#this fic took me forever to write

[stellewriites]

PART ONE

summary: by chance you and your emotionally unavailable husband meet a friendly couple that invite you stay at their farmhouse in scotland. however the time spent there with johnny & kyle has you questioning if there's a dark side to them you didn't see before.

a speak no evil au - masterlist

notes: manipulative johnny & kyle, piv, noncon, somno, never explicitly acknowledged abusive relationship between reader and her husband (financial, physical, emotional, coercive control), drinking, murder, it's dead dove horror people!! heed the warnings

you picked at the buttery croissant on the plate in front of you, trying your best to block out the sound of your husband’s voice as it grew more frustrated by the minute. you pitied the poor soul he was berating on the other end of the line, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad enough to try and stop him, to turn his ire against you instead.

he wouldn’t listen to you anyway, hadn’t the first few times you’d asked when you’d first arrived on your honeymoon.

you scoffed quietly and shoved a bite into your mouth, chewing obstinately. two years late, but sure. your honeymoon.

elliot sighed heavily, and threw his phone down onto the table, rattling your coffee and gaining the attention of nearby hotel staff. “i work with fucking idiots, christ. how hard is it to follow instructions?”

“it’s why they keep you around, smartest one on your team,” you said appeasingly, the same rote answer you always gave him when he got in his moods.

“smartest one at the whole fucking firm more like,” he scoffed. you cringed at the scornful looks sent your way from the other couples on the retreat. “useless. the lot of them.”

the french riviera had been a dream destination for you for years, one elliot had known about from early in your dating days. the holiday he’d booked was all inclusive; tailored to honeymooners specifically with romantic activities on and off site and transport easily accessible in order to explore the area.

you felt as though you should’ve been having the time of your life as you sat eating breakfast looking over the beautiful beach view, but you’d never felt emptier. the sight of happy couples around you day after day had only highlighted your husband’s distance.

elliot had promised this trip would change things for you both, for your relationship, but the last six days had proven the opposite. if he wasn’t busy and distracted on his phone, elliot was complaining about the quality of the food, the amenities, even the bloody people.

it was too much and just the morning before you’d been tempted to ask him to cut the fortnight away short when he’d gotten an urgent email and then a frantic call from his boss.

you’d sighed in relief when he’d left you to wander the local area by yourself for the day; happy to escape his negativity for an hour even as you felt guilty for thinking so. you knew he worked hard, you knew his job was important, and his work meant you could afford your luxury apartment in London and be able to take trips like this one without stressing over the cost.

you’d taken the time to go to the market you’d read about on the plane, the place des lices, and tried every free sample of cheese that had been waved your way once you’d gotten there. but you hadn’t been the only one from your hotel to take advantage of the famous food stalls as you recognised the deep scottish brogue of one half of the couple that were staying in the room next to yours; it rose even above the busy hum of french chatter easily.

you’d turned your head and smiled when you caught his pretty husband’s eyes before turning back to the stall merchant and buying a chunk of fresh camembert for elliot to try. you’d been eyeing up the fruit stall further down and were debating the brie too if you spotted some good cranberry jam.

“you’re from the hotel, right?” you suddenly heard from your left. you turned to find the couple a lot closer than before, apparently taking your polite smile as invitation to join you. “i’ve seen you at the pool before. I’m kyle, this is my husband, johnny.”

“nice t’meet ye.”

you’d introduced yourself and shook their hands once your cheese was carefully packed into your tote bag.

“where’s yer chatty husband?” johnny asked, eyes scanning the crowd.

you flushed, a creeping sense of embarrassment rising as you thought of elliot back at the hotel shooing you off before you’d even sat for breakfast.

“oh he had some emergency at work he had to deal with,” you excused. “didn’t need me hanging around distracting him, so i went for a walk.”

“you’re on your own?” kyle asked with a concerned frown.

“yeah, but i don’t mind. i travelled alone a lot before we were together. i’m used to my own company,” you said with a soft laugh.

the pair swapped a silent look before focusing back on you. “well, we’d be happy to have ye if you’re feeling lonely, bonnie,” johnny offered. “we were thinkin’ of goin’ wine tasting after this now that we’ve got our snacks, if you’d like to join.”

you chuckled as johnny raised their bag and wiggled his eyebrows.

“i wouldn’t want to intrude.” you shook your head.

“it beats heading back to the hotel,” kyle cajoled. “unless you had other plans?”

you pursed your lips before letting a small, shy smile grow. “ok. wine tasting sounds fun.”

you had spent the afternoon laughing and eating the cheese, bread and fruits you’d bought at the market over glasses of wine with johnny and kyle, a wide smile never leaving your lips even as the three of you stumbled back up the steps to the hotel.

your phone had stayed silent the entire day and it wasn’t until you were waving goodbye to your new friends and opening the door to your hotel room that you wondered if elliot would be annoyed at you for staying out so long without contacting him.

you smiled a little shakily as you caught him leaving the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips. “good day?”

“fixed their mess if that’s what you mean,” elliot huffed, but he turned to you with a satisfied smile and nodded. he dipped his head down and kissed you sweetly. “what about you? good day?”

“mhm,” you hummed, your smile settling more firmly on your face at his easy mood. “i went wine tasting.”

“oh?” elliot grinned, looking at you a little closer and taking in the signs of your slight inebriation, the way you swayed slightly on your feet and the almost sleepy glaze over your eyes.

“met a few new friends,” you said. “johnny and kyle.”

elliot stiffened for a moment before smiling again, less genuine and with a sharper edge this time. “oh? that’s nice. i’ll be free to spend the day doing whatever you’d like tomorrow, darling. no need for friends on our honeymoon.”

“you will?” you asked as you started to undress, surprised he wasn’t asking for an extra day to check everything with work had settled. you didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth however. “there’s a great market i saw today we could go to. i wouldn’t mind going twice, the cheese is amazing—“

“sure, sure. fine. let’s just sleep now, yeah? i’m exhausted after today,” elliot interrupted as he dried himself off before climbing into bed.

“of course, yeah. we can figure it out over breakfast.”

which brought you back to now, with your croissant and your husband and your beach view and the ever growing pit of disappointment.

you skimmed your eyes over the other couples sat on the veranda with you and felt jealousy bubble and spit in your stomach. it was the small things you longed for, the easy affection you craved; legs hooked together under the table, feeding each other, shy smiles shared behind mugs, little jokes whispered on the breeze.

you felt tears prickle at your eyes unexpectedly and wiped at them hastily before elliot could notice.

“bonnie?” your head whipped up at the familiar voice and you smiled automatically at johnny and kyle as they made their way over. johnny was in a pair of shorts, and you saw a knee brace peek out from the hem.

“mind if we join you?” kyle asked, already pulling out a chair at your eager nod, ignoring the deep frown on elliot’s face.

“and you are?” elliot asked rudely, looking between the two men.

“this is johnny and kyle, the couple i told you about last night.” you laid a gentle hand on elliot’s forearm.

“oh, the wine tasters. right.”

“heard you were busy saving yer boss’ arse yesterday,” johnny said with a pinched smile. “yer bonnie wife didnae mention what ye did though?”

“i work for a powerful man looking after his money,” elliot explained vaguely, with an air of condescension.

you noticed kyle wave over a waitress and quietly order for both him and johnny, his palm settled firmly on johnny’s thigh beneath the table.

“oh aye? tha’s a lotta responsibility then. no wonder yer always looking so stressed on yer phone,” johnny laughed.

“oi, be nice, john,” kyle scolded, but the smile teasing the corner of his lips took away any bite the reprimand held.

“sorry, uh, emmet, was it?”

“elliot,” you corrected quickly.

johnny snapped his fingers and nodded. “right, right. sorry, my memory’s not what it used to be.” he waved at a rough scar at the side of his head.

“so how long have you two been together?” kyle asked as their drinks arrived. you saw elliot sniff at the vast amount of sugar kyle poured into his tea.

“five years,” you answered at the same time elliot answered, four years. you turned to him with a frown. “we’ve been married for two. we met before your promotion, remember?”

“are you sure, darling?” elliot asked.

“yes, elliot. i’m sure.”

kyle and johnny watched silently, eyebrows raised until you turned back to your croissant with a tense jaw.

“time flies ‘n all that,” johnny said, hoping to ease your tension.

“right.” you nodded. “what about you guys? been together long?”

“been stuck with him for a decade now,” kyle huffed, patting his hand on johnny’s leg.

“been blessed by me, more like, cheeky sod,” johnny muttered.

you laughed as kyle leant in to kiss his cheek obnoxiously. “met in the forces, just clicked.”

“been together ever since i caught him starin’ in the showers,” johnny boasted with a grin.

elliot shifted uncomfortably in his chair and johnny’s grin dropped minisculely and his eyes hardened.

“what’re yer plans today then, bonnie?”

“oh, uhm, we’re not quite sure yet,” you said looking to elliot. “maybe the market since elliot missed it yesterday?”

“you should join us on our cruise along the coast,” kyle said. “just us and the captain, and a fair bit of booze; views are meant to be unmissable.”

“sounds better than a market,” elliot chuffed before shrugging. “sure, why not?”

“really?” you were more than surprised elliot was willingly agreeing to spend more time with kyle and johnny given how on edge he’d been just sat with them the last ten minutes.

“what d’ye say, bon?” johnny leant over the small table with a smile, taking up enough space for you to feel surprisingly cornered.

“pretty hard to say no to ‘unmissable’,” you said and forced a laugh.

“great,” kyle said and johnny slumped back into his seat, throwing an arm around the back of kyle chair. “we’ve got an hour before we’re meant to be there so eat up, love.”

elliot bristled at their familiarity with you and wrapped his own arm around the back of your chair, his hand curling around your shoulder and squeezing just a tad too tight. “she’s already eaten.”

“what, that little pastry?” johnny laughed. “you’ll need yer energy for what we’ve got planned, hen.” johnny winked.

you felt yourself flush involuntarily, your heart thumped and your eyes widened at the accidental insinuation and you knew elliot had heard it the same way going by the agitated tap of his leg beneath the table.

“i’ll probably just have another coffee,” you said placating, and smiled thinly when elliot kissed your temple. “i can grab something for on the boat or afterwards maybe.”

“that’s my girl,” elliot spoke into your hair.

---

while kyle and johnny finished up their breakfast, you nipped back into your room to change into your swimwear underneath your dress and met them along with elliot at the steps leading down to the beach.

once you’d left the dock and were deep enough in the water that it became a mesmerising dark blue, it didn’t take much convincing to have you jump in the water with johnny as the boat idled in place. elliot had waved you off with a dismissive glance at his phone when you asked if he’d join and kyle had promised to have the towels ready when you’d both ran out of energy.

“not joining them?” elliot asked, sparing a quick glance at kyle as he sat down next to your husband.

“figured i’d keep you company ‘til johnny climbs back on board. we’re temporary neighbours after all, yeah?” kyle said. he looked over the side of the boat and shook his head at his husband splashing you despite your giggly squeals of outrage. “married for two years?” he asked out of the blue and waited for elliot to hum his agreement. “what you doing on a honeymoon trip then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

elliot sighed frustratedly as he locked his phone and put it down beside him, knowing he was going to get nothing done with kyle yammering by his side. “we’re busy people, only just found the time together to go.”

kyle raised his eyebrows in shock. “busy indeed.” he looked to elliot’s phone. “got any photos of the wedding?”

elliot nodded once, and not enthusiastically enough for kyle’s liking, as he pulled up the photo folder you’d made on his phone titled ‘happily ever after 🩷’ before handing it to kyle to flip through.

the younger man whistled lowly, eyes glued to the screen as he pinched and moved the photos to zoom in. elliot noticed how he paused on the photos of you, but flicked through the others quickly, not bothering to stop quick enough to take in your bridesmaids’ dresses or the expensive tiered cake or elliot’s flash suit.

he snatched his phone back when kyle licked his lips at a photo of you dancing with your friends.

“lovely gown,” kyle said with a smirk as he watched elliot seethe. “you really got lucky, eh? punching up like that.”

elliot’s eyes squinted in a glare. “excuse me?”

“come on, mate. you can be honest, it’s why you worry about the job, right? you want to keep that going for you so she doesn’t leave you in the dust,” kyle continued to goad him.

“it’s not me that needs to worry about being left behind,” elliot spat. he rubbed his hand over his mouth and jaw to hide his burgeoning smug look, but kyle saw it in his eyes, the self-satisfaction. “i’ve got options. plenty at that.”

kyle stared at him with a blank face. “oh yeah?”

elliot laughed meanly and dropped his hand. “oh yeah.” he tapped his phone against his palm for a moment, seemingly debating something before freezing as he heard you and johnny climb the short ladder back up to the deck, laughing all the while.

“done in already?” kyle asked, his mood already lighter.

“johnny’s knee is aching, thought he could rest it and we’d get a quick drink,” you answered with a wide smile, reaching for one of the beers stored in the boats built-in cooler and handing one to johnny.

“bonnie was jus’ telling me how she used to live in a much smaller area when she was younger,” johnny said as you both sat down opposite to your partners. “but you live in london now?”

“what is it with you two? always asking bloody questions,” elliot complained, hiding his unease behind a laugh.

“just making conversation, mate,” kyle said tersely.

you felt the air grow awkward and jumped in before your husband could make it worse.

“we moved to london for elliot’s work,” you said.

“and you like it?” kyle’s inquisitive, dark eyes had you willing to be more truthful than you would usually be, especially with near strangers.

“i have to admit… i’d always thought we’d be somewhere further from the city; its what i’d always wanted and elliot said he’d liked the idea of somewhere quieter. we met in my home town after all.” you caught elliot’s scornful eye and ducked your head. “but it just didn’t go that way in the end. and london is lovely, the apartment is— lovely.”

“you ever been to scotland?” johnny asked. “the countryside is like nothin’ you’ve ever seen up there.”

kyle nodded. “we’ve lived on the edge of falkland for a few years now; feels like the middle of nowhere sometimes. doesn’t get much better, i haven’t missed the city for years.”

“one of the best decisions we ever made,” johnny agreed, leaning over to kiss gaz softly.

you sighed wistfully.

“don’t think the hills would agree with my dear wife, but maybe we’ll take a trip up there some time,” elliot said unconvincingly. you swallowed thickly at his thinly veiled dig.

“when you’re not so busy, yeah?” kyle said staring your husband down.

elliot’s lips thinned. “yeah.”

“so how’re you finding france so far?” johnny asked. “enjoying yer stay?”

elliot sniffed. “could be better. from how this one went on about the place i was expecting a hell of a lot more,” he said snidely, gesturing to you flippantly. “i’d have picked bali personally.”

your shoulders hunched even as you felt indignation and anger burn the back of your throat. it wasn’t your fault elliot wasn’t taking advantage of the holiday, the lush area and the activities that promised to be unforgettable if given the chance. you knew you’d remember going in the sea with johnny for years to come, but you doubted you’d remember the boring dinners you’d been having with elliot in a month’s time, or at least not so fondly.

“think i’d have put the trip off for longer if i knew what this place was going to be like,” elliot laughed. “in fact—“

“why don’t you shut the fuck up fer once and let yer pretty wife speak, eh?” johnny cut him off with a sarcastic smile.

elliot was shocked into silence and you found yourself stuttering as kyle and johnny focused on you.

“what do you do when you’re not on a late honeymoon, love?” kyle asked.

“uhm, i don’t actually work currently,” you admitted sheepishly, your eyes darted to your husband as he grew redder in the face. “elliot makes enough to cover us financially and finding something in london was harder than expected after i had to suddenly quit my previous job when we moved.”

kyle and johnny cooed sympathetically.

“i’ve picked up painting recently though, which has been different. not necessarily any good at it, but i like it,” you said.

“an artist? yer after my heart, hen. i sketch a little myself,” johnny said. “now ye’ll have to come visit us just so you can paint the views.”

kyle was quick to pull out his phone to share some photos. he stopped on one of johnny on the top of a steep, grassy hill; his arms thrown up the air, backpack on the ground next to him and a wide grin stretched across his face, his mohawk a little longer than it was now and a mess in the wind.

“wow, it’s gorgeous there,” you gushed, trying not to focus on johnny’s strong stance highlighted by the rising sun behind him.

“that’s the view just behind our house,” kyle grinned. “forty minute hike to get there, at most.”

you gawped. “no way.”

johnny nodded.

“think you’re maybe overestimating her painting skills there, boys,” elliot snickered as he looked at the photo. “if you saw what she’s done so far you’d realise it’s definitely just a new hobby.”

“show us,” kyle suggested kindly, not bothering to look at elliot.

you hesitated before reaching for your bag and pulling out your phone. you handed it over with a shy smile.

“oi, these are good, bonnie,” johnny said immediately, stood looking over kyle’s shoulder. his brow was pulled into a frown as he concentrated.

“i’d buy ‘em,” kyle added, looking up at you to smile.

“ha! right, yeah,” you laughed, thinking he was teasing. you put down your beer and took your phone back, dropping it into your bag. you leant in to kiss elliot’s cheek and stood. “who’s going to join me in the water? elliot?”

“i don’t think so, darling. maybe another time,” he said.

“i will.” kyle stood. “did johnny show you how to dive off the front?”

your eyes widened in excitement as you shook your head and followed him, waving at the captain sat at the helm of the small boat as you passed.

johnny watched the pair of you go before turning to glare at elliot silently, not breaking eye contact even as your husband frowned and shifted uneasily, eventually looking down at his phone to avoid johnny’s unwavering, cold gaze.

---

“i don’t like them,” elliot said once you were back in your hotel that evening.

“who? johnny and kyle?”

“who else?” elliot scoffed. “they’re too familiar with you, they— they fawn over you. flirt relentlessly, in front of me—“

“oh come on,” you laughed, unable to stop yourself even as elliot grew angrier at your casual dismissal. “they’re married, don’t be bloody daft.”

“don’t call me stupid.” elliot warned.

“i’m not, i just—“

“whether they’re actually interested in you or not isn’t the point,” elliot seethed. “they’re doing it to wind me up. to get away with humiliating me and you encourage them.”

“i— what? we were just having fun,” you said.

“oh i know, i saw how you clung to them in the water when you thought i wasn’t looking. fucking slut.”

you gaped at elliot, taken aback by his harsh words and sharp tone. you took in a deep breath and tried to level your own voice.

“they’re just friendly.” you bit your cheek. “if anything, you’re just jealous i’m getting more attention than you for once.”

“what was that?” elliot whipped around to face you and you felt your blood run cold even before he took a step towards you. he gripped you roughly by the back of your neck and tugged you forward so his lips rested at your temple and you followed limply, keeping your hands by your sides. “you better not play up tomorrow, darling. whatever they offer, we’re busy. this our honeymoon, not a fucking jolly for you to try and meet other men.”

you seethed in his hold, furious at his accusations and the irony of his ill-placed jealousy. but all the same you nodded gently. “ok, elliot.”

“good.” he kissed your round cheek with a loud, sarcastic smack before turning towards the bathroom. he shed his clothes as he walked, leaving them in a trail you knew he expected you to pick up and closed the door behind him, leaving you stood motionless in the centre of the hotel room.

---

you dodged johnny’s bright grin and kyle’s sweet invites to hang out over the last week of your holiday with a pained grimace.

after the first few mornings of suddenly stilted conversation over breakfast, they stopped joining you and elliot and you were happy they were able to continue enjoying their honeymoon even if you weren’t.

elliot didn’t say in so many words, but he didn’t trust you not to gallivant off if left alone like before, so you were stuck waiting in the admittedly lavish hotel room on the days elliot got pulled back into work over the phone and on his laptop. too important to leave until later, he’d said. but he’d promised each time to take you out for a dinner that had continued to be forgotten about.

with only a few days left you were stuck waiting by the road, the little moped you’d rented for the day parked and so far unused while elliot nipped back up to the hotel to grab his sunglasses. it’d been twenty minutes already and part of you wondered if he’d gotten lost. you wished he’d left the keys with you instead of pocketing them so you could keep yourself entertained with a quick ride around the block, get used to the feel of the bike before joining onto the main road.

a squeaky horn, two beeps in quick succession, had you flinching from your moody thoughts and looking up as kyle and johnny pulled to a stop in front of you.

“long time no see, love,” kyle said. he nodded down at the bike with a grin. “where you off to?”

“and can we join?” johnny asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

you snorted. “nowhere. not until elliot comes back at least.” you shrugged. “he’s got the keys,” you explained.

“how about we take you for a quick ride then,” johnny offered and kyle immediately started getting off from behind him.

“no, no i couldn’t. thank you. elliot will be back any second, im sure,” you said quickly, worried elliot would grow mad if he saw you sat behind johnny on the bike.

“ok, love,” kyle placated. “how about we swap numbers then, in case we don’t get to see you before your trip is up? i want to see more of your paintings.”

“we’re off home in about two days or so, figured yours would be about the same,” johnny said.

“what about email?” you suggested instead. your couples therapist had suggested regularly reading each others texts to try and gain back trust between the pair of you. the irony that it was now you trying to hide a conversation in your phone wasn’t lost on you, but you knew elliot wouldn’t want you talking to them after this trip. “i can get pretty chatty in a text, so email might be better,” you lied flimsily.

“sure,” johnny nodded along, clearly not believing you. “whatever you’d like.”

“you can have john’s email,” kyle said with a smirk, the expression growing when the scot sighed and swatted at kyle’s thigh behind him.

you watched them with confused amusement until johnny read out his email.

soapysuds92@yahoo.com

“wow. that’s very myspace of you,” you laughed even as johnny rolled his eyes.

“soap’s an old nickname, you’ll probably hear me call him gaz sometimes too. old habits,” johnny explained.

“from the military?” you confirmed and they nodded.

“i say it when i want him to listen. gets him standing to attention when i call him soap,” kyle said teased.

“anything you do gets me standing to attention, handsome,” johnny said, sultry and playful.

“oh piss off,” kyle laughed as he pushed johnny’s face away, pretending to groan in disgust when johnny caught his wrist and messily kissed his palm. you felt your stomach clench at the brief sight of his tongue poking between kyle’s fingers, lapping at the webbing before he let him go.

his tongue there and gone again in a second. you’d almost think you’d imagined it if you didn’t see the spit glisten in the sun before kyle wiped it on his shorts.

you blinked to clear your head and turned away even as the thought of johnny’s mouth around kyle’s fingers replayed over and over in your head.

turning away meant you caught sight of elliot making his way back. it had your thoughts sobering and you looked back to the couple with an apologetic smile. “i’ll see you guys later hopefully, but if not i hope you enjoy the rest of your honeymoon guys.”

“ye trying to get rid o’ us?” johnny pouted, mischief clear in his eyes.

“no, but I know elliot will want to set off straight away so—“

“we know when we’re not wanted, love,” kyle sighed, winking at you to soften the words and let you know they weren’t offended, just pulling your pigtails. “take a hint, johnny, let’s go check out the beach.”

“aye aye, sir,” johnny saluted lazily before revving the moped back to life and waving at you over his shoulder.

“ready to go?” you jumped slightly at elliot’s voice behind you, you hadn’t realised he was so close already and when you turned around you could see he was tense.

“ready when you are,” you said and moved out of the way of the bike.

elliot didn’t mention johnny or kyle and you were thankful; the day had barely begun, you didn’t need an argument to ruin it already.

you swung your leg over the bike behind him and cuddled close, smiling when elliot rubbed a warm palm over your bare knee next to his thigh. today could be good if you just let it, you reminded yourself as elliot set off clumsily.

you lifted your head from his back once he’d managed to get the hang of controlling the moped a little better, becoming confident on the roads after a few minutes, but you wished you hadn’t.

his collar was rustling in the wind and had slipped loose around his shoulder, revealing a smudged lipstick mark previously hidden by his button up overshirt. you felt your breath hitch, unable to look away even as your eyes started to burn.

your gut clenched and rolled unpleasantly, like you could throw up any moment but your jaw was firmly clenched closed. your hands shook where they were holding elliot at the waist and you finally clenched your eyes closed.

with trembling lips, you held back a sob.

today could be good if you let it, you repeated. so let it.

---

you didn’t see kyle or johnny before you left and you didn’t mention what you saw to elliot either.

instead you went back to london, to the dreary rain and the empty flat and the weekly couples’ appointments.

you lied when your therapist asked how your honeymoon went. you grinned and turned to elliot with wide sparkling eyes and reach for his hand to hold between yours as you simpered, “simply perfect.”

but it wasn’t and elliot new it.

the breaking point was when johnny sent your throw-away email account a message one afternoon with a photo attached at the bottom. you grinned when it loaded on your laptop and you zoomed in to see your smiling face, then kyle’s, then johnnys.

it had been taken on the boat on your way back to the dock after a long day swimming and drinking and laughing. elliot had kept to himself for most of the trip unless spoken to, but after an hour you’d managed to ignore him well enough. it wasn’t until kyle pulled him up on your way back, slapped his phone into elliot’s hand and asked him to take a photo of the three of you with the water and island in the background that you remembered he was there.

“elliot, be a good lad and take the photo for us won’t ya?”

“why not ask the captain—“

“he’s done enough dealing with us fer the day, aye? oh— wait, did ye want tae be in it with us?”

“no. thank you.”

they’d thrown their arms around you, pushing and pulling you to their liking until you were stood by the edge of the boat, and smiled. your shoulders were sensitive where johnny’s arm laid over the top - sunburnt you thought at the time - and your hair was still wet from your last dip, but your smile was wide and glowing even as elliot had gritted his teeth.

despite his grumbles he’d done as asked and you’d been dying to see the photo ever since when johnny cooed, “aw, lovely photo to remember ya by.”

now you felt your cheeks heat as you saw how your swim shorts had rucked up high on your thighs, damp and clinging, showing off more skin than you’d realised. your swimsuit at least covered your stomach and cleavage well enough, though johnny’s hand on your shoulder held one of the thick strings of your suit where it had tied at the back of your neck. he was in the middle of playing with it, tugging it so it was taut but not enough to loosen the bow. you don’t remember feeling him pull at the string holding your suit up over your breasts, though you were distracted by the tight hold gaz had on your waist, the handful he’d grabbed as he knocked your hips together.

god no wonder elliot had gotten mad that evening. if you hadn’t known the two were married, you’d have assumed they were trying to get between your legs by this photo alone.

you read the message johnny had sent along with it.

missin you and yer sweet laugh, bonnie!

forgot to send the photo earlier, i think the three of us look well fit, we’ll have to go swimming gain sometime. gaz suggested leucate plage if yer still in love wih france, but im sure there’s a few different au naturel beaches we could try ;)

you sputtered a laugh at that, scoffing at the idea of going to a nude beach especially with those two. bloody hell, elliot would have a fit, you thought gleefully.

but for now we thought you could come visit us like we’d said before? the countryside could be good for you and the ol’ ball n chain. we’d be happy t have ye both for the week, we’ve got the room. just let us know, yeah?

yer handsome pal,

johnny

you shook your head at his theatrics. emailing johnny felt like having a slightly unhinged penpal and reading his emails never failed to brighten up your day, you could hear him in the way he typed. you also loved when you assumed gaz would steal the phone to use his account to talk to you, the lack of scots and shorthand was always a dead giveaway between the two.

you bit your lip and found some of the photos he’d sent previously of their home and garden. it was gorgeous simply put and although the anxiety of admitting to elliot that you’d kept in contact with them had your palms sweating, the deep urge to go visit them ultimately won out.

you bit the bullet over dinner that same night. steak, specially made to soften elliot’s mood.

not that it helped much.

“what?” he dropped his cutlery and pushed back from his seat, needing distance from you as he processed you’d been lying to him. “why would you do that?”

you didn’t have an answer. or not one that elliot would like, so you felt yourself begin to shrug before you thought back to your last session.

“our therapist said it could be good for the relationship if i made some friends separate to yours,” you said.

“she also said you needed to focus trying more with my friends,” elliot reminded.

“but your friends aren’t offering to stay with us for a week in the highlands, elliot. if they were then i’d be all for it!”

“so if i tell my friends that we’ll spend christmas at the ski lodge with them this year, you won’t whine about wanting to be at home together, this time,” he challenged.

you swallowed. he knew you hated skiing and his bitchy judgmental rich friends. it wasn’t even as though it was his easy going friends that liked to go, it was the worst of the bunch that purposely left you out or talked down to you, made it impossible to try without embarrassing yourself.

but fine. you could deal with that this year if it meant your friendship with kyle and johnny was allowed to grow.

“sure,” you said with an obviously fake casual shrug. “so we can go?”

elliot huffed. you sprung out your next argument.

“our therapist also said it was important to let me take the lead a few times. in order to let me regai—“

“regain some power in the relationship, yeah, i know. i was there.” elliot nodded. he seemed to think it over. “this will help you trust me again?”

you reached across the table and held his hand, smiling at him hopefully when he looked back at you. you tried not to think of the lipstick stain in france, tried not to let the hurt cloud you eyes. “yes.” you stood and walked to stand by his chair, chest warming when he wrapped an arm around your waist. “the honeymoon felt forced,” you admitted, making sure to keep eye contact even as he stiffened. “we both felt it, you can admit it, i’m not mad. but this would be new and an adventure. like old times, elliot.”

he nodded a little less resignedly. “sure, old times. ok.”

you smiled, dipped down to kiss him deeply, rubbing his clean shaven cheek with your thumb.

“thank you. this will be fun, i promise. we’ll get to relax and just spend some time together, yeah? no pressure of what we should be doing as a couple or at work or— or—“

elliot softened as he looked at you stutter to find another reason. “yes, darling. it’ll be good.”

you stepped out of his grasp.

“i’ll let them know we can go, what date do you think would be best?”

---

“fucking hell, you had one job. look out for the stupid carved owl in the tree and that’s when we know to turn left,” elliot seethed as he drove, the sun growing dimmer by the minute. you’d spent the entire day driving up north using the directions, had set off that saturday morning in hopes that the traffic wouldn’t be as busy as midweek. “so where are we now? you insisted on following their directions instead of using the satnav, so where the hell does it mention this endless fucking shitty, unpaved road? eh?”

you hunched down in your seat next to him and reread the instructions from soap, hoping to find a clue as to where you were on the, admittedly adorable yet detailed, map he’d drawn. you’d found it endearing when you’d first saw it but now you were thinking it was more of a necessity.

elliot snatched your phone from your hand and split his focus between the dark road and your phone, scrolling erratically to find the directions in the email he wanted. your hand hovered between you, eager to take your phone back but hesitant to foul his mood further.

your eyes caught on movement on the road and you quickly gripped the wheel to swerve and avoid hitting a deer that had wandered out from the trees. “fuck, elliot, watch out!”

he slammed on the breaks and dropped your phone into your footwell as he automatically gripped the wheel to take over from you.

you both sat still, panting; anxiety and adrenaline pumping through your body as you tried to tell it and brain that you were fine, it could calm down, you were ok. you rubbed at your shoulder where your seatbelt had dug in.

elliot started up the car again, silent, and went slower down the road until the headlights caught on a misshapen tree. you squinted before pointing it out. “here, look. i think that’s the owl, go left.”

it only took a few minutes before you could see the lights from kyle and johnny’s farmhouse. the shape of their barn and surrounding smaller outbuildings stark against the natural curves of the hills and trees they were settled amongst.

“we’re here,” you said excitedly. “they said to pull around the side of the barn to the garage they have at the side. their house should be riiight there.” you grinned as you parked directly in front of it on the gravel next to their truck.

“great,” elliot said sarcastically. you didn’t mention his tone knowing that having to drive all day, several hours longer than you’d both expected, would have rankled anyone’s mood.

you climbed out without a word and got your bags out of the back of the car. when you rounded back to the front you found johnny and kyle walking to meet you already, their front door left open behind them.

“bonnie! ye made it,” johnny said as he jogged over to you excitedly. you let go of your suitcase as he pulled you into a hug as soon as you were close enough, scuffing his stubble against your neck in his excitement.

“down, boy,” kyle laughed, nudging johnny out of the way to give you his own hug. once he pulled back he nodded to elliot and smirked. “thought you’d maybe gotten lost, we were ready to start a search party.”

elliot bristled but johnny spoke up before he could defend himself.

“aye, but tea is still warm and ready to be served, an’ ahm fucking starving so let’s get inside yeah?” johnny slapped elliot’s shoulder before leading you all to the house. “done a big roasty fer the pair a’ye, so i hope yer hungry.”

the heat encompassed you as soon as you stepped inside, led through to the kitchen-stroke-dining room. the food smelled divine and the warmth accumulated from the oven and the fireplace had your shoulders relaxing instantly.

the house was far from modern with its mismatched old wooden chairs around the handmade table and the well-loved couch you could spot through in the next room, nothing like your lifeless flat in london. but the farmhouse was still stylish in its own way, in the colour of the cabinets, the throw on couch, the wallpaper leading up the stairs. though more importantly, it was homely. lived in.

“i can imagine the drive wasnae easy for first timers, so sit yerselves down and i’ll plate the food, gaz’ll get the wine,” johnny said.

you pulled out the chair next to elliot, leaving the two opposite you empty.

johnny clapped his hands as if to say voilà when he put down your heaped plates a minute later.

“this looks amazing, johnny, you cooked this?” you asked, eyes round and barely stopping yourself from digging in to be polite.

“have a great sous chef,” he said and patted kyle’s arse when he passed by with the wine. kyle smirked.

“how did you find the drive up, seriously?” kyle asked as he poured your drinks. he took a seat with johnny and gestured for you to start eating; now with permission, you didn’t hesitate.

“it was fine. might’ve been easier if we were given an address instead, satnav might’ve made it quicker,” elliot said as he pushed around some of the steamed vegetables on his plate.

“the views made taking our time worth it though, the valleys we passed were gorgeous,” you gushed. “i didn’t realise there were so many small lakes too.”

elliot sniffed irritably, but you didn’t notice. in fact you’d barely noticed how he played with his food more than ate it as you were too busy chatting and eating. you were going crazy for the hearty roast dinner, you could see in the colour and in the bursting taste of the veg just how fresh it all was; nothing like the store bought stuff you usually got at home.

you hadn’t had anything home cooked in so long that you hadn’t made yourself, and when you told kyle and johnny so they both reared back as though slapped.

“oh love, you’re missing out, that’s not right. don’t worry we’ll take care of you while you’re here,” kyle promised.

elliot cleared his throat. “got any salt?”

johnny’s eyes flickered tersely from elliot to the roast beef he was poking on his plate and back up again. “sure. let me just grab it for ye.”

“cheers,” elliot smiled thinly.

“top up?” kyle asked and gestured to your wine glass. you nodded before turning to elliot, but he wasn’t looking your way so you held your glass out.

“thanks. god, after this and the long drive i think i’ll be ready for bed; sorry excuse for company on the first night,” you apologised.

“we’re just happy to have you here,” kyle assured you as johnny sat back down. your husband doused his food in salt before making a better dent in it, downing his wine quickly afterwards with a wince.

“yeah, i think it’ll be an early one for us tonight, won’t it, darling?” elliot said and started to stand, rudely pushing his unfinished plate away. “in fact, i think i’m pretty tired now.”

you looked down at the last few bites of your meal and the full glass of wine forlornly but stood alongside elliot.

“it really was a fantastic meal, thank you so much, johnny,” you said.

“anytime for you, hen,” he said. “here, let us show you to your room.”

“i’ll grab the dishes while you take them up, johnny. you cooked so i’ll clean,” kyle said, hooking a finger in johnny’s jeans to catch his attention when he stood up. you felt a sharp pang at their easy domesticity. sure they’d said they’d known each other, been together, for a decade, but it still ached that you and elliot where struggling so obviously in comparison despite your sixth anniversary nearing on the horizon.

you gave kyle a fragile smile as you followed johnny upstairs with your bags to your room for the week.

“i’ll leave you to it, see ye in the morning,” johnny said as you settled into your room.

“this is amazing,” you said with a small laugh, disbelief and joy mixing into something like hope as you started to get undressed. the view out of your bedroom looked over the front garden and you felt giddy at the idea of staying with your new friends for the next few days and exploring the area further.

“it’s… quaint,” elliot said.

you turned to him, your mouth pulled tight. “please don’t start.”

“what? it’s just… smaller than what we’re used to,” he said with a shrug, starting to laugh as he gestured at the room. “i mean look at this place, and the bed.”

“keep your voice down at least, elliot,” you hissed, eyes sharp on the closed door of your bedroom.

“darling, you know i get overheated easily, and by the looks of it we’re going to be pressed side by side all night. and i doubt they have a/c,” elliot huffed. he sat down on the bed and rolled his eyes when it squeaked. “oh, come on.”

“we could open the window,” you said stubbornly, ignoring elliot as he shifted to make the bed squeak again.

“and let in the smell of sheep shit? not your brightest idea,” he scoffed. “christ and never mind the bloody noise on top of that. good thing i brought my ear plugs or i’d never get any sleep.”

you bit your tongue when you thought of the constant traffic noises that flooded into your apartment at all times of the day and night, the light pollution that did its best to creep past your blackout curtains.

“i’m sure you’ll get used to it after the first couple of nights,” you said instead and moved to join him in bed. you reached for his hand and squeezed it, leaning in for a kiss, teasing your tongue at his lips for a split second before pulling back. “just… please be nice?”

he sighed.

“fine,” he conceded. “i was just expecting something a little nicer considering the price of the trip we met them on.”

you scowled at him and let go of his hand. “you’re being rude.”

you leant over to turn off your lamp and laid down facing away from him. neither of you noticed the shadows shift under your door, the light footsteps heading away from your room.

---

you woke up the next morning to find elliot already in the shower, you could hear the pipes from the bathroom next door and noticed his suitcase had been half unpacked.

you were grateful he’d let you sleep, you’d gone to bed frustrated and you didn’t want to carry it on this morning. it was a new day and you were eager to have fun.

you walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. as you gazed out your eyes naturally drifted to johnny, stood near the barn you’d passed on your way in. he was small given the distance but you couldn’t help but stare as he rhythmically chopped logs into smaller, more manageable pieces.

he was sweating, the repetitive action of driving the axe up and then through the thick wood obviously tiring, and you felt water pool in your mouth as you looked on gormlessly.

the sleeves of his thick checked shirt were rolled up his forearms and part of you wished he’d decided to chop the wood in the driveway so you’d have a clearer view of his muscles at work. he wiped his face on his bicep and suddenly turned to the house, to your window.

you ducked away before he could catch you and started to get dressed out of the line of sight the windows may provide. with your face aflame and anxious butterflies rampant in your stomach, you needed to get your head on straight and decidedly not ogle your new friends.

with one last stern word to yourself you headed downstairs back to the kitchen and found gaz pottering around.

“ah morning, love. coffee?” he offered, holding out a cup. you took it gratefully with a small thank you and sat at the table again. there was a plate of toast in the middle, enough slices freshly made made for the four of you, and you reached forward for one. “i was thinking me and soap could show you a hiking trail nearby, make a day of it.”

“the one you showed me on your phone?” you asked, nodding enthusiastically regardless of his answer.

“this one’s even better,” gaz said, smiling fondly. “just might take longer.”

“coffee? thank you, darling,” elliot mumbled as he swiped your coffee from your hands without asking and distracting you from answering gaz. you’d barely had a sip before elliot was finishing the drink off in one go. “mm, bit too milky for my liking,” he told you and sucked his teeth.

“probably because it wasn’t for you,” kyle said flatly. “we’re going on a hike today, care to join or has work called you in already?”

“i’d love a hike,” elliot said brightly. johnny walked in through the front door as elliot continued to talk about the hikes he’d been on before, heading to the sink to wash his hands and leaning up to kiss kyle as he passed. “work can wait for the great outdoors. my wife here knows how much i love going on— on uh, on hikes and finding new trails and mapping them out.” elliot stumbled over his words for a second, taken back by the kiss.

johnny’s shoulders shook with a silent laugh and he turned and winked at you as he opened up a cupboard door that hid his face from your husband.

“oh, so you two go together?” kyle asked.

“no, no,” elliot laughed like the thought was ridiculous. “i go with my mates. not really her thing.”

you pursed your lips; you hated it when elliot answered for you, especially when he was wrong. which was often. instead of fussing though, you focused your ire on another slice of toast from the centre of the table.

“right.” kyle stood from his chair and went to lean next to johnny on one of the kitchen counters. “we’ll pack a bag full of snacks and drinks and then we can be off. give us fifteen minutes?”

you nodded, thankful for the excuse to leave elliot at the table, and went to grab your walking boots before coming back to wait with elliot near the door.

“quicker to get there from the back,” johnny said and led you through the rest of the downstairs out into the back garden.

it looked like it could spread for acres if not for the looming trees of the forest fencing it in.

to the left was their chicken coop and a small locked shed. if you turned around you’d see your cars parked, the garage and then the barn further up.

the chicken coop was on solid muddy ground, closer to the gravel front, whereas the shed was further up on the flat grassy area that began to rise into a small hill further back and closer to the trees; there was a small iron table sat with four chairs closer to the house and you couldn’t wait to use it, imagining sitting out there for lunch or breakfast.

to your right you took in their allotment, the large raised beds full of blooming vegetables; tall beans climbing the trellis arches from one side to another. you saw noticed the glint of a greenhouse hidden behind it all. everything was encouraged to grow to its fullest and you bet the food they’d served the night before had been grown by their very own hands.

“we’ve got strawberries if ye’d like tae pick some over the next few days,” johnny said as he walked you down to the end of the garden, catching the way your eyes were glued to the allotment.

“i’d love that, i haven’t been strawberry picking since i was little,” you said.

johnny nodded. “settled then.”

---

the hike wasn’t difficult, but living down south in a very flat city hadn’t built up your cardio for the steep hills and climbs at all.

“this is a good place to stop for lunch,” johnny said, apropos to nothing.

he squeezed your arm as he wandered off the path towards the edge of the hill. you were halfway there to the top, but already you were loving the views.

“knee bothering you, johnny?” kyle asked as he pulled out a rainproof sheet from his bag and started placing the food out in the tupperware boxes.

“something like that,” he said.

you laughed when you saw johnny pull out a bottle of wine from his.

“just tryin’ tae make use of all the wine we bought on holiday, hen,” he snickered.

you sat down and helped them spread the food out while your husband paced from the ledge to the path and then to the blanket, only to start again.

“have a seat elliot,” you said encouragingly, patting the space you’d left purposely empty next to you.

he slumped down with a huff and kyle side-eyed him.

“how was your night? sleep well?”

“hope the room wasnae too small,” johnny added, biting into a cheese cracker as he looked to your husband.

you felt your stomach drop and your face heat up. “no, not at all—“

“i think i’m just used to the finer things,” elliot said, picking up one of the packed travel cups pointedly and pouring himself some wine.

“we slept fine,” you said firmly as you frowned at elliot. “it’s perfect.”

“ah, we’re just joking around, hen, no need to fash,” johnny teased. “you pack yer paints?”

“shit.” your face dropped as you looked at him. “i completely forgot when i was packing, i was too excited.”

johnny grinned. “you can borrow mine, it’s alright.”

“if they’re not dried up that is,” kyle said with a laugh. “i’ve not seen you touch paints in years, johnny.”

“they’re water paints, gaz, they’re meant tae be dry,” johnny said with a roll of his eyes. he looked to you and covered the side of his mouth. “yer a breath o’fresh air, ye have no idea. i love him but he doesnae have the eye fer it, you know?”

“im right bloody here,” kyle said exasperatedly, making you laugh.

“fucking hell,” your husband muttered under his breath before standing. “i think i’m gonna go ahead and have a look at the trail, get a lay of the land. i’ll turn around in ten and meet you back here.”

“are you sure?” you asked at the same time johnny warned him, “don’t go off the path.”

“why not?” elliot asked, taking it as a challenge despite johnny’s grave tone.

“go straight so you don’t get lost,” johnny repeated seriously. “it’s a tricky place, these woods. one wrong turn and you’ll ne’er be found.”

elliot stayed silent for a moment, left off kilter by johnny’s intense eyes, before laughing, waving him of with a scoff. “sure thing, johnny.”

you watch your husband walk off with an uneasy feeling before kyle and johnny’s easy going nature distracted you once more.

before you knew it it’d been twenty minutes, but you were too busy talking about how they’d ended up moving out so far away from their original shared home, that you hadn’t noticed elliot wasn’t back yet.

“it’s great here, but it can feel… lonely sometimes, just the two of us,” johnny admitted as he looked to kyle. the handsome man nodded and knocked their knees together.

“i know how that feels,” you said, three cups of wine having loosened your lips.

“yeah?” kyle asked softly, tilting his head to meet your downcast eyes.

you opened and closed your mouth a few times before taking a deep breath.

“i want a baby,” you said weakly, sadly. you were quiet as though hoping not to be overheard. “elliot doesn’t think it’s the right time, but im starting to doubt it’d ever be the right time if it were up to him.”

you blink at the anger that had seeped into your last words and gasped as you realised that you’d actually finally said them out loud. not even your therapist had gotten you to admit this.

“oh god, please forget i said that,” you begged them suddenly, wide eyed and pleading. “please. don’t say anything to elliot about it. i— i think i’ve just drank a little too much,” you tried to excuse yourself.

“hey, it’s ok,” johnny said with a concerned frown.

“i didn’t mean it,” you rushed out.

kyle moved to elliot’s previous spot and pulled you in for a warm hug, calming you down.

“it’s normal to want things and to be disappointed when the person that promised you them can’t deliver,” he whispered. you sniffled and slowly wrapped your arms back around him with a nod, tears building behind yojr closed eyelids. you slumped into his hold further when johnny’s large hand rubbed soothingly across your back below kyle’s arms.

it was nice. simply being between them and being comforted by them was nice.

you leaned back and wiped at your eyes with a sniffly laugh.

“thank you, guys, i— thank you.”

gaz squeezed your shoulder for a moment before finally letting you go.

you felt fidgety, needing to do something with your hands and to keep them from staring at your red rimmed eyed, so you reached for a handful of grapes when it suddenly occurred to you that elliot wasn’t back. you looked at your watch and swore.

“elliot’s not here yet, shit what if he’s lost?”

“he won’t be,” johnny reassured you, standing alongside you and grabbing your shoulders. “he’s an experienced hiker, right? he probably lost track a’time like we did.”

“let’s get this packed away and we’ll go catch up to him,” kyle suggested. you nodded, easily calmed once given easy orders to occupy your busy mind

---

“elliot?” you called out as you walked, johnny and kyle on either side of you, looking out into the trees in case he’d gone off track. “you there? elliot?”

“stop shouting, christ, i’m here,” elliot complained further up the trail. he was slouched against a tree. “took you all long enough.”

“oh my god, what happened,” you said as you crouched next to him, looking at the sorry swollen state of his ankle.

“twisted it looks like, worst-case it could be a sprain,” kyle said from over your shoulder. “should be fine, we can get home with him leaning on our shoulders, right, soap?”

johnny tutted in disappointment as he stared down the path instead of at your injured husband.

“the waterfall was only five minutes away as well,” johnny said to no one in particular. he crouched next to elliot. “c’mon then, let’s get you back.”

your husband bristled. he looked longingly down the trail johnny had gestured to just a moment before.

“we should still go, i’ll be fine,” he insisted. “we should go to the waterfall.”

gaz raised his eyebrows incredulously as he helped elliot stand, but he stayed silent.

“you want to lean on me or johnny?” he asked.

“whoever gets us there quicker,” elliot said, face pinched.

kyle rolled his eyes and set off walking, leaving elliot to wince until he matched kyle’s stride. luckily the walk wasn’t long before the four of you cut off the trail and found yourselves stood at the bottom of the waterfall, a light mist of water splashing at your bare skin from where you stood.

“holy shit.”

johnny nudged your shoulders together with a laugh.

“impressive, right?”

“to say the least,” you huffed.

kyle had helped elliot sit down by the edge of the plunge pool with his leg stretched out as you’d taken in the view with johnny, though you soon took a seat next to elliot when you noticed he was situated as comfortable as could be. you pulled off your shoes and socks and shuffled forwards a little to dip your feet in the water, kicking lightly and grinning even with how the cold bit at your toes.

elliot stayed stern faced even as he looked at the impressive feature, but kyle and johnny took no notice.

they started to undress, throwing their clothes down haphazardly by their bags.

“you coming in?” kyle asked you cheekily.

“we go in every time we’re here, tradition now,” johnny explained once he was stood in his underwear.

“i don’t have my swimsuit,” you said hesitantly.

“jus’ go in yer kegs like us,” johnny dismissed the worry.

“it’s probably for the best she’s said no,” elliot said meanly, one eyebrow raised as he looked over your relaxed form, your stomach rolls obvious and plush under the afternoon sun and your thighs spread thick where they pressed against the edge of the natural pool. you suddenly felt the need to layer up in your baggiest clothes. “she’s happy enough sat with me. isn’t that right, darling?”

you felt embarrassment, hot and sharp, flood from your face to your toes as you stared at him. this was your husband. a man that took delight in belittling you.

“oi,” johnny warned from where he stood waist deep in the water.

you ignored them both and stood suddenly, shucking off your clothes with tight angry movements, a smile only eventually pulling at your lips when kyle wolf whistled playfully.

johnny joined in jeering and clapped as you stepped carefully closer to the edge before jumping in. once you resurfaced, you resolutely faced away from the scowl you knew would be on your husband’s face. you were past caring.

the cold of the water had you sucking in thinner breaths until you acclimatised, and you were grateful it was deep enough to brush your collarbones as you could tell your nipples were babbling from the chill.

“be careful, love, there are fish in here,” gaz said as he drifted closer to your front. his smile was bordering on mischievous but it eased your slight reservations of being in the water. “but don’t worry they don’t bite.”

you felt a sudden pinch on your buttcheek and you squealed before johnny’s laugh and warm chest at your back registered. you flushed hot and dug your elbow back into his ribs as they laughed, both barely giving you space to float alone.

they guided you closer to the waterfall with easy going smiles and it wasn’t until you felt their capable hands on your hips and tummy to keep you from being dragged under as you held your hands under the heavy pour that you looked back guiltily at your husband. you pushed off and away from them but continued to swim a little while longer until elliot kicked up a fuss, bored.

“are we done now? it’s getting dark, we should be heading back,” he spoke up when it looked like the three of you weren’t tiring any time soon. “and then there’s dinner to think of.”

“you offering to cook, elliot?” kyle said as he climbed out of the water.

elliot scoffed. “not likely. with the ankle and all,” he said patronisingly.

gaz smiled thinly. “of course.”

the three of you dried off as best you could before dressing and heading back to the farmhouse with elliot leant between johnny and kyle.

even as your clothes chafed against your damp skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret swimming. thought the cold was biting even through your coat, and a warm shower was calling for you back at the farmhouse.

---

once you were back you showered quickly and then ran a bath for elliot. you helped ease him in so he didn’t slip and further injure himself.

“put on a real fucking show today,” he grumbled once he was laid back. you cupped the water over his hair carefully.

“what do you mean?” you grabbed the shampoo and began lathering it.

“don’t play dumb,” he hissed. “acting like that, like a whore, with them. again.”

“i wasn’t—“

“you’re a fucking hypocrite,” he said harshly. “punishing me for one little mistake but now you get to act like this with other men?”

you let your hands hang over the edge of the tub in shock. “you cheated on me. more than once, elliot. that’s not a little mistake.”

“we’re past this,” he said tiredly with a shake of his head, rubbing his hand over his forehead to wipe away the dripping shampoo.

“then why did you bring it up?”

he turned to look at you, disgust clear on his face.

“you’re ugly when you get like this,” he said simply. “leave me to it, i’ll call you in when i need a hand getting out.”

your lip trembled as you stood and went back to your room. as you closed the door behind you, you heard elliot mutter to himself, “he’s an absolute idiot thinking this was only a twisted ankle, clearly not a doctor. the swelling has hardly gone down.”

you didn’t react, heading to the room next door with watery eyes. as you were tidying up your clothes, sniffling back angry and hurt tears, there was a knock on the doorframe. your turned to see johnny with a plate in his hand.

“thought i’d make things easier and bring his tea up fer him,” he said and put it on the bedside table. “do you want me to bring up yours too or will you be joining us?”

“oh, i’m not hungry, thank you johnny,” you said with a watery smile. the food looked delicious but elliot’s words had soured your appetite. “i think i’m just going to go to bed as soon as elliot’s alright.”

“ye sure?”

“mhm.” you nodded.

johnny nodded, said a soft, “let me know if ye change your mind.” he pulled out a pack of pain tablets from his pocket with a little wave and dropped them on the bed and then left.

you waited for elliot’s shout before you went to help him out of the bath and back through to your room. you left him to dry and dress himself and once he was sat on the bed with his food, you turned your back to him and willed yourself to fall asleep quickly.

part two

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[bkgexe]

the defiance of a life spent almost in touch

geto x reader ✾ 15.7k ✾ part one of two ✾ ao3 link

info! (canon au, haibara lives and geto never defects.) Your cursed technique allows you to read people—to see into their minds—when you touch them. It's not pleasant, but to jujutsu society, it's useful. Which means you end up in close proximity to Geto Suguru, who you've been avoiding for nearly a decade since seeing just how frightening it is inside his head. Though it's something you vowed never to repeat, it seems that there are powerful people vested in having you read him once again. ✾ tw! reader is scared of geto, typical jjk gore/violence, geto is. mentally unwell. like he didn't defect but he's Wrong ✾ notes! part two should be out end of january!!!

When the jujutsu higher-ups ask you for help, they always send Kento, because you have a hard time saying no to him. 

To his credit, he always looks sorry. You have the number of every other sorcerer you know blocked. He still comes in person because he knows the blow will be softer if you can complain to him after. He drives you to the appointed location, a small town on the border of Yamanashi Prefecture. The ride is mostly silent. When the car stops in front of a small, traditional house, Kento sighs deep, a sound you got so well acquainted with in high school that you can still conjure it in your mind on command. 

A familiar look: why are you doing this. Another: you can say no.

“You know why I have to,” you say.

The sigh again. “Fair enough.”

You left jujutsu society for a few reasons.

The first: your cursed technique is useless in a fight. You had to rely on strength and agility alone, which got you to Grade B—but you saw what happened to Haibara. The higher-ups send lower grade sorcerers out as a test, a toe in the water. They misjudged the grades of so many curses that at a certain point, you started to suspect that they were making it all up. That they had no way to accurately measure the strength of a curse until it had drawn a sorcerer’s blood. You didn’t want to be a body in a hospital bed, cut so deep through the middle that you had claw marks on the inside of your spine.

Haibara lived, but not without consequences.

The second: three men wait inside the house you’ve been called to. The window that alerted the higher-ups, a non-sorcerer passed out on the ground—and him. Geto smiles warmly when he sees you. You used to like his smiles before you saw the inside of his head. Now all you see is fox teeth hidden behind a stretched mouth.

Though your cursed technique isn’t useful in a fight, it’s still useful. Skin-to-skin contact allows you a look into another person’s mind. Just flashes, and nothing specific, but it’s helpful when the only witnesses you have are comatose or otherwise indisposed. You’re allowed a normal life for these few visitations. The higher-ups don’t bother you anymore. Even Gojo stopped asking you to come back and teach somewhere along the line, distracted by things more (or less, knowing him) important than your existence.

Geto never tried. You can at least respect him for that.

He explains to you that six people have been found in the same state as the man in front of you. It’s not a normal coma—something is smothering their soul, stretching it far from their body. As if they’re standing on the sidewalk across the street from themselves, watching the inside of their head through a lit window in the middle of the night. You’d forgotten what Geto’s voice sounded like, all friendly tones and half-hidden condescension.

When you touch the unconscious man, you don’t see anything at first, which is odd. His wrist is clammy and cold, his whole body covered in sweat. You briefly wonder if his soul is so disconnected that you won’t be able to read him.

And then, memories:            noodles in warm broth,          a pair of leather shoes           with buckles,                    a live wire at the power plant,          what it would feel like          to put your hands on it?,          to feel electricity for the first time in so long?,          to take something into you                                                                  r body that was never supposed to be there?,          hands wrapped around spark-soaked copper—

Outside, you throw up behind a camellia bush. Bile burns your throat, the roof of your mouth. The flowers smell of putrid rot when you know they shouldn’t. Cold air digs needles into your cheeks, so you’re stinging inside and out. Kento hadn’t given you enough notice for you to skip breakfast, but the higher-ups hadn’t given him any notice that they’d need you.

People are predisposed to show you either wants or memories. Never both, for reasons beyond your understanding. Memories are worse than wants. They burrow deeper, which makes them harder to expel.

Instinct tells you the hand is coming before it connects, and you dodge contact—Geto at your shoulder, asking if you’re alright. He doesn’t miss that you flinch away from him. “I’d have brought a bucket inside if I knew,” he tells you. His face says: I’m sorry for overlooking this detail. He’s very good at lying with it.

“It’s at the power plant,” you say. “Whatever’s causing this.”

“Do you want to read any of the others before you go?” The question feels cruel. His face says it isn’t.

You shake your head and leave without a word. 

Kento drops you off at your building and you thank him. You could invite him up easily. The two of you have known each other for so long, have experienced so much together, that being with him feels natural. It’s possible to turn off your brain around him, to touch him and only experience the smallest flashes of memory. 

You thank him and say good night.

It would be selfish. You would give anything to be the kind of person that could be a good partner to him. He’s an easy man to love, which is exactly why you can never love him. You’re difficult, a puzzle that comes with a sizable warning.

When you fall asleep in your cramped apartment, you see soup and silver buckles, live wires and burning flesh.

✾

An unknown number calls when you’re at work. You pick up because it breaks the monotony of clicking around account records and absorbing none of the numbers on the screen.

“Are you busy?” the person on the line asks, and you realize you never blocked Geto’s number because you never had it in the first place.

You tell him you’re not, even though you have a project deadline this week. If you sit in this closet-turned-office for five more minutes you’re going to explode all over the walls. You're not sure why you entertain him—why you didn't just hang up the second you heard his voice. There's something about him that compels you. A terrible, morbid curiosity that sometimes, when you're not looking directly at him, overrides your fear.

He meets you at the same house as last time, but today there’s no window. Just you and him. Kento didn’t drive you. For some odd reason, you thought there’d be someone else here, as if jujutsu society at large should know that you always need a buffer when it comes to Geto. A witness. And you realize that despite the curiosity, despite the compulsion, you should never have entertained this man on the phone for more than ten seconds. You shouldn't be here. You keep your keys spiked between your fingers, as if you’d ever be able to stop one of the most powerful sorcerers alive from doing whatever he wanted with you.

“I didn’t find anything at the power plant,” he says, leading you down a wooded path behind the house. You emerge onto a dirt road on the other side, a near-identical house sitting before you, its sloping, tiled roof dripping with excess morning rain. “Have you had lunch?”

You shake your head. He smiles with his hidden fox teeth.

The man you read this time is just as feverish as the other, but his wrist is hot. This isn’t relevant to reading a person, but you notice these things because you touch people so infrequently. Each time you do it’s a research experience, notes taken inside your head, recorded to compare against other studies you’ve done over the years.

The memories are instant:  rough hands that have hardened from years of manual labor, watching baseball with the other construction workers after projects done in town,                     your daughter           moving to Tokyo for college, radishes that she used to grow in the backyard that she boiled and roasted every day after harvest, and           who          will you eat them with now? and who          will grow them? and who          will you make your hands rough for?  you don’t like baseball.

Pulling away from the man’s mind is like extracting yourself from honey in the process of crystallizing. His consciousness clings to you as you leave, trying its best to suck you back in. You’re the only company it’s had in a while.

“I didn’t get anything,” you say, and your voice is rough. Your throat burns even though you didn’t throw up. 

Geto sits in one of the two plastic folding chairs in the house’s main room. He plays with the piece of his hair that’s loose from his bun, twirling it between slim fingers. You haven’t seen him in a jujutsu tech uniform since high school, though you’re pretty sure Gojo still wears one daily. Geto’s always in crisp white or black button-downs, slacks, expensive oxfords. Maybe playing dress-up makes him feel less like a sorcerer and more like a human.

“I can try again,” you say, and you’re not sure why. It’s for this suffering man, you think, even though your savior complex was left behind with the jujutsu world. 

“You don’t have to,” Geto says, dropping the strand of hair and leaning forward. His language is careful. He’s not telling you no. The way he watches you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in the middle, makes you feel like you’re being tested.

You try again. This time:  getting your wedding ring engraved,          sitting on the porch in late spring sipping on plum wine,          nearly crying when you see your daughter playing with                     the girls that have caused the town so much misfortune,          the relief when            they ’re finally gone,          the relief when your daughter brings new best friends home and          their eyes          aren’t shadowed and sharp and too old for their sockets—

Retching is your second-least favorite thing, right behind actually vomiting. Your body rejects the images you’ve seen, trying to empty your stomach before the memories can begin to digest.

You tell Geto what you saw. 

His question: “Does he remember what happened to the girls?”

“If he does, I didn’t see it,” you say. When Geto is silent, you tell him, “I can’t do it again. I can’t.”

After a tense, quiet moment, he smiles at you. You still feel nauseous, but you can’t tell if it’s because of your cursed technique or because of the bone-deep malaise that spreads into your skin like a balm when he looks at you—when you’re reminded of what you once saw lurking in the corners of his mind. “Of course,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

✾

Kento meets you at your usual coffee shop a few weeks later. Your throat no longer feels raw every time you swallow. He has a drink waiting for you when you get there—(describing Kento as punctual would be doing the man a disservice)—and it’s your favorite, with all the little add-ons that you get too nervous to ask for at risk of being a burden to the already overworked baristas. You’re positive he tipped heavy after putting in your order.

He asks you what you think about the murder mystery you’ve both been reading. You tell him about your job, the monotony, the fantasies of exploding. He tells you about jujutsu business, even though he’s not supposed to. This has never stopped him in the past and won’t ever stop him in the future.

“The higher-ups are pleased with your work,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound pleased.

“Kento.” A warning.

He hmms at you as if actually considering your warning before speaking his mind. “Having a foot in either world is difficult. It’s impossible to keep your balance.”

Your drink suddenly disgusts you. You taste bile. The cup is hot between your hands as you roll it back and forth with your palms. “Are you saying I should come back to Jujutsu Tech?”

“I’m saying that if you want to leave entirely, you should.”

You consider this: a normal life, surrounded by normal people, with a normal job and normal friends and a normal partner, maybe, if you’re lucky. The higher-ups would never let this happen. If you wrong them, they make sure to wrong you back. “You know why I can’t.”

“I’d take care of it. You wouldn’t be bothered by anyone.” He speaks with such confidence that you could almost believe him.

You tell him you’ll think about it. The coffee stings your palms. A terrible feeling sits in your throat like a weathered rock.

There’s something other than the threat of retaliation that stops you from pulling the trigger—from fully leaving the world you grew up in, as Kento once did. Maybe you’re not as brave as him. Maybe you can’t reconcile how quickly he ended up going back. Or maybe you just feel so inextricably tied to the world in which you were raised that you need to have it in your life somehow, even if it’s in brief, unpleasant flashes of memory and want.

“You can make your decisions for yourself,” he says. He’s not disappointed with you, you’re sure—just worried. The same way you often worry about him. “They’re pleased. Geto found the curse and exorcised it the same day thanks to you. I can see why the higher-ups don’t want to let you go.”

The stone in your throat grows edges, forgets its weathering. His name always unnerves you, but Kento’s words unnerve you more. “He exorcised it—the same day we drove out there?”

Kento nods, sips his tea. “He can be vicious.”

A tremor begins in your fingers and lodges deep in your elbows, your shoulders, your very soul. “He didn’t need me to read another victim?”

Kento’s a smart man. His eyes narrow. “Not to my knowledge. Or anyone else’s.”

You wave off his concern (suspicion, really, but you love to downplay these things), and your coffee is finished, and you really should be going, anyway. “He didn’t do anything,” you lie, standing and folding your coat over your arm. “He called and asked me to come back out, but I said no.”

It’s easy to see that Kento doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t press you either. He knows that if you tell him half-truths, once you have all of your feelings together, you’ll tell him everything. He’s done the same, and you’ve given him the grace he’s currently allowing you. He puts up with a lot—but that’s the nature of living the lives into which you both were born.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you say.

“You’ll call me soon?”

“You’re on speed dial,” you tell him—and it’s true. His contact is the only one in your phone that’s favorited.

Kento smiles—something you rarely see. You wish it didn’t call to mind the shine of fox teeth.

✾

How you ended up coming into contact with the wants of Geto Suguru: he showed up at Ieiri’s dorm with his ribs visible through his uniform.

You remember very specific things from that day. The heavy knock, the thud of him collapsing, blood soaking the tatami floors. Shockingly white bone beneath torn skin and muscle, his ink-black hair coming undone, silk-soft and slipping across your fingers as you dragged him inside. Ieiri’s hands were shaking. She smelled like cigarette smoke and metal. Pressure here, she told you, ripping away the remains of Geto’s jacket, and when you touched him everything was skin-muscle-bone-blood and: bodies.  bodies of people that have wronged you. people that haven’t.  their blood thick beneath your fingernails          like orange peel.  how easy it is to snuff out each life. to take from them what they have forgotten to value.                      you could kill more.                      you could kill everyone. 

When you pulled away from Geto, his skin was knitting together beneath Ieiri’s shaking hands—hands you knew well, her black nail polish chipped around the edges because she bit at her nails when she was somewhere she couldn’t smoke. His ribs faded from view, and then muscle, and then his skin was pink and shiny, scar-new, as if whoever had done this to him had simply taken a paint brush to his bare chest and drawn a bold X. 

Blood was underneath your fingernails. Orange peel. It’s all you remember about the aftermath. Getting back to your room and locking yourself in the washroom were voided from your memory. Your head was all bodies. All bone. An undeniable feeling of righteousness, completely sure that they hadn’t deserved what you’d taken from them. And on top of that, the most frightening thing: relief that they were dead. 

You washed your hands so much that the skin was raw, peeling, but you still couldn’t get your fingernails clean.

✾

You ignore his calls.

The frequency with which you receive them makes you uneasy. You don’t have his number saved. The first few digits become a bad omen.

In school, he and Gojo had a reputation for toying with people. Mostly women, mostly in a romantic sense. The difference between the two is that Gojo was easy to understand—a spoiled boy-prince that liked the attention. He wanted girls to fawn after him, to beg for more when he finally graced them with a kiss, to cry when he dropped them.

Geto always seemed worse, somehow. He would date girls and leave them behind like candy wrappers, charming them into giving him a taste and only revealing his true appetite when his prize had reached the inescapable vicinity of his jaws. 

It’s more insidious than simply liking attention. He liked power. Having control over someone.

Whatever he’s doing now is insidious in nature, too. You can feel it. So you ignore his calls and keep working the days away until you can’t ignore him, because he shows up at your office with the confidence of someone supposed to be there, hands in his pockets, leaning against the frame of your door.

You jump so hard that your bones creak, almost louder than the creaking plastic of your poor hand-me-down rolling chair.

“Your instincts are a little dull,” he says. “I thought you would’ve heard me coming.”

Standing up feels necessary. You don’t want to feel smaller than him, even though he towers in your doorway. “I’m not supposed to be bothered by sorcerers without advance notice.” 

He smiles. “I tried calling.”

Your heart is pounding like a rabbit at the foot of a wolf, partly torn to shreds but conscious enough to experience the abject terror of what comes next. “Who let you up here?”

“I was hoping you might be willing to humor me without advance notice.”

“I’m calling security.”

“I need your help,” he says.

“Like you needed my help last time?”

He sits with that for a moment. “Is it a crime to be curious about you? What you’re capable of?”

“You lied to me,” you reiterate. “You didn’t need me to read that man. And, what—it was so you could see more of my technique?”

“Yes,” he says plainly, as if it's a perfectly sane response.

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

He chuckles, the sound rich and deep and calm, as if you’re having a nice conversation between old friends. “Are you saying you’d have responded well if I just asked?”

You remain silent, staring at the sticky notes on your monitor with reminders and deadlines written in blue pen. Tanaka account today. Get stapler back from Yoishi!!!! You both know his question is rhetorical.

He crosses his arms, taps his long fingers against his bicep. Is it impatience, you wonder, or his inability to sit still for too long? His face belies nothing. “Would you read me if I asked?”

Your veins feel too tight, constricting muscle. It must be a leading question—he’s suspicious of your aversion to him, maybe. The exterior he’s built is charming and handsome and kind. That’s probably how he got to your office. You wouldn’t be surprised if the receptionist saw a handsome face and caved immediately. It’s not his fault you see through it. If you could go back and revoke your touch, remove the bodies from your memory, you would. But you can’t, and the things in his mind scare you. It’s part of what made you leave. The idea of working with a man like that, who held such terrors in his head, was incomprehensible to you. It still is. You would always be thinking about the ease with which you could become one of those bodies.

When you read people who project to you in wants, it’s usually easier. Makes you feel less sick. But not him. He wanted those people dead, whoever they were. He wanted blood on his hands. He was thinking, concretely, that he could have killed them all. That they deserved it.

The relief was the worst part. Seeing all those people dead, and the resounding thought that outshone everything else: finally. 

He steps forward, hand extended slightly. “If I—”

“No. Just—don’t,” you say, and you stumble a little as your legs hit your chair and push it, rattling, against the wall. Your office has never been this small. You never want to be inside his head again. You'd do anything to get him out of your space. “Tell me what you need my help with and we can go.”

He doesn’t look pleased. It seems people in your life are operating on a theme. Still, his hand retreats, and he smiles, slouches a little, as if to make himself smaller. Less intimidating. “Thank you.”

As you leave your office, you give him a wide berth, though you could swear his body goes taut, as if suppressing the urge to touch you.

The Ueno Zoo is closed during operating hours. This hasn’t happened in the entire time you’ve lived in Tokyo. The woman at the gate is a window—the look she gives Geto is one of recognition, respect. He and Gojo are the most well-respected sorcerers currently active, though you believe entirely that Kento is much more deserving of respect than they are. The window lets the both of you inside without a word.

Geto leads you to the vivarium, just to the right of the gate. It’s a beautiful glass building, the windows fogged with humidity to keep its plant and animal residents comfortable. You haven’t been to the zoo in a long time, but when you used to come with family and friends, you always visited the vivarium before you left. The air was heavy and hot, birdsong piped in through speakers, echoing off the glass walls like prism-dispersed light. Every animal inside moved slowly, heavily, and if you listened closely enough, you could hear the soft slide of scales against stone, the heavy thud of a taloned foot into packed dirt. A haven for living in calm and peace.

Inside, it’s chaos.

Display cases are smashed, plants and trees are torn up from the roots, stone walls have been dismantled and crushed. In the center of the rubble, the strewn dirt and bundled roots: jaws. Alligator jaws, crocodile jaws, all long and horrible teeth, and when you look closer—the jaws of snakes, fanged and dripping venom, and others from what you can only assume would be turtles, small and rounded. 

The skin remains perfectly intact on every jaw. Muscle, bone, blood. You see bodies. You see limbs. You remember: finally.

“Don’t look at that,” Geto says from beside you. “Look at me.”

With a deep breath, you do—though looking at him does nothing to dispel the unrest in your stomach, the pit in your chest. 

“Good.” He’s not smiling anymore. You wonder if he’s decided to drop his disguise or if the orphaned jaws are more horrifying than the wants he carries like stones. “Come this way.”

He leads you away from the viscera, into a small office next to the stairs. A man sits in the single chair, staring into the security monitors on the desk in front of him. His gaze is absent, hollow. His hands clasp and unclasp on his lap. Blood is spattered across his face and the front of his cheery yellow jumpsuit.

“He’s been like this since I got here,” Geto tells you. “I need you to read him.”

Ieiri used to tell you that if humans come into contact with curses and live, you have to monitor them closely for cardiogenic shock—stress and fear mounting to such a peak that the heart can’t handle the pressure. It’s not a peaceful death. “He needs to go to a hospital.”

“I’ll take him after.”

“How long has he been in shock?”

“Read him first,” he says, more curt than you’ve ever heard.

This is the thing lurking under the surface. The wolf peeking through the mouth of the sheepskin. It sits in him waiting to be called forth. You’ve seen it already—it’s no surprise to you that it lives in him still. It is, however, a surprise that he let his facade slip so badly.

He smiles, fox teeth a little sharper than usual. “Please.”

You put your hand on the side of the man’s neck, the only skin available to you. Touching people’s faces horrifies you. Such an intimate thing tarnished by the images that flood your brain. 

Memories on a loop:  guttural screeching,          death cries that couldn’t be conjured by a human mind,          and from the ceiling,          from the ceiling          the jaws                     falling, falling,                                          falling,  blood everywhere          and on you and you can taste it          ???          in your mouth          ???           on your tongue          ???            metal and rot,          and there is something discarding these jaws from the bodies of animals          it eats                    while clinging to the vivarium’s rafters something ???        when you met your wife you knew you were going to propose to her in the zoo in the vivarium because of the beautiful glass the beautiful plants she loves plants something           there is something          there is          something you cannot see          some          thing          ???

This time, Geto has a trash can waiting for you. You’ve gotten very good at gathering your hair up with one hand at a moment’s notice. He puts the trash next to the desk when you’re done, and you tell him everything useful that you gathered on the curse. Everything else, you keep to yourself. You’ve gotten very good at that too.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your wrist. The bile tastes more like copper than usual. “Is that everything?”

He holds his hand out to you and you hide your flinch poorly. “Gum?”

The foil-wrapped stick shimmers green, held between his fingers like a cigarette. You stare at it for a beat too long. It’s your favorite brand, spearmint flavored. 

“It won’t bite,” he says. He tilts his head to the side, eyes crinkling with mirth. As if you weren’t tasting blood just a moment ago. When you still don’t take the gum, he laughs softly and it reminds you of high school. His laughter has always been a little mean, as if it gets harder for him to hide his true nature when amused. It reminds you of a housecat playing with a bug. “I won’t either.”

A funny thing for someone with such sharp teeth to claim.

You take the gum from him, careful to grab the very end so there’s no chance of your fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

He smiles and nods as if he’s done you a favor. You appreciate the gum, but you’d appreciate him ceasing contact with you more. “I’ll see you soon,” he tells you.

“Get him help, Geto.” 

He smiles wide in response.

✾

You lost your virginity to Kento during your graduating year at Jujutsu Tech.

Haibara was recovering, still in the hospital for the third consecutive month. He had to learn how to walk again, the implants in his spine acclimating to him at the same rate that he was acclimating to them. You and Kento were the only two students in your year that made it to graduation. The two of you felt like celebrating but when you began drinking, you realized it was more commiseration than anything celebratory.

“Do you always see things?” Kento asked. He never drank—saw it as beneath him—so when he did, he was a lightweight. “When you touch people?”

“Yeah,” you said. The both of you sat against the headboard of your bed, passing a bottle of gin back and forth—the only thing you could find in Yaga’s campus stash. It stopped tasting like liquor twenty minutes prior. “I can make it quieter. But I really have to focus. Like—I couldn’t make it quiet now, I don’t think.”

Kento turned towards you and said, “Try.”

And always, you would protest when people suggested this. It was like a party trick to people that didn’t have to deal with the fallout. They all wanted to know what you saw in their mind, whether it was wants or memories that jumped to the forefront, what their subconscious decided was important enough to broadcast.

You didn’t believe at all that Kento was asking for those reasons. It’s why you touched him.

Wedging the bottle between Kento’s thigh and yours, you turned towards him and reached for his face. This, for some reason, was your first instinct. His skin was soft, a little dry. His mouth was set in a nervous slant. 

And you got a few things from him: finishing your favorite book for the third time, going to the beach with your mother, finding out how cold the sea was. Memories, unfortunately. The feelings behind them.

But what you felt was mostly your own. 

You pushed his bangs back from his face, and you couldn’t take your eyes from the slant of his lips, and suddenly you were in Kento’s lap, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, hands on your hips, groaning softly into your mouth.

The gin tumbled off the bed and spilled all over your floor. Your dorm would smell like liquor for weeks. 

It was awkward the way a first time should be for teenagers, misplaced limbs and kisses with knocking teeth. You both tried to take care of each other the best you could while shit-faced and entirely inexperienced. You hadn’t kissed anyone before then—you hadn’t touched someone’s face since you were little. 

You’d been scared. He figured out how to make that okay. 

✾

Gojo is in your office when you come into work, reclining in your chair with his feet up on your desk. He peers at you over his glasses, eyes like jeweled robin eggs. “Running kinda late, huh?”

“I don’t have to be here until nine,” you tell him. “It’s eight forty-five.”

“Semantics.”

“You’re in my office.” You don’t even have the good grace to make it sound like a question—just an admonishment.

“Or is it syntax?”

“Can you please get out?”

“Can’t you pretend you’re happy I’m here?” He pouts, taking his feet from your desk. “I won’t even ask you to do anything. I basically just came here to say hey.”

“That would certainly be a first.” You walk behind your desk and shoo him away from your computer, waking it from its slumber. An orange post-it note on the top of your monitor reminds you that tax reports are due TODAY!!!!!!, and you try to prepare yourself for a grueling eight-to-twelve hours of tax filing, depending on how smoothly things go. Gojo Satoru showing up at your office before you is not your definition of smooth. “You said hey. Why are you still here?”

Gojo slowly spins in your chair, pushing himself in circles lazily with one long leg. Avoids looking at you. “You’ve been working with Suguru a lot lately.”

“Twice.” You open up the tiny K-Cup machine you have on your desk and start preparing the world’s smallest cup of coffee. Three times, technically, but you still don’t know what to make of the second time he called you out to Yamanashi Prefecture. When he lied to you. “That hardly constitutes a lot.”

“Enough that it got back to me.” He slows the chair, then starts spinning the other way. “You got any idea why he’s taken an interest?”

Your tiny mug clatters against the K-Cup machine. Geto is probably miles from here, dealing with important jujutsu business, but your heart beats like a prey animal nonetheless, the way it often does under his gaze.“I don’t think he’s taken an interest.”

“As much as I’d love to be flattering you, that’s not what I mean.” He stops the chair entirely, body directed at you. “You’ve been useful.”

There’s nothing you hate more than being talked about like a tool. Your coffee finishes brewing and you take a sip before you really should. It burns your lips. You lean against your desk and look at Gojo, trying to read anything from his face, his body language. As always, you glean nothing. Though you see Geto as the more insidious of the two, you’re keenly aware that Gojo is just as good at pretending. 

“I’ve been useful,” you repeat. “So what?”

“You don’t think you’ve been pretty unnecessary for the missions you’ve been asked to help with?” Though his glasses are on, it's as if you can sense the intensity of his gaze through the darkened lenses. “Suguru could’ve found and exorcised either of those curses easy. I could’ve done it even easier.”

Every meeting with Gojo requires a mandatory ego-stroking period. You decide to get it over with quickly. “Yes, you’re both very strong. What’s your point?”

“Do you know what happened that night?” he asks, taking off his glasses—and this is what really instills a fear in you that something terrible is about to happen. A full view of eyes like glittering sapphires. There’s no question what night he’s talking about. 

You don’t like thinking about that time in general. You don’t like thinking about Geto’s ribs. You don’t like thinking about the bodies. “A non-sorcerer tried to stop the merger. You guys… neutralized him.”

His gaze clouds for a moment. You’re aware that Gojo carries his burdens, despite his unbearable ego. He’s somewhere else, seeing things that you have the good fortune of never having to see. You briefly wonder whether you’d read memories or wants from him. You’re content with not knowing. “Don’t play coy,” he tells you. “You’re smarter than that.”

“You killed him.”

“I killed him.”

Gojo’s account of the day you read Geto: both he and his best friend so narrowly avoided death that they still remember its taste.

A mercenary whittled down Gojo’s endurance and attacked just as they were delivering Amanai Riko to Tengen for their merger. Gojo stayed back to deal with things. Geto escorted Amanai. Gojo was slit from throat to hip with a blade so sharp he didn’t feel the pain until his blood was already varnishing the floor. Geto was carved apart by that same blade, left alive only because of the curses he stored and their indeterminable state upon his death. Amanai, quick on her feet, made it to Tengen. The merger was successful. Things settled down and another Star Plasma Vessel wouldn’t have to be found for a long, long time.

Gojo shows you the scar on his forehead, shiny rib-white, usually hidden by his hair or his blindfold. Being so close to death changed him, he tells you—he fully understood the limits of his cursed energy and what it could do.

It changed Geto too.

“I’m not telling you all this for nothing,” he says, a disarming smile appearing on his face so suddenly after a serious conversation that the speed makes you nauseous. “I just have one tiny favor to ask you.”

It’s long into the day. The details took a while to get through. Your lunch hour is coming up and your appetite is nonexistent and tax forms sit unfiled on your desk. Gojo asking for a favor is always bad news. You can taste vomit and you wish you had a piece of gum or alternatively that you were born an entirely different person. “I don’t want any trouble—”

“No trouble. Promise.” He lifts his right hand, pinkie out, grinning—as if it’s funny that you, specifically, can’t touch him. “I just want you to read him for me.”

Your heart slams into the base of your throat. “That’s… You know that’s not a small ask.”

He drops his hand, shrugs. “C’mon—look, it’ll give you an excuse to get close to him.”

“Why would I want that?” you ask.

“As if I didn’t clock your embarrassing crush on him in high school.”

“Excuse me?”

“Excused. It won’t even be bad,” he says. “I only need you to read him one time, probably.”

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Gojo.”

Weighing the cost of telling you a half-truth versus keeping you in the dark seems to take a toll on him, his smile turning brittle at its corners. You think he knows that you won’t do anything for him without more information. Not that you’d read Geto ever, at all—but Gojo hasn’t always been good at believing people when they say never. Hesitantly, he tells you, “Something happened.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, something,” he says, finally a little exasperated. “I wouldn’t be asking if I already had answers.”

There are things he’s not telling you, very obviously. He’s minimizing. Jujutsu sorcerers are good at that. And he and Geto are best friends, two people so closely intertwined that they could count as one. “Why can’t you just ask him?”

For the first time in your acquaintance with him, Gojo is silent.

“He doesn’t know you’re asking me to do this,” you say. It would be a question if you weren’t already so sure.

“Oh, no, he’d kill me if he knew I was here.”

“I’ll call him and tell him to come get you.”

“I’d like to see you follow through on that.” He grins, peeks at you over his glasses. “Bet you won’t.”

Geto answers on the first ring, your name spoken in question.

“Your dog’s in my office. Come pick him up.”

He does.

Gojo could easily leave before Geto arrives, but he doesn’t even try. He sits in your chair, still reclined, surely doing immeasurable damage to the hydraulics. Asking him about his motives would be wasted breath—he’ll never tell you something he doesn’t want to, regardless of how much you wheedle him. He’ll enjoy the wheedling, though, and you don’t want to give him the ego boost of being begged. 

Instead, you shoo him out of the way of your desk and start working on submitting the tax forms, leaning awkwardly over your computer. Gojo hums and your back aches, and you refuse to be curious about this entire situation because it’s none of your business. This is what you do now. Taxes and filing.

Geto arrives at your office once again without needing your permission to come up. You wonder who’s working reception.

“Sorry about him,” Geto says, leaning in your doorway. His hair is loose, strands falling softly against his face. You forget how tall he is sometimes. How handsome. It makes your stomach turn. “Badly trained.”

“I think the fault is more the owner’s than the dog’s,” you say.

He shrugs. “If you tried training the dog in question, maybe your opinion would change.”

“Can you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Gojo asks.

Geto grabs him by the back of the collar. “Walk’s over. Time to go home.” He smiles at you over his shoulder as he leaves, his hair so inky black that it almost blends into his dark dress shirt. You remember how it felt sliding through your fingers years ago. Even though you never touched his wound, you think you can remember the texture of his ribs.

You consider Gojo’s proposition long after you’ve submitted the tax forms, after you’ve arrived home late once again, after you stare out your bedroom window into the night sky and see nothing but storm-cloud gray. 

You expect Geto to be the kind of person to keep secrets. It shouldn’t worry you. But keeping secrets from the one person he views as an equal makes you uneasy. The bodies are in your head. You wonder how close you are to finally. When you sleep, it’s fitful, and you wake in the night to the feeling of silk-soft hair running through your fingers, falling so quickly that it’s impossible to grasp.

✾

Kento is antsy when he comes over for dinner. It wouldn’t bother you if he didn’t also happen to be the calmest man you know. He keeps bouncing his leg as he sits at the little two-top table in your kitchen, drumming his fingers incessantly on the tiled surface. He’s not wearing his glasses—and he usually watches your cooking like a hawk, just in case you make a grievous mistake—but instead holds them in his hand, twirling them back and forth. 

The one-sided conversation you have with him is unbearable. Did you have a nice day? Mmmhmm. No crazy assignments? Just the usual. Should I use soy sauce or sesame oil? Oil. My favorite author is doing a book signing next month. Do you want to go with me? Sure. Is something up? Not at all.

Eventually, you’ve had enough. “I’m going to burn the cabbage.”

He glances over at the pan you’re wielding. “It looks fine.”

“I’m going to do it on purpose and I’m going to make you eat it,” you say, pointing your spatula in his direction so he’s positive that it’s him who’ll have to eat the ruined meal. “I’ll spoon-feed it to you.”

Kento is bewildered by this, his eyebrows raised very slightly—shock has always been a micro-expression for him. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a little absent.”

“More than a little.” You stir the cabbage again. “You know I don’t want to pry.”

He nods. The space you offer each other is a give-and-take. If neither of you are ready to speak about something, there’s usually no pressure to do so. 

But this time is different. You’re worried that the strange things happening around you are begging to connect, veins folding over each other to become arteries, blood flowing into your life and staining the foundations. You need to tell him about everything that's happened over the past few weeks. But first, you need to ask. “Does this have something to do with Geto?”

His leg stops bouncing. His fingers quiet against the tabletop. “So you know.”

You tell him everything. Being called out to the village again, going to the vivarium, the jaws. Gojo showing up unannounced, though that's the most usual thing out of everything that's happened. “He asked me to read Geto,” you say. “There are secrets being kept.”

You told Kento about the bodies only once. The two of you had just recently graduated. You shared a studio apartment in Tokyo for three months before your Jujutsu Tech paychecks started coming in. In his arms, you saw memories of a kind-hearted blonde woman, the scent of coffee and pastries, the cool chill of the air in the mountains of Denmark, and you had to pull away from him, trying not to gag and failing.

When you returned from the bathroom, teeth minty-fresh and tongue burning, he apologized so earnestly. As if he had done anything other than hold you close and thread his fingers through yours. 

It was then you began to understand that you could never be his, though the realization didn’t settle in for a while. You told him not to apologize. You told him that nothing was his fault. And then for some reason, you told him about the bodies and the orange peel and the finally and he asked if he could comfort you and you had to say no because you didn’t want to throw up again. From then on, he was wary of Geto. Maybe not as much as you—though that’s understandable.

Knowing what’s going on in his head is one thing. Experiencing it is another.

Kento sighs, familiar. He joins you in the kitchen, in the heat that radiates from the stove. The cabbage is burning slightly even though you never meant to follow through on your threat. Your attention has been elsewhere. “Let me,” he murmurs, and his hand brushes yours as he takes the spatula from you: fresh bread from the bakery at the end of the block,          long nights at the office alone,          a deep hatred of the word ergonomic—  He begins to peel the burning cabbage from the bottom of the pan. “He’s been quiet lately.”

“Isn’t he usually?” You remember Geto being reserved, but then again, maybe that’s only because your memories of him are often in the context of Gojo.

“He can be.” Kento takes the pan to the trash and scrapes off the burnt cabbage, then returns to where you wait for him, leaning against your counter. He opens the top drawer next to the stove and pulls out the menu of the Indian restaurant nearby that you both like. “He’s exorcising Special Grade curses that he shouldn’t even attempt to take on by himself, no matter how strong he is. There are days where he’s cleared missions back-to-back without stopping to sleep.”

“You think he’s focused on work because something’s wrong.”

“Yes,” Kento says, and chews on the thought for a moment. “I don’t like it when he’s focused like this. He gets… obsessive.”

“Him and Gojo were always odd, though,” you say. Minimizing whatever is happening with Geto feels crucial. You’ve never seen Kento this worried.

He hums. “In different ways, perhaps. Gojo’s obsessive nature is more self-centered. But Geto—when he’s consumed by something, it’s like nothing else matters. He’d raze the world to ash if it meant doing what he felt needed doing.”

“Should I be worried?” you ask.

You should. You already know this.

Another sigh. He can’t quite look you in the eyes. You both think: bodies. You both think: finally . “Biryani for you?” he asks. “Or do you want something different this time?”

“Biryani’s fine.”

“Great,” he says, proceeding to order your food. And you don’t talk about it again that night.

✾

You’ve been a regular at the same coffee shop for nearly half a decade. The times you come in vary, depending on work or your weekend plans. You know the regulars and have seen thousands of faces pass through the cozy little building. Not once have you seen Geto here.

Yet he’s at the back of the line when you arrive, smiling pleasantly when he sees you walk through the door. Almost as if his arrival was timed.

If he hadn’t already seen you, you would’ve left. Even as you step into line behind him, you still consider it: bolting out the door and down the street, sprinting your way home as if he’d catch you if you stopped running. He stares at you expectantly while you think about your escape. It puts a shiver deep into your bones, his handsome face and kind eyes and warm smile, all tactics granted by genetics and lifted straight out of a manual on inviting body language. Instead of doing what your instincts tell you is right, you say, “Hi.”

“It's good to see you.” His smile widens, Cheshire in nature despite not showing teeth. “I didn’t know anyone else knew about this place.”

You almost tell him you live close by, but then think better of it. “It’s Kento’s favorite.”

“Of course,” he says. “Haibara took me here a few years ago.”

Yu is kind to a fault. Neither you or Kento have ever talked to him about what you saw in Geto’s head—mostly because you're scared to tell too many people, but also because of the blind respect Yu has for Geto. As if he's a story-book hero that could never do anything wrong. You care about Yu too much to disappoint him with the truth.

“I’ve gotten the same thing here for a long time,” Geto tells you. He gazes up at the menu, such concentration on his face, pulling at the strand of hair loose from his bun for a moment before turning back to you. You remember what Kento said about him not sleeping. His obsessiveness. Nearly imperceptible purple smudges lurk under his eyes. “Would you like to try something new with me?”

You can’t decide if you say yes out of sick curiosity or the fear of what would happen if you said no. Geto pays for both of your drinks—you insist that he shouldn’t, enough times in a row that it’s rude and very obviously makes the cashier uncomfortable, but his insistence wins out.

Waiting at the drink counter with him is torture. You hate when people buy things for you because it makes you feel like you owe them something. For Geto, it’s time. He paid for your presence, at least for however long it takes the baristas to make your drinks. He asks you about your work. You tell him about the books you’ve been balancing, hoping to bore him. Instead he asks more questions about how you like your office, whether your coworkers are nice, if your boss is treating you well.

“Are you looking for a new job?” You fail to keep vitriol from lacing the underside of your words. “We’re not hiring.”

If Geto is bothered by your attitude, he doesn’t let on. He even seems a touch amused. “I enjoy what I’m doing now, but thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

The barista calls out Geto’s name, and he grabs your drink first, hands it to you. You ordered a cappuccino with a syrup that you’ve been curious about but have never tried. The coffee smells amazing even at arm's length, creamy and strong and a little like cinnamon. 

“Thanks.” You slowly turn to leave. “I should be—”

“Wait,” he says, reaching towards you.

You flinch so hard that a slim stream of coffee shoots from the lid’s mouthpiece, burning hot when it lands on your hand. Geto never makes contact, but his arm is still outstretched, as if waiting for you to calm down so he can go through with touching you. You think of Gojo’s request, of the cases where Geto has asked for your help but hasn’t needed it. Yu might have shown him this coffee shop however long ago, but why is he here now? Why have you never seen him here before if he’s a regular?

“Get away from me,” you snap, stern and quiet enough that your words lace themselves underneath the shop’s easy-listening music. 

He does, hands raised and palms open, proclaiming innocence. Slowly, he lowers them. The barista calls his name again, his coffee still waiting on the counter.

“If you ever make me read you against my will,” you tell him, “I will never forgive you.”

Your forgiveness probably means little to him, but it’s the only thing you can threaten. You don’t know him well enough to understand what he holds dear—but you remember respect being important to him when you were at school. Respect and forgiveness.

“I wouldn’t,” he says. “Never.”

You thank him for the coffee again in lieu of a goodbye. The air outside stings against your face, your neck, the spots on your skin where the coffee burned you, steamed milk already drying to film. You’ll wash your hands when you get home. And you’ll wash them again. And again. Eventually they’ll feel clean enough.

✾

Yu calls you at 3:06 in the morning. “They’re dead because of me,” he tells you, and then he’s crying and you’re already walking down the block, heading toward his apartment in your pajamas and large winter coat.

After his injury, Yu wasn’t sent on more dangerous missions for a long time. Even when he was healed fully, despite the nasty scar that twisted and puckered the width of his chest, the higher-ups didn’t think he would be psychologically ready to take on anything too stressful.

They were right. One of the few things you’ve agreed with them about. Yu had always been the most hopeful out of all of you, the most caring. But he was also the most sensitive. Getting so close to death did nothing but make that worse. 

He’s on the couch when you get there, using your key to let yourself in. You and Kento were given copies at the housewarming party, which had consisted of four bottles of peach soju, the three of you, and Ieiri for a few hours before she was called back to the school. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s curled into himself, laying on his side. It looks like he’s been crying for the entire evening. The worn leather of the seat is darkened beneath his face.

You’re by his side immediately, brushing hair back from his face, wiping stray tears from his cheeks: i wish i’d known i should have !!!          known how did                                         how did i not know how i wish i “Hey, it’s okay. I'm here,” you say, trying a little more pointedly to keep your fingers off his scalp. The thing he wants, simply: to have done better. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I messed up,” he says, and you’ve never heard him sound so defeated. Even during his recovery he sounded less broken than this. “I don’t—I don’t know how I didn’t see it.” 

At seventeen, you and your classmates began to receive solo assignments. Yu always got the easier ones—still recovering from his injury, both physically and mentally. He tells you about a mission he had almost forgotten: a curse terrorizing a village on the outskirts of Yamanashi Prefecture. The curse was easily exorcized, easily forgotten—what Yu remembered well were the whispers that came after. They called him a devil, named him unnatural, said that he could see things no one else could because he was damned. Just like the two little girls that lived in the village, their late mother’s otherness somewhere in the same vein.

He thought nothing of it. He would get rid of the curse, and the village would go back to normal. Yes, they were skeptical and untrusting of anything that could be perceived as even slightly supernatural, but most non-sorcerers were. Sometimes you had to protect people that would never thank you—that could never comprehend the things you’d given up to offer said protection. Whatever oddities they attributed to other people would fade away once the curse was gone, and the village would go back to normal. Everyone would trust everyone again.

The bodies of the girls had been exhumed during a construction project aiming to bring affordable housing to prefectures outside of Tokyo. The Hasaba twins, Nanako and Mimiko, reported truant by their school over a decade ago. Their mother wasn’t alive to receive the report. Their father hadn’t been there from the beginning. The town didn’t report them missing—they knew exactly where the girls were. From the remains, bones weak and brittle, authorities determined that they died of malnutrition.

“I could’ve helped them.” Yu’s lip trembles and he bites it so hard that you see the skin around his mouth turn bone-white. “They might have been alive then. If I paid more attention, I just—how could they have done that? How can anyone justify that?”

You don’t know. How does anyone justify anything? How many times do you have to tell yourself you’re doing the right thing before you believe it? You wonder if the inhabitants of that village let out a breath when the sisters had finally passed—whether they, too, had a moment of finally.

Yu cries for a little longer and you hold him carefully. It’s all you can do. You’d call Kento if you didn’t know that Yu would be mortified to cry in front of someone he views as his superior at work, despite their friendship. After a while, he pulls his phone out and opens up a message chain. A groupchat for Jujutsu Tech staff. Ieiri’s text, attached to the official posting from the higher-ups: zen’in clan are holding a service for the girls on sunday. gakuganji wants us there to pay respects so everyone better show up. In the report, there are photos of each of the girls, from Picture Day at their school, judging by the uniforms—and you recognize them. 

You’ve seen these girls inside a man’s memories. A man that you read for Geto. 

Your heart beats so hard that you’re sure Yu can feel it through your shirt, through your skin. When you’ve reassured him as much as possible that he couldn’t possibly be at fault, when he promises you that he’ll be able to sleep without the feeling of guilt crushing him under its heavy heel, you head further into the city instead of back towards home.

The apartment building you come to is sleek, flashy, piercing the night sky like a blade. The doorman lets you in—you’ve been here before. On business only, and never of your own volition. You take the elevator to the top floor and slam your fist against the hallway’s only door, choosing to ignore the shiny golden doorbell and the even shinier knocker. After a few moments of you hitting the wood so hard that it feels like the meat of your palm is going to split, the door opens. 

A terribly annoying grin greets you. “I would’ve invited you up if you called me.”

“Why,” you say, trying your best to be calm, “do you want me to read him?”

Gojo’s expression flickers. A moment, a fleeting instant of concern. He’s without glasses or blindfold—you must have woken him up. It’s probably nearing five in the morning. The first trains will start running soon. “Hello, business,” he says. “I’ve got to admit, I’d hoped I was talking to pleasure.”

“It has to do with the girls, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t ask Suguru about what girls he’s seeing—”

“I saw them, Gojo,” you say.

This shuts him up.

“I read someone who knew them.” You’re not sure why, but it feels necessary to not tell him that you read the man because Geto asked you to. “He didn’t like them playing with his daughter because they were different.”

He stands, silent and contemplating, eyes pearlescent and glowing in the soft shadow that precedes sunrise. 

There’s a terrible phantom that lurks between your ribs, a sticky feeling that slimes along your bones. You think of Geto’s sudden reappearance in your life, you think of Gojo’s intimidating request, you think finally, finally, finally. “Did he kill them?”

His eyes snap to yours, fluorescent, flaring—you had forgotten that the hottest part of a flame is blue. “No.” 

He’s so serious that your heart rate picks up, your body going into fight-or-flight at the coldness of that single word. “Gojo—”

“He wouldn’t.” 

“Okay—it’s okay. I believe you.” You don’t, but you’ll say anything to remove the hardness from his eyes, his tone—the same hardness as when he sat in your office and told you not to sugarcoat things. I killed him. “Then why do you want me to read him?”

“I told you,” he says, and his voice is back to normal but his eyes are nowhere close. “I’m just curious.”

Your hand darts forward on instinct. You want to know what’s inside his head so bad that you can’t control yourself—until you remember exactly who you’re trying to touch and exactly what his power is. Forget being untouchable—he could physically destroy you. He could snap your arm like a matchstick. He could pull at the broken end until the limb splits completely. You step back, but the movement was too obvious to have been anything else.

He grins again. Holds his hand out. “Wanna touch?”

“Good night, Gojo.”

He watches as you get in the elevator, as you press the button for the lobby, as the doors slide shut. All the while, eyes burning.

✾

You’re at a run-down warehouse in Roppongi with a cursed weapon in your hand when you wonder where your life went wrong. Kento called you half an hour ago—cornered, bleeding, his cleaver knocked out of his grip. “I wouldn’t have called you,” he said, “but no one else is picking up.”

It didn’t matter. If he needed you, you would be there. That had been the case for the better part of a decade. 

The warehouse was a storage facility for flour and corn, most likely. The floor is covered in rancid mold. Your knife—Sound Eater, the cursed tool you’d conveniently forgotten to return to the armory when you left Jujutsu Tech—is familiar in your palm. Its handle is worn to the shape of you. 

You feel comfortable like this. More comfortable than at your job filing accounts, at your apartment reading or watching some awful reality TV show. It’s because this is how you grew up, you think. You’re remembering the person you were for twenty years before you became someone else.

At the far end of the warehouse, a stone staircase leads to the basement—where Kento is. Where the curse is. You can sense it, the same feeling as being watched. A specter’s ghostly nails tracing the ridge of your spine. 

The basement smells mustier than the warehouse. A single light blinks ahead, allowing you flashes of the series of hallways that lead deeper into the warehouse’s underground storage. The floor is wet, and the viscous liquid that coats the stone soaks through the soles of your shoes. Your socks stick coldly to your feet. You listen to your weapon to see if you can locate the curse, its energy responding to the curse’s with vibrations and muted shrieks that sing through your bones unpleasantly. The curse seems to be everywhere, spread through the basement like an even layer of butter. 

You find Kento’s cleaver before you find him. It’s deep in the tunnel system—you’ve already been walking for two or three minutes, and there’s been no sign that anyone else is down here with you.

Taking his weapon as a sign that you’re close, you even your breathing, measure your steps—stealth training from long ago functioning like a ghost limb, sending signals through your body despite not having been used for years.

You enter a large antechamber—some sort of production facility—and though it’s quiet, you hear breathing from behind a burnt-out piece of machinery. Slowly, you approach, Sound Eater singing against your skin. This is not the cursed tool’s energy responding to a curse. It can only be Kento. Your heart still beats violently against your ribs, bruising bone.

His shoulder is a mess. Dress shirt torn, blood adorning the fabric and the shiny plastic buttons, face haggard—he’s in pain, and the sight sends you back to your youth as quick as a fist to the face. Group missions, Kento’s injuries, your injuries, the way you started always wearing black because it hid bloodstains most effectively.

You’re at his side quickly, a hand gingerly against his shoulder, checking for damage. He groans. His shoulder is dislocated, but he already knows this. “Help me get it back in,” he tells you. His shirt is still intact enough that you won’t have to touch his skin, which is good. You can’t risk being weakened right now.

Shoulders always relocate with a sickening crack, as if a bone that had been broken is being rebroken and set. A badly healed bone is a liability, Ieiri has told you. Dislocation is easier to fix. You feel a little less sick when the sight of distended skin and incorrectly puzzled bone is straightened out, set right. 

“Details,” you demand.

“A semi-first grade, four-legged,” he says, taking his cleaver from you. “It’s using whatever’s on the floor—sticks you in place. Its left flank is injured.”

The one question that Kento doesn’t seem to be able to answer: where is it?

Sound Eater answers that question for you in the span of seconds, buzzing against your palm, shocks working their way down your fingers. You nod your head towards the north entrance to the production facility, where your weapon is attempting to drag you. Once it gets close enough to a curse, its energy begins to magnetize. The stronger the curse, the stronger the magnetization. You try to ignore the way your hands shake with effort to keep Sound Eater in place.

Kento is up, breathing labored. You hate this for him—that he feels like it’s his duty to deal with this, that his purpose is nothing more than being a jujutsu sorcerer. That knowing what it feels like to exorcise a curse makes it nearly impossible to want to do anything else.

You understand. This is the most alive you’ve felt in years.

In the abridged sign that you and he used to employ during group missions, he tells you, Go right. Distract.

You dart into the clearing, the curse’s eyes immediately finding you from across the large room. They’re yellow, the familiar color of bile, and they shine out from its gray body, the blob-like consistency of a snail on top of four muscled legs, identical to those of a wolf. 

Which means it’s fast.

Your shoulder takes the brunt of the pressure as you roll out of the way of the curse’s first strike. It crosses ground more quickly than you can comprehend. When you right yourself, you can see just how grotesque the creature really is. Its mouth is a wide wound stuffed with teeth. Its eyes are scared, childlike. In its twisted voice, it says hello hello hello? hello who's there hello? and Sound Killer wants to taste its skin.

As it readies its weight on its back legs to strike again, Kento comes down from above, his cleaver hitting the back of the curse’s neck with intense force—almost 7:3. You hear a crack, a hiss, but the curse backs up, head still attached to its body by a thread.

The floor is suddenly very cold. It radiates up through your feet, spiking into your calves, your thighs. You try to move and fail. Sound Eater begs you to let it get closer to its target. 

You’re not sure if the curse can only freeze one person at a time. Kento tries to move forward to strike again and his body jerks and stills, glued to its vulnerable position. The curse readies itself again to strike, its head knitting itself back onto its body. Its wound-mouth opens wide, ready for an offering. 

Sound Eater whistles as you lift it to shoulder-level, as you aim to throw it into the curse’s open mouth before it consumes Kento. 

It’s stupid, Gojo once told you, to lose your weapon on the field if your cursed technique is useless. You got very good at throwing weapons with dead aim, taking out curses with a single slice, Sound Eater a perfect match for you because of its draw to the cores of such curses. Part of you got good at this to spite him. You’ll continue to spite him, even now.

The curse lunges. Sound Eater slices through air. An echoing click fills the chamber as the cursed tool hits tooth, cracking bone but doing no more. The curse halts its attack, scared yellow eyes focused on you now.

And your cursed tool lays beneath its feet, glittering under a layer of pungent slime. You briefly try to appreciate the irony of the situation: if you hadn’t left the jujutsu world, you wouldn’t be as rusty as you are now, and maybe you would have lived. 

Your feet are unlocked so suddenly that you fall to your knees, slime coating your pants, your legs, your hands as you push yourself back up. The curse lies inert in between you and Kento—clearly breathing, but nowhere near conscious. Asleep.

It’s like you can sense him before he speaks, your blood chilling in its well-traveled arteries.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” he says. Grins without teeth. The same way Gojo grins—confident and so hopelessly self-impressed. There’s a curse beside him, one that he controls, its energy definitely potent but not malicious towards you. It’s familiar, in a way—eyes that crackle with electricity, sparking skin, long claws. You’ve seen it before, but not personally. Geto’s gaze flits between you and Sound Eater on the ground next to the downed curse. “Did Nanami call you out of retirement? Or were you just having a little fun?”

Kento says Geto’s name—a warning. He’s injured, hurting. He doesn’t have patience for games.

“It doesn’t matter why I’m here,” you say, offering Kento help to stand. His body is a heavy weight that pulls at your shoulder, activating muscles you haven’t used since right after high school. “Ieiri still runs the clinic at school, right?”

“Of course,” Geto responds, all fox teeth. He points at the unconscious curse. “First, though.”

You’ve never seen Geto absorb a curse before. You know some details about the process, mostly from Kento and Yu telling you stories about happenings in the field, but you’d never actually witnessed it. It amazes you how the body curls up into such a compact ball of shadow, how it can be contained within the walls of Geto’s cursed energy. The expression he makes while he consumes it is familiar to you. You know that strain, that effort put into controlling every single muscle in your face, veins in the neck straining hard against skin. They must taste awful. You think about the gum he offered you at the vivarium—wonder if he carries it for purposes you hadn’t considered until now. 

He dismisses the other curse with a small movement of his hand, and the energy in the room evens out so quickly that your head feels full of falling sand. Sound Eater goes quiet, and you collect it from beneath a viscous layer of filth. “We should go,” Geto says, gesturing to one of the entrances to the production facility. Knowing him, he probably has the entire compound mapped out in his head. 

“Did you call a car?” you ask.

“I already have one waiting. Figured we might need a quick exit.”

You nod. He still unnerves you, but you’re not entirely without manners. “Thank you.”

He looks at you for a moment longer than you’re comfortable with. Everything seems calculated in his eyes. He never simply sees things—he analyzes them. “My pleasure,” he says. You can't read his tone because he always keeps it even, friendly. But you’re sure that there’s something to read in those words that you can’t quite see right now. “Shall we?”

Despite the way you feel about him, you allow enough tentative trust for him to lead you out of the darkness and back into the sun.

✾

He insists on escorting you home from the school.

There are company cars you could’ve requested rides from—the higher-ups at least owe you a free ride home for everything you’ve done today—but you don’t want to take anything from them that they haven’t already offered. They can be tricky about which of their favors require repayment.

This leaves you and Geto on the last train of the night, alone. He stands despite the long rows of empty seats, leaning back against the Do Not Lean On Doors sign, arms crossed. There’s not even a hint of him trying to hide that he’s watching you intently.

On any other day, you would stand, unwilling to give him any advantage—but you’re exhausted. You need a shower so badly. Layers of slime have dried on you and you feel more disgusting than you ever knew was possible. You sit opposite him, leaning back in the uncomfortable plasticky chair. Meeting his eyes feels foolish. Taking your attention off of him feels even more foolish. Staring at his shoes is a happy medium.

The car rolls steady across its tracks, its wheels whistling slightly when the train reaches top speed between stations. 

“Do you ever see things you don’t want to?” he asks after a three-stop stretch of silence.

All the time. It seems you’ll always be stuck in this cycle of attempting normalcy only to be tasked with experiencing the unpleasant wants and memories of people you don’t know. You’re not going to tell him that, though. Him asking you questions makes you queasy. Your knees feel weak even though you’re sitting down. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“You’re very good at avoiding my questions.”

“You don’t make it hard.”

The train rolls on, and on, and on.

He hooks his arm around the closest stanchion pole, then leans in your direction. The strand of hair that hangs loose against his face sways alongside the train's ebbs and flows. Blinding brightness from the overhead LEDs paint his face in baroque shadows. He could be a devil, or a killer, or simply a man. “Does it scare you?”

Many things about this situation scare you. You ask him to clarify.

“When you read people. I’m sure you’ve seen some… unsavory things.” You think: bodies. You think: blood and muscle and sinew and bone. “It would make sense if those things scared you.”

“They don’t,” you lie. 

He considers you for a long moment, seeming to lean even farther forward, and the idea of him getting closer pierces your stomach like a nail. But the train once again sways on its tracks and his body follows, leaning back on his heels and removing himself from what could have almost been your space. “I always wondered what it was you saw.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. You know what he means.

He smiles, almost condescending—an expression that says come now, are we really going to play this game? The way he says your name in response, so pleasant and even-keeled, makes you feel like a cold stone. Prey trapped in a small space with its most vicious predator. You go so still your blood stops flowing.

Until now, you’d never been sure whether he actually knew that you’d read him. You’re positive he doesn’t want anyone to know what’s inside his head. He paints an image of himself over what he really is, but it’s a faulty veneer. Apply enough pressure and it’ll fracture in all the little places that hold the worst rotted of the flesh beneath.

You know he would do anything to keep this image of himself spotless, whole. You’re sure of it. “Kento will know something’s wrong if I don’t talk to him in the next few days.”

His brows draw low over his dark eyes—first in confusion, and then in a sort of amused incredulity. “You think I’m going to kill you.”

“I think you want to.”

The lights flash in the car as it passes under a tunnel. “What is it that defines a good person?”

“...why are you asking me?”

He grins, and your stomach constricts. “Good and bad are large concepts in a small world. They touch and overlap in more places than any of us could ever anticipate. But we’re supposed to fit neatly into one or the other.”

You don’t respond. You’re too focused on the stretch of his lips.

“So what defines a good person?”

“The things they’ve done,” you say, more to get him to stop asking you questions than anything.

“I don’t remember doing anything particularly harmful to you,” he says—and here it is. What he really wants from you. “It can’t be my actions. So is it my desires that define me as a bad person in your eyes, or my memories?”

Your stomach constricts tighter. Painfully. You’re still four stops away from the one by your apartment. “Geto.”

“It has to be one or the other. Those are the two categories that you can read, right?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Ten years,” he says. “And you can barely look me in the eye.”

You try, as if you could prove him wrong, but you can’t maintain eye contact with him for more than a moment before you feel a terrible coldness in your gut.

“I’d always wondered if you read me that night, but I was never sure.” He wraps his loose strand of hair around a long finger, then unwraps it. Repeats these movements like a question and answer, like a catechism. “Not until I saw you again.”

“The second time you called me out to the village—you were lying to me.”

“We’ve established that.”

“You put that man in a coma,” you say. "You absorbed the curse that was at the power plant."

He nods, face calm, as if altering someone’s state of being is a normal thing to do. “But I woke him up right after you left and he was unharmed. I paid him for his time.”

“Why?”

“I needed to know what it was that scared you. The situation itself…” he says, holding out one hand flat—and then the other, his hands mimicking the sides of a scale, the second option heavier than the first. “Or me.”

“I’d have told you that if you asked,” you say, and you would have. No point in keeping it from him. “You didn’t have to lie. That was underhanded.”

“I think reading me without my consent counts as underhanded.”

Bone, muscle, blood, sinew. Bone-white beneath his uniform. And the blood, the blood, the blood, orange-peel thick. “I didn’t want to. You don’t understand, you were—I could see your ribs. It was—we didn’t think—”

“I understand,” he says.

“I know you do,” you concede. Because he was there for it all. He experienced it all. He woke up when he was healed and immediately went to search for the body of his best friend, not knowing that Gojo had already woken himself up from the brink of death. “I wish it happened differently.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asks, parroting your response from earlier.

Maybe they do. Maybe things could have gone much differently—worse, even. You could know more than his wants. You could have seen them realized.

“What did you see?” he asks, careful. Quiet. There's a weight to his voice you're unfamiliar with. It sounds like more than passing curiosity.

It’s what makes you answer honestly. “Blood. Bodies.” Finally. “Relief.”

“Which of those scared you the most?”

You look at him, jaw tight, because he knows which one it was.

“And that makes me a bad person?” he asks.

“I never said you were a bad person.”

“You just thought it.”

You have. You’ve thought it every day since seeing his true desires. You’re not sure that you’re a good person either, but your hidden wants will never be as gruesome as his. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it’s not.” Again, he smiles—but there’s something brittle to it. Gojo, in your office when you pushed too hard. A mask beginning to crack.

The train stills, doors opening. You're still a few stops away from home. No one gets on, no one gets off. It's just you and Geto on the car, filling its silence with more than words.

“If I asked you to read me now,” he asks, “would you?”

Your head jerks up, and you look past him, at the closing doors, at the windows of the train car. The whistling starts again, the train gaining speed. You’re between stops. There’s no exit. “No.”

“It could be different than last time.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, but what you really want to tell him is that it won’t be.

“What if it is?” he asks. “Maybe you have the wrong idea of me.”

You don’t think that’s the case. You’re not going to tell him this.

“I was angry. Hurt. I thought Satoru had just been murdered.” He says these things like easy facts. His tone takes the emotion out of them entirely, as if those factors didn’t contribute to what you’re sure is massive unresolved trauma. “I thought I was going to die.”

“You didn’t.”

“No,” he says—and here you get a flash of something deeper, again unfamiliar. Because he won’t look at you, even though he’s the kind of person that always makes eye contact. He leans back, distancing himself. “Have you ever experienced that? A moment where you know you’re going to die?”

“I haven’t.”

His lips twist into a muted frown. He looks young, the way he used to in high school. He stares out of the darkened window at nothing. At the walls of the underground tunnels. At blackness, pure and complete. The bags under his eyes are more prominent. Because of the lighting, maybe. “You think a lot of things. You realize a lot of things. And none of it is particularly fair.”

This has to be manipulation. He’s good at that. He always has been. But—something about this moment feels vulnerable, and you’ve never known Geto to be vulnerable. Not with anyone. Even on the brink of death, even just recovered, his chest still terribly scarred—there was nothing. He smiled at you and Ieiri before he left, that fox-teeth smile you hate so much. I’ll be back shortly, he told the two of you, as if his blood wasn’t coating the bottom of your shoes, staining the skin of your knees, clotting underneath your fingernails.

You’ve read people for long enough that you’re sure: this moment is different. “Why do you want me to read you?” you ask, so quiet that your voice is nearly swallowed by the sound of the train wheels scrolling across their metal track.

“Because I want to know,” he says, his voice a little hoarse at its core, “what you see.”

You shouldn’t. You’re too kind. Kento tells you this often. 

You shouldn’t.

When you put your hand out, palm up, Geto places his fingers atop yours so gently—a breeze of a touch. And then: bodies. bodies. bodies.           bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. suguru          should we kill these guys ? bodies. bodies.           bodies. bodies. it could’ve been different i could’ve been different bodies. bodies.                     bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. we could do it together          no. i could do it alone bodies. bodies. bodies— You vomit onto the floor of the train.

Geto is on his knees in front of you, clear of the mess, and your fingers are tangled in his shirt, fists bunching the material at each shoulder. You want to let go so badly but you can’t—you’re heaving, sobbing, your forehead pressed against your fist, tears running hot onto the back of your hand. 

It’s just so bad. It’s so terrible. He wants this to happen. He feels like people deserve this. You never should have let him convince you to read him. You shouldn’t have been drawn in by the vulnerability. Not when—not when it’s that in his head, still, a decade later. 

You can’t stop heaving, nearly retching. You can’t stop pulling in breaths too quickly, not deep enough. Your forehead is flush against his shoulder now, and your tears are staining his shirt, and you can’t let go. You’re paralyzed.

He holds you while you cry. Only touches your back, your arms. Not your hair or face or hands. You couldn’t handle it again. You couldn’t handle it again but you can’t move right now.

As you quiet, as your breaths turn slow, heavier, you realize he’s been speaking to you. Maybe the whole time—you’re not sure. Quiet reassurance. It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe.

You don’t feel okay. You feel more sick than you ever have. “Why would you want that?” you ask, and your words blend into tears. Into panic. 

He’s quiet, one large hand smoothing down your back over and over, as if reassuring you that you’re safe. Safe in the arms of someone with that many bodies in his head. He sighs, tired, and his breath makes your hair flutter, caresses the curve of your ear.

The shock of fear to your system from realizing just how close he is gives you the strength to pull away—to sit back in the seat again, untwine your fingers from his shirt. It’s creased on each shoulder from your vice grip. There’s vomit on the floor of the train to the right of him. He’s on both knees in front of you, hands in his lap now that you’ve freed yourself from his grasp.

Was it real? The vulnerability? The hoarseness to his voice when he told you that he wanted to know what you would see?

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why would you want that?” you repeat.

He sighs again. Sits back on his heels, begins running his hand through his hair before remembering it’s tied up. He just leaves his hand on the top of his head, fingers curling inwards until he’s gripping his hair, and you wonder if it feels the same as it did on the night you read him for the first time. “I don’t know,” he tells you.

The train stops again. The voice says something you don't hear. You can't get up. “That’s not true.”

The doors close and there's the whistling once again, the darkness that surrounds the both of you, the speed you can just hardly feel. “Why did you decide to quit being a sorcerer?” he asks.

You don’t want to tell him. “There were a lot of reasons.”

“How is it fair?” He drops his hand. His hair is disheveled, just like his shirt. He looks so un-put together that he hardly resembles the Geto you’ve always had an image of in your head. “So many of us die. So many of us have injuries that take years to really heal. And it’s their fault. Humans.”

“You’re human.”

“I’m a sorcerer.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“I’m the one that has to deal with the consequences of their actions,” he says, as if that means something. As if that puts him in a different group from them entirely.

“So you want to kill them?”

“No,” he says, quick—because that’s what he’s supposed to say, you think. Then he quiets for a moment and seems to actually consider your question. “No. But—I do think about it.”

You both sit with the admission. Though the train car is empty, you feel cloistered, walls too tight around you.

“It makes me worry that I’m not a good person anymore,” he tells you.

“Did you want me to read you so you could decide whether you’re good or not?”

“I wanted you to read me because when I heard about those little girls that died, Satoru had to talk me down from going to that village and killing everyone.”

The conductor comes on the speakers, announcing the last few stops. It's both shocking and reassuring to have another person so close. You can't believe this conversation is happening in such close proximity to a person that couldn't even begin to understand the nature of its contents. Strangely enough, the admission quiets some of the fear inside you. Because you can understand it, on some level. Those girls were sorcerers. They were also nine.

“I had to see if there was anything inside me that didn’t want to do it,” he says. “Because—if there’s not—”

“I don’t see everything,” you tell him. There's more you could say, but you've never been comfortable revealing the true extent of what you can do. You've been a tool for long enough that you know being more effective begets more use. “I don’t think you should use me as a metric.”

“It’s obvious that what you saw wasn’t very good.”

“They starved to death,” you say. “I’d be angry too.”

And you're not angry, you realize. Not in the way that he is. Two little girls were starved to death for being somewhat different, and you can't get yourself to feel more than disgust. More than frustration. Parts of you have been quelled over time—being a jujutsu sorcerer necessitates this. You can't get angry over everything because everything is unjust, and everything is unfair, and eventually it'll all build up. Maybe into what Geto is experiencing now. If you hadn't desensitized yourself like this, maybe you would have bodies in your head.

It's unlikely. Not to the extent he does. But it's not like you're a stranger to violence.

“Maybe I’m not a good person because I’m not angry the way that you are,” you say.

“I don't think that's true,” he says, smiling, a little slight and a little sad.

It's the only time since you'd read him at the edge of death that you don't see fox teeth—but the smile is still not entirely kind. His words don't speak of reassurance. Perhaps a sort of envy. You're familiar with want. Uncomfortably so. You recognize it even when you try not to. Maybe he wants to feel the way you do. Less angry. Or maybe he does truly see you as good, in a certain context, and he wants to be there on that level with you.

“The first time I ingested a curse," he tells you, “I was so sick I couldn’t stand. I didn’t realize how awful it would taste. There’s nothing I could compare it to. After it was done, I threw up until my stomach was empty, and then kept going. The stomach acid burned my throat so badly that I had to go to the hospital. I was still young.”

You stay still and quiet. You don't want to relate to him so you try not to.

“And sometimes I wonder—would any non-sorcerer ever understand that? Could they?”

You try not to, and you fail at it. “Will you show me?”

He looks at you in askance. You don't tell people that you can do this. Only Kento knows. It's not something you should allow Geto. Not when he scares you the way he does.

“The first time,” you say, because despite knowing you shouldn't do this, it's that sick curiosity again that pushes you forward. And maybe something else—a want. A need to relate. To be sure that someone else has known what you've felt your entire life. “If you really concentrate on the memory—I want to see it.”

To show you, he touches your face: it’s so dark and i’m scared. and mom said to come home soon. but i saw this thing and i want to see if i can beat it                     no. i’m lying to you. there is a way i want this memory to go. i am a good child and i want to go home to my mother but i am so curious.           i am so curious i am so curious. i want to see what that thing looks like when i kill it. i know i can. i know i am different. i scare my mother and father and they still love me very much because it is so dark and i am so scared and i am just a child.           but i am not scared. i follow the thing into dense trees that shadow the park. i play here with my friends. i kill it.           i don’t know how i know what to do but i do and                     !!! oh                               !!! god                     !!! oh god                                                   please.                                                   please.                                                   please. don’t make me do it again don’t make me do it again don’t make me do it again i want to go home i want to see my mother i do i’m sorry it hurts it hurts oh god           oh  i want to be good. i’m sorry. i want to be good. i’m sorry. i want to be sorry. i’m           god. 

The way you come out of a reading is usually like a free-fall without a parachute. One second you’re tumbling through the air, and the next you’ve been abruptly stopped. Being shown something is different. Kento would show you his childhood when you asked, moments with his family, bad parts of missions that he didn't want to voice but still wanted to share. It’s a little easier to stomach.

Usually. 

His hand lingers near your face, resting on your shoulder. He’s so close to you and he smells like very expensive cologne and you suddenly see how tired he is. His smile hides more than you thought it did. Maybe more than you had been looking for.

“Do you have a final verdict?” he asks. “Or should I decide for myself?”

There’s a predilection in him, you think. He’s predisposed to anger, the self-righteous kind. So is every other sorcerer you’ve ever met. And yet it’s different with him—more complex. Something else is very wrong with him. Deeply.

“I don’t like it when people touch my face.”

“I can keep that in mind.”

“I want you to apologize.”

“Of course,” he says, gentle. Was his voice always this gentle? Or is it because of all he’s shared with you on this train? “I’m sorry.”

The doors of the train open and a tinny voice announces that you’ve reached the last stop of the night. You missed your station a long time ago. You’ll have to pay for a cab. “I don’t think you’re a bad person,” you tell him. “But I'm afraid of you.”

He nods. Sits back on his heels again. “Will you be okay getting home?”

“Yes,” you say. “Thank you.”

You make it home just after one in the morning and lay in your bed with your clothes on and you don’t sleep. You don’t sleep at all.

i will link part two here when it is posted!

[hyperballart]

something something premature ejaculation something something art donaldson

seeing this as best friend art. you’ve been attached to the hip since childhood, his grandma is very fond of you and you practically live at their house based on how much you’re over. it’s the summer before college and you’re hanging out with art in his attic. he sits with his legs crossed in front of you sipping on a can of sprite. you joke and banter until it leads to a playful wrestling match.

this isn’t abnormal, you both tussle on the floor until he’s got you pinned down digging his fingers into your sides. you squeal and try to push him off while he mocks your cries. your pleas aren’t taken seriously as loud laughs escape you with tears running down your eyes. in an attempt to make him stop, you weakly kick under him until one of your thighs accidentally brushes upwards between his own. he groans and hunches over you panting and letting out a quiet, oh fuck.

you quickly regain composure and ask him if you hurt him to which he replies with a curt, no m’fine. things get quiet for a beat but you find your chance to build up strength and flip you both over once again, this time his back thumps against the floor and you’re straddling him. you pin his hands above his head and for a moment he’s got a drunk look in his eye until he swallows, “heyyy, that’s not fair.”

your grip on his hands tighten and you smile breathlessly, “c’mon artie, don’t be a sore loser.”

he breaks out of that grip and starts his tickling again, this time with you on top of him beginning to squirm around and accidentally swiveling down on his lap. this snaps him out of it and makes him let out a whine, “oh my god, what—“

you feel he has grown hard under his shorts and stop. the air feels a bit awkward now, which is an unusual occurrence with you two. you know neither of you have much sexual experience, maybe a kiss or two at a school dance but not much beyond that. you suppose it’s normal for him to grow aroused at contact from a girl, you don’t want him to be embarrassed. and in all honesty, you’re curious about how good he can make you feel.

“hey it’s okay, it’s normal,” his eyes are glossy and his cheeks burn pink. he mumbles out a sorry and is about to push you off until you sit fully on his lap again. “what are you—hnngh,” you give a slow grind of your hips and feel him slide through your folds through your tiny shorts.

he falls back on the floor, his eyes close and he’s whining out chopped sentences while you start humping him in a frenzy pace. “artie, oh my god, it feels good,” he nods dumbly up at you and you watch as he’s shoving a hand down his boxers to fix his cock to lay straight. you notice that he did this so you’re able to glide yourself up and down easier and moan out.

you’re going at it for about five minutes, art’s hands rub shakily in a trail from your waist to your thighs. he sounds like he’s crying, you’d be more worried if it weren’t for the occasional twitches of his dick underneath you. “let’s take pants off, feels good but i need more,” and art bites down on his lip hard before doing so. you’re amazed at how natural this feels, this was here for you all these years to take and that thought alone is enough to gush out more in your panties.

the sounds of slick are loud paired with hard breathing and soft mewls, you only get to about two more minutes of humping each other in your underwear before art groans, “wait—fuck please wait, i’m sorry—feels too good,” his back arches from the ground and he looks down to where youre connected, “you’re so wet baby, oh please—“

in a bold decision, you slide your panties to the side just to show how much. his eyes go cross and you press your bare pussy on his clothed head a milisecond before he bursts. he’s shaking and soaking his boxers fully, tons of cum bleeding through the fabric and darkening it. all throughout his orgasm he apologized i’m sorry, i’m sorry i can’t help it it’s so good and you helped him come down while his body fell limp. if ten minutes was what it took to have him like this, you’d keep getting more.

[missingn000]

hey all! i wrote a what-if character study & action fic for if king fought sanji instead of zoro during the raid on onigashima. i'd really love if you gave it a read! thanks so much!

link

playlist

happy reading!

[disastersareajoy]

The Shower Incident pt.2

pt.1 here

Stu x Billy x FEM!Reader

~ 4k words

Tags: established relationship, smut, groping, dirty talk, oral sex (m and f receiving), kissing, orgasm denial, begging, dacryphilia, talking about you in the third person, degradation, praise, hair pulling, marking (hickies), biting (lots of it), choking (on dick?), spit roasting, rough sex, squirting, creampie, facial, slight aftercare

Dom!Billy, Sub!Reader, Switch!Stu

Finally! It is here! Aaaand it's part of Mutli-May, an event hosted by the amazing @bisexual-horror-fan to celebrate poly relationships which I will do any fucking day of the year. Obviously, I couldn't not use my two favorite idiots for this, so here we are! I hope you enjoy this thouroughly and definitely go check out Bex and her wonderful writing, as well as the other participant's works!

Now, into the filth. Enjoy!!

Billy watches as the two of you slowly make your way to the bedroom with shaky legs, sees how wet your thighs are, and how there's still more dripping out of your glistening pussy. He watches Stu grab your ass, squeezing the flesh beneath his finger in a way that is sure to be a promise of all the teasing that's to come. He truly can't wait to see Stu ruin you with his mouth before they fuck you until you can't remember your own name.

God, he loves the both of you so much.

The walk to the bedroom shouldn't have been as hard as it was, but your legs were still trembling as you tried to find even footing. Next to you, Stu seemed almost as shaky as you. He walked slower than usual which you were sure was meant to drag out the walk even more since Stu always loves watching you struggle to stand upright - let alone walk - when your legs are shaking.

The hand he had on your ass delivered a quick slap before he squeezed the flesh again, making the sting last longer and your yelp turned into a low groan.

“Glorious fucking ass,” he spoke against your temple before he pressed a kiss there. You tilted your head to kiss his cheek and squeezed his hips where you had your arm wrapped around him. There was a certain softness to these in-between moments - Featherlight kisses pressed in unexpected places and leaving goosebumps behind, foreheads leaning against each other, quick “Okay?”'s mumbled between heated kisses. You loved it all. It made you feel precious and loved.

You knew Billy and Stu loved you just as much as you loved them and they told you often enough, but there was something about the two of them showing you in actions or little affectionate gestures how much they loved you, that just drives you crazy.

As you reached the bedroom you felt a sudden burst of energy dissipating the slight exhaustion in your thighs. The thought of Stu's mouth between your legs was already enough to make you want to throw yourself onto the bed, knowing Billy and him were going to fuck you afterwards as well made you want it even more.

Stu walked you through the door and immediately pushed you onto the bed before pulling you down to the edge. He grinned up at you wide and happy while his hands started pushing your thighs open.

With a groan he kneeled down in front of you and looked at your pussy with hunger flickering in his eyes.

Stu leaned in without saying a word and blew cold air against you, chuckling at the whine you let out. He started peppering your thighs with kisses and bites as he brushed his hands up and down the outside of them.

You couldn't help but squirm and move your hips in his direction, trying to get him to your pussy sooner. You knew that wasn't going to work because Stu could be just as teasing and stubborn as Billy - He loves watching you writhe and beg just as much.

Stu's hands immediately shot to your hips and held you down. He started pressing you into the mattress and holding you still while looking up at you with his brows raised and mouth slightly opened.

“Now, what do you think you're doing, angel? You gotta stay still.”

He looked back down at your pussy and licked his lips, making you whine out his name.

“If you want something you're gonna have to use your words. I know you can.” He looked up at you through his lashes with a grin.

“You always beg so pretty, angel.”

You let your head fall back against the bed and groaned in frustration. Stu loves making you so desperate and needy you can't think straight, and it appears that's the mood he's in tonight.

You were hoping he'd go easy on you and devour you immediately like you knew he so badly wanted.

Say what you want about Stu Macher, but the man loves having his face stuck between your thighs. He firmly believes that your legs never look prettier than when they're over his shoulders, and Billy definitely agrees as well.

You tested how hard Stu was holding you down by moving your hips slightly side to side. Or trying to. He had you firmly pressed down and unable to move. The reminder that Stu was able to hold you down like this had you growing wetter between your thighs.

You absolutely love how much your boys were able to control and manhandle you, because it makes submitting to them so much sweeter.

Whether you were submitting immediately and being so needy for their praise or being a brat and wanting them to remind you of your manners - They always made sure to show you that they have you under their thumb in every way.

When Stu's grip on your hips didn't budge you tried to collect your thoughts as much as you could, reigning in that desperate part of you.

“Please, Stu. Please, eat me out.” He hummed as if he was debating whether or not he should grant your wish before speaking, “You do taste divine.”

You whined again and barely controlled the urge to try and shift your hips again. You were aware that too many tries would result in you not getting what you wanted at all. “I need you, Stu,” you moaned out between breaths.

Before you had barely finished saying his name, Stu's mouth connected to your pussy. He dove in and licked you all over a couple of times before focusing on your clit. He knows exactly what drives you crazy and was using it to get you right where he wanted you.

Between Stu's mouth wrapped around your clit, his hands still holding your hips down, although slightly looser now, and the thought of Billy joining you any moment now, you were moaning loudly and letting your legs shake and twitch as much as they needed to.

Your hands found their way down your body, burying themselves in the mess of hair between your legs and pulling when Stu rhythmically sucked your clit harder.

That made him moan, still with your most sensitive part in his mouth which elicited an answering moan from you.

“Well aren't those just the prettiest noises. And what a sight too,” Billy's voice sounded from the door.

When you looked over he was leaning against the door frame still completely naked. You half expected him to have put his boxers on again but we're glad he decided not to torture you.

That way, you could now shamelessly stare at his cock and arch your back into Stu's still-busy mouth.

You watched as Billy's hand stroked over his stomach before slowly wrapping around himself.

He started slowly moving his hand up and down his cock, still staring at Stu's head between your legs.

“You really are a sight,” he said as he walked closer and put his hand on your chest.

Billy started slowly massaging your breast and revelled in the noises you made at his touch. You arched your back up into his hand when Stu slowly and lightly slid his teeth over your clit, making your thighs squeeze closed around his head and a loud, whining moan slipped past your lips.

Judging by Stu's own moan he wasn't particularly complaining.

Billy chuckled, “Oh he's really going after it now, huh.” You nodded your head with a sob as Stu repeated the action and Billy slid his other hand into Stu's hair.

“He’s being a really good boy, isn't he?”

You nodded again but Billy interrupted you. “Use your words,” he said firmly and you struggled to do as you were told.

“Yes,” you groaned out, “he’s being a really good boy, fuck.”

The sheets crumpled between your fingers as you pulled on them to try and keep your sanity intact. You were still worked up from fucking yourself on a toy mere minutes ago and could already feel your climax approaching.

The pressure in your stomach was building before it tightened and you groaned in an effort not to fall over the edge immediately, your stomach tensing over and over again.

“Please,” you whined.

Words were hard for you to get out this close to an orgasm and you were thankful both Billy and Stu understood what you were trying to say.

Though it didn't have the effect you were hoping for.

Stu pulled away from your clit with one final lick and started kissing your thighs. Billy on the other hand got rougher with his treatment of your chest as he started pinching your nipples.

“Good job, dove,” he whispered into your ear and slapped your breast in the same moment Stu decided your thighs were the perfect thing to bite.

The dual stimulation made you sob out a loud moan and twitch in need.

“Only a few to go. Well, maybe. We should probably ask, right?” Billy stared down and nodded at you before looking down between your legs.

“What do you say, Stu? How many more is she going to have to suffer through?”

Stu didn't answer immediately, opting for stealing another quick taste of you now that you had come down from the edge a bit.

But just that one long lick of his tongue slowly parting your folds to slide over your hole and up over your clit made you whimper.

“I’m not sure yet. At least four?” he said with a question and grinned at Billy before diving down again, swirling his tongue between your folds and making it hard for you to concentrate on anything else besides that feeling.

But Billy demanded attention. He knew you had it in you to focus on him when Stu had his face between your legs even if his tongue routinely made you arch your back and moan helplessly into the air.

“Feel like using that mouth for some good, dove?”

You barely started nodding before Billy had his cock resting against your lips. Immediately, your tongue slipped out and licked over the tip of Billy’s cock as you let out a needy moan.

He groaned a moan and shallowly thrust his cock into the feeling.

You wrapped your lips around his head as Stu sucked on your clit and pulled off with a pop, making you moan loudly. Billy in turn groaned again and thrust his cock even further into your mouth.

“Fucking damn, your mouth feels amazing, dove.”

Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling and taste of Billy on your tongue.

That was one thing you had in common with Stu- a raging oral fixation.

There was something incredibly relaxing about having either of their cocks down your throat, your nose pressing into the skin above their base, feeling the pulsing heat against your tongue.

You loved when one of them grabbed your hair and moved your head up and down their cock, making you take them over and over again.

Their noises were another aspect that made your head spin- both of them always sounded so perfect when you were swallowing them down.

They groaned and praised you to no end, moaning whenever you did something really good and sometimes even whimper.

That was your favorite.

Billy wasn't any different right now, moaning and groaning into the air while staring down at you and pushing his cock softly over your tongue.

You stayed like that for a while, your lips stretched around Billy's cock as Stu worked you up to edge after edge but never let you stumble over it.

All your noises came out muffled against Billy's stomach who had his hand buried in your hair, pulling on it when you moaned enthusiastically or when you rubbed your tongue into him a certain way.

The need to beg for an orgasm was overwhelming and you knew that if you did, they might decide to let you cum sooner, but Billy stayed stuffed into your mouth perfectly, making you unable to speak.

Your legs were shaking around Stu’s head, his arms wrapped firmly around them to pull you close to his face.

He moaned happily at your taste and you could hear obscene sounds from between your thighs as Stu sloppily ate you out.

Billy finally pulled out of your mouth and stared down at you with parted lips, his eyes glowing with lust.

“Look at you, dove. Doing so well.”

The praise paired with Billy's eyes glued to your face made you blush uncontrollably before you whined loudly.

Another orgasm was fast approaching, making you arch your back and gasp while staring into Billy's eyes.

“You might want to stop Stu,” he started and put his hand on your cheek, “She’s going to cum if you don't.”

Stu immediately pulled away from your pussy.

That's when you couldn't control yourself anymore and tears started gathering in your eyes, a couple of them slowly dripping down your face as your hips twitched and bucked up into Stu, trying to get his mouth back where you needed it to no avail.

Weak sobs wracked through you as the frustration really started to set in.

“Aww. Poor thing,” Billy purred and grabbed your cheek. The condescending tone in his voice made your thighs shake and your back arch even more, another round of hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

Billy wiped one away with his thumb and his gaze seemed to soften slightly.

“I know you want it. Don't worry, you will get it soon enough.”

The words helped your mind reconnect and you were suddenly very aware of Stu's hands on your hips and what his mouth was doing.

“Can I fuck her now, Billy? Please? She's so worked up I know she'll feel wonderful wrapped around me,” Stu moaned out between kisses and bites to your thigh.

You knew your inner thighs had to be covered in marks by now and the thought delighted you to no end.

You loved when they marked you.

Every morning after they left some on you, you looked at your bruises and hickies in a mirror and remembered how good your boyfriends made you feel.

You already couldn't wait for these next one's to show up.

Not to mention both Billy and Stu loved seeing you marked as theirs.

“Mm I don't know. Do you want him to fuck you, dove?” Billy stared down at you and you began to nod furiously.

“What did I say about words?”

“Yes please. Please let him fuck me. I need to cum on your cock,” you sobbed out through residual tears, trying to keep your eyes open and glued to Billy.

“There she is. What a good little slut you can be, look at that.”

Billy patted your cheek before sitting up and pushing Stu out from between your legs. He quickly crawled up your body to press a kiss to your lips which is when you noticed that Stu’s face was still covered in your wetness and that his eyes were glowing in obscene satisfaction.

As soon as you parted, Billy tapped your hip, “Hands and knees, c'mon dove.”

You obeyed the command and settled on your hand and knees, already slipped down to your elbows as Stu positioned himself behind you and immediately rubbed his cock-head up and down your folds, parting them with each pass and eliciting a noise that showed off how wet you were for them.

Billy settled in front of you with his legs spread and his hand resting on his stomach while the other grabbed you roughly by your hair and pulled to make you look at him.

“As soon as I stop talking Stu is going to start fucking you as hard and fast as he wants. We both know how he gets after being denied.”

Stu whimpered at the comment and quickly ground his cock against your clit which made you whimper, making Billy pull your hair that little bit harder.

With your full attention on him, he continued, “And he's been such a good boy, so he deserves to have free reign of you pussy.

“You on the other hand are going to keep sucking my cock like you were until you're right on the edge. Only then are you allowed to pull off. Then you can cum. Now get to work, dove.”

As soon as the last word was out of Billy's mouth, Stu pushed into you hard and deep.

Before you had a moment to get used to his size, Stu was already pulling out again and slamming back into you, making you moan loudly against Billy's hip.

You quickly wrapped your lips around Billy's cock and moaned with it on your tongue, moving up and down in a much slower rhythm than Stu was fucking your pussy in.

His hands were firmly on your hips, pulling you into each thrust and making your ass slap against his hips in a loud slap on everytime.

Stu was groaning and making small noises that showed how clearly desperate he was to cum, but he was also as motivated as ever to make you cum before he did.

That was another trait both Billy and Stu shared.

The inexplicable need to make sure you cum at least once before they did. Unless you specifically requested something else, the assumption was always that you cum first.

And they were good at it.

You tried sneaking a hand between your legs to touch your clit but Billy said Stu’s name in a warning tone which made him reach down to grab both your hands and pin them to your lower back.

“Did I forget to say you have to cum on his cock, dove? Because you do. No touching,” Billy said and chuckled when he heard and felt you whine around his cock.

With that new motivation you started moving your hips back into Stu on every thrust.

He was using your pinned hands as leverage to fuck you deeper and harder which was doing wonders for your pussy. Squelching sounds from between your legs made you blush.

The leaking wetness was dripping down your inner thighs and slightly splashing against Stu’s hips. They both loved how wet you got, as well as your penchant for making a mess.

Which was lucky because both of them had a talent at making you explode.

Billy suddenly buried his hand in your hair and pushed your head all the way down to make you take him into your throat. You tried moaning around the intrusion but settled for arching your back obscenely and circling your hips against Stu.

“I think she likes that,” Stu moaned out, sounding strained.

“Of course she does. She's our needy little slut, isn't she?” Billy chuckled, patted your head a couple times and went back to keeping your head pushed down.

You clenched down around Stu's cock inside your pussy, eliciting a groan from him as he redoubled his efforts and fucked into you harder.

The noise of Stu’s cock slamming in and out of your pussy would have made you blush even more if your boyfriends weren't obviously loving hearing it.

Stu rhythmically squeezed your wrists in his hands and moaned about how good you felt, barely coherent.

Billy was steadily praising you and pulling your hair as he pulled you up and down his cock. You kept your throat open to swallow him down and breathed whenever you could, getting into a good rhythm and losing yourself to it.

Your muffled moans became more desperate as the swirling in your stomach started tightening again, your legs shaking and your back arching even lower.

“‘Think she's gon’ cum,” Stu mumbled out as he strained to keep his pace the same and keep fucking into you with the same intensity.

“Mm good. Keep going until you're right there, dove,” Billy pushed your head down again and kept you still.

Your hips twitched weakly, getting more and more erratic the closer you got to your climax.

Stu groaned as you tightened around him before trailing off into a whimper. You realized he was also close, probably had been for minutes just holding back to get you there first.

That thought made you suddenly slip right to the edge of an orgasm, so you tried pulling your head off of Billy's cock.

The man in question kept his hand on the back of your head for a couple more seconds, enjoying the way you were obviously struggling to hold your orgasm back.

Both of them watched the way your hips were moving rhythmically like they were entranced before Billy finally snapped out of it.

As soon as he released you, you pushed your face into his hip and tensed before your pleasure erupted in a screaming moan.

Your orgasm washed over you in waves and made you shake, your back arching as Stu pounded you through your climax.

The splashing between your legs got louder as your pussy pushed out your pleasure against Stu, who groaned loudly and slowed his thrusts until he stilled, pushing into you hard.

He whimpered as you felt him shoot his cum into you, the warmth making you squeeze down more around him which in turn made Stu moan louder, more desperate.

Stu pumped a couple more times into you as Billy started furiously stroking his cock over your face. You whimpered, “Please, Billy.”

That was all he needed to do exactly what you wanted, his release hitting your face as he groaned.

The warm dripping on your cheek and lips made you cum again despite yourself, your moans loud and bordering on a scream once more as Stu started fighting through his own overstimulation and pounded hard into you again.

Your pussy released another weak splash against Stu as you slowly reached the point of too much, your legs twitching and your hips trying to pull out of Stu’s hold.

He released your hands from behind your back and let you come down from your high as he stilled himself inside you again.

All three of you filled the room with the sound of heavy breaths for a minute, enjoying the immediate afterglow of your respective orgasms.

Once you were able to breathe slower, Stu slowly pulled out of your pussy and watched as his cum dripped after him.

You groaned in satisfaction and fell over to your side into the sheets, breathing deeply while your legs were shaking.

Stu laid down next to you and stared at you in awe as Billy stood up and walked into the bathroom. He returned with a warm wet towel and slowly and softly slid it over your thighs, making you whimper and spread them again to give him more space.

“You did fucking amazing, angel,” Stu mumbled before pressing a kiss to your lips that you happily returned. You couldn't help but giggle breathlessly and steal another kiss.

When you reached up to rub your eye you realized that you still had Billy's cum on your face.

You slid your finger through the mess and brought it down to your lips to clean it. A groan sounded from both Stu and Billy at the sight.

“God damn, dove, don't go starting something you definitely can't finish right now,” Billy said lowly and stared up at you with a lustful twinkle in his eye.

Stu hummed in agreement and grabbed the towel out of Billy's hand before wiping your face with it, making you chuckle.

“Thank you, baby,” you whispered when he was done and kissed him again.

Billy crawled up to you and pressed his own lips against yours as soon as you parted from Stu’s.

You loved these moments. All of you having cum so hard a neighbor was sure to leave a note on your door, asking you to quiet down.

The last time that happened the three of you spent an entire day making each other cum, seeing who could make the others scream the loudest.

Stu had won that bet.

Actually, you hoped a neighbor would leave another note. You wanted a repeat of that day.

Billy turned to Stu and slowly kissed him before mumbling, “And you my impatient little darling did well too.”

That made you perk up quickly.

“Impatient?” you asked. “What else did you have planned?”

Billy smirked at you and wrapped his arms around both you and Stu.

“Guess we'll keep that for next time. Let's hope your pretty pussy doesn't immediately make him cum again mm dove?”

You giggled and pressed your face into Billy's chest, already excited for the next time your partners catch you in the act.

And if you end up purposely waiting to touch yourself until right before they get home, then that's nobody's business but yours and theirs.

-----

Please don't repost or reupload this fic anywhere else. It's mine and I'd love to keep it that way.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

Would you ever consider writing Carcar where Lando accidentally finds out about them and decides to wait for them to come clean…only it’s been nearly 6 months and Lando is fit to burst, but they both seem happy and he doesn’t want to meddle?!?

that would be a funny epilogue to at a constant speed wouldn’t it??

mainly it’s because oscar and carlos aren’t subtle like, at all. little hints here and there.

carlos starting to smile at oscar at the driver’s parade even if the fans only ever catch oscar staring for a beat too long, and never smiling back. the fans suspect oscar has food poisoning. the carcar believers think something is up.

oscar spends texting too long to carlos, talking about the history of like, lorries that cross the australian desert or something. lando asks if oscar is “writing an essay or something”. oscar blushes and says, “no, i’m making a point”. lando says “ah so you’re writing an essay then.”

carlos walks into the mclaren motor home, chats to lando, and tosses a pack of double-layered tim tams at oscar who catches it stoically. lando stares at them both and once carlos leaves, goes: “you’re on talking terms now?” and oscar says “if you noticed, we actually weren’t talking.” then goes back to staring at his chess game on his phone.

carlos and oscar go dolphin watching in the off season for some inexplicable reason. carlos thinks it will be funny. oscar is not sure why he goes along with this. it turns out to be kind of romantic. carlos never lies to lando and says “i am going dolphin watching.” oscar just says “i’m on a boat.” lando is getting very suspicious now.

and at one point:

carlos eats a specific type of spanish mackerel as part of his meal plan and lando is over at oscar’s monaco place and carlos has to quickly leave the house and hide somewhere (“this is undignified,” he tells oscar before he makes himself scarce). lando goes to open a cupboard to get some water and then sees the specific tin of fish and is like. OMG! I KNEW IT, BOTH OF YOU

there is also a polaroid that carlos took of oscar when they both cycled to a hilltop once. oscar eventually sticks that one near his sim rig. “spite motivation”, or so he tells himself.

[xappetites]

i'm not completely sure what this is i'm just real emotional about Frank Fucking Woods, same universe as this

This is a long time coming. Too long, where Frank is concerned. Thing is, they haven’t had time for it, with the constant driving back and forth to the VA, the hospital, the physical therapy, and the dragging bureaucracy of honorable discharge. Then David started getting nightmares —which is perfectly understandable for a kid his age who suddenly finds himself with no one in the world except Frank—, and Bell’s real good with nightmares.

So it’s been months since Frank’s had this: Bell’s perfect ass in his palms, her laughter in his mouth and the graceless bumping into shit on their way to the bedroom. The little shushed giggle as she tugs the armrest to straighten him down the hallway, freeing the foot paddle from the corner.

Trying to keep quiet is another new thing, since there’s a sleeping child a couple rooms away, but he’s not letting go now that he has his hands on her. In fact, Frank has half a mind to run her over and try carrying her himself just so he doesn’t have to stop touching her. But then she’s opening the door wide for him and this is why he suffers that sadistic fucker of a nurse at physical, so he can still maneuver his ass onto the bed and his own damn pants off when he wants to fuck his wife.

Bell laughs under her breath, kicking off jeans and underwear, moving to straddle him where he finally settles against the pillows.

“What’s so funny, huh?”

“Here.” Her answer is half whisper, half moan and goddamn, she’s already slick for him. She arches, presenting her tits so Frank can manhandle them free and nose at the warm, soft space between them. “For your frown.”

Frank’s cock reacts before he does, so do his hips. There’s a delightful ache in sliding against her, twitching, pretty much on instinct. Pulling at her waist and groaning into her mouth.

“You’re a little minx, aren’t you?”

“I have good reason to be.”

He’s always been a sucker for Bell’s smiles, from way back when he expected to babysit Adler’s shiny new automaton and instead got a toothy grin in the middle of a firefight —that for a long time made him wish he’d just been hit. But the one she gives him, perched in his lap and rocking against him until his cock catches and slides smoothly inside her, spears him straight through the heart.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.” She says and she’s wearing this ‘home after a long day’ kinda smile, with eyes narrowed so Frank can’t tell she’s tearing up until the drop escapes down her cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

And he’s right there with her, choked up to finally have a minute for just her, the same old Bell squeezing his heart between her pretty palms, no matter how everything has changed.

“You got me, honey. All of me.”

All that’s left of me, he doesn’t say, because it’s depressing when he’d really rather fucking not. What he does manage, comes out barely understandable, pressed against her mouth and it’s a little bit pathetic anyway, but Frank can’t care when she’s chuckling into a filthy kiss and tightening around him.

“Oh, you like that?”

Bell pulls back, laughter turning into a giggle as she wipes the tears. And this time the pressure of her muscles on his cock is purposeful.

“I do.”

“All that cock just for you, huh?”

She bears down at that comment, rides him so slow and deep that she has to shush the very loud groan it pulls out of his throat. 

“The cock and all the rest,” Bell doesn’t falter in the rhythm she starts, works him like her pride’s on the line, “your laugh and your eyes, and the way your beard burns. All mine.”

God, what a fucking sucker she makes out of him. Frank’s never been a man to speak his affections, it’s too much to put on the line, to have his heart out there like that. Especially now that he’s even more convinced that loving the likes of him is poison. So he sneaks a hand between their bodies, shifts their balance with firm circles over her clit and tries to squeeze the truth into a single word.

“Yours.”

Despite his better judgment and not exactly to her benefit, as far as he’s concerned, but it’s true. It’s enough. All it takes for Bell’s orgasm to hit full force. A thing of beauty, dimmed quiet but so intense, her thighs shake. Aching in the pit of Frank’s stomach for a long second because he can’t flip her under him anymore, give those pretty legs a break and pound her full while she melts into the mattress for him.

She laughs, though, breathless. And she kisses him with a sort of manic joy, face glowing and hair sticking to her forehead; picking back where she left off, rolling her hips ‘till he’s emptying himself inside her, panting like a dog and —for a single shining second— content to the bone.

Hers.

Suspended in a moment where it doesn't matter that they’re sort of sticky, staving off the chill only by virtue of clinging to each other. Then Bell climbs off for long enough to get a warm, wet towel that she uses to clean him and herself; before tucking them both in with easy banter. Talking up a storm in what Frank suspects is an effort to distract him until she’s curled sweet against his side.

In the morning, when it’s the sun bright through the window that wakes them, Frank finds it’s the first night David’s slept through without screaming his way out of a nightmare. He lets Bell wash his hair, in the brand new, spanking bench she got installed in the shower. And he figures he’ll find his way through this. Even if it’s embarrassing, even if it’s painful.

For all the shit he’s survived and all the things he can still do, he refuses to let this be what fucking kills him.

[peachcitt]

from: thirteen by @anna-scribbles

art by me :)

start from the beginning // read the november chapter // read the most recent chapter (january)

hey listen. look me in my eyes. have you read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you want your life to be forever changed you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. i think if you are a person who is breathing and alive you need to read thirteen by anna scribbles. thank you

[firenati0n]

Alex Claremont-Diaz's prodigious songwriting is raw and evocative, cementing his status as a powerhouse singer-songwriter with depth and grandeur. It already feels mythologized.

Pitchfork reviews his seventh album here.

fic link here xx

[nosaladallowed-ao3]

The 911 anonmeme made me do it

[prince-liest]

I’m a sex-repulsed ace, and reading the latest chapter of 666 (as well as your analysis here on Tumblr) made me realize that I have been subconsciously thinking about MY OWN sexuality from an allo perspective? And that it has kinda been messing me up?? Like, ever since I learned that sexual attraction was actually a Thing and that it’s Important To People, I had been carrying around a fear of being deficient in some way and not being able to love to the same extent as allos. (1)

Even though I know logically that’s complete garbage and totally untrue, I felt left out of the loop because people seemed to care strongly about this thing I couldn’t even imagine. Whenever it looked like a relationship might happen I panicked for a reason that I couldn’t understand. But now I’m starting to realize that it’s because I was subconsciously terrified of an ‘ulterior motive’ behind the other person’s reasons for wanting to be with me. (2) That part of the reason they even cared was because of something I don’t experience. So thank you, because this realization just clicked into place while reading your work. The thing is, this way of thinking was just internalized in such a way that I didn’t even realize it was there until literally this week. And I think you’re right; one of the main reasons behind that is because I’ve always consumed media written from an allo perspective. (3) If ace/aros are shown at all, they’re depicted as “lacking” and their character development usually revolves around being “fixed” by the story. When I was ~10 years old my mom sometimes let me watch the Big Bang Theory with her (looking back, maybe not the best decision). Anyways, there was one episode deep into the series where Sheldon (who for the past nineish seasons was probably the closest thing to mainstream ace rep) has sex with his girlfriend for the first time. (4) Afterwards, he says something along the lines of “that was better than I thought it would be”, and it’s presented as a Very Good Thing and a big step in their relationship. I think a lifetime of stuff like that makes it very easy to internalize aphobia and feel like the lesser part of the relationship. Or to feel like the other partner is making a huge sacrifice to be with you. That got wayy too long, sorry. All that was just a lot of words to say that I appreciate you. Take care of yourself!(5)

The portrayal of asexuality that you see in media being almost exclusively as you described is very tedious to me because it presumes that something is inherently lacking in aro/aceness rather than that feeling of "lacking" being something that is induced by societal norms. Actually, one of the things that I find additionally alienating is that fandom spaces specifically have been getting better and better about ace characters - but got damn does fandom not jive with aromanticism. Like, a character doesn't want to fuck? That's becoming a liiiittle more fine, it's 2024, we stan consent. But not shipping someone romantically?? Not so easy, now.

I'm glad that my work has been something that resonated with you in this respect! Alastor cares a lot about his reputation as a demon but is pretty blatantly a person who could not possibly give less of a shit about being "wrong" for not being experiencing romantic or sexual attraction. The explanation Viv gave at one point for his own understanding of himself (that he thinks he's just "waiting for the right woman") actually stuck out to me a lot because it's a very "well, nothing is wrong with me for not feeling anything, it's the world that's failed to produce a suitable person" perspective.

But having that kind of confident perspective of your own rightness in the world is really not often portrayed in media, or even in fandom, which even ten years ago was still in the throes of standardizing "Oh, no! Me, gay? These feelings are so wrong!" style m/m content and is honestly not that far off from essentially that for aro/ace characters.

Anyway, all of that is to say that there's not yet much out there that doesn't frame allo/amatonormative values as the default that "even aro/ace people can (and should want to) achieve," and that it's really fun to write a fic that is unequivocally from the perspective of a character who is aroace and doesn't see it as even remotely a fault in himself. Does he have moments where he's a little confused and trying to process how things fit for him? Absolutely. But he just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who thinks he owes romance to Vox of all people, hahaha. I've written him trying to conform to allo/amatonormativity more with Mimzy, because I think the social standards of their time could push him into it, but Vox? Absolutely not, he does not respect Vox enough for it to even enter his mind.

And then, on the other hand, writing it from an aroace perspective centers the way that romantic and sexual interest can feel like a betrayal of a good thing. With a character like Alastor, it frames romantic and sexual attraction the same alien way that we usually see aromanticism and asexuality framed as.

In the end, this is just one of a plethora of different experiences that aro/ace people can have, but it's one that I really wanted to see represented more, so I'm very happy to write it. I'm glad that you're enjoying it!

[skyward-floored]

Impa breathes out slowly, shifting into a ready position as she faces down her opponent.

Volga stares back at her, firelight shining off of his spear as he also stands ready, and they move at the same time, Volga lunging forward as Impa raises her naginata to block him.

She succeeds, but doesn’t have enough time to even think of attacking back before he’s swinging at her again, spear jabbing quickly at her defenses. It’s all Impa can do for several moments to just avoid being struck, Volga’s speed greater than one would expect.

Sweat beads on Impa’s brow as Volga batters at her, her heart pounding as she narrowly avoids a swing of his spear. If he manages to land a solid hit, it’ll all be over.

Impa grits her teeth and finally manages to fight back, breaking out of the pattern she’d found herself in and thrusting her weapon at Volga.

Their weapons lock, the two straining against each other. Impa's arms shake as she strains against him, Volga’s strength impressive and much greater than her own. So Impa pushes for only for a moment longer before sliding nimbly out of the way, ducking down and swiping at him. Volga moves at the last second, smoke puffing from his nose, and the two whirl around each other in a dance of weapons, Impa trying to dart in and land a hit, Volga methodically blocking her attacks.

Sweat is pouring down her brow now, but Volga doesn’t look like he’s having an easy time of it either, panting as they both dodge and attack with equal frequency.

They're almost completely evenly matched.

Volga twirls his spear in a series of short jabs, and Impa lunges out of the way just barely too slow, the blunt end smacking her. An ache shoots up her side, but she isn’t badly hurt, and she notes the brief opening Volga leaves as he tries to get her while she’s reeling.

Impa avoids another thrust, and prepares herself for the next attack. She purposely leaves an opening this time, just large enough to be noticeable, and Volga takes it, lunging towards her with his eyes gleaming.

But instead of hitting her, Impa uses his momentum against him, twisting around at the last second and hooking her foot around his leg.

Volga stumbles, his eyes wide with surprise, and Impa whips around and knocks him flat on the ground with her naginata, whirling it around and pointing the tip at his neck.

He looks up at her and she looks down at him, both of them breathing hard, the smell of sweat and smoke in the air.

Impa smiles.

“I win.”

Volga snorts, resting his head back on the ground as he lightly pants. “Seems you still have some tricks I haven’t figured out.”

“Well I can’t reveal all of the Sheikah’s secrets,” Impa smirks, and Volga rolls his eyes.

Impa pulls her naginata away from his neck, and reaches down, offering him a hand up. Volga takes it, unlike the last time they sparred, and doesn’t immediately let go once he’s upright.

“Impressive,” Volga says, mouth twitching up into a smile. “Not many can momentarily best a dragon. Someday you might even properly beat me.”

“...Excuse me? Which one of us was flat on his back a moment ago?” Impa replies with a brow raised, and Volga tosses his head.

“I gave you a handicap. I used no fire, and never transformed.”

“We both agreed to not use any magic or anything of the sort before we started, we both had a handicap,” Impa says pointedly, and fights the smile that tries to form at the face Volga makes.

“...MaybeI let you win,” he huffs, and Impa can’t help her laugh.

“You're too honorable not to give it your all, Sir Dragon. Admit it Volga, my skill in weaponry bests your own,” she says teasingly, and though Volga looks away, it isn’t fast enough for Impa to miss the fact that there’s still a smile twitching on his lips.

“...Perhaps. Pity there were no witnesses to your supposed victory.”

Impa opens her mouth to argue, but closes it as she realizes Volga’s right. There’s nobody in the cave the Gorons have designated as a sparring area, probably because it’s rather late at night. They had no audience for their spar except for the small lizards that sometimes hide under the rocks.

Which unfortunately means Volga is correct.

Volga laughs at her expression, and Impa swats him on the arm, unable to stop her own smile.

“Well the next time I beat you, I’ll do it in front of an audience so that no one can deny my victory,” she says firmly, walking to the wall and placing her weapon against it. Volga does the same, and they lean against the rocks, both still catching their breath from their fight.

“I don’t plan on losing,” Volga says, looking over at her with a gleam in his eyes. “I won’t hold back.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Impa replies. “The only way to improve oneself is to train against a real challenge, and your style is quite unique. Before coming here, I knew very little about fighting techniques aside from my tribe’s, and that of the Hylians.”

“You’ve improved since then,” Volga says, watching a lizard skitter under a rock. “I can tell a marked difference between when we first fought and our spar tonight. You’re truly growing in your skill.”

He smiles again, and they look at each other, an odd sensation sweeping through Impa’s chest. It’s similar to the excitement she’d felt when she managed to knock Volga down, but not... exactly.

It’s certainly different from the annoyance and near hatred that she used to feel whenever she’d see one of Volga’s smirks, and she knows he feels the same, his grins less smug, his pride eased more to simply confidence when they’re together. Somehow they’ve become friends despite their less-then-friendly interactions at first, and Impa enjoys having another warrior around to talk to.

Especially because of the other feelings she sometimes gets when she looks at him now.

...Not ones I should be dwelling on, she thinks hastily.

“It’s rather late,” she notes with a clearing of her throat, and Volga nods. “And I unfortunately have a meeting in the morning.”

“My condolences,” Volga chuckles, and Impa smirks.

“Don’t be too happy. You’re supposed to be there as well.”

Volga grimaces, and Impa smiles, groaning a bit as she stretches. She’s going to be sore tomorrow, but the spar was more than worth it. Impa stops leaning against the wall then, retrieving her naginata in order to place it back in her room, and turns back to Volga to bid him goodnight.

And startles when he suddenly leans close to her, his blue eyes trailing along her face.

Impa blinks at his closeness, the heat that had just begun to leave her face returning full-force. She meets his gaze, and he looks back, a faint smell of fire and smoke coming off him.

Then Volga softly nuzzles his face against hers.

“Goodnight Impa,” he says in a surprisingly quiet voice, his breath against her skin making the hair on her neck stand up.

Then he pulls back, and leaves.

Impa watches him go with a shockingly warm feeling sweeping through her middle, and she raises a hand to the cheek he’d nuzzled against, her heart doing an awful lot of leaping around.

It must be a dragon thing, she thinks almost dizzily, her fingers cool against her hot face. Platonic, surely.

...Surely?

Impa stands by herself in silence for another few moments, trying to get her wits about her, and blows out a slow breath as a smile slips onto her face without her permission.

Then she leaves as well, glad now that nobody is around to see the color of her face.

...

The memory fades, and Impa looks down at the scale she’d been rubbing between her fingers, orangish-red and shimmering in the lantern light.

She holds it up and studies the small details she knows so well, the way the color changes when she tilts it, the faint warmth it gives off. She’s not sure why she still has it after so many years.

It’s not like it makes the memories hurt any less.

Voices drift past the half-open flap of her tent, and Impa’s ear twitches at the soft sound of Link’s voice, Proxi chiming in answer. Her son's quiet laugh reaches her, and the sound equally warms her heart and tears at the ragged edges of it.

Impa sighs as Link's footsteps recede, his voice fading away, and she looks at the maps she's supposed to be using to plan out a route.

She breathes out, running her thumb along the scale one more time, then returns it to the small pouch at her hip, closing it tight, and putting her thoughts from Volga.

It's harder then it should be.

[j-eryewrites]

Please Hold to My Hand

Part Four of A Sinner's Redemption

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: Canon typical violence, gun violence, people, death, gore and injuries, lots of feelings, horrible jokes (that I even laughed at), language. (Let me know if I have missed anything)

Author's Note: Finally! It’s out. I’ve been writing this between classes and really haven’t had time to review the work. Piper is finally letting down some walls and so is Joel! Yay! We get some more flashbacks and, of course, Ellie and Piper's shenanigans. I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you liked it, I’d love to hear from you either with comments or reposts! Thanks!

Dirty. Piper felt dirty as she stood in the moldy gas station bathroom. Moss grew from the cracks in the ceiling and she was sure the black substance behing the sinks was something otherworldly. Shivering, Piper squeezed her limbs as close as she could to her body making herself as narrow as possible. Behind one of the bathroom stalls was Ellie, taking a bathroom break. 

Piper couldn’t understand how her sister could relax herself enough to use the restroom in a place like this. With the creak and slam of the bathroom stall door, Ellie appeared with a care in the world. Again, Piper shivered and took a step away from her sister as Ellie stepped in front the the broken mirror. 

“Jesus Ellie let’s go,” Piper said before turning around to face her sister. “What are you–” Piper laughed and for a moment she forgot about the disease infested place she was in. 

“Pew, pew. Pew,” Ellie whispered. In her hand was the gun Piper had given from her. 

Piper shook her head at her sister’s antics. “No, no, no. Here’s how you do it.” Stepping forward, Piper reached out a hand to grab hold of the gun, but Ellie pulled away.  

“Hey, let me do my thing,” Ellie begged. 

Rolling her eyes, Piper crossed her arms and sighed. “Well you’ll shoots someone’s eye out. At least take out the bullets.” 

“Hmm,” Ellie hummed not realizing that was an options. She turned the gun around looking for a way to remove the tiny deathly objects in the gun. 

“Here,” Piper muttered as she showed Ellie how to remove them. The young girl watched and took note of everything that her sister did. The dull metallic bullets fell out the cartridge and into Piper’s hand. “See?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah,” Ellie said and she retrieved the gun from her sister’s hand. Once again Ellie raised the gun at the mirror and put on her best menacing face. It was practice for when she actually got to shoot the weapon. In her mind, Ellie wondered if she would be as good of a shot like Piper was. 

“Can we go now?” Piper asked. Her shivers got worse and Piper began to believe she could turn infected from just standing in the bathroom any longer. 

Cocking the gun back, then shoving it deep into her backpack, Ellie nodded and the two girls trudged through the mess and out the doors to the fresh dry air. 

Coming around the corner, they saw Joel just as they had left him; On the ground with one knee raised as support as he blew into a long straw like thing. 

“We have to do this every hour?” Ellie sighed. 

Piper could see Joel was just as annoyed as Ellie when it came to stopping every hour. “Gas breaks down over time. This stuff’s almost water. Back in the day, we’d drive 10, 12 hours on one tank. You could go anywhere,” Joel said. 

“So,” Piper asked, “where’d you go?”

Joel looked up at the two girls. His eyes squinted underneath the bright light of the summer sun. “Pretty much nowhere.” 

“Boring,” Piper muttered before finding a rock to kick around. 

Joel continued blowing into the big straw. 

“Nice!” Ellie leaned in close. “How does that work?”

“It’s a siphon. It’s when liquid…” Joel paused thinking about his words. “travels against gravity because pressure…”

Ellie smirked and chuckled. “You don’t know.”

“I know it works,” Joel quipped back making Ellie laugh even more. 

Once the laughter was over, the young girl soon sought other sources to still her boredom. Lifting her legs up comically into the air, Ellie began to peruse around the rusted cars that Joel was searching for gas from. 

As her eyes followed the rock on the ground as it rolled back and forth, Piper called out to Ellie. “No wandering”

With the biggest sigh she could conjure, Ellie replied. “Okay. This is your fault then.” She warned. Then dropping her backpack to the ground she pulled out a small book. Flipping it open she began to read. “It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope, it’ll still be stationery.” Briefly, Ellie looked up to gage Joel’s and Piper’s reaction. Laughing, Ellie revealed the cover of the book. “No Pun Intended, Volume Too” by Will Livingston. “Volume Too.” Look. You get it? “Too”? Like, T-o-o.

“Jesus,” Joel grumbled. 

“What did the mermaid wear to her math class?” Ellie paused. “An algae bra. Like, algae bra. Okay, I stayed up all night…”

“No.” Joel tried to interrupt Ellie, stopping her from telling the next horrible joke. 

“wondering where the sun went…,” Ellie continued. “...and then it dawned on me.” 

This joke made Piper laugh. It wasn’t so much the joke, but how much Joel despised them. His face contort with each failed attempt at a joke and it made both of the young girls laugh. 

Joel sat up and glared at the two of them. “Feel free to wait in the truck.”

Piper’s eyes widened at the warning. “Going now,” She mumbled before leaving her rock on the ground for the safety of the boiling hot car. 

“Ugh, okay,” Ellie sighed. “but just know,” the young girl warned, “you can’t escape Will Livingston. He’ll be back. There’s nothing you can do to stop him.” 

As the girls hopped back into the car, Joel returned his mind back to retrieving gas. It was only a few more minutes for the dark liquid shot thorugh the hose into the gas canister and Joel was ever grateful for those few minutes of silence and solace from Will Livingston and his terrible jokes. 

꧁_____________꧂ 

Everything was the color of rust. Rust was the color of time and those forgotten and neglected, left to the mercy of nature. It was boiling and there was noting the air conditioning in the car could do. There wasn’t anything in sight except for dirt, sand, and crumbling cars. Even the normally blue sky was tinted a shade of brown. Piper felt like she was stuck in a valley of emptiness, not a living thing around. 

As the car drove further and further down the road, Piper moved her gaze away from the window and instead to the rear-view mirror. There in the mirror she saw something alive, something that kept her alive and going, Ellie. The younger girl sat lazily in the back of the truck using her bag as a head rest. Meanwhile, her hand gripped a pencil dragging it back and forth across a notebook. At least someone was entertained. 

Eventually, Piper brought her sight back onto the endless road in front of her. Cars were pilled high to the sides as if something huge parted the sea of metal carcasses. 

“Must’ve been some truck,” Piper mumbled. 

Joel glanced over the side at the girl. “Yeah, they used to stick big-ass plows on them, and clear the roads for their tanks and such.”

Piper nodded her head in response. It seemed like Ellie had tuned into the conversation, her sketch book forgotten beside her. “I wanna see a tank,” Ellie chirpped as she scanned the sea of vehicles.

“You will,” Joel assured Ellie. “Tanks, choppers, all that stuff. But they’ll fight the wrong enemy. Just scattered around now.”

Bitting the inside of her cheek Ellie pretended to listen beyond the words “You will” before changing the topic. 

“I got somethin’. Here,” Ellie passed up a small tape. Joel, curious, snatched it from her hands. “This make you all nostalgic?”

He had to pull the tape farther away from his face to read the fine print. His eyes pulled into a thin line finally making the words readable. Damn he was getting old. “This is actually before my time,” Joel corrected. 

Ellie’s smile faltered. “Great,” she mumbled. 

A strange tightening in his chest formed at the disappointment in Ellie’s voice and Joel couldn’t help but want to salvage the situation. “It’s a winner, though.” Ellie’s smile was back on her face. Upon seeing her smile, Joel placed the tape into the slot and hit play. 

♪ We met in the springtime when blossoms unfold ♪

Tapping her finger on Piper’s shoulder to the melody of the song, Ellie’s flashed with a wicked glint. Withdrawing her hand and shoving it into her bag she pulled out something new. “Oh, man. Got somethin’ else,” Ellie said. Joel and Piper mindless nodded at her words. “It’s, uh… light on the reading, but it has some interesting pictures.”

As Piper and Joel whipped around Ellie’s smirk grew. 

Gotcha! She thought.

“Oh. No, no, no. Put that back. That’s not for kids. Ellie!” Joel’s and Piper’s voices seemed to blend together as they tired to discourage Ellie from looking further. 

Playing align with the ruse, Ellie buried her face between the pages, getting a good look at the images upon them. “How would he even walk around with that thing?”

“Fuuuckkk,” Piper groaned as she placed her head between her knees.  

“Please get rid of it,” Joel begged. His hand reached back to take the magazine away from her. 

Ellie swatted his hand away. “Hold your horses. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” She quickly perused the rest of the magazine, except for a few pages. “Why are all these pages stuck together?”

Piper gaged like she was about to throw up. 

“Uhh… the…” Joel was speechless. 

Then Ellie burst out laughing. Her head thrown back as the giggles overcame her small figure. “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” A window rolled down. Dusty wind blew around the car. “Bye-bye, dude!” Ellie had thrown the magazine to the wind. 

♪ Alone and forsaken by fate and by man ♪ Oh Lord, if you hear me, please hold to my hand ♪ Oh, please understand ♪ Oh, where has she gone to ♪ Oh, where can she be ♪ She may have forsaken some other like me ♪ She promised to honor, to love, and obey ♪ Each vow was a plaything that she threw away ♪ The darkness is fallin’, the sky has turned gray ♪ A hound in the distance is starting to bay ♪ I wonder, I wonder what she’s thinkin’ of ♪ Forsaken, forgotten without any love ♪

꧁_____________꧂ 

The scene had changed now. It was green. There were trees and fields of grass. It was a welcomed changed to the drylands they had just drove through. The air was cooler now and the car wasn’t as hot. Piper could even imagine she was on a real roadtrip driving through the world before the outbreak. She felt normal. 

She pressed a button and the passenger window opened. A brisk air kissed Piper’s face blowing the freed stands of her hair behind her. Yet she wanted more, so she slowly pulled out the hairtie. Her scalp groaned as the pressure was released. Then came the bliss as the wind weaved between the strands of her hair massaging her scalp. Her eyes close shut opening her arms to the comfort the wind gave her. 

A shiver creeped up Joel’s shoulders and he turned his head to Piper. His mouth hung open with his forgotten wish to close the window. She seemed at peace as the music played and wind blew through her hair. She looked like what a kid like her should look like: Brow not filled with the worry of survival, hair not tied up and closed off to the world, happy, calm, and content. A thought of pity grew in Joel’s chest. This is how Piper should be living. Both her and Ellie. Afterall, they’re just kids. Kids with the future of the world on their shoulders. It was a weight they shouldn’t have, that no one should have. Joel knew that better than anyone. 

“All right,” Joel sighed. “That’s enough for today.” 

The wind release Piper’s hair from it’s hold as the window rolled back up. Rocking side to side, the truck turned away from the road into a grassy field. They were headed to the forest up ahead. A forest that would give them shelter for the long night. 

Together, they did their part to unpack and get food started for dinner. Sitting down on the ground, the three of them ate. Piper wasn’t quite sure what they were eating, but it was cold and good. The square like noodles just slide down her throat easing her stomach’s plea for food. It was delicious. 

A slurping noise came from beside her. “Jesus, Ellie. Slow down,” Piper said. 

Ellie was slouched over her bowl devouring the food. Red sauce encased the skin around her mouth. “This is slow,” She mumbled with her mouth full of food. “What am I even eating?” Ellie asked. 

Joel using his fork to point to the food inside his bowl answered. “That is 20-year-old Chef Boyardee ravioli.” His tone made the two girls think that this was the best food ever created on planet earth. 

Ellie shoved another fork full of food into her mouth. “That guy was good.”

“I actually agree,” Joel added. 

“Hmm…” Piper hummed. “How long we staying out here?”

Placing his bowl down into his lap, Joel replied. “I figure I sleep tonight… and drive tomorrow all day, all night, get us to Wyoming by next mornin’.”

Ellie sighed and rubbed her now fully belly. “So can we start a fire? I’m freezing.”

“No.” There was no hesitation in Piper’s answer. 

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re not in charge, now are you Piper?”

“Hey, hey,” Joel interrupted and waited for the two girls attention to be on him. “Now, why am I gonna tell you no?”

Sinking into the ground with disappointment Ellie answered, her voice as monotonous as they come. “Because Infected will see the smoke.” 

Joel shook his head. “No. Fungus isn’t that smart. This is too remote for Infected, anyway.”

“People?” Ellie guessed. “So what are they gonna do? Rob us?” There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice as if being robbed was so horrible. 

It was Piper who spoke next. There was no emotion as she spoke. The peace Joel had seen her face earlier evaprotated and he could almost see the ghosts hiding behind Piper’s brown eyes. “They’ll have way more in mind than that.”

“Okay.” Joel softly said as he observed Piper. There it was again, that same tightness his chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to her. Instead he told the girls to hurry up and eat then get ready for bed. 

“Actually smells kinda good,” Ellie commented as she flung her sleeping bag out, laying it onto the ground. 

“Well, that would be Frank’s then,” Joel replied doing the same with his sleeping bag until a shuffling nearby caught his eye. “What are you doing?” Joel asked Piper. 

Her sleeping bag was still bound. Instead, she stood by the truck grabbing something from her bag. It was a gun. 

“Getting ready for watch,” Piper said. Her focus on checking her gun. 

Joel pushed himself off the ground and approached the girl. “No. We’re all sleeping.” 

Piper ignored Joel as she checked the bullets, counting them out. Joel did the only thing he thought would work. Placing his hand on the gun, her forced Piper to lower the weapon and look at him. 

“Trust me,” Joel said. “No one is gonna find us.” His voice was clear and full of comfort. It was the same voice he’d use whenever Sarah cried to him at night about the monsters in her closet. 

The teenager scoffed. “Bullshit…” Yet the longer she looked at Joel, the more she felt like letting go of that gun and letting the walls fall just this once. Her eyes fell to the ground. “jesus fuck…fine.”  

Removing his hand, Joel returned to his sleeping bag. He watched as Piper placed the gun next to her sleeping bag, which now laid out on the ground next to Ellie’s. Eventually the girl did lay down, pulling the covers over her shoulders. Satified Joel followed suit and the lamp light dimmed until it was dark. 

“Joel,” a small voice whispered. “Joel.”

Joel groaned. “What?”

“Can I ask you a serious question?” It was Ellie. 

“Ellie…” Piper warned with a tiredness in her voice. 

“I’m serious!” Ellie said. 

“Yeah,” Joel said giving her the go ahead. 

“Why did the scarecrow get an award?” 

Joel was silent for a moment before he answered. “Because he was outstanding in his field.”

A whispered wave of giggles escaped the two girls. Both of whom didn’t expect the answer. 

“You dick! Did you read this?” Ellie asked a bit louder. 

“No. Now go to sleep.” Joel commanded. 

“Hm,” Ellie mumbled before settling back down. “...Those people you said… there’s no way anyone knows we’re here, right? No one’s gonna find us.”

With those words, Joel was thrown back into his past and all he could hear was his daughter crying in the dark of her room. All sign of sleep and exhaustion evaded him now. “No one’s gonna find us.”

“Okay. Goodnight Pipes” Ellie whispered. 

“Night Els…,” Piper replied. “...night Joel.” 

꧁_____________꧂ 

There was no way Piper could ever sleep. Her sister’s words floated around her head and Piper had to be sure. Ellie had to be safe. It felt like eternity waiting to hear Joel’s breathing slow. Once the old man had fallen asleep, Piper peeled herself free from her sleeping bag. Each movement was carefully calculated to achieve the least amount of noise as possible. With her gun in hand and jacket zipped up to the top, Piper climbed on top of the truck, finding a seat on the roof of the car. 

She had to admit, the forest was beautiful at night. There was a low chirping noise rumbling throughout the trees. Crickets, Piper guessed and she prayed it wasn’t something more. After a moments, contemplation the teen concluded her original hypothesis was correct and she soon tunned her ear into the other sounds of the night. 

Piper was glad that they had the truck. It proved to be a useful vantage point. Even in the dark, Piper felt as if she could see more of the forest, than she would on the ground bringing the teen comfort. 

The girl and the woods fell into a rhythmic cycle as the minutes passed. There was the cricket’s song, the breeze tickling the trees, and her own breathing. Again, and again this cycle came. Crickets, breeze, breath. Crickets, breeze, breath Crickets, breeze, breath, shuffling. Piper froze. Her head whipped around, and her gun raised defensively. She was ready to shoot. 

“Kid?” A gruff voice spoke. It was Joel. Piper’s shoulders lowered at the sight of the man. “What are you doing?”

Piper didn’t answer for a moment. “On guard.” Not wanting any more conversation, she whirled back around, her sight on the forest once again. 

Joel stood up and his hands found their place on his hips. He looked at Piper as she sat defiantly on the truck. Her back turned to him. The sight almost made him chuckle as he saw himself reflected in her figure. Almost. Instead, a worry fell over him. She was a kid. A kid who deemed sleep just as pointless as him. Releasing his hands from his hips, Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. Piper needed to sleep, but she was stubborn. Just like him and if he guessed now, Piper wouldn’t go to sleep without a fight. 

He was too tired for this and too old to fight a headstrong teenage girl. Instead, Joel kept his mouth shut, picked up his rifle and turned his back to her, guarding the other half of the forest. 

The two held their ground in silence and the forest fell back into the rhythm again. As the pattern repeated, the more Piper felt unease. Sighing, she turned around to find Joel. 

“I’m sorry,” Piper said. She wasn’t even sure why she said it, but she knew she needed to. 

Joel turned his head around at her voice. He wasn’t sure why she apologized yet still he replied. “It’s fine.”

Silence fell over them again and Piper bit the inside of her cheek. It was awkward to say the least. She waited, but then realized Joel wasn’t going to say anymore, so she turned back around. 

“...the stars…are nice,” Joel noted.

Piper looked up for the first time that night. There they were. The stars were breathtaking. She hadn’t ever seen them that clear. “Yeah,” she agreed. Together, Joel and Piper withdrew their attention from the forest to the sky. “You know, Ellie is a fanatic for the stars, space, whatever else is up there.”

Joel glanced at Piper and there he saw it once more. The very expression in the car he saw on her face, now bloomed under the night sky. There was the kid she should be. 

“...that one, the one that looks like a demented spider. Apparently its called Hercules.” Piper pointed up into the sky.

“Huh,” Joel hummed. 

“Yeah, that’s about all I know. Ellie, I swear, knows them all.”

Joel tore his eyes away from the demented spider constellation. “Kid, you should get some sleep,” Joel suggested. 

“In your dreams, Joel.” 

꧁_____________꧂ 

It was official. Ellie hated sleeping outdoors. This was the second time she woke up with a knot in her back. Groaning she pushed herself off the cold ground of the forest. Looking around, she saw the rolled up sleeping bags nearby. 

“Look who’s finally awake,” Piper commented as she walked by Ellie carrying her supplies to the truck of the car. 

Ellie waved her middle finger in the air for Piper to see earning a laugh from her sister. Soon the young girl’s stomach began to rumble. Fueled by her hunger, Ellie crawled over to the pots and dishes piled together hoping to find something to munch on. 

Lifting a lid, she found a boiling liquid. Taking a brief sniff, she pulled back and slammed the lid back on. “Ugh! The fuck is that?”

“You don’t like coffee?” Joel asked.

Whipping her head around to face him, Ellie replied. “If it smells like that, no.” Piper walked up beside her sister and crouched down, lifting up the lid to the coffee pot. Ellie saw the darkened circles underneath her sister’s eyes. “How’d you sleep?” Ellie asked Piper. 

“Like shit,” Piper replied. She eyed the coffee. “Can I have some?” Joel nodded and Piper grabbed a cup and poured the black liquid into it. She raised the cup to her lips and drank. 

Ellie gagged. “You are no longer my sister.”

Piper chuckled. “You’ll get it one day.” Ruffling Ellie’s hair, Piper stood back up to help Joel finish packing the truck. 

“Is that seriously what those Starbucks in the QZ used to sell?” Ellie questioned. 

“Well, theirs was a lot fresher than what Bill saved up, but, yeah, this is what they sold,” Joel explained.

Ellie shook her head. “Smells like burnt shit.”

Piper laughed once more. “Alright, hurry up and eat. We’ve gotta leave soon.” Leaving Ellie, to scavenge once more for food amongst the pile of  dishes, Piper sipped her coffee. She hoped that maybe the caffeinated liquid would keep her sinking eyes awake and the exhaustion in her bones far away.  

꧁_____________꧂ 

“Eyes on the map,” Joel instructed. His voice clear and firm.  

Piper shot up in her seat. Her eyes wide open. She observed she was in the car. The vehicle hummed as it traveled along the road and Piper couldn’t recall how she even got into the car in the first place.

“Alright,” Joel said as the car pulled off to the side of the road, coming to a stop. When the shift stick was in park, Joel turned to the back seat. “Ellie, switch with Piper.”

Shaking her head, Piper replied. “No, I’m fine, just–”

“In the back,” Joel said and Piper knew she couldn’t fight him on this. 

Unbuckling her seat belt, Piper reluctantly opened the passenger side door and crawled into the back. On the other hand, Ellie was esctatic to sit up in the front next to Joel. Jumping in her seat and getting a feel for the cushioned leather, Ellie beamed. 

“Wow, it’s so much nicer up here. I’m never sitting in the back again!” 

Just as Ellie was about to fiddle with the stereo, Joel shoved the map into her hands. 

“Here.” Joel pointed to the map. “We’re here and need to go here. Remember.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed, following Joel’s thick finger as it danced across the map. “76 west and then… 70 west for, like, ever.”

“Yep. Now eyes on the map.”

Rolling her eyes, Ellie glanced back down at the map. Her small fingers ran along the path that Joel had shown her moments before. Each time she got to the end, the image in her mind only grew more potent until Ellie was confident she could recite the map from memory. However, there was only so much of “eye on the map” she could take and soon Ellie diverged her attention elsewhere. 

First, she experimented with the rearview mirror. It wasn’t something Joel particularly needed, so Ellie had free rein, so long as she didn’t annoy the old man. The small rectangular mirror, let her see the dusty road behind her. She ogled as the cloud of dust rippled out behind the truck clouding the green scenery behind her. Soon Ellie discovered that the mirror could move, tilting up and down and side to side. She tilted the mirror to look at Joel for a brief moment before she caught his glare. Quickly, she turned the mirror to herself. She extended her legs, leaned in close, and chuckled. Her face looked more stretched out than it normally did, and her eyes looked funky. 

Ellie could have looked at herself for god knows how long if it weren’t for the pothole the truck conveniently rolled over. Thumping down in her seat with a huff, Ellie found a new target in the rearview mirror. Piper was fast asleep. Her body limp as her head rested on the stacked up sleeping bags in the back seat. Ellie thought Piper looked weird sleeping. It seemed against her older sister’s nature to relax and be at peace. Afterall, Piper was always on guard with a battle happening deep in the pit of her eyes. Yet, the sight of her sister asleep in the back seat created a warm feeling in Ellie’s chest. Even if the sight of Piper in a dormant state was bizarre, Ellie knew it’s what her sister need. It’s what Piper deserved. 

“Where in Wyoming did you say your brother was?” Ellie found herself asking now that the mirror was back in place after Joel corrected the tilt. 

“Last contact came through a radio tower close to Cody,” Joel replied. 

Nodding Ellie peered down at the map scanning the tiny words and roads for Cody. “Cody, Cody. Ah, man. That is deep up in there.” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. 

“...And if he’s not there?”

“Then odds are he’ll be near a settlement, probably close to another city out there. Ain’t too many of ’em in Wyoming,” Joel explained. 

Soon, Ellie found herself finding the other cities in Wyoming. “Chee-Yen,” she read aloud. 

“Cheyenne,” Joel corrected. 

Ellie’s eyes widened at Joel’s correction. It couldn’t be right. “Che… really?”  Joel nodded. Ellie continued to look for cities. “Cheyenne… Laramie… Casper? What’s his name?”

“Whose name?” Joel wondered. 

“Your brother,” Ellie clarified. 

Joel breathed in deeply before answering the curious girl. “Tommy.”

“Younger or older?” Ellie curiously asked. 

“Younger.”

Peering back at Piper, Ellie asked yet another question. “Why isn’t he with you?” Afterall, her and her sister were always side by side. Never apart and always together. 

“A long story,’ Joel said hoping that it would satisfy Ellie. It did not. 

Ellie scanned the map once more. “Is it longer than 25 hours? ‘Cause I think that’s what we got.”  She peered up at Joel with the most convincing eyes she could conjure.

Joel could feel her expectant gaze on him. Biting his tongue, he continued to drive in silence until Ellie’s stare grew too much.  Finally, Joel “Tommy’s what we used to call a ‘joiner.’ Dreams of becomin’ a hero. So he enlisted in the Army right outta high school. A few months later, they ship him off to Desert Storm. It’s what they called that war. It doesn’t matter. Point is, bein’ in the Army didn’t make him feel much like a hero. Cut to 12 years later, outbreak happens. He convinces me to join a group makin’ their way up to Boston, which I did… mostly to keep an eye on him, keep him alive. It’s where we met Tess. And that whole crew, we, uh… Well, for what it was, it worked. And then Tommy meets Marlene. She talks him into joinin’ the Fireflies. Same mistake he made when he was 18. Wants to save the world. Pipe dream. Him, Fireflies, all of ’em… delusional. ‘Course, last I heard, he quit the Fireflies, too. So now he’s on his own out there, and… I gotta go get him.”

“If you don’t think there’s hope for the world, why bother going on?” Ellie asked. Joel glanced at her with his brows raised. “I mean, you gotta try, right?”

He shook his head. “You haven’t seen the world, so you don’t know. You keep goin’ for family. That’s about it.”

“I’m not family,” Ellie blurted.

“No…,” Joel paused to look at the young girl next to him. “You’re cargo. And I made a promise to Tess. And she was like family.” There was a flash of change in Ellie’s expression. “But you have Piper. Piper’s your family.”

“Yeah she is,” Ellie said with a dejected tone. “You know she reminds me of you.”

“How so?” Joel wondered as his eyes glanced into the mirror to catch sight of the sleeping teen. 

“You’re going for Tommy. Piper goes for me.” Ellie said. “What if you don’t find him?”

“I will.”

“How do you know?” There was a challenge in the young girls voice.

“I’m persistent,” Joel answered. 

Ellie smiled. “Yep, exactly like Piper.”

There was an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of Joel’s stomach at Ellie’s conclusion. It was to similar to the thought he buried deep in the back of his head. Piper was like Joel. It was something he didn’t want. Piper shouldn’t be like him. Joel was damaged, old, broken, and cruel with walls built as high as some of the skyscrapers that existed before the Outbreak. Piper was a teenage girl. She was still a kid. She shouldn’t be like him at all. 

“Ya got up pretty early,” Joel mentioned. “If you wanna grab more sleep like Piper…”

Ellie waved Joel off. “Pfft. I’m not even tired.”

“Sure,” Joel said trying to fight of a smirk. 

꧁_____________꧂ 

A quiet snore escaped the young girls mouth as she dozed off in the passenger seat. The smirk on Joel’s face finally won when Ellie had closed her heavy eyes. It was now peaceful in the car with the two girls sleeping. Their inhales and exhales were in tandem. Both of their faces were calm as the mid-day dreams over came them. 

Joel’s momentary peace and quiet was never meant to last. Soon, there was a stirring in the back seat and a head of dark brown hair sat up. Piper’s hair had frizzed up in her slumber and the young teen tried to soothe the mess with her hands before giving up. 

“How long I was out?” Piper asked as the sleep slowly left her voice. Her eyes scanned the scenes passing by the car windows. 

Turning his head back to face her, Joel replied, “A few hours.”

Piper nodded before carefully peering over the front seat to find her sister fast asleep. “How long has she been out?” 

“Not very long,” Joel said. 

“Hmm…,” Piper couldn’t help but softly smile at Ellie as she brushed some stray hairs from her sister’s face. “Where are we now?” Piper grabbed the map from Ellie’s hands. 

“Not far from Kanas City,” Joel explained. 

She scanned the map and her surroundings for any signs to signify where they were. It didn’t take long for the teen to estimate their spot along the highway. Joel was right. They weren’t far from Kanas City. “We should go around,” Piper whispered. 

Joel’s brows raised as his ears caught Piper’s words. “What do you mean?”

Piper solemnly glanced out the window. Her eyes darted back and forth as the sight flew by them. “Heard the QZ is horrible. Definitely not a place we want to be.” Once she had finished speaking, Piper had grown eerily quiet.  

Joel wanted to say something. To ask if she was okay, but his vocal chords refused to make a sound. Soon the shuffling of the girl in the passenger seat drew everyone’s attention.

Piper smiled. “Hey there sleepy head.”

Ellie’s eyes closed and opened as they adjust to the harsh light of the day. “Fuck you,” she groaned. Her response made Piper laugh, but her laugh was cut short by the slowing of the truck. 

The teen hadn’t been aware of how close they actually were to Kanas City. The road between all the cars and trucks was significantly more narrow than before. In front of them was an obvious barricade. They weren’t able to drive through this. Piper’s jaw clenched as she watched Joel unbuckle his seat. She wanted to tell him to drive back and go around the city. She was sure she saw a route they could take, but it was Joel’s voice that spoke instead. 

“Stay put,” Joel told the girls. 

Piper and Ellie watched the man look around the cars and underneath the larger trucks before he trekked back with a scowl on his face. 

Fuck, the girls thought. 

“Where are we?” Ellie asked as soon as Joel got back into the car. 

“Kansas City,” Joel grumbled. He motioned for the map and Piper placed it in his hands. 

“How far back do we have to go to get around this?” Ellie peered over Joel’s shoulder as worry spread across her face. 

Joel sighed looking at the map. They’d have to turn around and drive a few hours just to get around the barricade. To Joel, it wasn’t worth it. Tommy was waiting. Time was precious. “Screw it.” Without another word, Joel pulled away from the barricade and drove the car onto the exit ramp. The road led straight to Kanas City. 

Panic filled Piper’s being. “What are you doing?!” She yelled at Joel, “No, no, Joel. Away from the city. I’ve heard some things back in Boston QZ, we don’t–”

He knew the fear in Piper’s expression well, but a teenager’s fears weren’t going to add more time onto their trip than needed. “We can jog right around this tunnel… take the next ramp… and we’re back on the road. Minute tops,” he hurriedly explained to calm the girl. 

Piper glared at Joel as she bit her lip. Tears began to well up in her eyes from the pain. The disturbing turning in her gut only got worse as they drove deeper and deeper into the city and the only comfort she could find was gripping the handle of her gun. 

“Where the fuck is the highway?!” Joel fumed. His eye frantically over the map and then the road in front of him. 

Ellie did her best to help. “I can’t tell from this. I’m all turned around!” 

“Don’t look at the state map, Ellie. Look at the inset.” Piper was on the verge of snapping. “That there!”

The younger girl’s voice began to break. “Well, I don’t know where we are in that either! This is my second day in a fucking car. I mean, I think we’re heading north?”

“It’s gotta be the right,” Joel muttered, before swerving the car to the right. 

The car jolted everyone as Joel tried find a way out of the labyrinth like city. 

“Stop!” Ellie hollered. 

The car came to a halt. Tires screeched and Piper barely had time to brace herself on Ellie’s seat. “What the fuck?” She asked her sister. Ellie just stared at pointed out the window. 

“Is that the QZ?” Ellie asked. Everyone was now looking at the burned down gate. Smoke was still in the air. “Where the fuck is FEDRA?”

Piper wanted to spew. “Joel–” 

“Hey! Please help!” The voice came from outside the car. It was a man. His right leg hung limp behind him and his arms waved in the air. 

Her eyes widened and, using her free hand, she grabbed Joel’s shoulder with a painful grip. “Joel, we need to get the fuck out of here!”

Joel’s eyes darkened. “Put your seatbelt on,” he said with a low voice. 

Ellie searched his eyes. “Aren’t we gonna help him?”

“No,” Piper and Joel said simultaneously. 

There was a click. Then a stomp. Soon the car jumped forward as Joel pressed his foot down on the gas. The truck was headed straight for the man. 

“Joel! Reverse!” Piper screamed.

“Fuck!” the man yelled as he jumped out of the way. “Go, go, go!”

In an instance, there was a deafening thud. The car slid. Joel turned the wheel to a nearby building’s glass doors. Gun shots fired. Their heads ducked down as they braced for impact. With a crash, the car came to a halt. 

“Fuck,” Joel groaned. He turned to Ellie. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ellie wheezed. 

Quickly, he turned to Piper. “You’re not hurt? Nothin’?”

Piper shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Their momentary relief was destroyed by bullets firing. They had hit the truck’s windows. 

“Belts off. Fast!” Joel shouted. 

The girls did not waste time unbuckling the seat belts and opening the doors of the truck. 

“Let’s see you, motherfucker! Give us your shit, you make it through this! I promise!” One of the raiders yelled. 

Once all of them had left the truck and found brief cover, Joel looked around the room. “Hey, you see that hole?” He pointed to a small hole in the drywall. “Can you two squeeze through?”

Ellie and Piper followed Joel’s hand. With one scan of the hole, they knew they could fit. 

“Last chance!” the raider snarled. 

“When I say go, you crawl to that wall, and you squeeze through, and you don’t come out until I say, okay?” Joel instructed the teens. 

Ellie nodded her head. The shock evident in her eyes. 

Piper shook hers. “No, let me help.” She raised her gun up for Joel to see. 

Joel growled and his jaw clenched. “This is not a negotiation. You’re going.”

A gun shot echoed around the room. They seemed to be getting louder and louder with each fire. Ellie felt her legs go limp and a cold sweat over come her body. 

“they’re not gonna hit you. Look at me!” Joel told Ellie, “They’re not gonna hit you.”

Bang!

“You stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet,” Joel explained and Ellie absently nodded her head. 

“I’ve got you Els,” Piper whispered to her sister. 

“Mm-hmm,” Ellie hummed back with tears in her eyes. 

“Okay,” Piper said before turning to Joel and nodding. 

“Okay,” Joel commanded. “Go!”

Immediately, Piper shot off the ground and grabbed Ellie’s jacket collar dragging her along. They stayed low to the ground until they reached the hole. “Come on, go!” Piper yelled before shoving Ellie through the hole.

Bang! 

Piper cried out in pain as she examined her shoulder. She was shot. The bullet had grazed her arm. “Fuck!” She cried before crawling through the hole. 

Another shot was fired. 

“Fuck! You motherfucker!” One of the raiders screamed. 

There was another shot and Piper could hear the sounds of guns falter. Joel was doing it. He was taking them out one by one. 

Crunch. 

Glass had been broken and there was heavy breathing. It was breathing that did not belong to the old man. A shadow covered the hole. Ellie’s eyes widened and Piper pulled her back against the wall. 

There was a grunt. “Now you’re gonna fuckin’ pay! What you fuckin’ did, you fuckin’ killed yourself, motherfucker!” A raider yelled. The girls could hear the voice so clearly. 

Bang.  

Something had run into the wall. Piper flinched and Ellie was no longer by her side. Turning her head, she saw her sister at the hole. Her gun in hand. 

“Ellie, no,” Piper pleaded as Joel struggle with the raider. 

Ignoring her sister, Ellie crawled through the wall. 

“Fuck,” Piper groaned before following her sister out the hole. 

The sight in front of her was pure chaos. Joel had his head tilted back with a long rifle underneath his chin. Behind him stood a raider. Piper didn’t care to note the specifics about him except for the fact he was choking Joel. It wouldn’t have been long before Joel would lay unconscious on the floor of the abandoned laundromat. 

A clear shot rang through the air. The raider fell to his knees. The rifle choking Joel was gone. Ellie had shot the man. Her shoulders were stiff and her eyes were cold. Her skin was paler than white as the gun followed the man as he dragged himself across the floor. 

The demeanor in the raider had flipped. Tears screamed down his eyes as the violence in his voice fled. It was replaced by terror as he pleaded with Ellie. 

“No, no, no, no, no! It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s over. We’re not fighting anymore. I’m gonna go home. I’ll tell everyone you’re good,” his voice broke as a cry escaped his lips. “I don’t know what to do. My legs don’t work. My mom isn’t far, if you could get me to her. We could trade with you guys. We could be friends. I didn’t know.” Ellie stood unwavering. “I’m Bryan. I’m Bryan. What’s your name?” Bryan whimpered. 

Joel stepped forward. “Wait, wait, wait!” Bryan pleaded, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. “You can have it… It’s a good knife.” He tossed the knife to Ellie. It fell to the ground beside her feet. 

“Get back behind the wall,” Joel muttered to Ellie. He was still out of breath. His hand came to her shoulder, breaking her from her trance. Lowering the gun, Ellie turned her back to Bryan and crawled back through the wall. “Kid,” Joel said to Piper. 

“I’m not a kid,” Piper whispered. With Ellie’s gun was quickly replaced by Piper’s. Joel’s eyes widened. 

Bryan’s cried got louder. It annoyed Piper. Someone who moments before seemed to strong, now was at her feet begging for mercy. Something she didn’t have. Not anymore. “No, no, no, no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, please. We could just talk. I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, please. No, no, no! Please! No, please! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please! You don’t have to! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please! No, no, no! We can just talk! Mom! Mom! Mom!” 

Piper’s heart clenched at Bryan’s call for his mother. It was a brief moment, before her finger squeezed. A shot thundered around the room. Then there was silence and a small hole in the forehead of what used to be Bryan. Piper wanted to revel in it, but instead she felt sick. Swallowing down the rising bile, she lowered her gun. In the silence, adjusted the straps of her backpack and moved to the hole in the wall. 

“Let’s go,” she mumbled. 

“I can’t fit through,” Joel said. 

Piper sighed and grabbed her shoulder massaging the pain. “There’s a door to the next room just around the corner.”

Joel nodded as he shuffled around to the door before turning the knob. The door didn’t open. It wasn’t locked, but it just didn’t open. 

“There’s some stuff against the door,” Ellie voiced. 

“Well, can you move it?” Joel asked. 

“Uh…yeah.”

It didn’t take long for Joel to hear scrapping and shuffling behind the door. Soon the blockage was free and the door swung open. Joel stepped inside and closed the door behind him and darkness flooded the room. 

“You okay?” Joel asked to either girl.

Piper didn’t answer. Ellie did. “I’m okay… I’m good. I, uh, got some food in here still, and I got your light still.” Ellie handed Joel the light. “What now?”

“We go up,” Joel answered. 

Ellie looked up at Joel. “To get a better look?”

Joel nodded. “Hopefully, we spot a clear route out.” Leaning back, Joel peered out the door, briefly shutting it. His eyes flitted between the girls. 

“Ready?” He asked. 

Ellie nodded. The two of them turned to Piper. The elder teen gripped her gun close and raised her head up an down. 

Light spilled into the room. The bright light momentarily blinded the three of them as they rushed outside. Their bodies crouched down low as they ran. One fact rang clear in their minds. They had to get far away from here. Some place safe, although it seemed as if they’d never be safe again.

꧁_____________꧂ 

“You fingers go here and then…Piper are you listening to me?” Levi asked with a knowing smile on his face. 

“Huh? Oh yeah. Totally,” Piper chirped back. 

“Right. How was I telling you to hold the gun?” Levi knew Piper’s reaction before the guilt on her face could manifest. 

“Like…this?” Piper fiddled with the gun in her hand and Levi shook his head. 

“No. Here,” Levi said as he reached over to fix Piper’s grip on the gun. Fingers go here and use both hands.”

“But that’s not how–,” Piper muttered. 

“I know that’s how you were taught by FEDRA. It’s wrong. Now listen to me sweetheart,” Levi continued on with his demonstration. “...Soon enough you’ll be able to shoot.” 

After some adjustments, Piper finally mastered her grip on the gun. Levi beamed. “See, now. I want you to try your hand at shooting. Don’t be afraid to miss.” 

Piper huffed and moved her feet to a better stance, the very one she saw Levi take when he used his gun. Her small eyes narrowed to the targets on the other end of the room. They were old beer bottles, but viable targets nonetheless. Taking a slow breath in, Piper pulled her finger back, trigger the gun to fire. She missed. 

“Fuck,” Piper hissed. 

Levi chuckled. “Hey, what did I say? You can miss. You’re safe here. You miss here so that when your shot counts, you don’t miss. Got it?”

The young girl nodded before turning to look back at the targets. Piper puffed her cheeks with disappointment. She wanted to hit the target. She wanted to never miss again. She wouldn’t make a shot that night. She wouldn’t make a shot until it counted. Yet, time and time again, she heard Levi’s voice saying, “Try again,” and she’d get back up to fire once more. 

꧁_____________꧂ 

Refuge was found in a broken down bar. The windows were sealed with old newspapers. To pass the time, Ellie tried to read the clippings. Some were stories about dead people. Boring. Then there were some stories about what the local school board was doing. Also boring. As she jumped from story to story, Ellie concluded that the news was boring. Instead she took to peeking out the window in the cracks where the news didn’t cover. 

“They’re not FEDRA, and they’re not Fireflies, so who are they?” Ellie asked. She peered up at Joel who was also looking out the window. 

“People,” Joel grumbled. 

Ellie nodded and drew her knees in close. Her tiny body crumpled together on the wooden floor. “Are we okay in here?” Ellie’s voice was small. 

Joel’s ear’s perked at the sound of uncertainty in Ellie’s voice. He withdrew from the window and sat down on an abandoned chair. “For a little bit, maybe. Looks like they’re checkin’ out apartment buildings first. But they’ll be coming through these places soon enough.”

There was a sigh from the corner of the room. Piper’s head fell back against the wall. “There’s a really tall building, like, four blocks away,” she noted. Her long dark hair fell to the side as her eyes cast down. She had lost her hair tie a while back during the chaos of running from building to building. 

"Yeah. Saw it,” Joel said. 

Ellie sat up and peeked out the window once more. Her brown eyes darted around until they landed on the building, she believed Joel and Piper were discussing. “So that’s the one?” She pointed to the building. 

“As soon as we don’t hear a truck, we move,” Joel instructed. “Fast as we can.” There was a loud hum as an armoured truck drove by and Ellie ducked down. The group froze as they listened. Their shoulders were tensed and backs stiff. 

The rumbling of the trucks dispersed and a laboured groan escaped Piper’s mouth. 

“Are you okay?” Joel asked. He was now standing up and moving towards the young teen. 

Piper made a noise that was a mix of a scoff and a snicker. “I’m not the one you should be asking.”

Joel groaned at Piper’s stubbornness. “You were shot, weren’t you?”

“No.” Piper shook her head. 

“I saw you got s–,” Joel rebutted. 

“The bullet grazed me!” Piper heaved. “It’s not the end of the fucking world. I’m fine.” She squeezed her arm in hopes to divert the pain. “Ellie, how are you doing?” Piper tensely asked. 

“I’m alright,” Ellie replied. “Joel?”

Roughly running his hands through his peppered hair, Joel answered Ellie. “Yeah.” Taking a few more steps closer to Piper, Joel crouched down. His body only a few feet away from the girl. “Thing is, is I didn’t hear that guy comin’, and… you shouldn’t have had to… both of you shouldn’t have had to…you know?”

“Well, you’re glad we did,” Piper concluded. 

Joel shook his head. He was glad to be alive, but not at the expense of child. “You’re just a kid,” Joel pinched his nose. “You shouldn’t know what it means to… But… shootin’ or… I know what it’s like… first time that you, uh, hurt… someone like that. If you, uh… w… uh…I’m not good at this,” Joel confessed. 

“Yeah, you really aren’t,” Ellie commented. 

“I mean, it was my fault,” Joel apologized. You shouldn’t have had to. And I’m sorry.”

Those two words echoed in Piper’s head. They were such simple and unthreatening words, yet their delivery broke down her walls. I’m sorry. Piper gulped and dug her nails into the palms of her hands. I’m sorry. A new ache formed in her body at the sound of the words and the pain from her shoulder only dulled in comparison to the pain of her heart. I’m sorry. Instantly, her vision grew blurry, and against her will, a few tears escaped and trailed down her dirtied cheeks. 

“It wasn’t my first time,” Piper sniffled . She looked up forcing the tears away. 

“Right. Show me your grip,” Joel looked at Piper and never for a moment did he dwell on her tears. Piper was grateful for that as she pulled out her gun and showed Joel her grip. He took a step closer to check. “Good.” Then Joel turned to Ellie asking her to do the same. “Finger off the trigger. Now, who taught you that?” Joel asked Ellie. 

“FEDRA school,” Ellie mumbled. 

“Figures. Your thumb…over your thumb. Left hand… squeezes down on the right. You got it?”  Ellie nodded. Suddenly, Joel’s hand reached out and tried to yank away Ellie’s gun. Her grip stayed unwavering. “There ya go. Look,” Joel noted. 

Piper smiled as Ellie’s grin grew from Joel’s praise. 

“How come you didn’t check Piper’s grip?” Ellie asked Joel. 

Piper chirped up before Joel could reply. “FEDRA didn’t teach me to shoot,” She said and all elements of a smile has vanished. 

Joel looked back at Piper before standing up. The joints in his knees and hips were displeased at this sudden movement. His movement created a wave of action from the other girls. Piper stood up and Ellie placed her gun in her hand. 

Tapping Ellie on the shoulder, Joel shook his head. “Uh-uh. You’ll shoot your damn ass off.”

Piper snickered. “Be fucking hilarious.” 

Ellie whipped her head around to face her sister. “You fucker.” 

“Hurry it up, girls,” Joel grumbled as he retrieved his things. The girls quit their bickering to do just as Joel had. 

Soon enough, the three of them were standing at the door. They shared a cautious breath as they awaited Joel’s cue. 

“We’ll get through this,” Joel found himself saying. His eyes flashed with worry as he glanced at the weary expressions on the girl’s faces. 

Ellie shrugged her backpack and looked up at Joel. “We know.” 

For a moment, they waited. All their ears tunned into the sounds of the world outside the degenerating bar. With bated breathes they stood. Ellie gripped the straps of her bag tightly finding comfort in the constriction. Piper stood low behind Joel. The pain in her arm was now blaring at her. She clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the pain to subside. All Piper had to do was wait it out. Soon they’d be safe. Soon they’d be out of this god forsaken city. 

“Go,” Joel commanded. The door shut behind them and a bar was left empty once more. 

꧁_____________꧂ 

Joel was old. It was a fact that he knew quite well. It seemed to be Joel’s downfall that he was old in a world that favored the young. Especially when it came to survival. Except now, Joel had youth on his side, except this youth seemed…well, partially incompetent. 

“You’re just gonna put your foot here,” Joel explained. “One, two…” With all his strength he raised Ellie into the air. The young girl’s arms flailed around trying to find stability. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Ellie cursed. 

Piper couldn’t contained her laughter as she watched Joel and Ellie struggle. 

Joel huffed and rolled his eyes at Piper’s reaction. “You could always help.”

“Nah, you’ve got it,” Piper replied. 

Ellie cried out as Joel’s muscles struggled to keep her up. “Straighten up. I got you,” Joel said. 

It took a moment, but then Ellie followed Joel’s advice. Her hands reached the opening and her fingers scrounged around for a grip. It didn’t take long for the weight on Joel’s shoulders and arms to lessen. 

“Okay, I’m in.” Ellie’s voice echoed around the opening. 

“Take a look around first. Ellie.” Joel instructed. There was silence from the other side. “God damn it,” Joel muttered. 

“Hey, that's my sister,” Piper reprimanded the old man. 

As if on cue, a nearby steel door swung open and Ellie’s head appeared. “Where would you be without me, huh?” Ellie smiled. 

“By now, Wyoming,” Joel responded as he walked passed Ellie into the building. 

Ellie’s shoulder’s dropped. “Oh, yeah. Walked into that one.”

Once they were all in the stairwell, Joel at the two girls. “All right. We’ll make our way up, and come morning, I’ll take a look at the city, and find our way out.”

A large white sign flared in the dark of the stairwell, illuminated by the flashlights of the group. Ellie groaned upon reading the mixture of numbers and words on the metallic surface. “We’re goin’ up 42 flights?”

“Forty-five,” Joel corrected and then shook his head. “But no… not all the way.”

Piper slumped against the concrete wall with a bang. The contents of her backpack were squished between her and the unmoving force of the wall. “Jesus. How far?”

The man’s brow furrowed with thought as he calculated an answer for the girls. “As far as I can make it.” 

And so their ascent up the stairs began. Their footsteps clambered along the thick walls echoing to and fro. The stair case had a supreme level of acoustics. It was a fact acknowledged by all three of them, especially Ellie. By floor ten, the young girl’s thigh muscles contracted and with each step the burning sensation only grew stronger. In her mind she prayed Joel could only take so many more. Afterall, he was old. However, Ellie realized she had misjudged Joel’s determination and strength by floor seventeen. Her body was heating up and sweat oozed out of her skin. She was suffering, and it seemed like no one else was. Piper stood stoically as she climbed each step. The only hint of their physical stress was a slight shade of pink that tinted her cheeks. On the other hand, Joel’s brow shimmered under the light of his flashlight. He was sweating. He was feeling the effects of their activities. He was suffering, but not enough. 

“What did the policeman say to his belly button?” Ellie asked with a devious smile as she watched Joel’s shoulder’s slump with defeat. 

Piper snorted before rolling her eyes at Ellie. “I don’t know…um…hi?”

“Nope,” Ellie bit her lip trying to contain her laughter. “You’re under a vest!” 

“Jesus,” Joel mumbled and Piper wasn’t sure if it was a prayer or a curse. 

The stairs now echoed a new sound, Ellie’s giggles. “Okay, okay. Next one.” She cleared her throat. “What’s the difference between a well-dressed person on a unicycle and a poorly dressed person on a bike?” Dark brown eyes darted to Piper and Joel for any hint of an answer. “No one? Okay,” and throwing on her best posh accent, Ellie drove the punch line home. “Attire.”

Again, the young girl was thrown into a fit of giggles as Joel grumbled to himself occasionally sending her a warning glare when he broke free from his elderly annoyance of the youth present. 

With each joke Ellie delivered, the laboured and steadfast demeanor Piper held up slowly chipped away. She wasn’t sure if it was the fact her body no longer had the will to fight against the abominable two-liner jokes, or if it was the sight of Ellie at such ease and joy from tormenting her and Joel. Although, Piper had to admit seeing Joel at such loose level of discomfort was quite funny. It was moments like these she had to remember when Joel would eventually discard her and Ellie just like everyone else. 

“Ooo! This one. Okay,” Ellie cleared her throat. “What did the fisherman say to the magician?” She paused waiting for the internal drum roll to conclude. “Pick a cod, any cod.” 

Piper sinched her lips together to contain the outburst waiting to pop. She was so focused on not laughing that she almost ran into Joel. The man had stilled and with his hands on his hips he glowered down at the girls with an unknown look in his gaze. 

“No more jokes,” Joel said. 

“Okay, just trying to lighten the mood,” Ellie mumbled as she shoved her joke book into her back pocket. 

Upon seeing the book placed away, Joel collected his breath and the marched up the stairs continued. 

They had passed four more floors when Ellie spoke again. “Hey, you know that guy who said he was hurt?” She waited for Joel’s acknowledgement. “How did you know it was an ambush?”

Joel’s chest rose pushing his shoulder close to his ears. “I’ve been on both sides.” He glanced back at caught Piper’s knowing stare. “It was a long time ago. We did what we needed to survive.”

“You and Tess?” Ellie asked. It was strange to think of Joel and Tess like the man who attacked them. They were protectors and that’s all Ellie had known them to be. She didn’t think she could imagine Tess hurting anyone. Joel on the other hand, she could see it…sort of. 

“And the people we were with,” Joel explained. “My brother, too.”

Ellie took in a shaking breath, which she blamed on the physical exertion. “Did you kill innocent people?” Her voice faltered. 

Joel was silent. 

“Ellie,” Piper interjected. “Save your breath for the stairs.”

Joel’s jaw unclenched at Piper’s words. He was grateful for her interruption. He knew the answer and it was not an answer he wanted to tell Ellie. In a world full of death and decay around everyone corner, sometimes all you could do was kill. So, yes. Yes, Joel had killed innocents. Back then he wasn’t ashamed. He did it to survive. He had to. Now…now Joel just wanted to lie. 

꧁_____________꧂ 

The stairwell door slammed open and Ellie toppled inside. Her knees hit the carpeted floor as breath hit her lungs like a tidal wave. “Holy shit,” she tiredly said. 

Piper plopped down next to her throwing her head between her knees. “Yeah,” she agreed. 

“Thirty-three floors ,” Ellie barely voiced. “That’s good.”

“It’s gonna have to be,” Joel panted. He placed his coarse hand on the wall for stability. Everything burned: his lungs, his calves, his thighs, hell, even muscles he didn’t know existed burned in a frenzy. 

Pushing herself off the floor, Piper crawled to a standing position. “Come on,” she huffed. 

Ellie shuffled around before reaching her hand out to Piper. Together the two of them got Ellie to a stand. 

Joel looked at the two girls with a puzzled expression. The power of the recovery in the youth astounded him. “Gimme a minute,” Joel begged. 

Ellie chuckled. “Get up, you lazy ass.”

“Lazy ass,” Joel grunted as he stood up. “Fifty-six years old, you little shit.”

Piper and Ellie laughed at his response as they watched Joel waddle down the maze of hallways on the floor before entering a large office. The office was in a pristine condition considering the start of the apocalypse two decades prior. The carpet was free of dirt and Piper could still see the design within the fabric. Ellie was in awe at the fluffiness of the couch cushions in the seating area. They were a little stiff but practically new. She smiled to herself as she laid a few of the cushions out on the floor for the three of them. 

“Better than any bed I’ve ever slept–Joel?” Ellie turned her attention to Joel who had just shattered the glass door. “Joel.” He didn’t respond. Ellie looked at Piper with a worried shine in her eyes. “Joel!” Ellie yelled. 

The man in question turned around with a quizzical look. “What?”

“What are you doing?” She pointed to the glass now on the floor. Not the best sleeping conditions, if she was saying anything. 

Joel furrowed his brow as if his actions are obvious. Piper sighed and dropped her bag onto the floor before laying down next to Ellie. “He doesn’t want someone sneakin’ up on us while we’re sleeping.”

“Ohh, I get it. Crunch, crunch, crunch,” Ellie animately said. Her hands marched around in the air like feet ‘smashing’ the shattered glass. “Are you sure you’re gonna hear it?” The young girl asked Joel. 

“Of course, I’ll hear it,” Joel said. “That’s the damn point.” He glanced down at the ground. The glass was evenly spread out. It’d be difficult to not step on the makeshift alarm. Satisfied, he shuffled over to the girls and sat down on the open cushion next to Piper. 

“If he doesn’t,” Piper added, “I will.”

“Okay. Well, good night,” Ellie said. She snuggled into the couch cushions and drew her jacket tightly around her body. 

“Yeah, good night,” Joel whispered back as he laid down settling in for the night. 

“Night,” Piper mumbled. 

A darkened shade of blue encased the room. Everything was a different shade and Piper could make out each of the objects in the room. The desk was a darker blue than the chair behind it. The ceiling was a light blue, and the young girl was sure she could hear the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, even though they were turned off. Shifting around on the cushion, Piper let out a disappointed sigh. Sleep evaded her. 

“Hey,” Joel spoke. 

“Yeah?” Piper hesitantly responded. Behind her, a small snore escaped Ellie’s mouth. Piper could hear Joel let out a heavy breath. 

“When we were talkin’ about hurtin’ people…,” Joel paused. “What did you mean it wasn’t your first time?”

Piper rolled around onto her side. Her eyes glued to Joel’s back. “…I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“All right,” Joel quietly said.  “…You don’t have to. I’m just sayin’… it isn’t fair, your age… havin’ to deal with all of this…”

Piper’s nose scrunched up and a line between her brows formed. “There’s a lot I’ve had to deal with…” Tears built up in the corner of her eyes. Piper wasn’t going to cry. She didn’t want to cry, but why was it so easy to cry at night? “The first time I…I was twelve…does it gets easier when you get older?” Piper sniffled. 

“No, not really.” Joel rolled over and found lips pulling into a tight line. Piper was crying. The dark hid her tears well, but Joel was a father. He knew when a child was crying. “But still.”

Piper gulped and took in a shaky breath. She wasn’t crying. She refused to cry, but it was a lie. She knew and she knew Joel knew. Yet, there was an ease that filled her being as she cried on the floor of that office with Joel laying across from her. Even as war and torment surged outside, as people searched for them, Piper felt safe. She was safe under the shadow of Joel’s figure. Piper was safe, so she could cry. 

“The reason Ellie asked whether you’d hear the glass or not is ’cause both of us have noticed you don’t hear too well from your right side… Is it ’cause you were shot there?” Piper pondered once her tears had subsided. 

“Probably more from shootin’,” Joel honestly replied. “So if you wanna keep your hearin’, you stick to that knife.”

Piper chuckled and a small smile crept onto her face. “Too late.” Piper asked, “Joel?” 

“Hm?” Joel raised his brow. 

“Did you know diarrhea is hereditary?” Piper smirked. 

“What?” Joel’s head turned to look over his shoulder. Utter confusion was placed on his face at Piper’s words. 

“Yeah,” Piper whispered. “It runs in your jeans.” Then she laughed. It was a quiet laugh given the circumstances, but a laugh nonetheless. 

Joel rolled back over. “Jesus,” he said before laughing along. “That is so goddamn stupid.” He shook his head at himself for laughing at the joke, yet he couldn’t stop. He laughed and then Piper laughed. He feared it be an on going cycle that would awaken Ellie. 

“You laughed, motherfucker,” Piper noted. “Just wait till I tell Ellie.”

“I didn’t laugh,” Joel gruffly said. There was still a hint of laughter in his face. 

“Yes, you did,” Piper said. She wouldn’t let him deny it. 

“Jesus, I’m losin’ it,” Joel smiled. His face felt funny and alien as the smile stretched across his features. His cheeks hurt and his eyes crinkled in a way that they hadn’t in years. Piper had made Joel smile. 

“You’re losin’ it big time,” Piper giggled and Joel laughed once more. 

“Go to sleep,” Joel gently said. 

Piper fondly smiled. “You too, Joel. You too.” 

꧁_____________꧂ 

Sleep found Joel quickly that night. It must have been the thirty-three floors of stairs, the fight for his life, and driving consistently for days that finally brought him some rest. His mind was blank. He didn’t dream and didn’t think of Sarah, of Tess, or of Tommy. He felt at ease. Soon the pleasantry of slumber escaped him. The room was lighter and faded color crept into his view. 

“Joel?” A muffled voice was calling out to him. It sounded worried. It sounded scared. Joel’s eyes widened. “Joel!”

He grunted as he lifted his head. There was Ellie and Piper. Ellie was looking down at him. Her dark eyes reflected the fear and confusion in Joel’s. Piper sat with her jaw clenched. Her shoulder were held back and an inferno was a lit in her eyes. The thing that scared Joel the most was where Piper was looking. She wasn’t looking at him. No, Piper was glaring down the barrel of a gun. 

Something cold touched the back of Joel’s head. He whipped around. There in front of him was a child with paint around his eyes. In his hand was a gun. 

Well, fuck. 

꧁_____________꧂ 

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꧁_____________꧂

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.

[morticianesbit]

The Most Beautiful Boy

Severus Snape x Sirius Black

~*~

Severus’ trunk is heavy. It is dangling from his thin arms when he arrives at platform 9 3/4. Sunshine casts a joyful glow on the surrounding people. From behind him, a young boy runs into Severus’ shoulder. The young boy keeps running towards the train without a worry or an apology.

‘James!’ A middle-aged woman in expensive robes calls out to the young boy. She reaches Severus and holds his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, are you alright ?” She checks Severus’ robes, and tightens the clasp of his cloak. ‘Sorry about James, he is just very excited to go to Hogwarts. You understand, don’t you ? You are excited for Hogwarts too, aren’t you ?” 

Severus, feeling slightly awkward because of the attention, just nods. “Are you all alone ? Here, let me help you with your trunk.” 

They found James sitting in one of the compartments in the middle of the train. Severus' old trunk is shoved next to James’ new one. The woman encourages James to be friends with Severus as she bids her goodbye. There is something in James’ eyes that Severus does not like. He wants to sit next to the window, but James puts his foot on the seat. Severus’ nose crinkles as he looks at the dirty boots. 

“Why are you wearing women's clothing ?” James asks. 

Severus looks down and flushes. They were his mothers’ old Hogwarts robes. Everything except the trousers. The buttons on his shirt reveal it. “Don’t know, why are you dressed like a mini-version of your parents ?” 

James narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but the compartment door opens. A slender girl with light red hair and bright green eyes walks in. “Hello” her smile accentuates her apple cheeks. “Do you mind if I sit here?” In a hurry, James puts his foot off the seat and forcefully pulls Severus to the seat besides the window. “Of Course not! Please, have a seat” he says and gestures to the seat besides Severus. The one next to the compartment door. The arm that James pulled hurts, and Severus scowls at both James and the girl. 

“My name is James” 

“Lily” 

Lily’s cheeks turn slightly pink. Severus sees the interest in Jame’s eyes and the intrigue in Lily’s eyes. He rolls his own eyes. Who would ever fall for an arrogant spoiled brat like him? 

James tells Lily about the letter he received. His parents joy, the trip to Diagon Alley for School supplies, and the congratulation gifts from his parents and their friends. Severus looks out of the window as they talk. He sees the children on the platform entering the train. He smiles. He’s going to Hogwarts. His mother’s smile whenever she talks about her school days flashes through his mind. It's so different from the tired expression she usually wears. Now that I’m gone, what will mother do? This question haunts him. It haunts him when he’s listening to music. It haunts him when he’s watching the fish in the nearby lake. It haunted him when he nearly befriended a group of friends at Spinner’s End. He wants to run away from that question. But something that haunts you, runs with you. 

Severus shakes his head, forcing his mother out of his mind. Lily and James are giggling now. They’re in their own world, with no attention to Severus. Not that he wants any. He decides two things. One, he doesn’t like Lily, and two, he has to do something to pass the time with these two dunderheads. 

He always has a book with him. This time, one on intermediate charms. It is old and torn, but a good book nonetheless. He opens it but just as he is about to read it, the compartment door opens. “Hello” a boyish voice says. 

“Sirius !” James’ excited voice makes Severus look up. In the opening of the compartment door stands a boy with shoulder-length hair. It is tight in a low ponytail with a few loose strands in the front. His wide smile reveals a set of straight and pearly white teeth. He wears a loose white shirt with the two uppermost buttons unbuttoned. It reveals a glimpse of the sturdy body underneath. 

Severus freezes. He wants to run and hide, but also be there for an eternity. He could not stop staring.

“Come on James. You're going to make a fool of yourself on the first evening. I would not miss it for the world. What else would I be laughing at tonight ?” 

The two met in a brotherly hug. James guides Sirius to the seat in front of Lily. “This is Lily, she’s also starting this year.” 

“Sirius Black, nice to meet you. James is the reason my mother once scolded me so loudly that she lost her voice.” 

“Ha!” James hits Sirius's shoulder. “I might have had the ideas. But it was Sirius that insisted on doing them.” 

Sirius chuckles. He leans his back on the wooden wall beside the compartment door. He has a full view of the space now, and his gaze meets Severus’ staring eyes. 

Sirius scans Severus from head to toe. “And who are you ?”  

Lily and James both turn to Severus. Under their eyes, he's aware of his sleek greasy hair, the flowy old robes, and worn out vintage book with half a spine missing. “Se, Severus”. 

He can feel the heat in his neck, his cheeks, his ears. James’ eyebrows go up in slight surprise. Lily’s mouth opened, a little, and a small smile puffed her cheeks. The shame is too much to handle, so he quickly goes back to his book. 

“Pleasure to meet you” he hears Sirius say in a low tone. 

James, Lily, and Sirius’ laughter fills the air again. Severus tries to focus, but can’t seem to understand the words that compose the sentences. Their laughter is like a wall beside him. He’s so aware of it. Slowly he turns his head to Sirius. Sirius' body moves with him when he laughs. He is so happy between James and Lily. Sirius’ eyes meets Severus’.  Severus quickly looks back to his book. 

Nothing makes sense anymore. How can he think, when the most beautiful boy alive is sitting in his compartment ? 

[tenderfxck]

hello!!! i really like ur sub characters they make me giggle ngl cause like awww <3 if it’s okay can I request a Zhongli x reader where during the night he lets his half dragon form out while he rests, so he has his horns and tail out but still looks human (I think that is his morax form) however the reader doesn’t know about him being a dragon so one night as he has his form out, she is having a wet dream and poor Li’ has to grit his teeth and try not to whimper and buck his hips up as she grinds and humps his tail :(( poor baby is getting all the stimulation but not enough at this same time :(( Eventually he’ll come and twitch while slapping a hand over his mouth to stop his whining as his beloved continues to grind all over his tail, rubbing its most sensitive parts and he just has to endure the overstimulation. (Have a good day!)

zhongli//restless night//f!reader//18+

contents: half dragon! zhongli, f!reader, somno, accidental voyerism, shit anon you got me good T T

notes: AAAAAH i'm so late, sorry this took forever, there was a whole lot going on in my life but i’m still so happy you sent this spicy prompt to me, it was so much fun to write💕

it was a time of rest. a time when he allowed himself to relax just enough that he wouldn’t have to keep up the appearance of a human anymore.

the long amber horns were allowed to sprout from his temples, while his long tail resembling that color of oudh wood was permitted to spread itself across the fine sheets that wangshu inn provided.

and yet, now you have spread yourself across him. . .

this certainly wasn’t the plan, but can anything ever go accordingly when it comes to you?

zhongli wasn't expecting to be in such a vulnerable position with you. he was typically vigilant about hiding his dragon-like form, dismissing himself from your company to his own room for the night before unwinding.

but tonight, wangshu inn was fully booked except for one solitary room.

with only one bed.

you fussed about the arrangement, but zhongli merely chuckled, assuring you that as long as you were comfortable, he did not mind the prospect of sharing.

so the two of you shared this bed together. zhongli had thought absolutely nothing of it. he'll just retain his human form all night.

well, that was the plan, until he felt your weight dip the other side of the mattress, settling so comfortably against his form as you quickly dozed off. he could smell the sweet scent of your perfume, feel the soft cotton of your nightgown against him. it was just so. . .cozy. warm and safe

soon enough, zhongli could feel his human form slipping, sprouting those more dragon-like traits without him noticing.

well. . .then he'll just wake up before your pretty eyes even think to flutter open. zhongli will change back and you'll never be the wiser to this altered state he finds himself in now.

yes, a fine plan.

(and one that would let him indulge in the warmth and comfort of you as he dozed off)

but of course, that's when you saw fit to strike upon him.

it is had all started so innocently. just you clinging to him, snuggled up so cutely even as he faced away from you. you had been positioned against him, cradling his back as you spooned his resting form. his great tail was in between those soft thighs, but zhongli had decent enough self-control to ignore it.

that’s when he first felt the thrust of your hips.

he was on the cusp of waking and asleep until the sudden motion enticed him away from the edge.

he thought nothing much of it. just the shifting of your body to a more comfortable position. he was settling in to his pillow once again when he felt the rock of hips against his tail again.

a gasp was caught in his throat, unsure if what happened wasn't just an active imagination on his part. zhongli held his breath, waiting to see if it was just a trick of his mind.

and then there it was again. a long, drawn out stroke of your hips. and this time, the heavenly sigh of your voice to accompany it.

zhongli grit his teeth, listening intently for any sign that you had awoken, but all that graced his ears was your soft snores accompanied by tiny little whimpers escaping you.

unknowingly, in a fit of passion only clear to you in whatever blissful dream your sleeping form had conjured up, you were nonetheless grinding upon zhongli’s ridged tail in what was now becoming a slow, yet steady pace.

“a-ah~ excuse me,” he stuttered, barely able to process the scene enfolding behind him. he stumbled over his words, desperately searching for any way to wake you up without mortifying the two of you. “you seem to be-aah!” zhongli couldn’t contain that little outburst. he gasped at the steady friction you provided.

zhongli couldn’t believe the circumstances. he turned his head, chancing a look back upon your peaceful form.

sure enough you were still soundly asleep, unaware of the lewd situation playing out before you.

it didn’t help that his tail was overly sensitive to stimuli (something left over from more primordial days) and especially that of your wet cunt catching on each prominent bump along his long tail.

“a-ah, wait, that’s. . . nngh!” zhongli tried to protest. he knew the implications this would have if you were to wake up and discover more than just the illicit situation you found yourselves in.

but zhongli had desired you for so long. thought about just what noises you would make in circumstances like this long before he found himself here tonight. and now it was all coming true. right in his ear.

and right against him. . .

fuck. your needy pussy humping his sensitive tail was just too much. the worst part is he could feel just exactly how wet you had gotten using him to get yourself off. he grasps at the waistband of his pants, dragging them down and letting his already weeping cock spring forth from the cotton confines.

it’d shame him to admit just how quickly this little routine had him stiff and aching in his pants. but his self restraint had already eroded to much.

if you were enjoying yourself, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to indulge himself as well?

zhongli took his cock in hand and began to slowly stroke, focusing on the distinct feeling of you moving against him. he bit his tongue, willing any moans to die on his lips before he dares disturbs your slumber.

it continued like that for archons knows how long. the thrust of your hips, followed by zhongli silencing his moans and fisting his cock quicker, all while enduring all those sweet little whimpers escaping you as you chased your own pleasure on his tail.

it was too much. too much stimulation, too many little sounds. the slick of your cunt against him, the wet noise of him fucking his own fist, the knowledge that you were so close, using him to get yourself off while that pretty little head dreamt about all sorts of perverse things.

too much. too much. he’s gonna-!

he comes with a particularly deep grind of your twitching pussy gliding against his now glistening scales. he clasped a trembling hand over his mouth, willing himself quieter as dragon fangs catch against his palm, feeling himself finally come undone. he basks in the sensation of you humping so diligently against his most vulnerable area as he spills his thick load all over himself.

he panted, tremors still finding their way through his body as he lay spent, thighs and stomach covered in his seed.

he gasped, moaning and twitching in the aftermath.

yet you still continued.

fuck. fuck. archons, you weren’t stopping-!

you kept on grinding onto his newly overstimmed tail, letting out those sweet little whimpers, chasing that high while zhongli has to sit and bear this whole lewd scene as he writhed and panted against you.

this was going to be a long night. . .