip, and saw something click in Tubbo brain.

“Is the water stressing you out?” He asked, slowly coming to a stop.

Ranboo gulped.

“Well, no, not- not really, it’s not like, stressing me out consciously, but, I think it might be an Enderman thing? Like, instinctual, or something. I, uh, I can’t fall asleep in boats, though. There’s just- too much water, like everywhere, and, uh… yeah,”

Tubbo looked at him sadly, and Ranboo felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. Great, now he’s made Tubbo feel bad, and Tommy probably did too, and Michael was probably confused why everyone was upset, and he was just stressing them all out, and they should have just left him behind-

“Woah, Boo, it’s alright, we’re okay, breathe.” Tubbo placed down his paddles, grabbing Ranboo’s hands as Tommy’s boat drifted up beside them.

“I’m sorry.” Ranboo said quietly.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. Breathe. In for four, hold for six, out for seven, remember? Just like you do with me.” Tubbo exaggerated his breathing, and Ranboo copied him as best he could.

Guilt continued to tug at his stomach for making Tubbo deal with him.

“There we go. Alright. We’re not upset, or angry, or anything. I just wish you’d told us sooner so we could’ve figured out a better travel plan.” Tubbo explained, rubbing Ranboo’s hands.

Tommy hummed.

“We should be near land soon enough, so we can take horseback from there. We can probably rest for a while once we get to land too. Tubs and I will be tired from rowing anyways.” Tommy said lightly, gesturing behind him as he spoke.

“Yeah, I- yeah, don’t, don’t worry, I’m all good. I’ve stayed up much longer than this, I’m fine.” Ranboo said nervously.

Tubbo stared at him for a moment.

“You gotta understand why that’s not reassuring.”

Tommy stifled a laugh beside them, and Ranboo huffed.

“It’s true, though. I can, I can handle it, y’know? I’m not gonna, like, break just ‘cause I’m awake for longer than usual.”

“You should still get some sleep.” Tubbo argued.

Ranboo’s ears flattened against his head against his will, and Tubbo noticed, his expression softening. He glanced away for a minute, as if thinking, then snapped his fingers.

“What if we covered your eyes?”

Ranboo frowned.

“That sounds horrible.”

“You mean like with a blindfold?” Tommy asked.

“No, of course not a blindfold. What would he do if we got attacked or something?” Tubbo leaned down grabbing the blanket he and Michael had used to sleep.

“I mean, like, what if you slept with a blanket over your head? That way you wouldn’t be able to see the water, and maybe your Enderman instincts would chill out a bit.”

“Like a parrot.” Ranboo grimaced.

“Uhhh… Sort of, yeah.” Tubbo said, grinning.

“Alright, well, you heard the man, down on the floor with you.” Tommy said, pulling a theatrical groan from Ranboo.

“Seriously, Tubbo, I’m fine, I’d much rather just like, nap, once we find land.”

“Nope,” Tubbo said, popping the ‘p,’ “Sit on the floor.”

Ranboo obeyed hesitantly, and Tubbo tossed the blanket over his head. Ranboo’s tail whipped back and forth across the boat in annoyance, and he could feel himself blushing profusely.

“Is this revenge for something?” Ranboo asked lightheartedly.

Tubbo giggled, and Ranboo smiled, though the other two couldn’t see it. He heard something plop down beside him, and was then greeted by Michael shuffling under the blanket, curling up beside him. Tubbo cooed quietly, and Ranboo heard Tommy scoff. He wrapped an arm around Michael, who gently headbutted his shoulder.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Tommy asked.

Ranboo paused for a moment, biting his lip. As much as he hated to admit it, he could feel the tightness in his stomach alleviating as more time went on under the blanket. His foot was pushed out far enough that it was touching Tubbo’s, and with Michael beside him, the instinctual nervousness he got when he didn’t know where his… his “haunting” was, lessened. Enough that he could actually feel the effects of exhaustion in his muscles.

“It probably will and I hate that.” Ranboo finally said.

Tommy and Tubbo cackled, and Ranboo huffed. They delighted in his suffering, and it was horrible. He could feel the sticky tendrils of anxiety loosening from his throat, though, and he could feel his eyes becoming heavier. Another yawn escaped him, and his tail slowly came to a stop, curling around him and Michael. Tubbo sighed happily.

“Get some sleep, Boo. We’ll keep rowing for a while, and we’ll wake you once we find land, alright?”

Ranboo hummed affirmation, his eyes already sliding closed. He felt something placed behind his head, and leaned against it like he would against a pillow. It was soft, probably one of Tubbo’s hoodies. Distantly, he hoped Tubbo wouldn’t be upset at him for using it as a pillow.

He heard Tommy and Tubbo start bickering about something or other, accompanied only by the waves and, occasionally, the distant squawks of seabirds. His eyes slid shut as his heartbeat slowed, and his brain drifted to thoughts of flower fields and apiaries.

[kyber-kisses]

Out Cold

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: sick!reader, some cursing, Dean being a big softie

Summary: after a particularly harsh hunt, the reader returns to the bunker worse than when she left. Dean goes into mother hen mode.

A/n: I know there are about a million fics like this already, but I’m a sucker for em, so I wrote one myself. I hope y’all enjoy! (Gif credit goes to owner.)

“Dean, would you please keep your eyes on the road?” Sam sighed, shifting once more in the backseat as he glanced between You and Dean. The younger brother having been generous enough to let you take his normal seat on the way back from the hunt.

“I’m sorry, but don’t you think this whole thing is weird?” Dean motioned with his freehand at the figure next to him.

“That she’s sitting up front?”

“No!” He quickly shook his head, “She’s asleep. Y/n never sleeps in the car. Ever.”

Sam sunk back in his seat, rolling his eyes, “We just finished up a massive hunt. She’s probably tired, Dean.”

“But I’m telling you, she never sleeps during drives. Even when she is tired.” Taking his eyes away from the road once more, he looked back over at you, your head resting against the window. Even in your unconscious state, your eyebrows were furrowed almost like you were in pain, and your skin looked a shade paler than normal. You mumbled in your sleep, shifting to try and find a more comfortable position.

Yes, something was not right.

“When she wakes up, I’ll ask her.” Dean sighed, eyes going back to the road, his concern clear on his face, allowing Sam to see it in the rear view mirror.

Dean was always worrying about you though. There was nothing new about that.

*. *. *. *. *.

You were out cold for the remainder of the drive, which only allowed Deans worry to grow. Sam passed out eventually, leaving Dean in total silence as he drove the final stretch back to the bunker, the clock on the dashboard telling him it was close to one in the morning. The almost orange glow of the passing street lamps illuminating your face as he drove down the empty streets of Lebanon. The only noise coming from the engine and the soft drone of the radio turned down low.

You always said this was your favorite time. The world was quiet and peaceful. It was one of the reasons you always stayed up during drives. You liked watching the chaotic world fizzle out and get replaced with this dark serenity. But for once, you were unconscious and missing it.

Eventually the wheels of the impala rolled into the bunkers garage and the vehicle was put into park and turned off, the normal hum of the engine now gone and replaced with total silence. The change being enough to shake Sam awake.

“She still out?” He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat upright.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, pocketing his keys as he turned to look at you. In proper lighting, he could now see how pale you really looked, along with the thin layer of sweat coating your skin. “Just go to bed. I’ll take care of her.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence before the familiar click of the door opening, Sam sliding out of the backseat with his duffel and lazily making his way into the depths of the bunker. It wasn’t long after that Dean climbed out of his seat, walking around the hood of the car to open your door.

At the sound, you shifted again, slightly opening your eyes to quickly see where you were. The only thing catching your hazy thoughts was the set of green eyes looking at you with worry.

“Are we home?” You mumbled, still trying to chase the sleep that was settled heavy over you.

“Yeah, we’re home.” Dean smiled, squatting down to your level, “how you feeling?”

“tired.”

The hunter shifted on the balls of his feet, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, “Jeez, y/n. You’re burning up.”

You let out a yawn, eyes closing as you leaned into his touch, his skin so much cooler than your own. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, try again.” Dean huffed, bringing his hand back down to his side, “you’re sick.”

“Mmm no I’m not.”

Dean let out another sigh. It was like talking to a brick wall. “Yes you are. Luckily, you have me though.” He smiled, standing up slightly so he could tuck his arm underneath you, hoisting you out of the vehicle and into his arms, earning a groan of protest from you.

He took his time carrying you down the hallway , trying not to jostle you around too much as you did tend to let out a whine every time he did. He could feel the heat from your skin through his shirt, your head resting in the crook of his neck. You felt so fragile in his arms, like one false move would make you crumble.

Pushing his back against your slightly ajar door, he stepped into the dark of your room, using one of his elbows to flip the switch. Luckily the heat had been turned off while you were all away from the bunker, leaving your room much cooler than normal. Hopefully that would somewhat help cool you down.

“You just had to go and get sick, didn’t you?” He sighed, being as gentle as possible as he laid you down on the bed.

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad. It just hurts me to see you like this.” He smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes, feeling the heat radiating off your skin as he did.

“You should go to bed. You’ve been driving for hours and it’s past one in the morning.” You mumbled.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. We need to get that fever down. Plus, I’m not tired. I’ll get my four hours eventually.”

“If I wasn’t so weak, I would hit you.” You sighed, shifting your head on the pillow as you closed your eyes.

“Oh, I know you would.” Dean chuckled, squeezing your hand, “I’ll be right back.”

With that, he gave you one last look and departed from your room, disappearing down the dimly lit hallway.

Dean Winchester never ceased to amaze you. He usually gives off a tough exterior, but deep down he was just a big softie. You loved that about him. You never asked him to take care of you, but he always did. There weren’t proper words for how thankful you were for him.

It was only a few minutes later that he returned, a bottle of water and container of ibuprofen gripped in his hands, along with a neatly folded washcloth.

“Alright, sit up.” He sighed, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat down, passing over the water before unscrewing the lid and fishing out a couple pills. You gave him a small thank you, swallowing them down with a generous gulp of water. Another wave of dizziness worked over you, making you lean back with a groan.

“I’m dying aren't I?”

“You’re not dying. Now stop being dramatic.” Dean sighed, leaning forward to press the cool cloth to your head.

“You must like being a mother hen a lot.” You groaned, hand going to rest atop Deans, which still held the cloth to your forehead.

“I do not!” He exclaimed, only to pause, shoulders dropping, “fine, it’s like crack to me.”

“I knew it.” You smiled, sending him a small wink.

“Alright, shut it.” Taking the bottle back off your nightstand he handed it over once more, “You need to keep drinking. We gotta keep you hydrated.”

“I don’t wanna.”

Deans head fell back as he let out a groan, “You're a damn child, you know that?”

“Yes.” You smiled, taking the water bottle from his hand and taking a few more sips. Even if Dean had just sent you a small smile, you could see the worry on his features. Lowering the bottle from your lips, you set it back down. “You don’t need to worry, Dean. I’m just a little sick. Happens to the best of us.”

“I can’t help it. I’m always worrying about you.” He admitted slowly, taking your hand and pressing a firm kiss to it.

You felt your heart skip in your chest at his action, and then the added heat growing to your face. He was so gentle. So caring. And no matter how long you had known him, it still amazed you.

When Dean saw the redness creeping up your cheeks, his worry continued to grow. “Woah, are you getting worse?” He questioned, peeling the cloth from you forehead and replacing it with the back of his hand.

You quickly slapped his hand away, instantly regretting it once you saw the hurt expression he was wearing. “I’m sorry. I -“

“No. Don’t apologize. I’ve been bothering you since we got back. Hell, I woke you up.” Dean shook his head, hands falling to his side in defeat. “I was just trying to help.”

“I know, but let me just apologize. I didn’t mean to smack your hand away like that. I just freaked out when I realized you made me blush.”

You watched his expression change, his eyebrows knitting together, “what did I do exactly to make you blush?” He mused, giving you a small grin.

Damn him. Damn him and his big green eyes and childish grin. He was going to be the death of you.

“I’ve said too much already.” You groaned, taking the extra pillow besides you and pressing it over your face, hiding your new found embarrassment. Your plan didn’t last long, because you heard him let out a light chuckle, his fingers wrapping around the pillow and prying it from your face.

“Oh, don’t go hiding from me now. I still gotta take care of my patient.” He smiled, giving you that soft gaze that always made you feel like a pile of goo.

And then the bastard had the audacity to lean down and press a firm yet gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away, his calloused hand resting on the side of your face making you shiver.

“You cold?”

All you could do was nod, still rendered speechless and scarlet from his gentleness. He pushed off from his seat on the bed, picking up your legs so he could pull your comforter over your now shivering body. You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as he did. Your muscles still ached and every little bit of movement had you feeling nauseous.

“I know, I know. Just bear with me Sweetheart.” Dean sighed, sitting back down once the comforter was tucked snugly around you.

“You’re a fucking great human being, you know that?” You yawned, nestling deeper into you comforter in hopes of getting warmer.

“I try.” Dean smiled, kicking off his boots and discarding his jacket as you laid down next to you, gently wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“Dean, you’re gonna get sick if you stay.” You mumbled, finding it impossible to not curl into the warmth he was giving you. You didn’t want him to get sick.

But he was so warm. . . And he smelled so good.

“I don’t care. You’re stuck with me.” He sighed, closing his eyes once he was comfortable, “now go to sleep. You need rest.”

“Okay, but if you get sick, both Sam and I are gonna beat your ass.” You yawned again, tucking your head against his chest as sleep quickly found you once more.

*. *. *. *. *.

Sam has to do a double take the next morning as he walked past your open door, which was usually always closed. Shifting the books that were in his hand, he backtracked, tilting his head in confusion as looked into your room.

The lights were still on, but both you and Dean were out cold. His brother was wrapped tightly in your comforter, shivering even in his unconscious state while you were sprawled out next to him, having kicked off the sheets in the middle of the night.

In simple words: you both looked like crap.

The younger Winchester let out a sigh, rubbing his face, “So it looks like I’m gonna have to take care of both of you now, huh?”

He should have known this would happen. When it came down to you and him, Dean couldn’t help but go into full mother hen mode. . . and unfortunately that sometimes resulted in the idiot going and getting himself in the same exact mess.

The End.

SPN Taglist: (Still open)

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[leapyearkisses]

Director’s Cut Commentary - Orbs Are Bad News Part 2

Second part of me blathering my thoughts all over this old story per the request of a very nice anon! I am still sleep-deprived, so yay~ Sorry, this commentary is probably way less interesting, since this part is just the sexy stuff, but if you have any particular questions, please send me another ask!

Happy to do any of my stories or just answer asks, whatever. I clearly enjoy reading myself talk XD

Comments in bold below the cut! This part is NSFW. Well, it’s all kinky but there’s also sex.

I forgot to mention this in Part 1, but the title of this story is because the homebrew campaign I ran for my friends involved magical evil crystal orbs. Hence they are bad news.

"Are you ever going to stop sneezing?" Remembrance asked.  At the same time, Cordes said, "One thousand blessings, Llewellyn, one for each."  The two of them were several yards ahead on the road, and only Cordes was looking back over his shoulder.  Right now, the four party members were the only travelers on this particular stretch, although as they got closer to civilization, they'd started to pass the odd wanderer, farmers with wagons, even a merchant or two.  The woods here were broken up periodically by stretches of arable land, clear-cut several decades ago and now waving with wheat, flax, or various vegetable leaves.  The fields were golden in the late sun.  Their shadows stretched behind them like taffy, rippling on the cobblestones.  The day was vanishing quickly, and Gerrit could sense his companions' impatience to move on even as he stopped again himself, drawing out his handkerchief in a now very familiar motion.

 Stick your people in a world. That’s my advice. Don’t have them just floating around in a no man’s land of generic scenery. (Also why I like period/historical snzarios and fantasy stuff, because reading about plain people in an apartment somewhere is boring to me.)

Llewellyn, for his part, could not answer them, face buried in his elbow as he ducked with another reluctant outburst. "Hahktschiu!  Hahh- happtsch!"

"Bless," said Gerrit, and he stepped in front of the elf to shield him marginally from view.  He laid one warm hand on the back of Llewellyn's neck and lifted the handkerchief with the other, capturing the next sneeze in the flannel folds.  He settled his fingers firmly around Llewellyn's nose.

This was an arrangement that had been born out of necessity three days ago when the party had raided a bandit camp's plundered stores.  Along with a good stash of gold and gems, they'd found a blue crystal orb, cursed perhaps, that had summarily become attached to both of Llewellyn's hands, rendering the sorcerer unable to do most anything... including take care of his cold on his own.

 On the last episode of Orbs Are Bad News...

Llewellyn blew his nose into the handkerchief, wetting the cloth and dampening Gerrit's fingers through it.  Originally quite opposed to such a display outside of the most private circumstances, the elf had been forced to put his pride aside and let Gerrit help him.  His fever had abated the previous day, but the frequency of his sneezing had increased, as if his body was insistent now on ridding itself of whatever illness remained.  It was a horrific prospect to Llewellyn to catch the resulting mess every time in the sleeve of his robes... so he suffered Gerrit to hold the handkerchief, even though they were walking along the road where any might see them.

Despite some initial teasing, Remembrance and Cordes had quickly grown accustomed to the practice and now cared not at all, except to complain.  "We're going to have to camp again," grumbled Remembrance.  "Five miles from Veigh and we're going to be stuck without a bath!"

 Is five miles a realistic figure here? No fucking clue! I frequently engage in excessive and specific research for my stories, but I didn’t look up how long one might hike for in D&D. Oh well.

"Is there anything I could do for you?" Cordes asked, somewhat exasperated.  The priest had made several herbal concoctions for Llewellyn over the past few days, but none had helped the elf's nose much.  Cordes's specialty was unfortunately not the curing of disease but the mending of bones and flesh.

 I will take any opportunity to make up an excuse as to why the snz cannot be contained. You’re welcome lol

"Ndo," Llewellyn growled, as fed up as the rest of them.  "I'm beyond heh- help. Hngtschiu!"

"Bless you, arimelda," said Gerrit, trying to keep his voice even.  He shifted the handkerchief so that Llewellyn could have a drier spot, trying to ignore a glimpse of slickness on the elf's face.  "Remembrance, Cordes, why don't the two of you go on ahead?  Find an inn, get a room, take a bath, whatever you want.  It might be prudent also to send a message ahead to the Mages Guild about the orb.  Will you do that?  Llewellyn and I will join you when we arrive."

 An elvish word appears! I researched this but not walking.

Cordes nodded.  "Yes, I'll draft a letter as soon as- Hey!"  Remembrance had grabbed his arm and was rushing ahead already.

"Let's go, man!" she said.  "Everyone loves a damn priest; you're my ticket to a good room, so may your god help you if you dawdle."  Her pointed tail swished as she practically jogged down the road.  Cordes spluttered but could no more stand up to her as to a tornado, so off they went.  It was a remarkably short time before the two of them were out of earshot, disappearing around a bend.

 And again, removed so that the main characters can bang, lol.

Gerrit sighed but turned his attention back to Llewellyn, who was blowing his nose again.  The handkerchief was running out of clean corners this late in the day, but the elf leaned back this time when he was finished.  "All set?" Gerrit asked.

"Yes."  Llewellyn rubbed his eyes on his upper arm, wiping away a spare tear from the effort.  "...My apologies."  He cleared his throat, refusing to meet Gerrit's gaze.  "We may arrive after dark."

"You're ill," said Gerrit, trying to fold the flannel in a way as to avoid his pocket getting wet.  "We'd move faster if you let me carry y-"

"No."

"Then I don't mind taking a more leisurely pace."  Gerrit smiled.  Even after everything, Llewellyn was stubborn.  Honestly, since they weren't really in a rush, he didn't really care when they reached Veigh; they'd only detoured here to try and remove the orb.  If Llewellyn, the most inconvenienced, didn't want to give up his pride and piggyback on... well, Gerrit found his noble hauteur inexplicably cute.

 Me too, buddy. Don’t worry, you can carry your elf later.

He also wasn't in a particular hurry because it was awfully uncomfortable to make any sort of time with his arousal pressed flush to his thigh.

A reminder that sex is usually going to be involved in my stories. The snz is not enough by itself.

Llewellyn coughed into his elbow and then started walking again.  Gerrit had pulled back his hood for him in the morning and braided his hair, and the crown of plaits caught the afternoon sunlight like an obsidian.  Gerrit tried not to let his eyes linger on the sorcerer's pale nape.  Or any other part of him.  He and Llewellyn had been travelling together for close to three years, working for their current patron in the capital, and in that time Gerrit had felt himself growing closer to the elf.  Wanting to be closer, anyway.  

Llewellyn shot a glance at him and caught him looking.  Gerrit flushed and turned his gaze back ahead to the road.

"You've been very accommodating during all of this," the elf said, tone carefully neutral.

Gerrit shrugged.  "It doesn't bear mentioning.  We're comrades."

"Comrades," Llewellyn repeated, an edge to his voice that Gerrit couldn't quite place.  "Is that all it is?"  He kicked a stick that had fallen to the cobblestones, sending it into the brush. Somewhere to the right, bumblebees droned over a meadow.

 Llewellyn is kind of a asshole and not super great at communicating with any level of affection, although he does get better.

Gerrit swallowed.  "Yes?  You and I, we've helped each other before.  I consider you to be a steadfast companion."  Eyes on the road.  Eyes on the dappled play of shadowed leaves and light on the ground.  "Why do you ask?"

"So shy," Llewellyn exclaimed, a tad mockingly.  "You've never been shy about taking me to bed, Gerrit."  Despite his short height, the elf seemed to find it easy to look down his nose at the much taller fighter.  "Has something changed?"

 Height difference is also personally sacred to me.

"Changed?"  Eyes on the road.

Llewellyn stopped walking.  "You called me 'arimelda.'  'Dearest.'  Did you think I wouldn't hear you over my sneezing?"  He couldn't cross his arms with his hands trapped by the orb, but the set of his jaw was determined and his firm brows were arched.  "I wasn't so distracted then as you seem to have thought."

Gerrit shoved his hands in his pockets.  He stopped walking but didn't turn.  "Apparently not," he muttered.  "Look, we can set it aside.  Doesn't have to mean anything – doesn't have to change anything.  I know a highborn elf like you wouldn't consider an official relationship with a half-elven bastard, and I've known that from the start.  For my whole life.  So... I care about you.  But it can just be as comrades, or whatever you want it to be."  Llewellyn was quiet, and after a long minute, Gerrit did turn on his heel, desperate to know what kind of reaction he'd provoked.

 The angst of the half-elven existence! Gerrit is a very typical half-elf in terms of D&D characterization, lol. Despite that, I do find these different-lifestyle pairings interesting, so they keep happening, cliche or not. There is a definite pathos in the elf/human relationship because of the different lifespans, of course - most famously depicted through Arwen and Aragorn, probably, although he’s not the exactly typical human. Anyway, it kind of varies how people like to determine elven and half-elven lifespans in D&D depending on the PHB and your DM’s weary forbearance lol, but Gerrit and Llewellyn will expect to live similar lengths because I’m a sap.

He saw Llewellyn standing with his eyes closed and head titled back, lips parted.  The elf's nostrils flared as he gasped.

"Are you going to sneeze again??" Gerrit asked.  He threw up his hands, then went for his handkerchief once more.  They ­did have an arrangement.

He strode back over to Llewellyn's side and tucked the cloth around his nose again, thumb and forefinger just resting on the elf's nostrils.  He started to rub Llewellyn's back.  "You have the worst timing, you know?  Here I am, spilling my heart to you and everything."  

 I laughed writing this part, too. You can’t always let things just be angst.

"Sh-hhuh-t up, I jh- just nih-" Llewellyn gasped again and gave in; he had no other choice.  "Hahktscht!"  He moaned and pressed closer into the handkerchief, thick congestion only aggravating the itch that remained inside.  "Hkktschtt!  Hngtscht!  Hahh- ah-- ankcxttschiu!"

 That sure is a bunch of letters crammed together!

"Easy... it's okay."  Gerrit massaged Llewellyn’s nose, tried to soothe the irritation.  He guided Llewellyn to the side of the road, and, in a moment of calm, settled him to sit on the grassy bank.  He followed, kneeling at the elf's side.  Llewellyn was tearing up again and his nose was twitching against the pads of Gerrit's fingers.  Gerrit felt electric all over.  He found himself wishing the handkerchief was gone so that he might touch the soft, heated skin of Llewellyn's septum, coax the elf to relax and loose his tension, sneeze into Gerrit's palm.  The mess didn't bother him; none of it bothered him.  He was supremely unbothered.  His cock was almost painfully hard.

It took several more minutes punctuated with more urgent expulsions before Llewellyn seemed to trust himself to speak.  His eyes were wet with unshed tears, eyelids tender and reddened.  His nose was brightly ruddy, running to chapped.  He had to take a shaky breath, collecting his thoughts.  "Gerrit."

 I’m a very visual writer. This kink is extremely visually-based for me. I wish I could draw as well as I want to so I could depict these scenes how I imagine them, but eh.

"Yes?"  Gerrit lowered the handkerchief, gently pinching as he did to clear any lingering moisture.  He wasn't ready to hear a rejection, nor did he feel particularly ready for a lecture or a tirade or even a logical exploration of why a relationship was a bad idea.  He wanted, if possible, to keep walking to Veigh, side by side, listening to the bees and dragonflies and songbirds settling in for the evening, feeling the light breeze on his face, replete with the scents of summer.  

"Kiss me."

Gerrit blinked, mental caravan bunching to a halt.  "What?"

 i am so funny omg

Llewellyn nudged him in the chest with the orb.  "Kiss me.  You're all worked up."  He cleared his throat.  "And judging by the state of you, you're not put off by my cold.  So?"  He tilted his head to the side, gently, closed his eyes.  "I want you to kiss me."

 An example of the B character not really forcing the admitting of the fetish but just kind of not caring. That is also okay, and I think it’s normal. People don’t just admit to all their kinks immediately upon entering a relationship.

Baffled, but feeling as though maybe all was not lost, Gerrit obliged, pressing their lips together.  His own eyes slid closed and he cupped Llewellyn's cheek, deepening the kiss, touching their tongues together, trying to convey how he felt.  Whatever had changed.  The kiss lasted for too short a time; Llewellyn broke away to breathe, eyes half-lidded, but he didn't lean away.

 I’ve never kissed anyone, but I consume media. I feel like I am pretty good at depicting things regardless of experience.

"I'm not going to dismiss you out of hand," he said.  "You or your feelings.  But I would ask for some time to think."  He looked up through his lashes.  "Are you feeling better?"

 Another thing I like in romance, even in kink short stories like this, is a more realistic portrayal of the confession than just “It was obviously meant to be~”

Gerrit could feel his pulse in every extremity.  "Not really," he managed, and he kissed Llewellyn again, this time sliding one hand under the elf's head and one at his hip and pressing him back to lay in the grass.  He moaned in his throat as Llewellyn kissed back, and when they had to break for breath, he started to kiss at Llewellyn's forehead, jaw, throat, wherever he could touch skin.  His hands roamed over the elf's body, smoothing over hip and thigh and belly until he could start to undo the buttons on Llewellyn's close-cut robes.

"Gerrit," gasped Llewellyn.  He moved the orb between them, jamming it into Gerrit's sternum.  "You are not going to sleep with me on the side of the damn road!  Get ahold of yourself!"

 He has standards!

Gerrit growled at the quick pain in his chest, then shook his head and leaned back.  He flushed deeply and pulled his hands away.  "Oh.  Oh, fuck, sorry.  I-"

"Pick me up."  Llewellyn lifted his arms.

"What??"  Gerrit's brain was having a hard time keeping up at the moment, all of his blood being elsewhere.

"There was a thicker copse of trees back about thirty feet, on the left."  Llewellyn waved the orb at him.  "Pick me up.  We can lay down there."

 His standards are NOT that high! But he does have them!

So.  So Gerrit ducked his head into the circle of Llewellyn’s arms and picked him up, holding him securely and setting off down the road again, back the way they’d come.  The elf was right; there, about twenty feet back from the bank, was a thick copse of pines, all grown together with wild geranium and maidenhead ferns.  Gerrit pushed through, shoulder first.  Despite its proximity to the thoroughfare, the inside of the stand was quiet and shielded completely from view.  This would do nicely.

 Told you you’d get to carry him soon.

He set Llewellyn back on his feet and made short work of undressing him, first freeing the sorcerer from his pouches and bags, then undoing the silver buttons on his robe from his collarbone to his crotch.  The rich fabric fell open appealingly.  Next, Gerrit freed the elf from his boots and leggings.  A long white shirt, woven from the finest of elven angora, still covered him, but Gerrit pushed the fabric up over Llewellyn’s belly, leaning in to kiss the elf again and touching him intimately.

Llewellyn moaned and nudged Gerrit’s hip with the orb.  “Now you,” he said.  “I want to see your body.”

Gerrit complied, making quick time shedding his cloak, pack, leather armor, breeches, boots.  Two daggers, two short swords, caltrops, a bow and quiver, a glaive, and a spiked whip followed.  He pushed them to the side as Llewellyn rolled his eyes.

This is another funny trope lol, like when a hero or assassin or someone has to go through airport security and the metal detector keeps beeping because they’re carrying 18 knives on their person. Fighters are proficient in every weapon, so why not have one of everything?

"You can't possibly have a use for all of those," the elf said, and then Gerrit captured his mouth again.

He laid Llewellyn down on the soft carpet of pine needles, using his cloak to cover the ground and double as a makeshift pillow.  The elf was beautiful in the shifting shade, skin flawless.  He had the orb resting on his chest and it glowed intermittently in the inconstant sunlight.  The gold chain netting that encapsulated both the orb and Llewellyn's fine-boned hands glimmered.  "You know," said Gerrit, smoothing a hand down Llewellyn's bare thigh.  "You'd look pretty good bound up in gold chain."

"This isn't enough for you?"  He scoffed.

Gerrit laughed.  "It would be fun to tease you.  I love it when you fuss at me.  So cute."  He dodged Llewellyn's elbow and settled down on his stomach, hooked one of Llewellyn's legs over his shoulder, and nuzzled the base of the elf's cock.  "Ready, arimelda?"  His own cock was under him, pressed to his stomach in the confines of his shirt.  He could feel his pulse in the head of it, quickening with the scent of his lover.

"Yes, you prick," sighed the elf, and he moaned when Gerrit started to kiss him and lave his skin.  His fingers flexed on the orb, longing to wind into Gerrit's hair.

 Licking is kind of thing, and I love writing about fellatio so. Yay~

Gerrit took Llewellyn into his mouth eagerly, fingers curled over the elf's thighs, fingertips pressing at the sensitive inner surface as he sucked and teased and swallowed.  Like this, he could focus on Llewellyn's pleasure.  The noises the usually stoic and prideful sorcerer was making were enough to make Gerrit moan, mouth full, and rock his hips.  Nothing pleased Gerrit more than seeing Llewellyn undone, seeing the elf flushed and open and undone for him.  And he shivered, all over, when he heard the elf's breath catch and his tone go wavery.  He thought he could come from this, listening to Llewellyn sneeze while pleasuring him implacably with a heated, well-placed tongue.

 This is also VERY IMPORTANT. Caretaking to the point of like, partner worship idk. It’s good!!

"Aa, aa, ahh- ih- Gerrit, I-" Llewellyn drew his knee up, curling, heel drawing along Gerrit's back.  "I nih- need to snih- hh-"

Gerrit drew his head back, let Llewellyn's cock free for a moment.  He didn't loosen his grip on the elf's legs, though, wound up and desirous.  "Okay by me, melda, it's okay.  Feel all right?  Want me to stop?"  He was breathless himself, had to force the words past the distraction of his arousal, but he would abide.

 Consent is the sexiest thing.

"No, don't stop," Llewellyn groaned, then turned his head to the side.  "Hpptscht!  Hah- Haktschiu!"

"Bless, bless."  Gerrit kissed Llewellyn's thigh tenderly, then nipped it, drew his tongue over the hurt, sucked a bruise to mark its place.  He swallowed Llewellyn down again as the elf cried out in pleasure and then bent with another helpless burst.  Gerrit wondered if he could make Llewellyn come simultaneously with a sneeze and what that might feel like.  The fantasy set him alight.  His abdomen was tight, his cock like a brand on his stomach. He redoubled his efforts.

Gerrit felt it first, when Llewellyn came, in the tightening of the elf's thighs and stomach, then tasted the salt of his release.  His world narrowed down to taking it in, swallowing, milking with his mouth while Llewellyn cried out, going until the elf was pushing him away, keening, oversensitive.  He didn't wait to lift Llewellyn then into his lap, cradling him with one arm and stroking himself with the other hand, desperate to come as well.  Llewellyn pressed his face to the junction of Gerrit's neck and shoulder, tightly gripping the cloth of Gerrit's shirt as they rocked together.  The elf's nose was gently wet and he was panting, sniffling.  Gerrit came with a shout, holding him close, shaking with an overabundance of pleasure.  He let go of his cock and embraced Llewellyn fully.  He had enough presence of mind not to confess to anything, but he couldn't stop himself from murmuring how beautiful, how soft.

 okay. o__o There’s only so much I can say about writing the porn lol. I write what I want to read.

Gradually the world came back.  Birdsong, first, and the bees, the sounds of the trees swaying in the light breeze.  The lingering heat of the day, dampened by the shade and the growing dusk.  The musty smell of pine needles and the sharper hint of sap, the scents of sex, the pressure of Llewellyn astride his lap, the bite of uneven ground against his knees.  Llewellyn was touching his cheek, trying to say something sweet, failing because of his cold again.

 I tried to write this part so that it would not be immediately obvious to the reader, as it is not to the characters, that the orb is gone.

"Ah- hh- Ttschgktst!"

Wetness against his neck.  Gerrit wound his fingers with Llewellyn's and kissed his jaw.  "Bless you," he said.  "I'll find you a healer in Veigh.  We'll get you well again.  Right after we free you from the orb."  He laid his cheek against the back of Llewellyn's hand tenderly.  Then he paused. "Wait."  Straightening, he brought his hands between them.  The right was laced with Llewellyn's left.  "The orb is gone."

Llewellyn straightened also, looking down at his hands.  His hands with no orb.  He lifted them both, amazed.  And then wiped his nose on his wrist, sighing in pleasure.  Gerrit tried not to blush despite everything.

 Me too, buddy.

"Where did it go?" he asked, looking past the elf's shoulder.  "Why did it come off?"

"Who even cares at this point??"  Llewellyn had let go of him and was stretching, running his palms over his body, touching his own arms and face and cock, finally able to move and feel again after three days of magical bondage.  He wiggled his fingers and then clapped his palms together, raising a small flame with their parting.  "I have my freedom back.  I can cast spells again.  I can-" He smiled brilliantly.  "I can touch you, too."  He dropped his hands suddenly to Gerrit's lap, nimbly taking Gerrit's cock between them.

Gerrit lost track of the orb immediately.

 Me too, buddy.

---

It was dark indeed when the two of them made it to the inn in Veigh, but both were in high spirits.  Gerrit had relinquished handkerchief duty back to Llewellyn with a great internal mourning, but he could always fantasize about this again in the future (he did, frequently), and he knew that Llewellyn, despite his best efforts, would catch more colds on the road (he did, more frequently than he would like).

I would love to play a fetish-friendly D&D campaign, but it would be way too embarrassing, probably. My current PC has allergies, but I have never mentioned them in-game and probably never will lol. God help me if my DM ever remembers that I wrote them into my character sheet.

Remembrance and Cordes had only been able to secure one room, it seemed, with two beds.  Gerrit resigned himself, going up the stairs, to sleeping on the floor. But... it was apparent upon entering the small space that... well, their priest and thief had ended up taking up only one of the beds, together.  Gerrit and Llewellyn traded glances.

"I don't think I want to ask," said Llewellyn, going for the free bed.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Gerrit replied, joining him.

The untold story, lol

In the morning, Cordes, with great dignity sprung from embarrassment (the cause of which he did not volunteer) informed them that a letter had not been sent to the Mages Guild yet.  He was immensely relieved to find that one was no longer needed and quick to congratulate Llewellyn on his newly regained freedom.  Remembrance just chuckled from the bed and took her time buckling her armor back on.  

Already in Veigh, the party spent some time stocking up on medicines and liquefying some of the heavier treasures they'd liberated from the bandit camp.  Gerrit sent a message on to their patron to expect them back in the capital in a couple of weeks, barring disaster.  They purchased horses and set out, ready for the next adventure.

---

The orb lay still in the pine thicket, nestled like an egg among the ferns, waiting for the next hapless traveler. 

 Faust’s Orb of Rope Bondage. Make a Will saving throw [DC 15] upon touching the orb with any body part, wearing clothes or not. Upon a failure, the orb will find its way to adhere to the hand of the hapless adventurer. If both hands touch the orb, they will both be stuck. If two people fail the save, one of each of their hands will be stuck. The spell can be broken only if each attached party has an orgasm.

I GUESS

[ceescedasticity]

Jin Guangyao’s Hoarding Problem, part 4

part 1, part 2, part 3

Jin Guangyao is having a really good week, and then suddenly he is having a really bad week.

This is mostly his father's fault. But he does feel that Madam Qin really could have chosen to share this information literally any time earlier in the courtship. Even if it was after Qin Su was pregnant, more time might have enabled him to come up with something! Even if she weren't pregnant calling off the wedding this late would be a significant scandal — what was Madam Qin thinking? Probably she wasn't thinking. No one around him ever thinks.

(He's not exactly thinking his clearest, either, but he doesn't realize that.)

He wants to get out of it. (The marriage still has its good points, if the secret can be guaranteed — but I don't think he would want a marriage which could only produce children who 'had to die'.)

(He could order Wen Qing to prepare an abortifacient, but then, he could in theory procure an abortifacient in any timeline. Honestly I wouldn't even be surprised if Madam Jin quietly keeps a stock on hand in case any of the household staff has a problem. And it seems like something Meng Yao ought to know about, doesn't it? But perhaps Meng Shi insisted he shouldn't pay attention to such filthy things, and he knows no more than most young gentlemen. Still, he could get his hands on one somehow — doing so discreetly is a challenge but not an insurmountable one. The trouble is that without Qin Su's forewarned cooperation, any termination of the pregnancy will be obviously a failed pregnancy, and marrying her is still the only honorable thing, but now with an added taint of sin for premarital sex and the shame of failing to cover it up, he can hear the remarks about his mother already.)

(He could have Qin Su non-fatally poisoned — enough to make her very sick and put off the wedding. But medical examination might reveal the pregnancy, and too long a delay definitely would.) (If he were willing to entertain the idea of telling Qin Su, this would be a good way to buy time to talk. There are so many more possibilities when she's not one of the people who has to be lied to.)

(He could have Qin Su fatally poisoned, and make sure no postmortem exam found the pregnancy, or at least that no one talked about it. But he doesn't have a scapegoat set up for a murder, and Madam Qin might suspect him.) (He also doesn't want to kill her, but that's not what deters him.)

(He could have Qin Su kidnapped, into the Dizang or elsewhere. But he doesn't have a scapegoat ready for that, either, and that still doesn't fix the pregnancy.)

(Now, if he could have her kidnapped, terminate the pregnancy, somehow alter her memory so she doesn't remember there ever was a pregnancy, somehow alter her memory so she doesn't remember the kidnapping, 'rescue' her, give the impression she's temporarily lost her wits from the experience and has probably also been ruined, well, the only compassionate thing is to cancel the wedding, cancel the engagement, send her home to her parents, terrible tragedy, maybe someday she can find happiness elsewhere. If he had a way to alter memories that quickly and precisely he might go with this despite the lack of prepared scapegoat.)

He decides the best option is to go through with the wedding and… deal with it later. Somehow.

(Highlights/"highlights" of the wedding celebrations include, but are not limited to:

It is Jiang Yanli's first major social event since her mourning period concluded. She spends most of her time trying to get Jiang Cheng to stay still long enough for her to talk to him. She's not mad at him!

Lan Xichen averts a disaster when he overhears and shuts down some speculation on whether Jiang Yanli will marry again — she'd have to come with a pretty hefty dowry, what with the health problems and so-so looks and rumored madness — before Jiang Wanyin hears any of it.

Nie Huaisang gets blackout drunk and throws up in the banquet hall, but not before laying the groundwork for five different problems with minor sects he can beg San-ge and Er-ge to help him with.

Su Minshan is totally unaware that Jin Guangyao's good week has become a terrible week and cries tears of joy at his benefactor's good fortune.

Sect Leader Yao gets tipsy and attempts to tell a bawdy story. It does not work very well.

Jin Ling is prevented from inviting himself to the banquet and throws a screaming tantrum not quite out of hearing.

Jin Guangshan comments on Qin Su's hips.

Jin Guangshan offers a minor Sect Leader's daughter jewelry to meet him in an inn in Lanling.

After both of the above incidents Madam Jin glares daggers at Jin Guangyao for some reason.

In fact Madam Jin glares daggers at Jin Guangyao the entire time.

Using the rebuilt Seal, Xue Yang sneaks into Jinlintai proper and steals an entire dessert course out of the kitchen.

On the plus side, he doesn't kill anyone and isn't spotted.

Congratulations!)

(Jiang Yanli eventually corners Jiang Cheng and tells him she isn't mad at him, and he's doing a wonderful job, and as soon as she can get the idea past the Jins she wants to take Jin Ling to Lotus Pier for at least a few months. Jiang Cheng is dubious about the first two assertions but can at least appreciate the third.)

Back in the Dizang it's been convenient that courtship and wedding preparations have occupied so much of Jin Guangyao's attention, because the preliminary results of the 'crying' research have been slightly more disruptive/strange than anticipated. It turns out that it is indeed possible to manually activate the tear glands of a fierce corpse, either by acupuncture needles or by talisman. After this, they will stream for four to six hours no matter what anyone does, which also gives them runny noses. After that, though, their eyes will water when they didn't before. When Wen Ning went through the procedure, he found that he could get tears triggered by emotions. He also discovered that crying gives him a dry mouth — the initial four-hour rain of tears gave him such a dry mouth he couldn't speak for a while.

This spun into everyone getting pulled into a study of 'how do fierce corpses regulate their moisture levels'. Water ghouls don't get waterlogged and fall to pieces. Fierce corpses in deserts don't desiccate and fall to pieces. They must regulate somehow. Missing moisture has to come from somewhere, and extra moisture has to go somewhere, and no one has ever looked into how before. It's disgusting. Xue Yang's never had so much non-homicidal fun in his life. (Well, a little homicidal, since he made the corpses, but not currently actively homicidal.)

Besides Xue Yang, all of this has been productive for Wen Qing and Wen Qing, Wei Wuxian is reluctantly fascinated, and Mo Xuanyu is non-reluctantly fascinated. He Zhi and He Jian are not having such a a good time, because all the fierce corpses besides Wen Ning are, you know, their relatives. Mo Xuanyu tries to help by suggesting Xue Yang can swap out the active experimental corpses with some that used to be whichever relatives they hated? There aren't any?! This leads to a discussion of Mo Xuanyu's maternal relatives. Xue Yang offers to kill them if the opportunity arises. Mo Xuanyu doesn't say no.

As soon as Jin Guangyao can get away for a day or two without anyone noticing — some nominal discreet inspection tour — he comes back to the Dizang and brushes off Mo Xuanyu's attempt to present his report on everything that's gone on while Jin Guangyao was busy with courtship and wedding (he doesn't want to think about courtships or weddings). He just goes and orders Wen Qing to invent a poison that can be administered either slowly or in parts, which will make the victim insane with lust and ultimately cause dramatic heart failure, preferably during sexual intercourse.

Wen Qing doesn't ask what his father did to finally push him over the edge, but it's a struggle. She does point out those are extremely specific requirements and she's not an herbalist. She will try if ordered to, but…

Hmmm. Yes. Good point. Perhaps what we want here is a curse. Yiling Laozu, design me a curse.

Wei Wuxian: What? I don't do curses, that was a false accusation—

Wei Wuxian's internal monologue: 'Mad with lust' curses exist, demons hit commoners with them all the time. I don't know the mechanics — well, I have a few ideas how it might work now that I think about it — I don't know how they work, though. A curse to kill someone the next time they have sex should be fairly straightforward, would be more straightforward if I'd gotten around to having sex, not bringing that up. No, I'm not bringing any of this up, I'm going to try to get out of helping Jin Guangyao murder someone. Even if it is probably his father, who deserves it. No. Besides, getting any of this to work on someone with high cultivation would be a challenge— PROBLEM! Would be a problem.

Jin Guangyao leaves him to think about that — for now — and goes down to the cell in the subbasement to (a) look at practically-a-puppet Nie Mingjue and feel smug about his own triumph and superiority, and (b) fantasize about using Nie Mingjue to kill Jin Guangshan.

He sends a message to Qin Su saying he's been injured, but please don't tell anyone, he doesn't want to show weakness. When he gets back, he claims the injury rendered him incapable of sex — but she can't tell anyone, she can't, he'll be ruined. Qin Su is dismayed, but vows she will keep the secret and considers him no less her husband for not being able to fulfill that duty. And at least they have the one child on the way! What a blessing.

Yes. A blessing.

(Qin Su keeps her word and doesn't tell anyone about the 'injury'. She does tell Jiang Yanli, in confidence, that her marriage isn't quite turning out as she expected it to.)

(Meanwhile Madam Jin has nothing against Qin Su personally, but is very determined that everyone remember Jin Guangyao's wife is not on the same level as other Madams Jin. Jiang Yanli does her best to mitigate it, but she still isn't taken as seriously as she should be. When it becomes known Qin Su is pregnant Madam Jin's attitude sours further.)

(Jiang Yanli is privately of the opinion that Qin Su is welcome to be preeminent Madam Jin; she just wants to go back to Yunmeng for good and have A-Ling adopted as a Jiang. Sadly that definitely won't happen unless Jin Guangshan and Madam Jin are both dead.) (Not that she'd be so unfilial as to hope for that.) (Much.)

(Madam Qin dies, somewhere in here. Jin Guangyao is nothing but relieved.) (Did he have something to do with it, besides causing distress by going ahead with the marriage? We may never know.)

Jin Guangyao introduces He Lei to Qin Su, although obviously not under that name. A-Lei is the mute half-wit sister of a loyal servant of his, he says; the man is often away on business so Jin Guangyao promised to find his sister safe and honorable employment — a touching story.

Qin Su promises to be kind to poor half-wit mute A-Lei, and is very patient with her inexperience as a lady's maid and shy nervousness.

Madam Jin not so much. Despite Qin Su's poor taste in husbands, she is still a gentlewoman and deserves better servants than a mangy stray that son of a prostitute brought in, probably out of a brothel.

Jiang Yanli has to try to mitigate this, too. She also makes a few suggestions about ways A-Lei could communicate without speaking — pointing to pictures, perhaps? Hand gestures? Pantomime isn't very dignified, but they ought to let A-Lei express herself…

He Lei runs away from any such suggestions. She's not willing to 'speak' when Jin Guangyao doesn't want her to and jeopardize her siblings.

Jiang Yanli is disappointed, but respects her shyness.

(Nie Huaisang is not going to respect her shyness, especially when he's mostly sure he's seen her among Jinlintai's servants some time before her official appearance, but for the moment he's biding his time.)

He Lei goes to extreme lengths to avoid Jin Guangshan.

Meanwhile Xue Yang hears that Wen Qing is going to see if she can do anything for Wen Ning's sense of taste, next, and "helps" by providing a half-dozen fresh tongues for her to dissect.

(Wei Wuxian's internal monologue: —just mathematically there have to be at least a few resentful ghosts who have it out for Jin Guangshan with sex-related grievances. Now if you could both locate them, and then use their motivation to direct enough other ghosts to overcome Jin Guangshan's level of cultivation… Well, I could, if I had Chenqing and the Seal. Not sure how you'd package it as a curse— Not that I'm trying to package it as a curse this is idle speculation!)

[anxiouslynumbme]

Carmuel Missing Scenes/Moments

Warning: (Explicit Sexual Situations, Strong Language.)

3x08 - Part 2

_______________________________________________________

 Romantic love was a peculiar notion, the reality of being in love was more brutal than people liked to acknowledge. Everyone - well, most people - wanted it, sought it, obsessed over it. And then the some that were lucky enough to have obtained it, usually ended up ruing the day they'd found it.

And so that had raised the age-old question, is it better to have loved and lost or to never have loved at at all?

Was there a right answer? Both scenarios sounded incredibly depressing to Samuel.

But Samuel knew that as painful as loving Carla was, it didn't even touch the blissful intoxication she filled him with. Nothing compared to her. Nothing and no one could make him feel this much, this constant rapturous high she had him hooked on. She was addictive.

And Carla saying I love you to him - that was a whole new level of addiction. A dangerous fucking addiction. And Samuel was already a junkie.

I love you, Samuel.

Her words rang and vibrated through the air around them, stifling his ability to breathe, his body was rendered useless, his mouth unable to speak, his mind utterly blank. Samuel was barely aware of the deafening silence that took over. Were there words to describe what he was feeling? Samuel was at a loss. He couldn't find any.

All he could think, hear, feel, was the heart-stopping, mind-bending repetition of her voice in his head. His heart.

I love you, Samuel.

Samuel's heart was going ballistic, thumping and thrashing wildly in its cage, seemingly incapable of comprehending the words.

"Samuel?" Carla's wary voice smashed into his brain, resulting in a sharp inhale to deliver the much needed oxygen into his lungs.

Please, say it again, his greedy heart pounded with an unspoken plea. Say it again. Say it again. Say it again. Just one more time so he could make sure it was real, so it could sink in. So he could believe it and revel in it and never feel hopeless again. Please, Carla, say it again.

But his mouth wasn't cooperating. His still, wide eyes, were probably starting to make Carla uncomfortable.

Speak, you fucking moron, he angrily scolded himself.

"Shit, Samuel, I'm sorry, I - I shouldn't have said that."

The hopeless organ in his chest ceased its incessant, loud beating.

What?

Wait. No. Fuck, no. She was sorry?

And just like that, his world fractured into a humiliated and rigid focus. Carla was sorry.

Why did she say it then? Why the fuck would she do that to him? It didn't make sense. Even if Carla didn't love him, Samuel knew her care for him ran deep and strong. Carla would never say something like that - something she was well aware he unapologetically craved to hear from her - without actually meaning it.

But Samuel's high-strung emotions were in charge and his brain couldn't keep up with them long enough to rationalize Carla's behavior. All Samuel knew in that moment was that he needed to get away, she could explain later. After he recovered from the emotional whiplash she'd just given him.

He was suddenly feeling claustrophobic, her skin on his was scorching and suffocating and as gently as he could, he pried her off, and then he was out of the the bed before either of them could blink, reaching for his boxers and slipping them on quickly.

"Samuel, wait - where are you going? "

"I - I just need to," he stammered pathetically, walking mindlessly toward the door. "To take a shower."

His wobbly legs carried him out of the room hastily as he tried to steady himself.

He did end up in the shower, because no matter how rattled he was, Samuel wasn't just gonna leave his house while Carla was still there. He still couldn't gather himself well enough to breathe properly.

It was in his nature to dive in hard and fast when he loved someone, he tended to go a little crazy, a little intense and obsessed. Samuel had once thought he was in love with Marina, Samuel had wanted her so badly that he had willfully stayed with her when, deep down, he was aware of her lack of interest. But Samuel had now realized that he wasn't in love with Marina, and it was because of Carla, he was sure of that. Nothing he had ever felt for someone came close to how Samuel felt about Carla. Because Once, love, the love seeps into the bones and unfurls and grows around every inch of skin and swirls intimately with blood until they're one. Then discovery would hit and true knowledge is born on the different types of love one could feel.

And Samuel's love for Carla was otherworldly, it was consuming and whole and unlike anything he felt for anyone in his life. He didn't even know when it happened, it crept up on him. 

Samuel sighed shakily, his head thrown back as the comforting hot spray of water rained on him, washing his body and surrounding him safely, as though being under the shower-head was protecting him from what - who - was waiting outside that bathroom door.

Samuel tried to appease his soul and tell himself that it was okay if she didn't mean to say it, that whatever her explanation was going to be, he could take it.

I love you, Samuel.

"Fuck," he muttered in irritation, her voice was stuck in his head. Samuel couldn't take it, he wouldn't be able to. No matter what Carla ended up saying, it was going to cut him open.

A creak of a door opening snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. Samuel's skin prickled and his body instantly stiffened with attention, the air around him sizzling with her presence. Even under water, her scent wafted to his nostrils enticingly in the small bathroom, it thrilled and alarmed him all the same. His back was to her and he couldn't get his body to whirl around and face her, unsure of what he was going to do.

Devouring her was the most likely outcome, but Samuel's heart was also demanding answers. An explanation he wasn't ready to hear. Because the only thing worse than Carla not loving him back, was her saying she did, and then regretting it.

Her timid, quiet steps were faintly heard, and Samuel knew she must've stopped moving, 'cause it was a narrow bathroom and she should've reached him by now. Samuel didn't know how long he stood there frozen, until he could finally sense her behind him, her soft breaths tickling his skin.

Her lips gently grazed his shoulder and Samuel exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Please stop saying that."

Another kiss, her lips brushing his skin as she spoke softly. "Samuel, I know that you probably didn't want to - "

"Didn't want what," he cut her off, his voice low. "Didn't want to hear the girl I'm in love with to finally tell me she loves me back, only to regret it and take it back? Not something I'd ask for, no."

Carla's breath caught noticeably, and he felt her blanch. A few seconds and she slowly folded her arms around his torso, lips meeting his shoulder again.

"I don't regret it and I'm not taking it back, you idiot," she said it so quietly, he almost didn't hear her.

Something bloomed in his chest, his heart skipping beats left and right at her affirmation. She loved him. "Why are you sorry, then?"

Carla hesitated, guilt lacing her tone as she answered. "Because I'm leaving."

Samuel's eyes squeezed shut at the reminder. He was so engulfed in her bubble, that for one stupid moment he'd forgotten that one important, gut-wrenching fact. She was right, she probably shouldn't have said it. Knowing Carla loved him and then losing her again was fate's worst way of tormenting him. But fuck it all to hell, if he didn't want to hear her say it again.

Her confession did make things ten times more painful. But Samuel had heard it, he'd watched as her beautiful mouth formed the words that were now deeply ingrained and ingested in his veins. And he wouldn't change the moment for anything.

Samuel gently started turning around, needing to see her face, her arms dropping from his waist once he was facing her, their eyes meeting head on.

"You are. Not really the best time to finally admit your feelings, is it?" he smiled sadly.

Carla shook her head, eyes lowering. "I'm sorry, Samuel."

Fuck, it broke him when she said that.

"If you ever apologize to me for telling me you love me again, Carla, I won't speak to you for at least a month," he said, only half joking. A desolate wave spiked through him, aware that they probably wouldn't communicate much in the future anyway.

Her lips quirked slightly. "You won't be able to go that long."

Hmm, she knew him too well.

"True." he chuckled lightly, fully aware that his stare was transparently worshiping and adoring. Samuel knew it wasn't their time, it might never be their time. But he was in love with her and Samuel wasn't gonna spend the last two days with her, hiding and denying.

"I love you," he told her, earnest and unwavering.

"I love you too." Carla swallowed, her gaze so bare, so vulnerable, it made his chest ache. The kiss that followed was the softest and slowest they'd ever shared, their lips seemed to push and pull at a relishing pace. Everything was entirely too vibrant, he didn't care how corny it made him, but Samuel's senses were heightened, he could feel everything around him in a much clearer light. He could smell the water, hear every single drop as it cascaded down his spine and onto the stall floor, his eyes were digesting the world differently.

Their embrace was rapidly veering into a passionate crescendo, Samuel's lips were burning and hungry, parting her mouth open for him, his tongue rolling deliriously with hers. 

"I missed you so much," he breathed into her, his emotions making him shiver, pouring out of him openly and unashamedly.

"I love you," she gasped, gripping his hair tightly as his arms clutched at her waist.

Samuel didn't see himself ever getting used to hearing that, each time the profound admission left her lips, it struck him harder and bled into him deeper. It was overwhelming.

You won't even have the chance to get used to it, she's not yours, she never will be, a brutal, truthful voice suddenly blared in his head.

No.

Samuel held her with a fierce need, with possessive intention, his kisses turning desperate and his arms seizing her to him forcefully, trying to suppress his fear. Rotating her around, her back hit the wall, the water now gushing over them both, enclosing them in a world of their own, a world where he got to choose their fate, got to choose their ending, and so they didn't leave that stall until Samuel had showed Carla, in every way he could, just how much he loved her.

_______________________________________________________

Waking up next to Carla's sleeping figure had made its way to Samuel's top three favorite things quite some time ago. But this time was different, it was peaceful, honest and strangely normal. This time, there were no games, no lies, no pretense. No ulterior motive. 

Carla slept like she did everything else in her life, with elegance and grace. Her body was perfectly still, arms aligned with her waist as her hands rested on her stomach, hair placed impeccably on the pillow. If Samuel didn't know her as well as he did, he would've said she was uncomfortable. But her face was free of worry, utterly calm and relaxed, Samuel smiled, his thumb stroking her cheek gently.

His fingertips slowly slid down her neck, tracing the impossibly soft skin, his hand stopped at her upper breast, gently caressing the tantalizing flesh. Samuel felt his dick hardening considerably, and when Carla shifted in her slumber, he decided to get up before it got too creepy.

After taking a quick shower, he started preparing them something to eat, Samuel was getting a plate for the toast he'd made, when he heard her dainty footsteps behind him.

"Good morning," she said.

"You mean afternoon, I was getting worried there - " Samuel's words caught in his throat at the vision that greeted him when he'd turned around.

Carla was wearing his shirt. She was wearing nothing but his shirt. And it was the hottest she'd ever looked, and that was saying fucking something. Despite all the times they'd had sex and spent the night together, she'd never worn his clothes. Her hair was wet, indicating the shower she must've taken, and she was wearing a clean shirt of his. The image of Carla going through his drawers to get a shirt was so domestic and so unlike them, it caused Samuel's heart to hammer loudly.

"What?"

Samuel couldn't pin-point exactly what it was, but as usual, she was invoking a very primal side of him. His eyes took their time scanning her exposed smooth legs, her taut creamy thighs that he wanted to bury his head in between. Then his grey shirt, loose and big on her but he could still see the outline of her full breasts and hard nipples. He wanted to fuck her while she was wearing his shirt, that wasn't weird, was it?

"You know, for someone who's seen me naked many times, you're drooling like you've just found out about boobs."

Well, that was how he felt.

His eyes flew to hers, lust thrumming through him. "Come here."

"Tsk, tsk. Demanding," she said, strutting toward him. Once she was within reach, Samuel snatched her by the waist, her chest colliding with his harshly as he swallowed her soft gasp with his lips.

"Is it the shirt?" she asked knowingly.

"You wore it on purpose."

"No, what else was I supposed to wear?" she said, batting her eyelashes. "Do you like it?"

He smirked, grabbing her thighs and hoisting her up on the small table in the middle of the kitchen, before stepping between her legs. "I love it. In fact, from now on, you should share my wardrobe."

She tilted her head, mouth curling slightly. "Samuel, I love you, but your clothes are just too plain for me."

She said it so matter-of-fact, so naturally that Samuel almost missed it. He was going to have heart failure at this rate, she was trying to kill him. He groaned lowly, his fingers slotting through her hair and bringing her luscious lips to his.

"And I love you," he husked.

"I know."

"Good. So add a few of my t-shirts to your closet."

Carla laughed melodically, her hands resting for a second on his chest before shoving him back roughly, Samuel couldn't stop his body from stumbling as he hit the counter opposite her. Carla's smile was full of promise as she hopped off the table, stalking towards him seductively. Samuel tried to even his breath when she finally stood right in front of him, her fingers teasing the waistband of his sweats.

"I wouldn't rule it out," she whispered, before dropping to her knees and Samuel chocked on his spit.

"Carla, wh- " he was sure his eyes looked comically wide, his brain was scrambled from the sight alone, Carla peering up at him sultrily. "What are you doing?"

All of Samuel's erotic moments were with her, and while Carla had definitely given him a blowjob before, it was never like this. Never in this position. Never in the middle of his kitchen in broad daylight. Never after lighthearted jokes and professions of love. The first time she had ever done this, Samuel remembered thinking that he was going to die. Happily.

This time was no different, seeing Carla like this, on her knees, caused his throat to go completely dry, his blood was pounding in his ears as his palms gripped the counter behind him for dear life.

Grabbing the top of his sweatpants, Carla slid them down painstakingly slow, taking her time to caress his bulge on the way. Once she saw he wasn't wearing underwear underneath, she looked up at him, eyes filled with desire.

"Carla," he hissed through his teeth, feeling as though his skin was burning from the inside out, his whole body twitching with anticipation, their eyes were steadily connected, making the experience even more sensual.

But then Carla's eyes seemed to focus on her mission to ruin him as she very lightly peppered kisses on his thighs, right next to where he needed her, Samuel's hips jerked in reaction.

"Please, Carla, fuck."

Carla was quiet and deliberate. The naughty, smug smirk on her lips was the only indication she was aware of his desperation.

Finally, her tongue dragged up his length before circling the the tip expertly, Samuel's hips bucked again as he whimpered. Carla's palm gripped him tighter, lips fully wrapping around and sucking the head.

"Shit - fuck!" he groaned loudly, eyes fighting to stay open.

When Carla hollowed out her cheeks and started descending on him slowly, Samuel couldn't stop his hand from sliding through her hair and tugging gently, eliciting a hum from Carla and Samuel's cock to weep from the vibration.

Carla went slow, breathing through her nose as she swallowed every inch down until he bumped the back of her throat, and now Samuel's vocabulary was reduced to only her name. He couldn't look away, despite the need to shut his eyes. Samuel needed her eyes.

Her head started moving at steady pace, her mouth taking him in and out with intensity, while her palm jerked off any part that wasn't blessed with her mouth. Samuel's yanks on her hair weren't so gentle anymore, but Carla didn't seem to mind as she let out a soft moan. Samuel's world spun and collapsed around him, his eyes finally closing as a deep growl left the back of his throat.

"Fuck, Carla."

And just after a few bobs of her head, her tongue licking and sucking with vigor, Samuel was done for. His stomach tightened uncontrollably, his thighs shaking with his impending release.

"Carla, shit...I'm coming," he warned her with a low whine.

Carla's motions only got faster, more determined, making his body quiver with fervor. His eyes glanced down catching hers with unadulterated want, his fingers clutching her hair tightly. Samuel's lower abdomen flexed rapidly, as he grunted gruffly, his orgasm railing over him, unforgiving and unrelenting.

Samuel's flushed body lulled, slumping backwards as he let go of Carla's hair. His eyes glazed and half shut in pleasure, hands back to gripping the counter, unsure if his knees would be able to carry him in the next few minutes.

Carla gently tucked him back into his sweats and the act was just as intimate as what had just transpired between them, and Samuel's insides buzzed with warm affection.

He was vaguely aware of Carla moving about the kitchen. "You okay there, handsome?"

"I don't -" his jaw was almost too relaxed to open itself. "I think you broke my brain."

Carla chuckled heartily. "Wasn't it always broken?"

His head whipped in her direction, feeling himself silently singing with her good mood, playful Carla was something to behold. Samuel slowly straightened up and sauntered toward her.

"What was that?"

"What?" her eyes sparkled at him.

"What did you just say?"

"I say a lot of things."

"The most recent thing," he told her, his arms circling her waist, pulling her closer.

"Your clothes are ugly,"

Samuel squinted at her. "My clothes are amazing, stop lying."

"You do pull them off. . .sometimes."

Samuel's fingers pinched her hips and Carla let out a squeal. "Samuel!"

"What did you say, Carla?"

"Um, you have a lovely penis?"

A huge smile took over his red-tinted face. "No, that is not what you said."

"I was thinking it." she winked.

"Stop being cheeky, Carla,"

"I just gave you a compliment."

"And I thank you very much. Now what did you say?"

"Fine," she sighed dramatically. "I implied you were born with a broken brain."

"And is that true?"

She rolled her eyes. "No."

"That's right. You're the culprit, Carla. My brain was perfectly fine and then you came in and turned it into mush." and he was definitely not just talking about the blowjob.

Her lips gave a crooked, proud grin. "I kinda did."

"Hmm," he confirmed, his nose nudging hers softly. "Now I'd like to break yours."

His lips slammed against hers, tongue slipping inside in search of hers. Samuel hitched his shirt up, his fingers touching the enticingly exposed skin of her stomach, he traced ever line, every inch as their lips devoured each other. Samuel's hand finally reached the place he wanted to ravish the most, aching to taste her.

And his phone chose that moment to blast loudly across the kitchen.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

"Fuck, no."

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Samuel groaned in annoyance, releasing Carla and reaching for his phone. Once he saw it was an unknown number, he recognized who was the caller and his dick softened instantly.

"Hello, Mom," he greeted, Carla leaving his side.

"Samuel, how are you, honey?"

"I'm good, how's everything with you?"

"We're doing fine, just really wanted to hear your voice."

"It's nice to hear your voice, too, Mom. You're okay, right?"

"Yes, just wanted to make sure you remember our video chat, we'll send you the exact time later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I can't wait till I can see you face to face, my love," she said, and Samuel could hear her holding back tears.

"Me too."

"And we will. We'll be together again, Samu, things just have to calm down first."

"I know, I understand."

"I love you so much, Samu."

"I love you too."

"Take care of yourself."

"You too. Be safe."

And then his mother's voice was gone, and just like after every phone call, Samuel felt a heaviness settle on his chest as he looked down at the picture on his phone of all three of them, smiling and happy.

Carla came back to her spot next to him, her chin resting on his shoulder, staring down with him. "It's a great picture."

"Thank you."

"One way or another, you'll see them again, Samuel. Trust me," she said so confidently that Samuel couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope.

"I know. One day."

"Soon," she insisted.

He smiled, feeling lighter. "Soon."

Just as he was about to turn to kiss her, his phone dinged with a message from Rebe.

Rebeca: I think it's time we meet up and have ourselves a real chat, kid.

Samuel sighed, looking at the message, he'd missed his friend. He still talked to Rebeca, they weren't as mad at each other anymore, but they were definitely not as close as they used to be. Carla had stilled slightly beside him and Samuel knew she'd read it too. He had an inkling it had something to do with the talk she'd had with Rebe at graduation. Of course Samuel had noticed, no matter how drunk or angry he had been, he'd seen them talk and had taken note of Carla's change in demeanor afterwards.

"You're still not talking?" came Carla's cautious question.

"No, we talk, just not as often as before."

"Samuel, you know it wasn't entirely her fault, I think I would've found a way to get a fix from anyone."

His jaw ticked. "But it was her. She sold it to you."

"Samuel."

"Look, I'm not saying she meant to harm you, but she shouldn't have been selling drugs at all. She'd promised me she'd stop. Valerio stopped, he knew what was going on with you, they both did, and he didn't sell it you. Why did she? Why you?"

"Maybe she wasn't thinking clearly that day."

"What do you mean?"

Carla heaved a breath, shaking her head at him. "She was upset, Samuel. Because of you...and me."

Samuel blinked in confusion. "What are you saying? That she did it just because she was jealous?" he asked incredulously.

Carla simply shrugged.

He could understand Rebe's jealousy and anger, he was a terrible boyfriend to her, but it obviously didn't mean she was justified in selling Carla drugs, it sounded petty to him. "That doesn't make it okay."

"I know. But people do dumb shit when they're heartbroken, Samuel. You know that."

He did. Even if Samuel could never understand why Rebe had thought that giving Carla drugs was going to achieve anything, she was sad and had made a very stupid move.

"Is that what you talked about at graduation?"

Carla's eyes flitted to his in surprise. "What?"

"I saw you talk."

"Yeah, she was just apologizing."

"So nothing else?"

"Nothing important."

 "It seemed like something happened - "

"What is this, Samuel? Are you trying to supervise my conversations or something?"

Samuel narrowed his eyes, there was something Carla wasn't telling him. She was being a bit too defensive.

"Calm down. I'm simply asking if by any chance that conversation had something to do with the fact that one second you looked at me as though you wanted me, and then all of a sudden you were pulling back."

Carla let out a mirthless laugh. "Oh, that might've had something to do with my ex-boyfriend dying, sorry, I wasn't up for fucking you after that."

This was all wrong. The previously tranquil mood had now dispersed completely and it was Samuel's fault. He was curious, that was all, but apparently something he'd said had struck some kind of nerve he was unaware of.

"Carla, why are you angry? I wasn't trying to - I just wanted to know if Rebe had said something to you that. . .listen, it's not important, okay? Let's just Forget it."

Samuel wanted things to delve back into their peaceful state. He wanted to go back to kissing her, they'd had enough fights and she was leaving in less than two days, there was no way they were going to spend it like the last few months.

"We did talk about you," Carla admitted quietly, not looking at him. "she seems to think you'd do anything for me."

"She's not wrong," was Samuel's instant reply.

"I don't think it was meant in the positive sense."

He frowned. "What?"

"You were so willing to take that bottle, Samuel."

"Just as much as everyone else."

"Not only then. Before everything, in the bathroom, you wanted to take it from me."

"What else was I supposed to do? Let you cover up another murder? You're lucky, Carla, but not lucky enough to get away with it twice."

She flinched visibly. "It was my decision to go find that bottle, to help Lu. It had nothing to do with you."

An exasperated sigh left Samuel, Carla was still on the same bullshit as before. How could she still not understand that love came with a price. Everything she did affected him, worried him, encompassed and ensnared him. Everything about her was his business, whether either of them liked it or not. He couldn't fucking help it.

"You involve yourself, you involve me."

Carla's eyes widened. "That is not how it works!"

"It's how it works for me," he bit out.

"Fuck, Samuel," she said tiredly, rubbing her temples in distress. "it's a good thing I'm leaving then."

A whoosh of air was knocked out of him, the implication of her words piercing right through him with cruelty. What was she getting at exactly? That he was so smothering and so insufferable that she was happy to get away from him, or was it something else. It didn't matter. The necessity and the reality of Carla leaving didn't need the connotation of enjoyment. He wanted her to be happy and excited, but that wasn't the case, it felt like she'd been thinking about the whole situation with more than one lens. Her decision might've been made with him in mind.

"Samuel - "

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing," she averted her eyes, gnawing at her bottom lip. "I just - I don't like that you're so ready to cross so many lines for me. That's not you, Samuel. I don't want you to risk your future. . .your life. Awful things happen to anyone close to me, Samuel, I'm always there in the middle of it all, and I don't want you there with me."

At those words, the tremble in her voice, Samuel's wounded heart broke even further. His eyes found hers, and he could feel the weight she was carrying in them. Samuel steadied himself enough to step closer to her.

He cupped her cheeks gently. "I'm there because I want to be."

"No, Samuel - "

"Carla," he cut her off gently. "Listen to me, you're not responsible for my decisions. My wanting to take that bottle from you was because I wanted to protect you. Because I'm in love with you and there's not much you can do about that, is there?" he smiled at her tenderly.

Carla's smile was forced and he could see the gears whirring in her head, and he hated it. Samuel wished he could read her mind, know what was running through it that made her so scared and apprehensive, so he could stop it.

"Carla, of all the things to overthink and worry about, this is not one of them. Please don't tell me you think that you going away is somehow good for me or for the best."

Samuel wanted Carla to be happy, he wanted her to study abroad and experience a new life on her own terms. But not like this, not if she thought, on any level, that he wanted her to leave.

"No, that's not why." Carla smiled reassuringly. "But maybe time away is good. . .for both of us."

A knife twisted in his gut, his heart protesting the idea of Carla being away from him was, in any way, good. But Samuel silenced his bruised soul, because she was right. Their relationship was attached to one horrifying event after the other, it was tainted from the start. They needed to let go and grow into something else, something better.

"Yeah, maybe."

_______________________________________________________

The next day, Samuel was anxiously staring at the clock on the wall for more than one reason. Carla had left shortly after their somber conversation yesterday, she wanted to arrange a few things before leaving and needed to change out of his clothes, which Samuel had been childishly against. After thoroughly feasting on her, he'd finally let her go with the promise of seeing her again the following day.

But now Samuel was looking at the time because the video chat he'd had with his family was supposed to take place ten minutes ago. And Samuel was worried, imagining a hundred different scenarios on what could've gone wrong.

Finally the cracked screen of his old laptop lit up with a message that they were calling, Samuel eagerly accepted the call. He beamed at the faces of his mother and brother, his heart rushing with affection for them.

"Hi, honey!"

"Samu! How are you, little brother?"

"I'm good. Are you guys doing all right?"

"Yes, we're still getting used to everything," Nano said.

"Yeah, the people here are really nice and welcoming." his mother grinned.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Have you been eating well?" his mother asked typically. "You look so thin, sweetheart."

Of course she thought that, Samuel huffed, even though his heart warmed at his mother's concern.

"Yes, Mom, I'm eating well."

"Oh, Samu, I miss you so much." his mother's voice was pained and all he wanted to do was hug her.

"Listen, Samu," his brother started. "We've been talking and Mom will be coming back to Madrid soon."

"Really? What about you?"

"I can handle myself, Samu. I'll be fine."

"So will I. Mom, you agree with this?"

She smiled sadly. "All I want is for all of us to be together. But I don't know when that will happen. And Samu, I need to be with you after everything."

Samuel sighed. "Mom, I'm fine. Both of you will come back soon, okay?"

Nano sent their mother a meaningful look that made Samuel nervous as he observed their silent communication.

"Samu," his mother said abruptly. "I got you a few hoodies that you will love, I'm gonna get them right now."

After she'd left, Samuel dubiously looked at his brother. "What's wrong?"

"Samu." Nano puffed out a long breath. "I don't think - I don't know if I'd ever come back."

"Ever? I thought you just needed time to let the dust settle."

"Yes, but I told you I can't trust those cops, Samu. And I don't know if I want to come back, honestly. The memories can be too much sometimes."

Marina.

Samuel's stomach sank. "I know, trust me. But do you really mean never?"

Nano smiled. "Little brother, we'll see each other again, I promise you that. So this is not forever. I just don't think it'll be soon."

Samuel's eyes lowered with disappointment. "Okay, but Mom should stay with you, Nano."

"No, Samu, you need her. You've been through a lot, kid."

"I'm okay, I swear. You need her more, Nano,"

"Samu, don't argue with me."

"Yes, I will, I'll talk to Mom, she'll see it my way."

"I think I already got to her."

Samuel gave him half a grin. "No, she always listens to me and you know it."

"Why are you all dressed up? You going out?" Nano asked suddenly.

Samuel looked down at his attire, it wasn't necessarily nice. It was just his favorite buttoned down blue shirt. Samuel wanted to take Carla out. A first date. But then they both seemed to decide against it, they couldn't afford not being alone. As much as they both wanted to go out for dinner like Carla once had mentioned, Samuel wanted her to himself, he didn't even want to share her with strangers. So Samuel had suggested to give them their dinner date right here.

Samuel's cheeks heated. "Don't change the subject, Nano."

"I'm not, but you are right now. This is the shirt you wear when you want to impress a girl, Samu."

"What? no it's not!"

"Yes, it is. I bought it with you!"

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

Nano beamed widely. "Ooh, you little shit. There's a girl. Who's the lucky chick?"

Everything halted as Samuel was hit with the reminder of how Nano felt about Carla. He hated her. Samuel's fists curled in anger as he remembered how his brother had attacked Carla at Halloween.

"I don't really think it's any of your concern." Samuel's tone was a dead giveaway to who was the girl in question and he didn't give a shit.

Nano's expression immediately morphed into one of hatred and disgust as he caught on. "Samuel, no."

"Don't, Nano. Just don't."

"Don't what? Knock some sense into you! Samu, that girl is poisonous, she infects everything - "

"Do not talk about her like that! You have no idea who she is."

"I do actually. She's the girl who protected a murderer. Someone who killed her friend! She's a manipulative liar. She's the reason we're not together right now."

"And you have no fucking idea why she'd done all those things! She didn't want to, she had to. So stop, because I won't let you say another word about her."

"I don't need to know why! There's always a choice. Isn't that what you believe, Samu? Not when it comes to her, I assume. She's molded you into what she wants."

A ball of ire was churning inside him, his jaw ticking as he tried to rein in his rage. "What you're insinuating is disgusting. You know nothing about our relationship."

"Relationship?" Samuel could see Nano's bewilderment even through the terrible connection. "Are you kidding me? What kind of sick -"

"Shut the fuck up, Nano."

" - twisted shit is this? You can't believe - "

"I love her, all right? I'm in love with her."

Silence fell over them. Nano's face was one of disbelief and shock. "What? Samu, no you don't, she - "

"What now, you're gonna say she manipulated me into loving her? You know, you're lucky you're not here, Nano." Samuel seethed, unable to hold it in.

"Samuel, calm down - "

"But I guess you'll get what you want anyway. She's leaving. She's going away. So no worries, asshole."

Samuel's devastation was evident on his face, and Nano's features suddenly softened.

"Samuel, I'm sorry, but I don't - "

Samuel wasn't listening to this anymore.

"Tell Mom I'll call her later. We're done here."

And then Samuel slammed his laptop shut. He sighed running a frustrated hand though his hair, he tried taking calming breaths. A part of him understood where his brother was coming from, but it didn't excuse the way he talked about Carla, the way he demeaned her and belittled their relationship. He was an outsider, just like anyone who still didn't fully comprehend the nature of Samuel and Carla together. Samuel himself had a hard time figuring it out and he was a part of it. Whether it made sense or not was never the issue, they just were, they happened, and it was too good to ever question it, and Samuel was too grateful to have her, to wonder why.

Blocking out the dread that had surrounded him, Samuel jumped eagerly to add final touches for his dinner plans with Carla. She was going to be here soon and that was all he needed to focus on. Right on cue, his phone lit up with her name.

Carla : On my way. 10 minutes.

Samuel smiled, looking at the display he'd worked all day on and nodded with satisfaction. This was as decent as he could make it. Quickly going back inside the apartment before Carla arrived, he took a hurried survey of his appearance in the mirror, his fingers anxiously fixing his hair.

He was being irrational, Carla was going to enjoy herself, they both were. No reason to be this nervous. No reason to think about the fact that this was their first and last date. No reason to think about the fact that he wouldn't get a do-over if he fucked it up. No reason to think about her departure from his life.

As thou, Carla or the universe knew that he was about to lose it, Samuel heard the soft sound of her knock.

Swallowing back the nerves, he inhaled sharply before twisting the doorknob open. Carla stood, smiling, arms crossed elegantly, looking as stunning as ever. She wore a beautiful blue dress that reached her mid thighs, it was form-fitting and accentuated her breasts.

"We're matching." she chuckled.

"Huh?" he asked absentmindedly, still dazed as his eyes drank their fill of her.

She gestured between them. "You know, blue."

"Right. Yeah."

She fixed him with a look. "Are you gonna move so I could come inside or...?"

Samuel smiled bashfully. "Sorry, but we're actually not eating inside."

"No?"

"Come with me."

Locking his door, Samuel started ascending the stairs that led to the roof of his building, he could sense Carla's confusion as she followed behind him. Staring at the beige door in from of him, Samuel took a final deep breath before swinging it open wide.

Stepping inside first, he nervously whirled around to observe Carla's reaction, her eyes studying the scene closely.

Samuel had festooned the two walls opposite each other and the thick railing with red and orange twinkling lights. Stems and pedal of daisies and tulips garland the floor, including just a few on the table which had their dinner ready on it. The candles he lit were decorated on four stools around the table in the middle of the roof, encasing it in an atmospheric glow that created a romantic vibe, or so he hoped.

But Samuel had to give a lot of credit to mother nature in that moment, because the moon was full and so clearly visible in the night sky, it only enhanced and amplified everything else below it.

Carla hadn't said anything and Samuel was trying hard not to let it get to him. He was having a very difficult time monitoring his mouth, his lips itching to say something, justify his cheesy actions that were now embarrassing him greatly.

"I know it's dumb and very cliche and overdone. But I just thought it'd be nice."

"Samuel."

"We could just go back inside, that'd be cool."

"Samuel."

"And what's worse, I know that you'd probably had, like, a lot of guys doing this for you."

"Yeah. So it's really nice that this time actually means something."

Samuel's eyes flicked to hers and they were trapped under the fondness of her gaze, the honesty, the love. His stomach flipped tirelessly as he tried to contain the urge to envelope her in his arms and never let her leave.

"Really?"

"It's you. It means a lot," she said, approaching him slowly. "This is great, Samuel. Thank you."

The most beautiful green eyes gleamed at him and Samuel could vividly see himself looking into them for the rest of his life and it still wouldn't be enough. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, Samuel kissed her, trying and failing to quiet down his unattainable desires.

"What are we eating?" Carla asked, lifting a perfect brow, letting him know that she already had the answer.

He played along. "What do you think?"

"Uh - I don't know, soup and salad?"

"No."

 "Well, I'm all out of guesses."

"Come along, then." he caught her hand, tugging her forward toward the table. "We're eating - drum roll, please - macaroni!"

"Wow, that is shocking."

"Come on, it's not gonna be that bad."

"I'm not complaining, you're the chef."

"I am, and that's why this is not reheated."

Carla eyed him suspiciously. "Really?"

"Yep. Freshly made and very delicious."

"I'll be judge of that."

"Of course," Samuel smiled, gesturing to another pan on the table. "I also cooked us some healthy chicken."

"Healthy Chicken?"

"Only boiled with minimum salt, princess."

Carla rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot."

Samuel watched as Carla's fork found her mouth, her eyes widened a little, a surprised grin pulling at her lips.

"So what's the verdict?"

"Mmm, definitely surpassed my expectations."

"I Told you, next time you'll be amazed. I was right." Samuel couldn't stop smiling.

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say amazed," she teased.

"You're blown away and you know it."

"Blown away, am I?

"Yep. Now try the chicken."

She shook her head in amusement, grabbing a piece of chicken and taking a very small bite.

"Oh, Samuel." she grimaced.

"That bad?"

"You should stick to macaroni, which by the way, you still need to work on."

"It can't be that bad," Samuel defended, gulping down a bite of the boiled chicken himself. Oh. Oh, no, that did not taste right.

Samuel still managed to keep the cringe off of his face. "See? Delicious, went right down," he said with a short cough.

Carla cocked her head to the side. "Really? So no need to throw it back up?"

"Nope," he said, clearing his throat. "Best chicken I've ever had."

"Samuel, I'm pretty sure there's still blood in it."

"No, there's not," he said, examining the piece of chicken in front of him closely. "That's just sauce."

Carla laughed. "What sauce? You didn't use any!"

"You know, the natural sauce of chicken!"

Carla laughed harder and Samuel let his own joy out to join hers as they both guffawed over the atrocity before them.

"Okay, sorry, this is just horrible."

"It is. And don't be sorry, macaroni is all we need anyway," she said, eating another fork of said food with a smile.

A tingling sensation erupted all over his skin. "Yeah, should've known that nothing beats macaroni."

Carla regarded him thoughtfully. "You genuinely love it, don't you? It's like, your favorite food. You eat it all the time, you even bring it to school."

"I mean, yeah," he said, scratching his chin. "I think it's always been my favorite."

"Can I ask when did the love affair start?"

Samuel chuckled. "Uh, early childhood. I think it's because of my mom, she's not the best cook, but she always knew how to make a mean macaroni. That was what she'd always made for me and Nano when we were kids, and we used to hate it at the time.

"But then we learned to appreciate it. Mom was doing her best and at one point she worked two jobs to support us and had almost no time to do anything else for us. But she'd always made time to make macaroni and leave it in the fridge for us. Hence, why I actually love it reheated."

Samuel paused, smiling. "It's nostalgia, really. Whenever I eat it I just feel like I'm home, and I'm always transported back to all the times I came home after school and she wasn't there and it sucked, but then I'd find her macaroni in the fridge. She was thinking of me and that was enough, it made me feel loved."

Samuel stopped when he realized he was babbling, glancing at Carla out of the corner of his eyes shyly, to find that hers were glistening with tears.

"I'm sorry, Samuel."

"For what?"

"It's my fault they're not here."

"Carla, don't start that."

"You'd be together right now, if I had just stuck by the truth and testified."

Samuel sighed, hating the direction the conversation was headed, Nano's words still ringing in his ears. "Carla, you were protecting your family."

"And I shouldn't have. They were wrong. I was wrong. None of this would've happened, Samuel. Do you realize that?"

"Carla, they couldn't even find the murder weapon, your testimony probably wouldn't have mattered anyway."

Carla rose from her chair and Samuel instantly followed as she briskly walked to the railing overlooking the street.

"I shouldn't have lied, Samuel. A lot of things would probably be different right now. Your brother would be free and your family would be put back together. Polo would probably be in prison and not dead." she nearly chocked out the words.

Samuel couldn't handle the pain in her voice, his hand squeezing her shoulder and turning her to face him. Her eyes were haunted with guilt and sorrow, and Samuel was willing to do anything to never see that look in her eyes again.

"Carla, please don't. You'll drive yourself crazy thinking like that. It's done. It's over. What ifs could destroy you if you let them. Okay, you did what you had to - "

"God, Samuel," she interjected with agitation. "Don't excuse me. Don't make it seem like your life wasn't wrecked because of me. From the fucking start. I knew who did it while your brother rotted in jail."

"Jesus, Carla. Stop." why was she doing this? Samuel's lungs filled with anxiety as she spat out her burdens.

"No, Samuel, you stop. And just accept the truth of what I'd done. You should hate me."

"I don't." Samuel gritted his teeth. "I could never hate you. How can you say that to me? After everything."

"Samuel -"

"Enough, Carla. Whatever you wanna say, I don't care. That's always been my problem with you, I just don't care."

She gaped at him. "What?"

"I know, Carla. You don't need to tell me, I fucking know. You don't have to recite the details of every bad thing you'd done. I know and I obviously don't care. I've never cared."

Before she could open her mouth to respond, his palms grasped her cheeks, forcing her to look into his eyes. "It won't change the way I feel about you. Nothing can."

"That doesn't mean you excuse it."

"I'm not excusing it. I'm saying that I understand, that I know you were scared and you did what you were forced into thinking was the best for your family, you were protecting them, and yes I hated it. But there's this really delightful concept called empathy."

"No, Samuel -"

"Shut up," he interrupted impatiently, capturing her lips.

"Samuel." she breathed against his lips. "Please just let me say sorry, don't tell me you understand or it's all right. Just let me apologize, okay?"

He smiled softly. "Okay."

She drew in a long breath. "I'm sorry, Samuel. I'm so sorry."

"I know, Carla. I'm sorry too."

The atmosphere shifted. Everything suddenly felt final. An end. This was what it was.

Samuel's chest thudded with sadness, because they were ending a chapter of their story. And the only problem was, there were no new chapters on the horizon, no new beginnings for them. It seemed they'd reached the last chapter of the book. 

_______________________________________________________

Her blond locks flailed around her in waves as he twirled her back into his chest. The soft sound of the smooth, groovy guitar travelling to their ears as they swayed to it in the middle of his bedroom.

Samuel was immensely enjoying dancing with the definition of beauty in front of him, if he could, he'd dance with her until they dug his grave. But his heart knew he was delaying the sex part of their evening, because Samuel knew it was the last time, felt it in his bones. She felt it too.

Samuel couldn't look away from her, he never could, but tonight there was a fearful tick in the way his eyes followed her. And he tried to keep it at bay and focus on the good. The moment, this moment, she was right in front of him and his eyes were hungrily snapping mental images to store in his memories. It was disorienting to think about a future where he was going to look back at this moment and what, smile, feel sad, nostalgic?

"What was your very first impression of me?"

Her question startled him back into focus. "Uh, I didn't really know you enough to form an impression."

She wound her arms around his neck. "I know that. I just meant, from afar, before you got to peek behind the curtain, what did you think of me?"

Hot, rich, spoiled, reckless. But beyond that, Samuel didn't pay much attention to her until after Marina's death.

"Don't do that. Tell me what you're thinking."

"Do you really wanna know?"

"Absolutely. I know it's not good."

"Fine. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Carla smiled. "Easy. First time I saw you, I thought you were quite handsome, in a broody sort of way."

"Really?" his arms pulled her closer.

"Yeah, but honestly I forgot about you pretty quickly after that."

"Hey!"

She laughed, shrugging. "It's the truth."

Samuel rolled his eyes. "Well, same here. First time I saw you, the usual things ran through my mind, gorgeous and rich."

"Hmm, and you didn't like Christian being with Polo and I."

He paused, she said it with conviction and Samuel remembered the few times they'd all fought with Christian about the company he'd kept with Polo and Carla.

Samuel's eyes lowered. "That doesn't count as first impression, though." he tried feebly.

She half-grinned. "I get it. We had an unhealthy arrangement, the three of us."

Samuel felt a bile rise in his throat, irrational jealousy inflaming his stomach as he remembered Carla's past affairs.

"I don't want to talk about that," he said sternly, his lips enveloping hers roughly.

"Noted," she said after drawing back. "how about the first time you decided to get close to me. What were your thoughts of me then?"

"Carla, you know what I thought."

"No, no," her hypnotic gaze speared him, her voice turning husky. "The inner bad thoughts, handsome, the ones that made you kiss me."

His attraction to her. His fascination. Samuel gulped.

"I was equally enraged and enthralled by you," he said gravelly.

She hummed airily, sending a tingle down his spine. "Go on."

"As you know, I looked through your Instagram. And I found myself staring at your pictures - a lot."

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, smirking. "A lot? Like, when you pleasure yourself?"

That earned her a nip on the hip. "Maybe." he grinned, his cheeks burning.

"Samuel!" She laughed loudly. "hmm, Interesting."

"Do you want me to continue or not?"

"Sorry, carry on."

He sighed. "And then at the funeral, you were trying to look unaffected. But I could see the guilt and sadness in your eyes."

"Yeah? You didn't even know me."

His lips curled in remembrance. "You said that then, too. But for some reason, I could just see you - feel you."

Carla's nose brushed his cheek, her breath fanning over him, and his skin fluttered. "And then we went for drinks, and you were so straight forward with your questions."

"Well, you're too smart for that shit, we'd never really talked before, so I just cut to the chase."

Her mouth skated over his jaw, purposely avoiding his lips, and Samuel wanted to moan in frustration. "And then the kiss. Why did you kiss me?"

"Don't act like you weren't seducing me, Carla," he told her breathlessly, bunching her dress in his hands, and holding her close, something stuttering in his chest.

"Hmm, maybe I was," she murmured into his ear, taking his earlobe into her mouth and sucking. A shock-wave of desire shot up his insides. "So I distracted you and it worked. Was that it?"

No, that wasn't it. There had been an animalistic urge, something he'd never felt before. It was gravitational, a burning curiosity that had needed to be fed.

The titillating melody in the background throbbed in his system, making everything more lustrous. His breathing was ragged and panting, and fuck, he wanted to fuck her right now.

"I'd never been so forward, I was always a mess when it came to the opposite sex. I'd never done something like that, But something about you... just brought it out of me. And you were so close, I could feel you pressed against me. So beautiful, so sinful."

He paused to exhale, his voice hoarse with arousal, Carla's lips now above his. "I - I had to kiss you. It was this confusing mix of anger and desire, I needed to taste y- "

Samuel was silenced by her trembling lips. The tension swelling and magnifying and they moved slowly within it, absorbing it in sync and harmony. Despite Samuel's fears of the aftermath, he managed to shut it down, so he could drown himself in her.

Their lips hardly edged away from each other, they kept finding the other, kissing hard and long.

Samuel pulled back only slightly, so his eyes could appraise her fully, his breath hitching from the explosive want within him, he could barely breathe from the ache to have her. His fingers pried under the hem of her short dress, wanting nothing but to reach her most intimate part.

But Samuel was going to take his time, his hands sliding back up her body, till they were fondling her breasts and causing Carla to let out a sexy moan, further hardening his already very stiff length. Carla was a sensual lover, but she was also a controlled one, quiet and collected, always leaving you wanting more. Samuel prided himself in making her vocal during sex, he took it as a challenge to elicit such arousing sounds from her, he wore it like a badge of honor. And tonight he was hoping to make her scream.

They helped each other removing their clothes, shoving the unwanted garments off. Samuel softly guided her back on the bed, lying flat over her and crushing their mouths together. Curving his arm around her waist, Samuel brought her closer, his lips leaving hers to descend down her heavenly skin, sponging open mouthed kisses all over her. His mouth finally covering her breast, sucking the sensitive area greedily.

"Samuel."

Her breathy gasp jolted him to the core, his heart was racing dangerously, experiencing all too much. His mouth continued appreciating the magical creature under him, kissing along her skin. Worshipingly, he trailed down the valley of her breasts, licking and biting his way to her navel. Samuel was on fire as he gazed at her, his lips grazing her thighs as he grabbed onto the underside to spread them apart and teasing her with feather kisses.

Reaching her dripping heat, Samuel inhaled deeply, relishing her sweet scent; before burying himself in it, his tongue flattened against her folds and dragged up and down in a sluggish manner, causing Carl's back to arch off the bed with a groan.

Samuel felt a desperate need in the pit of his stomach, a need that would never be sated, his love for the woman before him scorching his skin. His tongue flicked her sensitive clit, swirling around it before devouring it in his mouth, slowly he let a finger find her opening and curl inside, hitting that spot.

"Ah, fuck."

Carla's hand tangled in Samuel's hair, tugging at his head urgently, Samuel's heart rate accelerated as he hummed against her center eagerly. A second finger joined the first, as his mouth worked on her joyfully. He licked and sucked and fingered to his heart's content, possessed by a heady strong need to drive her closer and faster to the edge. Samuel was beyond aroused from her taste, the sounds she was making, that he almost felt like he was about to lose control without even touching himself.

Samuel glanced up as Carla bucked her hips, eyes closed as his tongue and fingers pushed her off the cliff. Starting to squirm on the bed, her pussy tightened around his fingers, surrendering to her pleasure with a sob of release.

Samuel gently moved his way back over her body, pecking her flushed skin lightly. They were both breathless as she tilted her head once he reached her face, seeking his lips, her kiss tasted sweet and loving. Her palm tenderly caressed his cheek, Samuel leaning into her warm touch.

He grasped the back of her knees, and held his breath. The moment felt delicate, precious and almost fragile, her gaze encompassing his heart and mind and soul completely and irrevocably. Their mouths hovered, sharing shaky breaths as he entered her slowly.

His eyes closed at the euphoric sensation, oxygen leaving both of them entirely, as he sank deeper and deeper until she was filled to the brink, and then he stopped, savoring that overwhelming, indescribable satisfaction.

"God, Carla," he groaned, easing himself all the way out, then thrusting back in harshly. Carla moaned loudly, closing her eyes as she met his hips. And with one upward thrust and maneuver of her hips, Carla impelled Samuel on his back.

His eyes hot, raw, and dark with carnality as he stared at her. Her hair wild and untamed around her shoulders, the dim lighting of the room casting a dizzying glow on every curve of her body, and his mouth hung open in awe. Up and down his cock, she fucked him, her breasts bouncing. And Samuel was entranced, captivated, owned, as she rode him into oblivion.

With a guttural, throaty growl, Samuel sat up, clutching her waist, his mouth attacking a pebbled nipple, eliciting a loud moan from Carla, and he felt it all the way down to his toes. One swift move from him and she was on her back again, he grabbed onto her ankles, plunging in deeper, feeling her muscles clench and contract around him.

"Fuck, Carla, you - you're everything," he rasped, his voice almost unrecognizable, rocking in and out of her, and grinding his teeth as a high-pitched cry escaped Carla's lips.

Everything was in overdrive, causing tremors to travel over both of them almost painfully. His eyes were unable to leave her face, frantically tracing and memorizing every single inch of her features.

Samuel ground himself harder into her, kneading her breast harshly before swallowing her gasp into his mouth, his lips sucking hers ravenously. Every memory they'd ever shared was in the forefront of his mind, brutalizing his emotions into a sweeping, vast field that held nothing but him and Carla. Their love, their passion, their bond. They were ineffable and frightening, and Samuel had no idea how the fuck was he going to live Without her.

Carla broke away from his lips with a moan, and Samuel took pleasure in showering her neck with wet, needy kisses. She drove him insane, running her hands up and down his back and onto his ass, urging him deeper.

"Oh, Samuel," she breathed into his neck, before taking the flesh into her mouth. Samuel clasped the back of her head, needing her mouth back on his as his hips quickened, picking up speed feverishly.

"I love you so much," his voice was devoted and raw against her lips, Her nails digging into the nape of his neck deliciously as she returned his faithful confession.

He couldn't hold back any longer, he tried so hard to make this last, to stop time. But Samuel couldn't stop time and they were both falling rapidly. Their mouths gaping and meeting sloppily, messily, as they pummeled toward a blissful abyss. It crashed onto both of them mercilessly, both moaning loudly as waves upon waves of ecstasy whirled and shook their worlds apart.

Their eyes shut, arms clutching each other desperately, their lips restlessly moving and that was when it dawned on Samuel, the silent tears that had dampened their cheeks. But nothing was said, they just held on.

And the night carried on with their bodies attached, whispering declarations of love and promise as they lost themselves in each other, over and over again.

_______________________________________________________

They'd come to a silent agreement that he wouldn't be escorting her to the airport. Carla was going home to take care of a few final details before she was off, and then she would be gone. Samuel wouldn't be able to see her tomorrow. He didn't know when he was going to see her again. If he was ever going to see her again.

One day, maybe. Someday in the far future.

Ah, one days and somedays. Such consoling, yet disquieting abstractions. Someday - it gave Samuel such contradicting thoughts, it was naive, but comforting in a way that made him not as sad. But it didn't change anything. Because that day was not today, it wasn't tomorrow or next month or next year. That day was an unknown, unsolvable variable, and it was going to taunt his every waking and sleeping moment.

Carla was adorning his entryway, her eyes quiet and disconnected, he would've commented on it, if he weren't sure that his eyes held the same distance. Samuel didn't want their last few minutes to be spent like this - uneasy and uncaring. Samuel still felt it pulsing within him, the need to protect himself from this non-stop emotional hell, and he could see it in Carla too. They stood there, both trying to make their goodbye less painful, less Important. Less life-altering.

They'd also come to another unspoken understanding. They weren't gonna say it. They hadn't uttered those three words since they had been intertwined and consumed by each other for the last time.

The thought of not touching her again was enough to make Samuel crumble in front of her. But he didn't, he couldn't. Instead he smiled softly, edging his body slightly nearer to hers, afraid to close anymore inches between them, her proximity always a danger to his self-control.

"I don't know what to say," he said quietly. How do I say goodbye to you? I wish you could stay, please stay, there's so much we could be. 

"What to say?" she sighed, lips pursed in consideration. "see you later. . .no, too casual, right?"

Her weak attempt at lightening the mood fell flat and tense.

"Yeah. maybe we could go with see you soon. Nah, too unrealistic, right?"

There was a slight edge to his voice that Samuel didn't like, that he didn't want Carla to hear. Fuck, he had to be stronger than this. Carla was about to embark on her own path, finding herself without all the toxicity that had been in her life. She was going to university like any other fortunate human being. It was expected, it was normal and Samuel was happy for her.

"Yes, a little." she sent him half a smile, nerves present in her tone. "How about - will you visit?"

Samuel had been first in asking her that. Because he was desperate for a sprinkle of hope. he wanted to be able to pretend that they could have a long-distance thing, that maybe they could fly out every month to each other. But Samuel knew that was hardly an option, he didn't have the money, he didn't even have a passport yet, he couldn't travel over to be with his family. Visiting Carla was a pipe dream.

"Will you?" was his dodgy reply. Because if there were any chance he got to see Carla sooner than he believed, it was her visiting him.

Something in her eyes told him, she could read his train of thoughts. Her lips curled in wistful smile. "Of course. After all, Madrid is my home, I'll miss it too much not to."

Her words suspended in the air, neither of them saying anything for a while, giving Samuel time to breathe. Carla was about to walk out his door forever, for all he knew. And anxiety pooled in his stomach so tight, he could throw up. She was about to leave.

Samuel was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't notice that Carla had moved much closer to him, until her scent wafted its way around him, blanketing him in its warmth.

Samuel was drowning as his eyes linked with hers, her palm darting up to caress his cheek. For the first time since it had all started with Carla, Samuel didn't want her to kiss him. Because he knew for a fact he'd break down, and he wouldn't be able to bring himself to let her go. Samuel was barely holding himself together, if he got to taste her again now, he wouldn't be able to stop.

As though she knew, Carla very gingerly brushed her lips on his forehead, triggering Samuel's breath to shorten as she rested her mouth there for a minute; before finally moving her forehead to settle against his own.

"How about I say this." she paused, so close to his mouth, he felt his fists clench, trying to curb his need to diminish the distance between their lips. "When we see each other again, I hope we're both in a better place in our lives, I hope you'll be with your family, finally at peace, living your life to the fullest as Madrid's most successful justice-warrior lawyer."

Samuel chuckled softly, his heart constricting painfully at the picture she painted, because she wasn't in it. "doesn't sound too bad."

"No, it doesn't," she replied gently, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"And I hope," Samuel started, his voice weak and strained and woeful. "If we see each other - whenever we find each other again - I hope I find you happy."

"I hope I find you happy too."

Samuel didn't know if they were just words they were saying to each other to make it somehow easier. Because he only wanted to be happy with her. But his mouth remained shut as he tried to absorb these last minutes with her.

Samuel's fists finally gave up the fight, unclenching and roughly yanking Carla to him, his head buried in her neck trying to inject her scent into his veins. Their arms wrapping around each other so tightly, it felt like they were never letting go.

After a minute or an hour, Samuel didn't know nor did he care. Carla began to pull back and his arms instinctively tightened around her, trying to keep her just a little longer. But thankfully he shook himself out of it and released her slowly. They stared at each other, both of their eyes holding back tears, mouths not saying anything. No more words were needed.

Carla nodded her head slightly, as if to say 'this is it'. And then light as a feather, she floated to his front door, turning the knob, swinging it open. She stopped. Samuel was silently begging her to say it - say something, but his head was screaming at her simultaneously to just go and spare him the additional pain.

And Carla listened to it, without one more word or one more glance, she was gone.

The light click of the door shutting after her, thundered through his body viciously, making Samuel gasp loudly as he finally let the tears stream silently.

"Fuck," he whispered brokenly to the hauntingly empty house. Samuel felt a sudden sharp need for his mother, wanting her to wrap him up in her arms, to reassure him that he was going to be okay, it was all going to pass. He needed his mother so badly and she wasn't here.

No one was here.

Samuel angrily wiped at his tears. Anger. He welcomed the familiar emotion, it was better than this hollowing sadness that was threatening to take over him and never leave.

Plopping down on the couch, he grabbed his phone, only to find it open on one of the pictures they had taken together in the last few days. With his heart in his throat, Samuel sifted through them and before he knew it, he was sitting there browsing through the images again and again.

He was so fucking tired of losing her.

He stopped on one particular picture, where both of them happened to be looking at each other and not the camera, he remembered taking that picture vividly, his arm outstretched, smiling, turning to Carla to find her looking back at him. So lovingly, it took his breath away. And Samuel was lost, he could see it now in this picture, all over his face, how Carla had complete ownership of his heart - of his entire being.

They never had the chance to actually be together. That was what hurt the most, what could've been. They fell hard and fast and unexpected. They loved each other but they never had time to explore it, enjoy it, savor it.

Is it better to have loved and lost or to never have loved at all? 

Well, Samuel knew one thing with unshakable and absolute certainty, he could never, would never, regret what he'd had with Carla. The memories were irreplaceable and untouchable and they were his. She had been his, for however short amount of time, Carla had been his and Samuel had been hers. And losing her might never stop hurting, but Samuel wouldn't trade what they had for the world.

Was there destiny and fate? If Marina hadn't died would they have even found each other? Samuel couldn't think of a world where he didn't love her. Even if the events of their lives had been different, someway and somehow, they would've been brought together.

And they had found each other, so maybe they could again.

An alternate universe. A different reality and future, maybe they'd had made it. Or maybe even this universe, this future, they could one day have each other again.

Silly and stupid thoughts. But in that moment, Samuel needed them to survive. He needed to believe in these notions, even if just to stifle his anguish and despair, and save his currently lost soul. So he let them in to flicker life back into his heart. It was naive and a little pathetic, but maybe, just maybe, there was a time, in this life or another, in which they could reunite.

Because Samuel had always felt it, and even in his heartbroken, cynical state, he could still feel it.

They were inevitable.

_______________________________________________________

A/N:

It’s over! I hope you liked it!

Thank you so much to anyone who's ever given this any kind of support, reading, liking, or reblogging. And thank you so much to the people who replied or sent me an ask to give feedback, and took the time to write something, you kept me going. I hope you know how much it means to me, you're the best!

Once again, thank you all so much and please stay safe!

[war--lords]

Hot God for mitsuhide please? Congrats on milestone! 🎉

How is it possible to be busy doing nothing? Somehow there are so many little things I need to do it takes up the whole of my time. Here’s a short one. I’m sorry I’m not so productive.

The only AU here is Mitsuhide’s taste buds.

It’s quiet.

You’re the only person in the dimly lit kitchen, with only one simple task so as to not waste precious oil for the lanterns. Nevertheless, it needs to be done right. The last thing you want to do is make your client mad.

You begin by setting up the countertop for the upcoming work as you will drowsiness away from your eyes. You have been entrusted this client for a week, yet somehow you find waking up a few hours before dawn still requires more strength than climbing a hundred steps up the temple to deliver the item later.

Thinking about it has got you tired already.

Rolling up your yukata sleeves, you begin work.

You open a shallow wooden barrel to reveal rows and rows of aburage, fried tofu skin, in its golden perfection. They were prepared around midnight by your father, the client’s first chef of choice, as a way for him to help your takeover. His age is really catching up with him—something you thought would never happen, what naivete—and after twisting his ankle walking down the last few of the hundred steps that lead to the temple, he declares that you, his only child, shall shoulder that responsibility.

The temple’s abbot just couldn’t hire any other restaurant in town to make their daily offerings. 

You grab an earthen pot and pour the best grains of rice you have in store, as well as water and a little bit of vinegar. Closing its lid and placing it over an open fire, you are left waiting for it to steam. As the rice cooks, you wet your hands and begin opening up the flattened tofu pouches and placing them on a black and red lacquered wood delivery box.

The soft clatter of the shivering pot’s lid tells you that the rice is ready, so you open it to let it cool, enjoying the steam as it billows on your face. At least it’s fragrant, you think as you wipe a bead of sweat off your forehead. 

Soy sauce, cooking wine, and a pinch of sugar. You wonder if it’s too sweet. Placing your index finger into the bowl, you bring it up for a taste. Your father has never officially coached you in the kitchen, not to mention share his coveted recipe. But the abbot hasn’t complained about any of the food you’ve made for Inari Ōkami, and it has been a week since you took over, so the food must be alright. Surely.

You really have no time to dwell on insecurities. Several birds are already chirping outside, which means they sense the sun rising over the horizon soon, which in turn means you have to deliver the sushi soon.

Hurriedly pouring the sauce into the cooked rice, you use a spoon to mix them all up, careful to not smash the rice into mush. With your hands you scoop them up, shaping them in your palm before stuffing them inside the aburage pouch and flipping them right side up, so as to conceal the rice inside the pouch. Shape, stuff, flip—on and on you go, like a cogless machine going through the motions. 

It’s only a few minutes later that you’ve finished the sushi. Taking a step back, you spend a much needed second or two admiring your work—it’s definitely not your first time doing this, but somehow it still is sort of mesmerizing. The shiny skin of the tofu pouch, gleaming golden in the dim kitchen, the sweet scent of the rice... 

Oh, right, the abbot requested a kizami topping this time. You swiftly grab a small bowl of pickled red ginger and a pair of chopsticks.

“I actually prefer it plain, thank you.”

You let out a loud gasp and, in your shock and amidst your whirling to see who’s behind you, you have let go of the kizami bowl. It would crash against the ground with a loud noise and spill ginger all over the floor if not for the man’s help, because he has a hand below the bowl, smiling cunningly as he hands it back to your still surprised personage. 

It’s as if he knew that was going to happen. 

You point your chopsticks at him.

“How did you get in? What do you want?” You shout-whisper, not wanting to alert your sleeping father.

The man, hair as white as snow and clothed in the best silvers and reds, chuckles at your response. As if to prove to you he doesn’t mean any harm, he takes a few steps back to the doorframe, leaning against it without a care. 

“About a week ago I noticed the slight difference in the sushi. I am investigating, and I have found the answer that I seek.”

“Which is?” You say, clearly not understanding what is happening in the world. You can’t even bring yourself to confront him for not answering your first question.

“The old man isn’t in charge in the kitchen anymore. His,” the man’s eyes, which you now notice are gleaming yellow even in the dark, examine you from head to toe and you freeze, “only child is continuing his work.”

“And is there a problem with that?” You are aware of your words only sounding like mildly intimidating yet hollow signs of aggression, but that’s only because you want this weirdo to leave.

“Not at all. I quite like the child’s cooking, in fact.” His face remains that of lidded mischief before he chuckles again. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean to sound as though insulting you—you are clearly no child.”

“Get out of the kitchen,” you finally say. His only response to that is a few steps forward towards you and a palm pressing against the points of your chopsticks as if silently mocking you for threatening him with bamboo cutlery and not a knife. You are in a kitchen, after all.

“Do not be alarmed, little mouse. It is just that my business here is simply not complete until I can be assured that you will not put pickled ginger on my sushi.”

It is only then that you notice, through the dim of the kitchen, that the man in front of you has a tail, swishing left and right as a result of what you can only assume as annoyance. The man in front of you is no man.

You didn’t think it was possible for his smile to be bigger and look... schemier... but there he is, sporting a handsome grin that is too wide to mean anything good.

“Oh my God—”

“That would be me, yes,” he smirks, cupping your cheek. He’s suddenly standing so close. “It certainly took you a while to figure that out.”

An apologetic look passed through his eyes when he sees that you are unable to reply with a witty comeback—or any sort of response, at that, because you look like you’ve frozen up. He doesn’t blame you. Any human would rather dig themself a hole and stay there than realize that they’ve just pointed a pair of chopsticks as a way to threaten the Inari Ōkami.

He brushes his thumb against your cheek in what he hopes feels like a reassuring gesture. You look like you’ve calmed down a little. 

Looking at his face makes you feel all sorts of things in the pit of your stomach. Adrenaline, reverence, and fear—all of those conspiring to increase your heart rate to levels of medical emergency. Add that to the fact that his face is kind of close to yours and he looks nothing like you imagined (you thought all gods are supposed to be old?), you feel like you’re... blushing?

“...No pickled ginger?” You ask, hoping to distract him from the blood that’s quickly rising to your cheeks. He smiles.

“No pickled ginger.”

“I can’t do that.” Canary-colored irises widen a fraction.

“Why, pray tell?”

“The abbot is not going to accept something he didn’t order.”

“I’ll make it so that he won’t look into that box.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course, little mouse,” he says, letting go of his gentle hold on your face. He turns his attention to the lacquered wood box and hovers his hand above it. A small breeze appears in the room, and then a light from his palm, and then nothing—he turns back to you. The spell is presumably placed, and you have no idea of knowing, yet it doesn’t occur to you to question him.

“Okay,” you say, abandoning the bowl of pickled ginger on the countertop.

“Many thanks,” he says, smoothly placing himself in front of you again. You can’t help but notice that at that moment, his tail has also swished around to stroke you around your calves. 

“Your father’s recipe is astounding.” He begins, tipping your chin up to meet his gaze. You find yourself breathless. “But yours is something else. It’s exquisite.”

“Thank you,” you reply, mostly out of reflex. He’s so close!

“I hope you won’t find it troublesome if I come to visit again sometime.”

Your lips fall open, but no words come out. How can you even say no to a literal god? And there’s that smirk on his face again, like he can actually read the contents of your mind as if they were written on your forehead.

“Thank you for the food, little mouse. I’ll see you again soon.”

And then he tilts his head down, giving you the most delightful kiss on the lips that instantly renders your knees weak. There’s a taste on his mouth that feels so right, so addictive... you can’t help but close your eyes and lean into him. 

More. 

He welcomes you, guiding your hands to rest on his lean chest before snaking his own around your waist, pulling you closer, like a snake would a prey. And yet you can’t bring yourself to stop reciprocating—he chuckles against your lips as he delivers kiss after kiss, not at all shy at the sounds he makes, pulling away when you least expect him to and returning right after—

A rooster cries out from somewhere near and your eyes fly open in surprise.

He is nowhere to be found.

You find yourself immediately curling up into a sitting ball on the floor, melting in a kitchen with no live fire, save for the heat that’s generated by your cheeks, because they are positively burning. 

Inari Ōkami told you he enjoys your food and made out with you. Heavens, how was that not a dream?

The sound of birds chirping brings you back to reality. It’s sunrise. You have to deliver the sushi to the temple now lest you want to be late, which will terribly affect your father’s reputation. Trying to ignore your heart beating loudly in your ears, you put a lid on the box of ginger-less inari sushi, and you suddenly realize something.

If the abbot chews you out for messing up his order, you’ll know the fox man was a fever dream.

If the abbot really doesn’t look inside the box, you’ll know he was real.

Hurriedly slipping your geta on, you have a feeling that everything will be okay—the abbot will be too busy to personally receive his order and he won’t be looking inside the box because it’s a sacred offering. You’ll be paid as usual. Perhaps you’ll get to meet him again soon, maybe as you leave the temple grounds, but when you do meet he’ll definitely be smirking that smirk of his again.

Touching your lips, you wonder if you’ll get the chance to kiss him before long.

[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 14

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 14 - Fortress

The chiming of the grandfather clock roused Gold from his bitter reverie, and in a single motion he crumpled the single sheet of paper still on the desk beside his hand, and rose to his feet to take it to the fireplace in the lounge. He hadn’t meant to light a fire until morning, but after the message he just received from Jefferson, he knew he would be getting little sleep, and so it would be good to be warm. Two birds, one stone.

He used the sheet of crumpled paper to light the kindling, onto which he built his fire. He knew he should answer Jefferson, but he wasn’t going to do anything until he was certain of his own safety. Storybrooke had been his haven, a shelter from the threat of unfinished business, and he wasn’t about to put that in jeopardy. Not for any reason.

If they found him, it was only a step of logical thought for them to find Bae, and he was not going to let that happen.

Moving slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, he made his way to the bookcase in the corner of the room, and reaching to the top shelf took down his copy of Selected Poems of Robert Burns and flipped the book open to the back cover, and ran his fingertips along the edge, where the cover met the spine. He quickly found the roughened area where glue had replaced the stitching and with his fingernail, began to chip away at the glue as he walked with the book toward the kitchen.

It was much easier to open the space within the spine of the book where the small, silver key was hidden with the aid of a sharp knife. Still he was careful.  He didn’t want to damage the book any more than was necessary to access the key. Once it was in his hand, he set the book down on the kitchen table, and grabbing the flashlight from the small shelf beside the back door, headed out into the yard, and to the basement.

He was careful as he descended the steps, feeling for the edge of each with his cane even while looking at the steps barely illuminated in the dim light given off by the flashlight, and for perhaps the hundredth time reminded himself that he really should rewire the switch to the light so that it was at the top of the steps, and not on a pull cord at the bottom. Still, he reached the floor of the basement without incident and turned on the overhead light.

As he always did when he came down to the basement, he let his eyes settle over the spinning wheel he kept in the corner, beside the small loom. Neither were unused. In fact, he took a strange kind of pride in spinning his own yarn for the crafts he pursued, and the fabric he made on the loom. Some, he sold in the shop, others he used to augment the furnishings in the properties he owned. It was, and he sighed, a legacy of the time he sought to escape - his only means of escape - when the melancholy took him.

He shook it off. He had to. Almost ten years since he’d had any contact with Jefferson Milnor, and he didn’t imagine that after all that time the FBI Agent was contacting him on a whim. It could only mean that the man was in serious trouble.

He edged his way past the wheel, careful not to disturb it, to the door set in the far wall, and pushed the tiny key into the padlock that secured it shut. He stopped then. Why the hell should it matter to him what kind of trouble the man was in…?

”Really…?” the woman others would have called their mother but who, for him, could never be further from the maternal figure she named herself, swaggered in, hips swaying beneath her crisp black suit. The fascinator perched on the side of her head swayed as she came to a halt, dark feathers waving as though in an imperceptible breeze. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out what you were planning?”

He stilled in the thrall of a terrible memory. The memory of his debt.

She stalked toward him, then around, finger trailing around him as she circled him. Her heels made a regular beat against the concrete floor of the hanger.

“I don’t ask for much,” she said. “You know that. Have you enjoyed privilege so long that you’ve forgotten what loyalty means?”

“Loyalty?” he scoffed. Privilege? Us takin’ the risks while you sit around playin’ God? Never a care for what the likes of us must dae to keep ye—”

“If you’re going to argue with me, at least have the decency not to sound so beastly!” she snapped. “But, no…” She appeared to be having a conversation with herself. “You know what I expect, and the cost of failing me.” She barely turned her head to instruct, over her shoulder, “Bring the boy.”

“No!” his voice rang out but once, before he fell to stammering, “You… y-y- ye can’t.  Please, not ma boy… he didn’t ever do anything wrong. Never crossed you.  That… that was me - would-a-been-me.  Please…”

“Oh, please… please don’t… he can’t…” she mocked him. “It’s different, isn’t it, when it’s one of your own?”

“Please… don’t… don’t hurt him,” he continued, heedless of her sarcasm.

She snapped her fingers and the green clad woman stepped up along side two other men who half dragged, half carried the struggling Baethan between them.

“Papa…!” Bae implored.

“It… It’ll be all right, Son,” he said, but Fiona interrupted him again.

“No… no I rather think not. You see, Baethan, your father’s not the man I thought he was, and unfortunately, that means you are the one that has to pain the price.”

Gold almost physically shook himself to break the replay before it could go further. Night after night he woke to the nightmare of his son’s pain, and the deep explosive sound of the gunshots that saved him… saved them both.

As if in sympathy, a burst of pain spread upwards from his ankle and into his calf, and he leaned heavily on the doorway he had been about to unlock.  No… he could not deny that he owed Jefferson his life, and more than that, the chance of life for his son.

With a flick of his wrist, and before he could second guess himself again, Gold released and removed the padlock, and pulled open the door to the room beyond. He reached around the doorway, his fingers brushing cobwebs as he flicked on the light, and then stepped within.

Allowing himself only the further delay of a deep breath, he moved toward a bank of electronic equipment, and flipped the switch to turn it on, watching as one by one lights blinked to life and the muted whir of cooling fans filled the air. As the blinking of lights became steady, he pulled out the sliding shelf on which a keyboard rested, and reached to turn on the screen to the computer, to enter the code, rendered in the same cypher as the one used by Agent Milnor in his message, that would activate the security system.

Never. Again!

**

“Jesus, Gold, you look like crap!”

“Good morning to you too, Sheriff Swan,” he replied to her greeting as he grounded his cane between his legs in front of him, both hands folded over the ornate handle.

“Yeah,” she huffed, “that too.” Standing from behind her desk, she snatched the bunch of keys from the top of it and began to move toward the two cells, one of which - as usual - was occupied by Leroy. It seemed to Gold like he was either the town drunk, or the town trouble maker. “Come to offer your services to our friend here?”  She nodded toward where the man in question sat with his head in his hands, evidently nursing the mother of all hangovers.

“Hardly,” Gold said dryly. “I doubt Mister Maren could afford my services, and even if he could, unless he’s committed a greater crime than drinking himself into a stupor…?”

He trailed off, affording the sheriff the opportunity to fill him in on the details, if there were any to be had. Instead it was Leroy that answered.

“Oh, go to hell, Gold,” he moaned and winced as he raised his head from his hands, squinting at the light as he did so, and then moaned again as the sheriff - deliberately, as far as Gold could tell - rattled the keys against the cell door as she unlocked it. “What would you know about drinking yourself into oblivion.”

You’d be surprised, Gold thought, as the sheriff admonished the drunk to keep his nose clean and not to end up in her cells again for at least another month. Small chance of that, Gold decided as the sheriff turned back to him.

“So, if you’re not here for Leroy, what are you here for,” she asked. “Doesn’t seem like you to be making a social call.”

“Oh, I’m not,” he assured her with a viper smile. No reason he couldn’t kill two birds with one stone, and it might provide him with a better chance to do as he came for. “Simply to remind you that Miss Blanchard instructed me to call upon you for this month’s rent.”

“Ah, shit!” she answered, mumbling to herself afterwards, “I knew there was something I meant to do yesterday.”  Then to Gold, she added, “Take a check?”

“I prefer cash,” he said smoothly.

“Of course you do,” she muttered.

“The bank is open,” he suggested, staring down at the pocket watch he had drawn from his waistcoat.

“Can’t leave the station unmanned,” she said.

“I’m certain I could answer any phone calls that might occur during your brief absence,” he said.

“I just—” she began, but he interrupted her.

“After today, I’m afraid I’ll have to impose a ten percent late fee.”

“Ten perc—” she spluttered. “That’s outrageous!”

He spread his hands. “And yet, if you’d care to examine the terms of the lease, which you signed, I think you’ll find it’s quite clear.”

He fixed her with a level stare, until eventually, she threw up her hands.

“Fine!” she said in a tone that told him it was anything but fine. “Don’t touch anything. She told him as she pulled her red leather jacket from the back of her chair and shrugged into it as she walked toward the door, calling back, “Except the phone. You can touch that… but only if it rings.”

“What do you take me for, Sheriff Swan?” he asked with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

“You don’t want me to answer that.” Her voice drifted in from the hall beyond the glass divide.

As soon as she was out of sight, Gold moved around to take the chair behind the sheriff’s desk and pulled the keyboard closer to him. He knew he wouldn’t have much time to do as he needed to, so quickly using a workaround for the not-so-secure Town of Storybrooke municipal server, and then logged himself in through remote access to his own VPN, he accessed the portal to the wider law enforcement networks.

What seemed like centuries ago now, he had created a ghost login with a high security clearance in the event that he had to do something like this; hoping that he never had to.

As soon as he was connected, he ran a search for disturbances and BOLOs in Boston and the surrounding areas.

A shiver of ice stiffened his spine when he read of the multi-agency raid on an estate on the western edge of the Greater Boston area believed to be the center of a human trafficking organization, and a hotbed of drug use and supply. He swallowed hard, recognizing the modus operandi of his mother’s nest of vipers and villains from which he’d managed to make his costly escape. Jefferson had been a young agent undercover then. Was he still?

The raid appeared to have gone badly, with many agents injured, several dead, and he found himself hoping, strangely it felt to him, that Agent Milnor was not among them, but no. The man was like a cat with at least eight of his lives remaining. He knew eight because he had been the one responsible for the loss of the ninth.

Listening for the telltale footfalls that would signal the sheriff’s return, he continued searching, making the assumption that Jefferson had escaped - but where would he go? He heard the squeak of the door - thank the gods for the town’s lack of maintenance - just as he spotted it: the report of an officer involved shooting, well, two officers to be exact and they appeared to have been on the receiving end of said shots, at a disused shopping district several miles outside of Boston. There was an associated BOLO for a stolen Ford Taurus, an agency car, and a warning that the perpetrator was armed and dangerous, and appeared to have a hostage in tow.

It had to be Milnor, but who the hell did he have with him?

Out of time, he quickly emailed the information to himself, shut down his access and switched logins to guest where he pulled up a game of Solitaire and made a few, deliberately careless moves, and was just making a concentrated effort to make a few more when Sheriff Swan walked into the room.

“Gold!” she snapped, and he looked up at her with a sardonic smile. “I told you not to touch anything.”

“You expected me to stand the whole time on this leg?” he tapped his ruined ankle with the end of his cane before looking back up at her with his head tilted to the side.

“And the computer?” she folded her arms across her chest.

“Bored,” he said, then added, “Rent?”

Sheriff Swan came around the side of her desk just as he pushed himself to his feet. She huffed. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a Solitaire kind of guy.” He simply raised an eyebrow, and she fished a stuffed envelope out from her pocket and thrust it in his direction. “It’s all there.”

“I don’t doubt it, Sheriff,” he said as he took it and then moved around her, wound as tight as a spring, but trying to appear as confident as always. He made it all the way to the door before he turned back to her and said, “I’m not.”

“Hmm?” she asked.

“I much prefer the game where you have to work out where all the bombs are hidden.” He wrinkled his nose in a little sneer as he said, “I love the sound they make when they go off.” Then with barely a pause added, “Good day, Miss Swan.”

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 31 – Seed of Trouble

“I was careless,” lamented Tao in Takio and M-21’s presence, his head drooped as Raizel was wordlessly watching him.

Although the man was seated in sofa, they felt as if he were kneeling in repentance.

Takio knew that Tao did nothing wrong. So did M-21 and Raizel.

In fact, they offered on several occasions words of condolence, trying to convince him that there is nothing for him to apologize about, which fell deaf on Tao’s ears.

Nevertheless, in consideration of what had taken place, they understood why Tao appeared so remorseful.

“I should have told myself we’re not out of the woods until the QuadraNet is completely active. I should have reminded myself there could be situations during which I could be bound hand and foot. I mean, after everything that had happened with Crombell’s nuclear missiles, I...!”

That day they were supposed to record the date on their history book – the day that QuadraNet came alive for very first time.

However, they had to save the champagne for later because of the trouble that occurred on the same day.

The very moment when servers of Lukedonia, KSA, werewolves, and Frankenstein’s house were linked together, their databases were marred by sounds and lights signaling error.

Following suit, communications were lost, and firewalls and protection wares were dismantled one by one.

Tao pulled every measure in panic, to prevent anything resembling Crombell’s nuclear missile incident from taking place, to later find out that everyone had gone through the same phenomenon.

“But we didn’t really lose the server, did we?”

“We didn’t lose anything, did we...?”

“...We didn’t. But I’d say it’s a miracle that we didn’t lose anything. To be honest, I can’t believe nothing was ever lost. I’m even thinking that I might have failed to notice a damage on our side. That was how dire the situation was.”

And his words were no exaggeration or a bluff.

Their servers were protected in layers, with firewalls within firewalls and protective wares within wares.

Thanks to them, the sudden error left minimal damage on the firewalls, partially because Tao was extremely nimble with his actions.

Nonetheless, the fact that heavily protected firewalls were damaged albeit little is of no light matter.

Not to mention Tao, the master artisan in computers, had to force himself into confusion and toil for once.

“It’s a good thing I was here for us.”

“You mean...”

“Oh, don’t worry. Their servers are fine. So are their data. But it was very, very close, they said.”

Takio and M-21, as much as they were relieved, clenched their teeth tightly, as if silently protesting Tao for very nearly giving them a heart attack.

“...So did you guys figure out what was the problem?”

“Based on the pattern at the very least, we believe it was caused by hack.”

“A hack?”

“So are you saying somebody hacked our data?”

“By whom?”

“I said based on the pattern at the very least. Such pattern would be found when data are hacked, but I found no leakage or loss of data. I told you – nothing was lost in the first place.”

His two teammates nodded in relief.

“But...”

But?

What now?

Takio and M-21 let their faces fling the questions.

“When there’s a consequence, there’s always a cause.”

“...Are you saying the only reason why you’d find pattern similar to a hacking pattern is because there was an actual attempt of hacking?”

“That’s what I presume.”

“...Is it the Union?”

And of course, the very first name to take the blame was their sworn nemesis, now no better than a punching bag, though its tenacity and reputation were beyond any earthly imagination to be attributed to a mere punching bag.

“That’s the thing. I wouldn’t say that I’ve spent a lot of time at the Union, but I’d say I’ve spent quite a long time. During my time at the Union, I engraved in my mind every form and pattern of hacking in this world. Just say the word, and I can simulate any of them with my eyes shut.”

“Couldn’t expect anything else. So?”

“And my experiences and knowledge tell me that...”

Tao hesitated like a doctor about to diagnose a patient with the last stage of cancer, and he voiced himself with a wretched expression.

“Simply put – with explanations put aside, due to the level of background knowledge they require – if this were really caused by hacking, it was attempted from inside, not outside.”

At instant Takio’s and M-21’s facial muscles were distorted in different directions.

“What do you mean, inside?”

“When the four servers were combined into a single giant network. That was when the issue erupted from within – at least that’s what it looked like.”

“You sound like somebody among us was waiting for the moment to hack the servers.”

Takio whispered, wearing a face that was so blatantly demanding Tao to correct him.

To his dismay, Tao so very successfully crushed his hope with his silence.

Enemy within and betrayal are no strangers to the three modified humans.

After all, to Union they have been classified as traitors.

And it is quite common to see agents who used to pick on each other to bicker and fool around finding themselves obligated to pick on each other’s head, depending on their adherence within the Union.

However, never have they imagined discussing enemy within at this time.

It was hard for them to imagine that one of the men and women who were jointly against the Union decided to turn their back on the rest.

They first and foremost shifted their attention to the forces closest to the Union, now that they were discussing potential betrayal.

“Are you sure that the ones who were loyal to Maduke are gone now?”

“I’d say so, based on what Lord Muzaka said. I mean, you don’t expect anybody to remain loyal to that guy, after everything he had done, do you? I heard even before 1st and 3rd Elders invaded the werewolf realm, the surviving warriors who once pledged their allegiance to Maduke forsook their allegiance long time ago.”

“But since you’re talking solely about warriors, I’m thinking same cannot be said of the non-warriors.”

“Well, you’ve got a point. The werewolf researchers and doctors have rarely changed from the time when Maduke was their top dog. But I’d say it was inevitable. They’re responsible of werewolves’ health and physical welfare, so you can’t remove them like emptying and refilling shelves just because they used to serve Maduke.”

As he spoke, Tao looked particularly uncomfortable.

He knew now that they have brought the werewolf researchers out on the court, it was so obvious who would be on the trial.

To add to his trouble, Tao had enough witness to render his suspicions valid.

“Do you think that the head researcher of werewolves has anything to do with this...?”

“...Actually, that’s what I wanted to discuss.”

Tao began his tale, with Raizel’s ruby-red gaze soundlessly blazing across his face.

*****

“If you didn’t lose any data or server, that is all we could ever ask for.”

Tao sighed out a reply, the situation wrapped up somewhat; he looked as if cellular aging took place at an accelerated rate, miraculously embodying a face of a man at least 50 years older than he is.

So was Adne, Yuhyung, and KSA’s doctor.

Even Frankenstein looked like he was in an awful need for a coffin instead of a cot.

“First we’ll try to dissect the issue, so for the next few days, I’d like all of you to please be careful handling the data. Make sure to check the firewalls on multiple basis, and...”

With all directions dispensed, monitors blinked off.

Tao brushed his face with his hands and was about to leave, but a mortally disheartened voice snatched his legs in a halt.

<I am terribly sorry, my lord.>

Tao recognized the voice – it belonged to Adne.

‘Is the connection still effective? But then how come I’m picking up only his voice?’

Normally Tao would have hurriedly notified the doctor to turn off the mike.

Notwithstanding, he was transfixed, his judgment compromised by what had taken place.

And he stayed keen on the conversation of two werewolves for which he was uninvited.

<This is all because I am not good enough. I was the last one to regain connection, and I had no idea this would be coming...>

<I’d thought you gave me your word that you will no longer say something like that. Judging by what the others told us, we were the ones with the least damage – at least on the surface. Doesn’t that serve as a proof of your abilities?>

<But...>

<When Maduke had taken the throne to himself, he made you the head of his research team. And I’m sure he did so for a reason. In fact, you took part in most of his researches and even led some of them. As much as I’d hate to admit it, he did have good insights regarding personnel. So that just proves how good you are.>

<Forgive me, my lord – I do not mean whatsoever to deride what you’re saying. But I cannot agree with what you just said. You know how I was loyal to Maduke. I willingly became his faithful follower. He told me that I’ll get to experience the best of the best in research once I dedicate myself to him, and thus I gave wings to his avarice.>

Tao did not even realize he was almost crushing the monitor in his grip.

He was busy retracing Adne’s words in his head, questioning his own hearing.

<That’s why I gave my all for the QuadraNet project. I wanted to make up for my wrongdoings. But throughout the course of my effort, I could only feel how incompetent I am. I learned that my knowledge and skills are nothing but a child’s play.>

<Really? Then that’s great!>

<...Beg your pardon?>

<Now you’ve found a reason to give your all for this project. If you can’t be the best, you just have to be better. This is something I’d always tell kids that wish to challenge me, whenever they get frustrated and disappointed how there’s a huge gap in our powers and decide to relinquish their dreams.>

Muzaka exchanged a few more banter-slash-encouragement with Adne, who was increasingly embarrassed, before his voice glimmered away.

The lights on the monitors flickered a couple more times before all functions were terminated; yet Tao could not even budge.

‘Dr. Adne was the lead researcher under Maduke...?’

The fact alone cannot shock Tao to a dismal level; he already knew that the current research and medical team among werewolves used to belong to Maduke.

But he had supposed they were simply bewitched by Maduke’s grievously greedy propaganda. Or compelled to obey and serve because of his massive power.

Adne, however, was different. It turned out that though Maduke did sugarcoat his mind with his gift in mind tricks, the werewolf doctor voluntarily joined the tyrant in order to make his own ambitions come true.

Now Tao could feel how things that were used to seem trivial began to add to his suspicion.

Adne was the only one who experienced delay before they initiated the server unification.

He muttered that he wanted to be an expert in midst of their conversation.

And he told Muzaka that their damage was the least serious one, at least on the surface.

‘What if Dr. Adne in fact had not abandoned his ambitions? What if he’s lying to everyone else?’

Tao could not leave his computers for a while; he had seen and heard and experienced too much at the Union to quiet his doubt.

*****

“So this Adne guy is the one?”

“Not sure. For now all I have is suspicion.”

“But it’s too sharp to be dubbed suspicion. I mean, the situations all fit.”

The three members of the RK threw up huge balls of air in synchronization.

“But let’s say he really is the one. Then how in the world did he manage to hack three servers at the same time, at the werewolf territory? Yes, the networks were connected, but the servers are all managed and maintained in different styles. He would have had to come up with three different hacking patterns.”

“...Either he actually came up with three. Or he pulled some technique we’re unaware of. Or he has someone to help him.”

M-21 made Tao’s and Takio’s wrinkles much deeper on their foreheads.

The question of Adne’s loyalty was a headache enough, and they hated to imagine what would happen if it later turned out the werewolf doctor was not alone in this.

At least they knew one thing for certain.

“...Let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being.”

“Agreed. There’s no need to raise unwanted trouble.”

As the three men nodded in agreement, Raizel remained placid, not even blinking with a countenance that hinted not the slightest of what he was processing within.

(next chapter)

They say silence is gold, but we shall see if this case will lead to a gold mine lol

[bangtan-madi]

hi! could you please do number 5 from the time loop prompts with our lovely zen? thank you so much~!

Sorry this took forever to get written!! Thank you for being so patient. Hope you enjoy!! :)

There is something about this crowd that sends you off-kilter. It's not the usual clash of sounds, nor is it the bustle of people. Shoulders brushing shoulders as car horns blare and train tracks rattle, those are things you're used to from living in a busy city. Cell phones going off and people chattering in various dialects and languages are not new to you.

And at first, you don't give the tall, pale-haired man a second glance. Your elbow brushes his, and you keep moving forward. As does he. Neither of you stumble or turn back to apologize. Why would you? There are a hundred thousand people in this square at this very moment. Why would this one render your undivided attention? 

You continue along your way, stumbling through the hoard of citizens of every background. The conglomerate pushes you forward and away from the man in a silver trench-coat.

As you do, a terribly and empty feeling tugs at your heart. It's almost nauseating. The more you walk away from the center of the square, the more your breath catches in your lungs, the more your throat constricts, and the more your eyes start to water. Everything inside you is telling you to stop, to turn, to go back to where you were.

That instinct, above all else, strikes you to your core.

And you obey.

Turning on your heel, you shift your gaze back towards the direction from which you came. Oddly enough, the man in the silver trench-coat stands still, just a few feet away from the center. His back is turned to you, but you can see his shoulders heave heavily. It seems his breathing has become just as difficult as yours.

But why? Why this person? Why this place? Why right now? A million questions of this nature swirl around inside your skull, and they prompt you to take the first step back towards him.

The closer you get, the more relief floods through your system. Breathing comes easier. You find your voice again. Even movement becomes natural again. And as you reach out towards the stranger, without really knowing why, a wave of emotion pours over you.

"Excuse me, I--"

Your words and your thoughts are cut short as your fingers brush his arm for a second time. This instance, you're overwhelmed with imagery of another life. This man and you are the stars of this show. How or why or when are irrelevant as the story plays out in your mind.

The moment you met. The moment you first kissed. The moment you first said, "I love you." The moment you first made good on those words. The moment you married. These, and so much more, consume your senses, and you remember the finer details when you focus on them. The chatrooms, the friends, the intruder, the party, the plays, the weddings and baby showers sleepless nights and Z--

You pull your hand away as the story comes to an end. Not knowing how or why or when, but one thing is illuminatingly clear: this man and you shared a life together. You loved each other. And, eventually, you lost each other.

How could you forget about all of that?

Tears pour from your eyes as the pale-haired man finally turns towards you. The expression of confusion shifts to wide-eyed worry as he reaches for you, gently grasping your shoulders.

"Hey, hey! There's no need to cry. What's wrong, Jagiya? I'm not sure what I can do, but I can do what I can to help. Please, just calm down and I'll help you. Promise."

The nickname only brings back more of that lost life. Needless to say, your tears refuse to halt.

Desperately, the man bends down to be more at eye-level with you. "Please, don't cry. The last thing I want to do make a pretty lady like you sad."

You wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve and gaze up at the familiar man's scarlet eyes. "You really don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Everything!" you exclaim. "You didn't feel anything when I touched your coat?"

He sighs and shakes his head slightly. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe I should take you to a hosp--"

"--No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "No, we know each other. Your name is Zen. Your birth name is Hyun Ryu. You love to act on stage, and you hate cats because you're allergic. Your close friends are Yoosung, Saeyoung, and Jaehee. You pretend to hate Jumin, but when it comes down to it, you like him, too."

Zen's crimson gaze softens a little, but you can tell he doesn't believe you or remember anything. "That's awfully sweet that you're such a huge fan, but I don't think we've met before."

You grab the periphery of his coat and pull him closer, intensifying your voice. "Your mother called you ugly, and your brother betrayed you, so you left home when you were a teenager. You joined a biker gang and made a lot of mistakes before joining the RFA because of Rika and V. They were your friends, too."

"Wait, how do you know all of that about me?"

"Because I know you, Zen! And you know me. You’re the kindest, most compassionate and creative person I know. You give everything and expect nothing in return. You’re trying to quit smoking because you know how much I hate it. And you’re easing up on riding your motorcycle because I’m scared for your safety. It took you a while to realize that your mother was wrong and that you really are handsome, but your confidence is contagious, and you’ve made me one of the happiest people alive.”

Zen releases your shoulders with a perplexed and lost expression on his face. "I'm not sure what you're trying to do here, but you must've found that on the internet. Not sure how--" He shakes his head. "Who are you?"

"You know!" you exclaim desperately. "You know exactly who I am. You have to--You have to remember. Remember the night under the stars. Remember the day we adopted that Siberian kitten named Mai. Remember the telling me, 'Thank you for choosing me.' Remember our baby girl. Remember I love you. Remember everything before the reset. You have to. Remember me!"

In his hesitation, you see something familiar flicker across his unusual eyes. If you hadn't been gazing at them at the time, you might've missed it. There one second and gone the next, but it was something. You see it on his face; he just remembered something.

"M--MC?"

At the unprompted mention of your name, you slip your fingers up to the collar of his jacket and pull his face down towards yours. He allows you, and your lips meet in the middle. Pouring every bit of memory and love and hope into the kiss, you use the gesture to show him you mean it, that you're telling the truth, that he can remember if he tries. You see that sliver of that past life in his eyes, and like hell you're going to let it slip away.

Something unlocks inside Zen's brain as you press your mouth to his a second time. This time, he kisses back, equally passionate. Everything about you is so familiar. Your voice, your kiss, your appearance, even your tears: Zen knows he's done this all before. Even if he doesn't remember everything, his entire being knows you're telling the truth.

If there's one thing he remembers at this very moment, it's that your name has been circling around in his mind for longer than he's realized.

Zen's hands move for your waist, pulling you closer as his fingers slip under your jacket. Your tiny gasp into the kiss causes him to smile. He tilts his head as you move one hand into his hair, tugging at the shorter, loose strands at the back of his head. The meeting between you goes from innocent and hopeful to passionate and desperate in a matter of moments. As the kiss deepens, it seems you've both forgotten that you're standing in the middle of a busy street. 

Eventually, when you both pull away due to lack of oxygen, Zen pulls you closer and buries his head into your shoulder. He crushes you against him as you gasp for air, wanting to have you even closer but never getting to the point where he's satisfied with the distance between you.

"Do--Do you remember now?" you whisper, happily feeling his speeding pulse as you rest your chin on his shoulder.

"Not everything," he replies, pulling back to stare down at you. "But I remember that I love you. I remember MC, and I feel--I know there's so much more than that. Do you think we can start from there, Jagiya? Maybe you can help me remember the rest?"

A different kind of tears prick your eyes, and a wide grin spreads across your face as you nod. "You know I will,” you breathe, standing on your tip-toes to give him another peck. "For you, my love, anything." 

[i-think-2-much]

Morgan Stark+Babysitter Peter Parker

Peter nearly lost his balance as Karen’s voice startled the white noise of the city below him. He had been perched on his favorite gargoyle (a hilariously deformed figure on the roof of an apartment complex on 54th and 3rd) for what felt like an hour, his vision scanning the streets for some sign of trouble. It was relaxing. The only sounds were the hum of conversation, cars, and various machines that blended together into a pleasant, familiar hum. The wind that came along with being so high whipped past him, gently cooling him and preventing the spider suit from getting too hot.

That’s when Karen spoke up, “You have a call.”

He was in such a meditative state that when Karen’s clear, robotic voice shattered the silence, he jumped and had to scramble to keep himself on the gargoyle, “Oh jeez, Karen! You scared me!”

“Peter. You’ve fought aliens, monsters, and fought in a war unlike any seen by an Earthen, and you got scared by a voice?” Karen asked, confused.

“Well, yeah,” Peter huffed, trying to get his heart rate under control, “It came out of nowhere and-- wait, you said I have a call? From who?”

“Pepper Potts.”

Peter blinked, “Weird. I don’t really talk to her that often. Answer it, please,” Peter let a moment pass before launching into his usual phone call introduction, “Hey, you’ve reached Peter Parker. What can I do for you today Ms. Potts. No wait! Mrs. Stark, right? You guys got married while I was… you know. I’m sorry. This has already turned sad. What’s up?”

“I just found an old upgrade Tony was planning on making for your suit, and I was wondering if you wanted to swing by and pick it up. I can’t make any sense of it, but you’re a clever kid. You might be able to figure it out,” Pepper explained.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to drop by Miss uh…” Peter hesitated, “What do you want me to call you?”

“Pepper is fine.”

“Okay, Pepper,” Peter affirmed, testing out the name, “Any specific time?”

Pepper sighed, “Just whenever you can. I’m going to be working from home all day. Morgan’s babysitter quit without any warning and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Peter hadn’t run into the daughter of Tony Stark very many times. He didn’t interact with the Starks as much as he wanted to, really. He had always been closer to Tony than Pepper, and now since they didn’t have Tony in common, it was sort of awkward. The two couldn’t be any more different: the single mother who was CEO of Stark industries and was constantly finding new tech in her house, and the high schooler who could barely get his homework done because he just happened to be a superhero. Or maybe they could be more different. Whatever the reason was, Peter and Pepper never clicked like they had with Tony.

Due to their lack of a relationship, Peter hadn’t seen much of Morgan. He spoke to her briefly at Mr. Stark’s funeral, and a few times at the formal events Pepper was sometimes forced to make her attend when her babysitters backed out. Still, Peter could hear the stress and the frustration leaking through his suit’s speakers.

He already regretted his decision, but spoke anyway, “You know, the city’s really calm right now. I could keep an eye on Morgan for a bit. I’m generally pretty good at making sure people don’t kill themselves or die in some form. I should be able to keep her alive. Other than that, I make no promises.”

Pepper laughed, but it was tense, “I appreciate the thought, but it’s okay.”

Peter pushed himself to his feet, “Okay, well then I’ll just swing by webber you want me to or not,”

Pepper sighed, “Can you superhero types go a day without making a pun?”

“Sorry Miss, that’s against my contract,” Peter joked.

“Just come pick up this upgrade before Morgan finds it and does something she’s not supposed to,” Pepper pleaded.

Peter took a few steps back, crouched into a sprinting stance, and took off in a mad sprint. When he reached the end of the building, he pushed off with all his might, effectively launching himself in the air.

He hung with a final, “On my way,” and turned his attention to the challenge in front of him. He sent out a web and gripped the coarse cord. He’d probably have to find somewhere to change and just take the bus to the Stark’s place… Or he could just hitch a ride on a bus. Was that legal?

Peter dismissed the concept and turned his mind to other matters, “Karen? Would you please call Aunt May for me?”

The speaker in his suit rang a few times before the woman picked up, “Hey Peter! Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I helped a kid get home after school. He got lost, so I gave him a ride. That was adorable. And I managed to prevent a bank robbery the second it started. This dude was acting, like, super suspicious, so I followed him into a bank and caught him as soon as he took out his gun. Not a single shot fired.

“ Anyway, I just got a call from Pepper—you know, Tony’s Pepper— and she found a suit upgrade Tony had been working on before… Anyway, she wants me to pick it up ASAP. Apparently Morgan has developed an interest for that sort of stuff.”

May let out a little laugh, “Well then you and Morgan have a lot in common. How are you planning on getting there?”

Peter had to dodge a particularly low-flying bird before answering, “I’ll just take the bus. It’s not too long of a ride,”

“Don’t you have an essay due soon?” May reminded him.

He considered the problem before making a decision, “I can type it out on my phone during the bus ride. It’ll be fine.”

May sighed, “Okay, fine, just stay safe. I lost you for five years. I never want to lose you again. You know how much I love you, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I love you too. I love you too.”

With immense difficulty, Peter located the next bus to the Stark’s neighborhood and secured himself a little spider-nest on the top and began typing away. Thankfully, he had had the foresight to download a digital copy of the book he was analyzing, which meant that he could just switch between his writing app and the ebook. It was annoying, but doable. By the time the bus was off the highway, his essay was completed and sent to Ned for a peer review.

Not too long after that, Peter found himself ringing the doorbell of the Stark’s house. He hadn’t been on this property since Tony’s funeral. He could remember crying on the bench on the front porch with May running her hands through her hair mumbling reassurances, but May hadn’t been there. She wasn’t the one holding him as the life faded out of his body. Watching as the life—

Pepper opened the door, pulling him out of her thoughts, “You’re wearing your suit? Of course you are. Why not. Come in.”

Peter lowered his mask as he entered the house. He had briefly seen it during the funeral, but he was a bit distracted. Now that his eyes weren’t blurry from tears, he could admire the rustic decor. It drastically juxtaposed with his original expectations of the Stark’s home. The CEO of the most powerful company in the US and one of the generation’s greatest innovators lived in a warm, quaint, older home without the stainless steel accents and whites Peter had expected.

“You have a lovely home,” Peter notified Pepper.

Pepper brushed a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear, “Yeah, Tony built it himself. I had no idea what he was up to. I actually got mad at him, because I was pregnant and he just ran off, but then he showed me…”

Peter brushed a hand against their kitchen table, studying the wood grain, “And let me guess, the Table’s actually a 3D model rendering system that can be used for calculating quantum theories?” He speculated.

“I’m pretty sure you were being sarcastic, but it actually is,” Pepper confessed.

“Oh no, I wasn’t. Mr. Stark always thinks of everything. He made me a space suit and a parachute built into this suit.”

“Mama, can we please play now?” A small voice pleaded from the adjacent room, “It’s been ages.”

The tiny girl went around the corner and froze at the sight of Peter, “There is a weird human in our house. You’re human, right?”

Peter grinned, “Yeah. I’m Peter Parker.”

The girl smirked and crossed her arms, “No you’re not. You’re Spider-Man.”

Peter froze, “How did you—“ he paused and looked down at his Spider-Man suit, “Oh.”

Morgan walked over and grabbed Pepper’s leg, “Mama, why is Spider-Man at our house?”

“Daddy made something for him awhile ago before everyone came back. He just came to pick it up,” Pepper explained.

Morgan gasped, her hands darting to cover her mouth in disbelief, “Daddy knew Spider-Man!”

“She’s a fan,” Pepper explained. Morgan just stared at Peter in awe.

Peter grinned at the little girl’s adorable reaction. He lowered himself to her level and made eye contact with her, “I knew your daddy very well. He made me my suit and—“ tears welled up in his eyes”— and taught me almost everything I needed to know about being a superhero. He made me an avenger, a good person, and a hero. In fact, he was like a dad to me in some ways. I really miss him.”

“Daddy was pretty cool,” Morgan agreed, “He was friends with Scarlett Witch and promised me he’d teach me how to make my own radio,”her face fell, “but he never got around to it.”

The look on her face broke Peter’s heart. She was so hopeless and resigned…

He made up his mind right then, “Maybe I’ll have to teach you,” he decided, “If it’s okay with your mom, I’ll show you right now.”

Peter looked up at Pepper. He took some delight at seeing the surprise written on her face as she protested, “No, Peter, you don’t have to—“

“Pepper, please, it’s the least I can do. Besides, she’s a Stark. Something tells me that if no one shows her, she’ll figure it out herself eventually. I might as well save her the time.”

“Please Mommy!” Morgan pleaded, using a child’s most important tool: the puppy eyes.

“Fine,” Pepper relented, “All of our scraps are in the garage.”

Morgan squealed in excitement and gripped her mother’s leg tighter before letting go and snatching Peter’s arm. Morgan pulled him into the garage and showed Peter to the scrap pile.

Peter rubbed his hands together, “Okay, so how about I get everything we need and then I’ll explain everything to you.”

Morgan seated herself on the floor and nodded.

Peter rummaged through the pile and gathered everything they would need, “Okay, so now… oh. Uh…” he turned to look at Morgan, “What do you know about radios?”

“When you turn the dial, it’s a different song. That’s it,” Morgan admitted.

“Well okay. Do you want me to explain it quickly or the real way?” Peter inquired.

Morgan perked up and squeaked, “The real way!”

“You sure? It’s gonna be a bit harder to understand,” Peter warned.

“I can do it!” Morgan slammed her firsts against the ground with a loud BANG.

Peter raised his hands up in surrender, “Okay, jeesh. So there’s something called radio waves…”

Morgan was a surprisingly good student for someone so young. She was eager, constantly grabbing things straight from Peter’s hands, and forgot everything that Peter told her, but Peter expected worse. After lots of consideration and promises that she would be careful, Peter let her solder a wire or two, but for the most part Peter did all of the hot stuff. Morgan’s job was to line everything up and to learn.

By the time they were done, the radio was a mess. Peter would have done a much better job on his own, but that didn’t matter.

He raised an eyebrow at Morgan, “Okay. I think it’s ready!”

Morgan gasped, “Really!”

Peter shrugged, “Only one way to find out,” he held their small metal box of wires out to her, “Do you remember which one was the switch?”

Morgan nodded and pressed it. Immediately, Black Sabbath filled the room. Morgan squealed of joy, the sound twisting with the heavy bass of the band.

Peter barked out a laugh at the girl’s reaction, “You did it!”

“And then we change the channel by doing…” She frowned at the device, “THIS!”

The song was replaced with some song by Imagine Dragons. Morgan squealed again, “Can I show my Mama?”

Peter nodded, “Yeah, I’ll come with you!”

Morgan sprinted out of the garage with surprising speed. Peter had to run after her in order to keep up.

“Mama! Mama! Look what me and Spider-Man made!” Morgan squealed to a closed door.

There was a short scuffle from the other side of the door before Pepper opened it and knelt down, “Oh, what is it?” She asked, feigning ignorance, “Is it… your lunch?”

Morgan giggled, “No, silly! We made a radio! See!”

Morgan pressed the button and shone with pride as the music blasted out of the speakers.

Pepper raised her eyebrows in surprise, as if she hadn’t been expecting their endeavors to be so successful, “Wow! It sounds so good!”

“I know! And look! It can change songs!” Morgan squealed, showing her how she turned the knobs for the channel and volume, “Spidey said that the numbers we see on our car radio are actually the frequencies of radio waves!” She launched into an explanation that summarize exactly what Peter had just explained to her, going into the science and everything.

Peter laughed when she finished, “Wow, Morgan. I’m surprised you remembered that much.”

Morgan seemed even more surprised than Peter, “I just listened and asked questions.”

A small, wistful smile wormed its way onto Pepper’s face, “Well, she is a Stark after all.”

———-

“But MOOOooooOom,” Morgan complained as Peter slipped his hood back on, “Does Spider-Man have to leave?”

“He has school in the morning, honey,” Pepper chided.

Morgan crossed her arms with a “Hmph”. She moaned before relenting, “Fine. Bye Peter. I love you… Ten. That’s close to one hundred, right?”

Peter couldn’t help but smile, “Close enough.”

[peterparkers7evilexes]

Unmasked [SpideyGoblin - M - darkfic]

Norman/Peter - 1.7k words - major trigger warnings for kidnapping, noncon and descriptions of violence! 

Norman can’t believe his luck. How easy it is to bring down Spider-Man with the simple knowledge of who he is behind the mask. His own son’s best friend, that same bright, naive boy who chirps polite hellos at him - the bane of Norman’s existence by night. It feels disappointingly easy, Norman considers as he stands over Peter’s sleeping body, his lip curled in disdain as the boy rolls onto his back, exposing his belly to the predator.

For a moment, Norman thinks maybe he’s gotten it wrong, how can sweet, naive, virtuous Peter Parker be Spider-Man? But Norman has never been wrong before. He stoops and plunges the sedative into the Parker boy’s neck and - for a heartstopping moment, Peter’s eyes snap open and he grabs at Norman’s wrist with a crushing strength - Norman’s face twists in pain as the bones of his wrist snap - but then the boy’s eyes unfocus, staring blearily up at him, and his face goes lax again, slipping into unconsciousness.

A thin smile spreads over Norman’s face. Well, alright then.

He strings the boy up in the lowest basement levels of OsCorp. Long chains suspend his skinny arms from the ceiling, but still Peter’s so small, his limp feet don’t even brush the floor. Some irrational, fatherly sense in him worries that Peter’s arms will be painfully sore when he wakes up - the Goblin crushes that stupid instinct as he cradles his own shattered wrist. He spends the next two hours hooking Spider-Man up to his readers, watching with satisfaction as all of his vitals slowly fill his monitors with precious data.

He injects a bit of his Goblin serum into his own arm as he waits for Peter to wake up, grimacing as the rapid healing resets his bones and power courses through his veins. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic, so Norman suits up and presses his metal goblin’s mask over his face, sharpening his blades as he waits.

When Peter comes to he groans quietly, the chains rattling as he shifts, then wakes fully, panic seeping into shaking breaths as he begins kicking feebly midair. Norman looks up, grinning from beneath his mask as he sets his knife down. “Spider-Man,” he greets him.

Terror lights up, delicious and raw in the boy’s eyes as he meets Norman’s gaze. The boy looks down at himself, seeing he’s been taken in civilian clothes and that irritating bravado he wears as Spider-Man is nowhere to be found. Strip the suit away, leave behind a shell of a hero. “Goblin,” he says in an unconvincingly casual voice. “Fancy meeting you in a creepy basement like this!”

“Always with the wit,” Norman sneers, standing and examining one of his blades. “You know, you aren't nearly as annoying strung up and unmasked.” He points the knife under Peter's chin, relishing the way the boy tilts his head up, breath coming in quick and shallow. “It suits you.” Norman applies a little more pressure, grinning shark-like under the mask when he pierces skin and the boy's heart rate spikes on the monitor behind him.

“I'd love to stay and play your creepy sex dungeon games all day, but I got places to be,” Peter says, his voice high and tremulous despite his brave face. “So are you gonna give me the supervillain monologue, or should I start making fun of your Kermit costume?”

Snarling, Norman takes his blade in hand and slashes the boy across the face, watching in cold satisfaction as Peter goes quiet with shock, blood dripping down his cheek from the shallow cut. “I prefer you subservient and mild-mannered, Peter Parker.”

The boy looks up at him, terrified as he realizes the full knowledge Norman holds about his secret identity. “I dunno who that is,” he says, although his trembling voice betrays him.

Norman's humor fades into annoyance - he has no interest in playing detective games with his prey. “I'm honestly pleased. A clever thing like yourself, top of your class, creative mind like yours, it makes sense. The snark and the rudeness - that's a part of your disguise, isn't it?” He leans forward and grips Peter's chin between clawed talons. He turns Peter’s defiant face from side to side, examining him like a prized animal. “I’ll keep this simple. I want to learn from you.” He waves to the row of monitors arranged behind Peter, gloating. “You are a wealth of data, Peter. You’re going to help me advance science far beyond what any of us dreamed was possible.”

Peter shudders, jerking his head back out of Norman’s grasp and sending the chains rattling in the cold laboratory air. “Not much to learn,” he says with that shaky bravado, jutting his chin out. “Some kind of mutant spider bit me, that’s all I know.”

“More lies,” Norman hisses, lunging forward and sinking his claws into Peter’s ribcage, dragging a pained yelp from his throat. “If I know anything about you Peter, it’s that you’ve got a mind for science - you can share what you’ve learned or I’ll vivisect it from your body.”

Tears spring to Peter’s eyes, beautiful red blossoming along his shirtfront where Norman’s claws have hooked into his tender skin. “I’m not telling you anything, Goblin,” he says with that same, dumb courage.

Norman sucks in a low breath, willing himself to be patient. This version of Peter is so plucky, so irritating compared to the demure, soft-natured boy he’d stolen from his son’s bedroom, the shy thing who defers to Norman Osborn, intimidated by his riches and power. He blinks yellowed irises slowly at Peter and realizes with a start, that’s it - break the boy back down to his basest personality.

He grips his goblin’s mask and slowly pulls it off, running long fingers back through his hair. “No more pretensions, Peter. You trust me, don’t you?” He leers at the boy, showing off his sharp fangs, a cruel laugh escaping his chest at the way Peter flinches, shrinking into himself.

“M- Mr. Osborn?” His voice is high and tremulous with disbelief, finally reduced to the sweet boy Norman’s much more familiar with. “You… There’s no way,” he says, but denial can only take the clever little thing so far.

“What else would I use all my considerable resources for,” Norman murmurs, casting the mask aside and letting the thin metal clatter to the lab floor, “if not for bettering mankind?” He reaches up and grips the thick chains securing Peter to the ceiling, dragging the boy forward and stepping into his space. “And you’re going to help me.”

The boy shakes his head defiantly, even as he kicks uselessly midair. “Please Mr. Osborn, I don’t understand, you have to let me go--”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Norman corrects him silkily, grabbing the boy around his waist and piercing his claws into his supple skin. Something hungry in him rears its head - he hisses as Peter tosses his head back, squirming in his grasp like a little moth trapped in a web. “Sweet Peter,” he coos, dragging his claws down the boy’s sides, shredding his tattered sleep clothes from his lithe body, “men like me rule the world. The spider that bit you belonged to me, and by proxy, I should think you do too.”

As Peter opens his mouth to protest, Norman tears the boy’s clothes from his shivering body with a grunt, exposing him to the frigid lab air. “Mr. Osborn!” Peter begs, his voice high and sweet with fright.

“Impressive musculature,” Norman observes, stepping back and letting Peter swing pathetically from his chains, appraising him like a particularly interesting data set. “I always wondered why you insisted on wearing a shirt when Harry invited you to his little pool parties. Always figured you were just a shy boy, but I suppose I was mistaken.” He shrugs, picking up his tablet and scrolling through his data.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Peter beseeches, twisting midair and trying to curl in on himself as Norman circles him with the tablet, rendering a 3D model of his body.

“You’re very bad at bargaining,” Norman says distractedly, watching as the 3D model loads onto his monitors. “You won’t be able to tell anyone if I keep you down here, or if I choose to silence you permanently.” Satisfied with the rendering, he swipes through his findings and gives Peter a thin-lipped smile. “You’re supposed to offer me something I wouldn’t be able to attain myself. You really should have taken me up on my offers to coach you in negotiating.”

He sets the tablet down, circling Peter once again, this time drinking in his shaking form for his own pleasure. It gives him a sick thrill, seeing Spider-Man helpless and trussed up - just another OsCorp property for him to play with - and Norman can’t say he’s altogether surprised by the jolt of arousal that courses through him when he considers the identity of his prey.

And as he said himself - Peter won’t have anyone to tell. So he indulges himself, steps up behind Peter and wraps an arm around his waist, pulls the boy into his chest and inhales at the nape of his neck.

The miserable little squeak Peter makes goes straight to his cock, and he reaches down, kneading at thick, muscular thighs with his clawed fingers. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Norman confesses in a raspy voice, teething at Peter’s shoulder with a low groan. “Watching the way you flit around my penthouse, so grateful and so polite to your elders? God, I wanted to make you squeal.”

Peter shakes his head violently, whimpering as Norman licks a hungry stripe up the side of his throat.

“I wouldn’t have, of course,” he says, “stupid mistakes like that are how men fall out of power. But now? This?” He drags a sharp claw over one of Peter’s pink niples, laughing when he sobs, kicking his legs feebly in the air and sending the chains clinking above them. “Finally discovering the face behind Spider-Man? Peter, you can’t imagine how many times I’ve fantasized about humiliating Spider-Man, torturing him, murdering his family in front of him--” Peter wails out a desperate little ‘No--!’ and shakes his head harder, knocking his skull back against Norman’s chest, “--and then I find you?”

He groans, pulling Peter’s body flush against him and letting him feel the clothed bulge of his erection, pressing himself insistently into the crease of his thighs.

“I think,” he murmurs, tracing a thumb over the wet tears streaking down the boy’s face, “I’ve found a torture method that you and I will both find more agreeable.”

[caffeine-catastrophe]

New Fic! Go the Distance

A/N: I have been working on this idea for over almost two years now. In my spare time, I alternate between writing this story and Don't You Stop Believing, and I've kept this a secret from all of my writing friends since I've gotten the idea. I was going to wait until I finished it before I started posting, but I can't wait any longer, and it's far enough along anyways. Updates will be sporadic and work around my schedule, but I hope you'll stick around for the ride.

Go the Distance

Three days, four million dollars, and a cross-country road trip that will change their lives for good. OR: The Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures is a prestigious scholarship granted to only the most deserving of candidates, but even miracles don't come without a price.

I have often dreamed of a far-off place... ...And a voice keeps saying this is where I'm meant to be...

At first, Lucy thinks she might be drunk.

"Excuse me?" She stammers, pressing her cellphone closer to her ear and stepping regretfully over the shards of her favourite wine glass.

"Miss Heartfilia, we're pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a recipient of the Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures," comes the sweet voice on the other side.

"We'd like you to come in for a brief meeting tomorrow afternoon to discuss the details of the grant. That is if you're interested in accepting the offer," the woman on the phone sounds like she's trying not to laugh.

"Y-Yes! Of course! I'm honoured, thank you so much! I'll be there," Lucy manages to choke out.

"Wonderful! I'll have the details of the meeting sent to you via email. I look forward to meeting you, Miss Heartfilia. Bye now," the phone call ends with a click, and Lucy forgoes the mess on the floor to wander shakily over to her bed. She perches at the foot in dazed silence, nearly startling herself out of her skin when her phone beeps a few moments later.

Dear Miss Lucy Heartfilia,

Congratulations! We have reviewed your outstanding application regarding the Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures, and we are pleased to announce that you have been selected as one of four lucky recipients. You are eligible for this grant of up to one million dollars, provided you are in the possession of a piece of government-issued ID confirming your status as a citizen of Fiore.

Please bring a legal piece of picture ID, as well as proof of your successful completion of secondary school to your scheduled appointment.

The meeting will be held in the company's Magnolia branch in Conference Room 1407 at 2 PM sharp on Thursday, July 28. Please do not be late.

We look forward to meeting you!

Sincerely,

Mirajane Strauss Secretary Dreyar Industries

She looks over the details once, twice, three times, trying to convince herself that this isn't just another alcohol-induced hallucination. She is not going to find herself sprawled out on the bathroom floor of a sketchy club somewhere tonight. She lies there, staring up at the blank ceiling of her cramped apartment until she finally accepts that the springs of the mattress digging into her spine are entirely too uncomfortable to be a dream.

"Holy shit."

---

"Alright, deep breaths. You can do this," Lucy mutters herself the next day, straightening her pencil skirt and clutching at the envelope in her lap. Balanced on a bench outside of Room 1407, she is a good half hour early and exudes the air of a chicken in a nugget factory. The girl perched gingerly beside her seems equally on edge, smoothing down her pretty red hair now and then and tapping the toe of her crisp heels on the pristine carpet. She looks about as green as Lucy feels.

"Are you here to meet Ms. Strauss as well?" Lucy asks hesitantly, trying to relieve some of the unbearably awkward tension. The girl lets out a startled squeak, tensing as if she is unused to being spoken to. She turns uncertainly towards Lucy, brushing aside the scarlet curtain to reveal delicate features and a pair of wide brown eyes.

"Yes, I am," the girl answers in a low voice, glancing around the hallway as if she might be disturbing those in the rooms nearby.

"You applied for the scholarship?" Lucy tries again gently. The girl simply nods. "That's really cool. Honestly, I was so shocked when they called me. I applied for the grant, but I didn't actually think I'd get it, y'know?" She continues casually. "My name's Lucy, by the way," she introduces herself with an encouraging smile. The other girl finally responds, rewarding Lucy for her efforts with a slow smile that seems to light up the whole hallway. Her gracefully lifted hand shakes Lucy's with a grip so strong she's pretty certain she can hear her own bones cracking.

"I'm Erza," the girl tells her, and Lucy mumbles a vague response. She's too busy being stunned that someone so demure in appearance could probably snap her like a toothpick. Erza, oblivious to Lucy's internal monologue, seems like she might continue the conversation when she spots something over Lucy's shoulder. Her brown eyes widen in panic, and she clamps her mouth shut, dropping her gaze back to her hands. Confused, Lucy turns to see a man approaching from the direction of the elevators. Average height, athletic build — probably the brooding type, she assesses; dark hair and cold blue eyes. He's good looking, but not enough to render someone speechless. Besides, Lucy is pretty sure that there's more to Erza than what meets the eye — she doesn't seem the type to lose her mind over a guy.

The man meets Lucy's gaze with an equally calculating stare, sizing her up as he comes to a halt just in front of their designated meeting place. He glances towards Erza, and Lucy is surprised to see his eyebrows shoot up and his gaze soften minutely in recognition. At his reaction, Erza shrinks back, practically cowering behind Lucy in the most inconspicuously conspicuous way possible. She isn't exactly sure how the two know each other, but Erza is clearly too sweet to be mixed up with someone so standoffish. She clears her throat abruptly to gain his attention, rolling her eyes when he simply raises an eyebrow and levels her with an unimpressed stare.

"Dreyar Grant recipient?" she settles on raising her own eyebrows and matching his expression. He looks to be a man of few words, and while Lucy can respect that she can't say she's too impressed with his attitude. That is, until the newcomer rubs the back of his neck with a boyish grin and his demeanor shifts from cold businessman to sheepish teenager in a split second.

"Yeah, I guess you are too, huh? I'm Gray," He introduces himself brightly.

"Lucy," she responds with an incredulous shake of the head.

"Sorry I walked over here and didn't say anything like a creep," he chuckles ruefully, leaning against a nearby wall. He leans in conspiratorially, "If I'm being honest, I'm kind of hungover. I told my friends about the grant last night and they insisted on taking me out to celebrate. We got a little carried away."

Lucy chuckles sympathetically, amazed at this guy's natural charm when he isn't being all silent and moody. Even Erza's mouth quirked up into an amused smile. Gray seems about to continue when a flurry of pink and white comes barreling out of nowhere, crashing into him with a muffled curse.

"Shit, I am so sorry man, I got really lost on the way here and I thought I was going to be late," the stranger pants, regaining his balance. Lucy tries not to stare at what must be the final member of their scheduled meeting. The boy's hair is dyed a shocking pink, sticking up in all directions and flopping carelessly into his green eyes. Sharp, angular features, muscular build, shorter than Gray by a couple of inches. Familiar, too. I've definitely seen this guy before, Lucy thinks, resisting the urge to smack herself when her dad-joke addled-brain responds, yeah, in your dreams.

"I'm Natsu," he tells them cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the way Lucy is still trying to remember how she knows him while he shakes her hand. "Sorry about scaring you guys like that," he apologizes, "I thought I was going to be late, so I drove here and almost got pulled over for a speeding ticket, and then I thought I was getting followed by a cop so I had to drive the rest of the way like ten miles under." The newcomer rambles on for another few minutes, filling the stale air with his chatter. It's like he's got a built-in oxygen tank, Lucy thinks, marvelling at his sheer ability to go five sentences without a breath. She gets so caught up in his animated conversation that she forgets to be nervous.

And then the door to Room 1407 swings open, and Lucy realizes she might've accidentally swallowed a golf ball with her cereal this morning. The woman standing in the doorway is gorgeous, with big blue eyes and long silver hair that curls down her shoulders. Lucy is usually comfortable in her own skin, but a curling iron has never been her friend and something about this woman makes her adjust the sleeves of her freshly-ironed blouse self-consciously. She sneaks a glance at the other three. Erza is deathly pale, subtly tugging at her crimson locks with shaking fingers. Gray's icy, uncaring facade has returned, his shoulders rigid as he shoves his hands in his pockets. Only Natsu seems unfazed — his posture is as relaxed as ever and the easy grin still tugs at his lips. He catches her eye, winking, and Lucy can almost hear his voice in her head.

Don't worry, we've got this.

The woman finally speaks. "I'm Mirajane Strauss," she introduces herself with a sweet smile. "Won't you come in?"

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Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment; your thoughts, a moment you found particularly interesting! There's nothing better than posting something you're truly excited about and getting to see all the reactions!

Part 2