#like an inch and a half long maybe. had some blobs of stuff around it. very pleasant

[hana-bobo-finch]

I SAW. 2 (TWO) BUGS 🦅🦅🦅🔥🔥🔥🔥they were both. probably flies and I didn’t get a good look at them but that’s a win in my book

[supercutszns]

twin beads | luke castellan

wc + pairing: 6.7k, luke x daughter of poseidon! reader

synopsis: you’ve been unclaimed for five years. you’ve loved your best friend even longer. the sea used to be your greatest solace, but after percy jackson comes to camp, it’s your cruelest reminder. (based on this ask!)

warnings: best friends to lovers <3, percy/reader sibling dynamic, fluff and angst then fluff again, hurt/comfort, shameless making out. sorry this one is so long but besties to lovers is my lifeblood!!! i get so attached!! designated song is true blue by boygenius:)

i. you said you wanted to feel alive, so we went to the beach

“Ahoy, sailor!”

The familiar voice ricochets across the lake. You turn, leaving glimmers of sun behind you as you stare back at the docks of Camp Half-Blood. An orange blob with a curly mop of hair is beckoning you. You laugh, wave back at him, and plunge into the water. It cools your face after staying above the surface for so long—you just love watching the light reflected off the waves. But the second you’re under the water, the soreness in your muscles, the heat on your face, the exhaustion from treading for so long, are washed away from you. You swim with precision and vigor, relishing the feel of the river cupping your limbs to spur you forward. Not to sound lame, but you fucking love swimming. 

But maybe not as much as you love your best friend. 

He laughs when your head pops out of the water at the edge of the dock. “Wow, that took you longer than usual,” he teases, brown eyes glinting in the dawn. “You getting sloppy?”

You huff, splashing some water up at him but it barely touches him. “I’m tired, you moron. I’ve been out there for an hour.”

Luke leans down at the edge of the dock, offering you a hand. His face is bemused when you latch onto him, and with a good flex of his bicep he pulls you up. “All right, c’mon,” he grunts.

All your energy evaporates the second your body’s out of the water. You’re far too lazy to be graceful, so you sprawl out onto the dock like a dying fish, letting the sun kiss every inch of you. “Eww,” Luke giggles overtop you, prodding your side with the tip of his shoe. “Get up, you mermaid.” 

“Make me, you mailman.”

Your arm drapes over your eyes, and you sigh. There really is nothing better than these moments; droplets of water soaking into your skin after an early morning swim, your best friend right beside you. 

He keeps nudging you with your shoe, over and over until your ribs start to hurt. You groan, swatting him away and stretching out your limbs with a groan, letting them pop and relax, until you blearily make your way to your feet. 

“You forgot your towel again,” Luke condones, but like always, he’s brought one for you. 

He goes through a practiced routine of drying you off, wrapping the towel around your shoulders and down your arms, across your back, scrunching the water out of your hair. It doesn’t matter how cold the water gets—this part always makes you warm. 

“Thanks,” you smile as he hands the towel off to you. “Anything interesting happen this morning, O Captain, my captain?”

“Not yet, sailor, sir,” he replies in a stuffy, gruff voice the two of you have joked around with since you were kids. “Just grabbing you for breakfast.”

You giggle, following him past the docks and to the shore. Once you’ve grabbed all your stuff, you both fall in stride and head towards your cabin, your twin five-beaded necklaces hanging over your shirts. 

Five years ago, when you got to Camp for the first time, you were as big a loser as any. You were bad at everything—everything—and had no real friends until you accidentally whacked some other friendless loser in the head with an oar when you were about to go canoeing. Luke got mad at you, but his little sister Annabeth was even more furious. He offered to be your partner for the day anyway. You’ve been partners ever since. 

Over the years the two of you have grown in status at the camp, more so Luke than you. He’s an excellent cabin leader and by far the greatest swordsman in camp. You, still unclaimed, have found solace in giving younger campers swimming lessons and wading out there on your own till you get sunstroke. (It’s happened a few times. Luke is never pleased, but also refuses to let the Apollo campers take care of you. He nurses you back to health with ice cream and horrible gossip.)

But every night you return to the Hermes cabin with a hollowness in your chest. One bunk emptied, then immediately filled. You’ve had the same one for five years, and the only condolence is that it’s right next to Luke’s, and sometimes you spend hours at night making faces at each other till your laughter endangers other people’s sleep. 

Yes, you love the water at Camp Half-Blood, but you love Luke most. 

Rumours of a new kid are rustling at camp. You haven’t seen him, but you’re just dying to get in on the gossip. Apparently he slayed a minotaur. Apparently Annabeth has seen him. And apparently he’s unclaimed. You hate to admit it, but this is the most exciting news you’ve heard in weeks!

Your afternoon is spent giving some swimming lessons and taking some Demeter campers canoeing. (Some of them freak out on the water. so it’s a nice challenge to untangle the sea plants they get hooked around their boat.) It feels like you’ve been here forever. A break is in desperate demand right now. 

You have no idea what kind of God heard your prayers, but your fellow counsellor has an unimpressed look on her face when she taps you on the shoulder and goes, “Your friend’s calling you.” 

The way she says it is almost degrading. You turn to look back at the shore to see the dark curly hair you’d spot a mile away. Next to him is a much shorter orange blob, shuffling awkwardly as Luke attempts to flag you down. Score!

You shoot an apologetic look at her. “Uh … I’ll be right back.” You wince, already disposing of your baggy orange shirt (it’s Luke’s) with your bathing suit underneath. 

“No you won’t,” she says dryly. “Just go.”

You flash a smile you hope is loaded with charm, and you’re off into water. As you swim, the only thing on your mind is I really really hope that’s the new kid, and I wonder what Luke’s face looks like right now. (He’s probably grinning, eyes crinkled at the sides as he tries to follow your figure beneath the waves. Maybe he’s doing that cute thing where his head tilts to the side as he watches.) 

When you’re close enough to the shore, you come out of the water, wringing your hair. “Hey, guys!” It’s Luke, Chris, and some blonde kid you’re sure is the new one. “What’s up?”

Luke is about to say something, then he frowns. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Left it in the canoe, I’ll go back for it later,” you reply, limply gesturing behind you. 

“And where’s your towel?”  

“Okay, I did bring one this time!” You counter. “I just gave it to a little Ares kid ‘cause she forgot hers.” 

Luke clicks his tongue, shakes his head at you, but of course he’s got one in his hands so what’s the worry? He’s endearingly amused when you take the cloth and dry yourself off, and the new boy, having watched this all raptly, widens his eyes and drawls, “Ohhhh, so you’re his gi—”

“This is Camp’s resident mermaid, Percy.” Chris butts in, adding your name almost as an afterthought. 

After you fasten your towel around you, you’re put off by Percy’s scrutinizing stare. “Look, it’s been a pretty weird day so I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.” 

“I’m not a mermaid,” you snipe, throwing Chris a dirty look. “People just call me that because I give swimming lessons here.” You stick your hand out to the blonde boy. “Nice to meet you, Percy.” 

He gives a polite nod, a little awkward. “Right back at ya.” The two of you study each other as you shake. He’s young, probably about twelve, a smatter of freckles across his face. His eyes look like the lake. Something itches in the back of your brain. There’s a moment where the shake is suspended, neither of you have let go but are no longer actively holding on, and you see it in his face that he’s studying you, too. Huh.

The conversation continues as normal, but you almost start to feel queasy for a second. “We’re trying to find something Percy’s good at,” Luke says with a pat on Percy’s shoulder. “You got any ideas?”

“Yes, please, because I really would like to have a word with my father,” Percy clips. “Is Glory, like, purely a skill thing or can I get some if I tie someone else’s shoes or something?” 

“I don’t have shoes,” you add unhelpfully. 

“It’s okay, dude,” Luke squeezes Percy’s shoulder. “Camp is great, no matter where you end up.”

Even if you’re like her, he means without saying. Even if you don’t end up anywhere. 

You meet Luke’s eyes. This is a kid that wants so badly to meet his father, to ease the ache inside him. You are the absolute worst person for this. One of the longest current unclaimed streaks and your ache remains. To Percy, you’re the biggest example of a failure there is, and Luke is only just now realizing it. 

“Maybe try the infirmary?” You pipe, shuffling back and forth on the sand. “You might have a knack for medicine.”

“Doubt it,” Percy swallows. “But yeah, okay. Who’s your parent, again?”

Percy can’t see it, but Luke and Chris send you a shifty look and all you can do is widen your eyes to be like, Help! Don’t make me crush his dreams! I don’t want another kid to hate me! 

You swallow. No matter how fast you think, you cannot come to a logical sentence. “I, uh—”

Just then, in another stroke of luck (wow, that’s two more than usual) an Athena counsellor that looks insanely disgruntled is running towards you. “Stolls put spiders in our cabin again,” he heaves once at a stop. “Please get rid of them.”

“Can’t you just squash ‘em?” Percy asks. 

“Not the spiders, the twins.” 

Chris is already nodding, but Luke looks to you first. He’s anxious, disappointed. You wish you could smooth out the creases in his brow with your thumb. “Don’t worry,” you stretch out a smile. “I’ll chill with Percy. It won’t take you guys too long.”

He’s still hesitant. You’re not sure this is a good call either. But he reaches out, quickly squeezes your shoulder and mutters, “Thank you.” Your skin feels gooey when he touches it. 

His signature roguish smile returns as he looks back to Percy. The side of his face is shadowed by the sun so well it makes you jealous. “Don’t give her a hard time, eh?” He reprimands playfully. 

Percy smiles a little. “I’ll try not to.”

You are once again reminded just how easy it is to love Luke. How effortlessly he moves into your heart. It happened to you after you slapped him with an oar. It’s already happening to Percy.

You’re sure he won’t like you nearly half as much. 

After Luke and Chris leave, Percy resigns to staring out at the campers canoeing on the lake. Maybe now is a good time to admit you’re not good with kids. Luke has tried many times to make you his welcome partner, but you can’t take to the role nearly as well. You’re perpetually antsy. And sweaty. 

“So, what cabin are you a part of that lets you do this all day?” Percy asks, squinting against the sun. 

Your heart gets heavy. With a sigh, you sit yourself down, and Percy soon follows. “Hermes, actually,” you say as casually as you can. 

Percy goes pale as a sheet. “Uh, what?”

“I’m unclaimed,” you clarify. “I don’t … I don’t have a parent.”

There’s always a pitiful pause whenever a camper figures that out. This one is somehow … clunkier. “Oh,” Percy says. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense. For a second I thought—phew.” Then his eyes trail down to the thread hooked around your fingers, the five beads you run your thumb over. “How long have you been here?”

“Five long, blissful years,” you hum dryly. 

Water ripples over pebbles on the shore. Every new camper’s ambition is eroded by the truth you represent. Percy’s no different. His brows furrow and his face falls. “And you’ve never been claimed?” He asks, and you can feel the noxious mix of pity, confusion and despair laced beneath it. 

You shake your head, watching some Demeter kids splashing each other’s canoes with their oars. “Nope. But it’s not so bad. I like my cabin, you know? I like my life. Doesn’t really matter who your parents are anyway, I think. You do the same activities as everyone else, just on different teams.”

“But doesn’t it make you mad?”

“It used to,” you shrug, “But not anymore. It’s just …” You sigh, rolling a bead against your thumb. “If I’m unclaimed, I’m unclaimed. That’s the way it is. You can’t force the Gods to do anything.” 

“That’s what Luke said,” Percy remarks, almost bitterly. 

“I’m a rare case though, Percy,” you half-lie to him, nudging him a bit with your shoulder. “You’ll get claimed. It’s your first day. And until then you’re kind of free to be whatever. You don’t have to fit into anything, which is kinda nice, and you can screw around as much as you want and nobody can really get mad at you ‘cause you’re new.” A smile rises on your face. “And I heard you killed a minotaur, so you’ve already got some cool points.”

His face screws up in a grimace, and it makes you laugh. “Oh joy, cool points. Can’t live without those.”

Okay, maybe you’re not bad with kids. Maybe you’re just bad with boring kids. Because this is going decent, right? 

“What if I don’t get claimed, though?” Percy asks after a moment, a vulnerable note eclipsing him. It resonates inside your chest. You pause for a moment, heaving a loaded breath. 

“Do you fart a lot in your sleep?”

His melancholy pauses. He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Uh … what? No? I think?”

“Then you can take the bunk above mine if you want. It’s empty now,” you say. “And if you’re never claimed you can come swimming with me, and we can find seashells to put under Luke’s pillow every night until he starts thinking they’ve always been there.”

Percy blinks. “Do you have any friends?”

“Yes, and I’m going to torture him until I die. Cabin eleven is oodles of fun, Percy, you’ll see!”

He looks a little horrified. “Luke said I was going to like you,” he mutters. “I … am not sure if he’s right.”

Oh, well. You’ll take it. 

ii. you can't help but become the sun

You can’t sleep, and Luke knows it. His eyes burn into the side of your face as you stare up at your bunk. You sneak him a look. He smiles ruefully. Sweeping his arm up from beneath his covers, a makeshift tent is formed next to him. He nods to you. Before you know it, you’ve abandoned your own bed, taking a single step until you skirt into the pocket of his mattress Luke has carved for you. He lets the sheets fall, cocooning you with him the way he always does. 

You’ve been sharing beds on occasion for years. One of you gets cold, has a nightmare, or wants to talk until your mind fades out, the only solution is a place next to each other. Whispers against cheeks, giggles muffled into pillows, necklaces knocking together. You used to be further apart. Now you can’t remember the last time Luke hasn’t latched onto you the second you’re within reach. It warms you a little more each time. 

When your head hits his pillow, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment, lips pursed in amusement. His face is so wildly nostalgic to you—five years seems like too short a time to have known him. His eyes are pitch-dark and soft with exhaustion, but you can still pick out the trademark Hermes mirth glimmering through. You sometimes forget his scar, probably because you know he wants you to forget it. He’d kill you for thinking this, but you kind of like the way it hugs the curve of his cheek, bunches up when his dimple appears. It makes you sad. It makes you happy. It makes you love him. 

“Percy likes you,” he whispers, opening himself up so your chin brushes his shoulder. “That’s a first.”

He’s only wearing a tank top to sleep, so his warmth seeps through his skin when you tap him on the chest. “Shut up!” You hiss back, tapering into a giggle. “Has he picked up on anything yet?”

Luke bites the inside of his cheek, regretfully shaking his head. “Nope. But all that skill stuff is kinda arbitrary anyways. He’s still hung up on kleos, though, so … that’ll come in handy for Capture the Flag.”

“Ah, yes. Using a child’s misguided need for fulfilment as a weapon. A camp classic.” 

“Well someone’s gotta be useful for Capture the Flag in this cabin and it sure as hell isn’t you, mermaid,” he barbs back. 

Your jaw drops in mock offense and you squeeze a hand around his shoulder to shake him. “I will put you in a headlock right now, Luke, I’ll break your arm—”

“Be quiet!” He giggles as you attempt to wrangle yourself on top of him. “I’ll be nice to you, I’ll be nice, stop!” You get absolutely nowhere before the bed creaks and Luke shoves you back down. Your pulse rattles through your mouth as you laugh silently. “You’re the worst,” he mutters in your ear, raising the hairs on your neck.

“Well Percy likes me, so,” you turn your nose to the sky like a haughty old lady. 

“Percy’s a funnier, less annoying version of you,” he pokes your side. “That’s how I knew you’d get along, you weirdo.”

The momentary adrenaline this conversation has brought you is mellowing. “Hey, I’m very—very funny,” you mumble through a yawn. 

Luke laughs quietly. “Sure you are.”

He pulls you back to him, arm slung around the dip of your waist. When you make no protest, he seals you against his shoulder again. It’s started to feel a little different, him holding you like this. There’s an uncertainty your body faces about how to respond. His thumb runs over your spine and you decide to relax into him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Your chin knocks against his collarbone and you have the urge to curl yourself against his chest, just to feel him breathe. 

“Get some sleep, sailor,” he murmurs, fingers brushing through the roots of your hair. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. Your cheeks warm, and you bury yourself even further into the space against his shoulder and his pillow. Gods, there’s something wrong with you, isn’t there?

“Will do, soldier.” The campy voice you do is half hearted at best as you find yourself absorbed in the closest thing to a full home you’ll ever get. In this sleepy hollow with bedsheets and a boy, there is acceptance. 

Well, mostly. You think you dream about Luke brushing a kiss along your hairline in your last bit of consciousness. You think you wish it was real. You think you want him to do it again.   

iii. when you don't know who you are, you fuck around and find out

The last time your cabin lost a game of Capture the Flag, you’d still been taller than Luke. That’s how long your winning streak has felt. There’s no reason you foresee that changing today. Even when Annabeth drags Percy along with her on whatever surely precarious quest to victory she’s created. It’s unlike her, to bring a newbie along. It’s concerning. 

“He’s fine,” Luke drawls to you when your face has been tense for twenty minutes. “Annabeth’s got a plan.” He’s a little winded after clearing out some Ares kids with Chris. You aren’t much use when it comes to weapons—your friends take the lead as you wait from a distance, ready for backup. Thank the Gods they didn’t need it this time. You’re content to just watch, but whenever Luke grins after getting another kid to surrender, veins in his arms raised like rivers on a map, you get a little distracted and you’re not sure why. 

You just huff back at him, totally normal when he wipes a sheen of sweat off his jaw. “Annabeth’s gonna use him as cannon fodder,” you mutter back, and Luke hits your arm with an appalled grin. 

Annabeth did, in fact, have a plan. So you won. Obviously. 

You’re still doubtful Percy wasn’t cannon fodder, though, with how beat up he looks on the shoreline when the rest of your team flocks to the stolen flag to claim victory. He’s slumped down on the rocky shore, a few equally beaten Ares kids straggling away from him. 

“So I was right, huh?” Luke hums in your ear, pulling your eyes to him. 

He’s revelling in newfound glory, and damn it, you get confused when you look at him when he’s like this. You’re not sure when it happened but you want to tear your heart out of its chest because of how sick it makes you. Some of his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat, his hair suffering a serious case of helmet-head. But it’s the pride oozing off him, the infectious happiness laced through his smile, that makes you fond of him in a way you’re not sure you should be. He’s beloved for a reason—he looks almost prophetic after winning a match, and he knows it. A glaring difference between the gangly boy you met all those summers ago. If you weren’t his best friend, you’d probably be one of his many admirers, watching his teammates fawn over his talent and wishing you were beside him. 

But you are beside him. And you’re his friend. Not an admirer. So everything’s fine. 

“You wouldn’t be saying that if we lost,” you retort, knocking your chestplate against his. It’s meant to be a friendly nudge, but Luke leans into it until you swear you feel his heart beating through the metal. 

He’s grown into his smile, less boyish and more wry. “You know I never lose, sailor.” 

You want to reply, but his eyes are startlingly pretty in the sunlight. That’s normal. Whatever. A heat rises in the apples of your cheeks so you scoff lightly and turn away as soon as possible. You feel Luke’s gaze following as you turn attention elsewhere. Your sternum feels fluttery.

Percy catches your attention again. Gods, he looks beat. He’s talking to Annabeth as she helps him up, and you see the gnarly scrape marring his cheek. You should probably check on him, right? 

You’re halfway to the kids when Annabeth shoves Percy backwards into the water. Like, shoves. 

“Annabeth!” You’re scowling at her the same way she scowled at you when you first hit Luke with that oar, rushing over to help Percy. 

“What is wrong with you?” Percy sputters out lying in the lake, but you’re ankles-deep in the water before you know it. He’s glaring daggers at Annabeth, but she looks relatively unimpressed. What happened during this game? 

“Thanks,” Percy mutters as you help him up. 

You say something to shrug it off but you can’t remember what, because your eyes are drawn to the scrape on his cheek. You have to blink a few times to get it, but you’re pretty sure it’s dissolving. Vanishing off his skin. “What the hell?”

Everyone on the shore is watching him now, trying to memorize his injuries before they wash away. Percy’s staring down at himself like he’s just been body-swapped. “I don’t understand.” 

You’ve never seen anything like this before. The strangest feeling fuels you—your bones feel firmer somehow, like the blood inside your body has weight to it. Like something is happening. A fear pierces your gut. 

Annabeth’s eyes have raised, and so have Percy’s. Your mouth goes dry. Right above him is the symbol of a trident, radiating so blue it washes out the sky itself. 

The claiming symbol of Poseidon. 

“Your dad’s calling,” Annabeth says, a smile itching the corners of her mouth. 

Percy looks like he’s going to pass out. You probably do too. “Told you you’d get claimed,” you manage to squeeze the words through the knot in your chest. 

You’re smiling until Percy looks at you, then looks up. His face goes white as a sheet. Or, as white as it can bathed in a pale blue glow. “Uh…” He blinks slowly, and your stomach twists. “I think she was talking to you.”

When you look up and see an identical trident looming over your head, you know something’s wrong. It’s made worse when Chiron rings out your and Percy’s name, branding you as children of Poseidon. 

Poseidon. 

You have a father. And he’s known you all this time. Your ears hollow out like a rush of water in a cavern.

Luke is the first to kneel. The rest of the camp follows. You watch as the entire camp basks in the glory of newcomer Percy Jackson, so quickly claimed by one of the most powerful Gods of Olympus. And you, who has waited five years to earn even a shred of his favour. 

This thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly the greatest insult in the world. Your best friend can’t even meet your eyes. 

iv. i remember who i am when i'm with you

You stare at Percy as he unpacks his things. Waiting to see traces of yourself in his face, traces of your father. Anything that could give you an inkling of what he looks like. Of what you look like. Of how this happened in the first place. 

It’s a futile search. Percy’s blue eyes, his freckles, the bridge of his nose, they’re all … nothing. Half of you is half of him, but there’s no indication of which parts. The cabin is cold. You’re not going to sleep well without Luke nearby. You’re not going to sleep well ever again. 

You feel nothing but strife, your throat closing in every time you take even a second to think. You don’t want Percy to see you cry. So you do what you always do. 

This has to be in the running for most overwhelming day of all time ever. Even when submerged in your favourite place on earth, you can’t get away from your dad. Your dumb stupid dad that has made the things you love and has ruined your life. 

You swim hard, and you loathe how good it feels. At least you know why now, but that doesn’t do much to ease you. When you pop up again, the sun has started to sink into the sea. And Gods, you have to give your dad credit. The landscape is so gorgeous you almost forget how long he’s ignored you. 

You wonder if this is the last time you’ll find solace in the lake. If eventually, it’ll be nothing but an extension of your father’s neglect. 

The water ripples around you. You frown, barely having noticed it when someone taps your shoulder. You turn. “Luke?” You swallow, but why are you surprised? 

He’s panting, cheeks splotched with sun as he treads water, droplets worming down his face from his soaking curls. “Been looking for you,” he puffs, “Percy’s worried. Called you from the—from the thingie but don’t think you heard me.”

You assume he means the docks, but you don’t say anything as he takes a deep, grounding breath. “You’ve been out here for hours. Hours. For a second I thought you drowned.”

“Now we know that can’t fucking happen,” you mutter a touch too bitterly, staring down at your legs warped beneath the water. 

Luke’s silent as he watches you. “…Have you been crying?”

When you don’t reply, Luke tugs on your wrist. “C’mon, sailor, let’s go.”

“Not tired,” you say, frozen by the hot tears brimming on your lashes. 

“I’m not leaving you out here. Come on.” He frowns when you yank your hand away as he tries pulling you again. “You’re gonna get heatstroke.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

He reaches for you again and you try to reject it for a moment, but he’s stronger than you, and he loves you better than even the water could. The second he has you close your resolve falters. He holds you against his shoulder, knees knocking against yours as you tread. 

“It’s okay,” he croons when you involuntarily start to cry. For a Poseidon kid, you can’t seem to control your waterworks. “It’s okay, I know.”

His hand cards through your scalp and you relish in the warmth of his bare skin on your cheek. He smells like comfort. You cling to it with all you have, until your nails start to dig into his skin and your eyesight blurs. 

“Come back with me and I’ll dry you off, okay?” He kisses the top of your head, the way you dreamed it last night. “I’ll take care of it.”

You’re not sure which it he’s referring to, because it could honestly apply to anything. When you both set off for shore, you’re so distracted by your own misery that Luke’s actually able to keep up with you. He’s up on the dock before you so he can pull you out. 

The second you’re out of the water you feel like you’ve been gutted with a lead pipe. All the energy it gave you leaves, and you realize just how right Luke was about spending too much time out there. You can’t feel your legs. 

You buckle over almost instantly, but Luke holds you before you can even think of falling. “I’ve got you,” he assures, guiding you down to sit on the dock. Your eyes are too weak to even admire the sunset. Luke drapes a towel over your shoulders, rubbing it over your arms, a welcome familiarity. He takes his time, wringing your hair and drying your back as you gaze blankly ahead. There’s a tenderness to it now. Luke’s ruthless when it comes to a lot of things. When it comes to how he loves, too. But there’s nothing demanding here. He lets your tears fall in silence, undisturbed, the touch of his hands through the cloth a silent promise. 

When you’re fairly dry, he fetches something then quickly comes back. “Here.”

It’s his shirt. You only notice you’ve been shivering as he pulls it over your head, lets you fill in the sleeves, gently gathers your hair back. “Thanks,” you say. His fingertips brush your neck as he hooks them around your necklace to rest it over the shirt. You think he does it to remind you you’re still the same. You’ve had five years together. It doesn’t have to end now. 

“Why did it take him so long?” You struggle to say, eyes glossed like sea glass. “Why—why now? What did I do?”

Luke puts an arm around you. “I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly. 

You sink into his warmth like a wave meets the shore. “Five years, Luke. He ignored me for five years. And he takes Percy right—right away.” It’s hard not to choke between every word. “I just thought I’d never get claimed, and I was fine with that, and now I’m … this!”

Its hard to tell if the dampness of your cheeks are the remnants of saltwater or your tears. “I don’t want this,” you sniffle. “I waited so long … and I just don’t want it.”

Luke rubs your shoulder, lips pursed against your head. He murmurs into your hair, “I know, sailor. It’ll be okay. Promise.”

His voice is reserved. You look up at him. His jaw is resolute, his eyes red-rimmed in a way you hadn’t noticed before. “You’re upset too,” you comment quietly. 

He laughs listlessly. “Yeah, of course I am. I’m losing my favourite cabin mate.”

You sniff and try to smile. “Percy?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, and it feels like all you want. He squeezes your shoulders tight and you long desperately to be closer. “I just don’t know what I did wrong,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into him. “Why didn’t he see me until he saw Percy? Am I just … unremarkable or something?”

“No, no. Absolutely not—c’mere.” Luke loops an arm around your waist and manoeuvres you into his arms, cradled on his lap so you can bury your face in his neck. You can’t stop fucking crying, but his patience for you is infinite. “You are by far the most remarkable person I know.” He seals you against his chest, scratching your scalp the way he knows you like. “None of this is you, okay? Your dad’s an idiot. You are—you’re everything. They’re all mindless up there, they don’t know how to love you. They don’t deserve to.”

An edge seeps into his timbre that gives you pause. You feel weak, discarded. It sounds like he’s talking about a different person. But he’s right. He has to be, because he knows you better than you know yourself.

Luke keeps going. You peek at his face when he speaks. Stubborn as ever. “He doesn’t have any fucking right to you. If he wanted that he should’ve claimed you when you got here. You have a life. You … you had a home. And now just because he’s got another kid he kills two birds with one stone? He pretends like this is some Godly intervention? Like he didn’t ignore you the whole time you’ve been here because he couldn’t stand how much you didn’t need him? How much better you are? You’re my …” He struggles, brows furrowed, the sun melting in his eyes. “You’re my best friend, and we’re supposed to be together. He’s not allowed to take that from you.”

Your heart stirs. “Sounds like you’re jealous,” you try to tease.

Luke heaves a sigh, his muscles rippling against your chest. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that he’s got no shirt on. And that he’s pressed against you in a way that makes you question if you should be this close. Beads of water cling to the divots in his skin, and you linger a little too long on one nestled in his collarbone. You swear you think this every time he goes swimming with you: when did he get so … hot? And every time you think it, you want to gouge your heart out with a spoon. 

“Can you blame me?” A melancholy smile plays on his face. “I liked having you all to myself.”

Tears spring to your eyes all over again. “I liked that too.”

It’s a whisper that sends you forward, Luke bringing his forehead to your own, and you want to live in the warmth that coils through you. His nose catches against yours when he laughs, but he doesn’t move. You take a moment to savour it. You think he does too.

He wipes a tear off your face as you say, “I’m still yours.”

“Yeah?” Luke hums a bit, his hand sliding up your waist in a most unfriendly manner. “How?” 

You catch the glimmer in his eyes, that plucky smile he’s had since fourteen. Something shifts.

“What are you asking me, Luke?” You can’t fight the smile. 

“What do you want me to ask you?”

“I dunno, what do you want me to want you to ask you—”

“My Gods, you’re a pain in the ass.”

He groans, throws his head back, and kisses you like you aren’t the most annoying person in the world. 

It’s so cliché, but for a brief moment your strife is well worth it. You yank him closer before he pulls away. It’s a little unsure, the two of you so used to toeing the line, but soon you’ve given in and your hands are in his hair, mouths parting, and it’s messy and wanting and everything you need. 

Luke slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, palms flattening against your sun-beaten skin. It feels so good, better because the shirt is already his, a whine scratching your throat as he moves up so his thumbs graze the skin beneath the tie in your bathing suit. 

“Oh, sailor,” he coos against your mouth. You want to retaliate but it’s lost when he squeezes your thighs, warming you in all the right places. It’s hard to understand this is even happening—it feels like you’re underwater, a blissful fuzziness growing in your head entirely at his mercy. 

He razes kisses down your still-damp neck, catching pearls of water on his tongue. You cling to his shoulders, raking your hands down his back just so you can feel more of him. Luke’s dropped down to your collarbone at this point, tugging the neck of your shirt down as his teeth graze the bone. “You’re my best friend,” he mutters over your skin. “Still mine. Always mine.”

“Mmhm,” is all you can say back, the husk in his voice making your eyes screw shut. He teases a spot so sensitive you groan and laugh at the same time. The regret is immediate, but you feel a chuckle pass his lips, too. “Luke,” you purse a smile. He dots kisses back up your neck until you start returning the favour. 

You kiss his jaw, a few spots on his neck, feeling the flex of his muscle all around you as he squeezes the fat of your hips. You finally sweep up the water in the hollow of his collarbones, and his grunt of your name makes you, frankly, delirious. 

He brings your mouth back to his, skin sticking to each other. It’s harder to kiss as fervently when you’re both giggling against each other’s tongues, running fingers along the planes of each other’s bodies trying to see which places feel new and which are known from memory. It’s a fifty-fifty split, and you love it. 

Somewhere along the way he peeled off your shirt because it was clinging in places you knew he wanted, but now you’re panting and giggling into his hair, his nose pressed into your neck, both of you melded together with salt and sun. “You really know how to cheer a girl up, mailman,” you grin. 

His lips fix to your skin. “Really? You’re still gonna call me that right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Like it better when you call me captain,” he murmurs, nose grazing along your pulse. 

You swallow, “That doesn’t work unless we’re doing the whole sailor-ship bit.”

“We’re always doing the sailor-ship bit.”

“I seriously can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

He sighs warmly at the words. “You have no idea how much I’ve been dying for you to say that. Even though I knew you would.”

You roll your eyes as he presses his forehead to yours, and you’re more glad than ever that his face is the one you love so much. It’s a pretty great face. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says tenderly. “You’re too incredible for Poseidon. You’re worth more than that.”

He still looks gorgeous blurred by your tears. You listen to the beat of his heart and the waves rolling. “More than any water anywhere?”

“More than the fucking Styx, sailor. I’ll promise you that.”

That night, Luke stays with you and Percy in your cold chapel of a cabin. You exchange stories until Percy falls asleep in his bed, curled up like a sea otter. “He’s a drooler,” Luke notes fondly, eyes flicking to yours. “Like you.”

You shove his chest playfully until he wraps his arms around you and anchors you to sleep, like every night before. This time, as you drift off, he kisses your forehead again. Once because he loves you, and twice to make sure you know it’s real. 

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[maletfs]

Hey guys, it’s Alec again! Sorry for taking over the blog again but I had to share this with you. I still can’t believe I got so lucky. Usually it’s just one loner at a time but... oops, sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start from the beginning.

A week ago I was piloting a mid-tier flight from Berlin to Shanghai but, because of all the stuff going on in Wuhan, the plane was mostly empty. There was a large stag-do close to the cabin, maybe twenty or thirty guys, all a little tipsy and most of them my type, but sadly they all dropped off at one of our stopovers. Once they stepped out, it was barely ten people in the entire flight, cabin crew included.

During a little break I had, I wandered down the aisle and was greeted by a most beautiful view. Three friends (or at least I assumed they were friends), dozing on each other’s shoulders, with no one else in the neighbouring seats paying them any attention. What a wonderful treat!

I didn’t think it twice. I charmed them with a subtle wave of my hand, glanced over my shoulder to ensure everyone else was either asleep or distracted, and then headed for the tail bathroom. Half a minute later the first one appeared.

He was youngish, perhaps in his early twenties, with a dopey smile that, I was sure, was already there before I even charmed him. He knowingly left the door unlocked before he started making out with me, his tongue tasting of mints and coke.

As his kisses travelled down my neck, I saw the door open again and my second plaything arrived. He was slightly taller than his friend, with black thick-rimmed glasses and a much more peacocking hairstyle. Unable to reach my lips, his friend already standing in front of me, he pushed himself around the small bathroom and settled behind me, where he started kissing the back of my neck, his hands enveloping my torso and exploring my nipples over my pilot shirt.

We had all started taking our clothes off by the time the third friend walked into the booth, shutting and locking the door behind him. He was the tallest of the three, with a humble moustache and short hair. As soon as he saw us, he started removing his own clothes, not wanting to be left behind.

Once we were all in our birthing suits, I positioned them according to what I had planned for each of them. I had spent some time, whilst we all made out and grabbed at every inch of each other’s bodies, thinking about what I would be doing with each of them. Obviously I couldn’t turn them all into a single pair of briefs. Even if it was tradition for me, it would be a waste to use three full bodies on one single item. Then I thought I could just turn them into three separate briefs, but where was the fun in that? No, I wanted something a little bit more... exciting.

Friend number one with the dopey smile went down to work on my cock, slowly teasing the tip before swallowing it whole; friend number two with the cute haircut bit my butt cheeks gently before parting them and diving with his tongue into my hole; and friend number three, the tallest of the bunch, stayed standing, kissing and worshipping me, waiting for his turn.

Number three suddenly stopped to look down at number one, mesmerised by his changes. One’s lips had fused with the base of my shaft, and the rest of his body mass was slowly pulling towards his head, which had lost most of its definition and now looked like a blob of phallic flesh. Despite my mind-controlling charm, three had an original thought: he went down on his knees and started licking his former friend. Nerve connections had obviously been established between my soon-to-be cock and myself as I could feel three’s wet tongue in all its glory.

I glanced back at two and found very little of him left. Most of his upper body had been absorbed into my ass, and what was left would not take too long to go.

As both one and two reached the end of their transformations, I felt an imminent orgasm building up in my engorged balls. Three diligently set himself in front of me, ready for what was to come. I wondered whether his true self was actually enjoying all this, whether he actually wanted it. I decided to take a chance and remove my charm a little earlier than usual.

With his self-control restored, he moved closer to my new, oversized cock - his former friend. Then, he glanced up at me. “Please” he whispered, “please, I want... I want it too.”

“Oh pet, don’t you worry” I lulled as a placed my twitching cock in his mouth, “you’re staying with your friends.” And with that I felt myself tipping over the edge. Cum erupted from my cock into three’s welcoming throat, and as soon as it made contact with his flesh, his own changes began.

His dark skin became pale and textured, the white hue starting at his lips and travelling over the rest of his body, taking with it every feature: his eyes, his hair, his chin... On his own accord, he wrapped his arms around my hips and grabbed my now humongous ass, holding tight onto the cheeks that were once his other friend. Before his cock flattened and turned into polyester, he came all over the floor, which I took as a sign that he was enjoying the process.

Finally, ten minutes into my break, I stood there. Alone, but not quite. Sporting three good friends that would now spend their lives together. And hell, I looked good!

[illfoandillfie]

Better Than Chocolates (Non-Daddy Version)

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader x Brian May

Summery: It’s your first Valentines Day together and Roger, ever the romantic, has a number of surprises in store.

Warnings: Smut (18+), some sickeningly sweet fluff mixed with some absolute filth oh my god. threesome, sir kink, dom/dom/sub dynamics, orgasm delay/denial, public teasing, public oral sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), face slapping, choking, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, double penetration, degradation.

Words: 13 572 (jesus christ)

A/N: This is a reupload of my latest fic but with the daddy kink stuff taken out! If you want to read the original version it can be found HERE

There were those who would call your relationship weird or wrong. The tabloids for one seemed to take endless enjoyment from criticising you and Roger, as did the nosey and bored. The age gap would have been enough to draw attention, much less the fact he was a world-famous musician and divorced. Phrases like midlife crisis and gold digger had been whispered behind your back and printed in black and white for anyone to read. And that was without any of them knowing that you’d met while on the arm of one of his best friends and bandmates. You could only imagine the trash they’d say about you if they knew the half of it. If they knew you’d caught Brian’s eye while out at a club and then found yourself in his bed for the next few nights. If they knew that he’d taken you out  and you’d run into Roger while on your way to a bar. An unknown number of drinks later and you found yourself between them, Brian’s hands expertly slipping into your underwear as Roger teased your nipples from over your shirt, his breath warm where he leaned into your neck. When you woke in the morning you had a hangover and marks all over your body, mostly hickeys but some were left by teeth and some by hands too. Gradually the night came back to you, the insistence for them to be rougher, the way they’d complied with your request, taking it in turns to pin you down. It was worth it even with the throbbing headache. And it left you hoping for a repeat at least, if not something more. The opportunity to take them at the same time, perhaps? You’d thought you lost the chance when you and Brian sort of fizzled out, mutually deciding it had been fun while it lasted but had gone as far as it was going to. A few months later you’d run into Roger again, playing along when he acted like he’d forgotten your name. You accepted his invitation to join him for a quick drink and then the invitation to join him for dinner and before you knew it you were dating for real, holding hands in public and being gossiped about in trashy magazines. If Brian was uncomfortable with the new development, he didn’t show it and Roger assured you that everything was completely fine, so you’d kept seeing him. Now, almost a year into the relationship, you were woken up as Roger climbed back into the bed you shared and snuggled in close to you. A glance at the bright numbers on the alarm clock told you it wasn’t as early in the morning as you would have liked.    “Y’gonna have to let me go soon,” you mumbled sleepily, “gotta get up for work in a bit.”    “Not t’day,” he said back, voice still morning rough as he dropped a kiss to your shoulder, “I called you in sick f’the rest of the week,”    “What?” You rolled over to face Roger, suddenly much more awake.    He cracked an eye open at you, though the other remained tightly shut, “you have a virus,” he shut his eye again.    You flicked his nose, “Rog, explain,”    He groaned and scrunched up his nose at the attack, “First Valentines together, got something special planned.”    “Valentines isn’t until tomorrow blondie,”    “Said it was special,” he pulled you tighter against him, “now go back to sleep, doctor’s orders.”    You rolled your eyes but snuggled into him, deciding it would be easier to get answers when Roger was more prepared to wake up. And really, who were you to say no to a lie in.    “Better,” he mumbled into your neck once you’d settled, “love you.”   

 It turned out to be harder to get Roger to explain than you’d thought it would be. He’d tried to surprise you in the past but usually got too excited about it to keep it to himself for long. But not this time. This time he changed the subject whenever you asked what he had planned or why you needed half a week off work for it. Leaning across the kitchen island, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, you again tried to wheedle more information from him, putting every tool in your arsenal to use – his favourite pet names, whiney pleases, even a cheeky peak down your shirt.  “Y’know things’ll be more fun if you stop asking and let it be a surprise,” he said, leaning over the other edge of the island, not quite nose to nose.    “Surprises make me nervous,”    “I promise you’ll enjoy it. Now why don’t you go get changed, baby, I’ve booked us into a spa,”    “Is the spa part of it?”    “Could be,”    The way he grinned at you made you want to slap his shoulder and sink to your knees in equal parts but instead you settled on pushing yourself forward on your toes to close the gap between you, saying a soft thank you as you pulled back.”     “Don’t need to thank me,”    “Think I do. I didn’t really have anything planned for Valentines. The best I’d come up with was cooking you dinner. Maybe a box of chocolates.”   “What I have planned is so much better than a box of chocolates.”    “Well, I did also buy something fun to wear,”    “You mean the teddy I found in the cupboard? The red one with the hearts?”    “Roggie! You saw?”    “You didn’t hide it that well,”    “I thought I had,” you pouted.    “If it’s any consolation, seeing it on the hanger gave me a semi, so imagine what seeing you in it is gonna do to me.”    “That is the fun part,”    He leaned in to kiss you again, softly, though his voice was closer to a growl when he spoke, “Mmhmm, definitely the fun part.”   

Upon arriving at the spa you realised your expectations were set way too low. A massage was all you’d been thinking of – in an out in and hour and a half and then home again to have a late lunch and maybe fool around a bit. But then the ridiculously calm and beautiful woman at the reception desk said the words full Valentines package and Roger had confirmed it, squeezing your hand just a little tighter. You shouldn’t have been surprised really, Roger made no secret about how much he enjoyed spoiling you. Whenever you protested, he’d just shrug and say you were his favourite thing to spend money on, although sometimes he’d add on “after the cars”, grinning at you like he’d made the world’s funniest joke. A luxurious spa day wasn’t anywhere near the most extravagant thing he’d bought you, and it definitely left you feeling completely indulged and pampered. It started with you both stripping to your bathers and being led to a private steam room, a range of muds and scrubs left for you to try. You imagined the intention was for it to be romantic and maybe just a little bit sexy – gently rubbing the different pastes into each other’s skin – and it kind of started that way with Roger’s firm hands on your shoulders, smoothing out a thick blob of something or other he’d picked at random. But then, in trying to reciprocate the gesture, you inadvertently flung some towards Roger which led to him smearing a handful over your face and any chance of soft sexiness was gone in a burst of squeals and giggles and curse words.    “Probably for the best,” Roger said when you pointed out another couple in the hall towards the baths, finger tracks of mud over every inch of bare skin and eyes locked in a nauseatingly gooey way, “would have ended with some poor bastard who works here walking in on something entirely inappropriate.”   Roger was almost correct. The scrubs were washed off under showers, Roger turning you to check your back was free of goop, his fingers making goosebumps rise despite the warmth of the water, before you returned the favour. And then you were left to relax and float around in a perfectly temperate pool.     “Christ this is nice,” Roger said after a short while. He’d never much been one for silence.     You just hummed your agreement, eyes closed as you felt your body relax, muscles loosening, worries disappearing.     “I’ll take it that means you’re enjoying yourself,”    “Mmhmm,”    “Are you ever going to say more than monosyllabic noises again?”    “Mmhmm is two syllables,”    A splash of water hit you from where Roger was.    “Hey!” you finally opened your eyes only to find him holding his hands up, a look of false innocence plastered over his face.    “Sorry, baby, accident,”    “Somehow I don’t believe you,” you shook your head but couldn’t hide your amused smile, “And I think you need to kiss me to make up for it.”    “If you insist,” he laughed as he caught your hand and pulled you through the water, backing up until he hit the pool wall which gave you the chance to hook your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. The goosebumps returned as his hands slid down your sides, drops of water running from them, and he found your lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. The moment stretched on, neither of you interested in anything outside of your warm bubble, and you were still wrapped up in each other when the door opened, another beautiful woman striding into the room to disrupt you.     “Mr Taylor, Ms Y/L/N, your masseurs are ready for you. If you’d like to take these robes and follow me,”    “Thank you,” Roger still seemed a little distracted, but he let you go free, although not without giving your bum a small squeeze first.     You smiled at the woman as you wrapped yourself up in the soft fluffy robe and followed her out of the room and down a hallway.    Roger caught your hand as you walked and leaned towards your ear so only you could hear him, “D’you reckon you’d have to be ranked on an attractiveness scale to get a job here or is there something in the water?”    “God I hope it’s the water. Wonder if any of them would be interested in joining us one night,” you raised your eyebrows suggestively.    “Have I told you I love you?”    “Yes, but I’m happy to hear it again.”   

The massage was the part you’d been expecting but, even so, you were pleasantly surprised when you were told, in a calm soothing voice, that it was a hot rock massage, ideal for relieving muscle tension and stress. The room smelt faintly of roses which only served to calm you further, until your breathing was deep and even. Roger was on the table beside you, sighing as his masseuse gave extra attention to his shoulders and upper back, per his request. Drumming wasn’t necessarily easy on his body but a massage every so often helped. You had a stash of oils and lotions at home that you pulled out whenever he needed to ease the tension in his back or his legs or his wrists and fingers, but there was no denying how incredible a professional massage was. And being able to share the experience was even better. It certainly made it easier to endure Roger’s whispered jokes, filthy of course, when you were told a facial was next. That was followed by a manicure and that by a pedicure. Finally, you were led to the last part of the package. Two glasses of champagne and a chocolate brownie shaped like a heart awaited you by a tub large enough for both of you, full almost to the brim with rose petal infused water – one last chance to relax together before the real world came knocking. It was perhaps a little too full, some of the water spilling over the edge as you both climbed in and settled, Roger pulling you against his chest and handing you one of the glasses.    “So, my love, did you enjoy it?” Roger’s voice was soft, his fingers softer, stroking your shoulder as you leaned against him.    “So much,”    “Good,”    “Almost a shame to have to go home after all this,”    “Well, I guess I have some good news for you then,”    You sat up and turned to look at Roger quizzically.    “This was just the beginning of your surprise, I’ve got a few more things up my sleeve but we have to go on a small flight to get them.”    “A flight? Where to?”    “Well now that would be spoiling things and you know I’m not going to do that. I’ve already packed our suitcases and they’re in the back of the car.”    “When the fuck did you organise all this?”    “Oh y’know, here and there. Took me a few months to get it all sorted but it was nothing. It’s worth the effort to make you happy,”    “Rog I would have been happy with a couple of drinks and a good fuck,”    “Believe me, that’s coming. But I wanted to do something proper romantic for you. Best boyfriend ever, right?”    “Without a doubt,” you leaned in to kiss him hard.   

  ***    

 “Can you give me a hint about where we’re going?” you asked as you walked through the airport, dragging your suitcase with one hand, your other entwined with Roger’s.    “No,”    “Oh c’mon,”    “Love, I’m this close to blindfolding you and plugging your ears so it won’t be spoiled.”     You rolled your eyes at Roger’s determination to keep you in the dark and dropped the subject, letting him steer you towards a nearby coffeeshop. The opportunity to find out the truth arose while he was distracted with the menu, sunnies firmly in place so he could read the signage, boarding passes almost forgotten where they stuck out the top of his bag. With a quick glance to make sure he wasn’t about to turn around, you bent a little to examine the tickets and found the name of the destination.    “Crete? As in Crete, Greece?” you asked, louder than you’d intended as you stood up straight again.    Roger turned and held his hands up in a gesture that clearly said what the fuck.    “You can’t blame me for wanting to know, Roggie. Fucking maddening being stuck with all your ‘guess again’s and ‘that’s not its’.”    “Fucking maddening organising all this. Least you could do is play along,” he crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the people in the queue turning to look at him, a tell-tale pout appearing on his face, the first warning sign of a potential tantrum.     “No need to sulk, Rog. If you’ve done as much as you’ve hinted then I’m completely in the dark about the rest of it.”    “I’m not sulking,”    Before you could answer back the speaker overhead crackled a staticy call for your gate number, loud enough to make you cringe, and Roger grabbed you by the hand, swearing under his breath. Being first class passengers you had plenty of room to stretch out as you waited for the plane to fill, a luxury you’d never have dreamt of before you met Roger. Brian had never had cause to fly you anywhere, so it had never come up.    “So, how come Crete?”    “A few months ago you mentioned wanting to go to the beach,” he shrugged, still sounding a little grumpy, “figured that since I was already spoiling you I might as well pull out all the stops.”    “Y’know, if this got printed in a magazine it’d only fuel all those sugar daddy rumours,”    “Who fucking cares what they think.”   “I’ll remind you you said that next time you’re going on about parasites in the press,” You turned your head towards the window and the view of the runway, able to feel Roger’s gaze on you.    “View’ll be better once we’re in the air,” he said, nudging your shoulder.     “Yeah no shit,”    “You should be nicer to me considering everything I’ve organised,”    “Once the plane takes off you can follow me to the bathroom and I’ll show you just how nice I can be,”    “Naughty,”    “Naughty, nice, whichever way you want, Roggie,”    “Keep it down, love. Or I might start to think you get a kick out of the sugar daddy rumours. Besides, we definitely don’t want anyone to get jealous hearing how filthy you are,”    “Might need to gag me then,”    Roger’s hand tightened on the armrest and his voice was a warning rumble when he spoke, “Y/N,”    “Roger,” you imitated his tone.    “I don’t want to have to tell you again to keep quiet,”    “What’ll you do if I don’t stop?”    He paused for a moment, eyeing you up as he thought, “Think I’d have to edge you for a while.”    “Is that all?”    “Believe me, it’d be worse than it sounds. I know you’re picturing an edge or two before I give in, but I’d make sure it was much more than that,” his voice seemed to get lower with each sentence, sending a shiver down your spine, “See, I have something in mind for tomorrow night. It’ll be fun regardless, but it’ll be more fun if you’re a desperate mess. So edges is all you’ll be getting for now. And if you can’t behave yourself then you’ll be getting them right here in this seat. I knows my little slut can have trouble staying quiet when she’s being edged but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Roger’s tone would have been enough to make you listen, it didn’t leave you any choice, but add into the mix the content of his statement, and the way his voice dropped into a quiet gruffness so as not to be overheard, and you were practically whimpering. You quietly crossed your legs, pressing your thighs together. Roger glanced down at them and then back at your face, an eyebrow slightly raised, and for half a second you thought he’d throw out another teasing remark to push your buttons and rile you up. Instead he just smiled, face softening completely, and took your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm.   

He kept up the game for most of the flight, the hours stretching as he shifted from sweet to teasing and back again, fast enough to have your head spinning. In one second he’d notice you were feeling chilly under the air conditioning and wave down a stewardess to get you a blanket, and in the next he’d be spreading it over both your laps and commenting on how it would help hide his hand when he checked how wet you were. He’d pull you into his side, drop a kiss to your temple, as you watched a movie, only to slip his fingers under your shirt and rub teasing patterns on whatever skin he could subtly reach. And, though he’d hinted at it, he never once followed you to the bathroom or let his fingers wander anywhere inappropriate, which left you almost tense with anticipation and want. Finally, hours after taking off, you landed, thankful the torture was over for the moment, and collected your luggage. It was dark outside of the brightly lit airport, night having fully settled while you’d been in the air. There was a short wait as Roger collected the car he’d rented, always hating to be without easy transport, but soon enough you were on your way, making a short stop to pick up a quick dinner before you arrived at your accommodation. A large villa awaited you, a little off the road, hidden by a pocket of trees on one side and sand dunes on the other. The automatic security lights flicked on as you approached, illuminating the white walls and bright garden out the front. Once inside Roger fumbled around for the light switch and, upon finding it, led you into the living room. It was spacious but nicely furnished and stretched out with doorways leading to more rooms in every direction.    Leaving your luggage by the front door, you made a beeline for the doorway to your right and found yourself in the kitchen. One wall was mostly taken up by a large window that you were sure would show you a view of the ocean once it was light enough to see. The rustle of plastic bags being placed on the kitchen counter was the only indication that Roger had followed you, until you felt his hands wrap around your waist and his head buried in the crook of your neck.    “You smell nice” his breath tickled your skin as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.    “You sure that isn’t the food?”    “‘m sure,”     “You smell nice too, blondie.”    He hummed appreciatively into your neck, squeezing you tighter, “s’pose we should eat before the food gets too cold.”    “Probably a good idea.”    “Okay, yeah, I’m pretty hungry,” he said though made no move to release you.    “Gotta let go of me if we’re gonna eat, Roggie,”    “Don’t wanna.”    “You’re such a baby sometimes,” you laughed, trying to pry his fingers loose.    “You’re a baby, I’m just here because you looked cold,”    “And who’s fault is that? Couldn’t have taken me to a beach with beachier weather? A tropical island perhaps?”    “Perhaps I should have,” he said as he let you go and moved to unpack the boxes of takeout, “could have had hours longer to tease you before we landed.”    You paused, considering how the time might have been spent and just how desperate you would have been at the end of it, “Tropical islands are overrated,”    Roger chuckled and handed you a plate, “Think I saw a fireplace in the lounge, so we can warm the place up a bit. Although I do like having an excuse to cuddle you.”   

In the end he found a midway point. Roger got a fire burning but, when he returned to the couch, he sat so his legs stretched out over your thighs, knees slightly bent, plate balanced on his lap. He flicked the TV on but mostly talked over it until you were both ready to hop into bed. From the bedroom you could clearly hear the waves lapping against the shore, though just thinking about the water made you feel a little colder. It didn’t matter so much once you’d piled multiple blankets onto the bed and Roger had climbed in beside you. He was always warm. Especially when he shuffled closer, pressing himself against your back and throwing an arm over you. You sighed contentedly and placed your hand over his, slipping your fingers into the spaces between his own.    “You excited for tomorrow, my love?”    “Of course,”    You felt his chest shake as he chuckled, “good, me too.”    “Still not gonna tell me what you have planned?”    “Absolutely not,”    “Not even a little hint?”    “Mmmm okay, one hint. Dinner will be involved.”    “Well I’d assumed that much.”    “Alright, alright, I’ll give you a proper hint. Ummm,”    “Take your time,”    “Oh shush, I don’t want to give it away entirely. Oh, okay, that thing you want is going to happen.”    “What the fuck does that mean? Which thing? You sound like a bad fortune cookie.”    “That’s all I’m saying.”    “God this is worse than knowing nothing.”    “Night baby,”    “You expect me to be able to sleep? C’mon Roggie, just tell me,”    “Y’know you should really get some rest. I want tomorrow to be really special and you’re going to need your energy to handle everything I want to do to you.”    You could tell he was smiling, even if you couldn’t see it, barely keeping his elation at being able to tease you so easily in check. And it had been ridiculously easy to get your pulse racing as your mind ran through every possible scenario he could be insinuating, “Maybe you should give me a small taste now, help tire me out,”    “You don’t want that, darling, it’ll just get you all frustrated and keep you up longer. Besides, I want to be as well rested as possible too. So close those pretty eyes and go to sleep.”    You groaned as you were once again left with nothing to satisfy you. Even pressing yourself harder against Roger didn’t get you anything other than a slight squeeze of your fingers.    

***    

Roger let you sleep in, stopping the alarm he’d set before it could wake you too and then quietly disentangling himself from where you’d rolled over and curled into his chest. He’d meant what he said about making the day special, hurrying off to set everything up before you woke. When you did finally stir it was at the sound of his footsteps coming back towards the bedroom, his head poking around the doorway the first thing you saw.    “Oh, you are up, don’t move I’ll be back in a second.”    You were still groggy with sleep, barely registering what Roger had said as you pushed yourself to sit and rubbed your eyes. But he didn’t take long to return, carefully laying a tray over your lap before leaning down to kiss you.    “Morning my love,”    “What’s all this?”    “Breakfast, obviously. Took an early run to the shop so I could make the first of the surprises I have in store for you. Or the second I guess, if we’re counting the spa.”    The tray was laden with food of all different sorts, a bowl of yoghurt topped with fruit, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, a small stack on their own plate with a selection of condiments in case you wanted something simpler. Plus a cup of coffee. And, in the middle of it all, a small vase with a blue flower sticking out of it.    “All of this is for me?”   “No one else here, is there. I mean, I can help you eat it if you want,” he picked a berry out of the yogurt and popped it into his mouth.   You smiled at Roger and picked up the vase, “I’ve never seen a flower like this before,”    “I found it in the garden out front. I’m sure the person who owns this house won’t mind me stealing a couple. Not sure what type it is are but it’s pretty, right?”    “Very pretty.”    “Go on, cold eggs aren’t anywhere near as good,” he took the vase from your hand, sitting it carefully on the bedside table.    You replaced the vase with the knife and fork, gladly attacking the pile of food. Roger stole a piece of toast from the top of the pile and took a bite, sitting back against the foot of the bed, “is it all okay? I didn’t burn anything too bad?”    “It’s delicious Rog. Way too much for me to eat on my own but very tasty.”    “Well I wasn’t sure what you’d want so I figured I’d give you some options, chuck us another bit of toast?”    He only just caught it, almost losing it over the side of the bed, sending both of you into a fit of laughter. He shuffled closer after that, picking at the breakfast with the spoon he’d brought up for the yoghurt, sometimes offering you bites or taking what was on your fork. Eventually you’d both had your fill though and he took the tray from you.    “You relax here, I’ll go wash the dishes,”    “Roggie, you don’t have to do that. You made breakfast, I’ll wash up.”    “You want to?”    “It’s your valentines too, I’d like to do something even if you insist on keeping it all a big secret.”    “Alright, but only because the faster we clean, the faster we can go down to the beach.”   

 The window in the kitchen drew your eye instantly. You’d been right when you guessed it would show you a glimpse of the beach but your imagination hadn’t quite got it right. The call of the gulls as they landed on the rocks a little way out in the ocean, the clear blue of the water, the little path off the sand that led to a set of white stone steps that led past the villa towards the back patio.     “You think it was worth the flight, even with not completely beachy weather?”    All you could do was nod, still trying to take in the view.    Rog laughed softly as he placed the tray down and leaned on the counter, still watching you, “we can go down in a bit, once this is cleaned up. Might be there’s another surprise down there.”    If anything was going to get you moving it was that, curiosity burning within you as you tried to think what he might have planned, what the thing he’d hinted at the previous night could be. Roger did his best to distract you from the task, wrapping his arms around you while you ran a sink of hot soapy water, letting his fingers linger on your skin as long as possible, just because he could. He did dry the dishes as you washed them though, and then sent you off to finish your morning routine and get changed with a kiss. When you were ready, shorts and a button up you’d stolen from Roger pulled over your bathers, he told you to go on ahead.    “Just follow the path, you’ll find the spot no trouble.”    There was some slight trepidation as you set off. You knew the path ended at the edge of the beach, so you hoped the direction to where Roger had set up was as obvious to you as it was to him. Out the back door, down the clean white steps, pausing to glance up at the kitchen window where Roger made a shooing motion so you’d keep moving. When you reached the edge of the sand you found an arrow drawn in front of you, pointing out where to go.   You didn’t have to walk far along the otherwise deserted beach before you found the place Roger had set up. It was marked by a bright beach towel, laid out on the sand, plus a couple extras stacked beside it in case you wanted to swim. Atop the towel sat another of the blue flowers he’d stolen from the front garden, this one sticking out of a tall glass he’d stolen from the kitchen. You took a seat, digging your feet into the sun warmed sand, and waited for him to join you. Now that it was closer to midday you felt the warmth better than you’d done during the night, although the cool breeze that blew in off the ocean almost had you wishing you’d grabbed a cardigan. Perhaps it was too cold to swim. The sound of Roger’s voice made you look around as he treaded over the sand towards you, wearing brightly patterned shorts and a red tank top, arms full of what looked to be bottles though you couldn’t quite make them out.     “Here take these,” he said when finally within reach, handing you first two cocktail glasses stacked together, and then a bottle of peach schnapps and a bottle of vodka, “thought we could treat ourselves to a little sex on the beach…on the beach.”    “Never one for subtlety were you?”    “Never one for appreciating my genius were you ?” he nudged your side with his toe before depositing the rest of the bottles on the towel and sinking to his knees to mix the drinks, making as much of a show of it as he could. When he was done and you were both holding your glasses, he sat back beside you, knees and shoulders bumping together as he leaned back on one hand.    “Cheers,” you clinked your glass against his.    “Happy Valentines, baby,”   

The alcohol certainly helped you stop feeling the chill on the breeze, as did Roger’s own body heat as he shuffled closer, your head falling onto his shoulder. For a while you just sat and watched the waves, laughing together and enjoying your drinks, until Roger decided a swim sounded like a brilliant idea and hurriedly began stripping off down to his briefs. You were on the verge of following him into the water when a loud “fuck!” rang through the air and he stumbled backwards away from the waves rushing at his feet.    “It’s fucking freezing!”     You couldn’t stop the giggle that rushed up your throat, earning a glare from Roger.    “Was that a laugh?” he was barely holding back his own amusement, “Were you laughing at me?”    “Maybe,” you poked your tongue out at him.    “Right, well, let’s see how you like it, then,”    Before you could properly register what was happening he had his arms around your wrists, pulling you to your feet and towards the waves as you struggled to break free. You managed to break his grip, darking away from him but he took chase, sprinting after you in an attempt to heard you into the waves. His legs were longer than yours and he managed to catch you, dragging you towards the edge of the water.    “You are so fucking in for it,” he said, out of breath with exertion and laughter.    “In for it how?” you tried to wriggle free again but his grip stayed firm.    “In for it in every conceivable way,” his voice was lower, closer to your ear, “but you already know what I do when I need to teach a brat to behave. And how much fun I have doing it.”    You whimpered involuntarily, knees suddenly weak as Roger stopped and turned you to face him. He took you by the chin, tilting your face upwards a little.     “Three. Two. One.”    You squealed as the icy water ran over your feet, jumping back out of the way as Roger laughed and flopped down beside the towels again.    “Prick,”    “Love you too. Come ‘ere, baby,” he held out his hand.    When you made no move to join him he pouted up at you, his fingers moving towards his palm in a ‘come here’ motion.    “Oh, alright,” you took his hand, letting him pull you down onto his lap, his arms encircling you automatically.     Roger leaned forward to snatch the flower from its makeshift vase and tucked it behind your ear, “I am so lucky I met you.”    “You’re just saying that so I’ll forget what just happened,” you buried your face in his neck, a little embarrassed to be talked about so earnestly.     “I mean it though,” he said softly, stroking your hair, “you’re incredible and I can’t imagine how I got on before I met you. And I know it’s not always easy being with me, I can be a right arsehole sometimes and then there’s the press and all that, but every day I get to wake up next to you is a good day.”    “I feel the same,” you whispered back, hand slipping up to his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him, partly to save yourself the awkwardness of being so gently praised. He didn’t seem to mind though, smiling against your lips, arms tightening around you as he lay back on the sand and pulled you down with him.         ***   

You only decided it was time to head back to the house when the tide had come in enough that the cold water was lapping at your toes, hurrying to collect all the bottles and towels Roger had brought down before they got too wet or washed out to sea.     “I can’t believe you didn’t bring a fucking bag or a basket or something.”    “I stand by my choices.”    “Oh yeah? Even the one about not touching me properly?”    “Baby, we just spent I don’t know how long making out in the sand, I’ve been touching you plenty.”    “But not properly.”    Roger let out a self-pleased hum as he followed you up the stairs.    “Don’t think I didn’t notice how into it you were getting just now, you’re shorts don’t hide it that well. Might be time to reconsider your choice…I assume we have time before dinner.”    “We do but it’s not happening. You’re fun when you’re frustrated and needy.”    You groaned, elbowing through the unlocked back door a little harder than you perhaps should have.    “Look, think of it like this,” Roger said, dumping his armful of things on the first clear surface he saw, “it’s like at Christmas when you know you’ve got a big lunch coming so you don’t eat much beforehand so you’re not full when you get to the main meal.”    “That’s stupid.”    “Alright, think of it this way then, it could be a whole lot worse. I could tie you up and leave you without so much as a kiss for the rest of the day. Now why don’t you go and wash off the sand. Take you’re time and have a good soak and let me know what you think of the surprise I left on the bathroom sink.”    He leaned forward to peck you on the forehead before turning and leaving you a little confused and a lot curious. You made your way towards the en-suite, spotting a small box tied up in a red ribbon as soon as you walked in the door. Without a second thought you untied the bow and slipped the lid off. Inside sat a shiny silver plug, similar to the one you had at home except brand new and sporting a red jewelled end that caught the light as you picked it up. And there, lined up with the soaps and scents taken from your bathroom back at home, a bottle of lube. You swallowed thickly, absentmindedly squeezing your thighs together. This was the first real clue you’d gotten as to what Roger was planning. It was exciting to say the least, though you still weren’t sure how it connected to the other clue he’d given you.    

When you’d finally deemed yourself clean enough you left the bathroom, wrapped up in a fluffy towel. Roger was stretched out on the bed, a book in his hand though his eyes didn’t seem to be focused on the page.     “So what’d you think? Has it got you wondering what I’m going to do to you?” he asked slyly, closing the book and throwing it carelessly onto the bedside table.    “Maybe a little,” you admitted, laying on your front beside him, “but I think I can work it out.”    “Baby you’ve got no idea what you’re in for tonight. You gonna show me how it looks?” he leaned forward, reaching for the hem of the robe but you rolled away from him, onto your side.    “Nope. If I have to wait so do you,”    “Touché,” he chuckled, “In that case, I’m going to go have a shower too.”    “How long before I have to start getting ready for dinner?”    “A few hours,” Roger shrugged.    “And you definitely don’t want me to join you in the shower?”    He laughed, “Nice try, but no. You should just relax for a bit.”    “Oh alright,” you sighed, not entirely sure how to kill the remaining time. Still wearing your robe, you decided to explore the villa properly. You hummed to yourself as you walked from room to room, checking out which ones had the best views, half wondering if Roger had hidden any other surprises around the house or left something that might give you a clue as to what you should expect that night. The thought of what was coming had your breath coming harder and your imagination running wild with thoughts of how Roger could fuck you in each of the rooms. The plug definitely didn’t help, only a small taste of what you should expect but a powerful one. But you found nothing other than a guest bedroom, bed fully made up, and the knowledge that turning the shower on in the second bathroom would mess with the temperature of the shower in the en-suite and that Roger’s shout could be heard rooms away. Roger was in the kitchen when you got back to it, examining the contents of the fridge.     “You wanna go for a drive?” he asked over his shoulder when he heard you approach, “Not far since we’ll have to come back and change, just do a bit of sightseeing or something.”    “Sounds fun.”    “Okay cool, meet you at the car in like five minutes?”    You nodded and hurried off to throw on some actual clothes.    

Roger kept his hand on your knee as he drove, only moving it back to the gear stick when he had to. True to his word he didn’t take you too far, following a road that ran along the coast until he found a small rest stop to pull into that overlooked the ocean. Upon spotting a couple of viewfinders he dug around in his wallet for loose change, smiling as he handed you a coin. There wasn’t a whole lot more to see that you hadn’t already but you laughed as you spun the viewfinders around first to try and spot the villa you were staying in and then towards the nearest city, trying to describe what you saw so the other could find it too. When the time on the viewfinder ran out Roger led you back towards the car, pulling himself to sit on the hood and patting the spot next to him. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and he pulled you into his side as he leaned back against the windshield. It was peaceful and calm, only a few cars passing by, both of you talking in low voices as if you’d break the atmosphere by raising your voices too much. Slowly the sun began to sink lower, turning the sky a pinky orange, and the temperature began to drop, making you grateful for Roger’s embrace.     “S’pose we should go back,” he almost whispered into your hair, “Wouldn’t want to miss our reservation.”    You hummed in agreement, “Wouldn’t want all that taunting about surprises to go to waste either, or the present I’m currently wearing.”    He laughed at that, giving you a squeeze, “definitely don’t want to waste that. God we’re going to have fun tonight.”    “I hope so. Been wet since I put the fucking thing in so it better be worth it.”    Roger laughed again, louder, as he slid off the hood and held out his hand for you, “That is so good to know.”   

  ***    

“The teddy you bought is hanging in the bedroom cupboard with some of your clothes from home, I think they should all cover it. Also, your makeup bag is on the nightstand.” Roger said as you pulled into the driveway.    “You really thought of everything,”    “Well I wasn’t going to half arse it, was I?”     You left Roger to get changed, pulling the teddy you’d bought weeks earlier from the cupboard as soon as you reached the bedroom. It was tight fitting, red and lacy with a heart shaped cut out over each nipple and your bum. Seasonal and sexy, Roger was going to love you in it and love getting you out of it. You flicked through the options he’d packed, mostly dresses and all on the fancier end of your wardrobe. Eventually you settled on a black velvet dress with a flared skirt, picking out a pair of heels to match and red lipstick in the hopes it would remind Roger of what you were wearing under the dress and perhaps get you out of dinner a little faster. You were working on your makeup, adding a thick layer of mascara to your lashes, when Roger knocked on the door and came in.    “You look phenomenal,” he said, stepping up behind you and dropping a kiss to your cheek.   “You think this is good, you should see what I’m wearing underneath,”   “You have no idea how excited I am to find out,” he laughed as he turned to reach into one of the draws of the nightstand, “Just one thing missing.”    “Holy shit, Roger,” it was all you could think to say when you caught sight of the necklace he was holding up. A teardrop of what you could only assume was actual ruby dangled from the chain, making I hard to look away or form a coherent thought as Roger draped it around your neck and fixed the clasp. The one clear thought you could come up with was that the ruby looked awfully similar to another jewel you were wearing, and you were sure that had been deliberate.    “It suits you,” he said softly, leaning down so his chin was on your shoulder, arms around your waist, “matches.”    You felt your cheeks grow warmer as he seemed to read your mind but tried to push the thoughts away, dragging a finger over the jewel, “It’s beautiful.”    “I’m glad you like it.” He pressed another kiss to your cheek before stepping back to find his own clothes, leaving you to finish your makeup.   

  ***    

The restaurant was full when you arrived, loved up couples sitting at every table, dressed to the nines in their fanciest frocks. Your waiter chatted pleasantly with you as he led you upstairs and out onto the veranda, telling you they’d already had two proposals happen and another three men had asked for rings to be placed in champagne glasses. You gave Roger a quick look, but he just shook his head. Lanterns lit up the length of the veranda, and every table you passed was decorated with a vase of red and pink roses. Except the one you stopped in front of which had a handful of the blue flowers from the villa amongst the roses.   “Here we are, and – oh, so sorry, Mr Taylor, there seems to have been a mix up, I’ll have the extra chair removed for you.”    “No, no mix up, we requested the third chair, thank you.”    “Very well, here are your menus, I’ll be back in a few moments to take your orders.”    Roger pulled your chair out for you as the waiter walked off, but you were more than a little distracted by the extra place setting, “what’s that about?”    “What’s what about?”    “The chair. Roggie, what’s going on?”    “Nothing’s going on. Should we get a bottle of wine or champagne?”    “Umm,” you were still curious about the chair and he was clearly trying to draw your attention elsewhere.    “S’pose it depends what we order really, what d’you reckon?”    “Sorry I’m a bit late,” a man said as he dropped into the seat, looking from Roger to you and back again, “what’s wrong with her?”    “Brian?”    “Were you expecting someone else?”    “I wasn’t expecting anyone,” you rounded on Roger who was grinning from the other side of the table, “is this the fucking surprise you were talking about?”    “You didn’t tell her?”    Roger shrugged, “thought it’d be more fun this way.”    “What if she’s not into it though? Jesus Christ Rog.”    “What wouldn’t I be into?”    “You worry too much Bri, she’ll be into it. Two months ago we went out for a couple of drinks, Y/N here had a little more than that and told me some very interesting things.”    You didn’t know who to look at, eyes darting between them as you tried to remember what you’d said while you were drunk.    “Seems like the little slut’s been getting off thinking about having us both again. Once wasn’t enough for her.”    A gasp escaped you, audible over the general noise of the restaurant, and you clapped a hand over your mouth too late.    

You barely remembered ordering or your food arriving, still trying to get your brain to comprehend what was happening. It didn’t help that Roger began explaining in detail what It was you couldn’t remember telling him, though everything certainly lined up with a lot of the fantasies you’d entertained yourself with.    “Should have heard her though, Bri, oh Roggie it’s not fair. I wish you’d both used me at the same time. Can’t stop thinking about it, you fucking my arse while he fucks my pussy. Or the other way around. D’you think Curly would join us again if I asked nicely? Maybe if I begged?”    “I don’t sound like that,” you tried to make your voice as steady and offended as you could in an attempt to hide how much you were squirming at the thought.    “It was actually pretty spot on,” Brian sniggered.    “Can we just go already?” you began to stand up, smoothing out the skirt of your dress.     “I’m not finished my dinner yet.”    You sat back down, earning another light laugh from Brian that had your cheeks burning.    “You’ve got her trained well.”    “Bri, you don’t know the half of it, but you’ll see once we get her back to the house. She’ll let us do just about anything we want to her.”    “I seem to recall she has a thing for choking.”    “Remember last time when she put my hand on her throat?” Roger laughed, talking to Brian but watching you struggle to stay composed, “Kept asking us to be rougher.”    You crossed your legs under the table and squeezed your thighs together in an effort to find some small relief, “that’s because you were being way too gentle. I wasn’t in the mood for gentle.”    “And what are you in the mood for right now?”    “At this point I’ll take whatever you give as long as it gets us back to the villa.”    “What if we decide we want to edge you all night? Or tie you to the bed arse up, ready for us to come and fill whichever hole we choose when we choose?”    Biting your lip didn’t quite stop the whimper that rose up in your throat.    “Ask me nicely if I’m ready to leave,”    “Are you ready to leave, Sir?”    “Not yet,” Roger flashed you an almost angelic smile before taking another sip of his drink.    “You could try asking me, nicely.”    “Are you ready to leave, Sir?”    “Good girl. But no.”    You groaned at their teasing, only just restraining yourself from stamping your feet like a child who’d had their favourite toy taken away. Instead you brought your glass to your lips and listened as they continued to discuss all the things they might do to you, hoping they’d turn themselves on so much they’d cave before the waiter came back to ask about dessert.   

Brian was just beginning to describe a scenario in which you were blindfolded and handcuffed when an idea popped into your head. With a quick glance around to make sure everyone at the other tables were preoccupied, and another large gulp of your drink for courage, you slipped off your seat and onto the floor. For a second you knelt there, the floorboards of the veranda cold and hard under your knees, listening to the two men chuckling about your disappearing act, before you crawled between Roger’s legs, reaching to undo his fly as you made yourself as comfortable as possible in the slightly cramped position.     “Such a slut,” he muttered, more to Brian than you, but he made no effort to stop you as you wrapped your hand around his base and began slowly stroking him, “she better hope she doesn’t stain that dress though or everyone’ll know.”    “She’d probably get off on that,” Brian laughed, “But she better realise she’ll have to suck us both off before we’ll even think about leaving.”    Taking care not to bump your head, you leaned forward, taking Roger's tip between your lips. His knee jolted at the contact and you heard a low oh shit leave him as you swirled your tongue around him, able to feel him getting harder with every stroke of your hand. Slowly you began to take more of him, sink deeper onto his cock, until he was almost in your throat. You paused at the first gag, pulled back to run your tongue along the sensitive head again, conscious of potentially being overheard or caught should anyone look too closely at the foot of the table where the cloth didn’t quite reach the floor. You were glad you’d made the choice not to push yourself any further when you heard footsteps approach.    “Did you enjoy your meal Mr Taylor?”    “Y-yeah, it was brilliant”    Hearing Roger trying to sound normal only made you double your efforts to break him.    “Can I interest you in our dessert menu?”    “Uhh, Yes, why not. And maybe another bottle of wine?”    “Right away, Sir.”    You whined once the footsteps had disappeared again. Dessert meant staying even longer and you were already finding it hard to resist slipping your hand into your underwear. Roger’s fist entered your field of vision, hitting his thigh as your whine sent a shockwave through him.    “Oh, Jesus Christ,”    “She always did enjoy sucking dick,” Brian said, thoughtfully.    “Mmhmm, and she’s only gotten better at it.”    “Oh? Does she like that rough too?    “Begs to have her throat fucked. You’ll have to give her a r-run once we get her back to the house.”    Roger’s legs stiffened as the waiter approached again, opening the new bottle of wine and placing it on the table. He managed to give his order with only a little strain to his voice.     “And for the lady?”    Brian was the one who answered, “She’s just had to run to the ladies' room but I’m sure she’ll be happy with the same as me.”    “Excellent choice, I’ll have them out to you as soon as possible.”    As soon as the waiter had left again Roger relaxed, shifting his hips slightly to encourage you. You picked up the pace, bobbing a little faster, matching the pace of your hand as it stroked where your mouth couldn’t reach. You could tell Roger was getting close from the way his breathing had picked up, his stomach rising and falling with each breath, a dull thump as his hand hit the table. And as much as you wanted to do more, the height of the table and the worry about being overheard stopped you from letting him into your throat properly. Instead you focused on all the spots within easy reach that you knew made him weak in the knees, tracing your tongue along the veins before sucking on his head, your nails lightly running over his thighs and up his shaft.    “God, I’m gonna-”    Brian laughed and you wished you could see what Roger looked like, how obvious it was that he was about to cum in your mouth in the middle of such a nice restaurant. It was a good thing you knew Roger so well, knew the signs of his impending orgasm. You took him as deep as you dared under the circumstances, trying to make sure no stray drops escaped your mouth. His hand dropped under the edge of the table, finding yours where it was braced on his thigh and he stroked the back of it with his thumb as you tried to stay quiet and swallow everything.     “Well fuck,” he said softly as you tucked him back into his pants, attempting to get your own breathing under control.    

“Oh she’s done is she?” Brian clicked his fingers under the table, and you crawled over to him, touching his leg to let him know you were there.    “She better be quick,” Roger warned, “The waiter’ll be here with our desserts soon and if she isn’t back in her seat he might start getting suspicious.”    The reminder that other people might notice your absence if you were gone for much longer set your heart racing as you fumbled with the fly on Brian’s pants. He was already hard, having been anticipating this since you disappeared under the table, which made it easier on you. You didn’t waste any time, leaning in as soon as he was free and licking a thick stripe up his shaft, pumping him a few times to spread the saliva along his length before taking him into your mouth proper. He was longer than Roger so you took extra care not to push yourself too far down, although the idea of the waiter or other customers hearing you choke on him didn’t make you any less aroused. Brian seemed to be thinking the same thing, his hand finding the back of your head under the table.    “Just one gag, c’mon,” he muttered, pushing you down a little further as he leaned back in his chair. You complied, relishing the small laugh he made as his grip on your hair loosened, his hand retracting until it was on the table again, letting you go back to a more comfortable level.    “She really does take orders well, doesn’t she?”    “Oh yeah, loves being bossed around.”    You hummed in agreement and Brian’s breath caught in his throat but you were sure you could get more of a reaction from him. You readjusted yourself, stroking him as you shifted your knees, trying to ease the stiffness beginning to spread through them. And then you leaned forward once more, pressing your lips to the underside of his cock and giving him a small nip with your teeth.    Roger laughed as Brian swore, somewhat louder than you’d intended though hopefully not enough to get caught out. It wasn’t until you felt a drip on the back of your hand that you realised you’d made him spill his drink.    “There you go you animal, use that,” Roger said through his laughter and you felt a cloth napkin being swiped against the back of your hand as Brian tried to clean up the mess as much as he could.    You knew you’d have to pay for that when you got home but for the moment your focus returned to finishing Brian before the waiter turned up. It didn’t take too much longer. Brian was already worked up from talking about what he wanted to do to you, and it was easy enough to push him over the edge with a tight suck on his head and a well-timed moan. His orgasm took you a little by surprise, certainly not as prepared for it as you had been with Roger’s, but you managed to catch the cum that leaked from the corner of your mouth before it could drip anywhere noticeable.     “You can stop looking so pleased with yourself,” Roger said once you were back in your seat, “If you’d been patient and not played your little stunt, you’d have been naked in bed by now cumming for the second time. Instead, you’re going to have to wait even longer.”     You took a swig of your wine to rinse your mouth out and stuck your tongue out at him.     “I’m so sorry Brian, she’s being a right fucking brat tonight.”     “I expect that’ll change once we get her in private.”     “Let’s hope so, though she’s been fucking impatient ever since we got on the plane, haven’t you baby? Tried to get me into the bathroom stall and then kept grinding against me instead of going to sleep last night. Even tried to get into my pants on the beach earlier today. And then had the audacity to ask if she could join me in the shower. I swear to god, you stop her from cumming for a couple of days and she turns into a bratty, cock crazed slut. Can’t think about anything else. Y’know, I bet if we took her into the back alley and told her to bend over, she would.”     You tried not to let on how true that was as you touched up your lipstick.  

By the time Roger finally called for the cheque you were sure you’d left a damp patch on your chair. When words had failed to be enough to tease you with Roger had taken to teasing you with light touches – running his foot up the inside of your leg, shuffling his hair closer to yours so he could lean into your ear, finding any small reason to touch your hand or your arm or even your neck. The worst was when he watched you swipe a finger through the last of the caramel sauce on your plate and caught your wrist before you could lick it clean. Your cheeks burned as he brought the fingertip to his own mouth, sucking it between his lips with a satisfied hum. You wanted to check if anyone was watching but couldn’t find it in you to draw your eyes from his lips, even when he let your wrist go. Brian didn’t help, leaning in on your other side, his hand dropping to your lap slowly inching the material of your dress higher, exposing more of your leg to the cool night air and his grasp. It was enough to draw a whine from you.     “Think we should get her home now?” Brian asked, voice closer than you’d have guessed it was.     “Yeah, I think we’ve earned it.”     You let out a sigh of relief that you were finally going to leave, finally going to get what you wanted, but it was premature. The teasing didn’t stop once you were in the car, if anything the privacy only spurred them on since there was no need to whisper or be subtle. Brian ushered you into the backseat, climbing in after and his hands were on your breasts before Roger had turned on the engine, pinching at your visibly hard nipples peeking out through the holes in the bust of your teddy. Roger damn near sped the entire way back to the villa, growing more impatient now that you’d left the restaurant.     “This is pretty,” Brian said, touching the teardrop of the necklace.     “Ro-Roggie got it for me,” your voice stuttered as Brian shifted his hand so the palm rested over the ruby, his long fingers laying against your collarbone.     “Rog has always liked shiny things. But I’m a little surprised he didn’t get you a choker.”     You whimpered as he reached behind your neck and tugged on the chain, pulling it tight around your throat.     “Oi don’t break it. Brand fucking new.” Roger said glancing into the mirror to watch.     “I won’t break it,” Brian rolled his eyes, “And tell me she doesn’t look good like this.”     “You mean how she looks completely fucked out before we’ve even touched her.”     Brian let the necklace drop back to its regular length as he and Roger laughed, leaving you feeling beyond flustered.    

 Once you were back at the villa you thought they’d pounce on you, sure that every step would be the last one you took before they pushed you against a wall or to your knees. Instead they just looked you over like predators assessing their prey.     “Are you going to behave for us?” Roger asked suddenly as he dropped the car keys on the living room coffee table.     You nodded, your voice not wanting to work.     “Take that dress off.”     Neither of them moved as you reached behind you with shaking fingers to undo the zip, even when you struggled to pull it down at first. They just stood there, watching. Brian made a noise of approval as the dress finally hit the ground, exposing the lingerie to them. Roger smiled to himself and made a circle motion with his finger. You did a slow turn for them, letting them see every inch of your outfit, from the heels and necklace you still wore to the cut outs in the front and back and the shine of the plug as it caught the light.     “If we wanted to be really mean we could just fuck her arse. Wouldn’t even have to undress her.” Roger said lowly, and then to you, “Now the necklace and shoes. Don’t want anything getting in the way. Tell Brian your safeword.”     You had to clear your throat before you could get the word out, “Red,”   “How fitting,”   “And what is it you want?”   “Your cocks, Sir,”   “Because…?”   “Because I’m a whore,”   “Good girl.”   “Behaving much better now, isn’t she.”   “I figured as much. Maybe you should give her something, Bri, make sure she understands her place.”   Brian stalked towards you, lacing his fingers in the back of your hair and tugging your head back gently to make you look at him, “Show me where the bedroom is, little slut, and we’ll see how much you can take.”   You knew you must look pathetic. Wide eyed and eager to earn his praise as you nodded with a small yes Sir. Brian let go of your hair and followed you towards the bedroom, ordering you to kneel on the bed once you were through the door. You knelt and waited. Brian traced his thumb over your bottom lip and let you suck on it.    “Probably soaked. And you’re sure she can handle it?”   “Positive. She’ll let you know if she can’t, or I will.”   That was enough for Brian who began undressing in front of you, popping the buttons on his shirt one by one. You would have watched, enraptured by the way his fingers moved, except that Roger took hold of your chin and turned your head towards himself.   “Your little performance back at the restaurant was a good way to kick things off, darling, but Bri isn’t happy you made him spill his drink. You’ll be paying for that little lapse of judgement now. And I won’t deny it’ll be hot to see you choking on him.” His grip on your chin loosened but the second you began to turn your head away Roger left a sharp slap on your cheek, “Pay attention. Now you’re going to show Brian just what a good hole you are, and if you’re lucky we’ll give you a chance to cum.” Roger turned back to Brian, “Don’t hold back.”  

 As soon as Brian’s cock was out he had a fist in your hair, pulling you towards him, his patience worn too thin. Not that you minded. This was what you’d tried to get from both him and Roger last time you’d been between them, they’d clearly learnt. He gave a handful of slow, shallow thrusts into your mouth under the pretence of letting you adjust but he soon lost any sense of mercy, relishing your gags as he pushed himself deeper down your throat. You braced your arms on his hips, his grunts as he rammed into your throat the only sound outside of your gagging. Tears began to pool in your eyes and you squeezed them shut only to feel Brian’s fingers hit your cheek in a sharp slap that didn’t quite hit the mark.   “Eyes on me while I’m ruining you, slut,”   You forced your eyes open, blinking until the mascara tinted tears ran down your face instead.   “Better. F-fuck you’re so fucking messy.”   You could only imagine the picture you must look, your freshly reapplied lipstick probably smeared over your face and Brian’s dick, hair wild from being grabbed and released and grabbed again, a mix of tears and saliva dripping off your chin onto your chest. The crotch of your teddy was definitely soaked by now, your cunt throbbing with the need to be touched. Brian gave your hair a particularly forceful tug and you moaned.   “You – fucking hell – you were right, she’s lo-ving this.”   Roger laughed, his voice getting closer as he moved away from where he’d been watching and came to stand behind you, “Hold her still a sec, I wanna get at her arse.”    Brian pulled you off him, fingers still tangled in your hair as he watched you cough and take as many gasped breaths as you could as Roger tugged your legs back, your hands falling to the mattress to hold yourself up. A sudden spank against your right cheek made you jolt and cry out.   “There we go. Can see that pretty new plug now.” Roger tapped the end of it pushing it further into you and making you gasp.    “Aww, does that feel good, fucktoy?”   You squeaked as he pulled the plug out a little, twitching under their grasps as Roger leaned forwards and spat on you before pushing it back in again.   “So wet already. Let’s see if we can’t make her drip.”   You had the chance to take one more hurried breath and then your head was being yanked back over Brian, his fingers in your hair pushing you the whole way down his length as Roger continued to play with the plug. A sudden spank caught you off guard and made you jolt and then gag, both of them making noises of approval in response. All it did was encourage them, Brian returning to his previous pace, holding you still as he used your throat relentlessly, Roger alternating between spanking you and twitching the plug inside you, both making you whine. Finally, when your bum was pink and stinging, they let you go, Brian practically throwing you from him. You landed on your side but quickly scrambled back to your knees so you could see them both.  

 “Oh good girl,” Roger cooed, swiping his fingers through the mess of saliva on your chin, “Think you took that well enough to get a chance to cum, what d’you say Bri?”   “I think so.”   “Thank you, Sirs,” you said somewhat breathlessly.   Brian moved behind you, pulling your arms behind your back and holding them in place as Roger let his fingers wander lightly over the material that covered your pussy. You hummed when he finally pressed against your clit, arching into his touch as Brian held your arms in place. You’d been waiting so long and you were so worked up it wasn’t long before you felt your orgasm beginning to build.   “Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”   Roger pulled his hand away before you could finish.    “What? No. I need more,”   Your cheek stung as Roger slapped you again, “You need what we say you need. Said you’d get the chance to cum and that’s exactly what you got. If you didn’t make it that’s because you didn’t want it enough.”   You felt Brian let go of your arms and then his hand between your shoulder blades pushing you down.   “All this on my account,” his nail tapped against the plug, “Maybe we should give her another chance.” Two fingers wormed their way underneath the teddy and pressed into your cunt with ease, “Maybe the poor little slut just didn’t have enough cock last time.” The fingers pumped into you a few times and then they were gone. You whined at the loss but it was only momentary, Roger beginning to remove the lingerie from your body and Brian pulling it all the way off your legs leaving you completely exposed to them. And then the fingers were replaced by Brian’s cock as he slowly sunk into you.    Roger’s hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing lightly as he forced you to look at him, “Is that what the whore wanted? To have her cunt filled?”   You keened as Brian pulled back, so slow you could feel every inch.   “Words.” Roger’s grip tightened a little.   “Ye-s, Sir, ‘s what I wanted.”   Each time Brian sunk into you was faster than the last and had you moaning, Roger squeezing your throat tighter.   “Five. You going to cum for us this time?”   “W-ait – fuck - more, please,”   “Four.”   “I ca-can’t,”   “You can’t? Hear that Bri, she can’t. So ungrateful, think I need to shut her up.”   Roger’s hand left your throat, the rush of air making your head spin, but then he was squeezing your cheeks until your mouth opened wide enough for his cock to fit. The counting stopped and you lost all sense of time. All you knew was them, their cocks. You could feel yourself getting closer to orgasm but Brian refused to touch your clit, just kept pounding into you, and it wasn’t enough. And when you did start to think that maybe you were going to cum Roger’s thrusts would get rougher and distract you. They didn’t care though. You were there to be used, a set of holes begging to be filled and nothing more. Even your moans were in their service, the vibrations making Roger swear. His hand found your throat again, squeezing around the dick shoved down it, making you clench around Brian. A warm, tingly feeling bubbled up in your chest as Brian grunted out something about how fucking tight you felt. And then he was gone, pulling out before he lost himself completely. Roger gave you a few more thrusts before he followed, and you collapsed in a gasping heap.   

“Still didn’t cum,” Brian said offhandedly, swatting at your hip, “should we give her another chance?”    "What do you think, fucktoy? Do you deserve another chance?”    “I think so Sir, I’ve been so good for you.”    “Hardly an unbiased opinion. But okay.”    There was a beat of silence. You didn’t want to say the wrong thing and change their minds when you were so close to getting the relief you craved. They looked at each other and then at you and within second you found yourself being rolled onto your back, each of them holding your legs wide open. Roger leaned down, his tongue tracing over the crease of your thigh, enough to make you squirm.    Brian slapped the thigh he held though it didn’t have as much power behind it as other hits you’d received, “Fucking beg for it, then.”    “Please Sirs, I want to cum so bad. Please make me cum.”    You’d barely finished speaking when you felt Brian’s finger enter you again, drawing a soft moan from you as they curled against your wall. It was nothing like the moan that came when Roger joined in. His lips latching onto your clit had your head tipping back and your hips pushing up and a long loud moan rising into the air as you finally got what you needed. Without thinking you dropped your hands and twisted your fingers in their hair, tugging lightly as your back arched. It didn’t take long to have you writhing as you came hard, all the  build up  of the last few days reaching a crescendo and finally breaking. But that didn’t mean they were going to stop. Your first orgasm had barely subsided when your stomach tightened with the second your hands clutching at their mops of hair as they expertly drew you to the edge and pushed you over. They kept fingering you and lapping at your clit as your release washed over you. For a wild moment you thought they were going to pull another orgasm from you but then they stopped, crawled up either side of you. You didn’t really notice until Roger tapped your cheek and told you to open. You didn’t know if he meant mouth or eyes so to be safe you opened both, watching as he spat onto your tongue and then as Brian did the same. You dutifully swallowed and thanked them both.    

  “You can have her first. Lube’s behind you on the nightstand.”    “You sure?” Brian asked.    “Yeah,” he looked down at you, “I don't mind sharing my toys.”    You were still a little dazed when you felt them both pulling you up onto your knees, but Roger let you wrap your arms around his neck.    “You okay?” he asked softly, “still want to do this?”    “Yes, so much.”    He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, “You’re fucking filthy.” He kept talking, soft words of encouragement and praise to help keep you relaxed as Brian carefully removed the plug and pressed his  lubed  up fingers into you instead. There was a pause as he coated his dick in lube but then you felt his tip pressing into you and groaned into Roger’s neck.     “Fuck. And I thought your cunt was tight. No, shit, don’t laugh.”    “Sorry,” you giggled against Roger’s skin, “just hit me how fucking wild this whole thing is.”    “‘s alright,” Roger said, trying not to laugh himself, “Just go slow,”    Brian waited to make sure you’d calmed down  before he pressed himself deeper. You whined when he started to fuck you, slowly, letting you adjust. You knew  the gentle restraint was over when you were pulled back against Brian, his hand latching onto your throat.  Roger shifted your legs and shuffled closer, sliding his cock along your slit. It was agony waiting for what you’d been fantasising about for so long, just out of reach. You tried to beg but Brian just pressed down harder on your throat, cutting you off. And then the wait ended, your head falling back into Brian’s shoulder as you grasped at them both, making Roger hiss as your nails bit into his skin.  If you hadn’t known they regularly performed together it would have been obvious from how in sync they were, picking up on small signals from each other and working in tandem to completely undo you. Brian’s hand left your throat but you barely noticed because Roger’s replaced it in a matter of seconds, keeping you twitching between them as they railed into you from both sides  until you lost all sense of who was where .  One of them dropped their finger to your clit, rubbing it in in fast harsh circles.  It was enough to have you reeling, their voices twice as loud as they mocked you , heat burning through every inch  of your body but twice as hot under their touch, your own heart beating so hard you were sure it would pound its way out of your chest.   “Stop fucking clenching like that,” Roger growled as he let your throat go, “not ready to leave your whore cunt yet,”    You inadvertently clenched around him again as he hit just the right spot, and w as  rewarded with a blow to your hip, the easiest place for him to reach. The noise seemed to echo as they drove into you , so hard and deep you could feel them in your throat. Or maybe that was just the fingers Brian had given you to suck on as he repeated  don’t cum yet  in your ear. Once he said  you couldn’t  it was all you wanted to do, all you could think about , the fingers on your clit drawing you ever closer . But  Roger was in your other ear ordering you to hold it as well. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut but it was no use.    You whined around Brian’s fingers and let them slip from you, “I’m gon – gonna,” you panted out, tugging on Brian’s hair.    “Don’t you f- ucking  dare. Not yet,”    “I –” you moaned as you slipped over the edge, unable to hold it any longer, shaking as the orgasm rolled over you.    “Oh f-f-fuck,” Brian groaned, “Take it you f- ucking  sl-ut,” he pressed deep into you as he hit his release, filling you with hot spurts of cum. Roger stilled at the same time, keeping you in place until Brian, breathing hard, pulled himself free.     “My turn.”    You had a moment to feel the emptiness as  Roger  left you and pushed you onto your back before he shoved himself back inside your  sensitive  cunt.  Pressing your leg towards your head he resumed his rough pace, if anything rougher now that he wasn’t accommodating Brian as well, until his hips stuttered and his cock twitched, coating your walls.   

Roger collapsed beside you but other than that it was a while before any of you could find it in you to move. Brian was the first, shifting until he was more comfortably settled and throwing a hand over his eyes as he tried to process what had happened. You jumped slightly when Roger touched your arm lightly.    “Hey, just me. You okay?”    “Yeah.”    “You had a good time?”    “Yeah, yes.”    “Really? You seem  kinda  distant, you sure you’re alright?”    You turned your head to smile at him, “Positive. Just thinking about next valentines. You know it's going to have a lot to live up to.”    You watched him push himself up onto an elbow, his gaze shifting from you to Brian and back to you, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” He leaned down, his nose brushing yours as he kissed you softly.  Your moment was interrupted by Brian clearing his throat as he sat up, “Fuck next valentines, we’re going  again  tonight aren’t we? Tomorrow at the very least. I was told you had this place booked for the rest of the week.”    Roge r hummed , dragging a fingertip from your waist up towards your chest, “ Definitely going again.  There is still so much we  can do to her .” He winked at you, sending a shiver running down your spine.    “Maybe something else to drink first?”    “Of course, my love, ” He swung his legs over the bed and stood, stretching his arms above his head, “You want a drink too  Bri ?”    “If there’s one going,”    “Be back in a sec.” He stopped in the doorway and turned back to you and Brian, “but I call dibs on her arse next time.”     

[alison-anonymous]

flawsome bandits pt. 10 ♡ sonic

Flawsome Visions & Pains

Welcome back to part 10! Gahhh I’m so excited for you guys to read this!! Let me know what you darlings think, enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: some of the concepts/creations talked about in this update do not line up with the original Sonic the Hedgehog video game timeline. I have altered it in order to fit this story, so please no hate ♡ Special thanks to @naenae130 for helping me out with the plotline! 

Warnings - mentions of robotnik x stone, slight angst

♡♡♡

Ah~, ah~.

Y/n’s bloodshot eyes popped open once again as the song evaded her eardrums. The singing hadn’t stopped for a half an hour and she was beginning to lose all hopes of getting any sleep tonight. Letting out a defeated sigh, she hesitantly raised herself up into a sitting position, making sure not to disturb Sonic in the process. Her torso already felt cold from the lack of his body heat. She shivered, e/c eyes glowing in the dark as she glanced around the empty room.

This better be worth it.

Ah~, ah~... The song rang mysteriously throughout the house, sounding like it was coming from the kitchen. Y/n let out a soft groan, but made a gradual transition to stand, wincing as her ankles cracked from the new introduction of pressure. Her ears flattened against her hair-like quills as she looked towards the darkened kitchen. The only source of light came from the milky moonlight shining through the window, but it was still enough to send shivers down Y/n’s spine. The tune rang out through the air again, the song that only she could hear, prompting her to move. 

Closing her eyes, she sighed and timidly walked into the kitchen. “Hello?” She whispered into the air, already feeling stupid. Before she had a good idea where it was coming from, but now she had no idea. “I can hear you. Where are you?” 

Ah~, ah~. The tune ended on a sharper note, it was more urgent this time. Her heart began to pound against her chest as her ears flickered back and forth, searching for the source. It finally clicked in her head as she turned towards the patio that led out into their backyard. It was bathed in moonlight at this hour, so at least she would be able to see. But that wasn’t what worried her. What worried her was the fact that it was coming from outside.

Well, she was already awake, so why the hell not? 

She gulped down her fears and quietly unlocked the door, sliding it open with intense precision as to not make a sound. It made a small whooshing noise as the scent of damp grass and midnight air seeped into her nostrils. The moon loomed beautifully in the sky above, surrounded by dozens of loving stars that twinkled in the dark night. She hesitated on the threshold, wondering if the voice would be okay if she just stayed inside.

Ah~, ah~!

Apparently not.

Yes, this was insane. Following a strangely beautiful and potentially dangerous voice out of her house and into the dead of night. But, when was her life ever not insane? Swallowing her pride, she crossed over the threshold and dropped onto the deck a few inches below her. Her e/c eyes scanned the backyard carefully and the tree line before her, wondering what she was supposed to be looking for exactly. Of course, the answer came to her almost instantly as a little light caught her eye. It was small, not much larger than a quarter, with her signature ice blue color hinted to it. It reminded her of the wisps that Merida had followed into the woods from Brave, she thought as she took in the little fireball’s figure. Her eyes widened in surprise. She had never seen such a beautiful creature before. It hovered in the air before her, its flames lapping at the air around it. She couldn’t help but feel like it was watching her as she cautiously stepped closer to it.

“What are you?” She whispered curiously. Her e/c eyes were illuminated by the little ball, feeling an intense connection to the adorable being. Could this thing be a part of her subconscious, perhaps? Was that even possible? Maybe her abilities were a lot stronger than she had thought they were. 

Ah~, ah~... Y/n’s eyes widened once more, her heart stopping in her chest momentarily. The singing… it was coming from this ball of energy. She froze in her place, staring intently at the being as it began to inch closer to her, its movements slow but forceful. Like it was trying not to scare her, but whatever it needed from her was needed urgently. Y/n’s shock took control of her body as she could do nothing but stare at the creature as it came ever closer to her. But for some reason… she wasn’t afraid. The creature came closer, and closer, until it finally touched her forehead.

The world became illuminated with a paranormal bright light, and then everything went black. 

It took several moments for Y/n to recover from the light changes, but once she finally opened her eyes, she wasn’t in her backyard anymore. She wasn’t sure where she was. Everything she could see was covered in fuzz, making it all hazy in her perception. She blinked multiple times in an attempt to focus, but it refused to go away. She turned around slowly and tried her best to figure out where she was. There were… trees. Lots and lots of trees. And there was a man in a red and black suit with what looked like giant sausages growing from his upper lip. No… no, it couldn’t be.

Was that Robotnik?!

Before she had a chance to do or say anything, another bright light attacked her eyes, causing her to shield them once more. When the light faded back to normal, her surroundings had changed. Confusion riddled her mind as she looked around the room. Thank god, she thought, recognizing it as her living room. Only it wasn’t night time. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to make out what she was looking at. Four figures stood in the middle of the living room. One electric blue blob, which was obviously Sonic. One orangish yellow blob, that she didn’t know. One human standing taller than the rest of them. And one icy blue blob. Wait. Wait a second.

Holy shit. 

Was this… a vision? Was she having a vision right now? The surroundings slowly began to dissipate, signifying that something was changing. 

“W-wait!” She cried out, reaching her gloved hand out towards the blobs. But she was too slow as the light burned her eyes once more. Now she was standing in a field surrounded by trees. The stench of smoke harassed her nostrils as her eyes began to water. She quickly covered her mouth and nose with her hands and glanced around the area. There was a giant drone-like structure taking up most of the land. The trees seemed to be dark with soot and the grass looked like it had been trampled on one too many times. But right in the center of her vision was her. At least, what she assumed to be her due to the icy blue coat that stood out amongst the rest. She was holding something to her mouth. Something that looked very dark. Dark and… deadly. An unsettling feeling went through her stomach as she stared at it. Her feeling only got worse as she realized there was something else in this vision. 

Or someONE. 

A dark figure stood behind her with its hands on her shoulders. It was a little taller than her, but definitely not one that she recognized. A pang shot through her chest in fear. Who was this person? What were they doing? She tried to step closer, but the second she caught sight of little red streaks going throughout what she thought to be the figure’s hairline, the image began to dissolve. 

“No!” She yelled, racing towards the image. She had to see it! She had to know what was going on. But the second she reached herself, the vision was already gone. The world went dark again, and when she finally opened her eyes she was back in her backyard. 

Her whole body was trembling. E/c eyes wide, knees and hands shaking, and a mix of adrenaline and fear coursed through her veins as she raised her gaze to see the little wisp still floating before her.

“W-what was that? Was that a vision?” She asked, not really expecting an answer.

Ah~. Even though it was just a short little couple of notes, Y/n couldn’t help but feel like it was an affirmative. Her expression softened as her heart rate began to slow down. She was about to step closer to the little figure, but the moment she raised her foot, it disappeared into thin air. And once again, she was alone in the night. Disappointment processed through her brain as she looked down at her trembling, gloved hands. Was that a vision of the future she just had? Her future? 

Were her powers growing?

♡♡♡

Agent Stone was miserable.

It had been five months, twenty six days, forty eight minutes, and two seconds since Doctor Robotnik had been tossed away like garbage into that “Mushroom Planet.” His blood still boiled every time he thought of those two putrid, paradoxical, plot-twisting, alien-resembling hedgehogs. They took away the only man he had ever-

No. No, he shouldn’t be wasting time thinking about stuff like that… No matter how many times he had made his heart flutter, no matter how many times he wanted to tell him how he truly felt he knew he never could. Robotnik was… Robotnik! And true, he was his right hand assistant that knew him better than anyone… but that was all he was.

An assistant.

His fingers traced over some of Robotnik’s old blueprints he had created back before his technological advancements to make the eggbots. Of course there was a better scientific term for them, but eggbots was a rather suitable nickname. Things hadn’t been the same at all since Robotnik was banished from earth. They were very… quiet, to say the least. Since Stone was his right hand man, it was only natural for him to be put in charge of figuring out what to do with his stuff. And naturally, he had opted to keep it. Like he was going to let his love- I mean, his boss’s hard work all go to waste? Ha! He would laugh at such presumptions.

Stone let out a long sigh through his nose, feeling the weight of reality once again press it’s hands down on his shoulders. It made him sick how everyone just instantly forgot about his existence the second he was gone, like they were happy to be rid of him. Sure, he was a bit eccentric from time to time and was often referred to as “mad” or “insane,” but he was a damn good scientist. 

He was just misunderstood.

If only there was a way to bring him back. If there could be a way to reach out to him, to at least be able to communicate with him. Life seems meaningless without him here, in all honesty. And what was Stone supposed to do? Just move on with his life? Ha!

Then, a little memory locked into place in his mind. He slowly turned his head towards the locked cabinet where Robotnik had stored everything relating to those two hedgehogs. He approached it and placed his thumb upon the scanner, waiting until it hummed in approval and heard the familiar click of it unlocking. Robotnik had designed for everything in his lab to have some sort of scanner that only he and Stone could open. He felt very privileged to be held that highly by someone so great.

The cabinet opened to reveal a small plastic case amongst a bunch of cluttered files on the two and DNA samples and such. He carefully extracted it out of the cabinet and placed the box down on one of the counters. Using his thumb, he carefully flipped it open and was greeted with the sight of two very small vials containing about a centimeter each of the yellow and ice blue fluids. In case you are sitting here reading this in confusion, here’s a little explanation for you. 

Back after Robotnik had received the vials from the anonymous sender, he had had Stone run multiple tests of each tube and even recreate some miniscule samples of them just in case they were to go missing or for something horrible to have happened. That was something that Stone couldn’t help but admire about Robotnik - he always had a Plan B. As he stared down at the vials, the gears in his brain began to turn faster and faster until an idea popped into his mind once more. 

Sonic and Y/n both had very unique abilities. But what if he could find a way to combine both of those abilities and more? What if he could make something invincible? 

An Ultimate Life Form, perhaps.

He already knew much better than to send himself to Robotnik as he wouldn’t be of any help at all. But sending something much more powerful than himself, than even Sonic or Y/n, could maybe help bring Robotnik back home. 

Stone grabbed a pencil and some scratch paper and got down to work.

♡♡♡

Three weeks later, Agent Stone had successfully managed to drink Robotnik’s entire supply of coffee and go through every single lab report he had done surrounding the very concept of those two alien hedgehogs.

Oh, and he had also created one himself.

I know, ironic right? The Doctor’s right hand man turns out to be the one to create a life form meant to do only one thing: destroy and bring back his love-I MEAN boss. Well, actually two things. People seemed to have forgotten that when Robotnik was choosing someone to be his right hand man, he had standards. And one of those standards including him having at least one PhD. 

Agent Stone had been able to successfully create what he called the Ultimate Life Form: a hedgehog-like creature with Sonic’s super speed, super strength, Y/n’s telekinesis, and even immortality. He had lost tons of sleep and had attempted and failed too many times than he failed to admit but at last, he had finally gotten it right. His savior. The one to bring Robotnik back home where he can finally exact revenge upon the two who sent him to that dreaded planet in the first place. The creature he had created resembled Sonic more than Y/n, with his quills being a lot more spiky and his fur being a dark onyx rather than a delightful shade of blue. He had red streaks going throughout his fur as well, to match Robotnik’s signature colors of choice. And of course, it was only right to give the thing a name as he was his creation after all. 

Shadow the Hedgehog. 

After his creation, Stone had spent countless hours working with the hedgehog to teach him the ways of everything and what his mission was to do, what he was created for. Of course this meant he lost a lot of sleep, but for Robotnik? I think you know the second part of that sentence. Shadow was a very quick learner, adapting to the english language at an instant and mastering his powers and abilities three days ahead of schedule. He knew what his purpose was, and that purpose was the driving force of his existence. 

Finally, it was the day.

Stone drove Robotnik’s lab all the way out into an abandoned field near Green Hills where no one would see them, leading Shadow out to a nice hill with acceptable throwing distance. Thanks to his quick thinking, Stone had swiped some of the golden rings when he had been out investigating the case of the two hedgehogs, so he had a couple on hand. The dark hedgehog turned to his creator, his expression determined as Stone set the rings into his gloved hands.

“Alright, Shadow. Today is the day. You know what to do?”

“Find Robotnik. Bring him back to Earth. Destroy Y/n and Sonic.” Shadow repeated like a well-rehearsed play line. Stone nodded, his hope climbing to the roof without him even noticing. He took one of the rings out of his gloved hands and tossed it into the sky, watching with wide eyes as it formed a portal to the Mushroom Planet.

It still amazed him, the magic of it all. 

“If he isn’t here, your next stop should be Sonic and Y/n’s home planet. Do you understand?” He looked down at the dark hedgehog, who nodded sternly.

“Yes, sir.” And with that, he leapt up into the portal and Stone watched as the portal closed with a flash of light. The wind resistance it had created slowly died down, leaving him standing there in the middle of the field. He wrought his hands together nervously, his adrenaline levels through the roof. 

He could only hope he was doing the right thing. He needed to get Robotnik back and this was the only way he could do it. Everything was going to be just fine. Things would work out in the end! Shadow would find Robotnik, use the rings to bring him back here, and then they could give Sonic and Y/n a gentle slap on the wrist and everyone could go back to how it used to be before all of this crap happened. 

Everything was going to be just fine.

...right?

♡ a.a.

[spotlessvast]

searching for the ends of the earth

   (Content warnings: mentions of suicide, animal death, murder, body horror, and blood. On-screen peaceful death.)

  Lukewarm dry grass scratches my bare feet at every step. I’m alone. The sky is dark, cloudless, and I’m far enough away from any air pollution to see the stars. I don’t need my walking stick, but I drag it along anyway, because no one’s here to see me use it. It puts my hands to good use in the meantime.

   I’m definitely being watched.

   I drag the stick behind me. It’s more like a branch, actually. I forgot what kind of tree it’s from, but from the looks of it, probably oak or cedar. I don’t know that many trees. The grass is still scratchy and my feet are numb. No one is behind me, but I can’t shake that feeling off my back. It’s unnecessary and is getting in the way of enjoying my travels to the fullest.

   If it were just a big cat, I wouldn’t really mind. This wasn’t a big cat, though.

  I remain careful not to wake up any sleeping creatures that surround me. Nearing the edge of this cliff, I look behind me to see the forest’s entrance. I half-expected the source of this looming feeling to reveal itself, but there was nothing. I hold up my walking stick parallel to me.

   At the bottom of the cliff is an abandoned city. Lights from old billboards and storefronts mold together and fade the higher they reach.

   Won’t hurt to climb down.

   I put my walking stick in my belt next to my shovel.

  All the walls I’ve ever let go of have claw marks on them. This wall of crumbling ground was no exception, and it would be a nuisance to try climbing back up. I make my way into the city where light is pollution and I’m alone, like always.

   I mean, if I wasn’t alone, that would mean this is the first time I’d ever seen someone in so long. Intuition pricks at the back of my neck, so I finally turn around, shovel in hand, ready to attack. “W..who g—” I’m hoarse. I don’t remember the last time I actually said something. I try again, spinning the long neck of the shovel and pointing it like a spear. “Who goes there!”

   And I’m facing the cliff, and a shadow cast on the cliff. Amorphous. Probably my own, since I have so much luggage.

   “Who goes there?” a voice echoes. My voice, but I don’t feel myself speak. I pinch my lips to see if they’re still alive or if they’ve been frozen to death back in the winter.

  “Y-yeah. Who!?” I inch closer to the cliff and point my shovel right at the shadow’s center. The shadow mirrors my movements, and I strike. Dust kicks up in my face while clumps of solid ground pummel my shovel and render it stuck and useless. Damn.

   “I’d tell you, but it’s more fun seeing you act like an idiot.” I turn around to face this person. If they’re mirroring my shadow, then they must be behind me!

   City lights. That’s all.

  Am I hallucinating? Was there something bad in the water? Maybe I hit my head too hard. I pull the shovel out of the ground. There could be land I haven’t travelled to yet, or I have travelled everywhere but me and this other person were never in the same place at the same time. Well, if that’s the case, then there are two survivors on this earth.

  “The hell do you got against me, you… you bitch?” If this person was going to keep taunting me using my own voice, I had no problem cursing them out.

   “No… don’t tell me, you’ve FORGOTTEN, have you!?”

Something brushes up against my arm and I feel my life being sucked out of my chest. There’s no soft ground to stick my shovel in, so I can’t lean on it for support. Nevertheless, I stand.

   Then that thing materializes in front of me, and continues to speak. “I feel insulted, that you forgot all of our travels together! Our journeys fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, explorations across frozen tundras and scorching deserts and everything in between. I remember that wolf you were friends with for a while, Chrome, right?”

   “How do you know about Chrome?” I hate how this thing appeared from thin air and the only thing I bother to ask about is my wolf-dog. I named him after one of my old friends, who always looked emo and then died. Achroma made better company than Chrome, but both of them were nice to be around. Then Chrome got old and died too.

   Still an amorphous blob, the thing in front of me responds. “I’ve been with you since forever.” So dramatic.

  “Well, can you at least, like—” I vaguely gesture with one hand. “Make yourself a bit more human so I’m not so put off talking to you?”

  “Oh, is this better?” They expand and contract until they mirror me again. No longer a shadow, but a replication. The same clothes, same equipment. But if that’s me, then… Lord almighty, my face is a mess. A hot mess, at that—

   “I appreciate that you think I’m sexy enough to turn into but I’d rather have you not.” It was already unnerving enough that they could sound like me any time they wanted…

   “Is this any better now?” Tendrils burst out of shape and adorn themselves with dozens of eyes.

   “No! What the shitting hell no!”

  I find myself following in their footsteps, or whatever they’re doing. Shifting between different appearances, it’s only easy to keep up with since they’re the only other vaguely human shaped being in my sight. Nothing worthwhile was in that city, nothing natural enough to sleep in. Sleeping on the floor is only nice when there are friends to wake up to the next day, and I have none, so I sleep in the forest.

   “The woods sucks.” For a record time of around half an hour, they settled themself to look a few inches taller than me, with shoulder length black hair. Their face was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t really pinpoint it to any other person. We had the same clothes, but theirs had different colors.

   “You’re so critical of everything I do.” I set down my backpack and spread out a blanket. It’s hot tonight, so I only needed the blanket for the ground. My coats would keep me warm until the morning.

   “It’s only practical that you go back to the city, though,” they say from a tree.

   “What does practicality mean to you?” I lie down with my arms crossed behind my head.

   “Less than what it means to you.” Shut. The fuck up.

  Slow down and sleep, and hope that there won’t be any bugs in my head the next morning. That’s how every night goes. There’s less air pollution in the woods, so the night is lit by the moon and the stars. Tomorrow will be an early dawn. I cover my eyes and ears and ignore the world.

   “Ah… where to next?” I mumble out loud. Just a few minutes ago, I finished packing my stuff. Today is a hunting day, so I’d have to travel somewhere I could make food. That ghost hasn’t bothered me since I woke up, which was nice. I hope it would stay that way just for a day at the very least. I take a deep breath and wander out of the woods back into the city. The neon lights dimmed down to nothing in the pale sunlight. Windows and doors had already been broken into, so I crawl in and scavenge for anything I could take with me. Other than what you’d expect to find in abandoned storefronts, nothing served useful to me. There was a cool rock, but I decided to leave it.

   I pause, about to leave the store.

   Something is wrong.

  “Hey,” says a different voice. It’s lower than mine this time. I look behind me and notice the gaping metaphorical hole in my chest upon meeting eyes with the ghost. I have no privacy anymore, no drive, and this asshole was going to kill it even more. But if they’ve been here for so long, all that privacy and drive must’ve been an illusion in the first place…

   This time, their hair was shorter and messy. Lighter. Some color that was hard to distinguish between blond and gray from the lighting inside. They were wearing pants and a warm coat. “Good to see you finally got some creativity there, huh,” I say.

   They ignored me. “I think you should pick up that rock.” They point to the rock.

  “Damn, you’re right. I’m gonna pick up that fuckin’ rock.” I pick up the rock and put it in my vest pocket. “How’d you know I wanted that thing?”

   They shrugged. “I know you.”

   “Am I hallucinating right now?” I squint. They’re clearly not transparent, and the more I focus, the more familiar they seem. Something is really wrong around here.

   “It wouldn’t make a difference on you if I said ‘no,’ would it?”

  They take the lead out of the store and I follow them to an old rusty highway. I don’t have any objections, but today was supposed to be a hunting day. The sun is high, and it’s around noon now. The sky looks like it could crumble apart at any moment. That’s when I know the weather will be sunny again for the next few days.

   At the middle of the highway, there’s a gap where it got destroyed by a bomb or an earthquake. The way out from the city was familiar, but I obviously hadn’t been there in a long time to have known where this highway leads or how to get across to the other side. I sit down.

   We stay unmoving in a silent world, until that silence is broken by the wind. Then the wind drives me to ask what I should call them. They say I can call them whatever. “Okay, Whatever.”

   They cringe. “I didn’t mean like that.” They sit down too.

   Hack was the name I was looking for. Hack was who they reminded me of earlier in the city ruins. So I would call them Hack, just like he was. It felt disrespectful to reduce them to just a ghost. But this wasn’t Hack. And I had to remind myself that. We fell out, and years later he probably died too. If this was a hallucination, I’m both impressed and disturbed at my own imagination for making me so comforted and disturbed at the same time. “Okay, I’ll call you Hack.”

   Not-Hack has a shit-eating grin on their face, almost like they want me to call them that.

   We sit in silence for another long, drawling moment.

   “How old are you?” Their sudden question makes me flinch.

   “T..Twenty-something. Why?”

  “ERRRHHH. WRONG!” They imitate a game show buzzer and make an X with their hands. “I know it’s been over a hundred years, I was just curious how more than a hundred it was.”

   “It hasn’t been a hundred years!” I stand up and shout down at them. “I swear, I’m thirty at most! Do I really look that old to you? Eat a dick.”

   They’re laughing. “You’re funny.”

  “Well, you’re an asshat!” I jab them in the forehead, but my finger passes right through them. They jab me back, but they don’t pass through me. Unfair advantage, stupid ghost. At least now I know it’s probably not a hallucination. I sit back down with my legs dangling over the highway’s edge. I want to go back to the woods, or at least somewhere the leaves are starting to change color. The sky’s been raining heat on me for the past few months, so it’s due time. I can’t accurately judge the distance from here to the ground, but I want to risk jumping.

  A voice coming from inside of my head asks me if I ever thought of killing myself. I’d be a hypocrite to deny I ever entertained the thought. I hold my head while my elbows rest on my thighs. Only now have I realized that life’s boring after the end of the world. Distractions and the bare minimum only go so far, but what am I supposed to do when something changes?

   I jump.

   I survive.

   Not-Hack is still here.

   In the distance I can see a ferris wheel peeking out from a row of buildings. If a ferris wheel is there, then there’s probably no good food over there. It’s all just city and lights. City, lights, and stores. Trees, for air sustenance. I wonder if there were any fruit trees over there. I take a running start.

   “Hey!” Not-Hack calls out. “Don’t leave me behind!” They rush to catch up with me. Don’t leave them behind? Not like I had a choice.

   “I know this place.”

   “You’ve been here before?” I lodge my knife into a cherry tree and I step on it. My backpack and vest are a yard away on the ground. I grip onto a thick branch and hoist myself up. I didn’t have time to study which cherries were perfect or not, I just ate what I could find. Wandering around the area were cats and rabbits, but I don’t like to eat cats or rabbits.

   “We’ve been here before.” They burst open again and regenerate with a black sweater over a white dress shirt and well worn black jeans. Their face looks half-dead this time, and their hair is a short bob that gets longer in the front with their bangs covering one eye.

   There’s a small hole in their chest with blood darkening their already black sweater and disintegrating when the drops reach the ground.

   Right. This is the same place Achroma died. And I survived.

  “I don’t like it when you tell me things with his face.” I turn my attention back to cherry picking and then jump to the ground. I refuse to look at them.

   “How’s this, then?” They said with a softer, naturally high voice. Bastard tricked me into looking. Now they were wearing a casual dress and boots perfectly fit for a date, and had long purple hair tied up in the back.

   “Not any better. It’s embarrassing now—”

  Seeing those shapeshifting sequences happen in real time was gross. I know logically that ghost forms should need some sort of connection to something in order to change, but seeing that in-between with dozens of tendrils, colors, and eyeballs really unnerved me. Not like their choices were any better. Why are they only turning into people I know?

   Not-Achroma reaches their hand out and gestures for me to follow them. I do.

  The stony path becomes gradually more broken as we walk, until the road turns into gravel. This side of the city had the ferris wheel, and since I wasn’t willing to risk getting stuck on a two-and-something-hundred-year-old machine, I carefully ignored and evaded it. Something is off about me being so passive today. Instead of calm, it feels empty. Done. Satisfied with what I’ve been through, but God please let it be over. Still, I’ll walk as much as I can until I die. Either that high fall didn’t kill me or I woke up from a dream. Dying in heat takes time and is uncomfortable.

   “Why are you doing all…” I make a vague hand gesture to their face. “That.”

   “Why are you being so uptight? You can talk. Use your words and stop beating around the bush.” Another phrase I remember saying. Another phrase I remember rubbing off on the people who spent time with me. The only thing I was good for on this curse of an earth was giving advice that I don’t take. But now with everyone gone, I didn’t really have any range of choices for my next strength. My actions hold no weight to humanity— The only impact I have now is hunting food.

   “Earth to Koya.”

   When I hunt, I breathe, pray, and kill.

   “Koyaaaaaaaaaaa.”

   I have no time to think about the consequences, only time to stick the arrow in and run away.

   “Koya!”

   And I pray so there can be resolve in untimely death.

   “Stop ignoring me.”

   I finally halt my train of thought and turn my head. “What the fuck do you want.”

   “I’m bored,” says Not-Achroma with a deadpan face.

   “There’s plenty to do around here. Why do you have to travel with me if you’re so bored?” I look forward.

   “Admit that you need me.” We both stop.

   “I haven’t been feeling like myself since you showed up. I don’t need anyone like you.” I haven’t been feeling at all since they showed up. Except for when they jabbed me in the face. I was irritated! And then I wasn’t.

  But having someone like Hack around was a little less lonely. It wouldn’t be the same, but I could tell him everything I needed to and then finally die. I just don’t like seeing Achroma like this. Those who are dead are supposed to stay dead, because no matter how much someone misses them, it will never be the same again. I don’t need them, I need my connections back.

   “Akoi Koya…” hearing my full name coming from his voice is something I didn’t know I needed, but I did. No one called to me since the disasters, except for my animals, but they just barked at me. “Akoi as a name doesn’t make any sense, you know that?” They continue walking, and I follow them. “It’s like whoever named you was typing on a keyboard and misspelled ‘Aoki��� as ‘Akoi’ and never changed it back.”

   “But it flows pretty well all together, right? I never really gave it much thought until other people pointed it out.” Like Hack did. Akoi didn’t have a clear origin, but Koya did. Akoi Koya sounded like some fantasy character name, but just Koya on its own was fine. And a real name.

   “It’s pretty.” Not-Achroma turns back into Not-Hack and slows down their pace. I’m in front of them now, and they’re walking close behind. I can feel breezes on the back of my neck and between my fingers. They’re not touching me.

   I stop walking. They bump into me. We don’t move.

   The sun is still high.

   I crash against a wall holding up a bridge. Shade was needed especially now. I’ve been out in the open so much today, I felt like the sun was going to melt my face off. I sink down to the ground and a sigh escapes my throat. Not-Hack is growing accustomed to their role since picking up on my subtle cues. A ghost with no personality and drive except for what they observe sounds like a sad existence. But what could they possibly get out of by acting like old friends? They sit next to me with one leg out and the other leg bent, and their arm around my shoulders. I want to talk to them the same way I used to talk to Hack.

   “What was I thinking?” The short sentence just falls out.

   “Yeah, what were you thinking? I’m gonna kick your ass.” Their tone is playful in the same way a laser pointer is to a cat.

   “Think you can take me?” I make a fist and gently punch Not-Hack in the chest. It doesn’t pass through this time.

   “I know I can! Come at me, coward.”

  “Not until I eat lunch.” Today was supposed to be a hunting day, and I was supposed to be a nameless survivor with a stolen look. Now I’m Akoi Koya again, and Hack is here if we both survived. I still want food, but a meal can wait. I have cherries.

   Tasteless, purple cherries. Tasteless and sour. Somehow they tasted numb with an aftertaste of sweet and sour.

   Not-Hack relaxes and leans in even closer next to me. Their head rests on mine, and I wrap my arm around their back.

   Even if it’s not the same, they’ll persist until they make it that way. So I ask them “Why?”

   They don’t break character. “We were young. And stupid.” They deliberately avoid eye contact and stare into the sun.

   “No, I mean—”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Why am I putting on this charade?” That’s more like it. I still felt weird hearing someone talk like that with Hack’s face.

   “Mhm.”

   “Because you were in love with him.” They really did see right through me. I’ve been living my life followed by a ghost. Finding out today doesn’t make any sense, but it also does. I can’t make sense of it in words, though. And I won’t admit my feelings. ‘Were’ doesn’t mean ‘are.’

   “I wasn’t in love with him.” I toss another cherry into my mouth and spit out the pit.

   “Koyaaaaa. Lying isn’t going to do anything.” They turn back again. Our faces are so close.

   I close my eyes and eat another cherry. This is enough for today.

   “Love is loyalty. Loyalty is power, and power is chaos. And Chaos means I’m not bored anymore.”

   “So you’re doing this for yourself,” I ask, but it’s more like a statement.

   They fall silent. I know they’ll say yes, but I don’t want to hear that. I want to go home. I want my connections back.

  Hack didn’t die in front of me. Achroma did. Ven didn’t die in front of me either. I just stopped talking to her. It hurt the most seeing Achroma’s face again, so why did Not-Hack spare me?

   “Do you ever think about dying?” They break their own silence.

   “More than I’d like to.”

   They stand up and I feel nothing. I stand up and grab their hand and I feel something.

  I let go once pins and needles shoot from their skin while they change. I knew I was getting too used to them. Looking at the ground, I hold their hand again. It’s cold. Let me fall for it. Please. There’s no blood on that sweater this time. No blood fading when it touches the ground. No blood. No half-dead face. We’re together, suspended in time. And he’s not dead, but he is.

   We cool off at an old dock. I take off my vest and hang it on a wood pole, then I take off my shirt. I take off one layer of pants, the layer that has stuff in its pockets, and I lower myself into the water, just low enough to be safe. I have some wounds on my chest that haven’t healed since I got them, and covering them with duct tape only goes such a long way. I’d wrap some more duct tape around once I’m done. My feet are numb now.

   I cross my arms over the dock while the rest of me dangles in the water. “Maybe I could try dying here.”

   “Drowning would suck.” Not-Achroma flicks me in the forehead. “Especially for you.”

   I didn’t realize I just talked about dying out loud.

  It’s officially late afternoon, and the sun will set in an hour or two. I could hunt for fish, but there’s a risk in diving into the ocean. I was never a good swimmer, anyway. “What do you recommend for dying, then?”

   “Gunshots are quick and— Ah—”

   “What.”

   “Forget it.”

  I climb onto the dock and splash some water into my face. It’s still hot, but cold water could help for now. I wouldn’t be so hot in the woods. All this talk about death was really new. Well, all that talk about anything is new, but until now I’ve just been living until I get killed or just stop living. Dying by my own will is difficult. “I want to wait until the sun sets.”

   Memories that never really left me resurfaced every time they opened their mouth. I follow them through the city to a run down building that, according to nothing but my gut, was supposed to be home. Today is the first time since the disasters I go back, and it’s also the last. I took off that itchy duct tape (that might as well be part of my skin at this point) and had my wounds exposed. I tie my shirt around my waist and leave my vest in my backpack. My feet are still numb, so I lean on ‘Achroma’ to make sure I don’t trip and fall.

   The outskirts of the city glow with gold from the sun. It hasn’t set yet, but the shadows are harsh and the scenery is warm. Birds are flying, cats and dogs are wandering, and I’m out of place, walking on two legs. Even more out of place if you look closer to my injuries.

   Injuries of an exposed, worn out machine, who, in desperation, attempted to abandon fate and live like a real survivor.

   We sit down.

  I ask them questions that only Achroma would be able to know, like why he picked out his name, and what he wanted to do in life. Their ad-lib was convincing, and I didn’t want to think about the implications of a ghost using my memories of him against me. I’m dying soon either way. It would suck to have my last hour be miserable.

   I loved Hack, I loved Achroma, and I loved Ven. I spent the least amount of time with Ven out of everyone else, but she was wonderful. I tell ‘Achroma’ about Ven, even though they already knew about my experiences with her. They still go along with it, like we really are old friends who were separated from each other for a long time. It’s selfish of me not to care if ‘Achroma’ doesn’t love me, and it’s selfish of them not to love me back. Their stories of life are vivid and pessimistic, but they make humor out of it.

   The sun sets.

   All these years of searching for the ends of the earth, and I found myself back where I started. I’m ready.

  I close my eyes as two hands invade the wounds on my chest. It’s a cold, strong wind, gripping through my ribs and jamming up everything else. I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I fall sideways.

   I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I love you.

   Conscious thought formation ceases.

   Tactile data input ceases.

   Conscious movement ceases.

   Temperature function ceases.

   Visual data input ceases.

   Auditory data input ceases.

   Additional sensory data input ceases.

   Emotional data output ceases.

[mattzerella-sticks]

In the Mind of a Writer - a Sam-centric coda to 15x04 that has Dean/Cas elements

Sam is tormented with strange dreams again. Being a demon and killing his brother was only the start. It seems night after night his mind plays a new, horrifying concept with him and his brother as the starring leads.

However one night he gets a break, and instead of being a part of the action can sit back and watch. Is it better or worse to not be included in the script? Will he learn anything new from the role of audience member? And just exactly what is the reason for these dreams in the first place?

Sam leans against the hallway, hand splayed across the wall and sliding it while he staggered towards his bedroom. Blinks bleary eyes downwards, he tracks his feet in case one decides to trip the other and send him sprawling to the floor. He stumbles when his hand skipped over a space in the hallway, Sam flailing. If it weren’t luck guiding him towards the door knob he would have fully fallen. Instead, shaken, he squeezes both the knob and the door jamb.

“What did I…” Glancing into the empty room, Sam knows exactly where he is. “ Oh .”

Cas’s room. Or what used to be of it. There’s not even a bed left, pieces remain from the night Dean dismantled it with the help of Jack and Whiskey.

He found him there, screwdriver and drink in hand, barely coherent. “What are you doing?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he drawled, stumbling over to a dresser with no drawers. Smashed to bits around his brother. “Had a totally… totally awesomeidea. Turn this into a gym.”

“A gym?” Sam asked, “Dean, we already have a gym.”

“We do?”

“Yeah… you just never go to it,” Sam frowned, cautiously approaching him, “Dean, are you -”

“Then it’ll be something else,” Dean said, swinging wildly. Narrowly dodging the tip of his screwdriver, Sam jumped a safe distance away. “Maybe a memorial room… Yeah, to r’member those we’ve lost.”

Sam liked the idea. “But here?” he continued, “Dean, this is Ca -”

“Why not here Sam?” Dean asked, surprisingly sober like he flipped a switch. Glared at him with cold, dead eyes nestled in puffy, red skin. “S’not like anyone’s using this room.”

Arguing with Dean like this is like taking tackling a demon without an angel blade. In no mood for it, Sam let him be. The curiosity of what drove his brother to demolish their friend’s room didn’t leave. So he texted Cas.

And texted. Again. And called after the fifth unanswered message.

Finally in his room, Sam checks his phone hoping Cas responded. He’s greeted by the mocking checkmark of a read-receipt on his most recent text. “Seriously,” Sam scowls, dropping his phone onto the nightstand, “why won’t anyone tell me anything .”

Dean loves talking about problems when they aren’t his own. Played nursemaid to distract from his own inability to deal with his trauma. While Sam appreciated it, he knew it wouldn’t last forever. Evidenced by the unhealthy habits Dean uses to bide his time between being a good brother.

The two buckets of greasy chicken Dean wolfed down were obvious clues he was not in his right mind.

“At least it’s not booze,” Sam mutters, pulling the thin henley over his head. After the first few nights of drinking, his brother locked the liquor cabinet and instead chose to stuff his face.

Sam walked in on a rare sight, his brother nursing a wicked hangover. Seeing only a bottle and a half of whiskey drank, his hackles rose. “It’s not like you to be taken down so easily.”

“It’s called aging Sam,” he growled, “Apparently I can’t hold my liquor like I used to…”

He sighs, shaking his head clear of the memories of his brother making coffee with the saddest scowl fixed to his face. Sam needs an empty head when he goes to sleep, refusing to allow his subconscious any foothold to create another horrible dream.

Besides the one where a demon version of himself killed his brother, there were countless dreams he had that ended as miserably. Dean, fueled by Amara’s Mark, chopping his head off. Both of them hunting as the very creatures they fought, tearing into innocent victims with no remorse. Last night Sam ripped Dean’s soul from his body so they could both be killing machines dictated by logic. He woke up after the light died in his brother’s eyes while thanking Sam for ‘fixing’ him.

Sam knows if this continues he might go crazy. In one he already was, haunted by visions of Lucifer while standing over his brother’s lifeless body.

“Not tonight,” Sam promises, slipping under his covers, “It won’t happen tonight.” Voice shaky, Sam doubts he can control what he dreams. Any answer to this problem seems out of reach since the lack of sleep muddles his mind. Crosses wires and makes it harder to think. A good night’s rest might help, but there’s no telling if that might be soon.

Not until he closes his eyes. Which Sam does, since he can’t keep them open any longer.

Unfortunately, he dreams.

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

Long grass and weeds overgrown the Bunker’s entrance, vines overtaking the stairwell. From his overhead perspective, Sam sees Cas exit his truck. Unlike when he last saw him, his friend wears a black button-down over a t-shirt, torn jeans, and scuffed boots. Scars criss-cross the exposed skin of his forearms where the sleeves rolled up, and a heavy line was carved from his temple to his cheek. It enhanced the rough edges on full display.

Cas doesn’t enter, instead drifting towards the haphazardly parked car nearby. Sam hadn’t recognized it. Dean’s Impala in such a poor condition he couldn’t put two together. With mud-splattered exterior and dented hood, she looked nothing like the pristine Baby he sat in hours earlier. Interior faring no better, Sam saw discarded wrappers, empty bottles with spill stains and even more mud.

Dean would flip if he knew what had happened to her, Sam thought.

Entranced by the sorry excuse for the Winchester chariot Sam nearly missed Cas heading inside. He followed his friend inside, pausing to stare at the unfamiliar wasteland their home became.

Dim lighting didn’t disguise the dump the Bunker was. Similar wrappers to the ones decorating Baby cascaded down the stairs in a trail that stretched into the depths of the Bunker. With each step Cas took Sam’s dread inched closer and closer towards a mountainous peak and he can identify more in the main room. Like the yellowed mattress thrown on top of the world map or pages upon pages of books crumpled and balled in a piles, competing with the wrappers.

Cas searches for something in the mess. Focusing on his features, however, Sam has the sense he looks for some one .

Trickling sounds from nearby, and the closer he follows Cas the louder it becomes. “Dean?” Cas calls into the emptiness, “Dean? Are you there?”

“Right here!”

Standing in the corner, Dean relieves himself. Backside covered by his robe, Sam sees only the thick pale stream pouring onto the floor in a puddle and flooding under his feet. Nausea grips him tight at his brother’s gross display, especially when he grunts near the end. Shaking the final drops free and finishes peeing.

Dean turns and fully reveals himself.

Sam gasps at the sight of his brother, completely unrecognizable had he not answered Cas’s call. His sandy hair looks more flaxen, long enough to curl atop his shoulders. Unkempt like his crumb-covered beard. Dean only wears the robe, nothing on underneath. Obvious by the blase way he walks over with the stained garment open. A calm expression settles across his face like being naked in front of his best friend shouldn’t bother him. Except, knowing his brother, it should.

“Dean,” Cas starts, a darkness settling over his features, “I… I had heard but… seeing it -”

“Seeing what?” Dean asks, skewing his head to the side in an innocent mirror of his friend. Somehow Cas’s stare hardens further.

“What… happened ?”

Sam wants to know the answer - needs to. The more exposure to this version of his brother, the more he notices. Like the softness of his body exposed by the gentle swaying of the robe. Belly round and extended, muscles hidden by extra cushion. More than usual. And all of it is covered in streaks of dirt and grease and other smears he dare not name, like Dean hadn’t showered for an extended period of time. If he could smell, Sam believes it would knock him to the floor.

He keeps ticking off more boxes that raise Sam’s hackles.

Dean thinks longer than necessary before speaking. His eyes flicker slightly as a thought connects, and an easy smile crosses his face while the green dims to a pale, lifeless moss. “You know what happened, Cas,” he says, dragging a chair forward and collapsing in it. Slamming his gross feet onto the map, nudging the bed slightly, he swipes a half-eaten sandwich from the floor and tears into it. While he chews with his mouth open Sam studies his food. An inkling of recognition tickles him. “Chuck did it,” Dean continues, crumbs spraying, “brought back the Leviathan to wipe away his work and then packed up - onto the next universe. And when they came they did with a vengeance… picked up where they left off…”

Sam remembers. Looking at the sandwich he now notices the grey blobs oozing from the sandwich.

“No,” Cas shakes his head, lips trembling, “No, Dean, that… I know it’s been too long but how could this have happened? This… what happened to you ?”

“Shit, Cas what didn’t happen?” Dean chuckles, “You were there for some of it… Dick running for President. Secret service men with all that extra teeth… Sam dying -”

“Sam? Sam’s dead?”

“Yeah, like a while ago…”

His heart beats loudly in his ears, unsure whether from finding out he’s dead in this nightmare or because of the flippant way Dean mentioned his death.

Cas reacts though. Sobs brokenly, shoulders shuddering like they might collapse. In the next second he shoves the sadness down. “How?”

“Like everyone else we knew,” he shrugs, “We stormed a compound, took down a few of the toothy bastards. Tried to free a few of the captive cattle. Sam was helping this woman, fighting her to get her to budge, but she wouldn’t… and that’s when a Leviathan snuck up and ganked him. Blood… everywhere!” Grey drops fly with how wildly he swings the arm holding his sandwich. “I watched the whole thing, man. Like, ten of ‘em piled on and ate him right there. Nothing left when they finished. After all the fat they were probably in the mood for some lean meat.”

If Sam could vomit he would. Already he imagines the scene as Dean described, feels teeth marking his skin and ripping it from his bones. Maybe that’s why he is nothing more than a silent voice among his family.

“And so you gave up?” Cas asks, “Without Sam you couldn’t go on any longer?”

Dean pouts, tapping his sandwich to his chin. Smearing juices against the beard. “Nah,” he says, “It hurt when I saw it, I think? But y’know what I remember more? All the other people who were watching… doing nothing. Sitting like it didn’t matter… because it didn’t . Not caring because they weren’t able to, man… that’s the dream. It’s awesome . The chick Sam was 'saving' ended up drenched in his blood and she didn’t even scream. After that I guess I reconsidered what I wanted and… it’s not that bad being cattle. Eat as much as I want until one day I get eaten? Turns out I’m more okay with it than I first thought…”

“It’s not okay, Dean,” Cas pleads, closes the distance between them and kneels at his side. Lays his hands over Dean’s thigh, digging into the soft flesh. “Humans were made for more than this. You’re more -”

“Sure,” he scoffs, “And what did we do with all that more ? This is exactly what we deserve -”

“You’re not in your right mind.”

“I feel like I’m thinking clearly for the first time ever. And if I’m not who cares ?”

“I do!” Cas screams, “Because knowing what the Leviathan has done to Sam, has done to you … it fills me with so much anger . You should be just as angry as I am.”

“Anger leads to nothing,” Dean tells Cas with nihilistic wisdom, “Everything leads to nothing . Our story’s over, man. Chuck made his ending. Why should we carry on with the plot if the author doesn’t want to?”

Cas’s expression dips into righteous fury. “We continue for the people we care about, for ourselves. I know Sam is gone Dean but there are others you care about right? Who you love? Don’t you care about yourself ?”

“Maybe once,” he says, crumbling the wrapper into a tiny ball and tossing it at Cas’s face. Laughing, he leans back in his seat and stretches. “But the only thing I care about now is that I’m hungry .” Dean stands, ignoring Cas on his way towards the exit.

“Dean!” Cas calls after him, “You need to keep fighting. I… I need you.”

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Dean cranes his neck to meet Cas’s gaze. Grinning with acted mirth, Dean says, “Needing people is overrated. I thought I needed Sam… Hell, I thought I needed you . I never needed anyone… love? Fake. You don’t love me and I don’t love you. I never have… you were just there. You were there until you weren't, and that's the same for everyone. We’re all trying to fill a void… the Leviathan found how to exactly do that.”

During his speech Cas’s features shattered into heartbreak, Sam being buffeted by the shards from where he watches.

“Want my advice? Hit up Biggerson’s… since you’re human it’ll be fine. Grab a sandwich and move on .” Dean trudges up the stairs to the door, slam echoing after him.

Physically alone, Cas finally crumbles. He curls into a ball on the floor surrounded by Dean’s filth and garbage. Sam shudders, hit with the heavy-handed symbolism. As a tear slips past Cas’s chin Sam feels a tugging from the side.

Cas’s sob sounds far away. When Sam blinks, his friend looks smaller than he did before. He realizes too late that he is being dragged from the Bunker. Sam fights to stay with Cas, to comfort him. To prop him up, encourage him that there’s still hope. Dean can still be saved.

A voice whispers from behind. “No more happy endings…”

Sam leaves the Bunker. Flying higher in the sky he sees Baby swerving lazily on the road, her frame becoming tinier and tinier. When she’s nothing more than a speck of black against grey, his vision whitens.

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

Sam wakes, gasping against his sheets. Twisting, he sits up and splays his hand across his chest. When his heart beats a hasty rhythm for his fingers, he calms slightly. The more he breathes, the calmer he becomes.

Another nightmare. Dragging his hand across his face, Sam curses the latest hellscape he created for himself. Remembers the broken figures of his brother and best friend. Normally their jagged edges fit together perfectly. Only there, the remains were too incompatible.

They all end the same, tonight’s being no different. Death. Sadness. Hopelessness .

Why his dreams can’t stick to a plot, Sam can’t imagine. If they repeated, after a time Sam could prepare. The spontaneity of their content keeps him on his toes in the worst way possible.

He scratches at his gunshot wound, it irritating him more than usual. Sam yawns and shifts off the bed, moving towards the door.

If he cannot sleep, then he’ll do something else. It’s worked every other time.

Sam doesn’t think about what will happen once he runs out of distractions.

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

Chuck pushes away from the desk, scrubbing his hands down his face and heaving a tired sigh. Glaring at his work, he forcefully shuts the laptop with a thought. “Don’t know what Becky was talking about,” he growls, standing. Pacing across the workroom from the Roadhouse to the Bunker. “Adding Cas never does anything… can’t drive the story where I need it to go…”

He pauses, considering his story from another angle. “Or maybe she was right?” he asks himself, “The Leviathan… weren’t good?”

As soon as it enters his mind Chuck crushes it into ash. Shaking his head, he grins. “They were good, Chuck,” he says, “with all those teeth… how couldn’t they be? But maybe they’re not final draft material…"

Returning to the desk, Chuck opens the laptop. Knuckles cracked, he begins anew. “The perfect ending is in here somewhere…”

[whitewolfbumble]

The Avengers Haunted House

Summary: Loki was looking for a way closer to you. Nothing like a little haunted house (with some extra magic touches added) to scare you right into his arms.

Request: Hiii, well I was thinking about request with bucky/reader or loki/reader with a halloween theme(hope it's not too soon 😂). It doesn't matter which pairing you choose it's just I would like to read something funny and fluffy or angsty (your choice). From @marveloustrashpanda!

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Some Halloween fluff, a tiny tinge of pining and lust, & some spooks thrown in!

Word Count: About 5k

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! My treat to you is a lil Halloween fic while Loki is bringing the tricks here, so hunker down with some candy and enjoy a short read! Thanks to @marveloustrashpanda for the request!! Love you babe and hope you enjoy!! This was written & posted quickly so I apologize for the typos!

MY MASTERLIST // SEND ME A REQUEST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

You were pressed completely flushed against him, barely able to even breathe much less move under him. The cold wall at your back gave you no opportunity to move away. His warm body was lined up with yours, the force of it just on the right side of bearable.

“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea,” you mumbled half-heartedly into his shoulder, not in any way sure if the butterflies and stomach turning was from sheer panic or having the Asgardian so skin-warmingly close.

A soft, low chuckle breathed down your ear and neck, Loki’s head leaned down and lips brushed your cheek.

“Yes, my little mortal,” he whispered, chest moving with yours, hands and arms circling you tightly. “I think you bit off far more than you can chew with this one.”

October 29th: Two Days Earlier

To say the Avengers were competitive wouldn’t have been a shock to anyone. You can’t grit and grind to the end of a brutal battle without the deep rooted need to win inside you. And the Avengers all had it. That need to surpass and overcome and above all win no matter what the odds or what the cost? Yeah, that was in no short supply on the team.

Unfortunately when there wasn’t a big bad to go after, that shared competitive spirit often led to interesting discourses and sometimes quite the intense challenges.

“It was by far the scariest costume of the party, I swear.” Clint said, crossing his heart. He was sitting up on the counter, back against the fridge and feet dangling into the sink (much to everyone's resigned displeasure).

“Please,” commented Natasha, used to this kind of confident talk and never letting it just slide. Not with Clint anyways. “I was there, and it was not. How is “The Blob” of all things in anyway scary? People thought you were a potato, Clint.”

The group gather in the lounge of the compound chuckled and smiled, all throwing looks each other. It was quite the amount of commotion, considering there were no missions happening and nothing on the radar either, meaning just about everyone on the team was hanging around. 

You were there sitting comfortably on the couch with Steve and Tony, Clint and Nat were at the bar, with Sam and Thor to one side and Loki leaning against the wall behind you. Save a few members, the whole gang was mostly here and restlessly idle.

“Listen, it was terrifying and you know it, Nat.” Clint said, pointing back at her once the chuckles died down.

“Well, no it wasn’t. What was scary was the house.” Nat said. “It was completely decked out. Looked amazing. It had nothing on the other haunted houses I’ve been in... Or HYDRA crack dens either.”

“I could do it better.” Clint whispered in a sing-song kind of way, looking down at his fingernails.

“Guaranteed I could make a far more scary haunted house than you, french fry.” Tony piped up, not to be outdone. “And none of that low-tech, fake blood stuff, but actually terrifying. You’d all run out screaming your cute little heads off.”

Soon enough everyone was talking, Nat and Clint throwing remarks back and forth, Tony and Sam jabbing at one another on classic scares verses modern frights, and Thor talking to a rather disgusted looking Steve about what the otherworldly terrors he’s been witness too.

You just sighed and leaned into the couch, throwing a knowing look behind you to the quiet Loki who rolled his eyes a little, small smile on his face. Somehow it always ended up like this, the two of you shaking your heads at the boisterous bunch. But an idea came quickly to mind, as it usually did in times like these, and you figured it would be a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone as it were.

“Alright, alright,” you said, interrupting the cacophony before things got hairy. God, no one here was able to handle a bit of free time, were they. “Let’s settle this than? Halloween is in two days. How about anyone who wants to be titled “The Ultimate Horror Champion” picks a room at the compound here and we put on a real haunted house. After that, the few of us not participating vote on which room was the scariest.”

Bright eyes danced from just about everyone at the idea, a brief moment of silence following as minds began sparking with ideas.

“So... I take it that’s a yes?” you asked.

An immediate eruption of voices rang out, agreements flooding in and dibs on specific rooms sounded off. Some just jumped up and raced out of the room to get started on the first ever Avenger Haunted House.

It had at first been infuriating for him to feel this way for a little thing like you.

For some time behind closed doors he fumed at the thrall you had over him, an angry burn that flooded every inch of his Frost Giant body. But inexplicably that fiery heat melted into a calm, purring warmth in his chest whenever you walked into a room. Your sparkling laugh, your bright eyes, your cunning wit, ability to make peace or war with a few words, heaven-crafted beauty… In all actuality you reminded Loki of him, all those qualities he recognized clearly in his own self.

But your charm and personality wielded a quieter kind of power than his. It was a lighter, delicate, and peaceful type of power. An equal and opposite to his own. Despite you being mortal and possessing none of the seiðr Loki had himself, he was quite under your spell and had been for too long.

Eventually the fiery and stubborn resistance to you when you weren’t around faded, leaving him in a constant state of want when you were gone, and hollow contentment when you were close. Because you were just never close enough.

He wanted to feel your skin to his, your breath on his body, ring out in a laughter and pleasure that was all and only for him. And it was at a point where he just about couldn’t stand it anymore. 

Now, part of his acceptance to the team was an agreement made to drastically reduce any magic and not to interfere with mortals... but that agreement was about to be altered. As soon as you had mentioned this Halloween haunted house game, Loki knew he’d manipulate whatever he could about it to his (and your, he assumed as it would mean being closer to him) benefit. He’d been far too good lately, it was time to break a couple rules...

You threw a bag from the cupboard behind you without looking, the plastic smacking down the counter. Bright little wrappers held mini chocolates, ready to be gobbled down by kids (or the bumbling Hogan, who was determined to sit by the door and wait for the trick-or-treating kids… probably only to avoid the supposed oncoming terror of the competition that night).

It was you and Loki in the kitchen alone, though the buzzing energy of the compound was palpable even here. Everyone was scattered and running around, getting all the last minute details in place for their haunted rooms. It had been two days of secrecy and madness, and no-one was willing to give up a spare second, determined not to lose whatever edge they could have.

“I know there were more in here,” you said, rummaging through the cupboard for more treats, voice muffled as you stuck your head in. “Actually, I did see your brother munching on something that could have been mini chocolate bars… I’ll bet he nipped a bag.”

“He is quite greedy and inconsiderate of children.” Loki agreed lightly, subtly emptying his pockets of wrappers into the trash while you weren’t looking.

“Please,” you laughed. “You and I are complete Scrooges compared to him. Let’s not kid ourselves about that.”

He quirked a brow, leaning against the counter a couple feet away from you. Though you couldn’t see him, he didn’t doubt you knew what question was on his mind.

“Sorry, wrong holiday.” you supplemented, now pulling down a million and one things from the cupboard in your hunt for more candy. “Scrooge is a Christmas thing, I don’t think we got to that story last year.”

“It can’t be any more dull than this holiday.” Loki said, gesturing vaguely to nothing.

“Please, you love it, I know you do.” you said above the shuffling. “Candy? Costumes and masks? Theatrics and over-indulgence? You were made to celebrate this holiday. Happens to be my favourite one too.”

“You mortals make no sense to me,” he said in feigning disapproval.

Well, maybe all mortals save you. You he understood perfectly.

“You know, you were here last year for this,” you pointed out to him, head popping out with a triumphant little smile at the bag of treats in your hand. “None of this is new information.”

“I’m aware,” he said with that mix of dry charm which always managed to pull a smirk and half an eye roll from you. “But I still don’t fully understand the point of people willingly giving out sweets rather than indulge in few harmless tricks instead.”

As you turned around to lean against the counter you saw that nothing about his look said any of his tricks would in fact be harmless. You could practically see the wheels turning on what tricks he would pull on kids and people alike behind those gleaming eyes and that subtly mischievous smile.

“What, you don’t like sweet things?” you said, eyes innocent and wide.

That look and the demure way in which you held yourself made him stop a moment, trying to casually swallow down the heated wanting it brought on. He shrugged a shoulder slightly looking at you head on, determined not to let the sway you held overtake him. It gave him a look of intensity, green eyes set to yours.

“Oh my dear, I love sweet little things.” he said back. He was about to take a step forward to you when Clint came barreling through at top speed in a clamorous sprint.

“I need more buckets! Stat!” he hollered as he ran through the kitchen and out the other side, leaving you and Loki watching him in vague humourous confusion. “Stat means now!”

A snort got caught in your throat at that, just as your phone alarm went off.

Looking up to Loki, your eyes were bright and smirk just as mischievous as his had been a moment ago.

“Time’s up for the team,” you said excitedly. “The witching hour is about to start.”

The deal was- much to Loki’s delight- that everyone would be paired up going into each room, and he knew he would have to find a way to get you as his partner.

Maybe mortals were used to giving treats on Halloween now, but he wasn’t mortal and tricks were far more his style. So that was his plan tonight. Just a couple simple tricks, nothing too intense or scary. But just enough to get you to jump in his arms for protection (which he’d happily oblige you).

So when it came down to begin this game, he was set to coerce, maim, or kill to get you alone with him. It was down to the last four people: Rhodes, Wanda, you and Loki. And before Loki could make a sly suggestion (before going to a bit more of an extreme route), you spoke up.

“Alright,” you said easily, to Wanda and Rhodes. “You guys go ahead, Loki and I will follow after and end out this haunting.”

The two took off eagerly, wanting to see what was in store for them after watching the other pair go in one by one. That left you and Loki along in a bright empty hallway, waiting for your turn. And the beginning to what was going to be a deliciously fun night for Loki.

“You ready?” you said quietly to Loki. “Because if I know these guys, they will try and make us run out of there screaming. Hope you’re made of strong stuff.”

“I’ve battled creatures you couldn’t begin to fathom, darling,” he said with that usual smirk to your half-eye roll. “But I’ll protect you from whatever lurks in there, I promise.”

You didn’t see his smile grow as he turned towards the entrance of the hallway. It was a long stretch that would lead to the other rooms, and the first stop in this haunted house. Loki held out his hand to you and you took it.

“Shall we?”

Windows lined the long stretch of the corridor to your left and all the way down at the end of the hall. The dark rustling trees outside and cold night gave off that feel of unease, with the only minimal light (if you could call it that) from the half moon outside. The rest of the space was pitch black, though you thought you could make out murky shapes in the darkness.

Taking a few slow steps in, the pair of you looked at each other, you giving half a shrug before carrying on down the dark space.

A low growl ran out from the speakers, the familiar static of a recording sounding with it. Not terribly scary just yet, despite the near pitch blackness and woods outside.

“I guess we’re starting off with werewolves,” you said to yourself.

Just down the hall you saw several pairs of eyes flash to life all at once, like little painted light bulbs. It was decidedly simple but did look a little eerie in the dark.

Loki took step just behind you, eyes on you as he breathed something in existence that was certainly not of Earth.

A moment later, you stopped in your tracks, confused. Instead of the yellowish eyes in the dark, suddenly red ones appeared. Big, gleaming eyes in the blackness like blood painted rubies shone back to you from the end of the hall. And they looked like they were moving closer. And closer… And closer...

The speakers cut out with a catch, but the growling didn’t stop. In fact, it only got louder, more feral, and dripping with predatory aggression. Your head snapped around behind you as you heard more growls in the dark, surrounding you both from either end. Red eyes watched and slowly moved in on you, only a shadowy outline of a hulking, crawling frame accompanying them. And those hungry eyes were fixed on you.

Okay, now you were a touch scared.

“Loki…” you whispered, voice tight with fear. You closed ranks, moving behind the Asgardian as you two stepped back to the window.

Loki wrapped his arms gently around to the small of your back, feeling you breathing increase and heart pound a bit in your chest against his back. You had a beautiful heat coming off of you, causing a tingle to cascade through his always cool skin.

“How are they doing this exactly?” he asked, keeping all amusement out of his voice and a tinge of apprehension there instead, needing to draw out this rouse as long as possible.

“I… I don’t know.” you whispered, eyes darting to either side of you, watching the red eyes get closer.

“Shall I take them, or will you?” Loki asked turning around a bit and unable to hide just a little humour there.

“Ha, ha,” you said back, giving him a light kick to the shins. “Like you could either keep me away from a fight or make me do all the work. Whatever this is, we’re doing it together obviously.”

With a bit of a gulp you stepped out from behind Loki, hand connecting and lingering with his as you moved slowly towards one end of the hall, and Loki the other.

“Listen,” you said tersely to the creature in front of you, jaw clenched. “If you’re Steve in a wolf costume, know that I’m coming at you. Like really coming at you here. So either drop this or expect a trip to the med bay, Rogers.”

But if there was a person in a costume, they made no indication.

Its deep growl became so low that it almost passed into an octave that you couldn’t hear, and its huge shadowy frame began to shift down closer to the ground. Just as it was preparing to pounce, so were you.

The moment it sprung up all chaos was let loose, ear shattering barks and claws scraping against tiles, flashes of dark shadows, blood red eyes, and snapping white teeth in the dark.

You dodged the initial strike, swiftly moving to the side by the skin of your teeth and gripping on the rough fur as it flew to where you stood just a second ago. You held on and used the momentum to throw yourself up onto the huge hunched back of whatever the hell this thing was, the jutting vertebrates digging into you.

Instantly the thing started freaking out, bucking and throwing its snapping teeth back to try and get at you, snarling and furious. In the darkness you locked the monster into a headlock, try to constrict its airways and knock this thing out.

“Jump!” came a voice, knocking the focus out of you and kicking in your reflexes. Instantly you complied, leaping off the creature and crashed to the ground. Just in time for a second beast to go hurling full speed at the thing, sending them both tumbling violently down the hall in a heap.

Hands were on you, lifting you up and carrying you down the hall in the second. As the creatures shook their heads dazed and struggled in the pile of limbs to stand, you and Loki raced by. You crashed through the door to the lit hallway, Loki setting you against the wall quickly before closing and securing the door behind you in a fevered rush.

The moment you were out and free from those things, you were leaned against the wall, hands on your knees, puffing and shaking your head.

“Okay… that may be the first one but that is the one to beat!” you said, straightening a bit and running and hand through your hair.

Loki was up to you in a moment, hands place on your waist and cupping your cheek, his expression concerned and caring.

“Are you alright?” he whispered to you, an innocent concern in his forest green eyes.

You closed your eyes and leaned your face into his hands. The feeling of it sent a bolt of addicting electricity straight through him. Touching you was an intoxication, but having you seek it out? Indescribably exquisite. His cool hand practically burned in the best possibly heat he’d felt.

“Yeah,” you said clearing your throat and straightening up, pulling away from his hand and breaking that electric connection with a snap. “Yeah, that was just… unexpected, I guess.”

Gently Loki tucked your loose hair delicately behind your ear, savouring the feel of you as much as he could and finding himself quite unable to stop touching you.

“They certainly can’t get any worse than that now, can they,” he said warmly, leaning in perhaps a little too much. “To the next?”

The next room was the large boardroom built to host quite a number of people, and much to your delight it was a great deal brighter than the last dark corridor. Also, it had no large dark beasts in it, so that was already a plus.

If the last one was like meeting wolves on a dark dangerous road, this room was like a jello factory exploded and left this room filled with the jiggly, colourful mess.

Big globs of slime were on the tables and chairs, dripping down the wall and ceiling, squelching on the floor as you stepped into the room. It made the room glow in a practically neon way.

You smacked a hand to your face, grin creeping out.

“Guess what this is,” you said, turning to Loki before raising your hands and wiggling your fingers spookily. “The Blob!”

You turned around to look at the complete goopy mess this place was, hand on your hip as you wandered in.

“Clint is going to have an awful time cleaning this up. Yeesh,” you said, picking up a fistful of the wet squishy stuff from the table. “This is just weirdly gross. I hope this isn’t some weird fetish of his…”

“Uh, Y/N?” Loki said. When you turned he was pointing up to a vent just on the wall beside you.

Forcing its way slowly through was more of that blob stuff, pushing through the grates of the vents and moving down the wall with seemingly more purporse than jello should.

“He put it in the vents?! Damn it, Clint.” you mumbled. But that wasn’t the worst of it you soon noticed.

It start coming out from under the door you just entered from too. Then pouring down from the ceiling light fixtures. You clutched Loki’s wrist as a snapping crack rang out, making you jump. You felt your feet shift, looking down in a bit of shock as the tiles were cracking and pushing up, ooze determined to get through.

Maddenly quick the fast unevening floor pushed and toppled chairs, raising up the table and cracking it in two, splitting the drywall, and coming down in huge chunks with the ceiling.

You decided now was the time to run.

You grabbed Loki’s hand, maybe taking two steps before slipping, jerking him down to the ground right on top of you. He ended up with his face coming down on the back of your neck, luckily able to brace slightly so you weren’t completely crushed under his Asgardian body.

You let out a groan, shifting and shuffling on the soaking ground so you were on your back, facing him with a hand on your forehead, eyes shut against the knock of pain the floor had given you.

Meanwhile Loki was transfixed, his body on top of yours with the lightest of pressure and the heaviest of longing in his chest. With every fast breath he lowered himself a touch more down on you, unable to help the temptation to simply be near and locked to you, to feel that sweet heat you gave off across the whole length of his body.

Loki took a second, risking you question of him not moving or demand he get off, staying on top of you with lips trailing just above your cheek...

When your eyes did open they immediately looked behind Loki, spurring you on to scramble up off the cracking vibrating floor. Loki turned, seeing the ooze coming up like a tidal wave about to crash down on you both.

Immediately (for the second time tonight already) he ripped you up from the ground into his arms, racing for the door. He threw himself against it and kicked it closed just as the slime was about to breach the threshold and drown you both.

The force back his kick made ended up pushing you both to the ground, your legs ending up over his lap, head on his shoulder, and back pinning his arm. Your soaked body was practically clinging to him with the slime. The pair of you took a moment together, breathing at your second narrow escape of the night.

“Just don’t tell Clint I thought this was scary, okay?” you said between breaths.

Loki just nodded as you lay there, you focusing instead on wiping slime from your face and arms though you didn’t move to get off him just yet. Loki practically hummed to himself, relishing the feel of your body and legs draped over him and your wet thigh under his hand. Slime covered or not, your skin still felt as great as he knew it would be.

That was the moment he knew he simply loved Halloween.

The next room was in a small but long lab, mostly used as overflow for any big projects Bruce and Tony were working on in the main lab.

This time when you stepped in, you were already holding Loki’s hand, not taking any chances this time. Just as he was hoping. And if he had anything to do about it, that closeness would only increase with each scare. So cautiously and hand-in-hand, you two entered.

The room was bright white and completely empty. As in there was nothing in it at all. No lab equipment to speak of or tables or chairs or fixtures or even outlets. The ceiling was basically a panel of frosted glass serving as one blinding light, while the floors and walls were the same huge white tiles. Nothing else at all.

“Well, this has a vague asylum feel to it,” you said, trying to rationalize what whoever set this up was going for. “Minus the padded walls.”

“Quite underwhelming,” Loki said, looking around, hand still holding onto yours, doing his best to slow his softly moving fingers against your skin.

“Not for long kids!” said Tony’s voice over the speaker, jolting you right up to Loki’s side.

A thin panel quick came down over the door you entered, preventing any escape for whatever Tony had planned, leaving the only escape at the very far end of the room. A moment later you heard a grinding machinery type noise, followed by some loud whirling. It was instantly accompanied by the walls starting to move in.

“Oh great!” you half shrieked, grabbing Loki and running.

But you only made it a few steps when a terribly loud bang from behind the walls sounded, knocking you both to the side and up against the wall. You immediately stumbled back from it, as now the once slowly moving walls were suddenly moving a mile a minute.

“Oh, I regret suggesting this stupid idea!” you yelled into the deafening whirling room, neither of you able to get even footing as you were forced back. “I regret everything in my life leading up to this moment! I regret Tony Stark ever being born!”

In second your back hit the opposing wall, coming up fast to meet you. You kicked out your legs, trying to keep the other wall from moving anymore and crushing you, but it was no use. A few second later you held your arms out against it, the space shrinking so fast you were practically blinded by panic.

Before the wall could reach you, Loki moved from your side to in front of you, your chest to his, bracing one wall with his forearms and one with his back. But even then it wasn’t enough, Loki having to settle for wrapping his arms around you.

Another loud bang and crack sounded, the walls stopping their movement in a jarring lurch. The whirled stopped suddenly, leaving the two of you positively pinned to each other, the only sound in the sudden silence being the breath passing between you.

“Well, holy shit,” Tony sounded after a few moments. You would have jumped at the sound if you could have moved in any way at all. “No idea what in hell happened, but I am fixing it right now, I swear! Don’t die, okay bye.”

There really was nothing to do but stand. You were pressed completely flushed against Loki, barely able to even breathe much less move under him. The cold wall at your back gave you no opportunity to move away. His warm body was lined up with yours, the force of it just on the right side of bearable.

Your legs were a tangle together, hips pinned to hips, stomach and chest pressed to each other, one of your arms caught between you the other stuck to your side as Loki’s arms wrapped around you.

“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea,” you mumbled half-heartedly into his shoulder, not in any way sure if the butterflies and stomach turning was from sheer panic or having the Asgardian so skin-warmingly close.

A soft, low chuckle breathed down your ear and neck, Loki’s head leaned down and lips brushing your cheek.

“No, my little mortal,” he whispered, chest moving with yours hand and arms circling you tightly. “I think you bit off far more than you can chew with this one.”

“Can’t believe my first bad idea will actually be the death of me,” you chuckled nervously, trying to ease the palpable tension at the sudden and extreme closeness you had yet to experience with him.

Your teammate and friend he may be, but that hardly meant you found yourself in this type of situation ever. It was making you positively dizzy.

That laughter ended up with the tiniest squeak from you as Loki tried to shift, the smallest amount of additional pressure stifling. You tried to ignore how beautifully nice it was to have a cool body against yours, the heat flooding your system about to do you under.

“Am I hurting you, darling?” he whispered to you in response to your tiny surprised whimper.

“I…” you started, thankful at least you could hide into his shoulder. “I think a little maybe.”

A few beats passed before he spoke, delicately hushed voice in your ear.

“Then it’s time we left, I believe.”

He moved both his body on the front of your and his hands behind you, leaving you pressed and pulled into him. You turned up to Loki quickly, eyes wide and nose brushing his, about to speak before he cut you off.

“If I can get my hands loose,” he started, green eyes completely filling your view. “I’ll push against the wall and we see about breaking free, hmm?”

You swallowed and nodded once, tip of your nose lightly touching his. He held your stare a moment before shifting again, hands eventually pulling free.

Putting them up against the wall with his cheek leaned down to yours, he pushed. The groaning mechanics behind the wall protested, metal screeching and electronics popping out sharp snaps of sound. Loki breathed heavily in your ear, making a show of exerting himself in effort before with a booming crash the wall fell away.

The sudden loss of pressure against your back caused to you to stumble backwards with the wall, almost hitting the floor before cool strong arms caught you, bring you nose to nose with Loki yet again.

He said nothing, just looked at you as you watched him, the smallest and contentest smile on his face.

The next room was… well, different than the others.

The two of you stopped a couple feet in looking around with pulled together brows and similarly confused expressions.

“Is this…” you started, narrowing your eyes. “Did someone recreate Clint’s bedroom?”

There was about a hundred dirty socks, underwear, and old flannel shirts around a lumpy mattress of a bed and scattered across the entire floor. That was pretty much it. It was minimal to say the least.

“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that Bucky and Sam teamed up to do… this,” you said, pointing out around the room which also included a waste bin in the corner filled with old fruit peels and half-empty milk containers.

“I… have nothing.” Loki said, giving up on what exactly to do with this mess.

“Next?” you said, stepping up to him perhaps closer than you usually did, he thought.

“Please,” Loki said looking to one corner over your shoulder. “Because I do believe they actually put vermin in here.”

You looked over your shoulder to the corner in question, see a bit of movement there too.

“Or the rats just followed the smell from Clint’s actual bedroom…”

Another pitch black room. This time you had wrapped Loki’s arm around your waist and the other went to your hip, pressing fingers and palms into you. Loki was deliciously breathing you in, trying to think of all the delightful ways he could draw his night out. Or perhaps he would just have to resort to scaring you more often?

The thought brought him to an edge, where one side lay the addicting closeness brought on from scaring you, and the other side the soul-warming feeling of protecting you from fear. He wanted the best of both and he’d find a way to get it.

An otherworldly wail built up from the ground in the darkness, and instantly in his arms, you froze.

A whispery white flash moved just out of sight to the your left, and you closed your eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again. Somehow, Loki noticed, you were already more scared than any other room, and he had only barely gotten started. Your skin had turned a bit colder, muscles tight and body stiff, breath shallow and shaky.

Another whip of white to the right and your nails dug into his flesh. Loki loved that feeling, wanting those nail to trance down his bare back…

In full view a devilish looking wraith came flying at the pair of you, shrieking furiously in the darkness.

A blood curdling scream erupted from you, quite unlike the ones you had made previously tonight, instantly turning and clutching into Loki with all the strength you had. You positively buried yourself into Loki’s neck, trying your best it seemed to keep from screaming.

“Loki, I hate ghosts,” you whispered, an octave lower than your usual tone and certainly not at all stable. “I hate them, I’m terrified. Please don’t do this, please just get me out?”

Loki stood there, a little surprised at this. Quick as always he wondered if by your words you knew what game he was playing, or if he had simply taken this too far. He hadn’t know you’d have this reaction though. Instantly he snapped his fingers and the ghosts that had suddenly filled the room left.

Loki lifted you easily, carrying you bridal style through the room and out of it. You didn’t look up, didn’t move from your clutching position in his arms, muscles still tense.

The bright and blissfully normal looking hallway on the other side was filled with Avengers, all trying to figure out what the hell happened tonight and also who had won. From the groups voices and yelling and arguments you heard Thor boom above the rest calling out for Loki in that frustrated motherly way he did, trying to search the crowd and rooms for his brother.

Loki took you down a quiet hall away from the commotion, setting your feet down and leaning you back against the wall. His hands went to your neck, his thumbs pushing your chin up to look at him, his face leaned down barely an inch away from yours.

“The ghosts were a little far, I think,” you said weakly, trying to swallow down some of the fear. What you didn’t do was move away though, sticking close and leaning into his touch. “It may not have taken much, but that was enough of your tricks, I thought.”

“When did you figure it out?” Loki asked, a bit of smug pride that his source of affection and longing saw through the little scheme (yet still let him have his fun, at least until the end).

“The first room, Loki,” you said in an obvious tone with bit of a shaky grin. “Werewolves don’t exist here. Neither does The Blob. And you’re Asgardian by the way, so I don’t doubt if you really wanted out of a room with closing walls you’d just do it and a lot faster. Now, Clint’s dirty gym clothes? That was definitely real and certainly terrifying.”

You chuckled to yourself at your own joke and Loki couldn’t help but watch you, his enjoyment coming from your own.

“Now,” you said, looking a bit more serious. “You’re not usually a jerk… To me anyway. So do you want to tell me what you were trying to do tonight?” You took a deep breath and sighed into him, your body completely flush to his and heavy lidded eyes matching his. “To scare me away, or scare me close?”

“Close, darling,” he whispered, hands moving to pull your lips to his.

Loki leaned in just as you did, closing the infinitesimally small distance together. That electric jolt of pleasure when he touched you was nothing compared to this, his heart and body lighting up like a birth of a new star. Your calming, easy energy shifted to match his fiery one in that moment as your lips moved against his. He was met with a wanting that matched his, a fever that rivalled his own. He was drunk on you in a moment, only retaining the barest of controls as he held your mortal little body under his own.

Pulling away he breathed your air, revelling in it, finally getting what he wanted and knowing he was not about to let it go. That place of longing inside him purred at the connection, deciding to fall on the side of protecting you from fear.

“I should have planned this earlier,” you said, hushed and lids still low with a lingering wanting that Loki was drowning in. “If I had known this was all it would take to get you to kiss me like that.”

“What do you mean?” Loki asked, unable to help grinning at that gleam in your eyes others often saw in his own eyes. Usually it meant pure mischief in him, but with you, there was an undeniable added hint of kindness. “You purposely wanted me to do all this? To frighten you like this, all for a kiss?”

“Of course,” you said, leaning up to kiss him again gently, lingering there just above his lips. Even that small touch made his breath hold in his chest. “I might be sweet but I have some tricks up my sleeve too. Especially on Halloween.”

A/N: Happiest of Halloweens darlings! This was my first Loki fic so I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought?? A reblog or message would make my day!

Permanent Tags: @dontpanc, @smodvocate, @bunsterjonez, @buckybonky, @marveloustrashpanda, @hangirl93, @captainrogerrsbeard, @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen, @thisgirllikeme, @jjsoccer11, @innerpandablizzard-blog, @fanatic-fanfic, @mdgrdians, @christinky, @universal-death-of-a-fangirl, @cauraphernelia, @ailynalonso15, @cassiopeia-barrow, @1elboomdemsechevarria, @cameronskywalker, @rogrsnbarnes, @verygraphicink, @onlyanothersocialcasualty

[finalfandumpxv]

Shades of Life

Crowe Week Day 1 Prompt: Orange (Passing mention to late nights/early mornings too)

@crowedeservesbetter

Written way too quickly on the spur of the moment even though I have only the most tenuous grasp on Kingsglaive and its characters,  and posted before I thought better of, because Crowe deserves better and part of that better is all the fics for Crowe week. If I got something wrong/contradicted canon accidentally while thinking canon doesn’t say enough, yell at me. If you like it, yell at me in a more positive way.

Did I make a tumblr sideblog just to  crosspost this late night, unproofed offering? Maaaybe.

Marmalade

 It would be Crowe’s first memory (first clear and complete memory that lasted to adulthood at least, not part of hazy-edged montages of flickering images–arms reaching down to pick her out of a crib, a blue blanket, throwing up on her second birthday because of too much cake, the stuffed chocobo she’d gotten on her third birthday that had found its way to being tossed into the fire within a month). She was spreading marmalade on bread very carefully, her focus so intent that light, sunny orange blobs of sweetness being smeared by a knife gripped like a  sword in a small closed fist filled her whole field of vision. She had to do it right. It was her job now. Mom hadn’t eaten in three days. Crowe had only had half a jar of peanut butter herself but she had gotten out of bed. Mom hadn’t. Crowe had dressed herself too, though she’d gotten peanut butter on her shirt and her shoes.

 "Made toast,“ She carried the dish she’d prepared over to the bed clutched in her bare hands and laid it down carefully on the edge of the comforter nearest to her mother’s head. There weren’t any clean plates. Her mother rolled over, turning her back on Crowe and the food she’d brought. Crowe thought it was probably because she forgot to make the toast toasted. She wasn’t exactly sure how to make the bread stiff and brown, but she was sure she could figure it out next time.

 "Don’t need Dad.” He left. Crowe’s mother would say he died, later, because she was embarrassed–over not being able to make him stay not because she left a daughter only a few years old to fend for herself while she shut down after. Crowe would hear it so often she believed it after awhile and only started to remember the truth when she was grown, but, when it happened, she had understood much more than anyone gave her credit for. “I make toast.” She would learn at least. She patted her mother’s shoulder, leaving a sticky stain. “We don’t need anyone.”

 Tangerine

  “You look like a princess,” Crowe murmured, eyes wide and voice awed as she watched as her mother twirled and the full skirt of the silky, pale orange dress she wore flew out around her and then settled back to cling to her  legs–too thin, almost skin on bone, covered in scratches and bug bites, but long and graceful like a dancer when she moved.

 "You  think so, baby?“ Rae Altius beamed at her daughter and it made her dark eyes shine. She looked so hopeful, so free in those moments, almost shy as she ducked her head and  curled a lock of the dark hair her daughter had inherited from her around her finger (Hair that was not as lustrous as it had once been even in Crowe’s short memory. Hair that was found on the floor or left behind on a pillow so often Crowe had already started collecting it and stuffing it into a little sack to make what she would call, giggling as she did so, her mommy pillow. Crowe would beat herself up for years, wondering how she missed the signs, how she didn’t know something was wrong, how she couldn’t stop it. She should have gotten her to a doctor. Being six wasn’t an excuse).

 Crowe nodded reverently. "You’re so fancy,” she breathed, still overcome by the way the light caught the fabric of the dress and how soft and rich the material was. For a moment, Crowe’s goal in life was to wear a fancy dress just like the one he mother wore now with jewels sewn to the bodice that matched combs that swept her hair up and a twirly skirt that skimmed tall shoes. The dream was quickly dashed though as soon as her Uncle Jai’s gruff voice chimed in from the corner where he stood scowling, arms crossed.

 "Kid’s wrong. The orange is too bright. You look like Ifrit’s fiery ass,“ Uncle Jai–not her real Uncle, Crowe knew it but knew not to ask why he mother wanted him to call him that after the first time she had made Mommy look so sad–growled and Crowe would have corrected him to say that her mommy looked perfect if he had left a long enough pause before continuing, "But that’s what he sent, that’s what he wanted you in, and I’m not going to argue with the gil. Maybe he wants you to look like Ifrit so you know where you are going to be spending your eternity.” He’d crossed over the floor, covering the room in two long strides then, cording his fingers through Mommy’s hair then, almost dislodging the comb as he roughly tipped her head back. He looked fierce then, teeth bared and eyes showing a manic and cruel gleam when he’d only looked bored a moment before and all through watching Mommy get dressed and fix her hair and makeup. An uncle wouldn’t have watched Mommy dress. Crowe knew it was all wrong, the way he looked at Mommy all the time if he was an uncle, but she couldn’t give a voice to the sick-bad feeling in her stomach and she didn’t want Mommy to be sad when she had been happy all day about going to some fancy party tonight–with a prince, she’d said, even if she’d been careful to correct he wasn’t a real prince. A story prince though, Crowe surmised, and maybe he would rescue Mommy and her and strike down Uncle Jai with a sword. It wasn’t a kind thought, but Crowe knew Uncle Jai wasn’t a kind man like he wasn’t her uncle.

 If the prince didn’t, maybe she could strike Uncle Jai down with a sword when she got bigger, big enough so he couldn’t swat her away like he did then, barely looking as he delivered the backhand that sent her into the wall after she ran at him, head lowered  for the only weapon in her arsenal, the fierce headbutt, to stop him hurting Mommy and messing up her hair, as he looked at both of them like a coeurl about to rip their throats out.

 Crowe’s mother cried out when Crowe hit the wall like she hadn’t when she had been grabbed herself (Crowe would have said not to worry; it didn’t hurt much. She had a hard head, that was why the headbutt was her weapon in the first place, and Uncle Jai had hit her worse before, though she wasn’t supposed to tell Mommy that) and Uncle Jai softened, though he didn’t look kinder for it. He kissed Rae’s forehead and Crowe growled again, though she was paid no mind. “I’m sorry, baby.”  Uncle Jai’s arms left Rae’s hair, hands shaking off strands that had come loose onto the floor, and wrapped around Rae’s waist. They swayed together like they were dancing, and it looked friendly but Crowe couldn’t help but still be on edge. “You’re making us money. You’re the one keeping us off the street, and here I am getting all jealous.”

 Crowe was forgotten on the sidelines now. Her mother hadn’t even checked to see if she was unhurt after all, and she’d stopped looking mad and scared. She was smiling her soft, glowy smile for Uncle Jai and cooing reassuring words at him now, telling him how he’d saved her, reminding him that she and Crowe had been on the street until he found her and let her and her daughter into his home.

 Crowe had liked the street better, but nobody asked her.

 Crowe stopped listening until she realized Uncle Jai was looking at her with his unkind eyes and smiling a yellow almost orange smile at her that made the bad-wrong feeling flip in her stomach again. “Won’t be too many years before we can fix you up all pretty and you can do your part too,” he suggested and it sounded taunting. Rae told him to stop, and she sounded serious, but there was an indulgent smile on her lips that muddled everything.

 Crowe shook her head violently, not really understanding what she was disagreeing with, just sure she didn’t want whatever Uncle Jai wanted for her. She didn’t want the soft tangerine dress anymore and she didn’t want to be pretty–not even if she could meet a prince like her Mommy because the prince could be Uncle Jai and then the next prince worse not better. She would be her own prince. Now she was sure. She didn’t need anyone.

 Salamander

 Crowe could feel the flush on her face and the way her skin stretched tight. Her lips were breaking open too where they had been chapped but bearably so previously. She couldn’t bring herself to turn away from the fire or even back up an inch. She flexed her hands, already reached out toward the dancing, entrancing orange flames, stretching her fingers maybe a centimeter closer. She’d been so cold for so long she could still feel it in her bones–though maybe the shivering now was more a reflex to the sudden influx of heat. Crowe would bake before she backed away though.

 It had been raining for days and everything too wet to start a fire for days after that. She’d thought she’d constructed her house well, but the shelter still leaked and stuff got drenched from drips no matter where she moved them. It shouldn’t have been that way, though the unfairness and frustration of it had kept her heated enough not to freeze.

  It still shouldn’t have been that way. She’d listened to everything Magda had told her–except when Magda told her to make up with Rocko and go back to the warehouse his gang stayed in. Magda didn’t understand. She wouldn’t have suggested Crowe go back if she knew why Crowe had left, what Rocko had suggested when it became clear Crowe wasn’t a good enough pickpocket to bring in her share.

 She’d be fine. She’d make a better shelter. She didn’t need Rocko for that or for protection. She’d been watching out for herself for half her life, ever since her mother had died and she left Jai’s house out her bedroom window in the night before he could give her away or sell her. He’d threatened the former, told her it was going to be an orphanage (He’d said he wasn’t the fatherly type, that much they agreed on); the latter had been a fear she’d drawn up in her own mind, but she really wouldn’t put it past him. She’d been on her own much longer than that even, if she felt like admitting it. She didn’t need anyone. She just needed the salamander orange flames of the fire right now.

 A hand grabbed her shoulder from behind and she struck back with an elbow angled for gut or groin and the quick stomp of a foot behind her. Elbow missed but foot made comment and got a howl and the hand recoiling from her shoulder even though she had felt what seemed like a large, thick boot. Pansy.

 “I’ve got a knife!” she screamed for good measure even as her brain and body froze between whether to keep hitting or run.

 “Easy kid,” a man’s voice rumbled, almost sounding amused, stretching the three syllables into at least twice that. Crowe turned to see her attacker, a tallish man–tall compared to a gangly young teen at least– with a round face and long brown hair in a ponytail almost as messy as hers. He held his hands up placatingly. “No need for a knife. Didn’t mean to scare ya. Wanted to ask if you were lost and needed help getting out of the neighborhood. Not a good place for a kid, not this late.”

 “I’m not a kid,” Crowe shot back automatically, eyeing the man warily and planning an exit strategy if she had to run, as she was blocked between the man and the fire. “You always grab people without so much as hello?” She lifted her chin defiantly, as if to say she was on to him.

 The man chuckled, lowering his hands slowly so she could see every bit of movement and wiping them on his pantlegs before holding one out to her just as slowly. “That was my mistake. Hello, name’s Libertus Ostium. You lost, miss?”

 She didn’t take the hand. “No. Go away.”

 “Okay, Okay,” the hand dropped and another chuckle came. He didn’t show any sign of turning away or backing up. “Do you need help home?”

 “I am…” She knew she had made a mistake when she saw the almost comic shock of realization flicker on the man’s face and she tried to correct. “No! Go away!” She balled her fists as her voice rose again and stretched into a wordless whine that caused the man that wouldn’t go away to chuckle again, though it was more of the helpless, nervous kind as he still looked unsettled at the idea the alley and the fire in the trash can  might be her home. “Stop laughing at me. Your voice is annoying.” She gritted her teeth, wanting to lash out or–Six forbid–cry, still feeling cornered even though this Libertus didn’t seem like a threat and she could and had dealt with more formidable even if he turned.

 He frowned at that, eyes turning puppy-like. Stupid for a grown man to have such easily bruised feelings. “Can’t help the voice I was born with. Don’t be unkind. You know,” he injected a pause and a thoughtful look that looked acted and made Crowe suspicious again, “My buddy is coming over for dinner at my house and he’s bringing his little sister. It would help the dinner party if I had a sister of my own about her age to keep her company. Someone to fill in for a sister of my own, I mean. I don’t got one.”

 “Are you inviting me to your house?” she was so incredulous the fear was receding.

 Libertus rubbed the back of his head with a hand. “Yeah,” he grudgingly admitted. “Sounds creepy that way.”

 “What way wouldn’t it sound creepy?” her hands were on her hips now.

 “The way where you don’t stick me with your knife and forget what I said and I ask instead if I can bring you leftovers. I make a lot of food. There’ll be leftovers.”

 “Why would you do that?”

 “Why wouldn’t I?”

 “I don’t need a hand-out.”

 She didn’t need anyone.

 “Well, if you’d rather me ‘ave to throw it out…”

 “….I’ll take it if you’re going to waste it.”

 Tiger

 Fire from her hand–powered by the man attached to the gloves that hovered above and below her own hands, but powered by her too and floating just above her cupped palms–was a different color than any fire she’d made with wood or newspaper. It had an extra intensity, the shade of magic that could and would change her life.

 “I knew she’d have a gift if you tested her.” Libertus couldn’t have sounded prouder. Crowe would have scowled at him and told him her talent wasn’t his victory, but over the past eighteen months he’d grown on her enough– broke her down enough through constant kindness and proved he wanted nothing in return until she found herself half living at his house, coming and going like some stray cat he’d decided was his pet and lured in with food but couldn’t completely tame and contain–  that instincts blurred and she went a bit pink as if the compliment to her had been more direct.

 Magic. She could do magic. It was a fantasy.

 “Does she know any self-defense? We’ll take the young but we don’t take children,” the man with the gloves–Glaive if she remembered the introduction–spoke to Libertus not her.

 “She does and she can speak for herself,” Crowe snapped with less bite than she might have otherwise, part due to riding the high of doing magic still, part holding back because she wanted to join Lib and Nyx taking up the offer made by Glaive on behalf of King Regis more than anything she had ever wanted.

 She wanted to fight, to avenge Galahd.

 She wanted a future.

 She wanted to be taught how to be deadly not just scrappy.

 She wanted to stay with Lib. She didn’t need it, but she wanted it.

 “Then why don’t you show me what you got.

 Papaya

 The training mats had been dark orange once, but age had turned them sickly and pale. Peach or papaya mats and yet Crowe was the one that bruised like overripe fruit every time she was thrown down, which still happened too often even a year into training. She was one of the smallest and youngest but she was supposed to be a prodigy like Cor Leonis. So far, she was no Cor Leonis. She’d prove herself in time though, even if it took a thousand more tumbles into papaya to learn how not to get hit.

 Vermilion

 Nyx had called the lining of her cape scarlet, but it was technically deep red-orange. Vermilion. She’d been teased for not being seen in civilian clothes even when off duty in the month since she’d gotten the uniform that marked her as a full member of the Kingsglaive mages, but the gentle weight of the cape on her shoulders and the hug of her bodysuit filled her with too much pride and the almost forgotten feeling of genuine, simple happiness to give up just yet. At least she’d assured Nyx she didn’t shower in uniform.

 It wasn’t a tangerine princess dress. Vermilion was so much better.

 She was the prince savior of herself she’d wanted to be.

 Pumpkin

 “It’s your favorite.” Lib was so sure of himself as he set the bowl of soup before her.

 Crowe lifted a thin, dully orange spoonful to eye-level and then let it drip back into the bowl.”According to who?”

 Lib opened and shut his mouth without making a sound then huffed. “Try it. I’ve seen you inhale field rations. My cooking ain’t that bad compared to that.”

 “What is it?” she pressed, scooping up more glob and then dumping back to the bowl once more, still playing like she was five and not twenty. “What’s wrong with Yamachang’s?”

 “It’s your birthday. I was trying to have a family dinner.”

 Crowe bit her tongue before telling Lib he wasn’t her family. He opened his mouth to retort before realizing she hadn’t said anything then shut it again with a truly nauseating smile taking over. The resulting warm aura and companionable silence made Crowe regret holding herself back.

 “Is there cake at least?”

 Sunset/ Sunrise

 Nighttime vigils over the years–on duty and off times just sitting up all night and talking from dusk to dawn– made up a lot of memories, all blurred together like years long past instead of recent. Crowe wouldn’t be able to pick out one from another, but wouldn’t trade a single one. None of them had been alone

 Lib. Nyx. Pelna. Luche

 She still didn’t need other people, but maybe they were nice, and sure she had saved herself, but maybe there were princes too.

 Rust

 They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die. Staring at livid orange rust on a creaking metal fence long away from anywhere she should be, surrounded by a pool of her own blood, Crowe saw it all, passing too fast, especially the good parts that seemed to linger less than the early bad. There should have been more than this, but then her life never had been fair.

[ragehappysecretsanta]

Author: http://teethhunter.tumblr.com

Recipient: http://thehorseshowgay.tumblr.com

Summery: Who would want a killer as a soul mate? Ryan asked himself every time he saw his mark. All he could hope for was his match was happy without him, that they would never meet.

Warnings: Minor mentions of wounds, panic attacks

Word Count: 3158

Ryan’s just out of high school the first time he kills a man. It was a sloppy, bloody affair really and he doesn’t feel even a twinge of regret for it though he knows he’s supposed to. His hands are shaking but not from remorse, rather the after effects of a pleasant adrenaline rush. In fact he feels fantastic up until the moment he peels his bloodied shirt off to shower and catches a glance at himself in the mirror. The mark on his shoulder was as bold and stationary as ever. He had never taken into consideration this possibility; really his soul mate was the last thing on his mind when he sliced through a man.

See, soul mate marks weren’t immovable permanent things. People are capable of change even to such a degree that a person that once would have brought out the best in them no longer do. Not only that, but people can die and people can turn so sour to the world that all they want to do is cause harm. Marks are as malleable as a human soul itself is. Some people’s mark with reform a multitude of times in their life where some stay static until the day they die. Even still there were some whose mark never stayed in one form, an ever shifting amorphous blob. That is what Ryan fully expects to see in the mirror, a swirling shape that never stills. Yet it’s the same shape as always and it’s making him sick to his stomach to look at.

~~~

Jeremy is one hundred and fifty job applications, a year’s worth of customer service work, and thousands of dollars of student debt deep into hell. Half dead from a slew of fifteen hour shifts, he finally got a day off. He spent this rare break with his friend Matt; though they worked at the same store they rarely saw each other between rushing around making up for the sorely understaffed lines. Surrounded by mountain of takeout boxes and a few open two liter bottles they played Halo in relative silence, after days upon days of forced social interaction neither of them wanted to talk just for the sake of talking. So when Matt spoke it very nearly startled him.

“We’re gonna die being screamed at about expired coupons and cleaning up spilled cereal, aren’t we?”  Matt’s eyes were still fixed on the TV as he spoke.

“I mean… it’s not how I want to go but right now it’s looking like that or dying on the streets instead,” Jeremy shrugged, maybe it was just exhaustion but the idea of that life brought nothing but apathy today.

“Just want stable money, time to get some sleep, and maybe someday time to find whoever has a matching mark,”

“Around here you’d have to be a hit man to live a life like that,”

“Let’s do it,” Matt suggested, glancing at Jeremy. He couldn’t decide if it was a joke or not. “I mean, for all the cynical shit you’re saying right now I know you’re actually starry eyed and dreaming about that right?”

They might have been joking around, but Matt’s words rang true on more than one level. For one, in a city teeming with criminals it was clear to see that could be the easier way to make a living. Jeremy kept up with the news of crew activity, not out of fear for himself but out of some morbid curiosity. He never once mentioned it to anyone but he may or may not have been just a bit of a fanboy of Fake AH, their new and creative ways of wreaking havoc were strangely exhilarating to read about.

Then there was the second bit of what Matt was talking about, secure life, happily living with a soul mate, all that idealist stuff. Jeremy wanted to claim he didn’t think too much about it. He didn’t want to be one of those weirdos that devoted their whole lives to finding their match only to discover their soul mate wasn’t into the idea at all. But hope was persistent and about as easy to crush as a boulder. He couldn’t help imagining what it’d be like. He never ventured to guess what they might look like, or even gender. Still, he could imagine someone he felt safe with, someone he could joke with, where trust was just intrinsic and where things just worked.

Jeremy paused the game, giving no explanation. He thought about it for a second before tugging on the neck of his shirt to show the mark on his shoulder, staring at it for a long moment. He didn’t have any problem letting Matt see it, he didn’t particularly care if anyone saw it actually.

“It’s been the same shape my whole life. I dunno man, think whoever my soul mate is would be cool with me living a life of crime?” He joked.

~~~

A year and a half later Jeremy’s no longer working in Retail Hell. He’s running prep jobs for heist by the very crew he used to admire from afar. It’s not glamorous but it pays well enough he can move into a better apartment and adopt a cat and not worry about food. He and Matt didn’t become hit men like they once joked about but they both slipped into the life of crime easily. Turns out Jeremy had a real knack for this stuff and a flair for the dramatic that fit right in with the crew. The longer he stayed on, the more he got to talk with the main crew. He could dogpile onto their teasing bullying, and take his lumps when the teasing turned on him. Much to Gavin’s glee, Jeremy would take any bet thrown at him regardless the price set on it.

It was a surprise to no one but Jeremy himself the day that Geoff offered him a spot in the main crew.

What was a surprise to everyone however was how well he clicked with Ryan.

It started small, with Ryan’s willingness to take off his mask around Jeremy. Then little things like making sure Jeremy was actually okay after some of the more wild and demanding bets, or kind hellos when he walked in the room and taking Jeremy’s side when the typical teasing picked up. Soon enough it was more than that, any partnered job they worked together on. Ryan got quicker and quicker to move to Jeremy’s side when they had to pair up. As it turned out Jeremy had bloodlust to match Ryan’s. They were Battle Buddies through and through.

~~~

Ryan has shown his mark willingly to exactly one person since he was seventeen years old. He wasn’t the quickest to trust people and was shier than he’d ever admit. He held the heavy weight of knowing he was too screwed up to deserve anyone. Fake AH were the first people to ever break through the wall he built up, after all they were all remarkably screwed up too. So he built tentative connections with them, laughed with them, played their silly games, even eventually taking his mask off around them. Still some things were off limits, physically he kept his distance, and anytime soul mate marks were mentioned he left the room.

The first person to see his mark wasn’t in the crew at all.

Bars generally weren’t Ryan’s favorite place to be, but every other Friday he went to a different one. It wasn’t for the drinks or the atmosphere, yet there he sat in a dimly lit and busy bar on a Friday night. It was five minutes later when someone took a seat right next to him, he didn’t need look to see who it was. As per usual, before even greeting him Meg ordered him a Diet Coke, and herself an actual cocktail.

“Want to give any drinks a try tonight, big guy?” She asked Ryan. They came here to people watch, find any fun leads to follow or useful information. But along with that they had a long standing game of seeing if there were any alcoholic drinks he actually liked. So far one ice cream based drink and fruity champagne were the only ones he deemed tolerable.

Ryan shook his head. "No thanks. Spare me the torture. You’re on a streak of picking the ickiest ones,”

“Aw, you’re no fun Rye,”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but even his face concealed he surely was smiling. He knew she wasn’t actually pressuring him into it.

They’d been casually watching people and chatting for an hour when the topic changed in a way Ryan dreaded.

“You have any idea who your soul mate is?” The question had him freezing up and glancing at the nearest exit, calculating possible escapes.

Meg noticed his reaction, but took it in stride. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.” She winked jokingly, frowning when he remained frozen.

“Hey it’s okay. What, are you afraid you’ll actually show your soul mate it?” For as distant as he liked to try to be, maybe that made sense that he’d be afraid. His slight nod confirmed it.

“Okay, here then.” She turned, lifting her shirt slightly to show the mark on her hip. “Not matching right? So you’ve got nothing to worry about,” The way his shoulders relaxed told her she’d been right to do this. “Though we could totally go to one of those psychics that do mark readings, they can just tell us we were meant to be best friends,”

“You know those are a hoax.” At least he was calm enough to bicker again.

“Still’s fun though. But I guess we don’t need them to tell us what we already know.”

“I’ll… show you, just not here okay?”

Meg was the first person to see Ryan’s mark and the first person to understand that he feared for the day he met his match.

It was the first time Ryan admitted to himself that he was scared.

~~~

Everything was okay between Ryan and Jeremy until it wasn’t. Battle Buddies were going strong, and then there was the job that went all wrong. They were laid out on the side of the road, both worse for wear but Ryan was holding onto consciousness a whole lot better than Jeremy was. He rolled over onto his knees and inched his way over to Jeremy, things didn’t look good. There were pieces of shrapnel littering his body and a concerning amount of blood pooling up. Ryan did whatever he could, ripping away what was left of Jeremy’s shirt to try and find the worst source of the bleeding. For a split second his eyes rested on that oh so familiar mark on Jeremy’s shoulder and his blood ran could. No, he couldn’t think about this right now, this was a problem for another time, if ever there would be another time.

Jeremy couldn’t figure out what he did wrong. Ryan wouldn’t even look in his direction anymore. At first it just made Jeremy antsy, he tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, Ryan must just need his space he tried to tell himself.  But then anytime Jeremy walked into the room, Ryan would walk right out regardless of what he was in the middle of.

The third time it happened the lads and Ryan were the penthouse squabbling over a game when Jeremy walked in. Ryan froze, almost mechanically dropping his controller, standing up and walking out of the room.

“What’d you do him?” Gavin asked, squeaking when that question earned him an elbow to the ribs from Michael.

Jeremy crumpled, the mountain of paranoia and guilt that’d been building up toppled over on him. Some days it was hard to believe anyone in the crew liked him, though those days happened less and less as he established himself as one of them. Now all that fear came flooding back, did any of them even like him? Had Ryan just been keeping up pretenses the entire time and was sick of him now?

Michael was quick to put an arm around Jeremy, dragging him over to the couch. “Hey, don’t listen to him. Ryan’s just being a moody dick, you know how he gets.”

“Yeah… didn’t mean that, bet he’s just making a whole stink. I mean he spent a month shooting me with BBs every time I walked in the room, he’s just got odd ideas right?” Gavin wasn’t the most reassuring but he tried, wrapping an arm around Jeremy as while to pile up on them.

~~~

It doesn’t get worse. In fact there are brief moments where Jeremy thinks things are getting better between the two of them again. When Ryan stops running out of the room at the very sight of him, or when actually makes eye contact with Jeremy again. But it doesn’t get any better than that for months.

Four months later they’re partnered together for a job once again. It’s absolutely Geoff’s doing, he’s sick of seeing this miserable, passive fight going on. Ryan was stiff as a board and all the worry Jeremy had been combating for months crept back up on him. Neither of them could keep this up.

They drove in silence; as much as Jeremy wanted to turn on the radio and drown it all out he just dug his nails into his palm instead. When they parked it was suddenly all too much for him, he finally broke.

“What’s going on with you, man?”

Ryan didn’t respond, he gripped the steering wheel tighter even though they were motionless.

“Did I do something, did I say something, what?”

Still there was no response.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong,”

“Nothing it’s-it’s nothing. Let’s just do our job,” Ryan got out of the car, slamming the door on his way out. At least Jeremy couldn’t see his face.

Ryan had been caught in a whirlwind of panicked thoughts for months. He had never wanted to find his soul mate, no one should have to be his soul mate. Yet here his match was, and strangely, painfully, it all made sense. They fit together so well. Ryan couldn’t deny how terrified he’d been when he thought Jeremy might die, or how he practically melted anytime he heard the other laugh even now when things were so tense, hearing Jeremy from a distance did things to Ryan. It really did make sense. Here was someone in the same line of work as him, someone who got the same thrill from the kill and from the destruction left behind. They were both messed up, but that didn’t make this any easier after years of telling himself he wasn’t worth it.

They hardly said a word to each other during the job. It was tense up until the moment things turned into a big and bloody fight. There was no room for tension between them then, they were in their element and for the first time in months felt right in standing side by side.

“Starting to look like Battle Buddies are bad luck huh? Second time in a row we got caught.” Jeremy laughed as he said that, favoring his left side a little where he definitely had a few bruised ribs.

Ryan looked worse, he had a nasty slash across his torso, and though mostly superficial it still bled a fair bit. To Jeremy’s surprise, he actually chuckled though.

“We’re both conscious though, that’s a plus.”

“Not for long if you let that keep bleeding. You should probably get that shirt off. It’s got other people’s blood on it, not exactly what you want in an open wound.” The shirt was pretty much in tatters anyways, practically falling off of Ryan. In fact… no, Jeremy told himself he was seeing things, that the adrenaline high was making him jittery and weird because he could have sworn he saw…

Ryan’s hand immediately covered the exposed mark with a rushed slap that had to have stung.

Maybe he wasn’t hallucinating after all, Jeremy thought. That was the last thought he had before crossing the few feet distance between the two of them and wrenching Ryan’s hand away to get a clear look. He was shaking, staring at the twin of his own mark, momentarily unaware that Ryan was frozen in panic.

“You knew,” It wasn’t an accusation, but rather like Jeremy was thinking out loud. Suddenly his shock and wonder turned sour.

“Why didn’t you just say something? If you don’t believe in the marks, if you didn’t want to be with me then you could’ve just said it! You didn’t need to hate me for it.”

“I don- I didn’t- I… can’t breathe,” There was no escape and Ryan didn’t know what to do.

Concern tempered Jeremy’s hurt and anger somewhat. Taking inventory of the situation he could say this could be going better; they were standing in an alleyway, both injured, and Ryan was having a panic attack.

“Okay, uh, let’s just get back to the car, kay?” Jeremy’s words were softer now, putting a hand on Ryan’s back he lead the way to where they’d parked.

He grabbed a towel from the trunk for Ryan to put pressure on his wound. This time he took the driver’s seat and this time he turned on the radio.  He didn’t speak for a long time, not until Ryan’s breathing was slow and even, and not until he was sure he could speak without sounding like he was on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry. Y’know for getting grabby there, making you show me it when you didn’t want to,”

There’s a long moment where only radio ads fill the silence before Ryan speaks.  “I’m bad at this. I don’t hate you.”

“What’s going on then?”

“I shouldn’t have a mark.”

Jeremy turned then, half climbing out of his seat to lean over Ryan. “If you’re seriously implying that because of your job you don’t deserve someone I’m going to lose it I swear. Because hi, I’m Jeremy Dooley, I kill for a living too, I enjoy it, and oh hey, I’m also your soul mate would you look at that?”

Ryan laughed weakly to himself, taking his mask off. Hearing that out loud grounded him. “Is it better if I just say I’m scared?” There wasn’t a lie in that, he was trying to smile but he looked terrified.

“If you’ll stop running, yeah man, I can work with that. We can leave digging into what scares you for another day, but I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry for all of that. I won’t run.” Ryan hesitated before snaking his arms around Jeremy for a hug. It probably caused more pain than would normally be worth it with Jeremy’s ribs and Ryan’s gash, but right now neither of them cared.

[flowersintheimpala99]

Aah, for a radmond request, maybe do something where raymond finds out about one of rad's insecurities?? :O

Another Anon:  If you’re still doing the Radmond thing, maybe their first fight? Like, not their usual fighting but yelling and stuff Sorry this is confusing. Also, I realllly love your stories and they make me smile a lot

(yes this is my first two for one deal, I feel like these would just go together so well also fhdjsf Anon you’re gonna make me cry from the sweet compliment also I get that 100% emotional fight not physical also whoops I think I made myself cry hahA)

The cup hit the wall with a loud thud, the glass shattering on impact. The two stared each other down from opposite ends of the living room, the movie long forgotten in the background of their battlefield. Teeth were bared, hands curled into tight, shaking fists, and for the first time in a long while, it seemed as if they’d return to their old ways. Raymond was the first one to break, a choked sob tearing its way from his throat as the levity of the situation hit him like a tsunami. Rad just stood there, his body unmoving except for the slight shaking in his fists and quiver to his lower lip.

Raymond wiped at his eyes angrily, because of course, he’d be the one crying. It would never be Rad, no, not Mr. Stoic. He didn’t have any emotions at all, he was just chill all the time. Except he wasn’t. Raymond knew he wasn’t, and that was what made this whole situation so much worse. Rad didn’t let his guard down around anybody, it seemed, not even his boyfriend. This whole stupid argument had started because of that, because Raymond had the nerve to ask Rad why he didn’t ever cry at this one sad movie, and then it had all spiraled out of control so, so quickly.

Rad had made an off hand comment about being too strong to cry, and Raymond had gotten upset at that because he was a crier, hell, he’d just gotten over crying when Rad had said that! Then came the frantic back pedaling on Rad’s part, that frantic moment when he realized he’d just accidentally insulted his boyfriend, but he couldn’t stop putting his foot in his mouth! Even when he was apologizing, he still made it sound like Raymond was being too sensitive!

And here they were, nearly twenty minutes later, a shattered glass on the floor and tears streaming down their faces. No, scratch that. Tears streaming down one of their faces. Because Raymond was the weaker one, wasn’t he? He was the one who got emotional over the little things and had the gall to actually show how he felt instead of just bottling it up.

“You know, it’s really sad that the robot emotes better than the organic.”, he finally spat out, the word organic like bitter poison on his synthetic tongue. Oh, the shocked look on Rad’s face was worth the bitterness, though. “So you finally figured out how to emote, huh? Guess you aren’t quite as chill as you pretend to be.”, he continued, taking a step towards Rad. “Why don’t you let anyone in, Radicles? I… I don’t care if you cry, you know that, right?”, he asked, an accusatory edge creeping into his voice. “I love you.”, he stated flatly, watching the way Rad flinched at the three words.

His eyes widened, the tears becoming so bad that everything just looked like a colorful blob now. That was it, wasn’t it? God, Shannon had been right! A hero like Rad couldn’t love him, not in a million years. He should’ve known, really.

“That’s the seventh time I’ve said that, and the seventh time you haven’t said it back.”, he accused, taking another step forwards, then three more as his anger grew. “Why don’t you ever say it back, huh? You too good for a bad guy like me now? Your real flesh too good for my synthetic skin?”, he continued, his voice rising in volume and pitch. It wavered, cracking from time to time as the waterworks really began. “Well, say something! Answer me you damn organic!”, he shouted, feeling the anger and frustration boiling over. Rad was just standing there, that stupid, stoic look on his stupid face again!

“… Fine. I see exactly how it is.”, Raymond mumbled, starting towards the door. He felt hot and ashamed, horribly exposed and raw all at once. He hated it, hated that after everything that had just gone down, he still wanted nothing more than to have Rad kiss away the hurt. He didn’t like this pain, this awful tearing sensation at his heart. He would’ve rather been in a fight, a real fight. Father could always patch him up when he got damaged from those, but even Father’s genius was limited.

“Do you have any idea how scared I am?”, Rad asked, catching Raymond’s attention. He hesitated in the doorway, his hand hovering a few inches from the doorknob. Despite every processor in his CPU screaming for him to just leave, he felt himself turning back around. Suddenly, he wondered why he ever wanted to see Rad crying, because now the sight of tears slipping down turquoise skin only served to make him feel ill. Rad was the one who moved now, closing the distance between them until only a few inches remained.

“I’ve never felt anything like this before, Raymond. Not with a girl, and certainly not with a guy. Do you know how terrifying that is?”, Rad asked, wiping at his eyes angrily as he tried to clear them. Raymond didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to fix this situation. So he decided to just listen because this very well could be the only time Rad ever opened up to him. The silence seemed to spur Rad on, and words were suddenly spewing from his mouth like lava from a volcano.

“I’m not like you Raymond, not at all. I’m not strong like you are, and I’m not open like you are. You have never cared what others think, besides maybe close family, but that makes sense. I need people to like me, Raymond! Because if they don’t like me, then who the fuck will? It certainly isn’t me, that’s for sure! It’ll never be me because I hate myself! ”, he continued frantically, gesturing wildly to himself. He paused, the tears turning into heart-wrenching sobs that had been pushed down for far too long. Raymond barely managed to catch Rad before he slumped against him, his entire frame shaking with the force of his cries.

He was at a loss for words, what exactly was he supposed to say when his boyfriend had just admitted to hating himself? He decided to just let this episode run its course, and carefully sunk down to the floor with Rad. The two sat there for god knows how long, one comforting the other while he finally let himself go. The tears eventually lessened to watery hiccups, the occasional half-hearted sob breaking through, but Raymond didn’t let him go. He just kept holding him to his chest, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his back as he began whispering sweet nothings to him.

“You don’t have to pretend to be infallible… At least not around me, darling.”, he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Rad’s forehead. The affection only served to make him shudder as a few months worth of emotion was wrung out of him. He felt empty now, terribly drained, but… It was freeing, in a way. He closed his eyes, his breathing evening out slightly. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. I won’t let you go, my sweet. I promise…”, Raymond said, pulling him even closer. So he was damaged, badly damaged, even. They were both badly damaged in their own way, but they could build each other up. They could be there for each other, hold the other when they had to let go.

“I… You know that I… Really really care, right?”, Rad asked sleepily, looking up at his boyfriend. Raymond nodded, giving him a little smile before he kissed him lightly on the lips. He didn’t have to say it now, he knew what he meant.

“Of course, my darling.”, he whispered back, watching as his boyfriend smiled back. He was still smiling when he fell asleep, a peaceful look on his face for once. Raymond held him tighter, even closer than before, because… Well, his love was too good to lose. And he’d be damned if he let Rad wall himself up again, and lose the love he held for the alien. They needed each other, maybe more than anyone else could realize. Raymond’s eyes slowly fluttered shut, his own breathing calming until it matched Rad’s. The two slept soundly that night, despite being on a very uncomfortable floor.

In the morning, they’d have to face the aftermath for real. Rad would have to sweep up the glass, and Raymond would have to have a serious discussion with him about his emotional well-being. They would work through this, and they’d do it together. Because even if he couldn’t say it just yet, Rad loved Raymond. It was scary to even think about, but he knew it as he knew Raymond loved him. And when you love somebody, you are willing to work things through instead of just giving up the moment it seems difficult.

But for now, they’d simply take comfort in each other’s presence, and sleep.

(sorry it’s kinda short and poop. just typing this made me feel emotionally exhausted for some reason. I swear these feelsy asks are so amazing y’all)

[matesinspace]

Random Space Blob

Cruising through the galaxy to her next assignment, Firebird was on her way to Kodea, a stretch of planets that was near the Galaxy of Elves. Elduin wanted to show her something there.

She was at her peak when flying comfortably through a metal can in space.

Peace.

Quiet.

Serenity.

Whistling happily, she predicted that nothing would stop her.

A generously sloppy and wet-sounding splat interrupts her daydreaming. She screams without thinking and almost falls back in her seat.

Lo and behold! A grey-colored blob has blocked off half of her ship’s glass front window.

Eyes widening in fright, she pulled on a lever to turn on the window wipers. “What the hell is that thing!?”

To her surprise, the blob sprouted eyes.

It was no ordinary blob. It wasn’t debris either. It was... a sentient space blob.

The windshield wiper smacked it in the middle of its face, right between its eyes and into its gaping pothole of a mouth. The being started making strange, gurgling noises. No doubt about it. It wasn’t easy having a wiper dragging you across the glass by the inside of your mouth.

Was it crying? Stopping the wiper’s movements, she was shocked to see the blob shift and convulse; turning into what looked like …

a fluffy cat.

A big, fat fluffy cat.

Firebird felt her heart instantly pierced by the god of love, Cupid.

The cat looked into her eyes, large pupils drawing forth emotions like sympathy and compassion. The sentient blob knew this would work. The squealing was a common side effect among humans. Especially the long-haired ones known as “females.” He would use this to be taken inside the spaceship. Why?

He had taken a mild liking towards the facial features of this strange earthling female.

Taking off his plush face mask and feather boa, Prince Elduin Ilithor Airdan Olivan Pertoris Legolas Delmuth Gilmoir Wyn Ravador Wallaway Prince of the Third Round Table Executive Order of Arendell’s Extraterrestrial Moon Elves (5th Generation of Royals) arose from his slumber. Walking over to where FB was, he put his arms around her waist. “Aw, you’re so cute with that cat.”

Another female. The sentient space blob observed. It was taller than the red-haired earthling, so it must have stronger resolve. He must bring out the big guns in order to be taken in.

There was another creature he knew of that elicited strong reactions from earthlings.

The fat cat rolled over and turned into a seal.

A fat, fluffy seal with large puppy eyes and plentiful folds of flabby fat layers.

Firebird was going to explode with cuteness aggression. Her eyes twitched.

The seal was on its back, waving its chubby flippers helplessly in the air. It looked like it couldn’t move. It rocked back and forth, belly in the air, then gave up - opting to lay mildly on the glass windshield.

Elduin’s face was full of glee.

It let out a little cry and shivered like a wee leaf in the wind. “THAT’S IT I’M TAKING IT HOME.”

“Yes! Go rescue the lil seal pup!” Elduin cried.

With the push of a button, Firebird was in her spacesuit. She floated into the airlock above and prepared to take off towards the ball of fat.

It was starting to roll off due to its weight. Heart beating fast, she jettisoned towards it and caught the lil seal pupper in her arms. She let out a sigh of relief.

She has nice facial  features. Very symmetric. The blob thought.

As she went back into the airlock, she hugged the smol creature against her chest.

I’m in Heaven and I don’t know why … I must be in the arms of an angel. The space blob ultimately decided. I will keep her.

“CAN WE KEEP HIM?” Firebird screamed. “ACTUALLY THAT’S NOT A QUESTION. WE’RE KEEPING HIM.”

The seal rolled aimlessly on the girl’s lap and looked at the blonde female. This one was uglier than the redhead, but still quite beautiful. For some reason, this one had a deep voice, similar to a human male. The specimen also lacked mammary glands. Quite unsightly.

The space blob decided he would not keep this one.

“Hey there, wittle guy!” Elduin cooed, about to pat the seal’s head.

The seal lunged forward and bit him. “My MaNiCuRe!!!” The elven prince screamed.

“BAD!” Firebird shouted. “NO biting friends!”

Smacking the seal on its chubby behind, she yelled at it with a stern voice until it let go of the elf’s hand. It looked at her with large eyes full of what he approximated was the emotion “guilt.”

“Awh poor baby! I’ll only punish you if you’re bad!” She hugged it again and patted its furry little head. “Now I’ll go get you a snack. Let’s go into the kitchen!”

Sneaking an evil side-eye at Elduin, the seal was led by Momma Firebird into the kitchen by his flippers, where they approached the refrigerator.

Later that night, the seal slept contentedly beside whom he decided would be his mate- this earthling should consider herself lucky.

However, he most definitely did not enjoy being infantilized by her. Climbing fluffily out of bed, the seal plopped onto the floor. If he could only find photos of desirable and dominant human males, perhaps she would permit him to reproduce with her through sexual union. (They would have to fuse on a cellular level, which the blob was quite excited about. He had no idea how to do with with a non-blob organism, though.)

Ruffling its little head into the bottom of her bed, he discovered a little stash. Opening it with his seal flippers, he pulled out a magazine.

It was called “Playgirl.” On the cover was an unclothed human male posed against a wall, baring his ripped torso and chiseled musculature. The blob observed that most of the magazines featured men with large antennae that resembled mushrooms between their legs. “Hollywood’s Manliest Men - Naked!” The title read.

Opening it up, there were more scantily clad men inside. “FETISH PHOTOBOOK.”

One was dressed like a caveman, but his mushroom antenna was peeking through the loincloth. The doctor had a coat and stethoscope, but no clothes on. The “construction worker” was using his antenna, while sneezing. The blob guessed it was sneezing because his mouth was open and his eyes were closed.

Scanning each photo intently, the blob analyzed what made them attractive and put them all into his mind. Concentrating hard, he mentally projected all of these traits onto his physical form.

(He also watched the redhead’s several gigabyte collection of romantic movies - some of them had earthling mating rituals he could refer to!)

THE NEXT DAY…

Firebird woke up to a gentle sunrise. What a beautiful morning.

Her dream was that she was spooned all night by a man who looked like an amalgamation of every Hollywood actor and model ever.

Huh? Where was her seal pup?

Oh, it was under the blanket.

Curiously, a flesh-colored snake was peeking out of the bottom of the blanket. Shrugging, she pulled it open and revealed a man who looked like an amalgamation of every Hollywood actor and model ever. Sighing dreamily, she put a hand over his perfectly sculpted abs.

It was fine. She was still dreaming.

Laying her head on his perfect pectorals, she realized it felt like she was actually awake.

What!?

“So my dream was real this whole time!? But … oh my god.”

“You like this, baby?” The man said, in a tone that could only belong to an alien. He had such strange English diction! Maybe it was an exotic accent.

She looked at his (between the legs area) and it had an organ that trailed all the way to the floor and back up to the bed. “No! It’s too long and thick! GET IT AWAY FROM ME I’M A VIRGIN! And where’s my seal baby!?”

“I … am your seal baby.” He said, in his weirdly attractive alien voice. “I thought you would like it… it is the combined length and width of all the Hollywood men you like…”

“OHMYGOD!” She screamed. “Either you shrink that or turn back into a seal!”

It flipped and spasmed like a snake, and shrunk back, completely disappearing.

It was weird. It was like looking at a eunuch. She’s seen many aliens before, but this was the first time she saw a man without a … man part.

“UH.” She was exasperated. “The ideal is … seven inches? That’s fine! You don’t have to not have it! Ugh, why am I even having this conversation with you!?”

An ideal one about seven inches sprang forth from where there was previously nothing between his legs.

Elduin opened the door and gasped.

“Firebird, it’s a selkie! Get away from him!” He cried. “I KNOW of seal creatures turning into attractive human men to seduce women!”

It was time to get on the defensive. Thankfully, he saw a photo of a soldier in Firebird’s dresser drawer  yesterday on the refrigerator. He concentrated…

“Maximus!?” Firebird’s jaw dropped.

Also, he had nothing on. It couldn’t remember specifically what the soldier had on. In a panic, the blob looked at the fetish photobook, looked at “soldier”  and produced a tank top and tight camo boxers.

“My private stuff is exposed the world!” Firebird screeched. She descended on her stash like a phoenix defending her nest and put away all the magazines.

This wouldn’t do, the blob concluded. It had barely any armor.

Taking a look at Elduin who had some Elven armor on, the blob conjured that on top of his current outfit.

Firebird was in tears. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I CAN’T- OH! THAT VISUAL. AHAHAHA I DID NOT NEED TO SEE THAT!”

“I am ready to fight you, female with no mammary glands.” The blob deadpanned.

“Uh, for your information-” Elduin began, brandishing his bow and arrow. “I AM MALE! In fact, I am one of the manliest males in my kingdom! I AM A PRINCE! PRINCE ELDUIN ILITHOR AIRDAN OLIVAN PERTORIS LEGOLAS DELMUTH GILMOIR WYN RAVADOR WALLAWAY PRINCE OF THE THIRD ROUND TABLE EXECUTIVE ORDER OF ARENDELL’S EXTRATERRESTRIAL MOON ELVES (5TH GENERATION OF ROYALS) AND I AM THE FUTURE KING OF MY PEOPLE!”

No wonder its voice was male.

Hair, antennae, and mammary glands were no longer the gender indicator of the blob. This time,  he would listen to their vocal pitch.

Catching the elven prince’s first arrow, the thing that looked like Maximus carried Elduin princess style and tossed him into an escape pod. “Firebird, help!”

“Elduin!” She screamed, but it was too late. The prince had been sent on a course to Elfgard. Oh well, at least he’d be home faster. She sighed.

They were planning to watch “Mates In Space” together, but that would have to wait.

Time to focus on the task at hand.

Propping out her knife, she lunged at the fake Maximus and held a knife to his throat. “Who. are. You!?”

Maximus dissolved into a grey liquid before rematerializing into the amalgamation of attractive men he was before. “Please reproduce with me.”

“NO!” She cried. “I barely even know you!”

A sigh. “Here on earth, people only reproduce if … if they love each other. And spend a lot of time together, go through a lot of shit together, and-” She continued. “And commit to each other!”

She jabbed a finger onto his chest. “If you can’t give me that, then DON’T ask me for mating, you alien blob!”

In despair, the man fell down and turned back into a seal. The guilty eyes again.

“You know what … fine, I’ll let you stay.”

“I’m sorry, miss.” It said, apologetically.

She sighed. “It’s okay!” A gentle laugh followed. “I feel bad for yelling now. What can I get you from the fridge?”

“...”

“A name would be nice.”

The girl stalled for a bit and paused in thought. “What about Frey?”

The seal smiled gratefully and jumped into her arms. The end.

[originaldetectivesheep]

The Thirty and One Nights' Momentary Diversion - teh_birbs.pkw

Tonight's story isn't that scary -- it's a perfect nonexistence, not even inside anybody's head.  Well, not in any person's head.  And then maybe that's where the fear factor comes in....

teh_birbs.pkw

Celeste took a deep breath, steadying her nerves before she stepped around the corner of the pod.  Alicia could be tough to deal with even on the best of days, and today was not going to be a good day.  Today, Celeste was down here because Alicia was late with her updates to the small-object collision-detection physics – and because that was late, the release schedule might slip, and then they wouldn't be out of playtesting in time to launch for spring training.  And if that happened, the publisher would just push last year's game with the new skins for rookies and free agents who changed teams – and then they'd get mocked across every review site, and sales would crater, and nobody would notice when all the content that they were working so hard on came out as a patch two weeks later.  Little things, tiny little things – it was all important, and that meant that even Alicia didn't have any margin for error.

Mentally ready, Celeste stepped into the doorway to the cube pod; Alicia was the only one still here, slouched down in her chair, scanning between a stack of IDE windows in a sideways monitor and a watermarked alpha build of the game running in a regular landscape one.  She had her headphones off, and must have heard Celeste coming in, but she didn't turn around or even look up, fingers just hammering away at the keys without letup.  She stopped for a second, thinking about something, then commented out a function and hit a control sequence to start the module recompiling.  As the progress bar inched up, she picked up a controller from in front of the game monitor, about to test something out; as long as she wasn't actively coding, though, this was as good a time to interrupt as any.

"Alicia? Alicia?" Celeste said, hoping that she was conveying authority. "Alicia, if you've got a moment, can we talk for a second?" Alicia was stopped still, controller in hand, obviously waiting for the conversation to begin.  "Alicia, please.  This is important. It might take a minute."  If Celeste didn't put her foot down now, as a manager, there wouldn't be any point in putting it down ever.  

It took another beat for Alicia to get the message, but get it she did; she set the controller down slowly, then pushed with a foot on the floormat, turning around in her chair with a whine and a squeak.  "Okay," she said, hands folded in front of her on her faded, spill-stained death metal shirt, "what is it?  I'm listening."

Celeste looked down at her hands, then back up at her problem programmer.  "Alicia, it's about the object collision-detection module.  We still don't have it.  You were supposed to finish this two weeks ago; I've sent you emails every day this week, and we still don't have a finished version in the CVS.  Where is it?  If you're having problems, you have to tell me – if you're stuck I can put Bilal or Dwight on this half-time and get the implementation done, but if we don't get it done by tomorrow, we're going to be close to missing go-live.  What happened?"

Alicia's face twisted up in shock behind her horn-rims.  "The collision-detection?  I finished that – I finished that two weeks ago.  I coulda sworn I checked it back in – that's why I ghosted your emails, I thought you just couldn't read the CVS log and you were on an old build.  I really thought I checked that in – let me pop Tortoise up and check."  Alicia spun in place, clicking back to her desktop to bring up the client for the version management system.  "Last version is… huh.  All right.  Yeah, my bad, I didn't check in.  I really thought I did, though."  Alicia selected a local directory and matched it to the entry point in the CVS, then started the check-in.  She turned back around; the upload was running at glacier speeds as a month's worth of work was reconciled into the main physics-system codebase.

"Since I finished up and I thought everything was checked in and nobody came down to like put me on a new project, though, I kept going, and I made some improvements that aren't in the spec.  This is going to kill on Deadspin once someone finds out, believe me – the next version's going to have the most realistic bird-killing simulator ever in a baseball game.  I'll show you – since you're down here, and I can't do anything else while I'm checking back in to latest." Alicia turned her chair halfway, looking at the monitor, and picked up her controller.

Celeste was confused.  "Bird… killing? In… baseball?  Why?  Where does that come from?"

Alicia twisted her head up around and gave her a look.  "Boss, do you even internet?  Seriously?  Seriously?  Ok, one second."  She put the controller down, switched to the keyboard, and blitzed "randy johnson bird" into the Youtube search box.  The video popped up instantly, and Celeste watched, horrified, as a smeary low-res video looped over and over forever, zooming in on slow-motion closeups of a dove exploding as it met a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball.

Ignoring the violent death looping next to her, Alicia had her controller in her hands again, making some changes to settings in the game's environmental config.  "I mean, we're all about realism and stuff, and I already have all these fixes for collision detection on stuff that isn't primary bat-ball-glove objects, so I thought why not put some birds in?  So now in CVS-latest you can have birds in your stadium, and they move around like birds, and if you bait them right you can get them lined up to get hit with a pitch like that." She popped back to the game, her Rangers visiting Comiskey, and held a pitch in wind-up, watching some meters on the right side of the screen before releasing – straight into the path of a blocky gray icosahedron.

"The graphics are shit, of course," Alicia said as the blob exploded into a shower of polygon tiles, "because I'm not an artist, so I just drew like this; I mean in physics class, real physics class before I dropped out and started writing games, they talk about like spherical horses and crap so this should be okay. And the AI's not that great; I wrote some basic like flocking behavior, but I'm not real good at that and I just sampled a bunch of what like Elena and Fei wrote for making the fans do the wave and taunt batters and crap.  Like, the birds need to be better before they go to release, but that's all tiles and art and stuff; the physics is fine.  And –"  She stopped; there were more of the angle-ball 'birds' on the screen, three of them together, bouncing around behind home plate like they were meant to be hopping.

"That – that is… that is not in what I thought I had in.  Okay. Emergence.  Maybe it's okay?" Alicia's brow furrowed under the ridge of her glasses, and she twirled the thumbstick to rotate the camera.  "What the – what the heck are all these birds doing here?  Where is that – where is that setting?  I didn't have it up this high – where are they –" A cloud of polygon spheres were rotating slowly through the sky over the virtual stadium like sinister spaceships; the 'birds' were increasing, splitting in half to spawn more of each other, blotting out the infinite-depth backlight that served the game for its sun. "This isn't right – there's a bug in it somewhere.  I'll turn it off, and take another look at –"  Alicia stopped, stopped cold, as one of the birds dove, plinking into the pitcher.

"Wh– what are they doing?" Celeste whispered.  Another 'bird' attacked, bonking off the pitcher's shoulder – another, and another.

"They're… attacking?  The hell? They shouldn't – this isn't in their association tree.  This shouldn't be a decidable outcome.  This shouldn't be a reachable action set."  Alicia was back in her IDE, tearing through pages and pages of dense, optimized, uncommented code, as more and more and more of the nightmare alien 'birds' swarmed over the players on the screen.  The umpire collapsed; behind him, the crowd shook and roiled as the AI spectators reacted to the invasion of under-implemented AI birds.

"The umpire – the umpire's down – the crowd's panicking!  What's going on?"  Celeste was getting frightened – it wasn't real, but it shouldn't be possible – it shouldn't be possible: even in a game, a big complex simulation game like this, you weren't supposed to get a glitch quite like this, quite this much emergent behavior – quite this terrifying.

"Object collision – it's all object collision. Object collision and damage load, like players pick up nicks sliding on the basepaths and get a little slower.  It's realism – it's all in the software – but this –"  Alicia's pupils were pinpricks as more and more of the players on screen collapsed, overcome by the hordes of birds, as she still couldn't find the problem code, the problem function that was the demon seed at the heart of all this chaos.  One of the polygon 'birds'  swooped in the air, up over the field, ignoring the players – and then dove straight at them, straight at the virtual camera point.  Celeste screamed as the gray blob filled up the screen at impossible speed, and Alicia slammed a Ctrl-X Ctrl-Z to force-close the game, stabbing off the monitor power button with her other hand.

The impact pushed her back, the flat black slate of the monitor rocking in place.  For a moment they both stood there still, silent, breathing hard, unable to process what had happened, how it had ever happened.  Celeste was the first to come to her senses.  

"Now. Right now.  Delete it – delete the entire module.  We can't let that go live – we can't let any part of that go live – ever. It's all got to go.  I'll revert to the last build before your commit: I don't care how long it takes you to fix it and redo the collision detection, I don't care how much work we lose from the rest of the team.  We can't let that out.  We can't let anything that touched that out – ever.  Delete it out of your CVS repo – delete it off your disks and defrag over it.  There's no way to tell – no way to tell where something like that gets built out of.  We just can't let it happen – it didn't happen, not just now, and it's never going to happen again."  Alicia nodded, still shaken, and started selecting parts of her code tree to delete – reached out with a trembling finger for the game monitor button, like she was afraid of what would be on the other side – what might still be there, straining to get out, when the screen blinked back to life.

[jakebraque-blog]

I can see your house from up here.

​One tyre, one wheel bearing, one CV joint, one shattered engine cooling fan, ending in a slashed radiator core (which for unrelated reasons also copped a sheared off side mounting plate, that we then bodged up with tie wire). The bearings got an emergency patch up just North of Bramwell Station and thankfully made it to Weipa where we could sort it properly. The CV got ignored (we did most of the Overland Telegraph Track in HI-2, hoping it wouldn’t explode). The radiator got bogged up with Bars-leaks and the fan got cut back into a roughly balanced profile with a cordless angle grinder (and our fearless bush mechanic got a blob of superheated plastic melted into his foot). The tyre was only a simple pop-off and clean-out type job, just packed up with mud when we crossed Gunshot creek. Oh and there was a broken spotty we stuck back on with gaffer tape. It’s hardly worth mentioning really.

So yeah, we conquered the mighty cape. With a shitload of help from our 9 carloads of new friends. Props to them for towing us up out of Palm creek at the very start of the tele track. To Shan’s Dad for basically being our mobile daycare service whenever the camp was getting set up or packed up. To Scott for being on hand with the Bars-leaks when I looked under the car and saw green shit dripping out of our radiator at Elliot Falls. There was no way in hell we’d have made it without everyone else there.

And a trip worth doing, it certainly is. We started off with a 4 day stay at the Mount Carbine caravan park, where they’ll let you leave your van all pro bono publico and shit, so long as you stay a day before you leave to do the cape and a day when you get back (because the roads north of Cooktown will shake a caravan right out into its component molecules). Mount Carbine’s dry as some very dusty old balls, there being some kind of freaky weather thing happening there where the Great Dividing Range makes all the clouds go around it in a ten kay radius. Which is grouse if you’ve just driven up from the Whitsunday coast and haven’t packed your awning away dry in weeks due to this rainforesty bullshit everywhere. A full day of actual sunshine in their old converted mining camp will straight up scour all the tropical mould off your shit.

Once we’d spent what felt like weeks unpacking and repacking and forgetting to put the wheel bearing greaser in before we left, we parked the van up in a corner, locked and chocked her and headed for the coast. Our group was heading up toward the big rendezvous at Cooktown from down in Victoria and the first one we met was Shan’s Dad, in Wonga beach. Beers were cracked, greetings exchanged and much attention was lavished upon the grandchild while we made camp at the incredibly overpriced caravan park. Like, seriously, it’s 35 bucks for a tent site and the baby bath they provide is an open-air laundry sink with the hot tap removed and rendered unusable (unless you happen to have a Leatherman handy). I really must remember to post that shitty review on Wikicamps.

Onward from there, we hit the Bloomfield track and railed it all the way up to the Lion’s Den hotel. The Bloomfield’s a pretty way to travel, with some steep-arse hills (one of the camper trailer rigs had to get towed over one bit), but it’s not what you’d call four wheel driving. We passed a couple of backpackers doing it in a Hiace halfway up.

The Lion’s Den is one of the must-sees up around Cooktown. Huge camping area out the back with a river and all. And of course the pub its self is decorated in the timeless outback style of let-everyone-scribble-shit-on-the-walls-and-hang-kooky-stuff-in-the-rafters-if-they-feel-like.

Onward to Cooktown. Cooktown’s ok. If you like that sort of thing. Though based on our admittedly small sample size, the local butchers can’t cryovac shit to save their own arses from the horrible shark attack that would inevitably happen if you took one of their leaky-arse bags out on a boat somewhere. Thanks for all the blood in our engel fuckers. I guess the captain cook museum is pretty cool too.

Heading up from there, you have to track back inland along the road you would have taken in (if you were a huge puuuuussaaaayy!) until you get to Lakeland. From lakeland you head North to Laura and then the dust hole ridden, corrugated, vehicle-destructey fun begins as you hit the Peninsula Developmental road. Or, if you were everyone else in our group, you’d go the way that was apparently planned, up through the national forest. Though if you did that you’d miss out on seeing the Hann river roadhouse. They have a pet emu and sell beer. The emu is kind of vaguely threatening. I highly recommend the experience of watching it freak out your wife for a solid ten minutes, as it slowly stalks her around and around the car while staring at her with its big, googly eyes.

After a solid 2.5 hours of being shaken the shit out of, you’ll arrive at Musgrave. Which is also just a roadhouse/pub/campground. It was at this point that the sprout decided to flip his shit at the prospect of being strapped back into his carseat and forced us into camping for the night. A half hour later, our group arrived from the forest track, asked a bunch of questions about what drugs we were on and then headed for the actual planned stop at the Archer river roadhouse. Catching them up the next day would necessitate a 7:00am start on the road, but that doesn’t happen for a couple of paragraphs, so we can focus elsewhere for the moment.

Musgrave is actually pretty cool. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a powered site in their campground, you just pay your ten bucks or whatever and then go pitch your camp wherever you feel like out by the horseyards. They don’t give a fuck if you light a fire and at 5:30 every arvo the old bloke who runs the show chucks all of the meaty kitchen scraps into what you’ll be quite surprised to learn is a freshwater crocodile infested dam, right next to your campsite. Separated by the flimsiest of three-strand wire fences, that doesn’t even reach within oh, let’s say, freshwater crocodile height of the ground. They’re actually kind of cute. The turtles in there climb all over them to get at the scraps and they don’t even notice. Carnivorous turtles may be the biggest threat brewing in this dam.

Onward from Musgrave (after packing up your tent at sparrowfart) and the road stretches a good 3 hours of travel up to Archer river. This is the really shitty section. Some bits are good but as a rule, if you don’t keep your speed above 80 or so, the corrugations will strike down upon every fibre of your vehicle with great vengeance and furious anger instead of merely being very unpleasant. The regular bitumen overtaking sections are either (and depending on your mood at the time) oases in the desert of cartilage ablating vibrations that wrack your very skeleton, or cruelly placed pauses in your torment that serve to heighten you senses for the redoubled agony to follow. Much like how the Spanish Inquisition would have a breather mid-flogging to let their victims recuperate a bit and maybe tentatively stick their head back out of their power-animal cave for a sec, before starting up with the cat o'nine tails again. This is around about where the radiator mount broke off. I cannot stress enough how much you shouldn’t bring your Festiva up this road.

Next up was Bramwell Station. The northernmost cattle station in all of Australia. They have about 14 acres of campground, a big section you can store caravans and campers on (you know, so you can replace their entirely sheared off spring packs on account of you bringing them up that "road", you doofus) and of course, a pub. The promoter of the whole deal does a big spiel about the station and the land’s history every evening and the place is always jam packed with your fellow nomads and suchlike. Top joint. The lady who owns the station also has the roadhouse at the start of the tele track and the earthmoving company that handles the constant, uphill battle of keeping the road up to Bamaga in technically passable condition. Considering how it’s under water for a big chunk of the year, I’d say they’re doing alright.

So as I said just before (unless that bit got edited out), Brawell Junction roadhouse is where the fabled Overland Telegraph Track begins. A short, meandering few minutes up, you’ll run into the first of the flaming hoops you’ve gotta jump through to make it onto the track. Of the 40 odd people we saw come in for a look at the crossing, about 10 or 15 just poked their heads in, said "nooooope" and then fucked off to the easy road up. And I can’t say I blame them. We took the chicken track and still had to get snatched out up the exit ramp. If you do it exactly right you’ll still come within an inch of stoving in your driver’s side quarter panel. Try to be a hero and you’ll put a spa sized dent in your car.

So anyway, we did that. Then came the long rolling goat track that switched between scrub and grass, rocks and and forest. You don’t go five minutes without some kind of drastic scenery alteration. Shit’s beautiful up there.

All told, to do the tele track properly you have to tackle about 20 crossings, one or two of which are real drowners. People talk in hushed tones of Nolan’s brook and Gunshot creek. As well they bloody should. Nolan’s is deep enough to have a stand up bath in and Gunshot owns its hardcore reputation all the way. If I was to recount the whole adventure front to back, you’d be bored shitless and I’d slag a bundle of neurons trying to come up with a twentieth synonym for shovelling rocks into a mudhole.

The point is we made it. 4 days later, having camped at Dulhunty, Cockatoo creek, Nolan’s brook and finally making it to the Jardine river and over to Punsand bay. We spent the next few days wandering around, photographing things and such, I hiked to the tip with a grizzly baby on my back and all of our clean washing got rained on for what felt like a week.

We snagged a new radiator for our bus in Bamaga. At a little joint called Cape York Spares and Repairs, just across from the BP. Do not go to this place if you can avoid it. There are other options nearby.

See it’s like this. Our radiator was well shagged at this point. The fan had basically turned into a claymore mine back up the track and the corrugations had sheared off some important bits as well. It looked like one of those mangled shiny things that fall off Optimus Prime when he gets a missile up the robo-colon in act three.

We wound up buggered for a fan but did happen to get sold a brand new OEX radiator that this, ahem, "gentleman" had sitting under one of the giant piles of crap in his rat’s nest of a workshop. He opened the unstapled flap on one end while explaining how it got ordered in for some job or other and then never used. One side of the box had a little hole in it, about the profile of a pack of cards. I took a peep inside, saw a perfectly serviceable core and chalked it up to some bump or other on the transport truck, no big deal. Off we went with our emergency radiator packed carefully onboard. Did you see the foreshadowing? I foreshadowed there. It was all foreshadowey and shit.

Onward to Weipa. You’d think it was shitty except for how it’s kind of ok. Go do the sunset tour. It’s amazing to see saltwater crocodiles all like close by but yet somehow not eating you, even though the guardrail on the boat is super low. And they disappear in two inch deep water, it’s fucked. Good place to buy some new wheel bearings, is Weipa.

Back down to Musgrave, we got to introduce our new friends to the magic of watching some guy in a hat feed very small crocodiles, before parting ways the next day. They went off toward Karumba and we bailed back toward Mt Carbine. Spent a night in Lakeland on the way.

Then the rest and refit. The fan we bought in Weipa turned out to be wrong. Gulf Parts and Spares were totally cool about it. It’s on its way back up for a refund as we speak. It’s the point where our new radiator came out of the box that the fuckery begins.

See it came out with a hole in it. In a spot that lined up quite well with the hole in the box, just turned over on the other side. Some surprise was expressed. A phone call was made. And in two shakes of a bullshit spackled cordless phone, we were informed that absolutely everybody in the workshop remembered how that specific box they dug out from under one of their big heaps of shit along one wall most definitely had no damage when they all absolutely saw it in the workshop. Which wasn’t suspicious as buggery in the slightest.

Now I’m inclined to believe the young parts guy (ie. the poor fucker who’s been left to absorb our hatred since his gutless maggot of a boss started refusing to take our calls, oh look, here’s his number, please don’t, you know, do anything immature with it). Adam’s obviously never laid a spanner on anything more complicated that the axle adjusters of his dirtbike. He would have paid attention to the fiftieth box of fourby-related shit to frieght in on a Tuesday morning like I would have paid attention to something (insert vapid celebrity) said in (seriously, they still print Woman’s Day Magazine? That’s kind of impressive. Wow). But when you’ve got a brand new, excessively ventilated radiator to return and a miserable pack of fucknuckles who say you broke it, not them, "nuh uh, I know are so what am I?" there’s only so much understanding you can field.

Collecting the replacement radiator took a 200km round trip down to Atherton (where the owner of the Natrad both gave us a discount on hearing our story and also insisted on taking the new unit out of the box to show John and I) and ate up a whole day, plus a big chunk of grandkid time for Poppy, who was at this point the only one with a working car. We booked an extra day at Mount Carbine to fit all the repairs in and thankfully got the hot tip about the pies at Mt Carbine servo. Homemade awesomeness. Big ups to Nikki and Darryl for putting us onto that. Plus giving up the office phone and summoning the infernal and ancient magics of the yellow pages tome to guide our radiator related quest (mobile coverage is not so much with the existing there, it’s kind of one of the good points). Hail Mount Carbine Caravan Park! Hail!

So where does this epically disjointed tale leave us now? Uh, Mount Isa actually. Look it’s taken like a week to write this, I left out a bunch of stuff, there’s obviously been about eight different mindsets at work etcetera. Kind of not looking forward to the editing process really.

We’re heading Darwinward, to find the holy grail of places we might like to settle down in. Everyone I know who moves there never comes back. I can practically hear the Barra calling.

Some other things’ve also happened since then but it turns out that travel blogging as a parent is like that old Greek thought experiment where the arrow almost hits the tortoise, but then the tortoise moves a bit but then the arrow also catches up a bit but then the tortoise moves a little bit more but then the arrow also moves a bit more and oh my god I’m so tired, seriously how how are my lungs and stuff still working shdhfhufudhfhfoiwgsdjdnf

[3one3]

The Sequel - 824

Three True Things

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Which thing you ate did you like best?”

“The flaaaaaan,” Christina told the new restaurateur dreamily while turning onto her back and sighing with the back of her left hand on her forehead dramatically. It sounded like she was talking about something fantastical, and it made Juan smile again. “It was sooooo good. I didn’t even know orange liqueur caramel is a thing. I also didn’t even order it. It just showed up. People are really going to love your restaurant if dessert just arrives out of nowhere.”

“I sent it for you! We tried a few flavors for the caramel the other day and it was tough to decide. David asked me which you would like best and we went with that one. I was texting with you, that’s why.” He patted her very full tummy where her shirt rode up from the khaki blanket. “So far I’m happy he got involved. Hopefully it doesn’t all go to hell.”

“Well you said before that he’s not going to be here full-time, right? He’s just a partner, and the executive chef?”

“Yes. You had a good time with Natasha? You two were laughing each time I looked to check on you.”

“Yeah, it was fine. We were laughing at Eden, mostly. What’s your favorite thing on the menu?”

“To be honest I’m sick of everything already. I had to eat a lot of it while David perfected each dish.”

“Did he make a cocktail for me too or was that you?” Christina turned her head to smirk. She didn’t actually try Christina’s Bellini though, because Juan’s dad told her about a bunch of wines she absolutely had to have.

“Technically our bartender made that up, but I asked him to make something. I said you love apple juice, apple cider, apple water, apple chips, and regular apples, and I told him you love champagne. He asked some questions about other cocktails you like and when he said Bellini I remembered your story about how you love them because the girl in your favorite book loved them and had them everywhere she went, and at strange times.”

“Awww.”

“Did you try it?”

“No. Next time! I assume I can always get a table there,” the rider winked.

“I can take you back for lunch if you like. We open at 11.”

“No thank you. I hope to still be in this bed at 11, with you.” She started to wriggle over to get closer, preparing to get some of her on top of some of him, or at least mingle their legs together. I’ve had to wait long enough for Juanin snuggles, she complained inside. Why are we doing our catching up on separate pillows? Why aren’t his arms around me yet? “Where exactly did you have surgery? Is there anywhere I can’t climb on you, or?”

Juan lifted his shirt and pulled down his shorts and underwear to show her the evidence of the procedure. His curious friend was surprised to see only a line of previously sutured skin about an inch and a half long. He explained that there was a little “blob of escaped intestine” down by the pubic bone that the doctor pushed back inside the wall of muscle that was meant to keep it in place, did something about a nerve, and then reinforced the wall so it wouldn’t happen again. It was the pain of the affected muscles that was most difficult to deal with, and waiting for them to repair themselves was what would keep him off the pitch for so long. They needed time to heal before they could be asked to do difficult work again. Christina understood just how much work abdominal muscles really do despite seeming like a relatively non-vital group in terms of kicking a ball. She’d pulled muscles there before, and even just suffered soreness from ab workouts that made it painful for her to do anything from getting out of bed in the morning to balancing on one foot to buckle a sandal. She proffered a kiss for the stubbly skin beside the surgery site. The player also said he wasn’t supposed to have sex yet, but was willing to try for her.

“If I sit still and you do everything, it might be okay,” he suggested 30 seconds into Christina’s series of liplocks she claimed were to make him feel better and to apologize for not being around to look after him. In reality she just wanted to make out with him and was done with the catching up on other stuff part of the program. Their lips and fingertips had catching up to do of their own. The only problem was the awkwardness of leaning over on her hands and knees from next to him, since she wasn’t allowed to sit on his stomach as she normally would. This is awkward and it’s ruining how good the making out should be, she thought to herself instead of addressing the Spanish player’s sex suggestion. I need more of us to be touching. How hard is it to make out and spoon? Is that like the worst neck pain of life? What if we were face to face but on our sides? Is it okay to press against his tummy if it’s not the weight of my body? “What’s wrong? You keep making the frustrated little girl noise.”

“I wanna be closer. I- I know it’s silly given everything but...I was just starting to feel like...like...” The plaintive breaths turned into plaintive words and gestures.

“Like what, cariña?”

“Like your body is mine,” Christina cringed. “And then I went away, and now I’m back but there’s like a bubble around your waist that I can’t go near now, and...I don’t know. I’m so lame. This is just a weird Chris thing.”

“No you aren’t. I’m not sure I know what you mean though.” Juan remained understanding of her frustration if not the actual source of it. He was patient as she figured out how to express herself the best way she could, no matter the subject or the level of convolution in her explanations.

“I was at like...maximum comfort level with you, physically speaking. Where not only do I not have to think about what you’ll think about whatever I do, but I actually just magically stop thinking about it- where I can touch you anywhere, any time, or be touched anywhere, any time, and not be anxious that you’ll be bothered, or that you’re going to feel a stretch mark and judge me, or you’ll think I’m overstepping. I mean- I- I kinda haven’t cared for a really long time, like years and years, but I guess it’s just more lately. I guess before it was more that I just didn’t worry too much about what you thought when you took liberties but I didn’t feel entitled to take as many with you? Maybe? I dunno, man. Forget I even brought it up.”

“I’ve been trying to put my penis into your colon for like 4 years and you think you aren’t entitled to touch me however you want?” the Chelsea man laughed. It was practically a cackle. Christina was almost too busy bristling and cowering away from the word “colon” to notice the joy in his laughter, and by the time she did she then worried that he was going to hurt himself. How does someone who laughs as much as Juanin survive torn tummy muscles? It must be so painful. “You are such a weird girl. I love it. There is no other like you,” he teased.

“Can you please never use the word “colon” in a sex discussion ever again? And stop laughing or you’ll pop a suture or something.”

“I don’t have any to pop! I’m fine. You can touch wherever you want, cariña.” His laughter wound down some but it still bubbled out of his face and his eyes. The carefree nature of his amusement really assured her that he wasn’t that bothered about what they were talking about before- about their situation, and the inherent unfairness. That was a relief to her too. She reached under his right arm with her left and held onto his shoulder, nuzzling her face right into the middle of his small chest, unsure of whether she wanted him to see her gesture as something funny and put on, like a demonstration of her desire for the entitlement, or if she wanted him to think she was just that in need of affection and closeness. Also, she wasn’t sure which one would have been the correct interpretation. “What are you doing? Who invited you to touch me this way? Why are you doing this?”

“Shut up.”

“Why are you even in my bed? This is my personal space.”

“Want me to leave?”

“Maybe.”

“Want me to stay forever?”

“Definitely.”

“Love you,” Christina said quietly, her face still rubbing up and down over a very small section of the player’s shirt. She thought absently about the fact that she hadn’t washed her face yet, and was likely transferring a lot of makeup onto him. That makeup was the foremost thing on her mind in that embrace was actually a significant thing. Juan was a naturally occurring anti-anxiety supplement for her. She could forget about bombs, horses, conflicts, relationships, etc. She could just “be”, and do it as herself instead of someone else, or as one of her many titles. Christina wasn’t “Mommy” to him, or “the boss”, or “the talent”, or “wife”. It seemed nice earlier in the day to just be “the client” in the chair at her hairdresser’s place, and be pampered and catered to. That was nothing compared to just being Christina holding Juan, in Juan’s room, without any crises going on, while Juan held onto her too.

“Forever is a lot to ask, but I wish you were here more than tonight.”

“Me too. I’m so behind with the other horses though. Hey. What’s happening for you birthday?” the rider questioned, sitting up.

“You’re jumping out of a cake, naked.”

“Yeah, no.”

“I want to do something at the beach house, with family, but this weekend instead of my birthday weekend, because we’re back to thinking I could do team training toward the end of next week.”

“And me?”

“And you.”

“K good.” Christina settled back down on her side, and found a way to get her head on the inside of Juan’s left elbow, trapping his whole arm but not his hand, which immediately took up some of her freshly trimmed hair. “D’ya’know’what? I would like to cook a meal for your whole family. Can I do that? Or do you need your mom to make your favorite stuff for your birthday?”

“You can do the cooking if you want, angel.” He gazed down at her profile with a mostly blank expression, and to her that meant he was thinking about something besides what he was saying. She wondered what exactly it was, but didn’t want to know enough to actually ask. “I think I have a few nights free that I can go away, so that’s enough time that everyone can cook whatever they like. ”

“I don’t know how long I can come. Probably just one night. Do you have to eat less because you’re not running around every day?”

“I keep that in mind, yes. I’m less hungry anyway when I do less. You should come Sunday afternoon and stay until Monday night. I know my dad only wants to come that night. He doesn’t want to miss the first two weekend nights at the restaurant.”

“That would work for me actually, ‘cause Schü is going to the doctor in Munich on Monday anyway and I can still spend time with him Sunday before leaving. He likes Sunday stuff. I want to light some candles and kill the lights but I also want to not move.”

“I support not moving,” the Spaniard declared. “Except for a little.” He let his balance shift forward, and collected his ex-girlfriend by the waist in order to drag her nearer to his. His arm stayed around her even when she was secure against him, and kept her in just the right spot- touching him but not putting pressure on his healing sore spots. He also moved forward on his pillow to let his chin rest on the top of her head, which was still holding down his other arm. “I support staying still in this best moment of the night.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around when they made holes in your tummy.”

“I didn’t even tell you it was happening, so how could you have done?”

“If I were around regularly then you wouldn’t have to tell me because I would see and know. You know, I was thinking the other night-“

“I hope you didn’t injure yourself doing that.”

“Shush. I think all the time! You love my thinking. What was I saying?”

“I have no idea.”

“Me either.”

“I’m sure it would have been brilliant.”

“Naturally.”

“Tired?”

“Not especially,” Christina yawned. She couldn’t reach to cover her mouth and didn’t bother to try. She did, however, let go of Juan’s shoulder in favor of rubbing his chest right in front of her face. It was hard for her to stop thinking about how things like needing surgery, and missing out on the end of the season, are the kind of life events that make one extra thankful for their partner, or that highlight the absence of one. It really seemed like a terrible time for him to be withdrawing from his relationship with Taylor. He always says he loves her. It has to be hard to stop seeing someone you love, even if you have reasons, or you don’t enjoy seeing them that much anymore, and you want somebody you love to bring you clear liquids and bland food while you recover, and to be there when you open the restaurant you’ve been working on for months and months. And it’s not just that I wasn’t there for the surgery. I’m away all the time now. It must be so lonely, she rued on his behalf. Part of her wanted to be brave and ask for more information about the Taylor situation, or at least how they arrived at the lack of a situation. The rest didn’t necessarily want to know.

“What are you thinking about? You have problems being still in your mind when you’re still with your body, even in my arms.”

“Just you,” she replied, as if to insist. “How you are...”

“I don’t seem well?” her pillow asked with mock surprise.

“I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“I’m not lonely, baby girl. I haven’t been lonely in so long that I don’t know if I would recognize lonely again if it introduced itself to me.”

“Uhhuh.”

“That’s the truth.”

“K.”

“I’m especially not lonely when I’m with you,” Juan assured, lowering his head to make eye contact. He made lip contact too, and his hand slid down from the small of her back to the fullest part of her butt.

“What percentage of your missing me would you say is related to my delightful companionship and what percent is my female anatomy?” Christina questioned knowingly.

“Why do all girls ask that? Every one I’ve ever been with asked some version of that question.”

“Because we all want to be loved for who we are, not what we are. Duh.”

“What is the proper answer though? If I said I could live without fucking you, then you think I don’t like it, or that I think you’re fat and ugly. If I say 50/50 then you don’t believe me anyway.”

“How about just going with the truth?” she smiled, a finger tapping and then rubbing side to side over his chin. She was delighted to be able to make an innocuous yet intimate contact such as that.

“One night I go to bed and the only thing I want in the world is to talk to you on the same pillow like this,” he told her, calm and plain, like he wasn’t about to grow her smile. “The next, I look at pictures of you in a bikini on the beach and can’t stop thinking about how far past the bikini my cock goes. Like where between the bikini and your belly button do I reach? Does it make your stomach stick out? How do girls just absorb cock into the body? Things are crowded in there already, I assume. “Ewww, Juaniiiin!”,” he finished, mimicking her expected response. She was too busy laughing to be grossed out though.

“I feel like you’re not the first guy to tell me he wonders about that, and yet it’s still hilarious.”

“Do girls not wonder?” the footballer shot back, shocked. “I would wonder. I would look at a big cock and worry that it’s going to do some damage.”

“Okay stop.”

“But seriously, if you had to guess where it goes, where would it be? Can you point-“

“This isn’t sexy. You’re not being sexy, Juanin,” Christina pouted.  

“I think you’re sexy when you say silly things. I think you only think I’m sexy when I wear a suit and drive my Aston Martin.”

“Oh my god you’re so wrong,” she giggled back. “I think you’re sexy when you play football, except when you do something klutzy like aggressively faceplant or kick the ball in your face. Football is like your most sexy thing. Then...” The rider’s eyes lifted toward the ceiling in a gesture illustrative of her brainstorming. All the attention of fans, media, and colleagues concentrated on her for her performances or her controversial quotes on the show circuit paled in comparison to the attention paid to her in the form of youthful flirting. She basked in it. It masked pain in her lower back, and the sting in the corner of her eyes from wearing makeup all day long. “Sometimes you’re really sexy when you read, and always when you push your sleeves up and do stuff with your hands. I even think you’re sexy when you talk to me late at night and you’re really sleepy and your voice gets all quiet and soft and innocent. Oh and when you smirk. You’re so sexy when you smirk. It’s unbearable. Every single time you touch me, it’s sexy. It doesn’t matter if you’re just trying to get me to move out of the way because I walk slow and I’m taking up the whole sidewalk and getting in someone’s way, not just when you close your hand around my throat and look at me like you want to chain me to your bed and never let me leave.”

“I couldn’t keep you as a sex slave.” Juan shook his head a little to reject the notion, but was wedging two of his fingers between her butt cheeks at the same time. “I enjoy being out with you too much. The sex is better when I spend all day or all night waiting for it anyway.”

“I bet you were too busy tonight to even think of it.”

“This is true. Not since we got home though. Since we came home and you took your jacket off and spun around in that dress...Since we came home I want to see the face between when you know it’s going to happen and when you get off.”

“Oh yeah? Is it a very sexy face?” Christina tried to emulate what she imagined her about-to-orgasm expression looked like to a guy who believed he was the sole reason she was going to have one, but she knew she just looked fake and silly. Everything about her friend’s tone and touch told her he was trying to be serious, and to conjure a certain mood. The rider was just momentarily more interested in the chat than the foreplay. Anyone could turn her on or flatter. A pillow-to-pillow conversation with Juan was singular and unique. It couldn’t happen with anyone else, and it couldn’t happen all the time. She didn’t want to waste the opportunity.

“It’s a beautiful face- an honest face.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “I’ve never faked it for you.”

“Not what I meant. Your face...it’s like...it’s the most true moment of your life. I know for sure it’s the only moment you don’t worry about anything. I’ve told you that before. You look so carefree and happy. But also like the only thing in the world that you actually trust and believe in is that when you get that feeling, the full release is coming. It’s guaranteed. It’s definitely about to happen and there’s no question. I think that’s the only thing you actually trust- the only thing you know for sure. Your face is beautiful anyway, and sometimes your mouth hangs open a certain way and your eyebrows pinch just together and your eyelashes lose control, but I love the belief in it. You get close when you talk about Dirk sometimes, but never all the way to the same thing.”

“I have a list of things I know to be true, 100%, and never question.” Christina stopped touching the Spaniard’s chin and slid her palm to the side of his neck instead, but she spoke directly to the chin. It was easier. He’d succeeded in making her serious. “It’s very short; I’ll grant you that. The first thing is that Sebastian Vettel is the best Formula 1 driver ever. I have reasons. He’s better than Schumi and I’ll explain it to you again if you want, but not right now. The second is that Dirk is the greatest jumping horse of my generation. He’s better than Hickstead. I know it in it my heart. His peak was better. And I know you love me more than anyone else.” He smiled dismissively at the first item on her list, fondly at the second, and quizzically at the last.

“I love you more than I love anyone else, or I love you more than anyone else loves you?”

“Both, but I was saying it the second way.” Schü loves me the first way, and I think he believes the second way too, but I’m not sure that’s true. I’m not sure he’s capable of as much love as Juanin is. I’m not sure if he loved me that way that he could have left me. I also don’t know if I love him that way. I don’t know how you know. That’s why I only know three things are true.

“How do you know?”

“I used to look for evidence. I look for evidence for everything. I’m data-based. I like information. But I know it’s true because I feel it and I don’t question it. Seb and Dirk are the only other things in my life that I trust my instincts about, and don’t even have to fight or struggle to do it. They’re the three things I believe in.”

“What about André?”

“As I was just reminding myself, I’m not sure if he has the ability to love someone as much as you do. I think his maximum is a little less. Maybe. Or something. I don’t know. And the fact that I don’t know means I can’t put it on the list. Get it?”

“I do.”

“Good.”

“Who do you love more than anyone else?”

“Lukas.”

“That’s not fair,” Juan laughed with a bunch of her butt squeezed in his hand. “That’s an easy answer.”

“If I knew another one then things would be different.”

“I believe that.”

I don’t even want an answer, the dethroned World Cup Jumping Champion concluded. She’d shut her eyes and hoped for a little silence, despite her earlier wish for endless pillow talk. Juan seemed prepared to give her the quiet. He continued messing with her hair and expanded his grip on her behind into a more comprehensive massage under, over, and around her underwear. If I knew which one of them I love more, then I would have to give the other one up...or something. I don’t know. I don’t know what the rules are. Juanin doesn’t think you should only reserve yourself for “The One”. He’s fine with being with the person who falls short of that while waiting for The One. So if he were going to be with two people the way I kinda am right now, would he be fine with one being on another level compared to the other? Or is he done with Taylor now because that’s not how it works? Why can’t there just not be any rules? Or why can’t the only rule be: Do what makes you happy. Because I’m pretty happy with the prospect of not having to give up either of them. But that’s not even really the situation, Christina sighed inside. The situation is that I don’t know if Schü and I can be together anymore. I don’t know if this nice period we’re in right now is going to be the normal thing or the rarity. And if us being happy together is going to be a regular thing, then do I keep having this thing with Juan too? There’s no way he would hang around for that for long. It’s so unfair for him. So where does all this go, and am I capable of doing what I said I’m doing, and just waiting to see what happens? God, she groaned to herself. If I could negotiate for any major personality trait, that would be it. I would love to be able to wait and see.

The Chelsea man whose bed she felt very at home in was giving her the necessary quiet to think through the things their conversation forced back to the forefront, but he thought he was giving her a chance to be quiet and enjoy his touch. He got closer still to her, and brought his fingertips nearer to the place none of her other friends were allowed to touch, and his lips somehow ended up resting passively on her forehead. Percentage of need or want relating to personality and percentage of need or want relating to sex aside, the player had shifted his focus to just one of those. Not until she made an amateur effort at “wait and see” did Christina really notice the focus of his effort. His hands did feel good. The one opening and closing in her hair at the back of her head was relaxing and kind of numbing, and the one between her legs was provocative in its experienced method. Juan knew just the right way to play with his best friend’s sensitive spots. He knew she liked when he literally petted just beyond the defined indentation where her butt became not her butt, and when he curled his finger so that the specific contact went from the cushy and broad surface of his entire fingertip pad to the harder, smaller, more precise feeing of just the end of the finger. All his explorations were just a little bit teasing as a collective, and a lot satisfying- and not just physically. Knowing he knew exactly what he was doing was important too. Intimacy was the greatest turn on for her, and he touched her in a manner demonstrative of their long cultivated intimacy. She gathered some of his shirt in her left hand and squeezed it tight, stuck between wanting to tell her body to calm down a little and wanting the opposite.

“Babe,” she mumbled unintentionally as her legs made the decision for her. They began to move, with no real purpose other than looking for a way to exaggerate the feeling of the Spaniard’s touch. Her big toe traced the bottom of her heel and then spread from her other toes enough to clamp gently on the back of her Achilles, and the muscles in her butt and thighs took turns tightening and loosening just to see how that changed things.

“How do you want to try this?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Now, or in general. In the future. In the long term.

“We could do just hands,” Juan offered before lowering his chin so that he could kiss the girl desperate to be with him but terrified of making his life more difficult. “And lips.” She got a second smooch that helped to distract from the fear of long-term injury at least. “And tongues.”

“I do love your tongue,” she whispered back when he was finished with the kisses.

“When you say you miss me, what percent would you say is that you miss my tongue, and-“

“Shoosh!”

“Show me where to put my mouth so I can’t talk.”

[midnight-scrivener]

In the Aftermath of a Particularly Bad Storm

The story to go with this painting! 

Virgil makes a Friend. 

(I haven’t published any of my original stuff on here in ages, so feedback would be lovely! Give it a read and tell me what you think!)

**

This was bad. This was very bad.

The waters around me were gray and churning, the sea extending far into inky blackness beneath. There was no longer a pink cloud around my head, but I was dizzy, listing to one side. I… must have blacked out. I… must have hit my head. My home, my reef, my friends were nowhere to be seen. Above me, lightning flashed, the arc of unbridled energy illuminating the darkness below. I caught a glimpse of huge, ponderous shapes plowing gracefully through the water, barnacles and algae clinging to them. Whales. I’d never been so close to one before, let alone a whole pod. They dwarfed me. A huge swell bowled me over, tangling my fins and and resetting any progress made on my slowly clearing head. Nausea rose in me and a blackness separate from the void-like depths engulfed my mind.

I woke up… reluctantly. My head ached as though I’d been overindulging in grog, the briny alcohol of the sea last night, instead of getting caught up in a storm. Without opening my eyes, I felt for the lacquered bronze compass I kept around my neck, and the goggles that were usually strapped to my head (though with my nearsightedness, they really should have been on my face… oh well). The compass was still in place, pressed between the scales of my chest and my tightly fitted, hydrodynamic shirt. The goggles were tangled in my hair, the curls matted and wrapped around the straps from the roiling of the waves. It pulled and tugged uncomfortably, but I was grateful they hadn’t just been washed away. I let my arms fall, even the simple effort of questing after my belongings proving to be exhausting. My stomach moaned. I moaned too.

I wasn’t floating anymore. Something rough was digging into my back, and my scales felt dry and brittle. I realized I had washed ashore somewhere, and that the roaring of the ocean was more distant than I was used to, no longer a constant, comforting presence. The sun, its impact now undiluted by the protective seas, beat down on me, warming me uncomfortably. I opened my eyes and hissed at the world’s blurred brightness. Looking around, I saw that I was lying on pavement, out in the open. I was surrounded by limbs of plants and small piles of sand and other debris. A few feet from me, I squinted and saw the carcass of a medium-sized fish cast half on and half off the path. A carcass that would become an ominous portent if I didn’t do something about it. I reached up to fit my goggles over my eyes, but they were so tangled in my mess of hair, I couldn’t pull them down, and every time I tried I just worsened my own predicament. I gave up that part of the endeavor and instead cast about blurrily for some clue as to the direction of the ocean. With my imperfect sight and the way sound reverberated weirdly off all these hard surfaces, I couldn’t tell. There would be no way to know if I was heading towards or away from my safe haven.

But my gills burned. My tongue felt thick in my mouth. I had to get out of this accursed heat before I shriveled away. I pushed up onto my shaking arms and dragged myself across the hard ground. My grace, my ease of movement had been stripped from me. Every inch was a labor. My tail, its fins wilted, flopped uselessly behind me. Dirt and mud and pebbles and plant matter stuck to it or got caught on my fine scales, only increasing my discomfort. I gasped as I inched slowly out of the solar oven, stopping only when I felt a shady respite from the heat and stagnant air. Water burbled somewhere in my vicinity, and the air smelt more strongly of brine. But… It wasn’t the sea. This salt water was kept controlled and calm, and the burbling was artificial, from a pump rather than a natural outlet. I could hear a motor whirring.

This, I thought muzzily, pressing my cheek to the cool, dampened concrete as my will for locomotion evaporated like water off my scales. Is probably very bad.

I had been lying there, in a sort of passive, foggy fugue for an indeterminate amount of time, dimly aware of my increasingly labored breathing, when I heard a voice and steps approaching. Absently, I listened. The man sounded young, and seemed to be in distress. “I mean, sure, she was old,” he said, and sniffed tearfully. “But… I raised her! You know? From a little tiny pup!... No, No, I don’t know exactly what happened. I mean… the storm last night was bad. It was really bad. Maybe… maybe the shock was just too much for her? But… coming out this morning and just finding her… gone? It broke my heart. It broke my friggin’ heart.”

“... Hey, man,” I croaked, only half aware that I was speaking at all. “Everyone’s gotta go sometime. And there are worse ways to go than during a storm. Lotsa worse ways.” My voice scraped the ears, abrasive from lack of water and slurred with delirium. I was slipping back into unconsciousness, what I was sure would be my final bout before death.

There was a gasp, one that my fading neurons registered only dimly. “Ma? Yeah… I’m gonna have to call you back.”

I was floating again, barely. My back was being supported by something, but my tail drifted freely in water that was pleasantly cool. I took a deep breath, letting the life-giving liquid rush over my gills. A smile pulled at my mouth.

I opened my eyes and the smile abruptly vanished as I flinched away from the blurry form leaning over me, above the surface. My tail flipped up and out of the water when I instinctively curled inwards.

The loud splash and sudden movement made the shape flinch as well, and he yelped. His looming shadow vanished as I lay frozen, and all was quiet except for the gently lapping water and the soft babbling of the pump.

Eventually, he reappeared, moving much more tentatively into my line of view. “... Oh my god,” he said, simply.

I shrank further. I’d heard stories about what humans did to things they didn’t understand. I had no intention of becoming a specimen.

We stared at each other. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was getting a much better look at me than I was at him. All I could really discern was a brownish blob of a head and a bluish blob for clothing. His contours and edges, already blurred, shifted and fluctuated with the movement of the water. Slowly, so as not to alarm him, I braced my hands on the side of what seemed to be a floating stretcher, and eased myself off. Sliding wholly into the water, I curled up at one corner of the white, featureless tank in order to assess myself before I tried to engage with this creature any further. My head, which still throbbed dully, was bandaged, as I discovered upon questing around with my fingers. Scrapes on my arms and tail had been given similar treatment. My compass still hung around my neck, but my goggles had been removed, meaning I would have to get much closer to my captor-slash-rescuer if I actually wanted to see his face.

Which I did.

But not that badly.

I peered up through the water to see if he’d gone yet. He hadn’t. I sighed, expelling salt water through my nose. He hadn’t hurt me yet… it couldn’t hurt to try and forge some goodwill.  I pushed myself up to the surface, still moving deliberately, and gripped the lip of the tank. I didn’t like it. It felt confining. I felt like I was less than a person in here. Or at least that mister brown blob blue blob expected me to be less of a person. My head broke the water, and rivulets ran down my face. The air was dry and chilling, and I shivered. “... ‘Loo.”

The brown head-blob nodded. “... Hi.” He had a different accent from the humans I was used to. I’d been a fair way around the globe. Born in the south pacific, I had visited the indian ocean and even the north atlantic (though that didn’t last long. Much too cold for me). Eventually, I’d settled in the reefs by a group of teeny tiny little islands in the mid atlantic. The people there had a laid-back, take-your-time attitude that meant they were easy to avoid. They also kept the sea clean and looked after themselves, which was an increasingly rare commodity these days. But this guy seemed foreign. Just how far away had I drifted?

“So… you found me, huh,” I noted, looking away from him and down at my fingers.

“Yeah… on the ground by the ray tank. You… looked pretty rough. I didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“Neither did I,” I admitted. “Couldn’t find the ocean again after I woke up. This… place was shady, so that was at least a little better.”

“... Where did you wake up?” the man asked, frown audible.

“Some sort of paved path, I think. There was a dead fish next to me,” I added, remembering.

“The sidewalk? That’s… that’s a good ways away from the tanks,” the man said, sounding somehow perplexed and impressed at once.

“Fear of death is a lovely motivator,” I murmured, looking down at one of the bandages on my arm. “Did you tape me up?”

The head blob nodded. “Mm-hmm.  You were really scraped up, and you have a nasty gash on your head. Guess it’s from the storm.”

“Yeah…” I agreed. “The storm.”

“You must have washed up when the beach flooded,” he mused. “We haven’t had a tropical storm that bad in a while. It was nearly a hurricane.”

“Oh,” I said. Then, “You have a… ray tank?”

He nodded once more. “Sure. We have lots of tanks.” I shrank away as suspicion swelled in me, and the man noticed. “We’re an Oceanic rehabilitation facility,” he amended hastily. “... We have some critters out on display, but you’re in a solitary area at the back. Usually we keep this one empty in case we get a porpoise or a dolphin, but I thought you might be comfortable here.”

“Oh,” I repeated. “What do you do with things when you get them?”

“Nurse them back to health and let them go, mostly,” The man said with a shrug. He turned away from me to sit on the lip of the tank. “We only hold onto an animal if it’s too injured or used to people to survive in the wild.”

“‘The wild,’” I half mocked. Then a new uncertainty loomed in my mind. “... What are you gonna do with me?”

He looked over at me. “Well, the transport trucks are all out now, combing the beaches for anything that washed up overnight. Once I knew you weren’t going to need more care, I had planned on sneaking in in the dead of night and, you know, sending you on your way.”

I felt some knot of previously unrecognized tension and fear loosen a little at the base of my spine. “... Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” The man hesitated. “So… you’re like, really a mermaid?”

“Almost,” I said, allowing a smirk to tease at my mouth. “Except for the maid part. But half credit.”

“Oh! Right.” The man was suddenly flustered. “Sure. Sorry. Merman, I meant.”

“Better,” I agreed.

“I’m Himmat,” he said after a moment of slightly less tense silence.

“... Virgil,” I replied, hesitantly.

He swiveled to face me and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Virgil.” I took it, and we shook.

My hands were starting to ache from gripping the lip of the pool, so I let go. To my imperfect eyes, the other walls of the tank were just far enough away to appear like nothing more than indistinct blue-white blobs. I felt my way around the edges until I found what I was looking for. I settled myself in a sitting position on a submerged lip in the tank, tail flicking in the deeper water in front of me. Himmat had watched my progress, but had declined to offer assistance or derision. I was grateful for his silence. I picked at a loose scale. I was a nervous preener, resorting to fidgeting and picking in new situations. “So…” I called, beckoning him over with a jerk of my head. “Where am I? And come here, I can’t hardly see you.”

Himmat stood and started to make his way over. “Florida,” he said. “Why can’t you see me?”

“My eyes suck,” I admitted. “But… I think I lost my goggles.”

“Oh, sorry!” Suddenly Himmat was walking the other direction, receding. “I took them off when you were unconscious!” He called, his back to me. Hinges creaked. “They were all tangled in your hair and I couldn’t wrap that head wound. I didn’t know you needed them to see.”

“I hardly ever wear them anyways,” I said with a wave of my hand. “It’s fine.”

“Still.” He walked back over to me and held them out. I took them gratefully and dunked them in water before slipping them on. My eyes were relieved and the world swam back into focus. Himmat blinked at me. His light eyes were at odds with the dark tan of his face, and his hair, the iridescent black of a durgon fish, shimmered bluish in the wan artificial light. Freckles spattered his crooked nose, and one snaggletooth dented the center of his bottom lip. He smiled. “Hello there.”

“Nice to see you,” I joked back and patted the lip beside me.

Himmat hopped on first one foot and then the other to remove his shoes before climbing into the tank and sitting beside me. His eyes lingered on my scales.

I fidgeted and preened again. “... What?” I asked.

“Sorry… it just that you’re really kind of pretty,” he admitted.

I looked down at myself. I thought I was all right. I was still too slender to be considered masculine, my features too fine-boned and delicate. My colors were pleasantly tropical, mostly light blues with hints of pinks and oranges in freckled patterns on my face and stripes on my arms and back. My hair was the pink and lavender shades of healthy coral, and my fingers were tipped in the same. My tail was admittedly eye catching. It was mostly the same blue as the rest of me, but with an iridescence that meant it shimmered with the whole rainbow every time I moved.

Okay, I was a little vain about my tail.

“What kind of fish are you?” He asked, still watching my fins flick lazily back and forth as he gently kicked his legs.

“What do you mean?” I asked, frowning.

“Well… are you like, a parrot fish, a rainbow fish… you do sound like you could be from around Australia.”

“I’m… not any kind of fish,” I said. “I’m just me.”

“Sorry…” Himmat blushed. “I just assumed you would like… co-evolve with different fish species, you know?”

“... That’s not… no,” I finally said, half amused. “And maybe you shouldn’t bring that up if you ever meet another one of us. Any similarities are accidental, I promise.”

“Oh… Okay,” he said, looking away. “My bad.”

“No, no! I reassured him. “It’s a… novel theory.”

“Is that fish person code for ‘stupid theory?’” he mumbled wryly.

“Maybe,” I admitted. My brain swung back around to our very first meeting, when I was so near death. The memories were fogged, but one impression stood out to me. “Earlier, were you upset about something?”

He glanced at me again and his face was twisted with pain. I immediately felt horrible for bringing it up. “Or… you know. Never mind. If you don’t want to talk about it.”

He shook his head. “No… it’s fine. It’s just… Queenie, my favorite ray died last night.”

I nodded in sympathy and sudden understanding.

“I started volunteering here when I was twelve. She hatched a few weeks later. Her egg was damaged, they didn’t think she’d pull through. I babied her when no one was looking, read up online and in the library here about how to look after her the best I could. No way was I gonna let her die, you know? And she didn’t die, she pulled through. She was such a fixture in my life. I volunteered for a couple more years and then got a full time job here as soon as I could. I’m putting myself through college online right now so I can keep working. One of the joys of my day was coming in to visit with Queenie -” His voice choked off. “And now… uh… I can’t anymore. She’s gone.” He looked up at the ceiling and his eyes glistened wetly. “Damn it. I’m sorry. Damn it.”

I shook my head. “Don’t apologize. Sounds like she was your friend.”

He shrugged with a sad little smile. “Yeah… as close to it as a grumpy cow nose with a gimpy fin can get.” He chuckled.

“I lost one of my friends once,” I said suddenly. “I was much younger, and we were playing where we weren’t supposed to be. He got a cut that didn’t seem like a big deal, but he got an infection, and he got very sick. And then… he died. And my heart just… ached. I felt hollow. Knowing that I was never going to see him again just gutted me. That kind of pain just follows you to sleep every night and wakes you up in the morning, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “Sucks.”

“Sucks,” I agreed. Then I paused. “Sorry, that got really heavy.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. No one else here wanted to get emotional with me over a dead fish.”

“Happy to help,” I said quietly. In the following silence, my stomach yowled. Apparently it was even more audible than I’d thought it was, because Himmat looked at me in alarm.

“…When was the last time you ate?” he asked.

I thought about it and realized I didn’t know. My whole day up until the brawl that had resulted in my head on collision with a limestone cliff-face was blurry, like my memory, and not just my eyes, was nearsighted. “I… don’t know,” I said.

“Do you want sushi?” he asked. “I’m overdue for a lunch break.”

“What’s sushi?” I asked, running my hands over my tail.

“Fish,” Himmat said with a shrug. “Usually raw or mostly raw. They wrap it up in seaweed with rice and vegetables and stuff. It’s pretty good.”

I pondered, but my stomach made the final decision. “Sounds good,” I said, hoping to drown out its clamoring. I didn’t.

Himmat smiled lopsidedly, cheeks dimpling. “Great. I’ll run out and get some.” He stood, water dripping from his swimming trunks. “There’s a restaurant a short walk away. I’m going to lock the door behind me and put up a sign that says it’s quarantined in here, so no one should come in. Okay?”

I nodded.

“I’ll be back soon. Just, uh… stay quiet for a little bit and try not to hit your head on anything else.”

I promised that I would survive until he returned, and watched him leave before slipping back into the pool and breathing deeply to refresh myself. My people have gills along the backs of our jaws that are our primary modes of respiration. We can breathe fairly comfortably out of the water for hours on end, but it always feels nice to be back under the surface. I swam lazy laps from white end to slightly shallower white end, past a window covered by a blue, crinkly tarpaulin on the outside, tied in place to prevent anyone peeking through at the tank’s occupants. In this case, at me.

I lazily flipped and twisted through the water. Featureless and plain though it was, the tank was plenty big enough to exercise comfortably. And the lack of décor could be forgiven since, as Himmat said, this seemed to be only a temporary living space.

I don't know how long I’d been amusing myself in the tank, letting my mind drift back to my friends at home and pondering absently how to get back to them, when I became aware that I was no longer alone.

A small human had wriggled under the tarpaulin and was standing pressed to the window, watching me agog. I froze.

She (at least, i think it was a she. It's harder to tell with the little ones sometimes) waved a pudgy hand. Not knowing what else to do, I waved back. She clapped and jumped up and down, obviously excited by our interaction. I felt a humoring smile pull at my lips, and I arced into a lazy flip, leisurely rippling my fins to maintain my momentum. It did occur to me that I should have been hiding, or something, but except for the ledge there wasn't really anywhere to go. And being kind to one child wouldn't end my life. Probably.

The little girl was eating it up, looking at me with a big silly grin on her face. In a moment of boldness (or stupidity) I swam up to the window and pressed my thin hand to the glass. Her expression turned awestruck, and she gave me a high five. The impact resonated through the glass and was amplified by the water. I flinched ever so slightly, but smiled anyways and gave her a thumbs up. She jumped up and down again, and that was when i noticed someone untying a corner of the tarpaulin. My eyes widened, but i still waved to the little girl before rocketing away. I was fast, one of the fastest on my reef, and it took me no time at all to make it to the other side of the tank. I pulled myself up onto the raised ledge, removing myself from the line of sight of anyone at the window.

Hesitantly, I peered back just in time to see a pair of masculine arms lift the small girl away from the glass. She clapped and wriggled in what seemed to be happiness, so I assumed the arms belonged to her father. I could not, however, tell if the tarpaulin had been properly replaced, so I declined to return to the deeper portions of the tank. I stayed on the shallow ledge, splashing water onto my tail and watching the rivulets run off, making little rainbow prisms along the way, until Himmat returned.

It didn't take long for a key to turn in the lock and Himmat to enter. “I come bearing gifts!” he called, holding up a plastic bag. I smiled. “Thanks…”

“I just got you what I usually get, I hope you don't mind. I just  realized that I didn't actually know what you wanted.” he pulled a carton out of the bag and handed it to me. “Here you go. I usually just eat it like finger food, but I got you chopsticks too.” he held out the wooden skewers, but I waved them away. “Finger food works fine for me.” I popped off the top of the top of the carton and took one of the rolls in my hand. I lifted it in Himmat’s direction as a little toast before taking a tentative bite. “Oh!... oh my goodness,” I said. This is delicious! What is it?”

Himmat chuckled. “It’s called a Philadelphia Roll. I think it's… salmon, avocado, asparagus, and cream cheese.”

“Well, it's very good,” I said, and popped the rest of it into my mouth. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Sure thing. So… where are you from?”

I thought about it. “Hm… in terms of geography you're familiar with… i guess you could say from the Bahamas. That's what those islands are called, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah, the ones just off the coast?”

I nodded back. “Yeah, I guess. I live on a big reef a little ways away, in an old submarine.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” I said with a nod. “I like it there. We do a lot of our own construction and whatnot, and most of our buildings we do from scratch ourselves. But it's a perfectly habitable little place. Now that I've  fixed up the kitchen and refurbished it, it’s actually kinda homey.”

“It doesn't feel confining? Submarines aren't exactly known for their roominess.”

I shrugged. “I mean, it's kinda small. But it's also just me. So there's not a whole crew crammed in. I did used to have an eel, so that made it a little tighter.”

Himmat blinked. “You had an eel? I wouldn’t have thought they made good pets.”

I flapped a hand and ate another roll. “Nah. You guys just don’t know how to read them. They’re perfectly sweet.”

“Got some fierce teeth though,” Himmat noted.

“Sure, but so do dogs, and you keep them around no problem,” I countered.

He thought about it and shrugged, popping another roll into his mouth. “I mean… fair enough.”

I nodded and picked absently at my tail, eating the third and final roll in my little box before easing back into the water, checking to see of the tarp had been replaced. It had been, so I pushed off from the ledge, diving deeper into the pool. I exhaled, and bubbles wavered towards the surface as I replaced the air in me with salt water. Himmat was watching me keenly, but I paid him no mind, stretching and swimming around restlessly. I wasn’t very good at staying still, but I was nothing compared to my friend Callisto. Sharky in looks and nature, he never stopped moving, swimming around and around and back and forth until I’d get dizzy watching him.

I looked around the tank and sighed. The walls were too close, I didn’t have the space I wanted to just cut and run for as fast and as long as I could. I realized I was longing acutely for my home, and for my friends. I was really tired of waiting. I bobbed back to the surface and swam to where Himmat was still sitting. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How far off is dusk?” I asked him, fiddling with the cord of my compass.

Himmat thought about it. “Dunno… maybe five or six hours yet.” My distress must have shown, because he frowned. “Why? Something wrong?”

I shook my head hastily. “No, no. Not wrong, per say. Just… I think it’s a pretty long way back. And my friends will worry.”

He nodded. “Oh… you want to get going.”

“I mean, if I can. If it won’t be too dangerous.”

“No, no… I think I can work something out. And you’re right, you know. The less of this swim you gotta do in the dark, the better, probably.” Himmat set aside the empty sushi cartons and stood up, hopping out of the tank and onto dry land once more. “Hang tight again, I’m going to see if one of our trucks is back.”

So saying, he left. The door locked once more. I pulled myself up onto the ledge and looked around once more. The warehouse type building that this tank was in was clean, but barren-looking, sparse and professional. There wasn’t really anything there to catch the eye of a marveling public, which made sense since this was apparently a private place.

Unfortunately, that meant there was nothing to catch my eye either. I went back to fiddling with my own fins, shifting and rocking and twiddling my thumbs to pass the time. Absently, softly, I started to sing.

I was part Siren on my mother’s side, so I’d always had a gift for music. I hadn’t sung publicly in years, as my voice was reluctant to change along with me and its high, feminine tones tended to attract the wrong kind of attention. Finally, over the past year, it had begun to shift downward, leaving its trilling soprano range. It still wasn’t deep by any means, but the light tenor felt much more comfortable  and natural now. Like it fit. I sang an old shanty song that I think my people must have picked up from mankind. It was about ships and storms and beautiful women. We had no need of ships.

I didn’t know how long Himmat had been standing there just inside the door, but when I finished the song, he applauded me. His expression was awestruck, and I felt my cheeks warm. I waved sheepishly. “Hey.”

“Woah,” he said, the sound almost more like an involuntary exodus of pent up breath. “That was…”

I shrugged it off. “Part Sirin on my mom’s side. Guess you could say I have a predisposition for it or something.”

He nodded. “That you do… I found a truck. It’s idling outside. Are you ready to go?”

“Now?” I glanced around me and felt instinctively for my goggles and compass. “Uh. Yeah, sure. Now’s as good a time as any, I guess.”

He nodded. “I can carry you over if you want.”

I sighed at the thought. I did not like the idea of anyone carrying me anywhere. But what I said was, “That would probably be easiest.”

He nodded and came the rest of the way over. “Just, uh… lay flat on your back, I guess. We’ll do this wedding style.”

“But you haven’t even proposed,” I joked lamely, stretching out like he said.

He chuckled, apparently feeling just as awkward as me. He bent over and scooped me up, curling his arms behind my narrow shoulders and about a quarter of the way down my long tail. He grunted as he straightened. “You’re heavier than I thought you’d be,” he said, voice ever so slightly strained.

I felt my cheeks warm again. “Yeah… it doesn’t matter so much in the water though, I guess.”

He nodded. “Guess not. Okay. There are only three staffers in the building besides me right now, so the chances of you being seen are slim. But I still want to move as fast as I can.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. I grabbed his shoulder for support as he shifted my weight and took off at a quick lope.

It turns out I hated being carried. I hated it. It made me feel like I was somehow less of a person. It made me feel vulnerable, defenseless. At the mercy of another.

Himmat heaved me into the passenger seat of a vehicle, cool air blasting from a vent. “I couldn’t find one of the proper transport trucks,” he apologized. “But I promise it’s not a long drive.”

I waved off his concern. “I’ll be fine, I promise. But we should get moving.”

Right! Right!” He closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side, leaping in and moving the car forwards and away. The radio was on, and himmat sang along in a language I didn’t understand. He wasn’t half bad, and I didn’t mind listening. It was a short drive, only about five minutes. My scales weren’t even dry when he rolled to a stop alongside a copse of trees. “There’s a private beach through there,” He explained. “A couple of big walls on each side mean it’s pretty well hidden. It’s summer, so the owners are out of town.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I said, shifting to slide reluctantly out of the vehicle and into his waiting arms. Himmat grunted and hefted me a little before turning and trotting off into the trees. The sunlight filtering through the leaves dappled everything in interesting patterns, and I took note as Himmat made his way out onto the beach. Shaded by the high walls as he’d said it would be, the waters looked gray and cool. I perked up at the familiar sight of the open ocean before me. Himmat waded into the shoals and set me down, crouching beside me. He pulled a phone from his breast pocket and fiddled with it. “Right… so does that compass work?” he asked me. I nodded. “You’re going to want to head east-north-east for about… sixty five miles. That should land you right in the islands. Can you make it?”

I nodded and pulled out the device. “I’ll manage.”

“Okay… Sorry we had to meet in such a crappy way,” Himmat said.

“I am too,” I replied, and I realized I was. I looked up at this man and it occurred to me that I had accidentally stumbled into a friendship. Probably my unlikeliest to date (which was saying something). I felt myself smile. “You should come over to my place sometime. I’ll give you a tour.”

He look surprised, but he grinned. “Great! I’ll bring my scuba gear.”

“We’ll work something out,” I said, thinking of my friend Camari, and her decidedly special skillset. “We’ll make it happen.”

“And if you ever feel like visiting here again without nearly dying, I’d be open,” Himmat said.

“Will you bring sushi?” I asked, as if that would make or break my decision.

“I will definitely bring sushi,” he laughed.

“Well then let’s make it official.” I stuck out my hand. “Same time same place next month?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Himmat said, a wide grin splitting his face. He took my hand in a firm grip and shook.

“Great. I look forward to it.” I waved to him, and pushed off, beginning to backfin my way into deeper waters. “... I actually had fun today, in a weird, unfortunate kinda way.”

Himmat chuckled. “I did too, actually.”

“It was good to meet you.”

“You too.”

See you in a month, man.”

“See you in a month.”

I waved a final wave and ducked below the waters, breathing deep. I took a moment to adjust my goggles, and then, eyeing my compass, I set my sights for home.