#i have the whole scene mapped out in my head

[wickedcriminal]

wait how did drago react to little hiccup being able to be controlled by the bewilderbeast

By grabbing that poor sucker by the scruff and letting the Bewilderbeast mind control him 😭 the ideal slave right in snatching distance.

With Minicup mind controlled, it meant he could be the one to fly the Mind Controlled Big Tooth to Berk, since I sincerely doubt Drago could figure out how to operate Tooth's complicated tail fin in that moment. Get Minicup on there, he's had years of experience! Win-win for Drago, lose-lose for LITERALLY everyone else.

Of course, this means that Hiccup the Elder, right after his father died, has not only lost his best friend to Drago, but his little brother too.

[chalkituptot]

so i really wanna get back into fanfic writing, and i just had an idea for a chainshipping fic where adam meets lawrence because he's a med student and is one of the students lawrence teaches. also he's trans but i'm very self indulgent so that's a given. the dynamic of them meeting like this, and then getting put in the trap together sounds rlly fun to develop! :] i may also draw some artwork for it if i'm feeling it.

[citylighten]

ya'll gonna be pissed off at this update

[ye4gerz]

escape room - lee haechan

‧˚⭒ pairing: ghost!haechan x afab!reader. mdni! adults only. ‧˚⭒ genre: thriller!au, strangers to lovers, soulmate!yandereau! angst, smut! ‧˚⭒ word count: 6.1k (sorry it’s long!) ‧˚⭒ warnings: voyeurism hc, fingering, oral(f receiving), dirty talk, slight nipple play, choking, multiple orgasms, swearing, obsessive hyuck, mentions of death, dom hc x sub reader. ‧˚⭒ starring: haechan, johnny, ten, mark, jaehyun reader. ‧˚⭒ summary: when you and your friends sign up for an extreme escape room, you expect clever puzzles and a few jump scares– not real danger. as you navigate eerie traps, the game takes a turn, and suddenly you find yourself separated from the group, alone. at least that’s what you thought, unaware of the familiar shadow lurking besides you.

a/n: hiii everyone, i hope those who read enjoy! this is my first story in years so i’m sorry if it’s not as detailed as could be but hopefully i improve the more i continue to upload. as said before this story is for adults only if i find any minors on my account i will block you. i’m open to feedback or any ideas for future stories. enjoy!

The eerie notes from the piano grow louder, filling the cramped room with an unsettling melody. From the corner, an old record player spins on its own, crackling as it fills the air with static. The noise gradually morphs into a faint whisper, words barely audible over the static.

"Time has just begun."

A chill creeps up your spine. You glance at the others, who stand on edge, their eyes darting around the room as the unsettling atmosphere takes hold. You’d exited the car only minutes earlier, arriving at what was supposed to be an ordinary escape room. As you step toward the entrance, the air thickens with uncomfortable tension, the dim light only emphasizing the building's eerie charm. The old structure seems to exist outside of time, its walls drenched in shadow, barely touched by the weak glow of the single streetlight overhead.

"So this is it? It looks... ancient. You sure you got the address right?" Johnny asks, his voice laced with doubt as he studies the rundown building in front of him.

"Address checks out," Ten replies, glancing down at the map on his phone, then back up at the dark, decrepit building. "This is it, apparently."

Mark shivers, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. "Can we just go inside? My fingers are freezing off," he mutters, eyeing the doorway.

"Mark's right," Johnny chimes in, rubbing his hands together. "Let's just make sure it's still open."

Without further discussion, you all follow Johnny into the building. Inside, a dim, red-hued glow bathes the narrow hallway, where an old wine-colored carpet leads to a black wooden desk at the far end. A single lamp beside the desk casts long shadows against the walls, and the red, tilted lampshade gives the whole scene an otherworldly air.

Behind the desk stands a tall, gaunt man in a navy velvet suit, his frame sharp and dignified. His hair is slicked back with a single blonde strand hanging loose over his forehead. Black leather gloves cover his hands, and his eyes are blank and empty, as if devoid of emotion. He moves with precision, carefully placing a pen down on the desk before turning his attention to your group.

"May I help you?" he asks, his voice smooth, his smile revealing a dimple on his cheek as he flips open a worn booklet filled with room reservations.

Ten steps forward, excitement bright in his eyes. "What's the scariest room you've got here? Something not a lot of people have beaten."

The man's eyes glint with something that looks like amusement—or perhaps a warning. "Room 13," he replies. "It's... challenging. Few have managed to escape. Are you sure you want to proceed?"

You exchange glances with the others, an unspoken agreement passing between you all before Ten grins confidently and says, "Absolutely. We'll take the challenge."

The man inclines his head, pulling a large, iron key from a drawer. "As you wish," he murmurs, stepping from behind the desk. "Follow me."

He leads you down a narrow hallway lined with doors, each one different in design and shape, some small and round, others tall and rectangular. Your footsteps echo ominously as you walk, the creaks in the floor whispering warnings you can’t quite decipher. Finally, you reach the end of the hallway, where a massive, medieval-style door looms in front of you, its iron handle weathered and cold to the touch. The keyhole is unlike any you've ever seen.

The man unlocks the door with deliberate slowness, pausing to glance at each of you, his gaze assessing. "Are you certain you want to enter?" he asks, his voice almost mocking.

Ignoring his subtle warning, you nod along with the others, eager to continue.

Once inside, you find yourself in a dim, unsettling room. The walls are covered with crooked paintings, each one depicting strange, shadowy figures and bleak landscapes. A dusty piano sits in one corner, and a cracked baby doll lies slumped in an old rocking chair, one eye half-shut, its mouth slightly open as if caught mid-scream. The thick, worn red rug beneath your feet has frayed edges, adding to the room’s eerie atmosphere.

"This is beyond creepy," you mutter, glancing warily at Ten. "Your ideas are always a bit much, but this..."

"Before we begin," the man interrupts, capturing your attention, "there are rules to follow. You have ninety minutes to find your way out. Clues are hidden within the room, and they will lead you to your escape. Today's story follows a young man who lost his life in this room. If you free his spirit, he will grant you your escape."

He pauses, eyeing you all seriously. "If time runs out... well, then you've lost."

Ten scoffs, brushing it off. "So, we either win or lose. No big deal, we got this."

The man nods slowly, though you catch a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "One more thing: you get three hints, should you require assistance. If an emergency arises, call my name... Jaehyun."

Your eyes linger on him one last time. "Well, thank you for the rundown, Jaehyun," you say, forcing a smile, your arms crossing as Jaehyun steps back toward the door, the iron key in his hand.

Without another word, Jaehyun closes the door, and a distinct click echoes through the room as the lock engages.

“Wait… did he just lock us in?” Mark asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Relax, it’s just part of the setup,” Johnny replies, his voice casual. “It’ll unlock when we finish.”

Ten, brimming with excitement, claps his hands. “Alright, time’s ticking, guys. Let’s get to it!”

You exchange uncertain glances with the others but eventually begin searching the room, inspecting every corner and crevice. Dust settles on your clothes as you rifle through old books on the shelf, examine each creepy painting, and prod at the cracked doll.

After a few minutes, Johnny spots a series of letters framed on the wall, positioned slightly out of order. Squinting, he reads the faded words aloud:

"Entry 204, I found this nearby a sacred tree. A doll was looking out to the lake, the same lake she was last seen. Her body is gone, but her spirit will find its way back to me. —H.C"

A heavy silence settles over the group.

“Creepy,” Mark mutters, his voice uneasy. “But it’s gotta mean something, right?”

Ten nods, his eyes darting around the room. “Let’s check the doll. There might be a clue with it.”

You and the others gather around the broken doll, studying it closely. Just as you reach out to inspect it, the lights flicker, and the piano plays a single, haunting note, echoing through the room.

Your breaths hitch, unease creeping in as you realize this game might be far darker than any of you had anticipated.

Your breath caught as the note hung in the air, vibrating with a resonance that made the hair on your arms stand up. You exchanged a tense glance with the others, noting the flickers of doubt and unease on their faces.

"Did… did the piano just play on its own?" Mark asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny forced a laugh, though it sounded unsteady. "Probably just part of the scare tactics. They’re really going all out with the haunted vibe here."

You couldn’t shake the creeping dread seeping into your mind, and from the looks on their faces, your friends felt it too. What was supposed to be an ordinary escape room was starting to feel… wrong.

“Let’s just keep going,” Ten said, his voice more subdued now, as if he, too, was shaken. “We’re wasting time, and we’ve only got ninety minutes.”

Your attention returned to the cracked baby doll in the rocking chair, its glassy eyes staring blankly at nothing. Slowly, you leaned in closer, examining its face. One eye was half-open, almost lazily, while the other was wide and unblinking, giving it a disturbingly lifelike appearance. Gently, you lifted the doll, feeling something hard poke through a tear in its fabric.

“There’s something inside,” you murmured, glancing up at the others.

“What is it?” Mark asked, peering over your shoulder.

With a bit of effort, you pried open the small tear, pulling out a tiny brass key, its surface worn but unmistakably real. You held it up to show the group, the key catching a faint glint of the dim light.

“What’s this supposed to open?” Ten wondered, taking the key from your hand to inspect it.

“Maybe it’s for one of the drawers or the bookshelf?” Johnny suggested, already moving toward the old dresser across the room.

As the group tried the key on various locks, a low rumble echoed from somewhere behind the walls, making you shiver. The air felt colder, and the room seemed darker, as if the shadows themselves had thickened, pressing in around you.

After a few tense moments, Johnny tried the key on a drawer in the dresser, and it clicked open. Inside, he found a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age. Carefully, he unfolded it, squinting at the faded text before reading aloud:

"Look beneath the seat where nightmares rest, Where shadows linger and spirits test. The way is hidden, only for those, Who dare to face what fear bestows."

"Under the seat... where nightmares rest?" Ten repeated, glancing around the room. "What does that mean?"

"Maybe the rocking chair?" you suggested, nodding toward the doll’s seat. "It’s creepy enough to count as a ‘nightmare.’"

Mark crouched down beside the chair, reaching underneath it. His fingers brushed something solid—a loose panel. Slowly, he pried it open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was another key, this one larger and more worn, and a small, rolled-up map.

Johnny unrolled the map, and everyone crowded around, their faces growing tense as they took in the strange, labyrinthine layout sketched across the parchment. The map didn’t resemble anything you’d seen in the room so far. Instead, it showed a twisting series of rooms, corridors, and strange symbols that were foreign to all of you.

"Is this… part of the room?" Mark asked, glancing around, trying to align what you were seeing on the map with the space around you.

"There’s no way this room has more than one door," Ten said, frowning.

“Maybe there’s a hidden passage,” you suggested, though dread was gnawing at you. The idea of a secret path that led to who-knew-where made your skin crawl.

Ten, still undeterred, nodded. “Yeah, let’s look around. There might be more to this place than we thought.”

You and your friends spread out, examining every corner of the room, pushing against walls, lifting furniture, and inspecting every nook and cranny. Just as you ran your hands along the bookshelf, you felt a slight give beneath your fingers. You pressed harder, and with a slow, creaking sound, the entire bookshelf shifted, sliding aside to reveal a narrow, dark hallway beyond.

Everyone stared, a mixture of intrigue and unease settling over them.

“Okay,” Johnny breathed out, “this is beyond next-level escape room stuff.”

Mark hesitated, casting a wary look down the hallway. “Are we sure this is still part of the game?”

Ten, undeterred, gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “We’ve come this far. Let’s see where it leads.”

The group stepped into the passage, the narrow hallway closing in around you as the shadows seemed to deepen. The air was thick, almost stale, and the walls felt damp, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Your footsteps echoed through the silence, each one seeming to amplify the tension thrumming beneath your skin.

After a few minutes, you stopped, shining your flashlight down an unexpected fork in the path. “Which way?”

Before anyone could answer, a loud slam echoed behind you, making everyone jump. Spinning around, you saw that the passage behind had closed, sealing you in.

"No way," Mark whispered, running back to the door and pressing against it. But it didn’t budge.

“It’s probably just part of the game,” Ten said, though even he sounded uncertain.

“Left or right?” Johnny asked, glancing down each path. “Standing here isn’t going to help us.”

Without much choice, you picked the left path, leading the group deeper into the twisting hallways. But as you turned a corner, something unexpected happened—a force tugged you sharply by the arm, pulling you off balance. Before you could react, you found yourself separated from the others, pulled down a narrow side passage that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Guys!” you called out, panic rising in your voice.

You heard the faint sound of your friends calling back, their voices echoing, but they grew distant, fainter, until they vanished entirely. You were alone.

Your heart pounded as you steadied yourself, gripping your flashlight tightly. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The narrow corridor was cloaked in shadow, and you slowly raised your flashlight, scanning the dark space ahead. That’s when you saw him—a young man, standing just a few steps away, watching you with an intense gaze that sent a shiver down your spine.

He was tall, with dark, messy hair and sharp, striking features. His clothes were worn, his eyes shadowed and tired. Beyond the exhaustion, there was something else in his gaze—a quiet desperation, as though he’d been waiting for someone to find him.

"Are you… lost too?" you asked cautiously, not daring to step closer.

The man’s lips lifted in a small, weary smile. “You could say that. I’ve been here… longer than I can remember. It’s been a few days, give or take. I didn’t think I’d ever see another person again.”

Your pulse quickened. “Days? You’ve been trapped in here that long?”

He nodded, shadows dancing in his eyes. “One minute, I was here with some friends. The next, they were gone. Just like that.”

You swallowed, fear twisting in your gut. “My friends and I… we thought this was just an escape room, but nothing about this place feels right.”

He took a slow step closer, his gaze softening. “Maybe we should stick together. I’d hate for you to end up alone like me.”

You nodded slowly, relief flooding through you. “I’m Y/N.”

“Haechan,” he replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s find your friends and get out of here.”

With Haechan by your side, you ventured further into the maze of hallways, each step taking you deeper into the unknown. But as you walked, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that clung to you, a feeling that Haechan’s eyes held secrets he wasn’t willing to reveal.

All you can do is hope and pray you see your friends again.

The dim hallway stretches on in front of you, shadows clinging to the walls and making it difficult to see more than a few steps ahead. Every footstep feels heavy, the silence around you broken only by the occasional creak or groan from the aged structure. Haechan walks beside you, his presence oddly comforting amidst the overwhelming gloom, though something about him remains unsettling.

After a few minutes, you can’t help but ask, “So… how exactly did you get stuck here?”

Haechan lets out a small sigh, glancing over at you with a shadowed expression. “It’s a long story,” he replies. His voice is calm, almost too calm, and a shiver prickles at the back of your neck.

“We’ve got time,” you say softly, clutching your flashlight a little tighter. “If we’re going to find my friends and make it out, I should know what we’re dealing with and who I’m talking to.”

Haechan considers your words for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I was here with a group of friends, not unlike yours. We thought this was just an escape room—a haunted one, sure, but nothing dangerous. But once we entered, everything felt… wrong. Just like you’re probably feeling now.”

You nod, feeling a chill run down your spine. The thought that others had gone through the same confusion and fear unsettles you even more. “So what happened?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his voice dropping to a whisper. “At first, we tried to solve the puzzles, thinking it was all part of the game. But every clue we found led us deeper and deeper, to darker places that didn’t feel like they should exist. Eventually, we started getting separated. One by one, my friends disappeared… and I haven’t seen them since.”

His words hit you hard, your heart twisting with fear and sympathy. You imagine your own friends, separated from each other, wandering alone in these eerie, twisting hallways.

“Do you think… do you think your friends are okay?” you ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

Haechan is silent for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his tone is dark. “I don’t know, but this place… it’s haunted. It’s not a normal escape room. It’s something much worse.”

His words linger in the air, and a tight knot of fear forms in your chest. “Haunted? What do you mean?”

He glances at you, his eyes gleaming strangely in the dim light. “I’ve seen things here. Shadows that move on their own, voices that whisper in empty rooms… This isn’t a game. This place was created by people who wanted to watch others suffer, who find entertainment in fear and despair.”

A shiver runs through you as his words sink in. “So, they’re just… watching us? For their own sick entertainment?”

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “Exactly. They trap people here, turning their fear into a spectacle for whoever is watching. Once you’re here, it’s nearly impossible to leave, never able to see your loved ones ever again.”

You bite your lip, glancing around the dark hallway as anxiety gnaws at you. Your hands are shaking as you clasp them together, murmuring a silent prayer for your friends. The weight of your worry presses down on you, and you can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the hopelessness begins to creep in.

“Don’t worry too much, sweetheart,” Haechan says, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here with you. I’ll help you find your friends.”

You nod, giving him a small, shaky smile. His calm presence does ease some of your fear, though a part of you wonders how he can be so composed. But as you focus on his steady gaze, something flickers in his eyes, something you can’t quite place—a look of satisfaction, as though he’s pleased by your fear. For a moment, the corners of his mouth lift into a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

But when you blink, the expression is gone, replaced with a look of earnest concern.

You brush off the uneasy feeling, telling yourself it’s just the atmosphere of the place playing tricks on you. “So, you’ve really been here… for days?”

He nods, keeping his gaze trained on you. “More or less. Time feels different here. You start to lose track of it after a while. Some days, it feels like hours are slipping by in minutes, and other days, it feels like I’ve been wandering for centuries.”

You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. “That must be terrible. Being alone for so long… I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

His eyes soften, and he looks at you with a gentle intensity that sends warmth spreading through you. “It was… until now.”

You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, his words lingering in your mind. There’s something both comforting and unsettling about him, a duality that leaves you unsure of how to feel. He’s kind, attentive, a stranger nonetheless, but there’s a unusual shadow in his eyes, an intensity that you can’t quite shake.

As you walk further down the corridor, a sudden chill sweeps through the air, making you shiver. Haechan notices and steps closer to you, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re safe with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “I promise.”

But despite his comforting words, something about the way he says it feels… off. The reassurance feels too practiced, like he’s said it a thousand times before, knowing exactly how it would affect you. You glance at him, meeting his gaze, and you swear you catch another glint of amusement, almost like he’s enjoying your unease.

Shaking off the thought, you try to refocus on finding your friends. “Do you think… they’re okay? My friends, I mean.”

Haechan pauses, as if considering his answer. “Maybe. If they’re smart, they’ll find a way to keep moving, just like we are.” He gives you a comforting smile, but that flicker of darkness in his gaze hasn’t fully disappeared.

You murmur another silent prayer, hoping your friends are safe, wherever they are.

As you continue through the twisted corridors, a realization starts to dawn on you—something about Haechan’s demeanor doesn’t quite add up. The calmness, the knowing glances… It’s as though he’s hiding something, and each time you catch a glimpse of his eyes, it’s as if he’s letting a bit of the mask slip, showing you a side of him he’s trying to keep hidden.

Finally, unable to shake the uneasy feeling, you glance at him and ask, “You said you’ve been here for a long time… How have you managed to survive all this time? Isn’t there any way out?”

Haechan smiles, a strange, almost secretive smile that sends a new chill down your spine. “Oh, I’ve managed,” he replies vaguely. “I’ve learned a lot about this place. Enough to know that it’s better not to trust anyone. Not even me.”

You freeze, your heart racing as his words sink in. “What… what do you mean?”

He gives you a long, intense look, his expression unreadable. “I mean, you don’t know who or what you’re dealing with here. That’s part of what makes it so interesting, don’t you think?”

The realization hits you like a cold wave– you aren’t sure if Haechan is telling the truth, or if he’s been playing with you all along. But the look in his eyes, that glint of amusement and satisfaction as he watches your fear grow, leaves you with a terrifying suspicion.

This man, this stranger you’ve been trusting, isn’t lost like you are. He isn’t just another victim of this twisted game. He’s something else entirely, something far more dangerous– he's apart of the game.

As he steps closer, that smirk creeping onto his face once more, you realize that he doesn’t want to help you escape.

“What are you–” you begin, but Haechan shushes you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He leans in, his presence overwhelming as you find your back against the wall, and arms pressed above your head.

His smirk widens as he leans close, his voice soft but chilling. “This is your first challenge, sweetheart. Try to escape me.”

Your heart races, and without a second thought, you shove him off and sprint down the dark hallway, feeling his gaze burning into your back. At this point, you can’t focus on directions or clues; all you want is to find your friends and get back to safety.

From behind, his mocking voice echoes through the hallway, closer than you expected. “It’s too late, sweetheart. Your friends won’t be looking for you any time soon. You’re stuck with me, after years of being apart.”

Before you know it, his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you through a hidden door concealed by shadows. You stumble inside, disoriented by the sudden brightness. Unlike every room you’ve seen so far, this one is consumed by light, making you squint as your eyes adjust, your back resting on the padded floor.

Haechan’s smirk hasn’t faded. In the brightness, you take in his features more clearly—his sharp jawline, the glint in his dark eyes, the smirk playing at his lips. You hate to admit it, but his presence is overwhelming in an unsettling yet strangely magnetic way.

He hovers over you, his gaze locked onto you, his eyes roaming as though he’s savoring your unease. He leans in, brushing his lips close to your ear. “Don’t fight it,” he whispers. “This is where the real game begins.”

Before you know it, his lips are against yours, and you find yourself kissing him back. It feels insane, but something about him draws you in, almost as if you're under a spell, a force you can't resist.

He pulls away, his chest heaving, his eyes darker now, pupils wide with desire. "The moment I saw you, I knew," he murmurs, his voice thick with desperation as he cups your face in his hands. "I knew you were the one to set me free. I've been waiting lifetimes for you."

A shiver runs through you as his words sink in. Your brows knit together. "Who... who are you?" The question slips out more like a plea than anything else.

His lips curl into a smirk, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Everything you've been waiting for. There's a reason we're drawn to each other." He tuts softly, eyes gleaming.

"Who do you think led your spirit here?"

Your gaze flickers around the room, realizing he's still hovering over you, his body pressing you into the ground. When your eyes lock again, you feel it—a pulse of craving, dark and intense, matching the hunger in his gaze

Suddenly, nothing matters anymore. All that exists is the heat between you, the electric pull that holds you both in place, and the thrill of his body pressed so close to yours.

Your lips crash against his, this time initiated by you. He's momentarily stunned, taking a second to adjust, but before you can even let out a whine, he matches your movements.

His hands find their way to your waist– his thumb rubbing circles against your skin. “Is this what you want? To remind you of my touch?” His knee placing pressure against your core.

A faint moan escapes your lips, you know this was so wrong, but feels so right. Your hips buckling– trying to match his rhythm as you attempt to ride his knee. “Hae..chan….”

His name slipping through your thoughts causes his eyes to darken. He lifts your hips up, your leggings quickly being tugged off your skin.

It didn’t take him long enough to get you wet. His mouth practically drooling while admiring your core.

His face inching closer to you, very rapidly feeling his breath against your heat causing you to slightly lift your hips. “No teasing… please,” you whimper, unable to wait any longer for him.

Haechan lets out a slight laugh, sounding cynical. “I’m sorry baby, I just like to admire what’s mine.”

Before you can respond his fingers found their way to your clit, rubbing small slow circles over your underwear. His eyes nearly burning into your soul, the way he watches every single one of your reactions, feeding off of them.

Before you could plea for more, Haechan pulls your undergarment to aside, working his mouth against your core. His tongue lapping against your swollen clit, leading all the way down to where you were nearly dripping for him. He saw this as an opportunity to get rid of the last piece of clothing concealing your lower half, gripping your thighs, and yanking you closer to his mouth.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he moans against you, the vibrations of his voice to your body sending you in chills.

You had so many questions to ask him. You wanted to know who he really is, what he is really is. Yet, here you are having a stranger eat you out. What bothers you more is the immediate attraction and pull you feel toward him. You’ve had your fair share of one-night stands and exes, but none of them have ever affected you the way Haechan does.

The feeling was all too much for your body to handle, your eyes practically glued to the ceiling– seeing stars.

Haechan notices this, his mouth releasing from sucking at your clit. He slaps the side of your ass, causing you to jolt looking down to his eyes.

“Focus baby, I want you to watch how I fuck your pretty pussy– I mean look at this,” he slams two fingers into you, the sharp breath you intake being the only thing keeping you on alert.

He growls at the feeling of your insides squeezing desperately against his fingers, but before he gets ahead of himself he takes them out slowly. With his other hand, he grabs your face, looking directly into each other’s heavy eyes– he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking the mess you left on them.

A moan escapes your lips, “I need more…please…”

“What more do you need, princess? Is this not enough for you?” His fingers find their way back inside of you, thrusting hard but slow, his thumb matching the same rhythm on your clit.

“Are my fingers not enough for you? Are you worried your friends might find you like this?” Suddenly the door slams wide open as if it were by a gust of wind, assuming it was Haechan’s work.

By reflexes you attempt to shut your legs together, squirming beneath him. You know your friends are probably on the other side of the building right now looking for you– but the thought of them finding you being fucked by this ‘entity’ triggers a rush of excitement through your body.

He holds your legs apart with his free arm. Between Haechan’s teases, the pace against your core, and the pressure of his thumb– you were more than ready for your release.

“F-Fuck… I’m going to–”

“Do it, baby. Cum all over my fingers. Show the world how desperate you are to get your pussy fingered by me,” his pace fastens, his face desperate to watch you collapse on him.

“Haechan!” You scream his name as loud as possible, his fingers continuing to ride out your orgasm. It felt as if a life time of pleasure within the time of him slowing down his pace, to you finally catching your breath back as he slides right out of you.

The emptiness from inside you causes you to frown. You didn’t notice till this moment, Haechan had taken off his clothing while you were recovering, finally getting rid of the rest of yours.

“You did so good for me, princess,” his lips trailing from the side of your face to your neck, eventually to your breasts.

You take a deep breath, still not fully recovered from your previous high. “I’m still sensitive,” you murmur to him as his tongue flicks over your nipple, his spit already coating them.

He pushes himself off of you, repositioning you both so that this time, you’re on top of him. Your eyes face the still–open door ahead of you, while he faces the wall behind you. You look down as you two align yourselves together, practically teasing each other.

You couldn’t help but stare at his cock, cursing yourself as you didn’t notice how thick and big he is.

The thought of him being inside you sends a shiver down your spine and your lip quivering. “You’re so big... I need to feel you, I want to feel you inside of me please. No more games,” your face grows hot after realizing how pathetic you sound, but this only sends Haechan to laugh in response.

“You want it so bad? Well if that’s what you want–” before he finishes his sentence he grabs you by the waist slamming you down into him. “Then that’s what you fucking get,” he groans into your ear.

A few curses and moans left your lips as you watch his cock disappear into your insides. The sound of your wetness against his skin filling not only the room but echoing in the hallway as well. His thumb pressing over the indentation of his cock against your skin, whimpers escaping him due to the sight. This was everything and more than what he had been waiting for.

Your hands find their way to his dark hair, grabbing a good amount as you fuck yourself on him, grinding down to his own rhythm. His hands find their way to your throat, squeezing the right amount to have your eyes rolling back.

“That’s right baby, put on a show for everyone to see. Let’s show everyone how good I fuck you– how needy you get, begging to be filled up. I hope your pathetic friends walk by any second to watch as my cock fills you up… but I bet you would like that huh? Look at you, trying to escape my cock knowing how much you fucking want it,” He grunts, his hips lifting as he starts fucking himself deeper into you.

“Answer me when I speak to you,” he slaps your ass again, the stinging sensation bringing you back to the moment.

“Yes!” You scream.

“Yes what?”

“Yes! I want everyone to see how good you fuck me! I want them to see you fill me up!”

That famously known smirk appearing on his face for a last time before he flips you over on your back again, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder to bury himself deeper into you.

“I want you to say my name when you cum, baby. You think you’re capable of that, hm?” His pace fastens on you.

You body starting to shake from the pleasure as he starts hitting your sweet spot, his thrusts causing an additional burst of pleasure against your clit.

“Haechan! Haec..” you scream his name as if it were the only word you ever knew. Your insides throbbing tightly against him, he curses under his breath twitching inside you as you bring him to his release, letting his seed drip down your thigh.

You groan at the feeling of him leaving you, already missing the warmth he brought. The both of you finding yourselves back to reality and that’s when it all started hitting.

You just had sex with some sort of supernatural entity.

And you liked it.

You feel Haechan’s warm breath against your ear as his voice drops to a low whisper. “Your friends… they’re free to go. As for you, sweetheart…” His eyes lock with yours, and this time, they’re filled with something deeper, darker—a fierce longing mixed with possessiveness, a completion he’s longed for.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You don’t remember me,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours, “but we’ve been together before… lifetimes ago. We were meant to be, you and I.” He traces his thumb along your jaw, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “When you lost your life back then, I followed soon after. I’ve been stuck here ever since, a place where lost souls are tied to, searching. I’ve been waiting for your spirit to return back to me.”

A chill runs through you, your heart racing as his words sink in. Your mind scrambles to process what he’s saying, but you can’t deny the strange pull, the connection that seems to tether you to him. It feels… ancient, familiar in a way you can’t explain.

He leans in closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “You may not remember, but I know you feel it too. You’ve always been mine.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, both thrilling and unsettling, and for a moment, you feel yourself drawn into his world, his promise of an eternal bond. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his touch possessive yet filled with an almost aching tenderness. “Now that you’re here,” he whispers, “we can finally be together. Forever.”

Your stomach twists as his words linger in your mind. Slowly, the reality sets in—while your friends will walk free, you’re bound to stay. His smile is soft as he strokes your hair, but there’s something haunting in his eyes, something that makes it clear this is not a choice. He’s waited lifetimes for you, and he won’t let you go.

A chill of fear creeps in, breaking through the warmth of his embrace. You glance toward the exit, the realization hitting hard: you’re not meant to leave. You’re bound to this place, your spirit destined to remain here… forever with Haechan.

As he pulls you closer, his words echo in your mind, a promise and a sentence intertwined. And though his gaze is filled with love, a deep-rooted fear takes hold. You know that this, now, is your eternity—your soul forever tethered to his, within these walls.

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter thirteen

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.7k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, descriptions of anxiety, swearing, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hi my loves i’m back!! thank you all for your patience while i was sick and preparing for the new semester, i appreciate all your kind messages so much x 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐖𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒’ 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎 

“Newcomer on the professional tennis scene, Y/N Y/L/N surprised virtually everyone when she won the Ladies’ Semi Final two days ago,” an English-accented sports journalist said on TV as you waited for your cue to step onto the court for the finals. “She’s not only the most technically excellent player of her age, but she has the fastest serve on the WTA tour.”

“She’s a remarkable player,” the other journalist agreed. You watched them play back a clip from your most recent match, highlighting one of your aces. “But if she wants to win on Centre Court here at Wimbledon for the very first time, she’s going to have to start embracing her volleys. Maybe she should take a leaf out of her boyfriend’s book.”

“Patrick Zweig? He only made it to the second round!”

“Yes, but he played some very entertaining tennis this week. It was a joy to watch and very well suited to a grass court!” 

“It’s true, Zweig plays a sneaky game of tennis. He keeps his opponent on his feet.” 

“In any case, the whole world is sure to be watching Y/N Y/L/N tonight, eager to see her take on Anna Mueller.”

“Now, this isn’t the first time Y/L/N and Mueller have played. They faced off numerous times in junior tournaments, and Y/L/N already beat her at Indian Wells, Milan, Roland-Garros, and the US Open last year. They have yet to play each other in a final, though, and Y/L/N has no grand slam titles to Mueller’s two.”

“Will it be experience and longevity that give Mueller the win, or will new talent Y/L/N take the match with precision and speed?”

“We will soon see.”

You had never been this nervous before a match until your second time at Wimbledon. 

For the first time in your professional career, just a year and a half after entering the tennis world, you made it to the final round of a grand slam tournament. The other tournaments you had won within the last year put your name on the map, allowing you to garner attention and recognition from your peers and spectators.

But a grand slam title meant you would be a part of history.

It was everything you wanted, everything you worked and struggled for. Your heart pounded so quickly that you thought it might leap out of your skin, and your quickening breath made spots appear in your vision. The pressure mounted, not just because your life goal was an arm’s length away, but from all the people who had their eyes on you. Some scrutinising, some rooting for you. 

Bracing your hands on your thighs, you closed your eyes and tried to breathe deeply. It felt like you were losing control. Everything you did to maintain your anxiety felt like it was slipping through your fingers, just like your dream of becoming a grand slam winner. 

Tashi’s voice rang in your ears. You’re going to be fucking miserable, and you’re going to hate your life just as much as your mother hates the fact that she had you. Art’s voice joined Tashi. Everyone knows that tennis is more of a mental game than a physical game. You have a lot of anxiety, and…

The sound of your phone getting a text message interrupted your tornado of negative thoughts. 

PAT 💞: Don’t listen to any of those assholes, they don’t matter. I love you so much and I’m proud of you no matter what happens today. Hold your head up high and do your best, nothing else matters. Don’t forget to breathe, pretty girl. P x

As you stepped onto the court, the cheers of the crowd were deafening. You could feel the vibrations of their applause through the soles of your shoes; the energy was electric, and the buzzing of quiet chatter set you on edge. Remembering Patrick’s advice, you breathed deeply and waved to the crowd, smiling as you headed for your bench. Everyone on your team was sitting in the player’s box with Patrick and your dad, and it was a relief to see them there supporting you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this final round match. This match will be played as the best of three sets,” the umpire said. “To the left of the chair, from Switzerland, Anna Mueller. To the right of the chair, from the United States, Y/N Y/L/N. Y/L/N won the toss and elected to serve.”

From his seat in your box, Patrick chuckled. “I bet Anna Mueller’s terrified right now,” he commented. “Going into a match against Y/N and having her serve first would push me over the edge if I was playing her.” 

Next to Patrick, your father happily declared, “If Mueller wasn’t nervous to play Y/N before, she will be once she realises how many aces she has up her sleeve.”

Mueller crouched behind the baseline, nervously twirling her racket between her hands. Her poker face wasn’t nearly as good as yours, betraying her fear as you bounced the ball and prepared to serve. Knowing that you had this effect on your opponent, even before the game had started, made you feel powerful. 

With a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through your veins, you tossed the ball in the air and served it over the tennis net. Mueller ran in the wrong direction, expecting you to serve to her backhand, and cursed when she couldn’t change courses fast enough to return the ball.

Your first ace of the game. 15-love.

Mueller played nervously. She knew your baseline game was strong, but her mistake was assuming that you could only play from the baseline. You decided to play closer to the net, consistently hitting gently when Mueller expected you to go hard and fast, making it impossible for her to generate the power needed to return well.

When you took the first set 6-0, Mueller cursed and turned to her box to yell something at her coach. During the changeover, you could hear her muttering to herself, failing to compose her posture and expression. She looked panicked and angry. From experience, you knew that the right amount of anxiety could help you focus on the match, but anger would destroy a player’s self-control and concentration.

When you served an ace at the beginning of the next set, Mueller stomped her foot angrily and challenged the call. The call held up, declaring your serve was in and awarding you the point. You watched in shock as Mueller’s face twisted with fury, her eyes blazing as she smashed her racket against the ground. Over and over again, the crowd gasped and booed as the frame cracked and the strings bent out of shape. 

“Code violation, racket abuse. Warning, Mueller.” 

From his seat, Patrick smirked, applauding the action while you maintained professionalism. He was the type of player who occasionally broke his racket or committed other code violations, so Patrick admired your ability to hold back. There was something rewarding about watching your opponent fall apart as you waited for her to get it together so you could keep playing. 

The atmosphere of the game changed after Mueller’s outburst. Releasing her anger had done Mueller well, and one of her backhands shot forth like a lightning bolt, making it impossible for you to return. She got a few points in, making you run for it. Sweat glistened on your brows, and your heart pounded, a steady drum beat that echoed the rhythm of your feet as you struggled to return some of Mueller’s balls. The crowd watched in awe as she started finding her rhythm, pushing through the fatigue with a newfound unwavering focus. 

Mueller looked incredibly smug to have caught up with you. So, you let her win a little bit. 

Your father frowned when you served into the net twice, giving Mueller the point. “What’s she doing?” he muttered quietly. “Are the nerves getting to her?”

Patrick shook his head, chuckling as he realised, “She’s throwing the set on purpose.” A smirk graced his lips when he remembered how you used to do the same thing when you played Tashi. “She wants Mueller to think she’s beating her.”

You let yourself enjoy it, toying with Mueller and never letting her know what you planned next. When you volleyed the ball back to her, she sprinted to the net. Just when she got used to playing close to the net, you hit a flat groundstroke past her. Once Mueller realised your pattern, she stayed closer to the baseline, and you hit her with your drop shots, far too close to the net for her to return.

Quickly, you caught up, 7-7. You needed one last game to win the match, and it was your turn to serve. 

Two aces in a row. Mueller yelled in frustration and anger when she missed both serves, once to her forehand and once to her backhand. Your focus sharpened with each passing moment. Serving was your area of expertise. You had the match exactly where you wanted it. 

With each point you won, your confidence grew. Your movements were fluid and instinctive; your racket felt like an extension of your arm, sending powerful, precise shots that left Mueller scrambling to return them. Like always, your serves were lightning fast, unerring and spectacular, kissing the line every time without fail. 

Mueller chased down every ball, but exhaustion was setting in, and her anger had returned. She was irritated that you had let her win, annoyed that it had boosted her ego so much, and furious that she couldn’t get in your head the way you got in hers. 

You were playing the best tennis of your life, each moment a testament to your skill and resilience over the years. The beauty of your game captivated the spectators, leaving the crowd in awe of your mesmerising strokes and masterful returns. The more points you won, the closer you got to winning the tournament. Tension and excitement were palpable, mounting in a crescendo of enthusiastic applause and standing ovations.

“Match point.” 

The cacophony of cheers faded into the background as you bounced the ball in your hand. You were good at keeping the pressure of winning off your shoulders, but the enormity of this point pressed down on you heavily. With your stomach in knots, you adjusted your grip on your tennis racket. Amid all the stress, anxiety, and fear, you felt a spark of determination. 

You didn’t just want to win; you deserved it. 

You served her backhand, which Mueller anticipated and hit back with equal intensity. The ball hit the ground awkwardly on your side of the net, creating minimal bounce with little power. Regardless, you hit it hard. As the two of you rallied back and forth, you followed the sports journalist from earlier’s advice and used a trick shot Patrick had taught you. When Mueller hit your forehand, you pretended to miss the ball. She celebrated, prematurely stopping while you hit the ball back between your legs, surprising Mueller and making her trip as she tried to return the ball. 

As Mueller landed on the floor, the ball bounced on her side of the net for a second time, earning you the point and the Wimbledon Ladies’ Singles title. 

An overwhelming surge of triumph and disbelief hit you all at once. Your ears rang, drowning out the cacophony of the crowd’s ecstatic roars as you collapsed to your knees, dropping your racket. The weight of victory crashed upon you, and tears streamed down your face as you sobbed. Each teardrop released the intense pressure and emotion you had carried through the gruelling tournament. 

You cried for your mother, who you no longer needed to please; for Tashi, your former best friend who would not be here to celebrate this moment with you; and you cried for yourself, the person who got through it all and made it to the other side. 

When you wiped the tears from your cheeks and stood to shake your opponent’s hand, the world around you blurred back into focus. The cheers and applause of the crowd went from being a distant echo to a deafening roar. Mueller barely touched your hand before going to shake the umpire’s and—for a brief, solitary moment—you were enveloped by a profound sense of accomplishment. 

You did it.

After waving to the crowd and thanking the umpire, you turned to your player’s box. There, Patrick stood applauding your victory. His heart swelled with immeasurable pride and love for you, feeling an overwhelming admiration for your strength and dedication. You laughed, running across the court towards the box and excusing yourself as you squeezed past ball boys and line judges. Stepping up on one of the nearby benches, you lifted yourself closer to your boyfriend, who leaned over the railing, giggling.

Up close, Patrick’s eyes were misty, and a broad, genuine smile spread across his face. Every sacrifice you made, every early morning and late night, came rushing back to him in a flood of memories. He could hardly contain his excitement. 

“You just fucking won Wimbledon!” Patrick yelled. “You were incredible!”

“I love you,” you replied, equally breathless and giddy. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Pat.” 

Pushing up on your toes, you hooked your arms around Patrick’s shoulders and kissed him. The crowd cheered even louder around you, but you didn’t care. Nothing and nobody else mattered at that moment. All you knew was that you had just achieved something incredible and Patrick was the only person you wanted to celebrate it with. He held your head carefully and kissed you hard, expressing his passionate pride with every press of his lips.

“Thank you. For reminding me to breathe,” you acknowledged when you parted, gazing up at your boyfriend with sparkling eyes. “And for teaching me your favourite trick shot.”

Patrick chuckled, taking one of your hands and pressing several kisses to the back of it. “That was all you, gorgeous. I had nothing to do with it. This win belongs to you,” he said sincerely. “Fuck, I love you, pretty girl.”

Art Donaldson stood in the crowd, his heart heavy with pride and melancholy as he watched you give Patrick a final kiss before returning to the court for your interview. It was a privilege to watch every powerful swing of your racket and every point you earned. Art was reminded of the countless hours you had poured into your practice, the determination that had always driven you while you were at Stanford. He had once been the one to share in those moments of victory with you, celebrating every win with the joy you now showed on the court. 

But now, as Art saw the happiness in your eyes and heard the crowd’s cheers, a wave of sadness washed over him. He was no longer part of your triumphs. He was just another face in the sea of supporters, knowing your victory wouldn’t be shared with him.

Art’s gaze flickered between you standing on the court and Patrick sitting with your father in the player’s box. His former best friend looked happier than Art had ever seen him, and knowing that your memory of this day would always be intertwined with your relationship with Patrick filled Art with an ugly jealousy. 

He knew he had no right to your life and joy, but Art wanted to celebrate with you. He wanted to tell you that he was proud of you and always knew you had the talent and perseverance to succeed. In fact, there were a lot of things Art wanted to say, including a sincere apology for what he said the night you broke up. But you had moved on, and you were happy, and the last thing Art wanted to do was ruin any of that for you. 

So instead, Art got up and pushed through the crowd, making his way to the exit as he heard your voice thanking Patrick for his love and support over the loudspeakers.

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟏𝟑, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

It felt good. 

Sitting in the booth with Tashi was almost like when Art used to sit in the dining hall with her at Stanford, back when you, Art, and Tashi were all attached at the hip.

A month ago, Art and Tashi graduated and began working in the professional tennis world, but it meant nothing to either of them without their best friends by their sides. Neither of them could have guessed that you and Patrick would leave behind such a huge hole when you stopped being friends with them.

“Maybe you wanna jump ship?” Art said, half-joking as he signed the bill and paid for their meal. “Come be my assistant coach?” When Tashi stared dumbfoundedly at him, he grinned. “Oh, I get it. You want to work with someone who has a little bit more potential.” 

“No!” Tashi protested. “No. No, it’s not that. I mean, you have plenty of potential. It’s just–” she cut herself off, nervously observing the blond sitting in front of her. It had been years since you and Art broke up, but it felt like yesterday. “You think that would be a good idea?” 

“Why not?” Art retorted. Tashi gestured vaguely, referencing their complex shared past. “That was a long time ago–” 

“–It was not that long ago,” she disagreed, interrupting Art’s attempt at nonchalance. 

“Well, it feels like a long time ago,” Art mumbled. 

“So, you’re saying you’re not in love with her anymore?” Tashi argued, raising a questioning eyebrow at her old friend. 

Art schooled his expression, not wanting to give his lingering emotions away. But Tashi saw through it, recognising the familiar signs that indicated his love for you still ran deep. His features softened at the mention of you, and there was a faraway look in his icy blue eyes.

Back when you were dating Art—and Tashi and Patrick were casually seeing each other—Patrick used to describe the look on his best friend’s face when he first laid eyes on you. That look of pure, absolute adoration and love never once faded from Art’s face at the mention or sight of you. Tashi knew with certainty that it would never fade.

“Well, I’m not holding my breath waiting for her,” Art retorted. “That ship has clearly sailed.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t clutching the hull for dear life,” Tashi remarked, using Art’s ship analogy against him. “Did you see her at Wimbledon?”

“Of course I did,” Art replied, fiddling anxiously with the napkin on the table. 

“She was incredible, wasn’t she? I mean, I always knew she had it in her, but watching her win that final…” Tashi sighed.

If she was as good a friend to you as she always thought, she would have noticed that you used to hold back to help Tashi pursue her dreams of being the best tennis player in the world. Upon reflection, Tashi realised she would never be as good a friend to you as you were to her, and she should never have considered you to be less talented, hard-working, or capable than herself.

“It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Tashi said proudly.

Art agreed, “She’s officially a grand slam winner, the whole world was watching her that day.”

Tashi nodded. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” Her lips curved in a disappointed frown, recalling all the times you and Tashi promised you would always be there to celebrate each others’ accomplishments when you were teenagers. “All of a sudden, the whole world feels entitled to a part of her. Instead of going through this journey with her, we’re on the outside looking in, just like everybody else.”

“It was pretty surreal,” Art affirmed. “I mean, I always knew what she was capable of. I remember all those late nights, talking about what she would do if she ever won a grand slam. And now that she has, I can’t help but feel a little lost.”

“Like you should be there with her,” Tashi guessed. She gave Art a sympathetic smile, her eyes soft with understanding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Art sighed, leaning back in his booth. “We used to be the people who knew her best in the world,” he recalled. “And now, we aren’t a part of her life anymore. It’s not just about tennis or success, it’s about her. She didn’t just hold us all together, she was seeped into the essence of everything I did and everything I dreamed.” The vulnerable honesty in Art’s voice made Tashi swallow harshly. “What am I supposed to do without her now? None of my plans ever accounted for me reaching this point in my life without her in it.”

Art’s words rendered them both silent.

You used to take up so much space in their lives, filling a void neither of them knew existed until you left them. Thinking about you and reflecting on your absence was always bittersweet. There was so much warmth and joy in their memories of you, but they were constantly paired with painful reminders of how much they hurt you. You, who only ever wanted to love and be loved. 

“Maybe this is what we deserve for hurting her in the first place,” Tashi offered. “The things I said to her that day–” she inhaled sharply, pain filling her chest as she recalled the argument that ended your friendship– “I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with me.”

“The look on her face when I told her I went to see you the night you fought…” Art shook his head in disappointment, his jaw clenched tightly as the frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I should have told her I went to confront you for hurting her. I should have told her I was desperate to figure out why she was inconsolable, but I let her believe I went to you because I was on your side. I was so angry and frustrated during the break up that I told her things just because I knew they would hurt her. Who does that to someone they love?”

“Us, apparently,” Tashi said, grumbling like she couldn’t believe what they did to you. Reaching across the table, Tashi covered Art’s hand with hers, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “My mom says that Y/N was my life lesson,” she explained. “That losing her was supposed to teach me something.”

“Yeah?” Art met her eyes and frowned. “What did it teach you?”

“To hold on,” Tashi declared. “When you meet someone like her, someone who’s warm and loving and far kinder to you than you deserve, you hold on to her. Because going through life without her is unimaginably worse than when she’s by your side.” 

It hurt to reflect on how much worse life was without you. You had been everything to Art for so long, and his eyes stung with tears every time he thought of you. The emptiness you left behind felt insurmountable, a constant ache he couldn’t escape. Every moment without you reminded him of what he’d lost, of how your presence had once filled his world with light and purpose.

Now, that light was gone, leaving him to navigate the shadows of what used to be; the pain of your absence was a relentless companion.

Art pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, staring at his lap. “This is really stupid, but, uh… After your injury… I couldn’t help but just think about what would have happened if I had beaten Patrick,” he confessed. 

Tashi froze at the mention of how you met Art and Patrick. 

She knew Art well enough to understand that everything he did led back to you and how he lost you. No matter how badly Art wanted to change the past, Tashi knew you would always love him and Patrick throughout your life. 

In a way, Tashi, Art, and Patrick were the three great loves of your life.

One for a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, one for the boy who made you realise what it was like to be loved, and one for the man who would wait a lifetime just for a minute of happiness with you.

No matter how much you once loved Art, Tashi knew you would love Patrick in every life, too. It didn’t matter what order you met them in; you were the catalyst that changed each of their lives. 

Tashi thought she was the only objective spectator to your relationships with Art and Patrick. She was your best friend at Stanford when you dated Art, and she was practically a stranger now that you were with Patrick. Watching your romantic relationship unfold on TV and in newspapers and magazines was entirely different from having a front-row seat back in college, but Tashi knew you well enough to see how deeply and genuinely you loved Patrick, just as you had loved Art.

“So you want me to join your team because you couldn’t win Y/N’s number that day?”

Art lifted his head to meet Tashi’s gaze. “No,” he denied. “I want you to join my team because I want to win.”

Tashi suppressed a grin. She should have known that if it wasn’t about you, it was about Patrick. “I think you’d beat him now if you guys played,” she commented, sipping her coffee. “Don’t you think?” 

It was a challenge that Tashi knew Art would easily see through. 

Perhaps Art could beat Patrick if their history wasn’t complicated by you entering their lives. If the two of them were just best friends trying to make it in the tennis world, Art had the skills, practice, and tenacity to win now. After all, he had dedicated himself to the sport at Stanford and had an excellent team supporting him, while Patrick continued to rely on raw talent. As Art steadily climbed the ranks with every game, Patrick floundered somewhere in the lower 200s. 

But all of this was negated by one simple fact. Patrick had the one thing that Art truly wanted: you. 

If Art and Patrick played a match tomorrow, you would be in Patrick’s player box, cheering his name and applauding his wins. Your presence at the match—and in Patrick’s life—would be more than enough for Art to lose every time he faced his former best friend, just as he lost you. The only thing that could give Art a chance to beat Patrick would be having you on his side. 

“Don’t know,” Art replied cryptically. “We, uh… haven’t played professionally, and don’t keep in touch.” Tashi laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “What?” 

She cleared her throat. “Just… She never saw it,” Tashi explained. “The rivalry between you and Patrick. Ever since that night we first met, she always assumed the two of you were after me.” She shook her head, visibly entertained. “She used to say that I was the sun and she was the moon. But, God, wasn’t she just everything? The moon and the stars and everything in between, that was her.” Tashi and Art shared a soft, sentimental expression. “I never understood why she couldn’t see it. Everything was over the moment you and Patrick met her, and I knew none of us would ever be the same.”

A small smile stretched across Art’s lips. “Yeah…” 

Tashi was right—you had been everything to him. 

Art felt it the moment his eyes first met yours, an instant connection that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if something within him recognised you, a deep and undeniable pull that resonated in both his body and heart. It wasn’t just about your smile or how you moved; it was how your presence seemed to complete something in him, filling a void he hadn’t even known existed.

You became his anchor, the one person who made everything else make sense, and from that moment on, he knew his life would never be the same without you.

“We joked that we weren’t homewreckers the night we met you, but…” Tashi trailed off, sighing as she set her mug on the table and crossed her arms. “I never thought it would come between me and her. I always thought I was a better friend than that. And I hate it, but running into you today is the closest I’ve felt to her in years,” she confessed.

Sitting there opposite your former best friend, Art couldn’t help but agree. So many parts of you lived on in Tashi, remnants of your lifelong friendship that had shaped both of you in ways he could now see clearly. The way she tilted her head when deep in thought mirrored your own, a habit you’d both picked up during your countless late-night conversations. That amused, all-knowing expression on Tashi’s face when Art tried to lie to her was uncannily similar to yours. 

Even her choice of words, the little phrases and inside jokes that only you two shared, brought you vividly to life at that moment, making it feel like a part of you was still there, sitting right across from Art.

“Yeah, me too,” Art agreed, trying to keep the sudden gust of sadness out of his tone. 

To make matters worse, seeing Tashi was the closest Art had felt to you and Patrick in a very long time. 

It brought back memories of his former best friend, who had once been his world. There was a time when the four of you felt inseparable, and now, sitting there, Art could almost hear the echoes of those days. The way Tashi absentmindedly rubbed her forearm was like Patrick used to, a nervous habit that always surfaced during serious conversations. Tashi’s honest recount of how much she missed you felt like a mirror image of how much Art missed Patrick. Being with Tashi now, it was impossible not to feel the empty space left by the absence of the friendships that had once defined them both.

That night, as Tashi stepped into Art’s hotel room, the invisible string that still bound them both to you seemed to tighten, pulling them a little closer to where you slept just a few floors away.

𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 – 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝟐𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

“I just got off the phone with Elora,” you declared, stepping into your shared hotel room with Patrick and finding your boyfriend lounging on the bed with the TV on. “I’ve been asked to play an exhibition match tomorrow. Just something quick and fun before the first round to boost ticket sales for the qualifiers. A bunch of American players from the tour will be there.”

You dropped onto the bed beside Patrick, kicking off your shoes and curling up in his awaiting arms. The two of you had been travelling together for over a year, sharing rooms while on tour and cohabitating in every aspect of your lives. It was like a reward after enduring a long-distance relationship during your final year at Stanford. Instead of just talking on the phone and occasionally getting surprise visits from Patrick, you went everywhere together and supported each other at every match and tournament you attended.

The two of you had slipped into an easy routine. Having the same profession meant that you were constantly going to the same places, and it made travelling and sightseeing so much more special. After working hard for over two weeks at each tournament, exploring new cities with Patrick was the ideal way to wind down and relax. There was something incredibly special and romantic about doing every day of your life with him.

Your relationship had been grabbing headlines ever since the press caught on to the fact that you were together over a year ago, but the attention ramped up exponentially after you won Wimbledon.

What used to be short articles about an up-and-coming, attractive couple in the tennis world had snowballed into detailed timelines of your dates and public appearances with Patrick. Luckily, the public adored you, and there was very little criticism or negativity surrounding your relationship. Other players on the WTA and ATP tour often teased you about being real celebrities, pointing out how rare it was to win public favour as much as you and Patrick did.

Even though this shift was odd, and you had yet to get used to the constant eyes on you, there were perks to having your picture taken professionally every time you went on a date with your boyfriend. You had framed your favourite newspaper clipping, a beautiful picture of you kissing Patrick after winning Wimbledon, with the heading The Darlings of the Tennis World written above it in a large, bold font.

“Great,” Patrick drawled, blinking lazily as he wrapped his arms around you. His hands gravitated under your shirt to draw circles on the bare skin of your midriff, immediately sending butterflies to your stomach. “Which unlucky girl’s getting her ass handed to her while you beat her in straight sets?” he joked, knowing any match you played would end in a crushing defeat for the other player. 

“Actually…” you trailed off, sending him your best smile as Patrick drew his head back to meet your gaze. 

He observed your innocent expression with quizzical, unsure eyes. Even though you were giving him your sweetest look, there was something mischievous about the glint in your eyes. When realisation hit him, Patrick sighed and said, “I’m the unlucky girl, aren’t I?” His distraught tone made laughter bubble from your lips.

“Smart and handsome? I really hit the jackpot,” you teased, buttering him up with compliments so that he would agree more readily. “Come on, Pat, it’ll be fun!” 

“Oh yeah, really fun!” Patrick agreed sarcastically, matching your energetic tone. “Like how a lion treats a lamb during slaughter!”

You rolled your eyes, stifling your laughter at your boyfriend’s dramatics. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll go easy on you,” you said, imitating his voice and tone. He had never used those exact words about playing tennis, but Patrick’s tone was always thick with the same arrogant confidence. “Think about it! If you play against me, you’ll get to see that winning serve of mine up close and personal.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been on the opposing end of your winning serve plenty of times during practice,” Patrick defended. “I always knew you were better than me, gorgeous, but I don’t remember agreeing to public humiliation when we started dating!”

“Drama queen,” you accused. “It really will be fun! We’ll be mic’d up and we can talk and joke the entire time. It’s the best of three sets and it’ll be just like practising together. Come on, what do you say?” At Patrick’s uncertain expression, you sat up in bed and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. The fire that instantaneously burned in his gaze made you smirk triumphantly. “I’ll be really grateful if you do it,” you said suggestively, placing your hands on his chest and grinning. “Pretty please?”

“Well, since you said pretty please,” Patrick joked, unable to keep the wide smile off his face when you tilted your head at him. “Sure. What’s one more event where everyone thinks you’re out of my league?”

Happily, you exclaimed, “That’s the spirit!” 

“Wait–” Patrick frowned when you got up from his lap and began scurrying around the room looking for your phone– “I thought you were going to show me how grateful you are?”

You snorted. “Nice try. You can have your reward after the exhibition match,” you declared, chuckling quietly.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Patrick complained.

“Don’t act like you don’t love the chase,” you retorted, winking as you texted Elora that you and Patrick were happy to participate in the exhibition match. 

From his place on your shared bed, Patrick rolled onto his stomach and observed you. It was hard to imagine that he had only known you for four years. Your participation in his life felt so insurmountably important that it was like he had known you his entire life. You had seamlessly woven yourself into the fabric of Patrick’s daily existence, shaping his world with a depth and significance that defied the brevity of time. 

Unlike Tashi and Art, Patrick realised early on that you were someone he should hold on to. His life before you had been filled with disappointment from his family, and Patrick recognised what a rarity you were. Having already lost you before when his relationships with Tashi and Art ended, Patrick knew losing you meant losing something irreplaceable. Your presence filled gaps he hadn’t noticed before he met you, making it obvious that you were someone worth cherishing. 

As you picked up a phone call from your coach, Patrick went on his laptop and checked how much money was in his savings account. He won enough matches to pay for plane tickets, tennis equipment, and other daily necessities, saving an immense amount of money because the fat cheque you got from Nike every month more than covered your shared accommodations. Over the last year, in particular, Patrick had started saving for something very special. 

An engagement ring.

As much as Patrick wanted you to have the very best, an engagement ring from Harry Winston or Bulgari just wasn’t within his budget. He was entitled to a family heirloom ring, but Patrick didn’t want to give you something from his family. Any engagement ring he chose had to represent you and your relationship with him, rather than the generations of unhappy, reluctant marriages his family seemed destined to repeat.

After carefully perusing different stores and comparing the cost and quality of various rings, Patrick found the perfect one at Cartier. It was simple and classic, exactly the style you had mentioned you preferred offhandedly on several occasions. To his surprise, it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, and he had almost saved enough to get you the exact ring he wanted you to have.

After Wimbledon, you noticed and commented on the fact that Patrick was training harder than ever. To you, it seemed like he was finally starting to take himself more seriously. Instead of coasting on his natural talent, Patrick began seeing your physical trainer with you and even quit smoking to improve his stamina. What you didn’t know was that he was doing all of this to increase his chances of winning more matches at the US Open, where a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

In Patrick’s mind, the more matches he won, the more money he could take home, and the nicer your engagement ring could be. 

“Hey, do you know what ring size you are?” Patrick asked as casually as he could when your phone call was over. “Jess got a bunch of rings that don’t fit her and she was wondering if you want them instead?”

“That’s so sweet, I can’t believe she thought of me,” you acknowledged, grinning. Ever since you met Patrick and his extended family last year, you were constantly invited to spend time with his cousins Jess and Alex. While Patrick wasn’t best friends with them, they were the closest family he had, so you had accepted several invitations over the past year. “I would love that, Jess has amazing taste in jewellery! Tell her I’m an eight in ring size, but I’ll squeeze into anything she wants to give me,” you joked, not thinking much of Patrick’s question. 

With shaking hands, Patrick sent a text with your ring size to the sales associate at the Cartier store in New York, who had been keeping him updated on when the exact ring he wanted was available. Once the US Open was over, all Patrick had to do was head to Manhattan and pick up the ring. It had taken him almost four months to find the perfect one for you, and then it was just a matter of winning enough prize money to afford it. As long as Patrick won two rounds at the US Open next week, he’d have enough to buy your engagement ring.

Then he would have to decide how and when to propose to you.

[rxzennia]

don't you worry child

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 so like i lied and now here’s something not on my wip list. remember the theme park scene with three aventurines? this is loosely based on that. young kakavasha calls you mister like twice but that’s cause you’re looming tall. i wish i could yap about more exploring the map, but it’s already way too long :( would’ve speedran this fic but i was trying to beat divergent v (spoiler alert, i’m still trying)

“for in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be.” 

when aventurine showed you the dream bubble made of his memories, he wasn’t expecting to bare his inner child to you. he thought it’d be some of his earlier days at the ipc, some of his conquests and schemes, or maybe some of his glorious wins at the casino, not what he has buried for so long – and definitely not something he’s tried so hard to deny for so long. sure, he will tell you eventually, but not now. not yet, not when he’s barely ready. 

and yet here you are, face to face with a child whose height barely reaches your hips. alone. aventurine said he’d be here with you, but where the hell is he?

you agreed to give your boyfriend’s(?) dream bubble a try, but where are you?

no one’s confessed but there are already rumors in the office so like tentatively dating, you suppose

and who is this small human in front of you?

you adjust your scarf, pulling it a little higher as you stare at the boy

he stares back at you

you try to not glare at him, but for all you know, you might still be glaring anyway

a few minutes pass, and the child blinks at you

he lifts one hand up, look at his feet then back at you, then he tiptoes

"you’re so tall, mister!" 

you look around for anyone else. there’s no one else.

"me?" you point at yourself

you’re not good with kids, you don’t know if you should bother engaging him, but hey, he’s just a kid

no reason to ignore him or tell him to leave you alone

if anything, him being all the way out here in the unregulated areas of the theme park means you should do something about it

maybe you should bring him back to the main area?

"yes, you, mister!" the child nods enthusiastically. "woah, you’re so big! can you come down a little?"

first off, that’s what she said. second, and more importantly, how is he not remotely intimidated by your presence? you’re a pretty towering figure even by your own standards, and you don’t exactly have a friendly face, so the fact that a kid of all people started talking to you…

but the more you look at him, the more you feel a sense of deja vu. his face reminds you of someone you know, but his demeanor is, like, the furthest thing away from that person.

you can’t really say no to him, so you crouch down slowly

you don’t know how to interact with him, but you can at least satisfy his curiosity

"like this?" you’re now a head and a half taller than him. somehow, he takes this as a sign to approach

"child, has no one taught you to not talk to strangers?" 

he gasps, like he suddenly remembered everything his parents warned him to not do, and he lowers his head like he’s just done something bad

"b-but you don’t seem like a bad person!" he bursts out, clumsily fiddling with his fingers. "you, you don’t give me the same feeling bad people do…"

"you should still be careful." you sigh as you adjust your scarf so it’s not touching the ground. "well, that aside. i’m down here now. can i help you?"

you watch as they kid slowly walk up to you, the curiosity shining in his eyes

you didn’t deny his claims! that means you’re a good person!

you’re mildly fascinated by the delicate little human

"i’m looking for someone," he says, finally looking up at you again, "t-then i have to go home… but i’m a little lost…"

is this what the world has come to? a kid asking you for help? in a dream bubble of all things?

though you did agree to experiencing the whole thing, so you should probably play along

"alright." you nod. "how should i call you?"

the child brightens up when you agree to help, and he almost reaches for your hands before he remembered personal space

"umm," he starts, keeping his hands awkwardly half-raised, "my name is kakavasha. mister, what about you?"

"kakavasha, hm?" you say, and you offer him one hand. you briefly wonder if it’s okay to tell dream kakavasha your name – this doesn’t seem like a typical dream bubble and all – but worst comes to worst, you’ll just force your way out.

so you tell the child your name, and you feel an overwhelming sense of adoration when he gingerly tries to repeat the syllables that you’ve just said.

dragon hoarding treasure moment intensifies

this kid is going to grow up into the man you know today? absolutely crazy

you’re kind of spacing out as you try to reconcile the kid in front of you with your boss

and while you’re doing that, you vaguely hear him repeating your name over and over again

"yes, that’s close enough." you finally interrupt his attempts to perfect his pronunciation. "where to, kakavasha?"

you stand up, and holy shit you’re so much taller than him

you briefly wonder if you can even hear him from all the way up there…

you can. you hear him crisp and clear. 

maybe a little too clear

he’s loud.

"can i lead the way?" he asks, as if you’d say no to him (???)

he grabs onto your hand without any reservations and he starts to drag you off

what do you do??? no human interaction has prepared you for children??? because no kid wanted to approach you like ever???

you’re taken so much by surprise that you kind of just… froze up

cue him trying to tug you somewhere but failing miserably

he tries with both hands, but you still wouldn’t budge

super confused

he tries harder

still nothing??? just how big is this big person???

"oh, sorry." you snap back to your senses, and you let him pull you to wherever he wants

after a few turns, pinball machines, and an entire maze later, you find yourself at the central stage, where aventurine did his grandest closing act. you can still see the slash of nihility, but it doesn’t seem that anyone else can see it. perhaps a distortion in the dream bubble itself?

kakavasha takes you straight to the center, right at where the slashed monitor sits.

this whole thing hasn’t sat well with you since you touched that bloody dream bubble

where the fuck is aventurine?

who is kakavasha trying to find?

why would they be here?

unless…

you come to a stop when kakavasha stops to look around. 

"oh, mister’s not here anymore." he whispers, lowering his eyes and fiddling with his fingers, "of course he wouldn’t be waiting…"

you slowly walk up by his side. "who exactly are we looking for? i don’t think you’ve ever told me."

"oh!" kakavasha gasps, "oh." he sputters a little, and he points to the stage. "i ran into a really cool mister earlier, and apparently he’s an actor!" 

now you know who he’s talking about

is this dr edward’s experimental model or something? it’s rare to see memoria taking such form

not that you understand memoria

did aventurine give you this dream bubble knowing this will happen?

so when he said he’d be around, did he mean…?

did he literally regress for this???? what is this, the most fantasy novel to have ever fantasized?

or is he watching you like some guy watching a playthrough of a rpg?

or is this entire thing a bug? because you thought you still have a few years to go before aventurine would even think of letting you so far into his mind

you sigh, it’s all far too complicated for you to think about

you’ll focus on the kid for now

"i see," you reply. you didn’t want to give such a dry response, but what are you even supposed to say? 

"but he seemed a little sad…" kakavasha mumbles, "i was hoping to catch him after his show…"

you’re slightly tempted to say "well you just missed him", but your brain is telling you to not do it

fine, you’ll hold your tongue :(

you watch as the child run around

you give him a few ten minutes before you crouch and open one arm for him

"come on," you sigh, "we’ll be here all day."

kakavasha looks at you, at your unreadable eyes, then your arm, then he tentatively slots himself into your side.

"woah, you’re so tall!" he exclaims when you slowly stand up with him on your shoulder. "i’m so high up! hehe!"

"i know, you’ve said that already," you deadpan

for how unfriendly you are, you sure aren’t hiding your worries well

your other arm has been hovering in front of the boy since the moment you stood up

and you’ve been careful with keeping your arm steady while you walk

"you see him?" 

"no…" comes kakavasha’s downtrodden reply. "i don’t have much time left, papa and mama will be worried if i don’t go home soon…"

you play along, wandering around for kakavasha to look for his adult self. "that’s a shame."

he turns to stare at you

you sound like you don’t give too much of a shit

but he can see that you’re a gentle person at heart

why else would you follow him around, hold his hand, and now lift him up so he can get a better view?

and you’ve also made sure that no monsters could get him

he makes a sad noise when you end up right in front of the monitor

you wonder if he could also see the slash of nihility, or if he intuitively sensed something

he taps your shoulder, a series of quick, feather-light pokes

"down?" you ask, but you’re already lowering kakavasha back onto the ground.

he approaches the broken monitor. "mister… did his show go well?" he grasps your hand tightly. "it was a great success, wasn’t it?"

you feel for the child, you really do. but this is a dream, an illusion where your actions won’t make any actual difference. you want to wrap him up and coddle him, but in the end, that will change nothing. 

"that it was." you nod, and you envelop his way smaller hands in your own. "the greatest success anyone’s ever seen."

somehow, your heart hurts when he breaks into a smile

"i’m glad." he says, like a weight’s been lifted off his chest

he probably already knows what happened

he knows himself best, after all

it’s not like you expect the child in front of you to be able to see through aventurine’s act

but they’re one in the same

that reckless abandon and affinity to games of chance didn’t come out of nowhere

you’re fairly certain he has his own guesses as to what happened to that "mister"

"do you know where the really cool mister is now?" kakavasha asks, looking at you with the most innocent gaze you’ve ever seen. "is he doing well?"

you can’t help but hear the subtext in his words, and you let out a soft snort. 

it’s such a "him" thing to do.

"i don’t know," you answer honestly, for you really don’t know. "but what i am certain of… is that he is not doing too badly."

you take note of the portal that slowly appeared in the middle of the stage. a picture frame, a crack, and hands prying that crack right open. 

you look into the distance, past the slash, past penacony, into the stars

"he’s alive," you say, "he’s living. will live."

you snap yourself out of your trance and look at the child next to you

"i’ll look after him, don’t worry."

you hope those words could be some sort of reassurance to him

"promise?" he offers you a pinky. "pinky promise?"

that’s cute

a quick image of others seeing you making a pinky promise flashes before your eyes

but what’s more important than the present?

"pinky promise." you hook your pinky with his. "i’ll make sure the really cool mister lives well."

kakavasha finally notices the portal, and he realizes it’s time to go home. he’s stayed out for too long, and now his family wants him home.

wherever home is to him, anyway

how do you even go home through a portal in a dream bubble

ever considered that maybe it’s better if you didn’t question everything

you let him drag you towards the portal

he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you quite yet

he’s pretty interested in this tall, scary person who isn’t actually scary at all

and he really wants to become friends with you (more like spend more time with you)

but he really needs to go, before his parents start to worry

you understand, of course you do, with how he’s fidgeting and glancing between you and the portal

and the face of a kid who’s just been told their playtime is over

so you nudge him a little, hoping that it’ll prompt him to go

are you surprised when it doesn’t work? not really? me neither

he refuses to let go of your hand

like legit just does not, even if both he and you know he has to

what can you do in such a scenario???

nothing’s prepared you for a silent tantrum

can you even call it a tantrum??? 

quick, come up with something!

alas, it doesn’t feel right to simply wave and part ways

"young kakavasha." you kneel down and unwrap your scarf from your neck. "take this with you," you say as you wrap the fabric around him, paying the strange feeling of exposing your scales no mind. you open your mouth to elaborate, but your words die in your throat. 

kakavasha looks at you; he doesn't need to crane his neck for once, and he flinches from the foreign feeling of your fingers ghosting ever so slightly against his face. for how much you’ve taken care of him while he wandered around the theme park, you’re still only a really kind stranger. nowhere close enough to be giving each other gifts.

"it gets cold at night," you say, finally cracking a tiny smile for the child before you, your hand landing on top of his head gently. "you’ll at least be warmer this way."

you watch kakavasha’s bewildered expression as he touches his new scarf, feeling the smooth fabric and how oddly chunky it feels looped around him. it isn’t a bad feeling, not at all. it’s more like a big hug, the sort that scares away the monster under the bed and wards off nightmares.

"thank you…" he mumbles, still dazed and taken by the new addition to his limited wardrobe. he lifts his face to look at you, taking note of your iridescent scales and your soft gaze. he beams, a grin so bright that it ignites even your inhuman heart. "i’ll treasure this! it feels so nice… thank you so much!"

"mm. go on, now." you nod, and you nudge him towards the portal. "don’t keep your family waiting."

kakavasha blinks at you. "you’re not coming?" he asks, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

"unfortunately." you beckon him forward and give him a small kiss on the top of his head before you stand up fully. "if fate shall have it, though… i suppose we will meet again."

"sis has always said that i’m blessed with fortune!" kakavasha almost jumps to grab onto you, but he just misses your shoulders by a hair. "see you next time!"

he spends a good minute waving at you before he turns around to leave. somehow… you feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. an inexplicable wave of melancholy washes over you like frigid waves on a windy day, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

you watch the child until he disappears into the frame, and you don’t look away for another minute.

"see you, kakavasha."

[neostrayteez]

SOMEONE WITH SECRETS

PAIRING. lee jeno x female reader

WORD COUNT. 6.9k

SUMMARY. you have detention thanks to your temper and unfortunately, so does jeno, the boy you hooked up with last summer.

WARNINGS. smut, profanity

PLAYLIST. “gangsta” by kehlani

YOU GOT ME HOOKED UP ON THE FEELING GOT ME UP SO HIGH I’M BARELY BREATHING

The library was quieter than usual. There was almost an echo to the old clock on the wall, ticking by the seconds that felt like hours. A minute may as well have been a day in here.

You were - humiliatingly - two minutes early. It wasn’t that you were eager to serve your sentence, but political science finished a bit fast and you were actively avoiding your peers after the scene you made during lunch that landed you in here.

Their looks of scorn, adoration and worst of all, pity, were uncomfortable.

The library was empty. A perfect place to lay low and hide. You picked a seat at the second table a respectable distance from the front. Mr. Kim waltzed in, looking perturbed as ever, and called you by name.

“A whole week, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

He bobbed his head.

You were lucky not to be suspended for the outburst, but your squeaky clean record up until this point had swayed the principal in your favor.

Mr. Kim checked his watch. For a moment, there was a tiny sliver of hope that you would have the library all to yourself, serving detention alone. But then, five minutes late, Jeno strutted through the door.

“What’s up, Mr. Kim?” he asked gruffly.

You wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

Jeno noticed you, his eyes locking onto you like a sniper’s scope, and pure mischief spread across his face along with a grin.

“You’re late, Mr. Lee!”

“Well, well, well,” Jeno taunted, as if he’d not heard him, cocking his head and sticking his tongue out at you. “What do we have here?”

“Fuck off, Jeno,” you grumbled.

Mr. Kim chided your choice of language and barked, “Mr. Lee, take your seat.”

“Of course, sir,” Jeno said silkily, dropping into the chair directly behind yours.

You rolled your eyes. Of all the tables and chairs, he positioned himself there to be a nuisance to you. You expected nothing less.

Jeno leaned forward. “You know, ‘fuck off’ isn’t what you said to me the last time we were alone together,” he whispered in mocking. “It was more like, ‘Fuck me, Jeno. Ooh. Ahh. Fuck me.’”

You flushed with embarrassment and your heart dropped into your stomach. You didn’t need to be reminded of the ridiculous shit his dick made you say that night.

To your relief, Mr. Kim spoke like he didn’t hear the filth rolling off Jeno’s tongue, “You’ve both got an hour in here. No talking. No running about. Just sit and contemplate your bad decisions.”

You and Jeno fixed him with equally blank stares.

“But since I know you won’t, just study or nap. Whatever. I don’t care.” Mr. Kim pointed his finger squarely at Jeno. “Just no funny business that could get me scolded by the principal. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir,” you and Jeno said in sync.

Mr. Kim gave a nod and left, adding that he would be checking in every once and a while to ensure nothing scandalous occurred on his watch.

The moment the door closed, Jeno stood, flipped his chair around and straddled it. Overlapping his arms on the back, he said, “Never thought I’d see the valedictorian in detention.”

“You know why I’m in here,” you hissed, leaning back, trying not to let him get under your skin. Of all people, to be stuck with Jeno? This was an extra serving of penance you didn’t sign up for.

It’s not that you disliked him. Not entirely anyway. It’s just that Jeno had the ability of seeing right through you. You couldn’t fool him or sway him, like you could everyone else. Jeno had you completely mapped out after one night.

And what a night that had been.

Jeno chuckled. “I must say, watching you fuck Kylie up in the cafeteria was not on my bingo card for this semester, but it was a thrill. The judo-style throw to the ground was immaculate.”

He was tempted to add that you had permission to throw him like that any time you so desired.

You snorted, but said nothing. You didn’t feel guilty about fighting Kylie - the bitch had it coming the moment she crossed you - but fighting wouldn’t look good on your pristine record. And although you’d already landed a coveted spot at an Ivy League school plus a hefty scholarship, you were in no position to jeopardize either with your temper.

Jeno scooted his chair toward you noisily. “Why’d you fight?”

Folding your arms across your chest, you turned to finally look at him and snapped, “How many languages can you say ‘none of your business’ in?”

“Three. Now, come on.” Jeno whined your name. “We’ve got an hour in here together. Plus five extra minutes, in my case. Tell me why you leveled her.”

You clamped your lips shut.

Jeno was nothing but persistent. “Did she plagiarize your essay? Did she make fun of your clothes?” Jeno lowered his voice and asked, “Did she steal a certain boy from you?”

A bolt of anger went rushing through you like lightning. Whipping around to face him again, your eyes shone with emotions you went to great lengths to hide. “You know?”

Jeno nodded.

“Everyone knows. Don’t they?”

He nodded again, but this time, the mischief was gone from his face.

You hung your head. There was no way to adequately describe this feeling. You wanted to cry and would probably feel better if you did, but you dared not shed a single tear over a boy that didn’t love you.

The saddest part was you thought he could. It stung the most. Like getting bit and feeling the venom slowly poison you for days afterward until you finally succumbed. The bite itself was bad enough, but to languish in misery and pain? That was cruel.

Jeno got up from his chair and took the seat beside yours. He stretched his arm out on the table and propped his head in his hand, trying to search your face, but you were well-hidden behind your hair.

You didn’t say anything when Jeno tenderly tucked some of the strands behind your ear.

“Don’t lose sleep over Mark Lee.”

“I won’t,” you said roughly, lifting your chin high and forcing out the breath you’d been holding, along with the tears you successfully stifled.

Jeno smiled. Then, seeing you were no longer on the verge of crying, resumed his teasing. “I never thought someone like you would fight over a boy. It’s beneath you.”

Your lips parted in disbelief. “I wasn’t fighting over him,” you exclaimed. “I fought her because she disrespected me.”

You were telling the truth. The moment Mark betrayed you, your feelings for him evaporated into thin air. Jeno was right. You would never chase after a boy. The betrayal still stung though.

Jeno smirked and licked his lips. “Well, you definitely got your respect back, baby girl.”

You grimaced. “Don’t call me that.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we hooked up last summer. Didn’t we?”

“That doesn’t mean you can slap a dumb pet name on me.”

“Not the only thing I slapped, if memory serves,” Jeno murmured darkly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. The heavy smack of his hand landing on your naked ass echoed in your mind. The memory was still fresh, like it happened yesterday, and it made you press your thighs together.

That was what frustrated you most about Jeno - your body craved him, remembering how good he made you feel.

Satisfied by your reaction, Jeno sat up, slouching in the chair. He spread his long legs, his knee brushing against your thigh, but you didn’t move away. You didn’t want to give him an ounce of submission.

If you gave him an inch, he would turn it into a mile.

You sized him up. Jeno looked a little too good with long hair, dark like his eyes. The leather jacket fit him like a glove, as always - he never left home without it, and his jeans looked ripped from use and not that he bought them that way.

Jeno marched to the beat of his own drum. He didn’t give a shit what people thought about him, but they knew better than to voice any opinions either way. Jeno lived in detention for bending people into submission with force. He didn’t tolerate disrespect on his name.

Apparently, you had that in common.

It took you a moment to realize you were eyeing him. Who could blame you? His thick thighs in those jeans warranted at least an extra second or two of staring.

Jeno was enjoying it. He smirked. “Like what you see, baby?”

“You look good,” you said shamelessly. You had history together. You knew he liked to be complimented on his body and looks. And if you fucked someone, didn’t that give you license to flirt with them later?

“Thanks. So do you,” Jeno replied, eyes lingering on your cleavage.

You started to grin and quickly turned your head to hide it.

That didn’t matter. Jeno knew you were pleased. And he wanted to lewdly elaborate that you looked mouth-watering. With your pretty black skirt and v-neck tee. Your body was strong from volleyball, where you spiked the ball almost as hard as you socked Kylie in the face for stealing from you.

Rumor had it you crushed on Mark Lee for months and his oblivious self had no fucking idea where to buy a clue. You finally had the courage to make a move on him - as much as it killed you to be the one to initiate - but after one perfect date after another, you thought there was a future between you and Mark.

Which was dashed the moment Kylie flaunted the hickies on her neck and the bruises on her thighs Mark had left behind at a party.

Jeno frowned. Mark didn’t deserve you. You needed someone worthy that could match your fire and energy, not staunch it. Someone that would protect your heart and worship your body.

Kylie would have never been able to take Jeno away from you. He was as loyal as he was fearless. Any disrespect showed to you, was disrespect shown to him.

But… you weren’t his, Jeno remembered.

His mind wandered, back to the summer. Jeno could still smell the salt of the sea as it wafted on the breeze through the open windows. He could still hear how you moaned his name and sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could still feel your fingernails dragging down his back as he fucked you in the backseat of his car.

Mr. Kim walked in then, whistling as he did. He saw Jeno’s new position beside you and the look of sheer annoyance on your face, and quirked a brow, but nothing else was amiss so he didn’t care. Jeno gave him a wave, you offered an awkward smile, and Mr. Kim returned to his office with a half-hearted warning to behave yourselves.

As Mr. Kim’s footsteps echoed further down the hall, Jeno slid his chair closer to yours, but this time, he crowded your back.

You felt the heat of him first and you shivered when the scent of him really hit you. His cologne was something earthy and clean, but curiously, he smelled like strawberries, which caught you off-guard. That was when you noticed he was chewing gum.

Jeno blew a bubble that burst with a loud pop.

“Strawberry?”

“Mmhm. Want some?”

“No thanks.”

Jeno raked his eyes up and down your body. He so badly wanted a taste of you, no matter how small it was. If you only knew he would do anything you asked of him for a kiss.

He closed the rest of the distance between you, which wasn’t much, and brushed your hair to the side slowly, leaving your neck exposed for him to begin trailing soft kisses up the column of your throat.

“Jeno...,” you said, your tone full of warning, but you didn’t tell him to stop.

Jeno slipped an arm around your waist like a snare, shifting you toward him. He was logging away every second that you didn’t push him away. “Hm?”

“If you get me in trouble,” you mumbled, but your actions betrayed your words. You tipped your head back, giving him even more access to your neck, and you reached behind to slip your fingers into his long hair. You’d been wanting to run your hands through it since you laid eyes on him.

Damn it. Why does he have to feel so good?

Jeno chuckled darkly. You were falling apart in his arms, just like you did last summer. He kissed and suckled the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and tightened his grip around you until your shoulders were flush against his chest.

There was definitely a connection. Jeno’s heart didn’t race when he saw other girls, even the ones he’d hooked up with, but any time he caught a glimpse of you, his heart went wild, taking his pulse with it.

You hummed, eyes fluttering closed. His kisses grew louder and wetter, nibbling aggressively beneath your jaw. He was turning you into mush. You could feel yourself getting weaker, running your hands over those burly arms, imagining them around your naked waist as he drilled you from behind.

In an instant, you were back in his car, feeling it rock underneath you with Jeno’s rough movements. He filled you so deeply - so completely. You felt a pleasure and release more than you’d ever known before.

Jeno was the best sex of your life; a crown no other boy had come even remotely close to taking from him.

You remembered where you were (which was not the backseat of his car, unfortunately) and why you were there in the first place (because of a stupid boy that broke your heart), and you unwound Jeno’s arms from your waist and shook free of him.

Jeno studied you, cocking his head coyly. His eyes, though clouded with lust, were also twinkling with affection. Like you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“We can’t,” you said weakly.

Jeno purred your name. “You can kiss me. There’s no one here, but you and me. Just you and me.”

You wavered. He had never looked so kissable than at that moment.

What the hell was this emotion sitting heavily on your chest? Had you missed Jeno? You would never voice that though. You were no fool.

Jeno reached for your waist slowly, giving you every chance to draw away from him or bat at his hands, but you didn’t. He steered you toward him again, this time face to face, and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

That makes two of us, after all.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” you told him, a little stern, your expression sour. “You could have asked me out.”

“Pfft.” Jeno scoffed dramatically. “Yeah, the deadbeat and the valedictorian. Very Beauty and the Beast of us. What would your friends say?”

You’d never seen him so bitter. It almost knocked you back. “You think my friends have any say over who I date?”

“Yes, because that’s why you wanted Mark as bad as you did.”

You bristled. Did he really think that little of you? Or was that jealousy talking?

Jeno kept going, pretending to swoon. “Perfect Mark Lee. Top athlete. Class president. Headed to an Ivy League, like you. Rich parents. He’s the whole pretty package.”

“I liked Mark because he was kind. Not because of what he had,” you said in a small voice.

“Sure, babe.” Jeno rolled his eyes.

Your first instinct was to get annoyed, maybe even offended, but instead, you saw right through him. As Jeno shifted away from you, you moved closer to him and asked, “Do you wanna know why I slept with you last summer?”

“Because you were horny?”

“Because you asked me to dance with you.”

Jeno paused.

You chuckled fondly to yourself, thinking back to that night. You and Jeno never crossed paths at school, but fate must have been at play then.

“I was so tired and burnt out and stressing over every goddamn thing in my life that I had to get right, and I was wondering what the hell I would do if I failed. If I screwed everything up and let everyone down. My whole family is counting on me to make something of myself.”

Jeno listened, looking at you a little differently.

You smiled as you said, “You approached me at that party. You made me laugh. You got me to dance for the first time in years. I used to love dancing. You made me forget how fucking exhausted I was for a night.”

A grin spread itself across Jeno’s lips. “And exhausted you in other ways.”

You nodded, fighting a laugh.

Jeno reached for your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek, and whispered, “Aren’t you just full of surprises, baby girl?”

This time, you didn’t correct him on the pet name. It was starting to grow on you. You bit your lip, wishing you had the courage to admit just how badly you wanted him to touch you.

Jeno confidently pulled you into his arms again, reading your mind, and brushed his lips over your cheek before kissing the corner of your mouth. You made the softest sound, like this one gentle kiss had completely ruined what was left of your resolve.

Sound beyond the door made you part from each other, sitting rigidly in your chair to avert suspicion. Mr. Kim peeked his head in, asked if either of you needed to use the bathroom, and when you both declined, he left again.

The door closed and Jeno reached for your hand. You let him, watching curiously as he surveyed the bruises on your knuckles. There were a few jagged cuts of broken skin that the nurse disinfected after the fight. She said they would heal faster in the open air, but you could bandage them later if you felt it necessary.

Jeno pressed a kiss to your bruised knuckle, then the other, carefully avoiding the cuts. It turned him on; you being strong and vicious, so hell-bent on punishing disrespect shown toward you. You had that in common with him.

It was sick and twisted, Jeno was well aware, but that was part of what made it even more attractive and arousing to him. Kylie stole Mark, not because she wanted him for herself (she wasn’t the least bit interested in him, much to Mark’s shock when he realized he lost two girls in one night with one fuck), but because she wanted to take something away from you that you really wanted.

You sucked in a breath when Jeno’s lips and tongue drifted to your wrist. He really was determined to seduce you and you were getting closer and closer to surrender. You glanced at the clock. Detention was half over now. He was running out of time.

Between kisses, Jeno said, “I don’t think Mark would know what to do with you if you had him.”

Your brows stitched in confusion.

Jeno glanced up, fire flickering in his eyes. “You’re way too powerful for him.”

That made something inside you snap. In the next second, you crashed into Jeno, locking your lips to his in a kiss that put the others to shame.

Jeno was ready to catch you, getting his arms around your waist and lifting you into the air like you weighed nothing. You held his head in your hands, tangling your fingers in his long hair, and made a noise when he set you down on the table, popping your legs around his hips where they belonged.

This boy was yours. There was no doubt in your mind. The way he kissed you and the way he held you to him, there was nothing on this earth he wouldn’t do for you. To have you.

You slipped your tongue into his mouth and Jeno kneaded your hips, his hands rough as he roamed them over your body. There was a catch in your breath when his fingers slipped under your shirt, desperate to touch your bare skin.

“Fuck,” Jeno groaned between kisses, his jeans getting too tight. He settled his hands on your thighs to anchor himself to you and thrust his growing bulge against your clothed sex, feeling your warmth.

You lost track of time. And everything else. Fuck it all. There was only you and Jeno, just like he said, kissing and touching. Reckless and hungry, one for the other.

The sound of the door sent adrenaline prickling through every inch of you, but you were too drunk on his kisses to give any thought to self-preservation. Jeno reacted much faster than you did, dragging you off the table and clumsily to your feet. You managed to throw yourself into the nearest chair while Jeno - for whatever stupid reason had popped into his head - dove under the table.

Mr. Kim poked his head inside and upon seeing only one of two criminals, came marching in. “Where is Mr. Lee?” he exclaimed.

You smoothed your hair back, desperately trying to catch your breath and get just the tiniest bit of composure. Mr. Kim would raise hell if he knew you’d been making out when you were supposed to be dying of boredom.

“He, uh,” you stammered. Fuck! “He went to the bathroom.”

Mr. Kim narrowed his eyes. He was not convinced.

Your eyes, on the other hand, widened.

Jeno’s hands were running up your bare thighs, pushing up your skirt.

“Are you sure?” Mr. Kim pressed.

No. He’s between my legs. Your heart was racing out of control. Your lungs were going to combust. Jeno’s hands were on your hips and his head was between your knees. You could feel his warm breath on your inner thighs.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Positive, Mr. Kim. He’ll be right back,” you said hurriedly.

Jeno lifted your skirt a little higher, knowing you were hidden from the waist down by the table, and smirked at the sight of your pink panties. And buried his face in your clothed pussy.

“Fuck,” you squeaked out in a high-pitched whimper.

“Language,” Mr. Kim chided once again. “Tell Mr. Lee he now has to stay an additional ten minutes for taking a stroll!”

You threaded your fingers into Jeno’s hair, trying frantically to slow him down, but he was kissing your sex with the same passion and intensity as he’d kissed your lips - like he was trying to make you scream. And you weren’t far from that.

Nodding rapidly, you said, “Yes, Mr. Kim. I’ll tell him. I promise.”

Suspicion was clearly written all over Mr. Kim’s face, but you knew Jeno giving you head underneath the table was not on the list of possibilities going through his mind. Thank god.

Jeno kept a punishing grip on your hips, kissing and tonguing at your folds, tasting your arousal despite the panties in his way. He couldn’t wait to peel them off and make you beg.

When the door closed, sending a loud slam echoing through the library, Jeno quickly slipped out from between your legs, knowing exactly the reaction he was going to get.

You reached under the table, swatting at his head as best you could. “Fuck you, Jeno,” you yelled. “Fuck you!”

“You will in a minute,” Jeno retorted, grabbing your knees and spreading you apart for him again.

You fell back against the chair, gasping at how he manhandled you. “Oh shit,” you moaned as he yanked your panties to the side and dived back in.

Jeno steered your legs onto his shoulders and found your clit with his tongue. He soon grew frustrated with your underwear, which seemed to be intentionally trying to block his way. Winding his hands through them, Jeno tugged sharply, ripping your panties with ease and letting them fall to the floor.

“Not fair,” you whined, pulling on his hair in retaliation and earning yourself a moan that made your toes curl.

Jeno kissed the inside of your thigh and said, “All’s fair in love and war.”

At first, you kept your eyes worriedly on the doors, but soon, your eyes were winched closed, your head tipped back. You writhed on the chair, arching and squirming, because it had been a while since someone ate you out, but mostly because Jeno was kissing your cunt like a man starved.

Jeno slipped his tongue into your hole and lapped at your slick. He was a lucky bastard to be burying his face in your pretty pussy. You weren’t exactly an easy girl to bag. Boys were lining up around the building to fuck you, but only Jeno had scored last summer. You’d told him as much.

Had you been saving yourself for Mark since then? It would seem so, given how sensitive you were to Jeno’s mouth. He was going to unravel you in no time.

You bounced into his face, covering your mouth to muffle your sounds, your other hand cupping his head. Jeno reached under your shirt, under your bra, and palmed your breasts, which were shuddering with the rest of your body. He kneaded them and pinched your nipples, teasing his fingers around the nubs until he felt them stiffen.

Jeno shook his head between your legs, your thighs clamped tightly on him. Your pussy was fucking addictive. He knew he should stop - that he needed to stop - but he just couldn’t. He wanted to suck every drop out of you until one of you passed out from exhaustion. Or orgasm. Whichever came first, because Jeno was so hard in his jeans there was a strong chance he was going to come untouched in his pants.

“I’m coming,” you cried out, your lashes fluttering as he played with your nipples and your clit. Your mouth was dry from panting. “Jeno… Jeno, please!”

Fuck, he loved how you said his name and how you begged for him, on the cusp of euphoria. But Jeno made a disapproving sound and gave one last kiss to your perfect pussy.

Your eyes went wide, just like they had when he first started, as you watched Jeno come out from beneath the table. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” He played clueless, much to your annoyance, and he nonchalantly swiped your ripped panties off the floor and tucked them into his back pocket.

“Why are you stopping?!” You sounded desperate, because you were. Climax had been right there, close enough to taste. You were experiencing the most powerful tunnel vision of your life, thinking only of how you could get him between your legs again to finish what he started.

Jeno came to stand over you. He sure did enjoy watching you lose your mind. He cocked his head for the millionth time that afternoon and just smirked down at you. “Who have you fucked since me?”

“No one.”

“Should I believe that?”

He did believe it actually. Jeno just liked toying with you. And with how badly fucked out you were already, the edge of your orgasm slipping away with every passing second, you weren’t exactly in good shape to lie to him.

His hesitation infuriated you, as it should. Was he implying you’d been whoring around? You got up, shoving him away from you, and whined, “You bastard, I hate you!”

Jeno grabbed you and stole a kiss in the time it took you to blink, before you could even react. But it didn’t matter. You folded into him like you had not a shred of self-respect left to your name, like he was the only thing you wanted.

“Fuck me like you hate me then,” Jeno growled, watching you expectedly. You were still reeling from the kiss. “If you wanna come, baby, you gotta do it on my dick.”

He made you crazy. You didn’t know whether to suck him dry or slap the shit out of him. He would enjoy both. You glanced down, seeing the hard bulge in his jeans, your mind filling with memories of that big cock and what it could do to you.

Jeno raised a brow. “How about it?”

You scowled. He truly was annoying as all hell in addition to being stupidly good-looking.

Jeno watched as you turned away from him, reaching for your bag and rifling through it hurriedly. And he chuckled darkly when you pulled out a condom packet and slapped it into his hand. Sex Ed gave them out by the bucket full, after all.

Delight filled Jeno’s face. “Always full of surprises.”

You squeaked when Jeno took you by the hand and started rushing toward the back of the library, dragging you behind him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides, but you couldn’t stop giggling. The excitement in your chest threatened to burst you at the seams.

It should have been a crime to be this aroused by someone. The chemistry between you and Jeno was off the charts; highly destructive and flammable, consuming everything in its path.

Including both of you, together, engulfed in flames of your own design that burned hotter in your midst.

Tucked away in a nook behind rows and rows of old books, where the blinds were shut on the windows and the soft lights overhead gave a warm yellow hue, Jeno spun you around in his arms and sealed his lips to yours.

It was a passionate, almost rough collision of teeth and tongues, like two cars racing toward each other at breakneck speed. The kind of kissing reserved between two people desperate to bring one another to ecstasy.

You whimpered into Jeno’s mouth when he shoved you against the wall, forcing his hips between your thighs to rub his clothed cock against your sex. Jeno could feel the wet heat of you and thrust his bulge on your folds, hungry for friction. His tongue slipped between your lips just as his fingers prodded at your entrance.

A pitiful sound escaped you. Two long thick digits curled into your pussy, finding that spot inside you without hesitation and stroking, crooking, making your hips rock into his hand.

You wrapped your arms around Jeno’s neck and broke from his kisses to stare into his eyes. His pretty irises were almost gone, dilated to black. He was so turned on he couldn’t see straight and you weren’t faring much better.

“I thought I could only come on your dick?” you stuttered, his fingers thrusting faster into your cunt.

Jeno nodded and nipped at your lips. “Just kiss me and let me prep you, yeah?”

You did, kissing him hungrily. Every now and then, you moaned or cried into his mouth, those fingers hitting you just right, but you wanted that cock and so you kept reaching down to palm at him.

Little by little, you got his leather jacket and his shirt in a pile on the ground, letting you brush your fingers over his nipples and the sharp lines of his abs. Then, you unfastened his jeans, but couldn’t get them past his muscly thighs at this angle. Not that you cared. You were fisting his cock, pumping it with the same speed he fucked you with his fingers.

Jeno panted and moaned in the crook of your neck. “Shit,” he snapped, finally breaking.

He spun you around, pinning you to the wall, but drew you toward him by the hips harshly. You tried to find purchase on the wall while Jeno tore open the packet and rolled the condom down his length, his cock so stiff it twitched with need at the sight of your glistening pussy. You wiggled impatiently, shifting your weight as you readied yourself for the stretch, glancing over your shoulder to salivate over that big dick.

You bit your lip as he steered the head of his cock to your folds, arching your back, bracing your hands on the wall. Jeno curled an arm around your waist, pressing his palm into the lowest part of your stomach and drove in deep, pulling out of you to thrust back in, a little deeper each time.

Sucking in a breath, you were about to moan at the top of your lungs, but a hand swiftly clamped over your mouth. You cried out Jeno’s name, muffled against his palm, and rocked back with his movements, trying to take more of him. All of him.

“Open up for me, baby,” Jeno whispered into the sore sensitive flesh of your neck, where he kept biting because he needed an outlet for just how good the hot vice of your cunt felt around his cock. “Tight fucking pussy.” Jeno groaned, sneaking a hand under your shirt to hold onto one of your breasts.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Jeno was dancing on the line of pleasure and pain. His cock was so hard and thick, bottoming out and making you see stars. You held onto his arms, shivering at how your walls burned and stretched to accommodate him, already screaming for more.

Jeno’s hand fell from your mouth to wrap around your neck possessively. You moaned softly. He was being surprisingly gentle, though you knew him as the opposite. It was very telling how tightly Jeno held you against him, how slowly he dragged his cock back and forth inside you.

But once Jeno was satisfied you could handle him, his pace started to build until he smacked his hips into your ass, your soft flesh heating up beneath his hands as he brought you down to meet his thrusts, slamming that cock into your sweet spot.

“Like that, baby,” you begged, desperately trying to keep yourself in place to get every inch of him. “I can take it.”

I know you can. Jeno brushed his parted lips up your neck and kissed your jaw. He’d give you anything you wanted if you kept begging for him. He stuffed you full of his dick a little harder and hissed, “You’re so fucking good. So wet for me.”

You bounced your hips, matching his rhythm. It annoyed you; the two of you could have been fucking each other’s brains out this whole time had you not been cowards last summer.

Jeno glanced down, watching you throw it back on him, and grabbed the nape of your neck, pinning you to the wall.

“Jeno… fuck!” You gasped as he fucked you hard and fast. You winched your eyes shut and squirmed, but you were nothing compared to his strength.

Jeno shoved himself balls deep in your cunt and stilled, groaning with pleasure. Before you could catch your breath, he pulled out of you, making your arousal slip down the inside of your thighs and flipped you around to face him impatiently. He smashed his lips on yours just as you opened your mouth to complain and lowered you to the floor underneath him, sucking on your tongue and thrusting his cock back inside you. You spread your legs and drew him into you by the hips, watching Jeno hook your knees in his arms.

“This is mine,” Jeno said, his voice raspy and dangerous. Both of your mouths were open, lips brushing, panting for breath.

“Yours,” you said without missing a beat, drifting your hands down his back to his ass. “Whenever you want it, it’s yours, baby.”

Jeno rewarded that with a kiss and a hard thrust of his hips.

The desperation took over both of you. There was only you and Jeno chasing the high, stealing pleasure from each other’s bodies as hard as you could. Jeno crushed you into the floor with his weight, his hand tangled in your hair, the other covering your mouth, because you couldn’t keep quiet. He was so rough, starved for you, and all of the unspoken, unresolved feelings between you coupled with him taking you for all you were worth made you break.

The orgasm began like waves between your thighs. Your body went tight, your back arching like you had no control over it anymore, and you screamed into Jeno’s palm as your walls pulsed and squeezed his cock.

Jeno felt you unraveling and swore, his hips stuttering at your pussy sucking him in. He hurriedly got ahold of your hands, pinning them to your sides, and thrust in as deep as he could go, emptying his load into the condom.

You blinked to clear your vision, watching Jeno close his eyes and moan, shaking with his own pleasure. Hooking your legs through his, you grinded into him, milking his orgasm, smirking at the total euphoric daze on his handsome face.

Jeno finally lowered his head, meeting your eyes, and you both chuckled at the same time. You smiled when he didn’t hesitate to kiss you, his cock still buried inside you, his hands still pinning you to the ground.

“Any boy you fuck that doesn’t deserve you…,” Jeno whispered, his breath hot on your lips. “I will kill him.”

You wilted. It shouldn’t have aroused you, but it did. You felt your body tighten on him one last time for it. “If you want me so bad, why don’t you ask to keep me?”

“Would you say yes?”

“Ask me and find out.”

Jeno lost himself in your eyes, staring, burning. He inevitably surrendered, hands falling away from your body, soft cock slipping out of your core.

You watched him rise to his feet and peel off the condom, and you sat up, adjusting your clothes as he threw it away. “Don’t tell me the guy who doesn’t give a fuck is scared of rejection like the rest of us,” you taunted, wanting to goad him, because you wanted a reaction.

You needed a sign that he was capable of loving you.

“Fuck off,” Jeno snapped, zipping up his jeans.

You took that in stride and stood, sucking in a sharp breath at the soreness between your thighs. “‘Fuck off’ isn’t want you said to me last time,” you retorted, using his own words against him. “It was more like, ‘Please, baby girl. Please let me fuck you. I’m the only one good at it.’”

Jeno wanted to laugh at your impression of his voice, but he was too busy deflecting. He fished his jacket off the floor and clocked you a glance. “Am I?”

You rolled your eyes. “You are so fucking obnoxious.”

“We have that in common. Among other things.”

You snorted. Why he couldn’t just talk to you after you’d had sex was a mystery. How could he be so intimate with you one way, but not the other?

Jeno saw the sadness forming on your face and he reached for your hips, bringing you flush against him. You smiled in pleasant surprise, content to be in his arms again, and closed your eyes when he graced a quick kiss on your lips.

For a moment, Jeno studied you, like he was committing you to memory. Jeno anticipated this would be the last time he would ever hold you or touch you again.

“Maybe I don’t deserve you either,” he whispered bitterly.

You frowned. Your whole body tensed with it. “Then… no one does.”

Jeno’s eyes widened. You would be the first and only person to have ever found any worth in him. Jeno wasn’t ready to accept that yet. It was such an utterly foreign feeling to him.

You said, “No one deserves anyone, Jeno. It’s about effort. Do you feel something for me or not?”

“Do you feel something for me?” he shot back, his heart on the line.

You forced out a tiny laugh and worked your hands up to his face, cradling his cheeks. “This is how the night ended between us last time. We’re both too scared to do anything with this.”

Jeno bobbed his head. “Yeah.”

You sighed. Mark was supposed to be safe. That was why you really wanted him. He was kind. He was reliable. He was cautious.

But he crumbled at the first gust of wind.

You looked at Jeno. He was passion and fire, made of steel. Much like you. He kissed your wounds. He would destroy anyone that tried to hurt you.

Nothing would break Jeno. Loving him would be risky, you knew that, but you accepted it, because in his arms would be the safest place in the world.

The two of you resigned yourselves to this little stalemate, though the tension dissipated. Both you and Jeno knew there was something worth fighting for between you.

Jeno held you by the hand, mindful of your wobbly steps as you returned with him to the tables. To your relief, Mr. Kim was nowhere to be seen.

He appeared five minutes later, announcing the hour of detention was over, but Jeno had to stay an extra fifteen minutes. You gave your lover a smirk of amusement as you gathered your things.

You told Jeno and Mr. Kim goodbye, the latter already out the door, but Jeno grabbed your wrist as you began to leave.

“How long did you get detention for fucking up that bitch?”

“A week,” you replied calmly.

Jeno laced his fingers through yours, bringing your battered knuckles to his lips to kiss. “Hm. I guess tomorrow I need to get myself sent here again.”

You chuckled with a shake of your head.

“And the day after that. And the day after that too.”

“I’m sure you will,” you purred, taking your hand back and grabbing him by the chin, stealing one final kiss.

Jeno grinned as you walked away and propped his feet on the table, overlapping his hands behind his head like he was sitting on a beach somewhere.

By the last day, he would find enough courage to ask to keep you.

END.

[childrenofcain-if]

Happy Spooky Season, Axel! This might be a little unusual but with the spirit of Halloween coming up, how would the ROs react to MC being a werewolf?

Maybe it can happen in a camping trip, similar to The Quarry? Maybe not separately bcuz I would love to see how they handle it as a group, but I won't complain with individual reactions either. Do whatever would be more comfortable, dear Author. Happy Halloween in advance!

rural connecticut had a way of making everyone feel a little uneasy. perhaps it was the countless urban legends people told around it, perhaps it was the way that the state was where the nation’s first witch trials occurred—three decades before they happened infamously in salem, massachusetts.

the air was crisp with the sort of chill that lingered in your bones but didn’t quite feel threatening yet. the fire crackled softly as you stoked it, watching the flames flicker against the growing dusk. everyone was scattered around the camp, still settling into the space.

D was busy doing what they did best—getting under C’s skin with sarcastic jabs, teasing them about the way they kept folding and refolding the map as if it would magically change the directions. M, ever the stoic one, was trying to ignore them, but you could see the slight twitch of their lip, an indication that D was close to getting on their last nerve.

V was standing beside you, hands in their pockets, looking vaguely amused by the whole scene. W, on the other hand, just shook their head and smiled, the picture of someone used to D’s antics by now. it was a strange mix, this group—too many strong personalities in one place—but it worked. everyone knew their role, how far to push, when to back off. at least most of the time.

D had started flicking small rocks at C’s back and making loud, obnoxious comments about how they were overpacking again. “C, honestly, it’s a camping trip, not a three-week expedition. You don’t need an entire suitcase for a weekend.”

C shot D a venomous look from over their shoulder, folding the map they’d been fussing over with a little more force than necessary. “keep it up, and you’ll be sleeping outside the tent tonight.”

“i’d love that, thanks,” D fired back, their smirk relentless.

you fed the fire another branch, staring into the flames as V leaned closer.

“you’re quiet,” they said, voice so soft that it was almost drowned out by D’s exaggerated laugh in the background.

you shrugged. “just thinking about all the coursework i still have waiting for me when we get back. feels like i should be doing something instead of sitting here.”

V smiled, the kind that crinkled the corners of their warm brown eyes. “it’s a holiday. you’re supposed to be relaxing. the work will still be there when you get back.”

M wandered over, looking unusually tense. “you lot heard about the wild predators around here lately?”

you glanced up, the firelight reflecting in M’s eyes, giving their worry an edge.

“what do you mean?” V asked, straightening up.

M ran a hand through their hair. “there have been some sightings—wolves, maybe coyotes—attacking other animals around these parts. i was checking for some news around the area and it showed up on my phone.”

D chimed in before anyone could respond. “oh, come on, your highness. it’s connecticut. we’re not in the middle of the appalachian region or yellowstone. we’ll be fine. plus, this place was ranked one of the best camping spots in the state. we’re practically in a five-star resort.” their grin was wide and mischievous, but you noticed the slight edge to it, a crack in the usual rodomontade.

W, usually the voice of reason when M couldn’t be, spoke up next. “we’ll stick together either way. there’s strength in numbers. we’ve got a fire, flashlights, and C brought a hunting rifle. if anything comes near us, we’ll handle it.” they squeezed M’s shoulder reassuringly.

but M’s worry lingered in the air, a quiet tension settling over the group despite W’s calm reassurance. you noticed it—the way M kept glancing at the treeline, how they kept rubbing their arms like the air had turned cold with every passing minute.

you had nodded in agreement with W, trying to push away the strange feeling that had settled over you. It was probably nothing. this was just camping—people did it all the time. and yet, something about the stillness of the woods, the way the sun was sinking so fast behind the trees, left you uneasy.

as the sun sank lower and the sky shifted from blue to deep indigo, you all gathered around the fire for dinner. D had somehow managed to snag a pack of white claws, and C cracked open a can of pepsi, glaring at D as if it was their fault no one had thought to bring more non-alcoholic options.

the fire felt like a buffer between you and the world, the flickering light casting shadows over the campsite. the mood was light, despite the earlier worries. cheeriness spilled out from the group in bursts, warming the cool night air. but as the conversation started to smooth out more, a sound rose up from the woods behind you—a long, eerie howl, distant but unmistakable.

it came from far off at first, just a faint sound on the wind, but it was enough to make everyone pause, the laughter dying in your throats. V’s eyes darted toward the tree line, and M’s face went pale.

“that’s probably just—” D started, but their voice faltered, betraying the nervousness beneath the joke. “i mean, it’s probably some sort of a mating call, right?”

no one answered.

then, another howl. closer this time. too close.

W stood up, their face pale, hands clenching nervously. “we should probably—”

“i’m getting the rifle,” C interrupted, standing abruptly. their face was tight, their jaw set, as if they were angry more than scared. “whatever’s out there, i’ll scare it off.”

“we should all go with you,” M said quickly, grabbing their flashlight. “like W said, strength in numbers, right?”

everyone nodded, uneasy but moving in unison, as if drawn by the same invisible thread. you grabbed your flashlight, the cold metal heavy in your palm, and followed as C led the way into the woods.

the flashlights carved weak paths through the dark, illuminating only fragments of the trees and underbrush. every step felt wrong, like the forest had swallowed you whole. you could hear the rustle of leaves, the crunch of dead branches, but no animals. no insects. it was too quiet, and the silence buzzed in your ears.

“where are all the animals?” M whispered, their voice barely more than a breath.

and then, just as you turned to respond, there was a sound—a low, guttural growl, so deep it seemed to shake the ground beneath your feet.

it came from behind you.

you froze, heart slamming against your ribs. the others turned in slow motion, flashlights swinging wildly through the dark, their beams landing on a pair of glowing yellow eyes. the creature was huge, hulking, its fur bristling in the cold air, muscles rippling beneath its skin. it wasn’t a coyote. it wasn’t even a wolf, not really. it was something else, something too large, too wild, too impossible.

“shit! C, get your fucking rifle no—” D exclaimed, but the creature was already moving. in one fluid motion, it lunged toward your group, its teeth bared and its claws extended.

without thinking, you shoved W out of the way, just as the creature’s jaws snapped inches from their face. before you could react, you felt the searing pain of teeth sinking into your arm, claws ripping through your skin as the creature dragged you backward into the underbrush.

the world seemed to wobble around you, the flashlight slipping from your grasp as you screamed, thrashing against the weight of it. the burning, tearing pain spread like wildfire through your body, but the more you fought, the deeper its teeth sunk into your skin.

“shoot it! C, shoot it!” V’s voice cracked, desperate, as they, D, and M scrambled to pull you free.

there was a crack—a gunshot—and the creature jerked back, snarling in pain. C had fired, the rifle smoking in their hands. the beast staggered, blood dripping from its shoulder, before it let go of you and fled into the night, vanishing into the trees as quickly as it had appeared.

you were left on the ground, panting, clutching your arm as the pain pulsed in waves, so sharp and overwhelming you could barely breathe. blood soaked through your shirt and jacket, your vision swimming in and out of focus as the others rushed to your side, their voices a blur of panic and urgency.

“oh shit, oh fuck,” W rambled, dropping down beside you, their eyes filling with tears and panic. “hold on, we’ll need to get you to a hospital. now.”

nobody argued. they packed up the camp in minutes, the fire doused, gear thrown haphazardly into the car. you were half-conscious by the time they bundled you into the backseat, your arm throbbing in time with your heartbeat, every movement sending fresh spikes of pain through your body. you could feel the blood seeping through the makeshift bandages they’d wrapped around your arm, could hear D’s voice, low and tight, muttering curses under their breath as they sped toward the nearest hospital and probably broke many speed limits.

but beneath the pain, beneath the terror, there was something else. a heat. something wild and feral curling low in your chest, spreading through your veins, something you couldn’t name but felt terrifyingly real.

***

the fever started small. just a dull, persistent heat behind your eyes that made you squint against the light of the hospital room. at first, you thought it was something else, something ordinary—a delayed reaction to the bite. the doctors had warned about infection. C had been furious, pacing the length of the small room with that same tight look they always got when they were trying not to say something filled with rage. they were pissed, but more at themselves than anyone else. they’d been the one to insist on bringing the rifle, after all. M kept a hand on your forehead, their fingers cool against your overheated skin, and whispered reassurances, half to you and half to themselves.

“it’s probably rabies,” M had said, voice low and steady like they were trying to convince themselves more than you. “you’ve got the shots. it’ll be fine.”

W and V exchanged a glance over your bed. you didn’t miss it, the way their eyes flicked toward each other, something unspoken passing between them. you’d noticed it before, during those first few days when they’d both taken turns sitting with you. they weren’t saying it out loud, but you could tell—they didn’t think this was just rabies. and part of you, the rational part that had clung to M’s words, didn’t think it was either. but you weren’t ready to ask.

the fever crawled through your body, starting in your chest and spreading to your limbs like fire under your skin. it wasn’t normal. you knew it wasn’t, but there was no explanation that made sense. the doctors couldn’t find anything except for signs of a violent infection. but that didn’t explain the dreams, the way your senses had started to shift in ways you couldn’t fully articulate.

at night, when the fever hit its peak, you’d wake up drenched in sweat, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were trying to break free from your ribcage. your skin felt like it was too tight, like something inside you was pressing outward, demanding to be let free. there were flashes of something more—brief moments where your senses sharpened, where you could hear footsteps down the hall or smell something faint, metallic. but those moments came and went, and you told yourself it was just your mind playing tricks.

M and C were the ones to step in with the rational explanations, repeating the same things over and over until you almost believed them.

“it’s just an infection,” they said. “you were bitten by a wild animal, after all.”

D, though, tried to lift your spirits, as they always did. they’d show up with bags of sweets, grinning, trying to make you laugh even when your head was throbbing and your skin was burning up.

“maybe it’s not rabies,” they’d joked once, tossing a gummy bear into the air and catching it with a quick snap of their teeth. “maybe you’ve been cursed. like some old angry spirit or whatever. we should get a shaman.”

that had gotten a weak laugh out of you, but it had been hollow, thin. there was no shaking the feeling that something was wrong, that whatever had bitten you had left more than just physical wounds.

but eventually, after days of burning and aching, the fever broke. your body cooled, the heat fading into a dull memory, and the doctors were quick to say that you’d recovered. you’d survived the infection. but you knew better.

when they discharged you, your friends were there waiting, trying to make light of the fact that you looked half-dead. you could see it in their eyes—the way they studied your gaunt face, your hollow cheeks, the way your skin clung too tight to your bones like you’d been starved for weeks instead of days. D had tried to joke about it, something light-hearted about your diet, but no one had laughed. not really.

you didn’t say much. you couldn’t. because something in you had changed during those fevered days, something you couldn’t put into words. and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had happened wasn’t over yet.

***

the first full moon passed without you realizing it. you’d felt strange for days—restless, anxious in a way that didn’t make sense. there was this pull, this quiet urging in your chest, like something was trying to guide you somewhere. but you couldn’t pinpoint it, couldn’t find the source.

then one night, after a long day of feeling like your skin didn’t quite fit, you found yourself wandering through the campus. it wasn’t intentional—you didn’t decide to go out, but your feet carried you across the quad, past buildings and students, and toward the woods on the outskirts of the grounds. it was like something was calling you there, something you couldn’t ignore.

the woods were quiet, eerily so. the usual sounds of campus life—the chatter of students, the distant hum of traffic—faded into the background as you entered the trees. you didn’t know why you were there, but your body did. and then the pain started.

it began as a dull ache in your limbs, like the kind you used to get during growth spurts when you were younger, but sharper, more insistent. then it spread, climbing up your spine and into your chest until every breath felt like you were inhaling fire. you dropped to your knees, gasping, clutching at the ground as your body twisted and contorted in ways that was decidedly inhuman.

your bones cracked, loud in the stillness of the woods, like twigs snapping underfoot. your muscles shifted, stretched, and you could feel your skin pulling, stretching over something much bigger than you. it was agony, every nerve ending on fire, your mind screaming in protest as your body changed. you tried to hold on to something, some shred of yourself, but it slipped away as the beast took hold.

your hands, once familiar, turned into something else—claws, long and sharp. you felt your teeth elongate, your jaw stretching into something animalistic. your senses exploded, everything around you suddenly too loud, too bright, too overwhelming. you could smell the earth, the dampness in the air, the faint metallic scent of blood from somewhere in the distance. the hunger hit you next, sharp and undeniable, driving you forward.

you didn’t think. you couldn’t. your mind was gone, lost to the beast moving on autopilot. all that mattered was that you were starving. you ran, your new body moving faster than you’d ever imagined possible, every muscle coiled and ready to spring.

there were livestock near the edge of the woods—sheep, maybe, or cattle. you couldn’t tell. it didn’t matter. you didn’t care. all you knew was the hunger, the need to kill, to tear something apart. you leapt over the fence, your claws finding purchase in the soft flesh of a sheep. it struggled, bleating in terror, but it was no match for the strength coursing through you. you tore into it, your teeth sinking deep into its neck, blood hot and thick in your mouth.

you didn’t stop until the animal was still, its blood staining the ground, the scent of it filling your nostrils. by the time the moon began to sink below the horizon, you had lost track of time, of how many animals had fallen to your claws. your body felt heavy, exhausted, but the hunger had been sated, at least for now.

***

when you woke the next morning, you were back in your bed with the window of your room open. naked. covered in blood and mud, leaves clinging to your skin like some reminder of the night before. you stared at the ceiling, your heart pounding, your chest heaving with every breath. you didn’t remember getting back. you didn’t remember much at all.

the memories of the night were fragmented—flashes of pain, of running, of blood. you didn’t know what had happened. you didn’t want to. but the evidence was there, on your skin, in the way your muscles ached, in the taste of blood still lingering in your mouth.

you couldn’t tell anyone. how could you? you didn’t even know what had happened. and you didn’t want to freak anyone out. so you kept it to yourself, burying the truth deep inside, hoping that whatever had happened would go away. that it had been a one-time thing.

but deep down, you knew it wouldn’t.

***

it was subtle at first, like a creeping shadow that you didn’t even notice was there until it had fully swallowed the light around you. you started to look tired all the time—bags under your eyes, your face pale and drawn, as if sleep didn’t offer the relief it was supposed to. the first person to notice was M, of course. M was always the one to notice. they didn’t say anything at first, just offered quiet glances whenever they caught you staring blankly off into space or saw you rubbing at your temples as if that would shake the lingering headache you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“you okay?” they asked one evening. the two of you were studying in the library, the lamplight casting long shadows on the dark wood of the table.

you forced a smile, shrugging like it was nothing. “yeah, just tired.”

but the truth was, you weren’t just tired. you were exhausted—bone-deep, soul-deep tired in a way that made you feel hollow. your body was fighting something, that much was clear. but fighting what? you didn’t know. you told yourself it was the aftereffects of the fever, that maybe you hadn’t fully recovered yet. but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t true.

then the cuts and scratches started showing up.

you’d wake up in the mornings and find a fresh gash on your forearm, or a thin, red line across your cheek that hadn’t been there the night before. they were never deep, never serious, but they were constant. every week it seemed like there was something new—an unexplained bruise on your ribs, a scratch across your neck. at first, you brushed it off. maybe you were thrashing in your sleep, scratching yourself without realizing it. but then C saw them.

“what the hell happened to your face?” C asked one morning, frowning as they reached out to touch a thin scratch running down your jawline. “did you fall or something?”

you shook your head, pulling back before their fingers could graze the raw skin. “i don’t know. it was just there when i woke up.”

C’s eyes narrowed, concern creeping into their voice. “you sure you’re okay? you’ve been… off, lately.”

you wanted to brush it off, to tell them you were fine. but the truth was, you weren’t fine, and you had no idea why.

“i don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted quietly, and it felt like the first real thing you’d said in days.

C sighed, running a hand through their hair. “maybe you should see a doctor again. this… this isn’t normal.”

you nodded, though the idea of seeing another doctor made your stomach turn. what were you supposed to say? that you were waking up with scratches and bruises and no memory of how you got them? that something felt wrong inside you, like you were losing control of yourself? no. they’d throw you in the loony bin faster than you could say “stop.”

but it wasn’t just the tiredness or the scratches. it was the way your body had started craving things, strange things. like meat.

you’d never been picky before, but now, every time you sat down to eat, all you could think about was meat. not just any meat, though. it had to be rare. blood-red, almost raw. the first time it happened, you’d been out with your friends, grabbing dinner at some burger joint near campus. you ordered your usual, but when the burger came, perfectly cooked with a slight char, the sight of it turned your stomach.

“you gonna eat that?” D asked, eyeing your untouched plate. “or are you saving it for later?”

you frowned, pushing the plate away.

“it’s overcooked,” you muttered, even though you knew it wasn’t. it just wasn’t what you wanted.

W raised an eyebrow, glancing at your plate. “it’s medium-rare.”

“yeah, well, it’s not rare enough.”

C snorted. “you want it raw or something, starkid?”

you didn’t respond, because the answer, disturbingly, was yes. you didn’t want it cooked at all. you wanted the blood. the thought made you feel sick, but it also made your mouth water in a way that scared you.

from that night on, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. every time you sat down to a meal, you found yourself staring at the meat on your plate, wondering what it would taste like if it hadn’t been cooked at all. you started ordering steaks rare, almost raw, the blood pooling on the plate, and when you ate, it was like nothing had ever tasted so good.

“you’re getting weird,” D said one night, watching you tear into a steak that was practically still mooing. “like, seriously. are you okay?”

you glared at them, your fork clutched tightly in your hand. “i’m fine, D.”

D raised their hands in surrender, chuckling nervously. “alright, jeez. just checking.”

but you weren’t fine, and D knew it. they weren’t the only one. everyone had started to notice. it wasn’t just the way you looked—paler, thinner, with dark circles under your eyes and fresh cuts on your skin every other week. it was the way you acted. you were on edge all the time, your temper shorter than it had ever been. the smallest things set you off.

one afternoon, D asked you a simple question—reminding you about an assignment for one of your classes that was due the next day—and you snapped at them, yelling about how you didn’t need them hovering over you all the time. the words came out before you could stop them, and the look on D’s face—hurt, confused—was enough to make your stomach twist with guilt. but you couldn’t take it back. the anger had bubbled up out of nowhere, hot and irrational, and once it was out, you couldn’t control it.

“i was just trying to help because you asked me to remind you of it a month ago,” D said quietly, staring at you like they didn’t recognize the person standing in front of them.

you wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in your throat. instead, you just muttered something under your breath and walked away, leaving D standing there, hurt and confused.

after that, things got worse. you started pulling away from everyone, isolating yourself without even meaning to. it was like you couldn’t stand to be around them anymore, like their presence irritated you in ways it never had before. every little thing set you off—the way M asked if you were feeling okay, the way W smiled at you with that concerned, worrying look in their eyes, the way C hovered like they were waiting for you to explode.

you didn’t want to explode. you didn’t want to be angry all the time. but you couldn’t help it. it was like something inside you was constantly simmering, waiting for a reason to boil over. and the worst part was, you didn’t know why.

***

it was V who finally brought it up, one night after you’d barely spoken to anyone all day. they found you sitting in the common room of your suite, staring blankly at the TV which wasn’t even turned on, your mind a mess of half-formed thoughts and simmering frustration.

“hey,” V said quietly, sitting down beside you. “you’ve been… different lately.”

you didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the TV, hoping they’d drop it. but V wasn’t like that when it came to their friends. they weren’t going to drop it.

“i mean it,” they said with all the firmness they could muster. “we’re all worried about you. you’ve been acting strange. D’s scared to talk to you now, after what happened last week. C’s been trying to keep it together, but even they don’t know what to say anymore.”

you swallowed hard, still not looking at them.

“i don’t know what’s going on,” you whispered. it was the truth, and saying it out loud felt like admitting defeat.

V sighed, their hand resting lightly on your arm. “maybe you should let us help. we all want to. you don’t have to go through this alone.”

but that was the thing, wasn’t it? you didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. how could you ask for help when you couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even make sense of it yourself?

“i’ll be fine,” you said, pulling away from them. “i just need some space.”

V didn’t push anymore. but you could see the worry in their eyes, the way they wanted to say more but didn’t. instead, they just nodded, standing up and giving you a small, sad smile.

“alright,” they said. “but if you ever want to talk…”

you didn’t respond, and they left, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your guilt, and the growing fear that whatever was happening to you, it wasn’t going to stop.

***

your friends decided to keep an eye on you after that, though they tried not to make it obvious. you noticed it in the way C watched you out of the corner of their eye during study sessions, the way W lingered after class to ask how you were doing, the way D, despite your outburst, kept showing up with snacks and stupid jokes, trying to make you smile.

but none of it helped. because the truth was, you didn’t know what was going on, and that terrified you more than anything else. you didn’t want to be around them, didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t want them to see what you were becoming. so you did what you always did—you pulled away. you stopped answering texts, made excuses to avoid hanging out, buried yourself in your coursework.

what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

***

the night of the next full moon came quietly, as if it was trying not to disturb anyone. but the air held something heavy, something ominous, that felt like it was waiting just beneath the surface of things.

the group hadn’t planned to spend the night together—it was a tuesday, after all—but V had been restless all day, pacing their room, chewing on their nails, staring at their phone like it held all the answers to the questions swirling in their mind. something didn’t feel right. it had been gnawing at them since morning, a nagging anxiety that wouldn’t let go. and then, just after sunset, they’d gone to check on you, only to find your room empty.

you’d disappeared again.

their heart raced as they dialed W’s number, each ring on the other end making their throat tighten. W picked up on the second ring, sounding out of breath. “V? What’s wrong?”

“it’s... it’s them. they’re gone again, W. i think something’s wrong. i don’t know, i—” V’s voice cracked, panic bleeding through. “we have to find them. i have a really bad feeling about this.”

W didn’t hesitate. “i’m on my way. call the others.”

V nodded, even though W couldn’t see them, their fingers already flying over the screen to call M, then C, then D. within minutes, the group had assembled, all of them tense, worried. they didn’t need to explain why they were worried—everyone knew. the last time you’d disappeared in the middle of the night, you’d come back with fresh cuts and bruises, looking like you’d crawled through hell and didn’t remember any of it.

they couldn’t let it happen again. not tonight.

the group spread out, flashlights slicing through the darkness as they searched the familiar haunts around campus. the woods near the edge of campus were always a good place to start—isolated, quiet, and easy to disappear into. but as they ventured deeper, the silence began to settle over them, thick and unnerving. no wind, no birds, no rustling leaves. just the sound of their own footsteps crunching on the forest floor.

a dreadful sense of deja vu hit them all at once.

“i don’t like this,” D muttered, keeping their voice low, as if speaking too loud might make something worse happen. “it’s too quiet.”

M, who’d been leading the way, stopped in their tracks, holding up a hand. “did you hear that?”

everyone froze, straining their ears. for a second, nothing. and then, faintly, the unmistakable sound of chewing—wet, visceral, like something tearing through flesh.

V’s stomach churned. “we need to move. now.”

they followed the sound, their footsteps quickening, hearts pounding in their chests as the chewing grew louder, more grotesque. and then, as they turned the corner of a clearing, they saw it.

a massive creature, hunched over the carcass of a bull, its fur matted with blood. the moonlight glinted off its golden, beastly eyes as it tore into the animal with sharp, deadly teeth. it resembled the same creature they’d saw during their ill-fated camping trip. its muscles rippled under its coarse fur, claws like knives glinting as it gripped the bull’s body. and then it stopped, its head snapping up, eyes locking onto the group.

they didn’t have time to react, didn’t even have time to scream, before the creature snarled, baring its teeth.

V took a step back, heart slamming against their ribcage. “did... did it follow us?”

but W, standing frozen beside them, didn’t answer. they were too focused on the beast’s eyes, those glowing golden eyes, which seemed to flicker with something—recognition? for the briefest moment, the beast hesitated, its snarl faltering, the wild fury in its gaze dimming. it stared at them, unmoving, like it was trying to remember something it had once known but had long since forgotten.

“what’s it doing?” D whispered, their voice barely audible.

the creature’s breath came out in ragged, heavy pants, steam rising in the cold night air. for a moment, it seemed almost human, that look in its eyes. then, with a sudden jerk, it turned and bolted, vanishing into the darkness of the woods, leaving behind the bloody remains of the bull.

“we need to follow it,” W said, their voice trembling but certain.

“what?” C snapped, still staring after the creature. “are you insane? that thing will kill us.”

W shook their head. “it didn’t, though. it recognized us. i’m telling you, something’s amiss here. it’s not the same creature from our camping trip.”

for a second, no one moved. they were all too stunned to process what had just happened. but then V nodded, their face pallid but determined. “W’s right. it didn’t attack. it... it hesitated.”

C opened their mouth to argue but then closed it again, sighing heavily. “fine. let’s go. but if that thing turns on us..."

“it won’t,” D spoke up firmly, though their hands shook as they gripped the flashlight tighter. “i... i think W has a point.”

they followed the werewolf’s trail, moving quickly through the dense trees, their breath visible in the cold night air. the deeper they went into the woods, the darker it became, the flashlights barely cutting through the gloom. hours seemed to pass as they searched, the group growing more and more exhausted. but none of them would give up. they couldn’t. not after what they’d seen.

just as the first hint of sunlight began to break through the trees, M stopped, pointing ahead. “there. look.”

lying on the forest floor, half-hidden by a tangle of leaves and branches, was you. naked, covered in blood and dirt, shivering uncontrollably. you were mumbling something under your breath, your voice hoarse and broken, words slurring into nonsense.

V was the first to reach you, dropping to their knees beside your trembling body.

“oh my god,” they whispered, brushing the matted hair away from your face. “you’re freezing.”

C was right behind them, shrugging off their coat and immediately wrapping it around your bare shoulders, trying to cover the worst of the cuts and bruises on your pallid skin. they crouched beside you, their expression a mix of anger, fear, and helplessness.

“you idiot,” C muttered, their voice rough, almost choked. “what the hell happened to you?”

you didn’t answer properly, your lips trembling as you mumbled something incoherent, your body curling in on itself. you couldn’t stop shaking, your eyes unfocused, glazed over, like you were still caught somewhere between the transformation and waking.

W knelt down on your other side, handing C the scarf they’d brought with them.

“here,” they said softly, “wrap this around their neck.”

C took the scarf, wrapping it carefully around you, their hands surprisingly gentle despite the frustration etched into their face.

“you’re gonna be okay,” D muttered, though you could hear the doubt in their voice.

W leaned in closer, slipping their arms under you and pulling you against them, ignoring the blood and dirt smearing onto their own clothes.

“shh,” they whispered, their voice soft and soothing as they held you close. “it’s okay. we’re here. you’re safe now.”

you whimpered, the sound low and pitiful, like an animal in pain, your body still trembling uncontrollably as they held you.

“hey, hey,” W murmured, rocking you gently, their fingers brushing through your hair in an attempt to calm you. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

the rest of the group stood around you, their faces concerned and drawn, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. no one knew what to say. no one knew how to explain what had just happened.

M stood off to the side, their arms wrapped tightly around themself as they watched you, their expression unreadable.

“what do we do now?” they asked quietly, their voice trembling.

“we get them back to the suite,” V said, standing up and glancing around at the others. “they need help. medical help.”

“no hospitals,” C said sharply, standing up as well. “we can’t explain this. we just... we just need to get them somewhere safe.”

D nodded, though their eyes were filled with worry. “i agree, C. but we also can’t leave them like this.”

C sighed and closed their eyes for a few seconds. “we’ll take it one step at a time.”

together, they lifted you, supporting your weight between them as they made their way back through the woods. the sun was fully up now, but none of them noticed. they were too focused on getting you back, on making sure you were okay.

as they walked, V kept whispering to you, their voice soft and reassuring, though you weren’t sure if you could hear them.

“you’re gonna be alright,” they kept saying, over and over like a hymn. “we’re gonna figure this out. we’re not gonna let you go through this alone.”

but deep down, none of them could really tell what would come up next.

[the-anxious-youth]

Bubbles II

Pairing: Buggy x gn!Reader

Summary: Now that Buggy has agreed to help you find Nami, the two of you get closer, and shenanigans ensue.

Warnings: none, general flirting but nothing too spicy, the reader is written as gender neutral but Buggy does call them pretty, some talks of insecurity but it's more comfort than hurt

Word Count: 4.7K

Author's Note: Here's the highly anticipated part two of my Buggy fic! He's quickly become one of my comfort characters so writing about him has been fun. Also, I made some major changes to the plot in regards to rescuing Nami because I felt I couldn't do it justice since I haven't seen episode 7 yet and didn't want to mess up such an emotional scene. Thank you for being so patient and I hope you enjoy! (Up next is a Shanks fic, so keep on the lookout for that) banners by cafekitsune

Part 1

Luffy’s eyes brightened when he saw you, a cheerful aura surrounding your captain. His smile triggers your own, and you walk up to him, holding Buggy in your hands. Luffy looks down at the clown’s head, and his smile grows even wider.

“Did you give him a makeover? It looks great, Y/N!” says the enthusiastic man, always in a good mood. You chuckle and nod in response, thanking him softly. Out of everyone in the crew, Luffy had always been the most supportive and you’re glad his reaction was the polar opposite of Zoro’s. 

“Good news, I got him to tell me how to get to Arlong Park so we can rescue Nami!” Your tone is cheerful, and your Captain’s face reflects how you feel.

“Really? That’s awesome! How’d you do it?” Luffy leans against the side of the boat, visibly impressed by the way you’d been able to tame the beast, considering that a few hours ago, they all thought they’d have to torture it out of him. Looking down at Buggy, you smile softly, debating on whether or not you should tell the whole story. Before you can answer, Buggy lets out a laugh and responds for you.

“Guess I just have a soft spot for them,” he says, sending a wink in your direction. By now his flirtatious confidence is fully restored. Luffy watches the two of you making eyes at each other for a few seconds, before breaking the silence.

“Well, I’m glad you worked it out.” Luffy notices how your eyes sparkle when looking at Buggy, but he decides not to comment on it, instead moving to pull out a map. Spreading it across a table, he gestures for you to come closer.

“So this is where we are right now, approximately.” Your captain points to a spot on the map, and you recognize it as part of the East Blue. You gently place the clown’s head on the table, allowing him to look at the map. “And this is where we think Nami is,” utters Luffy, pointing his finger to an area adjacent to where he said you all are.

“You’re heading in the wrong direction, pal.” Buggy chuckles as he says this, not surprised that your crew wasn’t good with directions. After all, Nami was the navigator, the impact of her absence being very visible. Not waiting to hear what Luffy has to say, the clown continues.

“Arlong Park is on the other side of the East Blue, next to Cocoyasi Village, which is along the coastline.” Since he doesn’t have hands, he tilts his head to gesture towards the location of your desired destination. Your captain nods with a smile.

“I think I know where that is. See, was that so hard?” Luffy says teasingly, looking down at Buggy with a cheeky smile. The clown just glares in return, his smile not reappearing until you gently pick him up in your hands.

“Need me to go tell the others or do you want to do it?” You ask softly. Luffy smiles at you before responding.

“I’ve got it. I am the Captain after all.” He says cockily, though you know he means no harm. You chuckle and nod, finding his happy mood contagious.

“Yes, you are.” He pats you on the shoulder before heading off to inform the rest of the crew of the new developments. You look down at Buggy, his amorous grin causing the heat to rise to your face.

“Now what, sweetness?” He says, his tone smooth. Cocking your head at him, you hum while thinking.

“How about some food? I’m getting pretty hungry and I bet you are too.” You smile at him softly, to which he admires your face.

“You have no idea,” the clown mutters, excited at the prospect of food. Carrying him in your arms, you head to the kitchen, which incidentally is where the rest of the crew seems to be chatting. 

As you walk into the room, everyone turns to look at you. Luffy smiles at you gently, Zoro’s face is humorless, and it seems like he’s still irritated about earlier, Sanji’s eyebrows furrow, confused to see you so happy with the clown, and Usopp wears a look of amusement as if he’s just along for the ride. For a moment, everything is quiet, before you decide to walk over to the pantry to find something to eat. Snapping out of his daze, Sanji walks over to you, the others resuming their discussion.

“What can I get for you, dear?” says the cook, gazing at you with a suave smile. 

“Just a snack please, enough for two.” Your tone is soft, and you don't miss the look of surprise on Sanji’s face when he understands what you are referring to. You don’t notice it, but Buggy’s face is smug, enjoying watching the other man squirm. Sanji is silent for a moment, his face turning concerned.

“You do know he’s a bad guy, right? Remember what he did to that town?” asks the chef, leaning closer to you, to which Buggy scoffs.

“Lighten up, blondie, you weren’t even there.” Spits out the clown. His tone reads annoyance, not wanting the chef to impact your view of him. Sanji glares down at the head, crossing his arms.

“Yes, I remember. I just figure you get further with people using kindness.” Sanji’s eyes soften at your words, internally reminding himself that this is just who you are. He sighs, before meeting your gaze.

“Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you getting taken advantage of,” he says softly, and you smile at his words in an attempt to comfort him. 

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” Chuckling softly at the blonde man’s concern, he nods his head, doing his best to smile back at you. He opens one of the cupboards and pulls out some snacks, handing them to you carefully. 

“Let me know if you need help, alright?” Sanji’s eyes still hold some worry, but his easy-going smile is back on his face. You nod in response, thanking him for the food before heading to the top deck, wanting to get some fresh air.

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the crew watched your interaction with Sanji, teasing him as soon as you were out of earshot.

“Is someone a little jealous?” teases Usopp, to which Sanji shakes his head, brushing him off.

Back on the deck, you take a seat on a blanket, putting Buggy’s head down next to you. He looks up at you with a sense of wonder, admiring your features.

“So what sounds good, apples? Crackers?” You gesture to the pile of snacks in front of you, a soft smile on your face.

“Just give me whatever you don’t want,” says the clown, his smile widening at the surprised look on your face.

“I thought you were this tough guy who only cares about himself?” Your voice is gentle, with a hint of curiosity. He chuckles at your words, shaking his head softly.

“Don’t believe everything you hear, doll.” His eyes twinkle as he speaks. “Who knows, maybe I just like you.” Feeling the heat rise to your face, you look down bashfully, not sure how to respond.

“Apples it is then.” Reaching over to grab one of the apples, you pull out the knife Sanji gave you and start cutting it into smaller pieces, slipping one into your mouth every so often. The clown just watches you, taking the opportunity to admire you while he can. Secretly, he plans to charm you so that you’ll leave with him once this is all over. 

After cutting the apple into enough pieces, you move to give one to Buggy, when an idea comes into your mind.

“Here comes the choo choo train!” You say teasingly, waving the apple slice around like you would for a toddler. His eyes narrow at you, and you can tell he’d be crossing his arms if they were with him.

“Very funny,” he says unamusedly, though there is still a hint of a smile on his face. Chuckling at his response, you finally give him the apple slice, and he watches you while he chews.

“I didn’t pick these apples out so if they’re bad it’s not my fault.” You smirk at him cheekily, and he just shakes his head before swallowing.

“It’s fine,” he says, still smiling at you. “Trust me, I’ve eaten much worse.” Taking an apple slice for yourself, you pop it into your mouth, taking a look at the view around you.

“The sea sure is pretty,” you comment, admiring the fluffy clouds above you.

“Not as pretty as you.” Buggy’s statement makes you turn your head toward him. Searching his eyes for insincerity, your eyebrows furrow as you find none. By now you’re sure you’re blushing, and you look down at the apple to hide the apparent flush on your face. 

“You’re quite the flirt, aren’t you?” Anxiety fills your chest, wondering whether his words were truthful or just a way to lower your guard. You fiddle with your fingers, sparing glances in his direction. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts, the clown speaks up, his tone softer than before. 

“I’m being serious, you’re gorgeous, babe.” His eyes scan your face, hoping you’ll believe him, the corner of his mouth upturned into a soft smile. You just shake your head softly, his cheeky smile prompting your own. Gaining some confidence, you respond in a pert tone.

“Yeah, well you’re quite the looker yourself. I bet the girls go crazy for you.” Buggy’s cocky demeanor falters for a second, used to giving compliments rather than receiving them. He laughs nervously, thankful for the makeup on his face for hiding the blush on his cheeks. 

“Depends on how you define crazy,” he says, tilting his head slightly. Even though you can’t visibly see the flush on his cheeks, his demeanor tells you enough. Chuckling to yourself, you reach for an apple slice, observing the clown as you chew.

“I guess we’re both not used to compliments.” Timbre hushed, you watch as he nods, silently agreeing with your statement. The two of you exchange friendly conversation, slowly opening up to one another. Before you know it, the sun is setting on the horizon as the day comes to a close, and all the snacks you got from Sanji are gone.

“If your captain correctly follows my directions, we should arrive at Arlong Park within a day.” Buggy’s tone is kind, something unusual for him, though there’s still a hint of playfulness. Nodding in response, you move to pick him up, being careful as always. He always gets a weird look on his face when you treat him with such fragility, and you assume it’s because being treated in such a way is unfamiliar territory for him. 

Walking down the stairs, you head towards your room, smiling at your crew members as you pass them. Stopping by the kitchen to get some fresh water, you run into Sanji, who seems to be writing something down in a notebook. Probably his meal plan for tomorrow, you think to yourself. The chef turns to you as you enter, surprised to see you still with the clown. 

“Aren’t you getting sick of watching him? Why don’t you let one of us take a turn, you’ve been on clown watch all day.” He says with a concerned smile. 

“That’s okay, I don’t mind.” Sanji looks at you as you speak, his eyes scanning over your face as if it were a puzzle to be deciphered. His eyebrows furrow, revealing his confusion. To him, watching a pretty person choose to hang out with a homicidal maniac was like watching a scientist write poetry, it made absolutely no sense. He narrows his eyes for a moment, debating on what to say.

“Well, if you’re happy I guess.” His tone indicates that he wants to say more, but is restraining so as to not upset you.

“I’ll just get some water and I’ll be out of your way,” you say mellowly, the awkward tension becoming uncomfortable. At your comment, Sanji sends a flirty smirk in your direction.

“You’re never in my way, darling.” Feeling the blush rise to your cheeks, you nod quickly and head to grab the water. You couldn’t see it, but if looks could kill, the glare Buggy was giving the chef would have knocked him dead. After finding the water, you make a beeline for your room, not wanting to deal with more problematic interactions. As Sanji watches you leave, he wonders to himself how the clown has caught your interest, clearly not understanding the appeal.

Shutting the door to your cabin, you let out a sigh, gingerly placing Buggy on your bed, and moving to sit next to him. He notices the change in your mood, already missing the smile on your face. 

“Everything okay, dollface?” His tone is the gentlest it’s been in years. The last time he could recall speaking in such a manner was with Shanks, and that was quite a long time ago. Nodding slowly, you start to fidget with your fingers, signaling your uneasiness.

“There’s just something about the way he looked at me like I was doing something wrong. It just reminds me how I don’t fit in with the rest of the crew.” You bring your hand up to start picking at your lips, the anxiety in your gut triggering the habit that appears whenever you get nervous. The action does not go unnoticed by the clown, and he tries to think of a way to calm you down.

“Hey, don’t do that. You’ll get scars,” Buggy says gently, wishing he had his body with him so he could grab your hand and pull it away from your face. Pausing your movements to look at him, you notice how concerned he seems, which ignites a strange feeling in your chest, comfort perhaps. You chuckle softly before replying, watching how his eyes never leave your face.

“It’s a little too late for that, I’m afraid.” He doesn’t match your laughter, aware of your attempt at deflection. A deep pit of sorrow seeps its way through his chest, which feels strange considering it’s not currently attached to him. It’s at this moment when he realizes how much he cares for you and decides that when you find Nami and the rest of his body, you’re coming with him. He’d be damned if he let anyone make you feel anything other than happiness. For a few minutes, you just watch each other, deciding what to say. In the end, Buggy is the one to break the silence.

“I know what it’s like to not fit in, but trust me when I say you’re a treasure, and anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot. This crew is lucky to have you, they should be making you happy, not sad.” He smiles at you, his usual teasing nature completely gone in exchange for raw sincerity. 

“Look, I know we haven’t known each other long, but I meant it when I said I had a spot for you on my crew. You’d be treated like royalty, which is exactly what you deserve.” Unlike the first time he said it, you actually consider what it would be like to join him, the thought bringing a small smile to your face. 

“There’s that gorgeous smile. You’re too pretty to be sad, angel.” His words may be flirty, but he means each of them wholeheartedly. You chuckle and blush breaking into a full smile.

“How are you so sure your crew will like me?” You ask softly, tilting your head at him.

“They’d be stupid not to like you. And even if they don’t, their Captain does which means they don’t really have much of a choice.” He smirks up at you, enjoying the little giggle you let out. “At the end of the day, they’re below me and you’d be beside me, so at the very least they’d respect you. Knowing my crew though, I can pretty much guarantee they’ll like you.” 

You listen to him speak with a smile, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like someone actually understands you, even if that someone is technically your crew’s rival. He grins as you nod, observing you with an almost wondrous look.

“We have to find Nami first though, okay?” You declare, pointing your finger at him playfully. Buggy laughs and nods, swearing that neither of you will leave before the redhead is found. A yawn slips out as you chuckle, the fatigue from the day reappearing like a weight on your shoulders.

“It’s late, we should get some sleep. Besides, tomorrow’s the day we rescue your friend and I’d rather you didn’t fall asleep on me.” He says with a smirk, and you nod, giggling softly to yourself. Pulling back the blanket, you move to lie down, placing Buggy’s head on its side on a pillow in front of you.

“Good night, Bugs.” The clown smiles at the nickname, gazing at you fondly as you snuggle up with the blanket.

“Good night, darling.” He says softly, watching you close your eyes. He takes the opportunity to study your features, afraid that if he looks away he’ll forget them. After a while he hears your breathing even out, signaling your unconscious state. Only then he closes his eyes, hoping to dream of you.

—---

The next morning goes by quickly, everyone preparing for the rescue they’re about to attempt. Buggy’s directions were correct, and Arlong Park was visible just on the horizon. The energy is full of excitement and anticipation, with everyone looking forward to seeing Nami again. Right now, you’re sitting on the deck surrounded by the rest of the crew as they discuss the game plan.

“You know the layout of Arlong Park, don’t you, clown?” Zoro’s tone is harsh, and Buggy has to physically resist rolling his eyes. He’s placed on your lap, something that keeps catching the eyes of Sanji, perhaps with a hint of jealousy. The only person who isn’t actively glaring daggers at him is Luffy, though that doesn’t say much considering the pirate is always happy.

“Yes, but I won’t be much help as a head, so we need to find my body first. Then we can go after your navigator.” If it wasn’t for your gentle touch on the sides of his neck, he would’ve gone off by now, annoyed at being treated like a prisoner. 

“I can help with that,” you pipe up, and everyone nods in agreement. The group discusses some more, everyone being assigned various roles to assist in the operation going smoothly. After that, you all gear up, your goal being to reattach Buggy’s head to his body before you can help the others. Soon, the boat is docked a little away from your destination, not wanting to signal Arlong’s men of your arrival. 

Trekking through the foliage, you finally make it to the gates and split into groups, deciding that it’ll be easier to cover more ground that way. Your group consists of yourself, Buggy, and Sanji, as the chef didn’t trust the clown being alone with you. The blue-haired pirate directs you towards a hidden entrance along the side of the park, one in which you hopefully wouldn’t be spotted. Following his directions, you come across a small clearing in the trees, Sanji following right behind you. 

“Where do you think your body is being kept?” You ask quietly, hoping your voice doesn’t tell Arlong or his men of your locations. 

“Probably somewhere amongst the carnival games. Since he’s taken it I’ve noticed they’ve been throwing something at it, probably darts based on the sensation. Arlong likes to mess with people anyway, so it would make sense.” Nodding, you head towards that area, allowing Buggy to tell you where to go since he’s the only one who’s been here before. Not long after, you stumble upon what you’re looking for, Buggy’s body pinned up against some balloons. Breaking out into a large smile, you look down at Buggy, and he grins back up at you.

“Wow, you were actually right,” Sanji comments, his words full of surprise and bitterness, his distaste for the clown painfully obvious.

“You say that like it’s a miracle.” The clown says in rebuttal, sharing the disdain for the chef. Suddenly, Buggy’s head flies out of your hands as the various parts of his body reattach themselves. Once he’s back to being a whole person, he hops down from the wall, running towards you with joy written on his face.

“It feels better than I even remembered!” Says the clown, running his hands up and down his arms. He turns to you with a grin.

“Now let’s go find your friend.” You nod at him, his happiness triggering your own. 

While searching for Nami, you run into the rest of your crew, who seem to be in a bit of a hurry.

“What’s the matter? Did you find her? Is she okay?” Right as Usopp is about to answer, a familiar voice rings into the air. 

“Miss me that much?” You turn your head in the direction of the sound, and a huge smile breaks out on your face as you see Nami running towards you. She smirks at your expression before continuing. “We need to get out of here before the rest of the Arlong pirates find us, we can catch up later.” You nod quickly, picking up your pace, and start running behind the others, Buggy at your side. 

Once you all are far enough away from Arlong Park, the crew stops to properly greet Nami, yourself included. You can tell she’s not much of a hugger, so you make sure your embrace is short. As you all talk amongst yourselves, Buggy stands a few feet away, not wanting to interrupt the moment. After everyone had a chance to talk to the red-haired girl, she finally notices the clown standing awkwardly a few steps away and furrows her eyebrows in confusion. 

“What the hell is he doing here?” She asks shortly, starting to walk in his direction. You quickly move to stand in front of her, preventing the two from fighting. 

“It’s okay, he’s okay,” you say quickly, and are met with a confused look from the girl. “He actually helped us find you. I mean, we had no idea where we were going until he showed up, considering you are our navigator.” She scoffs at the idea of Buggy willingly helping someone who isn’t part of his crew.

“Oh yeah? How’d you get him to do that? Torture him or something?” Nami looks at Buggy suspiciously, not believing that he actually did something nice for once. You shake your head, chuckling nervously, not sure how to explain the whole ‘I gave him a bath and we kinda connected’ thing. Lucky for you, Buggy speaks up.

“Your crew member here is very convincing.” He takes a step forward, gesturing to you with a cheeky smile. She just watches the two of you for a moment, finally connecting the dots between Buggy’s friendly attitude and your flustered demeanor. 

“Huh. Well, that’s something I didn’t expect to see today,” says the redhead, her timbre nonchalant.

“What didn’t you expect to see, Nami?” Sanji quickly asks. Now that she’s back, Sanji is taking every opportunity he can find to speak with Nami.

“Y/N hooking up with the clown. They didn’t seem like the type but I guess we all have secrets.” She looks at you with a smirk, a deep blush blossoming on your face. The rest of the crew looks surprised, especially Usopp, now that your little fancy has been blatantly stated.

“Wait, you have a thing for the clown captain? How am I only finding out about this now?” Usopp asks with a smile on his face.

“You really haven’t noticed? Even though I can’t possibly fathom why, they’ve been spending every second together the past few days. I mean, they’re always blushing around him, and that’s a sign of only one thing.” You’re surprised that Zoro seems so calm now, especially considering the way he reacted in the beginning. There’s no smile on his face, but he doesn’t appear to be upset. “You really need to be more observant of your surroundings, Usopp.” The swordsman shakes his head, baffled at his crew member’s ignorance.

It’s Sanji who turns to you next, a mix of emotions on his face. “So you two are really a thing?” he asks hesitantly, not sure if he really wants to hear the answer. By now you’re sure your face is deeply flushed, not used to being put in the spotlight.

“Let’s just say I’m pretty fond of your crew member,” Buggy looks at you cheekily, enjoying the blush on your visage. Sanji stays silent for a moment before nodding, leaning closer to say something to you.

“Just be careful, darling, okay?” His voice is gentle, and he backs away as soon as he sees the glare the clown is giving him. Suddenly Nami walks up to Buggy with a tough look on her face.

“If you hurt them, I’ll make sure you’re just a head, permanently.” He immediately puts his hands up in surrender, knowing that she fully means the threat.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, they’re too precious.” The look on the clown’s face shows his fear of her, a sight that almost makes Nami’s lip quirk. 

“Good.” She turns back to you, the smile returning to her face. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’ll actually miss you.” You knew this was the closest Nami got to being sappy, and you moved to give her one last hug.

“I’ll miss you too, Nami. Keep the boys in check for me, will you?” The navigator chuckles at your question, letting you go from the hug.

“Oh I will, you don’t need to worry about that.” Despite not knowing you for long, Nami secretly always liked you, finding you the most enjoyable to be around, unbeknownst to you.

Turning to the rest of your crew, you can tell they’ve already figured out your decision. You walk up to Luffy first, who’s beaming at you like a little boy.

“We’ll miss you too but I can tell this is what you want.” Your lips tug upwards at his statement, appreciating the way he values your wants and desires. “You know you’re always welcome on the straw hat crew, right?” His question makes you smile, and you nod in response. Stepping closer, you give him a tight hug which he happily reciprocates. ‘Always so touchy’ you think to yourself fondly. After pulling away, you say goodbye to the rest of the crew members, even getting a small “good luck kid” from Zoro. 

“Until we meet again.” You say to all of them, nodding as a sign of respect. They wave at you as you walk away, following Buggy to go find his crew. As you’re walking, he stops abruptly and turns to you.

“Oh! I forgot something.” Raising your eyebrows, you start to open your mouth to ask him what he meant, when suddenly he carefully grabs the back of your neck, pulling your lips against his. Your eyes widen for a second out of surprise, but you quickly close them and kiss him back, moving your hand to his bicep. He grins at you after you pull away, taking pleasure in the shy look on your face.

“Cat got your tongue?” The blue-haired man says softly, referring to the conversation you had the day you first met. You giggle and shake your head, hiding your face in his chest. He laughs and wraps his arms around you.

“You’re too cute, you know that? Now come on, I’ve got some people to introduce you to.” You look up at him as you pull away, smiling as he grabs your hand to lead you to his crew. 

©️the-anxious-youth, 2023

Please do not replicate/repost :)

[specialagentlokitty]

Bau x reader - family time

something where there’s a case in readers hometown, and readers mom invited the team over for dinner ?? - Anon💜

It was a small community, so it didn’t surprise you when your mom texted you a few hours after your arrival demanding that you go to her house.

With a sigh, you messaged her back and explained that you couldn’t because you were working, but you’d come by after the case was finished.

After deciding that was too long your mom came down to the station you were working at.

“(Y/N) (L/N)!”

The whole team shot up and spun around, so did you.

“Mom?! Seriously?!”

She grinned from ear to ear, and you laughed softly, walking over to hug your mom, and she held you tightly in her arms.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t come see your mother.” She lightly scolded.

“Come on mom, I’m working I already told you this. How come you’re here? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Pulling away, you led your mom to your chair and sat her down, then leant against the table as you looked down at her.

“You know you shouldn’t be walking so far with that hip of yours mom.”

“Ah my hip is fine, I can still walk.”

You sighed.

“Your doctor told you to take it easy, remember what happened last time? You couldn’t get out of bed for two days without help.”

Your mom waved her hand dismissively at you, then turned to the rest of the team who were watching with curiosity and amusement.

“Who are your friends?”

You smiled at her, letting them all introduce themselves to your mom.

“Wow, (Y/N) never said their mom was such a beautiful woman.” Derek grinned.

“Dude! That’s my mom!”

They laughed, and you huffed a little, turning to Reid who had gone back to working.

While JJ and Emily were asking your mom for any embarrassing stories about you, you walked to your friend, standing next to him.

“What’s up?” You asked.

“I just had a thought. What’s in this area?” He asked.

You looked at the map, and you grabbed his pen, drawing some things on it before gesturing to it.

“This bit is part of the school, just after the river that part is empty, abandoned, I think it used to be a processing facility or something like that, a lot of local kids go exploring in there, sometimes graffiti and stuff that’s about it.”

Reid nodded his head, and he looked over at you.

“I need to go to the first crime scene, will you come with you.”

“Of course.”

Grabbing your jacket, you pulled it on whim Reid spoke to Hotch and you walked over to your mom, kissing the top of her head.

“I need to go, but I’ll come see you after the case, love you.”

“I love you too, be safe.”

You nodded, jogging to meet Reid by the front door.

When the case came to an end, you messaged your mom that you’d be coming after, and she asked you to bring your whole team.

You laughed a little, putting your phone in your pocket.

“Hey, do you guys fancy a little trip?”

“Where to?” Hotch asked.

“Mom wants you all to come for dinner before going, I don’t think we get a choice in this.”

The laughed but eagerly agreed.

Of course the first place Emily, JJ and Derek went was to go and find your room, trying to see if it had changed or not.

You mom had reached out to Rossi to get him to invite Garcia, so it wasn’t long until she arrived.

“Oh I can’t believe it’s your home! Where’s the baby pictures?!” She grinned.

“No!” You rushed you.

Quickly taking the folder from your mom, you held it closely.

“Aw come on! Let us see!” Garcia pleaded.

“Nope.”

“Aw darling you may have been a fat baby but you were still adorable.”

“I wasn’t a fat baby…” you huffed.

“Oh my god were you a fat baby?” Emily asked.

“No!”

Your mom lightly hit your arm.

“Yes you were, let them see.”

She took the folder back from you and you huffed, sitting down on the couch as you stroked the cat that came to cuddle with you.

Picking him up, you held him in your lap.

“I can’t believe you still have fluffy, he’s so old now.” You mumbled.

The old cat purred a little bit.

“Oh my god look at your little grin!” JJ laughed.

She turned the folder to you so you could see the phone of you covered in dirt just grinning from ear to ear.

They were having the time of their lives learning about you and what you did when you were little.

Rossi and Hotch both back back, having been given a box by your mom and set it on the table.

Rossi opened it to see your macaroni you made in second grade.

“A little artist I see.” He chuckled.

Hotch knelt down, taking a few class photos out and paintings.

“Honestly I was expecting more skateboarding or something along those lines.”

“Hotch I was four, the only thing I was interested in was eating dirt and collecting stones.”

They all laughed, and your mom came back announcing dinner was ready, so you went to help her set the table up.

You enjoyed this, just your team and your mom all together, all the people you loved under one roof

[lu-is-not-ok]

Sorry I'm actually obsessed with the Daiyu-Baoyu theory and I'm rotating it in my head forever. I'm not sure if I'm actually onto anything here but when thinking about it I recalled this CG from the TGS trailer

and I remember thinking about how odd this picture seems because it's so Un-Hong Lu-like. Because from what we've seen, Hong Lu has never even gotten close to being this angry. And yet, they showed us this picture in a trailer before the game even released. It's obviously something they wanted us to see and keep in mind. But so far, there doesn't seem to be anything we can think of that can draw this kind of reaction out of Hong Lu, who seems to just redirect or avoid upsetting topics altogether.

When reading your theory, I remembered this CG and noticed that he's facing the right, meaning we can't see his jade eye. This isn't the first time they've obscured something important from us in the trailer (e.g., Don Quixote's eyes), so it's not a stretch to say they're intentionally hiding his eye. This suggests that something might be up with it in this scene that we aren't supposed to know yet, like, for example, being removed.

If we assume that Baoyu's memories are in his eye, which has been put in Daiyu's body, as well as Kurokumo Hong Lu's attitude being the most Daiyu-like, then it would explain this CG a lot better, because it's not really Hong Lu or Baoyu. It's Daiyu.

Sorry for the very long ask, I got excited. Again, I'm really just rambling and speculating. What I do know is that I'm really enjoying this theory, and thinking about writing a fanfic with the premise because it is so fascinating to me!

Funny you bring up that CG in particular, since the subject of it has come up on this blog before! That being said, I unfortunately can't find the exact post where I talked about it, so I might as well do so again - especially since we now also have more insight on Hong Lu as a characer.

The full CG that cut-in comes from can be seen in the Story Demo video for the Alpha Version of Limbus, as a preview CG for the 1-5 node on the very early version of Canto 1's Story Node map.

Notably, this CG does not appear in any Cutscene/Story Demo videos post the TGS Teaser, meaning the CG must have been scrapped at some point between that Alpha Version demo and the post TGS Teaser demo. Whether it was scrapped after it was used for the Teaser, meaning it was still part of the story at the time, or whether it was scrapped before but PJM decided something about that particular image of Hong Lu was important enough to the Teaser to include it anyway, is something I don't think we'll ever know.

Unfortunately, with how early the CG seems to have originally been placed in the story, I doubt it has anything to do with Daiyu specifically. However, I do now have my own theory of what that cutscene might have entailed, as well as why that would contribute to it being scrapped.

Judging by the leftmost panel, it's easy to deduce this was where Yuri's backstory was originally meant to be explained, as in the whole site burial and survivor's guilt thing would be brought up. The fact that the explanation would later be moved to be inside the Dungeon rather outside would on its own be a good reason to scrap the CG, but there's something else about it that I realized only recently.

In the game proper, Yuri reveals her trauma almost exclusively to Gregor (and initially Ishmael), as all the other Sinners have already passed out due to the gas grenade. However, in the hypothetical scrapped scenario where the reveal came outside the Dungeon, every Sinner would have a chance to hear it and react to it.

So, what kind of reaction would fit the other two panels on the CG? The middle panel of Rodya comforting an uncomfortable looking Yuri while Hong Lu looks innocently confused, followed by a panel with the angriest looking Gregor we've ever seen clashing with the angriest looking Hong Lu we've ever seen?

Here's what I think could have originally happened in that scene (and this is Entirely Speculation, we have no proof of this actually being the case):

I believe, after sharing her story, especially the point about trying to escape the site burial, Mr. Hong 'I am always ready to accept my own death' Lu would act confused and ask something along the lines of "Why didn't you just stay?" or a variant of such. Why didn't you just accept it, why didn't you just let it happen, why did you try to fight it, etc. Essentially asking why, if Yuri was going to feel such guilt for surviving the ordeal, would she ever bother trying to survive in the first place.

This would, understandably, piss Gregor the fuck off, as he himself holds a good deal of guilt for the fact he participated in the War and survived through it. There's a high chance of him trying to verbally rip into Hong Lu, to tell him that he has No Idea what it's like to have to live day by day trying to survive just long enough to see tomorrow, what it's like to have one's life turned into hell without them having any choice on the matter, what it's like to feel the need to run away despite knowing that it will leave them with the guilt of not being able to save anyone else. He's some sheltered rich kid after all, how could he know what it's like to actually suffer?

And I think something like that would be enough for Hong Lu's facade to crack. Because no, Gregor is wrong. Hong Lu knows exactly what it's like, more than anyone should know he does. He might not even be responding with much in this cutscene, even just a hostile "You know nothing about me and my life." would be enough to set the tone. That whatever is going on behind that smile of his is so much worse than what it seems.

...And that's why I think it was scrapped. Because a peek behind Hong Lu's mask in Canto 1 would be too early.

Hong Lu's slow unraveling of his lies is just that - slow. It took us until Just This Recent Canto to get a somewhat clear confirmation that no, the info he gives about his Family is not to be trusted. It took until Canto 3 to see him be the only Sinner actively willing to lie and until Canto 4 to show us he's a good actor. Revealing that Hong Lu has a very different side to him underneath the curious cheerful persona as early as Canto 1 would completely alter the pacing and trajectory of his arc. You'd have a reason to suspect him from the beginning, rather than have a chance to be just as fooled by him as Dante and the other Sinners are.

So no, I don't think that CG is meant to show Daiyu. But I do think that CG was meant to be our first hint to the fact that Hong Lu isn't being honest with the others, at least until it was decided it was too soon for such a reveal.

[moonlight0934]

Crocodile Tears

Damian punches the last goon in the face before turning back to his brothers. Tim and Dick are both done dealing with their goons too which means the only target left is Joker himself, and Bruce went after him a while ago. Tim drops his staff, causing Dick and Damian to just stare at him.

“Sorry, my hand seized up,” Tim says, his face red.

Damian laughs.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re a vigilante, and you just dropped your weapon?”

Tim grumbles something as he grabs his staff.

“Shut up.”

Damian huffs, and turns away.

“We should go give Batman backup,” he says after a quiet second.

“You know that he doesn’t want us going after Joker,” Dick says.

“So what? He’s not that much better. He could die,” Damian replies, folding his arms.

“As much as I want to trust him, he doesn’t have the best track record,” Tim says.

“Fine, let’s go find him.”

Damian nods.

“He turned his tracker off when he went to find Joker. So, we should split up and look for him,” Tim says, pulling up a map of the city. “Nightwing, you take this area, while Robin can take the other one. I’ll go over to the harbor.”

“Are you alright with that?” Dick asks.

Damian nods again.

“That sounds acceptable. I will radio if I find anything.”

They disperse, and Damian heads to his area of the city. There’s an abandoned apartment building that has a few lights on. At first, Damian thinks he’s found the fight between Batman and Joker. However, as he gets closer, he realizes that there’s no way. It’s far too quiet, and there isn’t much noticeable movement from inside. Damian still walks into the building, and he takes the stairs since he doesn’t know for sure that anything is happening.

Damian slips into the apartment with the lights on, and sees the weirdest scene in front of him. Jason, who hadn’t been responding to their attempts at communication since Joker started attacking, is sitting across the table from Scarecrow. Damian immediately holds his breath as they both turn to look at him. Damian slips his filtered mask on his face as Jason smiles.

“Hey Baby Bat, what are you doing here?”

“Hood what are you doing?”

Damian types out an SOS message on his communicator. It explains that he’s with Scarecrow, and he doesn’t know the situation.

That should warn them to wear a mask. Who knows what I’ve already been exposed to. It might be in the whole building.

“What do you mean? I’m talking with one of the people that lost their homes in the recent arson cases. I’m going to help him if I have the opportunity.”

Damian narrows his eyes.

“No, you’re not. That’s Scarecrow.”

Scarecrow smiles at Damian.

“Well, it seems that you didn’t breathe in the gas that’s coating this room. That was very smart of you. I guess I’m just going to have to give you a shot of it so you can tell whatever backup you have that it was a false alarm.”

“What?” Jason asks, his eyes slightly glassed over.

“Can you give this to him?” Scarecrow asks, holding a syringe out to Jason. “It’s a vaccine for something that’s been going around this area. You wouldn’t want your brother to catch it, would you?”

Jason takes it, shaking his head.

“Come here.”

Damian shakes his head.

“Hood, snap out of it.”

Jason continues walking towards him. Damian takes a step back, his eyes trained on Scarecrow.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. It’s just a shot. You’ve never thrown a tantrum about a shot before.”

“I don’t throw tantrums!” Damian cries, obviously offended.

Jason grabs his arm, but Damian kneecaps him. He twists his arm away from Jason, and storms over to Scarecrow. Damian grabs Scarecrow’s collar, but Jason tackles him before he can do anything.

“What is wrong with you? Attacking a civilian?” Jason demands, anger coloring his tone.

“Shut up, and get off of me!” Damian cries, trying to push Jason off of him.

Jason is about to stick the needle into his arm when the door slams open. Dick comes in, and stares at both of them.

“Get off of him!” Dick says, his tone hard. Dick’s eyes start to glass over slightly.

“Put your mask on,” Damian demands, then drives his knee into Jason’s stomach.

Jason stumbles, leaning against the wall, and Damian climbs out from underneath him.

“Why would I need a mask? You and Hood need to stop fighting, and get along.”

“Because of Scarecrow!”

“Scarecrow isn’t here, Da-”

Damian is across the room in an instant, and he presses his hand against Dick’s mouth.

“Were you just about to say my name in costume?” Damian hisses, his eyes dark.

“Calm down. It’s just us, Hood, and some civilian. I’m sure he won’t say anything.”

“That’s not a random civilian, that’s Scarecrow. Either way, you shouldn’t be saying my name in front of civilians.”

“Did you hit your head?”

Jason climbs to his feet, but he looks confused.

“What was I doing?”

“You were just about to sedate Robin because he attacked me,” Scarecrow says, putting on his best scared voice. He sniffles, and a single tear rolls down his face.

“Can you just put the burlap sack back on your head, because you are the ugliest crier I’ve ever seen,” Damian snaps before turning back to Dick.

“Robin, you can’t talk to people like that. Is that true, Hood? Did Robin attack him, and were you trying to sedate him?”

Jason looks down at the syringe in his hand, and then nods. Scarecrow continues fake crying in the background.

They’re both really high by now, so I have to figure out how to restrain both of them, and not let Scarecrow get away. This is going to be difficult, but I have to figure something out before someone else shows up without a mask.

Dick grabs Damian by the shoulders.

“You have to calm down, Robin.”

Damian glares at him, then slams his elbow into Dick’s face as hard as he can. Dick stumbles back into the wall while Jason rushes forward to grab Damian. Damian ducks, throwing a batarang at Scarecrow, who is trying to move closer to the window. It doesn’t seem like he’s actively trying to sneak away, just trying to make it easier to do if Damian does get the upper hand. The batarang hits him square in the jaw, knocking him off of his feet.

Jason goes crazy at that, and grabs Damian like he’s a rag doll. Damian almost snaps his neck, but then remembers exactly who he’s fighting. Jason slams him against the wall hard enough to crack a few of his ribs. Damian gasps.

“You just assaulted a civilian!” Jason forces Damian’s face up to lock eyes with him. “Do you understand how serious this is? I thought we were past this? You can’t keep acting like that!”

Damian blinks, all of the rational thoughts leaving his brain. Scarecrow is getting up now, wiping the tear tracks off of his face. Damian bites his lip.

“Yeah, you should be upset. You’re acting just like your grandfather.”

Jason drops Damian, and hits the floor a second later. Tim is standing behind him, a mask in place. Dick is also unconscious exactly where Damian left him. Tim knocks Scarecrow out too before turning back to Damian.

“Hey, are you ok? Did he hurt you?”

Damian shakes his head even though his ribs and back are screaming.

“Ok, well we need to get them out of here. Batman had Joker handled already. I assume that Scarecrow was trying to use the distraction to get a hold of Hood. What he planned to do after that, I’m not sure. For now though, we just need to get them home. Can you help me get Nightwing to the car?”

Damian nods again, almost mechanically at this point. Tim looks concerned, but doesn’t say anything. Once they get Jason and Dick to the infirmary, Damian doesn’t wait to hear if they’re ok, or if Bruce found out what Scarecrow wanted. He just changes, and goes straight to his room. He locks the door behind himself, and throws himself into bed. He ends up crying alone until he falls asleep, unable to get his brother’s words out of his head.

Tim drops into a chair, his whole body aching. 

“Do you know what’s going on with Damian?” Bruce asks as he checks both Jason and Dick’s IVs. 

“No, I got there right as Jason was pushing Damian against a wall. I have no idea what happened before that. I’m worried about him though, because he completely shut down earlier. I know something happened, but I’m not sure what it was.” 

“Ok, well, can you stay with them while I go check on him? There probably wasn’t any surveillance in the area, so all we can do is see if we can get him to talk.” 

Tim nods, turning his attention to his other two brothers. Bruce walks up the stairs, leaving the cave in complete silence. Bruce is gone for almost fifteen minutes, and he doesn’t look happy when he walks back in. 

“How’d it go?” 

“He was asleep when I went in there. Of course I accidentally woke him up, but he kept insisting that everything was fine. That it was just a long day, and that he was tired. I asked if he was sure that he wasn’t exposed to anything, and he said yes. That was when he kicked me out. He wasn’t standing weird, or wincing, so it probably wasn’t an injury that he’s hiding. I’ll see if I can talk him into an X-ray later, just to be sure.” 

Tim nods, his gaze distant. “What do you think happened?” he asks after Bruce is settled in between Jason Dick’s beds. 

“I don’t know. They were under the influence of Scarecrow’s newest concoction, so it could be anything. That’s more what I’m worried about. There’s no way we’re going to guess what it was, and I’m not sure exactly where to start.” 

“Well, you are the greatest detective, so I’m sure between the two of us we can figure it out,” Tim offers, trying to be uplifting. 

“Yeah, I’m just so tired. I know that we should figure this out now, but I’m so exhausted I can barely think.” 

“That makes sense. You just fought Joker by yourself, then immediately got a call saying that something had happened with three of your sons. That definitely makes for a stressful evening.” 

Bruce hums, but his eyes are still sad. “How do you think he got Jason there in the first place?” 

“Probably some kind of bait, or trap. Maybe he set up a meeting, then gassed the whole place? I’m not sure, but it definitely could be that.” 

Bruce nods. “That makes sense. We’ll talk to him later, and see what he remembers.” 

Tim forces himself to his feet, aching muscles protesting immediately. 

“Alright, well, I’m heading to bed. Let me know when they wake up.” 

He walks up the stairs, stopping by Damian’s door for a second, but ultimately deciding against knocking. He changes before flopping into bed to get some sleep. 

Damian wakes up to his ribs burning. The pain has extended from his back to his hip, and he winces as he shifts. 

I’m getting weak. I was barely able to hide my pain from Father when he came in here earlier. I can’t let myself get complacent. 

He starts stretching lightly, and the pain in his back and hip doesn’t get any better. It’s still dark outside, but that doesn’t really mean anything, so he checks his phone for the time. It’s almost seven a.m., so he gently climbs back into bed. His ribs shift with the movement, and he has to bite his lip to keep himself quiet. Damian reaches out to grab his phone, then dials Jon’s number. 

He answers on the last ring, “Hey, Damian. It’s kind of early for you to be calling me on a Sunday. Is everything ok?” 

“Yes, everything is fine. I just needed someone to speak to. I know you’re busy though, so it’s ok if you don’t have time to talk.” 

“You’re just like your grandfather. You can’t keep acting like this.” 

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m not busy at all. What did you want to talk about?” 

“Anything. Can you just tell me what you’ve been up to?” 

“Yeah, but, Damian, are you sure you’re ok? I know that whatever happened, you don’t want to talk about it, but you sound like you’re in pain.” 

“It’s just a few broken ribs. It’s not a big deal.” 

“I guess there isn’t much you can do for broken ribs. Anyway, you want to know what I’ve been up to… I’ve been working with the cows. One of them kicked me the other day, and I crashed into a wall. I was fine though. It was wild. How are your friends?” 

“They’re fine. Titus is sitting outside of my door right now begging to be let in.” 

“Aw, poor guy.” 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t understand the concept of broken ribs, and he’s too big for me to trust him not to hurt me.” 

“Oh, yeah. You should definitely keep him out then. I didn’t even think about that.” Jon keeps chattering, and Damian lets his head drop back. He listens to what Jon is saying even though he’s barely processing it. He’s starting to fall asleep by the time Jon says, “Hey, I gotta go. Mom is heading up the stairs to tell me that it’s time to get ready for church. Do you want me to call you back afterwards?” 

“No, that’s alright. I’m going to get some more sleep, and then check on my family. We had an incident with Joker and Scarecrow yesterday.” 

“Is that how you got hurt?” 

“I thought we were past this?” 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. I got hurt during a run in with Scarecrow. Anyway, thank you for talking with me.” 

“Yeah, anytime. Just take it easy until you’re feeling better.” 

“I will, goodbye Jonathan.” 

“Bye, Damian.” 

Damian hangs up, then shifts as slowly as he can onto his side to take pressure off of his back. He falls asleep again quickly after changing positions. He doesn’t wake up again until light is streaming into his room, which is only a couple of hours later. It’s ten by then, so Damian forces himself out of bed. He walks into the bathroom with clothes so he can get a shower. His back is purple, and his chest has a thick black line across it from Jason’s arm slamming into him. Damian winces at it, but continues what he’s doing. Once he finishes his shower, he heads down the stairs to find Tim curled up on the couch. 

“Hey, Baby Bat. Come sit with me?” 

“I was going to check on Grayson and Todd.” 

“Jason already left. He was angry and confused about yesterday. Apparently one of his people betrayed him, and he went to deal with it as soon as he woke up. You actually just missed Dick. He’s heading to the store with Bruce. I think Bruce just wanted an excuse to talk to him about something, but that just leaves us. So, come sit with me. You can talk to Dick when he gets back.” 

Damian walks over, and sits down besides Tim. Tim pulls Damian a little closer, and Damian bites his cheek to stop himself from crying out. 

“Are you alright?” he says softly. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” 

“What happened yesterday before I got there? Jason and Dick don’t remember anything after being put under the influence of that drug.” 

Damian huffs, looking away. “Was it Scarecrow? Did he do something? Was it one of the other two? I didn’t see most of it, but it did not look like Jason was being too gentle with you.” 

“He wasn’t, but I’m not a baby. I don’t need someone to coddle me, because Todd was a little aggressive. I can handle some bruises, especially since it wasn’t his fault.” The words sound hollow even to Damian’s ears. Especially the last comment, but he lets the silence continue instead of trying harder with the situation. 

“It’s ok if something did happen, buddy. You’re safe here, and you can be honest with us.” 

“I know that I can be honest with you, Timothy.” 

You’re not the problem. I could still be the same person I was when I got here, and you’d still love me. I can’t ruin whatever Todd and Father have right now. I know that they probably won’t ever kick me out, but I don’t want to ruin anything else, especially since I’m a bad person. 

“You have your thinking face on. Whatcha thinking about?” Tim asks, putting his cheek on top of Damian’s head. 

Damian lets himself relax against Tim. “Nothing. There’s a lot of thoughts running through my head, but not a lot of coherence. Can we watch something?” 

“Of course. What do you want to watch?” 

He’s letting it go for now, but I know that he’s just trying to let me come to him. What do I do now? I’m going to pretend like nothing ever happened. 

“We can just turn on whatever anime you’re currently watching.” 

Tim smirks. “Yeah, I’m sure you want to do that.” 

He grabs the remote, and turns on one of Damian’s documentaries before settling back down against the couch. He keeps an arm around Damian’s shoulders, but it’s loose now. Damian finds himself falling asleep again even as he tries to force his eyes open. Tim laughs as he runs a hand through Damian’s hair. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Damian complains, scrunching up his nose. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you just seem like you need some sleep. It was a very long day yesterday.” 

Damian rolls his eyes, but lets them drop closed after that. The door opens, startling Damian awake. He sits up, pulling away from Tim. Tim stands up, stretching. 

“That’s probably Bruce and Dick.” 

He walks to the doorway, and Dick hugs him. 

“Hey, Timmy. How’s Damian? Was he hurt last night?” 

Damian stands up as Tim answers, “No, he’s fine. He’s right behind me by the couch.” 

Dick turns away from Tim to Damian. He walks over, and wraps his arms around Damian. 

“I am so sorry about yesterday.” 

Pain flares through Damian’s body, and he has to disguise it with a frown. He doesn’t move to hug Dick back, because the thought of moving his arms feels like torture. 

“What are you referring to?” 

“When you sent out that message last night. I don’t know what was wrong with my communicator, but it didn’t give me any words. I was told that you added a message to your SOS, but I didn’t get it. That’s why I came without a mask on. I had no way of knowing that it was Scarecrow specifically.” 

“Things happen. It’s not like you broke your communicator on purpose, or something. Either way, it’s fine. This actually makes a lot more sense than you just showing up unprepared.” 

Dick smiles. “Yeah, I try not to do that. I didn’t know. I just got an SOS, and pulled up your tracker to see where you were. You’re sure that you’re alright?” 

“I will be.” 

Dick frowns, obviously a little confused. 

“I’m heading down to the cave. I have some reports to write, and it’s quiet down there.” 

He walks past them even as Bruce follows him. “Damian, can we talk?” 

“Why?” Damian asks quietly as he sits down in front of the computer. 

“You know that you can talk to me about anything, right?” 

“Hm.” 

“That’s not an answer. I need you to know that I’m here for you Damian.” 

Damian’s eyes are burning now, because even if he is, Damian will never be as important as the sons he picked. The ones that are good for things other than killing, and that were raised for better things. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Damian bitterly replies, knowing how badly that he would get punished for that if he were anywhere else. 

Bruce doesn’t scold him though, he just leaves him to work. He ends up staying down there for the rest of the day avoiding his family, which means he’s exhausted by the time Tim and Bruce come down the stairs for patrol. 

“Are you heading out?” Damian asks, keeping his eyes on the floor. 

“Yeah, but you don’t have to come. You can just rest tonight,” Bruce says, then kisses Damian on the top of the head.

“I’m going to be staying here and working comms tonight. If you need anything at all, just let me know,” Tim says, giving Damian a thin smile. 

Damian returns it, then stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed now. I have school in the morning, and would like to be adequately rested.” 

He heads up the stairs, but he can hear Bruce say, “He’s not actually going to sleep at nine thirty, is he?” 

“Probably not. He’s probably going to read, draw, or find something else to do,” Tim replies. 

Damian doesn’t stick around for the rest of the conversation, too tired to really care. He goes up the stairs in a haze, not really paying attention to what he’s doing. Alfred is the only one in the manor right now anyway, and he’s cleaning in the living room. He still can’t completely relax, his training kicking in. However, he’s tired enough that he isn’t hyper aware of everything around him. Damian opens his door, and steps inside. He goes to take another step, but Alfred the cat walks directly underneath his foot. He pulls back fast enough not to step on him, but he also loses his balance. Something in his chest shifts again when he hits the ground, and pain overcomes all of his senses before he can even make a sound. 

Tim shifts, an uncomfortable feeling spiking his anxiety. It’s only ten, and Bruce isn’t due back for another three hours at least. Also, he’s been checking in every fifteen minutes, just like he’s supposed to. So, it can’t be him, and Tim can hear Alfred upstairs. He’s gotten quieter, but he’s obviously doing something in the kitchen. 

I really shouldn’t have expected to hear from Damian. He’s only been upstairs for half an hour, and he’s probably unwinding. I’m sure something happened, and pushing him isn’t going to make him tell me. However, I don’t normally feel like this, and this really doesn’t feel right. Something is wrong, and checking on him isn’t bad, right? I’m not going to be pushing too hard? I won’t even ask anything, I’ll just make sure that he’s ok. 

Tim stands up. “B, I’ll be right back. I’m going to check on something, and then I’ll be back.” 

“Alright.” 

He walks up the stairs, poking his head into the kitchen. Alfred is making tea. 

“Hello.” 

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I was just making sure that Damian wasn’t in here with you.” 

He heads up to Damian’s room, pausing at the top of the stairs. There’s an odd sound drawing his attention. It sounds kind of like a mix between gasping and gurgling. Tim jogs to Damian’s room. His door is open, and he’s on the floor. There’s blood on the floor too, a lot of it. Tim kneels down, his mind racing. 

Damian doesn’t have any obvious injuries, but there’s blood covering Damian’s face. It takes Tim a few seconds longer than it normally would to figure out what’s going on. Damian has gone quiet by then, and Tim gently picks him up. He can’t tell if Damian’s chest is rising and falling anymore. He races back down the stairs, barely pausing by the kitchen to ask Alfred to come down to the cave with him. He puts Damian down on a bed before racing over to flip off all the comms. Alfred is standing beside the bed when Tim gets back over there. 

“Call Leslie,” he says, grabbing something from a table nearby. 

Tim doesn’t look at it, think about what it is, or wait around to see what Alfred does with it. He walks back over to the computer to call Leslie. She gets there less than ten minutes after they get off the phone, and Tim is left alone in the main area of the cave. 

“Red? Are you still there?” Bruce asks, sounding confused and concerned. 

Tim reaches over to flip the comms back on from his end. “Yeah, I’m still here. You need to come home.” 

“Why, what happened?” 

“I’m not sure. I found Damian passed out upstairs. He was choking on blood, but I have no idea what actually happened.” 

“Is he alright?” Bruce asks, sounding slightly panicked. 

Tim sighs. He knows that Bruce doesn’t mean alright, he’s asking if Damian is going to be alright. 

“I don’t know. Just come back please.” 

“I’m on my way back right now,” Bruce says, and Tim drops into his chair. “Can you call Dick? He should still be in town, and he’ll want to know what’s going on,” Bruce says as Tim hears his car roar to life. 

“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll see you when you get here.” 

He flips the comms back off, switching off the noise from Bruce’s end too. He has to take a minute to compose himself before he can call Dick. Surprisingly, Bruce and Dick get there around the same time, and it’s only fifteen minutes later. 

“Where’s Damian?” Dick asks as they both jog over. 

“He’s with Leslie and Alfred. I haven’t heard anything since they left with him earlier.” 

“Do we know what happened?” 

“No, we don’t,” Bruce says, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “It’ll be ok, but we have to stay calm. We have to figure out what could have happened. Was there any sign of a break in?” 

“No, there wasn’t, and I think we all know what happened. He had to have gotten hurt yesterday during the fight with Scarecrow. He’s been lethargic, and slept most of today. He also hasn’t gone anywhere since then,” Tim says, folding his arms. 

“He would have said something,” Dick argues. 

“Not if something else happened while he was there. Speaking of which, I figured out how we can see what happened. Do you guys remember the cameras in the dominos? I was thinking that we could access that. I checked, and Damian keeps his on almost all the time, just like he was told to. It’s surprising, but we can watch what was happening through his mask camera,” Tim says, motioning to the computer where he had already pulled up the footage. 

Bruce nods, and the three of them walk over. Tim starts the footage, and it begins with the end of the fight against Joker’s goons. So, Tim fast forwards until Damian walks into the apartment building. They’re quiet as they watch Damian enter the apartment to find Jason and Scarecrow sitting together. They watch all the way until Jason slams Damian into the wall. They see Damian’s right hand go for Jason’s neck only to pull back at the last second. Then they hear a crack when he actually hits the wall, and Jason starts yelling at Damian. Damian doesn’t do anything to get away from Jason, and then Tim shows up. Tim pauses the video at that point, pinching his nose hard. 

“I’m going to call Jason. He needs to get down here.” 

He walks away as Dick says something softly. He can’t hear what it is, nor does he care. He calls Jason, putting the phone up to his ear. 

“What do you want, Tim?” 

“You need to come back to the cave. Now, before you protest, or argue, I’m going to remind you what I am capable of. I can make your life a living hell, starting with posting all of the pictures from my blackmail file on every social media platform around. Now, I don’t want to hear any questions, or arguments. You’re going to come here, and I’ll explain when you get here, ok?” 

Jason is quiet for a few seconds before saying, “I don’t like you threatening me, but yeah. I can be there in half an hour.” 

“Good.” 

Tim hangs up, leaning heavily against the wall. He stays there for a while, letting Dick and Bruce talk. He waits until Jason gets there to head back to the computer. 

“Jay,” Dick says, his eyes red. 

“What’s he crying about?” 

“We found Damian passed out from a punctured lung. We haven’t gotten any word on that yet, but we did find this,” Tim says, pulling up the footage again. 

He lets it play from the beginning until the end again, keeping his eyes trained on the screen instead of letting them drift towards Jason. 

“Shit, I hit the kid pretty hard, didn’t I? That was really rough of me to say. Do you think he…” 

“Took it seriously? Yeah, he did. We need to do something about this. Have some kind of conversation about this.” 

“Damn, I know that I was drugged, but I can’t believe I said that. Like, who am I to talk? He’s trying, and I think he’s trying too hard.” 

“Yes, but he’s been trying that hard to get away from his heritage. You didn’t have anything to prove, and he’s always felt like he does. I think he was quiet about his ribs because he thought it would be fine, and he was scared of what would happen between you and Bruce,” Tim says, leaning against the computer. 

Jason scrubs a hand across his face. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” 

The room gets quiet after that, and no one talks for a long while. Eventually Alfred comes back in. He looks tired. 

“How is Damian?” Bruce asks softly as Alfred approaches them. 

“He’ll be alright. He won’t wake up for a few hours though. He has seven broken ribs, and a fractured spine.” 

Damian wakes up in significantly less pain than he passed out in. He barely remembers tripping over his cat, but he can tell that he’s in the infirmary now. There’s machines recording his vitals, and an IV in his hand. Tim is sitting next to him, his head resting in his palm. Damian can hear people talking outside of the room, but he can’t tell what they’re saying. Tim blinks slowly, his eyes coming back into focus. 

“Dames, hey. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m… I’m fine, I think. What happened?” 

“Your ribs punctured your lung. I found you upstairs. The others are talking outside about what happened with Scarecrow. You had your mask camera on, so we were able to look back at everything.” 

Damian feels his face start to burn, and he looks away. 

“I’m sorry, Timothy. I failed badly.” 

Tim leans forward, putting his face into his hands. 

“No, I’m sorry. We have failed you so badly, Damian. We love you so much, and we all know that you’ve… I won’t even say changed, because it’s not accurate. You are sweet, kind, helpful, and empathetic. All of those bad habits weren’t your fault at all. The murder, anger, and violence were choices made for you. The choices you’ve made since being given any options are so different. You’re vegetarian, you rescue animals, you volunteer at multiple spots in town, and you help people every night. 

You are one of the kindest children that I’ve ever met, and people have hurt you more than any of us can understand. I know that Jason didn’t mean a word that came out of his mouth, and you need to know that too. We all have seen who you are, and we love you for it.” 

Damian sniffles, his eyes filling with tears. “Timothy.” 

“No, I need to know that you’re hearing me.” Tim grabs Damian’s hand, and Damian squeezes his eyes closed. 

“I do, but…” 

The door opens before he can continue, and Jason, Dick, and Bruce all come in. Bruce’s eyes soften upon seeing Damian. 

“Hey, we heard you talking. Good thing you woke up,” Jason says, clutching the edges of his jacket hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

“Todd, Grayson… Father.” 

Damian’s eyes drift back to his lap. Dick elbows Jason and he grunts. 

“Damian, I’m sorry. I know what I said, and it was completely ridiculous. I know how much our opinions mean to you, and how scared you are of turning out like your grandfather. I know that sometimes it feels like we’re stuck on a train hurtling towards something that we want to get away from so desperately. That there’s no stopping what we’ve been told we’re going to turn into, but that’s not the case.” 

“You’ve decided who you’re going to be, Damian, and I am incredibly proud of that person. I’m incredibly proud of you,” Bruce says, putting a hand on Damian’s knee. 

That’s enough to draw Damian’s gaze. “Really?” he asks, close to tears again. 

“Yes, really. I’m so proud of you, and I love you so much. You’re my child, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” 

“But you didn’t want-” 

Bruce flinches. “I do want you. I was shocked when you first showed up, but I do want you. I’m not always the best at telling you how I feel, but you are extremely important to me.” 

“You’re important to all of us. Which is why you need to tell us if something happens in the future. You could have died, Damian. You can’t hide injuries just because you think it’s going to get someone in trouble. Also, Jason wasn’t in control of himself. He’s not going to get in trouble for something he can’t help. He’s going to beat himself up about it for the rest of eternity, but no one else will,” Dick says, and Jason elbows him this time. 

“He’s right though. Not just when you get injured, but you can’t hide any of it. You need to tell us when you’re not feeling good,” Bruce says seriously. 

Damian nods. “I understand. I know I shouldn’t have lied, but I don’t want to be a problem anymore.” 

“You are not a problem, and you never have been. You’re a child who needs the love and support of his family. That’s what we’re here for.” 

Damian turns to Tim, who gives him a supportive smile. 

“Ok, I won’t hide anything anymore. Thank you.” He doesn’t look at anyone when he says it, but his eyes soften. 

“Also, I’m sorry that I laid hands on you. I know that what I said was the more important part, but those were some pretty nasty injuries you got,” Jason says, frowning deeply. 

“Stop moping, you’re annoying me. It wasn’t your fault anyway. I’m glad that neither you nor Grayson had any long term effects from the drugs.” 

Jason smirks. “Of course that was what you were worried about.” 

Damian also smiles. Recovery is going to be a long road, but maybe it won’t be as hard as Damian thought it was going to be.

[oneatlatime]

Lake Laogai

This Lake had better have Appa in it. With little water wings on.

Skipping the commentary as usual.

The Previously On section suggests that a whole lot of plot threads are about to crash into each other. Strap in folks.

Lefty Sokka!

Beat up Sokka quota fulfilled by his sister's critique of his art skills. It's not like he had paper to practice with at the South Pole.

Sometimes I forget that Aang is 12, then he does something like attempt to rescue his pet from a nefarious city-wide conspiracy of silence with lost cat posters.

"Good tea is its own reward." That means no, he isn't paid enough.

Remember what I said in my last post about Iroh bringing too much attention to himself?

"senior executive assistant manager" someone on the writing team has worked retail I see. Nothing like meaningless promotions with no raise attached! It's right up there with employee pizza party.

I have to pause here and point something out. This whole scene with Iroh? This is an adult fantasy. I don't mean dirty, I mean this whole scene was put in specifically to appeal to the adults who got roped in to watching this kids' show by their children. A rich man walks through the door of your shitty retail job, immediately spots your natural greatness, and offers you a much better paying job with unlimited creative freedom and a better house to go with it? Find me a burnt out retail worker who hasn't conjured up this fantasy five times a shift.

And so the plots come crashing back together. This won't end badly.

"patience really pays off" I checked. He waited literally three seconds.

Shout out to Toph in the background playing catch with a ball she can't see. Casual flex of epic proportions.

Remind me never to go to Lake Laogai. Sounds like it's lousy with Ju Dees.

So the Ju Dees don't know about each other? Because she seems honestly confused. Does Ju Dee think she's the only Ju Dee? What happens if two Ju Dees run into each other in the street?

Posters are illegal but I haven't heard a peep about recarving a bunch of fields into a zoo.

This is maybe the second time Aang's blown up over Appa. Frankly he deserves more blow ups about the whole situation.

I don't think knocking down walls will help find Appa, but I applaud Toph's spirit.

They took out a whole wall and then exit by the door anyways. That's funny.

I really hate this guy, but I have to admit that he may be the first truly competent villain of the series.

'The Jasmine Dragon' also lets anyone with half a brain know that you're Fire Nation. Try the Jasmine Badgermole instead.

Zuko really can't catch a break, huh? He wasn't happy being a tea server, but at least he was resting. But every time he gets five minutes to himself, the main plot reappears to drag him back into the action, whether he wants to or not. Although he hasn't figured out that he doesn't want to be dragged back yet.

Every line of dialogue in this scene is a good point. Zuko's right, Iroh's right. The Zuko's right again, then Iroh's right again.

YES YES YES GET HIS ASS

That was satisfying!

I'm not understanding why Sokka is the voice of reason here. Is he incapable of holding a grudge? He's the one that had all the animosity with Jet to begin with. Shouldn't it be Aang who wants to hear him out?

Toph is a living lie detector now? I can't think of an example off the top of my head, but I'm sure that could have come in handy previously. Any other incredibly useful skills we should know about?

Jet is oddly defensive for someone who claims to know he did wrong.

Ever get so excited that your spine malfunctions?

Sokka just has a metre long map in his pocket. Good friend to have in a pinch.

Avatar first! Katara is rude to an old person!

I'm going to have fun with Toph's new ability.

Toph, you have never been more right. It is the worst city ever. You are really shining this episode.

I know this is a serious scene, but I need to point out that Jet's guyliner is on point.

This shot is jarringly out of place. I think it's because it both black and white, and live action. Those have to be real clouds.

So the Blue Spirit can talk after all. Careful, your Zuko is showing.

Wow Zuko is good at sewing. And fast too.

Sokka is having far too much fun with this whole 'prompt Jet's memory' thing. Maybe he does have a bit of a grudge after all.

Katara can reverse brainwashing now too? Everyone's levelling up this episode.

This scene with the planks is a very cool and disorienting visual.

Didn't have 'the gaang breaks into a brainwashing facility' on my ATLA bingo card.

Pretty.

OMIGOD IT'S AP- did Zuko just break the fourth wall?

Everyone always forgets to look up.

So this fight is going to be Toph v. all of the Dai Li while everyone else tries not to get in Toph's way.

That's a boat.

Toph could probably take all these guys out faster if she wasn't having to constantly break off to save everyone else from them.

The Dai Li prancing up walls is a really cool visual. It's very Ty Lee of them.

I love watching her work.

Why don't you let Long Feng escape? He's no longer threatening you, and you're down there to rescue Appa. Just let him go.

The security on Lake Laogai is a joke.

Big words from someone who also had no plan whatsoever at the North Pole.

Zuko knows that Iroh's right. He knows, and that's important. I don't think Iroh is saying anything that Zuko hasn't thought and then hurriedly pretended to have never thought about before. It's why he says 'stop it' rather than being completely confused as to what Iroh is referring to.

Poor Appa's like 'can you have a crisis of self after you free me please?'

'You've chosen your own demise." No. You chose it for him. That's some top tier deflection/victim blaming right there.

Longshot can talk!

That's one hell of a set up and pay off re: Toph's lie detecting abilities.

Poor Jet. A double tragedy: to be likeable only when you're brainwashed, and to dedicate your life to wiping out the Fire Nation yet being killed by the Earth Kingdom.

Hi Appa. It's about time buddy.

Shockingly in character for Appa's first actions to be to single handedly save the Gaang from a threat.

You skip that bastard like a stone.

Everyone go and listen to the sound Appa makes when he spits out Long Feng's shoe. It's delightful.

I am framing this.

And this too.

I can tell there's some shmymbolism here, but it's gone right over my head.

Final Thoughts

Appa is back. The Gaang has Appa back. I have Appa back. Ok. I can relax now. With any luck, this means we can leave Ba Sing Se.

This episode felt like City of Walls and Secrets, Part 2. I think it was a good decision to have a couple of episodes between the two, but I think there would be some tonal whiplash if you binged this section of season 2. Which wouldn't have been a problem for a show designed to air once a week, so it's a moot point.

So Zuko freed Appa from his chains, and presumably pointed him in the direction of a door or something. Or maybe not; Appa has a ridiculously hard head, he could have busted his way out. Either way, Zuko broke the chains. Thanks Zuko!

In season 1, Zuko finds the Avatar the world had lost. In season 2, Zuko finds the Sky Bison the Avatar had lost. So in season 3, Zuko will find something Appa has lost. I wonder what that will be?

Jet being killed by the Earth Kingdom is so deliciously ironic, and tragic, yet very in character for the Earth Kingdom's approach to this war. It's also literally this:

Smellerbee and Longshot have really gotten the short end of the stick over and over this season. They were the only ones to decide to stick with Jet. Presumably they were the only ones who believed that he had had a legitimate change of heart. And they were kind of wrong. They get to Ba Sing Se only for Jet to immediately backslide way past even where he was at his worst in Season 1. He completely discounts and dismisses their legitimate concerns for his methods and his overall health. Then Jet gets arrested and disappears for two (?) weeks. So what do they do now? Get jobs? Steal so they don't starve? Then suddenly Jet's back but he doesn't even remember them. Then suddenly Jet's dead. The whole point of coming to Ba Sing Se just died, in a way that shows very clearly that their desire to help with the war is not welcome at all in the city. So what now? Do they leave and try to fight in the war from outside the walls? Do they settle down and try to forget about the war? Things did spiral completely out of Jet's control once the Dai Li got involved, but you have to admit that he's left his only remaining friends up a creek.

Sokka had some good jokes but was oddly ok with this episode's events. Toph had some great lines and got to shine with a new skill that any writer with half a brain will bring back in future episodes. She felt like the audience substitute this episode, which is usually Sokka's role. Toph was episode MVP for sure. Poor Aang took a bit of a back seat this episode. Zuko finally hit the crisis point, and may well have made his first indisputably correct decision of the series. But, as previous episodes have gone out of their way to show me that Zuko being good always goes badly for Zuko, I'm sure freeing Appa will somehow come back to bite him.

Iroh's question of "who are you? And what do you want?" was Zuko's entire character arc this season. He took a shot at answering the "who are you?" portion in Zuko Alone, and sort of halfway got there before messing up at the end of the episode. As for the "what do you want?" Zuko will tell you (often and repeatedly) that he wants his honour back. But I think he just wants to go home. The thing is, I strongly suspect that the home Zuko wants to return to hasn't existed since his mother left, if it ever existed at all. Which means that while "who are you?" has an answer Zuko can work towards, "what do you want?" has an answer that is kind of impossible. So Zuko is going to have to learn to want something new.

RIP Jet. Your life was fucked to Hell long before you were old enough to try and salvage it. You'll probably be missed by more people than you strictly deserve. War sucks, amirite?

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ epilogue

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: FLUFF chapter map

Author's Note: I just want to say a quick THANK YOU to everyone who followed along and supported this story! Girl Genius @scarlettspectra who helped me with the original idea, my utterly beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff , the SWEETEST @sweetwolfcupcake (who fried my brain with that gif of Paul, thank u! 😘 , the always RAZOR sharp @discoscoob, the hilarious @lilithlinen , the insightful @reallongwire , emoji queen @thesecretlifeofmo , 🖤 @lonelyspadez and SO many others, I wouldn't have finished this without you, it wouldn't have been as much fun, and it CERTAINLY wouldn't be the fic it is without your amazing input!

-You’re going to have to rewrite the train station scene in your story, because you take him with you at the platform, and you are smart enough not to let go. 

At first, you stay together in your tiny apartment with its fetching view of a brick wall. The arrangement was fine, if not a little cramped. You spend most of your time in bed, anyway, but you find you don’t mind sharing your space with Paul, or your cooking, or your time. Goddammit if Anjelica wasn’t right about that. 

But maybe he knows you better than you know yourself. 

Without you needing to ask, [and you’re not sure you even would have, truth be told], he eventually gets his own place. Yet, you are still inseparable, barring the hours you go to work, and he goes to school. 

You find that you are equally happy to have your own space back, yet unbearably restless for the next time you will get to see him. It is a strange medley to balance in your life, and a part of you hopes that someday maybe you really will score that apartment with enough room for the two of you, and a typewriter overlooking the Bay. 

On the odd days you do not see each other, he writes you a letter, and you always write him back. 

As it turns out, Paul Sutton likes things that go, and he enrolls to study engines at a technical college in San Francisco. 

The day he roars up to your apartment in a leather jacket on a Norton motorcycle with a big grin, you cannot help but laugh. It seems like a ridiculous machine, and yet after the first time he takes you for a ride–it becomes one of your favorite things to do with him. You tear up and down the coast in your free time, picnicking at the beach or beneath towering sequoia trees. 

You have both healed from your misadventure, withstanding the occasional cough, or the odd nightmare...on a whole, your life together is so sweet, and the irony does not escape you that on more than one occasion you have to restrain yourself from asking him to marry you. But Paul is starting to find himself, given time in which he’s not running between raindrops, enemy fire, or immediately jumping into the responsibility of supporting a wife and children. 

He does not always take you on his motorcycle trips, often going on long rides to clear his head. He says it helps ease his mind, when his memories from the war become too loud in his head.

Most of the time though, he seems content, and you are so happy for that. 

-The first time after he dropped into your office at the publishing house to bring you flowers, just because, bless that man, your boss asks, “So that’s Peter?” 

“No, that’s Paul,” you tease him, aware that your beau’s good looks have a certain effect upon both sexes, no matter their preferences. 

You’d let your superior read your manuscript of your book, after catching you working on it at your desk during a break. You decided to title it, “A Walk in the Clouds.”  You’re not getting your hopes up, as he hems and haws over it. He keeps proposing changes to the story that would be untenable to you, as well as writing under a man’s pen name, or a less Spanish-sounding surname, in the interest of appealing to a broader audience. Maybe someday, you’ll find an agent who will champion your vision, and a publisher who won’t hold it against you that you are an intelligent self-taught Hispanic woman with opinions that challenge the conformity of post-War America.  

Maybe someday, things will be better…

Until then, you’ll just have to keep writing. 

-A year later, the two of you are out to lunch at a North Beach café, when a slick-looking man in a dapper suit passes by your table, then does a double-take at Paul, who was engaged mid-bite with his open mouth over a fork full of pasta. 

“Hey kid,” he says. “Ever thought of being in movies?” 

Taken aback, Paul wipes his lips with his napkin, regarding the man quizzically. “Ah…no, never occurred to me,” he admits to the stranger with a quizzical lift of eyebrows. 

“You got the look. Call me.” The Hollywood man flips a card onto the table, then strolls off like he has somewhere important to be. 

Paul looks at you, then laughs, shaking his head as he looks at the card. He is so humble about his dashing good looks, finding it embarrassing when women slow down to ogle him on the street, (or in one amusing case–to you at least– trip over the sidewalk). 

“How silly,” he says with a little smile, tearing off a piece of bread. He’s playing it down, but you think you see a glitter of intrigue in those polished ebony eyes.

You shrug. “Who knows?” you say playfully. “You’re certainly the best-looking man I know.” 

After all this time, his cheeks still pink for you, his ears turning red at the tips. 

“Well, that’s all that matters to me,” he tells you, reaching across the table for your hand. You slide your fingers into his, so happy you could die. 

Afterwards you go for a stroll, hand in hand, looking in the windows of the shops and laughing together, your head on his shoulder.

It’s hard to imagine that life could get much sweeter than this. Deep down, a tiny, selfish part of you hopes he doesn’t call that Hollywood headhunter. How drastically would your life with him change, if he became a star on the silver screen?

That’s when you know you absolutely believe he’s got what it takes–and you beat back your ugly little fears, resolving that you won’t stand in his way, if he wants to try for it.

You realize you’re squeezing his hand too hard when he looks down at you with a question in his eyes. “Sorry,” you apologize, tilting your head for a kiss. 

He grants your request, and his soft lips on yours still curl your toes. He rests his forehead against yours with that little smile, just for you…and your fears go quiet, replaced by the soft glow this man always inspires in you. 

“Just in case you didn’t know…I would marry you in a heartbeat, if you ever change your mind about all that.” 

You blink, your heart a sparkling firework trapped in your chest. 

You have to try twice before you can find your voice. 

“I think…I would like that, Paul Sutton.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs out loud, that beautiful sound that fuels you as surely as food or drink or air. He picks you up right in the middle of the sidewalk, spinning you around in a circle before his lips find yours again. 

Suddenly, you’re not worried about anything.

-Paul drops you off at your apartment after a lingering kiss before rumbling off on the Norton. He has to study up for a test on Monday, and you’ve found when you try to help him with his studies more often than not you just end up in bed together. 

There are worse things, but this is an important exam. You’re sure he’ll pass with flying colors, then you can reward him properly. 

You practically skip up the stairs, still giddy from earlier. Are you and Paul actually engaged? Promised to be engaged? Merely in talks? You’re not really sure, but it doesn’t matter. You’re together, and you feel like you have all the time in the world to figure it out. The whole country is in such a hurry now that the war has ended, but the two of you have learned you don’t mind taking your time.  

You almost step on a little lump of something left before your door. Puzzled, you pick it up. It reminds you of the handmade little ragdolls you and your sisters used to play with, made of cloth and thread and horse hair.  

But this toy is burned, half her hair singed away, her blackened face pulled in a terrible grimace. 

With a frown you lay it back to rest on the floor beside your door. 

Maybe the neighbor’s girl down the hall dropped her toy. She might want it back. If it’s still there tomorrow…you’ll throw it out. 

Your earlier elation dampered by a weird feeling weighing in your gut, you let yourself into your apartment, and go about the rest of your day. 

Yet as you sit down with your notebook and a cup of tea to warm the chill inside you, you cannot stop thinking about it. 

There’s no way in Hell that terrible man survived that fire… 

Is there? 

The End…

Or is it?👀

[urfavstonr1]

Unsweetened Lemonade

Series- Delicious In Dungeon

Pairings- Chilchuck Tims/reader

Word count- 4698

Content Warnings- mentions of trauma

traveling alone was never easy, especially in the island dungeon. when (Y/N) finds herself a new party can she handle resisting inner-party relationships? maybe finally sharing her past will make her strong enough to overcome it, or will it only make it harder?

I have no clue how long this is gonna be yet lmao some things are being left out for a few reasons, mostly cause my memory is shit and I don't feel the need to rewrite scenes already in the anime.

Chapter 1

The dungeons were harsh to say the least, but that didn’t seem to matter to (Y/N). A mage without a party wondering the third floor, how she made it that far only she knew. Maybe it was luck or maybe it was fate, but here she was. Reaching over her shoulder she grabbed a map from her bag, finding where she was and where she needed to go. 

Lifting her head to commotion just ahead of her, was that talking? Slowly approaching what was now a source of light with her hand on the hilt of her dagger, monsters didn’t usually start bonfires, especially not on the third floor. Other adventurers? Most likely, but who knew if they were friendly. The closer she got the louder the voices were, the more clear the conversation got. She knew one of those voices…

“Marcille?” (Y/N) asked, looking through the doorway at the blonde elf. 

The conversation turned silent as all eyes turned to her, making a shiver crawl up her spine.

“(Y/N)?” Marcille slowly stood from her seat on the floor, before running and nearly launching herself at her, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug, “(Y/N)! It’s been ages! And you haven’t grown a bit!” Marcille laid her head on top of (Y/N)’s as she held the short mage tightly. 

“Thanks..” (Y/N) tried to laugh off the remark on her height, returning the hug happily, “I didn’t think I’d see you down here.”

“Fate brought us together again!” Marcille loosened her hug and pulled back to look down at (Y/N). “Where’s the rest of your party? Did you make your way down here all by yourself!?” 

“Well I-“ before she could finish, a blond tall-man approached them. 

“Who’s this Marcille?” He asked, looking over the elf’s shoulder down at (Y/N). 

“My name is-“ she was cut off again. 

“This is (Y/N)! She went to school with Falen and me.” Marcille beamed, pulling back to show off her old friend to her party. (Y/N) gave a wave to the tall-man before looking to the rest of the party, a Dwarf and a Half-foot. The dwarf looked happy to see her and the half-foot looked less than pleased. 

“I-It’s nice to meet you all. I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” She gave a friendly smile as Marcille ushered her into the room. 

“You should join us! We were just about to start eating.” Marcille stopped herself, “actually, I don’t think you’d want to eat this..”

“What’s wrong?” (Y/N) looked up at her confused before whispering, “is their cooking that bad?” 

“I pride myself in my cooking.” The dwarf remarked. 

“It always tastes good but I don’t think you’d like the ingredients…” Marcille mumbles, trying not to stare directly at the dinner that awaited her. 

“You make it seem like the worst thing in the world.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, “what are you eating monsters or something?” She mused, only to be greeted by silence and a guilty look from Marcille. She let out a laugh, “seriously? I’m sure it tastes great!”

“Not you too..” Marcille whines as (Y/N) walks into their camp. 

“Is it alright if I join you?” (Y/N) smiles warmly at the party.

“Of course! I’m always happy to feed the youth!” The dwarf, she assumed, smiled at her, “I’m Senshi, it’s nice to meet you young lady.”

(Y/N) let out an annoyed laugh but joined the group on the floor, sitting herself next to the half-foot, Senshi handing her a bowl of whole stewed cabbage, “Thank you Senshi. This looks great.”

Marcille sits of the other side of (Y/N) and gives her a smile as she digs into the food gratefully. 

The Tall-man places himself back on the floor, “I’m Laius, and that’s Chilchuck to your left. How long have you been in the dungeon by yourself?” 

(Y/N) thinks to herself for a moment for swallowing her food to answer, “uhm. I think a few weeks? My party wasn’t making enough money so they fucking dipped out on me and I’ve been down here alone since.” She shrugs and takes another bite of her food, thankful for the warm meal after having run out of food 2 days ago. 

Chilchuck still hadn't said a word, just stared at the (H/C) haired mage next to him. Looking at her pointed ears and (E/C) eyes. “You know you’re pretty short for an elf. If Marcille hadn’t said you went to school together I would’ve thought you were still a kid.” He snidely remarks, earning him a glare from (Y/N). 

“That’s big talk coming from a Half-foot, for a second I thought someone brought a child into the dungeon.” (Y/N) returns the attitude before thankfully handing her empty bowl back to Senshi, “it was delicious, thank you again.” She gives him a smile and turns to Marcille, ignoring Chilchuck’s angry mumbling. 

“For your information I’m 29, which might not be old compared to an elf, but maturity wise I’m far older than you.” Chilchuck huffs out, crossing his arms over his chest as he glares smugly at (Y/N). 

An agitated laugh leaves her lips, not even turning to look at Chilchuck or dignify him with a response for that matter. “Chilchuck, I think it would be best if you dropped it..” Marcille tries to cool the air, feeling (Y/N)’s malice emanating from her body.

She takes in a deep breath before blowing it out and smiling at Marcille, “as I was saying, I thought Falin was at your party?” Her question was met with saddened looks throughout the party. 

Marcille lets out a sigh and explains what happened to Falin, their fight with the red dragon, and their mission to save her. 

(Y/N) pulls Marcille into a tight hug, “I know how much she meant to you…” she pulls away, (E/C) eyes staring into green ones, “if you’ll let me, I want to join you on your journey.”

Before Marcille could answer another snide comment came from behind her “yeah, like we have the money to pay you.”

(Y/N) whips around, glaring down at the chestnut haired Half-foot, “this isn’t about money, this is about saving my friend. Not that you would know much about friendship with your attitude.” She nearly growls at him, her (E/C) eyes ablaze with anger and determination.

“Well, if you’re joining us, I think it’s time we all get some sleep. It’s been a long day.” Senshi speaks up, the group nods as Laius digs into his back, pulling out sticks to decide the order of watch.

“Please, let me take first watch, it's the least I could do after you guys fed me.” (Y/N) speaks, holding her hand out to pause him.

“Uhm, sure. Sounds good to me.” Laius returns her smile, holding the sticks to the rest of the part. Marcille taking second, Laius third, then Senshi, and lastly Chilchuck. Not that he’d be sleeping much tonight anyway, he never did. 

Everyone rolled out their beds, settling in for the night. (Y/N) dug through her bag, retrieving a ball of yarn and a crochet hook.

“I didn’t know you knew how to crochet.” Marcille comments, brushing out her hair before laying down to sleep.

“Yeah, it’s a hobby I took up during-” She cut herself off, “I picked it up not too long after school.” She feigns a smile, beginning her work on a new project, “It helps keep me occupied during breaks.” 

Marcille nods before laying down. “Good night (Y/N), wake me up in a few hours, kay?”

“Yep, I will. Goodnight Marcille.” (Y/N) smiles at her school friend as the party slips off to sleep. She quickly got to work on her new project, a dark blue scarf from yarn she had dyed herself on the surface. Little did she know brown eyes were watching her from just beyond the light of the fire. 

Hours had passed when she finished the scarf, sealing her work with a slip stitch to secure it. Setting the scarf back into her back she crawled to the sleeping elf, gently shaking her awake, “Wakey wakey Marcy~” she sang in a hushed tone.

Marcille stirred awake, looking up at (Y/N), “Is it time already?” she yawned, sitting up to stretch.

“I let you sleep long enough to finish a scarf, it's honestly about half way through your shift.” (Y/N) chuckles, sitting back to lean on her hands, “God I could use a drink.” She breathes out a sigh.

As Marcille crawled out of her sleep roll she stretched again, “Hey, I just wanted to apologize for Chilchuck earlier, he’s not exactly friendly towards new people.”

(Y/N) lets out a snort of a laugh, “It’s ok, I think it's a half-foot thing. We know my dad wasn’t the friendliest either.”

Marcille laughs while sitting next to (Y/N), “I remember my first time meeting him, I was so terrified.”

“Aw come on, he was a big softy once you got to know him.” her face turns from a smile to melancholic, “I still miss him everyday.”

“We should go visit him when we Falin, I know she’d want to go too.” Marcille gives (Y/N) an empathetic look, leaning against her for comfort.

“Sounds like a plan.” (Y/N) smiles, laying her head on Marcille’s shoulder as they watch the fire. After a few minutes passed (Y/N) finally pulled herself off the floor to ready herself for bed, kicking off her boots and setting them next to her bag. Pulling her jacket off before finally reaching her pants and stripping those off as well.

“W-what are you doing? Someone could see you!” Marcille whisper yelled at the short mage.

“What? No one else is awake, and you’ve seen me with far less clothes before.” (Y/N) shrugged it off, fully pulling off her pants and letting loose her undershirt. Thankfully it reached her mid thigh and covered everything she deemed private.

Marcille groans and rubs her temples, “You’ve never been the modest type have you?”

“Nope!” (Y/N) laughs as she gets into her bed roll, snuggling into her blanket with a satisfied sigh. “Oh how I’ve missed you~” she mumbles into her blanket. Closing her eyes she prayed for sleep to take her, and hopefully she wouldn’t be plagued with nightmares like usual.

After hours of thankfully dreamless sleep she was woken with a shake, sitting up urgently only to knock foreheads with whoever woke her up. Bracing her head with a pained groan she looks around, no one else was awake. Turning to her attacker she found Chilchuck, knocked back on the floor with his hands on his forehead.

“Shit I am so sorry!” She blurted out quickly before moving to check on him, reaching out a hand only to be swatted away.

“Do you always wake up that violently?” he groans, opening his eyes to glare at her only to be greeted with a concerned (Y/N) and her cleavage in full view. The top buttons of her shirt had come undone in her sleep and left nearly nothing to the imagination. She was on her hands and knees, her face still filled with concern as she looked at the mark she left on his forehead, she probably had her own matching mark. “And for god's sake cover yourself up!” Chilchuck said sternly, looking away from her as his ears and face turned red.

(Y/N) looked down at herself before scrambling to find her pants, “W-why isn’t anyone else up yet?” she pulled her pants on, trying not to look at Chilchuck as she got dressed.

“You were so exposed I wanted to make sure no one else saw..” He mumbled sparing a glance at her only to be faced with her ass as she pulled her pants on fully, only making his blush worse. She must have thrown her blanket off during the night. Ugh. 

“Thanks.” She managed to squeak out, clearing her throat as she turned back to him while buttoning her shirt, “About yesterday-”

“Forget about it.” He waved her off, still not looking at her. Trying to get the images of her out of his head, “You said it yourself, half-foots aren’t too friendly with new people.”

(Y/N) breathes a small laugh, “I didn’t think you were still awake.” he only shrugs in response as he stands.

After waking the party Senshi got to cooking breakfast, after the meal the party picks up and gets going. Finally making it down to the fourth floor. 

“That's a lot of water..” (Y/N) mumbles, looking out across the lake before them. Staring down into the depths of the water brought a shiver up her spine. Whatever conversation was being had was tuned out through her deep thoughts, staring endlessly down into the deep- she jumped as a hand touched her shoulder.

“Are you ok (Y/N)?” Marcille looked down at her concerned, “I was going to cast water walking so we could cross.”

“Y-yeah, just lost in thought.” She smiled up at Marcille who smiled back. Tapping her staff to (Y/N)’s head she was enchanted by the spell, finally pulling her back to reality. “Is that a fucking kelpie?” 

“Language!” Marcille nudges her with her staff, giving her a glare.

“I’m not a child, I can use whatever words I want..” (Y/N) mumbles, walking closer to Senshi and the Kelpie, “I’ve never seen one this up close before.” reaching out a hand to touch it before retracting, “Don’t these kill you if you touch them?” 

Senshi reaches out and pets its snout, “I’ve been bonding with her for a long time, she wouldn’t hurt me.” his words were filled with such confidence and yet (Y/N) still felt a ball in the pit of her stomach watching him touch it.

“You don't plan to ride that thing do you? Please tell me you’re joking.” (Y/N) shudders at the thought, staring skeptically at the kelpie.

“I really don’t think that's a good idea.” Laius speaks up, “They are known for luring their prey into a false sense of security.”

Senshi, ignoring their comments, climbed upon the Kelpie anyway, beginning to ride it across the water before plummeting into the depths below. 

“Shit! SENSHI!” (Y/N) began to run after the diving kelpie only to stop herself on the edge of the water, anxiety and adrenaline shaking through her body. 

“What are you doing!? We have to go after him!” Chilchuck yells at her as the party runs after Senshi. 

(Y/N) trembles as she stares into the water, “I-I can’t!” She breathes out desperately trying to will herself to run out onto the water. The deep, dark water…

“What do you mean you can’t!?” He stops, turning to yell at her. 

“She's scared of deep water.” Marcille yells over her shoulder, trying to think of the best way to save Senshi from his watery doom. 

“Then use your magic! You're a mage aren’t you!?” Chilchuck looked between the terrified (Y/N) and the rest of his party. 

“My magic doesn’t work well under the water!” She yelled back. ‘Shit shit shit. Fuck.’ Was all that ran through her head, before clenching her eyes shut and running out onto the water. Trying to keep her screams of fear trapped in her throat.

When the kelpie emerged from the water she finally let out a scream directed at the monster, the sound waves quaking through its body as it collapsed to the surface, allowing Laius to stab it with his sword and thankfully killing it. 

“What the fuck was that?!” Chilchuck looked astounded at the scene.

“Magic?” (Y/N) responds, a questioning tone to her own words. Carefully opening her eyes only to close them again, “Ohhhh fuck.” 

“What kind of magic was that?” Laius stares with wide eyes at (Y/N), “That was so cool! You screamed and it collapsed! Can you do that to any monster?” he kept asking more and more questions as he walked closer, rambling further about his theories.

“Someone get me off of this water and I’ll tell you!” She tried to breathe deeply, putting her hands out to balance herself in her blindness. She felt a hand grab her own, turn around, and lead her back to shore.

“I think we should set up camp for the night..” Senshi suggests, a melancholic tone laces his words as he looks back to the kelpie he believed he befriended.

“Sounds good to me, anything to get away from this water.” (Y/N) mumbles, trying not to look into the water.

“You’re supposed to tell us what that was.” Chilchuck grumbles, releasing her hand and looking away with a grunt, trying to hide his pink tinted cheeks.

“She will after we eat, she’s shaken up enough as it is.” Marcille defends, wrapping an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders and leading her further away from the water.

“Something tells me Marcille knows about her magic.” Laius thinks aloud, bringing a hand to his chin as he thinks.

“No shit, they went to school together.” Chilchuck rolls his eyes, walking after Marcille and (Y/N).

After finding a spot to make camp Marcille left Chilchuck and (Y/N) to return to Senshi and Laius.

“So… water?” Chilchuck begins, only to be cut off.

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” (Y/N) objects, taking a seat on the floor and taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. 

Chilchuck nodded, seating himself on the floor nearby. (Y/N) lets out a breath and looks at a spot on the floor, tracing out a summoning circle on the ground before splaying her hand to the spot and speaking, “Fire.” with her words a fire lit in the circle and she moved away, trying not to burn herself for the thousandth time she’s cast the spell.

“That’s… a unique magic.” Chilchuck tries to joke, attempting to lift the mood.

“Heh.. yeah. You could say that.” She gives him a lazy smile before looking back at the fire.

It was a while before the rest of the party rejoined them, Senshi appreciating the fire for cooking, Laius still rambling about monsters and (Y/N)’s ‘new magic’. The party chatted amongst themselves until dinner was served. 

As everyone began eating (Y/N) took the opportunity to explain her magic. “At the school we went to, they had many different tracks to take. I took the bard class. No matter your specialty there are always base classes to learn about magic, one of them being how to channel your magic. Marcille uses her staff to channel her magic, in the bard classes you’re taught how to channel your magic into other things, some people use instruments and some choose to channel it into your voice. It’s not as strong on its own but when paired with an instrument you can cast very strong spells.” she explains, trying to recall as much as she could.

“How exactly does that work?” Laius couldn't keep himself from asking, desperately wanting to learn more.

“Instead of using incantation we learn to cast with intention. I channel my magic into my vocal cords and guitar, as long as I speak or sing with the intention of the spell I want to cast it does not require an incantation.” (Y/N) nods to her own words as she speaks.

“So you’re less a mage and more a bard.” Chilchuck says bluntly, taking a bite of his food.

“Yes, but being a bard isn't the only magic I know, it's just the one I choose to use the most. And bards don’t get a lot of respect compared to mages.. If certain people were to find out I was a bard I think it would make my personal life a lot harder.” She lets out a laugh, scratching the back of her neck.

“And her magic is very strong! You saw how just her scream made the kelpie collapse.” Marcille praises, gushing about her friend’s talents.

“And I didn’t even have a true intention behind that scream, I was just scared.” (Y/N) laughs again, finally digging into her food. Another delicious meal that she relished in, cherishing every bite.

Setting up their bed rolls (Y/N) volunteered for the first shift once again, the party agreed and set up to sleep. Once she was sure they were sleeping she pulled her guitar from her pack, gently strumming the strings, playing a soft melody she hoped wouldn’t wake anyone. Humming to the melody as she tried to come up with a new song, a song she deemed her strongest. A song to slay even the red dragon.

When her shift ended she carefully walked to Chilchuck to wake him for his shift. He lets out a groan as he wakes, having probably the best sleep he’s had in awhile after being lulled to sleep by (Y/N)’s playing.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to strip down like you did last night.” He grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Too late.” (Y/N) snickers, already having her boots and pants removed.

“What if Laius or Senshi sees you!?” he begins to yell before quieting his voice, “Do you have even an inch of modesty in your body?”

“I literally saw the outline of Senshi’s dick today, I think that boundary has already been crossed. And it’s not like I’m completely exposed.” she brushes out her shirt, making sure it covers everything before Chilchuck can catch a glimpse.

He lets out an agitated groan while rubbing his temples, “You are unbelievable.”

“You try pushing out a kid in a room full of people and still find the will to care what people see.” (Y/N) scoffs before cursing herself at her words, turning her eyes to the floor in disappointment with herself, trying to stave off the memories.

Chilchuck stays silent as he climbs out of his bed roll, “Get some sleep, you need it.” choosing to push her words to the back of his mind.

“Yeah..” she speaks quietly, laying in her bed roll facing away from the fire. Away from chilchuck.

Sleep was not an easy task, her mind plagued with thoughts of her past. Her failures. Her massive fuck ups. How could she ever forgive herself?

What felt like hours passed before she finally drifted to sleep. Her dreams filled with images of a baby boy, with the most beautiful blue eyes and tufts of brown hair. An elf with those shared features by her side. Until he wasn’t.

(Y/N) awoke with a gasp, having been awoken by a familiar blonde elf.

“Good morning (Y/N)~” Marcille greeted with a smile. The rest of the party was slowly waking up themselves and preparing for the day.

(Y/N) felt a cold sweat drip down her face, using the back of her hand to wipe it away. 

“More nightmares?” Marcille looked at her with concern, reaching out to help her stand. 

“Not quite..” (Y/N) shrugged it off, reaching for her clothes to get dressed. Her mind never strayed from her dream. 

“Woah hey!?” Marcille uses herself to Shield (Y/N) as she stands, her shirt one again not leaving much to the imagination.

“Huh?” She looked at Marcille in confusion, pulling her pants on, still in a state of tired oblivion. 

“What if one of the boys sees you? You’re completely exposed!” Marcille whisper yells, glaring down at (Y/N) who only tilts her head to the side. 

“I feel like I just had this conversation…” (Y/N) blinks away the sleep as she speaks. 

“We had the same damn conversation last night.” Chilchuck grumbles, trying not to look at (Y/N), still being able to see her despite Marcille’s efforts. 

“I still don’t exactly see the problem, I mean. Who wouldn’t want to see me half dressed~?” (Y/N) lets out a laugh, pulling her boots on and pulling Marcille’s arms back down from shielding her. 

Chilchucks blush only brightens as he lets out a tsk. 

Marcille lets out a whine, “what happened to the sweet and innocent (Y/N) I went to school with?”

(Y/N)’s expression turns cold, “I genuinely don’t think you want to know.” She brushed past Marcille, walking to help Senshi prepare breakfast. 

Marcille stared after her, worry and sadness laced her features. What she didn’t know was a certain Half-foot shared in the worry. It’s been two days and yet (Y/N) already seemed like someone to worry about. 

Standing back at the edge of the water sent chills down her spine, “ha. Hahaha no. Nope.” She turned on her heel only to be caught by the shoulder and turned back around. 

“If Senshi can get over his thing with magic you can get over your fear of water.” Marcille smiled but spoke sternly. 

“Marcille, I-“

“No. No buts.” Marcille cast water walking on the party and began pulling (Y/N) towards the water. 

“Nooo no no please no.” (Y/N) whined, digging her heels into the ground to no avail. 

“You're such a crybaby.” Chilchuck grunts, walking ahead out onto the water.

(Y/N) let out another cry, clenching her eyes shut. “You're gonna be fine, stop whining.” Marcille says while tugging on her hand.

“How can an adventurer be so afraid of water?” Chilchuck asks over his shoulder, looking back at the terrified (Y/N) and Marcille pulling her along. 

“It’s a long story and I don’t think it’s any of your business.” (Y/N) shouts back, peeking between her fingers at her surroundings before closing her eyes again. 

Making it safely across the water (Y/N) collapses to the ground as she breathes through her anxiety. She felt herself get pulled up by the collar of her shirt and set back onto her feet.

“We gotta keep going.” Laius says as he lets go of her shirt, “The water is behind us now, you’re ok.” He pats her head with a smile only earning him a frustrated pout and his hands swatted away.

“I’m not a child!” (Y/N) nearly growls, marching forward as she rolls her eyes, “Thank you.” She says over her shoulder to Laius before catching up to Marcille.

“You’re being quite the grump today.” Marcille giggles, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand as they walk.

“I didn’t sleep for shit so that doesn’t help.” (Y/N) grumbles, trying to suppress a yawn.

“Maybe if you didn’t stay up past your shift you’d sleep better.” Marcille scolds, looking down to her short friend.

“You weren’t complaining when you got to sleep in.” (Y/N) nearly snaps back, trying to watch her tone.

“Sacrificing your sleep for others is only going to hurt you in the end.” Chilchuck interjects, side eyeing the two mages.

“I hate that you’re both right.” (Y/N) mumbles, glaring down at the floor. “Sometimes it’s easier to stay awake than it is dealing with my dreams.”

“Do you have nightmares in your pillow? We can help get rid of them.” Marcille asks, taking a peak at the pillow that was wrapped in her bed roll.

“No it's not that, I’ve already looked.” (Y/N) sighs.

“Dreams are often a way our brains use to try to cope with things that have happened to us.” Senshi begins, “it sounds to me you have unresolved issues. Talking about them sometimes helps.”

(Y/N) shakes her head, “I’m fine. I don’t have issues I need to talk out. I’m a big girl, I can handle them on my own.”

“But (Y/N)-” Marcille starts before being cut off.

“Just drop it ok? It’s not like now is a good time to hash up bad shit.” (Y/N) states, hopefully finishing the conversation. Marcille nods and looks to the side, hating that she pushed enough to make her this upset. What could possibly be bothering her this much?

[snazzydwarf]

I watched Transformers One last night, and now that I've let it sink in over night I have some WORDS (In a positive way, this movie SLAPPED and I just wanna ramble haha)

I'll just be going over the main 4 however!

So Spoilers under the cut!!!

Okay straight off the bat I wanna preface that I'm not the most knowledgeable about the TF franchise, I'm more of a casual fan. I've seen some of the Bay movies, Bumblebee 2018, and a little of bit of a few of the TV shows. (I'm starting to read the IDW comics, but I'm not far)

So as a casual fan of the franchise this movie was EVERYTHING.

It's just so... refreshing to have a simple "friends to enemies" story line that doesn't try to get complicated. You can tell that the people working on the movie really fucking loved the franchise, and that they took the time to refine the movie.

Megatrons origin story is very believable and well paced, at time's I went "YEAH BEAT HIS ASS D" outloud. OOOOO AND HIS OPTICS CHANGING COLOURS SLOWLY IS AWESOME!!! I can't remember the exact scene (I have horrible memory) but there's this one frame of Orion standing up after being pushed away, and you can see D-16 standing up in the background behind him... and he's just covered in shadows, his optics are a muddy orange. No longer the bright yellow like they were in the beginning and UGG THAT WAS GREAT!!

Chris Hemsworth was actually really well cast as a young Optimus. I don't think he would suit a more war-torn and older Optimus Prime, however as Orion Pax I think he hit the nail on the head. He sounded young, hopeful and full of curiosity that it makes the broken friendship between D-16 and Orion Pax more impactful.

They spent the whole movie being at each other's backs, even when you can tell D was getting sick of his shit, they loved each other. D saying "I won't ever follow another leader" oof- and with his "the only person I can trust is-" being cut off short is GREAT foreshadowing.

At that point in the story I don't even know if he would have said Orion, or himself. Their bond is straining, tensions are rising high and they have hit a split road.

Elita I think, while not being as stand out as the other two, was pretty great in the movie as well. She had a more low-key character Arc, going from a stick in the mud looking for her next promotion, loosing it all because of Orion saving another bot (Jazz!!!!), being mad at him and willing to do anything to get back up the rank, having her whole world fall... and then finding hope within the last bot she would ever thought she would.

She is a figure head, someone who leads and gives commands, yet is bound and confined by rules and her superiors. I don't think she was every truly happy, but seeing Orion try his hardest and never loosing the spark of hope and bullheadedness inside him inspired her.

I believe that scene of her giving back the map to Orion was the first sign or her beginning to trust him, in addition to her not taking back the map later on.

OKAY NOW... BUMBLEBEE... well B-127 BUT MY LITTLE BEE!!

Oh you poor bastard, look at you! You're not mentally well honey, and the war has JUST started!!!! I really liked him in this film and I will defend him to the end.

Was he a little annoying? Yes. BUT it fits and it works. He's been alone for Prime knows how long, he's desperate for friends and companionship that he can't shut up now that finally, finally he has someone else to talk with.

I liked his jokes throughout the film, sure others can find it annoying (god knows the D, Elita and Orion kinda did) but underneath all of that is just a profound sadness.

You can see this when D-12 is standing up to Sentinel, he tells D to stand down, to kneel. Because he's afraid, he's afraid he's gonna watch as one of the first friends he's ever made be killed right in front of him.

He's also not as dense as other's think he is. He may be optimistic, loud and ever the chatter box who lacks the social ques of someone who's been alone for far to long, but he knows when to calm down. He was quiet when they found the bodies of the Primes, he was the one who had the Energon cube to give to Alpha Trion and he did that in a quiet and careful way cuz he knew that this was serious.

He doesn't crack a joke when they see the demise of the Primes and Sentinel's betrayal cuz he's also as shocked as the others. He's NOT an airhead, he's many things in this movie, but he isn't dumb. (also without him, legit nothing the movie was even possible, cuz he was the one who saved the SOS message of Alpha Trion and he was the one with the Energon cube... I'm just saying-)

Anyways, this was a great movie! If you haven't seen it (just spoiled urself mate lol) then please go watch it in the theaters if you are able to. It would be such a shame if this were to "flop" and we never got to see a sequel to this time line.

more thoughts in the tags cuz this has gone on long enough!