#i can barely summon up daydreams anymore :(

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Is England dominant? Personality-wise? Would he gell well with someone who is partially dominant as well?

Arthur strikes me as someone who is accustomed to being in a position of authority, and rarely has that authority questioned. Mind, he's more-or-less acclimated himself to less rigidity, but in professional settings he is a man who gives respect, and will only withdraw that respect if he's not given the same acknowledgement. In his personal life, I believe he is much more open to compromises. He admires someone who can challenge him, who treats him as an equal, who can charter whatever the ebb and flow between them. I think, in truth, that's why he and Francis are so close; their bickering is petty and ridiculous most days, but it is founded on love and respect. And while Arthur may not be in search of another partner who could fight with him till the cows come home, I do believe he's seeking out someone who isn't afraid to stand up for their values when needed, someone who is capable and loving, but most of all someone who can help carry him should the floodgates give way.

[phoenixthemenace]

Till Death

Day 26. Alt-"I can't "

That shift lasted an eternity, but Johnny and Roy somehow managed to make it through without breaking down. Johnny left without a word or a backward glance at Roy, who had hoped he could talk to him, or at least drive him to the shopping center where he was supposed to meet Mrs. Stanley and Mrs. DeSoto.

Only Johnny didn't know that Harriet had managed to get a flight and would be there too. The thought of his mom being there strangely comforted Roy.

"Aren't you coming too?" She'd asked when she phoned him at the station from his apartment.

"No mom. I can't." He said, voice barely able to leave his constricted throat.

"Why not?" She asked, surprised that he wouldn't be there to support his partner.

"Because we're through. I screwed up and we're through." He replied. "I'm too much like Sir."

The station was called out before she could reply.

"Hi Mrs. Cap." Johnny said as he approached his captain's wife and shopping companion for the day.

"Good morning Johnny." She reached up and kissed his cheek softly. He blushed bashfully.

"Thanks for helping me out. I…we…she'd probably appreciate your taste more than mine." He stammered, eyes on the ground.

"My pleasure sweetie." She said, "Now I believe Mrs. DeSoto-"

"Here! I'm here!" Harriet said breathlessly as she came up behind them. Johnny turned and found himself wrapped in a tender embrace.

"My dear, sweet boy." She murmured, and Johnny heard more than sympathy for the loss of his aunt. He wrapped his arms around the woman who, in his secret heart, in daydreams of his future with Roy, he'd hoped to call mom.

"How?"

"Luck. And a well connected fiancé." She said with a wink before turning to introduce herself to their other shopping companion.

"Johnny," Mrs. Stanley asked, "What did you have in mind?"

Shyly he held out a picture of his aunt in a blue dress.

"I always thought she looked like a movie star." He said, smiling wistfully, "I always made her twirl when she wore it."

"I think we can find something like that." Harriet said, "What about shoes and ah…under things?"

Johnny looked positively horrified, and the women laughed.

They were lucky and found precisely what Johnny wanted in no time. Harriet accompanied him to the mortuary to drop the clothes off. They kept the conversation light and pleasant.

Along with the new clothes, Johnny carried a bulky sack. They had a brief discussion with a kind older gentleman before handing over the garments. Johnny opened the other bag and held out the patchwork blanket.

"Can…can she be wrapped in this too?" He asked tentatively. "I don't want her to be cold."

And at that moment, they saw the little boy who would forever be waiting on a dirt road, watching for a rusty pickup that was never coming back.

Smiling gently, the man reassured Johnny that they would, and accepted the quilt as Harriet wiped her eyes.

"Johnny?"

He closed his eyes. They were parked at the shopping center next to her car, and now it was time for the inevitable questions.

"I don't know what happened, but can't you two work it out?" She asked gently. "He was so happy with you, and I believe you were too."

Johnny shook his head.

"I can't…I don't…I'm not sure if I can trust him anymore." He said, unconsciously rubbing his side. It wasn't painful, and the bruise was fading, but the memory was still vivid.

"Did he cheat?" Harriet asked, controlled fury in her voice.

"No. No, he loves me. That I know. And I love him. But…" Johnny stared sightless out the window.

"He said he was too much like his father."

Johnny closed his eyes tightly and bowed his head.

A tear crawled down his cheek.

The following morning, Roy told him that they still didn't know what had caused that young womans illness. Johnny made the required polite comments and the day ground torturously onward.

They were both worried when they were summoned to Rampart for a check up. Roy filled them in about the monkey, and reported later to Johnny that it was the carrier.

When Johnny told Roy he'd played with the monkey too, Roy was terrified by the look that crossed Johnny’s face.

Was that hope?

Johnny was dozing in a chair in the rec room, his thoughts lazing through his mind. Maybe getting the virus wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. At least then he wouldn't have to decide whether to transfer or leave the department entirely.

When Johnny was momentarily dizzy while he was preparing to go down the side of that building, he brushed it off as not having had lunch yet.

When he was on that scaffolding, fighting to remain conscious, knowing the cause, all he wanted was Roy. He tried to look up. He tried to call. Darkness rushed up and consumed him.

The moment Johnny toppled over, and his helmet dropped to the ground, it took Roy's stomach with it. He couldn't get down there fast enough. When he finally finally was able to get Johnny back onto that scaffolding he wanted to hold him, to wake him and heal him with kisses.

"I'm here, love. I'm here. I won't leave you." He murmured into Johnny’s ear as he positioned him to be hauled up the side of the building. As Johnny’s body rose slowly, he pleaded silently with whatever power was listening that Johnny would be okay.

When Roy was finally topside, he looked with yearning at Johnny, who was coming around, but forced himself to the side of the cardiac victim.

"Hey Roy?"

Please don't leave me.

"Yeah?"

I'm here, my love. I'm here.

"Man, I think-" He panted, "I think I got it."

I'm scared. I don't want to die. I want to grow old with you.

"Yeah." Roy said sadly. "Take it easy."

I'm here. Don't go. Grow old with me.

Roy could only watch in agony as Johnny drifted away again.

[simpingfortheages]

//YOU WANT SOMEWHERE TO SIT?//

Ms Venable x Fem Reader

(SMUT PACKED! CANING, DEGRADING,THIGH RIDING, EDGING, MANIPULATION, PRAISE)

Gallant and the reader seem too close to each other for Me Venable's liking. Something ignites in Ms Venable and she doesn't like it . Not. One. Bit.

~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~

Outpost 3 was a prison. It was the same damn routine everyday- wake up, get dressed,go to lunch and then join everyone in the common room. It's sickening but bareable. It's bareable only because of Gallant. Over the past 2 years we have become quite close to each other, if someone didn't know that Gallant was gay and I was a full blown lesbian . One would swear we were a couple.

Everyone was all currently gathering in the common room, either ready to read a book or simply gossip about the secret affair that has been taking place being the back of Ms Venable between the two greys. What did you expect? There's not much to do in this hellhole anyway . As I made my way towards the common room, I spotted Gallant, who was currently sitting on the couch talking to Coco about the next style he would like to try on her hair. I sauntered my way over and took a sat right in his lap, his hands automatically wrapping around my waist,not bothering to stop his conversation with Coco as my arm nestled upon the back of his shoulders. I unknowingly brought my hand up and played with Gallant's hair while I daydreamed about the leader of Outpost 3. Ms Venable. The intimidating, prestine,squared shoulders leader. She really is a sight for sore eyes, the way she carries herself is quite attractive. From her perfectly painted dark lips to the shape of her sharp eyebrows. The click of her cane the against the concrete floor doesn't fail to have a cold tingle run up my spine. Yes she scares me,I gay panic around her all the time that's why you would never catch me breaking her rules. Lost in my dazed state I failed to hear the click of her cane as she entered the dimly lit common room. "Ms Y/L/N, do you not know where the seats are located?" She seethed between her teeth. Out of shock I snapped out of my daydream and quirked an eyebrow in her direction, " I'm sorry What?" I asked. " I am sorry what Ms Venable" she corrected me with annoyance dripping in her voice. "Why are you sitting on Mr Gallant' s lap? Can't a daft moron such as yourself see that there are multiple areas elsewhere?" Ms Venable snapped. Her response stirred something inside if me. I didn't realise but I scoffed outloud at her question. " Ms Venable I don't see why it's such a problem I'm not breaking your rules. I am in the outpost, I referred to you as Ms Venable and Gallant's dick isn't inside me for us to make a baby." I snarled,not before mumbling silently ," not that I would want that anyway..."

Me Venable's hand tighten the grip she had atop her cane. I am pretty sure they were digging into her the skin of her palm ,leaving indents. Her chest rose with anger and the slight flare of her nostrils didn't go missed as well. Without hesitation she said 2 words, " bring her". I went without a fight as the Iron fist dragged me from Gallant's lap. Everyone was arguing and yelling, but no one dared to pull me from the Iron Fist's hands. That was a no no. It would result to them getting the same punishment as me. I couldn't help but whince at the thought of getting whipped I've seen the aftermath from Gallant's back. It was gruesome ,they took aleast 2 months to fully heal, but of course he still had the scars. I wasn't going to cry and give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she scared me. She was a sadist. An evil yet hot sadist,either way what she was doing is wrong. While being dragged, Ms Venable stopped and whispered some thing in the Iron Fist's ears to which the fist only grunted in reply. There was confusion painted on my face as we began to pass the Outpost's turn to head into the basement. Where was she taking me? Am I getting thrown out, all for sitting on Gallant's lap?? Fuck! Fuck! I closed my eyes tight in hopes that I passed out before they could do my anything . The only thing I felt was me and my dress being dragged across the dingy floor of the outpost. After a few minutes of being pulled by the Iron fist. I heard the opening of a wooden door,before I could register what was going on. I was roughly thrown against the ground. The adrenaline that was coarsing through my veins , numbed my fall. The door was slammed closed and locked???, she locked the door? Why'd she do that ?...momentarily I was lulled into a false sense of safety and lonliness, that was until I heard the click of her cane again. I struggled to get onto my feet since the wind was also knocked out of me. Ms Venable was making her way to sit behind her large oak wooden desk. I paid attention to my surroundings as i stood up...the realisation dawned on me . I was in her chamber, which was the furthest room for the common room. She could shoot me and the thick stones and great distance will also cover the sound. I was so fucked. There I was standing, infront Ms Venable,trying to dust off the dirt that accummulated on my dress.

The sound of my dress crinkling bounced off the concrete walls. Too intimidated to even look at her, when I was done. I just twiddle with my thumbs. Ms Venable peirced the silence in the air, " Come here." She snapped coldly. I swallowed thickly and moved turtle pace towards here. "Hurry up Ms Y/L/N" her voice now filled with impatience. I hastened my steps and stood on the opposite side of her desk. As I looked at her face, there was a scowl that made its way to her plump lips. "Not there. I meant here" she stated. Her sentence was accompanied with the movements of her gloved hands. She was gestering to the floor. I maneuvered my way around her desk and stood before her as she swivels her chair to face me. The distance was miniscule. My ruffled dress was now brushing against the material her clean dress. Ms Venable's growl was low and guteral. "On your knees." She commanded. I was shocked at her words "Excuse me?" I commented. "You heard me" she replied quickly. A nervous chuckle escaped my lips. Out of fear, I submitted I looked away from her gaze and proceeded to get on my knees. As I did so, Ms Venable parted her legs. I couldn't help but blush at the act, this however didn't go unnoticed by her. All for sudden Ms Venable grabbed hold of my wrist, digging her sharp manicured nails into my skin. She managed to rip small whimpered from me. "I know the truth Ms y/l/n . I see the way you react when I enter a room. How hot and bothered you are right now kneeling for me like the filthy slut you are." She stated in raspy voice . Not listening to her words I was consumed with embarrassment. She knows, she knows, she fucking knows! I tried to yank my wrist away from her grasp but her hold was stronger. She sunk her nails further into my skin. "Ahh please Ms Venable." I begged in a pathetic manner. "Hmmm this is new? Where has the big bad attitude gone." Ms Venable said with a smirk tattooed on her face. I stayed silent. "Strip." Was all she said. My eyes opened wide with at her words. Out of reflex I stumbled back murmuring the words no repeatedly. What the hell is happening? I needed to get out. She is insane. What was I thinking? Having a liking to this woman. I made quick notions to shift away from her, only for my actions to be stopped . She was stepping down on the back of my dress with her black boots. "And where do you think you are going?" She questioned in a condescending manner. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. My throat was parched. " your punishment didn't even start." My eyebrows knitted together in fear of what she has planned. I grabbed the back of my dress and yanked on it, freeing it from the soles of her boots. I bolted making my way to the door to escape I don't know where but I wanted to be anywhere. Just anywhere but here. The atmosphere was stifling and heavy, which made the air hard to breathe. " Oh my Ms y/l/n I won't just do that... we wouldn't want to have Mr Gallant's scars renewed. I am sure you remember how long to took for him to recover." My movements were halted,my back was facing her . I slowly released out a very audible shakey breathe. I turned around to look at Ms Venable,only to see her motioning me to come to her with her finger in a beckoning gesture. Unwillingly I made my way back to her,tears pickled in the corner of my eyes. " now strip" she recited once again. I faced the floor as I slowly began to unbutton the top buttons of my dress. "No i want you to look at me while you do it" she demanded. I summoned all the courage I had to meet her piercing brown eyes. She was taking my dignity and she knew it. She enjoyed seeing me crumble .When i was done, I stood in nothing but my underwear. I quickly covered my breast with hands,which Ms Venable didn't like. She yanked my hands away and shamelessly roamed her eyes all over my body.

"Hmmm" was all she said while biting her bottom lip. This felt like forever, like all of time stopped,dragging out this moment. " bend over my desk" Ms Venable said. I didn't even bother to rebel against her anymore. Just get it over with Y/N and I can lock this memory away. I slowly bent myself at the waist and pressed my breast against the cold desk. My hands rested beside my head against the bare desk . I squeezed my eyes closed once more trying to control my breathing. " you will get ten and for each one you will said please again Ms Venable." She said. Ten What??? I thought. Without thinking I nodded my head against the desk in confirmation to whatever she meant, she didn't like my lack of words so she grabbed the sides of my hips ,digging her nails once more into my skin. " Yes yes okay Ms Venable please I will" I cried out. She laughed lowly at my reaction. From the corner of my eyes I saw her grab her cane. "Wha- Ms Venable please that will hurt me, please not that"i pleaded. My cries fell on deaf ears. She didn't care. She flashed a smiled lipped smile at me.

*WHACK* the pain I felt on my rear was immense,my knees almost gave out at the sharp and lasting pain . Yet i managed to spit out the words " again-...ple-se Ms Venable". After 15 minutes of prolonged torture the tenth lash was bestowed upon me. My voice raspy and almost gone from pleading ..." thank you *sniffle*Ms *sniffle* Venable". Suddenly I felt a pair of hands groping my ass, massaging it in a pleasant way. I couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of both the pleasure and pain. My legs twitched at the feeling. " I know you liked it Y/N" she whispered. My breathe hitched at the fact that she used my first name. Ms Venable stood even closer behind me and pressed her entire clothed front fully on my ass. Ms Venable was grinding against me. A mewl escaped my lips at the feeling. " didn't you like it y/n?" She asked. To embarrassed by the truth, I shook my head no. Ms Venable yanked me by my hair causing my back to arch and my neck to tilt backwards. She then leaned over and pressed herself against my back. I could have felt how erect her nipples were through the fabric. She was getting off on this. "Don't you dare lie to me now my little one" she whispered into my ear,as she did so Ms Venable licked a strip up the cartilage of my ear. I shivered at the action. " The slick dripping from between your legs says otherwise."I could hear the smile in her tone. She roughly pushed my head forward causing my head to jerk forward . She returned to her chair and waited until I turned around to face her. "Come here little one" she said again. I began to kneel once more,only for her to say "No I meant here this time" . This time she was referring to her lap. The colour of pink covered my ears and my chest. I was flushed. With maintained intense eye contact Ms Venable rolled up her dress revealing her smooth shaved and toned legs. I could have seen her purple lace underwater peaking right at me, where she stopped her dress. "You want somewhere to sit ? You want to sit on someone's lap little one? Sit on mine." She scowled. With shaking legs I gently straddled her thighs. I hovered over her thighs with my knees holding me up in either side on her lap. Ms Venable found her hands on my hips and pulled my down onto her left thigh. I jumped at the contact. My clit was swollen and throbbing. I was heavily aroused. Out of reflex I tried to move, but Ms Venable didn't allow it. "No no little one" she cooed at me " you're gonna take it." She finished her sentence with a smile. I whimpered and nodded in reply.

The outpost leader began moving my hips against her thighs encouraging me to move. Out of desperation I started to grind against her thighs faster,ready to relieve the ache that she created. "Slow down my little one..." she tightened her hold on my hips making me slow my movements. " Hmmm that's it, ride me baby" my breathing got heavier as did hers. The smell of Ms.Venable' s perfume and my arousal that was currently coating her leg was the only scent that invaded my senses. It was intoxicating. A foreign feeling began to build in my lower stomach,my eyes were struggling to keep open as they were going to roll to the back of my head any moment. My hands held on to her shoulders to stable myself. "Mmm Ms Ven-ohh Ms Venable can hmm I cum?" I struggled to get out . "No" was all she said. " hold on a little longer. I enjoy seeing you like this" . My face twisted in pain and pleasure. The knots in my stomach was tightening, ready to burst at any second. Oh but Ms Venable knew that. She fed off of that. After 3 minutes I begged again,"please please oh fuck Ms Venable please can I??? can I cum for you?". "No you don't have my permission,but you are oh so close aren't you?" She mocked me. I sob in sexual frustration at her mockery. Ms Venable leaned her face closer to my ears and began nibbling at the tip. While her other hand was removed from my hip and found it's place on my erected nipple. She twisted and pulled until I watched against her." Break my rule you little slut. Break this one rule. Cum without My permission"she teased. I shook my head side to side . I was going to be good and show her. Ms Venable admired me for such an act. But she wanted to see me crumble. She removed her hand from my nipple and slowly made her hand reach my clit. Her talent slender finger, slid in between my folds with ease,applying pressure and rubbing me. I couldn't hold it back anymore. I came without her permission. She wanted that. She wanted me to break her rule. I soaked her thigh with my fluids. As i looked down I saw her remove her hand from my clit. I whimpered at the loss of contact. Her hand and my clit were still connected by a string of my arousal. Ms Venable locked eyes with me as she took her 2 fingers and sucked off my cum. I moaned at the sight. She then removed her fingers with a loud pop. After she did so, she took her same wet fingers that were now covered with some of my cum and some of her spit and held them up to my mouth. I parted my lips and I accepted her slender fingers. All the while keeping eye contact.

This was a distraction that she did. While I took her fingers into my mouth. Ms Venable lifted her thigh,pressing my clit directly to her thighs that were covered with my slick. I squealed at the sudden pressure on my already sensitive overestimulated clit. I tried to move away but she tore her fingers away from my mouth and returned her grip on my hips,"that's it baby take it,take your punishment like my good filthy slut" she praised. I nodded in response and proceed to grind against her thighs . It's didn't take me long to get worked up again. She could have seen that i was holding back. Feeling sorry for me this time," Cum all over me baby. I am here" she cooed softly. My back arched against her chest, my sensitive nipples rubbing against the front of her fabric. As i threw my head back, Ms Venables's lips found my neck. She sucked and bit my pulse point. I released and whimpered as i came the second time . She kept marking me as I came down from my high. I then rested my head in the crook of her neck as i tried to regulate my breathing. I almost dozed off if it wasn't for Ms Venable grabbing my face by my jaw. I looked at her with hooded eyes, her face milimeteres away. My lips were slightly parted as the warmth of each of our breathe were felt on our faces. Ms Venable then stuck her long tongue out and slowly licked my lips. I shuddered at the action. As I go to close the gap, the slim finger that was once coated with my arousal was press against my lips.. With confusion etched on my face, Ms Venable opened her lips and spoke," now will you sit on anyone else's lap?" She asked. "No Ms Venable "I replied . She smiled," who you belong too now?" She questioned. "I belong to You Ms Venable" I said with a voice thick with lust and tiredness. " that's my good girl." She praised me once more. Ms Venable then slowly removed her finger and leaned into kiss me. As we both did so, I couldn't help but repeat her words "....your good girl."

[rayshippouuchiha]

A Tobi/Naruto/Madara where Naruto is drunkenly reversed summoned to bridge the divide between the 2.

“They’re at it again,” Mito grumbles as she clutches her heavily doctored teacup, too irritated and done to bother brushing aside the tendrils of hair falling down from her buns to frame her face.

Hashirama, sake dish in hand, grunts in agreement, flinching minutely as the screaming and crashing in the Senju private training ground grows ever louder and more vicious.

He’s going to have to repair basically everything once one or both of the idiots finally get through throwing their respective tantrums.

“What’re they fighting about this time?” Mito asks.

“Honestly?” Hashirama drains his sake dish in one deep swallow.  “I’m not sure if even they know anymore.  I think it started with Tobirama saying something about going fishing and then Madara said something about Inarizushi and the next thing I know they were screaming and throwing chakra around.”

“By the Sage I wish they’d just fuck instead of resorting to this petty behavior,” Mito announces bluntly.

Hashirama just raises his now refilled dish in his wife’s direction in silent support and agreement, long used to the coarser aspects of her personality she only shows him in the privacy of their home.

There’s a moment of long, companionable silence between them, broken only by the shrieks and thundering crashes from outside.

“Wishful thinking,” Mito finally murmurs as she drains her teacup and reaches for one of Hashirama’s many sake bottles, no longer bothering to pretend.  “They’d never be able to get that close without it ending in a fight.”

“They need a babysitter,” Hashirama mutters, watching his wife down two entire bottles of sake in rapid succession without flinching.  Ah, the Uzumaki.  True wonders of the world that Clan.  He’ll be forever grateful that he married one who hadn’t felt the need to murder him in his sleep. Yet.  “A permanent one.  Thought about making it an S-class mission but there’s no one in the village who’d take it.  Or anyone besides the two of us who realistically could.”

“Babysitter indeed,” Mito scoffs as she clutches a third sake bottle to her chest.  “We need to find some idiot stubborn and strong enough to put up with both of them.  Someone who can bridg-”

Mito breaks off suddenly, sitting bolt upright from where she’d slowly begun to slump towards the table.

“Mito?” Hashirama blinks and stares at his wife who’s staring into the distance with a look of glee slowly beginning to dawn across her face.

Mito’s moving in the next second, sake bottle still clutched in one hand as the other sweeps out across the table, sending the the cups, papers, and tea setting sitting there flying across the room. Hashirama just raises his hands above his head to avoid to keep his sake from spilling and waits her out.

“Oh, it’s perfect,” Mito cackles, a truly disturbing grin splitting open her lovely face.  It reminds Hashirama of that truly painful but glorious week they’d spent in Hot Spring Country.  He still aches sometimes just thinking about it and Tobirama always looks vaguely nauseous and flees from his “perverted daydreaming expression”.

“Beloved?” Hashirama calls again.

“Go get me some of both the idiot’s blood,” Mito orders instead of answering as she pulls out the brush and ink kit she’s never without from the folds of her kimono.

“Yes dear,” Hashirama knows better than to argue.  Instead, sake dish still in hand, he ghosts out of the room and down the hall to Tobirama’s quarters.  He side steps the traps absently and makes his way towards Tobirama’s at home workdesk.  It’s the work of moments to rifle through one of the drawers and pull out two vials, both filled with blood and neatly labeled.

Madara would probably explode if he knew just how many samples of his blood, hair, and tissue Tobirama was storing.

Hashirama on the other hand is used to it by now.  Tobirama, his beloved brother, is a scientist and enjoys his experiments and research.  

When he makes it back to the sitting room it’s to find Mito balancing on one finger in the center of the table, sake bottle resting on the flat of her foot above her head as her free hand moves the brush across the wood with lightning quick but flawlessly steady motions.

Looks like he’ll have to replace this table too although he knows better than to say anything about it.

Instead he just sets the vials of blood down within her line of sight and flops back down onto one of the pillows.

“This’ll fix the little bastards,” Mito murmurs.

“You’re not banishing them to the shadow realm are you, dearest?” Hashirama feels the need to ask.  “Because we’ve talked about that.”

“Unfortunately, no, not this time,” Mito answers absently even as she switches hands smoothly, the sake bottle on her foot not even wavering.

Ah, what a woman.

“Then can I ask?” Hashirama prompts her.

“A bridge,” Mito tells him.  “If those two idiots can’t get along on their own and there’s no one in the village who can or would take them both on then I’ll simply have to find someone who can.”

Mito pushes up off of the table, body moving upright in a flurry of silk even as she catches her sake bottle absently in her free hand.  She drains it, tosses it aside, and then reaches for the vial of Madara’s blood.

She uses a finger to draw more seals with first his and then Tobirama’s blood in the center of the array.

“Someone strong enough to match them both,” Mito proclaims.  “And kind, loyal, and stubborn enough to actually bother doing it.”

“That’s a tall order,” Hashirama mutters.

“Which of course means it will probably have to be an Uzumaki,” Mito tells him as she bites down on her pinky hard enough to draw blood and adds only a single drop to one of the seals directly in the middle of the array.

“Probably the only real option from any of the Clans we know,” Hashirama agrees because it’s true.  Hashirama knows Tobirama well enough to know that’s true and Madara is an Uchiha and, well, that pretty much says it all.

Only an Uzumaki could deal with both of them at the same time.

“That should do it,” Mito announces, hands already moving through signs at a rapid pace and her chakra beginning to flare and pulse.  “Let’s meet the answer to our prayers, husband.”

Mito slams her palm into the center of the table and the room erupts into blinding light.

And then there’s only chakra.

It washes over the room like a golden wave, tinged with something that makes the hair on the back of Hashirama’s neck stand straight up.

He barely registers it when the shoji doors are practically ripped off of their tracks as Tobirama and Madara spill into the room together.

“Ow,” a voice, husky, warm, unfamiliar but obviously male, sounds out then.  “That hurt.  What’s the big idea?”

The smoke from the summons finally begins to clear and even Hashirama is taken aback by what he sees.

Sprawled out on the table in a mess of silk and spikey golden hair, is a man.

With golden skin bared by the gaping collar of the kimono tied shut with a Konoha headband, sky blue eyes that blink at all four of them in confusion, and rolling chakra that makes even Hashirama want to do a confusing mix of either cower or close his eyes and nap, he’s stunning.

“Who in the hells is this?” Madara is the first to break the silence and Hashirama���s more than a bit shocked to note the slightly breathless quality of his voice.

“I’m Naruto,” the man, Naruto, answers.  “Uzumaki Naruto.”

“Fishcake,” Tobirama murmurs, eyes not wavering from Naruto.

“Ridiculous,” Madara seems to agree.

“Maelstrom,” Naruto protests hotly, cheeks puffing out just a bit as he pushes himself up off of the table and gets directly in Madara and Tobirama’s space.  “Not fishcake!  And the only thing ridiculous is how stupid both of your hair is.”

Naruto reaches out a hand in both of their directions to yank fearlessly at their hair.

In the background Mito abruptly begins to cackle madly.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Chan Request!!

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Chan

Warnings: Language and Mature Content (Not really smut since the request didn’t seem to ask for it)

Genre: Idol AU

Request:

A/N: lots of people seemed interested in this one so...

When you woke-up that morning, you immediately reached out to the left on instinct, expecting contact with another sleeping form. It was your first sign that something was wrong, fingers ghosting through empty air, and you peeled your eyes open to confirm that Chan was already gone.

You grimaced at the faint flicker of irritation in the pit of your stomach because this was the third morning in a row in which Chan had left with no prior warning. The pattern was getting old.

Did he think you wouldn’t notice?

Of course you were bound to notice. Chan was supposed to be your partner. That invited a level of trust and transparency that simply couldn’t excuse these continued absences when you needed him. 

It didn’t used to be this way, especially at the beginning of your relationship. For the longest time, you had both tried to hide it from the rest of the group, especially knowing that your manager’s would disapprove, but it was hard to lie when Seungmin accidentally walked in on you and Chan with the latter’s cock down your throat.

Still, the honeymoon phase of your relationship lasted for a long time, and even when you had problems along the way, you and Chan always managed to work things out. 

It was the best part of your deep connection, but recognizing how distant he had grown lately made you reconsider everything. There was a point when you could hardly leave your bed without Chan finding a way to initiate something like getting each other off or managing a quickie with Chan’s hand placed over your mouth to keep your moans to a minimum. 

Frowning, you forced yourself to leave the lingering warmth of your bed sheets, squeezing your legs into skin-tight jeans, abandoned on the floor from when you had quickly thrown off your clothes before going to sleep last night.

It was another unpleasant reminder of Chan because after waiting hours for Chan to come home, you figured he had decided to spend the night at the studio. But you were vastly mistaken when he slunk into your room at around 4:00 in the morning, whispering a greeting to you after sliding under the sheets. You had slept more soundly once his arm was around your waist, deluding yourself into believing that you could forgive him for staying out so late.

Especially since Chan worked so hard to produce the songs that decorated your group’s track listings, and with the album deadline approaching for the end of the month, he was practically working himself into the ground, 

There was also very little time in his overcrowded schedule left for you, and that certainly didn’t bode well for how much you longed for Chan between your legs....

“Y/N! Breakfast is ready!”

“Coming,” you shouted back at the door, annoyed that someone had interrupted your daydream fantasies.

Especially since it was the closest you had been to Chan in weeks.

It was probably Jisung’s interruption since he insisted on being the annoying little brother you could rarely escape, but it wasn’t his fault that you were in such a bad mood. 

“Good morning,” he immediately chirped when you opened the door, gaze bright with mischief.

You grumbled a greeting in return to your bandmate. “Why are you on the girl’s side of the dorm?”

Jisung scoffed. “Oh, so Chan can have all the access he wants, but I’m the one scolded for just saying hello?”

You rolled your eyes at his tone. “Whatever. Who cooked this morning?”

“Felix did,” Jisung replied, and you perked up a bit knowing that one of your youngest group mates had taken the time to flex his impressive cooking skills - it had to be better than Changbin’s attempt at frying eggs.

“Let’s go,” you said, dragging a petulant Jisung behind you as you both sauntered down the staircase together, joining the others in the part of the house where everything opened up into the common area.

Your managers didn’t mind so much when you were all together in the shared space of the living room and kitchen, but that certainly didn’t stop unmitigated romps between your male and female colleagues.

Your group was a rarity in the music world: comprised of twelve members, including eight of the boys and three of your closest girl pals who had all agreed to audition with you on an unforgettable summer afternoon. 

The fact that you were all accepted into the same company, under the same group name, was even more of a blessing in disguise. You could always rely on them whenever you needed advice, and you had steadily grown closer to the rest of the guys over the years.

Next month marked your fifth-year anniversary (it concurred with your 1st-year anniversary with Chan), and your group was planning to release an album to celebrate, including some previously unreleased gems that Chan had kept hidden on his computer’s hard drive.

Everyone was excited, but the tension of trying to be the best and accomplish everything on time was always weighing heavily on all of your group mates’ shoulders.

Chan was, of course, taking it worst of all, and you were seething beneath the surface when you spotted him at the table sitting between Changbin and Hyunjin, eating breakfast with his eyes glued to his phone screen.

Why didn’t Chan ask you to come to breakfast with him?

“Y/N’s here,” Jisung announced, abandoning your side for his usual spot between Lisa and Sana.

Several of your group members mumbled greetings, but you were disappointed to discover that Chan hadn’t even looked up from his phone.

“Thanks, Felix,” you whispered when you sat down next to the blonde-haired singer, immediately peeling into the croissant that he served you.

“Is everyone coming to the studio later?” Minho asked, summoning your attention. “We need to go over the choreo one more time.”

Your muscles screamed in protest, but you reluctantly nodded your head. Meanwhile, Jisung let out an exaggerated groan at the thought of another six-hour practice.

“You need it the most,” Minho teased him, and you smiled at the good-natured jab between the two.

At the same time, you watched as Chan rose from his seat, depositing his plate into the sink. You rose to meet him halfway to the door where he stuffed his arms into the sleeves of his leather jacket.

“Chan, do you have plans tonight?” you sheepishly inquired, wincing when you realized how ridiculous it was for you to walk on eggshells around your boyfriend and group mate.

“Busy,” he grumbled, and he didn’t even bother to look in your direction on his way out the door.

Later on at practice, there was an obscene amount of sweat in places where it shouldn’t be, and you were just about tired of Chan’s constant criticism.

For the entirety of your dance practice, Chan had taken every opportunity to berate your group members for even the most minor of mistakes, including your own. 

“Y/N!” Chan barked, and you flinched at his harsh tone, sucking in deep breaths to satiate your demanding lungs. “We’ve been practicing this for weeks!”

It was the fifth time that he had stopped the song at the introduction of the chorus - the part where you were supposed to do a backflip into frame. 

Apparently, Chan thought that your form was sloppy, and you bit your tongue to snap back at him. Obviously, he couldn’t seem to comprehend that you were hurting, and he was forcing everyone to endure hour after hour of constant movement. 

“Get your head on straight!” Chan insisted, and for some peculiar reason, it wasn’t anger or frustration with Chan that had you pausing.

It was a far more heart-wrenching combination:

Sadness.

Bitterness.

Shame.

They bombarded you all at once, and you barely managed to swallow back the onset of tears before you were storming out of the practice room, ignoring Chan’s calls of your name.

It was instinctual for you to find refuge in the empty studio rooms on the top floor of your company building - where most people tended to avoid.

You could always find solace in the quiet between four walls, pressing down against the keys of the electric keyboard attached to the big, fancy computer monitor.

The same tedious note played over and over again, but it seemed like the perfect metaphor for your life at that moment.

Especially your relationship with Chan.

But the silence was never permanent, and you used the sleeve of your jacket to wipe away the fresh evidence of tears when you heard the door to the studio room opening.

You immediately turned around, heart-sinking in your chest when you realized that it was Changbin instead of Chan.

“Hey, Binnie,” you said, feeling his gaze on you as he entered the empty studio room.

“What happened earlier?” he asked, always blunt and straight to the point as he drug a chair closer to where you sat.

“Just frustration,” you said.

“With yourself?” Changbin asked, but his tone left much to be imagined, and you grinned at his astuteness.

“With Chan too.”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded - like it made perfect sense. “I can tell.”

“He’s been preoccupied with the album,” you said. “I get that it’s more important than me.”

“Hey!” Changbin protested. “You know that’s not true.”

His soft and sympathetic tone almost made you start crying afresh. “He doesn’t have time for me anymore.”

Changbin was quiet, studying you intently. “Chan gets wrapped up in what he’s doing too easily. It’s like this zone for him, and nothing else is allowed in that zone except for music and lyrics.”

“So, there’s no space for me?”

“I think there should be,” Changbin countered. “And you need to tell him that.”

You sighed at the thought of confronting Chan after everything that had happened earlier. “I don’t know...”

“Be honest with him, Y/N,” Changbin said, and he reached out to squeeze your hand in reassurance. “Everyone knows that Chan loves you more than anything.”

“He has a funny way of showing it,” you scoffed.

“So tell him that,” Changbin said - like it could be so simple.

Or....maybe it was?

That night, you knocked on Chan’s bedroom door twice before entering at his gentle inquiry.

“Hey,” you said, hesitating in the doorway.

“Y/N,” Chan said, and you were surprised to see him close the laptop screen, patting the empty spot next to you on the mattress. “Come here.”

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet into gear as they brought you to his bedside. “I didn’t want to bother you-”

“You’re not,” Chan said, and his gaze was chastened as he sighed. “Changbin talked to me earlier...”

“Of course he did,” you grumbled, planting yourself next to him.

“Yeah...” Chan trailed off again. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

You frowned. “For what exactly? Seems like I’m the one who got in the way. Guess you haven’t really needed me these past few weeks.”

“Are you kidding, Y/N?” Chan frowned, leaning up to kiss you suddenly and unexpectedly. “Of course I always need you.”

You could barely contain your smile, pulling apart to sigh happily at his reassurance. “It’s just...I know we have the album, but I thought we could still do the little things like we used to.”

Chan nodded, gaze contemplative. “I’ve been ignoring you without even realizing it.”

You allowed your eyes to fall. “And in practice today...”

“That was uncalled for,” Chan interrupted. “I should’ve never raised my voice. The stress I’m feeling shouldn’t punish everyone else...especially you.”

His tone was earnest, and you could feel your shoulders dropping with every word. “Changbin was the one who said I should talk to you.”

“He was right,” Chan said, leaning in closer again. “You can always come to me, yeah?”

“I really didn’t feel like I could,” you admitted.

“Then that’s my fault,” Chan said. “It’s something I need to work on cuz’ we’re in this together, Y/N.

He smiled then. “You aren’t getting rid of me anytime soon.”

You giggled at his teasing. “I can’t help it that I like you so much.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Chan whispered, eyelids drooping when he watched you move your hand against his thigh, coming to rest at the interesting outline at the front of his sweatpants.

“I’ve also really needed you.”

“Are you gonna put me in my place, love?” Chan asked, and you hated the arrogant smirk taunting you just as much as your shameless act of groping his cock through the front of his pants.

“Yeah,” you grinned. “I can do that for you.”

It took less than a second for Chan to roll over top of you, grinning in a self-satisfied way as he slowly pulled your shorts and panties down your thighs. 

You watched him with a contented groan as he threw them into the floor, parting your thighs to make room for him. Closing your eyes at the first swipe of his tongue against your slit, searching for a familiar mess of curls through a narrowed line. “I’ll make it all better, love,” Chan promised, and your fingers shot out to find purchase against his strong shoulders, arching your back at the promise of a night you couldn’t possibly forget.

[amor-immortalem]

Everything Undesired

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: dead dove: do not eat, heavily implied rape, gross misuse of a pact, dissociation victim blaming

Summary: not all pact masters use their pacts judiciously or in a positive way. What happens when a pact is misused in one of the worst ways possible?

A/N: so a while back I did a comic by the name of ‘Meet Me Under the Azaleas’ I’m no longer happy with the writing I put into it originally so I wanted to rewrite it using the same plot line and adding some extra scenes that weren’t in the original comic which I’ll be taking down tonight. It should work better as a fic anyway.

Chapter 1

“You are ours. We own you.”

Those words rang in his head over and over as he stumbled his way into his room, overstimulated, exhausted- a mess. He knew it was a mistake to answer the call of those witches tonight. The thoughts of what they did, how their hands ran over his body, what they had taken away. It made his stomach churn and tie itself in knots with guilt and shame. It burned just the same as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles- wounds that would heal within the hour.

“You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone- this we command of you, Avatar of Greed.”

Those women -no, they were monsters- abused the innate trust that comes with a demon who enters a pact with a human, multiple in this case. They had violated the boundaries he’d put in place the day he started dating his human. Oh God, what would she think if word ever got out? He had no way of speaking out- to scream the truth until his voice was raw.

He needed to shower, to get the stench of sex and sweat off of him. He had to get their scent off of him. As he entered the bathroom, Mammon tore off his clothes as he started the water. The lights remained off as he couldn’t bare to look at himself after what happened. Not after how he just let them use him like that.

He stepped under the boiling water and just let it run against him. The falling water did nothing to drown out the deafening voices running rampant in his mind.

“Disgusting!” They roared, “Useless! Pathetic! Weak! Whore! ….. Scum!”

He falls to the floor of his shower, hands gripping at his hair as he let out a whimper that eventually turned into quiet sobs. The steamy air making it harder to breathe. Why didn’t he fight against them harder- against their orders. No, he just laid there and took it.

He grabbed the soap and a wash rag and scrubbed his body until every bit of him was raw and even then he wouldn’t stop. It was only when he saw the blood swirling around the drain that Mammon realized what he was doing to himself- how bad the water burned the exposed skin. It felt like hellfire raining down upon him.

He felt horrible as he reached up and switched the water off. He could still hear it in his head as he reached for a towel- all the crying, screaming, begging for them to stop.

He was a pathetic, sorry excuse of a demon, he thinks as he wraps the towel around his waist and travels down the his stairs quietly. It’s early morning now. There was only a few hours left before he would have wake up for school. He contemplated just skipping the entire day. There would be know way he’d be able to function. He could always say he feels sick- its not that far from the truth. He would decide in a few hours, he thought as he crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for her to move closer to him. His naturally warmer body temperature was what drew her to him. His body involuntarily tensing as she nuzzled into his chest, arms slipping around his body. He would only tuck her head under his chin and drape and arm over her side as he let the scent of her shampoo relax him enough to fall into a light sleep.

After a short while, someone's alarm blared among the sheets- whether it his or Arella's, he couldn't be sure. Mammon patted around for the offending phone, just wanting to get five more minutes of shut eye. He eventually succeeded but not without waking his partner.

"Morning, Love," Arella sighed, her voice still laced with the grogginess of sleep.

"Mornin', Treasure," The demon yawns as he curls back up, pulling her closer to his chest. "Sleep well?"

"I did. What time you get back last night?" Arella's voice is soft as her hand slides under his shirt, rubbing gently along his side.

"5 this mornin'." He says as he tries to hide the way his body recoils from her touch, a pang of guilt strikes his heart as she notices. "Sorry... 'm not really feelin' all that great right now..."

"No, that's alright." She removes her hand from his side, choosing instead to rest it against his cheek as she readjusts herself so she's eye-level with him on the pillow. "How selfish of those witches to keep you out so late on a school night..." Its at this point she notices the puffiness and how red his eyes are. "You look like you've been crying... Is everything alright?"

He just shakes his head. Mammon wants so badly to tell her what happened to him the night before- the real reason he got home so late, but unsurprisingly, no words come out. He just closes his eyes, letting himself relax under her gentle touch. "I'm jus' really tired s'all."

"I believe it. You only got a hour and a half's worth of sleep. Would you like to just stay home all day, just the two of us?" Arella moves him so he's resting with his head on her chest.

"That's sounds.... nice," he hums quietly, so close to falling back into the clutches of sleep.

"Alright then. Go on and go back to sleep," She kisses the top of his head, carding her fingers through the soft, fluffy locks the other hand rubbing small circles in the center of his back. "I've got you."

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

This carried on for months. The witches would summon him and as long as he complied with their wishes, they would hold his secret. By the third time, he would check out- let his mind escape to anywhere but the present until it was over. It became a vicious cycle. They would call, he would go to them, and then he would crawl into his bed for maybe an hour or two before forcing himself to get up for classes that he often fell asleep in. After the tenth, once they had finished with him, he asked why they were doing this and they told him.

“We desire something to bind you to us for the rest of our lives.”

“A child.”

The demon’s eyes widened at that. Never in his life had he been so opposed to the idea of having children. In fact, just before all of this happened he had been daydreaming about what his children with Arella would look like if they were ever so fortunate to have any but a child with one of the witches? It made him sick. A half-demon born from a demon of his status had a high probability of killing its mother- one who he would then have to raise. How could he explain that to his brothers- to Arella? The very thought filled him with dread. How could he ever bring himself to care for a child conceived from a crime? A child that would always be nothing but a constant reminder of the worst nights of his life. They didn’t deserve a life like that.

And so Mammon did the only thing he could think to do: he fled. He ran back to the Devildom, back to House of Lamentation as fast a his legs would carry him. He crashed through the doors of the house. Never had he been so greatful to be the first one home. As he climbed the steps up to his room he vowed to himself never again. He wouldn’t give them what they wanted, consequences be damned.

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

It had been six months since his last encounter with the witches. There was nothing on their end- absolute radio silence. Part of Mammon wondered if they'd gotten what they wanted from him after all. Everyday was filled with the anxiety of not knowing. His nightmares had gotten worse. Most of them were based around those nights he'd spent with them, others involved everyone finding out a one-sided version of what had happened, all spun in the favor of the witches. He dreamed of Arella leaving him, heart-broken from the implication that he would stray from her and running into the arms of one of his brothers. The worst ones- the ones he would wake up from covered in a cold sweat in the dead of night- consisted of him standing in the witches' home, the sounds of screaming, the smell of blood, the piercing first cries somewhere between the call of a demon and the screams of a human baby infecting his senses. It all felt too real. It felt like a crushing weight on his chest.

Over this time, Mammon had grown distant from both his brothers and Arella, hardly spending anytime with them. He fell apart. The grades he worked so hard to pull up had taken a nose dive, he was hardly eating- choosing only to consume just barely enough to sustain himself. He no longer slept for fear of the nightmares and he instead threw himself into side jobs that would keep him out of the house well passed curfew as well as earn him plentiful amounts of grimm. He couldn't go on like this much longer.

Everyone was worried for him. None of them had ever seen the Avatar of Greed in this manner and the gradual change in his demeanor alarmed them. Despite everyone’s best attempts, Mammon hardly smiled anymore. He just simply didn't seem to enjoy all of the things he once did. They all knew something was wrong but when asked the white haired demon would shrug it off, say he was fine when he very obviously was not. Everything came to a head the night Mammon collapsed, finally falling victim to exhaustion and hunger.

It was after this that Lucifer called the family to a meeting while Arella sat with Mammon in his room as he slept fitfully.

"What do we do, Lucifer?" Asmo seemed distraught with fear. "Our brother is suffering from something and we don't even know where to start in trying to help him."

"We have to get him to talk somehow," Satan quipped, "Perhaps Arella can-"

"If this were any other situation, I would suggest it but right now, I don't think that's a very wise move. If she forces him to talk it could very well damage the bond they share." For the first time in thousands of years, Lucifer didn't know what to do. Whatever was causing this shift in personality was eating away at Mammon. "We'll try to think of a way to fix this- to find out what happened to our dear brother. So let's start at the beginning of all of this. What do we know about what he was doing before this happened?"

"Well, Levi started, "He was getting called up by those witch sisters with more and more frequently. I heard him come home super late- like early morning hours late..."

"And after that is when he practically stopped eating." Beel chimed in.

"And he was having nightmares almost nightly, afterwards." Belphie nodded. "I did my best with my powers to look into them but there were so many mental blocks that he subconsciously put up, I couldn't see or hear anything very well and what I could see didn't make a whole lot of sense. They weren't very clear, but they had something to do with the witches... and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt associated with them."

"Then obviously something happened while he was with them," Satan said, brow furrowed. "But what that may be, we won't know until he talks."

"Asmo, I see the look on your face." Lucifer called out to the Avatar of Lust. "Is there something, you'd like share with the group?"

Everyone's eyes were locked onto Asmodeus as the demon sat with a contemplative look on his face. He was very slowly starting to piece together what had been going on.

"Not yet, but I may have a hunch." He finally said. "Mammon has a pact with these women, correct?"

Next

Masterlist 2

[septicace-writes]

The price

Summary: Billy Lee demands a price for letting Mike fuck you. A continuation to Loophole

Genre: Smut. Oh my god so much smut

Warnings: slight somnophilia, maybe dubcon, overstimulation, multiple orgasms

a/N: Everyone say thank you to @bitxhinthecomments whose comment motivated me to continue this a bit further and, as requested, with more Billy Lee!

1.9k words

There are four rules for the arrangement:

1. Only on your command does Mike enter your bed.

2. If he ever leaves you unsatisfied the arrangement is over.

3. If Billy returns Mike is to leave immediately, no matter what you are doing.

And the fourth you don’t learn until Billy Lee returns from his next trip.

Hey dove did you miss me? He gently wakes you in the dead of night after being gone for two days. Was Mike good to you?

He was comes out in a whisper. You’re almost worried to admit just how good. Billy Lee may have agreed to the arrangement, but he is still territorial and will see Mike as a rival.

Good He smiles but there is something lingering behind his eyes; a reckoning still to come. Rest. You will need it. And with that he slides into the bed behind you, locking his arms around your waist in an iron grip. You wait, expecting something else to follow, but within minutes his breathing evens out and you allow yourself to let sleep reclaim your consciousness.

You wake with a gasp, an orgasm washing over you in a warm wave. Billy Lee still has his chest pressed to your back, one hand kneading a breast while the other is between your legs. He is grinding his length into your ass but stills all movement when he notices you’re awake.

Good morning, dove. His voice low, sleep-raspy sounds in your ear. You want to tell me more about your days with Mike?

Not really you think, but know that resistance is pointless. It’ll only make him more jealous, even though he is the one that unequivocally owns you. It was good. There’s not much to say. You turn in his arms, reaching your lips out for a kiss but he pulls away.

Oh isn’t there? Answer me just this then: How many times did he make you come? You consider lying for just a second, but Billy Lee has never once bought a falsehood from your lips, so you answer truthfully. Five. And that gets an incredulous laugh. In two days?? Dove you must’ve been desperate. Maybe we should do some denial training. Get you a chastity belt maybe? He laughs again at how your eyes widen. But that won’t be today. Today, you pay your price. He strokes a hand over your cheek but it does not feel comforting.

Come here little dove He pulls your head into his chest, hugging you tight while snaking his hand back where your thighs are still covered in slick. Two fingers slide in easily, pumping in and out slowly, languidly, scissoring you open. Then he adds a third, the stretch burning a little but all your whines and whimpers are caught in his chest. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing at the same pace of his fingers. It is torturously slow, but the coil in your core still tightens. You’re just about to start begging when he suddenly gives a few hard thrusts, pushing you over the edge. You stifle a scream by biting his chest. As you’re still riding out your second orgasm, he speeds up his hand with a growl, not leaving any other option but coming again. The sensation washes over you, your back arched and hips bucking as he forces you through it, his strokes returning to a slower motion.

Billy please you hiss once you get some of your bearings back. You try to push his hand away from your now oversensitive area but he is way too strong against your weakened arms. With a growl of I don’t think so he grabs both your wrists in one big hand, the other unrelentingly keeping its pace. He shifts his weight, hovering above you now, your hands pinned above your head. He gives you a smirk before descending on your chest, his lips enclosing one of your stiffened nipples. He nips and sucks, lavishing his tongue over the sensitive area. He continues his assault, switching between both breasts, sucking, licking, biting his way across and back leaving you absolutely breathless and panting. Your oversensitivity all but forgotten.

When he feels your walls fluttering around his fingers once again he smirks against your skin before removing his hand from your slick centre. You are already too fucked out to chase after him, but he is not yet finished with you. He shifts again, releasing your hands with a warning look that tells you to keep them where they are. The price he starts marking a trail down your belly, speaking between kisses and bites The price is that whenever I return, on that day you gasp as his teeth graze an especially sensitive spot I will give you twice the orgasms you got from Mike while I was gone.

You barely have time to process his words when his mouth descends on your clit, setting a harsh pace of sucking and licking with the occasional graze of teeth against the swollen nub. Your hands fly up in defence, everything in you screaming to get away from the overstimulation, but you catch yourself with a whimper and move them back above your head. You’re unsure if your hips are bucking into the sensation or trying to pull away, but Billy Lee doesn’t seem to care so it doesn’t matter. He eats you out like a man depraved, plunging you into another orgasm with the first slide of his tongue into your hole. Your hands fist the sheets as you need all the self-control you can muster to not grab and pull at his hair. His ministrations continue, making you come two more times before he comes up for air.

He sits back for a moment, kneeling between your legs, taking in the view of you - completely dazed out from too many orgasms. Your lids are half closed from exhaustion, but in your view you can perfectly see his thick cock standing proud between his legs. Even in your fucked out state your mouth waters at the thought of it inside you, something you’ve been well-conditioned to always welcome.

Eyes up here dove you snap out of your daydream, opening your eyes fully to meet Billy Lee’s blue gaze. Hope you’ve been keeping count, we wouldn’t want to have to start over do we? Oh shit. You do your best to reconstruct the last however long he’s had you here now and try to count your orgasms through the haze. I think­- There is a cruel glint in his complexion. He loves seeing you writhe like a fish on a hook, relishes in the look of panic in your eyes. He takes it in for a few more moments before offering relief. I was just joking little girl. You’ve got three more to go today. But next time, I will make you count. You nod, grateful he wasn’t in too unforgiving a mood today.

Come up here he pats his knee. I know I said I’ll give you those orgasms, but I think it’s only fair you do a little bit of the work. You scramble up, the moment of conversation gave you enough of a breather to regain some control, but you can already feel the exhaustion from too many consecutive orgasms settle in. Billy Lee guides one of your hands to his cock, giving it a few strokes before settling back and letting you sort yourself.

You lift yourself up on your knees, holding his cock steady with your hand before slowly sinking down. The usual stretch is significantly lessened by just how slicked up you are but it is still an overwhelming sensation. Taking deep breaths and keeping yourself steady you get about halfway down before Billy Lee bottoms out with one rough thrust of his hips. He finds a firm grip on your hips and pulls you down even further, holding himself in you. Small cries leave your lips at the feeling of being so overwhelmingly full, but Billy Lee isn’t unaffected either. Resting your hands on his shoulders you take a good look at his face. His lips are turned into a slight snarl, twitching when you ever so slightly roll your hips. Once you’ve both adjusted to the feeling, he releases your hips. Go on then, dove, work for it.

You summon what strength is left in your thighs and slowly start riding the man beneath you. His lips twist into a satisfied grin and a groan escapes him when you dig your nails into his shoulders. You were hoping to go slow, to get a little revenge by teasing him, but your body is so taught and desperate that you quickly pick up your pace. Gliding a hand down Billy Lee’s torso you find your own centre and start rubbing your clit. The sensation makes your walls flutter which gets another drawn-out, low growl from Billy Lee. He stares at you appreciatively, drinking in the sight and licking his lips when you perform a particularly deep circle with your hips.

Your pace falters as your near another orgasm, but instead of grabbing your hips again to help you, Billy Lee places a single hand around your throat Work. For. It. Gritted through his teeth. He watches you struggle with a half a grin and a cocked eyebrow that tells you stopping is not an option. As you grind and circle your hips, legs threatening to give out, he increases the pressure on your neck in just the right moment to send you over the edge with a choked out scream. Your vision goes black for a moment and you collapse forward just to get caught by Billy Lee’s strong torso.

Not quite yet little girl he chides and begins to thrust into you, setting a brutal pace with no regard to you being able to catch your breath. It’s all you can do to cling onto him, letting out a never-ending stream of wanton moans, gasps and yelps. You bite into the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder and that makes him rut into you even faster – your body barely able to react anymore as the next orgasm washes over you. You’ve almost gone slack above him but Billy Lee is nothing if not consistent with his rules, so he turns you both around, caging you underneath him. Your arms still wrapped around him but with no strength left to really hold on.

He pauses his thrusts just to growl Come on little dove. Just one more and you’ll have paid your penance. And then reclaims his pace. And then reclaims his pace. You’re nothing but a fucked out doll under him as he fucks into you, his hand finding your clit once again and rubbing furiously. Moments later, you feel him start to spill, painting your walls in his thick white liquid as he forces one last orgasm from your tired body.

You lay there, covered in sweat and tears, your own slick spread along your thighs while his seeps out between your legs. Billy Lee rolls over to grab for an old discarded tshirt and wipes the worst of it off. Remember this next time I’m gone. Everything has a price. Is the last thing you hear before unconsciousness takes you.

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, jealous!vincenzo, Jealousy

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @trynatalktou FOR BEING THE BEST BETA I COULD’VE ASKED FOR. THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO HER!

Summary: Time stops, or so it seems. Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea.

listen to this spotify playlist while reading if you want to suffer

Cha-young doesn’t dream that night; she barely sleeps 5 hours before she finds herself knocking on Vincenzo’s door at 6 am. She can’t help it, being in a room just underneath his, so close after all those years apart. Yet, she doesn’t want to show him mercy. She’s here to torment him, the way his absence had tormented her for years. Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe she probably shouldn’t seek him out first, or at all. 

In reality, Cha-young knows damn well that she’s trying to find an excuse to be with him, not that she would ever admit it to anyone. 

So there she is, pounding on his door at 6 in the morning. He stands there, wearing one of his expensive pyjama sets, dark circles sitting under his eyes. She can’t quite tell if she’d woken him up or if he hadn’t slept yet.

“Did you even love me?”, she greets him. Good morning is overrated anyway. 

He sighs, letting her through. “You know that.” 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything anymore, Vincenzo.”

She stops in her tracks, the world suddenly spinning around her. He’s standing behind her, a mere arm length away. She’s stuck in his gravitational pull, a planet orbiting around its sun. The sharp sensation of her nails digging into her palms is enough to get her moving. She sits on the couch, the same one she’d sat in just a few hours ago. 

“I did. I do.” He clears his throat, looking away. “Love you, I mean.” 

She nibbles on her lower lip, trying (and failing miserably) to ignore his use of the present tense. He loves her, still. She shakes her head. 

“Well, you seemed to be living well without me.”, her expression turns sour. Was it love to hope he’d grieved her loss as much as she had grieved his? 

Vincenzo finally settles in the chair facing her, running a hand through his hair. “There was a point where I wasn’t sure… I wasn’t sure if I would make it.” He winces. “During that time, my only salvation was knowing each day brought me closer to death.” He looks at her, gaze so intense it pierces right through her heart. 

She scoffs, “And I’m the dramatic one, huh?” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and suddenly they’re back where they first started, complicit smiles and knowing looks - them against the world. 

“Coffee?” he asks, eager to keep up the pleasant atmosphere. There’s still a lot that needs to be said, but she relaxes her shoulders, welcoming the lighter turn their conversation is taking. 

“Yes, please.” 

He busies himself with the instant coffee, that same yellow brand he’d gotten hooked up on while they worked together. “So what have you been up to, exactly?” 

“Jipuragi Law Firm just opened a new office in Busan, things are going well. It’s nice, we get to help people who need it. Probably not as exciting as being in a mafia war or whatever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he gives her a cup of coffee and sits down next to her on the couch. There’s a safe distance between them, but there’s no point trying to shush the deafening beat of her heart. “Your father would be proud of you, Cha-young-ah.”

“You think?”, she sips on her coffee. She looks up from her mug, only to find him examining her face. His lips curl in a soft grin, and Cha-young thinks that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad if she kissed it. 

The loud ringtone startles her out of the daydream, and she’s not sure if she’s supposed to be annoyed or thankful. She picks up the phone. “Mmh. Okay. See you soon,” she drags out the last word, using the endearing tone she reserved for those closest to her. Mr. Kwon, her assistant, was asking her to eat breakfast with the team. 

“I have to go.”, she tells him, getting up from the couch. 

He takes her mug from her, “I didn’t realise you were here with someone.” 

She hears it loud and clear, in the way he fakes nonchalance and keeps his voice cautious. He’s asking her if she’s with someone and part of her wants to reassure him that No. There is no one else beside you. But then she thinks of the countless times where she’d cried herself to sleep, memories of them echoing into her mind and his absence carving a hole into her heart, and she can’t help herself. He had wounded her fatally and it was her turn to injure him. 

“Mmh.”, she’s not lying, technically. She’s there with someone, with people actually, just not in the way he means. 

Time stops, or so it seems.Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea. 

The empty mug drops to the ground and the spell is broken. Brought back to life, Vincenzo collects the shattered pieces of the cup, and of his heart, too. “Is he a good person?”. Unlike me, he means. 

Cha-young has to remind herself that he deserves this, that this is his fault. “Mmh”, she repeats. “He is.” 

He’s back to the coffee station, his back to her. “I’m happy for you.”, his voice is tight. 

“Thank you.”, she’s almost at the door when she stops. “Maybe...Maybe we could be friends.”

He turns around, finally facing her. The distance between them, from one side of the room to the other, feels insurmountable. 

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers. 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent. Is it possible for them to be anything else other than a tragic ending? 

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers. 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent for a while. Would it ever be possible for them to be anything other than a tragic ending? 

She finally settles on a simple, “See you around.” An open ending, then. 

She’s cursing herself out the moment she leaves the room. What was she thinking? Cha-young had just lied to Vincenzo about being on holiday with her imaginary boyfriend. No, she corrects herself, she had simply misled him and he should’ve known better. 

She could picture it already; his aggravating smirk, raised eyebrows and insufferable “Oh, is that so?”, after she’d have to inevitably come clean. If only she hadn’t been so impulsive. Vincenzo would figure out her motivations the moment she’d admit to the lie; she wanted to see him jealous, to make him think she was doing better without him, that she was over him. He would see through the façade she had worked hard to maintain. 

Flushing at the thought of the colossal humiliation she would suffer, Cha-young scolds herself. Focus. This was a war that she needed to win. Like a general preparing for battle, she squares her shoulders and summons her most loyal soldier.

“Hey, it’s me. I have a favour to ask. Can you be my boyfriend for the next two weeks?” 

<>

At 37 years old, Kwon Ji-hwan considered himself to be a resilient man with a good head on his shoulders. In the four years he has been working for Ms. Hong, carrying out tasks outside of his job description was far from rare. Those included, but were certainly not limited to: picking her up after she’d drunk too much, infiltrating a yoga class to seduce a corrupt official’s wife, impersonating a law enforcement officer and hijacking an ambulance. In Ms. Hong’s vocabulary, a “favour” almost always meant something illegal. Despite her… methods, Ji-hwan enjoyed working for her greatly. The hours might have been long but the satisfaction of winning against the odds of powerful corporations made up for it. Also, the pay was really good. Still, as used to her antics as he was, he would’ve never expected her to ask something so absurd of him. 

Sitting there, in Ms. Hong’s hotel room (which, by the way, was way nicer than the regular ones she’d gotten for her employees), Ji-hwan cannot believe what he’s hearing. 

“Let me get this right,” he says, adjusting his glasses with his index finger. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend in front of your ex, who you’re obviously still in love with even though it’s been FIVE years—” 

“Yah!” 

“—because you want to make him jealous. Did I miss anything?” 

“That pretty much covers it.”, his boss replies, not even bothering to look ashamed. He looks at her, shaking his head. “So, will you do it?” 

He sighs, “What did this guy do to you for you to be so hung up on him after all this time?” 

He was not expecting the sorrow on her face as she answered, “He was there for me during the worst times of my life. We went through hell and back for each other. And then, one day, he left without saying anything.” 

“Wait, just like that? He didn’t even break up with you?” Ji-hwan raises his eyebrows. 

“Nope”, she accentuates the ‘P’. “He simply wrote ‘Live well.’ on a napkin and I never heard of him again. Until now.”

He scratches the top of his head, “What a fucking jerk.” She laughs, it’s rare to hear Ji-hwan swear. Finally, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m in.”

“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She’s doing her little victory dance now, shaking her hips in the least graceful way possible. Like every time his boss convinces him to blur the line of what is morally acceptable, Ji-hwan is regretting this already.

“If I said no, you would have threatened to fire me anyway.” 

“You know it.”

[some-dr-writings]

Nagito x depressed, imaginative S/O

·       You were a very introverted individual. Preferring to keep to yourself and having very few friends whom most others would consider family should they be in your position. You rarely spoke and avoided the spotlight. Being the center of attention or being with too many others was incredibly draining so you always tried to hide. You were certainly on the extreme side of introversion, in fact, it likely wasn’t even introversion that led you to the point of outright avoiding people at any cost. You found them so noisy and annoying…

·       That was likely why you liked Nagito and agreed to date him. He was a walking disaster either summoning incredibly good or bad luck. Many avoided him because of that, so even if there was a brief stint of chaos things soon settled down… Nagito was also kind. He’d quietly watch as you worked on your latest rpg maker game. He’d cook and clean for you letting you hold yourself in your dorm just working away…

·       As amazing as Nagito found you, at times he was worried. You always seemed to be somewhere else. Your eyes seemed unfocused, glazed over as if they were that of a porcelain doll’s. You’d never noticed when the school bells rang, and if it wasn’t for him texting you every morning you’d likely never get out of bed. But as the Super High School Level Storyteller you were likely just thinking about new plot lines or character arcs for your characters, maybe composing the perfect theme song or game mechanic. Yet… Something about you just kept nagging away at him. You’d get so frustrated with yourself at times, and he didn’t know why. There was something about you he just couldn’t quite place his finger on.

·       It was the dead of winter. Nagito watched as the snow drifted down, swirling around. A rather lovely sight. Pulling his coat just a bit closer he trotted over to your dorm room.

·       “The door’s unlocked?” It was open by only a crack… He simply stood there for a moment before hesitantly pushing the door open. Your room was just as cold as the outside so Nagito promptly closed the door upon entering, hoping to trap even his minuscule amount of body heat in the room. “Y/N?” It was absolutely silent, only his own heartbeat and his soft footfalls upon the carpet could he hear. Your room was an absolute mess. Trash, dirty dishes, reference sheets and notes scattered about, quilt and sheets seemingly tossed onto a pile of… something Nagito was too nervous to even take a peak at, clothes uniform and pajama alike in a corner and you, just laying atop the mattress, arms draped over your eyes, a few empty bags of snacks with you along with crumbs. “Y/N.” You didn’t respond… at all… were… were you even breath- Nagito immediately shook his head as if trying to shake away that thought and instead he looked at the floor, puzzling out a path to take that wouldn’t step on anything.

·       This wasn’t the first time Nagito had seen your room like this, but… it seemed worse than usual. Nagito couldn’t help but begin to fret as to why he even had come here in the first place. It was common for you to go off the grid for a few days, so completely absorbed in your work, or lost in though planning out a new tale to tell, but… it’d been two weeks without a singe sign of our existence anywhere, you didn’t even send a text telling your friends to not bother you since you were in the creative zone. There was just nothing.

·       “Y/N!” Placing his hands on your shoulders he rocked you. “Ugh, what do you want. I’m thinking right now.” Nagito shakily let go of the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “I’m sorry. I just thought I’d check in on you since it’s been a while.” “Okay.” Then you rolled over onto your side. “… Do you know how long it’s been?” “…” “It’s been two weeks si-” Finally it seemed he had garnered your attention. You looked over your shoulder to him. “two weeks?... that can’t be. I… yeah! I just texted you before getting to bed.” He opened his texts and presented the screen to you. You just stared at it before abruptly sitting up. “Two weeks!? But I… Damn it, not again!” You rubbed your temples, seemingly those two weeks hitting you all at once. You groaned, crumpling over yourself… Nagito simply sat beside you, holding you up, rubbing his hands up and down your upper arms to help get some blood moving and warm you up, you were freezing. “Again?” You flinched… then chuckled? “Yes, again. As always! I just can’t bother anymore! I’m tired, I want to sleep, but I can’t sleep. I sleep when I shouldn’t and am awake when I should be sleeping! I want to be passionate and do things but I just can’t! Isn’t that fantastic!? Being absolutely worthless and not being able to do anything!” “Y-Y/N!” “You say you’re garbage but look at me! I’m worse than garbage! At least trash can be made into art, and I… I’m just worthless! I can’t even take care of myself! I rely on you for everything! I can’t even work anymore! All I can do is just hate myself for not doing anything, try to do something, but give up because I’m too exhausted and hate myself again! Isn’t that just fun! An endless cycle of suffering! All I can do is daydream and pretend to be something better, but it’s funny torture, because I know I’ll never improve! Maybe I’d be better… better… fuck… I said too much…”

·       You wanted to hide, but even that was too much of a bother. Your whole body just felt so heavy, impossible to move. Even trying to keep your swirling, racing mind steady sent shivers through your body. You…

·       …

·       Everything was very white and sterile. You were… in a hospital? You were going to look around, but found an IV stuck into your arm, Mikan dashing away, saying something about a doctor, and Nagito, who was asleep, laying his head on the mattress you were on, holding your hand. Soon after Mikan and a doctor showed up to speak with you, shooing Nagito out temporarily. Your body couldn’t take how much strain you were putting on it with eating and drinking so little so when you started having a panic attack, it was too much for your body to take on so suddenly and you had collapsed. It had been a few days since then and you were now in a more stable condition… they were also rather keen on finding out why this happened.

·       You just wanted to talk to Nagito.

·       When he entered your room he looked so relieved, yet the concern etched into his features was evident. You hated it. So gently he hugged you, nuzzling into your shoulder. “… just stop.” “Stop what?” You felt his grip loosen, and before he could let you hugged his arm, keeping him in place. “Stop caring about me, please.” “I… don’t think I could ever do that, even if I want too.” You held him tighter, feeling the tears percolating in the corners of your eyes. “Nagito… I just keep getting worse and worse. Now with this… it just shows I can’t even keep my head above water. Please just ignore me, I don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want to worry you like this, I… I just…” You quickly wiped away those tears that kept trickling out. “I’m sorry…”

·       He hugged you tightly. “So warm.” “Huh?” For a moment he simply indulged in being able to hold you again, hear your voice even if it wavered. He was just so glad to see you awake. “It’s alright. You’re here, I’m here. You are amazing and can do anything. And I’ll do anything I can to help you. We can work together and try our best.” “No, I can’t, i… I’ve been dealing with this for so long. Nagito… I’m tired, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. It’s just going to get worse and worse and… I’m sorry. I… I should have told you about this, I shouldn’t have dragged you into my mess, I shouldn’t be with you, I’m just going to hurt you. I…”

·       Slowly he let go and instead sat beside you. “Do you not want me anymore?” “…” You couldn’t bare to look at him, instead glancing to the wall, clutching the bed sheets. “You said we could work through this, right?” “Yeah.” “… I… I can’t deal with this… how I have no control over my body… how I can’t do anything to satisfaction… how I just can’t be happy anymore… That’s why I daydream. I don’t even do it intentionally anymore, it just happens… Heh, e-even now it’s taking everything I have left to be ‘here’ to even have this conversation or to talk with the doctor before… I… I don’t know how much longer I can force myself to concentrate before I just give out again. but… I can’t work through this, i-if I do, I’ll lose what little I have left, my talent and you. You… y-you adore people who are talented s-so even if I’m magically normal like everyone else, I… I won’t have to day dream, I won’t daydream, then I can’t make games anymore, my daydreaming is where I write so if I change and stop that I won’t be a story teller, I won’t be ‘hopeful’ or an ‘Ultimate’, you won’t love me, but… I… I see now that… I’m toxic like this, I’ll just drag you down with me I-I, I…” You pulled up the sheets, tucking your head under them… You didn’t want him to see you like this, though… seeing how not hopeful you were, how you were just falling deeper and deeper in this despair that has always suffocated you. Maybe he’d finally leave you, that way you’d have one less thing to mess up. All you would have was yourself. You wouldn’t hurt him anymore and he’d leave of his own accord and be happy without you, so he wouldn’t have to worry about his bad luck hurting you like it had done with others… but… what if he blamed himself for this. What if he thought it was his bad luck. Were you hurting him even more than you thought!? Was he blaming himself this whole time!? Is that why he was with you when you woke up, to apologize for his luck!? Were you-

·       …

·       What was that pressure?

·       Though your vision was still clouded you could see Nagito was still by your side, his hand placed atop your arm. He scooched over a little, getting closer to you before cupping your cheeks in his hands, stroking those tears from your puffy red eyes with his thumbs. “I’m a trash boyfriend. Y/N. I love you. Your talent is only a sign of how amazing you are. Look at Hinata, he’s amazing and he’s in the reserve course of all places! And you are like him, amazing. Even right now you’re fighting to be here with me despite how much it hurts. I will love you no matter what happens. If you want help, I’ll search for help with you. You can make it through this, I know you can. You were able to make it this far on your own, weren’t you? You did what you had too, and you’re still here, and… if you’ll still have me, if fearing your hurting me is not too much, I’ll still be here. So… do you want me to stay?”

·       It… was a long process. Due to why you ended up in the hospital you were sent to therapy. Despite Nagito’s constant assurances you were still so scared and distanced yourself again, just getting lost in thought. Going to the sessions took all the energy and focus you could muster and you’d end up daydreaming immediately after so Nagito would keep a vigilant eye on you, getting you back home, and making you a healthy meal, even staying with you through the night hoping the presents of another person would lull you to sleep.

·       It was difficult every step of the way, but everyday you both kept trying. It was all you could do, and… you had each other. On good days when your mind could be clear for a moment, when you were with Nagito and not in one of your many worlds… you’d make a vow to get better and better so that one day, you could support Nagito just as he had for you now. It was the least you could do for such an amazing person.

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 1 (Weak Spot)

Summary: We all have to make peace with the past. (In which Terra returns in Xemnas’s body and I scream SIZE DIFFERENCE.) || Word Count: 8,319

Read on AO3

A/N: AAAAAHHHH I’m so excited that we’re doing a whole other @terraquaweek !! I have to apologize ahead of time, my fics this year are super long and super packed, but I’m pretty proud of this collection and I can’t wait for y’all to read! I can’t wait to hear what you think! <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Time Takes You For Granted

Terra looks so different. 

No matter—Aqua has to fight. She can’t hold back when he summons red sabers of light from his palms, can’t falter when he hammers them against the staff of her Keyblade, can’t blink when canyon dust is kicked into her eyes, can’t be fooled by his face because this man is not Terra and couldn’t ever pretend to be.

He opens his arms to conjure a fatal blow—but he underestimates her speed. She’s grown up fighting large men. He is no big deal. 

The man with Terra’s face withers when she strikes his midsection. One arm grips his stomach to hold himself together and he brings his other hand up. Dark tendrils evaporate from the leather of his gloves. 

“As you wish,” he says to her, richly voiced, smooth as a river stone. “Friend.” He staggers to his knees, groaning as he flickers away.

“Terra!” Ven calls, too fast for Aqua to hold back. The man still wears that same black cloak that marks him as a member of the Organization.

The man shivers when Ven shakes him awake, a quiet “Aqua? Ven?” escaping his lips. He huffs out a hoarse chuckle that clutches out of pain, with a voice that sounds like a morning at the summit of a mountain. “Ven, you’re so short.” 

There he is.

“Terra.” Aqua rushes over. “Can you hear me? How do you feel?” she asks, checking for signs of physical injury, a refusal to use a limb, the inability to breathe. 

His breath stutters. “Aqua?” There he is.

“I’m here.”

He pants, opening his eyes—now blue again, his hair dark again, there he is. He jerks forward as if desperate to find her, but it’s like he can’t see her. In a drunk and feverish whimper, barely with the strength to sit himself up, he stumbles back. “Aqua. Aqua, I have to tell you something.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she says, checking his temperature with the back of her hand, “just rest.”

“No, I have to say it,” he mumbles. “I have to. I didn’t last time, I didn’t and look what happened—”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Go ahead.” 

He pauses, moaning, “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“What?”

Ven bursts into a fit of hysteria. “Perfect timing, Terra. Ten out of ten.”

But Terra seems unaware, straddling between the drift to sleep and the fight to stay awake. He nods as if to confirm, mumbling to himself like a baby.

Aqua stares at him, her heart itching to hear it again in case she misunderstood. She has daydreamed of this moment—not like this, anything sweeter than this but genuine all the same—and yet it comes to her like a splash of ice on the face. Terra is older. He has more pronounced cheekbones with less elasticity in the skin, folds of dimples and knowledge when his lips twitch, a thicker jawline, a stronger nose. A glimpse of the future, his long brown hair stretching past the shoulders, oily and excessively gelled up for ridiculous bangs. Aqua brushes his cheek with her fingers.

She should have said something years ago, too. 

“What’s going on?” a voice calls out. Riku’s. He skids to a stop when he sees them. “Is that Xemnas?”

The man Aqua fought never introduced himself, but he sure liked to talk a lot. Whoever he was, he’s not relevant anymore. “He’s delirious. We need help picking him up.”

“Wait a minute,” Riku says, approaching them with a smidge too much caution for Aqua to appreciate. “I’ve been fighting Terra all these years?” 

“Xehanort,” Aqua says quietly, wrapping Terra’s arm over her shoulders. She shuffles her knees. He’s too heavy. “You’ve been fighting Xehanort.”

Riku nods. It’s his way of apologizing. “Well. That sucks.” He offers to take the other arm. “Xemnas was the leader of the first Organization. A self-inflated piece of work… I didn’t know who he really was. I didn’t recognize him.” He pulls a smile to his face and nudges Ven with his elbow. “Sora and I made sure to give him a hard time.”

Aqua wants him to stop talking. 

Footsteps approach them, crunchy with the sound of sand and dirt, and Aqua braces herself for what’s to come. Riku whips around to prepare an explanation, but it’s none other than Kairi. 

She sees them with wide and round eyes. Brings her hand to her mouth. “Riku?” Kairi says specifically, asking him questions with her eyes in a private language Aqua can’t understand. 

He shrugs. “What do you want me to say?”

Kairi sits on her knees, her skirt too short to cover them from the dirt. “This poor boy. It’s not fair.”

Aqua purses her lips. Ven stares past everyone else. 

“We’re all getting punished,” Kairi continues like the sting of knowing that after all is said and done, Sora is gone somewhere and here are Aqua and Ven picking up their own brittle, little pieces. “Look at him.” 

Riku sighs. “I have space in my Gummi ship for him. But we need to be quick about it.”

Kairi gasps, wide-eyed. “That’s right.”

Aqua doesn’t want to ask why. Ven does it for her. “What’s up?”

“We can’t let the others see him,” Riku says.

Too late. Roxas appears on the other side of the clearing, heavy in breath. He’s sweet and gentle even when it seems like his mind is a distance away. He looks exactly like Ven but nothing like Ven, a grimness to his smile and a thoughtfulness to his speech like he’s seen and knows too much. 

Roxas frowns. “What are you doing?” 

“We’re helping him,” Aqua says as a matter of fact, flexing her ankles to stand up with Riku, shouldering half the weight. Terra stumbles on his feet, mumbling something about not wanting to step on any mice. “This is Terra, by the way.”

Roxas stares. “Why?” he asks accusingly. 

Aqua stammers. How this boy who has been ripped away from his own friends could ask such a thing— 

“Come on, he’s our friend,” Ven says. 

“You call him a friend?” Roxas points at Terra. “Do you even know what he’s done?”

Xehanort. What Xehanort has done, but Aqua stops herself from snapping. She says softly, “Terra would never—” 

“What if Terra saw what happened? What if he knew? Is he the type to be okay with that?”

She glares at him. No answer comes to her, except when Xemnas called her a Friend.

Kairi steps forward, arms out like a barrier. “He needs medical attention. We don’t have to talk about this right now.”

And they won’t have the chance. Xion slowly comes up behind Roxas. They’re both dressed in the same black cloak that Terra wears like it’s a mark, a forced tattoo. She has her hands cupped into each other, bringing them to her chest like they’re a shield. 

“Roxas?” Xion asks. She looks terrified.

“Forget it,” Roxas says, turning over and tugging her by the elbow. “This is dumb. We don’t need to care or be here.” 

Aqua refuses to fight this battle, not when Terra is wheezing and flinching as if he’s being crushed under mineral and earth. 

“Kairi,” Riku says solemnly, “just guide us back to the ship.” He says to Aqua, “If it’s any consolation, I think he would’ve done something if he knew.” 

Aqua nods, choosing to create solace out of his delicate comfort, if only to find the strength to drag Terra across the desert.

It’s a laborious but peaceful walk, what with Kairi talking about healing potions (I’ve learned some during training, maybe I can make Terra one?), and Ven excited about the first meal they’ll have together as a trio again (Pancakes, Aqua. Pancakes.), until they find Lea standing in front of the Gummi ship. He has his hands in the pockets of his cloak, and Aqua wonders if he’s concealing weapons. 

Lea is a double-sided coin. One side a mask with a running end of jokes and playful jabs designed to hide the other, steely and scrutinizing. 

“I promised myself I would never see Roxas that upset again,” Lea says, as if to blame them for breaking it. “I’ve never seen Xion that upset.” That brand of Lea-lilt in his voice, the one he uses every time he spits out Got it memorized?, is gone, and Aqua admits she respects him more for it. Lea nods over to Terra. “Shouldn’t we leave the trash where it belongs?”

“You’re really going to ask that when you’ve been pining all this time for Saïx?” Riku snaps. 

Lea laughs. “You might as well shave my entire head and tell people I’m ugly.” He chills over. “I’m no saint either, but don’t compare us to”—he points at Terra, not Xehanort or Xemnas or whoever—“him. You want to know what I think of Xemnas? He doesn’t deserve an ounce of the worst. The core of rotten fruit. The smell of ass after a trip to the bathroom. The pits of the ocean where all the fish shit clump together and the bloat of dead flesh float around.”

“Don’t mind him,” Riku tells Aqua and Ven. “He likes to exaggerate.”

“I like to make a point.” Lea steadies his breath, hot petrol on the verge of exploding, letting the steam lose pressure. “I like to tell the truth when it matters.”

Aqua glares at him. She doesn’t know Lea that well, and doesn’t know what matters of truth are supposed to mean. But she holds her head high. Her truth screams from the inside of her head. 

“Terra would never,” she announces. 

Lea scoffs. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ven trips on dragging fabric. They’re taking some of the Master’s old robes to Terra, who can’t fit into any of his own clothes anymore. The castle at the Land of Departure is stiff and quiet, like a long-lost stranger. Home isn’t home but a dream, a memory, a trip through aged photos.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Ven says in a sing-song voice.

“The Master was a large man,” Aqua insists. 

“Yeah, but Terra’s bicep is bigger than your head now.”

That’s true and… not something Aqua wants to think about—his body though, it’s impressive—not if she wants to hide the blush in her cheeks. Terra is huge now, the crown of her head reaching the base of his diaphragm. He’s so broad that if he hugs her, she’d disappear into the flesh. 

Aqua and Ven turn the corner and enter Terra’s room, who has a towel wrapped around his hips. He’s fussing with the wet roots of his hair.

“So much grease,” Terra complains, scratching his scalp with the pads of his fingers. “What the stars was this guy thinking with all this hair gel?”

Aqua stares at the wood of his dresser—not at how sculpted his muscles are (more than ever, actually). Not at the chisels and grooves on his back as he breathes and moves to grab a robe from the rumpled stack is Ven’s arms.

“That one will look nice,” Aqua says, eyeing the ivory color of the robe Terra chose.

“Might,” Ven corrects. “Might look nice.”

Terra snorts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re bigger than a rhino.”

He laughs. He sounds the same. “All the more to terrorize people with,” Terra says and it wretches at her chest. 

“Glad to know you’re still an idiot.”

Terra slips his arms through the sleeves, pulling the robe over his shoulders and across his chest. It’s not flattering. The seams are stretched, the threads exposed, and it wears on his shoulders so tightly that the muscles form hills under the fabric. 

Ven points and laughs. “I told you. No one listens to me.”

Aqua pulls the robe off Terra’s shoulders when he slouches into his chair. She tosses it with the rest of the Master’s unfittable artifacts onto Ven’s arms. “Can you take care of these? I’ll stay and help Terra.”

Ven eyes her. With a knowing grin. Like an imp that should be slapped. “Do what? Put his pants on?”

Terra gapes. “What?”

“You’re obnoxious,” Aqua says to Ven.

“You’d miss me if I wasn’t,” Ven says with his nose high to the ceiling. He leans forward, the imp smile stretching to reach ear to ear, curled upwards. “But Terra would like it, wouldn’t he?”

Terra coughs and clears his throat. “Ven, get out.” He waves his arm—and a crash explodes before Aqua can understand what happened. Everything in his room—his shoes, the coat rack, the lamp by his bed, his pillows, books from the shelf, dirty laundry that hasn’t been washed in a decade, dust collected from the same amount of time—fly at Ven. The comforter in particular is what knocks him over.

“What was that?” Ven squeals, sitting up from the rubble. “What was that?”

Terra’s lip quivers. He stares at his hands. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Aqua says, bending over to stack books in her arms. “Ven, get a broom and some rags. We’ve got some cleaning to do.” 

Ven trips before heading off, like he couldn’t wait to get out. Aqua has a feeling he’s going to bug her for details later. 

“I’m so sorry,” Terra whispers, balling his hands into fists and shoving them into his lap as a preemptive measure. 

The Organization’s cloak sits thrown on the floor, still dusty. Aqua pads the excess off. 

“Don’t worry,” she says, pulling cheer from somewhere inside to lighten the mood. “I’ll sew you a new robe.”

Terra won’t look at her. He mumbles her a word of thanks when she hands his dirty cloak over.

“Leather can’t be scrubbed like everything else,” she explains. “I’ll clean it later.”

“It’s fine,” Terra says, holding it in his giant hands. He doesn’t move to put it on, and instead stares at the large mirror hanging over his desk in front of him. Aqua stands by his side. She’s tall, but she never once considered herself as thin, her frame skeletal by comparison. 

By comparison, she hasn’t changed.

Well, she has. Her smiles are not the same. 

Terra’s hair is messy, now with much more for her to brush her fingers through. She doesn’t try. “I don’t remember any of these,” he whispers. 

The scars. Knicks in crossed-over patterns across his chest and biceps. A rippled scorch mark by his elbow like a crater, a gouge on one side by the stomach, a deep ravine on the other, near the ribs. More on his back, a textured map for nowhere to go. 

“Not a single one.” His voice cracks. 

Aqua caresses his shoulder. Those scars are not stories he needs to hear. “What do you remember?” She actually doesn’t want to know, in case Roxas was right. 

“Nothing.” 

She wants to be relieved, but she isn’t. “Nothing at all?” In twelve years?

“No.” 

Aqua wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind him, aware of how he tenses at first and relaxes after, a puzzle piece fitting in exactly the right spot. “Where were you?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs, leaning his head onto hers. “I wasn’t anywhere, I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine.” Twelve years of nothing and twelve years living with nightmares; there’s not much to talk about. She traces a divot on his shoulder. “I know this one.”

“Yours,” Terra says. When he smirks that way, he looks the same as he always had.

“I stabbed you with a wooden sword.”

“My wooden sword.” He brushes his fingers on the scar. As if he’s reminded of something, Terra frowns. “I was just a kid.” He studies his skin on the reflection, pulling on his face with his fingers, watching the way the skin ripples, the sharpness of cheekbones, the dips and dimples that didn’t used to be there. There are thick streaks of silver underneath the outer layers when he brushes his hair back. He never asked for this. “Can we get rid of every mirror in the castle?” he whispers.

Aqua lets him go. The way he asks makes her want to try memory alteration, to slowly erase what haunts him so he doesn’t have to deal with harsh reminders or sudden blows to the mind. She forces herself to smile—if she shows distress, it would only upset him more. There is nothing they can do about the past and there won’t be a mention of what it’s robbed from them.

“Maybe just the one in here. I’ll help.” 

Terra stands up and takes one of his old, simple cotton shirts that he prefers when he goes to bed while Aqua tests the bottom part of the ornate frame. It won’t budge, heavy as lifting a boulder. 

“I look ridiculous,” she hears Terra say. The shirt is as tight as second skin, what used to sit on him loosely now gripping for dear life across his upper stomach, his belly button exposed. 

Aqua purses her lips, heat to her cheeks. “Do you remember waking up?”

“Where?” He’s layering the cloak over the scandal. 

“At the Keyblade Graveyard.”

“No,” he says. She’s known him for years. She can tell he’s sincere. “Why?”

“Just wondering how far your memory goes,” she says, playing serious. She’ll have to figure out a different way to bring up that conversation. “I can’t lift this alone.”

“Not a problem.” Terra grabs his side of the mirror and lifts it off its hook like it’s a single piece of paper.  He clears his throat. “Um—wow.”

“That’s impressive,” Aqua says, and Terra blushes purple. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aqua makes it back home in time for lunch, and finds Terra sitting on the bar that splits the kitchen from the dining room, wearing his cloak with the zipper open, no shirt and leather pants. It must be blistering hot in those considering the sunny weather. He’s complained about having to sleep naked. 

She presents him with several bags on the counter. Rolls of fresh cotton shirts and pants for lounging, nylon for sparring and wool for the winter. He splits a warm grin when he feels how soft they are. It almost brightens his deep dark circles. 

“I also found these gorgeous fabrics,” Aqua says, showing him the silk she means to make him a new robe in that same ivory color, with embroidered, rust-colored strips that she’ll use for the borders and trims. “This will look good with your armor.” 

“Let me show you what I’ve been working on.” On his lap are a set of the Master’s old hakama. Terra is attempting to tailor it…all through hand sewing, the needle swallowed by his thick fingers. The threads are bunched up and knotted over, if they don’t skip some parts. “What?” he asks. She must be making a face. “It’s ugly isn’t it.”

“Nothing that skill can’t help,” Aqua says, taking the pants from him and not apologizing for anything.

He taps the counter with his fingers. “Riku told me about Xemnas.”

Aqua stops the urge to groan, folding over the fabric carefully and pretending that name doesn’t boil her blood. “What did he say?”

“Xemnas was a telekinetic.” 

That explains some things. “Okay.”

“Apparently he could lift entire buildings.”

Aqua snorts.

Terra leans forward. “Hey, you can’t blame me for the back door.”

“But it makes sense.”

Terra has blown open said door. He has also destroyed historical statues and windows that are difficult to replace. He has even ripped a tree from its roots when he practiced his powers outside. The more he gets scared of these abilities, the more destructive he becomes. Terra’s body is not entirely sane on its own either—he’ll step on pebbles, on glass barefoot, and he can’t feel a thing. 

“Can you answer Riku for me?” He pulls the Gummiphone from his pocket, the device smaller than his palm. “The buttons are too small. I’m thinking of asking Chip and Dale to build me a custom-sized one.” 

She takes his phone, the screen smudged with his round fingertips, larger than her nails. “Are you going to stop training your new powers?”

He flinches. “They’re not mine.”

“Well...” she says gently, cradling his phone in her hands. It’s warm from his touch. 

“Not that I can control them.” He huffs, frustrated enough to crack the counter in half if he tries. 

“Why don’t you show me how far you’ve come?”

He glares at her. 

“The oranges.” She points to the kitchen on the other side of the room. Oranges, pears, and apples sit in a wooden bowl by the sink. “Pick one of them up.”

“That’s a little too much to ask for.”

“One tiny orange?” She smirks. “You can balance it on your pinky.”

He scoffs. “You talk as if you like me like this.”

Aqua clears her throat, suddenly deep in a trench that she can’t climb out of. “You can’t help what happened to you, but you can help yourself.”

Terra rolls his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Stars, it’s like being in class again.”

“I’m pleased with that. Try sliding the bowl over.”

Terra leans his elbows onto the counter and opens his palms, his fingers curled like claws. What surprises her is how fast the bowl responds, like it’s channeling an emotional reaction, immediate and neurotic. It rattles, as if it weighs several tons under an ocean. 

Aqua looks over at his furrowed concentration, sweat glistening as though he’s wrestling instead of picking up fruit. “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

She smiles. “There was a day when we didn’t know what our Keyblades would look like. That was exciting and terrifying at the same time, remember?”

“You sound like the Master.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

Terra grunts. “Fine, I’ll try harder.” Though he doesn’t have to prove anything to Aqua. Ever.

Terra waves his hands to the right and—disaster.

The bowl flips over and crashes into the fridge. 

Plates and mugs burst out of the cupboards, shattering when they hit the floor. Pots and pans soar, crossing the entire kitchen and slamming into the grandfather clock, destroying the glass casing and tearing apart the inside as gears sputter to the floor. 

The clockface nearly lands on Ven’s head when he enters with a glass of water in his hand. He freezes. It cracks when it hits the tile. Forks, spoons, and other utensils spin past him and stab the wall, the knives wedged into it. 

“Ven!” Aqua calls, running to him. He’s fine. If anything, he’s shivering from shock. 

“Ven,” Terra starts, scrambling up from the stool but he flicks his hands too quickly. The water from Ven’s glass splashes him on the face. “Stars, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Ven says, wiping his face. “Worry about it.” He inhales. “You nearly impaled me.” 

“I’m sorry—”

“Sit,” Ven says, pointing at Terra. “On your hands.”

Terra does as he’s told, slumping his shoulders over as if to shrink. But it’s a parody, an elephant hiding behind a palm tree, a giant monster puppy rejected.

Ven looks over the destroyed grandfather clock—it was one of the Master’s newer ones, who developed a fondness for them late into his life. “This one was a stars-damned eyesore, anyway.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Aqua is dressed in her shorts and shirt, preparing for bed when she hears another crash, this time a dull crack, breaking apart right outside her bedroom. 

Terra is carrying a door handle, still attached to shards of wood. He is furiously shivering, wearing the new clothes she bought for him.

“Terra, are you okay?” she asks gently.

With effort, he calms himself, the handle shaking in both of his hands, a hole in his door the only other thing amiss. “I can fix it.” His undereye circles are getting awfully puff, his voice broken by static. 

“You should really get some sleep,” she says, stepping out. 

He sighs forcefully, as if to ask her to stop. “I can’t.”

She nods. “It’s hard for me to sleep, too.”

“I can’t help but feel like my body is going to sleepwalk without me knowing.”

“I don’t think it would.” She smirks but it doesn’t comfort him. “I take rounds around the castle sometimes. I would notice if you’re a zombie.”

His lips quiver, and he squeezes the handle as if to snap it on purpose. He doesn’t. Terra turns to her but stares hard at the floor. In a voice so quiet that he sounds like a small boy, he asks, “Can you stay with me tonight?”

Her heart jumps, trying to wretch itself out of her chest. “Terra?”

“I want to sleep. I can’t. I think it would be easier if…” He fiddles with the door handle, a shy boy unable to speak. “If you were with me.”

Aqua smiles. He’s braver than her for asking. “I’d feel safer behind a locked door. Come in.”

On her desk is her sewing machine, the pattern of his new robe designed, his measurements already taken, the fabric put together in pins and ready to be weaved with thread. 

But there is a mirror in her room, and when Terra enters, he stops in his place. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, moving to pull one of her bedsheets to cover it. 

“It’s fine,” Terra says, but she’s too fast, balancing out the coverage. He slouches on her chair and leans back with a grunt. His fair falls behind him like a cascade. It’s always been wonderfully thick and dark. Aqua indulges this time, brushing it with her fingers, tempted to braid it. He audibly relaxes, and says, “Riku told me what happened in the Graveyard.”

Aqua swallows. “What did he say?”

“How Roxas and Lea reacted.” He gets quieter the more he speaks, words slipping into weak whispers. “To me.” Tears drip out of his eyes, running to his ears and down his neck. He sniffs. “Xion is terrified of me and I don’t know how to live with myself.”

“It’s not your fault, Terra,” she says softly, lightly rubbing his scalp when she sweeps his glorious hair, brown and silver like silk on her skin. It soothes him. 

“Kairi said the same.”

“Kairi is wise.”

“She wants to find a way to get us all together.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Aqua says, and he groans. “Let me figure out how to set that up. I’ll coordinate with her.”

“I don’t think that will end well.”

“We should try. We all have things in common and have faced similar hardships. We need each other as friends.”

“But look at me.”

She does. He’s beautiful. “I’m looking.”

“What am I going to do?” Terra has always been too sensitive for his own good. Aqua thinks about who she’d possibly call to help me. “They’ll never talk to me.”

“You’re already trying your best.”

“Aqua, I’ve been a beast since I’ve been home.” He rubs his thumb and fingers together. A body that fails him. 

“Terra, please, you’re fine the way you are.”

“Two more grandfather clocks under my belt and all the vegetables in the garden in my pocket,” he reminds her.

“Let’s try one more time,” she says, taking his hand. “I think if you could outwin your powers, you’d feel better.”

“Your room is too immaculate for me to mess with.”

“Not my room. On me.”

“Why would I do that?” Terra stands up. 

“I think if there’s a parameter that you’re forced to work under, you’d improve the way you want to.” 

Terra pauses. “And put you in danger?”

“If that’s what’s going to work.”

“I care too much about you to do that.”

“I know you love me,” Aqua says, startling herself. She shouldn’t have said that, especially now that he’s staring at her wide-eyed—but they’re best friends. Of course he loves her. Of course it’s the most natural thing to say. There’s not much more to imply. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Intentionally,” his voice croaks, looking everywhere around the room except at Aqua.

“What do you want out of your training, Terra?”

“I want to feel less like a freak.”

“Here I am.” She widens her arms. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“What if I fling you out the window like a rag doll?”

“You won’t.” Now she’s nervous he will.

“Or burst your skull open?”

“Then don’t.” Aqua swallows.

Terra sighs and runs a hand through his hair, the silver glistening from the light of her ceiling lamp. 

“Be gentle,” Aqua suggests.

Terra hesitates, one step too far behind necessary confidence. She takes both of his hands in hers, and he gives her a feathered squeeze in return. 

“Promise me you won’t break,” he says.

“Promise you won’t break me.”

He blinks back tears when he holds her waist, his hands a hearth through her thin shirt. He’s about to pick her up but he lets her go instead, intentionally widening his hands as if pulling strings. As though gravity has shut off, the air around her loses all weight. Her feet lift off the carpet and she’s suspended above her dresser, her limbs moving slowly as though she’s underwater. Terra trembles from so much concentration. He’s worried, delicate with her, lifting her up like a cloud drifting over a mountain, her desk distant like it’s inside a doll house, her bed too small for a body to sleep in.

She gasps. “Wow.”

Terra wrestles with a smile but every muscle is engaged as though he’s picking up a boulder. 

“You’re doing wonderful,” she says. When he looks up at her, he cries. “Now put me down. Gently.”

It’s like she’s asking him to drop that boulder, all collateral be damned. He groans, a vein throbbing on his forehead. He’s hesitant at first but he exhausts when he finally relaxes. The threads that hold her snap. Aqua falls. Terra catches her by her bare thighs. 

“You did so well,” she whispers, holding onto his shoulders. Dust collects on the top of her door frame that she’d never notice otherwise. “You’re so tall,” she laughs.

He sighs. “I’m so tired.”

“Oh, you can put me down.”

His arms stutter when he slides her off him, and he plops onto her mattress, the adrenaline making him tremble. But he smiles. That’s the most Aqua could ask for, and yet that’s the thing, for some reason, that unplugs the dam. 

“I know what it’s like,” she starts, resting a hand on his head. “I wish it never happened. I wish I didn’t have to meet Xemnas, or that I fell into Darkness. Or that anyone hurt you. We wasted all those years.”

“Don’t say that,” he says softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You came back the same and you can redo all that time. Enjoy it.”

“But you?”

Terra sighs. He’s aged. He lays on her mattress, knees sliding off the edge and feet firm on the floor. “I’m okay. I’ve made my peace.”

When she settles next to him, she has to curl her legs in, fitting right into his side, her head on his shoulder. She relaxes to the way he strokes her hair. Peace shouldn’t have to be made. It shouldn’t be bargained for, it shouldn’t be difficult to win in a twisted game. But it is for most people, isn’t it? It is for anyone who’s been betrayed, who has suffered misfortune, who has been robbed or tortured, who has been fractured into pieces with no reason to justify it. 

Terra and Aqua have kissed before out of curiosity, years ago. It left her wanting more. And the wanting has led to yearning. And the yearning lingered on, Aqua choosing to wait for the right moment, for the right hour, for the right occasion, letting it all slip her by each and every time for the most mundane reasons. Terra and Aqua have napped together in the woods, in the shade of a tree after hours of sparring, shoulder to shoulder, one of them promising to wake the other before they’re late for their lessons. 

“If I ever get up in the middle of the night...” Terra starts. 

“Where is this conversation going?” 

“And I’m not actually awake—”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“—and I’m walking around like a zombie—”

“Pfft.”

“—please hit me as hard as you can.”

Aqua chuckles. This shouldn’t be a joke at all and yet what else is there left for them to do? “As you wish.”

“Promise me you’ll wake me up. No matter what.”

“Of course.” Aqua nuzzles her face into his shoulder, feeling the way his pec curves over rock-hard muscle. “Always.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They’re in the study, where some of the most outdated books in the castle find their home, for decoration more than anything.

Terra has new suspenders and hakama pants. The robe she’s designed for him, ivory with rust-colored trim, has one proper sleeve. The other is more of an open cape that curls under his armored arm, pinning at his shoulder like a shawl, made to show off the metal, burgundy and shiny. He’s elegant, tall and intimidating, respectable and warm. 

“I love it,” he says.

“You almost look like the Master,” Aqua says.

“Do you think he would have liked it?”

“I think he would have been proud.”

Ven knocks on the door frame, holding up an Okay gesture. “Nice getup.” 

Terra smirks. “It makes me look less scary.”

“Are you going to throw away the black cloak?”

Aqua flinches, pinching the robe and straightening it, though not because it needs it. 

“I’m still thinking about it,” Terra says. “It depends on how today goes.”

“Speaking of,” Ven says, and Aqua sighs. “Aqua, he’s here.”

As though all breath has been sucked out of the air, they fall quiet. The crackle of the fireplace snaps. 

“You doing okay?” she whispers to Terra.

He nods, but his skin turns green. 

“Just relax and get comfortable,” she says.

Ven follows Aqua to the entrance hall, where their guest has welcomed himself inside. Isa stands with a poise that demands to be matched with a level of professionalism. Aqua crosses her hands together and keeps them to herself.

“Thank you for coming,” she says. When she messaged him to be a mediator, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Lea and Isa may seem to be opposite but they are two peas in a pod that way. Lea is a book of riddles, one page contradicting its own backside depending on which version of him shows up that day. Isa’s book is blank.

“I appreciate your invitation,” Isa says, though an instinctual tick deep in her stomach tells her that appreciation was a difficult word for him to use. 

“Hey there.” Ven waves. 

Isa raises his eyebrows. “Hello, Ventus,” he says… and nothing else.

Ven glances at Aqua and blares a tight, awkward smile. “Okay. Well. I’ll leave you to it.”

After Ven leaves, Isa breathes, like he’s been holding it. “I suppose the rest of this visit will be similar.” The grin on his face is sudden whiplash for Aqua, his strict posture now with blurred edges. 

“In what way?” Aqua can’t quit the habit of letting go of her hands.

“Roxas usually wears a scowl. To see the same face greet me so warmly, it was quite the surprise.” 

“Ah.”

“But a welcomed one.” His intense green eyes drill a hole into her. “Believe me when I say that I’m more than happy to come here and see him for myself, though it puts me in a fickle position with my family.”

Aqua brings her hands to her heart. “I think Sora would want us all to get along.”

“If that’s the angle you want to approach this with, I’d say you have a moderate chance of convincing them.” 

She nods and leads the way. “He’s excited to meet you.”

Isa doesn’t reply. Terra is waiting on one of the lounge chairs in the study, telekinetically spinning pages on a book floating in front of him. He snatches the book as they approach him, and drops it on a nearby desk. 

Terra doesn’t say anything. Neither does Isa, who sits himself on a comfortable chair opposite and crosses his legs. Aqua, not knowing where to go or what to do with her hands, stands by Terra. She’s hoping for an amicable meeting, anticipating an interrogation.

Isa smirks and it’s not exactly inviting. “Shall we skip the pleasantries?”

Terra nods like a dog scolded. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says with a shaky voice. 

Isa hums, interlacing his fingers as he stares—rather studies Terra with scrutiny. “Do you remember me?”

Terra shakes his head, choking on a cough. “You’re asking the wrong person.” 

“Are you certain?”

“I know of you.”

“What do you know of me?”

“You’re with Lea.” Terra licks his lips and balls his hands into fists. He only gets this way when he’s being tested, when he wants to get every answer correct. “You’ve had a complicated history with Organization XIII.”

“Complicated,” Isa repeats. 

“You were a Nobody.”

Isa smirks coldly, much like how Aqua would have imagined from the stories she’s heard about Saïx. “We were brethren.”

Terra hangs his head. “I don’t know much else.”

“How is that possible?” 

“I don’t know. I resigned. It was so painful not to. I was nowhere. Nothing to have, nothing to see, nothing to hear. I waited for an opportunity for it to stop hurting—” Terra croaks. “And I woke up.”

Isa uncrosses his legs and anchors his elbows onto his knees, cupping his chin into his hands. “You’ve no memory of the command to manipulate Sora into vanquishing Heartless for us?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“To gather enough energy to summon Kingdom Hearts.”

“That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Isa sighs, and Aqua swears it sounds like anticipation. “And the scar on my face?”

The way Isa asks demands an explanation, and Terra—sweet, sensitive Terra, whose eyes grow hollow—can’t handle the implication. 

“No. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He grits his teeth, staring at the armrest. Aqua stops herself from speaking and holds his shoulder. There isn’t anything for Terra to be sorry for. 

Isa closes his eyes, trembling. After a moment, he jams his thumbs into his eyes and stills, silence befalling all of them, settling among the gentle presence of the fire and the movement of the clouds outside. 

When Isa sits up, eyes glassy but kept together, he summons a smile. Softly, he says, “You look nothing like him.”

Terra, at a loss for words, nods meekly. “Did you keep it? The black cloak?”

“Of course not.” Isa scoffs. “We burned ours.”

Terra offers no condolences or congratulations. He smiles, exhausted. 

Isa stands up. “Please don’t tell me you enjoy white wine with red velvet confections.”

Terra recoils, popping into a laugh as though he’s cracked under the pressure. “That sounds like it tastes awful. I don’t drink. I don’t like losing control of my body.”

The sound of Terra’s laugh shocks Isa. “Sensible.” He addresses Aqua with a look. “I must go. This has been… rather cathartic, and I’d prefer to release it in private.” 

Terra bolts out of his chair, reaching out to cradle one of Isa’s hands in both of his. 

“Thank you,” Terra says, and though Aqua is behind him, she could hear the tears. “Please come back whenever you feel comfortable. I’d love to have your company.”

Isa nods, turning over his shoulder for the door.

The abrupt exit leaves Terra pleading Aqua with his eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” he whispers, slapping his forehead. “I couldn’t honor his experiences. I should have figured out a way to remember.”

“That’s not your burden to bear. It wouldn’t help you anyway,” she whispers back, gently gripping his elbow. “I’ll be back.”

Aqua trails Isa back downstairs, skipping steps. It’s as though he’s in a hurry to get back home. 

“Isa,” she calls. When he stops, she almost trips on herself. Her hands return to their crossover position. Something about Isa makes her so self-conscious, it’s indescribable how he can unravel her like this. “I wanted to thank you again for taking the time to come here.” 

His eyes are pink. “I will tell the others there is nothing to fear.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Lea is unbearably stubborn, but he is intelligent. He already knows Terra is not to be blamed. He simply hasn’t buried his demons yet and that is his responsibility.”

Aqua sighs, relieved. “I needed to hear that.”

Isa doesn’t smile. Instead, he traces a finger across the X-shaped scar over his nose. “Terra and I are forced to face our mistakes in the mirror for as long as we breathe. If we are ever to forge a new life from the ashes, we would need to throw our transgressions into a pyre.”

“I think your presence makes him feel less alone.”

“I want to apologize, Master Aqua.”

“For what?”

Isa considers his words. “Lea and I have lost so much of our youth to a worthless cause. It is not natural for us to enjoy freedom. We expect a harsher punishment to catch up to us any day now, to steal more time from us. Perhaps we deserve to live in fear of that every day. I certainly do.” He watches her. “I can see the story you’ve endured this past decade in your eyes. It’s horrific.” 

Aqua stays quiet.

“And Terra,” he continues. “He will age and die long before you and Ventus. I’m so sorry for that. The rubble we’re left with, it is such a weight for us to bear.”

She wipes a tear from her cheek, too proud to let them continue. “That’s why we need to make the best of it.”

Isa smiles; this time it’s warm. He holds her bicep. “I agree.”

“Will you and the others join us for dinner? Terra speaks for all of us, we’d love to have you around.”

“Bribe Lea with an extravagant experience and he will surely say yes. The children will follow once we assure them.”

Aqua nearly jumps to hug him but she keeps herself composed. Instead, she bows to him. His eyes pulse open.

“That was not necessary,” he says.

“You need to understand how deeply I appreciate this.”

“Lea was right. You old-fashioned wielders are certainly an odd bunch.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On her way back to the study, Aqua breaks into a sprint, desperate to fly so she could get to him as fast as possible, see his face when she delivers the news.

Terra sulks by a window. Before he could say anything, Aqua jumps and throws her arms around his neck in a clash of grunts, her legs dangling. 

“They’re going to join us for dinner,” she says. She can’t tell if she’s the one who’s trembling or if it’s Terra. Because her arms are wrapped around his neck, she drags him down with her when he relaxes. He rests his forehead on hers as he leans over her, his hair falling around her like a curtain. 

“Stars,” he whispers. “It’s happening?”

She smiles into his cheek. “He wants to bring everyone with him.”

He squeezes her by the small of her back. “We’ll have to invite the others too. Riku and Kairi. Naminé. It will be a feast.”

At the sound of his own words, Terra straightens out, and their fleeting moment of excitement vanishes as quick as it graces them. He nervously clutches a handful of his hair. “Wait, how soon are they coming?”

“Is something wrong?”

“I want to wear it in a ponytail.” He brushes his hair up, exposing the silver near the scalp. “Do you think it’s possible to dye it?”

That’s what makes him so insecure? Aqua stands on her toes to fiddle with the hair. “Come on. It’s a little tedious, but it can be done.”

Aqua snips the necessary plants from the garden, and after grinding them, she dumps the blend into a mix of water and animal fat. Terra slips his robe off and bends over the kitchen sink, letting her sweep the dye with a paintbrush and pinch it across the strands of his long hair with gloved hands. This is the tedious part, separating his hair into thin chunks and being diligent enough to leave nothing untouched. 

“It won’t last for long, right?” he asks, shifting his weight.

“I can find a spell to seal it and make it last longer.” She nudges him to turn his neck over so she can work the other side. In this direction, he can look up at her.

“This feels like I’m cheating.” 

“I think we all cheated. We all came back by some star’s blessing.”

Terra frowns. “When Isa wanted to know if I remembered anything, I felt like I was playing a rigged game. Like I had gotten away with it so easily when he’s stuck with them on his own.”

“Bend your neck forward,” she says, and he follows so she could brush the dye into the back of the scalp. “Well, Isa doesn’t blame you and no one should. And you do get away with certain things.”

Terra flinches but she keeps her hold on him. “Like what?”

Aqua pinches more of the dye into the hair at the neck, wrapping a towel around his shoulders. He will have to pass the time needed for the color to sink in. She can’t wait until he sees it for himself in the mirror. She can’t wait until he smiles more, until he can walk with seeded confidence. 

“You can stand up,” she tells him, instructing him that it will take almost an hour for the dye to settle. She pulls out her gloves and considers an answer to his question. “You get away with what you say sometimes.”

Terra gapes. “Did I offend you?”

“No.” She smirks. This has never been the way she daydreamed it would go—she had prepared a scenario where they would talk about it under the stars in a clear night, in the spring where the flowers have blossomed. Not with yet another shirt that they’ll have to replace.“You told me you loved me that day in the Graveyard.” He doesn’t flinch. “And you don’t remember saying that either.”

The bowl of dye rattles and Aqua catches it from falling over, spilling the excess into the sink and rinsing it. “Terra?”

“Uh.” The cupboards shake as if about to spill open. Terra grabs the knife block and throws it into the fridge, just in case. “Well.” He splays his hand over the handle and burns it with a fire spell, molding the metal together so it can’t burst open. “I’ll fix that later. Um. It’s—” He tips over the fruit bowl so nothing will fly out in different directions. He can’t look her in the face, taking deep breaths. “I mean. It’s not—it’s not a lie.” 

Aqua waits a moment, afraid another word is going to make the oven explode. “I should have told you the same.” She bites her lip. 

“What are you saying?” The burner grates of the stovetop blow up and hit the cupboard over it. “All this time, I could have known?”

“Maybe you should have done something about it.” 

“I’ve been driving myself crazy wondering how you felt. Ever since we came back home.”

“And you said nothing?”

Terra stares at her. “You know what—I’m not protecting you from the oranges.”

“What are you doing?” She chuckles.

He flips the bowl back and waves his arm, five oranges punching her on the arm that she’s using to shield herself.

“Terra!”

She stumbles as the oranges bounce back from the floor and arc over to hit her again. Terra squeezes his fists and the oranges unpeel themselves, sputtering juice all over her face, a tart taste filling her mouth.

Aqua laughs and runs into the dining room, ducking behind the table.

“Get back here,” Terra calls. He rushes into the dining room, clumsy enough to be caught off guard when she charges at him. 

Aqua has to jump higher, kicking off his chest to flip over. The goal is to slam her foot across his face—the best sparring trick in her arsenal. Terra catches her by the ankle but his balance is tested when she bends her knee to throw him off. He’s stronger, a tight grip on her calf. They both fall onto his back, a tower broken in two and collapsing on itself.

Aqua rests her head between his chest, giggling so much that her chin digs into his thorax. 

Terra groans, his soaked hair leaving brown tracks over the tile. “You got some on you.” He rubs a thumb on her temple where it meets the base of her hair. “Hmm, you’d look good as a brunette.”

“In your wildest dreams.”

“If one can come true, then you never know.”

Aqua holds herself up on her elbows. Terra is so large, he’s a mattress in the middle of the dining room floor. Streaks of dye draw across his cheek. They leave what look like slashes across his neck. It’s going to take some scrubbing power to remove them. She sweeps some of the hair off, not caring about the stain it leaves on her fingers.

The next move is natural. A touch of lips to lips, careful and giddy, puckered and softer than she expects, two hands on her back and a powerful jaw under the grace of her fingertips. 

Ven opens the door and gags. “Ugh, all the stars in hell, could you do that in your room?” He turns on his heel and stomps off. “I’m too young for this.”

Aqua snorts into Terra’s mouth and he spits. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Terra licks his lips of juice. He leans up for more. “You taste tangy.”

[chysgoda]

License

Regarding the regulation of physical goods in Amarout

Rated M for meme

Emet Selch glanced up from his paperwork when his office door opened. Hythlodaeus stepped in and closed the door behind him without looking at Emet Selch. The architect blinked when he watched his chief cast a sound proofing spell on the door. This was not a promising start. Hythlodaeus dropped himself into a chair and all but threw a letter at Emet Selch. Flustered by the violence of the action he barely caught it before it hit him in the face.

“I thought you said that this was Igeyrohem’s department now.” Hythlodaeus hissed. Emet Selch sighed when he looked away from the letter and at his chief. Everything about Hythlodeaus’s posture made Emet Selch think of an arched back cat that had not decided if it was going to flee or strike. He looked back down to actually read the letter. Half way through he paused to take off his mask so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose properly.

“At the last Convocation meeting it was voted that the regulation for all physical goods, be it base material or finished product, would be regulated by the Bureau of the Architect as we already have processes in place that can be easily adapted.” Hades filled the last two words with as sarcasm as he could manage.

“And I’m just finding out about this now?!”

“If I hadn’t needed to immediately turn my attention to the fact that someone had let a known troublemaker take an untested masterwork into the wild after that known troublemaker had kidnapped Elidibus’s wife-“

Hythlodaeus held up a finger, “Point of order, Azem kidnapped Idunn AFTER getting Ifrita’s concept crystal, and kidnapped is hardly a fair word.”

Hades glared at his husband, “That does not help your case.”

“Still…”

The Architect opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick file. He let it drop onto the desktop with a loud and dull thunk. He glanced over the letter that the chief of his bureau had thrown at him and then filed it under one of a dozen tabs. “We needs must suffer this until we can come up with a convincing argument to place before the Convocation that is not easily translated as ‘it’s your turn’.”

Hythlodaeus groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

~~~~

Bob sighed as he made his agonizing and slow way through the queue at the Bureau of the Architect. He daydreamed about the day when representatives of Convocation members could skip the que for the most part and get on with their day.

Ahh, the halcyon days of last week.

“Another one Bob?” The voice on the other side of the counter asked in sympathetic exasperation.

Bob shook himself out of his daydream. “Unfortunately Sally, about the copper this time.”

“I have brought up adding the Convocation que back into procedures with the Chief.” Sally said as she took the stack of papers from him. “He’s on Emet-Selch’s side this time though.”

“At least Lahabrea isn’t sending these complaints over individually anymore. I wish they’d stop feuding over this.” He sighed and waited for his fellow paperwork shuffler to provide a statement of receipt. “Would you and Altalus like to join Sevanus and I for dinner tomorrow?”

“Sounds good!” Sally said brightly. Behind her, Bob could just see the stack of paperwork that Lahabrea’s complaints had been added to. For the sake of his sanity he didn’t ask if they all generated from the same source.

~~~~~

The red mask glared at the black mask. The lips underneath the black masked curled in a display of patently false innocence. The golden eyes visible behind the red mask narrowed, “Azem, just because you are my wife does not give you the right to jump the queue.”

Azem reached up and removed her black mask. Her ruby eyes danced with mischief. “Ahhhh, but these complaints come from another city state and those DO get to jump the queue.”

Emet Selch removed his mask so that it was Hades glaring at Lilith. “Lilith, really?”

“Just get on with it and censure him, Hades.” Lilith shrugged, giving no sign of any sympathy. “The Convocation is quick enough to censure me if I’ve ruffled their collective feathers, and it’s not like you don’t have ample documentation.”

Hades huffed annoyance and he opened his file drawer again. It was hard to get his hand around the folder now. He didn’t bother to look at the complaints Lilith had put on his desk and just put them on the top. He stared hard at the folder reminding himself that it was not becoming of Emet Selch to bash his head against it in the presence of another Convocation member, even if (especially if) that other Convocation member was his wife.

“What are you waiting for, an invitation?”

“You have clearly never had to deal with this man.” Hades looked up from the folder to glower at Lilith and felt just a bit guilty to find that her mischief had softened into sympathy.

“Rip the bandage off Hades,” Lilith leaned forward to rest the tips of her fingers on his hand. “You know that’s why they dropped this in your lap.”

Hades did not sulk or pout even if the renewed spark in the ruby eyes said otherwise. “You have the right of it, as usual.”

Lilith squeezed his hand. “Get Hythlodaeus to track the man down and summon him in. I am going to see if I can find out what Idunn and Bragi are being so secretive about.”

Hades gave her a wan smile before retrieving his hand to close the thick folder.

~~~~

The complaints were artfully arranged on his desk, Lahabrea’s complaints getting their very own stack. And if they had been augmented with blank paper underneath each stack, well there wasn’t any harm in a bit of drama to drive a point home. Emet Selch glanced at the wall clock and then at Hythlodaeus. The Architect and the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect nodded to each other. The subject of their ire had been made to stand in the hallway and stew in his own juices for long enough. Hythlodaeus opened the double doors to the office and motioned the nuisance to the single seat in front of Emet Selch’s gigantic desk.

Emet Selch rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Ea-Nasir, it is time we spoke about your license for selling naturally sourced raw materials.”

Hythlodaeus let the doors slam shut with a booming bang as punctuation to the sentence. He walked to his own office whistling happily.

[willowaudreykeyes]

Prompt: myths and chaos with Logan with the line “so apparently microwaving this ancient manuscript isn’t a good way to find out its secrets.”

Remus’ Puzzle Temple Of Friendship And Chaos

Warnings: Baby eldritch thing, tentacles, one eye, vague sexual reference that’s from a song

Platonic Logince, brotherly-and-on-good-terms Creativitwins and Intrulogical of whatever relationship interpretation that you want.

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

Roman

“Remind me to thank your brother at dinner tonight.”

“That’s if we make it to dinner. And you all call me extra; he made an entire temple for us to explore within a week!” He spent a lot of energy on it too. I still remember the shaky finger he pointed at me after the second day of working on this Incan-like temple; slurring tiredly about not going into the space between our Kingdoms and ruining the surprise. He also forced me to carry him to his room as he dangerously swayed on his feet. I’ll have to thank him by working just as hard for his and Logan’s adventure after the two of us finish this one.

“I know; yet I’ve yet to thank him for doing so. And I must ask how long it took to make this language.” Taking my first glance at said language, I recognise it immediately as the first language that Remus and I had known. We had known it better than English at one point, until Patton insisted that we make English our main language so that we wouldn’t confuse Thomas. 

“Oh, we’ve always known it. We used to speak it in front of Patton as kids to confuse him and we still use it occasionally whenever we send a letter, or in his case a slab of mysterious leather, between our Kingdoms.”

“So you can translate this?”

“Of course!” I hold the slightly chipped black and red tablet out at arms length, quickly noticing that everything on the tablet makes no sense. No wonder he was so tired after every day in the Imagination; he even made us a puzzle. “It’s encrypted though, so we have to figure out what the cypher is first. And knowing Remus, it could be anything.”

He takes it from my hands and adjusts his glasses for the fiftieth time today before tapping his chin. I doubt Logan realises that he has so many visual tells when he becomes passionate and interested. “He would leave a clue somewhere where we could find it. He’s chaotic, not unfair.”

“Aha!” In a spark of inspiration, I rough up my hair and gain a huff of defeat from the neighbourhood nerd as I do the same to his own. It had dust from the temple in it anyway. “We just have to think like Remus! Now what’s the most logical place to put a cypher for this thing?”

“Where we found it.”

“Okay. Now what’s the opposite of that?”

His eyebrows do that cute thing where they pinch down a bit when he’s confused. I don’t bother hiding my smile as his eyes shift around, taking in invisible words as he tries to find my line of thinking. “I’m… not following. The opposite of where we found it is every room that we didn’t find it in, and we went through forty-three rooms and eight hallways; perhaps half or less of the entire temple judging by the size and spacing between each room.”

“And only twelve not-too-tough traps, which is less then his usual quota…” Probably because of the exhaustion, but I should have figured that out earlier. I’ll up the level of hazards in his next one as a double thank you for his hard work. “Anyway, we must think chaotically if we are to beat the chaotic one!”

With a silent nod, he attempts to fix his hair as I take in our camp and the temple before us. It’s very reminiscent of an Incan temple in design yet is mainly made out of pitch black obsidian; with intricate wall carvings engraved with pure ruby, emerald, moonstone and diamond; and a whole lot of animal and human skulls that are packed tightly into every ceiling. And I must say, adding the creatures from both of our Kingdoms as the wall carvings is a nice touch. 

Except I won’t say it out loud because the majority of them are of naked people, naked cannibals and of naked murders. 

At least our camp has some more class to it! Logan wished for something realistic, but was soon swayed by my enchanted Harry Potter tent that’s magically large enough to have a working bathroom and still look like a ‘regular’ camping tent from the outside. I do like regular camping, but I prefer to have a shower after a tub of Thomas-knows-what is dropped over us and getting into every uncomfortable crevasse. Just thinking about that disgusting concoction makes me shudder.

“... Perhaps our microwave?”

I snap my gaze back to him, beaming at his rather shy sounding remark. He always sounds shy when he says something that deviates from his path of logic. At least he’s opening up a little more. “Perfect! I knew you’d think of something!”

“It was the first usable thing that I saw. Were you daydreaming again?”

“Nope- Using the microwave to solve a cypher sounds like something Remus’ mind would think up. He did mix sardines, lettuce and one of your ties in the blender before drinking it once.” I mumble the last half -I probably shouldn’t out Remus just yet for drinking Logan’s tie a few months ago- and put the tablet in the microwave and set it to three minutes. Three is the magic number after all.

“Did you say something?” 

“Mumbling ideas to myself is all!”

The microwave suddenly glows a bright purple and I manage to drag Logan in close before blocking something from hitting the both of us with my summoned shield. With a pop, crackle, fizz and several loud noises that sound like tearing metal; I risk peeking over it in perfect sync with Logan. The sight of three large tentacles wiggling out of the new holes in the camp's microwave brings out a sigh from me. A very loud sigh. Remus could probably hear it and currently giggling to himself from the comfort of his bedroom.

“It may be best not to touch those. Or the microwave.”

“But the tablet!” Logan pushes by my shield and barely escapes my reach before I am able to pull him away. With a straight posture and a quick slick back of his hair, he opens it and nearly jumps into my arms Scooby-Doo style from the loud pop that occurs. I’m in front of him again within a moment, but the usual feeling of hostility that Remus puts on his dangerous creatures as a warning is lacking. At least this thing won’t try and face-hug me like that faceless chicken that guarded the temple did.

Inside was a brown-black-blue ball of tentacles, with three longer than the others that retract out of the newly-made holes in the microwave. My heart stutters as a singular, goat-like, boysenberry coloured eye opens from one of the many seams in the creature; just to quickly dart it’s vision between the two of us before landing it’s creepy gaze on Logan. “Huh. So apparently, microwaving the ancient manuscript isn’t a good way to find it’s secrets- but a great way to hatch an eldritch abomination.”

“If you’d hand me a blanket, perhaps bringing it with us would be advantageous in future explorations.” Of course he wants to bring the nightmare creature; he always does. I hand him the nearby dish towel instead as I don’t feel like leaving this thing alone with Logan would end nicely.

“As long as you're carrying it.”

“Of course; you’re the one with the sword and shield.” I’m rather sure that that means that he would make me carry the disgusting creature if I wasn’t the one with our only ways of defending ourselves; and I don’t know if I should dramatically put my hand to my chest in horror or just pout.

I go for the pout.

Only for it to be rather rudely ignored as he cradles the little beast in its new home, wrapping it’s longer tentacles around Logan’s hands and attempting to remove his watch for a moment before I manage to grab it before they do. Logan’s too busy holding it in one hand and going through his cue cards to notice though. “And I shall name it as randomly as I can; since Remus seems to name all of his creations.” 

“Why?”

“It’s only polite to follow custom; and the custom for Remus is to name his creatures.” I hate everything about this -plus the tablet is just full on missing or destroyed now too- but Logan seems enraptured by the little thing. I roll my eyes and put on my backpack as Logan already begins walking up the temple steps. We just had lunch, so we have a chance of leaving before dinner, but I highly doubt it.

Despite not being able to see, the creature manages to grab out one of the cue cards from Logan’s hand before letting him snatch it back. With a quick smile after reading it, he pockets them all again before getting a better hold of the thing before it runs away and eats a whole deer or something. “It’s name shall be Anaconda-Do-Not.”

God-fucking-dammit Remus. I frown at the thing as we enter the fire-lit entrance, glad that its eye is hidden under the dish towel. Sheep eyes have always kind of creeped me out; especially on things that aren’t sheep. “You’re not allowed to hang out with Remus, Virgil or Janus anymore if they keep giving you those weirder cue cards.”

“This one’s from Remus. It’s a metaphor about-”

“I KNOW WHAT IT IS!” A light pain follows my facepalm, but I ignore it and march onwards. Hoping to get rid of this thing as quickly as possible. “Let’s just… go shove it into a keyhole or something already.”

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

By the way, I really hate that stupid Anaconda song and so I know that it’d be perfect for Remus. Hopefully the ending is alright because it was the only bit I really had issues with ^^’

Oh and Remus definitely fell in love with the new Eldritch creatures name.

@ladyedwina @5am-the-foxing-hour @sparrowofsong

[anathewierdo]

Show, Don’t Tell

A Supernatural Fix-It fic.

Pairing: I tried to at least hint at Destiel. Also Sam x Eileen because I can and it’s been fifteen years since Jess died so sue me if I don’t want Sam paired off with a blurry wife.

Word count: 6560

Because one of the most important rules of storytelling is to show, not just tell. 

So this is basically 15x20 but with family.

Better late than never, right? Sorry it took me so long to post this. I hope you guys like it :)

Like, reblog and comment if you want. I found this was very therapeutic for me. I hope it gives some comfort to y’all.

Dean reaches to the nightstand lazily, snoozing his alarm. Like the day before, and the day before that and the day before that, he stares at the ceiling for a moment. 

It still feels so surreal. 

He’s free. 

He’s free. And so is Sammy. And so is everybody. They did it. 

His chest still aches when he remembers everything they lost along the way.

With a small shake of his head and a plastered on smile, he sits up. A bark shakes the remaining sleepiness out of his system and he opens his arms in invitation. His smile grows genuine at the feel of Miracle. He balances them a bit, letting out a rough “good morning” at his canine friend.

He’s tasted victory before. In the form of Cas coming back from the Empty back when Jack first came to their lives. He tasted victory briefly every time he kept Sammy safe. He tasted victory in small amounts with friends and family and whenever a hunt was well done. 

The victory that came from defeating Chuck was lacking, though. 

He pushes that emptiness aside. 

Everybody who could, had come back with the snap of Jack’s fingers. And that’s a whole lot better than none of them come back at all.

So he squishes Miracle once more. He can’t change anything anymore and that’s just how it is. At least he’s not alone. 

He gets up, puts over his dead guy robe and whistles so Miracle will follow. 

The smell of eggs and bacon is nice. The laughter that comes from the kitchen is even better.

Sam and Eileen are standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the stove. Eileen, like Dean, is still in her pajamas while wearing Sam’s robe. Sammy’s wearing a gray shirt and black sweatpants. He’s back from his morning run.

At the sound of Dean walking in, Sam turns around; Eileen follows suit at seeing Sam’s actions and waves hello at Dean. 

Breakfast is a happy, relaxed affair. Dean can’t keep himself from smiling proudly at the two nerds across the table. They’d grown inseparable as soon as they’d found each other again.

He has dish duty and of course he smuggles Miracle all the scraps even after serving him his actual breakfast. After that, he gets dressed (totally cleans up his room… not) and hits the library. Miracles sits by his side as Dean pets him and scrolls through the net, jumping between job hunting and searching for actual hunts. He barely notices Sam sitting in front of him when a particular article catches his eye.

“Dean?”

“Huh?”

Sam gives him a questioning look. “Did you find anything?”

Dean looks back at the screen. For a moment, he wants to say no, forget about the article and move on looking for a job. But no, he’s still a hunter. The Big Bad may be gone, but the Winchester brothers’ job isn’t… Also, he may have seen another article from the same town with something interesting, and he could use a distraction.

“Yeah, I think I found something.”

Not even an hour later, they’re saying goodbye to Eileen and Miracle, promising to be back home in a few days time. 

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

Dean is positively giddy by the time they roll into town. He had to convince Sam to do this, arguing how they got time before they would crash the crime scene for clues and eventually, he finally got the okay (not that it would’ve made any difference). He parks Baby right before the pie festival and stares in awe as he gets out of the Impala. 

Sam stands right beside him, taking in his reaction. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“This is my destiny,” Dean proclaims, watching all these people walk around eating apple, cherry, coconut, pecan– oh god they have fried pie. Sin or not, distraction achieved. “It’s just so beautiful.”

“Are you crying?”

“No. Yo– You’re crying.”

Sam scoffs, chuckling. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m gonna get some pie.”

“Right,” Sam nods, amused.

It just feels so good to say it. He’s already walking towards the festival with a big smile on his face. “I’m gonna get me some damn pie.”

And with that, Dean tours. He forms in line to the pie truck, ordering one piece of each flavor, then goes around with this big white box asking for a piece of each pie in the festival. 

He finds Sam again a few minutes later, sitting by himself on a bench and looking towards a family with longing. Dean doesn’t doubt it: he’s daydreaming about him and Eileen having that someday.

“Found ya,” Dean sits beside him, glaring daggers at a stranger who almost crashed into him and put his pie at risk. “What’s wrong?”

Sam straightens his jacket. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“No, come on. You got that face–,” he motions with his free hand. “That, that’s Sad Sam Face.”

“I’m not Sad Sam,” he mocks. A couple of seconds go by with Dean still looking at him. Sam sighs. “I’m just– I’m just thinking about Cas, you know? Jack. I wish they could be here.”

Dean feels as if a bucket filled with freezing water had been dumped on him. The ache in his chest comes back with a full force and suddenly he wants to bail and beeline it to the bunker until he can hug Miracle again. For a moment; for a sweet, brief moment, he’d been distracted enough from the loss.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “ Yeah, no, I–I think about them too.”

“What happened?” Sam speaks again, carefully. “You said he saved you, yeah, but… what happened?”

“It’s like I told you and the kid, alright?” Dean snaps, then closes his eyes as he relives everything in a hurtful, awfully quick memory. “He summoned the Empty. The Empty got there and took him and Billie and by the time I realized what had happened they were– he was gone. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t do anything.”

Sam has the decency to not say anything. 

“I told Claire the same thing,” he adds, once he’s calmed down enough. “If we don’t keep living, his sacrifice and Jack’s sacrifice won’t mean anything. Cas saved me, Jack brought everyone back, we saved the world.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I just miss them.”

“Yeah, we all do. I certainly do.”

He’s not in the mood to talk about it anymore. He doesn’t want to remember anymore how he just stood there, paralyzed with fear and shock as Cas sacrificed himself for him for the last time to go to the only place Dean can’t save him from. He’s gone. 

So he stabs his damn pie and takes the first bite, pretending the deliciousness of the dessert is enough to distract him when a full piece gets shoved into his face. Dean licks his lips. Coconut pie. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” Sam laughs.

Dean gives him a bitter smile. Deep down, he’s thankful for the sudden distraction.

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

They introduce themselves to the policewoman as agents Kripke and Singer from the FBI. The dad’s throat was torn and he’d been stabbed. The mother’s tongue had been ripped out and she was the only one left after the attack. The kids were taken.  

The policewoman had looked at them curiously. “I didn’t know homeland security took home invasion cases.”

“Oh yeah, we’re full service,” Dean answers with a bitter smile.

As they talk more, Sam asks if the mother had been interrogated already, if she had seen something. The policewoman nods, taking out a piece of paper from the folder in her hands and showing Sam and Dean the drawing of a smiling skeleton.

“She drew this when asked if she saw the attackers,” she explains further. 

Dean nods distractively. When the policewoman is called into the house, he turns to Sam.

“I recognize that face.”

“Yeah, me too. Just don’t know from where.” 

They sweep around the house looking for clues and thank the people working the case for their time before asking for the coroner’s report. With the files in hand, they leave the scene and go just out of town so they can regroup.

They’re leaning against opposite sides of the hood of Baby. Dean’s going through dad’s journal while Sam goes through the file they were given and extending a map of the state.

“Found it!” Dean announces. “Dad came across these things in ‘86. He was working a string of kidnappings involving seven children along the 77. Mark these up: Akron, Canton, East Sparta,” he listed. “He didn’t find much, but one of the witnesses described this.”

He turned the journal around, showing Sam a more detailed copy of the face their witness had drawn.

“Alright, so Dad knew about this case–”

“Yeah but he didn’t find much. Guess he thought this was some major crime thing, not a monster.”

“So, the victims–”

“Kids were taken; the adults that weren’t drained had their–”

“Their tongues ripped out.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah… You know what this is? Mimes.”

Sam scoffs. “My money’s on vampires.”

Tongue in cheek, Dean nods, giving it a thought before his face lights up at a breakthrough. “Vamp–mimes! Son of a bitch, man.”

Sam knows this Dean. The Dean that gets silly when he’s down, the one that smiles and attempts to make him laugh so he won’t notice. Dean’s distracting himself; and Sam, just this once, is gonna let him. They both lost Castiel, but Dean’s the one who was closer to the angel. At least this time Dean’s not putting his life at risk.

“Okay, so if the pattern holds, then the next town they’re gonna hit is Canton.”

“And they’re gonna target a family that lives outside of town, isolated and with kids between the ages of five and ten,” Dean supplies.

“Alright,” Sam puts the cap back on his sharpie. “So, who in Canton fits that bill?”

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

The Maxwell’s from Canton fit the bill. 

The brothers camped out near their house until nightfall and stayed hidden. The vampires would arrive soon. They had to. The Maxwell’s were the only ones who ticked off all the requirements of the pattern their dad had collected. 

So when a white van pulled up to the main entrance of the house, Sam got his gun ready and Dean pulled his machete out of its case.

Three vampires came out of the van. Two vampires were beheaded not ten minutes later and the third one had been shot in the head with a bullet soaked in dead man’s blood.

They interrogate him, threaten to kill him slowly to get him to confess where’s his nest and if he’s being honest, Dean doesn’t care for a hot minute if the guy talks or not. He gets to decapitate another vamp and whether he’ll do it slowly or quickly doesn’t matter because he will find that fucking nest and he’s gonna bring those kids home so help him Jack. 

The fact that he might have been itching for a hunt while at the same time wanting to stay cooped up in the bunker for the rest of his days is irrelevant.

Vamp-mime #3 ends up talking and, like he promised, Dean makes his demise quick. Sam makes an anonymous call to the Canton police department to report the bodies and they’re out of there, Dean drives as fast as he can through the highway and towards the location of the nest. 

He guesses that if the three goons don’t make it back to the nest soon they’ll either flee or look for their missing members. Both options involve them leaving the nest, so neither option is good. 

His conversation from earlier that day with Sam replays in his memory. Over and over he hears himself saying if we don’t move on, all that sacrifice will have been for nothing. He’s right. He’s right and he should move on. He should leave the past in the past and come to terms with the fact that whatever he wanted to say to Cas won’t ever happen because Cas can’t hear him anymore. He couldn’t say anything and now he’s stuck living in a present that is good but that is incomplete.

Dean’s come to that realization several times in the couple weeks since they defeated Chuck, yet his heart still breaks each and every time. There is so much he wanted to say to Cas and Jack. 

‘You are family, Jack,’ is one of the many things he wants to clear up for the kid. 

He drives and drives until Sam turns him to take a turn and they stop outside of a seemingly black, old-looking barn.

“You think this is the place?” Sam asks as they get out of Baby.

“Well, old and abandoned place in the middle of nowhere that looks like it came out of a bad horror movie…” Dean nods. “Yeah, I think this is it.”

“Great.”

They go to the trunk and it feels… ominous, somehow. On top of everything going on in his head, he’s now remembering his father and that vamp hunt he took them in ‘05. The hunting world changed for him that time, he had a feeling it was about to change again. 

And because he feels like throwing shit at mimes, he takes the throwing stars, giving Sam a cheeky smile. He gets a shake of the head and bitch-face number 10 in response.

“No.”

“We’ve never used them, come on,” Dean pleads. “Just this once.”

“No way.”

“I never get to do anything fun,” he grumbles, scouring through the trunk. “Where’s the rest of the dead man’s blood bullets?”

Sam motions his gun, “we ran out. I have the last few.”

“Seriously?!” 

Sam gives him an apologetic look. “I’ll shoot, you take a machete. And we take these sons of bitches down together, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean grumbles, pointing the machete at his brother. “But you’re in charge of making more when we get back home.”

“Fine.”

They go in. Dean with his machete, Sam with a gun in his hand and a machete in the other. 

Suddenly, a milk run hunt is not so easy anymore. There are another four vampire mimes, all ready and waiting for them to make the first strike. Sam makes sure to get the kids out of there, telling them to run as fast and as far as they can, that him and his big brother will follow in a bit to help more. 

The fight goes by quick. Sam shoots a vampire, but he loses his gun when another one gets too close and knocks the gun out of his hands. He swings the machete at the attacking vampire and beheads him with a clean cut.

Dean beheads another one, and together they take down a third one. 

They exchange a confident look. Almost there. 

Suddenly, another two vamps pop out from the back entrance of the barn. The Winchester brothers swing, but a hit at the back of his head leaves Sam unconscious momentarily, rendering Dean outmanned and, soon after, defenseless. 

Sam wakes up to Dean pinned down by two vampires, the third one with a raised machete. 

He doesn’t have time to think. He reaches out for his previously discarded machete and beheads her. 

The action gives Dean enough time to stand his ground once more. 

Each brother targets one of the remaining vampires. They’re bruised and battered and Sam’s a little dizzy, but he ain’t gonna let these vamps win. 

So he fights, he stands his ground miraculously and eventually gains enough upper hand to behead his vamp. As the head falls to the ground, there’s a grunt and the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart. 

What Sam expects to see is a vampire hurt, or even better, beheaded.

What he finds is his brother pinned against a wooden column; the vamp pushing him further against it. 

“Dean!” He panics, tackles the vamp to the ground and fights the thing until he can behead it. Which he does with gusto. 

Sam finally lets himself breathe as that last head hits the ground. Feels his wounds and the slight pain caused by the vampires but overall, he’s okay. Barely scratched, taking his standards in consideration. 

“Sammy,” Dean calls softly. 

Sam turns, giving his big brother a tired smile that fades instantly at seeing Dean still pressed against the wooden column, tense, with his face contorted in discomfort and pain.

He’s in front of him in a second. “What’s wrong?”

Dean tilts his head to the side, motioning behind him, “I don– I don’t think I’m going anywhere, Sammy.”

White hot panic begins to course through Sam’s veins as he reaches behind Dean and feels the blood dripping from his back and soaking his clothes. He takes his hand a little bit more up and to the side and suddenly he can feel the protuberance of a rebar sticking out the column… now buried in his brother’s back. 

“No no no, we can fix this,” Sam begins to say frantically. “Lemme just get the first aid kit. I’ll take you out of here. We just gotta get you down. It’ll be okay. We’ll patch you up.”

He tries to push Dean away from the rebar, barely moving him but causing Dean to scream in pain and Sam can’t do anything but freeze.

“Fuck! No, Sammy. No nononononono don’t move me. That–,” Dean coughs. “It feels like this thing is holding me together right now.” Sam steps back, hands hanging at his sides and looking heartbreakingly mad at himself for not being able to get Dean out of this. Dean moves his head slightly, forcing Sam to look him in the eye. “I can feel myself fading, Sammy. I–I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Sam insists. “Let me call for help, let me–”

“Sam– Sam!,” Dean cuts him off. “Sta–Stay with me,” he pleads. “Stay with me, please.”

Dean sees his brother struggle for a moment before he nods faintly. “Okay, yeah.”

“Listen to me,” he begins. “You get out of here and you get those boys someplace safe, okay?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, motioning between them. “We are going to get them someplace safe.”

“No, Sammy. I– There’s no time. Fuck– this thing– you move me and I’ll die, alright? Just,” Dean coughs again. This time, he decides to ignore Sam’s flinch as he tries to focus, to stay just long enough to say it all. “Just stay with me for now, please.”

“Stop! It’s gonna be okay, just–”

“Sammy I ain’t happy with this, but it’s happening. And we can’t stop it, alright?” He gives his little brother a pained smile. “At least I got to save people and hunt things one last time with my brother. Family business.”

“Dean, stop this.”

“No. There’s some things I wanna say, okay?” He pleads. “There’s some things you need to know.”

A white hot flash of pain courses through him and Dean groans, closing his eyes for a moment. He hears Sam sniffle.

“First,” he opens his eyes and flashes a cocky, loving smile. “We had one hell of a ride, man.”

“I will find a way,” Sam stutters, eyes frantic. “I’ll find a way. You’ll come back.”

“No no no no, no bringing me back, Sammy. That always ends bad and we’ve had enough of Big Bads, ya hear me?” Dean coughs. “No bringing me back. Promise me. Swear it.”

Sam opens his mouth to do just that just to placate his brother, but stops. There’s nothing grand, nothing good, nothing positive about this situation. It sucks. It utterly sucks because Dean is right here and he can’t help, he can’t take him off that rebar he can’t cure him he can’t call Cas–

“I’m so proud of you, Sammy,” Dean continues, promises ignored for now. “Come here,” he keeps coughing. “Remember when I came to get you from Stanford?”

Sam nods, stepping closer to Dean, who places a hand on his shoulder while mumbling ‘let me look at you’.

“I thought you were gonna tell me to get lost o–or–or get dead and– anyways. You– you turned out great, Sammy. I’m so proud of you.”

Dean’s difficulty to speak increases with every passing second and Sam grows frantic at the sheer reality of this. He’s watching his brother die and this time– with Jack saying he wouldn’t be a hands on God, with Cas gone, with the promise he hasn’t made yet…

He won’t be able to bring Dean back. 

Sam’s eyes fill with tears and suddenly it feels like he’s forgetting how to breathe. He can feel himself shaking, frantically shaking his head as the first tears begin to fall.

“I can’t do this alone,” he pleads again.

Dean sounds so confident in his response. “Yes, you can.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to.”

“You won’t have to,” Dean assures. “You have– You have D–D–Donna a-a-and Claire. Kaia. J-Jody. B-B-Bobby. Eileen. Garth. Our friends. Family. You’re not alone, Sam. I swear.” His voice grows softer the more he speaks. “I’ll be right here,” he pats Sam’s chest. “E-Every step of the way. I promise. We are not- not alone, Sam– Sammy. Not anymore. Not for a while now.”

Sam is biting his lip hard now, trying to breathe normally, trying with all his might to contain his sobs, to keep the tears at bay. Nothing works. The tears still roll down his cheeks. His breath is still raggedy and broken. His body can’t stop shaking and it only gets worse as he sees Dean begin to cry too. 

“Tell me– Tell me you’re gonna be okay,” The oldest Winchester begs. “Tell me it’s gonna be okay, Sammy.”

 The words pierce right through Sam’s soul. He doesn’t think he’s ever done anything quite as hard as looking at his dying brother in the eyes and forcing himself to speak in the most reassuring way possible. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Dean,” his voice cracks and shakes and his face is fucking soaked but he pulls through. “I’m gonna be okay. It’s okay.”

Dean smiles. It’s a pained, wobbly and grateful smile. “I don’t wanna go, Sammy,” he confesses in a desperate whisper as another tear rolls down his face. “I don’t– tell them I said goodbye. That– that I– fuck.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam repeats, more for himself than for his brother this time. Dean’s grip on his shoulder is wavering and so Sam decides to step in closer, hugs Dean as carefully as possible without moving him. “They know. It’s okay. You can go.”

Dean gives a shaky sigh and suddenly his face is resting against Sam’s shoulder.

“Bye, Sammy,” he whispers.

This time, Dean sighs calmly, slowly, as his hand falls from Sam’s shoulder and his body sags between his brother and the column. 

He’s dead.

Whatever self control Sam had left is shattered as he shakily hugs Dean closer to him, burying his face against his now dead brother’s shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably, calling out to him, begging for any kind of miracle to appear and make Dean breathe again.

Nothing changes. 

Not after thirty seconds. Not after a minute. Not after five minutes. 

Still crying and with shaking fingers, Sam pulls his phone out and texts Eileen, sending her their location and asking her to please come help. 

After another couple minutes, Sam takes Dean off the rebar and cries harder at the sound of his flesh tearing a little bit more against the metal as he’s freed from it.. 

It’s with a heavy heart that he realizes he can’t stay here. There are two boys hidden outside that need him. 

He lays Dean down and promises to come back as soon as possible.

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

By the time Eileen arrives at the barn, Sam’s taken the boys home.

She finds him inside the old barn, sitting besides Dean’s body, crying, sobbing, shaking. It doesn’t take her long to put the pieces together and for her eyes to fill with tears. She slowly makes her way up to Sam, who startles at the feel of her hand on his back. He stops crying for a second, thinking they might be in danger again, but only cries harder at the sight of Eileen and drags her into his arms, hugging her as tight as he can, desperate for comfort.

“It’s okay, Sam,” she tries to assure him a couple times. It doesn’t work. And it doesn’t feel right to say something like that when her sort of brother-in-law is lying dead beside them. The more she’s there, the heavier the loss feels and soon enough she’s crying just as hard as Sam, aching in pain for the loss of Dean, but more so because of the pain Sam is feeling. Her assurances quickly morph into her trying to say ‘I’m here, Sam’.

Because that she is certain of. She’s not leaving Sam. She’s right here for him.

They get rid of the vamps’ bodies together, neither wanting to be alone for the time being. Once that’s done, they put Dean in the backseat of Baby and they drive home.

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

It takes less than a day for everybody to come for the funeral.

Sam and Eileen spend the rest of the night making phone calls to all of their friends and family. Jody, Donna and the girls are the first ones to show up. Claire is clinging to Kaia’s hand tightly as she tries to keep her sobbing under control. 

Every time someone shows up, Sam can’t help but think back at something Dean said that time he was supposed to blow up Amara with the soul bomb. 

‘I want a big funeral, you hear? I’m talking open bar, all you can eat kinda thing.’

By the time the sun begins to set, everyone is there. Sam finds himself thinking that Dean was right: he’s not alone, they do have a family. And their family is mourning his loss, their loss, with him, together. 

Garth brought his family. Bobby and the hunters from Apocalypse World came. Charlie and Stevie came. Someone got a hold of Jesse and Cesar Cuevas and apparently they got on the first plane they could find all the way from Mexico. Even Rowena is summoned, and people are even more surprised when she shows up. Dean’s pyre is surrounded by everybody that ever loved him, everyone they considered family that still lives. 

Miracle and Eileen are by Sam’s side when the pyre begins to burn.

They watch as the body of Dean Winchester burns, but they hold on tight to the fact that they’re not alone. 

Ironically, the bunker is bursting with life after the funeral. 

Everyone was invited to stay the night and said night is drunk away with stories, tears and memories of Dean. The mourn of his loss becomes a celebration of his life. 

A couple of days later, after everyone is gone, Sam roams the bunker’s hallways. Eileen does everything she can, but it’s painfully obvious that staying here is not doing Sam any good. Too many memories, too many years, too many reminders of what’s gone. 

They sit down, they talk, they cry in Dean’s room… and they come to the conclusion that it’s time. 

They arrange things with Bobby and his hunters, giving them the bunker’s keys. They pack up everything they can take and with Miracle following right behind, they say goodbye to their home.

It hurts Sam more than he thought it would, but the bunker’s not being abandoned, it’s being opened for the hunter community to continue to fight the good fight. Except this time, he won’t be in the front lines. 

They take Baby with them. Sam is driving, Eileen is sitting shotgun and Miracle is laying in the backseat. He takes Eileen’s hand in his. She signs ‘I love you’, Sam says it back. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Eileen says. 

“I know,” Sam answers. 

This time, he believes it.

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

Dean wakes up (and this is a weird thing to say) standing. The sun is shining warm and beautiful on his face and he’s surrounded by a gorgeous mountain view. 

There’s no immediate pain and after a full minute, nobody has come out to mock him and tear the fantasy down, so he assumes he’s not in hell. 

Thank– No. Not Chuck. Thank Jack, he guesses. 

There’s a building to his right and so he walks, curious. When he reaches the front, he’s surprised at the sight of Bobby, their Bobby, sitting on its porch, drinking a beer and smiling warmly at him.

“What memory is this?” He asks, taken aback. He looks up the building and his breath hitches. Harvelle’s. They’re at Harvelle’s. 

Bobby chuckles, “it ain’t, ya idjit.”

“Yeah, it is,” he insists. “Last time I heard, you,” Dean points at Bobby. “were in heaven’s lock-up.”

“Was,” Bobby agrees, getting up. “Not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“That kid of yours happened,” he smiles. “He came in and– he fixed it. Everything. Heaven ain’t just your memories anymore. He– He tore down the walls,” Bobby explains softly, excitedly. “Everyone can go see everyone. See, a few miles from here,” he points over a mountain, “is Rufus’ cabin. He got it with Aretha. Your folks have their own place too, nearby.”

“So everyone–”

“You can see them, visit them,” Bobby clarifies. He opens his arms in invitation. “It’s good to see you, son.”

For the first time since he got here, Dean breaks into a big smile and steps into Bobby’s hug, holding on tightly. “Same goes to you, old man.”

“Shut up,” he jokingly scolds. Bobby pulls away from the hug and motions to the roadhouse’s entrance. “Come on in. There’s some people who’d like to see you.”

They step into the bar and Dean is once again taken aback not only because of the view, but because of all the joyful screaming that fills the air as soon as the door opens.

Everybody’s here.

Charlie, Ash, Jo, Ellen, even his mom… Dean’s smile widens even more at the sight of Kevin, who’s apparently not a condemned soul roaming the Earth anymore. Old friends, recent friends and family him and Sam lost along the way… even Frank is here.

Something is still missing tho, but Dean reminds himself bitterly that there’s nothing he can do about Cas, so he leaves it alone and basks in the sight of his friends.

He hugs everybody. He screams in joy and cries in joy and he’s just so damn happy at the sight of everybody. 

“Jack did all this?!” Dean asks, once he’s gotten his happy tears under control.

“Not on his own,” Ellen answers. “Castiel helped.”

The world freezes for Dean.

“Cas… Cas is dead, Ellen,” the words feel awful to say, but they’re true. He saw it happen. “He- He’s gone.”

“No, idjit,” Bobby intervenes. “Cas helped Jack do this. This,” he motions around them. “Is the heaven we needed. Dean, it’s the heaven you deserve. And they did it.”

“What ‘bout Sam?” he asks, suddenly scared. “When he gets here, he’ll have this, right? He’ll see all of you?”

“He will,” Charlie speaks this time. “This is heaven now. Time works… differently, here. Sam won’t take long. So, what are you gonna do now, Dean?”

Dean nods, because what else can he do? 

Cas is alive. 

Cas probably knows he’s here.

“I gotta go,” he says. “I have an angel to talk to.”

He walks back to the roadhouse’s entrance, but stops before opening the door. Dean takes one more look at everyone, smiling. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Go find your angel, Romeo,” Charlie whoos loudly.

“Shut up, Charlie,” he calls back, stepping out of Harvelle’s.

As if heaven couldn’t be more perfect, Baby’s parked outside. Dean’s smile grows even more at the sight of her. 

He gets inside, turns the keys and closes his eyes, savoring the sound of Baby’s roar. He turns the radio on and Carry On My Wayward Son begins to play.

He doesn’t know where exactly he’s driving, but he knows who he’s looking for. Assumes that heaven will guide him to Cas somehow.

Dean doesn’t know how time in heaven works, but he’s certain he lost track of it. After a while of driving, he stops at the side of the road upon looking at Miracle barking like crazy at the Impala, his tail wagging a mile an hour. 

He continues to drive with Miracle riding shotgun until he arrives at his destination. 

Castiel looks tense, nervous, but he’s still smiling as Dean gets out of Baby.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean can’t find words enough to express how much he’s missed him. 

“You stupid, dumb son of a bitch,” he croaks, then brings Cas in for what must be the biggest hug of his existence. “You were gone too damn long.”

The ache, the pain, that emptiness he’d been feeling ever since Cas had been taken by the empty, disappears. 

He doesn’t let Cas go.

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

Sam’s life is good. 

Him and Eileen never get married. Not legally, at least. They’re it for each other, they know it, but Sam is legally dead and still wanted in some states, so they can’t get married in a traditional way. 

Instead, they have a ceremony with their friends and family. Sam’s favorite picture from that day rests over the chimney, where he’s kissing Eileen’s cheek.

They name their first child Dean. Sam had been nervous to suggest it, but Eileen had taken one look after giving birth to their son and simply said, “hi, Dean”. Sam cried like a baby, murmuring sweet nothings into her hair while pressing his hand (that was signing ‘I love you’) to Eileen’s chest. He swore he’d be a better job than John ever did in raising his kids. He keeps that promise.

Dean grows, so does their family, so does the family business. 

Their home is filled with pictures of their friends and family. Some of Sam with Jody and the girls, eating out or hanging out. Some were given to him, showing his brother Dean smiling and being and living with their family. 

Dean Jr and his siblings hear endless stories of their super cool uncle from everybody their whole lives. They all wish they could meet Uncle Dean.

Time goes by, life goes on. Sam never gets used to the giant hole his brother’s absence leaves in his soul.

Him and Eileen grow old together. Of course they teach their kids sign language.The hunting world is somewhat still part of their lives. They used to take on small, very few cases, but little by little they just don’t anymore and one day Sam looks around as he’s doing some research to help a huntress in Minnesota and holy crap, he did get out after all.

Sometimes he visits Baby, even goes for a drive with his kids if he’s in the mood. But mostly he just sits and remembers a life besides his best friend, his brother. He prays he’s okay. He hopes he can hear him. He hopes Dean is proud.

Decades go by, his children grow and he loses a part of himself when Eileen dies. His condition gets worse and with time, he finds he can’t climb the stairs and one day he wakes up and he’s in a hospital bed in his living room. It’s insane. 

He’s old now. 

More time goes by and one day, it just happens. He feels it coming and damn, he got lucky his son Dean had come visit because he did not want to be alone for this. 

He holds his son’s hand, tries to be reassuring and wonders if this is what Dean felt like all those years before at the barn. 

“We’ll be okay, dad,” his kid tells him. “It’s okay.”

Sam smiles at the feel of his boy’s hand in the shape of the ‘I love you’ sign being pressed to his chest. He makes his own hand move to cover his boy’s.

Suddenly his grip fades, his smile fades, his eyes close. He draws his last breath. 

Sam follows his reaper to whatever destination comes next.

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

Dean loves having Cas riding shotgun as they drive through heaven. Miracle is sitting in the backseat for most of the drive, sometimes trying to jump over to the front, much to Cas’ amusement and Dean’s panic.

They talked. They keep talking along the road but for the most part, unfinished business aside, Dean is pretty fucking happy. He got Cas back. He knows now Jack is perfectly fine. Cas even told him Jack sometimes drops by to visit. He can’t wait.

They drive and drive and drive and Dean won’t ever get tired of seeing Cas so happy. 

They arrive at a bridge. Dean decides this is a good place to stop. He motions for Cas to follow, gets out and opens the backdoor for Miracle to jump out too. 

“I just felt like taking in the view,” he explains.

Cas only nods and follows him to the edge. Dean wouldn’t be able to tell how long they stood there, leaning against the metal, taking in the view of the mountains and the river running below them.

Suddenly, there’s a change in the air. 

Dean’s face breaks into a huge smile. 

Heaven was perfect, but it just got even better. 

He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Heya, Sammy,” he croaks.

Now he turns, and yeah, his little brother is right there, all teary eyed and happy. Looking like not a day had gone by since the last time they saw each other.

“Dean,” Sam greets softly. 

Dean gives a quick look to Cas, who is standing behind and petting Miracle as he smiles at their reunion. Dean looks back at his brother and he can’t contain himself anymore.

He hugs the crap out of Sammy.

Team Free Will is finally back together.

They get back into Baby after admiring the view for a little more and Dean tells Sam everything there is to know about heaven with Cas’ help. 

They make plans to take him to Eileen, to visit everyone. To make their lives up here in heaven. 

Dean has the biggest smile on his face as he looks in the rearview mirror and sees Cas smiling at him just as big in the backseat with Miracle. Sammy’s in his usual place: shotgun.

Heaven was perfect before, Dean thinks. But it’s finally complete now.

THE END

I hope you guys liked it... I know this was certainly therapeutic for me.

Take care of yourselves, keep fighting. And remember that no matter what we were given, family don’t end in blood. 

I’m not tagging anyone because... just because. But I hope that y’all like this :)

[domesticatedantelope]

proximity

a self-indulgent next door neighbors au for rodaw: best boy’s day

Pairing: Logan x MC

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k

i. 

Logan moves in on the first hot day of summer.

It takes him three long hours in the sun and several trips back up and down the chipped paint staircase at the end of the hall. By the time he maneuvers his beaten old futon mattress through the front door, his arms ache and his t-shirt sticks with sweat between his shoulder blades. 

There’s never much to move: whatever clothes fit in the back of the Devore, and just enough junk furniture to rest his feet on. At the end of the day, his footsteps echo a little too loudly against all the empty wall space, but the place is safe and quiet. And it’s something to call his own. 

He’s hunting through the boxes strewn in landmine fashion across the floor for a clean shirt when a few timid knocks break the silence. He pauses with his arms half-pushed through the sleeves, listening intently, and he thinks he hears a sigh from beyond the door as he approaches.

A quick look through the peephole offers him a fisheye glimpse of freckles and dark curls. The girl outside his door bites down on her bottom lip and fidgets where she stands, finally daring a glance up into the tiny glass lens, where her wide eyes unknowingly meet his own.

The notion sinks in slowly, unfamiliar. 

Logan has relocated more times than he cares to remember — lifted his life by the roots and left the rest behind — but this, he realizes, is a first. 

Because he’s fairly certain people just don’t do this anymore. 

Or at least he was, until his neighbor showed up with a plate of cookies in her hands. 

She startles when he opens the door, the hint of a blush coloring the freckles on her cheeks as she blinks up at him and offers a shy smile. “Hi. Sorry to bother you,” she starts, and the sound of her voice brings the beach to mind, the soft way the waves sigh against the sand. “I know you just got done moving in, but I, um… thought I should introduce myself. I’m Mercy. I live in 104.” She shifts the plate to one hand and holds the other out for him to shake. 

Logan finds himself smiling as he takes it, especially when it makes the blush deepen on her face. “Logan.” He leans against the doorframe with a grin, nodding toward the plate in her hands. “Those for me?”

Her smile widens to match his, more certain. “Only if you like snickerdoodles. Otherwise I will have to insist you let me bake you something else.”

The plate is still warm when she passes it over, a heap of golden cookies piled neatly beneath a shiny slip of plastic wrap. It might be the most wholesome thing he’s ever seen. “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to do that.”

She averts her gaze then, toying with the tail end of a curl. “Well, my mother would be disappointed if I didn’t do the neighborly thing and welcome you with fresh-baked cookies.” She breathes a nervous laugh, and when she speaks again her words all tumble together in a rush. “Also, I teach piano lessons every other day, and the walls here can be really thin, and I just wanted to say sorry ahead of time, and I promise it’ll only be during business hours, and if we’re ever too loud, you can totally come over and let me know, and—!”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Logan cuts in gently, holding a hand out as if he might stem the tide of her apologies. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m hardly ever home anyways. I can promise it won’t bother me.”

She tugs her lip between her teeth again. “You say that now, but wait until you’re hearing off-key Für Elise for the fifth time in a row. You’ll be begging the landlord to evict me.”

He laughs. “Trust me, Mercy. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He feels a smirk tilt at the corner of his mouth, and drops his voice conspiratorially low. “Besides, I’ve already taken the bribe. No walking back on it now.”

The last of the anxious energy seems to ease from her shoulders when she giggles, and the smile she beams up at him is sweeter even than the smell of cinnamon and sugar. He wonders absently if kissing her would taste like cookies, too. “In that case… I guess we have a deal. The snickerdoodles in exchange for your silence.”

“I’ve had worse deals.”

Her gaze lingers a moment longer on the shape of his smirk before she blinks and glances down the hall toward her own door. “I, um… have some studying I need to get back to, but... it was really nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Not as nice as meeting you,” he assures her smoothly, rewarded by the delicate pink flush that warms her cheeks again. It’s far too easy, summoning that blush; he thinks he could get dangerously used to it. “Thanks again. I’ll bring the plate back as soon as I’m done with it.”

“No rush. You know where to find me.” She arcs a small, cheery wave at him, and he watches the waves of her hair bounce as she walks the short distance back to her apartment. There’s an eager sort of warmth that sits in his chest when he kicks the front door shut behind him. His steps still echo when he walks, but if he’s quiet he can just make out the sound of Mercy moving in the next apartment over, and the noise of nearby life softens the empty feeling in the room. He takes a bite of cookie that melts perfectly on his tongue, and smiles as he settles in to unpack.

ii. 

Logan wasn’t kidding about never being home.

Mercy doesn’t see him for another couple weeks, aside from the short interlude when he drops by to bring her plate back — when the firm broad of his shoulders fill her doorway, and he shoots her that same tempting smile, and it feels like tilting her face up into the sun. The image of it floats across her thoughts, firmly imprinted in the fleeting daydreams between essays and lessons and exams. 

The summer starts to sink its teeth in, bleeding hazy heat waves well into the dark of night. Her shoddy AC unit struggles helplessly against the swelter, and she finds her only solace curled up in a chair below her open window, begging any semblance of a breeze to whisper through. She’s on her third night in a row of letting ice cubes slowly melt against her neck when she hears the unmistakable sound of a window scraping open. The crash of boots on metal quickly follows, and she cranes her neck to peer over the sill and see the familiar shape of dark hair and wide shoulders on the fire escape. 

“Logan?”

He turns at the sound of his name, a grin stretching across his face when he spots her through the window. “Hey, Mercy. You trying to escape the heat, too?”

“Trying,” she confirms, and reaches for the tray of ice at her side, holding it out toward him in lethargic invitation. “Ice cube?”

With a pleasant, rumbly laugh, he plucks a slightly melted ice cube loose and folds his fingers in around it. “Thanks. You know, it’s a lot better out here. Feel like joining me?”

His smile leaves a flutter in her stomach; her daydreams haven’t done it justice. It’s been a while since she clambered through her window, but she manages to climb over the sill with little difficulty. Logan offers her a hand to help her through, his fingers still cold from the ice, only letting her go once her feet are firmly planted on the fire escape. 

And oh, he was so right.

She can’t help a blissful sigh as a breeze lifts at the curled ends of her hair, cooling the flush of heat from her skin. “Oh, my god.”

Logan chuckles knowingly beside her. “Better?”

“The best.” Mercy joins him at the railing, where he rests his elbows and peers out over the darkness of the alley below. An easy quiet settles in the space between them while she revels in the first glimpse of relief she’s felt all night, soothed by the busy melodies of city life around them, voices and laughter and traffic on the distant highway. He’s rolled the short sleeves of his t-shirt up his shoulders, leaving the bronze skin of his arms uninterrupted, and she finds herself almost grateful for the heat when a blush starts to rise in her cheeks. 

He seems to notice her staring, because he arches a brow and tilts his head to smirk down at her. “Come here often?”

Despite her mortification, Mercy laughs. His expression softens at the sound, something tender in the angle of his smile. “Sometimes,” she admits, her finger tracing idle patterns at the metal of the railing. “On clear nights mostly, when I want to see the stars.”

His gaze flickers from her face up to the sliver of night sky barely visible between apartment buildings. “Kinda hard to see the stars from here, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the best view,” she agrees with a quiet laugh. “Just enough to remind me that they’re up there, I guess.”

Abruptly, Logan steps away from the railing, a look of determination forming in the dark of his eyes as he turns to face her. “I want to show you something.”

She blinks, thoughts scattered by the eager way he grins at her. “What is it?”

“A surprise,” he insists teasingly, and holds his hand out to her once more. “Do you trust me?”

Mercy touches his palm, and her heart skips when he folds their hands together. “I do.”

The stairs tremble beneath their feet as they climb steadily higher. Logan glances back at every landing, his grip comfortingly certain around her own. It’s another five flights to the roof, and he slows to a stop at the last ladder to let her ascend first.

The breeze is stronger here, whipping at the loose strands of her hair as she steps out onto the open rooftop. Dark blue sky stretches unobstructed above her, and she tips her head back to drink in the faint sparkle of stars that manage to break out over the city lights. She feels Logan step up beside her, and when she finally tears her eyes away from the stars to meet his gaze, the wonder in his features steals her breath.

This time when her blush returns, she doesn’t look away. “Thank you, Logan. It’s perfect.”

He doesn’t look away either. “Anytime.”

iii. 

His eye still fucking hurts. Every time he blinks, the sting reminds him of wet streets beneath his cheek and the brutal pain of impact, Salazar’s face a snarl of gritted teeth and bleeding mouth and the crunch of his nose breaking under Logan’s fist. He clenches his hand at the memory, feeling the prickle of split skin across his knuckles. 

He doesn’t notice Mercy in the hallway until he’s nearly walking into her, the startled shock of her voice shaking him from his anger. 

“Logan! I’m sorry, I didn’t see — oh, my god, are you okay?” 

Wincing, he angles his injured eye away from her. “It’s nothing. Took an elbow in a pick-up game. It looks worse than it is.”

Something about the concern in her expression eats away at him, like battery acid in the chasm of his chest. Her gaze passes shrewdly from his black eye to his split lip to the busted knuckles in his hands before a frown settles on her mouth. She bites her lip, unconvinced. “Well… at least let me get you something to help with the swelling.” She reaches out to squeeze his fingers before disappearing into her apartment, and he stands frozen in the momentary silence, staring down at his palm, where his hand still feels warm from her touch.

Mercy returns shortly with a bag of frozen peas in her grasp. “Here. This should help with the pain a little, too.”

“You patch up many black eyes?” he teases, bending to let her press the bag gently over his eye. His body tenses at the pressure, teeth biting back a groan, and she murmurs soothingly under her breath, easing her touch until he feels only the cold. Her focus is fixed on his injury, and it leaves him free to admire the soft angles of her face, the beauty mark at the corner of her mouth, the freckles set like stars against her cheeks. A few curls threaten to spring loose from her braid, and his fingers itch to discover how soft they might feel in his hands. 

“Can’t say I do,” she answers finally, when the weight of his gaze makes her blush and look away. “But I was clumsy enough to get all sorts of injuries when I was little, and the frozen peas trick always works.” She checks her phone and mutters an adorably soft curse. “I have a final in half an hour, or I’d stay and—”

“I got it from here,” he reassures her, with a smile half-hidden by the hand keeping her makeshift compress in place. “But thanks for looking after me, Mercy. Honestly. With your help, it feels better already.”

She hesitates a moment longer, clearly torn, before she reaches up and strokes the smooth pad of her thumb over his cheek. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Her features are tight with concern, but she turns and hurries down the hall, the sound of her footsteps fading into a silence that weighs heavy on his shoulders.

iv. 

Mercy lets her fingers move mindlessly across the keys, coasting on a comfortable familiarity, the soft notes of a nocturne soothing out the stresses of her day. Her left hand sidles over broken chords, rising into an arpeggio that’s just about to reach its zenith when the power cuts in her apartment, plunging her into sudden darkness.

She blinks as her eyes struggle to adjust, groping blindly for her phone. The narrow beam of its flashlight guides her careful steps into the kitchen, where she rummages beneath the sink and emerges with a tin of tealight candles. 

It takes the whole container just to light her living room, but at least she can see her own feet. The faint flicker of candlelight is just enough to keep the darkness at bay, and it’s with a calmer heart that Mercy picks her way across the apartment to answer a hurried knock at her door.

Logan stands in the darkened hallway outside, the glow of his cell phone gripped between his fingers. “Hey, sorry, I know it’s late. I heard you playing, so I thought…”

“I was up,” she confirms, blushing as she pictures him in the apartment next door, listening to her practice. “Your power’s out too, I assume?”

“Pitch dark.” He spots the soft halos of light over her shoulder and heaves a sigh of recognition. “Candles. You’re a genius.”

She laughs. “It’s an old building, and definitely not the first time this has happened. I can spare a few, if you need some.”

Logan chuckles, and even through the darkness she can feel the warmth of his gaze on her. “Lucky me. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’ll pass soon enough. I feel better knowing you’re okay over here. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

She’s not sure where she finds the courage. Maybe the darkness makes her bold, the sight of Logan turning back to leave clawing a sudden ache into her heart. “Wait!” 

He rocks back on his heels, and she can just make out the arch of surprise in his expression. 

“Maybe you could… stay? Until the power’s back? I hate the thought of you just sitting in the dark over there when you don’t have to.”

Logan takes a slow step closer, close enough to feel a trace of his body heat as he searches her face through the darkness. “Would you like that?” he asks softly. “If I stayed?”

She swallows, nodding even as her face burns with the force of her blush. “Very much.”

He smiles then, and with a gentle motion, lifts his hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. “Me too.”

It’s stranger than she thought it would be, having Logan in her apartment, even if she’s spent more and more of her time here thinking of him. They settle in the dim circle of candlelight that rings her living room, stretched out side by side across the floor. His leg shifts, bumping her foot with his own, and she breathes a laugh that shivers in the air between them. When she turns, she finds him watching her, his smile inches away as the light washes soft over his features. 

His dark eyes slowly roam her face, landing on the shape of her mouth with a look of immense purpose. He reaches out to trail rough fingertips along the frame of her jaw, his touch sending a shudder of warmth down her spine. He traces a thumb over her blushing cheekbone, her name a whisper on his breath before he leans in and softly kisses her.

Logan is almost unbearably tender, his lips gentle against her own as his fingers wind into the thick curls of her hair, drawing her into the circle of his arms. Past the rushing of her heartbeat, Mercy hears a faint groan at the back of his throat when she grips him by the shirt to tug him closer, parting her lips for the brief slide of his tongue. 

When they break reluctantly apart, he tilts his forehead against hers with a breathless laugh. “You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about doing that.” 

She laughs with him, carefree, like her worries have all floated off and vanished somewhere in the dark. “Probably about as long as I have.”

His eyes flash with amusement, and a flicker of something else, an ardor close to hunger. “Then we’ve got some time to make up for.”

Mercy falls eagerly into his arms, where she feels his heartbeat racing in his chest, and he kisses her until the lights hum back to life around them — and then, even, a while longer. 

[scribbling-stiks]

Retrievers - V - Bloodbath

Russia finds himself counting water bottles, trying to distract himself from his churning emotions. He mutters the strange English numbers under his breath, and though he couldn't hear how loud he is, he gets no complaints.

Thuds against the door to the hideout pull him violently from his daydreams of kisses and heroism.

Russia stands and walks briskly up to the door. He listens and hears the gurgling from earlier. He stiffens.

'S***.'

Russia readies himself to fend off whatever it is and he steps back. He holds out his hand and herds the states and providences back.

"Shhh!" Russia demands.

The group falls quiet.

America pushes his way to the front and takes a place next to Russia. America wipes his face on last time with the back of his hand before his expression stiffens into a harsh glare directed at the door.

America summons his scythe, and Massachusetts, Connecticut, Arizona, and a few others summon their respective weapons, ready for a fight.

Russia snarls.

'I am not letting whatever that thing is to get near any of them.'

Russia bares his teeth and listens to whatever it was wrestling with the door. It gurgles and gasps from behind the metal plate.

Then it begins to sound like human hands scratching at the door. Russia's heart sinks into his stomach.

Even with Dixie fighting against it, the thing yanks the door out of the wall.

It screams victoriously.

America charges at it before Russia fully registered what had happened, with Russia and Texas on his tail. Russia fights to push its tentacles away from the entrance.

The monster is several meters tall and looks like it came from a sailor's tale of misfortune.

It crawls on its tentacles and thrashes about, gnashing its beak at them.

Around it are dozens of huge insects that skitter around, each one as big as Russia's face. The bugs look like armed, slimy beetles. Their shells shine with distorted reflections of the lights above.

Russia's attention rockets to the kids screaming in fear from what used to be the safe room. Countries race out and begin trying to kick and throw the bugs aside. Canada sends them flying with a hockey stick, though where he got it, Russia will never know.

The thing screeches as America swings at it, cutting open its face. America back peddles and hacks at the larger groups of the swarm.

Russia tries to keep an eye on the squid while Finland and Egypt fight it back, but he loses track of it while beating back the beetles from the entrance, trying to block any of them from getting to the states and providences.

Russia turns around for a split second to dispose of a larger group when it strikes.

A hiss. And a woosh of quick movement.

Russia knows he couldn't turn around fast enough to block it, but he also knows he has to try.

Russia spins around and gets ready to take a hit to the chest, onto to see America being snatched up right in front of him.

Russia feels his heart stop.

"AMERICA!" Russia screams, reaching out fruitlessly into thin air.

The monster screeches and dangles a screaming America up by its beak. Then it slams America into the ground hard enough to leave a crater.

America goes silent.

The monster whips America around before flinging him into a wall.

America flies back and lands with a sickening crack and thump, but nothing more, not even a whimper.

Children and teens shriek in horror.

Russia stares in terror.

He's stuck, and the sounds around him blend together. Colors mix and he stares at the only thing clear in his vision, a broken America, whose body is splayed out, unnatural and broken, against broken wooden planks.

Fear turns to grief.

And grief turns to anger.

Red hot flames roar within him.

They lick away at his patience and self-control, eating them away in moments.

Russia's vision turns blood red.

Russia whips around, snarling like a rabid animal.

He opens his mouth in a wordless scream that rings through the air before he charges.

Russia slams into the creature with his shoulder and knocks it off balance. He wrangles up its limbs and scratches it as deeply as his hands can manage, staining his fingers dark red with its blood.

Russia swings it up and hurls it into the floor.

Touching its skin makes his hands and arms burn, but Russia finds that he doesn't care at all.

'Must. DESTROY,' his mind roars.

He zeros in on the smaller monsters racing toward the kids.

Russia bounds off the wall and lands in between them and the screaming states.

He snatches the smaller creatures and tosses them like styrofoam models.

They splatter onto the walls like dark brown jello.

Then, his attention returns to the largest of the group and he charges it again.

Rage coats his throat in rust.

Russia screams, his hands curled into fists. He swings, breaking the beak of the monstrosity in front of him.

The squid creature roars in pain before lashing out at him, using its tentacles to gouge deep wounds into Russia's legs.

Russia finds he can't feel a thing.

Russia grabs a tentacle. With one quick yank, he rips it off the creature's body.

Dark red coats the hallway and ceiling.

Russia lets out a guttural growl. His teeth are stained with the creature's blood.

The thing shrieks and tries to retreat.

"No," Russia snarls, grabbing it and slinging it into the wall.

It scrambles away from him. Russia stares it down and it flees far too quickly for Russia to catch it.

Russia runs after it, following the bloody, gore-filled trail it leaves behind.

The only reason he lets it get away into the trees is a shriek from behind him. Russia spins around at the noise and races back inside.

Russia's clothes are dripping with dark red blood. It seeps into his skin, but the sensation has nothing on the anger boiling beneath his eyes.

He wordlessly crushes the beetles, cracking their shells, and his feet sink into their organs.

The red begins to fade a little, and he blinks a few times.

Russia looks around at the carnage. He looks like he'd exploded a butcher's shop, he notes. It smells like rotten fish.

Russia takes his breaths in shallow gasps, his chest heaving. The foul taste in his mouth finally registers, and he nearly vomits.

The paint on the walls is no longer visible, and the wood floors have been splintered apart in some places, though Russia finds that he can't remember the original color of the wood.

'Where is America?'

Russia spins around, searching. He spots America limp against a back wall.

Russia runs over, leaping over the holes in the floor, and ignoring the burning coating him. He slides to a stop in front of him, but can't get too close with the states surrounding him. He towers over them, and nausea hits him again.

America lays, lifeless, against the bloody wall. Blood pouring from wounds that cover him, bruises, and gaping holes.

California and New York work with Texas to reset America's leg and put it into a splint. It cracks back into place, and America doesn't even flinch.

Russia stands frozen, thoughts swirling violently in his mind. The color fades from his face.

'I pushed him away. He apologized, and I dismissed it.'

'That should've been me.'

The world starts to spin and Russia stumbles into the wall, his eyes like saucers.

"We should get that stuff off of you," Tenessee comments.

She and Georgia start to pull him away.

"No! Wait! Please!" Russia begs, trying to pull away.

The rest of the states surround America, blocking Russia's view of anything that was going on. The dizziness, nausea, and pain render him too weak to fully fight back anymore. They take him outside and Georgia blasts him with cold water from the hose.

Russia doesn't flinch.

'To think he didn't care at all.'

'I'm out here, and I don't even know if he's okay.'

The mud under his feet turns red, and Russia stares into it, wishing things had been different, but knowing he might not get the chance.

Tears and tap water rinse his face.

~

Next

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Table of Contents

[dholwrites]

All The Little Things

Notes: Commission piece for @dialga Relationship: Crystal Exarch x Female WoL (Na’na Niall) Rating: G - General. (Very high fluff content) 

Ao3 Link

4 sweet moments between a knight and her prince after the return of the night.

1 Stars and the Moon

The stars danced before his eyes on the backdrop of a pitch sea. They sparkle together with the full moon, hung high and clear as the sun. Ever since Na’na returned the night to Lakeland, he couldn’t resist the way it pulled his eyes upwards. The way the tower walls glowed under the moonlight tugged at the memories of his youth; moments when he would hide out in high corners to read a book, discuss theories with NOAH, or catch himself daydreaming about Na’na. G’raha quietly chuckled to himself. It had been a while.

“There you are, I was wondering where you disappeared to,” a sweet voice called from behind him. Na’na had climbed up the stairs into his hiding spot, her footsteps barely letting out a sound. How she knew to look up here, he would never know. The sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears as she moved to sit down next to him. His gaze lingered on her profile, captivated by the way her hair and ribbon played in the wind, a smile on her lips and excitement in her eyes. Thankfully, she was too distracted by the constellations to notice his staring. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? You can see all the stars from up here.”

“Yeah...” He trails off before turning his gaze back towards the sky. “It reminds me of the skies in Mor Dhona. I wish I could see them again.” With you. Those words fell at the tip of his tongue like lead, yet his heart flutters at the mere thought of being so balant about his affections.

‘It’s not as lovely as you.’ Would that be too cliche? Perhaps ‘you’re more beautiful than every star in the sky,’ would be a better choice?

“Oh, Raha, you silly prince.”

“Prince?! But- I- I’m- wh- w-wait a moment!” His heart leaped with joy at the nickname. His cheeks grew warm as words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them. Did his words slip without him realizing it? His train of thought came to a halt at the sudden warmth on his hand and side. Na’na had slid from her spot to be right next to him, resting her head against him. G’raha could barely calm his frantic heart before it leapt out of his chest at the soft hands taking his. 

His gaze begins to drift back towards her eyes as they light up at every constellation she can find in the night sky. Then to her lips, captivating him by how soft they look. Surely they would feel just as soft when he kissed her. His eyes continued to travel until they found their way to their intertwined hands. They felt so small compared to his own. His mind whispers to hold onto her, to keep her close even if she needs to leave. That still hadn't changed since he last saw her centuries ago. 

“Raha?” He snaps back into reality at the sound, blinking owlishly when they lock eyes again. 

“Apologies, I can’t help but get lost in thought. I couldn’t help but think about the Source.”

Na’na lets go of his hand to wrap her arm around his back, pressing herself to his chest. “Even if you are here in this world, we can still see the same sky. Remember, no matter where you are and who you become, you will still be my ‘Raha’.”

With her simple words, a realization dawned upon Raha; if Na’na Niall hinted at wanting to touch a star, he would gladly put the entire galaxy into her hand. 

“You look at me like I’m a star in the sky,” Na’na jokes, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

G’raha lets out a small laugh, “Because you are.” 

2 Sharing a Meal

G’raha lets out a sigh at the sight of books piled high around him. Most of them were books borrowed from the Cabinet of Curiosity, while everything else he brought from the Source. Hopefully, at least one of them would help him find a solution to the Scion’s predicament. He owed it to them for causing this when he first summoned them here. Yet his mind started to wonder every time he attempted to pick up a book and start his new task.

Days flew by in a daze after their stargazing date, and G’raha had gotten even clumsier since then. Lyna had more than once saved him from tripping down the stairs, pulled him aside from running into a lamppost during an inspection, and made sure that he was actually paying attention to what he was reading. The captain had become increasingly distressed over all the accidents, despite his best attempts to assure her that he was definitely not getting sick. The source of his mishap is much more... personal. No one needed to know that he’d been daydreaming about the Warrior of Darkness, especially not if there was a chance that word would get back to her. 

His thoughts come to a halt when something sweet gets shoved into his mouth.

“ Rarararahaaa~” A familiar voice cooed from behind him. Not a moment later a piece of cake carefully balanced on a spoon appeared before his eyes, this time offering it for him to take it instead. Na’na had moved beside him with two slices of cake balanced on the other hand. “Say ‘Aaaaaaah~’”

“Aaaah,” he hesitantly opens his mouth and allows himself to be fed, the warmth of his cheeks coming back twofold. G’raha took the extra time to savor the piece, the sweet and fluffy cream with an equally light and soft sponge, the cake baked perfectly. “Did you get these from the market downstairs? They are perfect.”

“You can thank me by finishing a slice.” Na’na had already scooped another piece into his mouth, letting out a huff as he obediently chewed. “You shouldn’t be overworking yourself! I was hoping that you would take it easy now that the First isn’t in danger, but then I hear from Lyna that you’ve shut yourself in the study for hours again. You need to take breaks too, Raha.”

“I was just researching on how to get the Scions back home.” Well, at least he should have been. He’s been watching her go about her day, sometimes talking to the Scions and other times fending the weak from monsters. The way she moves, interacts, and fights captures every bit of his attention. And there is nothing he wants to change about it. “You told me that Krile believes that their lives could be at stake because I poorly summoned them to the First. I need to work to get them back to the Source before something bad-.”

“That is not a good excuse! You’ve been holed up here for the past few days without a break and I refuse to let you continue this until you get some sleep.” She shoves another spoonful of cake into his mouth without warning, only when she was sure that he finished did she take it back. He could feel bits of sticky cream coating his lips. “Since you can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, I’m going to do it for you.”

He barely had time to hide the grin that wormed its way to his face. G’raha felt almost a little giddy with joy as she worried about his health. It would be much easier to simply agree with what she says, but hearing her words always made his heart flutter. 

The miqo’te finally closed the book in his lap and set it aside. “Na’na, since I have fused with the tower, I do not need to sleep anymore. It does not affect my health to stay up for hours to get what I need done.” 

There was angry look that flashed across her eyes, one sharp and dark enough to kill a Primal. G’raha barely managed to suppress his laughter behind his hand; all he sees is the pout she is trying to hide behind the facade.

“You leave me with no choice.” A pair of lips meets his. Her lips. Her lips are sweeter than cream and softer than cake sponge. His breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttering closed as he returns the kiss. He could feel the drumming of his heart in his chest, his thoughts giving way to his senses. A delightful shiver runs up his neck when she pulls away and gently brushes his lips with her own. His focus remained at her lips. He felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“Can I have another?” is his only hushed reply.

  3 Stories

G’raha had taken a break from his studies to see Na’na before she headed off on her next adventure, but the scene before him made him hesitate to join in.

“Miss Na’na! Can you tell us another story? Another one about the knight!” A flock of children swarmed around her, their joint efforts managing to lure her to the grass patch beside the building where more children were playing. Many of them had stopped their games to join the crowd. “But I wanna hear about the big monsters she fights!”

Among the crowd, a red haired mystel child stood out to him. Their short hair is much darker than his own, but the red shine is unmistakable under the sun. Would his child look like that? Heat burns at his cheeks at the thought, but he is reluctant to stop. A mystel child with red hair and golden eyes would be the heart of the Cystarium, and he had no doubts that their child would be doted on by everyone. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you, Raha?” G’raha jumps back at the sudden voice. He would have tripped over his robes if Na'na didn’t catch his hand in time. She pulls him towards her, allowing him to use her as support to regain his balance. Once she was sure that he’s fine, she bows down to peek under his hood. Their eyes catching each other and causing her to break out into a grin. “Careful, I don’t think the Crystarium would be happy if they found out that their Exarch got injured on my watch.”

G’raha was going to wave off the children’s concern, only for Na’na to take his hand and drag him over. Some of the children scrambled up to their feet to greet him. Before he knew it, he was sitting at the front next to Na’na with her head resting against his shoulder. He could feel the curious, innocent stares directed towards them by the children, with some of the kids even whispering to each other. He made sure that his hood was still pulled up and over his head to provide him a refuge to hide his expression. 

His tail flicks and curls nervously, with the tip occasionally peeking out at the edge of his robes. G’raha had entertained these children before, yet now he wasn’t so sure what he should do, not without attempting to move away from Na’na. Luckily, she had already begun to spin her stories, one tale after another of the places and things she’d seen. A large plain where tribes of Drahns roam, where they would battle each other to claim the right to rule over all others. A kingdom of knights waging a war against dragons in a frozen tundra, and their descendents finding peace after a hundred summers. A princess that lives underwater, giant owls that protect books, and talking fish too.

He knows each and every story like the back of his hand, but hearing it being told by Na’na herself allows him to see it more vividly before his eyes. Be it the cold nipping at the end of his fingers and tail, the chatter of Reunion in his ear, or the ache of traveling in his bones. G’raha perks up when a fluffy tail suddenly brushes against his own, carefully stroking up and down before wrapping around the end of his own tail. A hint of who it is comes from the shaking of stifled laughter rumbling at his chest and the squeeze of her hand on his knee. 

“Na’na,” a voice calls from a distance. G’raha turns his head towards the source to spot a hyur approaching them. He’s dressed in dark armor with a bastard sword strapped to his back. He looked almost apologetic for interrupting her during her storytime, but clearly there are more important matters. “I need a bit of assistance with something.”

Na’na gives him a quick nod before slowly rising to her feet. G’raha went along with her, his hand lingering in her hold and reluctant to let her leave so easily. He watches as she apologizes to the kids for cutting the story short. The children quickly chime in with their complaints about the abrupt ending, also getting on their feet to complain. They only stop and start to split off into their group of friends after she made a promise to share more stories the next time she was free. 

“Looks like I’ll have to cut our time short as well, Raha,” she whispers to him as they follow the Hyur towards the main gate, their fingers still intertwined with each other. Na’na tugs at his hand to pull them to a stop just a few steps away from the gate. She was tapping her cheek with her finger, her eyes staring ahead without seeing. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard. You’ve already saved the First, surely everything else can wait.” It was a poor excuse to get her to stay, they both knew it. She had always been able to see through his words and find what he really wanted to say. Na’na gives him a wave of her hand, claiming that it would be quick. He wished he could go with her, to leave his duties behind for a moment and enjoy the adventuring life with her; taking down enemies side by side, spending nights cuddling each other around a fire, and hearing the rise and fall of her chest when they finally retire to bed.

“Na’na, next time, would you mind if I join you?” The words slip out before he can stop them. His entire body froze at the realization before his eyes slowly moved to see her reaction. Her own eyes widen at the question, ears perking up and shoulders stiff as if she doesn’t quite believe what she is hearing. Her gaze darts back and forth between him and the entrance. A lapse of intense regret crawls up the back of his neck in her silence. It’s enough for him to feel the cold sweat starting to form under his hood.

“You want to come on an adventure with me? Of course!” He lets out a sigh of relief, the tension slipping from his shoulders. Only for him to be pulled forward by his hood, Na’na’s lips colliding with his. A kiss that he returned back, returning her affection with as eagerly. Just as quickly as it started, she was gone. Out of his arms and already making her way towards an unknown destination. Her hand waving at him from a distance as she calls out, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon!”

G’raha could see the end of her tail was wagging with excitement that she wasn’t even attempting to contain. He bids her farewell, standing at the entrance of his great city until he can’t see her anymore. Only then does he turn around and make his way back to the Tower. His fingers reached up to trace where she had kissed and wished that he could feel them once more. 

Perhaps when she returns. 

  4 Running a Dungeon

He could feel it. The aether tingled under his skin and brimmed with energy. Every healing spell sealing cuts and healing bruises as he got them, yet they continue to come even when they are hurrying to the next nest of enemies. It struck him as odd, surely Na’na of all people should be able to tell? Still, he didn’t question her judgment and pushed on. 

Days leading up to their departure, Na’na poured over maps to figure out the best place that would best match both their skills. When he told her that any place would be fine, she was quick to point out how well he was doing when he was in Kholusia. She was blunt about making sure that she doesn't take him too far from the Tower. G’raha couldn’t help but let out a chuckle to himself, the one thing that is his source of power only turning out to be his greatest weakness. In the end, it’s worth it when he gets to see how much she frets over the little things. Yet, that doesn’t explain her healing. 

She settled with the Rak’tika Greatwood, it is close enough that he won’t feel sick 

Ancient trees scattered around with their branches stretching towards the sky and their roots cemented into the ground. The sun rays filtered through their leaves, giving the place an otherworldly glow. The only sight back in the source that might even compare would be the Black Shroud in Gridania, yet even then they couldn’t come close to how large the trees were here.

Before long, the moon had replaced the sun in the sky. The warmth of the makeshift campfire and sweet aroma emitting from the mug in his hand was more than enough for him to regain his strength. His other senses were more focused on the wisp of space between him and Na’na. The fire casts its soft light on her face, framing her portrait in a loving glow. Her eyes shone like amber in the morning sun. It felt like for a moment the world had stopped to marvel at her. He would gladly sit there for eternity if he could. 

He finally mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind since they had set out earlier. The small worry had bloomed into a huge concern, as she had been excessively healing him all day but still refused to rest. Even when he suggested they take a break. “Na’na, you were healing me for quite a bit today. Are you feeling alright? Is something wrong?”

Na'na smiles at him apologetically and moves in her seat on a large fallen branch to turn towards him. G’raha slides close enough for their knees and thighs to touch, even his tail moved to brush against hers, almost wrapping them together in an attempt to ease what nerves she might have. Was something troubling her? Has he done something wrong? Wait, what if his tanking skills need some work and she’s too sweet to tell him to improve? Had he been bad enough to warrant overhealing? He was slowly spiraling further into his mountain of worries, only for the gentle brush of Na’na’s hand to startle him back into reality.

“I have a Dark Knight stone. It’s not mine, at least not from the beginning. It was N’hect’s.” Her voice becomes softer and softer with every word, her gaze turning up towards the stars glittering in the night sky. His ears perk up at the name, one that sounds strangely familiar but he can’t remember from where. Her grip on his hand brought his attention to her sheepish smile. “He was my first knight, the one that showed me that chivalry can and still does exist in this world. When he… fell during the war, I decided to take up his job.”

Na’na shifts in her spot to pull out a small pouch from her pocket and drops its contents onto an open palm. It was her stone, a yellow rune carved onto the deep red background. He had only ever seen drawings of them in books as a way to pass down specialized abilities. This one was worn at the edges, and a few nicks and cuts showed its age. “During the war, we fought side by side. I got careless… It was a blow that neither of us expected and he was able to react first.” 

She closes her fist around it, eyes brimming with unshed tears as she tries to keep herself together. Her voice becomes small and tight as she tries to keep the emotions from leaking through. His own heartaches alongside her as she continues. “He lost his life to save mine.” 

“I have already lost him.” Her eyes tearing up looked like wells of gold, and he could see her pure love and honesty. Her hands dropped the stone to squeeze his own before she lifted it to cup her cheek. Her head turned slightly to brush her lips against his palm and melted his heart in turn.  “I don’t want to lose you too. You gave me hope. You gave me the hope that the world is worth saving. When we met, I was questioning if it was really worth all the pain that I was going through. Your kindness, your thirst for knowledge, and all the little things that make you so genuine. I’m scared that I will lose you one day too.”

“I know that you have been working yourself to death and you’re not alone anymore,” Na’na whispers to him like it was her best-kept secret, she reaches out to cup his cheek and turns him to face her. “Remember when you told me that you thought of me like a star in the sky? I don’t want to be, I don’t want to be somewhere out of reach. I want to be beside you. Instead I want to believe that the stars have led us together again, and I want nothing more than for us to remain that way. Taking one step after another, together. For the rest of our lives.”

G’raha attempts to blink away his unshed tears, but she continues to whisper sweet words. “My princeling, my Raha. You give me the hope to continue fighting this fight. That this world I fight for holds someone like you.”

“I love you.” 

Her hand reaches up to twirl a strand of his hair, her eyes fluttering closed and forehead pressed against his. G’raha finds his own eyes closing and feels the tension in his shoulders starting to break away at her words. Words that he never knew he needed so much. “At the end of my legends and stories, I want to be together with you. No matter what becomes of the Warrior in everyone’s eyes. I will find myself coming back to you, my beloved Raha.” 

Na’na laid bare her heart to him, every word causing his tears to slip until they were all running down his cheeks. G’raha takes in a shaky breath to calm his racing heart. Despite knowing how much she loves and cherishes him, his heart would flutter and his body grows warm whenever she said those 3 words. 

“I want to be with you through all your adventures. Fighting alongside you, sharing meals around a  fire, and sleeping beside you under a starry sky.” He finally found his words, opening up the deepest part of his heart for her to see. His palms feel sweaty and a creeping feeling of embarrassment comes up his spine to cover his face with a blush. Still, he shakes his head out of shame and leans forward, pressing his forehead against her. The world fell away once he felt her breath on his lips, and it was taking all his self control to not kiss her senseless.

With lips just ilms apart from meeting, he whispers out his confession. “Not just that, I want to see your smiling face to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I fall asleep. I want to see kids running around with my hair and your eyes, to be the shoulder you lean on, to be the person you seek out in a crowd.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you and only you.”