#should i be viciously angry at this one particular situation?

[makoodlesarchive]

daisy chain

oop, back at it again with dragon dick kiri

thank you SO much to @brattyquirks and @shoutogepi for looking over this for me when i was sick of looking at it, and @ramen-rambles​ for the fun idea!! i appreciate the help so so much !! 🧡

pairing: kirishima x reader x bakugou

word count: 8.3k

warnings: explicit penetrative sex, M/M/F threesome, dildos, dragon dick kiri

this is part of the dragon dick kiri series

tip jar!

It had started out as a joke, a throwaway comment that you really hadn’t put all that much thought into. You didn’t expect it to grow into anything more, but maybe you should have; it was pretty typical of Bakugou to take an innocent comment and interpret it as a personal challenge, after all.

“I hate my life.” You announce to no one in particular, your voice echoing off of the bathroom tiles.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou snarls. You can’t take the vicious heat in his voice seriously, given your current predicament, so you just opt to ignore it. “Will you just- ow! That hurts, you stupid, shitty-”

“Fuck off, this is not my fault!” You snap back. Your patience is frayed and barely hanging on by a thread, and you feel safe enough snapping back at Bakugou considering you’re confident that he’s in no position to try and kill you if he does happen to take issue with your tone.

“We’re not playing the blame game!” Bakugou snarls, which means that he’s definitely aware that he’s at fault here but doesn’t want to admit it. “All you have to do is-”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re not trying hard enough!”

You swear viciously and get to your feet, clambering out of the bathtub. You nearly slip on the wet tile floor, but just manage to keep your balance.

“Wait,” Bakugou says, and his tone has changed significantly. He sounds a little panicked now, as if he thinks that you’re about to abandon him to his fate, “Where the fuck are you going?”

You decide not to answer him, just because you’re feeling kind of petty, but when you remain quiet he tries to climb out of the bathtub after you. You notice the movement out of the corner of your eye and turn to look at him, scowling. “Will you stay where you are!”

“Where are you going!”

“I’m right here, I’m not leaving!” You go back to peering into the bathroom cabinet, thoroughly irritated by just about everything right now. “This is so stupid.”

“This was your idea.” Bakugou murmurs sulkily. His voice is quiet and resentful, and you’re probably not even supposed to hear it but you do hear it, and you whirl around.

“What?” Your voice comes out louder than you had intended, but you’re angry now. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You came up with this all by yourself!”

Bakugou’s face is scrunched up in a mixture of pained discomfort and embarrassment, but he still manages to level you with a cuttingly annoyed glare. He opens his mouth to speak, and you ready yourself for whatever no doubt pathetic excuse is about to fall out of his mouth when your bickering is interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey,” Kirishima calls, concerned, “Are you guys okay in there?”

“Everything’s fine!” You yell at the same time as Bakugou practically screeches “Yes, fuck off!”

“Uhhh..” Kirishima remains unconvinced. The floor creaks as he shifts his weight around in front of the door. “What’s going on?”

You can’t blame him for being worried; both you and Bakugou have been locked in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes. You and Kirishima had been relaxing on the couch while Bakugou showered when the shower had shut off abruptly and Bakugou had started roaring your name. You had gone running instinctively, leaving Kirishima wide-eyed and startled on the couch as you went crashing into the bathroom. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Bakugou leaning over the ceramic edge of the bathtub with his fingers up his ass, red-faced and visibly panicking.

“It’s nothing to worry about, babe,” you call out to Kirishima, finally finding what you had been searching for and banging the cabinet shut. “We’ll be out soon, promise.”

After an excruciatingly long moment, Kirishima decides to take your word for it and retreats. You let out a breath, then turn back to Bakugou. He’s kneeling down, but his back is almost unnaturally straight and his jaw is clenched tight. His discomfort is obvious, but you really can’t bring yourself to feel all that sympathetic towards him - you still can’t believe he had the nerve to try and blame this on you.

You take a deep, fortifying breath, and slide your shoulders back. “Okay,” you say, “Bend over, ass up.”

Bakugou looks at you as though you’d just taken out a gun and threatened to shoot him. “What the fuck?”

“There is literally no other way to fish out the dildo that you lost up your ass, so just do it!” You hiss, your patience officially reaching its limit thanks to a healthy mixture of anger and embarrassment. You would rather be literally anywhere else right now, and you imagine Bakugou feels the same way.

The anger and embarrassment on his face only gets worse when he catches sight of the bottle of lube you’ve managed to fish out of the cabinet. He stays quiet as you climb back into the bathtub and situate yourself behind him and then, miraculously, he bends forward and braces himself on the rim of the bathtub with his ass jutting out towards you without saying a word. 

“Okay,” you breathe. Now that his ass is actually being presented to you, you’re at a loss for what to do. “Um.”

“Just get on with it!” Bakugou hisses over his shoulder. The embarrassment is only fueling his anger, and you have a feeling that the only reason you haven’t been murdered so that no one else can ever learn about this is because the dildo lost somewhere up Bakugou’s rectum is hindering his movements.

“Okay!” You kneel down and squint at his ass. Though the shower is off, the tub is still wet and the moisture seeps through the knees of your jeans. You ignore the temporary discomfort as you pet awkwardly at Bakugou’s back to try and calm him down as your other hand slips towards his asshole. “God, this is awkward.”

“You don’t have to fucking point it out.” Bakugou grounds out through gritted teeth. His fists are clenching the edge of the tub so tight that his knuckles strain against the thin skin on his hands. 

You uncap the lube and drizzle it all over your fingers. It might be a little overkill, but you’re already so far out of your comfort zone that you figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. The last thing you need is Bakugou snapping your head off because you accidentally hurt his ass. “Remind me why you shouted for me instead of Kirishima?”

Bakugou grumbles a little bit at that, but before he can answer the question you take the plunge and stick your fingers in his ass. It obviously takes him by surprise, because he lunges forward a bit and can’t quite bite back the strangled noise that’s punched out of his throat. “Fuck! Warn a guy before you go sticking your fingers up his ass!”

“You have a whole dildo up there, I doubt my fingers are gonna make that much of a difference.” You say, maybe a bit uncharitably. His asshole is lubed up pretty well, so your fingers slide in with ease, but he is pretty tight. You can totally see how his asshole slurped up the dildo as if it was suction powered. “Hey, you never answered my question.”

“What fucking question? Jesus-!” He jerks away from your fingers a little and bares his teeth at you over his shoulder, “Fucking take it easy!”

You glare at him, but don’t rise to it. “Why did you call for me instead of Kirishima?” It’s hard to keep your questing fingers gentle when you’re searching for something inside an asshole, but you do your best to try and keep Bakugou’s complaints to a minimum.

Bakugou exhales forcefully, the line of his shoulders tense and rigid. “I don’t know,” he says through gritted teeth, “I wasn’t thinking.”

You hum thoughtfully, but then your fingers brush the base of the dildo and you lose your train of thought. “Ah!” It’s difficult to get a grip on it, because of the copious amounts of lube and the awkward shape of the base. Everytime you almost catch a hold of it, you accidentally push it further in. “Fuck! Why the hell didn’t you use a dildo with some kind of flared base?”

“How many fucking dildos do you think I have on hand, huh?” Bakugou says. He’s obviously angry, but it’s a little difficult to take that anger seriously when you have several fingers stuffed in his anus. “This whole thing is your fault, anyway.”

This is roughly the third time he’s said something along those lines, so you remove your hand and sit back on your ankles, squinting at his upturned ass. “Okay, explain.”

Bakugou squirms, clearly antsy now that you’ve stopped trying to help him. “We talked about it last week!”

You just stare, at a loss. “Huh?”

He glares back at you, but when it becomes apparent that you genuinely don’t know what he’s talking about he’s forced to grumble, “When I asked you about Kirishima.”

You think for a long moment, mentally raking through every interaction you’ve had with Bakugou over the course of the week. You don’t remember ever saying anything that could have been construed as- oh. Oh, he’s gotta be joking.

One day last week, after a round of enthusiastically messy sex, you had been limping just a little. Bakugou, being the little shithead he was, laughed and prodded at you the whole way to the kitchen, and you had responded with an eye roll and an irritable “I’d like to see you take his dick, asshole.”

No reasonable person could ever have picked up your offhand remark as an actual challenge, but you weren’t dealing with a reasonable person right now. You go to cover your face with your hand only to remember that it was up Bakugou’s ass only moments previously, and quickly divert it away from your face. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

Bakugou is flushed from the tip of his ears to his chest, a fetching shade of red. “You said you’d like to see it.”

“Oh, don’t pretend this is about what I want!”

“Well, obviously I want it too, but I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it!” Bakugou snaps back. The two of you are irritable and embarrassed and your patience is at an all time low, but then Bakugou draws back and shuffles around on his knees so that he can actually see your face. “Do you want it? Fucking tell me if you don’t.”

You stare back at him dumbly, a little mesmerised by the vulnerability in his face. Bakugou has never presented himself as anything other than invincible in your presence, so this little sliver of emotional honestly has you melting a little bit. You glance away and allow yourself a moment to really think about what he’s proposing. You know that what he’s really hoping to do is prove that he can take Kirishima’s ridiculous dick better than you can.

It’s like he’s come to the conclusion that because he has no chance of beating Kirishima in the dick size contest, he has to compete with you for the best ability to take it. Honestly, you’re okay with that -- mainly because you’re pretty secure in the knowledge that he’s gonna lose. 

You’d also be lying if you said the idea of getting to watch Kirishima fuck Bakugou didn’t cause you to heat up in between your legs.

“Hm.” You keep your face intentionally blank, watching Bakugou as he visibly fights not to fidget against the discomfort of both waiting for your response and the dildo up his hole. At last, you say, “Yeah. I want to see it.” Bakugou exhales, slow and steady, and nods. You don’t give him much of a chance to relax though. “Now, I need you to bend over properly. Face down, ass up. I need a better angle.”

Predictably, Bakugou doesn’t take that suggestion well, and it takes several more minutes of mingled arguing and coaxing before he finally sinks down into the requested position (though not without throwing a particularly venomous glare over his shoulder at you). You have to fight not to swear at him, because he’s the one that asked you for help here! It’s not as though you’re holding him hostage just so you can fish around in his asshole!

When he’s assumed the position, he buries his face in his arms. “Just get it fucking done.”

When faced with Bakugou on his knees in front of you, face down, ass up, with his back arched, you’re forced to face the rather irritating revelation that his ass is, like, perfect. It’s probably the perkiest damn thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You scowl at it, feeling both resentful and kind of turned on, before finally turning your attention to the task at hand. When you reach down to his asshole again, your fingers slide in with ease thanks to the lube and the fact that he’s already pretty well stretched.

Your fingers aren’t as long or wide as his are, but he still jerks against you as you poke around. His hips hunch forwards and he hisses like an angry cat as your fingers bump the base of the dildo, accidentally sliding it in a little further. “Fucking hell,” you murmur, brow scrunched in a deep frown, “How deep did you manage to get it?”

Bakugou bares his teeth in a grimace. “I ain’t blind, I’ve seen the size of Kirishima’s cock. I’m not stupid enough to go in without stretching myself out.”

“Just stupid enough to lose the dildo up your ass.” You mutter under your breath.

“The fuck did you just say?” Bakugou whips his head around to glare over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” You say hastily, deciding that you’ve probably pushed your luck far enough already. Your fingers jostle the dildo again and Bakugou lurches forward again, an odd pained sound leaving his lips. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Just-!” Bakugou’s voice is strained, and he’s buried his face in his arms again so that you can’t see him. “Fucking take it out!”

“I’m trying.” You grumble, trying not to sound petulant. If it were that easy, then surely he could have done it himself without your assistance! Bakugou grunts again when you finally manage to hook your fingers around the base of the dildo, but you barely notice as you excitedly say, “Hey! I got it!”

Bakugou braces himself, the whole length of his back flexing impressively as you begin to gradually pull the dildo out. It’s slow-going, mainly because you have to keep adjusting your grip so that it doesn’t slip right out of your fingertips, and Bakugou definitely doesn’t appreciate the slow speed. His fists are clenched tight and the flush has spread all down his neck and over his chest. His jaw is rolling constantly, and his eyes are squeezed shut. You actually feel kind of sorry for him, and you try your best to keep your movements as gentle and unobtrusive as possible.

That is, until you bump the dildo a little awkwardly and a downright filthy moan is torn from Bakugou’s throat. You both freeze, but Bakugou tensing up means that you nearly lose your grip on the dildo all over again. “Stop clenching!” You shriek, fingers scrabbling desperately against the hard plastic as you fight to keep a hold of it.

“Fuck you!” He yells back, but it seems like more of a reflexive response than anything else.

You shift backwards to try and get a better angle, and then you notice for the first time that his dick is hanging hard and heavy between his legs. “Bakugou Katsuki,” you say softly, watching as his back goes rigid at both your tone and your use of his full name, “How are you still hard? Are you seriously getting off on this?”

“No!” Bakugou snaps, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Fuck off! As if I’d get off to your grubby little fingers!”

“Grubby?” You sit back on your heels again, irritated. “Well, maybe I should just leave you here to take care of this little problem yourself, then. I don’t know why you called me in if my touch is so gross-”

“No!” Bakugou reaches behind him in an attempt to grab at your thighs to prevent you from moving, despite the fact that you haven’t made any real move to leave. “Just-!”

While he’s distracted, you give one quick tug and pull the entire length of the dildo out all at once. Bakugou’s whole body spasms as he lets out another strangled groan, and you don’t miss the way his dick twitches between his legs. You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from laughing, because you have a feeling that Bakugou would not take that well. “It’s out!” you say, a little redundantly, and hold up the dildo.

Bakugou is still hunched over, his chest heaving slightly as he regulates his breathing. “Fucking hell.” He mutters without looking up. His hole is still loose and wet from the lube, and you have to look away as you feel yourself heating up with embarrassment.

You clear your throat pointedly, and raise your eyebrows when he finally turns to scowl up at you. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

“Hah? No.”

You scowl back at him. “I just did you a favour, dickhead.”

Bakugou totally ignores you as he climbs to his feet, wincing a little at the movement. You follow his lead, grumbling irritably, and when you’re both standing facing each other you’re hit with the realisation for the first time that Bakugou is very naked and still wet from his shower. “Okay then!” You say, probably too loudly. “Well! I’ll leave you to, uh, finish up?”

His dick is still hard, and you feel like it’s pointing accusingly at you. Bakugou is frowning thoughtfully at the dildo that’s still clutched awkwardly in your hands. “I’m still horny.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” You wonder if he’s asking for his dildo back, and then you realise that you don’t want it yourself so you shove it into his chest. 

He takes it absent-mindedly, his frown transferring to focus on you. “Are you turned on?”

“What?”

His gaze drops to your legs, and you’re embarrassed to realise that he’s caught your thighs rubbing together. Before you can say anything, he says, “I’m not judging. If you get wet from playing with my ass that’s your own business.”

“You’re such a dickhead.” It’s not really an answer, but you both know that he really doesn’t need one.

His gaze moves to the door, thoughtful, as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I’m ready if you are.”

It takes an embarrassingly long moment to catch on to what he means. Your gaze flicks from the door to the dildo. It is, admittedly, fairly large; it’s probably about ten inches long, and decently thick. It’s a small miracle that it ever got lost inside Bakugou’s ass. And yet; Kirishima’s dick is definitely larger.

There’s no way of telling Bakugou this without inadvertently starting an argument, so you let it go. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Bakugou grins, wild and anticipatory, and hops out of the tub. His erection swings heavily between his legs in a motion that’s almost obscene as he swaggers towards the bathroom door and flicks open the lock. When you move to follow him, he sticks his arm out and frowns at the length of your body. “Take your clothes off.”

“Huh?” You glance down at yourself. “Right now? Why can’t I take them off in the bedroom?”

“Because we’re going into this fucking ready, come on.” He tugs impatiently at your shirt.

“Okay, okay.” You slap at his hands before starting to tug your clothes off. It takes a bit of extra effort to get the damp jeans off because they’ve started to cling to your legs. Bakugou’s tugging hands are significantly more hindering than they are helpful, but eventually you’re standing naked with your clothes strewn all around your feet.

It takes effort not to comment on Bakugou’s impatience, and even then the main reason you don’t comment is because now there’s no dildo hindering his ability to murder you. When he yanks open the door, his shoulders are high and tense with anticipation, and he sets off down the hall towards the living room at a speed far too quick to be casual. You scurry after him, having the presence of mind to feel a little embarrassed and self-conscious at your total nudity as you both emerge into the living room. Bakugou, naturally, owns his nudity unrepentantly.

“Oi.” he says sharply, as eloquent as ever.

“You guys finally done? What happened, did Bakugou fall into the toil...et?” Kirishima’s voice trails off and pitches high as he turns his head from the couch, his eyes flying wide when he catches sight of you and Bakugou standing totally nude in the mouth of the hallway. “Uh. Whoa?”

“Let’s go, asshole, we’re ready to fuck.”

“What?” Kirishima looks vaguely as though he’s been hit by a metaphorical truck, but he jumps from the couch despite his obvious confusion. “Now?”

“Obviously, come on!”

Kirishima’s bewildered gaze flickers from Bakugou to you, and the most you can offer him is a companionably confused shrug. “Okay.” He starts to grin, as willing to go with the flow as ever. The front of his sweatpants is already beginning to tent, and you can’t help but chuckle at how easily aroused he is. “Yeah, okay. Great.”

Bakugou turns and marches back down the hall towards Kirishima��s room, securely confident that both you and Kirishima are following behind him. He’s right, obviously, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his cockiness. Still though; walking behind him like this you get a great view of his ass, and what a great view it is.

When you glance up at Kirishima, you see that he’s already staring at your bare chest. “What the hell happened in the bathroom?” He asks quietly. He’s still grinning, his arousal obviously unaffected by his confusion.

“I’ll tell you later.” You promise. You know you’re only adding to his bewilderment, but you really don’t think you can succinctly explain the situation in the time it takes to get from the living room to the bedroom.

As always, Kirishima just takes the whole thing in his stride. “Okay.” He agrees with a ridiculous amount of cheer, then claps and rubs his hands together like a cheesy movie villain. “Let’s get going!”

When you enter Kirishima’s room, Bakugou is already spread out on the bed; his cock is laying hard and proud against the gloriously defined contours of his stomach, and his bicep bulges as he cushions his head with one arm. He looks positively pornographic, and you falter for a moment. The act of simply looking at him seems indecent.

Kirishima, naturally, just bounds right up and leaps onto the bed. “Lookin’ good, bro!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to not call me that when we’re about to-” Bakugou begins furiously, but the rest of his complaint is lost as Kirishima practically tackles him into the mattress. You have to admit, as you watch the two of them grapple like children on the bed, you’re begrudgingly impressed by Bakugou’s unflagging hard on; he must be really excited for what’s to come. You suppose you can’t blame him, really. Considering the slimy feeling between your thighs, you know that you’re just as excited. After a moment, Bakugou successfully shoves him off. “Idiot,” he says, completely lacking any sort of heat, “Are we doing this or what?”

“You’re so impatient br- uh, dude.”

“Dude is not an improvement, you fucking-”

Kirishima ignores the beginning of Bakugou’s rant and turns to you, making ridiculous grabby motions. “Get over here, gorgeous!”

A slow, coy grin begins to spread over your face as you look slowly between Kirishima and Bakugou. They both seem to puff up just a little under your gaze; Kirishima squares his shoulders and grins unrepentantly at you, a very obvious wet patch beginning to form under the conspicuous bulge in his sweatpants, while Bakugou’s stomach flexes as he acts as though he had forgotten that you were there. You hum, stepping forward but stopping just out of arm's reach. “Not yet.” You decide, tilting your head to meet Bakugou’s gaze head on.

He grins, wide and challenging. His eyes are dark and excited, but he doesn’t speak up to clue Kirishima in on what he’s planning just yet. Kirishima, meanwhile, is pouting. “Aw, why are you teasing? Can’t you see we’re eager to go?”

“I can see that,” you admit, because honestly if you had somehow managed to miss the blindingly obvious evidence of their arousal there would have to be something seriously wrong with you. “But we’re going to try something different tonight.”

“Take these off.” Bakugou finally says, reaching out and snapping at the waistband of Kirishima’s sweatpants.

Kirishima jumps, startled, as the elastic smacks into the skin of his lower stomach. “What?” he says a little dumbly, looking from you to Bakugou. Even though he’s a little slow on the uptake, he begins wriggling out of his sweatpants until he’s left in his special supportive jockstrap. The jock is already pretty wet with precum, and even though it’s been specifically designed with large and unusual penises in mind, it’s having trouble containing his straining erection.

Bakugou gazes at the overworked fabric, his gaze intense and unwavering. “That, too.”

“Okay.” Kirishima agrees, breathless. He seems to have come to the conclusion that it’s best to put aside his confusion for the time being and simply go with the flow, which is probably the best for the time being. When Bakugou decides that he wants something, you just have to go with it; to do otherwise would be like trying to fight a force of nature. Apparently anything longer than instantly is too long for Bakugou, and he lunges forward to help Kirishima take off the jock. Bakugou’s idea of helping seems more along the lines of ‘tearing it off’, but Kirishima seems to find the urgency flattering. 

Once Kirishima is appropriately naked, Bakugou sits back and just looks at him. You understand that particular reaction all too well -- it’s easy to look at Kirishima’s dick and think that it’s super hot (because in all honesty it is) but it’s another thing when you’re looking at it when you know that it’s going to be inside of you imminently. Kirishima’s cock has a rather unique way of inspiring a fight or flight instinct in even the bravest of men, and you’re rather gratified by the fact that even Bakugou Katsuki isn’t immune to that little frisson of unease and self-doubt.

“Uh oh, second thoughts?” You ask, teasing softly. You know he’s not really second guessing himself, you know that he’ll push through every single one of his own personal hesitations just to prove a point, but you can also see that he doesn’t know how to actually go about initiating what he wants.

Predictably, he shoots you a scathing look. “Hardly, dumbass.” He says, but still makes no move to do or say anything else. Kirishima sits in front of him, also unmoving, looking innocently perplexed other than the enormous hard on eagerly leaking onto his lower belly.

Idiots, you think, impossibly fond of them both. “Eijirou,” you begin softly. Both of them look to you, and you don’t miss the poorly concealed look of relief in Bakugou’s eyes when you take control of the talking part. “You’re going to fuck Katsuki tonight.”

Bakugou makes a soft noise as Kirishima’s eyes shoot wide, though you don’t know if it’s because you’ve finally spoken his desire into existence or if it’s because you used his first name. Either way, it has his hand reaching between his legs to tug at the hard, unwavering length of his erection. Meanwhile, Kirishima looks utterly thunderstruck. His mouth hangs open, his jaw slack, as he slowly turns his head to look at his best friend. “What?” He says stupidly, his thought process clearly struggling to keep up. He always seems to be slower to catch onto things when he’s horny, and you wonder if it’s because of all the blood being diverted away from his brain to fill out his ridiculously enormous dick.

It’s usually pretty endearing, but you can see the way that Bakugou begins to shift a little nervously the longer it takes for Kirishima to properly react. “Yes or no?” You say quickly, before Bakugou’s antsiness gets the chance to manifest into outright impatience or embarrassment. 

“Yes!” Kirishima says quickly, but then his gaze darts down to his own hard on and back to Bakugou. “But- I mean. Can you- are you sure that you’re able to- I mean-”

It’s pretty funny watching him flounder to ask Bakugou if he’s sure he’s physically capable of taking him without saying something that Bakugou may take offence to, especially as Bakugou’s eyes begin to narrow. “What?”

“He’s already ready for you.” You decide to pipe up. Bakugou whips around to glare at you for offering that particular bit of information up, but you ignore it because it’s not as if Kirishima wasn’t about to find out as soon as he reached around to touch him, anyway.

“Really?” Kirishima asks, quietly awed. 

“Yeah, I’m not dumb.” Bakugou says with a quick wave of his hand. “And I’m also not a total masochist.”

“Okay.” Kirishima says. His face is slowly starting to light up as he finally seems to come to terms with the fact that this is actually happening. “Wow. Okay, wow.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever! Let’s go.” Bakugou snaps, his cheeks stained a pretty pink colour. “Stop fucking saying wow.”

You laugh, giddy excitement beginning to bubble up in your chest. You move to lean against the wall so you can watch from a fairly unobtrusive vantage point as Bakugou turns around so that his ass and back are facing Kirishima. They’re both excited for this, that much is obvious, but you still can’t quite shake off the belief that Bakugou has bitten off a little more than he can chew in this particular situation. Oh, well. Bakugou is the kind of person who learns by doing, you suppose.

Bakugou drops forward onto all fours, his back lightly arched and his face set and determined. If it weren’t for the fact that he was naked and hard as hell, you might think from his expression that he was about to beat down a particularly heinous criminal. Kirishima shuffles forward until he’s pressed flush against the back of his thighs, still looking vaguely as though he expects Bakugou to turn around and tell him that the entire situation was an elaborate prank. “You’re sure?” Kirishima says, his hand landing lightly on the outside of Bakugou’s hip and sliding gently up over his ribs.

“Obviously.” Bakugou drawls. Impressively, he seems to have wiped any trace of nerves cleanly out of his system. He looks like he always does when he’s about to face a challenge that he expects to crush; cocky, confident, and utterly single-minded. That particular look of sheer determination falters slightly as his gaze darts over to you, where you’re slouching against the wall watching. “The fuck are you all the way over there for?”

You raise your eyebrows. It hadn’t quite occurred to you that they might want you to take an active role in this, but Bakugou is frowning at you as though you’re a total idiot and Kirishima is making those silly little grabbing motions towards you again, his grin blinding. “Well, where do you want me to be?”

Bakugou narrows his eyes, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. “Under me.” It’s phrased as an order but his voice ends in an almost imperceptible uptick, so it comes out sounding uncharacteristically unsure.

You hum as you climb up on the bed and slip underneath him, so that his arms are braced either side of your head and his knees are positioned in between your spread legs. You grin up at him, but he looks away with a little huff -- within seconds Kirishima’s head appears over his shoulder, and he offers you a grin so wide that you can see just about every single one of his sharp, shiny white teeth. You laugh at his goofy face, and feel hot liquid excitement settle in your belly and begin to simmer there as the reality of the situation begins to dawn on you. Bakugou’s hard on brushes against your navel as he shifts, leaving a little trail of precum on your skin. You’re startled to find yourself marveling at how little precum he produces; it’s kind of startling how quickly you’ve become used to Kirishima’s little sexual quirks as normal. 

“Get on with it, shitty hair.” Bakugou snaps, the old nickname falling out of his mouth almost unconsciously. Kirishima’s hair is ungelled today, hanging loose over his brow and around his ears, although neither of you care to point this fact out. “Do you need me to draw you a map?”

Kirishima rolls his eyes. “Damn, man. Cool it with the attitude.”

You have no doubt that Bakugou is ready to snap back with another comment, but before he gets the chance to Kirishima’s large palms plant themselves down on Bakugou’s incongruously tiny waist as he ruts his hips experimentally against Bakugou’s ass. From your new and very comfortable vantage point, you get to see the look of realisation begin to sneak across Bakugou’s face; there is, after all, a pretty significant difference between deciding that you’re going to fuck Kirishima and actually feeling his cock press against you. The creeping cognizance of exactly how big Kirishima is can be nothing short of alarming, and nothing drives home that realisation faster than feeling the tip of his dick pressing against you.

If anything though, Bakugou’s initial moment of anxiety just seems to turn into more arousal. “Fuck.” He breathes quietly, his voice gone a little choked.

“How’s it feel?” You ask, half-teasing. You reach up and pet reassuringly at his shoulders and the side of his neck, feeling the solid muscle shift beneath your palm.

“Big.” It’s more of a groan than anything else, his scarlet eyes going a little glassy.

Behind him, Kirishima rumbles a low, genuinely amused chuckle. “I thought we already covered that.”

“Shut up. Just put it in.” Bakugou cranes his head over his shoulder, reaching to try and maneuver Kirishima himself. “Come on. I’m horny as hell, and I’m not gonna break. Stop fucking treating me like I’m [Y/N].”

You stiffen at that, and narrow your eyes. “I haven’t broken yet, asshole.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou rolls his head around to meet your scowl with a cocky smirk, “I’m gonna take it without whining like a bitch.”

Your irritated expression melts into a slow, anticipatory smile. “You’re gonna eat your words, Katsuki.” you croon up at him as Kirishima hooks his chin over his shoulder, biting his lip to stifle his own smile, “You’re gonna choke on them.”

Whatever Bakugou was planning on saying in return is interrupted by Kirishima dipping both thumbs into his ass and marvelling at the stretch. “Wow, you really did get yourself ready.” He says, and Bakugou exhales heavily as Kirishima grinds into him again. “Can I…?”

“Yes, just do it!” Bakugou unsuccessfully tries to shove his own hips back, his impatience written clear across his face.

Kirishima meets your gaze over Bakugou’s shoulder, his eyes wide and excited. ‘What the fuck!’ he mouths silently, still grinning. You smile back at him, trying hard not to laugh because Bakugou is also looking down at you. Being beneath the two of them is intimidating because they are both extremely large men, but also because they’re both staring at you and the weight of their combined gazes is really intense.

You can’t see what’s happening, but you know when Kirishima begins to press into Bakugou because both of their faces contort; Kirishima’s mouth drops open and his forehead crinkles, a ragged little moan escaping him, and Bakugou’s eyes shoot wide as he inhales sharply through his nose and apparently forgets to breathe out. “Oh god, oh fuck,” Kirishima whimpers, his head dropping down onto Bakugou’s shoulder. He’s trying to hold back to give Bakugou time to adjust, that much is obvious, but he seems a little more impatient than he usually is with you. While he’s being slow, his hips keep rutting forward in little aborted motions that lack the level of consideration that he usually takes with you -- but then again, Bakugou had insisted that he was able to take it.

You wonder if he’s beginning to second-guess himself; his jaw hangs slack and his eyes are wide and a little out of focus, his back beginning to hunch slightly as Kirishima presses forward. “Oh,” he grunts. His hands flex and fist into the sheets by your head, and he breathes hard through his nose. “Shit.”

Kirishima stills, though it’s clear that it takes a huge amount of effort. “Are you-” he pauses just short of asking Bakugou if he’s alright, and instead says, “Can I put in the rest?”

“The rest?” Bakugou says quickly, his voice several octaves higher than usual. “It’s not in yet?”

You start to laugh, and not even the murderous glare that Bakugou shoots your way can dampen your amusement. “Oh no, are you having trouble with just the tip?”

“I will kick your ass, dickhead. He’s entering somewhere that’s usually an exit, let him take it slow!” Bakugou plants his palm over your face and shoves you away so that you’re not looking directly at him before saying, “Whatever, put the rest in!”

Kirishima pays him no mind, instead peering at you over Bakugou’s shoulder. “I want you to feel good too.” He tells you, even though you can see the tension in his face and neck from forcing himself to stay still when every nerve in his body screamed at him to move. “Can Bakugou make you feel good?”

“I don’t know, can he?” You ask coyly, casting an eye down the length of Bakugou’s rigid body hovering above you; you doubt that Bakugou will have the presence of mind to pleasure you when Kirishima’s entire length is fucking inside of him. 

As expected, Bakugou’s nostrils flare. “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.” he snaps, one hand already slipping between your legs to tease at your clit. He blinks in surprise when his fingers slip along your slit. “Huh. You’re drenched.”

Your face heats up in embarrassment, but Kirishima’s face lights up with a wicked smile. “Is she?” he asks. His hand winds around the front of Bakugou’s hips, and you think for a moment that he’s going to touch you too. But then it’s Bakugou who stiffens with a bitten-back moan as Kirishima wraps a hand around his neglected hard-on and guides the tip of it to rub against your slick, eager pussy. Both you and Bakugou go still, surprised, as Kirishima quietly asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” The word comes out on a moan as your head drops back to the sheets. You shift your hips and feel the tip of Bakugou’s cock slide just barely inside you. “Please!”

Bakugou swears, loud and vicious, as his hand comes to clamp down on your hip to keep you from fucking yourself onto him. “Fuck! Don’t do that, I’ll come-” he begins, but Kirishima chooses that moment to buck the rest of his own cock into Bakugou’s ass. The sudden harshness of the movement starts a chain reaction as Bakugou’s entire body is jolted forward, inadvertently pressing his own dick all the way inside you. He makes a sound like a wounded animal, his breathing ragged and heavy as his clutches at your hip. “Oh-! Shit, fuck, you absolute motherfucker-!”

Kirishima laughs breathlessly, his forehead dropping down to rest against Bakugou’s shoulder. “Taking too long.” he says, his words coming out syrupy and almost slurred. “God, feels so good…”

You can’t stop yourself from squirming a little, trying to get Bakugou’s dick just a little bit deeper; you had gotten used to the obscenely large size of Kirishima’s dick, and while Bakugou’s dick felt good, it wasn’t enough. Your squirming doesn’t get you very far though, because Bakugou’s grip on you tightens until he’s holding you firmly in place. “Stay still,” he grounds out, his voice ragged. His shoulders are hiked up around his ears as he breathes, and you wonder if it’s from pain or if he’s just so close to cumming right now that every touch straddles the line of too much. He swears again, and his head drops down onto your shoulder. “Feels like I’m gonna split in two.” He murmurs, voice tight.

“Poor baby,” you say, running a hand up along his shoulder blades. With his face buried into the crook of your neck like this, he’s unintentionally given you a perfect view of his arched back and raised ass. Like this, you can just about see where Kirishima is buried inside of him, the only part of his cock visible being the swollen, squishy area at the base. “If it’s too much, tell us, Katsuki.”

“S’not too much,” he mumbles into your neck, all the usual sharpness leached from his voice. “I can do it. It’s just… a lot. And you’re really fuckin’ soft inside, which isn’t fucking helping.” As if to emphasise his point he rocks his hips forward into you and then makes a weird little warbling sound into your ear.

Kirishima leans up and drapes himself along the length of Bakugou’s back, sending a wobbly grin your way. “I can’t- I have to-” His hips twitch, building into slow, rolling thrusts. “Bakugou- I need- Can I, Katsuki-?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou pants into your neck, the condensation of his breath gathering wetly against the flesh of your throat. “Yeah, fuck me.”

That’s all the permission Kirishima needs -- he lets out an excited little whimper before pulling out and shoving himself back inside all out once. The movement sends a jolt up Bakugou’s spine, and he sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t move his face from your throat. Kirishima begins a rough, quick pace, his muscled thighs flexing as he drives into Bakugou again and again. Every thrust seems to drive the breath out of Bakugou’s lungs, and he wriggles his arms under your shoulders and clutches you to him as the force of Kirishima’s fucking sends his whole body rocking into yours.

“So big, shit!” Bakugou manages to gasp out, finally regaining the presence of mind to breathe properly. 

“Yeah?” Kirishima whimpers, looking proud. “You look so good like this, man, you feel so nice wrapped around me. Does it feel good?”

“Uh huh.” Bakugou dips his head so that his face is buried in your tits, his ass raised even higher. “Fuck!”

Everytime Kirishima fucks into Bakugou he pushes Bakugou’s hips sharply into yours, until all three of you are essentially fucking each other in a daisy chain reaction. You writhe beneath Bakugou, squirming and working your hips back and forth along the length of Bakugou’s dick as he fucks you to the same rhythm that he’s being fucked to himself. “Harder.” You beg, hiking your legs up over Bakugou’s hips and squeezing tight as you’re both rocked by Kirishima.

Bakugou makes a muffled noise that is possibly encouragement. His hips oscillate wildly between thrusting back to meet Kirishima’s snapping pelvis and forward into your own wet heat, like he can’t decide between the two. There’s something impossibly intoxicating about being able to watch Kirishima positively ploughing into Bakugou’s ass, hunched over his back and clutching his waist and panting from the exertion, and simultaneously being able to feel how hard and fast he’s fucking him. You know you’re clenching up from the way Bakugou moans brokenly into your tits; your chest feels suspiciously wet, and you have a feeling that he’s actually being fucked so good that he’s drooling on you.

Despite the fact that Kirishima is jackrabbiting his hips into Bakugou so hard that Bakugou’s whole body is bouncing with the speed and force of it, Bakugou’s hips grind into yours at a slightly slower pace: his cock rubs insistently along every inch of the inside of your pussy every time a thrust knocks him forward again, grinding unrelentingly deep. Kirishima is visibly starting to fall into that mindlessly horny haze that means he’s getting close to cumming, but he still has the presence of mind to reach down and intertwine one of his hands with yours, the other gripping Bakugou’s hip as he guides him back and forth on his cock.

Neither of them are going to last long; it’s obvious from Kirishima’s desperate open-mouthed panting and the way he hunches over as his thrusting starts to turn messy, and it’s obvious from Bakugou’s raggedy breathing and his equally messy attempts to fuck further into you as he messily sucks at one of your tits. 

What you’re not expecting, however, is how quickly your own orgasm is creeping up on you. This particular position isn’t super conducive to your own pleasure, but being fucked like this while having such strong visual stimulation is nice -- the pleasure isn’t bright or burning or all-consuming, but it’s building, and rapidly. Kirishima turning Bakugou into a gasping, sweaty mess on top of you is apparently a massive turn-on for you, which comes as a mild (but very pleasant) surprise, and you can’t stop yourself from jamming a hand down the middle of you and Bakugou so you can rub frantically at your clit.

The heat and weight of Bakugou plastered to your front is blistering, and every time Kirishima whines and fucks him forward into you it sends little jolts of pleasure shooting through you. Bakugou moans into your breastbone, and it sounds like he’s choking, as if he’s being fucked so thoroughly that his body has forgotten basic functions like how to breathe, and you find it so ridiculously hot that you let out an answering moan.

To your honest surprise, you cum first. Your orgasm rips through you with an intensity that leaves you genuinely startled, your body convulsing and arching as your mouth drops open soundlessly. “Oh!” is all you manage to gasp out, your hand clenching tight around Kirishima’s.

“Yes, baby!” Kirishima pants, his face bright and excited and extremely aroused, as delighted as ever at the chance to watch you lose yourself. “Oh- shit, I’m gonna- I’m close-!”

Bakugou’s head snaps up from your chest all of a sudden, his eyes blowing wide. “Is it getting bigger? Fuck, is it getting bigger?”

The extra inch Kirishima’s cock tends to grow when he comes is a sign that he’s just about to spill, though you could have guessed that from the way that his eyes have gone unfocused as the motion of his hips stutter and falter. You realise that this is Bakugou’s first time experiencing it, since he’s only ever seen Kirishima come when he’s buried inside of you.

Kirishima, meanwhile, is babbling away about how good he feels, about how good you and Bakugou feel and how good you two look. He lets out a high-pitched keening sound and then his whole body locks up as he strains against his orgasm, his hips spasming wildly. Bakugou makes a muffled sound into the sweaty, drool-slick skin of your chest, as he comes inside of you in turn, apparently driven over the edge by the combined sensation of Kirishima’s engorging cock and the veritable buckets of cum being emptied inside of him. You can feel the sticky, gooey slickness of Kirishima’s cum dripping onto your skin and the bedsheets. As always, it makes a mess, but the three of you are slumped boneless against each other, with no energy left to spare to so much as move a muscle, never mind to clean up.

Finally, after an indeterminable amount of time, Bakugou reaches around to shove Kirishima off of him with a groan. A visible wince passes over his face as Kirishima pulls out, accompanied by a veritable gush of cum as it spills out onto the bedsheets. “Shit. goddamn, that is so much fucking cum.” Bakugou mumbles, slumping over into the sheets and twisting away from the mess. 

Kirishima worms his way over between the two of you so he can cuddle you both at once, his expression joyfully blissed out and lacking any sort of embarrassment. “I love you guys.” He says, nuzzling at the side of your sweaty face and patting affectionately at Bakugou’s shoulder.

You know from experience that the aftermath of taking Kirishima for the first time is uncomfortable at the least. You only have barely a moment to feel sympathy for Bakugou and his asshole before he looks down and grins hazily at you. “Told you I could take it.”

Your sympathy practically vanishes on the spot. “The only reason you could take it that good is because I practically fisted you beforehand.” You point out, totally irritated by the fact that he’s chosen to apparently forget about all your hard work.

Kirishima’s gaze jumps between the two of you, exhausted and bewildered. “What the hell happened while you were in the bathroom?” He asks, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. His gaze travels lazily over the cum staining all three of you, and obviously thinks of the way you two had arrived naked into the sitting room together to practically corner him. “Actually,” he amends, stretching his arms over his head. His dick is rapidly softening, though it doesn’t look any less intimidating; you catch Bakugou staring at it, his expression visibly awed as he clearly marvels at how it had ever fit inside of him. “I don’t think I want to know. You two are so weird.”

[mircallablue]

So, in the wake of BeauJesters seeming passing, I’m going to take a moment to be more than a little self-indulgent and explain why I love these characters and their unique dynamic so goddamn much, as well as why I’m so disheartened by the way the show seems to be taking them. Warning: essay ahead lol. This is just a rambly rant that I’m writing because it’s cathartic to vent a little bit of frustration, and I love these characters so much. (and I love the entire cast, every goddamn one, and every other character in the show too. This is about love, not hate). 

So, for a few brief and wonderful episodes in this campaign, I actually believed that I was being told a love story about falling in love with your best friend, and figuring out your sexuality, while also unlearning all of the untrue lessons that the world taught you about love while you were growing up, and in so doing, finding value in yourself. Which, for me personally, is just super relatable. Like, that ticks every damn box I have lol, which partly explains why I love BeauJester so much, and I know a lot of B/J shippers feel the same. I’ve shipped B/J from super early on, but I never in a million years really believed it would happen, for a lot of reasons. Mostly homophobia, biphobia and heteronormativity. But I enjoyed their dynamic nonetheless, even though I thought (and was often TOLD by other shippers) that it didn’t stand a chance in hell of happening. 

So you can imagine how VALIDATING it was when Marisha, both in character and out of game, confirmed that Beau had very significant romantic feelings for Jester. All of the crumbs we’d collected over the course of the campaign were finally coming together and all of the gaslighters who told us we were delusional suddenly had to acknowledge that there was something there. And once it had been acknowledged, it was OBVIOUS. Omg it was so obvious and I loved every second of it. It was so undeniable for the next few episodes, and in hindsight, that there was something building there between them, there was potential. There was definitely a connection between these two characters. And for a few weeks, it was great. 

Then Liam - out of character - mentions that Caleb is in love with Jester. And it is immediately, fandom wide, treated with more respect than Marisha and Beau. 

I know a lot of people get very very angry when this is brought up, but it is just the ugly, unfortunate reality that a lot of people in this fandom treat Jester like a manic pixie dream girl. Even the people who do not consciously believe her to be that (and I don’t think there are many that genuinely believe it), are perfectly fine /treating her/ like one, as long as it serves one of the straight men that they love so much, usually Caleb. And this is where the heteronormativity comes in. Because even though it was an out-of-game confession with no bearing on canon, Calebs feelings immediately took precedence over Beaus in terms of the fandom narrative. 

I personally have never liked the way Liam handles romance in game. He did pretty much the exact same thing in campaign 1 as well, where his sad boy pines after the happy girl from afar until he’s uncontrollably in love with her, and then with no warning he drops it like a bomb. He just happened to drop it out of game this time. The main reason I don’t like this style of romance is because of how (unintentionally) manipulative it is. You see it in bad romcoms all the time. The guy makes a public declaration of love that pressures the girl into reciprocating or looking like the bad guy. But the main reason I don’t like /this particular/ declaration is the timing. 

Liam - who has always said he likes things to come out in game - inexplicably decides out of game reveal something as major as Caleb being in love with Jester, right after Marisha IN GAME took steps towards Beau and Jester being together. And it completely changed the narrative. Suddenly it was “top table top table”, and that's if Beaus feelings ever got mentioned at all. It was not at all helped by the fact that a lot of cast members (sam) still pushed Fjorester HARD, even with Jester telling Nott to stop, which must have sucked for Marisha/Beau. But even as recently as episode 99, Beau was still flirting with Jester, and there were definite hints at Jester maybe having unacknowledged feelings for Beau.

Then the hiatus happened. When we return, Beau is throwing herself at Yasha, and there’s not even a song for Jester on her playlist.  And then Travis reveals (also out of game, like Liam) that Fjord has feelings for Jester (in a playlist heavily curated by known fjorester, Dani Carr). And even /that/ is treated with more weight by some fans than Beaus in canon confession. And Yasha is having all of these super convenient dreams where Zuala tells her its ok to move on, and Beau and Jester are barely speaking. And now Beau is calling Yasha her GIRLFRIEND? WHAT??? Did I miss 20 secret episodes that aired during hiatus or something???? Beau and Yasha have still, in 107 episodes, only had ONE meaningful conversation and yet their relationship is being treated as deep and inevitable. Sure, you can read into their other interactions if you want. But as a queer person, I am sick to death of my love needing to be represented as subtext.

And so it has become pretty clear that the cast has decided out of game to go in a different direction. And of course they are well within their right to do that. But I just can’t help feeling incredibly disheartened, and again, more than a little bit gas-lighted. It really does seem as if Beaus' feelings for Jester have just been scrubbed from canon - as if they never even happened. All, seemingly, to make way for a typical happy-girl-sad-guy relationship with either Fjord or Caleb, and a typical pair-the-spares barely-any-depth relationship between the two out lesbians because its easy.

For the entirety of campaign 2, BeauJester has been treated as one thing - inconvenient. Inconvenient by the fans, who prefer other ships and have treated BeauJesters terribly, and now it seems, inconvenient by the cast, who have seemingly discarded it and scrubbed it from canon. 

And one thing that really upsets me is the amount of genuine viciousness and vitriol coming from (some) BeauYasha shippers. I really wish BeauYasha was something I could get on board with, I do. And a lot of people who are sending me hate seem to assume I don’t want them to end up together. But I would be fine with that. But as it stands, they’ve literally only had one real conversation in 107 episodes, and they’re calling each other girlfriend? While literally having not spoken about anything like that? While one of those characters is supposed to have canon romantic feelings for another woman? Imagine that situation with any other characters and it would be comical.

I swear, the queer ladies in this fandom have been done dirty. All of us. Imagine if, in campaign one, Grog and Keyleth, in episode 107, started calling each other boyfriend/girlfriend in the middle of a battle. (I picked those two because they probably had the fewest moments together of any VM pairing). That’s pretty much what happened here, and we’re supposed to like it - be grateful, even - because it’s wlw rep? And I swear, the number of times I’ve been called lesbophobic in the last month is absurd - all because I’m not comfortable with a canon lesbians canon feelings being swept under the rug. All because I want wlw relationships to be allowed to have the same depth and growth as the straight ones. Yes, even if that relationship is B/Y. We should not settle for less. Imagine if they had done this with any other character's canon feelings for another. People would be angry.

And I know there are going to be a lot of people saying “It’s their game, they can do what they like”. 

True. I never said otherwise. But it is also a show. It is a product. They sell merch. It is something that they have taken the time and the steps to make sure that we care about. And this is what that looks like. 

I know what happened here isn’t technically queerbaiting, but damn if it doesn’t cut the same.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

i wanna know what love is - 28

Pairing: rockstar! sebastian stan x writer!reader

Warnings: still need to apologise 

A/N: all these new endings beginnings gifs? i’m dead, deceased. why is that man allowed to be that handsome?

Last Chapter // Next Chapter

Saying that he felt like an idiot was an understatement, he felt like the stupidest person in the world once he woke up. It had always been one of his flaws to overestimate how angry he could get when things didn’t go his way and now he was laying in bed thinking how to apologise to Y/N about dismissing her so quickly. Chances were she probably could have fixed it way better than he could have possibly done, but as usual he’s all speak before thinking. 

He descended the stairs from his bedroom to the main floor of the bus, everything was quiet, it was still early morning. Sebastian was still trying to process what to say to Y/N when he opened the door to her bedroom. Empty. Something felt extremely wrong once his eyes set on the perfectly made made and the lack of the organised mess that was always present in any of her bedrooms. He ran to her wardrobe, pushing it open and hoping she had decided to do some spring cleaning but once it was empty, he realised that she had left the room.

Sebastian rushed into the main area of the bus, hoping Y/N was just playing a cruel prank on him for having ignored her last night but she was nowhere to be found unless she suddenly had decided to turn invisible.

      - Lost something, honey? - great, he thought to himself, just exactly what he needed, an over judging ex girlfriend. - Might I be of any service?

     - Where’s Y/N? - Sebastian crossed his arms, aware that due to her smugness, she probably had something to do with it. 

     - I don’t know. NY maybe? Wherever she lives, I guess. 

     - What did you fucking do?

     - I didn’t do a thing. - she handed him the magazine, the same smug look on her face as if she had won the biggest prize in a game. - You did it for me. 

Sebastian hadn’t read a gossip magazine in years. In his early fame, he used to read every single article printed about him but as the years went on and he started to rebel, everything printed about him was something he really didn’t want to read. However, this particular article seemed to have distorted what he had been trying to explain over the phone for the whole night. That’s why Y/N wasn’t here. 

     - Get out. - he spoke menacingly, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was reading.

     - Hey c’mon, Seb, we had a bet.

     - GET THE FUCK OUT! - Sebastian screamed at her, still not believing Y/N was gone. His screaming had woken up the rest of the bus that came to join him to see what was going on. - I swear, you either leave or I’m gonna make you leave.

     - Calm down. - Mary said still through sleepy eyes. - What happened?

     - His new plaything left and he’s upset. - Melody rolled her eyes. - I don’t know what you’re so upset about, it’s your fault. 

     - Y/N left? - Mary furrowed her eyebrows, about to ask Sebastian what the hell did she meant but he was already out the bus, phone in hand trying to call her viciously but every single message went to voicemail.

That was because Y/N was back on a plane to New York. Back where she’s known in her very small pond where she’s alone and no one has enough power to break her heart. She felt like sick every time she thought of what she had read this morning, of what she had heard from him, of her thoughts about him. The only good thing about today was the short flight and in no time she was back home, suitcase in hand as she stared at what once felt like a very big studio which now looked like a cage ready to envelop her in her own self pity. She left the suitcase at the entrance, leaning against her coach and staring at the ceiling where her beginning post its from when she first interviewed him long ago were stuck to. She began to cry at the thought that he had planned this from the beginning, that this was a way to punish her for having been to upfront and once she started to cry she couldn’t help but continue to do so, arms wrapped around one of her pillows.

How could she had been so naive? She should have suspected from his behaviour last night, from his great offer right from the get go. If she had known, she wouldn’t be here right now, maybe she was still working as an intern but at least she wouldn’t be heartbroken.

Y/N had decided to message her editor to warn him that she was not with the band anymore, that they didn’t want her to be around anymore and sent what she had managed to write before she left. It was still a lot of material, material that she did not want to read.

Sebastian was also heartbroken, sat on top of his bed in cathartic mood as the boys and Mary tried their best to make sense of the situation. However, nothing seemed to get through to him, he was numb and he didn’t even need the alcohol or the smoking to numb him even more.

     - I have to go. - he finally spoke up through all the commotion. 

     - What do you mean you have to go? - Fred asked. 

     - I’m already being kicked out so I’ll save you the experience of dealing with me for two more shows. 

[it-stheaulifeforme]

There was a loud ferocious barking, angry voices and scuffling outside the cabin door, and Tintin’s head snapped around against the bars of the cage, eyes wide with panic. It could have only been one dog making that noise, causing that kind of chaos for the crewmates that had only recently left the cabin where he was being kept. He felt a sick feeling of anger and fear rise in the pit of his stomach, dreading what could be happening to him right outside that door.

He cursed, wrists chafing against the rope around them, overcome by more fear than anything else that burned especially across his face and through his stomach. He felt a numbness creep up his legs, his shoes scuffing against the floorboards in his attempt to free himself or at the very least, be able to stand on two feet.

He stopped, sensing the noises outside and trying to listen closer. The voices were muffled and though he couldn’t hear, there was definitely a level of threat involved. Tintin was normally level-headed even in situations like this, but this was involving his dog. His throat was dry and he swallowed, feeling the unmistakeable racing of his own heart. No, no, no, don’t, please don’t, he’d never let anything happen to him—

The voices got quieter, Snowy’s barking fading into the distance along with a few footsteps. Normally his instinct was to do something, but the racing panic and now anger simmering underneath the surface seemed to put him in freeze mode. He did manage to have some strength to pull himself up though onto his feet with one of the bars though, his body shaking with adrenaline.

He heard the door open and shut behind him as he managed to stand. He felt a mix of emotions - fear, panic, anger, disgust, distress - at anything happening to his trusty little white dog. Would they kill him? Maybe. Would they hurt him? Almost certainly. But it was also certain they were doing this so they could force his hand to help them, he guessed. His hands felt dirty and he felt terror and nausea simultaneously just thinking about it. He couldn’t, wouldn’t think about him doing anything to help them or what could be happening to Snowy.

That kind of stroll on the floorboards with a lighter shoe was pretty much recognisable. Of course. Who else would it be? He only ever talked to somebody when he wanted something. He didn’t have any friends. It was nothing but what he wanted and what he could get from anyone. What a sad life.

“If this is about my dog—” he bitterly remarked, trying to get his voice to remain cold, before he heard the familiar interruption of that faux affable, almost mocking, laugh.

“I believe you heard the commotion outside,” Sakharine replied behind him, a sick politeness in his tone, “I assure you, nothing bad will come to him—”

Tintin finally spun around, making direct eye contact with the man in red in front of him. The audacity in his voice and the clear coldness of his eyes demonstrated nothing but pretentious bullshit, to be frank, in his own mind. He stepped forward as close as he was able to, unable to help the fire burning in him to come straight out of his own mouth.

“—unless I don’t help you, of course,” he spat, refusing to stop looking this man in the eye, “You could not frankly be more obvious about what you want and why you have him, so stop acting so damn nice about it.” He laughed, a laugh laced tremendously with venom.

Sakharine’s smile faded slightly, threat underlining his expression. He was perturbed by the boy’s reaction. Nonetheless, he was confident that this could be a breaking point. Let him be angry; not like there was much he could do. He could only be like this for so long.

He stepped forward so he was barely a foot away from him, the boy’s spiteful expression not budging. Though it was an obstacle to what he wanted, he was fascinated by the fire in his blood. He could see it in his eyes. I mean, he’d ended up here, hadn’t he? Such an eagerness for adventure and mystery at a young age that he forgot not to involve himself in business that clearly had nothing to do with him.

“You know,” he remarked, “I do wonder why such a young boy is involving himself in something like this. It seems considerably reckless of you to interfere with what the…adults are doing.” He grinned at that last part, his voice taking on a more patronising tone by the end. The boy’s expression took on more of a disgusted appearance, demonstrating that this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

“I don’t exist to be patronised, Mr Sakharine,” Tintin stated, addressing him in that familiar way, “My age is not important when the adults are busy committing to illicit business affairs.” He repeated it back similarly, malice heavy on that word in particular. He didn’t know if he had forgotten his fear or just ignored it, but he wasn’t in the place to debate that.

Sakharine was about to say something, but the boy clearly had the attitude to interrupt him. He’d pay for it dearly, evidently.

“And before you spin some sort of story right now, yes, I haven’t forgotten about my dear dog,” he said, practically snapping at the man, “I doubt harm will not come to whilst he’s with you.” His eyes appeared to burn both hot and cold at the other man, refusing to budge. He had not been one to shy away from these circumstances of intimidation.

Sakharine was not one for sentiment (maybe apart from his falcon, but that felt different), but the persistence of this boy about his dog demonstrated enough how easy it was to use others’ for his own gain. He didn’t care what happened to that white little mutt that meant so much to the ginger brat just so long as he got what he wanted from him.

Though frankly, with the way the boy was going with this, he might just have his men break a leg or two or even half drown the damn thing to get him to stop.

He laughed in his usual faux affable tone. “Perhaps,” he said, stressing very specifically on that word, “You’re far too attached to that thing to be involved with these affairs, so you should be…very glad I haven’t thrown it over board to die.” He similarly did so with the last sentence, displaying a sick grin as he studied the boy’s reaction to this response.

Tintin’s eyes flashed in anger, mouth twisted in scorn and teeth bared. “It’s very obvious life has no value for you unless it gives you what you want,” he viciously remarked, face pressed against the bars, “I’ve seen it all before. You’d step on anything to get what you want because the only person that matters in your life is you. That ‘thing’ is my dog, and if anyone’s blood here is going to be spilt, it’s mine.”

He appeared so serious, Sakharine almost wanted to laugh. “How noble of someone so young to throw yourself in front of your dear dog.” He displayed a contemptuous grin. “I’d say brave, but that doesn’t suit you. This isn’t a decision for you to make.”

The boy’s clear eyes appeared to shine more in the dim light, despite still maintaining the direct eye contact with him. Was that just him? The boy might be beginning to break. It was amazing that this attachment to this dog was enough to start such a ball rolling. For the boy’s spirits and capabilities, this seemed far too easy.

He took a step back and went to turn away, but the teenager couldn’t help but let out a particular desperation in his voice. “You have no right to make that decision! You have no right to take what isn’t yours!” He turned back around, relishing this moment. Those eyes were burning with emotion, that fire across his features. As endeared as he felt to that, this brat had no idea what he was dealing with.

He turned back, making a long, menacing step back towards him, faces now only inches apart. The boy’s brows furrowed, trying to maintain his anger despite the air of distress in his eyes. If no one else was going to put this child in his place, then he would.

“Listen here, you actual child, I think I’ve made it very clear that I am not one to preach to about fairness!” he exclaimed contemptuously, a sneer across his face, “You’re on my ship interfering with my business, I don’t care if it was rather you you’d want me to hurt instead of your dear mutt! Maybe if your parents taught you better, I wouldn’t have to be dealing with a brat and his dog like you!”

He stopped, taking in his reaction. Normally he’d come back with a quick response, but he was speechless. His clear eyes glistened more in the light, mouth shaking as if he was trying to say something. His brow remained furrowed, now full of a new emotion that perhaps he hadn’t felt in a while. The boy was probably used to this somehow, but maybe this time Sakharine had hit a nerve.

Tintin’s mouth was shaped in a scowl, disgust, anger and distress roiling especially underneath the surface. He couldn’t speak for a few moments, cursing this fresh vulnerability at the older man’s exclamation. He’d heard similar stuff before, his reputation with enemies beginning to precede him. But this villainous type seemed to hit him out of nowhere, and it was probably all the more painful when they had his dog besides.

“I don’t think anyone has been able to show you exactly what you’re dealing with,” Sakharine continued, voice softer and all the more sinister, “you’re a child, Tintin, if that is your real name, and I have no idea how someone your age is getting involved in business that is no concern of him.”

“You’re hurting others just to get what you want! Besides, you stole my ship!”

“You broke into MY house with a clear idea of what you were doing! You seemed it think it was fine and dandy to snoop around a place you didn’t belong!”

“I doubt it had ever crossed your mind that I had simply found a nice ship at the market before you got involved. Who else was I supposed to suspect but you when I had bought it, clearly trying a bit too hard to convince me to sell it to you?”

Their voices had risen not so much in volume, but emotion. This boy had been too much of a smart ass from the beginning, and finding out he was a reporter was enough of a breaking point. If he was getting this conversation more in his control, he’d turn it back around. He wasn’t about to be outdone by a literal child. It was beginning to go absolutely nowhere as a result.

“I was trying to be reasonable,” Sakharine responded, a faux affable tone returning to his voice, “but since you have continued to not understand who you’re dealing with, I think I’ll go ahead and have your precious mutt’s legs broken. Call it a small comfort that I won’t make you watch.”

Tintin’s face appeared to drain of colour as Sakharine’s face split open at a sick grin at what he just said. 

“You touch my dog and I’ll–” Tintin said, voice now cracking before he was interrupted.

“Or you’ll do what?” Sakharine asked mockingly, malicious amusement clear in his voice, “What could you possibly do in your situation if I touch that poor little white dog of yours?”

Anger and distress was now boiling on the surface, and Tintin could feel tears collect in his eyes. He was not one to do this, this was not him. Even for someone his age, he was usually strong-willed. But, perhaps, not enough for Snowy.

The older man was relishing in this new sight of this pesky ginger brat finally be compromised this emotionally. He was in the authoritative position here and seeing that release of tears, though pathetic, be somewhat enjoyable. It had taken threatening to hurt his trusty little animal to break him so easily.

“Don’t you dare,” Tintin said, voice shaking with a quiet anger, “he doesn’t need to be a part of this.”

Sakharine stepped back and turned, sighing. “If you’re going to remain this stubborn and refuse to cooperate, I’m afraid he’ll be even more involved. You two have given me enough grief already.”

The tears were carving even more of a wet path down Tintin’s face now, watching Sakharine as he turned and began to walk away. He pressed his face as much as he could against the metal bars. “Fine! Do whatever you want, but don’t you dare touch my dog!” Tintin snapped, voice bitter and angry despite how broken it felt. The older man refused to stop but merely smiled self-satisfactorily away from him as he strolled back towards the door.

Let him rant, he thought. They could wait. It was enough to get him to even attempt to cooperate, but even better that he found it easier to break the boy’s spirits. Maybe leaving him on his own in there would put him in his place whilst he was none the wiser about his dog, and shouting would get him nowhere.

“Listen to me! Don’t you even think about it!” Tintin began to shout as Sakharine opened the door and stepped through, not even thinking to look back as it finally shut. He heard the footsteps as he felt a sob rising in his throat. He wouldn’t, no he wouldn’t. This wouldn’t happen to him, despite everything that others had thrown at him.

Now that he was alone, he began to feel the fresh release of tears as they burnt across his skin. He was angry, of course he was angry. There was too much he was angry about. But he was scared, he was upset, he had no idea what was happening outside of his current prison, things he’d refuse to admit to himself. He opened his mouth to shout something again, but stopped, coming to the realisation that it was hopeless.

He stepped back, sliding against the bars on the opposite side until he was sitting again. His wrists felt raw from the rope biting his skin and he leant his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. The sob that had settled at the back of his throat finally escaped from his mouth, and he shut his eyes as hot tears fell faster down his face. His dog brought at least solace and affection in dire situations like this, but now he had no idea what was happening to him.

“Snowy…” he finally spoke into the silence, voice quieter than ever, “I’m sorry.”

[anxiouslynumbme]

Carmuel Missing Scenes/Moments

A/N: Hello! I hope you're all doing well. So I was planning on posting the last 2 parts on the same day but that would've taken way too long, so I decided to just post the part I'm done with. I also forgot to add a quick note for last chapter, I’m aware that I ignored the show’s timeline (with 3x07 and 3x08.)----I kinda just put the whole murder plot in 3x07, 'cause it worked with the chapter. But mainly, it's because I wanted 3x08 to entirely be about Carmuel/Samucarla. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy.

WARNING: (Explicit Sexual Situations, Strong Language.)

3x08 - Part 1

_______________________________________________________

Given everything that'd happened, Carla was taking her time to get back into the swing of things. But then again things had been terrible, so maybe she shouldn't bother. A fresh start was probably the best option and she was lucky that she even had one. Carla had dodged too many bullets, it was time she stopped walking into the line of fire.

Going to Polo's funeral had provided a closure Carla didn't know she'd needed. She wasn't just letting go of someone she loved, she was letting go of everything that'd come with him. Unfortunately, it also meant she had to let go of all the good memories as well. And that when sadness hit viciously, mourning for Polo, the Polo she remembered before all that shit had happened. He was gone, and Carla wanted to believe that she could remember him for the good things because the bad things had been buried with him. But it wasn't that simple, was it?

Life for her had gotten calmer after the funeral, stagnant, even. Carla liked that, it was a much needed change of pace. But life was also moving fast, soon everyone was starting their own journey, paving their own path, and while Carla never liked to admit to these kind of things, it was sad that they wouldn't be sharing their lives with each other anymore.

Carla wasn't gonna lie to herself, she didn't have many friends, there were a few select people she was going to miss when she left Spain. And try as she might, Carla couldn't stop thinking about one person in particular. Samuel had occupied her mind every second of every day.

They had called each other, it was mostly Samuel. Carla was still feeling a considerable amount of guilt and she had tried to keep their phone calls short and terse. She was preparing both of them. But Samuel, Samuel was relentless, calling, trying to get her to agree on meeting.

But then everything changed.

Carla had told him the exact date she was leaving and it was like a bucket of ice water that she'd felt being dumped on both of them over the phone.

And that was when Samuel had started pulling back. He called less and less and when Carla was brave enough to call, sometimes he didn't answer. Days passed quickly after that, Carla got busy making arrangements for the wineries and Samuel was busy avoiding her, so she didn't really know what was going on in his life.

Carla would be lying if she said his actions weren't just a bit confusing; since he was the one so adamant on 'hanging out' before she left. But Carla also knew he was only trying to protect himself from what he knew was coming, or maybe he was just done with her. Which was what Carla wanted in the first place. So why was she so frustrated with him?

Carla was getting more irritated with the situation every day. Samuel had finally realized she was right and he was letting her go. She should be grateful that he'd woken up and realized they had no chance of a future anymore.

Carla was glad, she was okay with it. Until Lu and Guzmán had planned an outing to get everyone together, including Samuel, of course.

The gathering was held at this cute, cozy bar. It was pretty mellow and atmospheric; twinkling lights all over the ceiling, soft music playing in the background so people could actually hear each other. A perfect place for friends to hang out before everything changed and they all went their separate ways.

They were all currently sitting around two tables, which they'd pushed together earlier in the evening. And other than a 'hello' that was meant for the entirety of their group, Samuel hadn't tried talking to her, he didn't even grant her a private greeting.

Good for him. It was for the best.

"All right, darlings," Lu began, standing up and addressing the table, raising her glass. "I'd like to make a quick toast. . .we've survived some serious shit, haven't we? It's a little crazy to think about the insanity that's been in all of our lives. Everyone here has been through a lot, some of it we share, some of it we don't. But we're all here right now. Together. And I'd like to think that we've grown enough to understand each other.

"To be there for each other, even if it's not physically." Lu paused, eyes brimming with tears. "I guess I'm just grateful that when it mattered most, I wasn't alone. We'll never forget what we've been through and who we lost - " Lu's breath caught in her throat as she stuttered over her words and Carla felt an instant need to comfort her friend, grabbing her hand and squeezing gently.

Sitting on the other side of Lu, Nadia put a hand on Lu's shoulder, rising up next to her and nodding reassuringly as she started speaking. "As Lu was saying, we'll never forget. We are always bound. So here's to everything. To the people we lost.To the good memories and the bad ones, too. To Las Encinas, for bringing us all together...to long nights spent studying and - "

"Oi, speak for yourself!" Rebeca exclaimed jokingly, causing a round of laughter to break out.

"Anyway." Nadia glared playfully at Rebeca, before turning to smile softly at Lu. "To unexpected friendships. To the scary, uncertain future. To sticking together no matter what, and having faith even when things turned bleak and it felt like there was no light at the end of the tunnel. To - to loving each other regardless of the consequences." Nadia said the last part staring at Guzmán and he was staring right back.

Carla found her eyes darting to Samuel, catching his eyes for less than a second before he quickly averted them.

Nadia wiped a single tear that'd escaped her eyes, before smiling widely at the whole table. "To friends. To family!"

"Yeah!"

"Damn right!"

Cheers and excited affirmations exploded all around Carla, who was only focused on one thing.

While Carla had no right to be angry with Samuel, she was a little pissed off at his new found dismissive nature. Ever since she'd decided to study abroad, Carla's been having second thoughts, but they were just thoughts. Normal, predictable doubts that came with big decisions and life-changes. It didn't mean Carla was going to stay and it definitely didn't mean Samuel was going with her.

They were too young to feel like this. Carla questioned her sanity sometimes, the fact that it seemed like she was always going to be this far gone for him. How could someone feel this much at this age? That was why she'd pretended her feelings for him were sexual compatibility for the longest time. Their chemistry was just intense and it could be easily interpreted into something more than it was.

But staring at him on the other side of the table as he talked with Omar, her eyes unable to focus on anything else, Carla was hit with realization yet again that she was in love with him.

Samuel was wearing a simple black, long-sleeved shirt with faded blue jeans. His hair was longer, but not too long, just long enough to make her fingers itch to run through it. His lips relaxed into half a smile as he listened to whatever Omar was telling him. Her eyes shamelessly admired his features. His sharp jaw which she wanted to lick with her tongue, his rosy, full lips that she wanted to kiss until they were both crying out for air. The slim, pointy slope of his nose, releasing breaths she wanted to feel on her skin.

Then Carla reached his eyes. And they weren't on her.

And she fucking hated how her heart kept yanking its own strings calling out for them to stay on her. They always had. His eyes were always on her, one way or another, they always seemed to find her and latch on. But Samuel hadn't looked at her, really looked at her since that morning after Polo's death.

After their conversation that day. Carla had finally allowed herself to believe they were going to take advantage of whatever time they had left, that it wasn't the worst idea in the world. The other - more logical and prominent part - knew it was easier to just let things be, and not stir any more unnecessary pain. They'd had enough of that, it was better to leave things, untouched, clean, and simple for once. It was naive and reckless to start something when she knew the ugly, inevitable end.

And yet as Carla watched him, she suddenly didn't care much about any of that, she knew the risks and she still wanted him one last time. But it seemed Samuel was more in agreement with his logical side these days. The one time she wanted him to give in to his feelings and run to her head on, he was distant and guarded.

Carla knew he felt her gaze. Every time she trained her eyes on him, she could literally see him squirm in his seat, his fingers raking through his soft hair as he pretended to listen to the conversations around him. And Carla could feel his own fleeting gaze when he thought she wasn't aware of it.

Carla decided it was time she made a move before letting him go forever. Just one last conversation. She just wanted to look at him.

Samuel was getting a drink from the bar when Carla walked up to him. "Hello."

He visibly stiffened but glanced her way. "Hi. How have you been?"

"Good, you?"

"Good."

God, this was ridiculous.

"Uh, wanna a drink?"

"No, I actually can't drink, Nina's orders."

"For how long?"

"She promised soon I'll be able to, little by little. And soon better come quickly because I'm losing my mind a little."

That earned her half a grin. "I'm sure. But hey, alcohol isn't that great, you know? You're not missing much." he tried feebly.

"Says the guy who can drink any time he wants."

He smiled. "Fair enough."

Carla took a deep breath. "Wanna go for a walk?"

What was she doing? Why was she pushing it?

"A walk? Now? It's quite late."

"Yeah, it's too crowded in here."

It really wasn't.

Samuel looked away from her. "I - I don't think that's the best idea."

"Oh. Why?"

"You know why."

"I do." she sighed. Fuck. "Well, I'm just gonna get some fresh air before going home. Good night, Samuel."

Carla went back over to say her goodbyes quickly before making her way out of the bar. Samuel was finally being smart about his relationship with her, and Carla was still trying to get him alone. Carla felt helpless, she honestly wanted to just talk to him, know exactly why the sudden change of heart, what had changed.

So Carla'd made a risky play with him just now. But if she knew Samuel at all, it wasn't actually all that risky.

And sure enough after a few seconds of being outside, he was on her tail.

"Really, Carla?"

His voice came out annoyed and Carla grinned; before turning around to face him. "What?"

"You're seriously making me walk with you?"

"And how am I doing that?"

Samuel cocked his head, quirking an eyebrow. "You know I'm not gonna let you walk by yourself at this hour."

Carla beamed. "Samuel, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. It's not my fault you're sexist and think women need looking after."

Samuel scoffed, gaping at her like a fish out of water and Carla bit her lip trying to hold in her laughter.

"I know what you're doing," he grumbled but there was a hint of a smile on his face. "And I'm not sexist, I'm protective."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that."

Samuel shook his head and started moving his way down the street. "You're unbelievable."

Carla took two fast strides to keep up with him. "Thank you."

He smirked, eyeing her. "Wasn't a compliment."

"It sounded like one to me."

"Of course it did."

They were quiet for a moment as they strolled side by side. The street was so calm, peaceful. The only light available was the gentle yellow and red glow from the lamp posts around them. It seemed like no matter where they ended up being, things were just always calm and serene with Samuel.

"That bar was really nice," Carla told him.

Samuel smiled. "Oh, yeah? You liked it?"

"Yeah, very comfortable."

"I go there all the time. I showed it to Guzmàn, he seemed to think it was great for a hang out."

Carla should've known. The place had Samuel written all over it. And she'd just noticed it was actually close to his neighborhood. "I see why you love it,"

"Yeah, when I'm there, it kinda feels like home somehow."

"Hmm." In a corner of Carla's mind, she wondered why had he never shown her the place.

A beat of silence and then he asked nervously. "Are you hungry? There's this awesome 24 hour American diner nearby."

There was the Samuel she had been missing, the one who wanted to spend time with her. A tug of guilt followed her selfish thoughts. She had to say no. But Carla was leaving soon and it wasn't a crime to want to be with him one last time.

Fuck it.

"Sure."

"Great, but it's actually not that close, walking might be a bit of a drag."

"How far?"

"Near my building, which is not that far from here, maybe seven blocks away from it."

"Okay, we can call a cab then."

"It's also not that far," he chuckled, pausing to look around, considering something. "You know what, we could just bike there."

Samuel started striding back towards the bar, which they were now half way down the street from, noting that she wasn't following him, he gestured for her to come along. "My bike is by the bar."

Oh, no.

Carla trailed behind him toward his bike and and some other bike she'd never seen before. "We could just call a car." she tried again

Samuel glanced at her. "It's not worth it. Don't worry, you won't ride with me, you can borrow Omar's."

"I'm wearing a skirt."

"So?"

"It'll be more difficult, I think," she said lamely, wishing she was at least wearing high heels, so she could use that as an excuse, but no such luck.

He straightened up from unlocking his bike and gazed at her dubiously. "Carla. . .do you know how to ride a bike?"

"Of course I do." and she did. A little. 

Samuel was onto her, Carla could see it through the poorly hidden laughter in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, this should be no problem. Come on."

"I don't want to."

"Right. Because you can't."

"I told you I can."

His smile stretched even wider as he crossed his arms behind his back. "Okay, let's see it then."

They stared each other down for a long moment, Samuel wasn't backing down, challenging her with his eyes. Whatever.

"Fine, I can't ride a bike, happy?"

Samuel laughed heartily. "A little. I bet the first thing you learned was driving a car, right?"

She smiled. "No, I used to know how, self-taught, actually. I'm just a bit rusty."

He furrowed his brows. "Self-taught?"

Carla shrugged, not wanting to sound at all like she was complaining, feeling especially privileged for what she was about to say. "Yeah, I never needed it, you know. But one day, my parents felt like I should have one anyway, so they bought it for me, but never really bothered to teach me.

"But I used to watch Mirella teaching her kids on these really old bikes and I silently took pointers from afar. However, it got boring rather quickly, so I just gave my bike to one of her kids. You're right, I prefer cars anyway."

His frown deepened but then he shook his head. "Okay then, that's all right, we could hail a taxi, or. . ." he trailed off with an sneaky smile.

"Or what?" Carla asked, confused.

"I could teach you."

Carla laughed. "No, thank you."

"It's so easy. You said you know the basics, right?"

"Yes, but I - "

"That'll make it even easier. It'll be fun, I promise." he stepped towards her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her over to the bike. Carla was so focused on the touch of his hand on her skin that she'd missed when he called her name.

"Carla?"

"This is useless. I don't need to, Samuel. There's a reason why I never had to learn." she huffed, successfully covering up her flustering thoughts.

"Riding a bike is a very important skill to learn. Get on." he said, fixing the seat, so it could be higher.

"You just never give up, do you?"

"Nope. Get on, let's go."

Releasing a breath, she climbed on to the saddle. "Now what?"

Samuel grinned, looking her up and down in a way that made her insides clench. "You pedal." he joked.

"Wow, you should do this professionally."

"It's an option, for sure." he laughed lowly.

"All right now, we need to work on your balance," he began seriously. "Stand up, but you should be touching the seat, that's why I adjusted its height - yes, exactly like that - and just walk forward with the bike."

Carla started to slowly walk, instinctively looking down at her feet.

"No, don't look down, look straight ahead." he instructed, Carla tried to keep her gaze ahead, but every few seconds she would peer down again.

"It's okay," Samuel said, moving in front of the bike, facing her. "Just look at me, it'll make it easier to have something to focus on."

It was easier. Once she'd looked up, her gaze locking with his, Carla's eyes didn't move to her feet again. She was so lost in his eyes, that she hadn't noticed they were half way down the street again and the startling fact that her feet weren't touching the ground.

"Good, good," Samuel encouraged, voice a bit husky. "Keep them off the ground, it's all about balance."

They worked on her balance for a long time, Samuel insisting it was the most important part. Until finally he decided she was ready to try pedaling.

"Let's stop for a second," he then bent down, catching her right ankle and Carla almost jumped at the sensation. Fixing the pedal up in the right position, he looked up at her, meeting her eyes and something about the moment was - strangely hot and arousing.

Samuel stood back up, puffing out a heavy breath. "Okay, walk again, and then slowly start with your right foot.

"Yes, like that, and then you can add the left."

Carla followed his instructions slowly starting with her right, followed gently by the left. And then she was actually pedaling, the bike started to glide down the street.

Samuel hurriedly jogged next to her, one hand holding the handlebar and the other was on her lower back, caging her in, in case anything went wrong.

After a while of Samuel keeping up with her, Carla felt confident enough on her own. "Okay, I think I got it now. You can let go."

"You sure?"

"Positive." he hesitantly loosened his grip, Carla was okay at first but the bike suddenly started to wobble and Carla stumbled sideways, but thankfully, Samuel was immediately there, steadying her before she fell.

She giggled. "Sorry, let's try that again."

And they did, again and again until she finally got the hang of it.

"All right, I'll concede, this is pretty fun," she said, after riding alone a few times, Carla glanced up at Samuel; to find him already looking at her with such fondness in his eyes, it made her swallow harshly.

"What?"

"Nothing. Smiling looks good on you, that's all."

"Are you using a line on me, Samuel?" Carla quipped, trying to hide the way her cheeks heated at his statement.

His lips curled coyly, taking a step closer to her, holding the handlebar and bending his head down so he could stare at her as she straddled the bike seat. His eyes finding hers with evident lust, flicking to her lips and then back up.

"I don't need it."

No, he didn't. That look alone made her core prickle with attention.

Carla loved all sides to Samuel. But this one - the confident side; that had first confronted her that day at the club, that'd grabbed her by the neck and lay the best kiss of her life on her lips - she particularly and immensely enjoyed that side.

"A bit cocky, are we?"

Samuel tilted his head to the side, shrugging innocently while a sly grin graced his beckoning lips. He was so fucking handsome.

This whole biking lesson was already weirdly turning her on and this wasn't helping the situation. Carla needed to kiss him. She leaned in a little more, feeling a bit dazed from his breath dancing on her lips, Samuel didn't move away, his chest now heaving as their mouths softly, teasingly grazed each other.

Suddenly Samuel pulled back, clearing his throat loudly with a cough. "Uh, okay, yeah, so let's get something to eat, right?"

The sting of rejection was stuck in her lungs and Carla tried to gulp it away. She shouldn't have even tried, he'd made the right move.

Quickly brushing it away, glad that he still wanted to hang out. "Yeah, let's do it."

"I'll send Omar a text to tell him we're taking his bike, he's going home with Ander anyway."

"You have the key?" she asked, knowing there must be a U-lock on Omar's bicycle.

"I have a copy, he has mine as well."

"That's adorable."

"Shut up."

A minute later they were on their way. The breeze felt so good on her skin, gliding down the street next to Samuel. It was incredibly cliche, but Carla had never felt so free or so at peace as she was in that moment. She let out an abrupt, loud laugh of giddiness, Samuel turned to look at her with a huge smile on his face.

"What?" he asked, raising his voice so she could hear him in the space between them.

"I love this!" she shouted back.

Samuel laughed along with her. "Told you!"

Letting go of the handlebars, Carla spread her arms wide open, enjoying the wind blowing through her hair.

"No, no, Carla! You're not ready for that yet. Put your hands back!"

"Stop worrying!" she said, still laughing for some reason.

"Put them back, Carla. Now!"

"You've never done this?"

"Of course I have, I've been doing it since I was a child."

"This is my first time. Don't let me do it alone."

Carla could see him rolling his eyes even from her position, before finally complying with her request. Both of them holding out their arms like six-year old idiots, their laughter ringing across the quiet street.

_______________________________________________________ 

"I told you to hang on." Samuel scolded for the tenth time since they'd sat down in the booth.

"Samuel, it's just a scratch. I'm fine."

Carla had fallen off Omar's bike, one second she was having fun and laughing, the next she'd swerved to the side and landed on her ass. There was a small scratch on her knee and a slightly bigger bruise on her elbow.

"Carla, I'm sorry, I should've known you weren't ready to ride - "

"Samuel, I swear, I'm okay. It's not even bleeding, I'm sure you've had a lot worse," she said, holding the ice bag to her elbow - that Samuel'd asked for once they'd reached the diner.

Okay, so maybe it hurt a little but he didn't need to know that.

"It was really fun." Carla hastily added when he tried to open his mouth to protest.

"Yeah, it was." he smiled but it quickly vanished, replaced with a frown. "But you're hurt."

"Oh my god, Samuel, drop it. I'm fine."

"All right, all right, I'll stop."

A second later the waitress arrived at their booth, carrying their food trays.

"There you go, sweethearts," she said warmly, putting down their burgers and sodas on the table. "Need anything else?"

Samuel looked at Carla to confirm she didn't need anything, before answering. "No, thank you."

"Enjoy your meal," she said, sauntering away.

"Bacon on burger. Why have I never tried this before?" Carla wondered at the flavor exploding in her mouth.

"To be honest, I'm surprised you've even tried burger or bacon at all." Samuel teased, taking a bite.

Carla wanted to retort but in all honesty, he was right. She wasn't much into junk food.

She shrugged, agreeing. "I've only tried it once or twice."

"Ooh, one too many."

Carla smiled. "Most of the burgers I ate were cooked at home, where we can make sure they're organic and healthy."

"Of course."

"They're actually pretty good, you should try it."

"I'll stick to my greasy, unhealthy food, thanks." he grinned.

"Don't knock it till you try it, Samuel. Follow my example," she said, proving her point by taking another bite of her burger.

Samuel's eyes suddenly clouded with emotion, his voice was soft as he pointed to her chin. "You have something . . ."

A transporting moment of a nostalgic memory hit Carla hard and fast. She could see it in Samuel's eyes that he had been transferred to it as well. The beautiful, heartwarming memory that usually brought her comfort thinking about it, was now chocking her as she stared into his eyes.

Carla looked away first, feeling a wild urge to flee. She plucked a napkin from the box in front of her and wiped all around her mouth. "Did I get it?"

"Um, yeah," he replied, his voice conveying a hint of sadness.

The silence that followed was tense and awkward and she hated it. Carla hated it so much, she was willing to bring up a topic of discussion they were both trying to steer clear of.

"One more year at Las Encinas, you must be thrilled," she said sarcastically, hoping that the topic wouldn't completely ruin their night.

Samuel snorted, dipping a fry in ketchup before eating it. "Oh, I am. I can't wait."

Carla smiled softly. "I'm sorry. But it's better than expulsion, right?"

Samuel didn't answer right away, peering around the diner thoughtfully. "I guess, yeah."

"It wasn't fair. What'd happened wasn't fair. At least they fixed it, though, and you can finish school now."

When he only nodded in response, Carla contemplated asking her next question. "Speaking of, do you know what you wanna do - after?"

"Um, kinda, yeah. I think I wanna be a lawyer."

That made so much sense.

"I can see it," Carla said, sipping her soda.

"Really?" he asked, a note of hope in his voice.

"Oh, definitely. If anyone is gonna bring justice to the people who need it, it's you, Samuel."

Shyness washed over his features as he smiled at her. "Thank you, I hope I'm able to."

Carla wasn't so lucky in that aspect, she didn't really know what she wanted to do with her life. That was why studying abroad was a good idea. Traveling could expand her horizon, gain her some experience.

"You know." Samuel's voice stopped her racing thoughts. "You'd make a great lawyer, too."

"What? I highly doubt that." she laughed dismissively.

"I'm serious. You could talk your way out of anything."

She gaped at him. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

"Okay - would that be much help as a lawyer?"

"Of course it would be, you could do it for other people. You can say anything and the judge and jury won't stand a chance."

For some reason, his words didn't set well with her. "So you're saying that I'll be able to defend the guilty by what - Lying or manipulating my way out?"

Samuel looked genuinely shocked. "That was not what I meant at all. And I never said guilty or lying or - "

"It was implied."

"No, it wasn't. Carla, I just meant - "

"No, it's okay," she cut him off. "you're not wrong."

Samuel didn't say anything back for the longest time, and Carla was unsure if she should be thankful for that or not.

"I'm sorry," he started cautiously. "I realize now how it sounded. But I honestly didn't mean it that way. I just meant you're very persuasive and smart and calculating. And yes, sometimes you can be a bit cunning. But that doesn't mean you won't use it for the good side."

"Okay . . . So you're saying if I were to be a lawyer, I could use my dark powers to do good."

Samuel laughed lightly. "Something like that. You would help people, Carla, I'm sure of it."

Samuel made Carla question herself in the best way possible. Carla knew she wouldn't do much good in the world. But there he was, making her believe she was capable of more, that she was better than she believed.

"I guess we'll never know, because I'll never be a lawyer."

"You could if you wanted to."

She grinned. "That's the thing, I don't want to."

"All right, that's fair." he half-smiled.

They spent the next hour focusing back on their food, discussing random things, and avoiding the giant elephant in the room.

"Do you wanna get dessert?"

Even though Carla was full, she didn't want the night to end, so she said yes.

"What would you like?"

Carla skimmed over the menu. "I could go for some ice cream."

"Me too, that sounds good."

Later as they were eating the tasty treat, it was kinda pathetic how they were both eating the ice cream they'd ordered so slowly, it was starting to melt.

It was painfully obvious that neither one of them wanted the night to be over.

Samuel was beginning to affect her ability to function. The ache she could feel in her bones for him was constant and incessant. Carla was terrified to think she might always feel like this. The relentless need to be near him, the permanent place that had nested in her heart with his name engraved on it. It was too much to think about. The always of it all.

Because Carla missed him so much and she was doomed to miss him forever.

Carla couldn't bring herself to be selfless and call it a night. To tell him 'this was fun, I'll see you when I see you, I guess'. What could she say to him? Was this goodbye? Was this the last time she would ever see him, in this American diner tonight?

It didn't feel right. But Carla couldn't ask him to stay longer either.

"Come home with me." Samuel blurted out so suddenly and so fast, Carla wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.

"What?"

Samuel sighed deeply, his fingers running through his hair. Glancing away before settling his burning, yet nervous gaze back on hers. "Come back with me, I mean, we could just continue talking and stuff at mine - if you want to."

Carla's heart hammered in her chest. "Well, I do have to make sure you arrive home safely."

His smile was bright and wide. "That would make me feel better."

_______________________________________________________

The tension was suffocating in the narrow hallway in front of Samuel's house. Both of them stood there, not moving. Facing each other.

Time had stopped for them, their eyes refusing to look at anything but one another. Samuel didn't open the door and Carla knew it was because of what was going to happen once they were inside, the thought of it terrifying as much as it was exhilarating. They could both feel it, they couldn't hide from it anymore.

They were succumbing. Carla felt it in the simmering heat around them, their bodies were done fighting it, it was inevitable. Her skin was starting to itch, agitated with the need for his touch, she could uncomfortably feel how ready she was for him. And Carla could see it all over Samuel, his erratic breathing, the way he fidgeted in the spot, the way he clenched his fists in anticipation.

But Samuel's yearning eyes also looked scared, actually they were terrified.

"I want you, Carla. I want you so much," he said thickly.

The desire in his voice, his eyes, all contradicted his sudden apprehensive body language.

"Samuel, you don't have t - "

"You don't understand," he interrupted urgently. "I feel like I can't do this because of how much I want you. It's fucking painful."

Her stomach twisted anxiously. "Okay, I --"

"You're leaving, Carla."

"I know." her eyes lowered with guilt. She was making it harder for both of them. "I'm sorry, you're right. This was a bad idea, we shouldn't."

When Samuel didn't say anything in return, she instantly got the message. Carla nodded curtly, making a move to leave.

Samuel caught her arm before she could twitch another muscle, edging his body so close to hers, his smell enclosing the space around her; till she was breathing in nothing but him.

"We shouldn't because it's going to hurt like hell when we're done. I'm gonna have to let you go after. Again." his voice was low and pained.

"I know." was all she could say, her eyes glued to his.

"But I - I think it's gonna hurt way more if I let you go when I know I can have you right now. Even if it's temporary. I can't live knowing I wasted a chance to be with you."

His words made their way throughout her entire body, spreading warmth all over. "Samuel, I'm sorry --"

He shook his head vehemently. "No more talking."

Her heart thudded heavily at his abrupt throaty command. And then her next breath was stolen by his mouth crashing down on hers. Carla gasped, the familiarity of his lips, his taste, making her want to moan in relief while simultaneously crying.

Samuel parted her lips open, spinning her around till her back hit the front door, his tongue tangling with hers. His exploration was deep and slow and it made Carla's ache rise to new heights, she gripped his hair tightly, scared that this moment like all the others they had shared, was short-lived and fleeting. Or worse, it was just a dream. These thoughts made her latch onto him harder, pulling him closer, her lips leaving his and trailed open mouthed kisses down his neck, sucking and biting the way she'd wanted to for what felt like forever. She could vaguely feel his hand digging into his pockets, probably fetching his keys.

"Fuck, Carla - I can't think." He groaned in her ear. "I need to get my keys."

Carla continued leisurely, her hands traveling down his chest until she was palming his hard member through his jeans. Samuel growled lowly, fisting her hair, pulling her head back and connecting their lips passionately.

He was right, Carla couldn't think either, it was hard to concentrate on anything except devouring him. But they needed to get that key.

Carla pushed him back slightly. "I got it." slapping his hand away from his pocket.

Samuel let out a low sound of protest when she let go of his lips, but he quickly got to work on her neck, desperately lavishing her skin with his tongue. She managed to finally pull his key, which was buried inside his left pocket under his phone.

"Found it." Or at least Carla hoped she did and it was the right one.

Samuel mindlessly grabbed it from her hand, trying clumsily to slide it into the lock.

"Ugh, where the fuck...?" he whined impatiently. Her hands moving all over him, distracting him even further.

Finally the door was shoved open, both of them stumbling inside, Samuel kicking the door shut after them. He blindly walked her back until she could feel herself meeting the wall beside the kitchen. His hands couldn't seem to decide which part of her to touch, his fingers tracing and clutching whatever inch of her he found, sneaking under her blouse and tracing the soft skin enticingly. His lips kissing up and down her neck deliciously, his teeth biting, before smoothing his tongue over the mark lovingly.

Carla wasn't fairing any better, enthusiastically hiking up his shirt, needing it off him. Samuel backed off for just a second to peel it off and throw it to the side. He immediately dove back in, his palms traveling up her thighs and under her skirt, tracing the outline of her underwear before ripping the thin material off.

Carla gasped at the action. They were both desperate, feverish and so fucking eager. She could feel the overwhelming, blazing eruption of physical and emotional need. Pent up feelings and sexual desires. Denied love. All of it was spurting into million bursts of electrical charge being passed back and forth between them.

This was them, unabashed and unreserved. It was that magnetic bond they couldn't explain.

"We should slow down but I can't." he rasped against her lips. His fingers leaving her waist to unbuckle his belt, trying to unzip his jeans hastily.

They weren't slowing down. They had time to savor and indulge later.

Carla took a moment to appreciate the sight of a shirtless Samuel with his jeans unzipped and low on his hips. Her hands took charge, frantically sliding her palm under his boxers, fingers grazing him gently.

"Fucking hell." he moaned hoarsely, lips attacking her collar bones, his fingers tugging on her green, silky blouse impatiently, finally unbuttoning the damn thing and sliding it off her shoulders swiftly. Carla's palm was now stroking him gently, her fingers tightening their grip each time.

"Fuck, stop, Carla, I won't . ." Samuel broke off with a keen groan, his hand catching hers to stop its movement before slamming it against the wall beside her head, his lips instantly finding hers again.

His free hand slid back under her skirt, finding her heated sex, his finger delicately touching her sensitive clit, rubbing softly in a circular motion, before slowly parting her entrance and slipping inside, his lips letting out a moan at the sensation.

Carla gasped low in her throat, trying to stifle a loud reaction, his fingers dipping in deeper and causing electricity to shoot through her. It felt too good. Too exquisite, and Carla was impatient, she needed him. Her hand firmly grasped his hard length again, making Samuel's breath falter as she guided him toward her center.

That was when Samuel completely paused, drawing back to look at her. Carla's breath hitched from the intensity of his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbing in his throat anxiously as his dark browns shone with so many ripples of emotions; love, lust, longing, relief, fear, sadness.

"Carla, I - "

"Shh, I know," she said, pulling him closer. "It's okay."

And then he pushed inside her in one agonizingly anticipated motion, their eyes clinging to each other just as much as their bodies were.

The feel of him after so long was overwhelmingly gratifying as he rested inside her for a second, giving both of them time to adjust to the achingly familiar feeling. Samuel panted harshly, his hips starting a rhythm so gentle, almost painfully so, as though trying to cherish every single tick of the intimate act. But then he perfectly gained momentum, matching both their needs. His mouth was sponging kisses all across her face, till his lips reached hers muffling their moaning as their tongues swirled hotly with each other.

"God, Carla." he grunted loudly. "I thought I'd never - " he stopped, seemingly forgetting what he was was about to say, as he drove into her faster, pinning her to the wall.

Carla had closed her eyes in ecstasy, trying to imprint every touch, every sound he made on her brain. Samuel's pace began to stir the fire already within her as he sank in and out of her faster and deeper. Her fingers clutched his hair, unable to stop herself from pulling on it hard, causing Samuel to moan and give even harder thrusts.

"Holy - fuck, Carla." his movements were growing in urgency, as he intensely and thoroughly fucked her.

"Samuel." she whimpered into his mouth, pleasure taking over every inch of her as she met his thrusts ardently. It was coming to an end. Way too soon. Carla wasn't ready for it to be over, but it was all too much, they both couldn't stop their shuddering bodies as their hips bucked against each other harshly. Carla gasping out his name one last time, her climax striking her fiercely. With a few last vigorous thrusts, Samuel tucked his head into her neck, growling out his own release.

His body sagged against hers, the only thing keeping her from collapsing on the floor. It was a few minutes before Carla's brain picked up on her surroundings again. Samuel's head was still buried in her neck, and his body was shaking against her.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. Was he regretting it? She didn't want it to be awkward or sad. Carla thought they'd decided to not think or talk and just enjoy each other while they still could. Did he regret it?

"I - yeah. I'm okay." he breathed unsteadily, his breath tickling her skin. "Fucking wonderful, actually. You?"

Carla smiled to herself in relief, they were still on the same page, he didn't regret it. "Same."

"We forgot to use a condom," Carla told him softly, not overly worried, they had done it before, their first time of course, being the first case.

"Shit." he mumbled into her hair. "We should really pay more attention to that."

Carla sighed, running her fingers through his hair. "I know. I am on the pill, though. You're clean, right?" He nodded against her.

"Me too."

Samuel finally craned his neck back, and Carla's heart squeezed in her chest. His eyes were so soft, sated and pretty, Carla almost pouted at the beautiful sight of him, raising her palms to stroke his red, flushed cheeks. 

"You look so cute," she whispered.

Samuel scowled in mock offense. "I just fucked you against this wall and you think I look cute!"

Carla laughed so loudly in response, that Samuel couldn't keep his stern look on, a smile breaking over his face.

"Cute?" he gently let her down, still clinging to her waist, which was good because her knees were barely holding her up.

She laughed harder, shrugging. "Yes. So cute and sleepy." she teased.

"Oh, Carla, I'm not sleepy one bit."

The promise, almost warning tone of his voice halted her laughter as her eyes focused on his intense ones.

Not giving her time to comprehend the meaning of his words, his lips caught hers, his arm dragging her by the waist away from the wall, and holding her to his chest. Carla could feel them moving around the house, her eyes closed, trusting Samuel to lead the way to his bedroom.

It was a blur till she opened her eyes, releasing his mouth to find they were standing in front of Samuel's bed. His lips smirked sinfully at her, before grabbing her by the waist and roughly tossing her on the bed.

Fuck.

Slowly climbing after her, he rested on his knees, his heavy-lidded eyes staring down at her. "We're nowhere near done."

_______________________________________________________

Much later, they were both completely naked on his bed. Carla was sprawled against his chest, her right ear pressed against his heart, listening to its soothing, comforting beat as his fingers massaged her scalp lazily.

Maybe it was because they unleashed the tension and she was way more relaxed, but Carla felt brave enough to say what was on her mind.

"You stopped calling."

Samuel stilled under her for only a second. "You did too."

"Because you stopped answering. It would've been selfish of me to push you further, I - I thought you'd finally let me go."

She hated how her voice broke at the last part.

"I was trying to." he admitted quietly. "But I've accepted that I can't."

"Samuel."

"I also wanted to give you some time, you know."

Carla frowned. "Time for what?"

He sighed. "Polo."

Carla stiffened, lifting her head to look at him. "What?"

His eyes didn't meet hers. "To deal with his death and everything else. I know that at some point you - um, I know what he meant to you once and I knew you needed some time to process."

Only Samuel. Samuel who hated Polo with everything in him, understood that Carla felt differently; that she was sad, the she'd needed time to mourn Polo and he didn't judge her.

"You're so considerate, it's a little annoying."

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his tinted cheeks. "It's called common decency."

"Perhaps, but some people don't deserve it. I know how much you hated him, Samuel, and rightfully so. But thank you for understanding."

"Of course. So - how are you dealing with everything?" 

Carla knew he wasn't just asking about Polo, but also everything with her family, the drugs, the withdrawal.

"I've been talking to Nina a lot. Obviously she doesn't know everything, but it's been nice to at least try and sort my shit out." Carla rested her head back on his chest.

"I'm glad you have someone to help you with everything."

"It's a very slow process because it's still so weird for me, honestly. And really fucking difficult to actually talk about stuff and work through them. Baby steps, I guess."

His fingers still combing through her hair, tugged gently, urging her to look up and meet his open and warm gaze. "I'm proud of you."

A wave of pure and crushing affection rushed through her forcefully, and she abruptly captured his lips.

He smiled into the kiss. "What's that for?"

Because I love you, Carla thought to herself but she couldn't say that. Carla had already taken enough, she'd already let herself bask in his presence. She couldn't say that to him and then bolt out of the country.

"Felt like it, do you have a problem with that?" she asked, kissing him again. Samuel hummed against her contentedly, biting her bottom lip.

"Never," he uttered with conviction, making Carla's heart lurch in her chest.

I love you.

The words were lodged in her throat, fighting against logic, begging to be let out. To finally let him know. Carla wanted to freely express this genuine, real and astounding emotion. There would never come a time when Carla wouldn't marvel at how much she felt for him. In such a short time he'd had her. Since the first time all of this had started, it had been a haze of a deep and intense connection. Carla had never wanted someone one so much, never had the surge of sexual attraction quite so powerfully.

But then want turned into need which tuned into something beyond what Carla'd thought she was ever capable of feeling. Something terrifyingly real.

How was it that there was a time when Carla couldn't care less about his existence and now it felt like she couldn't live without him.

But she had to.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Samuel asked, his fingers tracing the furrowed lines of her eyebrows.

You. I love you.

It would be a new low for Carla if she gave in to yet another one of her uncontrollable desires and told him. She would only be serving herself, quenching her thirst to get the feelings out. What was the point? She was leaving. It would only hurt him.

Don't tell him.

"Carla?" he sounded worried.

Don't say it. Don't be selfish. Don't tell him.

Carla had denied it for so long, all she had to do was keep it in a little longer and then they would be out of each other's lives. The words were pointless. There was no need to add salt to their wounds.

"Carla, what's wrong?"

Don't say it.

"I love you, Samuel."

[senjuushi]

Hey, can you give me a introduction on the characters personalities? I really want to ask some stuff, but don't know the characters enouth. It doens't need to be long, just a small introduction! (:

OwO Absolutely!!! I’ve explained the characters in my writing Discord before, so I’ll just copypaste what I wrote there. The explanations are pretty long, but they’re detailed, so I like ‘em~

Long post below!

This is F. He's a flamboyant, eccentric sadomasochist, and deviant with a princess-type personality, who kind of never quits saying horrible, horrible things. He's very girly and over-the-top, and expresses a distinct crush on one of the other guns, who he refers to as "Onii-sama". 

He has MAJOR masochistic tendencies, like licking the barrel of his gun while it's still hot, but he shows sadistic tendencies too, such as treating his lowest-ranking soldiers horribly. It's very likely that these behaviors have been learned from others, though. One thing that I think is of note is that, despite his extremely sexual behavior and tendencies, he's not showing any more skin than his upper neck and a little bit of his wrists. 

He's an attention-seeker who struggles to stand out in the shadow of a remarkable older brother, and it's implied that he's pretty desperate to be loved. He values his appearance a lot, going out of his way to look good and be presentable, such as through doing his nails and wearing perfume. 

I think he's a very needy person who just wants people to look at him and care about him in any way, so he goes out of his way to stand out. There are a lot of implications that he's been through some pretty awful stuff, considering that his sadism and masochism are most likely learned.

. . . 

This is Belga. He's a loudmouthed idiot with a violent streak and a love of shooting everything in sight. Based on his face and calculated height, he's probably only like 13-15 physically, 16 at max. 

He's very childish and immature, is either ridiculously ignorant or pretty darn stupid, and has a horrifically foul mouth on him. He was described to me as a "laughing maniac". That said, he's got a major soft side, and cries easily at things like sad stories and his pet fish dying. The fish themselves are most likely a measure to control him by, with letting him gain an attachment just to threaten him with them. 

He's very manipulable and gullible, and gets called "birdbrain" by 89, a gun who shares the same superior as him. Overall, he's a childish moron who can probably only barely take care of himself.

. . . 

This is Mikhael. He's... kind of a mess. Outwardly, he seems like a calm, collected character who lives only for his music and his passions. When looked at closer, however, there are some very bad signs. 

First of all, he's blind. His eyes are bandaged over, which... does not imply good things. He also has what's almost definitely a brace on his leg, suggesting that he's kind of broken. Also worth noting is that in the art above, his gun is pointing at his head. 

Mikhael has a fixation on "beauty in destruction" which to me implies that he's trying very hard to cover for how broken he is. He does nothing but play his piano when taken to battle, basically leaving himself open to getting shot. I see him as an older, broken-down gun who's acutely aware of how horrible his situation is, as well as being passively suicidal. He won't do anything to kill himself, but if something happened, he certainly wouldn't complain. 

I think he's very sad, finding joy only in his music, and taking every chance to drown himself in it. Because of his physical flaws, I doubt the WE treats him very well. He's broken enough that he could be gotten rid of at any time, so he's struggling to make himself seem useful and good through his obsession with beauty in ruined things.

. . . 

This is Ninety. He's the "holy shit this is fucked up" one. Ninety is literally referred to as the WE's dog... and he acts like it. 

He's the youngest of the guns in terms of summoning order and has a mindset somewhere between a child and an animal. He can't speak, most likely trauma mute and connected to something like conversion disorder, is only barely literate, and communicates with a signboard. Do note that this boy is not wearing pants. 

He's sort of feral, going so far as to bite the soldiers under him when he doesn't get fed enough (they're probably starving him). He's known to be a "panic shooter", implying a nervous personality. Also worrying is that he has another mask under his gas mask. A lot of fans theorize that he has a slit mouth. 

All of that said, though, Ninety is surprisingly mature and probably a lot more intelligent than he acts. He comforts Belga when his fish die, and honestly, I think he's just acting the part of a stupid dog because it's been drilled into him enough. There's intelligence in there, he's just not allowed to show it. Also, he's tiny. My height calculations put him at somewhere in the 4' range.

. . . 

This is Ghost. His gun is an experimental weapon that was never actually released, and he's got issues because of that. He's a person with no presence who always goes ignored by those around him. His bullets are ridiculously expensive to produce, and thus, the only person who's ever given him a chance is Ashley, to whom he's ridiculous levels of grateful and loyal. 

He's got major abandonment issues and considers himself to be a difficult to deal with reject. He's very passive, cynical, and pessimistic. He has a very childish side, "cursing" people who upset or ignore him, and "blessing" the rare few who give him the time of day. He latches onto anyone who treats him kindly with an unrivaled sense of desperation. It's implied that he might be rather sickly, and he seems to have a poor physical presence. 

He feels like he's a failure who no one should waste their time on, and struggles a lot with believing that anyone could ever find him worth the effort to use or keep. He's always teetering on the fear of being abandoned and forgotten.

. . . 

This is 89. He's a dead-inside gamer otaku who's catchphrase is "Are you serious?" He's something of the straight man (in the sense of the comedy term) of the lot of them and is definitely the most "normal". 

On that subject, he wants to be normal very, very badly but doesn’t have a shadow of a chance thanks to his status as nothing but a gun and a weapon of the WE, so he forces himself to look down on everyone who does get a normal life. He’s so depressed and done with life that all he does is lock himself up in his room and play whatever violent fighting games he’s allowed as an escape from the misery that is his life. He's got a ridiculously obvious crush on Mikhael, and also very obviously just wants someone to love him. Belga calls him "virgin", and in return gets referred to as "birdbrain". 

89 is just tired and done and exhausted with life, and honestly, he probably doesn't get much attention. He slacks off from missions when he can (which he definitely gets in trouble for), and even his favorite foods are cheap things that sound like they've been shoved onto him out of sheer neglect. He's a little bit tsundere and a total softie inside. He's also my favorite of all of them.

. . . 

This is Eins. He's the powerhouse of the modern guns, and definitely the strongest person there. He's the highest-ranking of all of them, and his battle style/gun type is a sniper. 

He's a serious person who takes his job equally seriously and always produces exceptional results. He acts rather normal, and could probably pass for human if he tried. That said, he's also got major empathy issues, showing very little remorse for hurting people. He takes orders way too far to make sure he's gone far enough, in the sense that he'd kill 100 people if ordered to kill 1. He has his soft side, though, down to gardening, impressive cooking skills when it comes to the others, and considering many of the other moderns to be his "family". F has a crush on him, which he's totally oblivious to. 

Fal is his loyal right-hand man, and Ghost is ridiculously fond of him. He's merciless when it comes down to it, but probably just sees what he does as doing his job and not getting hurt. He definitely sees himself as nothing but a weapon and a tool.

. . . 

This is Fal. He's F's older brother, and most likely the reason why F is Like That. Fal is an insanely capable, efficient, skilled person– one who comes off as perfect in every way. His gun, the FN FAL, is known as "the right arm of the free world" and has been one of the most used firearms in history. 

Fal himself is a calm, collected sort who always seems poised. He's Eins's assistant and has a lot of responsibility, which he handles extremely well. He's polite, subservient, and soft-spoken, despite being very close to Eins in power and skill. He's well-spoken, eloquent, loyal, and basically embodies the perfect assistant. He's also very intelligent, and expresses a particular fondness for torture. He has a unique power in that he's able to manifest prehensile, thorned vines, which sets him apart from the others in strength and skill. 

He's basically the ideal modern gun, which gives F and everyone else a LOT to live up to. He does seem like a very stressed, worn-down person, though, and likely is almost crushed under the pressure of the expectations placed on him.

. . . 

This is Kirsch. He's a sadistic spoiled brat who's almost definitely been sexually abused. He's downright desperate for attention from Ashley, resenting Mauser (Ashley's personal weapon) viciously for taking that attention away. Creepily enough, he refers to Ashley as "Papa". 

He's sort of obsessed with being cute and attractive, emphasizing his charm and trying to play up how lovable he is. That said, he behaves like a spoiled child, down to throwing tantrums when he's angry. Kirsch is also a major sadist (a behavior which is definitely learned), and loves torturing people for the sheer fun of it. He's described as "sick in the head" by one of his superiors. Even so, he tries to paint himself as a harmless victim who can do no wrong, kissing up to and demanding attention from anyone he looks fondly upon. 

He's ridiculously immature, insanely clingy, and probably also has major abandonment issues. He acts like a love-starved child who acts out in order to get attention. There are also a few implications that he's been sexually abused, including his aggressively "touchy" behavior, personal-space invading sadism, attitude towards his superiors, and revealing outfit (short shorts and garter on his leg).

. . . 

This is Hokusai. He's an animated, wild-natured person with a major childish streak. He uses the pronoun "Boku-chan", which sounds straight out of the mouth of a kindergartener. 

He's something of a mad scientist who's associated with the science sector of the WE, and has honestly probably been the brunt of more than a few experiments. He has a massive fixation on the color blue that goes all the way to an obsession, and he's so dedicated to this that he keeps trying to dye his human self blue... which also keeps killing him. He's killed himself like this a bunch of times, but fortunately, Ashley can keep bringing him back somehow. He has a massive aversion to the color red too, straight to the point where he loses it if he sees his own blood. 

He has a number of visible scars (rare for anime art), including one across his throat and one on his wrist, implying that he's been through some shit. His behavior also says to me that he might have some form of brain damage, probably of the nature that impacts his decision making and sense of consequences. He's very reckless and has little regard for his own life. Despite this, he's also a cheerful, sunny person who never really seems to be down.

. . . 

This is Love1. He's... a mess. His gun is majorly defective, and known irl as one of the worst and most useless firearms in history. Reflecting this, L1's body is kind of a mess. His gun jams constantly, which gives him nosebleeds, he's implied to be physically fucked up in general, and in the game, his bigger attacks did damage to him too. 

Personality-wise, he acts like an utter idiot. He's loud and goofy, with a lot of presence and seemingly no dignity. He's cheerful, explosive, and trigger-happy, acting like he doesn't have a care in the world. However, his real personality is very different. L1 is a massively intelligent and strategic individual. While Fal specializes in physical torture, L1 is the psychological torture master. He knows how to absolutely break people. He has a little brother, Like2, and the two of them are both in the "defective" boat. L1 loves L2 dearly, no matter how rude the other is to him, and gushes over his "cute baby brother" constantly. 

On the dark note, L1's life is kind of hanging by a thread. He's worthless enough that he could be gotten rid of at any time, and with the whole world seeing him as a failure, he's definitely got some major issues. He could be replaced at any time, and he's definitely living in fear of when that day will come. Since his physical body is shot, it's also likely that he's constantly in a lot of pain. No one is really very nice to him either.

. . . 

This is Like2. He's an effeminate, bratty tsundere who wants to be spoiled and loved. He's in the same boat as L1 in that his gun is sort of useless, but he's still quite a bit better off. He definitely shares the same worries about being replaced, but instead of covering it up with a smile, he fixates on making himself pretty and strong. 

He's a bodybuilder who focuses a lot on strength training, and is surprisingly tough for his looks. He loves fine things and getting attention and spoiling, and is pretty much desperate for people to like him. Because of his status as a rejected, mocked weapon, he's frantic to make himself useful and avoid being disposed of. He values his personal security massively, can't stand any form of discomfort, and is willing to turn traitor as soon as his safety is on the line. He's an aggressive, abrasive tsundere who constantly berates his brother, calling him "worthless" and "soon to be replaced". 

That said, he loves L1 dearly underneath it all, and winds up as something of his brother's caretaker. He's a fragile person who's desperate to be cared for an accepted, no matter what he has to do to get it.

. . .

Last is Mauser. He's Ashley's personal assistant and weapon, and is honestly a thousand levels of worrying. Mauser is the first gun Ashley summoned, and despite his size and young appearance, his gun is the oldest model as well, being made in 1896. He teeters right on the verge of modern and antique. 

He's an obedient doll to Ashley who seems to lack any form of personality or will of his own. He's empty and emotionless, only capable of expressing his loyalty to his Master. This lack of personality could be attributed to being a faulty summon, but more likely, Ashley has broken him of anything that made him a person. He's blindly devoted, endlessly loyal, and doesn't really have anything to live for beyond Ashley. His character is worrying because something must have left him so broken, and the implications with what Ashley could have done to mess him up so badly aren't pretty. 

His personality is rather flat, but his interesting side comes in what made him the way he is. He'd have nothing to live for without Ashley.

[coplins]

(1/3) Thanks for responding. I totally see the queerbaiting/kill your gays criticism - it's clear from Misha's comments after the fact that he really thought he was doing something supportive and didn't get how it was the opposite. I wasn't upset with ignoring Eileen because that whole plot was so badly written, and I didn't mind blurry wife because that was a story they'd never have time to tell, so leaving it to be your choice of wife/co-parent (Jared's words) worked for me.

(2/3) I don't see Dean's lack of reciprocation as a problem because Jensen and the showrunners have continuously said that is not their intent in writing/acting that character, so anything folks read into it is subtext. Again, Misha thought it would be better rep than it was. It was a bad call. John isn't canonically a child abuser, just a lousy parent. Both Dean and Sam have done so many crappy things as well that honestly, they shouldn't be there by that metric either. 3/4) But I don't think the finale (awkwardly written as it was) cancels out their character development at all. They are different people - back at the starting point, but not the men they were when they started. Dean is emotionally open; he's dropped acting tough and can talk about his emotions. He can be alone and be okay. Sam is no longer afraid of his blood or turning into John; he can be a good dad. I wish we'd seen Jack and Cas, or heard them at least wish them well, even just a prayer. (4/4) But even though that was crappy to leave out, I don't think it negates the show or the characters. 19 added Cas and Jack's names to the table, and I can be happy with that as the final episode. I was prepared to pretend it didn't exist before it even aired. I AM really glad you're anti-harassment. The shit that even folks like Kripke have been getting on their pages has made me so sad. Dabb posted something about baboons and folks even thought it was about them, not his new show! (Also, sorry to dump like a huge text thing in your inbox. It's totally fine that we disagree on things. I've just seen so many crazy things like people blaming Jared and saying the episode was an ad for Walker and to boycott Walker - a ton of Jared hate in general, really. Or saying Jensen "Destiel Isn't Real" Ackles is secretly a heller who's been viciously silenced by the powers that be for years. And now Misha's getting dogpiled for trying to interact and understand how he fucked up.)

It's fine, Nonnie. :)

Okay, so, just to make one thing clear. If you enjoyed the finale, then I think it's great. For everyone who didn't get their joy sucked out of them, that's awesome! I got to see the Wincest side of my Tumblr dash go apeshit from happiness and I'm happy for them. I've since had to unfollow some of those blogs when they turned bitter and hateful towards those of us who didn't like the ending. I curate my Tumblr (internet in general) experience to avoid seeing hate thrown at ships, actors, characters, fans, or people in general. I unfollow people if they post too much toxic stuff no matter if they're Destiel shippers, angel fans, or whatever part of fandom they're in.

I try not to reblog too much angry/bitter crap either. There are a lot of posts on my dash that I wholeheartedly agree with but don't belong on my blog. And I've written my share of wank and rants over the years but seldom hit post because I don't want to ruin someone else's positivity. When I do hit post I tag it "spn wank" so it can be avoided. If I need to angry-rant I do so in chat. Sometimes I mess up. There are undoubtedly some less than nice posts in the Buckleming wank category on my blog.

Generally speaking, my M.O. is disengaging and/or vote with my wallet. I will never condone cyberbullying. No matter how famous the person, or how nasty they are, harassment isn't okay. Actions have consequences and I try to think of what they are before I act. If I vent hurtful opinions about an actor, it'll be kept in chat, with someone who understands that particular frustration. (Not related to the current situation.)

When it comes to canon, it doesn't matter what showrunners or actors tell us about how it's meant to be interpreted or how they meant to act it. Canon is what's shown on screen, period. As curious as I am about what the actors have to say about things, it isn't important regarding canon at all. I'll stan my boys no matter what their characters get up to on-screen. <3

Yeah, I've seen the theories and the dogpiling. Luckily, I've avoided seeing the Jared hate but I knew it would be there because the internet is a cesspool of people lashing out aimlessly or misdirecting their anger. Even IF they wrote the finale in a way that they thought would put a spotlight on Jared's upcoming series, HE was nowhere near a position of power to make that decision and should be left out of it. I just figured, if it was true that that's what they thought, then the Wincest bunch was their target audience for the new show. *shrug*

Interesting to hear your take on the finale. If I follow people who have your take, they're not vocal about it, or I'm simply missing it because I don't stalk Tumblr. All it takes for me to stop scrolling and go back to my writing is 3 unknown anime posts in a row or one reader-insert fic and I'm nope-ing the hell out of here. X)

I'm not going to argue against any of your points. It's great that you saw it that way. Fuck, I wish I did too.

I kinda feel like I need to address the child abuse comment I made, though. Some separate neglect and abuse like those aren't the same, some only count physical abuse, others include verbal abuse. Too many of my loved ones (both close friends and family) have experienced all three of those categories and the one who was left alone to care for her little sister as a child, definitely has a lot of mental scarring from it, so I'm counting neglect as abuse. That said, I fucking love John Winchester. So it might be Jeffrey Dean Morgan's charisma, so sue me. But John canonically neglected the hell out of his sons. We got proof of that even in this season when John drops his son off for days in a town where kids have gone missing recently. So, yeah... But, on the other hand, of course both he and Mary should end up in Heaven. Like, that wasn't even a question.

I think my strong reaction against it was how every part of the found family the Winchesters had gathered over the years was erased from the narrative as soon as Dean died. The only one who is shown as important is Bobby, a found-family member that initially was connected with John, not someone the brothers had found and connected with on their own. Bobby is also the only non-Winchester in the photos Sam has over his bed when he's dying. I don't know, man, "Everyone's here," simply doesn't do it for me.

"Family ends with blood" like the finale implied, only works if the greatest monsters in life haven't been family members, and my best friends (twins) growing up, just like my mother, were abused, mentally, physically, and sexually, by parents. I've seen the aftermath of those hellfires, how long it takes to assemble the fractures of your being and become, if not whole, at least functional and happy. For them, it was the friends they made along the way, those who loved them when they couldn't, who really mattered.

And that was one thing I really loved about SPN (and still do). Team Free Will. Wayward Sisters. All the people that they met along the way and connected with. I've loved to see Sam and Dean develop their bond by taking it from unhealthy, destructive co-dependency to step by step with several setbacks become their own individuals with lives outside of each other, yet still having the strong bond full of brotherly feels where the love they had for each other was rooted in respect for each other's differences and not who they "were supposed to be for each other". And unlike you, I can't see anything but regression in how the finale played out.

Okay, I gotta stop talking now. ^^ I have one scene my betas told me I need to rewrite in my next chapter, and another chapter half done, and I'm itching to post so I need to get on with it.

I hope I didn't put too much of a dampener on your enjoyment of the finale. My opinions don't matter. We all come from different life experiences and therefore find different things compelling and important. I don't begrudge anyone their happiness. <3

*Hugs*

[neohighwayv]

Again and again

Characters: NCT / NCT DREAM Jeno x You

Genre: fluff, romance

Word count: 2.7k

Description: “I think it’s great that you have a great sex life but I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to put a hole in my wall whilst doing it.”

Author’s note: The prompt may look misleading but I promise – there is no smut in this story.

Warnings: Implied suggestive content, mild cursing

-----

I’m going insane. Please SHUT UP!!!

Ripping your headphones out of your ear, you sat up in your bed fast, whipping your head around to glare at the wall behind you. The sudden movement made your vision swim from the sudden rush of blood to your head as you slammed your fists down hard. Your innocent Samoy soft toy by your side took the brunt of your force, his beaded eyes almost falling out from the impact. Snapping your head to your bedside quickly, you found your notebook laying there neatly – the perfect weapon for such a situation. You snatched it up from your bedside before using it to pound at the wall behind you viciously, the spine of the book bending at an extreme angle afterwards, some pages crumpled from your iron grip.

Your neighbour seems to have heard you – for the sound of the bed squeaking stopped momentarily and your walls stop shaking. All was peaceful and silent for a short while, and you breathed a sigh of re–

Only to exhale deeply and sigh again when the screams and moans started to fill your ears, coupled with the familiar sound of the bed squeaking. Your walls began to shake – this time more violently – the tremors of your bed making your stuffed toy fall to the ground.

You slump back down onto your bed in defeat, ruffling your hair as you let out a strangled scream tear your throat.

Making a silent promise to deal with your inconsiderate neighbour tomorrow, you tried to fall back asleep, blasting the music one notch higher in hopes of draining out the noise that didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.

---

Three short raps on the door.

That was what you did when you went to confront your neighbour, instead of banging down the door and storming in like you envisioned yourself to. The door opened slightly by a crack and you caught a glimpse of blonde hair just before the door swung open fully to reveal the owner of the blonde hair.

The first thing that stood out to you was how pale the young male looked. He had a head of white blonde hair sitting atop of his equally pale face, making him look like Casper the friendly ghost. The wide eyes that stared back at yours initially soon melted into twinkling crescents that regarded you kindly, his pink lips pulling back into a sweet smile that showed off his rows of pearly whites. Now, he looked like a Samoyed, with his white hair serving to enhance the resemblance.

On normal days, you might have stopped to appreciate such a fine young man – but – life had been anything but normal for the past few weeks, especially with the noise level that he was creating at ungodly hours of the night (or day.) Hence, you were not in the mood to ogle at your handsome neighbour, and you simply wanted to tell him off so that he would get the clear hint this time round.

You opened your mouth to say something to the male, but you quickly closed it, gulping thickly afterwards as you were completely unsure of how to put into words what you wanted to say to him. Said male in front of you could clearly see your discomfort from your body language – you were mumming your lips together, your knuckles turning white from your hard grip on your bag strap. Wanting to ease your nervousness, he decided to start the conversation first.

“Hi, is there anything I can help you with…?”

How does one talk about…that…topic to a complete stranger?

You were still angry at him for interrupting your sleep, but the thought of having to breach such an intimate topic to a stranger still was very awkward to you. Your face and neck burst into a bright shade of red as last night’s scene played in your mind, his breathy moans suddenly filling your ears.

Why are you thinking of that Y/N! GET A GRIP!!!

Watching as you engaged in an internal battle with yourself, the male became more worried for you, prompting him to question you once more.

“Miss, are you alright? You look pale, maybe – ”

Hearing his voice snapped you back to your senses and that was when your brain’s word filter suddenly malfunctioned at the critical moment, the words spewing out of your lips before you could hold them back.

“Look here, sir, I’ll get straight to the point. I think it’s great that you’re having a great sex life, but I would appreciate if you wouldn’t put a hole in my wall whilst doing it. While you’re at it, I’d appreciate if you could keep your volume down – or if you can’t – make your room soundproof? Your moans are just keeping me up all night and distracting me from my studies.”

You immediately inhaled deeply once you were done, having made your entire speech in a single breath. You made the mistake of glancing over to the blonde and you jumped back in shock when you saw his facial expression, your hands flying to your chest as you let out a small yelp.

The smiling blonde now looked absolutely petrified – and for a moment – you thought you were staring at a statue. Upon hearing your words, the blonde became frozen stiff, his eyes that were blown wide now stared at you, unmoving, as his pale lips were set in a thin line. Then, the most bizarre thing happened. Starting from the base of his neck, red started to rise up his face, covering every inch of his face. His ears, in particular, appear to be burning red and you had half the mind to actually want to ask him if his ears hurt from – what you assumed – must be searing pain.

However, you didn’t get to ask him your question as both of you turned your attention to the new arrival at the scene, heads snapping to the figure behind him. The new boy regarded both of you from under hooded eyelids, his blonde hair with a strip of blue flopping down like a mop on his head. He wore a pout on his face, his lips looking puffy due to the fact that he looked like he just woke up.

“Jeno-ah, who’s this?”

His question ends with a yawn as he raised his hands above his head to stretch – and that’s when both of you see it.

The action exposed his chest, the top three unbuttoned buttons enhancing the view both you and Jeno had. That’s when you see the evidence of last night’s activities – the purple and blue hickeys littering the expense of his chest, right down to his naval just above the waistband of his pants. Both your eyes grow wide at the sight and everything that happens next happens so quickly that you wonder if the events actually transpired, or it was just a figment of your imagination.

Jeno comes to his sense first, lunging at his friend before slamming the door shut with his foot. From your spot on the opposite side of the wall, you can hear the urgency behind Jeno’s hushed whispers, and the disparate difference in the other’s husky, slow voice.

“Ya Na Jaemin! Why did you come out looking like that!”

“What… it’s no big deal Jeno, you’ve seen me with less articles of clothing before.”

You think you hear Jeno sigh deeply, before the conversation continues again.

“We have a guest Jaemin, in case you didn’t realise.”

“I didn’t know until I came out and saw you by the door, can’t blame me man.”

“Ok that doesn’t matter now, just go change into something more decent or at least button up your shirt next time.”

“Jeno, it is buttoned.”

“Button it up FULLY then. Now go.”

“Awww, sending me away already? But ok I’ll go if you answer my question.”

“Na Jaemin, do not ask – ”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT NOW, GO GET CHANGED!”

You hear Jaemin whine as the sound of his footsteps get further away, before the door is flung open again to reveal a nervous Jeno.

“Hi, I’m terribly sorry about that incident just now. About last night… I’ll… remind him again so… he’ll… keep it down the next time. I’m very sorry about that and I promise it won’t happen again.”

He gives you a bow to convey his sincerest apologies and you hastily mirror it, before the door closes shut in your face again, the sound of running footsteps before a howl of pain travels through the door to reach you.

You stood at your spot unmoving for the next few minutes, trying to process everything that just happened in your mind. After your confused brain was finally able to put together each piece, you quickly slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle your loud gasp – for it finally dawned upon you that you had made a grievous mistake.

I just blamed the wrong person.

Fuck.

---

It didn’t help that you kept seeing the blonde around your neighbourhood – Jeno – as you now know him by. It was inevitable considering how both of you lived in the same neighbourhood but you still cursed your terrible luck.

The first time you saw him, you were walking home from the local bread store which was located right beside the gym. Jeno was walking out after having just finished his power lifting session, his head bent down low over his phone screen. You, on the other hand, were counting the change in your hand as you tried to get a proper hold on the bag full of bread. Neither of you were watching where you were going and a collision was inevitable. The impact sent your bread flying along the pavement and Jeno immediately bent down to help you pick it up.

You profusely apologised as the mystery male helped you gather your stray breads, you quickly bending down to aid the process.

“I’m so sorry about that, I should have – ”

“It’s alright, are you hurt?”

Why does this voice sound so familiar…?

Both of you turned to look at the other party right at the right moment and you were sure you must have looked like a fool in front of him because you let out a squeak as your eyes widened to twice their size.

Of all people, why did it have to be you again, you damned Samoyed!!!

Jeno, on the contrary, remained calm as he handed you your bread back, having already put the incident that happened at his doorstep behind him. It was a natural assumption – he had reasoned with himself. He was just extremely understanding by nature – like the angel he was. He gave you a small smile as he handed you the bag with two hands, still awaiting your reply. What he didn’t expect was for you to awkwardly bow slightly after snatching the bag from him before you took down the length of the street, curving sharply to enter the lobby of the apartment.

Jeno watched all of this with a twinkle in his eye, his lips curling up into a playful smirk as he let out a light huff.

She’s adorable when she’s flustered.

That night as you lay down in bed replaying your encounter with Jeno, you slammed your pillow over your face as you tossed and turned in bed, wondering why you always manage to appear so stupid in front of the boy. First, the wrong accusations and second, the bread incident – but perhaps – what you refused to admit was that you were flustered because you thought he looked good in the muscle tee that showed off his well-defined muscles, more so than the fact that you kept embarrassing yourself in front of him.

---

The second time you saw him, it was… agonising… and frustrating. A hand had slipped through the crack of the metallic lift doors, the resulting clang giving you a fright. You press the button to hold the lift open as Jeno squeezes through the slit to stand beside you. You groan inwardly at your horrible luck once more, but you plaster your best customer service smile on your face. You miss it when Jeno smiles to himself as he watches your cute self, his eyes turning into beautiful crescents once again. The typically short elevator ride up to your floor seems excruciatingly slow today, and you tap your fingers against the back of your hand nervously, hoping that the lift would speed up. Meanwhile, Jeno is enjoying every second of this ride, glad that he got to spend some time in your presence. Yet the smile is wiped off his face when the doors open with a ting, the muffled moans of Jaemin reaching his ears. This time, it was Jeno’s turn to glance nervously at you, sure that you had also caught onto the same thing. He had promised you that he would rein in Jaemin, but it was not working out very well. Both of you padded over to your respective doors quietly, and Jeno kept his head down the entire way out of embarrassment. Both of you stalled outside your respective doors, glancing over at each other nervously.

Pointing to his door, Jeno tried to talk, but he ended up stuttering instead.

“I- I- I’m go- go- go- going to ask him to quieten down.”

For the first time, Jeno managed to see a smile on your face and he was absolutely star struck.

“I don’t think you should, lest you want to walk in and see something unpleasant.”

Jeno lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching his nape as he blushed furiously at what you were implying. You gave him a small smile before entering your apartment, leaving Jeno hanging at his doorstop.

Aish this Na Jaemin! Why must he always embarrass me in front of her!

---

The third time you saw Jeno – well – to be exact, it does not count as seeing him coincidentally for he was the one that actively sought you out. Despite the moans still coming from the other side of the wall at 10pm, you heard the unmistakable knock on your door, the heavier sound reaching your ears much better than the moans. A quick peep into the keyhole showed that your mystery visitor was Jeno, and you unlocked the door, wondering what business your neighbour possibly had with you at such an ungodly hour.

“Hi…” – was all Jeno breathed out when he saw you, still not knowing your name having never asked despite the many encounters you had with him.

What an idiot you are Lee Jeno.

You caught on immediately, filling in the details for him.

“Y/N, my name is Y/N.”

“Y/N, hi.”

“Yes…? Is there anything I can help you with…?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to study together? Since… you know…”

He jabbed a thumb in the direction of his home, and your lips form an O in understanding. You stood at your spot for a few moments, contemplating if you should accept the offer from your dashingly handsome neighbour.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to! I just thought that since we both need to study; we could go together… doubt we’ll get anything done with the noise level.”

His eye smile was on display again, and it was hard to say no to the adorable face. Besides, he had a point. Nothing had gone in despite poring over your notes for the past 2 hours, and you were so close to giving up until he knocked on your door.

“Give me 5 minutes, I’ll be right back. There’s a 24-hour café at the neighbouring street, we can head there.”

“O-O- Ok.”

Jeno stammered as you ran back to your room, completely not expecting for you to say yes.

But I don’t mind at all.

---

“This is much better.”

“It is.”

Glancing up from your notes briefly, you caught Jeno’s eyes before flashing him a small smile, one that he reciprocated.

“Hey Y/N…”

“Hmmm?”

“What if we did this more often?”

“Studying together?”, you said, as you pointed to the table.

“Sure, definitely would not mind a study buddy.”

You turned back to face your books, hiding your shy smile between the pages. Jeno, on the other hand, continued to look at you with his twinkling eyes, happy with your response.

If Jaemin’s noise level meant that he could keep seeing you again and again, he’ll gladly let Jaemin keep it up.

[miraculouscontent]

Did you ever give your thoughts on Gamer 2.0? If not, would you mind sharing?

I haven’t given my thoughts, no, and I wouldn’t mind sharing!

(Firstly, just throwing this out there: I have no comment on the fact that we’re clearly missing an episode, so “sad trombone akuma” being there doesn’t strike me in any particular way. I complain about the order that episodes are released in, but I don’t feel that an episode being aired “out-of-order” should count towards what I view as its quality.)

(Also going to ignore Marinette’s much more intense love of gaming because it makes more sense than what she had in “Gamer”. I don’t mind retcons if they’re doing so to make more sense.)

(…though I do wish this had been the episode where Sabine gets into gaming rather than her already liking it)

Anyway, Gamer 2.0 is certainly… something. It asks the question of “what if each villain-of-the-day could duke it out with each other?” It also shows us how Ladybug and Chat would use them if they could take control. Seeing these guys come back in an interesting way (even though some akuma have an inherent disadvantage due to the battlefield, which is admittedly kinda dumb) is very interesting (also adore some of the references there).

I also like the ending, where Marinette brings Max to her parents and they literally drag him away to go play video games together. Her parents getting all excited and the hilarity of Max just being helplessly dragged off was funny. Max also gives up his akumatized object willingly (after Ladybug nails yet another lucky charm), which was a good moment (Chris doesn’t even remotely count for me because they were threatening to destroy his robot).

…That said, I really don’t like the rest of this episode. Now, admittedly, part of it is me judging the episode for what it isn’t rather than what it is, but I’ll get there.

[Level 1 - Max Attack]

Alright, so… Max.

Like, look, I get it. Max is hurting because he put all this work into this game and no one has time to play it for him.

But at the same time, this is one of the weakest akumatizations I’ve ever seen, at least in terms of the set-up.

For example, characters like Kim didn’t establish that they’d be gone for a long time. All Kim said that he was going to the pool. His activity would take the rest of the day at worst.

It’s the same with Kitty Section, who are only planning to try on Marinette’s T-shirts (by the way, completely unrelated, but having that happen before this scene and giving them a different excuse would’ve been way better considering that Kitty Section could’ve suggested Marinette because they know she’s been stressed, but I digress).

If Max is so invested in this game, he can just do small touches while he waits for someone to be free, whether it’s Kim or Kitty Section. It’s one thing to be really excited about it, but it’s another thing (especially for Max) to not even consider asking people when they would be free, because then he could just excitedly work on his game while he waits for that person to be available.

Now, if people had to keep bailing on Max due to obligations, continuously saying that they’d do it but having to cancel due to getting wrapped up in other things, that’d be different. It would be a frustrating (however understandable) situation for Max, where he can’t exactly be angry at his friends, but he has a right to be disappointed.

I simply just don’t buy that he spent maybe an hour asking everyone and then got sad enough to be akumatized because they had prior arrangements they’d already agreed to. If asking people to play with him was just to playtest his game, then he can simply continue working on it while he waits.

Heck, if he made this whole game himself, why not talk to people about design choices instead, which takes up a lot less time? Surely he has beta designs or things he wasn’t sure about. I can’t imagine many of his friends minding if he just showed them some concepts and asked for their opinion, which would only take a few seconds. If he’s aiming to make his game the best it can be, then–

…I’m getting too deep into this.

*ahem* Point being, his game is likely not perfect yet and it would’ve been more believable for his disappointment to be built up more. It’s great that he was a good sport when Ladybug beat him fair and square, but when the episode prioritizes his problems over Marinette’s (which I’ll get to), I want to understand the feelings he has when he gets akumatized, and I don’t.

Even if one were to say that it was Chloe’s insult who caused it…

Max, think for half a second.

Chloe is a bully who lies just to rile people up, and if Max honestly believes that his friends are lying to him (which makes zero sense, since Marinette verified what Kitty Section Minus One™ told Max without him asking), then he needs to have a little more faith in himself and his relationships, because yikes.

[Level 2 - The Pavement of Predictability]

People who have been following me for a long time know how much it irritates me when an episode lays out its plot from the word “go”. I definitely filled my sarcasm quota for the day–for the week, really–as this episode hammered how stressed Marinette was and how much she had to resist gaming, followed by someone being akumatized with a gaming theme.

Like, gee, I wonder what will happen?

I wonder if Ladybug will try to go through this as quickly as possible.

I wonder if her usual gaming skill will vanish when she does so.

I wonder if none of this will be blamed on the fact that she’s likely lacking sleep (she fell asleep during her test even though she managed to fill it out), is stressed beyond belief, and needs a freaking hug.

I wonder if that schedule Adrien mentioned will go completely disregarded as Chat is unbothered skipping out his obligations because being a hero is “fun” for him, further making this all pointless considering that Adrien doesn’t care about his schedule and Marinette does because most of the things she’s doing are things for people she cares about.

I wonder if Chat will continue goofing off as he practically ignores the fact that Ladybug told him that she had things to do, only worsening Ladybug’s mood.

I wonder if Ladybug will be mocked viciously just because she’s in a hurry.

This entire akuma fight played out exactly how I thought it would, right down to Chat purposefully throwing himself off the edge to let Ladybug deal with the final battle alone. The only thing I was happy to be right about predicting was Ladybug’s win over Gamer 2.0, which was legitimately awesome of her as usual.

The problem with this whole fight (more the conversations during the fights, really) is that it’s standard. It’s too easy to see where it’s going, and where it’s going isn’t pleasant.

Marinette wanted to play with Max. She didn’t maliciously deny him or try to lie her way out of it. She just had too many things to do.

And for that, she’s punished by being forced to play a long, drawn-out game with him.

She didn’t do anything to deserve this happening to her, but the narrative is clearly setting this up for comedy because anger is often seen as more funny than sadness and Ladybug is mostly frustrated and nothing else.

But, in this situation, I don’t think that either would be funny, and Gamer 2.0 being a smug akuma who makes fun of Ladybug when she loses just pours salt in a wound that he caused.

Even if the mocking is a punishment for how Ladybug is unable to handle the situation well, it doesn’t work because I can see how she’s not taking it well. She is fourteen years old and has the burden of a miraculous placed upon her without her asking for it. She struggles to say “no”, she still has to go to school and do well, and she has friends and celebrities who unintentionally request things for her at the same time.

And it’s not like this whole “punishment” thing hasn’t happened before. There have been episodes like “Antibug” where Marinette has to learn a “”””lesson“””” because she snapped at Chloe for interfering with her job, and now it’s just the same thing but Marinette how dare you be busy alongside everyone else and how dare you not ignore your obligations to have fun instead.

It’s cruel, plain and simple. It’s the “working-on-actually-important-things” Ladybug versus the person who got akumatized because everyone had too many obligations one day to playtest his game.

Just… whyyyyyy.

[Level 3 - Chat Cove]

We’re gonna have to have another “look, I get it” moment here because… look, I get it, Chat’s character is there to be the goofball while Ladybug is a lot more serious.

But Chat here absolutely cannot catch onto Ladybug’s mood, and the only reason he’s helpful at all is because he likes gaming.

Let’s look at the facts, scene by scene.

Firstly, the one thing I did like, which was him being concerned about Gamer 2.0 laying a trap out for them when Ladybug was clearly stressed and perhaps not thinking straight. Good moment, bravo, and all that, because Chat should be ready to have a little restraint to cover for Ladybug when she doesn’t.

…But then all of that is immediately thrown out the window by the time they step into the game itself.

Here’s what happens: Ladybug picks the Mime for one of her fights. While she’s busy, Chat makes a teasing (or perhaps semi-serious) comment to her, which Ladybug replies to and thus loses what she’d been miming.

Chat then feels the need to tell her that she loses what she mimes if she talks.

…Well then maybe you shouldn’t have said anything that warranted a reply, Chat.

Chat also is aware that Ladybug is stressed (she basically said it to his face), yet when it’s his turn to play the game, he waffles around as he tries to decide on which character to use, cracking jokes about using Copycat but it being “too easy if it’s basically himself” until Ladybug gets irritated by this. He then picks Mr. Pigeon and continues goofing off.

Am I meant to be annoyed that Ladybug snapped at him? Because I’m not. I don’t mind if he’s still his jokester self but he shouldn’t be wasting time when Ladybug stressed how many things she has to do. What he did as Mr. Pigeon was legitimately funny, but the fact that he seems to almost intentionally waste time despite what Ladybug said makes it frustrating.

Theeeen we get to Gamer 2.0’s comment on Ladybug’s rushing and Chat trying to teach Ladybug a lesson.

First, Gamer 2.0, because the problem is not that Ladybug is trying to rush. I mean, speedrunning is a thing that exists. The problem is that she’s not thinking due to intense stress and an increasing lack of interest.

(Not only that, but why is Gamer 2.0 smug and not sad/annoyed by this? That would be actually INTERESTING if he was trying to make the game as fun as possible and was disappointed that Ladybug was just irritated by it. This is supposed to be HIS game, so how can he be satisfied with someone not enjoying it(he’s even glad later that she’s enjoying herself, but he’d been enjoying her frustration, so…???)? And regardless, no self-respecting gamer would get smug at winning because their opponent wasn’t trying or wasn’t into it.)

Second, Chat, and this bizarre lesson of “it’s not about not knowing how to play, it’s because you’re not having fun!”

Like, okay, it’s great that he asked her if she was alright instead of being upset that she lost multiple times, but to then turn around and give her non-advice?

Yeah, no. Just no.

Firstly, knowing how to play IS actually important (can’t believe I have to say this) and whether someone’s having fun or not doesn’t matter.

On the contrary, some people have fun regardless of if they win or not. Some people may not even try to win and just do whatever they want. If two people have the same amount of skill but one of them has more fun, then yes, theoretically the fun person could win, but they could just as easily lose if they’re not focused enough due to having too much fun.

The advice should not be to “have fun;” it should be to remain calm and focus on a plan, because that’s what Ladybug does best at.

Chat is applying his own logic to Ladybug, which only works because plot. Chat and Ladybug have two completely different styles and Chat is only thinking of himself and what he does. It’s as if Chat doesn’t even understand Ladybug or how she works.

Heck, this episode could’ve even been a compromise! Maybe Ladybug is too stressed and Chat goofs off too much, so they’d have to find a happy middle-ground where they’re focused but still having enough fun to not be stressed.

The only reason Chat is on any sort of high-ground here is because this is a game. I mean, we all remember “Stormy Weather” where he was so nonchalant with the akuma that he got flung fifty feet in the air and slammed his face into a car, right? His tendency to have fun and goof off is just convenient here and only here.

Anyway though, back to the actual episode, Chat then feels the need to sacrifice himself so that Ladybug can fight Gamer 2.0 which, coming right after Chat’s so-called “lesson,” just makes me think that he has no communication skills whatsoever (not that it doesn’t make sense, but the show shouldn’t present him as doing the right thing).

The fact that only one of them can face Gamer 2.0 isn’t the problem, because that’s logical given that Gamer’s failure the first time around was due to him going up against two people (since Chat manned the controls while Ladybug dealt with the real Gamer inside the robot).

The problem isn’t even the fact that Chat has sacrificed himself before. I mean, yes, not all of those sacrifices were necessary, and yes, it puts undue pressure on Ladybug every single time. That’s a reasonable frustration and I will never deny that.

The problem then is that Chat failed to convey his sacrifice to Ladybug. They have all the time in the world to talk and Chat is hardly there for a few seconds before just being like “lol bye i trust you.”

This is what I mean when I talk about Chat’s communication problems. I have no issue with him throwing himself off the edge, but only if he and Ladybug had agreed on it.

Ladybug is the planner. She usually gets the akuma. It makes perfect sense why she’d be the one to face Gamer 2.0.

But why did Chat have to be so dramatic about it? Ladybug felt horrified and pressured at his sacrifice because he decided to do it without her consent. All it would’ve taken is a “let’s be real here, you’re the most qualified to do this and neither of us want to fight each other, so is it okay if I just knock myself out of the ring so you can do that, or do you have a reason why I’d be better at fighting this time?” and that would be it.

It’s just an unnecessary way to create drama/tension while needlessly making Chat look bad.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the narrative has Gamer 2.0 mock Ladybug over Chat’s sacrifice because she was the one who said she wanted to get the game over quickly.

Seriously? She’d been having fun for the last few rounds and the narrative still wants to get on her case for having obligations that she wanted to take care of? She gets told a phony lesson, manages to work with it, and then still has to be criticized for something that isn’t even a factor anymore.

(Also, I simply do not believe that the Gamer 2.0 who mocked Ladybug relentlessly and was unbearably smug during this whole thing would be so respectful and nice after Ladybug beat him.)

There’s also Chat’s line after Ladybug asks him how he manages to have fun between his superhero and civilian life, which he again brushes off in a very Chat-way.

It’s yet another situation where Chat doesn’t know Ladybug enough to give her advice. Chat simplifies his answer to “I have fun when I’m being a superhero” yet fails to mention that he has fun because his life is boring (due to his schedule) and he enjoys the freedom that being Chat Noir gives him.

Also, it’s a non-answer considering that Ladybug had also asked more specifically if he’s afraid that he’ll have to give everything up to be a superhero someday. Chat clearly isn’t thinking as seriously about his answer as she wanted and their situations aren’t comparable.

Adrien’s obligations are things that often annoy him since they disrupt his plans with others, so I can see why his immediate reaction would be “oh, you mean getting away from my father, never having to do photoshoots again, and being able to spend all my time with you? Heck yeah, sign me up, I’ll sacrifice all of that!” (I know that sounds bad considering he’d be giving up his friends too, but I’m willing to give him the benefit of a doubt and say that he’s only thinking about his obligations and trying to say something flirty to Ladybug at the same time).

But Marinette’s obligations are typically things that she wanted to do.

She wanted to make Kitty Section T-shirts.

She wanted to make Jagged Stone a poster.

And she also wanted to have time to play a game with her father.

Chat’s answer doesn’t apply to her, because Marinette’s happiness doesn’t come from being Ladybug. The show tries to present Chat’s line as something romantic, but ignores the fact that it doesn’t help her.

And, y’know, the fact that Chat “enjoying his time with Ladybug” often involves him throwing himself into danger and falling under an akuma’s influence, further stressing exactly why Ladybug can’t find enjoyment in fights at times.

Just… what did Ladybug do to you, show? Did she spill hot coffee on the lap of one of your writers or what?

Geez.

[Level 4 - I’m Already Sick of Making Level Names And This Episode Doesn’t Understand Focus So Why Should I Bother?]

Okay, so here’s where I talk more about what the episode isn’t, and it all comes back to how the show is portraying Marinette’s struggle and how the characters around her react.

Marinette has a “thousand” things to do. Her week is chock full of stuff and she’s miserable over it. Tikki is helping however she can (kinda), which is something, but what does Tom do?

He gives Marinette non-advice. Like, I legitimately don’t know if this man understands his daughter whatsoever.

It is far too late to talk to Marinette about having “too many cakes in the oven,” and even if it wasn’t, has Tom honestly forgotten the thing that we learned in the first episode ever?

Marinette struggles to say “no.” It’s a character flaw of hers. Whether she knew she had “too many cakes” is pointless because what likely happened is that Marinette knew that she was overloaded and could not control herself when she agreed to “more cakes.”

Tom and Sabine are utterly useless when it comes to Marinette’s conflict. Yet again, they babble about things that aren’t even remotely going to help their daughter (with Sabine focusing more on making Tom feel better than thinking how they can help Marinette). They have no idea of the struggle she’s going through, nor do they try to understand.

They just bury themselves in video games while Marinette suffers. Tom saying something to her is a step up from “Weredad,” but it’s a similar situation to that episode when Tom and Sabine talk to each other about it and then proceed to not do anything.

I’m not asking Tom and Sabine to completely solve Marinette’s problems. Obviously, that’s impossible. A lot of what Marinette needs to do can’t be done by another person.

But, they don’t know that Tikki exists. They could’ve offered to help her with her history. They could’ve offered her advice on how they remembered things when they used to be in school (which doesn’t solve everything but that’s kind of the point when they appear so early in the episode; they also could’ve been busy in the bakery at the start and then gave Marinette better advice later instead).

But they don’t, and that shows a huge problem in the episode. The moral of this episode is garbage because it’s not offering Marinette any actual solutions to her problems.

Some activities are just not fun. That’s an inevitability. “Making things fun” is a worthless, meaningless concept that waffles around the issue and ignores the fact that “having fun” could very well mean that Marinette could slip up by not focusing enough or being too relaxed in the situation of needing to get a lot of things done at once.

And, yet again, the show says that Marinette has a problem without actually giving her a solution.

Where are the people trying to give her strategies for time crunches? Where in this episode do people actually offer help concerning Marinette’s issue of being unable to say “no”? Where is the person who swoops in at the end to at least give actual advice on the issue (which I honestly thought they were going to do with Luka when I first saw that he was strangely absent from Kitty Section; it had nothing to do with me wanting Lukanette, I just thought there was a reason for him not being there)?

Heck, Max is even in the episode and is the focus in terms of getting akumatized and getting his freaking problems actually resolved in the end. With how smart he supposedly is, why not have Max care about Marinette’s problems and offer solutions based on facts and logic instead of something that Chat “feels” is correct?

Maybe he knows the exact time to take breaks and how long to take them so to both avoid burn-out and also refresh Marinette enough for her to remain at her best working speed? Maybe he could’ve even suggested a schedule that would show her how long each activity would realistically take given her usual speed, and how much she would have to work/relax based on that?

Like, just saying, I would hope that the students would want to help their “everyday Ladybug” (I know that phrase is meaningless now, but roll with me here) in any way they can.

Tom sings when he makes bread. He could suggest that Marinette sing/hum while doing her projects to help her relax.

Kitty Section (again, minus Luka for some reason) could all be productive based on music (Rose is even wearing headphones in “Reverser” while she’s in the art club), so each of them would offer Marinette the type of music they use to help them keep calm while still working hard.

Just something. Even on Marinette’s issue of saying “no,” maybe Sabine could suggest that Marinette use a handheld schedule to show all her activities and, when someone asks Marinette to do something, Marinette would check her schedule and “inadvertently” show it to them so they’d be able to see how busy she is. It won’t stop everyone from insisting that she still do it, but it would at least make some people be like “no, it’s okay, I see you’re busy” or “I can wait” while Marinette works on being able to say “no” right to their face (so it’s at least a minor solution to her problem while she works on the major solution).

But no. Marinette helps with someone else’s problems while her issues are brushed aside.

Again.

By the end of the episode, her issue is brushed away with “Well, surely her obligations can wait a while! She can go play with Max, it’s fiiiine! It’s not as if she said that she was overloaded and that breaks were absolutely not an option or anything! Surely, this was just a scenario where Marinette overreacted and it’s all her fault for freaking out so much instead of taking a break!”

This episode isn’t about helping Marinette. It’s about watching Marinette be miserable for minutes on end with no one able to actually help her. For a show that’s supposed to teach lessons, it’s woefully pathetic about it, preferring to make up solutions that don’t actually help anyone.

Just… ugh. I’d rather watch the original “Gamer”, and that’s saying something because I don’t like that episode either. Seeing the akuma fight was cool but it’s just not worth it.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Author’s Note: For @palizinhas‘s birthday! Some RiKai, as Kairi goes to a Magic Knight Rayearth world--why I chose that for this, I don’t know (though maybe it’s because this whole thing was supposed to be a world-hopping, multi-chapter--that I don’t know if I’m doing anymore--and with other multi-chapters I’m writing right now, I’m running out of new worlds to send people to). But meh. Also, you don’t have to know MKR to understand this fanfic--but I hope you like it, honey.

I’m meh about this fic. Because it’s not the epic RiKai I promised you long ago--and it’s more Kairi-centric than anything--but I hope it’s still something.

I hope you’re having a great birthday!

-Shanna

Edit: Also, full disclosure that it’s been a while since I’ve watched MKR or read it.

Healing

As it had turned out? Sora, on his second journey, actually had been doing damage to the worlds in unlocking Keyholes (1). And now that he was retired after everything that had happened with the Master of Masters, Kairi and Riku had decided that they would go to the worlds he’d visited and lock them.

And Kairi in being desperate to prove herself, she knew, was the first one to leave in a gummi ship by herself… But since she had never flown one before, she should have accounted for the fact that she’d probably mess up on it.

And that was how she found herself in a new world, that—as far as she knew—none of her friends had ever been to before. And like Sora, Riku, Terra, Ventus, and Aqua had done in the past, she found herself getting involved in the world—Cephiro’s—massive problems and trying to help out there.

But maybe this world was destined to aid her in some ways, too… Because it was when Kairi was in a bath with the main girls involved in this conflict—Hikaru, Umi, Fuu, Caldina, and Presea—that Kairi found her thoughts returning to Riku. She’d liked him for a long time, she knew… But it was only recently that she was starting to think that those feelings had turned to love… kind of like what Hikaru felt for the kind and strong warrior, Lantis, it seemed.

“I think,” said Kairi, as she splashed the girl with the water powers, Umi, to see just how much water she could create to retaliate with, if she got too angry. “That you should be with Lantis then, Miss Hikaru. Life’s too short—and tragedy happens too much—to give up on your dreams.”

But it was here that the woman Presea—who had apparently been a guide to Hikaru, Umi, and Fuu in the past—laid down the law for Kairi, and seemed like she hated herself to do so. “Except that she can’t. Hikaru here might be the next Pillar of Cephiro. And day and night, twenty-four/seven, the Pillar must pray for Cephiro’s well-being. Otherwise, plants will fail to grow… the weather will only be vicious storms, and the country will fall to chaos. And if Hikaru were with Lantis, it could distract her from that… like the situation with Lantis’ deceased brother, Zagato, and the now dead Princess Emeraude.”

And so Kairi sank down in the water and stopped trying to give relationship advice. But if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she bought all parts of this tale. And with how awful it sounded—apparently Zagato had kidnapped his love, Emeraude, to try and save her from such a terrible fate and she had begged Hikaru, Umi, and Fuu to save her for Cephiro’s sake… only to turn around and try to kill them when they ended up slaying him, so that they had to end her in self-defense—Kairi didn’t know why anyone would want to preserve such a system. But it wasn’t her place to say. And what she needed to focus on was finding the Keyhole of this world…

And that’s how Kairi found herself in Fuu’s mecha with her. She’d reluctantly broken the World Order and told everyone here that she was a Keyblade wielder and looking for this world’s Keyhole in order to save it from Heartless… and Fuu had told her that she could come with her to look for it, while she patrolled against those from other worlds—it seemed—who were now trying to steal Cephiro for their own or to copy the Pillar System. And as they’d gone out into the Other Sky, Kairi and Fuu had witnessed this kitty-cat looking girl attack Hikaru viciously. "Okay... I think I can keep up most of your world’ story," said Kairi now, as she sent a Cure spell Hikaru’s way, and very nearly went outside to deliver some Keyblade action onto cat girl. “But what’s up with that girl who kind of looks like Hikaru, who keeps saying that she loves Hikaru but hates everything that she loves?”

"You're learning most of these answers as we are," Fuu answered, as she sent an impressive gust of wind towards the strange girl, that would have even impressed Ven with his Tornado spell. "I- I guess Hikaru was split in half somehow—because she hates herself for what we did to Emeraude—and Nova's the small part of her left, that feels any self-worth." Being split in two... now she could relate to that. And while she’d somewhat been criticizing this world before… she had to admit that a lot of it actually fit with her and her story. So, could it have been destiny? As a Princess of Hearts, was she supposed to save Hikaru from a terrible fate by adding another terrible fate onto herself?

Deciding to test that theory, as Kairi healed Fuu now—for now Nova’s mecha was coming after her—Kairi asked, "...What if I became Pillar?" "...I definitely, uhh, think you have the pure soul for it, Miss Kairii!” Fuu answered, as she punched this way and kicked that way—that somehow made the robot they were in do the same thing—"but you- you have to be chosen for it." This somewhat took Kairi aback... though, really, she knew she should've known. But she was trying to act like Riku had, when he'd had nothing but had still tried to find a way to save her years ago. But it seemed it wasn’t meant to be… unless she really tried for it, perhaps? Maybe she could stumble her way into some of this, like Sora had with being a Key bearer. "I'll test myself for the role, and see if I have what it takes… I’ll find this toxic water you spoke of earlier—in the chamber of the Pillar—and see if I can wade my way through it.”

And summoning a Corridor of Light through which she could leave—and somewhat ignoring Fuu’s raised eyebrow—Kairi prepared to do just that.

Skillfully, with the kind of jumps that only a wielder could do, Kairi jumped from stone to stone in this water… but it wasn’t enough. Some force was pulling her down, down, down, and she had just enough time to create a barrier around herself and glide away, before something disastrous happened. And atop her barrier, sat a white little creature that had been in the bath with them earlier. Mokona, if Kairi remembered its name right? "I think," the genius animal said, "You're trying to prove to Riku to Riku in particular, that you're strong as he is. But you don't need to be the new Pillar in order to do that. All I ask is that you aid the new Pillar when they awaken.”

Aiding… that was what she’d done on most of Riku and Sora’s quests in the past, huh? And while she hated that about herself—and always thought that she should do more—maybe what she did was for the best. Maybe it was who she was. "I'll just let Hikaru be Pillar," Kairi agreed, in knowing for sure that the Pillar would be her and not these people from other planets wanting to try out for that role. After all, to create such a powerful darkness as Nova, she must have had a wonderful light to her.

And that was exactly what Kairi said to Hikaru when she returned to Hikaru, Umi, and Fuu’s fight with the other nations. Kairi, in space once again, performed her Seven Wishes and Heart of a Princess attack to help even the odds, and was then flying in front of Hikaru’s mecha. "Hikaru… I know it may still be rough. But you need to accept bad things that you think you've done and still find a way to love yourself through them. You… despise yourself for what happened with Emeraude, and so you created Nova. And I- I came to this world I don't belong in, because I didn’t think I did enough for Riku and Sora before and was trying to make up for it here... When, maybe, I should have let myself revel in being the damsel in distress some, so I would have waited for Riku and we’d be here together right now.”

Hikaru must have understood where Kairi was coming from. Because days later, Hikaru—now Pillar—changed the system, so that Cephiro would be upheld by everyone who loved their country. And with her job done, when her own world was trying to call her back home, Hikaru allowed herself to reach for Lantis and tell him that she loved him.

And on that day, Kairi felt a hand with a new cast into it slip into hers. And she heard the words. "Great job, Kai! …But it turns out the whole Keyhole and Gate situation was taken care of long ago. We’re not needed after all. What do you say we go home?” Kairi grinned at Riku—and got so close to him, that wisps of his silver hair fell into her own face—and she tugged on his hand. "Let's."

Author’s Note: That’s based on the KHII manga, where Mushu thinks Sora—in unlocking the Gates—is unsealing the Keyholes from KHI and is upset about it. LOL.

Mokona can talk, because I’m going with the manga version where he’s actually the god of Cephiro… but a much kinder one here. Yep.

[cake-writes]

Little Lies (Part Four)

Pairings: Steve x Reader // Bucky x Reader // Slight Natasha x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, 18+

Summary: You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. He’d be rough with you because he understood your self-loathing, and he’d leave bruises on your hips that wouldn’t go away for a week. You loved it. He didn’t.

You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. You went to him because he liked to whisper sweet, sweet things into your ear as he made love to you. He’d tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it. He cared too much.

It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. Your little lies always slipped right through the cracks - until one night, they didn’t.

Part Three / Master List

The next morning, over breakfast, you moved your belongings to Natasha’s room like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was easy, casual, and logical – absolutely not a grand gesture. Honestly, it just made sense. You didn’t need to continue taking up space in the living room when she was more than willing to share her bed with you.

Tony cocked an eyebrow at it. You knew from past experience that he slept like a log and very likely hadn’t heard a thing. “And where are you going?”

“The bed’s big enough for two,” Natasha told him, smirking just a little as she took a bite of cereal.

You and Natasha shared a playful glance and you added, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder, “Why, Tony? Wanna join us?” 

That actually got him to choke on his coffee. Tony Stark was rarely caught off guard, so it was quite an achievement. Made you feel a little proud, actually, but that feeling quickly disappeared.

“That’s enough,” Steve said, then, in that particularly authoritative tone that never failed to make your panties wet. “We’ve got big plans today. Get your things together and let’s go.”

When you met his eyes, you found that they were a deep, stormy blue and, for a moment, your breath hitched in your throat. Oh, he he was not happy. No doubt about it. Steve’s room shared a wall with Natasha’s, a fact you’d been blissfully unaware of last night. You certainly hadn’t been as considerate as you probably should have been, but deep down you were bitter and angry with how things had ended between the two of you and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Much. 

Then, when you brushed past Bucky on the way back to Natasha’s bedroom, he gave you a look – a single lingering look that made it plain as day that he knew what you’d been up to, too. Unlike his best friend, it wasn’t anger you saw in the pale blue of Bucky’s eyes, but concern. 

You just kept on walking.

You went out in the field for a little while that day. Being cooped up in a hotel room for three, going on four days straight wasn’t exactly the greatest for your mental health, and you needed some fresh air. That was all well and good, except for the fact that Steve had made a point to pair himself with you and it was painfully obvious why.

Tony was doing aerial recon whilst Bucky and Natasha canvassed a separate part of town. You were thankful for Tony’s suggestion that they handle that particular side of town, because you had no desire to return to it. Aside from Tony’s Iron Man suit, all of you were wearing plain civilian clothes: t-shirts and jeans, like typical tourists.

Steve’s voice had an edge to it every time he talked to you. Whenever he asked you to take a photo of something, write down a location, a name, anything that may have pertained to the mission, it was always straight to the point with him. He kept things strictly professional, which surprised you a bit; you got the feeling that he was about to boil over.

Natasha made a flirty comment over comms around lunchtime. That was what did it. 

You and Steve had slowly been making your way through an abandoned warehouse, dirty, nasty, with boarded-up windows and graffiti-covered walls. He’d just asked you to take a photo of one particular piece of graffiti that linked to the cartel you used to work for. Seeing it again bothered you just a little.

“You’ve got her taking all sorts of pictures, Cap,” Natasha teased. “Wanna take a selfie for me, babe?”

It was a joke. She was flirting, absolutely, but it was a harmless joke.    

“Focus on the mission, Romanoff,” Steve said sharply. His boots were heavy on the cold, hard concrete floor and echoed just as much as his voice did throughout the empty building.

“My, my, someone sure is touchy today,” Tony commented dryly.

Natasha knew just as well as you did that everyone but Tony knew exactly what you’d been up to last night. That much was evident. She also knew exactly why Steve was so touchy, and she let his attitude slide. 

No one dignified Tony’s comment with a response, especially not Steve, and comms went silent once again - except for your snort. You couldn’t help it. Out of everyone, poor Tony was the only one who was oblivious. 

In that moment, you and Steve had finally cleared the top floor: not a soul in sight, and not much else to go off of aside from a couple bits of graffiti. As you wrote that down in your notebook, out of the corner of your eye you saw him reach up and press a button on his earpiece.

He’d just muted it.

Oh. Oh no.

You didn’t have enough time to react before he had you up against the railing at the top of the stairs, hitting the same button on your earpiece. Your back pressed into the cold metal rail as his arms caged you in, keeping you in place. It didn’t hurt, but it was certainly enough to establish that he was in control.

It pissed you off just as much as it turned you on. The fact that you were two stories up and the railing was a little unsteady didn’t scare you as much as it probably should have.

“What the fuck, Steve,” you bit out, attempting to shove him away from you. He didn’t budge, despite the fact that you actually used his first name for once. It wasn’t on purpose.

“I should be asking you that question,” he spat at you – bitter, spiteful. “What the hell was that?”

You knew you shouldn’t have provoked him, but you couldn’t help it.

“Maybe she wants a keepsake,” you told him, clear annoyance seeping into your tone. “You know what a good lay I am.”

The railing audibly creaked from how tightly Steve gripped it in his hands at your snarky response. You didn’t even have to look to know that it was even more wobbly now than before. Every time you moved just a little, you felt like you were going to fall and the adrenaline from it made your heart race just as much as Steve’s body against yours.

“You think this is a game?” he asked angrily. “You gonna sleep with Tony next? Add him to your collection, too?”

Oh, boy, that set you off.

Before it even fully registered in your brain, you slapped him straight across the face, your palm connecting harshly with his cheek. His head jerked to the side from the impact, but you knew that it was only because you’d caught him by surprise. You were nothing compared to him, but the adrenaline pumping freely through your veins emboldened you anyway. 

“You need to back off, Rogers,” you hissed at him, shoving him in the chest again much harder than before. At that, he roughly released the railing, and the motion jostled you just a bit like the ragdoll you were against his strength – and of course that was what made the railing give out entirely, and you fell right along with it.

Steve reacted quickly just as he always did. He caught you by the wrist, his fingers burning hot against your skin. Familiar. When he pulled you forward, away from the ledge, he did it just a fraction too hard because you wound up on your knees. Your breaths came out in short, harsh pants from the near-miss, and you couldn’t help but glare up at him. 

He didn’t apologize.

You didn’t thank him.

For him, it was because your snide comments and shitty attitude set him off, made him act so petty and indignant and childish. He couldn’t help it. You drove him up a wall. 

For you, it was exactly the same, except vice versa – with the added caveat that deep down, you may not have wanted to be saved if he hadn’t caught you in time. Your self-loathing had no bounds.

Steve’s arms were crossed stiffly across his chest as he stared down at you, a muscle ticking in his jaw. You couldn’t help but be reminded of that one particularly wicked night where he and Bucky had you on your knees in front of them – and then they just had you. Every part of you. Fully. Entirely. 

The memory of it along with the adrenaline made your libido surge in what was probably the worst moment for it. You loved how strong he was. You loved how easily he could manhandle you and do whatever the hell he wanted to you. He could shove his cock down your throat right this second and you’d fucking thank him for that, at least – which was why you also hated that you loved it, because you were so pissed off at him and you’d still fucking do it. 

He didn’t offer to help you up, and you neither wanted nor needed him to. The air was tense and uncomfortable as you got to your feet and dusted off your jeans. You only broke the silence after you managed to clear away the majority of dirt and debris, and stooped to collect your discarded notebook. Then you rounded on him.

“You will never,” you spat viciously, jabbing a finger in his direction for emphasis, “ever put your hands on me like that again, Captain.”

You didn’t wait for a response before you spun around on your heel and made your way back to the bottom floor. Your footfalls were hard and uncompromising on the dusty metal stairs, full of righteous indignation.

How dare he put his hands on you in that bitter, spiteful way. How dare he judge you. The two of you had slept together for a few months. That was it. You were never exclusive. You never had ‘the talk,’ and even if you had, you would have said no because you weren’t ready for a relationship. You’d set some perfectly clear boundaries, and exclusivity was not one of them. Even now, he had no stake in what you did in your own personal time, especially in the bedroom.

Steve didn’t say a thing, nor did he offer an apology even after what you said to him. That was fine. You didn’t want to hear it, anyway. 

As he near-silently trailed behind you, you ignored him. Let him stew over what you said like the petulant child he wanted to be. You knew some part of him must have realized how badly he fucked up. You knew him well enough for that, judging by how quiet he was being. 

When you got outside, you unmuted your comms. The way you spoke to the group was entirely too normal for what had just occurred: yet another façade. You reached out not because you were hungry, but because you wanted some comfort and comradery. Some part of you felt weak and stupid for coming back here, let alone having to deal with this awful fallout at the same time. 

“Man, I’m starving,” you spoke casually into your earpiece. “Who wants to join me for lunch?”

“I saw a nice shawarma place—” Tony started, but Natasha cut him off with a groan.

“Ugh, Tony, no. Let’s go for something authentic. Get the real Cancun experience.”

You grimaced at that. You’d had enough of that for a lifetime, but you’d appease her. “Meet me at La Jerochita? It’s on Calle 71. We’re just a few minutes out.”

“Roger that,” she told you, and then comms went quiet once again. If there were any objections, someone would have spoken up, but no one did. 

Due to your distracted thoughts, you didn’t notice how easily you recommended the little taqueria. It was almost instinctive, truth be told, because you’d been there so many times – and it definitely wasn’t the greatest idea to go there again, not when you had a history in this town. 

On the short drive there, you just tried to focus on the fact that the food was amazing and it had been years since you’d last stepped foot inside the restaurant. Surely no one would recognize you. Surely. 

To say that there was obvious tension between you and Steve was an understatement. The two of you sat at one of the outdoor tables while you waited for the rest of your group to arrive, and you didn’t say a single word to each other the entire drive here. Instead, you busied yourself on your phone, scrolling through some news feed while Steve watched the passersby.

As a result, you missed the look Steve and Bucky exchanged when he arrived with Natasha.

“This is a hole in the wall,” she deadpanned. She wasn’t wrong.

You looked up from your phone to grin at her and Bucky. “That means it’s got the best food.”

“How did you even find this place?” Bucky asked you. “You can’t even tell it’s a restaurant.”

You just offered a nonchalant shrug in response. Thankfully, Tony chose that particular moment to arrive, which took the attention away from your deflection. He was in plain clothes like the rest of you, with his Iron Man suit tucked neatly away because technology.

Of course, Bucky’s question was quickly answered as soon as you walked up to the counter to order. There, you saw a familiar face you definitely weren’t expecting to see; you figured he would have long since retired. It wasn’t great that he rememebered who you were, but you were happy to see him nonetheless.

“Princesa,” the older man greeted with a bright smile on his face, taking your hands into his as he kissed both of your cheeks, and you did the same with him. It had been years since you last used your Spanish, but you still remembered quite a lot of it and could easily understand him. “It’s been too long! We’ve missed you!”

“I had to go away for awhile, Dario,” you told him in perfect Spanish. “How is your family?”

“Better than ever,” he told you cheerfully. “My youngest is in college now. He’d love to see you.” 

At that, you laughed – a real, genuine laugh. Dario’s youngest child was just a few years younger than you, and he’d had quite the crush on you in the time you’d spent here.

“I’m sure he would,” you said, smiling, before you gestured to your companions. “Unfortunately, I’m just passing through.” 

His brows raised in acknowledgement, and he gave your teammates a nod, as if to say hello.

“Hola,” Tony offered awkwardly, like an idiot.

Natasha rolled her eyes. 

Bucky couldn’t help but listen in to your conversation. He knew Spanish because of the Winter Soldier he once was, and the way you spoke to this man - Dario - was so familiar. You actually looked happy to see him. Bucky had noticed how bothered and tense you’d been since you found out where this mission was headed, Cancun, and he had an inkling that it had something to do with why he found you out on the balcony on that cold winter night in Iceland. Right now, though, the smile on your face was genuine. It warmed his heart. 

Although Steve was still in quite a mood, his features softened as he watched you chat so happily in a language he didn’t understand. This man was clearly someone from your past, and Steve didn’t know anything about the things you’d done before you joined them at the compound. He knew your abilities, sure, but not your history. He found himself wanting to, despite everything you’d done to him - to them, and he was having trouble putting the past behind him let alone the events from last night. He was angry, absolutely, but he didn’t mind seeing this new side of you. 

And you – well, you knew you’d have to explain yourself to your teammates, and that was fine. At some point, you would. For now, you’d enjoy some of the only pleasures you’d ever known in Cancun: Dario’s wonderful company, and the delicious meals that he and his family made. 

It made you remember that not everything had been so terrible here, once. Despite everything you’d done, you knew that Dario and his family would always welcome you with open arms. Seeing him again was a warm reminder of that. 

“I never knew you worked in Cancun,” Natasha commented as the five of you exited the taqueria.

You pursed your lips at that. She was too observant. If it was anyone else, they might have just assumed you just knew Dario in passing, like you’d met him on vacation. Cancun was a tourist hotspot, after all. She was absolutely right that you knew him through your work here, though – or at least by extension of it.

Of course, you and Natasha had never really been friends up until last night, basically, so it made sense that you’d never told her. That, and the fact that your previous work history was classified just as much as hers was. While once upon a time she released SHIELD’s files to the world and yours right along with them, a lot of details had been omitted via people much higher on the food chain just like hers had been.

Some things were meant to stay under wraps.

You hadn’t told anyone about your work in Cancun. Tony only knew because he had contacts just as high up on that same food chain. He was very thorough in his background check before he finally invited you to work alongside the Avengers nearly three years ago.

“Yeah, Nat,” came your short response. “I did.”

Maybe one day you’d go into further detail, but today was not that day.

It was quite clear from your body language and lack of further elaboration that it wasn’t something you wanted to discuss, and no one questioned your decision when you dismissed yourself from the group, advising that you were going to go run command again. You were here just consulting, after all, shouldn’t have even been in the field to begin with, etcetera, etcetera. Excuses, all of them.

The looks on their faces – even Steve’s, despite how angry he’d been with you – were enough to show that while they were concerned about you, they didn’t buy a single one of your excuses. Still, no one pried, and for that, you were thankful.

You made your way back to the hotel alone. It was a quick walk, about ten minutes, but to you it felt like hours. The moment the suite door shut behind you, you finally lost it. You slid down the closed door, buried your face in your arms and cried. 

You forgot to mute your comms.

No one had the heart to tell you.

Part Five

[nancywheelxr]

i know half the fandom is writing these but could you write something about aziraphale and crowley the night after the almost apocalypse? maybe they go back to crowley's flat together? i just need more content and your writing is always perfect

Ooh, anon, I love this, everyone’s take on the missing scene is so valid, but I’m so glad to try my hand on it! Thank you so much, and I hope you love this one too!

*

The bus ride back to London is quiet and ordinarily uneventful; as if the World itself had exhaled deeply and retreated early after being forcefully faced with imminent destruction and escaping only very narrowly.

That sort of thing really does take a toll on you, Crowley thinks.

It also takes a few more minutes than necessary wandering the streets of London; first towards Aziraphale’s bookshop before Crowley remembers it burned down, then a couple contradicting turns around downtown before Crowley realizes Aziraphale is also doing the persuading but seems to have no idea where Crowley’s flat is or how to go about it on wheels.

Finally, the bus does what it always does when faced with confused passengers that don’t quite know what to do with themselves– it takes them to the nearest hotel, leaving shortly after with half a dozen people still inside wondering why on earth they detoured so.

“Room?” Crowley asks the receptionist hopefully, and she gives them a key without asking for any personal information. She forgets why Room 308 is booked seconds after they slip past her desk.

The silence hangs on steady during the elevator ride; it does try to play its usual cheerful elevator song, but Aziraphale huffs once, reproachfully, and it ceases and desists, properly remorseful, taking them straight to their floor.

It’s only when he’s finally inside the room, staring blankly at the bed and the quaint wallpaper and the tacky curtains that it hits Crowley.

Armageddon came and went, and yet they’re still here.

Freedom is a tangy taste on the tip of his tongue, intoxicating as a good wine, and Crowley feels drunk enough as it is.

“D’you reckon they’ll look for us here?” He says, sitting down heavily in what he refuses to think as his side of the bed. The blankets are a bit rough and a ghastly green color, but Crowley has just seen Satan get told off by an eleven-year-old, so he supposes his worldview can shift enough to allow for a bit of ugly in it.

“No, we bought ourselves a small reprieve, I believe,” Aziraphale answers absently, in that soft voice of his that shouldn’t travel so well in the space between them but does. He stays there, standing by the small desk as if considering the merits of remodeling the whole thing. “For all that it’s worth,” he adds even quieter.

Aziraphale looks tired, unbearably so, and it’s ridiculous how much Crowley wants to reach for him.

It occurs to him then, suddenly and striking, that there’s no reason not to, not from now on; however long that lasts.

“It’s worth enough,” he decides. Somewhere inside his chest, an unnamed emotion unfurls– well, not unnamed so much as ignored, stomped on, and hid snugly between his ribs where he daren’t look. Now, it flutters, and Crowley doesn’t have to breathe but his lungs still ache terribly. “Come on, angel.”

He leaves the invitation intentionally open-ended, lets Aziraphale choose how to interpret it. In his experience, all six thousand years of it, it’s best to let the angel be at his own pace; Crowley may prod and push, but ultimately it’s always Aziraphale that sets the tempo to their dance.

And it would be so easy– he sees the possibilities playing out in Aziraphale’s eyes, laid bare by their shared exhaustion and bubbling nerves from nearly dying mere hours ago.

Aziraphale smiles, a small and quiet thing that illuminates the room. Ineffable, indeed.

It’s a good thing Crowley still has his sunglasses on.

“Should’ve asked for a bigger bed,” is his only comment before taking off his suit jacket, leaving it meticulously folded over a chair. Crowley twitches, coiled tight on his skin, feeling drowsy and wide awake at the same time. “Are you planning on sleeping?”

Crowley considers this. He’s tired, exhausted, really, dead on his feet and his body still smells faintly of smoke and grease. “Yes, possibly until the next century if I could,” he says honestly, following suit and discarding of his jacket and shoes. After a minute of deliberation, the sunglasses go as well. “You?”

“I don’t normally indulge– never quite seen the point, truly– but if there ever was an occasion,” Aziraphale trails off, perhaps realizing there was no need for an apology here, or even an explanation. It had been a simple question, yes or no, and the answer is, perhaps, both a given and not at all, like many things regarding them are. “I do believe a couple hours of rest would do us well.”

The mattress dips, creaking as Aziraphale gets under the ratty covers, and Crowley sighs– the full-body kind, the we nearly died for good and where do we go from here? kind. You see, it’s a very heavy sigh. “I’m assuming we’ll figure out things in the morning, then,” he reminds him, thinking of the displeased, angry snarl in Beelzebub’s face and the incredulous one in Gabriel’s. They’ll be coming for them soon, that’s a given. “Regarding the whole implied doom situation.”

“Yes, yes, my dear,” Aziraphale says, almost shushing him, the bastard, and Crowley would have things to say about that, capital letters Things, too, if he hadn’t shifted, hand closing over Crowley’s in that tentative sort of way Aziraphale gets whenever he ventures in taking first steps of any kind, and it all gets jumbled in Crowley’s throat. “We’ll sort it out in the morning. Dawn is only a few hours away.”

Crowley sighs again. It’s as heavy as the first but perhaps a little shakier; his plants would lose all respect for him if they ever heard such a forlorn sound coming from his mouth.

They lapse into an easy silence, warm and familiar, lulling them back from the keyed-up state this whole Apocalypse mess had put them in, only broken when Aziraphale suddenly breaks into giggles. “It’s funny, isn’t it? When you think about it, now that it’s all settled.”

“What’s so funny?” He drawls, wary. This level of childlike glee is too similar to the cheap coin trick to be any sort of good.

“You and me,” Aziraphale says simply, like it’s perfectly obvious, “looking after some… some human child! For eleven years! And for absolutely no reason at all!”

Well, when you put it like that, and when Aziraphale is still giggling quietly into the night, Crowley supposes he can’t be blamed for cracking a smile or two, or snorting into his pillow. There are some things that are too infectious to be resisted– some types of bacteria, black mold, invading species in areas without natural predators, and, specifically in Crowley’s case, one very particular angel’s laughter.

“It was awful,” Crowley agrees, grin still infuriatingly in place, and gives up pretending today’s events haven’t shaken up things in the Arrangement and derivations thereof. His arm wraps around the angel, tugging him to his chest, and Aziraphale goes easily, no complain at all, if anything, he snuggles closer because his ultimate goal is clearly to end Crowley for good. “But it could have been worse, all things considered.”

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” Aziraphale sounds almost wistful, as if he’s reminiscing a time long past and not the blink of an eye for immortals like them. “Then again, it wouldn’t have been half as bearable if it hadn’t been with you.”

The same viciously unnamed feeling from before swells on Crowley’s chest. It cackles, singsonging its name even though Crowley had refused to hear it the other hundreds of times during those 6000 years. It should not be possible for it to exist at all, not in Crowley and not over Aziraphale, and it should not be so light, and good, and true. See, those are not qualities you usually find in a demon.

Still, it grows.

“Go to sleep, angel,” he says, hoarse and too aware of how far from over this whole ordeal is. How it’s too soon to say to hell with it all and skip along to any sort of hopeful ending, to say anything along the lines they’ve been dancing around since the Beginning. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“Of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale relents with a final huff, relaxing further against Crowley, their hands remaining tangled, but something in his voice is insufferably knowing. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Crowley agrees, and it sounds an awful lot like I love you.

[therandomfics]

Convalescence: 1

January. No matter where you were, January was a cold, gray, dreary existence of a month. Before, January was just boring and morose. Now, January was much more than that - it was tragic and painful, on top of being absolutely dismal. Nothing could make you more dismal than January, unless of course it was September.

September was a pain-staking memory of searing hot pain and such quick-sand depression you were in over your head before you knew it. It was a reminder of being forced to make something beautiful and give it away, and then try to give yourself away, too.

January and September seemed to haunt you forever. It was frigid outside, and even inside of your home there was a slight chill. Bundled up in a blanket, you wandered from your living room to turn the heat up a bit. You had a friend over and you were watching a football game, something you'd often done with your ex-boyfriend who was freshly out of the picture due to freshly being in someone else's bedroom. It was a difficult time to say the least, but having a friend around meant more than you could say - at the very least it meant being less lonely. You'd begun a hit-or-miss romance with someone else who was out of state, stationed elsewhere in the Navy, but he was kind and warm and you felt like maybe he could be the change you needed. 

"It's freezing," you commented as you sat on the couch. Your friend, Kenny, sat on the opposite end of the couch immersed in flags on the play. 

He grunted some lack of a reply and you leaned back, getting comfortable on the couch again. It was nearly halftime. Halftime meant food, and you were starving for the chips and dip you had in the kitchen. 

Kenny turned to look at you for a moment as the game went off the air for 15 minutes and stood up, walking around the coffee table as if he were going into the kitchen. Instead, he took a sharp turn back and before you knew what had happened, he was on top of you, clumsily and almost angrily pulling the layers from your body. 

"Tell me that you want it," he growled into your ear as you fought him off, giving yourself enough time to run for your bedroom. Safety was a few feet away, or was it?Kenny jammed himself in the door as you tried to shut it, causing his face to catch the blow of the wooden frame. He cursed you violently and shoved you backwards, forcing you to stumble and cry until you hit your bed. A gun was only some ten feet away, but he was much stronger than you were. His strength turned you numb. In fact, looking back - though you tried not to - you found that his words were just as cruel as his punches and pushing palms. 

"Take it," he kept insisting, until you were numb physically and emotionally. You stared at the ceiling, shaking with each horrible thrust and groan from your attacker. The amount of times he climaxed was unnatural. By the time he was done, you were am empty shell of yourself, lying on the bed with a blanket thrown over your used body. Kenny left without a word, firing his truck up and leaving just as casually as a man could after having viciously attacked a woman. "Are you still with me?" your friend asked, waving her hand in front of your face. It was January again. The god-awful bitterness was seeping into your bones. It was hard to differentiate real time from the past these days, but you were working hard to fix that. It had been three years - well, in five days. Three years and you were still angry, emotionally bruised, traumatized, but.. most of all, you were terrified.

"Sorry," you murmured in response. "I have to go, though. I've got class and I'm going to sign up for some night classes, I think."

"Isn't your course load enough?"

"Listen, really Jess, I'm fine," you said with a sigh, standing up and gathering your things. The warmth from the coffee would be depleted as soon as you opened the door to the cafe and exposed yourself to the elements again. Waking up and finding your entire body was sore was bad enough, but to know that you'd waken up to a reality of what you'd survived the night before was too much. You looked at yourself in the mirror, staring at the massive bruises that had already begun to form on your chest, arms, legs, stomach, everywhere - you were horrified. You'd seen it on movies and read about it in books, but to see these things on yourself was something you couldn't fathom. You showered and hurried to get ready for work, and surprised yourself when you realized that you'd made it through an entire week without breaking down. The truth of the matter was that you'd not given yourself time since the attack - you'd gone to work and to be with friends - you'd never rationalized the situation. You never admitted to yourself, "I was raped." To admit that was to admit defeat and weakness, or so you'd told yourself. 

Three weeks passed from the attack before you were able to see your Sailor friend again, who was home to visit family. You met with him and explained what had happened, sitting in his childhood bedroom of his parents' home. "You didn't report it to the police?" he stammered. 

You shook your head. "No. I.. I don't believe it myself. Who would believe me?" "I guess you're right," he said, brushing it off. 

He wasn't the best with consolations but you felt comforted by his presence - at least you did until he rolled over a few hours after you'd been asleep beside him and began trying to entice you into romantic doings. You weren't interested - why would you be? It was almost as if he hadn't heard a thing you'd said at all when you'd first arrived. 

"Please stop," you murmured and scooted away towards the edge of the bed, but he caught you and held you back.

With his arm securely around your neck, he squeezed until you gasped for air and scratched at his arm for release. You were so dizzy by the time he let you go that once he pried open your legs and did his own bidding, you couldn't breathe. He finished and got up, turning the light on. "You should go." 

You agreed silently - you should go, but where? Was anything safe anymore? Counseling had taught you one good thing - you had PTSD. You had severe depression and anxiety. You were not a trusting person and you were always bargaining with yourself. Today, if you woke up and the shower water was hot in less than 1 minute, you'd stick around. If you got home from work and your neighbors weren't loud, you'd survive one more day. These kinds of things weren't healthy, and you never admitted them to anyone, but you felt it was kind of obvious to anyone who really knew you although that wasn't really anyone, anymore.

Registration for night classes was a breeze. Since you'd been in your fog of depression you'd been working tirelessly to come out of it and make something of yourself. Your job as a receptionist wasn't really going anywhere and you hated sharing an apartment with three other people just to make sure you could afford to survive. You'd decided, though, in an act to prove yourself to - well, yourself - you'd take on some law classes. One in particular stood out to you: the Laws of Gender Science. In other words, women's rights.

Two weeks later, class was in session. The class started at 7pm and ended at 9pm, two nights a week for eight weeks. Just enough time to confuse you into thinking you'd learned something and then fail an exam. The professor was very hands off, opting instead to give you literature about the different types of violence against women, although you felt you needed very little reminders of how that went.

The man who sat next to you was wearing a suit, with his hair slicked back in a perfect coif. It had been a long time since you'd noticed a man, mostly because you'd chosen to avoid them at all costs. But, he was handsome, even you had to admit it.

He glanced over at you and smiled. "I feel outta place," he admitted, glancing around and bringing to your attention that he was one of three men in the 20-occupant class.

"You'll be fine," you replied quietly, flipping to the first page in your notebook. You wrote the date and then jotted down a few notes you'd meant to record prior to the interruption. "Just don't let them know you're scared. We can smell fear."

He let out a laugh and stifled himself with a hand to the mouth. "It's that obvious?"

You nodded silently and smiled - but only for a moment. It felt foreign to be happy.

"Well I hope you'll protect me from their wrath. I'm Sonny," he added, sticking out his hand.

You shook it tentatively and studied his face. Kind - it was the only word you could think of when you looked at his face. Ah, but hadn't you been tricked before? Kind was a ruse.

You let go of his hand and placed it back on the desk. "Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sonny."

[I will have a title for this soon, just need to process it all.]

[xadoheandterra]

Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: The Path Untrodden Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII Characters: Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, Cor Leonis, Gladiolus Amicitia, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gilgamesh, Monica Tags: 10 years older!Prompto, Cor does not do flirting, Uncomfortable!Cor, Gilgamesh is 2000 years out of date and game, Monica is Mom, Poor Cor Day Summary:  Solheim was the height of civilization long enough that their ruins were ruins over 2000 years ago, and still had the power to function in the time of the King of Light. They should’ve realized something was very wrong the minute Prompto remarked on the lights being on, and yet no one was home.

Car rides were cramped. With four people who stood at or over six feet in height obviously car rides would be cramped. They’d spent days just figuring out how to situate one another so that the damn things could pass by without the need for too frequent breaks in the countryside as the hours of driving past them by, but some things just couldn’t be helped. Gilgamesh, at seven feet, could only have Prompto on his lap for so long before his legs ached. It didn’t help that Noctis utterly refused to settle in the passenger seat up front, and so Gladio in all of his six-foot six glory had to cram himself behind Ignis’ long legs.

Needless to say the normally three hour drive from Ravatogh to Caem would take the six that Cor claimed only because the number of breaks needed and not because, as Cid would claim, the boys wanted to stop and fish at every damned fishing hole they could find. While Cor felt certain that the boys, or rather Noctis in particular, would like to spend each stop fishing Cor knew them to be a bit more efficient than that.

“We should take a photo here,” Prompto murmured as he looked out over the railing of the road where they stopped. His arms were crossed over the metal as he stared out over the trees of the Leirity Seaside. From next to him Gilgamesh snorted.

Cor tried to ignore the conversation and stretch his back against the railing instead. He felt a faint pop and he knew it shouldn’t feel as good as it did, but damn if it didn’t ease some sort of tension somewhere. Then it started to hurt and with a wince Cor pulled away—he was getting old and the reminder made a small part of himself curl up and want to cry; the small, angry and utterly uncaring of his own life part of himself that he worked hard to bury with little success after he foolishly took on Gilgamesh.

“If it shall keep—” Gilgamesh started to say before Cor interrupted.

“Five more minutes,” Cor called to the group, and he missed a good chunk of what Gilgamesh said next.

“—from their assault upon my thighs,” Gilgamesh finished. Cor only blinked before Prompto turned from the railing, eyes wide and brows up, lips pulled apart in shock, before everything narrowed into utter outrage.

“I do not have a bony ass!” Prompto shrieked.

Gladiolus snorted.

“I don’t!” Prompto insisted, firmly, and he crossed his arms over his chest and ground his teeth together. Cor wanted to sigh.

For a moment there was silence, then Gilgamesh smiled. It was a soft sort of thing that made Cor feel a little weird all things considered—he felt nauseated, and briefly wondered if that omelet didn’t agree with him. Then Gilgamesh opened his mouth to speak and Cor viciously buried the nausea under his need to be alert. He could be sick later when the King wasn’t in danger and they didn’t have an itinerary.

“I stand corrected of my ill-gotten assumption,” Gilgamesh demurred, and he ducked his head a little as he did so. The trails of the scarf that Gilgamesh wrapped around his head like a hood shifted with the movement a little. “Your posterior is far more akin to that of a flattened cake.”

Gladiolus snorted again, and promptly buried his face into his hands like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Cor couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“A pancake,” Cor said. His tone was dry, short, but edged with a sort of faintness that only Cid or Weskham would detect if they listened. “You mean a pancake.”

Gilgamesh blinked and turned his gaze onto Cor who felt a flush rise along his neck and found himself in need to viciously squash down the nauseous feeling again.

“What is a…pancake?” Gilgamesh questioned.

Cor thought he heard Gladiolus say something that sounded vaguely like ‘oh my six,’ though muffled through his hands. He did see the way Ignis gripped Gladiolus’ shoulder tightly, eyes wide behind his glasses. He didn’t miss the way Noctis nearly doubled over with his own snort, or the way Prompto carefully edged from Gilgamesh to grasp the young monarch by the shoulder with the beginning of a smile curled at his lip.

“It’s—ah,” Cor floundered for half-a-second before he squared himself up and didn’t buckle under the seven foot behemoth of a man’s curious stare. “It’s a fluffy cake-like breakfast food fried in a pan, often accompanied by sweet toppings, sugar, and syrup.”

Gilgamesh eyed him, then smiled and said, “Ah. I shall have to try this pancake, then. Though I doubt Silver’s posterior shall taste ever as sweet.”

“GIL!” Prompto shrieked, and Cor watched as the royal retinue and King lost it. Ignis barely contained his wheezed snort, and Noctis on the floor outright cackling. Prompto even seemed amused by the words despite his reddening face and outraged look, and out of them Gladiolus seemed unamused. He kept his face in the palms of his hands and muttered more words and Cor felt himself in kinship.

Then a second later Cor turned red when Gilgamesh shifted closer and said, tone deeper and softer, “Although I shall believe that yours might make a wonderful, sweet, and meaty breakfast treat. I would not mind it ridden upon my thighs so.” Cor stared as Gilgamesh’s lips curled up, and he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from how they parted. “Might I propose a trade, then? To have you upon my lap for the rest of this daunting trip? Why it would be positively a pleasure if you were to agree.”

Cor stiffened; this man was wicked and he stumbled backward as he felt his stomach up in his throat.

Gilgamesh eyed him, then backed down with an uttered, “Ah, a check of rain then?” in some bastardized parody of a common colloquial phrase that had Prompto fall over into a fit of amusement.

Quickly the Immortal straightened himself up, lips pressed together into a scowl, and strode back toward the car with a barked out, “Five minutes are up!”

“Thank Bahamut,” Gladiolus mumbled.

Noctis stretched his back as he climbed out of the Regalia at the edge of Cape Caem. The cramped car ride had left plenty to be desired, but at least the journey had finally ended after six hours of inescapable travel later. Noctis wondered if Cindy was anywhere on the property still or if she returned to Hammerhead to continue to run the business there. Cid obviously remained, and really Cid deserved the rest that the lighthouse offered—if Noctis ignored the fact that Cid essentially just fixed up his father’s old royal vessel.

“Cid’ll be waiting at the dock,” Cor said as the last of the car doors slammed shut and everyone gathered in the gravel of the parking lot.

Noctis frowned lightly, uncertain if he wanted to just get right into it and gear up the vessel for the trip to Altissa or not. At the same time Noctis knew he couldn’t delay any further. Luna waited for him in Altissa to summon Leviathan and every day he delayed more put the Oracle’s own safety at risk. No doubt Ravus informed Nifflheim and Aldercapt what the Covenent’s meant, what his sister was doing—and it would only be time before they realized Leviathan was next on the list.

“And just where is this dock, anyway?” Gladio asked. His booted feet shifted on the gravel enough that Noctis glanced over to him, surprised—until Noctis remembered that none of his retainers actually visited the dock before. Out of everyone only Cor knew, and that was because Cor had been on the detail back then.

“There’s an elevator in the lighthouse,” Noctis said as he started his way up the path. Noctis tucked his hands into his pockets as he climbed, and the group fairly quickly formed up around him—at the rear Noctis could vaguely here Prompto and Gilgamesh get into some sort of soft, heated argument that threatened to bring the travel to a stop for all of a second. A glance from Noctis stopped whatever it was going on between those two, followed by a small frown, and the group continued their route up the path in relative silence.

Noctis preferred the quiet right now. It gave him time to think about the plan ahead—and he would need to have a plan ahead Noctis realized. Right now his plan mostly consisted of get to Altissa and find Luna which to be honest had been the plan since day one so that hadn’t changed. It felt weird to realize that he’d been working on the same basic plan since he first left Insomnia.

The party climbed past the house when Monica spotted them. Noctis knew it to be Monica from the way she uttered, “Cor?” in that strangled sort of way that Noctis could remember from his childhood. Noctis didn’t bother to pause in his climb up to the lighthouse except when he noticed Cor still next to him and turn with a faint bit of paleness to his cheeks.

“Monica,” Cor said, and Noctis turned to look at the second in command of the Crownsguard who stared at their group with a gaze so utterly devoid of emotion that it knocked Noctis off kilter for a second. He didn’t understand why Monica looked at them like that until he heard a slightly cut off, “Is that—” just as Cor said, “I can explain—”

Oh, Noctis thought faintly. Right. His gaze slid over to Prompto and Gilgamesh toward the back; Gilgamesh towered over everyone and had that tight grip upon Prompto’s wrist again, but unlike when they first dragged the man out of Taelpar Crag and into the wonders of how the world worked now, Gilgamesh had finally removed the majority of his armor and dressed down in a basic tunic with an attached hood that dipped low over his face and cast reddish-brown eyes into darkness.

“Cor Leonis,” Monica said, voice soft and it struck Noctis that she wasn’t looking at the party as a whole with a blank face, but rather at Cor with a blank face and the tension drained from Noctis’ shoulders. “You are Marshal of the Crownsguard, not a random field agent on a solo mission.” Cor winced. “A curtesy call for an update as to your status, or the status of those with whom you travel, is expected.”

“Monica—” Cor started, then paused, then sucked in a deep breath. “The situation changed.”

Monica eyed the group as a whole, and then turned back to Cor and gestured toward the house. “Inside.”

“Cid—”

“Is inside.”

Noctis turned and started for the house without a word, and at his back Gladio and Ignis followed after. Prompto hesitated for half-a-second before he tugged Gilgamesh to follow—only for Monica to raise a hand to forestall both from following directly after them. Noctis paused when he realized that she kept Prompto and Gilgamesh behind, even as Cor already drifted into her space and began to speak softly that they weren’t threats to Noctis’ safety.

“Uh,” Prompto glanced between them, then to Noctis. “Noct?”

Noctis frowned, took three quick steps until he was right next to Monica and Cor, who fell silent, and peered at the Crownsguard intently. “Is there a problem?”

Monica glanced to Cor, and then to Prompto and Gilgamesh, and then to Noctis and bowed her head lightly. “I apologize your highness. You may travel with whom you please, do not doubt, but without verification of—”

“Monica—” Cor started with a faint groan, but Noctis held up a hand so the Marshal quieted.

“I have with me my retinue,” Noctis said carefully, “and while yes, our newest member is for the most part a stranger—he is a stranger we have gotten to know for a few days already, and one who has come highly vetted as he can get by two of my retinue, and by Cor.” Cor winced at that statement, and when Monica arched her eyebrows at him, he shrugged an agreement to the words.

“He is not lying,” Cor said. “Ah—I met Gilgamesh when I was young?”

“Gilgamesh?” Monica questioned, voice deadpan. “The Blademaster from Taelpar Crag.”

Cor nodded. “He is.”

“The immortal who slaughtered far too many Crownsguard before you got it in your head to enter into a series of recently excavated caverns and, by the way it was told, pick a fight at the tender age of—fifteen? Sixteen? The one you nearly didn’t survive?”

Noctis snorted faintly at the way Cor seemed to shrink just a little bit downward. He could remember the man doing so few little times back in the Citadel, and always when Monica hunted him down to bring to his attention something or other that he decided to ignore. Gladio beside him canted his hip and crossed his arms in the way that meant he was enjoying the show, and Noctis didn’t doubt that Gladio had heard stories growing up about Cor, or had some sort of insight as to why Monica seemed to be his minder in situations like these.

“Your point?” Cor demanded, but Gilgamesh chose then to speak up with a slight twist of his head as he regarded Monica, and then regarded the way Cor’s shoulders seemed to knot together.

“Out of all who challenged me, young Cor Leonis near bested,” Gilgamesh uttered. “His denial of the Calling at the Gates did not come without consequence; for Life in return an arm he took.” Gilgamesh glanced to Gladio. “Only one such as he I have faced ever since, and ever shall.”

Monica looked Gilgamesh up and down, and then glanced to Prompto before she turned back to Noctis with her hands placed upon her hips. “Very well. I can concede to…the Blademaster,” the words rang a bit sour, although Gilgamesh ducked his head in acknowledgement of the title. “Given that Cor is with you, and that young Gladiolus as well, but what of his blond companion?”

Noctis frowned. “His blond—you mean Prompto?” Noctis looked at Monica like he hadn’t seen her—she knew Prompto. He she helped train him alongside Cor so that he would be considered good enough for this trip in the first place. She’d even been there when Prompto agreed to make his Oaths; how could Monica forgot all of that? Noctis glanced to Prompto, confused for a minute before he remembered—Steyliff.

“As I said,” Cor said when Monica’s entire countenance softened, especially at the way Noctis suddenly jerked his head away from her and from Prompto and stared off into the distance, “the situation changed, Monica. We will discuss it inside. Suffice to say that this is Prompto Argentum.”

For a moment no one said anything, and then Monica sighed explosively. “Alright. We’ll discuss this—all of this—inside.” Noctis turned to glance at her again, with wide eyes. “Preferably now, your majesty.”

A second, and then Noctis nodded. This time unimpeded the group as a whole made their way inside. Monica took the lead with a comment about informing Dustin, and getting the children out of the way which led to Gladio’s sigh of relief. They could address the events without Iris or Talcott getting underfoot, and Iris would get underfoot at the least, Noctis knew. Hell, she probably had a few choice words for Gladio after all; Noctis hadn’t missed the way that Iris refused to send her older brother messages, or how it upset Gladio.

[lance-mcpain-is-my-mcgain]

Protect & Love

Got inspired by @langsty-mc-langstface‘s post and this happened.  It’s not very good due to me writing it in like 30 minutes and right after a few hours of studying, but here ya go (BTW I REALLY LOVE LANGSTY-MC-LANGSTFACE, Y’ALL SHOULD GO CHECK THEM OUT!!!)

“Paladins, please try to encourage these people to become allies with us, do you all understand?”  Allura cleared her throat and a smile could be seen behind her hand, “Lance.”  The Blue Paladin gasped dramatically and raised a hand to his chest, feigning hurt.

“How dare you, Lura, you know I’m an angel!”  The other paladins chuckled and began to spread out, Shiro and Keith deciding to stick fairly together.  “Hunk, do you think I could go charm some of those girls over there?”  The Cuban gestured over to a small group of female aliens, who were all chuckling and pointing in Lance’s direction.

“I dunno, man, go try and please, try not to offend anyone like last time!”  Hunk joked as he went off to join Pidge, the two chatting happily with one of the aliens.  If Lance could remember, the aliens were called Tolaks and have been around for deca-phoebs, going all way back to when Alteans were around.

Lance strutted over to the girls and rested his arm up against the wall beside them, “Hey there, cuties.”  They giggled and one of the girls went forward to get almost uncomfortably close to the Blue Paladin, reminding him of Nyma.  “What can I do for you, honey?”

“You may call me Lilik, Blue Paladin.”  She got even closer to the Cuban, getting close enough where their chests were meeting and Lance could feel her heat radiating off of her.  “We wouldn’t mind you showing us some of your,” She hummed and checked him out, “special abilities.”

Realizing, talking to these girls like this could get him into serious trouble with his boyfriends, Lance began to retreat.  “Sorry, ladies, I don’t think I can do that for you.  Although, my pal over there probably wouldn’t mind it,” The Blue Paladin pointed over to Matt with a smirk plain across his features.

Lilik frowned deeply, huffed, and stomped off with her friends following close behind, all of them sashaying their hips as they walked.  Lance unconsciously let him shoulders drop with a sigh, glad he got out of that situation fairly easily.  Suddenly, a voice startled him out of his thoughts and a hand clamping down on his shoulder accompanied that.

“Rough time with Lilik, hm?  She can become quite the trouble when she wants, you definitely caught her on a good day.”  The Blue Paladin whipped around and his hand went to his hip out of reflex, the man’s mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile.  “No need to get so defensive, I’m just a modest diplomat.”

Trusting naively, Lance did just that.  He relaxed his shoulders and leaned himself up against the wall, “She certainly was a handful, that’s for sure.  Although, I didn’t exactly help,” The Cuban chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

The man hummed and raised a drink up to his lips, “I go by Fuhen, I believe you go by the name of Lance?”  Lance nodded and, when offered, took a sip of the strange Tolak drink that he assumed was their alcohol.  Fuhen creeped even closer to the Blue Paladin, getting closer without Lance noticing much.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fuhen.”  Lance and Fuhen continued to chat idly for a good while until Fuhen began to creep even closer towards Lance, enough where the Blue Paladin could feel the Tolak’s breath on his cheek.

“Fuhen?”

“Shush and it’ll be over quickly, beautiful paladin.  My, you’re just too beautiful, so beautiful.”  Fuhen pinned Lance against the wall with both of his hands against the wall beside him and leaned in.  He breathed in deeply, “You smell so delicious, I wonder if you taste as good as your smell?  I could check and make sure.”

Lance attempted to struggle away from the larger alien to no avail and Fuhen bent down to place open-mouthed kisses against the Cuban’s neck.  He squirmed and cried out, loudly, attracting the attention of two males in particular.  And, trust Alfor, they were not pleased to see what was going on.

In a matter of moments, two hands gripped Fuhen’s shoulders harshly and were pulling him away.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”  Keith’s voice was full of pure rage, making Lance flinch.  He rarely got this upset, but he believed he was rightfully so after what he just witnessed.

Shiro was just as angry, if not more, but was much better at concealing it.  His Galra arm dug into the Tolak’s shoulder without any resistance.  “Excuse me, sir, but I think you should go away now or face my friend here.”  Fuhen, who had paled significantly, nodded and seemed extremely eager to get away from Keith.

After Shiro let the Tolak go, “Shiro, what the fuck were you thinking, you should’ve let me beat his ass!”  Keith raged, throwing his arms up in the air viciously, even his face was turning red with anger.

“Take a few deep breaths, Keith.”  Shiro stepped away from Keith’s side and went to Lance’s, “Are you okay, Kitten?”  Shakily, the Cuban nodded and stepped forward to press his face against his boyfriend’s chest.  After doing what was requested of him, Keith stepped into the hug and attempted to wrap his arms around both Shiro and Lance.

“Sorry, I just get so upset when I see people messing with my amazingly perfect boyfriend.”  Keith nuzzled his face into Lance’s arm and leaned his body against Shiro’s.  “I love you both so much.  Lance, please tell us whenever you don’t feel comfortable and we’ll do everything we can to help.”

“Keith took the words right out of my mouth.”  Shiro leaned down to place kisses on both of his boyfriend’s heads, making sure to linger on Lance’s temple.  “I love you both, I promise to protect y’all the best I can.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

The Last All-Clear: (7)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

This story is a series following the premise: “Imagine if Jamie travelled through the stones, but instead of finding Claire in Boston he found himself having arrived years too early, when the War was still happening and Claire had yet to meet him… What would he do?”

Formatting note: Bolding in Jamie’s letters = underlining

Previously:

(Part 1) September 17, 1942: A Rusty Nail 

(Part 2) December 3, 1942: Comb and Glove 

(Part 3) 1943: Blood and Whisky | (Part 4) 1943-1944: Gifts and Ends

(Part 5) June, 1944: The Road | (Part 6) June, 1944: The Ditch  

(7) Samhain, 1946: Inverness

“Did you have many scots in your charge during the war?” Frank asked quite suddenly. I was more happy to change the subject from his kilted spectre, which, while surely utter nonsense, had given me chills.

“Yes, there were quite a few! There was one in particular,” I added, unable to stop the grin from blooming across my face at the memory. “He was a piper in the third seaforths. He couldn't stand being stuck with a needle. He was—” 

I stopped, the implication suddenly settling over my shoulders like cold, creeping damp. Not a non-sequitur, then?  

His expression did nothing to suggest otherwise, nor his flat, “Right,” as he averted his gaze. 

Why, you bloody bastard! 

“What is it, exactly, ah...” Carefully. Oh-so-carefully. “...that you're asking me, Frank?”

He didn’t even miss a beat. “When I saw that chap staring up at you, I thought he might be someone you'd nursed. Someone who might be looking for you now. To reconnect.”

“To ‘reconnect?’” My breath shortened and for one wild moment, I felt the hands of panic around my throat. How could he have known? was the unbidden thought. 

“It wouldn't be unusual,” he was saying, quite gently. “It wouldn't be surprising if you'd sought some comfort, or—” The anxiety vanished as my senses returned, along with my absolutely righteous indignation. “Are you asking me— If I've been unfaithful?” 

It was hardly the worst fight we’d ever had, but it was the worst we’d had in a long time, made still worse by occurring during the ‘honeymoon’ we had both wished to perpetrate. Yes, it was tense and volatile, but at least it moved rapidly, through the near-accusations, the retractions, tender reassurances and, inevitably, to sex—the Randall fix-all. Or, rather, the Randalls-mutually-agree-to-pretend-that-it fixes-all. 

Long after Frank was asleep, though, satiated and carefree, I lay awake, privately seething. That he would have the audacity to even suggest such a thing when I’d never so much as kissed another man since I married Frank, let alone— 

Still, something still caught in my mind: ‘If you’d sought some comfort...’ 

It was only a harmless flirtation, I reassured myself, before scoffing, because that made it sound cheap, and wasn’t at all what it had been, in any case! But what had it been? We’d never touched in any way that wasn’t perfectly chaste. He’d never found his way to my bed in the secrecy of lonely nights, as so many others did in camp. I didn’t even know his full name or fully what his face looked like, for Christ’s sake. 

And yet, Danton had been very important to me, for that brief period during our time together: we had been friends. I had sought comfort in his company, many times, and he had given it, with his words and his good drink, his attention and encouragement. Hell, I doubt I would have stayed in France through the end of the war, without his friendship and the gentle support he unendingly gave; without the solace he brought to my lonely, doubting heart in those days. 

I stared at the ceiling, wondering—not for the first time—what ever became of him. There was that terrible fight between the tents, when he’d said those things and I’d stormed off in a rage that became a sobbing breakdown in the privacy of my tent. As much as he hurt me—deeply, viciously, even with so few words—I did regret, later, that I hadn’t sought him again and tried to talk things through. That cold, cruel disdain had seemed so out of character, even at the time. Surely, if I’d gotten in his face, forced him to speak to me with the sort of candor that was integral to our friendship, we might have reached some sort of rapprochement. But I’d only ever seen him again in faint glimpses across camp. After that, he was gone. People said he just up and left, one day, never to be heard from again. 

‘Someone who might be looking for you now. To reconnect.’

Well, and if there WERE someone come looking for me, Frank, I silently spat as I rolled onto my side away from him, he bloody well wouldn’t have been a Scot. 

2 0 2 4   

Passing strange, it was, to arrive back in Inverness this afternoon. Odd on the one hand, of course, to compare it with the Inverness of old; but stranger still to traverse its streets with money in my pocket and proper clothes on my back, my steps certain. You’ll have read by now of my wretched experiences here of seven years ago, not one of which I should ever wish to repeat (though I give you leave to tease and laugh about them for as many years to come, as ye wish).

Suffice it to say, I found myself murmuring a prayer of heartfelt gratitude for being able to stride boldly up to the innkeeper’s desk to give them my custom; for the money to hire a room (and by no means the cheapest in the place); for knowing precisely how to operate the hot water geyser and how I might go about seeing to my supp /

/     Forgive my artless interruption, but I must immediately explain that I had been writing the above while sitting at the desk in my second-floor chamber. Some whimsical soul had thought to situate it at the window, overlooking the square and the fountain beneath. A pretty aspect, to be sure, though the night is foul and thundering, at present, and hardly anything to be seen at all. 

On that point, I couldna have been more wrong, for there ye were, Claire, right before me in the window of the inn across the street, brushing your hair. 

Christ, the joy that coursed through me was so immediate, so complete, I couldna rightly say if I was crying or laughing. It’s likely to have been some of both, but as I say, I wasna paying much heed to anything save you, glowing in the lamplight as ye wrestled and tussled with that brush. How I’ve missed that sight, mo nighean donn: you and your great curly wig, both! I ken well that I laughed, the sound loud and full and bursting, when ye suddenly brandished the brush in a fit of pique when it caught in a tangle. I didna need one bit to peer at the reflection of your lips to ken precisely what it is ye said. Jesus H—RRROOSEVELT Christ! with that pursed, growling R that makes ye sound like a wee, angry bulldog, and at which I can never help but chuckle in delight. I leaned elbows on the desk and sat my face in both hands like a schoolboy, half-covering my mouth as I grinned like one, too; as I watched my sweetheart across the way. 

It shouldna have been altogether a shock, I suppose. I kent you were in town, for I’d come to Inverness to see you, or rather, to see ye safely gone through the stones tomorrow; and yet I canna express what the gift of that unexpected sighting did to fill my heart. It was more than two years since the last time I’d laid eyes on ye, and that memory marred by blood and fear. So, to see ye suddenly there before my eyes, all alight ? I shall cherish that image, always.    

Ye might think it a strange thing to mention, Sassenach (I wonder if I ought to scratch it through, altogether), but to my own shock, I found myself feeling a trifle sad on behalf of Frank Randall, of all people. For, while I hold no great fondness for the man, he is a man, after all, a man who loves you; and how many years has he, too, waited through wartime and separation for a peaceful life with his wife? with the very woman in that window?  Ye chose me, I remind myself, with no little relief and satisfaction: with a free choice between us, I was the one you wanted. Still, I found that I pitied him your loss; that you’d be gone from him forever, first in body and later in your heart, after tonight. 

That is to say, I pitied him right up until the moment I saw the selfsame bastard coming up the street in the storm, at which time all soft, generous consideration was replaced with purest loathing for everything from his hat to his umbrella to the manner of his gait. 

The electricity cut off suddenly enough to be startling, and from the corner of my eye I saw your own light vanish as well. The work of the storm, I should expect. I fumbled for a candle in the desk drawer (when did I become so blind and helpless in the dark, I find myself wondering), and by the time I’d gotten it lit, I could see that you were about the same business, slowly illuminating your room with candle after candle. It was even more breathtaking, to see ye by candlelight again, silk and curl alike sparkling with gold as ye moved about.  

You should know that the moment I saw the door behind ye open, I stood and closed the curtain. The both of ye deserved privacy, this last night. Besides, my jealous imagination would more than manage on its own, I’m afraid, without newsreel footage of the event.

Besides, my brown-haired lass, I shall see ye again on the morrow. 

2 0 2 5   

I have seen ye this day, Sassenach, though not entirely under the circumstances I expected. 

You’d told me, once, that you’d gone to the stones with Frank at sunrise of that morn, and had returned on your own to Craigh na Dun later in the afternoon to gather your wee plants. Hoping to occupy my time until after midday, when I would drive out to the vicinity of the hill to lay in wait, I put on my coat and scarf (your Christmas gift, remember?) and passed the time out on the moors. 

There was naught I cared to hunt, but I hadn’t the mind for it, in any case. I just wandered, unsure if my thoughts would ever settle. There was no task to be done on your behalf, this time, as much as I might prefer otherwise, nothing to be done at all, save wait. I only wanted to see your last moments before ye touched the stones, so I’d ken for certain. Hour after hour, I walked, trying to enjoy the gusting winds and sounds of the animals and trees, but finding little comfort therein. 

Only, just after noon, when I was nearly back to the outskirts of town, I heard the sound of a Car approaching, coming in my direction, and then there ye were, driving fast around the bend in the road. At once, I felt the gripping of horror, for it was so much earlier in the day than I’d anticipated, and I kent I should never be able to get to my own vehicle in enough time to reach the stones before you. 

As I beheld you in all your glory, though, driving that automobile at terrifying speed, and looking absolutely thrilled for it, the fear vanished and peace settled at last. It was alright. That was the way I wished to remember ye these next years in which you’ll be truly gone, mo chridhe; not you vanishing before my eyes, perhaps screaming—as I did— when the stones pull you into their terrible embrace. No, not that: only you, dressed in white, your hair flying free in the wind and your face glowing with inner joy as ye drove off toward our life together. For today, mo chridhe, is the day we met. 

April 16, 1948 

2,557 days

His breath was white against the dark of the wee hours, coming in gasps of exertion as he made his way up the frost-covered faerie hill, heavy-laden in more ways than one. 

He hadn’t often been able to bring himself to write in the diary, since he had left Inverness. It wasn’t that it was a bleak or unhappy time, on the whole. Much like the two years prior, he had both his employment and his personal projects to keep him well-occupied; and even in the quiet moments, there were countless books to read, rides to take, long walks to be had, and prayers to say. 

But as the months wore on, as the days on the calendar began ticking closer and closer to this day, his waking thoughts were plagued by dark thoughts more and more, those that had tormented him so unrelentingly in the earliest days since coming through the stones: that he himself had been sent to a year misaligned with Claire’s own life, and that she might well do the same. In the end, he’d been meant to go to 1941, to be there in that ditch with her and see her rescued. It was a comfort, to be sure, that his steps had been ordained, but that was the very thing: what if she and the bairn were likewise meant, somehow, for some purpose unknown, to be elsewhere? He had given her up with no doubt in his heart that a better life awaited her on the other side of the stones, but who was to say that such a place and time should be—

Let it be with me, Lord, he prayed for the millionth time as he emerged from the wood empty-handed and took up a place of waiting before the terrible stones. That her better life would be now, here, with me. Let it be 1948. 

Dawn broke, in golds and pinks across the horizon. The birds in the nearby wood began their twittering chorus, joyously heralding the start of the new day. Back in 1746, it would be sunrise, as well—the redcoats would be arriving—she would be running up the hill—

Minutes passed. 

And passed. 

An hour. 

Grant her to me again, he begged, his back and his heart aching with the pain of every passing second as he waited, give me once more this rare woman, and I will love her still better than before. I swear it by all that I am. 

Eight o’clock. 

Please.... Please....

Ten o’clock

He was in the grass on his knees in the center of the circle, palms upturned 

Let her place be with me.

Noon

Tell me what I must do to make it so; what I must give in return.

Tell me.

Just tell me and I’ll do it. 

Three o’clock. 

Give me strength, he prayed unendingly as the evil whisperings of doubt crowded around his heart.  Give me the strength to wait beyond the time of hope. Guide my steps to her as you did before. Give me the strength to find her. 

Sunset.

“Lord, that she might be safe,” he wept aloud over shaking hands, despair he hadn’t known since 1746 rending him apart, “wherever she is. Wherever she has gone, she and the—”

A crack like the sting of a whip rent though the world. 

His legs hadn’t even fully straightened before he caught her.