#was fun to return to my roots for a second with this one :] even if the background proved an unexpected challenge lmao

[voidedtea]

[ID in alt]

my piece for the down limbo lane collab gallery as hosted by @echobsilly and @kiwicartwheels!!! was a ton of fun to participate; thanks for hosting, yall!!!! <3

[randompiecesofwriting]

Your Side of the Bed

Summary: Robby finds himself in an arrangement of sharing the reader’s bed. Sleeping side by side in the most literal of senses. It was simply a way they could be there for one another, offer comfort on hard days. And yet he found himself wanting more.

Paring: Michael “Robinavitch” x reader

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: NO SMUT I don’t think it’s even joked about here lol so there’s no smut in here! Brief mention of suicide prevention measures in a joke. Reader gets a small cut and is freaked out by medical procedures.

A/N: Really this was born out of me just wanting to write some Robby fluff. I think I’m slowing down on my writing frenzy y’all so please don’t expect my previous schedule of nearly every other day story releases I’m sorry! All in all as always I just wrote what I thought I would want to read so I hope y’all enjoy it and as always let me know what you think!

You hadn’t expected the night to end the way it did when you left your job that evening.

And honestly there was no reason you should’ve, afterall you hardly knew the man.

Sure you’ve met Robby a few times before. Interacted with him enough to know what he did for a living but beyond basic elevator small talk you’ve never really spoken to the man.

So when you spotted him standing outside of his apartment, keys in hand, just staring down at them dejectedly you didn’t really have a plan when you opened your mouth. You just knew you recognized that look on his face, the way his hands shook, the way he stayed rooted in place even as the elevator dinged as you got out, and you wanted to help.

“Hey Robby” His head snapped up at the sound of his name, the way his eyes went wide at your voice telling you he truly hadn’t noticed your approach “just getting back?”

“Yeah” he sighed out the word, telling you more than you thought he really meant to, his gaze going back to his keys, reluctance on his face as his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Have you eaten yet?” The words basically tumbled out of you, the offer though made spontaneously was no less sincere “I’m just getting back too and was going to make something quick if you want to come in” and you could see the hesitance quickly building, the denial on every part of him but his lips “I was thinking pasta and I struggle to make anything less than four servings”

He seemed to pause at the joke, to take a second to reconsider. “It’s late I don’t want to impose”

You shook off the worry easily, moving past the man to your own door faking confidence he would follow “I promise you aren’t, besides I’ve kinda had a shit day so being alone doesn’t sound like a lot of fun right now”

It wasn’t a complete lie to be fair. Your day hadn’t been the best but more than anything you knew this man shouldn’t be alone right now and he wasn’t going to take help unless he could offer some in return.

“I should shower first” The implied acceptance had you smiling as he turned back to his door, you could practically see him hype himself up to go in.

“You can use mine” You offered, forcing a level of nonchalance you didn’t feel into your tone “no pressure obviously the dinner invitation stands either way  but since you’re going to be over anyways” you let the end of your sentence dangle purposefully as you shrugged “plus I don’t mean to brag but the landlord just fixed my plumbing so I have the best water pressure in the building”

Your attempt at a joke had him snorting as he cast one final look at his door before wordlessly turning away from it and heading in your direction, following you back to your place “If that’s true the landlord and I will be having words”

Trying to tamp down the odd mix of anxiety and excitement at having Robby listen to you, you kept your gaze ahead, focusing a bit too hard on getting your key into the lock as he stood behind you patiently “I had to threaten to sue and it still took months so good luck with that one, you’ll need it”

Opening your door you toed off your shoes and put them to the side in your entryway prompting him to do the same while you started turning on lights “Feel free to set your bag anywhere, kitchen tables covered in my work stuff so that may be your best bet” you instructed him as you set your own work bag down at one of the chairs at the table “in the meantime make yourself at home I’ll grab you a towel and some clothes you can use”

You rushed through the process of grabbing an extra pair of clothes you thought would fit him and a towel, knowing the longer you left him alone in your living room the more likely he was to back out entirely. Something that was quickly proved correct as you joined him with the stack back out in the living room, hesitation and awkwardness practically carved into his bones as he stood rigidly in the center of the room.

“These should fit but obviously let me know if you need anything else” you ignored the trepidation on his face as you handed him the stack, Robby blindly grabbing it as he already started to backtrack.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Please I want to” you interrupted him, walking back towards the kitchen forcing him to hold onto the stack as you got out a pot “besides I need someone to get wine drunk with. Can’t do it on my own, I think that’s when they call it alcoholism”

Still he stared at you silently, you could practically see him trying to think of a way to politely extract himself.

“Unless you don’t drink of course in which case I’ve got soda or water or-“

“No no” he chuckled though it sounded slightly strained, patting to top of the stack you had given softly “wine’s good”

“Good I’ll open the bottle then” you smiled warmly at him, gesturing with a nod back towards the hallway behind him “bathroom’s down on the left I’ll be out here if you need anything”

Still he just stared at you for a brief moment, silence stretching with words unsaid, before he finally accepted it and nodded, giving you one last thanks before he made his way to go shower, leaving you to start cooking and distract yourself from the death spiral of regret and anxiety your brain was trying to force you down.

You heard the shower start up just as you put the pot on the stove to boil, you’d honestly planned on doing as little as possible when it came to getting food in you tonight after work but with Robby here you figured you could at least put in a minimal amount of effort. All things considered though boxed pasta and jarred sauce was as far as you were willing to go tonight.

Deciding last minute to add at least a salad to the side you were chopping up vegetables by the time that Robby joined you once again, looking tired but clean and a little lighter at least.

“You weren’t kidding about the water pressure” he noted as he sat on the other side of the bar that separated living room from kitchen, watching you continue to chop.

“I know right” you grinned at him “I don’t know what they did but I’m considering letting all my other unanswered maintenance requests go as a thank you”

He chuckled at that, looking back out at your apartment appraisingly “do you need me to do anything cause I-“

“Sit down doc” you chided him harmlessly “have a glass of wine you look like you’ve had a long shift”

He took the glass you slid his way with a nod, a small huff escaping him as he shook his head “what about you what’s got you coming home this late?”

A part of you wondered if you should commend his effort to try and fix your shifty night in lieu of his own or condemn his clear avoidance of the conversation turning to him. For now you chose to do neither and instead just answer “parent teacher conferences”

He hummed at that, watching you carefully as you threw the salad together and checked on the noodles “they go that badly?”

“They didn’t but that’s kind of the problem” you shrugged as you stirred the boiling water.

He raised a brow at that, no question coming to his lips just a silent ask to continue.

“It’s always the parents of the kids I’m not worried about who show up” you shrugged, leaning your elbows on the counter in front of him as you spoke “The straight A students, or at least the students who are clearly putting in the effort and trying”

“Meaning the students who’s parent’s you want to speak to don’t come” he answered for you in understanding.

“Exactly” you nodded, grabbing out a colander to drain the pasta as you continued “Which I get it parents can be busy or can just not make the conference hours but given all the emails I’ve sent over the course of this semester that have gone unanswered…”

You trailed off with a shrug, dishing up two portions of pasta and salad without a thought and placing one in front of Robby before putting yours in front of the seat next to him.

He nodded in thanks, starting to eat as you did the same, a small silence passing over the two of you that felt infinitely more comfortable than the one shared earlier in the evening, before he broke it “do you know what you’re going to do about it yet?”

You nodded in answer, twirling your fork absentmindedly in your pasta as you thought “Yeah it’ll be another round of emails, maybe some printed notes sent home with kids offering to meet at other times, I’ll see if I can at least get some of them on a phone call or something”

He hummed in thought, studying you for a moment before his eyes cut back down to his plate “you’re a good teacher”

You snorted at that, furrowing your brow at the man beside you in response “what makes you say that”

“You care” he shrugged like it’s obvious “you’re going out of your way to try and set these kids up for success. That’s what a good teacher would do”

“Feels like the bare minimum” you chuckled slightly “it’s my job to make sure they leave my classroom set up for whatever comes ahead”

“The fact that you so clearly believe that proves my point” he smiled back at you “it’d be a lot easier to write it off, to say you tried and give up but you keep pushing, keep advocating for these kids. You’re a good teacher”

And truly you didn’t have anything to say to that, the words dying on your tongue as you looked up at him and saw the complete sincerity in his eyes. Instead you simply offered him a small smile that he mirrored back.

“What about you how was your day” the question was out of your mouth before you could think better of it, the action of asking him in return feeling too natural.

You could see him shut down at the question, could see his walls going up as his gaze cut back to his plate “Fine. It was fine”

And maybe you should’ve left it there but you were already in too deep to feel comfortable with letting it go “you’re a good doctor, you know that right?”

His gaze cut back up to you quickly with a furrowed brow, a shocked huff leaving him at your words “have I treated you before?”

“No” you assured him with a snort “but no matter what you claim I can see that you’re not fine” you watched him tense at your words, would’ve found it almost funny in any other circumstance “I just mean a good doctor wouldn’t have a day get to him like that. You clearly care about your patients. Like actually care not just pretend to care until you can shuffle them along to the next person, that’s what a good doctor would do”

He chuckled slightly at your words, a lopsided small smile tugging at his lips as he looked you over “Feels like the bare minimum””

“You throw my words back at me and my response will be the same as yours” you chided him good naturedly, relishing the sound of his laugh you got in response as he shook his head.

“touché”

You smiled at the concession, taking note of both of your empty plates and looking back out at your living room before making a decision “do you want to watch a movie?”

He raised a brow at you but you watched the corners of his mouth tick up in response making you smile back “Obviously you can tell me if you’re tired and would rather go to bed but I like a movie at the end of the day to wind down” you shrugged in response.

“Only if you let me do the dishes”

You tried desperately not to let it show how much his easy acceptance shocked you “Robby you can come over and do my dishes anytime”

He laughed easily at that as he took both of your plates and made his way over to the sink, collecting the various dishes you’d used to cook from around the kitchen.

“I hope you know this means I will be subjecting you to my objectively terrible taste in movies”

“I think I’ll live” and you tried to ignore exactly how it made you feel to see this man smirking at you from your kitchen as he handwashed your dishes. Instead you choose to make your way over to the couch and start looking at your options.

And that was how you found yourself seated comfortably next the neighbor you’d had maybe five conversations with before, watching a movie much too late into the night. And thus how you found yourself waking up the next morning to the light streaming in through your living room windows and a comfortable chest beneath your cheek, with an admittedly painful twinge in your neck but feeling more well rested than you had in months.

-

You didn’t see Robby for a few days after that. The morning after had been awkward enough you counted it as a blessing.

There’d been a brief moment of serenity, admittedly, right before you fully woke up where all you could notice was how warm you felt, how comfortable, how secure. You remember burying yourself further into the comfort, giving a soft wiggle as you pressed your face further into what you had assumed was your pillow, until you heard a chuckle.

Rather you had felt the chuckle first, could feel it ruminate up Robby’s chest beneath your head before it broke to the surface. You felt what you quickly surmised to be an arm thrown over your shoulder and wrapped around you pull you in tighter, hardly enough to notice but enough to send butterflies through your stomach, before you finally opened your eyes.

Robby had already been staring down at you, his eyes wide in clear surprise but still the corners of his mouth ticked up, you wondered if he noticed. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you as you looked back up at him, neither of you moving for a moment, almost afraid to burst the bubble before you spoke “good morning”

His eyes got almost comically wider as his gaze cut to the nearest clock, a verification of the time seeming to fully solidify exactly what position the two of you were in for him as he quickly retracted his hands, open palms coming up by his head as if to placate you in the situation as a million apologies spilled from his lips.

You had just barely pulled yourself off of him before he was on his feet and grabbing his bag, all but running out of the door before you’d even finished stretching.

So naturally the first time you would see him in days would be when you were drunk off your ass after a night out with friends.

You all but stumbled out of the elevator, heels as always were a terrible choice for a night out but you couldn’t help but love the way your legs looked in them. So focused were you on keeping upright as you exited the elevator that you completely missed Robby standing in front of his door.

Looking up from your feet finally however you noticed the man frozen in place, keys in hand, lips slightly parted as his gaze made a slow climb from your feet up to your face. You couldn’t have stopped the grin from growing on your face if you had tried “Dr. Robinavitch we have got to stop meeting like this”

You speaking seemed to have snapped him out of whatever daze he was in, a startled huff escaping him as his posture relaxed “Well you look like you had a good night”

“I had a great night” you affirmed, taking a wobbly step forward that had him surging forward to brace you by the forearm, a slight chuckle escaping him as he helped you steady yourself.

“And how many drinks did we have tonight?”

“Not enough” you shook your head, griping his hand in yours happily as you took another step “ohhh we should do shots”

He laughed much more freely at that, shaking his head in response “we absolutely should not do shots we should do carbs. When was the last time you ate something?”

“Fuck I love carbs” you hummed letting him lead you back to his place without a thought, leaning up against the wall while he put his keys in the door “French fries, we should do French fries”

“I can manage French fries” he smiled at you, pushing open the door before extending a hand to you, helping you into his place with a hand on your hip.

You leaned into him happily as you more pawed at the buckle on your shoe than actually tried to get it off, this going on for just long enough Robby was getting ready to help you with it when it finally slipped off your ankle and you fled the shoes where they dropped, making your way to his kitchen and going right for his freezer.

“Make yourself at home” Robby teased as he carefully picked up your shoes and set them off to the side alongside his, making his way next to you in the kitchen to start preheating the oven as you dug around in his freezer for the fries.

“yes you got the good ones” you cheered as you unearthed the bag, handing it to him without a thought as you immediately dipping into his fridge “we should do cheese on top”

Smiling in amusement Robby took the fries without a word and got out a baking sheet, dumping a good amount onto it before fielding the block of cheese you tossed his way without even looking to see where he was.

“Now you don’t have salsa but you do have tomatoes and onions and I can make that work” finally you shut the door to the fridge and turned to face him with the required ingredients clutched in your hands.

“Salsa?” he asked with a raised brow, putting the fries in the preheated oven.

“We can’t have loaded fries without salsa” you answered as if it were obvious, eyes skating around his kitchen looking for something “now where do you keep your knives”

“Absolutely not” he chided immediately, making his way across the kitchen over to you and grabbing the produce from your arms.

“No I swear I can do it” you tried to assure him even as you let him push you out of the kitchen.

“Swear all you want but I’m chopping the vegetables”

“You chop the vegetables I’ll chop the fruit?” you asked hopefully, giving him your best charming smile that Robby couldn’t help but mirror.

“Nice try now will you please sit down at let me do it” he shook his head as he led you around the bar to the stool on the other side, hands on your waist to steady you as you stepped up into the chair and plopped yourself down.

“But I could help!” though you thankfully stayed put you still tried to get involved, swinging your legs energetically in the air as you watched Robby start to dice “I could be like that person who hands you the scalpel”

He furrowed his brow at you with a smirk, looking up at you from his slightly bent position as he worked “person who hands me the scalpel?”

“Yeah you know in the tv shows. You go scalpel and hold you hand up like this” you demonstrated the proper movement to him, choosing to ignore his grin as you talked “and someone puts it in your hand without saying anything that could be me”

“You do know I’m not a surgeon right?”

“All I’m hearing is you don’t have a scalpel person and it could be me”

He laughed at that, shaking his head as he gathered up all of your fry toppings “why don’t you sober up first then we’ll talk about your career options”

With a disgruntled huff you rolled your eyes, resting your head in your palm as you watched Robby finish off your loaded fries, dutifully instructing him on how much of each ingredient was required before happily digging into the plate he set in front of you, a myriad of content hums coming from you as you ate making Robby smile.

“You know I like this way better” you pointed out without looking at him, taking the time to pick the perfectly loaded fry.

“Like this better than what?”

“Better than you being weird” if you noticed the way the room went cold around Robby at your words you didn’t let it show, instead snacking happily as you stole a glance at him from the side of your eye.

“I’m weird?”

“You acted weird” you corrected him with a shrug “after we woke up on my couch you basically ran away from me”

A tense silence followed but you watched him unabashedly, waiting patiently for a response Robby wasn’t sure he wanted to give “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable” again the words came out of you so easily, a part of Robby wished he could be drunk for this conversation too “in fact I was really comfortable until you moved”

A huff left him at that, a small smile growing on his face despite his inner turmoil “Really?”

You nodded in response, finishing off the last of your food and wiping off your fingers on a napkin, pushing the plate off to the side and finally turning your full attention to him “I mean the couch wasn’t the best but you make a comfortable pillow”

He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at that, an anxious hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as he laughed it off “well I’m glad I could be of service”

“I don’t think I realized how bad I had been sleeping lately until that night” you revealed softly, the carbs and the late hour clearly kicking in as you seemed to sober slightly “stress of parent teacher night ya know? But I slept really well that night”

“I know what you mean” the words slipped out of him before he could think any better of it, the way they put a smile on your face making it hard for him to regret them though.

You studied him for a moment, a comfortable silence blanketing the two of you before you broke it softly “you wouldn’t admit it but you were having a bad day. Did I make it better?”

Now it was his turn to examine you, to watch the lazy way you kicked your feet out from the chair, the way your hair fell half hazardly around your face as you tilted your head slightly at him, the soft curve of your lips as you smiled absentmindedly at him “yeah. Yeah you did”

“Good” and now you were beaming at him, spreading a warmth through his chest he wasn’t prepared for “we should do it again sometime”

“Pass out on your couch?”

“I’d prefer the bed but beggers choosers” you shrugged through the idiom with a chuckle “but no I meant be there for one another. It’s nice to have someone there, even if it’s just to exist next to them in silence”

“yeah it is” the admission again left him without much thought, a smile growing on him as he watched you perk up slightly at the response “for now though you need to get to bed and work on sleeping this off, you good to head home now?”

You nodded happily at the question, pushing yourself off the stool with practiced ease as you did so “Just need to grab my purse and I’ll be good”

He frowned at that “what purse?”

“Black tiny bag” you described it to him, looking around his apartment lazily “got my keys in it”

“You didn’t come in with a purse”

“no” you shook off the statement without a thought “I remember packing it before I left, got all my stuff in it”

“No I mean you didn’t come into my place with a purse” he explained slowly, watching as the news seemed to hit you, your shoulders dropping in defeat “You didn’t have it with you when you got off the elevator”

With a heavy sigh you cursed under your breath, the palms of your hands coming up to dig harshly into your eyes as you swore softly, the last of your fun drunkenness abandoning you fully.

With a huff Robby couldn’t help but smile at the move, gesturing back to his room with a nod “Go take a shower I’ll call the bar you were at and see if they have it”

With a grumble you nodded “thank you”

“Don’t worry about it” he shook you off as he pulled out his phone “bottom left drawer of my dresser should have clothes you can wear, take whatever you want”

Nodding you slowly pulled yourself off towards his room, tossing the name of the bar you were at over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Calling confirmed the bar did in fact have your purse and were willing to hold onto it until the morning so Robby made sure to inform Jack he would be running a little late the next day so he had time to go with you to pick it up. By the time he had finished his calls and cleaned up the kitchen you had joined him back out in the living room, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with dripping hair in sweatpants that were just slightly too long and a shirt you had no business looking that good in.

“I’m sorry I could’ve helped clean”

He shook you off again with a swipe of his hand, practically forcing his eyes away from you as he surveyed the space around him “don’t worry about it there wasn’t much to do” he assured you, offering you the glass of water he had gotten you earlier “drink all of that first but go ahead and go to bed, we can go pick up your purse tomorrow”

With a nod you took the glass with a small thank you, “will you-uh-“ you stuttered on the words, fidgeting slightly on the spot making Robby frown “do you think we can share the bed?”

His furrowed brow raised as he realized what you were getting at, already shaking his head “Oh don’t worry about it I was already going to insist you take the bed anyways, I’ll sleep on the couch”

You chuckled nervously at that, taping your fingers on the side of the glass as you shook your head in response “no I mean. Just it was really nice last time we-ya know-shared the couch. Would it be okay if we did it again?”

Robby was at a loss for words at the question, his entire mind going blank on the spot as you fidgeted beneath his gaze.

“The answer can of course be no” you quickly cut in with a small laugh “I just haven’t slept as well since so I figured”

“Yeah” the word all but slipped out of him without his head clearing it, Robby finding in the moment that he didn’t really want to walk it back anyways “yeah we can share the bed”

Finally your fidgeting broke as you smiled in relief, relaxing on the spot as you nodded “okay good”

“You go on ahead I’ll meet you in there” he instructed softly with a smile “just gotta lock up first”

Giving him a nod you heeded his instructions, slipping underneath his covers on one side of the bed and laying still, listening to Robby’s nighttime routine as he locked the door and brushed his teeth.

When he finally made it back to the bedroom you could practically feel the hesitance rolling off of him as he stood beside the bed for a moment, not moving an inch as he debated just taking the couch anyways, before he carefully peeled back one corner of the blanket and slowly lowered himself, careful not to jostle the bed too much in case you were sleeping, careful not to get too close to what he considered ‘your side’.

You, however, were having none of that. The minute he seemed to settle you turned around and moved yourself beside him, placing your head directly onto his shoulder with a soft hum.

A startled inhale sounded from Robby as you did so, the muscles in his arm all tensing beneath you the second you made contact.

“I warned you, you make a comfortable pillow” you whispered out into the room attempting to cut the tension in the air. Something you seemed to at least partially accomplish as he huffed out a laugh in response, his arm remaining tense nonetheless “unless you’re uncomfortable cause we don’t have to-“

“no no” he interrupted you softly before you could get too far, his voice slightly hoarse causing him to pause as he cleared it quietly before continuing “could you just lift your head for a second”

Complying quickly Robby slipped his arm beneath your head and wrapped it around you wordlessly, prompting you to drop your head back down onto his chest and wrap your arm around him in response, one leg naturally tangling with his as you buried yourself fully into Robby’s side with a content hum that made him chuckle.

Your mind stayed fixed on the soft patterns he was tracing on your arm with his finger, wondering if he was even aware he was doing it. “Thanks for saving me tonight Robby”

Another appreciative laugh escaped him, your head bobbing slightly as his chest rumbled with it “’saving’ is a strong word there, I just gave you a place to crash, basic human decency”

And you thought about arguing the point, pushing back on his refusal to properly accept your thanks, point out that he was doing a lot more than the ‘basic’ nice thing. But if you knew Robby, and you were starting to think maybe you did, that would just make things worse, would just push him further away, so you let it go, for now at least “and supplied the French fries. You can’t forget the French fries”

“You’re right I did save you didn’t I? Think they’ll knight me?”

“Pretty sure that only applies in England” you hummed back, enjoying the quietness of the moment, the simplicity of it, the lack of any expectation “maybe a key to the city?”

“Not nearly as cool”

“No. No it isn’t. We’ll get you something to make up for it” your next words left you in a sleepy whisper, your eyes already closed, your brain not conscious enough to fully recognize the weight of your words as they slipped out “you deserve nice things Robby”

His fingers stilled at the words, no sound escaping him as he went silent, staring at the ceiling above the bed, all while you finally succumbed to sleep.

-

Things changed after that.

It wasn’t quite as you hoped, you still went days without seeing one another but whenever you had a bad day you had someone to go to, someone you knew would be there for you without question, without comment if that’s what you preferred, and you knew Robby felt the same.

There was no dramatic change, you didn’t automatically start spending every night together but still you found your excuses to cuddle up every now and then.

Something that apparently wasn’t going unnoticed, at least on Robby’s end.

“You seem lighter lately. Happy almost” Dana’s comment came out of nowhere at the end of a fairly standard Thursday shift. As usual with the charge nurse there was no preamble, no beating around the push, no coddling of feelings, she went right to the issue. For the first time Robby found that he really wished she wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry?”

“No it’s good. It’s creeping out the med students, our number of charting errors have been cut in half” She smirked at him, a smile that foretold trouble he did not want to deal with.

“Ah then you’re welcome”

“So you gonna tell me about her?”

And there it was, the metaphorical shoe “her?”

“The woman who’s been making you happy” Each statement was said with such a level of confidence, of finality, it felt absurd to try and push back.

“There is no woman” And yet still he must.

“There has to be a woman”

An incredulous laugh left him at that as he finally lifted his gaze fully from the chart in front of him to look at her. “Is it so impossible to think I’m just feeling better lately” he knew how weak the argument would be before it even left his lips “Maybe I found inner peace”

And based on the glare Dana sent back at him she thought so too “Either there’s a woman or I’m asking Gloria to up suicide prevention measures on the roof”

“Ask her to hire more nurses while you’re at it”

Surely there had to be something else to do in the emergency department than badger him “Does she work here?”

Surely she had to accept his flat out denial eventually “There is no woman”

“There’s a woman” The two of them both tensed slightly at the emergence of a new voice, Purlah’s sudden arrival catching them both off guard.

Dana, however, recovered quickly with a wolfish grin “What do you know”

“I know a lot of things you’ll have to be specific” Purlah leaned on her forearms against the nurse’s desk as she settled eagerly into the conversation. Now was his time to escape.

“About the woman”

“The woman up front? Is there something to know?” The last question was directed to him as the two woman fixed him with their gaze, halting him mid tip-toe.

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about” Robby groaned softly, rubbing a tired hand over his face as he grabbed the first tablet he could see “now if you excuse me I think at least one of us should be doing thier job right now”

“Wait but the woman up front” Purlah stopped him before he could leave “She’s asking for you, says her name is Y/N Y/L/N”

A strange mix of panic and dejection filled Robby at the revelation, both feelings only growing as he watched Dana break out into a wolfish grin over Purlah’s shoulder as she watched his face drop before finally conceding “Yeah send her back”

Purlah nodded and took off and Robby knew news of your existence would be spread to every medical professional on the floor within the hour. So much for flat out denial.

“So there is a woman”

He refused to look at Dana as he switched out tablets “I promise it’s not what you think”

“Believe me I’m trying very hard not to think about it” she snorted, gaze pulling to the door to the ED as it opened and you scurried in behind Purlah, head ducked low and eyes planted firmly on the ground as you held a familiar looking kitchen towel to your hand “She’s cute”

“Not a word” Robby tossed the empty threat over his shoulder as he made his way to the room you were being placed in, choosing to ignore the cackle Dana let loose as he did so, instead putting all of his focus on your clearly panicked figure that sat up on the bed before him.

“Hey I’m really sorry”

“Don’t be sorry” he brushed you off easily, docking the tablet and pulling on a pair of gloves with practiced ease “What’s going on”

“I cut myself honestly a while ago and it hasn’t stopped bleeding” you held the towel wrapped hand out in front of you, offering it to him, speaking much faster than you normally did.

“Alright let’s take a look” he tried to slow down purposefully, to speak lowly and quietly, to put as much calm into his tone as he could.

“Again I’m so sorry to bother you at work and ask for you specifically I didn’t-“ Still you took off at double speed, not even making eye contact with him as you spoke.

“Hey you’re okay you should always come in with stuff like this” he cut you off with a reassurance, hand coming out to squeeze your knee in a small offer of comfort.

“Yeah I know I just feel like I used you to bypass the whole line and you guys probably have a whole system in place-“

“You’re rambling what’s going on” he cut you off again, a small frown as he watched you squirm on the spot, gaze never staying in one spot for long enough to be natural.

“I don’t really do hospitals well” you admitted shyly, the corners of Robby’s mouth ticking up slightly at your words as he shrugged.

“That’s okay me neither”

For the first time your eyes finally met him as you sent him a cold glare “you’re not helping”

He tried desperately to fight back his smile “Okay I’m sorry but listen, small cut, just a few stitches, we’ll have you out of here in no time”

“Right sure, few stitches” he let you all but talk to yourself as he gathered the suture supplies, tuning back in when he heard you voice raise slightly as you addressed him “I’m assuming that requires a needle”

“If you’d prefer I can hold the skin together myself until it starts to heal but I’ll warn you my hourly rate is incredibly expensive”

Another death glare was sent his way, he choked back a chuckle.

“Jokes’re really not helping got it.” He changed tactics with a warm smile, planting himself onto a backless stool a breath away from you, giving your knee a soft knock with his own “I’ve done a million of these it’ll be over before you know it”

Still you looked at him skeptically, a look that told him you were seriously considering his offer of simply holding your skin together himself.

“Hey you’re the one that told me I was a good doctor not that long ago, let me prove you right”

That finally got to you, a dramatic huff leaving you as you deflated slightly on the spot, a defeated “fine” slipping through your teeth Robby couldn’t help but chuckle at as he got the lidocaine ready.

“That’s the spirit. Now local anesthetic, small pinch and a burn” The words came out quickly, more one amalgamation of sound than individual words, his brain already starting to go through the motions when he paused “Imma need you to stop tensing, it’s just going to make it worse”

“Yeah I know I’m sorry” you sighed out the words, giving your shoulders a little shake to try and relax.

“You’re still tensing”

“I can’t help it I’m freaking out” the words exploded out of you as you tried to pull your hand back, Robby grabbing you by the wrist softly to try and direct you back into place.

“Hey hey look at me” he approached calming you down like dealing with a wild animal, entirely soft words and slow movement “sweetheart please I’ve got you. Do you trust me?”

With a huff you let him have you hand back, staring back at him blankly with an expression that told him the second he let go of you you were out the door.

“I’m going to pretend this hesitation doesn’t hurt”

With a roll of your eyes you sighed again, forcing a deep breath as you shook out the tension in your shoulders once more before refocusing your gaze, locking eyes with him and nodding softly “yeah I trust you”

Before you could even think of doing anything else he inserted the needle and depressed the plunger, pulling back quick enough to escape the way you dramatically snatched your hand back from him “Fuck did you just stab me with a needle without looking”

“I told you I’ve done a few of these” he shrugged with a smirk, already moving on to prepare the next step.

“Did you do each of them blind too?”

“The needle was already lined up” he motioned for you to give him your hand back, unable to keep the smile off his face as you glared at him.

“No I’m not listening I want a new doctor”

“What if I promised to look when I actually do the stitches”

“That should be a given?” The words came out in an incredulous shriek that had Robby fully laughing

"I'll give you a lollipop when we’re done”

You narrowed your eyes at him at the offer, hand on your injured wrist tightening slightly before you suddenly thrust it back at him with a huff “If I have a scar I’m suing”

“Deal” he conceded easily, threading his needle and inserting it before you could call it off again, the cut requiring just two quick stitches Robb had you done in minutes “See that wasn’t too bad”

Only when he had finished bandaging did you pull back your arm again, cradling it protectively into your chest as you sent him another glare “I want you to know I’m leaving this hospital with emotional pain as well as the physical pain I was already in”

“Oh that’s my specialty” Robby snorted as he started to clean up “Call it a two for one special”

“I’m demanding a red lollipop in recompense”

Robby looked surprisingly sheepish at that, hands tucked deep into his pockets as he swayed back on his heels “ah so about that we don’t actually have lollipops here. More of a family medicine thing”

You let the silence stretch uncomfortably as you glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest for an effect that pulled a small snort out of him.

“I can offer you a crisp five dollar bill for the vending machine though”

“And you lie to patients” you mused with an shake of your head and a condescending tsk “I’m adding this to my pile of evidence for the malpractice suit”

“My first name’s Michael just so you can make sure to get the right person on that”

You paused at that, cocking your head to the side slightly as you asked “is it really?”

“Yeah” he chuckled softly “you didn’t know that?”

“Always thought your parents just had a thing for alliteration” You shrugged it off with a smile, watching the corners of his tick up in response “seriously though thank you for this. I know I’m not the easiest patient”

“You didn’t get bodily fluids on me or try to hit me so that’s a win in my book”

“Damn so the bar’s low”

“Everytime I think we hit rock bottom someone shows up with a pickaxe to prove we can go deeper”

You let out an almost hollow chuckle, a sound more to fill the awkward silence following a statement you guessed held more truth than you could know.

“About what you said earlier” he hedged the words in, seemed almost hesitant to let them fall.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be held responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth for the duration of this visit”

He chuckled appreciatively at the break in tension, running his knuckles up and down across the palm of his other hand as he looked at you for a moment before physically shaking himself out of it “no I mean if you’re ever back here again, for any reason, tell the nurses to come find me okay? Don’t worry about messing up our system I promise it’s a myth anyways, just come find me”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him at that, the promise falling softly from your lips “I will”

“Good” he answered just a softly with a nod “now how are you getting home”

“Ah I walked” you answered sheepishly “Tried to delay the inevitable for as long as possible”

He shook his head at that but didn’t say anything to condemn it, reaching into his pockets to pull out his wallet “I get off in 45, here”

You furrowed your brow as he tried to thrust a few folded bills into your hand “oh you don’t have to”

“Please it was cruel of me to dangle candy in front of you without following through” he was brushing off your denial quickly, grabbing your hand to force the money into your fingers when you refused to grab it “Get yourself something from the vending machine and wait in the breakroom I’ll take you home”

“Its not that far” you tried again

“Let me anyways” and you could see the silent question in his eyes, the plea, it was a look not dissimilar to the one he wore when he showed up at your door late at night.

“Which way’s the breakroom”

He responded with a soft smile, making his way behind you and leading you forward with a hand at the small of your back, stopping just outside the door to point to a room across the way. “Just through there, I’ll come find you when I’m done”

With a nod you started to make your way to the room, not making it more than a step before he was calling back to you.

“Also if a blonde woman introduces herself as Dana you run in the opposite direction”

“You realize that just makes me want to talk to her more right?”

“It was worth a shot”

-

For perhaps the first time in his life Robby was ready to leave work on time, some may even say he was eager to do so. And if the smirk on her face was anything to go by Dana was certainly one of these people.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve checked your watch in the past five minutes”

Robby chose to ignore her teasing tone, bouncing on his feet lightly as he eyed the board with dread “My shift did end five minutes ago”

She snorted at that, shaking her head as she watched him avoid her gaze “I wasn’t aware you knew what time your shift ended”

Robby sent her a cutting glare “I don’t suppose you’re going to get on Jack’s case like this too for being five minutes late when he’s always twenty early”

She sent him a dangerous smirk and a shrug “Don’t have to Jack’s here already”

Robby furrowed his brow at that, casting his gaze over the bustling ED in search of the attending “He is? Since when?”

“Bout twenty minutes ago” there was a forced casualness to her tone that made him dread whatever she was going to say next “I sent him to the breakroom for coffee, weird he hasn’t come back yet”

Another sharp glare was sent her way she couldn’t help but grin under “You’re too invested in my personal life”

“What personal life” she snorted “thought you said ‘it’s not what you think’”

“I’m leaving” he declared with a nock on the desk “you should too”

“You going to offer to walk me home too” she called after him as he made his way to the bank of lockers, enjoying the pointed way he ignored the comment.

Grabbing his things quickly he threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the breakroom, barging through the door without a thought to see you and Jack sitting side by side, the corners of his mouth tipped up in as close to a smile as Jack got while your soft laugh rang through the air, your injured hand without any of the dressings he had so carefully applied half an hour ago cradled softly in one of his.

“Hey Robby” Your greeting snapped him out of his staring contest with your hands, his gaze meeting yours across the room as you offered him a soft smile.

“Hey” he greeted back, watching Jack slowly, deliberately, retract his hand from yours “is everything alright with your stitches?”

“Yeah they’re good” you affirmed happily “Jack just wanted to take a look at them”

Jack, not Dr. Abbot or even just Abbot, Jack.

“Can’t remember the last time you did stitches, gotta make sure you don’t horribly scar the poor girl” if the smirk on Jack’s face was anything to go by the man knew exactly what he was doing.

“And the verdict is?”

“I’ve seen worse”

He snorted humorous-lessly “high praise coming from a combat medic”

Jack sent him another smirk before turning back to you “let me get you another set of dressings and you’re good to go”

“I got it” Robby cut in before Jack could get up, not enjoying the amusement that danced in the man’s eyes as his gaze cut back to Robby still standing in the entryway.

“I don’t mind-“

“I said I got it” Robby forced a polite smile to his face, one he knew didn’t reach his eyes, a fact that only made Jack’s smirk deepen “Besides I heard you have a case of explosive diarrhea to take care of in south 7”

Jack chuckled as he leaned slightly closer to you, stage whispering while he kept his gaze on Robby “I think I’m in trouble”

You giggled back at him knocking your shoulder against his playfully as you stage whispered back “you better go before you get me in trouble too”

Standing up slowly Jack made his way out of the breakroom finally, sending Robby off with a mirth filled smile and a slightly too aggressive set of pats on the shoulder, finally leaving you and him alone in the breakroom.

“In my defense you told me to avoid Dana, nothing in there about Jack”

With a huff he shook his head, dropping his back next to you “My mistake clearly. Now lets get you some new bandages and get out of here before she has a chance to sink he claws into you”

“Ah you’re about thirty minutes too late for that” you giggled at the way he sighed dramatically at that, sitting down next to you to start applying a new set of bandages to your hand. “I like your coworkers though, they’re nice”

He chuckled at that with a shake of his head “nice is not the word I would go with there, try lacking any semblance of boundaries”

“The best of friends are” you shrugged with a grin, Robby unable to help himself from mimicking it as he finished off your bandage.

Finally free to leave the hospital the two of you made your way out, Robby doing his absolute best to avoid the gaze of everyone as he led you through the packed waiting room. Only when he was safely outside with you did he finally breathe easy.

The silence between the two of you as you walked stretched, blanketed the surrounding area, he couldn’t help but focus on it and yet it didn’t feel oppressive, didn’t feel awkward, he didn’t feel the need to try and break it.

This was the moment everything changed, there was a charge in the air you could feel, a weight to the moment that was palpable.

Robby looked down at you wordlessly, eyes dancing over your face as he just studied you for a moment, the corners of his mouth tipping up as you offered him a soft smile.

“Let me take you out” a simple offer, said on a shrug, followed by an endearing clarification “like on a date”

It wasn’t a grand declaration, wasn’t a cathartic clash, wasn’t a dramatic outpouring of emotion. It was quiet, casual, understated. A facsimile of that first time you spoke in the hallway. A simple hand held out, palm up. An offer for the taking.

“I’d like that”

You hadn’t known all that would result from that chance meeting late at night in the hallway. Hadn’t known all of the comfortable silences, awkward moments, and heartfelt conversations that would be shared in the weeks to come. And honestly you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[pearlescentparade]

Ur probably gonna ignore cuz it’s kinda boring but can i request two time x reader angst ?

Two and reader spending time together, reader trying to enjoy snuggling up to their partner yet two time isn’t returning any of the affection. Just sitting with their hands to themselves with no attempt to do anything besides watch whatever was in front of them.

Basically reader trying to cope with two time not actually returning their feelings despite dating and probably terrible communication.

up to you if two time loves them back.

light years 🔄 two time x reader angst drabble❤️‍🩹

it's cold tonight.

you shouldn't complain, considering it was your idea to go star-gazing. but in your defense, it sounded cute in the moment.

the blades of grass uncomfortably drag against and poke your skin, prickled with goosebumps, as you shift to turn on your side to face two time. they only blankly stare up at the eternal night sky.

"timey?"

they hum, but are complacent in making any other effort beyond that to acknowledge you.

"i'm a little cold.. can we cuddle? ...please?" your whispered pleas could've been mistaken for the ambient howling of the wind. perhaps that's why they don't answer you. but there is much shame to be had in asking again, you think.

hesitantly, and with much space, you reach your hand out to them.

nothing. no acceptance, no rejection.

then, you dare to slink your arms around their body, loosely embracing them as if unsure whether to commit fully to it. you think you feel colder touching them than not.

their body tenses under your touch. did they feel disgusted by you?

you shakily exhale, trying to ignore the deep pain rooting in your heart and constricting your throat. times like these, you wish that they'd start yelling how much they hate you. at least then, you'd know for sure, and you'd know how they feel or think for once. but instead, you are left in the dark, blind and guessing, and playing a game meant for two alone.

a familiar sting burns your eyes, and you take it as your cue to distract yourself.

"..that's orion's belt. it's thr-three stars." you point to the constellation, light years away. two time blinks, inches away. it's less about telling them, and more about telling yourself.

"over there is gemini. it--hic--has the twin stars, castor and- and pollux-" despite your futile attempts, the tears fall anyway. and when one slips out, the rest comes in a flood. it takes only seconds before you're uncontrollably sobbing, muffling your cries in two time's arm.

yet, even as you wet their arm with tears, snot, and saliva, they say nothing. no comfort, no disgust, simply silence.

they couldn't say anything.

not when fear paralyzes them.

they've messed this up before. it's not out of the question to say it could happen again. the same voices that lead them to atrocity chatter viciously in their mind, angry wasps rattling in the nest, urging for another sacrifice.

to once again spill blood, warm with infatuation. to take advantage of this golden opportunity to present their devotion to the spawn by stealing the love they hold with you and metamorphosizing it into the love for their god. one wrong move, and their ghostfire dagger will plunge right into your heart.

to two time, inaction is the greatest reciprocation of love they could offer you.

without turning their head, their eyes flick to glance at your blubbering form.

it's cold tonight.

(parade postscript: sorry this one is a lot shorter mostly bc reader is talking to a fkin brick wall and yk dialogue carries all my mfin writing and also i js thought itd be fitting that everything is all short and lacking bc of the whole two time not showing reciprocation thang [me pulling out a million bullshit excuses out of my ass for why ts is so short and pretending im being a literary genius]

also fun fact! castor and pollux look close together from earth but are farther from each other in reality! castor is actually 51 light-years away, while pollux is closer at 33.8 light-years)

[occamstfs]

In The Rink: Dunks

After moving far away from home Duncan seeks to find new community with the local hockey team. Little does he know that the Captain sees the potential for him to be a new star player.

My little reward for HairyJockTf went a little long so I broke it up into two stories haha! Hope you enjoy this ode to hair growth, jock stink, and hockey! -Occam

The sound of a puck sailing across the ice echoes through the freezing stadium, accompanied by the sound of the massive men racing to catch it. Skates on their massive feet send flurries of shaved ice up in their wake as they zip and turn in shocking displays of brutish grace. When bodies start to collide and fists start to fly in what Duncan Worthy thought was just a fun little scrimmage game he imagines how quickly he would be laid out in such a brawl and begins to hunt for the nearest exit. 

Almost as swiftly as the fight broke out however, coaches call their men to heel and the teams separate. After a second longer of posting up, all return to the game and seem almost playful in the wake of what seemed like genuine violence. Suddenly realizing this is far more a bloodsport than he was aware, Duncan starts backing away sheepishly. Though he was looking for a team sport to find prepackaged community after his move from the south, clearly ice hockey was not the move.

Unfortunately for the suddenly shy Duncan, his attendance today was initiated by him reaching out to one of the players soaring down the ice, Matt King, the team captain. As the burly player turns to see Duncan begin to skulk away he calls his coach to pause the practice and less than a moment later Matt skates to the edge of the rink and begins shouting for Duncan’s attention, “YO! Worthy!” His impressive arms seem even bulkier covered in the thick obscenely large uniform he’s wearing. Duncan audibly gulps, though thankfully he’s far enough away from the athlete that he could scarcely hear.

Duncan isn’t sure why he’s frozen in place, seemingly trapped by Matt’s attention. The skater rolls his eyes as he calls out once more, “Hey kid! Are you coming or what?!” Despite himself he starts walking down rinkside. It’s not like he’s not athletic, Duncan’s healthy, he prides himself on staying fit, lithe. But as he nears Matt it just becomes clear that he bit off far more than he could chew. Even without skates the captain stands well over a head taller than him. Duncan struggles to speak while everything in him begs him to leave with his tail between his legs and never come back. Realizing that Matt is staring down at him expectantly, demanding a response, he speaks up unprepared as he may be, “Well, uhm Matt-”

“Nah nah, call me Kinger, bud. So youse think you’re ready to hop on the ice eh?” Duncan feels his bones turn to jelly as every neuron struggles to heed his flight response. There is simply no recourse but to escape, he’s too small, they’re too intimidating, they’ll break him in half completely accidentally. But he remains firmly rooted in the captain’s gaze. Kinger whistles to the equipment manager to summon some skates for Duncan and the sound forces the fearful man to attention. His shaky hands grow rigid as the older man approaches with a pair of skates. “See ya out on the rink Worthy!” 

Kinger turns and gets back to the game. Duncan’s preylike instincts are overpowered by the man’s words. Though from any reasonable angle it’s just a phrase in parting, they sear into his mind like programming. See ya out on the rink. Pausing to watch the game resume, the desire to leave wanes as he sees the men grind against each other after the puck. Certainly looks like they’re having fun right? Wearing all that protection, how bad could it be? How bad could he be? Sitting down he changes into the smallest pair of skates the team had for him, even still his toes have about an extra inch of wiggle room. Neglecting to take that as yet another sign to back out, Duncan hops up on the wall and then he’s on the ice.

Still finding his bearings he slides along and sticks to the wall. The manager tosses him a stick and the coach implores he get used to moving around on the ice. Duncan sighs and, despite his limited experience skating, finds himself immediately moving with intuitive familiarity. Faster than he can comprehend it becomes second nature, allowing his attention return to the burly men on the far side of the rink going at it. Soon enough he can’t even remember what he was so scared of, excitement begins to build in his chest as he begins to follow the puck from afar. 

From his vantage point he races with a fluidity alien to himself, as if the skates have imbued him with a lifetime of experience skating. Chewing his lip he has a stray thought wondering about wearing a mouthguard which he promptly discards, lest it interfere with his keeping up with the puck. Eagerness to properly join in the fray with the crew of men who outsize him before even accounting for their bulky pads continues to burn within him, he scratches at his chest and finds his tee hugging his torso in a distinctly odd manner. And man, beyond whatever butterflies hide in his chest, his skin is itchy enough that he should be concerned about an allergic reaction. 

But no, no time. He’s gotta keep his mental. The puck goes long and flies towards him. Both teams follow the puck hungrily with their eyes before it nears the man who holds a hockey stick for the first time. He doesn't think as he moves, he doesn’t need to. It’s as if he were made for this. The sound of his stick making contact sends a crack through the stadium that echoes louder than a gunshot. The puck shoots past the men who now stand with mouths agape. He stands tall with pride, seemingly taller than he’s ever stood before. Must be the skates he thinks with a newfound cocky smirk across his face, but as his midriff is clearly exposed, the few hairs compromising his meager treasure trail fluttering in the aircon, it is clear something has changed in the man.

Practice is cut short soon after and Duncan has an immediate meeting with the Captain and Coach. Off the ice the confidence that filled Duncan begins to seep away, certainly not helped by the fact that he apparently threw on a shirt a couple sizes too small. He blushes as the older coach puts his hand out for a shake and his arm goes an embarrassing length past his sleeve. The coach simply smiles and nods though, and before Kinger even gets a chance to vouch for the newbie he’s already on the team. Duncan doesn’t notice as his shoes have apparently inched to fill the skates that were a size too large as his head begins to swim with the excitement of being out there with the boys. 

His shirt hugs his chest even tighter as Kinger pats him on the back, “Welcome to the team Worthy!” Duncan smiles looking up at his captain and while struggling to get his shoes to fit he speaks up only to hear the first voice crack he’s had in a decade, “Ah well, then yoOu- Ah!” His mouth slams hard enough it seems to be welded shut as he clears his throat. Kinger smirks and ruffles the newbie’s hair laughing, “Howsabout you go shave up and take a shower. Wear that tarp any longer you’ll have to peel ‘er off, hah!” 

With that he leaves Duncan behind and heads off to the locker room leaving his new teammate behind to take in his words. Shave? He scratches his cheek and tilts his head as he finds more stubble than he thought he left the house with. Guess it must have been a week since he shaved he guesses. Putting it on the todo list he then sniffs himself and grimaces as he finds himself muskier than he’s been after his sweatiest workout. There’s an audible sound as he pulls his sticky shirt from his skin which convinces him to expedite his time out of here. Still unable to get his shoes off he finds a pair of tennis shoes left with the equipment given to him and throws them on.

It takes a few steps for him to get used to them, despite his complaints to the equipment manager these tennis shoes are even larger than the skates he was given. Though feeling cramped in every other piece of clothing he finds himself not quite minding the room. Hopping in his car to drive home he furrows his brow as he finds himself needing to adjust all his mirrors. His new odor rapidly fills the car, overpowering the smell of his pristine equipment with ease as he speeds off to clean off the stink of his first practice. 

Storming into his apartment he struggles to tear his clothes off en route to the bath. His sweaty shirt gets stuck on his shoulders as he tries to yank it upward, exposing a core thicker, his waist seemingly filled out from the hourglass figure he has unintentionally maintained. Beyond that his treasure trail seems to be claiming far more real estate as it flourishes upwards and outwards, curls as thick and long as his pubes begin an ascent above his waistline as they begin to shade the whole of his lower stomach. 

No time for inspection however as he starts the shower going as soon as he gets the shirt off, grimacing at the clear tearing sounds of fabric giving way. Arms still upraised he quickly turns away from his steaming pits, quick enough that he notices not how his few curls have begun to multiply. Instead he leans in close to see the stubble that Kinger called out. He twists his jaw to get a good look at every angle and rolls his eyes as he finds it as patchy as ever. His eyes glaze over and his jaw slackens as he finds himself briefly distracted by a thought, or no, a memory? 

The rink always brings out a rookie’s stubble Matt- It’ll just grow back. Why shave when that’s time you can spend on the ice?

He comes to before he even notices he was out, his thicker hand scratching at stubble that is thicker, darker than it was seemingly seconds earlier. Duncan certainly doesn’t mind though, seeing his beard fill in more, becoming stubble he can be proud of fills him with a surge of pride, and below the belt something else begins to surge. He smirks as he contemplates whether he should masturbate before or after taking a shower, grasping at his cock and finding it weightier than usual he quickly makes up his mind. What the hell, why wait.

Then his phone rings, a message from his Captain. His cock twitches as he focuses in on the message, “yo worthy sry for not askin earlier- oilers v flyers 2nite, u down 2 come over” Without a thought or second of hesitation he replies “ya” and he begins getting ready to go. Turning off the shower before even stepping inside he remembers he still stinks and bathes himself in cologne, smirking as he stares at his body in the mirror, proud as he sees his paltry patch of chest hair seems larger, thicker than he remembers it being. He pokes at a new weight on his chest and fights the urge to flex his barely existent muscle as every movement seems to have a bit more force behind it.

Duncan pointedly avoids questioning new idiosyncrasies as they begin to pop up. Surely he didn’t just douse himself in Axe instead of showering? Why does he know where Kinger lives? When he goes to his wardrobe he finds most of his clothes simply do not fit right. Button ups struggle to close across his chest and thicker waist. He struggles to move his arms in tees and sweaters as they hug his shoulders. Nothing without an elastic waistband seems to be able to manage stretching around his ass. Throwing on his new tennis shoes as they seem to be the only ones that fit he finds them almost snug? 

Every roadblock causes micro-headaches. Questioning them only exacerbates the issue, while acceptance ameliorates. Throwing on sweatpants and the baggiest shirt he could find, Duncan doesn’t even give himself a once over before he’s out the door. On the road once more he only keeps one hand on the wheel while the other mindlessly feels himself up. His stomach is tighter for sure, with an alluring amount of give. New pecs pop out just far enough for his hand to push up on them, which allows him realize that any amount of excitement will cause his larger bulge to show in his sweatpants. No time to debate how he’ll conceal that from the Captain he wanders up to the front door and prepares himself.

As if Kinger knew he was standing there, the door swings open and the Captain’s thrown his arms around Duncan’s wider shoulders. His thick palms slam into the newbie’s back with enough force to send him falling on his face. Presently each slam only sends more pleasure into Duncan. Feeling his player’s package unmistakable poking into his own waist at the embrace, Kinger clicks his tongue, “Ah excited to see me eh? Hah! Be sure not to lose control bud, need all of youse out on the rink.” Released from the bro-hug Duncan gulps and blushes as he is less than certain he will be able to go long at all without giving in to desire burning stronger than ever. 

Seeing doubt in his expression Kinger’s friendly eyes switch to something far more commanding and Duncan stands rigid. Gotta listen to the Captain. Watching stubble thicken and the once baggy shirt tighten even further on his broad shoulders, Kinger returns to joviality and points to a stack of pizzas on the coffee table, “You hungry bud?” Duncan suddenly feels an emptiness in his stomach and wonders when the last time he ate even was as he feels a hunger more ravenous than he could understand overtake him. His mouth waters like a drooling dog as he mindlessly goes to tear open a box. Already stuffing his face he takes in the number of boxes and asks, with uncharacteristic slovenliness, “Scho, uhhh is more of the team coming or wha?” 

Kinger smirks and stands behind the smaller man, massaging his shoulders, “Nono those are just for us, didja forget how much food youse demolish bud?” Looking at the stack he knows that can’t be right, he’s never even had the need to exercise moderation. The idea of eating more than four slices is anathema, and yet less than a minute into the game he’s already starting his fifth and his stomach demands more yet. Kinger watches the man feast, knowing his newest teammate needs all the calories he can get as his body struggles to put on pounds at a speed eldritch. Shoulders broadening enough to be shoulder pads themselves as chest hair begins to bloom far beyond the small patch that has long made its home in the center of his chest.

Spreading out like a fungus, follicles neglected by puberty go into overdrive as his greasy hands funnel food into him, getting grease over stubble that begins to crest its way into a solid beard. Duncan is unaware as he demolishes the first box of pizza by himself as he is completely absorbed into the game on TV. Reacting to each play as if he were in the actual stadium. His legs bounce with anxiety as the players race across the rink, each time shooting up with more force as they bulk up. His expanding jungle of pubes, discontent from spreading upwards alone, send dense curls to shade his inner thighs before shooting down to cover his calves.  

Kinger moves to sit on the couch, attention solely focused on his team’s growing asset. His eyes struggle to keep up with the changes simultaneously rocketing across his body. Already he hears the elastic waistband of his sweatpants straining, Duncan’s, or rather Dunks’, butt filling out to the size needed to maneuver such an otherwise powerful form on the ice. The most powerful ass in the MLB has nothing on the monumental pair of cheeks that are a moment away from sending a tear through his sweats. Making an uncomfortable face Duncan kicks off his shoes before they begin to tear. Glancing down, Kinger finds he doesn't have the care to finish the job and remove socks that have similarly begun to turn to tatters. Curls spreading down from his meaty calves poke through the expanding holes on his tearing socks. His feet rapidly become hairy fins that would fit on any number of fantastic bestial men, toes surging through the front of his socks as he flexes his feet without thought.

The Captain jumps in shock as Dunks stands with a start and shouts at the ref, his voice clearly deeper, rougher, as spit flies from his mouth in a rage. Beard thickening as his neck similarly expands with his deluge of expletives at the man in stripes. Kinger puts a hand on Dunks’ arm to calm him down, “Hey hey bud, save it for your own penalties eh?” Clenching his jaw the newbie looks down and at the Captain’s words crosses his arms and barely stilling his anger at Kinger’s request. The man’s hand still resting on Dunks’ arm, both men turn to see the growing package not at all hidden in Dunks’ sweatpants as the sound of it tearing through his briefs resounds in the small living room.

Scratching at his meatier pecs he sits down and after a moment of hungrily staring at his Captain he rolls his eyes and returns to the game. His biceps are suddenly constricted by his sleeves so he does what any rational mind would and rips them off. Kinger’s mouth is ajar as he watches the increasingly brutish man toss the torn sleeves to the floor before scratching deep into his pits and sniffing. The Captain doesn’t pay much attention to the jungle of hair spreading out from Dunks’ pits, after all that doesn’t bring anything to the rink, but he would need to lose a few of his five senses to not notice how potent the changes are there. 

Patches of sweat appear all over the shirt that now hugs his burgeoning torso like lycra. But nowhere so prominent as under the still-expanding jungle of hair under his arms, musk thick enough to warrant stink lines, enough to knock a lesser man unconscious spills from his freed underarms. Eyes glancing over to see his Captain cover his nose in shock, Dunc smirks as he realizes how much power he holds. He grunts in his new barbaric voice as his pecs can no longer be hidden by his ratty shirt. Unwilling to hide his pride under a bushel, just as he removed his sleeves he wrenches his shirt off. This was of course made easier by the litany of tears sundered across it by his expanding torso. 

His breath catches in his chest as his pecs burst larger into the open air. Thick strands drip with sweat as they spread dense enough to be a pelt across his upper body. Moaning as he leans back on the couch, hair rapidly covers every inch of real estate it can find, connecting every disparate patch from pubes, to pits, to the scratchy underside of his neck. Expanding shoulders similarly aren’t safe as curls bound across them to meet with the itchy forest spreading up the small of his back. He shifts uncomfortably as thick strands similarly cover his ass, though somewhere in between slamming pizzas and screaming at referees he lost the shame to scratch such an itch in front of his Captain, and so he does. 

Kinger struggles to hide the grin on his face as the man in front of him becomes the enforcer he’s always dreamed of having on his team. He watches as the changes in his mind finally begin to show on his face. His brow thickens to hang over eyes that grow dull to anything but hockey. His iron jaw hardens over a beard that should have taken years to grow while his nose becomes one that has clearly taken more than a punch or two. It’s unclear how many of his front teeth or real or inserts, though something in the minds of both men makes it clear that they’ve seen his own teeth scatter across the ice on a handful of occasions, though not nearly as much as those of his opponents.

Kinger’s chest flutters with excitement as he imagines being on the pitch with Dunks. His own eye twitches as years of playing together begins to fill his mind. He’s always dreamed about having a teammate as committed to the game as he is and finally he’s got a brute enough to carry them to the trophy. Seeing the behemoth taking heaving breaths on his couch, torn clothing scattered around him, Kinger can’t quite help but feel there is some vital piece of the puzzle missing. The burly man’s hands trail to his crotch as every muscle in his body feels the need to give into lusts that control him but Kinger whistles and Dunks immediately halts his giving in, “Not yet bud, not yet. Gotta hit the rink first.”

Dunks’ mind fractures and remakes itself in a moment. Memories of over a decade playing surges into his mind. He remembers starting out a waif, as he was in reality this morning. He remembers hardening over the years alongside his captain, alongside Kinger. Becoming a man on the rink, becoming an unstoppable titan. Maturing into an athlete the likes of which his team's never seen, and with each leap forward in ability so to does he become more masculine, more virile, more of a man. No, more of a beast, higher function giving way to instinct and physicality. Kinger couldn’t be prouder, and until another reason presents itself he can think of no higher goal.

Coach never expected Dunks to be nearly as much of an asset as he ended up being. The hairy brute was always looking out for his Captain’s back, truly a tank on the rink. Often he would struggle to control his urges, on and off the ice, but a look from Kinger would always snap him back in line and empower him to come back even stronger, sometimes seemingly literally so. He never took more than two trips to the penalty box a game despite his ever-present urges to truly dominate his opponents. 

After months of success on the rink it becomes clear that Dunks’ virility is making him a bit of a loose cannon. Lucky for the both of them Kinger has an idea. When an old friend of Duncan’s reaches out to the team to inquire of Worthy, Kinger implores him to visit. While it would be unbecoming for the Captain to have a relationship with a member of the team it was clear that Dunks’ has long been in need of some manly relief.

As he’s drafting a letter with a one way plane ticket to Dunks’ once-friend he wryly smiles as he realizes exactly what the missing piece was all along, their team could use exactly one more player and if this Remy Woods ends up being even a fraction of his friend, there is no way for them to lose.   

Continue Reading with In The Rink: Woodie!

[redsshanks]

i beg of thee, for some ace x reader 🙏🏻 fluff or nsfw is fine, but i read some of your previous stuff and its so good i crave the ace!!!!!!!! thank you in advance i owe you my life

Thank you so much! It means a lot to hear! I went with just some fluff, drunk ace and looking at the stars! I really hope you like this one!

warnings: none, slightly suggestive at one spot but not really

word count: 1,335

The bar was crowded just as you’d expected. It was one of Pop’s protected islands so the second the people saw the Moby Dick, they were excited. It was always nice to see Pops welcomed with open arms, people who wanted to see him and his crew, his family. That’s what he’d be happiest about, the fact that all of you were welcomed and celebrated.  As much as you enjoyed that people were excited to see you and not cowering in fear when you docked for food, the party was dragging on. Izou and Marco were arguing over something, both of them well over drunk and Rakuyo was still trying to challenge the other members of the crew to fights. No one would take him up on the offer, knowing if any of them did fight here, Pops would put an end to it. Saying it was rowdy was an understatement. But this was your family, the people you loved more than anything. Especially the man who stood near the bar trying to convince Duce and Saber that he didn’t fall asleep this time. He certainly had and he knew it, but he was prideful now that he was confronted about it. 

Ace was pouting when he turned away from them, his eyes locking onto yours and the pout shifting to a wide grin. Returning his smile you motioned for him to join you in the only calm corner of the bar. 

Quickly he patted the two men on the back before beelining it to you, eyes bright as he threw his arm around your shoulder instead of sitting across from you. “You were hiding.” He accused, which might not have been entirely a lie. “I almost thought you went back to the ship.” 

His body was warm against yours as you leaned into him, the scent of alcohol not completely blocking out the natural comforting scent you’d become used to, but close. “You were having fun.” You’d had a few drinks yourself so you had no shame in nuzzling into his bare chest in front of so many people. “I needed to take a minute alone and didn’t want to drag you away.” 

Ace had come a long way in accepting your affection and words. He was a touchy person when allowed, but romantic touch was different. His self worth issues were rooted deep inside him, getting those out even now took some effort. Usually he caught himself when he tried to pull away, but he relaxed into it. The alcohol was helping you both tonight. 

Warm arms wrapped around your shoulders and the beads of his necklace hit your forehead. You tried to pull your head back but he held you tighter. “I have more fun with you. I missed you the whole time.” His lips pressed against the top of your head and he lightly swayed when he had to take a step back to do it.

Worming your way out of his hold you reached up and grabbed his face, “You’re drunk.” Pressing a quick kiss to his lips he tried to follow you but you held onto his cheeks. “You need to sober up enough to walk back to the ship. I’m not carrying you.”

He didn’t complain much as you stood from the table, steadying yourself before taking his hand and leading him out of the bar. The fresh air felt good on your skin and the smell was even better. You’d not realized how much the air inside had smelled of booze and sweat until you were out of it. One glance back at Ace let you know he was enjoying the air as well. If his devil fruit ever left him overheated you didn’t know, but the way he held his head up to the gentle wind it must have at least done something. 

Navigating the Island wasn’t hard, you’d all been here a few times so finding the cliff overlooking the ocean was easy. Views like this were always something that Ace found for himself, it would be nice to be the one to show him one first. As drunk as he was though, you’d probably stop him from going too close to the edge. 

Ace was glued to your back by the time you finally reached the cliffside. There was still a slight hum of music in the distance but you could only hear it if you really listened for it. Your lover could still hear it as evident as the offkey humming in your ear. It brought a smile to your face even if he’d rested almost all of his weight against your back.

“Oh hey. Look at the stars.” Ace stopped humming to stare up at the night sky, his eyes shining as they roamed over the scene before him. “I love the stars.” His arms slid away from you as he stepped back to look up even more. 

Not wanting him far you followed him, your hand finding his. “That’s why I brought you here. You can sober up and watch the stars at the same time.” You didn’t mention that you could possibly sober up a bit yourself, you were tipsy. Ace had been drunk when you left the bar. Freckled face red and flushed from the alcohol. He needed it more than you. “And it gives us time alone away from everyone.” 

His eyes fell from the stars to you, “Oh you want to be alone do you?” Both eyebrows raised as he slid his free arm around your waist. “Out here?” He wagged his eyebrows as you laughed, pushing his face away from yours. 

“Absolutely not. You’re already all sweaty, you’re lucky I’m even touching you.” He laughed into your hand, “I’ll leave you here by yourself.”

He stepped away from your hand, still grinning as he practically threw himself on the grass. “Yeah no. I’d not embarrass myself like that. I’m way too drunk.” Ace held his hand out for you, waiting for you to join him on the ground. “I do want time with just you though. On the ship there are so many people… everyone is just around all the time. Sometimes I just want to be with you.” His words were still slightly slurred but the flush was going away. “Out here though… you and the stars. My favorite things.” 

Humming you reached out and took his offered hand, not laying down just holding it. Grounding yourself in the sea of stars and wind. “A romantic drunk.” Drunk Ace really was a whirlwind, you didn’t know what you would get that day, romantic though, that was saved for you. Finally you laid down next to him, Ace pulling you close before you could do it yourself.

Adjusting yourself you moved to lay your head on his chest. His heartbeat thrummed in his chest, a sound better than any music you could hear. It was peaceful now, Ace’s hand trailing softly against your arm, the sound of the ocean and the wind mixing with the faint music in the distance. You’d not get angry if your boyfriend fell asleep now, he could fall asleep anywhere, this was the perfect time for it. 

Your own eyes were getting heavy, surrounded by his warmth and heartbeat. “I love you.” His voice was quiet, eyes never leaving the sky above you. “Sometimes it scares me to love someone this much.” Resting your chin on his chest you stared up at him, “It scares me to feel anything so much. I know what I do when I get caught up in things.” 

Reaching up you brushed your hand through his hair, knocking his hat off his head. “I love you too.” Finally he finally looked at you, “You don’t have to be afraid of this, you’re allowed to have good things. You deserve them.” Burying his face in your hair he pulled you on his chest, holding you tight. “And for the other emotions, i’ll be here for those too.” 

[suiana]

imagine sitting on a train, expecting a short ride but the ride just never ends. and no, it's not a 'the brakes are broken' scenario.

you were just taking a train to like, a nearby suburb to visit your friends like usual. everything was fine. all things were like what they normally were. ticketing station, the weird old man who tells you that they're watching you, and the cute highschool student who frequently tells you stories about his school life.

you board the train like usual, nothing out of the ordinary. you find an empty seat and put on your earphones. you decide you want a calm and soothing song that day. looking out of the window, you hum softly and anticipate what you and your friends are going to do.

that's when you realize you've seen that sign post two times already.

you nervously look around your surroundings, hoping to find someone else who's also realized what's going on.

but there's no one else in the carriage. oh, wait, actually no. you also have the highschool boy.

"hey kid, um, did you notice anything off? like uh-"

"hm? oh, it's you mx."

the boy's voice is deeper than usual as he continues looking out of the window. you frown at his reaction before trying to get an answer out of him again... only for him to turn and completely scare the shit out of you.

that. that was not the face of a human. not when his eyes were all black and curved into tiny moons. not when his lips were stretched so wide that he resembled the stupid 😄 emoji. not when his mouth looked like a bottomless pit of nothing that could swallow you alive. not when his skin was paper white and his body now elongated to look something like a sexy slenderman if that was even possible. not when he didn't resemble a human anymore.

"darling, what's wrong? you don't like my face? I'm really hurt."

his voice is deep as he continues staring at you from his seat. he makes no sign of movement, merely looking down at you with a tilt of his head before a soft giggle comes out.

what the shit? were you in a horror movie now?

screaming and falling onto the floor behind you, you shiver and try escaping. no, you had to leave. you couldn't die now!

scrambling to the help button, you try to get help. surely the technician could try and get help for you? you desperately press the help button, glancing warily at the high school boy that you were sure was actually a 6009 year old demon that decided to possess a body of a kid for the mere fun of it.

"huh? baby? what's up?"

baby? what? first darling, now baby? what's up with these men? you stare at the help panel before whimpering for help. unfortunately the male voice over the line only fills you with more dread.

"you wanna leave? no can do baby. don't worry, we'll take good care of you."

you don't like the way he said good. what the hell was that supposed to mean? for all you know it could mean imprison you in the train for the rest of your life!

"also I'm in the carriage beside Mr. Driver so if you wanna leave that weird shapeshifter beside you feel free to hop over."

beside... you?

you are suddenly hyperaware of every single thing around you and wait a second, why the hell did you feel a suspicious person breathing down your neck?

"leave my dear alone, you creep."

the air around you seems to loosen up as the weird shapeshifter demon backs up. damn, what good timing. you were just about to thank your saviour when the familiar feeling of dread returns, and even worse this time.

he was a handsome guy. tall, well dressed, and absolutely damn gorgeous. he was wearing all black, a black fedora on his head as he smiles at you with his pearly white teeth. reassurance. yet, you felt as though if you dared to disrespect him, your life would be over before you even knew it.

you stay rooted in your place, your mouth running dry as the male steps closer to you. each step of his felt like a step closer to death and... was it just you or were you feeling light headed now?

"i am afraid i cannot touch you, my dear. for your life will be drained with each fleeting touch. but i must say that it is good to finally meet you physically."

death.

you were so damn sure that the man in front of you right now was the grim reaper or maybe even death himself. your whole body was shaking at this point, his very presence making you feel as though an invisible force was pushing you down into the ground and squeezing you tight. it was hard to even breathe.

"ah, sorry. i forgot living beings are ever so fragile. my sincerest apologies, my dear."

just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, the driver's announcement makes you feel like you're about to throw up.

"welcome aboard the hell train, sweetheart. you are now on the line to ǝɹǝɥʍou. please enjoy the rest of your ride!"

shit, so you really were about to get stuck on this train forever.

[lolbree]

returning to my roots for just one second ha. [Click "keep reading" for some design notes and lore! I gave my own interpretations of their personalities/character below. :D]

So I've been really into writing recently. For those who follow my main you would've seen me post lore dumps on my ocs! So honestly I thought it'd be fun to come up with some fanloid concepts. Itz funsiez.

Fanloids are what they sound like; a fan's interpretation of a pre-existing Vocaloid. These guys can be fucking anything. A fan's imagination has no limits. Two of the most notable versions of a fan's Miku are the "dark mikus"; Zatsune and Hagane Miku. Zatsune's the "evil" villainous version of Miku, while Hagane's kinda just a chill metalhead version. The two are like sisters and bond over their Fanloid origin, but they're completely different in personality.

Zatsune takes pride in being a Miku Fanloid. Miku is undoubtedly the most popular Vocaloid in existence, so she wears being an interpretation of the world's most famous singing robot like a badge. She's pretty full of herself, sort of envious of the popularity Miku really gets, so much so that she'll impersonate Miku (in the worst way possible) so the other Vocaloids are like "man Miku's kinda being a dick today". She's sort of the villain that acts as a complete pushover and foils their own plans every single time.

Hagane's the more laid back one. She honestly was just created to be a somewhat pessimistic metalhead version of Miku. She has no vendettas towards Miku like Zatsune does. She kinda finds Zatsune's jealousy silly considering she's not the only Fanloid of Miku out there (girl that ego is HUGE on Zatsune). Zatsune sometimes tries dragging her into the antics of bullying Miku, Rin, and Len, but is always met with Hagane not giving a shit and kinda telling her to chill out. Her persona onstage is more aggressive and eccentric, but backstage, she mostly she keeps to herself. She just likes the guitar.....and LED lights.

You might be wondering what Miku herself thinks of these two? You know what they say. Identity theft is the biggest form of flattery! ...Jk no she doesn't mind the Fanloid Mikus, but I mean how would you react seeing two dark versions of yourself at first. Naturally the other main Vocaloids were like "wtf" when they saw two other Mikus show up.

Okay now for the design notes!:

Zatsune was modeled to have more sharper edges compared to Miku's roundness. Hagane was designed to be more lanky given her more "doomer" personality.

Both Zatsune and Hagane edited their own voices so it's "rougher" since originally, as prototypes, they just had the same voice as Miku herself. ...And they didn't like that.

Zatsune's also pretty picky about singing. If it's a Disney-villain esque musical number, hell yeah! Horror music? Hell yeah! Sappy music about friendship? Hell no!

Being robots, they can paint themselves without worry. Hence the black lipstick on both of them.

Hagane's hair's a little messier due to her being a hardcore metal robot. Rocking it out on stage has gotta mess that up a little bit.

Hagane uses glitter spray in her hair. Listen even the goth-loving metalhead can like glitter.

[onceinablueberrymoon]

(cheers) to the future | salesman (recruiter) x reporter!reader

next: scavenger hunt | intermission (mild nsfw) scenario: the final game has finished, and player 456 is the winner. after signing off, reporter!reader visits the recruiter for a well-deserved, celebratory dinner. setting: in seoul during season 1, directly after the squid game between gi-hun and sang-woo (my other beloved rip) warnings: (mostly?) light, fluffy smut; (they truly love each other!); fem!reader; no use of y/n; second person POV; salesman is referred to as recruiter; reader ranks about equal to recruiter in the games’ hierarchy; brief mention of alcohol; just in case, minors dni! word count: 1.1k notes: baby’s first nsfw, i hope it lives up to your expectations :’) please comment and let me know what you think of this, i appreciate any feedback ♡

you can read part 1 here! and happy lunar new year, everyone! 🌙 borders by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics-archive!

“No! Sang-woo, no…”

A cry rang throughout the arena.

“And with a bittersweet ending to this gripping fight between childhood friends, the 33rd edition of the Games has concluded. We will return shortly with the highlights of Player 456’s journey to victory. Our coverage will begin in three hours. Thank you for watching.”

Bowing to the camera, you remained frozen in place until the director gave the all-clear. You sighed. The final game didn’t turn out the way you – or anyone, really – expected. The once cheerful, happy-go-lucky man had won because of his friend’s sudden sacrifice. Surely, there would be lots of questions from viewers around the world. You pinched your nose – just thinking about it gave you a headache.

At least you were on break for a couple of hours. While the others at the studio would most certainly go out for drinks to celebrate the end of the Games, the recruiter had invited you for dinner at his apartment. It wasn’t very far, only a 15 minute walk. You gathered your belongings and slipped out before anyone noticed you left.

“Wow, you prepared a feast!”

Much to your surprise and delight, the recruiter had prepared a lovely meal of soft tofu stew, multigrain purple rice, and a variety of side dishes. He had even lit a few candles to add to the ambience. He pulled out a chair for you to sit on before going to sit across the table from you.

As the two of you began eating, he congratulated you on your wonderful performance over the last week.

“I heard you may be up for a promotion,” the recruiter noted in his usual casual tone. 

You scoffed, “I don’t know if it counts as a promotion, per se… They want me to report on the upcoming American version of the Games.” You shrugged. “I imagine it can’t be too different from the Korean Games.”

The recruiter smiled, but his eyes held a darkness to them.

“On the contrary. Rumour has it that gambling and addiction run more rampant there than in Korea… I expect those Games to be equally, if not even more, exciting. And with our dear reporter on the case…” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling.

“Absolutely electrifying.”

You blushed, breaking eye contact with him. He laughed and continued eating his meal.

As always, the conversation flowed easily between the two of you. You commended him once again on his top-notch recruiting skills. 

“Did you catch the final game? I still can’t believe 456 won… I was truly rooting for 218. Someone like him could be the next Frontman, don’t you think?” You asked, picking at your favourite side dish with your chopsticks.

The recruiter nodded, but seemed as if he was lost in thought. 

“He wasn’t hard on the eyes either. Charming, sharp… Maybe he could have become a recruiter as well? We could have had some fun.” This caught the recruiter’s attention, his eyes gazing into yours. 

He cleared his throat, but your comment clearly affected him. “I’ve already started gathering information on prospective players. I think these new ones will be even more interesting.” 

“Oh?” you cocked your head to the side, “Do tell.”

He continued, “A cryptocurrency streamer on YouTube, Lee Myung-gi. Many of his followers are one click away from falling into serious debt. It’s only a matter of time before his advice leads them to desperate measures.” The recruiter’s eyes sparkled. “I can only imagine how he fares when his loyal fans turn on him.”

Intrigued, you smiled softly. He had clearly been working hard on this case.

Once you both finished eating, you helped him clean the table.

“I’m still surprised you went all out for dinner. I thought it’d be something simple, like ramyeon or take-out,” you paused, “Not that this wasn’t perfect. You made an amazing stew.” You moved to peck him on the cheek. 

The recruiter’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Ramyeon? Well, why didn’t you say so?”

You groaned. Of course he’d turn your comment into an innuendo. 

“I’m always open to ramyeon with you.” 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the two of you moved to his sofa, and got a bit handsy with each other. It started with innocent touches and kissing. By the time you broke for air, your lips were swollen and your faces were flushed red. 

The recruiter loosened his tie, making you bite your lip in anticipation. You helped him shrug off his suit jacket before tossing it on the floor.

As you continued to kiss, you straddled him and pressed yourself against the growing bulge in his dress pants, making you both moan. He pulled you closer and you ran your fingers through his neatly styled hair. 

He easily popped open the buttons on your blouse with his teeth, a skill he’d perfected from your many trysts. He pushed aside your bra cup before taking your breast in his hand to gently fondle it, brushing his thumb over your nipple. You whimpered, and he flashed his classic smirk before drawing circles around your nipple. His other hand was on your waist, keeping you steady while you rocked your hips against his. 

As you attempted to unbutton his shirt, he trailed kisses down your neck and left a few hickeys, despite your protests. 

“Seriously? I go live in like,” you glanced at the clock on the wall, “One hour!” 

The recruiter took in your disheveled appearance and was very pleased with his handiwork. The world would see that their enchanting reporter had already been claimed — only he was privy to your full attention.

“Wait, one hour?” You did a double-take at the clock. 

You panted, stopping your rutting pace entirely. He groaned, grinding his hips up against yours in an attempt to lure you back in. 

“Sorry, I have to go. Makeup’s going to have a field day with these hickeys…” 

You lifted yourself off of him, much to both his and his body’s displeasure. However, he knew he couldn’t keep you from your job. The higher-ups would throw a fit otherwise. You could continue your session later tonight.

As you cleaned up and made yourself presentable for the public, the recruiter went to his kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine. He handed one to you and made a toast.

“To my lovely, charming reporter, who continues to fascinate me every day.”

You blushed, then replied with your own toast.

“To my handsome, mischievous recruiter, who never fails to impress me.”

He smiled, and kissed you on the lips.

“And to the games that brought us together.”

You both clinked your glasses, wishing for an even more thrilling spectacle to come.

[bestruction]

hii could you make gojo x wife!reader. Reader is itadori's older sister. A special grade sorcerer and incharge of second years. She holds very strong cursed technique like psychic manipulation or she's a vessel of a cursed god (whatever you prefer it's your choice)

Could u please make angst/comfort oneshot. Reader help gojo in fighting against sukuna, they won but at the cost of reader. She went into a coma. She also had saved Nanami during Shibuya so nanami is also present. (Gojo is alive)

You can also show how everyone reacted specially Satoru and Yuji and recap of the memories they share.

Please let me know wheather your interested in doing it or not!!!!!!!

please don't mind my grammar. English is not my first language................

Warnings: none Notes: Thank you for your request. I had a lot of fun writing for Gojo and ended up with a few scenarios ideas for him in the store. Also, your grammar is fine <3 Don't worry (Plus, english is also not my native language so high five)

The hospital room smelled too clean. After so long, the usual white walls felt infuriating. Gojo hated it. The sharp scent of antiseptic, the way the light filtered too harshly through the blinds, and the flowers on the windowsill made the place feel like a shrine rather than a room where someone lived, breathed, and existed.

He sat slouched in the stiff chair by your bedside, one leg stretched out, hands dangling between his knees. The blindfold was shoved carelessly into his pocket days ago. He hadn't worn it since the moment they dragged him here, bleeding and laughing and terrified because you had fallen and you hadn't gotten back up.

"I told you not to fight," he muttered for the thousandth time, voice low, fraying at the edges. He raked a hand through his messy silver hair, tugging at the roots until it hurt. "But nooo, you had to be a hero. Had to throw yourself into the fire because you can't stand seeing me in danger."

Sukuna was gone, the Jujutsu world was finally returning to its tracks but he couldn’t care less. He met you while you worked as a teacher. He thought you were…infuriating at first. You had a special kind of cursed technique that allowed physics manipulation through your vital energy. Of course, something so powerful would have a high price. He lost count of how many fights you two had because he didn’t want you to get involved in missions anymore. He wanted you to work training the students and preserve yourself because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. 

Did that stop you from jumping into the fight against Sukuna the moment you saw him bleeding? Absolutely not. You would throw yourself in fire and turn into ashes before seeing something or someone you love disappear without doing anything. But being so damn stubborn was part of the reason why he fell in love with you. 

The monitors beeped softly, the only sign that somewhere, deep beneath the broken surface, you were still fighting. Gojo slouched forward again, reaching out to brush your hair back from your face with trembling fingers. You looked so peaceful, it made him furious.

“You better wake up soon,” He said, his words low as he tapped the back of your hand with his fingers “I miss you telling me to ‘shut up’ already” 

You didn’t move. He waited, watching your eyes, your fingertips, and nothing. He scoffed a bitter, fond sound. 

A gust of wind stirred the flowers on the windowsill, filling the room with a sickly sweet scent. Gojo's lip curled. He wanted to throw them all out. Rip the damn stems apart with his hands.

"They keep bringing flowers," he muttered. "Yuji, Megumi, even that moron Panda. I hate it. Makes it feel like I’m visiting your grave." His thumb brushed lightly over the back of your hand, seeking something—anything. "You’re not dead," he said fiercely, teeth gritted. "You hear me? You’re not. You don’t get to leave me like this."

Silence.

Outside the window, the city kept moving. Inside the room, time had stopped.

Day after day, night after night, Gojo stayed. He slept half on the bed sometimes, sprawling over the chair like a thrown-away doll, refusing to leave even when Shoko threatened to sedate him.

He told you stories. About the students, about how Nanami actually cracked a joke once (he didn't, but Gojo knew you'd tease him if you ever woke up to hear the lie). He told you how Yuji cried the first time he came in and saw you, how Megumi stared at your hand for half an hour without saying a word.

Gojo hated this helplessness more than anything — the sheer, brutal truth that for all his limitless power, he couldn't lift you out of that bed, couldn't force your eyes open with sheer will, couldn't heal what your soul had sacrificed. He was used to winning, to bending the world around him, to standing above fate itself. But now he could only sit there, every day, whispering his dreams into your sleeping ear like prayers he wasn't sure would ever be answered. 

Some nights, when loneliness wrapped too tightly around his chest, he told you about the future he had started to imagine — a small house tucked somewhere quiet, far from the blood and curses and endless wars. 

"I’ve been thinking about quitting," he confessed, his thumb stroking slow, trembling patterns along the back of your hand. "The kids can handle it now... Yuuji, Megumi, Nobara. They don’t need me hovering anymore or you." His voice softened, almost bashful. "We could get a place out in the countryside. Grow tomatoes, or whatever old people do. Maybe have a kid or two. You'd hate the names I've picked out, by the way. Like... 'Soichiro,' or 'Tamaki.' Imagine calling for them at dinner." He laughed — a hoarse, broken thing — because he needed to believe you would wake up just to roll your eyes at him, to punch his arm and scoff that he was an idiot. Needed to believe that somewhere inside the quiet shell of your body, you were still there, smiling, waiting to come back to him.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead — a soft, lingering thing like a vow — and when he pulled back, he saw the imperceptible flutter of your lashes. For a moment, he froze, his heart slamming hard against his ribs, his mind reeling, terrified that it was just another cruel trick of exhaustion. But then your hand twitched weakly against his, and your voice — raspy, barely a breath — broke the silence.

"I like the name... Soichiro."

Gojo stared at you, wide-eyed, breathless, his whole world tilting sideways. For a split second, he genuinely wondered if he had finally lost his mind, conjured you with sheer desperation. But no — your warm eyes found his. Your lips curved into the ghost of a smile. You were there.

A laugh — broken, beautiful — tore out of him, and before he could stop himself, he was kissing you again: your forehead, your nose, the corner of your mouth, frantic, reverent, as if anchoring himself to the reality that you were here, awake, alive.

"Breath, Satoru," you croaked out, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand weakly trying to push his chest away. "I need to... breathe."

He laughed again, wet with tears he didn’t even realize were falling, and rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your cheeks like you were made of spun glass.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking with a happiness so raw it hurt. "Just... don't go back to sleep, okay? Not yet. I’ve got a whole list of terrible baby names to tell you.’ 

[rootedinrevisions]

Cowboys & Angles

SUMMARY: After years of playful flirting and a deep-rooted friendship, you and Tyler Owens find yourselves crossing the line between friends and lovers when he returns home for the fall. What starts as a fun, teasing night at the local bar quickly turns into something more when Tyler finally takes his shot. But as feelings are laid bare, both of you must confront what this means for your relationship—because for Tyler, you've always been more than just a friend, and he’s ready to prove it if you let him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I first decided to do Kinktober, I was planning on doing a bunch of drabbles (my goal is for them to be at or under 1k words). But kind of like with yesterday's, as I was writing this one it kind of just took off and I kept going and now here we are at over 5k words! So I think Kinktober is probably going to be a mix of both shorter drabbles and longer fics! I will also be mixing up characters/fandoms so Kinktober will have a mix of my Glen Powell characters as well as some WWE/Wrestling, and I may be introducing a few new characters I haven't written for yet too!

PROMPT: "I'm already dying to take you right now. Don't tempt me."

KINK: Cowboy Hat / Cowboy Hat Rule

WARNINGS: Teasing. 18+ SMUT. (P in V Sex.)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

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The bar was quieter than usual for a Saturday night. The usual hum of conversation was replaced by a few scattered groups of locals enjoying their drinks in the dim, amber glow of the overhead lights. You leaned on the counter, wiping down a glass as the front door swung open with a faint creak. The familiar sound made your heart jump before you even saw who it was.

Tyler Owens.

He strode in with that easy confidence, his tall frame filling the doorway for a second before he glanced around the room, spotting you instantly. A slow grin spread across his face, and he tipped his cream-colored Stetson in your direction before making his way toward the bar. You hadn’t seen him in months, not since he’d been off chasing storms across the country, but it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Well, if it isn’t Tyler Owens, the Tornado Wrangler himself,” you teased as he reached the bar.

“Back in town for a little while. Thought I’d drop by and see what kind of trouble you’ve been getting into.” His voice was smooth, that southern drawl rolling off his tongue like honey, and you couldn’t help but smile.

Amber, the other bartender, had been subtly hinting that she could use the extra tips if you wanted to take the rest of the night off for the last half hour. The bar wasn’t too busy, so you figured now was as good a time as any to give her the extra tips and catch up with Tyler. Setting the glass down, you unhooked your apron.

“Amber, you’re up. I’m clocking out,” you called over your shoulder. She practically beamed at you in response, already moving to take over.

Sliding onto the stool next to Tyler, you felt a familiar warmth wash over you—not from the two drinks you had in front of you, but from the easy energy that always existed between the two of you. You’d known Tyler since high school, and while your friendship had always teetered on the edge of something more, nothing had ever come of it. Flirting was just part of your dynamic.

“So, you’re back home, huh? Storm season finally winding down?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“Yeah, things are quietin’ down. I thought I’d stick around town for a bit. Y appreciate the peace and quiet without me stirring things up?” He teased, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Oh, sure. It’s been so peaceful without you around,” you replied with a playful eye roll, though the truth was you’d missed him more than you wanted to admit.

After another round of drinks, your inhibitions softened but far from impaired, you reached out and plucked the Stetson right off Tyler’s head. The hat had always been his signature look, and you couldn’t resist the urge to mess with him a little. You placed it on your own head, adjusting it with a smirk.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You know there’s a rule about wearin’ a cowboy’s hat, don’t you?” His voice was low, but there was something underlying it now, a challenge.

You feigned innocence, leaning in slightly. “Oh? And what rule might that be?”

His eyes darkened ever so slightly, his gaze flicking to your lips for just a second before he leaned back in his chair, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“Never mind,” he said, his voice huskier now, “you wouldn’t be interested.”

But you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear. “Oh, I know the rule, Tyler. I just wanted to see what you’d do about it.”

There it was—the shift. His expression hardened ever so slightly, but that teasing smirk was still there, hanging on the edge of something more. He didn’t say anything, just gave you that look, the one that always sent a spark straight through you.

Without breaking eye contact, you stood and made your way toward the corner of the bar where the old mechanical bull sat. It hadn’t been used much recently, but it was still in working order. Tyler’s eyes followed you, curiosity piqued. You glanced over your shoulder, the Stetson still perched on your head as you grinned mischievously.

“Start her up,” you called to one of the other employees, hopping onto the mechanical bull. You adjusted your seat, settling in comfortably as the machine started to hum to life.

Tyler's gaze was locked on you now, his arms folded across his chest, leaning back in his chair as if to say, Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.

The bull started slow, rocking gently, but you handled it like a pro. With each buck, your eyes stayed locked on Tyler’s, never wavering. You could see the way his jaw tightened slightly, how his hands gripped the beer bottle in his hands every so tightly as the intensity of the ride increased. His hat sat firmly on your head, and you couldn’t help but grin as you imagined the thoughts running through his mind.

Finally, the bull jerked sharply, and you were thrown off, landing on your feet in a flurry of laughter and adrenaline. Without missing a beat, you sauntered back over to where Tyler sat, your steps light and confident.

“So,” you teased, pulling his hat off your head and spinning it around on your finger, “what was that rule again?”

Tyler’s eyes were darker now, his gaze intense as he reached out, plucking the hat from your hand and setting it back on his own head. He stood up slowly, towering over you, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, lips close to your ear.

“I’m already dyin’ to take you right now,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Don’t tempt me.”

Your heart raced at his words, your playful bravado wavering for a split second as the tension between you thickened. But you couldn’t help yourself—you were never one to back down from a challenge. You met his gaze head-on, your lips curving into a daring smile.

“Well,” you whispered back, voice full of teasing confidence, “maybe I’m countin’ on that.”

The playful tension hung thick in the air, the space between you and Tyler charged with unspoken desire. His hat back on his head, Tyler’s eyes lingered on yours, darker than before, filled with something new—something inevitable. He stepped closer, and before you could say anything, his hand gently cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, the kiss firm yet unhurried, like he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than either of you cared to admit. Your body responded instinctively, leaning into him, one hand gripping the edge of his flannel shirt as the heat of the kiss spread through you. The years of playful back-and-forth, of near-misses and flirtatious glances, melted away into this one moment of pure, electric connection.

Around you, the few regulars left in the bar had noticed. A couple of whistles and cheers rang out, a playful acknowledgment of what everyone in your small town had suspected for years. But their noise faded into the background as you ignored them completely, lost in the feel of Tyler’s lips on yours.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumb still gently stroking your cheek. “You good?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper, eyes searching yours for confirmation.

You nodded, breathless but smiling. “More than good.”

He gave you that signature grin, the one that always made your heart skip a beat. Without another word, he grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the door. The cool night air hit you as you stepped outside, the warmth of the bar replaced by the crisp breeze of the fall evening. Tyler didn’t let go of your hand as he led you to his truck, parked just out front, the red Dodge pickup outfitted in storm-chasing gear that you’d ridden in countless times before. But this time felt different.

Tyler opened the passenger door, turning to you with an extended hand to help you up. His touch was gentle, but there was a quiet intensity in the way he guided you into the seat. Once you were settled, he made his way around the front of the truck, climbing into the driver’s side and turning the engine over with a low rumble.

As he shifted the truck into gear, he glanced over at you, his lips curving into a smirk. “So, where to? Your place, or mine?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yours.”

The smirk deepened into a grin. “Good choice.”

With that, he pulled out onto Main Street, the quiet stretch of road that ran through the heart of your small town. The familiar sights blurred past as the truck rumbled westward, toward the outskirts where Tyler’s place sat nestled among the trees. You leaned back in the seat, the thrill of the night coursing through you, heart racing as anticipation built with every passing mile.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—if anything, it only made the air more electric. Tyler’s hand rested on the gearshift, his knuckles brushing yours every so often, the simple contact sending a rush of warmth through you. You glanced over at him, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his focus stayed steady on the road, but there was an undeniable tension in his posture, like he was holding himself back.

The drive out to Tyler’s place was familiar but felt brand new in the charged atmosphere. Every turn in the road, every familiar landmark, passed by in a blur until finally, the gravel road leading up to his house came into view. The soft crunch of tires on gravel filled the quiet as he slowed the truck, pulling up beside the small, rustic house you’d been to more times than you could count.

But tonight, everything felt different. Tonight, it felt like everything had been leading to this moment.

Tyler parked the truck and turned off the engine, the silence of the night settling in around you as he turned to face you. That smirk was back, but now, there was a fire behind it, his gaze locked on yours as if daring you to make the next move.

Without a word, he opened his door and came around to your side, opening it for you and offering his hand once again. You took it, heart pounding as you stepped down from the truck, feeling the solid ground beneath your feet but still floating on the rush of what was about to happen.

As the door closed behind you, Tyler tugged you gently toward him, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close. His lips found yours again, this time slower, softer, like he was savoring the moment. You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard in the stillness of the night. His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper, as he asked, “You ready?”

You nodded, your fingers tightening in the fabric of his flannel, your voice soft but steady. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Tyler’s lips brushed against yours one last time before he pulled back, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. You barely had a moment to wonder what he was up to before his hands slid down to your waist, fingers gripping with a possessive but playful strength. 

With a quick, effortless motion, he hoisted you up and over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing. A squeal of surprise escaped your lips as you suddenly found yourself looking at the world upside down, your hands instinctively grabbing onto the back of his flannel to steady yourself. 

“Tyler!” you protested, half-laughing, half-scolding as you kicked your feet, trying to wriggle free. “You’re going to fall if you keep carrying me like this!”

His deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating against your body as he tightened his hold on you. “You think I can’t handle it?” he teased, his voice laced with humor as he started up the stairs toward his bedroom, his stride steady and sure. “I’ve carried heavier stuff than you during storm season, sweetheart. You’re light work.”

You squirmed again, the sensation of being tossed over his shoulder making you feel both thrilled and embarrassed, but the grin on your face was impossible to hide. “You’re gonna regret it if you drop me!” you warned, trying to sound serious but failing miserably as laughter bubbled up from your chest.

“I’m not dropping you,” he assured, his tone dripping with confidence. “But keep squirming, and I might just have to remind you who’s in charge here.” Tyler just laughed, one arm hooked securely around your legs while his free hand swatted playfully at your ass.

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “Oh, please, Tyler. You think you’re so—”

Before you could finish the sentence, he gave your ass another playful smack, the sound echoing off the walls as he continued up the stairs. This one was a little harder than the first. 

“That’s for doubting me,” he quipped, his voice teasingly low, the heat between the two of you rising again despite the lighthearted moment.

You huffed, still trying to act indignant despite the butterflies swarming in your stomach. “Alright, alright! Just get me upstairs in one piece, cowboy.”

He chuckled again, finally reaching the top of the stairs and carrying you effortlessly down the hallway toward his bedroom. The door creaked as he pushed it open with his foot, the room bathed in the soft, dim light of a single lamp in the corner. 

Tyler walked straight to the bed, carefully lowering you down onto the mattress as if he were laying down something precious. Your heart was still racing, your skin flushed from the thrill of it all. You looked up at him, catching your breath as he stood there, grinning like the devil himself. 

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, though the playful glint never left his eyes.

You smiled back, your heart still pounding, but now for a different reason entirely. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter, more breathless. “I’m okay.”

Tyler leaned down, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his touch lingering against your skin for just a moment before he gave you a wink. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

The playful spark in Tyler’s eyes softened as he leaned over you, his hands resting gently on either side of your body, caging you in without making you feel trapped. His gaze locked onto yours, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was anticipation. 

Slowly, he lowered his head, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that started soft but deepened with every passing second, the heat between you building once again.

His hands, large and warm, began a slow exploration. He started at your hips, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist before moving up to your sides, sending a shiver through your body. His hands stopped when they reached the bottom of your shirt.

He pulled away from the kiss for just a moment, his eyes meeting yours, a silent question lingering there. You knew what he was asking without him needing to say it. You nodded, giving him your permission with a soft smile.

Tyler’s lips twitched up in a small, relieved grin as his fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt, tugging it up gently. You lifted your arms to help him, your heartbeat racing as the fabric slid off and hit the floor. The cool air of the room brushed against your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat coming from Tyler’s body as he leaned back down, his hands now roaming over your bare skin, igniting every nerve he touched.

Your hands moved up to his chest, and with trembling fingers, you started to undo the buttons of his shirt. As you worked your way down, Tyler’s mouth found the delicate skin of your neck, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your throat. His lips were warm and gentle, but when he bit down lightly, your breath hitched, a small, involuntary sound escaping your lips.

That sound—small but full of need—seemed to drive Tyler wild. His grip on you tightened slightly, his lips continuing their assault on your neck, alternating between gentle kisses and playful bites. Each time his teeth grazed your skin, you couldn’t stop the soft moans that spilled from your mouth, your body arching slightly into him. 

His name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, barely audible but enough to make him pause for just a second, his breath hot against your skin as he groaned softly.

“You keep making sounds like that, and I’m not gonna be able to control myself,” he murmured against your neck, his voice rough with need. 

His hands slid down your sides again, fingertips skimming the waistband of your jeans, but he paused, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to. When you didn’t, he met your eyes again, waiting for your nod before his fingers deftly began undoing the button and zipper, tugging the denim down over your hips.

You took a deep breath, your fingers still fumbling with the last few buttons of his shirt, finally getting it open enough to slide it off his shoulders. The moment his shirt hit the floor, your hands were on him, running over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palms. Tyler groaned again, his hands continuing their exploration, mapping every inch of your body as if it were the first time.

His mouth was on your neck again, trailing lower now, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone and further down. Every touch, every kiss, sent a wave of electricity through you, building a tension in your core that made it hard to think straight. The intimacy between you felt more intense now, the playful teasing giving way to something deeper, something that made your heart race and your breath come faster.

Tyler pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your hips again. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, concern flickering in his eyes despite the heat between you.

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat for a second before you managed to breathe out a soft, “Yeah... more than okay.”

His lips curved into that familiar grin, but there was something different in it now—something softer. He leaned back down, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. 

As his hands continued their journey over your skin, you could feel the shift between you, the playfulness melting away into something intimate, something more raw and real.

Tyler’s lips were on yours again, soft but hungry, as his hands roamed over your skin, pulling you closer, deepening the intensity between you. There was a new urgency in the way he touched you, the last of your clothes falling away, leaving nothing between you but heat and desire. When you finally pulled back to look at him, you noticed that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, tempered by something softer, almost reverent, as he took in the sight of you.

“Your turn,” you whispered, your voice shaky but steady enough to tug at the waistband of his jeans.

Tyler grinned, the playfulness returning for just a moment as he sat back, undoing the button and zipper with quick, fluid motions. You watched as he kicked off his boots and jeans, your eyes following the movements of his hands as he finally tugged off his boxers, leaving him completely bare before you. You couldn’t help but admire the way he moved—every flex of muscle, every shift in his body.

You moved toward him, but Tyler caught you by the waist before you could get too far, flipping the two of you gently so that he was the one lying on the bed beneath you. His grin was still there, but it softened as his hands rested on your hips, pulling you down on top of him.

"Now that’s a view," he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. He traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin as you straddled him, feeling the warmth of his body beneath you, your bare skin pressed against his.

For a moment, you just hovered there, the tension between you thick and electric. But then Tyler’s hand slid up your spine, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding you in the moment. 

“Before we go any further...” he murmured, his voice low but serious. His eyes met yours, searching. “We need to talk.”

You nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. The chemistry between you was undeniable, but that didn’t mean you were going to be reckless. 

"I’m clean," you said softly, feeling a little breathless as you admitted it. "I’ve been tested."

"Me too," Tyler replied, his voice steady but filled with the same tension that ran through your body. “But...” He gave you a sheepish grin as he reached out, fumbling in the drawer of his nightstand for a moment. His fingers finally closed around what he was looking for, and he pulled out a small foil packet, holding it up between the two of you with a little chuckle. “Just in case.”

You smiled at his awkward fumbling, appreciating the way he was handling this—respectful, but still maintaining that easy, familiar chemistry you had with him. 

“Good thinking,” you teased, watching as he ripped the packet open, his movements still a little clumsy in his eagerness. He rolled the condom onto himself, his eyes never leaving yours. His breath was heavy, and you could feel the tension building again, stronger now that you’d both cleared the air. 

You reached for his Stetson, which had somehow ended up on the bed, and with a grin, you placed it on your head, the brim casting a shadow over your eyes. Tyler’s gaze darkened as he watched you, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came out.

Slowly, you positioned yourself over him, your legs straddling his hips. His hands came to rest on your thighs, his fingers squeezing lightly as you sank down onto him, a gasp escaping your lips at the sensation. The Stetson tilted slightly on your head, but you didn’t care. All that mattered at that moment was the connection between you and Tyler—the heat, the closeness, the way his hands gripped your hips like you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.

Tyler let out a groan, his grip tightening as you adjusted to him, your body leaning forward slightly, pressing your chest against his as you both took a moment to breathe. His hand slid up your back again, this time tracing your spine with slow, deliberate strokes that sent shivers through your body. He tilted his head up, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was slow as if he had all the time in the world to savor this moment.

"God, you look so damn good," he whispered against your lips, his voice rough, filled with that raw desire you’d only ever seen glimpses of before.

You smiled, breathless, your forehead resting against his. “Wearing your hat and nothing else?” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mmhm.” Tyler’s hands slid back down to your hips, guiding you as you began to move slowly against him. “You have no idea what you do to me...”

Tyler’s breath hitched as you settled against him, your bodies moving in sync, slow and deliberate, as if the two of you were savoring every second. His hands never left your skin, sliding from your hips to your waist, then down your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of the feel of you. Each movement sent a shiver up your spine, your body reacting to the way his fingers traced small circles, grounding you in the moment.

The slow rhythm between you grew more intense with every passing second, but Tyler kept his focus on you, his eyes locked on yours, the smirk on his face softened by the emotion behind it. He shifted slightly beneath you, a groan slipping from his lips as he tightened his grip on your hips, guiding you in your movements but still giving you control.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as the sensation built, but you didn’t rush. There was something almost sweet about the way you moved together, like you both understood that this wasn’t just about the physical connection. It was something deeper, something that had been simmering for years between flirty glances, teasing remarks, and late-night conversations.

Tyler leaned up, capturing your lips in another kiss—this one softer, more tender, as if he was trying to tell you something without words. His fingers threaded through your hair, gently tugging, tilting your head back just enough to expose your neck. He pressed his lips to your throat, kissing his way up the sensitive skin there, and you couldn’t help the small sounds that escaped your lips, your body responding to every little touch.

You felt his grip on your hips tighten again, pulling you closer, your bodies moving together with more urgency now. The feeling between you was electric, your heart pounding in your chest as his kisses grew more desperate, more hungry. But even in the midst of it, Tyler’s touch remained careful, measured, as if he was constantly checking to make sure you were okay.

You didn’t mean for it to happen but your orgasm hit you faster than you expected. You felt your walls squeezing around him as your thighs started to shake. You let out several moans into Tylers mouth as he bucked his hips up to work you through it.

When you finally broke away from his mouth, breathless, Tyler leaned his forehead against yours, his hands resting on your lower back, holding you close. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between you—just the sound of your breathing and the steady beat of your hearts.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with concern as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “More than okay,” you whispered back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He exhaled, a relieved grin spreading across his face. “Good.” His hands slipped down to your waist again, his grip firm but gentle. “Because I’m not sure I can handle you looking like that in my hat and not lose my damn mind.”

You chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss him again, feeling the way his body responded to the smallest touch. The teasing from earlier was still there, but it was mingled with something else now—a deep sense of care and affection that had always been beneath the surface.

As the tension built between you again, Tyler’s movements became more urgent, more deliberate, and his grip on you tightened in response. His groans were low and quiet, but the sound of them sent a surge of heat through your body, making you move faster, more eagerly, craving every reaction you could pull from him.

Tyler’s hands roamed your back, sliding up your spine and then down again, before settling on your hips once more, guiding you, helping you keep the rhythm even when it became harder to focus as your second orgasm crept closer. His mouth found your neck again, biting down gently in a way that made you gasp, your body arching into him as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Every touch, every kiss felt electric, like the two of you had been waiting for this moment for years. And as the intensity reached its peak, you couldn’t help but feel the emotion behind it all—the unspoken bond you shared, the connection that had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface of your friendship.

Finally, as the tension broke and the two of you found your release together, Tyler pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as you collapsed against him. His body was warm and solid beneath you, his heartbeat strong and steady as you both came down from the high of the moment. He held you there, his hands still tracing gentle patterns on your skin, like he was memorizing the feel of you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing as you lay in the quiet intimacy of the aftermath. Tyler shifted slightly, his hand sliding up to brush through your hair again, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“You okay?” he asked again, his voice soft and filled with that familiar concern.

You nodded against him, your body still tingling from the intensity of what had just happened. “Yeah... more than okay,” you murmured, echoing your earlier words.

Tyler chuckled quietly, his arms tightening around you as he pulled you closer. “Good,” he said, his voice warm and filled with affection. “That’s all I ever want... to take care of you.” His fingers trailed along your back in slow, soothing strokes as he held you there, the warmth of his body surrounding you like a cocoon of safety and comfort.

The warmth of Tyler’s body still enveloped you as you lay there, your head resting on his chest, his hand gently running through your hair. The room was quiet now, just the soft sounds of your breathing mixing with the faint creak of the old house settling around you. For a while, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. You could feel Tyler’s steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, and it grounded you, but there was something else—a nagging thought that you couldn’t quite shake.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him. “Tyler...” you began, your voice soft, but tinged with uncertainty.

He looked down at you, his brows furrowing just a little, concern immediately flashing in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “What... what does this mean for us?” you asked, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you. “I mean, is this... was this just a one-time thing?”

Tyler’s expression softened instantly, and he reached up, cupping your cheek in his hand, his thumb gently brushing over your skin. 

“A one-time thing?” he repeated, his voice almost incredulous. “Are you kidding?”

You averted your gaze, feeling a little silly for even asking, but Tyler didn’t let you look away. He gently guided your chin back toward him, making sure your eyes met his.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers,” he said, his voice low but steady, like it was the most natural thing in the world to admit. “I just... I didn’t think I had a shot in hell with someone like you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in slowly. “Someone like me?” you echoed, a small laugh escaping your lips despite the serious turn of the conversation. “Tyler, you make it sound like I’m some kind of angel.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb still brushing along your cheek. “Well, that’s what you are to me,” he said with a grin. “An angel. I mean, come on... a guy like me? A cowboy who’s been out chasing storms and kicking up dust for most of his life?” His eyes sparkled with humor, but there was something deeper behind them—something genuine. “I didn’t think I deserved a shot with someone as good as you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling at his words. “Cowboys and angels...” you teased, the playfulness returning to your voice. “Seems like a pretty good combination to me.”

Tyler laughed, the sound warm and rich, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Turns out, they go real well together.”

For a moment, you both lay there in the quiet, the weight of his confession settling over you. It felt like everything had shifted between you, but in the best possible way. The years of friendship, the playful flirting, the unspoken connection—it had all led to this, to a moment that felt as natural as it was surprising.

You smiled up at him, the worry that had been gnawing at you now completely gone. “So... we’re doing this?” you asked softly, your hand resting over his heart.

Tyler grinned, his eyes full of warmth as he leaned in, kissing you tenderly. “Yeah,” he whispered against your lips. “We’re doing this.”

And with that, the uncertainty melted away, replaced by the deep, undeniable certainty that this was where you were meant to be—wrapped up in the arms of the man who had loved you all along, even when you hadn’t realized it. The cowboy and his angel, right where they belonged.

[lavena]

I feel like it would be so fun for a fan fic to delve into the idea of Damian being an actual prince.

Not just the heir to the league of assassins, but have the league be the private military force of whatever nation Ras Al Ghul runs. I feel like the most suitable place for the official kingdom to be would be Eth Alth'eban rather than nanda parbat. I'm pretty sure Eth Alth'eban is the forst location that Raa built and it makes sense for him to put his roots down there.

But you could also place them in nada parbat in the Himalayas or in one of their bases in the Swiss Alps.

I just think it could be so fun for Ras to be manipulating the world to be more earth and climate conscious by offering trades of whatever resource they have or training their soldiers or at risk royals/ important people who are targeted for assassination attempts. He can give one or all of these in exchange for climate activist and earth conscious choices in their government to be made. It would be slow going but I think he could get a good lot of people on his side.

I mainly want to see actual prince Damian for 2 reasons.

One.

Diplomatic immunity card shenanigans

And two.

Meeting royals at events and greeting them as old friends.

Just like

Damian being pulled into an FBI investigation for one reason or another, a kid at his school was murdered and they had an argument a few days before the kid disappeared. He had nothing to do with it, but got pulled into the investigation.

Obviously because he is like 10, Bruce goes with him, tried to play his usual stuff by throwing around money and using flattery, but these are no nonsense, stick it to the rich FBI guys (think Booth from Bones).

So they press for details and at one point one of the FBI dudes gets in Damians face and threatens that they find evidence that he did a crime and will make sure he is put away.

Bruce is obviously offended, first off, this is a 10 year old, second this is his 10 year old. He goes to kind of start flipping out at these guys and Damian just holds up a hand.

"I believe you have a call waiting for you from the State Department"

Right as the intercom buzzes and the agent on the other end is telling them they have an important call waiting for them.

State Department comes in, apologizes for how rudely the FBI treated him, and ensure him it won't happen again.

The agents are seething wondering how this snot nosed brat got diplomatic immunity, and Bruce is wondering the same thing.

"I am the heir of a foreign nation and have been tasked with many diplomatic roles in the past, it becomes necessary to cover your bases father."

Bruce is a little flabbergasted, his 10 year old child. His little boy is the heir of a foreign nation, not just the league, but the national power behind the organization. How did he not think he would be briefed for foreign diplomacy.

Two.

They're attending a gala when a young woman and a young man lightly speed towards their group.

The Waynes - Damian all groan thinking it's the young heirs to some wealthy family coming to try to make a business deal or get in their good graces when the girl bows lightly to Damian, greeting him in a different language completely ignoring Bruce and co.

Even more surprising Damian bows back, returning her words. Then moves to grasp arms with the boy accompanying her.

They speak formally, before the woman snorts lightly and elbows the man. They all relax after that, exchanging words with obvious sarcasm and teasing remarks.

Damian then turns to Bruce.

"Father I would like to introduce Bhasundara from the Dogra clan in the Himalayas, and he guard, a comrade of mine from training Ahsan. Bhasundara came to train with us after an assassination attempt on her 14th birthday, Ahsan went back with her as her guard and later her consort.

Bhasundara, Ahsan, this is my father Bruce Wayne, the host of tonight's event, and his wards Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, and Cassandra Cain."

"Taking a back seat to hosting I see Amiri. Did the Kargili clan traumatize you that much?" Ahsan laughs, smirking when Bhasundara elbows him.

Damian scoffs, talling the man off and leads them over to the desert table, pointing out the best desert for the group to procure.

Leaving his family baffled as they watched their littlest interact with not only a former member of the league that was here completely under their radar, but also a supposed heir to a clan in the Himalayas.

The more you learn

[silenzahra]

❤️ Without him 💚

Ahh, my beloved @megamagimugi... Did you think that I only had ONE birthday present for you? 😌🎂

Turns out that, a while back, when you posted this, I knew that someday I'd want to write something inspired by it. Then you also made this (specifically Mario's drawing) and, well, my mind got to work 🤭

And finally, after working non-stop for the last couple of weeks, I'm delighted to present you a fic entirely inspired by your amazing and astounding art 😄🎉

I really hope you'll enjoy this both as a birthday present and a Mar10 Day celebration, dear friend! A couple of warnings though: this has a few TW that I'll list in a minute, and it's LONG. I remember you telling me I should let my stories grow as much as they need so... I did 🤭 So please make sure to take all the time you need and, maybe, grab a drink or a snack. Enjoy! 💖

I hope it's okay that I tag some friends who might be interested, but of course it's totally fine if you'd rather skip this one for whatever reason 💖 @vulpixfairy1985 @smokszyvverstar @bberetd (only if you want to, my dear bestie 🫂💖) @pepperycar @stripetkattelalala54-gf (at your own time of course 💖) @itsavee4117 @dragon-fly34 @roscolate @doodleydoo101

Without further ado, get ready for some brotherly angst... and love ❤️💚

TW: Blood, injuries, mourning, character death

✨ AO3 LINK ✨

EDIT: In case someone would like to learn more about the writing process of this long fic, you're welcome to read this ask, but only AFTER reading the story as there are SPOILERS!!

Click to keep reading down below 👇🏻💖

❤️ Without him 💚

It’s still dark when Luigi emerges from the mansion.

Or perhaps sunlight never reaches this cursed area.

Luigi doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything anymore.

Trying not to drop anything he’s carrying in his arms, he just walks towards the outside of the building.

His heart feels heavy on his chest.

It’s all been a lie.

King Boo has been making fun of him from the start.

Mario is dead.

Luigi is unable to utter these words when he meets Professor E. Gadd in his laboratory to return the Poltergust 3000. Even so, the fact that he’s returned alone, as well as his somewhat robotic attitude and his reluctance to speak, are enough for the scientist to understand what’s happened without Luigi having to openly say it. Still, he decides not to stay to listen to whatever the old man was planning to say in order to try to console him. What for?

He just wants to mourn his beloved brother in peace.

He doesn't even mind where. He just knows that he wants to be alone, to leave this horrible place behind, to go away and never look back.

With narrowed eyes and his mouth a thin line, Luigi heads out of the laboratory. He doesn't bother to turn around to give one last glance at the iron door he crossed just a few seconds before, behind which now there’s only an empty lot whose atmosphere, however, is still disturbing. Luigi simply walks away from it with his arms full, his face impassive, his body numb, unable to sense the discomfort of the few scratches and blows he’s received while battling the ghosts, nor the tiredness that’s gradually taken hold of him as the night progressed.

Nevertheless, his throat...

Luigi doesn’t know when it appeared, but he feels a lump in his throat that just keeps growing. Knowing that he won’t be able to contain it for much longer, the plumber decides to sit on the gnarled root of a tree and slowly arranges the objects he was carrying in his arms around him.

One by one, he observes all of Mario's belongings that he’s collected during the night and which, unbeknownst to him at the time, would end up being the last things he’d have left of his twin. They were what he held on to in search of a glimmer of hope as he wandered through the mansion alone, thinking only of the moment when he’d finally find his sibling and, after making sure he was fine and safe, he could give him back everything he’d lost. A shoe, an ordinary one, just like the ones he wears. A glove, also like his, but a bit wider and a little wet. A star, which he himself insisted that Mario take with him when he went to explore the house on his own, so that he could protect himself if necessary, but which he didn’t have time to use before...

The twinge in his chest is so intense that Luigi is forced to squeeze his eyelids and lips with all his might. No matter how hard he tries to avoid it, his treacherous mind shows him the images of what must have happened: Mario, arriving alone at the manor, ready to inspect it and make sure it wasn't a trap, is suddenly attacked by a horde of Boos. They’re so numerous that his poor brother barely has time to notice their presence before several of them seize his arms and legs to prevent him from trying to defend himself. The star rests in his back pocket, longing to be utilized and turn its owner invincible.

But the Boos are stronger when they are united.

Mario didn't stand a chance.

The first tears begin to escape from the corners of Luigi's eyes and slide down his cheeks. The plumber doesn’t hold back the accompanying sob, which is followed by several more as his heart slowly bleeds. His shoulders shake and he brings a hand to his face while, with the other, he presses the last two objects he has left of his older sibling against his chest with all his might.

The hat. Luigi was surprised to find it in the washing machine, as at home he’s in the habit of washing both his clothes and Mario's by hand, but he simply took it to Madame Clairvoya as soon as he had the opportunity so that she could reveal something about the whereabouts of his twin. Now, Luigi not only understands that everything the ghost told him was a lie, but he also feels sad that the cap is so clean. It retains none of his brother's warmth, not even a single strand of hair, which was a shade of brown slightly lighter than his own.

Luigi is grateful to keep the garment, but, for him, it’s as if it never belonged to Mario.

And then there's the letter. Literally the last words his twin wrote to him. Coming from Mario, it could only be yet another attempt to protect him: “Look out for Boos, Luigi!” How did he manage to write it if the specters ambushed him? Why didn't he think of using the star to defend himself first? Maybe that way he could have escaped...

But no. Mario's priority was always to protect Luigi. Always.

Until the last second of his life.

Salty rivers flow from Luigi's eyes without any control. His body shakes in harsh convulsions while, deep inside, his shattered heart cries, tearing his soul apart. His soul, which will never be whole again, which has been broken forever. Mario... What will Luigi do now without him? How will he be able to go on without his sibling by his side? They’ve been together since they were born, they’ve never spent more than a few hours apart, they’ve always had each other's backs.

Especially Mario.

Never in his life had Luigi felt so useless.

What has he ever done for Mario? He never defended him, not in the same way that his brother defended him. He never got involved in a fight to protect him. He never had the courage to stand up to those who made fun of him, or rather, to them, because they always went for Luigi first and, as soon as Mario got involved, they turned to him.

But Luigi, despite the rage that welled up inside him and mingled with his fear, was never able to intervene.

And now he’ll never have the chance to try.

Heartbroken, he once again berates himself for all the mistakes he’s made that have led to this situation. First of all, how could he have been so stupid as to believe he had won a huge mansion in the middle of nowhere when he hadn't even entered a contest? Of course it was a trap! And of course Mario, much more battle-hardened than him, sensed it from the start.

And of course he’d do everything in his power to protect his younger twin.

Luigi sniffs, his face soaking, but he doesn't bother to wipe it. He doesn't want to let go of his brother's hat or letter. He wants them to remain close to his heart, as a way of keeping Mario's memory alive.

And also, perhaps, to lessen the guilt.

Because the biggest mistake Luigi made was to allow his sibling to go to the house alone.

Because of him, Mario fell right into the trap set for him by the Boos.

Because of him, Mario had no chance to defend himself.

Because of him, Mario is dead.

And Luigi will never be able to forgive himself for it.

Perhaps, if he had insisted more, his twin would’ve been happy for them to go together. Perhaps, if he had been with him, Luigi could’ve tried to protect him in some way. Perhaps he could’ve freed him from the clutches of the Boos. Perhaps he could’ve thrown him out of the building, away from the reach of the phantoms. Perhaps he could’ve saved him even at the cost of his own life.

Luigi would gladly give up his last breath if it meant bringing Mario back.

But who is he trying to fool? If he wasn’t able to face human aggressors in the past, how could he possibly muster the courage to do so with the Boos? Particularly considering how much he fears ghosts... Besides, he's not as strong as Mario. In fact, he’s quite the opposite: weak and faint-hearted. What could he have done against a legion of specters? He didn't even have the Poltergust 3000 when he arrived at the mansion.

Not that it helped him much.

Yes, in the end he captured the Boos, but one by one. Yes, he also defeated Boolossus, but, again, he did it by splitting him up with those ice statues so he could catch each spirit separately. And, yes, he beat King Boo. Despite the grief and pain that surged from the depths of his soul as soon as he heard the terrible truth, for once, anger took over and Luigi was finally able to trap his enemy.

And for what? For nothing. It was all in vain.

Mario was dead all along.

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

Mario wasn't expecting the ambush.

The Boos caught him completely off guard. They appeared from everywhere, illuminating the hall of the manor with their glimmering shine and pouncing on him before he even had time to understand what was happening. Despite his good reflexes, which helped him dodge the first Boos, Mario was being overpowered.

He fought tooth and nail. He punched and kicked as he ran and jumped, trying to reach the main door of the house, from which he had made the mistake of moving away. He only had to go down the stairs, maybe he could even buy some time if he tried to hang from the central lamp. Not having much time to decide, the plumber put his idea into action.

Two Boos intercepted him in mid-leap and Mario suddenly found himself floating upside down, held only by the leg of his overalls. The shrill cackles of the specters echoed around him. What the hell was going on? Why didn't those Boos turn around as soon as he looked at them, as happened in the haunted mansions he explored in some of his previous adventures?

Where had these ghosts come from?

“Let go!” he yelled, enraged.

He shook himself violently and even tried to reach the beings with his hands, trying to bend his body as far as possible, but the Boos would not allow it. Unexpectedly, they swung him before launching him into the air, which drew a shriek of terror from him as he feared fracturing something as soon as he hit the floor.

But then other Boos caught him, this time holding his arms sternly to prevent him from twisting. Mario, of course, put up a fight, eager to break free just so he could escape from there and hurry to warn Luigi. His brother was on his way to the manor. He had to stop him from setting foot in this ghost-infested place!

However, as soon as he realized how the remaining Boos were gathering in front of him like a swarm of bees, Mario stopped resisting, confused by the spirits’ attitude. Silently, he watched as these tiny and not at all scary Boos merged to form a single, enormous, round one, with a mocking expression that it fixed on him right away. Mario gasped, startled, unable to comprehend what his eyes were witnessing, and he couldn't contain the chill that ran through him when the newly formed specter’s glance flashed with pure malice, blazing like lightning.

The first blow, and the most lacerating, was to the eye. It was so fast, so sudden, that he didn't even have time to close it. Pain shot through his head as if a knife had been viciously plunged into his skull, and he was unable to contain the scream that escaped his throat. Instantly, the laughter of the Boos who were still grasping him flooded his ears, together with the guttural guffaw emitted by the enormous being that had just hit him. Mario barely had a moment to catch his breath before it attacked him again, this time in the stomach. When the Boos released him without warning, the plumber couldn't even shout as he plunged to the ground.

He fell on the stair landing with a dull thud, his nose hitting just above a step, so that the skin over his upper lip took the blow. He could barely utter a soft groan even though his whole frame felt the impact, but there was no air left in his lungs. He soon felt blood running down from under his moustache to his mouth. He was unable to try to raise his arm to wipe it away.

But the Boos were not done with him.

Mario felt a cold, ghostly hand grab his shoulder and force him to turn around without any care, so that his damaged body was left shoddily leaning against the wall of the hallway. Mario inhaled, trying to shake away drowsiness, and managed to focus his gaze just in time.

The huge Boo was hurtling towards him at full speed.

With a cry, Mario forced himself to cling to the steps beside him and held on to them to pull his frame. He tried to move his knees too and clambered awkwardly on all fours to dodge the attack, unable to stand up.

Although he managed to avoid the blow, as he struggled to get up, he felt the same spectral hand grab his ankle. Mario screamed and clung with all his might to the railing at the top. He shook and swung his foot up and down, without stopping for a second, angry and fed up at the same time, until he finally felt the extremity slip down his foot. It was taking off his shoe, but he didn't mind. He had to escape.

Finally, with one last jolt, Mario managed to free himself and hastily got to his feet. With one bare foot, his white and green striped sock being the only thing protecting him from the cold floor, he ran towards the double door in front of him, opened it in a hurry and went through, then rushed to close it behind him. He wasn't sure that a door would be an effective barrier against spirits, but he had to try.

He had to warn Luigi.

Breathless, his heart racing, Mario fell backwards against the door he had just gone through and began to rummage through his pockets. In his left pocket he found his pen and in his right pocket he found his notebook, which he always carried with him in case they received an unexpected call and he had to write down the details of a client who required the plumbing services that he and Luigi offered.

Never in his life had he appreciated having them so much as then.

With his hands trembling and blood starting to drip down his chin, Mario began to turn the pages. His eye still hurt a lot and he was sure that the damned being had caused him some serious damage, but he forced himself to try to open it to see something in that half-dark room. In the middle of his race, he hadn't even stopped to examine it, and he barely raised his head at that moment, just enough to make out a couple of candles whose faint light provided too dim an illumination for his injured eye.

But it would have to be enough. He had to warn Luigi.

If he was going to die there, if those Boos weren't going to let him reach the exit, he would at least try to leave a note for his twin as close as possible to the entrance door.

The handwriting came out crooked and somewhat shaky due to his state of nerves, but he didn't let that stop him. As soon as he had written his warning, he tore the page out of the notebook and pressed it against his chest. He needed a plan. He needed to reach the exit, either to escape or at least to be able to leave the note somewhere where Luigi, hopefully, would see it.

Hopefully, he thought, his little brother would have thought twice and would not go to the mansion.

Mario couldn't even imagine the fear Luigi would feel upon encountering such a dark, gloomy place, and, to top it all, one plagued by ghosts. He himself felt terrified, as he would’ve never expected the Boos to be so violent.

He desperately wanted to get out of there. He wanted to leave and not look back. He wanted to find Luigi before he set foot in that damn house and return home together.

He didn't want to spend another second without him.

Determined, Mario got back on his feet. He was still clutching the note to his chest when he put his ear to the double door, trying to hear something. He chose to ignore his surroundings completely, as he had no interest in discovering anything more about that house. He was resolved to leave, whatever the cost, or at the very least, to make sure that Luigi was kept safe, even at the cost of his own life.

Neglecting what was around him was the biggest mistake he made.

Once again, he didn't see the blow coming. He only felt something hard and heavy fall on his head, so violent and savage that the searing pain caused him to lose his sight in a matter of seconds. Before his body hit the carpeted floor of the building, Mario had already lost consciousness.

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

Luigi wonders if he’ll ever run out of tears. If his heart will ever stop aching as if a claw were squeezing it with all its might.

If he’ll ever learn to live without Mario. If he’ll ever stop mourning his absence.

If he’ll ever be able to forgive himself.

He knows with absolute certainty that the answer to all these questions is no.

His throat hurts like hell because of the loud, choking sobs that come out of it, which have been increasing, hand in hand with the anguish that floods his soul and has spread throughout his entire anatomy. The crying tears him apart inside and threatens to break his sternum in two halves. He doesn't care. It seems like little punishment to him. It’s too small a price to pay for being the main person responsible for the murder of his sibling.

“Oh, Mario...” he murmurs, his weeping unstoppable.

The loneliness was already weighing on him in the mansion, having to face all those ghosts on his own, but he did it for Mario and would do it again if it meant bringing him back.

But spending the rest of his days alone knowing that it’s his fault that his brother is no longer there...

What will he do now without him?

His anguish prevents him from hearing the creaking of the door to the professor's laboratory. The hurried footsteps on the ground, some of them somewhat muffled. Not even the approaching rapid gasps. The pain has plunged him into a dark and impenetrable world in which there’s no room for anything other than guilt and sadness, suffering and hopelessness.

However, there is something that does manage to make its way into the darkness of his mind.

The only thing that could.

“Lu?”

With a start, Luigi falls silent as he opens his eyes. He holds his breath as he makes out a figure in front of him, a silhouette trimmed against the gloom of the forest. He has to blink several times, though, until his vision, clouded and blurred, clears up enough, and then, silently, he looks up slightly and observes what is before him.

But he cannot believe what he sees.

No. His eyes are deceiving him, as are his ears.

It's not real. It can't be real.

Luigi shrinks. He’s undoubtedly in the presence of a spirit. A spirit that has somehow escaped from the mansion that has become its tomb and, full of a wholly justified thirst for revenge, is ready to torment him until the end of his days.

A spirit that, nevertheless, seems very solid and... is it panting?

Luigi swallows, unable to believe it. He notices the tear in the specter’s red shirt, more or less at the height of the elbow of his left arm, where a bloody wound stands out. He notices the naked hand at the end of it, also covered in blood. He notices the dirt on his overalls. He notices his green and white striped sock, visible because his right shoe is missing, stained with dirt, earth and a few drops of blood.

Slowly, Luigi lets out an exhalation as he raises his head with wide open eyes. He then sees that the supposed ghost, his hair tangled and messy, is smiling at him. A somewhat strange smile, because he has a black eye, a bruise on his cheek and blood. Blood that rises from his forehead and rushes towards his damaged eye, and blood that spurts out from just below his mustache and drips down his chin.

But it's still a smile, after all.

Then, the spirit of his brother, puffing less and less, holds out a hand to him.

“Lu,” he says again.

His voice doesn’t sound guttural or shrill, as one might expect from a specter. On the contrary. Luigi believes that he could touch the warmth and affection that oozes from the tone of Mario's ghost.

Mario's ghost.

His heart skips a beat.

He really is seeing Mario in front of him. His twin really is grinning at him. He really has held out an arm, and Luigi suddenly discerns just how close his fingers are to his face.  Ignoring the dirt on the only glove Mario is wearing, all Luigi manages to do is keep the letter in one hand while, with the other, he places Mario’s lost hat on his sibling’s palm.

The giggle he emits as he grabs the cap also sounds very real. As authentic as that of the real Mario.

Like when he was alive.

As he watches the being lay the hat on his tousled curls, Luigi tells himself that, given that Mario was murdered when he was missing all these objects and, no doubt, put up a fight against the Boos, it makes sense that his spirit would manifest itself in this way: gloveless, hatless, shoeless, and looking like he's been beaten up.

His heart shrinks even further in his chest. How unfair that this was how Mario’s life ended. How angry he feels that he wasn’t able to do something to help him.

How ashamed he feels for not having been at his side so that, at least, Mario wouldn’t have had to go through that hell without him.

He’s the worst younger brother in existence.

He barely perceives the new tear staining his right cheek. He simply blinks as the specter, after adjusting his hat, turns his attention back to him. Luigi barely has time to behold him for a moment, his soul shrieking with hope at the sight of his twin, hat and all, being again in front of him, when, once again, his sibling, or what’s left of him, holds out his hand to him. Without hesitation.

This time, Luigi doesn't know whether he should give him the letter, or maybe the star, or perhaps the glove. So, undecided, he stares for a few seconds at Mario's outstretched limb before, uncertain, looking up at his face. His brother, despite the blood, despite the bruises, gives him a broad and sincere smile, the affection he has for him shining in his only open eye. As blue as the midday sky and as bright as when he was...

Alive.

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

Even though he couldn’t know it then, Mario was about to face a long and agonizing captivity.

He remembered, even before opening his only healthy eye, the pain hammering at his skull and causing him excruciating dizziness. He remembered noting the blood sliding down his forehead. He remembered noticing the lack of his hat and the glove on his left hand when, in a futile attempt to mitigate his suffering, he massaged his temples.

He remembered the vision of an empty and lonely world, where fire danced in the dark sky and, all around him, there was only an endless stone pavement, with no trace of buildings, trees or any other living thing. He remembered the feeling of being lost and alone, the hopelessness of realizing that no matter how far he went, he never got anywhere, the fear of never being able to find a way out. He remembered the stale, almost unbreathable air and the dim light, to which his good eye soon became accustomed. He remembered the physical pain of all his wounds, his body complaining with every step he took, but above all, he remembered the panic that took hold of his soul.

The dread of never seeing his sibling again, of having to spend the rest of his days in that strange and horrendous place without him, overcame everything else.

Mario simply walked, unwilling to give up, ignoring his bare foot. He had to get out of there, he had to go back to Luigi, he had to stop the Boos from doing the same damage to his twin as they had done to him. He deeply regretted not having found a way to get the message to Luigi before the damn ghosts attacked him. Because of them, not only had he been unable to warn his brother, but now he was also bleeding from his head. He didn't care, although this time he did try to wipe the blood from his forehead with his sleeve, and also from his chin.

When Bowser fell on his back with a tremendous noise that destabilized him, it took him by surprise just like the Boos attack.

What the hell was the Koopa King doing there? Was he in cahoots with the specters? Mario didn't have much time to think about it, as Bowser immediately attacked him with his fire. He felt tremendously stupid when he recalled, in his eagerness to find a way to beat him, that Luigi, always so cautious, had insisted that he at least take a power-up with him before leaving home in case he needed to defend himself. How right his younger sibling always was and how grateful Mario was to have him. Maybe he could have used it against the Boos, he thought, berating himself, but he’d been so worried about escaping and warning Luigi that it hadn't even crossed his mind that he had a power-up that would give him the advantage.

Until, rummaging in his back pocket, he found it empty.

Those damn Boos!

His hat, his glove, his shoe, the letter he wrote to warn Luigi, and now his star too? Mario grumbled under his breath, feeling very guilty and useless for letting himself be knocked out so easily. He should have resisted more. The damn spirits had taken advantage of his incompetence and had made sure to leave him as helpless and defenseless as possible.

Equally frustrated and scared, Mario realized that he was going to have to face his archenemy the old-fashioned way. He was aware that he wasn’t in the best condition for a battle, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. Without a second thought, he began to run around Bowser to throw him off, but to his surprise, King Koopa, cackling, started to turn on the spot and didn’t take his eyes off him for an instant. Damn it, the plumber thought, annoyed. It seemed that his old tricks would no longer work...

Suddenly Bowser's head detached from the rest of his body.

Mario shrieked and fell backwards, horrified. He watched, with his good eye wide open, as the head floated on its own while the lower part stayed behind, and in the midst of his terror he was perplexed to discern that there was no blood anywhere.

What on earth was going on? What kind of twisted nightmare was this?

He got his answer when, from inside Bowser's neck, a Boo emerged, bigger and chubbier than the one that had attacked him in the mansion hall. It wore a crown with a brilliant ruby on its head, which sparkled as it reflected the glow of the burning sky. Its crooked smile revealed pointed fangs and a blue tongue, and its eyes, red and gleaming, fixed on Mario with a flash of hatred that made him swallow.

“Welcome to your new home, Mario!” the specter bellowed in a shrill voice. “You'd better get used to it, because you're never going to leave here!”

“W-what?” Mario muttered as he struggled to stand up and conceal his fear.

“You’re finally going to pay for what you've done!” the being continued, as if he hadn't heard him. “I've been planning this revenge with my Boos for a long time... Do you remember them? They're the ones you've been scaring and frightening non-stop, and that's a ghost's job! Do you hear me, you two-bit trashy plumber? Not some short, stumpy idiot’s like you!”

“Hey!” protested Mario. “Who are you calling stumpy?”

“The one I'm about to finish off!”

Unable to help himself, Mario shrank back as the supposed King Boo pointed one of his spectral arms at him. Overwhelmed, he looked around, but he knew he wouldn't find anything there, no weapon with which to defend himself, nor food or water to regain his strength.

He was doomed.

He knew he’d be ashamed for the rest of his life of what he was about to do, but at that moment he couldn’t think of any other option. So he was forced to summon up his last reserves of energy and choose the only alternative he would have liked never to have to carry out: he turned around and ran.

He immediately felt like a coward. He wasn't the type to run away, but rather to stand up to the situation. However, he quickly remembered that, sometimes, his younger brother also escaped from dangerous situations to buy time, come up with a plan and then, at last, face the threat.

The problem was that Mario had nowhere to take shelter. Behind him he could hear the heavy footsteps of the fake Bowser, whose body he imagined King Boo had just mended. Oh, if only Luigi were there with him... Mario’s sure it wouldn't take him long to come up with a strategy for them both to emerge victorious.

Even so, for nothing in the world would Mario have wanted to see his twin there. It would be definitive proof that they’d both lost, that they’d both been victims of that excessive desire for revenge that King Boo harbored against them. Or against him, rather, despite the fact that, in the past, Mario used to just turn his back on the Boos and walk away from them. He couldn't understand why King Boo felt such enormous aversion towards him just for that.

But, in any case, Luigi was not to blame for anything. Mario wanted to see him, of course, but not there, not in that empty, stinking place. The longing to see him again, to hold him in his arms once more, to feel his warmth and affection enveloping him, flooded him all at once, intense and fierce like the waves in the middle of a storm, but he cared more about his safety. He cared more that Luigi never came to that house, that he didn't fall into the Boos' ambush, that he wasn't caught in that horrendous world like he was.

Mario didn't know how, but he would find a way to return to his sibling whatever the cost. He was going to survive, if only to annoy that damned Boo. He was going to resist, for he was determined to embrace Luigi once again with all his might.

He was fed up with that nightmare, but he was even more fed up with every second that passed without him.

Then, overcome by tiredness and thirst, Mario stumbled.

As his already aching body hit the hard stone floor, Mario realized that he wouldn’t have a chance to fulfill his desires. He wouldn’t have a chance to return to Luigi. He wouldn’t have a chance to escape from there. He knew he was defeated, for pain and exhaustion had taken hold of his flesh and bones, and the darkness was eager to take him with it. He didn't want to give up, he didn't want to give in, but there was nothing he could do.

It appeared that, at last, his enemies had managed to beat him.

Bowser's footsteps stopped behind him. Mario waited, gasping for breath. He expected, perhaps, to have a paw stepping on his back or a claw lifting him up by force. He was even ready for the fire to devour him in no time, leaving nothing but ashes.

Nevertheless, what he felt was a slight brush against his shoulder, so cold and subtle that it sent a shiver down his spine.

“By the way...” King Boo's voice sounded like a terrifying whisper next to his ear. “It seems that someone has come to the mansion looking for you...”

Mario jumped and opened his eye with a start.

“Luigi?” he muttered, panting.

No! No, no, no, that was the last thing he needed to hear...

“But don't worry,” the being continued, reveling in his alarmed reaction, “my Boos will take good care of him, Mario. You’ll soon be reunited!”

He concluded with a shrill laugh that pierced his skull, but he didn't even mind.

Luigi. Luigi had ended up going there to search for him. Luigi was going to fall into the Boos' trap.

And Mario could do nothing to prevent it.

At that very moment, his heart ached much more than any of his many physical wounds. Mario hung his head, dejected, trying to find the strength to get to his feet, to look for a way out, to try to find a way to help Luigi. He had to do something.

Tears of impotence suddenly flooded his eyes and slid down his cheeks, mixing with blood. Mario cried in silence for a few seconds, feeling useless and very guilty about what his poor brother was about to suffer. If only his body didn't hurt so much, if only he could have been stronger to stop the Boos, if only he could have remembered the damn star...

He was grateful to have been left alone. At least no one would see him crying. At least no one would hear his low sobs or witness how tremendously pathetic he really was. What a hero. The shame of the Mushroom Kingdom. The most pathetic loser anyone had ever heard of. The disgrace of his family. The furthest thing imaginable from a role model.

He woke up when Bowser fell back, with all his weight, right next to him.

Mario wasn't even aware that he had fallen asleep, but, although he was still sensing the pain of all his lesions, he forced himself to shake the drowsiness off and stand up. Before he could fully stabilize himself, however, King Koopa turned on himself, with his back to him. The plumber began to back away, confused...

And then Bowser turned around at full speed and his tail struck Mario's left arm with unusual violence.

All Mario could do was scream as he was hurtled away, his skin burning from the blow.

He shouted again as he landed on that same arm, his hand and cheek scraping against the stone floor. He was barely able to utter a low groan. He didn’t even know which part of his anatomy hurt the most, which injury bled the most, if he would ever open his damaged eye again.

Bowser's footsteps echoed behind him, drawing nearer. His roars sounded more furious than before. Mario watched him approach with his eyelid half closed, still confused and disoriented. Everything was happening too fast and he, unable to forget the words that King Boo whispered to him before he lost consciousness, still felt guilt weighing on his chest at the thought that Luigi...

Mario’s eye fluttered open as he understood that Bowser's anger, which was actually King Boo's, had a reason.

Luigi.

Of course! His younger sibling was smart, brave and fast. He knew how to make the best plans and always had the best ideas. If there was anyone capable of standing up to the Boos, if there was anyone capable of finding a way to defeat their king, it was Luigi.

His incredible, agile and intelligent twin brother.

Mario felt terrible for having given in to despair. After all, hadn't he himself thought that Luigi would undoubtedly know how to face King Boo? How could he have allowed hopelessness and discouragement to take over his soul? Luigi could handle anything.

And Mario had to hold on, survive, resist. For Luigi.

He had no time to wallow in his pain.

Mario got up.

He resumed the race. He ignored the bellowing of the fake Bowser, which often mingled with the shrill shrieks of King Boo himself. He ignored the screams of his own body, begging him to stop and rest. He ignored the pleas of his poor throat, desperate for a simple drop of water. He even ignored the roars of his empty stomach, longing for a small morsel to fill itself up with. He ignored the weeping of his heart at the prolonged separation from his beloved sibling.

He ignored everything. He concentrated on running. And when he could no longer hear his enemy behind him, he dared to take a quick look over his shoulder before giving in and letting himself fall.

He didn't know if King Boo would return. He had to make the most of the time he had alone to give his battered frame a break, but he couldn't let his guard down. This time he wouldn't sleep. He’d stay alert. Watchful.

He was going to survive. King Boo was undoubtedly enjoying torturing him with every minute that passed, but Mario was planning to get his own back.

He would survive, escape and give him what he deserved.

And then he’d rejoin Luigi and never spend another second of his life without him again.

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

Luigi can’t help but observe the ghost of his brother, unsure of how to react to his outstretched hand and apparent kindness. Should he trust him? Surely it's not... another trap?

“Luigi,” Mario says in a low whisper, “it's-a me!”

His words are interspersed with a soft chuckle that sounds like it wants to burst out, but which Mario tries to contain. Luigi catches sight of how his lips move when he speaks, how his chest rises and falls, how solid the limb he’s extended seems. He can’t help but notice, once again, how real his voice sounds when it reaches his ears.

Doubts and disbelief battle against hope inside him when, biting his lower lip, Luigi dares to raise his arm. He’s convinced that this is a huge mistake, that he’ll only find air, that he’s imagining things and his mind is deceiving him and it’s all in vain...

His breath escapes him the moment his fingertips find the palm of Mario's hand.

Solid. Firm. Real.

Just like the way Mario hastens to close his fingers around his own in a protective gesture.

Always protecting him, always looking after him, always watching over him.

Luigi gasps, staring fixedly at their clasped hands. He squeezes them, trying to convince himself that his older twin is really standing in front of him, and not a specter or a projection from the afterlife come to torment him.

And Mario squeezes back.

Luigi lets out a sound halfway between laughter and surprise. Fascinated, he looks up and finds a radiant grin from ear to ear on the bruised face of his sibling, his blue eye flashing, not losing detail of his reactions. Holding his breath, Luigi dares to put the letter he still had in his other hand on the root of the tree and slowly lifts his arm up.

His trembling palm finds Mario's chest and rests on it, unsure. His brother then places his own fingers on top of his and presses them gently, inviting him to keep them there for as long as necessary. It feels warm and real...

... As does Mario's pulse, steady and calm, which Luigi soon begins to perceive.

He inhales, on the verge of laughing or sobbing, he doesn't know, and clutches the fabric of the overalls of his twin, who lets out a low giggle. Luigi observes him again, biting his lower lip so as not to let out whatever is bubbling in his throat, and, without haste, starts to lift his arm, dragging Mario's along with it, as he doesn’t seem willing to let go of him.

When his palm meets Mario's cheek, he’s enveloped by the familiar warmth emanating from his skin through his glove.

His sibling tilts his head slightly towards his hand, closing his eye to enjoy the contact, and he exerts a slight pressure on Luigi’s extremity to better feel his caress.

Luigi is unable to discern the tangle of emotions that are swirling within right now, threatening to make his heart burst. Tears well up again, but this time they’re accompanied by a smile that gradually takes shape on his face as his mind finally takes in what’s happening.

Snickering gradually forms in his stomach and rises up through his sternum. Luigi, without letting go of Mario's hand or taking his palm away from his cheek, jumps to his feet as he releases the guffaw, sonorous and vibrant, which is promptly followed by that of his brother, just as powerful. He doesn't understand how, he doesn't understand what has happened, but it doesn't matter to him at all at the moment.

All he cares about is that Mario, the real one, the authentic one, is standing in front of him, gripping his hand securely, his laughter an echo of his own. All he cares about is that he can stroke Mario’s cheek, sense the warmth of Mario’s skin, feel Mario’s fingers lovingly covering his. All he cares about is that his twin, determined to return the gesture, ends up bringing his hand to Luigi’s cheek to wipe away his crying with his thumb, his face, real and smiling and alive, full of tenderness.

All he cares about is that he can finally hug him again.

“Mario,” he whispers, his tone still tinged with disbelief.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head, his body this time shaken by the chuckles he can’t stifle. He soon feels Mario’s forehead meet his, which brings forth a sob that wells up from the depths of his being. His sibling’s touch, as always, is comforting, reassuring, a balm for his poor shattered soul which, at last, begins to recover.

“Lulu,” replies Mario in the same tone, his palm still resting on his cheek.

With a new sob, Luigi slides his hand from Mario's cheek to the back of his neck to draw him towards him, and, after releasing his limb, he wraps his other arm around his beloved older brother and holds him close. He hugs him tighter than he can remember ever having done before, running his fingers through Mario’s tousled hair and crying into his shoulder. His broken heart slowly initiates the road towards healing thanks to the presence of his twin, who, without hesitating for a second, has in turn wrapped him in his arms and embraces him with the same intensity, his hand gently stroking his back in an attempt to convey some peace and tranquility.

Even so, as always, Mario doesn't pressure him. Silently, his sibling cradles him in his arms, the warmest blanket in the middle of winter, while Luigi gives free rein to the dizzying roller coaster of emotions he’s experienced in the last few hours. The uncertainty about Mario's whereabouts, the concern that something bad had happened to him, the horror of seeing his fear confirmed when King Boo told him that his Boos had killed Mario as soon as he set foot in the mansion, the grief, the guilt, the pain, the loneliness...

Finally, little by little, Luigi frees himself from it all. With each tear, with each sob, with each instant that passes clinging to his brother, his soul begins to heal and his heart starts to be restored, its pieces coming back together in his chest now that his other half is by his side again. The simple fact of having Mario next to him, of feeling his sturdiness in his arms and his breathing in his ear, is a strengthening relief for Luigi that is born in the depths of his being and gradually spreads to every corner of his anatomy, taking away all that’s negative and leaving room only for the immense joy of having his twin back and the placidity and peace that his bear hugs always give him.

Only Mario, with his gentleness and affection, his strong arms and delicate caresses, is capable of calming the storm that had been unleashed inside Luigi and that threatened to drag him into utter despair.

“Sono io,” Mario whispers then, his velvet tone filled with the cadence of a lullaby. “Sono qui, fratellino. Sono davvero qui e non vado da nessuna parte. Mai.”

Luigi's next sob turns into a giggle. Yes, Mario really is there with him, he really is holding him, he really is speaking to him in their native language to assure him that he’ll never leave his side again. His arms clench around his sibling, and he needs to catch his breath a couple of times before he’s able to reply.

“Ti voglio tanto bene, Mario,” he stammers, his voice strangled.

His brother pats him sweetly on the back, hugging him just as vigorously.

“Anch'io, Lulu,” he replies, and his soft, melodic tone fills him with calmness and serenity. “Anch'io ti voglio tantissimo...”

Clutching Mario's neck, Luigi laughs and cries at the same time. His words, spoken with such love that they make his soul tremble, provide him with all the warmth and comfort he had been longing to receive all night, since he set out on his unsuccessful search alone in the middle of the darkness. It still almost seems too good to be true that his twin is truly here, next to him, wrapping him in his protective arms like a shield that keeps him safe from all the evils of the outside world.

Mario is here, Mario is talking to him, Mario is embracing him, and Luigi can only cry with pure happiness.

Finally, with the last tear, Luigi manages to banish all traces of doubt and sadness left inside him. These are soon replaced by joy, which leads Luigi to vigorously clutch his brother, making him chuckle in surprise. Immediately, Mario hugs him tighter, and Luigi laughs even harder as he confirms that, as expected, his sibling’s energy is still intact and could take his breath away with a squeeze. He doesn't mind at all. Nothing could ruin the euphoria of having Mario back.

His rapture is such that, almost inadvertently, he begins to spring up and down in place, and it doesn't take long for his feet to move further away. As he continues to hold on to Mario, neither of them willing to let go of the other, he drags him along with him, but his twin doesn't seem bothered. In fact, Luigi suddenly feels how Mario's arms firmly encircle him around the waist and, the next thing he knows, his feet leave the ground, causing him to clench on to Mario even stronger as a loud squeal of surprise escapes his throat.

His brother's guffaws reverberate in his ear as he spins him around in the air, and Luigi joins in just a second later, his heart swelling in his chest at the bliss of the reunion.

When Mario finally sets him down gently, Luigi steps back a little, still snickering. His hands remain on Mario's shoulders, and his sibling, in turn, doesn’t let go of his waist. Luigi has to blink a couple of times to focus his still blurry gaze, and he jumps back as soon as he looks at his twin again.

“Mario!” he exclaims, cupping his brother’s face. “You're hurt!”

How could he have been so careless? The black eye, the blood... Luigi carefully runs his thumb over Mario’s injuries while, in his mind, he tries to remember if there’s anything within reach that he can use to help him. He’s going to need ice to apply to his eye, and gauze to clean the blood, and...

Mario's quiet laugh brings him back to the present.

“I'm fine, Lu,” he assures him, even though it's obvious that it's a lie. “They're just... war wounds.”

He shrugs and Luigi, much to his regret, smiles. He’s more than used to his twin always playing down the damage he receives during their adventures, no matter how serious. Still cupping his face in his palms, he leans down to kiss his sibling on the forehead, his affection for him warming his heart, and his grin broadens, full of tenderness, as he notices that Mario has closed his eyes the moment his lips have come into contact with his skin. When he moves away, they both exchange a loving expression that speaks for them.

“Come,” Luigi says shortly afterwards, reaching for Mario's hand, which he had raised to his shoulders. “I'm sure the professor has something to cure those war wounds,” he repeats jokingly, making Mario stick out his tongue. “In fact,” he exclaims as he realizes this, “he's going to be shocked when he sees you!”

To his surprise, Mario covers his mouth with his other hand to hide a giggle as he walks behind him.

“In fact,” he says, stealing his words, amusement coloring his voice, “I just came from his laboratory.”

“What?”

Luigi stops, open-mouthed, by the base of the tree and stares at him in silence, his fingers clenching his brother's.

“It's a long story,” Mario explains, looking around him doubtfully. “Do you think ...?”

As has sometimes happened when he’s seen Mario hesitate, Luigi, surprising himself, manages to react quickly.

“Say no more.” He puts his forefinger to his twin’s lips and grins. “Let's collect your things and go with the professor. You can tell us about it while I take care of you. I'm sure he'll be able to give you something to eat too.”

The smile Mario puts on is, to Luigi's amazement, timid.

“That would be great.”

At his response, Luigi abruptly realizes that, like him, his sibling must have gone hours without eating. And maybe even without drinking. He’s seized by the sudden urge to take Mario to the laboratory at once, to make sure he eats and drinks something before he starts to explain anything, to have the opportunity to begin treating his injuries. He gazes at the one on his elbow, which hasn’t stopped bleeding, and berates himself for having allowed his twin to pick him up in his condition. Is he blind? What kind of brother is he?

Hurriedly, Luigi bends down and picks up the shoe and glove. At least, he thinks, he’ll finally have a chance to return everything to his sibling, just as he intended. He would’ve liked the circumstances to be different, for the two to feel as best they could, but Luigi is well aware that, even so, he can't complain. What matter is that Mario is alive, and he’s going to make sure he gets better as soon as possible.

He's slightly startled to note that Mario is trying to grab the glove himself, so, taken aback, Luigi lets go of the garment. Looking distracted, Mario takes it with his right hand while stretching out his left, as if he were ready to put the filthy glove on his bleeding fingers.

Luigi almost has a heart attack.

“No way!” he stops him, holding his wrist. “It's very dirty and you're hurt. Your wounds could get infected!”

Mario chuckles.

“I just wanted to see your reaction,” he admits, giving him a slight push. “And you fell for it hook, line and sinker!”

“Very funny,” replies Luigi, folding his arms.

On his lips, however, a smile dances. It's a very good sign that his brother feels like teasing him despite his condition.

And how good it feels to be joking with his twin again.

For the next few minutes, Luigi enjoys every second of them both busily picking up Mario's objects, as his sibling never misses an opportunity to tease him whenever he can, pretending that he’s going to put his shoe on the sock stained with dirt and blood or that he drops the star when Luigi turns it over to him.

Still, when he picks up the letter, Luigi notices that there’s no trace of amusement in his brother’s gestures. Silently, he watches him unfold it and read it, and something breaks in his soul with the sigh that escapes from Mario's lips. Suddenly he seems dejected, as if he were being plagued by a flood of unpleasant memories, and Luigi wants to do something to erase them, to eliminate that expression from his twin’s face, to restore the joy and lightheartedness with which he was joking with him just a moment ago. He wants to pull his sibling out of the pit of sadness and desolation he has just sunk into and prevent him from falling back into it.

Then Mario looks up and, with a smile that’s anything but cheerful, holds out the paper to him.

“This is yours.”

Without a sound, Luigi reaches out and picks up the letter. He doesn't need to read it again, because he knows full well that it was a warning, a last attempt by his brother to keep him safe.

“I wrote it for you,” adds Mario.

Luigi tries to return his gesture but only manages to raise the corners of his mouth a little. Mario's shadowed gaze reveals to him that, much to his regret, he’s still immersed in those memories which he hopes he’ll soon share with him.

Perhaps, if they carry the burden together, it won't be so heavy.

“You have a lot to tell me,” he says, trying to give his voice a light tone that he’s not entirely sure he can achieve.

At least he manages to make his twin’s grin wider.

“And you me too,” says Mario, this time sounding much more carefree.

Luigi finds himself chuckling. He’s amazed by his sibling’s ability to overcome negative emotions. Deep down he knows that this is nothing more than a mask, and that Mario won’t be able to feel entirely better until he reveals all his fears and experiences to him.

But, for now, it’s enough.

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

The first thing Mario did when he woke up again was to curse himself.

He shouldn't have fallen asleep again! He was supposed to stay alert! King Boo could return at any time, and he had to keep resisting. He had to go back to Luigi. He couldn't give up, even if he didn't know how to get out of that deserted world. He couldn't give up, even if his body kept complaining, at the end of his tether.

He couldn't give up even if it was the last thing he did in his life.

All he wanted was to see Luigi one last time. He’d be satisfied with that. He’d go in peace if he could only see his younger brother, safe and sound, before everything was over.

His defeatist thoughts came to a screeching halt the second his good eye revealed that the landscape around him had finally changed.

Surprised, he sat up, perhaps a little too quickly. A wave of dizziness plagued him, but he forced himself to ignore it.

He was no longer in the world of emptiness.

Mario had appeared, he didn't know how or why, in a room with stone walls and embedded columns. It seemed to have been very luxurious in the past, but at the moment there was nothing in it except a lamp hanging from the ceiling. Its light, although dim because it only had two bulbs, was enough to blind him, after his only healthy eye had become accustomed to the dull atmosphere of the lifeless place in which he’d been trapped for who knew how long.

Hope lit up in his chest as soon as he made out, at the back of the room, something that could lead him to his long-awaited freedom.

A door.

Mario didn't feel able to stand up again. His legs ached from all the running. His lungs begged for a long breath while his throat, dry and sore, protested ever more feebly, not to mention his growling stomach. His arm, his hand, his head and his mouth were bleeding, fresh blood mixing with the dried blood staining his skin. His eye was hurting more and more and he even feared he might lose it. His scratched cheek was throbbing as if he had a second heart just beneath it.

But the prospect of finally seeing Luigi caused all his physical pain to fade into the background.

There would be time to rest, to eat and drink as much as he liked. There would be time for his wounds to be properly treated. There would be time to give his body all the care it needed.

What mattered most to him now was to finally heal the pain in his soul.

Despite King Boo’s torture, Luigi hadn’t disappeared from Mario's thoughts for a moment, much less from his heart. He’d been unable to stop wondering how he was, if the Boos had hurt him, if King Boo had made good on his threat. Fortunately, he knew that if Luigi had fallen, he would know it deep down inside.

That would have been the signal to surrender and let himself be defeated.

There would be no point in living in a world without him.

In that instant, as he slowly got to his feet and started walking towards the door, Mario could only bring one hand to his chest to try to calm his weeping heart, which was protesting at the too-prolonged absence of his other half.

“Presto, cuore, presto,” he said to himself, gasping.

Speaking in his mother tongue, even if it was just to himself, brought him relief and reassurance that warmed him from within and made him feel closer to his younger sibling, even though he hadn’t yet been able to find him. The two often spoke to each other in the language of their homeland, inherited from their parents and grandparents, and it was how they used to comfort each other when they went through difficult times.

Italian was one of the many things that united the twins.

Soon, Mario reached the door. Fortunately, it opened without a problem and led him into a long stone corridor. The plumber began to walk down it, his pure love for his brother and his eagerness to see him being the driving force behind his legs. The corridor was winding and led to another door, which he could also open easily.

From then on, he was swallowed up by the darkness.

With every step he took, Mario regretted more and more not having a flashlight or a torch with him. There was nothing to illuminate these tunnels, and the realization that he was underground was somewhat overwhelming. He groped his way forward, his fingers feeling the stone walls, anxious to find an exit soon, an end, something.

Then his hand came across something and Mario stopped in his tracks, hopeful. He used all his fingers to slowly touch whatever it was that was in front of him. It seemed to be a smooth and resistant fabric, like that of... a canvas? Was he perhaps inside a painting?

He wasn't about to let that stop him.

“Hello?” he shouted, starting to hit the canvas from behind. His voice sounded hoarse and parched from lack of water, so he had to clear his throat before trying again. “Can anyone hear me? Please! I need to get out of here!”

He still had to ask for help a few more times before he finally perceived movement on the other side. Holding his breath, Mario leaned back and waited until someone finally removed the painting that was keeping him locked up.

The sudden artificial light dazzled him. He could barely take a quick look at the kind of art gallery he had ended up in before the person who had freed him caught his attention.

“Mario!” exclaimed the tiny little man, still carrying the canvas he’d just taken down from the wall.

He was short, shorter than him, which was saying something, and he had no hair except for a white streak that stood out on his forehead. He couldn't see his eyes because he was wearing glasses with spiral lenses, as well as a lab coat.

Had Mario stumbled upon... some kind of scientist?

“You're alive!”

The little man, delighted to see him even though he didn't know him at all, carefully put the painting aside and held out his hand to help him down. Mario accepted his offer, but despite this, he almost fell as he descended from the gap in the wall, as weak and dizzy as he was. Somehow, he had already become accustomed to people, especially the Toads, recognizing him and getting excited whenever they saw him in the streets of the Mushroom Kingdom, but when this person helped him up, he appeared genuinely pleased to have run into him, as if he missed him even though he didn't know him. Mario smiled at him, grateful and also very relieved to finally be able to interact with someone other than the damned King Boo, but he couldn't pay attention to the man’s words. He had to get his bearings in order to finally find Luigi.

It was, in fact, the name of his twin on the lips of the professor that caught his attention.

“Luigi?” he exclaimed, springing to him. “Is he here? Is he all right?”

“He's outside,” the old man explained, and his enthusiasm faded a bit. “He's... well, he thinks that you're...”

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Mario's shoulders sank slightly as he understood what his brother must be experiencing, but he was immediately overcome with determination.

“I have to see him,” he declared, clenching both fists, one bare and wounded, the other covered by a glove that was far from white. “Where is he?”

“Over here, son!” The scientist was soon cheered up again and led the way. “He's going to be so happy to see you!”

Mario was pleased to tell that the man seemed truly delighted. He wondered if he had been assisting Luigi while he remained trapped in that horrible environment that he preferred never to remember, and he was glad that his younger sibling had been able to count on his help.

Anticipating the second when he’d finally be reunited with him, Mario didn’t even pay attention to the rooms he passed through after the professor. He simply followed him up the stairs, ignoring the noises coming from some rooms whose doors remained closed, the pain of his lesions and the exhaustion of his body completely forgotten. He focused on the wooden door his guide was heading for. The man opened it and, with a smile, stepped aside to let him pass.

Mario took a deep breath as he found himself, at last, in the open air in a world he knew.

He might have been greeted by a dark sky and a gloomy and unwelcoming environment, as well as an unpleasant gust that ruffled his dirty, tangled hair, but it was still better than that cursed place where he’d been forced to flee from a fake Bowser. He couldn't help but notice, with surprise, the huge, now empty, plot of land where the mansion that had almost become his tomb used to stand. Mario wondered what had happened to it, why it was no longer there even though the entrance gate was still intact.

He didn't care.

It wasn't long before he heard some sobbing that drew his full attention. Turning to his right, he saw the leafless forest through which he had accessed the area, with a few crows perched in the highest branches.

And there, sitting on a large root protruding from the ground, he made out, with his back to him, the person he’d been looking for since he was attacked by the Boos.

His heart sank. His twin’s sobs stabbed at his soul like sharp daggers. He needed to make them stop. He needed to reassure Luigi that he was all right, that it had all been a lie, that it was all over.

He needed to embrace his beloved brother.

Ignoring the necessities of his body for the umpteenth time, Mario ran towards him, eager to reach his side. He forced himself to restrain himself, however, when he spotted the objects lying next to Luigi. His lost shoe, the one that that brute Boo had torn off him while he was trying to break free from his grip. His glove, resting on the root as if it were a ghostly hand. On the other side of Luigi, leaning against the tree, Mario made out the glint of the star, the one that could have saved them both so much suffering if he had only remembered to use it at the right moment.

Now that he was closer, Mario noticed that his younger sibling, in the midst of the grief he hoped to erase soon, was pressing two objects against his chest: his hat, which looked much cleaner than the last time he had it on his head... and the short letter he had written for him.

So, in the end, Luigi had found the note.

Mario let his shoulders drop. He was unable to smile while his twin was still in tears, but he felt a bit relieved to know that his warning had reached its intended recipient. And after all, Luigi was there, safe and sound. He had certainly outwitted the Boos. In fact, Mario then realized that he must have defeated King Boo too, or else he wouldn't be there right now.

Pride filled his heart and spread throughout his hurt frame, and he had to restrain himself from pouncing on Luigi and wrapping him in his arms with all his love and joy.

His brother was sad. He had to proceed slowly and carefully so as not to frighten him. He was going to prove to him that King Boo had lied to him. He was going to embrace him and allow him to cry in his arms while, he hoped, offering him the comfort and affection he needed.

Grinning softly, Mario held out his gloved hand and pronounced the name he used to call his sibling.

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

“Lu.”

Luigi is startled by the concern that shines through his twin’s voice. He blinks a couple of times, returning to reality, and manages to focus again. Mario is staring at him with a smile full of adoration, but in his eyes, now that both are open, he can read a clear glint of worry.

Luigi purses his lips. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve for his brother to be so attentive to him, to go out of his way for him, to look out for him even when the most harmed one and who’s had the worst time of the two is Mario. Luigi only got a few bruises here and there, so slight that he doesn’t even remember them anymore. At least he’s glad he was finally able to treat his sibling’s wounds, especially his eye. Even though he didn’t say it out loud, seeing the condition of Mario’s left eye, Luigi came to fear that it was beyond saving.

Fortunately, it seems that, for now, applying ice to reduce the swelling and the ointment that the professor lent them will be enough for the eye to begin to heal. Luigi has decided that the first thing he’ll do the next day, as soon as they’ve rested, will be to take Mario to the Mushroom Kingdom hospital. His eye is going to need more than just ice to heal completely.

Luckily, the other lesions are healing well. Luigi has taken care to disinfect them all before bandaging or covering them in some way. His heart tumbled as he registered the seriousness of all of them and he berated himself, once again, for his negligence when he met up with Mario. He almost had to carry him back to the laboratory, as dizziness was taking over him even though Mario tried as hard as he could to hide it. His poor big brother... Now he has a bandage around his head to cover the huge injury that Boolossus caused to knock him out. That damn Boo... If Luigi had known what he’d done to Mario, if he’d had the slightest idea, he would’ve made sure the being paid for daring to hurt his twin.

He consoles himself by thinking that, at least, the specter is locked up now, like his king and all the other Boos who were bold enough to cause his sibling so much suffering. At least they’re paying for what they’ve done. At least they’ll rot forever on those canvases, from whence they should never have left.

Luigi jumps a little when Mario's fingers, with extreme delicacy, graze his cheeks. He lifts his gaze from the arm he’s bandaging and, looking back at his brother, Luigi notes that his eyes are blurry, and is surprised when his twin’s touch makes him perceive the dampness on his face.

At what point did he start to cry? Was it when he heard the way Mario attempted to escape Boolossus' brutal attacks to try to warn him not to go to the mansion? Could it have been the moment his sibling described everything that had happened in that other world, surely a dimension created by King Boo? Or perhaps they were tears of emotion caused by the way relief washed over Mario as he realized that he was no longer trapped in that horrendous place and, therefore, they could be reunited again?

Or maybe they’re simply tears of rage at the impotence he feels at not having been able to save his adored older brother from all his ordeal.

And to think that he felt alone and terrified as he wandered through that gloomy building alone... He could almost laugh at his stupidity. What he went through was nothing compared to what Mario had to face.

And it's all his fault.

He was the one who believed wholeheartedly that the contest was real. He was the one who got his hopes up thinking he had won something. He was the one who told Mario about his supposed new house.

He got him involved in all of that and Mario almost died.

Only to protect him.

If only there were a way to go back and spare his beloved twin all that torment...

Unable to contain himself, Luigi lets go of the bandages in a haphazard manner and pounces on Mario, who jumps back startled. However, his sibling is quick to return the embrace with a slight tender chuckle, and Luigi takes a deep breath to try to hold back his sobs as he senses Mario's reassuring pats on his back. He brings him closer and forces himself to release the air slowly.

“It's all over, Lulu.”

Mario's voice, sweet and reassuring, is like a delicate and loving caress that makes him smile. Luigi hugs him a little tighter as he nods, unable to speak.

“We're together, okay?” his brother continues, his tone full of serenity and adoration. “We're together and we'll never be separated again.”

A soft, warm kiss is pressed on his temple, and the love and care present in the gesture cause Luigi to melt. He tightens his eyelids as hot drops flow, wetting his twin’s shirt and drawing from him a sob that he cannot repress. Luigi sniffles for a moment and presses his cheek against his sibling’s, who strokes his hair affectionately. When he moves away from him, Mario hastens to cup his face and continues to gently wipe his tears away.

Luigi blinks and purses his lips in an effort to calm himself down. His brother's grin, as well as the sweetness with which he tries to comfort him, warms his heart and helps him, at last, to smile back.

“M-Mario, I...” he manages to say, his throat trembling.

He raises an arm to reach for one of his hands and Mario does not hesitate to interlace his fingers with his. Luigi clings to him and to the firmness that the contact transmits to him in an attempt to ground himself and try to find his voice.

The squeeze that Mario gives his hand is enough for him to manage to form the words.

“I'm so sorry, Mario,” he apologizes in a strangled tone. “I'm so sorry for dragging you into this...”

“Hey, hey,” Mario interrupts in a low but firm whisper.

Luigi perceives his twin’s palm pressing lightly against his cheek, trying to deepen the caress. He closes his eyes, moved, but, as much as he wants to, guilt won't let him stop crying.

“Lulu, you didn't drag me into anything,” Mario assures him. “King Boo framed us both, remember?

“Yeah, but I fell for it...”

“And so did I,” interrupts Mario, smiling, and lets out an ironic cackle. “In any case, we'd both be a couple of complete idiots, wouldn't we?”

That makes him giggle. His sibling always knows what to say or how to act to make him feel better, and Luigi is aware of his immense luck for having Mario in his life. He still feels guilty and undeserving of his forgiveness, but the quiet chuckles that his brother manages to draw out of him do lighten the weight on his heart a little.

“If only I could’ve spared you so many bad wounds,” he laments, observing, one by one, the injuries he has just bandaged.

“Well, every cloud has a silver lining,” replies Mario, amused. “I already have a costume for next Halloween: I'm a mummy!” he adds, lifting his half-bandaged arm and pointing at his head.

Luigi's guffaw comes from deep within and is genuine and thunderous. He’s amazed at himself for having emitted such a sound, but he has no regrets: not only does he feel better thanks to his twin, no longer wanting to weep, but Mario also joins in his laughter, looking at him with shining eyes. Seeing his older sibling amused again, slowly healing thanks to his nurturing and the food the professor kept in his laboratory, fills Luigi with so much joy and peace that he’s unable to describe in words, but which fill his soul with placidity and harmony.

He can't wait to take him home and make him one of his favorite dishes. Lasagna, perhaps, or spaghetti Bolognese. Or maybe he'd prefer his favorite pizza? Luigi doesn't mind, as long as he can take care of his beloved brother as he deserves and, in his own way, try to make up for everything he’s suffered.

He then notices the intense glance Mario is giving him, his blue eyes so glistening with affection that it only makes his smile widen.

“Besides, Lu...” Mario sighs and gently squeezes his hand, “you know I'd do it for you again. I'd go through the same thing all over again just to see you in the end. I wouldn't change a thing.”

He concludes with a shrug, as if what he’s just said means nothing, as if he didn’t just completely open his heart to his twin and fully reached Luigi's. He grins, his smile and his gaze full of love and devotion, as if he wanted to proclaim to the four winds how much he adores his little brother, but it was enough for him that Luigi knew.

Luigi, of course, needs no more to be moved. His lower lip trembles and his eyes are misting again, this time because of the tenderness that his sibling’s words have awakened inside him, but he tries to keep his throat clear.

“And-I t-too, Mario,” he says from the heart. “I w-would do it again t-too.”

Without letting go of his fingers or lowering his arm, Mario lets out a moved chuckle.

“Oh, Lu, you don't have to. I know how much you fear ghosts. You’re so brave for facing them all, but I’d never ask you to do it again.”

“I would,” Luigi assures him, nodding vehemently. “For you, I would.”

This time it's Mario's turn to get emotional. Luigi can see it in the way his eyes shine and his lips purse, in the unhurried way he takes a breath and releases it just as slowly. As if he can't believe his luck in having a younger twin like him.

But the lucky one, of course, is Luigi.

“Ti ho già detto quanto ti voglio bene, Lulu?” stammers Mario, his voice faltering.

Now it’s Luigi who, unable to contain himself, giggles tenderly, so much more moved than he feels able to express.

“Ti ho detto io quanto ti voglio bene, Mario?” he replies in the same tone.

The two chuckle in unison and close their eyes. Their foreheads touch, with extreme care due to Mario's bandages, but that doesn't stop him from placing his fingers on the back of Luigi's head to draw him closer. With their hands joined, they laugh and cry in silence, without haste, for everything they need is right there in front of them.

Mario is the first to bend down to put his arms around Luigi. He rests his head on his shoulder and embraces him tightly, squeezing him hard on purpose to make him laugh. Luigi, delighted to receive one of his older sibling’s bear hugs again, can only squeeze him back with the same enthusiasm.

He’s missed him so much.

“It feels so good to have you back with me, little brother,” Mario whispers in his ear, and Luigi thinks he could melt.

“It feels so good to have you back in my arms, big brother,” he replies, cuddling him.

Mario giggles, unwilling to release him, and rubs his head against his shoulder. Luigi is even more moved when he realizes that his twin is snuggling up against his chest.

“I swear you’re just as soft as a pillow,” Mario mutters without opening his eyes, his voice a little muffled.

Luigi lets out a soft chuckle at his brother's attitude and the serene smile that adorns his lips. Without a doubt, after all that’s happened and having stayed awake long enough to tell his story and for Luigi to tend to his wounds, the time has come for Mario to finally rest.

Judging by how unwilling his sibling seems to open his eyes again, Luigi gets that he’s beaten him to the decision. Laughing again, he holds Mario close and strokes his head gently.

“If you want, I can be your pillow,” he offers in a whisper, cradling him lovingly.

“That would be very nice.”

Mario's voice sounds weak, barely a murmur. Luigi knows very well that his twin is about to fall asleep, so, without letting go of him, he begins to lie down. He’s grateful that the professor has ceded his room to them so that they can have some privacy and a place to give in to drowsiness, and he’s pleasantly surprised at how comfortable the mattress is on which he’s now reclined. He looks down at Mario and what he sees fills him with warmth and tenderness.

His older brother, lying right on top of him, has curled up against his chest, his extremely placid expression and his slightly parted mouth are clear indicators that he’s already in the land of dreams. Luigi exhales and holds him tight, wondering if he’ll ever come to understand the magnitude of everything his sibling has lived through, of everything he’s suffered, for him.

Sensing his grip, Mario sighs in his sleep and clings to the strap of Luigi's overalls, who in turn sighs, his heart swelling so much he thinks it could burst. After that long and scary night, he could ask for nothing more than to have his twin like this, resting in his arms, finally safe and feeling so secure and warm that he immediately dropped off. Love floods his body when Luigi, taking care not to wake him, leans down to press his lips to Mario's forehead, on a spot free of bandages, and keeps them there for a few seconds, wishing that they can transmit to his brother all the peace, serenity and affection that he’s experiencing at the moment. With luck, they’ll bring him golden dreams.

“Sogni d’oro, fratellone,” he whispers, each one of his words filled to the brim with love.

Feeling the new breath escaping from Mario's half-open mouth, Luigi is satisfied and, without letting go, he lays his head on the pillow and closes his eyes.

Now that the nightmare is over, he too can afford to take a nap.

After all, he’s finally with him again.

[bradleysass]

foot - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 720

The dungeons were already insufferable, but Evan Rosier was particularly sensitive to the smell of underbrewed Amortentia and underwashed Slytherin robes. He sat stiffly at his table in Potions, sleeves rolled up, a perfect stack of chopped valerian root on one side and a pristine, annotated copy of Advanced Potion-Making on the other.

Next to him was the problem.

Barty Crouch Jr. slouched with the grace of a defiant cat. His tie was askew, ink on the edge of his collar, and he hadn’t even pretended to open his textbook. Instead, he was balancing a spoon on his nose.

Evan’s quill scratched against parchment.

“Are you going to help, or just embarrass yourself?”

The spoon clattered to the desk. “Bit of both, hopefully,” Barty replied cheerfully, flicking the spoon toward Evan, who caught it midair without looking.

“I’m serious, Crouch.”

“So am I. I think if I can get the spoon to bounce off Mulciber’s elbow, it’ll land directly in Avery’s cauldron. Chain reaction. Boom. Class ends early. You and I go take a walk by the lake. Romantic, isn’t it?”

Evan closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose.

When he opened them, Barty was now poking at the powdered asphodel with a wand and muttering something that was definitely not in the curriculum.

“Barty.”

“Hm?”

“If you don’t shut up, Crouch,” Evan said, low and venomous, “you are going to find my foot in your foot.”

Barty blinked. “In my foot?”

“Yes. I will kick you so hard that our feet become one. You’ll be known as the boy with two toes and no sense of self-preservation.”

A beat. Then Barty smiled, wide and devastating. “Kinky.”

Evan dropped the pestle and turned to face him fully, voice cool as frostbite. “You are a plague, and I am not dying in the dungeons because of your inability to focus for more than—what time is it—four minutes and seventeen seconds.”

Barty dramatically clutched his chest. “You’ve been timing how long I’ve annoyed you? Evan, I didn’t know you cared.”

“I care about not failing,” Evan snapped. “Which is what we’ll both do if you add anything else to this cauldron without reading the instructions.”

Barty tilted his head, considering the potion. “Well, I may have already added the ginger root.”

Evan lunged. “You what?”

The cauldron emitted a low gurgle, then belched out a cloud of magenta smoke.

From across the room, Slughorn sniffed the air with concern. “Hmm? What’s that smell? Mr. Rosier? Mr. Crouch?”

Evan stood straight, flicked the smoke away with an elegant wave of his wand, and said with deadly calm, “We’re fine, Professor.”

Slughorn squinted suspiciously, but returned to his demonstration.

Evan turned to Barty and muttered, “You’re not walking out of here without a limp.”

“Promises, promises,” Barty said, grinning.

They returned to the potion. Evan salvaged what he could, grinding moonstone with surgical precision while muttering incantations under his breath. Barty leaned in, watching him with a smirk.

“You’ve got really pretty hands.”

Evan didn’t look up. “You’ve got a death wish.”

“You think I’m pretty too, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Evan’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and glowing. “If you were any prettier, I’d be too distracted to save our potion from destruction, which, funnily enough, is what you’re trying to do.”

Barty beamed. “So you admit I’m distracting.”

“You’re disruptive.”

“Same thing.”

The potion stabilized. Barely. Evan wiped his hands on a cloth with excessive restraint.

As the class wrapped up and students began bottling their work, Barty leaned close enough for his breath to brush Evan’s neck.

“Walk with me after class.”

Evan scoffed. “Why? So you can recount all the ways you nearly got us killed in a forty-five-minute double period?”

“No,” Barty said simply, “so you’ll yell at me in private instead of in front of Slughorn. It’s less fun when he glares.”

“I wasn’t yelling.”

“You were threatening to fuse our bones. Hot, but also slightly concerning.”

Evan shoved the cork into their vial and stood. “You are going to drive me mad.”

“I hope so,” Barty replied, snatching the vial out of his hands and sauntering off to Slughorn’s desk with a wink.

Evan watched him go, arms crossed and expression unreadable. Then he grabbed his books and followed.

Because of course he did.

[moutheyes]

8 shows, many thoughts

so I thought I should at least attempt to talk about the eight (8) shows I'm somehow managing to keep up with right now, even if it's just for the sake of being able to jot something down in MDL when I go to do my ratings. I'll go in the order of how far along the series is:

My Stubborn (9 of 12) — This show was so much fun in the first half, because so much of Sorn and Jun's dynamic was revealed by the progression of their sexual relationship, and there was something deliciously appealing about a show that really leaned into the horniness of the main characters, but now that we're getting into the thorny feelings end of the series, the patchier parts of the storytelling are more evident. I'm not sure how we're supposed to get three more episodes out of Sorn's expected groveling and redemption, but I'm sure it'll be entertaining if nothing else.

Boys in Love (9 of 12) — This is mostly Sunday night background noise for me, since I don't find myself overly invested in any of the characters or relationships (well, the teenage ones at least, the teacher romance has me hooked), but it's made for a nice viewing experience. there's something comforting, after all, about returning to the emotional purity of a high school first love BL, and I appreciate the touches of mundanity that keep the story grounded in its youthful reality, despite its candy-colored setting.

Pit Babe Season 2 (7 of 13) — I love everything this show chooses to be. I love the brazen commitment to this frankenstein concoction of a plot, I love that there are moments of true darkness in the conflicts but also a genuine sweetness and mutual devotion in the relationships that have developed over the course of two seasons, and I love how much depth the characters have and how the acting manages to draw me in no matter how absurd the action or dialogue is. they really put something potent into this show, and it helps that the entire cast is just as invested as we are. the beauty of watching Pit Babe is that I have absolutely no idea where the plot is going to go, but I'm happily settled in for the ride.

Knock Out (6 of 12) — I knew I was going to adore this series, had zero doubts in my mind that it would work for me on multiple levels, and so far it hasn't disappointed. the plucky, quick-tempered, driven Keen is one of my favorite protagonists of the year so far, and there's a real heartbeat to the boxing gym setting, true to Tee Bundit's hallmark style. to me, the show has done a great job balancing the minutiae of these relationships (whether it's romance or friendship), showing the mutual support and care that makes them worth rooting for, and the commentary on power and compromise embedded in the big dramatic conflicts thrown at our ragtag but proud little group so far.

The Next Prince (7 of 14) — Come through, budget! this the most visually pleasing series of the year so far, with so much lush detail in the sets and costuming. and that effort hasn't been wasted, either, because the prince-and-bodyguard romance at the heart of the story is a heady, powerful, pulsing thing that has dragged me under its spell. the endlessly devoted and deliciously reserved Charan is one of my favorite character archetypes, and Zee was born to play him; the moment in Ep 7 where he finally breaks and allows himself to give in to Prince Khanin's seductions was just breathtaking. and then, obviously, the angsty, twisted dynamic between Prince Ramil and literal whipping boy Paytai has provided a parallel side couple well worth obsessing over.

My Sweetheart Jom (5 of 12) — This show is doing several things extremely well, and in a rather understated way. for one, the rural setting is a refreshing change of pace, a lovingly rendered backdrop for the city mouse/country mouse storyline. second, it's a true slow burn, with actual lingering enmity between the two romantic leads that hasn't dissipated despite the first frissons of attraction. and that's because of the the third aspect, which is that it takes the age gap between steadfast village chief Jom and stubborn idealist Yo seriously. their conflict resides in the profound gap between their lived experiences; the show has taken its time showing how both characters respond to things like injustice, and how that difference is a real hurdle they must get over, first and foremost as human beings, before they can proceed to approach each other romantically. and I love that, I love how thoughtful this show is in presenting both characters as full-fledged people first and letting the story unfold around them.

The Ex-Morning (4 of 10) — Having paid my long-overdue SOTUS dues earlier this year, as part of a Krist Perawat appreciation binge, I was primed to eat this up, and so far it's hitting every note of its promised second-chance romance storyline, with just the right amount of pathos, tension, and humor keeping me invested. the meta elements connecting the plot to SOTUS and the larger history of SingtoKrist as a CP make for fun easter eggs, but it's succeeding on a more basic level too, as the natural chemistry between the two leads has provided both a familiar, comforting joy and something newer and equally exciting.

Reset (3 of 10) — When the pilot dropped, I was a little worried the themes might hew a little close to My Stand-In, but so far this show feels different enough that I'm having a blast with the ultra-lakorn vibes, from the music to the acting style to the heightened romantic tension. Thada is a classic down-bad yearner, singularly focused on Armin, which helps smooth the edges of our doomed actor as he oscillates wildly between vengeful paranoia and traumatized self-pity. the chemistry is chemistrying so far, but with the limited episode count, I hope the time-travel and murder mystery plots start to take center stage soon.

[ahllohehn]

🔱 THE GODS HAVE CHOSEN THEIR HERO! 🔱

>> about au >> au tag >> discord

By the power vested upon me (lol), I am now announcing the official winner of the Hermits and The Olympians Fanfiction Contest :] !

Once again, to remind everyone, the winner was chosen through amount of kudos/votes/likes and can choose from either prizes; a comic based on their submitted work or requested rendered art.

All submissions have been acknowledged to be amayzin' so I encourage everyone to read everyone's works nonetheless if they won or not :)

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FIRST PLACE 👑 OFFICIAL WINNER (42 kudos)

I will protect you (at least I'll try) by @star-cluster-nyx & @tallassredwood

Officially congratulations to our winners for the contest! Your fanfic has genuinely been a heartwarming experience. Grian and Pearl had nothing but each other, but sibling relationships aren't always that pretty. You showed that relationship dynamic really well in a very fun style and pacing.

Do tell me which one will be your point person so I could discuss about your prize :p ! ───────── ⋆⋅ 🔱 ⋅⋆ ─────────

SECOND PLACE 👑 RUNNER UP (32 kudos)

like roots, burrowing by @unreliable-bean

Our first submission and one of the works that won over our Mumscarian hearts </3 (after wrangling it around with angst for a few scenes /j). A mix of Minecraft mechanics and PJO mechanics is always fun! You fused them really well with such a nice pacing. The use of Scar's abnormal origins was a good touch to provide solutions to the conflict. Exciting writing as always :D

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THIRD PLACE 👑 RUNNER UP (17 kudos)

I’ll always be there (sparkling and shining) by Munchkin1156

Always a joy to see Grian-centric fics, thank you for submitting this! With the addition of the watchers to an unseemingly normal PJO AU, you've written the journey of Grian under their influence really well! A shame that the image still won't load on the link, but I would also like to say that your friend's art was amayzin'! An amazing drawing paired with an amazing work :]

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ALL MY (as well as the secret judges') FAVORITES :>

The Saint of Apollo by Nerdking14 Thank you for participating, genuinely. I know you've been writing about this even since before the fanfiction contest was announced and I truly commend you for putting your time, effort, and wonderful writing for our darling Empires campers. The way you adapted the previous small drabbles and headcanons to your story was exciting and I was happy those were done justice. You did justice to Camp Empires and I'm sure the gods would commend you for that too.

Oracle of Delphi by ethotek Mod [Hyunjin Yoon] expressed personal favorite to our dearest oracle. Extremely in love with how you adapted Gem's little complicated background into your writing. Lovely work that captured Gem's confusion and inner doubts really well :) This would've been a joy to delve deeper into through a comic, but let's return to it another time!

You were able to settle Gem into her home! But is she truly there?

It had always been just a game by Linny Heartwrenching, but captures well the realistic losses demigods would inevitably go through in a mythological world as teenagers. Gruesome, but filled with love for your ships' dynamics. Very good work :]

Again, thank you everyone who participated and even supported/read everyone's works. Although it pains me that I cannot give anything to everyone to show my gratitude, I simply wish you continue to enjoy your time here even if I cannot be much!

From the depths of the Underworld, to the vastness of the Seas, to the freedom of the Skies── Thank you very much for checking out Hermits and The Olympians! GGs to all participants!

[existingtm]

I've been deep in my Star Wars thoughts for the past few weeks, and while I've been leaning more into the Clone stuff, the Force users have definitely been on my mind too.

So, naturally, my mind is also returning to ideas for Ghost Rider/ANGR Star Wars AU

I just can't get over the tragedy of @wazzappp's version, because the likelihood of that ending well is so slim (Part of me is rooting for the boys, but another part of me… >:D)

Like, Robbie gets to the point where he’s using the Force to break people’s jaws, and we all know what happens when a Force user starts to utilize the dark side more and more…

Gabe having to watch the dark side consume his brother? Robbie starting to seclude himself with the holocron but getting continuously more aggressive and defensive over Gabe?

The way it would almost certainly lead to Robbie hurting or even killing Gabe? Because that’s what happens when you let the dark side run your life.

Anakin was obsessed with his love for Padmé, and when he was all coked out on the dark side (because it’s like a drug, a high that consumes you), he strangled his PREGNANT WIFE. Dark side users killing their loved ones happens so often that it’s almost a guarantee. (I mean, hello, Arcann and Thexan??)

Dudeeeee I’m unwell… There has to be that breaking point. The turning point. Robbie hurting Gabe so badly that he has to choose right then: find balance through the light side of the Force or let the darkness consume him. Can you imagine how much more fucked up he’d be if he straight up killed Gabe? It would be the perfect opportunity for Eli to nestle right up to Robbie’s soul.

But if Robbie didn’t kill Gabe—if he just hurt him real bad and went off on his own to stew, to make sure Gabe would never be in danger from him again—then we could see Robbie fall and Gabe pull him back.

Can you imagine it? Years passing? The confrontation between them?

Gabe would inevitably pull Robbie back to the light (Eli kicking and screaming through him), but the sheer ANGST of the whole process.

But can you imagine how Robbie feels seeing Gabe take his crystal—the crystal he’d bled after he’d nearly killed his little brother—and purify it? Bro’s gonna be breaking down HARD for a MINUTE

***

OKAY! Enough angst! Time for some fun thoughts:

First of all, NIGHTSISTER LISA!!! NOWWWWW!!! Goth RE!Lisa isn’t enough for me; she needs to be Goth in Star Wars too! Give Robbie and Lisa a Cal/Merrin thing during the reign of the Empire (No, I’m not nice enough to craft a Palpatine eats shit AU just yet; maybe someday, but not today)

Second of all! Johnny needs to slut it up! Him and Quinlan definitely have some overlapping undercover experience, knock boots, and get extra toxic with it! Ventress is hitting that too! (and of course, Obi-Wan would NEVER dally about, but what happens outside of the temple stays outside of the temple 😉)

Third of all! Danny and Alejandra as Cuy'val Dar! IDC if I have to slightly tweak ages, I’ll make it work! They’d eat the Mandalorian look UP. I’d kill to see them beefing with Priest and Issy, not to mention them training their own group of lads.

All right! I’m cutting things off there for now since I don’t want to get too deep into it when I have impending work to take care of