#the view from... the top bunk

[heich0e]

the itadori house always smells faintly of clean laundry.

it's not because the two boys who live there are particularly diligent about staying on top of their housework—the towering pile of recyclables in the corner of the kitchen is proof enough of that—but it's because the first time yuuji had tried to do his own laundry, he used way too much detergent. the ensuing tsunami of soap suds had flooded nearly half-way across the tiny apartment—coating the floors, the baseboards, and anything else in its path, in a slippery (though pleasantly fragranced) froth that took DAYS for the two brothers to clean up. it must have sunk in to the floorboards, or there must still be traces of it lingering in nooks and crannies that they couldn't reach, because even now, years after the catastrophe, the scent still lingers.

even though the mere mention of the incident still makes a vein of irritation throb in sukuna's forehead, and makes yuuji hang his head in shame, you don't mind the smell. it's familiar after all these years. it reminds you of this place.

you burrow your face down into the cushion of the living room sofa. it's raining today, and a bit humid, so the scent of detergent is particularly strong.

you're nearly asleep when a voice interrupts your quiet moment of relaxation.

"i should start charging you rent, y'know."

you don't open your eyes, even once you hear the words that come from above you. even without looking, you can picture the scene: sukuna leaning over the back of the sofa that you're sprawled across, his weight resting on his elbows as he peers down at you with his usual scowl. it's not the same scowl he shows to everyone else—the one that makes people shrink back under his gaze—this is a softer version of the same expression, dulled by familiarity. if you were more optimistic you might even say it was blunted by affection.

"stop pretending to sleep, kid." you feel his hand grasp your hip, shaking you lightly. "i know you're faking."

you feel a smile threatening to pull at your lips so you turn your face towards the pillow—the one you bought for the sofa, since the itadori brothers' idea of home decor is limited to creased posters for old mafia movies nobody's ever heard of and women with their tits out taped to the wall—and you burrow down to hide your expression from view.

"you're such a nuisance," sukuna groans, and then you feel the sofa dip. you figure he's pulled himself over the back of it now, based on how you feel him kneeling overtop of you with your legs straddled between his own. you're on your belly, but you can feel him rest back on his haunches, trapping your feet underneath him as he sits. "can't you nap at your own house?"

"too tired," you finally rasp out, daring to peek at him over your shoulder.

"and i'm not?" he scoffs, lifting his hand and pushing his hair back from his face. he's still half-dressed in his work uniform—a pair of slacks from the security company he's been working at part-time for the past few weeks, and a white t-shirt that he usually wears underneath the short sleeved button down that matches the trousers. "i just worked a double—been up since 4."

he does look tired, now that you have the chance to look at him. his hair is a bit dishevelled and he's got dark circles under his eyes. sukuna always looks a bit exhausted—and has since grandpa passed away and he took on the responsibility of raising yuuji. but it's particularly noticeable right now.

"and i can't even come home and take a nap on my own couch because there's a freeloader here."

you bite the inside of your cheek, wiggling around a bit underneath him so you can lay on your back.

"charge me rent then," you parry back to his complaint, and he cocks an eyebrow at your challenge. "i want a bed though. s'only fair."

"we'll get bunkbeds for yuuji's room, then," sukuna quips.

"don't wanna bunk with yuuji," you counter again, "he snores."

sukuna pauses, staring down at you. he leans forward slowly, his hands pressing into the couch cushion on either side of your waist as he dips towards you. "only one other bedroom in this place, y'know—"

you do know. it's why you said it.

"—and i have no plans to give up my bed."

sukuna is close to you now. too close, in any other circumstance, but this is one entirely of your own creation. a circumstance that feels more like an inevitability than anything, given the tension that's been crackling between the two of you lately, ever since he rescued you that night at the bar.

"didn't ask you to give it up," you say quietly, your eyes flickering across his features until they eventually settle on his lips.

sukuna makes a little noise in the back of his throat, close to annoyance, but not quite. distinctly tortured in nature.

"you really, really are a nuisance, y'know that?"

his hands are on your hips now. not like when he'd shaken you awake—this touch is greedier, needier than that passing graze. his fingertips slip up underneath the hem of your shirt until they brush against your bare skin, and the contact makes your body flush with heat.

"yuuji's gonna be back from class soon," you murmur softly, your gaze flickering back up to sukuna's heavy-lidded eyes. his nose twitches a little in annoyance, knowing you're right.

sukuna backs away a little, his hands slipping back out from underneath your shirt.

you sit up and catch his wrist in your hand, and his eyes widen in surprise. your faces are close together now—so close you can smell the cinnamon gum on his breath. he stole a pack from you a few days ago, and clearly he's still chewing it.

you can't smell the laundry detergent anymore.

"i didn't tell you to stop," you remark lightly, leaning back so you're splayed out against the sofa once more. you stare up at him, waiting for him to process what you've said—watching the thoughts play out across his uncharacteristically shocked face. "i just meant that you should hurry up and do it already."

#sukuna x reader #big brother!sukuna #i did not proofread/edit/or reread this before i posted i typed it with my heart and hit post w my pussy #jjk drabble #jjk writing #writing

[consciousblogworld]

#WATCHER

pairing: Abby Anderson x f!Reader

warnings: fingering, masturbation, hooking up, talks of fingering, consensual sexual acts.

You wanted to wait for her to get off patrol, but it was hard after smoking yourself a joint that you found in a bag in a nearby warehouse. You and Abby having secretly been hooking up for almost a year now, having to hid from Owen because she still held feelings for the man, even if she didn't want to tell you.

She arrived at her room, placing her backpack down only to see your sleeping figure on her bed. Her eyes wondering to the ground as she lifts your bra into the air, holding it in front of her face to view. "Stripped your clothes off f'me already princess?" She muttered under her breath, causing you to stir from your sleep.

You hum in response, not having heard her clearly. "What'd you say Ab's?" You turn to her, only to see her holding your bra above her head with a smirk. "I said, already stripped ya clothes off for me huh?" You shake your head, smiling back. "I just wanted to be comfy, been wearing that bra all damn day." You yawn, sitting up and almost hitting your head on her top bunk.

"Did you miss me princess?" Hearing the nickname clearly made your stomach churn and the arousal pool in your shorts. "Yeah, I did." You squeeze your thighs together. "Yeah?" She moves closer, towering over you like she usually does. "I wanna ask somethin'." She says softly, bending down slightly to meet your eyes.

"Can I watch you touch yourself? I just wanna see how you like it." Your eyes widen a little. "You wanna watch me touch myself?" She nods in response, squatting down infront of you, placing her hand on your thigh. "Can I? I want to so bad YN." Her saying your name made it sound like she was begging.

So, you listened.

You slid off the tiny shorts that dawned your legs, letting them hit the floor. Your hands sliding down to your wet cunt, her eyes lingering on your face, gliding down to your fingers. "Take em' off." She says barely above a whisper, sitting in a chair across from you. You slide the panties down your legs, letting them hit the ground next to your discarded shorts.

You spread your legs, letting her see the slick that coats your folds. "C'mon, I aint got all day." You roll your eyes. "I don't gotta do this Abigail." You say her full name threateningly. "Just like I don't gotta fuck you either, but I do it right?" She tilts her with a slight glare. You continue, spreading your legs for her to see.

You spread your folds, the cool air hitting your clit causing you to shiver slightly. "You must be teasing me huh? Wanna go all slow?" She crosses her arms. Finally you let your index finger slip into your clenching hole, letting out a small whine. "Fuck.." You start at a steady pace, your finger penetrating you at the angle you like.

"Go faster princess." She slips her hand into her boxers, letting her fingers sink onto her own sopping clit. You speed up the pace, bucking your hips into your fingers as you press your thumb to your burning nub. "Abby.. ohh- fuck...!" The knot in your stomach becoming tight, your eyes low as you watch abby touch herself to you. "Feel good yeah? Goona cum- agh..!" Her grunts turning into whines.

You throw your head back, saying her name repeatedly as your penetrating your core faster, your head hitting the wall hard. "Im gonna cum Ab's.. yesyesyes-!" Your thumb presses down on the swollen nub, finally allowing your release to wash over you. Abby whines loudly, cumming with you and letting her hand slide out of her boxers. "Come here." She says softly.

You stand, aproaching her slowly. She places her slick covered fingers next to your mouth. "Open." She commands, forcing you to open your mouth, licking her fingers clean of her cum. She takes your fingers and does the same.

"Now that I know just how you like it, lemme make you cum one more time princess."

#abby anderson #tlou #tlou2 #tlou abby #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #abby x reader #abby x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #the last of us 2 #abby smut #abby anderson x y/n #the last of us

[billskeis]

ᡣ𐭩 bus shenanigans w bill

it was mid day into the summer where you and the band were on world tour, travelling from place to place as the exhausting schedules had you all working to the bone.

of course, as part of their management team, you did everything in your power to keep the band in check.

water? done. snacks? already given. towels? passed around.

not to mention, the constant words of affirmation and reassurance that everything will be okay.

you were their escape of solace in the midst of youthful chaos.

“tomtom! where’s bill? i don’t think i’ve seen him at all today,” you pout.

“hmph, little cunt must still be sleeping. you know how he gets on tour,”

that’s right. when given the day off bill will not do anything but sleep. sleep until late evening, as unhealthy as it is, you understand from a rockstar point of view.

“ah.. okay! ‘m gonna go check up on him, see if he needs anything.”

“i don’t think that’s a good idea y/n,”

“huh?”

“ask georg or gustav, whenever we bother him during his nap time he throws a fit. gets all moody nd shit,”

“i find that hard to believe,” you cross your arms.

“alright, go see for yourself,”

“y’know what i will!”

tom clicks his tongue and sips on his coke, smirking as your figure disappears from within the bus foyer to go to where bill’s bunk was.

since you made it your mission to prove tom wrong due to your stubborn persona, it was only natural that you went to go see bill. little did you know about what bill had in store for you specifically if you had woken him.

“you’re in deep trouble, y/n.”

as you open the door to the even more cramped space, you see a figure adorned in all black under the thin fabric of a blanket covering the figure.

his body moves up and down as he breaths. sound asleep eh? you make small tip-toed steps towards the bunk bed.

“billy..? you sleeping in?”

you sit down on the hard mattress and couch under to fit yourself within the tiny space. patting bill’s still body, you attempt to wake him up.

“c’monnn you gotta wake up half the day is over and we have stuff to do—”

everything happened in a flash you don’t even know how you ended up in such a position.

bill is on top of you.

THE bill fucking kaulitz has you pinned down on the bunk bed. the grip he has on each of your wrists tighten and you wince at the pain. you don’t remember bill ever being that strong but he has been working out a bit more for their comeback.

his locs fall a down to tickle your cheeks. he looks down at you, pitiful. eyelids lowered as he gazes into yours with absolute darkness and lust. you feel yourself getting hot.

what the hell did you get yourself into?

“y/n. i was napping.”

“i-i know, but i figured that we have a lot on our plate we needed our lead singer,”

“did you? or did you wanna just come here and bother me because you just wanted to see me, hm?”

“u-um..”

he leans his face closer to yours, eyes never breaking contact as he slightly grins. he enjoys how worked out and shy you’re getting as you begin to get the cold sweats, shaking a bit.

“oh you little slut, you’re in big trouble now schatzi,”

bill begins to claw at your pants to take them off, thank god you didn’t wear anything that had any buttons or zippers because he would get so frustrated he’d rip the whole thing off of you.

“bill! there’s people on the b-bus..!”

“and? you were warned,”

“s-stop, please..”

“betcha tom already warned ya, but your pretty little head thought it was okay anyway..”

with the undressing of your pants came with your panties, that hid how coated your cunt was with slick.

truthfully and shamelessly, you were turned the fuck on.

bill wastes no time as he freed his hardened cock from his pyjama pants, already leaking with precum. as he rubs the tip up and down your slit, you whine at how sensitive you were. bill knew how to rile you up sensually or not, and it drove you nuts.

“please..”

“hmmm? can’t hear you mein maus.. gonna have to speak up.”

“please..! j-just get it over with—ah!”

you yelp at the sudden thrust of bill’s cock into your entrance. already balls deep, bill cannot help but let out a wanton moan as you clasp one of your hands on his mouth.

“fuuuck you drive me nuts..”

“q-quiet..!”

he licks at your hand playfully to which you immediately pull it away.

“b-bill!?”

chuckling, a smile is plastered on bill’s face as he sheaths his cock in and out of your pussy slowly.

“mm.. you’re so warm nd tight,” he moans as he uses both hands to caress the curves of your waist, hands exploring what’s his. he needed you, and craved you.

hey, at least he’s awake now.

bracing yourself, both his hands stop all movements as they now hold onto your waist tightly. with rhythmic thrusts, bill keeps a steady pace fucking into you as if it were his last time to.

he’s in a frenzy. bill cannot stop moving his hips. the loud squelching of how wet and slick your cunt furthered this need to fuck you into an oblivion.

bill doesn’t hear your pleads to ‘s-stop!’ or ‘slow down..’ he doesn’t notice the pool of cum and squirt mixed between where the two of you were joined on the bed sheets growing. he doesn’t notice your cunt tightening by the second and how you’ve already came.

words fall onto dead ears, your now babbling for him to stop as the pressure of his cock in your cunt makes pushes you further into ecstasy.

“b-billy! a-ah! i already came! i know now not to wake you up s-so p-pleaseeepleasepleaseplease slow down—ungggghhh..!” you attempt to whisper, but they come out as quiet screams instead.

as he snaps out of it, he takes a good look down at your body on top of him, eyes widening for a second but never stilling his movements.

“f-fuck y/n.. look at you, such a whore f’me.. me, and me only..”

“i—ugh—i can’t do this anymore.. they’re gonna hear us..,”

“pft, whatever. let them hear how much of a slut you become for my cock. you deserve this.”

you just want this to end. with a pussy all sore and sensitive from how big bill is, not to mention how with each thrust bill’s cock hits your cervix balls deep, you’re bound to not walk the next day.

bill places a kiss on your mouth, tongue assaulting every nook and cranny of your mouth as you try to keep up with him.

as his mouth leaves yours, you attempt to catch a breath from not only him kissing you but how his tip hits your g spot every single time he presses his dick into you.

“h-hahh.. bill..” you wrap your arms around his neck.

“mein schatz.. these visits better become a daily thing, wanna punish you over and over again till’ you pass out from how good i fuck you.”

georg walks into the shaking tour bus with gustav after their smoke break.

tom is sitting on the couch eating his skittles and watching the small television propped up on one of the bus walls.

“didn’t you warn her?” georg asks as he hands tom back his lighter.

your moans can be heard from the opposite side of the bus. seems as though you stopped caring about the noise.

“i did, holy shit they been at it for like an hour now..”

“EW GUSTAV YOU’RE HARD.”

“shut the fuck up.” as he covers his lap with a pillow.

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x y/n #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x y/n #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #2000s #fyp #billskeis

[yelenasdiary]

I’m thinking about pervy prison guard Natasha (who has a dick) and innocent!r, who got framed and Natasha takes an interest in her and just has to protect her but y’know you have to pay her back in different methods, I hope you can write this ^_^

Number One Rule

Pairing: Pervy Prison Guard! Natasha x Innocent Fem! Reader

Summary: After being framed and sent to prison, one guard takes an interest in you and offers you protection from other inmates, of course with a catch.

Slightly Rough Smut | Angst | Natasha has a penis | Language Warning | Mentions of Murder, Drugs & Physical Violence | Mentions of Masturbation | Slight Degradation | Oral (both receiving) | Nipple play | Unprotected Sex | Loss of Virginity | 2.8K | 18+ Minors DNI! 

AC: I think I have a new obsession! Thank you for sending this, I hope you enjoy it x!

Never in a million years did you think you'd be in a prison cell crying yourself to sleep every night. Nobody believed you, that you didn't commit the murder you were framed for and now here you were, in a cell with your cell mate on the top bunk snoring loud enough to drain out your sobs. The nights where harder than the day, you felt more alone at night and too scared to fall asleep. 

The other women took a liking to you but not in the way you hoped. You were fresh meat, somebody they would use to get drugs into the prison to save their own backsides from being caught, the newbie they could throw around and get to do anything they wanted because you didn't want to get hurt. You just wanted to stick to yourself and serve your sentence while trying your best to clear your name from the inside. 

It had only been a month since you arrived, and things were only getting harder. You've been beaten one too many times already, just the women's way of 'welcoming' you to the unit and who to be scared of and for them, it worked. You never left your cell unless you knew there were guards walking the halls or you were forced too by them, but there was one guard that seemed to take an extra liking to you. 

Miss Romanoff. Probably the only guard that was kind, all the others had this front about them but it was a prison, nobody was supposed to be nice. Miss Romanoff began standing close by your cell and everywhere you looked she was there. What you weren't aware of was the hidden camera in the showers that gave the guard the perfect view of you in every single inch. When she went home, she'd watch the playbacks of you in the shower, washing your body with the crappy soup you were given, watching the way you moved your hands all around your body while she stroked her cock just wishing she could take you right there. 

Each morning after breakfast, inmates were allowed to call their loved ones for 30 minutes, all but you as it seemed. As you were lining up, other inmates pushed in front, pushing you further and further to the back of the line until you eventually snapped. 

"Hey! the back of the line" you spat at one of the inmates who turned to face you and chuckled, "Does it look like I give a fuck where the back of the line is?" she replied, shoving you harshly into the cold, brick wall as she laughed at you. 

"I mean it! You guys do this shit to be every fucking day, I've had enough!" 

"Check this out, the newbie has had enough guys!" the criminal laughed once more before shoving you once again, this time harder. You knew your next move wasn't a good idea but you're only human who could take so much. You pushed yourself off the wall and lunged at the inmate, punching her in the face before you had realized what you'd done. "You stupid, stupid BITCH!" the woman spat before lunging at you with her fist ready to return the punch you had just delivered her.

You closed your eyes and prepared yourself for the harm you were in but to your surprise the woman's fist was caught by a guard. "Get back to your units, all of you! Call time is off!" Miss Romanoff announced, the room erupted with groans as the woman spat insults to you on their way out, some kicking the wall to show their anger. 

"You're dead meat, newbie!" one woman whispered as she walked by you. 

You sighed and turned on your heels to walk out, only to be stopped by the guard. "Not you, Y/n. You're coming with me" she said, gently taking you by the arm and giving you a light push to continue walking.

To the others, it looked like you were in trouble and on your way to 'the box'. A cell of isolation, no contact with anybody but staff, no outside time, nothing. Just you in a cell for as long as they wanted.

"Miss, I'm sorry. I got angry and I shouldn't have punched her" you spoke, trying not to breakdown in the hands of the guard. "After you" she opened the door to a room you'd never seen before, hesitantly you stepped foot in the room before the red headed guard closed the door behind you both. "W-what is happening?" you asked in a scared tone. Nobody was allowed in the boiler room, not even staff unless authorized. 

"We're going to have a little chat" she smiled softly, making you both walk a little further away from the door. "I..I p-promise I won't do it again, please don't hurt me" you begged, scared that the woman was going to beat you like you'd heard many times on the news that prison guards would sometimes beat inmates when they were out of line. 

"Shh, darling. I'm not going to hurt you, like I said, we're just going to have a little chat" she replied before you both came to a stop, completely out of view if anybody were to come into the room. "You're new here, I know but you shouldn't be getting yourself into situations like that. The inmates here won't hold back on killing you over something tiny like what just happened" Miss Romanoff explained. 

"I…I know, I j-just got so sick of the bullshit they do to me every day" you admitted with a sigh, "Again, I'm really sorry" you added. 

"I can protect you" Miss Romanoff brushed off your apology, "I can make sure they don't hurt you, I'll keep you safe" she added. 

"You'd do that? B-but isn't that a bad thing? I mean, w-would they come after me even more than they are?" You looked at the guard with nothing but fear in your eyes. 

"I've been working here for years, and I've seen many scared women like you come and go, some only make it out in a body bag. You saw how quicky those inmates listened to me, doesn't that not show you that I can handle them?" 

She had a point and just the thought of having somebody looking out for you suddenly made this place seem a little more bearable. You nodded, "but why bring me here?" you asked. The guard chuckled, "because the number one rule in prison is you never do anything without giving something in return" she explained with a light smirk before she gently grabbed your hand and placed it over her bulge, "I'll look after you, if you look after me" she spoke as your eyes dropped to your hand on her clothed bulge. 

"I..I" you stuttered as you slowly looked up at her, "I've…n-never" you paused, looking away with embarrassment. Natasha smiled softly before guiding you to look at her with her thumb. "Baby, have you never had sex before?" she asked, your checks went red as you nodded slowly. "It's okay baby, we'll have fun. Now, how about you be a good girl for me and get on your knees. You're going to learn how to suck my cock real good and I'll make sure you're out of harm's way" she smiled before gently pushing you to your knees. 

Natasha unbuckled her pants, letting them fall to her knees. You could see she was already semi hard, her cock just begging to be released. "It's okay sweet baby, don't scared" she looked down at you, giving you the okay to pull her boxers down and finally freeing her cock. She was bigger than you pictured just seconds before as she pulsed in front of you, you slowly looked up at her and swallowed the lump in your throat. "I d-don't think I can make it f-fit" you stutter once more, hoping not to disappoint the guard.

"I'll guide you, now open that pretty mouth for me" she instructed. You did as told and allowed the woman of power to slide her member inside your mouth before her hands landed on your eat to guide you to start moving. Natasha moaned at the warmth of your mouth wrapped around her, she told you to swirl your tongue around her as she began to thrust her hips forward, making you take her down the back of your throat, gagging for air. 

"That's it baby, gag on my cock just like that" she moaned, throwing her head back as you wrapped a hand around at base of her cock with a tiny boost of confidence which made Natasha smirk, "good girl, you're getting the idea now" she commented as you began to stoke her cock she left go of your head and let you suck her off at your own will. 

Moans and groans left the guards lips as you grew more confident sucking her off, taking her down your throat at your own will now. "Fuck baby, I'm going to cum!" she looked down at you, noticing how you had your free hand down your pants, she smirked. "Take your shirt off baby, I want to cum all over your pretty tits" she instructed. With need, you had your shirt off and threw to the side and unclasped your bra. "They're so much prettier in person, fuck" Natasha basically drooled at the sight of you. 

"W-what?" you asked, freezing all actions as you looked up at her. 

"Oh come on baby, you don't think I haven't been protecting you since the day you came in here? I've had eyes on you every single day, everywhere" she admitted and if you weren't already so easily turned on by her moans earlier, you would've blown up at the thought of a stranger watching you. "Don't go shy on me now, I've seen how you play with yourself in the shower when everybody has left the room" Her comment made your cheeks go red once more as you looked away from the woman. 

"I heard the name you moaned once too" she added, catching your attention again. Once, by accident you moaned Miss Romanoff's name as you rubbed your clit in the shower, you were as shamed of it but never thought she knew about it. "I'm s-sorry, I just, I mean, it was an accident" you tried to make the excuse. 

"Shhh, I don't care about your excuses" she grabbed your head, forcing your mouth back around her cock. You could feel her twitching as you sucked her harder than moments before. "I knew you were a needy little slut, stop, I'm gonna cum!" she took her cock out of your mouth and jerked herself off for a few short seconds before you felt warm spurts of her cum landing on your chest, moans leaving her lips as she continued to unload herself on your bare chest. 

"Stand up, it's your turn" she smirked as she gently stroked herself. You stood up and pressed your back against the cold, hard wall as Natasha got on her knees in front of you, pulling your prison colored pants down with her. "Mmm, tell me you want this" she looked up at you after seeing the wet patch on your panties. You couldn't help but nod with need, unsure of what exactly you were agreeing to. 

Natasha pushed your legs apart slightly before pulling your panties down to your ankles, "you're so wet baby" she commented before brushing her thumb over your exposed clit. You moaned at her touch, you've never been touched before, and it felt so much better then when you'd touched yourself. 

"Please" you begged with soft eyes as you looked down at the red head, she smirked as she looked up at you. "Tell me what you want, say it" she demanded but you were too shy to say the words as you shook your head. "I can't" you replied. 

"Say it" she repeated, this time she started to pull your panties back up. 

"Please!" you begged again, "please…fu-fuck me"

Natasha smirked once more, "good girl" she commented before she placed one of your legs over her shoulder and dived into your pussy. Licking a long stripe up to your clit as you moaned once again, your hands finding her head and gently pushing her forward for more. You both knew you didn't have a lot of time for Natasha to take her time with you like she would've loved too, she ate you with hunger and need, giving you feelings, you didn't even know existed as she turned you into a moaning mess, begging her to keep going. 

"I th-think I'm going to cum!" you moaned, unsure as you were never truly able to make yourself cum. 

"Cum for me baby" Natasha looked up at you as you threw your head back once more before letting your orgasm take over your body, letting the woman's tongue taste even more of your sweetness. "Oh god!" you moaned as the woman helped you ride out your high while tweaking your hardened nipples. 

"That was better than I expected" you admitted when the woman rose back to her feet. "We're not done yet baby" Natasha took off her jacket and placed it on the ground, "on your hands and knees, I need to feel you cum around my cock" she looked back at you. 

"I don't think that's going to fit!" you replied as your eyes dropped to her hard on. 

"I think it will" she nodded for you to get on the ground. 

Natasha settled behind you, kissed down your spine as she rubbed the tip of her cock against your clit, making you moan once more. "It's going to hurt, please don't" you looked back at her with concern. "Only for a few minutes baby, don't worry, it'll feel good after, I promise" she assured you as she lined herself up with your wet pussy, "let me know when you're ready" she added. It only took a few minutes for you to remember the times when you were at home with a vibrator wishing you had a dildo to stuff inside you for that extra pleasure, you looked back at the guard "fuck me, please!" you begged while Natasha smirked as she slowly entered you. 

Your fists gripped her jacket hard as the burning pain rushed through you, Natasha stopped when she bottomed out, "you're so fucking tight baby, let me know when I can move, okay?" she lent down and kissed the back of your shoulder for comfort. After a new minute, you were comfortable enough for the guard to start giving you what you wanted. 

Natasha started thrusting slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of having her inside you as you moaned, she grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you up against her. "You're mine now" she whispered before she began to fuck into you harder, moaning at the way you clenched around her. 

You were lucky the boiler room was naturally loud enough to cover the sounds of Natasha's thighs slapping against you and your moans begging her to fucking you harder. "God baby! Keep clenching me like that and I'll cum!" she commented as you were close to your orgasm. "D-don't cum inside me! Fuck! Just keep going!" You moaned. Natasha's grip on your hips was sure to leave a mark by the next day but you didn't care, as long as she kept fucking you with this hunger she had, you'd let her do anything. 

With one hand, Natasha reached for your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as you did your best to cover your screams as you came around her cock, "fuck!! It's too much!!" you moaned as the woman kept fucking you, chuckling at your state. "You can cum for me baby" she commented as she continued to hit that one spot that made your eyes roll back, "'s too much!" You moaned once again before you realized you were cumming once again, almost numb from the overstimulation. 

Natasha pulled out quickly before unloading on your lower back, "God baby!" she moaned while you gently allowed yourself to lay completely flat on her jacket, completely fucked out. The woman laid down next to you as she caught her breath, "they won't bother you again, I'll make sure of it" she looked to you. 

You nodded, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep but she had to return you to your unit before headcount. "I would usually look after you, but I can't, not here. I'll take you back to your cell and you can get your things then I'll take you to the showers and you can have one without anybody coming in" she added, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. "Thank you, Miss Romanoff" you smiled tiredly. 

"When nobody's around, call me Natasha" she replied.

Taglist: @red1culous | @sayah13 | @charl-lally | @when-wolves-howl | @bentleywolf29 | @fxckmiup | @natasha-belova | @blackwidow-3 | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok | @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145 | @shin-conan-kun | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @apollo2907 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @ahintofchaos | @fluffyblanketgecko | @puta1 | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @tintedrose12 | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @donnietarantino | @randomnessbecausewhynot | @natashamaximoff69 | @hehehehannahthings | @pandaemonium111 | @imnotslouching | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok | @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @marvel-madnessx | @scarsw1fe | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @natashaswife4125 | @katiemay-025 | @aphrcdtes | @romanoffs-widow | @natsxwife | @maria-403 | 

If you don't want to be on the taglist for smut related fics, please let me know 💖

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #marvel #black widow #fanfiction

[poisonousgirlie]

Sparks (Luke Castellan x Daughter of Zeus! Reader)

A/N: This is my first writing post on here, so I hope you like it. In a HEAVY Luke kick right now, and I ran out of fics to read, so I decided to write one.

Word count: 1,515

Summary: Luke can't get the new girl at camp out of his head.

part II

Luke was just shy of 16 when you arrived at camp. He vividly remembered that day. He and Chris had been scheduled for an extra patrol shift because they got caught pranking the Ares cabin. More accurately, Chris got caught, and Luke got roped into it. Regardless, Chiron had appointed both of them to the border patrol shift that evening, even though they had been on the same duty just the day before. It was dusk, the shift was about to change, and Luke was looking forward to making his way down the hill for dinner when a disturbance in the woods caught the attention of the group. The 6 other half-bloods on patrol with him all reached simultaneously for their weapons as they heard a scream in the distance, and spotted the trees just down the hill from you shaking left and right as if something massive was pushing through them. Your figure came into view, distant and limping, dragging what appeared to be the semi-conscious body of your satyr protector behind you. You reached the top of the hill, just to the right of Thalia’s tree, and somewhat unceremoniously discarded the body of your companion against a tree. You turned back towards the woods, only a long dagger in your hand as you faced off the threat emerging from the woods. Luke and the others had begun running towards you as soon as you came into view, but the patrol had been nearly a quarter mile away when they spotted you, and to everyone’s horror the massive cyclops chasing you was moving much faster than they could. Luke watched, his heart in his throat, as you visibly steeled yourself before launching towards the monster. You agilely dodged its attempts to grab you before basically vaulting up its large form and burying your dagger deep into the monster’s chest. The move was smooth, not flawless but fluid enough to prove that you had done it before. Fortunately, the Cyclops disintegrated, leaving you panting and bleeding. You retrieved your protector and dragged the both of you the last few feet across the barrier just as the patrol reached you, seconds too late to be helpful. Somebody must have alerted Chiron to the arrival of a new camper because his form crested the hill and ushered you and your protector to the big house for medical treatment and your introduction to camp. That night, as he lay in his bunk in the corded Hermes cabin, Luke could not shake the image of you from his mind. You were stunningly beautiful, uncannily so, making him question if Aphrodite was your mother before he even got a good look at you. This wasn’t what left your image imprinted behind his eyelids however, it was the steely determination on your face and the impressive way you battled the cyclops that had you lingering in his mind. There was something curious about you, and he resolved to find out what it was.

In the time following your harrowing arrival at camp, Luke made a concerted effort to get to know you. Two days after your battle by the barrier, Luke was the first to volunteer to show you around camp when Chiron showed you to the Hermes Cabin. He toured you around, pointing out various cabins, training grounds, and important buildings as the two of you wound through the camp. You were polite and somewhat reserved as he showed you the ropes, not letting much slip about yourself or your past. Camp suited you. You settled in well to the routine, adoring the training and enjoying the novelty of having a warm bed to crawl into each night. Your hand-to-hand combat and blade-wielding skills were already impressive for a demigod with no training, and you improved drastically with even minor instruction. Luke took it upon himself to help with your sword and dagger training, partially as an excuse to get close to you and partially because he wanted a new sparring partner who could keep up with him. He discovered that the long dagger you had carried into camp was celestial bronze; you had found it mysteriously wrapped in your backpack a few years before you arrived at camp and had defended yourself with it ever since. As you became more comfortable with Luke, you slowly revealed more about yourself and your past. You had been alone for a long time, an orphan traveling around the country and battling monsters for years before your satyr protector had found you and escorted you back to camp. Despite being alone for so long, you fit right in with the busy nature of camp. Sometimes you would get slightly overwhelmed, but your quick-witted humor, dry sarcasm, and warm heart endeared you to most of camp almost immediately. Everyone had heard about your arrival at camp, not only saving your injured protector but also killing a 15-foot cyclops alone, with nothing but a dagger. Most campers had impressive stories, but your reputation grew before you even emerged from the big house on your first real day. You had spent barely a week in the Hermes cabin before you were claimed. Luke had been trying to guess who your parent could be. You were beautiful enough to be Aphrodite’s daughter, fierce enough to be a child of Ares, clever enough to belong to the Athena cabin. He even questioned if you could be a child of Hecate, even though she had no cabin at camp; something about the sparks that swirled in your eyes was distinctly magical. Despite having all these attributes, it felt clear that none of those options were the correct one. Not even Luke, however, was ready for the shock that your claiming would send through the world of Greek gods and heroes.

Your very first Friday at camp, capture the flag took place as usual. You fought well, aiding Luke and the Blue Team to victory. People were gathering together after the horn signaling the end of the games, congratulating teammates, and throwing bribes at the sore losers of the red team. Luke was helping a young camper tend to a minor wound when every hair on his body stood straight up, his nostrils burned, and he felt more than heard the deafening crack that shattered through the trees. He spun around to find you, a bright glow dimming in your eyes, hand extended towards the smoking form of a dead giant scorpion. The monster’s body was poised to strike, positioned just behind a completely shell-shocked Annabeth. The scorpion had managed to sneak up on her (a rare occurrence), and would almost certainly have killed her if it weren’t for your intervention. It was kind of impossible for Zeus to ignore you after you had literally wielded lightning, and the lightning bolt that shined over your head honestly seemed a bit redundant. Murmurs of shock and disbelief spread through the crowd; however, the campers made a path when Chiron appeared. The centaur stared pensively at the fading symbol above your head before bowing his head, and loudly calling out, “All hail y/n, daughter of Zeus, King of the Heavens.”

Chaos enveloped the hours and days after the incident in the woods. Nobody knew what to do or think. Zeus was not supposed to have children, Thalia was supposed to have been the only one. Chiron and Mr. D worried about your safety. Technically, both Poseidon and Hades were within their rights to strike you down, according to their agreement, as you were not supposed to exist. This seemed unlikely, as nobody wanted to anger the King of the Universe, but it was a very real possibility. Nothing seemed to be happening right away though, so the next day you moved into Cabin 1. Luke warned you that it wasn’t the most pleasant of spaces, big, cold, and empty. However, when you cracked open the door to the cabin, you found it to be much different than he described. The domed ceiling was made of glass, allowing for a gorgeous view of the sky, which seemed fitting for the sky god’s cabin. A huge statue of Zeus stood at the center of the marble room. However, there was an alcove to the right that held a comfortable-looking double bed, lamps that seemed to be lit from within with tiny little lighting bolts fixed at intervals throughout the room, and even the rest of the cabin had been magically populated with things you may need. Bookshelves now lined one wall, a small sitting area in one corner, the bathroom in another. The cabin still had a bit of a high and mighty air to it, but it looked like a livable space, rather than a cold stone box as it had been for years. Chiron had been flabbergasted when you showed him the changes. It seemed Zeus felt badly that you lived on the streets for so long and decided to bestow you with a gift. (a/n: pretend this would ever happen and is not wildly out of character please want my girl to have a nice living space okay). You settled your few belongings into your new home and prepared to truly begin your life at Camp Half-blood.

Luke had a difficult time for the first little while after you were claimed, the suddenly obvious parallels between you and Thalia sending his mind spinning. Both fighters, daughters of Zeus who had learned to survive on their own. Both battled a cyclops at the edge of camp while trying to protect their protectors. The likenesses were unnerving. His first instinct was to feel that it was unfair that you got to survive when Thalia did not, but he pushed that feeling down when he realized that you could not help that, and had nothing to do with the events that took place last year when he arrived at camp. You were your own person, situationally you may have been similar to Thalia, but you were not her, and deserved a fresh start just like everybody else, daughter of Zeus or not. Luke had been avoiding you since showing you to the Zeus Cabin, he needed a moment to process everything. In hindsight, you being a daughter of Zeus made perfect sense. There was something about your eyes, they seemed to spark with life, each emotion was mirrored within your eyes, and they seemed to truly light up when you smiled. You also always seemed to be accompanied by a slight breeze, the wind flowing through your hair, and giving you an air of floating as you moved. He also could have sworn that the other day as he taught you a new sword technique the wind had kicked up, pushing him backwards and aiding you in the mock fight. The grace and confidence you moved with made sense too, even bleeding, dirty, and scared you had managed to give off an impressive air of confidence and poise, fitting for the child of the King of the Gods. After a while though, his mind strayed from your parentage to just you. He had only known you for a few days, but he found himself captivated with you, you were surprisingly funny, able to joke with him and Chris on your first day. You were sarcastic, and he would not want to get on the wrong side of your quick wit, but he also saw the sweetness you displayed when interacting with the young campers in the Hermes cabin. Your residence there had been brief, but quarters were tight and the little ones seemed to like you, something that did not slip by Luke’s notice. He knew you were an anomaly, one he was determined to understand.

Over the next year, the friendship between you and Luke grew, along with your friendships with the other campers. You fit into camp as if you had always been there, despite the unusual nature of your parentage. Being on the older side of the campers, and also the only member of your cabin, you were made a counselor pretty much immediately. Before long, you switched from participating in activities to leading them. Your natural talent for both leadership and the activities you engaged in made the transition smooth. Despite your newfound duties as a counselor, you still poured your heart and soul into becoming a better warrior every day. You studied with Annabeth weekly, practiced archery with your friend Jasmine from the Apollo Cabin, and questioned Chiron endlessly about his past experiences with battle and about the heroes he trained over the years. Most important to you, though, were your daily training sessions with Luke. The two of you seldom missed a day, spending several hours drilling each other, sparring, and practicing fighting techniques each day. When things got busy during the day, you would sneak out to the arena after lights out, slinking back through camp side by side hours later in the middle of the night. Luke always dropped you off at your cabin when you did this, not wanting you to be out alone at night. The camp was safe, and you could more than handle yourself, but it was the principle of it. At least that’s what he told himself; he was just being a gentleman. He definitely didn’t just want a few more minutes of having you all to himself. In the time you two spent together, both during your training sessions and outside them, you became very close. Some people found it somewhat unnerving, the way your brains seemed to link together. You could communicate perfectly without words, a skill you developed after only a few months of knowing each other, and made your teamwork while fighting terrifyingly formidable. Something just clicked, you had never felt so comfortable and safe with another person before, having spent most of your life alone on the run. Luke was more or less infatuated with you, and it was quite plain for anybody to see. He always listened when you spoke and made sure everyone else did as well. He always found some way to be close to you, a hand hovering over your lower back as he ushered you out of the dining pavilion, stubbornly forcing his lanky body into the space next to you at the campfire even though there was more room elsewhere. Whatever the example, Luke stuck to you like glue. Annabeth would tease him when you weren’t around, saying that he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. His pride had him vehemently denying this, but he knew that her words rang more true than he was ready to accept. He admired you as a person, as a warrior, he liked you as a friend, and deep down he knew he cared for you as much more than that. Even in such a short time, you had become his other half, Luke and y/n, y/n and Luke. It seemed to just work, like in the way puzzle pieces fit together, or like watching one of Annabeth’s battle strategies fall into place. For now, though, he did nothing, not yet ready to disrupt the precious relationship he had built with you.

A/N: I apologize for any formatting or any other issues, things are still a work in progress over here. I hope you enjoyed!!

xx posionousgirlie

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fanfic #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson fandom #luke castellan pjo

[goose8791]

Space And Time

(Song by S.G Goodman)

pairing: luke castellan x AphroditeFem!reader

Warnings: Angst, kissing, death, description of death, spoilers for the end of the lightening thief

From the moment she stepped into the camp, her life became a tapestry woven with threads of fate and love. She was beautiful, a child of aphrodite would have to be. She met Luke the day he arrived, Luke Castellan, a year older but relatively new to the camp, entered her orbit as a lost boy with big brown eyes and curly hair that fell in front of his eyes, clothes drenched to the bone and accompanied by a little girl with a tight grip on his hand. He was fourteen and angry. 

Unclaimed by her godly parents, she sought a transient haven in the Hermes cabin. Positioned directly above Luke's bunk, she could practically sense the intensity of his gaze burning through the shitty mattress. She could feel his emotions, every stomach twist and finger twitch reverberating through the thin barrier between them.Curiosity got the best of her, prompting her to peer over the edge of the bunk, startling Luke from his thoughts. He snapped his head, obviously startled and scared. 

"Sorry, I just wanted to see if you were okay," her short hair barely touches her back when she stands but as she hangs her head off the top of the bunk, long strands fall over her ears. Gaining a clearer view of his face, she thought he was pretty for a boy. Her eyesight adjusted, and with a closer examination, she almost whispered in a yell, "You're bleeding!"

In response, Luke's hand instinctively rose to the top of his head, where the blood had begun to congeal and cling to his hair. His gaze lowered to his hand, the tips of his fingers stained with red. A hand places itself over his, holding it, when he looks up the girl has come down from her bed and is using an old top to dab away the blood. 

He hadn't uttered a single word, and yet she was already helping him, leaving him utterly perplexed. Her eyes, intensely focused on the task at hand, seemed to possess a magnetic quality. When her gaze shifted downward to meet his eyes, he felt a sensation as if Eros himself had unleashed an arrow, piercing straight through his heart.

"Than- thank you," he stammered, his words stumbling over each other. "Don't thank me, it's the least I could do," she responded with a smile, "God she’s gorgeous.” he thought.

Now three years later, and she found herself seated in the stands at the training arena, feet propped up on the seat in front of her, a bag of almonds in her lap. Her once-short hair had grown, now cascading over her shoulders and collarbone. Her mother said it suited her so she kept it. She was watching Luke train, he was cutting through practice dummies ruthlessly. 

Beads of sweat roll down his temple making his hair damp. His chest rises and falls as hot breaths escape his mouth, Her playful heckle cuts through the air, breaking the intensity of his focus. "Do you think you can hit that thing any harder?" she teased, a smirk playing on her lips.

Luke's head snapped in her direction, his intense gaze softening into a momentary smile. He wiped the sweat from his brow and shook his head, a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe I should ask the dummy if it thinks I'm being too harsh," he replied. The end of his sword jabbing into it. 

Her laughter was like a melody, filled the air, and Luke couldn't help but revel in the joy of making her laugh. As she began tying her hair up, he couldn't help but appreciate the simplicity of the moment

She giggled, finishing tying her hair up. She gracefully hopped down a few steps before leaping down from the stands, landing gracefully onto the gravel ground. Dusting off her jeans casually, she sauntered over to where Luke was, an energy in her movements that drew his attention.

Walking behind Luke, she became the focal point of his gaze. Intrigued, he watched as she positioned herself in front of the training dummy, her hands resting on its shoulders as though the inanimate object were seeking her fashion advice. Luke tilted his head to the side, crossing his arms, a smile playing on his lips at the whimsical scene before him.

"Maybe it needs a break," she teased, a mischievous smile dancing on her lips when she looked back over her shoulder at him. 

Luke chuckled at her playful remark, the sound echoing in the training arena. He unfolded his arms, the playful glint in his eyes turning into a full-fledged grin. "Perhaps," he replied, joining in "I wouldn't want the poor thing to file a complaint with Chiron about the harsh treatment." 

"Oh, imagine the headlines: 'Camp Half-Blood in Disarray as practice Dummies Demand Justice!'" Her laughter danced through the air. She took a step back from the training dummy, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "Well, Mr. Dummy, you've been spared for today," she declared with a mock-serious expression, earning another chuckle from Luke.

As if on cue, two younger kids burst into the arena, their presence announced by boisterous yells. "Chiron says you two are late!" Luke turned to look at them, a grin forming on his face. "Yeah, alright. We'll be there," he responded with an easygoing nod.

As the younger demigods scampered off to deliver the message, Luke began packing up his training gear. She observed him taking his armour off. He sharpens the blade of his sword, he pulls back the muscles in his arms tense and then releases for a moment before she starts to walk towards him. 

"Race you to the woods?" She proposed a challenge in her tone. Her eyes tracing him, he laughs and puts the sword on the rack. Luke raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "You're on," he declared, the familiar thrill in his voice. 

As they run out of the arena dust pools around their feet, Luke almost slips on the small rocks to try and catch up with her. leaving behind the fading echoes of their laughter. When the tree’s start to come into view their leaves fly over the top of them. He catches up to her. Just, he grabs her hand and she looks back. She pulls on his hand and he stumbles forward and her back foot catches on a root. As they stumbled as they a little the forest floor seemed to shift, and laughter turned to surprise as they tumbled down a hill.

As they tumbled down the hill, Luke instinctively pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as they hit the ground with a thud. The world became a blur of leaves and twigs. 

When they finally reached the bottom of the hill, Luke looked down at her, his arms still encircling her. "Are you okay?" he asked, lifting himself up with his arms so that he could look down at her. His eyebrows furrowed with concern as he scanned her face for any signs of injury.

She laughed, the sound a melody of amusement that echoed through the woods. "I'm fine, just a bit shaken," she reassured him, her hand circling his upper arm with a reassuring touch.

"Are you sure?" Luke asked, his eyes still reflecting worry.

"Yes, Luke, jeez," she smiled, rolling her eyes playfully. Her hand moved from his arms to his face, her fingers gently tracing over his soft skin. Her gaze was fixed on her hand, but Luke found himself captivated by the delicate movements of her fingers.

As her eyes darted towards his, the world seemed to pause for a moment. In that suspended instant, their connection deepened, and he felt the magnetic pull drawing him closer. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, she closed the distance between them and kissed him.

Time seemed to stand still as the forest around them held its breath, a witness to the unexpected turn of events. Luke's eyes closed instinctively, savouring the warmth of the kiss and the rush of emotions that accompanied it. He pulls away “your so pretty” she says, her breath coming back to her.  

His brain seemed to fail him, a cascade of thoughts and emotions rendering him momentarily speechless. His gaze drifted downward, but her fingers found his chin, gently lifting it to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to leave this world without saying,” she began, a breath catching in her throat, she knew that every day at this camp could be her last “I love you.” He finished her sentences, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

They lay on the grass for a while, the world around them fading into the background. Luke on his back, and she on her stomach, propped up on her elbows to gaze at him. The wind, a gentle caress, whispered through the leaves overhead.

"There's some who have loved me," he said, his fingers delicately playing with the loose strands of hair that danced lightly on her face. "Some who have tried." His touch shifted to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. "They all have their grips on my heart and grips on my mind."

She stayed quiet, a pretty smile gracing her lips as her hand gently found its way to his. The tranquillity of the moment lingered between them, the soft rustle of leaves above providing a gentle soundtrack to their shared contemplation.

"That's poetic," she finally remarked, her light  laughter breaking the quietude of the woods.

"It's supposed to be romantic," he retorted with a playful grin, their hands entwining in a silent agreement that transcended words.

The sword slid between her armour and into her flesh, a burning sensation that seared through her. The edges of the blade stung, and tears welled up in her eyes, Her hand shakes as she brings it to his face. Her thumb runs over the scar that splits his face. She remembers when he came back with that wound. it was a quest he was sent on after that day in the woods. “Luke” she gasped, the pain sharp and agonising. But Luke wasn’t there. He hasn’t been there, not for a while.

He pulls out his sword and her body falls to its knees and then falls to her side her breaths stopped. Luke stumbled back, his gaze shifting upward to the sky. When his eyes returned to her, still and lifeless, he threw the sword aside, its metallic clang echoing in the emptiness of the battlefield. Tears streamed down his face, silent sobs escaping him as he dropped to his knees beside her.

His hands grab at her armour pulling her lifeless form close to him. She’s still, with little to no breath. Blood stained his hands as the deep wound bled through both sides of her body. Desperation etched across his face, he fought with her hair, pushing it back from her

"No... no no no no," Luke cried, the words escaping his lips in a tortured whisper. "I love you," he whispered, the sincerity of the words wavering in his own ears. He could only lie, that's all he was good for. He screwed his eyes shut not wanting to look at her. 

Soft fingers dusted over his face “that day in the woods” she coughed, her voice strained. “it was clear to me” she persisted, “you owe your life to even your  enemies” she coughed again, like her breath was catching in her vocal cords “To the ones who have loved you, to the ones who have tried” her hand slowly lowered, she knows he can see her.

"I want you to know, I'm not leaving this world without saying," she couldn't finish the sentence, her eyes falling back, her body growing still. Cold was all he could feel – her cold body in his arms.

He shot up, out of bed. Hot tears spilled down his face. He sobbed into his hands, curling his knees into his chest like he was a boy. He had lost her forever. He cried for her, he was inconsolable, not that anyone would be there to comfort him. Alone in the dark, he clutched at nothing, cursed at memories he could never replace and that he could never get back. In these moments, he was just Luke – a fractured soul, grappling with the enormity of his choices. He was Luke Castellan, a traitor. a killer.

#luke castellan #luke castellan fic #luke pjo #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo spoilers #luke castellan x you

[percyswhxre]

I’m here, don’t cry

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite! reader

warnings: mentions of tartarus, self harm, ptsd, body image issues, partial nudity in a non sexual way

a/n: this is my first story and i would really appreciate feedback if anyone has (please don’t judge, it was my first time! also sorry this took so long!) quick warning: this was not proof read! i tried to get it out as soon as i could!

you told percy you weren’t feeling well as an excuse to come back to your cabin early. he offered to come with you, but you couldn’t let him see this. you closed and locked the door and sank down with your back against it. being the aphrodite cabin, you guys of course had mirrors everywhere. it was normally helpful with so many of you always looking at your reflections, but right now it meant you couldn’t look anywhere without seeing your face that you hated. you got up and walked to your bed, crying silently. when you reached the bed, you grabbed your pillow, opening the pillowcase with shaking hands, reaching around trying to find it. once your hands felt cold metal, you knew that you had found it. you pulled out the small metal lighter that you had gotten a few years ago when you got to leave camp on a special occasion. engraved on it were the words “my skin is not a candle, so i won’t burn it. my wrists are not paper so i won’t cut them.” when you first got it, it was right after your dad had died and you had become a year round camper. you had entered a dark state, and needed the reminders. within the last year or so since you and percy had fallen into tartarus, you gave up on thinking that way. you took off your top and pulled off your jean shorts, throwing them carelessly on your bed. you glanced up again at the mirror, seeing your face that you hated so much. as you turned to the side, you looked at the same mirror from that view. no matter how little you ate, you still hated your body. the tears began falling again, this time flowing more than they did before. you sat down on the floor with your back against the edge of your bottom bunk. you flicked open the lighter and ignited it, watching the fire for a few seconds, mesmerized by the dancing flames. you moved the lighter closer to your inner thigh, the flame only an inch or so away from your skin that had so many scars from other nights like this one. as you moved the flame closer, right about to touch your skin, you heard the door knob rattling. “shit” you cursed under your breath. “who is it?” you called loudly. “babe?” you heard the voice you knew all too well. “y/n, why is the door locked? are you ok? y/n?” of course percy had worried about you and followed you to your cabin. “one sec perce” you respond, quickly closing the lighter and putting it back in the bottom of your pillowcase. you walk to the door and unlock it, slowly pulling it open. percy rushes forward and hugs you tightly. “i was worried about you, baby” he says while nuzzling his face in your hair. he then steps back to talk to you and realizes that you’re in your underwear. “oh, uh sorry i didn’t mean to, um, i just- i’m gonna turn around now.” he said, stuttering while his face turned a dark red. you covered your mouth with your hand, giggling at how all he wanted to do was make sure you were comfortable. then you looked down and realized why he was so flustered. you felt ashamed because he had seen your body and quickly covered up while walking away. you sat down on your bed slowly and began crying while putting on an oversized t-shirt. “princess are you alright?” you heard him call, concerned, from the other side of your cabin, still facing the other way. you tried to respond, but your voice was too weak. then, before you could even realize, you felt yourself slipping away into another relapse. suddenly, you were there again, in tartarus, reliving those horrible days.

“percy!” you called desperately. you whirled around and it was then that you saw him. he was lying on the floor, bloody and beaten, on the verge of death. you ran over to him, sobbing loudly “percy!” you screamed, but now your voice was full of agony and despair. you kneeled next to him reaching down to hold his hand. “perce, i’m here” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now. “princess? is that you?” he responded quietly, but you could tell he was in pain and it broke your heart. “princess, come on wake up” he said, a little louder this time. “what do you mean percy?” you cried desperately, worried that he was leaving you forever. “baby c’mon, wake up” you heard him say again, and all of the sudden you were snapped out of the relapse.

you looked up at percy, who was holding you in his arms. you broke down and fell into him, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. “i’m here baby, don’t cry” he muttered against your hair. you guys stayed like that for what felt like hours, but was really only a few minutes. “i’m sorry perce. i’ll try to be better for you.” you mumbled against his neck. “princess, what are you talking about? you’re perfect, and nothing will ever change that.” you pulled back from him and lifted up the end of your shirt that fell mid way on your thighs. you grabbed his hand and guided them towards the scars, crying silently as you did so. “baby i don’t understand? is someone hurting you?” he said, using his other hand to cup your face and wipe away your tears. “i’ll kill them, i swear princess, whoever it is won’t get away with this. i-” “percy” you interrupted. he looked up at your face, clearly confused. you silently pulled out the lighter from your pillowcase. “percy, i didn’t want to have to tell you this, but i-” you began crying and he took both hands and wiped away your tears with his thumbs while placing a kiss on your forehead. “it’s ok baby, i want you to be able to tell me everything. i promise, i’ll love you no matter what.” you looked up into his eyes and said “percy, i- i did this to myself.” his eyes widened after a moment realizing what you meant. “i’m sorry percy, but since we got back from the pit a few months ago, i’ve been-” you were cut off by him ducking his head down and hugging you as tight as he could. you dropped the lighter in shock, but then hugged him back. “hey, baby, don’t cry, i’m here. it’ll be ok. i’m sorry if i ever made you feel like you’re not enough because you’re perfect, i swear it on the river styx. i love you so much more than i can express. you’re beautiful, princess. i love you to olympus and back, a million times.” he said while holding your face so you couldn’t look away and so he could wipe away your tears. he slowly reached out and put the lighter in his pocket. “i promise, princess, i’m gonna help you get through this. you’ll never have to be alone.” he kissed your forehead and just held you for a minute or two. “c‘mon baby, let’s go back to my cabin. you can sleep there tonight and i’ll be there if you have a nightmare or even if you just want a hug.” you slowly grabbed his hand and whispered “i love you too percy.”

thanks @hearteyes4chris for asking for this story!

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percabeth #percy jackson fanfiction #perseus jackson #percy jackson smut #percy series #heroes of olympus x reader #x reader #fluff #oneshot #percy pjo #luke castellan #annabeth chase #leo valdez #jason grace #percy jackson imagine #grover underwood #piper mclean #annabeth

[nichoswag]

cigarettes and moonlight . wang yixiang (nicholas)

pairing: best friend!nicholas x gn!reader

warnings: mentions of cigarettes (duh), nicho smokes, reader yells at nicho, members and reader all live together, implied minor age gap (both are still adults), cursing, kissing, fluff, ending is really sappy 🙃

song rec: moonlight - chase atlantic

synopsis: even though you're mad at nicholas because he just won't stop smoking, he looks really good under the moonlight

it feels like hours you've been trying to fall asleep on the bottom bunk. you can hear your bunkmate taki snoring loudly from above, and maki and harua are also fast asleep in the other bunk bed.

you get up as quietly as you can and make your way through the dark house. as you slide open the glass side door and step out into the night, you notice a silhouette sitting at the edge of the porch.

"hey stranger," you grin at him as he turns around until the smell and sight of what you're witnessing hits you and your lungs fill with rage.

there, sitting on the edge of the porch dangling his legs off the side, is your best friend nicholas, and in his hand is a lit cigarette.

"oh, you bitch," you mutter, half playfully and half out of anger. "how many goddamn times do i have to tell you not to smoke?! that shit kills you!"

his face shows the expression of a deer caught in headlights. he smiles sheepishly and runs his free hand through his hair.

you take a second to get a good look at him. his hair looks messy as if he'd also been trying to fall asleep, and the top two buttons of his satin night shirt are undone. his face seems to glow in the moonlight and his chocolate orbs almost sparkle. his lips look puffy, almost kissable-

you shake your head roughly and focus on the lecture you're about to give him. snatching the cigarette from him and putting it out on the floor of the porch, you take a seat next to him.

you decide against lecturing him, mainly because you can't look him in the eyes without them wandering towards his unbuttoned shirt. "if this happens again, i won't show mercy. i'll be going straight to kei."

"i'm sorry," he says, just like every other time you've caught him. "i really won't do it again this time. just... i couldn't sleep, and euijoo and fuma hyung were knocked out so i didn't wanna bother them but i got bored and-"

you take his hand in yours and he stops talking, his mouth agape. "it's okay. i'm not really mad. i just wish you'd stop doing it before you get addicted. i really would hate to see you suffer."

he looks at you, and you swear you see something flicker in his eyes briefly, before he faces forward again, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder.

you both just stay there for a while before you realize something. "hey," you back off his shoulder snd scowl at him. "give me the box."

"box?" he asks, feigning innocence.

you glare harder. "the box of cigarettes," you grumble through gritted teeth.

he chuckles and pulls it out of his pocket. "oh, this? you're gonna have to pay a small price if you want it."

you sigh. "nicho, i'm not playing games with you. hand it over!" you grasp at it, but he pulls it out of your reach.

"come on, it's just a small price." he grins at you in a way that makes you wanna punch him in the face (lovingly ofc).

you groan. "fine."

he turns his head so you get a perfect view of his side profile. then, he taps his cheek.

"oh hell no," you growl.

"come on! just once." he pleads with his eyes.

you sigh. "you're such a big baby." you lean in to peck his cheek, but he turns his face towards you right as you do.

your lips land directly on his. you back off him with a gasp. "hey!"

he smiles widely, placing the box down next to you. "there you go."

he's still staring at you as you look back up. "fuck it," you mutter, leaning in to kiss him again.

he smells like cigarettes but his mouth tastes like mint gum. one of his hands slides up to hold your face as the other snakes around your waist. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

as you pull away, you realize you've stained his lips with the strawberry lip gloss you forgot to take off before bed.

you giggle as you wipe it off his mouth with the sleeve of your (his) stolen hoodie.

"i like you," he confesses, "like, a lot."

you smile and lean into his shoulder again. "me too, yixi. i like you a lot too."

you hear shuffling and giggling behind you. "finally!" someone squeals.

you launch the pack of cigarettes at them.

#&team #&team reactions #&team smut #andteam #andteam reactions #andteam smut #nicholas #nicholas wang #andteam nicholas #&team nicholas #wang yixiang #nicholas imagine #andteam nicholas imagine #&team nicholas imagine #nicholas smut #&team nicholas smut #andteam nicholas smut #nicholas fluff #&team nicholas fluff #Spotify

[loservernon]

𐙚⊹₊⋆☆ my dream | sim jake

𐙚 idol!jake x student!reader (she/her)

𐙚 angst, fluff at end, part two to nice guy

𐙚 1.5k, not proofread sorry, swearing, panic attack tw

𐙚 note // it doesn’t get happy until the very end but i promise it does get happy lol. a second part as promised. i wrote this with lowkey no plan and one half hour sitting, so shitty writing ahead. also idk their dorm arrangements. enjoy nonetheless ~3~

“what do you want?” is the first thing jay says upon opening the door to their dorms. considering the fact that it was half past four in the morning, jake couldn’t blame the guy for the obvious peeve in his voice.

still, he can’t bring himself to say anything and instead just pushes past his groupmate into the dorms. jay seems to catch the gist of the situation from that alone, following suit and letting the door slam shut behind him without seeming to mind.

“was it your fault again?”

en route to the room he shared with jungwon, jake stops in his tracks. he doesn’t turn to look in jay’s direction, and he presses his lips into a thin line. “what do you mean by ‘again’?”

“i mean, last time you yelled at her for talking to that guy from her math class. i was just wondering what it was this time.”

at this, jake turns around abruptly, “you know i’m in a bad mood already. can you not rub it in my face that i’m a shit boyfriend?”

jay gives him a straight face. the tension between the two guys is strung high but he resolves it promptly and simply by responding, “i’m sorry if i overstepped and asked too much, but it’s not fair to take out your frustrations about being an asshole on me.”

neither of them break the stare for a few moments before jake caves, looking away whilst admitting, “i bought a drink for some girl at the bar we were at yesterday.”

“you what?”

jay’s immediate disbelief is jake’s affirmation that he’d truly gone too far this time. it made him feel dumb, really, for so fervently trying to defend his actions when they were so clearly viewed as wrong to those around him. jake turns his gaze to the ground, shaking his head in resignation.

“she kicked you out?”

with his eyes still on the floor, he replies drily and belatedly.

“yeah, something like that.”

in his top bunk later that night, jake stares at the ceiling that hangs two feet above his face. jungwon’s snores from below and the clacking of heeseung’s loud ass gaming keyboard two doors down should be enough noise to drown out all his thoughts, but it’s far from it. jake’s thoughts are loud enough to consume him whole.

he did not get kicked out of your apartment. jake knows you don’t have the heart to do that to him, not when he helps with the rent and not when he unofficially lives there. but jake can’t stand being there without your presence.

earlier that night, he was brushing his teeth to get ready for bed but there was no you next to him, trying to mimic his actions until he caught on and laughed at your imitation of him. when he turned off the lights and made his way to the bed, jake caught himself saying, “goodnight, love you,” to an empty room. it was embarrassing, sure, but it was even more so heartbreaking when he slid into the sheets and instinctively reached out for your warmth, only to be met with the coldness of your absence.

so jake kicked himself out. because staying in your room, where your scent lingered everywhere, ate away at his conscience until he had to physically remove himself from anything remotely related to you.

he still remembers with a heavy heart the last time the two of you had fought. without a sorry and only his angry words ringing in your ears, jake remembers how you’d tried to discreetly slip out of bed late in the night. immediately sensing your absence in bed, jake shot upright and asked where you were going.

“to the couch,” you had said. “i need some space.”

you had turned away from him before he even uttered his feeble, “i see,” the air around him stilling where your breath had once been. jake felt the palms of his hand grow cold, and the edges of his eyes stung with the threat of tears. he doesn’t cry, not even infrequently or on special occasions. but in that moment, jake swore he’d never felt closer to tears.

it’s these suffocating memories of his failures that make the ceiling above him seem as if it’s closing in on him, inch by inch. it seems it will smother him flat, squeezing shut his airways. any minute now, any moment now. he lays there unmoving, accepting his fate and in anticipation of his last breath. but the ceiling remains sedentary. instead, jake is gasping for air, breaking out into a sob so sudden that he barely registers what’s happening.

he kicks off the blankets, for he’s breaking out into a sweat. though he’s breathing hard and fast, there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen. the sounds of his roommates diminish into nothing. his vision of the dark room blurs further into nothing, and his face is wet with oncoming tears that lack an end in sight.

it is a matter of fight or flight for jake as he scrambles to find his phone, clambering clumsily down the steps of the ladder on the bunk bed. once he reaches the bathroom with the door shut and behind his back, jake fumbles to press his speed dial.

each ring that goes unanswered feels like another step closer to death for him, thus it’s fortunate enough that his call was received on the third ring. the line on the other end is quiet, however, and only the sound of jake’s labored breathing and choked sobs fill the silence.

“jake? are you okay?”

he doesn’t stop crying until the moment he hears your voice. even his breathing manages to even itself out for the half second it takes for him to weakly respond. “i’m okay.”

“are you sure?”

as he returns from the climax of his panic attack, jake reassures you, “i’m okay now.”

“do you want me to come?”

it’s so sudden, the way the feeling dawns upon him. jake loves you. he’s sure of it all the time, but he feels it so strongly right this moment. if he thinks too hard about it, he could cry again. he is crying again. he’s crying at the way you pick up with no hesitation, even though it’s six in the morning. he’s crying at the tenderness in your voice, the warmth, the concern with which you speak. he’s crying because you’re upset at him — to the point at which you can’t stand being in your own apartment with him — but one sign of his distress and you’re asking if he needs you by his side. jake says yes. he needs you.

“i need you. come home, please. i– i can’t stand myself. why can’t i just be good to you? i just… want to be good for you.”

the lines goes silent, save for the occasional sniffles on jake’s end. he knows this isn’t the apology you deserve. he wishes he could do more for you instead of this emotional and unwarranted plea that probably woke you up. but this is his best. jake hopes it’s enough.

“i know,” you rejoin, “i know you’re just doing your best. and your best will always be enough for me.”

his world goes back to normal when you say that. whatever havoc he’d wrecked has been rectified, and jake is no longer seeking to fight or flee the cage he’s built himself. and in this way, you’ve saved him from himself.

“i love you.”

jake thinks he hears a laugh from the other end. he smiles.

you laugh again, and it’s definite this time. “i love you too, silly. i’ll be home after class today, so just let me know when your schedules end.”

“can i see you now?”

“really? me over work?”

your doubt is incredulous to him, “of course. you over everything.”

normally, you’d take that as is and move on, though you decide to play along with him a little more, “that’s nonsense. being an idol is your dream.”

“no,” there’s a dead seriousness to his voice that you don’t expect, “you’re my dream.”

caught off guard, you only manage to muster a, “what?” in response.

“when i’m seventy and wrinkled, i’m not gonna be dancing and singing in front of a bunch of screaming teenage girls. i’m gonna be with you, telling you lame jokes and doing indecent stuff at funerals.”

you don’t need jake to repent for his wrongdoings when his intentions are so clearly written out for you. even when he hurts you — which you acknowledge is inevitable in every entanglement — you know he loves you twice if not three times as much.

“you’re my dream.”

copyright ©️ 2024 loservernon all rights reserved.

#enhypen jake #enhypen fics #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #jake fics #enhypen scenarios #jake fluff #jake angst #jake sim #enhypen

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Am I Still Your Favorite Escape?

Gale & Maureen -requested? ✔️

As a new year and a new unrelenting malaise settles over the prisoners in camp, Maureen Kendeigh finds the journey from viewing Gale Cleven as her prize collector’s item to the man others suspect she loves most harrowing indeed.

Note: y’all wanted handjobs and I gave ya one, with a twist, and yall wanted more of what Maureen is thinking during this time and so you got it. Along with 6k of other dynamics and plot and feelings, buckle up 👐🏻

Warnings: 18+ smut, female fingering, some cum play, semi public sex acts (not trying to be exhibitionists, but the place is packed ok?) erectile disfunction, not the most supportive attitudes towards partners feeling out of sorts, BUT ALSO!! Please note the typical universe warnings apply with an addition in this chapter being a discussion about terminating a pregnancy, those discussing it disagree strongly and due to religious beliefs one refers to it as “murder”. No action is taken in this chapter. There are hints of Buck x Bucky in this one, although can anyone actually define for me wtf was going on!? Because by Buck x Bucky I just mean they’d die for each other and that’s stronger your average marriage and Bucky maybe should look away when his friend gets some midnight loving, lol.

Maureen had been enthused at the outset. Not that she cared that much for subversion, but she enjoyed the feeling of mischief that their new task carried with it. Camp had proven dull, worse in many ways than she had even expected. She had expected there to be work if not recreation, and while there was some, then the winter months came all too soon and nothing about their shelters or their clothing were suitable for sustaining outdoor productivity.

Which meant she -and the others, she supposed it was only right to admit the others were no better- she had been cooped up in here during a never ending snowstorm outside, watching Gale sand his little board in a room muggy with pungent sweat and stale breath. They were packed on top of each other in here and any attempt to get fresh air earned one a case of frostbite.

That bit of wood was going to become a radio, Gale had told her, and she believed him. With all her heart Maureen believed him. But there came a day when watching Gale fiddle with a safety pin stuck atop a board became unarguably boring. So much so she had begun to insist she be allowed to help Brady and Crank haul in the hot water and assist in what went for “cooking” in this place. Johnny didn’t let her near his precious concoctions after having ousted Benny from the same, but he did let her hand him bowls and generally act useful at mealtimes.

She kept him entertained with stories of picnics in exotic places, safari’s where they cooked out of the back of her father’s jeep. Brady had them eaten all his terse quips about her not knowing how to manage in straitened circumstances and instead asked her endlessly about rhinoceros habitats. It served to entertain her for awhile, too.

Bucky had recovered after a few weeks abed, his movements remained stilted and she could still carry more water than his ribs allowed -a point she made to him daily as he swatted at her from his bunk- but as he recovered he became preoccupied.

Ida had also recovered, though not as thoroughly, having gone well over a week without so much as drinking water in her insensible state. She was weak, feverish and upon at last being plied with nourishment, she puked it right up. It was little cause for concern considering her illness, but as she grew stronger and her stomach remained contrary, some unease began to grow. By Christmas her brother Johnny had taken over the cooking in an endeavor to make something palatable but the woman was hardly the sort to be picky over her victuals. Benny and Brady’s watery soups were alike and they both came up within fifteen minutes of being eaten.

So then, their little room smelled of sweat, breath and vomit. Her brother and Hambone made mention of Crosby, it provided levity for a few days and Maureen was fast to join in. Until Ida had her at a private moment, the men in the hall or else out with latrine duty, and then she asked Maureen if she’d had her menses.

Offended at the implication that Gale Cleven would allow her any more than a mouth or handful of himself, Maureen hotly insisted she had. Three of them in fact, since arriving. She had the bloody rags to prove it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when there began to be a very segregated group of men hovering and debating amongst themselves that Maureen began to second guess such an inquiry as more than moralistic judgment. Their Red Cross packages arrived with canned goods and bland crackers. Bucky began to bargain for the latter with a gambler's gusto -before inevitably handing his loot to Ida. Ida herself began gambling fiercely, for smokes.

Ida had never smoked in her life.

And now the place smelled even stronger of one more cigarette, sweat, breath and vomit.

The smokes seemed to help her, or at least, Maureen noticed her puking less by New Years. The early part of the new year brought new misfortunes, the confiscation of Cleven’s prized radio and a rash of miscarriages amongst the women. A rash was perhaps an exaggeration -only three or four, by Maureen’s count, and between her’s and Ida’s and Cleven’s discreet insistence, such incidents were passed off to the wary guards as heavy menses.

Maureen realized then that those were pregnancies from their guards, a possibility that she had not considered as she had not had reason to worry about it. That is, until Ida Brady caught her again at a moment alone, and asked her in the closest thing to feminine fluster that Maureen had ever seen her in, if she’d ever had reason “in your expeditions, as it were…” to possibly “eliminate a -poor decision?”

Being quite puzzled by this inquiry, and only picking up on the vague aspects -something she admitted to Ida straight away- Maureen admitted she drank most of her poor decisions away, a strategy that hadn’t failed her yet and she wished was at her disposal in this frozen mud pit.

“I’m speaking of- romantic decisions. Poor ones.” Ida had tried again, yearning for understanding in her voice.

Maureen remained nonplussed.

“A child, Maureen a-a pregnancy have you ever?” Ida hissed out at last.

“Gosh no.” Maureen sputtered, “I’m not a full idiot. Why would you ask? I strike you as enough of a harlot?”

“I’m merely looking for -remedies.” Ida pinched at her nose, a motion Maureen was familiar with watching in Gale when he was overwhelmed.

“Who needs it?” Maureen scoffed, quite sure that the odds didn’t stand many more girls suffering from the same, the poor food and rough conditions having ensured it for them.

Ida took her hand away but closed her eyes, mouth folding to a straight line. “I do.”

“Oh fuck.” Maureen plopped down beside her on the bunk in disbelief, they both stared at the opposite wall and its identical beds with rumpled bedding and starlets pasted on the walls. “Fuck.”

“They’re getting very stupid about it.” Ida said at last.

“What do you mean? Who?”

“The boys.”

“You’ve told the boys?” Maureen cried out, infuriated.

“They guessed, already, for God’s sake must even this be about you, too, Kendeigh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“It means while you’re bored and very vocal of it, some of us might die-“

“-we could all die in this shithole-“

“-or! Or worse,” Ida cut in fiercely, “have someone die for us by being idiots. Bucky is full of schemes of -of running off into the sunset. I suppose after he levitates us over the barbed wire with his magic carpet. I don’t know, but I- Maureen I know that if I go on much longer, it won’t just be me in danger. They’re either going to risk something terrible or get punished for not reporting me.”

“So what?” Maureen asked dully, having been excluded from an obvious inner circle regarding the issue and having now been accused of being trivial in her own sufferings, it smarted and she could not deny the flicker of unfairness she felt over it. “Want me to shove a coat hanger up you? The others too chicken?”

Ida visibly recoiled beside her, putting more space between them in the bunk. “I’m not going to- to kill it.”

“What kinda remedy doesn’t?” Maureen sassed, if they were to talk no longer in flippant pleasantries, she could do that.

“I’m just asking for help.” Ida’s jaw wobbled, her voice a wreck of desperation and Maureen could see with a small and ugly bit of satisfaction that the woman was truly close to losing her grip. It was satisfyingly human. As was her reaction to a remedy after asking for it.

“You come to me because you think I’m loose enough to know, and then you have the nerve to be appalled when I do.” Maureen pointed out, “That what all the smokes are for?”

“Yes.” Ida put her head back in her hands.

“Just won’t budge; huh?”

“No.” her voice sounded like she might be crying but there was no telling with those hands in the way.

“It would be stubborn.” Maureen muttured, thinking of the goddamn Brady family as she knew them. “Why won’t you get rid of it? You want to get rid of it-“

“-I don’t understand why it’s hanging on!” Ida’s wail came out garbled between her fingers.

“So let’s -unhang it.”

“I can’t. Kendeigh -I can’t.”

“I know it’s risky, but I know you’re not scared of dying.” Maureen muttered, attempting to understand.

“Candy I cant, I can’t murder it.” her voice had dipped into a sacrosanct whisper.

Maureen huffed in confusion, a substantial amount of pragmatism warring with what tiny bit of sympathy the threat left her, “It’s a German’s, at this size no more than a blo-“

“It’s a life!” Ida snarled back at her so viciously Maureen contemplated the likelihood of her having gone fully mad, “And it’s mine.” she rebutted, pointing to her chest fiercely.

“So you’ll let Bucky and Gale die for you, die trying to get you out of here but you won’t try to fix it yourself.” It was how Maureen saw it, and if she were to be accused of suggesting murder, she might as well have her side put out there, too.

“That’s how you see it?” Ida muttured, looking utterly defeated.

“If Gale dies over this, I’ll wring your neck myself. Keep smoking.” she advised with a shrug, “Maybe catch an elbow to the gut if you can.”

Ida pulled her hand away again to look at her, she’d definitely been crying then, red nosed and watery eyed, but she looked less aghast now than she had at the mention of the coat hanger. Maureen didn’t think she wanted condolences about it, or a pat on the back. Come to think of it, Ida was getting plenty of that sort of doting from the boys. No, Maureen didn’t feel like she needed that from her, and something sour and twisted in her heart made her loath to give it.

It worsened as the days went by, as Maureen observed their once innocuous routines with new eyes, noticing the boys' furtive plans, their hovering concern, their brought in provisions -offerings fit for a queen. It was understandable to show such care for her in her state, and ostensibly no one deserved it more than Ida Brady. But it left Maureen feeling adrift, like an afterthought, someone whose greatest challenge was their boredom. And ever looming were those great risks the boys bantered about like it were all a low stakes game of cards.

She plays thirty to forty sets of cards with Hambone, decimates Benny at chess, cleans the pans, even mops the goddamn floor. All to keep busy, perhaps even to spite Ida whose one assigned task is the floors. She cannot be accused of boredom or idleness if she has done all her own tasks and others’ besides.

In her spare time she would like to go with Bucky, to be of use in collecting things for Gale’s new little project, his precious crystal radio, but where women go -there go guards and attention and soon, the sheer mischief of the naughtiness of Gale’s construction wanes as she is left laying in her bunk watching him wiggle a clothespin around for the fifth day in a row. She had been so understanding for the first four. Even though she had contemplated a tiff with him over not informing her of Ida’s state as soon as he knew, she had been merciful and instead settled for holding the copper wire for him and brushing his cheek when he didn’t actively shy away in concentration.

He mumbles about needing to give it his full attention, about her needing to keep a lookout, about the danger of getting caught. She asks if it’s worth it then, anything that might get him killed is her enemy, even if it’s a little clothespin on a board. He looks at her like she’s from mars, unable to fathom why she wouldn’t understand its necessity. And he doesn’t come to bed until an ungodly hour of the night and immediately, upon settling in their bunk he is asleep, much to her chagrin.

She would have liked a kiss, a hand between her legs even more. She would have settled for those whispering little chats they’ve indulged in ever since Bucky laid atop Ida and all rules were broken -they’ve shared a bunk and as the winter gets worse, no one bats an eye. In fact, everyone’s stacked two for one, male and female alike. Brady and Hambone snicker and whisper in their bunk every bit as much as she and Gale do, Maureen is sure of it.

Instead Gale falls asleep. And he does it again and again, night after night. Bucky rummages on his own for supplies. Brady frets over Ida. Only so many people can play makeshift bat gammon in the hall. It does not pass the time. And Maureen grows ever more restless.

She feels expectantly happy when Gale’s work is finally complete, his finished product constructed and the moment of truth comes. They crowd around and wait with baited breath as his finger tunes it. And Maureen knows she is fully awful for her relieved feelings when it does not work. He can’t be killed for it if he scraps it. And he will come to bed at a reasonable hour now it is useless. The shake of his hand makes everyone else feel helpless in the face of his ever steady composure cracking, but while Maureen has no acceptable remedy for Ida’s plight, she does for Gale’s, and she waits for darkness with the relieved excitement of a child on Christmas Eve.

Gale does indeed come to bed, the radio not fully scrapped but heartily abandoned and hidden with its various parts in sundry places. And when he slips beside her, his nose is cold and he touches her like he has missed her. He pulls the covers to their chins, tucking them in with a small giggle, she is suffocated by it and yet he persists and this has gone on all winter until now it is their inside joke and he does it just to make her laugh, and when she laughs so does he, a honest little giggle of a thing, and she misses him worse than ever even as he pressed along the length of her.

It isn’t safe yet, not everyone is asleep but she bides her time with kissing him and he returns her caresses ardently, a thorough press of his lips and his tongue unreservedly sliding into place alongside her own, his hands warming up as they clasp her neck, turning her head upon their pillow. She wonders if they are loud even at this, but she was never the one to care, it’s Gale who objects and who hushes them, who makes them wait, who insists on being courteous even in hell, who only allows himself to lap at her when the place is abandoned or else full of the atmospheric noises of masculine snores.

Maureen does not mind waiting for him, or rather -she does, but he is implacable about it and when she attempts to persuade him otherwise she is oftentimes swatted and put in her place like a wayward child. Such correction holds a charm of its own when it is Gale Cleven administering it, but tonight she feels close to madness if she does not get her way so she allows him to kiss her as the quiet and steady breaths around them herald the unconsciousness of their brethren. She grows bolder, throws her leg over his hip and tugs at his buttons, hands rucking up his shirt and parting the heavy flaps of his coat. He is as burdened with layers as a Victorian maiden and Maureen enjoys the hunt for warm skin, the way he looks as ravished and expectant as any girl while she gropes at him, when she finally reaches him he always shudders, a full bodied thing that jerks even his neck.

Tonight she parts his layers feverishly and he mutters her name, again and again and his hands are clumsy at her shoulders and no progress is made on discarding her own clothing but she pays it no mind, she is direly hungry for him. Any touch of him, to make him shake and melt and pay tribute to her.

“Maureen.”

She finds the button of his trousers right at his heaving naval and she exults at the feel of the fine trail of hair beneath her fingertips.

“Maureen.” his voice grows urgent and she doesn’t heed it, he counts on her never heeding it.

She wiggles her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and skims the hairy plane of his pelvis before laying her hand on what she needs and -he is as limp as a dead mouse. She holds the chubby thing for a good long moment, very much like it were some useless rodent she had caught and must now dispose of, and she is filled with confusion.

“Maureen-“ he mutters again against her unmoving lips and she realizes with misery she mistook his pleading for a different sort.

It is not that she’s never felt him soft, on the contrary, there was a long time in the early days -when she wanted him and he wanted a promotion- that her hand would find its way between his legs, in a jeep or a bar, beneath the table while he helped her with her calculus. Once she felt him she became mildly obsessed, he was always tucked to the right and he was so substantially long and full beneath her palming, even in repose, that her determination to have him was only further cemented by it. Again and again her hand made it into his lap and again and again he would rebuff her, sometimes with startled propriety, occasionally with long suffering disbelief, more and more with almost parental disapproval.

Each reaction had been as satisfying to Maureen as if he were swelling into her palm. And soon enough, he was doing that, too. His hand growing a beat too slow before he grabbed her wrist, his mouth still twisted in dry reproof but his eyes began to burn. He was unbothered no longer and it was not much longer after that he was not even resistant.

Ever since, she could count on him to perk, to respond, to validate her own want of him with his own for her.

The fact it was in many ways a tortured surrender on his part only drove her madder, made her desire burn brighter, made the succumbing of the good, the right, the proud man all the more intoxicating. And again, as if they’d never shared all that, he was now as warm and floppy as a dead dormouse.

“Maureen.” he begged, half expecting tears again like her first night in the stalag, wincing as her hand squeezed him meanly, jerked at him a few impotent times in an effort to fluff him.

Her hand withdraws and he holds his breath, ready for a scene or a rebuke. His gut twists miserably, at fault twice over and yet -not really. But that never mattered with Maureen. He says her name again but she is still and deflated, and after a moment, she merley rolls over, giving him her back.

That is how he knows she is hurt, were she angry she would not have shrunk from being crueler than a few angry tugs. The silence is new and it makes Gale’s stomach swoop in an odd terror, like his next decision might rescue them both or plunge them off a cliff.

“Maureen.” He tries again, his hand on her shoulder, squeezing and trying to turn her back.

Her shoulder jolts up sharply to displace the gesture. “I’m not cold.” she informs him as she rolls further away towards the wall, and her tone is icier than the weather outside. He’s stunned, she’s never once ignored him, no it’s always ever been an escalation of her demands for his interest. Hell, even in Africa she had said she was cold and the presence of her head on his shoulder disrupted his tan, he got no end of grief from the boys about it.

Confused and mildly hurt himself, although he doesn’t know why, not beyond some tickling sense of unfairness about being blamed for being a bit out of sorts in the place, Gale takes his hand away and moves to lie on his back, to keep from crowding her. He thinks that in the morning he will explain to her how he is preoccupied with the radio, that his gut feels in constant free fall from the plans to escape, that everyone is riding on him for this thing to work and he just proved tonight he’s perfectly worthless at it. Nothing but buzz in his ear echoes around in his head and he replays the sound of that failure again and again, justifying her frustration with him. He thinks he’ll explain this all to her in the morning. And also-

-that he is cold.

He’s so damn cold from the anxiety and being still at his work at the table for so long his hands and legs go numb that he simply cannot imagine feeling bothered at this moment, cannot imagine it and it would seem that neither can the little guy. He doesn’t deserve a reward, not for fucking up at the one thing they’ve got going for them. He catches Bucky’s eyes when he rolls over, having taken up night shift over Ida due to insomniatic tendencies. He wonders strongly if Bucky would be as disappointed in him, if he is already. Just wait until next morning, Gale thinks, when I get to admit I’ve got no second plan. If it doesn’t work as is, no amount of fiddling is gonna make it better.

That settles heavy in his gut but does nothing for the swooping feeling, there is merely a loadstone in his belly, plunging downward in a perpetual free fall, and in his dreams the accompanying soundtrack is radio static.

There is a tiny sliver of freedom in the morning -and it does not come every morning- when Maureen has noticed there is still and quiet yet the morning routines are in place. Lazy and weak, the prisoners do not rise with the sun, although some stir and moan and try to meet the new day head on. The guards unlock the doors and yet many choose to lay abed. So many in fact that Johnny Brady ceased making breakfast at that hour as with so few ready to eat it, the ordeal became a waste. He does often fetch water for morning pit baths and teeth brushing, the occasional splash on the face to wash off the sleep.

Maureen has often contemplated these little slivers of time as a chance to break free. Not of the compound, that endeavor holds no fascination to her, but rather out of this combine and out from under the watchful eyes of people who know her all too well. Or think they do. They don’t, they very obviously don’t. And she’s losing all sense of who she is to be known by as the days go on.

She listens as Johnny gathers the buckets and milk pails, always gentle with the clanking metal, vestiges of the considerate boy his mama raised still clinging even in this place, and he hands an allotment to Hambone who is awake with him and less considerate.

Then there is the hushed flurry of beratings and the sleepy protests of trying one’s best.

They leave together, and they leave the door adjar as usual, to come back in quietly if needed. They’ll be gone for at least fifteen minutes, then they will come back and then Brady will leave again to run his two goddamn laps around the compound while that testicular looking bald headed doctor clocks his pace. Maureen doesn’t think Johnny likes running track or ever did it before, but he and Ida both took it up, the latter probably to get rid of the child and the former maybe to stay warm. The doctor didn’t care about the timing of Ida’s laps and soon she began to grow too large to risk attention by keeping Johnny company.

Now Johnny runs his timed laps alone and the only motivation Maureen can imagine for it, beyond the over-familiar assessment of his limbs by the doctor, is the chocolate he earns from it. Priceless sugar to keep up his specimen’s strength in this starving place.

Chocolate Johnny regularly gives to Ida. Though for Christmas he made them all a mashed chocolate pie on a tin plate and it had honestly been the kindest and loveliest Yuletide treat anyone had ever given any of them.

Maureen has considered running with him, trying her luck and seeing if she can win chocolate herself. Maybe that would make Gale smile. She doubts the doctor would care, he’s curiously uncaring regarding the existence of females in camp.

Maureen knows all these sounds of morning routine by heart, can track the progress of each stage of the routine while feigning sleep, motionlessly facing the wall.

Gale has no need to feign, it would seem. He is not snoring but he is whimpering and muttering in that annoying way of his that only occurs when he’s in deep. She used to think it cute, she now thinks it helpful to judge if he is able to catch her at her scheme.

-useless fucker with his useless radio and his useless cock, making her feel useless-

Careful as a cat, and with as much grace, Maureen rolls herself upright, and uses the slats of their upper bunk to balance her weight, keeping the mattress from giving a tell-tale dip. She swings from one slat to the next, carefully crouching when the movement jars the whole frame but Benny stays asleep below her and Gale makes no move to arrest her. It’s a feat to drop soundlessly to her feet after such a climb in a full overcoat, but she manages it. Her boots are under Benny’s bunk and she fetches them with no small amount of terror, but despite his shifts and erratic movements, he does not catch her.

She takes the boots into the hall, which is gratefully empty, and fastens them there. Taking her woolen cap from her coat pocket, she puts it atop her head while tucking in her hair, and fastens her scarf high over her nose, and knows that she is about as inconspicuous in form and feature as the next man. When Brady is bundled similarly his eyes appear as gentle as a woman’s and Maureen knows her own are no longer half so beguiling, not with their pale lashes and absence of cosmetic relief.

Perhaps she’s grown so wane and bland Gale has even lost the ability to pretend attraction. He always was fastidious about cleanliness and order, fussy and volatile when she took him unawares. In fact, when she had first managed to get so far as to undo his pants, to fondle his half hard length, to pull him from the slit of his drawers, to tug his shaft to orgasm, it had been beside the antiseptics. And that had some sort of parable in it, she thought now. Recalling how she’d had to talk him down off a panic as soon as he had shuddered and given her the sought after reward, hot and sticky and plentiful as only a virgin’s would be. He was not comforted until gauze and betadine was used copiously to clean her hand, and the nurse was later puzzled as to why when she entered only one had needed treatment, but both left stained with the orange stuff.

Back then a word, a flick of her eyes would have Gale in full pursuit, bodily if not mentally. She could wage a war with his ever so impeccable spirit and win it with the help of his own flesh. Now? Now he couldn’t even respond, not even pretend it. And he’d tried to warn her and she’d thought he’d been begging and she realized he wanted to stall her, keep it from her, one more thing.

These thoughts carried her dozens of rows down, combine after combine, lost in a flurry of snowflakes that were turning gradually pink as the sun rose. It was beautiful here before all the footprints ruined it.

At the far end of the sector, outside the last combine before the fence that separated them from the Brits, Maureen spotted a huddle of men gathered around a fire pit. She hadn’t known those were even allowed, not doubting that its proximity to the fence had some other subversive reason beyond warmth, and if she thought it then the guards must have. Yet here it was alright, jugs hung over it from a makeshift spit and crackers impaled and being toasted on the same. Maureen’s mouth watered, as much at the thought of genuinely smoke flavored food as she did at the heat. She was still undecided as to her course of action when a loud guffaw, followed by a familiar and harsh curse made her startle.

Polish airmen -or, at least by way of America. They would be sat out in the cold at dawn and they would toast their crackers. Maureen had frequently used her brief passes from Thorpe to terrorize other officer clubs, finding the joy of it a great distraction and some of the girls had joined her at it. She was usually greeted in such escapades with shock or even disgust but the men’s flailing helplessness in the face of a female serviceman always served as a full quota of contentment.

No one had terrorized her back as good as she gave until the Poles. And then they had bought her a drink, and lamented with her that she had not become a fighter pilot. Because Maureen still held a flame for the small craft, resentful that her decent piloting had been considered too poor for the clunky birds, for she knew she wasn't all bad, it was merely those awful forts and their terrible bulk. The Poles had agreed and bought her another drink, and tried to seduce her to their squadron. That had been a happy night and she’d come back to barracks so late as to break curfew, and chatted Gale’s ear off in drunken joy about her wonderful time and her new friends.

Maureen now eyed the fire in the snow and the group of foreign speaking men around it and tugged off her cap, allowing her hair free. And she sauntered up with calculated aimlessness, as if she were indeed only checking out their s’mores to ridicule them compared to her combine’s delicacies. It was effective, they defended their crackers vehemently and she remained derisive, this called for a demand that she try them and so she did and admitted they weren’t too bad but were too dry to be gotten down her throat. So they then passed her coffee and she had to squat to receive it and then she was given a seat to finish it and before long, she was one of the huddle and her feint at leaving them was argued against so heartily she knew she’d won, and so she stayed and played cards and told stories and drank hot water with boys who had been born over here but were in many cases educated not far from her house. And when afternoon came and went she stayed, and when evening fell and the guards became stricter with the perimeter and their fire, she snuck in with them into their combine and there played drinking games despite the violation of curfew.

For the Poles had liquor in this hell hole. And that, Maureen thought, was the true measure of a great nation, their capacity for ingenuity and irrepressible spirits.

Gale entered his own combine in the falling dark with the persistent press of a gun barrel at his lower back, right about at the kidneys, he figured. It was the only thing possible to persuade him to keep from looking, and the others were filing in right ahead of him, saving him a bullet their only motivation for abandoning the search. The guards locked the door after them, and Gale’s chest heaved in panic at the thought of her out there somewhere and locked out and him locked in.

“Fuckin’ Kendeigh.” Murph grumbled but without any heat,

taking himself to his barracks.

Bucky kept pacing up and down the hall with his hands in his hair, snapping at anyone who dared clog his promenade. “Jerries said it was time for bed -so get in your goddamn beds!”

“Why would she do this?” Gale begged him again and Bucky huffed again at it, furious for him.

“She give you grief last night?” Bucky asked wisely, the loyalty in his voice soothes Gale, as does the structure of his sentence, it suggested it wasn’t his fault. And Gale wanted to believe that and he just as strongly he knew it was wrong of him.

He had been in the wrong and he didn’t deserve Bucky’s sympathy for this or the damn radio. They’d been talking of repairs every spare minute of this day that hadn’t been taken up with trying to find Maureen. And while Bucky could remain as adamant as he wanted, that it wasn’t his fault that his radio didn’t work -it didn’t change the fact that his failure now meant Bucky was gonna try something awful instead, like climbing the fence with a pregnant woman on his shoulders. And it was all because Gale couldn’t fucking make a connection. Just as he couldn’t connect to his own body for Maureen and now she’d probably gone over the fence too, or got shot trying.

“So fuckin’ unless.” He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and mashed the tears away.

“She call ya that?” Egan barked, and Gale didn’t need to see his frown to know he was about to track down Kendeigh to punch her, not rescue her.

“No, don’t need a dame to tell me what’s what.”

He didn’t see it coming so he was reasonably startled when he found his hands dislodged from his eyes and his face suddenly collided into the weave of a musky sweater, Bucky’s hand gripping the nape of his neck like he were a child. That hand was so damn large Gale could imagine he was young again and his father was holding him. “Somethin’s gonna come to you,” this reassuring rumble was light years away from his father’s belittlements and he shuddered, “I’ll get you new wire or somethin’ but just- ain’t your fault, Buck, and that goddamn parakeet needs snow down her pants if she can’t see it too.”

No one pretended to sleep that night, even once the lights were out. Ida sat up in her bunk with her brother beside her, a telling lack of sympathy being expressed for Maureen’s self inflicted plight. Ida had spent her own time at the radio and while it hadn’t done much good, it had gone some way to reassure Gale she didn’t see anything amiss. It ought to work.

Small talk was kept carefully low in the bunks, and Bucky kept a firm position on Gale’s bunk, sitting upright with his legs slung over his friend’s boney knees, affectionately trapping him in a lying posture. Bucky had taken to entrapments here in camp, perhaps the barbed wire inspired him.

They had already given Benny his fair share of chiding for not going out with Maureen that the morning, although Brady’s report of her absence in the time he had fetched water plainly represented someone not wishing for accompaniment -or, as Brady so helpfully reminded of the obvious, her desire to obey Cleven’s long standing order on the matter.

It was probably close to 0100 when a great commotion sounded outside, followed by a crash bang of the combine’s main doors being thrown wide and the rhythmic tread of jackboots had everyone pouring out of their bunks and standing at the ready, -they weren’t sure for what, but it wasn’t something you wanted to be caught lying down for. Gale wrenched open the door, expectancy already perfectly in place on his face until he caught sight of Kendeigh, hauled like a child between the guards and one of their captains met his eye with unimpressed disdain.

“This we found in wrong sector.” he explained, gesticulating to Maureen with a gloved hand, “Sleeping under combine steps. I have told you, Major, I cannot guarantee safety of your females when they are alone, something happen to them, you blame me but I told you! Cannot guarantee.”

“Understood.” Cleven gave him his soberest nod, feeling ill and angry and watching warily for the next move, wondering when he could get his lost package back, yet not wanting to appear eager.

“Discipline, major, discipline!” The Captain insisted and Gale felt Bucky’s heat searing at his back as he pressed forward, taking the German’s eyes away from Gale’s, preventing something rash.

“Oh believe me, sir,” Bucky drawled as he pressed forward, the guards posture confidant and lax, “discipline will be met.” he took the brave step of gripping Kendeigh’s coat flap in his hand and tugging her forward, a movement that yanked her free of the gaurds’s grip.

“Met?” the officer was confused, anger and annoyance tinged his repetition.

Bucky shook Maureen meanly by her coat in emphasis of his statement, “Discipline!” he agreed, insistent.

“Well?” It appeared the officer intended to wait until it was meted out.

Bucky stalled and Gale caught Maureen’s panicked eyes even as her nose flared rebelliously with measured breaths, trying to get on top of it all. Gale felt himself pushed to the side abruptly, having to catch himself on the door as Ida Brady strode past him into the hall, the book she’d been perusing still clutched in her hand.

“Child.” she muttered loudly for the officer’s benefit before raising her book and striking Mauree square across the face, one cheek and then the other as the blow sent her staggering, sharp thwacks with the flat side of the volume.

Maureen took the reproof with good grace and a stunned whimper, Bucky’s still supportive clutch on her jacket keeping her from making a fully pathetic scene and melting to the floor.

“Go, in, get in bed.” Ida snapped her fingers, pointing to the door and when Maureen took a second too long to collect her spotted vision, Ida raised the book again and Maureen needed no more incentive, knowing if Ida did not deliver it the guards would.

She tumbled over the barracks threshold like a bedraggled orphan, hair snow drenched and cheeks throbbing, her jacket muddy and undone.

“Well done.” Johnny Brady greeted with montone venom and only Benny Demarco’s well placed foot tripped her and prevented her from clawing his face off in long suppressed spite.

She landed inelegantly on her face, elbows bent just enough to catch herself from a truly ugly splat, she was gathering herself for another spring when the troop of her officers sounded and the door closed and quiet fell over the place, lethal and accusing.

So the Germans had let her off easy then. Maureen drug herself up to her knees and suddenly wished she hadn’t, it felt too close to contrition.

She staggered upright, ignoring the indignity of having to push up on Brady’s knee to do so. Once on her own two feet she raked muddy fingers through her hair and smiled at her superiors, tired but dandy. They looked pissed and that was to be expected.

“The hell did you go?” The others seemed to acknowledge Gale had some right -or maybe it was responsibility- to address her first and it was leveled at her even more scathingly than she had braced for.

“For fresh air.” she chimed, leaning against a bunk brace, arms crossed easily.

“Sleepin’ out? Sneakin’ out?” Gale stormed on and Ida actually took pains to bypass him and climb into her own bunk, her merciful discipline administered she seemed to wash her hands of the business, “Flagrantly disobeying my expressed orders! Answer me! The hell were you thinking?”

“I wanted to get out,” she leveled back at him, her smirk grown sharp and practiced and debutant-worthy, “I wanted to be somewhere else besides in this stinking, miserable cabin with its miserable, stinking occupants. Nothing but a bunch of self righteous, maniacally focused dreamers who can’t have fun for shit.”

As soon as she said it, no regret came, only a feeling of utter validation. Indeed, what had changed since she had been gone? Ida was still sick and pregnant, Johnny was still fussy, Benny was still playing at cards, Bucky was still pushing Gale harder than any over the radio and her Cleven was cleaving to the damn thing like it were his god.

“I mean, tell me if I missed something essential!” She scoffed, “Some great development occur? Or was I needed for some great task you all missed me so desperately during? No? Didn’t think so. Because we don’t go anything in here except talk about getting out like it’s actually plausible and I’m sick as fuck of it and I-“ she pointed to herself, voice growing in volume as Gale’s own fury seemed to wane into something shocked and scared, “I have spent my day with men who have ingenuity and good humor and liquor, because they aren’t hopeless fucks like us. The Brit’s have a tunnel started, the Polish have one too along with a bathtub of potato peel vodka, and we have a pregnant colonel! Sto lat!”

It was terribly quiet for a moment, half the cabin's occupants intent on appearing discrete and the other half stunned into a sort of mortified offense.

“You gonna thrash her or am I?” Egan finally broke the tension, his head turning lazily to look at Gale, his mouth was grinning like he was eager and it made Maureen’s bruised cheeks flame. It seemed to be some private joke, Maureen could only tell by the way Cleven’s eyes widened in warning protest at his friend before biting his lip and sniffing harshly. Then the lights cut again and the place was plunged in darkness, it brought Maureen both relief at the obscurity and a strange feeling of terror at the pitch black surroundings. She still hated the dark, ever since those Gestapo cells.

“Take that filthy shit off and get in your bunk.” Gale’s voice so near and so sudden startled her, and it wasn’t rebellion that made her lag in response but he seemed to take it that way, the snap of his finger seeming dangerously close to her nose, and she felt his fingers pluck at her muddy coat, “Now, don’t test me, get in, now.”

She peeled it off and let it flop heavily to the floor before kicking off her boots with the same carelessness, and then taking a step up, digging her frozen toes into Benny’s mattress and hauling herself up to the next level, laying down with a shiver in the cold sheets. The quiet sounds of rustling and bedding filled the place, the others putting themselves away for the night too, but to her relief no one seemed to be murmuring about her. Then the bunk creaked again and the unmistakable feel of someone climbing in beside her made her gasp.

Gale, of course it was Gale, laid himself out atop her, like he planned to keep her there by his weight alone like Bucky had with Ida, and an odd feeling suddenly took possession of Maureen’s chest, one she hadn’t felt all day: she felt undeserving. His head was hard and awkward against her clavicle but she didn’t want to budge him, secretly and utterly grateful he was being kind, that he was not ignoring her. Maybe Ida was right and she was childish but if that were the case, what was to be done about it? She was as she was and she needed him, so tentatively after a few minutes, she withdrew her legs out from under his own and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him close all along her like they were mating, she meant it as a hug and she felt him limp and heavy between her thighs but she did not withdraw.

Gale waited patiently until the snores began, wind whistling outside so loudly it would cover their whispers, and she shuddered to think of herself being petty enough to try to sleep in that icebox. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong.” he rasped at last, raising his head a little and trying to get a read on her in the semi dark. “Maureen, you can’t worry me like that, please.”

“I’m tired.” her voice was weak from the effort to hold back an ugly sob.

“You've been tired before.” he soothed, “What about today? What about last night? What’s all this? C’mon, you can tell me, I need ya to tell me.”

Maureen sighed raggedly, always a sucker for his cajoling voice, more so when she knew she deserved and expected the thrashing. “You don’t need me that way. You don’t need me at all.”

Gale dropped his head a little, his hand reaching up to pinch his nose, humiliation and impotence warring with need to assure her. “I'm sorry about that.” he settled for, “I’m too fucked right now, I admit it. It’s all just, it’s a lot, we’ve all got a lot goin’ on. You too, I know, I’m just not right up there, Maureen. Doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”

“You don’t need me during the day and you don’t need me at night.” she had tried to dissuade herself of this painful reality, truly! -but those were the facts as she saw them and it hurt her worse than him.

“I’m doing this for you!” he begged, his large hand cupping the side of her throat and she would love to think it a caress but he was only trying to make a point, one she contested vehemently in her heart. “I won’t be okay until you’re safe, baby.”

Maureen scoffed, thick and bitter, she had no child, she had no threat, she didn’t need to get out. “I don’t have any reason to get out!” She seethed back, “What’s in it for me? Besides you dead and me too, maybe I’ll get sent back to the Gestapo. That’ll be lark. I don’t need to get out, Major, I need-“

Gale was panting in her face, hot and hurried as her own ire rose with each word, “What do you need?” he goaded, and she could hear him lick his lips.

“I need you to pay attention to me.” she said it.

And to anyone else it would have sounded the most petty thing of all, but to Gale Cleven it was something he already knew deep down when he wasn’t so caught up in the imminent might-be’s of their situation, when he wasn’t needing to save Bucky from himself, or Ida from being put down or Johnny from whatever Greek hell that doctor had enlisted him in. He knew Maureen needed him, not his brains or what he could give, not really, she just wanted his flesh, and he had never bartered in that currency before her, having always assumed it was cheap if not with love. He was not sure he was loved but he knew it was not cheap, whatever it was they shared. And he knew she needed him. Just as he needed her, even though he could not manifest it as he wished.

He could kiss her, though. That he could do.

She did not expect the plush press of his lips when she saw him duck his head against the halo of window light. He kisses with intent and with reproof and the part of her that enjoys his anger begins to thrum to life as mercy and justice both battle in his kiss, his tongue all forgiveness and his teeth implacable rightness.

“Why?” she whines at him, feeling herself need and yet he lays between her legs useless as a girl, “why’re you when you can’t-“ she has insulted him enough today, she trails off with surprising tact.

“Don’t mean I don’t need you.” his voice has gone gruff like it does when he holds her head firmly and grinds his once hard cock down her throat, “Don’t mean your boy don’t want you.”

And that’s all she needed, really.

Along with the feeling of his fingertips walking down her bare stomach, his hand somehow sneaking its way through her layers undetected until now. It awakes a trail of fire down to her core, her core that is already ablaze by his kissing, his neglect, his language.

“My baby.” she moans in ascent, loudly and exultant and a little mournful.

“I gotchue, I got you.” he swears into her mouth and his hand wastes no time in slithering between her legs, elegant fingers cupping her and smearing her arousal around beneath his fingertips.

“Fuck them into me.” she begs, his hand swiping and rubbing at her heat until her hole clenches in desperation, wanting the burn of a stretch.

He is used to her instructions, they’d have accomplished nothing these last months without them, he is able to obey without ceding one bit of control in the kiss and the dichotomy of it, of him, makes her spiral as long fingers plunge, three at a time into her like he’s mad at her, and she cums from it alone with a hoarse cry of shock. He leans up and over her, hair aglow in the dim light and his hand beginning to slam again and again between her legs, forearm hard at work before he brings his wrist to her mouth.

“Bite.” he tells her, an offer and an order and she does, repaying him the vicious assault below her waist where she is tugged apart and jammed at with all too much finesse, his thumb swiping at the apex of her slit everytime he plunges knuckle deep. Gale knows by now the signs of her peak but he pushes beyond it, adds his pinky until all four digits wreak havoc and makes her go again. She uses his wrist out of necessity not to wake the whole place. The sounds of her squelching may have done it for her.

He pets her after, his palm warmed up by his work and it cups and soothes her as she jerks and jolts and settles, and his nose nuzzles her own sweetly, murmuring her name again and again just how she likes it.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” he begs between smooches and Maureen feels entirely too weak to deny him.

“Ok.”

“Promise?” his tone and his hand grow firm again.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” he sighs beside her and she thinks she could fall asleep now he’s wrung her out. He pets her a few moments longer, as if loathe to pull his hand free. He cups her one more time, collecting her wetness in the crook of his fingers before at last he does, carefully bringing his hand up and out of her waistband. He holds it in front of himself for a brief moment as if debating how to enact his thoughts, and she watches him curiously because he does not lick his digits clean like usual, perhaps she is too soiled tonight, even for his devotion.

Instead she watches him roll onto his back, hand still aloft and glittery with an obscene amount of sticky pleasure and his other hand trails to his own fly, popping the button deftly with his left hand and tugging down the fastening. Her breath catches in her throat, suspense and arousal at the familiar motion making her perk once more. Gale shimmies his clothing down his thighs until she can see him just barely, lying fat and peaceful against his thigh. He deserves a little peace, she thinks, now that she is not so cross with him.

She holds his gaze in startled suspense as he locks eyes with her, wanting her to stare when he moves his wet hand down and wraps it around himself, smearing her juices all over his soft member, clear and creamy swirls rubbed into the pink meat of him, down to his very balls.

“There,” he manages between her kisses as she assails him anew with desperate appreciation, “you’ve still got me. I’m still yours.”

She drags her hand down there to feel the sticky evidence of his promise, to rub and fondle him as he lays dormant in her palm. She has often snickered to him that he is too tidy to ever fully have sex, he has had qualms over even what they do with their hands, their mouths as well. He was pleased she could swallow only for the mess it prevented. She’s often told him he’ll find coupling a filthy business and he oughta brace himself. This tacky feeling under her palm is the closest they’ve ever gotten to the act, her fluids touching him there, drying on him. She appreciates the gesture, more than here heart can bear to ponder: she also knows he’ll regret it.

“I’ve got some amends to make.” she acknowledges after giving him one last kiss and checking that the coast is clear. Egan is doubtless still awake as usual and perhaps Brady, but it can’t be helped and she doesn’t give a damn. “Try to be quiet -don’t think too hard on it, it’s fine if this is all it is.” she preemptively cautions before he can realize what she intends.

She slinks down the length of him, careful not to jar the whole bunk, careful to keep a low profile to the blankets before dipping her head in the little nest of covers shoved around his thighs. Despite her assurances Gale makes a keening noise of confusion when her tongue darts out without preamble and licks up the seam of his balls.

“Maureen.” he sounds half strangled but his hand flies out, not to prevent her, but to pet her lustrous hair. She feels utterly content in that moment and continues her quest to tidy him up.

“You hate being sticky.” she reminds in a whisper before gently sucking on his soft tip, she can feel his belly heaving in relaxed sighs, the connection not fully alive and yet, potent all the same, he pets her hair more firmly and even pushes her head down further and she gets the hint, abandoning his soft cock head for the chubby vein beneath, licking stripes of herself off him.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” she whispers to the inanimate little thing, remembering how meanly she squeezed it the night before. “I swear we’re still friends.”

Gale vaguely registers her apology to his bits and bobs but he is genuinely more distracted by two glinting shards across the room that have to be Bucky’s blazing eyes. Trained right on him. Holy hell, he feels himself shake and the closest thing to a twitch animates between his legs before he throws his hand over his eyes and pretends he is very alone. He pets her head more purposefully, long, feminine strands slipping through his fingers.

John Egan once put a bet on how long it would take these idiots to learn they were in love. It was once all a bit funny. And now, seeing in a dim haze what appears to be the ritual of making up, it’s not so funny any more. Today could have gone far worse, any attention to the women was bad attention and having Ida have to make a scene while hiding a belly like that was nearly criminal in Bucky’s mind.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad for Gale. No, he was so glad he was half jealous watching, imagining more than even seeing. He wondered if Maureen knew how much she loved him, he wondered how it compared to his own, and he ached like hell.

Next morning Gale woke up with a sore spot on his chest from the weight of her head lying there all night, and to the tinkering sounds of the metal water jugs being jostled. There was a laugh and a responding “shh” and another stifled laugh following. He rolled his head on the pillow and blearily cracked an eye open, taking in Brady and Maureen over their task. Or at least, Johnny was trying while fighting some whispered bit of comedy that Maureen continued despite Johnny’s wheezing protests and incompetent fumbling with his handles.

“You ain’t bein’ quiet, if ya think you are.” Benny’s grumble from the bunk below said what Gale was thinking, but he was too relieved to see Maureen awake, cheerful and integrated again to complain.

“I’m telling him about a Romanian girl in the other sector, met her yesterday.” Maureen stage whispered and Brady began to lose it again, muffling his whole face into his sleeve, milk pail abandoned on the floor so he could laugh. “There’s a fence between and she’s a fighter pilot but she’s seen him at his laps and she wants him.”

Benny stayed quiet a minute before his own laugh started and Gale could feel the vibrations of it from a whole bunk below. “She put in an order or somethin’?”

“Practically.” Maureen drawled, “She was so relieved to meet an American so arrangements can be made for my fellow. She has cows back home Johnny, she’d trade ten for you. Those big Eastern European cows, straight from a storybook, it’s worth consideration.”

“Grab your jug.” Johnny insisted instead in a small wheeze as he collected his own and strode out, looking behind to ensure she was following and beginning to laugh at eye contact. Maureen threw her head back and guffawed that ugly little cackle of hers as she went out.

“I think we missed part of the first act.” Benny observed about the joke from below, Gale didn’t know what talent it was but his co-pilot always seemed to sense when he was awake, no checking needed.

“Yup.” Gale puffed into his pillow, not giving a damn about the content of her material only that some material was back.

Someone else who was shit at playing asleep was John Egan. Gale slunk out of his bed quietly to not awake everyone else and went over to the sprawled out form of his friend, Ida tucked behind his back and the wall, genuinely asleep despite the nicotine she had coursing through her. Gale reached out and flicked at an overgrown curl dangling over his friend's face, the return momentum of it tickled his nose and he sneezed on compulsion.

“Sleep well?” Gale asked as Bucky stared up at him, betrayed and crinkly faced.

“Was.” he accused.

“Talk?” Buck proposed in a monosyllable and he watched Egan’s raw morning eyes shutter closed into something as readable as millponds.

“Yeah, sure.” There was a series of grunts and heaves of effort as Bucky righted himself and finally pushed out of the bunk, “Hall?” he asked while contemplating just how little he wanted to don boots right now.

“Hall’s fine.”

They went out together, it was quiet in the hall despite the awakening rustle in the various rooms off it. It stayed quiet once they’d both taken a wall to lean against because Gale Cleven wasn’t good at broaching topics despite his bravery to initiate their surroundings. Egan had a sense what this was about, but then, things usually weren’t about the thing they were about, they were about another thing reflected in the thing and that’s where he got lost. But watching Gale Cleven take in a breath five times only to exhale and chew his lip got a little tedious, even by his standards for how much he enjoyed watching his Buck at anything.

If this was about being observed last night, Egan sure as fuck wasn’t gonna take the blame for seeing shit in a packed dormitory. Or, combine, barracks, whatever. So, a sentence like -sorry I watched you get licked at like a bowl of milk last night- didn’t reflect his sentiments at all. And he’d never lied to Buck, not once, except maybe about not social engineering his way onto planes during rough missions. So instead he went with an easy going, “Must be nice to almost get everyone killed then get rewarded for it.”

Gale’s eyes sharpened instantly but the harsh retort Egan panted for didn’t come, instead something tired took over and Gale pinched his nose. “We’re all goin’ a little looney in here.”

“Are we?” Bucky hummed combatively, “How you crackin’ up these days?” it wasn't fair his Buck had all this weight on him and a fussy woman besides.

“I’m havin’ an affair with a fellow officer.” Gale recited in a devastated montone, and Egan hadn’t expected such transparency. Not in criminal language.

“Well,” he ceded, “there is that.”

“And occurrences like last night are gonna need to keep happenin.” Gale was informing him and Bucky didn’t know what to do with that, his tone was that of an officer but his soft blue eyes flicked with a plea to be understood. “To keep her -tame. Some sorta sane. She’s like you, she wasn’t meant for this place.”

“Just last week you told me nobody was.” Egan pointed out just to be contrary but he couldn’t help his grin and Buck caught sight of it before he could suppress it, knowing the banter and its innate kinship was back.

“I need you to promise me somethin’.” Gale went on, a nervous hand rubbing at the back of his neck and Bucky perked at the sight of that tick.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to promise to wait a week before you try anythin’.” Gale said, “You said I’d come up with somethin’ and I will, but I need a week Bucky. Give me that, can’t let you leave here without any direction of where to head toward. Wait on that radio, don’t you go off gettin’ yourself shot and Ida, too.”

A week in this place felt like a year, a week with an ever swelling woman felt like an eternity of valuable, crucial time. Bucky ran his bare toes over the splintering wood and tried to focus on the way the wood shards pricked at his frozen toes. “Alright.” he agreed, couldn’t help himself when Buck was looking at him like that and telling him he didn’t want him to die. “Alright.” He repeated more forcefully just to see Gale’s face clear and some old expression of peaceful relief smooth out his worry lines, not as much as Maureen’s tongue could do, Bucky wagered, but it was a little relief of his own he could give. “But you make a poor incentive for obeying you.” he pointed out cheekily, shoving off his wall to advance on Gale and shove a finger in those still full cheeks, “You gonna reward me if I disobey an’climb over on day six?”

Gale rolled his eyes, an expression all too pretty with his cheek distorted by Egan’s rough fingers, his eyes wary and loving all at once, Bucky had missed that look, it was coy as hell and one of his favorites on his friend. “Don’t count on it.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota oc #mota imagine #john egan fanfiction #Gale Cleven fanfiction #bucky egan fanfiction #Buck Cleven fanfiction #gale cleven x oc #those who can #integrated au

[ghoulodont]

Full Sour

Mushy May 2024 — late night snacks. Dewdrop tries something new.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Words: 1045

Mushy May prompts by @forlorn-crows

Read below or on AO3

Somehow, it’s the unexpected stillness of the bus, the absence of the usual rattle of highway travel, that pulls Rain from his half-sleep in his bunk. He turns on his phone screen and peeks at it, one eye closed against the brightness — it’s past three in the morning. He has almost convinced himself to just roll over and wait for sleep to claim him fully when he hears the telltale rustling of someone else getting out of their bunk.

When he slides his privacy curtain partway open, just a few inches to one side, he makes inadvertent eye contact with Dewdrop — the source of the noise, now stood in the aisle between the rows of bunks. Dew doesn’t say anything, just tips his head to the side as if he’s asking a question. Then he turns and walks out of view, in the direction of the front lounge.

Suddenly, sleep is far away. Rain crawls out of his bunk.

Dew is waiting just outside the bus. The nighttime air is cool and scented with gasoline and exhaust. A truly formidable rest area building looms at the end of the parking lot — the kind with restaurants and shops, a glowing retail oasis. The light from it, and from the tall, spindly light poles, like metal palm trees, accentuates the structure of Dew’s face — brow, nose, cheekbones.

“Were you going to go inside?” Rain asks him.

Dew shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, just stretching my legs, I guess.”

Rain nods. Then, after a pause, “We could go walk around in there?”

Dew shrugs again.

If Dew won’t make a decision, Rain will. He starts walking towards the building and Dew follows without missing a beat.

Inside is a dining area surrounded by fast food restaurants, all shuttered for the night, and one convenience store. Rain has found himself growing a soft spot for this kind of place — not the food court, but this particular type of store found along the highway peddling souvenir nonsense, magnets in the shape of states, shirts with local landmarks. The location changes, but the items stay the same — swap out one state for another. It’s comforting in a way, a reminder that you’re always somewhere.

Dew wanders off at some point between the novelty shot glasses and the miniature teddy bears. Once Rain has had his fill of overpriced knickknacks, he takes a detour through the candy aisle to pick up a bag of sour gummy worms — the ones Dew always says are “not even sour” — before meeting back up with him.

On the other side of the store, Dew is standing in front of an open refrigerator case, lit by its fluorescent glow. As Rain gets closer, he watches as he picks up an enormous pickle, entombed in its own brine in a clear plastic pouch, and flips it around to read the back of the package.

He looks up as Rain approaches him. “Aren’t you curious about these?”

Rain wrinkles his nose involuntarily. “No?”

“But you like pickles.”

He does like pickles, generally, yes. “Yeah, but not pickles in a… plastic bag.”

Dew frowns at him.

“I mean, I probably wouldn’t eat anything from this case.” Rain scans the shelves. His gaze lands on an unappealing plastic cup of anemic melon chunks.

“Whatever. I want to try it,” Dew says. “You getting anything else?”

Rain looks down at the bag of gummy worms in his hand. He shakes his head.

Dew leads the way to the checkout counter. Soon, their meager haul is paid for and they’re heading back to the bus.

Once they’re in the front lounge, Dew stops in his tracks and begins to tear the plastic at the top of the pickle pouch.

“You’re actually going to eat that? Or is it some kind of joke?” Rain watches as Dew finishes tearing the pouch open and pulls the pickle halfway out of its packaging. The way he holds it wrapped in its own torn skin is reminiscent of some sort of corrupted banana.

“I’m going to eat it right now.” Dew sits down on the couch, leaning back lazily. He pats the seat next to him.

Rain sits. He might as well see what’s going to happen.

Dew brings the pickle up to his face. He sniffs it. He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully.

“Could be crunchier,” is his verdict.

Rain’s face pulls into a concerned frown.

“Want some?” Dew offers. He extends the pickle out towards Rain. The inside of it is vibrantly yellow-green, the same color as the brine in the bag, the toxic pickle embalming fluid it’s been sitting in.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, it’s good.” Dew takes another bite, a bigger one this time, then holds the pickle out again.

Some little piece of Rain wonders if it really would taste good. Looking at Dew’s face, his very sincere expression, brows raised slightly, makes his brain short circuit.

Rain sniffs the pickle. It smells like vinegar and a hint of plastic, or something chemical. He briefly wonders what formaldehyde smells like. He takes a small bite.

Before he can process what’s going on, he suddenly is holding an unchewed bite of pickle in his cupped hand. He shivers involuntarily, his whole body unexpectedly wracked by every known flavor packed into a piece of limp cucumber.

“Why is it spicy?” is the first thing he thinks to say. It comes out a forceful, hissed whisper.

“Because— What did you think ‘hot pickle’ was going to mean?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t know pickles could be spicy!” Rain blinks hard and sniffles wetly.

Dew turns the pickle package around to look at the front of it, then flips it back around again and shows it to Rain. He points to a small decal that reads “Hot & Spicy Flavor”.

“I— Okay, well, I didn’t read that part,” Rain squeaks.

Dew shushes him, eyes flicking toward the bunk area. Then he leans back against the sofa and takes another bite from his pickle.

“Are you seriously going to eat all of that?”

“Yeah, look, zero calories.” He shows the back of the package this time, where the nutrition facts are.

“That’s not what I was worried about.”

Dew shrugs and takes another bite.

#ghost band fanfic #mushy may 2024 #this is a serious achievement for me as someone who takes weeks if not months to write anything. i made it with 2.5 hours to spare #i will be doing maybe 3-5 prompts total #fic i wrote

[ang3lik]

𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: spider socorro x all!reader. 𝐰/𝐜: 697. 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢

you lay in bed as you stared up through your skylight. the warm pandorian air filled your metal bunk as quiet chirps and screeches of creatures echoed around the forest. you tried closing your eyes again, hoping they somehow would just grow tired if you relaxed, but you were bored.

eclipse was still setting as the last of the daylight burned your eyes when you opened them again. you jolted as a gentle knock racked on your window, spider peeking through as he pointed to the latch. you pushed the thin sheets off as you tiptoed to the ledge, aware of the creaking metal trying to snitch on you to norm.

he smiles as you wave at him through the glass, swiping the latch to the side and pulling the window up. you could hear his quick, heavy, intakes of air slow down as he started to speak.

“come out, let’s watch eclipse!” he spoke in a hushed tone, turning slightly to watch the metal door to the lab connected to your bunk before he turned back, awaiting your answer. you thought about it for a second, looking towards your messy sheets, lightly running over as you stuffed clothes under the sheet, pulling the thin material over the top to make it look like you were sleeping.

you rushed back over to the window, smiling mischievously at the boy infront of you who snickered at your antics. spider threw his arms up slightly as you threw a leg over the windowsill, your hands gripped his shoulders, as his grabbed ahold of your waist, pulling you down and placing you on the ground, your bare feet touching the grass.

you gleamed up at the tall boy as he held your hips. he shot you a sweet smile before his sweaty palm took a hold of your small hand, pulling you forward, breaking into a jog as he dragged you along with him. branches, leaves and plants tickled your bodies as you started to giggle.

joyous laughs bounced off the oak trees and rippled through water. he slowed down as neon colours came into view. he brought you to the tree of souls. you stood still, gawking at the sight of the luminous willow branches. spider stared too, his gaze following the branches as they swayed slightly in the breeze.

he brought you back as he gently tugged on your hand, guiding you forward and closer to the base as he dropped to the ground. he crawled forward, leaning his shoulders back on the bark as he patted his thighs for you to lay between. you fell to your knees as you shuffled forward too, twisting your sides and slouching back on his bare chest.

his muscular arms wrapped around yours, pulling you up and closer to his body. the suns heat focused on you both, heating up your skin as you relaxed into his hold. you watched as it lowered, beginning to hide behind the rocky arches and mountains.

you glanced up at spider, his eyes closed, his body comfortable. his chest rose and fell leisurely as you focused back on the sun. your eyelids gradually closed, becoming heavy as you grew tired, you closed them again as a wave of sleep found you.

in the early hours of the morning, neteyam woke. deciding to take a wash without the nuisance of his siblings, he wandered through the forest. he could hear the screeching of ikrans as the village woke and bustle of his fellow clan members as he walked.

two figures caught his eye, you and spider. spider lay flat, his body cushioned by the plush grass and you, cuddled under his right arm, your palm resting above his left pec. light snores came from the boys mouth too as neteyam took notice of the woodsprites floating around you.

he smiled kindly as he watched them float from resting around you both on the ground, only moving as neteyam had approached, disturbed by his footsteps. he shook his head and laughed as he continued to the lake, reminding himself to tell his brother later as they both would want answers from spider.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @astarborntowrite @liyahsocorro @gr4veyardg1rl

#★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 ★ #avatar #avatar twow #avatar the way of water #avatar spider #spider socorro #spider soccoro #miles spider socorro #spider socorro fluff #spider socorro x reader #spider socorro imagine #spider soccoro x reader #jack champion #jack champion fluff #jack champion imagine #jack champion x reader #all!reader #gn!reader #trans!reader #male!reader #female!reader #nonbinary!reader #black!reader #latina!reader #asian!reader #plus size!reader

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

The Life I Didn't Know

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia, f!reader Summary: Mickey Garcia thought returning to Top Gun was the most life-changing thing to ever happen to him. And that was before a ghost from his past confronted him on the tarmac. What you tell him next will change both how he views his past and his vision for his future. Word Count: 4591 TW: Lies, Secret Reveals, Hidden Child, Ghosting, Confessions; Unplanned Pregnancy; Reader is a Mom Note: Written for day 12 of @whumpthemusical's event for "Unplanned Pregnancy" from Waitress. Thank you to @musings-of-a-rose for your ask that inspired this fic 🥰 I'm just sorry it's taken almost 10 months to finish (but I guess it fits thematically 😂). And thank you to @topguncortez and @lorecraft for beta reading for me! 💕

Mickey Garcia always expected the greatest honor of his career would be when he was accepted into Top Gun. However, he never imagined he would be chosen to return as one of the best of the best a few years later. Yet he had done it! Selected along with his pilot and close friend, Payback, as one of the few to train for a top-secret mission. It was a dream come true.

He met most of the other aviators the night before at the Hard Deck, and with one possible exception, everyone seemed very nice and supportive. Then, after the debriefing this morning, he was excited—if a little nervous—about the next few weeks of training. He still can’t believe he was selected as a potential member of the mission. He doesn’t have high expectations for being chosen, but he is still going to try his very best.

After running back out to his car to grab some paperwork, he’s heading for the row of hangars so he can meet Payback to prep their plane for their first practice, a wide grin spread across his face. The fact he is about to fly in a training dogfight with Maverick—the Maverick—still feels like a dream to him. It feels like he’s being trained by Han Solo or Captain Kirk! He is a legend that other legends look up to and Mickey had never imagined he would get an opportunity like this. Could this day get any better?

Mickey should have known better than to send something like that into the universe.

As he reaches the tarmac, Mickey suddenly stumbles to a stop and his face drops as he catches sight of the ghost from his past standing in the way, almost as if waiting for him. But it’s impossible. He double-checked the roster ten times just to make sure there was no chance you were going to be here. 

And yet here you are. Five—almost six—years older but still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. 

“Falcon…” 

You worry your lip between your teeth just like you used to when you got nervous or were deep in thought, but your eyes shine brightly when your callsign slipped from his lips. “Hey there, Fanboy.” 

Oh, God… that voice. Instantly, a thousand memories flash through Mickey’s mind: the first time he laid eyes on you at boot camp with your brilliant smile and Death Star tattoo; flying with you as his pilot, and how he instantly knew he never wanted to fly with anyone else; you dubbing him Fanboy after seeing him nearly burst into tears after running into William Shatner in a coffee shop and him naming you Falcon after the iconic Star Wars ship; all the stolen, secret moments and rendezvous as your friendship blossomed into something deeper despite the risk of Command finding out; the morning he found your letter left on his bunk saying you had transferred and had already left without a warning or a goodbye.

With a Herculean effort, Mickey pulls himself together enough to ask, “Wha…. What are you doing here?”

“I work here. I’ve been an instructor at Top Gun for the past two years.” Your leg is bouncing slightly and you keep clenching and unclenching your hands. “I guess you were in the class the year before I started, but I was so proud when I heard you made it. Of course, I always knew you could.”

Instructors. Mickey groans softly to himself. He had been so focused on what other aviators  had been recruited for the mission it never crossed his mind to check who the instructors would be. But it’s too late to do anything about it now. 

“So, does that mean you’ll be teaching me?” It’s hard enough seeing you standing before him. But if he has to see you on a daily basis, listen to your lessons, follow your orders…there is no way he’ll make it the next three weeks.

Luckily, you shake your head. “No, it’s all top secret and I don’t have the clearance. I’m not even sure what your mission is. All they’ve told us is that they need the best of the best in the hopes of completing it, so I wasn’t surprised to see your name on the list. I never flew better than with you in my backseat.”

Mickey silently sighs in relief before he jams his hands in his pockets and coldly asks, “If you don’t have anything to do with my mission, what do you want, Falcon? After you disappeared for almost six years, I don’t really have anything I want to say to you. I think it’s better if we keep things the way you wanted it and just pretend the other doesn’t exist.” 

He starts to walk around you, but you step in front of him, holding up your hand to block his retreat. “Is that really what you think I did? Left and never gave you another thought? Because you’re wrong. I think about you every single day, Mickey. And I haven’t been able to get into a plane without you in my head. No matter who I’m flying with, your voice is in my headset giving me directions, or doing systems checks, or failing to stump me with random trivia about another movie or tv show just like it used to be.” You take a deep breath as you let your hand drop to your side. “But maybe if I didn’t care, it would make all of this easier. I–”

You are close to tears as your voice trembles with every word, but Mickey is having none of it. “No! Uh uh. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act like you’re the one who was hurt here,” he says, jamming his finger accusingly at you. “You’re the one who put in for a transfer without even talking to me about it first, so don’t act like you’re the victim. One day, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, flying with the woman I love at the stick, and the next, I wake up to a note telling me you’d left to fly with another unit. No explanation. No nothing. I never even got to say goodbye! You just disappeared from my life and you took my heart with you. But you never gave a shit.”

“Yes, I did! I swear!” Tears now begin to flow freely down your cheeks. You try to close the distance between you, but when Mickey steps back, you stop. Clutching your arms across your chest, you beg, “Mickey, I loved you. If there had been another way, I would have moved Heaven and Earth to stay with you but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Really?” Mickey scoffs. “Why not?”

“Because they found out about us.”

Needing no further context to understand what you are referring to, a cold dread washes over him. “W-who did?” 

“Command. They heard from a few different people that we were ‘fraternizing’ outside of our duties. That we had started sleeping together a few months earlier and that it had evolved into an actual relationship.”

Mickey shakes his head as, in a softer tone, he says, “I never told anyone. I swear.”

Smiling warmly at him, you say, “I never doubted that. And just so you know, I didn’t either. But someone must have found some sort of evidence and turned us in. I tried to find out who, but I never had any luck. All I know is I got called into the discipline office and they said they were starting an investigation into our alleged relationship and if it were true…” 

You take a deep breath as your arms tighten around your chest. “I knew if they went looking, they’d find out about us so I did the only thing I could think of to save our careers. I told them it wasn’t true but if they were still concerned, I would voluntarily opt for a different WSO or even transfer to another unit if that would clear things up. And they took me up on my offer.”

Missing pieces of Mickey’s past suddenly start to click into place. While it was against regulation for pilots and their backseaters to “fraternize” with any kind of romantic or sexual relationship, the rule was hardly ever enforced. However, around the time you disappeared, a pilot in another unit almost botched a mission saving his injured WSO instead of carrying out his assignment. When it was discovered they were in a romantic relationship at the time, Command began taking the regulation very seriously. Mickey recalls the two of you even had a nervous conversation about it at one point but just agreed to be more discreet while on base. 

However, it still left some gaping holes in your excuse.

“But why did you do it? Some anonymous jerk claims we were dating and that’s it? We could have fought it. If you had told me what was going on, we could have both denied everything and there was no way they could prove it.”

“Yes, they could.” Your voice quivers slightly even as you scoff humorlessly. “There was one piece of undeniable proof that would have had us both discharged if they had discovered it.”

“What?”

Tears slip from your eyes as you whisper, “I was pregnant.”

All the air is sucked from Mickey’s lungs. He feels like he’s doing barrel rolls in his jet as the world spins around him and an immense pressure weighs on his chest. “You… you were… what?”

You nod gently. “I had only found out a few days before and I was trying to figure out how to tell you. But then the investigation was brought up and it changed everything. All they had was the word of someone else we were dating, but if they knew I was pregnant with your baby, well, that’s pretty solid evidence. I didn’t know if you wanted kids. Hell, I didn’t even know if I wanted kids. So, I didn’t say anything and they transferred me two days later.”

“How could you not tell me?” Mickey whispers, trying to wrap his head around this life-changing revelation. “I would have been by your side for every minute. We could have figured it out together, we could have found a way to make it work. But even if we couldn’t, I loved you. I wanted to spend my life with you. And if that meant giving up everything else, I would have done it.”

“I know you would have. And that’s why I couldn’t say anything.” You take a few steps towards him. This time, Mickey doesn’t move back, but you still keep a little space between you so you don’t overwhelm him. “I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t let me leave and it would be the end of both our careers. We’d both worked so hard to get where we were, I couldn’t let you throw everything away for a kid I still didn’t know if I even wanted. And by the time I had decided, it was too late to change what I’d done. So, when I reported to Command I was pregnant a few months later, I said it was from a nameless one-night stand I met at a bar right after I transferred.”

Mickey’s head is still reeling from everything you have told him, yet he catches one important detail in what you just said. “Wait. You reported it. Does that mean…did you…do we…?”

“Yeah, Mickey,” you half sob as more tears flow steadily down your face. “We have a son.”

“A son…” 

It is the final straw. Stumbling over to the nearby wall, Mickey slides down it until he is sitting on the ground and rests his head on his knees. He has a son. A four- or five-year-old son that he never knew about. Someone who was already walking, and talking, and going to school. Who was his own person with his own personality and likes and dislikes. Who Mickey knows absolutely nothing about.

The two of you had never talked about whether you wanted kids or a family. Until the moment you disappeared, Mickey had never doubted you both loved each other deeply but your relationship had been too complicated by rules and regulations to face what might happen in the future. So, the two of you had lived in the moment and tried to enjoy what time you had together instead of talking about the future. But that didn’t mean Mickey hadn’t thought about it. He had known from a young age he wanted to be a father. He helped take care of his younger siblings growing up and he couldn’t wait to have a family of his own. 

So to find out now that he has a child is simultaneously exhilarating and devastating. He could have had everything he had always dreamed of, but you had taken all those early milestones, all those precious irreplaceable moments with his son, and Mickey doesn’t know how to accept that. What if his son never forgives him for not being there? Mickey might not have known he even existed until a few moments ago, but that doesn’t change the fact his son has had to grow up not knowing what it was like to have a father. To have a void in his life where others around him had a loving, supportive presence. Will his son even want him in his life at this point?

He hears you walking over to him and can see your feet stop a few inches from him out of the corner of his eye. 

In a voice thick with tears, you whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so incredibly sorry. I just…I didn’t…I didn’t know…” You can’t find the words to finish that sentence.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Mickey raises his head to glare up at you, all of his swirling emotions finding a much-needed target to explode at. “Even if I accept why you let them transfer you or that you didn’t tell me right then, why didn’t you tell me at any point during the last five years! Is it just because I’m here? If I hadn’t come back to Top Gun, would you ever have told me?”

You open your mouth to respond but then close it again as you try to find the best way to answer. “Those are all fair questions. I figured if I told you while I was still pregnant or right after I gave birth, we would still get in trouble. My superiors weren’t happy that I had just transferred to fly with one of their WSOs and this happened but they had to accept it. I flew for another month or two but then I was placed on desk duty until I got this job at Top Gun. I hated being grounded but at least I was someplace consistent where I could go home to my family every night.”

“‘Your family’? Do you mean you…?” Maybe his son has had a father-figure in his life after all.

You seem confused for a moment but as soon as you realize what he is asking, you quickly clarify, “Oh, no, no, no! Nothing like that. My mom moved in a month before I gave birth and stayed so she could watch the kiddo while I was at work.” You duck your head to stare at the ground as you mutter, “But no, there, uh, there hasn’t been anyone like that since you. I’ve got one little man who has my whole heart, and between him and work, I don’t have the time or the energy to spend on anyone else.”

Mickey hates the way his heart warmed slightly at that. He should hate you right now, not be happy that you aren’t with someone. Quickly changing the topic before he lets himself dwell on that for too long, he says, “You still haven’t answered my question. Why now? Why are you telling me about him now?”

“He asked about you.”

“What?”

“Well, not you specifically but he started asking about his dad. He doesn’t understand….” Your voice breaks as your lip begins to quiver. Mickey’s resolve wavers and he starts to reach for your hand but then he remembers the reason you are upset in the first place and lets his hand fall. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He’s too young to understand and I’m too selfish to admit it’s my fault you’re not there, so I just told him his dad was a Naval aviator like me and he’s off protecting everyone from danger. I was hoping…I don’t know what I was hoping, but it didn’t satisfy him like I thought it would. Two weeks ago, he told me all he wants for his birthday next month is to meet his dad.”

“He…he wants to meet me?” Mickey asks.

You nod. “And I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea where in the world you were, if you had your own family by now, or if you would even want to meet him once you knew. But then a few days ago I saw you were coming here and…it seemed like fate. I knew telling you would be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t go home and look into our son’s eyes if I didn’t at least try. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“So this is just a way for you to clear your conscience?” Mickey asks. “You finally tell me I have a son, and that’s supposed to absolve you of everything? You took nearly five years I could have had with him away from me! I missed out on so many firsts!” Mickey suddenly freezes, all the anger evaporating in an instant as a sober realization sets in. “I still don’t even know his name….”

“Miguel. His name’s Miguel.” 

Tears spring to Mickey’s eyes as he whispers, “Miguel?”

You smile at the reverence on Mickey’s face. “It was the only name I ever considered.” Pulling out your phone and tapping the screen a few times, you offer it to him. “It turns out it was perfect. He’s the spitting image of his namesake.”

With shaking hands, Mickey takes the phone from you. Looking down, he sees a little boy staring back at him with a wide grin that’s too big for his face, a mess of dark curly hair, and rich brown eyes that make Mickey feel like he is looking into a mirror. You weren’t far off. Miguel looks almost exactly like the baby photos Mickey had seen of himself at that age. However, he can also see traces of you in the toddler’s face; in the shape of his lips and the cut of his jaw. There’s no way to deny it any longer. This was his kid. Yours and his together. 

Watching the waves of emotions washing across his face, you murmur, “I swear, I never wanted to hurt you…either of you. I just didn’t know what to do and then, once I made a decision, I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. The longer I put it off, the more impossible it got to tell you. But you did nothing wrong and I just thought he should have another piece of you to carry with him, even if he doesn’t understand it yet.”

Mickey swipes his finger across the phone and the photo changes to one of you balancing Miguel on your hip as you point towards the camera. He looks younger here but the same joy is evident on his face as he clings to you with one arm and to a ratty-looking Spider-Man plush in the other. Another swipe shows Miguel blowing out a candle on a birthday cake shaped like a Stegosaurus. There is a big “4” balloon floating in the background next to a woman Mickey recognizes as your mother. He swipes again to see a picture of you fast asleep in a rocking chair with an infant Migual curled on your chest. He is so tiny that he could only have been a month or two old. You look disheveled and exhausted even in sleep, yet Mickey doesn’t think he can remember a time you were more breathtaking.

He is about to swipe again when something at the top of the picture stops him. Zooming in closer, he inhales sharply. 

There is a small framed drawing hanging on the wall just above Miguel’s crib. It’s of two stick people looking at each other with little hearts above their heads. He doubts a single other person would have ever noticed it, but he would recognize it anywhere. He had doodled it on a note he slipped you right after his friendship with you had developed into a romance. And you had kept it all of these years then hung it so it would watch over your son.

Tears that have been threatening to fall finally crest over his eyes as Mickey chokes out, “Can I meet him?”

“You really want to?”

He nods before tearing his eyes from the phone to look up at you. “Yeah. More than anything.”

“Okay, then yeah, of course you can,” you say eagerly as your face lights up. But then it dims slightly as you add, “But, um, I think it’s better if we wait just a few days.” Mickey starts to protest but you hold up your hand. “I know I’ve already made you wait far too long for this, but we need to figure out some things first and I’m sure once you’ve had time to process everything, you’ll have a million questions. I just want you to be as prepared for this as possible so you both feel comfortable. It’s a big deal and Miguel is the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet, but he is pretty shy around new people and I don’t want to just spring this on him without talking to him first.”

Mickey can’t help smiling to himself. He was the exact same way when he was little. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I already have a thousand questions and I’m sure by tomorrow, I’ll have a thousand more. How ‘bout we say Friday after training? I could come over or meet you guys somewhere or whatever you think is best.”

You hesitate for a minute. “I have an appointment Friday afternoon and I’m not sure how long it’ll last. Why don’t we do Saturday morning? We could meet for pancakes. That’ll definitely get you on Miguel’s good side.”

“Pancakes it is.” Mickey climbs to his feet and holds out your phone to you. But just as you are about to take it, he pulls it back slightly. “Um…do you think…could you send me some photos of Miguel?”

Smiling softly, you say, “Of course, Mickey. As many as you want. And I have some videos too. Do you still have the same number?”

“You still have it saved?” Mickey asks in surprise.

You duck your head. “I couldn’t delete it. I stared at it countless nights with my finger hovering over the call button, but I always chickened out. However, I knew one day I’d find the strength to tell you everything, and when that happened, I’d need a way to contact you so I kept it. I’m still just so sorry it took me this long.”

Mickey sighs as he stares off across the open tarmac. “Part of me gets it, you know? It was a no-win situation given the circumstances.”

“Yeah…” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself once again. “I felt like I was in my own personal Kobayashi Maru except no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure out how to cheat the system.”

Oh God. The ease at which that perfect Star Trek metaphor slips from your lips once again has Mickey flashing back to all the little reasons he fell in love with you in the first place. However, after the secrets you revealed today, he can’t let himself fall back into what was. 

“That might be true, but another part of me doesn’t know if I can ever forgive you for stealing these last five years I could have had with my son.” He scrubs his hand over his closely buzzed hair. “Right now, I just don’t know how to feel about you or what you did. However, I do know that I can be pleasant and get along when we’re around Miguel, though I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back to a point where we’re friends again.”

You bob your head, tears dampening your eyes even as a small smile spreads across your face. “That’s fair. That’s more than fair. Honestly, I half expected you never to want to see me again after I told you, so I’ll take pleasant. Thank you, Mickey.”

He nods and holds out your phone. As you take it, your fingers brush against his and Mickey feels a jolt run up his arm as he touches you for the first time in almost six years. And based on the way your eyes widened, you felt it too. The two of you gaze at each other, your hands still both holding the phone between you. Mickey feels his heart start to race slightly in his chest, and he wonders if maybe he’s wrong and forgiving you won’t be as difficult as he thinks it is. 

But then you pull the phone from his hand and slip it into your pocket. Taking a few steps back, you mutter, “I’ll send you those pictures. And please do text me any questions you have this week. Otherwise, I’ll call you Friday to figure out the details for breakfast Saturday.”

And with that, you pivot and hurry across the tarmac before disappearing into one of the hangars.

For several minutes, Mickey continues to stare at where you had been standing, still half wondering if anything that just happened was real or not. He always knew returning to Top Gun would be life-changing, but he had never expected this in a million years. 

Still in a daze, he stumbles off towards the hangar where his plane is housed. As he approaches, he sees Payback already dressed in his flight suit and busy checking out the plane. He looks up when he hears Mickey approaching.

“Hey, there you are. I thought you were just gonna be a minute.” As he gets closer, Payback does a double-take when he notices Mickey’s face. “Oh, man, are you okay?”

Mickey is still wondering that himself, but he says, “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

As Mickey walks past him to put his stuff in his locker and pull out his flight suit, Payback follows him, concern etched across his face. “Dude, you’re a mess.”

“I’m not a mess.”

“Yeah, you are. You look like you’re about to pass out and I can tell you’ve been crying.”

“Yeah, guess I have.” Just then, Mickey’s phone vibrates and he pulls it out to see you have sent him a link to a folder filled with hundreds of pictures and videos of Miguel. Just a brief scan of them makes tears begin to well up in his eyes once more. But when he looks back up at Payback, the smile on his face is so wide it hurts. “But it’s all good. In fact… It’s never been better.”

I have a few ideas for other parts if anyone is interested (but no promises at this point)

Taglist: @green-socks, @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @mayhem24-7forever, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87, @forever-sleepy-sloth, @blue-aconite, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27, @phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson, @cycbaby, @topguncortez, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld, @wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @roosterforme, @clancycucumber230, @mamachasesmayhem, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989, @ohtobeleah, @deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777

#fic #whump: the musical #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy #mickey garcia #fanboy garcia #danny ramirez #fanboy x reader #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #f!reader #reader is a mom #hurt & comfort #hurt/comfort #secrets tw #lies tw #confession tw #hidden child tw #unplanned pregnancy tw

[flimflamfranky]

my gift to @werelichen for @op-secret-santa!! i can never a good frobin prompt so here's some art and a fic! i hope you enjoy and happy holidays!!

The moon rose high in the sky, bright and alluring. Robin stared up at it through the window, upside down in her view from her pillow. Around her, the crew (her crew) slumbered soundly, beds pressed tight together. Robin couldn’t help a fond smile as she sat up, seeing Luffy half-slumped out of the top bunk, arms stretching down onto Sanji, who was gently kicking Zoro in his sleep, Chopper squished between them, while Nami spread out like a starfish on her other side, hand curled around Robin’s own.

Robin should be asleep with them, but this wasn’t the first time sleep eluded her, nor would it be the last. A restless energy settled into her, begging for the crisp, moonlit night. And while she knew none of them would mind if she woke them up to keep her company, they deserved the rest.

She slipped out silently from the sheets, gently to not disturb her friends. Yet, the moment her feet hit the ground, there was a rustle, and Zoro’s head popped up, eyes barely open. “R’bin?”

“I’m just going for a walk,” she whispered to him. “I”ll be back soon, I promise.”

Zoro yawned and then nodded, like she said a fact instead of a reassurance. “A’right.” His head flopped back down, and shuffled around, turning to curl around Chopper and smacking Sanji in the face, who sneered at the hand in his sleep.

Robin breathed out a light laugh, careful not to wake anyone else, and then stepped out the door into the night.

She didn’t have a destination in mind, yet her feet lead her to one anyway. She stopped at the top of the stairs, and looked down onto the island of scrap. The skeleton of a keel and hull was starting to form by the shore, bare now but full of promise. She was too far up to make out more, but she could just see a hint of movement and the smallest flash of blue, still hard at work.

She smiled to herself. Oh course.

She headed down into the flattened junk, keeping her eyes down and using her powers to guide her, until she could follow the sound of metal scraping on wood. It grew louder and louder as she picked her way past the sleeping bodies of the shipwrights and dismantlers. She rounded one last towering pile of wood, and finally set eyes on him properly.

Franky was working on a large hunk of wood, a circular shape starting to take form from the rough edges. Shavings littered his feet as he bent over, smoothing the wood down with even, practiced strokes. His stance was firm, his movements confident, completely in his element.

Robin paused for a moment to admire him. There was a lightness to him that hadn’t been there before, and she thought it suited him wonderfully. A smile stole across her face. It was almost startling how fond she had become of him in such a short time but she couldn’t imagine it any other way. She almost felt like she could spend the rest of the night just watching him, but his company would be much preferred, so she stepped forward.

“Franky,” she called out, as she approached.

Franky startled, the scrapper tumbling from his hands as he whipped around, valiantly trying to hide his work. “Nico Robin! What are you doing here?”

She covered her eyes with her hand. “I’m not looking,” she said, a smile in her voice.

There was a moment’s pause, and then Franky sighed in defeat. “Nah, it’s alright. Not much to look at right now.” Robin uncovered her eyes in time to see him wag a finger at her. “But don’t you go snooping! I want it to be a surprise for everyone.”

“I won’t,” she promised, coming to a stop near him. She bloomed a hand out of the wood, and handed the fallen tool back to Franky. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Franky took the tool, but then set it down, giving her curious look. “What are you doing here?” He looked up at the moon like he was surprised it wasn’t the sun. “It’s late!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I suppose I was looking for some company.”

“Aw, with me?” Franky chuckled, fiddling with the scrapper. “Did you miss me that much?”

Robin considered it. “Hmm. I suppose I did.”

Franky blinked, surprised at her genuine admission, then turned back to the wood, looking pleased. “Well, I’ll always welcome your company, Nico Robin.”

She crossed her hands, and brought over an unused stool for herself to sit on, settling a few feet away. Franky returned to his work, catching the tool on the wood and gliding it across its surface.

It was soothing, watching him. The repetitive rasp of metal cutting wood, the even wood shavings peeling up and falling gently to the ground. The crash of waves on the shore, the soft wind whistling through the abandoned ships. The movement of Franky’s arm, back and forth. It eased the restlessness inside her, bit by bit.

After a moment, Franky glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “So…how are you doing?”

That was a question Robin had become quite familiar with the past couple of days. One she still had trouble answering. Her crew had done so much for her - she owed it to them to be honest. But, at the same time, she didn’t want to worry them any further. But with Franky…it was different. He had been a steady rock during the worst day of her life.

“A little overwhelmed,” she admitted, drawing her knees closer. “So much has changed so quickly, I still don’t think it’s sunk in yet. But…” She looked up, towards the city, towards the Galley-La Company where her crew rested, safe and secure and hers. “I’m happier then I think I’ve ever been.”

Franky straightened slightly, glancing over at her as he brushed wood dust from his shoulders. “Well, that sounds like a good problem to have.”

She smiled, resting her check against her hand. “I suppose it is.”

Franky glanced at her again, looking almost…hesitant. Which seemed at odds with his brash, confident persona. She met his eyes, and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Franky hesitated for another moment, and then asked, “What were they like? Those scholars of yours.”

That was a question Robin had not been expecting. She opened her mouth, then closed it, as she thought back, wondering where to even begin, when Franky waved his hand through the air.

“Never mind, actually, forget about it.” He cleared his throat, looking away from her. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories, so just-”

“No! No,” Robin cut him off. “It’s aright. It’s just…been a long time since I’ve really talked about them with anyone, outside of yesterday. And, well.” She paused, and then sighed. “It’s been a while since I’ve thought about them in any context other than tragedy.”

Franky nodded, his eyes soft, tender. Understanding. He stayed silent, and Robin took a moment to look out at the ocean, the waves almost black and white under the moon, collecting herself before starting to speak.

“They were like a family to me. With my mother gone and my aunt, well. They were the only family I really had. They treated me like one of their own. They were such a caring, eccentric bunch.” She let out a soft laugh.

“Professor Clover always called them crazy old kooks when they acted up, even though he was probably the oldest, craziest kook of them all. He would make me tea with honey in between lessons and tell me about his adventures as an explorer. He saw so many wondrous things, made so many grand discoveries, and got in trouble with the Marines more times than he could count.”

“I’d bet he'd be pretty damn proud of you, then.”

“I think he would be, too. Rint would always tease him about being more of a pirate than explorer, but I don’t think he would have minded that. Not that Rint was much better. She never talked about it, but I’m pretty sure she was a pirate, when she was younger. Nothing seemed to phase her. She could drink everyone under the table and still win at poker.”

Franky glanced back into the scrapyard with an amused snort. “Heh, sounds like someone I know.”

“She would’ve liked you. She always had a taste for the wilder things. Oh, and Busshiri, you would’ve liked him. He was the carpenter of the scholars. Not a shipwright, but he knew his way around wood.”

“Sounds like my kinda guy.”

Robin nodded. “He always wore these shirts that would say bomb, boom, any explosive word you could think of. I asked him why once, and he said that he wore destruction to remember how to create. I think he made it up on the spot, though.”

Franky gasped, faux offended. “Dismissing his wise words like that! Nico Robin, you wound me, to let such a man go unappreciated in his time!”

Robin giggled at his teasing. “Roche said something like that at the time too. He was always teasing me when I got too serious. I thought it was so annoying at the time, but looking back, I think he just wanted me to enjoy being a kid. They all tried so hard to look after me…”

A surge of emotions swept through her, harsh and overwhelming, that familiar, complicated mix of grief and anger and hopelessness that plagued her for so long. She curled inward, instinctively. She forgot herself, and was that scared little girl again, forced to face the world alone, alone, alone-

“Nico Robin?”

And she was back here again, on the shore of the scrap island, the ocean heavy in the air, breathing uneven, body shivering. Franky hovered over her, hands outreached but not touching, face so openly worried, and something inside her loosened.

“Are you okay?” He asked, voice low and soft. His hand hovered closer and she leaned in, resting herself against his palm, arms looped around his wrist in the semblance of a hug.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled without thinking, so used to ignoring her hurt. Franky leveled her an unconvinced look, and Robin paused. Was she fine? Her body still shuddered slightly, but the emotions had dulled, softened, and there was a…lightness. Relief. Grief tempered by nostalgia and joy, by the reminder that she was no longer alone.

“I think I’m better than fine, actually,” she said, a smile blooming across her face. She squeezed Franky’s hand. “Thank you.”

Franky relaxed, and though she didn’t want to, she let his hand fall away, and he stepped back to lean back against the uncarved wood. She did follow him though, moving to stand next to him, crossing her arms to rest against the wood.

“You scared me there, Nico Robin,” he said, half serious, half teasing. “I get it, though. The past can be complicated.”

She tilted her head in a silent question. Franky shrugged, and then looked away, almost bashful.

“Me ‘n Iceburg…we used to be close. We fought almost all the time, but he was like a brother, ya know? And then I went and messed it all up. But when I came back, Iceburg, he was…still so mad but he missed me. He was happy to see me again, despite it all.”

Franky paused, looking back towards the partial built hull. “I’ve got a lot of good memories from back then. And they’re still good, but…they hurt now. And doin’ this now, like back then, with him…” He trailed off.

“You used to be a shipwright,” she said. That had been obvious but she can see the complicated emotions mixed up in it now - the grief and anger and almost hatred of something you still love and need so much.

“Not anymore,” Franky said, a touch defensively. “This is an exception.”

“...it suits you.”

Franky didn’t meet her gaze, eyes fixed past the shore of the small island. “Doesn’t matter. This’ll be the last one.”

She recognized what the lightness she had seen earlier was - he was happy, building ships. And that happiness scared him, like he didn’t deserve to feel it at all. That made a protective indignation rise up in her, a fierce desire to protect that precious happiness of his.

She realized that's what Luffy and the others had felt, standing on that government building, flag burning above them.

“You should come with us.”

Franky startled, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes. “What?

Robin was startled herself. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but she had meant it. “Luffy is planning on asking you. To be our shipwright, that is.”

She saw it again - that mix of grief and longing and joy. He wanted that - wanted to say yes, to join them, to live his dream.

But still, he turned away. “I-I can’t,” he said, voice raw. “I owe this place too much.”

Robin felt that sharp protectiveness again, to take him anyway and make him hers, part of her crew, but she tucked that away for now.

Franky glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, “It’s your choice.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy longing and regret, but she savored it anyway. Part of her wanted to make it last forever, but her crew pulled her back just as strong. She couldn’t stay.

“If this is goodbye, then,” she started, turning toward Franky, leaning a bit forward to look up him through her lashes. “May I have a kiss to remember you by?”

Franky softened, expression incredibly fond, and he reached out, wrapping his hand around her waist and pulling her close. “For you, Nico Robin, of course.”

She smiled, and rose up on her toes, hand resting on his chest, his head dipping down until their lips met. It was soft and tender, passion nipping at the edges. The waves crashed behind them, matching their push and pull. He fit against her so perfectly, and she could imagine how perfectly he’d fit into her family too.

But that was a desire that would have to wait. She relaxed back onto her heels, pulling away just slightly, still close. She looked up at Franky, meeting his fond gaze, sad and sweet. Her hand lingered on his chest, machinery thrumming warm under her fingertips before finally pulling away, already chilled again by the night.

“I’m glad I got to know you, Nico Robin,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

“Me too, Franky,” she said. She couldn’t bring herself to say good-bye, so she ran her hand down his arm one final time, then stepped out of his embrace and walked back into the night.

~

As she slipped back into bed, next to Chopper and Zoro this time, arms wrapped around her and Luffy slipped down to snuggled into her side, still half-asleep. She ran her fingers through his hair, at his relaxed, open face, and decided she deserved to be selfish. She bent over to whisper to him.

“Franky looked so happy, building our ship.”

Luffy grinned, and she slipped her hand down to thumb at his dimples, just under his scar. “Good.”

“You won’t take no for an answer.” It was more a statement than question, because she already knew what he would say, but Luffy still huffed a laugh.

“Nope!”

Robin grinned. “Good. Now go back to sleep.”

Luffy dozed off again almost instantly. Robin settled down, wrapping her arms around him, safe and warm amongst her crew, and she slept.

#op secret santa 2023 #nico robin #franky #frobin #zoro #luffy #my stuff #thepilotsart #thepilotsfic

[arcaneacolyte]

Attention

Summary:

Phantom likes attention.

If anyone were to watch how he performs at Rituals, how he interacts with screaming fans, blowing kisses and moving his body in ways that make them scream all the louder, it’s obvious.

He loves to be watched. So much so, that he’s jealous when other Ghouls get attention. He might argue until he’s purple in the face—or at least more than his unglamored skin already is—but Swiss knows, Swiss sees.

Pairing: Swiss/Phantom (Aeon)

Words: 3,017

Contains: Praise Kink, Mean Swiss, Dom/Sub, Safewords (Stoplight system), Masturbation, Longing, Top Swiss, Bottom Phantom, Humiliation, Degradation, Autofellatio, Flexibility, Jealous Phantom, Attention Whore Phantom, Subspace, Dacryphilia, Teasing, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Size Kink, PWP, Polyghouls, Voyuerism, Mildly Dubious Consent

—————————

Hello hello! I’m back with another brain worm induced fic lol. So basically, I noticed during the Ritual I went to, that every time I tried to film Swiss, Phantom would try to walk in front of my phone or take over the shot himself, and I thought it was very funny, and apparently he was doing it at other Rituals too! Then I saw how bendy he was and how much he likes attention, and this idea spawned from there.

I will say, this does have a little bit of dubcon feelings to it, but I promise that Phantom is very much into this! I added the tag though just in case people might feel a little squicked about it!

I did not beta this, and also wrote it in a fugue state and finished it at 3 am, so please let me know if there are any glaring mistakes lol.

Read below the cut or on AO3 if you prefer that!

Phantom likes attention.

If anyone were to watch how he performs at Rituals, how he interacts with screaming fans, blowing kisses and moving his body in ways that make them scream all the louder, it’s obvious.

He loves to be watched. So much so, that he’s jealous when other Ghouls get attention. He might argue until he’s purple in the face—or at least more than his unglamored skin already is—but Swiss knows, Swiss sees.

At first he thought it was simply Phantom trying to move from one place to another on the stage in front of him, but as more Rituals went by and Swiss watched the lithe Quintessence Ghoul more and more, he started to notice a trend.

Any time a fan would aim their phone towards Swiss, Phantom would come stomping past, or even step directly to the edge of the stage, effectively blocking off any view of the Multi-Ghoul. He’d make a silent fuss as he bent his body or flipped his guitar around in a spectacle that the little Bug seemed to deem far more interesting than Swiss of all Ghouls. Swiss was stuck up on a platform in the back. Phantom was out in front, free to move around as he wished. The fans should want to film him.

It was adorable really, how the taste of the limelight gets the new Bug all jealous. But Swiss has been with the band long enough to know that everyone has favorites, and no matter what Phantom does, that won’t stop the fans from wanting to film Swiss.

So the little Bug likes attention, huh? Swiss smiles as he shakes his hips in tempo with his tambourine.

He can do that.

He just has to wait for the opportune moment.

Thankfully it comes not long after Swiss makes his plan. Phantom is a younger Ghoul by the rest of the pack’s standards, and his want—no need—for attention is so obvious now that Swiss has keyed into it.

Always talking, asking questions, commenting on anything any other Ghoul or even Papa is doing. Staring with those big round lavender eyes as he asks for cuddles or for someone to help him with something.

So easy. So predictable.

He starts giving the Bug just the lightest bits of attention. Little bits that are sure to leave Phantom wanting more.

Casually asking what book he’s reading from across their respective bunks on the tour bus, watching those lavender eyes glow as Phantom explains the contents of the book Swiss couldn’t care less about. Giving Phantom little bites of his road snacks, something that’s normally off limits to any of the other Ghouls, offered like a secret. A gentle grip to the back of the Quintessence Ghoul’s neck and a soft, “Good job out there,” after a Ritual.

Swiss is a Multi Ghoul after all. He’s good at playing anyone like an instrument.

Swiss is careful not to give too much, just enough to leave the little Bug wanting and nothing more. It’s a delicate balance, almost a fun little game for Swiss to pass the time with. Thinking and planning on what he’s going to do next to make Phantom want his attention more and more.

He knows it’s working by the smell. The desperate little scent that’s downright delicious. The way that Phantom keeps trying to get closer to Swiss, sitting or laying down next to him with as little space between them as possible; trying to twine his tail with Swiss, as if it will change Swiss’ mind when he decides to finally move.

The stupidly cute thing about Phantom is that as much as he loves attention, he doesn’t like to use his words and ask for it. He’s stubborn that way, and Swiss intends to break him.

Finally, the opportunity comes when a hotel is booked after a venue, Copia too goddamn tired to want to even think about getting on the road again until tomorrow, and he passes out hotel keycards with a tired expression, reminding his Ghouls not to stay out too late or cause any irreparable damage.

He’s roomed with Rain, and he notices that Mountain is paired with Phantom.

It all comes together too easily, really. Far easier than it should have, but that just means that his plan has worked.

Half of the pack decides to go out for a few drinks before settling down, the rush of energy from the Ritual still singing in their blood, but Phantom—who normally joins them—claims he has a headache and says he’s going to turn in for the night. Swiss doesn’t believe it for a moment.

It’s as easy as anything to get Mountain to trade key cards with him, especially as he claims he’s going to head back to the hotel early, and wants to check on Phantom.

“Going to finally give him what he’s been asking for?” Mountain asks behind the lip of his beer bottle, and Swiss has to laugh.

“Please, Mount, I don’t kiss and tell,” he teases, slipping the keycard into his pocket.

“That’s a lie,” Mountain comments back, but says nothing else, nodding his head as a goodbye before Swiss turns to leave the bar.

It’s thankfully a short cab ride back to the hotel, and Swiss gives the tired woman at the front desk a tooth full smile as he passes towards the elevator. He wonders if she’ll be the one who will be getting noise complaints later on.

Finally, without much fanfare, he’s right outside the hotel room. Even without being inside, he can just faintly smell desire sharp desire radiating through the door. He stands to enjoy it for one long moment, before slipping the card into the lock.

The click of the door opening makes him smirk, and he can’t help the anticipation. All the work is finally going to pay off.

And oh, pay off it does.

The heady scent hits Swiss the same time the visual does, and he can’t help but moan over a filthy chuckle as he looks at the little Bug, his cock already starting to perk up in his jeans.

Legs bent nearly up to his ears as he desperately tugs at his cock, tail wrapped around his own thigh and moans muffled by cute little fangs digging into his plush lips. The slick sounds of him frantically jacking himself off nearly makes Swiss laugh again, but he simply watches for a long moment, endlessly entertained by the fact that Phantom is so wrapped up in himself, that he hasn’t even heard Swiss yet.

“Headache, huh?” He finally says before closing the door and dropping his human glamour. A fleeting thought crosses his mind about leaving it open, but no, he’s not about to share what he worked so hard for to any human who might walk by.

Phantom’s eyes shoot open, and he gasps sharply before trying to scramble himself together, like he wasn’t just desperately jacking himself off. “Swiss!” He shouts, breathless, pretty doe eyes so wide and already watery.

Oh, Swiss is going to ruin him.

He approaches a few steps, tail swaying like a predator toying his prey but ends up watching the little Bug from the archway into the room proper, crossing his arms and propping himself against the wall, a knowing smirk that he couldn’t stop if he tried stretching his lips.

“Came to check on you, little Bug.....” he says softly. “Seems like you’re feeling better?”

Phantom has a blanket thrown haphazardly thrown over his crotch, and he’s blushing so hard he’s nearly glowing. It’s cute, the little display, and Swiss aches to pull the blanket away, but he refrains, stays in his place and looks.

The Quintessence Ghoul starts to babble, “I—w-well....I was.....you—the Ritual?”

“Pent up?” Swiss supplies with an arch of his brow.

Phantom’s head drops and he looks away, digging a fang into his plush lip again. Swiss wonders if he can make Phantom pierce it hard enough to make it bleed.

“Interesting.....” Swiss says, finally pushing himself off the wall, moving into the room. He stops looking directly at the lithe Ghoul, pretending to contemplate his movements as he reaches the chair in the corner. “And here I was, thinking that you were hurting....”

“I—“ Phantom hesitates, as Swiss pulls the chair to settle it in front of the bed where Phantom sits, still flabbergasted, trying to explain himself.

It’s so cute.

Swiss wants to see him cry.

“But you’re hurting in another way, aren’t you, Bug?” Swiss asks, settling himself down in the chair, feigning nonchalance, inspecting his fingernails as he settles with one knee draped over another. It’s tight against his half hard cock, but he’ll deal with it for the moment.

A whimper is what he gets in return, and another smile stretches its way across the Multi Ghoul’s lips.

So easy.

“It’s a shame you didn’t ask.....” his tone is light, then darkens as he flicks his eyes to Phantom, who’s mouth is dropped open slightly as he stares at Swiss, almost as if he can’t believe that the Multi Ghoul is here. He’s almost surprised that Phantom hasn’t tried to demand that he leave, but the tent in the blanket covering the little Ghoul’s lap tells Swiss everything. “But you don’t like to ask for attention, do you?”

Phantom’s mouth gapes and closes like a goldfish for a few moments, trying to decide what to say, maybe try to defend himself, but Swiss isn’t interested.

He goes in for the kill.

He moves, leaning his elbows onto his knees and staring at Phantom with sharp red eyes. “You like to demand attention, don’t you, little Bug?” He growls. “You like to take it when it doesn’t belong to you....”

Phantom swallows sharply before whining again, working his hands into the blankets, squirming at the intense gaze. “I—“

“Stomping in front of fans when they’re trying to take pictures of me. When they’re trying to film me.” Swiss outright growls, and he doesn’t miss the way Phantom’s covered cock twitches at the words, even as he tries to come up with a silly, stupid excuse that Swiss doesn’t care about.

“I’m sorry Swiss, I just—“

“Well you have my attention now, Bug,” Swiss interrupts, before settling against the back of the chair again, his arms draped over the armrests. “What are you going to do with it?”

Phantom gapes at him again, like he honestly can’t believe what’s happening, before he licks his already slick lips, enough that it makes Swiss groan a little under his breath. Phantom chirps at the sound, and Swiss chuffs lowly back.

“Color, Bug.” Swiss says, and that seems to knock Phantom out of his surprised headspace.

“Green,” he says softly, still kneading nervously at the sheets.

Swiss quirks a brow. “Bug....”

“Green, Sir....” Phantom replies, his lithe little chest huffing with pants.

Eyeing him, Swiss says. “You tell me if that changes.”

“Yes, Sir.” Without any hesitation.

Swiss smiles. “Good boy.”

The whimper he gets in return makes the smile widen.

“Show me, Bug......let me see how desperate I got your cock.”

Phantom whines and scrambles to follow directions, and Swiss relaxes further into the chair, unabashedly reaching to knead at his cock through his jeans. What an easy thing Phantom is.

When said Ghoul pulls the blanket back and reveals his still twitching, wet cock, Swiss licks at his lips before cooing. “Aw, look at that.....so hard aren’t you?”

“So hard, Sir....” Phantom replies, his hands still shaking at his sides. His tail has wrapped around his middle, his torso lithe enough that he can wrap around it almost twice.

Swiss bets he could wrap his hands around it and almost have his fingers touch.

Oh, but what a good boy he is for not touching himself before Swiss says he can. He tells Phantom so, and it gets him a keening little moan.

“Sw-Swiss...”

“I know, Bug,” Swiss can’t help the condescension out of his tone. The wanting, pathetic little whines he’s plucking out of the Quintessence Ghoul are oh so yummy, and he wants to hear more.

“You just can’t help but be a slave to your cock, can you? So brainless and horny aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” replies Phantom dumbly after another thick swallow, and Swiss doesn’t reprimand him for the lack of ‘Sir’ due to how blissed out he already looks just by Swiss’ words alone.

So damn easy. What a power trip.

“Why don’t you show me how you were touching that little dick before I caught you?” Swiss says easily, already knowing the Quintessence Ghoul will do just as he asks.

Phantom shudders, but flashes those doe eyes and pouts those plump little lips at him as he shifts back against the pillows and the headboard, throwing his knees up so easily and smoothly it makes Swiss’ cock throb even as phantom mutters, “Not little...”

“Oh?” Swiss archs a brow. “I think it is....bet I could cover the whole thing with just one of my hands....”

And that gets the little Bug to start jerking again, whining and screwing his eyes shut at the slick sounds that start up again so very quickly. Swiss chuckles, and it makes Phantom squirm and moan, his tail shifting to wrap around his own thigh.

Swiss can’t help but be cruel. “Eyes on me, Bug.....you wanted my attention and if you squander it now I’ll fucking get up and leave....”

“No!” Phantom gasps, eyes shooting open. Swiss groans, his cock kicking as the smaller Ghoul opens his legs wider, pulls them back even more so Swiss can really see how he’s stripping his cock, hurtling himself towards an orgasm that the Multi Ghoul isn’t so sure that he wants to happen just yet. He’s practically folded himself in half now, and damn does Swiss want to tease the needy little thing.

“Look at yourself.....look how needy you are and how wet you’re making yourself.....so pathetic....” He sneers. “You could have had my hand or my mouth on your cock if you would have just asked... but now we’re here. Watch as you jerk yourself stupid, Phantom.”

Little Bug follows the order beautifully, tilting his head down to watch himself jerk, taking a moment every few strokes to smear more of the pre-cum that’s blurting out of his slit and smear it down his shaft for a smoother glide, little grunts and moans coming unbidden from his throat, like he can’t even help it.

He’s so pathetic and needy. It’s cute.

Swiss watches, rapt, as Phantom tugs himself closer and closer to orgasm, and when the little Ghoul’s tongue lolls out of his mouth, Swiss finally notices something that he can’t help but voice as his own cock spills pre-cum into his underwear and sends a shiver down his spine.

“Sathanas....looks like you’re flexible enough to suck your own cock if you wanted...”

It was meant to tease, meant to send Phantom closer and closer to the edge he’s so desperately gunning for, but Swiss’ eyes widen, caught off guard for the first time tonight when Phantom shifts, nearly locking his knees behind his ears and leaning down to lick filthy and wet over his cock slit, whining sharply before fluttering his eyes shut and bending himself just that little bit more to take the leaking head of his cock into his mouth.

“Fuck~” Swiss swears sharply, unable to stop himself from kneading hard at his clothed cock as he watches Phantom give himself a firm suck, sure by now that a wet spot is forming on the denim, but he’s not going to take his eyes off of Phantom to check, not in a million years.

The little Ghoul moans at the feeling of his own mouth, and while he doesn’t seem to be able to get more than the head into it, that doesn’t stop him from sucking and licking at it like the worlds most pornographic lollipop, keening and moaning and dripping saliva and pre-cum all over himself. One of his hands still tugs freely at the rest of his cock, and Swiss feels like his head is going to explode.

Fucking hell, the surprises his little Bug has.

As wonderful and mind-numbingly erotic the sight of Phantom desperately sucking at his own cock is, the noises coming out of the Quintessence Ghoul’s mouth are telling, and Swiss still doesn’t want to let him cum just yet, so despite himself, he barks out, “That’s enough, Phantom.”

He groans when Phantom doesn’t stop, too much into himself and his singleminded quest for cumming down his own throat.

But he can’t have that. So Swiss decides to take matters into his own hands. He stands suddenly, and kneels onto the bed, reaching to quickly thread his fingers into Phantom’s soft hair, pulling him back with a sharp movement. He growls at the little Ghoul’s whine at dislodging him so close to his orgasm, but it turns into a cruel smirk as Phantom blinks up at him with oh so wet eyes, lips swollen and face flushed dark from the exertion and pleasure. “Such a dirty little pathetic slut,” he taunts, gripping Phantom’s hair tighter in his fist just to see him wince and hear him whine, the sound high and feminine and absolutely delicious. “When the Hell did I say you could orgasm....?”

It seems to take a few moments for Phantom to register what he’s said, and Swiss revels isn’t he fact that he’s gotten the little Bug so deep so quickly. “B-but....” Phantom’s lip wobbles, and Swiss groans, the tears that have gathered at the edges of Phantom’s eyes finally streaming down his cheeks.

Swiss has a wonderfully terrible idea then, and he smiles, all fang as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone.

“Do it again Bug,” he croons, aiming the phone at the little Ghoul. “And I’ll make sure that everyone sees.”

Phantom can’t disobey if he tried.

#ghost bc #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss/phantom #swiss/aeon #swiss army ghoul #swiss ghoul #phantom ghoul #aeon ghoul #swiss x phantom #swiss x aeon #phantom x Swiss #aeon x Swiss #ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #my writing

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Infectious

TBB & Fem!Reader

Chapter 3: Rumors on Scorro

Summary: You're completing your final practicum on Kamino as part of the experimental non-clone Combat Medic program. After graduating top of your class, and being inducted into the prestigious 407th Medic Unit, you get assigned to Clone Force 99. Neither of you are excited to be working together and tensions run high. However, those tensions dissipate when the Bad Batch unexpectedly falls ill while on a covert mission. Running against an unknown clock, it’s up to you to figure out what’s causing the illness before it ultimately kills you all.

Pairing: TBB & Fem!Reader

Characters: Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech

Tags & Warnings: BAMF fem!reader, enemies to friends, humor, action, angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, mild suggestive themes, explicit medical descriptions, whump

Word Count: 5.7k

Author's Note: WE'RE BACK BABY!!! Yeah, that's right. Finally. After all of this time, the next chapter has arrived 🥳 I told y'all I would be updating my other series fics in the new year, and I meant it. This chapter has some Echo angst in it, because why not. FYI, since it's been 9 months, I went back and edited the first two chapters to match my current writing style. No plot elements changed, just style, grammar, word choice, etc. As always, please enjoy 💚

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

As the ship leaves the stormy atmosphere of Kamino, you turn your head to look out the transparisteel viewport and are greeted by the sight of endless stars twinkling brightly across the ebony horizon. You smile wide knowing this view will never get old. The galaxy is vast and beautiful, and getting to see it up close and personal, while also doing something you love, is priceless. This really is a turning point in your life. A new chapter to be written and explored.

When the ship levels out, you unstrap from the jump seat and start exploring the Marauder. You have a feeling you’ll be spending a lot of time aboard this ship, so you want to familiarize yourself with it as much as possible. You walk back towards the stern, where Wrecker is, and look around, but there's not much to see. Then make your way back up toward the bow and step aboard the bridge. You weave between Hunter and Crosshair, and stand behind Tech.

“So, where are we going?” you ask while looking over Tech’s shoulder at the controls.

Without turning around, Tech answers. “Agamar. It’s a rather barren planet found in the outer rim. The terrain is inhospitable to most, but we will manage.”

“What’s the mission?” you ask further, excited by the prospect and intrigue.

“There’s a separatist base they want us to route,” Hunter says. “A simple in-and-out mission.”

You nod your head at the explanation, but he makes it sound like routing a heavily guarded separatist base is a walk in the park. You have to remind yourself that they are an elite force of clones and are genetically modified for the toughest conditions. It amazes you that such clones can even exist and your fascination with them grows. You wonder how they look in action and if they live up to all the rumors the regular clones whisper about on Kamino. Only time will tell.

Hunter rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “Get some sleep, all of you. We’ll be there in a couple hours.”

You want to say something funny, like 'aye aye captain', but decide not. Instead, you simply nod and make your way back to the bunks. Laying down on the flat rack, you stare up at the ceiling. There are too many pre-mission jitters vibrating through your body to fall asleep. Even after shutting your eyes and calming yourself, it's just not enough. So, you toss and turn, getting more aggravated that your body won’t drift off, since being tired for your first mission is not an option.

You sigh and sit up, then peer around at the others who are soundly asleep in their bunks and chairs. You’re not sure how they can fall asleep so fast. It’s either a genetic thing or a military training tactic, but whatever it is, you don’t have it. You decide to get up and pace around to try and wear yourself out, and when you do, you hear something. The ship is quiet and your ears perk up immediately at the sound. Wanting to investigate it, you quietly slip around your squad.

One by one, you pass by them, waiting and listening to hear who made the weird sound. Not Wrecker. You move on. Not Crosshair either. You check the next one. He’s making noise for sure, but not the sound you heard. It’s not Tech either. You move towards Hunter, a little nervous that he might wake up and catch you staring at him, but you pause and listen. Nope, not him. You purse your lips. That only leaves Echo. Carefully, you tip toe over to him, wait, and listen.

He's not making a sound, and with a shrug, you turn to leave, thinking you’re a level of crazy for hearing things on a quiet ship. Then it happens again. You turn back around and look at Echo. He’s sleeping rather soundly, with soft rhythmic breaths and gentle rises and falls of his chest. No breath obstructions, you note to yourself. You wait and watch for a moment, then he says it again. It’s faint, breathy, and almost unrecognizable as a word, but you hear it regardless.

Fives.

You knit your eyebrows at the odd utterance, and wait a little longer, listening to see if what he mumbles changes or if he’s repeating the same word. After a couple standard seconds, Echo says the same breathy word again. Fives. You wonder what it means. Maybe it’s a special numerical sequence from his time back on Skako Minor? You shrug at the mystery, but are happy that it’s not a breathing issue. You turn to leave him be, but he mumbles something else.

Fives come back.

Oh. Your heart drops. It’s a person. He’s dreaming about someone he knows, or maybe someone he once knew. You sigh and let your eyes turn soft, knowing exactly what it’s like to dream about loved ones. It’s been several years, but you still dream about your parents. Sometimes you can’t fill in all the gaps of your dreams as you slowly forget things, but it still pulls at your heartstrings every time they show up to give you a hug in the realm of sleep.

As your thoughts wander a yawn escapes past your lips. Finally, feeling tired and ready for sleep, you return to your bunk and crawl onto the hard surface. Laying on your back, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to settle yourself. You still wonder who Fives is and what they mean to Echo. Your psychology books tell you that dreams can be a subconscious escape or a subconscious desire. Knowing next to nothing about Echo’s past, it could be either one.

You take another deep breath and exhale slowly. Closing your eyes, you let yourself drift off to sleep, but in a split moment, a rough hand shakes you back awake. You shoot up and hit your head on the bunk above you. Ouch. Nursing your newly formed bump, you use your other hand to rub the sleep out of your eyes. When you come out of your groggy haze, you can hear snickering coming from the rest of the squad. Ha ha, yes, very funny. You think to yourself.

“Rise and shine,” Hunter mocks as he walks away from your bunk. “We’re here.”

Gathering your composure, you swing out of the bunk and head over to the cockpit for the landing. You look out the viewport as you enter the atmosphere of Agamar and your face lights up with excitement. This is it. Your first mission. You want to squeal, but something tells you that no one else is going to appreciate it, so you keep it internal. The ship lands on the rocky surface of the planet with only a slight wobble. Tech wasn’t kidding when he said it was inhospitable.

Your excitement grows as the squad gears up with their packs, and you follow suit the same way. You double check your pack to make sure you have all the medical necessities and do a mental headcount of your supplies. Once satisfied with your inventory, you sling it across your back and toss your bucket snug on your head. You’re all set to go on your first mission. The ship door opens, light beaming in, and your heart begins to race. This is it. This is your moment.

You take your first steps forward to leave the ship when Hunter stretches an arm out to stop you. “Not you,” Hunter says. “You’re staying here.”

“What?” you question. “But what about the mission?”

“Your mission is here,” Hunter says. “You’re staying on the ship with Echo.”

“But, sir!” you argue. Your feelings of excitement crumble. “I belong in the field!”

“You belong where I tell you you belong, medic,” Hunter snaps back. “Or are you ignoring an order from your commanding officer on your first mission?”

You huff and clench your fist. “No, sir."

“I didn’t think so,” Hunter says, then turns to face Echo. “We may need a quick extraction, so keep your ears on.”

“Understood,” Echo acknowledges with a nod.

Hunter nods back and heads out of the Marauder with the rest of the squad, well, the rest of the squad except you. You remove your bucket, plop down on your bunk with an angry grunt, and lean your head back against the wall. This entire assignment has been one big pissing match, and every time you think you’re making progress, you get sidelined. How are you supposed to make Kix proud if you don’t see any action? You release another angry grunt and cross your arms.

“Careful,” Echo says. “You’ll lose your voice if you keep grunting like that.”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you upset being stuck here?”

“No,” Echo answers. “It’s not unusual for someone to be left back with the ship. Keeps people from stealing it.”

With such a small squad of men to work with, you guess that makes sense, and since Echo is your unofficial chaperone, it makes sense that you were left on the ship with him. However, even though you try to explain it to yourself in those practical terms, you still think it's to spite you. You sigh. At this rate, you’ll never get to prove your worth as a Combat Medic to any of them. To these special clones, you’re just useless dead weight and not worth their time.

As the planetary rotation moves forward, you find odd things around the ship to busy yourself with, but you’re still bored. Echo is not much of a conversationalist and he hasn’t moved from his spot in the cockpit. You end up sprawling yourself across the seat in the gunner’s nest and looking out the window at whatever draws your attention. There’s some trees, a little snow on the ground, and a few stray wildlife that come into view. Nothing too spectacular, that’s for sure.

Finally, after hours of sitting by yourself, you decide to go back to the cockpit and sit with Echo. You're still curious about this Fives person he mentioned in his sleep, and you think maybe now might be a good time to ask him about it. You walk into the cockpit and sit down in the chair across from him, bending one leg up onto the chair and resting your chin atop your knee. Echo silently acknowledges your presence and returns to looking at the setting sun over the horizon.

You fidget with your fingers as you mull over whether to ask him about what you overheard last night. It might be private, and he may not want to tell you, but your curiosity is getting the better of you. “Echo,” you ask. “Who's Fives?”

Echo shifts uncomfortably in his seat and stays silent for a couple of minutes. “How do you know that name?” he asks. His words hang heavy in the air.

“You…” you begin, then pause, unsure of how to tell him. You don't want to sound creepy, but honesty is the best policy. “You said it in your sleep.”

Echo sighs, but doesn't turn his gaze from the orange sunset. “Shouldn’t you have been sleeping too?”

“I’m not used to sleeping on ships,” you answer. You can tell by the tone of his voice that this is a sore subject and you're starting to regret bringing it up.

Echo swivels his chair to face you and worries his lip. His eyes are full of sadness and his countenance is engrossed in pain as he searches for the words he's looking for. A small smile flashes across his lips. You wonder if he's thinking about a memory.

“He was my brother,” Echo says, his voice quiet at the strain of saying his thoughts out loud.

You can tell by his choice of words and his tone of voice that this brother isn’t around anymore and you feel a twinge of sadness settle in your gut. You understand a thing or two about the loss of a loved one. “What happened to him?” you ask.

“He was murdered,” Echo says, his fist tightening as he looks back out the viewport. “By one of our own.”

Your expression turns from sadness to shock and then confusion. A clone killing a clone? Does that even happen? Why would a clone do that? Your mind rushes a mile a minute trying to wrap your head around the idea, but you cannot seem to reconcile it. It’s too bizarre of a concept to comprehend. Every clone you've ever met was a brother to the one next to him. So, for a clone to kill another clone, it’s like a family member killing another family member. It’s unheard of.

“I’m sorry, Echo,” you offer as a consolation. “You must miss him.”

“Yeah,” Echo says, his voice distant. “I do.”

“I miss my parents all the time,” you say, trying to bridge the gap and build a connection.

“I remember you mentioning they’re dead,” Echo says as he turns to face you.

“About ten years ago,” you add. Now it's your turn to look out at the sunset.

“I’m sorry,” Echo says.

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. I know they’re out there watching over me, somewhere.”

Echo snorts. “You believe in that Jedi force stuff do ya?”

“Not really,” you answer with a small laugh. “But everyone needs to believe in something.”

“That’s fair,” Echo says.

“When I look up at the stars,” you begin with a smile while staring fondly out at the horizon, “it’s almost like I can feel them with me, you know? Watching over me as I make my way in the galaxy.”

“Sounds nice,” Echo says.

“I bet Fives is watching you too,” you say, then look at Echo with soft eyes. “He hasn’t left you alone, just like my parents haven’t left me.”

“Maybe,” Echo shrugs, then chuckles. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he came back to haunt me.” His brief small smile fades as his countenance reverts back to a frown.

“We’ll see them again some day," you say, trying to stay hopeful. “I just know it.”

“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Echo half-jokes, but you can hear the part of his heart that wants what you're saying to be true.

He wants to see his brother again, desperately. So much so that he calls out to him while he sleeps. He must agonize over Fives’ death. You understand because you’ve been there. You’ve stared death in the face, the kind of death that leaves you thoroughly alone. You don't need to understand psychology to know what his subconscious thinks about on a daily basis, and your heart hurts for him, but you know there's nothing in your medpack to mend a shattered heart.

You and Echo stare out of the cockpit in silence and watch the sun fall beyond the horizon, sharing in this solemn moment and appreciating the company. The veil of night arrives and the stars begin to shine in the dark sky. The billions of bright burning lights feel comforting. The stars aren't very visible on Kamino, but here, on this planet, they are bright and beautiful. You relax your shoulders and lean back, thinking that maybe this assignment isn’t so bad after all.

However, your sweet moment is interrupted by Hunter’s voice over the comms. He’s calling in that quick extraction now and by the amount of yelling and blaster fire in the background, this is going to be a hot one. Echo relays the affirmation, sets the coordinates, and lets Hunter know that both of you are on the way to pick them up. You're slightly surprised that Echo included you in the transmission, but now is not the time to be celebrating your first taste of inclusivity.

“Civvy, strap in,” Echo orders as he starts pressing buttons and flipping switches to get the ship going. “This is going to be a bumpy ride and I don’t need you falling out of the ship.”

Ah, there it is. You sigh and head back towards the jump seats and strap yourself in for the wild ride ahead. Echo expertly maneuvers the ship to the squad's location and brings it in low so they can climb on board. You can hear the blaster fire outside and as the door opens to the ship, you watch them file in while firing off blaster bolts to cover each other. It’s the first time you’ve seen any of them in action and you're a little awestruck. They don’t move like other clones.

Tech next to Echo and Hunter yells for them to get them out of here. The ship moves again, this time more aggressively, as the enemy continues to fire at the Marauder. Wrecker moves to the gunner’s nest and shoots down the vulture droids that are following behind. You tightly grip the bars on the jump seat as the ship rocks from the blasts. Thankfully, the shields are up. The ship flips upside down, sideways, and every other way you can think of to out maneuver the droids.

At long last, the ship breaches the atmosphere and moves into space. Tech initiates the hyperdrive and pulls the handle down to enter into hyperspace. Once safe in a hyperspace lane, you let out the breath you were holding in, then flick the safety release on the jump seat and push them over your head. You get up from the seat and wobble forward, not realizing your legs turned to jelly from all of the excitement, and let your feet stabilize before trying to walk.

“Woah, that was fun!” Wrecker hollers as he brushes by you and moves towards the cockpit. “Echo, you should have seen this place. It was crazy.”

“Not as crazy as being sling-shot across a ravine,” Crosshair grumbles and pushes past you. He sits down in one of the swivel chairs and starts cleaning his rifle in silence.

“I said I was sorry,” Wrecker apologizes. “But we won!”

“Correction,” Tech says as he lifts a pointed finger in the air. “I won.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes and pulls a few credits from his pocket and hands them to Tech.

“Much obliged,” Tech says as he stuffs the credits in one of his many satchels.

The exchange has you lost in bewilderment. Clearly, something happened during the mission and you’re curious to know the details. You look at Echo, hoping he'll ask for more information about it, but he doesn’t, leaving you more curious. You do find it odd, however, that they had some form of amusement out on the battlefield. From your time on Kamino, most clones don't find blaster fire fun. Clone Force 99 really is different compared to the rest of the clone forces.

“I assume your mission was a success?” Hunter asks while walking by you, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Yes… sir,” you answer with a twinge of hesitancy, a little unsure of what your mission was other than staying on the ship with Echo.

“Good,” Hunter says. He reclines in one of the empty swivel seats and clasps his hands behind his head. “Glad to hear it.”

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he's trying to make fun of you. Either way, you brush it off and focus on more pressing matters, like what's next on the mission agenda. Will you go back to Kamino? Or will you wait for more orders? That’s what good soldiers do, isn’t it? Follow orders? You’re still unfamiliar with all of this, so you’re not sure what to ask or what to do with yourself. Rather than make new issues by asking more questions, you retreat back to your bunk to relax.

But the boredom of waiting creeps in and you start to doze off. Your eyelids are heavy even though you barely spent any energy this rotation. It doesn't take you long to remember that you didn’t get much sleep the night before and now that the adrenaline is wearing off, your body is telling you it needs rest. You don't fight it and let your body go to sleep, hoping you won’t be woken up. As a medic, you must get rest whenever you can so you can be at your best at all times.

This time you wake up on your own terms, when your body feels rested. You’re not sure how long you were out, but no one bothered you so you assume everyone is still waiting for new orders to come across. You sit up in your bunk, without hitting your head this time, and stretch out your arms. You roll your shoulders and crack your neck. The bunks aren’t exactly soft, but they do their job. Swinging your legs over the side of the bunk, you get up to use the refresher.

As you head towards the refresher, the rest of the squad is huddled around and speaking amongst each other. Hunter looks serious and has his arms crossed, which can’t mean anything good, and Echo is arguing with him, again. You forget the refresher for a moment and walk over to add your presence to the mix. Hunter notices and glances at you before turning back to Echo. Not realizing where you are standing, Crosshair gives you a small jab on your behind with his rifle.

The sudden touch startles you. “What was that for?”

“You’re blocking my view,” Crosshair hisses. “Move.”

You roll your eyes. “You could've just asked me to move, you know. That's borderline harassment.”

“If you looked more like a window than a door, I wouldn’t have to borderline harass you,” Crosshair snarks and flicks his toothpick in your face.

Your nose scrunches and eyes close when the little wooden projectile hits your face. As your frustration builds, you take a deep breath to calm yourself. You want nothing more than to tell that sniper where he can shove his rifle, but you won't. It's not worth it because it will only fuel his bullying further. Instead, you choose to let it go. This time. There are points where you will cross the line, and he keeps dancing around that line. If he ever crosses it, you'll let him know.

“Can we get back to more important things?” Hunter asks, shifting his gaze between you and Crosshair.

Echo huffs and shakes his head. "I don't like it."

"We don't have to like it," Hunter says. "Orders are orders."

"What orders?" you ask.

Hunter swivels to face you. "There's rumors of an imperial base operating out of Scorro." Tech pulls up a holo of the planet and Hunter continues his explanation. "According to our intel, the GAR sent a squad of clones to scout the base, but their comms suddenly went silent. Another squad of clones were sent after them with the same result. Now they want us to investigate."

"Do they know what happened to the clones?" you ask, curious as to what's causing Echo's skepticism.

"No," Hunter crosses his arms. "They were never recovered."

"No one went back to get them?" you ask.

"It would be a waste of resources," Tech adds. "Besides, based on the trend, sending another clone squadron would yield the same results."

"But aren't we another clone squadron?" you ask, this time your nerves bleed through.

"Stop worrying!" Wrecker exclaims. "We can take on whatever they throw at us!"

His words don't make you feel better about the situation. While Echo is the only one openly objecting to the new mission, Hunter's facial expressions tell a different story than what he's leading everyone to believe. Your first inkling was the fact that he hasn't shoved you aside for this conversation. In fact, he's answered your questions without issue. He's serious about this in a way he hasn't been since you've met him. The fact that Hunter is worrying, has you worrying.

"I still don't like it," Echo frowns. "How'd they lose two clone squadrons without so much as one distress signal?"

"Maybe a new type of droid?" you offer. "Or their signals were jammed?"

"Groundbreaking ideas," Crosshair says.

"Everything is a valid option," Echo adds.

Crosshair rolls his eyes.

"Enough," Hunter says. "We're going to Scorro to investigate the rumors and to find the missing clones. Double-check our supplies and prepare for anything."

With the sergeant's final words, everyone scatters to prepare for the mission, except for Tech who punches in the new coordinates and sets the course for Scorro. You linger in the cockpit, silently observing Hunter as he pulls out his knife and twirls it around his fingers. The mission makes you nervous even though it shouldn't. You'll probably end up staying on the ship again, but maybe that's not a bad thing. You shake your head at the thought. That's not why you're here.

"Sergeant–"

"You too," Hunter says before you get a chance to ask. "You're coming with us."

You smile and nod. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't get the wrong idea," Hunter adds. "I need Echo for this mission, and I'm not leaving you alone on the ship."

"Yes, sir," you frown then turn back towards the bunks to get yourself situated.

Of course it would be too good to be true. For a second, you thought he actually wanted you on this mission, but he just wants to keep an eye on you. As a medic, you can help the missing troopers if they need medical attention, which you're confident they will. Your presence on the mission should be vital, not just an afterthought. Although, you shouldn't be upset that you're going on a mission, but you wish it was because of merit and not for the sake of babysitting.

Regardless, you will do your best on this mission and prove to Clone Force 99 that you are a good medic. That they need you. You're not sure how, but you will. When you get back to your bunk, you triple-check the supplies in your pack and stock as many bacta patches and stim shots as you can fit, plus some essential fluid and mineral packets, ration bars, and a few medical odds and ends that make sense to bring along. You want to be prepared for anything.

With your preparations made, it's another waiting game until you reach Scorro. You don't remember reading about that planet in your studies, but apparently it's rather primitive in nature, which is why no one has settled on it. It's an abandoned planet, making it a great outpost for mercenaries, pirates, and separatists. Pulling out your data-pad, you do a little more research to see what you can find out, but come up with the same dismal results that your holo-texts had.

It's not much longer before the Marauder drops out of hyperspace and the olive-green planet comes into view. When the holo-text said that Scorro was primitive, it wasn't kidding. It looks new and unabused by modern progress, and its vegetal hue is highly alluring. Your curiosity has now surpassed your trepidation about the rumors and missing clones. You're excited. This is a great opportunity, even if it's dangerous. The closer you get to the planet, the faster your heart beats.

“According to the scanners, there are no active fauna on this planet,” Tech states. "But the air is breathable."

“Just because the air is breathable doesn’t mean it’s good for you,” you point out. “Carbon monoxide is breathable but you’ll die before you figure out it’s bad for you.”

“Correction,” Tech adds. "The air is non-toxic towards human life-forms."

"Glad we could sort that one out," Crosshair says. "Any more words of wisdom?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "No."

"Take us in," Hunter says. "Land just outside the coordinates of the last clone squadron."

"Affirmative," Tech says, then flips a few switches before piloting the ship into the planet's atmosphere.

Once the ship has landed, Hunter addresses the group. "Our mission is to locate the two missing clone squadrons and investigate the rumors about an separatist base of operations. We'll use teams of two and spread out in an 800 meter radius from the last known coordinates. Keep the comm lines open and have your blasters at the ready."

Everyone nods and gears up, including you. Before you put your bucket on, you glance at the medic mark on your shoulder pauldron. No matter what happens, you have a job to do. You're a medic first. These men, your squad, are in your care and it's your responsibility to make sure they all survive. Steeling yourself for what's to come, you bite back every lick of fear that tries to take hold in your mind. You've trained hard for this, and you're not going to get cold feet now.

The side loading ramp opens and the bright sunlight of the planet blasts into the dimly lit ship. No turning back now. You follow the rest of the squad out of the ship and step onto the fresh earth of Scorro. For someone who grew up on Coruscant and spent the last cycle on Kamino, this much vegetation is mesmerizing. The sun is so warm, and the earth beneath your feet is so soft. This virgin planet is breathtaking. You take a few more steps forward, then Hunter stops.

"Tech, Crosshair, go east," Hunter says while pointing in that direction. "Wrecker and I will go north. Echo and Civvy, you'll go west.

The group nods and heads out in their respective directions.

"Stay frosty men," Hunter says over the comms. "There's no telling what we'll be up against out here."

You and Echo silently walk towards the western end of the perimeter, keeping your eyes peeled for any signs of the clone troopers or separatists. After a couple minutes, the silence grates on your nerves, but Echo seems focused right now. A little too focused. You know this mission bothered him from the beginning, but there seems to be something else about the way he carries himself that indicates it's not just about the mission being odd. There's something deeper.

As you continue forward, your foot kicks something hard. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the familiar white plastoid clone trooper helmet, which is attached to a body shrouded by tall weeds. Your stomach flips. You weren't expecting to find one of them so quickly.

"Sarge," you say in the comms. "I found a trooper." Crouching down, you check for a pulse, but as you expected, there is none. "He's dead."

"We're making our way to your position now," Hunter says. "How'd he die?"

While your medic training didn't have an autopsy course, you inspect the body for the usual suspects. The armor is still intact and there's no signs of a struggle, which you find odd. There's no blaster marks, claw marks, bites, or scratches on the armor either. The black bodysuit isn't even ripped. He must have died from something. You pull back some of the black bodysuit and notice the tissue is necrotizing, but you don't see anything suspicious. Then you scan the body.

"Civvy, status," Hunter interjects over comms.

"I'm not sure how he died," you admit while reviewing the results of the scan. Echo looks over the body too, but doesn't come up with anything substantial. Not that you needed a second opinion.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Hunter asks. "You're a medic, you should know how people die."

"There's no wounds," you explain. "He looks normal. Fine, even. Besides being dead." You don't mention it, but the fact that there are no organisms feasting on the clone's flesh also baffles you. You'd figure there would be more decay markers, but there's not even a single worm.

Hunter and Wrecker make it to your position and Hunter looks over the body, confirming what you said. "Then how the kriff did he die?"

You look up at Hunter from your crouched position next to the body and shrug. "We'd need a full autopsy to determine that, but the scans indicate no internal injuries either."

"So, he died from nothing?" Echo asks.

You shrug again. "Maybe he had a heart attack. That doesn't show up on portable scanners."

"Eighteen clone troopers died of a heart attack?" Hunter asks, his voice sounding distant.

"No," you rebut. "But maybe this one did."

Hunter points past you and you stand up to see what he wants you to look at. You tilt your head from side to side, scanning the area he's pointing at, when a glint of white pops up on your HUD. Then another. And another. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes. The ground is littered with seventeen more troopers half-covered in tall weeds. The first squad and the second squad, dead mere meters from each other. You've never seen so many dead bodies before.

You feel your stomach grow queasy, and you rip off your helmet to vomit. As a medical student, you've seen cadavers, held organs in your hands, been bathed in blood, but nothing prepared you for the sight of a mass death. There's something menacing and sickly about it. You know most clones are never retrieved from battlegrounds and you know most clones will never see a proper burial, but knowing and witnessing are two different things. It's heartbreaking.

"You all right?" Echo asks.

You pant from the spasmic exertion, but find your voice. "I'm fine."

Tech and Crosshair arrive at your position soon after, and take note of the bodies. Everyone feels it now, the pressure looming thickly in the air. Something happened on this planet. Something killed these eighteen troopers and it killed them silently. There's an anxiety that creeps in as you wonder what it possibly could be. What is the silent hunter? How does it find its victims? And how can you and your squad escape from it? Perhaps, it may even be too late.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Echo says to Hunter.

Hunter sighs. "Me too."

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Masterlist

A03

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