#bottom left corner popsicle stick one fuckS ME UP

[curiositydooropened]

Cherry Flavored Summer [Chapter One] ☀

The summer of '85 is as hot and sticky as any other, but when Eddie runs into you on his shift at Big Buy, he thinks this year might be his year. Set during season 3.

Pairing: Eddie x femme punk!reader

Wordcount: 8048

Warnings: eventual smut [under 18 DNI please!], drug use, mentions of prison, death, knives, guns, canon typical violence

No Tag List, please follow my library!

Masterlist • Library • Ao3

Chapter Two

Tuesday, June 25th, 1985

The stockroom at Bradley’s Big Buy was hotter than hell. That sweltering, mid-summer heat that clung shirts to backs and curled the hair at the base of necks, and everything in the air wreaked of sweat and that particular static in the air before an electrical storm. The five big box fans had been reduced to one, Robert was worried about blowing the generator, a low hum beneath the grunts and groans of the stock team unloading the weekly shipment. Hot dog buns and crates of ketchup bottles and bags of chips being slung between strong, clammy hands.

The second the truck pulled away, Eddie had slumped himself on a spare crate in the shade and lit a cigarette, hands shaking from heat exhaustion and hard work, and he needed something to take the edge off. His hands left salty sweat on his lips and around the butt, and his mouth filled with hot smoke and that familiar buzz of nicotine. Three puffs in, and his name called from the loading dock rippled a shudder down his spine. 

He turned over one shoulder to see Robert, clipboard in hand, waving Eddie over. 

Eddie waved his cigarette in return, tempted to tell the manager to fuck right off, and that he was entitled to a smoke break. Even if he’d just had one an hour earlier. 

“Gladys is on her break,” Robert huffed. “And I need someone in freezers. People are getting a little too handsy with the popsicles.” 

Well, he said the magic word. Eddie stamped his cigarette into the concrete and hoisted himself up the side of the building to the loading dock above, wiping grimy hands against the khaki of his uniform bottoms. Robert grimaced at the stains left behind. “Need me to fight off the crowds?” Eddie grinned. 

“Just make sure to keep an eye out for those kids again. We can’t afford another hundred dollars in lost products.” The manager tutted, and Eddie offered a hand-to-forehead salute and pushed past him toward the reprieve of the refrigerated aisles. 

Jesus, there was really nothing like it, the smooth chill of air conditioning and frosted glass beneath his fingertips. On slower nights, when spring had just turned to summer and the sun was setting later, heating the pavement and lighting the front windows in deep golds, Eddie would wander to the fridges and stick his face in, just to feel the sting of cold air on his lungs. He’d palm the frozen peas and press cold fingers to the back of his neck beneath his grown out hair. And if it was really, really slow, and if Robert had gone home early, he’d tuck himself into the corner that provided a blindspot from the security cameras, and he’d indulge in a stolen popsicle or two. Cherry or orange only, couldn’t risk dying his tongue for the cashiers and bag boy to see.

This particular Tuesday afternoon in June, the freezer section was hopping. An abundance of chaos in the form of frantic suburban housewives and their tantrum-throwing kids. They were shoving TV dinner after Eggo box into their carts and pushing around other customers who were just there for that same pea-palming reprieve. Eddie actually stumbled into the frozen pizza section to find a robust woman cooling her tits against a Meat Lovers box, and when they made eye contact, she seemed too relieved with the cold to care that she’d been caught.

He made a half-nod and shuffled around the corner for the ice cream to pull stock forward and keep an eye on those popsicles and any shit kids that might be about. He made a mental note to shove a couple of cherries in the back for later. 

Fifteen minutes -and ten blissfully numb fingers- later, the rush had died down. He glanced at his watch, digital numbers frosted a bit around the edges, and let out an exhale of relief. Only about a half hour left on the clock, and he was free to head down to the Hideout to meet the boys. He slowed his shuffle a little, hoping to spend the last of his shift in refrigerator bliss.

 Three pints of Rocky Road in, a groaned “fuuuuuuck” from down the aisle caught his attention, and he turned on his heel to find the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Combat boots in June, black jean cut-offs and fishnet stockings, a black t-shirt hand-cut and hand-tied up the ribcage, exposing smooth skin beneath, a mop of hair. You stood in front of an opened cooler door, bright blue basket discarded at your left side as you craned your neck to stare up at the very back of the top shelf.

Rocking up on the balls of your feet, you extended every line of your body upward and into the freezer. Calves curled into meaty thighs, and the fabric of your shirt rose up, knots in your sides exposing the curve of your breasts against the frosted shelves before you. 

Eddie’s mouth went dry. Not like he was stoned, but like he was parched for words, unable to think around the buzzing in his skull and the rush of blood pumping through his heart to his extremities. He took a languid step toward you, his sneakers acting before the thoughts telephoned in, and the sealing of his freezer door startled you back on both heels. You made eye contact, your brows furrowed in frustration over thickly lined eyes.

“Hey,” you nodded.

“H-hey, hi,” Eddie scuffed at a skid mark on the linoleum. 

“Think you can help me?” 

His sneakers move of their own volition again, squeaking against the ground as he stumbled your direction. “Ye-yes. Um… yeah.” Jesus, what was wrong with him? Words, Munson. Words.

You cocked a singular brow and stepped out of the way, holding the cooler door open. “I need that last tub of USS Butterscotch.”

You were between him and the ice cream now, and twice as beautiful up close, all raccoon eyed. From this angle, he could make out the sweat sticking your hair to your temples, the mascara smudged near your brow bone. You wore a studded leather bracelet and a chain dipped below the sliced v in your neckline, and Eddie struggled to swallow the saliva pouring back into his mouth as he trailed the silver on your skin.

You cleared your throat, and in a panic, he lunged forward and reached out for the tub of ice cream you’d requested. 

That Scoops Ahoy bullshit was leaving the store in droves, ever since the mall opened. Something about cheap residents not wanting to pay ridiculous prices for a cone, but they can’t get enough of that sweet, soft goodness.

This particular tub must have been out of reach for a while. The sides had begun to crystalize, paper top lined with a layer of ice over the label. “Shit, this one’s kind of old. We might get some in our shipment tomorrow.” He offered, finally his mouth caught up with his panicked brain, or vice versa. 

“No, that’s fine. It’s not for me. If the kid gets sick and dies, it’s her own damn fault,” you huffed, ruffling thin fingers through your hair. You scent, damp and leather and shampoo, maybe a hint of cherry lipgloss, wafted into the air. 

He turned to face you, cooler frosting his backside, chest and face heated at the proximity, and he watched in slow agony as you bent to pick up your discarded basket, the v-neck of your t-shirt dipping just-so, giving him a wider view of the curvature of your skin and the pendant on your necklace, and he rushed two, three, five feet away from you. 

“Hey, I said the old one’s fine!” You called, taking a few steps toward him.

He stared down at the tub in a vice grip and licked his lips, nodding. “Yeah, sorry. I have to walk it to the register for you.” 

“What, why?” 

He swallowed. Shit, yeah, why? “Uh…” He looked down the aisle, anywhere but your approaching figure and the upset hem of your shirt. His eyes settled on the security camera in the corner, just above the blindspot. “We have a theft problem.” 

You scoffed, rolled your eyes. “Oh come on, I’m not going to steal a tub of ice cream.”

“No,” he shook his head, cradling the tub in his arm. Anything to keep his core temperature down. “Not you. This shit is popular. I’m not having you get mugged between here and check out.” 

You cocked another eyebrow at that. “You think someone, between here and check out, is going to mug me for a tub of USS Butterscotch?” 

He couldn’t help but smile at that. You were right. He was being absolutely ridiculous, panicked, flustered. He hadn’t felt this way in years, not since Chrissy Cunningham told him his band was cool at the middle school talent show. And that was Queen fucking Chrissy, prissy Chrissy, goodie-two-shoes Chrissy in her pastels with a bow on top. She had nothing on you.

He allowed himself to rake your frame one last time, boots to hips to clavicle, and flushed when he met your irritated gaze. “Yeah, these suburban moms can get crafty. Last week, I saw a lady knife someone for the last bag of everything bagels.” 

You snorted at that, and your glossy lips upturned ever-so-slightly, but you ultimately narrowed your eyes into black-rimmed slits and sighed. “Fine.” 

Eddie grinned. “You done shopping?” He glanced into your basket, cheese puffs, pizza rolls, a 2-liter of Coke, a magazine, face-down exposing a perfume ad with a leggy blonde. 

You tucked your basket into your chest to stop his snooping and nodded, pointing toward check out. “Yes. Let’s be quick about this. I have shit to do.” 

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, stepping in line beside you to make small strides toward check out. He could feel the crystals melting against his arm where his t-shirt dampened and his fingers tingled. “You must not be from around here then. Or you’d know that there’s nothing to do in Hawkins.” 

You ignored his comment, tossing a bag of gummy bears into your basket from an end cap.

“You come in for the new mall?” He tried again, ducking his head to catch your gaze. 

You narrowed your eyes. “No. Everyone in Hawkins this chatty?” 

He grinned at that, nodding, hair shaggy in his eyes. “Just the knife-wielding ones.” 

It was much warmer by the registers, the fan above the automatic doors just blowing the heat inward. Brenda was on her shift, wavering on her feet at the register, popping gum between bright red lips. You hauled your basket up and onto the conveyor belt. He deposited your ice cream. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way.” 

“I know.” You sighed, picking double mint gum off the stand.

“You’ve heard of me?” He smiled at that, wracking his brain for who you were. He knew he’d never seen you before. There was no way he’d forget those legs, those eyes, the dip of your nose. 

You turned to him then and tapped black fingernails against the metal nameplate on his chest. 

He sucked in his cheeks at that and nodded. “Right, well…” 

“Well,” you tutted. “Thank you, Eddie, for protecting me from ice cream thieves, but I think,” you squinted at the cashier in front of you, “Brenda can take it from here. You are carrying a knife, aren’t you Brenda?” 

Brenda stared back at you like you were something that slithered through her front door and into her happy space, and Eddie’s stomach skipped at the thought of that. 

You took her nonresponse as an answer and whipped some cash out of your wallet. “Oh weird, hoped it might be company policy. Guess you never know when a creep’s going to follow you around the grocery store.” 

Brenda took the cash with long fingernails and found you the correct change while you tossed your goods into a paper bag. 

“Don’t worry,” you flashed him a wry smile, just over the brown paper. “Eddie will protect you.”

“Who?” Brenda scoffed, and you laughed at that, a loud, guffaw of a laugh that punctured right through his skull and radiated down his body. 

You gave him a nod of goodbye and stepped out into the fading sunlight, a halo of honeyed sunshine sucking you into its radiant glow. 

Eddie cursed and leaned against the register, running a hand over his face, fingers still wet from the outside of your ice cream tub.

“You’re carrying a knife? I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed.” Brenda scoffed from beside him, but he was too happy to protest, instead pushing off her conveyor belt with a friendly smile and a bow as he slipped back down to the freezer aisle to retrieve his cherry popsicle. He’d think of you while he ate it, the smell of your lipgloss, and the ice in your stare. 

—

Your cousin’s house smelled like melted Legos and burned hair, that acrid hot of too small a house with the oven turned on in the heat of summer. The kind of heat that prickled goosebumps of relief throughout your body the moment you opened her freezer to drop in the ice cream. 

“Remind me why I’m staying with you in this Hell-hole.” You shouted across the house to where your cousin, Kelly, was getting ready in the back bedroom.

She exited her room, pulling a worn tank top over her head and shrugged. “Because your parents kicked you out and you have nowhere else to go rent free?”

You collapsed into the nearest barstool with a sigh. She was right. Your parents booted you, reminding you that you were an adult, and if you weren’t interested into adhering to their standards of music and dress code, you could figure it out on your own. So naturally, cousin Kelly in Hawkins, Indiana was your only option. You loved Kelly. She was only a couple of years older, and she was a tough broad, not afraid of anything, a real Midwesterner. And you knew she’d offer you room and board as long as you pitched in every once in a while for groceries. 

“You going like that?” She scoffed, picking at the shoulder seam of your handmade top. 

“What’s wrong with this?” You asked, peeling the thin fabric from the sweat of your lower back. You grimaced. “Okay, maybe I will change.” 

The doorbell rang from the front room, and Kelly waved you off to answer it. “Hurry up, my shift starts in ten.” 

With a sigh, you heard her greet the babysitter, Vickie, and as you walked toward the guest bedroom, Kelly’s little tyke, Josie, scuttled past you with a squea of excitement. Josie was nearly five, and sassy as all Hell. It actually made you proud, the amount of shit that kid gave you. She ran in screaming Vickie’s name, clutching a Barbie in one hand and a hair brush in the other. 

You laughed, shook your head, and weighed a few shirt options from your open suitcase on the guest room floor. Kelly invited you to work with her, claiming that Tuesday nights were fun because there was a live band that was “your style” whatever the hell that meant. You were always weary of the phrase, knowing that there was no way you’d be interested in a live band from Hawkins, but you wanted to support Kelly, and you supposed you should get out of the house now before you were sick of it, see what this podunk town had to offer. 

Sliding your shoulders through a leather vest, you heard your name called from across the house, and you rushed your snap buttons and stomped across the house to meet your screeching cousin. Josie sat in the lap of a red headed girl with a huge eyes and an incredibly startled look on her face. You offered a soft smile and wave. 

“That’s my cousin,” Josie pointed out, carding her fingers through Barbie’s hair while the babysitter worked through the girl’s. “She doesn’t conform.” She said with a shrug, as though that were a completely normal thing for a kid to say. 

You grinned and ruffled Barbie’s hair.

“Hey!”

“Vickie,” Kelly interrupted. “You know the drill. We’ll be back around 1.” And before you or Josie could protest further, she was grabbing you by the forearm and yanking you out the door. 

Hawkins really was podunk. You noticed it on your way in, and now, driving through the little downtown streets with the windows rolled down, everything smelled of cow shit and iron and that tang of electricity in the air. The clouds had settled in, that rich grey-green, and seemingly everyone had tucked in for the night. 

As you approached the Hideout, the bar your cousin tended, you noticed a handful of bikes outside, a station wagon, and a faded brown van parked in the alleyway next door. You cranked up the window and stepped out onto the sidewalk, following the line of bikes past the gaggle of smokers out front and into the small town bar. 

It was surprisingly busy, for a Tuesday, mostly old men. Two old ladies played pool in biker attire, sipping cold ones that dripped condensation onto the felt below. You heard the familiar tune up of guitars in the back corner, and peered around a few heads to see a group of musicians huddled around a drum set. They all wore leather jackets, despite the broiling heat. 

“Want a coke?” Kelly offered, sidling up behind the bar and getting started on a few drinks for the regulars that greeted as she entered. 

“A beer?” You offered with a smile. 

Your cousin made a face and nodded across the bar to a booth with a handful of men sharing beers. The largest wore a Tom Selleck mustache and a tired look on his face. You frowned back at Kelly. 

“That’s the chief of police, Hopper. There’s no way in hell I’m serving you beer in here, lady.” 

You sighed and nodded. “Coke please.” And twisted round in your seat to people watch a little more. You were curious about the band, and tilted your head past the pool players to see a surprisingly familiar face. 

On lead guitar, stepping up to his position to start their little gig, was the long haired, puppy-dog-eyed Eddie from the grocery store. You barely recognized him, long hair shoved under a skull-print bandana, khakis and blue polo swapped for black jean shorts, cropped just above knobby knees, and an Iron Maiden t-shirt, sleeves torn to expose the sinewed arms of a guitarist. But the moment he turned his head to the crowd, cast his eyes toward the bar, you saw the look of recognition flash across his face, the subtle upturn of those plump lips, and he offered you a nod in greeting. 

You nodded back, cool and calm, as you turned back to face the bar. You spotted his gaze in the bar-back mirror, unable to escape it. You rolled your eyes and bit back a treacherous smile, an odd buzz kicking at your chest.

Kelly slid you a red plastic cup, full to the brim with ice and fizzy cola. You tapped your fingers anxiously against the bubbled texture. This wasn’t how your summer was supposed to go. You were supposed to go it alone, be independent. And you promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for another God Damn metal head who didn’t know his ass from his elbow, and sure as Hell couldn’t find the clit.

“You good? Want fries or something?” Kelly asked, eyebrows etched in worry. 

Your first instinct was to ask a question about him, Eddie from the grocery store, Eddie the guitarist, but you rethought it, knew Kelly would just give you shit. So instead, you tossed a straw into your drink, watched it bob, and nodded. “Fries sound great.” 

Then the music started. A skull pounding reverb of distortion via an amp way too close to the back wall. The customers around you started to whoop and holler. The women playing pool through their sticks into the air. Even Kelly had begun to nod her head along. You reached for her wrist to pull her in before shouting into her ear. “For future reference, this is not my vibe.” To which she grinned and rolled her eyes. 

Their set went on too long, a series of metal covers that might have been decent had the lead singer not been wearing braces and slobbering over his mic. But as the chief of police slunk out, and a handful of blue collar men staggered to follow, you found yourself watching Grocery Boy shred. 

Shoulder length curls bounced and bobbed with each beat, heavily ringed fingers trailing up and down the fretboard, frantic adlibs at each solo, a refreshing difference from the radio hits. Something about the musicality sent a surge of electricity through you. His exposed biceps began to glisten with sweat, and he spent a lot of time with his tongue stuck between his lips in concentration. Occasionally, he’d peak up from under the mop of hair, and catch you watching with that mischievous smile. 

After which, you’d kick yourself and turn back to your diminishing plate of fries and third refill of Coke, the caffeine and sugar starting to tingle your fingertips, prickle the hair at the back of your neck. You’d risk a glance at that dirty mirror again, and there he’d be, watching you, image distorted in liquor bottles. 

You found yourself wondering just how this would go. Clearly Hawkins was small enough that you’d run into him constantly. It wasn’t like you couldn’t go grocery shopping. You needed food to survive, after all. But outside of that, could you really go the entire summer avoiding this boy? Hiding from that urge to see what else those ringed fingers could do. You squeezed your thighs together and cursed. 

When the set finished, the dwindled crowd cheered, and the band, Corroded Coffin - you gagged - thanked them and went about tearing down their set. And then, to your absolute horror, Grocery Store Eddie made a B-line for the bar, long hair flowing around his smile.

In a panic, you slurped down the last few bubbles melting into your ice cubes. He sidled up beside you, sliding a wad of cash across the sticky countertop. He smelled of sweat and body spray deodorant and vaguely of cherry, and you slammed your jaw so tight you tore skin in your cheek. 

“Hey, Kelly,” he greeted from beside you, and you shrunk into yourself, mortified that he knew your cousin by first name.

“Hey, Eds, great job tonight. You guys sticking around for drinks?” Panic rose in your chest.

“Nah, sounds like the guys have early shifts tomorrow.” Thank God.

Kelly pocketed the cash, her cut of their tips, and passed you a glance. Your face must have read like panic, because the corners of her lips turned up in a cruel smirk, and you started to shake your head as she made to introduce you. “Eddie, I’d like you to meet my cousin-“

“Hey!” You shouted before your name could pass through her vocal chords. You shook your hands in the air like a lunatic, and she blinked back at you, biting back a laugh. “Don’t go around telling my name to strangers!” You scolded.

Kelly seemed mildly taken aback by your rudeness until Eddie jumped in with an explanation. 

“We met earlier at Big Buy.” 

“Did you know he carries knives? Around a grocery store?” 

Kelly raised her brows. 

“Well, I do have a reputation to maintain.”

You turned to him then, too close, elbows on the edge of the bar, brown eyes upturned like a lost calf, and he smiled. His voice got real low. “You enjoy the show.” 

You shrugged. “Not really my vibe.” 

He grinned at that. All teeth and shaken head. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be.” He reached into his pocket for a lighter and a pack of smokes. “Do you partake?” 

You glanced up to where your cousin had been standing to find the spot vacant. She’d taken off around the room to catch up on the rounds, leaving the two of you alone. That traitor. You swallowed and turned back to Eddie, shaking your head. “That shit’ll give you cancer.” 

He smiled at that, tucking a cigarette behind his ear. “Well, I’ve got harder shit if you’re really looking to party.” 

Your chest fluttered at that. Something about the way he said it, so enticing, this post-show glow a different man than the stammering one who reached into the freezer for you. He was so confident, so blissed out on his own ego.

“Eddie!” His bandmate shouted, the drummer. Jesus, that kid looked young. “You ready?”

Eddie waved him off but kept his eyes on you. Oh. He was really asking. 

You swallowed and watched the way he licked the corners of his pink lips, watched the way he watched you. With a sigh, you leaned across the counter for a pen before holding your hand out for his. He gave it willingly. His fingers were tinged pink, the tips bumped with callouses that made you salivate. His rings were cold against your palm. You glanced up at him once more through your lashes. “You work tomorrow?” 

He nodded, failing at masking an accomplished smile. “Til six.” 

You tutted, scribbling the letters of your first name into the rough terrain of his palm. The ball point smudged over cracks, so you traced the lines to make them more legible. “I’ll see you then.” 

—

Eddie spent the rest of the night staring at his right hand, thinking up perfect rhymes to the beat of rain against the tin roof. 

His shower the following morning felt like mutiny. He considered washing with his left, holding his right out of the curtain to keep the scratch and scribbled writing, but the letters had already bled from a humid night’s sleep. So he scrubbed with soap and considered a tattoo right above his heart. All the little letters of your name, surrounded by a big ole heart with a dagger stabbed through it. Just where his pick met his sternum. He grinned at the look of incredulity on your face if he showed it to you, and leaned back to rinse shampoo from his eyes. 

His shift at Big Buy was torturous. It was just as sweltering, if not moreso, but they received a shipment of frozen goods, so time spent in the truck was a pleasant reprieve from the outside. That didn’t stop his face from heating anytime he thought of you and those mile-high legs, your heavy lidded eyes watching him play guitar, toying with that straw between glossy lips. 

He nearly lost it in the staff huddle in aisle 5. There had been a knock-over of soup cans on display, and everyone had been paged to report there for immediate pick up. And as Robert watched them all shuffling cans into the hems of their polos, Brenda asked if they were allowed to bring knives to work. She popped her bubblegum and glared at Eddie’s returning grin. 

He was in the back office at five minutes til six, peeling the polo from his back and over his head. He reached into a locker for his favorite Dio shirt and slipped that on instead. He jammed his timecard in the clock a minute too early, impatience taking over, and he gave himself a once over in a tiny cupboard mirror, slicking his eyebrows down with a wet pinky and thumb. 

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t running almost literally into you in the refrigerated section. Your hair was all up and pulled off your long neck, and you wore a black and white polka dot dress that blew up around your thighs with each wave of conditioned air. His sneakers scuffed the ground in a halt, and you stared back at him with tired eyes, the liner smudged at the corners again in sweat and exhaustion. 

“Please tell me you have air conditioning in your car,” you huffed as a greeting. 

Eddie grinned and glanced up at the west facing security camera. “You like cherry popsicles?” 

Jesus, you looked delicious in the passenger’s seat of his van. You had one leg up, boot to the dash, and the other was curled up under you. The hem of your skirt rode dangerously high on your thighs. One arm slung out the window, letting the air flow ripple your limp limb. Your head was thrown back against the seat, hot and bored, and you were slurping the remnants of your popsicle with sinful sounds. 

Eddie watched with a dry mouth as the red object went in and out, against your tongue, and his knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “So…” He cleared his throat. “What did you want to do?” 

You shrugged, licking the last drops of syrupy goodness from red-stained stick, and set your garbage neatly into an empty cup holder. “I don’t know. This is your town. What is there to do?” 

Eddie could think about fifty things he’d love to do right now, none of which were family friendly, so instead he pulled into a shady patch of parking lot near the entrance of downtown, and he craned to look over the steering wheel at the town sprawling around them. Jesus, there really was nothing to do in Hawkins.

The stores downtown were all running out of business, thanks to the mall. He sighed, scrubbed some sweat from his eyes. “There’s the mall, I guess? We could go to a movie?” 

You hummed. “Pass. I have a mall and a movie theater where I’m from. Isn’t there anything exciting? Something very… Hawkins?” 

Once again, he tried to conjure something up. He thought of nights with his friends, always spent in basements tossing dice or in garages rehearsing for their gigs. Neither of which activity was ideal for a first date, if that’s even what this was. He glanced back at you, licking the cherry flavoring from the corner of his lips. You were watching him with heavy lidded eyes, fanning the sweat from your neck with your hand. 

The truth was, Eddie had never officially been on any dates, not in any real sense of the word. He’d taken a few girls to prom. He’d gone to a few movies. Mostly, he took girls to various popular hook up spots to smoke weed and get some. Skull Rock, Sattler’s Quarry, that little shed behind the local pool. All of those places felt cheap now, dirty, not worthy of your… presence, your being. 

“Too hot for cow tipping,” you groaned, as though that were an option that you were looking forward to but the weather had spoiled your plans.

He snorted, wrapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of something to quiet for clarity on his radio. No, there weren’t too many cows to tip in this weather, all of them called back to the shade of their barns for the evening. But maybe… He turned his body to face you. 

“Okay, so there was like this huge chemical leak in town last year, like around Halloween. And there were a ton of cave-ins. And the government came in to like… I don’t know cover it all up? And they filled in all of these underground tunnels.” 

You nodded and slipped your leg from the dash to lean against the door. “Oh yeah, I think I remember hearing about that on the news.” 

He nodded, chuckled. “Yes, Hawkins’s claim to fame. Anyway, one of the tunnels was like.. crudely patched up.”

“And you want to take me there and murder me?” 

Eddie’s face flushed at the comment, but when he looked up from his hands, you were smirking, leaning forward on the console. That chain around your neck dangled precariously again, and if he followed the line of it, he could peer down once more at the swell of your breasts beneath your dress. “Murder isn’t exactly what I had in mind…” He mumbled. 

“And what exactly did you have in mind?” Your nimble finger met his chin and pulled his gaze back to your own. Your eyes sparkled bright in contrast to the dark eyeliner, and the rim of your lips was stained a deep, cherry pink. 

He shrugged, but didn’t pull away. “Oh you know, what all kids do in abandoned tunnels. Thought we might tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets, smoke a j, and become blood brothers.” 

“Oooh, perfect!” You exclaimed at that, breaking the string of tension between you. “I brought a knife!” And sure as shit, you procured a pocket knife, red handled and the perfect size to fit in your soft hands. You flipped it open and mimed a few artful jabs.

Eddie burst into laughter. “Where have you been hiding that?” He clutched at his side.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“God, and people call me the Freak.”

“Do they?” 

Your smile was fond, proud of yourself for calling back your new inside joke, your first one, really, and he hoped for many more. But he couldn’t help but bristle at the nickname. He thought he’d let it roll of his shoulders, embraced it, but there was something so vulnerable now about you knowing this information. You were brand new. He could have presented himself to you anyway he wanted, and somehow the truth of Hawkins and his life was spilling out of his mouth before he could change his mind. He shrugged, nodded, adjusted in his seat until his hands were back on the wheel. 

“Well, Freak,” you shifted in your seat as well, and pointed out the windshield with a dramatic wave of your pocket knife. “To the murder tunnels!” 

Maybe this was a bad idea. 

He pulled over off of Curly, tucked his van into the trees just off the shoulder, and you helped to crank your window up. He grabbed the tin lunchbox from behind the passenger’s seat, and ran around to help you out with a chivalrous hand. The farther south you went, the thicker the woods, and the thicker the woods, the larger the undergrowth. And he found himself consistently helping to lift you over fallen logs.

Everything around was dead. That chemical leak sure did a number on the woods. And although the government had reassured Hawkins citizens that the leak was contained, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder if taking you out here was a death sentence. I mean, you already told him you didn’t smoke because it gave you cancer. God knows what the hell else was lurking on this side of town. 

But just on the edge of the woods, where clearings turned to corn fields in the later summer months, a hole opened up in the ground about the size of a small car. Beer bottles and chip bags lay strewn around the opening, which proved that they weren’t the only teenagers to wander down here to take a peak. And soon, the two of you were standing over it, looking down. 

You had your hand tucked to your side like a chicken wing, and Eddie couldn’t tell from your expression whether or not you were impressed. Until you extended your other hand to him and instructed, “lower me down.” 

“What?” Eddie frowned, looking from your hand to the hole and back.

“I wanna see what’s inside, but I need your help.” 

“What if we can’t get back up?” He asked.

You seemed to pause at that, weighing your options, before finally settling on a resolute, “then we’ll huddle for warmth and wait until this weekend when teenagers will inevitably find us and haul us up.” You kicked at an empty can, and it shucked itself in the hole, making a rattle against the stone or concrete below. 

The huddle for warmth part sounded promising, but Eddie was keen on hanging out in a mysterious chemical leak hole for multiple days without food or water. 

“Fine,” you sighed, apparently frustrated with his indecision, and you squatted and shuffled yourself onto your stomach. “Hold onto my legs.”

And before Eddie was on his own ass, chasing down your calves, you’d crawled to the edge to peak your head through. You’d actually managed your entire upper half before he’d caught up with you and grasped at the meat of your thighs to keep you from toppling, headfirst into the pit. 

You laughed, a wonderful melodious sound that echoed off the walls around you. “I can’t see a damn thing.” And then your arms were flailing backwards into his. “Help me up.” 

With a bit of struggle, he managed to right you, and you adjusted your dress and your necklace and pulled straw from your hair, and he kept you in balance with a leg anchored on either side of your own, his hands resting softly on the skin of your thighs. If he flexed his fingers, he could catch the flowing hem of your dress. He didn’t dare let his eyes follow the lines of you, instead stayed lock on your eyes, and the huff of a smile playing at your lips. 

“What’s on the agenda now?” You smiled. “Secret sharing or blood brothers?” 

He reached just past you for that black tin lunchbox and rattled its contents. “How about a party?” 

—

The sun had set somewhere far off, past the trees and past the fields, and soon you and Eddie were engulfed in grey darkness and the chill of a summer night’s breeze. Your mouth was dry, all of your taste buds begging for water and salty snacks, and your eyes stung from the smoke and melted eyeliner. You were relaxed though, splayed out against burnt grass like a starfish, watching the clouds roll in above you. 

“Should we think about heading back?” Eddie asked from beside you, his voice hoarse and far-off. You heard echoes off the tunnels a few yards away. 

“Yeah. Do you have food in your van?” 

“What kind of dealer would I be?”

“A bad one.” You giggled at that, a kind of giggle that couldn’t stop, and just beyond it, you sure the shuffle of your date getting to his feet. 

He stood above you, hair filled with straw and a wide smile etched across his face, and he held his hand out to help you up. It was a process, a handful of stumbles and more giggles from the both of you, and you locked your fingers with his to stop you from tripping your way through the woods. His hand was really warm and calloused and strong. 

These woods were fucking terrifying though. Trees too tall, too ancient, staring back at you with haunted faces made of knots and bark. You felt like Snow White at the beginning of the movie, running from the Huntsman. Your heart began to race, and you tucked into him tighter, pressing the width of his arm into your chest. 

He slowed his walk to look at you. “You good?” His smile was lazy. 

You darted your eyes upward, toward the tree line and gulped. “What’s the scariest thing that’s ever happened to you?” 

“Shit,” he shrugged, continuing your walk. “Probably the last time my dad got arrested.”

You stalled at that. Your conversations thus far had only been surface level. Favorite bands, favorite songs, favorite strain, favorite snacks, party tricks. Until you were too high to ask anything real, and too hungry to focus on anything but the idea of a container of cheese puffs and licking the orange powder from your fingertips. 

But his dad getting arrested? That shit was too real. 

“I was like fourteen? And I just remember him rushing in and packing a bag. He didn’t say hi or anything. And then like three minutes later, the door was kicked in, and all of these cops like rushed him, pinned him to the ground, read him his rights. Scared the shit out of me.” 

“Jesus,” you muttered, giving his hand a squeeze. The rings dug into your knuckles. 

He shrugged beside you, helping you up and over a log. “It’s fine. I go visit him every Christmas.” 

“Jesus,” you repeated, with a little more emphasis. Unsure of what else to say. Your parents were shitty, sure. They kicked you out, sure. But they hadn’t done anything that bad. If anything, they were the polar opposite of that. Goodie two shoes. Embarrassed to be seen with an anarchist who were too much black and not even crucifixes on her wall. 

“My Uncle Wayne stepped up for me,” Eddie continued. “He like, never wanted kids. He was a truck driver, and then when Dad got thrown in the slammer, Wayne came back to Hawkins, got a job at the plant. He’s like… the sweetest guy ever. Always makes me do my homework and shit. Goes to my gigs when he can.” 

You thought you might cry. It was that lump in your dry, dry throat, the pinch of emotion in your chest, the squeeze of his warm hand against yours. And you opened your mouth to talk again, but he knelt forward with an arm outstretched. 

“Milady, your chariot awaits.” 

You were back at the van. You remember the inside smelling more like weed earlier, and the seats were scratchier. But now, as you settled into the passenger’s side, your body sunk into the velvety fabric, your fingers splaying out on the cool plastic of the dashboard. Eddie fished around the back for a minute or two, returning with a half eaten bag of Doritos and a unopened packet of Pop Rocks.

Not much of a sweet tooth, you snatched the Doritos from his hand and dug in. They were stale, but the nacho cheese powder was almost as satisfying as cheese puffs, and you hummed in content as Eddie started the van and set out for your next destination. Occasionally, he’d shove a hand into the bag on your lap and retrieve a few crumpled chips, hand littered with dust. 

It took a minute to get back into city limits, light pollution growing from the beyond the woods and farmland, and under the glow of streetlamps, you allowed yourself to have a little look at your driver, your dealer, your date. 

He was handsome. You’d decided that the night before, watching him play that solo in the third song. He had a rather defined chin, hid under that mop of hair, mousy brown. He still had flecks of hay and grass just above his shoulder, but you resisted the urge to pick it out. He had broad shoulders too, surprising for such a string bean, but you could tell there was toned and refined muscle under those oversized t-shirts. 

He glanced your way, puppy dog brown eyes under long lashes, and cracked a smile on those full lips. “What?” 

Your face heated, caught, and you picked at the hem of your polka dot dress, brushing Dorito dust from the meat of your thigh. “You ever date a girl like me? I mean…” It felt hard to swallow. “Are there many alternative girls in Hawkins?” 

Eddie barked a laugh at that. “Not even one.” He gave you a once over, deep eyes trailing the tops of your knees to the flop of your hair atop your head. You noticed the linger, the way he bit down on his bottom lip. 

You felt a hit of pride at that, some of your sobriety sinking back in, ruffling the fuzzy edges of your high. You sunk back into the headrest, satisfied at his answer. 

“You ever date a guy like me?” 

It was your turn to laugh. You covered your face with your hand, and you felt his oversized hand reach over to squeeze your thigh.

“What?” He pestered.

You turned to face him, grinning, and nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I have a type.” 

Boys like Eddie Munson were a dime a dozen in your city. And you dated them all, picked up at clubs, fake IDs and too many cocktails, and unsatisfactory evenings that ended in you hobbling home barefoot. They wouldn’t call. They wouldn’t ask about you, until you saw them the following weekend at someone else’s gig, and the cycle started all over again. 

“I guess that just means I’ll have to prove I’m different from the others.” 

And somehow, you already knew he was. 

The top step to Kelly’s house was too small, cramped. She’d left the light on for you, and that attracted a whole ecosystem of moths and gnats, and you were swatting them out of your eyes and trying not to let your teeth chatter from the cold breeze that had blown in. And you struggled around the opening of the storm door, too big for the stoop you stood on.

Eddie stood on the next step down, chivalrous enough to walk you to the door, but he had to step down to get you around the storm door, and it all felt too close and too awkward. Your back ached from laying on the ground for so long, and you desperately wanted to get in and shove some pizza rolls in your face before sleeping for ten hours. 

“So, um…” Eddie held the door open for you, boxing you onto the front step. He was at eye level now, all brown eyes and shaggy hair, and despite your discomfort, your heart began to race with that familiar school-girl feeling of a first kiss. “I had a really good time tonight.” 

“Me too,” you breathed. 

He tucked a hand into yours, running a rough thumb over your knuckles, and the two of you stared down at your hands for a moment. Your nerve endings were electrocuted from the tips of your fingers all the way up to under your ears. 

A giant moth rammed itself into the glass of the door. Thwack, thwack, thwack.

You both jumped. Anxious laughter spilled out. 

“Jesus,” Eddie released your hand and scrubbed at his tired face. “I’m sorry. I think I’m way too high for this.” 

You nodded, but your excited heartbeat slowed into something less promising. You weren’t high enough. 

“I just mean,” he grabbed your hand again. “I want to kiss you. Like, I really,” he licked his lips. “Really want to kiss you. But I think I’ll be pissed at myself if I do it when I’m a little fucked up.”

You swallowed. Okay. Shit. Maybe he really was different from those other assholes. 

“Can I take you on a real date?”

You nodded again, and watched that beautiful smile of his spread into a lazy grin. 

“Yeah? On Friday, they’re previewing Day of the Dead at Starcourt. It’s supposed to be pretty scary. Would you want to go to that?” 

“You know I’m always down for a scary movie. Besides, I have you to protect me, right?” 

Eddie shrugged and squeezed your hand. “Better bring your knife, just in case.” 

And before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance to press your lips against his cheek. The corner of his lip still held a chip flake, and his hair tickled your eyelashes. There was a tiny bit of scruff to his face, a stubble that threatened to grow in, but mostly his cheek was soft, supple against your lips. When you pulled away there was this look of stun across his face, as though you’d cast a spell and he was under it.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, bubbling a giggle out of you, and he stumbled his way down the last two steps to the driveway. “I better go. But I’ll be here to pick you up Friday.”

You nodded and waved.

He continued to back down the driveway to his van. He pointed two fingers your direction and announced, “I’m going to kiss you Friday!” 

“You better!”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ice lolly, m | ksj

pairing(s): seokjin x reader

summary: You (accidentally?) deep throat a popsicle in front of Min Yoongi. It's not what it looks like! Well, it kinda is, but you have a good reason! You just want to give your boyfriend, Kim Seokjin, a mind-blowing blowjob and you read some stuff online and, uh... okay, that still doesn't sound like a good reason, but I swear it is.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship; featuring seagull-BTS LOL; crack and fluff; smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral); ft Min Yoongi witnessing your, um, attempt XD; my tongue technology strikes again, maybe you'll learn something?

this is inspired by your hapless adventures, cat whiskers. you told me not to do it, but I'm a brat and I did it anyway LMAO get rekt

--

So.

You read this thing online.

What if you just...

"What are you doing?"

You started with a shriek, jamming the entire ice lolly right into the back of your throat, instantly choking and yanking it out of your mouth, only for it to be flung off the wooden stick and fly across the sidewalk, leaving a long, ice-blue streak of melting sugar syrup ending with a demolished hunk of discarded popsicle.

A seagull immediately appeared to peck at it.

You gawked, still clutching the wooden stick, Min Yoongi standing beside the bench you were sitting on.

"Why did you try to deep throat your popsicle?"

A second seagull arrived to peck at the icy hunk of sugar water.

Your mouth was still open, mechanically jerking to face him with fire-red cheeks, and it wasn’t because of the bright sunny weather. He looked very much like a disgruntled cat with his expression, black eyebrow raised, dark brown eyes narrowed, pink lips slightly pursed. Yoongi squinted disapprovingly from under his wide-brimmed straw hat. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt under a white t-shirt, breezy black trousers, and sandals.

Yoongi hated the sun.

A third seagull flapped down onto the boardwalk and joined the other two to poke at the rapidly melting mess on the ground.

"Um..."

He raised a hand dismissively, eyes flicking away from you. "On second thought, don't tell me. I don't want to know." Yoongi jammed his black clutch under his armpit and ripped open his own cold sweet treat, turning away from you to face the ocean.

A fourth seagull flocked over to peck one of them in the head and assist in devouring the ice pop.

"Hey, hyung, what flavor did you get?" a smooth baritone voice piped, appearing in an aqua-and-pink colorful shirt and brown shorts with snazzy sunglasses and tan skin.

You were staring at the four seagulls eating your ice lolly with glee, somewhat frozen yourself, feeling a mixture of jealous, mortified, and absolutely ready to chuck yourself into the ocean if Yoongi said anything to out you to Kim Taehyung right now.

"I don't know. I told them to pick one at random," the straw hat replied.

A fifth seagull appeared, slightly smaller than the rest, poking one in the neck and squawking before trying to prod at the puddle of blue syrup with a small chunk of ice in it.

"I got strawberry," Taehyung replied.

Two more seagulls swooped down, pushing the other five all around. All of them were now pecking at the ice-blue sugar syrup, honking and squawking. Like laughter. One of the seagulls had a weird cry, like a cloth rubbed onto wet glass.

Or a windshield wiper on a car window.

"Disgusting."

You narrowed your eyes at the seven seagulls.

We they... laughing at you?

"Strawberry-flavored things are the worst."

You jumped as someone sat down next to you, ripping open a paper package. He was wearing a short-sleeved pale pink dress shirt with a flashy tie and long blue shorts. A familiar someone dressed like this. He placed his backpack down next to you, smiling brilliantly. Full lips, sparkling brown eyes, milk chocolate-colored locks framing his handsome face.

Your boyfriend, Kim Seokjin.

"S-Seokjin!"

He grinned and leaned in, kissing you lightly. Then he became flustered and laughed awkwardly, a little squeaky, almost like a windshield wiper on a car window.

"Hah, sorry, you looked really cute just now."

You blinked rapidly.

Do you tell your boyfriend that you tried to deep throat your ice lolly in attempt to see if you could extend your tongue around the bottom because you read on a certain-website-not-to-be-named that it might be possible to suck dick and lick balls at the same time and you were determined to learn so you could perform said act?

And do you tell Seokjin that Min Yoongi caught you in the middle of it?

Er…

Seokjin cheerfully licked at his lemon ice pop, oblivious to your inner struggle.

"Where's yours? I thought you got one too?"

The seven seagulls cackled. You glared at them, ready to fight.

"Hyung."

Never mind, you paled to the color of rice paper as the deep voice with a little rasp to it appeared beside Seokjin, straw hat and all. You wished you could merge with your pastel floral summer dress and float off with the sea breeze, straight into the ocean after seeing the deadpan expression of Min Yoongi holding a mint green popsicle.

He looked bored, but his eyes were mocking you.

Asshole.

"She dropped it by accident."

"Ah, really?" Seokjin frowned, nudging you with his hand. "Here, have some of mine. I'll share with you." He wrapped his arm around you and patted your shoulder fondly, holding his ice lolly out to you. You felt your heart skip a little at his kindness and closeness.

Yoongi smirked behind Seokjin's head.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

The seven seagulls flapped off, flying above five guys standing near you three, eating icy sweet treats together on the boardwalk this sunny day, enjoying this nice retreat to the sea. A lone seagull popped out from behind a trashcan, trotting over, eyeing the wet spot of sugar syrup soaked into asphalt.

It slunk away in a back corner, dejected that there was nothing left.

"Come on, hurry before it melts."

You nibbled off a chunk. Mmm. Cold, lemony, and delicious. You smiled at Seokjin gratefully and he smiled back, warm and inviting, his cheeks puffing a little like the edges of raised bread. A little sheepish at the public display of affection, but unable to help it when he was with you.

"You might as well stick the whole thing in your mouth," Yoongi said off-handedly, walking away to the group of five guys, leaving you choking on the bench again as Seokjin rubbed your back soothingly, worriedly asking you what was wrong.

-

"YOU TRIED TO DEEP THROAT A POPSICLE?"

"Seokjinnie–"

"IN FRONT OF YOONGI?"

"Erm, it's not what it sounds like–"

"YOONGI???????"

“I swear it’s not what It sounds like!”

Seokjin yanked the towel off his head, half-dried brown hair sticking up every which way, gawping at you with a slack jaw and shocked brown eyes. He was wearing his emerald green silk pajamas, fresh after a nice shower from the hot day. You too, wore a set of pajamas, a matching outfit with Seokjin.

“It’s not what it sounds like?” he sputtered, flabbergasted, partly flabbered but mostly aghast.

You opened your mouth and closed it. Then you opened it again.

“Okay, it is what it sounds like, but–!”

Why did you bring this up now? Well, your boyfriend was asking you if you wanted to take some medicine and sleep early because you said you weren’t feeling well at dinner. He was a sweet bean and wanted the best for you, and the truth came out in mid-discussion. Seokjin and you had left earlier than everyone else, declining the scenic walk home, mostly because you could no longer stand Yoongi making snide remarks that meant nothing to anyone else except you.

“You might need a bit more force to suck up that thick milkshake. Or wait for it to melt.”

“That’s a pretty big piece of steak. Maybe you should cut it a bit smaller, so you don’t choke.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay for dessert? We could stop by the store and get you an ice lolly on our way home.”

You glared at him all evening.

Yoongi just smirked when Seokjin wasn’t looking.

Asshole.

“Why would you do that in public?” Seokjin was saying, yanking you back to reality and out of your daydreams of socking that smug little shit in the face. “Why would you do that at all?”

“G-Gah, it… it just… just occurred to me…”

“It occurred to you to suck an ice lolly like a dick?”

Seokjin looked as if he was going to pass out and divorce you at the same time and you weren’t even married yet.

“Why, because you’re going to suck frozen dick at some point in your life? Because my dick isn’t ever at subzero temperatures, so unless you’re sucking Mr. Freeze or Subzero’s dick–”

You waved your arms in a panicky manner, flapping your sleeves like a fucking seagull. “No, no, no, I read something online–”

“Oh, you read something online!” he exclaimed, wiggling in place, and now it sure as hell sounded like Kim Seokjin was mocking you while also being disappointed in you and if that wasn’t the most big dad energy you weren’t sure what was. “Yes, because that totally means you should perform fellatio on an ice pop in front of Yoongi of all fucking people! Are you trying to get bronchitis or something–”

“I admit it was a mistake!”

“A miss-take! It was a terrible take! Cut! Refilm! Actually, no, because maybe don’t try to give a blowjob to a fucking popsicle at the boardwalk in broad daylight!”

You smacked Seokjin in the chest and he looked highly offended, finally shutting up for one goddamn second so you could (poorly) explain your logic behind the incident.

“Look, Yoongi was not supposed to be there. At all. I got mine first and you all were deciding and arguing, so I decided to sit down and eat it, but then I noticed it was a specific length–”

Seokjin’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly left his face.

You prodded him in the pecs and he winced, pouting at you.

“So, I tried to put it in my mouth, but then Yoongi showed up and fucking spooked me and I jabbed myself in the throat because I was surprised and ended up rocket-launching my ice lolly across the sidewalk and then these fucking seagulls showed up, those bastards–”

“None of this explains why you tried to do it in the first place.”

“Uh…”

Your eyes shifted awkwardly.

Seokjin impatiently tapped his naked wrist that had no watch on it.

“I read it… in an online smut story I was reading…”

You perfectly handsome boyfriend might actually get a wrinkle if he continued to raise his eyebrows to the fucking moon. “You do what?”

You poked your index fingers together, biting your lip. “Because… I’m not very good at it… so I was thinking maybe I could learn some tips or something…”

“What?”

Now his voice was soft, immediately dropping the act and his anger. You saw him reach out and place his hand over yours, wrapping his fingers around tightly, tugging. You looked up and he tilted his head, brow knitted in worry.

“Hey,” Seokjin frowned, full lower lip sticking out. “What do you mean, you’re not good at it? You are. I like everything you do.”

You chewed on your lip anxiously. “But… but…” It was a stupid thought and, honestly, not that big of a deal, but it had been eating away at you for a while, so you just winced and let it out.

“You never finish with my mouth.”

Rapid blinking was his response. His eyebrows disappeared under his brown hair again.

“And it bothers me. You always finish with your hand into my mouth, but I can’t seem to do it by myself.”

Seokjin’s lips parted, looking apologetic. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

You wrung your hands, loosening his grip on you. “I don’t know, it seems weird to say in the moment and it’s embarrassing… I thought maybe I wasn’t good enough…”

“No, no,” he said gently, holding your shoulders and shaking his head. “I...” His ears turned bright red and he swallowed. “I just like… seeing it shoot out into your mouth.” He coughed awkwardly, squeezing your shoulders. “It’s, er, nice, watching my cum drip onto your tongue and lips…” Seokjin cleared his throat and smiled, cheeks puffing out, looking a bit like the sides of freshly baked bread. “I didn’t realize my selfishness was making you feel inadequate. That’s not it at all. I only wanted to make it easier on you, and, cough, it’s kind of hot…”

“O… oh.”

He patted your shoulder fondly. “It’s only a misunderstanding. We can do whatever you want next time, okay? I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I will do better.”

You nodded and smiled, feeling much more relieved about the whole thing. Seokjin always had the ability to help you let things go, and it always made you feel a little lighter. It was part of the past now and you wouldn’t be bothered if Yoongi teased you any longer, because you had the best boyfriend in the whole world. There was no need to feel embarrassed.

You wrapped your arms around Seokjin and gave him a big, fierce hug.

Only to be impaled in the lower stomach.

“Ow!”

“Ack!”

You jerked back, whipping your head down.

“No, no, no, stop! Stop looking!”

“Why are you hard?!”

Seokjin waved his arms and abruptly flapped his hands down on his massive tent. “We were talking about blowjobs! And you! What do you think is going to happen?” he spluttered, the red creeping from his ears to his cheeks now, matching the exact shades used on merchandise during Christmas time with emerald green pajamas and a red face.

You gawked at him and he gawked back.

Wait.

“This is a perfect chance!”

“No, no, no, it is not, cease and desist, woman! Everyone is coming back soo–Gah!”

There was flurry of movement and Seokjin’s pajama pants were flung off, along with his shirt, and you were pushing him down onto the bed, him panicking the entire time, but he couldn’t have been that mad about it, because he was helping you by backing up, yelping as you hooked your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and yanked down, freeing his erection that nearly slapped you in the face.

“You trying to take out my eyeball?” you teased, grinning.

“You assaulting me and you’re upset that I’m fighting back?” Seokjin retorted, trying to hide his smile and be serious, but he was terrible at that and so were you, both of you grinning like a pair of idiots.

Well, you were certainly a little bit of an idiot for trying to deep throat a – you’re right, we’ll let it go (for now).

“I learned some things,” you said excitedly, forcing his legs open abruptly and making him squeak.

“Things? Ack!”

You leaned down and lifted his hard length up delicately, licking a fat stripe from base to tip, sighing softly as you came into contact with the velvety skin and his clean scent, Seokjin gasping above you, but suddenly this was not about him, this was about the cock in front of you and all the information you had complied to this point, ready to apply your learning. You wrapped your lips around the head, swiping your tongue on the underside, and Seokjin groaned, hips twitching but you grabbed them and pressed them firmly to the bed, shooting him a glare.

“Don’t interrupt me,” you growled around his dick.

He gave you a helpless frown. “Hello, I’m still attached to this di–”

You stared at him and slid your tongue out from your lips, swirling it around his girth, pressing the sensitive tip around the contours of your mouth, his eyes widening as he witnessed spit dripping from the wet muscle.

“O… oh…”

You let your eyes drift over his form, slowly, slowly, savoring the lines of his body, broad shoulders, shapely collarbones, the curve downwards to his trim waist, all the while taking him your mouth, tongue and lips soft and mouth tight, breathing deeply, eyes flickering up to his face and his expanding pupils, watching you with awe.

“Holy shit… and you’re not even naked… o-oh, fuck…”

You cocked an eyebrow, probably looking much more confident than you actually felt, but that didn’t matter. Fake it till you make it, right? And besides, every protagonist in every story has a moment of letting go and having courage and this was your moment, inorganic or not, flexing your tongue against Seokjin’s ever stiffening length, his breathing turning into wispy moans, watching you poised over him with his dick in your mouth, still wearing the silk pajamas and yet.

He watched you with amazement, love and lust in his brown orbs.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Your ears burned hot and you tried not to choke on his dick in embarrassment.

Don’t ruin the moment!

Somehow you managed not to freak out and pressed your lips to the base of his cock, hitting his crotch, the uncomfortable feeling of too full expanding your throat, the head practically plugging your airway, but one glance at Seokjin and the suffocation was worth it, seeing him tip his head back, messy brown hair sliding past his forehead, groaning your name with his eyes closed.

You pulled back a little, took a breath, and went back down for the kill.

“What the fuck…?”

Lower lip opening, tongue stretching out, only able to move the tip a bit at the top of his balls. Hm. This wasn’t working. You adjusted and cupped a hand under them, lifting the two soft mounds and pressing them to your chin, your tongue swiping out over them, his dick bending a little in your mouth (more flexible and a lot warmer than an ice lolly, by the way), and Seokjin was losing it above you, shuddering and whining, a mix of curses and your name as you turned your head to get a different angle, the tip of his cock pushed to one side of your throat, determined to see what was most comfortable and got you the best reaction, saliva coating his balls and causing them to become more slippery. You furrowed your brows and gripped his balls tighter, smearing the slick liquid over the soft skin and Seokjin moaned obscenely loudly, falling onto the bed, back arching.

“Oooh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Abruptly, your throat spasmed, reminding you that needed to breathe, and you pulled back, coughing and panting slightly.

“Does that feel good?” you wheezed. Not the sexiest. You grimaced and cleared your throat, asking again. “Did that feel good for you?”

Seokjin tipped his head up, brown eyes glazed over, breathing hard. “Ah… It feels nice, but I don’t think I could finish with that…” Your frown deepened, but he shook his head, sending his brown hair floating everywhere. “It’s not tight enough. But it’s an insane turn on, so I think I could cum faster after…” He coughed, cheeks flushing. “After feeling and seeing it, you know?”

Your frown erased and you nodded, gently rubbing his soaked balls, seeing him shiver and his breathing shallow. “I think I understand, yeah.”

“Can… ah, can you finish me, p-please, ack, you k-keep – fuuuuuuuck…”

You went down again, but this time your focus was on the tightness of your mouth, tongue sliding from side to side, bobbing your head in a smooth, swift motion, keeping your lips soft, eyes closing as you felt his cock twitch inside your mouth, completely focused on the sensation of Seokjin in between your lips, breathing him in, the soft scent of fresh soap and his sweetness, trying to remember if there was anything you had forgotten.

Ah, yes!

You tipped your head back slightly and Seokjin cried out, heady and erotic, as the head of his cock dragged along the roof of your mouth before burying into your throat, over and over, hot saliva and a squirming tongue amplifying the sensation, realizing you needed to relax your throat but clench your mouth muscles while relaxing your lips and doing all this while keeping track of where his cock was going in your mouth so you didn’t accidentally choke on his dick.

A whole new level of multitasking.

Was the writer of that erotica you were reading some kind of sex god, because what the fuck–

But it didn’t matter, because even if it was sloppy and you couldn’t focus on all these things simultaneously, Seokjin was feeling only pleasure, fingers curling in the sheets, barely able to choke out his words through his moans.

“F-Faster, please…”

Faster? You could barely keep up as it was!

“Please…” he whined and you obeyed immediately, faster it was, because you were weak for him, weak for Kim Seokjin and his pleading face, pupils so blown out he seemed intoxicated, drunk on pleasure, and that made you aroused too, seeing your effect of him, tightening ever more and increasing the pace, the wet smacking sounds quickening, echoing in the bedroom with his lustful groans of your name, so sweet and loving that if you weren’t going to pass out from how fast you were going, you were surely going to pass out from the overwhelming adoration in his eyes. It made you push for a little bit more, push your limits a little harder, made you feel like you could do this.

For him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

Seokjin gripped the sheets tight and threw his head back, chest expanding with a low moan, thrusting his hips up and cock jolting, shooting thick streams into your throat, and your eyes widened, forced to stop, feeling his cum pool, creamy and viscous, tasting the delicious saltiness at the base of your tongue, your eyelids fluttering a little at the feeling of the tip rutting against the roof of your mouth and more dribbling out, coating the inside of your mouth.

Oh.

Oooh, fuck, it felt good.

You swallowed, feeling victorious and insanely horny, tongue circling round and round his flinching stiffness, able to sense the pulse and his shudders, descending again because you couldn’t get enough, so good, the feeling of him still in your mouth, him shivering at your persistent licks and light sucks, stroking his hips and moaning at the skin to skin.

The front door banged open downstairs and there was a lot of laughing and shouting.

Your eyes snapped open and Seokjin looked back at you in sheer panic.

The footsteps up the stairs proved they were being taken two at a time.

“Shit.”

Never had Seokjin yanked his cock so fast out of your lips (sad) and snatched his underwear and pajamas, bolting to the bathroom and throwing himself in there in record time the literal second the bedroom door was yanked open by rambunctious strength and a grin whose front teeth were ever-so-slightly too large for his face.

“Hyung, noona!”

You were laying with your head in your hand and your elbow on the bed, which was probably too sexual and weird for Jeon Jungkook, but that was all you got that this moment. He gave you a slightly disturbed and confused look under his big black bucket hat.

“Where’s hyung?”

You coughed and lowered your hand, trying to get in a less awkward position. “B-bathroom…” you rasped. Oh no. Did you go too hard? You sounded a bit like the crypt keeper. Fortunately, you didn’t look like one, so there was that. You rubbed your throat, wincing at the soreness. You definitely went a bit rough. You weren’t no young spring chicken anymore. You were going to feel that in the morning.

Sacrifices had to be made.

Jungkook pouted, bounding up to you and tilting his head. He was a moving black fabric mountain with his long-sleeved shirt and billowy shorts. “Are you really sick, noona? Do you want hot tea or some milk?”

Oh my God, Jungkook, I just sucked some dick and that’s why I sound dead.

Don’t say that.

“I… I’ll be fine, Jungkook. Did you have a nice walk?”

“Oh, yeah! There were fireworks! I think the city was celebrating something, and it was so colorful and pretty…”

You sat there and nodded, trying to listen intently while trying not to think about how Seokjin was in the bathroom rinsing off his saliva and cum-covered dick literal meters from you and oblivious Jungkook.

You saw movement behind Jungkook’s excitedly bouncing head. No straw hat, just black hair flattened against his forehead, covering his cat-like, dark brown eyes.

Yoongi.

He smirked, holding up a box.

Frozen ice lollys, the fizzy soda flavor that was light blue.

A muscle in your eye twitched.

Asshole.

--

masterpost

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao. 

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings. 

 The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow. 

 The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway. 

 "Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!" 

 A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough. 

 "Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

 He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy." 

 "My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please." 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

 "'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice. 

 Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you." 

 You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it. 

 "Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

 "Didn't even notice," he reassures you. 

 Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen. 

 Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

 She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

 "Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later. 

 "You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

 "Uh, yeah. I could eat." 

 Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything. 

 "Sandwiches okay?" 

 Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth. 

 "Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich. 

 You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

 He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask. 

 He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days. 

 Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow. 

 After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

 It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer. 

 "It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free." 

 Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better. 

 You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie. 

 He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow. 

 "I can pick something else," he tells you quietly. 

 You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften. 

 "'S'fine."

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

 He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be. 

 He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies. 

 "You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

 "You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

 You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress. 

 Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep. 

 That's good. You could use a nap. 

 He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours. 

 But first. 

 As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf. 

 It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before. 

 The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses. 

 Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward. 

 They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother. 

 Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

 He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book. 

 Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

 He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole? 

 Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible. 

 It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on. 

 Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

 Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left. 

 The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album. 

 He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

 "Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album." 

 Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes. 

 "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

 You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

 But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length. 

 "Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

 "What's there to tell?" 

 Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth. 

 "It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

 Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books. 

 "Is it, though? Is it really?" 

 "I..." 

 Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language. 

 Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you. 

 It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

 At least it makes sense now. 

 "I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it. 

 You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

 Then, you flop back down on your pillows. 

 "So. Any questions, Zacharias?" 

 He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

 A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

 "Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease. 

 "Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

 Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up. 

 "Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous. 

 "He left." 

 "Yeah."

 And then he gets the full story. 

 Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

 "Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

 The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom. 

 "He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick." 

 He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since. 

 "I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

 "Were you ever close with him?"

 You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

 It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

 At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him. 

 He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk. 

 "Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

 Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice. 

 Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him. 

 "I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

 Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies. 

 "Have you seen him since?" 

 You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

 Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction. 

 You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

 "Anyway," he mimics. 

 "I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

 "Is this why?" 

 "Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

 "Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know. 

 Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months. 

 "So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

 "For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

 "Mm. I guess."

 The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better. 

 Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster. 

 Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark. 

 When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest. 

 It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate. 

 You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth. 

 He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut. 

 Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer. 

 He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth. 

 Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

 Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

 He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

 So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you. 

 After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other. 

 He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now. 

 If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back. 

 He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself: 

 I love you. I love you, I love you.  

 You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day. 

 You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

 Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

 Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear. 

 Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it. 

 And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

 You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

 It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

 He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening. 

 The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

 You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail. 

 Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence. 

 Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can. 

 Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

 “Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

 He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

 “You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

 “Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

 “Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

 He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

 Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip. 

 “Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

 It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you. 

 “I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

 After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way. 

 You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done. 

 Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it. 

 Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock. 

 He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

 It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying. 

 Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

 Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger. 

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books. 

 It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice. 

 Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town. 

 It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway. 

 Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder. 

 The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!" 

 Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

 A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles. 

 "It's fine. You can calm down."

 You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused. 

 The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him. 

 "You're Zeke Jaeger."

 He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

 Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players. 

 You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face. 

 "Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

 He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

 You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself. 

 "Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

 Your stomach flips at the mention of him. 

 "We're not dating."

 Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

 "No. Just friends."

 He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain. 

 "Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try. 

 He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

 "I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

 "Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

 You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

 "I'll walk with you," he states more than offers. 

 Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.  

 But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen. 

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does. 

 Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

 These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip. 

 Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

 You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

 He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

 You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

 It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

 “You listening, sweetheart?”

 Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 “No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

 “That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

 “It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

 Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

 You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor. 

 Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

 The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

 “Yeah, okay.”

 He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

 No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said. 

 What a fucking joke. 

*

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside. 

 “You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

 “Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

 “Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

 You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

 “Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

 He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.” 

 He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

 Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day. 

 And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

 Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

 Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece. 

 If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

 But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

 What is happening to you?

 “So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

 But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

 You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

 Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

 His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

 You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car. 

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

 Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

 You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys. 

 “I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

 “Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

 Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

 “I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

 You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes. 

 “Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

 You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

 Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

 “Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

 “You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

 “I—”

 “It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

 Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him. 

 But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

 He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

 Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

 Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that. 

 “What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

 You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

 “Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

 “Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.” 

 God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

 Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

 “Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

 Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

 More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

 “Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem. 

 “I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

 “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

 You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

 That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his. 

 He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth. 

 You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

 “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

 The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more. 

  And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

[vechkinfan]

Jack

A/n: I found this little one shot while I was looking through the deep dark depths of my google docs the other day and figured I might as well share it. Its a young Joker fic, and my fist time writing for the joker so please take it easy on me!😁

Pairing: Joker x OFC

Summary: A brief glimpse into the Jokers past, memories that he would rather keep buried, memories that reminded him of someone that held his heart. A heart that now burned for Gotham's reckoning.

Warnings: Talks of abuse, swearing, angst, vague talk of death

Jack found himself climbing the dirty, half rotten stairs of his apartment building. The light bulbs on every other floor, blown out or stolen, casting a darkness over him as he made his way up. 

His mother had one of her 'friends' as she liked to call them, over. So he made himself scarce for the afternoon, like he always managed to. Jack weaseled his way out of the apartment when those creeps were over. Especially the ones who would come right in and give him those looks. Those perverted sideways eyes when his mother was too plastered to notice any different. Looks that sent a piercing shiver across his whole body, and an uneasiness to settle in his gut.  He much preferred the men who would come over and pretended like he didn't exist. 

The sun had long since started to sink in the sky  as he climbed the stairs towards home and Jack knew he had to make it before the streetlights in the narrows started to flicker. The evil in his apartment was one thing, but the evils that lurched about once all the sunlight was extinguished in the sky was much more frightening. 

Rounding the last flight of stairs, his eyes landed on a girl  sitting at the top of them. Her back pressed against the door jam of the closest apartment door.  One foot stretched out in front of her blocking his path and the other bent, shaking vigorously on the next step down. 

She was sucking on a red popsicle, as her fingers drummed against the skin of her knee that poked free from a hole in her ratty jeans. 

Jack knew she just moved in a few months back, but he never crossed paths with her before now. However every time he opened the door to let in one of his mothers 'friends', she would be sitting at the top of those stairs. Usually a pack of playing cards in her hands, flicking them one by one, aimlessly down to the next landing. 

"What flavor is that?" Jack asked, curious at what her voice would sound like. He'd been intrigued by her presence the moment he saw her all those weeks ago. 

Pulling the half melted popsicle from her mouth, the girl turned her head slightly to gaze towards him. Her dark brown hair in a curly mess that covered half of her face, but not enough for Jack to miss the darkness of her left eye. It almost appeared black, the deep brown of her iris engulfing her pupil, giving her a truly ominous appearance. 

"Cherry." She answered, her voice nothing what he expected. It held a delicate raspiness, nowhere near the point where it matched Ms. Emerson two floors up who had been smoking 3 packs a day since the depression. There was a softness to it though, one that made Jack want to hear more from her.  "You live in the apartment cross from me don't you?" 

Nodding his head, Jack shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Sure do." 

She sat in silence after that, and he stood a few stairs below quietly staring at her. His feet shuffling against the creaky old floor board, wondering if this would be the end of their talk. Perhaps it'd be the last time they spoke at all. Jack knew the Narrows had people shuffling around from place to place, like one of them scam shell games. She very well could be gone by morning. 

 "I can bring you one next time…. If you want?" Swinging her leg around, she sat so she was facing him. Both feet planted one step down as she licked the red sugary liquid that was starting to drip down the wooden popsicle stick and onto the top of her hand. 

"I got two left in the freezer." Her voice was soft and held a nervousness that made fighting off a sly grin for Jack very difficult.  

"Yeah, I'd like that." Hustling up the stairs, Jack found himself sitting down beside her. 

His eyes getting a better glance at the girl, in the low light of the stairwell. Now he could tell she was using her hair to hide the right side of her face. Her right eye was an awful shade of purple, and the lid swollen so badly Jack knew she must be having a hard time seeing. 

As he let his eyes pan across her face, he noticed her lip that was stained with cherry popsicle was also busted open. The girl next to him seemed to have come from a similar home as himself. It was near luck that Jack hadn't gotten his ass handed to him by one of his mother friends in a while. Talking back was a habit that he couldn't quit no matter how much he was beaten for it. Not to mention the fit of laughter that usually escaped his thin lips as a belt or a fist swung in his direction didn't help either. 

"You got a name?" He asked, finally dragging his eyes back to meet her dark gaze. 

"Billy." 

Furrowing his brow and giving his head a subtle tilt, he wondered if she was fucking with him.

"That's a boy's name." He puffed out a small laugh. However the girl beside him didn't react at all. 

"I know, you don't gotta remind me." She shrugged her shoulders, before finishing off the popsicle and throwing the wood stick down the stairs. 

"It's  your nickname right?" Jack couldn't quite stop himself with the questions. Usually he kept to himself and avoided people, but she…  there was just something  different about her. Something that drew Jack in like a moth to a flame. 

He knew his interest was purely the result of her moving directly across the hall and appearing to be close to his age, if she had moved three flights up and was a little frilly girl, Jack was sure he wouldn't have even batted an eyelash in her direction as he carried on home. 

Shaking her head and rolling her eye, she was the one to laugh now. "No, my momma lost her first baby, who was a boy when he was real little. She ain't been right in the head since." Jack watched as she picked at the frayed edge of the side pocket of her faded army green vest while she spoke. "So when she found out she was having me, she just knew I was a boy. The doctors told her different, but she didn't really care what they thought. So she named me Billy." 

Shoving her hands into her vest pockets now, she quickly pulled out her deck of cards and began to shuffle them absentmindedly. 

"Billy's not a bad name, I mean there was Billy the kid that robbed banks in the old west right? Like some badass cowboy outlaw… Maybe one day I could live up to that name." Jack's eyes watched as she expertly flipped the cards against themselves, the loud noise filling the hallway. 

"Hate to break it to you, Billy the kid never robbed banks. He's just known for murdering people."

Peering up at him from the corner of her eye, her posture deflated, "Oh…." Billy sighed. 

They sat there in silence after that, Jack feeling some form of regret telling her about Billy the kid. The girl had seemed thrilled in her blissful unawareness, so happy with only a shared name that connected the two. Which was utterly ridiculous, and in any other circumstance Jack would have enjoyed watching the girls dreams come crashing down from the clouds. However it was like a small light had been snuffed inside of her and Jack hated that he caused that. Which blew his mind, cause why would he care about some girl he just met and her no good thoughts. She'd be gone in a few weeks, out of his life for good! The narrows would swallow her up just like it did the other kids, and he really shouldn't have cared. But he did on some level, and it fucking bothered him. 

"Billy where the fuck you at, you little piece of shit?" An angry voice screamed from just beyond the door she had been leaning against. The abruptness caused the girl to flinch and drop the stack of cards she was holding. 

They fell like dominos down the stairs, fluttering off in all sorts of directions. Making a fucking mess. 

Jack watched as she threw herself off the steps and down the stairs chasing after all the playing cards. "Fuck I'm gonna be in so much trouble." She muttered to herself as she frantically began the daunting task. 

Without much thought, Jack did something that surprised himself again. He stood up and grabbed a few of the cards that had fallen towards the top of the stairs. Bunching them together in his hand, before looking down at the Ace of hearts that was face up. The corner dog-eared like a well read book, from constant use probably. 

"I said where the fuck you at girl." A man ripped the door open to her apartment, and stumbled out. The stench of bad tequila filling the air almost immediately.

"I-im I'm sorry I…" Billy stuttered out as she crawled on the ground grabbing the last of the cards.  Her hands trembled bad enough that Jack could tell from where he stood that she was terrified. 

Eyeing the man cautiously, Jack saw him take a step closer to the edge of the stairs. His arm raised slightly, fingers twitching, ready to strike her hard when she finally made her way back to him. 

"Sorry, I tripped into Billy while I was coming down the steps. Made her drop her cards." Jack lied with a laugh, and held up the few in his hands. "I was just helping her pick them up." 

The drunken slob of a man, took a steadying breath, probably knowing he couldn't pummel a kid that wasn't his own. The man's overtly round face, covered in a patchy beard and a badly trimmed mustache that had the remnants of cheese puffs littered throughout it, gave Jack a nasty look. His lip turned up in pure disgust. 

"Yeah well watch where you fucking walk next time." He flicked his hand at Jack, and then turned his attention to Billy. Who was now standing up straight at the bottom of the landing, cards in hand. "You, " He pointed at her with a chubby accusatory finger, "pick up your goddamn mess and get in the house, and don't make me fucking tell you again." 

Jack watched as the man turned ungracefully on his heel and stumbled back from the pit in which he came. Slamming the door behind him with such power, some of the cracked plaster on the ceiling fell to the floor.

"You didn't have to lie." 

"I know." He heard her take a few hesitant steps up, until she was standing side by side with himself. "I ain't in the mood to watch an ass kicking at the moment." He couldn't stop the tiny laugh that escaped him at his own humorless joke. 

Tilting his head towards Billy, he finally held out the few cards that he managed to collect. She greedily took them back into her possession, and Jack watched as the girl seemed to be counting them to herself. Her fingers flipping past each number making sure they were all accounted for. 

"Thank you." Her voice was softer than anything Jack had ever heard as she finished what she was doing and tucked the cards back into her vest pocket. 

"He hit you a lot?" Jack asked aloud, as the girl pushed past him and towards her apartment door. 

Shrugging her shoulders, Billy nodded her head. "Not as much as my real dad did, so I'm lucky enough. I know some kids got it worse than me, so I'm not complaining."

"Lucky?" He quirked a brow at her choice of words. Luck was nowhere to be seen in the Narrows, especially not in that girls apartment. 

Perhaps the girl had been struck in the head so many times it actually made her dense. It wouldn't be a surprise to him if that was the case, because no one, and he meant no one, would ever call themselves lucky with the life she seemingly led. 

"You got to believe in something, right?" She smirked. "Luck seems more plausible than some god or a superhero saving me. Plus I got this." Reaching back into her pocket the girl drew out a single card, and quickly flicked it over to him.

Jack caught it and huffed an amused laugh. His eyes falling upon the joker card that belonged to her deck. The jester was skillfully juggling three knives while he balanced with one foot on a large green and purple circus ball. The character itself was off putting, his face painted white, his lips smudged with red paint  that made his maniacal grin even more pronounced. His jester hat constructed out of oddly colored rattlesnakes, multiple wrapped around one another to give its iconic shape. Their rattling tails hung as the bells at the tips. It was clearly far from the typical playing card one could get at the Bodega down the block. 

"It's my lucky card, bad things don't happen as often when I have it on me." 

Jack couldn't help but continue to stare at it. The wheels in his mind spun endlessly with hundreds of questions, but he knew he'd never have time to get them answered. She was on borrowed time as it was, and he didn't want to hold her up further. Cause if he did, the girl probably wouldn't be able to see at all next time he ran into her. The guy inside, smashing her other eye to the point it was swelled shut as well. 

Looking up into her eyes, Jack attempted to hand it back. But Billy just shook her head at him. 

"You keep it, it's the least I can do after you saved my ass. Maybe it will bring you some luck." She smiled at him before turning and opening her apartment door making her exit. 

"If you give me this, won't your luck be gone?" His words stopped her in her tracks. But all Jack could focus on was her soft laughter.

Without turning to face him, she pulled another card free from her pocket, twisting it expertly between two fingers so the face of it was in Jack's direction. An inverted match to the very card that he held in his hands. "There's always two jokers." 

Just as quick as she pulled it free, Billy shoved it back into her pocket, "See you around." She chuckled before disappearing into her apartment. Leaving Jack alone in the stairwell, staring quizzically at the place the girl once was. His lip twitching up in amusement, before he shook his head clear of their encounter. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The joker cracked an eye open as he startled awake. It was a rare occurrence in recent years that his dreams would startle him out of sleep. That was only reserved for a specific time in his life, and that was not now anymore. 

His half sleep blurred vision instantly focused on the ever growing water stain that was spreading across the ceiling tiles. It's dark brownish edges tainting the once white paint, giving the already run down room a greater sense of abandonment. 

His hand stretched out wantingly, his long fingers gripping into the cool sheets of the spot next to him. The spot that had been vacant for many years now. An emptiness that slowly consumed him in absolute sorrow, and then engulfed him in a burning rage, no one could ever put out. 

It was a pain that radiated through the Joker like a poison when his mind traveled to her. Pleading for him to remember, remember a time when things were pleasant. When she was by his side, and in his bed, places he could keep her safe. 

But he couldn't, the day Gotham took her from him was the day its reckoning started. They would all pay, every last one of them.

[jinxfirebolt18902]

I licked it so it’s mine - JJ Maybank Imagine

Words: 1.818

Warnings: none?

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!reader

A/N: I got this idea from a tumblr pic that read the title in a neon light sign. English isn’t my mother tongue so prob syntax mistakes AND F**** ENGLISH PREPOSITIONS other than that I love y’all, hope you enjoy.

—Okay sweetie, go have a good day and make new friends! —She heard her mom telling her as she gently pushed her by her shoulders towards the group of little girls and boys near the teacher. She took a few steps lacking confidence, not sure she wanted to actually be a part of the class. Minutes later a blonde boy with a face that already screamed ‘trouble’ despite the young age furrowed his eyebrows at her new face. He got closer and observed her attentively making her a little uncomfortable. Matching his personality, she furrowed her brows as well and asked rudely “what?!”

The boy processed the uncommon attitude coming from a girl and smiled at the change, appreciating the feisty confrontation in contrast with the so common cries or runaways of the other little girls he used to annoy. From then on they became inseparable and her mother always invited him over to play. Their play dates often involved fights, stolen toys and ice cream. As time passed, they grew out of toys but not out of ice creams, and they kept going to the small store that sells popsicles and doing their routine: buy the popsicle, go to the dock in front of the store and sit with their feet hanging as they ate the ice cream.

One of the many times, they were nine years old and just as she was about to give her popsicle the first lick he beat her to it and she whined immediately.

—JJ! —he laughed real hard and took it from her hands, provoking his best friend to become even more angrier.

—Sorry —he shrugged his shoulders innocently and then looked at the frozen candy —But I licked it so it’s mine now.

She punched him on the right shoulder and before she stood up and got away, he handed her his still packaged popsicle with a smile. She sent him another glare before sitting down again and not talking to him for the next 5 minutes.

—C’moooon! You can’t ignore me foreverrrr —he dragged some syllables of his words as he spoke close to her just to annoy her more.

—You’re disgusting JJ.

He smiled winningly at his victory. —But you love me anyways.

Years went by, their friendship grew and their group too, with the addition of John B, and years later Pope’s and Kiara’s. After Kie finished her shift at The Wreck, Pope and JJ were done with the groceries deliveries for the Kooks and John B and she were done at the Cameron’s, each with their different tasks, the crew had agreed on meeting at The Chateau to relax and drink some cheap beers.

John B was stargazing with a nostalgic look on his face; Kie was strumming her ukelele; Pope was sitting on an old foldable beach chair while she and JJ were swinging on the big hammock, beers of can in their hands. She was struggling to open hers as she tried to avoid breaking her nails on the process. She pouted as she extended her arm holding the can to the blonde. He took it and opened it easily but before handing it back he made sure she was still looking at him and carefully dug the tip of his tongue into the little hole, earning a protest from her.

—JJ!

He smirked and enjoyed the reaction he was getting from her. —What?!

—It was my beer!!

He let out a deep laugh as his head fell backwards. —You know the rules, I licked it, so…

Their friends laughed as they nodded their heads at JJ’s passion for teasing her.

Months later, summer days began and holidays welcomed free time and Tourons in Outer Banks. New faces, new adventures, new hook ups. The gang had organized one of the very famous keggers at the Boneyard. Music resonated from someone’s speaker, 5 bonfires had small groups of teenagers of all ages sitting around talking and drinking while larger groups were dancing around the beach. She and Kie were at different fires chatting with Tourons while Pope and John B made sure everyone got their refill. JJ being JJ was sweet talking a brunette into his bed at The Chateau. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary. They were all having a good time. Things got awkward the next day, when the crew woke up and saw JJ’s brunette still there, showing no intentions of leaving. She and Kie had passed out on the pull out couch while Pope slept on the other couch but they all looked a bit shocked, and uncomfortable, at the intruder walking around the kitchen as if she belonged there with them. JJ came out of his room minutes later and got his friends curious stares for breakfast. He shrugged his shoulders and twitched the corners of his lips indicating an “I-have-no-clue-why-she’s-still-here” expression when the girl couldn’t see.

In the afternoon, the intruder announced she’d go back to her family and take a shower but also planned to meet at The Wreck for dinner. Once she left the females of the group scoffed at her.

—Dude, she stuck with us like she’s part of the Pogues, what the fuck?! —Kie complained at no one in particular, but sent JJ a quick glare.

—You gotta fix this. —She pointed her index finger into her best friend’s chest. —There is no way I’m having dinner with her.

After everyone had gone back to their place and taken a shower, shared some family time and run some errands, the Pogues agreed to get together after dinner and go for some ice cream.

—Which flavour did you ask for Kie? —she asked as she licked her cookies and cream ice cream before it dripped on her clothes and hands. Kie gave her a funny look and answered.

—Watermelon, it’s really good actually. Sweet and refreshing.

The boys came walking a few steps behind them as they pushed each other like little kids. The girls rolled their eyes but stopped on their tracks as they heard a voice calling for them. Well more specifically, for the blonde surfer and their leader.

—JJ! John B! —the same brunette they were trying to avoid rushed down to the docks they were standing on.

—Hey there… —John B answered, not wanting to be rude.

Once again, the intruder stuck to the group of friends and hung out for a few hours, constantly trying to flirt with JJ. The brunette playfully hit him whenever he teased her, gently grabbed his biceps when they were sitting down on the wooden dock and tried to get him alone by walking slower than the group, her arms circling around his waist. JJ wasn’t used to his hook ups sticking to him like this, he usually made it clear he was up for a one night stand only but this one didn’t want to give him up just yet.

The brunette had also caught interest in the intense relationship between him and his best friend. The intruder wanted to have JJ’s complete attention but his friend was kind of getting in the way of that. As a girl, she sensed his friend was purposely cock blocking him, which started a silent and very subtle war between them.

The brunette laughed at JJ’s joke and got impossibly closer to him, resting her light weight on his chest. She rolled her eyes and made a signal to Kie to make her look at the intruder and then faked a vomit earning a laugh from Kie. John B and Pope furrowed their eyebrows at Kiara’s laugh, confused at why she was laughing. Kie was the only one who could see her little act.

Moments later they decided to go around the docks and throw some rocks into the water. John B felt a bit more comfortable now and teased the brunette by trying to splash her with the rocks he threw. That was the first time through the night that she had gotten away from JJ and she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to hit back.

She got closer to her best friend and challenged him with just a look. He rolled his eyes as he smirked, knowing he was in trouble.

—Get her off our backs dude. I wanna spend time with my friends, not her! —she whispered urgently looking up at his eyes as he was taller than her.

—What do you want me to do? Tell her ‘hey me and my friends want to be alone, do you mind?’—he mocked trying to make his point clear but she was having none of it. —Yep, that sounds perfect —she smiled and taped his chest as if the whole matter was solved. He raised an eyebrow and focused his eyes on hers. A second later he had a dirty smirk on his features, then it was her turn to quirk an eyebrow. —What?

—Aren’t you jealous, are you? —his smile grew wider as her scowl deepened. He was quick to snake his arms around her middle and pull her close. —Don’t touch me. Let me go, you’re an asshole. —He pouted and cooed her. —Aww c’mon baby don’t be mad I’m not giving you attention, you know I’m yours. —she just rolled her eyes and sighed deeply as Kie laughed near them, enjoying the whole show.

When she heard too much silence, or the lack of an annoying giggle, in the back, she caught a glance from the corner of her eye and saw John B and the brunette looking at them while Pope told something about dead bodies as he drew patterns in the sand with a stick he had found.

—Careful sis, remember if you play with fire, you get burnt. —John B spoke to her in a mocking tone. The rest, except for the Touron, began laughing.

She takes her chance as JJ’s face is not that far from hers and a wicked smile painted itself on her face before implementing her idea. In less than a second she had stuck her tongue out and slid it from under his jaw up to his bottom lip making the boy freeze and set his blue orbits on her. Her eyes were already on his, shining with playfulness. She was having so much fun having her way. The laughs around her turned into gasps.

She then turned to the other girl and spoke mockingly —I licked it, so it’s mine. —the girl’s jaw fell and she winked at the blonde before walking to Kie and throwing her arm over her curly haired friend, who was wearing an incredulous expression.

—Oh my God, I can’t believe you just did that! —both began to laugh as they walked back to the van and hopefully they would all drive back to The Chateau and spend a real night of friends with no intruders.

[thebluestbluewords]

Soulmates Aren’t Just Lovers, You Know (chapter 2!! It’s on ao3 now!! For real!!)

(malvie, ~4000 words, pre-relationship h/c, cw for mental health issues including non-explicit references to suicide and a lot of sad bits before the actual comfort)

When Mal wakes up again, there are a hell of a lot more people in her room.

Oh, fuck no. This is not some-- some kind of family meeting bullshit. She is so not down for that. Sometimes a girl just has to have a breakdown on her own, and it’s not anybody else’s business what she does when she’s in the throes of panic after having what might be the worst day of her entire life up to this point. Maybe the worst day period, if Mal has her way with it.

“Hey, Mal.” Evie says. “Good morning.”

Mal lets her eyes flicker over to the open window.

“Well, uh, it’s more like nighttime, actually.” Evie says. “But it’s the thought that counts. I brought you dinner, if that helps?”

She holds out a box from the dining hall.

Mal doesn’t want to sit up and eat dinner and pretend like she’s a real person. She wants to lay here forever until her bones rot and her flesh melts to the bed and she’s left as a discarded husk of a person.

“It’s those fancy potato pockets?” Evie offers, shaking the box a little bit. “And I think there’s dessert?”

Mal sits up. It feels like there’s a weight where her spine should be, but she manages it. “You think?” she asks. “You don’t even know what you got for me?”

Evie has the decency to flush. “When I said I got you dinner, what I meant is that dinner has been summoned for you, and I helped.” she says arily. “It was not meant to be taken literally.”

Mal reaches out for the box. “So, what you’re saying is, the boys brought me dinner.”

Evie nods, sharp. “Yes.”

“We got you apple cake.” Carlos offers. “But if you want something else we have the door code for the freezer.”

Of course they do. Mal knows that. She was there, she’s pretty sure, when they followed one of the assistant cooks around until they could watch her put the code in and take the knowledge for themselves. She’s definitely been there when they’ve gone into the main freezer before, not just the little student one. They don’t keep the raspberry popsicles in the student freezer. She knows this.

“You are….a menace to society.” Mal says, taking the box. It’s still warm. A little bit damp on the bottom, condensation from the warm food inside. It’s weird, to think that it’s been this easy all along. Just come to Auradon, and you can have all the hot food you want. No bartering, no threatening for it. No knives involved at all for the good little kiddies in princess school. Wouldn’t want them to get hurt, finding food for themselves. Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the precious little royal brats.

Anger might not be the right emotion, but it’s something other than empty, so Mal’s going to take what she can get.

Evie is kind enough to wait until Mal has one potato pocket in her mouth and another one in her hand before she speaks.

“So,” Evie starts, and Mal spits her potato thing out so that she can cut her off right there, because no, it doesn’t matter that the boys are in her room, or that Evie went to the effort of tracking them down and making them bring her dinner, this is not a family meeting and Mal is not going to sit here and listen to more people tell her that she’s doing everything wrong.

“No.” Mal snaps, and picks up her only-slightly-damaged dinner again. “We’re not talking about it.”

Evie sighs, dramatically. “No right back at you. We have to talk about this.”

“We don’t!” Mal says, around her mouthful of potato pocket. Fuck, but these things are good.  “We can just pretend like it never happened, and I can go back to--”

Evie interrupts her. “To being miserable all the time and not telling us?” she asks. “That’s what you want to happen?”

Ugh.

Mal flings an arm out, gesturing to the room, where her stylish little backpack is hanging up, where her princess-appropriate shoes are resting on their little white rack in the corner, where her-- okay, where her clothes are still in piles all over the floor and her textbooks for her science classes are sitting unopened on the desk but that’s fine. That’s normal. Everyone has weeks where their room is a mess, that’s why they have a cleaning staff to come around and do the things that the students are too busy to do themselves. It’s not Mal being lazy, it’s her adjusting. To this brave new world. Of. Being a spoiled rich brat.

Anyway.

“To coping!” Mal shouts, mad at herself and not-- just, so not ready to touch that one yet. “I’m coping. It’s fine. I’m just having a rough adjustment, that’s all. It’s hard, learning all of this new Auradon--stuff.”

“I don’t think you are,” Evie says, gently. “Coping is what we did months ago, when we were figuring out how to get through classes, and how to find sunscreen, and all of that. This kind of feels like, well.”

Ugh. “What.” Mal demands. “Spit it out.”

“Like you’re struggling.”

Oh. That’s-- yeah. That’s pretty obvious. Adjusting to the restrictions of school, to all of the times where back home Mal could go and do what she wanted and now she has to go to class and turn things in and speak in turn and not use her hands and sit up straight and share her things and--

It’s a lot. She’s been working on it.

“Sure.” Mal says, because it’s pretty fucking obvious that she’s putting in the effort. If she ends every day so tired she could cry and wakes up with sandpaper where her eyelids should be, that just means she’s working really hard at doing everything right. “Coping, struggling, whatever. I’ll get through it. It’s fine.”

“Mal, I don’t think it is fine.” says Evie. She looks--

Mal sticks another potato thing in her mouth instead of thinking about it. Emotions are overrated anyway.

Evie sighs again. “Some of the things you were saying, it feels like you aren’t happy here.”

“I--” Mal stutters. Stop. Breathe. “I--”

She’s not happy. Anyone with eyes to look at her right now, hiding pathetically in the bed of a girl who she wouldn’t even talk to a year and half ago, could see that. Mal’s pretty sure the lack of feeling that swallows her up sometimes isn’t the same thing as being unhappy, though. It’s the absence of happiness, not the presence of unhappiness. It’s fine. Survivable. She’s supposed to feel grateful, she knows that. She can show her best smile for the cameras, usually, and tell anyone within earshot how grateful she is for the chance to leave the island, and it’s not even a lie, most of the time. It’s awful being here, and it was awful being there, but at least it’s been a different kind of awful, and that’s got to be worth something.

Mal can convince herself, most of the time, that it’s better to be here. Better to be warm and dry and fed and miserable, than to be cold and starving and interested in her own life.

It’s just hard to remember that sometimes.

Jay shifts, pushing off of the table he’d been leaning on and then stopping, like he’s not sure where to move. “We’re not saying that you have to be happy all the time, or whatever,” he says “I’m not. Evie’s not. We’re-- yeah.” He hesitates. Even now, there’s things they aren’t talking about. “I don’t know what’s up with you and Ben, but he’s not happy all the time either. That’s how people work.”

Mal will not cry. “Ben hates me is what’s up with him.” she explains calmly, like a rational person who isn’t suddenly on the verge of tears over nothing. “ He wants me to give up magic completely and I can’t do that, I just can’t. It’s a part of me and it-- when I don’t use it, I’m cutting off a part of myself.”

“Have you talked to Fairy Godmother yet about the magical theory classes?” Evie asks softly. “Jane is taking them, and so is Aria. You wouldn’t be alone.”

Mal scoffs. “Magic theory. Like that’s good for anything.”

“It could help--”

The tears are back, suddenly.  Prickling hot at the back of Mal’s throat, threatening to choke her again. Making her voice wobble like she’s weak.

“It’s not going to help!” Mal shouts, instead of giving in to her other impulse, which is to start sobbing. “It’s not the same thing! I wouldn’t expect you to understand that, but it’s not something I can just-- wish away if I just try hard enough! I need to use magic, and it’s the only way I can be good enough--”

Oh, gods. Fuck. She wasn’t going to cry again.

Evie’s there again, touching Mal’s hand and then her hair, soft and cool and just right in a way that makes Mal want to cry more and not less. Like, Evie’s here, and she’s saying soft words that Mal can’t hear over the pounding in her own head, but it’s got to be just the right thing because Evie always knows the right thing to say whenever Mal is acting stupid again.

“I don’t--” Mal tries. “I--”

Evie wraps an arm over her shoulders and rocks both of them back and forth like she’s a child again.  “It’s okay,” she’s saying, or at least that’s what it seems like she might be saying. It’s hard to tell what with the hysterics and all. “I’ve got you.”

Mal holds her breath until there are spots over her vision, and then lets it out. It’s not easy, but it’s doable, which is more than she could have said just a few hours ago.

Jay shifts forward again and actually makes the move to sit on Mal’s other side this time. His shoulder just barely brushes against hers. It’s nice to just have him there. Grounding, or something.

“Hey. We’re not saying you have to give up magic, okay?” Jay says. “What about, like, we find a way for you to use it somewhere that’s not on your royal boyfriend?”

Oh no.

“He hates--” Mal sniffles. “Hates me anyway. Doesn't matter anymore.”

“Yeah. No. He doesn’t. Trust me on this one,  it takes a lot more than one spell to drive us guys away.”

“I’ve done a lot worse than one spell,” says Mal. “It’s more like-- a whole spellbook.”

Jay bumps her shoulder. It knocks her over into Evie a bit, but that’s just fine with Mal. Evie is always a good place to be. “He’s gonna forgive you.” Jay tells her, like it’s already happened. “He never shuts up about you, for real.”

“I don’t know if I want him to forgive me.” Mal whispers, low and terrible and mostly to herself. She doesn’t know--

She loves Ben, she thinks. She could love him. She does love him, maybe, but in the same way that she loves her other friends. There’s room in her heart for at least three people, but when one of them is so much more it’s hard to say if there’s any space left over for people who don’t get it.

It takes a long minute of sitting with that thought before Mal realizes that oh, right, she was saying something.

It feels too late to finish the thought. Limited-time offer, already expired. No more talking about boyfriends who aren’t what she needs right now anyway. Better to think about Evie instead, safe and warm at her back, or her boys, steady and bright and sweet in their own ways that Mal already understands. It’s easy to be with people you’ve known since you were children, even if they think more about stabbing and stealing than about treaties and marriage and life after high school and all of the things that Mal is supposed to be thinking about now.

Evie shoves Mal upright. “Okay,” she says, clapping her hands together. “I think it’s time to do something that’s not moping now!”

Mal wants to mope forever.  She doesn’t want to rehydrate and rest and do all of the things that Evie is going to make her do. Mal would happily (hah, as-if) stay flopped out in Evie’s bed, draped over Evie’s shoulder forever if she could. It would be easier than facing her problems. Simpler.

Evie pulls a metal dish out of her bag. “We brought popcorn, if you want to do the honor,” she says, clicking out the handle and waving the pan towards Mal.

It’s an effort just for Mal to be sitting up right now. Fire has always come easily, but the act of reaching out a hand might be too much. Transforming her throat to blow a breath of flame wouldn’t just be an effort physically, but mentally as well. It’s easy enough to change her whole shape at once, but there’s no space for a dragon to curl up in a dorm room and transforming her body in bits and pieces is so far beyond what Mal can manage right now that it might as well be impossible.

Mal shakes her head. Nope. All out of fire juice, can’t do it today.

The do have a microwave with a heating element, and at least three lighters between the four of them, so there’s really no need for Mal’s crew to look so fucking stricken.

Ugh. One hot hand won’t hurt too much, and if it can get them to stop looking at her like that, it’ll be worth the effort. “Fine. Give ‘em here,” Mal says, gesturing for the popcorn tin. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

Evie hands it over. “And I love you,” she says back, easily. “Let’s get some Stage Moms going. Let the boys get it set up while we get all cozy.”

Mal sniffles. The popcorn is heating up on her palm, where she’s sending a steady stream of heat up through to the container. It’ll pop in a minute, so long as she doesn’t do something dumb like forget to regulate the heat and light the whole thing on fire. “You don’t have to do this.”

Evie wraps an arm around her shoulders, jostling her close again. “I know. What are friends for, right?”

Oh, Evil.

Evie takes this new bout of tears in stride, pulling Mal close and rescuing the popcorn before it burns and producing a handkerchief from somewhere for Mal to wipe her nose with as she cries.  “I know, I know,” she says soothingly, as Mal sobs into her shoulder. “We’re here for you.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh, hey. You do, Mali. You do, and you always will. Nothing you do is gonna drive us away, okay? We’re your family, and you can’t make us leave even if you try.”

There’s a weight behind Mal, and oh, that’s the sound of Stage Moms up on somebody’s laptop, so the boys must be done getting that set up, and then there’s a hesitant hand patting her back, and oh--

“Um, please don’t try.” Carlos says. “We love you and all. But please don’t.”

There’s a jostling, and then the sounds of someone (Evie) whacking someone else (definitely Carlos, then) upside the head.

“If you need us, baby,” Evie says. “Wherever or whenever or anything. We’re here for you and you can’t change that even if you want to.”

“Even if I’m just like my mother?” Mal asks. She doesn’t want to, but she can’t seem to stop herself. It’s an awful compulsion, the constant need to weigh her actions against her mother’s. Following the trajectory of bright young girl to bitter young woman, to becoming more and more entwined with her magic, until finally she can’t resist the need for power anymore, and she snaps and starts cursing people left and right with no mind for the consequences.

Mal can’t look up. She can’t know what’s going on in this terrible silence that’s going to choke her, even though she wants to know, so very very much, what her crew is doing right now. How they’re going to lie to her when they try and reassure her that she’s not her mother and she won’t ever be, even though the roots are already there.

Evie doesn’t lie to her. “Even then.” she says. “We’d still follow you, Mal. Even if you start cursing people with no rhyme or reason. I’ll always get you back.”

Another wave of hot tears somehow trickle out. “I want to go home.” Mal whispers. She wouldn’t have to worry about dragging her crew back with her if they were home. If they’d never left in the first place. Curse Auradon for making her think about things like morality and goodness and what she could have if only she could be a good girl for a little bit longer. Curse them all.

Evie sighs, and Mal can feel her chest rise and fall with it where they’re squished together on the little island of Evie’s bed. “I know, babe,” Evie says. “You keep saying that.”

Goddess help them all. “I want to go home,” Mal tries to explain. “Not, like, to my mother. I just-- I hate it here. I don’t understand any of the rules and I don’t know how to be a princess like you, Eves. I don’t--” Mal breaks off to swipe a hand over her face. She is not going to cry again,  not with almost everyone she cares about still here to watch. “I don’t think I can keep up with everything anymore. I just want a break.”

Evie sighs again, and rubs a hand over Mal’s back, gentle-like. “What if we got you one?” she says, so softly that Mal almost misses it.

She doesn’t though, and that’s what matters. “What?” Mal asks. Tries to demand, really, but it doesn’t come out quite right.

Evie’s hand doesn’t break rhythm. “A break. We can do that. Get you some time to regroup.”

“I don’t-- it won’t help--”

“Hm.” Evie says, and it sounds skeptical even though it’s barely a noise at all. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“I-- no!”  Mal says, almost tearful again. Fuck, what’s gotten into her, crying at the drop of a brick like this. “You could-- anything, Eves. You can do anything you want, I’m not doubting you.”

Evie conveniently ignores the final emphasis. “Great!”

Oh no.

“No, ” Mal tries to tell her. “I don’t-- Eves.”

“You said I can do anything I want.” Evie challenges, dangerous even under her sparkly lipgloss. Dangerous because of it, maybe. Like a poisonous moth. Something beautiful that you should know better than to touch. “I’m doing it.”

“You did say that.” Jay echoes, watching Mal a little too closely with those stupid bright eyes of his. “Like, just now.”

“I lied.” Mal says immediately. “I’ve never- I would never say a thing like that.”

“Mmm.” says Evie, petting a hand over Mal’s head. It feels not-so-great, so Mal ducks away. She doesn’t need to be reminded of her hair just now. “I don’t think you did. I think you know I’m right, and you’re afraid to think about what it means.”

Oh no. “Can we not psychoanalyze me right now?” Mal begs.

Just like that, Evie backs off. “Sure.” she says breezily. “We can plan your getaway instead. Do you want to see the mountains?”

“I--” Mal tries, but the words stick. “Sure?��

“I think there’s a cabin up there that I can convince, ah,’ Evie barely stutters, but she does wince, and goes on anyway. Great. That’s perfect.  “Nobody in particular! To let us borrow!”

“Eves, please no.”

Evie breaks out into a brilliant smile “Oh yes. Do you think two weeks is enough? An extended spring break, so to speak,  and then we can talk about a longer-term kind of thing.”

Running away forever sounds like something that might be good, but forever also implies some sort of continued existence, and Mal’s really not sure if she’s down for that just now.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” she says, instead of the full thought. “What if it doesn’t change anything?”

“It’s a great idea,” says Evie. “All of my ideas are great, remember?”

“You’re coming with me, right?” Mal asks, hating how pathetic it comes out. She’s not a child, but she feels silly and childish again, watching her best friend plan out how to fix her life.

Evie pauses. “If you want us to,” she says, hesitant for the first time. “I don’t want to put any more pressure on you.”

Oh. The thought strikes Mal for the first time in this awful, no-good, very bad day that maybe she’s not the only one who doesn’t know what she’s doing here. That maybe Evie is scared too.

“I want you there.” Mal says firmly. This, at least, is something she knows. “I want all of you, but please, Eves, I need you there. Don’t send me away on my own.”

“I think we can do that.”

Mal doesn’t want to show her whole soul here, but it’s too easy to just tip her face up towards Evie’s, like she’s a flower reaching for the bright Auradon sun. “Yeah?” she asks hopefully.

Evie brushes a piece of Mal’s hair out of her face, so gentle that it doesn’t even tug on the tangles. “For sure.” she says. “We can go with you.”

“All of you?” Mal asks again, pathetically. “Just for a week, please.”

There’s an intense conversation happening in eyebrows and facial twitching going on over her head, but Mal isn’t ready to follow that just yet, and eventually it seems to resolve itself and Jay reaches over to pat her head. “Yeah, fine.” he says. “All of us.”

Evie lets out a breath. “It’s settled then. An extended spring break, starting next week. Can you do one more week, Mal? We can always call you out sick.”

Mal can’t imagine leaving her room in the next week, much less leaving campus to go out to another unknown place for an extended period of time. “I can do it.” she says, instead of explaining. Classes are the lesser of the two obstacles right now, and besides, she can’t ask the others to take the time off from the classes that they’re finally doing well in. It wouldn’t be fair to them. She’s already-- oh, Evil. She’s asking Jay to give up the university visit he was going to do over break. Fuck. Maybe he can travel down and back, but he hates driving on his own, and she’s already asking so much of them, coming with her at all, and oh--

“We’ll call out early next week.” Evie whispers to her. “One week with everyone, and then we can have a week just for us if you’re up for it, okay?”

Of course Evie already has it all figured out. “Okay.” Mal whispers back to her. “I’ll be okay.”

“Oh, good.” Evie says, at a more normal volume this time. “If you’re feeling up to it, there is one other thing--” she picks up her phone and tilts the screen over towards Mal.

There’s a whole mess of texts, and at least two missed calls that Mal can see already. From a very particular number. Oh, gods.

“No.” Mal says as firmly as she can manage. “No way.”

Evie doesn’t lower the phone. “He’s been calling me.”

“Then tell him to not!” Mal bursts out. “I can’t talk to him about this now!”

Evie grins at that. A full-out, unladylike, evil grin. “Gladly.” she says sweetly, and taps to immediately dismiss the whole mess.

What.

“Really?” Mal asks incredulously.  Evie loves being proper and outwardly kind and not telling people to fuck off to their faces. Evie is a firm believer in the idea that insults stick best when the person has to say ‘thank you’ and ideally won’t even question it until they’re back home that night (where they’re most vulnerable, Evie says. It’s just efficiency to make sure that you’re always hurting people while their guard is down).

“Mal. Baby.” Evie says, shifting so she can talk with her hands without Mal’s sad droopy self in the way. “You don’t know how long I have been waiting to tell this boy to fuck off and let you adjust on your own time. You broke up with Uma like, a month before we came here. That’s not long enough to jump right into another long term relationship, no matter what this Auradon boy thinks. You need time, and space, and I will tell him to give you all of that.”

Mal will not stare with her mouth open like a fish. She’s better than that.

“Wow, okay, Eves.” Jay says, almost laughing. Right.

“Go Evie!” Carlos practically cheers. Of course the boys are still here too. They wouldn’t leave the perfect opportunity for drama behind just because Mal is having a moment.

Evie nods to them, graciously. “Thank you, thank you.” she says. “I do take requests.” she hesitates for a moment. “But, um, Mali, do you want to maybe write him a letter? I can drop it off when I make the call. Make sure he really gets the message.”

“Yeah. I think that-- that would be good. I need space. And time.”

Evie picks up Mal’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Of course.”

“You’ll really do it for me?”

Evie’s eyes are dark and intense and so, so close. “Anything, Mal.” she says. “Just say the word and I’m yours.”

Oh. That’s-- well.

Maybe more than Mal can handle at this exact moment, honestly, but something that is going to be very very important just as soon as she gets her shit together again.

Evie’s face is still very close.

Mal pulls back. “I love you.” she says. It just feels like the right thing to do. “So much, Eves. I love you more than anything.”

Evie’s mouth quirks up at the corner. “More than strawberries?”

“More than strawberries.” Mal echoes back. More than anything, really. “More than chocolate.”

Evie brushes that stupid piece of blonde hair out of her eyes again, and the touch isn’t even a bother this time. “That’s a lot of love,” she says “You’d better be sure about that kind of thing.”

More than anything.

“I’m sure,” Mal tells her. “I love you.”

[anninhiliation]

By The Pine Tree

Masterlist

*Disclaimer: This is my original writing, and you have no permission or right to copy. Don’t be a dick and ruin it for everyone else. Just share the god damn link. DO NOT repost and credit my account and call it a day. I do not consent to it. I DO NOT consent to you copying my work, changing the boy, and claiming it as yours. Some of you Wattpad users are out of line. Take it down. 

A/N: Idk but don’t tell my therapist lol

Wordcount: like 3k oops

Warnings: mentions of drugs and alc. Unprotected sex. wrap it before you tap it. 

It was a warm summer night, surrounded by your mutual friends with your boyfriend, Christopher. Beer in one hand, and the other holding onto Chris as you both floated around on an orange popsicle pool float. His chest pressed against the plastic, tattooed back facing the night sky as your body submerged in the water. Your legs intertwined with his as he gently fluttered his legs, making the float lazily move around the pool. You could feel the water move around every cell of your body as time slowed down. You both smoked some medical marijuana, a friend of yours copped off their dealer earlier. It was better than anything you’ve ever smoked, and you even took big hits that immediately sent you on a happy cloud. You were in your own little world, watching a droplet of water travel from Chris’s shoulder down his bicep and rest on his triangle tattoo. Your mind wandered off, slowly scanning every tattoo shine with the droplets of water. Eyes were looking over to his bracelet, then finally resting on his hands. You studied his porcelain skin glistening with the light of the pool and the glow sticks. The cement floor lit up in green, yellow, orange, blue, and red glow sticks that were scattered around. 

Chris was on his own little planet, studying your face zone out. You looked so sexy to him in your tiny bikini, not leaving much to the imagination, yet your face portrayed an innocent look, the contrast riling him up. Blood rushed to his cock as his eyes trailed down, watching the clear water create little waves, making your breasts glisten. You watched his arm move out of your sight, just to feel it against your skin. Your breathing hitched as you felt both his hands wrap around you and lift you slightly up.  Your breasts were pushed against the orange plastic, as your legs parted unclinging from Chris. You dropped your beer can, only for it to float away with his.

“Chris,” you pouted as you watched the beer float further away from you.

“Nena mírame." He demanded, his demeanor going straight between your legs. 

You looked up at him innocently, meeting his black lustful eyes. He needed you, he wanted you right there and then. You recognized the look plastered on his face. That same look, he’s given you countless times when he has you in the clouds.

"Princesa no me podes mirar así y expectar que hago nada." He growled as he toyed with your bikini top.

His actions made you blush as your breathing caught in your throat. You wanted and needed him just as much as he did. His fingers lit your skin on fire, making your walls clench around nothing. You closed your legs, squeezing your thighs together hoping to relieve the ache he was causing. 

"Chris," you whined as you felt his fingers slowly trail down your side making you squirm.

His other arm wrapped around your back, keeping you close as his lips pampered your neck in kisses. He took his time with every inch of your warm, delicate flesh exposed to him. Chris made his way to your weakest spot, making you gasp out, as your fingers dug into his flesh.

“Chris- what if someone sees?” you whined out as you tilted your head, giving him more access. 

His fingers toyed with your bottoms as his lips slowly moved down to your breasts. He pushed the fabric covering one of your breasts to the side and encircled your hardened nipple. Your back arched as you moaned out into the crook of his neck.

"You're really worried?” he smirked as he pulled away, making you pout and whine out.

Even in the moments when he wanted to devour you, he couldn't help but tease you. 

His dark brown eyes bore into your soul as he said, “no one is watching us hermosa. Look around." 

You scanned around the area, and he had a point. Two of your friends were deep on their acid trip project, the others not even glancing at the two of you. Everyone was scattered drunkenly around the backyard, playing beer pong, or just falling over themselves. Some were in the pool, but too engrossed in their own conversations to even care about what the two of you were doing.

"Dale princesa," he growled lowly as he licked the shell of your ear "you really think anyone would notice what we're doing?" 

He pushed the fabric covering your slit to the side and teased your folds. 

“Fuck nena; you’re soaked. I think you would like getting caught.” Chris groaned to you in a voice low enough only you could hear.

The tips of his fingers toyed with your clit as you whined out in the crook of his neck. You marked him in a little purple-red cloud at the base of his neck as your dominant hand reached up and tugged on his chocolate locks.

“So filthy preciosa,”  Chris taunted “and I thought you were worried someone would see how naughty you really are”.

“Chris,” you squirmed your hips, grinding down on his fingers, “don’t tease.”

He playfully chuckled as he exposed your other breast and swirled his tongue around your hardened bud. Two of his digits slid inside you and pumped curling his fingers at your weakest spot. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as you bit down on his shoulder, muffling your moans. 

“Fuck hermosa” he groaned as this thumb rubbed figure eights on your clit

Your eyes rolled back as he switched nipples, tugging harshly.

“Christopher,” you mewled. 

Your walls fluttered around him as breathing grew harder and harder. It was exciting to you, being so exposed in such a public area. The risk being the highest it's ever been, only giving you more adrenaline. Chris pampered your neck in hungry kisses, focusing on your weaker points. Chris’s main goal was get you to cum quickly so he could get you somewhere private right after. He added more force on your g-spot with every thrust of his fingers. Your knot only grew tighter and tighter with every movement. 

“Such a naughty girl preciosa” he grinned.

Chris continued pumping his fingers, feeling your walls clench him harder and harder.

“Chris” you whined into his neck.

 He knew you didn't have a lot left, and eventually made you fall over the edge. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as your body squirmed under Chris’s grip. He rode you out, maintaining an even pace as your walls squeezed him tightly. He kept you in the clouds for as long as he could. As you came down from your climax, you rested your head on his shoulder, panting as Chris covered you back up.

“You tired already?” he grinned as he moved his head to peck your lips  “We’re not done yet, amor.”

You looked up at him with lust-filled eyes as you matched his grin.

“We’re not papi?” you asked innocently, knowing precisely what it did to him.

“No princesa” He smirked as he fluttered his feet, moving the float out of the deep end. 

Your feet touched the pool’s floor as the popsicle float made it to the shallow end.

“Where we going?” you grinned, recognizing the look in his eye. 

“No te preocupes amor I know a place," he said.

Chris slid off the popsicle and quickly pressed his chest against your back. His hands wrapped around your hips, with his fingers slightly digging into your flesh. He ushered you out of the pool as swiftly as possible, desperate to get you alone. You could feel his hard member press against your ass, causing you to clench around nothing. 

“Chris,” you quietly whined out.

He brought you to the corner of the yard behind a large pine tree. Your legs were weak with anticipation, as a new wave of arousal drenched your folds. As more trees and bushes covered the two of you from any potential eyes, Chris began marking your neck. You leaned into his chest and tugged on his hair, enjoying the pleasure. His hand grabbed your breast, kneading the soft flesh as the other slid down under your bottoms. Fingers were parting your folds as he drew delicate circles on your swollen clit. 

"Fuck nena" he groaned hearing you moan out for him 

His cock throbbed as he felt how wet you were. Teasing your clit a little more, and hearing you beg had him losing his patience. Chris abruptly pulled out of you and spun you around. You grabbed his fingers, inserting them in your mouth, tasting yourself. 

“I taste good papi,” you purred as your tongue swirled around the pads of his fingers. 

His black orbs observed your movements as he clenched his jaw. Before you could even process what happened, the grass wrapped around your body, like a soft cushion as Chris kissed your sweet lips. 

“You do princesa,” he growled in lustful hunger.

As your lips connected, your hands went straight for his dark locks. You tugged harshly, pulling a delightful moan out of him as your lips moved in sync. The kiss was filled with pure lust and a primal hunger for one another as he dominated it. Your hips bucked up, as your swollen clit beat violently begging for friction. 

“Chris,” you whined out as you grinded into his clothed bulge. 

He let out boyish moans at your actions, dying just to rip off your bottoms and be inside you. 

“Fuck” he created a trail of soft kisses as he grabbed your neck, tilting your head to give himself more room.

You held his wrist, keeping him in place as your other arm flailed around. Chris grabbed your bottoms as he marked the weakest point on your neck and exposed your slit. The wet fabric quickly skimmed your skin before being thrown to the side. Chris pulled down his shorts, letting his cock hit his lower abdomen. He pumped his shaft, making you whine out and pout as your walls tightened around nothing. 

“What?” Chris taunted as he watched your eyes glued to his hand movements. 

“Chris,” you mewled “fuck me- hace algo. Papi, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he smirked, as the head of his penis slid into you.

You moaned out contently as your walls wrapped around him inch by inch. He slowly moved his hips, waiting for you to adjust, which didn’t take long as his fingers already prepped you.

"Chris," you whined again, "coge me, dale."

”So needy hermosa,” he teased as he roughly grabbed your leg, throwing it over his shoulder.

He put more force in every thrust sending you straight into the stars.  Your fingers dug into his arms, leaving little red trails as you cried out his name. It was music to his ears hearing you sing his name in such delight. His torso pushed your leg closer to your body as he pulled on your top, exposing your breasts. His lips latched on to your soft flesh marking where he pleased.  Your hands grabbed onto his hair, tugging uncontrollably as your back arched off the ground. As the pleasure increased and you floated higher into the clouds, your moans grew louder. It was a little too loud for his liking in such a public area. His hand wrapped around your lips, muffling out your noises.

“Princesa, not too loud,” Chris grunted.

You nodded your head yes as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. The pleasure was too much for you to hold back your moans, and he knew it.

"Fuck" he groaned as he pulled out of you, flipping you over.

He grabbed your hips and rammed back inside you at full force. 

"Chris!" You moaned, muffling it out on your arm.

You bit down on your arm as his tip hit your g-spot at a steady pace. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull as the pleasure increased. His fingers skimmed your swollen clit, making you clench around him. Chris drew your favorite pattern, sending you deeper into the stars. Boyish moans and grunts left Chris’s lips as your velvet walls hugged him tightly. The way you wrapped around him, Chris knew you were getting closer and closer.

“Fuck nena, how do you stay so tight” he groaned.

Your toes curled as one arm reached out and clenched the grass. The waves of pleasure being sent straight to your core with every thrust made it impossible for you to produce anything coherent. Your torso laid flat on the grass, as your muscles gave in to the feeling. The force of Chris’s hips slamming into your ass made your body move back and forth on the ground. The familiar knot twisted and turned inside you. Chris’s hands dug deeper into your hips as your thighs violently shook. Your walls closed in around Chris’s shaft, as the knot tightened until it snapped. Juices flew out of you, coating Chris's cock and base, some drops falling to the ground. You were on a cloud as the pleasure pulsated through you. Chris was right behind you, as he tried to keep you floating. His shaft twitching inside you with every sloppy thrust. He throbbed until his balls were too swollen up in cum. With one last harsh and messy thrust, Chris buried himself as deep inside you as he could. White strands of his seed shot inside you, filling you up. Your name leaving his lips, mixed in with a string of Spanish curses. You both panted as he slowly pulled out of you. A whine left you, as you missed the feeling of him inside you. The cum he left inside you, gently dripping out of your warm velvet walls. Chris flipped you over once again and toyed with your cum-soaked slit. Taking the excess cum, and collecting it with his two digits, Chris fed you. The sweet and salty juices had you moaning for more and whining for more of his attention. 

“That tastes good hermosa?” he smirked, watching you hollow your cheeks as you buried his fingers.

You nodded your head yes as you began to squirm around. With every collection of the mixed juices, his fingers teased your clit. More of your arousal pushed out his seed, causing the mixture to lose more of its flavor. 

"Chris," you whined as you sucked on his fingers for the fifth time.

Your hole throbbed as Chris's fingers stayed on your clit, drawing figure eights. He pulled out his fingers and wrapped his hand around your inner thigh. His thumb gently running back and forth on your sensitive skin.

"¿Nesistas algo preciosa?" He grinned as he watched your face contour in pleasure.

"Don't tease," you pouted as you bucked your hips. 

He pulled out his fingers, sucking them clean, and moaned, “you do taste good, nena.”

His head lowered as his other hand rested on your inner thigh. His warm breath fanned your slit as your hands intertwined with his locks. 

"Que dulce hermosa," Chris groaned after giving your soaked slit a kitten lick.

His tongue ran up your slit again, then teased your folds. Your back arched as your thighs wiggled in his grip. Chris slurped your juices and tugged on your clit, sending you back into the clouds. You could feel him pull out the rest of the load you had yet to push out. He let go of your thighs to squeeze your breasts. His fingers rolled your hardened nipples and tugged. Your legs closed in around Chris’s head, squeezing him with your thighs.

“Chris!” you cried out as the pleasure overwhelmed you. 

His fingers slid down your body, as you thrashed around. Your toes were curling with all your might as your breathing hitched, sticking to your throat. Two of his fingers slipped inside you, curling at your weakest spot. You weren’t going to last long and you both knew it. Your walls clenching around his fingers as another knot tied up inside you. Chris groaned as you tugged harder on his hair. The vibrations sending strong waves of pleasure to your core, making your moan out. The knot inside you pulsated and shook as Chris tugged on your swollen pearl one last time. You squirted out again, as you were sent skyrocketing back into space. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you slipped into your sweet state of ecstasy. He tried his best collecting all of your juices, groaning at the drops that slipped away. His fingers slowed down after you reached your climax, gently bringing you back down to earth. 

“You were so good princesa” Chris grinned as he pulled out of you, hovering his fingers over your bottom lip. 

You cleaned him up, moaning contently as you tasted your sweet juices. He pecked your soft lips after, giving you one last taste before he fixed his shorts and searched for your bottoms.

“Why don’t we get out of here so I can taste you properly papi?” you purred as you fixed your top.

“Dale” he smirked as he found your other piece of the bikini and gave it back to you. 

You guys fixed yourselves up, trying to look as normal as possible and collected the rest of your things. Grabbing a towel you wrapped yourself around it, covering up most of the marks. You hugged your friends goodbye and rushed into Chris’s car, and sped straight home.

[justlightlysedated]

as gentle as feathers, the snow piles high, our world gets rewritten and retraced every time

day two of thirteen: dedicated to @chamblerstara thank you for always having something lovely to say about my fics, I hope that you enjoy this 😊💖

five times that michael and alex get snowed in

one. 

Alex stares at his reflection for a long moment, before he takes in a deep breath and walks out of the bathroom.

Michael is still where Alex left him, lying back in the motel bed, watching the flickering tv screen announcing the local news.

Alex exhales slowly and goes to the side table, where he had set his phone earlier.

It rings with an alarm reminding him that he has to be back on the base soon.

Alex opens his mouth to speak, but Michael beats him to it.

"I know you're in a rush to get out of here before the Roswell germs get you, but I'm thinking you're gonna have a few issues with that."

Alex looks at him in confusion and Michael signals towards the tv with his chin.

Alex turns to stare at it and reads the words freak blizzard and that they are urging people to stay in their homes.

"The front desk called to let me know we can stay complimentary until the storm is over and the roads are cleared."

Alex scoffs in disbelief and sticks his phone in his pocket walking towards the door. 

He's sure it can't be that bad. This is New Mexico, after all.

Alex opens the door despite Michael making a low protesting sound, and gets blasted in the face with a rush of freezing cold air and a flurry of snow that leave him paralyzed and frozen for a second.

Michael is there to close the door not even a second later.

"Jesus, Alex," he says. "It's fucking cold out there."

Alex wants to snap back with a, No fucking duh, Guerin.

But he can barely get the no out pass his lips. His entire face feels frozen.

He settles for glaring, and Michael's face softens marginally as he steps towards Alex.

"Awe," he says, cooing slightly, and making Alex's glare intensify, "Are you cold, darlin?'"

Before Alex can form any kind of explanation, Michael is reaching towards him with his hands, pressing them against his cheeks and Alex flinches away from him as soon as he makes contact.

"Jesus, Guerin," he says. "You're like a fucking furnace."

Michael just pulls his lips into his mouth and shrugs a little, letting his hands fall to his sides, "That will probably come in handy later."

Alex tries to scoff, but can't so instead he gives Michael a disbelieving look and goes to sit on the armchair in the corner next to the heater.

He doubts that the blizzard will last long.

*

Alex gets a message from the captain of his squad, letting him know that if they weren't already on the base, don't bother coming since the weather is awful. He ends it with, Stay safe, and I'll see you all when the storm is over.

He's wondering if his father would ever be so lenient, when the lights go out, taking the soft glow coming from the tv screen and the steady blast of warmth that had been keeping Alex from feeling like a popsicle.

Michael makes a low thoughtful noise, and Alex grits his teeth.

It's not that he hates spending time with Michael, quite the opposite. It's just that he made rules, for himself, to follow or else, he knows he'd never be able to leave.

Michael is like a drug. In small doses over a period of time, he can take it, and still be able to leave. Any more than that and Alex's resolve slowly becomes nonexistent, case and point the summer of '10, when Alex very nearly went AWOL, after only three days locked inside of Michael's Airstream. 

So he had made a set of rules, or well, guidelines to follow, never more than once, if he had to get back to the base that same day, and no kissing if he had put back on his uniform.

And it had worked, sort of. 

Alex's plans never take into account Michael's tenacity.

Over the last year or so, he's been able to keep up with the rules, but only just.

It always makes him feel horrible to put that look on Michael's face, the one that says that he's deeply hurt beneath the sarcastic veneer.

And Alex always expects Michael to tell him to fuck off whenever he calls and tells him that he wants to see him. But Michael never does.

Alex lasts all of fifteen minutes while Michael starts piling the bed with every single sheet and comforter and dry towel he can find in the place before settling himself down in the middle of the pile, and then just stares at Alex, waiting for his resolve to crack.

And it does, like something fragile and weak.

Alex stands up and takes a few steps over to the bed and stops when Michael starts wiggling out of his clothes.

Alex raises an eyebrow at him when Michael pulls the shirt up over his head.

"Skin to skin is better to prevent hypothermia," he explains with a smirk that Alex would definitely love to take off his face.

Alex would protest, but if he gets out of his uniform (again) then, technically he's not breaking any of his rules.

Alex starts taking his clothes off, and curses at the cold as he crawls on top of the bed.

Michael wraps rough fingers around his arms and tugs him into the center of his cocoon.

Alex goes willingly and settles down next to Michael, the blankets covering them up immediately, somehow, even though it feels like Michael is still touching him with both hands.

Michael tries to let him go, probably to give him some space, but he’s so warm that Alex moves without even thinking about it, digging fingers into Michael’s shoulders and pulling him in close, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around Michael’s shoulders.

Michael huffs, a little amused, and just waits until Alex is comfortable, before he’s moving one hand beneath the pillow. He pulls a flask out, and shakes it a little in Alex’s face, the liquid sloshing around inside invitingly.

Alex lets him go to take it from him, and takes a swallow, making a face at the taste of the cheap whiskey, before he hands it back over.

They huddle close together in the middle of the bed, knees overlapping, stomachs brushing together with every breath, sharing the rest of the whiskey.

Alex feels warm and heavy and a little lethargic. His eyelids feel heavy and when Michael tips the flask back towards him, he shakes his head.

Michael downs the rest of the flask, and then pushes it back beneath the pillows, leaving his arm bent as he leans his head against it, and stares at Alex.

Alex stares back at him, as he seems to contemplate something, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Alex is wishing that there was something to distract him from Michael and the way that he seems to be moving closer, or is it Alex that’s moving closer?

“Is it always going to be like this?” Michael asks, voice low and fragile, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“What is?” Alex asks, feeling like he knows what Michael is talking about, but wanting to be sure.

Michael swallows and his eyes are on Alex’s chin as he speaks again. “You and me and cheap motel rooms and never enough time to actually get to know-”

He cuts himself off, swallowing hard, and doesn’t pick the sentence back up, but Alex figures he knows exactly what Michael is trying to ask.

Alex stares at him intently for a second, and he doesn’t know why he says it, maybe it’s the way that they are wrapped inside of this blanket nest, close together, the only sound their breathing, like they are the only two people left in the world. Or maybe it’s the warm and heavy feeling and the whiskey loosening his tongue.

“No,” he says on a breath, and Michael’s eyes go up to meet his almost immediately. Alex inhales shakily as Michael’s gaze focuses on him.

He feels one of Michael’s hands slide down to circle fingers around his wrist and squeeze reassuringly, and finds that the words come easier than they ever have before. 

"I don't want this to be all that we have, but I also don't know what I want, besides the fact that I never want to let you go whenever we're together."

Michael's fingers tighten around his wrist.

"But I have to, I-I signed a contract and I gave my word," he looks at Michael, and feels a little desperate.

He moves his hand to pull Michael's left hand away from where he had it hidden beneath the pillow, and he can feel Michael holding his breath. 

Alex lifts his hand to his lips and presses a kiss right against the back of his hand.

"I'll give you my word if you need it," he whispers. "If you want, if you're willing to wait for me, after my contract is up, maybe-"

Michael moves, fitting his hands around Alex's jaw and pulling him in for a kiss.

Alex sinks into the kiss, and wrapping his arms around Micheal's shoulders and kissing him back.

The power flickers back on with a low hum as Michael's attention gets diverted, but Alex barely even notices.

two. 

Michael usually spends nights like these on the couch in Max's house, when it's too cold that the Airstream's pathetic excuse for a heating system, and his high body temperature don't do anything to help.

But usually Alex isn't in town.

It's been three days, and this is the longest that Alex has stayed.

Michael doesn't know what to make of it, but he doesn't want it to end.

He knows that there is probably something that Alex isn't telling him, but it's worth it for nights like this.

Michael walks back into the Airstream carrying the portable heater he keeps in the truck, and stops when he sees that Alex is sitting on the edge of his bed, sheet wrapped around him like a toga, the guitar he keeps hidden in the closet in his lap.

He had pushed Michael out of the bed and had told him that he was freezing and Michael had only gone because Alex was still cocooned on top of his bed, and he really didn't want him to leave for any reason.

Alex stills his fingers over the frets and glares at Michael balefully from beneath his too long fringe. "You're letting out all of the hot air."

Michael rolls his eyes a little as he goes up the last step and closes the door behind himself.

Alex leans back against the headboard and starts turning the guitar while Michael sets up the heater so that it's hitting Alex.

Alex makes a pleased little noise at the back of his throat, and Michael wants to point out that he could keep Alex just as warm as any heater when, tune tune Alex is playing pricks familiarly along his subconscious.

He gives Alex a look, but Alex just continues to play along to the intro of Here Without You until he starts to sing, and Michael feels the air catch in his lungs.

Alex looks at him from beneath his fringe and the look in his eyes makes Michael feel like trapped, but in a really good way.

“...and all the miles that separate, they disappear now when I’m dreaming of your face…”

Michael moves closer to him almost without realizing it leaning one elbow against the mattress as he watches him.

Alex keeps singing sliding smoothly from the chorus to the bridge, eyes darting to and away from Michael like he can't keep eye contact for more than one second.

"...and when the last one falls, when it's all said and done, it gets hard but it won't take, away, my lo-..."

Alex is too into the song, and avoiding Michael's gaze that he doesn't realize that Michael is moving until he's taking the guitar out of his hands.

Alex stops singing, staring at Michael with wide eyes, but Michael ignores that, setting the guitar aside and sliding into Alex's lap in one swift motion.

Alex looks at him a little startled.

Michael wastes no time and kisses him, dragging their mouths together like he's been wanting to do since they woke up and Alex told him to get the heater from the truck.

He pulls back, nipping against Alex's bottom lip and tugging on it a little as he moves.

Alex makes a lil whining sound in protest and Michael just smiles and starts to tug against the knots tying the toga to Alex's chest.

"Wait," he mumbles, and pushes Michael backwards a little more.

This time Michael is the one to make the low whining noise.

"It's cold in here-" he starts, and Michael pushes in close, brushing their noses together.

"I can definitely keep you warm," he says in a low voice, aiming for seductive, but probably landing somewhere beyond desperate.

Alex smiles, a slow easy smile, the kind of smile he gives right  before he does something guaranteed to rock Michael's world.

"Oh, I know you can," He says and then pushes Michael back on the small bed, before dropping to his knees and pressing his hands on Michael's knees.

Michael leans up on his elbows and stares as Alex slides his hands up Michael's thighs and Michael's breathing hitches.

"But it's pretty hard for you to do that while I'm sucking your cock."

Michael barely takes a breath between that and Alex undoing his pants.

He feels a flash of cold air on his dick and then Alex's mouth, hot and wet.

Michael moans low in his throat and falls back on the bed, hands pressing on either side of Alex’s head, and he loses himself to the sensation, only moving when he feels like he’s going about to come, only then does he drag Alex back on to the bed.

Alex looks at him with a put upon expression, pouting mouth and downturned eyes like if Michael interrupted something that he was really enjoying.

Michael just rolls him beneath his body on the small space, making Alex giggle as he curses when the move doesn’t come off as smooth as he wanted it to.

Michael kisses the laughter off his lips, and Alex kisses him back eagerly, sliding fingers into his hair and pulling Michael down closer.

The space between them heats up, keeping them warm, even while Michael gets rid of their clothes, and inside of the Airstream, trapped by the incoming flurry of snow, when it feels like they’re the only two people in the world, is how Michael likes it best.

Just him and Alex and the snow and nothing else.

three. 

Alex had known that it was a bad idea from the moment that he’d gotten the message from Michael, but it hadn’t stopped him from crawling in through the window of Isobel’s guest room and into Michael’s sleep warm bed during the middle of the night.

It had made him feel like a teenager, which he’d whispered to Michael who had grinned, wide and dangerous.

“Wanna fool around before my parents wake up?” he had asked with a mischievous tone that Alex was helpless to.

Alex had wanted to talk to Michael about how he was being sent overseas again, but then Michael kisses him, pushing him down into the soft sheets, and Alex loses track of every thought that doesn’t involve this.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. He hadn’t even meant to fall into bed with Michael. He had just meant to talk, to tell him that he had to go, but that he was going to be coming back, but instead he wakes up to an empty bed and a low whispered argument going on in the hallway.

Alex blinks and tries to get his bearings back, tries to find his phone and realizes they’re in the pocket of his jeans thrown somewhere over a really nice looking dresser, so he looks out the window to try and gauge the time, and all he sees is white.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

"Looks like we're stuck here until all the snow blows over," he hears Michael say as the door closes with a click behind him.

Alex turns to him immediately and finds him carrying a tray full of enough food that tells Alex that whoever he was talking to out there knows that he has company.

Alex had known that this was a bad idea.

"Don't worry," Michael says like he can tell what Alex is thinking. "Isobel was yelling at me because I was carrying the tray incorrectly, not because I have company."

It doesn't really do anything to make Alex feel better.

Michael just balances the tray at the end of the bed,  and crawls on top of Alex, pushing him back into the sheets.

Alex goes back willingly, and Michael settles his hands on either side of Alex’s head, and his knees sink down into the bed on either side of Alex’s hips and he leans in close, nudging Alex’s chin with his nose to press a kiss down the length of his neck.

“I promise that your secret is safe with me,” Michael whispers. “No one needs to know that you randomly show up to suck my brain out of my dick.”

Alex scoffs, and moves to push Michael off him, but Michael grabs his hands and pins him down on the bed. “She’s not going to find out, okay? You’re safe.”

Alex blinks at Michael in silence for several long moments before he nods his head carefully.

Michael gives him a quick grin that he smothers in a quick kiss before he moves, sitting up on the bed to grab the breakfast tray.

Alex sits up as he balances the tray on his lap.

Michael hands him the coffee, and Alex makes a low happy noise, snatching the cup out of his hands and taking a sip.

Michael just shakes his head and grabs a slice of toast.

That’s about all that they manage to eat, because Michael tries to feed him a piece of orange, and Alex licks against his fingers, and the tray is pushed to the floor, falling with a dull thud as it hits the carpet, but Alex barely hears it as Michael pushes him back down on the sheets and kisses him again.

Alex loses himself in Michael, once again, and the next time that he wakes up, Alex watches Michael sleep for a long moment before he sneaks back out of the house, knowing that if he stays any longer, he won’t go anywhere.

four.

Alex is waiting for Michael in the bunker, leaning back against the table and staring at the iridescent alien console.

He’s holding his bag in his hands but he can almost feel the way it’s tugging against his hold.

Pieces want to be together, indeed.

He's debating whether or not to leave the bag there with a note when someone drops into the bunker.

Alex watches as Michael closes the bunker with a wave of his fingers, and then stares as he shakes off the excessive snow from his shoulders, taking the hat off his head and dusting it off.

He doesn’t notice Alex until Alex moves clearing his throat.

Michael jumps a little, recognizes Alex and then his posture goes all loose and he drops his hat down on top of a stool, walking towards Alex.

"Didn't think that I would ever catch you 'round here again, Private?" He drawls slowing to a stop right in front of Alex.

Alex exhales roughly shaking his head.

"Thought you were avoiding me?" He continues more of a question than a statement. 

Alex doesn't know what to respond to that, since technically, he had been avoiding Michael.

But that's neither here nor there. Alex opens his mouth to answer, but Michael speaks over him.

"You should hurry and say what you need to say before the snow gets any heavier," he says, sounding more mocking than helpful.

Alex rolls his eyes up to the ceiling asking for patience and closes his eyes briefly before he looks back to Michael.

"For the record, the only reason I left that day was because you had just told me that you've been planning to leave the planet this whole time, so sorry for needing time to process that information," he starts.

Michael blinks at him carefully for a few silent seconds and Alex keeps talking before he can recover.

"And anyway, I'm here because I have something of yours and I figured it was time that I gave it back to you."

Michael's gaze goes intense and he looks at Alex seriously, as though if he tries hard enough he'd be able to read Alex's thoughts.

Alex just holds out the bag, and Michael stares at it intently before he takes it from Alex.

Alex turns back to the console while Michael opens the bag.

He stares at the empty space where the piece he has fits perfectly, and hears Michael inhale sharply.

He waits for Michael to have an actual reaction, and is listening so intently that when there is a metal clang, it reverberates in his head loud enough that he flinches.

He can feel Michael looking at him.

“That means we’re stuck here,” Michael says, and Alex sighs, leaning back against the table even harder.

“I should’ve expected that,” Alex says exhaling roughly.

Michael makes an amused noise at the back of his throat but doesn't say much as he moves closer setting the bag down on top of the table.

"How long have you had this?" He asks, and his voice sounds more curious than accusing.

"For months," Alex responds, and Michael nods his head slowly, like it makes sense.

Alex feels like maybe he should apologize but he bites down on his lips instead and Michael leans back beside him.

"Why are you giving it to me now?" Michael asks, and Alex really doesn't want to answer that question.

Something that Michael realizes immediately because he makes a low noise and says, "We're gonna be stuck here for a while, might as well talk about it."

Alex makes a noise in protest but Michael just continues to look at him expectantly.

Alex exhales roughly exactly five seconds later and looks away.

"Now you want to talk about it," Alex says scoffing.

Michael just exhales and leans back even harder on the table.

"You have terrible timing," Michael says and Alex rolls his eyes.

"Pot. Kettle," he says darting a look at Michael who shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head in agreement.

"Okay, we both have terrible timing," he amends. "But there is nothing terrible going on right now, so tell me, why now? Why not tell me about it before?"

Alex turns to him, narrowing his eyes briefly. "Have you been going to group therapy with Isobel?"

Michael scoffs, "That's not the point."

Alex smiles briefly, before the smile falls off his face and he sighs again.

"I don't know," he responds. "I guess a small part of me was convinced that if I kept it, you would come back to me, but it's selfish to keep it from you, so, I decided that it was time."

Michael hums a little thoughtfully. "You know it's never been my intention to leave."

Alex looks back at him and raises an eyebrow, trying to hide how desperately fast his heart is beating.

"I've always just been trying to find someplace that feels like home."

Alex exhales carefully and gives him a half smile, "You found it yet?"

Michael just shrugs noncommittal and bumps his shoulder against Alex's.

"Not sure. But once I do, you'll be the first to know."

five. 

Alex doesn’t remember falling asleep. He does remember that there was still an hour left before they had to be heading out, and he had just been so tired, and Michael had looked really, really comfortable lying back on the couch.

Alex had crawled on top of him, got comfortable while Michael complained loudly, but ultimately wrapped his arms around Alex and let him tuck his chin into the crook of his neck.

Somewhere in between him breathing in the scent of Michael's shampoo mixed with their laundry detergent and feeling Michael hum happily as Alex just relaxed entirely, he fell asleep.

He opens his eyes blearily what feels like hours later but could've only been minutes to see the cabin illuminated softly only by the flickering flames coming from the fireplace.

He's covered in a fluffy pink blanket that he vaguely recognizes and he can feel Buffy's heavy weight against his back, her hot breaths huffing against the middle of his back, and he can feel Comet, curled up right in the crook of his neck and shoulder, purring all the way.

He makes a low noise in question, and feels Michael moving slightly to drag fingers through Alex's hair as though he's trying to soothe him.

"Go back t'sleep, Lex," he murmurs in a low and throaty voice. "Snowing too much. Dinner cancelled."

Alex just inhales deeply, and presses a kiss to the warm skin of Michael's neck, exhaling slowly and falling back to sleep.

[rawiswhore]

Brian Pillman x Fem Reader- “What That Mouth Do?”

In 1997, before he passed away at the end of the year and during a time when he had some facial stubble, when you had some free time, you walked up to a wrestler who is nowhere near as sexy as Shawn Michaels or even Hunter Hearst Helmsley, but is still kind of sexy, and that wrestler is Brian Pillman.

Brian had free time as well, thankfully, and you hope he has free time after you confess what you want to say to him.

He saw you walking down the hallway, he smiled from ear to ear seeing you, his smile warmed your heart and your face so much, you smiled right back at him.

"Hey" you said to him as you walked up to him.

"Hi" he replied, "What's up?"

You stopped walking once you were right in front of him.

"I've seen you stick your tongue out before" you admitted "In ECW, WCW, and the WWF"

"Yeah" he answered "And?"

"Well" you said "Let's just say it reminds me of something"

You looked in his eyes, obviously trying to seduce him.

"What, Michael Jordan?" he asked. "KISS?"

"You're close" you said.

"Gene Simmons?" he asked.

"No" you answered "You really shouldn't be guessing what it is"

Does she mean French kissing? he thought. Yeah, I shouldn't sound so stupid. She's obviously trying to seduce me.

"Is it French kissing?" he asked.

You nodded your head.

"I figured" he admitted "You're obviously trying to seduce me, and I sounded so stupid"

"I wanna French kiss you" you confessed "You wanna?"

"Fuck yes" he answered, nodding his head and smiling.

He can't resist you, that's why he sounded somewhat like a nervous, awkward idiot, he legit feels like some nervous teenage boy asking his crush out.

Though, he's Brian Pillman, the Loose Cannon, he shouldn't be acting like this.

Speaking of acting...

"I want you to French me like you're playing your character in the WWF" you confessed, leaning and pressing your chest on his and your eyes looking up at him, trying to sound and look seductive "Like the nutcase you are"

He isn't that much different from the ticking time bomb character he plays in the WWF, even when he wasn't a wrestler and played football for the Cincinatti Bengals during the 1980's, he thought of running down a football field naked and had sex with someone while she was pushing herself up .

He really is that crazy.

"But before we do anything" you interrupted, not sounding so sexy but more concerned "Do you have to do anything before we...French kiss? Do you have to rehearse a match or a promo?"

Brian stopped and thought about it.

"No" he confessed "I've got time to kill"

Yes, you thought, grinning from ear to ear, you could nearly ball your fists in happiness and excitement.

He can see the expression on your face that you're happy.

The two of you walked holding each others hands to your dressing room, your fingers laced in his, and your other hand grabbed the door knob and turned it, where the door opened for the two of you.

His other hand helped pull the door open and the two of you entered your clean, tidy, feminine dressing room.

He shut the door when he entered the room, and you invited him to have a seat on the black leather couch in your dressing room.

He sat down next to you, and he placed his hands on the sides of your face, where he pulled your face into his, where your lips collided and locked on his.

His eyes shut when his lips met yours, so did your eyes, and you lifted your hands and placed them on the sides of his face.

Your lips were in between his lips, and he quickly shoved his tongue into your mouth, although not literally.

You felt his tongue ram into your mouth, and his tongue proceeded to lick your tongue furiously, but not enough to hurt you.

Your tongue slid above his tongue and proceeded to lick on his, not as vigorously as he is, but still enough.

His tongue is like a hurricane, like a tornado, licking and sliding on your tongue.

Your tongue licked up his tongue until his top lip was in between your lips.

His tongue licked your top lip when his top lip was in between your mouth, his tongue slightly lubricating your top lip when he licked it.

One of your hands is caressing up and down his cheek, feeling his rough facial stubble chafe the palm of your hand.

The kissing, especially the French kissing between the two of you, is so hot and heavy, you could nearly shed out of your clothes and so could he.

One of your hands slid from his cheek to behind his head, where you let your hand roam up to the top of his head, your fingers running through his thick curls.

As you're French kissing him, you're imagining you're kissing him the way he looked in 1996, specifically October of that year.

That's when he looked his hottest and sexiest.

You wish you could've Frenched kissed him in October of 1996, and you did, though you've chosen to French him again after you've seen see him stick his tongue out more.

Brian, meanwhile, slid one of his hands behind your head, where he let his fingers slid and run through your hair.

You're tempted to straddle his lap and feel his erection poking through his jeans.

You know that French kissing scene in the Johnny Depp movie "Cry Baby"? That's how you feel right now.

His tongue was licking up and down your tongue like a Popsicle, and vice versa.

Blood is running and rushing to your clit, filling your clit up, you can feel yourself getting hornier from French kissing him.

Sometimes, the tip of your tongue is nudging into the tip of his tongue, only for your tongue to slide over his and vice versa.

Your lips kiss the his tongue that has been licking inside your mouth, his tongue in between your lips.

As the two of you are open mouth kissing each other, your mouths are wide open in huge oval shapes, only to shrink down pretty small as the two of you kiss each other.

The sides of your mouth are hurting and feeling sore from stretching your mouth out to open mouth kiss him.

You feel like a horny teenager in the backseat of your boyfriend's car when you make out with Brian, this is taking you back to your teenage years.

You have such beautiful lips that stick out, and Brian slid the tip of his tongue across your top lip from the left side to the right side, only to shift the tip of his tongue to the corner of the right side of your bottom lip and slide it across your bottom lip.

If your tongue was in his mouth, he circulated his lips and mouth around your tongue, where his lips slid down to the tip of your tongue.

You, too, sucked his tongue when it was in between your lips, sliding your lips down the tip of his tongue.

The two of you have been French kissing each other for such a long time, and the inside of his mouth isn't the only thing you want to lick.

Your tongue didn't just lick his tongue, but also below his bottom lip, where his facial stubble is, your tongue dangling and lolling out of your mouth below and across your bottom lip.

Your tongue began to lick up the rough, sharp facial hair on his chin, his stubble poking and chafing your tongue.

It's not the most comfortable feeling, but goddamn it, you wanna lick it.

Your tongue roamed wherever his facial hair is, his jagged stubble was making your tongue feel raw.

Your tongue was growing tired from licking in his mouth, his tongue's probably tired as well.

He could feel you suddenly now licking his facial stubble, his eyes opened and looked at you doing that.

He was a bit perturbed, you reminded him of a dog or a cat when you licked his face.

But he is Brian Pillman, the Loose Cannon, the ticking timebomb of the WWF who's an absolute nutcase who's done some crazy things even before he joined the WWF, before he even had a wrestling career, he shouldn't be too surprised.

He's also seen you do some pretty X-rated things in the WWF, he's even done them with you.

When you were licking the stubble on his face, your saliva was making his face look shinier.

Your tongue slid across and above his upper lip, shifting down to the facial hair on his chin, below his bottom lip.

Despite many men being sexier than Brian, like Shawn Michaels, Jeff Hardy and even Hunter Hearst Helmsley, you didn't imagine any of these men when you made out with Brian.

In 1997, you and Brian were pictured together lolling your tongues out of your mouths like Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion on the "WAP" single cover,  but unlike that single cover, the two of you were face to face in front of each other, your tongue touching his and vice versa.

You regret that you didn't join WCW in 1994/1995/1996 and ECW in '96, because Brian was in those companies and he looked hot AF then.

_______________________________________________________________

You Dean Ambrose fangirls can also imagine you're French kissing him in this fanfic, since he also sticks his tongue out, however, you won't have to lick Dean's face...

I even wanted to also have Dean Ambrose in this fanfic since he sticks his tongue out sometimes, though I didn’t know where to put him, but you can imagine Dean’s French kissing you like this.

I bet this fanfic would get more likes and reblogs if it had Dean Ambrose’s name on it.

I might edit this fanfic in the future, maybe even today...

[staticscreenwriting]

To the stars beyond the blue - one

Summary: Kathleen Sawyer has a problem with authority and people telling her what to do, especially if “people” is her Stepdad Dave. Having had enough of her attitude, Dave and her mom decide it’s time for her to leave behind the temptations of New York City and learn some responsibility while staying with her aunt Susan in small, sleepy Hawkins, Indiana. Though what neither of them know, is that the biggest temptation is waiting for her right there and it comes with a mullet and a killer smile.

This is gonna be an 18+ series. I’m planning to add quite a bit of smut, swearing and topics that could potentially be triggering to some people (domestic abuse - physical and emotional). The abuse will not be romanticized, I promise you that. Just be aware that these themes will be mentioned and explored. 

next chapter >>

Chapter one - meet Kathleen

Ron’s Deli smells like old grease and cigarette smoke and the fluorescent lights send a loud buzzing noise through the entire place. There’s an assortment of sandwiches displayed, though I know better than to order any of them. Coffee, that’s what I’m here for. Coffee and warmth.

My boots, still wet from the snow covering the streets outside, make a squeaking sound against the linoleum floor that alerts Ruby who’s slumped over the counter, flicking through some kind of fashion magazine. 

“ Haven’t seen you in a while “ she murmures, eyes focusing back on the magazine, making no attempt to actually take my order. 

“ Some of us actually work, you know “ I reply. That’s not even close to the truth and Ruby knows this just as well as I do. But neither of us acknowledges it because that’s not the relationship we have. I don’t want to talk about it and she doesn’t care. So we settle for superficial quips. 

“ Bite me, Kathleen. “ 

“ Nah thanks, you know my rules. No food at Ron’s. Just coffee “ 

“ Just coffee “ she repeats then turns around and grabs the pot and pours me a big mug of steaming hot coffee.

“ Thanks. Put it on my tab. “ 

She always nods but never actually does. I don’t think I’ve paid for my coffee in years.

I drag myself towards my booth in the furthest corner of the place. I call it my booth but if we’re being overly correct I have to mention that I do, in fact, not have ownership of this particular booth. It’s just the one I always find myself in. Have done so for years.

The tv mounted up in the corner is playing some black and white christmas movie. The volume is too low to hear anything being said but I can tell the movie after a few seconds. Miracle on 34th street. I remember watching it with my dad when I was a kid. He was always big about old black and white movies. 

I never told him but I don’t really like it. There’s a thing about Christmas movies where even though most of them have happy endings, a lot of them always make you feel miserable for a huge amount of the runtime. It’s like “look at this sad person ON CHRISTMAS. Then remember how lucky you are. Because you too could be sad. ON CHRISTMAS “.

It’s very preachy and if I’m being honest, I don’t see the appeal of movies that purposely make me sad. 

Back then I wasn’t really aware of what it feels like to be sad on Christmas. I do now. It’s like they describe it in the movies only 10 times worse. Because there’s no happy ending waiting for you after 120 minutes. It just goes on and leads to a sad new years and a sad spring and a sad summer.

“ Oh, Christmas isn't just a day, it's a frame of mind...  “ oh fuck right of, Kris you absolute bullshitter.

The bell above the door pulls me from my Christmas blues and I watch a couple stumble into the shop. They’re smiling, holding hands. The dude can’t seem to keep his lips of her neck. She walks up to the counter. I can only imagine Ruby’s annoyed sigh and the roll of her eyes.

“ Hi, two turkey delis please “ the girl says between giggles. I feel kinda bad for her. She must be a tourist. Locals know not to eat at Ron’s. Only coffee. Iced tea in the summer. That’s it.

Ruby grumbles something to them before they settle down in the booth across from me. Well there goes me sulking in silence. I try to ignore their loved up giggles as the warm coffee makes its way down my throat. I really try not to pay them any attention. But once I notice his hand squeezing her boobs, that’s enough to make even me uncomfortable.

I take one last sip then scoot out of the boot hand walk towards Ruby. She’s resorted from flipping through the magazine to using the magazine as a underlay while she paints her nails right there on the counter. Another reason not to eat here. 

“ So what do you say, do I suit this color ? “ She asks and holds a hand out for me to see. She always paints them red, every single time. Apparently they’re all different shades though so far I’ve been unable to see even the slightest difference.

“ Sure. “ 

“ Thanks for the enthusiasm.” 

“ You’re welcome. Anyway, I’m going to head out. Thanks for the coffee. “

Ruby looks up again then throws a disapproving look at the couple that is pretty much dry humping each other at this point “ did the lovebirds scare you off ? Disgusting. “ 

“ Let them be, they’re in love. “ 

She scoffs at that then goes back to her nails “ of course you’d think that. You’re just as bad. “ 

“ What does that mean ? “ 

“ Means I’ve seen you at parties. With guys. It’s uh — quite something really. “ 

“ Ah shut up, Ruby. “ I say and roll my eyes. It’s none of her business really. Though I know it doesn’t come from a place of malice, her words still rub me the wrong way. I have to remind myself that she’s just bitter. She should be married right now, living with her husband in some cute little house in Jersey, popping a few kids and living the suburban dream. Instead he fucked her sister at the rehearsal dinner and she’s left alone, bitter, sad and working at a really shitty deli.

“ Just sayin’ “ 

“ Mmh. Anyway tell your dad I said hi and to call me if he ever feels lonely. “ 

“ You’re vile. “ 

I only smile at that, pull my jacket closer around my body and step into the cold december air.

New York City is always busy. Always. People crowd the streets like ants on a popsicle forgotten on the lawn in a hot summer’s day. Though around christmas time, it feels like twice as many people flock to the city to catch a glimpse of what the perceived to be the ultimate manifestation of christmas magic.

The truth is, it’s cold and loud and crowded and if anything, it’s a perfect reminder just how materialistic we humans really are. If there’s anything to advertise, you’ll get it advertised here. They try to appeal to your innermost romantic. That girl that believes diamonds and flowers are a sign of true love. That kid that still holds faith in santa and miracles.

It makes me a little sick as I pass store after store, bustling with holiday shoppers. 

The further I walk the colder it gets. I tug my beanie further down my head, trying to keep my ears warm as I hop down the steps of the subway station. There’s an older man playing the violin while wearing a santa hat. I toss him a quarter and he gives me a smile and I feel like I’ve just earned a few karma points. Shiny gates, I’m coming for you.

It’s early december and New York is fucking freezing. It’s an all consuming kind of cold. The one you feel seeping through your body all the way to your bones. I wish I could say it goes away once I’m home and snuggled up in my bed. It doesn’t. It’s the kind of cold that stays with you. 

There’s a man eying me as I step on the train, he’s got bushy unkempt eyebrows and a mean mustache. His tongue licks at his bottom lip every few seconds. Like a deranged snake or something, only way creepier. I try to avoid eye contact. Eye contact it seems only works as a silent invitation to guys like him. 

From the corner of my eye I take notice of all his moves though. One has to be prepared always. I grab a hold of my keyes, let them stick out between my knuckles. I don’t know if he notices. I hope he does.

When the train pulls up at my stop, my heart speeds up a little. A silent mantra echoes through my head “please don’t get up. Please don’t get up.” It’s one thing being tough and brave when you’re in a train with many other people. It’s a whole different story when you’re passing through dark, deserted alleyways on your way home.

The trains stops and I wipe my sweaty hand on my jeans. He eyes me again as I step up to the doors. I’m still avoiding eye contact but at this point I can tell that he can tell. I can just about make out as his lips pull into a smirk. There’s nothing amusing about this situation, not to me at least. To think that he finds joy in this makes me physically sick.

The doors open and I step outside, a gust of cold wind hitting my face. I turn around and the doors close behind me and, to my delight, I can see him sitting in the same spot, looking at me through the dirty window of the train. He winks as the train pulls away and I can feel my lunch making its way up my throat again.

I can hear them yelling as I unlock the door. Dave’s voice thunders through the place, spewing expletives and hatred. 

“ Jesus Christ, Joan. What is wrong with you? Spending money on shit we don’t need but the one thing, the one thing I asked you to buy, you forget ? Are you really that fucking dumb ? “

My blood starts boiling though I know better than to step in. It only makes it worse.

Mom says sorry. So many times. Too many times. Her voice is timid and small and I hate that this is what he turns her into. When I was little mom was strong and brave and happy. She was creative and fun and adventurous. Now she’s but a shell of herself. An obedient little housewife who settles for a man that treats her like absolute dirt.

They look up at me as I enter the kitchen room and I can see fear in my mom’s eyes. I think that’s the worst thing. To see your mom scared. No kid should have to see their mom this scared. I wish I didn’t. 

“ Hi. “ 

“ Look who’s finally decided to show up. Where’ve you been ? “ Dave scoffs. He thinks just because my mom spreads her legs for him, he gets any say in what I do. Truth is, he doesn’t give a fuck what I do, he’s just a sucker for control. It’s like his ultimate wet dream, to have us do exactly how he says and behave just the way he asks us to. 

“ Out. “ 

“ Out where ? “

“ None of your business. “ 

“ Kathleen “ mom scolds me. I know she has this fantasy of us three living like a perfect family, all happy and joyful. Smiling at each other as we sit around the dinner table talking about our days before we settle on the couch to watch Happy Days.

That’s not reality though. Reality looks pretty bleak right now. Reality is absolute bullshit.

“ I was at the library, okay ? “ 

“ With a boy ? “ 

“ No, what the fuck are you on about. “ 

“ I know the kind of girl you are, Kat. I know girls like you. “ 

Girls like me. 

Dude doesn’t know shit.

“ Sluts “ he spits out. I know he does it to rile me up. He’s just waiting for me to make a mistake so he can put me in my place and assert his dominance. God, he’s such an asshole.

“ Dave ! Don’t call her th— “ mom doesn’t get to finish the sentence before he smacks her across the face, a loud slapping noise echoing through the room. It never gets easier. Watching him hit her. Watching her excuse his actions. Watching them continue as normal.

“ I told you, to shut up, Joan. You know what happened with the boy. The man.“ 

I lock eyes with her, begging her to say something. Do something. End this misery. She has the power to do so. This is our apartment. Out food. Our money. She has all the power in the world and yet, when she averts her eyes, I know it means nothing. 

Dave looks at me again then flops down on the couch, resting his feet on the couch table and clutching a beer in his meaty slob of a hand.

“ Ma, “ I approach her, wanting to comfort her. This is my mother and despite her flaws and issues, I love her. Sometimes I wonder if she returns the sentiment. 

“ I’m okay. “ 

“ But you’re not!” 

“ I said, I am okay. “ the look in her eyes gives me no room to argue. This conversation is over. This topic is over. For now. 

Because those things are never really over, are they ? 

I take a can of coke from the fridge then sit down on the bench by the window. The snow is softly falling outside and if I didn’t despise the cold so much, I’d even call it pretty. It’s a huge contrast to how things are inside right now. Snow falls slowly, piecefully. My mind is chaos, loud and crowded like Times Square on New Years. 

I try to focus on my book and not on Dave who belches after every gulp of beer or my mom who’s perched on the corner of the couch, close enough for him to feel validated and yet far enough for her own comfort. I hate that this place doesn’t feel like a home anymore. It feels like a prison. Like a cage.

That annoying coke commercial comes on tv and I remember a christmas, many years ago. Dad sits in the recliner, we’re in our old apartment and it’s warm inside. The snow falls softly and the place smells like nutmeg and cinnamon. Mom is happily singing along to the commercial and dad’s placing a kiss on her head and it’s not a very important memory but it means so much to me. Because those christmases were good. 

My eyes wander towards the shelf by the door, the one that holds a lot of things. Those kind of things you don’t know where else to put. There’s a bowl you’re supposed to put keys in, none of us ever do, and a sculpture I made in 4th grade art class. There’s random books and records and a cassette deck that doesn’t work anymore. 

I look the shelf up and down, searching for the one thing in there that means something. The one thing I deliberately placed there because I wanted to see it every time I leave the house.

But it’s gone and my heart shatters.

“ Where’s the picture of dad ? “ 

“ Huh ? “ mom looks up at me. I can see it in her eyes. She heard me just right and she knows where it is.

“ The picture of dad on the shelf. Where is it ? “ 

“ It’s time to move on “ Dave chimed in with his throaty, dark voice. He sounds like he constantly has a meatball stuck in his gullet. It’s fucking disgusting. “ He’s been dead for years now. No use in grieving no more. “ 

Use in greiving ? Does he think we chose to be sad ? Does he really think I can just go and decide not to miss my dad anymore ? Not to be sad anymore ? Not to feel like my heart is bursting into a million little pieces whenever something reminds me of my dad ?

“ What did you do ? “ 

“ Put it where it belongs ?  “ 

I can feel the hot red rage burning inside, behind my eyes, in the tips of my fingers. 

“ What does that mean ? “ 

“ He’s gone, Kat. Get over it. I live here now and I don’t wanna be reminded of that fact that your ma had another man before me. It don’t matter no more, you’re my family now !” he bellows, getting off his ass and towering over me like a giant sequoia tree.

This man doesn’t know the first thing about being a family. I don’t know a lot about it either but I know this isn’t it.

“ Fuck you, Dave. Dad belongs here ! We’re his family, mom is his wife. You’re just some asshole she keeps around for god knows what reasons. Just a boyfriend, those come and go “.

He’s awfully silent at that. It’s scarier than the yelling and the mean words. Like he’s taking it all in, waiting, building. It’s gonna come crashing down on me in a minute, I just know it.

The snarl disappears and makes room for a smirk so unsettling, it freezes my blood right there in my veins.

“ Is that so ? Tell her Joan. “ 

“ Tell me what ? “ Oh god. Oh god, no.

“ Dave, this is not the ti— “ 

“ Tell her ! “ he yells and mom flinches then turns to me, eyes never once leaving the carpet.

“ Baby, Dave and I we — we decided it was time to take our relationship to the next level.” 

No. 

No.

No.

“ We’re getting married. “

“ No. “ I say, as if my opinion matters to anyone here. “ Mom, you can’t. You can’t do this. Mom “ 

I beg and I plead and I can feel the tears rising, hardly able to keep them at bay. I feel so small, so helpless.

“ We can and we will ! We’ve also talked about you … “ Dave starts and by the satisfied smirk on his face I can tell whatever he’s about to say, I won’t like it.

“ We had a long discussion about you and your behavior. The skipping school, the parties, the boys. It needs to stop. You need to learn some responsibility. Some respect. “ 

“ Mom. “ I try to meet her eyes, try to get her attention. This can’t be happening. 

“ It’s for the best, baby. “ 

“ What is ? “ 

Dave takes over the conversation again. God I wish he would just disappear. Vanish into nothingness. Where he belongs. “ We think the city is no good place for a young woman to grow up. Too many distractions. Too many temptations. How could you ever become a proper wife growing up in this place. “

“ Are you saying you want to send me away ? “ 

Mom looks up at me finally, and I can see the pain in eyes. And for the first time, I am glad. I hope she’s hurting. I hope it rips her heart out. I hope she feels the same pain she did when dad died. Because this, this is on her. This is a conscious choice she makes. For herself. For me. For our family.

I hope it hurts her because it kills me.

“ I uh — I talked to Susan. You remember her, right ? My half-sister. She uh — she lives in this cute little town in Indiana. Lots of nature. It’s very picturesque she says. They have a house there, she and her husband and the kids. Her step son is your age. I think — I think It’d do you some good. Susan says he’s calmed down his temper since they moved. Maybe it will work for you. “ 

I want to say so much. I want to scream and cry and throw a tantrum but the pain I feel numbs me to my bones. It’s like all energy is sucked right out of me. I’m too exhausted to react. Too exhausted to fight back.

So I do what I do best. I run. Take my keys, my jacket, my bag. And I run out into the night. The snow. The cold.

Whatever is out there isn’t half as harsh as what’s waiting for me in this place.

I know I have to go back eventually but for now I need to get out and save myself from drowning in my own despair. In the picture of a family that is no family at all and the memories of what used to be.

As I walk down the street I pass a park. There’s a concert going on. A choir sings “ Have yourself a merry little christmas”.

I want to throw up. I do throw up, in the bin by the park bench. 

Merry fucking christmas, Kathleen. I’m sure it’ll be a great one.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas Let your heart be light From now on your troubles will be out of sight”

Absolute bullshit, my dudes. Absolute bullshit.

[crashdevlin]

Well-trained

Author’s Note: Written to fulfill my Free Space for @spnkinkbingo, I chose Pain Kink and threw in some nice Dom/sub dynamics and the rare pair of Debriel x Reader. It’s also a take on this thing I shared two weeks ago about getting my newest tattoo. I blame the Debriel on @thewhiterabbit42. They welcomed me to this trashcan with open arms...

Pairing(s): Dean x Gabriel x Reader

Summary: Y/n’s boyfriends take her to get her anti-possession tattoo.

Word Count: 2526

Story Warnings: Dom!Gabriel, Switch!Dean, Sub!Reader, pain kink, established poly relationship, possessiveness, handsy tattoo artist... no sex, just kink 

The parlor was well-lit and smelled of cleaning solvent. You'd insisted upon it. You didn't want the neons and black-lights of the parlor down the street. You didn't want the place to smell like incense. You were getting a medical procedure done, that's how you saw it. A tattoo was art, but it was also more disruptive to your epidermis than most laparoscopic surgeries these days and you wanted it done somewhere clean, somewhere that smelled like a hospital.

You filled out your paperwork and sat in the waiting area while the tattoo artist set up his area. Gabriel took the opportunity to flip through the sample books, a popsicle in his hand despite the cold weather outside. “I'm thinking a badass dragon across my shoulders. What do ya think, babe?”

“I think you could do it yourself with a snap,” Dean responded, not looking up from his phone where he was losing Words With Friends to both Mary and Sam.

“Not the babe I was talkin’ to, but you're right. I could do hers the same way if you wa-”

“No. She's gotta get it done right, Gabe.”

Gabriel turned to him, eyebrow cocked over his perfect honey eyes. “You think I'd fuck it up? I could have that thing done perfectly and completely healed in a fraction of a second and she wouldn't have to worry about-”

Dean dragged his eyes up and green met gold. “The pain is half the point. You don't heal her when we tan her hide in the bedroom, why would you deprive her of what she likes, here?”

The archangel blinked slowly and nodded. “Got me there, Winchester.”

Dean turned his attention to you, nudging you with his elbow. “You nervous, baby girl?” You shook your head. ‘Nervous’ wasn't the right word. ‘Anxious’ was closer. “You sure? I mean, you're about to have a big Romanian dude with ⅞ gauges in his ears seeing the glory you usually reserve for me and a damn archangel.”

You smiled. “Not all my glory, Dean. Besides, Gabe’ll be able to tell if he’s thinking impure thoughts and he can give him his just desserts if he acts unprofessionally.”

“Don’t give him that permission, y/n. He’ll kill the guy. Dude’s gonna be full of impure thoughts once your shirt comes off.”

“Come on. He doesn’t need permission, Dean.” Gabriel’s eyes sparkled at that. “And the shirt’s not coming off. It’s why I wore a camisole instead of a t-shirt. Just gonna pull the left side down. He shouldn’t even get to see any nipple.”

“Shame,” Dean rumbled. “Definitely love it when other guys get hard for you, coveting what’s ours.”

“Don’t worry, Dean-o. He already wants her.” Gabe tossed the stick from his popsicle at the trash can by the door and flopped down next to you on the black leather couch. “He keeps wondering which of us is her boyfriend. Thinks he’s more attractive than me, but if she’s your girl, he doesn’t have a shot.”

You scoffed out a chuckle. “You guys should put on a show. See how he acts when he thinks you’re my gay best friends and I’m fair game.”

“You hear this girl? She’s trying to get this guy killed,” Gabriel said, an almost proud tinge to his words.

“Am not, but come on. It should come as no surprise that I like games, Gabe. Why else would I have fallen for you?”

“I’m adorable?”

Dean smiled and leaned across in front of you to wrap his fingers in Gabriel’s hair and pull him in for a kiss. It was a rare thing for you to be caught between, in public at least. The hunter usually kept his PDA with the archangel to a bare minimum. If he was going to neck with someone on a park bench or something, he wanted to know people were staring because they were enjoying the show not because they were judging him.

Each man put a hand on your thigh, digging their fingertips into your flesh as their tongues danced across each other in front of your face. You immediately flooded with heat, your cheeks warming under the stimulus.

“I’m ready for you, sweetheart,” the tattoo artist, Kevin, said, walking into the waiting area. The look on his face was a mix of disgust at the display of man-love on his couch and excitement at the thought that those guys were obviously together and not with you.

Your boyfriends separated once Gabe gave Dean’s bottom lip a nibble and all three of you stood to follow Kevin back to his work area. He sat you down on a seat that reminded you of a weight bench without the bar and lifted the stencil he’d made of the anti-possession sigil. “Where we puttin’ it, darlin’?”

You placed your hand over your heart. “Right about here.” His lips twitched at the corners but he held back his smile.

“Okay, just lean on back and look straight ahead.” You did as you were told, looking straight ahead as he pulled the straps of your bra and camisole down your left arm. Based on the cold air on your skin, you could tell he’d pulled the fabric down almost to the edge of your areola. His gloved fingers carefully placed the stencil and he had you stand and check the placement, which was perfect. You sat down again, getting comfortable. Dean sat in the chair in the corner and Gabe leaned against the wall.

“Play a ‘D’ on Sam’s ‘SOPHISTICATE’. You’ll get the triple,” you coached from your chair as Kevin retrieved his tattoo gun. Dean’s eyebrows raised and he pursed his lips as his phone buzzed.

“Thanks. He's probably just been waiting for a ‘D’.”

“No prob.”

“Keep looking at him. It stretches your skin just right,” Kevin said.

“Okay.”

You took a deep breath, scene starting as the gun touched your skin. The pain was instant, and a throbbing pulse of need took up in your core because of it. You focused on Dean. Not the pain or what it was doing to you, just Dean and breathing. Dean and breathing. Not the wetness slowly seeping onto your underwear. Just Dean and breathing.

“Wow. Is this thing even working?” Kevin commented after a few minutes. Dean's eyes jumped from his phone to your chest, where the outline of the symbol was definitely starting to be etched into your skin. “You haven't even flinched, sweetheart.” Dean smirked and looked back down at his phone. You didn't respond as Kevin started in again, his pinkie finger dipping under the edge of your shirt in a way that could have been an accident but totally wasn't.

“I could tattoo you forever, y/n. You're, like, the perfect client,” Kevin praised a few minutes later.

Dean nodded without looking at you. “Thank you,” you answered, now that you'd gotten permission.

The gun started its trek across your collarbone and the sharper pain forced your eyes closed, but no sound escaped you, still. “I mean, I have had grown-ass men, like big burly guys like me in this chair and not a single one has been as tough as you. I could tattoo you ‘til I was blue in the face.”

“I'd be worried if you went blue in the face, Kev,” Gabriel spoke up.

“I'm just saying, she’s a fuckin’ rock. She barely moves. She's got a pain tolerance to die for. I mean, I'm stabbing prime fuckin’ real estate here and you're barely even acknowledging it's happening.” He turned his attention back to you as he finished speaking.

Dean's smirk made you bite your lip. “Yeah.” He looked up and caught your eyes. “She's well-trained, aren't you, baby girl?”

“Yes, sir.” Kevin's hand twitched at the words and he seemed to catch the tone. Of course he didn't understand that he was just a tool in your scene, that he was no more relevant to the game than a flogger or cock cage. But he would come to understand.

His fingers dipped under your camisole again, this time far enough to brush your nipple. Dean caught it this time. “Hey, Gabe,” Dean said, quietly, a deep rumble in his voice.

“I saw. That's two.”

“And we're going to give an opportunity for a third?”

“Well, we don't want the job left unfinished. If I explode him now, she'll only have an outline… and not even a full one.” Kevin snatched his hand away from your body and looked up at the other two men, trying to ascertain what Gabriel meant by ‘explode him’.

You still didn't move. As Kevin determined there were no explosives for Gabriel to explode him with, you stayed looking off at Dean, whose green eyes had taken a darkness. “What's wrong, guys?” Kevin asked, trying to sell the idea that he didn't know why they were upset.

“You think we're blind?” Dean leaned forward. “You've got more than enough access to her ‘prime real estate’, Kev. You don't need to be tryin’ to get more.”

“I… I mean, if she's uncomfortable with anything I've done, she should-”

“Y/n?” Gabriel called out.

“Yes, sir?”

“How you feel about this fucking disgrace sticking his fingers where they don't belong?”

“I don't like it, sir. He's not supposed to do that.”

“What do you think Dean and I should do about it, lollipop?”

“Whatever makes you happy, sir, but I'm partial to the head-splosion.”

You couldn't see Kevin's eyes go wide with fear, but you could see Dean lick his lips and Gabriel raise his hand. “I wanna make you happy, sweet stuff, but head-splody is such a Lucifer move. And it's a bitch to clean up.”

Dean stood up, phone going into his pocket as he walked around you to stand next to Kevin. “How about Kevin keeps his hands off'a our real estate, he doesn't make our girl feel any more uncomfortable than he already has, and maybe, just maybe, we don't kill him and wreck his shop?”

There was a moment of silence as Kevin debated with himself what to do and were they serious. “If you call the cops, they will arrive to blood and body parts viciously strewn around your shop. I don't usually go for the direct explosion death, I like a little more flair, but I'm more than capable of it.”

Kevin cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, I'll… I'm sorry. I'm gonna finish the, uh, the thing.”

“Good call.” Dean stepped back and looked down at you. “You need to move, baby girl?”

“May I, sir? This chair is very uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, why don't you get up and stretch, huh? Kev ain't comin’ near you again ‘til he stops pissin’ his pants.”

You stood, smiling, scene effectively paused as you stretched your arms across your chest. You turned to the mirror, ignoring the terror still on Kevin's face as you examined the start of the tattoo in the mirror. “Well, you're a terrifying guy, Dean,” Gabriel teased. “You shouldn't have been so hard on the man.”

“Me? You're the one talking about exploding the guy, name-dropping your brother ‘cause who's gonna be frightened of Gabriel: the trumpeter?”

“A lot of people!” Gabe defended.

“Maybe you as Loki, but not you as-”

“Guys!” you called out, before nodding your head toward Kevin, whose eyes were huge with shock. “Don't think he's quite ready for all that.” You turned to the mirror and smiled. “You're doing a wonderful job, Kevin. With the tattoo and the scene. Don't worry about my boys. They won't hurt you.”

“Speak for yourself, y/n. He touches that tit again and I'm gonna fuck him up.”

You rolled your eyes at Dean and shook your head. “He kinda has to if we want the tattoo finished. I mean, unless you want me to get possessed by demons.”

“What are you people?” Kevin asked.

“Well, one of us isn't even a people,” Dean joked, slapping his hand across Gabriel's ass.

“The short answer, Kev? Dangerous. Those two much more than me, and you had the bright idea to touch what belongs to them. So, ya know… you should refrain from that shit in the future.”

“Or you won't have a future,” Dean finished.

When you sat back down, Kevin started to tattoo you again, your head stayed turned to the corner where Dean was sitting. He moved quickly, without the inappropriate touching and without the praising remarks. Just Dean and breathing, Dean and breathing… pain and dizziness, pain and dizziness. Your breaths went heavy to compensate the flushing heat assaulting your skin.

“There she goes,” Gabe whispered to Dean as your eyes crossed, going unfocused as endorphins rushed through your system and all there was in your world was Dean. “She’s so cute in subspace.”

“Is she gonna pass out?” Kevin asked, but you didn’t hear him. All you could see was Dean. All you could hear was Gabe.

“Nah, she ain’t gonna pass out. Just finish the tat, man,” Dean demanded.

“She did pass out that one time, didn’t you, tootsie roll?”

“I awayaoh,” came out of your mouth but Gabe just nodded in complete understanding of your drugged-out mumbling.

“She only passed out because you didn't put the whip down when I said to.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, but what part of ‘archangel’ do you think puts you in charge, huh?” Gabriel gestured to himself, then Dean.

“Well, if you had listened, she wouldn't have passed out. Too much pain puts her over.”

“I know that, now, don't I?” Gabriel took your hand, kneeling next to you. “You good to go for her aftercare, Deanie Baby, or do you want me to handle it?”

Dean stood. “Huh, here I was thinking we were both her doms and we'd take care of her together.”

“Ya silly switch, you. Of course we can do it together. I thought you might wanna lose Words with your family some more, that's all.”

“The day I pick games on my phone over you and y/n, explode me.”

“Gonna hold you to that.” Gabriel popped to his feet, looking down at you as Kevin finished your tattoo, sliding petroleum jelly over the new symbol. “Great job, Kev. I'll take it from here,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“Gabe…” Dean's voice was full of warning.

“I didn't kill him. Just thought he should know what it feels like to be pawed at against his will.”

“Where is he?”

“Currently performing a striptease for a dozen ladies in their eighties.”

Dean chuckled as he reached down and picked you up. You nuzzled into his neck, still riding out your high. “Come on, let's get her home. She's gonna need to get her sugars back up after she's done in subspace.”

“And after that, we can see if I can get you there,” Gabriel said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Told you, man, I can't get there. Just can't let go enough.” Dean leaned down and pressed his lips to the archangel’s. “But I'm happy to let you try.” He winked as Gabriel reached out to take his hand. “Sir.”

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108 @mogaruke @flamencodiva @team-free-will-you-idjits-67

SUPERNATURAL TAGS @letsby @mrswhozeewhatsis @adoptdontshoppets @spnskinnyballs @deansenwackles @gayspacenerd

GAGA FOR GREEN EYES TAGS @akshi8278

[aconitemare]

[jaydick] to all the (D)icks i’ve loved before

JayDick during the famous (first) field scene from To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before.

Read it on AO3.

“Are you really going to audition?” Roy asks. He’s got a sheen of sweat across his forehead that’s probably more due to the heat than the exertion on the track field.

“Maybe,” Jason answers. He does actually, one-hundred percent, but he doesn’t feel comfortable sounding committal. “Why not,” he says instead without making it sound like a genuine question. It isn’t.

Roy knows it’s not a question but caring is neither of their strong suits, so he presses. “I dunno’. Doesn’t really seem like you, I guess. Don’t get me wrong,” he switches. His hand reaches out to touch Jason’s shoulder, but it’s been almost an hour of gym outside and his hand misses the mark as they maintain pace. “You’ve got the drama down pat,” he quips. Jason sends him a glare but Roy just snickers. “Maybe, like, if this was Phantom of the Opera-type shit, I’d be like, yeah, that’s you, and I’d be there in the front row telling everyone that the disfigured creep under the basement was my dude, but. A high school performance of Footloose though? That’s some cheesy shit.”

Jason shrugs. Roy isn’t entirely wrong. Jason would’ve joined the drama club last year except their big show was Shrek the Musical. He was tempted to sign up anyway because it’s not like anyone would see a tech on stage, but he really didn’t want to be associated with something that was bound to suck hard. Footloose was comparatively better. He could work with that story.

“You can still sit front row and tell everyone I’m the guy moving props off the stage,” Jason replied.

“Oh, what?” Roy says with his nose scrunching. “You’re not even going to be an actor? Fuck that noise, you should be that dude who fucks the pastor’s daughter.”

“You want me to be Ren McCormack,” Jason supplies.

“Whichever, man; you could tell me the character was named Rhino McJackoff and I’d have to go along with you.”

“Fair enough,” Jason retorts. One of their gym instructors holds out two popsicle sticks as they pass. Roy grabs them both and hands one to Jason. They get a good distance between them and the teacher before they start speaking again because neither are good at censoring their language. Roy has just asked him about Red Dead Redemption 2 when Jason hears his name being shouted.

“Jason! Jason!” Jason turns around to see Dick Grayson jogging towards them. He’s wearing the school’s proper gymnasium uniform, unlike Roy and Jason who both got points deducted for bringing normal gym clothes. GCHS is embroidered in the corner is tiny white lettering. If Dick were to turn around, a cartoonish owl would blink stare hollowly at them.

Neither Jason nor Roy slow their pace so Dick is forced to catch up after he’s caught their attention and maintain speed. “Sup, Dick,” Roy greets, making room for Dick to insert himself between them. This close up, Jason can smell Dick’s shampoo. It’s lighter than he expected, more fresh than spiced like Jason’s cologne.

Dick smiles at Roy and shakes his shoulder. He definitely showed up late to class. Jason knows this not just because he isn’t sweaty like everyone is, but because he missed him during the warm-up. Jason hasn’t liked Dick like that since middle school, but he can admit to himself that he still watches him. He doesn’t think that’s weird or anything because everyone watches Dick — most of all during gym.

“Where’ve you been?” Roy asks easily. Meanwhile, Jason subtly runs a bit farther to the left so he’s not inhaling Dick’s scent with every heavy breath.

“Nurse’s office,” Dick says with a bright grin. “I got into a bit of fender bender this morning. Security guard saw me parking with my bumper torn off and insisted I check in with the nurses while they ratted me out to Bruce.”

Jason remembers Bruce rather well considering he’s only met him once. It was during a birthday party at Wayne Manor for Dick’s younger brother Tim. Bruce was an imposing man who now looms over Jason’s memory of that night. Jason can well imagine Dick crashing his fancy car daddy’s money bought him. Jealousy, not sympathy, clouds Jason’s mood as Roy talks about that sounds rough. Jason hopes he doesn’t mean it so they can talk shit later. But Roy and Dick actually do get along, so he’s probably for real.

“That sucks, Dick, especially on top of stuff with Helena,” Roy seems to commiserate. Jason’s attention perks up here. Helena is Dick’s girlfriend. She’s not the worst person Jason’s ever met, but she’s pretty freaking terrible. They used to be friends in middle school to the point there were rumors about them getting together. Then came the day Helena leaned forward, lashes brushing her cheeks as her lips puckered, and Jason didn’t think, he just confessed. Within a week, Helena had excommunicated Jason from every social circle she touched. Within a week, Jason had to watch his ex-best friend holding hands with the boy he dreamt about.

Helena and Dick had been on-and-off since the advent of high school. Clearly they are off now. Even though Jason holds no hopes for reconciliation with Helena or — delayed wish fulfillment with Grayson, he still eagerly awaits the permanent destruction of a couple that’s tainted much of school for him.

Dick’s expression is uncomfortable after Roy’s comment. Jason lets Dick catch the smirk playing on his lips. Dick takes a deep breath before looking back at Roy and clapping a hand down on Roy’s shoulder with a familiarity that irks Jason. “Hey, we’ll catch up, alright?” promises Dick. “But actually I have something I need to talk to Jason about one-on-one.”

Roy is no stranger to Jason’s tragic backstory regarding Dick Grayson. “Sure thing,” he says dubiously, raising his eyebrows at Jason. For added measure, he waggles them in a way that has both Jason glaring and Dick looking uncomfortable away. Jason opens his mouth slowly because he’s not sure what he wants to say, maybe “wait,” Roy puts a burst of energy into his step until he’s catching up with Wally West who’s already finished the course and is still running for fun.

“Cool dude,” Dick says weirdly.

“Uh, yeah,” says Jason as Dick’s words settle in. I actually have something I need to talk to Jason about one-on-one. What the hell? The most they’ve ever spoken to each other after middle school was while setting up for last year’s homecoming dance. Dick had roped in Kory who roped in Roy who roped in Jason. It was an unfairly good night. Roy fed off Kory’s attention and made Jason laugh so hard he nearly pissed himself several times. Helena had practice all night for her archery league, so Dick was on his own and for whatever reason, he stuck to Jason’s side the whole event.

Jason didn’t let himself think about that night afterwards, but during the moment, Dick had a way of making everything between them feel fresh and new. He hadn’t been weighed down by his private history — a history revolving around Dick that Dick probably didn’t even realize — at all.

“So,” Jason says, toying around with his popsicle sticks as they jog. Without meaning to, Jason has slowed down to Dick’s leisurely walk. “Speak.”

Dick smiles and laughs softly, if a little nervously. He really smiles a lot. Jason wonders how he ever thought Dick was viable partner with his Pollyanna temperament. “Right. Well, here comes the hard part, I guess, right?” Dick asks. Then he seems to wait for Jason to actually dignify that with a response despite it containing no legitimate content to respond to. Dick’s tongue swipes across his bottom lip. He shrugs, smiles. “Here goes,” he says and stops walking altogether. Jason rolls his eyes and stops, although what Dick could possibly say that requires an utter stand-still is beyond him.

Dick’s hand rummages in the pockets of his gym shorts. He pulls out an envelope which he then fiddles with. “I honestly had no idea you felt this way,” Dick begins. Immediately, Jason is on his guard. “I mean, I suppose there were signs and I suppose I ignored them on purpose. Maybe I was wrong to, but it seemed simplest that way, you know, if we just carried on with our own separate lives? What with Helena and me, and you and — someone who’s not in a relationship. Or just freshly out of one, in my case.” Here, Dick chuckled. “You hardly left time for the dust to settle on that one. I actually admire your boldness — for real, it’s refreshing for someone to just lay out all their cards and say, ‘Hey, this is how I feel.’ No dumb high school politics or the proverbial closet, just honesty.”

Jason is barely listening to Dick’s rambling bullshit. His eyes are glued to the envelope that is surely connected to whatever Twilight Zone thing is going down. Dick Grayson is talking to him about feelings and cold dread is rapidly filling Jason like water on the Titanic as he remembers what he did three years ago that can fit inside a tiny envelope.

Dick inches closer, his head tilted slightly upwards as Jason stays staring down at the object in Dick’s hands. “And if I’m also being honest, you wrote things to me that kept me up at night. I don’t think anyone’s ever thought about me that way, about my eyes — well, you know you wrote.”

That’s the last straw, the confirmation Jason needed if not wanted, and he roughly rips the letter out of Jason’s hands. Dick nearly stumbles back in surprise. “I don’t where you got this,” he says, voice low as he glares daggers into Dick’s eyes — blue like clean waters that shimmer in the sun and give life to those desperate for a drink — and steps threateningly into his space. “But it is not yours and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from me and keep everything you read to yourself,” he warns. His embarrassment is bearing down on his shoulders, heating his cheeks and hitting his chest in harsh heartbeats. He stands his ground only because he’s worried the ground might swallow him whole otherwise.

For the second time during gym class, Jason hears his name being called. Jason breaks the intense moment and looks up to see no other than Konnor Kent, Tim’s newly-exxed boyfriend, walking towards him. He’s wearing that leather jacket Jason’s always loved on him and a pair of skin-tight jeans with tons of buckles that should be cringey but instead is just super hot. He’s slighter than Dick although they’re both lean and his thick dark hair curls up at the front rather than lying in a mess of waves like Dick’s. He’s got style to him and although Dick isn’t one to put as much thought into his wardrobe, Jason has to admit now that they’re almost side-by-side that he has a type.

He interrupts his admiration first with the reminder to have a little shame, Konnor is Tim’s, not his, even if they’re not together anymore. His self-flagellation is ended early when he spots a thin piece of paper in Konnor’s leather-clad hands.

Dear Konnor,

Fair warning, what I’m about to tell you is wrong. But that’s why I have to say it. Because if I keep it to myself and refuse to acknowledge what’s between us, then I’ll always feel that way. But if I get it out all on paper now, then I can come to terms with the fact that you’re not mine. You can’t ever be mine.

Jason went on like for five pages, front and back. And now Jason’s heart is on Konnor’s sleeve. Tim just left him and Jason is swooping in for the kill like a vulture. What if Konnor has already told Tim? What if Tim is the one who found these letters? Did he send one to Dick as revenge for his feelings towards Konnor? Would Tim be that petty?

Yes. Tim would absolutely be that petty.

Konnor is almost closing the distance. “Jason, I need to talk to you,” he calls out. Jason honestly cannot handle this. He can’t handle the repercussions of his letter reaching Konnor, let alone of them discussing the letter. Konnor either came here to reject him or, or — to not, and he can’t say which would be worse. Over the years, Jason has landed himself into some pretty risky scenarios from foolhardy adventures, but never has he felt this panicky before.

Konnor is only a few yards away. Jason’s mind has cleared of all things except: I cannot talk to him.

Jason’s body has a solution for this. Jason’s body does not at all consult Jason’s head when it throws itself at Dick Grayson. One hand cups the back of Dick’s neck while the other grabs his arm. Dick isn’t expecting Jason’s full weight and when Jason’s foot slides between his, Dick goes tumbling backwards. The two fall to the ground in tandem but Jason doesn’t break the kiss. He’s vaguely aware of Dick’s little yelp, but he’s more keen on the plush of his lips and the smell of his shampoo. Dick’s chest is solid beneath his. Jason moves just enough to take some of the weight off him, his hand lifting Dick’s neck for a better angle.

Jason’s name is shouted a third time. “Todd, get off him!” he hears an instructor bark. Jason has an arm on either side of Dick’s shoulders as he looks up to see Mr. Queen running towards them, popsicle sticks in hand. Jason gazes down at Dick whose eyes are blown wide and staring straight into Jason’s, lips gently parted.

Jason gets off the boy he’s just tackled. Mr. Queen is asking him what’s wrong with you but Jason is busy watching Konnor’s retreating form. Mr. Queen demands Dick and Jason go to the principal's office. Jason’s head whips around to the teacher. “No, sir, don’t do that,” he nearly begs. He can hear Dick push himself to his feet but he’s stubbornly not looking at him. He doesn’t think he can ever look at Dick again, actually, which is a pity since it’s one of his pastimes. “It’s on me, sir, I tackled him.”

“Yeah, I can fucking tell!” Mr. Queen snaps. Unforeseen, Roy and Wally have lapped around to the three of them. Roy grabs two popsicle sticks, says “dude,” and keeps going. Jason glares until Wally stops rubbernecking.

“Dick can stay. I’ll find my way to the principal’s,” Jason says. He’s relieved when Mr. Queen merely says, “I’ll be checking,” because Jason would die on the spot if he had to then walk with Dick and sit next to him as he explained why exactly he bodyslammed Gotham City High’s sweetheart and planted one on him for all gym class.

Jason shoves his popsicle sticks into Mr. Queen’s hands, still ignoring Dick as he turns on his heels and gets the hell out of there.

[tcshearts]

Session 2, Chapter 5 - Secrets

Content warning: Violence, Extreme use of fire, Car accidents

It takes me all of ten seconds to enter The Cinder State and find my way in through the trailer door. What the fuck did she do? We gave her pretty simple orders, so how did she fuck it up? I scan the trailer as soon as I’m inside, ten soldiers with rifles stand in a tight formation in the middle of the trailer. Behind and to the side of them are crates, they were thrown roughly around the trailer when Chimera tore it off, but most of the stuff still looks to be intact. I glance over at Unicorn, she has her hands in the air, detranscended. She’s wearing a bright green cloak and a cheap white mask with clear lenses. Two darts are sticking out of her shoulder and neck.

The darts, you idiot, remove the darts! The longer they stay in you, the longer they cut your powers off! Pull out the darts! The soldiers have their guns trained on her, and if I dropped out of the Cinder State right now, they’d have a pretty easy shot at me. I stay in my incorporeal form and circle around them, this is pretty standard procedure, so I know just the signal to wait for. I start to channel my rage and call on my power while in The Cinder State.

Chimera should pull these doors open any minute. We’ve done this before a million times and she’ll do it any second now. I’m sure of it.

Okay, maybe she isn’t coming.

Ten soldiers, I could probably take them, but I’m not sure I could do it without getting a dart. That’s why I need some backup. It would be better if Unicorn didn’t get shot like an idiot, but I have to work with the cards I’m dealt. I can’t just sit here thinking about it forever. I position myself behind the furthest right guard on the back line and ready all the flame I’ve gathered.

Come on Chimera, where are you?

I drop out of the Cinder State and launch fire at the backs of the men in the backline, grabbing the one I was standing closest to and putting him between me and the other five. The man screams in pain and drops his gun as darts pepper his burning back. The smell of burning flesh is one I’ll never get used to smelling. I use the human shield to drop back into The Cinder State and disappear again.

“Anchor.” One of the soldiers says to the other four still standing as I gather my fire. I see the bottom of their boots glow blue and seem to magnetize to the floor. The leader of these soldiers sets a small blue and white orb on the ground, which instantly attaches itself to the floor.

Without warning, the soldier presses a button on his wrist and I feel myself being torn apart and entirely disrupted. My vision, all of my senses actually, fail me momentarily and seem to come back to me one at a time. My airy, ethereal form is positioned by a corner near the door in the shipping container. I glance around and see Sarah was blown back against the far door of the container and the five injured guards were blown wildly around.

What the hell was that thing? It felt like it tried to rip me apart. I know that I’m technically some form of air when I’m in the Cinder State, so that thing must have been able to blow the air in the shipping container around wildly. The lead soldier turns towards me, his visor has a red-orange tint that I didn’t notice before. He points to my exact location the second his head turns towards me.

“She’s there!” He says, raising his weapon. The other guards follow suit. I start to move again, his head quickly follows me and with another press of his wrist I feel the same awful, painful sensation ripping at me and find my form huddled at the back of the shipping container a few seconds later.

Chimera, any time now would be fucking awesome.

“Don’t try it Phoenix. Just come out with your hands up and we won’t hurt you.” The man says. I don’t believe him, and I doubt he cares.

That visor has to be able to see heat signatures. When I’m in the Cinder State, I register as slightly warmer air. My cousin, Cori, had a special ability that let her see heat and I was never able to hide from her in The Cinder State. If he wants to see heat, I’ll give him heat.

I call fire to myself, as much as I can muster, the entire time I’m terrified that he’s going to use his device again, but he doesn’t. I drop out of the Cinder State and unleash all the gathered flame in as wide an area as possible. The entire back half of the trailer is engulfed in flame. I would have hit the whole trailer, but I can’t risk accidentally killing Sarah. Even an incompetent ally is better than no ally.

I hear the lead soldier groan as he covers the visor of his mask. The first two soldiers, as well as a few of the injured ones, are completely turned to ash. I don’t like killing, I hate it actually. My aspect may be anger, but I’m still a goddamn human. My power isn’t exactly one that “wounds” or “hurts” all I can do is destroy and kill. I wish I could knock out soldier the way Chimera does, or I could at least kill as ruthlessly as Kitsune does. I breathe and get my composure together, these soldiers stopped being people the second they joined the regime. That’s what I have to remind myself.

The other three guards were burned and knocked off balance. The lead guard lost his gun, while the other two aren’t exactly ready to shoot. I call the fire, pulling it from the burning crates and metal and covering my body in it. The sensation of flame covering me, but not burning me is such an unusual feeling. It almost feels like I’m wearing a glove over my entire body, but it moves in such a strange and almost uncomfortable way. When I see the looks on the faces of the guards, I know I got exactly the effect I was going for.

I hear a click as one of the soldiers panics and pulls the trigger of his gun. I watch the dart hit the flaming armor around me and burn up before making contact with my skin, it got close, way closer than I would have liked, but I stopped it. I don’t let the worry show at all as I walk slowly towards the three soldiers. I look at Sarah, she’s mostly unharmed, just some searing on her cloak, but she looks like she’s been knocked out pretty bad from that device that blew the air in here around.

“Drop your weapons,” I say through crackling flame. The soldiers recoil slightly and the back two drop their weapons when I raise my hands.

“Helmets, wrist pads, phones, boots, gloves, and anything else you have with tech or weaponry, take it off,” I order, the guards hesitate for a moment before finally doing so. It takes two or three minutes, and I have to double and triple check them, sending my fire away from the hands I was using to check them, but they’re clear.

“Go sit in the front corner of the trailer,” I say, indicating to the corner by the door. “If any of you make moves for your weapons, it’s not going to end well for you.” I’m not nearly as sure of myself as I pretend to be in that moment, but it works. The men relent and go to the corner. I’m beyond relieved that worked and relieved that I finally have a trick that may slow down the darts. Now, I need to find out what the hell happened to my backup.

I use the fire around my body and send it as one large wave towards the door, forcing it open with a loud thud. I ignite my wings and start gathering more fire around me as I look at the scene. It’s not what I was hoping for.

Chimera is the first person I notice, she’s holding her shoulder, blood running down from it. Her body is shaking and her face bears a clear expression of pain. Well, there goes my backup. Dragon is standing directly in front of her, her teeth and claws are bared, her wings and tail are fully extended, she’s guarding her and making sure she doesn’t get hit by whatever got her previously.

Kitsune is covered entirely in white carbon, her fans drawn to protect herself. She’s frozen completely, a look of hatred on her face. The bodies of soldiers with dart guns, four of them, lay sprawled around the road near Kitsune. While two Paladins lay in heaps, their engines torn directly out of their bodies. If I had to guess, Chimera did that. A third Paladin stands a few feet from Dragon, it’s black metal body appears to be mostly unharmed. A jeep is parked next to the Paladin, a man in the driver’s seat holds a handgun, pointed at Chimera in the few moments when she’s not being covered by Dragon. A woman sits in the passenger seat. She’s clad in a blue and white dress, holding a large hunting rifle, trained on Dragon. Her entire face excluding the eyes and mouth, is covered by a white mask, while the rest of her head is covered by a blue hood. She’s short, maybe about 5’2, but she’s clearly in control of the situation. Oracle.

“Phoenix!” Oracle says in a sickeningly sweet voice. “I was wondering when you’d be joining us.”

“Fuck off. You’re outnumbered here, leave.” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

“Don’t try that shit with me Phoenix. Chimera’s not getting up anytime soon, the Fox is a human popsicle, and your new friend is out like a light. Besides, Technician is directly controlling this Paladin. We’ve got you beat.”

Fuck, Chimera doesn’t look to be in any state to fight. She looks like she’s barely aware of where she even is right now. Even worse, I barely have any power left and I can’t image Dragon is exactly fresh. I glance at Dragon and she gives me a very brief look, one that makes me feel like she’s working on a plan.

“Quite right.” A woman’s voice with a thick German accent comes from the Paladin, there’s no doubt that’s Technician. “I’m not especially interested in further harming children, so the smartest thing you can do is turn yourselves over to us.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a no.” I mutter, stepping to Dragon’s side.

“Oh, Phoenix, so much of your father in you.” Oracle says with a devilish grin on her face. I growl slightly at the comment and feel the rage inside me start to build. I need to keep calm, Oracle has the power to gather information based on the smallest clue. She has her magic rifle and the boosts that being a spirit touched gives everyone, but her ability isn’t a combat one, she’s just extremely adept at information gathering and knows how to use that information to get to people.

“Tell me Phoenix, do you know? Do you know who you’ve been working alongside? Do you know who’s been in your midsts, who you thought were allies? Can you really trust them?” Technician’s voice says, Oracle seems to grimace slightly, almost like Technician saying that irked her.

Can I trust my team? I trust Dragon completely, and I trust Chimera to never join the Archduke. Kitsune is a wild card, but if there’s one thing I don’t doubt it’s her commitment to the fight. I barely know Sarah, but I doubt she’d be willing to sell us out to the regime. Even if I didn’t trust my team, I know I have to show that I do against these two, especially Oracle.

“Yes, there’s not a thing you could tell me about them that could make me distrust them. They’re my team, I trust them fully.” I answer. Oracle’s eyes light up like she’s struck paydirt.

“That angle’s not gonna work Techy,” she says almost laughing. “She’s gay, and she doesn’t give a shit about her team’s personal lives.”

Oracle pauses and locks her eyes on Dragon.

“However, Dragon, you really are smarter than Techy gives you credit for. You know, don’t you? You’ve known for a while. You probably could have fixed it. And you didn’t tell Phoenix? Don’t you claim to be the good guys? That’s really fucking harsh.” Oracle says.

“I don’t know what you’re ta-” Dragon starts.

“Oh sure, you weren’t one-hundred percent sure, but I just confirmed it. So? You gonna tell her now?”

An awkward silence hangs over the standoff. Dragon exhales slightly and glances at me with one of her reptilian eyes. I glance back. What does Oracle mean? Dragon’s keeping something from me? What? Does she know who I am? I’d be mad at myself, but if Kitsune knows, it doesn’t bother me a ton that Dragon does. Is she straight? As disappointed as I’d be, I wouldn’t be crushed. I could deal with it. No, Oracle said she could have stopped ‘it’, stop what? What else would she possibly hide from me?

“You think you know everything, don’t you Oracle?” Dragon says.

“Unlike you, no I don’t. I know people, Techy knows machines.” Oracle says.

“So then who’s fault was not noticing that you didn’t freeze me in carbon?” Kitsune says, leaping from behind the trailer onto the top of it. Oracle’s eyes go wide as she stares at Kitsune, and points her rifle at her. I glance at the Kitsune frozen in carbon and see it’s still there. How the fuck did she do that?

“Shoot! Dart Dragon! Now!” Oracle orders her soldier. The man’s arm moves roughly, violently jerking to the side. He points his gun at Oracle instead.

“Edward Millner, former army general, cheating on his wife with a young recruit who’s only sleeping with him out of fear of losing her position. Please, I do my homework and I know faces, don’t tell me you’re that much of an amateur Oracle.” Kitsune taunts. Before Kitsune can make the man pull the trigger, Oracle rips the gun from his hand and fires at Dragon.

Dragon wastes no time getting out of the way, pouncing on the Paladin and trying to rip through their shell. The Paladin uses their size advantage to throw Dragon back a bit and turns to face her. It would have hit Chimera, but I burn it to ash before it gets there.

Oracle drops the dart pistol, aims her rifle at Kitsune, and forces her soldier out of the driver’s seat. She takes a shot at Kitsune, who dodges with an athletic flip. She starts her car and takes another shot at Kitsune, who blocks it with her fan this time. Oracle presses a button on the dash and engages some sort of auto-drive function. She takes a few shots at Kitsune and myself before hitting Dragon squarely in the back, the purple energy from the gun doesn’t even break her scales.

Dragon and the Paladin are locked in combat. Dragon has managed to dislodge the stun turret, while the Paladin is keeping a solid hold on Dragon’s claws. I briefly consider helping her, before setting my eyes on Oracle’s jeep.

“Kitsune, watch Chimera and Unicorn.” I say, looking at the shivering, bleeding superhero on the ground and the barely conscious borderline-civilian.

“Yup.” Kitsune says, hopping down to ground level and extending both her fans fully.

I fly forward, landing on the hood of Oracle’s jeep. I start to melt through the hood and into the engine, but she quickly bashes me in the face with the butt of her rifle. Okay, that hurt, maybe I need a different approach. I lock my eyes on Oracle.

“Alright Phoenix, you caught me, come take me.” She says, disengaging the auto-drive and slowing the jeep slightly. I don’t trust this.

“Or we could make a deal.” She says with a devilish grin.

“No. I don’t make deals with people like you.”

“Oh, but you could. Your team would never know, I’d give you a good, non-fatal shot to the gut and drive away. You fake like you’re too hurt to follow.”

“Kitsune’s a human lie detector and Dragon’s a super genius, I’m not an idiot. Besides, you don’t have anything I want.”

“Don’t I? You wanna know what Dragon’s hiding from you? You wanna know what Kitsune’s weakness is? Ooh ooh, do you wanna know why your dad turned on you?”

Why am I even entertaining her? I have fucking Oracle in my sights, I should either burn her to a crisp or restrain her for Dragon to question. At the moment, I’m leaning towards burning her.

“No.” I growl under my mask.

“Oh, yes you do.” She says with a smirk. “But if my offer doesn’t intrigue you, go ahead. Capture me. You’ll just never know why your daddy had such a change of heart.”

Oracle holds her hands out for me. I glare at her. Come on, do it. I beg my hands to grab her, to restrain her and pull her out of the vehicle, but they won’t budge.

“You can’t possibly know that.” I spit.

“Sweetie,” Oracle starts with a laugh. “I was there.”

She could give me answers, closure, she could give me something I never thought I’d have. It would mean letting my team down. It would mean letting Chimera down when she took a bullet for our cause. It would mean letting Dragon down. I can’t do that. I want to know, I want it more than anything, but…

“No…” I force the word out of my throat. Saying no was hard, but saying yes was somehow harder. Before I can change my mind, I reach forward and wrench her hands, putting her in a wrist lock.

“That’s fine. My offer was sincere, but you weren’t even the first priority. I was just stalling.” Oracle says calmly, letting out a sharp whistle.

Oracle��s soldier, apparently free of Kitsune’s control and laying on the ground, has the dart pistol. On Oracle’s signal, he points it at Dragon. Dragon is still locked in her fight with the Paladin, neither side making headway. Dragon will probably win a one-on-one fight with a Paladin, even one controlled by Technician, but if she gets darted, this fight is over before it can even start.

“Kitsune!” I shout, pulling Oracle tight against my body and trying to kick her rifle away. “The dart gun!”

Kitsune doesn’t take more than a second to react, making the man throw his hand backwards and fire the gun far away from Dragon. It’s okay. It’s safe. It didn’t work, we’re going to win.

The next thing I hear is an ear-splitting, high pitched noise that shakes the road, the car, and the sand around us. I hit the ground and cover my ears, so do Oracle, Kitsune, Dragon, and the Soldier. The Paladin stalls. It takes me a few seconds to realize what’s happening, Chimera is screaming, a visceral howl of pain that sounds like it’s echoing from the spirit world. Every inch of Chimera is radiating blue light. It’s at this moment that I realize the errant dart hit Chimera. She stands and pulls the dart out of her neck with her telekinetic powers, her eyes glowing bright blue.

She didn’t detranscend. The dart didn’t make her fucking detranscend. I know that Chimeras are usually fucking weird, and work a little differently than normal spirit touched, but the dart didn’t cut off her powers, it just made her mad.

The sand and rocks on the roadside begin to glow blue, Forming swiftly into massive rock golems. The sand starts to twist around Chimera, forming a shield as she begins to float into the air. Chimera is telekinetic, she struggles with “loose” things like sand or water because she has to control every grain or drop. I’ve also never even seen her try to make a golem out of rocks, or anything else, before. Controlling one loose object is standard for her, but controlling a few objects at a time makes her basically a sitting duck. Making all the rocks move in tandem? I can’t imagine how much focus that takes. I know other Chimeras have gotten stronger over time, maybe some of the ones that survived for a long time could do this, but this is an incredible spike in a matter of seconds.

Chimera launches a wave of sand over the roadway at high speeds. The sandstorm hits the jeep hard, sending me off of it and tumbling across the road back to the trailer. When I look back up, I see the Paladin torn apart to nothing but scrap metal and spare parts. Dragon is looking around her wings to try to get a clear look at Chimera through the sand. Her reptilian eyes probably give her a better chance than Kitsune or I.

The jeep is also in pieces. I don’t even see the soldier anymore, he’s probably buried beneath the sand. Oracle is laying a few feet back from the jeep, scrambling backward and grabbing her rifle. She fires it at Chimera, purple energy exploding from the muzzle. The beams hit Chimera’s shield of sand and immediately disperse. Through coughs and panicked breaths, I hear Oracle speak into some sort of wrist communicator.

“Dodger, I need evac. Now.” She says.

Chimera’s stone golems begin to make their way towards Oracle, a few of them walk past me and seem to ignore me. I can’t find Kitsune, but no doubt she was agile enough to slip into or behind the trailer. Chimera slowly begins to advance herself, picking up more sand along the way.

“Oracle!” The voice comes from Chimera’s lips, but it’s not her own. It sounds like a mix of voices, hundreds of them, along with some spectral, celestial force boosting their volume ten times above what they would be. “Your hubris and malice have put this world at grave risk. Your Archduke attempts to make a pantheon here on earth, I fled the spirit world because I saw what a pantheon does to those who are not at the top of it. I will not let this world become the one I left. Your structures will fall, and I will bring them down. Heed my warning Oracle, abandon your leaders’ foolish ploy, or I will not hesitate to end your life along with his.”

Oracle shakes like a leaf and desperately tries to shoot the Rock golems, who don’t even slow down. I’ve never seen someone like Oracle be this genuinely afraid, for fuck’s sake, Chimera’s on my side and I’m terrified of her. How is she doing this? What’s gotten into her? What is she? I know that Chimera said she “bonded” with the spirit, instead of receiving a fraction of their powers as a blessing like most of us did, but does that mean that she could be as powerful as a full-blown spirit?

A short girl in a small white and blue costume appears right next to Oracle, the costume is a one piece body glove with a small blue eye mask, her blonde hair is up in a ponytail. Her name is Dodger, I don’t know much about her except that she’s a teleporter. She grabs Oracle just before the golems get to her and teleports away. Chimera floats still in the air for a few moments before landing on the ground with force. Sand and rocks go flying as her shield and golems disperse.

“Maybe next time you won’t underestimate me.” Chimera says to the spot where Oracle was. She turns and looks in the direction of Dragon and I, the blue glow of her eyes slowly starts to fade as her breathing becomes more labored. She grabs her head and leans against the trailer as her eyes return to normal.

What the fuck was that? How did Chimera do that? Why didn’t the dart work? Did Chimera just declare official war on the Archduke? Did we just get pushed into a full-blown war? I have so many questions, but I can’t even begin to ask them. I just watch Dragon fly to Chimera to check on her as I sit on the ground slack-jawed.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Kitsune says, walking out of the trailer and over to me. I nod in response.

“Yeah, uh, I’m curious how she-”

“No shit. I am too.” Kitsune cuts me off and rolls her eyes.

“How did you not get frozen?” I ask, I shouldn’t care, but it’s been bugging me since I saw her come from behind the trailer.

“A little misdirection with an assist from Dragon. She gave me this thing.” Kitsune indicates to a large metal triangle attached to her forearm. “Some sort of 3D printer that works at high speeds. As soon as the Paladin fired their carbon at me, Dragon told me to hit the button on it and it sent a plastic copy of me to take the carbon. Then I just hid behind my… ‘carbon copy’ until nobody was paying attention to where I was. That’s probably not something that’s going to work twice, at least not as well, but it was extremely satisfying to pull one over on Oracle and Technician that way.”

“I mean, you pulled one over on her, but Chimer-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Chimera is awesome, she’s probably a legit spirit or something, but can we at least focus on the cool thing I did for like a second.”

“That sounds like it was mostly Dragon.” I say with a shrug.

“You would think that. Whatever, go check on your girlfriend and her sister, I’ve got some collecting to do.” Kitsune says, fishing through the pockets of the soldier corpses that line the street.

I glance at Dragon and sigh. Oracle is a liar, but from the way Dragon reacted, I doubt she was lying here. Dragon is supposed to be our leader, she’s someone I trust, someone I care about a lot, and she’s been hiding something from me, and from the tone Oracle used, it must be something bad. What could she not want me to know that badly? Can I still trust Dragon? I hope so, I need to be able to trust her. Please let this be nothing.

Dragon has detranscended and is carefully applying something from a clear bottle to Chimera’s gunshot wound.

“I need to take you back to my lab to work on this.” Dragon says, her breath heavy.

“I know, thank you for doing what you can here.” Chimera answers in a weak and sheepish voice.

“Hey Chi.” I say, trying my best to look soft and welcoming despite being basically a fire demon.

“Hey, I didn’t hurt you did I?” she asks.

“No, I’m fine. Can I ask you something?”

Dragon starts to open her mouth, but Chimera raises her good arm.

“Sis, it’s fine. What is it Phoenix?” She says.

“What was that?” I ask, alluding to the sand covering the roadway.

“Honestly, you would know better than I do. I don’t even remember anything. I just remember feeling the dart go in, and then I was leaning against this trailer. It was a lot like what happened against Heatstroke. I just blacked out.” She says, not looking me in the eye.

She blacked out? Does Chimera have some sort of failsafe built into her powers? It would make sense if it saved her in life or death situations, but it triggered after she was darted.

“Dragon?” I ask.

“Working on a theory. Been working on one since our fight with Heatstroke. Best case scenario, it’s a well-hidden secret power that Chimera has. It’s possible that it’s an alternate state, or maybe that the spirit itself is taking control of her, that would account for the extreme rise in her power.” Dragon says, still busily working on Chimera’s wound.

“Worst case scenario?” I ask, I almost immediately regret doing so.

“Multiple personality disorder or mind control by something much stronger.”

“I don’t think it’s either of those.” Chimera says, shaking her head.

“I’m just examining all the possibilities.” Dragon adds, raising her hands slightly.

“Um, hi” A voice says to the left of us, it’s Sarah.

“Hey.” Chimera says giving her a warm smile.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine. How are you holding up?”

“Alright, I guess. Getting shot at was… was…” Sarah starts to trail off, Chimera places her good hand on her shoulder.

“I know. It gets easier after the first few times.” Chimera says.

“I’m sorry, I fucked up really bad.” Sarah says, not wanting to look at Dragon or I.

“It’s alright. What happened in there?”

“I thought they were out of darts. They baited me. I made myself tangible and they gor me. I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did.” I answer before Chimera can. I want to leave it there, but the way her eyes look beneath the mask forces me to say “It’s okay, we’ve all fucked up from time to time.” I feel the bullet wound on my arm as a still clear reminder of that.

“I… thank you.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Chimera starts. “I need to meditate. I want to commune with the other Chimeras, I have questions.”

“Of course, let me know what you find out?” Dragon says.

“I promise.”

“Could I watch?” Sarah asks, picking her head up slightly.

“Sure. Just don’t touch me. It would break my focus.”

“Of course.”

I get up to leave Chimera and indicate for Dragon to follow me. She hesitates, but as soon as Chimera enters her trance she comes to join me off to the side.

“Hey.” I say.

“Hey. Everything good?” She asks.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Kitsune told me what you did, that was a pretty cool trick.”

“I actually have Technician to think for that, her power lets her produce near impossible tech, mine doesn’t. I took a miniature 3D printer from one of her warehouses a few months back and have been trying to engineer something like that. It’s not ideal, the device needs to be on the body for a while, can only make plastic duplicates of whoever it’s attached to, and only has enough material for one duplicate. It also needs time to grow, the duplicate was a little smaller than Kitsune, we were lucky that they never picked up on that.”

It’s funny to hear her talk about this. Science and her projects, it’s cute in a way. She’s not a person who’s especially good at letting her walls down, I know a thing or two about that. But when she starts to talk about her experiments or projects, it’s almost impossible to stop her. I smile slightly behind my mask.

“Well, I’m glad it worked. I’m glad we escaped. So what’s our next move?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Things are moving fast. The regime sends Exodus, Oracle, and Technician after us all in the span of a few days? I don’t like this.” Dragon says.

“So, the Fort McCord job? I take it you don’t want to push it back?”

“Phoenix, I think we have to move it up.”

“Move it up? But we were going to hit it tomorrow.”

“I know, and with Chimera hurt, and Unicorn shaken up, we should be taking more time off, not less. But if we don’t strike now, we aren’t going to have a chance. They’re making their play. Right now. We need to slow it down, and getting into that base can buy us at least a few days. We don’t have a matter of days anymore, we probably have hours.”

“You’re right. So we do it tonight?”

“Yeah, eight. That gives us a little over twelve hours to rest and prepare. Meet at the hideout. I’m going to patch Chimera up and make sure she’s okay to go. Kit’s not coming with us, she has people she needs to take care of, they’re her first priority. So we need all the rest of us able to go.”

“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

Silence hangs over us for a few seconds. I want to ask her, badly, I can feel the words forming in my mouth, but they refuse to come out. “What was Oracle talking about?” that’s all I need to say, I just need to say that one thing and I can put this to bed. I can tell Dragon is thinking about it too. Neither of us wants to bring it up.

So we don’t.

“You’re getting better, your tech is evolving. It’s really cool actually.” I say.

“Thanks. You’re damn good with your powers. I’m amazed by all the clever things you do with them. You’re more than just a flamethrower. You’re really good at this job, better than you give yourself credit for.” She says, her smile audible.

“You’re really good at this. I’m-”

“Shh, no. We’re both really good at being heroes. Agreed?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. We’re a team. We’re partners.”

That word hangs there for what feels like ten minutes, partners. God, I want that so desperately. In one sense of the word we are. I’m not sure how she meant it. Is it a hint that she would want to be with me? Is it just phrasing she didn’t put thought into? But Dragon’s so smart, doesn’t she put thought into eve- Rachel, calm down, she said partners. Just relax.

“Yeah. we’re partners.” I say.

“Good, well, then I’ll see you tonight.”

Dragon walks back to her sister. What Oracle said echoes through my mind again. Dragon is keeping something from me. We both know it, even if neither of us wants to acknowledge it. I don’t care. Whatever she’s keeping for me, I don’t need to know. It’s her business, not mine. If we’re gonna win this, I need to trust her. I don’t need to know, not till this is over.

I trust her.

[footscraystation]

i have no idea what i’m doing.

that’s not entirely true. i’m about to go on a date. with doe. not because i asked, although that’s the current narrative floating around our friend group thanks to her inflated ego. we’re only doing this to help me dodge advances from a girl who won’t let me politely fade away from existence.

it’s a stupid plan. fingers crossed all we need to do is take a few pictures for the gram and then melanie will stop asking me to hang. our friends won’t be shocked when we return to our usual status quo and no harm done. right?

the twisted logic of why i’m doing what i’m doing doesn’t necessarily make me feel prepared to actually do it. constructing a fantasy is harder than i thought.

how fucking stressed i am must be obvious because i hear a throat being cleared in my doorway and i turn to see stevie hovering there with his hands tucked away in his pockets. “you cool in here?”

“of course i’m cool.” i squint at my reflection in the mirror propped against my wall. i look… i look like i’m definitely trying too hard. i look like i’m dressed to go to court and plead guilty to being an accessory to  fish murder or something equally ridiculous. “fuck, i’m not cool. shit.”

i loosen the tie around my neck until i can take it off and toss it on my bed with the rest of the clothes i’ve tried on over the last hours or so. nothing looks right on me. nothing screams first date. not in a way that makes it seem like i’m taking it seriously for once in my life, which is ironic since the whole point here is that it’s not serious at all.

“well… can i help?” stevie steps into my room slowly and rubs the nape of his neck  with the palm of his hand, the way he always does when he’s not quite sure what to say. “do you need to borrow something?”

“no offense but i’m not wearing a cardigan with butterflies on it, man.” i exhale and flop down onto my back, landing on a stack of discarded clothes, most likely piled on top of whatever pride i had left before i agreed to do this. “how the hell did you ever do this?”

“uhh, get dressed?”

“no, go on a date with brady the first time.” i stare up at the ceiling and suddenly the weight of what’s happening is even heavier than it felt when i woke up this morning to an empty bed.

i don’t know what i expected. doe doesn’t generally stick around much but usually we’re texting throughout the day even when we’re both working. i figured we’d be plotting out every detail possible leading up to dinner but instead it’s been radio fucking silence.

it’s freaking me out. big time.

“i mean… we just sort of… hang together. we don’t really go out.” i’m not looking but i can picture stevie chewing on the corner of his full bottom lip. “i don’t like going out.”

i prop myself up on my elbows so i can see his face when i respond, knowing it’s generally easier for him when he can answer questions without words.

“so you guys just do the same stuff except you added in sex at some point?” he nods. “and that works?” he smiles and nods a little faster. “okay but what if we’ve been doing that? like, sex has been part of our equation. how do i make it different if we crossed that line a long time ago?”

it’s a fair question - one that makes stevie’s brows furrow together until he shrugs and shakes his head. “honestly i don’t know but i think maybe the point is you do what works, you know? dating doesn’t have, like, rules. just do what makes her happy and you’ll be happy.”

i have no idea how to make doe happy.

that’s not entirely true. i know her food and drink preferences, including the way she takes her coffee. the colors she likes to wear change based on the seasons so do not buy her a present that doesn’t fit into the current aesthetic. she wants to sit right smack in the middle of the movie theater and she needs you to arrive at least twenty minutes early to ensure she has enough time for snacks and a bathroom break. she won’t stand for an odd number of songs on a playlist and she will never ever let you skip a song if you don’t ask her first.

more than anything, doe likes to tell me what to do. so i don’t know how i got stuck with picking where we’d go for dinner. and i hope she’s not holding her breath for a violin solo.

speaking of breathing, i really need to start doing that before i crash my car into something on the way.

kat lets me into the apartment. i’m not surprised doe isn’t ready and it feels a lot like when she made me wait an hour before our senior prom. i’m not even sure if kat is better company than doe’s dad.

“yo, did you listen to those beats i sent you?”

kat must be distracted because she ignores my question. “doe gave me this whole script of things i’m supposed to say while she does her hair but i think the short version is you better know how lucky you are she said yes to this after all you’ve put her through.”

i swallow hard and force myself not to argue that doe is the one who puts me through hell on a daily basis. shooting for realism, etc. “well, hopefully i don’t disappoint tonight.”

in an ideal world kat would’ve responded, “that’s what she said.”

in the real world kat leaves me alone on the couch to search for a popsicle in their freezer and then disappears into her bedroom.

doe finally decides to grace me with her presence twenty minutes later. i had a whole list of complaints to dish out until i saw her and my jaw dropped.

she is beautiful every single day. don’t get me wrong. there’s just a difference between the doe that crawled into my bed last night and the doe walking toward me in a dress and heels i’ve never seen.

“wow…”

“sounds about right.”

we kiss until i forget we have somewhere to be.

we’re sitting across from each other in an italian restaurant with low light and an atmosphere that is infinitely more romantic than all the fridays we’ve spent at mexican restaurants or burger joints put together. it’s hard for me to read if this is an appropriate choice or if she thinks i’ve gone too far too fast.

“syd suggested this place,” i confess, almost afraid to touch anything. “i guess they’re still dating that guy who-“

“-has zero chill, yeah.” her foot knocks against my shin and i want so badly to search for her skin underneath the table. “also way more money than you last time i checked.” she clicks her tongue and reaches for her phone. “it’ll definitely look like you’re serious about us. pulling out the big guns right away. smart move, i’ve taught you well.”

god, i’m blushing. i want to hide my face behind the menu but i know there’s no point when she knows how i look when i’m flustered and my voice is a dead give away every freakin’ time.

“so… we’re on a date, huh?”

“we’re on a date.”

did i mention i have no idea what i’m doing?

[oneofthemillionarmy]

Secret Santa

@sunshobine - Merry Christmas!!!

(song based: All I Want for Christmas is You)

To: Sunshobine

From: your secret santa ;)

I don’t want a lot for Christmas // There is just one thing I need..

Snow falls gently on the main road in the university, covering the grass and layering on the tree tops. It isn’t dark yet but dusky enough for some of the lamps lining the path to turn on, tinting its stark surroundings with warm color. The time of night has yet to arrive but the moon seems eager to make an earlier appearance in the cold weather. The crunching of snow beneath your feet is frantic as you rush from your last class of the day. It is exactly twelve days until Christmas day and exactly fifteen minutes past the time you were supposed to meet your friends at your apartment. You’re sure your brother Hoseok will use this as another reason why you should just give him a spare key to your apartment. But you’ve seen the state of his shared apartment with Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook. Despite the fact that they a completely empty fridge and pantry, empty or semi empty containers of food litter every square inch of the space. And you love your brother dearly but you are one hundred percent sure that your apartment does not need some Hoseok remodeling. Thankfully your apartment is just two blocks from the campus so the familiar building greets you soon.

“Ya, Pernela. What took you so long, making your dear brother and friends stand in the cold.”

“Sorry Hoseok, the lecture ran a bit late”

“It’s all good Pernela, we really didn’t wait long” Taehyung chirps as he rests his arm atop your head. “Hurry and open the door, we brought snacks!” he exclaims as he dangles the bag of goodies in front of your face.

“Ya, hurry and open the door before poor Joonie turns into a popsicle.” Your hand stops pushing the door open the moment you turn your head and take in Namjoon’s appearance. He’s as tall and elegant as always but the snow has dampened his hair a bit, causing some of his locks to stick to his skin, framing his face. A big scarf engulfs the bottom half of his face, his slightly red nose just poking out, the heat of his breath fogging the thick frames adorning his face. The entirety of it all causes you to flush more than what you could blame the cold for. Fuck, he’s adorable. Before your face fully turns the color of rudolph’s nose, Yoongi rushes by you muttering about his hatred of the cold.

By the time everyone has entered through the threshold of your home and you have closed the door, Jin already has cocoa going and the youngest boys have ripped open the snacks. The sight causes a small smile to form, your friends might be a bit goofy but you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

“Time to get this secret santa thing going!” Jungkook shouts as he pulls out a hat. Once everyone had put their name in, the drawing began. Before it was your turn, there were some quiet shrieks of glee and muttering. When the hat came around to you, there was a single piece of paper left. The person who you would be giving giving gifts to would be none other than Kim Namjoon.

Santa Claus won’t make me happy // with a toy on Christmas Day

You flop down onto the chair opposite your friend in the library with a loud huff. The table is situated far back in the corner hidden behind bookshelves as the bigger tables are taken over by university students ravenously studying for finals week. She gently closes her laptop at your arrival before pushing it to the side and turning her eyes to your slumped form.

“What happened now? Is Professor douche making a four part final again? Cause at this point I swear someone pissed in his cereal everyday in a past life.”

“It’s a three part final this time but that isn’t the only reason,” you whine as you knock your forehead against the table’s surface. “Last night the boys and I picked our secret santa’s for our yearly holiday gift exchange and you will not believe who I got.” Before your friend can open her mouth and let out a sarcastic response probably along the lines of ‘the love of your life and hunk in your mind Namjoon’, you reply with “It’s Namjoon.” Her eyes widen almost comically as her jaw drops.

“No! Really? What are you going to give him? You should tie yourself up in a ribbon and give him yourself as a present.” Heat flushes your cheeks as you playfully swat at her. But instead of lecturing her about her indecency, you decide to tell her your plans for Namjoon’s secret santa gift.

And I’m just gonna keep on waiting // Underneath the mistletoe

You pull your coat tighter around your body as you wait for Taehyung to open the door. It’s Christmas eve and as per tradition, two people hold a holiday party so that everyone can deliver their presents discreetly. And this year the hosts are Tae and Jungkook, the night is sure to be wild.

Finally the door swings open effectively showing off the festivities inside, drinking, grinding, drinking, more drinking, and lots of mistletoe hung about. Taehyung grabs hold of your hand and drags you into the throng of people. By the time you are dragged halfway across the room you have lost your coat and have obtained a cup with a very generous pour of some boozy mishap. Taehyung’s sudden stop causes a bit of the drink to slosh over the rim of the cup and you awkwardly shift your body so that none of it spills on your christmas sweat because the thing is ugly enough without a big stain on it. When you finally shift your gaze from your drink you see that you are now standing with your brother and Jimin and that Taehyung has gone off to who knows where.

“So Pernela, you ready to give your present tonight?” Hoseok wiggles his eyebrows at you with a smirk. You shove his shoulder playfully and retort that you’re always ready for anything. Which reminds you off a little note that you had received earlier that day. You had been in the library as usual studying for your stupid test that your stupid professor just had to stupidly plan for Christmas eve, stupid, when you went to the bathroom only to return with a folded note on your books and an overly smiley best friend. The paper was simple lined paper but it smelled faintly of coffee and the freshness of the outdoors. In a messy scrawl it read:

> tonight at Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s Christmas eve bash

(I’m sorry if this comes off a bit brash)

meet me at the dangling mistletoe,

when you get there at 11:58 you’ll know.

sorry, I tried to make this rhyme

but I was running quick on time.<

Looking at your phone to check the time it reads 11:56. Taking a quick sniff of whatever new drink Jungkook has given you, you crinkle your nose and down the entire thing. Your gut is telling you that you might need some liquid courage. Straightening your hair and grabbing the gift for your secret santa you make your way to the center of the living room where a big thing of mistletoe dangles from the ceiling

Everyone is singing // I hear those sleigh bells ringing

Unlike all the other pieces of mistletoe haphazardly taped to every visible surface in the apartment, this piece is un-crumpled and tied with a pretty red ribbon. As you approach the middle of the room you see a tall guy standing beneath the christmas arrangement. Checking your phone once again you find that it is exactly 11:57, you also find yourself staring right as a bright red and green sweater when you look up from your device. Trailing your eyes upwards you make eye contact with none other than Kim Namjoon wearing the red and green Christmas sweater, cheeks a bit flushed and hair looking as if a hand has been running through it for the past week. But he still manages to look define. And at 11:58 with the shyest of smiles he pulls out a small box and tentatively holds it out to you. When you take it from his hands your fingertips brush and linger for a second longer than necessary, causing your heart to skip a beat. Unraveling the bow and opening the small box you find a delicate necklace holding your initials staring back at you.

“Pernela Car, in this moment if you asked if I was completely sober i’d be lying if I said yes because you make me drunk on love. Also I had a few shots of vodka three minutes ago because the butterflies in my stomach felt like an elephant stampede. What I’m trying to say is that I’m your secret santa..wait, no that’s not what I wanted to tell you. What I meant is that you are the person I want to grow old with, and have kids with, and do laundry with on Sunday mornings, and plan our retirement together even though I won’t retire anytime around when I say I will. And shit that wasn’t it either. Taehyung that brat said the shots would help me get out what I’ve wanted to say for months but fuck, it’s like my mouth is a running faucet and everything is flowing out besides the fact that your really pretty and really really cute when you stand next to be and only come up to my chest even when you’re on your tippy toes. Did I already say how gorgeous you are? Or that I’d like to take you on a date-“ Before he can continue you jump up and wrap your arms around his neck, giving him the tightest hug. He pauses mid sentence and just stares into your eyes as if he’s lost all ability of speech. The both of you continue to gaze into each others eyes and it’s like the part in movies where the two love interests meet gazes and suddenly the world mutes so that it’s just the two of them in the entire universe and nothing else matters. It was just like that, with the exception that you could still very well hear your surroundings and the imminent shouting of “kiss”. To your surprise, Namjoon hooks his arms under your thighs to hold you closer to himself instead of letting you back down on the floor. When you move to protest, all words die in your throat when a pair of plush lips cushion your own.

“What do you say about us leaving this place and going to my apartment to watch a movie instead” Namjoon whispers as he rests his forehead against your own. And with a breathless nod, the two of you are gone.

Make my wish come true….

There’s a slight clinking from the kitchen before Namjoon emerges with two mugs in his hands. The scarf you had knitted for him wrapped tightly around his neck as he walks heel to toe so as to not spill the liquid.

“One not-so-hot hot chocolate for the beautiful Pernela” he winks and flashes his dimples before taking a seat next to you. He pulls the blanket over the both of you and wraps an arm around you, effectively pulling you closer to his body before starting the movie. With the lights off and the television screen faintly illuminating the room, you get a chance to gaze at namjoon without it being blatantly obvious. There’s a warm feeling in your stomach but it’s not due to the chocolate beverage sitting atop the coffee table, perhaps from the stupidly cute boy with the stupidly cute personality sitting beside you. And when he turns his head to meet your gaze, you decide in that moment that despite the falling snow outside, there’s nothing that could chill you when the brightness of his smile warms you like the glow of the sun on a spring day.

…all I want for Christmas is you

[willpowerbutch]

Gay Oil: Chapter 2

Autumn had crept west, painting the wooded foothills and gullies rust-red and parting the clouds to let the morning stars peer through. Eli stretched out, folding his arms behind his head, a pleasurable sensation washing over him as his eyelids cracked open. It was easy to forget, in the communist utopia of New Trotskyville, what it felt like only to lie down, the wind in his lightly curled hair, reposing far from the exertion of musclebound street cleaners chewing on his legs like popsicle sticks. Living in the silver miners’ soviet made him remember another life in a time of innocence, the brutal innocence of capitalism, when Eli had been wont to take dainty hikes through the surrounding forests alone, gaping in wonder at the sturdy oak branches with which he explored his appetite for man logs.

Rising on his elbows, Eli dabbed his lips on a discarded sex bracelet and looked around, over the mounds of heaving flesh. Strewn about him were the implements of the previous night of communion: salt water balloons; dozens of empty tubs of vanilla yogurt; and innumerable dirtied, variously-sized rubber ladles. Eli groaned, shifting his weight. That’s the last time I play 20 Questions through a drilled wall, he thought, dusting pot sugar off his leather-strap boobs as he rose to his feet. He had been roused by the clamor of someone knocking incessantly against his church’s door, and as he drew close to the source of the sound, Eli reckoned he could smell the award-show sweat and mustache wax which announced the presence of one Daniel Plainsex.

Eli swung open the door and was assaulted by Daniel’s intense impressiveness and laudability. “Daddy,” Eli whimpered, “you’ve arrived just in time for our come-down cuddle. Would you like to take the spot beside me?”

“You prison erotica plebian,” spat the gaywad. “You know well what I have come for. I will have your bath oils now, Eli: be a good lad and accept my offer.”

“You’re persistent, Daddy Daniel,” purred Eli, stroking his bedazzled crotch guard absently, “But a framed photograph of Dolly Parton and a box of cracker jacks couldn’t even afford you an hour of nipple worship from me. Why can’t you be satisfied without my bath oils?”

“Pillage, Eli,” Daniel retorted. “The straights have their families, but we homos have only our beauty products to entertain us after a long day of manual labor for the state… This is my final offer,” he declared. “I will compensate you for the oils as promised, and if they make me smell like a cotillion queen, I’ll pay you an additional radish soup voucher and my poster of Whitney Houston that Warren Beatty ruined while I was earning my first Oscar.”

Eli cackled, sliding his ass up the hard edge of the wooden door frame. “You still don’t realize how basic you are, listening to that Disney Channel reject. Whitney Houston is a personified beer nap, Daddy, and Beyoncé is a Bacardi 151.”

“Do not speak to me of Dance Oprah!” Daniel ejaculated. “Beyoncé is the spawn of an Aretha Franklin imposter and sexual nihilism, and if you will not allow me to bathe in your fluids, then I will drown you in mine!”

From the looming trees emerged a battalion of saucy painters adorned only in glittery boy pants, feather boas, and builder hats. Descending upon the church, they brandished their brushes high, dripping white paint. At the sight of that, Eli whined orgasmically. “I will not allow you to asperse the holiness of this Cock Barn any further!” He tightened his grip around his loins, but just as the first bristle touched Eli’s wood, a groaning, explosive sound reverberated through the canyon, and a conflagration rose high in the distance, hot and stark like the men who paid Eli to be a woman.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Daddy Daniel. “Homosexuals are susceptible to fire!” Sprinting back the way he’d come, Daniel vanished into the now-illuminated forest, and Eli felt impelled to follow him --  down, into the gully, then finally ascending into a flatland buffered by foothills, in the center of which was a burning oil rig.

“NO!” Daniel screamed, taking in the vision the way Eli took in common law-married rancheros. “I’ve abandoned my child! I’ve abandoned my boy!” He broke down into a fit of incredible excellence, gasping as hot tears slid down his sexually-aggressive cheek bones. Eli was almost induced to pity him, but before he could offer his body as comfort, a slim, swimsuit-clad woman cat-walked toward them out of the rubble.

“Brother!” she called out. It was the waifish elf, Danny, emerging from the wreckage with a contorted homosexual in his arms. “I have Alex. I will not elaborate on why his lips are wet.”

As Daniel scooped Alex into his arms, Eli observed the daddy reveal fondness for something other than assault for the first time in his memory. But Daddy Daniel’s relief turned to mourning when Alex stirred awake, groaning, “Pappi? Who brought the big carrots? Because my spicy dip is hot and ready to serve.”

“He’s…” Daniel started but soon corrected himself. “This bitch is… a bottom. No son of mine could…” he choked. Glistening tears of fabulous acting returned to his eyes, and he won another Oscar hysterically. At this, Eli placed a long-fingered, sensual hand on his ass.

“Think of it as a blessing, Daddy,” he whispered. “Left in the fire any longer, and it might have become a transgender.”

Daniel, with the pathetic form of his former son in his arms, turned around and began to walk toward the faith healer’s tent, with Eli on his trail. When this brigade of sissies had left to dress Alex’s wounds, Danny stood apart, watching the oil rig continue to burn against the night sky like Paul Lynde. Sensing that he was being watched, the gay turned around to find that he had been approached by the Expository Candy Man, who offered him an enormous lollipop directly. “Are you lost, boy?” asked the Candy Man. Accepting the treat gingerly, Danny nodded his head.

“Lost in thought.”

“But what could a gay youth be thinking about other than anal lube and abolishing racism?”

Danny touched his lips ponderously. “I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “I’ve never thought of anything else before. What should I do?”

“Come with me,” said the Candy Man, slinging a morally bankrupt arm about the broad shoulders of the snack. “I will distract you by introducing you to my friends on Craig’s List.”

Sighing, Danny went along with the stranger. As they drew away from the flame, Danny looked at the lollipop in his hand and noticed a small object embedded within. “Mister?” he queried. “What is this small, pill-shaped item in my lolli?”

“It’s my gonorrhea medication,” the Candy Man replied. “You’re going to need it after we’re finished.”

 *****Six Months Later*****

The overhead speakers crackled, and a gay voice pierced the atmosphere of phallic bedlam. “And now, opening for The Backstreet Goys, let’s make some love for Eli Sundae!” The club-goers gasped as the thighs of multiple builder bears shuddered in unison, and the frightful silhouette of a fey princess appeared behind the stained curtains. Stepping into the spotlight, Eli came into view, bedecked in Halloween glitter and organic soda water. He acknowledged Daddy Daniel, who was waiting for him erotically in the foyer, before addressing the rest of the Gay.

“If you were an ice cream flavor, what would you be, lovers? I’d be Big Banana with a splash of salted caramel inside. Let’s see who wants to get a lick of this Eli Sundae.” Weaving his way through the crowd, the gayographer halted before the table of the Candy Man, who was admiring Danny’s sexual vulnerability sadly from afar. Eli stood by, stroking him silently for several moments, pouting sexily. He flicked his eyes carefully over the Candy Man’s pelvis, lapping him up. “Do you want to taste me, lover?” he murmured. “I’d like you to -- if I wasn’t allergic to gin yetis.” Turning toward his companion parole officer, Eli Sundae startled, then purred, “I’d suck your straw on a street corner for a dime and a plastic watch, baby boy.”

Daddy Daniel had reached the end of his patience. In a fabulous display of noteworthy scene dominance, he opened his trousers, began throwing tequila-soaked licorice onto the dance floor, and stole Eli away in the ensuing chaos. Dragging him toward the dressing rooms, Eli struggled against the daddy to break free, but it was to no avail. Terror flooded his eyes as they drew near the door.

“No, we mustn’t go there,” Eli cautioned Daniel. “That’s where the spirit of Reddie Gayflame lives in eternal death scene makeup, devouring the unwanted bits of transgenders. Let’s sit at a table in the back instead, Daddy.”

Slamming Eli into a chair, Daniel emanated greatness from his magnetic genital posture. “Eli,” he growled, “this is the last courtesy you will get from he.” He held out both his hands. “If I do not have your bath oils in my possession in five seconds, I will kill you in a completely non-homoerotic mud wrestling match.”

Eli swallowed harder than he had with Benedict Cumberbatch, but he held his voice level. “Daddy -- Daniel,” the bottom replied calmly, “you haven’t looked hot in your cowboy stripper act since 1995.”

Eli stood to leave, but Daniel took his wrist forcefully. Ruminating on how slight and pansific Eli was in his grasp, the older man remarked, satisfied, “I’m going to ruin you like lesbians have ruined denim, Eli. I’m going to savage you like the Transgender has savaged the world.”

“You could do a lot more to me than that, delicious,” Eli swooned.

Daniel gave him a tense, magical stare, but before he could proceed, the flaccid voice of a disco whore wafted to him, and his ears pricked. Rising to gain a better vantage, he caught sight of his brother-sister, Danny, in an intimate moment of under-the-tablecloth fondling with his disgraced son, Alex. “That woodland slut,” he spat, and before Eli could try to immobilize him with lust, he was away.

In their own private romance, the young fruits remained oblivious to Daniel’s approach. “I want to marry you,” Danny declared suddenly, meeting Alex’s gaze with tears. “I want to make applesauce at a lesbian orchard with you, and I want to start a charity to brew Norwegian coffee at homeless shelters. I want to have a radical poetry retreat in Okinawa next year, living off only the money we can raise selling palm-readings and using a GoFundMe page. I want to do it all with you, not just the ball-gag stuff.” The fairy was peering up at him hopefully, but Alex shook his head.

“I’m gay.”

“Oh, Alex,” Danny sniffled, “I’m not really your uncle. I only said that so Daniel would let me handle your under-clothing.” The lovers reconciled with a kiss, but the Daddy, who had heard the substance of their discourse, loomed over Danny’s surprisingly butch shoulder blade.

“You topped my mathematical sex son and you’re not even my BROTHER?” Daniel roared. He kicked their vodka-filled champagne flutes, sending them crashing against the nearby poster of Che Guevara. “Now that he has a hankering for sleeping on his stomach, he will never change back! You have destroyed him! For this, you will die!” Brandishing an obscenely-shaped novelty thermos, Daniel unscrewed the lid and poured the liquid contents down the homofairy’s throat.

“I’m gay!” screamed Alex as Danny began to convulse.

“Coffee!” Danny choked. “Black coffee! The only black my lips have ever touched was Macklemore. Alas!” he cried, shuddering to the floor. “Food is toxic to the Homosexual unless it’s hot meat or condiments!” Dragging himself toward Alex, Danny wept out his body’s constitution of Mio and whimpered, “I haven’t gagged like this since I was backstage at the BAFTAs.” A single, dramatically-lit tear trickling down his cheek, Alex shook Danny’s hand as the homo dissolved into a mournful ghost.

None who bore witness to the execution would soon forget it – not the braying of the cats that escaped from Danny’s rucksack, nor the blood orgy that materialized around his corpse, nor in the least the sexual way Danny had moaned for Sweet & Low to ease his suffering before succumbing to his grievous lack of reproductive fitness. When Alex and the Candy Man had been removed from the premises and the police had taken a report of the incident, the body had been placed in the care of Eli’s church to deliver Danny’s last rites. Standing above Danny’s coffin, the cross of the erection shining in sunlight behind him, Eli lifted his eyes to the bright window and held his hand to his cock. “You and Alex will be married, bitch,” he spoke. “This I promise you: if Daniel should stand in the way of your necrophilic gay wedding, I will penetrate him with my nail scissors like a Master, and not in a ticklish way.” Staring out over his congregation, Eli’s voice whined mightily. “Stand tall with me, brothers, sisters, sister-wives, merry men, men who do fellatio to get free lingerie from perverts at the mall, gay-ngsters, and trans-genitalists. Stand with me, and together, we shall upend the chastity of marriage!”

 About the Author

Tom Rob Smith, award winning author of Gay Slut Death and screenwriter of the shelved pilot episode of Fairies Are Gay Sissies, presents this second instalment of Gay Oil as a tribute to the memory of Daniel Day-Lewis, whose violent death this year was almost as upsetting as the fact that Ben Whishaw is now shilling poltergeist videos for cash. Tom is patronized in this effort by the kind inspiration and credit card details of his platonic nightly visitor, Manly Men! Magazine’s own Paragon Shag. His editor, Willpower Butch, hopes that their partnership shall continue to bring valuable edutainment about the cultural corruption of the Gay to millennials for many years to come. Their secretary and friendly neighborhood evil transgender pervert, Dead Summer Days, hasn’t debauched a pure-hearted heiress all week.