#two bottles at once is pretty crazy... maybe a little TOO crazy

[just-bendy]

Bendy, how crazy can you get?

[venus-haze]

Power Play (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: So, you lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship. It happens all the time. Maybe not quite like this.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Crazy ass 80s Vought debauchery. I might be a little rusty, but it was fun getting back into writing readerfics after two months🖤 Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Power imbalance, cheating (Soldier Boy’s with Crimson Countess). Mentions of drug use. Soldier Boy is his own warning. Sexually explicit content involving elements of forced intox, semi-public sex, breeding kink.

You were dizzy. With Vought’s investor gala rapidly approaching, you spent the better part of your day camped out in your office, flipping back and forth through your rolodex to call and confirm catering, entertainment—you still couldn’t believe the board of directors actually approved Duran Duran’s booking fee—and transportation, off the top of your head. You already told Stan Edgar you were taking the following week off, which he had no qualms about—so long as the gala went off without a hitch.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you were interrupted by a knock at your office door, which you’d left open in an effort to be available in the lead up to the event.

“Don’t tell me Edgar’s got you working tonight,” Soldier Boy said, walking in when he saw he had your attention.

“The most important night of the year is less than a week away and I still have a to-do list as long as your dick, so, yeah.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Must be pretty busy then.”

“How about you? Where’s Countess?” you asked.

Soldier Boy probably would have sought you out even if Crimson Countess were around, but from what you’d been hearing through Vought’s extensive grapevine, they were in yet another rough patch. Though, it seemed to you like their relationship was one long, extremely rough patch with some calm once in a blue moon. You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself that you ate up the gossip of their relationship like candy, especially when the other members of Payback—including Countess herself—would rant to Edgar about it. Since your office was right next to his, and most supes had little to no sense of subtlety, you could hear just about everything.

“She’s at one of those wildlife charity things, pandas or some bullshit.” He rolled his eyes. “Bitched at me because I wouldn’t go. She won’t be back until Friday.”

“Soldier Boy, I can’t just—“

“Sure you can. I mean, I’m technically your boss too, aren’t I?” he asked. “So, I say there’s no harm in taking a ten, fifteen minute break. Relieve some stress.”

You sighed. It had been a while since you actually got up from your desk. “Alright. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

He grinned. “Now we’re talking. You keep that minibar stocked?”

“Pick your poison.”

“Whiskey?”

“Sure.”

At least, you were pretty sure. The minibar in your office served as a nice gesture for the variety of people who’d come into your office for meetings related to all of the aspects of event planning you were in charge of. Over the past few weeks, though, you’d been reaching for bottles of whatever you could find to relieve the stress. Powdered your nose every so often, but tried not to make that a habit—not that you blamed your coworkers who did. Working at Vought was brutal and demanding, but hell, who else got to work with superheroes? Especially handsome, smarmy assholes who knew just how to fuck the lingering thoughts of any deadline or event planning out of your mind if you played your cards right. 

He handed you a shot glass. “What should we toast to?”

“To taking next week off.”

“Yeah? What’ve you got planned?”

You threw back your shot. “Nothing.”

“That’s no fun. How does a few days in Miami sound?”

You nearly scoffed. Of course he could make something like that happen on such short notice. For forty years running he was America’s superhero and Vought’s cash cow. After a night of schmoozing at the investor gala, he could very well clear out his schedule and fuck off for a week of sun, sand, and sex, too.

“I might need some convincing.”

“Then make yourself comfortable,” he said, walking back to the minibar to pour another shot for each of you. Almost comical, he’d have to drink the whole bottle and then some to feel the same way you did after two shots.

You glanced at the open door. “Someone might see.”

“Are you gonna make me repeat myself?”

Sparing the door one more glance, you worked at unbuttoning your blouse, tossing it aside. You shimmied out of your skirt and let it fall to the floor. 

“Heels stay on,” he said, his back to you. “Everything else off. Everything.”

With a hesitant huff, you unhooked your bra and pulled off your panties, throwing them in his direction when he turned around with the shot glasses. You made yourself comfortable on top of your desk, pushing some of your belongings aside to accommodate you.

He whistled lowly as you quickly finished off the second shot he gave you. “Look at you sitting pretty for me.” His green eyes burned a hole through you, though your gaze was fixed on the prominent bulge in his pants. He brought his shot glass to your lips. “Drink up, sweetheart.”

And you did, forcing the alcohol down as your vision blurred with tears at the unrelenting burning in the back of your throat. Felt some whiskey dripping from the corners of your mouth when you drained the shot glass. He collected the excess from your lips with his thumb, sucking it clean as he kept his eyes locked with yours.

“See how much fun we have together?” he asked, leaning over you until you laid back on top of your desk. “Could do that all next week.”

He kissed you, hard and mean like you needed him to. Perfect teeth that caught your bottom lip between them for a moment before releasing. Whiskey on his tongue that went to your head even though you knew he could hardly feel it. Rough hands feeling up your breasts, giving your nipples a harsh tug that made you moan in his mouth.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice husky as he rubbed his fingers between your slick folds with tantalizingly slow strokes. “If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask.”

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“What was that?” 

You groaned in frustration. “Just fuck me already.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

His mouth was on yours again, nearly distracting you from the sound of a zipper, the your gut clenching in anticipation as he pulled his cock from his pants.

It’d been a while since you had to brace yourself to take him, but you were wet, and maybe a little more than tipsy, so your body gave little resistance when he slid his cock inside you. Though, if Soldier Boy were anything, it was a guy who took what he wanted anyway, giving you hardly a second to get used to the feeling of how his cock stretched your pussy before he was pounding into you with harsh, unforgiving thrusts that made you grip the edge of your desk. 

Sometimes you forgot how strong he was. Hell, so did he, and there was little else you could do but lay there and take what he gave you. In all honesty, it was nice letting someone else take charge after having to hold it together all day. Let him fuck the stress out of you and replace it with all the aches and bruises that came with having sex with the strongest man on earth. 

“Harder,” you forced out, pushing that damn rolodex onto the floor.

“I go any harder, I’m gonna break you in half, and I don’t wanna do that until I’ve got you locked away in a hotel room for a week.”

“What are you gonna do to me?”

“Whatever the fuck I want. Not like I don’t already.”

You moaned. “Soldier Boy—”

“I’m not pulling out, so you better be on the pill or say your damn prayers,” he growled, his hot breath kissing your skin. You were on the pill, but nevertheless your hips bucked at his words, pussy clenching around his cock. “Oh shit, you want that, don’t you?”

“Yes—oh my god!” you cried out, muscles cramping as your orgasm pulsed through you, pleasure stealing your breath, choking you gently enough to leave you dizzy. “Yesyesyes—fuck!” Your heart was beating so fast you thought it was going to explode in your chest, especially as he kept mercilessly pounding into you, chasing his own release. 

He soon came with a groan, his cock twitching inside you as he bottomed out, practically knocking the wind out of you with a particularly hard thrust. 

You felt empty and sticky when he pulled out, and you didn’t want to think about the poor soul who was gonna be cleaning the mess you and him left behind the following morning, because you sure as hell weren’t in any shape to clean up the cum that was leaking out of you and onto the floor.

You put your hands on your chest, trying to catch your breath as he stood over you. The guy hardly broke a sweat, and you felt like you just ran the New York City Marathon. Super stamina. God fucking bless America.

“Hey,” he said, waving his hand in front of your face. “You good?”

“Sure,” you managed to answer. “Except now I don’t know how I’m gonna walk out of here, let alone get home later.”

“The ride up to the 99th is quicker. And if you need more convincing about Miami—“

You pursed your lips, considering the work you still had left to do before you could reasonably call it a night. But you were tired, and admittedly drunk, and Soldier Boy was already hard again. “I might.”

[bluejutdae]

Perv!Roommate Jeongin | Jeongin x you

notes: I did not edit this, so there are probably mistakes and mix ups. Enjoy :)

> PervRoommate!Jeongin seems innocent enough at first. He’s a polite and kind guy, who often asks if you need help cleaning the kitchen or around the apartment. You consider yourself lucky, you’ve heard of plenty of stories in which a roommate found online turns out to be someone crazy or an asshole. Jeongin is an okay guy, though. A bit reserved and introverted, so it’s not super easy to start a friendship with him, but nothing too alarming. As soon as the first heat wave of the summer arrives, you’re both shedding clothes. He rarely wears a shirt, or if he does, it’s one of those tank tops cut at the side. You start wearing crop tops or loose light shirts and shorts, hoping to find refuge from the heat.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin who started getting obsessed with you since the first time you two met. According to him you’re too pretty for his own good. And yours. The shorter your shirts become, the bigger his obsession. Everyday he wakes up and hopes to see a sliver of skin normally covered. Once you were stretching on the couch after a long movie and your cropped shirt showed the lower edge of your bra cup; after that, he made his mission seeing your bra fully.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin feeds his obsession with you by stealing glances when you’re not looking, his eyes tracing your legs in your sleep shorts, your braless boobs, your plump lips wrapped around a spoon. It escalates quickly, and waits until you leave the house to sneak into your room with his heart running faster than ever and he rifles through your drawers, searching for a pair of your panties.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin that hides your underwear under his pillow, heart punching behind his ribcage with a mix of thrill and guild. That same night, when he’s sure you’re asleep he takes them in his hands and buries his face in them, inhaling your scent (or rather the one of your softener, but it has to do for now). His hand is inside his shorts before he even consciously decides to, his cock hard and weeping, so turned on by what he did that even the simple touch of his too dry hand has him on the edge. It doesn’t take long before he’s coming (it actually takes embarrassingly little) and he catches his spurting cum with your panties, soiling them and marking you as his.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin starts to take advantage of your living together situation to see and touch more of you. He accidentally on purpose enters the bathroom when he knows you just took a shower, hoping to catch you naked; movie nights start later than they used to, so much that you normally fall asleep on the couch near him mid-movie, and he has all the time to stare at you, imagining you’re his. He is careful, never doing more than you let him, never spooking you, but little by little he pushes your boundaries to see how much he can get away with.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin makes it a habit to steal your underwear. He waits for the moments when you’re out, sneaking into your room to take another pair. Now he feels a little bolder, leaving subtle hints of what he’s doing. Nothing too obvious, nothing that can track back to him, but enough to make you wonder if it’s all in your mind or if there’s something really happening. Despite your doubt, you don’t suspect him. He’s your sweet and reserved roommate, so innocent looking…

> PervRoommate!Jeongin finally becomes more comfortable around you, letting you hug him and becoming more touchy; often brushing your arms, your knees or your thigh under the false pretense of friendly comfort. You notice his gaze lingering on you a second too long, but you don’t give it too much importance. He’s a timid guy, he probably has little experience with girls despite his ripped body and gorgeous face, so maybe he’s curious about girls?

> PervRoommate!Jeongin, who comes back home with four bottles of soju, asking you to celebrate his promotion with him. He looks so happy you can’t refuse. One bottle turns into two, and later you’re both tipsy (you more than him, but he doesn’t let you see that), sitting on the couch talking about friends and relationships. It’s the perfect moment for him to make his move. He leans closer, pushing away a strand of hair that escaped your ponytail. The air is thick with tension and his hand -when did he put it on your thigh?- slides a little higher.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin talks with a deeper and more confident voice, complimenting you in a way you’ve never seen him do. There’s something darker in his eyes, in his words, but you don’t mind. Unwilling to make a mistake, you brush it off as friendly flirting, just something funny when you’re tipsy, but he has a different idea in his mind. He’s persistent when he leans in and whispers “you smell so good. I wonder how you taste” in your ear. His hot breath against your skin makes you shiver. You’re too surprised by the turn of events to reject him. You can’t protest even when he suggest something more, when he suggest you two help each other; he’s suggesting a friend with benefit situation, but the soju and his breath and his voice and his hand on your thigh are too much for you to say no.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin knows exactly which buttons to push, when he looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that is a mix of innocence and absolute raunch; you’re confused. Are you taking advantage of him? Was this your idea? He uses his sweet and innocent façade to manipulate you, playing your emotions until you’re agreeing.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin insists on sealing the deal with a kiss, and the moment your lips meet, you realize he’s far from inexperienced. His hands slide under your shirt, one grabbing your hip and the other wandering on the expanse of your stomach. Despite every doubt you can have, you melt into his touch; your resistance crumbles under his lips, that are slowly but fiercely tracing a path from your lips to your tits.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin’s obsession grows even more now that he has tasted you, not what he knows what it feels to be inside you, to make you cum on his cock, to hear you moan his name. His dark desire grows and grows, and so does his belief that you belong to him, you just don’t know. Right now, he has you exactly where he needs you to be, a little confused but sated, enough interested in his twisted version of affection that you can’t seem to escape.

> PervRoommate!Jeongin who brings you breakfast in bed, the morning after, smiling sheepishly but with rosy cheeks, confessing he never expected the night to turn like it did. And every time he touches, every time you concede, he knows he has you in his grasp and he can now do whatever he wants…

[gretavanlace]

Animosity

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, unprotected sex, aggression, arguing, name calling, digital penetration, dirty talk, pet names, etc.

Porn without plot. Arguably an extended blurb, but we have much to celebrate! so my gift, on the eve of Starcatcher, is smut. I love you all! Shout out to this crazy hot request!! Thank you, anon…we adore you and your beautiful mind ❤️

“So, you’re just going to walk away from me? Like what I have to say means fuck all? Like I mean fuck all?” He sinks further back into the couch, crossing his arms like a sullen, bad-tempered child.

“No, Jake,” you snipe right back. A cruel, dismissive edge sharpening your tone until it slices through the anger-choked air in the living room like a rusty steak knife yanked from the back of the drawer. “I’m just sick of listening to you run your mouth about shit that doesn’t matter. I pissed you off. Fucking enthralling story, can you tell it again?”

“You’re tired of listening to me, or you want me to tell it again?” His boots slam down on the coffee table just to pluck at your nerves further. “Make up your fucking mind, sweetheart.”

Christ, you don’t know that you’ve ever been this furious with him, though you really can’t even remember why. It’s been all day. Back and forth. Bitter bickering. Button pushing. Poking and poking, until it feels like the energy between the two of you could break apart with fevered electricity.

“Fuck you.” Is all you can summon. It hisses out of you as you spin on your heel to find solace in the kitchen…the closest room where he isn’t.

With more force than would ever be necessary, you’re throwing open the refrigerator door, fingers wrapped around a bottle of water, when you feel his arms wrap around you, tugging you away from the task at hand with a quiet grunt low in his throat.

The bottle clatters to the floor with a bouncing thud, as you’re pressed against the counter. You’ve hardly had a blink to register, but his hand is fisted in your hair and squeezing against your scalp until it stings like delicious fire. “Fuck me?” He hums, soft and saccharine. “But you seem so angry with me, kitty cat. Seems like maybe you might even hate me. S’that what baby wants? A little hate fucking?”

“Jake, stop!” you snap, with an elbow digging into his stomach, unwilling to let go of your upset even though your thighs are clenched and aching to spread wide for him.

“Have you forgotten your safe word?” The heated query growls into your ear, though he already knows what the answer will be.

Your teeth are clenched - but with wrath or lust, you can’t be sure, “No.”

“Fucking use it, then.” His thigh is between yours now, shoving your legs open further apart exactly the way you’d longed for just moments ago.

“No.” You repeat, once more, even nastier than before. It physically pains you to give him the upper hand, but you love it, too. Fuck, how you love it.

“Oh,” you can hear the smug, cocky, fucking smirk in his tone. “So, my angry little kitty cat wants to be stroked. Is that why you’ve been so goddamn irritating all day? Pretty girl wants to fuck?”

You arch your back, pressing against him in the hopes that he’ll just go ahead and shut up. That he’ll go ahead and destroy you right there at the counter like a whore. Like his whore.

Your silence won’t do for him, and a swift tug at your tangles tells you so, before his voice rasps into the night. “Is that it? Does pretty girl with her pretty wet pussy want to fuck?”

The feverish nod against his clutch comes before you can stop it.

“Say it.”

Oh, fuck you, Jacob. Smug little bastard who can’t let the opportunity to make you taste his victory, pass.

“Hmm-mm,” you moan out, shaking your head, lips squeezed into an impossibly flat line to bite back the flurry of obscene pleas that threaten to tear out of you.

“Okay,” he’s taunting now, and you know you’re in trouble before you’ve even felt his fingers creeping beneath the hem of your panties. “But look at this. You’re dripping. Don’t you want to drip, all filthy and gorgeous, all over me? All over my cock?”

“Yeah,” it shivers out of you with a wanton desperation that should make your cheeks flush with shame. Instead, your entire body flushes with need.

He stands firm and sickeningly sexy “Then say it. Do as you’re fucking told, kitten, and I’ll make you feel good, promise.”

Every ounce of fight drains from your body as you relax down against the butcher's block countertop, and you know without a doubt you’ll need to be careful not to rake tracks into the wood once he’s buried inside you. Careful not to claw marks where you shouldn’t. Careful not to live up to the pet name he only trots out when he’s feeling particularly nasty.

“Say it, baby.” He presses, petting your hair so gently you sigh.

“Pretty girl wants to fuck,” you’re nearly panting between words, but you can’t help it, nor do you care to. Let him hear what he does to you. Let him bear witness to the depravity he sets free to boil through your veins. Let him see.

“Good girl.” He slips the pad of his finger over your slick clit, groaning at how swollen you already are. How ready. How fucking needy. All for him. “Say it. Who’s my good girl?”

“I am.” Your hips are circling and rocking into his touch…you need more, more, more. “I’m your good girl.”

“Yeah, you are.” He nods, forehead resting at your shoulder. “Such a good girl. So, why do you insist on being so fucking bad? Naughty, mouthy little witch. Fucking heartless.”

His touch teases at your entrance, waiting, gentle and nearly still, until you fuck yourself back onto them, slipping him inside with a roll of your hips. “Oh, fuck yes, kitten…just like that. Baby thinks she’s just gonna take what she wants, but she’s wrong…” his voice is quiet, yet melodic. He’s almost singing to you, teasing you, baiting you along with a blissful, bullying, air.

“Whose pretty pussy is this?” He rasps, toying with you.

“It’s yours, Jake.” You purr, arching and trembling. “That’s your pretty pussy.”

“It’s yours, Jake.” He mocks, all high pitched and airy. You half expect him to pull your hair and call you names. To shove you down and skin your knees…and you’re not ashamed to admit, you wouldn’t hate it.

“Tell me you want to feel my fingers inside your greedy, soaked cunt.” True to his role, he snatches your head back by the strands of your hair still locked in his grip. “Tell me you want me to finger fuck you until you cum all over the kitchen tile.”

Your will power has vanished, as though it never existed to begin with. Where is all that fight that once burned in your belly? “I want it…” you’re breathless, whining like a slut, spread out on the counter, tongue sweeping out to curl against the wood because you just need to fucking taste something, anything.

You carry on, happy to complete your pornographic request, if only to make him as weak for you as you are for him. But, he is weaker for you, always…you just can’t ever seem to see it. Instead, his palm covers your mouth, strong and sure.

“It’s cute that you think I really want to hear it. Adorable, even, kitty cat.” He sounds hateful, but you hear the devotion behind the facade, he’s happy to be here with you, wrapped up close, no more angry, blistering space between your bodies.

“I’ve listened to you enough today, don’t you think?” His teeth sink into your earlobe until your knees buckle with a whimpered hum.

“Oh, now you’ve got nothing to say?” His accusation is gritted out between the clamp of his teeth at your ear, sending blazing chills down your spine to curl your toes against the frigid ceramic. “You wanna stay quiet now? Alright then, whatever you want, baby girl. Quiet it is. I’ll help you with that…”

His grip is suddenly iron clad around your throat, squeezing until your gasps rasp and your eyes roll back. His opposite hand is at your mouth, fingers sliding against your tongue, nudging into your throat until you’re silencing a gag.

It doesn’t matter, he feels it. “Be glad it isn’t my cock, shutting this pretty mouth up. Be grateful you aren’t fucking swallowing me and praying I’ll let you breathe.”

You aren’t grateful at all. In fact, you’d give just about anything to be on your knees for him…

And he knows it.

Like a cat in heat, you slink further down, presenting and preening. You want more. You need more…

And he knows that, too.

“C’mere,” it growls out of him, low and rumbling like a feral animal descending upon stalked prey - and before the shudder has even finished shaking through your taxed system, he’s gathering you up in his arms.

Small in stature he might be, but the strength in his grasp has never failed to amaze you. Now, as he jerks you around until you’re caged in his embrace like a writhing doll, is certainly no different.

“Are you sorry, kitten?” He hisses, manhandling you as he throws a dining chair away from the table and spins it just so. “Are you sorry for making me throw you around like the insubordinate little fuck slut you are? Are you sorry for making my cock so hard? It aches for you…it wants its pretty, pretty baby, with her pretty, pretty cunt.”

Down he lumbers, positioning himself on the chair with you, held up away from his lap, watching with rapt attention and a watering mouth as he violently tugs his pants open without care.

And then, there it is, his beautiful cock. Flushed and pulsing. Flexing fiercely and bobbing in the air so pink, so thick, so slick at the blushing crown, so fucking captivating. You can’t take your eyes off of it, and why would you ever want to?

His hands are ripping at you, tearing your panties off ruthlessly until the silk burns across your skin leaving strawberry pink welts in its wake…pulling at the neck of your tshirt until it, too, gives way to his madness and rips apart enough for him to unleash his mouth against your breasts.

It’s a flurry of perfect teeth burying their way into your nipple, the delicious pressure of his lips and tongue, wet, warm, and sucking, as your fingers twist in his hair, crushing him closer to you. His moans are muffled and unidentifiable against the goosebumps he has raised upon your skin.

“Jake, please.” You’re rocking at the air, as still, he holds you away from his lap. “Please please please…”

“That’s it, kitten.” He sounds self-satisfied and disgustingly content with your despair. He’s such a prick when he gets this way, and fuck if you don’t absolutely live for it. “Beg for my cock like a whore. Beg for me to fill your sweet, slutty, cunt. God, look at you. Fucking gorgeous.”

But, rather than beg, out comes the pout he can never seem to resist. “Give it to me.” Your puckered bottom lip tucks between your teeth as you stare down longingly at the prize your body longs to swallow up. “Fuck me, Jake…fuck your kitten. Please, baby?”

“You fuckin’ brat.” He snaps, but his arms loosen, allowing just a hint more freedom to your movement. “Spoiled little thing isn’t playing fair.” He tugs your mouth open and licks against your tongue.

“Go on, then,” his palm, warm and insistent, cracks your ass cheek, hard and firm. Milk chocolate eyes dancing wildly when you suck in a sharp gasp. “You want it so badly? Fuck me. Kitty wants some dick? Kitty can fucking work for it.”

Your hips lower without hesitation and rock this way and that until the tip of his cock is resting at your entrance. “C’mon, kitty cat,” he coaxes like the arrogant prince he likes to pretend to be. “Fuck me.”

Without preamble, without thought for angle, or the consequence of pain, you sink down around him all at once. Sucking him in, hot and snug, tightening around him with a wail of relief as your head tips back until you're crying out to the ceiling.

His face is hidden between your breasts, mouth searching, tongue lapping at your skin as he groans and murmurs your name. “You feel so good, baby girl. So fucking good. Too fucking good. Fuck…fuck…”

Back and forth his pretty face nuzzles, his mouth searching out places to mark you, sucking bruises into your tits as you shove them further in his face, silently begging him to brand you.

But as he grows louder, he begins fighting back to the surface, shaking off your riptide in favor of that delectable dominance he favors “Faster.” He orders, both hands taking hold of your throat just hard enough to make you writhe. “Do it, baby. Come on…” there’s that teasing, coaxing tone that sets your entire body alive in white hot, licking, flames. “Come on. You know how to do it. You know how to fuck me, c’mon.”

Harder and faster you ride him, clutching at the back of his chair for leverage until your knuckles are ghost-white and your nails are screaming, threatening to snap off in the wood.

“Good girl…” his grip is twisting so gently around your neck as your keening moans vibrate into his palms. “Good fucking girl. Say it.”

You know what he wants, and so he shall have it. “I’m a good fucking girl.” They are hardly words at all, more like breathless whines, but they do just fine for him.

“Yes, you are, kitten, yes you are.” Now one of his hands is at your cheek, cupping it as agonized tears streak into his palm…you’re just so fucking close. “And you’re gonna be a good girl and fuck me until I cum, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” it’s ineloquent and cut off by a shaking moan, but you’ve never cared about anything less.

“Yeah, you are. Make me cum, kitty cat. Come on, make me fucking cum…”

This time, it's his words that drift off into incoherent, desperate whines that flip your stomach and trip you over the edge. You finish, hard and fast, lulled by the obscenities tumbling off of his filthy tongue.

“Please, baby…” he’s clutching at you now, thrusting up to meet you so forcefully you absently worry he might tip the chair over, toppling you both to the floor. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna, oh fuck…”

His teeth catch your shoulder through the tattered remnants of your shirt, gnawing at your flesh as grunts and wails and growls of release seep into your skin.

Finally, though you wish it would never end, his arms fall slack, swinging at the sides of the chair, as his mouth soothes over the bites he’s left you with.

“God damn, baby girl…” he laughs softly, kneading softly into the screaming muscles of your thighs. “Thought you were gonna fuck it right off.”

“Shut up,” you giggle, quiet with exhaustion. “Take me upstairs and take care of me? I’m sleepy.”

Without a word, you’re gathered up in his arms. You know you’ll be tenderly deposited at the foot of the stairs, to navigate them on your own, with your hand held in his…but that’s perfect, you’re always happy to let him lead the way.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @jakesgrapejuice @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @mckenna4 @tripthelight-fanfic @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sad1lynn @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie

[mermaidxatxheart]

The First Time

A/N: this is in direct response to @hederasgarden I hope you enjoy it. You can blame her or thank her 😂😂

Summary: the first time Javi, Tyler, Scott, and Kate fuck you.

Warnings: dumbification (slightly), public sex, drinking, fingering, oral. Probably more but we’re all adults. Minors DNI

Scott knows you’re smart. You’re a fucking engineer for fucks sake. He has no faults with your work. It’s you. You drive him crazy, you might not say much but when you do it’s smart, quick, cutting. More than once you’ve taken him down a peg or two and it pisses him the fuck off. The first time he fucked you was after months of watching you in your little tight jeans and that shirt that rides up just a tad too far. He knocks on your motel door long after everyone has gone to bed. He shouldn’t be there but he spent a little too much time imagining you stripping to get ready for bed and now he’s hard. You let him in and he’s kissing you. But it’s not caring. It’s dominating. You’re gonna do what he wants, and you’re gonna fucking love it. So with the frantic kisses, there are lip bites, he grips your ass, hard enough to leave rough handprints on each cheek.

“Take my cock out, honey. There’s a good girl.” He says lowly. He’s trying to be quiet, no one else needs to know how good he’s gonna fuck you. Your fingers are on his belt, fumbling as he gives your ass a sharp smack. He licks his fingers, sliding them down the front of your short sleep shorts. You let out the softest whimper as he swipes your clit teasingly.

“Aww. Is dumb baby so sensitive?” He taunts, giving it another brushing swipe. “Did pretty dumb baby forget what she’s supposed to be doing? Can’t think and do at the same time?”

**********

Tyler would show up after a particularly bad moment. A dangerous storm, seeing something that could leave a person shell shocked. He brings tequila or whiskey to help soothe your nerves. You both sit on the bed talking for a long time and somehow it always turns personal when you talk with him in those early morning hours. But this time, he has an intensity to him. Before you know it, he’s kissing you, easing you back onto the bed, his weight on you as he kisses down your neck, taking his time to find all those spots that make you moan. Your legs are wrapped around his hips and he grinds into you. He’s panting just as hard as you are, just as affected by you. He holds you there, taking just enough time to shuck off his Levi’s. Then he’s kissing and kissing, down your jaw, neck, the front of your throat, your breasts, down your hips, bunching your shirt in his hand as he nudges your legs apart. You’re laid out before him, a private feast just for him. And he indulges for as long as you’ll let him. Tears streaming down your face, you almost can’t remember your name. Then he’s kissing you, letting you taste yourself as he whispers what a good girl you are for him, but he’s not done yet. And then he’s pushing inside you, gently, slowly, letting you feel every ridge and every bump of his big cock. He takes it slow, letting your over sensitive body adjust. He speeds up slowly, making sure the only word you know anymore is please before he’s even close to being done with you. After, you’re nearly passed out. He cleans you up, climbs into bed next to you and holds you through the night. (He might wake you up for round two later. “Come on, sweetheart. You can take it, darlin. Let me in.”)

***********

Javi would be sloppy. More drinking. Sitting on the back of his pickup truck, contemplating life in the middle of a field. You’ve both nearly finished a bottle of tequila. Maybe you get into an argument about whether he can find the g-spot or clit and he’s like I’ll fuckin prove it. Take your shorts off. And you’re both just drunk enough to do it. And he throws his sleeping bag on the ground and you lay down and he eats you out to an impressive five orgasms, his face drenched with you as he sits back on his heels, proud as fuck that he won until he realizes that he’s really hard and hearing you moan his name did something deep inside his soul bits. So he kisses you, hovering over you, claiming your mouth as you undo his pants. He’s kissing down your chest, shoving your shirt up over your tits as he kisses any bit of skin he can find while you’re trying yank his shirt off over his head. It’s messy and sloppy, neither of you are sober but that doesn’t mean he didn’t satisfy

***********

Kate would be a dare. A lame party with some friends of a friend or something. She doesn’t want to be there, it’s not her scene anymore. But. They’re playing 7 minutes in heaven because why not? Only… the bottle doesn’t land on a boy. It lands on the pretty girl across the circle. You give her a reassuring smile and you take her into the closet. You turn the light on and smile at her.

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

“I’ve never been with a girl.”

“I’ll be gentle.” You wink and kiss her lips so softly that her only logical response is to kiss you back. You coax her into it, she arches, leaning into you as you kiss her, licking into her mouth as your hands ghost the swell of her ass. You only have seven minutes so your fingers are already unbuttoning her shorts, tugging them down. You kneel in front of her, taking them off just one leg. You guide her leg over your shoulder and look up at the gorgeous girl above you. She’s biting her lip, looking for all the world like she’s terrified of you. You kiss slowly up her thigh, nudging her slit open, dragging your tongue along her entrance, following right up to her clit. You keep your eyes on her as you start a little more aggressively than you would have wanted to for her first time. In a more casual setting, you would want to take your time, remove each layer one orgasm at a time. She gasps, her hand flying to the back of your head as you very quickly build her up. You don’t make her cum just yet. You have a little more time to tease her. She’s moaning, covering her mouth, her thighs are shaking and you grip her thighs, waiting until the very last second before making her cum. She grinds her pretty cunt against your mouth, chasing more. You pull away, smirking. You help her get redressed and kiss her again slowly.

“You know where to find me if you want more, gorgeous.”

She shows up at your door after the party ends.

“I thought I might return the favor.”

[elsweetheart]

saw rin @coeurify write some roommate!abby so i decided to write some too cos i’m feeling #inspired

slutty!roommate!abby short fic / drabble below the cut 💋 minors dni & don’t ask for part 2

It’s not like you were dating. Just living together — roommates, that’s all it was. A shabby and cozy little apartment, tucked away in a nice enough area. There’d be a new problem each week— AC busted, closet door swinging off, flickering light bulb, and you were lucky enough to live with a 6ft blonde walking talking ‘Don’t call the plumber / electrician / whatever, I got it’ machine. Things worked out pretty well.

The two of you were close. Almost too close. Your friendship bordered on simmering sexual tension whilst always keeping it just respectful and distanced enough for neither of you to make a move. You liked to think she enjoyed it, keeping you just out of reach like this. She knew you wanted her, but where was the fun in giving in?

Abby got around. It was no rumour that she had a history of being the community strap, and whilst her crazy days had died off a little — you’d still be awoken once or twice a fortnight to the sound of a new girl with the same shrill moan, headboard thumping against the wall. All you could do was sulk, snuggle down further into your bed covers and will yourself to sleep with your stomach twisting in jealousy at the thought of Abby curled next to someone else for the night.

The two of you liked to have ‘bonding night’, you know — watch a movie, drink wine, eat snacks, sometimes a face mask would make an appearance. Abby had insisted on these nights when you’d first moved in together, so that the two of you could get to know eachother, and since then it had become a tradition every Friday night that the neither of you would miss for the world. Infact, it became such an important tradition that plans were often rescheduled around it, dates postponed, ubers cancelled. Just you, your good friend Abby, and a bottle of something pink and tangy.

“See, I’d let you pick the movie we watch more often but… everytime you do the movie sucks.” She was muffled by the popcorn stuffed into her cheek like a squirrel whilst she scrolled with the remote for an appropriate choice. Abby had real audacity to look this good tonight. She was spread out on the couch, greeny-grey tshirt so tight it was ridiculous, hair down and a little damp from her shower, black sweatpants on (and fuzzy socks, not relevant to her hotness but you couldn’t not mention them.) It took you a second to reply as you pulled your legs beneath you from your curled up position on the chair, subconsciously tucking yourself smaller.

“They don’t suck. You don’t give them a chance! You just talk over it the whole time and ramble about how bad it is.” You shrug defensively, not seeing the way her eyes flickered over to you and lingered with an adoring smile at the way your forehead scrunched and lips pushed forward in an irritable pout. She looked away when you glanced.

“Maybe they don’t suck but they’re always the same. Always a rom com with bad jokes and like 10 minute sex scenes. Is that why you like ‘em, perv?” She nudges you with her spread knee, jostling you which makes your eyes widen slightly — face prickly and hot.

“You think I only watch movies for the sex scenes? Get your mind out of the gutter.” You snicker, fingernails picking at the blanket because, no — it’s not the reason, but she didn’t have to bring that up.

“Hey, I’m not the one picking dirty movies.” Her voice drags in that flirty and sarcastic way that makes your thighs press together. She always did this. It was your thing, you could say. She winds you up, takes the conversation down a sexual route and you just sit there and take it, always scared to make a move. You just couldn’t bring yourself to, what if she was just making fun of you? You live together, if you misread things there was potential for some major awkwardness.

“If I wanted to watch something dirty I’d just… look at porn or something.” You try and combat her teasing, but it comes out stuttery and awkward and you still can’t look at it. Her smirk deepens, intrigue washing over her. You hear her put the remote down and the scrolling on screen halts as she gives you her full attention. Busying yourself to buy more time, you reach forward and take your wine glass — taking a long sip.

“What, ‘you telling me you don’t watch porn now?”

You turn a little, giving her a look. One that read as ‘you’re not seriously asking me that.’

“Do you?”

“I don’t have to. I have sex.”

You scoff, turning your body toward her now with a finger pointed ready to defend yourself.

“I have sex.”

“Oh yeah?” You hate the way she’s smiling and tilting her head.

“It’s just… been a while.”

She sighs casually, leaning back into her seat.

“Same, to be honest.”

“I literally heard some girl screaming your name like two weeks ago.” Your eyes are practically touching your brain from how hard they roll and she laughs cheekily with her tongue pinched between her teeth, a cute roll forming beneath her chin from the position of her head. Your stomach flips.

“Exactly, two weeks ago. I’m trying not to do that so much anymore. Sleep around. Gonna delete the dating apps.” She clarifies, a look of dignity in her expression as she announces this making you narrow your eyes sceptically.

“And why is this? Who is this new and improved Abby?”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “I dunno. Just don’t think I should anymore. Think I’d rather be having meaningful sex with one person now. You know, the type where you press your foreheads together and tell her you love her when you make her cum and stuff.” She just says it so casually, like it doesn’t make your stomach bottom out into your cunt at the thought of being that one person, whilst simultaneously making your heart stammer at the idea of the person being someone else.

“Y—yeah. Me too I suppose. That’s why I’m just waiting.”

You feel that your response is put together and mature enough for the conversation to come to a natural end so that you can continue bickering over what movie to watch before you embarrass yourself, but she stares at you anyway — contemplative and analytical.

“You’ve been waiting a while, huh?” Abby talks softer, sympathetic and her fingers that were resting along the back of the couch reach a little further and stroke your shoulder briefly. You can’t tell if it’s kind or patronising. Because of this you purse your lips with a shrug.

“Yeah. Haven’t had sex since my ex-girlfriend was still around so that’s…”

“A year and half.” She raises her brows and you mirror her, surprised at how fast she knew the answer. “You’d just broken up when you moved in here.”

“Oh… yeah, that’s right. I suppose that is a long time.”

She breathes out her nose, long and thoughtful before turning her body back to the TV. You do too, because you think it’s over — but the conversation is never quite over until Abby says so.

“Well, if you ever need your fix you know where my door is. You deserve to feel good too.”

She’s kidding, right?

Like, that’s not a serious offer. It can’t be. Because if it were you’d be on her bed sprawled out with two thick fingers up your cunt and not here on the couch getting wine drunk and horny. Your eyelashes are kissing your brow at how wide your stretch your eyes for a moment as you stare ahead, saying nothing. What do you say? How do you seize this glorious potential opportunity without coming across as totally desperate and ruining things? She is kidding, she has to be.

You open your mouth, maybe just to let out a meek ‘really?’ for some clarification, but she speaks again — totally ripped from the moment. “Why do I keep getting recommended only Lindsey Lohan movies? That’s you on my Netflix account right? I swear, I’ll change my password.” She chuckles, like she didn’t just offer to pity fuck you, and you weren’t just considering take her up on it. You shake yourself free of the moment and you don’t talk about it again.

Abby really did stop sleeping around, and you knew that from the lack of moans waking you up in the night. You could have been imagining things, but she’d gotten flirtier too. Wearing tighter fit clothes around her muscles, making sure to always squeeze behind you in the kitchen with her hands on your hips, chest practically to your back with a low ‘scuse me, sorry’ in your ear as she slips by, the lot of it. You felt you were running up the AC, constantly trying to fan yourself off after she worked you up. It was two fridays since she made the offer, and you decided now was the time you’d act on it. You poured yourself a glass of pink wine and waited on the couch, getting in a few gulps before she arrived for confidence.

You drank the whole glass, and she still hadn’t arrived home. Abby had never missed a ‘bonding night’ since moving in, and now she wasn’t showing up at all? No text, no apology, just total absence. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed and pissed off, drinking half the bottle before curling into the couch and falling asleep.

You awoke to the sound of giggles and jangling keys, and your bleary eyes cracked open — flickering to the clock on the wall ticking quietly. 2:54AM. You were about to lift your head, sit up on the couch and call out for Abby, questioning where she’d been, why she missed bonding night. You were halted by the sound of two voices, only one belonging to your roommate.

“Shh, gotta be quiet or you’re gonna wake my roommate, baby. Rooms this way.” Abby, and the tottering sound of high heels behind her. You felt sick. Why did you feel so sick?

You close your eyes again when Abby’s bedroom door clicks shut, feeling your lashes grow damp as you pull a cushion over your head — trying to block the inevitable moans and will yourself back to sleep. This wasn’t the first time Abby had come home late after hanging out with friends and found you sleeping on the couch having wanted to hang out, but you’d usually atleast receive her hushed apologies as she lifts you and carries you bridal style to your own room where she’d leave you as you mutter a goodnight half awake to her. She’d never missed bonding night though, because that was off limits.

The next three days you avoided her. You felt more stupid the longer time passed, because you actually didn’t have much reason to be angry. Yes, she missed your Friday tradition but life happens, right? You were certain if it were you she’d be totally fine with it. But it would never be you, because you’d never miss it. It was a vicious thought cycle.

When you’d ignored her on the way out your door for work, she’d put it down to you not hearing her or maybe being in too much of a rush. When you’d come home, you’d spent the evening in your room, only emerging into the kitchen to heat up some noodles before retreating. She figured you were tired. When you’d shrugged her off the next day when she brought home your favourite type of chocolate — she knew something had to be up. She couldn’t work out if it was her, or you were just going through it at first, but when you’d snapped at her on day three — it became crystal clear.

“Can you stop fucking using my towel?” You emerge in the kitchen, and honestly — for the first second before she registers the anger, Abby is just relieved to hear your voice. She turns around from the counter slowly, sucking some salad dressing off her finger from her lunch she was preparing. You looked adorable — still damp, oversized pyjama t-shirt and sleep shorts, comical cartoony oversized slippers on your feet. Despite your appearance, your expression was as serious as ever, brow pinched in stress.

“Sorry.” She shrugs simply, because you’ve never had a problem with her borrowing your towel in all the time you’d lived together.

“Like, can I just come home and not have you all in my stuff?” You huff, going to walk away but she frowns, following you like a big buff lost puppy.

“Hey, hey? What is this? It’s just a towel.” She nearly whines, because why are you being like this? Your usual sweet soft self has gone grainy and abrasive on her and she didn’t like it. You were shutting her out.

“Whatever Abby, I’m just telling you.” You back down a little now, taking a few steps and she gently takes your arm in her large hand. She’s always gentle, aware of how much stronger she is than you.

“You’ve been off lately, you wanna talk about it? You know I’m here for you, right?”

You don’t look at her.

“Yeah, here for me and every other damn girl that walks through your door. Let me go.”

You don’t mean to say it, because God is it telling — you want the ground to swallow you up whole and you scrunch your face in embarrassment as you walk away, shoulders tense and face all hot. You were not this jealous, petty person. She missed your tradition, it was her fault.

Abby gave you your space for the rest of the day, and by evening you’d wound down — anger subsiding as you plonked down on the couch and curled up sulkily, just feeling humiliated and sad. You missed her.

You stared ahead when you heard her bedroom door click open, heavy slow footsteps approaching the living room along the smooth wooden floor. You don’t look, but you can see her standing there at the side, looking at you sadly, henley top and braid adorned.

“Hey.”

Her voice is smooth and low and warm like hot chocolate and you want to bathe in it. You pull the blanket over your thighs tighter over you.

“Hi.”

It was truly an honest mistake on Abby’s part. She’d woken up filled with regret (and a steaming hang over) beside the girl with lilac-y platinum hair, stretching and muttering out a ‘Happy friday’ to break the tension. The girl cracked open an eye with a tired smile and rasped “It’s Saturday, sleepyhead.” making Abby’s heart drop after a beat. Friday’s. They were your days. She was sure you wouldn’t mind missing one out though, you were always kind and gracious like that. The whole bonding night was Abby’s idea after all, it probably wasn’t all that important to you, right? She reassured herself before politely kicking out her bed-mate.

Abby slowly sits down on the couch beside you, and the weight in the room shifts like it always did when she’d join you. She held such a presence that the air would feel thicker and warmer the closer she got, almost to the point where it could be stifling. “I’m sorry I missed bonding night. Manny dragged me out to get drunk and I swear, I thought it was a Thursday—”

You cut her off, which surprised her.

“I thought you were done with bringing girls home.”

She’s silenced for a few seconds, staring at your profile. You’re beautiful even when you’re mad.

“Why does it matter?” It’s soft, like a whisper because she doesn’t want it to come off as defensive or rude like it potentially could do. She genuinely wants to know. Why were you so mad about it?

You were all tense and huffy when you reply and it makes Abby’s heart clench, just wanting to squeeze you.

“Because… because don’t offer something to someone if you don’t mean it. I’m not… I thought we… ugh, whatever. I’m not having this conversation.” You made a mental note to jump back online after this conversation and search for somewhere new to live.

Abby thinks back, and it doesn’t take her long to land on the thought of her telling you she’d be more than happy to take care of you if you needed some relief. Her shoulders relaxed in realisation and brow untensed, and she reached out to stroke a thumb along your arm, body twisted to you.

“Okay, I understand.” She soothes and you want to tear up, maybe in embarrassment or maybe from her tone of voice making you feel small and cared for. You attempt to hold off and fight the feeling. “I thought you weren’t interested. Thought I’d made it weird so I just figured… if I bring someone home things could be normal again. I dunno, it doesn’t make sense now I say it out loud.” She sighs, shaking her head with her eyes closed and brows raised at her own stupidity. You glance at her, shy and still hot-faced and look down at your lap. “Just tell me how you feel. I think… I want what you want. Just need to hear it, sweetheart.”

She can’t make you say it, not after the embarrassment you’ve already faced. So, you settle on another complaint to tell your story. “You don’t know how hard it is… being so pent up and just hearing you… hearing them get to enjoy… you. I wanna feel like that.” You feel pathetic, but your stomach curls anyway at the feeling of her coarse hand sliding up your arm and shoulder to cup the back of your neck, aiding you in looking at her.

“Yeah? I’m sorry. I think you just feel… left out.” She cooes and you preen into her touch, shifting in your seat a little. You say nothing, just let out a little air from your nose. She shuffles closer to you, bringing her warmth. “You forgive me yet? You want me to help you forgive me?” Her other hand fiddles with the blanket on your lap for permission to slide it away, and she’s so close now that you can sigh and lean your head on her strong shoulder, nodding silently. She pulls away the pink fluffy cover up and rests a hand on your bare thigh.

“You know I’d never miss bonding night. ‘D never neglect you on purpose. You’re still my number one, yeah?” She strokes the skin upwards, constantly craning her head down to look at you, watchful of your expression. “I didn’t know you wanted this, sweet girl. I would have taken care of you like you need ages ago if I knew.”

She drops a kiss to your temple and you shudder, your own arm wrapping around her strong bicep to cling to it as your thighs fall open wider. “Yeah? Can I?” She’s quiet and gentle, and you whimper when she cups your hot cunt through flimsy pyjama shorts.

She rubs a sloppy circle over the material and you whine, the sound of wetness already present from your quantity, filling the quiet room. She’d barely touched you, and you were already soaked — it was astounding. “God, you are pent up aren’t you? I’m sorry.” She chuckles in a sympathetic way, free hand coming to smooth down your furrowed brow. Abby stares you down when she slips your thin shorts to the side, fingers slipping and sliding through your drenched folds to circle your clit making you moan softly. “I know.” She hums, eyes on your lips. “You want a kiss? Will that help?”

You can’t talk, so you just nod and she brings you in whilst she languidly rubs your clit, gently sucking on your bottom lip and pressing pecks to it before finally rolling her tongue over yours. With this, she’s pressing a middle finger against your hole and easing it inside, curling up to press against your tight upper wall. You cry out a little against her mouth and she shushes you. “There you go, so fucking tight huh? S’been that long?” She grinds the ball of her hand against your clit and you hump against it, the waistband of your shorts hugging her wrist as the shape of her hand moves up and down.

“Just—needed this.” You struggle, your warm breath heating her lips making her lick over them.

“I know. Gotta use your words next time, let me know yeah? If you said the word I wouldn’t have been sleeping around.” She presses a kiss to the centre of your forehead, lips lingering there as you let out a string of moans and embarrassed pants at the sound of your own wetness against her finger. She slides in another, stretching you.

“Not gonna last long. S’been too long.” You cry and she nods, free hand sliding beneath your lower back when you arch it off the couch.

“I know. S’okay baby.”

When you cum, Abby presses her forehead to yours.

[alornights]

Bro I am obsessed with your bimbo!Reader it was so good and it honestly reminded me about the song bimbo doll by Tula Tsoil AND PLS THE THINGS I WILL DO FOR A KYLE ONE 🙏🏾🙏🏾

⟢ smarties

➜ in which ! kyle tries to resist the pretty bimbo girl.

🌷 ﹫kyle broflovski.

✩ 🦩 warnings﹗suggestive.

�� ⟡ notes — BIMBOS BIMBOS I LOVE BIMBOS LORD

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"I don't know..." The girl beside Kyle whined as he finally looked up from his page having spaced out.

Mr. Garrison sighed, "How the hell do you forget your backpack."

"I was in a rush." You murmured with a pout crossing your arms.

Kyle tilted his head somewhat amused by what was going on, usually, it was Cartman or Clyde making a fuss so this was new.

The girl turned to Kyle batting her long lashes with a smile, "Hey you, help me out?"

"Huh?"

You giggled pushing your desk to be next to him before leaning into him, "You'll help me out with this stuff, right?"

"Huh."

the only reason you guys even started talking was because you were failing half your classes and you begged kyle to tutor and how could he resist with the way you were staring at him.

even though he's mentally scared due to cartman from continuing relationships he just cant help himself.

trust, he tried desperately not to fall into the rabbit hole everyone else at school was going down with you.

but the way you just seemed to be a little more happier around him made his heart beat and he gave up.

yet he can't help but smile knowing cartman can't nor won't be able to get in the way of you two like he has with kyle's past relationships.

you're too dumb to notice, or you just don't fucking care.

maybe he likes you because your so naive in a way.

either way his head spins and his heart begins to explode with every passing day, his desire to be around you intensifying.

"Who would've thought that you of all people would be interested, let alone falling for Y/N of all people." Stan teased with a chuckle gulping down his soda.

Kyle rolled his eyes taking a sip of his own drink, "Me neither."

"Probably because you're too up your ass." Kenny joked with a grin throwing his bottle at Kyle's head.

everything you did was intoxicating to him, he couldn't breath.

the way you would plop yourself up on his desk your chest a little too close to his face, the urge to just plant his hands on your waist becoming all the prominent in his mind.

the way you'd link your arms with his as you walked through the halls, not paying anyone but him attention.

the way you'd just grab his hands without any notice and start playing with them sent shivers of delight down his body.

he lowkey feels like he's on drugs.

and when you start getting along with his brother? its over, he officially fallen head over heels for you.

and once again i give you a romance trope. bimbo pretty girl with the nerdy hot boy. MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN PEOPLE-

and when you started full on flirting with him he thought he'd die.

"You're so handsome Ky..." You murmur with a smile placing your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them slightly.

"You're making me go crazy." He groaned into your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer.

You giggled wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer, "Am I now?"

he's so interested in the gossip, like actually.

at first, he was iffy when you started telling people's drama but after a while, he was fully invested in these fucking plot lines.

somehow managing to get him to skip class, lord knows how.

oh he turns into such a "rebel" at times with you, maybe even lets you make out with him in the most obvious but not places.

bro starts getting real bold really fast though, calls you angel, precious, darling and all these other things.

confidently just starts bragging to all his friends about having you wrapped around his finger (even tho its also the other way around)

makes a living off of tutoring and dedicates half of it to you.

his dad is also somewhat rich, the guys a lawyer, he probably makes bank and gives allowances to his kids.

"What do you think?" You questioned walking out of the changing room, doing a little twirl before looking at yourself in the mirror to see if you were liking the look.

"Divine." Was all he could say giving you a thumbs up, looking anywhere but your face, watching as your dress began to hike up to your ass due to how tight it was.

"Really?" You questioned happily turning back to him.

He smiled with a laugh. "Really, you look beautiful angel."

you so totally got him into haircare and skin care.

you thought kyle was good looking before? he's looking like an angel sent from heaven a few weeks after consistent care.

you also some how manage to get him to drive you anywhere you wanted for lunch, of course, to study.

loves loves loves getting you to play basketball with him.

lord have mercy on him when you start running. the man is gone.

he'll help show you how to shoot a shot coming up behind you letting his arms go all over you with a smirk.

and god knows what happens when you full on just start making actual moves, actual meaning risky moves.

"Mmmm, Kyle can we go home." You whined, tugging him away from his friends. "Please? 'M so bored watching this."

Kyle sighed kissing your lips lightly, "Soon precious. We're almost done with the match."

You pouted letting your hands go under his shirt to draw circles on his stomach. "Please Ky?"

Kyle paused sucking in a breath taking a look at the other guys who to engrossed in playing basketball before looking at you. "Angel."

"Let's go..." You demanded with an innocent smile, letting your hands fall lower and lower.

Kyle groaned, "The things you do to me, let's go."

[mayorwatermelon]

Stretched and Swollen from Sprite (And Bananas (and three and a half dinners))

I didn’t actually set out to stuff myself this night. Between having a big gym session and somehow forgetting to eat all day, I was just really hungry! I met my friends at the sushi restaurant after getting cleaned up from the gym, and proceeded to order two entrees (chirash don, which is just really good raw fish over rice, and spicy chicken yakisoba stir fry) without too much thought. I had to make up for lunch, after all. 

Now, I had forgotten this, but sometimes sushi can get me a little more bloated than you might expect. Or maybe it’s the rice, I’m not really sure. Anyway, after finishing both of my dinners in about 15 minutes, and to the amusement of my friends, I could feel my belly rounding out nicely. It pushed out against my shirt, swelling with whatever weird reaction happens when I eat a ton of sushi. The feeling was both surprising and a bit arousing.

I leaned back in my seat, not trying especially hard to stifle my burps, and watching my friends eat their delicious meals with a bit of envy. Towards the end of the evening, one of my friends took pity on me and offered me the half of her ramen that she couldn’t finish. I gratefully wolfed it down, my stomach groaning and gurgling, and driving me a little crazy. See, I was full, but not stuffed. I couldn’t get the thought of gorging myself well beyond my limit out of my mind all the rest of the night, and by the time I was driving home I had made up my mind.

Settling down on my couch, I ordered a foot long Philly cheesesteak, cheesy fries, an Oreo milkshake, and a bottle of sprite. You see, I also had a bunch of bananas sitting on the counter, and I had always wanted to see what a sprite and banana bloat felt like (spoiler alert, it didn’t disappoint). 

I downed my fries sub and milkshake in pretty short order, belching and rubbing my swelling belly right where it hurt the most. Now, it was time for the famous combination. I was nervous and excited, I couldn’t wait to see how much more full and achey my tummy would get, but I really didn’t want to ruin the night by throwing up. 

I ate two bananas, and started to take long sips of the sprite. It took a little while, but I started to feel the reaction taking place. Keep in mind, I was already packed full with three and a half dinners. But now, I could feel my stomach sloooowly expanding. I needed to burp so badly, but the only ones that came were small, leaving me terribly bloated. I was hooked, though. I drank half the bottle, my belly groaning and stretching, feeling waves of pain and pleasure. I couldn’t stop rubbing the left side of my upper tummy where it ached the worst.

Still, I needed more. I ate another banana between more sips of sprite, groaning softly. When I finished I was a mess. My belly hurt soooo badly, and nothing I could do made it feel any better. It didn’t get visibly much bigger, but WOW did it feel stretched out. A half hour and a lot of belly rubs and soft moans later, the bloating had gone done somewhat, enough for me to drift off to sleep.

I have to say, I am hooked on the banana and sprite combo on top of a stuffing. It really sent me over the edge, and I love that once made the decision to do it, I was locked in, and forced to suffer through it. I can’t wait to try it again.

[anexperimentallife]

Alex and the Oracle

This is a humorous short I sold many, many years ago, before I even knew I was autistic, but the rights have reverted to me, so I'm in the middle of a rewrite/update in preparation for re-release as part of an "Alex And" collection. The premise (inspired by some of my own weird impulses) was, "What if things that might LOOK like random impulses or compulsions were actually a form of precognition?"

Alex and the Oracle by D. Robert Hamm

The first thing you need to know about Jimmy Cane is that no matter what anybody says about him, he’s not crazy. And I don’t say that just because he’s my best friend. Sure, he once showed up to a black-tie affair wearing lederhosen and leading a ferret on a leash, but I think that falls under "eccentric." Also, in his defense, I’m pretty sure lederhosen are considered formal wear in some parts of the world, he was wearing a black tie, and the invitation did say, “and guest.”

Okay, so maybe he’s a little bit crazy, but if you had Jimmy’s ‘gift,’ you would be, too.

See, Jimmy’s a precog, but not in the traditional sense. He doesn’t actually know what’s going to happen; he just gets these compulsions that usually seem to work out in the end. That whole thing with the lederhosen and the ferret? Set off a Rube Goldberg-type chain of events that saved a guy’s life. In addition to the general agitation that comes when he tries to resist acting on his compulsions, knowing that something as small as, say, what color socks you’re wearing could be a matter of life and death for someone puts a lot of pressure on a guy.

So when I let myself in over at Jimmy’s place to find him on the floor in a bathrobe surrounded by thirty or so cases of diet soda and blowing up an inflatable kiddie pool, it wasn’t the strangest thing I’d ever caught him doing.

“Hi, Alex,” Jimmy said between breaths, “I know, I know. Don't have all the soda yet; I just couldn't wait to get the pool ready.”

Which made perfect sense, in a Jimmy kind of way. I grabbed a couple of Blue Moons from the fridge and kicked back on the couch until he finished with the pool and plopped down next to me, panting. We clinked our bottles together, and he drained about a third of his in one long drought. He sighed and wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his robe.

“Okay,” I said, “Whatcha got?”

We long ago gave up on serious predictions about the outcome of Jimmy’s compulsions, but we make a game of seeing who can come up with the most outrageous guesses. We play as a team against reality, and give ourselves points every time we out-weird what actually happens. Two-on-one odds may seem a little unfair, but reality’s been doing this a lot longer than we have, and it has the home field advantage. So far, reality is winning, and I don’t even want to talk about the point spread.

“Diet soda, kiddie pool… Gotta be a connection there,” Jimmy said. “I was thinking maybe a pile of aspartame-addicted carp showing up on my doorstep.”

“Nah, not weird enough. Make ‘em talking carp and I think we’ve got something. I got a better one, though; how about the Apocalypse is nigh, and diet soda will be the only currency of value in the aftermath?”

“Makes sense; only mutants would actually drink the stuff. But what about the pool?”

“Like you said—mutants.”

“What does a kiddie pool have to do with mutants?”

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to be an expert on genetic anomalies? Maybe it’s their religion.”

Jimmy nodded sagely and stroked the three-day growth of beard on his chin. “Hm…” he said. “Plausible. Hope you’re wrong, though; I think I’m allergic to apocalypses.”

We toasted to our brilliant predictions, and Jimmy went upstairs to get dressed so I could chauffeur him around for the day. He’s got this old VW Microbus, and while it runs great, he hates driving (everyone else hates him driving, too), plus he hadn’t really slept in a couple of days, which meant he’d be a danger to life and limb out on the road alone. (Although, knowing Jimmy, if he actually felt compelled to drive, an angel would get its wings and somebody’s dead dog would come back to life.)

I do a lot of things like that for Jimmy, but it’s not a one-sided deal. He doesn’t really benefit much personally from his gift—in fact, it often screws him over—but it does provide him with just enough resources to take care of basic needs so that he can follow his compulsions full-time with no visible means of support. That seems to include whatever I need in order to get by when I take time off whatever crappy day job I’m working at the time to give him a hand and help clean up his messes.

It’s like some kind of weird temp job where I get to go on wacky adventures with my best friend and still keep up with rent, and even though it’ll never give me financial security, and even though it’s made having any kind of decent career impossible, and even though no girlfriend I’ve found so far has been willing to put up with our little adventures for more than a few months, I challenge you to come up with a better job at any salary.

Because let me tell you, being friends with Jimmy is never boring.

After several years of this kind of thing, Jimmy was showing the strain. Over the past year, I’d seen him almost in tears a few times trying to choose between three identical boxes of cereal, and there was that time he couldn’t sleep unless he wore his shoes on the wrong feet and listened to yodeling records for three days straight. Don’t even get me started on the truckload of frozen mangoes in cold storage.

It was getting to the point where Jimmy wasn’t sure what was a ‘gift’ compulsion, and what was a random impulse, and fewer and fewer of his compulsions were bearing fruit—no mango-related pun intended—or at least none that we could see. But even if he could resist the occasional impulse, he doesn’t dare, just in case doing so might have a disastrous effect on someone else. He’d even started seeing a psychiatrist, but the only thing the doc was able to do for him was prescribe sleeping and anxiety medications.

Even with the meds, or maybe in part because of them, Jimmy was in even worse shape for driving than usual, so it was a damn good thing he’d called me. Once he was ready, I fired up his microbus, and we drove the forty minutes into Kansas City, where we spent the next few hours, stopping at grocery and convenience stores. At each stop, Jimmy pulled case after case of diet soda off the shelves with increasing degrees of agitation. When he found one that “felt right,” he was able to relax for just a few minutes before he started being drawn to the next case. A few places we had to talk them into letting Jimmy go examine the back stock. You’d think they’d refuse, or at least get a little annoyed, but Jimmy has this—I don’t know—this childlike, innocent vulnerability about him that’s hard to say no to. He lives in kind of a different world than most people do, and sort of expects everybody to be as nice and as helpful as he tries to be. It’s hard to say no to Jimmy without feeling like an asshole.

Sometime around ten o’clock that night, Jimmy guided us onto I-35 North, and we waited for the compulsion to tell us where to stop. We finally found the “right” convenience store about halfway to Des Moines, and I hit the men’s room while Jimmy perused the displays. I finished just in time to see Jimmy explode out of the store waving his arms and screaming, “No! Not that one! I need that one!”

He was charging straight at a grizzly bear in denim and plaid flannel. Okay, not an actual bear, but if a real grizzly ever met this guy it’d pee its fur, scream like a twelve-year-old girl at a Jonas Brothers concert, and run crying for its mommy. Man-bear had—you guessed it—a case of diet soda under one arm. Jimmy slammed into him at full speed, and cans flew everywhere.

Man-bear’s face went from surprise to ugly(er). He pulled back a fist the size of my head, and before I could get there Jimmy was flying backwards to land on the blacktop. Man-bear dropped the soda and took a step forward.

“Don’t hurt him,” I hollered. Okay, it was a little late for that.

“You want some, too?” Man-bear said, and I froze. I wasn’t just afraid he was going to beat me up; I was afraid he was going to eat me.

Now, I’m not the world’s bravest guy, but I do think pretty fast when the alternative is getting turned into hamburger. “No, he’s my little brother,” I lied, “I-I take care of him.” It was the best I could come up with. Hey, I said I think fast, not that I do it particularly well.

“Doin’ a pretty crappy job of it.”

“I know,” I didn’t have to fake anguish. Imminent death has that effect on me, especially when it’s mine. “ Look at him, though,” I pointed to where Jimmy was crawling around muttering to himself and gathering up the fallen cans while blood dripped from his nose to the blacktop. “You can see he’s not, y’know, quite all there in the head, can’t you? It’s not his fault.”

The trucker scowled at Jimmy, then at me. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s a little, uh... touched, you know? He gets it in his head that something—like one particular case of soda—is important, and he thinks something bad is going to happen if he doesn’t get it.” Well, that much was true.

I spread out my hands in appeal. “Look, I’ll pay for the soda. Hell, I’ll buy you ten cases.” Man-bear was silent. “C’mon, man, do you have a brother?”

Man-bear looked at Jimmy again and nodded slowly. He sniffed, then in a wilted growl said, “Keep your money. Tell him I ain’t gonna hurt him no more.”

While I stood gaping, Man-bear pulled a grocery bag from the cab of his truck, got down on all fours, and started gathering up the cans along with Jimmy. It took me probably half a minute or so to pick up my jaw enough to pitch in myself. Man-bear even got a cold pack from the cooler behind his seat for Jimmy’s face, and before he got back into his rig, shook Jimmy’s and my hands and said that while he wasn’t going to give any details, we’d changed his life.

Once Bruce’s rig was out of sight and we were back in the Microbus, Jimmy grinned at me, split lip, bloody nose, and all. “Alex, you were brill—”

And for the second time that day, Jimmy got punched in the face. Some things simply have to be done.

“Ow. What was that for?”

I glared at him, trying to ignore the fact that I felt like a total ass for hitting him. “I felt compelled, okay?” I started the car and pointed us back toward Lawrence. “I’m getting worried about you, man.”

“Yes, I could sense the concern in your loving punch.”

“Sorry about that, but are you nuts? That could have gone a lot worse than a punch in the face.”

“Two punches,” he said.

“Okay, two punches. I said I was sorry. But man, that has got to be the craziest thing you’ve ever done, and I’ve seen you do some crazy shit. Did you see the size of that guy? He’d give Mount Everest a Napoleon complex. We could have ended up in the hospital. Or jail. Or both. Hell, maybe even the morgue. Did you even stop to think we could have just politely offered to buy the soda from him instead of trying to tackle him?”

Jimmy’s face went slack. He stared at me for a few seconds, then hung his head. When he spoke, he sounded even more tired and beaten up than he looked. “I was so caught up in...” He looked back up at me. “You really do take care of me, Alex. And I don’t say thank you enough, but you never complain, and then tonight I almost got you… I’m sorry, Alex. It’s just… This is a bad one.”

I very carefully didn’t look at him. “Just think next time, okay?” I threw in some Ramones to cut short the Hallmark moment, and we cruised along to Blitzkrieg Bop.

About halfway through I Wanna Be Sedated, Jimmy turned off the music. “Hey, Alex? If we changed that guy’s life like he said, this diet soda thing is starting to play out, right?”

“Looks like. I just think it could have been handled differently.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I know, but if it’s starting to play out, my ‘gift’ or whatever should stop poking at me, or at least ease off a little, but it’s getting worse. And there are all those other cases.”

“Jimmy, I—”

“This so-called ‘gift’ pretty much runs my life, Alex, and it’s getting worse, and I can’t control it. I never wanted it to begin with. What if it gets one of us killed someday?”

I didn’t have an answer. When we got back to his place I was going to hang around to make sure he was okay, but he said he’d put me in harm’s way enough for one weekend. There wasn’t much I could do except make him promise to call me if he needed me.

#

My phone woke me a little before three a.m. the next night, which would have been fine if it were a supermodel calling to profess her undying love, but that, I decided, was an unlikely scenario, and stuck my head under the pillow to wait for the ringing to stop.

It didn’t.

“I have a hammer,” I yelled, “and I’m not afraid to use it.” Apparently the phone was unafraid of percussive maintenance. I tracked it to the pile of laundry under which it had made its rebel lair, and flipped it open. “Please state the nature of your emergency.”

“Alex! I’m glad you’re up.” Jimmy sounded like an auctioneer who’d been up all night mainlining double-espressos. “I dialed you like, nine times. Are you busy?”

“No, I was just going through the yellow pages trying to find a re-education camp for wayward cell phones. Look, it’s three AM, and you don’t sound like a buxom supermodel.”

“That has never been my aspiration. You said to call if I needed you. And I do. So I am. It’s the soda thing.”

I squeezed the bridge of my nose and censored myself. I had told him to call. “Okay, what do you need?”

“I know how to make it stop. Gotta get one more case and get to this little spring in the Flint Hills. About a hundred and fifty miles. Don’t trust myself to drive that far.” He giggled and switched to a bad falsetto. “Help us, Obi Wan. You’re our only hope.”

“You can’t play the princess-in-distress card, Jimmy. First, it’s not fair, and second, you know I’m already in.” If he didn’t trust himself to drive, I sure as hell didn’t, especially when he sounded that out of it.

Half an hour later Jimmy lurched in and knocked (in that order) dressed much like “The Dude,” from The Big Liebowski, only Jimmy’s bathrobe was fuchsia. He banged his shin on the coffee table, but barely seemed to notice. His nose and lip were still swollen, and his eyes were spider-webbed with red, but he was practically vibrating with nervous energy.

“You look like crap,” I said. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Can’t sleep. Gotta go. Here.” He dug into the pockets of his robe and handed me a printed-out map along with the keys to his old VW min-bus.

“Okay,” I said, “but shouldn’t you be wearing pants?”

He looked down at himself and frowned. “What’s wrong with swimming trunks?”

“Dude.”

“Okay, okay. But we gotta hurry.” Jimmy’s a little smaller than I am, but I managed to find some clothes that didn’t fit him too badly. (I let the Cthulhu slippers slide. You have to pick your battles.)

Jimmy had a bunch of those big plastic bottles—the kind that go on top of home water coolers— filled with slightly brownish water and strapped together in the kiddie pool in the back of the mini-bus. “What the—”

“No time. I’ll explain on the way.”

By the time I had the mini-bus in gear he was already asleep, slumped against the passenger door. I knew how this worked, though. As soon as I stopped heading toward our destination he’d wake up frantic. Besides, I probably wouldn’t get anything coherent out of him until he’d napped, so I bit down on my curiosity.

He woke up about halfway there. “Take the next exit,” he said. “That’s where the last case is.”

I pulled off the highway. “You wanna fill me in now? And please tell me we’re not going to get our asses handed to us by a human grizzly again?”

He laughed, bouncing up and down on his seat. “No promises on that count, but I don’t think so. As for filling you in... Wait. Turn here.” We pulled into a service station with all its lights out. Jimmy opened his door.

“Dude, they’re closed.”

“Gonna check the hours on the door and see how long we have to wait.”

The station wouldn’t open for three more hours. “All right,” I said, “That’s plenty of time to fill me in, so spill.”

“I’ll warn you, it’s going to sound crazy. I’m going to sound crazy, but hear me out, okay?”

I said I would, and he continued. “You saw how I got earlier. I had to get some sleep before I finished this thing or I was going to fall apart. Or even worse, screw it up. But I couldn’t. I even took a sleeping pill, but all it did was make me spacey. I finally gave in around one and poured the soda into the kiddie pool.”

He paused and stared out the window. “Keep going,” I said, “You poured the soda into the swimming pool, and then what happened?”

He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I started pouring, and there was this... face.”

“What, at the window? Somebody was watching you?”

“No, in the pool. A woman’s face, there in the soda.”

Now that topped the weirdometer, even for Jimmy. “Right. You’re sleep-deprived, and like you said, you were on sleeping pills. People see things.”

“Whatever. Anyway, it freaked me out,” he said.

“Understandably.”

He got quieter. “Her lips started moving. She was saying, ‘help me.’”

“Hang on—You know it wasn’t real, right? Unless... Is your ‘gift’ giving you visuals now?”

He didn’t seem to hear me. “What could I do?” he said. “The more I poured, the more of her there was, until there was this… this beautiful woman standing in the middle of the pool. She was real, Alex. She had sort of blue-tinted skin and long green hair, and she reached out of the pool and called me her hero and kissed me, and—Hey, what are you doing?”

“I’m starting the engine. And unless I hear something of the not-crazy variety come out of your mouth in the next five seconds I’m turning around.”

“Wait, Alex. Don’t freak out on me.”

“We’re way past that. Look, it’s probably just sleep deprivation combined with Ambien, but we gotta get you looked at.”

Jimmy grabbed my sleeve. Not like he was trying to pull my hand off the steering wheel, but just to emphasize his words. “Alex,” he said. “Please. I’m not crazy.”

“Maybe not, but something’s wrong. What kind of a friend would I be if I—”

“Okay, okay” he said, “Just for argument’s sake, let’s say I was hallucinating, and that it’s from not sleeping because of this compulsion. What’s the fastest way to fix that? The only way to fix it?”

I sighed. “Seeing it through.”

“So see this through with me, give me a day or two to catch up on sleep, and if you still think I’ve lost it, I’ll go to a doctor or whatever you want. I mean, come on, it’s a few hours of driving is all, and then we’re done with it, I promise. Deal?”

I rolled my eyes and climbed into the back to stretch out by the kiddie pool. “Damn it, Jimmy, there’d better be a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.”

It only took a few minutes for me to doze off. I couldn’t have been asleep for long, though, when I woke to shrill ringing. Jimmy jumped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and started the engine. We threw gravel getting back on the road.

“What the—” I looked back at the service station. The front window was broken out. “Jimmy! What did you do?”

“I couldn’t wait. She can’t hold out much longer.”

I climbed toward the front. “That’s it. You’ve lost it, man. Pull over right now. If you pay for the damages they’ll probably let you off with probation.”

Jimmy’s voice was choked and he was blinking back tears. “You don’t understand. She’s dying. There weren’t any security cameras, and I left money on the counter to pay for the window. If I drive fast we won’t get caught.”

“We? I didn’t do anything except ride along with a crazy man!” I reached for the steering wheel, but we were already going fast enough that I’d probably flip us if I grabbed it. I got out my phone. “Pull over now or I’m calling the police.”

I wasn’t really going to. As far gone as he was, he might try to outrun them, and things would only get worse.

He called my bluff. “Go ahead. If you’re still my friend, though, wait until it’s over.”

There wasn’t much of an alternative. About an hour later Jimmy turned onto a dirt road. When we got to the end of it and bounced to a stop I grabbed the keys from the ignition.

“Help me with the bottles,” Jimmy said, “The spring is just a little ways off.” He unbuckled himself and moved toward the back. I grabbed his arm, and he looked me square in the face. I have never seen him so determined. “What are you going to do, Alex? Hit me again?”

Ouch. I let go, and Jimmy’s expression softened. “I know you think I’m crazy, but I can prove I’m not.”

He started pulling stoppers out of the water bottles. “I hope she’s up to this. She’s in pretty bad shape, or I’d have tried it earlier.”

I had to clench my jaw to keep from responding. Jimmy un-stoppered the last bottle and leaned over it murmuring. “I know,” he said, “But we have to prove to my friend that you’re real before he’ll help us get you home.” He turned to me. “She wants you to know that not all of this is her. Some of it’s just regular water and soda.”

“Great,” I said, “Tell her those bottles don’t make her butt look big. Honest.”

Jimmy scowled at me, and I was about to say something more when the water moved. Trickles from each bottle snaked up and joined to form a translucent face like in, what was that movie... The Abyss or something. It—correction, she—stuck out her tongue at me before turning to Jimmy with an expression of such adoration that it broke my heart. The sun was rising, and it glinted off of her in reds and golds. Jimmy touched her lips with his fingers and she kissed them, then lost cohesion and flowed back into her bottles.

All I could do was stare.

“Well,” Jimmy said, “Am I crazy?”

Either she was real, or Jimmy’s insanity was contagious. I preferred to believe the former. I had to work my mouth a bit before anything came out. There isn’t much to say when you witness the impossible. “What are we waiting for,” I growled, “Let’s get her home.”

We used the deflated kiddie pool as a sled where we could, and carried the bottles one by one over the rough spots until we reached the spring.

Jimmy finished filling me in on the way. The woman’s name was D’lahna, and she was a naiad, a water nymph. She’d been exploring “Overhill,” as she called it, when she somehow got stuck in a soda bottling plant. She wouldn’t have lasted much longer if not for Jimmy and his gift.

We poured first the bottles, then the final case of soda, into the spring, and D’lahna rose up out of it more beautiful than you can imagine. And very, very naked. I stood staring until Jimmy punched me in the arm. “Hey. Mine.”

“Sorry.” I averted my eyes. Kind of. Hey, she might have been my best friend’s girl, but she was gorgeous. I tried not to gape at her, and searched desperately for a way to cover the awkwardness. How do you make small talk with a mythological creature?

“So, uh...” I said, “Sorry about the whole thinking you were imaginary thing. Nice place you’ve got here. Love what you’ve done with it. Seems like a quiet neighborhood.”

D’lahna laughed. If you’ve never heard a nymph’s voice, I can’t really describe it to you except to say it sort of... sparkles. “Your friend is funny,” she said to Jimmy, then looked at me. “This isn’t where I live, Alex, but it will get us there.”

It took me a moment to process that. “Us?”

I turned to Jimmy, who had just stripped naked. (Now there’s a sight I hope to never see again.) He grinned at me. “I’m going with her,” he said.

“But you... She... You can’t...”

“It’s okay,” Jimmy put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”

They offered to take me with them, but instead I watched as Jimmy took D’lahna’s hand and waded into the middle of the spring with her. They turned translucent and flowed into the water.

It was a long drive home, and I thought about the two of them all the way.

Two weeks later I turned on the kitchen faucet, and out came an invitation to Jimmy and D’lahna’s engagement party. They’ve already set me up with a date—a wood nymph friend of D’lahna’s who, Jimmy thinks, just might break my losing streak. He mentioned a possible job offer, too.

And guess what D'lahna's family's favorite fruit is? Yeah, at least now I know what to do with all those frozen mangoes.

[elvenbeard]

Call

Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfic Summary: V finally opens up about his newest post-Mikoshi symptoms weighing him down. Kerry suggests a "bring-your-merc-to-work"-day to distract them both from the doom and gloom and the anxiety about an outstanding phone call. (Post-Sun-Ending, mostly canon-compliant, Chapter 6/?, 6790 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V, mentions of drug use, smoking, body dysphoria) - notes at the end!

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Kerry nearly dropped his guitar at the faint sound of V’s ringtone upstairs. At first, he hadn’t even fully registered it as the phone, himself on the sofa downstairs as he strummed away, trying to figure out a good bridge for a song that had been giving him trouble. He’d had this guitar, an old-fashioned acoustic one, since the early 2000s, and he only just caught himself from tossing it as he jumped to his feet. Nibbles perked up, ears folding back and eyes wide as he stormed past her towards the stairs, taking two steps at once. By the time he reached the upper floor, the phone had gone silent already. V sat at the edge of their bed, their eyes met. V was startled for a moment, pupils glowing golden from accepting the holocall. Kerry froze. He took a few deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm his racing heart somehow, hand clinging to the stair-rail still. But V’s posture was surprisingly relaxed, and Kerry’s tension as well dissolved when he began to speak.

“Hey, River,” V said, smiling.

“Fuck…” Kerry exhaled, shoulders dropping. Then he slowly trotted over to sit on the bed beside V.

“Yeah, no, I’d been meanin’ to call you back,” V continued, “No, I’m alright just… Been a couple of crazy busy days. I’ll tell you the details next time we meet in person.”

Kerry put his hand on V’s thigh and listened to the conversation quietly in thought. The sandstorm had almost passed by now, but it was getting dark outside – well, dark for Night City standards at least. They’d both dozed off earlier after their shower quickie, but Kerry was woken up again soon after by a nightmare he thankfully didn’t remember. Glad to not have stirred V as well he had then decided to let him sleep and snuck downstairs. Still, V looked awfully tired, dark circles under his eyes just not fading at all anymore. He soon wouldn’t even need his beloved smudged eyeliner…

“Sure yes, I’ll do,” V said to River on the holo, then turned to look at Kerry with a gentle smile, “River says hi.”

“Hi back at him. And at Joss and the kids,” Kerry nodded, and V delivered the greetings promptly.

“Okay,” he then said, “Yes, take care, too. See ya!”

The call ended and V sighed, tossing his phone back on the nightstand, and in the same movement grabbed his pill bottles. One with the painkillers prescribed by the hospital, one from Vik to help alleviate his post-relic symptoms.

“Forgot to put the fuckin’ thing on mute,” V muttered struggling to open the bottles with one hand. Kerry gently took the pill bottles without a word, opened them, and handed V one pill each. He swallowed them both at once before taking the bottles again from Kerry to set them back down.

“Sleep well at least?” Kerry made sure.

“Sorta,” V groaned hoarsely, stretching very slowly and carefully, “My head is killing me. Can barely move either. But I’m a little less tired than before at least.”

“Small mercies,” Kerry just said, gently rubbing V’s back, “Do you… wanna rest some more? Or are you hungry? I could go for a bite actually, order somethin’ real quick. Or… I think maybe there’s still pizza in the freezer, too…”

V looked away, gaze drifting out of the window and across the dust-covered cityscape.

“I’m not really hungry, no,” he said after a couple of moments.

“Doubt that sorry excuse for a breakfast was so filling…” Kerry frowned.

“No, I’m just… ah, I dunno.”

He sat slightly slumped forward, kind of cute with his fresh-out-of-bed hair, naked apart from their towel and blanket loosely wrapped around his hips still… but it was pretty obvious that something was bothering him.

“Talk to me, V,” Kerry said calmly, his hand still on V’s back, expecting to be urged to launch their next investigation of the penthouse for Mr. B’s tech.

V slowly turned his head back to look at him.

“Even if it’s Mikoshi again?”

Kerry was surprised, not only about the topic, but at how carefully V asked… almost as if he feared to be rejected.

“Especially then,” Kerry said firmly.

True… it was always Mikoshi. Or at least V’s worries and troubles often boiled down to what had happened there. No wonder. Kerry knew the rough rundown of the night, and that it hurt V to talk about certain details, about what Alt had had to do him and Johnny in particular. Kerry never dared to ask for clarification on some specifics despite not quite understanding them, because he didn’t want to poke around in an open wound.

Ironically, Johnny and V had never even gotten along that well. It had been a constant back and forth, a love-hate relationship if Kerry had ever seen one. It hadn’t been much different between Johnny and Kerry himself, Johnny and everyone else, really... It’s just how he had been like, self-absorbed, confrontational sometimes purely out of spite and in ignorance of his own feelings (and fuck, if that wasn’t something Kerry could only understand too well by now). V and Kerry had talked about what Alt’s plan had entailed before he’d even decided to follow through with it, before there was even any mention of “we’ll storm Arasaka Tower in an improvised suicide mission”. At the time, due to their difficult relationship, V had been fully on board with getting Johnny out of his head, whatever it would take, still waiting for an offer from the Arasakas themselves.

Despite Silverhand’s asshole behavior though, all his faults… he’d left a lasting impact on both their lives. It had taken Kerry half a century to mourn and get over his loss for a reason, but despite their decades-long friendship, he and Johnny had never been as close as what V and Johnny had developed over the course of just a few months. V wouldn’t admit it, but he missed the annoying voice of unreason in his head a lot. His words when Kerry found him on Corpo Plaza that night still echoed through Kerry’s head, full of fear and despair and regret…

“He’s gone… and it was all for nothing.”

In a way, even now still, Kerry somewhat envied Johnny for the connection he’d had with V, wished sometimes he could just read V’s mind and see what was going on in his head when V struggled to find the words, like so often lately... Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary this time around with V breaking the silence.

“Ever since I walked out of Mikoshi, I’ve felt this… disconnect. It’s hard to describe,” V began slowly.

Kerry hesitated.

“You said you… didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror sometimes? As in, literally?”

Anxiety began to slowly drive its claws into his chest.

“Yes and no…” V looked at his hands resting in his lap, “It’s like… logically I know this is my body. Has always been, and hell, haven’t I battled with it before... I guess what comes closest is some sort of body dysphoria… but also not?”

He paused, looked up at Kerry briefly, then out the window again.

“Like, before I figured out I was trans, it was similar, but not quite the same... Fuck, it’s like, somethin’ small is off, I just can’t put my finger on it. Like an itch on the inside of your skull you can impossibly scratch.”

Kerry didn’t know what to say that he hadn’t already said before; that doctors hadn’t told them yet either. All he felt he could do was sit here and listen. V continued.

“I’m wondering if this is what Alt meant when she said Soulkiller would… kill my soul. Leave me nothing but a cluster of memories and thoughts… A blurry copy of myself, trapped in a body so adjusted to Johnny already that it would’ve been smarter to just – …”

He choked on his words, and Kerry’s own throat grew tight at the sight of V slumping forward again and covering his face with his hands. He didn’t cry. In fact, it was dead silent between them, but that was almost worse. Kerry still had his hand on V’s back, gently caressing in circles.

“What can I do, V?” he asked hoarsely after a while, cause hell, if there was anything... V sighed and shrugged, but kept his face covered.

“I don’t know,” he then mumbled, “I’m no longer fighting the Relic, but my own body is fighting me now. I wonder if this is what it was like for Johnny. For him it got better over time but for me… it’s slowly gonna get worse.”

“What… is getting worse, exactly?” Kerry almost didn’t dare to ask. This was the most they’d spoken about V’s health in such detail in… forever, probably. Not surrounded by doctors flinging around medical terms, both of them relatively calm and not too overwhelmed by stress and emotion, in the safety of their home... if they truly weren’t secretly spied on by Blue-Eyes.

V slowly lowered his hands and sat up straight again.

“It’s like… I’m growing number to my own feelings, little by little,” he then said, staring out the window, the orange glow outside reflected in his hazel eyes like embers.

“Johnny described it once as this sort of delay... I’d, dunno, bump my toe somewhere, but he’d only feel the pain five seconds later. But what I’m feeling now is not quite that, even though it sometimes comes close. I’m not really hungry anymore, not how I used to be, unless I’m actually starving. I’m not as scared of physical dangers anymore, not how I used to be… It’s like someone dulled down my sense of self-preservation. I’m like an addict that needs a larger dose, a bigger kick, to be able to feel the effects of the drugs still… but make the drugs all the little things that make you human.”

Kerry pondered this for a couple of moments, let it sink in.

“And it’s like that… with everything?” he carefully asked. V shook his head briefly, flinching sightly, his healthy hand shooting up to the back of his hurting neck.

“Not with everything, no. Physical pain, for some reason,” he said with a smirk, “Cause I’m lucky like that. It’s also not affecting my feelings for you, they haven’t changed or dulled…”

He hesitated.

“But I’m scared shitless that if this… progresses, I will grow numb for you, too. For everyone and everything I care about… I’m scared that maybe it’s already begun, with what you said earlier that I… just went through with Mr. B’s plan without many second thoughts, without telling you. Not because he manipulated me, but because I’m becoming numb to the possible consequences of my actions...”

“V, no, that… yeah, I was mad at you earlier but, that’s not what I meant,” Kerry tried to relativize.

“No, no, it’s okay,” V said with a sad smile, “I’m glad you said it, because if you hadn’t... Maybe I’m just doing all this shit because it still makes me feel alive when I’m already dead inside. Resting and positive thinking alone don’t really do the trick when it comes to trying to feel something still.”

There was a long heavy pause.

“Ah, fuck…” V then just sighed, “I hate all of this so much.”

He rubbed his eyes and then leaned against Kerry’s shoulder, and Kerry held him close.

“I know… me too.”

They ended up ordering food after all that evening, something nice and spicy from their favorite Mexican restaurant, real high-quality, ‘ganic comfort food… But it was still a rather gloomy, quiet night beyond that.

By the time the sun began to rise the next morning, Kerry had already been lying awake for an hour or so and watched V in his sleep. At least when he slept, he seemed at peace still – it was enough that he had been living one nightmare after the other for the better part of six months now, since that first fateful heist.

When they sat in the kitchen together for breakfast over their first cups of coffee later, Kerry kept catching himself anxiously staring at V’s phone, ready for it to go off any moment again. He wasn’t even sure whether he wanted Blue-Eyes to call or not. He worried that whatever he’d promised V to save his life would turn out to be yet another dead end, be attached to countless strings – or maybe turn out to be a lie altogether. But if he didn’t call… he was scared that that would finally break V, having risked so much, wasted so much time for empty promises… Had himself be used again without any payoff whatsoever, led on by the dangling carrot on a stick called “miracle cure”, “more time with your loved ones”, “a chance at life as such” and all the other things he and Kerry both were so desperately hoping for.

Not only to distract himself from his depressing thought-spiral, but also in hopes of cheering V up at least a little bit, he made a suggestion.

“Since you’re basically on sick leave now, would ya wanna come to the studio with me later?” he asked.

Finally, V’s smile returned.

“Think Lee is gonna survive me showing up there unannounced?”

Kerry chuckled.

“He better gets used to it, ‘cause I’m not planning on bringing anyone else anytime soon,” he said.

“What’re you working on today?” V asked, drinking from his mug and setting it back down between them.

“Mostly fine-tuning some stuff with ‘Shivers’… the transition from the chorus to the second verse kinda sucks still. We gotta work something out.”

“So, they still wanna go with that as the first single?” V asked frowning, and Kerry sighed.

“Yeah… I mean, it’s a fuckin’ good song. It’s gonna be a hit for sure,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic, “Still would’ve liked ‘Vision of your Memories’ better as the first release. But they say the title’s too long, it’s too calm, too different from what the fans are used from me. As if that’s not the point of the whole damn album…”

He made a throwaway gesture and then also downed the rest of his coffee.

“No point arguing, they’re gonna do what they’re gonna do anyway.”

“And Lee can’t put in a word for you?” V asked and Kerry couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, seriously,” V insisted, “He’s your fuckin’ manager, apparently, and yet…”

“… and yet, he only works for the label, still,” Kerry finished the thought, “Managers that actually fight on the side of the artists they sign are wishful thinkin’... But he’s still better than Kovachek.”

“Anyone would’ve been better than Kovachek,” V laughed dryly as they then got up from the counter to get dressed for the day.

V had been to the studio that belonged to MSM Records a handful of times before, usually just briefly stopping by with “real” coffee, between gigs that led him into the area anyway. The building sat right at the district border between Charter Hill and Japantown, only just part of the former, and not far away from Dark Matter. All in all, it was as well ridiculously close to the corporate apartments at Grant Avenue that V had grown up in. Both him and Kerry still waited for some old photo or video to surface in which they’d both been caught in at the same time, completely unaware of the other’s existence.

Kerry took the lead as they entered the building from the underground parking garage, through the security scanner, past the reception desk and towards the elevators. It wasn’t particularly busy this morning, the only person really that noted their existence was the perpetually smiling receptionist greeting them. Both the entrance hall as well as the floor they were headed to screamed generic corpo-chic. Clean, sleek, not quite as dark as Arasaka had been, but just as imposing. The floor on the level with the recording booths featured light carpet with a golden, geometric pattern, interrupted by the MSM logo every couple of yards. The tall, dark-grey walls were indirectly lit with embedded, golden neon stripes creating triangular shapes and showcased the label’s most successful album and single releases of recent years. In passing V spotted “Second Conflict” and both Kerry’s and Us Cracks’ versions of “User Friendly”. The hallway split after about 30 feet and Kerry turned left, headed towards the recording booth booked for him today. V followed closely.

“Urgh, could be that halfway through some marketing gonks show up with merch mockups,” Kerry grumbled and pulled out his phone, “Lee just updated my schedule.”

“Oh, so I can get an exclusive sneak peek of all the stuff I can buy with your name on it in a couple of weeks?”

“My name and my face even, if they get their will,” Kerry sighed, “Never been much a fan of slappin’ my mug on t-shirts.”

“’s a pretty mug though. Wouldn’t mind seeing it all around me all the time,” V tried to console him, fearing he would remain correct about the label people doing whatever they wanted anyway. Marketing liked to give you the illusion of being an active participant in the decision-making process while in the background the higher ups had long made all their choices.

Kerry threw him a brief smile as they entered the recording booth.

It was one of the smaller booths V had been to so far, used predominantly for recording vocals. There were bigger ones that fit entire bands, and a level below them were several for recording whole orchestras even, according to Kerry. The room was separated into two areas. There was the actual booth, behind soundproof glass, with sound-insulated walls, and all the technical equipment to actually record music. In the front area, which was almost three times the size of the booth, there was the mixer console, computers, and all the other tech needed to modify the raw sound, as well as a little lounge area with sofas, a coffee maker, and some shelves storing additional equipment and showcasing some more famous albums the label had produced.

On a big white office chair by the console sat Vicki, one of the producers V had met before, and he could feel some of Kerry’s tension drop. Vicki was around 60 years old and had worked with Kerry pretty much since the first day of her internship at MSM and all the way through her ascension in ranks to producer. So, there was at least someone here today that knew what she was doing, in Kerry’s words. Engaged in a conversation with her and seated on one of the two large beige leather sofas in the corner were two sound engineers that worked as Vicki’s assistants. V had met them before, but only in passing, so he didn’t know their names. They probably were somewhere between himself and Vicki in age.

Vicki’s pale green eyes lit up when Kerry entered the room, and she got up from her chair to give him a brief hug.

“Hi, Kerry, so glad you could make it, I know it’s early today, but I thought better get this done sooner rather than later, right?” she said, words like rapid-fire.

“If I had my way, we’d just fuckin’ leave ‘Shivers’ on the backburner for a bit until I figure out what I wanna do with it,” Kerry grumbled, “But you know how it is.”

Vicki stepped back and patted Kerry on the shoulder.

“I know, I know… Let’s make the best out of it, right?”

 Then she turned to V, flinging a long strand of her hair, dyed pitch-black, over her shoulder.

“V, right?” she asked, smiling brightly as she extended a hand with similarly long black nails.

“Vicki, nice to see you again,” V said and reciprocated her handshake.

“Dang it, Kerry, you gotta tell me sometime how you two met, such a gentleman! Do you have an older brother, or a sister maybe, V?” Vicki laughed, voice raspy and loud. She was quite the character, in her all-black leather gear with beige faux-fur collar and sparkly studs all over, but most people in Kerry’s world seemed to be. Unlike most of them though, Vicki also really knew what she was doing. As soon as she sat down behind the mixing console all the extravagant loudness faded and was replaced by cool professionalism and long-honed skill.

“Make yourself comfortable, I gotta feeling we’ll be here for a while today,” Vicki said gesturing towards the sofas before turning back to Kerry, “And you siddown and jack in so we can go through the parts that have been bothering you, alright?”

Both V and Kerry did what they were told, as Vicki truly would be the one holding the reigns here today. The two sound engineers got up and joined Vicki and Kerry by the mixing console and followed her instructions closely as she listened to the demo of the song with Kerry, pausing now and then when they got to a part that bothered him. V watched this all closely and with great interest. He’d learned to play the piano as a kid, mostly because his father wanted him to, but he was far from calling himself a musician. Still, he was fascinated by Kerry’s knowledge and passion for his craft, only understanding little of what he referred to (probably also given the fact that only he and Vicki and the engineers were able to hear the music while V wasn’t). Still, he was deeply impressed and… yeah, very proud, however weird that may have sounded spoken out loud. He was proud of Kerry being so damn good at making awesome music with a message and deeper meaning. V wouldn’t even know where to start, even if he wanted to.

“Okay, okay, okay, I think the problem here is not the melody as such,” Vicki said after about 10 minutes of intense revision, “I think we’re missing a beat or two… you kinda expect there to be something here that then never happens, listen again… Throws you off. Make sense?”

“Yeah… yeah it does,” Kerry nodded after a few seconds of pondering, “So, change the lyrics?”

“We could just drop the ‘gives you’, it’s an easy fix, no need to re-record, just edit it out.”

“Ah, I dunno,” Kerry was unimpressed by the suggestion, crossed his arms.

The discussion continued a little while longer, the two old musicians beginning to get lost in the details, each change they suggested leading to adjustments that then led to further disagreements from the other or new problems as a whole. V could only imagine how this would have gone down during Samurai times, with not two but five people with wildly different opinions clashing like this – Kerry and Johnny alone would have probably caused enough disagreements on their own. And yet, their success at the time spoke for itself – maybe a little bit of fighting over melody and rhythm was necessary to make a great song. Watching these two now go back and forth was a welcome distraction to V as well, seated on the sofa still, elbows resting on his thighs… but his phone clutched expectantly in his right hand.

“Okay, y’know what… Let’s just re-record this bit. We’re runnin’ round in circles,” Kerry then said with annoyance, jacked out of the mixing console and got up from his chair.

“The whole chorus?” Vicki asked frowning.

“Can also do the whole fuckin’ song if you wanna,” Kerry shrugged.

“Let’s start with the chorus, show me what you mean,” she said calmly, and Kerry was halfway through the door into the recording booth already, “Don’t you wanna do some warm-up first?”

“What, I’ve been warming up the past hour with you already,” Kerry teased and closed the door behind himself. Vicki made a disapproving noise and turned to look at V, pointing at Kerry with her thumb.

“Is he like that at home, too?”

V smiled and motioned that his lips were sealed when it came to their private life, and Vicki just nodded understandingly.

“Thought so,” she said and turned back around to switch on a few more screens of the truly massive mixing console in front of her. V got up from the sofa now to be able to watch Kerry still, as he was barely visible anymore in the booth from his seated position. Kerry had put on headphones, even though he wouldn’t even need to with his implants. He’d told V once he preferred them still for old times’ sake. He was pacing around the booth now in a small circle, stretching and, by the looks of it, doing some vocal exercises after all. V couldn’t hear him, but the sight alone made his heart beat faster, Kerry so in his element, so full of passion for something that was not in a way self-destructive. V was still lowkey mad that he didn’t have any clear memories of the Samurai reunion gig, but then again… maybe it was for the best.

After a couple of minutes of warmup Kerry positioned himself by his microphone. His bright eyes met with V’s across the pop filter and Kerry grinned. It was infectious. Then he turned to Vicki, saying something only she could hear via the intercom.

“Oh! Yeah, can do,” she said and turned around to V, “Wanna listen in, too?”

“Would I be allowed to?” V asked, still vividly remembering the hissy fit about signing NDAs Lee threw the first time he had stopped by here. But at the same time, he jumped at every opportunity to hear Kerry sing.

“Hey, I’m in charge here today,” Vicki grinned, “Francine, go and fetch him some headphones… Or do you have an audio implant?”

“’fraid not,” V shook his head, then one of the audio engineers jumped from her seat to look through the equipment shelf, handing V a pair of high-end studio headphones.

“I’ll sync you up in a moment,” she said.

“Thanks,” V replied and put them on. Kerry had begun pacing around the booth again while Vicki finalized some settings on her console.

“Yeah, yeah, they’ll surely approve of that,” she muttered in an amused tone. In the next second there was a slight crackling on V’s ears and finally he heard Kerry quietly singing, so up-close and clear that it gave him goosebumps... Then he realized he was improvising all sorts of profanities directed at the label bosses to the melody of “Archangel”. V couldn’t help but laugh, and Kerry spun around to look at V.

“Whaddaya think, this would make a good bonus track, right?”

“I love it,” V snickered.

“See! It’s a preem idea,” Kerry shrugged.

“C’mon now, let’s get started,” Vicki chuckled and gave the okay to start recording.

V kept himself in the background, but listening to Kerry sing like this was certainly a treat he hadn’t expected to ever get. He was very particular about who would be allowed to hear songs that were still in progress – not out of some artistic superiority complex, V was certain. Kerry wouldn’t admit it, but he was sure it was plain old self-consciousness about his works in progress. V respected his decision to keep everything a secret until it was polished enough, even though he would love to hear what he’d been working on so hard these past few months. But maybe him being here for this today was a first step in the right direction at least.

They recorded three or four new versions of the chorus, all with minor differences between them. Kerry and Vicki were in the middle of deciding which one to choose to move forward with. Then an incoming holocall tore V out of the so far slow and peaceful morning.

“Oh fuck, now?” he muttered at the sight of “Unknown Caller ID” in the corner of his interface. He took off is headphones and handed them back to Francine, only just overhearing Kerry ask, “What’s wrong?”

V pulled out his phone.

“I’ll be right back, important call!” he said and slipped into the hallway.

Reception was bad within the building, so V quickly walked to the nearby stairs that would lead him to the rooftop lounge. He’d been up there with Kerry a handful of times for a coffee or smoke break. His phone kept ringing, but V’s hurting legs weren’t really cooperating with him as he tried to climb up all the way to the roof in a timely manner. His chest burned just from breathing and his head was pounding despite the painkillers, the cascading echo of his steps in the mostly metal stairwell not helping. Halfway up he decided to just accept the call, hoping that no one would be waiting for him at the top or hear him on the levels below.

“Yes, hello?” he said, out of breath and full of anticipation and anxiety.

“Yes, hello, stranger,” was the reply that V had not expected at all. Neither the voice. He froze and couldn’t speak until all that still reverberated around him was his own heartbeat.

“Judy?” he then asked, in disbelief.

“Oh, so you do still know who I am, good!” she said, tone not entirely serious, “Hope I’m interrupting an important Fixer meeting? Client talks? A secret gig?”

Yup, definitely not Mr. Blue-Eyes.

“Why’s your caller ID blocked?” V decided to ask once he’d accepted that this would become an entirely different conversation than he had expected.

“’Cause I was worried you wouldn’t pick up otherwise. You didn’t the last couple of times.”

“Ugh… sorry, I… I’d been meaning to call you back, but…”

“It’s been a horribly busy couple o’ days, I know,” she then said slightly mockingly, and V couldn’t help but laugh at his own predictability.

The sun greeted him as he finally opened the door to the lounge, as did the wind and a breathtaking view across Charter Hill. Not quite as impressive as from the Dark Matter, but still a sight to behold. A couple of lounge chairs were arranged around a whirlpool and bar area currently closed off, and fake bamboo framed the whole space, giving it some privacy. The label occasionally threw wild parties here, or so Kerry had told him. V grabbed one of the smaller lounge chairs and moved it closer to the railing overlooking the city.

“Everything good? You sound a bit… winded,” Judy asked.

“Yeah, I…” V tried to come up with an excuse… but what was the point, really?

“I had a car accident, two days ago,” he decided to tell her.

“Fuck, V, shit… Really? Fuck… You okay?”

“All things considered, yeah. Was lucky for once,” he said and carefully sat down, “I’m a bit bruised up all over, but I’ve been a lot worse. Nothin’ I won’t recover from.”

Then he turned on his holo display to finally be able to see Judy. It appeared she was sitting on the roof of her van, tall red rock formations behind her. It was quite windy there, too, her hair blowing across her face as she kept trying to tuck it behind her ear without success.

“Hello again, properly now,” he said, and she grinned. She did seem so much happier, at ease, far away from Night City, a little more every time they spoke… regardless, he really missed their late-night in-person chats on the rooftop of her apartment building. Having her around and close by to knock some sense into him now and then would really make a difference right about now.

“Damn, buddy, you look like shit,” she said, still smiling, but not without the faintest frown appearing on her forehead.

“Thanks. Likewise.”

“Aww,” Judy chuckled, “Didn’t your parents teach you not to lie?”

“No,” V said nonchalantly, “They encouraged it, actually.”

She laughed.

“But for real, V, you look tired as hell. That can’t be just from the accident. What’s goin’ on?”

V wouldn’t even know where to begin. He’d been keeping Judy somewhat up to date, whenever she asked and actually wanted to know… but obviously also not on anything concerning Blue-Eyes and the Crystal Palace gig.

“Same old story, Judy,” he eventually settled on, “I’m dying and trying to figure out a way not to. Yet, at least.”

Judy’s expression grew slightly darker again, and she pulled her legs closer, shifting in her seat slightly.

“So, even Kerry’s doctors couldn’t do anything? What about Panam, I thought she was trying to think of something, too? Find someone that could help down in Arizona?”

“Last I heard from Panam was they’d have to go radio silent for a little while,” V said, “Trouble with the Raffen, again. Last time we spoke though there was nothing new on her end either.”

“Fuuuck…” Judy cursed under her breath.

Even though they were hundreds of miles apart, for a moment it felt like they were back together on that rooftop, the same wind tugging on their clothes and hair, the same sun shining down on them.

“Don’t get mad if I suggest something,” Judy then said quietly.

“I’m too tired to get mad,” V said without thinking, but really, it was true.

Judy hesitated a few more moments, looking over her shoulder, and V believed to see glistening water behind her, the Pacific probably. Then she turned back to look at him.

“What if… you’d just let it happen,” she said, voice quiet and slightly shaky, “And shit, I’m not saying this lightly but… You’re destroying yourself over this. I hate watching you run into dead ends over and over again, with no progress.”

“You mean, my time was borrowed anyway, and I should just accept it’s time to give it back?” V asked, trying his best not to sound too judgmental.

Judy said no word, just nodded. V looked to his feet, then back up at the sky. He took a deep breath.

“Not like it hasn’t crossed my mind yet,” he admitted then, “I have… one more option available right now, but if that also leads to nothing… I’m running out of time as is.”

“That’s what I mean,” Judy said, “You’re running and running… but maybe you just can’t outrun this. You’re just exhausting yourself. Chasing something that might not exist. You and me both know Night City’s great promises….”

“I know…” V said quietly.

“Why not spend the time you have left actually living,” she added after a moment, “Instead of running yourself into the ground even faster…”

They sat in silence for a few moments, just listening to the wind, and V was sure now to hear the crashing ocean waves on Judy’s end. She’d invited him to tag along a handful of times already, even if only for a while… but even though he sometimes wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Night City. Not yet at least… and not without Kerry.

“Easier said than done,” he said eventually, “You know me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Judy laughed weakly, “Hell-bent on getting your way, whatever it takes.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say whatever it takes…” V tried to reason but Judy shook her head vehemently.

“Nope, we’re not having this discussion again,” she laughed, then paused briefly once more, “But anyway, let’s drop the doom and gloom… I called not only to check in on you. Wanted to ask if you have time around the… 15th?”

“Around the 15th, or on the 15th?”

“Oh, shut up!” Judy grumbled, but was smiling again, “Block off the whole week if you gotta, Mr. Important. But… yeah, I’ll pass through NC. And I thought, if you have time, we could hang. Rooftop pizza and all included.”

“Really?” V smiled, “Yeah, of course, would be awesome!”

“Nova,” Judy said, “Then hang in there until I’m back at least to punch you in the shoulder one more time for being a gonk.”

“Wouldn’t wanna pass that up,” V said.

Judy nodded.

“Alright… V, I gotta go now if I wanna make it to my destination before sunset. But it was really good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Judy,” V said, “Next time in person. Lemme know when you actually get here.”

“I will keep you posted,” she said, “Take care, and – damn who am I tellin’ this – but still: be careful who you put your trust in.”

With a little wave and wink she ended the call.

V sighed, lowered his phone and his head and closed his eyes. Just letting it happen, let madness and death come take him… In the end it would boil down to exactly this most likely, no matter what he did to postpone it. But that was it… All he wanted was a little more time. Not even necessarily for his own sake at this point, but for Kerry… give him a little more time to adjust, gain some more stability back in his life so he would be able to better cope with inevitably losing him to this mess. And give himself the time to cope with the fact that he’d leave the love of his life behind at 28, all the unlikely friends he’d made, that he’d achieved so much and yet so little that truly mattered in the grand scheme of things…

As if he’d summoned him by thinking this the door to the stairwell swung open and Kerry appeared from the shadows.

“Heeeey… was it… him?” he asked slowly as he stepped closer, carefully almost.

“Judy,” V grinned, waving his phone briefly before sliding it into his back pocket.

“Ah, fuck,” Kerry sighed, but again seemed somewhat relieved. He stopped right next to V, leaned against the railing overlooking the city as well, and then pulled out his cigarettes.

“You gotta start calling people back, I can’t take these jump scares anymore.”

“I really gotta,” V smiled quietly and got up from his chair to hug Kerry from behind, resting his chin on his left shoulder to follow his gaze.

“What’d she want?” Kerry asked with a cigarette in his mouth, needing a couple of attempts to light it in the strong winds up here. V reached around to help shield the lighter’s tiny flame with his hands.

“Check in on me,” V said, “Aaand… she’s gonna come to Night City sometime next week.”

Kerry made a surprised humming noise, then wriggled to turn around, trying not to blow the smoke of his first drag into V’s face in his excitement, which proved to be rather difficult. V suppressed a cough and leaned back a little until Kerry had figured out how he wanted to position himself now.

“Sorry, babe,” he said sheepishly, lowering the cigarette, “But… you’re meanin’ I’ll finally get to meet the famous Judy? My man’s best friend that skipped town before I even knew he existed?”

“I’d hope so, yeah,” V smiled, but at the same time his heart was heavy still from the topic of their conversation.

“Preem,” Kerry said and took another drag, this time a bit more mindful of how closely they stood, leaning back against the rail now, “Somethin’ to look forward to, right?”

“Yeah, it is,” V nodded.

Kerry breathed out another plume of smoke, looking up to the sky, exposing his neck and shimmering implants to V… and V couldn’t resist and placed a quick kiss right where Kerry’s Adams apple would have been, eliciting a raspy chuckle from somewhere beneath the warm, smooth, black metal.

“Sneaky. Stealin’ kisses, too, now, huh?” Kerry asked and leaned in to capture V’s lips, his tongue tasting of bitter smoke and coffee, soft and raw at the same time. V clung to Kerry’s jacket for a moment, then let his hands slide underneath it and along his slim waist, annoyed by the barrier his t-shirt created between his skin and V’s fingertips.

“Been told I’m the best when it comes to stealin’ all manners of things,” he whispered against Kerry’s mouth.

“Can confirm,” Kerry chuckled, “Stole my heart, too. Didn’t even notice ‘til it was too late.”

He leaned in again, deepened their kiss, and V closed his eyes and tried to just enjoy the moment – live his life for once, instead of worrying about the future. The taste of Kerry’s lips, his hot breath, his hand on his waist trailing down to the small of his back pulling V snugly against him, warm and soft and strong, holding him as they were both embraced by the sun and wind… and of course, right then and there, V’s phone started ringing again.

Unknown Caller ID.

*****************

>> Next Chapter

*****************

Notes:

Thanks so much for reading! I know this was a long one (and I was half tempted to split it into two chapters where the POV changed, but ended up keeping it all in one because it's all about the uncertainty and aaahhh! So yeah XD)

Also, this really was an excuse to write some Kerry in the studio fluff, which I'd wanted to do for a long time :3 Also, there's so many drawing ideas in this chapter hhhhhh... The day needs more hours for all the stuff I wanna draw with them xD

Next time there's gonna be some more action again!

Requested Fic Update Tags:

@humberg @r3d-f0x-blog @thatinternetwanderer @localtranspigeon @projectdanse @kharonion @genocidalfetus

If you'd also like to get tagged when I post a new chapter for this fic, leave a reply on [this post] or send me a DM!

If you do not want to receive further tags, shoot me a quick DM and I'll take you off the list again!

[yellowcry]

The weight of responsibility

Abuela had always said that Isabela would be great as her successor. But she never told Isabela what she would be supposed to do

Cracked au

Abuela always told Isabela that she's going to be a great leader. As a child, she took this as a great compliment, imagining herself at her grandma's place, everyone would love her so much!

Growing up, Isabela started to realize that this was way deeper than just giving some advice to townspeople and being worshiped. But Granny kept saying that Isabela would be great at her place. So Isabela smiled, knowing how much of trust Abuela had put in her if she openly admitted her eldest granddaughter as her successor.

But... As much as Abuela was saying that she was going to make her a new matriarch, she never taught Isabela anything about it. The woman realized it only when Alma passed away, leaving her already grown-up nieta in charge. 

How did she have to lead? How does she plan another street? How was she supposed to control the economy in the village? Abuela taught her how to be perfect; she didn't say a word about how it was to be a leader. What should she do to solve every issue and make sure everything is under control?

The only skills Isabela had were to be pretty and distract everyone from problems; no one actually said how to deal with the part where she supports being the leader. Even with the fact that Isabela was naturally good at this, or maybe this was because of her perfectionism. She considered Abuela's work as something hard even before her grandma's death, but she never thought of how hard it actually is. The thought that she would have to carry responsibility for the whole village came after Abuela died at the first time. And by then, there was no one from whom she could demand an answer. And what was she supposed to do now? Yes, she technically could go to her parents for an advise.... But Isabela now was higher in this social ladder, she was the one to control everything. As much as she loved keeping things under control, it was never this large-scale. Even keeping her family inder control seemed to be impossible, not even mentioning all of the villagers.

She felt like everything was cracking around her. How did Abuela manage not to lose her head with this whole mess? Isabela was completely fed up with just trying to deal with Camilo and Ramona's constant arguments. Did people say that opposites attract each other? It definitely didn't work with them both. Ramona was neat, meticulous to every detail. Camilo was noisy and stuffy—a little bit crazy, just like Isabela wished to be. He couldn't keep things organized, making his wife annoyed by his childish actions. So she argued about where to put something, and Camilo, too stubborn for his own good, kept doing it as he wanted, just to get on her nerves.

They would probably be way happier with a divorce. But then it would've started some rumors in the village. And Isabela couldn't allow that. They had to be perfect in everyone's eyes. Those two just had to suck it up and solve their problems by themselves. Even if solving problems in this family usually meant to close their eyes and turn away. Becides, Isabela couldn't stand the idea of letting others escape unwanted marriage while still being stuck herself. Then there was Luisa, who just couldn't stop drinking. Isabela had lost count of how many times she caught Luisa sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night, drinking herself into unconsciousness. At first, Isabela tried to take away the bottles, but Luisa was clenching those tightly as if they were glued to her palms. Vines couldn't help either; Luisa's strength would be enough to lift all the plants Isabela ever created at once.

Luisa's love for drinking was worrying, and when Isabela was worried, she tended to get angry. The only thing that saved them both from thousands hours of arguments was the fact that Luisa didn't seem to actually care most of the time. And it was so goddamn frustrating! 

Was it Isabela's fault? She had never seen Luisa drunk before Abuela passed away. Did it happen because she couldn't handle the responsibility of the new matriarch well?

Young Isabela wished for the day when she would be the leader, respected and trusted by everyone. Now she just wished not to be. But it wasn't about what she wanted. Isabela never wanted to marry Mariano either, but she still did. She had to, for the family's sake. And, honestly, pretending that she's happy in front of everyone was way easier than being in charge of the whole town. Even with Isabela's innate ability to lead, this job took a lot. She felt like she was trown on the middle of a battlefield, completely disoriented and being forced to run from one side to another until she learned how to behave properly, handling everything she needed. 

But even if Isabela somehow managed to hold a grip on the village, the situation at home was a bit different. The youngest generation might be listening to her, obeying most of the rules, because for them, Isabela was a serious authority, but her own wasn't so willing to play this game, not even mentioning the adults. (Why did she call them adults? Her whole generation was grown up) On the other hand, the whole family was able to stay with raised heads, and that was the most important thing. Their problems would be easily left in the Casita.

How did Abuela manage to hold it all together for so long? Isabela felt that her head would explode at any moment. She had so many details to memorize: the new development and planting plans, the lists of birthdays or mournings. It was up to Isabela to make sure her family was helping, that every part of those giant clocks that Abuela's set worked as intended.

Being the leader of the city was a big honor. And even bigger responsibility.

She'll be okay.

[laughingsapphic-creates]

Inukag week, Day 2: Possession

Didn't quite make midnight on this one, but I had work. Hopefully I make tomorrow 😅

@inukag-week

~~~~~~

In My Head

"Kagura, let Kagome go! I'm your opponent right now!"

It had just seemed like a regular run-of-the-mill jewel hunt. Local demon, relatively harmless, suddenly goes haywire? Sounded like a sacred jewel shard causing problems, same as usual. And it has been a pretty standard fight, until Kagura showed up. Kagome had chased her down with sacred arrows while Inuyasha helped beat down the demon - a burrower, easily handled with reference to their fight with Kageromaru a while back - and followed once it was weak enough for Sango and Miroku to handle.

So yeah, standard fare. Until Kagura had grabbed Kagome and hauled her up onto her feather.

"Better hurry along, Inuyasha!" Kagura crowed, turning Kagome's face in her hand from her perch above the trees. "Naraku has such plans for your pretty little priestess."

"You give her back now!" He demanded, disliking how desperate he sounded.

"Inuyasha!"

Trying to avoid Kagura's notice, Kagome tossed something off the feather, and Inuyasha snatched it from the air as he leapt after them. The cool glass and faint rattle of its contents told him what he needed to know without taking his eyes off of the rapidly shrinking transport.

Inuyasha did his best to take chase, but as the feather rose into the sky, and the wind whipped their scent trail into nothing, Inuyasha slowed, trying to keep sight of the speck he thought was them until they vanished into the clouds.

He kept running in the direction they had disappeared in, a shout of frustration clawing its way from his throat.

"Inuyasha!"

Skidding to a halt, he turned to watch as Kilala landed on his left, with Sango, Shippo, and Miroku in tow.

"It was a trap. Kagura grabbed Kagome and flew off with her," he growled. "She used the cloud cover to hide before she could get too far, and I can't pick up their scent anymore."

"Great. Just perfect," Sango sighed fingers tightening in Kilala's fur. Miroku held up a tainted shards, frowning at it.

"We got the shard that Naraku planted on that demon, but lost Kagome in exchange. It was a distraction, but a costly one for him. He probably thinks he'll take it back easily when we go to rescue Kagome."

"But if Naraku wants the shard back," Shippo considered, "why did he make it so hard for Inuyasha to follow Kagura?"

Inuyasha looked down at the vial in his hand, gritting his teeth with another growl as his fingers clenched around the glass. With barely a thought, he lifted the little bottle to his mouth, pulling the cork out with his teeth and dumping their one remaining shard into his hand.

"Inuyasha! What do you think you're doing!?"

The half demon looked at Sango, the crystal point pinched between two claws.

"I've had what we'll call a scientific theory for a while, and now seems as good a time as any to test it," he stated, looking at the shard as he spoke. "Naraku can communicate with and control demons and humans through shards he's corrupted, right? Is it that wild to think that maybe Kagome could do the same for shards that she's purified?"

"Yes! That is wild! And crazy, and stupid!" Shippo decided, jumping to Miroku's shoulder to try and draw Inuyasha's attention more easily.

"And what do you suggest? Kagura's wind blew out any scent trail they might have left, and she got away fast enough that she was out of sight before you three even spotted me. She could've changed directions once they were out of sight, so we'd end up running even further away before we figure out where they've gone!"

"You shouldn't rely on the jewel's power like that. We've seen what it can do to other demons, you can't be so cavalier about this," Miroku insisted, clearly agreeing with Shippo.

"Would ya just listen? I ain't interested in the power right now! Kagome's spiritual power purified the jewel. Don't get me wrong, I know what it's still capable of. But if Kagome's spiritual power is in this shard, it could connect me to her so I can track her." Pulling the collar of his robe down, Inuyasha used a claw to cut slightly into the skin there. "Look, worst case scenario, it won't work and I'll take it right back out, I promise."

Sango paused, watching blood bead at the cut beneath Inuyasha's throat. He could see her considering as she met his eyes - it was definitely a risk, they both knew that. But if it worked, it might be a way that they could save Kohaku the next chance they got.

Another beat passed, and she placed a hand on Miroku's free shoulder.

"We'll try it, just for a minute or two. We don't know if Kagome is able to connect through the shards the way Naraku is, but if she can, it should only take a moment to establish a connection."

Inuyasha nodded, hesitating for only a moment before pressing the jewel shard into his open wound.

Immediately, he felt the low-level aches and scrapes from his altercation with Kagura and the other demon fade - skin knit back together, pains eased, and Inuyasha felt the skin beneath his throat close up around the jagged edges of the shard. Power coursed through him, and he could immediately understand why other demons got addicted to this. He could sense the darkness trying to take hold, but more than that, he felt the warmth and light that he'd come to associate with Kagome's reiki.

Clawed fingers still resting on the jewel at his collar, he reached out in his head, looking for the parts that felt the most like her.

Kagome? Come on, talk to me. Can you hear me?

There was a beat of silence, and he could feel the others looking at him.

"Alright, Inuyasha, I think it's time-"

Something reached back.

He shushed Miroku, trying to focus.

Kagome?

I-Inuyasha?

"I've got her," he announced

Kagome! Are you okay?

I'm fine, we're still flying. What are you doing in my head?

I used the jewel shard to connect with you. Listen, can you see any landmarks we can use to find you?

The jewel-? Inuyasha! That's not why I threw it to you and you know it!

Explanation later. I'll take it out after we find you, just tell me where you are!

An image flashed in his mind: the mountains to their right, already much closer but still distant, and with a dark, unnatural shadow on what should've been the sunny face. And if he really focused, he could feel a tug on his chest, pulling him towards the mountain.

You hang in there, Kagome. We'll be there soon.

Smirking softly to himself, Inuyasha looked up at the mountain peak Kagome had shown him.

"There! That mountain! They're getting close to Naraku's castle!"

Kilala transformed and they mounted up, taking to the skies.

Inuyasha scanned the clouds for any glimpse of Kagura's feather, but found himself distracted by the lightness in his head. Kagome's presence was somehow a one-to-one mix of mental fog and perfect clarity. He couldn't hear the thoughts she wasn't intentionally thinking at him, but he got some impressions - indignation and righteous fury (he wondered if what kagara had said to trigger that), but also a confidence that was almost smug. She was hundreds of feet in the air, with Kagura, on her way to Naraku's castle, and he could barely feel any fear from her. It was an afterthought, barely worthy of note.

He didn't know what being possessed by Naraku through a jewel shard felt like first hand, but according to Sango and Kagome, it was a dark, cloying sort of thing. Like your head was filled with miasma and rot and decay that made you willing to do anything for relief. Inuyasha yasha had quietly likened it to his faint memories of being a full demon when the Tessaiga broke for the first time. That constant stream of RIP/TEAR/ENDURE/SURVIVE/KILL that occasionally reared its head in his nightmares didn't sound too similar to their experiences, but it was the closest comparison he had.

Having Kagome in his head, meanwhile, felt like the polar opposite of that wild, cornered animal that he had become in demon form. Comfort instead of desperation, compassion instead of cruelty. It was hard to say if it was the spiritual power or just Kagome herself, but either way, it was probably the closest to enlightenment that Inuyasha would ever get.

This feels weird, right? Kagome asked, her voice light and sweet against his consciousness. Not bad, but definitely weird.

You're telling me, he agreed, wondering what sort of impressions she might've gotten from him, if any.

As if hearing the question out loud, her voice came again.

You need to relax. I can feel you stressing from here.

You're one to talk! Where the hell is your sense of self-preservation?! In case you missed it, you're being kidnapped and brought to Naraku!

You and the others aren't far behind, right? What's there to worry about?

That impression of confidence he felt before strengthened, pushing out that negligible sense of fear. He wasn't sure if she could feel the pride/wonder/satisfaction that he felt in response. He knew, after so much time together, that Kagome trusted him. That she believed he would and could come and clutch when she needed him. It was different, though, to feel it in his own head with the same surety as the phases of the moon or the cycle of seasons. Sun shines, grass grows, birds fly, and he and Kagome protect each other.

You're closing in on us; I can sense the jewel now, not just you. How do you want to do this?

"We're getting close," Inuyasha announced. "Stay low and stay quiet."

Is Kagura holding on to you?

No, I'm sitting behind her now. But she keeps glaring over her shoulder at me

They were getting quite close to the shadow in the mountainside, and Inuyasha could now make out the silhouette of the castle.

Inuyasha paused, refocusing on the clouds. As soon as the cloud cover passed for just a moment, his eyes were drawn right to Kagome's figure on the back end of the feather, a good ways above and a bit ahead of them.

"Sango," he hummed, voice soft but laced with a venomous determination. He nodded up at the shape floating overhead. "As soon as Kagome drops down, be ready to knock that witch out of the sky. I'll give Kagome some extra hang time, but try and catch us before we get too cozy with the ground, got it?"

Sango nodded, adjusting her weapon and letting Miroku and Shippo lean out of the way. Inuyasha brought his feet up, crouching on Kirara's hindquarters. Giving everyone a glance over, Inuyasha looked back up at the feather, catching Kagome looking at him.

As soon as she looks away from you again, fall back off the feather.

There was nearly a breath of hesitation before he felt the confirmation/understanding/trust in response, and he didn't even have time to enjoy the rush of warmth he felt in response before her voice in his head muttered here goes nothing.

He saw Kagura shift, and right on cue, Kagome quietly leaned back and slipped right off the tip of the feather.

Inuyasha leapt lightly from Kilala's back, angling himself to his descent aligned with Kagome's. He heard the indignant shriek Kagura gave as she was struck, and felt Kagome's disappointment that she hadn't seen it mirror his own.

When his arms came up around her, he was caught off guard again when she let off a wave of safety/security/affection/knewyou'dbehere while smiling up at him

"Hey you," she greeted, breathless and almost laughing.

"Hey yourself," he shot back, ignoring the fact that he was definitely red in the face and there was no way she'd missed it. He looked around for Kilala, who circled around to catch them once Sango had caught her hiraikotsu. Landing easily at the base of her tails, Inuyasha helped Kagome to sit before doing so himself.

"So, do we stay or do we go?" Sango asked, looking back at them while pulling the strap of her weapon over her shoulder. "I'm guessing we only have a few minutes before the saimyosho or another incarnation shows up. Do we go to them or let them come to us?

"Put me down for a tactical retreat. We spent all morning tracking that demon and didn't even have breakfast," Shippo whined, crawling down Miroku's back and into Kagome's lap. "This is probably just another fakey illusion castle with another fakey puppet Naraku. And if it's not, it'll still be there after we eat and rest."

"Regardless of whether it's real or not, we should take a step back and come up with a plan. Kagura wanted me at the castle, and said Naraku had plans for me. Even if it's just a puppet, no plan of his means anything good for us," Kagome pointed out. Looking back at Inuyasha, she offered a smile, pushing out reminders for food/rest/comfort toward him. Ears flattening, he sighed, crossing his arms.

"The edge of the forest. Away from any villages. If we're gonna get attacked, last thing we need is a bunch of humans caught in the crossfire."

Kagome's smile softened, and she leaned back against him. An hour or two to rest, and maybe play with this connection a little more before diving back into danger.

~~~~~~

Shippo, stop kicking the fourth wall, you're gonna break it.

If I wanted to get this posted tonight, I had to cut it off here. But Kagome being able to connect with people through purified jewel shards the way Naraku does tainted ones is something I've idly played with before, and I might touch on it again just for funsies.

[starkerlove]

it's been a long time and miss you so much! Teacher/student au request where Peter is a midtown student and he has a crush on his married Pe teacher, tony. He can't help but naughty daydreams about him until one it felt real

Hi there! I hope you like it! 

Peter Parker was a good student, maybe one of the best of the entire school, there was only one subject he didn't succeed, and that was PE. 

It wasn't that Peter didn't like sports, he did. But his professor was totally distracting. 

Professor Stark was strong, broad shoulders, a perfect goatee adorning his jaw. It made Peter go crazy for him. 

Everytime he flexed his muscles Peter lost a little bit more of his sanity. The man was married for God's sake! 

Still, the young student couldn't help but daydream. Being pressed by his professor against a wall and fucked right there at the gym. Of being forced on his knees in the locker room, to suck his professor's dick. 

It was all fantasies and dreams, until… it wasn't. 

Stark pressed Peter against a wall "Why don't you pay attention to class? You're going to fail the whole year because of PE, Parker!" 

"I'm… I'm sorry sir…" 

"You have to make an effort!" 

"I do sir! But… but…" 

"what's on your mind that distracts you so damn much?" 

"You" 

"me?" Stark smirked, "Is that so? Let's see what you can do to pass this subject huh?" 

"anything you want sir"

"anything?" 

"yes" 

Tony pulled him by the collar of his shirt to his personal office, licking the door behind them. 

He pushed Peter on his stomach against his desk, his hard on against Peter's bum. 

"let's see how much you want to pass" tony growled, squeezing Peter's ass, making the boy moan "Quiet! You don't want anyone to hear us do you?"

"no sir… I'm sorry" Peter stuttered 

"pull your shorts down. Boxers too" 

Peter did as he was told, exposing his white round ass to him. 

"such a pretty thing" Tony smiled, squeezing and pinching the boy's bum once more, before stroking his cock. 

He pulled his own pants down, grabbing a bottle of lube and spreading all over his dick, slowly pressing himself inside the boy. 

"fuck sir!" Peter had to bite his hand to keep himself quiet, it was like he was being torn apart in two pieces by Tony's huge cock. 

"you'll let me use you and you won't touch yourself" Tony warned, pressing himself completely inside the younger one. "understand?" 

"yes sir"

"good boy" tony replied before fucking him mercilessly pounding against his ass, deep and strong until he came inside the boy 

Peter was on the edge but did his best not to touch himself. 

Tony pulled back and dressed Peter's boxers and shorts once more, before dressing himself.

He smirked when he saw his come staining the behind of Peter's shorts. Turning him around he saw Peter's dick, hard showing under his shorts. 

"now go to class and don't touch yourself" 

"but sir… how am I going out like this?" 

"that's your problem, Parker. From now on I'm the only one who can touch this" he squeezed Peter's ass "and this" then he squeezed Peter's hard cock, that was smearing pre come on the front of his shorts as well "You're going to walk around like that, all stained with my come and not say a word to anyone" 

"understand?"

"yes sir" 

(is it just me or the idea of walking around with someone Tony's come inside of him and a hard on super hot?)

[iboatedhere]

“Now, everyone knows the navel, but the real star of the orange family is the cara cara,” Owen says as he gestures to the platter of perfectly sliced orange wedges on the table in front of him. “It’s sweet, and doesn’t have too many seeds….like a cross between a naval and a blood orange. Go ahead,” he says as he pushes the tray forward. “Take one. I brought plenty of extra since I’m betting they’re going to go quickly.”

TK rolls his eyes then smiles at one of Jonah’s teammates who shyly asks him for a bottle of organic, low sugar apple juice.

It’s his week to bring refreshments to the game, and he was happy for the help when his father offered, but so far, all Owen has been doing is flirting with mom’s over orange slices while TK fights for his life, trying to remember which kid is allergic to red dye #40 and who can’t have processed wheat products.

“I used to eat these all the time when I was growing up in Santa Monica,” Owen continues, “there used to be a tree in our backyard.”

“You’re from California?” One of the mother’s asks as she pushes her hair behind her ear.

Owen nods. “California, and then I moved to New York City….spent that first summer as a lifeguard in the Hamptons…it’s where I realized I wanted to be a firefighter, that that was my calling.”

“A lifeguard to a firefighter, you’ve been a hero your whole life.”

TK groans as his father puffs out his chest.

“Well,” Owen says, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would,” another woman says. “TK, you never mentioned how interesting your father was.”

“Yeah, he’s really interesting,” TK says, “I think the most interesting things about him are that he’s nearly sixty and he’s been divorced twice.”

The smiles slowly slip from their faces as they make their excuses to head back to the bleachers.

“Thanks a lot,” Owen says and TK rolls his eyes. “What? You’re the only one that’s allowed to find love at the little league game?”

“You are not finding love with those women.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, dad, you misunderstood. You. Are not. Finding love. With those women.”

“Why not?”

“They’re too young for you.”

“They’re not that much younger.”

“I’m pretty sure at least two of them are younger than me.”

Owen looks like he’s about to argue before he presses his lips together into a thin line and winces.

“Yeah,” TK says.

“Well, anyway, this is still fun. We should really invite the 126 to come to a game. I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

“Jonah wouldn’t like that. They’d be loud and he doesn’t even like it when I cheer for him like that. Which reminds me, you have to be cool. Don’t go crazy, don’t storm the field if you don’t agree with a call.”

“I would never do that.”

“The softball game doesn’t ring a bell? I guess getting punched in the face might mess with your memory.”

“That was an AFD-APD softball game against adults, not a child’s game. Plus O’Brien was being a—.” He cuts himself off as a couple of kids run by the table. “Butthead.”

TK snorts. “Nice.”

“Maybe we could have a cookout or something once the season ends. I could fire up the grill, you can invite Carlos and his niece.”

“Yeah,” TK says quickly, “maybe, I don’t know.”

“You know they miss you, right? They ask me about you because you don’t always text back.”

“I’m busy, dad. There’s a six year old that lives with me that needs me. I can’t spend my day sending cat memes back and forth.”

“I don’t think they expect you to do that.”

“I see Judd, sometimes. And Grace. And Mateo when we come over to hang out with Buttercup.”

“Okay,” Owen says. “All right.”

“I miss them,” TK says. “But I don’t know how to be around them right now, not after what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything, TK.”

“What I almost did. What I was going to do. How can they trust me?”

“They love you, that grants you some grace.”

“That’s unprofessional.”

“We’re a family,” Owen says as he squeezes TK’s shoulder. “We’re bound to be a little unprofessional from time to time.”

TK nods. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Owen says. “We’re all here for you. We’re all on your side.”

TK nods as Jo suddenly calls his name.

“TK!” She calls, limping up to him with Carlos following behind, holding the first aid kit. “TK I need you!”

“What happened?” TK asks as he gets to his feet.

“She fell off the bench,” Carlos says, “even after I warned her to get down because I knew that would happen.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Jo says with a stomp of her good leg. “I’m hurt.”

“It’s a scraped knee,” Carlos tells her. “I could put a bandaid on it for you.”

“I want TK to do it. He’s the paramedic.”

“Can’t argue with that,” TK says as he helps Jo onto the chair he vacated, and takes the first aid kit from Carlos with a wink. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

[twignotstick]

TMNT: SECOND SHOT - Arc 1, Chapter 4: Tiny's First Checkup 🩺

<- Chapter 3: Family Gathering 🐢

Warnings (if there's anything I should add here, tell me please!): descriptions of wounds & care of said wounds (slightly more graphic this time), feral behavior

Words: 3,667

Summary: The doctor's in!

----------------------

When Irma found out that April needed a new roommate, she hopped on the opportunity. Her boyfriend at the time was being sucky on and off, so he wasn't a reliable place to stay. And, honestly, no matter how much she loved her girlfriends, she would go crazy living with them in a New York apartment. She almost considered going to live with Warren and Hypno, but there was so much closeted energy there that she did not want to get in the middle of it.

April, however, was the best roommate. She picked up where Irma faltered and didn't mind if she stayed out late. She stayed quiet when Irma was recovering from a hangover. Heck, she was just fun to hang out with too, regardless of how much younger she was.

Irma loved roping April into random events on campus and off. One weekend, she'd drag April off to a bowling alley with some of her buddies, and the next she'd surprise her with concert tickets (plus a ticket for CJ, of course). So, whenever April tried to rope Irma into something, Irma swore she would never say no.

Irma was sort of wishing she hadn't made that promise now. She hadn't expected it to result in getting dragged by the wrist through a sewer tunnel.

“Okay,” Irma said, picking her feet up slightly more to avoid a pile of something on the floor, “can we go over one more time why I have a ton of medical equipment in a sewer? Because you've been really selectively cagey so far Roja-”

“There's an animal down here who's hurt, okay?” April said, finally stopping to look at her confused roommate. “Or, maybe it's…” April's eyes fell to the side before whipping back. “Listen, you're the only person who I know that might have the knowledge to help him out. Me and CJ have been building trust with him and his family for a week now, and we can't wait any longer.”

“Aaalright, so, is he an animal or a person?” Irma asked, grabbing onto her bag strap near her hip. “You're using the vocab pretty interchangeably.”

“Yes.”

Irma blinked, but April's expression remained completely serious. “Okay?”

The two continued forward, and a cacophony of animal sounds started echoing in the halls. Irma could recognize that of a rat immediately, but the other voices were something else; something reptilian, but she couldn't quite place it.

Turtles. They were turtles. Enormous, unfathomably humanoid turtles.

And a tortoise, but that's basically semantics.

There were three turtles/tortoises present, along with a giant rat (oh wow, that really was a rat). One, the giant one, appeared to be some sort of sea turtle, judging by the webbed hands and feet and the shape of the head. It was looming over the whole group, already looking in April and Irma's direction when they rounded the corner. The tortoise was unbothered by their arrival, instead seeming enamored by the contents of a green lunchbox. The rat was hunched up next to him, also watching April and Irma.

In the middle of the walkway, slightly closer, was the other turtle. He was rolling around a water bottle, covered in grime. Every once in a while, he would pick up the bottle's lid in his beak and tap it on the floor, chittering in response to the “dunk” sound it made.

He seemed to be favoring one leg.

“Wow, you weren't lying,” Irma whispered, her breath hardly entering her lungs.

“You aren't, like,” April started, walking up to Irma's side, “freaking out or anything?”

“Oh no, I am,” Irma said, wide eyed. “But I think if I scream, I might get mauled. And this is New York, what's the worst that could come of just believing this?”

April nodded. “Valid. Well,” she started gesturing, “the big guy is Old Navy, the rat is Papa, Mr. Big Shell is Wit, and this adorable little guy is Tiny.”

“Tiny” started chirping loudly, and the rat snickered.

(‘I can't believe we're letting them call me that. Scav gets a name because he's so smart, and I get a name because I'm barely smaller than him.’

‘She is not wrong, my son. You are quite small.’)

Tiny grabbed the water bottle and threw it at the ground hard, making it bounce away. If Irma didn't know better, she would have said that was a show of joy.

However, unlike April and CJ, she did know better.

“I don't think he likes that name,” Irma said calmly, rousing a squeak from the small turtle. “Well, if they can understand English, that is.”

“Oh, they can,” April explained. “Well, Tiny and Papa understand the best. Wit understands pretty well too, but Spiky and Old Navy don't get it.” April gasped softly before adding on, “Spiky's the fourth one, he isn't here.”

“...wait, is this why you and CJ have been talking about going to Old Navy so much?”

“...yyyeaah…”

Irma sighed. “Alright, ignoring the insane implications of these guys existing, I have a duty to perform as a medical professional.” She sat down and opened her comically large first aid bag. “I will be interrogating you, and them if I can, whenever this is resolved.” Irma grabbed a pair of gloves from the bag and snapped them on, using proper technique. “Aight tortugas (y rato), who needs help?”

While Old Navy looked oblivious as to what was asked, Wit and Papa both turned to Tiny, who was looking around in an attempt of feigned ignorance.

Irma scooted across the floor with her supplies to reach Tiny. “It's okay, tortugito. Can I see your leg?”

Tiny squinted at Irma, but hesitantly rolled backward into a more seated position to show Irma his right leg. A metal fishing hook was caught in the back of his calf, with a line wrapping around and knotting over itself. The wound looked as if it had been trying to heal, but with the hook's intrusion, it wasn't pretty.

“Eeesh…” Irma hissed. She looked through her bag and pulled out a small pair of scissors, reaching toward the line-

Tiny screamed on contact, and his limbs retracted into his shell. Well, mostly. His injured leg apparently hurt too much to fully retract, so it was part way out, and his head was thrown to the side instead of pulled backwards (a trait of his turtle species, likely). He was chirping and hissing loudly, but it didn't look to be out of fear; instead, his tear filled eyes only reflected pain.

Old Navy roared up and ran over. He grabbed Tiny's shell with one hand and started trying to pull his head upright again with the other. Papa was hissing loudly to the side, and Wit looked like he was close to hiding in his own shell. All the while, Tiny was just screaming.

(‘Scout, you need to get out! You're only hurting yourself more!’

MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMAKEIT-!’)

After a few grueling minutes of Tiny screaming and thrashing, Old Navy was able to pull his limbs and neck back out of his shell. He sat down in a similar fashion to Tiny before, holding the smaller turtle's limbs to prevent him from retreating again. Tiny had quieted down, but he was still whimpering and had heavy tears falling down his smiling face.

April was catatonic, but Irma was concerned. Something other than that fishing hook was doubling the pain Tiny was feeling, and hiding in his shell made it worse. 

“I promise I'll work as fast as I can, okay?” Irma whispered, inching closer with the scissors again. Tiny's thrashing and whimpering grew more intense, but Old Navy kept his grip. He made sure to have a good hold on the injured leg with his own.

Blocking out the chirping cries, Irma pulled the fishing line just enough to start cutting it loose. It was some heavy duty stuff, but with enough brute force, it started to unwind in a minute or so. Irma made sure to work quickly but carefully with the twitching limb. The line left behind deep grooves, but only a few thin incisions. Judging by how Tiny's toes started flinching after a moment, the circulation had been nearly cut off before.

All that remained was the hook. Lumpy scar tissue already surrounded the puncture, which would have to be disturbed to remove it. After a moment of deliberation, Irma turned around and grabbed a towel from her first aid kit. She folded it over and held it up to Tiny's mouth. He didn't understand.

“Bite down on this,” Irma explained. “This is going to hurt a lot more.”

Tiny hiccuped and sniffed, but obliged as he screwed his eyes closed. He turned his face to lay against his big brother's plastron.

“I wish I had some fast acting painkillers, I really do…”

Tiny thrashed and screamed. The hook really wasn't that big, no longer than the upper part of Irma's thumb, but it was stuck. April was on the floor now, comforting Wit, who was crying along with Tiny. Old Navy let go of one of Tiny's arms in favor of holding his head so he wouldn't thrash forward.

(‘Fight it, please.. ‘)

The wound was quickly getting bloody. No matter how tiny that hook was, it was barbed, so it wasn't coming out without a fight. The skin started to rip and fold upwards, and Irma saw her only opportunity. She grabbed a small scalpel from her bag and made the tiniest incision she could at the base of the hook's entry, allowing some of the scar tissue to come loose with it. The hole left behind was bigger than she wanted, but the hook was out.

Tiny was barking out now, and Old Navy was struggling to keep the towel in his beak. Wit was clutching tightly onto April, and Papa was rubbing his back.

Irma rushed to disinfect the wound and wrap it properly. A noticeable amount of blood was spilling out, but not enough to be truly worried about. Just enough to really hurt. When the bandage was being wound, Tiny's screams devolved into growls and whimpers again, and he looked like he might snap his own neck with how far he was trying to throw it to the side. Even though his arm was free, it did not retract.

As Irma finished wrapping the wound, she spoke. “All over, tortugito. You did great.” She turned to look at the others still in the hallway. “Papa?”

The rat perked up.

“Try to get him to sleep. It will take some time for the scar tissue to regrow, but for now, he needs rest. Make sure he's drinking water and eating when he can. I don't know if he can safely take any serious painkillers, but small doses of acetaminophen are generally safe for any animal.” Irma grabbed a pill bottle out of her bag. “Let him take one pill every 6 hours, just to be safe. If it shows no signs of adverse effects, we can up his dosage.”

Old Navy had let go of Tiny's limbs and the smaller turtle was just clutching onto the edges of his big brother's plastron, sobbing. Wit crawled over to rub circles on Tiny's carapace like their rat father had been doing to him moments before.

If the scene just before hadn't just occurred, one could think that Tiny was crying tears of joy. That was what his smile might lead you to believe.

Taking a second to breathe, Irma moved closer to April and the rat to hand off the pills.

“Wow,” April said, “Dr. Irma is way different from roommate Irma.”

“What can I say?” Irma shrugged, putting her things away. “I'm flexible and multi-talented.”

“Understatement of the century,” April huffed. Irma spotted a twitch on the corner of her mouth.

“Hey, don't put me up while putting yourself down,” she said, punching April's shoulder. “Makes me look bad.”

“Okay, okay, jeez. You punch hard.”

Irma laughed and looked back over at the turtles. Tiny's crying was finally calming down. He kept almost pulling his limbs into his shell, but flinching and putting them back. Wit had moved up to sit in Old Navy's lap with him, wiping tears from his face. The whole ordeal was so… human.

(‘It h-hurts… why does it have to hurt so much…’

‘I don't know, Little Brother, but you're doing so good.’)

“So, how did you find them?”

April pushed her glasses up. “Wit was taking food scraps from Murakami's. We didn't know for sure that he was living with the rest of them until about a week ago. We've been helping them with food for almost 2 months now.”

“And what else do you know about them? Do you know what they were before?”

“Nothing else, really… What do you mean, ‘what they were’?”

Irma scoffed. “They're clearly results of some sort of genetic experimentation. A genetic mutation, even. They must have been either turtles or humans before.”

“Well,” April shifted to sit criss-cross, “if it means anything, they act a little more like turtles than people. I mean, Wit peed on me when we met.”

“OH, WHAT? Dude, that's grody!!”

April laughed. “Yeah! Remember how I didn't go to Taylor's party?”

“...you're kidding. I knew that wasn't just my hangover!”

The two girls laughed back and forth for a bit as Irma put together all the inconsistencies from the past few weeks. The turtles, specifically Wit, started listening in at some point. The rat wandered off silently as well.

As Irma calmed down from a bout of laughter, she let out a deep exhale. “You know,” she started, “I have a professor that might know more about these guys.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Dr. Stockman is, like, a genetics mastermind. He talks sometimes about how he used to work with genetic modification. He doesn't do it anymore, but maybe he could figure out more about them.”

April hummed and considered the proposition. “Maybe I'll talk to him,” she said. “I don't want to get more people involved in this than necessary.”

“That's valid.”

Irma still felt a little weightless with all of the realizations she was making. She knew April was a good person. This, however, was a whole different ball game. She had been helping care for a family of mutants for months, with only CJ by her side. The mutants didn't look that old, either. Well, other than the rat. He looked ancient.

But April had been dedicating so much time to them.

And had completely neglected someone else.

“...so, I had some plans this Saturday,” Irma said, leaning over April's shoulder.

April's eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I was actually gonna meet up with Caseyyy at the paaark…” Irma straightened back up, leaning over the other way and letting her head hang.

April inhaled sharply as her eyes widened. “Oh my- I totally forgot about that…”

“I'm not going, though,” Irma stated bluntly.

“What?” April squinted at her. “Why not? You never dip out on plans!”

“Dios mio, you're right!” Irma gasped with mock surprise. “I guess someone has to go instead of me.”

April shifted, trying to shake off the redness in her face. “Yeah, I guess someone does…” she mumbled.

It was Irma's turn to squint now, as she dropped her shoulders. “...April.”

“You can't just expect me to meet up with her with no one else there, Irm!” April crawled over to Irma, grabbing onto her shirt and shaking her slightly. “I'm a total MESS! She's gonna think I'm weird, and she'll never want to talk to me again, or even look at me! I'll have to leave the country, move to CANADA! Do you want to condemn me to that fate?!”

“To what fate?” Irma laughed. “Free healthcare?”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!”

(‘What are they talking about, Scout?’

‘...I think the redhead has a crush?’)

“Just go, okay?” Irma grabbed April's shoulder and rubbed it harshly. “I promise, Cassie wants to talk to you. I mean, you're all she asks about.”

April sat up and looked at Irma incredulously. “Wwwhat?”

“Yeah! Ever since I promised her you were going to be at that party, which you weren't,” she hissed through her teeth, “she's been begging to talk to you.” Irma leaned to the side and whispered, “And a little more, but y'know-”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Irma fumbled, regaining her normal timbre easily. “Just do it, Roja. I'll take it as my payment for saving tortugito's leg.”

April looked over to the turtles who were all staring at their conversation intently.

Irma was many things, but she was not a liar.

“Okay,” April sighed, and a smile immediately hit Irma's face. “I'll do it, if she really wants to see me. I'll do it for her.”

Irma rolled onto her knees. “Who ya doin it for?” she egged.

“I'm doing it for her!”

“And why?!”

“Because Cassie deserves it!”

“Who does she deserve?!”

“Me, I guess!!”

“And who do YOU deserve?!”

“NOT HER!”

“...we'll get there.”

----------------------

Someplace in Manhattan, a girl was pacing in her room. Posters and shelves covered the walls, with various jersey numbers plastered everywhere. The shelves were full with trophies. Mostly small plastic ones; the bigger, real metal ones had a small case reserved for them. Hockey sticks, some broken and some untouched, were suspended on the walls with mounts and tucked away into every corner. Some posters were for underground bands, some were just papers for various events around New York that were clearly ripped off of telephone poles.

This was the room of Cassandra “Cassie” Casey Jones, and currently, she was pacing along the groove that she had been building in her carpet for months. Her body was stocky, yet short. Her dark black hair was ruffled and layered, cut in a short style atop her head that framed her slightly rounded face. Her eyes were equally dark, and they were staring down at her phone. It was turned off.

Her mind had been plagued with a single thought for months. The thought had been hiding in her mind for years now, just waiting for a time to surface and consume Cassie's every waking moment. A thought that she had tried to learn as much as she could about from her cousin, CJ. A thought that she had been chasing away with hours of extra hockey practice and anything else that could keep her brain occupied.

A thought with a name. April O'Neil.

Cassie hadn't stopped thinking about April, not since she thought she had a chance of actually spending time with her. They had spoken, sure. But that was only because CJ didn't see a text saying that Cassie was at April's to pick him up (because he had fallen asleep) and she had to come to the door. And that exchange was painfully brief.

It was the only time she had actually heard April's voice properly. She longed to hear it again.

Cassie stopped her pacing to step out on her landing. She rested her arms on the cold metal railing and took in all the city lights. The roaring sounds of New York were almost enough to make her forget.

Almost.

“You know, if someone sees you staring from their window, they might call the cops.”

Cassie whipped around at the sound of CJ's voice. He was standing smugly in her doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“And maybe I should call the cops on YOU, for breaking into my house!” Cassie shouted incredulously, holding a hand over her heart.

CJ just laughed and joined Cassie on the landing, leaning over the railing. Cassie returned to stand next to him.

“...you still thinking about her?” CJ asked, moving to rest on one elbow and look at his cousin.

“Of COURSE I am,” Cassie groaned, rubbing her face, “what else would I be thinking about?”

“I-unno, the complexities of FNAF lore?” CJ jabbed.

“Yeah, as if.”

“I've told you everything I could, promise,” CJ consoled, looking at the floor with a hint of guilt. “Is there really anything else you want to know?”

“So much,” Cassie whispered, looking out wistfully. “So much stupid, psycho, weirdo stuff.”

CJ laughed softly. “Like?”

“Like what her hair looks like when it's down. If it falls into waves or magically straightens out effortlessly.” Cassie propped herself up with her hands and let a smile creep onto her face. “What she likes to get from a gas station on long road trips. Why she wears bright red glasses. What songs she sings in the shower. What her hands feel like, how she…”

CJ took a step away as Cassie buried her face in her hands to scream. The sound echoed a bit, but Cassie couldn't care less. Maybe if the rest of the city knew about her affliction, then fate would actually allow them to meet. To talk. Maybe Cassie could get her answers then.

“...that might get the cops called. The screaming and the creeping.”

“SHUT THE- mmmmMMmm… shut up, Casey.”

CJ snorted. “Okay, Cassandra.”

Cassie shoved CJ so hard, he looked genuinely scared he might fall of the building. Cassie didn't feel bad, of course. “Tiny but mighty” was a title she wore with pride. CJ was able to catch himself, but that just meant he didn't escape Cassie's fury. Realizing the danger he was in, he rushed out of her room as fast as he could, giggling the whole way.

And Cassie was left alone, back thinking about that single thought. Now, the sounds of New York were pointless background noise.

A thought with a name. A beautiful, beautiful name. April. The month where the world finally wakes up from its winter stupor, allowing the people to open up again. When the plants open their eyes, when the fear of the biting cold has gone. A time that makes the world feel safe to just… be.

Cassie wanted that feeling to be hers.

○●○●○●○

The perfect update to start pride month! Meet Cassandra Jones :)

Also, so hyped to keep making stuff for the @tmnt-fandom-family-reunion! CABIN 14!!! 🧠KRANG CORPS!🧠 I've already answered a few asks, and I am simultaneously so excited and so terrified! YIPPEE!!! 🪦🪦🪦

Chapter 5: Old Wounds 🩸->

[autistpride]

Hi.. I hope you don't mind a bit of a long ask. So I've seen from your posts that you have autism, and I was wondering if I could have your opinion on something. More recently I've been questioning if I might have autism myself, but I'm really unsure about it and my family seems pretty adamant that I don't. The main reason that they think I don't is because they're used to stereotypes, and they don't think I could have it because I understand and use a lot of sarcasm, even though I've told them that it's a spectrum and everyone is different. Of course I know that your opinion won't make up for an official diagnosis, but as of now I'm too embarrassed to even mention that I MIGHT have it, because if I'm wrong I'll feel like one of those people who fakes disorders or something. So, if you're willing to listen, I was going to list out some of the traits that I've been called 'weird' or 'alien' over, and see if maybe you think they could possibly mean autism? I hope that's okay with you 😅

•I always get the exact same foods from restaurants that I go to frequently. If they don't have what I usually get, I most likely won't eat anything at all.

•Speaking of those foods, I always eat them in the exact same order. The burger, then the fries, then the nuggets. The breadsticks, then the fish, then the shrimp, y'know? I don't know when or why I started doing this, I've just sort of always done it.

•I have a huge problem staying still, something that I get very self conscious about in public. I'm always tapping my feet, rocking back and forth, clicking something in my hands, chewing on water bottle caps, and just generally refusing to sit in one spot. I also love to pace when I'm trying to formulate ideas, as I feel it really helps me think.

•I can't stand wearing jeans. I mean I won't go crazy if I have to, but they always make me feel restricted. I thought for a while that it was just how restricting they were, but I've found that other tight pants don't make me feel the same way?

•I DESPISE nail files. I can't explain it, but just the sensation of that sandpaper-like stuff rubbing against my nails activates my fight or flight response, I just feel like bolting it gives me bad goosebumps all over.

•I hyperfixate on stuff hard, I pick things up quick but also drop them hard. Recently I picked up DC/Batfam as a hyperfixation and I've been fully leaning into it ever since, spending pretty much all of my time making art or stories about it (Or at the very least thinking about the characters in some way). However back a few years ago I was hyperfixated on Markiplier Egos, and then one day I just.. Dropped it out of nowhere, and haven't been able to pick it back up since.

•This one's really iffy but I feel like I get irritated a lot super super easily, and I used to think it was just anger issues but for one: It's almost never something to get upset about, and for two: It usually happens when I've been talking to someone for a little too long or when someone interrupts my quiet time. So if we're going with the whole maybe autism thing, it might be overstimulation..? Idk..

•I'm super light sensitive, pretty much every time I go outside I say 'Wow it's bright out there" when I come back in. It's so noticeable that I used to not only notice, but attribute it to an eye injury I had once. Except that injury wasn't serious and is fully healed, so that's probably not it.

•I have a lot of trouble speaking sometimes. I feel like my words never come out the way that I want them to, and I often end up slurring them around so much that what I'm trying to say becomes pretty much incomprehensible, which always makes me frustrated because I get misunderstood a lot.

•I don't really understand what other people are feeling most of the time, and I get annoyed when they won't just tell me what they want instead of vaguely hinting about it and expecting me to know what they need.

•I'm always being told to speak up because I 'mumble', even though I think I'm talking at an acceptable volume.

•I ramble. A lot. (Sorry 😭👍)

But yeah, those are just some of the thing that I've been jokingly called 'strange' for over the years. Like I said earlier, I know that your opinion is nothing like an actual diagnosis, but hearing your thoughts on whether or not I might have it would mean a lot to me since you're someone who's been diagnosed!

Hi annon!

Let me preface this by saying I'm so proud of you for really taking the time to think about all this and dig into your life and behaviors.

Then to ask someone about it is very brave!

I wish there was a way to reply without showing your entire ask message. I feel terrible sharing your private thoughts with everyone.

I'm not a professional so I don't feel qualified to say yes or no. And as much as I want to give you some reassurance, I can't give you something definite. Especially when I don't know you in order to form a proper opinion.

Yes many of those things are things that indicate you could be autistic.

There is a lot of overlap and they could be things related to other Neurodivergent diagnosis such as ADHD, anxiety, OCD, etc and not just autism.

However, I will say if you're even questioning if you're autistic it's a pretty good chance you're autistic or some kind of Neurodivergent. Most neurotypical people often don't think this hard on if they could be autistic or not. 😉

You have put a lot of thought into this and my suggestion is to keep researching and doing what you're doing. Keeping notes also if you'd like. Why?

Because....

1. Keeping notes and continuing research allows you to have a record of everything.

2. The notes would also come in handy for if you ever seek an assessment.

3. With more time, you will become more self aware and confident in your thoughts on what you believe about if you're autistic. You can then sit down with your family and explain why you think you're autistic.

4. If the comes a time you'd like to try an assessment, you can talk to a gp or therapist if you have one and have them place the appropriate things for you to have that done. Your family needn't be part of the process if you're of legal age. But you may need adult permission for the evaluation if you are considered a minor.

5. Self diagnosis is valid in the autism community. Its valid because a diagnosis is very challenging for many to obtain, and in some situations dangerous.

This doesn't mean someone just wakes up one morning and says "oh I think I'm autistic today". No. They have done hours and hours of research and evaluated their own life, mannerisms, and behaviors, and said "I really think I'm autistic."

Self diagnosised individuals get the benefit of knowing themselves and finding support in the community without ever getting access to supports any official way. They can't get school/work accomodations, financial assistance, medical/mental health services, or really any supports put in place that require an official diagnosis to obtain.

Some would claim self diagnosis isn't valid due to exactly what you pointed out, making a claim of a diagnosis without qualifications and due to the huge overlap and other factors, but the wait times, cost, and unfortunately things like race and gender are barriers to obtaining an assessment and diagnosis. I know in the UK the current NHS wait time is 7-10 years unless you go private. I know in the US getting an assessment as an adult is challenging as most professionals won't evaluate people over 18 and the cost is upwards to $7k depending on location because most insurances won't cover it.

You are always welcome to continue messaging me. I'm happy to answer any questions and I honestly enjoy talking to people when I can.

And in case no one's told you

You're not broken, a burden, and there is nothing wrong with you!

Be your best and amazing self! ✨