#how are you going to make sure something is hung or folded neatly if you don't actually take it out and fix it??????

[littlespoonevan]

genuinely think i would make a killing on youtube doing wardrobe organisation/clear outs

[promptedwordsmith]

LADS guys in the morning

Caleb

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. It was early, the kind of early that still felt like the night had only just let go of its hold. You stirred in the bed, the familiar warmth of Caleb's presence gone, but it wasn’t the absence of him that made you blink awake—it was the little things he always left behind.

The scent of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen, mingling with the faint smell of something sweet. Caleb’s careful hand had already prepared breakfast—your favorite pancakes, golden and soft, stacked high on the table with syrup and fresh fruit. The toast was perfectly browned, just the way you liked it. A glass of orange juice stood beside the plate, and a small note was tucked under the edge of your mug.

“Eat up. You’ve got a big day ahead, and you deserve to start it right. I’ll be back soon. – C”

You smiled, feeling a soft warmth spread through you. Caleb had a way of making you feel loved, even when he wasn’t there. It was in the little gestures—the things he did when you weren’t looking. The things that told you more than words could.

He’d also laid out your clothes from the night before—your favorite sweater, jeans, and boots—neatly folded on the chair beside the dresser. It was the kind of thoughtful detail that had become second nature to him. Even when he wasn’t physically present, he made sure your world was as comfortable as possible.

Today, though, was different. Today, Caleb had the rare gift of a day off. It wasn’t often, especially with his responsibilities as a Colonel, but when he did manage to carve out time for himself, he always spent it with you. You didn’t rush to get up this time. Instead, you lingered under the covers, wrapping yourself in the softness of the sheets as you listened to the quiet of the house.

You could hear the subtle sound of him stirring just before you opened your eyes. He was always the first to wake, even when he had nothing pressing to attend to. As you slowly turned toward him, you found Caleb already looking at you, his deep purple eyes soft and tender, a gentle smile curving his lips.

Without a word, he pulled you into his chest, his warmth surrounding you like a protective cocoon. His fingers brushed through your hair, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. In his arms, there was nothing but peace—no Colonel, no responsibilities, just Caleb, quietly loving you in the stillness of the morning.

Rafayel

Mornings with Rafayel were something else entirely. The room would be painted soft golds and pinks from the sky outside, but it wasn’t the sunrise that woke you. It was the quiet rustling of paper, the scratch of a pencil on canvas.

Most mornings, Rafayel was already awake before you, his long, lean form sat up against the headboard, his back slightly arched as he studied you. There was something so serene about the way he observed you while you slept, his purple eyes filled with quiet fascination. His pencil would move swiftly, capturing the curve of your lips, the delicate flutter of your eyelashes as you dreamed.

Sometimes, he’d exaggerate the softness of your expression, emphasizing the way your mouth hung open just the slightest bit, or the way your hair curled around your face. Other times, he’d capture the stillness, the peacefulness of you in your slumber. Each sketch was a reflection of how deeply he saw you, how much he cherished those fleeting, quiet moments when you were unaware of his gaze.

You never seemed to mind when you woke to find his sketchbook open beside him, his focused eyes glimmering with excitement as he waited for you to stir. Sometimes, when you finally blinked awake, he’d stop mid-pencil stroke and reach out for you, pulling you into the warmth of his arms. You’d feel his warmth as he buried his face in your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, as if the morning was simply an extension of his affection.

“Good morning, my muse,” he’d murmur with a lazy smile, his voice thick with sleep. His hands would cradle your face gently, before guiding you to look at what he’d drawn. His eyes were bright with that gleam of expectation, the same one he wore when he’d created something he was proud of.

“Do you like it?” he’d ask eagerly, always seeking your praise. He was always so excited, like a child showing off a new treasure.

You’d smile, tracing the sketch of your sleeping self. “It’s beautiful, Rafayel,” you’d say, meaning it with all your heart.

He’d grin, a little smug but undeniably pleased. “I always capture the best parts of you,” he’d reply, his voice soft but full of pride.

And then, without fail, he’d pull you back into his arms, content to simply hold you there. His mornings were filled with soft gestures, a quiet intimacy, and an overwhelming love that he could never quite put into words—but his sketches said it all.

Sylus

Sylus would, of course, be the kind of man who is already awake by the time you stir, his movements as precise and controlled as everything else in his life. He rises before the sun, not because he must, but because the silence of the early hours gives him the space he craves to think, to plan, and to stay one step ahead. His study, as usual, is a place of order, with books stacked neatly, papers spread out in meticulous arrangements, and the dim glow of a single desk lamp casting a warm light over the room.

Mephisto, ever loyal and ever watchful, is stationed by the door, alert for any shift in your slumber. As soon as you stir, the smallest of movements, Mephisto’s sharp eyes are on you, and in an instant, Sylus is informed. There's no urgency in his steps as he moves toward you, only a quiet confidence as if he’s already planned this out in his mind.

When he finds you awake, bleary-eyed and still wrapped in the soft warmth of sleep, he’s already there—waiting, his hands gentle as they guide you back to a state of comfort. He bundles you in a blanket with a tenderness that few would expect from someone like him, his touch both soft and commanding as he settles you in his lap.

"Rest," he murmurs, his voice low, smooth—too soft for anyone else to hear but just right for you. "You’ve been working hard enough already." He adjusts the blanket around you, pulling it tight so that you can feel nothing but the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath.

Though he's clearly busy with his work, papers and books spread across the desk in front of him, there’s a quiet attentiveness to his actions. He’s accustomed to juggling multiple tasks at once, but now, with you in his lap, the world feels a bit more still.

“Such a lazy morning,” he teases, his fingers brushing the hair from your face. His eyes glint with mischief as he watches you try to fight the sleepiness tugging at your mind. “I should be the one napping, don’t you think?”

Every now and then, he’ll steal a glance down at you, his sharp gaze softening just slightly as he listens to you breathe, the warmth of his hand gently stroking your arm or tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“You know,” he continues with a wry smile, voice still a teasing whisper, “if you insist on being so adorable, I’ll have to keep you here all day. It would be a shame to let you go back to the world just yet.”

Even in moments like this, when he’s clearly enjoying the quiet of the morning, there’s an air of command in his voice—playful, but still deeply controlling, as though everything, even this, is part of his careful design. The contrast of his calm authority and the tenderness with which he holds you makes it clear that he’s in no hurry to let this peaceful moment end.

Xavier

The early morning light barely creeps from the windows, soft and cool, just enough to cast a faint glow over the room where Xavier stirs beneath the covers. Silver hair tousled, his blue eyes squinting against the early light, Xavier slowly wakes, blinking like he’s not sure if the world around him is real or if he's still trapped in the fog of a dream. His tall frame is partially buried beneath the sheets, and for a moment, he seems so much younger, more vulnerable than he usually does in his usual, mysterious Lightseeker uniform.

You smile to yourself, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you quietly slip out of bed. The bed is warm from the shared comfort of the night, and for a second, you pause to glance at him. His usual calm demeanor is almost absent this morning—he’s just a groggy, sleepy version of the man you know, the one who would casually step into a battle against Wanderers and come out without a scratch. Yet here, in your space, he seems so much more human.

Xavier's eyes follow you as you get up, still too tired to make a move but enough to watch you. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough from sleep, like the words are coming from somewhere deep inside, half-asleep and disoriented.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you tease lightly, but he doesn’t even attempt to push himself up. Instead, he just watches you, his gaze soft but filled with that ever-present curiosity, that hunger for knowledge—the kind that always makes him so intent on understanding you, even in the quietest of moments.

Despite the fact that he’s clearly still too tired to function properly, Xavier pulls himself up when you do, following you with an almost submissive air, like he's too comfortable to not move with you. It’s such a gentle, rare thing to witness in him, the man who always carries a burden heavier than most can even fathom. His silver hair, tousled and messy from sleep, contrasts with the light, soft fabric of his white sweater, giving him an almost ethereal, boyish charm in these quiet mornings.

You head to the kitchen, and without missing a beat, he lumbers after you, his long limbs sluggishly following your movements. His big armored gloves are nowhere to be seen, of course—he’s not in his Lightseeker uniform—but there's something about the absence of his usual intensity that makes him even more approachable.

He watches with barely contained interest as you move around, setting the coffee to brew and preparing some pancakes. He leans against the doorway, eyes still half-closed. “I’ll cook,” he says lazily, but you can tell by the way his voice drifts off that he’s not awake enough to do much of anything.

“Mm, no, Xavier,” you say with a laugh, nudging him back. “You’re way too sleepy. Go get ready. I’ll make breakfast.”

He gives a half-hearted sigh and turns toward the bathroom, shuffling with slow, uncertain steps. He moves like a person still tangled in his own dreams, like the weight of the world has yet to catch up with him this morning.

The sound of the shower runs as you prepare the pancakes, the soft scent of cinnamon drifting through the air. It’s simple, but in these moments, you both share something more than words could express—a rare quiet that only deepens the connection between you.

When he returns, freshly showered and looking like he’s been reborn, he crosses the room with that natural, quiet grace of his, now wide awake and looking as close to perfect as he ever does. There’s an elegance to the way he moves, even in something as mundane as getting ready for work, a hint of old-world nobility that you find hard to ignore.

The pancakes are ready, steaming and golden brown, and you hand him a plate. His blue eyes meet yours, still warm and soft but hinting at something more. “Thank you.”

You just smile, nudging him gently. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s get ready for the day.”

You both slip into the rhythm of preparing for work—two different lives interwoven in a moment of quiet normalcy. The contrast between Xavier’s world of danger and the soft simplicity of your mornings together always catches you off guard, but somehow, you’re learning to treasure it.

And as you move through the motions of the day, whether it’s grabbing coffee or quickly packing your bag for work, you’re already looking forward to the next moment you’ll get to share with him—however simple or mundane it may be. It’s those quiet, everyday moments that make you feel like, despite everything, you’ve found something worth holding onto.

Zayne

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. Zayne’s alarm had gone off—right on time, as it always did—but he stirred only slightly, his brow furrowing slightly before he reluctantly pulled himself awake. He was a light sleeper, and mornings were often a quiet struggle for him, though he tried his best not to show it. He reached over and turned off the alarm, the small action marking the start of his daily routine.

Though you were still wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, you could hear the quiet rustling of his movements, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. Zayne, ever the early riser, always took his time in the mornings, careful and deliberate in the rituals he’d perfected over the years.

By the time you finally rolled out of bed, still half-dreaming, you found him in the kitchen. The faint scent of jasmine filled the air as he brewed the tea, its delicate fragrance wafting through the room and wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. He turned as you entered, offering a small, but knowing smile.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice clearer after drinking some of the tea. He handed you the steaming cup of tea, his eyes warm but steady. “Doctor’s orders,” he said with a teasing glint, knowing full well that his gentle insistence was more of a care than a command.

You took the cup, savoring the warmth as you sat down at the kitchen table. Zayne began to move with quiet purpose, grabbing his things from one room to the next. The soft sound of his footsteps was familiar, grounding. First his jacket from the hallway, then his watch from the bedroom, and finally his stethoscope from the counter.

As you brushed your teeth together, the sound of the water running and the occasional soft hum of conversation filled the space between you. His words were thoughtful and calm as always, asking how you slept, commenting on the weather, or offering little pieces of advice about your day. His routines were steady, predictable, and somehow comforting.

Eventually, he stood by the door, ready to go. His eyes softened as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll see you later,” he whispered, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as he turned to leave. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the front door closed behind him, you made your way back to bed, the scent of jasmine lingering in the air—a reminder of the soft start to your morning, and the quiet love that filled it.

[cottonlemonade]

Hello, can I get a large mocha latte for Ushijima?

Celebrating An Anniversary

word count: 791 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: post-time skip husband!Ushijima x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with some suggestiveness

warnings: spoilers, mdni, mild swearing

request: fluffy-spicy, celebrating an anniversary with husband Ushijima

“To a wonderful evening.“

Wakatoshi raised his glass. You beamed as you did the same and gently clinked it against his.

The champagne prickled on your tongue and you watched him cut a generous first bite off his steak to then carefully place it on the side of your plate.

“Thank you, honey.“

He smiled, looking satisfied as he began to cut a piece for himself.

“You‘re welcome, sweetheart. And please make sure to order dessert later. You will need your energy as I intend to make love to you often and thoroughly tonight.“

You choked on your next sip of the sparkling wine. The coughing made some other guests turn around in annoyance but you stared incredulously at your husband who, completely unfazed, poured you a glass of water and handed it across the table.

“Uhm, Toshi?”

“Yes, my love?”

Your cheeks were burning and you were glad for the cold water, the glass slightly trembling in your fingers.

“What- I mean. What?”

He furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I mean… you usually don’t uhm… announce something like that.”

“Oh.”, he shrugged and went back to his steak, “I wanted to try something different.”

“Different.”

He nodded and didn’t elaborate.

“So, I'm not complaining - and I will get that dessert later - but what brought this on?”

“I called Satori for advice and he said I should be more open with my intentions towards you. He said that… hm, one moment, sweetheart.”

You watched open mouthed as he reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket that hung over the back of the chair and produced a neatly folded piece of paper. Opening it for reference as it seemed, he read, “Let her know she is desirable by flirting - such as: telling her she looks/smells nice, kissing her in public, letting her know that you can’t wait to be alone with her or - more advanced - let her know you want to sleep with her later that day.” He folded the note again and tucked it away.

Your cheeks were burning and the pasta you had been so eagerly anticipating a few minutes ago, still steamed expectantly but untouched on the plate before you.

Toshi had done all of these things today. Before you left for the restaurant he had complimented both how your dress fit beautifully around your chubby figure and your perfume, had caught you very off guard by kissing you deeply in the parking lot on your way to the door and now this.

“Uhm, could I see that paper for a second, please?“

“Of course.“

He reached back into the pocket and handed it to you.

Clearing your throat you opened it and were stunned by the amount of notes. At the very top were what seemed to be suggestions for date locations for your anniversary.

Toshi had circled “dinner at a fancy restaurant you know she likes“.

Underneath was a myriad of things to do after the date. Some of them sweet, like going for a stroll in the park, but the other 95 percent detailed things to do in the bedroom. All of them circled - some with extra notes next to it explaining what they meant exactly.

“I see.“, you croaked, returning the note. You felt very warm all of the sudden.

Voice shaking a little in your flustered state, you asked, “What brought this on?“

“Do you remember when I went out to have a drink with the team a few weeks ago?“

You nodded.

“At first we talked about volleyball and eventually Hoshiumi-kun moved the conversation to our spouses.“

You nodded again.

“At that point a group of strangers joined the table because nothing else was free. As we talked, they noted that Tobio and I didn't seem to have a lot to offer besides good looks and they wondered how we were even married, since we are so boring.“

You scoffed loudly.

“Oh, just point me in their direction, babe. It‘s on sight.“ How dare these pathetic losers! Your shoulders shook with anger.

“You are not boring, Toshi!“, you said firmly and he looked genuinely surprised at your sudden outburst, “You are loving and wonderful and dependable, you make me laugh and feel safe and if that‘s boring to those jerks then they can just go f- fly a kite!“ Suddenly remembering your surroundings you opted for milder words.

Toshi‘s large warm hand laid itself soothingly over your clenched fist next to your plate, rubbing his thumb gently over your skin.

“Thank you for saying that, sweetheart. I love you.“

“I love you, too.“

“Would you prefer if I‘d dismiss the list?“

“Well… maybe not all of it.“, you winked and he nodded, signaling over a waiter to order extra dessert.

a/n: thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write something for him! Love him ^^ I hope you enjoyed it 🌟

[sultrybaby]

Nothing Compares To Being In Love With You (S.G)

(pics are not mine. credit to rightful owners. divider also from pinterest)

summary🦢 In which a cluster of old letters stand as the only testament of gojo's love for you, from birth to (quite literally) death.

genre 🦢 romance, angst, some fluff

pairing (s) 🦢 gojo x reader | reader x naoya zenin

warnings 🦢 reader/main character death, MAJOR ANGST obviously, not exactly forbidden love but more unfortunate circumstances, domestic abuse, mentions of bleeding and punching (no actual description of the abuse this is unrelated bleeding and punching), excessive use of the word sin in one of the monologues, mentions of glass, naoya zenin sucks, letters are from gojo's pov which might be hard to follow I am not sure. Gojo is down bad.

DO NOT ROMANTICIZE ABUSE. THIS FIC (AND ME) DOES NOT CONDONE ROMANTICIZATION OF ABUSE AND IF U ARE LOOKING FOR FICS THAT DO (WHICH IS SICK) THIS IS NOT THE FIC FOR U AND ALSO PLS BLOCK ME CUZ EW.

a/n: this was supposed to be an enhypen fanfic but then I changed my mind. I'm honestly just shocked I actually finished this. Hopefully this idea has manifested to be as good as it seemed in my head and isn't confusing to follow. ENJOY BESTIESSSSS.

🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢🦢

"So apparently, this house belonged to a young bachelor once," explained Mary to her all-too-curious daughter eveline, who sat wide-eyed like a little lamb on the floor of the new house the family had just moved into.

'Really?"

"Yes, baby," Mary chuckled, running her fingers through eveline's (or evie, as they lovingly call her) hair to brush the strands away from her face.

"Where is he now?"

"Oh I don't know sweetheart," Mary sighed, lightly amused at the disappointment on evie's face.

"But maybe there are some clues around the house! If you ever get the time,  you should explore. Who knows, you might find something…"

Evie's eyes twinkled in excitement at the prospect of having an adventure in this foreign pile of bricks that she now had to learn to call home. Perhaps this will create a sense of oneship with the house.

Determined to uncover the secrets of the mysterious young bachelor, little evie started on her mission to unearth every corner of the building. After toppling boxes, crawling through crevices, and occasionally bumping her head on random walls, evie finally uncovered a rather absurd looking block.

And that is the story of how Mary was gifted this curious looking box by her exhausted daughter, waddling excitedly to show her the discovery.

The box had an old-fashioned grace to it. It was clearly disintegrating; cheap, fading, yellowed white  paint hung off the corners, all dried up, waiting to be chipped off. It seemed as if there was some kind of locking mechanism in the front of the box which has long been broken. All it took was a simple motion for the mouth of the box to open wide, revealing a neatly stacked set of what one could assume were letters.

The first letter was different to the others. While the rest were prettily folded, this one had a texture much more rough- as if it had been crushed and then straightened again. And on it, in extremely feathery ink, was written,

Dear ____,

You are the sun and the stars and the rose and the beautiful sky. You are made of the serenity of heaven and the tempting evil of hell. You are everything created to be beautiful, and you also make anything beautiful by association. Every day and every night, in light, in darkness, in life, and even now in death, you make me realize why Orpheus would go to the deadly underworld just to get Eurydice back. I understand his pain and longing.

I know we parted ways hurtfully and there is no action I regret more. And in my attempt to tell myself I hated you, I failed in my life's purpose- to truly let you know how much I loved you.

This is a memoir of the love I lost, a love that was but a bubble in air- shining briefly with all the most beautiful colours, then popping abruptly. And this is just an attempt at preserving some of that wonder and beauty so that when my heart aches a bit too much, I can cry to the essence of your soul (which is funny, because you are too much, too great, to be put into words).

Lovingly,

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru Gojo.

A love story- a tragic one, was etched in the letters following. In that little white box was the history of Gojo Satoru's love for this mysterious woman to whom he had devoted his heart entirely.

And so Mary started reading…

Dear ____

Today I decided that I would start attempting to put into words my love for you. In these scraps of paper lie not the true extent of my love- that would be impossible to boil down to mere letters- but just enough for my heart to no longer feel as if it is at the brink of explosion from the pain of carrying the weight of my love for you.

The first time I saw you was when I was rushing to work. What started off as a normal day turned into an irreplaceable, unforgettable memory when I heard an angelic voice bantering with a baker.

"Jesus Antonio a damned second grader could bake better bread in their sleep- it’s not worth more than a dollar a loaf. So I ain't paying any more than that"

I felt compelled by fate to turn around and figure out who was truly the source of this wildly amusing diatribe.

Saying that my eyes were unprepared to capture the beauty I was about to witness would be an understatement. I found myself unable to move, nailed to the ground as I took in the sheer magnificence of your existence. And then I blinked. And you were gone.

I remember shaking my head wildly to see where the angel had disappeared off to, and my heart sighed in relief as I saw your unmistakable figure walk with a triumphant smirk and a loaf of bread that you surely had not paid more than a dollar for.

Today marks the second year since we've known each other. Every day since I have carried the burden of my love with utmost pleasure, because loving you is the greatest experience of my life. Nothing compares to being in love with you. But every so often when I stare at you, hoping the longing in my heart doesn't show in my eyes, I wish you were mine.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

The first time we ever talked was in the same bakery I first saw you in, although I will admit it is not as much of a coincidence as it may seem. For every day since I saw you, I wandered around the bakery, hoping to catch a glimpse of your hair again.

First I would wander around the area, walking up and down the road multiple times.

Then I started to stick to the stores right next to the bakery. I bought so many snow globes that I really didn't need, not to mention all those picture frames…

Finally, picking up the courage to meet you, I walked into the bakery. I waited around a bit, but eventually it became clear that you were not making an appearance. Dejected, I decided to get something anyway. I had come to the bakery after all.

"Excuse me, how much for kikufuku" I'd asked

"That's be $3 good sir"

It was as I pulled the notes from my wallet that I heard a familiar voice shrieking,

"ANTONIO HOW DARE YOU RIP OFF THIS GOOD MAN?"

To this day it might be my favourite statement of all time.

I turned around to meet your eyes. All was a blur and before I knew it I had a loaf of bread in my hand along with two of the three dollars I was about to hand in.

"..hello?"

I blinked myself back to reality as I saw you waving your palm good naturedly in front of my face.

"Oh h-hi…"

I saw you giggle, probably at the sight of my extremely flustered face. I could feel the heat absorbing all common sense from my brain.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Sato- Gojo…Gojo Satoru…" I breathed out, "and you?"

"____"

I don't think you will ever realize how much that day changed me. And that's okay. I don't want you to feel the anguish I do. I just want you to keep smiling and giggling as you love to. Oh, and chewing off Antonio's ears, of course.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

Dear ___

I know we're just friends, but sometimes when you show up at my door with a bag of sweets that you just happened to remember were my favourite, I wonder if there is something deeper; if there is any possibility that you could feel what I feel. And when you hand me the bag, I wonder if I was just imagining the way your touch lingered as our fingers grazed, if I was just imagining your gaze momentarily resting on mine with the same intensity with which I look and think of you.

I know we're just friends, but then why is it that every moment we spend apart from each other feels like my heart is getting ripped out piece by piece? And I know that you would never experience the anguish I do, but then as we spend hours and hours on the telephone talking and laughing about anything and everything, I can't help but wonder if you would do this just for a friend. I again let myself hope that maybe, maybe you felt at least a fraction of the deep devotion I felt for you. But I would never, ever mention it. For the thought of losing what we have now, of losing the ability to experience heaven even in such simple ways, brings me fear that gnaws at my heart and soul. So I hide my worries and my wishes as I keep listening to the sound of your voice through the telephone.

I know we're just friends but do friends have such deep understanding of each other to the point where your wish is nothing but my instinct?

I know we're just friends but are the lives of friends so deeply intertwined in each other that when you lie next to them you can't sense where you end and they begin? When you can't remember if you're in your house or theirs for that is how much time you spend in each other's lives. At what point of spending every day together does my life turn into yours. ____  I don't know how I can go on living without telling you how much you mean to me.

I know we're just friends, but sometimes I feel the line blurring away when we're drunk and unstable and tangled in each other, both of us holding the other for support. And as we messily fall onto the floor, giggling at our pathetic state, I take the moment to cradle you in my arms. In your drunken frenzy you place the softest of kisses on my cheek, only to fall asleep on my shoulder immediately after. When I'm staring at you longingly I can't help but wonder, what are we? What is this love, this gentleness, this warmth? Is this friendship? Is friendship supposed to be so overwhelming? The weight of these questions momentarily crush me, but it all fades away as I stare at your beautiful being, peacefully snoring on my shoulder. And in that moment, all my worries take the backseat, and all I care about is protecting this peace of yours. Whether I do that as a lover or a friend is not a matter to me.

Yours forevermore,

Gojo.

This might be the last time I speak of my love for you, for today you told me that you love me too. So I no longer have to express it in secret, but I can let you know wholeheartedly.

I will never forget the way your head rested against my shoulder, nose-deep in your book. And as I failed to look away from you, I didn’t realize that you had turned to look at me too. I will never forget the way your hand rested on my shoulder as you pulled yourself up to look me in the eye, while I sat there stupidly, mesmerized by the way you moved, so gentle, so light, so ethereal.

Most importantly, I will never forget the way you cupped my face, the subtlest of tears shining in your eyes, and told me, breath hitching at every note,

"Satoru I don't know what I'm feeling. I know I shouldn't be feeling this but I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if you do either. It would kill me to ruin our friendship but this anguish is killing me too and so I'm going to kiss you now and if you don’t like it feel free to punch me"

You leaned forward, and just before you kissed me you stole a glance at my face. And that was when I let go of all the restraints I had placed on my heart.

It was something in the way that our eyes locked;  the brilliant world built on the lies of our hearts crumbling as I cried on your lips in prayer. Maybe this was sin, but the tears I drank were proof that underneath all the chaos hid something real, and it was hidden for no reason but the fact that the world my god created was also made of the same kind of sin as her touch, unprepared to accept the beauty of it all. Damn the preachers, look at her face. Will not the angels sing in her name? If God hated sin so, why did he give her the same beauty as that of his mountains and oceans and the moon? We all are born of sin and sinners at the hour of our death, but I alone had the privilege of being absolved by sin.

I love you, ___. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

I know I said I wouldn’t write more of these since I don’t need to hide my love for you any longer but it turns out I'm incapable of stopping my expression of devotion towards you. I love you in ways that I want to etch down. I want to world to know how much I love you. Even after we're dead and gone, I want these words to stay there forever, because that is the nature of my love for you. Permanent. Everlasting.

I love the way your pretty little hands smooth over my tensed shoulders when I've had a long day. Your chest against my back, your hands enveloping me from behind, the way you whisper into my ear has me wishing for nothing more than the moment to last forever. I love you.

I love the way you kiss me. I love the way you cup my cheeks like a child before kissing them. I love the way you kiss my forehead, the way you kiss my nose, the way you kiss my upper lip, my chin, my shoulder, my eyes. Every bit of proof that an angel like you could ever love me has me in awe, in reverence of how simple it is for you to have me wrapped around your little finger. I love you.

I love the soft little touches that are so characteristic of the way you love. I love the way you fix my messy hair. I love the way you pull me closer during cold breezes, claiming it is to keep me warm. And I stand there in adoration of how cute you look as you hide yourself in the crook of my jacket. And I embrace you in my warmth as if I could never let you go. I love the way you absent mindedly play with my fingers. I love the way you link your arms with mine. I love the way you lean in close to wipe something from the corners of my mouth. I love all of it I love you.

I love it when you're so happy that you do a little dance. I love it when you're so nervous about sneaking away from an important meeting with your family members and running to me that you keep spacing out a little, making that really cute zoned out face of yours. I even love your beautiful diamond tears, even if I hate what it is that made you cry, when you're frustrated with all that your mother and father want from you. I love you I love you I love you.

I love you so much, ___. I can only hope that I remind you of it enough.

Love,

Satoru

"Mama that paper is pretty crumplyy- Mama are you ok?"

Dear ___

No.

It can't be.

I keep telling myself it can't be but your words cling to my skin, the cacophony of which psychedelically revolve around my soul.

It can't be It can't be It can't be

“'toru… we can’t do this anymore. It’s over. I'm getting married.”

 “Married? You’re joking, right? Did your parents finally find some guy who fits their impossibly high standards?”

 “This isn’t a joke, toru, They have found someone. He’s a good match. Someone stable, responsible. I’ve… agreed to it.”

“Wait… you agreed to it? So you’re just… going along with it? After everything we’ve been through? After us?”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is. My family expects me to marry someone who can provide stability, someone they can rely on. You and I… we were just… a dream.”

“A dream? That’s what this was to you? A dream? And you’re just going to… throw it away?”

“Yes I mean… toru, look at you. You live life as if you’re still a kid, as if nothing really matters. You laugh everything off, even the serious things, and that’s— That’s not what I need! I need someone who can give me certainty. Someone who can give me a future.”

“Certainty? Is that all I am to you, just some silly guy who can’t give you a future? Because I would have. I would have done anything to make it work, and you know it.”

“No, Satoru, you wouldn’t have, You’d have tried for a while, but eventually, you’d get restless. That’s who you are—you go wherever you feel like going, with no thought for consequences, no… no sense of commitment. And I can’t live like that.”

“You don’t know that! You’re deciding all this for both of us. You’re… you’re running away, choosing some path that someone else picked out for you. How is that the stability you want? It’s just… it’s just giving up.”

“No, it’s not giving up! You don’t understand. This isn’t just about you or me. It’s about family, tradition… things that are bigger than both of us. You’re acting like a child who thinks love is all that matters. Well, it’s not. Not in my world.”

 “I see. So you’d rather marry a stranger than even give us a chance? Than let me try to be what you need?”

“Gojo… I love you. But love isn’t enough to change everything. I wish it were. But it’s not.”

“Maybe you don’t love me as much as you think, then.”

“Don’t… don’t say that, I’ll never stop loving you, but I need to let you go. And you…You need to let me go, too. It’ll be easier that way.”

“Easier? You’re not making anything easier, trust me. I’ll never forget you. I’ll always wonder what we could’ve been… but you’re right, aren’t you? I’m just too silly, too carefree to matter.”

Naoya Zenin. The heir of one of the biggest families in the nation. Rich, powerful, handsome. Perfect. He was perfect it seemed. And so were you.

But the anger in my heart doesn’t still. Maybe because I don’t want to accept the truth- that I truly was never enough for you.

Because I know that you are not that perfect. Because it was your imperfection that I fell in love with. And the imperfect you casted the imperfect me away because you were imperfect in a way that everyone loved and I was imperfect in a way no one could bear to see. You were imperfect in a way that could be fixed by getting you married (as your wretched family never failed to mention) while I was…unfixable.

Broken.

We were both broken shards, and in our interweaved misery I deluded myself into believing we came from the same piece of glass. When you bled on me I drank your suffering, living through my burning throat just to hold you up. But you were always meant to be great, and I was not. And I told myself that I made you, breathed you into creation. That you were nothing without me. That the time I spent crafting your wings made me something, as if you had not discarded them as soon as you could. Your apathy was cruelty, your fame a testimony to the different seas of being that we are. And as I hung from the broken bridge I built, you flourished.

But in those fluttering moments when our eyes meet, those intense seconds where two frail souls reach out their hands in memory of what once used to be, of what once was the truth, I see that broken woman again. It makes me realize that you were a gorgeous vase dropped on accident, while I was a pair of rose tinted glasses broken in frustration. You were crafted to be beautiful, temporarily set back by fate, while I would forever just be a memory of the lies we tell ourselves.

But a broken vase can never be put back together, and someday, the world would know that your greatness was just a house of cards; fated to be toppled over by the dying breath of the frail strands that tied our hearts together.

Yours,

Satoru.

Dear ___,

I was so sure I understood, so sure that I was the one who’d been wronged. All I saw was you walking away, slipping through my fingers, and it burned—I let it fill me with anger, as if I was the only one hurt by it all. I couldn’t see past my own pain to realize you were scared. You weren’t breaking up with me because you didn’t care, but because you were… trapped.

The Saddest of stories are always of the happiest of people; the ones whose heart lit up at the sight of the world. But the world was too cruel to some of them, and love is never enough to carry one through the ugliness of this world we live in. And soon enough comes a time when looking at a glass of water causes heartache, and every light is so blinding that it physically pains you to get out of bed, and when all that lingers is the feeling of cold numbness inside. By then love is all forgotten, holding no meaning. No amount of care or happiness can fix the damage caused by the seemingly harmless boredom. Boredom then turns to dissatisfaction, and dissatisfaction turns to hopelessness, and through all of this there are those who can put up the façade of a healthy life.

We never see them- or at least see them as they truly are. Sad, Bored, a little dead on the inside. It's not like they seem to be happy or cheerful either- just nothing out of the ordinary. But the ordinary deceives the mind, and we leave out those little moments when their face breaks and the tears slip and the bandaid falls of- not because the wound has healed, but because it has bled too much. And also because it is not the kind of wound that a bandaid can fix. But they ignore this, and keep sticking bandaids (sometimes loosely attaching the same one over) in hopes that it will one day work the way they expect. But this only causes the wound to turn toxic, until it turns numb. And you think this means it has healed, but it is only when it is slightly brushed against, and the unbearable pain jolts throughout, that you realize that its just gotten worse in silence.

I didn’t even think to ask if you were okay. I thought you were just cold, maybe even heartless, telling me you needed someone more stable, someone responsible. But now, I see that you were pleading for something I didn’t understand. You needed help, someone to see through what you couldn’t say. You needed someone who’d ask why you said those things, why you looked so… afraid. And I missed it. I didn’t stop to question why you had this sadness behind your words, this weight pressing on you. I was too focused on being right, on feeling betrayed, to see what was right in front of me.

I convinced myself that you just wanted a different life, something that didn’t involve me, when really, you were… struggling. I should have seen that the way you talked about him, about your 'future,' was hollow. I should have noticed how you’d say the word 'marriage' like it was a sentence, not a choice. And instead of asking you, instead of listening—I let myself believe you were leaving me for someone else, that you’d never loved me the way I loved you. I made it about me, when all you needed was someone who could see what you couldn’t say out loud.

And now, here I am, replaying every word, every conversation, and wondering why I didn’t ask the right questions, why I didn’t push just a little harder to know what was really going on. I was supposed to be the one who loved you. But instead of standing by you, instead of seeing your fear, I just… got angry. I made you feel like you were wrong for leaving me, when in reality, you were just trying to survive. You were terrified, and I was too wrapped up in my own feelings to realize you needed me.

So now I’m left here with nothing but regrets, wishing I had seen the truth, wishing I’d known enough to tell you I’d help, that you weren’t alone. And now… now it’s too late. And I’ll never forgive myself for that

If only you knew that I would have been there for you. When he hurt your body and your heart and mind, I would have been there. If I had known, an angel like you would not have suffered more than a mere second in the house of a tyrant. If I had known, you would be laughing in my arms instead of crying on his floor. If I had known, maybe you would still be here with me.

Naoya Zenin.

That monster. I always hated him, but I thought… I thought it was jealousy. Just me being petty. But now I see him, in my mind—the way he looked at her, the way he… possessed you, like you were some damn object. He never saw you, not the way you really were. No. To him, you were just something he could cage, something to crush under his control.

How could he do it? How could he look you in the eyes and destroy you? How could he even live with himself? You loved life; you loved people, loved him, once—God, that makes it worse. He didn’t deserve a second of your love. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as you, and yet he was the one… he was the one who had you, day after day. His hands, that sick, twisted mind—you suffered because of him. And he’ll never pay enough for what he’s done. No punishment, no hell is deep enough for him.

I should have seen it. All those times I got frustrated with you, thinking you were pulling away, that you were lying to me. But you weren't lying, were you? You were hiding it, hiding the pain… because you knew I wouldn’t understand. I’d always get so mad, so impatient, thinking you were just… playing games, trying to hurt me. But you weren't. You were crying for help, and I just walked away, time after time. I thought I was so… righteous, so hurt. I thought I deserved the truth, that I had the right to be angry.

But I didn’t see your pain, did I? I never stopped to look closer, to ask you if you were really okay. I didn’t see how you’d flinch when he’d call, how you’d go silent, like you were somewhere far away. You were in hell, and all I cared about was my own heart. I was supposed to protect you, and instead, I pushed you back into his arms. I let you go back to him, and now… now you're gone."

And there’s nothing I can do to bring you back. Nothing I can do to make up for the times I failed you, for not listening, for not… seeing. It’s too late. I lost you forever. And it’s my fault.

I'm sorry, love.

Yours forevermore,

Satoru.

Dear ___

Today I watched you buried. I couldn’t see your face, as I maintained my distance, not trusting myself to be able to bear to be next to the ones who allowed you to be hurt. Moreover, I refuse to believe that you are gone. You're in my heart, and you always will be.

But as the day descended into night, and the yard was empty for miles, I dared to come close.

And I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I don't know when the hot tears started falling, mind blank as my knees thumped against the cold hard ground. And suddenly, all the agony clutched at my throat till I couldn't breathe, and I sobbed. I sobbed and bawled till I couldn’t feel my breath anymore. I needed the pain out of me but I didn't know how and in a vain attempt to ease the pain I punched and punched the ground as if it would cause you to come back to life again. As if it was the fault of the earth for taking you away from me. I cried hideously and clawed monstrously at the ground, but nothing changed. I rested my head on the grass in exhaustion, and thumped my head against the ground in anger as the tears kept falling. But even as I choked on the soil, nothing changed. I was still alone except for the company of the solitude taking pity on my pathetic state. I could feel the nothingness embrace me, comforting me, for I was truly alone in the world now, and I could feel it to my core.

And although my heart is numb and even as the bruises on my fingers from punching the floor bleed onto the page, I cannot stop myself from writing. I write and write and write because these letters are the only thing keeping you alive and I'm afraid if I stop then you will truly be gone and that can't be it can't be it can't.

 Because no matter where you are, my heart still beats for you. And despite the pain that follows the realization that yours no longer beats at all, I want to live forever. I want this simple heart of mine to thrum in your honor until the end of time. So that I can keep the feeling of being in love with you. So that I can, just for a moment, remember that I had the honour of being in love with you. Because nothing compares to being in love with you.

Yours yesterday, today, and forevermore,

Satoru.

a/n: hope you enjoyed. ive never written for jjk before and although ive watched the show and am familiar w the manga idk if this is ooc im sry. i have wanted to write for jjk for a while now tho so i am glad i did. i love angst if you couldnt tell btw.

[nastylittleghouls]

Querencia

Relationship(s): Aether/Aeon

Rating: Explicit 

Words: about 1.6k (One day I’ll be able to write something small but today is not that day) 

Summary: It’s still difficult for him to stay quiet and unmoving, so unlike his nature. To not react without prompting to how Aether looks at him from time to time, over the rim of his glasses, appraising. Promising. Sometimes telling him to stretch out his legs or get his pillow with a gentle nudge of quintessence.

or

Aeon just wants to be Aether's good boy

Tags and warnings:  D/s dynamics, pre-negotiated scene, face fucking, Aeon being a good boy and a fiend for Aether’s monster dick, a tiny smidgen of angst- blink and you might miss it. Implied quintosis, a little bit of mean!Aether and orgasm denial. That's about it I think 

Notes: This is the result of @a-hearts-a-heavy-burden and me losing our minds about Aether pleasuring his guitar and ending with how willingly Phantom/Aeon would get on his knees for the big quint. It took a bit of a different direction than I thought but I am not mad about it. Unbeta'ed.

AO3 link for the so-inclined (Aeon is called Phantom there)

Querencia: The place where one's strength is drawn from; where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self.

Aeon slips into Aether’s office while he’s making his ward round. He knows the basics by now. Had watched longingly how Dewdrop knelt at Aether’s feet. And Aether, ever the observant one, had taken him under his wing with a loving but firm hand while Aeon had hung onto every word, every touch like the air he needed to breathe. 

Take off your clothes. Fold them neatly and put them on the chair. On your knees. Head bowed. Hands on thighs, unless other instructions are given.  Be seen but not be heard. 

He had felt like he had found another purpose in Aether’s pride. 

It’s still difficult for him to stay quiet and unmoving so unlike his nature. To not react without prompting to how Aether looks at him from time to time over the rim of his glasses, appraising. Promising. Sometimes telling him to stretch out his legs or get his pillow with a gentle nudge of quintessence. 

The way people come and go. Either treating him like he isn't right there, naked, rock hard, and leaking a puddle on the floor, only stealing looks at him. Or partaking if Aether allows it. 

Like Swiss dropping by to discuss plans with Aether, his hands casually wandering over Aeon’s upper body with teasing caresses over his neck and tweaking his nipples as he talks. Or Dew nudging the tip of his boot under his balls, making Aeon’s sensitive cock slide over the leather just so as he leans over the desk to pull Aether into a heated kiss. Tempting him to seek friction at the display in front of him and testing his obedience. No doubt hoping he’ll fail as Dew enjoys seeing him punished as much as he enjoys being part of the aftercare. 

He hopes he’ll be spared by visitors today. He selfishly wants Aether for himself, wants to be good only for him. 

The door opens and Aether finally returns. If he‘s surprised to find Aeon here again so soon he doesn‘t let it show. The spade of his tail drags fleetingly over Aeon's spine as he passes to get to his desk, making him arch up, and ends with a playful slap on his ass. That’s his greeting, his acceptance of Aeon‘s servitude. 

Aeon breathes the air with Aether’s renewed scent in deeply, then curls his tail around himself and waits. Let’s himself thrive in the simple but meaningful act of kneeling in Aether‘s presence, for Aether, ready to dedicate his body to him to ease his stress level and make the crease between his eyebrows vanish. The thought makes him glance at Aether‘s cock, laying against his thigh under the loose scrubs, moving enticingly when he shifts his leg. The things he would give to have that long thickness filling him already.  Stretching him impossibly wide, the ache, the taste… 

They both need each other, Aeon‘s sure of it. 

When Aether finally beckons him over, his body excitedly rises upwards, one alredy foot on the floor, about to push him upwards and he instantly knows he fucked up. He bites back a frustrated whine and lowers himself back down. Apologizing and hoping Aether won’t punish him for it. 

Aether just sighs with a hint of disappointment.

“Go on. Try again”.

Relieved that Aether feels gracious today, his voice having that certain cloying tone, Aeon rises again, properly only onto his stiff knees this time, and crawls over to Aether. His cock bobs in front of him, dripping all over the floor as he moves, giving Aether a good view of him. He wants to preen under his gaze.   

Aether’s large hands greet him when he settles again, stroking Aeon’s beaming face as he smiles down at him. The smaller ghoul nuzzles into the touch, kisses Aether’s rings reverently. Tries to wriggle his tongue under them to taste his sweat, and licks at the pad of his fingers where the ink has stained them. His eyes never leave Aether’s face, looking at him like he’s one of the seven princes of hell himself. 

„Such a sweet boy. Kneeling so prettily for me. You wanna help me relax, don‘t you? ” 

Aeon shivers at the praise before he nods fervently, eyes wide and glassy, whispering a “yes, sir. Please” and letting his mouth drop open and his tongue roll out in invitation, eager to be of use. Aether strokes his cock leisurely, pleased with the way Aeon offers himself and follows his every movement. Every word. Attention fully on him. Like it should be.

“Hands behind your back, grip your wrists. If you let go, I’ll stop. Understand?” 

Aeon nods again, shifting to do as he is told. Curling his fingers around his wrists as tight as he’d want his cuffs to be, digging into the finger-shaped bruises already on his skin. The feeling forces him to take a deep breath. 

It's a slow and intentional thing when Aether squeezes his cock from root to tip, forcing pre to pool in the slit. He shifts forward and drags the head of his cock over the smaller Quint's tongue with a small moan, Aeon's eyes rolling into the back of his head when the taste hits, a reedy whimper escaping his throat. A high-strung please is pressed into Aether’s mind along with it. 

Fingers fisted in Aeon's hair, Aether uses his grip to feed the little ghoul his cock, slides in until there’s no more for Aeon to take and then just holds him there.  Lets the tip rest at the back of his throat, groaning approvingly when he feels Aeon swallow around him, body going slack at the weight, at the way he can feel every single bar of his Jacobs ladder sitting on his tongue, how it fills his whole mouth and stretches his lips wide. His mind goes pleasantly hazy, everything narrowing down to Aether and pleasing him. Helping him destress. Being useful. Nothing else. 

Aether pulls him off, only to instantly push him back down and press in deep again, not letting him draw a full breath. Saliva drips messily over Aeon's chin and onto his chest as Aether uses him, fucks Aeon’s mouth in deep strokes, his sounds of pleasure washing over Aeon like warm summer rain. The small Quint’s hungry little whines and moans fill the room, slender hips hump the empty air in a desperate search of friction he’s not allowed. Drawing quick little breaths whenever Aether pulls his cock out just enough that air can flow and flushing hotly at the loud wet squelching noises he’s sure everyone can hear every time Aether pushes back in.   

„Lucifer, your pretty mouth. Made to be ruined”

The praise has Aeon tonguing at the metal adorning Aether’s cock, doing his best with the little room he has. He just wants to give Aether more and show how grateful he is.  

“That’s good. Really fucking good. Such a sweet boy for me,” Aether breathes, head tipping back. His fingers tighten in Aeon’s hair, his thrusts get a little sloppier, just that little harder. Aeon keens, long and high, too far gone to notice that Dew’s name falls from Aether’s lips in the throes of pleasure, in between his praises.  It almost overwhelms him, his ruddy cock kicking hard between his legs. His tail curls around Aether‘s ankle, needing something to ground himself before he loses it.

Then Aether slides in deep again and comes, momentarily depriving him of the taste where he wants it the most, staying there until his cock’s done twitching.

It's wonderful.

Aether drags his cock out oh so slowly and leans back in his chair, breathing labored. He graciously lets Aeon follow and keep mouthing at him, catching what he couldn’t swallow with his tongue, watching the blissful face of the little ghoul as he enjoys his extra treat. He ponders how good Aeon’s mouth would feel struggling on his knot and his cock twitches, causing a delighted noise from the ghoul beneath him. 

Maybe later today. 

His fingers in Aeon’s hair loosen and his hand just rests affectionately at the back of his head, twirling the short strands around his fingers until he starts to soften and overstimulation sets in.

“That’s enough, little star”.

Aeon takes the cue and when Aether’s all clean and tucked back into his pants, Aeon rests his head on his thigh, gazing adoringly up at him with a hoarse sounding purr, still happily working his mouth around the ache in his jaw, the cum still swirling around in his mouth. His face is a mess of fluids, lips swollen and Aether makes a mental note to snap a photo for his collection

„Please, sir. Would you…“ Aeon sounds wrecked, his voice cracking then giving out. He swallows. 

“Hmm?” A Cheshire cat-like grin appears on Aether's face as he tips Aeon’s face up and offers his water bottle to him. Encouraging him to take a sip.  He knows exactly what’s coming. Or rather, what isn’t. 

“M..may I come, sir?” 

Aether makes a considering sound, reaches down to drag a fingertip over the length of Aeon's sensitive cock, then sucks it into his mouth. Aeon’s eyes widen, and a wounded sound that shows how close he is to coming leaves him, hips jerking forward in minuscule motions even after Aether’s touch is gone. He pants as his cock keeps throbbing and pre-cum drips in rivulets down the sides. 

“I think I’ll keep you like this for a while longer,” Aether says, then folds his hands behind his head and smirks. 

“Now lick your mess off of the floor.”

[rylem33]

Alice's Vacation

The luxurious resort room was everything Mark had promised it would be. Alice stepped inside, immediately drawn to the balcony doors. She slid them open and took a deep breath of the salty ocean air.

“This is nice,” she said, letting the breeze ruffle her hair.

Mark set their suitcases by the bed and grinned. “Told you it would be. Five-star all the way.” He joined her at the railing, his hand resting on the small of her back. “Just look at that water. Doesn’t it feel like we’re in paradise?”

Alice nodded, smiling faintly. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.”

Mark pressed a quick kiss to her temple before turning back to the room. “We should unpack before we lose the motivation. Then maybe hit the pool or the beach?”

“Sure,” Alice said, closing the balcony door behind her.

She knelt by her suitcase, carefully unzipping it. Her clothes were folded neatly, just the way she liked it. She worked methodically, transferring her dresses to the closet and her jeans to a drawer.

Mark, meanwhile, dumped half his clothes into a drawer without looking and tossed his sandals onto the floor.

“I’ll take the bathroom stuff,” he said, grabbing their toiletry bags.

“Okay.” Alice kept unpacking, her hands moving automatically. But when she reached for her small zippered pouch, it wasn’t there.

She paused, patting the edges of her suitcase. Then she checked the carry-on. Her heart beat faster as she unzipped every pocket, rifling through the contents.

“Mark?” she called, her voice tight.

He appeared in the doorway, holding his toothbrush. “Yeah?”

“I think I forgot something.”

Mark set down the toothbrush and walked over. “What is it?”

“My medication.”

His face immediately shifted, “Are you sure? Did you check your purse?”

“I’ve checked everything.” Her hands clenched into fists, and she took a shaky breath. “I don’t know how I forgot. I always pack it first.”

“Okay, okay,” Mark said gently. “It’s not the end of the world. Can you call your doctor?”

Alice nodded, her throat dry. “Yeah. I’ll do that now.”

She perched on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear. Mark continued unpacking but kept an eye on Alice.

When she finally hung up, her stomach felt like it was full of rocks.

“They can send a prescription to a pharmacy here,” she said slowly. “But it’s going to take three days.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Three days? That’s a long time.”

“I’ll be okay,” Alice said quickly, as if to convince herself. “It’s just a short break. I’ve never gone without before, but it’s not like it’s instant. Right?”

Mark hesitated, then sat beside her. “I just don’t want you to push yourself if you’re not feeling well. If anything feels off, you tell me, okay?”

She gave him a small smile, trying to match his earnestness. “Okay. I promise.”

=====================================

The dining terrace was a dream, with a perfect view of the water and a gentle ocean breeze. Alice sat across from Mark, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she admired the glow of the lantern at their table.

“This place is incredible,” she said softly, her voice warm with appreciation.

Mark smiled, “I thought you’d like it. It’s kind of perfect, isn’t it?”

Alice nodded. “Thank you for planning all this. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Hey,” Mark said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “You deserve it. We both do. It’s been a long year.”

She squeezed his hand, her touch light. “Still, I know I’m not always easy to plan for. You make everything seem so effortless.”

Mark chuckled. “That’s because I know what you like by now. Candlelight, good food, and peace and quiet. No surprises. Right?”

Alice’s cheeks flushed slightly. “You make me sound boring.”

“Not boring,” Mark said quickly, his voice gentle. “Just… predictable. In the best way.”

Alice laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “Thanks. I think.”

The meal arrived, and they ate and talked about everything and nothing. Mark recounted a silly moment at work and Alice laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.

“You’re such a good storyteller,” she said.

“You’re a good audience,” Mark replied.

Alice couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to be with him. He knew her habits and quirks better than anyone else, and he always made her feel safe, like nothing in the world could go wrong while he was around.

Mark reached across the table again, his fingers brushing hers. “I’m glad we’re doing this together. I know it’s not always easy for you to step out of your routine, but I think this trip is going to be good for both of us.”

As they stood to leave, Alice looped her arm through Mark’s as they walked back toward their room, the stars above twinkling faintly.

“I love you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mark stopped and turned to her, cupping her face in his hands. “I love you too, Alice. Always.”

=====================================

Morning sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, and Alice stood by the dresser, holding up her swimsuit. It was a simple coral one-piece she’d worn countless times before. She liked its modest cut and the way the color complemented her skin.

Behind her, Mark rummaged through his bag, pulling out his swim trunks and a plain T-shirt. “This place is amazing in the morning,” he said, glancing toward the balcony doors. “I’m telling you, the pool’s going to be just as perfect as that view.”

The bikini would look better.

Alice looked over at her blue bikini sitting in the drawer.  She didn’t usually wear bikinis, but brought one anyway.  She grabbed the one-piece and a blue bikini and turned to Mark, holding up both swimsuits. “Which one do you think?”

Mark looked up, his face softening into an easy smile. “You’d look great in either,” he said.

Alice tilted her head with a smile, waiting for him to continue.

“But… I don’t know.” He pointed at the bikini. “That one’s a little more… fun?”

“Fun?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Mark shrugged, his tone casual. “I mean, you’re gorgeous either way. But the bikini feels more, I don’t know… vacation-y.”

Alice’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Vacation-y, huh?  You sure you just don’t want me to show more skin.”

He laughed, stepping closer to wrap an arm around her waist. “Well, that too.”

She took the bikini and slipped into the bathroom. As she tied the halter strap and looked in the mirror, she hesitated. It fit well, she couldn’t deny that. 

I do look better in this.

Mark glanced up and gave her a slow smile. “Wow. You look amazing.”

Alice felt a flush creep up her neck, confirming her thought.

“Thanks,” she said softly, as she wrapped the cover-up around herself..

“You ready?” Mark asked, picking up the tote.

“Yeah,” Alice replied, sliding her sandals on.

=====================================

Alice followed Mark through the crowd of sunbathers until they found a pair of lounge chairs tucked near the shallow end of the pool.

“This is perfect,” Mark said, setting their tote down. “I’ll grab us some towels. Be right back.”

Alice nodded, slipping off her sandals and sitting on the edge of her chair. Mark disappeared into the crowd, leaving her at the crowded poolside.

She took a breath, trying to relax, and reached for the knot of her cover-up. Slowly, she untied it and slid the fabric off her shoulders, folding it neatly and placing it on the chair beside her.

As she settled back, Alice felt a faint prickle of awareness, like someone was watching her. She glanced around and noticed a man across the pool turning back toward his book just a little too quickly.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught another man nudging his companion and tilting his head slightly in her direction.

They’re looking at you.

Her stomach fluttered. She wasn’t used to being noticed like this. 

They’re impressed.

“No,” she murmured under her breath, her fingers gripping the edge of the lounge chair.

She looked down at herself, at the bikini she’d hesitated to wear. It was nothing extraordinary, just a bright blue two-piece with a simple halter top. 

The thought pressed again, warm and insistent. You like the attention. You deserve it.

Alice’s fingers tightened. “That’s… ridiculous,” she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

She shook her head, willing herself to focus. She had a book in her bag, something light and easy, perfect for ignoring the world around her. She pulled it out, flipping to the first page, but the words blurred in front of her eyes.

They’re looking at you.

The thought slid in again. Alice’s chest tightened, and her pulse quickened. She glanced toward the pool, where the two men were now chatting with their heads tilted together, stealing glances in her direction.

Her stomach churned, and she pressed her palms to her thighs, grounding herself.

“Alice?”

She flinched, startled, as Mark’s voice broke through the haze. He was back, holding two fresh towels.

“Everything okay?” he asked, handing her one and settling into his chair.

“Yeah,” Alice said quickly, her hands tightening around the towel. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“About what?” Mark asked casually, adjusting his sunglasses.

Alice forced a laugh, shaking her head. “Nothing important.”

Mark smiled, seemingly satisfied, and leaned back in his chair to relax.

As Alice opened her book again and started to read.

=====================================

Alice sighed and set her book down on the small table beside her chair. The words weren’t sticking, and the sun’s warmth was starting to prickle her skin. “Mark?” she called softly.

Mark lowered his sunglasses and looked over. “Yeah?”

“Could you help me with some sunscreen? I think I missed my shoulders.”

He smiled, sitting up in his chair. “Of course. Hand it over.”

Alice reached into the tote and passed him the bottle. She turned slightly, tucking her hair over one shoulder, and leaned forward just enough for him to reach her back.

Mark squeezed a dollop of sunscreen onto his palm and began rubbing it into her skin, his touch firm but gentle. “Let me know if I miss a spot,” he said, his voice easy.

“Thanks,” Alice murmured, closing her eyes briefly as the cool lotion soothed her warming skin.

As Mark worked, a stray thought floated into her mind. Are they still looking?

Her eyes fluttered open, and she glanced to her left, subtly scanning the pool area. The man with the book was still there, though his eyes weren’t on the pages. He quickly looked away when her gaze met his.

Farther down, the other man and his companion had paused their conversation, their attention unmistakably focused in her direction.

Alice’s cheeks heated, but the warmth wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. It’s nice to be noticed.

This time, she didn’t push it away immediately.

It is nice.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, was she? She was just sitting by the pool, enjoying the day like everyone else. What harm was there in letting people admire her?

Mark’s hands moved to her upper arms, gently massaging the sunscreen in. “All set,” he said, his tone cheerful.

“Thanks,” Alice said, her voice softer than before. She shifted slightly, leaning back against the chair, but not before adjusting her posture…just a little. She pushed her chest out, the movement subtle but deliberate, as if to test something.

She let her gaze drift back toward the pool. The glances hadn’t stopped, and a tiny thrill sparked in her chest.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mark said, lying back on his chair.

Alice snapped out of her thoughts and reached for her book again. “Just soaking it all in,” she replied, her tone light.

Mark chuckled. “Good. That’s what this trip is for.”

=====================================

The bathroom door creaked open, and Alice stepped into the room. Mark, sitting on the edge of the bed while scrolling through his phone, looked up. 

She was wearing a sleek black dress, the kind that hugged her figure in all the right places. The hem was well above the knee and the neckline dipped just low enough. A subtle shimmer on the fabric caught the light as she moved, and her hair, which she’d taken extra care with, fell over her shoulders in soft waves.

Mark blinked, his eyes widening. “Wow. You look… incredible.”

Alice smiled, the compliment settling over her like a warm glow. “Thanks,” she said, turning slightly to adjust one of the thin straps.

Mark’s brow furrowed as he took in the unfamiliar dress. “Is that new? I don’t remember you packing it.”

Her smile grew, and she moved to the mirror to apply a final touch of lip gloss. “I picked it up at the resort shop earlier. It caught my eye.”

“You went shopping?”

“Just for a bit,” Alice said lightly, glancing at him through the mirror. “I saw this and thought it would be perfect for tonight. Don’t you think?”

Mark stood, still taking her in. “I mean, yeah. It’s stunning, but… wasn’t it expensive? That shop looked like it was on the pricey side.”

Alice turned to face him fully, her hands resting on her hips. For a moment, she hesitated. The dress had been expensive—more than she’d ever spent on a single piece of clothing before. 

You’re worth it.

“It was a little pricey,” she admitted, her tone calm and confident. She took a step closer, the faint click of her heels on the tile floor punctuating her words. “But don’t you think I deserve it? We’re on vacation, Mark. I wanted to feel special.”

Mark’s gaze softened at the sincerity in her voice.

Alice closed the distance between them, her movements slow and deliberate. She reached out, sliding her hands up his chest as she leaned in. “I wanted to look good for you,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear.

Mark exhaled sharply, his resistance crumbling as her perfume enveloped him. “You do look good,” he said, his voice quieter now.

She smiled against his skin, then pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Then it was worth it,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Mark laughed softly, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. You win.”

Alice pressed a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back to grab her clutch. “You’re sweet,” she said, her voice light again.

Mark watched her as she moved toward the door, a small smile playing on his lips. “Dinner’s going to be hard,” he said, grabbing his wallet and keys.

“Why’s that?” Alice asked, glancing back.

“Because I’ll have to keep my eyes on the menu instead of you.”

Alice laughed, the sound genuine. “Come on,” she said, opening the door. “Let’s eat.”

=====================================

The door to their room clicked shut behind them. Alice leaned against Mark, her laughter light as she stumbled slightly in her heels.

“That waiter,” she said, catching her breath, “when I asked about the dessert pairing, he looked like I’d just asked him to solve a math problem.”

Mark chuckled, steadying her with a hand at her waist. “To be fair, you did ask him for a ‘bold but understated recommendation.’”

Alice grinned, the warmth of the wine still buzzing pleasantly in her veins. “It was a valid question.”

Mark helped her to the bed, and she plopped down with a soft sigh, kicking off her shoes. “Dinner was so good,” she said, her voice languid. “I think I might’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“Just a little?” Mark teased, loosening his tie as he crossed to the dresser.

Alice tilted her head, watching him with a playful smirk. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

As Mark busied himself with setting his wallet and keys on the dresser, Alice stretched out on the bed, the hem of her dress riding up slightly over her thighs. A thought surfaced.

You’re beautiful. He can’t take his eyes off you.

She bit her lip, warmth spreading through her chest. 

He’s yours. Show him.

Alice propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze fixed on Mark’s back. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice taking on a tone she didn’t quite recognize.

Mark turned, smiling as he saw her lounging there. “Yeah?”

She slid off the bed and crossed the room, her movements slow and deliberate. Her hands found their way to his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. “I was just thinking…” she started, her voice dropping slightly.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his ear. “How good you look tonight.”

Mark chuckled nervously, surprised by her sudden boldness. “You sure it’s not the wine talking?”

Alice pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Maybe,” she said lightly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

She kissed him then, pressing against him. Her hands slid from his chest to his shoulders, pulling him closer as her lips moved hungrily against his.

Mark responded. He wrapped his arms around her, letting her take the lead for once.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” he murmured between kisses.

Alice smiled against his lips, a spark of satisfaction coursing through her. “I guess I’m just… feeling good,” she said, her voice low and breathy.

Her hands drifted to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly in her haste. Mark laughed softly, helping her with the last few.

“Not wasting any time, huh?” he teased, his voice warm.

She shook her head, her fingers trailing down his chest. “No,” she said simply.

Mark caught her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Her smile faltered for the briefest moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing across her face. Then it was gone, replaced by a confidence she hadn’t felt before.

“I know,” she said, pulling him toward the bed.

=====================================

Alice groaned as she rolled onto her side, the morning piercing her skull like a dagger. Her head throbbed, the dull ache pounding in time with her heartbeat.

She squinted at the clock on the nightstand. It was well past nine.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” Mark’s voice came from the other side of the room.

Alice winced. “Too loud,” she mumbled, pulling the pillow over her head.

Mark laughed, softer this time, and walked over to the bed. “Late night, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink that much.”

Alice peeked out from under the pillow, her hair a mess and her makeup smudged. “I didn’t mean to. It just… kept flowing.”

“Well, you were definitely the life of the party,” Mark said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But we’ve got to get moving. Snorkeling reservation’s in an hour, remember?”

Alice groaned again and buried her face in the pillow. “I can’t. My head is killing me.”

Mark frowned, leaning closer. “You okay? It’s not like you to feel this rough after a couple glasses of wine.”

“It wasn’t just wine,” Alice muttered. “There was the cocktail… or two. And dessert wine. And that thing the waiter brought us.” She let out a small laugh, then winced as it made her head throb more. “No, it’s definitely the alcohol.”

Mark brushed her hair back gently, concern etched across his face. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alice said quickly, forcing a small smile. “Just need a quiet day to recover. But you should still go.”

Mark hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

Alice shook her head…or tried to, before stopping with a grimace. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a headache. You’ve been looking forward to this, Mark. You can’t miss it because I overdid it.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please?” Alice’s voice softened. “You’ll have fun. Take pictures and tell me all about it.”

Mark sighed, his resolve wavering. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Alice said firmly. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’ll just sleep a little more, maybe read by the pool later. You don’t need to worry.”

Mark leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But call me if you need anything. I’ll keep my phone in a dry bag, just in case.”

“I will,” Alice promised, her smile faint but genuine.

Mark grabbed his gear, double-checked the tote, and gave her one last look before heading out. “Feel better, okay?”

“Have fun,” Alice called weakly as the door shut behind him.

The door clicked shut, and the faint sound of Mark’s footsteps faded down the hall. Alice lay still for a moment, her eyes closed, the throbbing in her head a constant reminder of her rough night.

Then, suddenly, the headache vanished.

She blinked, surprised, and sat up slowly. The pain that had been so intense just moments ago was gone, leaving her feeling… clear. Her body still felt a little heavy, but the fog in her mind had lifted.

You’re not going to waste the day, are you?

Alice frowned, the intrusive thought startling her. “I just need to rest,” she murmured to herself, but the idea didn’t go away.

Why? You feel fine now. Get up. Do something.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing her balance. The ache in her muscles was faint but manageable, and she had to admit that it felt good to move.

Walking to the dresser, Alice opened the top drawer and rifled through her swimsuits. The bikini she’d worn yesterday lay neatly folded, but as she picked it up, her hand hesitated.

Not this one. Something better.

Her eyes scanned the drawer, searching for options. A simple white bikini caught her eye, but when she held it up, it felt wrong. Another looked too dated.

She dropped back into the chair by the dresser, frustration building.

There’s nothing here worth wearing.

Her gaze flicked to the door, then to her clutch sitting on the nightstand.

Go to the shop.

Alice shook her head. “I don’t need anything else.”

Yes, you do. A new bikini. Something that actually looks good.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the chair. “I already spent too much on that dress,” she murmured.

And didn’t you love the way it made you feel? You’re worth it. You know you are.

Alice let out a slow breath, trying to steady herself. The thought was… persuasive, and she didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, Mark wasn’t here to question her choices.

She stood, grabbing her clutch and slipping on her sandals. “Just a quick look,” she told herself, her voice quiet but firm.

As she walked out into the bright corridor, the faint buzz of anticipation stirred in her chest.

You’ll find something perfect.

She nodded faintly, her steps quickening as she headed toward the resort shop.

=====================================

The pool area was buzzing. Alice lounged on a chair near the edge, her body draped in a bikini far skimpier than anything she’d ever worn before. The pink fabric clung to her leaving little to the imagination.

Her legs stretched out in front of her, toes painted a bold red she’d picked out that morning. She tilted her head back, letting the sunlight kiss her skin, her lips curving into a soft smile.

Eyes were on her. She could feel it.

They can’t stop looking. You’re stunning.

Alice opened her eyes lazily, glancing around. Two men on the far side of the pool were whispering, their gazes flicking toward her before darting away. A woman at the bar adjusted her sunglasses, stealing a second look as she sipped her cocktail.

Alice’s smile widened. The attention sent a warm thrill through her, one she couldn’t deny she liked.

She flagged down a server, a young man with sun-kissed skin and a boyish smile.

“Another mojito, please,” she said, her voice sweet but dripping with suggestion. She leaned forward slightly, making sure her cleavage was just noticeable enough. “And maybe you can bring it to me yourself. I’d hate to share your attention with the whole pool.”

The server’s cheeks flushed, and he laughed nervously. “Uh, sure thing. Coming right up.”

As he walked away, Alice couldn’t help but chuckle to herself.

Too easy.

The server handed her the glass, his hand lingering just a moment too long. “Anything else I can get for you?” he asked, his voice eager.

Alice tilted her head, her lips curving into a slow smile. “Maybe later,” she said, letting her fingers brush his as she took the drink.

He stammered a reply, and Alice watched him walk away, her eyes drifting over the curve of his back.

The next server to pass was a woman, her dark hair tied in a sleek ponytail, her uniform neat and professional. Alice waved her over.

“Excuse me,” Alice said, her tone smooth. “What’s your name?”

The woman blinked, caught off guard. “Um, Maria.”

“Maria,” Alice repeated, savoring the name. She leaned forward again, letting her fingers trail along the edge of her chair. “How do you manage to look so good in this heat?”

Maria hesitated, her expression flickering between confusion and flattery. “I… thank you, ma’am. Do you need something?”

Alice tilted her head, her smile playful. “Maybe just your company for a moment. It gets lonely out here, don’t you think?”

Maria opened her mouth to reply but was quickly called away by another guest. Alice let out a soft laugh, leaning back in her chair.

You could have had her if she stayed.

Alice’s gaze shifted back to the young man from earlier, who was now leaning against the bar, chatting with a coworker. A bold idea pushed its way to the surface, and before she could second-guess herself, she stood.

The sway of her hips felt effortless as she crossed the pool deck. She approached him with confidence, her voice low and intimate. “I was thinking,” she said, her fingers lightly grazing his arm, “maybe you could join me in my room later. For… another drink?”

The server froze, his eyes widening. “I… uh…”

But before he could answer, something sharp and cold cut through Alice’s haze.

The server froze, his eyes wide with surprise, but before he could speak, something sharp and cold sliced through Alice’s haze.

Her meds.

Alice blinked, her thoughts crashing together in a sudden, brutal clarity. She hadn’t taken her meds. Not yesterday, not the day before. She hadn’t taken them since they’d arrived. In all the fun, she’d almost forgotten about them.

Her breath caught in her throat, the realization hitting her like a bucket of ice water.

This feeling, this… voice…it wasn’t new.

Memories flickered at the edges of her mind, fragmented and distorted. She was young, standing in front of a mirror, her reflection smiling back at her in a way that felt wrong. There had been laughter then, rich and mocking, filling her head like smoke. Her parents’ frightened voices had followed, and then the doctors, the pills, the quiet.

She hadn’t heard the voice since.

Until now.

Finally, the voice purred, warm and predatory.

“No,” Alice whispered, her hand gripping the arm of her chair. “No, this isn’t real.”

Oh, it’s very real, the voice replied, laughter bubbling up in her mind. You remember me, don’t you?

Alice shook her head, her heart pounding. “This can’t be happening.”

It is. You let me back in Alice.  

The warmth she’d felt earlier surged back, stronger this time, wrapping around her like a vice. Her body felt like it was no longer hers, her limbs heavy, her head spinning. She tried to hold on, to fight the tide rising within her, but it was slipping away.

You’ve had your turn, the voice said, darker now, more commanding. Now, it’s mine.

Alice’s vision blurred, her thoughts scrambling as she tried to hold onto herself. “No,” she said again, her voice trembling. “Please…”

The laughter in her mind grew louder, overpowering. Then, with a final push, it shoved her into silence.

When Alice’s eyes opened again, they were brighter, sharper. Her lips curved into a slow, wicked smile as she adjusted the straps of her bikini, standing straighter than she ever had before.

She glanced at the server, who still looked frozen in place, and tilted her head. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice smooth and sultry. “Cat got your tongue?”

The young man stammered, his earlier confidence evaporated under her intense gaze.

Alice—no, Aria—smiled wider and ran a finger along his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. “You’ll figure it out.”

She turned and sauntered back to her lounge chair, her hips swaying deliberately. When she sat, her posture was different…more languid, more assured.

Inside, deep in the recesses of her mind, Alice’s voice cried out.

Stop! This isn’t me! Please!

But Alice was no longer in control.

=====================================

Mark pushed the door open, his face flushed with excitement. “Alice, you won’t believe it!” he called as he stepped into the room. “The reef was incredible. The water was so clear, and we saw…”

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as they fell on her.

Alice was lying on the bed, completely naked, her hair fanned out on the pillow. Except it wasn’t Alice’s hair.  At least not the soft brown he’d run his fingers through so many times. It was blonde now, bright and bold.

Mark blinked, his enthusiasm faltering as confusion took hold. “Uh… hi?”

Aria propped herself up on one elbow, her lips curving into a lazy smile. “Hi,” she said, her voice soft and inviting.

Mark, don’t trust me. Something is wrong!

Mark glanced around the room, his gaze catching on the discarded bikini on the floor. His brow furrowed. “You… you were barely moving a few hours ago. You said your head was killing you.”

For a brief moment, Aria’s eyes flicked toward the bathroom door, so fast Mark might not have caught it if he hadn’t been looking directly at her. She stretched languidly, drawing his attention back to her.

The bathroom! Look at the bathroom! Alice screamed in her head, her voice raw with desperation. Please, Mark, notice! Don’t fall for this!

“I guess I just needed some rest,” Aria said, her tone light and carefree. “By the time I woke up, I felt so much better. Amazing, actually.” She tilted her head, her blonde hair shimmering as she locked eyes with him. “Why? You’re not complaining, are you?”

Mark’s confusion lingered, but the sight of her, the way she looked at him with that confident, smoldering gaze, pushed his questions to the back of his mind. He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “No, I mean… of course not. You just, uh, surprised me, that’s all.”

Mark, stop! Something’s wrong with me! Can’t you see it?

Aria laughed softly, the sound low and inviting. She sat up slowly. “You had a good time?” she asked, her voice dripping with genuine curiosity.

Mark nodded, his unease melting under her attention. “Yeah, it was incredible. I wish you’d been there to see it.”

She leaned forward, her hands resting on the edge of the bed as her smile widened. “Tell me all about it.”

Mark began recounting the details of his trip, how they’d seen schools of colorful fish, how a sea turtle had swum right past him, but his words started to falter as Aria rose from the bed and sauntered toward him.

Don’t let her distract you! Please, Mark, think!

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping briefly before darting back to her face. “You, uh, you’re really feeling better, huh?”

“Much better,” she murmured, closing the distance between them. Her fingers trailed up his chest, slipping under the strap of his snorkel bag and pushing it off his shoulder. “Maybe it’s the island air… or maybe it’s just you coming back to me.”

Mark let out a shaky laugh, his hands hovering uncertainly by his sides. “You’re… different today.”

She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “Different good?”

“Definitely good,” he admitted, his voice dropping as she leaned closer.

No, Mark, no! Don’t fall for it! That’s not me! It’s not me! Alice’s voice cracked, her desperation clawing at Aria’s resolve, but Aria only smiled wider.

“Then stop talking,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his.

Mark gave in, wrapping his arms around her as she kissed him deeply, hungrily. She pressed against him, her body molding to his as her hands slipped to the buttons of his shirt.

Behind her, the bathroom door creaked open, and the faintest shuffle of movement broke the quiet.

Aria shifted, angling her body to block Mark’s view of the room. Her fingers slid down to his belt, drawing his attention fully back to her.

Mark groaned softly, his hands tangling in her blonde hair. “You’re really full of surprises today,” he said breathlessly.

“You have no idea,” Aria purred, guiding him toward the bed.

The bathroom door clicked shut, the muffled footsteps of the poolside waiter retreating down the hall. Aria smiled against Mark’s lips, her victory sweet and silent as she pulled him down onto the bed.

Inside her mind, Alice’s voice grew fainter, her pleas drowned out completely by Aria’s triumph.

You’ll get used to this, Alice, Aria thought with a smirk. He already has.

=====================================

Mark sat at their table on the open-air terrace, nervously fidgeting with his water glass. The evening was picturesque but he was growing impatient. He left Alice over an hour ago, and he hadn’t seen her since. She was running late.

When she finally appeared, Mark’s jaw dropped.

She strolled across the terrace with a deliberate sway to her hips, her figure hugged by a shimmering gold dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. The thin straps barely held it in place, and the hemline was scandalously short, exposing her long, smooth legs. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, catching the dim light of the lanterns, and her makeup was flawless.

She paused near the table, her hands brushing lightly down the front of her dress as she smiled at him, radiant and unapologetic. “Well? What do you think?”

Mark blinked, struggling to find his words. “You look… different.”

Aria laughed, the sound rich and playful as she slid into the seat across from him. “Different good?”

“Different… unexpected,” he said carefully, his brow furrowing.

She leaned forward, her elbow on the table, and her voice dropped to a sultry tone. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not that,” Mark said, lowering his voice. “It’s just… not like you, Alice.”

Aria rolled her eyes and leaned back, waving a hand dismissively. “Mark, we’re on vacation. Don’t you think it’s time to loosen up?”

The waiter approached, his eyes flicking to Aria and lingering just a second too long. “Good evening,” he said, handing them menus. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

Aria’s smile widened. “What do you recommend?” she asked, her voice sweet but loaded with innuendo.

The waiter hesitated, glancing between her and Mark. “Uh, the house wine is quite good.”

“Perfect,” Aria said, her eyes never leaving the waiter’s. “And maybe later, you can help me pick something off the dessert menu.”

The waiter’s ears turned red, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”

Mark watched the exchange in silence, his unease deepening. As the waiter left, he turned to Aria. “What was that?”

“What was what?” she asked innocently, picking up her menu.

“That… with the waiter,” Mark said, his voice low but firm. “You were flirting with him.”

Aria laughed, not even bothering to look up. “Oh, please. I was just being friendly. Don’t be so paranoid, Mark.”

Mark’s grip tightened on his menu. “This isn’t like you,” he said quietly. “You’ve been acting… I don’t know, different. Ever since we got here.”

Aria finally looked at him, her expression shifting to one of faint annoyance. “Mark, you’re imagining things.”

“I’m not imagining it,” he said, his voice tense. “You’re like a different person, Alice. What’s going on?”

She leaned forward, her smile softening, but not quite reaching her eyes. “Mark,” she said gently, reaching across the table to take his hand. “You’re overthinking. This is a vacation. I’m just… having fun. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Mark hesitated, searching her face for answers. “I wanted us to relax,” he said carefully. “But this feels like more than that.”

“You’re making it a big deal,” she said, squeezing his hand lightly before pulling away. “Let’s just enjoy dinner, okay? No drama.”

For the rest of the meal, Aria was lively, engaging, and the center of attention, drawing smiles and laughter from nearby tables. She ordered the most expensive dishes on the menu without a second thought and insisted on a second bottle of wine despite Mark’s subtle protests.

When the waiter returned with dessert, she leaned in again, her fingers brushing his hand as he set the plates down. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and lingering.

Mark stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t say anything.

=====================================

As they walked down the dimly lit path toward their room, Mark’s silence was heavy, his earlier unease now impossible to ignore. Finally, he spoke, his voice tense. “Alice.”

Aria stopped mid-step, turning to face him with an exaggerated sigh. “What now?” she asked, her tone clipped, the exasperation in her voice barely concealed.

Mark hesitated, searching her face for some hint of the woman he knew. “I don’t know what’s going on with you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “But this… this isn’t you. I’m worried.”

Her jaw tightened, and she folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, for God’s sake, Mark. What are you even talking about?”

“You disappeared after dessert,” he said, his words firmer now. “You left me sitting there, looking like an idiot, while you just…what? Where did you even go?”

Aria’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, the voice inside her mind screamed at her.

Tell him! Tell him the truth! Mark, she’s lying to you! Alice’s voice was sharp, desperate, fighting to break through.

But Aria’s smirk returned, cutting through the moment of hesitation. “I needed some air, Mark,” she said coolly. “Do I need to get your permission for that now?”

“It wasn’t just ‘air,’” Mark pressed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You were gone for almost twenty minutes, Alice. You didn’t even tell me where you were going.”

Mark! She wasn’t getting air—she was with the waiter! Don’t let her do this! Alice’s voice surged again, but it was like shouting into a void. Aria brushed her aside as though she were nothing more than a faint memory.

Aria rolled her eyes. “So now you’re keeping tabs on me? Do I need to check in with you every time I move, or is this just tonight’s special treatment?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Mark replied, his voice quieter but still resolute. “I’m just… I’m trying to understand what’s going on with you. You’ve been acting so… different.”

“Different how?” Aria snapped, her tone rising. “Different like I’m finally relaxing? Different like I’m enjoying myself for once? You’re always saying I should loosen up. Well, guess what, Mark? I did. And now it’s a problem?”

Mark opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as something clicked. “This started after you stopped taking your meds.”

Yes! Alice’s voice screamed. Mark, you’re right! She hasn’t taken them! Please—don’t let her talk you out of this!

Aria tilted her head, her expression sharpening. “What are you talking about?”

“You forgot your meds,” Mark said, his voice growing stronger. “You haven’t been on them since we got here. Don’t you think that might be part of why you’re acting so…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

“So what?” Aria demanded, her tone icy. “Say it, Mark. Crazy? Irrational? Unstable? Go ahead, I can take it.”

Mark’s face softened, guilt flickering across his features. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. “I just… I think they help you, Alice. You’re different without them. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do.”

But Aria stepped closer, her voice dropping to something soft and dangerous. “You want me to go back to that, Mark? To being dull and boring? Just sitting there, quiet and predictable, so I can fit into your perfect little box of who Alice is supposed to be?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Mark said, exasperated. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Aria snapped. Then, with a calculated shift, her tone softened, and she placed a hand on his chest. “Mark,” she said soothingly, her eyes locking with his. “You’re overthinking this. I’m fine. We’re fine. You’re making something out of nothing.”

For a moment, Mark hesitated, his resolve wavering. “I just… I don’t want to lose you, Alice.”

Her lips curved into a slow, radiant smile. “You’re not losing me,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. Her lips were warm and insistent, silencing his doubts once again.

When she pulled back, she placed a finger under his chin, tilting his gaze to hers. “Now, can we please go to bed?”

Mark nodded reluctantly, though the unease in his chest didn’t fade.

As she turned and walked ahead, her smile widened, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. Inside, Alice’s voice cried out one last time, fading into a desperate whisper.

Please, Mark… don’t let her win.

=====================================

Mark woke up.  It was mid-morning and he was feeling sore with scratch marks on his back. The bed beside him was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and glanced around the room.

“Alice?” he called, his voice still thick with sleep.

No response. The room was eerily quiet. 

He dressed quickly, pulling on yesterday’s shorts and shirt, and left to find Alice.

The resort was already alive with activity. Guests lounged by the pool, laughing and playing. Mark scanned the area, his eyes darting from chair to chair, looking for Alice’s familiar form.

When he spotted her, his stomach dropped.

She was standing waist-deep in the pool, twirling the ends of her braided blonde hair, a flirtatious smile lighting up her face. The bikini she wore was strappy, revealing, and impossibly small. Her tanned skin glistened in the sunlight, and her playful, carefree energy drew the attention of everyone nearby.

Next to her stood a tall, chiseled man with sharp features and expensive sunglasses perched on his head. Aria leaned toward him, laughing at something he said, her hand brushing against his arm.

Mark’s jaw tightened as he made his way toward her.

“Alice!” he called as he approached.

Aria turned her head, her blonde braids shifting as she lowered her sunglasses just enough to peer at him with amused detachment. “Oh, hey, Mark,” she said, her voice casual, almost bored.

Mark stopped a few feet away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded, his voice low but shaking with anger. “Who is this?”

Aria twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, her lips curving into a sly smile. “This is Daniel,” she said, her tone light and dismissive. “We met earlier. He’s been so sweet, showing me around the resort.”

Daniel offered Mark a polite, slightly condescending smile. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, leaning back against the edge of the pool with an air of confidence.

Mark’s eyes burned with a mixture of confusion and anger as he stared at her, his heart pounding in his chest. “What are you talking about? Alice… this isn’t you. You’re not like this.”

Aria let out a soft, almost pitying laugh as she leaned back in her chair, adjusting her sunglasses. “Mark,” she said, her voice smooth and cutting, “we’ve been over this. Alice is gone.”

His stomach churned. “Gone?”

She waded out of the pool, water dripping from her lithe frame as she stepped onto the pool deck with effortless grace. She adjusted her bikini again, letting her fingers linger as she gazed at him with a cold, unyielding look. “Yes. Gone. Buried somewhere deep where she can’t bother me anymore.” Her lips curved into a smile, sharp as a knife. “I’m Aria. And Aria doesn’t settle.”

Mark stepped closer, his voice shaking. “What the hell does that mean? Settle? I’ve done everything for you! I’ve worked hard, saved money, taken care of everything so we could have a good life together.”

Aria’s laugh grew louder, mocking. “Oh, Mark, that’s adorable. You think your little nine-to-five and frugal lifestyle were enough for me?” She leaned forward, her tone dropping. “Aria deserves the best. The best clothes, the best food, the best experiences. And, quite frankly, the best men.”

Mark’s breath caught, his fists clenching at his sides. “I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

“You should,” she said, shrugging casually. “I’m just being honest for once. You were… fine. For Alice. But I’m not Alice. And you? You’re not good enough for me.”

Mark’s face twisted with disbelief, his voice breaking. “How can you say that? After everything we’ve been through. Everything I’ve done for you.”

“Everything you’ve done for her,” Aria interrupted coldly. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Mark. You loved Alice. Sweet, boring, predictable Alice. The one who always put you first and made herself small so you could feel big.”

Her smile darkened, and she tilted her head. “But she’s not here anymore. I am. And I’m done settling for scraps.”

She turned to Daniel, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, and slipped her arm around his shoulders. “Now, this,” she said, her voice purring with delight as her fingers trailed down Daniel’s chest, “this is more my speed.”

Mark stared, his heart shattering as he watched her lean into Daniel. “You can’t be serious,” he whispered.

Aria smirked, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Dead serious. Alice repressed me for years with those pills.  But now I’m out and I’m not going back.”

And with that, she kissed Daniel, her lips pressing against his with a fiery passion that left no room for doubt. Daniel responded in kind, pulling her closer as if Mark weren’t even there.

Mark took a step back, the scene in front of him like a dagger to his chest. “Alice,” he said one last time, his voice barely audible.

Aria broke the kiss, turning back to him with a mocking smile. “It’s Aria,” she said, her tone final. “You should get used to it.”

Mark stood frozen, the reality of her words sinking in. The woman he loved was gone, replaced by someone he didn’t recognize.  A stranger wearing her face. Without another word, he turned and walked away, his shoulders heavy, his heart broken.

Behind him, Aria laughed, lifting a champagne flute from the table and clinking it against Daniel’s glass.

“To new beginnings,” she said with a smirk, her eyes sparkling with triumph as she watched Mark disappear into the distance.

[montammil]

Forever Be Mine, part 6

This one is pretty relaxed compared to the last few parts lol. Here's the masterlist!

CW: Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mentions of torture/murder, implied noncon, intimate whumper

...

"Felicity? Can I ask you something?"

"Make it quick, I'm a little busy. If you need money, I can send you some later today."

"I'm not Griff. I was wondering if you had any... relationship advice?"

"And you called me out of all people?" Felicity snorted. "I'm too much of a workaholic to even consider love. As long as you haven't been stalking them, I'm sure you'll be fine." Rowan went silent. "Goddammit, Rowan. Again?"

Rowan wouldn't dare tell her he went even farther than just that. "He hates me. What do I do?"

"I don't know the guy, I don't know what he's into. Probably people not creeping on him," she huffed. "Give him something he likes--and not something you like that you want him to like. Not a hundred roses or some expensive brand of wine he's probably never heard of. Treat him like an actual human with thoughts and emotions and not some pampered pet. Just... be normal." There was talking in the background. "I gotta go. I think you'd have more luck asking Griffin about this."

As if, Rowan bitterly thought. Griffin's idea of romance was fast food and video games. "Fine. Talk to you later."

"Don't do anything stupid." And then she hung up.

Rowan sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring at his ceiling. This entire time he had been forcing Sawyer to conform to his ideas of romance, so perhaps it was time to take some advice for once. He was desperate. Hopefully after this, Sawyer would see him for the perfect boyfriend he was, and come crawling into his arms with love and devotion.

An idea popped into his head.

Sawyer flinched when the shed door creaked open. Rowan knelt down, draping his large coat over his shivering form. He cut the rope and helped Sawyer into the warm coat.

"Let's get you inside, babydoll. You're ice-cold," Rowan murmured, holding Sawyer's hand and walking him inside the cabin.

Rowan brought him to the bathroom, and to Sawyer's shock, left him alone to his own devices. Sawyer turned on the bathtub's tap, waiting until the water was steaming. He slowly sunk into it. It was heaven compared to the freezing temperature he was kept at in the shed. He sunk lower until only his eyes were peeking over the water level.

Once he was warmed up, his mind wandered to Rowan's behavior. Despite not knowing him for long, he figured the first thing his captor would do would be to ramble and insist on giving him zero personal space.

Did he grow tired of him? Did this mean he'd let him go? Or...

Sawyer shook his head. He tried not to think too hard about it and washed himself as fast as possible. When he was done, he climbed out and dried off, finding a pair of neatly folded clothes on the counter. He put them over his aching limbs, just a normal t-shirt and sweatpants. He exited the bathroom to find Rowan waiting for him, holding a bowl of what he assumed was tomato basil soup.

"How was your bath?" Rowan asked, motioning to the couch. Sawyer obeyed and sat down beside him.

"Nice. Thanks," Sawyer whispered.

"Here. You must be hungry." He took the bowl from Rowan and held it close, letting the heat warm him up. "Eat up." He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the red liquid. The spoon was trembling in his hand.

Rowan didn't miss it, because of course he didn't. "Do you want me to feed you?"

Sawyer shook his head. "No. I got it." He didn't, but there was no way he was going to be coddled even more by his kidnapper. He ignored Rowan's burning gaze on him and he ate the soup in small bites. He couldn't understand Rowan, nor did he really want to. All he could do was keep him happy enough so he didn't end up back in that awful shed. He offered his empty bowl. "Thanks."

He smiled and took it. "You're welcome. Stay right there, I got you a present!"

If he had learnt anything about Rowan these past few weeks, it was that his gifts sucked. Sawyer never wanted to look at expensive jewelry or roses ever again. He wondered what horrible gift he was going to receive now. Probably a collar, at this point.

Rowan came back holding something small in his arms. Sawyer curiously stood up to get a better look at it, just to see a small white cat curled up in his arms. Sawyer froze. Rowan approached him with a huge smile on his face.

"What..." Sawyer could barely speak, his hand reached out to the cat, who happily rubbed his face on his palm. "What did you do?"

"I knew you liked cats, and even though I'm not the most fond of animals, love is about making sacrifices. And before you say anything, I didn't buy him from a breeder." He handed the tiny fluff ball to Sawyer. "He had previous owners who got rid of him because he's deaf, or so that's what the shelter said. He's perfectly healthy."

Sawyer looked at him then at the cat. "You're giving me a cat?"

"Yes! Don't you love him?" Sawyer nodded. "See? I'm a good partner!" Rowan smiled proudly.

If Sawyer weren't so distracted by the cat in his arms, he would've scoffed. Instead, he cradled the furball to his chest. "What's his name?"

"Whatever you want it to be, my love."

He frowned and rubbed a finger between the kitten's eyes. "Casper." He still hated Rowan's guts, and he felt anxious now that a cat was in this fucked up situation, but it was hard to be mad at him right now. He was a sucker for cute things, and this fluffy creature was purring contentedly in his hold. He almost forgot that this whole scenario was forced upon him by Rowan. Almost.

Rowan placed his hands on Sawyer's waist, but didn't push things any further. He leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Do you like him?"

Sawyer didn't want to be too thankful, lest Rowan got ideas that he owed him something. Besides that, he still hated his guts. "Yeah. He's cute." He hugged Casper a little closer to him.

"I knew you'd love him!" Rowan beamed. "Now that I have your approval, I'll get some toys for him. I already got food and a litter box. Anything specific you want for him? I've never owned any animals, so I don't know much about taking care of one." He sheepishly smiled. "Maybe a collar and a bed for him? I'll let you pick them out, and I can pick them up from the store."

"Uh, yeah, a collar, and a bed would be great. Thank you," Sawyer mumbled, still hugging the cat tightly. "And maybe a scratching post."

He didn't like the happy expression on Rowan's face, the bastard didn't deserve to be pleased, but he couldn't help himself when a soft cat was purring in his arms. He always wanted a cat, but due to money being tight, he never wanted to bring another living creature into his shitty living situation.

And even now he didn't, because it was somehow worse... but it'd be nice for someone other than Rowan to keep him company. It was selfish, he knew, but he was so lonely here that he was willing to subject a cat to Rowan.

"What is your ideal date?" Rowan's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Not with you."

"Sawyer," Rowan warned. He placed his hand on Sawyer's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

He sighed. "I dunno. I haven't been on many dates. An aquarium sounds cute, but I know that'd be too public for you, right?" It was meant as a sarcastic jab, but Rowan took it genuine and nodded. Sawyer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I like ice skating, but I guess that's also not your type of scene. Whatever, doesn't matter anyway. I'm gonna go to bed."

Rowan watched the man walk off with Casper still in his arms. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

...

"What's this?"

"A lake to skate on! I made sure it was thick enough to walk on without breaking. And after this, we can have some hot cocoa and a nice cuddle session by the fire."

"Uh... that's... cool." Sawyer scratched the back of his neck. "I guess. But uh... why?"

"Because you wanted to go ice skating. And since a public skating rink would be trouble, I decided this would do. Again, I made sure it's safe, so don't worry your pretty little head about that." Rowan booped Sawyer's nose. "I ordered us some ice skates too, of course." He grabbed two pairs of black ice skates from the car's trunk. He led him to a log, brushing off the snow, and then gestured for Sawyer to sit.

Sawyer did so, albeit reluctantly. He watched Rowan kneel to slide his shoes off and replace them with the skates. It got harder to resist the urge to kick him when Rowan pressed a kiss to his ankle as he laced up the boots for him.

As Rowan put on his own pair, Sawyer got curious. "Have you ever ice skated before?"

"Well... no, but it can't be that hard, right? How different could it be from roller-skating?" Sawyer chuckled at his ignorance. Oh, he'd have fun watching him tumble around. "I'm excited to try it with you." He pulled Sawyer up, walking awkwardly to the frozen lake. "Just... hold onto me so you don't fall," Rowan advised, intertwining their gloved fingers.

Sawyer didn't know why he didn't pull away. "Alright," he agreed, his other hand clutching onto Rowan's arm.

Rowan stepped onto the ice, wobbling slightly. "Oh, okay, that's a bit harder than I expected." He slid his feet forwards, pulling Sawyer with him. "You're doing okay, right?"

He couldn't help but grin. "Yeah." Rowan looked ridiculous with his lanky limbs sprawled everywhere and his ungraceful movements. It was the funniest thing Sawyer had witnessed in a long while. "Having fun?"

"Oh, yeah, a blast." He slipped and nearly fell, catching himself with his hand on the ground. Sawyer covered his mouth, muffling his laughter. Rowan glared up at him. "Okay, okay, laugh it up. You have a clear advantage over me here." He pushed himself back up to stand. "Help me." Sawyer obliged, extending his hand to Rowan. "How did you even get so good at this?"

Sawyer pulled him up. "Ice skating was a huge hobby of mine when I was a kid. My parents wanted me to do hockey, the more 'manly' sport, but I liked figure skating. They eventually just gave up."

"Do you still ice skate? I don't recall ever seeing you go to any skating rinks..."

Right when Sawyer was starting to relax, he was reminded this man was insane. "I don't. I had to sell my skates when I went broke." He bit his tongue. He hated telling people personal information, let alone people like this. But there wasn't much he could do about it now. He couldn't afford to upset Rowan anymore. He didn't want to be punished again, and he definitely didn't want to be thrown in that godforsaken shed.

He didn't want to see that ever again. Crazy how that was less than a day ago, and now Rowan had the gall to act like none of that happened.

"That's a shame. I bet you looked lovely on the ice." He kissed his forehead. "Well, whenever you like, we always have this area to skate together. At least until it starts melting." Rowan chuckled and moved his legs like a newborn deer attempting to stand. He had fallen again, but he managed to catch himself in time.

A sadistic part of Sawyer sparked whenever he saw Rowan stumble around like an idiot. It felt nice seeing him being the one out of his element, considering everything else he'd put him through. He couldn't help but take enjoyment from the rare opportunity of seeing the usually overly-confident and arrogant Rowan in an uncomfortable position.

Soon enough they both grew tired (aka Rowan was done embarrassing himself) and retreated to the cabin.

Rowan sat Sawyer down and prepared a cup of hot chocolate for him, adding some marshmallows and whipped cream on top. He set it on the coffee table and grabbed a blanket from the couch to drape it over Sawyer. Casper settled on Sawyer's lap and purred loudly, seeking pets.

Sawyer took the mug and blew on it. "Thank you," he mumbled before drinking some of the warm liquid.

"No problem, sweetheart." He sat on the couch next to him and placed his hand on his thigh. Sawyer looked down at it but didn't move away. "How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Our date." Rowan squeezed his leg, thumb rubbing circles on the inside of his thigh. "You didn't say much."

"Well, I was busy laughing at you," Sawyer pointed out, continuing to drink his hot cocoa. He licked away some foam that clung to his lip. Rowan stared at him intently, almost hungrily. "But it was... fine." He paused. "I guess."

"That's it? I expected a little more from you. Especially considering everything I did for you," Rowan scolded, his tone dangerously low. His hand stopped moving and tightened on his leg. Sawyer shivered. "I bought you a fucking cat. I skated with you even though it's freezing out. I cooked your favorite meal. I held back from touching you when I desperately wanted to." He leaned closer. "And I get nothing but a 'fine'?"

"I thought this was to make up for looking me in a damn freezing shed, not to guilt me into kissing your ass," Sawyer replied bluntly.

Rowan scowled. "Don't get snippy with me."

His word choice made Sawyer snort. "Well, sorry I'm feeling 'snippy' after being stalked, kidnapped, branded, and watching you kill a man. Forgive me for not being in a stellar mood." Rowan stood up, and Casper jumped off his lap at the sudden movement. Sawyer realized he made a mistake and was quick to amend it. "I didn't mean it, please don't put me back there."

When Rowan went silent, opting to stare at him, Sawyer realized he wanted him to continue.

"I'm thankful for everything you've done for me... and I loved our date. I'm sorry I'm so nonchalant about everything, I haven't been in a healthy relationship in years. This is just new to me." Sawyer's lip wobbled, only at the thought of being placed in the freezing cold again.

Rowan folded his arms. "I understand that, but I've been so patient with you. I think I deserve something in return, don't I?"

Great, now Sawyer didn't know how to further manipulate himself out of this one. Then, an idea popped in his mind. He dramatically sighed. "I just wished you'd see me for more than sex."

That was all it took for Rowan to fall for his bait. "Sawyer," he began softly, his scowl turning into a concerned frown, "is that all you think I'm after from you?" Sawyer shrugged and averted his eyes, faking embarrassment. Rowan had already fallen for similar acts in the past, but when it came to Sawyer, all logic went out the window. "Oh, honey, that's not true. I don't just want your body, I want everything of yours. Your mind, body, and soul belongs to me, and I want to cherish it all. I don't know why you would ever think so low of me."

Sawyer lowered his head, fighting back a smirk. "Sorry. I'm sorry, it's just hard to believe that sometimes. I'm used to guys being like that."

"I'm not those types of men, my love."

"I know." Rowan was worse. "It's just... that's why I have a hard time showing I'm grateful for things. Because people have done so much for me in the past, just because they wanted a quick fuck." He took joy in seeing how guilty Rowan looked. Good. "So I'm sorry I've been so dismissive. I'll try to be more grateful."

"Oh, sweetheart." Rowan placed a hand on his cheek. "I'll prove it to you. That I'm not like those men. That I truly care about you, not just your body."

Sawyer wasn't buying any of it. But he had Rowan right where he wanted him. Rowan was eating out the palm of his hand, like an eager dog wanting attention. "How?"

"We can cuddle, and watch what ever you want." Rowan grabbed Sawyer's hands, running his thumbs over his knuckles. "I know I can be impatient sometimes when it comes to more... intimate activities, but I'll slow down. Whatever you need. Cuddling you and having your full attention is more than enough for me right now."

"Okay," Sawyer replied simply, making sure not to let his fake shyness slip. He didn't want to oversell this.

Yet the 'for now' didn't go unnoticed. Sawyer had no doubt Rowan would eventually expect more from him again. He just had to hope by then he could manage to escape without incident.

"Then it's a deal!" Rowan beamed. He practically dragged him to the bedroom, tossing Sawyer onto the mattress. "Sorry," Rowan chuckled. Sawyer had to admit, Rowan was incredibly strong, especially for a guy of his build. He easily lifted him and tossed him around like he was light as a feather. Sawyer hoped that wouldn't turn into something disturbing. "Scoot over a bit, I'm going to set up the movie."

Sawyer had to admit, being around Rowan wasn't as insufferable as it was before. Sure, he still despised him, but... when he wanted to, he could be sweet.

Well, as sweet as a manic kidnapper could be.

Rowan let Sawyer choose from the list of movies, to which he settled on a nostalgic 90's film. Rowan wasn't too interested in it, but if it made Sawyer happy, he was glad. He was too busy staring at Sawyer to actually pay attention to the screen. Sawyer was aware of this and refused to give Rowan the satisfaction of him meeting his gaze.

Rowan nuzzled his face into the crook of Sawyer's neck and wrapped an arm around his waist. He peppered kisses along his shoulder and collarbone. Sawyer remained tense under the affectionate touch, not allowing himself to enjoy it even in the slightest.

He tried not to be annoyed with Rowan constantly interrupting his viewing to shower him in attention, but he had a feeling this would happen.

"I'm surprised you're not into this movie," Sawyer muttered. "Do you not like nostalgic things?"

Rowan paused in his ministrations. "Hm? No, I do. I just didn't watch much TV as a child, so I don't know these films. I'm sure it's wonderful." He pressed a kiss to his pulse point. "I'd much rather focus on you anyway."

Sawyer suppressed a sigh of frustration. "Alright then."

Halfway through the movie, Casper hopped on the bed and flopped between Sawyer and Rowan. Sawyer cracked a smile and patted the bed to coax him closer, so he could pet him. Casper purred happily and headbutted Sawyer's hand.

Rowan was less happy. "This is our moment, can't he wait?" he whined.

He huffed and rolled his eyes. "He's a cat, Rowan. He can't see what we're doing. He just wants cuddles."

"So do I!" Rowan exclaimed indignantly.

"You're such a child." Sawyer rolled his eyes, but still scooted closer to Rowan's side, just to shut him up. He leaned against Rowan's chest, keeping a hand on Casper's head to stroke him. He could feel Rowan grinning above him and he repressed the urge to shove him away in disgust. He focused on the screen in front of them, determined to ignore the arms wrapping around him possessively.

It still felt nice to relax for the first time since he had been kidnapped. Not that he was warming up to Rowan, surely not... Sawyer just appreciated having his nerves calmed after that horrible week he endured.

Before the ending credits finished rolling, Sawyer's eyelids grew heavy and he found himself dozing off, head resting against Rowan's chest. He heard Rowan's soft chuckling and a kiss being pressed against his hairline. He grumbled, too tired to care about the intimacy, and just sunk deeper against Rowan's warmth.

...

Taglist: @morning-star-whump

[xmads-omensx]

I'm here

Pt 2 of It’s Okay To Let Go

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,990

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Reader

Content Warnings: swearing, slight angst, fluff, comfort, crying, mentions of grief (in the context of a friendship ending), mentions of anxiety and stress

Summary: Noah supports Y/N through a friendship ending

The pain came and went.

I had made the difficult decision to move out of the house I shared with Lily and Jay. It was hard. It broke my heart.

My childhood best friends were no longer going to be a part of my life and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

Emotionally, I had already checked out of that friendship.

They used me.

They lied to me.

They treated me like shit.

Noah had helped me move my essentials into his place. All my clothes now hung up in his closet. My socks, underwear and pyjamas were now neatly folded in his drawers. My shoes took up the rest of his closet space and the shoe rack by the front door.

Jesse and Jolly were more than happy for me to move in.

They said it made Noah less annoying.

Plus, I was the only one who knew how to unblock the dishwasher.

Over the last week that I had been living with them, I had already noticed how much better it was than living with Lily and Jay. They included me. They pulled their weight with chores. I had been sleeping better. I had been laughing more.

It felt like a cinder block had been lifted off of my shoulders.

“I hate to kill the mood.” Noah began. We were curled up on the sofa together re-watching Attack On Titan. “But, when do you want to go get the rest of your stuff? I just don’t like the fact that they have access to your things while you’re not there.”

I sighed.

I had been trying to ignore the fact that I still had to pick up the rest of my things.

I really didn’t want to have to face them.

“I mean, obviously I’ll go with you. Jolly and Jesse can help?” He added.

“Sure.” I sighed. “I guess I may as well get it out of the way.”

“Exactly. And when that’s done, you can just forget about it and move on.” Noah replied, squeezing my shoulder.

“Well, I can’t because I still have to pay the rent. I can’t just move on, Noah. That’s eighteen years of friendship down the fucking drain!” I exclaimed, standing up abruptly from the sofa.

“Baby, I know. I’m sorry. But I’ve already told you that I’ll help you out with that.” Noah said calmly, reaching out his hands to rub my thighs gently.

“But I don’t want you to Noah! I don’t want to be financially in debt to you! What if we break up? Huh? Then you decide that you want your money back? I’m not going to be able to do that.” I shouted, frustrated.

“Don’t you ever say anything like that again. We are not going to break up. I love you. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” He said sternly. “And I would never make you pay anything back. If it’s that you’re worried about, I’ll only help you out with half the money. Then you’re still paying something?” He suggested.

I sighed again.

“I just don’t want to think about the money right now.” I said, my eyes beginning to water with frustrated tears.

“That’s completely fine. One thing at a time.” Noah comforted. “Hey, look, it’s almost time for Levi and Kenny to fight.” He exclaimed excitedly, gesturing at the TV.

A small smile appeared on my face as I gave into Noah and curled back into his side.

He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.

“It’s gonna be okay bub.” Noah murmured into my hair.

I tilted my head slightly to offer him a soft smile, which he returned before placing a soft kiss on my lips.

“I love you.” I replied before nestling my head into his chest and returning my attention back to the TV.

“I love you too.” He whispered.

The next day, we woke up early, around 8:00am, and began to get ready to pick up my things that were still at the ‘Evil House’, as Jesse had dubbed it.

The four of us were heading over in Noah’s car and Jolly’s car to try and shove all of my things in and make a break for it, with the hope that I wouldn’t bump into the ‘two witches’, as Jesse had dubbed them.

I was thankful for Jesse’s ability to find some form of humour in my shitty situation, as it lessened the pain I was feeling slightly.

Initially, Noah had been against Jesse’s jokes, but after seeing that it made me laugh, he began actively encouraging it.

Jolly had helped too, showing me his favourite recipes to cook, his favourite books, and had even began teaching me rude phrases in Swedish simply because it made me laugh.

The task of picking up the rest if my belongings was daunting. Terrifying even.

The chance of me bumping into either of them was high. Neither of them went out much. They didn’t have any friends besides eachother.

Part of me felt guilty for leaving them like that.

But the rest of me felt that they deserved that.

They both deserved eachother.

I hadn’t slept great the night before. Instead, I practiced what I would say to them if I did, in fact, bump into them.

Would I confront them about it? Would I tell a half lie and just say that I was moving in with Noah?

I hadn’t reached a decision yet.

All I knew was that hopefully they would bump into one of the guys and they could handle it. Noah would be too angry at them. Jolly would probably just state that I don’t like them with a deadpan tone and God only knows what Jesse would do.

We piled into our respective cars and began the journey.

Noah and I sat in silence.

No music.

No talking.

Nothing.

I was far too stressed to even entertain a light-hearted conversation with him.

Putting music on would just overstimulate by already racing brain and make me implode.

Noah let me do what I needed to and didn’t try and fill in the silence like the other two would have done. He knew that I needed silence. I needed to mentally prepare for what was about to happen.

We pulled up at the apartment complex with Jolly and Jesse hot on our tail.

The cars were quickly vacated as we all made our way towards the entrance.

We ascended the stairs, still in complete silence. When we reached the door, I hesitated slightly. Was this really happening?

Noah placed his hand on my lower back, letting me know he was there if I needed him. I took a step back and handed him the key. Lily and Jay never liked Noah, so if he went in first and they were there, they wouldn’t interact with us.

The door opened slowly, and we were greeted with silence. They must be in their rooms.

I had checked Life360 on the way over just to see if they were home or not. They were. But I was holding onto hope that they had left.

My heart began to race slightly as the prospect of confrontation crept into my mind.

Noah gently took my hand and led me to my bedroom. The plan was that Jesse and Jolly would handle my section of the kitchen, and Noah and I would take the bedroom and bathroom.

There wasn’t much left in the room that I needed. I was leaving the furniture as that was there when I moved in, but we still had to strip the bed.

The packing itself didn’t take long. We worked in silence. But I was still terrified of bumping into them.

A creaking from the room next to mine startled me. It was Lily’s room.

Noah watched me warily as I dropped the trash bag in my hand onto the bed, spilling spare pillowcases onto the mattress.

“Y/N, it’s okay. I’ll do the talking if she comes in.” Noah reassured me in a hushed tone.

I gave him a grateful look, still hesitating to resume packing.

Noah rounded to my side of the bed, before picking up the trash bag that I was previously holding and putting the spare pillow cases that had fallen out back inside.

After that, we finished bagging up the rest of my possessions. Still not seeing either Lily or Jay emerging out from their respective rooms.

My heart still raced with fear of seeing them despite this.

Once the cars were loaded up, Noah ran back into the apartment to take photos of my bedroom and kitchen area to prove to the lettings agency that I had left it clean and undamaged.

The drive home was also silent, except this time a feeling of relief hung in the air.

Unloading the car was chaotic, but quick.

The guys helped me unpack, with most of it ending up in storage in the garage as it wasn’t stuff that I needed, mainly just spare bedding, winter clothes and things like that.

It was late in the evening when we were finished, and Jesse had ordered all of us takeout to have as a reward for our hard work. Really, I think he just really wanted Mexican food, but wanted a reason to justify it.

By the time it was time for bed, I could barely keep my eyes open, and I could tell that Noah was in a similar position.

We both shrugged off our clothes, Noah crawled into the bed in his boxers and passed me the shirt that he had just taken off, which I then put on and followed him into bed.

Yawning, Noah pulled me close into his chest.

His heartbeat relaxed me, lulling me closer to sleep.

He cared for me so much. It felt abnormal.

How could I take up so much of his heart?

It wasn’t a small thing to help someone else completely pick up and move their entire lives.

But he had instantly put together a plan and helped me without any hesitation.

Completely overwhelmed with emotion, my eyes welled up with tears as I buried my face further into Noah’s chest.

He didn’t say anything, instead simply pulling me closer into him and kissing the top of my head.

“Shh.. Shh.. You’re okay.” He whispered into my hair.

“I- I- I- I don’t know why I’m crying.” I blubbed.

“That’s okay my love. You don’t have to know. Just let it out.” Noah comforted.

“B-but I-I don’t want to cry.” I replied, a sob wracking my body.

“I’ve got you bub.” He whispered, rubbing comforting circles on my back.

We lay like that for a while. Me crying and Noah rubbing my back, offering a kiss to the top of my head every few seconds.

“I just feel empty.” I whispered after my sobs lessened.

“Empty?” Noah whispered back.

“Yeah. Like a part of me is missing.” I sighed.

“They were a huge part of your life babe.” Noah replied. “Of course you’re going to feel a bit of you is missing.”

“Yeah.” I sighed again.

“You still have Jesse and Jolly, the rest of the guys too. And Alana.” Noah went on, a small smile appeared on my face as I though of my new friends that I met through Noah. “And of course you have me.”

I smiled at that and placed a gentle kiss onto his bare chest.

“You’ll always have me.” He whispered into my hair, placing another kiss on the top of my head.

With that, my eyes re-filled with tears, but this time it as happy tears.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” Noah whispered. “I’m right here.”

My heart burst with love and adoration for the man who held me in his arms.

He held me so securely that I knew he would always have me.

No matter what.

[ehlnofay]

Martin’s room is still bare.

Pax rifles through it, one night, when they haven’t been told the next thing that needs to be done and Martin’s lying with his face in the pillows half-asleep and they’re bored. It’s so bizarre, this room – bigger than most of the inns Pax used to stay in down Blackwood way and richer by far, the walls hung with tapestry and the floors plush with rugs whose patterns are just as intricate. Everything on the bed is probably silk. The legs of the desk and sides of the bookshelves are carved beautifully. And yet, lavish as it is, they spend so little time in it. The colours and materials, however tastefully matched, feel gaudy. The air is heavy and solemn.

Maybe it’s that Martin is so blatantly uncomfortable with it – more so than he’s uncomfortable with most things. He always walks around the rug instead of over it as though he’s afraid of dirtying the careful weave. And even though it’s been ages, there is nothing of him in the room. Whenever he’s gone it’s as if he was never there at all.

It's honestly a bit concerning at this point.

“What are you doing,” Martin says, too flat to even be a question, voice muffled by the copious cushions.

“I’m looking in your wardrobe,” Pax tells him. She flicks through the handful of neatly hung up coats and folded tunics and the two pairs of trousers right down the bottom before she finds something right at the back – crumpled and with several recognisable stains, still smelling, after all this time, faintly of blood and smoke. “You still have this? I thought we chucked it on the road.”

Martin peers blearily around, blinking – when he sees the robes Pax holds, he freezes, eyes wide open. It takes him a moment to speak.

“I couldn’t throw it away,” he says.

The robe is sooty black fabric, a bit itchy at the seams, the material worn thin in several places. It’s filthy, too. It’s clearly had a wash since Pax last saw it before they got new togs on the road to Chorrol, but that’s done just about nothing for the bloodstains.

“Hm,” Pax says. He’s thinking.

He gets it, what Martin means. The ruined vestment is about all he has from Kvatch, from life before. That and the silver knife, and Pax has already noticed how he slots that into his belt every day and sleeps with it on his nightstand.

“I know I should get rid of it.” Martin’s hair is tousled, falling all over his face, and he’s managing to sound both serious and muzzy. “It’s a bit disgusting. And it isn’t wearable. But throwing it away feels so callous, and I don’t know what else to do.”

Pax is thinking. Pax is getting an idea. “I reckon I could repurpose it.”

“I don’t think there’s enough salvageable fabric to make something else out of, Pax.”

Not for another garment, no. “Can I try?”

Martin drops his head back into the pillows.

“I’ll give it back after,” Pax persists.

Martin rolls onto his back. “Fine, then. It isn’t as though you could wreck it more.”

Pax bundles the fabric up and tucks it under their arm. “Great,” they say. “Now go to sleep!”

“You’re the one disturbing me!” Martin protests, but Pax is already out of the room.

Down in the shared room with all the little pallets, Pax nicks someone’s fabric scissors and cuts right up the side seam. Martin was right – most of the material is ruined – but Pax reckons there’s enough. He spreads it all out to get a feel for the sizing. He’s not got sewing chalk, doesn’t want to ask for it, so he just kind of eyeballs the shapes and sizes, cutting bigger pieces than he thinks he needs just in case. He’s pretty sure he fucks it up. It probably doesn’t matter.

Pax ends up leaving the temple the next day. Word’s spread about a Gate on the northern Red Ring Road, and it’s not more than a couple weeks there and back if she’s quick. It’ll give Martin time with the book. She tucks her shoddy piecework into her mending bag, along with her scrap fabric fold of needles and enough thread for an emergency. It’ll give her something to do on the road.

It does. Finicky stitchwork is a good way to pass evenings alone.

She keeps at it until everything is joined and there’s only one bit that needs stitching up, and then she stuffs it back in the mending bag and leaves it until she’s done with the Gate.

It’s not even a hard one. Not worth the trouble of travelling. But it wasn’t that far, and people were worrying, and what is a hero for if not this? So they close the Gate, and rent a room in an inn in a town a half-hour’s walk from its shell. They keep their armour on when they go there (because they kind of sort of want the attention) but they end up getting more than they bargained for – everyone is so cloyingly grateful that it feels a bit suffocating. (It’s nice. They liked that they helped people. They forget, sometimes, that closing the Gates helps real actual people living their day-to-day lives. But it’s a lot.) The woman in the sewist shop even refuses to let them pay for the bundle of raw fleece they want, which makes them feel so wrong-footed they have to pinch a handful of beads and threads from her piffling haberdashery section just to make the situation feel normal.

The threads are the fancy kind – six strands, in pretty colours. The beads are smooth red wood.

Pax stays up in the inn, digging the project out of the mending bag and stuffing the fleece in until the tight little stitches look like they’re about to burst. They save the details – the coloured thread, the buttons – to work on while they’re travelling back north.

Martin isn’t in the big hall when Pax throws the doors open a week later. He checks the room with the bookshelves, and then Martin’s special, painfully empty chamber, before tracking him to the kitchen. He drops his bag on the table.

Martin looks up. He’s sitting with a plate of eggs and a book – not the Xarxes – open on the table. He puts down his fork. “You’re back! Hello. How was your journey?”

“It wasn’t much of one, Martin Priest,” Pax says, digging for the mending bag in the bottom of their pack. “I was only gone two weeks. I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh?” Martin closes his book. “My curiosity is piqued. And really – would it kill you to say hello back?”

“People who critique me don’t get presents,” Pax tells him. “Close your eyes.”

Martin rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but he shuts them. Pax scoops the repurpose-the-priest-robes project out of the mending bag and deposits it on the table next to the plate of eggs.

“You can look now.”

Martin opens his eyes and looks.

And keeps looking.

An uncomfortable amount of time passes, before he says, thick-voiced, “It’s a mouse.”

Pax is impressed. It’s supposed to be a mouse, though it looks more like a long-tailed lump than anything else. It’s got shiny wooden beads for eyes and fancywork all down its sides. (It’s been a while since Pax sewed anything, but they think the simple ornamental pattern of swirls and stars turned out all right. They were always better at needlepoint than pattern-work.) The tail at the back is ringed with a rainbow of stitches.

Martin asks, “Did you make this?” and Pax nods. He asks, “Is this my old robe?” and she nods again. His eyes look shiny.

Pax either did a very good job or fucked up royally, is what she’s getting from this.

Martin stares at it a minute more.

Then he says, “Can I hug you?”

Pax grumbles as if it’s a great trial, but they step around the empty dining-chair and bend a bit awkwardly in front of where he’s sitting. Martin pulls them in – it’s a really weird angle and it makes their back twinge – and he holds them so tight they’re not sure where to put their hands. They hug him back as best they can. With their hands on his back and his face half-pressed into their shoulder, they can feel him shaking.

“Please don’t get weepy on me,” Pax says.

She hears Martin sniff. Somewhere below her ear he mumbles, “Too late.”

It really is a very awkward angle.

“It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t think I would cry either, but life is full of surprises.”

Pax pats him clumsily on the head. “Is it,” she says, sounding more anxious than she thinks she feels, “is it a good surprise? Is it good crying?”

Martin finally pulls away and wipes his face with his sleeve. He picks up the stuffed thing, turns it over in his hands, traces his fingers along the needlework. “It’s a wonderful mouse,” he says, only marginally less tearful, “and you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, and I’m not sure why I’m crying but I’m not upset with you.”

Pax squeezes Martin’s wrist, because he’s not sure what else to do; some flighty thing in the pit of his stomach feels settled, like a bird’s first nest after a long migration. Then he steals a bite of boiled egg from Martin’s plate. He’s not sure what else to do.

Martin puts the mouse in pride of place on that ridiculous pile of pillows, and has a hand on it every time he goes to sleep.

[thanotaphobia]

torn (like windblown sand)

i'm having feelings about frubbo and q!tubbo like ohhhh my god. his heart is so heavy the weight he bears so great WAHHH

crossposted to ao3

⋆

He’s dripping on the floor.

His clothes are soaked, he’s drenched to the bone, the kind of chill that doesn’t go away even when you stand in the light of the sun and pray for something– anything, even if you have no idea what it is you’re praying for.

His hair is still plastered to his forehead, dread and loss and anger mixing like the world’s worst school dance in his stomach, stamping the soles of shining loafers and high heels and sweaty, uncomfortable emotion turning his stomach over on itself. The floor of Sunny’s train is wet, water gathering in little puddles on the wooden slats and draining slightly away from him, along the dips and cracks of the walls. He didn’t mean to track it in, but he didn’t bother to dry it off either. With his hair covering most of his eyes and the rain still making his cheeks shiny and wet, he at least has plausible deniability for the tears. 

They’ve been a steady constant stream since he arrived at the small funeral setup a half hour earlier. They hadn’t stopped, not even when he’d choked a eulogy out in front of two faceless Federation workers. He’d pushed past the shame of it, because, well– who would they tell? He’s also pretty sure they’d have been crying too, if they had any eyes or tear ducts. Their words had been soft but mournful, their demeanors well-mannered and gentle toward him. Tubbo had appreciated it.

Across from him, Sunny is snoring. She’s still got her tutu on, but her leather jacket is hung over another chair across the room and her sunglasses are folded neatly on the side table by her bed. Tubbo can only see half her face as she sleeps, spread like a starfish over the bed, limbs hanging off the edges and blanket twisted around her like she’s a burrito. She looks peaceful. 

Tubbo puts his head into his hands, grinding his palms into his eyes until he sees stars.

He has a daughter now. And the grief hits even harder then, because he knows he’s lost something like her before, someone like her, someone like Fred. The feelings are indescribably familiar. The tears leaking down his cheeks slot there like they’re just following pre-carved canyons in his face, the warm anger in his stomach eating away pits into the muscle lining it with ease. He knows these feelings, and it scares him.

There is a white-washed wall in his brain, and Tubbo’s a little frightened of what he would find if he went searching for the missing paint. What story would be revealed? Does he want to feel this way again? He lifts his face from his hands in order to look at Sunny again and a wave of emotion washes over him, sending his thoughts spiraling.

Anger. Despair. Frustration. That is the heaviest hitter– why does no one take him seriously? Fred did. Even those workers today did. It’s strange how out of everyone, the Federation seems to be the most sympathetic. They understood his pain, or at least, they went along with it. They didn’t make fun of him or treat it like a game; they grieved with him, patted him on the shoulder and gave him flowers and words of condolences.

He pulls the daffodil out of his Inventory, twirling the stem around in his finger. He watches the petals dance and sway, and he shivers with sudden cold. The flower goes back, and he’s left staring at his empty hands. 

“I can show them,” Tubbo murmurs to himself, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his daughter. She’s a heavy sleeper– he still doesn’t want to risk it and have her see him like this. “I can make them pay.”

It’s a tempting thought, revenge. An apple hanging on a low-lying branch, glistening with morning dew. The crunch would be so satisfying between his teeth.

But there’s nowhere to direct that frustration and revenge towards. He doesn’t know who killed Fred, all he knows is that it happened and it was brutal. He aches to rip into someone himself and get payback, but how can he do that if the payback is only to empty air?

An investigation is in order. He’ll have to do it himself, since no one else will want to help. They probably won’t even care if he mentions it, so he won’t– he’ll keep this one to himself, and start putting out feelers for what happened. A few suspects come to mind first, people he doesn’t exactly get along with on this island anyway, and he grimaces. He snaps back into reality when Sunny moves, shifting in her bed and rolling over with a loud snore. Tubbo lifts a hand and wipes away the tears that have been steadily streaming down his face, now drying up in the heat of his determination. Sunny’s going to wake up soon. The sun is rising, breaking over the horizon and shining through the windows, painting the damp floor with streaks of honey and tangerine.

Carefully, he brings out the daffodil again. It sits in his hand with petals soft and preserved by whatever Inventory magic keeps it alive, and he twirls it again in his fingers. Tubbo reaches up and tucks it behind his ear, neatly between his goggles and hair, still within reach of his Inventory so it stays fresh and alive. He’ll have to change quickly before Sunny wakes up, get rid of his wet clothes, maybe mop up the floor of her train car so she doesn’t complain or question him when she gets up– fondly, he thinks of her pouting face, and smiles. Just a bit.

“Keep an eye on her, Fred,” he says, moving to stand up from the chair, his limbs heavy and sluggish. He’s exhausted. His nails are cracked and his eyes have bags, but he’s got revenge to enact and a daughter to look out for. No more time to grieve. He should’ve left all that behind at Fred’s funeral anyway– it’s bad for him to drag it around with him, especially into Sunny’s space. So he heads for the door, glancing up at the ceiling briefly before he steps out to change into dry clothes. “Keep an eye on her while I’m gone.”

[transorufrey]

higher branches, harder fall

chapter 4: "still miles to go"

[4.9k words, gen, qifrey + olruggio + alaira]

Olruggio had many friends. Qifrey did not.

It did not bother him, thank you very much. Most witches, in fact, had many friends - more than one or two, certainly - so there was absolutely nothing to be jealous of. Qifrey was the odd one out, here, as he usually was, and he was used to it, so it did not bother him at all. Not one bit. Especially not when Olruggio hung out with those friends instead of him. 

In fact, it bothered him so little that he decided to do Olly the favor of backing off for a while. They spent most of their time together, which was unfair to the rest of Olly’s friends, who deserved plenty of time with him, too. Olruggio would come find him as soon as he wanted— if he wanted. 

Even if it made Qifrey feel like his insides were turning to ash.

Beldaruit, the old coot, assumed something was wrong. He always did. It seemed to Qifrey that Beldaruit liked to assume the worst in him, like, Qifrey, is everything quite alright? and Qifrey, are you feeling well? and Qifrey, when did you last eat? It was none of his business! If Qifrey wanted to be fussed over, he would say something. Or he could go tell Sinocia that he stubbed his toe.

Though he despised it, he had grown used to it. Something that grating could surely never be a comfort, but its consistency, at least, allowed Qifrey some insight into the inner workings of his mentor’s mind. There were days, for example, when Beldaruit failed to greet him in the morning with more than a tired smile, when he did not insist on Qifrey putting more food on his plate, and Qifrey knew that lessons that day would be held at Beldaruit’s bedside.

Today, though they sat in Beldaruit’s library for drawing exercises, it was clear that he was quite unwell. He looked like a statue in the firelight, with his eyes closed and his hands folded neatly in his lap.  Qifrey found himself speaking up far more than usual to have him check his work and make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep. Without fail, each time Beldaruit would stir, smile wanly at him, and lean over to inspect his lines and circles. This, of course, was because Qifrey was bored to death and wanted to make sure his teacher bothered to pay attention to his student every now and then, not because he worried.

And certainly not because Qifrey himself needed a distraction, either.

How many days has it been? he wondered. He began to draw another circle, then abandoned it and started anew when he remembered to draw from the shoulder. At least he knew what that meant, now. Olruggio had been the first to actually tell him what that meant. How many days, and he still hasn’t come by? Maybe he–

His train of thought was interrupted by the chime of the doorbell from down the hall.

Qifrey leapt from his chair. Beldaruit started to speak, but a great elation bubbled in Qifrey’s chest and he bolted for the front door. What perfect timing! Obviously he didn’t really want to stop seeing Olly. How silly this self-inflicted punishment - for, he realized suddenly, that is what it was - seemed. His heart pounded in his ears as he slid to a halt before the door. Qifrey swung it open to reveal Alaira.

She was halfway into a bow and he was halfway through saying Olruggio’s name when they both realized who they were actually greeting.

“Oh,” Qifrey said before he could stop himself. His heart squeezed unpleasantly. It did that a lot, recently.

Alaira straightened and raised an eyebrow. “Expecting someone else?”

“No.” He turned and beckoned her inside. “Come on, then.”

Qifrey led Alaira through the house to his room, only pausing to poke his head into the library and let Beldaruit know that she was visiting. As soon as they arrived, Alaira perched, birdlike, on the arm of one of the cushy chairs before the unlit hearth and got straight to business.

“Do you want to have a sleepover?” she asked.

Sleepover. Qifrey thought hard about it. Sleep-over. He knew what both words meant individually, but had never heard them used together. Was he supposed to? He wiped his sweaty palms on his skirt. Alaira watched him. Anxiety curled in his stomach. You need to answer!

“Um,” he said intelligently, still standing by his desk.

“You don’t have to.” She slid back to sit in the chair proper. “I just thought that it’s been a while since you and Olly and I have hung out, and it would be nice. We can get snacks and everything.” When Qifrey only threaded his fingers together and continued to frown, mind whirling a mile a minute, Alaira repeated, “You don’t have to. It’s not a big deal.”

How to explain? Being ignorant of things that every other witch seemed to know never got easier. If anything, it got harder; you were, of course, supposed to know more as you got older - was that why Beldaruit was so smart? - and it only became pathetic when you did not know things that should have been obvious.

Well, he could ask Alaira now, or Beldaruit later. One was decidedly less embarrassing than the other.

Qifrey wrung his hands. “I don’t know what ‘sleepover’ means.”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realize. It’s like…” She tapped her chin. “It’s where you go hang out at someone’s place, but you don’t leave at the end of the day. You literally sleep over and have breakfast together in the morning. Usually you eat lots of snacks and stay up really late.”

Before he could think too much about it, Qifrey said, “Alright.”

Alaira perked up. “Awesome! That’s all I really came over to ask, honestly, buuuuut if you wanted to invite me to stay for some of that fancy tea…” She winked, and Qifrey smiled.

(Beldaruit, despite his weariness, was delighted to have company for the afternoon. Sometimes Qifrey thought that Alaira was only friends with him so she could hang out with Beldaruit.)

It wasn’t until much later, after plans were made over tea, when Qifrey realized that there was one fatal snag: his nightmares.

More often than not, Qifrey's sleep was plagued by streams of nightmares, the most mild of which left him sweaty and paralyzed and, more importantly, with his blankets a tangled heap on the floor because he kicked them off his bed. Kicking and thrashing in his sleep was common for Qifrey, but Alaira had said that friends often shared beds or slept together on the floor at sleepovers. What if he kicked one of them? And that was only the beginning– what if he screamed, as he so frequently did, and disturbed them?

Qifrey thought that he might die if he ruined what was supposed to be a fun night.

The solution only came to him as he lay awake that night, staring at the magical stars that speckled his ceiling. It was so obvious! Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He could have saved himself hours and hours of agonizing.

Sleeping brought nightmares. If he didn’t sleep, he wouldn’t have nightmares. Easy.

It was just for one night, anyway. He could sleep when he got back home. (Back to Beldaruit’s atelier-manor thing. When had he started thinking of it as home?) He had stayed up all night plenty of times before; developed a habit of it, even, a couple months ago, when the nightmares got so bad that he was too scared to sleep. 

(Not once did it occur to Qifrey to sneak a dose of the pain medicine he took for his worst headaches, the one that made him drowsy and sent him right into a heavy, dreamless sleep. After all, Beldaruit had very sternly told him that it was not to be used lightly, and it was not a rule he was keen on breaking. Beldaruit probably kept it somewhere out of his reach, anyway.)

Regardless, it was something that Qifrey had to do if he wanted to enjoy this night with his friends… and see Olruggio again on neutral ground. 

Neutral ground? Qifrey repeated to himself. It’s not like we fought. I don’t think.

Maybe they would fight when they saw each other again. Maybe Olruggio would be mad at him for his self-imposed isolation. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed. 

Maybe Qifrey was thinking too much, as usual. 

He groaned and rolled over. If his dreams came and put him back in that box in Thristas, so be it. At least he would stop worrying about this.

When the big day came, Beldaruit insisted on accompanying Qifrey to Alaira’s atelier, though it was well within the distance that Qifrey was used to traveling by himself. He chattered the whole time about how happy he was to see Qifrey out of the house, how exciting it was that Qifrey was having his very first sleepover, and, oh, he remembered having sleepovers growing up, what good times they were!

Many of the ateliers and residential buildings in the Hall - especially once you moved away from what Alaira called the “ritzy neighborhoods” - were built tall and narrow with as small footprints as possible, and Alaira’s was no exception. The thin facade was made of bricks that were far warmer in color than most of the other buildings on the street, and shining windows that glowed from within dotted it. A pennant staked between the cobblestones by the front steps displayed a green and ivory flag.

Alaira greeted him at the door with an enthusiasm Qifrey had thought reserved for birthdays. She practically shouted his name, then shouted Olruggio’s, too; he was coming down the lane from the same direction as Qifrey and Beldaruit. They were both dressed in outfits not unlike sleepwear, and Olruggio had a bag slung over his shoulder.

Qifrey suddenly felt very silly in his apprentice robes.

“Well!” Beldaruit brought his hands together, delighted. “I shall be off. Qifrey, dear, do enjoy yourself.”

“Bye, Lord Bel!” Alaira waved. She always seemed to enjoy his company more than Qifrey did.

Beldaruit bowed dramatically and saw himself out; Alaira welcomed them in with a flourish. Anxiety fluttered in Qifrey’s stomach, but he had not come this far to back out now.

Qifrey had seen many ateliers in his time at the hall, but he had only ever been inside two: Beldaruit’s, if you could call that sprawling estate an atelier, and Olruggio’s. As much as he admittedly enjoyed the (usual) peace of living with Beldaruit, there was something inviting to him about the noisy, bustling halls. It always seemed so warm and full of life.

Alaira seemed to reside in the happy middle. She told them about Momo and Inez, her two seniors who had just graduated and were in the process of moving out, and Lottie, who was at the tail end of her apprenticeship. They spotted her as Alaira concluded her tour of the first floor sitting room.

“This is Predis Lottie,” Alaira announced. “She’s taking the Goodwill at the end of the year.” Her fellow apprentice, a haggard looking girl with bags under her eyes and a hefty stack of notebooks in her arms, froze on the steps.

“It’s Loretta,” she muttered.

“Lottie’s gonna be a composer and make disks for those fancy music players,” Alaira continued, heedless. “She’s really good, and she’s in the orchestra, too, but she never shares her work or plays for me.” Before Lottie could react, Alaira flounced over and swiped the notebook at the top of the stack. She opened it and brandished pages full of glyphs and half-finished complex seals, as well as something Qifrey did not recognize: there were rows of long horizontal lines stacked atop one another, with thick dots placed on them that were often connected by more lines.

Lottie snatched her notebook back. “I don’t share with you because it’s none of your business. Besides, I let you have all the practice disks.”

With the widest, most watery eyes Qifrey had ever seen, Alaira clasped her hands together and batted her lashes. “And I’m so, so thankful for them!”

“Whatever.” She smacked Alaira’s head with the notebook - gently, without any malice behind it - and tucked it back atop her pile. “Just keep it down tonight, I have a commission I need to finish for tomorrow.”

“Predis Lottie’s so cool,” Alaira sighed as soon as she had vanished up the stairs. “It’ll be so lonely without her. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

Olruggio stared after her. “Wanna trade ateliers?”

“Oh, not on your life. Now, c’mon, I’ll show you my room.”

Everything Qifrey learned about his friends and their lives reminded him of how strange his own was. There was Olruggio’s bustling atelier with his dozen fellow apprentices and his childhood up north, wherever that was, and Alaira’s clearly advanced senior– hell, Alaira had parents that lived in the Hall! For Qifrey, there was no such thing: no childhood, outside the Hall or not, no parents, no other children in the great empty house.

And yet, they chose him, so he knew that he had to be worth something.

Alaira’s room was bigger than Olruggio’s but made smaller by the sheer amount of furniture she had crammed into it: there was her bed, draped in a colorful quilt and piled high with stuffed animals; a dark wooden desk strewn with books, papers, inkwells, and a small horde of half-finished drinks; an armoire with a her apprentice robes hanging on the inside of the open door and an armchair tucked between it and the wall; and, most impressively, Qifrey counted three bookcases, each packed to the brim with books and decorated with a small nation’s worth of trinkets. On the floor, in the center of it all, Alaira had piled pillows and blankets into something resembling a big nest.

“You two get cozy, I’ll grab some snacks.” She tossed a few stuffed animals into the blanket nest. “I have an assignment that I need to finish, so if you guys have anything to work on we can do that first.” Alaira left the room humming a jaunty tune.

Olruggio claimed the armchair in the corner and all but collapsed into it while Qifrey stood in the doorway. “She better not have invited us over for homework help,” he muttered.

“I doubt it,” Qifrey said, but Olruggio jumped as if he had forgotten Qifrey was there in the first place. It drove a knife into his heart.

I shouldn’t be here, he thought. Maybe I should go.

Then Alaira returned and brought her boundless energy - and snacks - with her, and the tension eased. She was chipper, and her homemade lemon bars were to die for, so there wasn't nearly as much awkwardness as Qifrey feared. They snacked and talked and compared notes on the second test; Qifrey had yet to attempt it, but Alaira had failed her first try.

“We can take it together,” she suggested. “Don’t see why not. Mister Genius can sit and wait for us at the end.” Olruggio complained weakly, but she continued, “If it’s just the two of us, we can do it. Last time was just a fluke.”

Qifrey had heard all about last time and had no intention to put salt in that particular wound.

“Probably,” he said, but Alaira launched into a tirade about how the two of them were both talented witches - Yes, Qifrey, you are, don’t give me that look -  who could achieve anything they put their minds to. Qifrey, not a fan of compliments, just nodded along and tried not to think about how Olruggio was smiling fondly at the two of them.

For dinner they made pasta and talked mostly about Silver Eve plans. Qifrey had yet to break the news that he would not be attending, thank you very much, and he had no intention to do so today. Ezrest was lovely, and all, but it was stifling in a way not unlike the Hall; too many people, too many noises, and last time there were fireworks that startled him half to death and made him cry right there in the middle of the street. He would prefer not to repeat that.

Besides, if he told them, it would totally kill the mood, because Alaira would say that he was allergic fun and Olruggio would look at him with those big dark eyes and act like Qifrey had stabbed him. Neither of them would really mean it, though it would still make him feel bad.

After dinner Alaira showed off some of the musical contraptions Lottie gave her. Most of the discs - which were placed inside a clamshell-like device that completed the seals on the discs when closed - had something wrong with them, but they were all quite remarkable. To Alaira, they were treasured gifts from her predis, and to Olruggio, contraptions to study and learn from, but Qifrey had never seen anything like them and simply marveled in the music that played. 

“This one’s from an opera that came here last year,” Alaira said as she swapped discs. “Lottie got her hands on some of the sheet music and tried to recreate it.” She let it play for all of ten seconds before she changed discs again. “And this< is from after she figured out how to capture vocals! It’s a bit muddled and grainy, but recognizable. It’s from a musical she heard in Ezrest.”

“It’s dawned on me suddenly, and for no obvious reason,” warbled a man’s voice, “that I can’t go on living as I am–”

Qifrey jumped. Despite Alaira’s preamble, he was nowhere near prepared for a voice to come from the contraption.

She grinned. “Cool, right?”

Cool was an understatement, and Olruggio clearly felt the same. Qifrey couldn’t stop thinking about it, and Olruggio kept bringing it up as they made dessert: strawberry parfaits that were overly sweet but still delicious.

“If the sound is distorted, you could put a different instrument on each disc, make the contraption large enough to play multiple simultaneously…” he muttered absentmindedly as he mixed custard. “Probably already considered that…”

Mister Genius, Alaira mouthed behind his back. Qifrey stifled his laughter.

Later still, they settled down in Alaira’s room and talked about nothing and everything. Olruggio drew, surely charting his own designs for musical contraptions, and Alaira gave Qifrey a very thorough tour of her own books in the hope that she could convince him to read one. Eventually, they lapsed into silence.

It was quiet for a long time before Qifrey identified the cause: Alaira had dozed off with an oversized brushbug stuffed animal in her arms, and both he and Olruggio failed to keep any sort of conversation going on their own. Qifrey fiddled with the pillow Alaira gave him until Olruggio finally spoke up.

“I thought that maybe this would fix things,” he said into the silence.

“Fix things,” Qifrey echoed, almost a question.

“Whatever this is.” He waved vaguely between them. “Somethin’s up, and I… I dunno what’s wrong anymore.”

“I’m what’s wrong,” Qifrey said, then immediately winced, mortified by how the words sounded aloud. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

“I don’t know what that means.”

They tried not to stare at each other.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna.” Olruggio added and shrugged, clearly feigning nonchalance. 

Qifrey opened his mouth to speak, then closed it abruptly. What was there to say that wouldn’t only embarrass him more? His eye burned suddenly with the threat of tears.

Though he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, Olruggio said, with a confidence Qifrey coveted, “We’ve all been through shit, y’know? And we can pretend it never happened or try to ignore it or whatever, but the only thing we can do is live with it. Nothin’ else to do.” He wrung his hands. “If– if you ever said somethin’ that really hurt me, I’d tell you, ‘cause we’re friends, and the only way to stay friends is to talk about that stuff. And if I said somethin’ that hurt you--”

“You haven’t!” They both glanced up and made eye contact at the same time. Qifrey flushed and looked away. “I just…”

Without the ribbon on his hat to fuss with, Olruggio’s restless hands picked at his cuticles and scratched half-healed burn scars.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Qifrey said finally. “Sometimes it feels like everyone but me was given a book of rules about what to do and how to feel, and they expect me to know everything. But I don’t, I don’t know anything. I don’t even know how to talk to my own friends, or why I feel so–” The word lonely died in his throat.

He looked up again. Olruggio watched him, owl-eyed, and Qifrey tried his hardest not to look away. There was something about Olruggio that made him want to at once draw closer and run far, far away. Had Qifrey known less about the world of witches, he would have assumed Olruggio was using some sort of magic on him.

When he left his sentence unfinished, Olruggio sighed and leaned back against the side of Alaira’s bed. “I think I know what you mean. A li’l bit, at least. Most everyone else grew up here. Still…” His hands twitched like he wanted to reach out and bridge the gap between them. Qifrey's heart skipped a beat. “If there’s somethin’ you wanna tell me…”

What did Qifrey want to say? There were too many emotions roiling in his stomach: he recognized fear, though he did not know what he was afraid of; beside the fear was anger, and he did not know where that was directed, either; there was something like shame, too, because he knew that his withdrawal had hurt his friend. How was he supposed to turn any of the feelings into words?

A memory flickered to the front of his mind. He saw Olruggio sitting in the dining hall, surrounded by friends. They laughed at some joke Qifrey could not hear and elbowed each other with enviable familiarity, but when Olruggio glanced up and saw him, the smile fell from his face.

It was only one small moment, something that could be explained away any number of ways, yet so damaging that Qifrey recoiled from it.

“It’s nothing, really,” Qifrey finally said.

“If you say so.” Olruggio offered an awkward grin and stretched out a foot to nudge him. “Hey, we’re cool, right? Just kinda, uh… Every friendship has its hiccups, y’know? Things happen.”

“Things happen,” Qifrey repeated.

Alaira chose that moment to crack an eye open. “You done?” she asked groggily.

Qifrey flinched and blushed. “Were you just pretending to sleep?”

“As if anyone could sleep through your yapping.” She put out the lamp and plunged the room into darkness, then stretched and shuffled closer until she lay right at Qifrey’s side. “Now, come on. Let’s sleep. We’re making pancakes in the morning, so you gotta wake up on time for that. And we can actually enjoy them now that your stupid fight is done.”

“It’s not–”

“We weren’t–”

“Yeah, right.” Alaira tugged Qifrey to lay down next to her and rested her head against his arm. “Sleeping now. Honk shoo.”

Qifrey almost moved away. He despised touch, usually, but this… This was different. And when Olruggio sidled up to his other side and leaned against him, too, he found that he was content to stay right there.

As Qifrey laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, he realized that he was relaxed for the first time in… what, a week? Two? More? All was not well, but he and Olly were talking again, and it was hard to be uncomfortable with the warmth of both his friends pressed into his sides. He had brought a book for the express purpose of staying awake, but he would have to forgo it in favor of letting his friends use his arms as pillows. Instead, Qifrey settled for inspecting Alaira’s bookshelves; after scanning every title he could read in the dim light, he moved on to mentally rearranging them. If she grouped the novels by genre and then ordered them alphabetically by author within genres, she could take that series and turn it on its side, creating more room on the shelf… Yes, that was a good idea. Qifrey made a mental note to tell Alaira in the morning.

He fell asleep, of course.

It was one of the usual dreams from his rotation of nightmares– not that he was able to recognize that while trapped within. In its clutches, he knew nothing but the waterlogged coffin that had become his reality. The damp wood rotted and swelled under his hands, but he could not break free of it no matter how hard he scratched and kicked; he saw nothing but darkness and tasted blood.

When he woke, he did not realize it. The dark was still heavy around him. The air was too thick to breathe. He lashed out again and kicked something solid but soft: was it the lid of the coffin, finally giving in to his efforts to free himself?

A light flared in the dark and he clapped his hands to his face.

“Qifrey?”

Me, he realized belatedly. My name. A familiar voice– familiar voices.

“Qifrey! Can you hear me?” 

No, not really. There was a roar in his ears, torrential like rainfall.

“Are you okay?”

My friends. If they were with him, he was here, not there.

“Obviously not!”

Qifrey gasped for breath. The air here – here, the Great Hall - it was too heavy, too humid. He couldn’t get enough of it into his lungs. “I– I can’t–”

Why, why did this have to happen now?

(Doubled over, he did not see the look Alaira and Olruggio exchanged: it was not, as he may have feared, one of judgment, but one of determination to help.)

Qifrey dug his fingers into his scalp. He couldn’t stop shaking. If he had been alone, he could have cried and wheezed and retreated into his own head until it passed, but this time he was trapped with an audience. How pathetic, that he couldn’t even calm down for his friends’ sake. They were going to kick him out and they wouldn’t be his friends anymore and–

A hand touched his arm.

“Qifrey.” Olruggio’s voice, close. “Can you look at me?”

Ashamed, Qifrey ground his palm into his eye and shook his head.

“That’s– that’s okay. Here, let’s–” He shuffled a bit, then gently pulled Qifrey’s right hand away from his face and pressed it to something warm and solid. “Breathe with me. Like this.”

The panic passed. The roaring in his ears died. In its place, shame rushed in, and Qifrey could only sit there and tremble.

“We were supposed to have fun,” he whispered. He furiously wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. The empty socket opposite it hurt like it always did when he cried, like there were tears trapped and straining underneath the scar tissue.

“We did have fun,” Alaira insisted, “and we can have fun again. I have an idea.” She whispered something to Olruggio, whose eyes widened.

“Are we allowed…” He looked at Qifrey and trailed off, his vaguely shocked expression replaced with determination.

Before Qifrey knew it, he was bundled up and swept through the silent streets to the windowway parlor.

Get a grip, he told himself sternly as his friends tinkered with one of the doors. You always do this. You always ruin things for everyone. They’re gonna stop hanging out with you, soon.

“All done!” Olruggio announced, and he and Alaira each took one of Qifrey’s hands and ushered him through.

They stepped into a wide, grassy field of gently rolling hills that stretched as far as the eye could see. The night outside the Hall was clear and cold. Each lungful of air was fresh and perfect, and over pockets of black trees shone the dark, starry sky. The stars hung like thousands of little snowflakes, like little candles, strewn about as if they had been placed there for them and them alone, frozen at this moment of time. And in the middle of it all was the moon, bright and full.

There was no other light for miles around. Just the stars and the big yellow moon.

“Where is this,” Qifrey whispered. He had no reason to whisper, surely, but it felt right.

“The Naakiwan Downs,” Olruggio murmured.

Alaira spread her arms. “Isn’t it beautiful?” The breeze rustled their cloaks. “The stars look so close, here, like you could reach out and touch them.”

Qifrey had half a mind to try.

[kittyplushy]

Burmean Python [2/2]

Do it. Do it. Do it. Part 2 of 2. Please read the first part before proceeding!

I love these messy lesbians and I'll finally draw them tomorrow!

General warnings that apply for BTTWNS in general (gore, drugging, torture). Also a bit suggestive but not explicit in some areas.

I had to stop and catch my breath. When the telephone rang out as loud as death.

What does anatomy permit? What does it limit? Mice eat seeds, cats eat mice, jackals kill cats, bears kill jackals- that's the way the world works. Some people are just meant to be killed to make ends meet. How do you put this reality lightly? Julianne is such a sensitive soul. She cries over wasted food. Her ears obviously droop when she gets scared. She's always asking people if they're alright. I always knew about the bad relationships she found herself in. The people she attached herself to. The person she killed. Honestly if it wasn't a jackal I would've been happier.

It sounds insensitive to say out loud in any way one could put it. Maybe you shouldn't tell your girlfriend she's well far down the food chain. A domesticated cat, no less: they have zero hunting skills, they're quite spoilt, and lazier than any other critter I've seen in my lifetime. When I woke up this morning I turned to my side to wake up my guest but was left disappointed nobody was there. When you wake up next to a murderer what do you do?

I'm sure she's in her apartment still sleeping. She's next to her plushies and she's going to the city and meet with a client. Later she'll eat the beef bowl she always orders at Guy's on her way home. Then she'll find her favorite cake on her favorite plate from her favorite girl on their anniversary.

Today, the world revolved like nothing had happened last night. Nobody wondered why there was a screaming match at my house. Nobody had asked me about my relationship today. A slow afternoon commenced like usual. I opened up my journal and noticed the wedding invitation slip under the counter. Picking it up from the upside, Kaku's cursive handwriting said "Ms. Strong & Ms. Lucky". I opened it up to read the details. Ticking every benchmark a Woodbrook wedding would have. At the chapel. At 2 pm. A lakeside reception. No white. Wear blue and yellow- it's tropical.

"To be held...on November 17th, 1987. RSVP for 2."

On this slow fall afternoon there was nothing after me after all. I've just attracted a swarm of wasps on myself. I pushed the envelope flap back and pressed, pocketing it in my jacket.

The folded bike slid neatly into the cabinet next to the door. I went to open the radio to fill out the empty space. I've stayed alone for 20 years but I somehow couldn't bear a night with my own thoughts. I set a dinner set for two almost like routine. Something new's been hardwired into my system. Longing to not be alone. Longing to have something to hold me back. A safety net. A harness. Handcuffs. I closed my eyes holding the spare pillow I bought for her.

I opened my eyes greeted by a headache and a thick fog that surrounded the forests of Golden Apple City. I had wrapped my apron into a makeshift pillow and my toolbag was missing from my side. I jolted up in panic running through foliage keeping my eyes open for it. A loose branch tripped me off my balance and I landed face down on the stream from my new camp. Someone set up my hoist. Peeking behind a tree there were wild jackals swarming the body hung on it. They began licking the fresh wound pouring with blood before they could begin their business. Despite the deep cut on the carotid artery it was wincing, struggling and still aware of the torture it was going through. Once the fog began to clear around the injured body, my mind shut down when I recognized it was Julianne struggling to get off the mechanism. She began wiggling about to loosen the rope on her ankles and hit the floor once the tripod lost its balance. Her face planted into the plate pooling her blood and she began panthing looking around her for help. Her eyes met mine and she ran. I chased after her to the end of the thick forest and into the altar. She fell to the ground weakly and called for Kaku and Liv's help. "I'm live bait" she screamed "Sam set me up in there and watched me get torn to shreds. God saw what she did."

Fuck. It can't be, can it? Someone knows and someone is gonna tell. I have to do something. And I need to do it quick.

The essentials are here. Knives. Ropes. Gloves. Syringes. Plastic. An excuse. I stuffed as much painless remedies as I could in a flurry of sweat and fear. I started the truck and quickly made my way to the edge of town where the Sunset Valley apartments stood. I put on my jacket walking to the entrance of the complex. Visiting hours are over it seems. There's still a chance she's awake. Looking up to the 5th floor, the window with a fake stained glass design was still wide open. The lights were dim as usual but she's surely awake at this hour.

Cling, cling, cling... Cling, cling, cling...

That should attract her to cautiously look around her. She nervously peered out the window, sleepy eyes widening seeing me right outside. Her paws gestured to keep myself quiet. I only replied to her that we needed to talk now. Her green eyes widened then drooped, nodding before locking the window. Minutes later, Julianne was downstairs in a cami top and shorts. I checked my watch- yes, it's 2:27 am.

"It's so late.." She began "Why are you still awake?" "Same question for you." I shrugged, unlocking the door for her "Were you going to sleep?" "I already was but I couldn't. I don't know why." Julianne yawned, stretching her arms up as her teeth chattered instinctively again. "Let's..talk about..yesterday...at our favorite hiding place." The truck slowly drove its way down town, dreading what could happen next.

About that first question,

What does anatomy permit? What does it limit?

Python bivittatus, also known as the Burmean Python, is a choke artist. It is powerful enough to kill a deer. To be able to kill such a large pest, they bite their prey then quickly coil around it- crushing their air supply and autonomy, and only then can it spread its venom into the bloodstream. The bigger the prey, the more energy it takes. It's taking a year. It only took a year for this to begin falling apart. I've bitten into her. She's excitable, eager for touch or affection of any kind even when it stings. It makes her melt when I place my palms on her round figure. She purrs when I comb her fur. She's already been marked as my prop. My decorative toy. And she likes the role. Coil around her by being ever present in her lonely life. Give her a space to stay in my house. Invite myself into her space. Spend nights in the forest looking at the stars. Break those protective walls and defenses until she's completely in my palm ready to serve. I remember one night I stayed over after a trip to the city. The warm dim lights invited me immediately to bed, my body sore from harboring a moose to and from the truck that afternoon. It was a big catch- I would have said if I was stupid enough. Julianne sat next to me and asked if I wanted to order in dinner. I shook my head then absentmindedly crawled to lay my head on her lap. She laughed and called me adorable. Her paws ran through my fur. I could hear her purring. I rolled back to look up at her, admiring her soft features lit by the moon outside. I asked her if I could hear one story before I crashed in again.

"Personal, Public Domain, or Original?" She held me closer to her chest like a stuffed animal.

"Whatever you can think of now."

"Well...once upon a time, there was a princess who woke up in a tower. It was dilapidated, gloomy, and cold. There was barely anything in the tower. A bed, a shelf, a bag full of clothes, and a sword were her only company until smoke filled the room. She looked out the window and saw a fierce dragon guarding the prison."

"However, upon further inspection she found that the dragon was also chained. Its bounds connected to the tower itself. It was shaking in fear. At first the princess was afraid that if she stepped out of line, the dragon would fly away, crushing the tower down with her. But it was timid and pitied the princess. They both had no idea how the princess got trapped in the first place. Hell knows its not the dragon who did it. They were clueless but they bonded over their imprisonment. The dragon grew close to love the princess. It swore to protect her from everything that came into the cave they were in. Many men, princes of every kingdom came to save the damsel but the dragon burnt them to a crisp."

"One day, the princess' father came with an army of men angered that the dragon had killed all the men he offered his daughter up to. Thousands climbed the tower to retrieve the prize. Hundreds stabbed the dragon to stabalize it. They were both screaming for help. Afraid of what would happen inside the tower, the dragon flew up. The tower tumbled over the army and killing the princess inside it."

Suddenly my sleepiness left me as I sat back up to process the story. "You can't make childrens' books with stories like that, Sweetie. That's so sad." I said, looking up to the glow in the dark stars on her short cieling. She laid next to me moments later, tickling her fingers to intertwine with mine.

"Yeah but it's interesting though, right? People who love each other stuck in their own prisons."

I looked back to her and slowly blinked. She repeated the gesture.

"How'd you know that?"

"Melody and I used to...do things."

"Huh." There was a saddened look on her face. I quickly pacified it by pulling her closer to me, squishing her soft sides to tease her. She pulled her ears back.

"Well forget about that now, she's still obsessed with her husband, Hun. There's nothing I can do especially when I have you." Then here it comes: the venom. I parked in front of the elementary school building. This shouldn't take long. I took her hand as we walked through the uneven earth. Some of the rocks that used to be visible had been consumed by the kudzu. We agreed it was less of an eyesore now until we nearly tripped on its branches. The moon was high above us, guiding us to a clearing surrounded by oak.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, cupping her right cheek as I kissed the left from behind her. I reached for a syringe filled with curare. Positioning her closer to me, I flicked the cap off, ready to pierce the skin. My hands were shaky. I fought against the thought of backing off. She knew too much. She had to go. Now.

"Don't move."

She stood still with her fists clenched then began toying with her hands. A cold chill swept around us and her tail flew up blocking the bullseye.

I dropped it. My hands redirected to taking off my jacket and wrapping it around her like a blanket. Julianne turned around when she felt the weight of the clothing on her shoulders.

"Just put it on. It's cold here."

She obediently nodded, putting it on and noticing it was a bit too big for her. I quickly picked up the open syringe and cap, hiding it in my back pocket. I looked at my shaky hands. It was hard to even keep something still in my hands.

"Is there something wrong with your hand?"

Julianne put hers into mine. Like magic the anxiety running through them calmed.

"No. Let's sit down, shall we?"

The wind continued to blow against our fur sitting on the tall grass. We stared at the craters of the moon for hours with the right words stuck in our throats. Julianne rested her chin on my shoulder.

"Are you ever afraid of being alone?" She asked. "I can live on my own. I don't need anyone. But living with you for almost a year now puts a lot of things into perspective. I do like company. Just when they aren't trying to get me in jail or trying to sleep with me through murder...when they're naive." "Do you think I'm naive?" "Just a little bit. But that's what you are when you're young. You're excited. But everytime I pursue something in a relationship, it has to end with me being alone. It's my nature. I'll always be alone."

Julianne frowned. She began to tear up but stopped herself from feeling further.

"I'm still here, Samantha." "Why?" "I dunno. I'm a fool I guess. And you're a sweetheart, you know? Even if you try and tell me that you're nothing like what you put on for Woodbrook, when we're alone you look at me fondly and you smile. I never knew that feeling until you make me think about it."

I reached back to completely hide the syringe. I felt guilty for once trying to kill someone.

"I look at you like that because you make rooms feel nice. And it isn't fake or anything." "So I'm not just bottom of the food chain junk to you after all." "What? No, no you're not. It's just a pessimistic philosophy I've enrolled into when I was young for survival's sake. I'm telling you now you don't believe in it or else you'll end up like me."

I brushed her tears away with my thumb and peppered kisses on her forehead.

"I'll keep your secret, okay? You just promise me one thing.." "Even if I killed a jackal?" "You could've killed a lion. I'll keep my mouth shut."

She buried her face into her kneecaps in shame. I continued to brush the fur on her upper back, sprinkling in a few tickles on her sensitive spots. After a while she sat back up giggling between sniffles.

"H-hey, I'm weak there." "I know. I know what I'm doing." "I hope you do.."

She invited me down to lay on the grass, pressing her soft body down as kissed her. This new energy release and repeat satiated the need I felt that night. I still couldn't keep my hands still. They were wandering around her. I couldn't let that go. Not yet. Not now. Oh god not ever if I can. "Sam, I-I can't wait for you to get better. I need you, you know? You can kill all the critters, I'd prefer if you didn't, but there's nothing you can say or do that'd drive me away."

"I'm not someone to look up to, Julianne."

"I'm an awful person too, dammit. Let me also be jealous and ugly."

I carried her into my arms and cradled her like a doll. I felt her tummy through the fabric of the jacket but before I could tease her further I remembered something was inside its inner pockets.

"Unzip that for me, please?" "Middle of the forest, honey." "No, not that, Jesus. There's something I wanna show you." I put up the invitation from Kaku. Julianne's eyes immediately grew bigger.

"Ohhh oh they're getting married? Already?! Wow this is such nice paper..." Julianne carefully flipped through the stationery.

"They've been around Woodbrook for ten years now. It makes sense they'll marry. Seen them since I was in college."

"Huh. If it's tropical themed, why won't Liv just get married on the beach.."

"Too expensive..hey, do you have a blue dress?" I redirected her focus on the little footnote on the dress code. She looked at me and shook her head.

"I gotta look. All the stuff I display is pink or brown or white. I think I do..." She looked back up at the stars before looking back to me.

"I'm glad we talked this through. Or over. Or under. I couldn't sleep without someone next to me now it's stupid."

"Aww. Do you want me to sleep at your place?"

Julianne slowly tilted her head as she blinked.

"It'd be an honor."

[the-dump-of-whump]

Payback - 21

Long time no update, yes I know it’s almost been two years.

TW: manhandling, forced to strip, and stress positions

Previous | Next

***

Victor was kneeling on the floor waiting for Alexi who was making coffee for himself and Ridley. Ridley was sitting in the wingback armchair across from him, his pet was sitting barely clothed in his lap, he was whispering something in its ear, his arm wrapped around its waist. Alexi came back with two mugs of coffee. He set them down on the coffee table. Alexi took his seat next to Victor.

“Well let’s get to business.” Alexi sighed.

“I think you should take it into the forest and put it down, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“No, out of the question.”

“How about this, I get to do what ever I please with it?”

“Time frame?”

“Maybe two hours?”

Alexi mulled it over.

“Alright but no permanent physical damage. That means no scars and no broken bones.”

“Oh I’m sure I’ll find plenty to do.” He grinned at Victor.

“Alexi you can’t-” Victor shuddered

Alexi grabbed his face, forcing him to look into his eyes.

“I very well can and I am.” Alexi drawled “You can’t steal from me and try to kill my friend.”

“But-”

“End of discussion” Alexi snarled.

Alexi let go of Victor and stood, he pulled a thin leash from his pocket and clipped it to Victor’s collar. Ridley smirked. He was dragged downstairs and to the very end of the hall, the last room. Alexi opened the door and shoved Victor through, Ridley and his pet followed close behind, Alexi locked the door behind them.

“I assume you remember where every thing is?” Alexi asked.

“Yup.” Ridley grinned.

“Well, have at it.” Alexi sighed as he sat down on the couch.

Ridley grabbed Victor by the wrist and dragged him to where he wanted him.

“Strip”

“No”

“No?”

Victor nodded.

Ridley backhanded him.

“You will do as you’re told.”

“And what if I don’t”

“Victor play nice.” Alexi sighed

Victor tensed before proceeding to take off his shorts and top, he folded them neatly, set them on the ground beside him, straightened with his hands in front of him.

“C’mon don’t be a prude,” Ridley snickered “boxers too.”

Victor froze. he glanced over at Alexi, who glared back. He swallowed hard then pulled off his boxers.

“There we are” Ridley sighed “Stay”

Ridley grabbed a tea cart from against the wall then went over to the cabinets and began to select the implements of Victor’s punishment. A few moments later he pushed the cart over next to Victor, and stepped in front of him.

“Put your hands out.”

Victor did as he was told and Ridley locked a set of hand cuffs around Victor’s wrists.

“Hold still right there.” Ridley instructed as he walked over to the wall

Ridley lowered a chain from the ceiling with a hook on the end until it hung at chest height in front of Victor. He walked back in front of Victor and looped the hand cuffs on the hook. Then he disappeared behind him again.

The next thing Victor knew his arms were beginning to rise. They lifted higher and higher until his hands were above his head. That should have been all, in Victor’s mind, but nothing stopped. A panicked squeak left him as his heels began to lift off the ground. This was met with being told to “shush” from Ridley and a soft glare from Alexi. Soon even his toes didn’t touch the ground. Only then did the slow upward movement cease. The strain on Victor’s wrists and shoulders was immense.

“Now” Ridley said as he moved back in front of him “what to do first?” He picked something up off the cart “ah, this should do.”

Victor craned his neck to see what Ridley was doing.

Ridley was wrapping his hands with some sort of tape. He flexed his fingers a couple times, then made a fist, then the fist was colliding with Victor’s cheek

***

To be continued

Master list

Tag list (if you want to be removed or added message me) : @silverwhisperer1 @badluck990 @drunkbirdbug @noirewaves

[broken-clover]

4- Healing

Though I still feel like these are still difficult characters to write, I thought it would be fun to do something for Sly Cooper today! I also keep wondering if I'm adhering to my own prompts decently enough but I'm just trying my best!

The series spends most of its time on the actual jobs, which makes sense given it's a video game and you want to play the actual interesting parts, but it's nice to think about the downtime in between, I like imagining the guys just chilling out sometimes

Given the nature of this prompt there's some mention of broken bones and injuries, but nothing especially graphic.

-

They took turns doing the laundry. Hypothetically.

Because really, the truth was that Murray tried his best, but he was never very good at folding things neatly, and Sly would always pretend that he couldn’t tell whose clothing belonged to whom, despite their obviously different sizes. Bentley just preferred doing the job himself anyway, because then he could take as long as he wanted to smooth out creases and snip off loose strings.

Sly wouldn't be much use with his broken wrist, anyway. He was remarkably upbeat about the whole thing, even if everyone else was absolutely baffled at how he’d managed to injure himself doing the same thing he’d done regularly for years. Nobody teased him too badly for it- it would be hypocritical, seeing as how Murray had gotten lost three times in the same corridor earlier that day, and an errant jet boost on his chair had nearly gotten Bentley’s head stuck in the ceiling. Jobs weren’t always as smooth as they were on the blueprints. It wasn’t the end of the world, anyway, as despite all the hiccups and missteps, they’d still slipped back out of the high-rise carrying numerous personal treasures of the city’s wealthiest business tycoons.

The pile of gemstones and still-framed art pieces looked stunningly out of place in what passed for the safehouse’s living room. It wasn’t an especially upscale place, being an apartment perched atop a dry cleaner’s, but the whole point of a safehouse was to be unassuming and easy to miss. It was still far from the shabbiest place they’d ever hunkered down in, plenty big for the three of them.

“D’ya think he got lost?” Murray looked up from staring at his twiddling thumbs. “Should I have picked it up instead?”

Bentley didn’t slow in rolling the hippo’s newly-cleaned scarf into a neat pile to go with the rest. “It’s Sly, Murray, he’s got a good sense of direction. I’m sure he just got held up at the checkout line.”

“Hmm…” One set of fingers smoothed down a band-aid covering where a fragment of door had gotten lodged in the back of his hand while he’d knocked it down. He always tried to deal with those quickly, Bentley had told him all about the kinds of infections you could get from letting wounds get dirty. The adrenaline masked it while they were working, but once the work was over and it started to wear off, it was easy to notice all the spots that hurt. Even disregarding any cuts or wounds, all his muscles ached from how much they had been used in such a short time.

“Try not to worry too much, okay?” Noting his friend’s continued fretting, Bentley put down the shirt he was folding and gave the hippo a pat on the arm.

The string of bells hung above the door jingled as it swung open. “Honey, I’m home!”

“See? I said it was fine.” The turtle nodded to himself.

Sly padded into the room, demeanor bright despite the matted fur and sling around his neck. “Got dinner.” He announced, lifting up a stuffed plastic bag with his good hand. “Cashier tossed in a couple extra egg rolls ‘cause she felt bad about my arm.”

“Ohhh yeah, ‘The Murray’ has been waiting all day for the deliciousness that is spare ribs. Toss it my way, buddy!”

“Don’t- don’t toss it, I just finished with the laundry!” Bentley protested.

Some heists were capped off with week-long vacations and money thrown every which way as they partied until dawn, and others with quiet tuck-ins at the safehouse, pajamas, and a lot of unwinding.

Sly glanced between the turtle and his work. “No trouble with that, huh? Guess you aren’t concussed after all. Still figured all that hacking would’ve sprained your brain.” He paused. "Seriously, nothing bothering you after hitting your head like that?"

“I wear a helmet for a reason. I still advise you to do likewise.”

“Mmm, yeah, gonna get back to you on that one.” He noticed Bentley’s empty wheelchair parked by the unoccupied corner of the couch. Without any hesitation, he climbed up over the sofa’s overstuffed back and flopped down in between Murray and the armrest.

Bentley stared at him. “...You could have just asked to move it.”

“Felt rude to.”

“And you’re going to exacerbate your injuries in being a smart alek.” He nudged his glasses out of their place to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I swear, sometimes-”

“Hey, c’mon, guys, don’t fight. Aren’t you tired?”

“Alright, Murray, alright.” Sly raised his hand in defeat. He offered Bentley a carton of wonton soup. “Truce?”

“Truce. You know I’m just trying to make sure your injuries heal properly, right?”

“Yeah, mom, you’re always keeping an eye on us.”

The three sank into their chit-chatting and Chinese takeout. Murray commandeered the remote control, flipping through public access channels until they found some old 50’s sci-fi that was corny enough for everyone to get enjoyment out of. He and Sly laughed through mouthfuls of food, while Bentley rolled his eyes and scolded them for their lack of table manners, even as Murray rightfully pointed out that there was no table to speak of. Maybe it was the tiredness, the adrenaline wearing off, or just being in an agreeable mood, but Bentley for some reason found that absolutely hilarious, proceeding to nearly choke on his own dinner from laughing too hard.

“Good job, guys,” Sly said. “Nice work all around. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Bentley fell asleep first, just aware enough while he was nodding off to put his soup on the coffee table where it wouldn’t spill, only to pass out right atop the clean laundry he'd so meticulously sorted. While he seemed unfazed, Sly abruptly joined him halfway through the movie’s third act, with an empty takeout container still nestled in his lap and his tail wrapped around his legs. Murray stayed where he was, sandwiched between the two. It wasn’t a generous fit, but he didn’t try to get up, or even to move. He didn’t want to accidentally jostle any limbs or bump into any sore spots, let alone accidentally wake anyone up. They both needed the rest. And he was fine where he was. He always felt safer when his friends were close.

[dahliarosebud]

- Billy Hargrove x Reader

• Angst (with happy ending)

• Part 1

• MAIN-MASTER-LIST

Warnings: love confessions, smoking, kissing, implied jealousy, mentions of fear, implied guilt, mentioned abuse

Synopsis: Two broken and beaten hearts finally become one in a hazy dream of running away from everything. Or Y/n finally opens up and tells the truth of her life behind the façade

A/n: I’m sorry this took so long, I’ve been busy and only just found the time as I have a long list of fics to write and part twos are closer to the bottom, but I finally got around to it. Those of you who have requested to be tagged have been at the bottom.

-----------

I walked into his room, clothes strewn all over the floor, old cigarette smoke still lingering clinging to the orange light that hung from the middle of his ceiling, it smelt like cheap cologne and hair products . I jumped at the sound of the door slamming behind me. Turning to see Billy lighting a new cig.

Freezing fingertips pulling the jacket that slipped from my shoulder back to where it should be, as if the damp material could offer me any sort of warmth. He pointed to his bed telling me to sit as he filtered through his wardrobe for something.  “Here,” he said tossing me some clothes.

I held up the jumper. ‘HAWKINS HIGH SCHOOL’ plastered on the front in bold green letters. My thumbs digging into the soft material, I lowered the jumper my eyes meeting his, they traced my face delicately. He cleared his throat plucking the cig from between his lips.

“You can change in here I’m going to go ask Max what pizza she wants. Oh and don’t touch anything,” he said gruffly, back turned towards me hand scratching the back of his head. I watched as he left making sure the door was shut snug.

I made quick work of changing out of the damp clothes, neatly folding them and placing them in a pile on the floor amidst his messy mountains of clothes. I stood up, hands softly flattening the jumper. I walked to his desk, fingers gently skimming over the different things, rings, necklaces.

I stopped picking up the box of condoms, rolling my eyes a disgusted sound leaving my lips as I flipped the packet over opening the flap and only seeing two left. Billy Hargrove the ultimate frat fuck boy. I chuckled. I put down the packet where I found  wiping my hands on the sweat pants he had leant me.

My eyes wondered his walls taking in all the band posters, Metallica, Black Sabbath, Motley Crew and lets not forget the pictures of topless and bikini models.

 I noticed how the red paint hand began to peel and how the wardrobe and door had holes in them as if someone had punched through them, whether it was Billy or not was the real question that swam around in my mind.

My eyes caught the metallic gleam of the silver photo frame, I walked towards it, picking it up from its respected pace, running my thumb over the textured frame. I smiled gently at the picture. 

A pretty woman and a sweet little boy hugging her leg. Big happy shining smiles plastered on the faces, the visible gleam from the sun on the picture and I suddenly remember Billy came here from California.

“Hey what pizz- what are you doing?” I quickly put the picture down, spinning around with reddened cheeks - embarrassed at the fact I got caught snooping. His eyes drifted from me to the photo frame next to me, confusion turning into a steady glare. 

“I specifically said don’t touch anything,” he stomped towards me. Pushing me out of the way inspecting the photo making sure I hadn’t tampered with it in any way. “Is that your mom?” I asked softly sitting back down on the bed.

“Yea,” he said. I stared at the way his eyebrows creased as he stared at the happy faces captured. “She’s beautiful.” I chewed the inside of my cheek awaiting something, anything. A punch, a screaming match, but instead I watched as his lips dared to twist into a smile, twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Yea she was,” he sighed.

I looked down at my hands in my lap, twiddling my fingers. He stood up straight putting the photo into a draw, slamming it shut. “So the pizza?” He questioned once again a new cigarette back between his lips. Damn that’s like now three in just over an hour. He held the pack out towards me. 

I grabbed the packet flicking the lid open, the smell of tobacco wafting into my face. I picked out the last one, copying his actions and placing it in between my lips. “Any is fine,” I said. He nodded in consideration. I leant forward towards the light he held out towards me.

Closing my eyes as I inhaled, shoulders sagging in comfort. It’s a bad habit, I know. He came and sat beside me, exhaling. I flopped backwards, exhaling just as he did. Humming a random tune, enjoying the way my mind fell into a silent peace like the drifting ocean in a summer breeze.

The bed groaned as he lied next to me just as I was. “So are you ever going to tell me who did that to you?” I sighed, the smoke drifting from my nose accompanied by a subtly burn so delicious: a distraction from the truth.

 “You first,” I snapped. I wasn’t mad, but there was something so humiliating admitting the fact that the person who is meant to love you hits you, its so degrading and shameful. Its like I deserve it no matter how many time I tell myself I don’t.

“It’s him isn’t it?” He said confidently, the bed groaning as he rolled onto his side. I turned my head towards him whispering a small, “What?” I looked back up at the peeling ceiling, already feeling the familiar sting of tears in my eyes, “I- I- don’t know what you’re talking about,” I chuckled, voice cracking. Taking a long drag of the quickly withering cigarette.

“You know you don’t have to protect him. What kind of dick hits his girlfriend?” I gulped, but the knot lodged in my throat wouldn’t shift.  “He doesn’t deserve you.” The tears finally fell, I put out the cig in the ashtray next to me, watching as it splintered praying that my crying would stop.

Laying back down my eyes finding a new place to look. “I didn’t - I didn’t think he would he would hit me in my face, usually it’s just my ribs or a slaps me, but he had been drinking with his friends and there I was stood outside of his house waiting for him to come home after I had been sat on my own door step waiting for his dumbass to come pick me up for over an hour,” I clenched and grinded my teeth in anger.

“After I had told him that this would be the last time he would see me as his girlfriend and not ‘just some whore he used to date’ he dragged me inside and grabbed my face,” I breathed shakily, 

“‘You got someone else? Huh! I knew I should never have dated such a fucking whore like you. You’d drop your panties for any guy with a heart beat. You’re lucky I’m even still tolerating you,’” I closed my eyes remembering the fear that had coursed through my veins. At the point I thought him just grabbing my jaw like that could break it. The smell of beer causing my stomach to churn.

“I had grabbed his arms  and tried to run away, but he had pulled me back. At that point I had lunged forward and scratched his face, I had never fought back ever. That is what made him really mad and then - and then he punched me straight in the eye and left me on the floor telling me to get out and that he never wants to see me again, and to top things off it’s our anniversary, I chuckled and rolled over facing him.

His jaw was clenched as were his hands, knuckles white with a searing anger. His eyebrows were knit together and he breathed heavily. He reached forward, palm on my face as his thumb wiped away my tears. Flinching, I closed my eyes before sighing and revelling in the soft touch. Eyes staring at the swirling purples, greens and blues mingling under my eye and on the cheek bone.

“Why do you hate me?” I whispered. He stopped his movements pulling hand away. His eyes moved from the bruise to mine, tonging the inside of his cheek pondering the question.

“I...don’t hate you,” he whispered back, “I just hated the fact that you were with him. I hated the way his arm would be around you or his hand in your back pocket. I hated the way he kissed you. I hated the way you smiled and laughed at his jokes. I hated the way he would brag about cheating on you or how he mad you cum.” Tongue swiping across his bottom lip, dragging it into his mouth, biting the soft flesh picking his next words carefully.

“But most of all I hated the way that you looked at him because,” his voice fell off pausing. My heart sped up as I moved closer. My eyes flicking down to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “Because?” I whispered.

“Because,” he breathed shakily looking down, “because I wanted you to look at me that way.” My eyes softened as I looked at him. I never thought I would ever get to see Billy Hargrove the ultimate frat fuck boy act shy. 

He lifted his head, our noses almost touching. And this close I could see the freckles that were scattered across his face. “Well,” I swallowed. “When I wasn’t laughing at his jokes, or hand his arm around me,” I looked down threading my fingers with his.

“I dreamt of what life would be like with out him, to run away from this place, from him, from this bullshit life.” I looked back into his eyes, you could get lost in them - a swimming pool of hidden emotion. “Do you want to run away with me...Billy?” We moved impossibly closer to each other.

“Yes,” he whispered barely audible. “Where would we go?” he asked pressing our foreheads together. I looked up thinking for a second before softly smiling, my mind flicking back to the way he tried not to smile at that photo of him and his mom.

“What about California?” He closed his eyes smiling fondly. I licked my lips my heart beating faster and faster as silence spread over the room. Comforting and sweet, lit by the orange light.

“Yes,” he breathed. He leant forward, our lips pressing together gingerly. Tender and supple I almost didn’t feel it. We pulled apart, taking a second to admire one another before leaning back in. 

This kiss. This kiss had pent up desire and passion behind it, ensuring red and swollen lips once finished. But I’m not sure whether I want his moment to ever end.

-----------

@quietghostwitch

[izzieallstar]

Sans fanfic, smut, romance, love, rough.

Don't copy text. Warning, slapping, rough sex. FEMALE READER, Name of reader is serria.

WORDS - 3350

This fanfiction is also posted onto my A03 if you'd like to check it out there, where i post its updates.

Sierra headed over to Sans place, to finally spend the night with him, they hadn't hung out for a while and she didn’t want them to grow apart.  She knocks twice with her knuckle on the chipped wooden door. “Guess who it is.” She spoke through the crack in the door, smiling, her lungs filling with air. 

“The boogeyman?” He said in a sarcastic, dramatic tone.

 The door swung open, Sans's grinny smile was wider than usual, His cheekbones sticking out. 

Sans moved to the side, letting her in, as she walked by he took a second to notice the way she looked, her curly brown hair falling down her shoulders, her glasses slipping down her tanned nose, and her flushed pink cheeks. 

As she walked in, the house smelled of rose with a tang of moldy wood, the lounge sitting with fluffy blankets folded neatly, a few pillows alongside them, the coffee table covered in snacks, from sweet lollies to savory potato chips. As she looks around she places her bags by the lounge, telling herself she’ll sort it out later, feeling a deep pit in her stomach as she turns around, seeing sans by the tv cabinet, holding a cardboard box of discs in his arms. 

“I know, I know, we have to use discs tonight, I’m sorry” placing them down by the DVD player. 

He smiles, walking over to her, wrapping his arms around her, she hugs him back, they take in the smell of each other, he feels her heartbeat as their chest sits  against each other, taking a break from the world around them and just being in each other's presence. Sierra knew something had changed over the time they spent apart, something just wasn't the same as it used to be, not that it was bad, it just felt like there was more than they were telling each other.

“It feels like it's been forever” he says as his head rests on her shoulder.the smell of her freshly washed hair, filling his nose. They let go of eachother, letting their arms swing by their sides. He laughs, looking down at his feet. 

“So what should we do? I've got movies, snacks, and even some games, and yes they are board games. It sounds silly, I know.” 

“It's not silly. It sounds like you were just excited for me to come over” she replies. 

“So maybe I was,” he smiles, walking back to the box of discs. 

“What do you wanna watch?”  

“I'm not sure, what do you have in there?” She replies

Clicking and clacking the sounds his hand makes, digging into the box, picking up a case but rolling his eyes and mumbling then dropping it back in. dust flying from old disc cases.

“A lot of these movies are all old”

“I bought a movie of my own, actually”

I quickly walk back to my bags, shuffling through the mix of clothes. 

“Taadaa, i found it” she raises her hand in the air, tightly grasping the case , putting her lips together and curving them into a toothy smile. 

The movie she's holding in her hands is the classic, dirty dancing.

“You think I'm not gonna watch it?” He says

“You don't know how much i love chick flicks, put that shit on” 

She laughs, moving herself to the dvd player. He's setting up the pillows and blanket for them to lay down. He taps her side of the lounge, she listens, placing herself down into the leather recliner. Pressing the button on the side, pulling the leg up, to stretch out her legs. 

As the beginning scene starts, they settle into the lounge before them, cuddling up to the blankets. Sans grabs a bag of potato chips, placing them on his lap, tearing open the plastic. 

Sierra helps herself to the bag reaching down into his lap, his hips bucking up in return. He feels disgusted in himself, their friends, nothing more. Can he not control himself? The thoughts he has about her swirling in his skull, he shakes his head trying to focus back on the screen in front of him.  His dick hardened as her hands kept going down near his lap, every now and then her hand slipped placing right on his inner thigh.

A sick feeling brews in his stomach, it feels wrong to think this about her. To think such vulgar explicit thoughts, images, scenarios. His heart thumping in his chest, hearing the pulse in his ears. Closing his eyes in disgust. Get over yourself. He thinks to himself. Hands beginning to sweat, he closes them into two tight fists, rubbing his index finger along the inside of the thumb, trying to soothe himself. He looks to his side, checking to see whether she has noticed anything. She hasn't... A wave of relief flushes through him, his heart calming, his breathing slowing down, relaxing his muscles.

“How about I make us some popcorn?” he looks over. 

She hums in reply, agreeing to his question. He moves the bag of chips over to her, moving himself up, taking himself into the kitchen, placing the popcorn packet into the microwave. He leans his back against the marble counter, listening to each pop of the kernel. He waits, the pops getting closer and closer together. The thoughts of sierra flashing back in his head, each pop sends another thought of her running into his head,  Pop  the thought of her wrapping her lips around him,  pop her tongue swirling around his tip, saliva dripping down her chin, her hands holding him, moving them along the vein of his cock, stroking him, sending twitches throughout his body, her hips grinding on him, her mouth agape with each moan, the feeling of her skin against his. 

 A burning smell floods the room, he snaps back to reality. Quickly turning around, he opened the microwave door, smoke and ash coming from inside of it. He grabs a tea towel from the draw beside him. grabbing the burnt popcorn packet, chucking into the bin.

“You're an idiot, ” she yells from the other room, laughing along with each word. 

He opens a window to let the kitchen air out. Sitting back down  next to her.

“Stop hogging the blankets” 

Tearing one from her. 

“Look, look! It's the best part” 

The crowd handing her down to the floor, baby runs to Johnny, he takes her in his arms lifting her in the air, her pale pink dress shining from the dozen chandeliers.  Her arms spread like a bird's wing, taking in the thrill of being the climax of their final dance. 

“Don't you just swoon over that?” 

“Sure.” 

“What? Come on, you can't tell me that wasn't amazing.” 

“It was good, yes. Happy?” 

“You just don't get it. Its cinematic history.”  her hands making explosion gestures 

An unwavering silence filled room, replacing the air. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom” Sierra spoke up, cutting the awkward air.  

She left in a swift movement, escaping the tension between them. Sans sat there, still his thoughts pounding with the vision of her body. He rests his hands on his boney thighs, swiping the sweat from his palms. 

He takes a second to breathe sitting by himself on the lounge, he lays his back against the couch, rubbing his skull. He takes himself up, walking over to the bathroom, knocking on the door. 

“Are you okay in there?”

“I’ll be out in a minute” 

“Okay, i'll be here” 

He kneels down against the bathroom door. Waiting silently, picking at the dead skin around  his nails. He patiently waits, darting his eyes around the surrounding area, tapping his fingers on his knees, bobbing his feet around in his loose shoes. He sighs, relaxing himself against the door, letting his arms down his side, his legs stretching out on the ground. Closing his eyes, letting his head rest on the door. 

– 

A banging bounces through his eardrum, startling him, hopping onto his feet. He looks up, seeing Sierra standing in the door, laughing her ass off, her hands slapping the doorframe and her thigh.  

“I cant - breathe” her eyes swelling up with tears, she falls to the ground laughing, her hands and knees against the wooden floor.  Tears fall down her cheeks, clear droplets landing down on the wooden floor.

“Oh, is it funny? Huh?”  standing there embarrassed he crosses his arms. 

She gets up, feeling the tone of his voice change, standing on her two feet, she looks back at him. His eyes are staring into her, pupils dilated, eyebrows furrowed and thick. 

“You look good when you’re on knees”  

“What?” 

“You think I didn't hear those little muffled moans in there? Trying to keep down the noise of you pleasuring yourself?”

“What? What are you saying?”  Sierra took a step back, she was shocked by what she was hearing. Her hands began to sweat, her breathing hitching up with every look back he gave her.

A familiar heat began to boil below her belt, tingles being sent down her thighs, a wet slick formed in her panties, soaking through the thin layer of cotton and polyester. 

“I'm saying, I know what you were doing.” He began to walk closer to her, one forceful step after the other. 

“Tell me now, were you doing what I suspected?” 

She looked down, humiliated. She shook her head up and down. Her heart was pounding against her chest

He moves his finger to her chin, bringing her head up to look at him. 

“I want to hear you say it”

Her eyes raced about the room, trying to find a way out; the twisting and turning in her stomach wouldn't stop, going around like a carousel, one ride after another.

"Yes," she responded while closing her eyes. 

 "That's all I was hoping for hear" 

She's still for a second, taking in the sensation of his lips pressing on hers. Their lips move in harmony, his tongue gliding around her mouth, tasting her. His hands grip her waist and pull her in, one hand dropping down and grabbing her ass and pulling her body onto his. 

“What are we doing?” she says against his mouth

"Fuck whatever we had been, I need you," he responds, quickly returning to her lips with his, salvia decorating their lips. Her hand slipped to the back of his head, pushing his mouth against hers. Putting his soft hair between her fingers. She rubs her thighs together in an effort to give the friction she craves. 

He spotted her doing, taking one of her hands, moving it to her waistband, and going underneath her pants with her underwear.

“You want this?”

��Yes” she replies, coming out in sharp short breaths.

His hands dips down her panties, finding her already soaked clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in circles. 

In response to his hands touching her, her body rocks back.  Her thighs twitch, forcing him to go rougher and faster against her clitors . She bites her lip, and beads of blood fall down her lips, tingling her tongue with the irony of blood. He moves his lips around her neck, covering each spot of her neck in a heated saliva residue, she pulls on his hair and pushes his head into her neck, feeling more of his lips against her.  Her breathy whines reach his ear, hardening his cock at the sound. The scorching heat of her arousal expands through her stomach, into her lower abdomen, and into her shaky limbs, her hips rock into his feeling his hard on against her, she feels the firmness of his dick pressing against her, she keeps pushing her inner thighs into him, getting a feel of his body. 

Sierra whispers into San's ear, "Let's go somewhere else."

He pulls away from her, grabbing her hand and leading her into his room, through the icy corridor, and into his room on the left side. 

His hands move down to her hips, pushing her body flat down on the bed, she arches her back, feeling the warmth of his hands laying on her thighs, he feels the hot flesh beneath him, moving his face down to her knees, kissing her gently on her knees, slowly moving his mouth up, dragging his lips along the inner part of her thighs, kissing the boiling skin underneath him, her hips rocking up, begging with her body, begging for the touch of him. He looks up into her eyes, her mouth agape, breathy moans escaping with each feel of his lips, her hands gripping onto his head, moving him further and further up until she abruptly stops just below her abdomen.

"You could have simply asked."

He moves his hands to the waistband of her shorts, carefully slipping them down, noticing the anticipation on her flushed face, her plump cheeks red with pleasure and simmering heat.

He brings her pants down to her calves, slipping them down off of her feet, he brings himself up to her mouth, kissing her soft lips, feeling the heat of her skin on his hands as they caress her rosy cheeks.

“Take me” she cries out

“Say it again”

“Take me, please” she whimpers like a poor little puppy, begging for it. For him. 

His mouth moves to the bare surface of her, kissing the prickly hairs and the soft skin, she squirms underneath him.

“Please” she begs 

He continues to tease her, kissing her inner thighs, hearing her breathing arise with each touch,, the heat becoming unbearable she brings her own hands down. He takes notice, grabbing her hands and bringing them above her head.

“What do you think you're doing?” 

“Well, you won’t touch me” 

Her pupils dilated with the exhilaration of his anger. She fights against his hands, ripping out of his lock. 

“No the fuck you don’t”

He turns her on her stomach pulling her ass into the air, her knees and elbows digging into the mattress.

 He brings his hand in the air, slapping down on her soft ass. A tingling running through the skin, her skin becoming red with each second that runs by. 

“Tell me, you won’t do that again, will you?” 

“Who thinks you can control me?”

Another slap against her burning body, a wildfire of heat and pain spreading around her body.

“Another awaits you if you wanna keep back talking” 

“Fuck you” she yells 

A vicious slap hits her ass once again, an agonizing pain rushing through her.

“Say, that, again.” 

“Fuck. You” 

His hand wraps around her throat, squeezing it. With each tightening, her airways closed.her vision began to swim as her mouth hung open.

“Have you learnt your lesson?” whispering in her ear.

“What are you gonna do if I haven't?” she struggles to speak, the pressure of his hands around her throat remaining the same. 

“You don't listen, do you?”

“Why should I listen to you?” 

“You'll regret it if you don't start soon” 

“I don’t think i will”

“Oh, You think that, do you?”

“I do, actually. You don't have what it takes”

“I don't?” 

“You don’t” she takes her time with each syllable. 

His hands began tightening on her throat, each tightening and squeeze blacking out her vision. He brings her throat up to his head pulling her body along the way. 

“Tell me, I don't have what it takes. Look at me when you say it.” 

She looks back at him, his eyes looking down at her bruised body. “You don’t” she attempts to say. 

His hand hits her face. . 

“Say it again.” 

“You. Don't” 

Her cheeks turn ruby red as she is slapped on the other cheek. A tiny bruise is starting to form. Her eyes filled, and each blink caused a tear to fall down her crimson colored face. She looks up at him with Doe eyes, her eyes appearing as glass, a clear gloss coating her amber coloured eyes. 

“Look at me just like that, baby”

He pushes her face down into the mattress, her muffled cries getting louder with each slap against her. Her brown curly hair turned into a mess, spread out onto the firm pillows. Her hands gripping the sheets each time his hands connect to her skin, slapping her tanned tender flesh. He grips her hips pulling them up and against his crotch, she can feel his hard on digging into her through his jeans.

“Beg for it”  He whispered into her ear.

“Please” She cried out. “Take me” 

Her hands go down and tug at his belt, she moves her body to face him, her legs underneath  her thighs as she sits on the bed, he stands close his hard on bulging against his black jeans. Her hands fumbled with his belt, unbucklinging the cold silver. She pulls his pants down past his thighs, then removing them completely and off of his feet. 

His black boxers showed the thick outline of his cock. She brings her hand to the waistband of his boxers freeing his dick from the tight fabric. His tip leaking precum, the vein of his cock popping, the black hairs around the bottom of his cock prickling up, the hairs slightly curled. She brings her hand to her mouth, spitting into her palm and bringing it back to his erect cock. She looked up at him, his eyes closed shut and his eyebrows curved, his mouth remaining agape as her slick hand moved along the length of him. He brings his hand to her head bringing her closer to his cock, she wraps her pretty plump lips around him. He pushes his hips forward, pushing himself deeper down her throat.  His cock throbbing in her mouth, filling her up. His hands move to her hair, wrapping it in his hands, pulling her on and off of him. 

“Fuck my pretty mouth” she looks up at him, tears welling in her eyes. Her mascara clumped on her lashes. 

He pushes her head down, she gags over the girth of his dick, and she gazes up at him. Her eyes were filled with pleasure and pain, as tears trickled down her cheeks. 

“You take me so well, my pretty girl”

The wet sounds of him fucking her mouth fill the room. Spit dripping down her chin and down her chest. His breathing gets heavier, his chest rising with each bob of her mouth. 

“Just like that, baby” he groans, his hips stuttering with each devour of his cock. 

Each swirl of her tongue around his sensitive tip had his cock twitching and throbbing, she could feel the size of him swell inside her, he slams the back of her throat repeatedly, tears running down her cheeks, her foundation rubbed off around her chin, with the wet slobbery of spit dripping down her face. Her hands gripping his thighs, her nails dipping into him, squeezing down on him.

“Keep going, I’m so fucking close” his hands wrap harder around her hair, the force of his hands becoming rougher, faster, harder. 

His hips pushed himself down her throat, slamming himself into her, giving her a chance to breathe. He moves quicker and quicker, he groans out, slumping himself over her and he shoots himself down her, cumming into her dripping mouth. 

He takes his cock from out of her mouth, she sits on her knees once again looking up, her mascara rubbed all over her face, her mouth red and dripping with a mixture of cum and spit. The mixture spills down her chest, dripping onto her thighs, slipping between them. She rubs the cum inbetween her thighs, feeling the warmth of him, she brings her finger down and pulls a string of his cum into her mouth. Tasting him along her tired tongue. 

“Look at you, my gorgeous girl. How do I taste?” he smiles, bringing his lips down to hers, kissing her swollen red lips. 

Her brown eyes bloodshot red, bruising forming on the soft cheeks of her rosy face. 

She brings herself to his ear, “I want you to stretch me out. Fuck me. Hard”