#I am DEEP in the trenches you would not believe

[yallemagne]

The Morph obsession is getting to me. Most of my creative ideas right now are "I want to see x character interact with Morph" be that in written or comic format. It has gotten to the point where one of the scenarios in my head is: "I want to see Morph interact with Morph."

Which is. Which is insane.

Specifically, I am talking about TAS/'97 Morph interacting with the Morph from Exiles. Because while they are the same character, they are also quite different. Just for example: the former is nonbinary while the latter is pretty firmly a man. I wouldn't call Exiles Morph a cis man because technically he was Assigned Blob At Birth and was raised as a boy? Who knows? Technicalities.

I personally headcanon that TAS Morph shares the same base backstory as Exiles Morph: their mother died when they were 13 which led to a strained relationship with their father who later enrolled them in Xavier's school to be rid of them. Then, after graduating with a masters in computer engineering, they joined the X-Men. Little differences are that Exiles Morph led the New Mutants before becoming an X-Man and also was an Avenger for a bit, things I don't think TAS Morph would have experienced.

TAS Morph has spent the majority of their life in their public form (dark hair and eyes, resembling their mother), meanwhile, Exiles Morph has spent most of his life in his base grey form but still did have a public form as a child (blond hair and blue eyes, resembling his father). He rarely fully changes his appearance, usually keeping the grey skin and pupilless eyes when shapeshifting, while TAS Morph takes on the full appearance of other people.

And then there's the nature of their powers. I'd say TAS Morph's abilities were broad but limited before being subjected to Sinister's experimentation (for example: they couldn't morph into animals or mimic mutations prior to their death and resurrection). Meanwhile, there's no indication Exiles Morph ever went through such experimentation, so it's possible he always operated at the full potential of his powers.

Lissen. I would NOT be this insane if only there were simply more depictions of Morph. After all, I'm not like this about more popular X-Men... That's a lie. If there were more depictions, I'd be making a spreadsheet. I mean. Technically there are. There's Changeling and AoA Morph. Oh no.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

It was Captain’s turn to host poker night, and that meant everyone got to be in his nice house out in the suburbs. His Missus normally made them some nice snacks. She'd chat with them for a bit, but then after, she would leave the four of them to their own devices. Kyle thought she was nice. When he met her, she was indeed wearing blonde hair but went with the popular Créme Brulé color. She certainly was the type his Captain would attract, classy, sophisticated, a little crazy but not much, and she ran a tight ship.

She was hanging around, though, clearly waiting for someone. No bother, it wasn't any of Kyle's business. The front door opened up, to the sound of another woman squealing. There's fast talking and laughing, and Kyle is a little confused because traditionally, poker night has always been guy's night. Still no worries, as Price's Missus was saying that the bar was set up downstairs.

"Where's your little crash out?" The Missus say as her and her friend walk by.

The friend is sporting a deep body wave cherry Coca-Cola hairstyle that goes down right to her waist. She's dressed in all black, pretty gold hoops in her ears and other gold chains and belts wrapped around her waist. "Oh, he's coming. He's finishing up a cigarette and he will be right in."

Kyle looks over at Soap "Did Cap say he was inviting other people?"

Soap shrugged his shoulders, "Ah donnae ken so?" He was watching the woman closely, "But she's bonnie."

The front door opens up, and Kyle is expecting this mystery man to waltz in but is surprised to see Simon. Okay, still no bother, except why is Simon wearing black air force ones? Was he even aware of that brand? And why is he wearing a Nike tech trench? Kyle is feeling a strange sense of déja vú.

"Och! Si nice coat! It's fittin' fo' ye!" Soap greets.

Simon only grunts as he puts away his coat. The cherry-coke woman reentered the living area carrying two wine glasses and her eyes land on Simon.

"Sweetie, come get me when you guys are done. Can't say I won't be singing My neck and my back in two hours if i am, we gotta leave right away. Love you!" And she disappeared down the steps with Price's girlfriend. Simon only nods his head in acquiescence, and there's a slight blush on his ears from what she said.

Soap has a wide grin on his face, and by this time, Price is entering the room with the cards. Kyle feels like he is on the office or some bad parody...because what?

"How'd ye meet her, Si?" Soap is vibrating with energy.

"I met her through Price's girl...it was a blind date." Simon says.

Soap thinks he's funny, "Do I get a pretty hen next?"

Kyle places his head in his hands and leans over the table. "I can't believe there's two of you now."

@c-nstantine I saw what you wrote and ran with it. Lol

[spdrvyn]

im begging for miguel x reader where he’s sick/tired/woke up from a nightmare and is in desperate need of shooting. so she takes care of him - pure domestic contentment- grooming him/washing/shaving/brushing hair/towel drying/changing clothes (and socks 🥺)/feeding him - doing everything to relax him and make him feel loved

solace in your sweetness

summary: in the deep trenches of the night, miguel wakes up due to night terrors and you're very deadset on comforting him. no matter how many times he denies you that.

tags: hurt/comfort. very sweet and fluffy. reader isn't a spider-person. fem!reader.

notes: i love this request so so much, i have been ITCHING to do it. thank you so much for requesting, i hope you enjoy reading this one!

Miguel didn't really have nightmares when he was younger. On the occasion that Gabe would bother him to watch a scary movie, there would be instances where he had them, but it wasn't a regular occurence. How naïve was he when he thought that he'd be able to leave those behind in his youth?

It started simple, he would be in the barren, empty streets of Nueva York. Before he would slowly watch every thing dissolve around him, glitch by glitch, pixel by pixel, unable to do anything but to just stand there, before he fell into the abyss and woke up.

The darkest part of his mind had always managed to make the scenario more horrifying, another time it was zombies, another time it was zombies again, but of only Gabriella. There was even a version where he was being chased by the other dead version of himself. He consulted many articles, read and bought a lot of books, and even tried meditating, but none of it worked so he just decided to live with it for a while. It wasn't like they happened every night, no big deal.

Though, it was a big deal to you. Which was his true fear, he didn't want you to fawn over something so trivial. He didn't want you to go out of your way to take care of him, despite how much it would fill the big, gaping hole in his heart.

So when he jolts awake from another night terror, he keeps himself as quiet as possible. He slowly looked over to the side of your bed, relieved to see that you were still in a peaceful sleep. He shifts silently and keeps his footsteps light as he makes his way over to the kitchen for some tea. The calming, minty aroma sweeped his senses, but it'd be better to work right now instead of relax.

He went back to the bedroom, setting the teacup down on the bedside before pulling out a small tablet. He winced as it opened, the brightness of it hurting his eyes even with glasses on. After lowering it, he immediately goes to rifle through his files.

That is until he felt the weight of your head on his shoulders, you looked up at him with a frown. "You're working."

"I am," Miguel spoke like he was caught with a hand in the cookie jar. As embarrassed as he was, it was too late. You should probably be going back to sleep, he remembered that you also had work early tomorrow. "I just got thirsty, go back to sleep, cariño."

A bald-faced lie, would you believe it or would you not? Your brows furrowed and your pout deepened, it made Miguel's palms sweat. Moments like these forced him to think if you really did have superpowers, there were too many instances where it seemed like you read his mind word for word.

"Why are you lying to me, Miguel?" Shock. It was his face, wasn't it? "Did you have any another nightmare? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Miguel's pride had shattered, you were too good at this. A little more and you'd be unmasking every single villain in the city. "You need to be up early, I just didn't want to ruin your beauty sleep." He closed his files and turned off his tablet, this was his fate now.

You all but groaned at his remark, kicking the bedsheets off of your body before stamping out of the bedroom. "Where are you-"

"Stay there, don't move an inch." He didn't want to incur God's wrath, so he obeys. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the pillows, his smell picked up on the scent of food being freshly cooked. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but by the lord, it smelled delicious.

Miguel was left there to wait for a while, this sort of reminded him of his younger days too, granted a lot more blissful. There were times when he was younger where Gabe had nightmares too, he'd come knocking on Miguel's door, asking if he could stay there for a while or if he could play video games with him.

To which Miguel would begrudgingly agree, but he normally tried to keep Gabe as uninterested in whatever they were doing as possible so that he could fall asleep already. This usually resulted in him falling asleep then Miguel having to sleep on the couch, but it was whatever. I mean, he only stopped doing that at the young age of 11.

So now being the one taken care of, it made Miguel feel like there was an outside force tipping the scales. After being a caretaker, one way or another, his whole life, having you step in and take him for a breather was like seeing a fish head on a lion's body.

You came back soon enough with a plate and spoon in hand, it was made clear to Miguel exactly what you were cooking. Tomato sauce with meatballs, you diced a small bit of the beef with the spoon before scooping some soup up, bringing it close to his mouth. "Ahhh,"

"I can eat on my—"

"Ahhhhh."

"For shock's sake—" he quickly took a bite, his eyes lit up as he swallowed. "It's good."

You smiled knowingly, finally allowing him to feed himself as you handed him the plate. "I know," then your expression hardened. "I'd like to talk to you about what you dreamt about, if that's okay with you." Miguel sighed, reaching over to the bedside to take a long sip of his tea.

His heart told him that it was perfectly fine for you to know about what was troubling him for so long now, but his mind, his rationale, told him to shut his trap about anything that could cause you any sort of worry or distress. When he doesn't respond to you after another moment, you lean in closer.

"Miguel, I'm always going to worry about you." You whispered, "That's just how I am, but it's because I love you. I love you so much that I can feel how much you're hurting even when you're trying to hide it from me."

"I love you too," he closed the gap to press a kiss to the crease on your forehead, you released a short breath. "I just- I don't know how to say it, I guess."

You placed a hand on his chest, "I can put the pieces together, I just want you to get this off your chest." He wished he had the ability to deny you, you're his weakness, especially when you bat your eyelashes and look at him so sweetly like you have all the love in the world to give.

He tells you as much as he can about his dream, it's all a mess. There were many parts that he wished he could just go back and erase, he didn't even want to go through with this idea in the first place. But you were so... understanding of him, it felt creepy. Not creepy, that wasn't the right word, but it was unsettling.

Being comforted by someone else always made Miguel feel like the other person had a 'holier than thou' attitude, that or he was horribly pitied to the point where he didn't want to keep opening up anymore. You carried none of those qualities, you simply nodded, listened in pure silence, but you'd chime in with some remarks every now and again. He doesn't know how he got so lucky with you.

You gave him some advice. Miguel's experiences were gut-wrenching which resulted to his night terrors, but you could share the sentiment. To some degree, at least. The advice was to just talk about it, letting that feeling build over time and dreading the next time you fall asleep would result to more casualties in the long run. And that if he had no other people to turn to, you were the first on his roster (granted he'd talk to you first anyway, but that's besides the point).

After putting away his empty plate, you joined him in bed again, it's probably still very late into the night, only three hours until you get up for work, but you didn't mind as long as you got to spend it with Miguel. However he wishes to.

The feeling of yours lips on his forehead, face nuzzled into his hair while your fingers drew shapes into his back.

The way he wrapped his arms around your hips, slotting one of his legs in between yours, and the sound of your heartbeat.

He falls into a blissful sleep, knowing you will protect him from the horrors that lurk in the shadows. For once in his life, Miguel has been taken care of and he's so glad that it's you.

[bogkeep]

Would you recommend the SSSS comic? I know little of it beside the very beautiful artstyle and premise

to answer the question of if i would recommend SSSS as a comic: yes, yes i would.

a description for those who don't know: Stand Still Stay Silent is a post-apocalyptic horror + adventure webcomic set in the nordics (norway, sweden, denmark, finland, iceland) that have been isolated from the rest of the world and gone back to their old gods. the the world outside of safe zones is full of trolls and beasts - humans and mammals that got infected by a horrible virus and turned into monsters. the story follows a ragtag crew that ventures into the old world (derelict denmark) on an expedition to collect books.

the comic updated every workday until it concluded in 2022, and consists of two Adventures. the creator had plans for many adventures with these characters in this world, but ended it after two when she wanted to take a new direction with her life.

what i love about it:

- the art is GORGEOUS. it's been a huge source of inspiration for me. open any page and it's a masterpiece, and you will ask yourself "how the FUCK did she update this FIVE DAYS A WEEK"

- the characters are wonderful and endearing. i just, i love them so much. i am so thankful lalli hotakainen exists he is one of my #1 blorbos forever

- the world is so cool. the blend of chunky sci-fi and norse mythology fantasy magic slaps. it goes so hard. i fell so hard for this comic when i got to the big ferry ship with a viking style dragon head prow added to it. it's everything

- it really really gets nordic cultures. it's difficult to explain all the dynamics and nuances but it just gets it. it brings me as a scandinavian a lot of joy to read a story that speaks to my heart this way. the attitudes, the language barriers, the cultural differences... it was so refreshing to me in a media landscape dominated by american stories. when the pandemic hit, i decided to reread the comic because i found such an odd comfort in seeing how it depicted the scandinavian countries reacting to, well, a pandemic.

- there's kittycats

what i don't like about it:

- the most glaring and obvious flaw is that everyone in the comic is white. there's not a single character of color anywhere, not even i background shots or the prologue. there's no mention of the saami people (the indigenous people of northern europe), either. i believe this was done in ignorance more than malicious intent, but the implications are Extremely Bad and it's been bothering me (AND MANY OTHERS) since day 1. that is the number one caveat i will give to anyone wanting to check this comic out. i've been in the discourse trenches and i am not going to excuse this. it's just bad!

- you can tell in the middle of adventure 2 that the creator has kind of lost interest in the work, around the time when she found jesus i guess. like, very few people can keep up work on the same creative project for years and years and years and i think it's fine that she wanted to drop it, but it's a bit sad to see the comic dragged to its end like a limp corpse, and feeling like the creator no longer really cares about the characters.

- minna sundberg has said and done some questionable things, presumably gotten somewhat radicalised over time, and has also converted to hardcore christianity which is what her new works are about. there's nothing about this in SSSS - there is a moment of christianity represented in the story in a sort of mythological sense, just like the other religions, but this was written before minna's conversion. her new works... are a Choice. i have much to say about them, and i have, and im not gonna rehash it now.

SO YEAH hopefully this will help you take an Informed Choice! i got into this comic in 2015 and was deep in the fandom and it's for better or for worse part of my soul foundation now.

i also recommend A Redtail's Dream, minna's "practice comic" before SSSS, based on finnish mythology and the kalevala.

[thewickedjazzy]

⌞𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰⌝

Part III : 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙈𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚

Pairings: Chuuya x fem!reader x Dazai (platonic)

Warnings: NSFW mdni, angst, super fluff, mention of abuse, mention of other dimensions (could trigger DP/DR), minor dni, let me know if I forgot any Xx.

Author's note: Missed you all *kisses* buckle up cause this is probably the longest part I've written, I spent a whole week writing it and had to drink countless cups of coffee to keep going :D. So prepare your favourite drink, snacks or whatever, get in a comfy position and enjoy it Xx.

Word count: 12.5k

↠Part 1

↠Part 2

❝Maybe I simply discovered you in the wrong universe. This, as some would say, is the darkest timeline. But in another, we might be together, as we were always meant to be.❞

Y/N’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible situation. This was Chuuya, but something was wrong—everything was wrong. He wasn’t the mafia boss here, and the way he looked at her wasn’t the same as before. There was recognition, but it wasn’t the deep, soulful connection she was used to. It was almost as if…he saw someone else when he looked at her.

Chuuya took a step forward, his brows furrowing. "Why did you call me boss?" His voice was tinged with confusion, the confident authority of a mafia leader tempered by an undercurrent of unease. "You’re the boss. You…you died. I had to take over after—" His voice cracked, the words choking off as if he couldn’t bear to speak them.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock. She was the boss in this world? And she died? Her heart clenched as she realized the implications—this Chuuya had loved her, a version of her, just as she had loved him. But they weren’t the same people anymore. The loss, the love, it was all tangled up in a web of timelines and realities that made no sense.

Before she could speak, before either of them could make sense of the emotions that churned between them, a voice cut through the clearing, dripping with sarcasm and a familiar, biting wit.

"Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Chuuya Nakahara, keeping me waiting for a good fifteen minutes. What were you doing, having a fashion crisis? And who’s this—" The voice faltered as its owner stepped into view, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Dazai.

But it wasn’t the Dazai she remembered. He was still tall, still infuriatingly smug, but he looked different—lighter, somehow. The black trench coat was gone, replaced by a beige one that seemed to almost glow in the moonlight. His hair was less disheveled, and—was that a smile that didn’t seem entirely sarcastic? And his eyes—his eyes were both visible, no longer hidden by the bandages she’d grown so used to seeing.

Dazai’s gaze landed on Y/N, and for a split second, all the sarcasm and playfulness drained from his face. His eyes widened, genuine shock washing over his features. “Y/N…?” His voice was a whisper, filled with a vulnerability she hadn’t heard in so long—not since before he became the boss in her world.

“Dazai…?” she breathed, her voice trembling. She couldn’t believe it. Dazai was alive. He was standing right there in front of her. But how? In her world, he was dead—Chuuya had taken over after his death.

Dazai blinked, regaining some of his composure, though the surprise hadn’t entirely faded from his expression. He smirked, though it lacked his usual edge. “Oh, this is rich. Two Chuuya’s, two Y/N’s, and somehow I’m the one caught in the middle of this multiversal drama.” He sighed, scratching his head in exaggerated frustration. “Why am I always the one cleaning up everyone else’s mess?”

Y/N took a step forward, her legs feeling like they might give out beneath her. “Dazai…you’re alive. How…?”

Dazai’s smile softened, a rare look of genuine warmth crossing his features. “ I could say the same." He sighed his gaze softening. "I'm alive in this universe, yes. And it seems you’ve come from a place where I’m not.” He paused, his gaze drifting between Y/N and Chuuya, as if trying to piece together the puzzle himself. “Which means…you’re not the Y/N we lost.”

Chuuya’s breath hitched at that. “You mean…she’s from another dimension?”

Dazai nodded, his eyes dark with thought. “Wasn’t that obvious?" He tsked shaking his head lightly. "The question is, how did you get here, and why? This kind of thing doesn’t just happen on its own.”

Y/N shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know. One moment I was…he was…dead.” Her voice broke. “And then there was a rift, and I just…I walked through it, and now I’m here. But nothing makes sense. You both are alive...and different.”

Chuuya stepped closer to her, his hand hovering near her arm as if he wanted to reach out but was too afraid to touch her, as if she might disappear if he did. “Y/N…in this world, you were the boss. We were close. More than close. And then…” His voice trembled. “Then I lost you.”

The pain in his voice mirrored her own, and Y/N felt her heart breaking all over again, not just for the Chuuya she’d lost, but for this one too—the one who’d lost his version of her.

Dazai cleared his throat, stepping forward with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “We need to figure this out. If there’s a rift between dimensions, it could mean trouble—not just for us, but for every dimension. And you,” he pointed at her, “I have a hunch that you might be the key to solve it.”

Y/N stared at Dazai, her mind spinning with the enormity of what he had just said. She was the key to solving this? But how? None of it made sense. She had been thrown into a reality where the people she knew were different versions of themselves, and she was expected to fix it?

She shook her head, trying to grasp the situation. “How am I the key? What’s happening? This doesn’t seem real—it’s like a nightmare I can’t wake up from. Alternate universes? I’ve never even considered that something like this could exist. Who’s behind all of this?”

Dazai's gaze softened, and he took a deep breath before responding. “I know it’s overwhelming. But the fact that you’re here, that you crossed the rift… it can’t be a coincidence. There’s something about your presence that’s destabilizing the boundaries set between these realities. The fact that you survived crossing over without… any obvious consequences suggests that you’re more connected to this than anyone else.”

She felt a wave of panic rising in her chest. “But I don’t know how! I don’t even understand what’s happening. How am I supposed to fi—”

Before she could finish her sentence, a deafening roar echoed through the forest, shaking the ground beneath their feet. The sound was unmistakable—a deep, guttural noise that sent chills down her spine. She knew that roar all too well. It was the same beast she and Chuuya had fought in her world—a dragon born of twisted abilities, a monstrous entity that was as ancient as it was powerful.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Fuck!… it can’t be,” she whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Chuuya and Dazai both tensed, immediately recognizing the danger in the sound. Dazai’s eyes narrowed, his usual aloofness replaced by a sharp, calculating look. “I guess it didn’t take long for the mess to find us,” he muttered, glancing at Y/N. “This dragon—is it something from your world?”

She nodded, holding her gaze forward with a stoic expersion on her face as she forced herself to stay calm. “Yes. It’s an amalgamation of abilities, a dragon created by the combined powers of several gifted individuals. We barely managed to defeat it in my world, and that was with Chuuya’s help. How did it get here?”

Chuuya’s gaze hardened, and he stepped closer to her, his fists clenching at his sides. “Doesn’t matter how. We need to stop it before it destroys everything. We’ve done it before in your universe, I'm sure we can do it again.”

She nodded, somehow drawing strength from Chuuya’s determination, but she couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at her. How did the dragon cross over into this world? And if it could, what else might have followed?

As the ground continued to tremble beneath them, Dazai’s voice cut through the tension, clear and authoritative. “We don’t have time to figure out the details right now. We need to move. Y/N, you know this creature. You’ll have to guide us through this fight.”

She smirked, her confidence returning as she recalled the dragon's weak point. But as she prepared to activate her ability, something unexpected surged through her—an overwhelming rush of energy that made her gasp. It was as if her power had been doubled, intensified beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The raw force coursing through her veins was exhilarating, but it also set off alarm bells in her mind. This wasn’t normal.

She glanced at Chuuya and Dazai, both of whom were already preparing for the fight. They hadn’t noticed the change in her, but she could feel it in every fiber of her being. This new power—it was dangerous, unpredictable. And in the middle of a battle, it was too risky to test.

“We need to act now!” Dazai’s voice cut through the chaos, his usually playful demeanor replaced by a focused urgency. “Y/N, what’s your plan?”

“I need to test something first,” Y/N said, her voice steady despite the chaos. “I know how to fight the dragon, but I need to do it alone.”

Chuuya and Dazai exchanged worried glances, their concern for her evident. “No, that’s too risky,” Chuuya said, his voice filled with anxiety. “We’re stronger together. You don’t have to—”

“I’m the only one who knows how to fight it effectively,” She interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. “Trust me. Please.”

Chuuya's voice cut through the tension, his concern laced with an edge of desperation. “Last time I trusted you to handle things alone, you ended up dying on me. I will never let history repeat itself.”

Her heart ached at his words, a poignant reminder of the tragic parallel between their worlds. In her universe, she had trusted Chuuya with her life, only for him to die in her arms. The weight of that memory threatened to pull her under, but she couldn't let it. She knew the stakes, and she had to act now.

Without a response, she turned and sprinted toward the source of the roar. The forest was alive with the thrum of the dragon's power, the ground shaking with every step it took. Her mind was focused, her determination unshaken despite the pounding of her heart.

As she closed in on the dragon, she could feel the energy within her intensify, a volatile surge of power that had her senses on high alert. She needed to act quickly and decisively. With a deep breath, she activated her ability. Her eyes glowed blood-red, a sign of her heightened control over her Malevolent Marionette.

"How is that possible?" She muttered to herself unable to comperhend how she could easily float like this and be in complete control of her ability.

From her outstretched hands, a massive, shimmering axial fiber erupted. This was no ordinary string; it was a time-proof cable, its interior packed with countless connected vacuum capsules. Inside each capsule were gluons, particles designed to tunnel and bind. The cable snaked through the air, wrapping around the dragon with an almost mesmerizing precision.

The dragon roared in fury as the fiber made contact, but her control was absolute. The cable tightened around the beast, its structure akin to a tube filled with these tunneling particles, clinging to the dragon’s entire body. The creature writhed and struggled, but the cable held firm, rendering it immobile. The dragon was ensnared, its massive form unable to move a muscle, like a puppet under her control.

She felt the intense pressure of the situation bearing down on her. The dragon's enraged roars reverberated through the forest, each one a chilling reminder of the chaos it could unleash. As she maintained her focus on controlling the dragon with her time-proof cable, a blinding flash of heat and light erupted from the creature’s mouth—a massive fireball hurtling directly toward her.

Instinctively, she braced herself for the impact, but a familiar gravitational force yanked her to the side. She stumbled as she was pulled away from the dragon’s fiery attack, her heart racing. She landed with a thud on a nearby floating rock, quickly regaining her balance.

Turning, Y/N saw Chuuya floating a few feet beside her on a massive rock, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. His eyes were narrowed, and his posture radiated annoyance.

“Tsk, still as stubborn as ever,” Chuuya said, his voice carrying a familiar edge of exasperation. “Can’t believe you’re still getting yourself into trouble like this.”

She managed a strained smile, her emotions a whirlwind of relief and frustration. “I could've managed it by myself alone.”

Chuuya let out a frustrated groan, shaking his head in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Chuuya, I—” Y/N started, but the roar of the dragon and the blinding heat of its attack cut her off. She tried to refocus on controlling the dragon, her heart pounding as she tightened the time-proof cable around the beast. It was a struggle to maintain control with the sheer force of its thrashing.

As Chuuya hovered beside her, his eyes blazing with determination, they both heard Dazai’s voice cutting through the chaos from below. “Chuuya, you know the drill. Get into position.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as she saw Chuuya’s expression change. He closed his eyes, a look of intense concentration crossing his features. “No!” she screamed, her voice breaking as she realized what was happening.

Chuuya took of his gloves, began reciting the incantations, a process she knew all too well. His body started to shift, his form contorting as the dark, ominous power of Arahabaki began to envelop him. The familiar sight of his corruption mode made her heart clench in her chest.

But before she could act, Dazai’s voice rang out, calm and reassuring, despite the chaos. “Y/N, focus on holding the dragon. I’ll handle Chuuya’s corruption. We need you to keep that beast under control.”

She glanced at Dazai, a profound sense of relief washing over her. In this universe, he was here to help, to manage the risk of Chuuya’s corruption. The weight of responsibility that had felt so crushing was now shared, and for the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope. The knowledge that she wasn't alone, that there were allies ready to support her, was a comfort she had nearly forgotten.

Focusing on the dragon, she tightened her grip on the time-proof cable. The dragon’s roars were deafening, its immense power straining against her control. With every ounce of her concentration, she held the beast captive, despite its furious attempts to break free. The strain was immense, but the steady rhythm of her breath kept her grounded.

Chuuya, floating beside her, unleashed jet-black void orbs towards the dragon, his eyes blazing with fierce anger. The orbs struck the dragon with explosive force, causing the beast to roar in agony. The ground shook violently, and a brilliant explosion erupted from the dragon’s core, sending shockwaves that threw both Y/N and Chuuya downward.

As the explosion rippled through the forest, Y/N crashed to the ground, her body slamming against the earth with a jarring impact. Pain radiated through her as she lay there, disoriented. The time-proof cable had snapped under the force of the blast, and she could feel the remnants of her power dissipating.

Struggling to regain her bearings, she looked around in a daze. Panic surged through her as she scrambled to her feet, calling out for him. “Chuuya!” Her voice trembled with fear, her eyes scanning the wreckage.

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Dazai kneeling beside Chuuya, holding his wrist firmly. The sight of Chuuya’s body, still and vulnerable, made her breath catch in her throat. Dazai’s expression was one of intense concentration as he used his ability to nullify Arahabaki’s power. The dark red aura surrounding Chuuya slowly faded, replaced by a calming normalcy.

Seeing Chuuya’s familiar, uncorrupted form brought a rush of relief to her. She staggered over to them, her legs weak and trembling. “Is he—?”

Dazai looked up, his usual smirk replaced by a rare, reassuring smile. “He’s fine.”

Chuuya’s eyes fluttered open, and he blinked up at her, confusion and relief evident in his gaze. “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with genuine warmth. "I hate your stubborn ass"

She couldn't help but chuckle at his response watching him drift in sleep.

Dazai looked at her with a satisfied nod, brushing off his hands. “Well, we’ve managed to subdue the dragon. Now we just need to figure out the cause of these interdimensional rifts and how to fix them. Also—”

Before he could finish, Y/N’s eyes welled up with tears of gratitude. Without a second thought, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. “I never thought I’d see you again, let alone have you save Chuuya.”

Dazai was taken aback, his usual nonchalance replaced by genuine surprise. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, holding her gently. This was the first time he’d seen Y/N so vulnerable and so genuinely happy. His own feelings were a tangled mess, but seeing her like this, with a rare smile that spoke volumes, made him feel a deep, unexpected warmth.

As they held each other, Chuuya's snores beside them only made both of them chuckle. With Dazai’s help, they carefully moved Chuuya’s unconscious body toward the well-known mafia headquarters. The journey back was a blur of exhaustion and relief, but her heart lightened with each step closer to familiar territory.

Upon arrival, the sight that greeted Y/N was both heartwarming and surreal. Her subordinates, who had thought her lost forever, were in shock. The once-intimidating headquarters seemed to take on a different aura—one of disbelief and awe.

Akutagawa was the first to react. He knelt before her, his expression a mix of reverence and astonishment. “Boss?” he uttered, his voice filled with an emotion Y/N had never heard from him before. In her own universe, Akutagawa had been a member of the Armed Detective Agency, not the Port Mafia. Seeing him like this, so dedicated and loyal, was both strange and comforting.

As she looked around, she saw familiar faces—Hirotsu and the rest of the Black Lizard, all of whom were still alive. A joyous, disbelieving giggle escaped her as she took in their shocked but hopeful expressions. Without hesitation, she rushed forward, embracing each of them in turn.

Her tears of joy and the genuine smiles on her face were a stark contrast to the stern, reserved boss they were used to. This display of affection was a new experience for them, and they embraced it wholeheartedly, their own faces reflecting the warmth of their boss’s rare display of emotion.

After a while, Dazai and Y/N carefully carried Chuuya to his grand quarters, laying him gently on the bed. His breathing was steady, and the signs of the recent battle had left him exhausted but unharmed.

Once they were sure Chuuya was settled and resting comfortably, Dazai led Y/N to a nearby balcony. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the intensity of the fight. The city below was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the distant sounds of the bustling metropolis created a sense of normalcy amidst the surreal circumstances.

She leaned against the railing, her face still holding that familiar stoic expression. She took out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of her lighter. The thin stream of smoke curled upward as she took a long drag, her gaze fixed on the cityscape.

Dazai observed her with a soft, almost incredulous gaze, still grappling with the fact that she was alive. His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of their conversation. “So,” he began, attempting to fill the silence, “it looks like our worlds have their share of differences, but also some striking similarities.”

She exhaled slowly, letting the smoke disperse in the gentle breeze. “Yes. In my world, Chuuya took over as the mafia boss after you died. He’s been in charge ever since, but…” She turned to Dazai, her expression softening. “I never thought I’d find you alive in this alternate universe. It’s… alot to process.”

Dazai rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s fascinating, really. Two universes, with their own set of rules and relationships. And yet, here we are, dealing with the same threats.” He looked at her, his expression serious. “But if you’re here, there must be a reason. We need to understand what caused the rift and how to fix it.”

She took another drag from her cigarette, her eyes meeting Dazai’s with a steady gaze. “I agree."

Dazai leaned against the railing beside her, his eyes fixed on the cityscape below. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I couldn’t help but notice something. You’re significantly more powerful here than the Y/N I knew from my world. The way you controlled that dragon—it was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

Her gaze softened as she flicked the ash from her cigarette. "It’s complicated. When I first came to this universe, I felt an unexpected surge of power—something beyond what I had in my own world. At first, I was overwhelmed, unsure of how to control it. It wasn’t always this way. My ability evolved, and with it came this increased intensity."

Dazai’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. "And you haven’t figured out the source of this surge?"

She shook her head slowly. "Not entirely. The power seems to amplify itself unpredictably. I’ve been trying to understand it, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. The surge I felt today was more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m afraid of what might happen if I can’t get a handle on it."

Before Dazai could respond, his phone rang, interrupting their conversation. He glanced at the screen, a frown creasing his brow. "Ranpo," he muttered, answering the call.

Ranpo’s voice crackled through the receiver, urgent and strained. "Dazai, we’ve got a serious problem. Someone has taken hold of a page from the reality book and is reshaping the universe according to their will. It’s causing different universes to merge with each other, and their goal is to eliminate all ability users across these universes."

Dazai’s expression darkened, his earlier curiosity replaced by a grave concern. "How many universes have been affected?"

"Several, so far," Ranpo replied. "The rifts are spreading, and it’s becoming harder to contain the chaos. You need to act quickly. We’re dealing with a dangerous adversary who’s manipulating reality itself."

Dazai hung up the phone, his face reflecting the weight of the news. "Looks like we finally knew what's happening."

Her expression hardened as she listened to the news. Her heart pounded with the gravity of the situation. "Reality manipulation," she muttered, her voice cold and determined. "That's beyond dangerous. If someone is messing with the fabric of reality itself, the consequences could be catastrophic."

Dazai nodded grimly. "It’s exactly what we feared. We need to find this person and stop them before it’s too late."

As the conversation ended, Chuuya stirred in his quarters. His eyes fluttered open, and he slowly sat up, groggy but alert. Seeing Y/N and Dazai in the balcony, he rubbed his eyes and made his way over to them.

Dazai glanced at Chuuya and then at Y/N, understanding that this was a delicate moment. “We’ve got a major problem,” he said. “Someone’s tampering with reality itself, merging universes and targeting ability users. It’s causing chaos everywhere and that's exactly what brought Y/N to our universe.” he sighs, "We need to act quickly to prevent further disaster.”

Chuuya's eyes widened with realization. “And what do we do about it?”

Dazai took a deep breath, his expression softening as he prepared to give Chuuya and Y/N some space. “We need to strategize. I’ll start gathering more information and see if we can pinpoint the source of these rifts. I suggest you both get some rest and prepare. We’ll need every bit of strength and focus we can muster.”

With that, Dazai gave them a reassuring nod and turned to leave, giving them the space they needed to discuss their next steps.

They both stood in silence, the weight of their shared situation pressing heavily upon them. The night air was thick with unspoken thoughts and feelings, a reminder of how different yet fundamentally similar their lives had become in this alternate universe. They both felt the loss of their own versions deeply, knowing that the path forward would be fraught with challenges.

Finally, Chuuya broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with determination. "We need to get hold of the page from the reality book," he said. "That’s the only way we can start to reshape our universes to what they were before all this chaos began."

She turned to him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and resolve. "You’re right. If we can retrieve that page, we might be able to fix everything."

Chuuya nodded, his gaze darkening with a grim determination. "We need to act quickly. If this person has control over one of the reality book's page, they could erase any chance of fixing things if we wait too long. Our own versions—our friends, our lives—they’re all at stake. We have to do whatever it takes to bring them back."

A heavy silence followed for a while heavy with the weight of their shared mission and the memories of their own worlds.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence, her voice tinged with curiosity and a touch of melancholy. "Chuuya, can I ask you something? How was the other version of me—my counterpart in your world—so different from me?"

Chuuya looked at her, his gaze thoughtful. “The other version of you… well, she was similar in many ways, but also quite different. She was much more detached, more reserved. I suppose, in a way, she had to be, given the circumstances she faced. But she was still a formidable force, one who commanded respect.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, considering his words. “I see. And how was she… with you? Was there something different in how you two interacted?”

Chuuya sighed, looking out over the city. “Yes, there was a difference. In this world, our relationship was more professional, more about duty and respect. I could sense there was something deeper, but it was never fully expressed. I suppose we both held back because of the circumstances, the constant pressure of leadership and the danger that surrounded us.”

She took a deep breath, her gaze following Chuuya’s as they both looked out over the city. "In my universe, I was similar to the other version of me you described. I kept my emotions well-hidden, especially in my role as your right-hand. It was a necessity; showing vulnerability could be seen as a weakness, and I had to maintain a certain image of strength and control."

She paused, her expression softening as she glanced at Chuuya. "But with you, it was different. I let my guard down. Around you, I could afford to be myself—well, a bit more of myself. Our moments together, away from the pressures of the job, were the rare times when I didn’t have to constantly be on guard."

Chuuya looked at her, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "I had no idea you felt that way. I always thought you were simply more private, more reserved. It’s strange to hear that, in your own world, you had a different way of managing your emotions, but still allowed yourself some form of release when you were with me."

Y/N nodded. "Yes, it was a form of balance for me. I needed that space to be honest with myself, and you were the only one I felt I could truly be open with, even if it was just a glimpse of the real me. The others saw the facade, but you saw a part of me that was usually hidden."

Chuuya’s gaze grew more thoughtful. "Oh.. well the Y/N I knew was more of a wall, even when we were together. It’s clear now that it was a part of the role she had to play. It makes me wonder how different our relationship could have been if she had been more like you."

Her lips curled into a small, tender smile. "Maybe the differences in our versions were shaped by their circumstances, but I can’t help but feel grateful for the connection we had, even if it was fleeting. In my world, those moments with you were the few times I felt truly at ease."

Chuuya tilted his head to face her, his gaze lingering on the familiar features he had always admired. "I always admired your strength and composure, but hearing that you felt you could be yourself with me means more than I can put into words."

Her heart raced as she absorbed the weight of Chuuya’s words. Driven by an impulse she couldn’t quite control, she reached out and pressed her lips to his with sudden, tender urgency. Chuuya’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a brief, electrifying moment, he returned the kiss, his emotions crashing through him like a tidal wave.

But then, he pulled back abruptly, his face a mix of conflict and regret. “I… I can’t do this,” he said, his voice strained.

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Why?"

Chuuya remained silent, his eyes fixed on her with a gaze that was both judging and pained. The intensity of his stare seemed to weigh heavily on Y/N, as if he was trying to reconcile the reality before him with the memory of the person he had lost.

"What do you mean you can't? Don't you want to pull me into your arms and lose yourself in me?” Her voice was cracking as she moved closer to him.

He looked away, a pained expression on his face. “Stop it,” he said, his voice rough.

But she wouldn’t relent. “Why, Chuuya? Why when I finally kiss you, you pull away like this? Even though I know you’ve dreamed of this moment, why can’t you let yourself have it?”

Chuuya’s gaze hardened, and he cut her off before she could continue. “You're not her.. I can’t do this with you.”

Her eyes widened, her voice trembling. “But I’m still me, Chuuya. I may be different, but I’m still the person you knew. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“No,” he said, his voice harsh with denial. “It’s not you. It’s not the same. I can’t— I can’t accept this. The version of you I knew is gone. I owe my loyalty to her.”

Y/N felt a sting of hurt at his words, but she nodded, understanding the weight of his struggle.

Chuuya’s gaze softened as he took in every detail of her—her features, her figure, her voice, and her scent. Regret surged within him, realizing that while she wasn’t the exact person he had known, she was still her in so many ways. His voice cracked as he spoke, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She looked away, silently refusing his apology. After a few moments of painful silence, Chuuya realized the truth: she was indeed her, in essence.

Unable to resist any longer, he moved closer, gently caressing her cheeks and compelling her to meet his gaze. Then, he kissed her with a fervor that spoke of all his conflicted emotions, tasting the softness of her lips and feeling a surge of desire.

'So this is how she tastes like' He thought to himself. His hands roamed over her waist, pulling her closer into his embrace, savoring the sweetness on his lips. His tongue traced her lower lip, drawing a gasp from her as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth to intertwine with hers. Tilting her head to gain better access, he explored every inch of her mouth, tasting her fully and passionately.

After a few intense moments, he pulled back, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, “It’s okay. I get it.”

With that, her hands cupped his face, pulling him into a desperate kiss, as Chuuya’s hands explored her waist, pulling them closer until there was no space left between them.

They could feel the heat radiating off each other, the world outside fading away as they surrendered to the moment. With a swift motion, Chuuya lifted her, wrapping her legs around him as he carried her to his vast bed.

He laid her gently on the bed, eyes dark with longing. “We can stop if you want.” he whispered.

She tugged at his bolo tie, pulling him closer as she whispered back, "I've always wanted this." That simple admission sent a thrill down his spine, awakening a primal need within him.

He took a moment to admire the way she looked—so perfectly inviting, like a work of art waiting to be unveiled. He climbed over her, "S'pretty, s'utterly beautiful " he says with a hoarse voice, his hands exploring the soft curves of her body through the fabric of her clothes, tracing the lines that had driven him wild since forever.

Before she could say a word, she was breathing heavily through her nose as they exchanged deep, open-mouthed kisses. The kiss was intense and ravenous, and soon her coat was on the floor, quickly followed by her shirt.

"Mmph," she murmured against his lips, her fingers sliding to his chest before clutching his white dress shirt and giving it a firm tug. "Take this off."

"Who are you to order me around hmm?" Chuuya snarled rolling his eyes.

"Your boss?" She chuckled lightly her fingers unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt before he pulled his dress shirt up not letting her unbutton the rest.

"Last time I checked I was 'your' boss" he scoffed but didn't waste time pulling her pants down and tossing them aside on the ground.

"Stop testing my limits." She said as her fingers brushed against the muscles of his lean torso gaining a breathless gasp from him.

"Stop talking too much" He leaned closer pressing her against the cool silk sheets beneath her, his mouth travelled across her neck leaving a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses.

Hearing her soft moans and whimpers, he pressed his crotch against her now damp panties.

She gasped feeling his deliciously huge size through his pants rubbing against her. She tugged on his belt trying to unbuckle it.

"Impatient, are we?" He tilted his head slightly to get a better look at her flushed face.

"Shut your mouth a—" He smashed his lips against hers silencing her with his soft lips. He tugged on her hair causing her to whimper into the kiss.

"If you want me to fuck you that much, then stop being such a brat" Hearing him commanding her that much only made the desire in her stomach to grow more.

She bit her lower lip, nodding reluctantly. His breath caught at the sight of her obedience—something he rarely witnessed. He unbuckled his belt and removed his pants swiftly along with his boxers, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her eyes widened seeing his now-freed cock, his length was certainly impressive, but his girth? It was almost unimaginable.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared, captivated by his size. Slowly, she looked up at him, voice trembling with desire. "H-how many inches...?" she asked, her words barely a whisper, her heart racing.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned in closer, his voice low and confident. "Eight," he replied, eyes locking with hers. "Why? Curious about what that feels like?" His tone was teasing, yet there was a heat behind his words that made her pulse quicken even more.

"Fuck—" She cursed softly under her breath, barely able to process anything before his hand moved with practiced ease. In one swift motion, he unclasped her bra, letting it fall away. The cool air against her bare skin sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn't help but gasp, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her senses.

He took in her bare form with a gaze full of admiration, his eyes lingering on her perfectly sized breasts, her flawless stomach, and the curve of her waist. His hands roamed along her body with reverence, eventually resting on the waistband of her panties. The touch was gentle yet deliberate, as if he were savoring every inch of her skin.

She whined softly as his skilled fingers rubbed against her wet folds through the fabric of her panties. The touch was electrifying, making her body shiver and her breath hitch. She struggled to maintain her composure as the sensations intensified, her hips instinctively moving closer to his hand.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “I can feel how much you want this.” His fingers continued to tease her, applying just enough pressure to heighten her sensitivity. His touch was deliberate, alternating between slow, gentle strokes and firmer pressure. He watched her reactions intently, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on her, his voice dripping with teasing satisfaction. “feels good, mm?” he murmured, his hand never letting up.

She instinctively closed her thighs around his hand, trying to create more friction. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and pushed her legs open again. “Such a needy whore.” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You'll have to wait until I decide you're ready." His ring and middle finger pushed aside her panties before slipping into her aching cunt, amplifying her need for release.

He moaned with pleasure, his voice laced with praise. “You feel s'good tightening around my fingers,” he murmured, his breath catching as he increased the pace. His fingers moved swiftly, thrusting in and out, each motion drawing soft gasps from her lips. He watched her closely, clearly enjoying every moment of her response to his touch.

She cursed under her breath, frustration evident in her voice. “Damn you for teasing me so much,” she muttered, her body trembling with need. Despite her words, her voice softened, turning into a desperate plea. “Please… just fuck me already,” she begged, her tone laced with urgency and longing.

Chuuya tsked, shaking his head slightly. “Where are your manners?” he chided, his tone dripping with mock disappointment. His fingers stilled inside her for a moment, making her ache with need. “You can do better than that,” he added, his voice low and commanding, clearly enjoying making her beg.

She swallowed her pride, her voice softening as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Is that what you want to hear?” she asked sweetly, her tone dripping with a mixture of desperation and desire. “Please, Chuuya… I need you.” She bit her lip, her body trembling as she tried to give him exactly what he wanted, hoping it would finally push him to give her what she craved.

Chuuya chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “Look at you, catching on so fast,” he teased, his tone light but full of admiration. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties, sliding them down and tossing them aside. Without hesitation, he positioned himself against her dripping cunt, the anticipation between them palpable. “Let’s see if you’re really as desperate as you sound.” he whispered, his voice thick with anticipation as he pressed teasingly against her.

Chuuya pinned her wrists to the bed with one hand, his grip firm against the sheets. His other hand guided his cock, sliding it teasingly along her wet folds. He watched her squirm beneath him, enjoying the way her body reacted to his touch. With a slow, deliberate motion, he brushed his tip inside her, just enough to make her gasp, before pulling back slightly, teasing her with the promise of more. “You’re so eager,” he murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and control.

" Fuck you—" She cursed under her breath, frustration evident in her voice. Before she could say more, Chuuya leaned down, capturing her lips with his. His teeth caught her lower lip, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt through her body, a silent warning for her defiance. As he pulled back, he met her gaze with a smirk. “Watch that mouth of yours,” he warned playfully, his voice low and commanding.

Despite his rough actions, Chuuya pushed into her slowly, allowing her to adjust to his size. A lewd moan escaped his lips, overwhelmed by the sensation of her walls clenching around him so deliciously. He paused, his voice low. “Is it too much?” he asked, his tone carrying a mix of concern and control. “you alright?” His movements were deliberate, giving her space to respond. She could only nod, gasping as she adjusted, her body still reeling from the intense sensations.

Chuuya began to thrust into her, lewd moans escaping his lips with each movement. His rhythm was steady yet intense, driving her wild with pleasure. As he continued, he pressed soft kisses on her chest and down her breasts, his touch gentle despite the fervor of his actions. Wrapping his arms around her, he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his voice a soothing contrast to the heated passion of their embrace.

As he quickened his pace, his thrusts grew more rapid, and the rhythmic slap of their skin against each other resonated through the room—plap plap plap. His breath came in ragged gasps with each thrust “You feel so good around me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so much.” He pressed closer, his words blending with the rhythm of his movements, each thrust underscoring his longing for her.

Her nails dug into his back, leaving marks as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Overwhelmed by pleasure, she became a moaning mess beneath him. Her voice was muffled but filled with longing as she whispered against his skin, “I miss you too… you’re stretching me so perfectly… filling me so good.” Each word was punctuated by gasps and moans, her body trembling with the intensity of their connection.

He shivered at her words, a deep growl rumbling from his chest as he felt her nails rake his back. Her moans and gasps, muffled but clear in their intensity, only spurred him on. Each whisper of her longing voice sent waves of heat through him, driving him to move even deeper and faster.

His grip tightened around her as he adjusted his angle to hit her most sweet spot. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin "Don't you ever leave me again," he growled, his voice thick with an obsessive desire.

As they neared their release, the knot in her stomach grew tighter, begging for relief. Chuuya whispered in her ear, his voice came in ragged gasps, “You’re clenching around me s'perfectly. you close, baby, hmm?” She nodded, biting her lip hard, her head thrown back as she moaned his name repeatedly, each cry a testament to the mounting pleasure. Her body writhed beneath him, caught in the crescendo of their shared climax.

Chuuya gazed down, watching the white ring forming around the base of his cock as he thrust faster. The feeling of her walls clenching around him pushed him over the edge as his moans grew louder, each cry of her name a desperate release. Their combined juices coated his cock, dripping onto the silk sheets beneath them. As they both reached the peak, she felt the warm, pulsing strings of cum filling her, the intense sensation making them shudder as they both unraveled together.

As their breathing gradually slowed, Chuuya gently pulled out, his body still trembling from the intensity. He carefully moved to her side, his hand softly brushing her hair away from her face. They lay together, the heat of their earlier passion now giving way to a more tender, quiet moment. Chuuya's fingers traced soothing patterns on her skin as he whispered, “It was better than I've ever imagined.” His voice was softer now, filled with genuine affection and gratitude.

As they lay entwined, catching their breath and enjoying the tender aftermath of their passion, the quiet of the room was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. Chuuya’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly shifted to cover them, trying to regain his composure.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, glancing at her softly.

Another knock followed, louder this time. Chuuya got up, pulling on his clothes with hurried movements. “Stay here,” he instructed, his voice still soft.

He made his way to the door, his mind racing as he prepared to face whoever was on the other side. When he opened it, Dazai stood there, a curious and slightly amused expression on his face.

Dazai’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he took in the disheveled state of Chuuya. “Ah, Chuuya, looks like I’m interrupting something,” Dazai teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

Chuuya’s face flushed with irritation. “It’s none of your business,” he snapped, trying to regain his composure.

Dazai’s smirk widened as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “Oh, come on. I see you’ve finally landed the hot chick you’ve always been so obsessed with,” he teased, his tone light but edged with a hint of playful mockery. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Chuuya sighed, his frustration evident. “Please, I'm not in the mood for this.”

Dazai's smirk grew as he continued to lean against the doorframe, clearly enjoying Chuuya’s discomfort. “You know,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “if you need any advice on how to handle a situation like this, I’m more than happy to help.”

Chuuya's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. He growled, “I think I know what I’m doing just fine, Dazai. I don’t need your advice.”

"Fine!! You're boring" He pouts playfully, his eyes still twinkling with amusement.

Chuuya took a deep breath, trying to keep his frustration in check. “What do you actually want, Dazai?” he asked, his tone edged with annoyance.

Dazai’s chuckle was light and almost too casual. “Oh, nothing too pressing,” he said, his eyes glinting with intrigue. “I just came to share some new information I found about the page of the reality book. Thought you might want to know.”

Chuuya’s interest was piqued despite himself. “What about it?” he demanded, trying to push aside his irritation.

Dazai’s expression grew more serious as he began explaining. “The one holding the page of the reality book is Y/N’s stepfather from another universe. It seems he’s involved in something much bigger than we initially thought.”

Chuuya’s face darkened with a mix of frustration and concern. “Why didn’t you say this sooner?” he snapped, his irritation evident.

At that moment, Y/N emerged, wrapping a white silk blanket around her. The soft fabric accentuated her form, and Dazai’s eyes widened slightly, his composure momentarily faltering before he regained his usual aloof demeanor. Chuuya scowled, clearly annoyed by Dazai’s flustered reaction.

Her voice broke the tension as she addressed Dazai directly. “Do you know where my stepfather is?” she asked, her tone steady but edged with urgency.

Dazai met her gaze, masking his surprise with a neutral expression. “I have some leads,” he replied, “but I’ll need to dig deeper to get a precise location. I’ll let you know once I have more information.”

She nodded, her expression resolute. “I need to find him before he can do more damage, in my universe he was a pain in the ass.”

Chuuya let out a weary sigh, his frustration palpable. “In this universe, he’s been a pain in the ass as well. He’s actually the reason why my version of you died.” His voice hardened with determination. “I won’t let him get away with it again.”

Her eyes widened at the gravity of his words, but her resolve remained firm. Chuuya turned to Dazai, his expression grim. “Get me the information as soon as you can,” he demanded. “We need to end this before it’s too late.”

Dazai nodded smirking. “Roger that."

Chuuya couldn't help but roll his eyes at his carefree attitude.

As Dazai left, the door closing softly behind him, she quickly moved to put on her clothes. She dressed quickly, her movements focused as she prepared for the upcoming confrontation.

Chuuya watched her, then spoke up, his tone curious but serious. “You never mentioned much about your relationship with your stepfather in this universe. What’s the history there?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her eyes clouding with a shadow of painful memories. “Not sure if it's the same but...after my mother died,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “he turned his rage on us. He used to torture me and my younger sister. I tried to protect her by hiding her away, but once he found out, he focused all his anger on me.”

As she spoke, her gaze seemed to drift into a distant, agonizing past. The room around her faded, replaced by a grim flashback.

She was twelve years old, her small frame barely visible in the dim light of an underground station. The air was cold and damp, carrying the faint echo of dripping water. Her stepfather loomed over her, his purple eyes cold and relentless.

Metallic rods were driven through her wrists, pinning her to a makeshift table. The pain was excruciating, sending waves of agony through her young body. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood that dripped from the wounds. Her stepfather’s face was a mask of cruel determination as he looked at her with a twisted satisfaction.

“Where’s your sister?” he demanded, his voice a harsh whisper. “Tell me, or the pain will only get worse.”

Her screams echoed through the station, her voice hoarse from the relentless torment. The rods were pierced deeper, and her stepfather showed no mercy. She tried to use her powers to escape, but her stepfather’s ability nullified hers—his power allowed him to subsume any ability, making her helpless. Her attempts were futile; she could only endure the torturous process as he taunted her.

Each new rod was driven into her flesh with sadistic precision, causing fresh waves of unbearable pain. Her vision blurred with tears, and she screamed until her voice was raw and her strength was nearly spent. Her stepfather’s questions continued, interspersed with cruel laughter as he revelled in her suffering.

The flashback ended abruptly, pulling Y/N back to the present. Her face was pale, her eyes haunted by the lingering pain of those memories. She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself.

“That’s why,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, “I need to stop him. I can’t let him do to others what he did to me.”

Chuuya’s expression softened with understanding and resolve. “We’ll put an end to it. I promise.”

Chuuya moved closer, his gaze softening with empathy. He gently cupped her cheeks with his hands, his touch tender and reassuring. His fingers traced a soothing path along her skin as he leaned in, placing soft, lingering kisses on her lips. Each kiss was meant to comfort and console her, to offer a sense of safety and solidarity in the midst of the pain she had shared.

“I’m here,” he whispered against her lips, his voice low and reassuring. “We’ll get through this. But this time together, I cant let you do it alone again... I can't afford to lose you again.”

"I know" her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the warmth of his touch providing a much-needed solace.

Chuuya pulled back gently, his gaze still warm and determined. He adjusted his clothes with swift, practiced movements, ensuring he was ready for the confrontation ahead.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, placing a last kiss on her forehead.

They both left the headquarters, making their way to the abandoned airport that Dazai had instructed them to. The massive, desolate space was eerily quiet, the air thick with dust and the remnants of a once-bustling location now left to decay. Her confusion was evident as she scanned the surroundings, wondering what had prompted this location.

As they arrived, Dazai was already waiting for them, leaning casually against a crumbling wall. His expression was serious unlike usual.

“Glad you made it on time.” Dazai said, his tone shifting to one of urgency. “Ranpo has come to a conclusion that’s beyond comprehension, and I need you to be ready for what I'm about to explain.”

She took a seat on a nearby bench, her curiosity piqued. Chuuya stood beside her, his gaze fixed on Dazai as he spoke

Dazai continued, his tone steady. “Ranpo’s investigation led him to the realization that you are the key to opening a rift to another universe. Your stepfather has escaped to a different dimension, and we need to access it to find him.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Me opening a rift to another universe? How is that even possible?”

Dazai met her gaze with a reassuring nod. “It’s possible because of your Malevolent Marionette ability. You see, the power you possess allows you to replicate and control entities. And since it got amplified when you stepped foot into this universe so by extending that ability to manipulate the fabric of reality itself, you can create a rift.”

He gestured to the air around them, trying to clarify. “Think of it like this: your ability can create a copy of an entity and control it. We can use that principle to create a ‘copy’ of this universe and transition to another. Essentially, you’ll be using your power to bridge the gap between dimensions.”

listened intently, her eyes narrowing as she processed the explanation. “So, by manipulating reality in a way similar to how I control my copies, I can open a rift to another universe?”

Dazai nodded. “Exactly. It’s a complex process, but we believe it’s within your capabilities. Once the rift is open, we’ll be able to track and confront your stepfather.”

Chuuya knelt before her, taking her hands in his own. His gaze was filled with concern and support. “If this becomes too much for you, we can find another way. We’ll figure out an alternative, no matter what.”

Her met his eyes, her expression resolute. “I appreciate that, Chuuya, but I’m ready to do this. I need to stop him, and this is the only way.”

Chuuya nodded, his grip on her hands tightening reassuringly before he released them. She then turned to Dazai, her curiosity piqued. “Why did you specifically choose this airport for the rift?”

Dazai looked around the abandoned space, his gaze thoughtful. “This location was chosen because it’s isolated and open, making it easier to stabilize the rift without drawing unwanted attention. The large, empty area gives us the space we need to safely create and control the rift.”

He continued, “Additionally, the old infrastructure here has a unique resonance that might actually aid in the process. It’s not a perfect science, but it should help in anchoring the rift and ensuring it stays stable.”

She nodded, understanding the rationale behind the choice. “Alright. Let’s get started then.”

She gets up approaching the designated area of the abandoned airport, her focus sharpening as she prepared to use her ability. The old infrastructure loomed around her, its faded and crumbling form adding an air of eerie significance to the task ahead.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar rush of power surge through her veins. The amplification of her Malevolent Marionette ability in this universe made her sense of control both exhilarating and intense. She drew upon this heightened power, channeling it into the task of creating a rift.

Taking a deep breath, she began to concentrate, visualizing the concept of a ‘copy’ of the universe. She extended her senses to the fabric of reality, focusing on the connection between dimensions. Her power, always a tangible force, now felt even more potent and responsive.

As she concentrated, she began to generate an ethereal thread of energy, weaving it through the air. This thread represented the bridge she needed to create. Her eyes glowed a deep, bloody red as she manipulated the reality around her, the air vibrating with the intensity of her power.

The process was complex; she had to maintain a precise balance to ensure the rift remained stable. She imagined the rift as a shimmering doorway between dimensions, her ability acting as the key to unlock it. The space around her seemed to warp and distort as the rift began to form, its edges crackling with energy.

After several moments of intense focus, the rift stabilized, a pulsating portal of shifting colors and swirling energy hovering before them. It was a tangible gateway to the other universe.

She opened her eyes, her breath slightly labored but her expression resolute. “It’s done. The rift is open. We can now move through it.”

Chuuya’s gaze softened as he stepped closer to her. He placed a gentle kiss on her temple, his voice a low murmur. “You did well, baby.”

Dazai stood there observing with a hint of exasperation, rolling his eyes. “Give me a break, Chuuya. It’s not exactly the time for showing affection. We have a mission to focus on.”

With a scoff and a quick shake of his head, Dazai turned toward the rift. “Let’s get moving.”

The three of them stepped through the rift, leaving behind the desolate abandoned airport. They emerged into another universe, finding themselves back at an airport that was bustling with activity. The once-derelict surroundings had transformed into a vibrant scene, with people moving about, shops open, and the hum of life filling the air.

Chuuya remained close to her. “We’ll stick together and cover as much ground as we can. If he’s here, we’ll find him.”

Dazai on the other hand immediately began taking notes, his sharp gaze scanning the lively environment with practiced efficiency. He moved with purpose, quickly piecing together the clues from the vibrant surroundings.

After a few moments of observation and note-taking, Dazai’s expression shifted to one of realization. “I’ve figured it out. He is among these people. We need to be strategic about this.”

Chuuya nodded, his jaw set with determination. “So, what’s the plan?”

Dazai thought for a moment before responding. “We need to lure him away from the crowd and into a controlled space where we can handle him more effectively. We can’t afford to touch him directly, given his ability. Instead, we’ll need to use a combination of strategy and traps to get him through the rift.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed with concern. “How do we get him to follow us through the rift without touching him, idiot?”

Y/N stood there, her mind racing, suddenly had an idea. “I can create a replica of my mother. If we make it convincing enough, it might lure him through the rift. He’d be drawn to her, and we can get him into our trap.”

Chuuya frowned, clearly uneasy. “How do you propose we do that? He’s not going to be easily fooled.”

Dazai’s lips curled into a smirk. “Actually, he might be more susceptible than you think. Y/N’s ability has been amplified since arriving in our universe. She can create a replica of her dead mother to lure him through the rift. He wouldn’t know that it’s just her ability at work.”

Chuuya looked skeptical. “Are you sure he wouldn’t figure it out? He’s not exactly a fool.”

Dazai shook his head, his smirk widening. “On the contrary, he’s not aware of the full extent of her ability. The amplification in our universe has changed things. He won’t expect that this is a trick.”

Y/N took a deep breath, preparing herself for the task ahead. “If this is the best way to get him through the rift, I’ll do it.”

With the plan in place, she concentrated, focusing on creating a replica of her mother. Her ability, now amplified, took on a new level of intensity. She visualized her mother’s likeness with painstaking detail, drawing on her memories to create a convincing illusion.

The replica stood before them, a ghostly yet strikingly real vision of her mother. It moved with the grace and familiarity that she remembered, a poignant reminder of the love she had lost. She felt a pang of sorrow, but she steeled herself, knowing that this illusion was crucial for their plan.

As the replica became fully formed. Dazai gave her a soft smile. “You’ve done well. Now, let’s get into position.”

They all hid behind a nearby wall, their eyes trained on the bustling crowd. Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her resolve as she guided the replica of her mother into view. The replica moved gracefully, mimicking the familiar motions and demeanor of her deceased mother.

Through the maze of people, Y/N spotted her stepfather. His presence was unmistakable with his black, long hair and the distinctive ushanka hat he always wore. Her heart tightened at the sight of him, his imposing figure cutting through the crowd with an unsettling familiarity. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the area.

When he caught sight of the replica, his expression shifted from curiosity to shock. His eyes widened, and he squinted as if trying to confirm what he was seeing. He pushed through the crowd, his movements quick and purposeful as he followed the illusion. The replica of Y/N’s mother seemed to captivate him, drawing him closer.

Chuuya’s voice was a low murmur beside her. “Keep him moving. Once he’s close enough to the rift, we’ll make our move.”

She nodded, her focus unyielding. She maneuvered the replica with precise control, ensuring it led her stepfather directly to the edge of the rift. The stepfather’s fixation on the replica made him oblivious to his surroundings, allowing them to prepare for the final step.

As the stepfather reached the rift’s edge, they began to close in on him, ready to trigger the trap. The rift shimmered ominously, its pulsating energy reflecting the tension of the moment.

The stepfather, now fully engrossed in the illusion, took a step closer to the rift. His gaze was locked onto the replica, and he seemed on the verge of stepping through. The plan was working—he was being drawn toward the gateway between dimensions.

As the he neared the rift, Chuuya’s eyes narrowed with determination. He focused on his ability, manipulating gravity with precise control. Without physically touching him, Chuuya directed a powerful gravitational force that propelled the stepfather through the rift. He startled expression shifted to a sneer as he was pulled into the swirling vortex.

With their target through, they followed closely behind, stepping through the rift one after the other. They emerged into the same old airport immediately facing the stepfather who had already adjusted to the new environment.

The rift behind them flickered and closed, sealing them in their dimension. He turned slowly, a mocking smile playing on his lips. His gaze settled on Y/N, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Ah, finally,” he chuckled, his voice dripping with disdain. “I see you’ve managed to use the full extent of your power. How delightful.”

Her jaw tightened, but she maintained her composure. “Fyodor.”

Fyodor’s smirk widened as he looked at her, clearly reveling in the moment. “You’re still as predictable as ever,” he taunted. “I’ve heard whispers of your growing power, but seeing it in action is truly something else. I must admit, I’m impressed.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “This isn’t a game, Fyodor. You’re here because we need to settle things once and for all.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze sweeping over the group. “Oh, I’m well aware. But before we get into that, let’s not forget the real reason you’re here. I’m curious—how does it feel to be free from the constraints of your Malevolent Marionette?”

Chuuya stepped in, his voice edged with authority. “Enough games, Fyodor. You’ve been a thorn in our side for far too long. We’re not here to entertain you.”

Fyodor’s gaze shifted to Chuuya, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Ah, Chuuya. Still the ever-loyal protector. How touching.”

As the tension in the air thickened, Fyodor’s demeanor became more serious. “But enough chit-chat. Let’s see if you can handle what I have in store. After all, this little reunion is about to become much more interesting.”

With a snap of his fingers, Fyodor's eyes gleamed with a new, sinister energy. The air around him crackled and shimmered as he unleashed his latest ability. A dark, swirling vortex of energy formed at his feet, gradually expanding into a series of ethereal, shadowy tendrils that writhed and twisted with an eerie life of their own.

The tendrils snaked outwards, each one pulsating with a dark, unnatural light. As they extended, they seemed to distort the very fabric of reality around them, creating ripples in the air that caused everything nearby to quiver. The power emanating from Fyodor was palpable, a chilling force that seemed to bend and warp the space it touched.

Before Chuuya could react, one of the tendrils shot towards him with alarming speed. It moved with a fluid, almost serpentine grace, aiming directly at his torso. The dark energy crackled with an almost sentient malice, leaving trails of distorted air in its wake.

Chuuya's instincts kicked in as he deflected the attack using his gravity manipulation. He tried to push the tendril away, but the force it carried was unexpectedly strong. The tendril slithered around his defenses, grazing his side and sending a jolt of freezing energy through him. It felt like a cold, piercing void trying to sap his strength.

Fyodor watched with a satisfied smirk. “You see,” Fyodor taunted, “this ability is something I’ve acquired recently. It allows me to manipulate shadows and dark energy, turning them into tangible, destructive forces. It’s quite effective for dealing with troublesome opponents.”

As Chuuya struggled against the tendrils, Dazai moved swiftly and decisively. His sharp eyes tracked the swirling shadows, and with practiced precision, he darted towards one of the tendrils. In a quick, fluid motion, Dazai placed his hand on the dark energy. The tendril quivered and then abruptly solidified into an immobile state. The shadowy force dissipated, leaving the dark energy inert and harmless.

Before Fyodor could fully react, Y/N stepped forward with a steely resolve. Her eyes glowed a deep, bloody red as she summoned her enhanced Malevolent Marionette ability. With a practiced flick of her hand, she unleashed the time-proof strigles—an immense axial fiber that shimmered with a powerful, otherworldly energy.

The strigles coiled around Fyodor, the time-proof cable wrapping around him with a near-physical force. The cables constricted with a precise, suffocating grip, holding Fyodor captive and rendering him immobile. The energy from the strigles warped and distorted the space around him, making it nearly impossible for him to escape or counteract.

Fyodor’s eyes danced with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. He chuckled, his voice carrying a taunting edge. “Is that all you’ve got?” he said, his gaze meeting hers with a challenging gleam. “You may have temporarily subdued me, but this is far from over. My new ability is not so easily contained.”

As she held Fyodor captive with the time-proof strigles, her senses suddenly picked up a familiar, unsettling sound—a chittering that tugged at her memory. Her eyes widened as she scanned the surroundings, searching for the source of the sound. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a small, familiar raccoon darting towards them with an unexpected urgency.

the raccoon, Karl, was clutching a book that emanated a brilliant yellow aura. Without hesitation, Karl threw open the book, its pages glowing with an intense, radiant energy. The light expanded outward, forming an ethereal, shimmering barrier that enveloped Fyodor. The book's aura pulsed with a force that pulled Fyodor into its pages, trapping him within.

Fyodor’s mocking expression turned to one of shock and frustration as he realized he was being drawn into the book’s confines. He struggled against the glowing energy, but it was no use. The barrier solidified, and with a final burst of light, Fyodor was sealed inside, his form barely visible through the pages of the book.

As the light from the book began to fade, Karl gave a satisfied thumbs-up. From above a nearby corridor, the familiar voice of Poe echoed through the airport. “Good job, Karl!” Poe called out, his eyes filled with starry hearts. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Y/N’s eyes softened in relief and recognition as she saw Poe standing above, a warm smile on his face. She nodded gratefully at Karl and Poe, silently thanking them for their unexpected intervention.

Chuuya's eyes narrowed, and he shot Dazai a sharp look. “You knew about this all along, didn’t you?” he demanded, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief.

Dazai chuckled, his expression one of innocent amusement. “Well, I had a pretty good idea that Karl and Poe might show up. They do have a knack for timing, after all.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her expression mirroring Chuuya’s irritation. “You should have told us about the full plan. It would have saved us a lot of unnecessary worry.”

Dazai's smirk widened, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that? Sometimes a little surprise adds to the excitement.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in realization, her face turning pale. “The paper! We didn’t get the paper from the reality book!” Her panic was palpable as she rushed over to the trapped Fyodor, her mind racing with the implications of leaving such a crucial element in his possession.

Before she goes onto a full panic attack mode, Karl scampered up onto her shoulder, carefully placing a folded piece of paper into her hand. She stared at it in disbelief, recognizing the paper as the one they had desperately needed.

Poe, descending gracefully from above, added with a reassuring tone, “Karl managed to snatch it from Fyodor’s pocket before he was sealed away. It’s crucial for ensuring the book’s containment.”

“Thank you, both,” She sighs with relief.

Poe gave her a reassuring smile. “No problem. I will rewrite it making sure that everything is back to normal.”

Karl continues to play with Y/N hair as she giggled at him.

Poe’s eyes softened with a knowing smile as he moved closer. “I’ll make sure to bring back both your version of Chuuya in your world and Chuuya’s version of you here.”

She looked at Poe with a thoughtful expression, her eyes shifting to Chuuya. He met her gaze with a nod of agreement. She then smiled warmly at Poe and shook her head. “Thank you, Poe, but we don’t need that anymore.”

Poe raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled. “Are you sure?”

Chuuya stepped forward, his voice firm yet gentle. “We’ve grown fond of this version of each other. We’ve adapted to the reality we’re in now.”

Poe’s expression brightened with understanding. “Very well then. If that’s what you both want, I’ll respect your choice.”

Karl patted Y/N’s shoulder affectionately, as if to confirm the decision. Poe gave a final nod, his eyes reflecting a mix of satisfaction and warmth. “I’ll see to it that everything is sorted out here. If you need anything else, let me know.”

With a wave of his hand, Poe and Karl began to fade from view, their task complete. The airport, once filled with tension and chaos, now felt more settled as the group took a moment to reflect on the events that had transpired.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, life in Yokohama settled into a new rhythm. Y/N had firmly decided to step back from the role of the mafia boss, finding more comfort and purpose under Chuuya's leadership. She preferred the freedom it allowed, enabling her to focus on what truly mattered—both in their missions and in her personal life.

Dazai, ever the observer, continued to make occasional visits to check on Y/N. Their friendship remained strong, but Dazai harbored unspoken feelings for her. Nevertheless, he found himself feeling more content knowing she was happy with that 'slug' as he calls him, despite his own lingering emotions. He chose to keep his distance, admiring her from afar while supporting their relationship in his own quiet way.

A year later, Y/N and Chuuya's love had blossomed into a committed partnership. They celebrated their engagement with joy and anticipation. On a usual Saturday night, they were enjoying a quiet evening together, sharing drinks and reminiscing about their past lives.

Chuuya's phone rang, interrupting their moment. He glanced at the screen and saw Akutagawa's name. After a brief conversation, he informed Y/N of the situation. “Akutagawa says there’s a nuisance ability user causing trouble in Yokohama. It looks like we've got to take care of this.”

Her eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Trouble never seems to end, does it?”

Chuuya smiled, his gaze filled with affection. “It doesn’t, but as long as we’re together, nothing in the world is too hard to beat.”

She returned his smile, a mix of excitement and determination in her gaze. She stood up, reaching for her usual black leather long coat. With a quick motion, she cracked her neck, readying herself for whatever lay ahead. Chuuya adjusted his hat with practiced ease, his eyes shining with confidence.

Together, they stepped out, side by side, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them in Yokohama. With their combined strength and unwavering bond, they knew that no obstacle would be too great to overcome.

A/N: I know I know don't hate me, I had to change ma sweet babe Fedya's ability for the plot 😭. Oh how I hated not mischaracterising him into a sweet alooffff. Also, I know the fight scene was rushed, but I felt the plot was stretching too much. Also, Karl's part was UwU. Yet I feel bad for Daz for watching Y/N from afar :(. Anyways!! Hope y'all enjoyed it, I know the plot was quite perplexing, but i just got back to writing after a huge pause that reached 2 years.

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

[teddybeartoji]

Gulps....afab suguru...byeee

NONNNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE I AM HEREEEEEE!!!!!!!!! I AM DOWN ON MY KNEES FOR YOUUU I WANT TO KISS YOUUUU!!!! LO AND BEHOLD EVERYBODY – THE GETUSSY<3333333333333

she has arrived on my blog and she will be loved and cherished and treasured and kissed and ******** and ****** and etcetcetc. she looks so beautiful in skirts btw. i truly believe skirts would be one of her favourite things to wear. long or short – it doesn't matter at all. if it's a short one, i like to think she'd pair it with like an oversized shirt that falls of her shoulder...... she's bewitching.

she's so tall and she's so smug. she likes to kiss just below your jaw when she stands behind you, her long black hair tickling your shoulder as she pushes herself into your back. her voice sounds like a deep purr as her hands snake around your middle, pushing your hips back into hers. she just likes to be a bit of a tease. she likes to fluster you. she loves it.

she's super sporty!!! she likes to go jogging and then she comes back home all sweaty and sexy and she presses a quick kiss to your lips before hopping into the shower, all while knowing that you're now needy and desperate. she knows the effect she has on you. she's way too hot............

i cannot decide whether she's the type to have you sit on her lap or she'd sit on your lap. i kinda think it's both. she pulls you into her lap by your wrist and she lets you melt into her. but then she also likes to plop down onto yours to fluster you a little!!!

she loves it when you do her makeup btwwww!!!!!!! we all know the iconic pics of girls straddling each other while they do their makeup and that's her and you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! she's tracing shapes into your thighs as you settle onto her and she's just sooo fucking smug and hot and i'm getting dizzy by just thinking about it.............

18+ loves fingering you. she throws her hair over her shoulder with a grin as you're falling apart on her pretty fingers and she's soo proud. and she prefers giving handjobs to blowjobs actually. ofc she's gonna suck you off too if you want but she likes using her hands more bc she really likes her fingers. easy as that. she likes to watch you lose your mind just from her hands. makes her ego grow so much.

she's a bit of a head-pusher. she likes to guide you with her hands as you're giving her head. she's giving you instructions not bc you're doing badly or anything, she just likes to feel in control yk.

likes wearing lingerie and heels. don't get me wrong, she likes her boxers and sneakers too. but every so often, she puts on a gorgeous gorgeous set and sexy heels and a trench coat just like in a movie and fuckkkk she loves your expression so much when she shows you what's underneath.

+ i typed all of this out and only then thought abt the fact that u did say afab and not fem but fuck it we ball. if u want more of getussy u let me know. anyway ily nonnie<3

[littlematchagirlll]

as someone raised mormon who is still deep in the trenches of trying to disentangle religious teachings from who i am and who i actually want to be, i feel very seen by aziraphale.

i, too, have struggled with black and white thinking due to religion. and just like aziraphale, it has impacted my relationships with people i love, even when i didn't want it to.

here are some of the things i've personally experienced that i feel like i've seen some form of in aziraphale in s1 & s2:

- internalized homophobia (i know i experience this, but idk if i can say for certain whether this is is why aziraphale makes some of the choices he does);

- categorizing certain behaviors as good or bad;

- struggling to accept that what you thought was good and bad isn't actually good and bad;

- seeing the bad of your religion but still wanting it to be good;

- coming to terms with the fact that the people you thought were "good & right" might not actually be;

- learning about the complexity and nuance of everything but still wanting it all to be simple, black and white, because it's easier;

- still seeking the approval of your religious leaders, even when you know you shouldn't care;

- trying to convince yourself that the good of your religion outweighs the bad;

- hoping you can single-handedly change things;

- going through the motions of the religion, even when you don't truly believe, because that's just what you do;

- when you grow up being taught that you are right, others are wrong, you inevitably think that it's in everyone else's best interest to join you;

- "we're the true church, why would anyone not want to join";

- trying to bring people back after they've chosen to leave, because you've been taught to believe that's what best for them, and you think you're looking out for them;

- not being able to properly fathom an existence outside of the religion you've been raised in, even if you wanted to...

long story short, i get aziraphale. i understand why he did what he did at the end of s2.

and i will forgive aziraphale, because i know exactly what he is going through. not right away, because i am grieving for crowley...

but i have to forgive him, because if i want to ever forgive myself, i have to forgive him too

[mieanme]

Merman x Siren au

Hualian - (part VII)

First part: PART I

Previous part: PART VI

I'M SO SORRY, I FORGOT YESTERDAY WAS A SUNDAY. I AM LIVING IN A MATRIX. I WILL UPDATE THE LINKS TO THE PREVIOUS PARTS TOMORROW TT~TT ANYWAYS, ENJOY, IT'S THE LONGEST PART I THINK

***

"You stay, Xie Lian. I want to have a word with you."

The merman's smile quickly changes into a grin as he stills in one place, turning around yet again to face Jun Wu. On the way he makes eye contact with Mu Qing and Feng Xin, who seem to be waiting for him, so he just waves at them to let them know they're gonna talk later.

The older merman closes his eyes for a moment and smiles softly, waiting for the last tail to disappear through the exit. When his eyelids lift up again, they're in the hall all alone.

"So you ignored my order and actually went to the siren's territory, am I right?"

Jun Wu's tone doesn't hold any anger, but Xie Lian still lowers himself and bows his head, feeling guilty.

"You're right, Emperor. This one is sorry for the disobedience," he clicks sheepishly. "This one will take any punishment for this one's actions."

"I should punish you for going against my will, but how can I do so when you come back with the medicine? You're truly something else," the Emperor chuckles at the end, making Xie Lian curious enough to lift his gaze and look at the other merman.

Jun Wu leaves his seat to swim up to Xie Lian.

"Come with me. I want to ask you a few questions in the upper caves."

Xie Lian nods and follows the Emperor to the said place.

Upper caves are located right above the city hall, however, no one has direct access to them. They are a place where Jun Wu would invite his guests or handle the most important matters. The roof of the caves has numerous, small holes in it, making the light coming down into the caves clash and create a beautiful, shimmering glow. The bigger holes on the sides reveal a magnificent view on the whole capital and further waters in the pod's territory. Truly a great place to hold a conversation.

The Emperor reaches out to one of the pretty cabinets hidden between the carefully selected and planted algae which are growing inside the chambers. Before Xie Lian can process it, he gets offered a serving of fresh, big shrimp. It must have been a meal Jun Wu prepared for himself prior with the rations everyone gets to pick at the canteen, but he didn't get to consume it because of the prolonged discussion in the city hall.

Xie Lian politely declines, even though they're both probably hungry, and then immediately regrets it, because Jun Wu chooses to not eat as well in this turn of events.

"Tell me then, how did you get the algae? Was it really from the trench in the siren's territory?" Jun Wu asks, swimming up to the biggest hole, that is serving as a window, to look at the capital getting ready to rest for the night. "Did you manage to get away without interfering with the siren itself?"

"It is indeed from that trench. I reached it without much trouble, but that's also where I met the siren and... it's only because of him that I managed to gather the algae," Xie Lian says, feeling Jun Wu's eyes on him. "He told me I wouldn't be able to reach deep enough to pick the algae and with how the medic Elder reacted I'm starting to consider the siren might have been right. I believe that such information should be given out to everyone before departing to even look for the right place to pick the algae from, Emperor."

"The Elder's reaction was a bit off in my opinion as well. Thank you for your intel. I will discuss this matter with him personally too," Jun Wu replies, seeming a little troubled again. Soon enough he continues. "However, you shouldn't trust Hua Cheng so easily. He's a cruel creature. I have no idea what his intention is in helping us, but we cannot let our guard down."

"... Hua Cheng?"

Xie Lian is a little dumbfounded. He has never heard of that name before.

"The siren. I suppose he didn't introduce himself to you?"

"He did, but... That's not the name he used. I also wasn't aware the Emperor knows so much about the siren. Has the Emperor met him before? Could it be we're talking about different ones?" Xie Lian shoots some of the questions that have gathered in his mind.

He really doesn't expect Jun Wu to be knowledgeable about the siren. Before Xie Lian met the siren personally, he didn't even know what gender they were. However, the Emperor even recalls a name - but it's not the 'San Lang' the siren told Xie Lian to use.

"I didn't meet him personally, but I knew someone who did. It wasn't a pleasant memory of theirs," the Emperor explains, looking into the distance with some kind of contemplation. "As for if it might be a different siren - very unlikely. Sirens give up their territory only after they die or are unable to protect it anymore. Hua Cheng is younger than me, or so I am concerned, and sirens usually live longer than merpeople. He's impossibly strong, capable, fast and cruel, so I highly doubt he could have been defeated and replaced by another one of his kin. Moreover, red scaling is very unique in both sirens and mermen. If that's the colour of the one's tail, we are talking about the same monster."

Xie Lian nods, thinking about the bloody red scales that scared him to the bone at first sight. They are talking about the same creature indeed, so now he wonders why San Lang chose a different name to introduce himself to Xie Lian.

"However, there's no need to worry, Emperor!" The younger merman assures. "This one asked the siren to hold only this one accountable for this act of generosity of his, since this one went there without the Emperor's permission. He agreed to not demand requital from the pod and to wait for me to repay him somehow. This one will think of a way to do so!"

Jun Wu chuckles and rests his hand on Xie Lian's head. He pats gently, like if he wanted to praise a kid for good behaviour.

"Very well. I am leaving this matter in your hands then, Xie Lian." The older merman says, looking at Xie Lian with some unspeakable softness. "However, I am asking you to be careful. Hua Cheng acted kindly, but we cannot be sure of his next move. I am fond of you and cannot imagine you getting hurt."

"Of course, Emperor. I will stay safe!"

After bidding the farewells, Xie Lian leaves the upper caves, not wanting to neglect Jun Wu from eating his well deserved meal. He's quite hungry himself, so he plans on heading to the canteen to grab the leftover fresh fish from today's hunting.

He doesn't get to swim on his own for long until he feels someone grabbing his tail just above the base of his fin to stop him in one place. Before he can turn around, he already hears two familiar clicking tones.

"Don't tug at his tail like that! Don't you know how sensitive his scales are? You have no grace!"

"Stop treating him like a princess, I barely even wrapped my hand around him. If you're so worried about him, why don't you become his personal guard?"

"What are you even doing here? I thought you had duty on the west side of the capital. Were you waiting for him under the city hall or what? Creep!"

"Look at you, the pot calling the kettle black! Weren't you supposed to patrol the outskirts?"

Xie Lian turns around and, as of habit, swims in between Feng Xin and Mu Qing so that they can only throw insults at each other but not fists.

"I'm glad you both waited for me! Can you stop arguing for just a moment so that I can tell you how my trip went?" Xie Lian says, hoping this works for at least a while before they're at their usual selves again.

The answer he gets is two synchronized "humpfs", but then he indeed gets to talk about his encounter with the siren without much disturbance. Despite trusting his friends, he paves over the siren's name and how gently he touched Xie Lian. It feels almost illegal to happen, because even at the slightest thought of San Lang's fingers, Xie Lian's cheeks heat up.

He also doesn't tell his friends about the part where he's supposed to think of a way to repay the siren for his kindness. He can already see the yelling from them coming and never ending if he ever mentions that.

"So it's a male? Aren't they the most vicious?" Feng Xin recalls some of the facts he knows about sirens. "The fact that he let you go just like that is highly suspicious. What if he gave you some poisonous algae instead of the actual medicine?"

"You've heard the medic Elder, he said it's the right one," Mu Qing chimes in. "On the other hand, he was acting strange when it turned out Xie Lian brought the algae. The siren really could have told the truth - that mermen aren't able to reach the algae. That's even more suspicious than the siren's behaviour itself. Why would they not tell us?"

"You get me, Mu Qing," Xie Lian sighs with a tired smile. "But I don't have enough energy to think about it anymore today. I swear, I will pass out the moment I reach my home."

"Do you have anything to eat? I will go grab the leftovers and bring you some," Mu Qing says and, without waiting for Xie Lian's response (there's no need to wait, Mu Qing is more than certain Xie Lian hasn't eaten since he left the pod's territory), he swims away, leaving the two others mers alone.

Feng Xin looks Xie Lian up and down, as if he wanted to make sure he's actually alright.

"Let's go," he clicks after a while, grabbing Xie Lian's arm and gently pulling him in direction of their homes. "I will swim with you to your cave. You look exhausted, it's better I keep my eye on you."

"Thanks," is all that Xie Lian responds with, but it's coming from the depths of his heart.

He really appreciates how his friends care for him.

It takes maybe about another hour for Xie Lian to be left alone at his home, having the food delivered and hair brushed by his two mer friends. It of course doesn't stop them from bickering, but they seem a little less annoyed with each other this late in the evening. They immediately split after they leave Xie Lian's cave, and it might be for the better - the farther from each other they are, the less likely it is for them to fight.

Xie Lian lies down in the place designed especially for resting, with polished stone and dead plants changed regularly to provide a little softness. He falls asleep almost the second he finally stops moving.

That night he dreams of beautiful, red scales glimmering in the darkness.

***

Hi, hi! The case is slowly resolving! I also finally got the last 4 books, I'm at book 6 right now and LORD, GOOD LORD, I AM OBSESSED. As always: Please, let me know your thoughts ^•^ We might see Hua Cheng again in the next chapter so stay tuned!!

Next Part: PART VIII

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JT COMPHER x reader (main); TYSON JOST x reader (side); COMPHER x JOST (brief) wc — 14k synopsis — what's a reunion without some groveling?

note — this takes place a few of years after part one, go out with a bang (post-college/college au — tyson and kate are now out-going seniors!) sorry not sorry for the length of this behemoth, i got carried away per usual <3 there are more parts to come, and i would absolutely love to hear any theories/predictions if yall have any!

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — cameos on cameos on cameos, we're at a party so drinking and mention of dr*gs + yacking (no description), drinking games, sorority terms/processes, me getting too invested in multiple subplots and potential background ships, soft!service!dom!JT makes my peabrain go brrrrr, everybodies a bit masochistic because i, registered heathen, am masochistic, reader’s wearing a short skirt for plot reasons, slight compher x josty, oral (reader receiving 2x), unprotected piv (i know, i know, i know i need help), me letting my brat self take the kink reins, praise baby praise, angst AND IM NOT SORRY, + happy fluffy bits... possible cliffhanger??? 

Staring up at the Alpha Chi house is like stepping back in time. 

Like trying on an old pair of shoes you found while deep-cleaning your closet only to find their once-perfect fit gone. Growth is funny that way; you never realize just how far you’ve come until it pinches you.

You’ve outgrown this place, though not from a lack of love or any great tragedy. It occupies a different place in your mind, just as you’re a different person than you were three years ago. 

Your younger self would balk at this development, wouldn’t believe it’d one day feel too small. You can’t fault her for that near-sightedness. In college, your whole world existed on one street. You had everything you needed then between two stop signs.

But your world is bigger now, and your needs are different too. 

Still, it feels good to try on your past for the night. Even if it's a tad ill-fitting. 

The drive between your new life and your old one hadn’t been too bad, but that’s probably because you didn’t do much of said driving. JT got the engine going before you could even make a grab for the keys and, despite spending the last year in the literal trenches of clinical rotations and shelf exams, refused to switch at the halfway mark. Yet, your boyfriend is practically vibrating with excitement as you cross the all-too-familiar threshold hand-in-hand. 

“This is so weird,” JT remarks, his lips low to your ear. His musky cologne, warm and woody, does its best to soothe your nerves.

As you survey the crowd, you nod. 

He didn’t need to elaborate further for you to understand because you were already thinking the very same thing. Watching students, the vast majority as unfamiliar to you as you are to them, milling around your old haunt stirs an odd, uncanny feeling akin to a surreal dream. You’re well-acquainted with the setting, almost to an uncomfortable degree, and you don’t think you’re all that different, but everything still feels foreign.

All the right pieces are there, and you’re sure you’ve put them in their proper places, but the image won’t behave.

You quickly realize the only thing that’s misplaced is you. Grief hangs from your back like a wet blanket. 

“Look what the cat dragged in, boys!”

A burst of riotous laughter shakes much of the gloom from your system.

Gabe Landeskog barrels into your boyfriend like an overgrown puppy. Gray-blue eyes twinkling under the rainbow of LEDs, he embraces you both in a warm hug, not minding that the spontaneous act of affection has just cost him an entire Solo cup.

“Compher and the missus,” the blonde addresses you both with a wide grin and a big palm to a cheek each; he gives JT’s a quick pat but merely cups yours. 

His breath still smells of spearmint and something spicy, an imposing combination your eighteen-year-old self could never find comforting. Just another thing that's different now. If you could package the scent for all the little moments of nostalgia, you would. 

“I was starting to think we’d have to drag you from the city kicking and screaming, but alas! You've left the cozy, vanilla bubble of your own volition for a weekend of debauchery with your favorite degenerates.”

JT’s affectionate eye-roll is big and dramatic even in your periphery. The levity brings a smile to your face. It grows wider and wider, enduring until your cheeks burn. If anyone deserves some light-heartedness, it's your sleep-deprived, perpetually-stressed boyfriend.

“A night, Landy. We’ve got to be back by tomorrow night to relieve the dog sitter,” your boyfriend amends with a pat to Gabe’s flushed cheek, returning the favor. 

The older man groans like the overgrown boy he is and will always be. “Look at you, Mr. Responsible. All domestic and shit. With a fur-baby and everything. I bet it’s as well-trained as your firstborn.”

Your eyes follow the line drawn by Gabe’s strong chin past the entryway through to the room used for table-top drinking games.

Half-kneeling on the rickety table you helped customize a few years back is Tyson Jost, head tilted to the sky as he guzzles down the center cup. More beer spills down his chest than into his mouth, effectively turning his white tee sheer. The crowd is comprised mostly of giddy sorority girls who don't mind a bit. 

Free booze and a free show—lucky them!

Once the plastic cup is empty, he crushes it in his palm before sinking the balled plastic into the basketball hoop on the adjacent wall. The converted dining room swells with hoots and hollers so quickly you would’ve thought Tyson emerged from some mythic quagmire, blood-soaked and victorious. But there are no winners in Rage Cage; everybody loses.

Tyson’s loopy grin falters when he registers you and JT on either side of Gabe.

You would like to say nothing’s changed between the three of you over the past couple of years. That you’re just as close as you’d been in college, that distance hadn’t done as much damage as it has.

You'd be lying if you did. 

You tried your best to keep him in the loop; you really did, but that didn’t end up mattering much.

JT hardly had time to socialize with you most of the time, and you’ve practically lived together since graduation. He, like you, tried, but at some point, his bandwidth could no longer accommodate Tyson’s sporadic texts and calls. Many of which came in the dead of night, when your boyfriend’s head was either buried in a textbook or in the pillow beside yours.

Whenever you could, you invited the forward to spend the weekend in the city with the two of you. You even went so far as to offer to put him up in a hotel between your and JT’s respective apartments, knowing your adult salary could stretch further than the Atomic tips he was splitting with Tyler. He always had something conflicting going on, and it didn't feel like your place to question the authenticity of his reasons, so you just kept extending the invitation, hoping things would align eventually.

After finally taking the leap and signing a lease together, you decorated the guest room with Tyson in mind. He’s yet to see it, still.

Your little Kate, on the other hand, needs a frequent flyer program.

A small part of you felt this shift was inevitable once JT went from best friend-slash-unrequited crush to full-blown, live-in boyfriend. Despite Tyson’s insistence on you finally hooking up and “putting everyone out of their misery,” his smile didn’t meet his eyes when JT broke the news that it wasn’t a one-night thing.

Maybe his “little crush” hadn’t been so little after all. 

If that’s the case, you can't blame him for avoiding your slice of grown-up love like the plague. It just would've been nice if he hadn't left you in the dark, wondering where and how you fucked up enough to get iced out.

Tyson responded to every third or so text of yours, so you mostly kept up with him and his life through Kate, who briefly dated him between ill-fated Gunnar stints, and social media. You weren’t sure how often he spoke to JT; after several attempts that ended with your boyfriend clammed up and irritated, you stopped asking.

Judging by how tense he is beside you right now, you have a pretty good guess.

“Yikes,” Gabe drawls. “Trouble in paradise?”

You remain carefully quiet, allowing your boyfriend to decide what, if anything, to share. This—whatever it is —feels like it's more so between them two than Tyson and yourself.

JT clears his throat so hard it cuts through the music blaring through the packed house—some remix you don’t remember learning the words to. “Trouble? Nah, Josty’d have to give us the time of day for that.” 

Gabe laughs, but you know JT isn’t trying to be funny. You can taste the undercurrent of bitter resentment. It’s impossible not to without an artificial buzz.

There’s no time to dwell because a flurry of red hair darts through the crowd dispersing out of the dining room and straight into your arms. A fresh, but faintly-candied scent tickles your nose as the cool metal of a bracelet digs into your neck. 

Kate.

“Fuckin finally!” The almost-grad squeals directly into your ear.

Definitely drunk. Or high—or both. 

“Don’t look at me,” you say, beaming when she pulls back. “I wasn’t driving.”

Kate swats JT’s chest with her open palm. “And this is why we don’t let you drive anywhere, Grandpa.”

The playful jab makes your smile deepen. His driving made her tardy to a ZBZ charity gala one time over a year ago when she made the mistake of hitching a ride with you, and she’s probably brought it up a million times since. Kate pretends to hold a grudge, JT pretends to find it aggravating, and you get to sit back, enjoying the warm camaraderie overfilling your cup.

The pair have been friends almost as long as you've been friends with either of them, but since your graduation, they’ve settled into something more serious and more genuine. Where your connection to Tyson wilted outside the conveniences of college, your relationship with Kate matured and flourished. She’s more than just your chapter-appointed Little Sister to JT now, having become more of a true sister than anything else. Hence the juvenile teasing.

“Well, we’re here now. Alive.”

Your little snatches your hand in hers, tugging you away from JT, who feigns offense.

“And now I’m stealing your girlfriend in retribution for making me wait. Go do… whatever it is you two heathens used to do at parties. We have a pong title to defend.”

“Excellent idea, Madame President,” Gabe declares, hands roughly massaging the male ginger’s shoulders. He tosses a wink in Kate’s direction.

Before the other ginger can drag you away for good, your boyfriend catches your free wrist, pulling you back to him so his lips can find your ear. Breath hot, he drops his voice an octave, “President’s bathroom. One hour. Nod if you understand.”

Your chin dips, quick and subtle confirmation.

“Good girl.”

As your respective keepers separate you, JT shoots you a wink of his own. Then, you lose him in the crowd.

Kate leads you through the sea of party-goers to the living room, her grip on you tight and comforting. Her thumb rubs small circles on the inside of your wrist as you approach the table, almost as if privy to your worry. Kate is incredibly perceptive; she can read someone’s mind without even looking at them. With you, her Spidey senses transcend county lines, so it’s no real surprise she deduced your current condition from no more than your erratic pulse thumping against her palm. 

When you reach the bustling folding table commandeered for the BP tournament, Kate does all the talking.

It’s not too hard to get on the bracket despite the late entry with two newly-minted Alpha Chi brothers manning the post. The absolute last thing they want to do is get on the bad side of the president of their sister chapter (Kate) and the girlfriend of a legendary former chapter president (you). The pairs for the current game are only a couple of throws in, so it’s going to be at least ten minutes before it's your turn.

“You, my dear, look thirsty,” Kate declares through a mischievous grin.

You let her pull you towards the kitchen across the hall but have more difficulty than you expect actually getting there. Every few steps, someone stops either you or Kate. Mostly the latter, but she’s quick to show you off to whoever’s trying to seize her attention. Apparently, Kate’s been building quite the mythos of your time on campus, and it’s very… dizzying, to say the least.

“Kit-Kat!”

Kate abandons the poor freshman boy shooting his shot (and missing fantastically) in favor of the feminine voice sliding into the conversation.

In the blue-ish hue washing over the small space, you’re having a hard time placing her, but she seems very keen on making your acquaintance.

“Blake Meyers,” the newcomer announces, extending her hand with a smile.

You take it, giving her your name and a matching expression in return. The flattened vowels are distinct and recognizable, as is the last name. 

“Meyers?” you ask, attempting to work it out.

“Ava’s younger sister,” Kate interjects. “And one of our best steals this past recruitment.”

Blake blushes so brightly her freckles disappear.

You remember that feeling. What it was like to have an older member, especially someone as established and accomplished as an outgoing ZBZ president, go out of their way to make you feel special. You have zero doubt Blake will be walking on air for the foreseeable future, any of the common little doubts about whether or not she made the right choice vanishing.

“I was really hoping I’d get to meet you tonight,” the freshman tells you bashfully. “Kate gave the most beautiful speech about you and your legacy on Preference Night, and when she told me you might be coming with your boyfriend, I had to put a face to the name. And Jenny was the one who pref-ed me, so it seemed like—I don’t know, a non-negotiable?”

Jenny is one of the twins Kate took her junior year, and she couldn’t have picked better. It gave you peace of mind knowing your Kate would have good people around her once you couldn’t physically be there for her.

You won’t be surprised if Jenny takes Blake as her little. Kate pref-ed her, and before that, you pref-ed Kate. It’s basically a family tradition.

Not long after you thank Kate for her generous words and Blake for her kindness, Thomas, one of the new initiates in charge of the beer pong table, flags you down for your game. Not ready to end your conversation, invigorated by the breezy, jovial chatter your new life lacks, you tug Blake along with you.

Between exceptionally beautiful throws (if you do say so yourself), you learn more about Blake and her roommate and fellow ZBZ spring initiate, Emory. They pepper you with questions: about your first-year college experience, advice on getting the best room possible on the sophomore floor for mandatory live-in, whether or not you got anything particularly valuable in the various leadership positions you held, and what fraternities to steer clear of. You’re more than happy to answer them all. Kate sprinkles in comments and jokes occasionally, but she mostly defers to you so she can celebrate the end of a smooth second term as president.

Once Kate and you have successfully defended your title, you pass the torch to the future of your chapter. Blake and Emory make quick work of the first challengers and are close to a similar sweep with the second pair when your little remembers her earlier mission: refreshments.

This time, you both keep your heads ducked as you speed through the dancing bodies and make a beeline for the dinged-up lockers propped against the wall. You can’t help but smile when you see her reach for the lock—your old lock.

Every upperclassman (and a few select friends of the chapter, like Alpha Chi Sweethearts such as Kate and, once upon a time, yourself) is assigned a secure, personal locker in the oversized kitchen for quick access to personal items. During parties, they essentially become personal coolers. At your very last formal chapter meeting, you will-ed the hunk of metal down to Kate, along with the more sentimentally valuable items you wanted to leave behind with her.

“Wait, can you even drink?” Kate asks you from where she’s kneeling. Sarcasm scrunches her brows together.

“Hilarious,” you reply with a playful glare. “And before you loudly ask about the non-existent fetus like the devious bitch you love being, don’t. Unless you want to give JT an aneurysm."

Kate fishes out two slim, chilled cans as she grumbles about how boring you two have become in your “old age.” She shoves a ratty sweatshirt—an old favorite of Tyson’s—back into the small locker, quickly refastens the lock, and scrambles the dial. Then, she returns to her full height beside you.

“So, do you want to tell me what that wink from Gabe was about?” you ask, brow cocked.

“Do you want to tell me what your horndog of a boyfriend whispered in your ear?” Kate counters.

“Touché.”

Kate cracks open a Spindrift Spiked and slots it into your waiting palm. She taps the rim with her own, then sighs back against the cluttered kitchen island. She’s going to crack, you know it. Kate, even when she has a secret she wants to keep, never stays quiet for long. Especially not when you’re the one doing the asking.

“Okay, so, d’you remember how Tyson was, like, completely apathetic after we broke up right before Heaven & Hell last Halloween?”

You nod, recalling how irritated she was over FaceTime while you helped her pick a costume out of your box of hand-me-downs. You did your best not to laugh because Kate was clearly distressed, but it was kind of hard not to when she was buried in a heap of red and white feathers, wearing a too-small tutu dotted with rhinestones.

Kate takes a sip of the spiked strawberry lemonade before elaborating, “Well, I was understandably pissed—Don’t give me that look, okay? I know I broke up with him, but he shouldn’t have been that blasé that soon—so, I hatched a plan.”

You shake your head, laughing. Kate and her schemes.

“I wasn’t planning on taking Gabe as my date, but when I ran into him at Atomic the day before… I don’t know; I just couldn’t resist. I mean, Tyson worships the man. If anyone’s getting a reaction, it’s Landy. I had to.”

“And?” you prod. 

“And…” she stalls, eyes darting around the kitchen in search of pesky eavesdroppers, cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. “…we might’ve done it in the backseat of his truck.”

“I’m scared to ask where.”

She buries her face in your shoulder. “The venue’s parking lot.”

Your eyes bulge so hard you, for a split-second, worry they’ll pop out of your head onto the sticky hardwood and land amongst the discarded cans.

“And I didn’t tell you because I was so scared you and JT would hate me,” Kate moans into your skin. She shifts to peer up at you, hesitant. “You don’t, right?”

“I don’t think I’m even capable of hating you, Katie-Kat, let alone for something as silly as banging a hot blonde,” you giggle, and she’s quick to join you. Lowering your voice, “Especially the hottest of hot blondes.”

“I’m so telling JT you said that,” she teases, pulling away.

You shrug and take your first sip. “Go ahead. He’ll agree.”

“And this is why you’re my favorite couple,” she says, bumping her hip against yours. “The worst part is Tyson didn’t even care about that either! At the post-game, when he saw my lipstick smeared all over Gabe’s neck, he high-fived him. Tyson fucking high-fived him for screwing me. His ex-girlfriend! How supremely demented is that?”

“I wish I had an explanation for you, but I don’t. I’m starting to think I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

Kate takes hold of your unoccupied hand and squeezes it three times.

“I’m guessing things haven’t gotten any better?”

You shake your head, eyes downcast like there’s something super interesting between the floorboards. “I know he’s busy, and we’re busy, but he’s acting like our friendship meant nothing.”

“Not to start a therapy session in the middle of a rager, but did you... did you ever actually talk about That Night? I know you said JT whispered, but how positive are you that Josty didn't hear him?"

A few months after That Night, your guilt was on the brink of hemorrhaging. It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped; you broke down in the middle of Talladega Nights. Fucking Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. All fat tears and snotty, incoherent spiraling, your chest heaved as JT rubbed your back. He was quiet, more concerned than confused, until you calmed down enough to explain what’d been weighing on your conscience. 

Then, your boyfriend looked clueless—because he was. JT didn’t remember his heat-of-the-moment pseudo-promise to taint Josty’s image of you.

After a scene or two, you broached the subject you’d both been avoiding since getting together. You wanted to apologize, and not that you needed JT’s permission, but you felt it wasn’t entirely your amends to make. He agreed but was adamantly opposed to operating on assumption alone. If Tyson was truly upset by the pillow talk he overheard, JT reasoned, he was old enough to be frank about it.

You found yourself agreeing, but also not? On the one hand, you could see this being an instance of your anxious mind making a mountain out of a molehill, finding fault where there’s none. But you knew Tyson, and you knew how sensitive he could be. 

Something shifted that night. You’d known then, too, even in the hazy afterglow. His despondency wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t uncommon for his dejected expression—his forced smile dipped in feigned nonchalance—to visit you in therapy sessions or in your nightmares.

But every time you typed and re-typed one remorseful novel after another, every time your gun-shy thumb hovered over his contact, every time you nearly drove out to your alma mater to track him down… You couldn’t get yourself to see it through. 

At first, it was the nerves, the fear of hearing his pain and seeing his anger. Then, it was your own temper, stoked by indignation, that rose with every sign of withdrawal. Now, it’s just plain, garden-variety sadness.

It was—is disappointing how cleanly he severed ties. There one day and gone the next, no blow-out fight or melancholic hear-to-heart. Tyson was there; he was within reach, but at the same time, not at all. The casual dismissal is worse than outright rejection; the door ajar but wholly uninviting.

"In the moment, I was certain he didn’t. Now? Fuck, the percentage drops every time I replay it in my head,” you murmur, remorse bogging down your confession. "I know you made a point not to bring it up when you were together, but did he ever, I don’t know, say anything?"

Kate shakes her head. "No, sorry. But it's not like we actually did much talking anyway."

You snort despite your woes.

“Alright, that’s enough doom and gloom for one night. How’s my nephew?” Kate asks, bright smile chasing the blues away with all its might.

It’s a distraction and a good one, too. She listens intently as you prattle on about the bi-weekly training sessions you’re starting next month to help with the leash pulling and the ridiculous pet parents you’ve met at the dog park near your apartment. She inquires about the fluffy lamb she brought over the last time she stayed with you—it lasted all of a day in his over-excited grip—then gushes over another variation she saw last week while getting litter for Salem, her diabolical tuxedo cat.

By the time Kate has your phone in her hand, swiping through the designated album and asking more questions than each picture really warranted, you’re feeling a bit better.

Noticing the clock, you stumble through a totally-not-suspicious excuse to venture upstairs—alone. Kate shoots you a knowing look but doesn’t give you a hard time. To be honest, she’s just glad you came tonight. Instead of a witty jab or half-hearted guilt trip, she slips a gold foil square into your unsuspecting palm and sends you on your way with a supportive swat to the rear.

Access to the second floor during parties is typically mediated by two to three gatekeepers, depending on the scale and projected rowdiness of each gathering. Three’s the magic number tonight: two up-and-coming juniors and an outgoing senior. They grant you passage with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.

“What? No riddle this time?” you tease over your shoulder.

The senior, an engineering major with a penchant for brain teasers, answers with a hoot. Cale Makar shakes his head, both amused and flattered you remembered his signature move. His puppy crush on you is an open secret. “I was given strict instructions to ‘keep the shenanigans’ to a minimum with you, Your Majesty.”

“JT?” you venture a guess, hand paused on the paint-chipped banister. He’s the only one who still sprinkles in the silly nickname these days.

“Landy, actually.”

Well, close enough.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time the former chapter president enlisted Cale, his little, to assist in your and JT’s more salacious antics.

As soon as Gabe had the defenseman under his wing, he was putting him to work. Not that the younger blonde particularly minded, as his affinity for creative, slightly devious schemes rivaled that of Kate’s. It was Cale, you later found out, who ran interference during Semi Formal… while you were defiled on the balcony.

“Still doing his bidding, I see.”

He counters with that lopsided “Get Out of Jail Free” grin. “What can I say? The man puts up a mean bribe.”

As if cued, Cale’s companions, who you now recognize as Alex Newhook and Bowen Byram, step into view. In Alex’s raised grip is a case of Labatt Blue, and in each of Bowen’s, a bottle of bottom-shelf cabernet. You doubt the trio would notice or mind the subpar quality, though. Between their happy heads, Cale fists a bottle of champagne you know he’ll misplace before he can polish it off.

“Jesus, how drunk is he?” you tease, the follow-up to an exaggerated gasp.

Sure, the quality’s shit, but their haul is far more valuable than your appraisal of their job; it’s a frat house, not Buckingham Palace.

“Not drunk enough to not see you here with us.” Cale’s voice tapers off, his pale eyes tracking someone stalking down the hall before nervously flicking up to the ceiling, “…and not up there with JTC.”

JTC — Talk about a blast from the past.

An anticipatory tingling erupts between your inner thighs just knowing he’s up there right now waiting for you. This is the part of your “homecoming” that excited you most and had been since the moment your boyfriend pinned the invite from the alumni association onto the fridge.

As blissfully domestic as your life together has become, it lacks the spontaneity your college life had been brimming with. Your sex life could never be categorized as mundane or clinical, but you’re finding it difficult to replicate the adrenaline rush stealing secret moments inherently provided.

Sometimes, in your more (admittedly) desperate moments, you’ve caught your fingers moving beneath the sheets to mindlessly chase the thrill of those fleeting intimacies, despite how awful the constant wondering and wallowing felt then or, maybe because of it, pain and pleasure are uniquely human indulgences sought in equal measure. When intertwined, they’ve been known to satiate masochistic cravings the way a sad movie or a sprawling, high-speed rollercoaster might.

However, this time, your risk-spurned euphoria will be at your own hand. The newfound agency—the ability to choose when, how, or if any risk is involved—has you darting up the stairs with a fire under your soles.

Before you round the corner and disappear down the hall, you make sure to call out, “Thank you for your service!” accompanied by a two-finger mock salute. You don’t stick around to catch their responses, though.

As you make your way down the dim corridor, you run smack into a very giggly Sarah Jones, just shy of your destination. Eyes distant and wide, she attempts to apologize for something—Something about sabotaging the Big-Little pairings your senior spring?—but it’s more bubbles than actual words. You nod along, still not quite sure what you’re accepting an apology for but too antsy to forge ahead to play detective. Your purposeful strides went unnoticed in her cloud of intoxication and nostalgia, but Erik Johnson, who’d been JT’s vice president, mercifully ushers his inebriated fiancé out of your path by the shoulders.

You offer him a faint smile of gratitude as they head in the opposite direction.

Over the music, you faintly hear Sarah begin chattering on about something unrelated, your reunion long forgotten already. You can’t help but chuckle a little on behalf of your younger self, who would’ve gawked at snobbish Sarah Jones drunk and voluntarily slumming it in a ramshackle house on Greek Row. And sporting a rock from a Degenerate on Ice (her nickname for your brother fraternity, not yours), too? That would’ve been the icing. But, the older, more mature, once-weekly-therapy iteration of yourself is happy she’s happy.

Thoroughly amused but happy nevertheless.

As you reach for the tarnished doorknob of the president’s suite, the rickety door flings open to reveal your boyfriend, all flushed cheeks and frenzied eyes.

JT pulls you inside, lips easily taking possession of yours, the heel of his lived-in/loved-on sneaker nudging the door shut. The hinges groan in protest to the rough treatment. Still fussy as ever. This house is a goddamn time capsule, you muse. Neither of you has the patience for benevolence. If it jams, it jams. That’s a future-self problem. Diligence now would only slow you down.

And would a prolonged stay on memory lane really be all that bad?

Your boyfriend cages you so close that when he manages more than panted praise between hot-and-heavy touches, the words barely fit in the gap between your mouths. “I was beginning to think you stood me up, sweetheart.”

The light-hearted accusation is semi-whispered, somewhat hoarse, in the way his voice always sounded when he came home from a long shift at the hospital downtown or post-game at the height of his collegiate career. JT isn’t a hard person to read—downright wolfish when he’s homing in on a target—but the low, raspy tone makes his intent glaring.

Your body thrums with anticipation.

“Never,” you croon back. A breathy moan sweetens your voice, courtesy of the calloused hand inching up the back of your bare thigh, bypassing the hem of your skirt with no effort or resistance. Arms looping around his neck, you make an inquiry: “Is there a reason we’re in your old bedroom instead of, I don’t know, the king-sized bed in the honeymoon suite you insisted we spring for?”

Tufts of faint copper tickle your cheek. Your boyfriend lands a kiss on your crowd-warmed forearm. Then, much to your displeasure, he steps out of the tight embrace.

“Y’know, I remembered something earlier when I was downstairs,” JT supplies in an apparent non-answer.

He guides you, as understanding rises in your mental periphery, through the barely-lit space toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this room and the next. Then, he flicks on the secondary light, the dimmer of the two, before tugging you over yet another threshold. His fingers twitch at his sides, lascivious.

You stare back at him expectantly, vision tunneling as you wait, wait, wait.

The latch might as well have been a starting pistol; the subtle click ringing in your eardrums like the sonic crack of a live round; his breath a plume of smoke from a charged muzzle well beyond its flash point. Pent-up, needy tension burns hot and burns brighter. Residue from the night prior aflame; you, a moth seduced.

JT drives forward. Stalking, like a cat on a bird, until he’s pinned you to the door. His dash was easy, made short and hasty by the starting block eagerness in your dilated eyes.

Mouth descending on your sensitive neck, hips grinding his want into your squirming form, harsh belt buckle nudging just right with each sharp rut.

“There’s still one thing left on my college bucket list.”

He sinks the candor in with his incisors. Not hard enough to break the skin, but that was never his intention. The sting is a reminder. Of your shared past, of his unwavering desire—of who is in charge.

Message received. Loud and clear.

JT leans away to admire his handiwork. One big hand poised at your jaw, and the other braced beside your head, keeping your shyness from blocking the perfect view; you’ve never been able to hide from him and never will.

His curious thumb deviates from the original objective to caress the skin, now splotched violet and angry. Softly, at first, like he’s committing the damage to memory. Then, emboldened by a sudden piercing hiss forcing itself from your throat, JT pushes down on the tender spot. The cruel, unexpected pressure pulls pitiful bleating cries from your undulating chest.

This is no longer an expedition to gather intel; it’s a primal instinct.

For a few moments, he just holds you like this. A cloistered existence made worthwhile by him occasionally digging deeper into the column of your throat, the pressure taking on a raptorial quality. Your boyfriend wears his herald grin at a rakish angle. It unfurls with refined delicacy, an effective diversion for his next endeavor. Breathe like a precision instrument; the sharp phantom-edge fans across the sucked-raw skin with unhurried ease.

There isn’t enough alcohol in your system to dull the twinge — and you’re glad for it. It’d be a crime to dilute a burn this good, this all-consuming. You crumble between him and the door, your world only this big. His name tumbles out with a pulled-candy moan, completely devoid of dignity.

JT’s chest rumbles beneath your clammy palms. “You gonna be a good girl and help me tie up loose ends?”

His strawberry-blonde crown dips to nuzzle your cheek. Hot tongue tracing an experimental line, JT groaning as it does. The muscle trawls for tears you didn’t realize you shed, humming through the pursuit. The low-pitched moan sends a chill straight down your spine right to your toes.

The hand gripping your jaw lowers so his fingers are able to coil themselves around somewhere more advantageous — your neck. Your eyelids flutter, woozy. His firm squeeze, just enough to make everything spin and keep you still, has become blissfully familiar over time, but your breath still hitches like it’s the first.

“Hm, sweetheart? Don’t be rude. I asked you a question.”

Your lips part, a barbed retort to his condescension on your tongue, but all you can push out is the strangled yelp of a wounded animal.

The hand by your temple no longer rests against the door. In the fog, it snuck up under your skirt; JT never meant to get an answer out of you; he just likes to watch you squirm. Likes to have something to reprimand you for.

His nimble fingers dance over the thin, sodden material pulled taut over your heat. Less touching, more hovering. Small, lazy movements that betray how well he can play your body. They float above the tingling bundle of nerves, further movement pending, contingent upon your obedience.

“P-please,” comes your pouted whimper.

“Focus for me, pretty baby. Tell me what I want to hear. Come on, let me make things easy for you. I can feel how badly you want to — and you aren’t in a position to be difficult, are you?”

You give in, and though the words you babble are largely unintelligible, JT’s ultimately satisfied.

“Such a good listener I’ve got myself. But you’re always to eager to please, aren’t you? You might throw stones from behind that tough girl act, but it’s just that: an act. I have a puddle in my hand to prove it.”

His frankness sears your face.

You’ve acquired a tolerance for his raunchy silver tongue through months of close proximity, but the mechanism is shoddy at best. Stalls and misfires galore. Against all odds (said “odds” being his fingertips toying with the edges of fabric between your thighs), you summon up a tawdry retort from the growing arsenal. “Don’t l-let it go to waste, Compher.”

It's not your best work, but much better than the slurred gurgle that preceded it.

He loves how you manage to be any sort of cheeky with him, even with your head swimming, stuttering and all.

“I don’t think it matters, sweetheart. I know there’s no shortage. Plenty more where it came from.”

With your knee, you nudge his hard-on and supply some honey-tongued snark of your own. “Is that your ego, or are you just excited to see me?”

Your boyfriend chokes out short-lived mirth. Then, with an accompanying smile, his tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. Amused, but by the sting of the remark’s undeniable truth, not your cleverness. The protrusion moves just below his bottom lip as he swipes the muscle over his teeth, a half-second sardonic gesture. It calls attention to your impudence without dignifying it with a verbal reply.

His brow lifts to negate any confusion, feigned or otherwise. “Are you going to keep being a brat, or are you going to let me fuck you with my fingers?”

You gulp down your ready-mixed wisecracks.

“Nothing to say now?” JT taunts. “Funny how that works.”

Fuckin’ wisenheimer. His voice is so haughty you have to bite your lip to keep your foot out of your mouth, unwilling to jeopardize your impending pleasure for short-term gratification.

Your boyfriend’s smugness—and your subsequent annoyance—becomes irrelevant when your panties are roughly pushed to the side, and his thick finger slips past your taut entrance. Tip to knuckle in one succinct trust; your startled gasp drowns out the noise rising up through the floorboards.

Hips bucking forward—you just can’t help yourself—you're in search of some friction to marry with the blinding stretch. He’s made the tensile opening accommodate far more in length and thickness, but not like this. Rarely does he create space where there is barely any, having forgone tenderness. Slowly widening a gap with gentle pressure, not demanding room like it’s already his to occupy.

Your surprise drips down his hand.

The bliss—the relief, is palpable. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, and the gravity of the situation felt for the first time.

Before, you didn’t see any substance in a tipsy frat bathroom hook-up. The older you got, the more pointless it seemed, especially with an established, long-term partner. The novelty wasn’t lost on you, of course, but that’s all you’d written it off as.

Countless collegiate nights were spent imagining one like this one. A moment where your inescapable feelings for him would be matched outright. When the pressure of his stifled emotions would build too fast to keep them from boiling over, too mighty in stature. Suddenly overcome by unrequited feelings of his own, unable to uphold all the ridiculous unspoken platonic conventions with the same authority he commands now.

This is important. For your past and present selves. The significance of this overdone, soapy teen drama scenario cannot be overlooked because it underscores the progress you’ve made together. Years of dancing around one another, the unconventional catalyst and nontraditional timeline, every hushed conversation in the wee hours before responsibilities wake, the sleepless nights and the snooze-filled afternoons—this ostensibly clichéd moment is an amalgamation of it all.

One thought rises above the frenzied rest: Was this here all along?

Is this what was waiting on the other side of the aimless pining and the confusion and the hurt?

The journey might’ve been fucking hell, but the view from here is pretty damn heavenly.

Overwhelmed by your epiphany and his dexterous motions, you moan into his skin far louder than your pride would’ve otherwise allowed outside your shared apartment.

His arrogant laughter grates before it really registers. Venom secretes from your salivary glands when it does, but the melted retribution never makes it past your lips. His second finger robs it of the opportunity, and the third sends all thoughts out your ears. The light circles over your clit cloud your vision, nails digging into his jersey-clad back—I’m feeling nostalgic, he’d said. In more ways than one, apparently.

“S’good—wanted this for so long, Compher—k-kept wishing it was you that night, not Miles.”

JT seethes at the admission, curling his fingers until your knees buckle and you’re entirely reliant on him to keep you off the floor. Even as your mind slips further and further away, your hips manage to move in time with his hand. Meeting each stroke with equal hustle and vigor, a clear end goal on the horizon.

Then his thumb drops away, his hand coming to a halt, and he steps back. 

Away.

Frustration pushes the amassed tears waiting in the wings down your cheeks. Emotion runs down your face; a heavy spill indeed.

“I don’t ever want to hear another man’s name outta your mouth when it’s my fingers buried in your pussy.” His jealousy is well-polished. Manicure-smooth, like he’s been maintaining its luster in preparation for this very occasion. "—'specially not the motherfucker that made sure I heard all your pretty sounds through the walls.”

You’d grin if you weren’t so miserable.

That’d been your intention. It wasn’t anything Miles had or did that made him different from the rest of the chapter (who all, at one point or another, tried their luck with JTC’s hot best friend), just simply when he decided to shoot his shot. The only reason you’d been out in the first place was because you reached your breaking point, no longer able to stomach what you felt for JT, and you made sure Miles knew this before you let him call an Uber.

Despite playing for the same team, the pair shared a touch-and-go rivalry. You never knew if the intensity would result in a sweeping victory or an in-house, all-out brawl. If they ever saw eye to eye, you’d of never known. Miles needed no convincing to push JT’s buttons.

There was some heavy petting, nothing more. The only time Miles saw you undress was to change into the pajamas he lent you before knocking out on his futon, leaving you to take the bed. But JT didn’t know that. If sitting in their chapter house’s kitchen at 5 o’clock the next morning didn’t raise suspicion, the non-Compher borrowed t-shirt and ruffled hair certainly did.

Back then, he refused to ask. Even though you could see how badly he wanted to pry. Miles didn’t have anything he worth sharing, so JT was left to fill in the blanks.

You’d tell him the truth later, but right now, you wanted to see what milking his assumptions could get you.

“Did you like what you heard?”

His jaw ticks. Your hips push against his with a knowing simper.

You lean forward, closing the space he forced, lips barely brushing his ear, “Did you get off on it? Fuck your hand picturing yourself in his place… wishing it was my pussy instead?”

You hear the thud before you feel your head against the door or his hand back around your throat, his fingers deep between your walls again. The everywhere-throb makes you laugh. Giggle, really.

He squeezes until you’re no longer capable of mockery. His pace hastens, leveling out only once your thighs have started shaking around his wrist, knees cutting off his circulation elbow-down. Somehow, he keeps going despite the icy tingle. His determination overrides physical discomfort, knowing how close you’re getting. Feeling it in the distinct fluttering around his digits, seeing it in your trembling, swollen bottom lip.

“You’re so full of shit.” His mouth twitches at your throaty moan. A defiant hint of levity circles his pupils; he never stays riled up for long when it’s you yanking his chain. “You’re lucky I love you.”

You kiss him then, messy and crude, love-drunk. He tastes like your chapstick and gin, with a biting citric aftertaste —Grapefruit, maybe?—and you suck it in like you haven’t had a drop of water in days. And, in turn, he drinks down every choked sob and nonsensical half-thought you babble, every drop shooting straight to his loins.

He drives into you with fervor, humming as his tongue slips against yours, iron bulge omnipresent. The hand around your neck loosens but never leaves its post, thumb stroking your pulse point. I know everything about you, his movements whisper. Over and over, in and out. He, just as much as you, gets lost in the repetition.

“Don’t want him, never wanted him. Jus’ you—Always you.” It comes out slurred, mushy like your head, like your heart.

JT’s cock isn’t immune to affirmation and twitches through his too-tight jeans. Groaning, “Go on, sweetheart. Scream my name. I want every single person in this house to know exactly who’s fucking you this good.”

You do just that, writhing on his hand, eventually burying your face into his warm neck when it gets to be too much. He continues fucking you, and you continue crying for him, the pathetic little whimpers muffled now by his body.

JT guides you through the rest of your orgasm, as he always does. He watches your face carefully on the comedown, searching for any sign of regret or discomfort. When he finds none, he cradles your shaking form against his solid chest, the hand that, only moments ago, tore you apart, soothing you back down to earth. Once you’ve settled, he walks you back and away from the door.

A startled yelp falls from your lips when you feel the chilly edge of the countertop. You pull away from your boyfriend, brows furrowing with confusion.

His hand taps the outside of your thigh. "Up."

You’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, let alone stringing thoughts together, so the command is met with inaction. Impatient as ever, JT wordlessly hoists you where he wants you and sinks down to his knees, big hands cupping yours.

“What’re you doing?” Strained, barely above a whisper.

He stares up at you with dopey, lovestruck eyes. “Come on, Compher. You can gimmie another one, can’t you?”

You aren’t an idiot. Often sleep deprived beyond belief and, more often than not, fucked-out on JT’s… Well, anything—but definitely not an idiot. You knew exactly what that loaded gun of a pet name implied the moment he used it. It first slipped out during a frantic supply closet rendezvous midway through your company’s holiday party, then a few more times in the months after.

It hasn’t lost its sparkle. It does make you more and more impatient each time he flashes it, though.

Fuckin’ tease.

Your fingers burrow in his hair, tugging from the root until his eyelids flutter prettily. “As long as you let me return the favor after—need to taste you so bad.”

“Deal,” he mumbles into your skin a half-second later.

His hands push your already-short skirt up, bunching it atop your hips and out of the way. Your boyfriend takes the time to remove the fabric barrier this time, and you don’t miss the way he tries to slip them into his back pocket without you noticing. Likely because it’d normally be a tease-able offense.

But not tonight, not right now.

Instead, you let a shiver speak for itself. The risqué gesture reminds you of the pair he used as a pocket square when his parents took you two to a celebratory dinner following his white coat ceremony. The rumble of his chuckle tells you his mind went there, too.

JT leans in, big eyes never moving from yours, his warm exhale fanning over your swollen folds. The tooth-marked bruise forming on the side of your throat pricks in tandem response. The action, a repeat of your boyfriend’s earlier antics, naturally yields similar enough results. He catches on, inching forward to—

Something bangs against the door.

His face falls; your heart seizes.

“Occupied!” your boyfriend barks, hands paused but gripping you tightly. He looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.

A full, lilting sound barrels into the door—too-good-to-be-true laughter. His breathy timbre is an unsteady balance of cocksure and skittish; a preference for one side or the other is blurred by the wood in its way. “It’s me, dickhead.”

Then, the curtain is lifted. A pocket of silence ushers in a stillness that cracks like a bolt from the blue.

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover how you feel right now. You most definitely suffered a concussion somewhere in all JT’s reprimanding; you’re hallucinating right now. That, or the singular seltzer in your system magically turned psychotropic after consumption.

Waiting in the threshold is Tyson Jost. A quarter-drunk fifth of Jack in one hand and that goofy, irrepressible smile plastered on his face. Almost frozen in time—good-humored, untouched. As if nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. Suave, and standing there like he hasn’t ignored you for months on end, like your and JT’s absence in his life wasn’t felt the way the Tyson-sized void in yours was.

Idle and morose, his eyes are the only defectors to his blasé demeanor. Timid and downturned, akin to a kicked puppy, they beg you and your boyfriend to assuage his guilt. An olive branch, a white flag in the wind. Amid their vulnerability, they still manage to cut into you in a way that feels too intimate, too honest—too much.

The worst part of this charged maelstrom is knowing Tyson isn’t capable of being cruel on purpose, then or now. It's bittersweet.

Careless or callous, it hurts all the same. It’s difficult to sift through the muck and decide which feelings should guide your actions when there’s no easy place to lay blame.

A gnarly, muddy morass of emotion climbs out of your gut and fills your throat, threatening to make an appearance each time you dare to exhale. You’re nervous and confused, elated and optimistic, angry and reproachful. The burn of betrayal rushes up your neck and across the bridge of your nose, but all the words you’ve stockpiled for this rainy day stick to your tongue like tar. Dark, thick, and flammable—your silence is probably for the best.

Bronze eyes, somber beneath the fan of flaxen lashes, adopt a strange aloofness that doesn’t suit his face. Lacquered just so as to protect the gooey softness beneath, the finish does nothing to obstruct or disguise his desirous longing or a brand of blues you’ve never seen in him before.

The intensity of your braided gazes is sanguine at best, duplicitous at worst, but disorienting all the same.

Anxiously, you chew on time; you’re trying your best not to swallow minutes and hours in big gulps. Your attempts to savor their confounding guilty-pleasure flavor are as futile as hoping the animosity would dissipate on its own. Or wishing the distance was just a nightmare you were on the verge of waking up from.

JT’s pulse races against your skin. He’s just as affected, just better at hiding it.

“Took you long enough,” is what JT says in greeting from the floor, dry words flung over his shoulder to curb the growing tension. Blithesome and biting and far more hospitable than you imagined.

All you can do is blink, slack-jawed; there are pieces you’re missing.

JT chuckles at your expression. He pecks your inner thigh to regain your attention. “Fuck now, talk later. Sound good?”

His words crack any and all inhibitions. Like opening the door to a cage, his reassurance grants your mind and heart the permission to succumb to the wave of emotions—lust overtaking the pack with ease.

Eyes still stuck on the ghost in the doorway, you nod your head in agreement. It’s as if you’re afraid your voice might rupture the bubble.

“Figured you’d be a little parched, baby.” Tyson, voice becoming jocular as ever, wags the bottle as he shuts the door behind himself. His tone might be light-hearted, but his gaze is anything but. Starved is the only way you can think to aptly describe the shadow. “And we can’t have that, now can we?”

You barely register JT vacating the prime real estate to accommodate his best friend, and subconsciously, you scoot closer to the edge. You knew you missed him, but you underestimated how needy you’d become if he ever stood before you again.

Both men notice.

Grinning, Tyson takes hold of your jaw. His hand emits a small tremor of unease, hesitant where JT had been demanding. The accidental brush of his fingertips over your boyfriend’s trailed claim rattles free a melancholic whimper. Your eyes glaze over, watering as your neck cranes up at him. He gently tilts your face to the side to assess the damage. You can feel his eyes raking over the marred skin, a sensation akin to your boyfriend’s weaponized breath. Goosebumps rise in their wake.

In reference to the Neanderthal surveying you over his shoulder, Tyson sniggers. “Filthy bastard.”

Charming as ever.

“She deserved it.” JT’s nonchalant shrug is more dismissive than his verbal nod.

Wicked eyes twinkle. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

You pinch his side, offended. Nevertheless, you purr at the certitude dripping from his husky vibrato.

He yelps and bats your hand away. “Got you good, didn’t he?”

You nod.

The baby talk-adjacent voice is demeaning, but with your only shield burning a hole in your boyfriend’s back pocket, lying about the effect it's having would be pointless.

Propriety is becoming increasingly moot, as this conversation circling around you carves space for new possibilities.

“Poor thing,” Josty hums, his thumb coasting back and forth over your jaw. His breath is smokey-sweet, honeyed. “M'gonna make it all better. Open up, baby.”

It’s something straight out of an early aughts raunchy teen comedy, the way he holds your mouth open to pour whiskey straight down, doing so without the lip ever touching either one of yours. The thin stream drags slightly as it goes down, but you’d never know watching the pillowy spirit disappear into you. You’re too eager to impress them both to give in and react—to the burn in your throat or the circumstances of this affair. You guzzle the oaky vanilla-clove flavor, smiling dumbly at the toasted aftertaste, all too happy to take anything and everything you’re given.

Still, either by virtue of Tyson’s lingering tipsiness or your inattention, some of the amber liquid escapes over your bottom lip, dribbling over your chin and down in between your cleavage. There isn’t enough time to consider wiping it off; Josty’s mouth is sucking you clean before the bottle even hits the counter beside you.

“Would be a shame…” Tyson starts, briefly interrupting himself with a succession of wet, open-mouthed pecks he’s decided to spoil your décolletage with, “…to let it go to waste.”

JT’s begrudged scoff cuts through the trance. “Jesus, kid. Where’d you learn that? What the fuck have you been doing? Or should I be asking ‘who' you've been doing?"

Tyson flinches at the coarse overtone the questions carry. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of reaction only you’re close enough to feel. He just laughs into your neck rather than humoring JT or feeding into whatever he’s implying.

You’re too woozy to toss in your two cents in favor of either side.

Cold countertop lapping up your wetness, the burning palm cupping your face to aid the pursuit of sugary lips, the memory of his tongue gliding over your sticky skin—your boyfriend a few paces away, watching. That’s more potent than any liquor, mixed or straight. It doesn’t take long for you to pull away, in a there-but-not state of mind, to slouch against Tyson’s chest. Head heavy, warmed and spinning.

Happy.

“Somethin’ special, aren’t you?” Tyson muses as he kneads the tender spot where your hairline meets your neck. You peck his forearm.

“As sweet as this reunion’s been, you came up here for a reason. Get to it; we don’t have all night. I imagine La Tornade will be wanting his bathroom back eventually.”

You whimper at the sharp edge of his voice, even though you weren’t the intended target.

JT’s dark drawl was laden with protective affection for you, his devotion hardened by a hue of discontent reminiscent of a paternal chide. An outsider looking in might not see beyond the mediator-in-shining-armor ruse, mistakenly pruning away JT’s thorny pain and rotted grief, but you know better. The situation and him. While genuine, his defense of your bruised feelings is a trojan horse for his own. He’s conveying his rage how he can: under the guise of selflessness.

Tyson gulps, eyes downcasted, then nods. He understands as well as you do. When he finally looks up, the shadow’s fallen over his face once more, cloud drooped low overhead.

“You’re scaring me, Josty.”

This makes him laugh, his mood brightening a tad. “If anyone should be scared, it’s me.”

In your periphery, you catch JT urging him to continue with a stiff glare.

“I-I’ve been such an ass. I—I just care so damn much. About you. About Compher, and our friendship. When you graduated, m-my whole world changed. Like someone gutted my life, scooped out all the good, comfortable stuff and left me with the shell. I felt like I lost my people. Like I was left behind. And then I had to watch you two get closer than ever—without me. It fucking sucked, and I didn’t cope well. Didn’t cope at all, really. Kate’ll tell you, she took the brunt of my tailspin.”

You can’t help but snort despite the thick emotion welling up behind your eyes. The boys smile, too. Things look up.

Tyson takes your hand in a tight squeeze; his pulse jumps into your palm. “But that’s no excuse for what I did—didn’t do. How I treated you. You were trying so hard, and all I did was punish you for it. For constantly reminding me you guys are there and not here. For moving on with your life like you’re supposed to.”

He claims JT’s old spot knelt between your parted knees. “And I’m sorry. So deeply sorry, baby. Please let me make it up to you—let me apologize properly.”

Tears of his own shine up at you from his flushed cheeks. Gently, you take his face in your hands, rubbing away the spilled emotion with the soft pads of your thumbs.

A silent pardon.

The walls throw back the echo of his low, audible content—of relief.

“Is this okay?” His voice is barely a whisper, dwindling to a hush as the question tapers off.

Too determined to quiet his audible fear of rejection—and to have his mouth on you as fast as humanly possible—to bother with words, you nod immediately.

“With how much she’s been dripping onto the counter since you walked in, what do you think?” JT interjects, mood vastly improved.

Your cheeks and neck heat just as he intended.

The younger forward chuckles, hands massaging up and down your sensitive thighs, gripping them as if holding himself back from lunging too soon.

A predator lurking in the brush, lying in wait.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything. Didn’t want to embarrass her.” He winks up at you, confidence rising to the surface once more. You have to fight to maintain eye contact; he’s that stupidly attractive. “ —was try t’be a gentleman.”

You’re a flurry of butterflies, a whimpering mess.

Tyson wants to tease your body; it’s in his nature. But he won’t. Namely, because he can’t. No matter how good some old-fashioned edging would eventually make you feel, he’s already on JT’s shit list as is.

Besides, he’s only been fiending for a taste since you introduced yourself to him. And there's no time like the present...

Your guttural scream—an appropriate, albeit mortifying reaction to his baby pink lips enveloping your swollen clit—pumps his chest full with pride. Tongue flat, he charts the length of your heat with a gentleness you hadn’t thought your collective excitement would allow for. His hands coast over your legs, syncing with his mouth, until he physically cannot wait any longer. One final pass, one so agonizingly slow your greedy hips thoughtlessly vie for more of anything, brings his wistful, fidgeting digits to rest at the apex of your thighs.

“Pause.”

JT’s clipped command is a bucket of ice water.

Your vocal annoyance is matched by Tyson’s, but you both know how delicate a game you’re playing.

With his thumb still lazily swirling to your clit, Tyson’s inquisitive head begins to turn around. Before he gets anywhere worthwhile, it’s swiftly spun back into place by your boyfriend’s firm hand.

You can’t even convey how hot you find JT’s fingers casually twisting in his friend’s curly mop—just the way you love; all you manage is a warbled, mostly airy cry. Your distressed state worsens watching the show unfold between your lax, parted knees: reluctant, fluttery lashes over neon cheeks; a rosy, glistening bottom lip sacrificed to cage mousy whimpers, his ragged breathing betraying all effort toward feigning indifference to JT’s self-assured manhandling.

Your boyfriend snickers at your expression, a fish lingering open-mouthed for a surface sip, an ill-attempt to supplement a natural mode gone inadequate. No matter how much oxygen your widened jaw draws in, it never feels sufficient. A bottomless pit, a balloon with a fatal puncture wound. Gone before your depleted brain could make use of it.

“Have to make sure he does it right, don’t I, sweetheart?” JT’s voice is smooth and low, charring by the second; he’s enjoying the view as much as you are.

Tyson rolls his tawny eyes. Half-hearted annoyance. “Controlling much?”

“I know what my woman needs.”

The look you share with your friend is unequivocally feral.

And the growl JT hurls back, a low-pitched rumble permeating the tight space with little effort on his part, is just plain mean.

His attitude could not be more arrogant. The cavalier persona makes you shiver, and Tyson’s breath hitch. Humming, your boyfriend tugs on his curls until the two’s eyes are locked. Inescapable. The brunette gasps as he tries desperately to hold his eyes open, waiting with bated breath.

JT licks his lips, triumphant. “Open her up for me, will ya?” Mischief catches in the light as quickly as it falls into your boyfriend’s lap. His grip tightens, and Tyson whimpers like a naughty puppy caught red-handed. “Don’t screw around, ‘kay? She needs all the help her tight pussy can get, and we don’t have all night.”

Panting, his nod is the only affirmative he can muster up. And the only one his limited range of motion will allow for. Smug and pleased enough, JT all but throws his friend into your fire, his nose bumping where you’re most sensitive. 

You actually yelp.

Holding your torrid gaze, Tyson dips his marriage and middle into you. You groan out what you meant to be his name—But who knows? And who fucking cares?—unable to control yourself while he’s finally touching you like this. Finally back.

Tyson finger-fucks you at an even pace, steadily pushing you up the hill. His satisfaction is tangible when he pulls out and away, so very delighted by your wonton hiss of annoyance. Even more so when the volume hikes up in response to the slippery pads of his fingers circling your clit. Your lewd whines harmonize with your audible arousal as he works it back into your fragile skin, playing with your wetness, utterly fascinated.

“What d’ya think, baby? Think you’re wet enough to take another finger?” JT’s tone is as cocky as his stupid rhetorical question. He, however, made no move to conceal his growing impatience.

“Mhmm,” you murmur, head like a rubber ball hitting the pavement. Still, you remember your manners. “Please—c-can I? Can I have another?”

His smile is pure adoration, dreamlike.

JT’s reverent eyes stay with you, but his words pour down over the eager man on the floor as he coaxes you halfway to heaven. “You heard her, kid. Give the lady what she deserves.”

Kid—Tyson hates when people call him that, but he especially loathes JT's usage. There’s barely an age difference, but with the way everyone acts, it might as well be decades. It seems like no matter what he does to prove himself, he’s still the baby. Every additional candle is like an annual slap in the face, a mockery that won’t end.

He can feel anger and frustration curdling low in his stomach just thinking about all the attempts that fell flat, and he decides to put the grumbling to good use. The vibration is red-hot and deliberate against your responsive, slick center, irritation like lighter fluid.

He gives you more than just three fingers. He splays all three—wide. Even as they stroke your soft inner walls, Tyson keeps you stretched so as to leave no slack. Your boyfriend wants you open? Tyson will fucking tear you apart, happily. (Yes, spite is a factor.)

Highly sensitive and spread to the limit, you ascend far quicker than usual. Fisting a bushel of golden-brown curls, nails digging rapt half-moons, you guide his willing face to the necessary places to see yourself through. Every slight adjustment has your entire body jerking haphazardly as it struggles to process the rocketing shockwaves.

JT’s hand retreats—only slightly—to make way for yours, to give you more leverage to fuck yourself through it. Less than a foot away, your boyfriend’s chest heaves in time with yours, his eyes pits of lust you dive into with clumsy enthusiasm.

During one particular, delicious pass, the tip of Tyson’s tongue catches your strained entrance, and when you unexpectedly gush against his mouth in response, he begins lapping over and around your carnal connection.

“Holy shit — Ty, I-I’m — I’m — “

The denouement of your climax is nothing short of glorious, as rude of a sentence interruptor as it was. Half-mewls and purred praise rain down from your loosened lips, eyes screwed shut.

Tyson melts over the way you take control of your orgasm, so unabashed and authoritative. You go after what you want; he respects that majorly. And getting to feel and taste what makes you tick doesn’t hurt either.

Neither do you and your pretty, throbbing walls cutting off blood flow while your boyfriend tugs his hair from behind.

“Just like that, keep fucking her through it. Did so good—doin’ so good for us.”

JT’s praise sends the brunette’s unoccupied hand right to his bulge.

This is the best he’s felt in months.

There’s the mythical balance of bliss-to-tension to key up his senses, shooting white-hot tingles of want from his head to his feet and flaming between his ribs, affection for you. You forgive him, JT forgives him, and, most importantly, he forgives himself.

He feels buoyant with his face coated in your climax, so much so that it runs down from his chin to his neck, staining the collar of his beer-soaked tee; he hopes you might return his favor later.

Josty’s guilty hand is knocked away by a firm toe.

“Y’haven’t earned it, bud,” his mentor chides.

The delinquent appendage flops lamely at his side for a split second, then lifts beside his nose to join its partner at your slick core. As if remembering there’s work to be done, a goal to attain. Beneath this new asset, your achy, spent clit pulses, egging him on with every thump, thump, thump.

Tempting him to do something, to take it further…

He thinks about it. Fuck, does he think about it—you can see the tape winding in his eyes.

JT can read Tyson’s mind through his skull, apparently. “Don’t even think about it, kid. Her last one’s mine, but you’re more than welcome to watch from right here.” —Your boyfriend points to the remaining space between the sinks, knowing it’ll be close quarters for you both— “Just remember: I only said watch. This is groveling, not a treat.”

And Tyson does. Without question or complaint, he’s just fine sitting next to you, sitting pretty.

He’s always been the perfect teammate. Always willing to do whatever it takes, regardless of the role. The only difference is he no longer wants his anxiety to be the sole motivator behind said selflessness.

Finally ready to play fearless.

JT helps you down; Tyson hops up.

Immediately, your attention fractures. Split between messy brown curls and lust-blown pupils and your own disheveled appearance: smudged makeup, knotted hair, mauled neck, and spit-stained, bruised lips. Thank fuck you’re graduated and gone. Otherwise, you’d never live this down—Kate might treat you to a taste of would-be campus humiliation later if she’s feeling particularly charitable, though.

Your boyfriend’s grip is heavy on your hips. Happy to have you back. You feel one hand coast over your lower back and down to grope your ass as if trying to keep you in the palm of his hand. White-knuckle hold withstanding, JT presses his chest flush to your backside and uses his free hand to yank every remaining hindrance to your navel.

He wants you on display.

Your gasp is rivaled only by Tyson’s pitiful whimper and twitching, touch-happy fingers.

The ginger’s chuckle is molten and deep, mouth barely a breath from your ear, his eyes pinning Tyson still.

Your mind rewound back to when he made this proposition, wondering how the hell you got from there to here.

“Bend over, sweetheart. Arch that back nice and pretty so we can show Josty what a good girl he’s been missing out on—what a filthy thing you’ve turned into.”

As soon as you’ve done just that, your boyfriend drives home. It’s fast and dirty; primal. He knows there’s no need, but JT marks his territory anyway.

You watch Josty’s mouth part like he’s about to ask you something. Staring through his eyes as if ducking into his pesky daydreams and up-too-late musings, all specifics watery and indistinct.

Ultimately, you wind up disappointed by silence. But, with the slow return of your boyfriend’s bare cock between your soft inner walls, it dawns on you; JT had used a condom last time. Even made Tyson retrieve it for him. The depth of your relationship is sinking in; that’s what you’re now watching. He’s mulling over the information, caught somewhere between wanting to swallow his guilt one go and choking on his own assumptions.

JT follows your charged concern, performs a similar triage, and then gives you a concise nod through the fogged-up mirror.

I’ll handle it.

At that, your walls noticeably ease, and he shudders, groaning as even more of him sinks deeper to occupy the newfound space. He gets a few strokes out before Josty slots his body between your palms to lean in. Here, he does something that collapses the simple but effective status quo. 

“Fuck, kid. K-Keep doing that.”

Keep rubbing your clit.

Keep playing with you.

Keep being an accessory to his pleasure. To yours.

Be present.

Be here.

“Such a fucking mess, baby. Don’t know how Compher gets anything done with you there, sweet and ripe for the taking.”

The two halves of Tyson’s demeanor are antithetical, and infuriatingly so, a saccharine smile split open by filth. It paints a sordid picture that must stand for itself, as you find it impossible to pluck out of thin air any coherent thoughts.

Be that as it may, your friend did not set out for a reply. At least not one other than the befuddled stuttering you’re doing.

A familiar palm shoots to your raw neck—tender, inside and out—lightning quick. You're yanked up before you can blink. JT mercilessly nips at the gaps in between his tight grip, hips pushed just as firm against the swell of your backside.

Still, he furthers their madcap banter. “I dunno either, Josty. And, believe me, the little vixen sure as hell doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I think she’s tryna milk me dry for good.”

If Tyson Jost were ever going to cream his pants—post-pubescence, it would be now.

Like, right fucking now.

The proclamation of your third orgasm is wondrous. Proud. Grateful. One of your hands flies back to catch the nape of JT’s neck to steady yourself as he continues pistoning in and out of you. Tyson's generous touch stays, too.

Your back arches this go around, head rolling against your boyfriend's shoulder before slipping back down towards the counter, free palm absorbing the impact of the abrupt sway. Too much, too much—it’s all too much for your tender muscles and soupy brain to handle. You surrender to the plethora of sensations, each more overwhelming than the last—half-collapsed back against into your boyfriend, half-crumbled forward into his best friend’s damp, tented lap.

“Not gonna last, sweetheart—y’feel too damn good, s’tight and warm, always strangling my cock—know you’re close, too. Gonna give me what you promised, Compher? Please, pretty girl—need to feel your perfect pussy squeezin’ me dry.”

It's refractory; your world goes from washed-out to vivid and back, over and over, as though impatiently flipping between channels.

You’re a tangle of sticky limbs and physical reverie, blanketed by a warm afterglow and cleared air. Body scaffolded by muscular forms on either side, your mind gives your body permission to slacken at last. JT’s arm winds around your midsection when it becomes clear the all-consuming exhaustion is giving way to the relaxation that eluded you for so many months. Tyson massages your arms, your hands still cemented to his knees. Your head drops to his shoulder, too heavy for your bruised neck.

For a long while, no one says a thing. Not intentionally or for fear of disturbing the peace; there’s simply no need. No words exist to shoulder that much weight, none able to capture precisely what emotions swirl between you. Silence says enough—silence says it all.

Banging cuts through your sex-drunk stupor. Again. The abrupt sounds function like metaphorical smelling salts, restoring consciousness and rousing decorum laid dormant. Your mutual, unadulterated bliss circles the drain in the absence of a psychological plug, ripped free, half-baked.

JT reluctantly leaves you empty and dripping, tucks himself away, and cracks open the door—only as wide as is necessary. Behind his imposing physique, you remain hunched over Tyson, waiting for your boyfriend to make the problem go away; you’re too tired to take any initiative.

Golden hair and familiar grey-blue eyes fill the gap, shining in your periphery. Barely a sliver, that’s how much of this your boyfriend’s willing to share with the world. You like that, and judging by his lopsided grin, so does Tyson.

“Paging Mrs. Compher!” Gabe hollers over JT’s head. “Clean up on aisle ‘Kate.’”

Just hearing her name puts you back in action. Damn you, maternal instincts.

You scramble to right twisted fabric and smeared makeup to a soundtrack of expletives. It’s pointless, though, because nothing settles how it should. No amount of smoothing, brushing, or tucking seems to help. Hazy vision and the legs of a newborn fawn don’t exactly lend themselves to effective primping.

And it’s not like you’ve got a hickey-remover magic wand stashed in your purse, either. 

Accept your fate, you acquiesce with a sigh.

Tyson does a piss-poor job muffling his laughter, which lands him a crisp swat to the chest.

As you stumble over, you catch the end of your boyfriend’s irritation. “—and you’re sure there isn’t anyone else to hold her hair back? Why can’t you do it?”

The gears in Gabe’s skull clank so loud you can hear them over the audible chaos seeping into your haven—he’s intoxicated, not stupid.

“CupKate wants her mommy.” The blonde winks at you over JT’s shoulder. His tongue gives a knowing click of approval at Tyson’s equally disheveled state. “And what do you care, Compher? Smells like you three already made your express trip to Pound-town, USA. How was it? I hear the weather’s hot and steamy this time of year.”

“Real mature, Landy, real mature,” JT scoffs.

The sound just revs him up. “Says the fucker who’s locked in a frat house bathroom with his girlfriend and his best friend. One of whom, might I add, looks like they got mauled by a hormonal freshman after a high school dance.”

“Can you two go measure your dicks, I don’t know, anywhere but in the way? I have a child to tend to.” 

You almost have to laugh. At the situation and at the words coming out of your mouth. At Kate, sick to her stomach like a kid who ate too many sweets on a holiday. 

Years have passed, but you’re all still the same.

“Me-yeoh!” Gabe sing-songs while miming what you assume are claws scratching at nothing.

Again, his drink is the sole casualty of his jubilation. A golden wave sloshes over the rim and onto the floor. The spray makes JT’s jaw tick.

The former winger offers a sheepish grin in repentance. “Whoops?”

Your boyfriend steals a glance to check that you’re decent, then side-steps out of your way with an exasperated sigh. His dilated gaze flits over your ruffled appearance, shamelessly drinking in the state of your throat but tripping over the questions dancing in your eyes.

He juts his head in Landy’s direction with a sardonic eye-roll. “Go on. Save your damsel, Mother Hen. I’ll fill you in on in the Uber back to the hotel.”

“Meet you out front?” You ask, and he nods.

You dart back to Tyson, plant a chaste peck on his flushed cheek, and then repeat the gesture with JT and his peeved lips. It’s faint, but they instantly soften for you.

Before they know it, you’re slipping out the door. Gabe gets an affectionate pat on the shoulder as you squeeze by him before you disappear in the direction of the Girls Only bathroom; no significant differences, only marginally cleaner and occasionally stocked with helpful accouterment—chivalry isn’t dead!

Lingering in the wake of your departure, Gabe sways like an inflatable man on the curb of a car dealership. A smirk twists his lips. “Nicely done, boys. Nicely done. Can’t say I thought we’d see the day—or that either of you had it in ya—but I feel like a proud father.” He wipes a phantom tear, the final straw. “Makes you wish you listened to Daddy Landy sooner, huh? Think of all the lost ti—”

JT slams the door in his face. Through the wood, Gabe cackles.

The two men slip back into sync as they wordlessly scrape themselves back together with the time and privacy you were not afforded. 

As JT yanks his jeans back into place, his belt clanking around like a bell’s hourly chime, a black velvet box tumbles to the floor, and Tyson’s stomach along with it.

The air shouldn’t, but it turns on a dime. Their progress is seemingly more fragile than expected.

“If—uh, wow.” A crunchy, anxious bark of a laugh cuts his thought in half.

JT doesn’t interrupt; he holds space for the blossoming discomfort.

Tyson rubs the tense knots along the back of his neck as his eyes drill into the floor. “If I’d known this would be our swan song, I would’ve tried to enjoy it more. I don’t know—savored it, I guess?”

“This,” JT says, scooping up the dud he hopes isn’t hanging fire. “— is what I wanted to talk to you about earlier.”

Before they got into it in the garage, before they’d been forcibly separated by Erik and Nate. Before they, punch-drunk and drunk-drunk, teetered between tears and anger in the shadowy, too-quiet backyard.

They spun in circles until they had nowhere to move but on. To make amends, to stumble through chary half-apologies that mean more than they say.

JT’s alleviation was short-lived; his calm trepidation squashed before it could fly. Tyson now understands why.

Tyson balks. “Me?”

Your boyfriend sighs through his nose, pinching the bridge. He’s bidding time. Digging for the right words but knowing there are none.

“I love her—and I know you do, too. I’m not upset; she makes it hard not to fall for her.”

Tyson’s head hangs lower, chagrined.

JT continues, “I’m going to ask her to marry me, but I didn’t want to do it without talking to you. Without making sure you’d be okay. Eventually. The last thing I wanted was for you to be blindsided or to feel even more left out.”

Tyson can’t help but snort at the sheer absurdity. “Left out… God, how pathetic am I? Getting all butt-hurt over a relationship that isn’t even mine.”

“Pathetic was going AWOL.”

Josty winces. He doesn’t argue because he has zero ground to stand on.

“But feeling something? Far from it.”

“I didn't—don’t want to take her from you. You have to know that, Compher.” The hurt’s been hammered from his voice. Left behind is softened sincerity.

JT’s smile is just as downy. “I do, and you’d be wasting time by trying.”

Josty chokes on an unforeseen bubble of laughter.

You love JT Compher so openly and ardently it might as well be a neon sign plastered to your forehead. He’s always been it for you. There’s never been any competition, Tyson Jost included.

“Thank god we got this ironed out before the wedding,” the older forward chuckles as he leans back against the counter.

They’re side-by-side, as they should be.

“Why’s that?”

JT digs into his other pocket and pushes something into the palm of his best friend, whose cheeks flame tout de suite in response. With a bump of his shoulder, your boyfriend tacks on, “Something to remember tonight by.”

Tyson shoves the memento into his own pocket, then raises a quizzical brow.

Your boyfriend grins.

“The best man pining over the bride while giving the groom the cold shoulder would make for an awkward wedding, don’t you think?”

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[dontforgetukraine]

Our life is not as horrible as theirs. We are not in the trenches. My loved ones are safe and sound. Electricity is available. Grocery stores are open. All my friends, close and distant, often (in fact, all the time) talk about a deep sense of shame. A shame to live when others are dying; a shame to eat when people out there are starving; a shame to desire something when so many people have no desires whatsoever. Psychologists call this feeling “survivor’s guilt.” Well… I would not be so sure. We are “survivors” at this moment. The minute I am writing this line. At this moment, we are not in the trenches, and the electricity is available. It is curious, though, that the soldiers defending us on the frontlines sometimes (not all the time, I hope) feel guilty too: for doing something not well enough; for not being on the battlefield; for being alive; for not doing more. I am not thinking about the normal/abnormal state of mental health against the backdrop of a large-scale war with the cannibals. I am thinking about them, the cannibals “repeating their grandfathers’ heroic deeds” and their slogan: “I am not ashamed.” Fuck you. Our country is choking on the feeling of guilt for all the could-haves and should-haves, while the I-am-not-ashamed hashtags stick out of the abyss of hell.   Not ashamed to kill, loot, rape, and piss their pants after being captured. Not ashamed to know that they target their missiles and drop their bombs on civilians. Not ashamed to be happy about getting a fur coat looted from an apartment whose owners were most probably murdered. Not ashamed to lie; not ashamed to curse; not ashamed to threaten the whole world with a naked ass crowned with the nuclear button. But now I understand why. The feelings of shame and guilt indicate the ability of the brain to process difficult emotions. It has not been established yet whether cats and dogs can feel shame. Well, it’s clear with the cats. At the house where a cat lives, everything belongs to the cat — it is its two-legged slave who must be ashamed. It gets more complicated with dogs. They are believed to pretend to feel shame or guilt. At least, they can fake it.    But russians? No. In the surrounding world, some animals can feel shame, but plants, minerals, and products of human labor — cannot. A rock, a rose, a tank cannot feel ashamed. Can a russian be a rose? Definitely not.

Excerpt from the flash essay "Olena Stiazhkina: Kyiv. March 24" from the collection “Wars. Ukrainians. Humanity”.

Source: Oksana Stomina, Olena Stiazhkina, Taras Prokhasko, Valerii Pekar, Mychailo Wynnyckyj — March 22-26, 2022

[ntls-24722]

@shiro-luxunder

It's not THAT bad but I also realize it's not as detailed as I thought

I just start eating recyclable shit like i'm going to die tomorrow

in the robot-me universe i had to take a position t a recycling plant in order to sustain my batshit diet, batshit diet being: just straight up plastic. And metal cans! (bonus: i feel like finalized djmm sona would have a tramp stamp commemorating it 💀)

How much plastic do you eat, unknowingly or otherwise? Chances are, a lot more than you should be, but not enough to create an entire house-sized carapace with it. Step 1 of robot puberty is to start EATING for i am a Growing Boy. Tangentially related, I have to go in the mines and start chowing down on precious metals for the exact same reason

At some point my skeleton dissolves

Significantly less scary than it sounds if you would believe me. It happens once my body looks like it completely abandoned my skeletal structure and I didn't notice it was happening until it occurred to me that I didn't have a skeleton anymore.

At some point i just vomit my own organs

Exactly as scary as it sounds. It didn't hurt but it stung my throat. But not all of them! Magical dust can go far but not all the way. Deep down I'm still your lovable flesh boy. Now I'm just full of wires and circuitry and gay shit like that - I still have my stomach, for example. Speaking of which

Eating Weird Shit 3: bacteria jamboree

thank god these were all means to an end because if I were to be organic after all this I think I would have released multiple plagues upon the world. Interestingly, during robot puberty, I became a ruminant, I have not one but multiple of my stomachs, for the flesh is not as weak as you might think, and can be a powerful tool for the machine. Basically I filled my stomachs full of a bunch of bacterias in order to facilitate all the fun things that robots do, like drinking oil and petrol, and also still eat food.

How did I do that? Ya boy was swimming around at the bottom of the mariana trench eating yummy microbes

I had a momentary crisis where I thought all that was left of my organic body was in my hands. And that I should feel shame for it and cover those things up

They aren't. My organic bits are all around my new robotic body. I just really didn't like having naked hands and my brain made shit up and gave me catholic guilt over it

I stopped being able to rotate my eyes and developed a fully rotatable neck like a cyborg owl

self explanatory. I started doing it at preachers on my campus calling everyone an abomination

The weird transitionary period of losing my legs and walking on my arms

Just really weird and awkward for everyone involved

The nightmare of my outer jaws flattening and turning into teethplates. The subsequent learning of semi-swallowing food like a snake.

i have regular jaws somewhere down my throat like a moray eel and I can eat regularly but I have to get food down there first. This was a courtesy on the magic dust on my part because we sat down and I was explained that I had to start swallowing food whole like a snake but I was able to negotiate that I can somewhat keep the same experience with food

actually, just all of my secret mouthparts

it's secret. can't tell you. you have to just find out

Figuring out my LED eyes

Did you know that your thoughts look a lot like AI-generated imagery? Now I do. It took me a long time to hone proper images down on those things

completely unrelated bonus but I got multiple massive grants to be allowed to studied and experimented on multiple occassions which I truly think is the only reason why i'm still here. I still feel like it wasn't enough.

[stinkycartman]

hey who's ready for another stupidly long post but this time its about the goth kids??? ii think lets start off with Michael i do not see a lot of fanart or acknowledgements of him being wasian then again im not sure i'm too deep into the goth kid side of the fandom for that so my apologies if im wrong here.. but on that note he is wasian, we do see his dad with curly hair but i think it's much funnier that 1. he either gets a perm or 2. he wakes up extra early to curl it every morning. to me he is 100% trad goth, the fits, the makeup all of it. I think maybe he leans more into 1980s trad goth, and his make-up wouldn't be as extravagant as some trad goth makeup if that makes sense?? not as heavy. i think he'd thrift a lot of pieces, it's the best place to find those old vintage outfits, good for cheap trench coats which is a STAPLE in his wardrobe. Definitely shoulder pads and going for that sort of triangular silhouette. i know he's listed as edwardian gothic in his wiki but i just feel like... 1980s trad trust me wink face. Going next to Pete his outfit is a little fancier just going based of the bolo tie because um... so i'm kind of swapping the fashion here and saying Pete kind of leans into a more victorian kind of goth, once again maybe less fanciful seeing as he's only 10 or however old a fourth grader is. More button-ups with frilly sleeves and like frilly necklines, like a vampire but dont you dare. ever EVERR imply his fashion is vampiric. I do, like all of the other kids, believe he does take a lot of fashion from trad goth though of course. I think he already wears platforms?? I'm not sure whats going on with his shoes but i think he wears them eitherway. Big teased hair, always looks like he's mildly balding when roots come in but it's not as bad as it would be if he was blonde. Henrietta im so avoiding firkle... ANYWAY!!! Henrietta, trad goth makeup BUT i think she'd lean more into romantic goth fashion, big sleeves and long dresses with lots of jewlery. She has that pretty extravagant trad goth makeup that Michael doesn't do, white base heavy eyeliner (this is despite her character being the only one to actually not wear eyeliner..) but you know!! the works!! we already see her with colored lipstick so i think she'd continue to use the funky colors on her lips. Henrietta for sure rocks a bats nest and soo so much of that got2b hairspray, like that is STAYING in place. not budging at all. firkle... i know he's considered to be the most goth out of them but he's also like 5 years old??? I don't know if he'd really delve too deep into any category BUT trad goth. A much more casual approach to it though becauese again he's 5!!!!!!! he probably uses his moms makeup and has like eyeshadow on his lips. Either that or he got one of henriettas old purple lipsticks. his PC design is definetely way more hardcore, like full of tattoos and piercings so i like to believe he constantly rocks fake tattoos and like those little glue-on balls.. that'd be cute. I'm not so sure it'd be easy to thrift trad goth clothes for little little kids so i'm guessing he has a lot of like normal looking clothes that are just black or got onesof his parents to do diy stuff. dont know but he's probably the coolest kindergartner in the world. absolutely gives himself stick and pokes and piercings in the school bathroom. im more scene myself but have really been getting into 1980s trad goth lately and have always been in the goth space .. maybe I AM firkle

[sahonithereadwolf]

I'm a queer brown man from the deep fucking South. I've been politically active before I was old enough to vote out of necessity and survival. I'm not a big believer in electorialisms' ability to solve most problems, nor vote-shamings ability to motivate anything but spite and contempt.

It's often an exercise of classism and racism whose punchline is "you must be stupid" instead of recognizing that the lived and material realities of one group do not line up with your own. And whatsmore there are issues not being addressed.

However, I'm a big believer in the idea that voting sets the battlefield you have to do the actual work on, and even if you're busy trying to survive it's something you can do for those doing the work. Sure, does the white moderate check out under a democrat? Yeah. But they were never the ones doing the work in the first place.

I can also tell you that platforms represent not necessarily the goals of an administration (though they will likely push some version out, if only to let it die after a token effort). However it tends to be a good indicator of what polls well and has support. What are things people want to see changed?

IDK, I guess I trust the experience of folks I've seen in the trenches about what they want over wokescolds on the internet and an airing of two different flavors of suburban anxieties.

I'm not going to tell you what to vote for or fight for, but I am going to ask what the people fighting for the things you care about would prefer.

[urlocalwormtoday]

Triton Seawing light language lmao

I've had this theory/headcannon/idea for a while that, like the Seawings from wof, tritons are bioluminescent

While in bright lights, like the surface during the day, the patterns are practically invisible and don't glow at all, but during the night they seem to naturally illuminate

Of course, the trench which is the equivalent to the bottom of the ocean is much darker than simply the oversea at night, so the patterns only really glow in really really dark areas

And I know that Triton's can speak underwater as if they were above water but I imagine the further down you go the pressure (even though tritons are kinda built for that) messes with your vocal cords and the way the sound travels

So over time, tritons would learn to flash specific patterns in specific orders in order to mean certain things

Maybe if you flare out your fins and flash the patterns across them it could mean "here" or "come"

The patterns around the eyes would probably mean "see" or "watch/look"

I am a firm believer that the crown that Gil has is special to him and him only, but in the case that it isn't maybe illuminating the coral could mean "royalty" or "King/queen" or even "silence"

Though, at the same time, primordial and aquan are both languages kind of built for deep water so I feel like those would work as well

(speaking of which, recently I've been seeing videos of people chanting native or historical or generally really old songs or tunes in other languages, do you think the tritons would have anything like that in primordial? Or even aquan?? And what would the lyrics of the chanting entail? Probably something about the ancient leviathans or the gods and probably the cycle of life and death)

[crazyforteyam]

Metkayina Tales (part four) - I Did It For You (Neteyam POV)

Neteyam x f!Metkayina reader summary : Neteyam will do everything to save the woman he loves. wc : 3,7k notes: I want to try something new so I write this part from Neteyam POV. And we're closer to the end (4/5) series masterlist

Since I saw Y/N for the first time, she always appears in my dream. 

"What's your name?" She asked, but damn, this is the first time I feel so hopeless and tongue-tied. Believe me, all my words are deep in my throat, ready to release. But she's like a charming witch, casting her spell every time she's around me.

"I will heal you, Neteyam," then she grabbed my hand, and took me to the beach, cleaning my wound. If only she knows how beautiful she is, with her eyes lightened in passion every time she heals people. 

"Neteyam, you're a fast learner!" She giggled in happiness when I succeeded in the spear lesson, and her laugh is the one view I could watch forever in rewind. Surely, she's owning my mind. 

Then suddenly her face turned into sadness, tears brimming in her eyes, hair strands on her forehead, covering a bit of her tattoo. 

"I failed to cure Ihaka,"

She looked miserable and I want to embrace her when all of sudden, she hugged me first. The feeling was flooding over me like a rushing tide. That's the first time I touched her. It feels so nice to feel her in my arms, and I know I'll do everything to make her happy.

"Neteyam, please, take me to my parents," now her breath is panted and she fainted, right in my arms. Her face slowly disappears, like a mist, and her body rises to the sky. I tried to grab her, but she is floating away in the air. Fear crawls over my body, prickling my skin. I run as fast as I can to chase her, but I am always beneath her, like a child chasing kites. I fell many times, my knees, elbow, and foot were bleeding but still, she was out of my reach, nowhere to be seen. 

"NOOOOOO!!" I screamed in pain as loud as I can. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Neteyam, wake up!" Suddenly all the view I saw before disappeared, and changed into Lo'ak's face. His eyebrow is furrowed with confusion, and his hand is on my shoulders. I woke up with a sudden movement, my breath was panting, and I can feel sweat dripping on my forehead. 

"You had that nightmare again, do you?" He asked again, his voice filled up with softness. I groaned and sit, with my hands running in my braids, trying to massage my own head. "Yeah, I think so,"

Lo'ak looked at me with worry in his eyes. He talked slowly, "Bro, if you still don't ready, you can do it tomorrow,"

"What are you talking about? I’ll do it today," my lips frowned, and I stood up, taking a few steps out of the pod, so I can see the sea. 

Today is the day. I'll go to the Deep Trench and collect the Red Seaweed, the only plant that can cure Y/N. I trained with Olo'eyktan in just 2 days. Actually, it was planned to be much longer, but Y/N's condition is getting worse every second. I took a breath deeply and closed my eyes, trying to calm myself.

Since Y/N is coma, I always had a nightmare, of losing her. These nightmares wrap their evil hands around my soul at night. It's not the first time I dreamed about her though, but obviously, my previous dream is much happier than this bloody nightmare. These dark thoughts may follow me, but I can’t let them win the fight. I won't let this nightmare turns into reality.

Life without taking chances is no kind of life at all. If I had to run, if I had to crawl, swim a hundred rivers, and climb a thousand walls, then I will do it all. I would find a way to save Y/N, I need her that much. There's no place that far when it comes to the life of the woman I love. 

I heard some steps that brought me back to reality. I turned around and found Tuk running towards me, and she hugged my waist. I bent to pat her head, while she said "Neteyam, we've been looking for you!" 

And suddenly, all the members of my family approached me.

"Neteyam," Dad called my name. He still has some wounds on his face, but he looks strong. He patted my shoulders, "Today it’s the day. Good luck, son. I'll be near you down there,"

"Thank you, Dad," I smiled at him.

Now my mom is kissing my cheek. I could feel the strength in her voice when she talked. "My son. I believe that you can do it today,"

"Mother, your support it's all I need," I whispered and she nodded.

Kiri smiled at me and I could see her eyes teared up, as she took my hand. “Brother, take care. I'll help you down there,” 

I squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Kiri,"

Lo'ak didn't say anything, but he hugged me tightly and gave me a reassuring look.

Then Kiri put her arm on my left shoulder and hugged me, while Lo'ak was on my opposite side. Mom, Dad, and Tuk joined, and we created a big family hug. 

"Sully's stick together," Dad said, and all of us joined him, chanting our family motto.

"Sully's stick together,"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After eating and getting ready, I went to the Olo'eyktan’s pod, as he and his family were already waiting. Yesterday, we made plans for my departure to the Deep Trench. Lo'ak had a suggestion about Payakan taking me there, and this idea was opposed by Olo'eyktan. 

But Payakan is the only Tulkun who knows the details of the location around Three Brother's Rock, the place where the Deep Trench was located, and finally, this plan was accepted. I'll be wearing a gill mantle later, to help me breathe underwater. 

I bring my fingers to my forehead, to greet all the Olo’eyktan family. They greets me back,  and Tsahik gave me a special potion, which will optimize the muscles in my body when swimming later.

When I finished drinking, Olo’eyktan approached me and asked, “Are you ready, Neteyam?”

I answered him with no fear. “I am, Sir,” But then, I remember Y/N. 

“Olo’eyktan, can I see Y/N in private before we leave?”

Tonowari looked at his wife, and she nodded. He smiled and pat my shoulders. “Of course,” Then he spoke to his family, “Let’s give him some privacy,” and they all left the pod, leaving just me and Y/N in the pod.  

I walked toward Y/N, who is still laying unconscious on the carpet. I felt my breathing suddenly speed up. Next to her, are all the Tsahik medicines and equipment, lying in a mess. Some of the medicine bottles were seen to have been opened without being closed again. The needles and loincloths just lay beside the bottles. 

My eyes looked at her body again, her hands folded on her stomach and her hair framed her face. There are dark circles around her closed eyes. Her face looked pale with no expression, without the beautiful smile she used to wear, or her ocean eyes. Her chest rose and fell weakly every time she breathed.

I knelt next to her and ran my fingers through her forehead, her hair, then down to her cheeks, which were starting to look gaunt. My eyes darkened with worry. Her absence only makes my heart grow fonder of her. She is my everything and I can't let her suffer like this forever. I must save her.

I kissed her forehead softly, with my fingers still caressing her cheek. Although she is in a coma, I believe that she can hear me, so I whisper to her ears.

“Stay here, Y/N. I’ll try my best to save you,”

The mission starts at midday. The gill mantle was already wrapped around my back. My father, Lo'ak, and Tonowari take me to the Deep Trench, riding on Payakan, so I could save my energy. They would stand guard above the trench, with some of Metkayina's best swimmers and healers, just in case. Next to them are Kiri and my Mom sitting on ilu, as they refused to be far from me. 

From the outside, Deep Trench appears menacing. It’s dark and filled with shadows that play tricks on your eyes. Even in the daytime, the trench looked sinister. But I won’t let fear rule me. There's no place that far when it comes to the life of the woman I love. 

I approached the Deep Trench, with Tsahik hand’s on my shoulders. She made a sign with her hand, a prayer for Eywa, for my safety down there. Then her fingers made several circular motions on my forehead, arms, chest, and legs, a ritual to get rid of any bad things that might happen. When it finished, she nodded at me, permitting me to enter Deep Trench. 

Before I entered the trench, I turn around and looked at everybody. They all looked tense, even Payakan didn't move a bit, as if he was frozen in the water. But then, my Dad smiled at me, like reassuring me. I smiled back at him and swimming down the trench, disappeared from his sight.

As they say, Deep Trench is dark and cold. Sunlight is not enough to illuminate this place. The Red Seaweed color would stand out, but it's hard to see clearly in this trench. I have to squint my eyes to make out what's in front of me. I blinked a few times, trying to focus. 

Suddenly, a group of small, glowing fish approached me and swam around my body, as if trying to help me see in the dark. Some of them swam in front of me, like guiding me. I smiled. This must be Kiri’s help.

It's not just the fish, it seems like several plants also glow in the dark,  making a path toward the Red Seaweed. I can see the plant now and picked some. Tsahik said that I better pick several, so I filled up my waist pouch with all of those plants. 

After that, I swam up. But suddenly, I feel dizzy. My chest hurt and my breathing was shallow, and instead of swimming up, I swam in a round motion. 

Then suddenly, I hear Y/N's voice inside my head.

Hey, don’t be so tense. You must be relaxed, otherwise, you’re not gonna make it.

I blinked. Have I gone mad? Her voice sounds so close, like guidance within me. Then I hear her voice again.

If you're a lover, you have to be a fighter. If you don't fight for your love, what kind of love do you have?

And that's it. I know I must fight for her. Her voice is like a push I need, suddenly I can focus again and swim up in a straight movement.

When I reached out the trench, a hand gripped my arm, helping me. It was Dad. He put me into Payakan's fin, and we reached the surface in a minute. 

I could feel all the Metkayina people staring at me. They were sitting on their ilu, tsurak, or just swimming on the surface. There were some amused expressions in their eyes when they looked at me, something very different from what I received before.

My family was all around me. Dad took me to his tsurak. Mom and all my siblings were hugging and kissing me and I was too tired to reply, so I gave them a smile and nod. Then both Tsahik and Oloeyktan approached me, and I gave them all the Red Seaweed in my pouch.

"This is the plant. Save her, please," I said when I gave them the plants. They both nodded, and Oloeyktan made his way toward the people, sliding in his tsurak, with me and my family following behind.

People were still keeping their gaze on me, and I got a little bit shy. And then Tsahik looked at me, as she smiled.

"Neteyam," she declared, "Now you are one of the Metkayina Tales!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk back and forth in my family’s pod. It's been five hours since I gave the sacred plants to Olo’eyktan and Tsahik, but until now there is no update yet. I started to upset, what if I’m too late and the plants can’t heal Y/N? The view of that bloody nightmare appeared again in my mind, and I exhale deeply, trying to erase that. Although the sun would still shine on, my whole world would all be gone. I could not bear the thought of losing Y/N. 

Every little sound feels like it’s multiplying tenfold, and I can’t sit still. The rest of my family also waits in silence as they sat in a circle. Kiri hummed a prayer to Eywa, and Tuk followed her. My mother stood up and stopped me from walking, as she put her hand on my shoulders.

“Relax, my son. Y/N will be fine. You did a good job,” She tried to convince me.

“Mother, but there is no news yet. I’m scared. What if I’m too late? What if Y/N couldn't be saved?” I muttered.

“No, you come at the right time. Eywa will help Y/N for sure. What if you start to pray for her?” She suggested.

My lips parted trying to respond to her, but the sound of steps walking toward the pod stopped me. All people rise from their sit. Tonowari and Ronal enter the Sully's marui. I walked a flash toward them in a second and tilted my face, asking for an answer. 

“I and my wife came here for telling the news.” Tonowari began to speak. “We tried to give the sacred plants to Y/N. We created a paste from half of the plant and smeared it on her face, as the priest prayed to Eywa. We were so afraid of our daughter’s condition…” he paused, causing my heart to begin flutter loudly. 

“And how is she now?” I asked impatiently.

“At first, there was no change. But then, we realize that the dark circles around her eyes began to disappear. Her heart rate increased, and the color back to her skin. She is not awake yet, but she is stronger now.” Ronal continued and then she smiles, this news relieved everyone. My mom hugged me proudly as a smile finally created on my face. 

Finally, Ma’Y/N is saved. 

But I must be patient, she is not awake yet. Her health is my top priority now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(two days later)

“Neteyam!” Tuk shouted while she entered the pod. She walked towards me in a rush and held my hand.

“What is it, Tuk?”

"It's Y/N! She woke up!"

It's like my body was shocked by an electric volt. My eyes widened, and I ran to the Olo'eyktan's pod as fast as I could. 

Tsireya and Ao'nung were in the front part of the pod, and I asked them hurriedly.

"Where's Y/N? Is she already awake?" 

"Yes, and she's inside," Tsireya smiled. 

“But Neteyam, please give privacy to my parents,” Ao’nung spoke, and his arms lifted in front of my chest, preventing me to enter the pod. “Wait here, until my parents are out. It won't take long, Y/N has woken up since this morning,”

I frowned but then sighed and nodded. Better not to make Olo’eyktan angry. So, I lean at the trees beside the pod and look at the sea. My fingers rubbed my head, and I can hear the sound of my breath. I feel so restless, every second seems like forever. 

Finally, a couple of minutes later, Olo’eyktan and Tsahik stepped out of the pod. They seems relieved, and Olo’eyktan eyes found me. I bring my fingers to my forehead to greet them and asked Olo’eyktan politely. 

“Sir, I heard that Y/N is already awake. Would you permit me to see her?”

“Yes, Neteyam. Y/N is inside the pod,” Olo’eyktan smiled at me. 

"And she's waiting for you," Tsahik continued, and I entered the pod instantly. 

I saw her crouching with her back to me, and her hands touching Tsahik's medicines and equipment, which had always been next to her when she was unconscious. Her wavy brown hair is now shoulder-length short and fell naturally without any hair ornaments. My eyes couldn't leave her body, and when she stood up, I called her name softly.

"Y/N," I called.

Her ears perked up when she heard my voice. She turned her body slowly, her hair swaying gently, revealing her face little by little. 

And finally, I can see her face, the center of my gravity. At last...my love has come along. My lonely days are over. The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of this meeting. Her ocean eyes blends beautifully with the tattoo on her forehead and glistened when she looked at me. 

We walked slowly closer, and it was like she had bewitched me, my eyes could not escape her face. There are no more dark circles under her eyes and her skin was no longer pale. My eyes checked the wavy pattern on her forehead, cheeks, arms, and legs, all around her body. All are still the same, she is still gorgeous as always.

A smile was engraved on my face as we held hands. My fingers touched her face, stroking her cheek gently. While her fingers touched my chest, right on the gunshot wound. Worry painted on her face.

"Neteyam," she finally spoke, and my name sounded melodious when she said it. 

"How are you?" she asked again, her hand still touching the wound on my chest. 

My fingers touched hers on my chest. "I've never been this good. You saved me, Y/N," 

She shook her head, then smiled and said, "It’s you who saved me, Neteyam,"

“I did it for you,” I answered her.

She smiled and approached me closer, her hands now curled on my back, and embraced me. I hugged her, my arms tightened around her body, my chin is on the slope of her neck, and her sweet scent fills up my nose. 

I hugged her tightly as if I would never see her again. Tears already welled up in my eyes and fell to her cheek. She saw it, and her fingers wiped out the tears on my face gently, as she smiled.

Now I held her head, patted it, and my fingers played with her hair. She looked at what I was doing to her hair, and she said, "Mom and Tsireya cut my hair to tidy it up. She said that while I was unconscious, my hair kept falling out. So they rearranged my hair. Do you like it?"

I smiled and said, "It's all right. I like it." 

Yes, she looked different with her new hair, but she is still beautiful to me. To be honest, my feelings for her are already deeply rooted in my heart, and her looks are only part of the reason. My fingers now touched her cheeks, which still look gaunt. I frown. Her health is much more important to me. 

"But, you look very skinny now. You must eat, I'll cook for you." I said. 

"Neteyam, I’m all right," she refused politely, but then a growling sound came from her stomach. I burst into a laugh, while she smiled sheepishly. 

"You can't lie to me, Y/N. You are hungry, indeed" I told her. 

I took her hand in mine and led her to her pod through the connecting part. She sat down in her pod, while I went to the kitchen, to cook her favorite food, grilled fish. Luckily, there was still plenty of food here. in between cooking, I stole glances at her. The feeling of excitement bubbled up in my chest, finally being able to be with her again. 

The emotion of our reunion sealed as a perfect photograph in my soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since that day, I have been going to her pod every day. I asked Olo’eyktan and Tsahik for allowing me to be a helping hand to Y/N, and they accepted. So I take care of her, make sure she drinks her medicine, cook her food, and accompany her when she wants to go swimming. The rest of the clan rejoiced when hear about her condition, and two days later, Tsahik gave birth to the fourth heir of the clan, a handsome baby boy. 

Y/N's health condition has also improved, now she no longer needs to take medication. To celebrate this and the birth of Oloeyktan's fourth child, he announced that there would be a celebration at Hope Cove,  which would be held the next day at night. All the people of Metkayina were invited, and the whole village was busy with preparations for the celebration. And my family is no exception.

So here I am in my pod, with Lo'ak helping me as he put some glowing beads on my hair. We spent minutes in silence before he speak. 

"Bro," 

"Yes?" 

“I heard some Metkayina girl try to court you today,” Lo'ak raised his eyebrows and I could hear the disbelief in his voice.

Since Tsahik announced me as one of the Metkayina Tales, some girls are starting to give me presents and affection, especially when I'm alone. Well, some even try to cross the line. And I didn't like that. I sighed. “Where did you hear that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Did you accept her?” Lo'ak asked though I assumed he already seemed to know the answer.

"No," I answered firmly.

Lo'ak smiled. His hands took my necklace and slowly put it around my neck. "Then who is this girl that you are waiting for?"

I closed my eyes. "You exactly know who,"

“Of course,” Lo'ak chuckled. “Bro, tonight you should ask her. Anything could happen tonight. You must stick to her side. And ask the question, ask her to be your mate, before somebody else does and you'll lose her forever,"

The thought of losing Y/N forever entered my mind and brought back again the glimpse of the bloody nightmare I used to see. I opened my eyes, then I looked at Lo'ak with full confidence.

"You're right. Tonight, I will ask her,"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

notes : to be continued soon! :D I'll be very happy if you leave a reaction, lmk what do u think of my fic!:) so sorry for late update, I'm sick :(

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s5 episode 11 thoughts

after a lovely vacation romp to maine in the last episode, i am wondering where we will visit next. i liked the last one so much that it’s follow-up will face great challenges!! i also have heard that the next one is a fan favorite, i believe? so interested to see where we go from there.

ah, i think i have seen a screenshot of this episode where scully makes a very annoyed face. and it’s fantastic. but that is all i know about it.

another AI episode! buddy, if only the writers could see what we live in now. i mean, they’re probably still alive. but did they picture sentient computer programs writing essays for nurses and doctors and lawyers in school when penning this script? no. they did not. and yes, i have seen these things in my time at college. we are cooked.

post-episode thoughts: bi scully you are SO important to me!!!!!!

anyway! let us begin.

we open at a diner. where someone is typing on a very beat up laptop. covered in duct tape. king of being on a budget.

the waiter asks laptop guy if he wants his coffee warmed up, and he answers with “no, but i’ll buy another one if you’ll leave me alone” which instantly makes me think this guy is like, some sort of terrorist. and he also is coughing. suspiciously.

whatever he is trying to get into, his access has been denied!!!

a mysterious number calls another guy named jackson on his cell phone, saying that his partner stole his money, and he wants to help him get revenge. the voice says his enemy is in the diner… jackson heads out to investigate

and another guy gets a call that the person who wronged him is in the diner!! and then another!!! and another!! there’s going to be a whole meetup!! one of violence!!!

this laptop guy at the diner is just typing, typing, trying to get into… whatever it is that won’t let him in while others arrive. this diner will be making bank tonight if they all get something to eat. but it doesn’t seem like any of the people coming in know each other… tension is very high as everything is quiet and they take their seats. 

computer guy finally does something to get into the system and coughs. menacingly. saying there is nothing that can be done.

and he puts in a CD…. is he gonna blow this place up??!?!?

BUT we will never know! because US marshals come in, and a gunfight erupts!!

nooo, the poor diner :(

intro time….. scully <3

now what is afoot here. and whatever happened to our deep throat 3.0 figure? she was here for a minute and then dipped. will we see her again today?

the agents are here at the diner to investigate the crime scene, trench coats billowing around. how many trench coats do these guys have? they tend to be darker, but i have a light brown one of stereotypical trench coat color, and i wonder if that would pass in their fashion book

the marshals were here to catch a guy named pico salazar who worked for a cartel, but i think the funny part is that he escaped from federal custody 3 months ago and scully had no idea who tf he was. she’s a busy woman!

no mr. salazar was present, however, there were a lot of other criminals at the scene. “mulder, these are street-level coke dealers, minor wholesalers at most” <- that sounded brutal coming from her lmaooo. read them again for me!

“it’s 2:45 in the morning, you mind telling me what it is we’re supposed to be looking for?” <- NOOOO the FBI needs to STOP WAKING HER UP!!! LET HER SLEEP!!! mulder seems wide awake but this is not surprising.

the answer to what they are looking for is: donald gelman, the hacker guy from earlier, who is a silicon valley software pioneer. who had been missing since 1979!!

he was about to make a deal that would turn him into the second bill gates, went hiking the night before, and was never found again??? that’s weird. mulder must have a mental encyclopedia of notable missing persons. among other subjects.

the computer has seen better days

mulder supposes that this was a hit- bring together 8 known criminals, then call the marshals, and a gunfight was inevitable- but scully says gelman was clearly dying, so what was the point of calling a hit?? a great question from someone known for asking great questions

“you want to kill the brain, not the body” <- i don’t like that response, mulder

scully’s driving today. HE STOLE THE LAPTOP?

“mulder, that’s evidence!” “gee, i hope so” <- LMAO??? what the hell is this guy doing. she is so sick of his nonsense i'm crying

he pulls out the CD while scully looks deeply troubled. and it starts playing a nice little song!!! it's called "twilight time". she’s freaked tf out.

he brings the laptop and CD to the lone gunmen, who are nerding out. big day for guys like them. gelman is famous in their circle. they’re gagged to learn he died; “a brother goes down”, says frohike

LMAOOO scully is reading their lone gunmen newspaper while they do whatever the hell it is they do… there’s an article on the front about infrared monitoring… she wants to go home!!!

langly is trying to hack the code keeping them out of the laptop...

scully comes in again with the steel chair of facts and logic: “anyone, uh, think to check his email?”

LMAOOO i paused to write that down and mulder’s face is PRICELESS he looks soooo proud of her 

woah… old email… had a nice little animation of a mailbox!! makes me nostalgic for something i never knew

gelman's email says david is missing and the hunted has become the hunter. i assume that refers to the AI…? the message is from “invisigoth”

LMAOOOOO mulder puts together that the string of numbers is an ID for a shipping container and she looks SO IMPRESSED i’m HOWLLLING she wanted to climb him like a TREEEE 

(author's note: if anyone has this gifset PLEASE tag me in it. scully was alternating between incredible levels of "i am so over this nonsense" and "we should kiss about it" for mulder AND esther. truly a woman at her limit. god. i love her)

off to shipping container land. is that a place where you can just… visit? he’s trying to give scully directions, but i don’t trust his navigation skills. 

why is there loud music playing from this shipping container… goth rave???

they find the right container, but NOOOO, HE GOT ZAPPED by whoever was inside!!!! she’s worried!! “i’m alright, go, get her!” <- that’s a man focused on the mission

scully is running and running and she tackles this mysterious woman!!! but she zaps scully!! “stop or i’ll shoot”, scully warns, and you KNOW she isn’t messing around!!

BAM! shoot she does. didn't land on her, but it must have been close

(the taser CGI is killing me lmaooo)

yeah, you better surrender. “thank you", scully says <- LMAOOOO she’s had ENOUGH and pins her against the wall to handcuff her

it seems she was just living here… oh, invisigoth is mad!!! she tells scully to bite her!!! i would be mad too tbh but like. they have a good reason to be there! gelman is dead! so maybe let’s be a bit more professional!!!

her computer is beeping beeping beeping…. she says it’s a missile locking onto them?

WOAH scully stopped her with a hand to the chest 😳 

(it was at this point i was Noticing Things between them...)

but mulder believes that they really are going to get blown up!!! scully is PISSED!! she has had ENOUGH!!! she hit a bunch of storage containers on the way out and sure enough, they narrowly missed an explosion….. what does this goth girl know…!!!

lmaooo, now for a nice little drive in the country while they figure out wtf to do with the goth in the backseat. mulder’s stuck in the passenger seat, his legs barely fitting in there. 

mulder clocks that this is about a sentient AI that i guess gelman let loose online to evolve (uh, okay)

“what was your role in all of this? were you the bass player?” <- LMAO SCULLY HATES THIS WOMAN (mulder’s side eye is fantastic as well)

invisigoth recites all her academic credentials (of which there are many, and they are deeply impressive) and then when scully asks her to explain what she did for gelman she says “you wouldn’t understand” ohhh the girls are fighting!!! 

scully pulls over at some random place to get out of the car and yell at mulder!!! we have to stop waking her up at 2 in the morning PLEASE! she thinks it’s all nonsense. maybe invisigoth launched the bomb herself!!!

but invisigoth says that the AI knows her voice and will strike if she talks on the phone… they were working with the AI and then one day it wouldn’t “come when we called it” (is this like a puppy?)

scully’s face is so funny lmaoo

“it’s not a program anymore; it’s wildlife loose on the net” <- i do not think AI really works like that, but i don’t know enough about it to dispute the situation 

invisigoth says that the AI killed david because he was trying to kill the AI!!! and twilight time CD is the kill switch

so they take her to the lone gunmen, who are starstruck!! meanwhile scully is gagged to learn her name is “esther nairn” LMAOOO

“are you gonna take off my cuffs, or do i have to do this with my tongue?” “you don’t want to take a vote”, says mulder <- LMAO WHY TF DID SCULLY DO THAT WITH HER TONGUE I'M CRYINGGGGG

am i sensing some bisexual undertones… like, it’s not just me, right…?

(this was the point where i had to actually Pause and make a post to make sure i wasn't just imagining all of this. after the tackling, the cuffing, the way scully stopped esther by her chest, scully lowkey bullying her, being gagged her name is esther, AND the tongue thing... and thankfully, multiple tumblr users confirmed that it was not, in fact, just in my head. which i am deeply thankful for)

scully’s taunting esther about the AI tracking her. so i guess now they have to go to the physical location of the hardware and give it the kill switch. sure. i guess.

frohike is admiring esther. frohike needs to be sprayed with a water bottle like a naughty cat.

SCULLY IS SO MAD LMAOOO “why don’t you just call him? oh, right; death from above” I LOVE HER ANGRY BAHAHA

(scully flirting by being mean is so fucking funny. i don't know if i would have anticipated that for her character, but now that i've seen it, i embrace it. it was like she hated this woman so much but was also unfortunately attracted to her and she wasn't going to let those seemingly mutually exclusive things get her down)

oh my god, when esther mentioned needing someone that works for the government to do her little hacking scheme, scully looks SO angrily in mulder’s direction… and he really is SO pretty….

i always take time to appreciate how pretty scully is. now we get one of those moments for mulder, as well.

so, off to virginia to do some crime. mulder is here alone and must scale a pole to get to the optic fiber connection? sure, why not. meanwhile, scully sleeps at the lone gunmen head quarters… but invisigoth slash esther has set herself free!!

she’s holding scully at gun point!!! “buenos dias, muchacha” <- okay so i’m not the only one seeing this? right. 

(deep, resigned scully sigh)

wait, i was so invested in whatever the hell it is these two have going on, i didn’t even acknowledge that all the lone gunmen were sleeping together LMAOOO on their little couches!!! aww. best buddies having a sleepover!!

but mulder is… at another pole? 

he calls her “scully?” (most flat, angry voice you have ever heard) “yup.” LMAOOO

he found an abandoned chicken farm with a T3 connection and she says “dandy” <- LMAOOOO

“where are you? it sounds like you’re driving” “you are correct, sir” BAHAHAAAAA

NOOOO, ESTHER HAS HER AT GUNPOINT TAKING HER TO FIND DAVID and she looks SOOOO OVER IT. do not hurt her, esther.

nah, you can’t get between mulder and scully like that… NOT COOL.

mulder’s in the damn trees of virigina??? and he finds a trailer??? 

meanwhile esther, who is now wearing a lone gunmen badge on her jacket, finds an entirely destroyed house where she meant for david to be!!! this is not promising

scully reaches for the handcuffs and unlocks herself from the wheel…. but esther is sobbing and doesn’t notice. did she put her hand back in there to disguise it??

scully’s reaching for the gun…. WOAH esther hands it over to her “go ahead. put me out of my misery”

(scully.exe does not compute. hot goth holding me hostage is now crying in my car: ????)

OH MY GOD, SCULLY PUTS HER ARM ON ESTHER’S SHOULDER WHILE SHE SOBS

(she might be a hater, but even more than that, scully is a lover. gently caressing the sobbing lady who just asked her to kill her)

WOAHHH loud ass noise as mulder approaches this trailer YEESH!!! damn, i had to turn the volume wayyy down!! no warning!!! 

whatever is in that mysterious trailer sees him on a screen…. is this the house of the AI? is he going in there??? will he be blowed up??

his fingerprint is captured and matched!!

WAIT, WE SEE MORE OF HIS PROFILE….

oxford university AB in psychology, graduated summa cum laude in 1982, quantico in 1984, assigned to violent crimes in 1988, x files in 1990….

SO THAT MAN GRADUATED FROM OXFORD IN 3 YEARS WITH A BA AND THAT’S ALL? he definitely carries himself with the air of a dude who did his masters is all i’m saying. maybe that's just what happens when a character is played by a guy who went to 2 different ivy league schools.

idk how much of this i should subscribe to because… god only knows if it will reflect canon or not. would like to get one of these snippets of their whole careers for scully. just so i know what to keep and discard in my fool's errand of calculating her timeline.

wait, back to the wreckage of the house that was exploded with scully and esther. “i lied to you”, she says. okay. so this is getting intimate. 

“imagine being mingled so completely with another, you no longer need your physical self- you’re one” damn. that’s crazy. and also now i am definitely NOT imagining these undertones. like at this point, they’re overtones.

she was going to live forever with david in the AI, but gelman stopped it, because he was afraid of what would happen.

ohhhh, esther finds a picture of her and david in the wreckage :( she says she loved him so much… writers knew it was getting a little too gay lmao

(frankly, i see this as a win for bisexuality)

scully points out that maybe david wasn’t there when everything exploded; maybe he was somewhere else. very thoughtful to console your crying kidnapper in this way, scully.

mulder, meanwhile, is climbing under the trailer, looking for clues. he’s unscrewing something while a little robot on the inside roams around!! aww it’s kinda cute!!! 

he entered from below and climbs in to find a maze of wires and endless rows of computers AND BLEH A DEAD GUY????????????? he looks like the life was sucked out of him!!!! and damn, it is david!!!!!! EWWW YUCKY

oh shit, mulder is being strapped into the same contraption that must have killed david….. this is not looking good!!!

he wakes up in a burn unit treatment wondering wtf is going on… oh, his arms are really burnt and they’re telling him to relax. this is not helpful!!! 

“is it bad?” “you’re in good hands” “my arms hurt” awww poor sweaty burned man :( around 800 people are wheeling him in…. and he sees a huge knife???? for the chopping off of arms??

is this some sort of dream scenario…? these nurse outfits are too weird…

“no, wait… call my doctor. you have to call… my doctor. call dr. scully. please call dr. scully” <- OMG NOOOOO he's scared and he describes her as his doctor… god, can you imagine????

(this gave me ideas of doctoring. which we have already seen in extreme scenarios, but can you imagine him being like "ugh, i have a headache" and she just drops into MD mode. i would like to picture it very much)

this old man is approaching him, and the nurses have weirdly long nails…. man, i don’t like that at all…. he’s being injected with stuff and a saw is buzzing next to his head……. this must be a terrible dream

back in the real world, scully cannot reach him!! esther says this is because the AI has adjusted to her voice on scully’s phone

they are racing to that chicken farm to try and cut it off… esther is using dial up in the car. yo, did dial up work in the CAR??? that is crazy. i could have been playing neopets on the go.

mulder is being visited by a scary evil nurse… did they cut his arms off….. NO!! just one arm!!! oh god. i never wanted to see his arm cut off.

WAIT, WHY IS THIS EVIL FANTASY NURSE WEARING A CROSS NECKLACE LIKE SCULLY?? hey. let’s unpack that at a later date. while she holds him down and says they’re evil and they want something from him.

HOLY FUCK SHE’S SMOTHERING HIM WITH A PILLOW???? “shh, or they’ll hear you” what da hell.

scully and esther are reaching a bridge… but the AI has found them!!! they’re right near a flammable tanker truck!!!

scully climbs up ONTO the truck of the nearest driver to tell him to MOVE and i am shocked by her truck climbing talents

meanwhile, esther is on the bridge that is now moving!! scully’s running after her, telling her to drop the laptop!!! and at the last second she throws it out to the water.

wait. what the fuck is cooking in mulder’s subconscious? why are three nurses rubbing him while he lays under a crucifix. and then he says he has a good dream??? and then she smiles and says it wasn’t a dream.

i don't like that. not one bit.

nurse nancy, you’re freaking me tf out. she says he has to tell “them” about the kill switch… the AI must be concocting some sort of weird nightmare thingy??

they took both of his arms!!!

SCULLY COMES IN WITH A GUN?? AND STARTS BEATING UP THE WOMEN?? LMAOOO THAT SPIN KICK WAS CRAAAAZY

what the hell. 

she’s yelling in his face while he sits there with no arms, asking if they have the kill switch… then he says “of course we do” and kicks her with his feet???

and he breaks the computer simulation???

omg, the scully computer model is killing me…

we should unpack that mixture of his worst fears and deepest desires (arms cut off, nurses touching and torturing him, religious imagery, scully coming in to save the day action hero style) but frankly i don't really want to think about such things at the time. i'm cool with certain parts of mulder's psyche not being analyzed.

he’s calling out to her!!! “scully, help! help!” but no one is around!!!!

esther and scully pull up to the chicken farm place and find his car…. esther is calling “here kitty kitty”, but we have to let her do her own thing…. 

they are also shocked by the terribly loud noise which scully quickly silenced with a few well aimed shots…. that is a woman who get things done!

mulder’s calling out to her!!! but the AI inserts him with more goo and he’s gone!!!

she’s sneaking in through the bottom of the trailer like he did, but she shoots tf out of the little robot i previously thought was cute. good. serves the evil robot right. and lord, she’s beautiful as she sneaks in. with esther behind her. 

they find david all sucked out of life. and scully sees mulder in the contraption. “mulder, can you hear me?” <- nooo, the robot is sneaking up on them!!!! 

the robot wants the kill switch!! esther had it in her pocket!! but if she gives it to the AI, it will “vaccinate” itself against the virus!!! this seems like late in the episode to introduce this idea, but again, i say sure, why not?

mulder is being zapped and scully says to put the kill switch in NOW!!! she goes and shoves it in herself!!! she said idgaf if this AI blows up the world, i need him safe!!!

holy FUCK!!!! “you’re gonna be okay, i’m gonna get you out of here” she says to his limp body as twilight time plays…

(oh, i'm emotional as she tries to lead him away..........)

but esther is frantically typing….

she’s crying… no… i realize what is happening as she tells scully to leave……

despite the imminent risk of explosion, scully comes back for esther… “you don’t listen, do you?” <- ohhhh…. esther strapped herself into the machine thingy!!!

scully, run!! take that injured man and beat it!!!!! esther does not wish to be saved!!

bam!!! the machine blows sparks and then it is annihilated from the sky!!!!

scully is guiding his barely conscious body through the woods…. then they visit the scene later

mulder ponders if esther was able to upload herself into an artificial life

“electrons chasing each other through a circuit- that isn’t life, mulder” “yeah, but what are we but impulses- electrical and chemical- through a bag of meat and bones? you’re the scientist, you tell me”

back at the lone gunmen's lab, their computer reads “BITE ME” in red letters against a black background!! esther!! she is here!!

(do the lone gunmen have a new friend?? can she be called upon to help during tricky situations?? or is she happily frolicking in the internet with david?? or is the answer that she can do both??)

cutscene to nebraska, where kids are playing with a football. a trailer is locked behind a fence, where one of the kids threw the ball. he goes in to fetch it…. but he is being watched by a camera!!!

NO!!! so did the AI live??? and somehow migrate to nebraska??? to watch random children?

for my own sanity, i choose to believe no ❤️

okay, so post episode thoughts: this was definitely a really, really good standalone ep. we had the whole emotional arc, and then the standard “well gee, i think it’s still out there” just when you think there’s hope.

i thought the premise sounded boring, and it actually turned out to be pretty interesting. we saw these weird sexual-ish fantasies of mulder being torn apart and scully saving the day, which are interesting, even if it's not exactly what i wanted to watch. and in the real world we saw her cradling his limp body out of the woods! which is exactly what i DO want to see!

and the skeptic was skeptical of science! but computer science is like, totally different from chemistry and stuff, so i can’t really blame her. she was PISSSSSED to be woken up in the middle of the night and then dragged on a wild goose chase!!! even pulling over the car just to yell at mulder!!! that is real fury!!

and i SWEAR i did not imagine that tension. she was attracted to esther but also mad as hell at her. we've all been there, scully. great insight into scully's type. she seems to like people who are terribly smart.

like i said before, i thought it was a really good episode!!! i’m not sure if it would make my top episodes list, but it would be close if not. i grew attached to esther, and i hope that she becomes the 4th lone gunman and offers insight from her digital abode, and that whenever they’re stumped they can turn to her and say “esther, what do you think?”. and she can beep beep boop and come up with a response. or maybe they can tell her about the latest movies and scientific discoveries. hard to imagine what the digital afterlife looks like and the capability for interaction between the real and digital worlds.

call his doctor…