#and so far i have been keeping this space relatively quiet but. well.

[megsdoodletag]

I feel practically exploitative re: you posting all this Morty art; do you have a tip jar or anything?? Like the girlies are DEVOURING IT, I just feel rude continuously asking for more

(hey I remembered csp has proper comic options! my shit will now be Legible. yippee, etc.)

ahhh ya'll r too kind...I do have an ancient kofi somewhere but do NOT feel pressured to do anything with that, these r just fun doodles, for Fun. Trust me when I say if I did not want to do something it would Not Get Done. If I ever got a request I didn't like I would simply say 'not for me, sorry!' and there would be no hard feelings.

BUT. since you asked. top non-monetary forms of compensation are:

a) reblogs with tags/comments (I do little happy dance every time notification number goes up, double that if there's incoherent screaming involved. ya'll are doing great on that front i'm having so much fun already :3c ) b) oc/personal canon interaction. I have 200+ named ocs, fandom and original. most of the fandom ones are involved in relatively extensive plots. ask me if they know canon characters. ask me stupid shit. ask me plot questions. ask them questions. whatever. you're here from 40k so juno and her gang would be the group of interest. I have 17k words worth of stuff for her already written, they're just not posted bc they're not chronological within the overarching plot. but just in case you needed proof for how insane i Can and Will be given the chance. c) if you want me to love u forever and ever, giving me any excuse to talk about Z will do that!!! He is a non-fandom oc but he is designed for crossover stuff so he's around. Right now he's. Uh. [checks notes] terrorizing nightlords. i think.

[oddwalkerduckarts]

Sylus: Desert Flight

A short and sweet drabble that I wrote as a treat for myself during a flare up.

Summary: You and Sylus take your daughter to test out her new wings in the desert near the oasis

AO3 if you prefer

Contains: maximum levels of fluff, no editing thanks to flare up, reader is referred to as mom.

Notes: i didn't give the daughter a name or age here, feel free to imagine as you like.

The stars are just beginning to peek through the haze of sunset in the oasis, twinkling in the deep navy expanse above as the last bit of light leaches away from the sky. You've never seen the stars this clearly; the light pollution in Linkon barely allows you to see all but the brightest of stars, and the deepspace tunnel occupies a large portion of the sky anyway. But here, you can easily imagine space stretching into worlds far beyond your own.

“Mom!” A small, excited voice drags your attention back down from the heavens, “Come on! You’re taking for-ev-ver!”

You assure your daughter, who is practically vibrating with excitement, that you are coming. She's been waiting (impatiently) to try this for weeks now. Sylus had promised her that, once her little wings were strong enough, he would take her to practice real flying. However, doing so in the neon-bright nights of Linkon would be begging for a troublesome amount of attention. And despite the vast improvements of the state of affairs in the N109 zone, it still wasn't safe enough to let a child test out her brand new wings.

So, the three of you had taken a family trip to the oasis. It's relatively easy to monitor her safety here; most people you have met seem to buy the explanation that your daughter has a gene-modifying evol, so she has been able to keep her wings out. In Linkon and the N109, you are always on alert for any remaining presence of EVER, and you’re careful not to allow her wings out too frequently. With your memories now intact, you know what they did to you as a child, as well as Luke and Kieran, and you will be damned if any remaining shreds of EVER try to lay a finger on your child. Sylus, with memories of his previous life also intact, is just as cautious. Now and again, when he holds your daughter, you will see him stroking the tender, delicate membranes of her wing with an inscrutable face.

But tonight is not the night for old wounds and memories. Something new and wonderful is happening under these stars.

As it stands, the desert is peaceful. You watch as Sylus walks through the dunes ahead of you, your daughter clinging to his back, little wings fluttering instinctively as the cool night breeze fills them. She's so similar in her look to Sylus, both of their heads gleaming silver in the rising moonlight, both sets of sanguine eyes scanning the surroundings (one set with alertness, the other with boundless curiosity). He would claim, though, that your daughter is all you in spirit; courageous and determined to a fault, always wanting to help even a complete stranger on the street.

Sylus turns slightly to make sure you're still following, eyes sparking with a kind of excitement and unadulterated pride you’ve only rarely seen in him before, and always related to his little princess. It appeared first on the day she was born, and had shown up now and again afterwards, when she took her first steps, when she first said ‘dada’, and when she first dug a fang into Kieran’s hand.

“Getting distracted, sweetie?” he calls.

"The stars are gorgeous here, it's hard to not get distracted!”

“Mm,” his low, amused hum glides to you on the breeze, “and here I thought you were distracted by the handsome view in front of you.”

“Da-ad, ew.” Your daughter groans. Both of you laugh, the sound joyously loud in the quiet landscape.

Eventually the three of you come to a stop at the crest of a dune.

"The sand is soft here,” Sylus explains, as he gently returns your daughter to earth, “go ahead and try, the drop will give you some time to glide.”

Your daughter's feet shuffle restlessly in the sand, “You aren't going to show me how?”

Sylus gives her a slight smile, “My wings would cause a sandstorm here, princess. If that happened, you wouldn't be able to fly tonight.”

She gives a serious nod, the stories you've told her at bedtime of her father (though they are taken from another life) ring true to her.

“No monsters here, right, mom?” She looks to you for assurance.

You check your hunter's watch, as you always have done when she asks this. Though your daughter is unafraid of the dark and many other things children are usually terrified of, she's not immune to all fears. Wanderers, especially, seem to take the place of more traditional monsters in her mind. However, when she was three, you comforted her with your tales of being a hunter, and having a watch that could detect when they are near.

“All normal,” you report, giving her a thumbs-up, “perimeter secure.”

She gives you a bright smile. Soon, she will be too old for these sorts of platitudes to work. But for now, they give her comfort as she faces a new challenge.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself, wings stretching in preparation, sinewy young muscles testing their own strength

Sylus gives her some reminders as he crouches next to her on one knee; let the drop fill your wings first, then flap to catch some air, angle them up as you come to land. She listens attentively, wings mimicking the movements to help her remember.

“What if I fall?”

“You probably will,” Sylus says somberly, and you can see the confidence in your daughter waver slightly, “are you going to let that stop you?”

You know he would accept it if she does want to stop. Sylus always gives her a choice when she faces something that intimidates her, or tests her limits. He never pushes, trusting your daughter to know herself. It’s one of the myriad things you admire about your husband.

Your daughter thinks hard for a moment, eyes narrowing, “No. I want to fly. Even if I fall a little.”

“That's my princess,” Sylus grins at her, eyes shining with pride once more as he stands.

You move to his side as your daughter stands at the crest, wings stretching once more. You take his arm as she backs up slowly, face set with determination, and then sprints to the edge. Your fingertips dig into Sylus's arm as you hold your breath, watching this insane, wonderful child you both created fling herself into the air.

She waits a moment too long to open her wings fully, and nearly crashes to the ground. But in the end, she does manage to catch a little air, and glides to a tumbling landing at the base of the dune.

Before you quite know what you are doing, you're hurtling down the slope too, losing victorious shouts as you slide down to your daughter. You help her up from the little pile she's landed in, showering her with praise for her glide.

She giggles, still young enough to be deeply pleased rather than embarrassed by all of your fussing (not that it will make you stop, regardless).

“Did you see, dad?” She calls to the top of the dune.

“Of course, Princess.” He calls back, and you feel the delighted flutters of your daughter's wings against your arms.

"I want to go again!” She exclaims, pushing against you, so that she can run back.

You set her down, “I bet I'll beat you to the top!” she crows, and immediately begins running.

She’s every inch as competitive as you are, sprinting and pumping her little legs for everything she's worth. Even her wings beat against the air as she goes, granting a little lift to her steps. Most of the time, you let your daughter win these little races. Every once in a while, though, a prize catches your eye, and you simply have to win. This is one of those times. So the two of you race across the cooling sand, little puffs of it flying up in your wake under the newly-darkened sky. You round the corner of the dune where Sylus is still standing, racing up the incline, hunter-trained muscles giving you the lead over your daughter. You make it to the crest, but do not slow; instead you push yourself just a little harder in the final stretch. You can't see your husband's face well in the dark, but you can imagine it well enough. You have seen his look of affectionate amusement so often by now that it may as well be the back of your own hand. You collide with his chest in a rush, flinging the pair of you over the edge of the dune. Sylus, though, is just as familiar with you as you are with him. As your bodies meet, the misty tendrils of his evol are already wrapping around the pair of you, slowing the fall into a weightless sensation that may as well be flight.

You feel his arms wrap around you, strong and warm, and his deep chuckle rumbles through his chest to your ear.

“I didn't know you were trying to fly today, sweetie. You could have just asked.”

“What's the fun in that?”

He chuckles again as the pair of you land in the soft sand, giving you a dazzling view of the universe in the clear sky above. Though it becomes difficult to appreciate, as most of Sylus's weight settles on top of your body.

“Sy,” you grunt, wriggling to give yourself more room to breathe, “off, please!”

“I thought you liked me on top of you, kitten.”

“Sylus! She's-”

“At the top of the dune. She can't hear me.”

He presses a quick kiss to the shell of your ear, a promise of what will come after your daughter is deep asleep in her own room, before relenting and beginning to move off of you.

A large shadow blots out the sky above, and for a heart-stopping moment, your mind screams at you to prepare for a wanderer. However, when the shadow lands (heavily) on the pair of you with a squeals and a giggle, your fears quickly subside.

“Got you!” She yells triumphantly, and you can't help but laugh.

“Well done, princess,” Sylus says, tucking back the hair that's fallen out of your daughter's braid, “You saw your opportunity and seized it.”

Your daughter beams, again delighted at the praise.

The three of you remain for a time, until the chill in the air turns to a cold bite. You carry your exhausted daughter alongside Sylus as you walk back to the oasis town, your free hand entwined in his, under the watch of the stars.

[flemingsfreckles]

Physio’s Daughter Part 11 (18+)

Read the rest of the series here!

Warnings: smut! fingering (r receiving and giving), oral sex (r giving and receiving), minimal dirty talk, a little accidental overstimulation, marking, it’s a little awkward so if that isn’t your vibe that’s fine, cursing

WC: 8.1k (I know, it got out of hand)

A/N: I HAVE A LOT TO SAY!

If you are reading this series but aren’t one for smut, feel free to skip this chapter. There is nothing super instrumental to the plot happening here besides the physical relationship. Anything plot related will be reiterated and explained in Part 12 so that anyone who doesn’t wish to read this content doesn’t feel lost by skipping it.

Also I’ve mentioned this before, this is not typical hot/heavy/wildest fantasy smut, I wrote this more realistic, it’s a little awkward at points, but I liked writing it this way for this story. Basically, if you’re reading smut just to get off this probably isn’t it, feel free to read my other smut

The walk back to the hotel was relatively quiet. You weren’t able to tell what was running through Jessie’s mind but yours was all over the place.

A sudden feeling of uncertainty was running through your body. You’d had done this before, a few times with a “situationship” you found yourself in your first year of university, and then a few times with drunken flings that you found at the college bar, nothing with much feeling behind it. This felt more serious than that, this was more serious than that. This was Jessie. This wasn’t a drunken decision, this was something you’d wanted for months now.

On top of those nerves came a feeling of inadequacy. She was a professional athlete. She had defined muscles, toned legs, a toned core. She had a cardio stamina a hundred times better than yours. You were just average in comparison. Your job kept you on your feet and moving around but not nearly in as good of shape as Jessie was. The nerves had you keeping your eyes on the ground ahead of you, your hands if not already occupied with the picnic basket would’ve been fidgeting with your shirt or picking at your skin.

At the same time the nerves came with an overwhelming feeling of excitement. This was Jessie. She wanted to sleep with you just as much as you wanted to sleep with her.

The second the door clicks behind the two of you Jessie has you pressed up against it. It’s reminiscent of your first kiss, up against the wall of your office. Only this time it could go as far as you both wanted. There was no risk of someone walking in, the two of you being caught, and you were ready to take advantage of that.

Putting your hands on Jessie’s waist you gingerly begin to push her backward. Much to your dismay, Jessie takes her lips off of yours and steps back.

“Sorry.” She’s quick to apologize, your hands still on her waist.

A whine of frustration almost comes out, you clear your throat and question her. “Why?”

“If that was a lot, I came on a little hard there.” Her hands wave rapidly in the space between the two of you.

“It wasn’t too much.”

“I just figured since you pushed me off.” Her thought trails off. You didn’t want her off of you.

“I wasn’t pushing you off Jessie, I was trying to push you toward the bed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” You point at the bed over her shoulder and she turns to look at it as if she didn’t know it existed.

“Well in that case, can I kiss you again?” You barely nod before Jessie is coming toward you, her hands coming to your face. One of her hands finds the back of your head, preventing you from bumping your head into the door as her body comes up against yours.

This time when your hands push on Jessie’s hips she steps backwards but doesn’t break your kiss. The two of you make your way to the bed carefully, your hands pushing her as she takes cautious steps backward. You get a step away from the bed and lighten the pressure on her hips.

She quickly climbs onto the bed, kneeling before turning back to kiss you as she kneeled up to your height. Her arms reach for you and she pulls you toward the bed. You join her kneeling onto the mattress for a moment before Jessie breaks your kiss and situates herself on the bed. Her hand reaches, clutching the collar of your shirt, pulling you down. Practically falling on her you just barely catch yourself before your face collides with hers.

Ignoring the fact that you both almost had broken you noses against each other, you kiss her hard again. It doesn’t take long for Jessie’s hands to wander. They’re on your shoulders, then running down your sides, she moves them to gently grip your ass, pulling you toward her. She’s caressing every inch of you that she can reach. You want to do the same but your hands are the only thing keeping you from crushing the woman below you.

Her hands then find their way to your chest and now it’s her pushing you back. You break the kiss this time, sitting back to put your weight on your knees.

“Take my shirt off.” Jessie says, breathlessly. Part of you felt like you were in a dream, this was happening, actually happening. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t dreamt of the midfielder like this before, below you, her hands on you and yours on her, those dreams never lasted too long but you always woke up with your heart racing, just as it was doing now.

“Are you sure?” You say with your hands inches from grasping Jessie’s shirt.

“Yeah I’m sure.” She looks up at you. You can’t help but get lost in her eyes for a moment. You get distracted, leaving your hands frozen reaching out toward Jessie. The way she was looking up at you was intoxicating, her eyes soft a small ring of brown surrounding her wide pupils, you could look into them forever.

“Are you okay? You’ve done this before right?” Jessie’s words break you from your gaze.

“Sex? Yes, I have! Oh my god am I that bad?” You were ready for the floor to open up and swallow you. Mortified that Jessie was under the impression that you had never done this before, that you were clueless.

“No! No, nothings been bad, we’ve barely done anything, it's just you seem pretty nervous,” she pauses before pointing to your hands. “Your hands are shaking.” They were, you knew they were, you just thought maybe you had gotten away without Jessie noticing.

“Just a little nervous.”

“I thought I didn’t make you nervous?” Jessie’s cocky smile is able to put some of your nerves to rest.

“Usually you don’t, but yeah, this is making me a little bit nervous I guess.” Finding a sudden interest in the wall color, you keep your eyes fixated there, avoiding Jessie’s stare up at you. Now you were even more nervous, thanks to her comment.

“We don’t have to do this, if you’d rather wait or just not.”

“No!” Now you’re looking back down at her. She looks at you funny, you realize it maybe sounded like you were saying you didn’t want to. “I mean yes, I want to, I want to have sex, the nerves aren’t bad nerves, it’s just a little adrenaline I think, plus I don’t want to embarrass myself because I really like you. Although at this rate it seems I already have embarrassed myself.” You barely breathe between your sentences, rushing them out to try and limit the embarrassment you’re already feeling. You planned on being red in the face and a little sweaty when this was all done not before you even had your clothes off.

“Sorry I really didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Jessie’s thumbs rub comforting circles on your thighs.

“I’m good.” You were good, incredibly embarrassed, but good.

“Good.”

You curl your lips in biting them between your own teeth and just look at her.

You could get lost in her eyes all over again. The brown color, you never knew why people complained about brown eyes, they were warm, inviting, you loved looking at Jessie’s eyes. Jessie was expressive with her eyes too, it told you a lot about her feelings. Right now her eyes were a mix of lust and a small bit apologetic.

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed, I promise it’s been good so far. Plus I’m a tiny bit nervous too.” She looks down for a minute then back up to you. “Its an excited nervous and also just regular nervous, because I really, really like you too and I don’t want to mess this up, but I haven’t,” Jessie clears her throat diverting her eyes to a spot on the ceiling, “It’s just been a while since I’ve done anything with anyone.”

“Worried it’s been so long they’ve changed the fundamentals of sex?” You can’t help but crack the joke to her.

“Hey,” she playfully shoves you, “I didn’t poke too much fun at your nerves.”

“Right, I’m sorry. While we’re airing out everything, it’s been a while for me too, a year, at least.” You think maybe expressing your own lack of recent fornication will ease Jessie’s nerves.

“Well then we’re in a similar boat.”

“So if they’ve changed it neither of us will know.” You shrug at her.

“Just come here.” Jessie says before she doesn’t give you a choice, her hand grabs a fistful of your shirt again and pulls you back down to her. Before your lips touch she looks you in the eye before whispering “Kiss me until your nerves are gone.”

You do just that. You bring your lips to Jessie’s, kissing her softly a couple of times, just a few pecks. Her hand remains on your thigh, the other running through your hair. Her thumb still gently rubs circles on your thigh, a soothing and grounding feeling. Her hand squeezes ever so slightly as you open your lips against hers and her hand in her hair pushes you closer to her. Kissing Jessie lets your mind go blank. You become engulfed in the feeling of her lips on yours, you’re no longer caught up in the nerves and overthinking.

The two of you stay kissing for a couple minutes Jessie’s hands finding their way to your waist, her fingers teasing at the skin under your shirt. You pull away finally, pressing yourself up using your hands on either side of Jessie’s head. She smiles up at you, her hair is messy, as you're sure yours is as well from her hand running through it. Jessie’s fingers continue to gently stroke your skin mindlessly as you two look at each other.

“You can take off my shirt, if you want.” You offer, knowing Jessie probably wouldn’t make the move to take it off of you without you asking. Her fingers are quick to grab the bottom of your shirt before pulling upward. Jessie being below you gives her an awkward angle trying to pull your shirt off meaning it gets caught on your elbow on one arm and on your head. It causes you to laugh as you’re sitting in Jessie’s lap, shirt stuck over your head, you can feel her let out a quick laugh, her stomach tensing beneath you.

“Here, I’ll get it.” You feel Jessie’s hands let go of the shirt. You maneuver it quickly before ridding yourself of the shirt, tossing it to the floor.

“Sorry that was really not smooth.”

“It’s fine Jessie.” You bend down kissing her again and your hands now find the bottom of her shirt, finishing the action you had planned to do many minutes ago. “Can I?”

“Yeah, let me sit up.” You put your weight onto your knees instead of Jessie’s lap, allowing her to scoot herself up to sit. She taps your hips once she’s sitting up, “Sit back down.” You do, now sitting more on her thighs than her waist. She sticks her arms up and you slowly pull her shirt up and over, tossing it in the same direction as yours.

Jessie’s eyes trail from your face down to your bra and down your waist, her hands find their place on your shoulders where your bra straps sit. You noticed her fingers, again making small movements, tracing soothing patterns into your skin. She leaned forward putting her lips below her hand, kissing your collarbone. She placed a line of kisses across the prominent bone before switching to give attention to the other side.

Her lips then found their way up your neck, those kisses more intense, open mouthed, her tongue running over your skin, making goosebumps appear across all of your exposed skin. You let the breath out of your chest and your eyes flutter shut as you feel her suck slightly just above the base of your neck.

She pulls back, “good?”

“Mhmm.” You hum before pushing her neck gently back in the direction of where her lips had just been. She obliges, reconnecting with your neck and sucking harder as you encourage her, your hand pressing her into your neck.

She pulls away a minute later and you open your eyes, tilting your head back down to watch Jessie open her own eyes.

“Oh my god.” Her hand clasps over her mouth, her eyes open wide and glued to your neck, a horrified look in her eyes.

“What?” You ask, but you already have a good idea of why she was staring.

“I left a mark.” Eyes still wide with fear, she doesn’t look at you, vision glued to what you assumed was a bright red marking.

“Jessie!” Your hand immediately clasps over where the warmth from her lips was still radiating. “You gave me a hickey?!”

“I wasn’t trying to, I wasn’t even sucking that hard!”

“I guess I should’ve mentioned I bruise easily.” You slowly take your hand away. “Is it bad?”

“Uh.” Jessie looks from your neck to your face and back to your neck. “It’s there. It’s definitely there. And it’s definitely too high up a shirt won’t cover it. A sweatshirt maybe. Oh my, your Mom is going to kill me.” Jessie’s words are quick and scrambled with her panic.

“Nope, nope.” You bring a hand to cover Jessie’s mouth and stop her talking. “We’re not talking about my Mom while I’m sitting in your lap.”

“Sorry.” Jessie mumbles into the palm of your hand, you remove it and put it back on her waist. She squeezes her eyes shut, tilting her head down with a slight shake. “I really didn’t mean to, I would’ve asked for permission if I planned on leaving a mark, I’ll help you cover it, I can see if Janine has makeup-”

“Take my bra off.” Her head shoots back up as you interrupt her.

“Are you sure? I figured I killed the mood by giving you a hickey like an inexperienced teenager.”

“No, you didn’t, to be fair, it felt really good. Plus it’s half my fault, I pushed your head. So, if you want to keep going, I’d like you to take off my bra and maybe you can put those suction skills of yours to work somewhere more hidden?” You raise your voice at the end, indicating you were asking her a question, more making her an offer.

She nods, her loose curls bouncing slightly around her face. She brings a hand around your back, you feel her fumble with the clasp for a second, Jessie face scrunched in concentration. Just as you’re about to offer help you feel the elastic give and the straps on your shoulders slip down slightly. The feeling, realizing you were suddenly going to be exposed brings back some of your nerves. Her hands move to hold the straps, she looks up to you again.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod at her and her fingers gently pull the straps down your arms, she keeps eye contact with you, not looking at your chest or the bra, not watching her own hands. Once your bra is off and on the floor with the growing pile of clothes Jessie’s hands come back to your body.

“Can I flip us over?” Her hands rest on your lower back. You give her permission and with ease she moves you off of her and onto your back before rolling over to position herself between your thighs. Your legs wrap gently around her waist. The position reminds you briefly of how the two of you were laying on top of each other at the field, her on top of you, her weight and warmth pressed into your body. You watch as Jessie takes in the sight of your bare torso. Her eyes make a path from your neck down, looking left to right, her attention being grabbed by your actively hardening nipples. She trails her eyes down the rest of your stomach before coming back up to look at you.

“You’re perfect.”

Jessie’s lips returning to your neck brings you out of your thoughts and back to the present. Her kisses are more tentative, likely she doesn’t want to accidentally mark you again. Part of you wishes she’d suck another mark. This time after making passes on your collar bones, Jessie’s mouth makes its way down the valley of your breasts.

You hum in content as Jessie moves her mouth to the flesh of your chest. She sucks just as she had on your neck, you watch as she works, her eyes are closed, focused expression on her face. She sucks a little harder making a groan bubble up from your throat. She doesn’t release her mouth but her eyes open, locking to yours while she seductively sucked harder. Jessie removes her mouth, taking a second to admire her work, a dark red circle sitting just under your nipple is left behind, she smiles before repeating the process on the other half of your chest.

Her hands have remained off of you while her mouth worked. You wanted her touch. Your own hands are all over her, they’re in her hair then on her cheek, then gently scratching down her back, squeezing her waist, holding her shoulders. You couldn’t make up your mind on where you wanted them, you wanted them everywhere. As Jessie continues to mark and tease your skin with her mouth you bring your fingers into the elastic band of her bra. You gently dig your fingers under the band hoping she’ll get the hint. She does, releasing the suction she had on you, giving each of your nipples a quick kiss before she sits up and away from you. You sit up with her, keeping your fingers just dipped under her bra.

“Can I take this off?” You look up at her. She doesn’t answer right away, she's just looking down at you, her eyes are glossed over . “Jessie?”

“Yeah?” She blinks a few times.

“Your bra? Can I take it off? If you want to keep it on, that's okay.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I just got distracted looking at you. You’re so pretty.” She leans down giving you a quick peck. Her words have your cheeks flushing pink. She’d complimented you before, but it was different, the way she got distracted looking at you, lost in her thoughts because she was looking at you. It made you feel wanted and that made you want her even more. Your fingers dig further under her bra and she moves her arms to raise them over her head. You’re able to get the bra about halfway off her arms before you can no longer reach and Jessie gets stuck for a moment, letting out a small giggle as the bra covered her face before she used her own hands to remove the fabric fully.

You weren’t sure if you should look. You wanted to, you wanted to admire every inch of her, but she had restrained her gaze on your own chest for a bit, so you do the same, looking at her face instead. Seeing you staring at her Jessie leans down to press her lips to yours. You sit up even more, putting the two of you in the same position from the other night, Jessie straddling you as you two made out. Only now instead of layers of clothing between the two of you, you felt her bare skin on yours.

The warmth of her chest on yours sends a shiver down your spine. You want to hold her tight to you like this forever. Her nails gently scratch down your back causing you to moan quietly against Jessie’s lips. She gets the hint you like it and she digs her nails in a bit harder, leaving red streaks down your back. The action has you throwing your head back away from Jessie to let out a louder moan.

“Hmm, someone likes that.” Jessie teases you, a smirk across her face. You roll your eyes at her, you want to make a smartass comment back but you can’t come up with anything in the moment too overwhelmed with the situation to come up with a coherent thought. Instead you sit up on your knees, pushing Jessie back so that you could climb on top of her, taking back a little bit of control.

Now you’re finally able to take in her figure. Your eyes float down to her chest, the sight has you nearly rolling your eyes back. Jessie was perfect, of course she was, but it still shocked you for some reason. You let your eyes take in all of her skin, smooth, her nipples hard, a couple of scars and scratches across her body, ones you had seen before with medical treatment, most of them from being an athlete. Her toned stomach. And then of course there’s her freckles.

You get distracted by her freckles. Of course the freckles on her face have always been a prominent feature you found adorable. You had seen the freckles on her shoulders and back before when you treated her. But now you take extra notice of them, she has freckles across her whole body, down her neck, across her chest, down her stomach, resting above her waistband, they’re everywhere. You have the urge to put your lips on every single marking on her skin, but you refrain, maybe you could do that another day.

Bringing your lips to her skin you begin to make your way down her neck, placing soft kisses before moving further down until Jessie’s hands hold you firm in the spot against her collarbone. You gently suck at the spot, feeling Jessie let out a sigh followed by a quiet whine. You can’t help but smile at her reaction, losing the suction to her skin. Taking your hand you place it on her stomach before slowly sliding it upward until you hit the curve of her breast. Not hearing any protest, you slide your hand further cupping her, giving a gentle squeeze before your thumb focuses on her nipple.

“That’s good.” Her words come out breathy. Her eyes flutter shut as your lips connect with her other nipple. Your tongue gently circling the bud. “Fuck.” The profanity is said so quietly from Jessie’s lips you barely hear it.

You continue pleasing her, switching between your hand and your mouth making sure you give even attention to both sides. You start to notice Jessie moving her hips. She grinds gently upward against your thigh as you suck a small mark into the skin below her breast. You give in to her movements, placing your thigh strategically to put pressure between her legs, you lean into her and she groans, flicking her hips upward.

You bring your hands to the button on her jeans, looking up at her for her permission. “Go ahead.” She puts her heels into the mattress and picks up her hips so let you shimmy her jeans off her pants. You don’t mean to but you realize as you get her jeans halfway down her thighs that you’ve grabbed her underwear too.

“Oops, sorry.” You separate the two waistbands and begin to just pull down her jeans.

“Don’t be sorry, just take them off too.” Jessie props herself up on her elbows to look at you. You listen, your hands going back up to start pulling down both her pants and underwear. You add the garments to the pile. When you turn and see Jessie, who was now completely naked in front of you, propped up on her elbows watching you with a stare, you freeze.

You didn’t know what to do. Well you did, you’ve done it before, you just, this was Jessie, someone new, you were starting from square one. You feel Jessie’s hands grab yours bringing you back into the moment. “You alright?” She says, giving each hand a squeeze.

Her voice and grounding gesture remind you that while yes this was Jessie, that’s what was going to make this easy, it was Jessie. “Yeah, I’m good.” You flash her a smile. “Uh so,” you glance down between her legs then back to her face, “is there anything you definitely don’t want me to do? Mouth, hands, anything?”

You watch as Jessie thinks for a second, “No, whatever you’re comfortable with is good but just as a tip I probably won’t get off just from you know, inside, I usually need, outside,” she lets her voice drop off and you’re not sure if she’s done with her sentence or if she just got shy.

“Yeah, I’m the same way.” You offer her the suggestion about your own body now while she’s showing her own vulnerability. “Inside and outside usually is easiest for me.”

Jessie nods “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Leaning over you let go of Jessie’s hands to brace yourself above her. You give Jessie a peck on the lips and then one on her cheek and all the way down her neck. You nestle your head into the crook of her neck, kissing her neck and shoulder as you bring your right hand down and between her legs. You find her thigh first, gently dragging your fingers on the inside of her thigh higher and higher to let her know where you were going. Her skin is smooth and you feel her thighs clench as your hand gets higher and higher until you can tell your just in the crease of her thigh. You let your hand sit for a second.

“Touch me.” Jessie murmurs into your ear which is conveniently placed just next to her lips with your head in her neck. You take a deep breath and you do as she asks. Your fingers run over her once before you dip your ring and middle fingers lower. You start to feel her arousal coat your fingers before you run them upward through her. You pause when you hear Jessie’s breath hitch in her throat as you don’t hear her let the breath out.

“Are you okay?” You pick your head up to ask her.

“Mmmhm.” She hums. “Keep going.”

Bringing your fingers back down you feel her entrance and the slick that’s covering it. You’d come back to that you decided, bringing your fingers back up and finding her clit. You start with barely any pressure, just circling the bundle of nerves once then twice, before lifting your head again. “Is this okay?”

“Good, more pressure though.” She guides you and you follow, increasing the pressure on your fingers. After a few minutes of the movement, Jessie lets out a pleased sigh followed by a deep moan. “That’s, that’s good, fuck.”

It wasn’t often you heard Jessie curse, once or twice on the field, a few other times, but this was now your new favorite way she said it. Letting profanities fall from her mouth because of the feelings you were providing was definitely an ego boost. You keep circling her clit, listening to the noises she made, telling you if you were doing the right thing. Caught up in the way she was whining, your name coming out from her lips a few times, you were surprised when you felt her hand come down to grasp yours.

“Can you put them inside?” She says when you remove your head from her shoulder to see why she had grabbed your hand.

“Of course.” You want to bring your fingers to your lips, to taste her, instead you have a better idea. “Can I taste you, while I finger you?” You clarify.

“God you’re hot asking for what you want.” She pushes your hand toward her opening. “Yes, you can.” Her permission is all you need and you’re moving off of her and lying between her legs, you grab them and place one over your shoulder and push the other up and out to give you room for your hand. You can see the arousal you spread with your fingers coating her. Using your fingers you gently spread her before placing your tongue flat against her core and licking a long slow strip up. When your tongue crosses her clit she bucks her hips, already sensitive from your fingers. You get lost in her flavor, tasting her, enjoying the feeling of your tongue on her in the most intimate way.

Alternating your movements you suck and lick her core until her hands are on your head, pushing and pulling you while she ground her hips into your face. You were surprised by how noisy Jessie was in bed. She wasn’t necessarily loud in terms of volume. She didn’t say too many words but she filled the air with moans, whimpers, deep breaths, the sound of her breath catching, all noises that were spurring you on. “Add your fingers please.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

You bring your two fingers to her entrance and begin to push into her. You both moan as you slide one in. The feeling of her warm and tight around your finger is enough and you can tell your underwear would be plenty damp when it came off. You give her a few thrusts with one finger before pushing in with two to no complaint of Jessie. You pump with both fingers slowly at first before beginning to speed up adding a curling motion.

Jessie’s grip tightens in your hair. You also notice the slight trembling on her thighs and the way she’s practically riding your face and tongue. You try keeping your movements the same, obviously getting a positive reaction from Jessie but it was hard as she would unexpectedly jerk her hips or pull your hair. You weren’t complaining though as you felt her begin to tighten around your fingers. “That feels so good.” She lets out a sigh. Her legs start to move, closing you in and holding you tight to her. “I’m going to,” she tries to warn you as her orgasm interrupts her, a moan of your name is the next thing out of her mouth.

You can feel her pulsating around your fingers, you keep moving them slowly, easing Jessie through her orgasm. Her hips jerk against your tongue a few times before she pulls up and away and her legs fall back to the bed from where they had tightened around your head. Slowly you removed your fingers, watching the small string of her arousal still connected the two of you as you pulled away. Lifting up onto your elbows you look at her. Her cheeks are red, she’s panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but most importantly she’s beaming, a big toothy grin on her face.

“Was that okay?” Obviously she had finished but this was about more than that, you wanted to make sure she was okay, comfortable, that she felt okay with what you did.

“That was more than okay.” She motions for you to come closer to you. You crawl up her body and she pulls you into a passionate kiss, it’s slow and deep, your tongues meet and you know she can taste herself on your lips. “Thank you.”

“Hey, no need to thank me, I had just a good of time as you did.”

“Can I return the favor?” Not only is she asking with her words but her eyes are looking up at you, practically begging as well as her hands are resting on the waistband of your pants, implying she wanted them off.

“Only if you want to, I don’t expect you to.”

“I want to, if you want me to?”

“Yeah, I do.” You climb off of Jessie standing next to the bed and bringing your own hands to the button of your pants. Just as you start to fiddle with the button Jessie speaks.

“Can I do it?”

Standing up she made her way in front of you. Her hands dropped to meet yours. Gently removing your fingers she replaced them with her own, undoing the button and zipper.

“Hang on,” Your hands come back to pause hers. “I just, I’ve been so busy with work, I haven’t shaved in a little while, my legs, or anything else.”

Pinching her eyebrows together Jessie gives you a goofy look. “I don’t know if I should be offended that you’d think I’d care about something like that. I clearly hadn't shaved too recently either. Whatever you’re comfortable with. Does it bother you, because if you’re uncomfortable doing this because you haven’t shaved we don’t have to.”

“No, I just wanted you to know, before you saw.”

“Okay, we’ll just so you know, in the most polite way, I don’t care.” You pull your hands back up, off of hers to let her continue. She pulls your pants down squatting in front of you to help you step out. You use her shoulder to brace yourself as you slide out each foot. Staying squatting Jessie brings her hands up to your black underwear. You nod before she can ask and her fingers hook into the band, slowly dragging them down, again helping you step out of them.

Instead of immediately standing up Jessie brings her lips to your thighs, placing a kiss before moving over to your other thigh repeating the process. She places kissing alternately legs all the way up to your hips, intentionally avoiding where you desperately wanted her to be. She then stands putting you face to face again.

“Lay down.” She glances to the bed and you’re embarrassingly quick to lay down in the center. Once you lay, you notice Jessie’s eyes on you, scanning your whole body before moving to crawl onto the bed.

Her hands find the skin just above your knees, giving them a gentle push, encouraging you to open your legs. You spread your legs and can’t help but feel self conscious as you watch Jessie’s eyes fixate at the apex of your legs. You know she can probably see how desperately you want her, you can feel your own wetness between your legs. She lets out a breath and moves to kneel between your thighs.

Her right hand slides up your thigh, fingers gently caressing the skin as she moves up, pausing just on the crease of your leg. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” You didn’t want to sound too impatient but you also wanted her to touch you, to fuck you.

You notice her hands are cold when they first touch you. She slides her fingers between your lips, opening you to gather some of your wetness on her fingers. She drags her fingers upward finding your clit. Her touch is foreign, unfamiliar, different from what your body knows, which is the feeling of your own fingers.

“Still okay?” Jessie asks as she circles your clit with her fingers.

“Mhhhhmm” Your eyes are fixated watching her wrist, the way her forearm flexes as she touches you.

Jessie continues her movements, she smiles when you start to shift your hips in time with her fingers. She dips her fingers again, gathering more of your arousal to coat her fingers before she places them back to your opening. She just lets her fingers sit there looking up to you for permission. You give her a nod.

You feel her start to gently push into your entrance with two fingers, already feeling a slight stretch, you grab her wrist.

“Go slow, please, your fingers are bigger than mine.”

“Of course, let me know if it’s uncomfortable. I technically have lube.” You cock your head learning that.

“Why do you-”

“It’s with the condoms, I didn’t pack it, they give all the athletes condoms, there’s lube too.” She shakes her head slightly before glancing over to the side table, likely where the condoms were.

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I knew about the condoms, not the lube.”

“Yeah.” You both just look at each other, as if you both have forgotten what you’re in the middle of. Jessie adjusts the way she’s sitting, making her fingers slide along your opening, bringing you back to the activity at hand.

“I should be fine, I mean, I’m wet, just it’s been a while, so just go slow.”

Jessie nods and readjusts herself again so that she’s lying next to you, her fingers still resting at your opening, placing the slightest pressure into you. She brings her mouth to yours into a open mouthed kiss and at the same time begins to slide a single finger into you.

Her first finger slides easily, she moves slowly knuckle by knuckle until her palm is resting against you. She pulls out and pushes back in faster this time. Her fingers were not only thicker than yours but longer too.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, feels good.”

The room is relatively silent with the exception of the labored breathing between the two of you, the sound of your lips on each other, and the noise coming from between your legs as Jessie’s finger pumps in and out.

Jessie pulls out and pauses this time, you feel her place her second finger next to her first. She pulls away from your kiss to watch your face as she slides in her fingertips, you feel yourself clench around her and she pauses for a moment.

“Doing alright?”

“Yeah Jess, feels good.” You’d never been with anyone so attentive, so focused on making you feel comfortable. You take a deep breath as she slides her fingers in further, there’s a stretch but not uncomfortable. You adjust your legs, opening them more to try and ease the feeling of tightness.

Once her fingers are in, Jessie doesn’t pull them out, she gently curls them up and lets her hand rock against you. The base of her palm applies pressure to your clit. She lets her hand rock against you a few times and the tightness begins to fade, the pleasure from her palm rubbing your clit taking over.

Moaning into Jessie’s mouth as she kisses you, encouraging her to keep up her movements. She does, rocking her hand more aggressively. She pulls her lips from yours and buries her head into your side to kiss below your ear and down your neck.

It was a good feeling, her fingers inside of you and her palm bumping your clit but you could tell it likely wouldn’t be enough, you needed a little more stimulation. “Jessie.” You get her attention.

“Yeah?”

“Can you use your other hand on my clit? This feels good but I think I need a little more direct stimulation.”

“Of course.” Jessie gives you one last kiss before she moves her head away from yours. Jessie climbs over your thigh to sit between your legs again. She brings her previously free hand down, her thumb finding your clit while her other hand continues to work in and out of you.

Immediately feeling the wave of pleasure from the direct attention she was giving your bundle of nerves, you throw your head back, letting your mouth fall open with a moan of appreciation. “That’s good.” You manage to whisper.

Tilting your head back down you watch Jessie. She’s still naked. Her bicep is bulging on the arm thrusting into you, her cheeks still dusted with a blush, she’s staring where her hands are touching you with such focus it’s as if nothing else in the room existed.

You could stare at her forever, watching how her face reacts when you let out a whine, a smirk of satisfaction coming across her lips, how she pinches her eyebrows in concentration. But the more she touches you the more you feel the tightening in your stomach. The tightening that meant this would all be over in a matter of a few minutes.

Screwing your eyes shut you debate having her change what she was doing in an attempt to prolong your orgasm but when you open your eyes again and you’re met with her eyes watching your face a flash of heat runs through your body and you know there’s no stopping the inevitable now.

“Jessie.” You’re cautious not to moan her name too loudly, but loud enough that she hears it. “Keep going, I’m going to cum.” Your hips start to roll into her hand, chasing your high. Your hands come up to grasp at the pillow behind your head as your back arches up and off the bed. Her fingers inside of you feel so deep, hitting every pleasurable spot, your walls start to clench around her and you see her give one last cocky smile before your eyes slam shut as the wave of pleasure crashes over you.

A string of profane words falls out of your mouth, you’re not even sure what you’re saying, all of your senses overwhelmed with the pleasure of your orgasm, your heartbeat in your ears, the grasp of the sheets in your hands, the tingle running across your skin. Jessie continues her motions, exactly as she had been, letting you jerk your hips and legs as needed to get yourself through the high. She only slows once you start to squirm away from her touch instead of pressing into it.

You slowly open your eyes, blinking a few times to clear the spots you had from shutting them so hard. You look up to see Jessie looking back at you with awe as she kneeled between your legs. “You’re really hot.” Her compliment mixed with the come down of your orgasm has you blushing, throwing your hand over your face, peeking at her through your fingers. She’s smirking at you, her bottom lip between her teeth. You pull your hand away to look at her.

Keeping her eyes on yours she brings her fingers to her mouth, sucking off your release. A small hum of satisfaction falls from her throat. “You taste so good. Can I?” She glances down to your core.

“Can you what?”

Jessie pauses and you can tell she’s contemplating what to say. “With my mouth, can I, uh, eat you out?”

She’s looking at you, wide eyes with excitement. The fingers previously in her mouth rest on her bottom lip. You weren’t one usually for back to back rounds, you needed a little bit of time between, but the way Jessie was looking at you like she was ready to devour you changed your mind. It wouldn’t hurt to let her try. “You can try, I might be too sensitive.”

Not hesitating she quickly moves herself between your legs. Her hands come up to the bend in your knee, gently pushing your legs up and out. Jessie sticks her tongue out flat so it rests along her mouth toward her chin and brings her face to your already wet and sensitive core. Her first lick is slow, feather light, she’s barely touching you. Her second pass is more firm, still slow but with pressure. By her third lick you can tell she’s not just feeling you out anymore.

“Oh fuck.” Your suspicions are confirmed, you’re sensitive, the feeling of her tongue bordering on immense pleasure and also overstimulation. You can tell she’s enjoying herself the way she’s moaning into you, sending slight vibrations against you, so you let her keep going. Fisting the sheets tight with your hands you try to relax, ease into the pleasure and away from the overstimulation. She continues, her lips providing a soft suction while her tongue flicks over your sensitive skin, causing you to jerk away from her, her arms wrapped tightly around your thighs makes your movement almost pointless as she holds you in place.

“Fuck, shit, Jessie stop, too sensitive.” You gently push her head away which she obeys and you close your legs. “Sorry, I thought I’d be fine.”

Jessie lifts her head, you can see your wetness covering her lips and chin. “Don’t apologize. You say stop I’ll stop, no questions. I’ll just start with that next time.”

Next time. She said next time. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at where she was laying, her cheek pressed against your inner thigh as she rested her head looking up at you.

“Next time?” Repeating her words back to her.

“I mean, only if you want to. I didn’t see this as a one time thing, I hope you didn’t either. I thought with the date, we could maybe keep going on dates and then that way we’d get to do more of this too.”

“Yeah, next time, I like the sound of that.” Smiling at you Jessie unwraps her arms from your thighs and moves up your body to place a kiss on your lips. It’s a slow and sloppy kiss in a way that’s passionate and yet still relaxing.

She rolls off of you and lays next to you. The two of you lay in silence, it's peaceful, not uncomfortable, the hum of the air conditioner making the only noise. Her hand finds yours and she laces your fingers together momentarily before she plays with your fingers, tracing patterns across each one and then doing the same to your palm. Her movements are relaxing and you feel yourself starting to doze off only to be jolted awake by the elbow in your side.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, you’ve got to brush your teeth and you should probably pee.” Jessie says softly to you.

You roll to look at her. Half open eyes you give her a sleepy smile. “But I’m comfortable here.”

“Come on.” Jessie hops off the bed, extending a hand to you, you take it and let her pull you up. “I’m going to shower, there’s extra towels if you want to as well.”

“Yeah that would probably be nice. I’ll brush my teeth and then leave and you can shower first.” You say as you both walk into the bathroom.

You flick on the light switch and look in the mirror taking in your appearance looking at your face first. Your cheeks are red, your hair is a mess, you look tired. It’s then that you see the mark Jessie accidentally made on your neck. “Oh my god Jessie, what the hell?” You lean into the mirror to further inspect the damage. The mark was darker and larger than you had expected, and it was undeniably a hickey, you wouldn’t be able to argue you burnt yourself on a curling iron like you had in high school. It was also near the middle of your neck, you’d be lucky if a sweatshirt covered it.

“I know, it’s only gotten darker too, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean it. I’ll call Janine in the morning, she’ll have stuff to cover it.” Jessie looks guilty, an apologetic tone obvious in her voice.

“I cannot believe you.” You say all while slowly shaking your head and smiling at her in the mirror. You really weren’t upset, it was going to be hard to cover but not impossible.

“Let me make it up to you?” She bats her eyes at you a few times in the mirror.

You turn to face her. “Yeah? How are you going to do that?”

“Get in the shower and I’ll show you.”

[ghcstao3]

Retirement is supposed to be peaceful—at least, that's what Price had told Ghost. He'd said that, while the quiet is unnerving at first, you settle into it relatively easily until it's something in which you find solace. You learn to relax your shoulders if only a little bit, and you rediscover small joys you had completely forgotten about when your entire life was routine, routine, routine.

And now Ghost is starting to believe that the old bastard had been lying to him if only to talk him down from a ledge.

Because retirement is anything but peaceful. Sure, it's nice to be able to cook his own meals and have more downtime for his reading, and sure, it's nice to not have to be so hyper-vigilant in his own space for once—but God knows he knows nothing of the experience of silence when his neighbour is so goddamn loud.

Maybe it's Ghost's fault for choosing to live in a flat—he could find himself a home in the countryside without issue, he's sure of it, if only it didn't require so much effort and paperwork—but at the same time, he feels totally blameless. Because he is.

His neighbour, however, is not.

Now, Ghost has never encountered this person before. Never ended up stepping out as the same time as them, never bothered to introduce himself when he moved in. All he knows is that the person directly across the hall from him has no concept of respecting one's neighbours in terms of volume.

Be it making a racket in the wee hours when, presumably, making breakfast, or be it playing music or movies far too loud, or hell, be it talking to themselves about something Ghost needn't know the gist of, whoever it is knows no quiet. And it's getting on Ghost's last nerve.

He doesn't feel it quite warrants a formal noise complaint, but he does think it needs an intervention. If Ghost had to be forced out of the military due to injury, he's very well going to make the most out of his retirement.

Which involves silence.

Ghost waits until he knows his neighbour is home, if evidenced by the loud clashing of pots and pans in their kitchen, to go over and knock to finally, hopefully talk something out, but he too soon discovers that the plan is entirely useless.

Because as Ghost knocks and knocks, it's as if his neighbour doesn't hear him. Even in the lulls of little to no noise, there's absolutely no response. It's unbelievable.

He knows confrontation isn't everybody's thing—it's barely his own—but Christ. At least he'd answer the door.

Ghost leaves a note instead. Slips it beneath the door and retires to his own flat, hoping that his neighbour could at least bother to read.

And they must. Because Ghost realizes, over the course of the next few days, he can finally hear his own thoughts again.

A week goes by, and it's blissfully quiet. Maybe Price hadn't been such a liar after all.

Two weeks go by, and... Ghost realizes that no, Price is still a liar. The complete silence isn't peaceful at all, not when he'd grown so accustomed to noise.

Maybe Ghost had overreacted.

He's on his feet and across the hall before he has time to think about it, fist hovering over the door, unsure if he should knock. It didn't work last time, but he feels an apology should be spoken, not written, so certainly it's worth—

The lock on the other side clicks, and suddenly Ghost has no choice. The door swings open to finally reveal his mystery neighbour, and... oh.

Oh.

"Well, hello. Can I help you wi' somethin'?"

Ghost tries not to wince at the man's volume, though he doesn't think he's all that successful. Years of wearing a mask had not done well for him and keeping his expressions schooled.

But loudness aside... the lilt of his neighbour's Scottish accent is otherwise... pleasant. Rough in a way Ghost finds far too enticing, and brimming with life in a way his own deadpan never has been.

He tries not to linger on that thought.

"I'm..." Ghost wets his lips, feeling strangely nervous. "I wanted to apologize for my note. It wasn't very... it was rude. So I'm... sorry."

Since when is talking to new people nerve-wracking for him? Ghost must be going soft.

The man tilts his head. There's a slight furrow in his brow, and Ghost assumes it's because he's recalling the note to put a face to its scribbled words.

Ghost assumes wrong.

"Sorry, could you... repeat that for me?"

Ghost frowns. That was... not at all what he was expecting. So much for apologizing for his own note when his neighbour is going to be a prick anyway.

He opens his mouth to bite back a response, but not before his neighbour's eyes are widening and he's frantically gesturing in surrender.

"I don't mean to... I'm only asking because I'm deaf," the man hurriedly explains. "I don't... I've never been good at readin' lips."

And, well. If that doesn't answer every one of Ghost's questions.

His first thought is that he'd been stupid for not thinking of the possibility. His second is thank God for Roach.

Tentatively, Ghost raises his hands, a little out of practice but familiar nonetheless with sign language. Now he just feels even more like an arse.

"Want to apologize," Ghost repeats. "For the note."

A grin slowly appears on his neighbour's face at the use of sign, responding with enthusiasm despite the rocky start and the reason for Ghost's being there.

"My fault," the man says, shaking his head. "Never realize how loud I'm being."

"Still sorry." Ghost offers out one of his hands, finger-spelling with the other, "Simon."

"John," the man replies aloud, his smile warm as he shakes Ghost's hand. There's an awkward moment after their hands fall back to their sides, and for a second Ghost considers just turning and leaving, but thankfully John saves him from that.

"Well, I have to get to the shops," John says, and right, he'd just been leaving, "but I'll see you around?"

Ghost nods, and that seems to be enough for John to brush past, closing his door behind him.

That was certainly... something. At the very least, a better outcome than Ghost had been anticipating.

He should call Price. Tell the man that his idea of retirement is entirely twisted—because clearly he doesn't have a neighbour like John, who Ghost fears just might find a way to worm himself into Ghost's post-military life one way or another.

Maybe he shouldn't have left that note after all.

[houseofanticipation]

You've always been an outdoor person. You're a camper, a hiker, an explorer. You feel at home in this forest; miles upon miles of trees in every direction, the only hints of civilization a handful of campgrounds and the odd ranger station. Years of experience have made you comfortable here, in the cool, quiet air.

Maybe too comfortable.

It's late morning when you first notice someone behind you on the trail. You don't see them when you look back. You just their footsteps, the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves. You expect them to pass you, as you're taking a pretty leisurely pace, but the footsteps always seem to be about 20 feet behind you. You start to get annoyed. This person's thousand-pound feet are ruining your nice, quiet walk. You step to the side of the trail and wait the person to pass.

And so do they.

That makes you nervous. You start walking again, and they walk with you. You stop, they stop. You begin to think you might be in trouble. Careful to keep the noise at you front, you take the folded trail map out of your pocket and begin to scan it. There's a ranger station not far ahead; if you can just make it that far, you might be safe.

You break into a brisk walk, and your pursuer keeps pace. This trail was made intentionally with a lot bends in it, so each hiker or group of hikers could feel like the wilderness was their own, without running into many other people. It means your pursuer can stay relatively close to you without ever entering your line of sight. You're close now, you recognize the little footbridge over this creek, so you break into a run, skidding on mud and dried leaves as you make a mad dash for safety. The footsteps crash through the forest behind you, and you're too afraid to turn around but you're sure they're gaining on you. You see the ranger station up ahead, a little log cabin with a green door, and you practically fly up the front steps, through the unlocked door. You slam it shut behind you and throw the deadbolt, sliding down the door in a mess of exhaustion and nerves.

The ranger station consists of a single room, with a ladder up to a small loft space where the ranger sleeps. You were hoping to find help, but the ranger isn't here at the moment. That's okay. Just the locked door on its own makes you feel a lot better. You listen intently for any sound outside, but all you hear is birdsong, and wind through the trees.

Then someone is trying to turn the door handle. The sound makes you jump, but you try to stay brave. You're still safe. They can't get in.

You hear a man's voice on the other side of the door. "Hello?"

You summon your courage and call back. "Leave me alone! What do you want from me?"

The voice sounds surprised. "I...I don't want anything from you ma'am. It's just...well, you're kind of in my office." You get to your hands and knees and crawl to the front window, just peeking over the sill. Outside is a flustered looking man in a ranger uniform. Relief floods your body. You let him in.

"Thank god," he says. "I'm not supposed to leave the station unlocked, I thought at first some teenagers had gotten in here and...hey, what's wrong?" He's seen the look in your eyes, the way you're still panting, the state of your hair. You explain to him about the footsteps, the chase through the woods, how you hid here for safety. His eyes grow wider with your every word. "Shit, that's terrible. Drink some water, get yourself hydrated while I check around out there." He offers you his canteen. You begin to tell him you have your own water, but he waves you off. "No, no, I can't let you use your own rations. I've got extra water reserves here just for unprepared hikers, I won't run out. Please."

You take the canteen and drink, sitting on a hard folding chair while the ranger goes back outside. Now that you think about it, you're actually incredibly thirsty. You finish off the ranger's canteen, and feel a little bad about it, but he seemed insistent that you should have it.

You're exhausted. It had already been a long day of hiking, and then you went and spent the rest of your energy running through the forest. You were probably overreacting, you think as your eyelids begin to droop. Maybe it was just an illusion, your own footsteps somehow echoed back to you by the forest. In the warmth and safety of the ranger station, the fear you felt before seems almost silly.

Your limbs feel sluggish and disconnected. Your head seems to be full of rocks. Your eyelids fall closed, and you're out before you hit the floor.

You come to little by little, slowly becoming aware of several odd sensation at once. The first thing you notice is that you feel good. Incredible, actually. You're having trouble wrapping your head around why exactly—you're having trouble putting thoughts together, connecting raw sensation to ideas or meanings. But you like how you're feeling, you know that much.

There's more to it though, because you also hurt, which you don't like. There's something rough pressing up against your back, and your arms and legs are sore. You're cold, too, colder than you've been in a long time, and a cool wind stings your bare skin. Why is your skin bare?

You open your eyes. You're in a forest clearing, a place you recognize. It's a popular camping spot, secluded but not far from the trail. You're on a tree—tied to it, you realize, that's the rough thing on your back, and the reason you're so sore. Coils of rope around your wrists are pulling your arms up and behind you, like you're giving the tree a backwards hug. Something similar is happening with your legs, and a rope across your throat is keeping you from pointing your head down.

You are naked.

The ranger is there, leaning into you, and for a confused moment you think he's trying to untie you, but then the whole picture suddenly falls into place. He is raping you, slowly and indulgently, moaning openly as he slides cock up and down, in and out of your pussy. Fear jolts you awake, your fight-or-flight response taking control, but you you have no way to fight and now means of fleeing. You begin to scream, thrashing against your bonds, but they're solid and secure. You're not going anywhere.

"Oh good you're...oh!...awake," says the ranger, still inside you. "I have to tell you, I thought you looked cute when I decided to follow you, but I had no idea you'd be this...o...oh, fuck...this good. I think you've got the tightest little cunt I've ever fucked."

Just because that pleasurable feeling isn't wanted anymore doesn't mean it's going away. With every thrust of the ranger's cock, the feeling builds inside you, threatening to spill over. "Please," you whimper. You can't cum, not here, not to this. "Please stop, let me go."

The ranger grins and looks at you. He gives you an extra deep thrust and you moan in spite of yourself, your muscles contracting and your pussy tightening around him. "Why would I...oh, fuck that's good...why would I stop when you're clearly enjoying this just as much as I am?"

Tears stream down your face. You can't control it now. Waves of tension wash your body, each one making you seize tighter, arching your back, straining your bonds. As the final wave crashes over you the ranger gives one last moan and buries his face in your neck, his cum seeming to warm your shivering body from the inside. You go limp, wobbly, all the tension draining from your body with the cum that spills forth as he withdraws his cock.

The ranger buckles up his pants and leans over, hands on his knees, panting. "Fuck, girl. I can't just keep that cunt to myself. People need to know!" He goes behind you somewhere, and you can hear leaves rustle. When he comes back he holds a stake in his hand: a signpost, with a printed metal sign attached. He shows it to you:

Elk Trail Cum Dump

The park thanks you for your patronage. Feel free to use this receptacle as you see fit.

"I had this made up a few years back." Says the ranger as he hammers it into the ground in front of you. "We've had a handful of cum dumps, but I'll tell you what, you're definitely the best." He looks you up and down, then steps forward and sticks his middle and index fingers up inside you. You tighten reflexively, and he whistles. "Fuuuck me that's good! Alright, I'll probably be back tonight with some friends. New cum dump always attracts some attention. Stay tight, honey." He gives your cheek a little slap and walks away.

It hurts for a while. The bark against your skin. The ropes digging into you. Your shoulders, supporting your weight for so long. But after your sixth hour or so it all just fades into a general, dispassionate numbness.

People walk by sometimes. You hear them on the trail and call out for help. They come, usually but they don't help. A pair of young women laugh and take selfies with their fingers in your pussy. And old man rapes you breathlessly while is wife rolls her eyes and laughs good-naturedly. A middle aged woman with a big backpack says she's going to help you out, which turns out to mean producing a vibrator and giving you the most mind-melting, earth-shattering orgasm of your life, before saying a polite goodbye and leaving you tied up.

When your bladder gets full you just piss right there. It's not a bad way to do it, really; with your legs pulled back like this, you manage not to get much on you. You're a little more concerned about what happens when you need to shit, but you suppose there's a chance you can hold it until you die of hunger or thirst.

A man with a bushy beard gives you a long look before leaving and coming back with a long branch, one end whittled barkless and smooth. He inserts the smooth end into your pussy and sets the other end on the ground, held up only by your natural grip. He instructs you to bounce up and down on it while he masturbates. It's a little thick for you, but it actually feels pretty good, and you try to put on a good show for him as thanks. He lets you keep in there when he leaves, as a way to pass the hours.

You fall asleep just as the sun is setting. You find if you rest your head against the tree just so, you can relax without it falling forward and choking you on the rope across your neck. When you wake again it's full night, and someone has built a little fire in a circle of stones. A dozen or so men are lounging around, laughing, chatting, drinking beers out of a cooler. And raping you of course, but you barely even notice that now. All it really means to you is that someone took away your nice stick.

The ranger is among the men, though he's out of uniform. He raises a beer to you when he sees you're awake. "Welcome back to the land of the living! My buddies here are loving that little pussy of yours."

"You shouldn't have open flames out here," you croak, your throat dry. "You could start a...a...ah! Forest fire." Your sentence is interrupted when the man currently inside you does a strange sort of twisting thing you don't quite understand, and the jolt of pleasure takes you by surprise.

"Ah, fuck you," says the ranger. "Which of us here is the park ranger and which is the cum dump? I know my way around a fire."

"If you say so," you say as the man adds another load of cum to your collection.

He's drunk, you can tell. They're all a little drunk, their words a little slurred, their movements a little wobbly. As the next guy slides into you, you nod at the bottle in his hand. "Hey, let me get a little of that." He holds the bottle up to your lips obligingly, and while most of it splashes down your chin and across your breasts, you get a few good swigs in. It's a party, after all.

When everyone's had their turn on you the boys decide to play a game called "Hide the Herring," which turns out to consist of everyone scattering to find objects, and then taking turns trying to fit them inside you, the winner being the one with the largest object that manages to fit completely inside you. You get several different rocks, some sticks, big chunk of frozen together ice cubes, One guy tries to fit a full, unopened bottle of beer in you, fat end first. It stretches you almost to your limit but he manages, with a bit of clitoral stimulation, to get it all the way up to the neck. He says, "if you can hold on to it for ten seconds you can drink the whole thing," and you agree gamely to give it a try. He takes his hand away and the whole crowd counts down as you clench around this bottle, harder to do when you can't close your legs. You can feel it slipping, little by little, but when the count reaches zero it's still there, and you let it slip out into its owner's waiting hands. He cracks it open and holds it to your mouth, and you close your lips around it. You don't want to lost any like last time. The group is so impressed by the way you open your throat and let it drain into you that they give you another, and another after that. By the end of your fourth beer you're definitely feeling the alcohol, and the last of the fear and misery of the situation falls away like the last remnants of a lizard's skin. Being the Elk Trail Cum Dump, you guess, isn't so bad after all.

The winner of Hide the Herring ends up being a full ten pack of hot dogs. The entrant opens it up, uses two of the hot dogs to pack the wrapping into your pussy, and then spends about fifteen minutes cutting the other eight into pieces and popping them, one at a time, into your asshole. There's a lot of arguing about whether using your ass is allowed, or if it still counts as one object once the package is open, but it doesn't matter to you. Being filled this full feels amazing, and you manage to convince one of the guys to fuck you with your ass stuffed like this. Chunks of hot dog pop out of your ass, two and three at a time as you cum, and he leaves you dripping, feeling warm and gooey.

You get fucked a few more times as they set up camp for the night. Everyone's cum at least once by now, so the loads are getting a little thin, but that's okay. You feel as though you are melting into the tree, becoming a part of it. When you wake tomorrow, you imagine your arms and legs will have grown into its bark, your hair becoming leaves, your heart and lungs and mind becoming wood. Nothing more than a handful of tight wet holes for hikers and campers to enjoy. With this image glowing in your mind's eye, you drift off into a contented sleep.

[jelzorz]

191.

Opeli has never been to the Banther Lodge.

She has never had a reason to. Typically, it's used as a retreat for the royal family during the winter festivities, although once, one of Ezran's distant relatives had lent it to the city orphanage to use while their own building was being rebuilt after a fire. It's large for a cabin, obviously supposed to be rustic without losing its air of luxury, and without the castle...

Well. It's better than camping in the temples, that's for sure. It's too far away from the city to use as a permanent base, but it will have to do until other arrangements can be made. Tents have sprung up on the grounds to house both soldiers and refugees, and although it's crowded and busy, Opeli likes it.

It's a quiet place, nestled in the heart of the woods, away from the hustle and bustle of the city with enough space to breathe, to think, to simply be without all the trappings of court life. All things considered, it's a lovely reprieve, and she wonders if, one day, she might be able to come out here and enjoy it for what it is. There's just... one thing about this current arrangement that sets her on edge.

The kingslayer sharpens his blades.

Opeli's fingers twitch.

It has not been an easy few weeks. The attack on the castle was grave indeed, and although Ezran and Corvus had returned with Queen Aanya's troops and Queen Janai's to provide aid and assistance, the loss of their home still rings painfully through camp. Prince Callum and Rayla had returned shortly afterwards as well, and Opeli had been pleased to see them, her unofficial wards home and safe, until Rayla had ushered forward someone new—or someone not so new, and all hell had broken loose among their friends.

For what little it's worth, Ezran had managed it well. His pain was most obvious in his eyes and in the crack of his voice, and he'd been composed as he dealt with it but hasn't spoken to Callum in days. He holds his anger tight, keeps it all buried under the mountains of things they have to do, blue eyes filled with cold that he doesn't let leech into his words, but he avoids the issue entirely and spends almost all his free time with Queen Aanya or Corvus, people he can't be angry with, people to distract him from kinglsaying banther in the room.

Opeli has been less mature about it, if that can be believed. She had Rayla arrested once for breaking into the chambers beneath the castle to steal the kingslayer's bow, but Callum has made it clear that he will not stand for that, so instead Opeli funnels her frustration into sharp words and biting remarks, which she does not temper, even for Callum.

The air is tense. Their council is fractured. But if Ezran won't let himself be angry, the Justice help her, Opeli will be angry in his place.

It's dinnertime. Everyone is pulling double duty because the circumstances demand it, and Opeli is helping Barius dole out the food tonight to give the other staff a bit of a break. She passes bowls of stew to Ezran, to Corvus, to Soren, to Queen Aanya, her lips tilted in an appreciative smile as they thank her, and then slams bowls wordlessly down before Callum and Rayla and the other elf who only shifts uncomfortably in his seat as the stew sloshes over the rim.

"Enjoy your dinner," she snaps, and Callum, because he's Callum, snarls and snaps back.

"What the hell is your problem, Opeli?" he demands. "You've been passive aggressive about everything for days. This isn't okay anymore."

Opeli bristles at him. "And I suppose it's okay to have a murderer at the table instead."

"He was imprisoned in a magical coin for years, he's been punished enough—"

"Has he?" Opeli sneers. "Historically, kingslayers are hanged."

"You need to back the hell off—"

"That's enough!"

Silence falls over them, and things are dire indeed because it comes from Soren. He glared at Callum and Rayla, the elf with them shrinking beneath it, but it's Opeli that he turns to, that he offers his hand to, that he ushers away from the table leaving Callum, Rayla, and the elf alone and in silence in the dining hall.

Opeli waits until they are out of earshot before she rounds on Soren too. "You're not defending that murderer now, surely."

"No," mutters Soren darkly, "but Callum's right. You need to back off."

She scowls, affronted. "That elf shouldn't even be here," she snaps. "He murdered King Harrow, and would have murdered King Ezran too, if Rayla hadn't stood in his way. And they have the nerve to bring him here, our last stronghold, at a time like this?"

"I know," says Soren, grimacing. "I agree with you. But haven't we lost enough?"

"All the more reason he shouldn't be here."

Soren sighs. "He's Rayla's dad, Opeli. You have to let her have this."

"I certainly don't," says Opeli loftily. "Why on earth should he be allowed to walk free after the things he's done?"

"Because Rayla needs him," says Soren, "and not all of us are lucky enough to have a dad we can forgive."

A pause. A breath. A beat so heavy that Opeli feels it slam the air out of her chest. Soren looks away and swallows, his own conflict painfully clear in the way that he blinks and breathes and clenches his jaw.

She relents.

"I'll leave them be," she mutters at last. "But he can't be here long."

"He won't be," agrees Soren. "But just for now. Okay?"

"Yes." Opeli takes a breath and touches his arm, a promise to make an effort, for him more than for anyone else. "Just for now."

[virescent-v]

School Yard Bully Pt. 2

A/N: The follow up to School Yard Bully. It's short and it's got smut. 😂 I know what my Emily fans like and I aim to please 🫡 Also, this gif? my god 🥵🥵🥵

Word Count: 1.8k+

Warnings: oral (r! receiving), use of pet names (baby, princess). I think that's about it. It's not that wild this time lol

Part One can be read here

Have fun ;) and happy Saturday! :)

A week has passed since your lock in with Emily. Work for the past week was quiet, mostly catching up on paperwork. While you were thankful a case didn’t tear you away, you had been bored every day, most of the team keeping their heads down and focusing on all of the overdue work they had. 

You and Emily hadn’t had much time alone together to talk about what happened at Rossi’s. You weren’t even entirely sure that your date was still on until Friday morning when Emily texted you from her desk. 

Emily: I need your address so I can pick you up tonight. 

You: Oh, we’re still going? You hadn’t said anything… 

You glanced up, catching Emily’s eyes across the bullpen. You could see the light shining in them, even from so far away. 

Emily: I didn’t want the team to be nosey. This is about us. 

You could see a light blush staining her cheeks and it made your insides warm. This was a complete switch from the Emily you’ve known. And you were looking forward to getting to know her. 

You sent off a text with your address and a ‘see you at 7pm sharp, Prentiss’ before getting back to your paperwork. 

Nothing was going to get in the way of your date tonight, especially paperwork. 

*

At exactly seven, your doorbell rang. You exhaled slowly, feeling the nerves rush through you. You weren’t sure what you were doing tonight, but you assumed it was something fancy, as Emily had told you to dress accordingly. 

You were wearing a tight fitting, but still appropriate, deep red dress. It clung to you in all the right ways, highlighting the curve of your hips, the valley between your breasts. It showed off just the right amount of both cleavage and legs. Your makeup was done with a little smokey eye, making your eyes look hooded and seductive. Simply, you looked hot. 

You opened the door to find an absolute vision in front of you. Emily was wearing black slacks and a white button down, the sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. The shirt was tucked into her pants, drawing attention to her waist. She had a necklace that hung at the perfect space on her chest. It was minimal, but it took your breath away. 

Emily cleared her throat. “Wow, uh, you look beautiful,” she said, a little breathlessly, her eyes taking in every inch of you, focusing intently on the peek of your thighs from under your dress. 

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks and chest with the way that she was looking at you. Intense, almost as if she was trying to memorize every curve of you. 

“Should we go?” You said, grabbing your things, trying to ignore the feelings rising in you. 

Emily smiled, extending her arm to you as you passed through your door, leading your way to her car, where she opened the door for you, watching you settle into the passenger seat. She leaned in close to you, her nose grazing the side of your neck, lightly inhaling the smell of your perfume. “I can’t wait to eat tonight,” she whispered, her breath tickling the side of your ear. 

A slow, steady throb started between your legs, making you break out in goosebumps. 

You turned your head slightly, your nose brushing against hers. 

You could feel the ghost of her breath against your lips as she said, “I’m so hungry, princess.” 

Before you could think, let alone respond, the car door was shut and Emily was making her way around the car. 

*

Dinner went well, the conversation staying relatively tame minus a few suggestive comments from Emily that made the ache between your legs grow throughout the meal. 

Emily tried her best to talk about anything but work, learning things about you that she hadn’t in the past few months. You two had enough in common that you could talk about your shared interests, but enough differences that it wasn’t boring. 

You could tell the whole meal that Emily was holding back on something, but you didn’t want to ruin the lighthearted mood that had settled over the table. 

It wasn’t long before you were back in the car, stuffed from a delicious meal paid for by Emily, heading back to your place. 

When she put the car in park, you placed your hand on her wrist, looking into her eyes as you said, “Care for a drink?” 

Emily took a deep breath, turned off the ignition, and followed you inside. 

You lead her into your kitchen, a semi-tense silence falling between the two of you. You could tell whatever was brewing throughout dinner was going to let itself free soon. 

You were pouring two glasses of wine, trying to listen to the glug of the liquid into the glass instead of the sound of your heart beating in your ears. As you turned around, Emily was leaned up against the opposite counter, both arms braced on the edge. Her eyes trailed down your form again, causing a fire to erupt in your chest. But you could still see the hesitation clouded in her dark eyes.

“I’m so sorry I was an ass for months to you just because I didn’t know how to handle my own feelings. It was immature, idiotic, and bitchy of me,” Emily said, her voice a breath above a whisper. “I regret it, and I’ll make it up to you every day if you’ll let me.” 

You could see something dark taking over the light in Emily’s eyes, a flash of past trauma and hurt taking over her mind. 

You reached behind you, placing the wine on the counter before walking slowly over to Emily, catching her eyes and holding them as you spoke. “I know you’re sorry, Em. I can see it and I believe it.” You made sure she was really looking at you before saying, “I forgive you.” 

Emily's breath hitched, as if she couldn’t believe you would actually forgive her. You brought your hand up, stroking the underside of her jaw. “But act like that again, Prentiss, and you won’t like the version of me you see.” 

You could feel more than hear the little chuckle Emily let out. “I understand. Princess treatment from here on out.” She paused, bringing her hand up, catching yours that was still stroking her jaw. “Can I kiss you now?” 

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing quizzically. “What happened to eating me?” 

Emily guffawed, her eyes lighting back up in challenge. You could see the moment the switch flipped within her and knew you were in for it. 

She put one hand low on your belly and slowly pushed you back into the counter behind you. She said nothing as she gripped the underside of your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter. 

You gasped at her easy show of strength and at the cold tile beneath you. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as Emily looked into your eyes, pushing your knees slowly apart before standing between them. 

As her hands painstakingly made their way up your delicious thighs, her thumbs rubbing slow, steady circles on your skin, she inched her face towards yours. As her hands reached the inside of your thighs, her thumbs brushing against the soft skin where your thighs and abdomen connect, Emily’s lips found yours in a heated kiss, the tension from the past few hours - few months - finally combusting between the two of you. 

Her hands circled around, grasping at your hips and then your ass, pulling you towards her, your dress riding up, almost exposing you. The friction from her between your legs was not nearly enough to do anything other than have you panting into Emily’s mouth as she ravished you. 

Emily’s lips trailed away from yours, ghosting down your jaw, sucking lightly on the skin of your throat before traveling to the exposed skin of your chest, teasing kisses against the edge of your dress. 

Her eyes glanced up at you, noting your dilated pupils, the flush spread across your cheeks, before smirking at you wickedly. “I’m ready for dessert, baby, are you?” 

You almost wanted to roll your eyes, but the incessant throbbing between your legs was beginning to be too much. “Fuck me, Emily.” 

You watched as Emily’s pupils got wider, darker, almost predatory. 

She moved without hesitation, pushing your dress up to your waist, shoving your knees further apart roughly. 

“No panties, baby? How naughty.” Her thumbs spread you further, your pussy fully on display. “Look at how wet you are for me. Practically dripping down your thighs.” 

“Please, Em-.” 

“I haven’t even really touched you yet and you’re already begging. How cute.” Emily wasted no more time, diving between your legs, dragging her tongue between your wet, silky folds, gathering your essence, her eyes closed as your taste erupted over her taste buds. “Fuck, you taste so good,” she moaned, attaching her mouth back to your pussy. 

Emily ate you out like she was starving, like you were her last meal. Her tongue never kept the same pace, building you up but switching before you even got close to the edge. 

Once your legs started shaking from the tension building in your lower stomach, Emily’s lips wrapped around your throbbing clit, skyrocketing your pleasure tenfold. As if she could tell you were close, she quickly thrust two fingers inside you, immediately curling them against the front wall of your cunt, zeroing in on the spot that made you grip her hair between your fingers, your hips rocking into her face as you tried to chase nirvana. 

A litany of curses tumbled from your lips, calling out to a god you didn’t even believe in. With your head tilted back, your straining neck exposed, your legs wrapped around Emily’s back as you held her against you, you could feel the coil inside tightening, ready to snap. 

With an exceptionally powerful thrust, the right twist of her fingers, and a well timed suck, your pleasure exploded, your hands tightening in Emily’s hair to an almost uncomfortable pain, a loud, stuttering moan falling from your lips. 

Emily continued to thrust into you, albeit more slowly, as you came down as if she was stroking something precious. As you brought your head up to look at her, she grinned salaciously at you, removing her fingers and licking them clean. 

As your breath caught in your throat at the sight, Emily dragged you off the counter, pressing up against you, kissing you with every feeling she’s been harboring for you for months. 

You moaned at the taste of yourself on her lips, winding your hands back in her hair as you tried to get the strength back in your legs. 

Pulling away from the kiss as you caught your breath, you smiled at Emily. “You owe me about…sixty more orgasms for how you treated me over the past six months, Em.” 

Emily smiled, kissed you quickly, before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the kitchen and to where she assumed your bedroom was. She looked back over her shoulder at you, winking, and said, “Whatever you say, princess.” 

[frozenjokes]

convex talking to each other arc. not a good talk. not like the worst talk they could have managed though.

ao3 link

LOOP 16

Scar was.. he was fine. He was fine. Adjusting a little, but he was fine. It seemed like he never stopped adjusting, never stopped feeling utterly devoid. He wanted so much, but these days he just kept his claws buried in the sheets. Sometimes he’d groom the blankets. It wasn’t a nice thing. He had a better time pulling out tufts of his own fur. Cleo was kind enough not to say anything when she caught him at it.

The food situation was a big adjustment, one Scar couldn’t stop feeling terribly anxious about. It didn’t matter if they had enough, it didn’t matter if Scar ate half a day’s rations under the human standard, eating was a petrifying ordeal, one he worked himself up so much over that he was hardly hungry anymore. Anxiety made him sick, and desperately he wished he could starve instead, watch the humans and take comfort from their health. The longer the loop drew on, the more anxious Scar became, face to face with the possibility this would be the one that would last, the one where they could run out.

He tried. He tried so hard. This was one of Cub and Cleo’s terms, Scar had to eat, to leave them alone, but it was so much harder than he was certain he could manage. He only felt okay eating the leftovers, which he still could not allow them to throw away. That was normal. That was safe. It was a great relief they allowed him this at the very least.

Scar tried to avoid Cub for the most part. Partially an attempted gesture of respect; Scar really did want to let him have his space, but partially, much more so, Scar was just afraid. He found Cub impossibly difficult to read; humans in general were expressive in entirely different ways than catfolk were, but while Cleo at least emoted with their face, Cub didn’t seem to express anything in any way at all. With no ears, tail, or bristling fur, how was Scar supposed to tell if Cub was playing around or serious? Cleo could tell what he was feeling, apparently, but Scar was not her!

Though, some days Scar doubted if Cleo really could tell or not. The past few loops passed in relative quiet, days Scar would describe as more friendly than not, but as this loop started to find its bearings, both humans had gotten more and more irritated with each other. They had always been mean, always combative, and Scar had found himself desperately trying to keep some sort of peace in the past loops, biting one or the other when things went too far, but these days he was afraid to intervene, and if Scar didn’t make himself known, he was never paid any mind.

Scar hated it. He hated how they went out of their way to rile each other up, piss each other off, painfully trying to bait the other into snapping at their throat just so they could fire off the nasty comment they’d thought up while unable to fall asleep. There had yet to be a physical fight in this loop, and violence of that kind was a rarity in general, but after Cub had exploded on Scar, physically violent fights like that were all Scar could think about.

It was not uncommon for Scar to spend his nights worrying as well, fidgety and overgrooming when sleep failed to take him.

There was one night, just him and Cleo in bed, where Scar was horribly anxious, snuggled close, but it wasn’t enough. Everything was too quiet, too cold, not enough people, not enough bodies, they were going to starve, die, and no one would believe him. Cleo had been long asleep, not conscious enough to feel his shallow, panicked breaths.

Cub moved to sit and Scar jolted up so violently he was shocked Cleo wasn’t stirred awake. The two of them stared at each other for a while in the dark, quiet, near silent in that terrible sort of way.

“Are you fine?” Cub had a way of asking that made it clear he did not care. That was Scar’s impression, anyway. He moved to turn on his mic.

“Did I wake you?” Scar muttered, unwilling to shelve his bitterness tonight. He had a lot of reasons to be sad, and plenty more to be angry, but tonight he had little patience for enemies.

“Yes.” A short silence followed the word, distinctly awkward, like Cub was not used to carrying a conversation unless he was playing the role of Insufferable Prick. “Not the mic this time,” Cub amended, as if Scar did not know his two hour panic attack was the source of the disruption. “Thanks for turning it off.” Scar let the quiet linger, decidedly uncaring about how awkward this was for Cub. If he didn’t want to be treated like a child, fine. Scar would take him as he was; foul. Cleo was mean, but at least she had a soul.

Cub was quiet, but Scar’s refusal was more suffocating, so Cub was forced to speak. “Are you upset with me?”

“I feel quite a lot about you, and none of it is good.”

“Hm,” Cub said, nodding, like this made complete sense. “Okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

“Mhm.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I do. I’m unpleasant most days.” Before Scar could refute him, he continued, “More than unpleasant more days than most. I know it. Cleo knows it. You stopped pretending you didn’t know it, so here we are.”

“I wasn’t-“ Scar cut himself off with a small growl, not wanting to wake Cleo.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Cub cut in before Scar could continue his denial, also quieter, like he too was reminded of their sleeping companion. “I mean it literally. You called me a child so you could stand to like me, isn’t that true?”

Scar lowered his head, resigned. “Easier to forgive children.”

“I can sympathize with that. To a point. You found that line.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Why?”

Scar’s whiskers twitched, somewhat incredulous, “What do you mean, why? I hurt you. I did it until you felt trapped enough to attack me, that’s why.”

“Oh,” Cub said, dumbly, “I’m not very nice.”

“You’re not.” Scar huffed, irritation building.

Quiet found the both of them once more, though Scar was not grasping for anything to say. He had nothing for Cub. If Cub had anything for him, he didn’t want it. That didn’t stop Cub from speaking regardless.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I won’t be sorry to you, and I won’t be good, either, so it’s a waste of energy to care.”

“Con grat- ulations. I’m glad your feelings are so easily suppressed, but it doesn’t matter how much of a dick you are, I’ll still feel bad for hurting you, and I’ll still feel sorry. I know you and Cleo have given up niceties, but I can’t. I can’t just be fine with it. Fighting and yelling and shooting each other. I can’t live like that.” Scar ended his sentiment with a snort, burying his chin back on Cleo’s stomach. Her breathing was a small comfort. He was ready to go to sleep now, and was drifting by the time Cub finally responded, pulling him back.

“I am very tired a lot of the time. It takes a certain amount of effort to be civil, an effort I haven’t put forward in a long, long time, and after I got sick.. forget it. It matters very little what I do, Scar. I can be nice, but they know what I am. They know I’m different, it’s unsettling, just little things that set people off, that catch their eye, and whether or not I put forth the effort, I will not find community. I’ve lived enough life to know it, and I would like to tell you that it does not bother me, but I would not be telling the truth. So I stop caring. I take my life into my own hands. I control myself, and what people choose to do with that man is their own business. But people can’t hurt you if you don’t put yourself out there in the first place, only you can hurt you, and that’s how I ended up here, sick and more tired than I was before. I’ve forgotten how to try in the first place, and I am not motivated enough to relearn it. I only have five more years to live. Very little point. Cleo feels similarly.”

“That’s not what she told me.”

Cub’s world seemed to stop spinning.

He straightened, at full attention, eyes fuller than Scar had ever seen on him. “What? What did they say to you?” Scar considered Cub, considered the attention, the emotion in his voice that he couldn’t quite place. ‘So I stop caring.’ If that was really a human ability, Scar did not think Cub possessed it.

“Some loops ago, a while by now. She shot you for something you’d said and regretted it. She thinks she’s worse to you than you are to her-“

“She’s not.”

“It doesn’t matter who is or isn’t more of an asshole,” Scar cut back in, tail thumping against the bed, “I told them I don’t like when you guys get like that. I don’t. I really don’t like it. They told me they don’t like it either. They don’t like acting that way, being mad at you, and I don’t have to guess to know they don’t like all the flack you throw at every opportunity that presents itself. I doubt you like it when she does the same to you, no matter what you say about not caring. And I hate it!”

“Quiet,” Cub hissed, in panic more than anger, “You’re going to wake her.”

“Maybe I should. They can tell you themself.”

“No.” The breath was short, terrified. Then slowly, solemnly, Cub’s stiff posture slackened, and he laid back down, resigned. He was quiet a long many moments, and maybe Cub sensed Scar was staring him down in the dark, because he shifted positions, turning away. “Nothing to be done,” he mumbled.

Scar could have killed him for that. Again, he found himself shaking, overcome by his previous anxieties, new anger, and an all encompassing, crushing homesickness.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate it here, I hate it, I can’t do this- I can’t live like this, I just want to go home. I don’t- I won’t have anything to bring back with me, I’ll have to face them with nothing, and still it’s better than being here.” Scar turned off his mic. Cub didn’t need to hear his sniffling in high definition, he didn’t care afterall, there was nothing to be done. He wanted Cleo. He wanted Mumbo. He wanted his mom, what he’d give to be held by her one last time, to never take that touch for granted, that love, deep and unconditional in a world where the conditions everywhere else were impossibly high, where he’d never be enough to Try for.

He had to get up. He had to get out of here. He had to find the place he and Mumbo had blown a hole in the side of the ship, Mumbo was still there, Mumbo was waiting for him, and Scar had to get back before it was too late.

“Scar, where are you going?”

Scar did not answer him. Dutifully, he exited the safe room through the right door, the one that would lead him back to the destroyed wall. They called it ‘Scar’s room’ now, the humans did. His room. The place he’d broken in, the place he fell flat on his face after every reset. Funny, that was. Ironic, almost. He was always falling short, wasn’t he.

Scar found the place where the hole should have been; it was easy to find, perfectly easy, this was exactly where he stood on each reset afterall. Pathetically, he collapsed against the wall, sliding to sit as close to home as he could ever be in this place. He cried to it, like a kitten to a closed door. It was closed, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t open for him again, and still he sat, head thunked against the unyielding cold. He just wanted to go home.

The left door opened, and Scar did not hear it. Something approached, and with his face pressed against the wall, Scar did not see it. A hand touched his shoulder, and as he’d always responded: fight, he whirled around in adrenaline fueled terror, claws raking through the stomach and legs of his attacker.

Cub stumbled back with a yelp and fell on his ass, arms shaking slightly with the effort of holding himself up at an awkward angle. For a moment Cub stared dumbly, shirt, pants, and skin newly torn, and Scar fixed him with a snarling glare before pushing his muzzle back into the wall. If Cub wanted to watch him cry, then let him. If Cub felt bad, then Scar hoped he’d feel worse.

Cub did not speak, so it was easy to pretend he was not there. Moderately easy at least. Occasionally Cub would shuffle around, Scar’s ear would swivel toward the noise, and Cub would cease, stilling for as many minutes as he deemed necessary for it to be safe to move again. This cycle repeated several times until Scar’s fur prickled at the sense of closeness, not good or bad, just there, and again Cub stilled, like even a deep enough breath would shatter Scar, or more likely, set him off, leaving one dead and very maimed Cub behind. The more Scar thought about it, the more he was sure it was the latter, Cub seeing just how far he could push it before Scar gave in to Cub and Cleo’s game of scream, fight, kill.

Something wet touched the back of Scar’s neck, so unexpected and utterly disconcerting that all the hair at his shoulders stood on end as the Dampness was drawn upward, along with the presence of a face. It withdrew.

Stiffly, Scar turned around, horror fighting with confusion and the residual sadness. He sniffled, struggling to turn his microphone back on.

“Did- Did you-“ Scar broke off, grappling with his hoarse throat, “-fucking- just lick me?”

Cub stared back blankly, tongue poking through his lips. “I thought. That was what I had to do. I had to do it.” Equally deadpan, he continued, “Are you better now.”

Scar gaped at him, and when the wires in his brain reconnected, he threw up his arms, “No!”

“Why not.”

“Why- It’s so- Yours is so wet!”

“Is your mouth not wet. I can answer that. It is wet. I know because you used to lick me constantly. Why do you have such a problem, this is how cats fix each other. I did it.”

“You haven’t done anything.”

“I did. I licked you.”

Scar huffed, deflating. “I guess you did, huh.”

“I did.” Cub preened, Scar snorting a short growl in turn, pushing back into the wall. Briefly, he nibbled on one of his paws, ruffling the area behind his neck where he had been violated.

“Don’t do it again.” Cub did not, but he didn’t move, either, he just sat there, close enough for Scar to feel his presence, to feel his eyes boring into the back of Scar’s head. His ear pinned, but still Cub did not move. “Don’t you have everywhere else you could be right now?” Scar hissed, but as far as he could tell, Cub did not react.

“Would you rather be scratched?”

…

………

“..yes.”

Scar did not say anything else, nor did he need to, Cub starting with the heavy hitters; reaching over his head to get at his forehead, gentle at first near the bridge of his nose, then hard near the top of his head, fucking hell, it was just right, scratching like he was trying to pull Scar’s skin right off, the only way to do it. Scar just about died when Cub worked behind his ear, it was so unfair how effortlessly good he was at this, forget dying, Scar was going straight to heaven when Cub began to massage his scruff.

“I still. Don’t like you.” Scar had to reiterate, just to make sure.

Cub shrugged. “I’ve never been particularly fond of cats. I guess you’re alright.” Scar didn’t bother responding, but apparently Cub wasn’t done, the quiet only lingering a short while before he broke it. “Did you get sick when you were alone? After you ate me.”

Scar was momentarily pulled from his Good Scritches induced daze, confusion twitching his whiskers. “I.. Got sick. Not from you though. Cleo.”

Cub stopped for a moment; speaking, scratching, all of it. “You ate Cleo?” he sounded genuinely stunned, maybe even hurt if the idea wasn’t completely ridiculous.

“A little bit. I stopped after I got sick.”

“Did you throw up?”

Scar’s ear pinned, nose wrinkling distastefully, “At the beginning, yes.”

“What color?”

“I don’t know,” Scar snorted, shaking out his fur, “Dark. I wasn’t studying it. Probably looked a lot like raw meat and other disgusting shit, what’s your problem?”

“Did it look like stars?”

Scar had to turn around to stare, judgment written in every crease of his sour expression. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Does your puke have stars in it?”

“Not literally, but yeah, kinda. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten sick like that, but if I did it would have stars. I bet it’d look a lot worse than yours.” Cub paused, seeming to reconsider. “No, actually raw human meat puke is about as bad as it gets.”

“I hate humans. You guys are terrible.”

“Oh, it’s not a human thing. It’s a sculk thing. That’s why I was wondering. I can’t think eating Cleo is much better than eating me, at least, I probably wouldn’t want to eat Cleo with the whole being dead thing. I mean. I guess she wasn’t dead for very long. But depending on whether or not you think she’s really alive or just an animated corpse, it’s.. questionable. I wouldn’t eat them. Objectively though, eating me just isn’t a good idea. I’d bet a lot of money I was probably the one that made you sick unless you got food poisoning, which, still could have been me. I guess I don’t really know anything besides the fact that you threw up.”

“You- You think I got infected?”

Cub stared blankly. “Yep. Well. Maybe. Most likely. I mean, you ate me. That would do it. Sculk’s not very motivated to go anywhere right now, but if you let it in.. I mean, Cleo’s gotten sick once or twice also, it’s not a big deal. I was just curious.”

“Cleo- Cleo ate you?”

Cub pursed his lips, looking no less mild. “..No.”

“But I- I don’t understand. I didn’t- If I see anything sketchy I don’t eat it-”

Cub snorted. “Doesn’t matter for me, bud. I’m sick all over. Don’t let that stop you though. Well. Maybe you should refrain for this loop, this layout is looking pretty good. But otherwise, it takes a couple days to actually get you sick. If you’re looking for a good time with me, these next years are the best hypothetical times to do it. I know we won’t be seeing each other after this, but I guess I just mean you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m sure you’ll be pumped full of every weed killer Earth has at its disposal and won’t be let go until they’re 100% sure you’re clean, so no need to be concerned about bringing anything home.”

Scar had not been all too concerned about bringing sculk home before this, but he certainly was now. Cleo had told him the infection could spread through consumption as well; how had this never occurred to him? He’d known he hadn’t gotten food poisoning.. He stopped eating Cleo just to be safe, but getting sick from food was far more unpleasant, he’d figured he just caught some human disease.

But he’d gotten better, hadn’t he? He wasn’t seriously ill for more than a week. Cleo had said it was pretty obvious if you had sculk sickness; you could see it in your skin, but Scar hadn’t really noticed anything.. then again, he had a coat of fur to hide it. He didn’t remember anything wrong with his waste, but he didn’t spend a lot of time staring at his piss and shit, maybe humans did!

“I don’t think I got your sickness.”

“No?” Cub looked amused, which Scar responded to with a show of teeth and a growl.

“No. I didn’t stay sick. Just got a human bug, then I was fine for weeks.” Scar let his sneer fall when Cub’s sly smile fell to something more attentive.

“Really? Often you become ill for a bit while your body tries to kill the external threat, then things calm down. For a little bit at least, but again, the sculk knows it’s trapped up here, it isn’t in any rush.” Scar valiantly ignored the implications of that, easier when Cub continued, “No symptoms of any kind of sickness afterward? Weakness, aching, a kinda odd internal tingling? Almost like your blood itches, did you feel any of that?”

Scar shrugged, though he was uncertain more than anything. “I don’t think so. Health wise, I don’t think I’ve ever been better. Might’ve been the first time in my whole life I haven’t felt weak and kinda- achey, as you put it.”

“Really?” Cub said, like he’d never heard anything more fascinating. “Well the sculk didn’t do that to you, that’s for certain.”

“I know it wasn’t the sculk.” Scar snapped, but Cub didn’t flinch, still thoughtful.

“Life’s not so easy back home, is it.”

Scar frowned, ear curving back. No, it wasn’t. He didn’t want to talk about it, he never wanted to talk about it, but he didn’t really have the energy to refute it anymore either. He didn’t have to say it outright for the humans to know. His behavior painted a clear enough picture of his past. Cub did not push. He did not have to, Scar spoke freely.

“You do what you can for the kids. They do what they can for their kids if they can even bear to have them. I’m not bringing anyone into the world, that’s for certain. I don’t think- How could you ask a little one to eat when they know you won’t? Kids aren’t stupid, you know. They go and cannibalize each other to cope with it. I have bad genes. I can’t subject anyone else to that.”

Cub stared so blankly at him that Scar was certain he wasn’t going to say anything at all. “That’s fucked.”

“It’s how it is.”

“You really think if you have a kid the other toddlers will eat him? That’s crazy. Do you guys just eat each other all the time?”

“Wh- What- No, you- Where did you- No!”

Cub raised his hands meekly. “I misunderstood. Catfolk do not eat each other.”

“Well- No, we eat the dead. But not anyone still alive, for goodness’ sakes! I have to hope humans aren’t eating each other alive, either!”

“You eat your dead? God damn.”

“You don’t? What- What do you do with them!?”

“Uh, bury them, usually. Well, actually most people get cremated. Loved ones spread the ashes in their favorite places, rituals like that. Cannibalism is very frowned upon, we do not eat each other. Big social taboo.”

“That’s- What a waste!”

Cub laughed, “That’s what I’m saying! I’m not saying that.”

“Clearly you’re not all that fussed about it.”

“I am not considered normal by most human standards. Normal, likable, pleasant in any capacity; they hate me because I’m a threat to the system, Scar. And the crime. They also hate me for the crime, which is fair, I think that’s fair. But so what if I’m a little bit of a freak, that’s my own business.” The way Cub said it suggested he reveled in the idea of making it everyone else’s business, but Scar wasn’t about to say that.

“That’s great,” he said instead, turning back around to let his head thunk back against the wall. As weird and not-quite-unpleasant as this little conversation was, Scar was ready to go back to moping. Astutely, Cub seemed to understand the conversation was over, though he didn’t leave like Scar wished he would. Instead, Cub returned to scratching around his head and shoulders, which Scar begrudgingly accepted. If Cub insisted on being here, he may as well make himself useful. Scar made sure not to look too pleased about it.

“You know,” Cub started speaking, which was a significant downgrade to the silence, though Scar had not yet decided if the unpleasantness of Cub talking to him outweighed the scritchy scratches, “I am learning things about myself tonight, which I hate doing. I’m pretty good at convincing myself I’m all figured out, that there’s never any reason to change, right? But I’m starting to think I might be a bit of a pussy baby. Like a little bit. Not 100% pussy baby status, but y’know. Not as justified as I’d like to be.”

Scar snorted, saying nothing else. Cub didn’t seem to mind.

“I did not come here to apologize to you, I don’t really care about you. I didn’t like upsetting you, not because I’m particularly invested in your well-being, but because it was annoying that you were saying things to me that I didn’t like, and doubling down on those things that I didn’t like kinda pissed me off, so I had to come settle this, come over and tell you why you’re wrong. Because I’m tired. I’m sick, my skin itches under the surface and my organs are cannibalizing themselves, my eyes don’t work, and all the things that are wrong with me will always be wrong with me until I die, so I lot of the time I feel like I’ve earned the right to act however I want to, because no one really gets it, right? No one gets it, no one wants to get it in the name of my own wellbeing, and no one will respect my life for the months I have left when this is over, which, like, fine, that’s fine, I haven’t decided whether or not I’m deserving of any sort of respect.”

Maybe Cub was waiting for a reaction, but Scar didn’t care to give him one, especially because he’d stopped scratching, which was his main concern and the most annoying thing about Cub’s senseless raving.

“I thought I’d get you to understand what it’s like for me. Not so you’d pity me, fuck, but just so you would leave me alone, don’t bring up Cleo or anything else anymore, but then I told you that you’d gotten sculk sickness and you said to me you didn’t notice-”

“I did not catch your stupid alien disease!”

“There is literally no way you did not have it. Anyway, even if my chronic issues are multiplied by a hundred from the symptoms someone would experience in the beginnings of sculk sickness, it is a little unfathomable to me that you just didn’t notice. And then it occurred to me you’ve been on the verge of starving to death your entire life, and on top of that no one back home respects you, but you’re still kinda working on being a good guy, and I was like wow Cub, you’re kind of a pussy baby for throwing a fit over being asked to stop being a dick every time you breathe words-”

“I- That is not true! I am very respected! I’m a hero back home!”

“Didn’t look that way to me. Anyway-”

“Not ‘anyway’! I don’t know about you, but I am perfectly adored on my planet!”

Cub raised an eyebrow, more expressive in his doubt than Scar had ever seen from him, then continued like Scar hadn’t spoken, “Anyway. For the sake of my own self-image, a little bit for Cleo, and not at all for you, I’m willing to give Not Being A Dick All The Time a shot, but I probably won’t do a very good job, and I will not be held accountable for hurting any feelings because I don’t care. I think I can manage to bring the Prick-O-Meter down to.. 80%. That’s probably the best you’re gonna get out of me, and it might be a stretch. I don’t need to tell you I’m a natural born piece of shit, which is to say, severely emotionally stunted. That’s what Cleo says anyway. I’d tell you she’s got some emotional stunt-age going on herself, and honestly, I’ll probably tell her that too if it comes up, but now there’s a 20% chance I won’t. Unless they deserve it. Which they often do. But I can play nice. Lie, that’s a lie, I can not do that, but I can try to do that.”

“That’s.” Scar didn’t really know where to go from there, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he processed 95% of what Cub had even said to him, but. Well. Maybe it was something. Maybe Scar was too tired to comprehend it all right now. “Sure. Great. Keep scratching.”

“Yes, sir.”

Scar closed his eyes under the weight of Cub’s nails, drifting as the touch softened, soon, falling entirely to darkness. It had been a while since he’d fallen asleep like this, sitting up, nowhere near comfortable, but his eyes were so dry and his mind was entirely shot, and moving back to the safe room had not even occurred to him. Apparently it had not occurred to Cub either, the both of them draped over each other when Scar woke later, who knows when, back on fire and limbs stiff, but Cub was still asleep, and Scar did not want to rouse him. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe this reminded him of home.

[struggling-jpg]

Yanqing and Yunli Appreciation Post

Keep Reading cut due to 2.4 spoilers~ (also relatively long-ish post)

These two bounce off each other so well! As a writer, it feels so satisfying to see their characters shine through the quest and the event in the way their interactions highlight them. So I'm gonna use this space to ramble about it!

My previous post pretty much talked about it already, but Yanqing!!! My son!!! I was quite worried that any potential arc for him would be shoved down the road or to the side due to the scale HSR has, but the game's been actually holding up to his ongoing arc. As a result, at least to me, he's come through as one of the best written/developed characters on the Xianzhou so far.

The nature of the length of the updates lets what we get in previous quests settle in for a long while, and considering the mentioned of flow of time in-game, Yanqing's had the time to think and develop as a person. The fact that so many players have had their view and opinion of him finally turn around in this quest is a testament to that. We get to see more facets of him, as in, doing his job and the responsibilities of doing so, and how his insecurities are mentioned in a main quest for all to see. He's constantly referencing others and his past encounters. You can tell that Jing Yuan raised him with his manner and approach to things, which is highlighted by the contrast to Yunli (will get to that soon).

His position as a child soldier has made him mature faster, be quiet even when he's been wronged (filial piety/saving face (aka thank you person on Reddit who makes the banger character Yanqing (and other characters in general) appreciation posts)), take a step back and have to be able to read the room (though, reasonably, he doesn't catch on all the time), and much, much more. The fact that other official content has described him as being more worried about diplomacy and all that. He doesn't have the luxury to be as carefree or brash for someone his age.

There's a lot to unpack there still, even with the development he's had now and that's good! If the Hoyo writing team was wild enough, it'd be cool to see them address the grayness of his role and Jing Yuan's mindset in raising him as he did (We love Dad-Yuan and he loves his son dearly no question, but it'd be so interesting to explore his flaws/mistakes in this perspective!).

Now onto Yunli.

I'm saying straight off the bat, I'm irritated by her!

And that's a good thing!

Her being annoying or bratty or irritating doesn't automatically make her a badly written character! She only would become one if they don't do anything with her, and HSR most probably will, and she should be given the same room to develop in her own arc.

She acts like her age, and she doesn't have the same pressures as Yanqing does. Just like how you can see Jing Yuan in Yanqing, you can see Huaiyan in Yunli, if anything he says is to go by. She's tempremental and outspoken to a fault, and based on the way how quickly Huaiyan relented when she talked back, you can tell that Huaiyan isn't as strict/stern with her to give her a sense of being humble.

I had this thought that she's technically what the general fandom viewed Yanqing as initially, and I'm not saying that as a 100% thing, by the way. But like by some traits and the vibes. She, of course, has a lot more nuance that will be explored at one point or another.

But back on topic, she's a foil. They represent two different approaches and lifestyles and can clearly learn from each other. Her inconsideration of the fact that she's on the Luofu but enforcing Zhuming practices (which I noticed people were upset by, and same; which I imagine is the point), her bluntness to no matter who she's talking to—there's a lot to work with here.

Just like with their swordplay, Yanqing could learn from her mental strength while Yunli can learn from his focused speed and defense. He can learn to regain a more firm grasp of his recently found purpose while she can learn to mature and take in her surroundings and be more thoughtful in that front.

Another interesting note is that where we are with Yanqing currently is in the middle of his arc, we've had the time to see him take a long route of struggle to get to this point, exacerbated by irl players views of him. He's in the middle of his growth and we've had since 1.0 to get to know him. But with Yunli, she was introduced very recently, so we're technically at the "beginning" of her character arc. In a way, Yunli now highlights how far Yanqing has come and changed, and in a way Yanqing now is a potential show for the arc that Yunli can have (not being the exact same as him of course).

I think the idea with these two is that they develop to be more balanced. Balance is such an important thing, especially in Chinese culture (Daoism (Yin-Yang), etc.), and 2.4 has shown how much potential they have to make for amazing character arcs.

It's cool that while they have such similar base traits, they're so different from each other. Calling Yunli a female Yanqing or Yanqing a male Yunli is simply outright incorrect. Their backgrounds, upbringings, ideals, swordstyles, perspectives, and positions in life are so distinct. I'm looking forward to their futures!

[rose-of-pollux]

Ooh, this sounds deliciously whumpy. How about "a fever that won't let up" OR "in too much pain to sleep" for LeBeau (with Newkirk as the caretaker of sorts), please? Your choice :o)

Oooh, okay, I pick the latter!

EDIT: forgot to mention, this is a "What if" scenario re: "That's No Lady, That's My Spy," if LeBeau had been injured worse than he had in the start of the ep.

Newkirk could only wince as he heard the pained sigh in the bunk below; normally occupied by Carter, the American sergeant had graciously swapped with LeBeau, who had come off worse for wear after their meeting with Danzig the night before had ended with the hailfire of bullets.

The Frenchman had been “winged,” as Carter had described it—being shot in the shoulder, with the bullet lodged under his clavicle.  Whatever he wanted to call it, Newkirk was not ready to admit how scared to death he had been, seeing his best friend lying there, unresponsive.

And somehow, that hadn't been as terrifying as hearing his suppressed cries of agony as Wilson, forced to work with no anesthetic, had to remove the bullet from his shoulder while LeBeau bit into a handkerchief to keep from actually screaming.

It was finally over now—sort of; LeBeau was trying to recover in the bunk, his shoulder still in pain and, upon, finding out he’d be conscripted to prepare food for the tea party that Klink was planning, he wasn’t even sure if he’d be in a well-enough condition to pull it off.  And if he couldn’t, that meant that Danzig, who had been injured even worse, would not get the penicillin he needed to recover from his infected wound.

Newkirk leaped down from the top bunk, sighing again as he saw the Frenchman’s face glistening with sweat.

“Pierre, I cannot…” LeBeau, said, quietly.  “I will not be able to prepare the tea party; my arm feels as though it is on fire…!”

“I know, Little Mate, I know,” Newkirk sighed, taking out his own handkerchief to mop the sweat off of LeBeau’s brow.  “The fact that you lived through that bloody experience was already asking a lot of you—just another few inches over, and…”  Newkirk trailed off, not wanting to think about what could’ve happened if that bullet had hit LeBeau’s chest.  “We all understand.  Even the Guv’nor knows he’s asking too much from you.”  He sighed.  “But you’re the only one who can do it, Louis.  If you don’t, there’s no party, and I can’t slip out of it to give Danzig the medicine.”

LeBeau just groaned, shaking his head.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ll be ‘elping with the tea,” Newkirk added.

The subsequent annoyed grunt was music to his ears; if LeBeau was able to complain about sharing kitchen space, however slightly, it meant that he would traverse that road to recovery in time.

…The difficult part would be getting him there, or at least far enough along overnight so that he could prepare the food so that the mission could continue as planned.

“I know it’s not fair—all the pressure on you,” Newkirk admitted.  “You’re stronger than I am, Louis—I’d ‘ave buckled already.  Well, you know I’m a natural coward—that’s no surprise to you, innit?”

LeBeau turned to look at him.

“You carried me back to camp,” he said, simply.  With it came the implied I slowed you down; you would have been an easy target.

“And I’d do it again, Little Mate.  …You going to let an English coward outdo you?”

Ah, the prideful snort—the response he’d been hoping for.

“Try to rest, Louis,” he added, his voice softening in spite of himself.  “I know you’re dealing with a lot, but you aren’t dealing with it alone.”

LeBeau let out a quiet “hmm” of acknowledgement.  He winced again as his shoulder pain flared up, but remained relatively calm as Newkirk continued to mop his brow.

Indeed, he’d do it again.

[drgngutz]

3 - Coast - Luffy x f!soulmate!reader

Chapter 3

Taglist: @mystic60 , @louisechec , @pinksh1t

Enjoy!!

It was chilly this morning. 

Shivering, looking out on the horizon, I tried my best to scan the waves that bled into the dark skies, keeping an eye out for any of the darkened shapes that might've resembled a ship; or better yet, an island. 

The past day had been... uneventful. We had been out at sea ever since my arrival, about a day now, and so far Luffy had been relatively distant. Well, distant wasn't the right word, more like busy. He was always doing something. Always running, playing, eating... and when he slept, he slept like a rock. He never let himself get bored for too long, when he was, he always managed to find something to do... but that something never had anything to do with me. 

Was it all in my head? Maybe he was paying attention to me, and I was just overthinking it. The briefly shared spaces passing each other on deck that seemed to sprout goosebumps on my skin, the soft glances ending with his bright smile that had me blushing bright red and looking away, hearing his laugh across the boat and feeling my heart stutter in my chest; those weren't frequent, but they were there. But, the questions remained. Was he feeling the same things that I was? Was he responding to the soulmate ties in the same ways that I was? Or was this all one-sided? 

These questions kept me awake for hours. Well, that and the unfamiliar environment; the city and the ocean were vastly different places, it seemed. Having problems with sleeping in the past wasn't great for new places in general, but I guess I had just been used to the business of the city with its constant noise in comparison to the quietness of the waves against the hull. 

Regardless, my tired eyes still scanned the horizon, searching for anything to distract myself with. 

The cold numbed my fingers, picking at the peeling wood on the railings that framed the edges of the boat, standing at the bow and squinting at the sun as it finally graced my cool skin with some warmth. And, the longer I stared, the more I could make out the faint shapes that rose above the waterline. 

"Oh, cool." I spoke to myself as the island became more and more apparent as the sun rose higher, before I heard a sneeze from behind me. Turning to glance at the red-head that had been on night watch, I saw her opening her groggy eyes then suddenly blinking widely at the sight before us. She looked at me, clutching the blanket that I had gifted her during the early morning, since I had come out and seen her clutching herself for warmth. I smiled lightly, watching her walk to stand next to me. 

"Morning." I murmured as she stood beside me, looking down at me with her own smile. I was shorter than almost everyone on the ship besides Chopper. 

"Good morning," She replied, before skimming over my face quickly, "You look like you've been up a while, though." 

"Not long," I lied, looking away from her out of some guilt, though I wasn't sure what for. Lying, I suppose?

"Just enough to keep you from catching a cold, I think." I distracted from the topic, the teasing tone in my voice had Nami rolling her eyes, grinning. She shoved the blanket at me after unfurling it from her body, before calling out over her shoulder that there was an island for the crew to wake up for. 

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks." She responded to my quip about giving her my blanket, before walking towards the ladder to shout at them again; giving her a quick 'your welcome,' I could hear Zoro and Sanji begin to butt heads even at this early hour. 

Turning to see if the group was coming out on deck, since I heard the slam of somebody hit the floor, I assumed that the jostling of bodies was the blonde and green-headed men fighting each other. However, I stiffened at the sight of the boy with black hair that had crawled up the mast like a monkey. I didn't think that he would be up this early, but I suspected he was excited about the island. 

Quickly turning to face away from him, feeling the instinct to avoid him right now, I couldn't help but feel like his name was a little too fitting sometimes; The image of his limbs wrapped around the mast stuck in my head. I wrapped the blanket tight around my shoulders as I listened to his excited shouts for the rest of the crew to wake up. 

---

The ship had been docked just off the beach, and everyone had now vacated to get a better look at the island. As we got closer, I noted how strange it looked. For lack of a better word, it looked like a floating pineapple; even the rocky hills resembled the odd texture of the fruit, but I didn't bother bringing it up as everyone was busy getting ready to spend some time on dry land for once. 

I discarded the borrowed pajamas and blanket from Nami and opted for some other borrowed clothes that were better suited for the warm weather. Some old shorts and a pink t-shirt, also from Nami; she kept saying something about how I was accruing interest for borrowing her stuff and that I would need to pay her back one day, which confused and concerned me, but I had just nodded and agreed with her terms to appease her. It's not like I had much else to wear, otherwise.

Donned with my new outfit, I decided it best to try and stick with the girls, as they had been my comfort zone during my stay so far. I had spent some time with the others, like Chopper and Usopp; but the girls were the ones helping me get more acclimated, teaching me more about their world each day. So, I had spent a majority of my time getting to know them and their strange world. 

Anyways, my plan backfired, as Nami decided to get a better look at the island for her maps while Robin went off somewhere else (to where, I wasn't sure). Flinching at the excited energy that radiated off of Luffy, and being too scared to try and approach him or the others and therefore gain Luffy's attention, I abandoned my shoes on the beach and did something I hadn't done in forever: walk through the shallow waters on the beach. 

Sure, NYC had its beaches. They were nice enough, but they were nothing like this one. Perfectly untouched white sand, dotted with vibrant-colored seashells that were continuously washed away by the clear water of the ocean... It was amazing. I had never seen anything like this back home. When we first docked, I cursed at myself for leaving my phone on the ship, wishing I had it to take some pictures. 

Hearing the distant chattering of the crew, all thrilled to be on the island, I dragged my bare feet through the shallows on the beach; eyes wide, taking in all the different colors and creatures that resided there, little minnows that rushed away from my intrusion and casting flitting shadows on the pretty seashells buried in the sand. The water was warm, another stark difference from the one in the city, and it seemed a shame to just let all the shells sit in the sand and be washed back into the ocean. 

Soon enough, a fragile little pile in my hands was getting larger by the minute, and I excitedly rushed from one shell to the next whenever I could spot them before they would be covered again. 

I nearly squealed as I rushed over to an absolutely massive shape in the water, pocketing my collection and hoisting the dripping object out of the water with a grin; a bright orange shell dotted with green and yellow hues that curved around it in mesmerizing spirals. I inwardly cheered at my find, perching on my toes in excitement as I bounced up and down and turned the object in my hands to find the opening--

I stopped short, seeing two beady eyes looking at me from inside. It had a pink body, with one large claw and another smaller one to match. It blinked at me a few times, and I blinked back. Unsure what to do, I stood there foolishly, the both of us staring at each other; just observing each other, I think, and debating what to do about the awkward situation. 

The crab decided to make its move first, reaching towards my face with a rapid snap of its large claw, which had me dropping it in the water just as fast with a squeak. I watched its two claws rise above the shallow water and begin snap-snapping in my direction, before I paled and rushed back towards the beach. I could hear the little shit clacking its claws the whole way as it chased me. Stumbling a few times making my way through the water, I finally made it back to the sandy beach and turned to face my pursuer. 

I made eye contact with the ornery creature for the final time as it glared at me from the water, before it turned back around and made its way back to its home. I sighed in relief, and a little disappointment that I couldn't continue my seashell search, before hearing a familiar cackle from behind. 

Focusing on the group, Luffy was laughing openly at my fiasco, followed by Usopp doing the same, with Zoro chuckling under his breath. The others looked confused, and Sanji was kind enough to ask what was wrong; I had already turned away with a bright red face, unable to answer his concerns in my embarrassment. 

"She was--" A deep breath from Usopp as he was wheezing, "There was--" 

"You almost got pinched by that hermit crab!" Luffy finished for him, howling as I felt my face burn brighter, if possible. I kicked the sand indignantly and crossed my arms with a huff. 

"It was pretty funny." Zoro added, and I put my face in my hands as the rest of them started laughing, too. Except for Sanji, that is.

"Will you idiots shut up already?!" He snarls at them, as Nami comes and gives me a maniacal grin, linking arms to drag me over to the group despite my pleas for her to leave me there. 

"You shouldn't make fun of a helpless lady being chased by a creature like that! She could've been seriously hurt, y'know!" That just made Luffy and Usopp crack-up more, and I looked down at my feet in the circle. 

Helpless. To a hermit crab. Just kill me already. 

Two harsh bonks could be heard as Sanji walked away from the two boys, seething and muttering about how inconsiderate they were being. Looking up, the two were nursing bumps on their heads, mumbling about how sorry they were; I couldn't help the small grin as I bit my lip. It was deserved, but I did feel a little bad from their teary eyes.

"Nami, look!" 

Turning, Sanji had thrown what looked to be some kind of fruit to Nami. He had managed to climb a tree in a few short moments. I looked down at the fruit in her hands; it looked like a pineapple, sorta'. Maybe that's why the island was shaped like one? 

"These are perfect for non-perishable food, and the whole island looks like its stacked with them!" Sanji continues, doing a flip from his spot on the tree and landing safely on his feet. I stood flabbergasted from how effortless the movement looked. 

"That's great! We should find as many as we can and load them onto the ship, then!" Nami seemed excited, handing me the fruit as she walked up to Sanji, and I turned it over in my hands. It had a hard outer shell, and it felt pretty heavy. 

The next thing I knew, Nami was holding out a handful of sticks. She was explaining that each of us had to pull one, and whoever got the long stick was meant to stay on the boat and keep watch, while those who drew short sticks were to collect fruits. Zoro started complaining about how Nami was 'giving orders,' until Luffy interrupted. 

"Look! They're all short!" I glanced at him, before looking down at the three sticks in his hand, then back up at his smiling face. 

"Why'd you draw all three of them?!" Usopp voiced everyone's question.

"Isn't the one who grabs the most the winner?" Luffy answered simply, showing that he had obviously not heard a word of Nami's explanation. 

I stood there with pursed lips, wondering if I really was overthinking all of my concerns earlier. He wasn't very good at paying attention to things, apparently. 

"Am I awesome or what?" Luffy continued, boasting now, as the rest of the crew began to look fed up. 

"Obviously you aren't!" Most replied in sync, and I stood there tight-lipped as he grinned ear to ear, oblivious to the fists being sent his way from his angry crewmates. 

I winced at the impact, feeling a residual pain from his newly acquired bruises. This soulmate thing was going to be a handful. 

"You're still recovering," I heard from below, turning to look down at Chopper as he tapped my leg, "So, you should stay with me, since you're my patient!" 

Nearly fawning over the reindeer, I smiled gently at him and nodded in agreement. His smile was adorable as he cheered, mumbling something under his breath about not really wanting to be by himself, and we started making our way back towards the ship. Although I had wanted to see more of the island, what Chopper said was probably right, and I wasn't sure I could keep up with Luffy's energy; listening as he chanted his way into the woods about the new adventure. 

---

Onboard the ship, it was easy for Chopper to convince me to play pirates with him. With a cute little grin, hooves crossed over his chest, and pleading eyes; I couldn't resist. Now, he was bouncing around the ship, playing as Captain and ordering me around. He even liked to include the others in his game.

"(Y/n), Look this way!" 

"Luffy! Don't eat everyone else's food!" 

"(Y/n), Come over here!" 

"Usopp, work harder!"

"(Y/n), Pat my head!" 

"Sanji! Prepare special dishes for me!" 

I watched him, snickering at his cute little face as he pretended to be a fierce captain to a mostly-invisible crew. He turned to look at me from atop the sails. 

"(Y/n), cheer for Captain Chopper!" He grinned with his arms in the air, and I obliged. Clapping and cheering, with a few hurray's littered in my speech; until I nearly saw him fall over and onto the deck and went silent, rushing over to try and catch him before he fell. Nearly having a heart attack, I watched him fall backwards and into the crows nest, peeking over the side with scared eyes. 

"Chopper? Are you okay?" I asked, worried eyes searching for what he was looking at. I eased up a little in the presence of another crew member. That meant I would have some help dealing with the overactive baby reindeer. 

"Oh, hey, Robin." I greeted, smiling a little, "I was wondering where you were." 

She didn't get to respond, as Chopper had managed to zip down from the crows nest and was tip-toeing down the stairs like a scared animal-- Which, I guess he technically was a scared animal, but I was curious as to why. 

"How long have you been there? Being so quiet... How sneaky!" He inches along the wall as far away from Robin as possible, and I just watch him, incredibly confused by whatever this was. 

"Look! I still don't trust you. You were a Baroque Works Officer Agent," Whatever that means, "You were a rogue, and mean, and stupid!" 

"Chopper!" My tone was scolding, reminiscent of my days watching over the littles in the orphanage. I was shocked with how rude he was being to a fellow crew member. It didn't make any sense, why was he treating her like an enemy or something? And what did he mean by 'Baroque Works?' 

"I won't accept you. Even if Luffy accepts you as a friend, there's no way I'd talk to you!" He ignored me entirely, before rushing over to the door on the lower deck and slamming the door. 

"What is going on with him?" I questioned under my breath, concerned for him and whatever he was so afraid of, as well as for Robin and how he was treating her. It seemed really out of character for the little reindeer-kid that I had gotten to know, who had always been sweet and caring. 

"I'm afraid he's just not quite used to me yet." Robin stated, and I turned around to look at her; she was just the same as before, unfazed, not bothering to look up from the pages of her book. 

"It's a shame really, he is quite cute." She grinned, eyes scanning over the page diligently. 

"He is." I agreed after a moment, debating on whether or not to ask the questions I had out loud. I didn't want to pry, but at the same time...

"Go ahead and ask, I don't mind." She assured me, probably sensing the urge for me to speak. So, I did. 

"What did he mean by Baroque Works?" I didn't bother hesitating, "He said you were some kind of 'Officer-Agent,' or something." 

"It's the organization I was apart of before I joined the crew," She answered, straight-to-the-point, "It was run by one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea, Crocodile, before Luffy and the crew beat him, destroying everything he had built in order to restore the country he overtook." 

I stood there quietly, more questions in my head, but deciding it best to wait for her to finish. 

"I was his right-hand among the agents before that happened; my specialty was assassination, which is probably why that little one was so afraid." I furrowed my brow. Assassination? 

I felt a cold sweat on my neck. This woman in front of me had killed people? And probably for a living, by the sound of it. It was hard to believe, honestly; she was always very kind, even if she was a bit reserved. 

"I then decided it best to travel with the Straw Hats instead. This was only a few days ago, about two days before you joined, to be exact." 

"Really?" I interrupted quietly, a little surprised, and feeling a little on edge from how at ease she was while telling me all this. My head was swimming at the idea of her killing somebody in cold blood, still not able to imagine it. 

"But... I thought that they all liked you." 

"So far, only you, The Navigator, The Captain, and The Cook have accepted my presence. We were once at odds, so it was fairly expected." She finalized, closing her book softly and placing it on the table next to her. 

"So... You were once enemies, then." I confirmed with myself, "I'm glad I came when I did, then. You must be tough, if what you're saying is true." 

I hoped it wasn't. 

The statement was supposed to be serious, but instead Robin laughed. Gesturing me to follow her with a smile as she walked toward the same door that Chopper had gone through.

"Yes, I am too. I would not have wanted to face a formidable foe such as yourself, either." She teased, and the tension from earlier in the conversation seemed to melt away like magic. Right; she was a part of the crew, and she wasn't a bad person. Luffy and the others wouldn't have let her stay if that wasn't true, right? Maybe there was some other reason that she had to do what she did; after all, I was unfamiliar with this world with its free lands, lawless pirates, and rugged marines. 

"Formidable?" I scoffed out a laugh in disbelief. "I don't even know how to throw a punch!" 

"I don't believe that for a second." 

"Robin, I'm being serious. Chopper is scarier than I am." 

---

After a little bit of a fiasco on board, the three of us (Chopper, Robin, and I) were back on the island to get more water for the ship. 

To summarize, after Robin and I entered the room, Chopper didn't notice us until after he had finished narrating and old story about the creation of the 'rumble ball;' A type of enhancer he used on himself to amplify his powers, as he had clumsily demonstrated once noticing Robin making coffee in the room. Through his shenanigans, he transformed into about five different body types, knocking over the coffee maker and breaking a barrel of water, before Robin 'appeased' him by tickling him with her own powers (which I was still having a hard time understanding in this world, and trying my best not to question it). 

Now, here we are, walking through the dense forest of the island; trying to keep conversation by asking about a million questions in order to disrupt the leftover tension from Chopper's nerves with Robin. I asked about the Seven Warlords, Devil Fruits, other islands like the one Chopper came from, and plenty of other things during our walk. They both obliged happily, knowing I was learning about the world, and I think it helped ease Chopper's worries. He had stopped spooking every time Robin kicked a rock or stepped on a stick. 

The forest itself was amazing. There was so much wildlife; with bugs buzzing in our ears and birds calling in the distance. Each breath of air felt fresher, cleaner, if that makes sense. It was nothing like my experience back home, the sun warming my back as we blissfully strolled through the wilderness. Scanning the trees, I spotted a furry figure and stopped short. 

"Is... Is that a monkey?" The excitement was practically  dripping from my words as I gasped, speeding over to get a better look at the ape as it munched on one of the yellow fruits. 

"It is! I've never seen one so close before, this is nuts!" 

"Monkey?! Where? Where?!" Chopper sputtered out fearfully, nearly dropping the barrel he was carrying on the ground. I wasn't paying him much attention, though, standing a few feet away from the creature with a bright grin. 

"It is," Robin confirmed, watching me with a knowing smile, "I'm surprised to see one so close." 

"Isn't he cool, though?" I chirped, waving at it when he finally turned to look at me, to which it turned and disappeared up into the trees. "Woah, he was quick." 

"I take it you've never seen one in person?" Robin was poking fun at me again, and I shook my head with a smile. 

"No, not this close, at least. We had a Zoo back home, but seeing one out here in its habitat is way more interesting." She hummed, before continuing on the beaten path. I followed after her and Chopper, who waited for me to walk beside him before continuing on. 

"You lived in a place without any animals?" He asked, genuinely curious. I assumed that there weren't many places like that in this world. 

"Well, there were some animals, like pets; other than that, it's mostly rats, pigeons, squirrels... small stuff like that." I replied, looking down at his little head, which looked back up at me in disgust. 

"Really? Rats?" I laughed at his horrified tone. 

"Yeah, and lot's of 'em. Living in the city, there's tons and tons of buildings, and most of them are pressed right up against each other; there's not much space for animals in a place that's overrun with people." He frowned at my explanation, and I tilted my head at him. 

"That... doesn't sound very fun." He sounded disappointed, and I felt bad. Maybe I had been a little too honest. 

"Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't. The business of everything keeps life... lively, and exciting, but underneath all of that it's still just... normal life." I sighed, my efforts to save the conversation not going well. It was probably best to skip to a different topic, now. 

"It wasn't so bad; but, I'm much happier to be here with you guys, now." I say happily. 

"You mean it?" He asks, hopefully, and I give him a soft smile. 

"'Course I do, Chopper. I couldn't have asked for a better crew, or doctor, for that matter." 

He stopped in his tracks after the compliment, before a cute little blush spread on his cheeks and he began to wave his arms around; saying something about how 'I shouldn't be complimenting him, dummy.' Or something like that, and I just laughed at his child-like antics, before urging him along. 

Robin had gotten farther ahead of us, and was stopped at the top of the hill, staring out at something we weren't able to see yet. Once we made it to the top, I was awestruck. 

It was a gorgeous lake, bright blue and sparkling in the sun. The scene before us was... serene, the water gently rippling as white petals from the nearby flowers danced and floated along its surface, their gentle scent filling my nose and relieving the tension I hadn't noticed in my shoulders. The wind rustled gently along the foliage nearby, and Chopper set out to start gathering water for the barrel. Robin made her way to the blossoms, and I followed. 

They were really pretty; soft and delicate, with white petals surrounding the smaller yellow flowers in the middle, and a thin stem that plucked easily from the ground. I sniffed at it once, before deciding it might be nice to keep one for myself, and tucking it behind my ear. Well, I then figured that maybe the crew would like some too, so I began looking for others that might be suitable. 

"If I remember correctly," Chopper had taken a pause, catching my attention as he looked at Robin, "You said you've always been alone since you were eight." 

I was intrigued. Alone? So she didn't have parents, like me? That might explain a little bit about the conversation we had earlier. 

"Yes. By following pirates, I barely survived." I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling a bit disheartened at the implication of her words. I couldn't imagine being alone, by myself, at the age of eight. It seemed life hadn't been very kind to Robin.

"I'm sorry." I started, and she looked up at me with the same smile she always had. I hadn't noticed it until now, but her smile felt... guarded. Too perfect. Fake. 

"...For what you've been through, I mean." I sat down beside her, playing with the flowers I had collected anxiously, and trying to voice my emotions in the best way I could. 

"It's not easy without parents." I finished, quietly. 

A beat of a moment, and I could tell Chopper was listening as well. Robin's eyes squinted with a look of understanding. A real smile, this time. 

"Thank you," She handed me the flower she had been holding, before plucking another one for herself, "I'm sorry too." 

After a long silence, Robin and Chopper exchanged a few words about Chopper's role-model from his home; Doctorine. I listened quietly to their conversation, feeling a bit more contemplative after ending our previous conversation on such a dull note. Soon enough, we decided to head back to the ship, since the sun would be setting soon. 

--- 

Sitting next to Chopper around the makeshift fire with the rest of the crew I nibbled on the meal that Sanji had made for everybody, still in my contemplative state from earlier. I guess my thoughts were going to run rampant in the darker hours of the upcoming days, bad enough that Chopper had noticed and began fretting over me once we got back; worried about my health as his patient. It took a while to convince him otherwise, so I occasionally hummed or nodded along with the group to keep him satisfied that I wasn't in some sort of catatonic state. 

Unbeknownst to him, I was barely listening as Nami berated Luffy and Usopp for not getting any fruits at the end of the day, staring at the flame in mock concentration; the reality was my thoughts had taken a deeper turn. 

Somehow, along the confines of my mind, I had started to question what my position in the crew was supposed to be. I wasn't particularly good at anything, didn't know how to fight (like I mentioned to Robin earlier), and I couldn't figure out for the life of me how to make myself seem useful. There was no way the crew just expected me to join up as Luffy's soulmate without at least contributing, right? At that point, I wouldn't really feel like a crew member... I'd feel more like a burden. 

"Hey, (Y/n)... (Y/n). Hello," The word was drawn out from Usopp's lips as he finally caught my attention, and I sat up from my hunched position after realizing the rest of the crew was looking at me, too. 

"Yeesh. Getting lost in there?" He pointed at his head, and then at mine, with a concerned tone. 

"Uh," I sputtered, "No, sorry. Just... thinking. What's up?" 

"I was asking how your second day was, y'know, being an official crew member and all." Usopp wondered before stuffing his face with more meat, and I felt myself ease up a little. Official crew member. Right, I needed to stop overthinking it so much. 

"Oh, yeah. How did it go?" Nami chimed in, sitting down on a vacant log nearby. Apparently, Chopper had also gotten up without me noticing, and a quick glance showed me he was having a quick chat with Robin. Once I was back up to speed with the rest of the group, I cleared my throat and reached for the bundle of flowers I had collected. 

"It was good. Um, I actually got these for everyone today..." I moved the bundles nervously in my fingers, beginning to hand them out to everyone as they looked at each plant, seeming a little stunned. 

"Just as a thank you," I quickly added, "For letting me join the crew." 

"I dunno' if everyone likes flowers, but I thought they were nice..." I finished slowly, sitting down again after successfully handing the flowers to everyone and gauging their reactions. For some reason, I had one extra, even though I thought I had counted one for everyone earlier. 

"A flower?" Zoro sounded unhappy, "Really--?" 

Pow. Nami and Sanji had knocked Zoro backwards before he could finish, chastising him for 'being such an ass,' and 'disrespecting a lady after giving him a gift.' 

"Wow, this is nice." Usopp said, "Thanks, (Y/n). That was really nice of you." 

"Yeah, these are really pretty!" Nami tucked the flower in her hair, like I had done. 

"Ignore that idiot," Sanji started, before twirling in circles with hearts soaring around him, "He could never appreciate a gift from an angel like you! I shall cherish this gift for the rest of my days!" 

I nodded stiffly, giving a little 'mhm,' in response; finally, I noticed the new presence that had shown up beside me in the midst of the chaos. 

Looking over, I was met with the black iris's of Luffy, who must've snuck over when I had gotten out of my seat to hand the flowers out. We blinked at each other for a second, before he raised a piece of meat to his lips and took out a large chunk, chewing loudly. I twirled the flower in my fingers timidly. 

"Hey." He greeted, after swallowing his bite. In the background, though, I could tell the crew was watching, despite the ongoing conversation they were trying to mask their snooping with. 

"Um, hi." My voice cracked out a whisper, and I cringed. Desperate to avoid the embarrassment, I cleared my throat, opened my mouth again and gingerly held out the flower to him. 

"Uh, anyways, I got this for you." The words tumbled from my mouth like a bunch of rocks, and he blinked at the flower, looking a little too bewildered for my liking. 

Oh god, he probably didn't like flowers. I didn't think of that. His eyes flicked back up to my panicked expression, and I shrunk. 

"Sorry," I started, "You probably don't like--" 

"Can you put it in my hair like you did with yours?" He asked, eyes shining in the firelight, "I want mine like that, too! But, my hands are full right now." 

Stun-locked, I blinked at him dumbly as he scooched closer, the proximity making the hair on my arms stand up. 

"Really?" I asked, like an idiot. 

"Yeah! It looks nice in your hair, I want one too!" He grinned, leaning his face down towards me in delight, probably assuming I couldn't reach him since I was taking so long. It wasn't easy for me to move any faster, cheeks burning bright red from the compliment and having a hard time remembering how to use my hands as I fumbled with the delicate stem. 

Finally, and though my hands were probably shaking, I leaned toward him and reached to place the flower behind his ear. My movements were gentle, brushing his dark hair back from his ear and twisting the stem in place. His hair was a little rough, tangled and matted with the salty air. I tried my best to ignore his face being so close to my own, seeing his gaze rapidly flit around my face, like he was looking for something. I thought I was going to combust into flames, with how hot my face felt. 

Then, the flower was in place, and I removed my hands at lightning speed, brushing against his cheek whilst pulling away. My skin tingled pleasantly from the contact, and I had to refrain from going back to play with his hair. He reached up, tracing his finger over the petals to check my handiwork. 

"Awesome! Now we're matching!" He laughed, smiling at me in a way that I thought my heart would burst. I swallowed, looking down at something else on the ground, the only sound able to come out being another shy 'mhm.' 

It wasn't over yet, though, as he had suddenly shoved his partially eaten piece of fruit in my face. In the background, I could hear each of the crew members make a strangled noise of surprise. 

"You should try this! It's really good." A beat of a moment, before I reached out and took the fruit from his hands, just as shaky as ever. I could smell the sweetness before I bit down, and was satisfied when the bite I took was just as sweet, tasting a lot like pineapple. I wasn't too bothered to share food with somebody who was supposed to be my soulmate; but still a little flustered, nonetheless. 

"It is good." I gave my hushed response after swallowing. He giggled a little, before swapping out the fruit for the meat, this time. I could feel my heart beating a million miles an hour in my chest.

"Try this too!" I nodded, watching the scar on his cheek crease as he smiled at me. Maybe this wasn't so bad, after all. 

Chapter Four

[dalchiid]

I decided to do a poll to see which story you all would like to read first. I've been working on each of these stories and I'm fine with doing whichever. I'll just need some time to work on them more before releasing them 😊 Read the synopsis of each and then vote for which one you want in the poll located at the end of this post!

•Desirous

Your fate had been set into stone from the moment Hoseok saw you. Following Covetous is Desirous. Hoseok's PoV from within the Baeks' household.

Pairing: Yandere Vampire Hoseok x Fem/AFAB Reader

•Honeyed Affair

CEO of SiJak Electronics Kim Taehyung, a romantic at heart, has one job and one job only and it's to convince you that being his sugar baby will be the solution to all of your problems. You, a hard worker with baggage, reluctantly agrees and now he'll spend the rest of your time together trying to sweep you off of your feet. But will it work?

Pairing: CEO Sugar Daddy Taehyung x Fem/AFAB Reader

•Obsession

Jungkook could say he's a relatively sane man. He has his hyperfixations like most but nothing like this. When he sees you he decides he needs to know more and if that means he has to invade your personal space, well, he'll do what he has to do to let you know you're his.

Based off of Aventura's song Obsesión.

Pairing: Yandere Jungkook x Fem/AFAB Reader

•Don't Say I Love You

Your heart is broken. Breathing hurts. Living hurts and it was all due to your best friend. He told you it was a mistake being with you romantically and you wonder when these feelings started to plague him because for you it was far from a mistake. You try to live without him but it seems like there's more to your breakup than you originally thought. What was it and could you ever look at him the same way again?

Pairing: Idol Yoongi x Fem/AFAB reader

•Pachinko

Starting his days early means Jimin has a run in with the friendly neighborhood cat. He doesn't know where it came from but he does his best to take care of it. But why is it his early mornings also come with a crazy woman claiming Jimin is a thief? You're the crazy woman but to Jimin you're nobody so who the fuck are you?

Pairing: Jimin x Fem/AFAB reader

•Resentment a Covetous Sequel

It's been a few months since you've been turned and with that fact comes painful emotions you shut down from. Here is an update on your life now that you're no longer yourself. Now that you're Hoseok's. Forever.

Pairing: Yandere Vampire Hoseok x Fem/AFAB Reader

•Untitled Yandere OT7

You and Yoongi have been together for 3 months. It's been an extraordinary time together despite having to keep quiet about it to avoid media attention. His brothers are super supportive, but maybe a little too much. You don't notice it until it's too late and now you're being thrust into a life you didn't ask for.

Pairing: Yandere Idol OT7 x Fem/AFAB Reader

•Untitled Yandere Kim Seokjin

It's been a couple of years since your parents divorced and it's been a couple of years before your mother found someone else to love. Along with this new man comes his son who your mother adores. He's nice you have to admit but you're not that interested in getting to know him unlike how he would like to get to know you. Even if it's the last thing he'll ever do.

Pairing: Yandere Step-brother Seokjin x Fem/AFAB Reader

[froggipied]

For Science Chapter 4: Escape

ao3 link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/41680413/chapters/135558835#workskin

word count: 4.5k

Aperture science respects your cause for concern when it comes to the production of our certified Sentry Guards. However, any reports of harm, injury, or death are not viable for lawsuit at this time.  If you would like to file a lawsuit with aperture science regarding the death of a relative in our care, just know..They read their contract and filed the form for you already. 

If you have been threatened by a Sentry Guard in the last 30 days, we’re sorry, but you cannot make a Certified Complaint with our department at this time. If you have been threatened or maimed more recently than 30 days, we’re also sorry, but Aperture Science will need to have the fully-Intact Bullets returned to us as soon as they are located on your person. Our guards now shoot 60 percent more bullet for every bullet used.

————-

When you came to, it was to silence and an empty room. No opened doors, no mechanical clicks and quiet shifts of metal beside you as it’d been when you’d fallen asleep. Considering the situation, you slept just fine. Dreamless and unbothered. However, now as you got to your feet, you were bothered by the utter lack of noise. Well, besides the door that clicked to open as you stood, crossing a sensor you weren't aware was there. It wasn’t of much concern to you, though, you weren’t going to move until you’d gotten your bearings.

And figured out where your robot companion had gone off to?

You stayed in place, wandering the same three-walled space in a paced pattern, back and forth, maybe changing up with what foot you stepped with first, dominant or non-dominant, flexing your hands out in front of you and swaying back and forth while you waited.

Patience got boring very quickly, and you found yourself walking through the door that clicks open upon your approach.

Surely, you decide for yourself, surely I can figure out my own way through. Otherwise, how would personnel have gone through here prior to the Portal gun’s creation? And sure, many catwalks were rusted and finicky and certainly not trustworthy and would’ve been condemned and out of use by a better company, but you figured that as long as you were quick, you were fine. A reasonable assumption, under better circumstances. Just not when you’re crossing towards a room and the catwalk makes an ugly cccrrrrr sound under your feet, falling to the ground below as you reach the next door. You stare behind yourself, the empty space where the catwalk had just been, bewildered. That’s not viable. Once again, a part of you was longing to be in the testing chambers. At least those were being monitored by an intelligence that needed non-mechanical life. The facility on the other hand? Alive and yet not.

Room to room, nothing much changed, besides it getting cleaner-looking. The walls were all a little less yellow, tiles weren’t so mis-aligned, although still clearly not cared for. An effect of a certain robot doing her best to rebuild everything while focusing on an upset human traversing..and also likely being aware of a wanderer somewhere behind her testing tracks. That part didn’t ring so positive for you.

And you miss the chatter, already.

It’s far too silent to be comfortable. Well, comfort in Aperture was more of a fever-dream of sorts. The love you had for a game was quickly replaced by concern of the lack of safety. Self-preservation was more important than you’d initially figured it’d be. And it’s not like you had the safety of boots strapped to you that would prevent breaking your legs. Or a gun capable of keeping you from hitting the floor ages beneath you too hard. Hard facts to face, really.

But, you weren’t stuck with the complete and utter silence of opening doors for very long. You crossed into a room you didn’t recognize at all, stark white on every wall, with shattered glass decorating the floor, large broken out panels leading to some structure you couldn’t place. Definitely not in the game you knew. Testing chambers and certain far away areas you might’ve been able to recall, but you found yourself wondering; what the hell was this?

Whatever it was..it was broken. Not recently, either. Something mechanical,dim and dark. In the distance past the glass, you could almost make out what looked to be disjointed testing tracks, broken apart to pieces, and a dim, broken button far out near the center of the open space. 

Hell, those tracks could survive a real beating, then.

“Is someone out there?”

A voice you didn’t recognize. Not in the slightest. So you get a move on, putting a little pep in your step as you cross through the doors clicking closed with some guy’s call of “-Hey!” 

Alright maybe, just maybe you were a little concerned about going through aperture’s ‘skeleton’ on your own without knowing where you were going. That’s completely normal and to be expected, as far as you cared. 

From one door into the next, away from the room of broken glass when you slowly come to a pause,considering the room for a moment. Maybe that’s what that line meant— but that room’s never seen, so maybe you were wrong.

You weren’t left to your own devices for very long at all past the unfamiliar room. Another set of doors, and you found just the robot you were looking for, hanging off of a management rail,swaying back and forth a little, unsturdy and quiet until you crossed his line of sight

”Ah! Hold on-ah, god that’s right. Look, I tried to check on you. Like a ROCK—you are. Sleeping. I came back there twice. To tell you stuff. Keep you up to date. Not even a blink.” Wheatley fumbles his words while you brush it off. 

“I’d guess you went to check up on her in person?”

“ ‘person’, very funny.” Wheatley squints before he rolls forward on the rail “Bu yes— I did. Let her know we're actively working on it, and to just use that good old humanity’s will and just keep holding on. Speaking of which, I actually came up with an idea—while you were asleep, sorry to say you couldn’t hear the thought process, not too long of one,but regardless.” Wheatley starts, and rolls ahead on the management rail while you follow on foot through a pair of opened doors into what seemed to be a storage room of sorts.

A very dirty, uncared for, storage room. Broken down walls with dimming panel hydraulics. Partially broken or burned cubes smashed into a corner of the room, broken down turrets littering the floor, and you stare around yourself all while Wheatley talks with his eye closed.

”So I was thinking, Turrets. She fancies using them—a lot, actually. Seems to be. This might…actually be where she’s throwing away the ones our lady breaks. Isn’t that uh..hah..cool” he pauses, squinting as he stares at a recently burned out turret “Er..Point being..Sometimes, they’re made defective—“ you’re fairly sure he said something about being in the turret creation department once, but you don’t question him “—And when that happens, they usually come without proper eyesight. The little buggers are infrared..pretty sure that’s the proper term. While they could be calibrated to specifically see something like…ay Metal, I guess—“ he gestures down at himself pointedly “They’re more..heat-signature based and motion capturing.”

”So..similar to the automatic doors?”

”Same function, except a lot more uh..shoot-y” Wheatley grunts with a breath he didn’t need to take. “But— On the good side of things, they’re usually confined to the ah..testing chambers. No reason to be back here any, so it’s just one of those..keep it in mind—paper in the pocket type of things.”

”Right,” you mutter, watching Wheatley roll through the rail into the next room.

 Once again, you were separated from the core as he went rolling down his management rail, and you were left scuffing your shoes against metal while you wandered down the catwalks. Grateful for a bit of rest, surely but..starved and dehydrated. You had to wonder how the testing chambers accounted for that, assuming it was the near non-stop testing that it was in the game. A recycled room of air—which you were wondering if that applied directly outside of the testing track— and adrenal vapors to keep a person going running on adrenaline, causing a loss of time, but did it account for eating and drinking as well? Or really anything else?

Either way, you were doubtful you’d figure it out for yourself before the facility would rip apart again.

Again. It was sad to think about, really. And..immensely dangerous to consider, now that you were following the narrative set before your hands, but even if you could change it, you really wouldn’t. What would it accomplish, other than preventing Chell from being able to escape? 

It wouldn’t fix much if anything, that you knew for certain. The same routine for everyone involved—which now included yourself—would fix nothing.

You frown to yourself as you pass from room to room without stopping to check where you were. You could guess it was getting closer and closer, and you swore there was something you must’ve been forgetting to mention. Something just in the recesses of your mind, something important that you should most definitely mention and you’re almost sure you’ve got it but—-…nothing.

”And..here we are.” Wheatley grabs your attention the moment you hear him in the next room. You don’t recognize the room, really. Colorful and dim, paintings of different sizes and niches on every wall, and it was definitely some sort of staff room, but you couldn’t place it.

”Where is here?”

”The aperture art gallery. Abandoned in the 1980s..I think.” Wheatley remarks, tilting his head as he considers one of the dim, dull colored paintings. Abstract in style and color, and muddied and mottled by time. “See, now here might be why this whole thing was abandoned. I mean, just look at it. Granted, there’s some color there—speck of red, a little bit of orange here—I mean, maybe it’s a rainbow. Not the best I’ve seen. Doubt it’s the best you’ve seen either. Course, there’s no descriptions on any of this, so it’s not like we’ll ever really know, but I bet this is why this was abandoned.”

”It’s abstract.”

”Abstract..” Wheatley repeats with a skeptical glance thrown your way “Abstract in what—talent?” Then he blinks, pupil constricting as though he’d said something wrong “Not to say the painter isn’t talented, of course! Probably massive talent. Might’ve also painted that uh..blue..thing over there. Uhm…It’s just not the most applied.”

”Abstract isn’t meant to be anything..or something like that.” You murmur “It’s supposed to invoke a feeling rather than an object.”

”Mm.” Wheatley hums mechanically, squinting at the abstract art before he rolls forwards on his management rail “Could be that it’s not even abstract. None of these could’ve been made by the scientists.”

”Why’s that?”

”Never seen a scientist with a silly name like Doug.” And Wheatley grunts “Doug’s great name. Fantastic, actually, now that I think about it. Just not a science-y name..uhm..Definitely a painter’s name, though. Excellent painter’s name. Better than uh..better then…” Wheatley trails off slowly, trying to come up with any name of a painter that he knew, but draws a complete and total blank. ”let’s just..let’s just move on.” The robot ultimately mutters, leading you out of Aperture’s gallery. 

And to another room where you couldn’t find the core, what with no maintenance rail leading through the room. 

You’re no longer all that surprised to be separated from the core, most of the white rooms were almost entirely closed off, and you were left in another section of upper Aperture you didn’t understand. A mottled room, with water damage stains across the ceiling, broken parts of wall where it appeared as though internal piping may have burst, and mold growing in one of the corners. A nasty room to be in, altogether. You didn’t want to stay longer than you had to at all, but something dimly lit caught your eye.

A small, partially broken computer screen was still running, though the boxed computer itself looked to be on its last legs, dust blowing out from behind it while the fans still churned. And you read what you could with what you could see on the screen. 

-

4552415345:

This isn’t working out the way any of us expected. We’re told to keep on going, like these aren’t real people. This was supposed to be easier than 52454d. That’s what she told us, that it would be less involved and we would only need to provide them with results. They want us to see this as the easier one, the lesser of the two. What we’re doing to these people. I should be smart enough to tell someone, or get out of this department. I’m a scientist. I’m a marine biologist. I don’t experiment. I wouldn’t even treat a fish like this.

4920646f6e27742077616e7420746f20746f72747572652074686573652070656f706c6520616e796d6f72652e204920616d206120474f4f4420706572736f6e2e2049276d20736f20736f7272792e

-

You stare as the screen flickers out, leaving you in the dilapidated room without much light beyond through the set of doors. But you’re stuck in place, thinking. This is new. Of course, in the game, human experimentation had been implied and vaguely referenced, but this was direct.

You didn’t like it.

Or seeing the opinion of someone who worked on whatever experiment that was about.  You leave the room hurriedly, the fear of being left behind in this creeping into the back of your head. You could think of these things later. When you didn’t have a robot to help, and a human to help escape.

if you could really call your part in things helping.

Your eyes open wide as you turn the corner to the next room, only to find a few working turrets laid around the room. Wide open, with no straight bee-line towards the exit. You almost wish you stuck to the room with the broken computer and an ominous message from an employee. That room was much better than this, much better than the sudden fear of being shot. Or bullet-ridden and alive. Somehow, that was far worse.

you desperately wished you were as good at being sneaky, but that was a complete and total lost cause. The turrets were pointed in different directions, covering each wall in line-of-sight. Wheatley was fine on a management rail, getting to completely bypass the room, but you on the other hand were…Fucked, really.

” Inconvenient, isn’t it?” A voice rings out through the speakers, and you stuck close to the door, leaning your head back in frustration. That figures. “Of course, I could move them. They have no purpose in this room. Other than stopping bugs in the walls of my facility.” You could guess who She might be referring to, with that. “You’re the bug. I figure I might mention as much if you’re anything like her.” Well,that clears that right up. 

“The incinerator is operational now.” She speaks, and you frown to yourself. You couldn’t see for sure if there were any cameras in the room, the all-seeing-eye pointed on you for the moment, but you assumed there must be one. “But with one fixed thing, another breaks. A door malfunctioned. Not far from here, actually. I’m just about to teach it something, but…I figured I might check on the fly-on-the-wall. How are you, by the way?”

You’re understanding a reason Chell might not talk, as you don’t bother with honoring the question with a response, despite Her being fully aware that you were capable of intelligent response.

”Don’t be so negative.” She chides, almost friendly, if you could call it such. At the very least, not obviously aggressive. “You should be happy, I found a use for you beyond keeping a warm fire going.” You don’t ask, and don’t especially want to know what Her plan was with you. You’d much rather try to see how fast you could run through a room, to the other door, which held wide open, like an invite. “Humans do like company. I figured you might like to keep that in mind,if you were getting lonely.” 

You broke into a sprint across the room, making a bee-line for the door.

“Target acquired.”

”I see you.”

”There you are.”

which slams closed right behind you, leading to another set of rusted catwalks. Your heart pounds as you grunt, leaning backwards against the closed doors as you coughed. 

“Are you still there?”

”Searching..”

”Target Lost.”

You lean hesitantly against the catwalks as you start walking again, just to get away from the room with your head and heart still intact.

”I see.” She speaks up against “You share speed in common, under pressure. That is good to know.” Another beat passes as you walk just that much faster along the catwalks while she speaks “You know, the interesting thing is that as you are not on the testing track, I could tell you anything, talk for as long as I wish.” You’d almost stop walking, but think better of it. It’s likely what she wants you to do,anyways. “But I have better things to do, than to watch a fly. Meander along.”

There’s a click that rings out somewhere above your head, the speaker She was using cutting out and producing static for a moment, before shutting off into silence. 

Better to be the fly than the guinea pig, you remind yourself with a huff and you walk into the next room, which thankfully, was empty. Just blank and boring and just a little broke down. No turrets, no broken ominous computers, no weird numbers you didn’t get, nothing to read and nothing to see. Just boring.

You’re so glad it’s boring

”There you are! Was wondering how far back you might be” Well, a little less boring, certainly, but nothing you were worried about. “So, good news,” Wheatley chatters on as he watches you cross into the next room “We’re about to break her on out. And it is..Really good timing, actually. Fantastic timing, really. Couldn’t have done it better, really. So, a little update— She keeps going on about some surprise for her, and it is concerning me. Quite a bit, actually. So, Figured it out all myself, did a grand ol’ job, we’ll get some panels open in this next room and hit the ground running.”

You swear there’s something you’re missing. Something you’ve been too side-tracked by to remember.

”Oh—Well, then good. Good job”

”Huh?-oh well hm—thanks, thank you, very appreciated. Very proud of myself. Anyways, it is very good that you’re back because she is quick. Very much so. Very quick, I told her to hang on for five chambers, but I Don’t think she’ll be too ruffled to be getting out in three, right?”

”I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic.” You follow Wheatley right into the next room while he waves at you a little, signaling dramatically for you to be quiet.

”Hey, buddy!” Wheatley calls out in a rather roughly-done western accent to the woman in the room, who’d just taken quite the fall off of a hard-light bridge.  You could just barely see her through the space in the panels.She landed squarely on her feet, holding the Portal gun protectively between her hands as the lights cut out. Wheatley pushed open a few panels of the back walls, and called to her “I’m speaking in an accent, that is beyond her range of hearing.” Chell stares hard at the opened panels, debating something while she starts slowly walking towards the opened wall. ”I know I’m early, but we have to go..now. So just calmly approach my position, and let’s get out of here!”

You’d just thought of something neither of you had actually prepared for, something you’d forgotten to mention and was now far too late to bring up during a mass panicking escape plan. You knew vaguely what would break and what drops would happen, and you were still at a loss with the utter lack of long-fall boots. That was something you Should’ve asked about and maybe would’ve, if the robot in question weren’t a walking, talking ‘side-line’ machine.

Chell comes just another step closer towards the panels, and a voice rings out through the dim testing chamber “Metal ball, I CAN hear you.”

”RUN- I don’t need to do the voice— run!” The paneled wall opens fully, and Chell comes running out of it, sprinting past you on top of an activated hard-light bridge to the row of catwalks. On every area of the outside were rows of panel walls and tubes with weighted cubes flowing through them. You ran after her onto the hard-light bridge. It turns off as she starts running down a flight of stairs.

”Okay! Quick recap—“ Wheatley’s voice hardly cuts through the sound of adjusting walls and shuttering panels on every side while GLaDOS tries to keep up with the movement of two humans and a Core running through the back of her facility. “—We are escaping! Alright—that’s what’s happening now, we’re escaping— you’re doing great just keep running!” You Almost see his form roll by overhead, talking while Chell leads the way, only hurriedly throwing a glance over her shoulder to make sure you were there as she ran through the catwalks, ducking under a pressurized tube. “Alright— quick word, about the future plan I have in store. We’re going to Shut down her turret production line,alright—turn off her neurotoxin— and then confront her.” Chell is Fast, much faster than you were, though you weren’t surprised what with the woman being loaded up on adrenal vapor was capable of. “Again though, for the moment–Run!”

“The Irony is you were almost at the last test.” a wall opens up, and though chell spares the barest of glances, her expression hardens and she turns tail to hop onto the hard light bridge as you follow her “Here it is. Why don’t you just do it? Trust me, it's an easier way out than whatever asinine plan your friends came up with.” GLaDOS’ voice rings overhead as Chell runs across the light-bridge. 

“Oh–what? How stupid does she think we are?”

You weren’t sure when it was coming,but when it did were you definitely going to be ready and prepared to fall and fall evenly–

The light-bridge vanishes under your feet. Chell lands squarely on the catwalk, which trembles under the sudden weight. On the positive note, you land on your feet,no obviously broken bones, but a shock of pain shoots right up to the knees as you seize up. Not good, not good at all, not in the least. Chell hesitates for less than a moment before she grabs your forearm before she takes off, keeping you side by side with her as she runs down the catwalks, unceremoniously dragging you with her without so much as another glance. Or a word, expectantly. 

She led you through the catwalks, onto a solid metal platform with tubes running through it that closed into a box as soon as she stepped fully into it.

“Searching..” 

“Woah- Hold on..we need to get you out of there–” 

Chell doesn’t waste time looking. She wastes no time picking up one of the turrets with the portal gun, and it wails at her “Who ARE you? Put me down!” Before she throws it at the other with a small grunt. The two turrets burst into wails and gunfire after being knocked over. 

“I heard gunfire! A little late for this, but watch out for gunfire! Probably–Probably doesn’t help at this point, but I have at least tried.”

Chell glances around herself, shooting one portal at a white wall in the box, and another through a gap in the paneled walls. 

“I don’t hate you..”

She pulls you along through the portal without a second thought, tumbling through onto another set of catwalks. Around another dark corner and up another set of stairs, Chell doesn’t even look as she shoots a set of portals, sending a set of two turrets tumbling through the same set of portals repeatedly, faster and faster. She led you through a set of heavy metal doors that tried not opening before she rushed through.

Speed under pressure, She had said, and you couldn’t help but agree. Chell was much too fast, and much too smart to stop and look around herself as she ran on pure adrenaline..and a ridiculous amount of spite, you’d bet. She dragged you into an open spaced room that was peaceful for a moment.

Until the metal started tearing and ‘screaming’ as it was moved.

“She’s bringing the whole place down! This way! Hurry,Hurry get over here–” You could just barely make out the yelling over all the harsh screeching of metal as two testing tracks on opposite sides of the empty space were pulled towards the catwalks at a rather alarming speed. As panels hit a set of stairs, the catwalks broke apart and rattled as Chell ran with you in tow. You don’t speak as she drags you along, far too busy trying to breathe and trying to ignore everything colliding and falling and smashing together right over your head.

“Get in the lift! Get in!” Chell didn’t need to be told at all, she rushed through the catwalks, narrowing avoiding the catwalk breaking under her feet as she ran into the elevator, and its metal bars shut behind you and here.

“Ohhh…we made it we made it we made it,” you could hear Wheatley’s voice faintly in the distance as the elevator began to rise. “Look, I’ll meet you on the other-side!”

 Chell looks around herself with a furrowed brow. Trapped in on all sides by yellowed walls, and you grunt as you lean against part of the elevator. She didn’t seem all that pleased to be in a confined space..again. 

“God..This sucks.” you’re not even speaking to her. Just to the open air, but Chell’s head tilts, and she stares at you. Then, she gestures to your leg “Oh? No–it’s,it’s fine. No big deal.” She raises a brow, apparently unconvinced. You find yourself tapping your fingers against the bars of the elevator, wondering just how long this was going to take “Really, it’s no big deal. Nothing broken.” which doesn’t negate the fact that Chell had to pull you along with her to actually make it to the elevator in record time..which she clearly conveys her disbelief in you.

“Look, I’ll ask him if he can find boots for me. Would that make it better?” and subtly, Chell nods. You don’t see the point in her caring. Regardless, she’d be fine, and she doesn’t even need you to be fine in all this.

Except for the fact you’re the only other human she’s seen in quite some time. That…makes more sense for why she might want to keep you around.

“..Alright fine, i’ll ask.”

[bakuliwrites]

Serenity- Satoru Gojo x Reader

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Relationship: Satoru Gojo x Reader

Tags: JJK 0 Spoilers, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Penetrative S*x, Oral S*x, soft Gojo, past Gojo x Geto x Reader, Secret Relationship, Romance, Gender-Neutral Reader Pronouns, Mentions of Death, Romance

Summary: Gojo moves like liquid, even in this cramped space. His motions are seamless, the ebb and flow of his cursed energy mesmerizing. If you weren’t in the midst of exorcising the mimic curse right alongside him, you’d pause to watch. You can feel the voltaic thrum of his very soul with every powerful attack he makes. His wrath bursts in rays of light and his brutality is icy cold. You understand why Satoru Gojo is called The Honored One. He’s using minimal effort and still, his motions are awe-inspiring.

You and Gojo go on what is supposed to be a simple mission, but are met with more than you bargained for.

Read here in this post or over on my AO3

When Gojo asked you to accompany him into the city, you knew it wasn’t going to be a trip for pleasure. It never is. The only pleasure that will come out of it is the multitude of sweet treats he’ll inevitably purchase along the way, which you can look forward to partaking in as well. Otherwise, his request is for work and nothing more. The first time he’d asked you, you’d been over the moon. To you, it meant he trusted you at his side, as a partner, as a sorcerer. Now, it’s become a bit more like babysitting a full grown man, trying to make sure he doesn’t give himself a tummy ache from eating too many daifuku or any number of other desserts. 

Today’s mission will be relatively simple: scoping out a place for the first-years to practice. There’s a relatively low level curse in an abandoned building nearby, one that would be perfect for students to exorcise. 

As you walk the busy streets of Tokyo, Gojo chatters away at you, occasionally stopping to excitedly point out a creperie or an ice cream parlor. He always seems to wander in an aimless fashion, but deep-down, you know he’s got his own map going in his head. It’s carefully curated to hit his favorite sweet stores, while also leading you towards your end destination. Though, by this point in your relationship, you already know all his favorite spots. You could easily tune out, follow blindly, not bothering to observe the shifting throng of people around you. But that’s not how sorcerers do things. No, your eyes are alert behind your dark sunglasses, observing your surroundings keenly, watching out for curses. So far, so good though, so you engage in a bit of light chit-chat with the lanky sorcerer beside you. 

“So, how do you think the first-years are doing?” he ventures, his tone casual and bright. He takes a bite of a crepe filled to the brim with strawberries and cream. 

“I think they’re promising,” you return sincerely, watching as Gojo licks a bit of chocolate syrup off his thumb, “Fushiguro is quiet, but seems confident in his ability. Nobara is certainly talented and seems sure of herself. And Itadori is getting stronger every day.”

He nods quietly, considering your opinion. He ultimately seems to agree with you, giving you a thumbs-up, his mouth too full of pastry to verbally respond. 

“Remind you of us, huh?” he returns, nudging you teasingly with his elbow. You smile wistfully, thinking back to your own years at Jujutsu High.

“Yeah, they do,” you muse, a sudden flood of memories, both good and bad, filling you almost to the brim. They’re overwhelming. You and Shoko poking fun at Geto and Gojo, training together, going on missions, lounging around on hot summer days. You generally try not to think about the past. Not because you have any animosity towards your upbringing at the high school. No, quite the opposite. Those joyful memories mark such a painful period in your life. In all the lives of those who knew and loved Suguru Geto. There’s a hollow in your heart where you keep the memories of your high school experience. Where you keep the feeling of Suguru, a powerhouse even in his noticeable absence. They’re kept warm there, alive, stimulated by the rush of your blood.

“Those were some pretty good days,” you hear Gojo distantly say. He stuffs his free hand in his pocket, gazing through his blindfold up at the clear sky above. He’s silent for a beat and it’s strange. It’s always strange when he’s quiet. For as many years as you’ve known him, Satoru Gojo has been a troublemaker. A chatterbox. Gregarious, cocky, and playful. But his moments of silence feel real to you. More real than the boisterous attitude he usually puts on.   

Walking beside Gojo on the busy streets of Tokyo, you can see his quiet intensity, hidden beneath a showy bravado meant to throw others off. You, Suguru, Shoko: you’re some of the lucky few that have bore witness to Gojo’s quieter moments. These moments are marked by a static electricity, a strange and voltaic charge that hovers in the air. There’s something entirely unpredictable about Gojo, especially in his silence. It makes you nervous: not because you’re scared he’s going to hurt you or do something awful. But because you can almost feel the chilly void his sorrow rests in.

“You still enjoying teaching at Jujutsu High?” he questions after a while, discarding his empty crepe wrapper in a nearby trash can. You offer him one of your extra napkins so he can clean off his hands, which he graciously accepts, plucking it from your grasp. The tension dissipates. The lightness of your earlier conversation returns. 

“I am,” you beam, proud of your profession. You came back to teach there a couple of years ago, after trying to unsuccessfully branch out on your own. You’re not new anymore, but Gojo still likes to check in with you every once in a while.

“I love getting to know the students,” you go on, pausing to let Gojo tenderly wipe off a little bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, “And teaching the next generation is an honor.”

“Sure, sure. But-” he gives you another nudge and you can imagine him winking behind his blindfold, “We all know you came back because you missed me.” 

“Pshh,” you return, folding your arms over your chest and rolling your eyes, “You wish, Toru.”

Entirely too proud of himself, Gojo’s cackling seems to echo through the empty alleyway you’ve suddenly found yourself in. You’ve gone from a densely populated area to an abandoned side street in a matter of moments. You can barely even hear the sounds of the city, which really isn’t all that far away. The air is stifling here, the desolation seeming to permeate the very marrow in your bones. The air feels entirely devoid of human activity, filled instead with a noxious, leaden weight. Before you can take another step, Gojo holds his arm out protectively in front of you.

“Something’s off,” he states just barely above a whisper. You can undoubtedly sense the rancid energy pulsing through the building to your left. This doesn’t feel like the low-level curse you and Gojo had initially believed it to be. This power feels- immense . Not something the two of you can’t handle, but certainly not what you were originally prepared to face. And certainly not something you’d want to send a couple of rookie first-years in to deal with. Not knowingly, at least. 

You steel yourself, flashing Gojo a serious look before he silently nods and takes a step towards a rusty metal door. It screeches with age as Gojo wrenches it open. You’re met with a crushing darkness on the other side, a putrid smell immediately assaulting your nose. You can just barely make out some formless shapes scattered about an otherwise empty expanse of a warehouse. The unpleasant, sweet smell of rot weaves through the air as you take a couple cautious steps forward. Gojo is tense, alert. He’s following the trail of cursed energy radiating from whatever entity is holed up inside. It feels like it might be a semi-grade one, whatever it is. 

As you trail Gojo through dark corridors piled up with refuse and barrels filled with unidentifiable liquids, you think you can hear something skittering about above you. In the silence, it feels closer than it probably is. You feel like you’re breathing too loud, walking too loud. Like your footsteps fall heavier than usual. 

Just as you round a corner into a stairwell, you hear your name echo softly down the hallway you just came from. You freeze, looking back, only to see impenetrable darkness. Gojo halts right alongside you, one foot on the first step. 

“Did you hear-” you start, brows knit together, trailing off when your name is called yet again.

“Shoko?” you and Gojo finish together, quietly so as not to alert whoever or whatever is clearly impersonating your childhood friend. All the hairs on your body suddenly stand on end, an overwhelming sense of dread washing over you. Gojo, less reactive, feels it, too. He gently places his hand on your shoulder, dismounting from the stairs and moving to stand beside you. 

“Gojo?” Shoko’s voice tries, but this time it sounds like it’s coming from above you. 

Is it throwing its voice? you wonder to yourself, not quite ready to address how this thing knows both your name and Gojo’s. Though you suppose in the world of curses and sorcerers, Gojo’s name is pretty well known. Something rumbles in the air vent just above you. Wordlessly, you and your companion acknowledge your plan of action. You’ve worked together enough times to know how the other operates, to play to one another's strengths. 

“Pretty low of you to impersonate a friend of ours,” Gojo returns, his jaw set, irritation spreading. His tone is sharp, cutting. This creature is an affront to Gojo, to you. He makes it patently obvious in the harshness of his accusation, the hard set of his jaw. 

“Gojoooooo,” the creature calls out again, the voice of Shoko melting into something grotesque and gravelly.

“And cowardly to not even show your face,” Gojo continues, every word out of his mouth dripping with poison. There’s a gentle laugh, an eerily familiar one. 

“Gojo, you wound me,” Geto’s voice sounds. Gojo’s brows raise, taken aback by this shift in voice. But he doesn’t let it rattle him. 

You ready yourself, knowing what’s coming, when suddenly, without much warning, the cover to the air vent flies off, smacking the opposite wall with a metallic pang . In a rush of foul air and many limbs, a massive curse comes clambering out of the cramped ventilation system. How it fit in there, you’re not sure. It fills the stairwell, curving upwards like a bloated snake. Its sallow skin looks slimy to the touch and it seems to gaze through eyeless hollows at you and Gojo, a toothy mouth splitting into a horrendous grin. You stand frozen, feet planted firmly to the ground, eyes wide with horror. It’s rare for you to freeze in the face of a curse. But the curse’s desecration of your most cherished friends’ voices fills you with a rage, a fear you’ve never felt before. 

“You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, Gojo?” it rumbles, Geto’s voice distorting with every word. 

“You’re pretty disgusting,” Gojo goes on, casually inspecting the curse from his distance and making you roll your eyes. He always manages to work in as many insults as he can before he attacks. You also know it’s a self-defense mechanism. Humor to dispel how deeply uncomfortable he is to hear Geto’s voice again, and for it to be coming from something that’s such a parody of humanity. To be honest, his casual attitude is somewhat of a comfort to you, as well. 

“Probably not very smart either, huh?” he continues, snickering as he turns towards you, “Don’t you think?”

“Are you just going to stand there and roast it to death or are we actually going to exorcise it?” you shoot back, trying to re-center Gojo. Though his humor is a comfort sometimes, it’s also pretty distracting. However, before Gojo can respond with yet another quip, the curse turns its attention towards you.

“You wouldn’t hurt meeeeeeee,” it creaks. 

“Don’t listen to it,” Gojo tries, a slight quiver in his voice, one you’ve never heard before. Is he worried? No time to think about that right now, you realize. 

“You wouldn’t hurt meeeeeeee,” the curse repeats, and this time, you’ve had enough. And so has Gojo. He charges up, rushing the creature, with you not far behind.

Gojo moves like liquid, even in this cramped space. His motions are seamless, the ebb and flow of his cursed energy mesmerizing. If you weren’t in the midst of exorcising the mimic curse right alongside him, you’d pause to watch. You can feel the voltaic thrum of his very soul with every powerful attack he makes. His wrath bursts in rays of light and his brutality is icy cold. You understand why Satoru Gojo is called The Honored One. He’s using minimal effort and still, his motions are awe-inspiring. 

In less than a second, his demeanor shifted from joking and casual to chilly and focused. It’s almost like he becomes an entirely different person in battle. No, not a different person. It’s merely that the saccharine outer layers of him slough off and he reveals who he truly is. A dark star in the center of a lacuna.  

In no time, the two of you have managed to exorcise the spirit. It shrivels, withers like starved ivy in the rays of a harsh sun, before disintegrating into dust. Gojo stands proudly over its remains.

“Good job! Look at that quick work!” he praises, lifting a small corner of his blindfold to wink at you. He’s back to being Casual Gojo, beloved and enigmatic sensei who never takes anything seriously. It’s all a front, and you know this well. There is pain in Satoru, deep-seated and immense. It’s as if he sits huddled at the bottom of an endless, empty well, light just barely reaching his shivering form. His barrier is cold to the touch, icy and impenetrable. A wall of infinity surrounds him.

You stare at him blankly, unsure of why you can’t be happy at this moment. Of why you can’t rejoice alongside him. Maybe it was your earlier conversation about the first years, the flood of memories, the mimicry of familiar voices. It all swirls around in your head, foggy and confusing. 

“Hey, you alright?” he ventures, hands stuffed in his pockets as he approaches you, head tilted in confusion. 

“Um,” you try, voice quivering. You clear your throat, trying to steady yourself, “I think I need some air.” 

You climb the stairs, heading up towards the roof of the building, both to ensure you’ve taken care of everything that needs to be taken care of (it seems there’s no cursed energy remaining from any other entities, luckily) and to search for some clean air. Not the oppressive air from the alley outside. Gojo takes the lead, his long strides carrying him up the stairs faster than you. But he’s oddly gracious today, and slows down when he realizes you’re lagging behind. 

A cool breeze blasts your face as soon as you open the creaky door leading out to the rooftop. It’s much appreciated as you inhale deeply and feel the fog lift from your mind. It’s dark already, the city lights twinkling all around you. In the distance, you can hear the sound of evening traffic and human activity. It’s a relief to be reminded that not all of the world is inhabited by curses. Not all of the world is a travesty of the past.

Silently, you take a seat, dangling your feet over the edge of the flat roof. From up here, everything looks so small. You are acutely aware of Gojo plopping down beside you. You peek at him out of the corner of your eye. He removes his blindfold, wrapping it up around his left hand. His snowy lashes create shadows on his cheekbones with the light from a nearby neon sign and the thin strands of his hair blow about lazily in the wind. 

“It was gross-” he begins in a low voice, staring out at the city, “-to hear his voice coming from something so grotesque. ” 

He flicks his gaze over to you, cerulean eyes like pooling wells of sorrow. All you can do is nod, desperately willing yourself not to cry. You can feel the tightness in your chest, the threat of oncoming tears. 

“I just felt so- so helpless, when it came to Suguru,” you explain, thinking back to when he defected, to his death, “And every reminder of him is just another jab in my psyche. Another painful reminder of how-”

Of how I failed him, you want to finish, Of how we failed him. It’s something that’s haunted you for years now. And you know it’s haunted Gojo just as much, probably more. 

“I know what you mean,” he finishes for you, not needing to hear what’s going through your head to understand. He knows you so well at this point. You could probably have full conversations without any words if Gojo weren’t so much of a chatterbox. 

“What’s the point of being the strongest if you can’t even protect the people that mean the most to you?” he breathes, staring out at the distant stars. You gaze up at him, his eyes searching a sky that seems to reflect back into them. Blue discs that contain the multitude of the universe. 

You could sit here and list off a bunch of platitudes about how life is cruel. About how things don’t always work out how we want, despite our efforts. But what good would that do? So you just sit in silence with him, letting yourself slowly tip sideways until you’re leaning against his shoulder. He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he softens, before gently resting his head atop yours. 

The burdens a sorcerer experiences in the world of Jujutsu are many. Protecting the innocent, the unaware. Maintaining order. Training the next generation, and making sure they don’t die in the process. All of these are things that you have chosen to experience. Things you’ve put upon yourself in your pursuit of a life goal. Gojo, however, is burdened by expectation, a birthright he didn’t ask for. Pre-ordained to be relied on. To surpass all those who came before him. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make it all about me,” he chuckles, “I guess what I mean is that it’s hard not to feel responsible for someone you care about.”

“Even if it’s not your fault,” you add, looking pointedly up at him. You know he blames himself the most for what happened. You know he wishes he could turn back the clock, rectify what cannot be rectified. He makes a small, “hmph,” paired with a rueful smile. 

“You’re too nice,” he returns, picking at a loose string on your pants. He’s always fidgeting with loose strings on your clothes or locks of your hair. It’s something he’s done since he was a teenager, a little habit that hasn’t seemed to change over the years. You smile to yourself, comforted by one of the few things in your life that seems stable: Gojo’s endless fidgeting. 

“I don’t wanna curse anyone, Satoru,” you mumble after a long beat of silence, staring out into the empty windows in the building across from you. It looks like a decrepit office building, long abandoned. It doesn’t seem to be inhabited by curses, thank goodness, but it looks sad to you, for some reason.

“What do you mean?” he exclaims, raising up a bit to give you a showy, flabbergasted look, like he always does when he’s trying to lighten the mood if your conversations start to get heavy. 

“You know what I mean,” you go on, matching his shock with a look of exasperation, wanting him to take something seriously for once. His goofy look fades, replaced with one of understanding. Gojo has his soft moments, and you’re appreciative of this. 

“I know what you mean,” he comforts, wrapping his arm around you and scooting you closer. There’s little more that either of you can say to one another. Sometimes, that’s just the reality of things. 

At least curse me a little at the very end, rings in your mind. But it’s in Gojo’s voice, because he recounted it to you. Because you only got there after the damage had been done. And the guilt of not being there gnaws at you everyday. 

“Don’t curse me at the end,” you whisper, resting your hand on Gojo’s knee and squeezing tight, “I won’t curse you, either.” 

You feel his strong grip on your shoulder, tugging you even closer, like he’s trying to press you into his body. Like he’s trying to merge the two of you.

“How about this?” he replies, pulling back so he can look you in the eye, “Promise me you won’t get into any trouble, huh?” 

He laughs, his usual cheery demeanor returning, and you can’t help but smile a little. But you can hear what he really means, Don’t let me lose you, too. That’s not a promise you can keep, and he knows it. His soft smile seems to say, Just indulge me. Say you promise, even though I know you can’t.

“Promise,” you lie, trying so hard not to let the tears stinging the corners of your eyes escape their fragile confines. You are unsuccessful, the dam breaking and tears flooding your vision. 

“Hey,” Gojo breathes, cupping your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears now streaming down your face, “I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

“Sorry,” you sniffle, gripping his hands and holding them in place, fearing that if you let go he’ll fade out of existence before your very eyes, “I just-”

The loss is endless. It will never stop. And one day, you know that either you’ll lose Gojo, or Gojo will lose you. In some capacity or another.  

“Hey, c’mon,” he hushes, pressing a featherlight kiss to your lips before helping to lift you to your feet, “Let’s head back.” 

He only ever kisses you in private, because no one is supposed to know about the two of you. Because he’s sure the higher ups would use it as some kind of ammo against him. Against you. This gentle secret is one of the few things that has kept you sane over the years. Stolen kisses after missions alone together, secret rendezvous’ whenever you have a moment to spare. You’re honestly astounded Gojo has managed to keep it to himself after all this time. The only other person that knows is Shoko. And she wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone. 

Gojo re-wraps his blindfold around his head and places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the building and towards the exit. Your walk home is filled with more of his idle chatter, but honestly, you’re grateful for it. Anything to distract you from the nasty feeling that abandoned building has left you with. 

The highschool is silent when you return. None of the lights are on. You’re greeted by the sorcerer on patrol before you slip inside the teachers quarters. You pull Gojo into your room, certain that no one sees, and quietly shut the door behind you. As soon as you’re inside, his lips are on yours as he gently presses you against the nearest wall. He tastes sweet, like strawberries and cream. Gojo rests his hands on your waist, his fingertips playing with the hem of your shirt. He drops his Infinity for you, allowing you to feel him, actually him and not the barrier that would normally stop others. His skin is soft, warm, and you can feel the flutter of his heart beneath his breast. 

For a while, this is as far as you go, letting him encompass you in his arms, pushed safely against the wall, warm in Gojo’s embrace. The only sounds that fill your ears are soft gasps, the shifting of fabric as Gojo’s large hands start to explore, and the small plip your lips make when they press against one another. Before long, though, Gojo lifts you into his arms and carries you towards your bed. 

Carefully, he lays you down, tugging at his shirt and letting his pants slip down to his ankles while you work on getting rid of all your clothing. As soon as the two of you are free, he climbs on top of you, laying his lips against yours once again. When he’s with you, it feels as if he’s wrapped you in his Infinity. As if by encompassing you in his arms, he’s encompassed you in a limitless, protective realm. 

“May I?” you ask quietly, gesturing to his blindfold. 

“Only if you wanna get lost in them,” he teases, smirking. 

“You are ridiculous,” you return with probably the nth eyeroll of the day. He peppers your face with kisses amidst his laughing, before acquiescing and letting you unfurl his blindfold. You let it fall to the sheets beneath you as you’re met with blue eyes that hold infinity in them. Indeed, you find yourself lost in them. But for once, instead of making a joke about it, Gojo simply smiles. This moment is soft, quiet. In fact, it’s the quietest you’ve ever heard him. 

He stares at you for a while, eyes roving over your face, drinking you in while one hand tucks some errant strands of hair behind your ear. You rest one palm on his chin, your thumb on his lips, caressing the dip in his cupid’s bow. In the darkness, in the sanctity of your room, he’s vulnerable for a moment. He’s the strongest, but he reminds you that he’s human. That he’s just as fragile as you are. He looks at you like you are everything. He looks at you like he looked at Suguru. Like you looked at Suguru. There’s an intimacy between the three of you that perhaps no one else will ever understand. An intimacy that sadly only endured for two. 

“I won’t ever curse you,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours, “And you’re not going to curse anyone either. I’m sure of it.” 

Something in you shatters a little at his words. Nothing is ever a guarantee, but for some reason when Satoru says it, you believe him. He pulls back just enough to kiss you and you feel him smile against you. 

“I want to say something,” you venture, “But I’m scared it will curse you if I do.” 

He gives you that damned lopsided smile, that dopey, cocky look. 

“You’re not gonna curse me,” he reassures, “Just say it. Besides, I’m the strongest, aren’t I? I can handle it.” 

You stare at him for a moment, considering his words. You’ve heard him talk about the most twisted curse of all. You’re well aware of its power, its ability to fell even the strongest of sorcerers. But you suppose that both you and Gojo have experienced that curse already. With Suguru. And to you, when he says, “You’re not gonna curse me,” you know that what he really means is, We’ve both been cursed already. What’s one more curse to pile on? 

“I love you, Satoru,” you whisper in this sacred silence, half expecting the very foundation of the earth to crumble beneath you, “And that’s not me cursing you. I swear it.”

He pauses, eyes still searching. Always searching. But his silence isn’t unnerving. You know he’s grappling with this confession, with your words. Words that you’ve never had to say to one another before because it’s always just been inherently true. Suddenly, they’re out in the open. Raw. Naked. Delicate. And yet they carry a strength that is unsurpassable. Unbeatable. 

“I love you, too,” he returns, his eyes glimmering in the darkness, “And that’s not me cursing you, either.” 

He says it with such conviction, with such confidence. As if to say, “Fuck you,” to any curse that might try to imbue itself in your tender admission. Into his. Nothing will taint this feeling. Just as nothing could taint what you and Gojo felt for Suguru. 

This might be the first time you’ve formally said those three words, but it’s certainly not the first time you’ve felt it for him. And it’s not the first time that either of you have said something in a similar vein to one another. Often, your love is unspoken. You’ve never needed to say it or to hear it to know that Satoru Gojo loves you. You never said it to Suguru Geto and neither did he. So you reason to yourself that it doesn’t matter if you say it or not. A curse is a curse, spoken or unspoken. 

You put these thoughts to rest as Gojo trails kisses down your neck, sucking on the tender flesh just beneath your ear, drawing constrained moans from you. You’re trying so hard to keep quiet, but it’s difficult when you feel Gojo’s erection graze your inner thigh. He buries his face further into your neck when you start to stroke his cock, languid pumps causing him to mewl pathetically into you. He’s particularly noisy, which has been both a source of amusement and argument for the two of you. Tonight, however, he’s doing his best to muffle his sounds. 

You can tell he’s exhausted from the day, all his motions unhurried, purposeful. He seems to want to take his time with you, to feel close. He’s never one to outright admit how he’s feeling, but you know him better than anyone. And you can tell he’s probably traumatized a bit by this afternoon’s cursed entity. By the voice of a long dead companion. He’s just as much in need of comfort as you are. 

The night passes slowly, but in the best of ways. You and Gojo are intertwined, a tangle of limbs as he gradually eases himself into you. The two of you rest on your sides, your back pressed to his chest, a pillow between your legs to give you better leverage. And Gojo a better angle. When he’s got his full length inside you, he holds you close, his hand resting on your abdomen while one of yours reaches up to tangle in his hair.  

“Toru,” you whisper gently, running your fingers through his pale locks, each strand soft between your fingers. You feel his breath fanning against the shell of your ear as he leans in to nip gently at your lobe. 

He starts to rock his hips, rolling deeply, taking his sweet time. He’s got a lot of stamina in that lithe body of his, so he’s not worried about tiring himself out. But he’s sure to take breaks when you need them. 

The air is hot, heavy, so you crack open a window to let in the night breeze. A beam of moonlight creeps through, illuminating a long, thin strip of your bedroom. Gojo’s hair looks like starlight in the silver light of the moon and his cheeks are rosy. You come together the first time, your core tight before it blissfully releases as Satoru spills into you. His cum runs down your leg, drips onto the sheets, fills you with a welcome warmth. His kisses afterwards are desperate, hungry, utterly sloppy. 

The second time, all he really seems to want is his head buried between your thighs. He laps you up like he’s parched. Like he’s been stranded in a desert and you’re an oasis. You have to bite a pillow to muffle your overstimulated cry when your walls pulse and release. When Gojo crashes his lips into yours, he tastes like you. 

“Best dessert of the day,” he winks, before it’s his turn. You delight in his muffled, needy moans. His desperate keens as you swirl the tip of your tongue around the swollen tip of his dick. He wants to finish on you, if you’ll let him, and you do. His cum is warm as he releases threads over your abdomen. The two of you have to stealthily find your way to the bathroom, in the dark, and hope that no one hears you tidying up. You and Gojo giggle for a while once you return to your bedroom, finding amusement in how you have to constantly sneak around like you have some sort of curfew or something.

Your final time that night, he’s sheathed deep inside you again, but he picks up the pace a little towards the end, at your request. You’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat by the end of it, your bodies flushed and muscles shaky. Gojo flops down on top of you once he’s spent himself, piercing gaze rolling up to meet yours. His chin rests on your soft stomach. He looks at you like he’s looking at the stars for the very first time.

“I like it better when I can see you without the blindfold,” he practically coos. A pink blush blooms over your cheeks and it’s now that Gojo takes the opportunity to tease once again.

“Awww, did I embarrass you?” he starts, ruining your tender moment with his snickering. But his laughter is muffled when you smash your lips against his.

“You’re rude, Toru,” you scold between kisses. 

“You just like having an excuse to shut me up,” he winks. The faint hint of exhaustion creeps into his eyes. He goes back to laying down on top of you, perhaps his favorite position to rest. He doesn’t do it for long, though, knowing he’ll probably cut off your circulation after a while. But feeling his weight on you is a comfort, like one of those weighted blankets. And he seems to find comfort in your softness, in your closeness. He’s all limbs, lanky and willowy, practically spread out across the whole bed as he lays on top of you. Absently, Gojo kneads your hip bone, occasionally pecking tiny kisses along your abdomen. He chit-chats for a while with you, this time about his plans for tomorrow, asking if you’d like to join him. 

“Of course,” you return, knowing he’s worried that maybe today’s events might’ve scared you off. He seems pleased, going on to tell you all about something he read in a gossip magazine earlier that week. Eventually, he starts to trail off, until finally, you hear Satoru’s soft snoring. Hearing him sleep, seeing him relax fills you with an unbridled joy. He’s always on the go, always busy, always doing something. These peaceful moments with him are truly ones to be cherished. You shift so he’s not resting directly on top of you anymore, careful as to not wake him. You snuggle up in his arms, pressing a featherlight kiss to the tip of his nose before falling fast asleep in his embrace. 

A/N: Inspiration for this fic struck me suddenly last week, so I've been working on it every chance I've gotten over the last couple days. I do love how complicated Gojo is, and his relationship with Geto. Wanted to write a little Gojo x Reader that explored some of that (and also some background poly Gojo x Geto x Reader, because if you've read any of my other stuff, then you will know I love all things poly). Thank you so much for reading! As always, it is a joy to write fanfic and get to share it with people just as passionate about these fandoms. Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Lots of love 💜

[myc-ology-whore]

She'll Be Okay, Pt. 2

Reagan Ridley x GN!Reader

Read Pt. 1

So it's been several months since I posted the first part of this, and I apologise for that. I'm not quite as practiced as I was since it's been a while since I've written for this show, but I just binged all eighteen episodes to get me back into it, so hopefully I've at least kept things relatively accurate to the show.

As a refresher: (Y/n), Reagan's S/O, never got along with Rand. When Rand stole Reagan's position as CEO right out from under her, (Y/n) decided to take matters into their own hands, and now they've been detained at Cognito.

Thanks for your support!! <3

Reagan's sneakers slammed on the tiles with force as she ran toward Cognito's Underground Law Enforcement facility. It hadn't taken more than fifteen minutes after your arrest for word to spread around the company that the newly installed CEO had been murdered. Though it wasn't something anybody was particularly upset about, it was still startling to know that someone had just been killed in the building. Even if it wasn't, people love to talk; word was bound to get out at some point. However, not everyone knew who the killer was.

Sweat was beginning to bead on Reagan's brow as she turned a corner, rushing toward the elevators despite the aches in her calves from overuse. Gigi had heard of the shooting first out of your friend group, and she was quick to run to everyone else's offices to let them know. You were the only one missing, nowhere to be found, and unless this was some disturbing coincidence, they all could only think of one place you could be. Without thinking, Reagan had run off ahead of the group, though they weren't far behind; she heard their panting breaths and pounding footsteps just down the hall as she clicked the elevator button furiously, right on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Come on, come on, fuck! How are we one of the most advanced companies in the world, yet we can't get a fucking update on the lower level lifts?!" She slammed her fists against the metal doors, willing them to open, but the elevator only responded with a quiet beep as it hit the next floor. The gang finally caught up to her, all of them but Brett doubling over and resting their hands on their knees.

"Girl, I ain't-- I ain't never seen you run like that," Gigi remarked breathlessly, her heels in her hand. Smoothing her hair out as best she could, she straightened up and rested her hands on her hips. "You even outran Mister Olympian over here!"

She gestured incredulously at Brett, who was pacing nervously a few steps away. Reagan never took her eyes off the doors, her face desperate. "We have to find (Y/n)," she fretted, her whole body clammy from anxiety and adrenaline. "We... We have to..."

"Try to keep calm, Reagan," Andre comforted, placing a hand into her shoulder. He thought about offering her something to chill her out, but thankfully pushed the thought away. "We're gonna get there soon enough, you just have to keep it together, and--"

"It's here!" Reagan cried as the elevator dinged, signalling it's arrival. She forced the doors open faster as they just barely began to slide open, pushing them with all her might and not even waiting for her friends to pile in before pushing the button for the atrium level. Everyone crowded in beside her, barely managing to make room for each other in the tiny space before the doors were closed again behind them.

"Fuck, can't this thing go any faster?" Myc was pushing himself so tightly against the walls that he might as well have been crawling up onto the ceiling. "Hey, watch where you're stepping, mutant!"

"Now, you watch your mouth," Glenn barked back, glaring so hard that it looked like his eyes might pop out. "I can't help it none if there's no space to stand in here."

"Will both of you idiots shut up?" They looked to see Gigi glaring at them over Andre's shoulder, her eye twitching as she tried to restrain herself from shoving one of them. "We're all stressed and uncomfortable in here, alright?"

They grumbled something in response, continuing to glare at one another but keeping their mouths shut as they waited. After what felt like several minutes of tense silence, the doors opened up into a maintenance hall leading to the atrium. Reagan was gone in a flash, adrenaline helping her to ignore the feeling of her legs turning to lead from lack of exercise; the rest of the gang did their best to keep pace, but only Brett managed to remain right at her side.

"Reagan, Rae-dog," he huffed, nervous laughter permeating his voice. "You don't think (Y/n) is, uh... Well, they're not in trouble, are they? I mean, serious trouble."

"We work for the fucking Shadow Government, Brett! We erase people who get too out of line!" A sob wracked her body as she ran, making her stumble, but Brett snatched up her arm before she could trip. She sniffled as they fell to a jog, her best friend not allowing her to go any faster than that. "Thanks," she mumbled, "but I'm okay. We need to keep going."

"Reagan..."

"We have to!" Brett didn't argue any further, and let her lead the way to the detainment center on the second floor in the atrium, the others slowly catching up as they hit yet another elevator. "We're almost there," Reagan wheezed, easing into the lift; her energy was starting to fade, even though her mind was still steeped in anxiety. "Just... a little further."

They reached the second floor, and after a short trek down the hall, they arrived in the detainment center. Despite a murder just having taken place, things seemed calm; a few security guards milled about behind a window, and the assistant at the desk looked as though nothing interesting had happened all day. He barely moved when Reagan and the gang burst through the doors all sweaty and exhausted, merely flicking his eyes over at them.

Reagan swiftly made her way over to the desk, and the dead-eyed clerk raised a brow at her. "Can I help you?"

"Someone was brought in here earlier," she panted, leaning heavily on the counter. "(Y/n) (L/n)? We're here to see them."

"Sorry ma'am, but I can't let you in without the proper--"

"I have clearance, asshole!" Reagan slammed her company ID down on the counter with enough force to make the clerk jump in his seat. She sighed irritably and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sorry. This has been... a rough morning. Can we please just hurry this up?"

"Y-Yes ma'am," the clerk nodded, quickly moving to scan her card. His expression dropped with dread when something popped up on his screen, and he winced as he glanced up at her. "Uh, it says here--"

"Move, son," came a gruff voice, and another security officer appeared over the desk clerk's shoulder. He looked at the screen, then up at Reagan and the rest of the party, then sighed. "You're not supposed to be coming back here," said the guard, "but I've been talking to your friend back there. I'll let you back, but you won't have long, only a few minutes. You leave when I tell you to, understood?"

"Yes, thank you so much," Reagan agreed, nodding vigorously. "I just need to see them."

The guard left the room on the other side of the window and came to the door leading from the waiting area to the corridor connecting the entire holding wing. He held the door open and waited for everyone to pass through, then began leading the group down the hall to the cells. "My name is Grouper," the guard introduced as he walked. "I'm head of security here. I was the one who found your friend in the CEO's office."

"Is it really true?" Andre spoke up. "Did they really... kill him?"

"Mm, seemed damn proud of it, too," Grouper huffed. "Said it needed to be done. Can't say I disagree with 'em, but I wasn't gonna lose my job over it... or worse."

Reagan walked closely with the guard, at the forefront of the group. "Are they okay? Were they hurt?"

"Only one that got hurt was that asshole Rand Ridley," the guard snorted. He paused to fiddle with his keys as he reached the end of the hallway; a heavy-looking metal door was the only thing standing between (Y/n) and the group now. Reagan felt herself growing impatient as Grouper finally found the key he was looking for. She took a sharp breath as he unlocked the door, and held it unconsciously as it creaked open. "Here we are."

All the air left her lungs when (Y/n) came into view. They were sitting on a metal bench in the very first cell, eyes closed and head leaned back against the wall. Their hands were still cuffed behind their back, but otherwise, they looked completely at ease where they sat, their clothes still unmussed aside from a speckling of red across their stomach. "(Y/n)!"

. . . . .

You opened your eyes immediately upon hearing her voice, and stood as you saw her and the rest of your friends entering the room. "Reagan? Guys? What are you doing here? I didn't even know you guys could get back here!"

"Grouper let us back," Reagan blubbered, her eyes already seeping tears as you approached the bars of your cell. She pulled you tightly against them as soon as you were within reach hugging you despite your inability to hug back at the moment. "(Y/n), I was... I was so worried! How could you run off on me like that?"

"Seriously, dude," Brett agreed, coming to clap a hand on your shoulder between the bars. "We'd never have let you go if we knew you were gonna get yourself arrested!"

"Brett, I think you're the only one who didn't suspect that," said Andre, patting your arm from Reagan's other side. "Anyway, how'd you do it? There wasn't anyone around to stop you or anything?"

"Y'know, Andre," you laughed awkwardly, pressing a soft kiss to Reagan's forehead as she continued to grapple you through the bars, "I feel like this isn't the best time to talk about something like that, for several reasons."

"Still, you certainly could've been more subtle," Gigi griped. "If you'd just sat your ass down and waited for a minute, you could've brainstormed with us and not gotten yourself an express ticket to Shadow Prison X."

"I told you we shoulda just poisoned his coffee," Myc laughed. "Now look at you."

"Yes, this situation is absolutely fucking hilarious, Myc," Reagan snapped, tears streaming down her face when she finally pulled away from you to glare at the mushroom. "(Y/n) could be sent to Shadow Prison any minute now, and you're laughing? Some fucking friend you are."

"Hey, I never claimed to like any of your skanky asses," Myc sneered back, but Andre set a hand on his stem before he could go any further.

"Myc, c'mon man," hissed the scientist. "You're gonna get us kicked out of here."

"So what? I told 'em not to leave, and look where not listening to me got them..." Myc scuttled up to the bars, jabbing a flagella through to poke at your chest. "Right fucking here."

If you didn't know him better, you might snap back at him right now, but the mycelian was your friend. "I'm sorry, Myc. I did what needed to be done, though."

"Yeah, well we coulda done it together, dipshit," he grumbled, poking at you again. "Then you wouldn't've gotten caught."

"You can't know that though, buddy," you chuckled. Looking over each of your friends, you went on, "I am sorry - I would've saved some action for you guys, but I just felt the need to take the glory on this one."

"Selfish bastard," said Glenn, shaking his head. "And I was gettin' all fired up in the war room thinkin' about how we coulda taken him out..."

"I know, I know..."

"You're stupid, you know that?" You looked down at Reagan, whose hands were still fisting your button-up. "I hated Rand, you know that better than anyone, but... I still loved him. Not as much as I love you, not after what he did, but still." She closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. "You really killed him..."

"Reagan," you soothed, voice soft, "you know it was for the best. He never could've run the company like you're going to. This is what you're meant for, you know. You didn't need him."

"I know that," she nods, sniffling. "He was still my dad, though."

You frowned, looking away. "I'm... sorry."

"No, no," she replied quickly, shaking her head. "You... You did right... I think? I don't know. Everything's just so confusing now."

"It's my fault."

"No, it wouldn't be so hard to know what I'm feeling if Rand wasn't such an asshole," she sighed, running a hand down her face. "I feel... relief? Guilt? Grief, of course, but... not as much as I thought I would. And... love." She looked up at you, grabbing your chin and gently turning you to face her again. "I love you, and I know you did it because you love me, too."

"Of course I do," you said, leaning your head as close to hers as you could through the bars. She leaned up to meet you, and your foreheads touched, but anything else would've been awkward - especially with your friends surrounding you. "I love you more than anything, Reagan. I'd do whatever it takes to make you happy."

"Jesus, would you can it with the mushy stuff already?" You glared over at Myc out of the corner of your eye. "This crap's making me nauseous."

"I'll just... go ahead and take him out," Andre laughed nervously. He came up to give you a friendly punch on the shoulder first, though. "You'll get out of this, man. We'll see you soon."

"I hope so," you smiled, rolling your eyes as Andre began leading the mushroom back out into the hallway. Gigi and Glenn approached too, their expressions sympathetic. "Don't look so sad, guys," you huffed, shaking your head. "You're bringing down my mood in here."

Gigi reached out to tap your cheek, a fond smile on her face. "You're just a ray of sunshine 'till the end, aren't you?" Her face falls a bit when you smile back. "I just hope things work out. It'll be a lot quieter around here if you don't make it out of this, honey."

"You stay strong, soldier," Glenn ordered from beside her, his face stern. "If you don't walk out of here on your own, we're not gonna let you go without a fight, y'hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Dolphman," you chuckled. As they turned to leave, you looked to Brett, who remained silent at Reagan's side, thoughtful. "Hey," you called softly. drawing him from within his head. "You alright, man?"

He was quiet for a moment, looking between you and Reagan, who'd buried her face in your chest again. He nodded to her, since she was looking away. "I'm just worried that... that things won't be the same again, if something happens to you. I'm trying to stay optimistic, but..."

"Things'll move on," you answered easily, resting your chin onto your girlfriend's head. It hurt you to think about it, but you knew Reagan was strong and determined. There was no way she'd fall apart just because you got 'disappeared'; you'd always been far more into her than she was into you, of that you were certain, and you liked it that way. It meant that if anything ever happened to your relationship, she'd bounce back. "I'm not so important around here that things'll stop moving forward when I'm gone. I'm just--"

"You are important," Reagan murmured into your chest, peering up at you with wet eyes. "You're the most important thing in the world to me, (Y/n), way more important than my shitty dad. I don't know what I'd do without you, I'd... I'd--"

She cut herself off with a sob, and you found your heart clenching as she wiped her tears away on her sleeves helplessly. "Reagan--"

"I can't lose you, too!" That shut you up. She sniffled and tried to catch her breath, her lips trembling as she tried to find her words. "I don't hate you for killing Rand, I don't, but he was still important to me, (Y/n). If I lose both of you in such a short span of time, I'll... I'll break."

Her cries overtook her, and you looked over her head helplessly at Brett, who looked just as lost as you did. Regardless of how well either of you knew her, Reagan didn't often cry; dealing with it wasn't easy, to say the least.

Brett set a hand on her shoulder, and let out a short sigh of relief when she didn't immediately shake him off. "Reagan, we still don't even know if they're actually going to be... taken away," he said carefully. "Just breathe for a second, take it easy."

"Reagan," you mumbled, watching as she tried to pull herself together. Guilt was starting to overwhelm you; you'd killed him for her, to prevent him from hurting her anymore, but if killing him hurt her too, then what was the point? "Reagan, I didn't mean for this... I didn't want... I just wanted to--"

Grouper cleared his throat from where he stood by the door, drawing your attention. He tapped his watch, then pointed his thumb at the camera situated in the corner of the room. You sighed, looking back down at Reagan, who'd also seen the guard's gesturing. She met your eyes, hopelessness swirling within her gaze, and your stomach twisted into a knot.

"We, uh... don't have much time left."

"No, we don't," she replied, touching your face tenderly. "Oh, (Y/n)... wasn't there some other way you could've made things better? I would've taken ice cream, you know."

You laughed abruptly at that, shaking your head. "I'll keep that in mind, next time," you snickered, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest saying that there probably wouldn't be a next time. Reagan seemed to be hearing the same voice, her expression saddening more by the second. "Hey," you clucked, frowning at her, "I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I'll be with you no matter where I'm at."

She grimaced. "Don't talk like that," she chided. "You'll be with me here, in the office, saving the world from catastrophe together." She paused, a look of quiet determination taking over her features. "I'm not going to let you rot in here."

You raised a brow. "Is that a promise?"

Reagan grinned in return. "You can count on it."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Brett tittered nervously, not liking the plotting energy that was beginning to surround his friends. "I'm sure everything will work out fine. It's not like it's really an issue for the Shadow Board, right? I mean, they didn't like Rand, did they? So why would they be mad?"

"Whatever happens," Reagan said, her hands cupping your face, "I'm not leaving you behind, (Y/n)."

. . . . .

Alright folks, that's it for now. Frankly, I'm aware this isn't half as good as what I had down before, but I'm not feeling particularly inspired by this one. I liked where I left it before, truthfully, so I hope this isn't terrible. I feel like it was just a whole lot of nothing, but I just can't think anymore lol. I hope this isn't too terrible, but if it is, well, blame the writer's block.

I do have some other stuff in store that I'm more confident in, stuff that holds up to the old stuff I was writing on here. It's mostly Myc, but if you put in a request for another character, I'll see what I can do. Anyway, have a good night, y'all - I think I'm off to bed.

[callsign-owl]

Amsterdam - Part 5

This is a continuation of Amsterdam - Part 4

Trigger Warning: Drugs

Amsterdam, Netherlands - October 2007

Owl woke up a few hours later, his body exhausted but his mind more or less clear again. The headache that had plagued him earlier had dulled to a manageable throb. Owl rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to push away the last vestiges of grogginess. He felt more or less normal again, but "normal" for Owl was a relative term. It wasn't a state of comfort or contentment, but rather the familiar, constant undercurrent of discomfort that had become his default setting.

As Owl sat up, the door to the room creaked open, and his three roommates—Julian, Lukas, and Mark—filed in, their laughter and chatter filling the small space. They quieted as they noticed Owl was awake, their eyes immediately locking onto him.

"Look who's finally up," Mark said, a smirk playing on his lips as he tossed his jacket onto the bed. "We were starting to think you'd sleep through dinner."

"Yeah, you’ve been out cold all afternoon," Julian added, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "What happened to you, man? You just disappeared last night, and then this morning you show up again looking like death warmed over."

Owl hesitated, his mind racing to come up with a plausible explanation. He knew they were expecting some kind of story, something to satisfy their curiosity. But what could he say? The truth was out of the question, and any lie he came up with would only invite more questions.

"I just… needed some air," Owl finally said, his voice sounding more defensive than he intended. "So I went for a walk, and I guess I just lost track of time."

His classmates exchanged glances, clearly not convinced. "All night?" Mark pressed, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, do you really expect us to believe that?  You look like you went on some wild adventure and forgot to invite the rest of us.”

Owl sighed, realizing that his vague explanation wasn’t going to cut it. “Yeah, well… I guess you could say that. I wasn't planning to but Amsterdam’s a big city and easy to get lost in.”

His classmates curiosity seemed far from satisfied. Mark, leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning in Owl’s words. “Lost in the city, huh? You don’t exactly strike me as the type to just wander off into the night without a plan. You’re usually s quiet and… well, kind of predictable.”

Owl shifted uncomfortably. They were right, of course. This wasn’t like him at all. At least not when anyone was around to witness it. Normally, he kept to himself, avoiding anything that might draw too much attention. Owl forced a smile.  “Look, I just needed some space,” his tone was deliberately casual. “We’ve all been stuck together for days, and I guess I wanted a break from all the group stuff. I ended up wandering around, checking out some places on my own. It wasn’t a big deal.”

There was a brief silence as his classmates absorbed his words. They weren’t satisfied, that much was clear. Owl could feel the tension in the room, the unspoken questions hanging in the air, but he wasn’t about to give them any more than he already had. Julian finally shrugged, seemingly deciding to drop the subject. “Alright, man, if you say so. But next time you go on one of these ‘walks,’ at least give us a heads-up so we have a chance to join in on the fun.”

After that brief exchange in their room, the boys made their way to the community area of the hostel, where the rest of the class was gathering. The atmosphere was lively, the students chatting and laughing as they waited for everyone to arrive. Owl trailed behind trying to keep a low profile. He could feel the occasional curious glance in his direction, but he kept his expression neutral. He was determined to stick to the story he had already told his roommates.

Mr. Schmid was standing near the entrance, checking his watch and occasionally scanning the crowd to ensure all his students were accounted for. When he spotted Owl, he gave him a brief nod, his expression a mix of warning and acknowledgment.  “Alright, everyone, let’s get moving,” Mr. Schmid called out, clapping his hands to get their attention. “We have a reservation and I don’t want to keep the restaurant waiting. Remember, this is our last night in Amsterdam, so let’s make the most of it.”

The group began to file out of the hostel, making their way through the narrow streets of Amsterdam toward the Indonesian restaurant that they had chosen for their final dinner together. As they arrived at their destination, the tantalizing aroma of exotic spices filled the air. The group was led to a long table near the back of the restaurant, where they all settled in.

Owl found himself seated at the end of the table. He glanced at the menu, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar dishes without much interest. He wasn’t particularly hungry—he rarely ever was. The thought of the unfamiliar food made him feel uneasy.

As the waitstaff began to take their orders, a few other classmates couldn’t resist probing Owl about his mysterious night. They tried to be subtle, asking questions about what he had seen or where he had wandered, but Owl stuck firmly to the vague answers he had given earlier. He wasn’t in the mood for sharing, and he could tell they were beginning to realize that they wouldn’t get anything more out of him.

Eventually, the questions stopped, and the conversation shifted to other topics. When the food finally arrived, the table was filled with a colorful array of dishes—steaming bowls of rice, skewers of satay, spicy curries, and fragrant rendang. The others dug in eagerly, while Owl mostly just picked at his plain bowl of rice. His appetite was nonexistent, and he struggled to eat more than a few mouthfuls.

As the evening wore on and the dessert was being served, Mr. Schmid stood up, raising his glass to get everyone’s attention. “I just wanted to say a few words before you head out to enjoy the rest of your evenings,” he began, his voice carrying easily over the subdued chatter. “This trip has been a great experience, and I’m proud of how you all conducted yourselves, despite a few bumps along the way.” His eyes flicked briefly to Owl. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed your time in Amsterdam and that you’ve learned something new along the way. Let’s make the most of our last night here. However, don't forget to get some rest before our long journey home tomorrow evening.”

The class raised their glasses in a toast and clinked them together, sharing smiles and well-wishes. Owl joined in, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, but no one seemed to notice. As the dessert plates were being cleared away, the students began discussing their plans. Groups quickly formed, each with a different idea of how to spend the last night in Amsterdam. Owl sat back, listening to the chatter around him without engaging. He was used to being overlooked when the class split up and had already resigned himself to spending the night alone, possibly in a coffee shop where he could just disappear into the background.

But as he stood up to leave, something unusual happened. "Hey, *redacted*!" Julian called out, catching his attention. Owl turned, surprised to see Julian, Mark, and Lukas standing together, looking at him expectantly. "We’re heading to a coffee shop. You want to come with us?"

Owl blinked in surprise, his mind trying to process the unexpected invitation. It wasn’t that he had never spent time with his classmates—after all, they currently shared a room, and had exchanged the usual pleasantries—but he had never been included in their more social outings, neither here or back at school. Normally, Owl was the one left behind, not neccessarily out of malice, or dislike. His classmates usually simply seemed to forgot that he existed. And now they were suddenly asking him to join them?

Owl almost declined, tempted to stick to his original plan. He knew they were probably still just trying to figure out what had happened to him the night before. Maybe they thought they could get him to spill the details if they pestered him long enough But something made Owl pause. Maybe it was curiosity. Curiosity about how they would react if he decided to tell them. Whatever it was, Owl found himself nodding. "Sure, why not?" The decision surprised even him.

The four of them made their way through the bustling streets of Amsterdam, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the restaurant. The city was alive with activity, the canals reflecting the glow of the streetlights as people moved about. As they walked, the conversation flowed easily among Owl's classmates, mainly with Mark and Lukas teasing each other about their lack of luck with the local girls.

When they arrived, they found a cozy spot in the corner, and settled in. Mark took the lead and headed to the counter to place an order for the group. A short while later he returned with a few edibles and a pre-rolled joined to share. The conversation drifted from topic to topic, but it was clear to Owl that the others were just waiting for the right moment to bring up the question that was on all their minds. Eventually, it was Mark who broached the subject, leaning back in his seat with a casual air that didn’t quite mask his curiosity.

"So, *redacted*," Mark began, his tone light but probing, "about last night…I think it's time you spill some details."

Everyone was looking at Owl, waiting for his answer. For a moment, he considered brushing off the question with another vague answer. But then he remembered why he had agreed to join them in the first place. He wanted to see their reactions, to see what they thought when they learned that maybe he wasn’t as predictable or boring as they believed.

Owl leaned back in his chair, his expression deliberately casual. "Honestly? The guided tour was boring as hell, so I just decided to head off on my own." Owl paused for a moment before he continued, watching their faces carefully. "I wasn’t really planning anything, just wandering around, you know? But then, out of nowhere, this guy approached me and offered me some pills. So I figured, why not? It’s not every day you get a chance like that. So I had a bit of fun, got pretty wasted, and, well… let’s just say I didn’t make it back to the hostel before crashing out in a park somewhere."

There was a brief silence as his roommates processed what he had just said. Then, to Owl’s surprise, their expressions shifted from curiosity to something closer to admiration. Mark let out a low whistle, impressed. "Damn, man. That’s wild. And here I thought you were the quiet, sensible one."

“Yeah, that’s pretty badass,” Lukas added, nodding appreciatively. “You’ve been holding out on us. Not quite the goody-two-shoes type you had us belive you were.”

Owl shrugged, playing it off as no big deal. "Yeah, I mean, the opportunity presented itself, so I took it. Figured I might as well make the most of the trip."

Owl enjoyed their reactions a lot more than he had expected. There was no judgment, no disapproval—just genuine interest, maybe even a little envy. For once, it felt like they were seeing him as more than just a quiet, reserved guy who kept to himself. They obviously still had no idea what Owl was usually up to behind closed doors when no one was looking and he had no intention of changing that.

The edibles took effect slowly and brought with them the familiar sense of relaxation and lightness that made everything seem a little more enjoyable. The rest of the night passed in a blur and before they knew it they were all back at the hostel.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

On the final day in Amsterdam, the class visited the city’s renowned botanical garden and zoo. As the day wore on and their time in Amsterdam came to an end, the class was given an hour of free time before heading to the train station. Most students used this time to grab some food and last-minute souvenirs. Owl, however, had a different plan. He slipped away to a nearby coffee shop and purchased some edibles—one for now and two for the train ride. His goal was simple: he wanted something that would help him sleep through the overnight journey.

Owl's plan paid off. As the train pulled out of Amsterdam Centraal, he could already feel the first edible beginning to take effect, a gentle wave of relaxation washing over him. He quietly ate the other two edibles and then he waited. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep.

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