#this came out a lot saner than i meant it to

[dothwrites]

spill your blood upon the floor

Dean/Castiel--Hitman AU (some violence)

---

The taste of copper in Dean’s mouth is an unsurprising, but still unwished for, development to his night. 

Knuckles slam into his mouth once more. Dean turns his head and spits. He licks his lips and tastes blood, thick and rusty, on his tongue. “Keep on going, if that’s what it takes to get it up,” he sneers. 

Again, not surprising when Mook #3 slams his fist into his face. 

It was supposed to be just a simple recon job--snoop around, take a looksie, and then get out. No muss, no fuss, and Dean’s back at his safe-house in time to catch up on the latest rerun of Dr. Sexy. But instead, he’s got his hands tied behind his back and his ankles tied to the legs of a rickety chair that’s quite frankly seen better days. Somehow, they’d managed to trip an alarm and then there had been guys rushing in. Dean had gotten a quick glimpse of Cas before he disappeared. 

Fucker could have at least waited, Dean thinks, scraping his wrists raw against the rough rope. 

“What is Michael planning?” His interrogator’s voice isn’t as calm and collected as it was when they started this little farce. Fuck ‘em. They can all burn in hell as far as Dean’s concerned. 

“Fuck off,” he says, rolling his eyes as he shifts his wrists. He’s going to have marks for days, but he thinks that he felt a little slack in the ropes. 

“Why were you here?”

Dean shrugs. It’s hard with what he’s fairly certain is at least a cracked rib, but he manages the gesture well enough. “Vacation spot?” he offers, and once again, with the pithy, knuckle-filled retort from Dumbass. 

He’s been here enough times to know how this goes: Dumb and Dumber will beat him up, knock him around a little bit, maybe even bring out something kinky like the knives or the blowtorch. He’ll wrestle free of the ropes, because in thirty-three years he hasn’t yet found the pair of cuffs or ropes that will hold him. He’ll leave here--a little bloodier and bruised than he was when he entered, but Henchmen 1-3 won’t survive long enough to get their hourly cut. 

Dean’s rate is too high to waste him on low-profile shit like babysitting headquarters, but if he were in their spot he knows what he’d do. You ask once. If you get an answer that you like, fine. If you get an answer that you don’t like, fine. It ends the same--two in the chest, one in the head, wipe the gun and toss it in the river. 

Fucking amateurs. 

So he’ll sit here, and take a beating, because fuck it, what else was he going to do with his Friday night? He does want to know where Cas buggered off to. Not that he was expecting loyalty, but he would have thought that Cas would have stuck around to at least report the details of his death to Michael. 

Thing is, Dean wasn’t supposed to survive his partnership with Cas. No one had previously. Cas killed his last partner (granted, his last partner was a traitor intending on selling the whole organization out) with a cold knife through the throat. No regrets, no qualms. Man he worked with for five years, dead on the floor, and all Cas did was stare at the body for a second before walking away. 

Dean’s heard the other stories--Cas killed his own brothers, Cas burned down Raphael’s whole organization. Cas spent so long on Raphael that when he was done, there wasn’t anything left to identify--just a pink smear on the floor. He doesn’t know how many of the stories that he believes, but he does know something for sure. 

Cas is crazy. 

Not the kind of crazy that they all are, the kind that laughs after an adrenaline rush, the kind that gets a little hard from the pain, the kind that always pushes it just that little bit farther just so you can see if this time’s really it. No, Cas is crazy crazy, batshit crazy, shove a penknife in someone’s eye and laugh crazy. The rabid dog kind of crazy, one of the ones that you have to put down before it turns around and bites you. 

Cas ripped a guy’s throat out with his teeth once. Dean saw it. Hands tied behind his back, dark hair fisted in some meathead’s fingers, and the asshole was just pounding Cas’ face. Cas was laughing, huge belly laughs. His teeth flashed white in the mess of red and then there was--Well. Dean had known the amount of blood that was in a human body, but it was different when most of that blood was dripping down Cas’ chin and throat. 

That was when the first hot, dark curl of something twisted through Dean’s gut. 

He hadn’t been under the impression that he and Cas were really tight, but he’d at least thought that Cas might stick around. Sometimes Cas looks at him, with that heavy, purposeful gaze, the kind that makes Dean wonder whether or not Cas is going to kill him or fuck him, and there should be something that happens, but. Nothing ever does. 

Dean’s head snaps back as another punch lands on his cheek. The skin splits open and blood flows down his face. He can take more. He has taken more. 

“You think that you can last forever?” Mook #2 sneers. Dean doesn’t bother trying to hide the roll of his eyes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow separates from the rest of the wall. 

Dean lolls his head forward to hide his grin. Blood drips in a steady stream from his nose and mouth onto his lap, but he can’t stop the delighted little squirm in the pit of his stomach. It touches something darker in him, something that he doesn’t look at but out the corner of his eye whenever he catches sight of himself in a mirror. 

“You’re just a hired hand, you’re not family, not--” 

When Dean was younger, back before his entire life went to shit, he saw a tornado touch down one time. Even from a mile away, he could see the cloud of debris tossed up in the wake of the storm. He could smell the violence of it, appreciate the sheer destruction held in something so ephemeral. 

Watching Castiel Novak fight is like watching a storm. Nothing is wasted--not the knife that slices into a hamstring and then a throat, not the gun that fires a clean shot through Mook #1′s throat. Mook #2, realizing his tenuous position, starts to run towards the exit, but Cas doesn’t even let him get three steps before he’s on him. Jesus, Dean’s expecting it, and he doesn’t even catch the moment when Cas shifts from kneeling on the ground to tackling the running man down. 

“We can give you what you want,” the henchman gurgles. His breathing is cut off in no small part to Cas’ hand wrapped unforgiving around his throat. “Whatever you want--information, money? Drugs? I can make sure that you--” 

Cas turns to look at Dean. All of that fearsome focus is narrowed to a single point, to Dean, and yeah, Dean’s a little fucked up. Cas never takes his eyes off of Dean, not when he slides the knife between the man’s ribs, not when he withdraws it to the soundtrack of a slow death rattle. Dean gets a little chub from the sheer disregard that Cas shows the man. Like his life means nothing. The way that Cas stares at him, it’s like Dean’s the only thing on the face of the earth that could ever matter. 

Dean’s no fucking saint. He loves it. 

Cas unfolds, slowly, like a threat. He never speaks as he stalks over to where Dean’s still tied, face like an oncoming storm. Blood drips off the blade of his knife, leaving tiny little spatters in its wake. They’ll have to burn the building down afterward, but jesus, it’s worth it, to watch how Cas’ lip curls in a silent snarl. 

Cas is crazy. Dean fucking loves it. 

“Hey Cas,” he says. The arrogance in his voice is a bad idea, but Dean could no sooner stop that tone than he could fix the synapses that fire wrong in Cas’ brain. “Was wondering when you’d show up.” 

Cas lays the flat of his blade against Dean’s throat, smearing his skin with another’s man’s blood. He presses, just hard enough to almost nick the skin but not quite.

“You’re reckless,” Cas says, his voice honey-whiskey gravel. Jesus, Dean could come from that voice. “Insouciant.” 

Dean leers. “Tell me something that I don’t know. You at least got what we came for, right?” 

Cas’ face is unreadable. The knife slips in his hand, but Cas doesn’t slip. He deliberately moves his wrist, lets the blade cut into Dean’s neck. “I should have left you,” he says. 

The words sound like they’re meant as a warning for Dean, but the tone is wrong. The tone makes it sound like Cas is speaking aloud and working something out for himself. 

A hand shoots out and fists itself in Dean’s hair. “I should have left you,” Cas hisses. Bright pain sparks along Dean’s scalp as he shakes him once, hard. 

Dean’s lips pull back from his teeth in a smile that’s half pain, half sneer. “And you didn’t. Why?”

Thing is, Cas is crazy. He was supposed to kill Dean. Dean knows that the assholes in Michael’s organization were betting on how long he would last--some of them had him lasting a full two weeks, while others put his survival rate at a few hours. Joke’s on them--six months in and Dean’s still alive, still staring at the face of the storm, fearing it. Wanting to taste it. 

If Cas were a normal person, with normal emotions, Dean might be able to read his expressions. But Cas is Cas--looking into his eyes is like peering into the deepest depths of the ocean and hoping that nothing peers back. 

The ropes fall away from Dean’s wrists--when did Cas even move? Without ever taking his eyes off of Cas, Dean bends over to work at the knots around his ankles. Cas stares at him. He has a bloody knife in his hands, his fingers are filthy with the remnants of other people’s lives, and yet there’s something feral and hunted in his posture. 

“Fucking watch yourself Winchester. Next time I won’t come back.” 

Cas stalks away. Within a few steps, he’s blended back into the shadows, like he was never there. Dean stares after him for a minute, until he can calm the rapid beat of his heart. Then, he picks himself up from the chair and rolls out the discomfort in his joints. 

Blood trickles down his neck, intimate as a kiss. 

Physical love is unthinkable without violence. --Milan Kundera

[sukirichi]

no guidance

pov: you ask your step-brother to guide you in your first time 

part of the everything step cest collab by @dilfhub​ thank you for everything! 💕

note. lol this rotted in my drafts for weeks but i finally finished it eeeee

cw. virginity loss, sexting, mild corruption themes, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), possessive! akaashi-ni, slight dumbification, pseudo-incest (step siblings)

You knew better than to associate with the likes of Miya Atsumu. As if him being one of the most notorious fuckboys in campus wasn’t enough of a warning sign, his reputation was also infamous for being the “Virgin Killer.” In simpler terms, he took pride in corrupting the innocence of whoever was foolish enough to fall into his trap, and yet there you were, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you shamelessly sexted with him.

Unsurprisingly, he’s asking for nudes. Again.

It had been approximately three months since you passed notes with the said Miya twin (and of course you liked the worse of the pair) before your friendship escalated into something...more sexual. It was no secret Atsumu had a high sex drive, something you were still foreign with, so you weren’t really taken aback by his open vulgarity over his desire to fuck you.

The first month, you were nice enough to sent him a snap of your titties. Albeit still a little shy over not having sent anyone such an intimate photo before, you were beyond exhilarated.

The next, you sent him a booty pic. It wasn’t anything sexy since you were only in your campus hoodie, the door locked because you didn’t want your parents walking in on you trying to get a good angle of your rounded buttocks.

And just last week, you finally gained enough courage to take a photo of your glistening pussy, sent with a caption of ‘thinking of you...’

Now, you weren’t stupid despite your preference to act naive and innocent. You knew your actions would entice him to lead into something more, if his dick picks that show him already leaking weren’t enough of a telltale already. But as your phone pinged and his name flashed above your screen, the words, ‘meet you at Issei’s party this weekend? I think I’ve waited long enough’ loud and clear – your heart dropped into your chest.

Without another thought, you shut your phone off and rolled to your side.

The thing was, you’ve never really had sex. You couldn’t even be brave enough to lose your virginity to your hairbrush or to buy a dildo despite your friends’ insistence it was much better than an actual cock (quote unquote: both can make you orgasm, but the former didn’t come with toxic attitudes of horny college boys.)

Sure, you’ve watched porn, and you watched a lot – but nothing could compare to the actual experience of it. Your fingers could only get you so far.

Glancing at your phone that kept lighting up with texts from Atsumu, you felt something stir deep within your stomach. Curiosity? Arousal? Nervousness? Excitement? Perhaps all a mix of both. You’ve heard from all the girls Atsumu’s slept with that even though he meant bad news, his cock could be likened of that of  a blessing that converted them into ‘I hate him’ to ‘Gosh, I wanna fuck him again.’ Addicting, they called him, and now you were being offered a path to being on a path that most likely had no point of return.

You sighed.

The saner part of you warned you to stay away. There was no rush to lose your virginity now. Just because most of your friends had enough experience, it didn’t mean you had to be the same as them. After all, you came from quite...a strict household.

While everyone had been away from their parents and independently living in their dorms, you still stayed under the same roof as your father and step-mom, along with your older brother who was only a year ahead of you. Akaashi was a very sweet presence to have that you didn’t mind not experiencing that ‘youthful freedom’ too much, simply because your brother was a better company than whoever you could room with. He was kind, always ready to help, and you could confidently say you trusted him more than you did your closest friends.

Maybe that was the reason why you knocked at his room past midnight, shifting your weight from one foot to another. The faint sliver of light peeking from the cracks in his door told you he was probably still working on projects and the like, really not a good time to bother him, but you couldn’t hold on any longer.

At the back of your mind, this was the right thing. He was the right person.

“’Kaashi-nii...?” you knocked again, aware that he had a habit of listening to music on full volume while studying. “Are you there? Oh, were you studying, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to barge.”

Your brother stood in front of you, his headphones hung around his neck. He’d swung the door open to reveal that he was, indeed, previously hunched over his desk to work on something. Upon seeing the guilty expression on your face, Akaashi smiled at you in reassurance. “Hey, no, it’s fine,” he ushered you inside, setting you down at the edge of his bed while he sat across you in his swivelling chair. “Do you need help with homework again?”

“No...”

Turning away from him shyly, you opted to fiddle with your fingers as you stared at your lap. You had come here in a whim. You didn’t really think this through, and even though you’d been in his room a thousand times before, his dark blue sheets and tidy room that smelled sweetly of his detergent and vanilla cologne made you feel dizzy.

It didn’t help that he looked so mouth-watering in this light too.

Messy hair, long, slender fingers that absentmindedly spun a pen in those pretty hands of his, his dark eyes hazy and as welcoming as ever under the dim light of his desk lamp – how could you resist?

“What is it?” Akaashi quickly picked up on your silent worries. He’d always been observant, taking his role as your big brother seriously that he had attuned himself to sense even the slightest differences from you. Even though you’d only become family when you were already in middle school, it felt like you had known him for a much longer time than that, his warm hands rubbing soothing circles in your knees pulling the tension away from you.

“You know you can tell your brother everything, right? I’ll listen to you, you don’t need to feel scared or nervous.”

Guess it was now or never... “There’s this boy in my class...”

Akaashi’s eyes immediately darkened. All the warmth in his face disappeared, now replaced with a hardness you didn’t think was possible for such an understanding, patient guy like him. “Is he hurting you, forcing you to do something you don’t like?” his questions shot out one by one, and your eyes widened when he held you firmly by the shoulders. “Do I need to hurt someone?”

“No, no, it’s not like that!”

Your brother relaxed back in his chair. For a moment, your mind conjured up the dirtiest image of bouncing on his cock (and you know his cock is pretty after accidentally walking in on him changing clothes in high school) as he studied, but you quickly shook the thought away with a clear of your throat.

“What’s wrong then?”

You took a deep breath. “I just...I like him a lot and he asked me to have sex with him someday,” your words came out barely above a whisper, the courage seeping out of you until meeting Akaashi’s eyes felt impossible. “I said yes because of course I like him but...I’m afraid.”

“Hey,” Akaashi tilted your chin to look at him, his blue eyes pooling with worry and brotherly concern. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I just don’t want to disappoint him. I-I’ve never done it before and I feel like I won’t make him feel good. That’s why I came here,” you peered at him under your lashes, tongue darting out to nervously lick at your lips that felt uncomfortably dry. “You told me I could ask you for help in anything and you’re my brother so I trust you a lot to guide me on this one.”

The silence in the room was suffocating.

You were so close to running out of his room and pretending you didn’t exist for the rest of your life because what the hell were you asking? He was your brother, he obviously didn’t see you as a woman. You bet in his eyes, you were nothing but a little sister, and there really was no stopping him from kicking you out of his room until – “You want me to be your first time?”

You looked up at him so fast you actually felt your neck ache from the sudden movement. Heat spread all over your body, especially to your core at the unreadable expression in his eyes, yet it wasn’t...bad. He wasn’t rejecting you.

“Yes, please.”

Akaashi nodded at your hushed words. Slapping his palms to his knees, he walked to his bedside table where he pulled out an inconspicuous bottle with some sort of liquid you weren’t familiar with.

“Okay. Nii-san will teach you everything, but first, I need to prep you.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was actually happening!

You could barely process the events that happened next as he discarded his shirt to the ground, exposing his toned upper body to you from years of playing volleyball. While you sat there frozen and with a frantic beating heart, your brother barely blinked an eye as he gestured for you to take your clothes off. Wordlessly, you pulled your top off and shimmied out of your underwear. Too shy upon being exposed to a male for the first time in your life, you immediately headed towards his bed and closed your eyes, breath heavy and laboured as you waited for his next movements.

Akaashi’s hand went up to your knee, and you flinched at the contact, relaxing only when his soothing smile greeted you. “Lean back for me. Just relax and loosen up, okay? I’m not going to hurt you, Nii-san will make you feel good.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you did as he told. You were still shy, but you were feeling a lot less nervous. His hypnotizing gestures of caressing your thighs made you sigh in contentment as your head hit the pillow, legs falling open like it was second nature to spread yourself to your brother.

The thought had you biting your lip.

Before you could think too much about it, you felt a cool liquid being spread all over your lips. You gasped and clutched on the sheets out of reflex, staring forward as your brother stared at you cautiously, his lube coated fingers experimentally rubbing circles over your pussy lips. It felt so lewd for him to touch you like that – those same hands that always held yours in your weakest moments – yet it felt so good; the strange sensation tightening your chest.

“I-it’s cold.”

“I’ll warm it up for you,” he reassured, “How far have you gone? Any prior sexual experience?” Akaashi then began to playfully roll your clit between his fingers, eliciting a high-pitched whimper from you. He grinned at your reaction – so vocal for him already – and he was determined to hear more of it. “Ever tried sucking someone off?”

“No, but I’ve watched a lot of porn.”

“Porn is different from actual sex, baby,” the nickname fell so effortlessly from his lips that you didn’t dare question it anymore. Not that you could anyway, because the tip of his finger was prodding against your hole that was embarrassingly clenching around nothing. “How about here? Have you tried masturbating?”

“Don’t ask me such embarrassing questions!”

“You’re spread open for me already, you don’t need to be embarrassed,” You covered your face with your hands to hide, but Akaashi pried them away, his grip on your wrist both demanding yet gentle. “Tell me so I know how many fingers I can put inside you. I need to stretch you out.”

“Just one.”

“Louder, baby.”

“Just one finger,” you blurted out, finding it harder and harder to breathe the more he glided his fingers between your slit. Fingering yourself couldn’t even compare to the beauty of having him do the same to you, your arousal only heightened by his dedicated stare at your shaven pussy. From below your bodies, his pants had begun to home a tent.

“Two hurts a little bit and ‘em too sore.”

“What a tight cunt,” he commented with a smirk. “I’ll have to take my time with you then,” You nodded gratefully, about to smile at him with hearts in your eyes when Akaashi slowly slid a finger in. Your moan came out breathless and muted as you stared at him, mouth open in a silent gasp. The intrusion wasn’t anything new but he expertly pumped his finger in and out of it that your walls fluttered around him, head thrown back for another broken moan as he slid another digit. The stretch felt fucking perfect – the slight sting more than welcome in your virgin cunt that was now being fucked by your brother.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’ll feel better soon. Just relax.”

Openly, your slight squeaks of pleasure had increased in volume. Akaashi fingered you until he was knuckle deep, his other palm flat on your abdomen. Had you been in a better state of mind that wasn’t previously clouded with pleasure, you would’ve been embarrassed at the loud sloppy sounds of your pussy, but you remained there with trembling thighs, your nails digging at his thigh as you stared at him wide-eyed.

“Feels good?”

“M-more,” you begged through gritted teeth, “Nii-san, more.”

“Not yet, baby, you’re still too tight,” Sooner than you’d like, Akaashi pulled his fingers out of you. Both of you gazed at the webs of arousal between his fingers; your face painted in shock while he smirked at it, chest swelling with pride. Then, his eyes slid over yours, hooking his hands under your knees before he settled between your thighs.

“Come here. I’m going to go down on you.”

“Nii-san, no!” your protests fell on deaf ears, almost as if he knew you didn’t really mean it. His ears knocked with your knees locked around him, and you shivered as you felt his hot breath right before your burning cunt. “It’s embarrassing...don’t want you looking at my kitty like that.”

“Your kitty is very pretty and Nii-san wants a taste of you,” he mumbles while pressing kisses all over your pelvic bone, his sticky fingers massaging your inner thighs into relaxation. Your head pressed back harder on the pillows at the sensation, the pleasure too immense and he was just starting. “Didn’t you say you want me to teach you everything? This is just a few lessons you have to learn so don’t be shy. I’m sure you taste heavenly,” Clenching your jaw from the overwhelming bursts of ecstasy, you failed to notice how he dipped his head further, tongue darting out to lick a flat stripe. Your eyes blew wide open as he torturously and slowly dipped his tongue from your hole, the wet and warm muscle licking all the way up from your slit until the clit. “See? I told you. Heavenly.”

“’Kaashi, ‘Kaashi, oh, oh!”

“You sound so pretty but don’t be too loud,” Somehow, he managed to raise his arms and placed a palm over your mouth. “We don’t want Mom and Dad to overhear.”

Your legs trembled around him until you nearly suffocated him, but how could you stop when he was rolling his tongue side to side, licking and cleaning up the previous wetness he’d pulled from you?

It was too much, too good, and soon you were moaning behind his palm as you came all over his face.

Akaashi greedily slurped up the juices that squirted all over his face, unbothered by the mess you’ve made. He didn’t stop until he was sure you were completely clean, and you were already on the brink of overstimulation when he locked his lips around yours, sucking whatever he could take. Unable to take it any longer, you pushed his head away and fell on your side in a desperate attempt to catch your breath, sending him a seductive glare, only to soften as you his lips, cheeks, and nose shining under the moonlight.

“Nii-san, your face—”

“It’s okay, I’ll clean up for later,” he shrugged it off and stepped out of his sweatpants, ripping a condom you didn’t even notice he had. You watched with baited breath as his cock sprung free, the tip red and glistening with pre-cum. Akaashi rolled the condom over his throbbing cock and situated himself before you, pumping his length a few times before aligning it with your hole, sending you one last look of approval.

“You ready for my cock now? This might hurt a little bit. You just need to relax and I’ll go slow, okay? Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable.”

Nodding, you made yourself comfortable and braced the sheets for preparation, wincing a little as he pushed the tip in. Akaashi felt you clamp down on him, his hips stilling just as he loomed over you, his arms resting beside your head. In this position, you could see each detail of him – the thickness of his lashes, the love blooming in his eyes, the sweat beading in his forehead and everything soft and slow written all over his face.

“Still okay? I can stop if you want.”

You shook your head and wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer. He raised a brow at your initiation, but you merely smiled at him to hide the mild discomfort. “I can take it, just keep going.”

A few minutes later and a hundred still good? later, Akaashi had slid himself in. He allowed you to get used inch by delicious inch until he was completely seated inside you, hip pressed to hip and his hand caressing your cheek. “You’ve done so well,” he praised, “How does having a cock stuffed in you feel?”

“S-so full,” you replied numbly, the feeling of him throbbing inside your heat so fucking delicious. “Love nii-san’s cock.”

“Yeah? I’ll give you more then,” he warned, and you knew you couldn’t go back anymore when he placed his palm flat beside your head. Akaashi began to move his hips, slowly at first to let you accommodate to his length which your pussy hugged greedily. You were moaning left and right and his groans above you was erotic enough to make you cum on the spot, the pleasure doubling as your pebbled nipples grazed his toned chest.

“Nii-san! So big!”

“I know, baby, you’ll get used to it, don’t worry. It’ll feel better soon,” he rasped, scowling when you raked your nails down his back, though not hard enough to draw blood. It would definitely leave a mark though, and the pain of it urged him to move his hips faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through his room that began to warm by each passing second. “Feel better?”

“Feels so good,” you cried around him, reaching up to bury your head in his neck and clinging to him like a koala. It did feel so good, so much so that you just might get addicted to this. “Love Nii-san’s cock.”

At your words, Akaashi’s patience that thinned a while ago completely broke.

His pace increased and he gripped your hips tightly, sitting back on his knees just to watch his cock slide in and out of you. The lube made sex feel a hundred times better from how easily he’s easily punching through your walls, the sight of you splayed out for him – hair strewn across the pillow, little whimpers leaving your lips, breasts bouncing right before his eyes and abused pussy lips hugging his shaft – it made him growl with possessiveness.

“This is how you should be fucked – you gotta be fucked right,” he announced, thumb coming down to rub your clit. As expected, you cried out and tightened around him.

He faltered for a moment at how tight you were, but he kept pushing, driving his cock in and out of you until he turned into you a sobbing, slobbery mess.

“You sure that boy of yours can make you feel this good?”

“N-no, Nii-san’s cock only!”

“That’s right, it’s just gotta be me, okay?” driving both his hands around your neck just to clench your airway as a warning, Akaashi fucked you harder than before. The sudden inability to not breathe made you impossibly tighter around him that you felt each ridge and vein kissing your bumpy walls. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, I’m Nii-san’s property!”

“I’m gonna mark you as mine, claim this pussy as Nii-san’s only, yeah? You want that?”

“Cum in me, ‘Kaashi, cum inside!” you prompted, and what good of a brother would he be if he didn’t grant his little sister’s wishes? Growling, Akaashi snapped his hips hard until the tip of his cock successfully kept repeating that sweet spot in you that you didn’t even know you had. You were crying, moaning, too fucked to respond as you came, and your lewd expression was all it took before he was releasing his cum inside the condom. “Kaashi, Kaashi, ah!”

Akaashi quickly pulled out his cock and took a minute to regain his breath, his head cradled on his hands at the earth-shattering orgasm you both had. Not a moment later, he’s tying his condom and throwing it to his bin, finding his way right beside you as you blinked sleepily at him.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, you were great. Just tired.”

“Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?”

You smiled at his concern, pulling him in closer for an embrace. He was warm and sweaty that it felt uncomfortable, but you wanted him beside you, and Akaashi began to caress your hipbones with so much tenderness. He knew he was a little rough for losing control like that.

“I’d love that, thank you,” you mumbled, more than ready to call it a night and sleep when his weight shifted off the bed. Akaashi rummaged through something in his drawers before he disappeared in the bathroom for a bit, coming back to spread your legs open once more. “Wh-what’re you doing?”

“It’s called aftercare. If your partner can’t provide this and pamper you, I suggest you break up with them,” he snickered, and you hissed at the sensitivity as he wiped away your cum with the towel. You soon relaxed, however, all thanks to Akaashi’s doting nature that you were falling asleep on his bed, allowing him to clean you up as he pleases. He set the towel aside and snuggled right next to you, his nose bumping your jaw to pull you away from dreamland for a little while. His previous sexual aura had now dimmed; his brotherly concern present again. “You still want to fuck your classmate?”

“Hmm...he’s really handsome, and I heard from the other girls he’s got a huge cock too,” you giggled, not really aware of your words as you said, “Probably even bigger than yours.”

Thinking that he might be offended, you almost apologized after a moment, but Akaashi only laughed as he hugged you tighter. “Size doesn’t matter. It’s who owns the cock and their talent in pleasuring their partner that matters,” he confidently stated, fingers running up and down your spine that brought chills down to your toes as he nibbled on your ear. “And I know I fucked you so good he can’t compare.”

[codenameantarctica]

Finder Discord

I’ve been made aware of some posts on Tumblr regarding Finder Discord Servers with some Anonymous mentioning that one was pretty much for stanning MxF and anti-AxA.

I have no idea if “Pray in the Abyss”, the Discord I am in, is meant by this. If it is, then I don’t understand why.

We have 274 Members

you can mark yourself for a certain ship or for several at the same time

169 have marked themselves as being fans of AxA, yet they are pretty quiet all in all.

116 have marked themselves as being fans of MxF, and they are the ones who are sharing the most content, talk, analysis on ALL the characters. Who are providing news and links and everything.

Maybe this is because those who built this server came together as fans of MxF and so there was a lot of activity on that ship from the start with a bit less for other ships and characters.

Maybe these ships draw people of different backgrounds and the ones who like to use Discord and are drawn towards MxF are more chatty and social than those stanning AxA? I have no psychological education, so I don’t know.

Mostly, sadly, it seems like many AxA-fans just come by and lure for news but don’t participate. And that’s fine, but then it’s sadly partly their own fault they make this server seem like it’s only for MxF-fans.

But believe me, everyone is allowed to speak and simp and ship. We have channels that allow you to filter out ships you don’t like and look only for those you want. We don’t allow ship-shaming or rudeness of any kind.

But we are also adult enough to talk character development and behavior apart from blind veneration. So yes, Asami might get spanked depending on his behavior, but also might other characters. And honestly it seems to me like this is a saner and more mature way of reading and treading this manga and its characters than some hardcore-AxA-stans seem capable of.

Sorry, I know this sounds like bitching, but at some places you can get the Anti-Asami tag as easily as saying that it was stupid of him to walk into the warehouse without a bulletproof-vest, when actually... IT WAS!

So, if you like a place where you can chat your heart out about ANYTHING Finder with people who enjoy the same art, the same story, the same mooooonths of waiting for news and glimpses of new chapters, then “Pray in the Abyss” might be a place for you.

If, however, you request people to blindly praise Asami or regard AxA as the epitome of romantic love, then this is probably not a good place for you.

Anyway, here’s the invite link:

https://discord.gg/fxWASgpV

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 20

Description:

Notes:  WC: 7.4k

+

It wasn't long at all until he realized something was different––not specifically in you, or in his environment, but within his thoughts. Things had shifted, and the constant anxieties of where food and water was coming from next were turned to empty slots in his mind, slots you happily filled.

Against his will, he could think of little else besides you. He tried many things as well––staying away from you, keeping close to you, but he had yet to touch you in any way that really mattered. Fluttering glances and barely-there graces didn't count, nor did misplaced kisses on saner, safer areas. No, his dreams offered him no break from the annoyingly insistent thoughts, and instead supplied him with the endless imagination of an unchecked mind. Drowning in the image of your closed eyes slotted next to his in soft kisses, of your fingertips trailing across his bare waist.

But you would never do that.

He stared longingly at you through the gate he guarded, leaning on his wooden and bronze spear as you dug in the garden. Zakiti, your work partner, was travelling back and forth between where new trees had been dropped off, and where you were told to plant them.

In fact, he was so absorbed in your moving lips that he barely heard his own partner talking to him from across the gate.

"What are you, in love with Zakiti?" He asked, but he spoke in Akkadian, and Ahkmen had yet to pick up more of the complex words. One phrase you taught him was –

"I do not speak Akkadian," he said.

Luqa––or at least that's what Ahk thought his name was––just sighed, rolling his eyes and turning back to face front. Ahkmen frowned softly but turned to attention as well.

That was generally how he spent his working hours. Much like he had in the House of Life in Egypt, he wasted away the time by staring at you or thinking of you, phasing out at the thought of knowing you. He was sure his coworker was tired of his shenanigans, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about what Luqa thought.

Fortunately, neither of you had work that often, and after asking the stewardess, your schedules were matched up to have the same amount of free time at the same time. The two of you took full advantage of that, spending many of your days strolling throughout the city and trying the new foods and beers created throughout the mud brick landscape. Strips of gardens were scattered throughout the city, but none more grand than the terraces of flora making up the Hanging Gardens, whose trees leant over with their plentiful fruit. Deep green vines twisted around blue tiled ledges and tall, white pillars, the especially long ones brushing up against the people who came and went from the gardens. You had yet to actually enter any of the Hanging Gardens, but they remained a constant in the background of the city.

Many morning and evenings you spent in the brewery. Sometimes Ahk would follow you, but other times he left to temples and taverns, socializing with the locals in hopes of absorbing more of the language. His favorite time was coming to visit you at the brewery after letting you work for a few hours, as you always lit up like a beacon whenever you caught sight of him.

This time was no different––you raced up the steps, taking his hand and dragging him back down. Today, tarps had been raised above the workshop, blocking away the blearing sun, and allowing a little more comfort in the already-heated environment. Not all of the stations were filled, but your friend Tiamat was still there at your side.

"I am – I am doing a, uh, a way to make my beer, but with the barley," you stuttered out, barely coherent enough for him to understand.

"So... the really alcoholic kind?" Ahk asked uncertainly.

"Yes!!" You exclaimed, and Tiamat laughed.

"Here," Tiamat said, gesturing Ahk over to her. She dunked the cup in her hand into the frothing beer, and handed it to him when it filled with the golden liquor.

You and Tiamat waited in baited breath as Ahk slowly lifted the cup to his mouth, sipping at the warm drink with a critical look in his eye. It was sweet––almost like cider, but it burnt his throat on the way down, warming his stomach pleasantly once it was there. He looked up, and you were still watching intently.

"What do you think?" You asked, your hands clasped tight together in front of your chest.

"It's good," he said, nodding. "You know what would go great with this?"

"What?"

"Cardamom. It's a spice, I'm sure they have it here," he said, but your brow furrowed as you looked away, a confused look on your face.

Ahk looked to Tiamat and repeated, "cardamom."

Tiamat, who look equally confused, said something to you that you had to translate.

"We do not know the word in Egyptian," you said.

"Shit," Ahk muttered. "It would taste so good, though."

"Is it sweet?"

"Well, it is used in desserts," he said with a shrug.

"That is good for me. We can – uhh, we can go to a spice shop, and we can, or you can, find it," you suggested, and repeated it to Tiamat, who nodded with a brightening smile.

"Good idea," she said.

The three of you set off quickly with Tiamat leading the way, as she knew the city best after the years she'd been living within its walls. Bustling chatter filled the streets, accompanied by shuffling feet, wooden wheels, and the jarring calls of sheep and goats. Bells sometimes rung as merchants shouted out their wares, and you ducked beneath their raised arms, giggling as you followed Tiamat, while Ahkmen trailed close behind, almost always reaching out for your hand.

Tiamat was a good deal taller and buffer than you, reaching Ahkmen's height and surpassing his strength, so she was stopped by large crowds that suddenly crossed your path. You panted as you caught up to her long-striding legs, followed by Ahk also appearing and panting.

"Since the drought, a lot of our trade lines have been cut... of course, the Kassite takeover didn't help, so we've only got a couple spice shops left," Tiamat told you as she tried to look over the moving heads of the crowd. "I think most of it is grown in the King's garden now, actually."

"That is good," you said, positing it was better than nothing.

"Yes, but... I do miss cinnamon," she said with a chuckle.

You relayed what she said––minus the cinnamon––to Ahkmen as you waited for the people, who were dragging along a group of goats, to pass by.

"That ought to make our search easier," Ahk said, and no sooner had he'd finished the phrase than he was being pulled on again, your left hand clasping his and your right held by Tiamat.

Frequent turns led you from the northern-most side of the city and into the south, where the streets were less disorganized than they had been. You tried to stop Tiamat several times to look at some of the cuisine and textiles within the scattered markets, but to Ahk's relief she didn't notice you, and kept on her quick-footed pace headed for the spices.

Both you and Ahk fell into heavy pants as Tiamat finally drew to a stop in front of a large, clay storage house, staring up at the symbol carved above the entrance. Through the archway you could spy a few people moving about amongst the massive pots and jars of sandy colors.

When Tiamat made to enter, the two of you followed gingerly, looking like twins with your hands curled in front of your chests to avoid touching anything. You scanned the room as a whole before your eyes fell to one of the merchants, wrapped up in white desert attire and a large turban set on his head. He was speaking quietly to another man, so you ignored him for the time being, and returned your attention to Ahkmen.

"What is the spice you did name?" You asked in a whisper.

"Cardamom," he repeated. "It's just kind of... vaguely brown. Like split wheat."

"That is a good help," you said flatly, looking at the pyramid-like structures of spice nearly overflowing out of the tall clay vases, most of which could qualify as 'vaguely brown'.

"Cardamom," Tiamat tried the word, rolling the word unnecessarily. She turned to you and said in Akkadian, "it's a strange word, isn't it?"

"A little," you agreed with a giggle.

You and Tiamat watched as Ahk sniffed each spice individually, often having to bend down to get a full whiff of the scent. Each time he did so, he wrinkled up his nose, stepping away with a frown.

"Is it bad?" You asked on the first time he did this.

"No, it's just really strong," he said.

That was his continuing excuse for doing it at least ten more times throughout the 15 presented jugs. By the end of it, you were no closer to knowing cardamom's Akkadian name, much less actually having any cardamom.

He backed away from the jars with a frown, crossing his arms as he scanned over all of them once more.

"Nothing," he said.

"How may I help you?" Someone behind you asked, and all three of you turned to see the shopkeeper––the darkskinned merchant who wore a turban. He spoke in Akkadian, but he had an accent, one only Tiamat could pick up on.

"We're looking for a specific spice, but we only know the name in Egyptian," Tiamat said, gesturing vaguely in Ahk's direction.

"Alright," he said with a heavy brow, glancing between you. "What is it?"

You nudged Ahk and he said, "cardamom."

"Ah," the merchant nodded, "qaqullu."

Tiamat asked for him to say it again, but she didn't know the spice, and reported so with a confused look.

"I wouldn't expect ye' to, it's off from Kuru in the east," he said, gesturing out the door with a hand holding round bottle. "Route's been cut, so I haven-been able to get it."

Before you could do it, and to your immense surprise, the merchant repeated what he'd said to Ahkmen in Egyptian. Ahk had a similar look of surprise on his face.

"Do you know of any place that might have it?" Ahk asked with wide eyes. He almost didn't notice the way you grinned toothily up at him.

"You are so intense," you whispered to him.

"How do you even know that word? You asked me what soup meant just yesterday –"

"The King's garden, probably," the merchant interrupted. "But it would cost much."

"That's not a problem," Ahk said before Tiamat could respond.

The three of you bid a hasty thanks and good-bye to the merchant, who gave you an odd look as you raced out of the shop. Crowds had only grown more thick during your time indoors, meaning you could barely see past the moving bodies, and had to rely on Ahk and Tiamat for where you were supposed to go.

Tiamat led the way once more, winding back through the streets from the way you came. According to her, the King's palace was somewhat near to the center, but the gardens were held closer to the largest temple, which marked the exact center of the city. Ahkmen spied through the tall buildings a stretching tower, reaching into the sky in white stone and dark, green leaves. The closer you got, it became easier to realize that the garden resided in a massive temple complex that took up nearly half of the city dwelling on the western bank.

You stopped at a large bridge hanging over the wide Euphrates that split the city down the middle, staring at the sheer size of the rushing water compared to the thin stretches you and Ahk had travelled down. Travellers and chariots marched down the large brick street, wooden wheels pulled by strange creatures you'd never seen before. Most chariots carried one or two passengers, as well as a carriage for goods, such as food, stone, and cloth. A couple carried massive bushels of reeds. On either side of the bridge were familiar statues––the lions with the heads of men, of which you'd learned earlier were titled Lamassu. Soldiers with spears and sheathed swords stood at their sides.

The frequency of soldiers and guards increased as you approached the walls surrounding the temple of Marduk, whose name you only knew after extended conversations with both Tiamat and Zakiti. Ahkmen wasn't aware of the name, but that didn't stop him staring at the temple's might, six terraces building the material of humans into the unearthly heavens.

However, the temple ended up not being your final destination. Tiamat led you past the tower and to the south, running down a wide street that led directly to one of the city's outer walls. Once you stood at the wall's base, she took a sharp turn to the left, and took you to one of the city's entrances across the moat of water.

Across he bridge lay farms and smaller houses, as well as another wall––though much smaller––that had been built to fortify the growing city. The sun shined a bright white overhead, allowing the dewdrops on trees to shine and glitter across the small, town-like reaches.

"There," said Tiamat, pointing out to a shaded area protecting rows of plants. Some of them had tarps set out above them, but others had more permanent shade, effectively hiding a good number of rows from view.

Ahk squinted in the bright sun to try and make out the different types of plants growing there.

"Are we allowed to actually go into the garden?" Ahk asked, a question you relayed to Tiamat.

"I've never been," she said, and began forward across the bridge. "So I'm not actually sure."

You translated the general idea again.

"Well, I've run this much now," Ahk said with a sigh, placing his hands on his hips. "Ought not to give up now."

The overbearing scent of mixed spices was quick to hit you, and the three of you slowed down as your noses burned. A few people were standing outside an open archway, the darkness inside containing several more people, and barrels worth of spices. To the left of that the growing continued in shadow, while sunloving plants enjoyed the last light of the day.

Ahkmen accidentally met the eyes of one of the people flanking the entrance, causing his gaze to shoot back down to the ground. The doorway, like many in Egypt, was raised partway off the ground to avoid tracking dust and sand into the building. He stepped over the frame, and stood blindly while his eyes adjusted to the major change in light. His squinting was disturbed when you bumped into him, muttering some sort of apology before you pressed your side to his, scanning the quiet room with a look of near menace.

Tiamat appeared to be in a similar state of apprehension, scanning the room in hopes of finding out whether or not you were allowed to be in there at all. You and Ahk hadn't noticed, but the symbol of the King was carved clearly above the small house, and those who stood nearby were dressed in deep colors of red, purple, and green––a stark difference from the farmers who dwelled in much simpler homes outside.

Your awkward glances eventually caught the eye of a much older man, whose beard curled magnificently between robes of green and silver silk. His dark, bushy brow furrowed as his eyes fell specifically to you––a sort of anger, or perhaps confusion, overtook his curiosity and he stepped forward.

"My name is Sagar," the man said, taking your hand and bowing his head slightly. You stiffened, and Ahk quickly came over to your side, wrapping an arm around the back of your waist.

"Hello, I, uh – I am here with my friends," you replied in Akkadian, joined soon on the other side by Tiamat.

Compared to you and Ahk, Tiamat looked a great deal older as well––neither of you had gotten the chance to ask her age, but considering you were about as short as a 10 year old, and Ahk was twiggy as a 12 year old, it created a considerable difference. You assumed this was why Sagar very suddenly averted his attention to Tiamat, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Like you, Tiamat grimaced, her shoulders tightening.

"How may I help you?" Sagar asked, his voice low and weathered against your softer ones. Tiamat stuttered before she found an answer.

"We are looking for a spice, qaqullu," she said slowly.

"You must be a woman of noble bearings," he said with a smile.

"Well –"

"No," you answered for her. "But he is."

You pointed to Ahk with your thumb, who shot you an offended look before he confronted Sagar.

"I do not speak Akkadian," Ahk said, easily recalling the only phrase he knew in Akkadian.

Sagar looked him up and down, almost hesitant to speak.

"Egyptian?" He asked.

You nodded, somewhat impressed considering Ahk was trying to wear more Babylonian clothes, but Ahkmen just looked unsettled, shifting his weight between his feet.

"I've been helping them look for cardamom for their beer," Ahk explained quietly.

"If you have the means to pay for it, the King does have seeds. The price has gone up, though," he added, "due to some... outer pressures."

"You mean the trade network?" Ahk asked, kinking a single brow.

"I'm afraid so. It'll be several gold bands or sacks of grain."

Several?? Ahk's eyes bulged as he heard the price. While he was regaining his words, his mouth fallen open, Sagar translated the sentence back into Akkadian for Tiamat.

"Mother of Gods," Tiamat blurted out. "We'll, uh – we'll be right back."

She herded the two of you out the door––which wasn't a very hard task––and took you round the corner so the doorway was no longer visible.

"I don't think I have that much grain and I certainly don't have that much gold," she said quickly, her eyes flickering between you and Ahk despite the fact that he couldn't understand her.

"We have many gold," you said, retaining most of your optimism easily.

"Okay, wait, we don't have that much gold," Ahk said as soon as he vaguely translated what you said. He turned to you and continued, "we still need to get through Elam and into Harappa. And we'll still need a lot of money once we get there so we don't starve after, like, three days of being in the city."

"Hmm..." you hummed quietly, your brow knotted together as you picked at the skin on your chin.

The two of them waited for you while you thought deeply, staring at the ground.

"We can steal," you suggested after a moment of silence.

"Again??"

"You say it all the time, that it is fun to steal, and from Kings," you said rather loudly, causing Ahk to shoot forward and silence you with a hand held tight over your mouth, simultaneously pushing you against the nearest wall.

"That man in there knew Egyptian, and I'm pretty sure he works for the King," he said quietly.

You stared at each other, iron in your gaze and steel in his.

"What is happening right now?" Tiamat asked, and at that point you recalled that, once more, you were not alone. Ahk had a similar reaction, backing up as his hands zipped behind his back.

You explained the short conversation to her, at which point she nodded with much the same expression as Ahk's when he thought deeply.

"What's the King like?" Ahk asked, knowing little more of the man other than his name. You translated.

"His name is Gidar," she began, allowing you to translate each sentence before she continued. "He is quiet, keeps to himself. He has funded building and farming projects, though, and he upholds the law, so no one really bothers him."

"Are his punishments violent?"

That one took you a little longer to figure out––you didn't know the Akkadian word for 'violent' or 'punishments,' so instead you said something more along the lines of 'does he kill or hurt people who do bad'.

"Like stealing?" She asked.

"Sure," you said with a shrug.

"He will cut off your hands and kill you."

"... oh," you mumbled, grimacing as you turned to Ahk and translated.

"Well, then we better not get caught," he said, placing his hands on his hips.

You glanced to Tiamat with an odd look.

"I do not think that is something we can ask her to do," you whispered, leaning into Ahk.

"Probably not," he said after a moment's thought. "Tell her to go back to the brewery. We'll be back there soon, I think."

"Today?" You asked, your eyes wide.

"Tonight," he nodded.

Late afternoon, and the warm, fiery colors it brought sunk into the horizon, and the stars chased after that light, appearing easily in the sky surrounding a simpler town than the centers of Karanduniash. Only small torches burnt outside the main walls, usually hung by entrances to the clay huts built up from the earth. Some houses were illuminated brightly by fire places, casting squares of light onto the ground from windows, but many were climbing up onto their roofs with rugs and blankets.

You watched the evening progress from a spot near the King's spice garden which, now that you'd stared at it for a couple hours, looked incredibly inconspicuous for such a rich store. An alleyway hid you from sight of the caretakers inside the garden, and a silver earring from Ahk allowed you a hearty, thick stew, steaming with warmth in your bowls.

With a grin you clinked your wooden bowls together before raising it up, forgoing your spoon in favor of slurping the soup. He chuckled, matching your behavior as he glanced past your shoulder, to the garden, and then ultimately to one of the nearby houses in his line of sight.

More people up on the roof––smoke billowed into the air, long shadows and brightly lit faces indicated the bonfire now burning on the rooftop. A couple louder shouts, though still not loud enough for him to understand, and laughter came from there. Ahk recalled with jarring suddenness nights spent on his friend's roof's, cooking fish and warming beer over flames. Fireflies sometimes drifted through the streets below, but what always stood above were looming palm trees, silhouetted against the evening sky rife with stars.

All he could see of the stars was through the thin gap between the houses where you now sat, as anything outside of looking directly up was fuzzed by torchlight. At least the scent of stew still tempted him; he turned his direction back to his food and felt considerably better after finishing.

"I think we take hot stew for granted," he said after a full minute of staring at his empty bowl.

"It is hard to make when we move," you said quietly.

"Really?"

"Yes, you... you need spices, and – and wheat, or barley, or it will be hot fish water," you said in complete seriousness, looking up to him with a critically thinking eye that sent him into laughter.

"Hot fish water??" He repeated, a wide, sweet smile across his face that had you blushing.

"That is what that is!"

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, "keep quiet, my dear."

"I am not your deer," you said flatly, and returned to the last of your stew.

His heart beat painfully, warmth following that pulsing depth. His smile fell, as well, as imagination––and longing––seized him, and he very nearly pulled you into his lap. Instead he dug his nails into his palm, and proceeded to thoroughly imagine the entire scenario, were he not a coward.

He would take your hands and pull you in. You would follow without hesitation, slotting your knees on either side of his hips, and resting yourself on his thighs. Then you'd ask why he did this, and he would say something suave––something like 'just wanted to see you better'. He'd raise his hand and push the hair out of your face to see your dark, inky eyes, and the red mark above your brow. And he would ask–

"How did you get that mark on your forehead?"

You paused your eating and Ahk stiffened, realizing he just spoke aloud his thoughts.

"My parents did give it to me," you said quietly as you set your now-empty bowl aside. "It was... on my mother, not there forever. It – it came off, but they did want me to always have my third eye open. And they hit it in with sindoor."

"Sindoor?"

"It is from Harappa, I think... I do.. I remember that, in that time, I was in stone homes, with flags of red and gold, and the food.. was very sweet. I think that it is Harappa, what I remember," you said, slowly coming to terms with your own memories.

"You remember your time there?" Ahk asked, raising his brow.

"Only a little," you said with a shrug. "But the mark is where everything is made, by Gods, by us. It is..," you sighed deeply, "I do not know how to say it in Egyptian."

"Oh," he said. His knees pulled ever so slightly closer to his chest, scraping his sandals on the rough gravel. "Can you draw it?"

"... maybe?"

You moved to your knees, searching your immediate surroundings for a stick or rock.

The stick dragged through the loose dirt, forming shapes that soom became ideas––one triangle to represent bread, beside two, and then a blank, empty space you circled.

"It is... nothing. It is when you have no bread, that is a number too," you said, watching Ahk carefully to guage if he fully understood. "Because the life does not.. fully live, without our math."

"The absence of something isn't a number," Ahk said with a frown, his intense gaze switching from the image to you.

"I do not know," you mumbled, pulling your knees to your chest. "It is only what my parents did say."

The stray expression on your face was solidified with wandering eyes, trailing off to the side of the alley wall. Ahk was still in a state of stupefaction, staring at your features––the curl of your lashes, or the warmth of your lips, whose mirage always found his cheek in dreams and fantasies.

Before he knew it he was leaning forward, at last reaching out for you, fingers numb with nervousness scraping against the earth. You still wouldn't look to him, but he continued, thoughtlessly, to creep closer, his hand hovering close enough to your waist to feel your heat.

"The man is leaving," you whispered, the words acting like ice over Ahkmen's brain.

He quickly withdrew, clearing his throat and tracing your eyeline back to the King's garden. There was, in fact, a silhouette of a man leaving the garden hut, settling a tarp over the door and its' symbol before he disappeared from view.

"Give it a few minutes," he muttered back, his eyes set dead upon the disappearing figure. "He might come back."

Ahkmen sat back down on his butt, the pebbles beneath him scratching as he adjusted himself against the wall. You glanced to him for a moment, offering a small smile when you saw his furrowed brow, lessening his anxiety if only minutely.

The two of you talked quietly for a little while longer, keeping up your cover as vagrant friends, until Ahk was assured the guard wouldn't be returning. He kept a continuous eye on the garden, and was quick to move to his feet after he decided it was safe. Your hand slipped into his without him asking, a grip he solidified as you jogged, looking up and down the street you crossed.

No one.

The flap the man set over the doorway was a meek form of protection, and was easily bypassed with nothing more than your hands. It rippled behind you as you entered, but soon fell silent, hiding you and Ahk from view of the street.

Inside the garden's storeroom was even darker than the night outside––the flap blocked out the light of torches, and a ceiling concealed the sky. You squinted as you tried to see, eventually making out the shaky forms of closed caskets and containers. Most of them had lids made of pottery, but some had nets wrapped around the high necks, secured tightly into place with complex knots.

"You must see for it," you whispered to him. "I do not know the smell, or the look."

"I don't really know how it looks either, I'll be honest with you," he said. "I've only ever seen it fully processed in one of the kitchens."

"Why did you not say that?!" You hissed.

"I didn't think it would be a problem!" He whispered harshly.

"You –" you sucked in a breath, "– you find the thing, I will go see that we are not found."

"Yes, dear," he said in a drawling tone he had used many times for those two words.

Before he knew it his back was slammed against a wall, sending pain shooting up his spine and into his cranium. He nearly let out a pained cry, but your hand zipped up to cover his mouth, your other arm keeping his chest pinned to the wall. He stared wide-eyed down at you, shocked at the force you so easily used.

Your fingers over his lips.

Your hand on his chest.

Your leg slotted between his.

His cheeks were set ablaze.

"You do not get the bad part of the times in Egypt, when you did steal and make fun with guards," you said, glowering up at him. "But this is not a place where you are rich. You can not pay for innocence. Not here. And this price is death if we are seen, like it is always for me, in Egypt and Babylon."

He gulped down the knot in his throat, only breathing when you gently pulled away. You still glared at him, but it was less intense, and you put more distance between you.

"Do see the cardmoms," you mumbled before you left.

The flap settling back into place was the last sound he heard from you, your fabric shoes allowing you to pad quietly away without making any noise. An intense, overpowering silence followed, darkened hands rubbing it like lavender upon his skin, familiar and uncomfortable.

He spent the following hour or two searching through the assorted jars, carefully raising up mud lids or untying thick rope. Many of the spices were ones he'd tried before––some reminding him of Egypt and others bringing memories of the few countries he travelled to during his time as Prince. Now he was stealing not just for fun, but because he had to. He couldn't afford what he was taking.

Cardamom, who carried a sweet, fruity scent, ended up being at the opposite end of the room, making it one of the last he inspected. Its' scent was also incredibly distinct, and the moment he found it he knew most certainly it was cardamom. He grinned.

It wasn't the seeds, either––it was the actual powdered spice, meaning it was already ready to put in the beer. But there was very little of it, the whole of the container being around the size of his head.

He sighed almost wearily, leaning sideways against the wall.

If you were still here, he could've apologized, and you'd both probably be gone by now. As he phased out at the thought of you, he mindlessly stroked the clay pot.

Approaching footsteps broke his trance. His eyes shot up, automatically tucking the cardamom into his clothes and running off into the night garden, in which the medicinal herbs were grown. He sucked in a sharp breath, realizing acutely that he was now ankle deep in wet earth, though fortunately, in-between the rows instead of on them.

The tarp at the garden's entrance flapped again as the stranger entered. There was little protecting him from being discovered now, and he fled off to the sun garden, careful to not slosh his feet in the mud. It was then, when mud had splattered up to his calf, that he remembered his leather shoes were still inside the storeroom, waiting to be discovered.

Thoughts flew wildly around his head, his quick-thinking talents melting away into timed panic. Wide eyes flickered from the archway between the shadow garden and the storeroom, and then to the arch leading into the sun garden, then back to the stranger, who pivoted on their heel.

He fled into the next room the moment the steps even hinted of growing louder, pressing his back against the opposite wall, his chest heaving up and down.

Again his frantic eyes searched the room for anything that might aid his escape. Tarps were stretched taut between wooden poles, blocking access to the outside, but allowing sunlight to stream in. He looked up and realized with sickness that the only way out was up.

Digging his teeth into the inside of his cheek, he tied fabric around the clay pot, ensuring it wouldn't fall from his grasp. He tensed his muscles, preparing himself mentally before he jumped up and grasped the top of the pole with his fingers.

Steps continued to get closer, now treading through the silted earth and sparking a dreadful terror that shivered down his neck in much the way it had when you slammed him against the wall. He scrambled up, his bare feet digging into the splintered pole before he threw himself over the other edge of the tarp. A loud thud came from him as he fell on his back––once more injuring it––bringing from him a pained groan.

Footsteps grew even closer, marking the sign of running feet that had Ahk clambering to his legs, cradling the cardamom to his chest as he ran. Bits of gravel and hay dug into his bare feet, bringing with them sharp pains that had Ahk convinced he was bleeding. When he looked behind himself, however, he found no trail, and slowed his sprint as he crossed the gate into the main city.

Deep breaths wracked his chest and he collapsed partways, leaning the weight of his upper body on his knees, fingers splayed out on the heated skin. He quickly looked behind him to be sure, and after finding nothing continued on into the city. It would take a while before he reached the brewery.

He paused in an alleyway for a short few minutes, checking the state of his heel and finding it alright. Reddened and dry, but unpunctured, despite the pain being sent through his muscles. With a sigh he leaned back, closing his eyes.

What a nightmare.

He could not pull his thoughts from the image of you angry, blazing with an inequality that had clearly been irritating you for a while. Even with his lie he alienated himself from you.

You would forgive him, but not for the reasons Ahkmen wanted you to. You'd forgive him because you had to, because the only other option was fending for yourself through another country and a half until you got to Harappa, where even there safety wasn't assured. But you wouldn't forgive him because you loved him, or because you knew he could do better. Horrible guilt flared in his chest, turning to bile in the back of his throat.

Whether or not you intended this reaction, it was there nonetheless, and Ahkmen did his best to force it down with logic. It wasn't a big deal. He could do better. And, he supposed, he got the cardamom, so that had to count for something.

His hands were still wrapped around the pot discreetly when he entered the vacant city plaza, heading quickly down the steps into the brewery. From the entrance he could hear the soft sounds of burning fire, and when he pulled away the door he noticed immediately warm light and soft voices, stirring with a mixer that clunked gently against the side of the cauldron.

The two of you went quiet when Tiamat noticed Ahk standing awkwardly at the doorway. He glanced between you before reaching into his clothes, pulling out the cask of cardamom so highly coveted in the last couple hours.

Tiamat gasped, a wide grin instantly spreading across her face. Your mouth fell open in shock.

"You did get it?" You asked, stepping around the boiling pot to stand in front of Ahk.

"Yeah," he said, still reeling from his escape. "Almost got caught. I had to jump over the tarps 'round the sun garden."

"Jump??" You asked.

"Well – more vaulting over them," he said. That didn't clear it up at all, but you were grateful anyways.

He sat in the corner of the limestone room, watching you and Tiamat mix a handful of the spice in the large cauldron, and testing the scent as you stirred. You continued to talk in hushed whispers of Akkadian, your shadows casted long against the low fire. Sleepiness was already beginning to take over him, leaning his head back against the cool wall, and letting his eyes slip shut.

When he came to, Tiamat had gone, and you were left alone to tend to your beer. You still stood atop a box that lifted you up to look over the jug, slowly stirring the thick mixture. Your face was flushed from the heat, and the strands of your hair that fell in front of your eyes casted shadows on your cheeks and brow.

After a yawn and a stretch, he lifted himself to stand, and shuffled over to your side.

"I'm sorry for endangering you," he said quietly, hesitant to look and even more hesitant to touch.

"I do not know that word," you said without looking up.

"Putting you in a place where you might get hurt."

"Oh," you glanced up to him, but didn't linger before you returned to the vat. "It is okay. I know you do not know very much better."

"It's not really okay, I should've thought beyond my own nose."

"A little," you agreed before falling silent.

After a minute he asked, "is there a way I can make it up to you?"

"You had the cardamom, that is good," you chuckled. "But you almost got caught?"

"Ah, that," he said with a long sigh that made you giggle again.

He recited to you the events of the evening that progressed after you left. He conveniently left out a few details––such as almost crying because he'd upset you––but included how he'd injured himself, how the garden official was hot on his trail, and how he accidentally left his shoes in the storeroom. You nodded along.

A beat of silence passed after his story ended, broken only by the bubbling of beer.

"You are filthy," you said.

"Thanks," he said with a frown.

You set a lid over the cask, feeding the fire only a little more before you stepped down from the pedestal.

"I know where we must go," you said, stopping in front of him to look up and meet his eye.

"To bed?" He asked hopefully.

"No."

His heated skin finally calmed down enough to feel a cool breeze as you led him out of the brewery, and back into the empty town center. For a few minutes you walked in silence, and every now and then you'd turn down a street, directions he thoughtlessly followed.

The scent of water hit him before he saw it, and soon the brick path led out to a crystal-white terrace, holding descending steps on either side of the raised platform. Below sloshed the inky waters of the canal, reflecting his warped features. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but was halted when you took his hand, gently pulling him down the glazed brick steps. Their tops were white, and the rims beneath carried a familiar shade of blue.

Olive-colored trees grew on the riverside, barely reaching any taller than the platform that now stood proud above him. Only a single other person was there––a bald man drifting on a skiff at the other bank of the river. He was easy to ignore, which you did gladly, and continued to pull Ahk to the riverside.

"You have dirt," you said, scanning him up and down. "And here is where you do clean your body. This is your forever. No more of the home baths, and your smelly things."

"You mean my lavender?"

"Etuvaka. You know what I say," you said with a stern look.

"I know," he said quietly, sitting on the ledge of the stone dock with his feet swinging in the water.

You took a seat beside him, slipping off your shoes and rolling up your pants before you dipped your legs in beside his.

"How are your feet?" You asked.

"Alright," he said as he massaged the bottoms of them. "I thought they were bleeding, but they aren't, so I must be alright."

"Take your clothe off," you said, suddenly moving up to your knees and scooting behind his back.

He chuckled but undid the tie around his waist, pulling the green shawl off his shoulders. It fell easy to the crook of his elbow, and you tugged it down further, eventually pulling the fabric out from being tucked into his skirt, and tossing it aside to the marble floor.

"You have... color," you said quietly after a moment of just staring at his back.

"Sort of dark? Like dirt?" He asked, attempting to look over his shoulder at you, but settling for staring at the wall beside him.

"A little," you said.

Your fingers touched the top of his spine, trailing down the bumps and ridges showing prominently through the skin of a man overworked and weary. When you pressed harder, even slightly, he hissed and jerked away.

"Careful there," he said, clearing his throat to mask his whimper.

"Sorry," you mumbled.

Ahk continued to wash his feet and legs free of the mud while you stayed knelt behind him, your touch brushing against him every so often. He finished rather quickly, but enjoyed your hesitant fingers so greatly that he pretended to keep washing himself, hoping to feel you at his back and shoulders again.

"You are Shu fully equipped," you began to murmur, your palms settling on his shoulders and digging softly into the skin. "You have not been taken to the God's place of execution, for you are covered with the kenu-garment. You were not made to enter into the God's place of execution, for you are the Great One, baboon-shaped; you have not entered into the God's place of execution, the knife has no power over you."

He sat in silence for another moment, his mouth hanging subconsciously open.

"That was... perfect Egyptian," he turned around, dragging water on his leg, "where did you learn that?"

"My time in your class, in Memphis, was not for nothing," you said with a giggle, as though it was inconsequential, as though you were normal. "It is one of your spells, for being killed by a King. It is best, because that is your crime."

He could do nothing but stare, confounded.

"I could fall in love with you," he blurted out, watching with dread as your expression fell.

You pursed your lips softly, your gaze falling to the river behind him. To his credit, he hadn't given everything away, though by the look on your face he might as well have.

"I am not a person that people fall in love with," you said quietly.

[boom-fanfic-a-latta]

Please inform us about floyd.

YAY PEOPLE ACTUALLY WANT TO HEAR ABOUT FLOYD!!!

(Man, I really wish I could remember more of the dream because it was really interesting. But I still recall enough to, well, be confident asking y'all if you want to hear about it!)

Anyways, let's talk about "Floyd" and my messed-up dream.

So, first things first, I want to once again clarify that this was a dream, and that as tends to be the case, the dream was very inaccurate from reality, and thus "The Milkman Conspiracy" was quite a different level from normal. There were no G-Men, the puzzles were different (not that I actually remember any of them but I do remember that they were different), and the layout was completely different and far more...normal, like, an actual section of a city. I remember the layout pretty clearly, here's a map of it.

Boyd also had a different backstory, apparently something about a girlfriend? And her mental equivalent was like, the replacement for the Den Mother? It was weird, I'm also 95% sure Boyd was a gamer in his history from my dream. There was this weird MMO game or something that was called, I kid you not, Bioshock. Yes, like that actual game series. But nothing about the game in the dream was remotely related to actual Bioshock.

Hopefully, that's enough context for what the heck was going on in my unconscious mind when it came up with Floyd.

Speaking of, time to actually talk about Floyd.

One thing that was kind of the same as the actual "The Milkman Conspiracy" level was starting out in Boyd's house. A different-looking house, mind you, but it was still the same idea. Where things went very different was in what happened, Boyd was looking through the fridge or something and the word "Milk" acted like a trigger word that made him fall unconscious (yes this was happening in the level so that means it was the version of Boyd in his mind who was knocked out, IDK what that would have meant for real Boyd).

And then this other version of Boyd shows up and he's dressed like The Milkman from the canon level and I don't remember if I was suspicious of him or not but Raz was not suspicious of him because let's just say...this Boyd seemed a lot saner than actual Boyd. ANd also very nice. This is "Floyd", I don't remember who in the dream called him that first but that's what he was actually called guys.

If you guys haven't guessed already, Floyd is indeed the representation of The Milkman. And he's not asleep and waiting for the end of the level to blow everyone up with Milk-atov Cocktails, no, he's actively trying to take control. And he does this by tricking Raz into assisting him. He...succeeds in getting that aid.

Honestly, I really like the idea of Floyd. Just, a more active "Milkman" entity trying to gain complete control and manipulating Raz into helping him take over. Maybe I'll make an AU or something that uses this concept.

...

Oh and also in the dream there was direct confirmation that Boyd is actually a Psychic and part of why he went crazy was due to uncontrolled Clairvoyance--

[xxtha-blog]

So apperently I wrote a oneshot fanfic and forgot about it for almost 2 years

And because it's comedy fucking gold, and also some quality post-comic Ace content, I thought I'd share it with you people here.

Without further adieu, may I present to you

A Casual Encounter With Ace

Ink knew very little of Ace. He had met him once, briefly, in the last moments before his AU disappeared into nothingness, Ace sneaking through the portal Dream had created and slipping away from the destruction of his own home like it was nothing more than an average Saturday. Ink barely had the chance to talk to him, didn’t even know his name, he just knew that there was a flamboyant top hat wearing skeleton that enjoyed stealing things and harassing Dream, prancing around the multiverse and causing chaos with no restrictions. Of course, Ink planned to catch him… eventually… if he hadn’t forgotten… multiple times. But it was Ace who seemed to catch him instead.

  Ink had been sitting in the snow, crouched behind the trees of Underswap, checking up on the stability of the timeline, when he heard a voice behind him. At first, he thought it was Blue, the only one who would know to look for him there, but the accent threw him off. Ink turned slowly, curious, and saw the black and red skeleton leaning against his staff behind him, smiling modestly as he surveyed the rest of the underground as Ink did.

  Ink paused for a second. “Hey– Don’t I know you…?” He tapped a pencil against his chin, working with all his might to remember.

  “Perhaps, dear sir, perhaps indeed, for I am quite popular, simply ask my wonderous fans, who may be reading this right now! Which does remind me, do you ever realize that we transcend not only drawings and comic books, but also code, writing, and animations. It’s quite crazy when you think about it, I mean, just look at you. What? One of the most popular characters in the entire fandom created by a mere teenager! Mind boggling and simply astounding, our existence, both of us in fact, relies only on two simple teenagers bringing us to life.” Ace talked mellifluously, his accent smooth and precise, as though someone had mashed together a French and British accent and added a gay flare to it. He talked incredibly fast, as though to confuse everyone with his slur of words, despite them not being slurred in the slightest.

  Ink stood up, brushing the snow off his sweater. “Wait a second!” He glanced up again his eyes widening. “Aren’t you that magician guy?!”

 Ace tilted his head, intrigued.

   “Aha!” Ink declared in triumph. “I finally found you!”

  “Magician guy is quite vague. And a guy, no, no, dear sir, not at all, I simply am I, an illusionist, a magician, a slight bit insane, but far saner than you, so I must ask for you to be a tad bit more specific for fear I may misinterpret what you wish to say and be unable to reply!” Ace spun his staff around, giving Ink a slight smirk.

  “You’re from that AU- Oh what was it.” Ink spun his hands through the air, churning his memory around. “Magicwhatever, Lucktale, Underchance, Chancyluck, Chance, Chance something, Chancetale-? CHANCETALE!” He put his hands on his hips proudly.

  “A dead name, no?” Ace raised his eye sockets into a quizzical expression.

  “I mean, yeah, but you’re still here, which means you’re screwing up timelines. Which means I gotta stop ya!” With a quick flip of his arm behind his head, Ink pulled his paintbrush out in front of him and pointed it towards Ace.

  “Stop me? Stop me! Oh, how wonderful!” Ace’s eyes lit up as he spun on his heel with glee.

  “You’re supposed to be worried,” Ink pointed out. “Like, oh no he’s going to catch me?! Whatever shall I do! And then I go, heck yeah I’m going to catch you! Because I’ve got a super cool paintbrush!”

  “I dare say you do not.”

  “What do you mean? My paintbrush is awesome, I mean just look at it–" he stopped. "Where’s my paintbrush?” Ink’s hands were empty, his fingers grasping at the cold air around them and nothing more. He wondered if his memory had lapsed again, but he could have sworn he had just been holding it. He reached back only to grasp at the air once more.

  Ace casually spun the paintbrush in his hands, still standing stationary a dozen or so feet away, studying the fine patterns on the metal clasps. “Quite a nice paintbrush, indeed, I do not disagree with that, however, you do not have it, therefore your statement was false.” Without another word, the paintbrush disappeared into thin air, and Ace merely tilted his top hat.

  Ink started to take things a little more seriously, his smile fading. He straightened. “This’ll be interesting.”

  “Oh, tis always interesting when I’m here! Just ask your dear friend Dream!”

  “We’re not really friends,” Ink said with a shrug. “He just happens to be useful sometimes.”

  “Oh my! What wonderful news we have here! I’ll be sure to keep it in mind to use against you so that I can slowly break apart your relationship until you are both mortal enemies in which case I can use your turmoil to my advantage!” He clasped his hands together, smiling softly, before adding, "If need be."

  Ink stared for a second. “You know if you really want to be evil, you shouldn’t announce what you’re going to do out loud.”

  “Evil? No, I’m not evil. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever consider myself to be evil, for that would mean I am profoundly immoral, and although I am profound, immoral I am not. I know precisely what is right and wrong, and good and bad, and have no trouble discerning between the two. I simply choose to do good and choose to do bad based on the situation and outcome it will provide me, and dear sir, it is quite a bore to be simply one or the other, is it not? I mean, you’re one to speak, think of the things you have done and the people you have hurt for your own benefit, quite chaotic indeed, but not evil. Few would call the fabulous Ink evil. Therefore I am not evil. I am just spontaneous, whether that be something pleasant or something disagreeable.”

  “You really do talk a lot,” Ink said, crossing his arms.

  “Tis a showman thing.”

  “Showman?”

  “Oh! Would you like to see a show?!”

  “Not really. I was in the middle of–”

  Ace clapped his hands together cutting Ink off, his staff forming between his palms as he pulled them apart. He twirled his staff like a baton before stamping it down into the snow and pulling his top hat off his head, taking a slight bow before beginning, “A magic show! For the fabulous Encre!”

  Ace began to perform his dazzling illusions. As real as reality, yet as mad as a dream. He swept up beside Ink and before Ink could say a word, slipped his scarf right over his head and turned it a kaleidoscope of brown butterflies. Ink went to protest, but a butterfly zipped over top of his mouth and turned into a brown piece of duct tape. The rest of the butterflies froze, falling to ice cubes on the ground before bursting into tiny glass shards that glimmered with little lights.

  “Butterflies were not meant for the underground! How unfortunate. The terms and conditions said nothing about turning to glass, however! Then again, I did not read them. Alas, now I must clean this all up.” Ace spun back around Ink, standing over top of the pile of glass shards.

  Ink shouted, but his words came out as muffled gibberish. He tried to pull the duct tape off, but it refused to budge. He waved his arms around, exasperated.

  “What’s that dear sir? You wish to see more magic tricks? Well, I wish to perform more as well!” Ace spread his arms out, the glass shards levitating off the ground around him before spinning into a small ball and transforming into a lightbulb above Ace's fingertips. He caught it out of the air, studying it closely, before looking back up at Ink.

  “I would put this above my head and say I do so happen to have an idea, but that would be terribly cliché, would it not?”

  “Mphfffff!”

  “I wholeheartedly agree! I’ll put it inside my mouth instead!”

  Ace slipped the lightbulb between his teeth, smiling deviously.

  “Now dear sir,” he said with zero hindrance, despite the lightbulb clamped between his teeth. “It is a well-known fact that when one puts a lightbulb inside their mouth, it shall go in quite fine and then never ever come out again in one piece! Today I am here to prove that theory wrong and promote the putting of light bulbs in your mouth everywhere!” Ace let out a small laugh before quickly inhaling the lightbulb.

  Ink’s eyes narrowed, giving up his attempts to talk through the duct tape.

  “Where ever has it gone? Ah! I know!” Ace reaches a hand inside his left eye socket and pulls the lightbulb into the place his heart-shaped pupil should have been.

  “And now to turn it on!”

  With a slight flick of his wrist, Ace summoned an egg out of midair, then cracked it against the nearest tree. From the cracked shell sprang a toaster, which Ace caught in his hands as though he had done this many a time. He quickly plugged the toaster into the tree and waited a few seconds, but nothing seemed to happen.

   Ink watched, both baffled and annoyed, only able to express his feelings through a few grunts and shakes of his head. Ink had seen many things over his life, AUs full of nothing but Sanses, characters made of watermelons, atrocious crossovers, but nothing quite as strange as this.

  “Oh, I see what I’m doing wrong! Forgive me, dear sir, I have never used a toaster in my life! I run solely off of white chocolate!” Ace unplugged the toaster from the tree and threw it as far as he could muster. “Farewell, dear toast maker. I shall miss thee.”

  He reached inside the small red pouch on his shirt, barely bigger than a golf ball, and pulled a full sized hair dryer.

  Why do you have a hairdryer?! Ink shouted, his eyes wide, but it simply came out as “Wff duh vu hvv a her dyr?!”

  “For this, dear sir, why else.” Ace put the end of the hairdryer up to his eye and turned it on. It wasn’t plugged into anything, the cord dangling around Ace's ankles. As the hairdryer whirred to life, the light bulb flickered on.

  Ace pulled the hair dryer away, making it disappear into a flurry of little pink sparkles before taking a long bow, one of his eyes now made of a little yellow glowing light bulb.

  Ink clapped sarcastically.

  “Why thank you! Thank you! Truly an amusing time we've had here today!” He pranced over to Ink, patting him on the head twice. When Ink tried to grab him, his entire vision spun around and he was suddenly facing the complete opposite direction.

  “Now, now, that’s no way to treat someone who just performed for you.”

  Ink turned on his heels, looking around for Ace, but he was nowhere to be seen. The piece of duct tape had vanished.

  “Farewell, dear Ink, until you wish for another magic show!”

  The voice came from nowhere and echoed throughout the trees before fading into nothingness. On the ground, there was a small paper card. Ink bent over and picked it up, flipping it open. Inside was a tiny brush, smaller than a thumbtack, taped to the inside of the card with a small heart and delicate cursive handwriting: I believe this belonged to you?

[prince-toffee]

She-Ra #0

- Karma -

[Two Years After The Defeat of Horde Prime]

Plumeria

The moonlight of the many Etherian moons rained down and coated the greenery of Plumeria. Plumeria was one of the smallest kingdoms on the planet, there wasn’t anything fancy or kingdom-ly about it. No enormous castles, not even real towns, just a bunce of tree-houses and empty fields. Which in a way was perfect for the refugee clones, the open fields were filled with makeshift tents, with tired, injured, and or defective clones with conditions that had to be looked after, taking up residence in them. Over the two years more and more shelters accumulated since the defeat of Prime and his main armada. It all worked out fairly well, with the clones populating the ground and the Plumerians residing in the trees. They much like most Etherians had mixed feelings about the clones, some were more welcoming than others. Fortunately brawls didn’t break out as often as in some other parts. It was clear that the Princess of the land, Perfuma, wasn’t too thrilled about their presence, but she put on a smile and played nice.

Modulok wasn’t quite sure what the title of ‘royalty’ or ‘Princess’ meant on this world, but it seemed as if the success criteria involved owning some land since there were apparently hundreds of Princesses, some with kingdoms the size of a town, or a nightclub, believe it or not. How the political landscape worked, he did not know. But he didn’t really care either. It was peaceful that was all that mattered to a surgeon and medic like Modulok. The settlement at Plumeria was one of the smaller ones, nowhere near as developed and packed as Doormat or the New Salineas. And again that’s why he liked it, quiet, far away from anything and everything, a grasshopper here, the rustle of leaves there. However something always seemed to go out of its way to find him. Case in point his quite drunk brother, Vultak, who barged into Mod’s tent in the middle of the night.

Vultak clumsily stumbled into the tent, two glasses of some sort of alcoholic drink in hand. He set the glasses on the operating table Mod was currently working on. Before Mod could protest, as he opened his mouth Vultak raised his pointing finger up to him to stop him. V then proceeded to drag a chair from the side to the operating table. V sat down and took a swig emptying one glass. The drunk clone just stared dazed at the patient Modulok was operating on, but caught a glance coming from Mod that was disapproving.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all, carry on.”

That drew out a sigh from the medic, he was all too familiar with those snappy comebacks as well as his delusional pessimistic rants and ravings, which Mod was sure were about to follow. The two just looked at each other, a sedated individual between them, it was quite a comedic scene to be hold if there were a third party observing.

Modulok had lost his arms in one of the countless wars and had replaced them with cybernetics which could split in two giving him the total of four arms to work with. As a defect Modulok had blood red lenses, eyes and teeth. Not to mention his skinny frame, and lack of weight, and inability to gain weight. He wore a black and red tech suit, not bulky like Hordak’s, much thinner with tubes and cables hanging here or there. Under it you could see his bones and rip cage pressed tight around his skin, in some areas the white bone broke through the skin forming vein-like patterns across his body - common side effects for defects. A unique defect to Mod was that his skin was coloured red, it didn’t mean much, but others thought it looked neat.

Vultak was far more odd and different, some clones even called him the strangest clone alive. One of the oldest living too. V was a defect too, defects liked to stick together, at least most of them, not Modulok specifically. Vultak was thin too, like a walking toothpick. Vultak’s top half of his head was a red glass-looking dome resembling a radar display. No eyes. However a long witch-like nose. And shark-sharp teeth, though that was common with all clones. Possibly his most iconic aspect were his retractable wings being able to extend out of his under-arms, unveiling metallic feathers as sharp as knives. Various experimental technology was incorporated into his arms, giving his wings the ability to cause micro-hurricanes, and gusts of wind. And flight, obviously.

Also, he was thousands years old.

“V, you clearly want something so just say it and get it over with, the less time I spend with you the saner I’ll remain.” Modulok stated tiredly knowing fully well conversations with V could be exhausting. He leaned on his right arm which he placed on the table.

“What? Come on, can’t a brother just want to hang out with his other clone brother from another mothership?...” Mod was unamused and unphased, in the pause and silence his expression did not change. “And also my dearest, most awesome, talented brother, who is a doctor... I could... use some of that reeeeeally good tastin’ medicine that only a certified medic like you can hand out.” Vultak gave him a smile and tilted his head.

Mod gave him an eye roll, “I am not handing you the pills!”

“Oh come on, Mod! This stuff’s getting out on the street anyway! You’re not upholding some moral high-ground, you’re not holding society together! Come on, please, just one.”

Modulok waved him off, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. And I’m not trying to up hold anything, I don’t care what happens out there, but it just so happens that when some stupid non-sense takes place out there it means I’ve got more work here.” In a way he was right, Modulok was the most famous medic from the Galactic Horde, known across countless galaxies, being a defect medic and a medic for defects, that increased his infamous status. If anyone, any clone was in need of aid they turned to him for help, to say Mod was busy would’ve been an understatement. “Don’t even get me started on those pills that Hordak and Dryl made, I have no idea what they were thinking.”

The Isle Pills. Small capsules of biochemical engineering, synthesized from the ‘infected’ ‘tainted’ plants of Beast Island. That was the way people described the island, there were many theories about the landmass, a lot of scary campfire stories, disputes about whether it even existed. Its existence was apparently confirmed by the Princess of Dryl. Something about backstabbing and being imprisoned on the island, the clones weren’t sure, and they didn’t care much. But the nature of the island had been kept secretive, partially perhaps because the lab-partners studying the location don’t know many thing about it either.

It is also to be noted that they, the pills, weren’t meant for wide spread public use, apparently the Drylian Princess herself was against the production of it. But somehow they got out. Modulok was sure Hordak wasn’t thrilled that his experimental treatment for his defection was being distributed like hot buns at a bakery sale.

The pills have an altering affect on the consumer’s mood and how they perceive reality. Where the island would have enraptured an individual in their own fears and insecurities, somehow those mad-scientists altered the effect of the flora to envelop the individual in numbness and sleep-like paralysis. Hordak no doubt developed the pills as a way of coping with his defection and all the pain that came with it. So the product became quite popular with other defects. Including V, to no surprise. The pills were addictive and seemingly untested, and someone was making a profit off of it no doubt.

“They probably weren’t thinking, that’s what! If you ask me that Hordak guy is insane. All his bad decisions always seem to bit us in the rear.” The infamous Hordak, a general from a previous life, a defect that was sent to the frontlines by Prime personally, some even have speculated that he was meant to be Prime’s next bodily vessel. So in a sick twisted way, that defect saved him. Funny how life works.

Hordak somehow ended up on Etheria, he doesn’t even know how, somehow he amassed a large following and took over half a continent, destroyed a lot in the process. People hate him, his face, and that means of course many weren’t thrilled about hundreds of thousands of clones falling from the sky and finding a home and shelter on Etheria. Honestly, Modulok didn’t like him much either. Vultak unlike Mod actually quite liked Hordak as he served under him once, V trusted him.

“Mod, they would’ve hated us with or without him at the helm, at the end of the day he’s one of us, the whole universe hates us, we gotta stick together.”

“Where’s your ‘screw everything’ mentality gone to?”

V downed his second glass and wiped his mouth, “Washed away and washed down...” V just stared at the now empty glass inspecting it suspiciously as if he was looking if the glass was withholding additional liquid from him. It became obvious that V was thinking, contemplating something, he placed the glass down with a ‘clink’ on the table. “...I’ve been getting the nightmares again. And it’s getting worse, it always does. It’s not long ‘til the nightmares start coming out during the day, while you’re awake.”

Modulok understood, of course he did. He too had went through some harrowing experiences, war is never a good thing for the mind. Mod was an excellent surgeon and doctor, he can do some miracles with scalpels and bandages, he could take care of physical wounds. But there were wounds and scars that he couldn’t heal.

Vultak continued, “Do you believe in karma, Mod?” The question gave the medic pause, he didn’t quite know how to answer that, and he was sure this was one of those questions you don’t answer as V was going to no doubt continue and give his own answer. But the short reply would’ve been ‘no’, Mod didn’t believe in any higher power or any metaphysical concepts such as fate or destiny, it all rather felt far-fetched to him. “That our actions and deeds from our previous lives affect and decides our fate and fortune in the future?

That the future takes roof in the past? You do good, you have good fortune, a good life awaits you. You do bad, you have bad fortune, hell’s coming your way. Revenge and retribution on a cosmic level. It’s the universe’s way of punishing the evil and the wicked, that’s us by the way.

And we do deserve it, don’t we. I mean we’re literally walking, breathing, war machines, our sole purpose was to destroy, perpetuate war and cause all around carnage.

Everyone always wants to blame Hordak for Etheria hating us, but every single one of us has had a part in conquering half the damn universe! Countless worlds either chained or turned to dust, all thanks to us, all of us.

All the terrible things we’ve done, and now what? We just get to have a happy ending? No. No, no, no. Karma’s just getting ready, reeling back, ready to backhand all of us to oblivion. We gotta suffer first... Karma’s balance, karma’s proportional. Which isn’t good for us since we did a lot of wrong-doings. Remember the Siege of Denebria, the War for Primus, the Taking of Trolla, the centuries-long Massacres at Epsilon-19, everyone wants to forget that hellscape death-trap. But we just can’t, some things claw their way back to the surface from below all that brainwashing-sauce.

And that’s just the horrid stuff we remember!... Can you imagine how many lives we’ve forgotten? How many years we’ve lost? How many people we’ve forgotten? That four eyed freak robbed us of everything that made us, us!... All that stuff’s gonna bite us in the back.”

Modulok simply listened, he was used to V’s rants and ravings, but all that... seemed different. Usually V made out everything to be a joke, never taking anything serious, he was a jokester. The nihilistic joker seemed to be subdued, some sort of seriousness, some existential dread on his face. Vultak was genuinely opening up to Mod, and he appreciated that. But it was a shame they had to get drunk first before having conversations like that.

Mod became gradually more worried as V continued with the dialogue, after he paused and just began to stare blankly at his glass again Modulok responded, “I appreciate you opening up, kind of, V, I just wish it didn’t take the influence of alcohol... [sigh] Look, V, I know tomorrow is never certain, and that we all carry the weight of scars on our brittle shoulders... but please believe me when I tell you, that everything will be okay, everything will get better. Don’t drown yourself in poison. The world’s not falling apart, and neither should you.” Mod placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to comfort his friend.

Vultak simply looked up at his brother, his face blank, he knew Mod meant well, but it didn’t help much to comfort him. And so V hopelessly replied, uttering almost a warning, “Just you wait doc, the sky’s gonna come crashing down on our heads.”

[ficklefics]

Don’t Leave Me - Jeremiah Valeska x Reader

You promised Jeremiah that you would be with him forever. But life has no regard for promises, and fear is a powerful thing.

MASTERLIST

Requested by @theofficialgoldenx​ - i went in a slightly different direction, but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Threat to life

Jeremiah had always been afraid that you would leave him. His life was less than normal, and you made a lot of sacrifices to be with him. The isolation, living in the maze, the constant fear of his brother returning for him. For most people, it would be too much. And he had accepted that long ago. But then you came along. And you accepted him, accepted every strange and unusual and difficult part of his life. And you made him better. With you, his fears and anxieties vanished into nothing. He was confident, even suave. You were happy together.

And then, his worst fears came true. Jerome came looking for him. Of course, he had told you everything about his childhood: their mother’s distant nature, Jerome’s inherent violence, how he had been lucky enough to escape it all before he became trapped in the vicious cycle of destruction the rest of his family were already entwined with. And you knew who Jerome Valeska was. Everyone in Gotham knew. Out of all the insane criminals who had terrorised Gotham, he had left his mark on the city in the way few had. After his death, you couldn’t walk five minutes without seeing the graffiti in his honour. And then he came back. Plunging the city into chaos once more. And then he had come for Jeremiah. Your Jeremiah. You had never known fear like the fear you felt being stalked through the labyrinth by Jerome and his cronies. Coming face to face with him was surreal. You could remember every moment of the encounter, every breath you had taken as you stared death in his twisted, mangled face.

“And who’s this?” Jerome crooned mockingly at you, keeping the gun on Jeremiah as he tilted his head to stare at you. You clung to Jeremiah’s arm as he pushed you behind him to keep you from Jerome’s view. “You got yourself a little girlfriend, eh, bro?” He chuckled darkly, moving closer like a shark drawn to blood. “Leave her alone, Jerome. She doesn’t have anything to do with this.” “Oh, brother, of course she does. You involved her, you knew the dangers. And now,” He waved the gun about haphazardly and you flinched, “The consequences are here.” Throughout his rambling you kept quiet, hoping that silence would make you less of a target for Jerome’s focus, that he would lose interest in you, but it merely piqued his interest. “Seems like a quiet one. How much does she really know about our childhood, I wonder?” “I know you tried to kill Jeremiah,” You spoke up, unable to stay silent as your boyfriend was mentally tortured. “I know you ruined his life.” “(Y/N), don’t -” “So she speaks!” He chortled and you instinctively took a step back, only serving to make him laugh more. “Is that what he told you? That I’ve been a killer since we were children?” You nod hesitantly. “Well, sorry to tell you, but my brother here is a liar. Now, I may not have been perfect, but Jeremiah turned everyone I knew against me. He was always the favourite – and he knew it. He blames me for wrecking his life, but, the truth is, he made me what I am. You know what they say: we all could go insane with just one bad day.”

The terror you felt seeing Jerome hold a gun to Jeremiah’s head was like nothing you had ever experienced. Stood there, frozen in fear, with his life on the line; you don’t know what you would have done if the detectives hadn’t appeared. And then it only got worse. Jeremiah didn’t want you to come to the concert, didn’t want to put you in danger again. You knew he felt guilty for what had happened. But you couldn’t let him face his brother alone. So you stood in the crowd watching him, a bomb strapped to his neck, his insane brother monologuing about his tragic childhood. It made you sick. At the end of the day, seeing Jerome dead on the roof of a car, it didn’t feel real. But no matter how you felt you knew it didn’t compare to the chaos of emotions Jeremiah must be going through. So you stood by his side, held his hand, and made sure he knew you were there for whatever he needed.

When you arrived back at the maze you went straight to bed, Jeremiah assuring you that he would join you soon, that he just had to check something in his office. Little did you know, that would be the last time you saw the Jeremiah you knew.

Of course, Jerome had to have the last laugh.

In the morning you went looking for Jeremiah. The bed was cold. The halls of the maze quiet. You called for him and were answered only with echoes of your own voice. When you reached the office, you saw that fateful jack-in-the-box, grinning up at you mockingly. And that was when Jeremiah found you.

“(Y/N).” You turned and saw his silhouette in the door, his face shrouded in shadow. “Jeremiah?” You took a cautious step forward. The tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife, but you didn’t understand where it was coming from. But you could tell something was wrong. “Are you okay?” “Don’t be afraid, (Y/N).” There was something different about his voice. “What happened to you?” “Jerome. His insanity gas.” He stepped closer, still staying out of the light of the screens. “Don’t worry, it didn’t work. But, it did have… some physical effects.” “Like what?” Your heart was starting to race. “Just…” You could hear the tremor in his voice, the anxiety, “Just don’t be afraid.”

And he stepped into the light. You gasped at the image before you. His skin was ghostly white, lips red as blood. He had shed his glasses, and his eyes were a pale, unnatural green. He seemed to stand taller, surely just an effect of his straightened posture. “Jeremiah…” You whispered, and he examined your reaction. “I understand if you want to leave.” He turned his face away, ashamed. You closed the difference between you, your hand reaching out to cradle his face. It was cold. “What else has changed?” You wish you could just move past it, act as though nothing had happened, but if Jeremiah had been infected with Jerome’s insanity gas then you had to be certain that you were safe. That he was safe. “I’m not insane, I promise you that.” His hand lifted to rest on your own, clasping it tightly. “In fact, I’m saner than I have ever been.” “What do you mean?” He moved your hand away from his face. His eyes stared into yours, reaching into your very soul. But behind them, you couldn’t see anything. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Jeremiah’s were closed. Or… “I see the world in a… different way now.” “Jerome’s way?” “No!” Jeremiah snapped and you flinched away. He sighed, offering a hand to you, and you took it, letting him draw you back to him. “I am nothing like my brother. He was insane, purposeless, an anarchist for the sake of anarchy.” You were starting to get scared now. “I am a builder. I always have been, you know that (Y/N). And I see what needs to be done to cure Gotham.” You didn’t want to imagine what Jeremiah meant by that. You understood now that this was not the Jeremiah you had known. He was different. “I want you by my side, (Y/N). I need you by my side.” Maybe he was different, but the love and pain and fear in his voice were genuine. They were Jeremiah, pure and honest. “Please. I can’t do this without you.” And your mind was made up. “You won’t have to.” You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him down to your level, pressing your lips against his. He reciprocated the kiss immediately, hands gripping your waist tight, trapping you in his embrace. His lips, like his skin, were cold, but you pushed away the chill they sent through your body. No matter what, you had promised Jeremiah that you were with him through everything. And you refused to break your promise.

 It was lucky that you had chosen to stay. While Jeremiah cared for you still, he couldn’t risk you telling people what had happened to him. He wasn’t sure what he would have done, if he would have killed you or held you prisoner until he was certain your loyalty was unwavering. But that wasn’t necessary. Not yet.

MASTERLIST

[takingcourage]

Restless

Pairing: Thomas x MC

Word Count: 2,450

Summary: On the night before Allison’s psych evaluation, sleep proves elusive. 

Note: If you’ve followed me for long, you may already know that I have zero patience for characters failing to communicate. While I completely respect Thomas’s position and his need for time, the way things ended at Drafthorse stressed me out. I needed something to tide me over until Friday, so this story is my attempt to fix things (just a bit). 

I hope you enjoy!

Of all the nights to have insomnia, this had to be the absolute worst. 

Allison scrunched the pillow beneath her head, rolling to her opposite side in a last-ditch effort to find a position that could coax her toward somnolence. She laid her head the center of the thick padding, brushing away the tangle of hair that tickled her cheek. Once settled, she willed herself to relax. 

It was only 3:00 am. Much too early for any sane person to be out of bed, but she was close to not being able to stand it anymore. 

If only she could afford a sleepless night. 

She’d learned how to operate on scant amounts of sleep back in college, and while pushing through her tiredness grew more difficult with every passing year, she could still call on her stores of natural energy when she needed to. When those started to run low, there was always caffeine. But caffeine couldn’t give her a well-rested complexion or the soundness of mind that came with a full night’s sleep. 

If she went into tomorrow’s psych evaluation running on autopilot and looking like death warmed over...

Well, the possibilities didn’t bear thinking about. 

“Just sleep!” She whispered the plea and screwed her eyes shut, fighting off the desperation that was threatening to lay hold of her sense. Even as her stomach churned, she forced deep breaths in through her nose and out her parted lips. 

But she knew the efforts were futile. Although she’d managed a little bit of sleep at first, it had been hours since she’d woken up. Hours of tossing and turning. Hours of being sick with worry about what tomorrow might bring. Hours of reliving her kisses with Thomas over and over and over. 

It felt insane to be thinking about him at such a time. From an objective view, whatever was going on between the two of them was the least her her concerns. 

And yet, the way he’d left weighed almost as heavily on her mind as her fears about the day ahead. 

She tried not to think about his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, his breath hot and shallow against her throat. Swallowing hard, she tried to forget the taste of his lips, the conviction in his voice when he told her how much he’d wanted her. She tried to ignore the molten desire he’d rekindled: desire that had been dormant for so long that she’d thought it was gone.  

Allison threw back the comforter she slept with to leave only the thin sheet behind. Body burning, she pushed in the switch on her bedside lamp. Sleep wasn’t going to come, and she didn’t like where her mind was headed in the darkness. 

Or maybe she liked it too much.

She propped her pillow against the headboard, sat up, and urged herself to be reasonable. 

But reasonable behavior would have been much easier to achieve if those moments with Thomas in the Drafthorse storeroom hadn’t taught her one very important thing: his patience had a limit. 

It was a weakness she knew she could exploit if she wanted to. And she had to admit, it was tempting. Having a man desire her in that way felt good. Coupled with the way she she felt toward him, it was better than good -- irresistible, almost. 

At the same time, it was absolutely terrifying. Allison didn’t know if she liked having so much influence -- having the power to make him act without rational thought, to do things he wasn’t really ready to do. Her mind insisted that rushing him would only make things worse, that she had to be incredibly careful until it was clear that he was well and truly ready to move on. 

And yet, those kisses had certainly felt like he was ready. 

Craving distraction, Allison reached for her phone and thumbed the password by rote. She scrolled through news headlines and social media feeds, searching for anything that could center the jumbled mess of thoughts within. When nothing sufficed, she opened her web browser and started typing. 

How to...

A list of options populated beneath the search bar. How to plan for a court-ordered psychological evaluation came up first. Shaking her head, she ran the search and began skimming over the same results she’d seen a dozen times before. 

Nothing new. Be honest. Be professional. Be prepared. 

An icy tendril of fear latched down the length of her spine. How prepared could she truly be on an hour of sleep? If she couldn’t even focus her thoughts in the privacy of her own home, was there any hope of producing coherent answers in front of a psychologist? 

The hours leading to the appointment were going to drive her mad. 

Before she even realized what she was doing, she’d typed out a message to Thomas. Doubt crept in as her finger hovered over the send button. 

If they talked, maybe she could get some of this off her chest. Maybe she’d be able to go into tomorrow’s appointment a little bit saner  -- a little bit more qualified to retain custody of her daughter. 

It seemed like the barest chance, but she was willing to take it. Besides, she knew his text notification was usually disabled. It wasn’t like she was in danger of waking him up. 

Could you call me sometime this morning? 

Allison stared at the screen dumbly, not quite believing that she’d sent the message so long before the sunrise. But by the time the screen faded to black, some part of her did feel better. Taking any action was better than tossing and turning. 

She was just coming back from the bathroom when she heard the vibration of her phone against the nightstand. In one fluid motion, she swept the phone to her ear and answered. “Hello?”

“I take it you can’t sleep either?”

Her surprise at the call changed to sympathy on hearing the crack in his voice. “Nope.”

“Sorry, stupid question,” he continued with a sigh. “What can I do?”

“Wait--” she interjected, feeling her forehead wrinkle with confusion. “Why are you awake right now? It isn’t even 4:00 yet.”

“I was trying to fall back asleep when I saw your text.”

“Then you should go back to sleep. It’s nothing urgent. Please?”

He chuckled quietly, though there was little humor in the sound. “If it’s keeping  you up, that’s urgent enough. What's on your mind?” 

She didn’t know where to start. 

Allison expelled a heavy breath and sat back on the mattress. How much should she tell him? Her better judgment told her that the wee hours of the morning were not the proper time to be having a heart-to-heart with the man she was half in love with, but impulse won out over sense. 

“It’s the middle of the night and I’m in an empty house because my terrible ex sabotaged me with my own daughter. I’ve got a psych evaluation first thing in the morning that’s going to decide whether I’m fit to continue raising said daughter, and...” she swallowed hard, trying to check her tone. 

Should she tell him that he’d been on her mind too? Biting the inside of her cheek, she resisted the urge. “And I feel like I’m thinking in circles. So, yeah. Sleeping’s been a little tricky,” she finished lamely. 

“We never did get a chance to talk about the evaluation this afternoon, did we? What time is your appointment?” he asked simply. 

“10:00.”

She could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

“If you’d like, I could come by in the morning after I’ve dropped Luz at school. It would give us some time to talk things through and make sure you’re feeling confident.”

Allison’s throat grew thick at the generous offer. “That sounds amazing,” she whispered finally, hoping that he would interpret the weakness in her voice as yet another symptom of exhaustion.  

“Great. I’ll bring some coffee too.”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” She inquired, the lighthearted tone masking the fact that she was on the verge of tears.

"You’re the exception to a lot of rules, Allison Day.”

A shiver coursed between her shoulders. With satisfied smile, she had to admit that she liked holding such distinction. As the immediate sense of pleasure wore off, she realized he’d continued speaking. 

“...shouldn’t worry about it in the meantime. That psychologist is going to see what everyone else already knows: you’re an incredible mom.”

“An incredible mom who had to call her lawyer in the middle of the night because she had insomnia...”

“That’s what I’m here for. Like I said, I’m your lawyer and your friend. And I fully meant that compliment. You’re the first person I turn to for parenting advice these days. That should tell you something.”

Mood lightening, she couldn’t help feeling a bit mischievous. “It tells me that you’re desperate.” She shifted her phone to the other ear, smiling as his laughter carried across the line.

“If you’re insulting me, you must be feeling better.”

“Much. Thanks for listening.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused for several long seconds Any longer, and Allison might have wondered if he’d fallen back to sleep. “Do you mind if I change the subject for a moment?”

“Not at all,” she responded, intrigued.

“I wanted to apologize again for what happened this afternoon. I can’t help thinking that I’ve contributed to your trouble sleeping.”

Her sigh was all the proof he needed.

“I’m sorry, truly. If I’d been thinking it never would have happened.” 

Back ramrod straight, Alison propped her head against the wall behind her headboard. They were treading into dangerous territory. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to dash headlong into something she couldn’t get out of. 

Then again, he’d been the one to bring it up... 

“Maybe I’m glad you weren’t thinking then,” she challenged finally. Half relieved, half mortified, she bit her tongue. There was no going back now. “Because even though you ran off afterward, that still might have been the best kiss of my life. I’ve been dying to kiss you for months.”

"Allison, I...”

She rose from the bed, shrugging into her robe before she made her way to the kitchen. “And I know you’re not ready to talk about it,” she went on, filling a glass of water at the tap. “That’s fine. But I’m working with an hour of sleep and a heck of a lot of stress right now, so I think I’m just going to come right out and say it. You don’t have to respond or decide anything now, but maybe it will help, somehow.”

His breath was slow on the other end of the line. “That’s more than fair. If it helps you to talk, I’ll listen.”

“No pressure, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“I’m not trying to rush you.” 

“Okay,” he agreed a second time. 

Taking a long sip of water, Allison lowered herself to the couch. This was a terrible idea. Unfortunately, any inhibitions she normally would have had were long gone. 

“I want to be with you, Thomas. In a real, committed relationship where we don’t have to question the consequences or worry about second thoughts. If there’s any possibility of that happening, I’ll wait as long as I need to...” she stopped at the sound of his sharp inhale. 

After a beat, he responded. “Thank you.”

Her heart sank at the continued silence. It wasn’t exactly the answer she’d been yearning for. Though she knew it was unlikely, some part of her had been holding out hope that his mind had changed since that afternoon. 

“You’re welcome. Uh, thanks again...for listening.” She drew the words out awkwardly, uncertain where to take the conversation from there. Now that the weight was off her chest, she had no sense of what needed to come next. 

Fortunately, Thomas filled the silence. “I’m happy to. And I...”

Her pulse skipped, growing giddy again with possibility. 

“I’m sorry for being so back and forth. But I have to be sure that when... if,” he amended after some hesitation, “I move on, it’s not just going to be some short-term relationship that will change after a few weeks or months. I couldn’t do that Luz. I’m not sure I could put myself through that either.”

"Believe me, Thomas. I understand. The last thing I want is to put Kira through any more change right now. But if you decide you’re ready for a relationship -- for something stable...” She trailed off, forcing herself to take another drink of water before her tongue could get her into further trouble. 

“You’ll be the first to know,” he promised. 

“Thanks.” With a smile, she set the empty glass of water aside. From the corner of her eye, she caught the time on the oven clock and winced. “Hey, I should let you get back to sleep.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to? You’d still be able to get a couple of hours if you went to bed now.”

“I think so,” Allison confirmed, already padding back in the direction of her bedroom. “Thanks again for listening.” 

“You’re welcome again. I’ll listen as much as you want in the morning -- the real morning,” he clarified dryly. “I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Allison. Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight,” she signed off with a yawn. After plugging her phone in to charge, she climbed back into bed. When she rolled to the other side of the mattress, there was a smile on her face. 

Talking with Thomas might not have solved anything, but it had still done her a world of good. As she nestled into the blankets, she almost hoped that this wasn’t the last late-night conversation in their future. No matter what was going on between them, he made a great sounding board. 

While warmth returned to her cold extremities, a baser part of her instinct took over. After all, she wanted him as more than just a confidant and ally.  Imagination running wild, Allison could almost feel him in the bed beside her. Within the dream, she melted into the heat of his body as he pulled her close, planting kisses along the curve of her throat. She turned to face him, lips greedy to taste his skin. 

The cold air on her face brought her back to reality. 

Groaning, she rolled over again and banished all thoughts from her mind. All thoughts, that is, save for one.

Thomas was definitely worth waiting for. 

[angstymarshmallow]

Overworked (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

[A little note: To the anon that asked me for a ethan x mc fic, I’ve been working on one ever since and I’ve refused to stop until it was done. I’m still in the figuring out stage, but at this point where I think Ethan and MC are in their...whatever it is, this seemed like an appropriate place to start and discover that. Thank you for your request, I hope you enjoy :D]

[Words Counted: 2831].

Sawyer knew better than the next to take the case home with her.

She tried telling herself countless of times after every night of leaving Edenbrook hospital; she was leaving work behind her. She was putting aside the job, until she had to do it all over again tomorrow.

It was a lot saner that way.

But the truth was – every case stuck to her; every case weighed her down like cinder-blocks tied to her feet. She could barely see the surface anymore.

Her mother had always teased her about it. She was too emphatic, she always said – she felt too deeply, and cared too much. But Sawyer had never thought about it as a curse. It was a blessing to care about people – she wanted to become a doctor to help people.

Still, Sawyer knew it was hard. She had already seen her fair share of people try and fail doing the same. She saw cracks in their armor while they were on call, saw some of them fall apart almost completely when she ventured and caught another intern inside a storage closet – crying or taking a moment just to breathe. She didn’t want it to linger, the way it was now. But in her vow to help people, came the responsibility of such a task. It came with putting overtime hours and heading back home too late to eat anything more than a midnight snack. It came with overworking herself.

Although she knew – she was still here, doing it all over again. Despite the warnings. Despite her friends’ and her mother’s insistent. She couldn’t help it; it was just simply who she was – and it was why she was currently going through Kyra Santana’s file.

Her patient might have given up; but she wouldn’t. Cancer is something they could fight; something Sawyer took too deeply when she considered her own family. She wouldn’t abandon Kyra – even if she couldn’t see how much she needed her, herself.

It was why she was currently at her desk; reading over Kyra’s charts – analyzing her blood work.

It didn’t look good.

The cancer was aggressive, already spreading further than Sawyer anticipated. Sighing, she tapped her pen against her clipboard. Treatment was the only option – and Kyra would keep fighting her tooth and nail about it.

Rubbing her eyes, Sawyer dropped her clipboard by the corner of her desk.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

She hadn’t heard Ethan, which spoke volumes for how tired she was. At the sound of his voice, she jumped before glancing up warily at him. She met his impossibly crystal eyes with a blank stare until he emphatically repeated his question.

“Oh!” She smiled ruefully, “sorry. I’ve just been…” she trailed off, gesturing at her clipboard and biting her lower lip before staring back up at him. “Going through a patient’s blood work.”

Well, ex-patient at the rate this rate. Kyra hadn’t been back since they talked.

Ethan searched her face before making a motion behind him. “Follow me rookie.”

Blinking, Sawyer hesitated for a moment before dutifully following behind him. She kept her gaze rooted to his back as they disappeared within an empty hall. It was mostly quiet around this time at the hospital anyway; with only the overnight staff still present.

When he turned to face her, Sawyer had nearly ran into him. “It’s Kyra, isn’t it?” His face softened a fraction and for a moment, Sawyer could see the softer side of him – the side he often buried in front of others. It was only too bad that within seconds it was gone.

Sawyer stood, stretching and wincing at how sore her muscles were from being on her feet all day. “Yes, and it’s not good news.” She sighed, “it’s worse.”

“I’m sorry.” He offered simply, slipping his hands into his coat. “I know… how hard this must be on you.”

She nodded absently, but she was bracing for it. She was waiting for the I-told-you-so from him. He knew from experience. She was starting to learn what he preached and in her first few months here, she was starting to feel worn and rundown. “You warned me this would happen,” she took a deep breath. “You told me to be prepared for the inevitable, and I’m…” she was fighting for the right words, “…hallow, numb.” She ran her fingers through her bright hair; shaking her head after she glanced away. “Kyra isn’t gone but already I feel like I’ve failed her.”

“You haven’t failed her.” He said a matter-of-factly, taking a step closer. He was suddenly crowding her vision. He was close enough for her to see the slight flecks in his eyes.

Sawyer blinked up at him in alarm when she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“She’s still here.”

“But she wants to stop fighting. She wants it to win.” Grief had changed her voice; made it crack as Sawyer dropped her eyes to her feet. “I want her to keep fighting but – she doesn’t want to anymore.” She knew how bad it could, how much cancer took from everything. She’d seen it nearly destroy her family. “I know I should respect that. I know and yet…yet I - She’s tired, and I –” she cleared her throat, “I can’t stop myself from going over her file – wondering what we did wrong, what I did wrong –” She felt his arms around her then, felt his quiet breath atop her head as he hugged her tentatively – as if to ask is this okay? But it was more than okay, it was what Sawyer hadn’t realized she needed until she buried her face into his chest and simply breathed the comforting scent of his aftershave.

“It’s alright.” His tone was uncharacteristically gentle. “It’s alright.”

She took a moment to listen to his steady heartbeat, letting the sound of it become her guide to breathe. She inhaled deeply, clutching onto him; her knuckles going white while he continued to repeat the same words, over and over again against her ear.

It wasn’t until Ethan interrupted the silence between them with a clear of his throat that she realized her mistake. She had overstepped again. Her fingers froze and slowly she unclenched her hands from his shirt. “Sorry,” Sawyer mumbled, pulling away first.

He had been very clear about their boundaries since the first time they kissed. Boundaries, she did not share.

“Don’t be.” There was a splash of colour to his cheeks. “I offered.” He took another step back, creating more distance between them and making it much easier for Sawyer to find her footing again despite the surge of disappointment at the motion.

“I figured you needed a moment….to put yourself back together again.” Ethan’s gaze turned solemn, “and what you’re going through is something we all go through. Sooner or later we spread ourselves too thin, when we care so much.” His eyes searched hers’ and she felt her throat go dry from the intensity of his stare.

Is that how you feel about Dr. Banerji? She had almost spoken the words aloud before biting her lips firmly in an attempt to stop herself. That was the second subject she had almost breached today – and in public none the less.

As though reading her thoughts, he looked away. “And I know better than most.”

Sawyer ensured her voice was low as she spoke; keeping her attention half on him and the other half down the hall as a nurse appeared. “Has Dr. Banaerji’s condition – ”

“No.” He interjected. “Not since the last time you saw him.”

She relaxed a fraction, absently placing a hand on his arm for comfort before thinking better of it. “There’s that at least. No change is still good news.”  

“And yet not very reassuring.” He murmured. It was his turn to look a little desolate, a little more lost than Sawyer felt after the day she’s had. And to think – she used to believe he didn’t care about anyone or anything. Now she knew better. She understood how much he cared about people, even if he wasn’t in the habit of showing it.

Without thinking Sawyer stepped closer to Ethan, watching the way his eyes widened in surprise as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright.” She uttered softly. “He has you, he has us.”

There was a question in his eyes as his free hand reached between them, almost as though to cup her cheek. At the last second, he went completely still – stopping his hand in mid-motion as the breath in Sawyer’s throat left in a barely cohesive sound.

Ethan cleared his throat, the strain visible along the smooth lines of his face as he withdrew his hand out of her solid grip. “You should get some sleep, Hutton. You can’t save people when you can barely save yourself.” Almost a little awkwardly, his other hand patted her on the back.

“Uh right,” Sawyer forced a laugh, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I suppose it is getting rather late.” She checked the time on her watch. Shoot. She wasn’t getting any sleep tonight – maybe a nap, if she was lucky in traffic.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

She glanced up at him.

The offer surprised her.

He looked taken aback himself at the words but made no move to deflect. Trying not to sound eager, she agreed. “Uh, sure…just let me get my stuff on.” She swallowed back the sudden excitement. Get a grip Hutton. But the thought of being alone with Ethan made her heart race a little faster, made her fingers shake as she tucked them behind her back. Smiling timidly at him, she managed a little wave before she backtracked towards her desk, “I’ll meet you at the front?”

Ethan nodded, offering her a small sample of a smile in return before retreating in the opposite direction.

-

The walk to the entrance hadn’t helped.

In fact, it seemed to draw out the anticipation somehow– although what for; Sawyer couldn’t decide. She knew better than to hold onto any semblance of hope after their last conversation. He wanted her to succeed and her success meant they could never work, not even in her wildest dreams.

Still, she wanted him – wanted him to want her, and he was beginning to take him too much space inside her head. She couldn’t let go; she was stubborn that way and his offer to walk her out felt more than something you did for a simple friend.

Maybe she reading too much into nothing.

No. She shook her head vehemently.

It was the way he blurted out the words and the surprise in his eyes afterwards which made her think differently; gave her hope that he was beginning to change.

There was a flutter in her chest as she discerned his familiar tall figure by the front of the building.

His lips were pressed into a firm line when she spotted him, and made her believe she had caught him thinking. From the broody look on his face, she can’t imagine it was anything good.

The smile across her lips faltered. “Ethan?” She asked uncertainly, “a penny for your thoughts?”

“Hmm? Oh.” His brow creased.

“Still thinking about our patient x?” Although there was no one around as they walked, she still kept her voice down – just in case.

“That and among other things.”

When he didn’t continue, Sawyer prompted him with a questioning stare, “…such as?” Did she dare believe? Did she dare think the discussion they had closed off weeks ago was still playing inside his head like a loop in hers’?

Ethan didn’t answer, not right away. Instead, he tucked his hands inside his jacket as they crossed the nearly empty parking lot. His voice was soft when he spoke again, causing her to almost lose her footing. “We’re not fools, Hutton. We can both see what’s going on.”

They were nearly to her car – three empty rows ahead. Sawyer tucked her hands inside her jacket as she turned to look at him. He was talking about them – the one subject that they had tittered across the edge on; dangerously before. When stopped short the same moment he did, her car was only a foot away. And the look in his eyes, stole her breath away.

Those piercing crystals held a mixture of longing – loneliness that made her want to reach out and touch him. She clenched her fingers around the soft texture of her pockets in order to stop herself from giving into the sudden temptation. “Ethan, if we’re talking about what I think we’re talking about…”

“But that’s just it. There can’t be anything Sawyer.” His throat had gone a little hoarse as he drew in a visibly long breath of air. “You have so much potential, so much and I would hate to see it jeopardized by anything…even if that anything is –” his eyes dropped lower – to the slight gaping of her mouth and then back to the startled expression in her eyes, “me.”

Sawyer sucked in a breath. Words that she would have said were now lost as she scrambled to keep up with him. “You’re forgetting something – that isn’t only just your choice. You don’t get to decide for me, I do.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “You think I don’t know the risks? You think I don’t rationalize all the reasons why I shouldn’t be thinking about you –” she poked a finger to chest angrily, not realizing the amount of distance between them had almost disappeared. “I get it, I do – but I’m still here. I still want to smile every time I see you; I still want to run my fingers through your hair and laugh whenever you make a snark remark –” her voice had lost it’s steam and every word she spoke grew softer and softer. “- I want to hold you close and bury my face into your shirt –” it was all spilling out too quick for her to take back - all the feelings she had to repress and when she felt his hands suddenly cupping her cheek, she stopped short to peer up at him.

“Sawyer…I can’t.” Agony shone in his eyes, burning all the way through her heart.

Feeling bold, she stood on her tip toes and enclosed her slender arms around his neck. “You can.”

He kissed her then, with a strangled gasp he slammed his mouth against hers and brought her to his chest with an impossibly strong yet gentle grip. He kissed her soundly, relentlessly – plunging his tongue in between her parted lips as she uttered a quiet gasp of her own.

His lean hips guided her against the hood of the car and without releasing her, he sat her atop as she buried her fingers in his hair.

Sawyer felt her desire for him grow with every kiss; yes yes – every nerve inside her seemed to whisper as longing for him welled inside her chest.

“What are you doing to me?” His breathing was ragged and he groaned as she sunk her teeth into his lower lip, nipping gently as he pressed intimately into her.

The rationale side of her knew they should stop, knew that he was right in placing some much-needed space between – but the rest of her didn’t care. She had never felt like this before; never felt such a constant pull to someone that refused to be ignored. “The same thing you do to me, Ethan.” She replied in between kisses, “and I want more.”

The sudden alarm of Sawyer’s car caused them both to jump at the same time.

Ethan scrambled away, cheeks flushing as Sawyer slid down off the hood. He avoided her gaze as he cleared his throat and made a considerable amount of room between them.

She did the same; and wanted nothing more than to bury herself under some kind of rock – after losing control completely. She hadn’t meant to voice so much of her thoughts. Oh god, why didn’t he stop me? That was unlike her, to be so forward someone she barely knew!

Ethan couldn’t even look at her.

Humiliation made her cheeks stung. “I – I should go.” She stammered, breaking the silence first. Stepping past him, she shakily grabbed her keys from out of her pockets and started her car.

“Hutton –”

She paused by the door handle. Don’t look at him. Just get in the car and drive. But she couldn’t stop herself. It was like something cosmic had overcome her better sense and she looked back.

He was standing where she left him, with his hands tucked inside his jacket – with a flurry of emotions in his eyes before he pressed his lips into a firm line. “Have a safe trip home.”

“You too.” Swallowing back her disappointment, Sawyer slid inside her car and closed the door behind her.

-

tags: @cora-nova

[likeshipsonthesea]

"I could never forget you" with the ship of your choice?

thank you so much for the prompt! 89. “I could never forget you.” and I know i’m trying to branch out with ships, but this just SCREAMS nurseydex for me, so let’s go

(after note: this turned into a lot more than i thought it was going to be, enjoy the ride my dudes. also: kind of want to write a sequel? hmu if you want it)

[edit: there is now a sequel!]

Late spring, a handful of days before graduation, Dex sits on the floor of his old room and helps Nursey box up his things.

Dex finished packing up his own stuff the night before and there isn’t much else to do around the Haus, empty as it is. All the underclassmen are studying. Dex’s exams are over, final papers handed in. It’s a strange contradiction, to have the endless weight of deadlines lifted, only for the prospective life unfurling in front of him to take its place.

Wanting to get out of his own head, he offered to help Nursey pack. Nursey, blinking up at him from the floor, surrounded by half-empty boxes and the remnants of their four years here, nodded without fanfare. A year ago, maybe, he would have refused, but here in this softly warm Haus, at the end, they are none of the inflammatory things they once were.

They work in silence, save for their movements.The stretch of masking tape being ripped from the roll, the soft shuffling offabric-bound books bumping up against one another. The open window filters inthe barest hints of music from one of the other frats along with a coolbreeze.

A sweet, refreshing burst gusts across the back of Dex’s neck justas Nursey says, “When are you leaving?”

Dex glances over at Nursey, on his second box of books now, butNursey isn’t looking his way or emoting in any obvious way. Dex looks back atthe sweaters in his hands. “Day after graduation.”

“Ah.” A beat or two. “Me too.”

Dex knows this. Dex knows that Nursey is going back to New YorkCity the day after graduation to live in a small apartment his parents are helpinghim pay for until he starts his job at the fancy publishing house. By the timeJune starts, Nursey will be the kind of New York writer they make TV showsabout, with cool, interesting friends who read the same kinds of books and careabout all the same things. Dex has imagined it, on and off, for months, andright now he’s in one of those phases where he’s wistfully happy about it.

Nursey will have a good life, Dex thinks. He doesn’t know whatelse he could ask for, reasonably. Despite the ache in his chest, Dex isgrateful.

Nursey coughs and Dex blinks out of his mind. “C was talkingabout getting together for July 4th or something,” he says, in that blasé tonehe thinks makes him sound chill but only really serves to highlight hisnervousness. “You know,” he continues, laughing, short, “if youhaven’t forgotten about us by then.”

It comes reflexively, innately. “I could never forget you.”

It’s more than he’d meant to say, which his quickly beating heart realizes after only a moment. He’d been planning on going through the end quietly, peacefully. After dreading it for four years, he’s made his peace with the prospect of Samwell ending, his new life beginning.

It was easier, of course, after he decided he wouldn’t be going back to Maine.

Dex coughs and looks back down at the sweaters. “I mean, how could I?” he says, scratchy voice reaching for a chirp. “I’ll be having nightmares about your pretentiousness for decades.”

Dex’s knows that Nursey can see through it. It would be a miracle if he couldn’t, after the past year. Living in separate rooms helped ease the tension, and Dex having the C and Nursey with the A– more of a second captain than anything else– it would have been impossible for them to not learn how to work with each other, finally. But in the presence of finality, with Chowder getting serious about the NHL, Caitlin, life– well, somehow clinging to Samwell became clinging to Nursey and, even more miraculous, in their shared struggle they finally found a way not to drown.

“Dex,” Nursey says, and his voice is too soft for all the things floating about them, the unanswered questions, the ones too deadly to ask, all the things they never said and probably won’t, now. Dex can feel it all, bittersweet, in the back of his mouth, heavy.

He is grateful, oh is he grateful, to have even had the chance to taste.

“Fourth of July sounds great,” Dex says, and wonders if he should tell Nursey about the job in New York he said yes to yesterday, that he was going to be there, anyway, that they could see each other any time– but no. He’d made the decision not to say anything when he was alone, saner, and he shouldn’t go back on it now because they’re sitting in the middle of their fractured lives and desperately grabbing all the pieces they can.

In a few months, Dex thinks, he’ll tell Nursey. If he still wants to see him after he’s gotten the life he deserves, then– maybe then– Dex can let himself have it.

“If C has gotten over the shock of actually being on the Sharks, then maybe,” Dex says, and it’s awkward, both in his mouth and hanging in the air afterwards, but Nursey let’s him have it, adds in a clearer chirp about the influx of Instagram pics, and Dex returns with a crack about Chowder being the arm-candy for Farmer at all the events they’ll have to go to.

Outside, it starts to rain, just a bit of a drizzle but enough to turn the air heavy with it. They pack up boxes, tape them shut. Dex helps Nursey carry them downstairs so it’ll be easier for him to transfer them to his parents’ car when they come down.

“Thanks for your help, Dex,” Nursey says, when the last box is down.

It feels– right, somehow, that Nursey should use Dex’s real name. 

Real, Dex means, in how William itched at his skin by middle school, when he realized the person his family wanted him to be was unattainable, in how Cap was a way for his teammates to distance themselves from the quietly broken captain they only knew how to respect in the iciness of a rink. 

Real only happened here, when the person under the name was yet unknown and the place allowed him to figured it out, unfurl it one petal at a time, and welcomed each autumn that came when the dead weight was shed, allowed the seasons to pass, allowed the person to change while still calling it the same name.

And yes, he thinks, staring at Nursey’s tired, easy smile, yes it is coming to an end, but that is the nature of it, of things, and it will not be the real end, truly.

“Thank you,” Dex says, nonsensically, and Nursey quirks his eyebrows a little but keeps on smiling.

The rain stops and Dex thinks about going outside to take in the world, washed anew.

“Want to make a pie?” Nursey asks, unexpected, self-awareness in the brightness of his eyes. Dex remembers walking into the Haus for the first time to the smell of flaky, warm pastries, and reminding himself again that this was all fleeting, he was always going to return to the cold Maine air and the family who loved the person he could pretend to be. He doesn’t know when, exactly, he’d forgotten that it was supposed to end, but he’s grateful, nonetheless.

“That sounds nice,” Dex says, and puts the rest of the world on hold. A handful of days isn’t much, he thinks, following Nursey into the kitchen, but it’s still time.

[Sequel is now up]

[honeymoonjin]

enjoy your stay - chapter nine

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five |Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine

A/N - I won’t put links in so that this comes up on search, but check my masterlist for links to every previous/future chapter. Also, this was meant to have a lot more content in it, but I normally aim to put out 3k chapters, and the smut alone in this is 3.5k, so I’ve bumped the rest of the chapters up one. I’m trying to go in a new direction with Jungkook here that I think I’ve never seen people write before, but I’ve gotten inspired from the j-drama Love and Fortune on Netflix, so if you’ve seen it, you know what you’re in for! Let’s just say, Jungkook is a little too young to understand what a healthy relationship is.

Warnings for this chapter: sub!Jungkook, noona!reader, oral (female receiving), protected sex (I’m that responsible bitch now), multiple orgasms.

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER NINE ↳Jungkook just wants to comfort you in your time of need. But maybe accepting it isn’t the wisest decision.

There was something so delightful about the duality of Jeon Jungkook. Most of the time, he was a jokey, bouncy nerd teasing whoever came close enough. But then you were struck with moments like these, rare as they were, when all of the overexcited energy breaks away to reveal a glimpse of the sensitive, gentle soul inside.

The way he would give a little gulp when you held heavy eye-contact too long, the pout he got when people didn’t pay him enough attention, his slow blinks when he tried to focus completely on what somebody else was saying.

Normally it was just a flicker; a singular moment in time. Now, however, you felt the full weight of his gaze on you, a hand gently squeezing yours, and the open vulnerability in his eyes. It almost felt like holding a new puppy for the first time or having a toddler hold his arms up to you for a hug. The overwhelming wave of affection that rolled over you was nothing like the hot and heavy lust that Jimin elicited in you, nor was it the teenage-crush feeling you got around Jin.

God, what was the interviewing process for the hotel if three of the workers had made you feel all kinds of ways before you had even been there four months? It didn’t seem fair at all.

What was next, Hoseok giving you baby fever? You seriously doubted it, but still.

At this point you had no idea how long Jungkook had sat in silence, wide eyes still flickering back and forth between yours, mouth open slightly as he waited for a reply.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, “you don’t want this.”

His hand squeezed tighter around yours in insistence. “I do, noona. I…I’ve been thinking about you a lot for a while, now. But then there was the whole Tae fiasco, and you invited me into your home like I was a little brother, and I thought you must not feel the same way. But I just want you to know, whether something happens or not, that I’d never treat you the way that guy did; I’d give you the world to make you happy.”

You bit your lip, his eyes following the motion with a little gulp. “You’re too young to be feeling that way about somebody, Jungkook. You don’t know what you’re saying. What you have is probably just puppy love. I was kind to you, I helped you make a life change that made you happier and now you’re associating that happiness with me. It happens to everybody, and I’m not holding it against you, but don’t think that this is what love is. It’s not.”

He jerks his head back like he’s been slapped. “How can you say that? I’m only four years younger than you, of course I know what love is. You deserve so much better than what that guy did to you and I want to give you that.” He sighs, blinks a little faster, and you’re shocked to see that his eyes are shiny. “What can I do to make you believe me? Noona, let me show you how much I love you.”

You bring your other hand up to pat his. He looks a little put out by the maternal action but doesn’t pull away. “Jungkook, you should know…The guy I was talking about is Jimin. And he’s not some evil demon out to get women, he just wanted different things and it was disappointing that it couldn’t work out. I don’t need a knight in shining armor to protect my honor.”

He scowls. “Jimin? I don’t care who it is, noona. I promise you I’ll be better than him. I’ll make you breakfast in the mornings and write little notes on the fridge. I’ll learn how you take your coffee. I’ll give you anything you want.” His eyes darken a little, vulnerable emotion giving way to sweet desire. “I’ll make you feel good. Let me make you feel good.”

You blame your vulnerable state. You blame your raging hormones. In the near future, when your life begins to fall apart at the seams and everything turns sour, you will blame your actions on these things so that you can sleep at night.

But even though you’re the one with relationship drama and Jungkook is the one trying to comfort you, you know deep down that when you slowly nod your head and lean in, that you are the one taking advantage of Jungkook here.

By the time he sighs out in relief, he’s close enough that you feel the air shift on your face. He keeps his eyes open until the last second, gingerly reaching a hand up to snake around your neck and pull you in closer, pushing his lips firmly against yours.

It’s immediately apparent from his stiff movements that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but you can practically taste his sincerity and honest passion when the two of you begin to move, his little delicate pecks causing you to smile against him.

You mirror his position, pulling up a leg onto the couch so you can face him fully and clasp his face between your hands gently, guiding him into a deeper kiss.

Although neither of you are exerting much effort, he’s taking quick shallow gasps of air between kisses like it’s all to overwhelming. His lips are soft, and you can feel the edges of his fringe brush up against your forehead. He makes you feel like a teenager again, sharing something sweet and secretive and intimate, and if there is any doubt still withstanding in your mind about the morality of this, you found yourself too hazy and drunk on his affection to consider it.

Slowly, he begins to slip his tongue out, pushing tentatively against the seam of your lips, and you tip your head to the side to allow him a better angle, opening your mouth enough to run the flat of your tongue against the tip of his. He sucks in a breath, and the hand still resting on the back of your neck tightens slightly to keep you firmly close as he returns the favor, slowly working up a confidence.

You shiver when his tongue slips under your top lip, running over your teeth and sucking your lip in so he can nibble at it. The pressure of his teeth makes your heart skip a beat and your breath hitch, and he chuckles lowly at your sudden inhale.

“Like it?” he teases. “I’m a quick learner.”

And he is. Now that his tongue and teeth have come out to play, he seems uninterested in returning to the sweet kisses from before, and he tips your head back with his other hand so he can drag his teeth slowly down the side of your neck, catching on your collarbone where he laps at the skin, suckling at it periodically to leave little blossoms of color.

You furrow your eyebrows and let your mouth fall slack. “I thought you said you had a girlfriend that you did this stuff with all the time,” you question, though your breathing is so shallow that it’s barely louder than a whisper.

He doesn’t take the time to pull back and face you, but as his wet kisses fall below to the slope of your breasts you can feel the crook of his cheeky smile. “I lied.”

A saner, less aroused you would recognize this as a red flag, but instead you begin to undo the buttons of your work shirt and let out a breathy laugh. “Good boys shouldn’t lie.”

He freezes against you, hands clasping your upper arms and face pressed into your neck.

You frown, pushing at him to get him to sit up. “Woah, are you okay?”

To your surprise, his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. “Say that again,” he demands, biting on his swollen lower lip in barely restrained desire.

He finishes off the buttons of your shirt for you, and pushes it off, dislodging the straps of your bra in the process. You have to think back. “Good boy?” When he nods and you see the glimmer in his eye, you grin. “Are you gonna be my good boy, Jungkookie?”

He whines and nods desperately, thumbs rubbing at the skin underneath the fallen bra straps.

You grin again, and reach behind you to unclasp your bra, letting the lace fall away. “I’m glad,” you croon, “because good boys get rewarded for their behavior.”

His eyes zero in on your nipples, already hardening in the air-conditioned apartment, but sooner than you expect they flicker back up to your face. “Noona, can I…?”

He waits patiently for your nod, but then launches his face at your chest with such a velocity that you tip backwards and land against the arm of the couch. Without missing a beat, he hooks one leg over yours and leans down over you, one hand propping himself up mere centimeters away from you, and the other coming down to cup your right breast, running a thumb lightly over the peaked nipple and chuckling at the way your body shivers violently.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters reverentially, letting his fingernail drag slightly over each peak to get you to shudder beneath him again. His tongue comes out to wet his lips, and he looks down at you imploring, pinching down slightly like it’s going to persuade you.

You nod again, and he sits back on your thighs so that his face is level with your chest, flicking at the skin around your breast teasingly before he sucks a nipple into your mouth and runs his tongue over it. You feel vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core as he moans indulgently, lapping and flicking at sucking at one until it becomes too much and you gently push his head over to the other side, where he diligently performs the same service.

You sigh in bliss. “You’re so good to me, Jungkook. You make your noona feel really good.”

He whines again, and begins to push his hips into your crotch, desperate for some friction. Before he asks to go any further, however, he shoots up to rip off his work shirt and falls back onto you, latching his mouth onto yours for a second time.

He continues to rub himself over you, and he feels so hard beneath the thin material of his pants that you’re certain it must feel painful, but he busies himself with licking up into the roof of your mouth and nibbling at your bottom lip, eager to please.

The wet marks across your chest have gone cold from the atmosphere, but his chest is like a furnace when he presses up against you, and you can’t take it anymore. “I’m ready, Jungkook. You don’t have to wait anymore.”

He groans into your mouth and pulls away, sitting up so that he can unbutton your pants and slide them off with your panties. However, instead of undressing fully himself, he pauses between your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows. “What is it?”

He’s staring at your pussy, but he looks more determined than aroused. “How many times did Jimin make you cum?”

“What?”

“How many times,” he repeats firmly.

You blink at him. “Just the once. Jungkook, I don’t want to talk about-”

“Did he go down on you?”

“No. Look, let’s just-”

“Can I?”

He’s returning eye-contact now, hands tucked around the backs of your knees, applying pressure to the inner side so that your legs slowly fall open. Your mouth goes dry, but you feel a new rush of warmth between your thighs. “O- Okay.”

He shoots you a look of pure joy and eagerly shuffles down the couch, belly-up with his face close enough to your heat that you feel puffs of air tickle your folds. He pauses. “I… I’ve never done this before,” he admits nervously.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you remind him, “I’m not expecting an orgasm from your first time eat-oh!” You break off abruptly as he licks a stripe up your pussy, tongue pointed and parting your folds as he goes.

Once he finishes, he savors your taste for a moment before looking up at you from between your legs. “I told you, noona, I’m a fast learner. I wanna make you cum once now, and then again with me. Then you’ll forget about Jimin for good.”

He tucks his head back down and repeats his earlier motion, this time applying enough pressure on the upstroke that his tongue dips into you as he goes. The shallow contact has you clenching around nothing, and he gives little kitten licks upwards, trying to locate your clit, you exhale contentedly and lean your head back on the armrest, happy to enjoy the ride.

It’s even more apparent here than when you two first kissed that he hasn’t done this before, but he’s right; Jeon Jungkook is an extremely quick learner. Once he finds your clit, he uses his tongue to push back the hood and expose it, circling around a couple times like he did with your nipples.

The delightful satisfaction floods your system, but you’re ready for more. “Fingers, Jungkook, good boys use their hands.”

You mean it as a joke, but he moans against you and slicks up two fingers, tucking the first one inside with minimal trouble. You squeeze around him in welcoming and he swears into your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, “sucking me in like that.”

You whisper his name to get him to look up at you, and wordlessly, you hold out your pointer finger in front of him and crook it in a ‘come-hither’ motion. He smiles and nods, then copies the action with the finger buried inside you.

The added pressure on the top wall of your pussy gets you to moan again, and Jungkook begins slowly thrusting his finger, hooking it and dragging it along you on every pull out, lapping at your clit all the while.

You reach down and card your fingers through his hair, pulling the fringe away from his forehead so you can better see the adoring look he’s giving you from between your legs.

Without needing to be told, he pulls his finger out only to slip in two on the next stroke, still dragging along the rough patch inside you with his pointer, but the added stretch increasing the satisfaction.

Steadily, the tension in your stomach begins to solidify and you can feel how close you are. Once you tell Jungkook to speed up, he puts all his focus into his fingers rather than his tongue, and instead simply starts suckling on your clit, changing the pressure constantly, moving his tongue over it lazily for some added friction.

You can hear yourself growing louder, and the urge to clamp your thighs around Jungkook’s head and just thrust up onto his face is getting harder to resist.

He pulls of your clit long enough to gaze up at you, fingers still working inside you. “Are you going to cum, noona?”

You grin down at him wickedly. “Say please.”

You feel the way his fingers speed up impossibly with that comment, going wild. “Please, noona, please cum for me.”

When he bends down and sucks your clit so intensely that it scrapes against your teeth, you feel the tension snap and liquify into an intense orgasm. You can’t help but tense up your thighs around him, but judging by the enthusiastic vibrations against your clit, you don’t think he minds. He holds on a little too long, until you instinctively dart down your free hand to push away his head and wiggle your hips back into the couch for some distance.

As he pulls away, a string of spit joins his lips to yours, and you moan at the sight, collapsing back onto the couch.

He breaks the string with his tongue and crawls up to bring you into another kiss. You’re a little too out of it to really reciprocate but he gives you a few gentle kisses and lets you taste yourself on his tongue as you come back down.

When you sigh out, he smiles against you and leans back a little. “You ready?” Once you nod, he hops off the couch quickly to strip down to nothing, tossing his pants and underwear across the hardwood floor.

He notices you staring, bewildered, at his dick and blushes. It stood upright, leaking profusely in his excitement, but what really got you was the size. How was he so much bigger than Jimin? You beckon him over and he positions himself between your legs.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

You groan impatiently and tuck your legs around his hips, tilting your hips up so that he brushed against you. “Jungkook’s been a good boy, so now he gets a treat.”

He sighs as he lines himself up, and it looks like he’s about to burst already, so you reach out and push on his chest to stop him. He looks at you in concern.

“Just, put on a condom, please. It’s your first time and, well, I don’t know that you’d know when to pull out.” He pouts a little, but you remain firm, and so he potters on down to his room, cock bobbing and smearing precum on his lower stomach, and grabs a condom, slipping it on as he walks back so that he can get straight back into it.

He lines up again, looking a little put out at the decreased sensation, but the moment he pushes the head inside, his expression opens up into pure bliss.

He sinks in slowly, languidly, like he’s taking his time to remember every moment, and you honestly can’t remember a time in your admittedly long sexual history that a guy has treated you with this much reverence.

Once he bottoms out, hips pushing your legs even further apart, he takes a couple moments to calm himself before he begins to move again. At first, it’s little bunny-hop thrusts, staying embedded deep inside but still creating speedy little bouts of friction, but as he gains confidence and a little momentum, he changes to a slower, deeper and somehow more intimate rhythm.

He bends down close enough to you that your chests brush against each other with each deliberate thrust, and he lets his face dangle in the crook of your neck, nose pressing against your pulse.

For a horny teenager that hadn’t actually gotten any before, Jungkook showed incredible restraint in the amount of time he remained in that sensual phase, savoring every moment, but eventually you began to tire of the pace. “Jungkook?”

“Mm?” His breath tickled your neck as he nuzzled your skin.

“Can you go a little faster? I bet you want to cum.”

He grunts, the sound muffled, but dutifully picks up the pace.

Soon enough, he’s fucking you into the couch with such force that you begin to bounce back up onto him. You don’t know how he has the stamina to keep up the pace, but the warmth in your core is steadily heating up, and this one feels even stronger than before with the sheer size of him stretching you out deliciously.

“Ah, Jungkook,” you moan, “it feels so good.”

He doesn’t pause his vigorous thrusting, but he leans in a little to keep steadier eye contact. “Do I fuck you better than Jimin?”

“Wha- Don’t bring up Jimin, Jungkook, I’m not fucking him, I’m fucking you.”

He whines like a kicked puppy. “Just say yes, noona. I’m going to make you cum again and he could only do it once.”

He shifts his weight to one side so he can rub at your clit with a firm thumb. You cry out in delight, so close to falling over the edge again, and you give him what he wants in the hopes that he’ll drop it. “Yes, Jungkook, you fuck me better than him.”

He sighs blissfully, somehow picking up the pace of his hips like the final sprint to the finish line. He grunts and whimpers, sweat beading at his temples and his chest. He looks deep into your eyes before he comes. “I love you, noona.”

Your breath catches, and you stare at him with wide-eyes, but before your mind can begin to process, a pinch of your clit paired with a well-timed thrust catapults you over the edge and you begin to shudder violently beneath him, overwhelmed with pleasure.

A few minutes later, once the two of you have stopped panting like overheated animals, he pulls out and leaves to take off the condom.

Feeling physically satisfied but a little sick, you gather your clothes and shut yourself away in your room before he can come back.

There it is! I really hope you enjoyed the chapter, it’s so hard to get the balance right between drama and sexy times. But this is where the story gets a little heavier, so I’d love it if you sent me your feedback about what you think is going to happen in the future!

TAGLIST (message me or send an ask to be added)

@xxqueenwxtchxx

@fandomarchive00

@cvbachacbitch

@echimozart

[sanguinarysanguinity]

2018 Fanworks Year in Review

Tagged by @gailbsanders, @a-candle-for-sherlock, @a-different-equation, and @educatedinyellow.

My AO3 account is: sanguinity

Total number of completed fanworks: 13 stories + 1 vid, plus some uncollected 3-sentence fics.

Total wordcount: 66,065.

Fandoms engaged in: Horatio Hornblower, Strange Empire, and eight Holmesian fandoms (ACD, 1994 Baker Street, Seven Per-Cent Solution, Charlotte Holmes, Sherlock Hound, Whitehead Holmes, Elementary, Sherlock)

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? More. I came into this year feeling like the story-generation machine was dead; I was completely uncertain of my ability to produce anything new. In fact, I spent the first six months of the year dipping into my trunk of abandoned WIPs and wrestling things to an end, one after another, for want of anything better to do during my writing time. (Literally everything I published in a Holmesian fandom this year was either a trunked WIP or a spin-off of a pre-existing story.) It wasn’t until I fell into the Hornblower fandom over the summer that I started writing new stories from scratch again. It was something of a surprise, therefore, to get to the end of the year and discover that my total word count was at the high end of my usual range -- although it’s difficult to say what percentage of those words were truly written this year, given the sheer volume of words I pulled out of the trunk and merely fitted with endings and connecting bits and whatnot.

(Merely, hah! Every story in my WIP trunk was there for a reason -- some problem that was beyond my ability to solve at the time that I trunked it -- and pretty much every one of those stories made me earn it. Finishing them is a testament to my improved skills, improved mental health, raw stubbornness, or saner standards for myself, depending. I’m not sure I’d call this year a creative success, but it sure as hell was a skill-building year.)

What’s your own favorite fanwork of the year? The vid “Shut Up and Drive” (Sherlock Hound, Hound/Watson) -- fun, flirty, and exactly what it was meant to be. It’s the one thing I made this year that I don’t have mixed feelings about.

Did you take any creative risks this year? At the peril of being too frank: committing to staying alive was as much emotional risk as I could want this year; unsurprisingly, it bled over into my creative life, particularly into my Hornblower stories. I’ve very much been putting rawly personal things into that set of stories: ideas that I’m trying on for size, notions I’m experimentally letting myself believe. Sometimes that goes smoothly, and sometimes less so -- I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being grossly self-indulgent, and there’s been a comment or two that has inadvertently stung -- but I’m still writing them.

Do you have any goals for the new year? My main goal from last year was to figure out what writing looks like now that my brain is in a better place; I made some progress, but I’ll continue poking at that question in the coming year.

More concretely, it sure would be nice to finish Langstroth on Bees, the ACD retirement fic I’ve been working on for five or six years now. I’m not gonna make it an Official Goal, but I might make a Special Effort, nonetheless. We’ll see.

Best fanwork of the year? *throws a dart* From Allegany (ACD, Holmes/Watson). Unless it’s the vid, maybe, or one of the ultra-niche gen pieces that almost no one has read.

Most popular fanwork of the year? Genuine Article (Whitehead!Holmes, Holmes/Watson). It features a juggernaut dudeslash pairing with pining, sexytimes, and a happy ending. Compared to the rest of my catalog of gen, rarepairs, and small fandoms? Of course it’s my most popular work of the year.

Fanwork of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: I was surprised at the vanishingly small readership for Freedom in this Union (Strange Empire, Kat/Isobelle.) But I suppose I shouldn’t be: it’s a woc/woc rarepair in a tiny fandom, and the story isn’t enough of a powerhouse to rise above and get rec’d anyway.

Most fun fanwork to make: Shut Up and Drive (vid; Sherlock Hound, Hound/Watson). Fun source, fun song, fun animation, and lots of double entendres to play with. :-)

Most unintentionally telling fanwork: True Colours or To Remember Roses (both Bush/Hornblower). Both stories are about the challenge and paradox of being loved when one can’t love oneself; both stories are a way of retroactively expressing tenderness for my own mentally-worst versions of myself.

Biggest disappointment: I thought that finishing THE BEST BEE FIC ON MARS -- which had been hanging out as a half-published WIP for years -- would be more satisfying than it was? But it really wasn’t, almost to the point that I kinda wish I hadn’t messed with it. :-/

Biggest surprise: 66K words. A new fandom. New acquaintances in said fandom. The Holmestice conspiracy to gift me a treat without my knowing about it. 66K words. 

Tagging anyone who hasn’t had a go yet!

[impracticaldemon]

Chaos Theory: Sasuke Ch 5, Decisions (Indiscretion Part II)

by impracticaldemon

Author’s Note:  This one-shot about Sarutobi Sasuke of the Ikemen Sengoku universe quickly became a 3-chapter story. Now I bring you Chapter 5. Which is actually Chapter 4, Part II. Part I was mostly about Mitsuhide. Part II is about Sasuke and my character, Chieko. 

Please see this post for the Mitsuhide-Sasuke-Kenshin conversation that formed part of the basis for the story (other than chapter 1 - I don’t know where that came from).

NOTE: RATED M for sexual situations and sexual content. Over 7500 words. You’ve been warned.

Words:  ~ 21,000 Total | ~ 3300 per chapter; Ch 4 ~ 4000; Ch 5 ~ 7500 Full Story is also on:  FFN |  AO3     Chapter 1 |  Chapter 2 |  Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 

Written for @iamaikotachibana , and because I have a total weakness for Sasuke myself. Apparently, I also enjoy writing Mitsuhide.  ~ Imp

Chapter 5—Decisions (The Price of Indiscretion Part II)

He looked a little dishevelled, and his face was even more devoid of emotion than usual, but it was definitely the same man who had kissed me—whom I'd kissed—just two hours earlier. Despite everything, I felt a rush of relief, followed by happiness, and then—I blamed my jailor's parting words—a warm, fluttery, excited feeling that I tried my best to set aside. Yeah, good luck with that.

A moment later, Sasuke alighted silently on the tatami. His eyes did a brief sweep of the room, and then he crossed to the window, beckoning me to follow. When I came up beside him, he rested a hand on my shoulder and bent down to my ear. Sadly, his words were prosaic.

"Could you open the window screen and look around for me? I don't want to cause even more problems for you."

The second sentence told me that he was berating himself—might even be quite upset—behind that blank face of his. I tried to ignore my reaction to feeling his soft breath on my ear and neck, and slid open the screen as requested. Then I took my first careful look at my surroundings.

As Mitsuhide had implied, my new room was still in the same living area of the castle, which meant that I was three floors up and facing the back of the castle. There was at least one major difference, however; there was only a short, rather steep eave of tiled roof in front of my window, instead of access onto a much wider area with a comfortable slope.

"Sasuke? You can look for yourself—I don't see anyone."

Sasuke nodded, and peered cautiously out through the window. Unlike me, he gave the layout below only a cursory glance before examining the area above. Shortly afterward, he gently closed the wood and paper shade and slid down to sit on the floor, his back against the wall. I sat down awkwardly beside him, unsure what to do. For lack of better ideas, I took the lid off a nearby ceramic jar. The water inside wasn't for drinking; rather, it was designed to help cool the room. I could use whatever cooling was available.

"Roof access from above is difficult, but not impossible," he murmured, mostly to himself. "But one would be very exposed to attack from both above and below. I believe that Lord Mitsuhide is correct: there is only one reasonably usable access route under present circumstances, and it's internal. That's unfortunate."

"Sasuke? Can we talk?"

He slowly lifted his head and met my eyes, but although he appeared as impassive as usual, I could now see a definite flush in his cheeks. Then his brown eyes flicked away and down for a moment, and it appeared to require a significant effort to drag them back.

"Chieko. I owe you an apology. Two apologies, in fact. I hope you will allow me to at least partially redeem myself." He turned so that he was facing me properly, and bowed deeply. It made me feel very uncomfortable, and rather lonely. "Moushiwake arimasen deshita."

"Sasuke… Whatever you think you're apologizing for, that's way over the top." I tried to keep my tone even, but half-formed anxieties were swirling through my brain. My inner voice—or saner self?— wasn't impressed. You're worrying more about this relationship than about having your life controlled by Mitsuhide! Talk about weird priorities and a previously sub-standard dating life. The whisper in my mind was unaccompanied by Lord Snaky-Smile, but managed to mock me just fine on its own. I pressed on. "No, seriously… Sasuke, if you don't raise your head and start being more twenty-first century boyfriend than sixteenth century ninja, you're really going to start freaking me out."

Sasuke immediately sat up, his eyes wide and just a little panicked—although maybe that was my overactive imagination. He gingerly took my left hand. "So… we're still going out? I wasn't quite sure. It would not be unreasonable for you to change your mind."

"Change my mind?" I repeated, puzzled.

I thought I saw the ghost of a smile cross Sasuke's face. "Most women aren't as resilient as you are when faced with possible imprisonment, torture, and death." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then added: "Not that I've spoken at length to many women, and none—other than you—who have recently been threatened with those outcomes in my presence. My assumption may be faulty."

"Well, I can't say I'm thrilled about the possible options, but how is it your fault that Mitsuhide has peculiar tastes in recreational activities?"

Sasuke looked away again, although at least he held onto my hand. His response was what I expected—now that I'd thought it through a little.

"Lord Mitsuhide's behaviour is both logical and surprisingly forbearing for this era. He is taking reasonable precautions against being associated with a probable enemy spy should things go wrong. That's much more difficult now that people know he's seen me. He might not have seen me if I'd arrived sooner and left sooner last week. It would have been much less likely, at least. And you wouldn't be under suspicion if he hadn't been able to connect you to me, which was entirely my fault. Among other things, I took a chance by leaving directly through your window. It is only because the Oda warlords hold you in such high regard that you are still relatively free. Unless Lord Mitsuhide has ulterior motives."

I was going to point out that Mitsuhide always had ulterior motives, but something told me that Sasuke already knew that.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were going to follow me here?" I asked. "Mitsuhide wasn't wrong when he said that it was very risky for you. Maybe if I'd known, it would have gone better."

Sasuke shifted uncomfortably. "Well… I don't know quite how to say this, but your expression tends to lend itself to openness and honesty—which I admire. However, since I was still hoping to find a way in to see you undetected, I wanted any watchers to assume that you were on your own."

I sighed. "You thought my expression, or whatever, would give you away. Fine. At least you put it more nicely than Mitsuhide. You know, if this is going to be the last time I get to see you for a while, then maybe we could at least sit together for a few minutes?" Do you realize how much you care about this man? Is it getting through to you?

"I'm supposed to be putting together a list of my previous comings and goings. You'll be safer when that's done." I couldn't tell what Sasuke was thinking, but his answer disappointed me. Not that he was wrong, but he'd been a lot more passionate, and a lot less reserved, earlier in the afternoon. Then I told myself to get a grip and be reasonable—the situation had changed since then.

"Oh." I tried for neutral, but it still came out sounding sad.

Sasuke's gaze sharpened, and he scrutinized my face intently. I thought I saw or sensed surprise under the stoic mask. Before I could say anything further, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed each finger in turn, before pulling me into his lap and cradling me against his chest. As before, his heartbeat wasn't nearly as calm as his expression. I snuggled as close as I could, curling my free hand into his tunic. It was a relief, despite the heat. Note to self: I think I'm falling in love. When did this happen? By return memo: Duh. And work on the meaning of the word 'falling'; we discussed this.

"I wasn't sure what you thought of me, after my inappropriate behaviour with you earlier…" His voice was subdued, and he sounded even guiltier than he had when he'd apologized for getting me into trouble with Mitsuhide and possibly the other Oda warlords.

"Inappropriate behaviour?" I was genuinely confused, and not sure how to react.

"I meant to kiss you, not attack you. Having you fall on me clouded my judgement. I'm very sorry about that. I had hoped to strike a balance between being boldly assertive—as recommended by Lord Shingen—and being respectful of your comfort and boundaries, which is just… just… the right thing to do… Chieko?"

He probably stopped because I was doing my best to remind him that whatever we'd done, we'd done it together. Specifically, I was running my fingers over his neck and upper chest, and liking what I found. He was probably the world's most athletic geek, and he was mine—except for a bit of unfortunate overthinking. Yes, Mitsuhide could theoretically have us arrested, or impounded, or whatever the right word was. But he'd given us until sundown, and that was still quite a ways off. He—Mitsuhide—was undeniably a master at intrigue and deception, and would probably lie sooner than tell the truth, but I was going to bet on him keeping his word within the boundaries he'd set out.

I looked up when Sasuke ran out of words. "You managed boldly assertive very well," I assured him, fingers still stroking the skin just below his collar bone. "And my boundaries appear to be very flexible around you." Or pretty much non-existent. "I'll have you know that I turned down Lord Nobunaga himself—although Hideyoshi almost killed me for objecting to his grabby hands. Nobunaga's hands, I mean."

"Yes… you told me about that. It made me anxious for you—given the more or less absolute rights of high-ranking samurai in this era—but you managed the Oda warlords quite well after that. I still don't know—"

Before he could finish the sentence, I pressed my finger against his lips.

"We don't have unlimited time. You've got to be out of here before sundown—by a reasonable margin so that I don't have a heart attack—and I'm determined to get Mitsuhide to let me resume my normal duties after that. Plus, before you go, you have a list to write."

"…I take it that you're willing to take the chance that Lord Mitsuhide is telling the truth?" I couldn't blame him for sounding dubious.

"About staying out of my—this—room for the rest of the afternoon? Yes. But you're clearly in more danger than I am, so it's your call. What do you want to do? I'm absolutely certain that one way or another you'll get us to Kyoto in time to catch our wormhole home. If you want to write up your note for Mitsuhide, and then figure out the quickest, safest way to leave, I'm good with that." I wouldn't like it very much, and my body wasn't onside at all, but I could be sensible. Probably. Being this close was giving me all sorts of ideas.

Sasuke's stoic demeanour was cracking. He looked visibly conflicted.

"I don't want to make things worse, and they could be much worse. At the same time, I don't want to let go of you. A number of Lord Mitsuhide's actions and comments made me very uncomfortable—about your safety. However, it was clear to me that I had to remain silent; I hypothesize that he was testing my discretion as well as exploring your motives."

"It's okay. I wasn't expecting you to jump out of the ceiling to defend me."

Sasuke was suddenly looking down at me from close quarters, hands on my shoulders and eyes narrowed, as if my words had triggered something that he'd been trying to suppress. This time there was no conflict in his expression, only frustration verging on anger.

"Whether you were expecting me or not, I did want to defend you. I didn't like the way he handled and threatened you." Sasuke's hands tightened on my shoulders. It was finally making sense to me now how a number of Mitsuhide's comments had been aimed at provoking Sasuke, not just me. "I wonder if I've been here too long," he continued. "It wasn't easy to stay hidden. I had to remind myself that you would not appreciate any unnecessary violence, and that I could intervene if something drastic happened—at least for long enough for you to escape."

"Oh no, no, no… We are not going to discuss you sacrificing yourself or anything like that. Nobody dies, and in four or five weeks, we go home."

Sasuke stared at me from behind his glasses, and then his lips twitched briefly into a classic Sasuke smile, complete with hints of humour, self-deprecation, and shyness. "Sorry. That was melodramatic on my part. "

"This whole era is melodrama, isn't it? Though I do my best to keep things moderately normal." I was babbling. The smile was turning me to mush and heating me up all over at the same time. Why wasn't he—oh.

My eyes closed and I drew in a long, deep breath when my hair was brushed aside and warm lips closed gently on my temple, and then trailed kisses down toward my jaw. I wanted to tell him "Good choice, I wanted you to stay," but it came out as something embarrassing like "Finally."

"I couldn't resist," Sasuke murmured in the vicinity of my ear, sounding slightly defensive. "The most rational choice by a significant margin is to leave as soon as possible, but I wanted to kiss you again and your expression..." His teeth gently worried at my lower lip, and one of his hands found its way to the back of my head to pull me closer. I could feel his body tensing against me and under me. "You looked like you wanted—"

"You weren't wrong…" I turned a little and leaned into the kiss, feeling his tongue slip between my lips and the slight hitch in his breath when I shifted further so that I could wrap my arms around his neck.

As though we had all the time in the world at our disposal, we made the most of this kiss, parting to breathe, but never for long. Soft, deep, longing—loving?—kisses; harder, deeper, passionate kisses. Our problems became a hazy blur in my mind, not quite forgotten but worth putting aside for as long as possible.

"I don't pick very good times for this," Sasuke said eventually, looking slightly drunk, and very much the opposite of cool and collected. I tried to find it endearing—I mean, it was—but my mind was more focused on things like "too many damn clothes" and "don't care if somebody walks in so help me…"

"When in the Sengoku," I reminded him, leaning back a little to watch his face.

"Jeopardizing our safety for a kiss?"

"I can totally imagine Masamune saying it was worth it." Not that he would stop with a kiss, if he could get away with it. …Heaven help me I was citing Masamune as a role model.

"Date Masamune is one of the most powerful warlords of this time."

"So? He said you were an excellent ninja—and a surprisingly strong swordsman—as I recall. That's very high praise."

"Yes. While I remain loyal to my current employer—"

"Who is clearly mentally unstable."

"—It is gratifying to have job offers from both Lord Masamune and Lord Mitsuhide."

He sounded calm, but he wasn't, and I didn't want him to be. Problem was, I knew that his head was still in conflict with the rest of him. I'd been there before and recognized the symptoms, even on a super-stoic astrophysicist-ninja. But I'd been listening to his heartbeat, and I was sitting in his lap. Some reactions weren't so easy to hide.

"Sasuke? You always worry about me, but what do you want? I said it was up to you, but you never really answered." His face was already flushed, but his cheeks darkened further. That suggested possibilities that were far more appealing than they should be—given the time and place, and our very new relationship. You must really, really like this guy if a blush is turning you on—turning you on more, that is. I didn't bother to argue.

"I should… prioritize our safety." Sasuke's voice was low-pitched and tense. "There is no rush, probably. For us, I mean. I expect to survive any immediate battles."

"Okay, I guess. But you're dodging the question. Again." I ran my fingers over Sasuke's face, tracing his features and lingering on his mouth, before moving to the line of his jaw. It wasn't playing fair, but Mitsuhide—and Nobunaga, and Masamune, and even mother-hen Hideyoshi—had taught me that life in the Sengoku was pretty much anything but fair, so you had to make up your mind and take some chances. In fact, there weren't any guarantees in modern-day Japan either, just better percentages. Or was I just rationalizing my behaviour? If you need to ask that question…

"…I'm not very good with words." Sasuke's eyes had half-closed, but he opened them in order to study my face again. His gaze still retained a measure of its usual piercing inquiry.

"I don't know about that—you're pretty eloquent on the subject of ground spikes."

I let my hands rest on Sasuke's shoulders, leaving myself open to his scrutiny. I felt pretty self-conscious—who wouldn't?—well, other than about half the Oda warlords, who just didn't do self-conscious—wait, where was I? Trying not to totally throw yourself at the cute ninja while he's in danger of torture and death? Or maybe trying to incite the cute ninja to throw himself at you instead, so that you don't feel quite so guilty about it? …Which isn't very nice. I was reluctantly acknowledging the uncomfortable possibility of the latter, when the cute ninja took my face in an almost crushing grip and kissed me breathless.

Oh wow. In that instant, I caught a glimpse of how Sasuke had accomplished so much in four years: when he was focussed, he was driven. His mouth was greedy on mine, demanding everything, and stealing away every breath and soft moan. I found myself on the tatami under him, with no clear memory of having gotten there and no desire to be anywhere else. Hands as strong as Mitsuhide's—and just as unyielding—held my wrists to the floor by my head. Unlike earlier in the afternoon, I was conscious of having willingly ceded control to somebody a lot stronger and heavier than I was. It was as if I kept having to relearn that Sasuke was a lot more than an awkward Sengoku fanboy cosplaying a sixteenth-century ninja. My body knew it, my heart knew it—wait what?—but my brain persisted in seeing an attractive but awkward grad student.

My lips were abraded and swollen by the time I was allowed to breathe freely again, but it was sensation and need that had choked off my ability to form words. I managed a sound between a moan and a whimper when the next hard kiss found the soft skin just below my left ear and immediately became an insistent, skin-breaking bite. Instead of moving on, as he had with my collarbone earlier in the afternoon, Sasuke continued to deepen the bruise.

"Nnnnnngggh… Sa-suke?" I spoke his name in a hoarse whisper, and his mouth lifted from my neck. A moment later, he let go of my wrists and sat back on his heels, across my hips. When I looked up at him, I saw a kind of grim satisfaction lurking behind the heat in his eyes. His breathing was ragged, and when he spoke, his voice was darker and rougher than it had been before. Maybe I should have been upset, but all I felt was curiosity and rapidly escalating desire.

"…He kept touching you. He deliberately set out to intimidate you by physically restraining you and compelling your obedience. A standard interrogation technique, of course; I know that. I can't fault his reasoning or execution. But the way he went about it—the way he held you and forced you to look at him…" Sasuke took a deep breath, and then scrubbed a hand across his forehead, wiping away sweat and hiding his expression.

He sounded a little more like himself when he spoke next, but still keyed up. "I know that jealousy is a pointless, even reprehensible emotion. Also, being possessive is neither logical, nor appropriate, although it is a common failing. …I never expected to feel this way." The last words were spoken mostly to himself. I found him strangely unapologetic, given his usual courteous and considerate behaviour. Something or someone—probably a mind-reading snake—had pushed buttons that I'd never even considered in relation to Sasuke.

I stared up at him, and lifted a hand to my neck. That was going to be one hell of a bruise, although adrenaline and endorphins were more than compensating for any discomfort. And he'd done it partly—or more than partly—to get back at Mitsuhide in some way? Or as a warning? More like a mark; stop avoiding the thought. The suspicion that I should be concerned about his motivation grew—but I was having trouble thinking much past the weight across my hips. There was nothing mild or dispassionate about the expression on Sasuke's face right now, and that just made me want him more. It was ridiculous, and possibly dangerous, and I didn't need a voice in my head to tell me—again—that the time and place were all wrong.

Sasuke's fingers brushed damp tendrils of hair from my face and rested briefly on my cheek. The gesture wasn't, in itself, suggestive, but there was heat in every contact now, and muscles tightened from my abdomen to my thighs, responsive to his shift in weight. Ridiculous or not, dangerous or not—

"Are you sure you aren't upset with me about this?" he asked suddenly. The fingers skimmed along the fabric covering the line of bruises on my collarbone, and my skin quivered in reaction.

"Positive." I kept my voice as steady as I could. Was he really still worried about that or was there something else? I couldn't tell.

"Or for letting you get trapped here by Lord Mitsuhide?" And very softly: "Without stepping in to help."

"I'm sure. In fact, I'm a lot more worried about y—"

"If you want me to go, you'll have to say so."

I drew in a sharp breath at the uncompromising words, and then all but stopped breathing. I hadn't noticed him unfastening the upper ties of my summer-weight kimono and sheer under-kimono. His hand was now pressed flat against the skin between my breasts. Only my obi, fastened tightly with a bow in the back, held the thin silk and gauzy linen partially closed. Whatever happened now, there was no opium to excuse it.

I licked my lips and swallowed, knowing that he could feel my heart pounding, and the heat of my skin. "I… don't know if I can send you away," I whispered. All of my attention was focused on his hand—strong and lean, a little more calloused than I'd realized; no longer the hand of a twenty-first century grad student. He probably used or trained with a weapon every day. "I should, though." I finally raised my eyes to his, feeling desperately torn. I never should have teased him earlier; I should have known, or guessed, that feelings ran deep with him.

His expression was… I'd never seen or imagined him with that look. Intense, reckless, burning—completely committed to his current path despite knowing the potential costs.

"…You asked me what I wanted. I want to touch you. As much and as far as you'll allow. I want us to be lovers, whatever that means to you. You told Lord Mitsuhide that we weren't exactly lovers, and you only recanted under duress. So tell me"—his free hand set his glasses aside and deftly unwound and discarded the green cowl that sat like a scarf on his shoulders—"what will it take?"

Oh… Oh sweet gods and goddesses… Some part of my mind registered that he'd been hurt by my denial, and I truly regretted that. The rest of me felt his words like a jolt to every lust-inflamed nerve-ending, and I swear my vision blurred. Sasuke had never lost sight of his promise to get me back to the modern day safe and sound, and he'd risked himself time and again to look out for me. But he really wanted this—wanted me—in the here and now.

"I was wrong." My voice wasn't working properly, so I cleared my throat.

Sasuke just kept watching me, both patient and impatient. Focused. The hand on my chest was heavy, even without weight behind it; I wondered if he felt the same heat from that connection as I did.

"I was wrong—about not being lovers. I'm so sorry." I meant it. I'd known better since we first kissed. "Mitsuhide always winds me up, and—"

"Leave him out of this."

Right. "Sasuke…" My head was still playing catch-up with my body, but was no longer so far behind. "You've done as much as anyone could do. You don't need to do more, of prove something, I swear. And"—I reached out to touch his arm, sliding my hand along bone and sinew—"I want what you want."

"The time is wrong… and the place is wrong… We both know that." But his hand moved, caressing the soft curve of one breast through the fine silk.

"Mmmmm… True…" I arched my back and felt my toes curl, just in anticipation of feeling his touch directly on my skin.

"And I can't promise—I don't have—" He caught my head as it fell back, bending down to kiss my lips as his fingers traced circles around a nipple that was already tight with arousal. When he let his palm slide over it and around it, I moaned, and then bit my lip in an effort not to be so loud. I pressed myself upward into his hand, and even more tightly against his hips. The angle was wrong; I couldn't alleviate the heat and tension coiled within the wet folds of overheated skin surrounding both my core and the sensitive bundle of nerves that ached most for a lover's touch.

"What—are—you… nnnggggghhhh…" More slowly than I wanted, Sasuke's hand slid under the still-confining fabric of my kimono and began to stroke the sensitive, sensitized skin beneath; I could feel the tension in his fingers now, and the slight tremor in his body that spoke of forced restraint in the face of overwhelming desire and emotion.

It felt strange to be so vulnerable in front of him, and there wasn't even the cover of darkness to alleviate the feeling. I'd always tried to seem as confident as possible when he'd dropped by, as a matter of pride and so that he wouldn't worry. But now I was almost shaking with need, and pride was crumbling before lust. Good to know the sins have their uses… Even my snarky inner voice was less than coherent.

"Do you think… you could see me—just me—despite the others?" The words were halting, even as he continued to caress my skin. My whole body was burning, aching to be touched more; my hands, balked of the ability to reciprocate, kept reaching out to him, trying to draw him closer. I couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me. "I want you, all of you—even at the wrong time… and in the… wrong place." He turned his attention to my other breast, pushing the fabric roughly aside this time. "Will you have me?" His fingers stroked and teased the hard bud of the nipple until I finally managed to wrench him down on top of me so that I could kiss him—lips, throat, chest.

"…Stupid, clingy, ninja clothes…" The tunic was knitted as well as belted—impossible to remove without real effort. I gave up and twisted my hands in Sasuke's hair, kissing him as hard, as demandingly as he'd kissed me before. I loved the feeling of his body on mine, although the hard length of his cock against my thigh was at once exciting and a reminder that there were still decisions to make that I wanted to ignore.

"Chieko." Sasuke grabbed my upper arms, pinning me to the floor and propping himself up on his elbows. "You need to understand—"

"Whatever it is—"

"You are surrounded by powerful men. And I'm not—Oda Nobunaga, or Toyotomi Hideyoshi, or Tokugawa Ieyasu… Or the kitsune, Akechi." The way he said the last name suggested that he wasn't a fan.

"He's more of a snake," I muttered.

"Chieko…"

"Sasuke, I'm all yours. You're going to have to take my word for it, and trust your judgment. That's how it goes."

He buried his face in my chest, wrapping his arms around my waist. Then he found my breast with his mouth, and let his tongue caress the nipple. I clutched at his hair, moaning; how could he not understand what he was doing to me? Or maybe he did. I was already a panting, needy mess by the time he turned his attention to my other breast, still pinning my lower body under his, his strong arms holding me still when I started to writhe.

When he looked up at last, he had the feverish look from before.

"Clothes…"

"Mm-hm." Finally!

I watched with lust-induced unselfconsciousness as Sasuke sat back on his heels and stripped off belt, tunic, and kimono-shirt. It was absolutely worth the wait, I decided, entranced by his sure, swift movements, and the lean torso and tightly-toned arms that emerged from all the fabric. Muscles and tendons stood out in sharp definition under the mostly-smooth skin, and I longed to be able to touch him, to run my hands over it all.

Sure enough, there was a barely-healed wound on his lower ribs, which still looked painful, although Sasuke had evinced no trace of pain in any of his movements. Then I noticed that the forming scar was hardly the only one there. Impelled by concern, my eyes traced the lines—some faint and white, others more puckered. What the hell had happened to him?

I suddenly realized that Sasuke had stopped moving, and was sitting quite still, watching my face. I loved how he looked, stripped to the waist, flushed with desire, and need raced through me all over again—to be held against him, skin to skin, with nothing between us. He looked away for a moment, then shrugged in something like embarrassment, still not quite meeting my eyes.

"I just wasn't fast enough, when I first got here. I underestimated the training required. That's all. I'm fine now. Please don't worry about it."

"That's not going to work for me, but I can put off worrying for a while longer."

"…Thank you." There was real relief in his tone, and then he rose and stood me on my feet in order to first unfasten, and then unwind, my pretty obi. My kimono, free of the belt and already most of the way off my shoulders, slid to the floor and pooled around my feet. In the custom of the time—as strange as it had been, at first—I wore no undergarments other than the under-kimono, and it clung to me for only a moment before following both obi and kimono. For the first time that day, shyness overtook desire, and I was glad to be facing away.

Sasuke's arm wound around me from behind, and a hand brushed my tumbled hair forward off my shoulders so that we were finally skin-to-skin. Desire came flooding back, heat radiating from the place where his arm held me just under my breasts. Then his lips touched my ear, warm and soft and almost too gentle. I clung tightly to his arm, my head falling back against his chest. The sensation on my ear grew stronger, as lips were joined by tongue and teeth. I felt my knees start to buckle, and the rise and fall of Sasuke's chest against my back sped up, his breath becoming more of a rasp. When his free hand moved from exploring the curve on my waist and hip to caressing my breast, I moaned aloud despite myself, and tried to turn so that I could allow my hands free rein over my lover's skin. I didn't get my way, and it was almost too much.

"Sasuke…" His name came out in a rough whisper. I tried again. "Sasuke… please…" The muscles within my core kept contracting, and I was already so wet with desire. I couldn't imagine more sensation, but I craved it in order to find some kind of release. "Touch me everywhere, let me touch you, please…"

I felt, as much as heard, the sharp hiss of indrawn breath, and then the arm around my ribs slid to my waist. After the barest hesitation, warm fingers began to stroke the soft skin of my lower belly, fingertips brushing across the top of the curls of damp hair concealing my most sensitive, most intimate places. I really did stumble then, but I was suddenly picked up and cradled in Sasuke's arms, and held tightly to his chest.

"Chieko… I want you even more than I imagined… I want all of you… But—"

I pulled his head down to mine, kissing the words from his lips, winding my tongue in his. A very short time later, I was gently laid down on something soft—my futon?—and I finally got most of my wish. Almost as soon as I touched the cool linen, Sasuke's weight settled against me, and a leg wound over mine. His lips once again found my mouth, and ear, and neck, as though he couldn't get enough of kissing me and tasting my skin. I pressed myself closer to him, and then ran my hands through his hair, and across his broad shoulders, and down his side, careful of the injury that he seemed to so completely disregard. As soon as his mouth left mine, I set my lips and teeth against his skin and set about marking him as he'd marked me earlier in the afternoon.

"Chieko."

"Mmmm… But it's my turn…" While my mouth teased and sucked and nipped at his skin, my hand trailed down to trace around his hip bone, and then lower still, to slide over the taught muscle of his outer thigh. I was gratified by a distinct, involuntary tremor at my touch. He was still only half-undressed though, which seemed unfair.

"Chieko—wait. How far… I need to know… I can't promise..." To my surprise, Sasuke set his hands on my shoulders and pushed me far enough away that he could see my face. Had I done something wrong?

"Hmm?" Despite my concern, I smiled to see him there beside me, his face no longer expressionless, his skin bare and warm and inviting to the touch. I hadn't really forgotten our situation, but it felt remote, and I hoped it would stay that way for a while longer. "Okay. I'll listen. Promise." I started to reach out again, then pulled back my hand. Was it weird how much I liked touching him?

"Thanks." He pushed damp hair back from his forehead, and then slid his hand down from my shoulder to my hip.

"That's… not helping. If you want me to listen, I mean."

"Right." He carefully stilled his hand, and visibly collected himself, looking aside in the way that he so often did. When he looked up again, his face was nearly devoid of expression for the first time in quite a while. "…There's no adequate method here… not really… of birth control." He kept his eyes steady on mine, and if he was embarrassed it didn't show. That helped, to a point, sort of. "That doesn't mean—that is, there are other ways… to be together."

Of course there were. And I wanted to explore those possibilities—just not right this moment. What I wanted, more than anything, was for us to be as close as we could possibly be, to have him within me, to feel that intense pleasure together, if we could manage it. Part of me was frustrated—almost irritated—that Sasuke hadn't just allowed me—us—to let passion get the better of good sense. It would have been easier. Then it hit me that it was deep, consistent concern and affection—that's a pretty weak word, are you serious?—for me that had made him push me to make a clear decision.

"…Chieko?" The level tone now held a hint of anxiety. "I should have said something sooner—I did try—but that seemed… presumptuous… And it's been difficult to think straight." Yes, yes it had.

"Sasuke." I whispered his name, not out of a need to be quiet, but because I was trying to come to terms with how much he meant to me.

He pulled me close again, and I lay there for a moment, soaking in his warmth.

"You don't—you won't—regret taking a chance?" I asked.

"No." The answer was quick, firm, absolutely certain. I felt my heart pound against my ribs.

"Then… even though it's… totally cliché"—and you know what, dear Snake? cliché isn't so bad—"take me, I'm yours." I couldn't help a grin, all of a sudden elated with life, and laughing at myself for using such an old line, at such a time, and meaning every word of it.

"I—really?" The hopeful surprise in Sasuke's voice just made me want to laugh more, for some reason. When he suddenly pinned me under him, and pressed his forehead to mine, I saw that that he was smiling, although the desire was vivid in the flush on his cheeks and around his eyes. "…I hope you're prepared—I won't go easy on you."

"No—Sasuke—seriously? Anime again?"

But that was as far as I got, as first my mouth was claimed, and then everything else. Feverish hands stroked my body—arms, sides, breasts, hips, belly, thighs—and finally, finally, caressed and explored the slick, wet folds guarding my core. Oh sweet gods… oh fuck… oh wow… My blood roared in my ears, and instead of being able to reciprocate his touch, I felt my head go back with a wordless, desperate moan.

My hips writhed, utterly beyond my control, when fingers slid inside me, tentatively at first but then with greater assurance, stroking my slick inner walls until my muscles began to convulse. More heat—how was that even possible—and then overwhelming, aching sensation, as the pad of his thumb found and rubbed the tight, engorged bundles of nerves at the very apex of my slit.

"Mmmmmm—nnnnnngghhhhhh—Sa-suke—need you—want you—so much…"

A short—but too-long—pause—and then hand and fingers returned, and his mouth suckled a breast, while one leg hooked tightly around mine as if to close whatever gap was possible. His cock, hard and already wet, pressed deep into my thigh, and somewhere among all the rest, I registered intense satisfaction at knowing that we were both finally, completely naked together, skin to skin in the most intimate way.

Sasuke finally shifted, trailing kisses up my chest and neck to my mouth. He was back on top of me again, breathing heavily, eyes unfocussed. My hands clung to his back, fingers tight on his skin, as he ground himself against me. I couldn't hear my own moaning, whimpering sounds for the blood rushing in my ears.

His mouth moved from my lips and neck to my ear.

"Now? Is that… okay?"

"Okay? Yes… any time—please—" I squirmed against him, so wet I would have been embarrassed if I hadn't been completely past rational—or even irrational—thought.

I felt the head of his cock slide over trembling, pulsing folds, press hard against the tight entrance to my core. Then with a low groan that goaded my arousal to desperation, he thrust into me, hard and deep, holding nothing back. I know I cried out, my fingers clawing at his skin as I tried to pull him in ever farther, and deeper. Make me yours, I whispered to him in my mind, and be mine. I want everything you have to give. Then there was nothing left in the world but the need to move together, reaching for and claiming every sweeping wave of pleasure, every intense, scorching moment of our bodies joined together.

When I reached my limit, orgasm overtaking and drowning all other sensation, I found his name on my lips like a prayer, and it tasted sweet and familiar. Sasuke… I think… No, I know… I love you. I cherish you. I want to be with you no matter what. How did this happen to me? My body shuddered around him, and my teeth closed on his shoulder. A moment later, I felt his release within me, hot and hard, all rhythm overset by the short, wild thrusts of climax. His cry was incoherent, his face vulnerable in passion. I love you—I just didn't know, before. I'm happy, so happy that I got to find out. I felt tears on my cheeks, from the still pulsing, overwhelming release, and from emotional overload.

Fingers, strong and competent, brushed away the tears. Sasuke kissed me softly, first on the corner of one eye, then on the cheek, and finally on the lips.

"Chieko—please—please tell me that I didn't hurt you in any way…"

The anxiety in his voice brought me back to myself and reality.

"No… not at all… no. I feel wonderful. Maybe a bit overwhelmed with—with everything. I think we should stay together forever." The last part slipped out unbidden.

To my surprise, Sasuke's response came immediately. "We will." Then he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him to lie in the hollow of his shoulder, bodies still touching all along my length. "I hope you won't mind too much."

I laughed, still quivering and euphoric. "No… And you can show me the stars."

"Yes. Although in point of fact I'm studying astrophysics, not astronomy. …Looking at the stars is just a hobby."

"That's fine, I've noticed you're pretty good at your hobbies."

"Chieko?"

"Mm-hm?"

"I couldn't say this earlier—or rather, I didn't want you to think it was just… a line." I went still, my eyes fixed on his profile. He turned his head, his brown eyes clear and calm. "I love you." He shrugged awkwardly—especially awkwardly since I was lying on one shoulder. "You may already know that, but I wanted to tell you anyway."

On the off chance that you're spying on us, Mitsuhide, I hope this is causing cavities. But… thank you for giving me this. Because I think you did. Maybe. Did you have to shoot my boyfriend first, though?

"This is a pretty good anime," I told Sasuke, finally finding the energy to prop myself up on his—very, very nice—chest. "I'm no expert, but aren't we short a few totally-avoidable misunderstandings and one unnecessary parting?"

"And several interfering friends who try to help but just make things worse. And rain. The next time it rains I'll come find you so that we can kiss in the rain." He sounded thoughtful. Very Sasuke. I gave up on staring into his face and snuggled into him instead.

After several blissful minutes, I finally looked over at the light filtering in around the window-screen. It wasn't fair... I sat up, only a little shy about my tumbled hair and naked body. I let my hand wander over the planes of Sasuke's chest, trying not to think too hard about the scars on his sides, arms, and—now visible—legs. There weren't as many as I'd thought, and he'd obviously made his peace with them. Then I leaned over to kiss his lips.

"You're probably trying to figure out how to say that you have to go without making it sound like you want to go," I told him. "But it's okay. Despite how things went—which I can't regret—I really do want you to be safe."

"…Thank you." Sasuke trapped my hand against his chest, but didn't otherwise move. "We've still got well over an hour until sunset, although I wish it were more. It won't take me long to write a concise report for Lord Mitsuhide—I'm good at reports."

"Oh?" My attempt at being cool and practical was sabotaged by my treacherous body.

"I want to make love to you again."

He said it quietly, but decisively, and I felt my heartbeat rise along with the heat in my cheeks. When he pulled me down on top of him, I went willingly.

[END—FOR NOW]

A/Note:  Your notes, reblogs, likes, and PMs are always appreciated! I hope to write a conclusion to this story, so please be patient with me!

Tags:  @ikemenprincessnaga  @shell-senji  @flower-dragon  @acrispyapple  @nalufever @hidetheremote  @llama-in-socks  @eliz1369  @yum-chan  @cherryb0mb79  @canadiangaap

@kitsune-mana  @rosyangel95  @blueberrypancaaaakes  @under-sengoku-skies @vespeshadowmoon

Please comment or send a PM if you’d like to be tagged.  I apologize if I missed anyone.

[dischordant]

rules: name your top ten favorite female characters from different fandoms, then tag ten people

Tagged by @athingofvikings tagged me with this a long time ago, and @themanonthecouch tagged me with it recently, so I decided to get it done finally.

Bonus, the husband edition alongside mine! His are in bold. If we share the same favorite character, it’s italics! He didn’t do the last three though, because of things cropping up as we tried to finish, so his list is incomplete. I don’t have a group of followers, so I’m not tagging anyone; if you see this, feel free to do it and tag me!

In no particular order:

1. Flemeth/Asha’bellanar – Dragon Age  

I mean.. it’s Flemeth. || She’s got a lot of layers and she’s a badass.

2. Luthien – Lord of the Rings / Unohana Retsu - Bleach

Probably one of the most incredibly depicted women I’ve seen in fiction. A lot of that is expanded out in the Silmarillion.. || There’s a lot to her, and she’s has a sort of interesting dichotomy to her.

3. Velvet Velour – VtMB / Jeanette - VtMB

Toredeaor solidarity, plus she made me ridiculously thirsty the first time I played through. || She is crazy. And I dig crazy chicks.

4. Xena – Xena: Warrior Princess / Callisto – Xena: Warrior Princess

She is beauty, she is grace, she will overthrow the wicked and kick ass with Gabrielle. || It’s almost like I have a thing for crazy chicks.

5. Evangeline A.K. McDowell – Negima / Tsukuyomi – Negima

Eva’s a vampire in a child’s body with an interesting history. And I adore her attitude. || I think you’re going to find there’s a pattern here.

6. Harley Quinn – DC Universe / Amanda Waller – DC Universe

Harley is intensely psychotic, but she snapped for a reason. She’s deeply disturbed, but we see flashes of her being saner, and those are interesting. I also severely ship her with Poison Ivy, so… If I had to pick or could pick any other DC character as well, I agree with the husband, it would definitely be the Wall. || What isn’t to like about her? She’s a big woman, doesn’t trade on her looks, has the brains to match wits with Batman. She has multiple law enforcement ages and secret groups under her thumb, has more blackmail on anyone than anyone could ever get. And she came up from nothing. She’s a completely normal person that supervillains are scared to death of.

7. Raven – Teen Titans / Tsunade – Naruto

Raven is a character I absolutely adore. And yes, I count the TV Universe as separate from the overall comics. || I mean.. there’s too much to start. She’s got so much going on.

8. Claire Nuñez – Trollhunters

From love interest and maybe sidekick, to a hero in her own right. I love her. She doesn’t back down, and she doesn’t really fall into the damsel in distress blanket like some female characters tend to.

9. Samantha Carter – Stargate SG1/Stargate Atlantis

Samantha was a character who always struck me as complex. She also didn’t fall overwhelmingly victim to a romantic subplot. She was highly intelligent, highly driven, and an anchor point for the team while simultaneously not being the ‘overly emotional’ one in the bunch.

10. The Charmed Ones – Charmed

Okay, each of the girls that comprise the Charmed Ones; Prue, Phoebe, Piper and Paige, each have a special place for me, so I’ve kind of lumped them together. They were girl-power and feminism before I understood what those phrases meant in regards to my life. They were strong and independent, while still being vulnerable and not emotionally shuttered. Their stories had an impact on me both growing up, and as an adult, raising my expectations of what I wanted in life, and in love.

[centaurianthropology]

The Magnus Archives ‘A Guest for Mr Spider’ (S03E01) Analysis

After hyperventilating for a while, because IT’S HEEEERE, I got down to listening to the first episode of season 3, and … well, it wasn’t what I had expected, but it was an absolutely fascinating contextualization of a character we’ve known for a while, and also sets the scene for what we might expect going forward in season 3.  Come on in to hear what I thought about …

 The statement of Jonathan Sims, former Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, regarding a childhood encounter with a book once possessed by Jurgen Leitner.

Hooooo … this is going to be a pretty long post, because we have A LOT to get through.  This episode was exposition-rich without feeling like an info dump, which is a credit to Jonny Sims’ writing.  We got really surprising amounts of information about Sims as a character and about what brought him to the Institute.  But we also got some discussion of recent events as well, from a Sims who seems perhaps a week out from the events of the finale.  

First, we got confirmation for something I had suspected throughout season 2: a lot of Sims’ paranoia was induced by the Not-Them.  But then again, while Sims insists that it was all the Not-Them, I think it was more complicated than that.  I have a feeling that, given the very specific reactions that Sims was having compared to Tim or Martin, it was likely a combination of the Not-Them, the Beholding pricking at him and warning him that there was danger nearby, and his own natural paranoia being hugely exaggerated.  Because Sims has always been a little paranoid.  

He is, however, a lot more self-aware in this episode than he has been in quite some time.  He knows that, for the majority of the last season, he really wasn’t playing with a full deck.  I doubt he’s as recovered from the events of season 2 as he thinks.  While he does sound saner, he still frays and starts sounding a lot more broken again when he discusses the fact that his former colleagues now likely think him a psychopathic killer.  A lot is hitting Sims all at once at this point: the loss of his job, being on the run despite the lack of wide-scale manhunt (my guess is that the investigation into Leitner’s death is going to be a very secret thing, likely undertaken by Daisy alone), and having lost people he might not have even recognized as friends before he did indeed lose them.  Sasha is dead, and Martin and Tim both suspect him of murder.  As dismissive as he was of his assistants, I think he’s feeling their loss a lot more keenly than he thought he would.

But most of that remains subtext or only hinted at, because Sims might think he’s no longer the Archivist, but something is still driving him.  Something has made him find a new tape recorder, new tapes, and to start recording again in the exact same manner he did at the Institute.  One could say it was habit, but I think that the Beholding is still claiming him.  He is still the Archivist, and as such the compulsion to behold and to record is overwhelming to him.  The only way he can start to make sense of everything that happened to him and because of him in season 2 is to finally recount the story that started him down this path, that committed him to the study of the paranormal, and that even seems rooted in some of the stupider decisions he’s made in this podcast’s run.

One thing I noticed, even early on, was that Sims was ready to dismiss almost any statement—no matter how compelling—as insubstantiated nonsense.  And yet whenever Jurgen Leitner’s library came up, he took that statement, even flimsy and without any proof, as 100% fact.  Sims was a believer in Leitner’s library and its horrors, if nothing else at the beginning of this series.  And in this statement, we learn why.  Sims himself had an encounter with one of those books, and it changed him in a fundamental way, setting him on the path to become the Archivist.  For Sims, Leitner was the definition of all that was horrific, supernatural, and evil.  Sims readily admits that he was functioning in a very (understandably) self-centered manner at the beginning of his tenure as the Archivist.  He had experienced the horror of a Leitner book, and so that was real. His fear and his suffering were real, but everyone else was likely lying or hallucinating or drugged.  Sims is a deeply self-centered individual, not because he’s a narcissist, but because he has defined himself as something independent of … well, just about everything and everyone else for basically all of his life.

In addition to being a nicely creepy story, we finally get a lot more insight into what formed Jonathan Sims into the man he is today, and even in his childhood he seemed to be defined by two characteristics that seem to have spilled over into his adulthood: isolation, and a belief in his own intelligence that very frequently veers into arrogance.  We also know that Sims was “a child of the 90s”, so is likely in his early to mid-thirties (I think of children of the nineties as those who remember that period as their childhood, so were likely … five or six in 1990?  Making him 32 or 33ish?).  We also know he looks considerably older than his actual age, even to the point of already having graying hair.  We know that both of his parents are dead.  His father died when he was two of an accidental fall, and his mother died a few years later due to complications of a routine surgery.  As such, the only caretaker Sims really knew was a grandmother grieving her dead son, and who resented having to care for a rather difficult grandchild.  Sims’ sense of isolation clearly started early, as while he doesn’t seem to have any outright hostility toward his grandmother, there is a definite distance in the way he discusses her.  She tried her best, but they were clearly never particularly close, and Sims in turn never really developed any deep bonds in his childhood.  The entire statement is devoid of mentions of friends or profound connections.  Even the person who eventually saved him from the book wasn’t a friend, but instead a bully who used to torment Sims, and whose name Sims can’t remember.

This all fits so well with everything we’ve already learned about Sims.  Sims really doesn’t get the idea of family.  think Martin’s story didn’t resonate with him nearly so much as it might with others partially because of the Not-Them’s paranoia, but also partially because the idea of completely upending his life and lying about something fundamental like who and what he was for someone he loved was something that Sims didn’t quite comprehend.  Sims has always functioned for himself first and foremost.  Putting others before his own self-interest is something he is clearly working to be better at.  Indeed, he does have moments of great selflessness, like when he tried to protect his assistants by sending them home in ‘The Librarian’.  But while Martin is naturally caring, and puts others before himself even to a fault, such actions are not natural to Sims.  

Instead of friends, Sims has always preferred books.  But even in that, Sims was difficult to please.  He apparently disliked reading anything that seemed familiar, meaning he would only ever read any given author once, and any given subject once.  His grandmother took to buying every second-hand book she could find that was 50p or less, and just presenting him with piles of books to sort through and choose ones he actually found interesting.  

And second-hand books, of course, lead us straight to the library of Jurgen Leitner.

The description of ‘A Guest for Mr Spider’ is somehow even more chilling than most of the other Leitner books, because it’s a picture book.  The implication there seems to be that it specifically targets children. The strange, horrid, twitchy illustrations depict a series of flies in various costumes coming to visit Mr Spider, only to vanish as more and more of Mr Spider’s home is covered in brown ink and Mr Spider becomes more bloated.  The final consumption of Mr Horse and his son sets clear the context that the book wants children.  It will take older people, and indeed it does end up taking the 19-year-old bully who snatched the book from Sims before he could finish it, but this was a book meant to be found and read by a child.  A child who, like Sims, recognized the book instantly as something wrong and horrific, and yet who was powerless to stop reading.  Who would be drawn through the streets to a house that wouldn’t be found later.  A house full of darkness and webs, and long spider legs.  It puts one in mind of Raymond Fielding.  I wonder if, when reading the statements regarding the house on Hill Top Road, Sims saw reflected in those experiences that house from his own childhood.  Did he read Ronald Sinclair’s statement about Fielding, about the children bound in webs in his basement, and think of himself and that nameless bully?  Or did he ever think to tie those spiders together with Mr Spider?

I wonder if he might not have done.  Rather than focusing on the house and the spiders, Sims seems to have focused all his fear and his anger at Jurgen Leitner.  He would dismiss the statements about spiders readily enough at the beginning, but never a statement about Leitner.  In Sims’ mind, the supernatural was rare, with the majority of the statements he read—even those on tape—made up of hoaxes.  But Leitner was evil personified, and had tapped into some primal power that he wielded to harm 8-year-old Jonathan Sims and reshape his entire perception of how the world worked.

It shines a whole different light on how profound actually meeting Leitner must have been for Sims. Leitner wasn’t some great villain or all-powerful master of the things in his books.  He was a stupid, arrogant man who thought he could control and define things without control or definition.  He was, as Sims says in this episode, a spoiled child.  He looked at the nightmares in this world and thought he had the ability to confront them and contain them purely because he was interested and had a big enough ego to think he could.  He decided to create a way to hold the supernatural to his own whims, much as Robert Smirke had done with his architecture.  But whatever power Smirke wielded that made him so lastingly effective, Leitner lacked.  He contained the books only for a brief time, and then they all found their way back into the wild, potentially more readily available than they had been before. Even his and Gertrude’s scheme to destroy the Institute could well have been similarly short-sighted, and just another effort to exert control from a man who was ultimately just as powerless as anyone else.

This man, who Sims had so feared and hated, is remarkably similar to Sims.  They both believe that if they confront the horrors of this world, they will somehow have the ability to resist and defeat them.  They are both isolated, both believe themselves more intelligent than they actually are, and are both supremely arrogant.  Leitner isn’t a monster.  He’s a cautionary tale.

And now Sims lacks that driving fear of Leitner.  He lacks a job, and he’s realizing that everything he set out to do in season 1 and even his desire from childhood to protect people from the darkness has roundly and repeatedly failed.  He wanted to organize the archive and failed.  He wanted to disprove the majority of the supernatural statements that weren’t directly related to his own trauma, and he failed.  He wanted to keep his assistants as far from harm as possible, and he failed.  And now he’s on the run.  He’s out in the wild without direction or any real idea of what he needs to do.  

So he falls back on compulsion.  He records his own statement, lacking anyone else’s.  He hides and he looks at the shattered remains of his life.  Something is going to happen, I’m certain, to roust him from this hiding space, and to plunge him into the wider world of the supernatural.  Having him out of the Institute may well be exactly the boost to his skill and his understanding that Elias thinks it will be.  He will see the powers of his world in a much more direct fashion.  He may well be able to get statements from faction members who would never set foot inside the Institute.  And he will likely be in terrible danger from all of them. We still don’t know what it means to be the Archivist, but we know that whatever it is, members of other factions want the Archivist.  They want to use him, or tell him things, or get information from him, or kill him. But Sims’ position makes him marked, not only by the Beholding, but every supernatural entity out there.  And this season, I think we’ll learn a lot more about what that really means.

This was quite the episode for big reveals regarding the backstory of Jonathan Sims, and what makes him the man he is today.  So much of it jives perfectly with the man we’ve gotten to know.  He’s protective of others, but in an abstract way that speaks more to a belief that this is the way he ought to be than a sense of genuine connection with others.  And yet he believes enough in this abstract sense of right and wrong that he is willing to put himself in danger to protect innocents.  It was why he tried to deck Michael when he realized a woman had been snatched right under his nose.  Looking back, that experience must have been even more traumatic for him than it had seemed at the time, given how closely it resembled what happened when he was a child. There was someone else walking through a door, never to be seen again, while Jonathan Sims stood by helpless to stop it.  So many of the previous statements have new resonance now that we know how closely Sims’ own experience mirrored them.

His early isolation, as well as seeing someone snatched up by Mr Spider, goes a long way to explaining why he wouldn’t reach out to Martin or Tim throughout season 2, even when he knew he should.  It explains why he’s been so hesitant to foster anything but the most professional relationships with them, despite Martin’s best efforts.  He’s never learned how to connect with anyone on a deep and meaningful level, and he’s only now realizing how detrimental that can be.

More than that, there is a guilt in Sims, unacknowledged and perhaps unconscious, that this bully he can barely even remember died and thereby saved him.  Imagine the guilt that rears up when Leitner revealed that Gertrude had three assistants, and they all died.  Imagine his guilt when he realizes that Sasha is dead and he never even noticed because of the Not-Them.  Imagine his guilt when he realizes that Tim and Martin are unable to quit, and are therefore meant to die for him as well.  These people he could almost call his friends, and some great and unknown power will kill them just because that’s what the assistants of an Archivist do.  There may well be some unconscious belief that if he just pushes them away, if he keeps them as far from him as possible, and if he stays away from the Institute, he can save them.  I doubt that’s the way it works.  I think that something will draw Sims and Martin and Tim back together, but I think that Sims is always going to be operating with that low-level terror that more people, people he cares about this time, people with names and faces he will remember, are going to end up dying because of him again.  Sims has massive amounts of survivor’s guilt, I think, and he doesn’t even realize it.

Conclusions

Starting the season out with a deep-dive character study wasn’t what I expected, but I really liked it. We now have a good idea of what’s going on with Sims right now, and have a better understanding of his head-space. He’s staying with Georgie, the hostess of the ‘What the Ghost’ podcast, and someone Melanie once mentioned actually spoke pretty well of Sims.  It’s still not clear if Sims and Georgie were once romantically involved, but he’s now staying in her guest room and cat-sitting for her.  Their conversations are awkward, like two people who haven’t interacted in years and are suddenly together and realizing how little they have in common.  

I’m interested what they’ll do with Georgie.  I’m honestly hoping she’s not another outsider character, as we already have that in Basira Hussain.  It would be more interesting if she was already an insider, perhaps a member of the Open Eye or working with Trevor the Vampire Slayer or something.  She’s said she’ll believe anything.  What if that’s because she’s already seen so much and has way more contacts in that world than Sims?  What if she’s not just a random character, but the gate through which he’ll be thrown head-first into the wider world of the supernatural in TMA?  That would be a fun twist.

I’m also hoping that, now that we’ve established Sims, we get to see what’s happening at the Institute. What is Elias doing to clean up after season 2?  Was that Daisy on the teaser trailer?  Is she hunting Sims?  If she is, does she intend to deal with him the same way she deals with other supernatural threats?  Is Martin the Interim Head Archivist?  Is Tim still there?  What is their relationship like now?  There are so many questions.  We’ve gotten a surprising number of answers about Sims, so I’m hopeful we’ll start to get a few about our other favorite characters as well starting next week.