#i write for everyone but mostly for you...

[docrobinavitch]

chasing ghosts

dr. abbot x f!resident!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, lots of angst, age gap, swearing, alcohol, mentions of child death/multiple casualties at the beginning during a shift words: 8.1K synopsis: you and jack share a kiss during your second year of residency and you spend the next two years trying to outrun those feelings. until the pitt's annual summer party. jack abbot is down absolutely fucking horrendously. like i meaaaaan unprecedented levels of yearning. a/n: hi, i think i blacked out while writing this. eyeeeee had so so much fun. i hope i did jack justice. let me know what you think!!!!

The annual summer party for the Pitt is an all day affair in order to make sure everyone, regardless of who���s working what shift that day, has a chance to stop in.

You wouldn’t think it, but the ER knew how to throw a good party. In the morning, it started with brunch at a place downtown with bottomless mimosas, top tier pancakes, and a drag performance. After brunch, they’d go hang out at the park by the river for a few hours before reconvening for dinner and bar hopping downtown.

Jack Abbot was off today, but still skipped all the morning and afternoon activities in favor of the evening. His sleep schedule was built that way now and even on his off days, it was rare for him to be out during the day. Besides, he was hoping he’d run into you there after your own shift.

You never came to these types of events, but that didn’t stop him from hoping every time. His eyes were always searching, hoping they’d stumble upon yours.

He hadn’t seen or spoken to you much in the last two years, since you switched to the day shift. When shift change occurred, you largely avoided him. He asked Robby about you and Robby always said the same thing, “She’s a great doctor, but she keeps to herself.”

It hadn’t been like that when you were on the night shift. You were shy, sure, but it hadn’t taken Jack very long to pry you out of your shell. 

He wondered sometimes if you regretted it, now. Letting him in.

Now, he was making the rounds at the first bar of the night, not so subtly looking for you.

“You’re pathetic,” Robby teased as he sipped his beer.

“Huh?” Jack said, finally bringing his eyes back to the man in front of him. 

Robby smirked knowingly, “She is here, you know.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” He said, “But her boyfriend is supposed to be meeting her here.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, “Boyfriend?”

Robby nodded, “I didn’t know she was seeing anyone until today. I overheard her mention it to Heather.”

Fuck. Not only were you seeing someone, you were bringing him here, to meet everyone in the Pitt. You must’ve been serious about him, then.

“Do you know where she is?”

Robby tilted his head as he looked at Jack, “You sure you wanna go down that road?”

“I just want to talk to her.” He said, and it was true. Mostly. 

The two of you hadn’t had a real conversation since the week before you had requested the shift change. That night on the roof. He felt it was long overdue for the two of you to sit down and talk about it like adults. Maybe Robby was right, maybe it was much too late for that. 

But Jack couldn’t accept that.

Robby sighed heavily, “I saw her go upstairs to the rooftop bar with Heather and Samira twenty minutes ago.”

“Thanks, brother.” Jack clapped him on the back as he headed up the stairs.

***

You liked the quiet of the night time. Being awake and working when everyone else was asleep brought with it a sort of peaceful solitude you couldn’t quite explain.

But Jack hadn’t needed you to explain, he had understood it intrinsically.

The night shift, of course, could become hectic and even nightmarish at times. But if you stepped outside for some air, either on the roof or the ambulance bay, the quiet of the night cocooned you in safety.

And that’s where you were that night two years ago, on the roof and leaning over the railing, trying to catch your breath.

There had been a six car pile up almost immediately rushed in after the day shift had trickled out. Ten patients. Four of them were in critical condition when they arrived, in that terrible purgatory between life and death. For five hours, you, Abbot, Shen, and Ellis had bounced between them. Still, you lost all four of them.

You had kept it together for the half hour after you had called the last patient, despite the fact that you had felt Jack’s eyes on you the whole time.

But he seemed able to keep it together, to not fall apart, so you would too. The knee jerk response to impress him, to make him proud of you had never quite dulled in your two years of residency. It felt a bit fucking pathetic, actually.

Worse, still, that he seemed to notice how badly you craved his validation and so gave it freely. 

“Hey,” He stepped close to you, his warm breath caressing your cheek, “Go take a break, I’ll come find you in fifteen.”

“I don’t need a break.” You said quickly.

“You do,” He said, undeterred, “You’ve been staring dead eyed at the board for the last two minutes. Shen tried to call you over for a code stroke thirty seconds ago and you didn’t blink.”

You turned to him finally, panic on your face, “Fuck, seriously?” 

You started to walk to go find Shen and the stroke patient, but Jack grabbed your arm, “Nope, uh-uh. Break first. Now.”

It was rare that Jack wasn’t joking with you, trying to make you smile. Now he looked deadly serious. Like he would physically remove you from the floor himself if you refused. You must’ve looked like shit.

“Okay.” You said finally, “Fine.”

He released your arm, but his eyes trained on your every step as you walked away, “I catch you on a patient in the next fifteen minutes and I’m sending you home.” He called after you.

You raised your hand over your head in a thumbs up to signal that you’d heard and kept walking.

And that was how you ended up on the roof. Bathed in the moonlight with the quiet midnight streets of Pittsburgh below, silent tears streamed down your cheeks as you greedily sucked the night air into your lungs.

You weren’t aware of time passing and your mind had gone blissfully blank until you heard him come up behind you.

“How come you, Ellis, or Shen didn’t need a break?” You asked, your voice wavering, “Is there something wrong with me?”

He leaned over the railing at your side and turned his head to look at you, but you avoided his eyes, knowing they’d be soft and warm and inviting. You did not need to see him looking at you like that right now. Just like you had been trying not to notice the way he watched you more than the others, touched you more than was necessary, handed out praise to you more generously.

“Not even a little bit.” He said softly, voice rough, “You were perfect down there. Nothing else you could have done.“

You breathed out a shaky breath, “Then why does it feel so bad?”

“Because you’re human,” He said softly, “And because you were the only one of us to call time of death on a seven year old tonight.”

You swallowed, tilting your head up towards the sky so you could see the moon. A moon that seven year old kid would never see again. “Does it ever hurt less?”

“Fuck, no.” He sighed, “But it makes you a better doctor, I think. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself to try to make it all mean something.”

Finally, you looked at him, and the sight of your red rimmed eyes wrecked him, “It does make you a better doctor,” You hiccuped and gave him a small smile, “The best, probably.”

He shook his head, smirking, and looked down at his hands, “Careful, kid. You keep talking like that, I might think you actually like me.”

Feeling brave, you nudged your shoulder against his, “I mean it. I feel really grateful that you’re my attending. I wouldn’t want to learn under anyone else.”

He pushed his shoulder back against yours and your hands brushed where they each grasped the railing, “I came up here to make you feel better and somehow you’re the one comforting me. How did you get so good at deflecting?”

You laughed through your tears and he relished the sound, “I learned from the best,” You said pointedly as you looked over at him.

“See,” He pointed at you, teasing, “That’s what I’m talking about. Much better. You’re way less unsettling when you’re mean.”

You smiled and he found himself staring at your mouth, enraptured by it, really. The truth was, he had noticed the ways in which he was better when he was around you. Both as a doctor and a teacher. You made him want to be better. He knew he had been giving you more attention than the others, bordering on an inappropriate amount. And he knew, before he came up to the roof, that he’d have a hard time being alone with you and not imagining what you taste like or what your soft skin would feel like under his calloused hands.

He thought you felt the same, but you could be hard to read sometimes. Sometimes, he swore you leaned into his touch, other times you jumped away from it as if he had burned you. Sometimes you went whole days seemingly trying to avoid him, others you followed him around like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head and for him to tell you what a good girl you are.

But now, fuck, now you were gazing at his mouth, too. And he tried, really fucking tried, to rein in the desire. He shouldn’t have kissed you. And he would think about it every day for days and weeks and months and years how badly he wished he could take it back. Not because he didn’t mean it or didn’t want it, but because it had started this downward spiral of silence and distance until you were so far away he hadn’t really seen you up close in two years. If he could go back, he would’ve told himself it wasn’t worth it. Because having only this much of you day in and day out while he yearned for more was better than having nothing at all, than you slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. 

But he didn’t know then what he knew now. 

Cautiously, he moved his face towards yours, waiting for you to pull back. But inch by inch he moved, and you stayed put. And when he was close enough to share breath with you, he met your eyes and was greeted with pupils that had completely devoured your irises. No color in sight, just an endless abyss of desire and want. Your breath faltered when his lips just barely brushed yours, and he stilled for a moment before his self restraint crumbled.

The kiss was hesitant and gentle, at first. Jack kept his hands to himself, slowly kissed you in a way that repeatedly seemed to ask Is this okay? Is this alright? Are you okay? Are you sure?

It was you who deepened the kiss first, tongue darting out to swipe gently at his lower lip.

And the cord between you, that was already so tenuous and frayed, snapped.

His hands shook as he touched you, moving from your waist, to your neck, to your face. It was like his body knew first what his brain didn’t, that he was taking too much and not enough, that hours and days and months and years of touching you would never satiate him anyway and he should just fucking quit while he was ahead. His traitorous mouth that moaned into yours was a bottomless, greedy pit and it could never have you, not really, not even as it sucked desperately at your neck in a useless attempt to mark you as his.

The marks would fade and you would fade from him along with them. 

He thinks now he probably knew as soon as you pulled away, at the panic in your eyes, that he had lost you before he had even really had the chance to have you. 

But he would deny it to himself, even as you ran off the roof ignoring the way your name came out strangled from his throat. 

He would deny it when you didn’t look at him the rest of the night, when you pretended not to hear when he tried to talk to you after the shift change that morning.

He would deny it when you handed him your shift change request form after a week of avoiding him, asking for his signature as you looked anywhere but at him.

He would deny it when his broken voice asked “Is this really what you want?” and you only silently nodded.

Jack Abbot knew he had lost you, he wasn’t delusional, but he could convince himself it was only temporary. He was patient. So fucking patient. He’d find you again, when you were ready.

***

Jack could admit that you having a boyfriend had not been part of his plan. Not that he had a plan, more so an overwhelming sense that if he waited long enough, you’d fall back into him.

But you had still been fleeing the ER at shift change without acknowledging him. He was patient, but it aggravated him to no end, the way you seemed so unaffected. Sometimes it made him feel like maybe he had made it all up in his head and that you had never wanted him at all. But then the film would play on loop again in his head and he knew he didn’t imagine your blown out pupils or the way you deepened the kiss first or the way you moaned when his mouth plucked bruises from your neck like ripened strawberries.

You had wanted him just as badly, he was sure of that. He just couldn’t understand why you were still acting like he didn’t exist.

When he got to the rooftop and looked around, he found you first at a table in the corner, eyes glued to your phone. Another quick glance around and he saw Heather and Samira talking at the bar.

Perfect. You were alone.

When he crossed the roof and sat in the empty seat next to you and you didn’t immediately look up, he realized you had marked his presence on the rooftop as soon as he got here.

The man was like a fucking sonar to your brain. You knew when he was in the same room as you before your eyes could track him. Tonight was no different.

“You look like you could use a drink.” Jack said.

Oh, you hadn’t realized how much you had missed the pleasant roughness of his voice, how it soothed you effortlessly. It practically sent chills down your spine.

You swallowed, continuing to stare at your phone. The second you met those warm hazel eyes, it would be over for you, you knew. It was the reason you had avoided him so diligently the last two years.

“Heather and Samira are getting me one.”

He wordlessly held his own drink out to you. When you stared blankly at it for a few moments, he shook it lightly, ice rattling against the glass, “It’s just a tequila soda. It’s not poison.”

Against your better judgment, and perhaps to indulge that stupid fucking instinct in your head that demanded you not disappoint him, you took it from him. You did your best not to pay attention to the sensation that shot across your skin when your fingers brushed, but the traitorous goosebumps spread across your arms anyway.

You took a sip and handed it back to him, still looking at your phone.

“Why aren’t you with them at the bar?”

“I had to take a call.”

“From your boyfriend?” Finally, fucking finally, you looked at him. It was disdain all over your face, but fuck it, he’d take it. He smirked and held his hands up in surrender, “I didn’t ask, Robby told me. Said he was meeting you here.”

Quickly, you looked back at your phone and he saw your throat bob, “He called to say he couldn’t make it, so.”

Jack watched you carefully, the way you frowned and your mouth turned down just slightly. You were upset, and not just at him. 

“I’m sorry,” He said softly, but you scoffed at his apology and shook your head. And that pissed him off, “Look, you may fuckin’ hate me, but I still care about you and I mean it. I’m sorry if he stood you up. I don’t like seeing you sad.”

You rubbed at your forehead in agitation, “I don’t hate you. I’ve never fucking hated you. That’s the problem.”

Well, that was news to him. But he decided not to comment on it. He didn’t want to piss you off anymore than he already had, which seemed to be an awful lot considering he had just got here.

“How long have you been together?” You shot him that annoyed look again, “Christ, I’m just making conversation.”

“Right,” You said sarcastically and shook your head, but you answered all the same, “Two and a half years.” You said quietly. It hadn’t quite caught up to you yet, what you were admitting when telling him that. It took a couple of moments for your brain to catch up, but by then it was too late.

But Jack’s brain was already there, making the mental calculations you had long forgotten about.

Two and a half—? No, that—That couldn’t be right. Because that would mean—

Your face and ears had reddened and you wouldn’t look at him.

Jack’s ears were ringing. He started to say your name—

“Dr. Abbot,” Heather and Samira were back, the latter handing you a drink, “Catching up with your old resident?”

He forced a smile and stood, acted like his world wasn’t fucking falling apart around him, like you hadn’t just dropped a fucking bomb on him in casual conversation.

He was impressed with his ability to hold damn near cheerful conversation with Heather and Samira until he was able to excuse himself.

And this time, it was you who called after him when he left the roof.

“Jack,” Your voice was a soft plea behind him. It was a language he used to be fluent in, but clearly, he didn’t fucking know you anymore. He was starting to think he never had, “Jack, wait—“

He rounded on you in the stairwell, you still a couple of steps above him so the two of you were eye level, “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”

You seemed to be caught off guard that he had actually stopped, and just blinked at him for a moment, “What difference would it have made?”

“What difference—?” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “All this time I’ve been driving myself out of my goddamn mind trying to figure out what I did wrong when it turns out I was your fucking, what, side piece? Affair?”

“Affair?” You hissed incredulously, “We kissed once!”

He squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head, “Does he know?” 

“What?”

He was quickly becoming frustrated with your inability to keep up with the urgency this situation demanded. To him, at least, the whole world had shifted around him. And you were behaving as if he was the one acting crazy.

“Your boyfriend, does he know? About us?”

“Jack,” You said breathlessly, “There is no us. There was never an us.”

Jack shook his head, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” You asked, exasperated.

“I’ve been pining after you for two fucking years and you’ve compartmentalized so goddamn well that you’ve convinced yourself it was nothing. That it meant nothing.”

For a second, he thought he saw a flicker of the version of you he used to know. Your face faltered for just a second, but then the walls were immediately back up, “I don’t owe you anything.” You said coldly, “It’s not my fault you’ve spent the last two years chasing a ghost.”

You stared each other down for a few more moments, the rage pulsating between you, before Jack broke your stare by tossing back the rest of his drink, “You’re right,” He said finally, and turned away from you to head down the stairs, “I’m sorry I disrupted your evening. Won’t happen again.”

You sighed, “Jack—“

“It’s Dr. Abbot,” He said coldly, turning back to face you again, “If you don’t mind.”

Your face fell marginally and he almost took it back when he thought he saw your lower lip wobble, but he couldn’t be sorry. If you wanted to pretend like there was nothing between the two of you, then he would do the same.

He turned again and jogged down the rest of the stairs. He needed another drink. Or seven.

***

Your hands were shaking. You stood in the stairwell staring stupidly after Jack for longer than was acceptable. You couldn’t go back upstairs to Heather and Samira like this, they’d know something was up. And you certainly couldn’t follow after Jack.

You should just go home. It was a stupid fucking idea to come here in the first place, you knew it was. And still you had come, why?

Because some part of you wanted to see him? No matter how much you denied it? Never mind the fact you had basically only invited your boyfriend because you knew his presence would keep you accountable if you were forced to be alone with Jack?

You hadn’t wanted him here, not really. Not for reasons that made sense. If you were honest with yourself, which you hadn’t been in a long, long time, your relationship had been over for at least six months.

Seeing Jack again, hearing his voice again made that very clear to you. And a part of you hated Jack for it. You had been able to convince yourself for two years that your current relationship was as good as it would get. Your mistake with Jack on the roof was just that, a mistake. Nothing more.

You had thought after all this time Jack must’ve felt the same. He fucked up and kissed his hot, younger resident, just once. He hadn’t meant to and he would be glad it was all over. You had been doing him a favor, you thought.

But when you had allowed yourself to look at him, really look at him tonight, that hadn’t been what you’d seen. In fact, he was angry with you. He had looked at you with such hurt and betrayal as if all this time he had been in love with you.

It didn’t make any fucking sense. You sat in the stairwell and pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes. None of it made any fucking sense.

You should go home.

***

Robby eyed Jack with silent suspicion when he joined him back at the bar and ordered two tequila sodas. He knocked the first one back in one go and then rested his head in his hands on the bar top.

“So it went well, I take it?” Robby asked mildly.

Jack glared at Robby and then looked back at his drink, “She has a boyfriend.”

Robby nodded, “Right. I’m glad we’re on the same page about that, now.”

Jack shook his head and felt the tequila make its way through him, “No, you see, she’s had a boyfriend. Since before she moved to the day shift. The same one.”

Robby was silent for a moment, then, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jack knocked back his second tequila soda and ordered another.

“Alright, I can see you’re upset, but all the tequila sodas in the world aren’t going to make you feel better.”

“No,” Jack agreed, “But maybe it’ll stop me from thinking about her for just a while.”

Just then, as Robby was trying to subtly get the bartender to cut off Jack, Robby’s phone buzzed with a text from Heather.

What did Abbot say to Y/N? Found her crying in the stairwell. She won’t stop.

He sighed heavily and turned back to Jack, “You made her cry?”

“What?” Jack looked at him incredulously, “No.”

“Heather says she’s sobbing in the stairwell.”

Oh, he hated the way that sent an ache through him. There was a time when he would’ve taken off running to get to you if he had heard that. Maybe even just earlier today. Not now, though.

“Believe me, her eyes were fucking bone dry when I left her.”

Robby’s phone buzzed again.

Never mind. Finally got her to say something coherent. Broke up with her boyfriend over the phone. Nothing to do with Abbot.

Christ. Nothing to do with Abbot. Right, Robby thought and rubbed a hand down his face, somehow he doubted that very much.

Robby looked back at his friend, debating if he should deliver this news to Jack or not. But Jack was very drunk now and he’d probably just tear after you like a man on a mission. Neither of you needed that right now, Robby thought. He’d tell Jack in the morning.

***

Heather and Samira sat on either side of you as you tried and failed to explain everything to them. You were very bad at this. Having work friends. Shen and Ellis had tolerated you, always including you, buying you coffee, but you knew really you were mostly third wheeling. And you hadn’t minded it. You had always tried to draw a firm line between your work and personal life, which is probably why the situation with Jack fucked you up so badly.

Heather started again, “So you and Abbot—“ 

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you switched to the day shift.”

“Yes.”

“And Jack also wanted you moved to the day shift?”

This is where things got murky for you. Tiredly, you rubbed your eyes, “I don’t know what Jack wanted because I never asked.”

“He didn’t know about your boyfriend then, either?”

You shook your head slowly, “I thought the fact that I was his resident was excuse enough. I left because I didn’t trust myself around him and I thought it’d be easier on us both.”

“And today was the first time you’d really spoken in two years?”

“Yes.”

“And this one conversation spurred you to break up with your long term boyfriend on a whim?”

You looked at Heather and smirked, “So you’re getting it now? Why I should be institutionalized?”

Heather and Samira both laughed, but Heather shook her head, “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re finally being honest with yourself about your feelings. Which is really fucking brave.”

“I say we go to the next bar and get very drunk.” Samira said, standing.

“Oh, I— No,” You shook your head, panicking, “What if he’s there?”

“Oh, I hope he is.” Heather laughed and the two of them linked arms with you.

***

Robby walked silently next to Jack as they made their way to the next bar, his hands stuffed in his pockets, “Brother, I really think maybe you should just sleep this one off.”

Jack turned to Robby, “It’s only 10 PM which is roughly 10 AM by my standards. So there will be no sleeping from me for a while. But you, by all means, can go home.”

Robby inhaled slowly through his nose. He was fucking exhausted, but he didn’t trust Jack in this state. And he had seen you go off with Heather and Samira not too long ago, headed in the same direction they were walking in right now.

So he kept walking, eyeing Jack every so often until they got to the bar.

He should have just gone home, probably.

Because once they got to the bar, all hell broke loose.

***

The room was spinning. The text had come in just moments after back to back lemon drop shots and your vision was blurred. You were unsure if it was from tears or the alcohol.

“Hey, what happened?” Samira was shouting in your ear over the din of the bar.

You passed the phone to her wordlessly as you ordered another shot. You needed to be belligerent if you were going to survive this.

Samira’s jaw dropped as she watched the video. She scrubbed back and forth a few times before she handed the phone back to you.

“This is the boyfriend who couldn’t meet you here because of ‘work’?”

You nodded.

“Well, you made the right call then, breaking up with him.”

You laughed humorlessly, and then you were sobbing, “I don’t know… why I care…” You hiccuped, “I don’t think I’ve loved him for a long time.”

Samira sighed, rubbing a hand down your back, “It sounds like you tried really hard to salvage the relationship. Probably feels like a waste of almost three years of your life now,” This renewed your sobs and Samira looked at you with alarm, “I’m not saying I think you wasted three years, I just mean, it probably felt that way— I’m gonna go find Heather, she’s much better at this sort of thing.”

Alone, you ordered a drink and wiped at your cheeks. You knew Jack was next to you before you smelt his cologne and sighed heavily.

“Don’t worry,” He said softly, “I’m just getting a drink and then I’ll go as far away from you as possible.”

You only nodded. The man you had chosen to fight for had stood you up to go to a bar across town and make out with the coworker he swore for months you had nothing to worry about while your best friend unknowingly filmed him from across the room.

The man you were beginning to suspect had been in love with you for close to four years now, you had spent the last two years running away from and now he hated you.

It felt like a big cosmic joke.

You rested your head on your arms and willed him away so you wouldn’t have to confront the long string of bad decisions you’d made that had led you here.

But Jack just couldn’t resist when you looked so miserable, “Are you alright, kid? Hate seeing you like this.”

You pushed your head up and met his eyes. Despite your earlier argument, he was looking at you with tenderness and concern. He meant it, that he cared, you could see it all over him. It made you want to burst into tears again. And maybe that’s why you decided to poke the bear, see how far you could push, what would make him really, truly loathe you? It was what you deserved after all, right?

You turned your head away from him and unlocked your phone, tapping to the video your friend had sent, hitting play and sliding it over the bar top to Jack, “You’ll be happy to know this is what my boyfriend was too busy doing to meet me tonight. Some sort of fucked up karma, I suppose.”

Jack’s face betrayed nothing as he watched the video, but you thought maybe a muscle in his jaw ticked. He slid the phone back to you, “Whatever you think of me, I’m not enjoying this.”

You scoffed and shook your head, looking down at the bar top.

“I’m serious. I would never—“ You hear him sigh in frustration, “Just because I’m hurting doesn’t mean I wish you were hurting, too. If anything, if you were happy, maybe it’d all make more sense to me.”

He tapped his finger on top of your phone case, “That guy’s a fucking idiot. You deserve way better than that.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek, carefully avoiding looking at him, “Hey,” He said and crooked a finger under your chin, gently pulling until you met his gaze, “You deserve better, okay?”

You were conscious of the fact that you wanted to kiss him. And you knew he saw the way your eyes drifted dangerously to his mouth. 

“I did the same thing to him.” You said quietly, still staring at his mouth, “Only seems fair.”

Jack released your chin and shook his head, “Don’t compare what we did to… To that.”

He sounded disgusted and it made you want to laugh, “How is it any different?”

“That is just drunken lust.” He leaned towards you on his forearms, “What we did meant something. Maybe not to you, but it did to me.”

“And that makes it better?”

“Did it mean something to you?” He shot back.

His face was very close to yours now, you could smell the tequila on his breath. 

“Tell me,” He said slowly, “Tell me it didn’t mean anything to you and I swear to God, I’ll walk away and you’ll never hear from me again.”

You swallowed, blinking rapidly to clear the watering of your eyes. Of course you couldn’t tell him it meant nothing. You had thought about it nearly every day for two years. 

But you were drunk and a fucking wreck and you didn’t know anything anymore except that you still remembered exactly what Jack Abbot tasted like and that he was looking at you right now like he would get on his knees for you in this crowded bar if you asked.

“I should go.” You whispered softly, broken, and slid from your bar stool.

He let you pass, but then called after you, loudly enough that people around you quieted, “What the fuck are you so scared of?”

You turned back, knowing that your face was flushed from the attention of others, “Goodnight, Dr. Abbot.”

***

“Hey, let her go,” Robby stood in front of Jack who was now trying to exit the bar and follow after you, “You’re drunk.”

“I’m fine,” Jack insisted, and when he looked around Robby, he saw it had started to downpour outside, “She’s drunk and it’s storming out there.”

“Heather will check in with her and make sure she gets home okay.”

Jack looked from the door to Robby a few times before sighing and running a hand through his hair, “Sorry, I just… She really gets under my fucking skin.”

Robby nodded and tried to stifle a yawn, “I noticed.”

Jack sighed, “Go home, Robby, seriously. I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I promise.” He shook his head, “I should probably just go home, too.”

Robby offered a sad smile and clapped him on the shoulder, “It’ll all make more sense in the morning, brother.”

Jack snorted, “Historically, that has never been true for me.”

***

It felt pretty melodramatic to be standing in the park overlooking the river as it poured. It was all very Jane Austen of you, you decided. Except Mr. Darcy would not be showing up to declare his love for you, Mr. Darcy was likely dry and headed home in his UberX.

You didn’t know where home was anymore. Luckily, you hadn’t moved in with your boyfriend yet. It was one of the many things that should have been a red flag, the fact that you hadn’t had a desire to cohabitate with him. You liked when he left in the morning and you liked the nights where he got home too late and went to his own apartment so as not to disturb your rest.

But still, there were traces of him all through your apartment. You didn’t want to be there.

You’re not sure how long you sit in the warm rain before your phone buzzed. You expected Heather or Samira, but were shocked to see Jack’s name on the banner, alerting you to a text.

Jack hadn’t texted you in something like two years.

I know I shouldn’t be texting you, it read, But I just want to be sure you got home safe. Please  text when you’re home.

After staring at your phone for a few minutes, now soaked with the rain, you attempted to dry the screen with the sleeve of your jacket. It worked only slightly, but allowed you to hold down the text and “like” it.

After about thirty seconds, the speech bubble appeared on your phone to indicate he was typing.

Well don’t just fucking like the message. Are you home?

You could lie, you supposed. Probably, you could walk into PTMC and sleep in an empty room upstairs.

But you were growing tired of all the pretending.

no. You replied finally.

His reply was immediate, Where are you? 

in the park.

It’s raining.

excellent observation, dr. abbot.

You stared at the screen as his speech bubble appeared and disappeared, over and over, for a couple minutes.

Send me your location. Then, almost as an afterthought, Please.

This was a bad idea, probably. After the events of today, you should not be sending Jack Abbot your location. You should not be speaking to Jack Abbot at all. After today, you should probably resign from your residency and maybe join a convent.

You watched as seemingly of their own volition, your hands tapped all the right buttons to send Jack a pin.

A few moments later, he texted a screenshot of an Uber being sent to your location with the car information and license plate.

i don’t want to go home. You sent him in a rush.

Yeah, I got that, he replied, The Uber is bringing you to me.

You blew a long breath out between your lips, you sure that’s a good idea?

Nope. Uber’s pulling up now.

Sure enough, headlights lit up the raindrops behind you. You turned to see the car, quickly giving the license plate a cursory once over to make sure it matched what Jack sent. 

You could send the car off. Say it was a mistake. Not get in. Showing up at Jack’s apartment soaked to the skin in the middle of the night, still drunk and emotionally unstable felt like boarding a train you knew would derail. 

You still got in the car, though. You didn’t have anywhere else to go.

***

When Jack opened the door to his apartment, the frigid air from his AC assaulted you and you shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He stepped aside to allow you in and you kicked off your water logged shoes.

You had been here only once before, the first week of your residency. Jack would host a team dinner (early, so you could all still make your shift in time) whenever a new resident was added to the night shift. 

You had been really nervous you recalled, until Jack had cracked a joke that made you choke on your soda.

It had been almost four years, but his apartment hadn’t changed much at all. It was neat and tidy, nothing out of place. The furniture was well taken care of, but everything was in varying shades of gray and blue. The only hints of personality being some pictures on his fridge, vinyls by a stereo, and some books on a shelf.

But one photo on his fridge caught your eye and before you knew what you were doing, you were walking to it.

Early in your second year of residency, you had presented your research on cardiogenic pulmonary edema outcomes in the ER at a conference in New York. Jack had shown up without telling you he was coming. He stayed near your poster all day while you presented to interested passersby, giving you a thumbs up or “solid work” when you needed it, smuggling you snacks, making sure you drank water. And at the end of it you remembered he took you out to dinner and told you how proud he was of you and what a great emergency medicine doctor you would be.

You had taken a picture with him in front of your poster and this was the photo on his fridge. You had a huge smile on your face and Jack had an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“I didn’t know you had this.” You said softly.

He didn’t say anything so you turned to look at him, but his eyes were trained on the photo, “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” He said finally, walking by you to his bedroom.

You watched in his doorway as he pulled a pair of clean sweatpants and a t shirt from his closet and placed them at the edge of his bed, “The shower’s in that room,” He pointed to a door off the bedroom, “There’s clean towels under the sink, use whatever soap you like.”

He started to walk past you, but you grabbed his arm, and he stopped, eyes snagging on the hand that was touching him, “Thank you.” You said softly.

His eyes slowly roved upwards until they met yours. He searched your face, though you weren’t sure what he was looking for, then pressed a kiss to your forehead before he left the room.

***

After you were showered and changed, you wandered out to the living room where Jack sat on the couch, an arm draped over his forehead. He had taken his prosthetic off and it was propped up next to the coffee table.

When he heard you pad into the room, he cracked his eyes open, “Feeling better?” You nodded. “Good. Take the bed, I’ll sleep out here.”

But you still stood there, staring at him, arms wrapped around yourself, “Do you love me?” You asked, voice small.

He stared at you for a moment and sat up, running a hand over his face, “Have I not made it painfully obvious?”

“For how long?”

He shook his head and smiled at you incredulously, “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?”

“You’ve been in control of this,” He gestured between the two of you, “From the second I fucking met you and now you’re trying to what, decode the situation? See what outcome is most advantageous? I mean, Jesus Christ, what do you want?”

“What do I want?”

“Yes,” He said, “Not what seems correct, not what seems rational, what is it that you want?”

“I—“ You shook your head, “I don’t– I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He said firmly, “Do you want your cheating boyfriend?”

You frowned, “No.”

“Did you ever want him?”

You huffed in frustration, “What do you mean?”

“I mean when you chose him over me, was that what you wanted?”

“That’s not a fair characterization of what happened—“

“Was it what you wanted?”

You faltered, “It was what was safest.” You said softly.

He smiled at you sadly, “He couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t love him, right?”

You stared up at the ceiling, willing the tears back into your eyes, “I didn’t think it meant that much to you.”

“You never gave me the chance to tell you.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, “I’ll ask you again, what do you want?”

You looked at him, eyes watering, and you swallowed hard before you moved to him. He watched you as you placed a knee on either side of his legs, straddling his lap. His eyes followed your every movement reverently, your face just above his as you rested your forehead against his. His hands knotted themselves in your hair, “I’m scared,” You breathed shakily into his mouth.

“Of what?” He asked, his mouth near centimeters from yours.

“Of you. Of wanting you too much. Of losing you. Of everything.”

“I can’t promise you that this will work,” He said softly, “But I can promise I’ll fight like hell to make it work.”

You swallowed, “Because you love me?”

Finally, he laughed, “Yes, I fucking love you. Now be quiet.” He said before he kissed you.

He tasted exactly like you remembered, except tonight, there were remnants of tequila on his tongue. It was like he was trying to make up for lost time, the way he kissed you on that couch. He pushed his tongue into your mouth almost immediately, like he was searching for something he’d lost. Already, you were out of breath, hips grinding down on him without realizing. He sucked your lower lip into his mouth and bit down gently, groaning when you rubbed yourself on his growing erection.

“Slow down,” He chastised.

“You started it.” You reminded him.

“Fuck,” He moaned and then pushed you off him so he could crawl over you, “You’re sure?” He asked as you looked up at him, hair fanning around your head on the couch cushion like a halo.

You nodded, “I want you.”

He smirked and lowered his head to yours again, pulling kisses from you as one hand worked its way under your t-shirt. Your skin was smooth and soft there and he inched up slowly, until his fingers just brushed the underside of your breast. Touching you like this, he thought a lot about that night on the roof, the way he had kissed you like he knew he was already out of time.

Now… Now the world seemed to open up. He could take as much time as he wanted. You weren’t going anywhere, not this time. You were his and he wouldn’t let you go so easily again.

Gently, he tugged the t-shirt over your head so he could look at you and he was unable to suppress the sigh that tumbled from his lips. He squeezed your breast with one hand, thumbed your nipple and watched it pebble as you sighed. Still watching you, he pinched your nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger and your eyes rolled back into your head as you writhed beneath him.

He kissed you, fingers still teasingly rolling your nipple between his fingers, and then he began to kiss down your jaw and neck until he was able to suck your nipple into his mouth. The moan that fell from your lips when he swirled his tongue around you went straight to his cock. 

He was overly conscious of the fact that because he had imagined this very moment for two years minimum, likely longer, because he had imagined it hundreds of times while getting himself off, it was likely he would last all of thirty seconds once he was inside you, once he felt the real thing. So he would make this last for you.

Jack shimmied the sweatpants off of you and forgot that because you were here and you had just showered, you weren’t wearing panties. And suddenly, he felt feral. 

“Jesus Christ,” He shook his head looking at you, it felt like maybe he was dreaming a little, having you naked beneath him. He felt almost delirious with it.

You looked up at him, those pupils once again whole saucers, “Touch me, please?” You whined.

He kissed you again, licking into your mouth as he reached a hand down between your thighs. You gasped as he fully sunk a finger into you. When he moved his mouth back down to suck on your other nipple, your back arched and it sent him into another dimension, being able to make you feel like this.

With two of his fingers pumping you slowly and a thumb on your clit, he felt the moment when you climaxed before you cried out, “That’s it, sweetheart,” He said softly, “Look so pretty when you come for me like that.”

As you caught your breath, you watched as he pulled his fingers out of you and then sucked your juices from his digits. “Taste so good, too.”

Your eyes stayed locked on one another as he reached for a wooden bowl on the coffee table. He took the top off, pulled out an aluminum packet, and closed it again. And suddenly you were giggling, “What?” He asked, ripping the package open.

“D’you fuck mad bitches on this couch or something, Jack?”

He rolled his eyes, but smirked, “Shut up.”

When he slid into you, forehead pressed to yours, you gasped at the sensation. You had thought about this countless times before, Jack Abbot above you, like this. What you had never really thought about was that maybe while he did it, he’d be looking at you like he was in love with you. And it nearly shattered you.

“I love you,” You murmured into his mouth as you felt him beginning to come undone, “I love you so much.”

He moaned your name as he finished and collapsed against you, damp and breathless, “You love me, huh?” He said after a moment.

You lightly scratched the back of his head, “I’ve loved you for years,” You said softly, “Just spent a lot of that time denying it.”

He pulled his head back and kissed you messily, your chin grasped firmly in his hand. 

“Better late than never.”

[luvkimi]

satoru "i love my wife" gojo.

the man was practically a puppy nipping at your heels. when you were dating, he attempted to be less clingy at times because he didn't want to scare you off, but since you're stuck with him forever now, he has no issue clinging to you.

you both could be in public, and his arm would be around your waist the whole time. if you're looking at something, he'll hug you from behind and rest his chin on your head until you're done looking.

and also, ever since you both got married, know that you won't be addressed as anything but 'my wife' for a while.

there's no more sweet names like baby, honey, or love. it's always 'my wife', but emphasize the 'my'.

he will literally scream the 'my' part and just normally say 'wife' because he wants everyone to know that you're his.

"do you want your usual?" satoru would ask as you both walked into a cafe, and you would nod in response while he just gave you a smile. his hand was currently interlocked with yours, and with how tight he was holding it, you knew you wouldn't be able to let go any time soon. the barista looked at you both as she gifted you a smile, and she turned her attention to satoru. "what can i get you two?" "i'll have..." satoru hummed before pointing at a coffee on the screen. it couldn't even classify as coffee—it mostly looked like foam and whipped cream with a bunch of sprinkles and mochi on it. "that one." the barista nodded as she tapped on the screen in front of her, "is that all?" "also, can MY—" the cafe fell quiet with satoru's shout, and the barista just quietly laughed once you smacked his arm. yet, the man only grinned before contiuing. "can my wife have that one?" he pointed to the screen that had your usual order, and the woman nodded. "your total is twelve dollars and sixty-seven cents." "can you write 'gojo's wife' on her cup?" the barista nodded at satoru's question, and you just frowned. yet, you didn't mean the frown. more than anything, you wanted to jump into satoru's arms and laugh at his stupidity. a few minutes later, your orders came out, and on your cup read 'gojo's wife.' when you finished your drink, you cleaned out the cup and stored it in a box with all the little trinkets satoru has given you over the years.

that's also another thing about being married to satoru—he gives you random things, and you can never tell what he's going to give you next.

one day, he'll bring you your favorite flowers, and then the next day, he'll bring you a random rock he found on the ground.

the best part about that, though, is the face he makes when he gives you the trinket.

he'll have a bright grin on his face while holding out the object in both of his hands, and if his blindfold is off, his eyes are practically shining with excitement and curiosity as to how you'll react.

and trust me, he memorizes how you react. that's one of the things you love most about him. he pays attention.

if you get really happy over one gift, he'll start bringing things like that around more. if you only smile at him and thank him for the gift, expect to find those things in the trash later.

he wants all your trinkets and gifts to be things that make you insanely happy—not just meh.

though, he doesn't just pay attention to how you react over trinkets. he memorizes everything about you.

he can tell your mood from the tiniest things.

if your eye twitches even the slightest bit, he knows you're irritated and will get rid of whatever is bothering you. if the corners of your lips fall down for a split second, he knows you're upset and will try to make you laugh. if you narrow your eyes, he knows you're mad, and will try to calm you down.

the reason he does this is because he wants you to know that he does pay attention, for he never wants you to feel neglected.

another thing he does is that he will have a serious conversation with you on the oddest topics.

his tone will make people think that he's talking about the earths issues or whatnot, but in reality, he's just talking about how it's stupid some birds have wings but then they can't fly.

"what do you mean ostriches can't fly because they're too heavy? are you calling them fat?" satoru frowned at you from where he sat—slowly resting his head on the kitchen island while you rummaged through the fridge for dinner ideas. "yes, i am calling them fat. they're too heavy to fly." your answer only made satoru pout. "then why do they have wings at all!? it's like false advertising for birds—can you even call them birds at that point if they can't fly!?" "birds are defined by their wings, feathers, and beak." "okay, first of all, you're a nerd." satoru commented as you walked over to the kitchen island, and you leaned against it while staring at satoru. "and secondly, that's stupid. wings are supposed to help you fly. like, why do penguins have wings?" "they're flippers, toru." "SHUT UP! THEY LOOK LIKE WINGS!"

now, satoru does a lot of random things, but a favorite has to be when your phone camera is on.

no, not just on him, but you as well.

your selfies? most of them have him in it. it's either his hand is in a peace sign, his arm is wrapped around you, or he secretly leans his head in frame and sticks out his tongue.

your mirror photos? his arm is wrapped around your waist with his chin on your shoulder, or if he's shirtless, he will step behind you and flex.

you complain, but you always end up looking back at those photos with a smile.

now, when the camera is on him, he does take it seriously. many think he would be funny with it, but satoru knows he's handsome.

so, he has to make sure all of your photos of him are good-looking so when you look back at them—he knows you look back at them—you remember how amazing he is.

but if you asked him to be silly, he just has to do it.

not because he wants to, but because you want him to.

he'd do anything for you, which is why he's satoru 'i love my wife' gojo.

he would legally change his middle name to that if it proved to you that he is hopelessly in love with you.

a/n : someone's reblog text of one of my other writings inspired this.

comments & reblogs are appreciated !!

[misspantymime]

Bat X Family (Prologue)

a/n: This is my first time posting my writing online and I'm super nervous. I'm working up the nerve to write something longer, so please enjoy this for the moment. I can't take credit for the idea, cause I got it from @p-seduonym, just so you know.

Anya Forger! Child! Reader x Yandere! Platonic! Batfam

You had the coolest family!

Your Papa's name was Bruce Wayne and during the day, he's a super famous billionaire! He owns a big company called Wayne Tech and it makes a lot of cool things and helps people.

But at night...

He's a super hero named Batman!

He protects Gotham from villains and keeps everyone safe! He's got a cool car and a bunch a gadgets and stuff and--

Oh, but he doesn't work alone, y'know? He's got a lot of sidekicks too!

Your Big Brother Dick used to be called Robin, but now he's Nightwing and he's lives in Bludhaven. He's funny and he can do a lotta flips and stuff. It's 'cause he grew up in a circus, before Papa found him.

Big Brother Jay was Robin too, but then he got hurt really bad. Now he's in Crime Alley and his code name is Red Hood! He has a motorcycle and a bunch of guns. Not silenced pistols, like the spies have in your favorite show, but they're still really cool!

Big Brother Tim was also a Robin, but he's Red Robin now. They sound the same but they're actually different! He's super smart and can hack computers! Babara can too, and her code name is Oracle.

Big Sister Cass is very quiet, but nice! She can dance really pretty and knows what people are feeling just by looking at them! She goes by Orphan.

Steph is funny too. She plays lots of pranks and smiles a lot. She lets you play with her clothes, even if they're too big on you. She's Tim's friend, but you like her too! Her vigilante name is Spoiler.

Duke is nice too, and he came to the house just a little bit ago. He has a thing called a "meta-gene" which means he has superpowers! He can control light and his name is Signal.

Damian is your big brother cause he came from Papa too. But he didn't always live with Papa. He used to live with the "League of Assassins". How cool is that? He can even use a sword! He's the new Robin now.

And you all live together in a big house called a "manor", with Alfred, who can cooks and cleans and takes care of everyone--

Oh, how do you know all this well?

Well...

...It's cause you're a physic!

But that's a secret!

a/n: soooo I like neglected! reader. But it's not really spy x family if there's neglect, right? This will be mostly fluff and slice of life.

[flofaiiry]

Nr.7 " You can take it" is so Robby coded to me.

Like I imagine prone bone and himbsee you squirming and him saying that while caressing you all over.

YAY MY FIRST ROBBY ASK THIS IS SO THRILLING!!!!!! legit had to look up prone bone for a diagram to write this bcs i literally cannot visualize 😭😭 also imagine its ur first time with him ok? ok.

---

robby's got you caged under him, hands on either side of you as his tip prods at your hole. you let out the tiniest little whimpers- partially at the sensation, but mostly in anticipation. he's big, probably bigger than any dick you've ever taken before, but robby's made you cum twice on his fingers and tongue already, so you were as ready as you were ever gonna get. your breath catches in your throat when you feel him ease the head of his cock into your cunt, "fuuuck," he groans, sucking in a breath before pushing himself another inch inside you. "shitshitshit," you grimace, hand clamping around the sheets. robby stills, barely halfway inside yet but the stretch feels like it's gonna split you open, "you okay?" he asks. you nod against the mattress, "yeah- fuck- feels good just, god- you're so fucking big." he can't help but smirk, caressing up and down your side with one of his equally big hands, "c'mon, you can take it," he coaxes before slowly pushing the rest of his length inside you.

---

i have so many of these in my inbox to do so i'm going to make them a little shorter so that i can get through everyone's !!!! i'll leave the post w the prompts up for a few more days so if anyone wants to send one this is ur last chance!!!!!! thank u sm to everyone who has sent one already :D !!! <3

[drsheperd-bartley18]

Can you write something small about Paige sleeping on the couch and all the UConn players are in Paige’s apartment as well but Paige is busy sleeping in Azzi lap. While Paige is sleeping she like puts her face more into Azzi stomach and falls asleep while her teammates make fun of her for it?

Golden Retriever

Hope you like it! The end is questionable I couldn’t figure how to end it naturally.

Fluff

————————————————————————

 It was finally Friday after a week of early morning practices, boring lectures, and most devastatingly no Azzi.

 Okay, that might be a little dramatic.

Technically, Paige had seen Azzi, but it was just quick glances and light touches during drills. If they timed it right, Paige could steal a few quick kisses when everyone else left the locker room and text lots of non-super important texts, mostly Paige dramatically begging for attention, and Azzi always giving it to her.

                                Monday

P💗

GOOD MORNINGGGG

I LOVE YOUUU

I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE YOU AT PRACTICE

                                                      My PRINCESS💗

                                                           Morning baby.

                                                           I love you too.

                                                           See you later.

                                Wednesday 

P💗

Baby do u still love me????????

                                                      My PRINCESS💗

                                                                Yes, Paige.

                                  Friday 

P💗

P💗 sent 20 dollars

                                                      My PRINCESS💗

                 Why are you sending me money at 4 am?

P💗

Get urself that nasty green smoothie u like for some reason 

AND u should be sleeping rn Ma

I swear one week without me and u forgot how to function smh

                                                      My PRINCESS💗

1. Thank you paigey you didn’t need to do that.

2. You are actively also awake right now and 

3. You’re only sorta right about that.

P💗

Awwwwww 

U miss meeeee

So here they were finally able to spend some quality time together and Paige was free to do what she was made to do. 

Be in Azzi’s skin.

Like a 6’0 tall basketball player trying to curl into her 5’11 girlfriend’s lap like a golden retriever. Azzi's shirt pulled up so the blonde could rest her head on her abs. Azzi's fingers lightly massaged her hairline then carding through her hair.

Truly at peace. Paige gets a little too comfortable.

She makes a sound.

A mix of a groan, a moan, or something real close to a purr.

Neither of them even realize.

“ Oh my God, You’re literally a dog” Nika.

“Girl boo a few days without her owner and she can’t control herself,” KK says.

Sarah doesn’t say anything but hysterically laughs as she pulls out her phone to document the look of sheer horror of Paige’s face.

“Yo, somebody get a leash,” Ice says.

Paige groans in embarrassment trying to pull the blanket they were sharing higher up while burying herself under Azzi’s shirt trying to hide from her so-called sisters.

Unfortunately, this movement only causes the team to tease her even more.

Finally having enough Azzi rolled her eyes “Okay, Okay, leave her alone, you guys are so annoying sometimes”, there was no real bite to the statement but when Paige gripped her waist a little tighter Azzi’s face softened. “If you guys have a problem you turn around and finish watching the movie”. She says rubbing her hands down the blonde’s back lightly scratching.

The teasing stopped after that.

Because while they might tease and joke about it, they knew that Azzi was Paige’s safe space. They should be used to this by now anyway.

————————————————————————

Have a good day

[kxsagi]

hihi u need to hear me out on this ok

i think its pretty obvious im a BIIIIG fan of grumy x sunshine so imagine v. expressive reader who also happens to be a professional swooner (constantly compliments ppl and swoons over them, like they'll see someone do smth cool and immediately start swooning temporarily & it's so obvious because they don't hide their feelings) with post-wc kunigami who is mostly the victim to being the only one who can tolerate them enough to be around them most of the time

i think it'd be rlly cool to see how two people (reader & kunigami) with opposite personalities can fall in love with the other despite their differences.

“𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝”

a/n: oooh more kunigami fics i see (i'll gladly write for him bc i know a certain someone loves kunigami)

there are many mysteries in life. how the pyramids were built. why post wild card! kunigami came back from the wild card arc looking like a final boss. and most importantly, how someone like you, swoony! reader, ended up orbiting around him like a caffeinated planet circling a dead star. 

“oh my gosh,” you whisper-squeal, clutching the goal post like it’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing. “did you see that header?! ren, i swear, you make physics look like a suggestion. your neck muscles deserve their own fan club.” 

kunigami, who’s jogging off the field after practice, doesn’t look at you. or anyone. he just grabs a towel from the bench, wipes his face like it personally offended him, and grunts. it might’ve been a “thanks.” or a “please perish.” hard to tell. 

to everyone else, that grunt would be a conversation ender. to you? that grunt is a legally binding contract to keep talking. 

“seriously though,” you say, speed-walking next to him with zero shame. “how do you not walk around breaking door frames with those shoulders? you could do anything. break walls. carry me. emotionally ruin me.” 

he keeps walking. you keep talking. this is your dynamic. 

at some point, everyone else has learned to leave you two alone. they tried, truly, to keep up with you. but you are too much – too bubbly, too expressive, too prone to clutching your chest dramatically when someone opens a water bottle in a hot way. you are a human romcom montage, and kunigami is the only one with the emotional stability to endure you for more than ten minutes. 

“why do you follow him around?” reo had asked once, watching you beam at kunigami while he lifted dumbbells like they were paper towels. 

“because he’s my muse,” you replied, hand over your heart. “have you seen him? he’s a greek statue come to life. if i don’t swoon, who will?” 

reo blinked. “you’re insane.” 

“and in love!” you shot back, twirling dramatically before crashing into a weight rack. 

kunigami had dragged you away by the collar like a misbehaving puppy. no words. just that stern, long-suffering look like he was questioning every life choice that led to this moment. 

but the thing is, kunigami doesn’t hate you. 

which is saying a lot, because kunigami, these days, looks like he hates most things. joy. peace. emotions. breakfast cereals with mascots. he doesn’t even talk much anymore – just grunts, glares, and occasionally sighs like the weight of the world rests on his monster-sized traps. 

but for some reason, when it comes to you, he tolerates. no, endures. worse: lets you stay. 

it’s almost funny how opposite you are. 

he wakes up at 5 AM for protein and silence. you wake up at 9 AM singing about the birds outside your window like a disney princess with a caffeine addiction. he bench presses his trauma. you process yours by giving his biceps names. 

“i think i’ll call this one hercules,” you say one afternoon, poking his right arm while he’s tying his shoelaces. “and this one hector. very greek tragedy. very my type.” 

kunigami doesn’t even flinch. he just yanks the knot tight and mutters, “go bother someone else.” 

“no one else will let me,” you sigh dreamily. “they all tell me to shut up. you’re the only one who tells me to bother someone else, which is basically a soft ‘stay’ if you think about it.” 

he stares at you. expression unreadable. you stare back with heart eyes so aggressive it’s practically harassment. 

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” you whisper. 

he walks away. you follow him like a devoted cult member. 

and guess what? the breaking point doesn’t come with fanfare. no dramatic kiss. no enemies-to-lovers arc climax. no moment of him pushing you against a locker and growling “you talk too much” before your lips crash together like a bad wattpad fic. 

no. the moment it changes is stupid. absurdly mundane. 

you’re both at a vending machine after evening practice. kunigami’s trying to get a protein bar. you’re trying to decide between grape juice or being annoying. grape juice loses. 

“you know,” you say casually, leaning against the machine, “if this was an anime or romcom or whatever, this is where i’d pretend to trip into you and then fall in love forever.” 

kunigami doesn’t look at you. “don’t.” 

“i wasn’t going to!” you protest, flailing dramatically. “i respect boundaries. mostly. but if you did fall in love with me forever, hypothetically, i’d be really good at being your trophy wife. i have practice. i once married a body pillow in vegas.” 

he glances at you. finally. slow. deadpan. “you’re exhausting.” 

you clutch your chest. “say it again.” 

and that, somehow, makes him laugh. not a full laugh. not even a real laugh. just a snort, a half-smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, like his face is trying not to betray him. 

and in that moment, you realize something genuinely terrifying: you’re not just joking anymore. 

because under all the swooning and sparkling eyes and anime-tier speeches about his delts, you actually like him. not just the looks. not just the grumpy energy. but the weird kindness he shows in quiet ways. the way he watches over people without saying a word. how he puts up with your chaos without ever once calling you annoying. how he sees you, not just as comic relief, but as you. 

and worse? you think he might like you, too. 

“you never shut up,” he tells you one night, sitting beside you on the rooftop after practice. 

you’re sipping from a juice box and kicking your feet like a child. he’s watching the skyline like it personally offended him. 

“i do shut up,” you reply. “just not around you. you make me nervous. it’s easier to talk than feel.” 

he glances at you, quiet for a long beat. “you’re not nervous,” he says. “you’re fearless. annoying. bright.” 

“aww,” you sigh. “you’re flirting.” 

he doesn’t respond. just keeps watching the stars. but when you lean against him, all sunshine and sugar and a thousand different versions of too much, he doesn’t move away. 

you smile to yourself. it’s not perfect. it’s not poetic. but it’s real. 

and if kunigami’s okay being your gravitational anchor, then you’re more than happy to orbit forever. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[luvuomi]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓.

゛star-crossed lovers. they, who shall defy the stars ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

“love can be just as fickle as fate itself my child. but some day, you may very well come across a wrinkle amongst this finely woven tapestry that is your fate. it won’t be something you notice at first, and you will simply carry on with your days as usual — perhaps they’ll feel a little brighter. the moon always does appear more luminous when it’s accompanied by the stars after all. but when you do take notice of that wrinkle, that loose thread, i wonder … will you sever it as though it were nothing but a flaw in the fate’s design? or will you unthread your tapestry and weave a new one from that single thread?”

ah … i think i finally understand what you meant by those words now, master. to be honest.. i was scared. fate has never been a kind friend to me and so out of fear, i wanted to sever it—sever this. but now that i’m standing here in his arms, melting from this kiss and how it deepens ever so slightly, not with urgency but reverence, each soft press of his lips a whispered oath … i won’t just weave us a new tapestry, i’ll weave our entire future together.

i can no longer imagine a world in which this precious star of mine burns out. i love him — unbearably and so very, very tenderly.

🎨 →⠀﹐⠀╱⠀that wonderful illustration you see above there was created by the lovely artist Pengu1nHero on vgen!! aaaa honestly they equally surprised me with informing me these piece was finished🥹staring at it has me kicking and giggling my feet along with making my heart flutter ?? TYSM ONCE AGAIN TO THE ARTIST GO CHECK THEM OUT AND SUPPORT <3

[the-lazyyy-artist]

Roommates Wanted! fem!reader x o. aiku x s. ryusei x i. sae things that make sense

summary: two months in and beyond the contracts, there are systems that the group agreed upon that just make sense to them.

tags and themes: roommates au, slight crack, very ooc, mundane day-to-day events, shidou complains, aiku balances everything, sae is a rich boy, reader is the glue... somehow

author's notes: i am so so so excited to write more about this au, and slowly, we'll flesh out the dynamics between the four! this has been the happiest I've been writing something, and i hope you guys love it as much as i do! I'm also planning to release character visuals soon lmao. as always, reblogs, likes, and comments are much appreciated!

Check out the Masterlist!!

@ysvanielle @kai-zawa @literallyushiwaka @londonsworldddd @itz-phantomz @imcheshire @loverlixie @byzantiumhollow @bontensbabygirl @sugacor3

It's been a month since Sae joined, and two since you, Aiku, and Shidou started to live together as roommates. You never thought it would work, given the huge differences in your careers and personalities. As expected, all of you have formed systems in your apartment that just make sense to the four of you.

The moment Sae moved in, you introduced one of the most important household items: the whiteboard calendar. "Even if we don't talk most of the time," you explained, "this could be our form of communication. Schedules, deadlines, everything. We'd let everyone know what's going on through this." The boys agreed, but Sae was the most pleased with the idea. He'd finally have something to keep track of all the deadlines he's dealing with. You assigned them a marker each, their color of choice.

Aiku - dark green

Shidou - pink (the brightest, he said)

Sae - red

You - blue

Aiku came home one day with the markers, and everyone, like schoolchildren, scribbled on the whiteboard before they decided to fill in the Month, Year, and Days.

Aiku would fill some spaces on the calendar with important lessons for his class, lesson plan deadlines, and major exams at school. Weekends would fill up most of his tasks. Sae, as an editor at a publishing house, would fill in the calendar with the names of authors and manuscript deadlines, scattered throughout. Shidou's was mostly non-existent, but if he did write something, it would be the name of an important client who had scheduled a class with him. He'd also write stuff like "new protein shake flavor release" because he's been looking forward to it. And you...

Oh, the moment a new month rolls in, you'd immediately fill in the first week or two with your ever-changing, inconsistent schedule. Two graveyard shifts in a row, then a sudden afternoon shift, then back to graveyard. You only get one day off per week, and the boys hated how weird and chaotic your schedule was.

The color coding on your markers made a ripple effect on other smaller things: keychains on everyone's keys, so Shidou won't accidentally grab yours. Then Aiku installed hooks on the wall near the front door to get rid of the key bowl and hang the keys in their designated colors. Aiku and Sae's keys were a little bulky because both own cars (Aiku got his from his dad when he passed the bar exam. Sae... Take a wild guess how he got his). You and Shidou only had two to three keys hanging on your keychains.

Then it became color-coded mugs because of how many times Shidou has used Sae's cup, or Aiku's cup... Or your cup... But never his own. Sae would scold him, calm and cold, and Shidou kinda stopped. So, you and Aiku bought everyone mugs in your designated colors, too.

Another thing that really made sense for you guys was the savings jar. You don't have anything in mind to save for, it was just something you could dig into if the group decides for take-out instead of Aiku's cooking (he'd be thankful that you guys made him rest for a moment), or if you and Shidou planned on buying a new game for his PlayStation (he'd beat your ass until you walk out. Of course, he's laughing). Maybe save up for a new air fryer you saw at the mall one time. It was there for everyone. You, Aiku, and Shidou would shove spare change and bills in the jar, but you always wonder if Sae's spare bills were too much because sometimes, you'd see hundreds in there. Rich boy shit.

A grocery list for bi-weekly grocery runs is also important. A new list will be attached to the fridge, just below the whiteboard calendar, and everyone will write down everything they need before the weekend errands. Shidou would write his in a scrawly handwriting, and it's sometimes "instant ramen x5" or "that new snack I saw on TV, will send you a photo.” Sae would add his in neat handwriting, sometimes in cursive. It's always just the necessities. Aiku will write his necessities and a bunch of snacks for everyone. Sometimes he would be in charge of auditing the fridge just to see what food products you guys needed to survive. He'd always have this neat handwriting. Professor-like. And you? You'd write down your necessities and cravings in a hurried handwriting. Sometimes a little messy like Shidou's.

Grocery runs are handled by Aiku. Sometimes you'd accompany him if you had a Saturday or Sunday off. Sometimes Sae would come with him. Aiku would sometimes tell the others how Sae covered this month's grocery run again, not letting everyone pay. But if it's just Aiku, he'd make sure that everyone chips in once the bill is split according to what everyone wrote in the grocery list. "I'm not as rich as Sae, ya know," he'd reason if Shidou grumbles about it. It was not a problem with you, since it was all you agreed upon when stepping into the apartment.

But the most hated item in the house, something Shidou dreads the most, is the budgeting logbook. Rent, bills, and everything in between. You'd pull the boys at the dinner table to have a roommate meeting ("Five minutes tops, Shidou. Please!"), and everything was discussed. Everyone had to contribute to the month's rent and bills. Sae would be in charge of updating the spreadsheet on his laptop ("Just in case we lose the logbook, we have a copy," he explained), and Aiku handles the money and pays it to the sweet, old landlady downstairs.

If anything, you guys shouldn't have really worked out. Not with Shidou's constant complaining and explosive energy every morning. Not with Sae's quiet judgments and long sighs. Not with Aiku’s overly optimistic views and his "failed" attempts to keep the harmony. And especially not you and your chaotic schedules and sudden bursts of annoyance because of a messy house. But it did.

And you're glad it did.

[calypso-rt]

bookworm III

-> blurbs pt. I + blurbs pt. II

-> rafe x bookworm!reader

You should’ve known the second you mentioned book club that Rafe would take it as a challenge.

"I have to close early tomorrow night. Book club’s meeting here this week."

Rafe, who was leaning on the counter eating one of the muffins he brought (for you, but he always ended up eating half), perked up immediately.

"Book club?" he repeated, muffin paused mid-bite.

You nodded, sliding a volume into place. “Yep. Small group. Mostly regulars. Very nerdy.”

He grinned. “I’m comin’.”

You laughed. “You don’t even read the books.”

"I can read," he said, deeply offended. “Also, I like hangin' out here. And I wanna see what the hype is.”

You tried to warn him. You really did.

"It’s... a lot of older ladies. They take it seriously."

"I take things seriously," he shot back. Then smirked. "Especially you."

And that was the end of that.

The next night, you set out tea and cookies, rearranged the chairs in a circle, and, right on time, Rafe walked in. Wearing a crisp, ironed button-down. With his hair actually styled. And carrying a battered copy of The Great Gatsby he’d clearly panic-bought that morning.

"Hey," he whispered, slipping into a seat next to you. “I’m ready.”

You gave him a Look. “You actually read it?”

"…I read the back," he whispered proudly. “And a few pages. He throws parties, right? I can relate.”

You bit back a smile. “Just... try not to dominate the conversation.”

"Me? Never."

Five minutes in, the ladies were thrilled to have Rafe there.

"Oh, honey, we’ve heard about you," Miss Eleanor said, patting his arm. “The handsome one who keeps buying up all the poetry books.”

Rafe flushed pink. “Well, she makes this place hard to leave.” He shot you a quick smile.

You wanted to be annoyed that he was stealing focus off the book but the way he leaned in when you spoke? How he asked questions even though he was clearly lost? How he kept looking at you like you were the smartest person in the world?

Yeah. You couldn’t be mad.

When it came time to discuss symbolism, one of the ladies asked: “What do you think the green light means, Rafe?”

He sat up straight. Cleared his throat.

"Uh, yeah. That’s like... the thing he wants but can’t reach. Like… uh…" He glanced sideways at you. “…You know. Dreams. People. Stuff like that."

You blinked. That was... actually not bad.

Miss Eleanor beamed. “Well said, dear!”

Rafe looked so proud of himself you could’ve melted. After everyone left, you were stacking chairs when he wandered up behind you, slipping his arms around your waist.

"Told you I could handle book club," he murmured smugly into your ear.

You laughed, leaning back against him. “You barely knew what was happening.”

"Yeah, but you were impressed."

You turned in his arms, grinning. “Maybe a little.”

"Cool," he said, leaning down to kiss you softly. “Next week’s book?"

"Moby-Dick."

He groaned. “You’re tryin’ to kill me.”

"Guess you’ll just have to hang out here more so I can help you.”

Rafe’s grin was instant. “Deal. Now speaking of dick..."

...

It started because you’d been sighing over the love letters in your latest book club read: an old, worn copy of 'Persuasion'.

"Can you believe this letter?" you’d said, dreamy-eyed, reading the passage aloud. “'You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.'”

Rafe, sitting at the counter with a coffee, had blinked. “Kinda dramatic.”

You gave him a Look. “It’s romantic.”

"Yeah. Well… maybe I’ll write you one," he mumbled, trying to sound casual.

You grinned, knowing full well Rafe Cameron probably hadn’t written anything longer than a text since high school. “I’d love to see that.”

Cue: Rafe Cameron absolutely panicking.

The next afternoon, he was in his truck with a blank piece of paper and a pen.

"Okay, letter. Gotta use big words. She likes big words."

He dug through the glove compartment and found a crumpled receipt which he used to scribble “synonyms for love” on the back. Thirty minutes and about five ruined drafts later, he ended up with this:

Dearest (your name),

You are an exceptionally luminous individual whose presence makes my days approximately 300% better.

When you smile, it is comparable to... the sun? Or like, a really good sunrise. I don’t know how to say it fancy but it messes me up. In a good way.

I would do literally anything to see that smile every day. I would read more dumb books. I would put Pride and Prejudice in the correct section. I would even sit through another three-hour book club.

I like you. A lot. Maybe even love you. Probably love you. Definitely love you.

Rafe

P.S. If this letter sucks, it’s because I’m not good at letters, not because I don’t mean it.

He left it on your counter early the next morning without telling you. You found it a few hours later, tucked between Persuasion and your planner. By the time Rafe strolled in later that day, trying to act casual, you were waiting.

"Hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So. Uh. Did you, like... see anything... or…”

You just grinned, holding up the letter.

"This is the sweetest, most perfect thing I’ve ever read."

Rafe’s ears turned bright red. “Yeah? You liked it?”

You stepped forward, tugging him down by his collar. “I loved it.”

And when you kissed him softly he was pretty sure no fancy words in the world could explain how he felt about you.

bookworm comeback

[fligniuz]

when in luzern

luigi mangione x reader x m! OC

｡𖦹°‧ you and your boyfriend make a friend during your travels.

word count: 9.7k • nsfw • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @mrs-cactus69 , @mashkatzi , @straw8berry , @bean-is-reading , @luigis-wetdream , @difensore-del-popolo , @contrarianshitstan , @lunacelia , @lilbadblueeee , @hiscalliope , @luiluvr (comment to be added)

warnings : an ATTEMPT at representing swiss german in fic…f! reader; m! OC; EXPLICIT; threesome (m/m/f); luigi lets it all hang out during a trip to switzerland; drug use (alcohol + weed); oral (m! + f! receiving); voyeurism + exhibitionism; unprotected (practice safe sex!!!!!!); bisexual train; SAY GEX (luigi tops); multiple penetration; come sharing (i think), fluff at the end

notes : hey…so like…idk how many of you are even gonna be into this and i’m expecting it to flop but…it’s pride month and i’ve been wanting to write this concept for a while so this is what you get from me i understand if you wanna skip out on this one it was mostly for me💚 if you DO read thank you very much and happy pride from your resident enby luiginator!!!!🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

P.S: if you need some help visualizing i kinda imagined galli looking a bit like this fine shyt who showed up for like 5 minutes of severance season 2 and then disappeared😩but you’re free to imagine him however you’d like <3

^ divider by cafekitsune

This guy playing the bagpipe at Neubad can’t keep his eyes off of you.

Or Luigi. Hard to say. 

He’s tall, a bit lanky, moving like he’s got the joints of an accordion, wearing way too much plaid, and donning a well-groomed mustache. You can’t guess the color of his eyes from this distance, but you know that they are sharp, brimming with energy and intent, focused entirely on…something in your vicinity. He could either be nineteen or thirty two. His fingers move quickly, gracefully—the head of the bagpipe’s chanter has pointy ears like that of a cat, painted with a tiny golden face. One word comes to mind: twinkish. An original invention.

He is mesmerizing, as is his stare. The music is just as hypnotic. The vibes are strong, and everyone in this venue—or, rather, former swimming pool—is feeling it. You’ve been walking around the streets of Lucerne looking for some plans to make, and when you heard the live music spilling from this cultural venue, the two of you instantly knew where you’d be spending your afternoon. You got lucky; two kind patrons offered up their front row seats on the way out, which you were quick to take.

So here you sit with your boyfriend, tapping your leg and swinging your head to the folksy rhythm filling your ears. Luigi seems to be enjoying himself, too; every so often you catch him looking toward you, the curve of his smile sneaking onto his face like a note passed under the table. He looks content. 

Right now, though, he leans over, his voice hardly louder than the music:

“Do you think that dude on the bagpipe has a problem with us?”

You shrug, still dancing in your seat. “Why would he?”

“I don’t know!” he says, brows furrowed. “Maybe he can sense that we’re Americans from that far away.”

“Or,” you rebut, grinning to yourself, “he just thinks we’re hot.”

He snorts. Nudges you with his elbow. “Yeah, okay. That would be all you. Not we.”

“How would you know?”

Luigi doesn’t answer, because the song has ended and the rows of seats behind you have risen with applause. You join them, standing up and whistling in admiration. From the corner of your eye you see your boyfriend cringing. The band thanks the crowd for joining—“merci vilmal!”—and begin to pack up their instruments, chatting amongst themselves in a cheerful blur of animated Swiss German. As people start to file out of the hollow impromptu stage, you grab Luigi’s hand and yank him toward you.

“C’mon,” you urge. “We gotta find out what the fuck this place even is.”

He laughs. “You’re nonstop.”

“You knew that already. Let’s go.”

Neubad is not only a place of culture—it is a shrine of fantastic craft beer.

You and Luigi are perched at the bar, chatting back-and-forth and nursing tall glasses of something thick and malty when someone approaches and takes the seat right next to yours with a sort of quiet confidence; as if they have done this very thing many times before.

Bagpipe Guy. 

Mr. Staring Problem himself. You could recognize those kinetic eyes anywhere—and you can see now that they are green, a beautiful, muted green that spills out from his pupils like moss on a stump. The kind of green that clings and shimmers. He says something, accent thick—question-shaped, most certainly, but you’d be better off trying to interpret braille.

He watches the confusion wash over your faces, and then laughs. It’s loud, booming and brave like a drumroll. 

“Ah,” he says. “English, yes?”

You and Luigi nod sheepishly.

“I asked how you two are doing tonight,” he clarifies.

“Oh!” You glance towards your boyfriend and smile, relieved to know you haven’t made fools of yourselves yet. “We’re doing well, thanks! Very well. We really loved your music.”

The man makes a face, one of apprehension. As if he is unconvinced. “Really? I feel that we weren’t our best tonight.”

Luigi laughs in surprise, projecting a thumb in your direction. “Nah. You guys killed it. She danced the whole time.”

You did. You know he saw.

Bagpipe Guy smiles. “Where are you two from?”

“America,” you both say simultaneously.

“I could have guessed,” he quips, nodding. “And your names?”

This time you take turns speaking.

“Very well!” he exclaims. He extends both of his hands for each of you to shake, but it looks more like he’s presenting an invisible feast. “I am Galli. It is a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Galli,” Luigi reiterates, like he’s trying it on for size. “You and your bagpipe have great chemistry.”

Galli laughs at that. “I call her Desideria! She is my better half.”

At that he points to the hard-shell case slung over his shoulders—you assume Desideria the Bagpipe lays beyond the metal and plastic. When Galli pats the head of it you imagine Desideria herself purring rhythmically inside. Luigi shares a laugh with you, takes a swig of his beer.

“What brings you both to Switzerland?” Galli asks.

“We wanted something more quiet and rustic,” Luigi explains. “And she has this fetish for Swiss cheese, so she wanted to try it straight from the source.”

“It’s true,” you affirm, nodding. “I will go to unspeakable lengths for a good fondue.”

Galli grins. “And the chocolate?”

You gasp in remembrance—of course you two have tried it. The finest, smoothest, creamiest delight that’s ever melted in your mouth is the Cailler bar you grabbed at one of the many souvenir shops the two of you have visited.

“Oh, the chocolate!” you exclaim, clasping a hand over your chest—a completely appropriate display of affection for such a religiously admired delicacy. “Absolutely bomb. Wait—how would you say it? Like, the Swiss way?”

“Mega fein!” Galli demonstrates, accentuating his words with a very serious chef’s kiss. You and Luigi repeat after him, emphasizing the ei diphthong and the soft ah, much to your new friend’s amusement.

Galli claps joyfully. “You guys are fun,” he says. “Usually, Americans, ehh…Loud. Rude. But no—you two have taste.”

Gesturing toward your boyfriend, you joke, “he thought you had a problem with us. He was like, ‘can he sense our American spirit from that far away?’ because you kept staring at us.”

“I didn’t say that,” Luigi protests, badly. Chump.

“Ah!” Galli nods. “I was staring...I apologize. How rude of me.”

You laugh, shaking off his sudden bashfulness. “We were just trying to figure out which one of us you had your eyes on.”

And then this eccentric, mustached, plaid-wearing, bagpipe-toting Swiss man pauses, glancing between the two of you as he rests his chin atop his clasped hands.

“You are mistaken,” he says. “I was staring at both of you.”

You’re not sure if Luigi looks at you first, or if you look at him—but what comes next is anticipant giggles from both of you, amusement and perhaps something more lingering in your gazes. Your cheeks are warm. Luigi’s are already pink.

“Are you drunk?” Galli asks, as casual as a yawn.

And then you’re laughing.

“Not yet,” Luigi says. You nod in agreement.

“Good,” says Galli. “I live close to here, on Sternegg. I have better liquor for you. Will you join me?”

Neither of you could possibly imagine finding better liquor than what’s at Neubad, and you have no idea where or what Sternegg is—but Galli is a local, and clearly a smart one. Should you trust a man you met not even ten minutes ago, after he stares at you for ninety minutes straight while serenading a room full of strangers with a cat-faced bagpipe? All signs point to...Plots, and they can’t be good. 

Galli, though…He doesn’t feel like a red flag. He’s an open door, a side quest, a detour. He has this way about him, and you know that Luigi can feel it too; you noticed it the moment he came to sit next to the two of you, the moment he started speaking in that eloquent Lucerne dialect. And besides—if anything were to go sour, Luigi could fold this twinkish fellow in half faster than Galli can say “figg di!”. You aren’t expecting disaster, though. Galli feels trustworthy. Galli feels like a friend.

Reaching beside you from under the bar, you squeeze Luigi’s thigh, your silent question heavy as water in the air.

He looks to you, a soft flush still painting his face, and nods.

“That sounds like a good plan, Galli,” you say. “How do we get to Sternegg?”

Sternegg, as it turns out, is simply a street just a few minutes out from Neubad, one that contains rows of homes not too similar and not too different; a cozy little suburb. Although Galli’s place seems small, it’s hiding a universe of eclecticism and adventure. One thing you notice right off the bat is that Galli is a bit of a maximalist—actually, a bit would be a disrespectful understatement. His walls are lined with framed artwork and souvenirs and hanging crosses (not in a “lowkey concerning/maybe paranoid” way; these crosses are carefully crafted and clearly hold both a spiritual and aesthetic significance). His cabinets are styled like framed paintings of winged cherubs, and atop them sits a collection of items: different styles of lamps, unlit candles, Godzilla encased in a glass display jar, sculpted bears wearing hiking gear. You find several instruments—namely a keyboard, a tie dye patterned cello, and a banjo. Just the living room alone is a collection of mementos from Galli’s clearly audacious existence, a museum of artistic wonder and space ripe for creation.

Happily, Galli leads you to the kitchen, a much more subtly fashioned room complete with decorative displays of fruit, moody lighting, and ceramic figures of a boy and girl dressed in traditional Alpine garb. It turns out, upon your inspection, that they are cookie jars; the tops of their heads screw off in an uncanny but charming manner, leaving the twins essentially scalped. You personally love the vibe. Nothing says “welcome to my kitchen!” like scalped people-shaped cookie jars.

Luigi is still busy kicking his shoes off by the time Galli is greeting you with a trio of glasses and what looks to be a bottle of red wine.

“This always impresses my guests,” he says, “so I do hope you two enjoy it.”

You take a closer look at the label: Racconti, by an indeed impressive sounding Cantina Mendrisio. 

“Sounds Italian,” you suggest.

“Did somebody say Italian?”

Luigi is now in the kitchen with you.

As Galli begins to pour the three of you a glass of Racconti, he smirks to himself. “It is Italian wine, yes. From Ticino.”

“Ticino?” you and Luigi repeat in unison.

Galli giggles, screws back on the top of the bottle. “An Italian region here in Switzerland, my friends. It is where we Swiss make our finest wine.”

He raises his glass, as if to make a toast, and you and Luigi mirror him.

“Ready?” Galli asks. “After me: Broscht!”

“Broscht!” you both repeat, clinking your glasses against Galli’s. After your cheers the three of you collectively sip, giggling back-and-forth.

“Alright,” Galli says, “come with me.”

At his word, the two of you follow Galli out of the kitchen and through the narrow hallways into his bedroom, full glasses in hand.

If what you’ve already seen wasn’t excellently elegant enough, Galli’s bedroom is nothing if not a suitable challenger. The atmosphere is a mix of grandma’s house and 70’s hippie pit, a melting pot of velvet surroundings and uniquely shaped rugs and well-fed houseplants—there are dainty wooden wardrobes with patterned slacks hanging from the doorknobs, multicolored throw pillows, IKEA boxes of records settled next to a truly jaw-dropping audio setup. But the centerpiece, of course, is Galli’s circle-shaped bed, perfectly plush and cradled by a golden frame; you instantly make a beeline for it, careful not to slosh your fancy Italian wine onto the rose-colored cushion.

The first thing Galli does upon entering does not surprise you. He walks right over to his collection of music and starts digging through the cache; he pulls out a record—Addio Alexandra—and skips to the second track, which lights up on his stereo’s display: “Ménage á trois”. 

Luigi takes his time looking around, while Galli focuses his attention on a small box on his nightstand.

“How do we feel about a smoke?” he asks, glancing up to gauge your reactions.

You sip your wine. Look toward Luigi.

Galli clarifies; in his hand is a grinder, making the kind of “smoke” in question more clear. The both of you nod.

“Excuse me,” he says, ushering over to the balcony door. 

As soon as you can feel the wind blowing into the room, you smell it: Galli is growing some dank shit on his balcony. You watch as he collects the bud from his plant and looks it over, returning back to the bed with a smile. 

You look at Luigi again. He’s still touring the room, eyes darting about like he’s in search of something.

“Do you read much, Galli?” he asks. He faces the bed, now, one hand perched on his hip. 

Ah. That’s what he was looking for.

As Galli stuffs some bud into his grinder and begins to twist, he shrugs. “I read sheet music. Not much more.”

“Luigi reads a lot,” you say. He nods in agreement, making his way toward the bed. 

“Yes?” Galli smiles, now carefully switching the flower to a thin rolling paper. “What else does Luigi do?”

Right then something clicks between the two of them that makes your brain short circuit and overload all at once—Galli’s eyes meet his, a quick but conspicuous glance, and Luigi blushes. He blushes and he smiles, his canine catching on his lip as he looks away with a low chuckle.

What the fuck was that?

“I’m pretty active,” Luigi says. “I’ve been really into running lately…Um, I dunno, baby, what else do I do?”

He looks to you now, face settled, as if that little hiccup just a moment ago was nothing but a bump in the night. It puzzles you that he can’t find much else to say about himself.

You sip your wine. “He can make a mean baked ziti.”

Galli giggles jovially, sealing the joint with a lick down one end of the paper. His eyebrows are raised with what must be surprise.

“A fellow Italian?” he asks, looking directly at Luigi.

“I kinda thought my name gave it away,” says Luigi, smirking shyly.

Befuddled, you murmur, “I thought you were Swiss?”

“Both!” Galli clarifies. “My parents are Italian-born—they moved to Lucerne when my mother was pregnant.”

“So you’re Swiss Italian.”

“I guess the mustache makes it pretty obvious, now that I look at it,” Luigi says. 

And he’s right; Galli slips the spliff between his lips and strokes his signature well-manicured mustache with both hands, using the tips of his fingers to twist the dull ends. Luigi laughs through a sip of his wine, and you join him, still slightly piqued at his boyish, seemingly charmed attitude towards Galli.

“I’ll be right back,” Galli says. “I left my lighter in the kitchen…”

The lean man is already up and about, turning down the hallway to retrieve it. The joint is still in his mouth.

You nudge Luigi’s bent knee with your foot.

“What?” he asks, face adorably peeved.

“What’s up with you and Galli?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re acting weird,” you say, finishing what’s left of your drink. “You’re all blushy and…Weird.”

“I’m not blushy,” he shoots back, hushed, as if Galli is listening through the walls with his wine glass. “I don’t understand what you mean. I’m not being weird.”

“You are,” you rebut. “Do you like him?”

“What?”

“Do you like Galli?”

Luigi blinks. Sips. His hand is trembling, just slightly.

“I mean—I’m—I don’t know,” he stammers, looking away from you. “Do I like him? What does that mean?”

“You just seem, like…” you try to explain, struggling with the words as they escape, half-formed, from your mouth. “You seem enamored with him. I don’t know. You’d have to see it from my eyes.”

A beat passes as Luigi, too, finishes his wine. He sets his glass on his thigh and narrows his thick brows at you, eyes focused.

“What are you implying?” he pokes.

You don’t answer. Galli is returning, now holding a neon pink long-reach lighter in his hand. 

“Sorry, friends!” he says, attaining his seat on the bed. “I couldn’t find the right one, so we have to make this work.”

You stifle your laughter as Galli struggles to find a proper angle to light the joint—but he makes it work, taking a puff and retrieving the bottle of Racconti from his nightstand. As he pours the both of you a second glass, careful not to spill any on the bed, his lithe fingers pass the spliff to you, one sparkling green eye winking.

“Ladies first,” he jokes.

You giggle. Take a hit, sip from your glass. You feel as if you’re living a proper European life, sitting on this lavish bed drinking gourmet wine and smoking a Swiss Italian man’s weed with your boyfriend. Exhaling slowly, you hand the spliff to Luigi—and when he takes it from you, his fingers brush against yours in a way that feels delicate, purposeful. But then, he looks to Galli once more; his eyes flicker over with a hint of something you can’t identify, glancing back at the eccentric man who now leans against a mountain of pillows, watching the two of you with a grin that’s impossible to interpret.

Luigi coughs just once when he takes a toke. You decide to spare him the embarrassment of even acknowledging it.

“How long have you been growing, Galli?” you ask.

“Ahh…” he begins wistfully, taking the joint from Luigi. “It started in university. At first it was just an experiment, but then…I don’t know. I fell deeply in love with it. I like to watch beautiful things flourish.”

He’s not looking at the plants.

“University?” Luigi pipes in. “What’d you study?”

As you take your hit, Galli responds, “actually, try to guess.”

“Art history?” Luigi offers.

“Mortuary science,” you suggest.

Galli shakes his head, guffawing. And after a sip of wine, he provides: “Astrobiology.”

You look at Luigi. He is looking back at you.

“Astro…biology?” you repeat.

“It is exactly what it sounds like,” Galli adds. “The study of life in the universe.”

“Like…aliens?”

Luigi is laughing.

“I know, I know,” Galli says, his blunt teeth perfectly white beneath his lips. “You didn’t know that existed before I told you about it…But it’s real! And we didn’t just study…errr, ‘aliens’. We studied the origins of life and learned about early evolution. It is a very astounding discipline.”

Luigi nods, still smiling, but fascinated nonetheless. “No, I agree. That’s really cool. So why aren’t you, like, at NASA now?”

“That’s the thing,” Galli says. “I went into college not knowing what to do with myself. I settled on astrobiology because…It sounded cool. But then I met my friends, my bandmates, and I realized…What I wanted was to create, not to study creation.”

You smile, softened. “That’s profound, Galli.”

By now Luigi has the joint again. When he passes it to Galli, the Swiss devil himself asks, “what about you two? University?”

“Oh, yes,” you say. “Both of us. But Luigi especially.”

Luigi shrugs you off, but he knows just what to say next. “I went to the University of Pennsylvania.”

“University of Pennsylvania!” Galli repeats with pride. “That is a very prestigious school, no?”

You nod. “Very.”

“What did you study?” he asks, eyebrows raised in beguilement.

“Computer science,” Luigi answers.

“Very good!” Galli exclaims, taking a hit. “The only technology I understand is music. I am envious of your brain.”

“Wanna trade?” 

Galli has a laugh that lingers in your eardrums. It’s crisp and vivid, like watercolor on fresh paper, imprinted in the very electricity of your nervous system. You wonder if even the alcohol won’t let you forget it.

“You don’t like it?” he inquires, handing you the spliff.

“I do,” Luigi says. “I like code. I like to unravel things. Sometimes it just feels limiting.”

“Such is the way of life,” you murmur, smoke curling from the edges of your lips. 

Their eyes are on you. Both of them. Looking with scheme glistening behind their irises, faces blissfully relaxed. You pass the joint to Luigi; when he takes it, he strokes his fingers against yours once more—this time far more obvious, less hesitant. 

Something reeks of possibility.

You aren’t sure what shifted. Maybe it’s the alcohol you’re still drinking, or the pot you’re still smoking, both excessively European in strength—but a keen intuition tells you that this is something more than intoxicated tension. It’s raw and tugging at the edges of your connection. It’s fierce, screaming like a banshee underneath the shiny overlay of innocent fun. You ponder if either of them can feel it, too. You ponder how to swim through the ambiguous expectancy.

And, frankly, you aren’t sure how long the three of you sit talking back-and-forth, sharing the joint until it’s a roach and drinking until the room starts to feel a little too toasty. You aren’t sure of all the things that you discuss amongst yourselves. What you know for certain is the one question Luigi asks that flips the night on its head:

“Why did you invite us, Galli?”

Propped up against the high-backed, pillow-stacked headboard, your host—your new friend—smiles toothily at the both of you, mossy eyes shimmering.

“You two interested me,” he responds. “I like good company.”

And then, whether it’s the wine, the weed, or your own blatant disregard for manners, you pave the cement that forms the road of the night:

“You thought we were hot.”

Galli blinks.

Luigi delivers a gentle but firm slap to your arm, uttering your name in a scolding tone.

Galli laughs.

“You are not wrong,” he says. “But I didn’t want to…err, embarrass myself. Or frighten my guests, of course.”

You wish you could capture Luigi’s expression on camera. The subtle but palpable changes in his face are perhaps the most suitable highlight of the affair.

“We aren’t frightened,” you murmur, hand gliding up Luigi’s thigh. You squeeze him—promptly, but reassuringly. You turn to him. “Are we?”

He looks at you, looks you in the eyes, for the first proper time tonight. His face relaxes. His heart does, too.

He turns to Galli. “We aren’t,” he clarifies, voice soft, uncertain, still welcoming. “But what kind of company were you looking for?”

“You like to unravel things, Luigi,” Galli proposes, setting his wine glass on the nightstand. He leans forward. “Perhaps the three of us could unravel together. Would you all like that? With me?”

This time, you and Luigi don’t look at each other. 

You nod. Without thought, you nod. 

“We’ve never—” Luigi then adds, but he swallows the rest of his sentence quickly. Retries. “Uh, we don’t have…Much experience with this kind of thing.”

“That’s quite alright,” Galli says. “None needed.”

“Do you do this kind of thing often?” you ask. “Bring drunk tourist couples to your bedroom?”

He shakes his head, flippant. “Not really,” he answers. “I do not come across the opportunity often. Well…I do, but, err, I do not always like the candidates, I suppose.”

“But you like us?” Luigi interjects.

Galli nods. Smiles. “Yes. I do. Do you like me?”

“Yes,” you affirm.

Luigi nods in agreement, then parts his lips to mutter: “I’ve never been with another guy before.”

At this, Galli chuckles. “That’s also alright,” he assures Luigi, eyes gentle. “Would you like to be? Tonight?”

You look to him. He isn’t looking at you, but he’s clearly thinking.

Or perhaps he isn’t. He answers quickly:

“I mean…Why not try it?” Luigi responds, the leftovers of a smile creeping into his lips. “When in Lucerne, right?”

He means it to be funny, but none of you laugh. The fierce wails of your bond are far too loud to respond appropriately. You squeeze his thigh again, much like you did at Neubad, where you first met Galli. There are a few curious glances passed between the three of you. Then:

“Well, uh…How do you normally go about…Starting?” Luigi asks.

The Swiss devil next to the both of you is as nonchalant as ever, gently smirking as he speaks. “What would you two like?”

“I have an idea,” you blurt.

The boys turn to you in an instant. 

“Well, go on,” Galli goads, eyes wide and inquisitive.

Luigi’s hand presses against your back, rubbing encouragingly.

You smile. “I shouldn’t say…”

“You should,” Luigi suggests.

“Would it feel better if you whispered it to Luigi, and he relayed it back to me?” Galli offers, leaning in.

You consider. Nod. Galli beams. 

“Alright, then,” he says, relaxing back against the headboard once more. “No need to be shy.”

Palm pressed into Galli’s plush mattress, you lean over to whisper to Luigi, making a show of it by cupping your hand around where your lips nearly meet his ear. Galli watches closely with amusement.

Luigi’s eyebrows quirk as the syllables leave you. He turns to you, grinning.

“Is that what you want?” he asks.

You nod, blushing madly.

“Well, what?” Galli chimes in.

At that, Luigi speaks: “She wants to watch me suck you off.”

There is a glimmer of something adventurous in Galli’s eyes as he leans forward. “Is that so?” 

When he glances over at you, you nod again.

Galli smiles at Luigi. “Your lady is a firecracker.”

Your boyfriend flushes a little at that, laughing softly, dimples accentuated. 

“Well,” Galli says, “since we have a newcomer here…” 

He looks to Luigi, who lowers his head bashfully.

Galli continues: “I think we could use some warming up, yes?”

His slender hand begins to creep up Luigi’s thigh, enticing and suggestive—until Luigi crashes his lips into Galli’s, coaxing a noise of pleasant surprise from the leaner man. It’s a messy kiss: long strokes of tongue and the slick of spit, and you almost can’t believe your eyes, can’t believe that you’re really watching your boyfriend come to terms with something neither of you expected to confront this evening, or ever, for that matter. Your eyes widen with excitement as you watch Galli’s thin fingers tangle into Luigi’s curls, their mouths moving without any hint of hesitation or uncertainty. Leaning back against the headboard with a slight smile, you brush your fingers back-and-forth over your nipple through your cami, thoroughly enjoying the sight in front of you and the sounds that their kisses produce.

They go at this for a while, much longer than you anticipate; it’s just you easing into the moment with the slightest touch as you watch your boyfriend kiss another man, sloppy and unheeded, Galli licking into Luigi’s mouth with intent and drawing moans from the broader man that make you feel dizzy. When Galli parts Luigi’s lips with his tongue Luigi takes the opportunity to nibble at Galli, pulling back just a little, and Galli groans, smoothing his hand down Luigi’s shoulder blades. You start to think this night couldn’t get any more unpredictable.

As Luigi pulls away to catch some air their lips are still connected with saliva. Galli turns to you, notices your hand teasing yourself. 

“Liking the view?” he asks playfully.

“Oh, yes,” you nod. “Don’t mind me. Just gettin’ comfortable.”

You can see Luigi smiling sheepishly at that—a sweet little smile that slowly fades as he kisses Galli again, this time reaching forward to grip his waist. With the weed and the wine on top you’re starting to feel all fuzzy just watching them make out, Luigi’s brows furrowed in concentration as Galli slips his hand under your boyfriend’s shirt. God. Not in a million years would you have guessed that watching a folk music show at a cultural center would lead to you and your boyfriend in bed with another man, no less this specific man—but you’d be delusional to complain. The sight in front of you is something straight from porno. Galli moans when Luigi begins to kiss down the slender expanse of his pale neck, leaving wet marks and teases of teeth in his wake. At this point you decide to pull your shirt up and over your head, something that the boys are far too busy to notice, because they, too, are starting to strip; before you can blink Luigi is helping Galli out of his plaid-print vest and thin undershirt, their mouths wet and swollen with passion, lips pink and thoroughly used. Galli’s fingers trace the light freckles underneath Luigi’s eyes and you watch as fire ignites behind his statuesque face.

Glancing over to you briefly, they continue, leaving you to work the silk of your skirt down your legs. Galli’s slender hands reach for the hem of Luigi’s tee, lifting, revealing taut abs and perky nipples. Clearly you and Galli are of one mind—the Swiss man is quick to pinch at Luigi’s chest, eliciting a moan of surprise from your boyfriend. Luigi retaliates; he pushes Galli down onto his back and slots himself between the man’s legs, meeting his mouth with a bruising kiss and fumbling with his own belt buckle. You watch closely and begin to tease yourself through your panties as Luigi steps out of his khakis, earning a gasp from Galli.

“Gopfertelli,” he mumbles, eyes trained on the clearly pronounced tent in Luigi’s navy briefs.

Much of what Galli says in his native language sounds like gibberish to you—but this time it makes complete sense. 

Intimidation. Thirst. Shock. You can’t blame him.

As you’re rolling your underwear down your hips your boyfriend’s big hands meet the waistband of Galli’s corduroy pants, pulling them off swiftly along with his (unsurprisingly plaid) boxers. His cock springs free; Galli is slim, a bit skinny, and just the right size—not too big, not too small. Coincidentally quite perfect for a first-timer like Luigi, who seems subtly pleased with the sight in front of him; he leans forward and grasps Galli in his hand, pumping softly, hesitantly.

“I’ve never done this,” Luigi says, “so don’t expect much.”

Galli laughs, caresses his curly head. “Give me your best.” 

It’s fun to watch Luigi navigate a new situation. It’s just as fun to watch a proudly straight man take a cock in his fist and bring his mouth to the tip, tongue peeking out to lick tentatively at the slick slit. Galli brushes his fingers through Luigi’s hair and rests his head back, moaning softly as the larger man adjusts on his knees to slather more of his tongue over Galli’s cockhead. Holy shit. You’re really watching this. You have to resist the urge to pinch yourself, to ground yourself in any way, to convince yourself that this isn’t too sexy to be true.

As Luigi begins to ease the tip of Galli’s cock between his lips, you sneak a hand between your thighs, circling two fingers over your pulsing clit and watching intently as Luigi slowly strokes what he doesn’t have in his mouth. 

“Cazzo,” Galli whimpers. “That’s wonderful, Luigi.”

Luigi’s cheeks blossom pink at that, the same pretty shade of pink that you find on his full lips, and you slip a finger through your slick folds as he begins to properly suck on Galli’s length; your boyfriend widens his jaw to fit more into his mouth, those very same lips you adore kissing so much wrapped tight around the girth of him with only the smallest sign of struggle. When he pulls his head back Galli tugs at his curls, and Luigi moans, sending a delightful shock of vibration through Galli’s cockhead. You swear you can feel it in your clit. Your fingers glide lower, collecting your arousal and spreading it over your cunt, your movements obscenely obvious to the boys—but they hardly pay you any mind, with Luigi only looking in your direction momentarily before returning to the task at hand. Something about his concentration pumps you full of libido, shakes you to your core. Your boyfriend looks so good with a dick in his mouth.

Swirling your fingers over your erect clit once more, you can’t help but moan when Luigi manages to take more of Galli’s length, slowly but surely working every inch into his mouth. Your high washes over you in little waves of electricity as you watch Galli buck his hips, clawing at Luigi’s scalp and whispering Italian prayers to the heavens. His voice is like molasses in his throat; thick and whiny, so desperate, waging a war against itself. His dainty eyelashes flutter and he crooks his neck to look down at your boyfriend sucking him off, meeting his stone gaze. Galli’s cock bulges against Luigi’s cheek, his glans meeting pure smooth skin and mucosa, and Galli grips the edge of the bed, his chest heaving with each breath.

“Luigi,” he moans. Your two fingers are building a steady rhythm over your clit already, your thighs twitching with the beacons of pleasure that begin to cement in your body. 

Luigi licks his cockhead, presses his tongue into the crest of Galli’s slit. “Am I doing alright?” 

Chuckling, Galli caresses Luigi’s cheek. “It’s perfect,” he says. “Don’t stop.”

So Luigi doesn’t, and neither do you, teasing your entrance with your fingertips as Luigi takes Galli’s dick back into his mouth, using his large hand to spread his saliva down the length of it. His wrist tenses against his Fitbit when he squeezes the shaft, eyelids much more relaxed than when he started, like he’s slowly getting used to the tempo of it. Things are getting quite wet for you—well, more wet than you were already, anyway. Your fingers glisten and audibly slide together when you pull them away from your cunt; you angle your palm against your clit as you gently glide your middle finger inside yourself.

Things are getting quite wet for the boys, too. Luigi’s spit is making a mess of Galli’s cock, spilling from his lips and trickling down every inch. You wonder just how much he’s enjoying himself.

“God, fuck,” Galli murmurs, head lolling in your direction. “You like watching, Ängeli?” 

You nod, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. “He looks so perfect.”

“Yes,” he agrees, and Luigi raises his eyes, curious; Galli traces the slope of his wide nose and strokes the back of his head, further encouraging Luigi to lathe his tongue over Galli’s tip with vigor. “Such a darling little mouth. You are a lucky woman.”

Luigi groans at that, loud and rumbly in his chest. You curl your finger. 

The bedroom only feels hotter now, even with the breeze blowing through the open balcony door, and all you can do is spread your legs further and ease another finger into your cunt, giving the two men in front of you as much of a show as they can manage to watch in their current positions. Luigi works his hand down Galli’s girth and swirls his pointed pink tongue over Galli’s cockhead in this gentle, coy sort of way, his mouth loud and wet with slobber. The way your boyfriend’s lips curl and loosen around Galli’s dick is so intentional, so vivid, almost hypnotizing—when your fingertips press into your G-spot you moan aloud and the both of them join you, like a symphony of collective pleasure bouncing off the plaster walls. The trio of you make music in ways you wouldn’t have envisioned even with Galli’s stellar Italian wine. 

And when Luigi lowers his head as far as he can go, gagging as Galli breaches his throat, you and Galli keen in unison.

“Mio dio, non posso—” the man squeaks, gripping tight at Luigi’s curls, now damp with sweat. “Luigi, wait, please. I don’t want to come yet.”

So Luigi halts, lips pressed together, cheeks flushed—awfully puppy-like. You’ve seen the same face between your own thighs more times than you can count. 

Galli laughs. 

“Shit,” he sighs happily. “What a treat.”

Luigi smirks, and the heat of a thousand suns sparks a flame beneath his pupils. “Yeah? Was I alright?”

“More than,” Galli assures him. “Come here.”

They kiss again. This time it’s different, a little softer, more relaxed. Galli rests his hand on Luigi’s pec as he drags his lips over your boyfriend’s mouth, moaning against him, and Luigi’s blush is so bright that you think he might burst to pieces right here.

The ceiling seems to spin when you pull your hand away from your legs and shift to your knees, crawling over to the boys where they lay at the end of the bed. And predictably, when that curly head of hair spots you approaching, he instantly lurches toward you, in search of your lips, too.

But you’re curious. As Galli moves to take your previous spot at the headboard, you skim your hand over the fine hairs of Luigi’s happy trail, slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear to find…

Luigi is unspeakably hard in your palm. He’s straining against his boxer briefs, his cockhead engorged and clearly visible underneath the fabric. When you give him a gentle squeeze he dips his head into the crook of your neck and groans divinely, teeth grazing your bare shoulder. 

Yeah. You knew you were onto something.

“Did you enjoy that, Luigi?” you ask sweetly, tilting Luigi’s head up to meet his gaze. “You like blowing Galli?”

Those bambi eyes beam, both meek and undeniably obvious. “Yeah,” he mumbles, nodding. When he kisses you Galli moans deliciously.

“Did you like watching?” Luigi asks.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “I loved it. You’re really hot when you’re sucking dick.”

He smiles a little at that, grazing his nose against yours. “Who knew?”

From the headboard, Galli speaks: “Do you two mind if I watch now?”

You look over to the smaller man, grinning. “Whatcha gonna do, Galli?”

He smiles back at you. “I have an idea,” he says, the lilt of his voice mischievous.

“Yeah?”

“Do tell,” Luigi chimes in.

Galli’s face brims with wickedness. “I’m going to get myself ready so your boyfriend can fuck my ass while I fuck you.”

Luigi flushes, and you smirk devilishly. Turning to him, you ask, “would you like that, babe?”

He cheeses like the cat that got the cream. 

“I’m not opposed,” he says. “But I’ve never, uh…”

“He’s never fucked a dude,” you explain, looking back to Galli.

The Swiss man laughs cheerfully, opening a drawer of his nightstand to retrieve something. “Are you nervous, Lui?”

Luigi shrugs, still blushing madly. “A little, I guess. This is all pretty new for me. For us.”

You nod in agreement, squeezing his shoulder.

“Would playing with your lady make you more at ease?” Galli asks, now revealing what he’s grabbed from the nightstand: a bottle of lube.

Fleetingly, Luigi glances at you and smiles. “Yeah. I’d like that. Would you like watching?”

Galli nods. “Very much.”

You and Luigi have never had an audience before, obviously—so it feels a little awkward as he guides you to lay back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs and looking wistfully at your equally flushed face. You’ve never seen him more exposed. You love the way it looks on him.

And then he speaks: “Have you ever eaten pussy, Galli?”

You gasp as Luigi dips his fingers into your arousal, glancing over at Galli as the lean man slicks his own with lube. 

“Unfortunately, no,” Galli replies. “I’ve never gotten the chance.”

“It’s a treat,” Luigi murmurs, mirroring Galli’s language. “A real treat with this one.”

“Is that right?” 

Galli spreads his legs, links an arm under his knee and brings his wet fingers to his asshole. Luigi is leaning down, now, planting kisses to your forehead, the tip of your nose, your throat, between your tits; and you feel like you’re floating atop a cloud of pixie dust and your wildest dreams as he inches lower and lower, closer to your weeping cunt, where you’ve been aching for someone’s touch far longer than you have the brainpower to vocalize.

“She tastes like il miele più dolce,” he says, spreading the folds of your pussy with two fingers, teasing the hard nub of your clit with his thumb. “When I touch her here she sings for me.”

Laying back, Galli smirks. “Would you let me hear her symphony?”

Luigi doesn’t answer. He parts your thighs, shifting to flop onto his stomach and insert his face between them. Two slender fingers spread you once more; and then he licks, one long lick up from the opening of your cunt to your clit, his lips wrapping around you when he’s tasted all you have to offer with one stroke of his magic tongue. You shudder and moan and twist your fingers into his bouncy, damp curls, writhing against the rosy cushion as Luigi licks and sucks to his heart’s content.

Galli groans feverishly—you glance over, find him already working one lengthy finger inside of him, watching the both of you with admiration spilling from his nude lips. For a moment, one never ending, blissful moment, you lock eyes. His green irises and Luigi’s hot, wet tongue is all you know for an hour or so and it’s more intoxicating than any drug you’ve consumed tonight; it’s euphoric, liberating, so soft and so like home. You’ve never been happier. 

“Beautiful,” the Swiss man hums, toes curling into his plush bed. “She truly does sing.”

Luigi looks up at you from between your legs, long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings against your skin, chocolate eyes hazy with the sharpest lust. You shudder. The vulnerability of it all, of putting yourself and your boyfriend on display for a man you met today, riddles your body with gooseflesh in an instant—it’s as if Galli is an artist and the both of you his muses, acting in the nude for him to bring to life with every stroke of his brush. As Luigi slathers his tongue over your clitoral hood and through your delicate folds, Galli stretches himself further, sliding another finger into his ass and arching into his own touch. 

And then Luigi pulls away.

His mouth and stubble are sheen with your arousal, shameless proof of the night glistening on his face. He doesn’t bother to wipe his lips. He simply looks towards Galli, hands still holding your thighs apart, and mumbles huskily, “you like watching my girl, Galli?”

“I do,” Galli affirms, cock twitching. “Both of you. Such heavenly creatures.”

Luigi groans, diving back into you without hesitation, this time pressing his tongue against your hole oh so gently. Your legs shoot up with joy—and your heart stutters when he guides your thighs toward you, pushing them into your stomach to allow him better coverage. With the half-mind you still have left, you try to remember that the balcony door is open, that the entire city of Lucerne could hear you if you aren’t mindful of your volume; and alas, you cry out to the shimmering lake, to the Kapellbrücke, to the peaks of Pilatus and Rigi—you cry out to every Swiss and their brother that these men, these two men in this bed with you, have brought you to a level of pleasure so surreal and ethereal you’re terrified of your own capacity to withstand it. 

Moving his head back-and-forth against you, Luigi quickens his pace, licking at you faster and with more intensity than before; it’s now you realize that the stereo is still playing, the mellow soundwaves of slow Italian jazz jumping off the walls and flowing in the ground underneath, trilling through your fingers as they grip and pull at Luigi’s hair. It is a uniquely Mediterranean experience: a breeze whistles into the room, harmonizing with the soundtrack, all while two of the most gorgeous men you’ve laid eyes on sit naked and profoundly preoccupied with you. The world feels acceptably small. You begin to wonder if a threesome was all you needed to unlock the secrets of the universe.

Galli’s dick bobs with each thrust of his slick fingers, his pale mouth open and panting as his eyes focus in on Luigi’s ministrations between your legs. His eyes flit, encapsulated in enjoyment. He is a perfect picture of male beauty, of quiet, subtle aura. You nearly bite your tongue when he guides a third finger into his ass.

“Make her come, Luigi,” he says—you cannot decide if it’s an order or a plea. “Make her come for you.”

If there’s anything Luigi is good at, it’s exactly that. Tensing his shoulders, he brings his dexterous fingers to your entrance, gliding one, then two inside of your pussy with ease as he continues lapping at your clit. 

Galli grunts. “Perfäkt.”

Both men’s fingers move with surgical precision, each motivated by their own desires—and yet, they thrust in sync, like an orchestra of sin. It’s the most melodius sound you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck—” you whine, gasping. The collective noises and sensations of the boys exerting themselves punches the air from your lungs, leaves you shaky and gasping. “I’m, oh, oh, fuck…”

“Getting close?” Galli grins, jaw clenching.

You nod helplessly. Luigi moans as your claws sink into his scalp.

He curls his fingertips into your G-spot, pressing up into your most precious pearl effortlessly even with the distraction of Galli fingering himself—and that’s all it takes, really, because you aren’t sure if your body and let alone your mind could handle anything more. Sparks fly inside your bones as you come hard against Luigi’s mouth, howling like the wind and uttering a slur of curses with each pulse of your orgasm. He spectates with curious, proud eyes, hand still working you through the hills and peaks of your climax.

“My baby,” he murmurs, voice barely audible—but you hear him, even through your heaving breaths. “The prettiest girl.”

As he comes to meet your lips Galli turns back to the nightstand, digging through a drawer with his tongue cutely peeking out from between his lips. Luigi kisses you. Sweetly, generously; almost reassuringly. As if to check in on you. 

You cup his face in your hands, noses grazing. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m really good. Are you?”

He nods, flushed and dazed—you almost think he’s never looked prettier. But he doesn’t answer you, not with words; he kisses you again, like only you and him exist, tugging on your lip as he pulls away.

“Cheib,” Galli spits from the headboard.

Both of you turn. “What’s wrong, Galli?” you ask.

For the first time tonight the Swiss man looks a little sheepish, like he’s miscalculated something: “I don’t have a rubber,” he admits, scratching his neck. “Err…It has been a while. Do either of you have one, perhaps?”

You look to Luigi. 

He frowns. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to be invited to a threesome while we were out. I’m sorry.”

Galli laughs at that, but the concern does not disentangle itself from his thin eyebrows.

“But…” Luigi starts again, glancing at you hesitantly. “We’re, um, both clean. Right?”

He’s looking at you. You clear your throat.

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding. “That’s right.”

“But we understand if you want to stop,” Luigi adds. 

Galli is quick to shake his head. “I…I think I am alright with that. If the both of you are.”

You nod in unison with Luigi.

“Then…” Galli peers behind himself suggestively, his smile creeping onto his face slowly. “Shall we?”

Luigi smiles coyly. “How is this gonna work?”

At that Galli leans forward, into Luigi, cupping his jaw and connecting their lips with hesitant desire. You watch as Luigi reciprocates; he sighs against Galli’s mouth, hands tentatively gripping the slimmer man’s waist, and the contrast between the span of Luigi’s fingers and the small curves of Galli’s hips has your chest feeling heavy and your cunt beating. When Luigi pulls away, he turns to you—the switch from Galli’s lips to yours feels a little awkward, clunky, but Galli’s mouth teases the crook of your neck as Luigi kisses you stupid and all you can think about is how giddy you feel right now.

You never knew that three people could somehow kiss at once. But by the grace of Gott you, Galli, and Luigi pass each other around with all the effort your high, wine drunk, sex-muddled minds can manage; you almost take turns, with Galli kissing Luigi, Luigi kissing you, and you kissing Galli time after time again. The streets of Lucerne must be empty by now. Compared to your surroundings back home, it’s much quieter, more subdued—you suppose the noise regulations must have something to do with that. All you hear is the occasional eerie call of a stray barn owl and the smacking of wet lips, the pure evidence of attraction playing out right in front of you. You could do this forever, you think.

And then Galli reaches for your arm, guiding you toward the headboard and pressing gently against your stomach.

“Lie down,” he directs. 

So you do, laying flat onto your back as Galli makes his way between your legs. Then, he reaches for Luigi, furls his fingers around your boyfriend’s thick bicep and guides him to join the line-up Galli has formed. 

It’s a train. Essentially.

Galli smiles with pride. “Wonderful. How is this for everyone?”

Luigi hums, and you nod, glancing back at the two men kneeling behind you. Galli is already stroking himself and Luigi’s face is overtaken with shyness, a quiet vulnerability, something boyish and sort of innocent. 

Reaching back to squeeze Luigi’s thigh, Galli murmurs, “I’m ready when you are, dolce amore.”

You don’t see much of what happens next—but you certainly hear it.

Galli hisses as Luigi presses inside of his ass, every inch an internal battle—and Luigi keens, loud and whiny, desperate in his throat. 

“Oh my god,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck, ‘s so tight, fuck…”

And then Galli’s cock is fucking you, swiftly and without much precision, his whimpering ringing in your ears as Luigi begins to drag his hips back-and-forth. 

Your boyfriend sounds like he’s falling apart. 

His face is hidden behind Galli’s shoulder blade, pumping mindlessly and rocking Galli forward and further into you. The voice that leaves him is wrecked, broken and put together again, an amalgamation of disbelief and awe and almost certainly ecstasy. As Galli starts to find his pace you reach around, groping his ass, feeling Luigi’s fuzzy thighs meet your fingers with each relentless snap of his hips. Both men groan deeply when you spread Galli’s asscheeks to the best of your abilities.

“Fuck!” Luigi grunts, pitch higher—you can hear each slap of his balls against Galli’s ass as he thrusts. “Feels so fuckin’ good, oh my god…”

You part your legs as wide as they can go and brush your toes against Luigi’s arms, desperate for any touch in your somewhat distanced positions; he smooths his hand down your calf, over the bottom of your foot, squeezing lightly. Galli is quick to pinch and tug at your pert nipples when you arch your back and bury your head into the mattress. The three of you move with the grace of synchronized swimmers and the improvisation of amateur porn, sloppy and unpracticed and so free, so consonant. You never want it to end.

Galli is murmuring under his breath, a haze of Italian swears and Swiss German pleas—his thumb rubs furiously at your clit, determined to please you. You tug at his sweaty, frazzled locks, pulling tight at the nape of his neck, and his hips stutter—and so you do it again, and again, and again, until he’s dragging his swollen lips down your throat and leaving heady purple and red bruises in their wake. Luigi grips the leaner man’s ass, fingernails pinching at pale, smooth skin, and Galli groans into your chest.

“You fuck me so good, Luigi,” Galli praises. “Così grande.”

Luigi grunts at that, teeth pinning down his bottom lip. 

You reach for his hand. Your fingers interlock, gripping fiercely, and Galli breaks just a little more: “Chöntisch,” he pleads, “chöntisch, please, please let me come…”

“Yeah?” Luigi teases. “You’re coming already?”

You brush the hair away from Galli’s forehead as he whimpers in confirmation, mouth hanging heavy with pants and gasps of exertion and enjoyment.

Growling, Luigi mutters, “I’m gonna come too. Your ass is so fucking tight.”

Your cunt squeezes Galli’s cock and he’s quick to pull out, stroking himself over your belly as Luigi continues to pound away at his ass. You replace his fingers on your cunt with your own and his orgasm leaves him in quick, thick spurts and full-body shudders, his once glorious voice unraveled and completely broken. You can only imagine the sensations Luigi must be experiencing; but you can certainly watch his reaction in real time, high definition, his face twisting and jaw tensing as he comes, filling Galli’s asshole.

“Fuck,” Luigi croaks. “Fuck.”

Their combined vocalizations quickly bring you to the edge, your throat creaking as you cry out. Luigi, still holding your hand, strokes his fingers over Galli’s slender hip, curling around his thigh. 

“Isn’t she perfect?” your boyfriend asks him, resting his head on Galli’s shoulder as both watch you come undone in front of them.

“Yes,” Galli agrees, smirking. “Il miele più dolce.”

For a few moments they just stay there, watching you come down, eyes curious and admiring; Galli’s eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, lashes fluttering with each blink, and Luigi looks no different than the many nights you’ve spent in post-coital bliss together, all relaxed hearts and Jello limbs. Your eyes focus in on the pool of sperm on your stomach—fresh trails of Galli left in his passion. Smiling, you use two fingers to scoop up the remains.

“Want a taste?” you ask, looking at Luigi. 

He flushes.

Galli laughs, raising a hand to stroke your boyfriend’s curls. “When in Lucerne, right?” he echoes, almost purring.

Slowly, Luigi leans forward to take your covered fingers into his mouth—he locks eyes with you, all pupils as he sucks and licks away, much like he did earlier with Galli’s dick. You spot no discomfort in his sculpted face. 

“Sweet,” he says simply when he pulls away. “You vegetarian?”

“Vegan,” Galli clarifies.

You could’ve guessed that. Luigi shrugs, face accepting.

And then you giggle. You giggle, and both men do too, collectively basking in your after sex glow, the gentle shifts of your face and voice. The bed feels invisible beneath you and all you can hear is the smooth breeze and their soft laughter, a harmony of pride and warmth and indulgence; mellowed arousal and drunkenness feel weighty in your bones, suddenly very aware of your desire for sleep. It’s peaceful. Silent. Everlasting, like a tight hug.

“Thank you, boys,” you sigh. “Thank you.”

As you cup both of their faces in your hands, they smile in tandem.

The train hums as it crawls up the steep mountain, abundant grassy hills and the occasional cow sweeping past the windows in a steady stream of image, color, and light. The sky is extraordinarily bright today; not a single cloud floats in sight, a clear and bouncy blue splayed atop the universe. A baby babbles to its mother in the booth behind you, much to the mother’s amusement. You smile at the sun. 

From beside you, Luigi squeezes your thigh.

You peel off your headphones. “Hm?”

“…I got something on my mind,” he says quietly. His book is shut against his lap. Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

“What’s up?”

He clears his throat, adjusting in his seat. Like he’s nervous.

You brush your hand over his shoulder. “You can tell me anything, honey.”

“What happened the other night, with Galli,” he starts, “…did that, like…Mean anything?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, brows furrowed.

He sighs. “If I slept with a dude, does that…Make me bi?”

Oh. Oh. This poor thing.

You snort. “It doesn’t make you anything, Luigi. It just means you had a threesome.”

“A threesome with a guy.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “So?”

He blinks, as if the very prospect that his sexuality is trivial never crossed his mind.

“I mean…” he trails off, flicking the edge of his softcover back-and-forth. “Aren’t people who sleep with men and women bisexual?”

“Sometimes,” you say. “If they feel that way. Do you feel like you’re bisexual, Luigi?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Fingers fiddling with the curls at the front of his head, you offer him a gentle smile. “You don’t have to know, baby. It’s okay. Labels are stupid, anyway.”

“I mean—” he stutters, flustered. “I just know that…That I liked it. I liked what we did with Galli. What does that make me?”

You trail your hand downward, grazing his bicep, then interlocking your fingers with his.

“It makes you a man who had a threesome and enjoyed it,” you say.

“…That’s all?”

“Is that all you want it to be?”

He doesn’t answer. You caress his hand.

“You’re overthinking it,” you murmur, lips close to his ear. “There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with you, babe. Bi or not. I love you for the man you are, not for who you want to stick your dick in.”

He chuckles at that, squeezing you back. His head starts to loll against your shoulder.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Whatever you say.”

You grin. Kiss his hair. And as he rests his head against you, the thrum of the train slowly pulls you deep into a well-needed nap.

merci vilmal = “thanks a lot”

mega fein = “delicious/very tasty”

figg di! = “fuck you!”

broscht! = “cheers!”

gopfertelli = “god damn me”

cazzo = “fuck”

Ängeli = “little angel”

mio dio, non posso = “my god, i can’t”

il miele più dolce = “the sweetest honey”

perfäkt = “perfect” (i think…hard to find resources on swiss german☹️)

cheib = basically “darn” or “damn”

Gott = “God”

dolce amore = “sweet love”

così grande = “so big”

chöntisch = “please”

[grandline-fics]

Not My Job Description

DESCRIPTION: "Dear Diary, my brother is an idiot" - journal passages written by Rosinante, documenting his observations between Doffy and Reader

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Rosinante , Doflamingo(technically)

WORDS: 1,685

A/N: The winner of the poll was Rosinante's diary entries giving a brief glimpse into his thoughts and observations between Doffy and Reader. This was a bit different from my usual way of things but I hope you all enjoy ☺️

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

———————

Rosinante had remained steadfastly by his brother’s side for his entire life. Through the worst and best of times, the two were each other’s support. They were both acutely aware of how differently their lives could have gone had certain choices been made but fate directed them to this life; saved at the right moment and brought under the wing and tutelage of the Marines. The whole situation benefited both brothers extremely well. For one thing they got to stay together. For Rosinante he got to help people and do good while also being happy to be with his only remaining family member. For Doflamingo, his need for power, to be stronger than others and wipe out those that got in his way were all hungers sated by being in the Marines, his targets were the pirates that sailed through his waters like they owned them. It was very clear had things gone the other way, Doflamingo would have been a very difficult enemy to handle. 

From childhood Rosinante always felt that writing his feelings out, to make the emotions and thoughts that circled his mind tangible through paper and ink it made them easier to deal with and voice. This habit continued through his years and soon it became more of a document of his life with his brother; their struggle, their training and ascension through the ranks in the Marines. Rosinante’s entries tended to be general day-to-day goings on and idle thoughts, hardly anything exciting, mostly written out of what was now a life-long habit. Those standard entries soon became a thing of the past though when you joined the base as Doflamingo’s second-in-command.

DATE: XX-XXXX   

Dear diary, word on the base is the new Captain that will be serving under Doffy will be arriving today. This will be his eighth Captain in the space of three months. I know he’s reluctant to have a subordinate he isn’t familiar with after me being his second all these years but I still feel guilty. He’s acting out now and I feel partly responsible because I’m now a Vice-Admiral too but he needs to give them a chance. It’s a relief the base is so large that the two of us are able to run it because if I had to transfer to another location? I fear he would have destroyed Marine Headquarters until only a crater remained. 

There’s so much tension in the base today. Everyone is doing their best to give the new Captain a positive experience, at least enough to balance out the negative treatment and havoc Doffy will throw at them. I’ve tried my best to convince Doffy to give the new Captain a chance but he simply grins the way he does and says this is merely his way of ensuring he won’t have a weakling  in his base. If anyone else said it I wouldn’t question things but because it’s Doffy I know his actions are being fuelled by slight cruelty and a lot of pettiness. 

————

Well the Captain arrived…I don’t want to speak too soon but I think they’ll actually stay. I think Doffy doesn’t want to admit he’s impressed and that’s annoying him more. It’s a promising sign.

DATE: XX-XXXX 

Dear Diary, the unthinkable has happened. Today was the first time I was able to walk into Doffy’s office and not get blocked by paperwork blocking my path. The last time I was able to do so was when Doffy first took the role of Vice-Admiral. It was so strange to be able to walk those few steps with no visible obstacles, I almost thought I was imagining things. From the look on Doffy’s face I know his new Captain is the cause for the sudden care for the administration side of working for the Marines. It was clear he was hating every boring second of the work he’d literally let pile up for months and months but most of his complaints that I heard were more for the tedium and pointlessness of the task.

If I’m being honest I’m slightly annoyed at my brother. Today’s shown he’s capable of doing the paperwork-I’ve always known he can- but for years and years I’ve begged him to just sit down and do it to avoid HQ pestering him, he’s ignored my pleas. Yet this Captain, who’s only been here a month manages to get him to do it? Now I’m curious about what the Captain did or said to convince Doffy to do his work. Perhaps Doffy will let it slip later on?

DATE: XX-XXXX   

Dear Diary, as you know I’ve been off base with Law and my own unit for the last two months and in that time I’ve been feeling uneasy. Every day I’ve been using the mission to distract me from letting my thoughts go back to the base and fear what chaos Doffy’s been getting up to. Since the Captain joined our ranks six months ago, I’ve still been around on base to assist with Doffy’s unpredictable mood and whims. While the Captain has found their feet at the base with relative ease, this was the first time they’d have to attend to their duties and deal with Doffy completely on their own. 

I don’t entirely know what I was expecting on our return but the atmosphere I walked into after leaving the ship? It wasn’t that. The subordinates seemed in good form, not tense or nervous as if they were expecting something bad to happen. They welcomed us back as they normally would but I didn’t sense any overwhelming relief at our return either. It was strange but not entirely unwelcome one. There was still no clear sign of the Captain or Doffy and worrying no sign of raised voices or panicked calls. Eventually I found the Captain in the training yard with the subordinates. 

The sparring showed them why they were deserving of the rank of Captain and that the others had a lot of training ahead of them should they wish to get to their rank someday. They moved effortlessly and beat every other Marine that stepped into the sparring ring. I know Law is my second-in-command and is a difficult enemy on the battlefield but if these two Captains were to face off against the other it would be too close to tell who the winner would be. Something else came to me in the training yard, something just as unexpected as the calm atmosphere that had greeted me; Doffy’s reaction to the sparring. 

Through it all he merely observed from the sidelines, arms folded and usual grin- nothing out of the ordinary right? Wrong. I know my brother and even with that practiced smile, and lazy stance I know when he’s looking, really looking. Whether he was just sizing up the Captain, analysing their technique and spotting areas to refine, or simply enjoying the show one thing is for sure. He liked what he saw.

DATE: XX-XXXX 

Dear Diary, something is going on. I don’t know what this something is but I KNOW there is something happening. Have I seen anything suspicious? No. Have I heard anything to prompt this thought? No… Has Law told me I’m just a paranoid younger brother? Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. The Captain has been on the base for over a year now. It’s crazy because it feels like they’ve always been here but at the same time it feels like just yesterday they arrived on base. Slowly things have been stirring in the air and it’s little things, individually insignificant things but I just know there’s more to it all. I mean what other reason is there for Doffy’s attitude around them?

He seems calmer when they are around. Yes, he’s same old Doffy, looking for any excuse to mess with others and toy with them but with the Captain around there isn’t as much as an edge to his words and actions. I’ve tried to subtly inquire with both of them on the status between them and have only been given confused looks in response. The Captain also asked if I’d hit my head when I fell down the stairs earlier in the day because ‘I wasn’t making sense.’ I’m not making sense? They’re not making sense and I don’t care what Law says, I’m not paranoid. It might take a while but I will be proven right about this…whatever it is.

DATE: XX-XXXX   

Dear Diary, he left! He just up and left! Admiral Akainu is visiting the base tomorrow and he left! For the last couple days he’s been scatterbrained and letting his paperwork build up again. His mood hasn’t been terrible but it’s been better and I know the reason is because he let the Captain return home for a few days. Doffy had me fooled, I thought he was going to stay on base and deal with Akainu as best he could-which for Doffy would be to ignore anything he said and wave him goodbye-but no, our subordinates spotted him fly off this morning. Had he been waiting for our guards to drop and wait until the last second before disappearing? 

I know Akainu is going to blow up over this ‘clear lack of respect’ and insubordination but what are we to do? Doffy will only come back when it suits him and if my guess is right it’ll either be when there’s no Admiral invading his personal space or when the Captain is on their way back. Either way it’s going to be a very long week.

——Also I need to remember and buy Doffy a new pair of gloves…and submit a request for extra uniforms.

DATE: XX-XXXX

[This passage is filled with hastily written scrawls, scored out and written over beyond comprehension, attempt after attempt made to voice frustrated but coherent thought only to fail and repeat over and over. The entry is only made of a single sentence, exhaustion permeating the bottom of the ink filled page.]

Dear Diary, my brother is an idiot and his Captain isn’t any better.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @sin-namonroll , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @rosemary-lungs , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @thecraftywriter , @rorozorolover

[monsoon-of-art]

Another little Megamer writing, mostly to practice non-human feelings and senses. Takes place during the Emerald Spears arc from the Archie comics lol

Fear doesn’t have a scent, not exactly. And in this aquarium, in this strange environment with fish and people and other mers, he isn’t sure how he can even pick up the smell; but Rock is terrified.

He had every right to be.

It started as a demonstration to other scientists, one with a speciality in the field of aquatic animals, not just two men who happened to be scientists that stumbled upon merpups. And it was going…well enough. Elec was still unsure of the whole thing; the strange new people that stared at him, the strange other mers that were there, the strangeness of the aquarium in general-

It was going well.

Until it wasn’t.

There were humans in the room, humans with guns and armor and loud voices, demanding the monsters be put in a tank, or else something bad will happen.

(Elec notices when Rock looks around, confused. There were no monsters, only them.)

There was screaming. There was panicky, jerky movement from all around, from everyone in the room. There was the flash of silver of a gun, of multiple guns, pointing at him-

Somehow, somehow, through all the panic, all the chaos, all of the stimuli, Elec, Rock, and the two other mers (Pharaoh? Tempo? He wasn’t sure) were unceremoniously dumped into one of the aquarium tanks, and left there.

And all they could do was wait.

Fear didn’t have a smell. Not one that could be described with words, at least. But as Rock curls up underneath him with a frightened chitter, he can smell the terror coming off the pup - his pup - in sickening waves. It sends an uncomfortable tingle down the back of his neck down his spine, makes his teeth and claws itch.

Elec brought Rock closer with a careful nudge, a deep purr rumbling in his chest. He hoped his presence could bring comfort, because words were currently failing him.

A plan. He needed a plan.

Dr. Light, Dr. Cossack, and Dr. Lalinde were currently being held hostage by the scary people with guns. Roll was MIA (having gone off with a little blonde girl he believed to be Cossack’s daughter…? Elec was unsure.) and Rush was sitting outside the tank, just as lost and as stuck as they were.

There was Pharaoh, another adult mer who was slowly pacing the aquarium walls, as if looking for something. Elec…didn’t know him well. Perhaps it was just his past experiences talking, but he was immediately suspicious of another adult he didn’t recognize.

There was Tempo, a relatively young mer, she must’ve only been a few years older than Rock and Roll. She was being…amazingly calm, all things considered. It was taking all of his willpower not to drag her over and start preening her, replacing her unfamiliar scent with his own. He did not do that. That would be rude.

He wished someone else was here with him, someone else to shoulder the burden of being the metaphorical rock to…Rock. He’d take anyone, Fire, Bomb, Guts, Time, he’d even take Cut, really, just someone else he knew, someone familiar in this tank of strange fish and strange mers and strange smells. Even the sand under his claws felt almost hostile and unknowable.

Elec felt another uncomfortable shiver down his spine, all the way down to the very tip of his tail, and he hoped to whatever God that was watching that he didn’t start sparking electricity in such a confined space.

“You are not used to tanks.”

Pharaoh was staring at him, Elec curled up in a corner, guarding a terrified pup with the quiet ferocity that threatened to bubble over with just the mere presence of the unfamiliar mer.

He forced himself to remain calm. It was just a question. “No, I don’t. Dr. Light didn’t have much space, so having large tanks isn’t possible. This is…different from what I’m used to.”

The other nodded. “Waters are too cold, where we live. During the winter we stay inside large tanks.” Pharaoh paused, glancing around. “This tank is small. But all tanks are the same. There are two layers. The bottom layer, with the glass, and the top layer, to allow people access.

Pharaoh then grew silent. One of the armed humans began slowly walking around their tank, watching them closely. Elec could feel the enraged snarl in his throat, something he struggled to swallow. (It tasted like bile.)

Either satisfied with his patrols, or wary of the two (three, counting Tempo) mers watching him, the armed human turned back to where he came, ducking down a corridor.

“They want us in the tank.” Pharaoh finally continued, gaze lingering on where the man disappeared. “They want us visible. To keep a better eye on us.”

“They’re scared of us.” Tempo finally said, speaking for the first time since all of this started.

They should be scared. Came a venomous hiss in Elec’s head. He felt himself bristle at the thought, but did nothing. Instead, he asked, “What are you suggesting?”

“We leave the tank.”

“That sounds like sui-” Elec paused, glancing between Tempo and Rock, who was now peeking at the others, wanting to be part of the conversation. Selecting his words a bit more carefully, he tried again, “That sounds like a poor decision.”

“You can say suicide, I know what that is.” Tempo muttered.

“There are only twenty-five of them.” said Pharaoh, almost smug and matter-of-factly. “I counted, before we were sent into this tank. If they want to cover the most ground to find us, their numbers will be thin. Easy to…hm.” He finally glanced away at nothing in particular, tail twitching in thought. “...in-ca-paci-tate them.”

This was a risky plan. A risky, risky plan. Elec knew for a fact that he was not graceful on land, nor was he very stealthy. He doubted the other three would be better.

He had no doubt he could easily take on a human, perhaps two. But with a quick glance at Rock, his resolve wavered. What would Rock think of him? The thought of Rock fearing him felt like a knife right through his heart.

Roll was still unaccounted for, Dr. Light was in danger, and to his utter dismay…Elec wasn't coming up with any better ideas. Instead he was curled up, practically bristling with pent up anger and fury.

All rational thought briefly left his head as Rock fully left his side, now open and exposed to every possible threat-

Absolutely not. Absolutely fucking not.

“Where do you think you're going??” Elec asked, grabbing Rock’s tail and starting to drag him back.

“I-I’m going with Pharaoh!” Rock squeaked. “I need to find Roll!”

The undeniable smell of fear was palpable and near overpowering. And from the way Pharaoh gave Rock a pitiful look, the others could smell it too.

It wasn't safe. It wasn't safe. Returned the hissing voice. Rock was so small and so frail, far too gentle and far too kind, and the thought of him getting hurt was physically nauseating.

Every fiber in his being wanted to scoop up his pup and hold him close to his chest. Tucked right under his chin and next to his throat, where nothing with even half a brain cell would dare to come close. Safe, safe, safe…

But looking at the little pup's determined eyes, Elec managed to reign in all of those thoughts. That was what he wanted…not what Rock wanted.

He sighed, feeling his shoulders slump and his ears droop. His hands were shaking, so he crossed his arms over his chest to try and hide it. “...alright. Just, please promise me you'll be safe?”

Rock nodded, “I will! I promise I will!”

This…was satisfactory. It did not quell the tingling down his spine or the aching in his claws, but it was good enough to quiet such feelings. “Do not leave my side, unless-”

Elec looked up to see Pharaoh and Tempo were gone.

“What the fuck-?!” he spat, before quickly adding, “Do not repeat what I just said.”

“Oh, I won't!” Said Rock, with a coy smile that meant he absolutely would.

Elec could deal with that later. He'd much rather have Dr. Light alive and scolding him than not.

“We're up here.” Came Tempo’s monotone voice from the top of the tank. She was mostly outside, but had stuck her face back into the water to talk. “We wanted to give you two a moment. Pharaoh is ready to go.”

Rock needed no further encouragement, swimming right up and allowing Tempo - a complete stranger to him - to help him out of the tank.

Elec had no idea how Rock was so…brave in the face of such adversity.

…perhaps Rock was the bravest out of all of them.

[moon-fics]

hiii ! so i am watching outer range rn, and i genuinely got scared during the bull riding scenes. i don’t know anything about american cowboy culture, so i just genuinely got stressed and worried during those scenes haha

could you make up anything with that ? fluff or angst, or both, short, blurb, no plot it’s all up to you !

all my love queen <3

I'm so sorry I've been gone for so long. I love comfort fics, and this is just perfect! 💜 I saw a GIF of Rhett hitting the ground hard and couldn't stop laughing for about 20 minutes.

Warning: I don't know how to write a southern accent. Please give me tips if you can!

The sounds of the crowd shouting jumbles of words that you can barely make out surround you. The humidity creates a sticky sensation on your skin that you want to wipe away. A shower would be excellent right now, but you can't convince yourself to leave. You're waiting for someone, for something to happen.

The announcer calls his name, Rhett Abbott, and there are only a few seconds until you watch your boyfriend get thrashed around on a 1,200-pound animal. There's a sense of anticipation in the air as your hands grip the metal bars protecting you from what goes inside the ring.

You can sense Royale's intense presence next to you. He's waiting for the same thing. Cecilia, on the other hand, is clapping and cheering in hopes of boosting Rhett's odds. You hold your breath right as the buzzer goes off.

The cage door swings open, and the bull wastes no time making its strength known. You let out a stream of sentences, mostly consisting of 'hang on' or 'a few more seconds'. You don't even know if he can hear you, but you'll be damned if you don't try.

You keep reminding yourself it's only a few seconds, then he's done. Except that isn't quite true. Anything can happen in those few seconds, and that idea has a vice grip on your lungs. With every harsh jerk and near slip, you find yourself gasping. However, how unbelievably attractive he looks is not lost on you.

His blue shirt under the black leather vest always makes his eyes pop. The black cowboy hat pressed firmly against his scalp only adds to his appeal. You can't count how many times you've found yourself staring at the simple article of clothing.

The second buzzer goes off, signaling he beat everyone's time. It's enough for your white grip to loosen on the railing. You watch as Rhett lets go of the reins and tumbles off the bull. It's a planned fall that gives him time to brace. That doesn't stop the bull from giving him hell. The hind leg of the creature bucks ever so slightly and causes him to hit the ground harder than usual.

When he doesn't get up right away, a pit in your stomach forms. One of the rodeo hands rushes to help him, but he's already propping himself up on his elbows.

The moment he's out of the ring, you're running to the back of the rodeo. You dodge a few horses being guided to their trailers and ignore a few disgruntled handlers. All you care about is seeing Rhett.

He's propped up against a flimsy wooden fence with his hat in hand. The moment you're within ten feet of him, his head snaps up to see you. As if he sensed you approaching.

A smile spreads onto the corner of his lips, and he pushes himself off the fence. His feet begin moving toward you to match your pace. The moment you're close enough, his arms are around you. He plants a soft kiss on your head before his finds its place on top of yours.

"I thought I told ya I was gonna meet you in the parkin' lot," He mumbles. You can feel the vibrations of his voice against your skin. It's a comforting sensation after seeing him take a hard fall.

"I didn't want to wait that long," You explain. Your hands move to his shoulder blades. "Besides, that fall looked nasty."

"Sure as hell was. Thought I broke somethin'," He chuckles. After a few seconds, he takes a deep breath and pulls away. "Aren't you supposed to be congratulatin' me?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.

You completely forgot. He lasted the longest and therefore won. You were too busy making sure he was all in one piece you didn't even think about it.

"Congrats, Rhett," You finally say. The words tug at your lips, forcing a grin. You can feel the anxiety leaving your body the longer you stand in front of him. "You really rode that bull," You tease. You never know what to say after a competition.

"Alright, let's get you back to my family," He chortles. "I gotta finish up here, but I'll come find you later," He wraps his arm around your shoulder in a swift movement. He uses this as a way to guide you back to the stands. He stops right outside the entrance and moves his hand to hold yours.

"Promise you won't get hurt until I see you again?" You question. It's only half serious because the hard part is over. You know he's not going to be getting on another bull tonight.

"Oh, now that is a hard one to keep," He sucks in a breath to fake a serious tone. He shakes his head, pretending to think, as if the promise is so hard to keep. "Yeah, I think I can do that," He nods while still keeping up the act.

"Don't bother if it's going to be hard for you." You press your lips into a frown to join in on the act. "I know how tough it is to not stumble and fall for you."

"Aw, now that's not even remotely true." He scoffs. His grip on your hand tightens as he holds back a laugh. "I only make a fool of myself in front of you."

He pulls you closer to him with a gentle tug. His lips find yours almost perfectly. Like a magnet finding its other half, he's always gravitating towards you. His lips melt into yours for only a few seconds, maybe as long as his time in the ring.

"I gotta go, but I'll see you soon," He assures you between kisses. He places one more peck before having to leave.

You quickly return to Royale and Cecilia, who are still in the same spot. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but for all the best reasons.

[justafreakonline]

Not again

a/n I don’t want to do all the work of pre-writing summary ect. I already wrote it. It’s just mic’d up again

“I would just like to say, y’all begged for me. I know yall want me bad. I mean who wouldn’t?”

You strutted into the gym in gray sweats rolled at the waist, a white compression shirt tucked into your bra, and your silver chain glinting under the lights. “The mic is on. Get excited yall. Not too excited though. You freaks.”

                                ____

“You eating that banana real suspiciously, Icy,” you said, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

Ice paused. “It’s literally a banana, how else do I eat it?”

“Why you makin’ eye contact with me while doing it? Didn’t know you were a freak like that for real.”

                                ____

“Coach Geno told me to lock in, but he already knows I’m locked in with my girl.”

You pointed to Morgan, who was tying her hair up.

“See that slick back? Y’all. I’m fighting for my life right now. Sum else is slick I’ll tell you that much.” 

                                ____

You walked into the locker room, dribbling a ball.

“Mic’d up and dripped out. I’m like if Sue Bird and Sexy red had a love child. You’re welcome.”

                                ____

“Paige told me to touch some grass today. I said nah, I’m too busy touching feelings. Mostly hers.”

She threw a towel at you. “I will file a restraining order.”

“Who told you I liked being restrained.”

                                ____

“I just want the record to show Morgan said I couldn’t go a full practice without being inappropriate.”

You turned dead serious to the camera.

“I lasted seven minutes. That’s character development. Growth.”

“She’s right it used to be three.” Morgan said walking by. You nodded and smiled proudly.

“It was 7 minutes in hell wayyy worse than 7 minutes in heaven I can tell yall that.”

                                ____

You pointed the camera at Aubrey mid-stretch.

“Y’all see that arch? I’d hit. I’ll tell yall that much”

 “Get outta my face, Y/n.”

“Too late. I’m already imagining the wedding.”

                                ____

“Sarah said she can outlift me. I said baby I don’t need to lift, I got you to do the heavy lifting in this relationship.”

 “We’re not even dating.” Sarah said from the bench where she was taking of her shoes

“Shhh” you said pressing your finger to her lips  “That’s a mindset issue.”

                                ____

Camera cut to KK again.

“She’s bricked five in a row. She’s building a house at this point.”

KK: “Say one more thing and I’m snatching that mic off your chest.”

You: “Kinky. I’m listening.”

                                ____

Morgan handed you your water bottle.

You sipped, looked into the lens, and said:

“Hydration is important. Especially when you’re thirsty…for your girl.”

“You’re lucky I think you’re cute.” Morgan said taking the water back 

“I’m lucky you have no standards.”

                                ____

You were stretching again, badly. Like, barely reached past your shins badly.

“Okay but imagine the positions I could be flexible in. Use your imagination.”

“Please stop.” KK said covering her face

“No.”

                                ____

Practice ended. You collapsed on the floor, mic still on.

“That’s all folks. Practice is over. My ass looks great. My reputation is ruined. 10/10, would do it again.”

                                ____

Editor: “Y/n, this can’t go online.”

 “Put it on TikTok with sexy background music. Trust me. I’m a brand now.”

.

UConn_wife13| fear Y/n is the most unserious person alive and also the love of my life.

hoops4life| Y/n gonna flirt with the whole team and then cry when Morgan gives her the silent treatment for 20 minutes.

icefan3000|

The way Ice didn’t even flinch at the banana comment… she’s seen too much.

notgenoauriememeguy|

Y/n: flirts with everyone

Also Y/n: “I’m a loyal girlfriend”

Morgan blinked twice at the end. Should we call someone?

paigeshairgel|The Geno cameo was crazy. Bro looked like he aged 10 years in 3 seconds.

sarahslayz|

I dunno how but she makes everything freaky

user8183|

“Positions I could be flexible in” NAH Y/N GOTTA BE BANNED FROM THE MIC 😭😭

editorruss|

As the editor who had to bleep half this video… I haven’t known peace since Wednesday.

Fan69402|

Why does Morgan just sit there calmly like her girl isn’t out here trying to seduce the whole gym?

benchwarmersunite|

Y/n got 10 points per game but 40 points in unspoken rizz.

[icallhimjoey]

Before Daybreak reignited my love for Bet!Joe, the little shit.

Could you write about them saying I love you for the first time? Would they somehow turn it into a competition?

oh so we big into the saying i love you trope at the minute arent we? goooot it got it got it got it WELL this is vastly different from that other fic i wrote the other day, even though essentially the premise is the exact same -- hope you enjoy this little slice of bet!joe <3 Wordcount: 2.6K

---

Said It Better

You were going to hold this over his head for a long time.

Forever, if you could.

Joe said it first. Sort of. He didn’t mean to say it, it just nearly slipped out, which is how you actually knew it was real, because Joe would never have said it first unless it gave him the upper hand.

If it made him win something.

And love? Love wasn’t a winning move, was it? Love was more a “lower your weapon and see if they’ll shoot and kill you” sort of situation, and the two of you weren’t really known for lowering your weapons.

You had your moments of ceasefire, sure.

Moments where you forgot that if you pronounced a word wrong, Joe’d repeat it for days.

Moments where Joe forgot that if he made a dumb mistake, you’d bring it up later at the pub for everyone else to make fun of him for the rest of the night.

Moments where Izzy would look at the two of you curled up on the sofa and would narrow her eyes before she’d comment, “You’ve been too normal lately, it’s scary…” talking about silences before big storms and what not.

It was in one of those unassuming moments that Joe accidentally nearly said it.

Nearly.

Joe accidentally just let his mouth say what was on his mind without thinking once, let alone thinking twice, and he’d caught himself when it was already too late.

You were both pretending to not be out of breath after what was only a very light jog home from the pub.

“Look how fast you can run when you’ve had a few!” you’d shouted, laughing, absolutely convinced you were sprinting down the street at fifteen miles an hour.

You weren’t, obviously.

“Try it!”

Joe had done, and then it became a contest, because things always did with the two of you, and you raced Joe back to his flat.

You made it there first, but Joe wasn’t far behind.

“Did you say you go to the gym three times a week?” you poked fun, leaning up against his front doorframe, pretending to be casually waiting for him whilst you were actively fighting to get enough breath into your lungs with every breath. “Maybe change to a different personal trainer, I’ve been waiting here for what, fifteen minutes.”

It hadn’t even been 10 seconds.

“I’m fine,” Joe wheezed as he walked up. “Absolutely fine. Didn’t even break a sweat.”

“Jesus Christ,” you laughed as Joe pushed you aside to unlock and open the door. “You’re leaking.”

“I’m not– oh, I am leaking,” he muttered, inspecting his damp hairline in the reflection of the glass pane in the door. “Why did we run? We didn’t have to fucking run. I hate that you make me do things. Physical things.”

You grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek, mostly to feel how warm it was and see if you could leave a sweaty lip-print. “Shut up. You love that I make you do things.”

If it hadn’t been for you, Joe wouldn’t have come out tonight. You’d talked him into it and he’d finally reluctantly agreed, only to tell you after two pints that he was going for a third because he was having a great time.

“Yeah, well,” Joe sighed, musing “The things you do for the people you l–…” He caught himself just before he said it, but you’d both heard enough.

You stilled.

Stopped breathing as the key in Joe’s hands stopped halfway into the lock.

Joe stood still like he’d just pulled the pin from a grenade.

You narrowed your eyes at the side of his face, already humoured as the satisfaction of having the upper hand settled within you quickly. “Sorry, what was that?”

“What?”

“Were you about to say lo–”

“No, I wasn’t.” Joe turned the key and pushed the door open, stepping inside without looking back.

“Yes you were.”

He could’ve easily said yes. Years of friendship meant that the word love had been casually thrown around before. You had loved each other in a different way for ages.

It’s just that, now that things were different, this also… just, felt different.

And you both knew it.

The fact that Joe sort of froze the second he’d heard himself nearly say it was enough for you to turn it into a huge deal. Joe thought it was too, evidently, which was great, because you knew he was going to spiral now. You knew he was going to try to fix it, take it back, disguise it as a joke, or a trap, or a decoy… and you couldn’t have that. Couldn’t let it be that easy, because where was the fucking fun in easy?

You followed Joe inside the door and rounded him out to make eye-contact, sweet smile already on your face.

“So… that’s one point to me, yeah?”

Joe looked half like he didn’t know what you were talking about and half just absolutely appalled by what you’d just said. “Point to you?”

“Sure. You said it first.”

You loved the way Joe clenched his jaw. How he frowned which he then immediately eased to not give himself away, unaware he already had in so many ways.

“I didn’t say shit. I was out of breath! I was delirious! I was–”

“Drunk? In love?”

Yea, he wasn’t going to win this game, was he?

Joe pointed a dramatic finger at you, eyes narrowed. “Don’t turn this into a competition.”

“Oh, so you did say it, then?”

“I–” Joe blinked. “No. That’s not what I said. Factually, I never really said anything, did I?”

“‘The things you do for the people you love,’” you quoted back to him in your best imitation of his post-run wheeze. “‘People you love,’ was going to be the end of that sentence, and if I’m not mistaken, I’m people, aren’t I? I was actually the only people around when you said that.”

Joe groaned, already halfway to flinging himself onto the sofa and burying his face into one of the  cushions.

“I take it back. I didn’t even say it but I still take it back. Rewind the clock. New game.”

It was too late, obviously. You’d tasted blood, and the temptation to rip him to shreds was too fun to not give into.

Joe fucking knew it, too.

Saw your face, smug little smile unable to be wiped away, and he knew that if he wasn’t smart about this, you’d eat him alive within a week.

He had to find his own ammunition. His own weapons. If he couldn’t find any, at least he’d have to find a way to make you turn yours around to have you aim them at yourself. And Joe wouldn’t be Joe if he wouldn’t have figured something out by morning.

Predictably, the next few days turned into a war.

Joe decided to play your game, and he played it with all the patience of someone who knew exactly how to win it.

Slowly.

With precision.

With cheek disguised as warmth that somehow lead you deeper into the trenches every single fucking time.

He started baiting you.

The first time he did it, you were already half asleep, curled under your duvet while he talked nonsense at you over the phone. His voice had gone low and soft in that way it always did past midnight, when everything felt too close and too honest.

It was one of those moments.

“All right,” he yawned when your answers had started becoming nothing more than faint soft murmurs. “Go to sleep. Sweet dreams. I lo–”

Silence.

Joe had hung up.

Cut himself off and woke you right back up again.

You stared at your phone like it had just sworn at you. Like it owed you an apology. And then the next day, Joe acted like nothing ever happened.

Which was even worse.

You felt like you couldn’t bring it up, because making fun of Joe for something he nearly said was funnier without letting him know how badly you wanted to hear him finish that sentence.

He didn’t deserve that advantage, you thought.

But Joe was already aware, unfortunately.

A small speck of tension grew between the two of you.

Izzy noticed it immediately when the three of you had dinner together at your flat, and there was some weird eye-contact happening across the table.

“Okay... I know I said I don’t like it when you’re normal, but this is worse. What’s going on? Wait– do I want to know?”

You kept your eyes on Joe as you said there was nothing going on actually, which Joe immediately confirmed.

Weapons had been drawn, but shields were held with tighter grips.

You had to be careful.

One misstep was one too many.

Another day passed when you received a text.

“Miss you. L”

You sat with it for a solid hour, refusing to be the one to chase the punchline.

When you didn’t bite, he eventually sent three more texts, revealing he was an active player in this game which you suddenly felt you were losing.

“ater.” “Later. I’ll see you later.” “Don’t make this about you.”

You hated that he’d been able to follow your train of thought so effortlessly, even though you hadn’t text back at all.

Made you want to scream.

Or kiss him.

Or both.

When you were over at his place a couple days later, there was the mug of tea that you didn’t end up drinking.

The weather had been miserable all day, it was late, and you were in a mood. You’d been curled up on the sofa under a throw blanket, vaguely grumpy for reasons you couldn’t articulate because moaning about the injustice of having to exist without a personal assistant made you sound like a dick.

Joe brought you tea without asking, set the mug down in front of you with exaggerated reverence. “Made this for the lo–,” he said, stretching the o, making eye-contact as he did.

You froze.

Love of my life?

The sentence bloomed in your chest like a blush.

But when you blinked up at him, heart already trying to fight its way out of your ribs, he finished, “...for the loveliest friend.”

“Friend?” you spat, unable to not bite, because what the fuck?! “Are you friend-zoning me?”

Joe smiled, kissed you on the temple and pointedly asked, “Are we not friends?”

Which, no, yes. You were friends. Had been friends for longer than you’d been anything else. Sure. Yea. Friends. Why not?

That mug of tea went cold untouched.

Joe wore you down.

Bit by bit.

You were no longer having fun playing this game that you’d invented.

Every action, every word. Every stolen kiss, every warm palm on your waist. Every single sleepy-eyed smile across the pillow was fucking laced with it.

Laced with love.

You could feel it, humming beneath the surface of everything he did.

Joe created moments in which it would be an expected thing for you to hear, and then, he wouldn’t say shit.

You tried really hard not to hear the unspoken words, but heard them every single time. You batted it back like a tennis ball, though. Refused to meet it head-on, because if you didn’t acknowledge it, he couldn’t win, and you couldn’t lose.

But the thing is: love makes you lose, doesn’t it? That’s the whole point. And some small, treacherous part of you was beginning to want to lose. At least to him.

Because it didn’t feel like surrender.

It felt like gravity.

And you were already more than halfway down, anyway.

So maybe it was inevitable, the way the next moment unfolded. The way the game stopped feeling like a game and turned into something else entirely.

Why had you decided that saying it first was losing?

Surely, if you really thought about it… beating him to saying it properly was actually going to pull the rug out from underneath both of his feet and leave him on his ass.

“Joe.”

He glanced up from sorting through his post.

“You don’t win,” you said, matter-of-factly.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“You don’t win. You don’t get to make me feel bad just because you fumbled.”

“I didn’t fumble,” he said immediately, defensive.

You raised your eyebrows, and gave him a moment to rethink that.

To have another go.

He immediately did.

“…I might have fumbled a bit,” he admitted, softer now.

You nodded.

You could’ve pushed him back into the safety of the game. God knows he’d lived there longer than you had.

But something about this – about him, right now – made you want to end it. The game. The distance. The pretending.

You took a deep breath, and then super casually said, “I love you.”

His eyes widened with shock.

The tables had well and fully turned.

“No!”

How fucking dare you?!

“Yes.”

“Really?!” he made a choked sound. A laugh that never quite finished. “That’s so fucking unfair! Are you serious? You can’t say it first!”

And just like that, after feeling like you’d been losing for days, you came out the other end a true winner.

“Just did. Beat you fair and square,” you said with the easy confidence of someone finally stepping into the truth and finding it surprisingly comfortable there. “I would’ve said it sooner if you hadn’t been such a little shit about it. I was gonna do it all smooth and dramatic. Wreck your life with it, a little.”

“Like you haven’t just.”

You gasped into a smile, “Did I? God, I was hoping I would.”

Joe looked at you then, really looked at you. All flushed cheeks and disbelief, laced with a kind of breathless affection so raw you almost had to look away.

“You love me,” he said softly, wonder bleeding through.

“I love you,” you said, deliberately. Slowly. Like the words had been ripening behind your teeth this whole time.

He leaned in. Kissed you once, and then again, less careful the second time.

“Say it again,” he whispered, against your cheek.

“No,” you said, because of course you did, and that made Joe’s mouth pull into a grin that you felt against your skin.

“I can’t believe you took over a week to say it back to me after I said it first.”

“Okay, shut up. You didn’t really say it, did you?”

He laughed into your shoulder, full-bodied, holding you like he was trying to win at that too.

You let him.

“I will actually fully admit that you were right before. I said it first and then, you just said it back to me.”

“No. Shut up.”

“I said it.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

And he spun you in a ridiculous circle right in the middle of his kitchen, both of you laughing too hard, your limbs tangled, breath hot and silly between grins.

When he finally put you down, your face was flushed, and Joe didn’t let you go. Just looked at you with that same stupid look. The look he always got when you’d outwitted him, weirdly wounded at his loss but more proud at you for the unexpected twist he hadn’t seen coming.

Yea, he loved you, all right.

“You do love me,” he said quietly, and it wasn’t a question this time.

You looked at him.

Soft.

Sure.

Open.

“Yeah,” you said, weapons and shields casted aside entirely.  

War was over.

And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, because old habits die hard, and because Joe was still standing there acting like he’d just won something–

You added, “But I said it better.”

---

The Taglisted

@almightywdm, @alwayslindie, @beau-hawkins, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson

@dailyobsession, @eddiemunsonsbabygirl, @eddie-munsons-balls, @eddies-puppet, @elvendria

@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @gri959

@hazelenys, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @kravitzwhore

@lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets

@nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @overthinking-raccoon, @pepperstories, @pinchofhoney

@readergf, @royale1803, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73

@werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

add yourself

[nonsscrapheap]

TFP: Universal Obversations

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYONE! first update of pride month and it's UO! because the brainrot is extremely real and i just cannot stop my motivation in writing this story despite my want to do Twice The Primes and Dance of the Fire Bot. i won't argue with my motivations, i just write what i feel like writing and it's mostly Universal Observations.

yeah this chapter beat out last chapter, again. it is... 12.9k words long, literally less than 30 words more and i would've hit 13k. was tempted to do so, but decided- yeah let's just go. i wanna update. so here we are!

i hope you all enjoy!

[ ----- TP : UO ----- ]

Omega Outpost One

[ Megatron glared down at him, before sighing deeply. Reaching down to grab Optimus' servo in his, grunting as he pulled the mech up from his precarious position and into his arms. One arm around his chassis and the other underneath Optimus' knees, holding him bridal style. "What have I said about leaving my side, my Prime?" He growled, leaning in to glare directly into Optimus' optics before smirking. "I can't leave you for even a klik, can I?"

Optimus' battlemask snapped open, revealing a small, fond smile on his faceplate. "I would apologize, but it was not my fault this time my Protector. I am entirely blameless in this endeavor."

Megatron's smirk turned into a charmed smile, "We'll see about that, but for now…" He raised his helm, letting Optimus down from his hold as they stood back-to-back. Surrounded by all sides by large, monstrous creatures with Soldier Quintessons riding atop them. "Let's deal with these mongrels, shall we?" His fusion cannon hummed to life, charging.

Optimus' battlemask snapped close as he readied his axe. "We shall." ]

"PAUSE! PAUSE PAUSE PAUSE—"

The last couple of hours have been... strange to say the least. Bulkhead hadn’t exactly gotten out of berth expecting to watch Alternate Universes today after all, his expectations were the usual; patrol a bit, pick Miko up from her host parent’s place and head back to base, hang out with Miko at base, patrol some more when it was his turn. Maybe dent a few con faceplates if given the chance.

But no, instead, a weird orb thing (now known as an Observer apparently) gets found in their storage and it was a weird path from there. That weird world where Optimus was uh, and then the Actor world, and now this?

Don’t get him wrong! Bulkhead was all for giant robots fighting- ignoring the weird feeling of watching something that looked Cybertronian (even if empurata-like), didn’t sound Cybertronian, moved somewhat like a Cybertronian but wrong that threatened to set off all his warning programs in his processor- it was great! Especially considering one of the robots was being piloted by Miko! His charge and best little buddy and human best friend!

She was even called Wrecker, how cool was that? He’d been so excited to tell Jackie all about it in his next message to him.

But then it dawned on him how fragged Earth’s situation kind of was with the Quintessons- clued in by Miko- err, Wrecker’s reaction to Ra-Senscript’s fifth port. Given to him by human Shockwave of all me- uh, humans? (Human Shockwave’s name was Waltz Stein, could you believe it?? He still couldn’t!)

And then there was that- flashback scene? That moment, that picture. At first, he could’ve sworn that mecha suit looked familiar until-

“WHEELJACK!”

Wrecker had screamed his name as she was taken through that Quintesson spacebridge and Bulkhead’s spark dropped to his tanks. On one servo, Wheeljack was human- that was pretty cool! Plus, he was a pilot! On the other hand, whatever happened to him... Bulkhead hoped that human Jackie was okay, was alive. For Wrecker’s sake, with how she screamed, she must’ve cared for him a lot...

Did that mean Bulkhead was human here too?

Seemed like all Cybertronians were human here, or so Bulkhead had thought until the Observer suddenly showed... Cybertron.

Alive.

Hanging in there with Praxus being attacked, but Praxus was being attacked; it had been standing! Cybertron was alive here! His home planet was still kicking!

Only, well; Praxus was being attacked. No doubt by cons.

Optimus wasn’t a human, that was a relief- not that Bulkhead had anything against humans or the thought of his leader being a human in another universe! It was just a weird thought y’know? Shockwave was already one thing, Wheeljack, another. But Optimus? He’d need to get used to the idea first.

So seeing Optimus as a normal Cybertronian was nice- less nice was the fact his leader was in a familiar war zone. Although it was cool to see him with his axe again, Optimus was a beast with that thing. Miko was right to be disappointed at the fact Optimus didn’t have it anymore or couldn’t get another one like it, the cons would’ve been dealt with a bit easier if Optimus still had that axe.

‘Course all good things must come to an end... something he really hoped wouldn’t happen when Other Optimus almost got knocked off into a canyon-sized fissure. Primus.

And then he appeared.

Other Megatron.

Bulkhead felt rage in his spark at the sight of the damned warlord, of course he wasn’t the only one to be angry. They all were, they shouted at the screen, as if their insults and threats would breach through universes and negatively affect the silver tin can and prevent him from even daring to think of laying a single scummy servo on Optimus.

Ratchet had certainly been going at it like as if that would happen, Primus that medic knew swears that Bulkhead didn’t know of! And he grew up in the slums and worked alongside some surly mechs when he was a construction bot! Not to mention the way he was weaving Earth insults into Cybertronian too? Bulkhead kept those in mind, feeling kinda awed by Ratchet’s storm of curses and threats. Another thing to tell Wheeljack later, heh.

Then something happened that came completely out of left field, if that was the right way to use that human phrase; Megatron did lay a scummy servo on Optimus but he... pulled him up? What?

And then he was saying stuff like ‘not leaving his side’ and ‘My Prime’? What??

And the way he was acting, the way Other Optimus was acting, bantering? ‘My Protector’ what?? Megatron had his servos on Optimus but he wasn’t- Bulkhead’s optics had to glance down to Megatron’s chestplate just to make sure that symbol was purple and y’know, a Decepticon symbol- the other world with the nice Megatron (fragging weird as pit) had the Decepticon symbol red after all but nope. Still purple.

And the symbol on Other Optimus’ shoulder was an Autobot and red, so the factions clearly existed but—

Why the frag did they seem so chummy?

No, chummy wasn't the right word. Not with the way Other Megatron had been smirking at Other Optimus. It was almost like they were- were they?? No. No. Right? But. Uh. Wait—

Just as Other Optimus and Megatron were about to duke it out with the Quintessons (the Quintessons were attacking Praxus?!) Ratchet had called frantically for an immediate pause.

He doesn't know which one of the kids paused the screen, too busy gawking at said screen as it paused in a kinda cinematic way- with both other versions of his leader and the Decepticon leader back to back, surrounded by the largest and ugliest Quintessons they've seen yet being ridden by those Solider unit Quintessons earlier on with the Other kids.

For a moment, there's a tense silence- mostly upheld by the disbelief as no one could tear their optics away from the screen right now. The question still stood in Bulkhead's processor.

"Was Megatron flirting with Optimus?" The question slips out of his intake before he could stop it, or the next one. "And was Optimus flirting back?"

He couldn't even imagine Optimus flirting in the first place, the Prime was too stoic and focused on the war to do so. And yet he couldn't help but think that was the case when Other Optimus was speaking to- Other Megatron of all mechs!

"No! Impossible!" Ratchet retorted fiercely, the medic searing his optics at Bulkhead in a glare and usually it would make Bulkhead flinch back, sheepish but the Wrecker was too focused on the screen with bewilderment to even do that. "They were not flirting!"

"Uh, I dunno Ratch, he seems kinda close to King Con there." Miko pointed out, looking extremely fascinated by the screen, human eyes wide with a considering look on her face. Considering? Considering? Just what was she considering about? Bulkhead didn't know, and maybe he didn't want to know. "They're fighting together. Literally back to back on screen right there."

Ratchet spluttered, glancing back to the screen and scowling. "It's because they're working against a common foe! Clearly the Quintessons are of a greater threat than we realize there if Optimus is working with Megatron. Otherwise, the two would be at each other's energon tubing!" He reasoned, and- yeah that made sense.

Because if there's going to be a threat against Cybertron bigger than even each other, then the only logical thing to do was to team up against it. Still pretty jarring to see Optimus and Megatron together like that though, the Actor world had been the same but this was different. These weren't actors, they weren't mechs pretending to be leaders in a world of fiction, these were actual alternate counterparts to the leaders of the Autobots and Decepticons.

"Okay. Okay." Jack said, glancing back and forth between screen Optimus and- well, their Optimus. Optimus himself was looking at the screen with an incomprehensible look, even more than usual than his usual stoic look. Bulkhead can't even imagine how Optimus was feeling right now. "So… Quintessons made Optimus and Megatron team up since the enemy of my enemy is an ally, and Cybertron is alive."

The phrase Cybertron is alive hit Bulkhead harder than he'd expect it to. Because, it was wasn't it? In that world where the Quintessons attacked, Cybertron was alive, the cons actually called for a ceasefire and decided to work together with them to keep those things from taking over their planet.

.: Um… it still doesn't explain why Megatron called Optimus 'My Prime' or Optimus calling Megatron 'My Protector'? :. Bumblebee hesitantly said, and no one could reply or even try to explain that because… well, it's absurd. Megatron would never call Optimus 'My Prime', and Optimus calling Megatron his protector? Not a chance in the world…

In their world.

But in this 'Mecha' world?

"I'm starting to see why that mech warned us about whatever the frag we'd see with the Observer." Arcee muttered aloud, tense in her seat as she eyed the floating screen warily. A complicated expression on her faceplate.

That mech?

"You mean Rung?" Jack asked, finally reminding Bulkhead of who Arcee was talking about, giving Arcee a confused look. Rung, right, the orange mech with the other Observer. That gave them all the warnings and slag. Shouldn't have been hard to remember, considering that weird moment with his optics and all that, yet his name had slipped Bulkhead's processor there for a moment. "Guess so, best to keep in mind what he said. Whatever we see isn't exactly something we can apply here- not really? Just… try not to let it get to you guys. Seems like Megatron is an ally in that world, and is uh- close to Optimus."

It's an absurd thing to think of, after millennia of war, eons of conflict, years of battle… But Jack was right, and the proof was right there in front of them. The Autobots and Decepticons existed in another world, and that clearly meant the war was going on, but with the Quintessons around and Cybertron in danger from them…

"Jack is right." Optimus said, finally speaking and gaining the attention of everyone. "I cannot speak for the decisions of my other selves in these alternate universes that we see, especially the first world we saw-" Ah right, that world, Bulkhead shivered, "-as the differences between our worlds becomes clear. Although similar, like Jack said, we must keep in mind what Rung has warned us about, to not let the contents of each world deeply affect us in a manner that would prevent us from doing our duty of protecting Earth from Megatron and his Decepticons."

Unknown to almost all, with the exception of perhaps Ratchet, behind his stoic facade, underneath the emotional suppression that helped keep him calm, Optimus was rather happy at the sight of him and Megatron fighting side by side in what seemed to be an actual, amicable (?) relationship. The part of him that regretted trying to kill Megatron from the spacebridge explosion, the same part that still cherished the moments of Orion Pax and Megatronus, was overjoyed in fact.

( An ex-gladiator stood in stunned silence, optics trained on the screen. He's been like that for a few kliks now, frozen, quiet. It was unnerving, perhaps if one was opportunistic enough, they could have attempted to attack him right this moment yet no one in the room could do so as they too, were stunned into silence.

The silence was only broken by a single seeker's shriek, "What the frag?!" )

Raf, who was back in Bumblebee's servos rather than Ratchet after the medic had returned the boy to the scout's custody just so he could freely swear at the screen, spoke up. "I'm actually curious as to what's happening in that world- Optimus said that the Quintessons were wiped out here a long, long time ago. But there, they're not. Did they end up finding Cybertron late here? Did they still attack Cybertron during the era of the Thirteen Primes but retreated just in time to avoid going extinct and were just, biding their time? Also, since Shockwave and Wheeljack and um, whoever else is human- how did that effect the war between you Autobots and the Decepticons? Did it lead to Optimus and Megatron becoming, uh, allies, or was it really the Quintessons that forced them to band together?"

The kids were certainly something, Bulkhead hadn't expected to become so attached to them when they first showed up. No one in the team probably expected it either, but the moment they saw Other Raf, Senscript, bleeding from the nose from overextending himself in testing that damned cortical psychic patch link, they had worried.

Bumblebee and Ratchet especially, Raf had given up trying to reassure them verbally and let the scout scoop him into his hold once more. Offering the yellow mech all the physical comfort he could give in his small size, it had made Bulkhead's spark clench in his spark chamber.

And oh, when Senscript got hurt by the Quintessons? Bumblebee had nearly lost it, reminding Bulkhead of that unfortunate clip of future Bee buzzing angrily at Megatron in the Actor universe. The one where they predicted Raf's near-death… It really cemented just how much the humans meant to them. ( And how fragile they could be. )

And now here they were, listening to his questions and considering it for themselves. It certainly helped calm them down a bit as they considered them.

Was it weird that Optimus and Megatron were… allies in another world? Certainly, but that was just it. Another world. Another universe. It was weird, and unlikely, but it happened there.

Didn't mean it had to happen here. Or could.

The likelihood of Megatron deciding to work with Optimus was low, and him considering peace was even lower. Not without a common enemy, which they didn't have here.

"Good questions, Raf. Questions that will hopefully be answered as we continue watching. I, too, am curious as to what happened in this world. And the ramifications and side effects to some of our people no longer being involved in the war." Optimus said with a small smile.

Bulkhead tried to imagine not having Jackie around during the war, imagined not having Shockwave around for the war. "I can't imagine not having Wheeljack be part of the Wreckers, but at least he was with you Miko." He said, grinning at his charge who whooped and grinned back. They didn't say anything about Wheeljack's disappearance, trusting and hoping that the mech… man? Was okay and alive.

.: Well… I am kinda wondering who else is human and who stayed Cybertronian. :. Bumblebee whirred, glancing between them all.

"Yeah! That too! I wanna know who's human now- I kinda hope you're human Bee, I wanna know what you look like as one." Raf beamed, something Bee mirrored as they all began to wonder what they would look like as human.

"We didn't really see what Shockwave or Wheeljack looked like as human, Shockwave had that weird mask over his face and Wheeljack uh- he was in his mecha." Miko said as she lounged back against the couch. "Wonder if Bulk's human here too."

Jack, in contrast, sat on the edge, leaning forward to look at Arcee. "Yeah, I mean- you got that hologram of yours Arcee but I don't think it has a face? I'm wondering what you'd look like as human."

"Yeah, doesn't have a face, can't move that well either. I just use that hologram to make sure no one knows I can drive by myself." Arcee replied dryly but was smiling as she too, wondered.

Ratchet was grumbling, still glaring slightly at the screen before sighing. "I suppose we should continue viewing if we really want to know… Primus, the thought of Megatron working with you Optimus is…" He didn't finish, shaking his helm instead. "Let's just get this over with, children?"

"On it Ratch! Observer, continue!" Miko exclaimed grandly, excited to see what came next.

[ Megatron and Optimus fought well together, extremely well. They covered each other's weakspots and wordlessly assisted the other with no sign other than a simple glance. Together, even the monstrous Quintesson beasts were having trouble in trying to take them both down.

Optimus mostly using his axe and limbs, occasionally shifting a servo into a blaster but mostly swinging his axe, while Megatron used his signature cannon and blade. ]

"Woah… King Con and Optimus fight absurdly well together." Miko breathed, awed by the flawless, almost elegant teamwork between the leaders of the Autobots and the Decepticons. Bulkhead had to admit, it was quite the sight.

Ratchet huffed, eyeing the battle as it continued on. "I'm not surprised, though its been eons since they fought together side by side—"

"Optimus and Megatron fought together before?" Raf interrupted, wincing before sending an apologetic look at Ratchet who waved it off.

"Yes, though it was before Autobots and Decepticons existed. In the golden age of Cybertron."

Jack glanced over to Optimus, "You mentioned it before, when we first met. You called Megatron your brother, or well, you once considered him a brother? You were close…"

"Indeed." Optimus answered softly, a look of nostalgia on his faceplate, in his optics as he watched them both fight so well together against the attacking Quintesson soldiers and their beastly mounts. "Megatron, Megatronus then, was actually the one who inspired and taught me how to fight…"

Miko snorted, "Wonder if he regrets teaching you now, since you can take him head on!"

Did he? Bulkhead had known that there was history between Optimus and Megatron but he hadn't exactly known how far it went…

Optimus didn't answer, optics watching the screen intently.

( A warlord finally sits down, ignoring the clamor of his subordinates as he watched the fight. His optics taking in the sight of his nemesis and his other fighting together side-by-side once more. It brought up memories that he thought he long buried, brought up emotions that he thought completely discarded, brought up thoughts he had pushed aside for millennia.

Usually it would send him into a rage, make him scowl, glower and sneer. But right now… watching the effortless team work… Seeing Other Optimus completely trust his alternate self in battle, that fond smile from before…

He stayed silent.

Watching. )

[ .: This is Lord Megatron to Prowl, lock onto my coordinates- I have found our missing Prime. We are currently dealing with a squadron of Quintesson drones and soldiers, Optimus Prime has sustained injuries, his helm is dented which is why no one's comms were able to reach him. :. Megatron grunted as he took a small dull moment during the battle to contact reinforcements, flicking away Quintesson gore off his blade.

Optimus was doing the same, taking in a brief vent as the Quintessons backed away warily, giving them a moment of reprieve.

Prowl's voice came in immediately, .: Coordinates locked on and confirmed Lord High Protector, reinforcements incoming in 8 kliks and counting. Evacuation of Praxus at 79% percent with minimal casualties but several major injuries from all factions. Fatalities will be counted after the evacuation, but estimations lie in the hundreds amongst the civilians Lord High Protector and are likely to grow. :. Megatron didn't look happy at that, yet quietly confirmed it all the same. ]

"Prowl? Aw man! I haven't heard Prowl's voice print in so long!" Bulkhead laughed, a bit delighted in hearing the mech's voice from the screen. Though his joy was dampened slightly by Prowl's words, torn from the information they were getting.

They were at the point of the war where civilians were still a thing, non-combatants that were living in cities. And Praxus was falling right before their optics, again.

"Who's Prowl?"

Arcee answered Miko, "The Autobot's best tactician, used to be Optimus' right hand mech when it came to tactics and plans but we lost contact with him shortly after the Exodus from Cybertron." She grimaced with a sigh.

.: He and a few other Autobots were supposed to come with Bulkhead, Ratchet, Optimus and I to Earth but there was too little time and they had to get on another ship instead. :. Bumblebee whirred sadly, causing Bulkhead and Arcee to nod as Raf relayed what Bee said to Miko and Jack.

"We could've had more bots here? Dang! Would've really evened the odds with the cons." Miko grumbled, making Bulkhead to nod again. So far, they'd been doing fairly well against Megatron and the Decepticons, they were vastly outnumbered, sure most of the cons were vehicons but underestimating those guys would be a rookie mistake.

Just look at Cliffjumper.

Not that he'll ever say it aloud, or within Arcee's audial vicinity, he liked living. Thanks.

Ratchet squinted at the screen, "'Lord High Protector?'" He repeated incredulously with a hint of curiosity.

"That supposed to mean anything?" Jack asked the medic who shared looks with Optimus. "Sounds like it should."

"No, it does not." Optimus denied, shaking his helm with a muted but curious look on his faceplate. "It is not a title that Ratchet nor even I, know of." Which is something considering Optimus usually knew esoteric and obscure information- probably because of the Matrix considering it was said to the repository of knowledge from Primes of Old.

( "Soundwave, search for the term, 'Lord High Protector.'"

A visored mech sat in silence (the room finally back in order after a warlord snapped at them to stop making so much noise) but on the screens of a warship, multiple databases, articles, information banks were flipped through in rapidly quick succession before a big red X appeared both on the screens and the mech's visor.

"Hm…" )

[ "Megatron!" Optimus suddenly called out, tense as the Quintessons let out a startling noise. Loud, abrupt, yet commanding. Megatron tensed as well, bracing himself for whatever was about to happen. Only for him and Optimus to reel back in shock as the Quintessons suddenly retreated, roaring overhead, and heading towards another direction.

.: Prowl! The Quintessons are— :. Megatron was suddenly interrupted, he was disgruntled by it but grew serious as Prowl exclaimed.

.: They're not retreating! I'm getting reports from all over Praxus, they're converging to a single spot in the city! An unknown Quintesson spacebridge just opened! :.

"Optimus!" Megatron barked, alarmed by the sudden change of events. ]

"That doesn't seem good." Raf gulped, seeing the remaining Quintessons, the horrible gigantic beasts and the soldier units, suddenly- not retreat as Prowl said, but head elsewhere in the city.

"Quintesson spacebridge?" Jack repeated with a click of realization, he shared a look with the rest of his friends and the bots. "You don't think…"

"Oh, I do think." Ratchet replied with a grimace.

[ The screen changed to a familiar mechanical hand slamming into the ground, an earthquake following afterwards as the ground vibrated hard underneath its palm. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE?!" Wrecker screamed, panicked and enraged at the sight of incoming XTRs.

Besides her, Tailbreaker was carving into a gigantic beast with his blades, mechanical hands tugging at incoming tentacles to tear them apart. .: No idea! But we need to protect Senscript until he can wake up and tell us where we are! :.

They were both stationed in front of Senscript's unmoving mecha that was slumped in a little alcove to some gigantic building neither of them recognized. The 'Apex Armor' disk was tucked into Senscript's smaller hands, both his cortical cord and sensory crown were thankfully retracted back into his helm though he wasn't moving at all. A look into the mecha revealed Senscript still unconscious in his cockpit chair, blood still dripping off his chin. ]

.: Raf! :. Bumblebee whirred with concern, whining against the boy's small hands that pressed against his faceplate in reassurance. .: He's still unconscious, still has blood coming out of his nose. :.

"Aw c'mon Bee, calm down. I-I'm sure I'm fine." Raf tried to tell him, smiling at his best friend and guardian only to droop when Ratchet began muttering a bit too loudly.

"Who knows what damage there could be to the human brain from such a direct connection to the processor of something like a Quintesson. The blood flow has at least lessened, but the fact it's still bleeding from his nasal area is not good. Not to mention the technology necessary to facilitate such a thing—"

Raf sent him a weak glare, "Ratchet!" He exclaimed as the yellow scout let out a high-pitched noise of worry. The medic let out a disgruntled apologetic noise, a hint of worry and guilt on his expression as he glanced between them both and the unconscious Senscript on screen. He focuses back to his datapad, typing into it.

Optimus Prime glanced over and his derma tilted upwards slightly as he sees glimpses of human biology being brought up on the datapad.

( A medic who loved racing discretely pulled up certain information on his datapad, squinting down at it and looking at the screen with a thoughtful hum. A seeker notices and leans over, only to see a website about human biology on the datapad, the seeker pulls a face but keeps quiet, optics reading line by line and glancing at the screen as well.

The medic notices and adjusts slightly so the seeker could read a bit more comfortably. This gesture went unnoticed by most of the cons in the room, unnoticed except by the seeker himself and the medic's conjunx. )

"Dudes, we're on Cybertron!" Miko exclaimed excitedly, batting at Jack's shoulder.

Jack grunted but looked up in wonder, "We really are." His wonder takes a hit when he sees the sad look on Arcee's face. "Arcee?"

"Wish this wasn't your first look at Cybertron, or Praxus." Arcee said, gesturing back to the screen with a grimace as Tailbreaker was slammed into a stray building but was holding on to the Quintesson beast stubbornly. "This isn't how I wanted to show you our home."

The kids share a look as their respective cybertronian guardian similarly shared a sad sigh. Even Optimus and Ratchet gave the kids a regretful and sad look.

"Well, hey! I'm sure you guys will show us tons of cool places on Cybertron! I mean, we're there now! Other us- and it's still alive, so like, there's got to be good places still standing to show!" Miko determinedly, wanting to cheer the bots up.

On one hand, their Cybertron was dead, which was definitely a bummer. And seeing it alive was- hard, but at the same time, it filled Bulkhead with a renewed sense of vigor somehow. And hey, Miko was right! Other Miko, Wrecker, would get the chance to experience Cybertron's wonders herself- and through the screen, they could show her and the kids too! So it wasn't all that bad!

"Yeah, seeing Cyber—" Jack was about to support Miko's words before he flinched as more Quintessons arrived on screen, roaring in intimidation at the two mecha pilots. There was a lot of Quintessons, the big hulking beast mounts and the smaller yet still hulking soldier units riding atop them. "Oh no."

[ "Fucking hell, that's a lot of Class 7 Soldiers and Levis." Tailbreaker gritted out, standing on the corpse of one such 'Levi' after dealing with its rider. In his cockpit, he rapidly flipped several switches and turned a few dials, steam and hot air escaping his mecha's joints as he optimized his systems. "Wrecker! Siege optimization! We're here with no back-up, no signal to base- do not let your levels drop too fast, too soon!"

.: You don't have to tell me twice! :. Came Wrecker's urgent yet annoyed reply, the screen switching to show she was doing the same before switching back to Tailbreaker.

"Priority one; keep Senscript and that Apex thing safe at all cost! They want that thing then it's in our best interest to make sure they don't get it! Cut down the numbers till we can get him out of this clusterfuck!" Tailbreaker barked just as the XTRs descended upon them. ]

Bulkhead's never seen Jack so authoritative before, as the oldest of the human kids, he did try to reign them in or keep them safe and stuff but this? This was older Jack doing his best to keep his teammates alive in a dangerous combat situation.

Still trying to keep them safe but in a situation that Bulkhead would have never imagined to happen, nor did he ever want to ever again. Because as cool as it is seeing them pilot those admittedly unsettling mechas, seeing them in such danger was terrifying.

"You don't know why the Quintessons want the Apex Armor, don't even know what it is or what it does but just knowing they want it, you- ahem, Tailbreaker makes the decision to keep it away from them. Astute observation and a good choice, not only that, you're optimizing your gear to last for as long as possible.." Ratchet notes aloud, glancing over to Jack who grinned at him.

The teenage boy shrugged, "Well, the longer we last, the better right? And I mean, it seems obvious? They tried to get it in secret, did their best to get it and when they couldn't but had it in reach- they triggered a spacebridge that sent other us from one place to another? It's important, real important, so yeah. Keep away."

The rest of the team gave Jack a proud look, Arcee in particular having a slightly smug expression on her faceplate.

.: And you're protecting Senscript too, planning to make an escape when given the opportunity. :. Bumblebee beeped, had his mouthguard been down, Bulkhead would definitely see a smile there. Raf relayed what he said to Jack whose grin grew a bit.

"Not only because he was like- his protection was a priority of the original mission but he's a teammate. A friend. 'Course I'd protect him." Raf beamed at his words.

( "Who knew Jack could be such a leader?" An arachnoid femme commented sardonically with a small smirk, amused by how authoritative the little human was on screen. It didn't matter that he was older on screen, or that this Jack was in another world, to her, he was still a target she oh, so dearly wanted to hunt. Not only to hurt Arcee, but to pay him back for what he'd done to her ship and herself.

Shame she could only hunt her world's Jack, Tailbreaker would have made another fine trophy in her personal opinion. She hopes her counterpart meets him, regardless of species. Though of course, she does hope she stayed Cybertronian. )

[ .: Wrecker, fall back! They're heading towards Senscript! :. Immediately Wrecker's mecha pulled itself away from the Levi she was wrestling, forcefully dragging the creature with her as her sonic weapons turned the Levi's cranial organs and technology into mush, the liquid dripping out of its orifices as Wrecker used its body to slam into the incoming XTRs that tried to make their way to her fallen teammate.

"You're not getting him assholes!" Wrecker growled, briefly cranking her damage output to 70% and releasing a high-pitch sonic wave from her subwoofers, it made the XTRs reel back in pain. "Tailbreaker!" A glance to her fuel levels revealed it took quite a bit of power to do so.

Lithely, Tailbreaker's mecha came in for quick kills while the XTRs were still reeling, aiming for weak spots that either killed them or brought them down to be killed soon enough. ]

"There's too many of them." Arcee said tensely, worry starting to seep into her spark as more and more Quintessons gathered around the three mecha pilots with only two performing combat, protecting their downed third.

Bulkhead's servos clenched and unclenched, feeling the need to having something in his servos as he watched Wrecker and Tailbreaker do their damned best in defending Senscript and the Apex Armor. Their original plan of carving a way out was quickly falling fast as there were too many Quintessons to properly chart an escape.

A sense of concern and worry began to settle over the base, even Miko was looking a bit worried for herself on the screen but was ultimately still cheering their counterparts on. "C'mon you guys! You got this! Go other me! LIVE UP TO YOUR NAME! WRECK AND RUIN!" She hollered, as if the force of her shouts alone would help across universes.

Not even Ratchet was going to scold her shouting, now when he was analyzing the situation at hand.

( "They'll be overwhelmed at this point." An ex-wrecker muttered, trying to hide his slight disappointment. It was only because he didn't want those Quintesson-things to win on Cybertron, or so he would insist if asked about it.

"Normally I would agree with you however you've forgotten some crucial details; they're on Cybertron." A seeker replied lowly, as out of nowhere, a familiar beam shot through multiple Quintessons at once. "And the Quintessons were not exactly subtle in their rendezvous." )

[ A bright violet beam shot through multiple XTRs, briefly gaining everyone's attention as from over the incline, a familiar canon whined down- the barrel smoking and gleaming hotly from going halfway towards full power. The owner of the canon, a mecha of silver with flashes of purple, snarled something unintelligible, to the humans at least.

.: Reinforcements? No fair, who let that mecha get a giant fuck off laser cannon?! :. Wrecker complained but was grinning in clear relief as she panted in her cockpit, sweat going down her face.

Tailbreaker took in a deep breath, "Seems like it- don't recognize the mecha design. Not government for certain though, too personal with all those spikes and sharp edges." He replied, though he was just as relieved. "Whoever they are though, as long as they're aiming that cannon at the XTRs, I'm not complaining." ]

"Oh! Ohh! What'd King Con say in Cybertronian?!" Miko exclaimed before pausing, "Never thought I'd be happy to see Megatron but there he is! Saving our afts!"

Raf rubbed his neck as he sat on Bumblebee's shoulder, "He pretty much just said 'Get off my planet' Miko, and uh, yeah. Same… Do you think he'll hurt other us?"

"Normally I would say yes, however considering several factors in this situation…" Ratchet trailed off, giving the screen an inscrutable expression. "No, there's a chance however with how you are clearly fighting against the Quintessons, an established enemy- he'll be cautious but he won't outright injure or attack you unless provoked. Especially considering… his alliance with Optimus."

.: Not to mention he… probably doesn't know you guys are human. :. Bumblebee realized as Megatron dove into the fight with determined anger. .: If I didn't know you were humans piloting big suits, I'd say you're one of us only- you all look like empurata'd bots. :.

"What's empurata?"

All the Autobots froze at Raf's innocuous question, an uncomfortable look on their expressions.

"That… is a question we will answer later, Raf. Perhaps, they might even provide the answer to it." Optimus said gravely, and the children exchanged confused looks but nodded all the same.

( "I take it back, these Quintessons are hardy creatures." A deadly femme muttered, seeing several survivors from the warlord's fusion cannon. It wasn't at full power but even that was usually enough to kill many mechs at the same time without any survivors.

Said warlord growled lowly at the sight but reluctantly nodded, feeling the phantom sensation of a burning ache on his arm- he usually refrained from going that strong for good reason. And the very rare times he went full power… He can't help but wonder just how many times his counterpart had gone to full power against the Quintessons. Certainly more often than he did with his arch enemy. )

[ "There's another pilot!" Wrecker exclaimed as a mecha of red, blue and silver appeared with a gigantic axe. "Okay, who's giving all these pilots cool shit?! I wanna talk with them!" She cackled, approving the sight of the axe being swung around with surprising finesse. "God, I haven't seen someone lug around a mecha-sized melee weapon since Wheeljack!"

.: Focus Wrecker! Gawk and talk later, protect Senscript and the Apex Armor! :. Tailbreaker snapped at her before he was grabbed solidly by a Levi's tentacles. .: Shit! :.

"Shit, TAILBREAKER!" Wrecker was torn, she was still acting as Senscript's major defense against the Quintessons and she was a bit too far away from her teammate and leader to do anything about it. ]

"Jack!" "Slag."

The joy of seeing Optimus again, seeing him join the battle and assist the kids was quickly overtaken with worry as Tailbreaker's mecha was grabbed by the tentacles- those things were wrapped around dangerously tight around the mecha's torso- right where Tailbreaker's actual body was.

Bulkhead had seen, by chance, of an organic lifeform being crushed in a metal compactor before during the war. It had been a wild animal from the planet he'd been stationed on that got stuck in machine, and it had left him nauseated the entire time he'd been on the planet afterwards.

He doesn't think he could bear the thought of watching a human, especially one of the kids going- squish. It was one of the many reasons why he'd been a little hesitant on going around on Earth. That accident with the powerlines was another, more light hearted reason that he actually wished was happening right now.

He'd take electricity forcing him to dance over the possible death of the kids any day.

( "Ugh, squished human. Disgusting." A medic shuddered, having seen many horror films as well as the rare actual footage- he'd been curious after all. Certainly strayed him away from seeing human media again… for a while anyway.

"Sounds disgusting, but it looks like it's not happening this time." The ship's second in command commented with a sniff, snorting at the sight of the warlord on screen coming to the human's rescue. Using his sword to cut the massive tentacle that captured the mecha. "He must not know he's saving an organic. These mecha look far too much like cybertronians- empurata'd ones, but still. It's uncanny and disturbing." Though the thought of his 'master' unknowingly saving humans was quite amusing, of course, he kept it to himself. Eyeing the interested warlord who had gone silent. )

[ Tailbreaker hadn't been prepared for the save from the stranger pilot but looked up as he was hauled on to his feet. "Thanks-" His gratitude was cut short as he finally saw the 'mecha' up close. "You have a face." He blurts out in confusion, watching that scarred metal face contort and change like an actual face. With red eyes, lips, sharp teeth?

.: He has a what? :. Wrecker commed in as the silver, spiky mecha gave him a scrutinizing look on his face.

'Who makes a mecha with an expressive face? Not even a digital one, but a fully articulated one!?' Tailbreaker thought somewhat hysterically before shaking his head in his cockpit and focusing in. "Nevermind, look out!" He bodily tackled the mecha down as a barrage of tentacles tried to spear through both of them. Ignoring the surprised look the mecha gave him. ]

"He has a face!" Miko laughed, leaning against the couch from the hilarious moment. Bulkhead chuckled with her, it was kinda funny.

Jack rolled his eyes, "From what I can tell, all the mechas we made don't have faces- just like, screens, visors or something. Seeing a 'mecha' with a face would definitely be surprising… Guess we've got no idea that we're on another planet just yet." He reasoned, smiling at the agreeing nods he got from Optimus and Arcee.

"You guys are a bit too busy with the Quintessons to notice the strange architecture." Raf chimed in before blinking. "You saved Megatron!"

"In any other situation I'd be angry but considering its not you, and Tailbreaker has no idea who Megatron even is, I'll let this slide." Arcee half-joked, somewhat disgruntled over the fact her human charge and partner had saved the tyrant that she and her team had been fighting for so long.

Jack winced, rubbing the back of his neck somewhat guiltily as he nodded. "Yeah…" He'd yet to tell anyone what happened at the cave in, about how he had the chance to take Megatron's life, to end the war for them… and he didn't take it. He'd put it in the back of his mind the entire time, but seeing his other self save Megatron…

( A warlord snorted, a smile, small yet terrible, perched on his derma as he sees his counterpart being saved by the same human that had the chance to end him yet didn't. He wonders if the Autobots knew of that moment, if the human had told them he had the chance to end things permanently and didn't.

Or did he keep it to himself out of shame? Either way, it truly seemed like that little human was far more interesting than he first thought he was. )

Maybe he should finally talk with Optimus about it.

[ Tailbreaker was quick to get back on his feet, this time hauling the silver mecha in turn and giving the strange mecha a slight nod before throwing himself back into the fray with a determined cry.

It didn't take long for the mecha to join him, countless of XTRs fell from blades, axe, fists and both cannon and sonic blast.

There had been a few close calls with Senscript's safety, a Soldier managing to slip through, a Levi's tentacle shooting out towards him, several attempts from above. Yet they managed to protect the youngest pilot successfully.

Not without damage however, it was a rare moment that a mecha would ever come back unscathed. Wrecker's left subwoofer on her shoulder had been crushed inwards, making her arm barely usable. Her plating had cracks and scratches, and she lost a few panels of heavy armor. XTR gore covered a vast majority of her mecha, especially her arms.

Tailbreaker's visor had cracked after being hit in the head, his right leg was sparking as a few cables had been cut forcing his mecha to limp awkwardly and keep his balance. His blades were caked in XTR blood, although he wasn't missing any panels, multiple armor platings were cracked and scratched- less so than Wreckers at least.

The silver mecha's cannon was steaming, wisps of smoke was wafting off of it as the heated metal glowed. They were favoring their right side, pressing a hand over a gash across their chestplating.

The blue and red mecha was leaning on his axe, but surprisingly looked the least damaged aside from Senscript. Most of the time, the silver mecha had stuck to the their side, protecting them to the best of their abilities. ]

It was tense, watching both the humans and the two leaders of the Autobots and Decepticons fight against the Quintessons- there were far too many close calls. Wrecker and Tailbreaker didn't seem used to fighting side by side for long periods of time, nor protecting a third party. Sometimes they were too hyper focused on Senscript to notice an enemy coming in when they should have.

Meanwhile Optimus and Megatron continued to fight like a well-oiled machine, with Megatron tanking a lot of hits for Optimus. Which was insane to think of considering normal circumstances, but in that world, in this 'Alien Mecha' universe, it really seemed like the leader of the Decepticons was dedicated in protecting the Prime.

Whatever this title of 'Lord High Protector' seemed accurate so far. Which made them all the more curious as to what it was exactly.

"Oh thank frag." Bulkhead sighed when he saw reinforcements finally coming in to help, he'd been starting to worry at how long they'd been fighting- the screen showed it in bits and pieces, seeming to accelerate through certain moments but even quick combat could be exhausting in such heavy circumstances.

The mecha suits didn't look too good, he'd been worried that Mik-Wrecker's mecha's arm would fall off after that bad hit to the shoulder-subwoofer. But thankfully, and honestly to be expected, Wrecker's mecha was made of literally tough stuff.

Ratchet made a disgruntled noise, optics looking over the injuries of not only Other Optimus but Megatron as well- something he didn't think he'd be doing but after watching the mech fight alongside and protect the Prime there… He still didn't exactly trust the Decepticon tyrant of that world but it wasn't like he could do anything else. Besides, he was still a medic. He had to assess what injuries were in front of him…

He couldn't help but do the same to the mecha suits as well, they were cybertronian-like enough that some techniques would work the same- welding, cable cauterization and mending, plating replacement, glass mending or full on visor replacement… it was the humans inside that he was really worried about though.

( "Quintessons are definitely a persistent enemy, they seem to have the numbers to willingly sacrifice their own troops without care- none of them ever seemed to consider the option of retreat." A seeker muttered with disgust and slight fascination, "Then again, these 'Soldiers' and 'Levis' seem little else but bio-created drone shock troops and muscle, smart enough to wield weapons, ride mounts and attack but not enough to consider other strategic or tactical moves."

"No responses of fear, not really. They kept attacking Lord Megatron without any regard to their own safety and lives." A medic commented, "Even our vehicons have basic intelligence at first with the chance of growing more into their processors if given time and experience but I doubt that the Quintessons would let anything else other than their 'commanders' to have a shred of competent intellectual thinking or sapience."

"Pretty sturdy." An ex-wrecker added, "A few of them survived a point blank blast from Lord Megatron's fusion cannon, it wasn't at full power but still." Both mechs nodded in agreement, glancing over to their still silent leader who watched with an unsettlingly neutral expression on his faceplate.

"Reinforcements." An arachnoid femme noted with a hum of interest, snorting at the sight of both red and purple symbols arriving together on screen. "It truly seems like Autobots and Decepticons have decided to band together in face of this Quintesson threat… Impressive with the numbers indeed, but for both sides to ally together? For Lord Megatron to side and protect Optimus Prime? My… The Quintessons may truly be a bigger threat than I originally thought."

The warlord twitched at her words, his neutral expression twisting to a scowl though he kept silent. Still watching the screen with narrowed optics as both Autobots and Decepticons descended to deal with the remaining Quintessons. )

[ .: … These aren't pilots. :. Tailbreaker suddenly said in a private comm between him and Wrecker, and Senscript, had he been awake but the poor guy was still unconscious for now.

"What?" Wrecker replied a bit confusedly, panting to herself as she adjusted her mecha's settings while trying to calm herself down from the adrenaline of the battle.

.: None of these guys are pilots. Wrecker, look at them. They have faces, fully articulated and emotional and- there's too many of them. No government would fund all these mecha and- look! That one just transformed into some sort of futuristic jet! :.Tailbreaker exclaimed, gesturing to a mecha who had jumped into the air and turned into a flying aircraft. .: And these buildings… are way too big for humans. :.

Wrecker finally noticed her surroundings, stiffening in her cockpit as she sees the giant buildings that were her mecha's size. The mechas around her were gesticulating, most of them had faces that moved lips, frowned, smiled, blinked. "Holy shit." She muttered as it finally hit her. She and Tailbreaker subconsciously stood close before Senscript, like sentries, keeping separate from the not-pilots around them. ]

"There's the realization!" Miko snickered, grinning at the way her older, other self was looking stunned. Honestly she was expecting a more explosive reaction considering she was, y'know, her. But hey, that's fine. Miko was a little stunned herself when she first saw Arcee transform in that alleyway, only snapping out of it when Jack made the absurd move of rejecting Arcee's offer.

Like seriously, who wouldn't want to go with a giant alien robot? She sent a look to Jack who caught it and rolled his eyes.

"I see Hound, Red Alert, Remedy, Velocity- Primus, they're all there..." Ratchet said quietly, a bit disbelieving at seeing so many familiar faces in the background of the screen. Prowl was rallying both Autobots and Decepticons, instructing them from one place to another.

"Ironhide, Chromia, Jazz…" Optimus hummed quietly, a small soft yet sad smile on his faceplate as he saw his other self talk with old friends he hadn't seen since the Exodus, unfortunately. Not to mention a few faceplates that were… no longer with them. He took in a deep vent, at the sight of Kup and Impactor.

.: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Blaster… :. Bumblebee whirred, doorwings drooping low. More and more names came to mind as he saw faceplate after faceplate, he felt Raf's hand and saw his concern, .: I-I'm okay Raf, just… missing old friends. :.

Bulkhead laughed, it was something happy and sad as he saw himself on the screen. Not alone of course. "Broadside, Springer, Roadbuster… Even Seaspray's there!" Primus, he hoped old barnacle butt was alright, he was alive during the Exodus. He could feel coolant gather in his optics at the sight of faceplates long gone, even before the Exodus.

"Nautica, Firestar- Cliffjumper!" Arcee abruptly exclaimed, standing up at the sight of both herself and Cliffjumper on the screen! "He's alive! Oh thank Primus, he's… he's alive." There. He was alive there, with her in that world. That was good. That was… frag, never thought she'd feel this jealous over herself in another world.

"That's Cliffjumper?" Jack asked, curious and careful. He smiled though when Arcee gave him a nod and a smile, shaky but there, and he said nothing about how unusually shiny her eyes were. Still, he furrowed his brows before calling out. "Pause!"

Several eyes, human and cybertronian, turned to him in confusion and question. "You guys look like you need a minute." He told the Autobots, seeming more than one of them taken-aback and eagerly looking at the screen. It was one thing to see your planet alive and healthy, but seeing old comrades, ones that you haven't seen one way or another…

Optimus Prime nodded slightly at him. "Thank you Jack, that is very kind." No one commented the slight sniffles that came from certain bots,

( "Skywarp… Thundercracker." No one commented the seeker's voice breaking slightly, not even the tyrant who looked at multiple Decepticon faceplates in the screen. Ones he has not seen in a long, long while.

A medic hesitates, but stays silent and does nothing. Merely looks away when he caught the sharp glare of the flier who was quickly recomposing himself, silently berating that tiny show of weakness.

"So many bots and cons still alive." A femme whispered lowly, optics narrowing as she sees a few past prey alive in the background. A sign that the war had stopped rather early, or perhaps she was not a cybertronian. Neither was an option she liked, one especially more than the other. At any rate though, she sneered when she caught the sight of a certain blue femme, snorting at the red mech that was beside her. "Ah, so she does keep a partner, a cybertronian partner, alive in another world… How long will she keep him?" )

It took a few minutes before the team unanimously decided to continue again.

[ .: So, to recap; our mission goes FUBAR at the end because that XTR Commander- I don't know, fucking warped us to some alien planet that has living mechas? We're surrounded on all sides by aliens! Aliens like the XTR- no, shit, that's an unfair comparison. They're not like the XTRs, they're- they helped us. They fought against the shits, and by the looks of it, the XTRs were fighting them too. Just look at this place. :. Wrecker commented and Tailbreaker nodded in agreement.

The mecha-sized city they were in was burning. Crumbling down. They recognized a city being attacked by the XTRs just fine… "I don't think they're hostile to us yeah, we might actually have found an alien race that doesn't want to attack us- that might help us with the XTRs." He was a bit relieved by that, and he straightened in his seat when he saw the two mechas- mecha aliens? Alien Mechas? That helped him and Wrecker before. "Incoming."

Much to his and Wrecker's surprise though, as soon as they were near, the red and blue alien-mecha began to speak English. "You are… humans?" ]

That certainly surprised them.

"He knows about humans?" Raf blinked, "Have they been to Earth yet?"

Optimus' expression furrowed slightly, "Perhaps? To know about humans despite being on Cybertron—" A sharp gasp interrupted him as Miko suddenly stood up.

"What if Wheeljack's here?! He disappeared into a spacebridge right?! He's gotta be here!"

Bulkhead's hopes began to rise, "If anyone managed to get on Cybertron before Miko, Jack and Raf, it's gotta be Jackie." He agreed immediately. The chance of Wheeljack being alive and on Cybertron? He'll take it! But Primus! It was going to be weird seeing Wheeljack as a human!

"Then let us hope it is Wheeljack." Optimus replied with a nod.

( "They already know of humans?" )

[ .: It knows English!? :. Wrecker gawped into their comm, Tailbreaker made an admonishing hissing sound at her before activating his external speakers to speak with the alien mecha.

"I- yes, we are humans." Tailbreaker confirmed considering what else could they do? They were outnumbered, by the looks of the transforming weaponry- outgunned as well. Trying to fight only one race of aliens was hard enough, fighting a similar species to the suits they were piloting definitely wouldn't be ideal. "How did you... Pardon, but- how do you know about us? Speak our language?"

The cracked mask the mecha was wearing slid away, revealing another face that was giving him a welcoming expression. "You are not the first of your kind that we've spoken too, he has become a friend of ours as he helps us in our war against the Quintesson. Do you recognize the name, Wheeljack?"

Almost immediately Wrecker's mecha lurched forward, her external speakers activating to exclaim. "Wheeljack?! He's here!? You have him?!" She reached out with her least damaged arm to try and grab the alien but was stopped firmly by the silver mecha who growled in warning.

Tailbreaker was quick to get between him and Wrecker, holding Wrecker back from doing something reckless or impulsive. ]

"He's there! Ahahaha! That's Wheeljack for ya!" Bulkhead cheered the moment Other Optimus said Wheeljack's name, he couldn't wait to tell Jackie all about this! "'Course Jackie survived! He made it to Cybertron too! No matter the species, he's always gonna find his way back to us Autobots!"

Miko was squealing, cheering with him. "Yes! He's alive! Man, Wrecker must be so stoked!"

Jack shared an amused but relieved look with Arcee, glad that the other Wheeljack was still alive. "Still, just what were the chances that Wheeljack managed to get to Cybertron with a spacebridge? Really makes me wonder just what happened." He commented, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch.

"From the brief flashback, Wheeljack got ambushed by the spacebridge by the looks of it. Something pulled him in." Arcee recalled with a frown and Bulkhead's mood darkened at the reminder. He growled, hating the fact that Wheeljack had been hurt- kind of? His mecha had been damaged, but there was a real chance that human Wheeljack got hurt too.

.: Well, whatever happened. He survived and he's with the Autobots now. ;. Bumblebee chirped before tilting his helm. .: So far we've seen almost everyone from the team there on Cybertron with the exception of me and Ratchet. Do you think we're human? :.

"I hope not!" Ratchet grumbled, frowning at the thought of being human. He was very content with being a cybertronian! "I would not know how to deal with being so small, and fragile."

"Aw c'mon Ratchet, I think you'd do fine! You wouldn't know anything different since you'd be born a human anyway." Raf grinned, now wanting to see whether or not Bee or Ratchet were humans like Shockwave and Wheeljack.

( "It was too much to hope that the Autobot, human or not, had perished I suppose." A seeker grumbled, annoyed by the Wrecker's continued survival.

"Though it is impressive that he's managed to make it all the way to Cybertron. Considering how we last saw him." A medic chimed in.

His conjunx grunted, "Something had him, speared through his mecha. Wonder what happened… Knowing Wheeljack though, explosions were involved." The SIC seeker shuddered, remembering the demise of a certain plateshifter after their attempt of infiltrating the Autobot base. )

[ "You know him."

Tailbreaker nodded towards the red and blue mech, "Yes, he was- is, a good friend of ours. Wrecker especially… We didn't know what happened to him, he just disappeared during one attack. He was eventually labeled MIA and—"

"They considered him dead! But no! Not Jackie!" Wrecker exclaimed, shoving Tailbreaker away who wobbled with his damaged leg. She laughed, it was a touch bit hysterical but mostly relieved, "I knew it! I knew he was alive! Didn't think he was on a whole different planet! Where is he?! Is he here? Is he nearby?! WHEELJACK!" She called out, looking around, hoping to see her old friend.

"Wrecker, Wrecker pull yourself together." Tailbreaker said sharply, they were speaking with what seemed to be the leader of the aliens here. All the other aliens seemed to answer to them earlier on. "I'm sure we'll see him at some point, but right now, we need to focus. Senscript is still down, we're on another planet and- I'm sorry, we're being rude. My callsign's Tailbreaker, MECH pilot 05."

Wrecker had calmed down, nodding, "Wrecker, MECH pilot 00. Our third's Senscript, MECH pilot 013." She gestured to the unmoving Senscript.

The robotic alien frowned before offering a welcoming smile, "I am Optimus Prime, Leader of the Autobot Faction of Cybertron. Cybertron being the planet you are on, of course. And this," He motioned to the silver not-mecha beside him, "Is Megatron, Leader of the Decepticon Faction and Lord High Protector of Cybertron." ]

"There's that title again." Ratchet muttered, optics narrowed at the alternate version of their enemy. "Just what does it mean?"

"Something obviously important if it's part of Optimus' introduction to the kids." Arcee said, arms crossed as she too wondered just what 'Lord High Protector' meant. By description, it should be obvious but it was actually pretty vague, did that mean protecting Optimus since was Prime? Seemed like it.

But even if this was an alternate Megatron, he was still a Megatron who was the Leader of the Decepticons, Autobots and Decepticons still existed as different factions and knowing the power-hungry mech. Being Optimus' protector wasn't the only reason why he was Lord High Protector, he wouldn't be satisfied with just that.

( Speculation ran through the war room, they, too, were wondering what Lord High Protector meant.

Their leader's expression was looking more displeased yet he kept calm, kept sat down as they all continued to watch the screen. )

[ .: Alright, so we are talking to the leaders of their race. And the planet we're on is called Cybertron. :. Tailbreaker muttered into their private comms before replying, "It's nice to meet you both, wish it was under better circumstances."

"Yeah…" Wrecker trailed off, scowling at the silver… cybertron guy? Megatron. Not that he would know, unlike the aliens, her mecha didn't have a face. Anyway, he didn't seem too happy to see them. "What's his deal?"

"Wrecker!" She ignored Tailbreaker's hiss to asses the other leader.

Optimus frowned and turned to Megatron, speaking in their language. ]

"Ugh, what are they saying? What gives? Earlier on, we understood Optimus just fine but now we can't?" Miko complained, gesturing to the screen.

"It's a perspective shift, thing." Raf sighed, shifting on Bumblebee's shoulder. "I couldn't understand a lot of things within the Observer but depending on perspectives, languages can be translated automatically to be understood by the users. Since we're in um, our other selves' perspective, who don't understand Cybertronian- it doesn't translate it until we shift to someone who understands Cybertronian."

Ratchet grunted, "It should be automatically translating no matter what perspective but, again, damaged systems within. As for what Megatron's saying he's complaining about there being more humans. To be expected, honestly."

Arcee's faceplate furrowed as she tilted her helm, "Doesn't really sound like complaining though, he seems… concerned? Optimus is trying to reassure him but Megatron's… not happy with how the humans are being treated? That they sound young? The frag?"

Jack and Miko blinked, "What."

Bulkhead had to agree, what. "Since when did buckethead care for young human huh? Or humans in general?!"

"'Their government is less to be desired Megatron, but your displeasure is being mistaken to be aimed at them, specifically.' That's what Optimus just said." Raf frowned with confusion on his face. "Now Megatron's sighing and saying he should have made more effort in learning the human language so he could apologize himself and… and Optimus is teasing him?"

Bulkhead needed Ratchet to check on his processor because he's pretty sure a few fuses blew as he hears Optimus tease Megatron about not learning English, even smiling at Megatron- unfortunately the grumpy medic seemed to have blown a few fuses himself, gawping at the screen for the very same reasons.

Megatron wanting to apologize to the human kids? Optimus full on teasing Megatron?

Forget the Quintessons, the mecha suits, and the change of species for some people, this was the most shocking thing they've seen in this world yet!

Meanwhile, Optimus was watching with not exactly wide-optics, but he had yet to look away. Seemingly entranced by the comradery he saw between his other self and the other Megatron. It… reminded him too much of Orion and Megatronus, far more than the actor universe ever did.

( Unwanted memories come to a warlord's processor, old ones that depict of an Iaconian archivist smiling at a Kaoni gladiator during a time that seemed more simple than the present. Of late cycles with messages shared across the planet, of a relationship building from the same interests, and a potential for more.

The room tenses at the loud growl their leader let out, dark and irritable. Only one other mech in the room recognizes the slight hint of conflicting jealousy hidden beneath the building anger, and like always, keeps silent about it and everything else. )

[ "His displeasure isn't aimed at you, this cycle- hm, day? Has been stressful for everyone involved." Optimus finally said in English to them, "For now, let us retire to somewhere safer so your comrade can be overseen by a medic. Wheeljack is on his way."

At the mention that Wheeljack was one his way, Wrecker was immediately going over to Senscript. "Lead the way bossman!"

"Wrecker!" ]

"No matter the universe, Miko is Miko… the actor doesn't really count." Jack sighed, palming his face at Wrecker's casual attitude to someone who was suppose to be one of the leaders of an entire planet. For some reason, he thought being a bit older, Miko would have learned to be a bit more… he doesn't know, restrained? Respectful? To figures of authority, but nope. She could follow orders at least… Mostly?

"Jackie must mean a lot to you Miko." Bulkhead said with a smile, happy at the fact that even though he and Wheeljack hadn't known each other as long and were different species, at least he still had a good close friend like Miko worrying over his human butt.

Miko grinned, "Looks like it! Aw man, aw man! I can't wait to see human Wheeljack!" She cheered, excited to see the Wrecker as her own species- he was already cool as an alien robot space cowboy samurai, he would no doubt be just as cool as a human! It was Wheeljack they were talking about after all!

Despite the short meeting, and the whole 'Makeshift' thing that happened before it, Miko had a great impression on the real Wheeljack. She'd been pretty disappointed when he decided not to stay, making him promise to visit Earth again in the future. And hey! Considering what they were doing, maybe as soon as Bulkhead told him what was going on, Wheeljack would totally have to come back to Earth and check it out for himself!

[ "There's nothing there?!"

Abruptly, the scene cuts back to Earth. Silas hunched over intimidatingly over a table with a glowering look on his face, the poor soldier reporting to him shook his head. "N-No sir, nothing aside from the remains of the XTRs."

"And the trackers?!" Silas snapped towards a man sitting by a console.

The man flinched but answered, motioning to a screen. The pilot pictures of Wrecker, Tailbreaker and Senscript were dim with all their statuses being labeled 'N/A'. "Out of range sir, possibly offline."

Silas growled while Shockwave, who was by another monitor, stood by in silence. Finally speaking, "Play it again." He ordered the woman controlling the computer. She did as ordered and played Wrecker and Tailbreaker's last messages.

. JD-05 : W-What the— :.

. MN-00 : No- n—o! —AY! MAYDAY! Wr—ECH HQ! We a—ing s—ome sort of vort—tal! It's the th—ing that took Ja—:.

Shockwave hummed, "… Vortex… portal… Senscript did not say anything, he must have sustained damage or was knocked offline." He said mostly to himself with interest, but the screen suddenly flashed over his hands behind his back. They trembled and clenched tightly. "Hmph." ]

"We're back on Earth!" Raf declared, surprised at the sudden shift from Cybertron to Earth.

Miko glared mulishly at the screen as she pouted, she wanted to see Wheeljack! She wanted to be back on Cybertron! "Back with MECH."

"Back with Silas and Shockwave." Jack sighed, though he looked confused at the sudden switch to Shockwave's hands. Not seeing the importance of it.

The Autobots on the other hand seemed slightly dumbfounded. "Is that…"

.: Emotion? Is Shockwave experiencing emotions? Like- as a human? Humans… don't have emotion suppressors do they?? :. Bumblebee whirred, turning to Raf who shook his head.

"Not… really? I guess there's medicine that can help calm people down I think, and some people can't feel emotions correctly like other people but…" He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

"Question is, just what is he feeling? Annoyance that he didn't get results over his prototype testing? Anger? Disappointment?" Arcee scoffed, the initial thought of Shockwave having emotions was absurd but paused as she thought it over a bit more. She shuddered, it was bad enough that the cycloptic scientist was emotionless, if he actually had access to emotions like anger again…

Optimus spied Ratchet on his datapad once more, this time on a different website pertaining human emotions and medicine related to it. The medic catches his glance and his faceplate tints, grumbling with a cough as he abruptly closed the website. Optimus hummed yet said nothing about it.

( A seeker perked up, delighted, "My, my, is that frustration I see a hint of from Shockwave of all mechs?" He needled to nobody but himself. Unsettling as it was to see Shockwave even portray a silver of emotion, it was quite the sight for someone who'd been at odds with the scientist before hand.

"Well, he is human. From my… information gathering, I find that humans, even those who claim to be emotionless, do seem to have emotions of sorts." A medic said, tapping at his datapad. "Humans can't exactly permanently render themselves emotionless, not without severe repercussions that a cybertronian could easily ignore."

Unnoticed by all but one, a silent mech bowed his head slightly. The warlord, initially displeased by the return to the planet they were currently on, paused for just a moment before returned to being displeased. )

[ "Three pilots, three of our top pilots are gone and that's all you have to say?" Silas questioned, annoyed by Shockwave's perceived unaffectedness. "Billions of money, years of investment, in training, gone."

Shockwave didn't bother turning to him, "You knew that was a possibility the moment they started piloting mechas. All it takes is one bad battle to lose everything, as is usually the fate of all pilots."

A flash of a towering extremely damaged purple mecha standing in front of something small, something dented, something mostly covered in XTR blood but underneath was a hint of yellow.

Silas narrowed his eyes at him, "The fate of all pilots is dying in their mechas for the sake of humanity, as they were trained to do. Not inexplicably disappearing all at the same time! No one left behind, not even a single component left from their mechas— Especially from the Ambus set! We even lost the prototype invention you made!" He seethed, scowling at the man who stood in place with his hands behind his back as if nothing had happened and they hadn't suffered a huge loss. ]

"Woah, woah, what was that?!" Bulkhead gawped at the very brief moment of what looked to be a familiar-ish purple mecha and something else on the ground.

A chill ran up most of the Autobots, a bad feeling at the brief flash they saw. It'd been too fast, too much in a too short of time. But it had been a flash of human Shockwave's past- hadn't other Miko said he'd been a pilot before? That that was the reason why he even had the callsign of 'Shockwave'?

Whatever it was, it was swept away by Silas' infuriating words.

"Excuse me?!" Arcee hissed, plates bristling at the screen.

Bumblebee growled, .: He's not even concerned about the kids! :. He exclaimed indignantly with anger, his engine growling with him from how angry he was.

"Money? Investment?! Ain't worth scrap to the lives that you actually 'lost' you tiny coward of a man! If you're so incensed and annoyed, go pilot your own mecha!" Bulkhead snapped at the screen, servos slamming on his knees.

Ratchet hissed something vulgar in cybertronian, not to the extent of much earlier when other Optimus had been dangling off a cliff with Megatron above him but the promise of pain was just as intense.

Even Optimus was sporting a dark expression as he stared dispassionately at Silas.

The kids glanced at their Autobot guardians with concern, but were all a bit touched by their reactions. Still, they did their best to calm them down.

( The words investment, training and dying reminded two ex-gladiators too much of their pasts for reasons unknown, even to them. Of patrons and battles, beneath the glory and fame, invisible shackles at their limbs, Tight and chafing. Having to fight for even the privilege to live.

A seeker, a medic, an ex-Wrecker, and an arachnoid flinch at the sudden dual noises of engines rumbling dark and low. One was expected as his faceplate darkened significantly, the other was a complete surprise considering his reputation and full-faceplated visor. )

[ "You are pointing out the obvious, Silas." Shockwave drawled, much to Silas' growing annoyance. "But I understand your frustration, the losses we've suffered outweigh what we've gained."

"Oh? And what exactly have we gained?" Silas questioned through gritted teeth.

Shockwave typed into the woman's console, replaying a segment of Wrecker's last message over and over again a few times. "Information. Information that may be crucial."

. MN-00 : We a—ing s—ome sort of vort—tal! We a—ing s—ome sort of vort—tal! We a—ing s—ome sort of vort—tal! We a—ing s—ome sort of vort—tal! :.

"I believe what Wrecker is saying is 'vortex portal'. There's been an ongoing theory of how the XTRs have been appearing stealthily on Earth, they don't always appear within a ship in our atmosphere after all and pilots have been known to disappear inexplicably in the past with little to no signs of pilot or mecha." Shockwave's red mask glowed a bit brighter, "I believe we just found the answer." ]

"The Quintessons must have been hiding the fact they were using bridging technology from the humans." Ratchet theorized with a huff, glaring darkly at both humans on the screen. One human he was already expecting to dislike considering who his counterpart was, but the other? MECH had originally just been a human nuisance, an unfortunate organization that found out about Cybertronians. Soon afterwards though, they became something dangerous with their kidnapping of Breakdown, then even willing to ally with Arachnid and kidnapping Ms. Darby, Jack's mother.

But now? In that world at least, he earned even more ire from the Autobots from his callous words alone. He could only imagine what treatment and training the mecha world children had been underneath the thumb of that man, not to mention Shockwave himself… And he didn't like it, not one bit.

[ A red, white and green mecha suit was striding through a cybertronian hallway. Obvious from the other mechs and femmes that were going about in the large space. The suit was barely patched, its size was smaller than Wrecker's and even Tailbreaker but it was wider with two swords attached to its back. "Better keep up Maggie 'cause this cowboy ain't slowin' down for nothin'!" He called back to the larger mech that was attempting to follow after him. "I got a friend waitin' for me!"

"Wheeljack." 'Maggie' said with exasperation as he avoided a mech, apologizing for nearly bumping into them. The mostly blue mech sighed but gave a slight smile at how excited the human sounded. "Refrain from calling me that, Wheeljack." ]

"Maggie?!" Bulkhead, Arcee and Bumblebee were definitely gawking now, Bulkhead especially considering he knew the relationship between his Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack hadn't been… the most agreeable in the last moments before the Exodus.

"Who's that? Who's Maggie?" Miko asked, watching Wheeljack and 'Maggie' weave through other bots and- yep, those were cons. Autobots and Decepticons really were working together.

"Ultra Magnus." Ratchet corrected, though he couldn't help the amused look on his faceplate. "He used to leader of the Cybertron's own Elite Guard before he later became the commander of the Wreckers."

"Oooh, he's a Wrecker? NICE!"

"Kinda? He's- well, he's uh… kinda rigid compared to most other Wreckers Miko. Much more by the books kind of mech, if you get what I'm saying." Bulkhead told herand frowned, "Man, can't believe Jackie's calling Ultra Magnus Maggie- and he only had a light reprimand! Something's up!"

( "Finally back on Cybertron… if only to witness the Autobots again… Hm, his mecha suit is quite different from his cybertronian self but I do see some similarities." A seeker mused, deadpanning unamusedly at the banter that was said between the Wrecker and the other Autobot. He recognized that one as well.

"So far the board's even, Shockwave's a human and so is an Autobot. Who knows who else is human here." A medic chuckled. )

[ Finally, Wheeljack arrived at a certain room. Throwing the door open without a care, "Wrecker!" He called out joyously and almost immediately he was grabbed from the doorway much to Ultra Magnus' immediate concern- just as he was aiming a blaster at Wheeljack's assailant, he heard a warbled; "Jaaackiiiieeee!"

He hesitated as he sees a giant Quintesson gore-stained mecha hugging Wheeljack. "You're alive! I knew it! I knew it, I knew, I knew it!"

Wheeljack laughed, patting the mecha's shoulder. "Damn straight I am! Gonna take more than that to… get me…" He trailed off, Ultra Magnus's optics blinked as he peered behind them both. Another human mecha sat awkwardly within the room on a medbay berth, another was laying, supposedly unconscious. He straightened at the sight of Optimus Prime and Megatron.

However just before he could say anything, Wheeljack's clearly horrified voice spoke once more. "… Miko, why do you sound so young?"

"… Shit…" ]

It started out as such a tearful reunion, Wheeljack was alive! Wrecker got to see him alive!

That was, until Wheeljack's horrified question came.

They were all pretty confused by it, but two veterans could only feel dread for the upcoming conversation that was about to happen.

( On a warship, things just seemed to be getting a bit more interesting on screen. )

[ ----- TP : UO ----- ]

glad to have updated in the first week of june! unfortunately updates may or may not slow or just continue on, the new house needs a room (my room) built so its a bit hard to concentrate sometimes when construction goes on and other stuff is happening

BUT HEY WHEELJACK IS ALIVE! AND LOOK HERE'S ULTRA MAGNUS! WE LOVE THESE TWO!

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