#a fleeting sense of tranquility and normalcy...

[berryblu-soda]

ninjago reincarnation AU where the world ended, and from it´s ashes rose another, similar yet eerly different, growing and changing from being little more than a rock in space, to a modern society much more like our own (show to movie setting :D!). with new old faces, flashes of a world long gone, a simple wish at the end (beggining?) of it all, etc etc...

[galaxy-fleur]

ʚ Sunny Relaxation ɞ

Pairing: Post RE4R!Leon/Ashley.

Summary: Leon rarely, if ever, gets time off to simply relax and do nothing for a while. For him, normalcy has become a strange concept, alien, and even plain unpleasant. His downtime existence consists solely of aimless sitting around in his apartment and being continuously reminded of just how lonely he truly is. But not today. Not when he gets to wake up with Ashley in his arms.

Word Count: 5k words, AO3 Link.

Notes: Established relationship (written with 'FWB' arrangement in mind but feelings are very much involved), morning sex, dry humping, fade sex. Honestly just 5k words of Leon being horrendously down bad.

Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics.

��...You’re comfy."

Leon's eyelids flutter open and he looks up at his bedroom ceiling, where light shadows from the tree outside the window create gentle outlines that flicker across the plain gray surface. The first thing that greets him are soft colors of gold and orange dancing across the room. His slowly awakening senses are then filled with the soft rustle of dry leaves and the muted city bustle going on below, a soothing white noise that reminds him of the safety and tranquility that exist within these four walls. To him, this picturesque stillness was almost alien. The minimalist design of his apartment and excruciating absence of personalized items that often adorn a habitable home are clear indicators of exactly that.

But as he looked down, he was quickly met with an answer to this shift from his pretty depressing status quo. Ashley Graham herself was nestled on his chest, soaking in the warm morning sunlight streaming through the blinds. She was staring up at him expectantly, likely because he had not responded to her little comment in any way. Really, he couldn't help it. Like a man who is starved of water and wants to savor every single drop that is offered to him, he would find himself just drinking in these fleeting moments of sweet tranquility that her presence would bring, far too anxious to dare disturb them.

It was fitting, he thought. She was, in a sense, almost glowing like this. The sunlight from the window hitting her silhouette from behind in just the right way to create a dim hallow around her soft features. He would assume that she was the source of all the warm color that filled his empty bedroom if he didn't know any better.

Like his own personal sunshine. Though, the thought made him wince quickly. Or, more accurately, the excessive mushiness of it, which was very unlike him. Fortunately, he refrained from saying it aloud. Of all things, when had he become so cheesy?

"Is that your way of saying 'good morning'?" He says instead, sounding rougher than usual since sleep residue is still permeating as the faint raspiness in the back of his throat.

Ashley gives a little excited hum at that, crawling over to him a bit more closely than before and immediately burrowing into his chest with no repercussions whatsoever. Not that they were needed now, anyway. Not when they were alone. Ashley was free to enjoy him in any way she wanted, no matter how big or small.

“Good morning," she declares, resting a leg over his hip and nuzzling his naked skin. He puts a hand across her back out of instinctual urge to keep her close, stifling a pleasant quiver at the touch. It was always nice to feel her weight on top of him. Grounding. It kept him in the present, his head so pleasantly empty, except for the feel of her soft body pressed up against his. Her fingers traced lightly over his collarbone, then dipped down the middle of his chest, landing just above his heart. “...I love your chest.”

She places her cheek on top of him and lets out a deep, satisfied sigh as her other arm crosses his stomach, essentially making her coil up around him like a living electric blanket keeping him nice and warm. Moments of quiet peace like this were rare, making him appreciate them that much more. He's been given an out after his latest assignment —a whole week of nothing but some bothersome paperwork and an occasional visit to the medical wing to keep track of his health for him to worry about. Turns out, he was right to assume that Ashley would seize this rare chance to spend as much time as possible with him.

He wasn't complaining, mind you. Not at all. If anything, it made him actually look forward to tomorrow because she was here, in his apartment, by his side. Usually, he didn't have that. He wondered, however, if that's what it would be like to actually live with her. To live together in a home to call their own. She would undoubtedly make this apartment feel much cozier to be in. One vision after another of many alternative futures, each less likely than the last, swirled in his mind.

She would most likely buy more décor. Way more. His apartment was as empty as they come, with only the necessities strewn about to show that it had been occupied by someone. He pondered how Ashley could make it look more interesting and welcoming for both of them. She would definitely surprise him, knowing her. That was a constant when it came to her. Every time, she would come up with something new to sweep him off his feet all over again.

-But to contemplate such an idea was risky. Yet he was also powerless to fight against it.

Either way, he can't help but laugh softly at her unexpected compliment, his other hand reaching up to caress her hair, feeling the silky strands between his fingertips as he twirled and twisted them mindlessly. Her natural hair color was beginning to grow out, resulting in a haphazard blend of brunette and blonde. But he liked it. Maybe their week of this so called 'vacation' can include a shared hair coloring session. He needed to touch up his roots, anyways. The idea was a good one.

“Hmm. Even with the scar? Or are you just using me for my muscles here?” He gently teases her in turn, his chest rumbling as he speaks with a faint, sleepy quality to his voice. He moves both of his arms around her middle and holds her tight without waiting for her to respond. “I bet you just want me to cuddle you like this. Don't you?"

For the time being, he would conceal the fact that he was the only one feeling especially needy today.

“Guilty as charged.” Ashley admits without making an effort to deny his lighthearted accusations, just grinning blissfully as she gazes up at him, her green eyes glimmering with tiny flecks of gold in the morning light. The sight made his heart skip a beat or two. “Granted, it's your fault for being so warm and comfy to lay on. You're like a furnace."

"A furnace?" He furrows his brows, genuinely unsure of how to react to that remark. He guessed that's one way of stating that he's a good snuggle buddy. "C'mon... I can't be that bad."

“-And your voice is sexy.” Ashley snickers as she moves further up his chest to tenderly nuzzle against his neck, her voice now falling to a silky, smooth whisper. In response, he smiles and turns his head to give her a little kiss on the temple. She scooted back quickly to rest her face against his shoulder once more. That part of him seemed to be her favorite. “I love it when you make those rumbly sounds of yours, too.”

Now it's Leon's turn to laugh, his arms tightening around her form ever so slightly. He couldn't help but enjoy the sensation of holding her in his arms like this. It served as a tangible reminder that she was indeed here and that she wanted to be here. Alongside him. He still had moments when it all seemed almost unbelievable. Even though they were lighthearted, her many compliments made him feel a little warm inside. They make him feel proud and a little ecstatic that she indeed thinks he's attractive like that.

Given everything they had already done together, it seemed a little stupid to get all worked up over it, but he just couldn't stop himself.

“My voice too, huh,” he responds, tone soft, moving his hand up to gently place it on the back of her head and stroke her hair. “Mm. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone tell me that one before.”

"Liar." Ashley grins up at him cheekily, and he doesn't try to deny it, just letting out another soft rumble of laughter in wordless surrender.

He can't resist pulling her closer and closer till she's practically lying on top of him. He hums softly and plants a quick kiss on her forehead. Her hair tickled his nose just a little as he nuzzled into the top of her head, and he could feel her body pressed flush against his, her body heat mingling with his own, and the familiar scent of apricot and jasmine of her shampoo wafting around him. A small shiver of desire runs through him, and he lets out a content sigh, closing his eyes, just letting himself soak up her closeness in all its tiny details for another brief moment.

“...I’m so glad we can just be lazy today,” he says, his words a bit muffled by her hair. He rests his hands on her waist snuggly, holding her close to him. It feels good to embrace her in this way, especially since he has no other commitments to worry about. For once. He wished that the majority of his concerns would only be about spending more time in bed with her and nothing else. Wouldn't that be a sweet life.

Ashley, on the other hand, looked up at him and giggled gently, seemingly unable to resist the opportunity to tease him a little. A sound that, even though his eyes are still closed for the moment, causes the corners of his lips to slightly lift upwards.

“Sexy,” she repeats the word, drawing it out in a sing-song voice, all while slowly trailing her hands down his bare torso. An action that doesn't go unnoticed, as a pleasant shiver runs down his spine, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. 

Well, that got him to open his eyes again.

"...You sure are lively today," he comments, his grip on her waist tightening just a tiny smidge due to her actions.

“I mean, it’s true,” she murmurs, pulling her hands back from him to raise them up in a surrendering motion. Although, this was a pretty silly thing for her to justify herself over. “It’s deep and gravelly, and it’s all…” 

"...Sexy?" He quips, the faint smile dancing over his lips now turning into a full-blown smirk as he holds her gaze, enjoying having the upper hand for a moment. 

She sighs quietly at that, a small pout forming on her cheeks. He catches that wordless: 'Quit teasing me' look right away, letting out a small huff of laughter. But she doesn't argue with him. Be it due to sheer morning laziness or just him being right on point. Rather, she simply tilts her head to one side before humming pleasantly as she lays back down on him. “Yeah… sexy.”

Her proximity sends little sparks of desire through Leon's body, causing him to shiver a little again as the warm puffs of air from her breaths dance across his skin. He hums softly: “Hmm. Good to know.” 

He has to admit, her compliments on his voice got him a little distracted, however lighthearted and playful they were. As her warm body lies so snuggly on top of his, he can feel his thoughts becoming increasingly disorganized. Her gentle dips and curves fit his body like puzzle pieces. He's suddenly very acutely aware that she's only wearing a tank top and panties, and just how damn good she feels simply lying on top of him like this.

-And it seems like he wasn't being very slick about it, judging by the increasingly smug look flickering to life in Ashley's eyes, undoubtedly satisfied about having successfully gotten to him. Her mischievous grin only grows in confidence, and he feels heat rushing to his face over getting caught by her again. Not that he minded it all that much. If anything, he liked being the focus of Ashley's mind-games. The tiny shiver from her touch gives way to a nice buzz of need that is beginning to come alive in the pit of his stomach, and he can feel the tension between them slowly thickening. Though, for now, he'll be waiting for Ashley to make the first move.

And he wasn't the only one who felt a little naughty all of a sudden, based on the way her tongue briefly flickered out to wet her lips. She slowly pushes herself further up his torso again as he watches her silently, his hands resting on her waist with silent support. He watches until her hips are securely resting on his thighs, and her soft features are accentuated by a knowing smirk as her emerald eyes gaze down upon him.

Yeah, definitely one of his favorite views.

“...You’re just distracted ‘cause I’m on top of you. Aren't you?” She hovers over him now, resting her hands teasefully on the pillow close to his head. He swallows, feeling his chest tighten slightly at the sight, his eyes darting down quickly to take in her shape sitting on top of him in all its magnificence. There's one thing he knew for sure, and that's that having Ashley above him like this was a treat he couldn't help but indulge in with little to no shame. But he really wishes he could examine her exposed skin without the shirt covering it.

Before he can muster up some kind of witty response, Leon gasps involuntarily as her hips fully settle into his lap with her full weight, feeling her body pressed against him in an unmistakably intimate way. If there was any doubt about her intentions before this, they just flew out the window. His hands instinctively move down to her hips and gently hold her in place as he looks back up at her. He has a momentary idea to grind her down on him like this, but he puts that off for now. Her somewhat unkempt hair sticking out here and there in a way that was privy to his bedroom, the gentle curves of her body on show for him to enjoy, that tiny mischievous pout on her plump lips—he can feel his gaze sweeping over her body without shame. His pulse quickens a bit as he shivers once again.

“'Distracted' is an understatement,” he murmurs, his voice coming out a bit hoarse, and it wasn't just because of sleep at this point. He rubs his hands over her naked thighs, slowly lowering them farther down her body as he enjoys the feel of her silky skin beneath his palms. If he had his way, he'd gladly spend the rest of his damn life touching and kneading at her like this instead of any weaponry. “-But you’re the one sitting on top of me, in nothing but tank top and panties, you know…” 

"Oh yeah? That's all it takes to get you going?" Ashley quips back with a quiet giggle, and now it's his turn to pout as he huffs at her like a petulant child. Though he couldn't really argue back against that, either.

His voice is a blend of teasing and desire as he responds, dropping an octave or two. Some of it purposefully, as he played back the comments she made about his voice. He wasn't great at dirty talk and all, but if she genuinely liked his voice like that? He may attempt to exploit that. He tilts his head back, gazing up at her with darkened eyes. “You really can’t blame a guy for being distracted when a pretty girl is straddling him in her panties.“

Ashley grins, her cheeks flushing with colour at his response, and he can't help but feel another pang of pride filling his chest at the prospect of making her happy. He can see her own eyes traveling over his body laid out beneath her, taking him in, and it causes his pulse to quicken further, the pounding of his heart echoing in his temples. Every nerve ending in his body comes alive with little sparks of need as a result of the satisfying pressure of her thighs pressing into him. A familiar pull of lust that only grows ever hotter as he feels her shiver involuntarily at his hands moving over the back of her thighs, dangerously close to her ass, caressing and squeezing at the soft flesh under his fingers. She leans in a little closer, her hips rocking back slightly on his lap without any warning being given, her own voice so painfully soft and coy as it sneaks into his ears, it makes him choke down a low whine.

"Well, I can't help it if I wanted to get your attention." The subtle sound of skin rubbing against skin reverberates in his ears like a calming melody as she teases him by drawing careful patterns on his chest with the palms of her hands. "And it looks like it worked..."

His fingers sink into the flesh of her thighs as she rolls her hips over his now steadily hardening bulge once more in a way that is obviously playful. He lets out a low, soft gasp at the brutally wonderful friction, which sends shockwaves up his spine. It was simultaneously too much and too little. He can feel his body instantly responding to her ministrations with aching eagerness, his primal want for her growing stronger with every passing moment, transforming into a pleasant fog filling his head with nothing but cotton. His gaze is darkened with pure lust as he looks up at her, yet he doesn't dare take back control from her. It was humorous, in a sense. Here he was, so much stronger than her, bigger, yet completely and utterly at her mercy. 

And he wouldn't have it any other way. He'd gladly give Ashley all the control over him that she could ask for. Being under her control was nothing like being controlled by the government, or pushed around by the higher-ups.

It felt good to have her take charge for him.

Warm.

Right.

It made him feel human.

Under her tender caresses, he didn't feel like a tool forcefully being shaped into something alien and emotionless. Instead, he felt like a man being given the privilege of indulging in the most human and carnal of pleasures. And he was craving that feeling.

“...You have my full attention,” he says, his voice low and gruff with lust now, his hands sliding back up her form to her sides, feeling the soft fabric of her tank top against his palms. Or, more accurately, the gentle curves of her body that were concealed by the thin cloth.

He can hear how the slow, sensual drag of his hands up Ashley's sides causes her breath to hitch and her body to shiver under his mindful touch, each tiny jolt and breath of hers like more fuel to the ever-growing flame of pure desire licking at his lower abdomen. A muffled grunt comes directly from the back of his throat as her body almost automatically presses closer to his, her hips grinding more purposefully against his lap as the heat between them slowly increases.

“Just your attention?” She mumbles, her own voice low and seductive, and it sends a sharp wave of shivers up his spine. Maybe she did have a point about someone's voice being turn-on. “So you are just gonna… lie back and do nothing about it?”

His breath catches and his mind goes blank for a good second as her hips press back against him once more. It's a slow, delightfully teasing circular motion that makes him crazy. That was an opening; he knew that. One he would be a fool not to take. Her pressing against him so closely, her enticing words sending wave after wave of sweet, dizzying heat through his body—it all makes his control slip little by little. Though he guessed that was her goal here in the first place. With a low, gruff laugh, he gently leans up against the headboard, snatching her by the hips and pulling her forward until she is squarely straddling his lap. Though her being even more pressed up against him and her chest now flush against his was a sort of sweet torture as well. He felt a fleeting impulse to rip that tank top off of her. But he wouldn't do that, no.

That is, unless she asks him to.

“You seriously think I’ll just 'lie back and do nothing' when you're like this?” He whispers huskily against her lips. “I’m not that lazy, Ashley.”

One of his hands moves up to cup the back of her head firmly, holding her close to him as he closes those few inches that still separate them and plants a passionate, searing kiss on her mouth. Ashley's lips feel warm and velvety on his as usual. They were much softer than his own, which were always a bit too dry and chapped for his liking. Although Ashley didn't seem to mind that much, if her pleased hum into his mouth was anything to go by. It doesn't take long for his tongue to flick out, teasing at her plump bottom lip before delving into her mouth with skillful ease. In order to keep her pressed up against him, his other hand stays firmly on her hip, his fingers dipping just past the thin elastic of her panties. He can feel her body pressing against him with eagerness that equaled his own, her body heat seeping into his skin, and it only makes him want to touch her even more.

Ashley's voice is slipping out before she can stop it as she moans against his lips, a sound that he happily swallows down as their mouths mold together, a shaky breath escaping him in response through his nose. Her hands move up towards his shoulders, her fingers gripping onto him tightly, a feeling he couldn't help but relish in as her touch anchored him to reality. His body reacts almost instantly when she gently bites at his lower lip, with his hips thrusting forward into her and a deep moan escaping his throat. He's learned the steps of this dance of heat and passion by heart now, and he's kissing her with all the raging intensity he usually keeps buried until these moments of shared lustfulness, his tongue deliberately gliding against hers, refusing to let go of her for even a moment. Now, his bedroom is filled with the wet, soft sounds of lips meeting, bedsheets rustling with each jerky motion, and subtle groans and sighs blending together. A melody of their making he would happily drown in. So, he happily surrenders to the intensity of the moment as he melts into her touch with no reservations. 

"Then... prove it," Ashley murmurs into his mouth breathlessly in-between their relentless make-out session, her fingernails now digging into his shoulders' muscle, causing him to gasp against her.

Her three simple words cause his hands to tighten around her, and the excitement in her voice just motivates him to keep going. Similar to a furnace gradually warming the air around it, he can feel the heat between them getting hotter by the second. Only, there was no need for any furnace for them to stay warm. Not when they could share that warmth with one another. Ashley, Ashley, Ashley was the desperate chant that filled his senses as his own yearning grew stronger by the moment. He grunts and crushes her even further into his lap, ultimately breaking the kiss with a trembling gasp for oxygen as her hips unintentionally wriggle directly over him from all the clumsy movements they were making. He can already feel himself becoming rock-hard, and the thin fabric of his sweats isn't doing much to hide his borderline painful hard-on. Never before has he been more appreciative of his decision to wear sweatpants pants.

It would be almost agonizing to deal with jeans and a belt at this moment.

“Is that a challenge I hear?” He mutters into her ear with a low and gritty voice, purposefully making himself sound more gravelly than usual for her enjoyment. 

He can't help but smile when Ashley shivers in response, feeling a little proud that he seems to be doing a good job with his voice for her. He can feel her fingernails digging into his skin slightly, the heat of her own arousal pressing against him, with nothing but her panties—that were probably soaked by this point—and his own sweatpants separating them. He is unable to suppress a small intake of air through his nose at the delicious but agonizing friction, his hips twitching instinctively with the need to push up into her.

"Maybe," she flirts back, her own voice a little tremulous as she moves back slightly to gaze down at him, fluttering her lashes charmingly. He can't help but chuckle at her cheeky antics, finding them in equal measure as endearing as they were unbearable in the current circumstances. She adds: "What are you gonna do about it?”

Leon's eyes darken as she challenges him directly and another low, hearty laugh escapes from his lips. Her audacity impresses him in some way. He likes her like this. Not afraid to speak her mind and order him around like it's second nature. She has really changed so much from a scared, lost girl he met back in Spain. He was proud of her. And more than a little turned on. In order to keep her from surprising him further, he tightens his hold on her hip even more, his fingers gently burrowing into the supple flesh.

“Oh, sunshine,” he mutters out, a pet name he only ever used scarcely escaping him in a single breath, a low rumble to his voice. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

He suddenly pulls her back onto the bed, effortlessly switching their positions as he takes hold of her waist and pushes her onto her back, leaving her spread out across his bedsheets, his body quickly covering hers. She looks beautiful like this, too. All doe-eyed and tousled as she looks up at him expectedly, her green eyes almost sparkling in the shadow that his own form is casting upon her from above. But from then on, he doesn't waste much time. They both had enough teasing for the morning. He quickly grabs her tank top by the hem and tugs it up over her head before tossing it back over his shoulder and somewhere onto the floor. Leon sits back on the bed, effectively straddling her now, although he kept most of his weight on one of his arms instead, not wanting to smother her with his body mass. His eyes take in the sight of her bare torso now on full display for him to see and touch.

God, the fact that she isn't wearing a bra is the nicest thing about doing this straight out of bed. His gaze drifts over her body as if it were a work of art as he looks down at her; he can hardly stop another intense surge of want from consuming him. Even though he has seen her like this innumerable times, it never seems like enough. The fact that he may claim all of this, all of her. He still didn't believe it.

If there was one word he could use to describe Ashley, it'd be soft. She always looked so damn soft to the touch. Like a walking beacon of comfort and warmth just out of his reach. However, he felt her warmth welcoming his touch and immediately flowing into his skin as he lifted his palm and put it reverently on her chest, just above where her heart should be. The fluttering thump-thump-thump-thump of her heartbeat just below his palm is a living proof of his effect on her. Real. Leon drew a trembling breath and looked up, meeting Ashley's gaze and making eye contact.

She was stunning. The morning light flowing into his room made her look almost ethereal. Her skin was clear and glowing, lacking any of the scars or bruises that marred his own like a constant reminder of his place in this world. With the exception of a sizable, faded scar that was spread over her chest and served as a lasting reminder of their joint triumph back in Spain. It wasn't unappealing to him in any way. Which was a bit ironic in hindsight, as he just couldn't come to appreciate any of his own scars in the same manner, regardless of the passing appreciative comments he'd get from some women on them every so often.

That is, all of his scars save for one. However, he wasn't sure Ashley would enjoy him making yet another joke about knife safety or stabbing. He should really try to come up with something new. 

He slowly slides his hands down to her hips again, then slowly moves them back up up her sides, just to caress the softness of her skin for a bit longer. He does reach her breasts this time around, his palms cupping them easily, feeling the supple flesh dipping under his touch as he squeezed and palmed at her gently. It was less so for his sexual gratification and more so to just feel her. He wanted to squeeze her, hold her, grab at her with all the selfish hunger he usually kept locked away and never let go of her. To prove to himself that all of this was real. That she wouldn't just disappear as soon as he allows himself to express his desire, only to find himself waking up in his bed, all alone and yearning for something he knows damn well he can't have. Although that hooded look to her eyes and soft puffs of air leaving her lips did nothing but make the ache between his legs that much more apparent, his throbbing manhood demanding some much-needed relief already.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs without even thinking, his voice slightly rougher than usual, even without any purposeful effort on his side.

Ashley gasps lightly as his thumb slides over her nipple gently, her body squirming on the sheets with impatience that mirrored his own. A burning shiver of desire runs through him as his eyes take in the sight of her once more. As he kneels over her, her breathing is labored, and her own hands slowly creep up to caress his sides before sliding to his stomach and along the v-line of his lower abdomen Her eyes are fixed on him, watching his every move, suggesting that the two of them share the same need for connection and satisfaction. At that, he can't contain a low groan, and his eyes flutter shut as he resists the want to buck his hips into nothing. A faint, contented smile tugs at her lips as he opens his eyes again, and the sight makes his chest feel warm and fuzzy. After that, she reaches for his wrists next and pulls him down closer to her. She makes this request of hers silently, and he complies without saying anything to her in return.

There was no need for words for him to understand what she wanted of him. He knew what she was thinking. Because he thought the very same thing. Closer. Need you closer. She pulls him until his forearms are resting on either side of her head, his forehead lightly pushing on hers.

"And you're... really hot when you're like this, Leon," she whispers to him, her fingers now tracing up along his bare back, finding purchase along his shoulder blades as she holds him close, a notion that leaves him helplessly shuddering against her, his starved heart clinging onto every drop of affection she's willing to give him.

"...You're not leaving my bed today." His words come out more like a blunt statement than anything else. Though he's amused to hear Ashley giggle at that instead of getting annoyed with him. 

She gives him a cheeky wink, before leaning up just slightly to press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"I'm counting on it." 

[positivelybeastly]

[Roleplay Start]

The cryptid approached much like how a predator stalked its prey before making the kill. Instead, he placed himself in the wicker chair. There was a knowing gleam in his eye and a wicked smirk playing across his face that was infamous for getting him and his friends into more crap than most others knew how to handle. Were you most others? Who could say? Perhaps you were, perhaps you weren’t. We will just have to wait and see. “Are we sitting comfortably?” The creature spoke, his voice rich with confidence and warmth. “Stories. I’ve told a few in my time, been in a few too. Stories are like people, they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, they can be unruly and complicated, they can get out of hand, they can be funny, they can be scary…they can be sad.”

The creature’s gaze turned away from you for just a moment, his eyes almost seeming to droop melancholically. It turned back to you before it could be commented on and he continued. “My favorite stories, the ones I like to think can place themselves in the lives of absolutely anybody, tend to be *adventure* stories. They move quickly, packed full of danger, mystery, villains, and monsters- oh yes…”

His yellow eyes narrowed and his smirk grew into a full-on grin. “So many…monsters…”

… 

The sun cast a warm, golden hue over New York City, painting the skyline in shades of tranquility. The bustling metropolis, often a stage for extraordinary battles, seemed to be enjoying an uncharacteristic peace. Central Park was alive with the laughter of children, joggers taking their early morning strides, and couples enjoying leisurely strolls. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of traffic, a symphony of what many would call normalcy.

At the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, serenity reigned. Students practiced their powers under the watchful eyes of their mentors, their youthful exuberance filling the halls with a sense of hope and potential. The grounds were immaculate, the summer sun casting long shadows across the lush greenery. In the library, a place often filled with whispers of strategy and contemplation, there was an unusual stillness. Books, ancient and new, stood sentinel on their shelves, bearing witness to the calm.

Outside, the world seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. The Avengers Tower stood tall and silent, its occupants engaged in routine maintenance and training drills. The Daily Bugle's latest headlines spoke of mundane politics and celebrity gossip, a far cry from the sensational crises that usually dominated its front page. Even the ever-watchful eyes of S.H.I.E.L.D. found little to report, their surveillance systems capturing nothing more than the daily grind of a city at peace.

Hank McCoy, known to the world as Beast, was seated within his apartment, located closest to the middle of these locations, surrounded by a makeshift fortress of scientific literature. His blue fur, seemed to blend into the shadows as he pored over his notes. The rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall punctuated the silence, a reminder of time's relentless march forward. His work, no doubt a delicate balance of research and preparation, continued uninterrupted, his mind a whirl of equations and hypotheses.

*Yet, beneath this veneer of calm, there was that unmistakable tension—that collective holding of breath. A familiar sensation, one that seasoned heroes and vigilant citizens alike had come to recognize.* *The calm before the storm. It was a phrase that echoed in the minds of those who had seen too much to trust in lasting peace. The world, it seemed, was caught in a moment of delicate balance, a prelude to inevitable chaos.*

They all knew it, but few wanted to actually say it.

The silence of Hank’s office was abruptly broken. The insistent ring of his phone sliced through the quiet, yet another jarring reminder that serenity on this Earth was often fleeting. The moment of calm had passed, and the storm, it seemed, was ready to begin.

"I think it's time . . . for you to know . . ." Humming under his breath as he scrawled away at his notes, both of his fuzzy blue mitts occupied by a pen and working on different projects, Hank's half-moon glasses were perched on the very tip of his nose, very nearly on the verge of sliding off as he mumbled softly along to the song routed through his earbuds. "The awful truth . . . the truth about me, and the truth about you . . ."

Glancing up at his clock, the pre-eminent mutant scientist made a note of the time, just a half hour before he was due to give his remote lecture on genetic atavism to Cambridge, before his lambent eyes cast back downwards once more. "Cause you're a brand new species, big cat, uh, oh . . ."

Running his tongue along his teeth contemplatively as he checked back over his calculations, the Beast tutted as he realised he'd been writing so quickly the ink hadn't dried and the excess had gotten all over his forearm, though, thankfully, it hadn't ruined the work.

"Space Nazis, Robert Stack, uh, oh, god damn it, gonna snap, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh . . ." Capping his pen and dropping it atop his notes, Hank moved off to clean the ink from his arm, running it under a cool burst of water from the sink and rubbing softly to get the more persistent splotches out. "Leonard Nimoy, call me back, call me back . . ."

Just as he was about to get a little more into the song, really put his baritone through its paces, the dulcet tones of Lemon Demon were interrupted by the harsh staccato of his phone going off, and he sighed as he popped out his earbuds. A shame.

He'd almost been relaxed.

Swiping his Starkphone from the bedside table, Hank brought it up to his ear and accepted the call, moving over to the kitchen to scare up a Twinkie or three for what would pass for lunch. "Hank McCoy's phone, this is Hank. How might I be of service?"

[sukunaslilgurl]

Blades of Betrayal

Chapter 13: The Calm Before the Storm

The days in the village had passed in a blur of simple routines—peaceful, almost idyllic. Irene had learned how to exist within this calm, though the tension never quite left her. It was as if every moment of tranquility was balanced by the weight of the storm she knew was coming. For now, however, she could lose herself in the simple tasks of the day, helping where she could, speaking to the villagers, allowing herself to believe for a fleeting moment that she might find a life free from bloodshed.

She spent her days mending fences, gathering herbs, tending to the small garden in the back of the house where she stayed. The sounds of the village had become comforting—the hum of life around her was a reminder of the normalcy she’d always wanted but never had. The laughter of children echoed through the streets, and the voices of elders told stories that made her forget, just for a moment, who she used to be.

She had even begun to smile again, something that had become a distant memory in the years of running, of fighting. There was something deeply soothing about being in a place untouched by the war and the chaos of her past. For the first time in a long time, Irene felt as though she could breathe freely.

But the nights were different.

The quiet of the village, the peaceful rhythms, felt oppressive in the dead of night. It was almost as if the silence of the world outside was waiting for something to break it. The wind outside the window would rattle the leaves on the trees, and sometimes, Irene would lie awake, listening to the creaks of the house, her senses on high alert. Every instinct inside her screamed that she couldn’t let her guard down. Not yet.

Though she wasn’t sure when or how it would happen, Irene knew that Sukuna would come. The thought lingered in the back of her mind—always present, never fully extinguished. But for now, the village gave her refuge, a small illusion of peace she wasn’t willing to let go of.

And then one evening, it happened.

Irene had been laying on the mat in her small room, preparing for a much-needed bath. She had spent the day helping the villagers build a shed, and her body ached with exhaustion. The night was peaceful, and the thought of the warm water awaiting her was enough to make her forget the lingering dread that always followed her.

She moved toward the corner of the room where her small wooden tub was kept. But just as she reached out to lift the lid, a strange sensation ran up her spine. Her instincts flared to life.

She stopped, her hand hovering over the tub. Something was wrong.

The air in the room shifted.

A presence. Dark. Heavy.

Irene’s heart skipped a beat. Her pulse quickened, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Slowly, cautiously, she turned her head to the side.

And then she saw it.

A shadow, long and imposing, lingered in the corner of her room. For a long moment, the world seemed to still. Her breath caught in her throat. There, in the dim light of the lantern, she could make out the shape of a tall, broad figure. He was standing just at the edge of the flickering candlelight. His face, half obscured in darkness, was almost… too familiar.

Her heart raced. There was no mistaking him.

Sukuna.

The man who had haunted her every thought, the monster from her past who had torn apart everything she once cared for. There was no doubting it. It was him, standing right there in front of her. The very air seemed to crackle with his energy, an oppressive force she couldn’t escape.

At first, it was his eyes that caught her attention. Those deep, terrifying orbs that glowed faintly with an unholy intensity. They pierced through the darkness, fixing her with an unsettling gaze. For a moment, Irene forgot how to breathe. His eyes were like a storm—dark, endless, and dangerous—but there was something else too.

The light of the lantern flickered, casting soft shadows over his features. Despite the fear he instilled in her, Irene couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, even now. His chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and the sharp cut of his nose were striking in the soft glow. There was a cold beauty to him, an elegance beneath the terrifying aura. His presence was intoxicating, and Irene hated that she couldn’t completely dismiss the magnetic pull he had on her.

Even now, after everything, there was something almost… mesmerizing about him.

But she couldn’t let that distract her. She knew what he was.

Irene’s heart pounded in her chest, the fight-or-flight instinct screaming at her to do something, anything. She forced herself to steady her breath, her body tense, her muscles coiling in readiness. He had found her. He had come.

Sukuna didn’t move. His figure remained poised and still, like a predator watching its prey. There was no rush, no urgency in his approach. He was waiting, almost as if he enjoyed the tension, the suspense.

Finally, his voice cut through the silence, low and mocking.

“I knew you’d be here, hiding in this wretched little village. It’s pathetic, Irene. You think you can escape me, run away from what you’ve done?” His tone dripped with disdain.

Irene stood frozen, her mind racing. There was no denying it now. She could feel the storm rising within her. She could feel the anger bubbling up, but at the same time, she had to force herself to focus. This wasn’t the same woman she was when she had fled him. She wasn’t a frightened girl anymore.

“I didn’t come here to run, Sukuna,” she said, her voice steady, though her heart was racing. “I came here to stop the madness. I left because I couldn’t be a part of it anymore.”

Sukuna’s laugh echoed through the room, dark and twisted. “Oh, please. You think you can walk away from me? You think you can just decide to be free?” He took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing with dangerous amusement. “You’re a fool, Irene. You always have been.”

Irene didn’t flinch. She wasn’t going to let him provoke her. Not now. Not when she had come so far.

“I don’t need protection,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension. “I’m done with you. Done with your bloodshed, your manipulation. I’ll never be your puppet again.”

Sukuna’s face darkened, his expression twisting with fury. He stepped forward, his presence suffocating, as if the air itself bent to his will. But Irene held her ground, even as her heart hammered in her chest.

He was close now, too close.

“You think you can just walk away from me?” he growled. “You are mine, Irene. You always have been. I’ll make sure of it.”

But Irene wasn’t listening anymore. She wasn’t going to give in.

She stepped back, her body tense with the familiar fear she had once felt around him, but now… now, it was something else. She was no longer that woman who had run from him. She was different. Stronger.

“I won’t be yours anymore, Sukuna. This is over,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering. Sukuna’s laughter filled the room again, darker this time, filled with malice. “You think this is over?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper now. “You don’t get to choose your fate.”

Irene froze, her heart pounding in her chest as the dark silhouette in her room slowly became more defined in the flickering candlelight. His presence was overwhelming—an aura of power that seemed to consume the small space she had thought was a sanctuary. As the light illuminated his features, she could make out the sharp angles of his face, the intensity in his eyes. He was striking, his features handsome in a way that seemed almost cruel in its perfection. His red hair framed his face like a shadow, adding to the aura of danger he exuded. Sukuna stood tall, his gaze fixed on her, as though studying her every move. His presence alone made the room feel smaller, suffocating.

“Irene,” he said, his voice cold, almost mechanical. “You’ve been running for so long… hiding, pretending.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her body tensed, her thoughts racing. She had been expecting this moment, but that didn’t make it any easier. The calm she’d found in the village felt so fragile now, shattered in an instant by his arrival.

“You think you can escape everything?” he continued, his tone biting, as if the weight of his words alone could break her.

She took a step back, her instincts kicking in, trying to find any means of escape. But he was already too close, his presence a heavy force she couldn’t avoid.

“I’m not going back with you,” Irene said firmly, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides. She had made her choice. She wasn’t going back. She couldn’t.

A slight smirk tugged at Sukuna’s lips, but there was no humor in it—only cold calculation. “You can’t keep running forever. You know that, right?”

Irene’s hand instinctively went to her sword, but before she could even unsheath it, Sukuna’s eyes gleamed with malice, and he made a quick movement toward her, blocking her path with a mere shift of his body. It was enough to remind her of the power he wielded, the power she could never hope to match. “You think I’ll let you live this peaceful life?” he asked, his voice dark, almost a whisper.

Irene’s heart raced, but she held her ground. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

For a moment, it seemed as if time itself had frozen. The tension in the room thickened, and for the briefest instant, Irene thought he might strike. But instead, Sukuna’s eyes softened, just slightly, as if considering something.

“You never learn, do you?” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “You were mine before, and you’ll always be. This, whatever you’re trying to build, this false peace… it can’t last.”

Irene met his gaze head-on, her resolve as unshakable as it ever was. She wouldn’t let him destroy what little she had left.

“I’ve already told you, Sukuna. I’m not going back.” Her words were sharp, and the finality in her tone seemed to hang in the air. Irene froze, her heart pounding in her chest as the dark silhouette in her room slowly became more defined in the flickering candlelight. His presence was overwhelming—an aura of power that seemed to consume the small space she had thought was a sanctuary. As the light illuminated his features, she could make out the sharp angles of his face, the intensity in his eyes. He was striking, his features handsome in a way that seemed almost cruel in its perfection. His dark hair framed his face like a shadow, adding to the aura of danger he exuded.

Sukuna stood tall, his gaze fixed on her, as though studying her every move. His presence alone made the room feel smaller, suffocating.

“Irene,” he said, his voice cold, almost mechanical. “You’ve been running for so long… hiding, pretending.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her body tensed, her thoughts racing. She had been expecting this moment, but that didn’t make it any easier. The calm she’d found in the village felt so fragile now, shattered in an instant by his arrival.

“You think you can escape everything?” he continued, his tone biting, as if the weight of his words alone could break her.

She took a step back, her instincts kicking in, trying to find any means of escape. But he was already too close, his presence a heavy force she couldn’t avoid.

“I’m not going back with you,” Irene said firmly, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her insides. She had made her choice. She wasn’t going back. She couldn’t.

A slight smirk tugged at Sukuna’s lips, but there was no humor in it—only cold calculation. “You can’t keep running forever. You know that, right?”

Irene’s hand instinctively went to her sword, but before she could even unsheath it, Sukuna’s eyes gleamed with malice, and he made a quick movement toward her, blocking her path with a mere shift of his body. It was enough to remind her of the power he wielded, the power she could never hope to match.

“You think I’ll let you live this peaceful life?” he asked, his voice dark, almost a whisper. Irene’s heart raced, but she held her ground. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

For a moment, it seemed as if time itself had frozen. The tension in the room thickened, and for the briefest instant, Irene thought he might strike. But instead, Sukuna’s eyes softened, just slightly, as if considering something.

“You never learn, do you?” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “You were mine before, and you’ll always be. This, whatever you’re trying to build, this false peace… it can’t last.”

Irene felt her breath quicken as Sukuna’s grip tightened, the familiar tension flooding her chest. He was too close, his presence overwhelming, and the air between them was thick with unspoken words. For a moment, she wanted to fight, to lash out, but something inside her hesitated—something more than just fear. It was anger, yes, but also the weight of all that had passed between them.

He swung her around with a swift movement, pinning her against the wall. The coldness of the surface against her back did little to ease the heat of the moment. She struggled, instinctively trying to push him away, her elbows driving into his chest with all the force she could muster. But his grip was too strong. He caught her wrists easily, locking them above her head with a strength that made her breath catch in her throat. For a split second, she saw something flicker in his eyes—something that almost looked like regret, though it was quickly masked by his usual coldness.

“Calm down,” he said, his voice low, but there was a tremor beneath it, as if even he knew the madness of this moment. Irene’s heart pounded in her chest, and her pulse rang in her ears. She wanted to scream, to fight back, but instead, she looked him dead in the eyes, her voice a whisper but filled with fury. “You think you can break me like this? You think you can control me again?”

Sukuna’s gaze softened, just for a moment, before he pulled her closer, his lips nearly grazing her ear as he spoke, “You never were mine to control, Irene. You were always… something more. But I still want you to come back.” His voice was a mixture of authority and something deeper, something almost vulnerable, as if he was trying to reach her in a way he never had before. Irene’s breath hitched. The memories of their shared past, the battles fought together, the moments of tenderness that had once existed between them—those fleeting memories made her stomach churn. But she couldn’t let that break her now. Not after everything. Not after everything she had fought for.

“You can’t have me back,” she said, her voice trembling but fierce. “I’m done with you. Done with everything you represent. I’m not the woman I used to be. Not the one who followed you blindly.” Sukuna’s grip loosened slightly, but his eyes were hard, cold, as though the words had cut deeper than he was willing to admit. “And yet here you are, standing in front of me.”

Irene’s pulse raced, her body still pressed against his, the weight of their shared history weighing down on her like a thousand broken pieces. But she wasn’t that person anymore. She wasn’t the woman who had given herself up, who had let him dictate her every move. She had made her choice, and there was no going back.

“I’m not going to be your pawn anymore, Sukuna,” she said, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions inside her. “I won’t be a part of your game.”

Sukuna’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as the words left his lips: “You’re pregnant.” The shock of it hit Irene like a sudden storm, and for a moment, she felt the room spin around her. Her breath caught in her throat as he took a step closer, his eyes dark and focused on her in a way that made her skin prickle. He moved so slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the power he held over her in that moment. His hand, cold and unyielding, moved toward her. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the sharp intensity of his presence as it bore down on her. Time seemed to stretch, each second more suffocating than the last. Then, with an almost predatory grace, his hand descended toward her abdomen.

His fingers brushed against her skin lightly at first, just enough for her to feel the coldness of his touch against the heat of her own body. But then, without warning, he pressed his palm flat against her belly. It was like he was claiming the space between them, marking her in ways that felt intimate yet terrifying. He held her gaze as his hand moved lower, his touch lingering as if testing for something. She could feel the pressure building in her chest, and before she could even respond, he made a sound, something like a growl of realization. “I can feel it,” he murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for Irene to hear. “I can feel the heartbeat… our child. It’s inside you.”

The way he said it sent a chill through her. There was a strange reverence in his voice now, a possessiveness that made her skin crawl. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment, almost like he had expected it.

She wanted to pull away, to escape the trap he was setting with his words and touch, but his presence was overpowering, keeping her rooted to the spot. Her heart hammered in her chest, the reality of what he was saying sinking in slowly, painfully. The child… their child. The thought of it felt like a weight on her shoulders, and she could feel her body tense under his hand as he pressed gently, almost tenderly, feeling for the proof of their connection. It was too much.

But then, in that same moment of vulnerability, she found her voice, sharp and defiant. “You have no right,” she spat, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. “This doesn’t change anything. I don’t belong to you.”

Sukuna’s hand remained on her belly for a moment longer, his fingers almost possessively curled around her, but the cold, calculating look in his eyes never wavered. When he spoke again, it was with a tone that was both dark and resigned. “You can try to deny it all you want, Irene, but this child… this child is part of me, and part of you. You can’t change that.”

Her pulse raced as his words sank deep. There was no escape from what he was saying, no way to erase the past. He had marked her in ways that were impossible to forget. And now, that same darkness was pressing against her future. She shook her head, trying to fight the wave of emotions rising within her. “I’ll protect this child. Without you,” she said, her voice steady, though her body was trembling from the intensity of the moment.

Irene glared at Sukuna, her eyes burning with anger. She took a step back, trying to regain some sense of control, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her emotions.

“What’s wrong with you now?” she spat, her voice shaking with fury. “Now you don’t want to kill me because I carry your child? You think this changes anything? You think this gives you the right to… to play the caring man? You’re pathetic. Her fists clenched at her sides, the frustration and bitterness threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to hurt him, to lash out, to make him feel the years of torment she had suffered under his control.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” she continued, her voice cold and venomous. “You’re the same monster you always were. Just because I have your child doesn’t make you any less of a tyrant. Toji told you, didn’t he? He sent men after me, to kill me, to silence me. And now, suddenly, you want to be the good father, the protector?”

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You’re such an idiot. This doesn’t change a damn thing. You haven’t changed. You never will.” Sukuna pulled her closer, Irene’s breath caught in her throat. She had never been this close to him, not like this—raw, vulnerable, and tangled in an unspoken understanding. Her heart raced, but there was no denying the conflicting emotions that surged through her. It was as if a storm had gathered within her, pulling her in two directions at once.

Sukuna’s gaze softened for the first time, his eyes searching hers as if they were the only thing that mattered in the moment. Irene wanted to pull away, wanted to break free, but her body betrayed her. She was tired. Tired of running. Tired of the weight of her past, of the battles she had fought, and the scars that ran deeper than any blade.

He cupped her face gently, and for a fleeting moment, Irene almost believed he wasn’t the monster she had once known. Almost.

But no. She had to remind herself who he was. The man who had turned her into something she wasn’t. The man who, despite everything, still haunted her thoughts and dreams. She had to stay strong. She couldn’t give in. Not to him, not to the way his presence made her feel.

“I won’t let you control me again,” she whispered, her voice trembling despite her attempt to be firm. Sukuna’s expression shifted, the coldness creeping back into his eyes. “Control? I’ve never wanted to control you, Irene. You’ve always been free to make your own choices. But deep down, you know you’ll never truly escape me.”

Irene flinched, a sharp pain gnawing at her chest. She wanted to argue, to tell him everything that had been building up inside her. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal. But she couldn’t find the words. Instead, Sukuna leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin. For a moment, he was silent, as if trying to gauge her every reaction. “I didn’t come here to force you,” he said, his tone quieter now. “I came here because I want to understand why you left. Why you chose this path. Why you chose to leave me behind… and to take this child away from me.”

The mention of the child made Irene’s heart skip a beat, and she found herself caught in the whirlwind of his words. She knew the truth; she could never go back to him, to the life he had once promised her. But the weight of it all felt heavier now. It wasn’t just about them anymore. It was about the life they had created. The life growing inside her.

Her voice shook as she spoke, her resolve slipping ever so slightly. “You’ve done enough damage, Sukuna. I’m not going back. Not to you, not to any of this. I’ll protect my child from all of it.”

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. He didn’t move, didn’t pull away. He seemed to be waiting for something, but Irene didn’t know what it was. Was he hoping she’d change her mind? That she’d go back to the way things were?

Before Irene could process his words, before she could prepare herself for the next confrontation, Sukuna closed the space between them. His actions were swift, unpredictable, like the storm she had once tried to weather and failed.

He cupped her face gently, as though trying to trace every line and curve, every sign of her defiance, every ounce of resistance. His touch was both delicate and demanding, a contradiction she couldn’t escape. His eyes never left hers, his gaze so intense that it almost felt like he was searching for something—answers, perhaps, or maybe something even deeper.

And then, without a word, he leaned in.

The kiss was fierce, taking her by surprise. It wasn’t gentle or tender. It was raw and hungry, as though he was claiming what he believed to be his, something Irene had once belonged to him, something that now existed only in the spaces between them. His lips pressed against hers, silencing any protests she might have had.

Irene’s heart raced, a confusing mixture of anger and something far more dangerous rising inside her. Her fists clenched involuntarily, but she couldn’t move. The world seemed to shrink around them, her thoughts chaotic, her body frozen in a battle between wanting to pull away and feeling an inexplicable pull toward him.

She tasted the bitterness of betrayal on his lips, the familiar warmth that had once been her comfort now twisted into something darker. And for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to feel it all—the weight of their shared past, the pain of what had been lost, and the fear of what might come.

But then, her instincts kicked in.

She pushed against his chest, breaking free from the kiss. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she looked up at him, her chest heaving, her heart still caught in the chaos of the moment.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice raw with emotion.

Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, his eyes still locked on her. He didn’t respond immediately, his lips curling into something that was part smirk, part something darker.

“You know exactly what this is, Irene,” he said quietly, his voice was husky. “You’ve always known.”

But she refused to let him dictate this moment.

“You don’t get to do this. Not anymore,” she snapped, her voice trembling, but full of conviction.

The air between them thickened, the silence pressing in. Irene, still reeling from the kiss, stood her ground, every part of her fighting the pull of his presence. She knew she couldn’t let him take control again. Not now. Not with everything at stake.

Sukuna stood before her, his gaze piercing into hers, filled with a raw intensity. His voice, when it came, was low, almost a whisper, but filled with an unshakable conviction.

“I’d rather die than not do this again,” he said, his tone dark and heavy with something she couldn’t quite place, something beyond his usual arrogance. His eyes burned with an emotion that she couldn’t deny—something that went beyond control, beyond hatred. It was desire.

“I want to kiss you,” he continued, his words carrying a weight that felt like a promise. It was an unsettling vulnerability in his voice, one that caused a chill to run down Irene’s spine.

She stared at him, trying to piece together his intentions, but everything felt scrambled. He wasn’t the same man she had known before. He wasn’t the same monster, nor was he the god-like being that had once ruled her life. In this moment, he was something far more dangerous—a man stripped of his power, but not of his desires. Irene’s breath caught in her throat. She hated him. She wanted to strike him, to push him away with all her strength, to make him see the damage he had caused. And yet, there was something about the intensity in his words, the softness of his admission, that struck her in a way she couldn’t control.

“No,” she breathed, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “You don’t get to control this anymore, Sukuna.”

His expression flickered for the briefest of moments, the cold edge of his demeanor cracking ever so slightly. But then, in a swift motion, he closed the distance between them, the air thick with tension, his presence overwhelming.

“I don’t need to control you,” he said, his voice rough, barely a whisper against her ear. “I want you. I always have.” For a brief moment, Irene felt the pull, the temptation to give in, to feel the weight of his body against hers again, the familiarity of it. But she resisted. She could not allow him to win. Not now, not after everything they had been through.

Pushing him away once more, she took a step back, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breath.“You don’t get to have me, Sukuna,” she said, her voice strong, laced with bitterness. “Not anymore. You don’t deserve that.”

But Sukuna didn’t move. He watched her, his eyes never leaving hers. He didn’t need to say another word. His silence spoke volumes.

“I desire you, Irene,” he murmured, each word deliberately chosen, his tone soft yet filled with an undeniable force. “I will leave you alone tonight, but think about it. I am the father of our child. Come back with me. I’ll take care of us—just like I always did. I’ve always cared for you, since you were just a little girl. Sukuna’s voice was low and heavy with an unmistakable intensity as he looked at Irene. His gaze was unwavering, filled with a mixture of desire and something far deeper—something she hadn’t expected to hear from him.

The words hung in the air between them, laden with the weight of their shared history. There was an unsettling calmness to his presence now, a strange contrast to the tension that had filled the room only moments ago. His eyes lingered on her, studying her, as if he were waiting for her to break, to show some sign of weakness or doubt.

“I’ll give you time,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but still carrying the same force. “But don’t mistake this for mercy. You know you belong with me. You’ve always known.”

Irene’s heart hammered in her chest, the words hitting her like a cold wave. He wasn’t just speaking to her as a lover. He was speaking as someone who believed, no matter how twisted it seemed, that he had ownership over her. That their bond, whatever it was, was something that couldn’t be severed so easily.

Sukuna’s gaze softened for just a moment—almost imperceptibly—before he turned toward the door, his final words leaving a heavy silence in the room.

“Think about it, Irene. I’ve always been the one to take care of you. I will keep doing so, for as long as you allow me.”

With that, he left. The door clicked shut behind him, and Irene was left in the suffocating silence of the room. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts—what he had said, what he had done to her, and what the future might hold. She couldn’t deny the truth of his words. He had always been there. But at what cost?

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring into the darkness that had crept in with him. She didn’t know what the future would bring. All she knew was that she had to make a choice, and she would have to make it soon.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

What do the Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) and Demise do when they arrive in their bedchambers and see their lover already asleep in bed?

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Reaction:

Wind Waker Ganondorf stands quietly at the doorway for a moment, taking in the peaceful sight. A rare, soft smile touches his lips as he approaches the bed.

Action:

He carefully climbs into bed, making sure not to disturb his sleeping lover. He gently pulls the covers over them both and then wraps an arm around them, holding them close as he rests his head on the pillow beside theirs. The calmness of the moment brings him a sense of serenity he seldom feels.

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Reaction:

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf is initially surprised to see his lover already asleep, as he often works late into the night. He feels a pang of guilt for his absence and a strong protective instinct.

Action:

He quietly removes his armor and weapons, placing them aside. He then sits on the edge of the bed, brushing a few strands of hair away from his lover's face. After a moment of watching them sleep, he lies down beside them, ensuring his presence is known but without waking them, and wraps an arm around them protectively.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Reaction:

Twilight Princess Ganondorf feels a sense of warmth and longing as he sees his lover already asleep. The sight brings a rare softness to his usually stern expression.

Action:

He disrobes silently and climbs into bed with practiced ease. He wraps himself around his lover, pulling them into his chest with a possessive yet gentle hold. The rhythmic sound of their breathing helps to calm his restless mind, allowing him to find some peace as he drifts off to sleep.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Reaction:

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf feels a mix of admiration and protectiveness upon seeing his lover asleep. He is reminded of why he fights and conquers.

Action:

He undresses quickly but quietly, then joins them in bed. He positions himself so that he can envelop them in his strong arms, resting his chin atop their head. The physical closeness reassures him of their safety and his role as their protector, helping him relax after the day's battles.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Reaction:

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf feels a profound sense of peace seeing his lover asleep. The sight soothes his often troubled mind and heart.

Action:

He quietly approaches the bed and slips in beside them. He wraps an arm around their waist, pulling them close and nuzzling his face into their hair. He breathes deeply, taking in their scent, and lets the tranquility of the moment wash over him, easing the burdens he carries.

Demise

Reaction:

Demise experiences a rare moment of tenderness as he sees his lover asleep. It's a stark contrast to the chaos and power that usually define his existence.

Action:

He removes his armor and weapons, laying them aside. He carefully gets into bed, making sure not to disturb his lover. He wraps an arm around them, pulling them against his massive frame. The simplicity and purity of the moment help to ground him, providing a fleeting sense of normalcy and peace.

[yujo-nishimura]

Whispers of the Desert Kingdom - Part 7

Warning: Sir Crocodile x fem reader, English is not my native language, not proof-read, age gap - forced marriage, angst and manipulation

This is a very short chapter and nothing really happens here, consider it as a filler to keep the story going. ;)

Taglist: @mcgeemouse , @fan-g0rl , @vexladin

words: 788

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

As you woke up from your sleep, you found yourself alone in the room. The couch under the window appeared untouched, as if the events of the previous night had been nothing more than a fleeting dream. The pillows were neatly arranged, restoring a sense of normalcy. It dawned on you that you had fallen asleep still clad in your wedding dress, make up stains left on your pillow. 

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, and the voices of two female servants asked if they could assist you with a shower or breakfast. Still groggy from sleep, you yelled in response, "I don't need anyone today. Dismiss all services!" Slowly, you freed yourself from the sheets and discarded your dress onto the bed, shedding it like an unwanted shell.

Naked, you made your way into the bathroom. The embrace of the hot water in the marble bathtub brought a fleeting sense of relief, soothing your weary soul. As the warmth enveloped you, a glimmer of hope flickered within.

You came to realize that Crocodile had his own agenda for the kingdom, and being a part of the royal family could not change his plans. In the face of this realization, you saw only two choices before you: to confront him with force or to try and win his love, rendering him unable to harm you and those you held dear. A giggle escaped your lips as you entertained the second option, blushing at the thought. Deep down, you longed for Crocodile to fall for you, even though you acknowledged the naivety and childishness of such a wish. Maybe you were naive, but you had been brought into this situation by your father and now it was on you to change things for the better. 

After what felt like an eternity in the bathroom, you got out of the bath, dressed and got ready to face the day. Without a second thought, you tossed the wedding dress into your closet, dismissing it from your mind. Your gaze fell upon the dark stains of dried blood on the sheets, serving as a reminder of the previous night's encounter and the need to tend to your wound.

Opting for a long-sleeved dress today you called for the servants, requesting fresh sheets and breakfast to be brought to your room. The two girls arrived promptly, their diligent expressions revealing their eagerness to fulfill your requests. They swiftly removed the soiled bedding, replacing it with clean linen, while presenting you with a tray of coffee and bread to start your day.

Having finished breakfast, you made the decision to leave your room, determined to seek out either your father or Crocodile. Uncertain of whom to face with your newfound resolve first, you navigated the palace's silent halls. Many of the servants had been granted a well-deserved day off after the busy weeks of preparation.

As you wandered through the corridors, unable to locate either your father or Crocodile, you found yourself stepping into the tranquil courtyard. There, you spotted Pell engaged in conversation with Chaka. These two warriors, who had been a constant presence since your childhood, always provided a sense of reassurance. 

You felt a flicker of uncertainty as to whether Pell was the right person to share your inner turmoil with. However, deep down, you knew that Pell understood you better than anyone else in the palace, and he would inevitably sense if you were distressed by your newfound role as Crocodile's wife.

Opting to maintain the facade that everyone expected from you, you greeted the warriors of the palace with a warm smile. Suppressing the lingering unease within, you inquired about the whereabouts of your husband, realizing how challenging it still was for you to utter that word.

"Crocodile left the palace this morning to tend to his affairs at the casino. Do you already miss him, Princess?" Chaka's smile carried a gentle warmth as he spoke.

"What a fortunate man Crocodile is. Not only is he wealthy, but he also possesses your love!" Pell chimed in, his sincerity shining through. 

Feeling a surge of determination, you quickly replied, "Then I shall go and meet him!" 

"But, Princess, members of the royal family are not permitted in the casino among commoners," Chaka cautioned.

"I believe it's time to reconsider that rule, considering the casino's owner is now a member of the royal family," you chuckled, leaving the two warriors in the courtyard. Making your way back to the palace, your steps guided you toward the town. It was crucial to expedite your plan of making Crocodile fall in love with you. The sooner you could execute your strategy, the better equipped you would be to safeguard the kingdom.

[selmasemlan]

A trip to France

Summary: A trip to Paris with the troublesome trio, leaders to, you guessed it, trouble.

Pairing: Marcel Gerard x Luna Salvatore (OFC), Stiles Stilinski x Luna (platonic), Isaac Lahey x Luna (platonic)

Author note: This is one of the longest fics I have ever written, but here it is.

Warning: mention of violence, mention of mental manipulation (magic)

Word count: 3168

Series Masterlist

A trip to France

Luna, Stiles, and Isaac found themselves in Paris, a city bustling with life and history, a stark contrast to the eerie quiet of Beacon Hills they had left behind. The trip was a much-needed escape after the harrowing events involving the nogitsune. For Luna especially, it was a chance to breathe freely, away from the shadows that had haunted her.

Securing permission to travel without adult supervision had been a challenge of epic proportions. Stiles, always the persuasive talker, had to debate with his skeptical dad, Noah, while Luna and Isaac pleaded their case to Stefan and Damon Salvatore. Arguments about safety, responsibility, and the necessity of this trip echoed through the Salvatore mansion until finally, with solemn promises to stay together and watch over each other, the adults relented. They hoped that a change of scenery might offer healing and respite for the young trio.

The first few days in Paris were nothing short of magical. Luna, with her keen eye for fashion, was mesmerized by the elegant Parisian style. She spent hours sketching designs in her notebook, inspired by the haute couture she glimpsed in boutique windows along the Champs-Élysées. Stiles, the eternal history enthusiast, soaked in every detail about the city’s past as they explored museums and iconic landmarks like the Louvre and Notre-Dame. Isaac, quieter than usual but visibly trying to move forward from Allison’s tragic death, found solace in the beauty of the Seine River and the stunning architecture that seemed to whisper tales of centuries gone by.

One sunny afternoon, they found themselves sitting at a charming café near the Eiffel Tower. The aroma of freshly baked croissants and strong coffee wafted through the air as Luna flipped through a magazine, her fingers tracing over the latest trends in Parisian fashion.

"This city is incredible," Luna sighed contentedly, glancing up at the wrought-iron tables scattered under colorful umbrellas. "I feel like I could spend a lifetime just exploring the fashion here."

Stiles, sipping his café au lait, nodded enthusiastically. "And the history! Did you know the Eiffel Tower was originally intended to be a temporary structure? It was built for the 1889 World's Fair."

Isaac, stirring his espresso thoughtfully, looked up with a faint smile. "It's hard to believe so much has happened in this city. It's like every corner holds a different story."

Their conversation drifted lazily as they savored the peaceful moment, the weight of recent events momentarily lifted. Paris seemed to weave its spell around them, offering a fleeting sense of normalcy and joy amid their shared sorrow.

As dusk settled over the city, casting a golden glow over the cobbled streets, they made their way back to the hotel, their hearts lighter than they had been in weeks. Little did they know, their Parisian adventure was about to take an unexpected turn that would test their bonds of friendship and resilience like never before.

One evening in Paris, Luna, Stiles, and Isaac found themselves lured by the city's vibrant nightlife to a trendy club nestled in the heart of Montmartre. The air buzzed with pulsating beats and swirling lights, a stark contrast to the tranquility of their daytime explorations. Luna, caught up in the music and the electric atmosphere, moved with a grace that drew admiring glances from the crowd.

Amidst the sea of dancers and the rhythmic thump of bass, Luna felt a pair of eyes fixed on her. She turned subtly, her curiosity piqued, to find a tall, enigmatic figure observing her from across the room. His gaze was intense, unnerving even from a distance, sending a shiver down her spine.

As the night progressed, Luna found herself on the crowded dance floor, losing herself in the music's hypnotic rhythm. Yet, the spell was abruptly shattered when she was rudely bumped into by a group of locals, their laughter tinged with alcohol-fueled arrogance. One of them, emboldened by liquid courage, sneered at Luna, his words dripping with disdain.

"Look at this girl, pretending to be something she's not," the man jeered, his voice loud enough to attract unwanted attention. "Probably some poor Moroccan trying to play dress-up."

Luna's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing with restrained fury. Years of composure and resilience were tested in that moment. She could feel the heat rising, the urge to retaliate clawing at her throat. But she knew better than to dignify ignorance with a response.

Stiles, ever observant of his friend's moods, noticed the tension in Luna's stance. He exchanged a quick glance with Isaac, who had been keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Sensing trouble brewing, Stiles moved to Luna's side, his voice low but urgent.

"Luna, let's get out of here," Stiles suggested, concern etched on his face. "It's not worth it."

Isaac, his expression tight with restrained anger, nodded in agreement. "They're not worth your time, Luna. Let's go."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Luna nodded reluctantly. She turned to leave the dance floor, her steps deliberate yet tinged with a simmering frustration. But before she could make her way through the crowd, chaos erupted in the club.

Shouts and crashing sounds echoed through the room as a scuffle broke out nearby. Luna instinctively glanced over, her heart sinking at the sight of fists flying and glasses shattering. The situation escalated quickly, drawing the attention of security guards who rushed to intervene.

Amidst the commotion, Luna caught sight of the mysterious man from earlier. He moved with an effortless grace through the chaos, his presence commanding attention. In moments, he deftly subdued the instigators, his movements swift and precise. The club fell into an uneasy quiet as the troublemakers were escorted out.

Feeling a mixture of relief and unease, Luna retreated to a quieter corner of the club, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. Her encounter with the rude locals had left a bitter taste, overshadowing what had started as a carefree evening.

Later that night, back at their hotel, Luna sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop open before her. With a deep breath, she initiated a video call with Marcel, the charismatic vampire from New Orleans she had befriended during a previous encounter.

The screen flickered to life, and Marcel's familiar face appeared, a warm smile spreading across his features. "Luna! How's Paris treating you?" he greeted warmly, his voice tinged with genuine interest.

Luna couldn't help but smile at Marcel's infectious enthusiasm. "Hey Marcel," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of excitement. "You won't believe what happened to me tonight."

As Luna recounted the evening's events, Marcel's expression shifted from curiosity to concern. He listened intently as she described the altercation and the mysterious man who had intervened.

"Luna, be careful," Marcel cautioned, his brow furrowing slightly. "Paris can be unpredictable, especially at night. If you encounter trouble, don't hesitate to call me."

Luna nodded appreciatively, touched by Marcel's concern. "Thanks, Marcel. I'll keep that in mind," she assured him, her mind already racing with thoughts of how to navigate the complexities of their unexpected encounter.

With a final wave, Marcel bid her goodnight, and Luna closed her laptop, her thoughts swirling with questions and uncertainties. Beside her, Stiles and Isaac sat on the edge of their own beds, their expressions mirroring her mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Isaac and Luna exchanged uncertain glances, silently weighing their options. Before they could decide, Luna's phone buzzed with a message notification. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced at the screen, seeing Marcel's name.

With that silent agreement, the trio huddled together in the dimly lit hotel room, their minds racing with questions and uncertainties about the mysterious man who had intervened in Luna's night. Little did they know, their encounter with the enigmatic figure was just the beginning of an unexpected adventure in the city of lights.

The day after the chaotic night at the club, Luna sat alone at a cozy Parisian café, nursing a cappuccino as she tried to process the surreal events of the previous evening. The news on her phone flashed with shocking headlines—two men found dead after a nightclub altercation. Luna's heart raced as she recognized their faces from the altercation. The reality of witnessing death up close unsettled her deeply.

Lost in her thoughts, Luna was startled when a familiar figure slid into the seat opposite her. Lucien Castle, the enigmatic man from the club, smirked as he leaned back, exuding an air of casual confidence that set her on edge. His presence was both unsettling and magnetic.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," Lucien greeted with a voice as smooth as silk, his accent dripping with charm. "Quite a night we had, wouldn't you say?"

Luna's eyes narrowed slightly, her guard instinctively rising in the face of his unapologetic arrogance. "Quite," she replied coolly, though her voice betrayed a hint of unease.

Lucien chuckled softly, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto hers. "You never told me your name," he remarked casually, his tone suggestive.

Luna hesitated, her mind racing with caution and uncertainty. "Luna," she finally offered, her voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within her.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," Lucien complimented smoothly, his charm oozing effortlessly. "Tell me, Luna, what brings you to Paris?"

Luna sighed inwardly, steeling herself against his charm offensive. "Just a getaway with friends," she replied vaguely, keeping her responses guarded.

Lucien's smile widened, his interest clearly piqued. "Ah, friends," he mused, his gaze flickering momentarily with curiosity. "And what about romance? Surely a woman as captivating as you must have a special someone."

Luna's pulse quickened as she sensed his approach, her composure faltering for a brief moment. "I do," she confessed quietly, her eyes meeting his with unwavering honesty. "I'm in a happy and committed relationship."

Lucien's demeanor shifted imperceptibly, a fleeting shadow crossing his features before he masked it with practiced ease. "Yet, here we are," he remarked lightly, his tone teasing yet probing. "You can't deny the attraction between us, Luna."

Frustrated by his persistence and still reeling from the horrors of the previous night, Luna felt a surge of defiance rising within her. "Except for the fact that I just mentioned being in a happy, healthy relationship," she retorted, her voice tinged with unexpected boldness, "you're in love with another girl and you use other girls to try to forget about her."

The words hung in the air, creating a tense silence that seemed to echo in the bustling café. Luna realized the weight of what she had just revealed. Her powers, heightened by recent events, had inadvertently allowed her to sense Lucien's thoughts and emotions. The revelation struck a nerve, unsettling both Lucien and herself.

Lucien's expression darkened momentarily, a flicker of something dangerous glinting in his eyes before he swiftly regained his composure. "You're quite perceptive," he replied smoothly, though his tone carried an edge of caution.

Before Lucien could say more, Luna rose gracefully from her seat, her gaze meeting his with a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "Good day," she said firmly, her tone indicating the conversation was over.

With that, Luna turned and briskly walked away from the table, leaving Lucien to ponder her words. She could feel his eyes on her back as she navigated through the café patrons and out into the bustling streets of Paris. The encounter had left her with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and questions, but for now, she needed to retreat and collect her thoughts.

Back at the hotel room she shared with Stiles and Isaac, Luna recounted the unsettling encounter with Lucien. "He´s here!," she began, her voice betraying a mixture of frustration and apprehension. She proceeded to recount the eerie exchange with Lucien Castle, unsure of what implications it might have for their time in Paris.

"We need a plan," Stiles declared, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the room.

Isaac nodded in agreement, his voice firm. "We can't ignore what happened tonight. That guy, whoever he is, seemed... different."

Luna, her thoughts still reeling, rubbed her temples wearily. "I know. But what can we do? We can't just avoid him forever."

Stiles glanced between his friends, his mind racing with possibilities. "Maybe we should reach out to someone who knows more about these... supernatural things," he suggested tentatively, eyes settling on Luna.

Luna hesitated, considering their options carefully. "We could... but who?" she mused aloud, her gaze flickering to the laptop where Marcel's face had just vanished from the screen.

Isaac leaned forward, a determined gleam in his eyes. "What about Damon and Stefan? They've dealt with vampires before. They might have some insight."

Luna shook her head adamantly, a hint of worry creasing her brow. "No, we can't involve them. They'll never let us travel alone again if they find out."

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Then who? Bonnie, maybe? She could help.”

Luna just shakes her head, “She will tell Damon”

Stiles looks confused and Isaac explains, “Theyre a thing…kind of”

Isaac suggested Klaus, given Klaus's reputation and experience as an Original vampire.

"Klaus?" Luna hesitated, her mind racing through the potential consequences of involving someone so powerful and unpredictable. "Are you sure about this, Isaac? Klaus is... well, he's Klaus."

Isaac nodded. "We don't have a lot of options, Luna. If anyone can help us, it's him."

Taking a deep breath, Luna eventually dialed Klaus's number. The phone rang a few times, each ring amplifying her anxiety, before the familiar, smooth yet dangerous voice answered.

"Luna Salvatore," Klaus drawled, curiosity evident in his tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Luna cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady. "Klaus, I need your help. It's about Lucien."

There was a brief pause before Klaus responded, his interest clearly piqued. "Lucien Castle? My first sire? What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, Luna?"

"It's a long story," Luna said quickly. "But I need to erase his memory of me. It's urgent."

Klaus chuckled softly. "Erasing memories, is it? That's quite the task. Hold on, I have just the person who might be able to assist you."

There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line before a new voice came on—Kol Mikaelson, Klaus's brother, known for his expertise in magic.

"Luna," Kol greeted, his tone light and teasing. "What kind of mischief have you been up to?"

Luna sighed in relief. "Kol, I need to erase Lucien's memory of me. Can you help?"

Kol's tone turned serious. "Erasing memories is a tricky business, Luna. You can do it, but it requires utmost precision. One wrong detail, one slip, and the consequences could be dire. You might fail entirely, or worse, cause irreversible damage."

Luna swallowed hard, the weight of Kol's warning sinking in. "I understand. But I don't have a choice. I need to do this."

"Very well," Kol replied. "Just remember, be precise. Leave nothing to chance."

"I will. Thank you, Kol," Luna said, determination replacing her anxiety. She ended the call, her mind racing with the instructions and warnings.

Isaac and Stiles watched her expectantly. "Well?" Stiles asked.

Luna took a deep breath. "Kol said I can do it, but it has to be precise. One mistake and it could all go wrong."

"Then let's make sure you don't make any mistakes," Isaac said firmly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll get through this together."

Armed with a plan, they tracked down Lucien at another club the following night. The club pulsed with music and energy, a stark contrast to Luna’s racing thoughts. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and made her way towards Lucien. Stiles and Isaac positioned themselves strategically within the crowd, their eyes never leaving Luna.

Lucien noticed her approach, his interest piqued. "Back for more, Luna?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Luna forced a smile, hiding her anxiety. "I just couldn't resist the allure of this place. Mind if I join you?"

Lucien gestured to the seat beside him, his eyes glittering with curiosity. "By all means. Tell me, what brings you back to my company?"

Following Kol's instructions, Luna began to weave her tale. "I was just thinking about our last conversation," she said carefully. "It's funny, I feel like we've known each other for ages. Sometimes I forget the details of how we met."

Lucien leaned in, intrigued. "Oh? And how did we meet, exactly?"

Luna’s heart pounded, but she kept her voice steady. "It was at that little café, remember? You were sitting alone, looking out of place, and I thought I'd keep you company."

Lucien’s brow furrowed slightly. "Was it? I seem to recall it differently."

Luna laughed lightly, subtly guiding the conversation. "You know how memories can be. They get jumbled. But what's important is the present, right?"

As she spoke, she channeled the magic Kol had taught her, carefully weaving her words to alter Lucien’s memories. Each sentence was deliberate, designed to erase her presence from his mind without raising his suspicions.

The minutes dragged on, feeling like hours. Luna’s pulse raced with each calculated word, her concentration unwavering. She saw Lucien’s expression shift imperceptibly, the sharp focus in his eyes dulling as the magic took hold.

Lucien blinked, a moment of confusion passing over his features. "Strange, I could’ve sworn we met under different circumstances," he muttered.

Luna forced another smile, sensing success. "Memories are funny like that," she said softly. "Well, I should get going. It was nice chatting with you."

Lucien nodded absently, his mind already elsewhere. "Until next time, then."

Luna turned and walked away, her legs feeling like jelly. She quickly found Stiles and Isaac, who had been watching anxiously.

"Did it work?" Isaac asked, his voice low and tense.

"I think so," Luna replied, her relief palpable. "He didn’t seem to remember anything."

They left the club cautiously optimistic, though the weight of uncertainty still lingered. The bustling streets of Paris felt more chaotic than ever, the night air thick with the promise of both danger and adventure.

As they walked back to their hotel, Luna couldn’t shake the feeling that their summer in Paris was about to get a lot more complicated. The city’s lights sparkled around them, but beneath the surface, shadows loomed.

"Here's to hoping for a quieter day tomorrow," Stiles quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Isaac chuckled. "Yeah, because that ever happens with us."

Luna smiled, though her mind was already racing with thoughts of what might come next. "Let’s just get some rest. We’ll deal with whatever happens when it happens."

Back in their hotel room, they collapsed onto their beds, the events of the night swirling in their minds. They knew their troubles with Lucien Castle might not be over, but for now, they celebrated a small victory in the heart of Paris.

[reddeadarthurcallahan]

Sadithur story thing part 2

Chapter 2.

warning super fuking long

Horseshoe Overlook & Clemens Point

As the sun rose over Horseshoe Overlook, casting a golden hue across the camp, Arthur slowly roused from his slumber. He had been through a whirlwind of events in the past few weeks—rescues, shootouts, and close calls that left him reflecting on the precarious nature of their outlaw life.

Stretching and yawning, Arthur indulged in a few extra hours of sleep, relishing the rare opportunity to rest amidst the constant turmoil of their existence. When he finally emerged from his tent, the tantalizing aroma of Pearson's stew beckoned him towards the campfire.

Arthur greeted Pearson with a nod of appreciation as he filled a bowl with the hearty stew. The cook's culinary skills were a source of comfort in an otherwise uncertain world, providing sustenance to the gang as they navigated the challenges of life on the run.

Sitting down by the fire, Arthur savored each spoonful of the stew, the familiar flavors offering a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos. As he ate, memories of recent events flashed through his mind—each rescue, each altercation, a testament to the tenuous balance between survival and reckoning.

Lost in thought, Arthur's gaze wandered across the camp, taking in the familiar faces of his fellow gang members going about their morning routines. Javier and Charles were engaged in conversation nearby, their camaraderie a testament to the bonds forged through shared trials.

Trelawny approached, a hint of intrigue in his expression. "Good morning, Arthur," he greeted, his voice carrying a trace of mystery.

Arthur nodded in response, his mind still lingering on the events that had transpired. Despite the hardships and dangers they faced, there was a sense of solidarity within the gang—a shared purpose that bound them together in defiance of the world outside their makeshift home.

As Arthur finished his meal, the first rays of sunlight bathed the camp in a warm glow, casting long shadows across the landscape. The day held promise, yet Arthur knew that behind the façade of peace lay the ever-present threat of danger and uncertainty.

But for now, in this fleeting moment of tranquility, Arthur allowed himself to savor the simple pleasures—a bowl of stew, the warmth of the morning sun, and the camaraderie of his comrades. In the world they inhabited, such moments were rare and fleeting, to be cherished amidst the chaos that defined their outlaw lives. Arthur approached Sadie, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Sorry, I'll be back soon, Misses Adler," he said, acknowledging her with a nod before turning towards Dutch, who beckoned him over.

Dutch's voice carried a note of satisfaction as he spoke. "We finally got John workin' again," he announced, a hint of pride evident in his tone.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, a wry grin crossing his features. "Heh. So he finally recovered from his wolf attack, huh?" he remarked, recalling John's harrowing ordeal with the wolves.

"I guess so," Dutch replied with a shrug, his attention already shifting to the task at hand. "Arthur, he has some work down in Valentine. When you're done with him, meet me in the saloon," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Arthur nodded in understanding, mentally preparing himself for the upcoming assignment. "Got it, Dutch," he replied, before turning to make his way towards John, who awaited him with a sense of purpose.

As he walked away, Arthur couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation that tingled in the air—a sense that their lives were about to take another unpredictable turn. With each step, he braced himself for whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that in this world of outlaws and renegades, nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. Arthur and John's exchange in Valentine reflected the underlying tensions simmering within the gang. As they prepared for the task ahead, Arthur couldn't help but display his trademark sarcasm, contrasting John's more serious demeanor.

"Yeah, well I've been working, so I'm sorry if I couldn't join you in sulking about a wolf attack that happened almost 3 weeks ago," Arthur quipped in response to John's comment about the wolf incident.

John, undeterred by Arthur's jest, swiftly moved on to the matter at hand. "I need you to go and get a long-scoped rifle for me," he requested, explaining his own reluctance to visit the gunsmith due to a past confrontation.

Arthur rolled his eyes at John's explanation. "Whatever," he muttered under his breath, hitching his horse before heading into the gunsmith's shop.

Inside, Arthur swiftly made his selection, opting for a rolling-block rifle to fulfill John's request. The transaction was completed efficiently, with Arthur slinging the rifle over his shoulders as he exited the shop.

Later, as they herded cattle for an auction in Valentine, the purpose of the rifle became clear—to dissuade any potential troublemakers from disrupting their operation.

After the task was completed, Arthur found himself in the familiar confines of the saloon, where Dutch awaited him. The atmosphere was tinged with a blend of weariness and camaraderie, as Dutch's sarcasm towards Strauss underscored the underlying tensions within the gang.

Dutch poured drinks for both himself and Arthur, raising a toast with a hint of irony. "To your good health," he announced, the gesture carrying a weight of unspoken meaning.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgment, clinking glasses with Dutch before taking a long sip. In that moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainties of their outlaw lives, Arthur found solace in the shared camaraderie of the gang—a fleeting respite from the challenges that awaited them on the horizon. As Arthur and Dutch found themselves suddenly ambushed by Leviticus Cornwall and his men in the heart of town, chaos erupted in a flurry of gunfire and desperation. The element of surprise worked momentarily in the enemies' favor, but the Van der Linde gang was not one to go down without a fight.

Reacting swiftly, Arthur and Dutch rallied their companions, drawing weapons and returning fire amidst the chaotic streets. Bullets whizzed through the air, shattering windows and sending bystanders scrambling for cover.

The shootout became a desperate bid for survival as the gang fought to regain control of the situation. Arthur's heart raced with adrenaline, his instincts honed by years of living on the edge. He exchanged gunfire with Cornwall's men, each shot a calculated risk in the deadly dance of combat.

Amidst the chaos, Arthur's gaze met Dutch's, the unspoken understanding between them fueling their determination to escape this deadly trap. With swift coordination, they made a daring move, seizing the opportunity to mount their horses and bolt through the streets, dodging bullets as they rode.

The town became a blur of motion and noise as Arthur and Dutch led the charge, their gang members following close behind. The thundering hooves of their horses drowned out the cacophony of gunfire, the urgent rhythm of escape guiding their flight.

Their path was fraught with peril, every turn a gamble against fate. Arthur's mind raced with thoughts of survival, the stakes higher than ever as they raced towards the outskirts of town, the pursuit of Cornwall's men echoing in their wake.

Through sheer determination and grit, Arthur and his companions managed to break free from the deadly ambush, leaving the chaos of the town behind them. As they galloped into the wilderness, the adrenaline-fueled rush of their escape lingered, a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked around every corner in their unforgiving world.

In the aftermath of the shootout, Arthur took a moment to catch his breath, his mind racing with the implications of their encounter with Cornwall. The relentless pursuit of the law and powerful adversaries loomed large, a reminder that survival in their outlaw existence demanded constant vigilance and resolve.

With Cornwall's threat still hanging over them like a shadow, Arthur and the gang pressed on, their resolve hardened by the trials they faced. As they rode into the wilderness, the echoes of gunfire faded, but the memory of their narrow escape remained—a testament to the resilience and resourcefulness that defined their struggle for freedom in a world that sought to crush them at every turn. As Arthur and Charles scouted for a new camp location, they stumbled upon a German family in need of assistance. The family's patriarch had been taken, leaving them in a dire situation. Arthur, always one to lend a hand to those in need, resolved to help rescue the missing man.

With Charles by his side, Arthur orchestrated a daring rescue mission, confronting those responsible and freeing the German husband and father. Grateful for their aid, the family presented Arthur with a valuable gold bar as a token of their appreciation—a gesture that resonated deeply with the outlaw's sense of honor and duty.

After ensuring the family's safety, Arthur bid them farewell, sending them on their way with renewed hope and gratitude. The encounter left a lasting impression on Arthur, a reminder of the impact his actions could have on the lives of others in this harsh and unforgiving world.

With their mission accomplished, Arthur and Charles returned to the gang with news of their success. The camp was swiftly packed up, the gang ready to relocate to a new site—Clemens Point, a welcome change of scenery and a fresh start for the Van der Linde gang.

As they settled into their new surroundings, Arthur reflected on the events that had transpired—the bonds forged, the risks taken, and the sense of purpose that drove them forward. In this life of outlaws and misfits, every encounter carried weight, every decision had consequences.

But amidst the uncertainty, one thing remained constant—the loyalty and camaraderie of the gang, a makeshift family bound by shared experiences and the relentless pursuit of freedom.

As Clemens Point became their new home, Arthur found himself once again at the heart of the gang's operations, his resolve strengthened by the challenges they had overcome and the trials that lay ahead. In this ever-changing world, one thing was certain—Arthur Morgan would continue to navigate the treacherous waters of his outlaw existence with courage, determination, and a steadfast belief in doing what was right, no matter the cost.As the Van der Linde gang settled into their new camp at Clemens Point, Arthur found himself drawn to spending more time with Sadie Adler. Their interactions became more frequent, marked by shared moments of camaraderie and understanding amidst the trials of their outlaw life.

Arthur admired Sadie's fierce determination and resilience, traits that resonated deeply with his own outlook on survival in a harsh and unforgiving world. Over time, their camaraderie blossomed into a genuine friendship, forged through shared experiences and mutual respect.

They would often find themselves engaged in conversations by the campfire, exchanging stories and banter that reflected a growing bond of trust and companionship. Despite their different backgrounds and paths that led them to the gang, Arthur and Sadie found common ground in their shared struggle against adversity.

Arthur appreciated Sadie's no-nonsense attitude and fierce independence, traits that set her apart from the other members of the gang. In turn, Sadie valued Arthur's wisdom and guidance, recognizing him as a steadfast ally amidst the chaos of their outlaw existence.

Their growing closeness did not go unnoticed by the rest of the gang, who observed the evolving dynamic between Arthur and Sadie with curiosity and amusement. Yet, for Arthur and Sadie, their time together provided a sense of comfort and understanding in a world where trust was hard to come by.

As they faced new challenges and undertook daring missions together, Arthur and Sadie continued to lean on each other for support, forming a bond that transcended the confines of their outlaw lifestyle.

In Sadie, Arthur found a kindred spirit—a partner in crime who shared his values and beliefs, offering companionship and solidarity in a world where loyalty was a rare and precious commodity.

As they navigated the complexities of their relationship within the gang, Arthur and Sadie discovered a profound sense of connection and mutual respect, strengthening their resolve to face whatever challenges lay ahead, together. As Arthur and Sadie continued to spend time together at Clemens Point, a subtle shift occurred in their relationship—a shift that went beyond friendship and camaraderie. Without either of them acknowledging it aloud, they began to develop feelings for each other, quietly and discreetly.

Arthur found himself drawn to Sadie in ways he hadn't expected. He admired her strength, her determination, and her unwavering loyalty to the gang. As they shared more moments together, whether on missions or in quiet conversations by the campfire, Arthur began to see Sadie in a new light—a light that stirred emotions he had long kept buried beneath his rugged exterior.

Sadie, too, felt a growing connection to Arthur. She admired his sense of honor, his quiet wisdom, and the way he stood by his principles in a world that seemed intent on breaking them. In Arthur, Sadie found a confidant and a kindred spirit, someone who understood her in ways no one else did.

Their conversations became more meaningful, filled with shared laughter, thoughtful insights, and unspoken understanding. Each interaction brought them closer together, deepening the unspoken bond that was forming between them.

Yet, both Arthur and Sadie kept their feelings hidden, unsure of how to navigate this new territory within the confines of their unconventional lives. They continued to operate within the gang, their interactions a blend of friendship and unspoken longing.

In the quiet moments, when the chaos of their outlaw existence subsided, Arthur allowed himself to entertain the possibility of a future with Sadie—a future defined by companionship and mutual respect.

For Sadie, Arthur represented a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness—a reminder that amidst the hardships and dangers they faced, there was still room for connection and even love.

As they shared stolen glances and exchanged knowing smiles, Arthur and Sadie silently acknowledged the growing affection between them—a love that dared not speak its name, but lingered in the air like the gentle breeze that swept through the wilderness.

In their shared moments of quiet intimacy, Arthur and Sadie found solace and strength in each other's presence, united by a bond that transcended the boundaries of their outlaw existence—a bond that held the promise of something deeper and more profound than either of them had imagined.As tensions flared between Sadie and Pearson, Arthur found himself caught in the middle of their escalating argument. He intervened swiftly, grabbing Sadie and stepping between the two before things could escalate further.

"Christ, y'all are like savages, what's the problem?" Arthur interjected, his tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement as he attempted to diffuse the situation.

Sadie, visibly frustrated, explained her perspective to Arthur. "Look, when I was with my husband, we split the work 50/50. I don't feel like I'm pulling my weight by chopping some damn vegetables, especially for this fat twit!" she exclaimed, pointing a finger accusingly at Pearson.

Pearson, unyielding in his position, countered with a practical response. "Yeah well, you asked for something to do and I gave you something to do," he retorted, his tone firm.

Amidst the tension, Pearson redirected Arthur's focus by handing him a list for errands in Rhodes along with an envelope to be mailed.

"Arthur, can I ask a favor? Can you take the wagon, take it into Rhodes and run some errands? Here's the list," Pearson requested, handing over the list and envelope.

Arthur accepted the task without hesitation. "Sure thing. Misses Adler, why don't you come along with me?" he suggested, hoping to defuse the tension and provide an opportunity for Sadie to cool off.

As they rode into town together, the atmosphere between Arthur and Sadie remained charged, a mixture of lingering frustration and unspoken connection. Sadie attempted to snatch the envelope from Arthur's hand, prompting a brief moment of shared intensity as their eyes locked.

Arthur maintained his focus on the trail ahead, leading the horses into town while Sadie opened Pearson's envelope and read its contents mockingly.

"You know, you're something else," Arthur remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he observed Sadie's irreverence.

Their banter provided a welcome distraction from the tension back at camp, allowing Arthur and Sadie to share a lighthearted moment amidst the unpredictability of their outlaw lives. As they navigated the bustling streets of Rhodes, Arthur couldn't help but appreciate the spirited presence of Sadie by his side—a reminder of the unpredictable companionship that defined their existence within the Van der Linde gang.As they arrived at the general store in Rhodes, Sadie's impulsive nature took over as she whipped out her revolver, exclaiming, "Which one of these fellas we robbin' first!?" Her excitement was palpable, but Arthur quickly intervened, gently lowering her arm and urging restraint.

"Jeezus, Sadie," Arthur responded with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "These are just innocent folk trying to get by. We don't rob these people."

Reluctantly, Sadie relented, albeit with a hint of frustration. "Ugggggh, fine," she conceded, her enthusiasm dampened by Arthur's reasoning.

Together, Arthur and Sadie entered the store, where they were greeted by the inquisitive manager. "And who's this fella that's with ya?" the manager asked, pointing at Arthur, who was busy selecting chocolate bars for Jack and himself.

"Oh," Sadie replied, her eyes fixed on Arthur's with a hint of mischief. "He's my, um, my husband," she declared, her face flushing pink with embarrassment.

Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes at Sadie's playful embellishment, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The manager, none the wiser, nodded in acknowledgment before returning to his duties.

"I gotta deliver this letter," Arthur announced, excusing himself briefly from the store to attend to Pearson's task.

As Arthur made his way to deliver Pearson's letter, he couldn't help but reflect on the amusing dynamics of his relationship with Sadie. Despite her fiery demeanor and penchant for trouble, there was a softer side to Sadie that Arthur found intriguing—a side that hinted at vulnerability and hidden depths.

Returning to Sadie's side after completing the task, Arthur exchanged a knowing glance with her, the unspoken connection between them lingering in the air like a shared secret.

Their time in Rhodes, filled with banter and unexpected twists, offered a glimpse into the complexities of their evolving bond—a bond forged amidst the chaos of their outlaw lives, where trust and loyalty were as fleeting as the dust kicked up by their horses' hooves.

As they rode back to camp, Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between him and Sadie—a subtle shift that hinted at the possibility of deeper feelings yet to be explored, hidden beneath the surface of their tumultuous existence.As Arthur returned to camp after the eventful trip to Rhodes with Sadie, he sought solace in his lodging, craving a moment of peace and reflection. However, his respite was interrupted by the boisterous arrival of Sean, his fellow gang member known for his lively personality and penchant for mischief.

"Oh, get up ya rugged bastard!" Sean exclaimed in his typical Irish brogue, his enthusiasm unbridled. "Come on, I saw some women in town, ehhh? Some reaaaaal good ones! Maybe we could score 'em!" he suggested, taking a swig of his drink with a mischievous grin.

Arthur, unfazed by Sean's antics, remained skeptical. "And how many have you had?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Sean waved off Arthur's concern with a dismissive gesture. "Ah, not enough to miss out on a good time!" he retorted. "Besides, I'm not having another accident with a waitress. Remember Eliza—" Arthur began, his voice tinged with caution.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, all the fuckin' family shit," Sean interrupted, his tone light-hearted yet tinged with underlying bitterness. "Cry me a river, Arthur. Not a lot of folk are kind towards their fellow Irish folk nowadays," he added, nudging Arthur's shoulder playfully.

Arthur sighed, knowing all too well the challenges faced by Irish immigrants like Sean in a world that often showed them little mercy. Despite their differences, Arthur couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Sean—a shared understanding born of their shared heritage and struggles.

With a resigned smirk, Arthur relented, knowing that resisting Sean's relentless enthusiasm was often futile. "Alright, alright," he conceded, his tone tinged with amusement. "Let's see what trouble we can get into this time," he added, following Sean's lead as they ventured back into town, their laughter echoing through the camp.

For Arthur, these moments with Sean provided a welcome distraction from the weight of their outlaw lives—a chance to indulge in camaraderie and mischief amidst the uncertainty that defined their existence within the Van der Linde gang.As Sean returned to camp with his face covered in dust and cuts, John couldn't help but smirk at his disheveled appearance. "The hell happened to you?" he asked, unable to contain his amusement.

Sean, ever the storyteller, regaled them with his misadventures. "Ah, I got a few drinks wit' Arthur, and I got me a girl, apparently she was married," he explained, his voice tinged with equal parts mischief and regret.

Arthur joined in with a laugh, adding his own commentary to the tale. "And then she beat him with her purse," he chimed in, unable to suppress his amusement at Sean's predicament.

Sean shot Arthur a playful glare. "And you just stood there and laughed, ya asshole!" he retorted, his tone lighthearted despite his mock indignation.

The three of them gathered around the campfire, their laughter echoing through the night as they shared jokes and banter, temporarily setting aside the weight of their outlaw lives.

For Arthur, these moments of camaraderie were a welcome respite from the trials and dangers they faced daily. Despite their differences and occasional clashes, the bond between them ran deep—a bond forged by shared experiences and a mutual understanding of the harsh realities they navigated together.

As they sat under the starlit sky, trading stories and laughter, the camaraderie of the campfire provided a fleeting sense of normalcy amidst the chaos of their outlaw existence—a reminder that, despite their circumstances, they were still human, finding solace and connection in the simple joys of companionship and laughter.As Arthur and Sadie walked through Rhodes, enjoying their day together, their peaceful outing was interrupted by the unwanted attention of a stranger. The man made lewd comments about Sadie, prompting Arthur's protective instincts to kick in.

"I wonder if she's married to 'em. I think I'm gonna go talk to her," the stranger remarked, prompting Sadie to nudge Arthur's shoulder for a response.

"What? Let him check ya out," Arthur whispered with a mischievous grin, earning a playful slap from Sadie.

Realizing the potential danger of the situation, Arthur's demeanor shifted as he recognized the man as one of the lawmen from Blackwater. Panic set in as he realized the implications of being recognized, but before he could formulate a plan, Sadie took matters into her own hands.

With swift determination, Sadie grabbed Arthur by the arm and dragged him into an alleyway, her actions leaving him momentarily stunned. As she pressed her hands to his face and kissed him on the lips, Arthur's mind raced with a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Ah, come on!" the stranger exclaimed in frustration, retreating from the scene. Arthur and Sadie slowly pulled away from each other, their faces flushed with embarrassment and adrenaline.

"What the hell was that!?" Arthur demanded, his cheeks burning red with embarrassment.

"What?" Sadie replied innocently, her own face tinged with a blush.

"You coulda pretended to rob me or something!" Arthur exclaimed, his frustration evident.

"Your damn lucky my hand hid your face," Sadie retorted, her tone defiant yet tinged with amusement.

As they composed themselves and resumed their stroll through town, Arthur couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude mixed with bewilderment at Sadie's impulsive actions. Despite the unexpected turn of events, there was an undeniable bond between them—a bond forged through shared experiences and a mutual understanding of the dangers they faced as outlaws in a world that often judged them harshly.

In the aftermath of their encounter, Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that their relationship had taken on a new dimension—one marked by a mixture of camaraderie, mutual respect, and perhaps, just a hint of something more.As Arthur and Sadie sat together, taking a moment to recover from their unexpected encounter in the alleyway, Arthur found himself reflecting on the experience in his journal. With a quiet sense of introspection, he put pen to paper, capturing his thoughts and emotions in the pages of his journal.

In his journal entry, Arthur admitted to himself that he had enjoyed the impulsive kiss from Sadie. He acknowledged the attraction he felt towards her—her strength, her spirit, and the way she had taken charge in a moment of uncertainty. Arthur noted how Sadie's actions had stirred something within him, igniting a spark of mutual interest and shared connection.

He wrote candidly about how Sadie found him attractive as well, recognizing the unspoken chemistry that had developed between them during their time together. In his journal, Arthur expressed a sense of gratitude for the unexpected moment they had shared, acknowledging the complexity of their evolving relationship within the confines of their outlaw lives.

After their brief respite, Arthur and Sadie returned to town, continuing with the rest of their day as if nothing had changed outwardly. Yet, beneath the surface, Arthur carried with him a newfound awareness of his feelings towards Sadie—a realization that their bond was evolving into something deeper and more meaningful than mere friendship.

As Arthur closed his journal and returned to the present moment, he couldn't help but wonder what the future held for him and Sadie. In a life defined by uncertainty and danger, their connection offered a rare sense of comfort and understanding—a beacon of hope amidst the chaos of their outlaw existence.As Arthur and Sadie spent the night together in a hotel room, their shared intimacy provided a brief respite from the chaos of their outlaw lives. The connection between them deepened as they found solace and comfort in each other's company, their mutual attraction blossoming into something more profound.

The next morning, Arthur and Sadie returned to camp, their demeanor betraying a subtle shift in their relationship. Despite the need to maintain discretion within the gang, they carried with them the memory of their time together—a shared secret that bound them together in a newfound closeness.

As they rejoined the familiar surroundings of the camp, Arthur and Sadie exchanged knowing glances, their unspoken bond reinforced by the shared experience they had just encountered. Amidst the daily routines and challenges of outlaw life, they carried with them a private understanding of their connection—a connection that transcended the boundaries of their tumultuous world.

Back in camp, Arthur and Sadie resumed their roles within the gang, their interactions tinged with a newfound sense of camaraderie and understanding. Though they kept their shared experience private, the memory of their time together lingered, shaping the dynamics of their evolving relationship within the close-knit community of the Van der Linde gang.

As they navigated the complexities of their outlaw existence, Arthur and Sadie found themselves drawn to each other in ways they had not anticipated. Their shared intimacy served as a reminder of the human connections that anchored them amidst the turbulence of their lives—a beacon of hope and solace in a world defined by uncertainty and danger. The sudden ambush in Rhodes left Arthur, Bill, and Micah reeling from the unexpected violence and loss of Sean. As gunshots echoed through the once-quiet town, chaos erupted as the gang found themselves in a desperate firefight against the Grays.

Arthur's instincts kicked into high gear as he sought cover, returning fire and strategizing with Bill and Micah to fend off the attackers. The adrenaline-fueled battle raged on for what felt like an eternity, each moment fraught with danger and uncertainty.

Despite their best efforts, the Grays were ultimately defeated, but the victory came at a heavy cost with Sean's life tragically cut short by the ambush. The loss reverberated through the remaining members of the gang, leaving a somber cloud over their success.

Amidst the aftermath of the shootout, Arthur couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had preceded the ambush. His intuition had warned him that something wasn't right, a nagging sense of doubt that now weighed heavily on his conscience.

As they regrouped and assessed the situation, Arthur's mind raced with questions and regrets. The sudden and brutal turn of events served as a stark reminder of the dangers they faced in their outlaw lifestyle, where betrayal and violence lurked around every corner.

In the wake of Sean's death, Arthur and the gang would have to reckon with the consequences of their actions, navigating the fallout of the ambush while mourning the loss of their comrade. The events in Rhodes served as a sobering reminder of the harsh realities of their chosen path—a path marked by peril, sacrifice, and the constant threat of betrayal. The aftermath of the ambush left Arthur reeling with a mix of grief, anger, and determination. As he crouched beside Sean's lifeless body, the weight of the loss hit him hard. "He was a good kid," Arthur murmured, his voice heavy with emotion as he closed his eyes, offering a moment of respect to his fallen comrade.

Frustration and blame permeated the air as Arthur confronted Micah and Bill. "Well how the hell was I to know?!" Bill protested, his voice defensive.

Arthur, his emotions raw, stood up and lashed out, recounting the signs that had hinted at the impending danger. "Let me see, they set us up once before, they didn't like us, we destroyed their farm—should I go on?!" he yelled, his anger boiling over.

Micah, ever the provocateur, attempted to deflect blame, further fueling Arthur's ire. "All you do is complain when things don't work out, except when it's your goddamn fault," Micah retorted, mounting his horse with a dismissive air.

Arthur wasn't having it. "You don't know what you're talking about. Did you even see the hole in Sean's skull? You don't give a damn about anybody but yourself!" he shot back, his voice tinged with bitterness.

With a heavy heart, Arthur instructed Bill to give Sean a proper burial, his tone softened by the weight of their loss. "Bill, go take Sean's body somewhere quiet, give him a proper burial," Arthur instructed, his voice gentler despite the tension.

Micah, unfazed by the confrontation, rode off without a word, leaving Arthur to process his emotions amidst the aftermath of the ambush.In the aftermath of the ambush and the loss of Sean, Arthur sought solace and companionship with Sadie, finding comfort in her presence amidst the turmoil of their outlaw life.

Back at camp, Arthur and Sadie spent more time together, their shared experiences fostering a sense of closeness and understanding between them. Amidst the lingering tension and grief within the gang, their bond provided a reprieve—an oasis of connection in an otherwise tumultuous environment.

As they navigated their daily routines and responsibilities, Arthur and Sadie found moments to steal away, whether in camp or during visits to Rhodes. Their interactions were marked by a growing camaraderie and mutual respect, each encounter deepening their connection and reinforcing their shared understanding of the challenges they faced.

In Rhodes, Arthur and Sadie's presence together hinted at a deeper relationship blossoming beneath the surface—a relationship founded on trust, mutual attraction, and a shared sense of defiance against the constraints of their outlaw existence.

As they spent time together, Arthur and Sadie found solace in each other's company, their bond serving as a source of strength amidst the uncertainties and dangers that surrounded them. In moments of quietude and camaraderie, they forged a connection that transcended the hardships of their lives, offering each other a sense of comfort and companionship in the face of adversity.As Arthur and Sadie shared a moment by the fire, their conversation turned to matters of loss and remembrance. Sadie opened up about her own grief, revealing that she had lost her husband—a poignant connection that resonated with Arthur, who had also experienced profound loss.

"I know what it's like... to lose someone you love... I lost my husband..." Sadie confided, her gaze fixed on the flickering flames.

Arthur, reflecting on his own recent loss of Sean, empathized with Sadie's pain. "Sean was like a... a brother.... a brother I never had," Arthur replied, his voice tinged with emotion.

Their exchange revealed a shared understanding of the impact of loss within the context of their outlaw lives, where bonds forged through hardship carried deep significance.

As Sadie inquired about Sean's backstory, Arthur recounted their unconventional introduction. "He pulled a knife on Dutch in a bar someplace, and Dutch, being the man he was, took him in," Arthur explained, highlighting the unpredictable nature of their gang's recruitment process.

In a moment of unguarded affection, Arthur attempted to offer comfort by gesturing to put his arm around Sadie's shoulder. However, upon noticing her reaction, he quickly withdrew, masking his gesture with a casual scratch of his chin.

Sadie, observant and perceptive, took note of Arthur's subtle attempt at closeness but chose to respect his unspoken hesitation, keeping her observations to herself.

As they continued their conversation, Arthur and Sadie found solace in each other's company, their shared experiences fostering a bond of understanding and empathy—a connection that transcended words and gestures, offering a glimpse into the complexities of their evolving relationship within the confines of their outlaw world.As the night wore on and their conversation continued by the fire, Arthur and Sadie found comfort in each other's presence. The weight of their shared experiences and the emotional exchange led to a sense of closeness that transcended the hardships of their outlaw lives.

As the fire crackled and the night grew quiet, Arthur gradually felt himself drifting off to sleep, with Sadie's head resting gently on his shoulder. The warmth of her presence and the soft rhythm of her breathing offered a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos that often defined their existence.

When Arthur woke the next morning, he found Sadie still nestled beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. The early light of dawn filtered through the camp, casting a soft glow over their quiet tableau.

For a brief moment, Arthur allowed himself to savor the tranquility of the morning, the weight of Sadie's head on his shoulder a testament to the unspoken bond that had formed between them. Despite the uncertainties that loomed on the horizon, Arthur found a sense of solace in the simple intimacy of their shared slumber—a fleeting respite from the relentless challenges of their outlaw life.

As he gently stirred, Arthur resisted the urge to disturb Sadie's peaceful sleep, cherishing the quiet companionship that had blossomed between them. In that serene moment, amidst the backdrop of their makeshift camp, Arthur contemplated the complexities of their evolving relationship—a relationship defined by mutual understanding, shared experiences, and an unspoken connection that defied the conventions of their tumultuous world.As Sadie stirred awake beside Arthur, the gentle rustling of the morning filled the air around their campsite. Arthur, mindful of his companion's awakening, offered her a warm gesture of hospitality.

"Morning, Sadie," Arthur greeted with a soft smile. "How'd you sleep?"

Sadie stretched and rubbed her eyes before responding, "Not bad, considering."

Arthur nodded knowingly, understanding the toll their turbulent lives often took on their rest. "Well, I've got something to help kick off the day," he said, reaching for a pot simmering over the fire.

With practiced ease, Arthur ladled out a hearty portion of Pearson's stew into a tin bowl and handed it to Sadie. The savory aroma of the stew filled the air, a comforting reminder of the communal meals they shared as a makeshift family.

"Here you go," Arthur said, offering Sadie the bowl. "Pearson's stew always hits the spot."

Sadie accepted the bowl with a grateful smile, her gaze meeting Arthur's with a flicker of appreciation. "Thanks, Arthur," she replied, settling comfortably against a nearby log to enjoy the meal.

As they ate, conversation flowed easily between them, the familiar routine of camp life momentarily easing the weight of their recent challenges. Arthur savored the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with Sadie, their camaraderie strengthened by the quiet moments of connection that defined their bond.

Amidst the backdrop of their makeshift camp, Arthur and Sadie found solace in the companionship they shared—a reminder of the enduring resilience that defined their outlaw family, where moments of tranquility and solidarity offered a reprieve from the turbulent currents of their unpredictable world.

[lilithjc]

Here’s an appreciation post for my Tav Soren ~ and some of his lore 🤎 my pretty Rogue

Lore in progress ~ In the heart of the lush High Forest, Soren was born to a simple couple who lived in symbiosis with the abundant nature that surrounded them. His childhood was not marked by happiness but rather by relative normalcy, devoid of any notable extravagance. He was the second of three siblings, as he grew, he developed a passion for exploration and learning, soaking in the wisdom of the ancient trees and their elven guardians. However, the tranquility of his life was shattered when, at the age of 10, the High Forest was attacked by goblins. He found himself forced to flee, he sought shelter in the nearest city, Baldur's Gate, hoping to find safety and protection within its walls. He learned to navigate the treacherous alleys and dark corners of BG, where survival often meant resorting to desperate measures. With each passing day, hunger gnawed at his stomach like a relentless beast, and the chill of the night air bit into his bones as he sought refuge from the elements. Life drove him to the brink of despair, and in his darkest moments, he was compelled to make sacrifices that stained his soul. To secure meager scraps of food or a fleeting sense of safety, Soren found himself selling not only his stolen wares but also his body. It wasn't until he was found by one of BG's noble families [Eltan] that his life took an unexpected turn. Taken in by this family, Soren learned the art of deception and trickery, becoming a skilled charlatan. This skill not only allowed him to survive but also led to him being "adopted" by the noble family Eltan, in exchange for services that went beyond mere theft. And when he was whisked away aboard that mysterious ship (1492), it felt like another cruel twist of fate in a life defined by hardship and struggle.

His partners are the Tavs of: @psyorix

Yes, in my headcanon, he worked at Sharess’ Caress for many years.

[masodiadobam]

Tomorrow

Tomorrow 

Prologue:

I was only 14 when my world shattered. My parents' car accident that late night left my little sister, Grace, and me reeling. The news crushed us, like a boulder crashing down, leaving us breathless and bewildered.

Grace was just 7, innocent and vulnerable. I felt the weight of responsibility shift onto my shoulders, as I struggled to make sense of the senseless tragedy

Our small town, with its 20,000 residents, wore a mask of tranquility. Beneath its idyllic surface, however, lurked a complex web of characters. The streets were lined with worn faces, their stories etched into the wrinkles of time. Farmers, artists, and families from far-flung places all coexisted, their differences simmering just below the surface.

As I stepped into freshman year, reeling from the loss of my parents, I was forced to navigate the treacherous waters of adolescence while shepherding my little sister, Grace, through her own fragile existence. The weight of responsibility threatened to crush me, as I struggled to find my footing in high school while ensuring Grace's elementary school days remained a sanctuary of normalcy.

One lazy weekend morning, with the first day of school looming, we huddled in the living room. Cartoons danced across the TV screen as I played with Grace, her infectious giggles and carefree smiles lighting up the room. In those fleeting moments, my heart swelled with joy, and the weight of our new reality lifted. Watching her beam with happiness was my solace, my sanctuary.

We were fortunate to have a financial safety net, thanks to the insurance company's monthly support. The steady checks helped cover essentials like food, supplies, and other necessities, easing our burden. Moreover, with the house fully paid off, we were spared the added stress of mortgage payments – a blessing that allowed us to focus on rebuilding our lives.

As night descended, casting a soothing darkness over our little world, I tucked Grace into bed, her pajamas a cozy shield against the evening chill. We shared a gentle moment, our whispers a soft serenade to the fading light.

"Hey, kiddo, you okay?" I asked, smoothing her hair.

Grace nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep. "Yeah, I love you, big brother."

My heart swelled. "I love you too, little one."

Grace's voice barely whispered the question that shattered my composure: "Do you think Mommy and Daddy can see us?"

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I swallowed hard, summoning every last shred of strength. I couldn't falter – not now, not when Grace needed me most.

"Yes," I whispered back, forcing conviction into my trembling voice. "They'll always be with us, watching over us."

I pressed a gentle kiss to Grace's forehead, watching as her eyelids fluttered closed, her chest rising and falling with the soft rhythm of sleep. Her face, bathed in the faint moonlight, shone with an angelic innocence.

My gaze lingered, drinking in the purity of her features. A whispered promise escaped my lips: "I'll always keep you safe, little one."

But as I stood there, wrapped in the silence of the night, a nagging doubt crept in, echoing through my mind like a haunting whisper: "How will I ever protect her?"

I quietly slipped out of Grace's room, leaving her to her peaceful slumber. Exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders, and the prospect of another demanding day loomed ahead. I retreated to my own bed, my body surrendering to the fatigue.

As I drifted off to sleep, my mind lingered on the challenges awaiting me. Tomorrow would bring its own set of trials, but for now, I let the darkness claim me, hoping that morning would bring a semblance of strength and clarity.

Act 1:

I rose before dawn, determined to get Grace's day off to a smooth start. As I busied myself with breakfast and laying out her clothes, Grace stirred to life. We sat down together, and I watched as she savored each bite.

But then, without warning, Grace's face contorted into a ridiculous grimace. She began to make silly faces, her eyes sparkling with mischief. I couldn't help it – laughter burst forth, and for a fleeting moment, our struggles faded into the background.

As Grace's giggles subsided, I helped her get ready for the day. I gently brushed her hair, slipped on her favorite dress, and reminded her to brush her teeth. With each task, my anxiety grew, the weight of responsibility settling heavier upon me.

We walked to the bus stop, the morning air crisp and uncertain. As we waited, I scanned the horizon, my heart racing with every passing moment. When Grace's bus finally arrived, I hugged her tight, trying to memorize the feel of her small frame against mine.

"Be good, kiddo," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'll see you after school."

As I watched her climb the steps and disappear into the bus, a wave of fear washed over me. Would she be okay? Would I be able to protect her?

I pushed aside my doubts, forcing a brave smile onto my face. I waved, blowing her a kiss as the bus pulled away, carrying my little sister into a day filled with unknowns.

As I stood there, my eyes fixed on the fading bus, my own ride arrived, its familiar rumble a stark reminder that I, too, had a day ahead. Yet, my fears didn't linger on myself; they clung to Grace, her vulnerable smile etched in my mind.

In that moment, a sobering truth settled within me: we were all each other had now. The weight of our new reality pressed down upon me – it was me and Grace, a tiny, inseparable unit, bracing against the unpredictability of the world.

As the bus rumbled on, I felt a flicker of confusion. Instead of continuing on the usual route, we turned back into our neighborhood. I raised an eyebrow, wondering why. I was always the only pickup on this road, but apparently, that had changed.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of a house a few doors down from mine. My curiosity piqued, I watched as a girl with long, curly blond hair and piercing blue eyes climbed aboard. Her gaze swept the bus, and for a fleeting moment, our eyes met.

She was ethereal, a vision of loveliness that seemed almost otherworldly. Her golden hair cascaded down her back like a river of sunset hues, and her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in the morning light. I felt a jolt of wonder, my mind struggling to reconcile the reality of this stunning girl with the ordinary routine of my daily life.

And yet, here she was, a mere two houses down from my own. The proximity was almost surreal, as if fate had decided to intervene and bring a touch of magic into my mundane world. A spark of hope ignited within me – maybe, just maybe, my life was on the cusp of a profound transformation.

As she navigated the aisle, searching for a seat, the other kids barely acknowledged her, their indifference a palpable chill. But when she reached my row, I stood up, offering her the empty seat beside me. Her eyes met mine, and a soft smile spread across her face as she accepted.

Our smiles intersected, and in that fleeting moment, something within me shifted. It started as a gentle warmth, like the soft glow of a candle flame. But then, without warning, the flame erupted into a dazzling fireworks display, exploding in a kaleidoscope of color and light.

As I gazed into her eyes, I felt an unbridled joy, like the whole world had suddenly come alive. My heart swelled, and I knew, in that instant, I was happy – truly, deeply happy – for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"I'm Miles," I said, extending my hand in a gesture of friendship.

“I’m Madison”.. Madison's handshake was firm, her smile radiant. "It’s Nice to meet you, Miles."

As we chatted, Madison opened up about her recent move. "My dad got a new job, so we had to leave our old house," she explained, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. "I was really scared to leave my friends behind."

My heart went out to her. I knew what it was like to face uncertainty. But as I looked into Madison's blue eyes, I felt a surge of gratitude.

"I'm glad you did," I said, my voice sincere. "You're here now, and that means we get to hang out."

Madison's smile faltered for a moment, before blooming into a radiant grin. "Yeah," she said softly. "I'm glad too."

My smile lingered, but it was short-lived. Memories of Grace's innocent face and bright eyes flooded my mind, and my thoughts drifted to her safety. I hoped she was having a good day, maybe even making new friends on the bus.

A pang of worry settled in, and I couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility that came with taking care of my little sister. My mind began to wander, conjuring up images of Grace's smiling face, her laughter, and her unwavering trust in me.

Madison's gentle voice broke through my reverie, "Miles, is everything okay?"

Madison's concerned tone snapped me back to reality. "Oh, yeah, sorry," I said, shaking off the distraction. "I'm okay."

I took a deep breath, and my eyes met Madison's. "It's just... I have a little sister, Grace," I began, my voice softening. "Our parents aren't around, so it's just us two now. I worry about her a lot."

Madison's expression transformed from curiosity to compassion. "I'm so sorry, Miles," she said, her voice gentle. "That must be really tough on you both."

"It's okay, we're learning to live with it," I said with a shrug, trying to downplay the difficulties.

Madison's eyes sparkled with genuine admiration. "I really admire how strong you're being, Miles," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. "Taking care of your sister and navigating all the ups and downs of high school... it's a lot to handle."

A warmth spread through my chest as I met her gaze. For the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of pride in how I was coping. It was a fragile, flickering flame, but Madison's words had fanned it into a steady burn.

As we stepped off the bus, the sprawling campus stretched out before us like a labyrinth. The sheer scale of it – the sea of unfamiliar faces, the cacophony of sounds, the maze of corridors – threatened to overwhelm me. It was a far cry from the small, cozy school I was used to.

But then I glanced over at Madison, and my apprehension began to dissipate. Having her by my side was a reassuring presence, a steady anchor in this chaotic new world. Together, we navigated the crowded hallways, our footsteps synchronized as we made our way to our first class.

As we entered the classroom, a wave of anxiety washed over me. Familiar faces were nowhere to be found, replaced by a sea of strangers. The discomfort was palpable, my heart racing with the realization that I was truly starting from scratch.

But then my eyes met Madison's, and her gentle smile anchored me. I took a deep breath, feeling my nerves settle, and slid into the empty seat beside her. The familiarity of her presence was a comforting constant in this unfamiliar environment.

As the teacher strode in, introducing himself with a warm smile, my mind began to drift. Thoughts of Grace and her first day of school crept in, worries about her well-being and adjustment to a new classroom swirling in my head.

But before I could get lost in my concerns, the teacher's voice cut through my reverie. "And now, let's meet our new students. Miles, would you like to start?"

My heart skipped a beat as all eyes turned to me. I felt a surge of adrenaline, my face warming under the sudden scrutiny. Madison's encouraging smile caught my eye, and I took a deep breath before standing up to introduce myself.

"I'm Miles," I began, my voice steady. "I'm really close to my little sister, Grace. She's... everything to me." I paused, collecting my thoughts. "When I'm not looking out for her, you can find me on the field. I love sports – football, in particular. I'm hoping to join the team here and make some new friends."

I scanned the room, meeting the gaze of my new classmates. "I know it's tough starting over, but I'm really hoping to find a sense of home here. I'm excited to get to know all of you and make this school year unforgettable."

The teacher's question caught me off guard. "I'm guessing you and your parents have a great time?" he asked, his tone hinting at a warmth I couldn't reciprocate.

I froze, unsure of how to respond. The classroom seemed to shrink, all eyes on me. My face burned as I struggled to find the right words.

"They're... not around," I muttered finally, the words barely audible.

The teacher's expression softened, but the murmurs from my classmates stung. I felt exposed, vulnerable. My eyes dropped to the floor as I quickly retreated to my seat, desperate to escape the spotlight. Madison's gentle touch on my arm was a silent offer of support, but I couldn't meet her gaze.

The teacher's expression transformed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he offered a warm smile. "We're glad to have you here with us, Miles," he said, his voice infused with kindness.

His gentle tone was a balm to my frazzled nerves, and I felt a tiny spark of gratitude ignite within me.

The teacher's gaze shifted, and he nodded at Madison. "Now, let's hear from Madison. Welcome to our class, Madison. Would you like to tell us a little about yourself?"

As Madison began to speak, her words flowed effortlessly, like a gentle stream. Her enthusiasm was contagious, drawing me in with every sentence.

"I'm super passionate about sports," she said, her eyes sparkling. "I'm planning to try out for the cheerleading team. My dad is my biggest motivator – he always pushes me to be my best self."

Madison's smile grew, illuminating her face. "I'm really excited to be here and make a positive impact. I hope to help make our school an even better place for everyone."

As she finished, Madison waved, her smile radiant. The class applauded, and I found myself joining in, captivated by her infectious energy and warmth.

Madison's words left an indelible mark on me. Her selflessness, her desire to uplift others, and her unwavering optimism inspired me. In that moment, I realized I'd been living in a state of survival, just trying to get by. Madison's presence ignited a spark within me, reminding me that there was more to life than just existing.

She was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that kindness, compassion, and generosity still existed. And as I watched her smile, I knew I needed her in my life – her purity of heart, her infectious enthusiasm, and her unwavering commitment to making the world a better place.

As the class shared stories and laughter, I found myself smiling, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. Madison's radiant smile and infectious laugh were contagious, drawing me in and making my heart feel lighter.

In that moment, something shifted inside me. I felt a glimmer of hope, a sense of belonging I hadn't experienced in a long time. I whispered to myself, "I'm going to be okay here." The words felt like a promise, a reassurance that this new chapter might just bring me the happiness and connection I'd been missing.

Act 2

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, I felt a surge of excitement to reunite with Grace. She had been on my mind all day, her bright smile and curious nature a constant presence in my thoughts. But alongside memories of my little sister, I had also found myself thinking about Madison – her kindness, her laughter, and her inspiring words.

As we boarded the bus, Madison and I slipped into an easy conversation, exchanging stories and laughter about our first day. Our words flowed effortlessly, like we'd known each other for years, not just hours. I felt grateful for her friendship, and as we chatted, I realized that maybe, just maybe, this new school wouldn't be so bad after all.

Before I knew it, the words slipped out of my mouth, almost as if they had a mind of their own. "Hey, would you like to come over and hang out with me and Grace?" I asked, feeling a flutter of surprise at my own boldness.

It was a spontaneous invitation, one that I hadn't planned or thought through. We'd just met, after all. But somehow, it felt... natural. Like Madison was already a part of our little world, and I couldn't imagine not sharing it with her.

Madison's response was immediate, her face lighting up with a bright smile. "Yeah, my dad said I'm free today after school," she said, her words dripping with enthusiasm.

My heart soared as I grinned from ear to ear. Joy and excitement coursed through my veins like electricity. I couldn't wait to see how Grace and Madison would interact – would they instantly click, or would there be a few awkward moments? The uncertainty only added to my anticipation.

As we chatted excitedly about the plans, I felt a sense of belonging, of connection, that I hadn't experienced in a long time. It was as if the universe had brought us together, and I was eager to see where this newfound friendship would lead

As we stepped off the bus and onto the familiar sidewalk, Madison and I continued to chat effortlessly, our conversation flowing like a gentle stream. We waited together, watching the road for Grace's bus, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow over us.

I stole glances at Madison, drawn to her radiant smile and the confident sparkle in her eyes. She seemed to glow with an inner happiness, a sense of self-assurance that I found captivating. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but being near her filled me with a strange, fluttery feeling – like my heart was skipping beats, or my soul was stirring from a deep sleep.

As the bus came to a stop, my heart swelled with emotion. I watched, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, as Grace tumbled out of the bus and sprinted towards me. Her tiny arms flung open wide, and she launched herself into a tight hug.

"Bubby!" she squealed, her voice trembling with excitement.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as I inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. "Sissy," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion.

Madison's eyes softened, her face melting into a warm smile. "Aww," she cooed, her voice barely above a whisper. The tender moment seemed to envelop us all, filling the air with a sense of warmth and connection.

As I swept Grace up into my arms, she giggled and wrapped her tiny arms around my neck. I carried her towards the front door, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Hey, Sissy, I want you to meet someone," I said, my voice filled with excitement. "Her name is Madison, and she's a new friend I made today."

Grace's eyes widened, and she leaned back in my arms, her gaze searching for this new person. That's when she spotted Madison, who was standing behind us with a warm smile on her face.

Grace's voice dropped to a whisper, as if she feared Madison might overhear. "Is she staying with us?" she asked, her eyes darting towards Madison before snapping back to mine.

I chuckled softly, trying to reassure her. "No, Sissy, she's just visiting. She's keeping us company for a little while." I smiled, hoping to ease any uncertainty.

Madison stepped forward, her confidence and warmth radiating like a gentle breeze. She knelt down to Grace's level, her eyes locking onto hers with a reassuring smile.

"Hey, Grace, I promise I'm not here to steal your Bubby away," Madison said, a playful giggle dancing in her voice. Her smile, bright and vibrant, could have coaxed even the shyest flower into bloom.

Grace's gaze lingered on Madison's face, searching for any sign of insincerity. But Madison's kind eyes and genuine smile soon put her at ease, and a tiny smile began to bloom on Grace's face.

As we stepped into the house, Madison's eyes widened with excitement, scanning the cozy interior with interest. I smiled, pleased to share our humble home with her.

"Hey, Sissy, why don't you go put on some comfy clothes?" I suggested, nudging Grace towards the stairs.

Grace squealed in delight, racing upstairs with an infectious giggle. Madison watched her go, a warm smile on her face.

"Let me take that for you," I offered, reaching for Madison's bag. "Make yourself at home."

Madison hesitated for a fleeting moment, her eyes fluttering with a mix of surprise and gratitude. Then, her expression softened, and she handed over her bag with a gentle smile. "You're so kind," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I try my best," I replied, my lips curving upward in a warm smile.

As I took her bag, a surge of happiness swelled within me. Having Grace's energetic presence at home was always a joy, but with Madison here, too, the atmosphere felt even more vibrant, more alive. I couldn't believe my luck – was I really waking up to this precious reality, or was it just a dream I never wanted to end?

I gently shook off the whimsical thoughts and focused on getting Grace settled in. I helped her change into comfy clothes, use the restroom, and snuggle into her favorite spot on the couch. As cartoons filled the screen, I sat down beside her, feeling the tension melt away.

But as I glanced over at Madison, I noticed she looked a bit out of place. Her eyes darted around the room, her hands fidgeting slightly as if unsure what to do with herself. She seemed hesitant to intrude on our cozy moment, yet uncertain about how to make herself comfortable.

I reached out and gently took Madison's hand, offering her a reassuring smile. "It's okay," I said softly, trying to calm her visible unease.

Just then, Grace sat up straight, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Come sit by me, it's comfy!" she exclaimed, patting the cushion beside her.

Madison's face lit up with a warm smile. "Thank you, pretty girl," she replied, her voice filled with affection.

With a playful laugh, Madison settled in beside Grace, the two of them snuggled up together like old friends. I watched, feeling a heartwarming sense of contentment wash over me.

As I stepped into the kitchen to prepare a snack for Grace, the warmth and laughter from the living room faded into the background. I moved on autopilot, assembling a plate of Goldfish crackers and apple slices. But as I reached for a glass of juice, a sudden wave of self-doubt washed over me.

"Can I really do this?" I whispered to myself, the words echoing in my mind like a prayer. It was as if the familiarity of the kitchen, the comfort of the daily routine, had vanished, leaving me facing a daunting unknown. The question hung in the air, taunting me with its uncertainty.

I took a deep breath, shaking off the doubts that had crept in. I had to be strong, not just for myself, but for Grace. She depended on me, and I couldn't let her down.

With renewed determination, I finished preparing the snack and gathered drinks for Grace and Madison. I walked back into the living room, a warm smile on my face, and settled into the opposite end of the couch.

"Hey, guys! I brought some drinks," I said, holding out the glasses. "Apple juice for you, Grace, and iced tea for you, Madison."

As Madison accepted the drink, her eyes sparkled with surprise. "How did you know I liked tea?" she asked, a playful giggle escaping her lips.

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of her laughter, and I felt a warm flush rise to my cheeks.

Just then, Grace chimed in, her voice sweet and innocent. "Bubby, help me!" she said, holding out her juice box.

I smiled, popping open the box and handing it back to her. In one swift motion, she downed the entire contents, her tiny throat working as she swallowed. I chuckled, shaking my head in amusement.

Just as we were all settling in, a tiny, unexpected burp escaped Grace's lips, as if it had caught her off guard. The sound was like a tiny trumpet blast, and it sent all three of us into fits of laughter.

Madison's eyes sparkled with mirth, and she clapped her hands together in delight. I chuckled, shaking my head in amusement, while Grace looked up at us with a mischievous grin, clearly pleased with herself. The laughter was contagious, and soon we were all giggling together, the joyful sound filling the room.

I turned my attention to Grace, curiosity getting the better of me. "So, Sissy, how was your day?" I asked, leaning in to listen.

Grace's face lit up like a sunbeam, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It was so much fun, Bubby!" she squealed, bouncing up and down. "I made lots of new friends, and we played with blocks, and had story time, and... and... " She chattered on, barely pausing for breath, as I listened with a warm smile. Madison watched us, a gentle smile on her face, clearly charmed by Grace's infectious enthusiasm.

As I shared my own day's adventures with Grace, her face lit up with pride. She thrust out her little fist, and I met it with my own, our fists bumping together in a sweet gesture of solidarity. "Yay, Bubby!" she cheered, her eyes shining with admiration.

Madison watched our exchange, her smile growing brighter with each passing moment. Her eyes sparkled with warmth, and her face glowed with a soft, gentle light. The sight of her joy, combined with Grace's pride and affection, filled my heart to overflowing. In that instant, everything felt right with the world.

As I glanced at Madison, I caught a fleeting glimpse of sadness in her eyes, a subtle shadow that danced across her face. The light reflecting off her glasses seemed to accentuate the melancholy, making it almost palpable. But it was a fleeting moment, and she quickly masked it with a gentle smile.

I sensed that she hadn't wanted me to notice, so I respectfully didn't pry. Instead, I turned my attention back to Grace, engaging her in conversation and play, all while keeping a discreet eye on Madison, making sure she felt included and comfortable.

I turned to Madison, asking casually, "What time were you thinking of heading home?" But she seemed lost in thought, her gaze drifting off into the distance. She didn't respond, and I wondered if she'd even heard me.

I tried again, my voice a little softer this time. "Madison?" The sound of her name seemed to jolt her back to reality. She sat up straight, her eyes snapping into focus as she met my gaze. Grace, too, was looking at her, a curious expression on her face. Madison's cheeks flushed slightly, and she offered a gentle smile, as if apologizing for her momentary lapse.

"Oh, I'm not sure, to be honest," Madison replied, her brow furrowing slightly. "My dad said he'd pick me up, so whenever he gets home, I guess."

I nodded, trying to gauge a rough timeline. "What time does he usually get home?" I asked.

Madison's gaze drifted off once more, her expression turning inward. But before I could repeat the question, she suddenly snapped back to attention, a bright smile on her face.

"Hey, Grace, what's your favorite cartoon?" she asked, deftly changing the subject.

Madison's abrupt change in topic caught me slightly off guard. I hadn't sensed any discomfort or evasion, but I didn't press the issue. Instead, I let the conversation flow naturally, turning my attention to Grace as she eagerly responded to Madison's question.

"Ooh, I love Peppa Pig!" Grace exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Madison smiled warmly, engaging Grace in a lively discussion about their shared love of cartoons. I watched, content to see the two of them bonding, and let the earlier question fade into the background.

As the lights dimmed once more, Madison's facade began to crack, and her discomfort seeped through. I sensed a shift in her mood and asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

Madison's response was tinged with a forced casualness. "Yeah, I think it's time for me to head home."

I began to protest, "But your dad—"

Madison cut me off, her voice laced with a determined air. "It's okay, I'll just walk. It's just up the street."

She attempted to mask her sadness with a bright, artificial smile, but it faltered, revealing the pain beneath. As she turned to make her way to the door, Grace suddenly darted after her.

"Madison, wait!" Grace exclaimed, throwing her arms around Madison's waist in a tight hug.

Madison's expression softened, and for a moment, her mask slipped, revealing a glimmer of genuine emotion. She hugged Grace back, her eyes closing as she savored the warmth of the gesture.

As Grace hugged Madison, she whispered something in her ear. I couldn't quite catch the words, but Madison's eyes widened slightly, and she whispered back, "I won't."

I watched, intrigued, as Grace nodded solemnly, her expression a picture of seriousness. I felt a pang of confusion, wondering what they were plotting.

But before I could ask, Grace pulled back, looked up at me with a mischievous grin, and whispered, "Bubby likes you. Please don't let him get hurt, or I'll hurt 'em."

Madison's eyes darted to mine, and she smiled, a promise in her gaze. I felt a surge of emotion, unsure what to make of the whispered conversation.

I smiled, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "I think I'm in trouble," I said, laughing, as Grace giggled, clearly pleased with herself.

As Grace settled back into the couch, engrossed in her cartoons, I walked Madison to the door. "Hey, are you okay getting home?" I asked, my concern genuine.

Madison's eyes flickered with a hint of sadness, but she quickly masked it with a bright, reassuring smile. "Yeah, of course," she said, her voice light.

I searched her face, sensing there was more to her story. Without thinking, I reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You know you can talk to me, right?" I asked, my voice low and sincere.

Madison's gaze met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of vulnerability. She nodded, her smile softening into something more genuine.

As we stood there, hands touching, the moment felt suspended in time. Then, slowly, Madison withdrew her hand, and stepped out into the evening air. I watched as she walked down the path, her figure growing smaller as she disappeared into the twilight, the lights of her home beckoning her like a warm embrace.

I settled back onto the couch beside Grace, scrolling mindlessly through my phone as her cartoons played in the background. My gaze drifted between the colorful animation and Grace's captivated expression, but my thoughts lingered on Madison.

Why had she seemed so uncomfortable? Was everything okay at home? The questions swirled in my mind, refusing to be shaken. I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Madison's story, something she wasn't letting on.

But for now, I pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the joyful sound of Grace's laughter and the warmth of her presence beside me. As the cartoons continued to play, I wrapped my arm around Grace, pulling her close, and let the simple pleasure of the moment wash over me.

Act 3: 

As the weeks went by, Madison became a regular visitor to our home. She'd swing by after school, joining Grace and me for snacks, laughter, and adventures. Our little trio was growing closer with each passing day, and I cherished the easy camaraderie we shared.

Madison's presence brought a new dynamic to our lives. Grace adored her, and the two would spend hours playing dress-up, baking cookies, or just giggling together. I loved watching their bond grow stronger, and Madison's kindness and patience with Grace only added to her charm.

Despite Madison's frequent visits, however, I'd yet to catch a glimpse of her father – the man she spoke of with such pride and affection. Her stories about him were vivid and full of warmth, painting a picture of a devoted, loving parent. But as the days turned into weeks, I couldn't help but wonder: where was he?

As morning dawned, I helped Grace get ready for school, and she looked absolutely adorable in her outfit. I beamed with pride, making sure she had everything she needed before we headed out to her bus stop.

As we waited, Madison appeared, looking cute and stylish herself. She smiled warmly at Grace, saying "Bye, kiddo!" before turning to me. I smiled back, feeling a sense of camaraderie as we waited together for our own bus to arrive. The morning air was crisp, and the atmosphere was relaxed, with the three of us chatting idly as we waited.

As the big yellow bus pulled up, Grace gave me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, bubby!" she exclaimed. Madison also received a warm hug, and we both waved goodbye as Grace climbed the steps and disappeared into the bus.

With one last wave, we turned and boarded our own bus, which had pulled up behind Grace's. We found our seats, settled in, and exchanged a relaxed smile as the bus pulled away from the curb, carrying us off to our own day of adventures.

As I settled into my seat, Madison's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh my gosh, can you believe tryouts are finally here?" she asked, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "I'm so nervous, but I'm also super pumped. I really hope we both make our teams!"

She began to chatter on, discussing strategies and players, her passion for the sport infectious. I listened, grinning, feeling my own excitement build. The bus rumbled on, carrying us closer to our destination, but Madison's energy was already propelling us forward, into the thrill of competition.

As the bell rang, signaling the start of football tryouts, I grabbed my gear and stood up, my heart racing with anticipation. Madison, who had been chatting with me just moments before, fell into step beside me, her eyes shining with excitement.

"I'm going to come watch you try out," she said, her voice filled with support. "You're going to crush it!"

I smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude for her encouragement. Together, we made our way to the football field, the sounds of coaches' whistles and pounding feet growing louder with each step.

As I geared up, my eyes landed on the jersey with the number 7 emblazoned on it. I smiled, feeling a surge of emotion. I had chosen this number for a reason - it was for Grace, my little motivator. She was the reason I pushed myself to be my best, and I knew that with her in my heart, I could conquer anything.

As I slipped on the jersey, a sense of confidence and determination washed over me. I felt invincible, ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead. The number 7 seemed to ignite a fire within me, reminding me of the love and support that drove me to succeed. With a deep breath, I stood tall, my mind focused, and my spirit ready to take on the tryouts.

Coach's piercing gaze swept across the room, his eyes lingering on each of us before finally settling on me. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to me as Coach boomed out his question: "What's your motivation, Miles!"

I stood tall, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath, my voice ringing out clear and confident: "My sister, Coach. She's my everything. I'm here to become the best player you've ever seen, to lead this team as quarterback, and to make her proud."

The room seemed to hold its collective breath as Coach's expression turned intense, his eyes boring into mine. For a moment, time stood still. Then, a slow smile spread across Coach's face, and he nodded, a nod that spoke volumes.

Coach's face creased into a warm smile as he repeated, "For his sister, he says." The other players snickered and grinned, and I could feel a sense of camaraderie wash over us.

Coach's expression turned serious, his eyes locking onto mine with an intense gleam. "Alright, Miles," he said, his voice low and even. "Show us what you're made of."

Tryouts were in full swing, and I was in my element. I sprinted through drills, completed precision passes, and rushed the ball with ease. With every play, I felt myself rising to the challenge, my leadership skills shining through. And with every step, every throw, and every dash, I thought of Grace, my motivation and driving force.

Just as I was hitting my stride, my gaze locked onto Madison, cheering me on from the sidelines. Her bright smile and encouraging eyes gave me an extra boost of energy.

But my focus was shattered in an instant. A blur of motion caught my attention, and before I could react, a player slammed into me from the right side. The impact was brutal, sending me stumbling sideways.

I gasped, the wind knocked out of me, as the sound of whistles pierced the air. The player who had slammed into me sneered, his eyes blazing with intensity. "You think you're gonna waltz in here and take it? You're not gonna make it that easy, dumb ass. I'm here to make it too."

My receivers rushed to my side, helping me to my feet. I stood tall, my eyes locked on my opponent. I marched up to him, my voice steady and firm. "Hit me again."

But before things could escalate further, Coach's voice thundered across the field. "STOP RIGHT NOW!" he bellowed, storming over to us. "That's enough! No more of this nonsense!"

The defensive player snickered, his eyes glinting with malice, as he walked by me. His whisper cut deep: "Watch yourself out here, parentless fool." Every fiber of my being ignited with rage. In that moment, I wanted to unleash a fury that would destroy everything in its path. My fists clenched, my heart racing, I yearned to lash out and hurt him.

But then I saw Madison's face in my mind's eye, her encouraging smile and supportive eyes. I remembered why I was here, what I was fighting for. I took a deep breath, and the fire within me slowly subsided. I knew I had to keep my cool, for Grace's sake, for Madison's sake, and for my own. I bit back my anger, changed out of my gear, and got ready to support Madison at her practice.

As Madison walked alongside me, she sensed the lingering tension in my body. Her eyes locked onto mine, filled with concern and understanding. She reached out and gently took my hand, her touch warm and reassuring.

"Hey, look at me," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to my frazzled emotions. "It's gonna be okay. Guys like that aren't worth letting get under your skin, okay?" She squeezed my hand gently. "You've got Grace, who loves you more than anything, and you've got me, who cares about you deeply."

I nodded slowly, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders as her words sank in. I realized that she was right – I didn't need to let someone else's negativity bring me down. I wrapped my arms around Madison, pulling her into a warm hug. "Thanks, Mads," I whispered, feeling grateful for her unwavering support

I made my way to the stands, eager to cheer Madison on as she prepared for her practice. As I scanned the area, I watched her walk into the locker room with the other cheerleaders, their laughter and chatter carrying out into the hallway.

I took a seat in the front row, settling in to wait for practice to start. But as I glanced around, my eyes landed on a familiar figure - the same defensive player who had been giving me a hard time earlier. He was sitting in the row right in front of me, his presence igniting a spark of anger within me.

As I sat there, lost in thought, the defensive player suddenly turned around, his eyes locking onto mine. A sly, unsettling smile spread across his face, like he was trying to convey a message - "leave now while you still can." I felt a shiver run down my spine as our gazes clashed.

What was this guy's problem? Couldn't he just leave me alone? I rolled my eyes, dismissing his intimidating tactic. I was here to support Madison, and nothing was going to ruin that for me. I shifted my focus back to the locker room, eagerly awaiting Madison's emergence with the rest of the cheer squad.

As Madison emerged from the locker room, her radiant smile and sparkling eyes caught my attention. She shook her pom-poms with infectious enthusiasm, and our gazes met. Her face lit up with excitement as she blew me a kiss, and I felt my heart swell with pride and happiness.

In this moment, everything felt perfect. We were both pursuing our passions, supporting each other every step of the way. I felt grateful to share this experience with Madison, and my enthusiasm boiled over. I cheered for her at the top of my lungs, my voice hoarse from shouting, but I didn't care. I was too busy basking in the joy of the moment, and celebrating the incredible person who made it all worthwhile.

I felt a stinging sensation, as if something had struck me. I looked down to see tiny rocks scattered around me. My gaze snapped up to find Marquise, the defender, smirking at me. He had been throwing the rocks, and his eyes seemed to dare me to react.

That was it – I'd had enough of his antics. With confidence and a hint of frustration, I turned to face him. "What's your problem, man?" I asked, my voice firm but controlled. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

I stood up to Marquise, my patience worn thin. "Can you just leave me alone, at least until after their practice?" I asked, my voice direct and firm. "You're ruining it for me with your childish antics. You're clearly unhappy, but take it out on someone else, not me."

Marquise's face twisted in anger, and he snapped at me, taking a step forward. But before he could get any closer, his teammates grabbed him, holding him back. "Chill, Marquise!" one of them warned, as he struggled against their grip.

Marquise's eyes blazed with fury as he raked me with a scathing glance. "Don't fuck with me," he snarled, his voice dripping with malice. "I'll make your life a living hell, and I can hurt the people you care about. Trust me, I'll make sure they pay too." His words sent a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, I wondered who he was threatening - Madison? Grace?

But I refused to let him see me rattled. Instead, I summoned a confident smile and laughed, trying to appear nonchalant. "Go be a tough guy elsewhere, dude. I'm not impressed." Marquise's face darkened, but he seemed to realize he wasn't getting the rise out of me he wanted. With a final glare, he spun on his heel and stormed off, leaving me feeling uneasy but determined not to let him get to me.

As the practice continued, I watched in awe as Madison executed every move with effortless precision, earning thunderous applause from the sidelines. She was a force to be reckoned with, her skills honed to perfection. It was like witnessing a legendary athlete emerge from retirement, ready to reclaim their throne and show the world what they're capable of. Madison's confidence and charisma shone brighter with every stunt, every tumble, and every perfectly landed routine. She was unstoppable, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and admiration as I cheered her on.

As Madison finished her practice, beaming with pride and basking in the applause, I slipped away to surprise her with her favorite bouquet. The vibrant blooms seemed to match the radiant smile on her face as I approached her.

Confidence and excitement propelled me forward, a huge grin spreading across my face. Madison's eyes sparkled as she caught sight of the flowers, and her face lit up with pure, unadulterated happiness. She rushed towards me, her arms open wide, and I swept her into a warm hug, the flowers crushed gently between us.

Madison's eyes widened in mock horror as she gazed at the slightly crushed bouquet. "Oh no, our flowers! I'm so sorry!" She flashed me a playful, exaggerated sad face, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"It's okay, crushed flowers are better than none," I teased, and Madison giggled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She leaned in, her lips brushing against my cheek in a gentle kiss.

"How did I do?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

I beamed with pride, but words failed me. I was speechless, unable to articulate just how amazed I was by her incredible performance. Madison's smile faltered for a moment, but then she laughed, her eyes shining with understanding.

"You're speechless, huh?" she teased, and I nodded, still grinning from ear to ear.

As we strolled back to our classes, the excitement of the tryouts still buzzing in the air, Madison and I couldn't stop grinning at each other. We settled into our seats, and the usual classroom routine seemed dull in comparison to the thrill of the morning's events. But with Madison by my side, even the most mundane lessons became entertaining.

We exchanged whispered jokes, our eyes locking in amused conspiracies, and our shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. The minutes ticked by at a glacial pace, but our private giggles and snickers made the time fly. Before we knew it, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. We gathered our belongings, still chuckling, and headed out into the bright afternoon, ready to take on the rest of the day together.

As we strolled out of the school, our arms instinctively intertwined, we fell into our comfortable routine. We settled into our usual seats on the bus, the familiar creak of the vinyl and the rumble of the engine a soothing accompaniment to our easy silence. With Madison's hand tucked into the crook of my arm, I felt a sense of contentment wash over me.

As the bus rumbled along, we gazed out the window, watching the scenery blur by. Our conversation was effortless, a gentle flow of words and laughter that filled the space between us. Before long, our stop arrived, and we gathered our belongings, ready to head home. As was our usual arrangement, Madison was spending the day at my place, and I couldn't wait to spend a relaxing evening together.

As Grace bounded off the bus, her bright smile illuminated the afternoon. She flung her arms around both Madison and me, squeezing us tightly. "I had the best day ever!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. As she chattered on about her adventures, I felt a deep sense of gratitude and love. This new life, one I never could have imagined, had brought me so much joy.

In quiet moments like these, I couldn't help but think of Momma and Papa. I missed them dearly, and my heart ached with the longing to share these moments with them. But even in their absence, I knew they'd want me to be happy, to take care of Grace, and to build a life filled with love and purpose. I made a silent promise to them, to continue doing my best, to be strong for Grace, and to make them proud.

As Grace drifted off to sleep on the couch, Madison began her usual walk home. But she halted mid-step, her shoulders sagging. I sensed a sudden shift in her mood, and my instincts proved right. Tears began streaming down her face, and I rushed to her side.

"Hey, it's okay," I whispered softly, gently stroking her cheek with my thumb. "What's going on?" I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close as I wiped away her tears.

Madison's voice trembled. "I don't wanna go home anymore." She lifted her gaze, her eyes red-rimmed but searching. "Why?" I asked, concern etched on my face. "What's wrong?"

Madison's words dropped like a bombshell: "Father hurts me." My mind reeled as she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "He puts his hands on me when he's drunk... tries to touch me... forces me to do things. He says it's to remind him of Mother, but I don't like it."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. This was a secret she'd kept hidden, and I couldn't believe I'd had no idea. How long had this been going on? Why had she suffered in silence? I pushed aside my shock, focusing on being there for her. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close.

"You're safe now," I whispered, trying to reassure her. "You're not going back there tonight. You're staying with me." I felt a surge of protectiveness, determination coursing through my veins. I wasn't going to let her face this alone.

I gently laid Madison down in bed, my fingers tracing the contours of her cheek. As she drifted off to sleep, I gazed at her with a mix of sadness and curiosity. "Why does this have to happen to her?" I whispered, my heart aching.

I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before quietly exiting the room. Closing the door behind me, I walked over to Grace, who was still fast asleep on the couch. I kissed her head, feeling a surge of protectiveness.

"How could I have been so blind?" I thought, my mind racing with guilt. Sending Madison back to her father's house, unaware of the horrors she faced, felt like a crushing responsibility. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as I worried about losing her trust. "Please don't hate me, Madison," I whispered, my voice cracking.

I felt a newfound sense of purpose, a mission that burned within me: to protect Grace and Madison at all costs. I yearned for us to become a little family unit, a trio bound together by love and trust.

I gazed upward, my eyes searching the heavens for a sign, a nod of approval from Momma and Papa. "Isn't this what you both wanted for me?" I whispered, my voice laced with emotion. "To be a protector, a guardian? Please, just give me a sign."

I paused, my eyes closed, waiting for a response that never came. Slowly, I opened my eyes, feeling a pang of defeat. But as I looked around the quiet room, my gaze fell upon Grace and Madison, and my resolve strengthened. I knew I had to be strong for them, to be the protector they needed.

As I gently lifted Grace into her bed, her sleepy murmurs filled the air. I tucked her in, ensuring she was safe and cozy. With a soft click, I locked the door, a sense of security settling over me. I slipped into bed beside Madison, her peaceful presence a balm to my soul.

In this quiet moment, a sense of purpose crystallized within me. I vowed to do everything in my power to safeguard their happiness, to be the rock they deserved. "Tomorrow is a new day," I whispered to myself, a promise of hope and renewal.

As I drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the gentle rhythms of their breathing, I felt a deep sense of resolve. Tomorrow would bring its own set of challenges, but I was ready. I would face them head-on, driven by my love for these two precious souls.

I woke up to an unfamiliar time, a strange sensation coursing through my veins. As I glanced over at Madison, her peaceful slumber was a calming balm. Yet, the feeling persisted, refusing to be shaken.

As I gazed at Madison, my thoughts wandered. I began to explore my own emotions, my hands absently drifting. The tension built, a mix of emotions swirling within me. It was as if my feelings for Madison had awakened something deep within, the urge to touch myself flowed withing me, and i let it flow, preasuring myself and relieving myself never losing glance of Madison.

After a few moments, the tension eased, replaced by a sense of calm. It had been a long time since I'd felt this way. There was something about Madison that drew me in, making me want to be around her, to protect and care for her. Trust flowed effortlessly, a sense of security I'd never experienced before.

As these thoughts lingered, I finally drifted off to sleep.

Act 5

I woke up to an empty room, my heart racing as I realized Madison was nowhere to be found. And where was Grace? I tossed off the covers and rushed to the living room, my mind whirling with worst-case scenarios.

Relief washed over me as I spotted Grace and Madison cuddled up on the couch. Madison was gently braiding Grace's hair, while Grace munched on a snack, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Oh, I didn't know you guys were up," I said, trying to laugh off my panic. "Sorry, I guess I freaked out for a second."

Grace giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Silly Bubby, Madison protects me too!" She snuggled deeper into Madison's side, and Madison smiled, her eyes meeting mine with a warm, reassuring glance.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in," I said, smiling at Madison. "I appreciate it."

Madison's smile deepened. "You're welcome. We didn't want to wake you."

My gaze drifted to Grace, and my heart swelled. "She's... stunning," I whispered, my eyes locked on her innocent face. "You both are."

Madison's cheeks flushed, and she quickly glanced away, attempting to conceal her blush. She leaned in close to Grace, whispering a secret: "I'm starting to like your Bubby a lot."

Grace's eyes widened, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, as if sharing a treasured confidence. Her gaze darted to me, and she whispered "Shhh!"

My eyes snapped to the pair, my curiosity piqued. "What's going on?" I asked, my tone laced with playful suspicion.

Madison's blush deepened, and she hastily changed the subject. "Hey, we should get going! We don't want to be late for school."

"I was about to..." My words trailed off as Madison and Grace walked past me, ignoring my weak protest. I chuckled, shaking my head. "Guess I'm not getting any answers now."

I quickly got ready, and soon we were standing outside, waiting for Grace's bus to arrive. The morning air was crisp, and I savored the quiet moment with Madison and Grace.

As we stood together, laughing and chatting, Madison's expression turned thoughtful. "Hey, can we talk about something when we get home?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with a hint of seriousness.

My curiosity was piqued. "What is it?" I asked, my gaze locked on hers.

Madison's smile was enigmatic. "Let's wait until we're all together, okay?"

Grace, sensing the intrigue, looked up at us with wide, curious eyes. I nodded, my mind already racing with possibilities.

As Grace's bus pulled away, Madison's gentle voice broke the silence. She rubbed my arm softly, her touch sending a warm shiver down my spine.

"Hey, can I talk to you about something?" she asked, her tone barely above a whisper.

I turned to her, my eyes meeting hers. "Of course, what's up?"

Madison's hands danced nervously as she spoke in a whisper-soft tone. "Honestly..." She stepped closer, her breath tickling my skin. Her fingers grazed my cheek, sending shivers down my spine.

"I'm in love with you," she confessed, her voice trembling.

My heart skipped a beat. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, but in the best possible way. I'd harbored feelings for her for what felt like an eternity, and now, here she was, confessing the same emotions.

I searched her eyes, hoping to convey the depth of my own feelings. "I'm in love with you too," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

In a sudden, tender movement, Madison's lips brushed against mine. The world around us melted away, leaving only the gentle pressure of her kiss. It was as if time had stood still, and all that existed was this perfect, peaceful moment.

I felt my heart soar, my soul stirring with a deep sense of connection. It was as if I'd finally found my missing piece, the one that made me whole. Madison's kiss was a warm embrace, a comforting reassurance that she was mine, and I was hers.

As we broke apart for a breath, I gazed into her eyes, my own shining with happiness. "I've waited so long for this," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion.

As I leaned in for another kiss, the sound of the bus rumbling to a stop interrupted our intimate moment. We both burst out laughing, having completely forgotten that we were waiting for our ride.

Hand in hand, we walked to the bus, our fingers intertwined as we climbed the steps. We found our seats, still grinning from ear to ear, and settled in for the ride. As we sat together, I wrapped my arm around Madison, pulling her close. She snuggled into my side, and I felt a deep sense of contentment wash over me.

As Madison and I reached our lockers, I suddenly felt a leg swipe at mine, sending me tumbling forward. My belongings scattered everywhere, and I landed awkwardly on my hand.

I sprang up, my eyes locking onto Marquise's smirk. "What's your problem, man?" I demanded, standing tall.

Marquise's sneer grew wider. "I said I'd hurt you, fuckface," he muttered under his breath. "Do something."

Something inside me snapped. My arm moved on its own, and I landed a solid punch across Marquise's face. The next thing I knew, we were tangled in a fierce brawl, exchanging blows and lunging at each other.

Teachers and students rushed to intervene, finally prying us apart. Marquise's face twisted in rage. "You're nothing but a pussy!" he screamed, his voice echoing down the hallway.

Coach's office was a blur as he lectured and yelled at Marquise and me. But my mind was elsewhere, with Madison waiting outside. I felt a pang of regret, knowing I'd embarrassed her and myself over Marquise's provocation. The weight of my actions settled heavy on my shoulders, a constant reminder of the hurt I'd caused.

As Coach's words cut through the air, Marquise's tough exterior crumbled. For the first time, I saw a glimmer of regret in his eyes, a softness that hinted at a deeper vulnerability. Coach's disappointment seemed to hit Marquise hard.

"Coach, please..." Marquise's voice cracked as he begged. "Give me another chance."

Coach's expression remained firm, unmoved by Marquise's plea. "Marquise, you're done. You're off the team."

Marquise's pleas grew more desperate. "Please, Coach... if my dad finds out, he's gonna kill me." His voice trembled, revealing a deep-seated fear.

I watched, my expression softening. I didn't know much about Marquise's home life, but his words painted a troubling picture. As team captain – if Coach still considered me worthy of the title – I felt a pang of responsibility to help Marquise, to be a leader and support him in his time of need.

Coach's firm tone left no room for appeal. "Marquise, you're off the team. There's nothing I can do."

Marquise's face darkened, his anger boiling over. He sprang from his seat, his chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

The sudden silence left Coach and me alone, the tension between us palpable.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Coach," I said, my voice sincere. "I defended myself, and if I'm off the team too, I accept full responsibility. But please, don't kick Marquise off the team. We made a mistake, but we can learn from it. Please, give us another chance."

Coach's expression softened, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and admiration. He looked at me with a deep sense of pride, his gaze conveying a silent message: "I'm proud of you for owning up to your actions and showing empathy for your teammate."

Coach sighed, his expression a mix of relief and warning. "I'm going to give you both another chance," he said, his voice firm but measured. "But please, don't make me regret it. And for your own sake, try to get along."

I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. "Thank you, Coach," I said, my voice sincere. "I promise I won't mess up. I'll do everything I can to make it right."

I stepped out of Coach's office, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. Madison was waiting for me in the hallway, a warm smile on her face. She flung her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Hey, I'm glad everything's okay," she whispered, her voice filled with concern.

I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. But our tender moment was short-lived, as we caught sight of Marquise lingering around the corner, his eyes fixed intently on us.

Marquise ambled up to us, a surprisingly genuine smile spreading across his face. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his eyes locking onto mine. "Thanks for sticking up for me back there, man. I owe you one." He paused, his expression softening. "And sorry for being a jerk. I was out of line."

He gave my back a friendly pat, then nodded at Madison before heading off to his next class.

Madison and I stood there, stunned, unsure of how to respond to Marquise's sudden change of heart. We exchanged a bewildered glance, the silence between us thick with unspoken questions.

The anticipation was electric. Our first game of the season was just hours away, and Madison and I were bursting with excitement. She had nailed her cheer tryouts, and I had secured the coveted quarterback spot. All our sweat, tears, and endless practice sessions had finally paid off. Now, it was showtime. We were ready to unleash our skills and make this season one to remember.

As I emerged from the locker room, I spotted Madison among the cheerleaders, her uniform a vibrant splash of color. I strode over to her, sweeping her into a tight hug. "Go out there and crush it!" I whispered, my voice filled with pride.

Madison's eyes sparkled as she replied, "Go show 'em who you are, Miles!”

My gaze scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face. That's when I saw Grace, adorable in her miniature jersey and cheerleading outfit, proudly representing both Madison and me. My heart swelled as I rushed over to her, scooping her up in a bear hug. Her giggles were music to my ears as she exclaimed, "My Bubby's gonna show everyone who he is! You're the best!"

I struggled to contain my emotions as I handed Grace back to the sitter, taking a deep breath to compose myself. With one last glance at my little cheerleader, I headed to the bench, ready to put everything on the line for my team.

As I stepped onto the field as quarterback, a surge of emotions and thoughts flooded my mind. I felt the weight of responsibility, the desire to make my loved ones proud. Madison's encouraging smile, Grace's innocent cheer, and my parents' unwavering support all swirled together, fueling my determination.

I took a deep breath, my focus sharpening. I was playing for them, for my school, and for myself. I wouldn't let anyone or anything distract me from my goal. With a fierce resolve, I steeled myself for the battle ahead, ready to give it my all.

Marquise clapped a hand on my back, his eyes locking onto mine with a nod of solidarity. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a silent thank you for standing up for him earlier. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of surprise at the sudden change in his demeanor, but there was something genuine in his expression that put me at ease.

I returned the gesture, patting his back in a show of unity. Marquise's face broke into a warm smile, and for a moment, we just connected, two teammates united in our quest for victory.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and suddenly the playbook flashed before me. I mentally rehearsed the plays, visualizing each scenario, each maneuver. The referee's whistle pierced the air, and the game erupted into motion.

With laser focus, I led my team onto the field. I launched precise passes, dodged defenders, and sprinted for crucial yards. Every play, every decision, was calculated to drive us toward victory. My teammates rallied around me, our movements a testament to our rigorous training and unwavering teamwork. Together, we fought for every inch of turf, determined to emerge triumphant.

As I crossed the goal line, scoring my first touchdown, the stadium erupted. I scanned the sea of faces, my gaze locking onto Grace's beaming smile. Her eyes sparkled with unbridled joy, her tiny fists pumping in celebration. Nearby, Madison's cheers pierced the din, her face aglow with pride.

My teammates swarmed me, congratulatory slaps on the back and helmet. I caught Marquise's eye, his fierce grin and pumping fist energizing our defense. This was what it meant to be a team.

In the midst of the chaos, I paused, gazing upward. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude, seeking guidance and strength from my parents above. Their love and legacy fueled my passion, driving me to excel.

We dominated the game, our teamwork flawless. I contributed four touchdowns - two through precise passes and two via powerful rushes. Marquise shone brightly on defense, snagging an interception and delivering a crunching sack. Our synchrony was undeniable, each play unfolding like clockwork.

As the final whistle blew, I scooped up Grace in one arm and wrapped the other around Madison. Together, we basked in the glory of our victory. In this moment, nothing could shatter the bond we shared. Our love, support, and teamwork had forged an unbreakable connection.

As we headed home, the three of us basked in the warm glow of our victory. Grace's tiny voice hummed a happy tune, her eyes sparkling with delight. She snuggled deeper into my arms, her soft voice filled with conviction. "You and Madison are the best, Bubby!" she exclaimed, her praise filling my heart with joy.

Madison smiled, her eyes shining with happiness. "We make a pretty great team, don't we?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I pulled into the driveway, feeling a sense of independence wash over me now that I had my license. As we stepped inside, the familiarity of home enveloped us, and we quickly shed our sweaty game-day gear. We changed into comfortable sleep clothes, the soft fabrics a welcome relief after a long day of competition.

Grace settled into her favorite spot on the couch, clutching a sippy cup of juice and sporting a single sock on one tiny foot. She looked utterly content, oblivious to her mismatched attire. Meanwhile, Madison and I drifted out to the porch, the evening air wrapping around us like a warm hug. She nestled her head against my shoulder, her gentle sigh of contentment blending with the night's soothing sounds.

Madison's lips brushed against mine in a soft, gentle kiss. She intertwined our fingers, her hand fitting perfectly in mine. As we sat together in comfortable silence, she whispered, "There's something else I wanted to talk to you about... but maybe when Grace is asleep?" Her voice was laced with a hint of mystery, and I felt a spark of curiosity ignite within me. I nodded, my eyes locking onto hers, eager to hear what was on her mind.

As Grace's eyelids grew heavy, we shared a tender moment, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead. We tucked her in, making sure she was cozy and comfortable, before whispering goodnight. With Grace peacefully asleep, Madison and I slipped into our room, the soft click of the door a subtle signal that it was just us now. I settled onto the bed, my eyes locked onto Madison's, anticipation building in my chest. She stood before me, a soft smile on her face, and I could sense the weight of whatever she wanted to say.

Madison's voice dropped to a whisper. "Miles , I want you." She stepped closer, her eyes locked on mine. as she’s pulling down her shoulder strap from her bra

My heart skipped a beat. "Really?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Madison's gaze burned with intensity. "I've been having these thoughts... of us together… Of you doing me so nasty, and seeing you on the field today made me want it even more."

I bite my lip, my pulse racing. "I wanted you too," I admitted, my voice low.

Madison's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Really?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. "Really," I repeated, my voice filled with conviction.

Madison took another step closer, her face inches from mine. I could feel her warm breath on my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

Without another word, Madison's lips brushed against mine, sending sparks flying through my entire body.

She finished sliding her bra off and i look at her like i never seen her before

“wow” i said, not knowing if i was dreaming or not

“Take me now, i want you to feel me so bad” she says, i kiss her once more as she says this

As our lips touched, the world around us melted away. It was just Madison and me, lost in the moment.

Madison's hands wrapped around my neck, pulling me deeper into the kiss. I felt my arms slide around her waist, drawing her closer.

Time stood still as we savored the moment, our hearts beating as one. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a kiss that sealed our love forever.

As her hand moved lower, she felt my erection in her hand as it was calling for her, and she gasped, as i proceeded to rub between her legs, not stopping

as i watch her pull her pants off and be completely naked in front of me, my eyes couldn’t leave her, they were stuck on her perfect form, and pure self, and i never felt this before 

I pull mine off too and she as well stares as me as she reaches down and rub it hard and i groan 

“Tell me what you want” She whispers as she slides my finger in her mouth and sucks on it, i surrender, telling her “i want to feel all of you”

As soon as these words leave my mouth, i slowly slide inside her and feel her tightness around me, nothing i ever felt before, this is new and i like it

She moans slowly as i slide in and out of her body, choking her a little and matching my thrusts with her and feeling her breasts in my hand

she keeps moaning, whispering underneath them

“please just like that, do me just like that”

i continue and we continue until we can’t anymore and i feel her warmth up with me

As we broke apart for air, Madison's eyes shone with happiness. "I love you, Miles," she whispered and rubbed my cheek as she kissed me

"I love you too, Madison," I replied, my voice filled with emotion.

We shared another tender kiss, the connection between us palpable. It was a moment I'd cherish forever, a moment that solidified our bond.

Act 6:

As we stepped into our senior year, Madison and I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over us. Time had flown by, and yet, here we were, on the cusp of a new chapter. Grace, now a bright and ambitious fourth-grader, was thriving academically, consistently earning top honors in her class. My heart swelled with pride every time I thought about her achievements. Watching her grow into a confident, curious, and compassionate young girl had been an incredible journey, and I felt grateful to be her guardian.

Madison had officially become a part of our little family, moving in with Grace and me. We were both juggling our responsibilities, working part-time jobs while captaining our respective sports teams. Madison's dedication to her passions was inspiring, and I admired her drive.

However, there was one topic that remained off-limits: her father. Madison had confided in me that her relationship with him was strained, to say the least. "I could die in front of him, and he wouldn't even notice," she'd said, her voice laced with a mix of sadness and anger. I'd sensed the depth of her pain and had never pushed her to revisit the subject.

My family dynamics were complicated, too. After everything, they'd distanced themselves from me and Grace. No visits, no offers of help - just silence. I liked to think that my parents, who'd always been kind to me, would be proud of how I'd persevered without relying on my family. But Grace had still felt the sting of their absence. Not long ago, she'd broken down, yearning for the parents she always remembers. "I want to talk to Momma and Papa," she'd sobbed. I'd had to sit her down and explain, gently, why that wasn't possible. Her response had cut deep: "I hate you." But I knew, in that moment, she didn't mean it.

Our 18th birthdays came and went, marking a new chapter in our lives. Looking back on junior year, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Academics had been a struggle for me, and I'd barely scraped by, passing by the skin of my teeth. I'd been stressed, overwhelmed, and unsure of what was holding me back. On the other hand, Madison had soared, earning honors and high A+s with ease. Her success made my own struggles feel all the more daunting, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment. But Madison never judged me, never made me feel like I wasn't good enough. Instead, she offered a supportive ear, a reassuring smile, and a love that lifted me up, even on my toughest days.

As Grace blossomed into an 11-year-old young lady, a mix of emotions swirled inside me. Fear, uncertainty, and a hint of nostalgia threatened to overwhelm me. I worried about the challenges she'd soon face: navigating friendships, peer pressure, and eventually, the complexities of relationships. The thought of guys trying to win her heart, potentially with ill intentions, kept me up at night. But as I stood there, watching her grow into her own person, I took a deep breath and reminded myself to stay present. I needed to cherish the little girl Grace was now, before she spread her wings and flew. I vowed to enjoy every moment, every laugh, and every hug, knowing that these fleeting days would soon become cherished memories.

A lazy afternoon turned unexpected when the doorbell rang. Madison and I exchanged curious glances, both of us wondering who it could be. I cautiously opened the door, revealing a well-dressed man with a warm smile. He introduced himself as a college recruiter, and my heart skipped a beat. College? Already?

The recruiter's presence sparked a mix of excitement and nerves. He sat down with us, launching into a presentation that opened our eyes to the possibilities. He spoke of college athletics, of scholarships, and of the doors that could swing open with a degree. As he spoke, Madison's eyes lit up, and I could sense her mind racing with the endless possibilities.

But my enthusiasm was short-lived. As I explained our situation, my smile faltered. "We have a big responsibility," I said, my voice tinged with concern. "We're raising my little sister, Grace. We're her guardians, and we can't just leave her behind. We have to make sure she's taken care of, and her education is a top priority too."

The recruiter's expression shifted from curiosity to understanding, and he leaned forward, his eyes burning with passion. "I had no idea," he said, his voice filled with empathy. "But that's exactly why I'm here. We have programs in place that can support not just you, but your entire family. We can offer resources to help with Grace's education, and even provide support for your role as guardians."

A surge of joy ignited within me, and I could see the same spark in Madison's eyes. We exchanged a hopeful glance, our hearts beating as one. The recruiter's words painted a vibrant picture of a brighter future, not just for us, but for Grace as well. The prospect of providing her with the resources and support she deserved, of giving her a chance at a better education and a more fulfilling life, filled me with an overwhelming sense of happiness. My heart swelled with emotion, and I felt a deep gratitude for this unexpected opportunity.

The recruiter's next words sent a thrill through me and Madison. "We also offer opportunities for younger siblings to participate in sports and athletics," he said, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. Grace, who had been quietly observing the conversation, suddenly looked at the recruiter with an air of mystery. But then, in a confident tone that belied her years, she declared, "We should do this." Madison and I exchanged a delighted glance, our hearts full of joy and excitement. The recruiter's face lit up with a warm smile, and he nodded in agreement. "I think that's a great idea, Grace," he said, his voice filled with conviction.

I gazed at Madison and Grace, their eyes locked on mine, filled with anticipation. The recruiter's curious expression added to the weight of the moment. As I opened my mouth to respond, I knew that my next words would forever alter the trajectory of our lives. With conviction, I declared, "We will do it."

The room erupted in a joyful cacophony. Madison and Grace leapt into the air, their laughter and squeals intertwining as they hugged each other tightly. The recruiter's face broke into a warm smile as he handed me a sheaf of documents. "Welcome to the team," he said, his eyes shining with sincerity. As I took the papers, a sense of excitement and trepidation washed over me. I knew that this moment marked the beginning of an extraordinary journey, one that would challenge us, transform us, and ultimately, bring us closer together.

Senior year whizzed by in a whirlwind of excitement and achievement. Madison and I reigned supreme as Homecoming queen and king, and later, as Prom king and queen. Marquise, my trusted friend and confidant, stood by my side throughout the journey. As we basked in the glory of our high school triumphs, we knew that the real world awaited us, with its own set of challenges and uncertainties. The carefree days of adolescence were drawing to a close, and the dawn of adulthood loomed on the horizon, promising to test our resolve, our resilience, and our bond.

As the academic year drew to a close, Grace wrapped up 4th grade with flying colors, once again standing tall as the top student in her class. With a beaming smile, she bid farewell to her elementary school friends and teachers, poised on the threshold of a new chapter. Though my decision would soon upend her entire world, Grace's innocence and optimism remained unwavering, her bright spirit shining like a beacon. My heart swelled with pride and purpose, I couldn't wait to provide her with the life she so richly deserved – a life filled with promise, opportunity, and unconditional love.

One week after graduation, the house was quiet, with Grace fast asleep in her bed. Madison and I sat together, lost in conversation, our minds racing with the endless possibilities the future held. We talked about the college recruiter's offer, our upcoming move, and the exciting opportunities that lay ahead. As we chatted, Madison's expression turned serious, and she reached for my hand. "There's something I need to tell you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes locked on mine with an air of nervous anticipation.

"I'm pregnant," Madison whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of emotions. The words hung in the air like a fragile secret, leaving me breathless and bewildered. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut, my mind racing with a jumble of thoughts and feelings. I didn't know what to say or do, so I simply looked at her, my eyes locking onto hers. I took her hand in mine, holding it gently as if it were a delicate flower. Together, we sat there, lost in thought, the only sound the quiet beating of our hearts.

"We're gonna be okay, we always are," I whispered, my voice filled with reassurance. I wrapped my arms around Madison, holding her close as our lips met in a tender kiss. We lay there, entwined in each other's arms, our hearts beating as one.

The thought of becoming a father swirled in my mind like a whirlwind, stirring up a mix of emotions. I had never envisioned myself in this role, not after already shouldering the responsibility of raising Grace. She was my biggest blessing, my guiding light, and my greatest responsibility. But now, the prospect of fatherhood loomed before me, filling me with a sense of wonder, trepidation, and awe. Racing thoughts consumed me: What kind of father would I be? Was I ready for this new chapter? How would our lives change?

As Madison and I were drifting off to bed, a blood-curdling scream pierced the night air, shattering the calm. My heart racing, I sprinted to Grace's room, Madison close behind. I burst through the door to find Grace thrashing about, her small body racked with sobs. I rushed to her side, sweeping her into my arms as Madison stood by, concern etched on her face.

"It's okay, baby girl," I whispered, holding her tight as I rocked her gently. "I'm here. You're safe." Madison joined in, stroking Grace's hair as we both soothed her, our voices a calming balm to her frazzled nerves. Slowly, Grace's cries subsided, replaced by hiccuping sobs as she clung to me, her tiny hands grasping my shirt.

"I had a nightmare," Grace whispered, her voice trembling as she struggled to find the words. "And I... and I..." She faltered, her eyes welling up with tears. "Momma and Papa," she finally managed to say, her small voice cracking with emotion.

My heart swelled with compassion and love. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her so close that I could feel her heartbeat against mine. "I've got you, baby girl," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "I'll never let you go. You're safe with me." I rocked her gently, letting the warmth of my embrace seep into her tiny body, chasing away the shadows of her nightmare.

Grace's voice was laced with a maturity beyond her years as she asked, "We gonna be okay, right, Bubby?" I smiled, my heart swelling with love and reassurance.

"Yes, baby girl," I replied, my voice soft and gentle.

As she drifted off to sleep, her tiny voice whispered a phrase that pierced my heart and filled me with emotion: "I love you, Daddy."

I was taken aback, unsure if she truly meant it or if it was just a innocent phrase. But in that moment, it didn't matter. I smiled, my eyes welling up with tears, and kissed her forehead.

"I love you too, baby girl," I whispered back, my voice barely audible.

Epilogue:

The day of our departure finally arrived, and we stood poised on the threshold, ready to bid farewell to the only home we'd ever known. The allure of city life beckoned, a dream that Madison and I had nurtured for years. As we packed the car with the essentials, our hearts swelled with a mix of emotions.

We paused, taking a moment to gaze at the humble abode that had sheltered us, taught us discipline, and witnessed our growth into maturity. Memories came flooding back – laughter, tears, and countless moments of joy. It was as if the old house held a piece of our souls.

As we reminisced about our favorite moments, a collective pang of nostalgia washed over us. It felt like we all shed a tear, our eyes welling up with the bittersweet taste of goodbye. The old house, once a sanctuary, now stood as a reminder of the memories we'd forged within its walls. With one last look, we turned the page, ready to embark on a new chapter in the city.

As I glanced over at Madison, I caught her gazing longingly at the house she'd left behind – her father's house, a place haunted by the ghosts of her past. I knew that house held a special kind of terror for her, a place where fears and nightmares had taken root. My mind began to wander, wondering what had become of her father. Had he finally found solace, or had the weight of his demons proven too much to bear?

My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Madison's eyes welling up with tears, her gaze drifting downward to her stomach. Her hand instinctively went to her belly, her fingers rubbing gentle circles as if soothing our unborn child. The gesture spoke volumes – a mix of emotions swirling inside her, a heart still healing from old wounds, and a new life growing within her, full of promise and uncertainty.

As I cast one final glance in the rearview mirror, I noticed Grace's eyes were closed, her face serene, as if lost in thought. Her hands were clasped together in a prayer-like gesture, and I sensed she was silently expressing gratitude to our departed loved ones. A surge of pride swelled within me as I gazed at the incredible young lady she'd become.

It was tempting to take credit for her growth, but I knew better. Grace's transformation was a testament to her own unwavering determination and resilience. The guiding hands of our parents, watching over her from above, had undoubtedly played a role in shaping her journey.

As I smiled, Grace's eyes fluttered open, and she met my gaze with a warm, reassuring smile of her own. I returned my attention to the road ahead, feeling a sense of hope and anticipation as we embarked on our new life together, leaving the familiar behind and embracing the promise of tomorrow.

[elevateherja]

Schizophrenia: The Silent Prey― Essay

You say “schizophrenia” and people think of someone in food-stained clothes, running around wielding an axe, muttering to themselves. Say ‘depression’ and they think of someone flung in bed with the curtains drawn, sobbing about everything.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the delicate fabric of the curtains, their golden tendrils gently caressed the room, filling it with a warm, ethereal glow. It was a moment that stirred up a whirlwind of memories and introspection, like a weathered manuscript with its pages yellowed with time, yet etched with indelible emotions. Lost in this realm where the past and present merged seamlessly. Life, oh life, it has a way with its unpredictable twists and turns, leaving us in a perpetual state of sadness. As I found myself gazing out the window one pleasant mid-June morning, the atmosphere exuded a delightful sense of tranquility. The weather was mild and benign, not too hot like the scorching summer days that lay ahead. However, there was a subtle crispness to the air, a reminder of the fleeting nature of this blissful season. In this moment of quiet contemplation, a sudden burst of movement caught my attention. A peculiar creature sprang forth—a chameleon, a true master of disguise. With its artistry to seamlessly blend into its surroundings, this vibrant creature is a living testament that embodied the epitome of adaptability. Its kaleidoscope of hues serves as a visual symphony, demonstrating its unparalleled ability to adapt and survive.

As my eyes remained fixed on the mesmerizing chameleon, my thoughts meandered to someone who mirrored the chameleon’s remarkable ability to adapt—the resolute figure of my grandmother. However, her adaptation was not one of physical camouflage but rather an ongoing battle with a formidable foe known as schizophrenia.

As a wide-eyed child, oblivious to the shadows lurking within our family, I would sit at her feet, captivated by her stories, and enthralled by the magic that seemed to emanate from her very being, blissfully unaware of my grandmother’s condition. She was just my Nana, a warm and caring presence in my life. But as the years unfolded, so too did the mystery that surrounded her. Whispers of her peculiar behaviors reached my ears, like a haunting melody that both intrigued and frightened me.

Just as a chameleon’s eyes can rotate independently, providing a panoramic view of its surroundings, my grandmother’s perception of the world is unique and complex. Schizophrenia distorts her perception, creating a fragmented reality. I first noticed the dizzying array of emotions that danced across her face. She would speak of fantastical visions, where mystical creatures frolicked to harm, hear whispers that found solace in her ears alone and exhibited erratic mood swings. Confusion gripped my young heart as I struggled to fathom the perplexing nature of her existence. What was I to think than simply she had gone mad.

Yet, like a chameleon adapting its appearance to both protect itself and capture its prey, My grandmother's mind had an uncanny way of forging connections between seemingly unrelated ideas.

In the company of others, the chameleon would often hide, concealed beneath a veneer of normalcy. But behind closed doors, within the sacred walls of our home, her true nature would emerge like a vivid mirage in the desert. The room would transform into a canvas, splattered with hallucinatory strokes and delusional narratives, blurring the boundaries between the real and the imagined.

Schizophrenia, a tempest that swirled within the depths of her mind, would often manifest itself in unpredictable ways. As the seasons changed, like the ever-changing colors of the chameleon, so did her mental landscapes, often without warning. In the throes of spring, her thoughts bloomed with creativity, and her laughter echoed through the village like birdsong. Summer brought moments of clarity, where she could grasp the threads of reality, much like the chameleon basking under the warm sun, revealing its true colors. But with autumn's arrival, the winds of confusion would blow once more, and her mind would transform into a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts. On winter days, the clouds would descend, casting a shadow over her world, and her soul would become melancholy with a sorrow for her deceased son—my uncle whom I never knew. Rather, it was a mental illness that affected her perspective of reality.

Whispers of misunderstanding tainted the air, and we bore the burden of society’s unkind assumptions.  Oh, the embarrassment and shame that coursed through my veins, like molten lava scorching my soul! Schizophrenia, unfortunately, carries a heavy burden of stigma and misinformation. Our family often felt the weight of societal judgment and fear of disclosure. I would shrink within myself, yearning for invisibility as neighbors and friends cast judgmental glances, unable to comprehend the torment that lay within my grandmother’s mind. Their ignorance was a sharp blade, slicing through my heart with each whispered comment, each sidelong glance that branded me an outcast.

But as I matured, as the petals of wisdom unfolded within me, I began to perceive the true nature of the chameleon. Schizophrenia, like this elusive creature, possessed the power to adapt and blend into the tapestry of ordinary life. Living with a family member affected by schizophrenia had a profound effect on our household dynamics. Our daily routines revolved around providing a stable and supportive environment for my grandmother’s well-being. While this responsibility fell primarily on my parents, I, too, played a role in adapting to the situation. We had to be flexible, understanding, and patient, often adjusting to accommodate her needs. Growing up in an environment where mental health struggles were an integral part of our lives taught me valuable lessons in empathy and compassion. Witnessing the hardships my grandmother faced daily instilled in me a deep sense of understanding. I learned not to judge someone solely based on their condition but to see beyond the illness and recognize the person beneath. In time, I shed the weight of embarrassment and shame, for I realized that my grandmother’s battle was not mine to bear alone.

[windyblight]

here, with you | nanami kento x gn!reader

summary: nanami finds himself deep in thoughts: past regrets, possible future ahead, and above all, you in his arms.

tags: gender neutral reader, fluff, some angsty thoughts, pillow talk, some manga spoilers

author's note: i'm proud of this piece ngl considering it's been almost a month or two since i wrote anything ;;_;;

Only when Nanami’s able to fight the heaviness of his eyelid does he realize the sky remains the same shade as when he fell asleep.

He blinks several times, easing a little feeling your body pressed against his. Your head rests against his chest. One arm secured over his bare waist. The soft heaving breath of yours lands on his ears as a gentle, tranquil breeze on skin. The weight and woes of yesterday are long forgotten, fading away in the back of Nanami’s eyes.

Now, his eyes are on you. You, his other half—or his better half, as you’d claim to him while providing your share of evidence on why that is the case through a ridiculously comprehensive pile of notes. That’s the way you are.

Though deep in slumber, you nuzzle further into his chest clumsily. With the tip of your nose brushing against his collarbone then the heat of your cheeks radiating heat against his torso. His one arm wrapping itself around your figure, Nanami’s leave trace of kisses through the tips of his finger over your back. The traces and glowing, deep marks decorating your bare skin. A token from a night of intimacy shared between the two of you.

It’d been planned between you. Promised as a safe haven through the uncertainty that comes with the chaos that followed the two of you the past couple of weeks. This life, this path the two of you committed on following is one filled with dangerous trenches. Obstacles that could very much be the permanent end for you. But you both knew that.

He’d stepped out of this life once many moons ago. Nanami pursued a sense of normalcy, desperate to cling onto that comforting safety that’s wrapped in the simplicity of the mundane. A normal life. This life came with plenty of sacrifice, that much he knew, but he never understood it.

That part of this life. The sacrifice. The pain that you all had to go through, and by now, the flaying bodies of their comrades had become merely numbers added on top of more numbers. It was a shit show. He hated it. Though not enough to push him out of this line of work, apparently.

No.

The one reason it took to push him out, every semblance of his soul and any sense of sensibility were ripped out of him. Haibara Yu. With that, he gathered whatever shattered pieces he could muster in utter silence and made his way out.

No tears shed, no goodbyes. Nanami thought that it was it for him. That he’d never have to turn back to this life. This life that rips away the lives of people. With their bodies casted aside like clutters going into garbage, and each day it’d only grow. Somehow, this life made that normal.

He never bid his goodbye to you back then. You were in the first year, while he was in the second. You were so doubtful, so afraid, yet with each beating you took your stance and fought through. He had thought you were a coward, without any strong sense of principles, nor any grace. You were—still are—reckless. While that is true, you are also persistent. He’d like to think that was how you were able to reach his heart in the first place. But if he could ever be honest to himself, it's really because just you being you. Persistence, determined, reckless, clumsy, full of fear, worrisome. All of you.

The dance between the two of you back then was always timid, soft brushes by the shoulder and doubtful glances now and then. Vastly different to the full-front, vulnerable intimacy the two of you share today.

You’re an heir to a minor clan that held significance to the Jujutsu world; hence, there was never space for the two of you to have something as fleeting as teenage love. Though, that felt more like an excuse for him to never confront such feelings. Bear with him. Even being Nanami Kento, he was only a teenager then. Knowledge on emotions was limited, even to some adults.

Plenty of it was fear. The fear that the two of you would have to dread over each other’s safety. The fear of the pain and heartbreak that would come with it. The fear of not being able to see you, feel you again. He wouldn’t do that to you. However, you. You, on the other hand, always accepted that aspect. You couldn’t escape this life, even if your heart wanted to but your heart always knew what it wanted. You accepted the risks, the heart aches, the dreading, the grief. There was no escaping death in life, in any kind of life that you choose to pursue, you told him. “Even if it’s temporary, I want to make the most of it.”

You both had lost a friend. But in that, he always thought you were always lightyears ahead of him in wisdom. You were ready to take the chance with him, and yet fully aware of that, he had left.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Nanami shifts his eye from the ceiling above to your half awake feature. Eyelids barely open, still stuck to each other, but slowly you stare at him. “Sorry, did I wake you?” He asks softly, tugging the strand of hair sticking out behind your ear. You shake your head, reassuring him by resting your cheek on the palm of his hand. You make your always astute observation. “Something wrong?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, still picking apart the right words to respond. But instead, he only brings you closer to him. Tightening his grip on you and leaving another kiss on your head. You seem to understand immediately what it meant, as if you were able to see the bareness of him and his thoughts. It’s terrifying, yet instead of the dread of fear, he found glowing comfort. You don’t press further. Rather, you savor his gesture and now pressing a kiss on his cheek as reassurance.

“I love you.” You whisper sleepily in his ear, thick to the brim with affection. He replies back to you with the same affection. Same sleepiness lathered in his deep, grumbling voice.

The two of you fall back to sleep to each other’s heartbeats and soft breaths filling the tight gap between your bodies. Just simply being there, existing in this present, his worries fades away. Just for this moment, he lets those fears be tomorrow's worries. For now, all he wants to do is be here, be present with you.

[boonki]

falling in love in a-one, two, three

also found on ao3 here 

Obi-wan is grateful that he’s able to blame the flush of his cheeks on the wine cradled in his hand when Anakin strolls in through the grand entrance. The crowd parts for him naturally, his azure silk top with puffy, long sleeves and tight-fitting black pants allowing him to fit in amongst the senators and royals, the force creating the tiniest golden shimmer around the edges of Anakin’s honeyed curls. Anakin lifts his head to scan the crowd, a note of recognition passing through his features when he locks eyes with Obi-wan. He looks ethereal, a sight to behold--

“Come here often?” Anakin teases, lifting an eyebrow at Obi-wan, who is undoubtedly staring at him, blushing at him, even. He’s had far too much wine.

Obi-wan blinks hard, the lovely image of Anakin shattered entirely, and purses his lips, shooting the man a withering glare. “The symphony? Why, yes, I do love coming here in all my copious free time. I frequent the symphony hall in between naps and walks in the park.”

“It’d be a great place for a date, too. You should invite Ventress next time.”

Obi-wan raises an eyebrow. “Yes,” he hums, “maybe the music will quell her homicidal tendencies.”

Anakin snorts at his sarcasm, and their attention shifts to skimming the crowd, cataloging each and every face mingling in the swarm of people.

The council had sent them on a diplomatic mission to steer a neutral planet into siding with the Republic. Separatist forces are growing stronger day by day; no planet has the privilege of remaining passive if the Republic is to win the war. However, before anyone could edge around the topic of politics and war, the Queen had insisted on inviting them to a symphony, followed by a ball to celebrate the Republic’s successes in the war so far. The festivities seem frivolous to Obi-wan, and a waste of time, but citizens do need joy, semblances of normalcy to cling to in the midst of dread, he supposes.

The chimes signaling the beginning of the symphony ring out, loud and heavy, and Obi-wan and Anakin regard the ceiling, noting the noise.

“Time to find our seats, it seems.” Obi-wan murmurs, letting his hand fall into the small of Anakin’s back as he guides them to the right entryway, trying to ignore the firm muscles barely concealed underneath the impractically thin top. An usher stands at the entrance, scanning the tickets as guests filter in.

“You still have our tickets, master?” Anakin holds a hand out, and Obi-wan, a little too tipsy for his own good, almost grabs it with his own before realizing Anakin is asking for his ticket. Force, what is in this wine? Obi-wan rifles through his pants pocket and procures their matching set, handing one to his former padawan. They are seated side by side, so it doesn’t really matter which one he took. The usher barely gives them any thought, grabbing their tickets, checking them in, and handing them back without so much as a peek at their faces.

And then they are inside, and Obi-wan feels the surge of emotion flood through Anakin at the sight of the symphony hall. The ceiling is painted with scenes of the planet’s most impressive wonders and heroes, gold flakes etched into the perimeters of the creature's faces. A massive chandelier hangs brilliantly from the center of it all, illuminating the hall with a golden, hazy, twinkling light, casting dim shadows into the corners of the room. Despite its massive size, the place feels intimate, cozy. Obi-wan already wants to pull at his collar, unused to wearing anything but Jedi robes or armor, let alone elegant civilian clothing. But the mission had necessitated delicacy, and the natives of the planet respect elegance, refinery, so it was important to the mission that they look the part. Anakin had laughed when the council had passed that along: “You’re a perfect fit for this, master. Maybe you can brew them a cup of tea while we’re there.”  

Obi-wan nudges Anakin’s hip, using his chin to signal that they’re holding up the flow of traffic. Anakin takes one last look around the room before gliding forward, checking his ticket one more time for the location of their seats. The lights darken not too long after they’re seated, the tranquil hum of conversation fading in anticipation. Obi-wan allows a glimpse over at Anakin, who is pretending very hard not to be excited. But Obi-wan knows him, can see the way Anakin’s eyes are a little too wide, his back a little too tense, his presence in their bond a little too electric.

A quirk of a smile catches his lips. Anakin has never been to a symphony before, has he?

A piano starts out in soothing, rhythmic undulations, washing over the crowd in whispers of comfort, followed shortly by the deep tones of a cello. Obi-wan closes his eyes, soaks in the feeling of peace, contentment, stillness. For the most part, where it counts, he is a good Jedi, proficient in wrangling in his emotions and being a lifeline of calm to those around him. But there are two things that grabbed his heart, sunk their greedy little fingers in and never let go: Anakin, and music. There is no one alive that knows this about him, for he could never live down the embarrassment, let alone the retribution of the council. And yet, he loves.

If he had been standing, he would be swaying in time with the waltz.

He leans into Anakin’s brain a bit, tugging on their bond, just enough to snag glimpses into his emotions, but not so much that Anakin would be disturbed by his presence. A wave of contentment, heartache, longing, love, washes over him. In surprise, Obi-wan cracks an eye open at him, peeking at his face.

Anakin is completely smitten. His fingers tap in time to the music on his thighs, a light smile ghosting his features, eyebrows furrowed ever so, his gaze cemented on the group of musicians on stage. Obi-wan fights the urge to brush his curls behind his ear, instead gulping down the rest of his wine in one go. Anakin does take note of him then, shooting his master a bemused look, which Obi-wan counters with a jump in his eyebrows and a daring smirk, feeling blood rise into his cheeks at their eye contact.

Siths hells, they are never going to make it through the night.

Correction: he is never going to make it through the night.

Obi-wan isn’t quite sure what’s gotten into him, but he isn’t going to fight the warmth that seeps through his bones, the pervasive happiness that comes so rarely these days. ( Love? Maybe.)

As they settle back into the music, Obi-wan’s mind wanders. He supposes it makes sense that Anakin never had the chance to come to a symphony before, or hear real music like this live, given that the music at the temple was rather limited and generally missions had them frequenting dive bars and nightclubs. It’s a shame, Obi-wan thinks, Anakin deserves so much more than he had been given in life, and Obi-wan is suddenly filled with tender softness for the moment laid out in front of him. He wishes he could bring the man more happiness like this in the day to day grueling onslaught of war. Obi-wan wonders how often he’ll be able to sneak them away to events like this before the younger man, and the council, catches on. He’ll need a good excuse. Thankfully, half-truths and omissions are his specialty.

He tips his head back, letting his presence in the force extend out around him, and treads through all the input: the crest and fall of the music, the wine churning in his stomach, Anakin’s warm glow through their bond, his own thumping heart, threatening to beat in time with the music and fall more deeply in love with the man in a-one, two, three. Anakin’s proximity in his mind is like a fire, incandescent, and Obi-wan leans into it, catching fleeting images of Anakin’s thoughts: a shuffling of people, quick steps, a warm body pressed against his. Anakin wants to dance. Flashes of auburn, sturdy hands and strong arms, crinkly grey-blue eyes-- oh. Anakin wants to dance with him.

No one could pay Obi-wan to release his emotions into the force right now. They’re all his to cherish.

__________

“No one ever taught you how to waltz? Maybe I did fail you, my dear padawan.” He says this with fake disappointment, mirth cushioning the words.

“Oh right, dance lessons in between ‘saber training and sorting the libraries, the usual.”

They’re lingering by the drinks, another glass of wine somehow finding its way into Obi-wan’s hands. In theory, they’re surveying the crowd again, taking mental note of who is dancing with who, what intel could be floating around the room. In practice, they are patiently waiting to join the throng of moving people, looking to find an excuse to join in on the festivities for a moment or two. Obi-wan had suggested Anakin find a pretty senator to charm and Anakin had mumbled something about not actually knowing the steps into the rim of his glass.

“Fighting is another form of dance, and dancing can be another form of fighting. Never underestimate the usefulness of a good dance in politics.”

“Alright master, next time we see Grievous I’ll offer my hand to him for a waltz.”

This earns a genuine bark of laughter from Obi-wan, surprising them both, and Anakin doesn’t even try to hide his smug grin. Obi-wan turns to him, setting his wine down on the nearest table and offering a hand out to the man. “Come on, then. It’s not hard.”

Anakin’s eyes widen almost comically, gawking at Obi-wan like he had just suggested they fly blindfolded through an asteroid field. “Here? Right now?” He looks around self-consciously.

“It’s a good time as any, and if we’re to go on future missions like this, I will not have you kark up negotiations just because no one ever taught you how to dance. Now, come.”

“Language, master.”

He levels Anakin with a stern glare, giving a come-hither motion with his hands, and watches with pure amusement as the man steps closer. Anakin holds his hands out in front of him, glancing over at the crowd to find an example of what he should be doing, where they should go. Obi-wan takes his mech-hand and rests it on his lower back, grabbing the other hand in his right and holding it up in the air, letting his left settle on the firm corner of Anakin’s shoulder.

They’re awfully close.

“So I’m going to step backwards with my left and you step forward with your right-- yes, just so-- and then it’s just like walking, right, left, right, and then I’ll step backwards with my right and you-- precisely .” They both chuckle when Anakin manages to step on his feet a few times, but always a quick learner, he picks up the steps after a few minutes of practice. However, Anakin’s upper body is terribly rigid and all wrong.

“You’re learning a dance, Anakin, not combat training, loosen up.” He leans into Anakin’s space, a giant shit-eating grin on his face. He can tell how bewildered Anakin is. Obi-wan doesn’t know if it’s truly the wine or the fact that he’s dancing with a man that he should not be in love with. “Try to woo me.”

Anakin stills, gaping at him, the faintest blush tinging his cheeks, barely visible on his naturally tan face. For once, he doesn’t have a clever comeback. “I have been.”

“Not with this posture, you haven’t been. Listen, slide your hand down a little farther and hold your shoulders up, and for forcesake, Anakin, relax .”

Anakin ignores him. “Trying to woo you, I mean.” He swallows the spit in his mouth, still staring at Obi-wan’s face, not moving his hands or shoulders at all.

Everything in Obi-wan tenses, unsure of the seriousness of his statement, and he steps away from Anakin, aware of the residual heat lingering where Anakin’s hands had been. The entire room narrows down to the press of the floor into his feet, the way the belt of his pants sits a little too tight, the scratchy hem of his shirt collar, the faint prickle of sweat on his brow.

He looks so eager, so intent, and Obi-wan knows he’s being truthful. What that means for the both of them is a different matter entirely; there will be the council to deal with, the war, force, this is hardly the time to start a relationship, especially with another Jedi- Anakin, of all people. Obi-wan forces the anxiety down, neatly shutting it away in a box to be dealt with later. With it gone, hope, optimism, euphoria blooms in his heart, a whole bouquet of joy growing into a meadow in the hollow of his chest.

With more courage than he thought he had, he offers out a hand.

“As have I,” he says. “Care to dance?”

Obi-wan has seen the man take on armies, a Sith, the council’s discipline with a grin on his face- the Hero With No Fear - but right now, Anakin is staring at the hand hovering in the air between them with the fear of death in his eyes.

Anakin takes his hand gingerly, leads them out onto the floor near the edge of the dancers, and Obi-wan gazes at where their hands meet, following the line up Anakin’s arm to his strong shoulders, the back of his neck, his dark curls. He’s quite caught off guard when Anakin turns to meet him, drawing him in close and waiting a beat before pulling Obi-wan into the rhythm of the waltz.

Everything is a blur, and Obi-wan feels like he’s floating, feet moving in time to the cadence of his own heart. Distantly, he catches brilliantly colored swatches of fabric, open smiles, and rare pearls of genuine laughter from the crowd swirling around him. There’s no time to think about how he and Anakin must look and what will get back to the council, so Obi-wan simply moves, letting himself be washed in the radiance of his dance partner, soaking in the happiness bleeding across their bond. Emotion swells in his chest as he glides, and he finds himself inching closer to Anakin with each step, until they’re flushed together, chest to chest.

They move together as if they are one person, drifting across the floor seamlessly. This is better than joint meditation, better than sparring, better than fighting off enemies back to back, because Anakin is so close to him, and Obi-wan can study the grooves of his face, the gleam in his eyes, the fullness of his lips. They’re both a little out of breath from the quick steps of the dance, and Anakin’s cheeks are tinted red.

He looks so beautiful like this.

When the song ends and the crowd slows to a stop, Obi-wan holds onto Anakin, who is staring down at him, something tender in his eyes.

“Have you been properly wooed, master?” Anakin asks gently, teasing.

Instead of answering, Obi-wan surprises them both and leans in to press a chaste kiss on Anakin’s lips, pulling away before Anakin has time to respond.

“I’m not sure I have sufficient data on the matter. Another dance would surely help me decide if you’ve done it properly or not.” Obi-wan schools a fake look of contemplation on his face, and if his hands were free he’d be running fingers across his beard.

Anakin rolls his eyes.

“Six years of trying and you still need another dance.”

“You’ve had feelings for me for six years?”

“Pining for six years and another dance, unfortunately.”

“Careful not to step on my toes then during this next one then, we can always make it seven years and counting.”

“ Master.”

“I’m only kidding.” Obi-wan tightens his grip on Anakin, leaning into him a little bit, reveling in the way Anakin’s eyes dip down to his mouth and back. “I promise I’ve been properly wooed .”

Anakin’s smile is blinding.

[sasorikigai]

❛  what  can  i  say  to  make  it  better ?  ❜ (for Kuai, either verse)

𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑺 . || @sonxflight || accepting

📝 || His weight disburses into the couch, the dissipation of his physical exertion also sinking in its place with such irresistible gravity. Taut tension of his muscles and his exhaustion of before melts away with the familiar comfort of Ryou Sakai’s pillar-like presence. The nerve-grating shake of the earth and walls are gradually diminishing beneath the perturbed psyche as Kuai Liang quickly realizes that all of his being seems intact, lest the scurrying tumble had painted in grimes and squelches of numerous cuts and bruises, although nothing constitutes anything too serious. Despite harboring the stagnant motionless of winter’s eternal stillness, Kuai Liang’s hear throbs and fibrillates with deep-permeated pain and agony, breathing iron and ferrous rust beneath the long-withered and wilted strength. 

If it weren’t for Ryou’s anchoring grasp of his lean shoulders, offering tranquil calm and peace of mind, he would have long been drifted away; floating, slipping, faded away beneath the thickened obfuscated clouds as he would tumble and shatter, with no one to save the day. How the fathomless depths of his hollow gaze remains darkly succulent, desperate and yearning in wanton affection. The tighter the wire of his constricting world becomes, as it twists and turns, he would sink deeper and further into the abysmal hollow as he would withdraw and become reticent.

The walls of his compact office begins to thrum, and he wants all the barrage of emotions gnawing his chest to discharge, lest he continues to bleed. In seeking justice for all the injustice and wrong criminality in the world, the Special Crime Investigator had lost the semblance of his own being, his own existence. With his head far gone into the realms of supernaturality, where wicked evil lay in the forms of mangled corpses with the stages of decay and rot perpetuating all his five senses, he had lost more than a fragment of his proverbial self.

Perhaps that was what he was destined to become; the intangibility of ripped colors and shapes, as the virulent toxicity of his subconscious would metastasize in the pit of his stomach and lungs, as copious slick of his seat glues his flesh to his tattered shit and ripped trousers. It is another one of his private carnage exercised in the throes of deep slumber, and Kuai Liang knows, as he adheres to his beloved’s all-encompassing embrace that even this tranquil comforting solace is a fleeting sensation, one of the only tangible manifestations he could grasp onto as a reality, against the paramount nonexistence that plucks him away from what is all too tangible and magnetic.

“I just want to sleep through it all. Drown the sensation that I feel in these moments of unconsciousness is the closest thing to peace I have felt in all these months.” The spiraling darkness always have prevented him from resting his mind until he no longer cares, until he feels his body is no longer a part of this world. As his nose presses against the junction of Ryou Sakai’s chest, then the triad of his bewildered heart, the angry mind, and anguish-breathing lungs of his could finally let go of the ultimate duress that is his suffering. Lest he be pierced with anguish, would Kuai Liang seek to speak love, to let it be carved into his life and his dearly beloved’s life in the forms of tenderness, and still that ancient necessary pain preserve. “Would you join me, and be in the company of my repose? There is nothing else I desire, but a ubiquity of normalcy in my life.” 📝 ||