#es fanfiction

[marmolady]

Sisterhood

Just a short little fic. Estela bonding with Quinn. Kind of an unlikely pair, but that just makes their friendship even cuter.

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“Estela!” It was Quinn. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

That sounded ominous. Or rather, it would have done, had it not been coming from Quinn. Estela budged over on her spot on the side of the pool-- though there was no need to make room, it was a clear invitation to the other woman.

“Cooling off after the gym?” Quinn asked as she sat down, letting her legs dangle into the water.

No way that was what Quinn had been so keen to discuss, but Estela entertained the small talk politely.

“Yeah. I’ve been taking out a lot of feelings on the punching bag.” She looked Quinn in the face, ready to get to the point, whatever it was. “Okay,” she said. “Shoot.”

“Everyone’s been getting photos blown up to put on their walls when we move,” Quinn said, a little tentative. “I wondered…. You… probably wouldn’t have any pictures of your home, do you Estela?”

Estela frowned. It was sweet that it was playing on Quinn’s mind, but it really wasn’t anything she needed to worry about.

 “I have pictures of me and my family,” she answered, “thanks to Vaanu and thanks to Aleister, but the place, not so much. My tio had too many enemies-- well, I did too-- for it to be worth the risk of just having photographs on my phone. As little that could make us identifiable as possible.”

She gave Quinn a smile, though her eyes were full of heartache. “I don’t know if that’s better, you know? If I had pictures of home, maybe I’d just wish for it even more, like I do when I see my mom’s face. I don’t want to forget either. We fought hard for our home, to make it a fairer place. I don’t want something that meant so much to just fade away.”

Quinn made to say something, then paused, then tried again.

“I was thinking,” she said, “if you ever wanted me to, I could try and paint something? I don’t know how well it would work, but you could describe what your house looks like as I paint, maybe we could come up with something?”

Estela knew her cheeks were going pink. Little kindnesses still flustered her, and this was a big kindness. She nodded slowly. “Thanks. It really means a lot. Your art is beautiful, Quinn, you put so much of yourself into it all… some of your paintings it’s like you’ve purged all your emotions into them.”

Probably does the job of a punching bag if you’re Quinn.

“Sometimes it feels that way. I’m lighter afterwards because I’ve lingered in the feelings enough to put them out there.”

“That must help.”

“It does. I know I’m lucky to have that outlet.”

Estela scratched the back of her neck. If Quinn really wanted to do this for her… it really would be wonderful to have an image of home to look to. It didn’t have to be accurate, it was an artist’s impression after all, but it really would mean a lot.

“I’m not the best at drawing,” she said,  “could be worse, though. I could give you a crappy sketch to work from maybe. I’d like to be able to show Taylor the house I grew up in.”

Quinn’s eyes lit up, as if to be able to give something like that was just as much a gift to herself-- she was that kind.

“Then we’ll do it! It’s probably the most useful thing I can do-- help people feel a connection to home.”

Estela’s lip twitched with a small smile. “I dunno. Cake is a pretty useful way of improving someone’s mood. And you’re a good listener. You give a lot.”

It was Quinn’s turn to flush pink. “Thank you. That really means a lot. It’s hard not to feel completely out of my depth with everything that’s happened, but we’re all out of our depth, and I should appreciate what I do have to offer.”

“Yes, you should,” Estela said firmly. “Or I’ll have to set Taylor on you with a pep talk. She’ll be happy to offer her personal cheer-leading services.”

Quinn burst out laughing. “Trust me, she’s already been on to me!”

Figured. Wouldn’t expect anything else. Estela just smiled. How lucky was she to have met someone with that warm, open heart? How lucky were they all…. Taylor would say it was just because she was made for that purpose, that she was programmed that way, but Estela wouldn’t hear it. Taylor was who she was because of the choice she made every day to care. If she was only what Vaanu had created her for, she’d have left now, her purpose fulfilled--but Taylor was a living, breathing, mistake-making member of their family. Just another human being stumbling through life.

Quinn must have noticed Estela’s being lost in thought, seen the smile falter, though she could not know why, know that her Taylor could well be not long for this world.

“I’m so glad you found each other. Taylor’s a special person.”

Too special maybe. If Vaanu had their way, too extraordinary to be allowed to stay.

Estela shook her head gently, pulling herself from that place of darkness. “She says ‘I love you’ with this smile that makes her nose crinkle up, and the way she looks my way and it’s meant to be a quick glance but she gets herself all caught up, like she’s stuck smiling at me. And she gives my fingers the lightest squeeze that’s so soft I could miss it if I didn’t know her so well. She’s always telling me that she loves me, and I’ve got to listen, because it’s honest. She makes me know that I’m loved.”

“That’s beautiful, Estela.”

“That’s her.” Estela swung her hanging leg gently, sloshing in the still water. “It’s still crazy to me that it’s real… that someone can feel that way about me. I mean, I believe it-- it’s just… crazy. And I love her back, more than I could ever say.”

Quinn beamed. Complete romantic as she was, she couldn’t help but gush. “You’re just meant to be! Anyone can see that. I wonder if I’ll find something like you two have… a soulmate. I, um, I have feelings for Michelle.” She chuckled, “Typical me, catching the feels for a straight woman! I don’t expect anything to happen, and I think I’m okay with that. For the first time in a long time, I can really trust that I have time. Even when the experimental treatment worked for a few years, a part of me knew I was still running fast toward a foregone conclusion.”

That was a whole lot of sharing by Estela’s reckoning; Quinn must trust her. She knew Quinn trusted her, but people didn’t just open up to her in this way. Estela realised that she wasn’t just accepted, loved, by her friends; they’d come to see her as a safe place, a support. It was honestly touching.

“That must be really freeing. I’m not… not used to looking forward either,” Estela said quietly. If Quinn wanted to share, she’d offer the same vulnerability in return. “Other than, like… this blinkered tunnel to my goal. After that it was just, nothing. I would either be dead or locked up. I was okay with that. Maybe that’s why you and me adjusted to living here easier than most of the others.”

“I think so. It’s kind of nice to talk to someone who gets it. Don’t get me wrong-- I struggle, especially with knowing how my parents died and that I just got lucky to still be here… but it does feel like I’m going through something different to most everyone else. I didn’t lose a future; I gained one.”

Estela considered Quinn quietly. She hadn’t really imagined there was much they’d shared in common, but there they were.

“So… the future. You just want to… see where it takes you?”

“Yeah,” Quinn smiled. “I couldn’t really ask for a fresher start than this. I’m not ‘The Dying Girl’, so I owe it to myself to find out who it is I am. Maybe romance will be a part of that-- I mean, I hope so-- but mostly I want to know myself better, where I wanna fit in this world.”

“I know it’s just a start,” Estela said, “but you fit in with all of us. You’re a sister to me. Maybe that’s a piece of your puzzle you’re putting together. You’re certainly a piece of mine”

Estela blushed fiercely under the appreciative smile Quinn gave her, a smile glowing with warmth.

“Can I hug you?”

If anything, Estela’s cheeks grew even hotter, but she nodded and opened her arms to Quinn. “Knock yourself out,” she grumbled quietly.

Quinn put her arms around Estela’s middle and squeezed her tight, lingering there to make it quite certain the message was received; ‘you’re a sister to me, too’.

With an exhale, Estela relaxed into the embrace, let herself belong there. It was still new, but she liked it.

“’Stel!”

Quinn gave a little laugh. “That’ll be the wife.”

Sure enough, Taylor was rushing over, towels and snorkels in hand. “Oh-- hey, Quinn! D’you wanna join us? We were going to have a little paddle around the reef.”

“I’ll just grab my things,” she replied. As she stood up, Quinn gave Estela’s shoulder a playful nudge. “Hey, look at that. Her nose does scrunch up when she smiles at you!”

Estela looked back at Taylor, and grinned like an idiot. I love you too, Taylor.

[cyberapid]

Earthspark Bumblebee x Cybertronian Reader

Work Jitters

No gendered terms are used for the reader. There’s gonna be another part as soon as I stop fucking around.

I’ve also got two more chapters for my Mom 2 that I’ll post when I stop fucking around again

:•)

•-•-•

The laughter of the human Malto’s children rings through your audials as the tallest twin slips over the mud that Mo had unexpectedly thrown under them— just as you had instructed her.

Much to Thrash’s annoyance and Twitch’s delight as she quickly jumps over the mudslide taking the lead in their relay race.

It's common for larger bots to have slower and clunker reactions, especially one so young and inexperienced. Nothing of concerning note, not yet at least, you think to yourself but noting it down doesn't hurt for later.

“That's not fair! I thought they weren’t a part of the race,” Thrash’s complaints bring you from any thoughts that knock around your processor. He's now at least five feet behind his sister who leaps over a stray log left in their path then flips over completely before landing on her pedes and continuing on.

Looking down at the screen attached to your arm plate, wirelessly connected to the bots allowing you to monitor their function. You see that the cables in her pedes and struts strain and her vents are struggling to keep up with her, so she’s quickly overheating.

Though amused by their antics, you reprimand the bot, “Slow down, Twitch. Remember this is a race in name only, I just needed data on your physical state…..” Your warning is waved off as she continues her rate.

Thrash is quick on her tail, also pushing himself to an unnecessary degree.

Pulling yourself up to your peds allows you to see them run further down the open plains of the enclosed farm, spooking any poor animal in their way, trekking towards the makeshift ending ribbon that's being held by a fence post and Robby. Who looks nervous by his sibling’s quick approach. Agitation creeps its way through your processor as you finally shout towards the terrans, “Twitch, Thrash that's enough!”

Twitch is the first to skid to a stop at your serious tone and look back towards you but her brother takes her pause as his chance to continue and overtake with a triumphant yell, but his excitement is short lived before he’s stumbling over his sisters stuck out pede and falling flat onto his face plate with an audible clattering.

“Sorry!” Twitch is fluttering towards you with her servos cupped, held over her chest plate, and pedes no longer touching the ground. Leaving her brother reeling, dramatically checking over his enstril, dermas, and dentas to see if everything is still placed where it should be. “We were just-”

“Pushing yourself too far. You're young and haven't been training long, give yourself time.” You place your servo on her slumped arm and crouch down to be face to face with the young Terran.

Your intake halts at the sudden voice of a familiar mech, “Actually, ‘haven’t been training at all' is more accurate.” Bumblebees vents sound with a familiar annoyance, something he's been expressing far more than often recently. Twitch sighs loud and far too dramatic at Bumblebee’s approach, she then turns to you with pleading optics.

“We are training! You’ve got us running and dodging things, training! See,” she turns to a less than impressed Bumblebee who turns to you, equally pleading optics making you roll your optics at their antics.

“I'm not here to train you, nor am I qualified. I'm a medic and only meant to keep you healthy and to learn more of your biology,” you motion towards Bumblebee with your free servo while the other stays placed on the young Terrans shoulder plating, “He’s here to train you. Bumblebee has experience that far surpasses mine. He’s one of the best scouts I’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” a flush blue covers his faceplating at your compliment which goes unnoticed by you but the human children catch it, stifling their laughs as a glare from the yellow scout is shot towards them.

The twins groan loudly and the tallest of them flops onto his back, impact causing mud to splatter over the whole group. Any laughter the humans might still have had quickly dies as their clothing and hair is abruptly covered in mud. Mo being the first to react, eye wide and mouth agape, “Thrash!! Moms gonna kill us,” she turns to her older brother who looks more exasperated than shocked.

“She’s gonna kill Thrash,”

“Kill?” The Terran comes to his pedes quicker than any bot or human has seen so far, terror fills his face and spark at the notion

“A metaphor, not literal. You will live Thrash,” a servo is placed on his shoulder, in the hopes of calming the mech down.

He vents loudly, leaning his helm on your shoulder and slumps, “I thought I was a goner, Teach,” you can’t help the smile that creeps over your facial plating at his theatrics, looking down you transform your arm into a scanner before the blue light goes over both Terrans registering current physical data into your data.

“Thankfully you live another day, thank primus. Meaning you get to have an even better day tomorrow, with Bee, training” the groans coming from the twins swiftly kills the smile that was creeping up Bumblebees dermas.

[concreteburialplot]

Intertwined // 05

-> 05 - Girl Crush*

pairing; noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo

masterlist; here | crossposted; ao3 | word count; 10.3k 😅

warnings; sad lol, dumb boys, mutual masturbation, p0rn, alcohol, peer pressure, vomiting, college!omens, jolly intro, gay panic & very mild gender confusion??, denial is a river in egypt, 18+ MDNI

REMINDER: this is an au where everyone is around the same age, follows no actual timelines/events, and uses oc's for family members.

a/n: don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

-NICHOLAS- 

It had been about a month since Noah moved out completely and was fully living with us. It wasn’t that difficult of a transition since he stayed with us most of the time anyway. He seemed to be finally settling in and getting comfortable, which I was happy about.

Him living in my house wasn’t the only thing that became comfortable - in fact maybe we’d gotten too comfortable. 

That first night weeks ago, where we took care of our morning wood next to each other, wasn’t the last time. It started as that one time thing, then an occasional thing, then finally, a casual thing. Neither one of us seemed to take it seriously, maybe to play off the implications of it. Because what else are you supposed to do when you jack off next to your best friend regularly?

It became so casual, sometimes as if the other wasn’t there.

--

My half-asleep ears fill with the faint sounds of moans, accompanied by restrained groans I recognize. The more I wake I feel movement behind me.

I stir a bit before turning around finding Noah pumping himself under the covers while holding his phone in the other. He jumps a little when I catch him but doesn’t stop. His actions only halt temporarily.

“Sorry if I woke you up.” He says bashfully, baby pink tinting his cheeks.

“It’s fine.” I gulp, my eyes drifting to the obscene noises coming from his phone. “Whatcha watching?”

He shrugs, tilting his phone to me, revealing the most generic looking porn I’ve ever seen. But porn is porn and it makes my already semi-hard dick twitch. “You wanna… watch too?”

My cheeks grow warm at the offer, “Oh, um, I mean, I don’t wanna intrude…” Though, I can’t help my eyes from being glued to the screen.

He shifts a bit and reaches over, setting the phone down between us propped up in a divot of comforter. In the clumsy process, the duvet slides off his lap revealing his cock.

My eyes widen at the sight of him but I immediately divert my attention so that he doesn’t catch me and assume something else.

“Oh sorry.” He blushes and goes to cover himself again but pauses, “Actually, do you mind? I just don’t wanna deal with the mess and-“

“I don’t mind.” I reply faster than intended. I shake my head, “I just don’t wanna… do that. But I don’t care if you do.”

“Cool.” He nods and returns to his previous position with his eyes locked on the screen.

There’s a panicky heartbeat lingering in my chest but the throbbing in my cock takes precedence. I relax a bit beside him and life the duvet higher up on my body, trying to cover as much of myself as possible.

I spit into my hand before dipping it beneath the covers and down around my member, working it out from my shorts. A hiss leaves my mouth at the coldness of my palm but it doesn’t take long for that discomfort to fade.

My eyes begin on the phone, to the blonde woman with large unnaturally perky breasts being railed by some strong man with a big dick, something you’d find on the first page of any porn site. Not my usual cup of tea but whatever, it’s doing something for me right now.

Naturally, my eyes drift and happen to fall on Noah’s cock. His large hand works up and down his member – he’s duo-toned darker at the base and lighter towards the tip, kind of like me just much pinker. I glance between him and the man in the video. He’s smaller than the man, but he’s definitely not small. The video is obviously emphasizing the man’s large size, but he’s still smaller than me, not by much but he is. It makes me wonder if Noah would be impressed by my size.

Why would I think that? What do I care if Noah’s impressed by my dick?

Noah’s probably not even looking at him like that, I’m just weird I guess.

As if on cue, Noah comments.

“I wish my dick was that big.”

Not wanting to stay uncomfortably silent, I nervously chuckle, “Yeah me too.”

“Well, how big are you?” He asks casually.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Surely, he doesn’t actually wanna know.

“Oh – oh, I don’t know, but I don’t wanna take the covers off because-“

Noah proposes a solution, “I could feel?”

“I uh – what do you mean?”

“Like, feel it under the covers. So, I can’t see it. That’s what you’re insecure about isn’t it?”

“Um, I, well,” I stutter, trying to think of any sort of appropriate response. I should say no. I shouldn’t want him to do that. But something in me screams that this might be the only time this could happen – not sure why that’s even important. “Um, sure.”

I scooch a little closer to him so it’s easier for him to reach. Unexpectedly, he brings his free hand up to his mouth and spits into it. My eyebrows furrow at the action, not quite understanding why that’s necessary. But when his arm snakes itself under the covers and his hand replaces mine, I’m suddenly not as confused.

My eyes round at the feeling of his hand around me and every muscle in my body tenses when he starts moving.

“Jesus, you’re pretty big.” He says before his hand even reaches my tip.

Suddenly, all the nerves in my body seem to flood to cock and I feel so sensitive under his fingertips. I should be watching the video, but my eyes bounce between his still working on himself and on his other one bobbing under the covers. I can’t tell fully, but it seems like he’s pumping himself faster than before.

His palm reaches the head then slowly slides back down. “You’re so much bigger than me.” His voice seeming casual, but there’s a hint of strain beneath it.

His words and his even faster movements on both of us only worsens the buzzing in my cock.

“Is this okay? I just, I’ve only ever felt my own dick so, I’ve only ever imagined what having a bigger one would feel like.”

“Yeah, yep. It’s fine.” I reply quickly, just trying to maintain my composure.

My chest rises and falls rapidly and my fingers curl into the sheets. A familiar knot forms in the pit of my tummy and the last thing I want to do is cum while he’s touching me. His hand moves on me at the same speed as on his own. His fingertips stride up and down the underside of my length, hitting the sensitive spot beneath my tip every time. My lips press flat together as I try to stave off my orgasm – I don’t want to cum while he’s touching me, but I also don’t want him to stop.

Thankfully he has less stamina than I do.

“Ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans, working quickly on himself chasing his climax. “Fuck, fuck!” He whines desperately. His hand doesn’t stop on me while his hips buck up into his hand spurting milky white all over his exposed tummy.

The visual of his cock twitching and spilling cum all over his hand, combined with his high pitched moans and his hand on me catapults me over the edge. “F-Fuck.” I sputter out a strangled groan and scrunch my eyes closed. Before I have time to yank him off of me, my body goes rigid beneath him. The buzzing across my skin seems to all rush into my throbbing cock in Noah’s still moving hand. “O-Oh.” Slips from my mouth just above a whisper while every muscle in my abdomen tightens. I feel myself twitch and spill my own cum into the duvet and all over his hand.

The orgasm nearly blinds my vision and my heart beats so fast I can hear it thumping in my ears. Those couple seconds where it was just me, my racing heart and my throbbing cock, it was pure bliss. Possibly the hardest I’ve ever came before. 

It’s not until I begin to come down that I realize what just happened and that… he worked me fully through my high? 

My eyes shoot open the second I return to earth and feel his hand finally slip off my softening member. For a split second I contemplate if there’s a way for me to get out of this without even looking at him and god I wish there was. 

Fuck

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” I begin to profusely apologize before he cuts me off. 

He laughs, “It’s okay. I’m sure having someone else’s hand probably feels a lot better than your own. Even if it had been you I probably would’ve came even faster than normal… and you know I already don’t last long as it is.” He chuckles with a light peach tinting his cheeks.

One part of me feels bad that I hadn’t returned the favor, until I remember I didn’t really even want to do this to begin with. Then, another part of me wishes I had returned the favor, maybe I wanted to know the same thing he did - maybe I want to know what another cock would feel like in my hand too. 

“Yeah - um,” I swallow the little saliva I have left in my dry mouth. “Yeah it was nice.” 

He pulls his hand from beneath the covers. “So much for not making a mess.” He laughs. 

My eyes round when I see just how much I had spilt all over his hand. “Yeah, yeah sorry again, I just didn’t think that…” My eyes follow his stare on the milky white mess of mine on his hand. 

His coffee brown eyes snap up to mine and utters out the last words I ever thought he’d say. “Have you ever tasted your own cum?”

I blink blankly at him, completely devoid of words. 

What the fuck

“I-I um, no? Why would I?” 

“I don’t know, curiosity?”

“…Have you?”

“Well, yeah, I wanted to know.” He shrugs. “It was gross, bitter. But,” His eyes flutter back down to his hand. “I’ve obviously never tasted anyone else’s. I wonder if yours tastes different?”

My brain seems to glitch, not fully comprehending his statement. 

“I-I um, I mean, probably.”

“Would it be super weird if I tasted it?”

My brows shoot up at the question. 

But I reply before I’m even sure of my answer. “No, I um, don’t think it would be that weird?” 

And it wouldn’t be, right?

He’s just curious.

Just like he was about my cock. 

“Alright.” His tone much less confident than just seconds ago. 

His dark brown eyes drop to the puddle of my cum on his right hand, just above where his thumb meets his hand. He lifts it tentatively up to his mouth; my eyes can’t help but rotate between his face and his approaching hand. Hesitantly, he darts his pink tongue past his lips to dip the tip of it into the puddle. Unexpectedly, his eyes find mine, snapping me out of my gaze that was locked on his tongue. His mahogany eyes surprise me, with how round and soft they are - so puppy dog-like for a situation such as this. I blink at him and for some reason, seeing him flatten his tongue a bit on the remnants of me makes my cock twitch. He takes a scoop of my orgasm on his tongue and into his mouth. 

“Hm.” He hums, almost sounding pleased, like he was taste-testing wine. “You taste better than me. Sweeter. Must be all those bananas you eat.”

Sweeter

My brows join together, perturbed, “It can’t be that different?”

His boney shoulders raise into a shrug. “You can try mine if you want? To make it even or whatever.” He gestures his left hand up a bit to remind me that his mess remains on that hand too. 

“Oh - I - well -“ I watch his hand gesture towards me again. The turbulence in my tummy reminds me of when someone offers you a gift and out of politeness, you’re supposed to refuse it - but I don’t want to refuse. I want to know.

“Oh c’mon it’s only fair, it’s not that bad.” He urges me, only reaffirming my inability to voice a decline. 

I look down at the back of his hand covered in cloudy white rivers. My fingers gently take hold of his wrist and he lets me take control of his arm without a single ounce of resistance. I bring his hand to my lips and copy his actions - dart my tongue out and meet his eyes. His are just as intrigued as mine were, locked in my tongue. 

The second his cum meets my taste buds, my eyes flutter closed. I’m surprised at the taste, it’s bitter and salty, what I imagine battery acid must taste like. The texture is about what I imagined, thick and slimy. And yet, even with the immediate disgust of it, it makes my cock twitch again. There’s a tingle in my fingertips and on my tongue that urges me to lap up the rest of his orgasm but I fear if I did, I’d be completely hard again. I never thought something as rancid as battery acid would make me hard, but for some reason right now it’s threatening to. 

I’ve never been more grateful for anything more than the duvet on my body right now. 

I half-force a twist in my face at the taste as I pull back from his arm. “Augh, that’s disgusting.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh, “See! Told ya.” 

A nervous chuckle escapes me, “That you did…” 

-Next Day- 

Since landing an apprenticeship at a local tattoo parlor, I don’t see much of either Noah or Folio. While I’m at work after class, they’ve been hanging out at the library in a study group full of people I barely know - people from the frat party a couple weeks ago. 

Today though, I got off my shift early and I’m on a different mission. 

-

My tires screech and the weight of my entire body jerks forward as Stella makes another abrupt stop at a redlight. My hand lands on my dash as a reflex I had gotten far too familiar with.

My tongue passes between my lips before pressing them together and close my eyes through a deep breath. I consider myself a fairly patient person, but if there’s anyone on earth who could get me to snap, it is definitely my sister.

“I told you to start braking 5 million feet ago.” I exhaled with the hopes of Buddha himself coming down and bestowing me with a well-deserved medal of excellent patience.

“Whatever, we still stopped, didn’t we?” She sasses, as she continues to dance to whatever pop song pours through the speakers.

“Yeah, barely.” I grumble, crossing my arms in the passenger seat. “I have no idea how they let you pass your driver’s test.”

“You are so grouchy today.” She glares at me. “What, did the shop bully you again?”

My eyes roll so hard they could’ve fallen out. “No.” I clench my fingers into my palms and stretch them out as overlayed flashbacks of scrubbing every inch of the tattoo parlor flash across my mind. “No, I just cleaned a lot. Fumes. Headache.”

“Right.” She responds unconvinced.

The car takes a sharp turn into a plaza I’ve only ever driven past before and pulls into a parking spot right in front of the destination of my mission.

“We’re here!” She beams, turning the engine off.

We walk up to the small shop snuggled in the tiny strip. The walls look like they were once white, a long, long time ago. Now they’re stained a yellow-y beige with weeds and vines growing across the plaster.

“’Record Store. Plus repairs.’” I read off the giant red letters above the door. “How creative.”

Stella’s elbow sharply jabs into my ribcage. “Ow!” I hiss and recoil away from her. 

“Be nice. Be cool.” She scolds me in a hushed tone.

Whatever the fuck ‘nice and cool’ means to a teenage girl.

A bell trills sharply when she pushes open the glass door. A rush of cold AC blasts against our skin soon as we step into the foyer. 

At the tall reception desk stands a man with lengthy brown hair and a long face. He looks a couple years older than me, at least 23ish.

“Hi Jolly!” Perks Stella almost jumping the second her fingertips meet the glossy wood.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a giggle when I see the man noticeably deflate the moment he hears the shrill chirp of my sister’s 16-year old voice.

He sets down his pen on whatever paperwork he was working on and turns to us, “Hello Stella.” He greets flatly, with a hint of a foreign accent I can’t place yet.

It’s quite obvious that she comes in here often, more than she’s let on – enough for them to be on a first-name basis.

“Jolly, this is my brother Nick, Nick this is Jolly.” She beams at his name, completely smitten with the older boy. If it wasn’t so obvious that he’s irritated by her mere presence, I’d be more protective of her - but she’s perfectly fine. She’s made sure of that herself.  

“Hey.” I meekly wave at him.

He acknowledges me with a nod and looks back at her. “What’s up.”

“Well, we need your help!” She rocks up and down on her feet with her hands behind her back.

“Great. What is it you need help with?” His fingertips restlessly patter on the table top, impatiently waiting for her to deliver her pitch faster. 

“Go on Nick, show him.” She urges motioning her hand towards him.

I sigh and pull out my phone from my jean’s back pocket, then scroll to find a picture of Noah’s snapped guitar and hand it to the man.

“Could you fix that? Or know someone who could?” I inquire, already feeling as though the trip was hopeless.

His brows pull together as he inspects the picture then uses two fingers to zoom in on the instrument. “Whoever did this really did a number on it.”

“Yeah.” I mumble, scratching the back of my neck. “So, do you think you could fix it?”

“Hmm.” He hums, pulling down his thick-rimmed glasses down his nose. “I can’t say for sure, you’d have to bring it in.”

Air escapes my throat with another sigh, that’s the last thing I wanted to hear. “Okay. I’ll get it in as soon as I can.” Even though I have no idea how I’ll be able to do that without Noah noticing.

He hands me back my phone, “That’s a really rough break.”

“Trust me, I know. Thanks for looking.” My tone suddenly lacking optimism. “And sorry about…” When I turn to point at Stella, I realize she’s not beside me anymore, now shuffling through the various wooden crates of records. “Her.”

He taps his pen against the counter and glances over at her. “It’s fine. She brings friends in. They buy records. Sales are sales.” He shrugs before going back to whatever he was working on before we interrupted him.

Stella doesn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon so I let myself roam around the shop. The majority of the small store is made up of boxes full of records, a mix of old and new. A small, separated section has various instruments strewn about, most of them looking refurbished. The air is pungent with the smell of sandalwood incense, some kind of chemical-y polish, and stale wood.

“Okay! Ready to go!” Stella calls from behind me and when I turn to her she’s holding a record that I recognize.

“Since when do you listen to Nine Inch Nails?” My brow arches up, seeing as she’s only ever been a Taylor Swift type of girl.

She giggles, “Jolly suggested them.”

I take two fingers and pinch the bridge of my nose with a deep sigh, “Okay, whatever, let’s go.”

--

Stella and I walk into the house and my ears are immediately unsettled by the sounds that fill the house. They’re giggles, some I recognize to be Noah’s but the other is quite … feminine. 

The edges of Stella’s lip curl into a mischievous grin, “Oooooh Noah snuck a girl innnn.” She snickers in a sing-song tone.

“Go to your room Stella.” I order, mostly because her tone irritated me but also because I don’t want her to see what’s behind the cracked door.

She gives me a glare, “You’re just jealous that he’s getting some and you’re not.”

“Go. To. Your. Room.” I repeat sternly through gritted teeth.

“Fine, whatever. Be the party pooper you always are.” She huffs before turning down the hall and slamming the door behind her when gets to her room.

I blink at the doorknob as her words sear into my chest. I question even interrupting until another giggle pierces my eardrums.

I’m precarious with the way I approach the cracked door and peer in. Noah and the girl from the party, Kassidy, next to each other on the bed with open textbooks and notebooks littered about. They’re laughing at something but all I can focus on is her hand on his thigh. An odd twist forms in my abdomen, somewhere between my ribs and my gut. It makes me feel sick, like I ate some gas station sushi.

My knuckle taps on the door and creaks it open. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey Nick!” Noah seems surprised to see me but not necessarily upset by my presence, which for some reason eases the knot in my chest. “I heard a door slam did-”

It’s not until the blonde waves at me with the hand that’s not glued to Noah’s thigh that I realize the anger staining my fingertips.

“Noah, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask through a fake smile.

“Sure.” He nods, “Be right back, Kass.”

Once the bedroom door clicks behind him, I feel myself begin to unravel.

“Does my mom know you’re bringing girls home?” I question, my voice coming out much harsher than intended.

“No…?” He answers. “I figured I would just do what we always did with each other? Sneak in.”

“Okay well, I don’t appreciate you bringing girls into my room. Please tell me you guys didn’t do anything in my bed.” The words shoot from me, quick and sharp, like acid bullets.

His face falls and I see the light behind his warm eyes dim.

My

Fuck

I regret the words the second I realize my mistake. Though I suppose on some level, deep down, I knew that the word choice would hurt him, but I said it anyway.

I said it anyway.

I was so upset that I said it anyway.

“No?” He replies sounding a bit offended at the accusation, even though it’s not out of the realm of possibility. “I wouldn’t do that in your bed.”

The impulse to lash back is there, bubbling just under my skin, but I have no reason to be angry. No valid, explainable reason. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Lie.

“Right.” Noah says softly but with a slight edge. “Well, I” He thumbs over his shoulder. “Um, she was just about to leave so.”

“Okay.” I reply quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with an odd mixture of anger and guilt.

-

While Noah escorts the girl out to say goodbye, I begin tidying up the room. Noah is pretty clean thankfully, so the room itself is clean, but I can’t shake the feeling of something oddly foreign within the four walls. The room suddenly feels so dirty and the taste on my tongue is sour like expired milk. My eyes land on the bed sheets and my stomach feels like I had drank expired milk – maybe 3 whole gallons of it. My mind struggles to account for the food I had eaten today but fails. Surely that is the reason for my abrupt nausea.

Before I can even process my actions, my fingers hungrily latch onto the bed sheets, snapping each fitted corner off the mattress. Heavy textbooks and pens hit the floor with a loud crash.

Despite having just washed them, I’m absolutely positive that they’re filthy.

Maybe they smelled too much like stagnant laundry this morning

Maybe they were making me itchy last night

Maybe I developed an allergy to our detergent

Maybe it’s been too warm and I soaked them in sweat

Or maybe I just want to clean the fucking sheets.

“Oh,” Noah’s gentle voice startles me from the doorway. His eyes trail up from the mess on the floor to the balled-up sheets beneath my palms. “Um, did I accidentally get highlighter on them or something?”

“Nope.” I’m quick to answer. “Just wanna wash ‘em.”

His brows furrow still looking at where my hands keep the shape of the large sphere of material. “Oh. Um, well. I just washed them like 2 or 3 days ago?”

“It’s fine, I just want to wash them again.” I respond shortly.

“Okay… well, let me do it then.” He crosses the space between us going for the sheets but I pull away.

“No. I got them, thanks.” I avoid him by swerving around his thin body and head towards the door.

 “Well, what can I do? I could mop again or… reorganize the fridge? Or…” He trails off, not being able to come up with much else.

“No, Noah. It’s Stella’s turn to mop and who the fuck offers to reorganize a fridge?” I snap at him from the doorway, “You don’t need to be cleaning the house 24/7, okay?”

His eyes falter but he nods “Oh, sorry, I um, I just wanna be doing my part. You know… earn my keep and all that? I just… wanna help.”

My face softens and the tight muscles in my shoulders ease. I feel guilt all over again. 

I sigh. “I’m sorry – I just - I just had a bad week with school and with the shop and,” I pause. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, okay?”

He nods and the edges of his mouth upturn ever so slightly into a tight-lipped smile. “Okay.” He pauses, fidgeting with his fingers. “Sorry about Kassidy. I should’ve asked.” He says quietly while his eyes drop to his anxious hands.

The tips of my fingers curl into the sheets a bit, a stream of… frustration maybe?  shoots through my veins. “It’s okay. I just don’t want my mom to get mad.”

A half lie.

“Right.”

When I turn to leave, he stops me, “Oh – I wanted to ask you something?”

My eyes widen while still turned away from him. A chill rolls up my spine at the realization that we’ve barely spoken since yesterday morning, when his hand was around my cock.

“Um sure, what’s up?” I turn back to him cautiously.

“Well, the fair is in town this weekend, I thought we could go? You know, me, you and Folio?”

I smile at him, relieved it wasn’t about something else. “Sure, sounds fun.”

-Friday Night-

When Folio comes to pick us up, I immediately regret agreeing to carpool. The passenger side door flings open with yet another blonde in the front seat. This one a bit more of a natural, darker blonde and not nearly as bobblehead-like. She looks vaguely familiar, maybe she was one of the wannabe sorority girls from the frat party.

I sigh when I glance over to my busted blue car that’s been acting up every morning since the cold weather’s been getting closer.

The girl smiles wide at us and gets out so we can fold her chair to get to the backseat.

We squeeze our way to the back and naturally, Noah’s mile-long limbs take up most of the room.

The thick distinctive stench of paper-wrapped nicotine coats the cracking plastic of his car doors and the pungent aroma of $10-per-gram weed oozes from the stained beige seats.

Even though Nick brought his ‘friend’, I feel decent about the fair tonight. I mean these are the things we should be doing, right? Going out is what college kids do.

The girl hands back a plastic bottle wrapped in brown paper and Noah hungrily takes it.

“Vodka.” She says simply with a dazed smile.

“Cool.” Noah grins, though I know he’s never tasted pure vodka in his life.

He puts the bottle to his lips and tips it back, immediately scrunching his face in disgust at the taste. If it was just us, I know he would’ve spit it out.

He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, “Not bad.” He lies straight through his teeth.

Noah tips the bottle offering it to me. I shake my head and wave it off, “No, I’m good thanks.”

“Oh, c’mooonn Nick, don’t be a wuss.” Noah whines.

“Yeah Nick, loosen up! Have some fun!” Folio perks up from the driver's seat and watches me in the rearview mirror.

The last time he told me to “loosen up”, he ended up floundering in a lake so it hardly has an enticing ring to it.

“No really.” I reaffirm. “Not for me.”

Noah tsk’s and rolls his eyes, “You’re no fun.”

The words hit me square in the chest and my ribs mold around the letters like playdoh.

You’re no fun.

They’re simple words. Logically, I know they’re mostly a joke. Yet, they burn like a lit match colliding with white paper.

You’re no fun.

We’ve been friends for a long time. Long enough to sit in boring silence scrolling on our phones comfortably for hours. But now I’m no fun because I won’t drink out of a foreign bottle?

The searing in my lungs forces my hand to reach and snatch the bottle from him abruptly. I don’t think, I just do. I take the bottle to my lips and tilt my head back with scrunched-closed eyes. I chug, better he did and better than the girl, until the scorching of my throat gets too much.

I shove the bottle back at him, now an extra quarter empty. His face and every other face in the car seem shocked, eyes wide with slightly dropped jaws.

“What?” I hiss and let out a vodka-singed burp. “You told me to have fun.”

--

Nick’s wheels roll to a halt in the dirt of the fair’s extended parking. The crowded car disperses faster than I anticipated, leaving me alone in the empty car. I stumble out of my seat and precariously steady myself in the dirt to scan the parking lot for the group. The four of them are already ahead of me, nearly halfway to the entrance. Their laughter carries in the wind all the way back over to me. 

Once I catch up, I trail behind them quietly. My hands stuffed in my pockets and my Vans kicking up dry dirt, just trying to focus on walking in a straight line. 

As we approach the ticketing office, my heart plummets to my stomach when I see two familiar girls standing at the gate waiting for us. 

I should’ve known.

“Nicholas, you remember Brooke, right?” Noah grins and gestures to the carbon copy of every other sorority girl on campus.

“Yeah. Hey.”

That’s when I notice the delay in my words and the lag between my fingertips as I wave to her. And as we buy our tickets and make our way into the fair, I catch the warmth all over my skin and the growing numbness in my lips.

I think I’m drunk. Really drunk. 

 --

We make a solid lap around the entire park – picking up random snacks here and there, some fried oreos, a shared funnel cake, slushees, and more I can’t even remember. All the fried food mixed with the couple spin-y rides and the alcohol sloshing in my stomach, I was more than ready for an actual meal. I convinced everyone on hotdogs since it’s the cheapest food here and I’d already spent a good chunk of my tip money on ride tickets and overpriced junk food.

When we reach the window of the hotdog stand we’re met with a familiar face.

“Bryan!” Exclaims Folio, excited to see his fraternity mentor.

As always, Bryan looks about as thrilled as a mother of toddler triplets after a candy bender.

“Trout.” He replies unenthusiastically with his monotone cadence matching the deep sleep-deprived purple beneath his eyes.

Normally I would’ve giggled at Folio’s ridiculous nickname but my body was too focused on sustenance.  

“Two hotdogs and fries please.” I skip past the rest of the indecisive group.

“We’re out of fries.” He replies flatly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He just shrugs, unbothered.

“Fine. Just the hotdogs then.” I huff.

“Coming right up.” He feigns enthusiasm.

The rest of the group place their orders and I can’t help but find amusement in how comical Bryan looks. He’s uniformed in a hotdog themed apron and a silly hotdog visor.

We finally make our way to a painted blue picnic table that sits off to the side away from the busy crowd. I’m grateful for the small respite from the overwhelming, overstimulating chatter.

I fucking hate hotdogs. Usually.

But the minute that meat and bread combo meets my tastebuds, it is as though heaven itself found home in my mouth.

The rest of table fades out as I devour my food and it is only when I’ve finished my 2nd dog that start regaining consciousness. I glance over at the boys who are in the midst of telling some story that’s got all the girls laughing.

My eyes land on Kassidy. She’s giggling at every single thing Noah says and he’s looking at her like she hung the moon. 

No matter how tacky or annoying she is, she’s still objectively beautiful – beautiful in a way I could never be.

The way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, makes me want long blonde hair too. When she bats her fake lashes at him, it makes me wish mine were longer. Her nails adorned with white tips suddenly make my nailbeds feel bare. The foundation caked on her face reminds me of the breakout I have on my cheek and the stubble growing beneath my nostrils. All at once I’m disappointed with every bit of myself that isn’t like her.

A fleeting moment of curiosity passes pondering if this is what it feels like to question your gender. It had never crossed my mind to be anything other than male, nothing else I ever desired. I’ve never felt like I was in the wrong body or anything of the sort – so, I don’t quite think that’s what I’m feeling now.

Maybe I just envy her existence or how confident she is. Maybe I find her attractive? It’d be kinda shitty if I found her attractive, seeing as she’s Noah’s date and I’m here with Brooke. I don’t think it’s that either, since I can barely tolerate either of them.

Perhaps I’m just drunk and confused.

I must just be drunk and confused.

Once the food settles in my tummy, I feel significantly better, a little nauseous still but better nonetheless. My buzz has fizzled, but the tips of my fingers still tingle and words are still hard.

I quietly use a leftover bun to move around a glob of ketchup as entertainment. Noah’s always been the social one, he’s always been the connections, the glue. So, it’s no surprise that he’s captured the attention of the whole table, filling the air with collective drunken giggles. Normally though, he helps nudge me gently into conversations. He helps me not stay silent like I am now. It’s fine though, I don’t have much to contribute since they have all these inside jokes from their study group.

I snap out of my daze when I hear Folio crunch a coke can in his hand as he gets up from the table. There’s an emptiness beside me I hadn’t felt til now – Brooke is gone.

My gaze follows the group as they get up from the table to bring their trash to the overflowing garbage can.

“Where did Brooke go?” I ask to the general conglomerate, most of which pay no mind to me.

“She left to go meet up with some other friends.” Noah replies, his tone suggests that he’s downplaying the situation. I’m sure she wasn’t having fun with a half-drunk silent boy.

‘You’re no fun’ rings in my head from earlier in the car.

2 things I’ve learned from tonight are:

1 – eat hotdogs when drunk.

2 – pretending to be “fun” is really fucking exhausting.

“Oh.” I say quietly, matching their actions by tossing my flimsy paper plate and Dr. Pepper can into the trash.

“We’re heading towards the bigger rides, if you want to come.” He turns and follows the rest of the group through some carnival game tents.

‘If you want to’ I mimic him in my head.

No I don’t fucking want to but I was driven here and I’m stranded.

“Yeah.” I mumble and quickly jog to meet them ahead of me.

--

The others made their way to the short ferris wheel line after I insisted it was okay to leave me behind. I sure as fuck didn’t want to sit in a pod alone or 3rd wheel on one of their’s.

I watch Noah and Kassidy’s pod reach and stop at the peak of the small ferris wheel, I don’t know why I’m watching but my body is rooted where I stand. Upon it’s a slow descent down, I see it.

His hand cupping her face. Their lips locked.

It’s not a decision I make until their pod locks at the gate and they’re being let out. My foot swivels in the dirt, kicking up dying grass as I try to dip around various family-owned booths for cover. As feared, I hear him calling from behind. I knew I had messed up by making a run for it so late.

“Nicholas!”

His calling only makes my legs move faster – I’m not sure exactly why I’m running or what good it’ll do, just that I need to get as far away from him as possible.

He catches up to me faster than I was prepared for. Fall leaves crunch beneath his worn-out Converse. “Where are you going?” He asks and before I even turn around to see him, I know the look on his face. The same look that I can’t seem to ever say no to – the one that breaks my back just to make me bend to him.

I sigh and turn to him. “Noah, I’m going home.”

“What! Why?”

And there it was. Big, round, puppy dog eyes full of decadent chocolate so sweet it could rot the teeth right out of your skull - paired with pouted lips that demand pity and restitution.

“I’m not having fun. I don’t want to be here.”

“What? You told me you wanted to go to the fair?” He questions with curved eyebrows.

“No. I didn’t. You invited me. You told me that I wanted to go. You tricked me into being on a triple date I didn’t want to be on.” My arm gesturing towards the fair.

“Well, c’mon we can still make it fun! We can just get some more ride tickets and-” He grabs the sleeve of my flannel and tugs at it towards the fair.

I yank my arm back so hard it nearly pulls him back with it, “No you’re not listening to me Noah. I don’t want to be here. Why do you continue to bring me places that you KNOW I won’t like?”

“We’ve been to the fair a million times, Nick.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah! With just us! Not with three random fucking girls!” The churning in my chest begins to spit drunken thoughts out without filters.

His brows knit together in confusion. “They’re not random girls Nicholas, and I really thought you’d hit it off with Brooke-”

“Oh my god, why the fuck would you think I’d get along with her? Just because she’s got tits and ass? Sorry, I’m not you, I need a little more than that.” I scoff.

“Well, I-I don’t know just thought you’d want-”

“Augh!” I groan and pace a tiny lap around the grass. “Can you stop assuming you know what I do or don’t want?”

“So, let me get this straight. You don’t want to go to parties, or the fair, or hang out with girls… normal college stuff, you don’t want?”

My heart pounds hard against my eardrums and my fingers burn with frustration. My fists tighten at my sides and my jaw clenches, digging each row of teeth into the other. Molten lava threatens to spill from my throat.

“No, Noah. I guess I don’t want ‘normal college stuff’, I don’t fucking like alcohol and I don’t even know if I like girls!”

My yelled words tumbled from my mouth so easily I didn’t even realize I said anything that odd until Noah’s eyes widen.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

“What?” Noah asks softly and genuinely with his head tilted slightly.

“I-I,” I stumble back, accidentally hitting an oak tree behind me. “I’m- I just need to go home.”

“Nick.” His hands stretch out to grab my arm as I turn to leave but he’s a millisecond too late. “Nick!” He calls after me.

Every bit of adrenaline available in my body propels me forward, past all the booths, all the rides, and through all the neighboring forest. When my feet finally find asphalt, my head feels like a basketball on a player’s fingertip. My eyes widen at a sharp turn in my stomach. I analyze my surroundings in a split second, running towards a lamp post for support. The moment my palm touches the cold metal, I double over and empty the contents of my stomach onto the concrete. The funnel cake, the cotton candy, the fried Oreos, the slushees, and the goddamn fucking hotdogs all found home the sidewalk.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

Why would I say that?

Is that true?

Do I not like girls?

Of course, I like girls.

I wobble over to a bench and sit on the cool wood. The weather’s a lot colder now that the sun has set, and I regret not bringing a proper jacket.

I like girls. I know I like girls. Right?

I mean, I’ve been jerking off to girls… this whole time? So, if I didn’t like girls, why would I do that?

I like girls.

Only.

I like girls.

Right?

I shake my head of the thoughts spinning faster than I can even grasp.

The dim light of the street lamp flickers and it occurs to me that it’s almost 10 pm and I have no idea where I am or how to get home.

Fuck.

Pulling my location up in my Maps app tells me that I’m still fairly close to the fair, which unfortunately means I’m pretty far from home. Tears begin prickling in my eyes and a tight knot forms in my throat.

The weight of the night crashes down onto me all at once.

The “you’re no fun”

The fucking hot dogs

The “she went to meet other friends”

The “if you want to”

The ferris wheel

The “I don’t even know if I like girls”

“Fuck.” My voice cracks as tears take hostage of my cheeks.

My body doubles over, folding in on itself to bury my face in my hands.

I’m drunk, I had a shit night, I left my best friends at the fair and now I’m stranded on some random street.

Even through my own heaving, a brief pang of guilt shoots in my stomach for leaving Noah behind.

He wanted to have a good night, perhaps I ruined it. 

In the past, I would’ve stayed feeling guilty because I knew for a fact that if the roles were reversed, he’d come back to find me. But now, I’m not so sure. I don’t think he’d leave Kassidy for anyone or anything.

Not even me.

My palms try to stave off the tears by digging into my eye sockets.

“Fuck, okay. I need to get it together.” I say out loud to myself, letting out a deep exhale. “What the fuck am I gonna do.”

Both of my only friends are still at the fair.

Mom is at work.

So that leaves me with…

Stella.

“Shit.”

I unwillingly pull myself from the bench and begin to pace back and forth taking fast but deep breaths. I ring out my hands out, trying to expel any sort of panic from them. The last thing I need is for her to see me like this.

Finally, once I’ve composed myself, I dig my phone out of my pocket and click her contact name “Snot”.

It rings for a little bit too long and I almost hang up just before she answers.

“Hello?” She asks a little louder than necessary, shortly after I hear a flood of giggles in the background. Her sleepover.

“Hey.” I barely get out without my voice cracking.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks with concern lacing her voice. There’s the sound of a door closing behind her, shutting out the chatter.

“Oh um-“ My tone pitched up and I feel tears welling up in my eyes again. If the rest of tonight’s events weren’t enough, here I am making a fool out of myself to my little sister. “I forgot about your sleepover. It's fine – I’ll just walk home or something.”

“Walk home? Where are you?”

I swallow the knot in my throat trying to keep my voice level, normal and calm but my pause is long and loud.

“I-I,” My eyes squeeze shut pushing as much of my tears out. “I don’t know.”

“Did you drink?”

The back of my hand roughly wipes my nose. “Yes.”

“Are you with Noah?” Her voice is gentle and kind and reminds me of how our mother would talk to us when we scraped our knees.

I sniffle and my voice threatens to break once more. “No.”

“Okay.” She states as if she just got handed a checklist of effortless tasks. “The girls were just about to go home.” I know that’s a lie. “Drop me a pin and I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Stell.” I reply quietly.

“Of course.”

--

It took about 20 minutes for Stella to pick me up in my own car.

My arms wrap around my shivering body and my head rests on the window as I watch the streetlights zoom past us. Her speed is inconsistent, fast in short bursts then slow in long drags. Her stops are jerky and her turns wide. If this was an early Tuesday school morning, she wouldn’t be able to stop my mouth from rambling off critiques. But tonight, opening my mouth seems more dangerous than her driving.

“So. Do you wanna talk about what happened?” She cuts through the silence unapologetically, like opening a crisp can of Coke in a dead, silent room.

I shake my head.

“C’mon. You can’t really expect me to pick you up in the middle of nowhere at midnight without any context?” She patters her fingertips on the steering wheel and glances over at me. “Did something happen with Noah? Did you get into a fight?”

“Something like that.” I mutter.

She squints her eyes and kind of tilts her head to the side. “You guys never fight?”

“Well.” I reply bluntly. “Things change, I guess.” The fabric of the seat cover stretches as I shift. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

The gears spin in her head, I can almost see them. “Weird.” She mumbles under her breath. “Was it about a girl?”

“I said I’m done answering questions.”

“Sheesh, okay.” She says defensively.

Silence fills every empty space in the car. I’m not sure I’ve ever been uncomfortable around my sister before, but I certainly am now. It’s a new feeling, something I want to run and hide from. My knee bounces nervously as my mind cycles through everything that happened tonight. Regardless of anxiety and confusion twisting my organs into pretzels, I fear that if I don’t say what’s chanting in my head right now, I could explode.

“I told Noah that I don’t even know if I like girls.” I blurt out with extreme urgency, as if I didn’t get it out now, I never would.

Her eyes widen a bit but they stay focused on the road. My heart thumps hard against my chest threatening to jump right out.

“Okay.” She says calmly but cautiously. “And why did you say that?”

“I-I don’t know.” I let the weight of my body finally relax and sink into the seat. “You’ve known me my whole life. Do you think that I… might not only like girls?”

She turns to me at a red light and the face she gives me reminds me of when she was 4 and I was 7, when I speculated that Santa might not be real. Without a second thought she replied, “Of course he’s not real, silly.”

Even at 4 years old she was smarter than me.

“I think that might be a question you have to figure out yourself, Nick. I can’t tell you what you do or don’t like.”

I huff, suddenly frustrated that I couldn’t hand off such a complex task onto someone else – that I couldn’t have someone else give me a quick, solid, factual answer.

“I guess you’re right.” I mumble. 

She returns her focus to the road and lets out a little sigh. “Do you remember when we were little? And we liked Power Rangers?”

“…Yeah?” I reply confused as to what exactly Power Rangers has to do with my sexuality.

“Well, I remember the first time we watched it - and you thought it was so stupid.”

“No I didn’t? I loved Power Rangers?” 

“No.” She corrects me. “At first, when it was just us, you thought it was dumb. But then all your friends started liking it and suddenly you did too. You even wanted to be the red one for the group costume that Halloween, remember?”

“Okay… and? What are you getting at?”

“I can’t tell you what you are or aren’t, Nick. But you’re right - I have known you my whole life. And I know that sometimes you change things about yourself to, I don’t know… not make waves? Not stand out? To fit in? I don’t know your reasoning and I don’t know if that’s what you did with this. But… just something to think about I guess?”

My fingers tap at my knee in thought. I don’t really remember that specific component, only that I had Power Ranger shirts and bedsheets. I remember playing with the figures on the playground with friends and running around the neighborhood with them on Halloween as the Red Ranger. If I was having fun, does it really matter if I didn’t actually like Power Rangers? 

“Yeah… I guess it’s something to think about.” I let out a deep sigh. “How’d you get so smart anyway?”

She shoots me a smile, “I learned from the best.”

“Nope, definitely not me. That was all Mom.”

“Who did you think I meant?” She smirks.

“Ha-ha so funny.” I roll my eyes with a toothy grin, finally feeling the tiniest sliver of ease enter my body.

The relaxation slipped from me as quickly as it arrived. “Please don’t um, tell her…or anyone that we talked about this – especially Noah.”

“You got it. I would never.”

I somehow feel relieved yet terrified of what I’ve just divulged to her.

“Do you wanna get donuts from that 24-hour place? And maybe some water for your inevitable hangover?”

“God yes please.” My thumbs rub circles into my throbbing temples. “And a burger please, jesus I need a burger. And fries, I need fries more than air right now.”

“Fiiine, McDonalds too, I guess.”

“Thanks, Stell.” I say soft and genuine.

“Of course, Nick.”

I smile kindly at her. Tomorrow I’ll probably regret everything I said and did tonight but right now, I’m getting junk food with my sister at midnight and the world is quiet. Everything feels okay, even if it only lasts until the end of my Mcdonald’s.

I wave Stella goodnight as she walks into her room. With a twist of my doorknob, I open my door and my feet halt in their tracks. My swollen eyes widen at the last thing I expected to be in my room.

“What are you doing here?” I question before I can even really gauge my own reaction.

Noah sits on the edge of the bed still in the same outfit from the fair.

“I went looking for you.” His brown eyes find mine and it makes my chest ache the same way it did earlier on the bench.

“You did?” My square shoulders soften briefly before straightening back up again. “And why would you do that?” I snap at him.

The space between his brows burrows slightly, seemingly confused by my harsh response. “Well, I-I,” He presses his lips together while his fingers pick at his nails. “I was worried about you.”

My eyes dart down to the carpet and try to ignore the way my heart swells at his words. I swallow hard and curl my fists at my sides. “Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

“Oh okay…” He trails off and lets his gaze drop to his fiddling hands and bouncy leg. “I just wanted to make sure, I guess.”

“Okay well, you’ve made sure. Now I really just wanna go to bed, if that’s okay with you.” I cross all of the two feet from the doorway to my dresser and forcefully yank the top drawer open.

He carefully lifts from the bed and meets me where I dig for clothes. “Nicholas.” His voice is gentle and full of concern, but no matter how much it should comfort me it just fans the flames of my resentment.

“What now, Noah.” I sigh harshly and turn to him.

“What did you mean at the fair?”

After the food adventures I had with Stella, it had almost erased what I had said from my memory. Too bad it couldn’t have done that to him too. I was really banking on him being too drunk to even remember. But I should know better than that – Noah and his very selective memory.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign confidence and turn back away from him to focus on finding PJs. My chest and limbs fill with a feeling similar to sitting in the waiting room of a principal’s office. Suddenly, I’m small and the room triples in size while the oxygen rapidly depletes.

“You know what I’m talking about Nick.” His fingers gently grab my arm to turn my attention to him again. “Do you… not like girls? Do you think you’re-”

“Gah! No!” I all but spit out. The thought of what he was about to say makes me want to vomit all over again. “No, I’m not…that.”

“O-oh, okay…but if you were, you know you could tell me, right? You know you can tell me anything, like we’ve always done.” His voice is quiet and tender, even through the vodka I can still smell on his breath.

“Oh my god Noah.” I grasp at the air in frustration. “No. I just said it to, to throw you off. So you’d let me go, so you’d leave me the fuck alone.”

“Oh.” His hand slips from my arm and he takes a step away from me.

If this was any other night, after any other event, I would apologize, minimize it, and say that I’m just having a bad night. But it’s not any other night and I don’t have enough energy in my entire body to make more excuses.

My fingers dig into the bundle of PJs I hold, and my stare stays straight on his chest. “I just, want to take a shower and go to bed. Okay?”

“Right.” He sucks his teeth and nods. “Okay, enjoy your shower then.”

“I will, thanks.” I reply blandly, shoving the overflowing drawer closed.

-

The world seems much lighter now that the thick layer of carnival muck, the remnants of alcohol and vomit were washed down the drain. I scrunch my hair with a terry cloth towel while I walk to my room from the shower.

I’m confused to find my door cracked open with the big light still shining through the door. I spent almost an hour trying to get all the grime off and let the water ease the pulsing in my head. Surely, Noah wouldn’t still be up, it’s almost 3 am.

I quietly creak the door open to find the bed empty.

“Huh?” I whisper to myself and make my way over to the disheveled bed. Noah’s nowhere to be found, but instead there’s a plushy on his pillow. I hook my finger through the plastic carabiner attached to it and lift it to my eyeline. It’s a stuffed tuxedo cat with sunglasses that look similar to the knockoff RayBans I usually wear.

I look back at the pillow and notice there was a note beneath it. I pick it up and unfold it with the cat dangling on my pinky. 

‘Saw this at the fair and thought of you. 

Went to stay over at Kassidy’s so, you can have your room back for the night.

-N’

The breath that escapes from deep in my torso seems to deflate me completely. I knew the slip of up of my words the other day hurt him, more than I thought. A vine of thorns wraps around my throat, each guilt-drenched spike digs into my windpipe. He left because of me.

I take a precarious seat on the edge of the bed, holding each item in each hand. My palm aches to crush the note in my fingers but my eyes burn with salty tears too. All while the cat swells my chest in the saddest way possible. How could someone feel so many things at once? 

I have no screams, no yells, no sobs left in me and my body begs for rest. I can’t let myself wallow in whatever this is, how could I make sense of it now? When my brain is so hazy and my eyes are so sleepy. 

I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tiny bit of tears left in my eyes and set the note and the stuffed kitty on my bedside table. The bed creaks when I bury my knee into the mattress and let myself fall to the middle. 

The bed feels colder and emptier without him in it, but right now I’m not sure this is where I want him to be. 

I reach up to tug the lamp light off and pull the duvet around my shivering body. 

After about 20 mins of stirring with no hope of falling asleep, I give in and just stare into the stillness of the room. My eyes finally adjust to the darkness and start making a sort of mental inventory list counting all of the items scattered around my room that aren’t mine. I try to remember what the room looked like before he moved in, but I can’t.

While there are growing pains, I can’t imagine my room without him in it anymore. He’s tangled himself into the very essence of the space. 

Drawing my gaze across the room, I land on the kitty he’d gotten for me at the fair. I reach across the space and bring it to the bed, placing it in his spot. 

It fills a tiny void in the vast emptiness of the bed and for about 15 minutes I cling to the minor comfort it brings, believing it might help me fall asleep. 

I let out a frustrated sigh. The heaviness of the night drops onto my shoulder blades and finds refuge beneath my eyes. Once again a venomous coil tightens itself around my ribs.

It is mostly confusion that I feel, the only factor I can distinctly pick out. 

The only other one I can somewhat recognize is, loneliness. 

I glance back over to the cat and it dawns on me the possible reason I can't fall asleep. My fingertips tap rhythmically against the mattress cycling through my options until I find one. 

I wrap my thick duvet around my body and grab my pillow before shuffling down the hall. I gently tap my knuckle against her door then crack it open just a bit.

“Stella.” I whisper-yell into her room. “Stella.”

She shifts in her bed and cracks one eye open at me. “Hm?” She groans sleepily.

I let myself in and scuffle across the carpet to her bedside. “Can I sleep on your floor?” I request in a hush. 

“What? Why?” Her brows knit together with her eyes barely open. “What’s wrong with your bed?”

I chew on my bottom lip searching my brain for an answer that makes any sense but there’s only one. 

“It’s empty.” 

Next Chapter -> 06 - Like Us*

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @concretenoah @kingdomof-omens @the-hell-i-overcame @blackveilomens @xxrainstorm [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

Thank you for the support on this series and on my other series, Virality. I appreciate it more than you know. I love reading your comments and asks. I am incredibly grateful for them, thank you.

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 20-- Best CG

You come home to find Saeran in the maid dress again (723 words). Content warning: slightly suggestive (just in case)

“What would you like me to do for you, my love?” Saeran greets you warmly upon your return home.

“Oh my god,” you manage, a heavy groan escaping your lips at the sight of him in that maid dress once again. “What is all this?” 

Saeran giggles, curtsying at you and lifting his pale pink skirt to show off the tops of those damn socks again. In this moment, he is the entire world, and you’re just a satellite orbiting around him. “I knew you’d be tired after work,” he informs you glibly, steering you over to the couch and sitting you down. You don’t protest, allowing your husband to guide you as he sees fit. “I thought it would be a good opportunity to wait on you.”

“Oh, did you, now?” You ask, cheeks heating. You always feel a bit guilty asking for what you need— it’s possible that Saeran has noticed that this maid character helps ease your undue feelings because he’s making it so clear that he wants you to give him instructions. Perhaps he just wanted to treat you to something special tonight. After all, he does know that you came in early and stayed late at work. Either way, it’s a pleasant surprise. 

“Yes, my love.” Saeran addresses you with pouty lips and big eyes.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Then, louder, “What did you have in mind?”

“I thought I might run you a bath,” Saeran informs you, “Since you’d be tired and stiff after working for so long. Then I could serve you dinner… and maybe dust the living room.”

“You keep circling back to this dusting thing,” you observe. “Are you trying to tell me that you want me to start dusting more often?” Saeran isn’t normally one to default to such oblique forms of communication, but perhaps the gesture is a subconscious one. 

“Why would I want that?” Saeran does a very good job of looking perplexed. Truthfully, you want to kiss that expression off his lips, but you know that the slow burn is a very important element of the fantasy that he’s worked so hard to create. God, he looks so fucking pretty. You’re going a little bit feral just looking at him, “I’m here to serve you, my love. You don’t have to lift a finger, and I’ll take care of everything.”

You bite your lip. “A bath sounds nice, then,” you manage. 

Saeran offers you another giggle and leads you into the bathroom. “I thought you might say that,” he confesses, “I ran the water just before you came home. I made it a little too hot, so it should have cooled down to the right temperature by now.” 

“Wow,” you breathe, your eyes flitting around the room to take in Saeran’s handiwork. Not only is the bathroom impeccably clean— it was his week to handle that particular chore, but normally the counters don’t shine the way they do right now— but it’s full of candles. Your bath is fairly simple, just the way you like it, with steam rising from the water and rose petals floating within. Once again, he thought of everything.

“You can take as long as you need,” Saeran assures you, “I know you must need a moment after such a stressful day.” He grabs something off the table and presses it into your hand— a bell, you realize, by the feel of it. 

“What’s this?” You ask, perplexed.

“You can ring the bell to call me anytime tonight,” Saeran explains with a playful smirk. He’s clearly well aware of exactly what he’s doing to you. Confidence is a very good look on him. “I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and come running. Then… of course, I’ll do whatever you say.” He must have been practicing those big eyes in the mirror or something, because the way he looks at you is targeted and precise. 

“Wow,” you breathe again, “Thank you.” It’s all you can think of to say. 

“Of course,” Saeran’s hands find the collar of your shirt, moving slowly toward the line of buttons beneath it. Fuck, okay. “Now… please, my love. May I get you ready for your bath?” 

Your head is spinning too fast to allow any response more elaborate than “Okay,” but it seems that this is all that Saeran needs. 

[chaesonghwas]

justi. jus. jus babe. justi.

the one with the flowers. i need that ficlet.

HI BABE!!! FLOWERS!!!!!

y'all mentioned sunflowers being charles' fav flower on anna's bday fic and now that will be my headcanon forever, so have this little ficlet in return 💖💖 i hope u like itttt

"i brought you flowers." "for what?" "there has to be a reason?"

It all starts with a stupid interview - one of those TikTok things for the F1 page, asking unconventional interview questions.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

“Huh.” Charles had looked deep in thought, brows furrowed and lips pursed. Utterly adorable, like always. The backdrop of the bright pink flowers in the Singapore paddock made his green eyes pop. “Sunflowers, I think.”

And it made Pierre pause because -

Even after so many years, he doesn’t know everything about Charles. This silly video that Ilies had sent him with many laughing emojis - mostly because it also contains a diss at Pierre’s football skills - has revealed a truth about his boyfriend he never knew and, most importantly, that he never even bothered to ask. A twinge of guilt twists a way in his stomach because Charles deserves the best - he deserves someone that cares about what his favorite flower is and someone who won’t give him generic flower bouquets.

That’s why he ends up at Charles’ doorstep in Monaco carrying a sunflower bouquet he can barely fit in his arms, when he most definitely should be in Milan preparing to train with Ben. Pierre might have gotten a little carried away, he’ll admit.

“Hello?” Charles asks over the intercom after Pierre rings the doorbell, a little confused. Maybe he should’ve texted ahead, Pierre thinks. 

Pierre puts on his deepest voice as he answers. “Special delivery for Charles Leclerc.”

He doesn’t expect that to work, but Charles buzzes him in so Pierre rides the elevator up to his apartment. A wave of doubt washes over Pierre, but he trudges ahead and knocks on Charles’ apartment door. “Delivery!” he repeats in that deep voice.

When the door flies open, Pierre hears Charles gasp of surprise and he just about melts into the floor in a pile of goo. He loves him - he loves him so much. “Oh my god, Pierre.”

“Hi, calamar.” He tries to poke his head out from between the stems, but he’s mostly unsuccessful. “I brought you flowers.”

“For what? Shouldn’t you be in Milan right now?” His words are formatted like a reprimand, but his tone is more emotional than anything.

“Does there have to be a reason? Can’t I just be a good boyfriend?” 

Can’t it just be because I love you and you deserve good things?

Pierre thinks that but he doesn’t say it because this thing between them is still fairly new and raw and growing - they haven’t said I love you as a couple yet but Pierre can reel it in and wait, because he wants to give this time and he has known Charles is the big love of his life since he was about thirteen, so he’s not worried. He hopes that for now the sunflowers will be enough to communicate to Charles how he feels - I love you, I care about you, you’re my sun.

“You are the best boyfriend,” Charles answers, a little choked up. “It’s beautiful, thank you Pear. Now come in and set the flowers down so I can kiss you stupid, yeah?”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Charles giggles at Pierre’s words and grabs his wrist to lead him inside, sending sparks flying up his arm. When he finally manages to set the flowers down on the table, Charles kisses him and walks them backwards into his bedroom. 

“Sunflowers are my favorite, you know?” Charles muses after, in a post orgasm haze. Charles has a hand splayed across Pierre’s chest and his head tucked in his boyfriend’s neck, content and relaxed.

“I know.”

Charles doesn’t give a verbal answer, he just lifts his head and squints at Pierre. When Pierre chuckles guiltily, knowing he has probably clocked on to him listening to the interview, Charles just lets his head fall and cuddles back into Pierre with a quiet hum.

[terriblyrenderedenigma]

The Coveted Star

(A/n: This is my first little attempt at a little transformers blurb of Megatron x OC/Self insert who will be greatly elaborated upon in later posts. Just thought id dip my toes in the water here.)

Tags: Nonspecific Transformers continuity (As of current at least, leaning towards TFA, or maybe changing context and interaction before going earthspark) Description: Megatron trying to persuade a human turned unaffiliated bot into joining the Decepticons. Word Count: 637 Warnings: Probably ooc Megatron x Fem oc/self-insert; Probably confusing lore but will have an oc lore dump post laterrr; brief corpse mention but not serious; Religious Imagery - hell mention; slight xenophobia; eye strain because colored text; probably poor use of cybertronian anatomy

“Look at you! A great star in the sky among walking corpses with withering souls! You hold amazing power… it would be such a waste for you not to use it…” The dirtied grey mech held out his servo in offering to Aquarion, his broad digits scratched and deeply scarred from decades of fighting, of war. The sleek femme’s purple optics moved with trepidation from the dark flat palm of his servo, flitting across his dented plating until their optics met.

The crimson glow of his optics burned like the fires of hell that made old historians writhe in their sleep before vomiting their horrors onto withered pages in striking raven ink. If his passion was inferno, he burnt like the lake of fire he'd be condemned to for the sins he held heavy servo'd against his fellow kin. Palms bathed in enough energon alone to rejuvenate his dead and broken home...

“I cannot take a place at your side…” Aquarion’s soft tone breaks with static, vocalizer quickly correcting as she vents a heavy puff of steam. White plating shone like freshly fallen snow, violet bio-lights peeking out between the crevasses, the breaks in her armor.

Her frame ran hot. Wiring burning with unease much like the nerves that used to sting her once human flesh with sensations deeper than this by tenfold. “To take up my burdens and follow you would be to turn my back on the people that I used to be a part of.” As the words left her, a frown wormed its way across her faceplate.

“Used to. Have you not experienced the hateful gazes? The fear and scrutiny in their fleshy eyes as they look up at the form that has consumed you. Changed you-" The leader of the Decepticons arms swing out dramatically, gesturing to the femme in all her new glory. The body that held her conscious was strong and sturdy, powerful, volatile, capable! It would kill Megatron to see the potential in her circuits wasted on neutrality -- or worse, the Autobots. "-Named you Aquarion and chose you out of all your kind for a higher purpose! This is a gift... You are no longer one of them! You are one of us!” Megatron demands, the deep timbre of his voice echoing not only within the gears of his own chassis, but hers as well. There’s an echo of desperation, an anticipation to make her understand that things are not the same anymore, her life is no longer what it was and never will be again.

No longer human, but hot blooded cybertronian... "I can't-"

"Take my hand!" Megatron demands harshly now, thrusting his servo forward once more at her continued hesitance, the swift movement of his hand towards her making her massive wings flare in a defensive stir. "Take my hand, and I will show you greatness you've never known! Teach you who you were meant to be..." The roughness of his vocalizer tapering off into a tender request.

Why did he persist so strongly? Demand so insistently that she follow him? Go with him into the deep dark night into even more mystery?What fears would she have to conquer as her palm fit smoothly within his own?

What manipulation, scheming, plotting would she be forced to be a part of? The decepticons certainly weren't the kindest or truthful of all beings. But Megatron their great leader, strong, dangerous, downright terrifying to any normal human... Stood face to face with her and-

"Please."

His pleading, set in motives unknown sent her over. Aquarion relents and takes his servo firmly and without another thought.

"Alright then... why don't you show me what I can do?"

Aquarion knew not what path this choice would lead her, but she was sure of one thing. This was going to end terribly.

[its-alittleobsessed]

I want you guys to know that i write fanfiction with a synonym tab and translate tab opened 24/7

[manahiel]

Cottas wirklich schrecklicher Urlaub, der eigentlich auch gar keiner war (10445 words) by Manahiel

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Inspector Cotta/Goodween (The Three Investigators) Characters: Inspector Cotta (Three Investigators), Goodween (The Three Investigators), Jupiter Jones | Justus Jonas, Pete Crenshaw | Peter Shaw, Bob Andrews Additional Tags: Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, There Was Only One Bed, Pining, Inspektor Dad, Implied/Referenced Homophobia Summary:

Cotta, Goodween und die drei Fragezeichen geben sich als Familie aus, um einen Verdächtigen beschatten zu können. Nichts läuft so wie geplant, Cotta bereut seinen Kollegen gefragt zu haben, für den er heimlich Gefühle hegt, die drei Jungs sind eine Warnung für sich und Goodween hat seine eigenen Probleme.

[pointwhitmark]

So, liebe Leute, ich habe ein Bitte.

Ich werde im November wieder versuchen das NaNoWriMo Ziel von 50.000 Wörtern zu erfüllen und dafür brauche ich Ideen.

Bitte gebt mir alles an drei Fragezeichen Ideen/Wünschen, die ihr lesen wollt, selbst nie schreiben würdet, plötzlich in eurem Kopf auftauchen.

Ihr würdet mir damit einen großen Gefallen tun und vielleicht kommt ja sogar etwas Passables zu lesen bei raus.

[cillivnz]

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐮 𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬 [𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭]

CHAPTER ONE —— AFTERMATH

warnings. angst, gore descriptions, torture, mentions of death, stabbing, shooting; basically your average 14 minutes into a john wick movie.

a/n. occasionally updating the preliminaries post of this series as deemed necessary. all warnings and details would be mentioned in that post. note, this is a slow burn (emphasis on slow). i hope you enjoy reading this short chapter, i promise it’ll get better. this one’s for the anon who wanted angst, i owe it all to you, honey. <3 pardon any inaccurate translations.

notes. Rehneyr Corsioni [OC] — ex-associate of reader’s father. Edgar Corsioni [OC] — Rehneyr’s son.

TRANSLATIONS. mon ange — my angel; tenez-moi — hold me; va te faire foutre — fuck you/fuck off; “Écoute, si tu parviens à répondre, tu seras libre de vivre ce qui reste de ta vie pathétique.” — Look, if you manage to answer, you will be free to live whatever is left of your pathetic life; “Sing, pute.” — Sing, bitch; “Je ne ferais jamais ça.” — I would never do that; “Laisse moi ici,” — Leave me here;

Clustering sounds beside you were your alarm. Your eyes fought to get adjusted to your dimly lit surroundings, in a panic, you shot up from the bed. Bed? You were uncertain of where you were, until you saw a tall figure hulking, with his back towards you. As if sensing your inquisitive eyes on him, he turned around, a solemn expression on his face, plump lips sealed tight, yet his gaze softened at the sight of you. “Good… morning.” He said shaking his head, it seemed like he wasn’t too fond of his words, considering the sun set a few hours ago. You took a moment to look down at yourself, wearing an oversized, white silk shirt, and your panties. “I took the liberty of cleaning you, I’m sorry, ange.” He was avoiding your gaze, looking at the foot of the bed. “It’s okay, Vince.” “I appreciate you.” Your voice was soft, just a whisper lingering in the breeze.

“You need to rest.” He spoke with an authoritative concern. “I can’t, I just woke up.” You let out something along the lines of a chuckle and a scoff. “Lie down.” He raised his brows, a pleading look on his handsome face. “Lie down with me.” You quirked a brow, not anticipating the flush on his cheeks to be so prominent. “If, uh, if that’s what you want, ange.” He dare not look at you while discarding his jacket, slowly climbing beside you in the queen-size bed, long legs almost swinging out of it; the long bed that sufficiently accommodated you, failed to do the same for him.

Perplexity. Life had a way of arousing it, for life is a gland and these shitty plotholes are the hormones it secrets into your bloody life. A day ago, you mourned the loss of your family, this man, one who vowed service to your father, abandoned him when he needed him the most; when you needed him the most — but he’s here now, isn’t he? You should’ve been mad, hell, he of all people knew the degree of your wrath once unleashed, but you couldn’t be mad at your Vince, not when he sank into the mattress, beside you, pressing himself against you, tauntingly gently, reluctant on whether to be a bit selfish and let his arm rest on your waist, close all humane proximity between you two, and let whatever warmth he still possessed, even if it came from the fiery depths of hell he was certain to burn in, creep onto you.

You noticed this reluctance, despite not facing him. You couldn’t, you feared what you’d do once you’d catch those ocean eyes of his staring into the depths of your soul, digging an abyss into it with his piercing gaze, creating his personal hell inside of you.

“Vincent,” you whispered. “Yes, mon ange.” His soft voice whispered. “Tenez-moi.” Finally, the hesitant arm found homage, snakes around your waist, pressing his godly body against yours. The grip was possessive, permanent, and above all, right. Nothing has ever felt so right, to both of you. In that moment you knew, Vincent would fight heaven and back for you, in your name, whatever it takes.

Amidst your sleep, you heard agonising whimpers from behind you. Both of Vincent’s hands were on your hips, like the fullness of them was comforting. “Ange,” He shivered a whimper, grip tightening around your hips, squeezing them in fear, fear of whatever horror he saw behind those eyes shut tight.

“It’s okay, Vince. I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered, fingered grazing the veins on his large hands. He seemed to lean into your touch, crouching so his head could rest on your shoulder. ‘Not now, not ever.’ You meant to say, but you’re never had a way with words, a knotted tongue and a betraying body.

When morning came, so did the hellhounds. Jolting up at the sound of gunfire, your first thought was if Vincent got hurt, but not seeing him in bed with you as you’d requested, somehow, hurt more than what you’d knew a shot to the heart would. Getting up from the sheets in a frenzy, you reach for your 9mm and rush to the window. The sight below was three men circling in on one Vincent. Three armed men, and one Vincent with his weapon on the ground. You aim at the thug on the left — headshot; right, headshot, leaving the big boy with one man to knock down, a piece of cake, considering the boy was 6’4. He looked back at you, a grin plastered on his beautiful face, before he turned to the man in-front of him and tackled the shooter to the ground. “Atta boy.” You yelled out the window, before heading down to assist him.

‘Torturing’ is what an amateur would call it. You, on the other hand, say it like it is. ‘Information extraction’, it is. That’s truly how simple it is, the good ol’ human compliance, cooperation. You wouldn’t want to be a sinful Pinocchio and say you didn’t enjoy it when they didn’t, however. A challenge, hellions and rascals, and you loved brat-taming. Foreseeable, was this sight. A man stripped to the bone, tied in razor blade ropes of bondage, bleeding rivers of crimson at the hands of you and your beloved. Friend. Beloved friend.

“Tell us who sent you.” Vincent demanded, the tone of his voice was enough to snap you out of your sinister daze and let gooseflesh arise. “Va te faire foutre.” The son of a bitch had the audacity to retort. “Écoute, si tu parviens à répondre, tu seras libre de vivre ce qui reste de ta vie pathétique.” You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose in annoyance. The bastard spitting on your face was the last straw for Vincent, who conjured a knife from an apparent holster and grabbed the perpetrator by his short hair. “If you won’t talk,” he said, slashing the man’s throat in one swift stroke, “Sing, pute.”

Fear, for the first time, as the evening sun made feeble attempts to paint the perpetrator’s etiolating face a hue of tangerine, gargling on his own blood, he managed to weakly reveal, “Corsioni,” before leaving this realm, leaving behind no legacy in a maggot’s world, but a mess for you and Vincent to clean.

Rehneyr Corsioni, an associate of your father’s. You remember talk amongst your mother and his wife of a marriage (of convenience) between you and his son, Edgar. “Je ne ferais jamais ça.” You’d scowl at the sound of his name. He had his Russian mother’s face and his Italian father’s eyes, his skin and her hair. A lethal combination, something many a woman has succumbed to in the past, but not you. You had your own plans involving a very mercurial and brooding Parisian boy. His fawn hair, his blue-green eyes; you’d decided to call the colour a shade of Turkish blue. Looking at him now, dried blood splatters tainting his face, you noticed he hasn’t changed much. He was still your Vince, right?

After ridding yourselves of the body, Vincent and you stayed outdoors, staring into the wisteria horizon; at the ravens flying into the greenery and at the bats flying north. “How are you holding up?” He asked you, breaking the silence after minutes of staring at you, a habit you’ve noticed him picking up. “All things considered…” you paused, peering into the sky as if the clouds were etched in your answers. “I’m just glad you’re with me, Vince.” You turn to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

May you be damned for finding solace in this state, but were you really to be blamed when tonight’s the first time he’s lowered his walls? Just enough for you to hop over, or sit atop them prettily. “About that,” he inched away a little, causing you to raise your head, tilting in confusion. “I think you should leave.” He spoke, his words were choked by uncertainty and his brows furrowed at how pathetic he sounded. “What?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “America. Stay there for a bit, lay low, or even find contracts. Laisse moi ici, just until things pacify.”

Pacify? What was left to assuage in this city of ruins? “Vincent, there’s nothing left for me here — for us, here.” You began reasoning, eyes flickering from his face, to his hands. When he blatantly refused to meet your gaze, you grabbed one of his hands, the whole of your hand seemingly elfin in his large ones. This act forced him to stare you down, unlike he does voluntarily, from time to time; this instance, you had to force him to look you in the eye.

“I’ve already booked a ticket, an apartment, clothes, everything— you don’t have to worry about none of that.” He tightened his hold on your hand, grabbing the other, too. “Please, Ange. I need you to do this.” He beseeched. Never had you ever seen such a pleading look on his face, agony whirling in his eyes. “For me?”

For him you found yourself on a plane to New York, tears threatening to break the dam of dignity in your eyes and flood away as you reminisce about his arms that wrapped around you the night before, and the way he leaned in but pulled away in the blink of an eye, muttering curses, unheard of by you, but the twitch of his mouth and the tearing up of his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you.

If your departure meant more to Vincent than he was letting on, why was he adamant on sending you away, and what wrath will the city of Paris go through now at the hands of a man apoplectic with provoked rage? Unfortunately, you couldn’t see for yourself, so, you let sleep cradle your being and drift off to some unconscious safe haven.

[marmolady]

Estela and Taylor

This one's a bit more on the angsty side.

WARNING for self harm.

[marianaaags]

Me sorprende mucho en el fandom de JD la preocupacion de los escritores de que sus fanfics sean lo más fiel posible al canon

No sé si es algo exclusivo de aquí, una diferencia cultural porque hay gente de todas partes del mundo, la evolución de los fandoms a lo largo del tiempo, un acuerdo no escrito o algo así jaja igual para mí es rarísimo

Aclaro por si acaso eso no tiene nada malo, al contrario creo que es genial y todos los fanfics que he leído son buenísimos, solo me pareció curioso ese detalle

[einssteins]

Zum Anschluss an die Staffel noch ein bisschen Noah/Colin fluff:

Colin soll im Gästezimmer schlafen, Noah in seinem eigenen Zimmer. Aber vielleicht muss er Colin vor dem Einschlafen doch noch mal sehen.

[carnivorousmossbeast]

Layover

no content warnings. but this is long. Sorry!

Summary: Ghost and Soap are waiting for a flight to take them home.

There's a delicious ache crawling through his thighs, his veins, settling into his biceps and shoulders in that very delightfully restricting way that reminds him of the exhaustion after a good workout. His arms are leaden and tired, straining against the knowledge that he will have to lift them again, he will have to shoulder his gun and pack and march on with his head held high once they clear customs and get their shit returned, because somewhere higher up someone messed up and forgot to bring them back home. When they had arrived at the airfield, all that was left was a bedraggled looking civilian charter that brought them to the closest long-distance hub, and the only available flight had been fucking Paris. Soap's personal hell in the making. He's sure there are blisters on his heels and under his toes, there's concrete dust and plant detritus everywhere from his armpits to his arse-crack, it's wearing down his teeth and tickling inside his ear where he can't quite reach. And now he's sitting in the gate lounge under artificially white light, waiting for a plane that should have dropped them off four hours ago and instead hadn't shown turbines nor wings. It's enough to make a civilian rstless, but Soap feels a little off-kilter, a little unstable and he's ready to claw the concrete walls apart until he finds a high-voltage cable to chew on – or strangle one of the more annoying flight guests with. There are about five too many that fit that category for his taste, and he knows the odds are stacked against him while their flight gets delayed and delayed again, and they remain stuck on these plastic seats like brittle, dry gum and rubber sole stains.

"You know..." Ghost wiggles his knee gently, touching it against Soap's own sore ones. The heavy duty straps of his thigh holster creak and the thick fabric of his uniform creases and protests the movement. Sand and plant bits fall from his legs, creating a halo of debris at his feet. A distinct trail of destruction, in the realm of violence where Ghost is the embodiment of lust and insanity. It's a temple where Soap has learned to worship, a voice he's grown to trust for guidance in a twisted perversion of their own blood-soaked spirituality. There is no arguing with Catholic priests on the rights of gay men, and it hasn't proven particularly effective once Ghost confirms he has the target locked.

His eyes perceive the world in shades of blue-ish grey and with black and red crosshair markers overlaying the view. Soap has watched Ghost's trigger finger caress cold metal with a deranged sort of care, like he's chasing the sensation of the warmth he's about to terminate. Soap has watched Ghost watch bodies cool from orange-red to green-blue in the limited, grainy viewfinder of thermal tactical goggles. As if Ghost waits for those forgotten, listless souls to be consumed into his domain, never quite remembered after a nameless, faceless terror pierced their cerebrum and left their lives shattered across the field.

"I know a lot of things, Lt," Soap answers Ghost's question dutifully, like any good sergeant would his lieutenant, and lays his head back against the stiff collar of his coat. The plate carrier pushes it up awkwardly, and normally he hates the way it bunches on his nape, the way it feels all thick and restricts his movement, but right now it's like a more comfortable cervical spine collar, a pillow to rest his weary soul. "Mainly chemistry and gun maintenance." He turns slightly to look at Ghost, breathing through the ache that shoots down his neck and past his shoulder.

"Smart boy, aren't you?"

"Yeah well, army didn't put me through college for nothin'," Soap drawls and puts on his best and broadest smile for his Lt. Puppy love, they call it, hero worship. They call Soap a dumbass for attaching himself to Lieutenant Riley like a feckin' barnacle, but Soap likes that he got to burrow into the hard shell that makes Ghost bullet proof, that he gets these moments where Ghost knocks their knees together and strikes up a conversation.

Well. He throws Soap the promise of a kibble and Soap hunts it like a particularly stupid blood hound, tripping all over himself while chasing for whisps of conversation that he can uphold.

"Army put ye through college too, sir? Ye one of 'em rare smart boys from Manchester?"

"Careful, sergeant," Ghost says, easy and gentle. It's not really a reprimand as much as it is a reply, a request for Soap to continue this conversation in the hell that is the Charles de Gaulle airport, where they rest their tired, weary bones on the shitty plastic seats and keep themselves alert with full bladders and shitty airport coffee cart coffee. Ratty old dishwater that tastes like the watered down dirt of plates left to sit in the sink for far too long – at least it doesn't upset their stomachs the way sucking on an old dishrag would.

"Always careful, sir," Soap falls into their banter, imagines the smirk distorting the lines on his lieutenant's scarred face. "So, what about ye, then?"

"What about me?" Ghost asks. He sounds amused, knocks his knee into Soap's again. "Got any more of that coffee, sergeant?"

"Ye want more?" Soap asks.

"Not really. Could go for some grub but..."

"The French have a thing about their sauces. Hollandaise, béarnaise," Soap trails off, uncertain about any other French cuisine that isn't escargot and grenouille – and he has feelings about those. Multiple, and all solidly on the negative spectrum. It reminds him a little too much of staring at rats and geckos and wondering when the gnawing pains in his abdomen turned despair into reason.

"Can't name the four staple sauces of the French cuisine?" Ghost clicks his tongue, mock annoyance colouring the air like a joke. It still tastes like heavy-duty cleaning agents and old sweat, typical airport manure coating their lungs like tar and diesel, the civilian version of military vehicle exhaust and cigarettes. It's sweeter somehow, more pure, more peaceful – everything they can't have and that they chase regardless. The promise of peace coating the wisps of used-up civilian space air, hot and humid and covered in the exhales of fried chicken, chips and cheap booze. There's a thrill in how mundane they are here, in this liminal space, where they can be just as all the others. Waiting, tired, caught in overlays and transits and with overpriced food that barely takes the edge off.

"Mirepoix and rouge," Soap says.

"Close." Ghost's eyes crinkle when he leans his head back, legs splayed open. One knee knocks into the dividing wall partition, the other into Soap's. Despite everything that is said about Ghost, he is as human as the rest of them, and he craves human contact just like any social creature. Even if his way is considerably more stilted, and littered with landmines of dark sarcasm and bone-grinding cynicism. Ghost is a bit of an arsehole like that, but Soap is reasonably certain that it's just a wall to protect Ghost from heartache. "But no. Béchamel, Espagnol, Tomate, Velouté and Hollandaise."

"How do you know so much about French cuisine? And what is Béarnaise?"

"Mum used to uh. She used to cook. Taught me a bit."

"She teach you the difference on Hollandaise and Béarnaise?" Soap tries tapping his heel, but the sharp pains and aches from the long mission have him stop with a pained hiss. Ghost pauses before digging in his chest pocket to reveal what looks like a single use packet of sugar, but ends up being aspirin.

"Take this. It's mostly the wine and Béarnaise is just Hollandaise made with shallots and tarragon."

"And here I thought they were entirely different things," Soap hums.

"They're not." Ghost hands Soap the small bottle of water to chase the aspirin, and Soap nods, grateful to be able to wash the taste of stale powder and citrus from his tongue. "They're both oil in water emulsions. One just tastes better."

"Oh ye are a rocket," Soap scoffs and knocks his knee back against Ghost's. "First thing to do back on home soil?"

"Steak and Stout pie. Maybe some Scotch Eggs, nothing fancy." Ghost works his jaw beneath the mask. "A pint, maybe. Sleeping Giant has a new cook that's halfway decent."

It's not an invitation.

"That right, Lt?"

"Could join me. Pay fer your own drinks, though. They don't pay me enough to make a Scottish liver swim."

This, on the other hand, is.

And Soap pretends not to see the crinkle under Ghost's eyes, but cherishes it anyway as he turns away, hiding the mirth playing over his face from the world and the airline passengers that sit with them on the god-awful plastic chairs in the gate lounge, while their flight is gallivanting off somewhere.

[concreteburialplot]

new nicholas fic coming soon … 🩵

i think this is the first time i’ve ever written straight fluff [w smut] without a single drop of angst

&i only ever write angst ??? who am i ???

Posted now -> Delicate Beginning Rush 💫

[falleraatje]

Im Warteraum

Kennt ihr das, wenn man so eine Idee für eine Szene hat, die einen nicht mehr loslässt? Vielleicht wird das hier irgendwann Teil einer größeren Pia/Esther fic, aber fürs Erste gibt es dieses Snippet. Warnungen: car accidents/major injuries (aber in meinem Kopf würde es später natürlich ein Happy End geben)

Esther zieht ihren Mantel enger um sich. Im Warteraum ist es nicht kalt, aber sie friert trotzdem. Wahrscheinlich, weil sie sich seit gefühlten Stunden nicht bewegt hat. Sie hat sich nicht mal nach unten gebeugt zu dem Kaffee, den sie auf dem Boden neben ihrer Tasche abgestellt hat, aber bestimmt ist er sowieso längst viel zu kalt zum Trinken.

Sie könnte neuen Kaffee holen, aber sie tippt darauf, dass dieser nicht einmal frisch gut schmeckt. Außerdem würde das bedeuten, dass sie Schürk einen Kaffee mitbringen muss, weil er ihr eben auch wortlos den Becher in die Hand gedrückt hat. Was vielleicht nicht so schlimm wäre, wenn sie nicht befürchten würde, dass er dann doch mit ihr redet.

Sie kann nicht reden. Sie kann nichts tun außer zu warten auf Neuigkeiten, von denen sie noch nicht weiß, ob sie sie hören will.

Vor ihrem inneren Auge spielen sich immer noch die Bilder vom Unfallort ab. Pias Hand in ihrer, so kraftlos wie noch nie, und doch hat sie versucht, Esthers Finger zu drücken. "Alles gut."

Als ob alles gut sein könnte, wenn Esther zusehen kann, wie die Farbe langsam aus Pias Gesicht verschwindet. "Bitte mach noch mal die Augen auf. Du musst wach bleiben!"

Pia hat auf sie gehört. Sie hat sogar versucht zu lächeln. Diesen Blick hat Esther mitgenommen, auch als sie von den Sanitätern zur Seite gedrängt worden ist.

Esther hat heute so viele ihrer Prinzipien über Bord geworfen. Sie hat sogar zugelassen, dass Schürk sie zum Krankenhaus fährt, in der Hoffnung, dass sie beide heute nicht auch noch einen Unfall bauen. Wenn Esther gefahren wäre, hätte sie für nichts garantieren können, so wie ihre Hände immer noch zittern. Sie krallt sie in die Stuhllehne, aber das hilft nicht das Gefühl loszuwerden, wie Pias Griff in ihrer Hand langsam immer lebloser wird.

"Meinst du, wir sollten noch mal nachfragen?"

Adams Stimme neben ihr lässt Esther zusammenzucken. Dabei wusste sie doch, dass er neben ihr sitzt. Sie hatte nur auf ihre stille Übereinkunft gehofft, dass sie sich weiterhin anschweigen würden.

Doch im Grunde genommen ist das eine legitime Frage. Nur dass Esther darauf nicht mehr erwidern kann als ein Schulterzucken.

Bisher hat nachfragen nichts gebracht. Pia ist im OP, Leo bei irgendwelchen Untersuchungen, wobei schon durchklang, dass es bei ihm nicht ganz so schlimm aussieht. Aber das könnte sich immer noch ändern, je nachdem, was sie bei den Untersuchungen finden. Esther will lieber nicht zu sehr über innere Blutungen und sonstige Verletzungen nachdenken. Aber sie kann absolut verstehen, dass Adam das tut.

Und dass er jetzt trotz ihrer Nicht-Antwort aufsteht, um wieder einmal in Richtung Empfang zu laufen. Dort wird er mit Sicherheit wieder nur hören, dass sie keine Angehörigen sind und deshalb kein Recht auf Auskunft haben. Dass Schürk und Hölzer schon immer so etwas wie Familie füreinander waren, interessiert dort niemanden. Und was auch immer zwischen ihr und Pia läuft, wird genauso wenig als Argument durchgehen.

Esther schließt für einen Moment die Augen. Sie spürt sofort die Feuchtigkeit hinter ihren Lidern aufsteigen und verflucht die trockene Krankenhausluft. Wahrscheinlich wäre es besser, wenn sie nach Hause fährt, aber sie kann nicht. Und immerhin kann sie mit dem Wissen hierbleiben, dass sie damit nicht alleine ist.

Es ist schon merkwürdig, dass es ihr irgendwie Trost spendet, dass ausgerechnet Schürk hier an ihrer Seite sitzt; dass sie im gleichen Boot sind. Aber irgendwie kann sie auch nicht mehr wirklich sauer auf ihn sein, wenn er gleich darauf mit neuem Kaffee und diesem verdammt traurigen Blick wieder auf sie zukommt.

Esther nimmt ihm einen der Pappbecher ab. "Kein Erfolg?" Sie hofft wirklich, dass sie einigermaßen mitfühlend klingt.

Ein Seufzen, ein Kopfschütteln. "Nein. Aber in zwanzig Minuten ist Schichtwechsel. Vielleicht kann ich die dann besser überzeugen."

"Mit deinem überwältigenden Charme oder was?" Es klingt bei Weitem nicht so spöttisch, wie es sollte, aber das ist wohl auch besser so.

Schürk lacht einfach nur trocken. "Man kann es ja wenigstens versuchen."

Er hat es versucht, das muss sie zugeben. Esther hat gewusst, wie wichtig die beiden einander sind, aber dort am Unfallort und auch später hier im Krankenhaus wäre es für jeden offensichtlich gewesen. Dass ihn da nicht einfach jemand durchgewunken hat, weil sie angenommen haben, dass die beiden seit Jahren ein Paar sind...

Esthers Finger wandern wie von selbst zu ihrer Kette. Es ist eine dumme Idee, aber es könnte funktionieren. Dann wäre sie Schürk zumindest für eine Weile los und er könnte sich davon überzeugen, dass es um Leo wirklich nicht so schlimm steht. Vielleicht würde es Esther selbst damit auch besser gehen? Denn im Grunde genommen mag sie Leo ja. Sie hat keine Ahnung warum, aber sie hat ihn doch lieb gewonnen.

Adam schaut sie für einen Moment verwirrt an, als sie ihm den Ring hinhält, den sie gerade von ihrer Kette abgemacht hat. "Was soll ich damit?"

"Die von der neuen Schicht kennen dich noch nicht, oder? Und die werden dir wohl kaum Informationen verweigern, wenn du dir so große Sorgen um deinen Mann machst."

"Mein ..."

"Dein Mann. Du musst das schon überzeugend spielen. Nenn ihn meinetwegen Schatz oder deinen Liebsten. Aber der Ring sollte schon helfen."

"Wo hast du den überhaupt her?" Adam macht immer noch keine Anstalten, den Ring anzunehmen.

Die Geschichte möchte Esther nun wirklich nicht mit allen Details darlegen. Sie bereut es schon ein bisschen, Adam den Ring überhaupt angeboten zu haben. "Von meiner Oma. Also bitte verliere ihn nicht."

Adam nimmt den Ring mit der gebotenen Vorsicht an. Der Ring sieht falsch aus an seinem Finger, aber er scheint zu passen. "Esther -"

"Na los, geh schon. Der Schichtwechsel müsste mittlerweile durch sein, oder?"

Adam nickt knapp. Esther schaut ihm hinterher, als er wieder hinter der Ecke in Richtung Empfang verschwindet. Irgendwie hofft sie, dass er Erfolg hat. An der schauspielerischen Leistung sollte es wenigstens nicht scheitern.

Für einen Moment tut die Ruhe gut. Nicht dass es wirklich still wäre, weil Esther im Hintergrund immer noch das Gerede der anderen Wartenden hört, den Verkehr auf den Parkplatz und ab und zu das Martinshorn eines ankommenden Rettungswagens. Aber es ist trotzdem angenehm, für ein paar Minuten alleine zu sein.

Die Ruhe zieht sich in die Länge. Esther streckt ihre Beine von sich, aber das hilft der Zirkulation nicht wirklich. Sie sollte aufstehen und ein paar Runden durchs Wartezimmer drehen. Dann würde sie vielleicht auch nicht mehr so frieren. Stattdessen nimmt sie einen Schluck von ihrem Kaffee, der wirklich ziemlich beschissen schmeckt und schließt wieder die Augen.

"Pia ist raus aus dem OP."

Esther reißt die Augen auf. Sie kann nicht eingeschlafen sein, und dennoch wirkt Adam vor ihr ein bisschen wie eine Erscheinung aus einem Fiebertraum. "Was?"

"Sie hat die OP gut überstanden und kommt bis zum Aufwachen auf die Intensivstation. Wenn dann alles in Ordnung ist, kann sie auf die Normalstation verlegt werden."

"Was?" Mehr bringt Esther nicht heraus. Normalstation klingt gut. Oder?

"Ich glaube, sie halten mich für einen ziemlich schlechten Ehemann, weil ich nicht mal ihren Geburtstag genau wusste. Ich war fest davon überzeugt, dass es der sechzehnte sein muss."

"Der siebzehnte", murmelt Esther. Es wundert sie nicht, dass Adam sich so etwas nicht merkt. Aber der Rest. "Du hast..."

"Ja." Sie kann sehen, wie Adam den Ring an seinem Finger dreht. "Das war doch das Ziel, oder? Informationen zu bekommen?"

"Und was ist mit Leo?"

"Der würde auch wollen, dass ich nach Pia frage, oder?"

Das kann Esther nicht beantworten. So gut kennt sie Leo eben doch nicht, aber es könnte zu ihm passen. Zu Adam passt das hier allerdings überhaupt nicht, aber mehr als noch ein entgeistertes „Was?“ fällt ihr dazu auch nicht ein.

"Ich habe Leos Schwester vorhin unten gesehen. Wenn ich Glück habe, erinnert sie sich noch, wer ich bin. Und wenn ich noch mehr Glück habe, ist sie nicht allzu sauer auf mich wegen damals."

Esther hat keine Ahnung, was damals war, aber gerade hat sie auch nicht die Kraft, danach zu fragen. Sie streckt eine Hand nach Adam aus und sie ist ein bisschen überrascht, dass Adam sie sofort annimmt. Adams Finger gleiten zwischen ihre und sie spürt das warme Material des Rings an ihrer Haut. "Ich hoffe, dass du Glück hast."

"Wenn Pia nachher wach wird und ich zu ihr darf, versuch ich zu regeln, dass du mitkommen kannst. Und wenn nicht gebe ich ihr mein Handy, damit sie dich anrufen kann."

Esther weiß gar nicht, was sie sagen soll. Sie sollte vielleicht Adams Hand loslassen, damit nicht noch jemand vom Personal denkt, dass Pias Mann sich noch mehr Fehltritte erlaubt, als ihren Geburtstag zu vergessen.

Trotzdem genießt sie einen Augenblick länger die Wärme, die von Adams Hand in ihre herüber zieht. Pias Hand zu halten war schöner, obwohl Esther in dem Moment kaum Gelegenheit hatte, darauf zu achten, was sie dabei fühlt. Auch jetzt mischen sich Angst und Sorge in ihrem Bauch, aber irgendwo ist da auch ein kleiner Funken Hoffnung. Dass es eben doch gut ausgehen kann, auch wenn sie immer noch meint zu spüren, wie das Leben aus Pias Hand weicht.

Adam neben ihr ist warm und lebendig, und Pia wird es auch sein, wenn sie wieder ihre Hand halten kann. Vielleicht nachher, falls Esther zu ihr darf und Pia schon wieder wach und fit genug ist, um so etwas tun zu können. Ansonsten morgen, oder übermorgen. Selbst wenn Esther hier im Krankenhaus ihr Camp aufschlagen muss.

"Danke", sagt sie leise. Mehr Worte wollen einfach nicht kommen. Aber sie hofft, dass es reicht, dass sie Adams Hand noch ein letztes Mal drückt, bevor sie ihn loslässt und die Hand stattdessen wieder an ihren Kaffeebecher legt.

Das Warten ist noch lange nicht vorbei. Aber immerhin kann sie jetzt darauf hoffen, dass es Warten auf etwas Gutes ist.