#honestly i kinda hate hearing this because they do go on sale you just have to be patient and know where to look for sales. its a skill | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snackhobi · 4 years ago

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pairing: namjoon x reader / word count: 9.3k / genre: pwp/smut

summary: You’ve been letting your laundry pile up for a little too long. Fortunately, your neighbour Namjoon is there to lend you a hand.

warnings: sexually explicit content, masturbation, edging (kinda), unintentional voyeurism (briefly), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), bigdick!joon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation (reader gets fucked dumb), praise, aftercare (please heed the warnings, and let me know if I need to clarify/add any!)

For most people, Sunday is a day of rest. But not for you.

Sunday means chores. Sunday means tidying up, dusting, vacuuming. Sunday means finally doing all the Adult Things you’ve been too busy/lazy to do for the rest of the week (or even longer than that, as evidenced by your overflowing laundry basket). Sunday means work.

You slap at your vibrating phone, fingers sliding uselessly across the screen as you fumble to cut off the chirping alarm, and then you groan. “Ugh." You bury your head into your crumpled pillow. And then, once more, with feeling: “Uggggggh.”

You roll around in your bed, thrashing a little like a child having a tantrum, before you flop on your back and stare at your ceiling with your limbs akimbo, a starfish.

“Why?” You whine out to no one in particular. “Why me?”

Fortunately you live alone, so there’s no one to witness your sulky behaviour. You would put off getting all your errands done, but you’ve already been doing this for so long that you’re practically out of clean clothes to wear. That’s one part about living alone that’s a double-edged sword- you have your own space where you can act however you please, which is Great, but also you’re the only one responsible for keeping on top of things, which is Less Great. You can’t rely on other people to get things done for you.

You’ve never been a morning person, and the fact it’s so nice outside already does nothing to brighten your mood; it’s the perfect kind of day, the chilled bite to the air mellowed by the sun in the cloudless, pale sky, and you’re going to have to spend it indoors. Ugh. You eventually grit your teeth and pull yourself out of bed, waking yourself up with a cold shower. Once you force a cup of overly sweet coffee into your system and the caffeine hits you so that you’re fully awake and ready to go, the world suddenly feels a lot more bearable. So you’re unperturbed when your underwear drawer comes up practically empty.

“Oops,” you say. “Oh well.”

It’s practically empty, but not entirely; there, at the back, there’s that pretty lingerie set you’d bought on a whim in a sale and then promptly never worn. Honestly you’d be happy to go without, seeing as no one else is here and you have no one to look pretty for, but you find that you never get anything done if you’re not in a bra. It’s like a Pavlovian response that you've ingrained into yourself: when you get home, your bra comes straight off, no ifs, buts, or maybes. Bra off means it’s Relaxation Time. Bra on? That means it's time to get things done.

But, yeah, if you’re going to wear the bra, you may as well wear the matching thong, right? It came as a set so you’d basically be committing a crime if you didn’t wear them together. You take one moment to admire yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that to appreciate how it makes you look, before promptly ruining the illusion of sexiness by covering it up with a pair of old sweatpants and a too-large tank top. They're the only bits of clothing not in your laundry basket that you don't mind getting dirty while you clean, so, you have to make do.

The worst part about doing chores is getting the whole process started, but you’ve been doing this long enough that you have a routine. Bra on, hair up, mental checklist ready. You toddle through to the kitchen with your laundry basket, picking through for the colours and whites, feeling entirely too accomplished once you get the first load sorted. This kickstarts the whole chore procedure and once you get stuck in, you actually start to have fun; you’ve got your noise cancelling headphones on and your cleaning playlist is full of songs that get you pumped up, and you sing along to the music as you get started on your next job.

You wiggle your butt to the rhythm of the beat while you hoover, pushing your vacuum into the corners of your flat and ruthlessly sucking up the dust bunnies that have gathered there. You're in the middle of belting out one particularly long note when a spider scuttles out from under your sofa and the note rises into a little scream; you act on pure instinct and suck the spider up into the hoover, watching as all the long hairy legs fold together and get schlorped into the vacuum’s nozzle before disappearing forever. You feel immediately relieved but also immensely guilty when this happens- spiders are awful and you hate them but usually you’d try your best to catch them under a cup before flinging it outside, so the fact you’ve maybe just killed it? You really are just awful. (But thank God it’s gone.)

Maybe that's enough hoovering for now.

You empty the dust bag into the bin, mindful of the fact that the spider might still be alive and come crawling out onto your hands. Thankfully it doesn’t, but you’re not going to take any chances; you draw the bin liner shut and tie it tight, before deciding that the best course of action is to put it into your outside bin, in case the spider decides to come back with a vengeance.

You hoist the bag up and pause for a second to glance down at how the straps of your too-loose top have slipped down your shoulders to reveal the top of bra, the intricate lace trim of the cups and extra straps that criss cross your chest- definitely an, uh, interesting outfit choice for a quick trip out of your flat. You make the executive decision to shrug on a hoodie and zip it all the way to your neck to preserve your modesty and save you from the chill outside. Once that’s done it takes two seconds to slip your feet into your (fake) Converse shoes, another few seconds to fiddle with the lock on your door, struggling with the latch- it’s been a bit janky for a while and you keep forgetting to sort it out- before you hop your way downstairs and to the outside shed where everyone's bins are stored.

Ewch. It doesn’t smell that great in here. You make quick work of dumping your rubbish and escaping from the hut, shutting the door firmly behind you to try and keep the stench locked inside, before almost falling over when you feel the telltale sensation of a cat curling around your ankles. He’s meowing up at you but your headphones have been drowning him out, so you slide them off your ears and hook them around your neck so you can actually hear him.

"Oh, hi, baby!" The ginger stray likes to hang nearby the building, always friendly and happy to see you, even if he seems to like sneaking up when you least expect it. He meows at you again as you squat down to stroke him, butting his head into your palm as his tail curls in delight. "Aren't you just the most gorgeous boy? Yes, you are, aren't you?"

The cat ends up putting his paws onto your knee to butt his face against yours, and the next thing you know, you have an armful of cat. You laugh and continue to pet him, cooing at how cute he is as he purrs back. "Awh, baby, you're so sweet," you say. "I wish I could take you home, but my meanie landlord says we can't have pets."

“I was thinking of starting a petition, actually, so the landlord gets rid of the No Pets clause in the tenancy agreement. You’re welcome to sign it if you like.”

You glance up from where you’ve been allowing the cat to shove his nose against your chin, standing up straight to address the man who’s talking to you, cat still clutched in your arms. “Oh! Hi, Namjoon-ssi. That’s such a good idea, I love that. Stick it to the man. I’d definitely sign it. How are you today?”

Kim Namjoon, aka your neighbour from across the hall, is smiling at the cat in your arms. Namjoon’s the perfect neighbour and ideal tenant- quiet, tidy, considerate, although he does have a tendency to lose his keys and gets locked out of his flat on a pretty regular basis.

It’s actually how you’d started to talk in the first place. When you first moved in you’d given him a small box of chocolates to endear yourself to your same-floor-friend, only exchanging small nods and pleasant greetings for a while after that, but after you’d found Namjoon waiting sheepishly on his own doorstep- “My friend has a key but it’s going to take him a little while to get here,” he’d explained- you’d invited him into your own flat to wait, rather than just in the hall.

Since then you’ve started to have chats whenever you see each other, and occasionally knock on each other’s doors whenever you ask to borrow things like sugar or a screwdriver or whatever, and you always invite Namjoon in for a cup of tea when he’s waiting for one of his friends to rescue him from his own forgetful nature. You’re still toeing the line between Friendly Neighbours and Kind Of Friends, but one thing you already know and admire about Namjoon is his ability to actually be a mature and put together adult. Sure, you drink a decent amount of water, you have a skincare routine with multiple steps, and you usually manage to eat your 5-a-day, but a lot of that feels like you do it because you’re expected to, sort of like a child playing make-believe.

Namjoon, meanwhile, manages to just ooze the sort of gravitas that comes with being a fully realised human being, someone who actively participates in the world around them because they’re entirely engaged with things and basically just Super Mature Adult (even if he apparently loses/breaks things on a fairly regular basis). Hence why you’re not at all surprised at the petition thing, or when Namjoon proceeds to tell you that he’s going to spend the afternoon at his friend’s uncle’s strawberry farm, picking fruit, because of course Namjoon is the kind of guy who supports local, organic, free range produce. (Wait. Can strawberries be free range? Or is that just eggs?)

“Ahh, I love strawberries! That’s so cool,” you say. “It must be fun.”

“You’re welcome to come, if you like,” Namjoon says. He’s always gracious so you know he’s just saying this to be polite, but you can’t help but think it would probably be really nice to spend time picking fruit and talking with him.

“Ah, I’d love to, but unfortunately I have prior commitments. I’m catching up on chores,” you admit ruefully. You’re still absently scritching the ginger cat’s chin as you speak, the animal purring up a storm in your arms and shedding all over your clothes, although you don’t notice or care. Namjoon is incredibly endeared- not that you notice that, either. “Hence the runway-ready outfit.”

Your hair is so messy it looks like some sort of wild possum has been nesting in it, your hoodie sleeves are so long they threaten to swallow your hands, and you’re not even wearing your cheap knock-off shoes properly- you’re stepping on the back collar of them in your bare feet so they’re basically glorified flip-flops at this point. Total fashionista. (Not.)

Namjoon, however, seems surprised at your dismissive tone. “You look cute and cozy,” he says.

You snort in an unladylike way, lifting the cat in your arms a little- you can’t gesture properly with an armful of fur, especially when the stray takes this as an invitation to crane upwards and shove his little face into the crook of your neck, knocking against your headphones. “Cute baby,” you coo at the cat, before turning your attention back to Namjoon. “You look cute and cozy,” you echo. It’s a little chilly today and Namjoon’s wrapped up, long scarf curled around his neck, beanie on his head, hem of his coat fluttering around his thighs. Super cozy, and again, a well-put-together adult.

You muffle a sigh. He’s a well-put-together and hot adult, tall and built, so handsome in his casual outfit, effortlessly masculine. You’ve been lowkey crushing on Namjoon for a while now, as futile as that effort is- you haven’t seen any evidence of a special someone in Namjoon’s life, but there’s no way that man is single. Even if he somehow is, he’s like, a bajillion light years out of your league, hyper intelligent and kind and gorgeous, in comparison to your… um… your… well. Yeah. In comparison to that.

He’s nice to you and he smiles whenever he sees you, though, and your weak little heart can’t help but flip flop in your chest whenever you see that dimpled little smile, even if you know you don’t have a chance in hell that he really thinks that you’re cute. He’s just being polite.

The cat in your arms gives a little wriggle, apparently sated for the day, and you carefully squat down to deposit him onto the ground. He gives you both one last little mewl before scampering off and you fondly watch him go. “Let me know when you have that petition written up,” you say, brushing the cat hairs off your sleeves. “I better get back to my flat, I need to finish the rest of my laundry so I can continue the facade of being a functional adult. Have a great day, Namjoon-ssi, and I hope you enjoy the strawberries! You’ll have to tell me how they are.”

“I will,” he says, eyes warm as he smiles, those little dimples appearing in his cheeks. Ugh, you want to touch them so much. “Good luck with your laundry.”

Namjoon’s beautiful smile fuels you for the rest of the day, buoying you up as you scrub the walls of your shower and bleach your toilet, bright yellow gloves a size too large for your hands as you spritz your bathroom counter. You might not be a legitimate adult in the same way that your neighbour is but you can give it a damn good go; even if the rest of your life is maybe a bit more chaotic than you’d like, you can at least get your surroundings in order.

And you do. By the time you’re finished with hoovering and mopping your floors and reorganising your clutter, your flat feels brand-spanking new again, fresh and clean and airy. You’d even lit a few scented candles earlier and you give yourself a pat on the back for your forward thinking as you snuff them out, the delicate smell of vanilla lightly filling the apartment. All that’s left is to go to the kitchen and put the final load of laundry in the tumble dryer and once that’s been emptied and sorted, you’re all finished. Mission accomplished. Chores done.

Once the tumble dryer has started its cycle you reward yourself with a cup of tea, a blackcurrant and blueberry fruit infusion that you’d gotten as a Secret Santa gift at work and hadn’t used yet, saving it for a special occasion. You hum to yourself and continue to wiggle your hips to the music trickling out of your headphones as the kettle boils, watching the purple that bleeds from the tea bag once the hot water cascades over it. It looks rich and vibrant and it smells so good- but then you make a little face when you take a sip. Fruit teas never taste as good as they smell. It’s not bad but it’s a little disappointing, really, a subpar reward after a hard day of work.

You stand in the middle of your kitchen with your mug still in your hand, eyes unfocused as you stare into space, trying to think of things in your flat that you could use to reward yourself. You’ve already used up those fancy gel eye masks that Jimin had given you for your birthday, and you’d let Jungkook have your sheet masks when he’d said his favourite brand was out of stock; Taehyung had pilfered all of your bath bombs as part of an experiment (the experiment being that he wanted to know what colour his bath water would turn if he used all your different bath bombs in it- the answer was ‘an incredibly underwhelming, if glittery, sludge brown’), and he still hasn’t gotten around to replacing them.

Pay day isn’t until next week and you’re tight enough on money at the moment that you don’t want to order out for dinner- living alone means you have to pay more rent so you have to be more careful with money- so you’re out of ideas.

That is until motion out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. You glance over at it, pulled out of your reverie; the old tumble dryer has been in this flat longer than you and it’s showing signs of wear and tear, base warped a little from age, noisy and wobbly as your clothes are being spun inside. You pause, mug dropping a little in your hand as the thought briefly flickers through your mind, before you bite your lip and throw caution to the wind. Fuck it. You live alone and you’ve had a long day and you deserve some kind of reward.

You abandon your unfinished mug of tea in the sink before eyeing the shaking tumble dryer. You hoist yourself up, straddling the corner of the machine, a little shiver running through you when you feel the vibrations through your legs and thighs as you settle into place; it takes time to situate yourself, thighs spreading as you tilt your hips forward and press your heat against the rumbling dryer. You shift on your hands, palms braced against the top of the machine as you wriggle into the best position- the second you get just the right angle you let out a little gasp, eyes squeezing shut when you feel how the shaking machine is sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

You keep your eyes shut as you continue to find the right rhythm. You rock your hips forward each time the machine rocks back, rolling the weight of your body down towards your clenching cunt; the vibrations are so strong that you can feel them through your sweatpants, lace of your thong rubbing against your clit in a deliciously rough way, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through you.

As you continue to work yourself up, your skin starts to feel overheated under your clothes, even with the chill spring air seeping into the flat- you fumble with the zip of hoodie, letting the material sag open before you brace yourself with your palms again. You feel how the hoodie slips down your arms, baring your shoulders, and you tilt your head back, revealing the line of your neck as you arch your spine. Each rumble of the machine rolls through you, wetness starting to slicken your folds as you grind down a little harder. It’s a steady, slow climb towards your peak- you shut your eyes to focus fully on the pleasure building between your legs, the way your clit feels swollen and almost over-sensitive from the strong vibrations from the dryer, the way your pussy clenches whenever you get the angle just right.

You start to gasp, biting back moans when you feel how your orgasm is getting closer. You lift one hand from the top of the dryer to run your hands over your skin- your neck, your throat, tracing over the straps of the bra that are digging into the swell of your breasts. It’s good, really good, but it’s not enough; every time you feel like the peak of your orgasm is about to crest, it ebbs away again, and you let out a little whine from the back of your throat.

With your eyes still shut, you try to conjure up images that’ll arouse you and send you tumbling over the edge. Hands on your body, lips against your skin, your mouth. Normally when you masturbate you try to keep away from thinking about anyone in particular, because you feel like if you see that person in the future they’ll just telepathically know about it and you end up feeling awkward and guilty (even if you know it's illogical)- but today you can’t help it. Your mind slips to the thought of Namjoon this morning and the way he’d smiled at you, and once you start thinking about Namjoon, you can’t stop.

Namjoon’s smile. His mouth. His tongue. His hands, his fingers. His tall, beautiful body, pressing you down against a mattress, trapping you against him. You take the hand that’s been trailing over your collarbones and lift it to your mouth and press two fingers past your lips, trying to imagine that it’s Namjoon. Imagine that it’s the weight of his cock on your tongue, hard and heavy. You bet it’s as gorgeous as the rest of him. You bet he tastes so good, hot and salt and maybe a little bitter, heady and masculine; you let out a low moan around your lips as you run the pads of your fingertips over your tongue, saliva pooling in your mouth.

All the while, your music has been playing on, heavy beat thrumming through you as you forget the outside world and focus on the reality you’re conjuring in your mind. Namjoon’s cock in your mouth. Namjoon’s mouth on your cunt. Namjoon’s skin against yours. Namjoon fucking into you, hard and deep. Your blood rises in your veins, toes curling as you can feel how your orgasm is getting ever closer now that you’re this turned on, your cunt leaking with arousal; the thought of Namjoon wanting you as much as you want him is dizzying, as unlikely as it is. The Namjoon in your mind fucks into you with a particularly rough thrust and in the real world you respond with a moan, garbled around the fingers between your lips. Fuck, you’re so close.

Just as you're nearly there, your playlist ends and everything lapses into silence, your reverie shattered. The moment is gone. Your orgasm slips away from you again and you whimper, unintentionally edging yourself yet again.

Your eyes flutter open briefly when your haze is broken, although you squeeze them back shut so that you can get back to picturing Namjoon and finally bring yourself to completion- but then your eyes fly open again, fingers stuttering in your mouth and hips going still as your entire body stiffens, blood turning to ice in your veins.

The very real Kim Namjoon is standing in the doorway of your kitchen. There’s a look of utter shock on his face, his lips parted, eyes so wide it looks like his eyeballs are going to pop out of his skull, frozen in place. You don’t know how long he’s been there. You don’t know if he’s just walked in on you. Really, though, it doesn’t matter if he’s been there for five seconds or five hours- he’s seen everything, the way there’s saliva dripping from your mouth around your fingers, tank top barely hiding your lingerie, the way you’ve been bucking your hips against the dryer. Utterly desperate and debauched and depraved.

There’s a small, white plastic bag in Namjoon’s hands with a pretty strawberry logo on it, drooping further and further towards the floor as his arms go slack. You don’t notice it until it’s slipping loose from his fingers and landing on the floor.

Berries go rolling out of the sagged plastic and across the tiles but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. That single point of motion in the room seems to kickstart your brain into gear, your flight or fight response screaming flight, and you practically throw yourself off the tumble dryer. Your brain is entirely empty of logical thought right now and the only thing you can think of is that you need to get away and hide forever.

You rush past a still frozen Namjoon, stumbling down your hallway towards your open front door- you notice that the latch is stuck, not clicking into place when you’d come back inside earlier and leaving the door unlocked, you idiot. Namjoon always knocks and it must have swung open as soon as he rapped his knuckles against it, and you wouldn’t have heard it over your goddamn music. You absolute, utter idiot.

You’re not thinking about how illogical it is to flee from your own home to get away from someone. You’re just thinking about your escape. Taehyung’s flat is the nearest and it won’t take long to run there and you can survive without shoes; you’re still barefoot but you don’t have time to grab anything. You have to run.

You’re just stretching out for the door when you feel large hands grab you from behind. You flail, door swinging shut as your fingers brush against it before you’re being pulled backwards by the arms that have slid around your waist. You start to struggle, squirming in the hold, pushing at the hands trapping you as you instinctively still try to get away from the shame and embarrassment; Namjoon’s body is warm and solid against your back, his muscles effectively trapping you in place, and you can feel how his voice rumbles through him as he speaks, audible through the silence of your headphones.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

You’ve never heard Kim Namjoon sound like this. His voice is authoritative, commanding. The part of your brain that acts on pure instinct- the part that just told you to go hurtling out onto the street without shoes- responds instantly, and you immediately go lax in his hold even though you’re still internally panicking.

“I was planning on going to the moon,” you say, unable to cover up how your voice is shaking, even if you’re trying to hide behind sarcasm. It’s your only defence right now. Your skin prickles with embarrassment. “Where else do you think?”

Namjoon lets out a chuckle, and your toes curl at how deep the sound is. “The mouth on you.” He sounds amused. You can’t look him in the eye. “Were you trying to get away from me?”

“‘Trying’ is the operative word.” You’re still staring resolutely at the door- it’s swung shut and the latch has actually clicked upwards this time. Traitor. “As you can tell, I’m not doing a very good job. The sooner I go, the sooner I get the paperwork started for my move to Fiji.”

“I thought you were planning on going to the moon.” Namjoon’s hold on you is still firm. You’re utterly helpless. “Changed your mind?”

“Going to open a diner in Fiji to raise funds for my moon mission. It’s a long plan.” The spike of adrenaline that had burst through you is already dissolving in your system, leaving you feeling limp and strung out. You can’t see Namjoon’s face with how your back is crushed against his chest; when you glance down all you can see is how big his hands are against your stomach. Despite yourself, you shiver. As panicked and embarrassed as you are, arousal is still trickling through you, and you hate yourself for the effect that Namjoon is having on you right now. You try to sound calm and unaffected as you continue to speak, but you feel breathless from the lingering pleasure tingling between your legs. “Can you let me go now, please?”

“Is that really what you want?” You’ve had your hands on his wrists from how you’d been trying to push them away, so you feel how one of Namjoon’s hands starts to slide downwards, slow as treacle, and your breath hitches as his fingers slide under the waistband of your sweatpants. They don’t go any further than that, palm splayed over your hipbone, but you feel your pussy clench at the warmth of his hands on your skin and a whimper slips out of you. “Or do you actually want something else?”

Your fingers dig into his wrists. When you open your mouth to reply, your words fail you and instead you just let out a little breath. You’re in utter disbelief at what’s happening right now, unsure of what’s going on- you’re not an idiot but there is no way that Namjoon is implying what you think he’s implying. Absolutely no way. Not a chance in hell. What?

As you continue to stay silent, brain trying to catch up with the situation, Namjoon doesn’t move.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmurs. “I need to know that you want this.”

Oh, fuck. When Namjoon calls you baby it feels like a switch has been flipped inside you; like he’s slipped a missing fuse into place and your entire body has lit up, full of energy and electricity from his touch. It’s overwhelming. “Of course I want this,” you confirm, trembling, and then: “I want you.”

Namjoon responds by finally moving his hand downwards. You watch as it goes, how he pauses when he makes contact with the fabric of your underwear, the unmistakable texture of embroidered lace under his touch. He drags his fingertips across the straps that cross over themselves, an arrow guiding him to his mark; your entire body goes tense when his fingers glance over your swollen folds, slick through the fabric.

You gasp. You’re still trapped against him by the strong arm curled around you, but your hands are free- you pull your headphones off and let them fall to the floor, twisting your head around so you can finally look at Namjoon’s face. His eyes are hooded and dark. He looks nothing like the cute and clumsy man who waves you good morning every day; he looks like some hungry animal, a predator who’s been waiting for the right time to swallow his prey whole.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. He gives you a small smile that’s more of a smirk, utterly at odds to his usual dimpled beams.

“You don’t have to settle for an old tumble dryer, gorgeous.” He kisses the bare skin of your shoulder, right next to where your bra strap is resting, eyes locked on yours. His lips are so soft and you shiver. “Let me help you.”

“I’ll have you know that tumble dryer was very close to getting me off, actually.” You’re so turned on right now but you can’t help the words slipping out; a lifetime of snark doesn’t leave you the second you start feeling horny. “So it’s less you helping me, and more you giving me something you owe me, seeing as you took it away in the first place.”

Namjoon’s silent for a second, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far- if you’ve run your mouth too much- when he hums. “Ah,” he says. “That’s true. You’re right.”

“Huh?” You say eloquently, surprised, but then he takes the hand out of your sweatpants and you whine. “Hey, put that back, you’re not done yet.”

Namjoon lets out a little chuckle. “No, I’m not,” he agrees. “But I want to see this pretty lingerie properly. You’re all covered up and that just won’t do.”

He punctuates this statement by taking both of his hands to your hoodie, where it’s been caught at your elbows, and sliding it off you. He drags his large palms down your arms as he does this, cool against your overheated skin; goosebumps appear in the wake of his touch and you shiver again. You have no idea what's going on right now. Everything feels like some sort of fever dream but you're not about to start complaining.

“If you’re about to see me in my unmentionables I’d least like a kiss first,” you say, pout audible in your voice. The truth is you’ve thought about Namjoon’s plush lips more often than you’d like to admit, how beautiful his mouth is, and it’s got to be illegal for Namjoon to have been touching you for as long as he has without letting you have at least one taste of his kisses. “Please?”

“Turn around, baby.” You instantly comply, all but throwing your arms around his neck as you look at him with an innocent, bambi gaze; he still has that half-lidded set to his eyes but you can see how that ravenous hunger is softened by his smile. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you say. You might sound like the protagonist to some cheesy romance film right now but the truth is that you’re still aware of the heat between your legs, the ebbed arousal that’s still coiling low in your stomach, and as much as you want to kiss Namjoon, you want to cum, too. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss m-”

Namjoon kisses you. He cuts you off mid sentence by slotting his mouth against yours, open around the word he swallows, and he immediately presses his tongue past your lips; you yield to him, letting him press his lips to your cupid’s bow as you lick his lower lip, soft and full. Just as good as you thought. No- better. His hands stay steady around your waist, but yours keep moving as you keep kissing- his shoulders, his nape, his hair, his jaw. Every part of him is so warm and solid against you and you just can’t get enough.

You slant your head to get deeper, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths in a way that borders on lewd, rubbing against each other as you trade saliva, your mouth full of the taste of Namjoon. You swear there’s a lingering taste of strawberries. You feel better, a little more in control now that you know Namjoon will indulge you even if you’re being a brat, and you can finally chase the thing that got this whole sequence of events started.

“I wanna cum, Namjoon,” you murmur against his lips once you finally part, breathless from his kisses. “Will you help me cum? Please? Pretty please?”

Namjoon’s lip curls back from his teeth in a silent growl, and a shudder runs through you at the sight; seeing your usually composed neighbour act like this because of you is a heady sensation. “You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you,” he says, and your pussy throbs with need at his words.

“Jesus Christ, Namjoon.” Your eyes are wild. “I want you to fucking wreck me.”

You get no warning before Namjoon is literally sweeping you off your feet and you squeal in surprise when you feel them leave the ground, but Namjoon’s grip on you is steady as he lifts you in a bridal hold. You feel breathless at this physical representation of his strength- you’ve only seen his bare arms once (that had been a nice morning) before but you definitely hadn’t forgotten about how thick they are, as evidenced by the way he’s carrying you.

Normally you’d probably be chewing him out for lifting you without warning, but right now there’s a very base, animalistic part of you that goes belly up at the very obvious reminder of Namjoon’s superior power. The instinctual part of you that had initially told you to run away from him now seems entirely content with the fact you’ve been caught, and so you stay quiet in his arms. You cling tight to him as he walks to your bedroom without the need for directions, your flat the mirrored twin to his; you keep kissing his neck as he nudges the door open with his foot, running a hand down his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt.

He’s so fucking hot, what the fuck.

He’s hot, and strong, but gentle, too. When Namjoon sets you down he’s so careful even though he could easily manhandle you in any way he wanted, and you give him a kiss as a thank you. It’s a brief moment of quiet, that little kiss, but then Namjoon is pulling you back towards him and his hands are all over as he helps you strip; Namjoon’s eyes are heavy on your body as he drinks you in, finally wearing nothing but the lingerie he’s been so desperate to look at.

He sees the way the interweaving straps rest against your skin with the perfect amount of pressure, little swells letting him know that he’ll be able to trace the touch of lace on your body even after he’s ripped it off you. The lace cups of your bra do nothing to hide how your nipples are standing to attention, begging to be touched. But the most eye-catching thing, the thing that Namjoon can’t stop looking at, is how sodden the lace between your legs is; your inner thighs are slick with your arousal, shining, and you haven’t even cum yet.

“Look at you. So gorgeous,” Namjoon says. “Gonna make you cum over and over, baby.”

His hands feel so good against your skin as he skims his fingers over your panties, but he doesn’t take them off, and you let out a needy little noise. “Please,” you whine. “I need to cum, Joonie, been waiting so long.”

Namjoon watches as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra and reaches for your hands, stopping your motions. You blink up at him, confused, but then he’s turning you towards the bed and bending you over it, motions firm and undeniable; not that you would try to defy him, anyway. You brace your palms against the mattress and instantly arch your spine so that your ass is pushed out, enticing as possible.

You’re wondering if you’re going to have to beg for Namjoon to touch you but it seems what little patience he had has run out; his warm palms are immediately against your ass, touch reverent as he slides his hands over your skin, and you press back into that touch, wanting more of it. His hands skim up your sides and his fingers dance along the edge of your bra before reaching for the hooks, unfastening it so that it slips down your arms and onto the bed before you shove it aside.

He bends over you, chest broad and warm against your naked shoulderblades, arms coming around your body so that he can cup your breasts in his large hands; his palms cover so much of your skin, your sensitive nipples, and you gasp at the shock of sensation that shoots through you as he drags his hands over them before using his fingers to pinch the hardened nubs. You twist your head and make a little noise, and Namjoon obliges you with a kiss, grinning against your mouth with each desperate sound he muffles with his plush lips.

Eventually, though, he pulls away from you. You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s gotten to his knees, still staring at your soaking core, before he hooks one of his thumbs into the fabric covering your aching pussy and pulls it aside before pressing his mouth against you.

“Oh, fuck!” Your body goes weak and you slump forwards onto your elbows and shove your face into the bed, and Namjoon follows when this moves you away from him, tongue buried in your cunt as he eats you out with no mercy. He’s utterly shameless, noises slick and lewd as he drags his wet tongue over your entrance and clit, swallowing down all the arousal that’s leaking out of you, ravenous. You reach behind you with one of your hands to grip his hair, and when you grind back against his face he lets out a satisfied hum; you gasp at the vibrations against your lower lips, oversensitive from all your edging.

“Gonna cum,” you say, twisting your head so that your cheek is pressed to your rumpled blanket. “I’m so close, oh, God, Namjoon-”

He’s been rubbing his tongue up and down your clit in a particularly sinful way, and after one more particularly hard stroke, you finally, finally reach that precipice you’ve been reaching for all day. You shove your face back into the blanket as you cum, all your gasps and moans coming together in one long cry as your toes curl and you tighten your fingers so hard into your sheets you almost pull them off the mattress. Your entire body trembles as your cunt pulsates with pleasure, each ripple of your pussy feeling like it’s passing through your whole body, and Namjoon doesn’t let up for a second, lapping down each wave of cum that flushes out of you. You feel utterly weak as you flop forwards against the mattress, boneless and shaky, but Namjoon’s mouth is still on you and you let out a whimper, oversensitive.

“It’s too much,” you gasp. “Namjoon-”

He takes his mouth off you immediately. “Sorry, baby,” he apologises, pressing a kiss against the swell of your ass. You want to sag your lower body against the bed but his hands are keeping you up, fingers digging into the soft skin of your ass and hips. “You just taste so good. Can you lie down for me?”

“Yes,” you say into the blanket, your voice a muffled slur. You’re so eager to please him even though you feel so weak from your post orgasm haze, and your muscles feel like jelly as you try to lift yourself onto the bed. Namjoon obviously notices how fucked out you are because he helps flip you over so that you’re on your back, staring up at him.

You continue to stare at him as he sheds his clothes. You let your gaze shamelessly rove over his body as it’s revealed- the honeyed tone of his skin, the muscles that shift underneath it, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, the long legs, the thick thighs, the trail of hair that dips down to his-

“Holy fuck.” Your voice is reedy with desperation, and Namjoon laughs.

His cock has to be the biggest you’ve seen in real life, long and thick, fully erect even though you haven’t touched it yet- the fact that you’re apparently arousing enough to bring him to full hardness is flattering, honestly. Even as you stare at it, it twitches, a dribble of precum oozing from the flushed head, almost an angry red from neglect. You watch, enraptured, as he circles his fingers around it; it doesn’t look any smaller in his large hands. He pulls on his cock, long and slow, before he spits onto it and fucks into his fist as you watch him, spreading the wetness over himself.

“Gonna fill that hungry little pussy with this cock,” he says. “Gonna give you a reward for being such a good girl. Is that what you want?” Namjoon watches you as he thumbs at his slit, precum weeping from his tip. “Does my good girl want this cock?”

“I want it,” you beg. You do, you want it so bad. His mouth and lips and tongue felt so good but it must be nothing in comparison to how good it’ll feel to be filled up by Namjoon’s heavy, long cock. “Fuck, Namjoon, please, I want it.”

You lift your hips so that Namjoon can slide your panties off you. He stares at the strings of wetness that cling to them as he peels them away from your core, finally bare to the cool air of the room, and you suck in a breath. He wastes no time, climbing onto the bed and settling above you, cock swaying between his legs before he grasps it and tilts it towards your entrance.

You lift your hips again, tilting them towards him for an easier angle- and immediately cry out when he broaches you, head pressing past your entrance. You’re so turned on and flushed wet that the initial slide in is easy, but as he gets deeper and deeper you can feel the stretch, your pussy forced open for him, feeling like you’re being split open with how big he is- you’ll feel the burn tomorrow, but right now your body is ripe and ready for him to take you, cunt clenching as he bottoms out in you. You experimentally tense your muscles and the two of you gasp in a breath, shocked pleasure at the sensation.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon groans. “You feel so good.”

He holds still for a moment to let you adjust, leaning down to kiss you. It’s deep and slow, tongue swiping into your mouth as you part your lips for him and let him take what he wants. When he leans back, all that softness is gone- your legs fall apart as he starts to fuck you, hips snapping forward as he ruthlessly presses his cock into you. He’s so big and he’s striking so deep it feels like you can feel him in your stomach, and you arch your back into him and cry out each time he strikes home.

The pace he sets is rough and aggressive, the slap of skin against skin and wet noises from his cock driving into your pussy filling the silence of the room, every part of you hypersensitive to every sensation- Namjoon’s weight pressing you into the mattress, the shaking bed, the rising smell of sweat and sex, the firmness of his hands on you. He leans back and you catch a glimpse of his hungry eyes before he puts his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up so that you’re practically bent in half when he fucks into you again- you cry out at the change of angle, how this lets him splay his large hand over the line of your hipbone as he starts to rub his thumb across your clit, continuing to fuck into the whole time.

“Gonna c-cum again,” you hiccup between thrusts, the air punched out of you each time that hot cock spears into you. “Joonie, gonna- gonna cum aga- oh!”

Your spine arches as your orgasm rips through you, coil of pleasure exploding like a firework as you cum for the second time that day, walls tensing around Namjoon’s cock; he continues to thrust into you, even when your cunt clenches so tight it feels like there’s no space inside you for his length. He keeps forcing your body open for him even as you keep falling apart around him, and you keep taking it, loving it. The only thing you can register is the delirious, mind-numbing satisfaction, sobbing out as Namjoon’s cock continues to fill you- you feel like he’s fucked you dumb, like your body was only made to be fucked by him, sloppy and open and wet. Each time he fills you up again it forces a noise from your throat, sounds of almost animalistic pleasure spilling from your lips, all semblance of coherent words gone.

When Namjoon pulls out of you, even though your body feels weak and limp and entirely fucked out, you whine at the loss. The next second, though, he flips you over, nudging your ankles apart before sliding back into you. The change of angle has him dragging against your sweet spot, balls slapping against your clit, overwhelming off the heels of just cumming, but you just take it, drooling into the pillow as your brain gives over to the all-consuming pleasure.

“So pretty when you cum around my cock.” Namjoon’s bent over you, murmuring praises that you barely register as he litters kisses over your shoulders and the side of your throat. “Greedy little pussy takes my cock so well. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Wanna be a good girl for you.” Your words are a slur, your brain foggy but eager to please, answering the question. “Joonie.”

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he says, lips pressed against your ear as he whispers filth to you, still mercilessly fucking into you. “Gonna fill this pretty little pussy with my cum. Do you want my cum, baby?”

“Wan’ it,” you moan. There’s heat curling in your abdomen again, pussy tightening as another orgasm creeps up on you, the promise of Namjoon’s hot cum filling you pulling you closer to the edge. “Want your cum, Joonie.”

His fingers tighten around your waist as he starts to jackhammer into you. His cock feels like it’s splitting you open even as his rhythm starts to falter, and after one particularly hard thrust your eyes roll back in your head as you tumble over the edge again, cumming so hard it’s a wonder you don’t pass out. You let out a strangled moan and Namjoon curses as you tighten around him, your entire body trembling under his hands as you give yourself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through you.

His rhythm falters before he lets out a shout and his cock jerks inside you as your tightening cunt pulls him into climax. Hot cum fills your pussy as he empties himself inside you, aftershocks of your orgasm drawing his seed deeper, painting your insides. You lie there and take it, face turned into the pillow as you focus on the sensation of his twitching cock, the way your body is milking him even in your exhaustion, like it’s desperate to satisfy him even when you can barely speak.

You shiver when you feel him slowly pull out. He’s stroking his hands over your skin, kissing your shoulder blades and nape as he turns you over, gentle as he touches you. “You did so well,” Namjoon praises, smiling at you. “So good for me.”

You still feel fuzzy but you latch onto Namjoon’s words as he kisses you on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. Words seem so hard to string together right now but you try your best, voice small and weak. “Did good?”

“Absolutely perfect, baby,” Namjoon says, and you let out a happy sigh. You stay quiet while Namjoon slips out of your bed before returning with a damp cloth. You let your muscles go entirely lax as Namjoon rolls you onto your back and gently spreads your legs; he watches as his own cum drips out of you before he gently swipes the mix of cum that’s smeared across your pussy, mindful of your sensitive clit. You bask in his touch, feeling like a cat bathing in sunlight as he cleans you up, stroking his hands across your skin.

He gathers you in his arms and continues to murmur praises between kisses and touches. You slowly come back to yourself as he keeps lavishing attention on you, skin warm against his, turning into his touch as your brain starts to flicker back on.

Namjoon brushes his lips against your forehead as your higher thought processes continue to fall back into place, although you’re still a little hazy. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” You feel thoroughly fucked out after three back-to-back orgasms and your pussy feels raw and you’re not sure when you’ll next be able to walk in a straight line, but none of those things detract from how fabulous you feel right now. “More than okay. Wow. When I said I wanted you to wreck me, I didn’t realise you’d do such a good job.”

Namjoon smiles at you, and you finally get to indulge yourself, lifting a hand to stroke a finger across his dimples that deepen as you touch them. “I’m always happy to oblige,” he says, and you grin as you brush your nose across his neck, nuzzling into him.

“You really are the best neighbour,” you say. “Did you seriously come over to give me a bunch of hand picked strawberries? That’s what that bag was, right?”

“Of course.” Namjoon’s fingers continue to rub circles into your shoulder. “I thought you deserved a nice treat after a day of chores.”

“Oh, I feel very thoroughly rewarded,” you giggle, before pulling your head back to look Namjoon in the eye. “God. I was so mortified at the beginning, though. I seriously thought I was going to have to pack my bags and move away.”

“The strawberries wouldn’t be enough to persuade you to stay?” Namjoon strokes his knuckles down your cheek before resting his thumb under the swell of your bottom lip, pushing up a little so it looks like you’re pouting at him. “After I spent all afternoon picking them and thinking about you, and how lovely you’d look while you ate them with this pretty little mouth of yours?”

You relax into his touch, letting him rub the pad of his thumb over your lip, all but kissing his finger each time your mouth shapes itself around another word. “You think about me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Namjoon says, stroking over your lip one last time before cupping your chin in his palm. “I don’t genuinely lose my keys as often as you think I do. Though I do still lose them a lot,” he adds, a little sheepish, and you laugh.

“So you’re saying that if I give you a spare key to my flat, I should have back-ups on hand just in case?” You tease, leaning into the hand that’s cradling your chin. “Good to know.”

“A spare key?” Namjoon looks a little taken aback, and you blink at him.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s obvious. “Y’know, unless you want me to go back to using the tumble dryer.”

The hand that’s been on your shoulder tightens a little as Namjoon digs his fingers into your skin, possessive. That part of you that’s gone belly up for him preens at the attention, still eager to please him and make him happy, loving the sensation of being so desired by someone who you thought was out of your reach. “No.” Namjoon’s voice is a rumble in his chest. “I’ll make you cum whenever you want, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You hum quietly before kissing his cheek, and then Namjoon uses the hand under your chin to turn you towards him and presses his mouth softly to yours. “You might regret saying that. I’m very demanding. Starting with this- do you want to go get those strawberries so I can have a taste?” You flutter your lashes at him, and Namjoon chuckles as he indulges you.

You watch the flex of muscles in his thighs and ass as he walks from the room, still in a bit of disbelief that you’ve touched him and kissed him and been so thoroughly fucked by him. Kim Namjoon is a ten course meal (not including drinks or dessert) but here he is, naked on your bed as he feeds you the sweet, ripe strawberries that he picked with his own hands, kissing the taste off your lips between each bite.

You feel utterly pampered and taken care of, reclining against the pillows as Namjoon feeds you another strawberry. You reach out for the largest you can see and return the favour, letting him lick the sweetness off your stained fingers and giggling at the sensation.

“The dryer’s finished its cycle, by the way,” Namjoon says after he’s finished kissing your fingertips.

“That’s nice,” you say as you carefully pick out another strawberry and rest it against the dark red flush of Namjoon’s lips. “But I’m busy feeding the world’s most beautiful man right now, so it can wait.”

Namjoon smiles at you, eyes lovely and warm as he parts his lips to accept the fruit, before leaning down to press his berry stained mouth against your own.

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #namjoon oneshot #bts x reader #namjoon #kim namjoon #joy.masterlist

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spaceskam · 4 years ago

Text

the impossible replication of desire

Summary: Body sharing fic!

Warnings: panic attacks, their trauma (Alex has a dream of Michael’s exorcism & a dream of Jesse Manes’ abuse, super easy to skip), angst, happy ending

ao3

Alex was tired.

His steps were heavy as he climbed the stairs of his porch, heading towards the front door of the cabin. All the lights were off, but that didn’t mean anything. Michael’s truck was out front. He was home.

Home. Alex nearly flinched at his own thoughts, carefully unlocking the door in slow motion before pressing in the code on the keypad for the third lock. This wasn’t Michael’s home and he wasn’t Michael’s family. He made that clear more than enough times, but Alex’s home was open to him and so was the security of his bunker. It was all Michael’s if he wanted it and therefore here he was.

After not only being taken by his father, but discovering his house practically ransacked, Alex put his house up for sale and moved into the cabin. A chunk of money he got from the sale was spent on security systems. It was more difficult to break into than the White House now.

He knew Michael would be here. He felt safe coming home and knowing he would be there, all of the notifications from his security system and the easy access to his security cameras letting him know long before he could see his truck there for himself. It was nice.

Still, the house was dark as Alex let himself in and then locked the door back behind him, throwing on the chain latch for extra measure. There was light coming from the bunker, but other than that it was just as he left it.

“Did you eat dinner?” Alex called down to the bunker, flicking on the light to the living room to drop his stuff down. He then moved to the kitchen, turning on the light in there and opening the refrigerator. It was basically the same, only restocked with water bottles. He’d thank Michael for that later. “I guess not.”

Alex yawned and pulled out a frozen bag of vegetables from the freezer, turning the oven on to pre-heat. He moved as if on autopilot as he walked past the bunker and towards his bedroom. It was a little weird that Michael hadn’t responded, but maybe he was finishing something up. Alex changed into something more comfortable even while leaving his prosthetic on. He’d take that off later.

“Guerin? Did you fall asleep down there?” Alex asked when he emerged from his room and Michael was still nowhere to be seen. A familiar wave of anxiety shot through his system, his stomach tensing with nausea as he immediately assumed the worst. Which was stupid because he was probably just wearing headphones.

Convincing himself not to worry, Alex put a layer of tinfoil on a pan and then poured the frozen vegetables onto it before putting it in the oven. Then he went and sat on the couch while he waited for it to cook. His phone, however, couldn’t keep his attention as his eyes kept drifting to the bunker. Michael was okay. He was safe in Alex’s bunker. He was just listening to music or too in the zone. There were a billion reasons why we didn’t answer.

“Dinner’s ready!” Alex called when twenty minutes passed and he pulled the food out of the oven. He listened quietly‒no response. “Michael?”

Deciding that he could use the excuse of dinner and it was his house, Alex went to the opening of the bunker. He held on and carefully started climbing down the latter. He hated how many times he would look down to check his foot placement, though he could easily blame the fatigue for his anxiety.

“Michael, what are you‒”

Alex froze as he turned to the work table. Michael stood by it, eyes wide, lips parted, and his hand a new piece of alien tech Alex didn’t recognize. He looked catatonic and Alex could feel his heart thumping in his ears.

“Michael?” he asked, taking a cautious step closer. No reaction, not even a blink or anything. “Hey. Hey, are you alright?”

Alex slowly walked closer and gently touched his shoulder. He didn’t move. Alex swallowed hard, slowly counting down from three mentally to keep himself calm.

“I’m going to take your hands off of this and then I’m going to call Isobel. You’re alright,” Alex said out loud, more for himself than Michael.

He carefully touched Michael’s wrists and he was abnormally cold, colder than even any human should be, and Alex became increasingly aware that he wasn’t sure he was breathing. He had to count down from three again, head spinning and jumping to conclusions he shouldn’t.

“You’re fine. I know you’re fine. You’ll be fine. This is fine,” Alex repeated, panic swarming his brain like a cloud of bees that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he swatted. He managed to stay relatively calm nonetheless.

And then he accidentally touched the alien tech in the process of peeling his fingers off of it.

A bright light flashed through Alex’s eyes and a piercing white noise flooded his hearing, cutting him off from most of his senses as something body-slammed him and knocked him to the ground. His mind was too fuzzy to construct thoughts. All he could do was breathe and wait for it to pass even as thoughts and memories crowded into his mind too fast to catch. Half of them he was sure weren’t even his own.

And then it all went black.

When Alex came to, his body ached and his head was throbbing.

He sat up slowly, his eyes instantly falling on Michael who hadn’t moved. The sight almost brought Alex to tears‒he felt overwhelmed. He was tired and he hurt and he was overwhelmed. It was like his body was stuffed with emotions that he wasn’t prepared for. Which‒honestly wasn’t that abnormal. Maybe he should go take his anxiety meds before bed…

‘Do I actually look like that?’ Michael asked suddenly. Alex would’ve been relieved by the sound if maybe Michael’s mouth had moved or maybe he’d heard it with his ears rather than inside his own head, alongside his own inner monologue.

“Michael?” Alex asked weakly, still feeling too much.

‘Don’t freak out, okay?’ Michael said, still inside his head. Tears pricked Alex’s eyes and he started breathing heavier. ‘Alex, hey, don’t freak out. It’s okay. I’m here‒literally. And‒oh, fuck, I don’t like that. Do you feel like that all the time or is it just right now? Is it because you’re panicking? Do you feel this way each time you panic? Because your thoughts are too fast for me to even process and you feel like you’re suffocating which would be bad because I’m in you too and that’s gonna be hard to explain on the death certificate, ha. If you are freaking out, maybe‒’

“Do you always think this much because shut the fuck up,” Alex snapped, meaner than he meant to but he couldn’t think. He needed to just think and he couldn’t when Michael’s thoughts were filling his brain and‒

Oh god, Michael’s thoughts were filling his brain.

‘Hey, my thoughts aren’t that bad. But don’t worry, I think I can sort of keep you out of most of them because I can only hear your loud ones‒I think. I’m gonna need you to calm down before I know for sure.’

“Michael,” Alex whispered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, “Can you please get out of my head?”

There was silence for a moment and Michael must’ve been right that they could only hear the loud thoughts. But‒Well, he could still feel him. He could feel the way he was struggling. If he was in front of him, he would probably have that cocky little smirk and his head tilted back. He would act like he was chill, like he wasn’t scared, maybe he’d pretend to be angry.

But Alex could feel the fear. It was a cold, quiet, deep dread.

“You don’t know how to get out, do you?” Alex asked carefully.

‘No.’ Michael replied honestly. Which. Fair enough. ‘But I’ll figure it out!’

“Figure it out,” Alex said, “Do… do you even know what happened? How are you in my head? What did you do?”

‘Okay, so, working theory, the alien tech I was messing with was working through my consciousness and when you touched it, it freaked out and put me in the wrong body. So, your body. So my entire consciousness is in you. Kinda kinky if you think about it.’

“No,” Alex whispered, closing his eyes and slowly bowing his head. He didn’t like this. There were a billion ways to feel, but his brain could only say how much he didn’t like this. He didn’t like hearing someone else’s voice in his head.

‘Alex,’ Michael said softly, ‘Alex, are you okay?’

“You’re in my fucking head, what do you mean am I okay? Of course I’m not okay, are you okay?” Alex said, heart thudding in his chest and head still swimming. He was tired and he hurt and he needed to eat and he needed Michael out of his head.

‘Let’s go eat the dinner that you made,’ Michael told him, ignoring the question which was answer enough, ‘Then we’ll come see if I can fix it.’

“I don’t like this,” Alex said.

‘I know. Me neither. But you need to eat, I can tell you haven’t eaten all day,’ Michael instructed. Alex swallowed and lifted his head, looking up again.

Michael’s body was still frozen in place, empty of all thought apparently. Leaving him there was just something Alex wasn’t prepared or willing to do. He pushed himself to his feet carefully, ignoring Michael’s ‘whoa’ reaction.

‘You’re tired,’ Michael said. Stating the obvious, loud enough for them both to hear.

“Yeah, I worked all day,” Alex said. Michael didn’t respond. “I’m laying you down.”

Alex walked over to Michael’s body, carefully reaching out and touching his cheek. He was still cold. He moved his thumb to rest under his nose. He wasn’t breathing. Alex gave a shuttered breath.

‘It’s just in stasis, it’s alright, don’t freak out. I’m still alive.’

“Don’t freak out,” Alex repeated with a scoff.

Still, he was careful as ever as he put one hand on the back of Michael’s neck and the other on his waist. He made sure not to even accidentally bump the alien tech just in case that somehow made this horrific situation infinitely worse. He guided his body to the couch they’d placed in there, taking the brunt of his weight and not caring if his body ached in the process. It didn’t matter.

Michael was suspiciously silent through the entire thing, even as Alex brushed his hair back and pulled a blanket over him just in case. What if when he came to, he was still cold? That just wouldn’t do. He wanted to keep him as warm as possible.

“Can you feel hunger right now?” Alex asked after a long stretch of silence. He didn’t want Michael in his head, but he also didn’t really like the feeling of him being too silent for too long. At least while he was in his head, he knew where he was.

‘I can feel yours. It’s basically like I was just stuffed into your body. I bet I could control it if I tried.’ It was said in a rather intrigued tone, that of a scientist and nothing more. But it still shot a pang of panic through Alex’s system. He’d experienced not being in control of his body before and he wasn’t keen on a repeat, this time even more extreme. ‘Sorry.’

“Is that how you feel?” Alex asked carefully, his hand deceptively steady as he scraped off the vegetables onto a plate. They weren’t hot anymore. It was cool enough to touch the pan. “Like you’re trapped in my head?”

‘Well, don’t say it like that.’

“So, yes,” Alex said, bringing the plate to the table. He sat down and held his fork in his hand, staring at it. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

‘Alex. Eat.’

And he tried. Michael was quiet. He could tell he was still there, the buzzing of his thoughts still affecting Alex despite the fact that he was keeping them from overpowering Alex. It was almost impressive how quickly his thoughts were moving, constant unfettered thought process. He was suddenly hit with a memory of Michael, young and pretty and hiding so much from him, saying how loud and chaotic his thoughts were and how music helped quiet it.

The buzzing slowed for a moment.

‘Is that how you saw me?’ Michael’s voice asked him, curiosity in his tone more than anything else. Alex blinked. He was starting to feel a bit numb to the whole thing.

“So we can share memories,” Alex said bluntly, dread building in him and dissipating into his bloodstream. He couldn’t care about that. If he cared, he’d think more about things he didn’t want Michael to see and he would be loud about them.

He leaned into the numbness.

‘I’m going to fix this,’ Michael said with a newfound determination. A bitter smirk found Alex’s face. He wondered, not for the first time, about all the things that Michael didn’t want him to know.

“Okay.”

Alex finished half of the vegetables before putting them in the refrigerator and telling himself he was definitely going to eat them later. Similar to the way he was definitely going to get a water filter since he didn’t trust the water that came to the cabin but he didn’t want to just keep buying water bottles. Eventually, he would, hopefully.

Michael’s thoughts buzzed and Alex dragged himself back to the ladder down to the bunker. He was tired and his body ached and he really didn’t want to be climbing up and down the latter so many times. Couldn’t Michael accidentally discover this horrific thing on a day he didn’t have work?

‘Right, so, this is going to be a little bit weird because I can’t handle the tech myself. You’re just going to have to listen to what I say and try to do them to the best of your ability. Not saying that you aren’t as capable as me, I’d never say that, you’re so smart and good at everything you do. I actually saw your work the other day, that website you were coding for that little mom and pop shop in town and that was really impressive how quickly you can type. I didn’t know you did freelance work like that either, is that for extra money or for a hobby? I wonder how complicated it would be to set up a recording system with all your tech stuff, I can’t imagine it’d be‒

“Michael,” Alex said slowly, a headache already coming on. He suddenly had a new appreciation for Michael Guerin in his own body. It was beginning to feel like a miracle that he didn’t have panic attacks every day over his own overwhelming brain. “Slow down, keep focus.”

‘I’m focused, I am, sorry.’ It was a lie. Maybe that’s why he was good with his hands, he needed something to put his energy into. ‘My point was that it’s hard for me to explain what I’m doing with my hands, so I’m just gonna try and hope for the best.’

“I’ll try.”

‘And I trust you.’ There was a pause, though the buzzing never stopped. It honestly didn’t really stop when he was talking. That alone was a bit scary. Maybe they’d need to work on something to help his brain relax.

“I trust you too,” Alex whispered.

Michael guided him through different ways to handle the tech, correcting him here and there and doing his best not to get frustrated which Alex appreciated. He tried to hold onto it while Michael’s body was still holding it and he focused really hard, trying his damnedest to send Michael back. And Michael was trying to, giving all of his focus, but no matter how long he tried, nothing happened.

‘Try holding it by yourself.’

“What if we both just get sucked in and then we’re both catatonic?”

‘That won’t happen.’ There was a pause. ‘I think.’

Alex took a deep breath and just listened, carefully peeling Michael’s fingers off the tech. It was like taking something from a corpse which was. Unpleasant. And not the first time Alex had done that.

‘Alex.’ Michael’s voice was a warning and it’d be more helpful if Michael knew what he was warning him from. ‘I’m okay. I’m not dead.’

They were friends right now. They weren’t together, but they were friendly and Michael was welcome in his house. Sometimes, they hugged. Alex knew restraint and he knew how to wait for what he wanted. Even with all of that, he couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted and turned at the prospect of never touching him again. It would be endless taunting to have his voice in his head and yet nothing to be tactile with. Nothing to touch, nothing to feed, nothing to hold, nothing to be held by.

“I know,” Alex said, pushing those thoughts down deep and pulled the alien tech into his lap. If Michael heard any of his thoughts, he said nothing.

‘Okay, do you see that thing in the top right that looks like a thumbprint?’ Michael asked. Alex scanned it and then nodded, going to reach for it. ‘No!’

“What? Why not?” Alex asked quietly, but he snatched his hand away.

‘Sorry, sorry. It’ll shock you if you don’t put your left thumb on it, but it has to be kept in the top right corner.’

“How does it know?” Alex asked.

‘Fuck if I know. Okay, put your left thumb on it and then put your right palm in the center.” Alex did as he was told. ‘Close your eyes and picture me being plucked out of your mind, through your arm, and into the piece.’

“What is this, some kind of meditation?”

‘Just bear with me.’

And Alex did. He pictured it over and over, plucking a tiny Michael out of his brain. When the first one didn’t work, he imagined different parts of his brain. Then he imagined the tiny Michael flailing like a Mii. Which really only messed up his focus because he started smiling at the idea.

‘This isn’t working,’ Michael sighed. It was weird that he could sigh in his brain. He wondered how that worked. Could he laugh in his brain? Alex couldn’t. ‘You’re distracted.’

“I’m sorry,” Alex said instantly, his spine straightening up a bit in response. He could feel the buzzing of Michael roar a bit louder.

‘It isn’t your fault. You’re tired‒I’m tired. Maybe we should go to sleep and try again in the morning.’ Michael suggested. Alex gulped softly, staring at the piece.

He wasn’t too keen on sleeping with Michael in his head. When he was awake, he could keep things quiet. He didn’t know what would happen if he went to sleep. Would Michael see his dreams? The idea in particular scared the shit out of him, more than even their current situation.

“What happens tomorrow, then? I have work. Don’t you?” Alex asked.

‘Maybe we could call in. For me, just use my phone to text Sanders. Old man has the font on his phone ridiculously big and can still barely see it, so he just has my ringtone set so he’ll piece it together. It’s not even anything cool, it’s just one of the sparkly ones that come already downloaded into your phone. I do like that I have my own ringtone though. Does that make me weird? Do you think he’d be freaked out if he knew I liked it? Nah, he’s basically like my dad. Don’t tell him that, though, I think that’d make it weird. Well, he did want to adopt me, so maybe not that weird, but‒’

“Michael,” Alex cut in, lips parted a bit as he absorbed the few words that he could, “He wanted to adopt you?”

There was just buzzing for a while and then, ‘I thought I told you.’

“No, I would’ve remembered,” Alex whispered.

‘Oh. Well. Yeah. Sorry.’

Alex swallowed and shifted, looking over to Michael’s body. He was still cold and not breathing and the whole thing was just more and more unsettling by the minute. So Alex took a deep breath and placed the piece on Michael’s stomach before standing up.

“I’ll call my superior in the morning and tell him I can’t make it,” Alex said.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He typically found that as a comfort, as sealing himself in so it was just him. But that didn’t quite work with Michael in his brain. It was just as invasive. As much as he loved Michael with his entire being, it still made his skin crawl in a way he dreaded to admit.

‘In the morning, we’ll figure it out. And if we still are struggling, we’ll call in Liz. Oh! I bet Izzy could help if she could get into the mindscape.’

“No offense, but I barely like having you in my head. If we can avoid bringing your sister in that, that’d be great,” Alex said dryly, making his way to the latter. It looked much more intimidating than usual. God, he was tired.

‘Last resort.’ Michael promised.

Alex sighed and started to drag himself up the ladder. It took way more effort than he would ever willingly admit‒but he couldn’t even keep that to himself because Michael was in his head. He, presumably, could feel how much it was taking out of him. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything.

Alex took his time catching his breath as he moved to his bathroom, locking the door behind him on instinct, and then paused before he made another move. He needed to wash off, but he wasn’t keen on that with Michael in his head. He was comfortable with Michael seeing his body, yes, but… That was different.

“Michael?” Alex asked.

‘Oh, um, I’m sure there’s a way I can, like, turn off. Or something? Give me a minute.’

“Wait,” Alex said quickly, clutching the counter. His breathing labored a bit as his stomach churned and Michael’s buzzing amplified. “Don’t… Don’t turn off, that’ll freak me out, I don’t want you to go away until you’re in your body again.”

It was probably a horrible thing to say that he would regret, but also the idea of Michael going silent was suffocating and he couldn’t handle that on top of everything else.

‘Okay, I won’t.’ His voice was soft, earnest. It was debatably the first time he sounded like he actually understood what Alex needed from him. Alex didn’t want to think about that.

“Just… How do you see? Are you seeing through my eyes or is it some type of omnipotent, third-person type view or… I don’t know, I haven’t read enough sci-fi books on body sharing,” Alex said, pulling out the stool that was tucked underneath the counter.

He sat down and put his hands on his thighs. He pushed down with each finger one at a time slowly, from his pinky on his left hand to his pinky on his right. He breathed in tandem.

‘I see through your eyes. Right now I see your hands, your sweatpants, your rug. I love that rug by the way, but I don’t know if you should have a fabric floor mat in the bathroom. That’s, like, a hub for mold and bacteria. Did you know that? They have rubber ones, do you think those would work? I’m going to get you one and see how you like it, I think it’d be good. Or, like, at least‒’

“Michael,” Alex sighed. He’d said his name more times today than he’d said probably ever before. He just thought so loud and so much.

‘Sorry. But, yes, I see through your eyes.’

“Is there a way for you to not look?” Alex asked. Michael was quiet except the buzzing. “This is just… I don’t think…”

‘I don’t know, Alex. Let me see, okay? Give me a second, let me try.’ Michael sounded like he really would try, so Alex nodded and let him.

There was a stretch of silence with Alex doing nothing but pressing his fingers into his thighs, keeping himself calm and grounded. He didn’t try to rush as Michael fiddled around in his brain. He wasn’t really in a rush anyway. He wasn’t eager to go to sleep like this.

They kept on until Alex’s left hand stopped pressing into his thigh without his approval. Alex stopped breathing, staring at it and trying to move it. It wouldn’t.

“Michael,” he whispered, all that panic he’d subdued rising to the surface at alarming rates. It only worsened when his hand clenched into a fist on its own accord.

Alex made a noise between fear and shock, flinching away from himself. His throat closed in on itself and choked him and his head spun and tears pricked his eyes and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t control his body and he couldn’t control his body and he couldn’t control his body and he couldn’t

‘Fuck! Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that‒Alex, Alex, breathe. Breathe, okay? Breathe. Move your hand, look, it’s yours, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Michael rambled and Alex felt hot tears pour over his cheeks. He clenched his hands into fists over and over, making sure he could control them.

Alex’s breathing was ragged and he was shaking, but he watched his hands and tried to ignore Michael's rambling. He slowly moved his hands to the top of his head and looked at the pole that held his shower curtain. He counted each ring as effectively as he could, trying to catch his breath. Michael eventually caught on that his words weren’t helping.

They sat like that for‒for too long. Alex wasn’t sure how long it actually was, but it was enough that, by the time he could breathe again, he was too exhausted to think about showering. He still kept moving his hands, making sure he was able to.

“I don’t like that,” Alex said, voice smaller than he would’ve liked. Childish, honestly. Helpless and out of control and childish.

‘I am so sorry. I didn’t realize that would happen, I was just trying to figure out where I could go. But, I… I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.’ Michael was genuinely repentant. Later, Alex would feel embarrassed about the entire thing. Right now, he just wanted Michael in his own body. ‘I’m so sorry.’

“Is that how you feel?” Alex asked, swallowing softly, “Like you’re completely out of control? Like… like something is moving for you?”

Michael’s lack of response was response enough.

Alex laughed a wet laugh and sucked a deep breath in through his nose. Hands shaking, he turned towards the sink. He wet his toothbrush with hot water and put toothpaste on it and brushed his teeth the way he did every night. Michael stayed quiet.

He rinsed, spit, washed his face, took his anxiety medication, and told himself he’d try to shower in the morning. A few more grounding breaths later, he moved to his bedroom with a wet washcloth in his hand. Alex sniffled and sat on the edge of his bed, slowly removing his prosthetic. He was supposed to clean the sleeve, but he couldn’t right now. He instead wiped his stump with the washcloth and decided it would have to be good enough.

Alex pulled out his phone and checked to make sure all of his security alarms were on and he’d already known the doors were locked. Typically, he would’ve done another round, but he was tired and overwhelmed and wanted to get in bed. He shifted towards the top of his bed and climbed beneath the blankets, wrapping himself up tightly. The lights were still on. He’d turn them off in a minute.

“I’m sorry for freaking out,” Alex whispered after a solid two minutes of cocooning himself.

‘Don’t be. I’m sorry for this entire situation. It’s… super invasive.’

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Alex murmured into his comforter, breathing as steadily as he could. In, out, in, out.

‘It’s unfair. I promise I’m going to fix this.’

“I believe you.” And Alex did believe him. He believed that Michael could do practically anything he set his mind to. That was the benefit of having a genius on hand.

This was just a particularly horrible situation that had Alex too nervous to think too loud.

‘You’re tired. Get some rest.’ Michael said, soft and sweet. For a fleeting moment, Alex wished he was here. ‘I wonder if my telekinesis works in your head. Do we even know if it’s physical or psychological? I don’t think we really do, or, like, not entirely. We gotta look into that as soon as I’m back in my body. Do you think I could turn the light out without making you get up? Do you mind if I try?’

Alex swallowed and clutched his blanket closer. When it was dark, it’d be even harder to fully conceptualize that Michael was in his head. When it was dark, he would hear him and it would be so easy to imagine he was just on the other side of the bed.

Still, he was right. Alex was tired. And the only way he was going to calm down was if he slept. That was easier said than done and he didn’t really want to sleep, but it was something he needed. He’d just have to play it by ear.

‘Please get some sleep, Alex.’ Michael sounded like he heard him. Perhaps he really did.

“I’ll try,” Alex said, “Try turning out the light.”

In theory, Alex did understand how the aliens used their powers. It was an intense and beautiful thing and Alex could watch Michael do it for hours. Feeling it, however, was something different. Michael focused on the light switch and Alex was all but lit up from the inside. His lips parted and the barrier in his mind he used to keep Michael out of his private thoughts seemed to shatter as they melded for a moment, too quickly to really learn anything and yet long enough to feel akin to the way he did when Michael whispered his closest secrets minutes after sex. Too intimate. Too close. Too much.

The light was off and the feeling died and the barrier returned. Michael went to his side of the brain and Alex took shaky breaths, tugging the blanket tighter around him. At least the feeling of sheer panic had subsided. Instead, blinding embarrassment and foggy pleasure and a massive amount of fatigue had filled his entire brain. Because of a fucking light switch.

‘My bad.’ Michael said, his voice warm enough to be a verbal hug.

Alex breathed in, curling up beneath his blanket and holding it to his nose. He wanted Michael so badly, more than he had in a while. Which was saying something because he typically wanted him a lot.

“You feel like that every time you use your telekinesis?” Alex asked softly. If he let his mind drift enough, he could imagine idle fingers on his hips, a foot rubbing against his calf, a pair of lips on his neck. Even then it was nothing more than phantom desires, once he hoped were too quiet for Michael to hear.

He was a little too convinced that they weren’t and yet Michael didn’t mention it.

‘No. I guess because it’s, like, through a different conduit‒not saying you’re just a conduit, but, you know, my body is built to do that stuff and yours isn’t. So it’s kinda like immediately lifting 50lbs when you’ve never lifted weights before. Deceivingly easy and then it’s not, like that took a lot of effort on my part and it’s not my body. And then‒there’s two of us, so it’s different. I kinda for a minute felt like we were bumping brains. Did that hurt? I didn’t feel any pain, but I don’t know how this works. I bet that drained you, though, you feel more fatigued. I won’t do it again. Are you okay? Talk to me.’

“Lifting too much weight doesn’t feel like that,” Alex whispered, eyes drifting closed. He was tired. So tired that he was almost a little angry that he wouldn’t be able to stay up long enough to keep his dreams away from Michael.

Michael hummed softly, amused.

‘Can you try something for me?’ he asked, soft and sweet and coaxing. A drastic tonal shift from where he’d been just a moment ago, from where he’d been for months. ‘Try talking to me in your head so you don’t have to keep talking out loud, I know that gets exhausting. Let’s see what it sounds like.’

In a different world, a different time, Michael would’ve called him baby somewhere in there. Sometimes Alex listened to him talk and could hear where he should’ve called him baby. He hadn’t heard it in so long. God, he needed to get rid of these thoughts.

‘It was draining and I’m tired,’ Alex tried, like an internal monologue but with more intent. Here is where Michael would smile at him, lean close, touch him somewhere just because he wanted to. Because he could. When was the last time Michael touched him simply because he could? Had it been a year now? More?

‘You’re thinking a lot of stuff I can’t hear. You okay?’ Michael asked.

“Does it sound like buzzing?” Alex murmured, “Yours sounds like buzzing.”

‘Yeah, a little. You don’t like the in-brain talking?’

“Might make it difficult to keep the stuff I don’t want you to hear away from you,” Alex said simply, “It’s hard enough.”

‘Fair.’ Michael was quiet for a moment, the buzzing still there.

Maybe they would wake up in the morning and this would all be fixed. Maybe this was a bad dream that would just force Alex to appreciate Michael’s existence.

But that would be fucking stupid because he already appreciated Michael’s existence. It was Michael who didn’t want him, not the way he wanted. Not the way they used to be.

Alex’s eyes slid open, suddenly not as willing to go to sleep. He was exhausted and wasn’t sure he would be able to get up in the morning if he didn’t sleep, but he didn’t want to. There was a chance that he would sleep and Michael would see things he shouldn’t and it wouldn’t change anything other than their already fragile relationship.

He couldn’t even keep his thoughts straight at this point.

‘Alex, you need to go to sleep. We’re tired.’

Alex didn’t respond, just staring at a fixed point on the wall. He shouldn’t have let him turn the lights off. The longer he forced himself to stay awake, the more the good feelings from his power faded and the more the bad ones from earlier in the night amplified.

Alex stayed awake as long as he could, fought off the fatigue, ran off the adrenaline from his anxiety.

Still, none of it was a match for how drained he was in every sense of the word.

“What are you talking about? What are you doing?”

Alex was laid on a bed of some kind, trying to fight them off. They were all faceless until they weren’t. Light would shift and he would catch angry, hateful, sorrowful, and clinical stares. They ignored his questions as they strapped him to the bed.

He was shirtless, pantsless, bare, and exposed. His ankles were held down by more straps. The people around him ignored him as he started to panic. They were all wearing black and white, all in habits and priest attire. Where was he? What was going on? What were they doing?

“Please, Father, help this young boy,” one of them said. A nun, the one who looked like she wanted to cry. Like maybe she felt bad. If she did, she didn’t do anything to help him. “Please.”

“Step back. We don’t know what this thing will do.”

The one who held his hand slipped away and Alex tried to keep himself calm.

If you’re good, they’ll let you go. If you’re good, they’ll let you go. Just be good. Just be good. You can be good.

Alex locked eyes with the priest who stood over him. He made a face, one of disgust. One of ‘how dare you think you’re allowed to look at me’ and Alex never broke eye contact.

He spoke in a different language and began to circle Alex’s body. It started off stupid: just recitations and throwing water on him. It was cold and Alex would flinch, but beyond that he didn’t do anything. This seemed to piss off the man more and he took a step to the side to speak with the other patrons. While he was doing that, Alex started to try and wiggle out of the restraints.

Before he knew it, though, they were back. The water they threw on him this time was hot. Flicks and droplets of scalding water, enough to make him gasp and enough to make him want to try to fight the restraints more. On his chest, on his thighs, on his legs, on his arms, on his face. It burned.

He kept it in for as long as he could, kept quiet, kept obedient, tried to be good. But it hurt. He screamed at them, please, please, please.

“It’s working.”

It seemed like it went on for days, hours. Alex laid there until he couldn’t cry anymore. He laid there until he was starving so much he felt nauseous. He laid there until every inch of him hurt in some way. He laid there when they pressed heated crosses into his arm. He laid there and let them brand him.

He laid there.

He laid there and he didn’t lose control.

He was going to be good.

Alex woke up with a start, gasping and clutching the sheets.

It was dark still. His dream was… not one he’d had before. Mindless, he checked his body the places his dream had said he’d been burned. It felt real. He checked his arms for crosses, rucked up his shirt to see splash marks from boiling holy water, felt his face to see if there were any sensitive spots. It took him three checks to realize it was the wrong body.

The cross brand that had faded over the years was rather inconspicuous on a man full of scars, but Alex had felt it. The parts of his body that took him a while to not flinch away from when Alex tried to touch made more sense. He just… didn’t think it was because of this.

‘I’m sorry.’ Michael’s voice was soft and nervous. Alex felt residual anxiety on top of the pre-existing bullshit from the dream itself.

“Michael,” Alex said because that’s all he could say, “Michael.”

‘Go back to sleep,’ Michael tried, ‘I’ll do better this time.’

Alex caught his breath and tightened his hold on his sheets. He wanted to curl up into his chest, to tell him sweet nothings. To touch and be touched because that was safe. Whatever he’d just dreamed was not safe. Having an empty Michael-suit in his basement was not safe.

Still, he slowly coaxed himself back to lay down. He was tired still and that dream had robbed him of any sense of being rested. And it was still dark.

‘Please go back to sleep. It’ll be okay. I’m sorry.’

“I’m sorry too.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dohman said, getting too close to Alex’s face. He would never understand why men who took homosexuality as their enemy number one decided to get nose to nose with other men when they were angry. It would be funny if it wasn’t the actual worst.

“Look, Dohman, you’re not my fucking type, get over it,” Alex said, shoving him back. That was his first wrong step, but what was he supposed to do? Let it happen? “I like men, not whatever the fuck you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dohman asked, his eyebrows tugging together further and his face turning a deeper shade of rage red.

“What‒are you upset? Aw, do you have a crush on me?”

Dohman threw the first punch and Alex managed to dodge it, throwing the second one. There were a few more, a blur of them, before he was hit in the nose and stumbled back. He stumbled straight into a different room, a kitchen.

“Alex. You’re late.”

The voice was one that instilled fear deep within Alex and he stood up a little straighter. His father sat at the head of the table, staring at him like he expected him to be late. Alex took a deep breath and went to sit at the table.

“I’m sorry, what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. Alex blinked.

“Sitting.”

“Did I say you could sit? You’re late. You missed curfew. Do I need to remind you what happens when you miss curfew?” he asked. Alex shook his head.

“No, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Alex held his breath as he stood up straight and went to the corner of the kitchen. He knelt down, his face towards the wall, and held his arms up. If he slumped or his arms wavered or if he sat on his feet, he would get an extra two hours. So he didn’t let that happen.

Alex listened to his father eat dinner. Listened to him put his dishes in the sink. Listened to him go into the living room and turn on the TV. He always wondered if he forgot about him, but he knew he couldn’t get up without consequences.

So Alex stayed.

And Alex didn’t slump.

He was going to be good.

When Alex woke up this time, the sun was still hidden away.

This one was less shocking, less jarring, more standard. Still, he curled up in bed and rubbed his knees mindlessly. Michael’s buzzing was there, but he didn’t say any words. Alex was almost thankful for it. He was embarrassed and still tired.

As his alarm went off to tell him to get up and get ready for work at the bright and early time of 4 AM, Alex turned it off and instead called the base. He made up an excuse about a stomach bug and how he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk giving it to anyone else and didn’t he have sick days built up? His superior agreed, told him to get some rest, and promised to see him when he was better.

Alex dropped his phone.

‘It was much sexier sleeping next to you when we didn’t share dreams.’ Michael sounded tired somehow. How did that work? Michael had probably already thought about that question a million times over.

“Yeah, it was,” Alex agreed.

He laid in bed for a few extra minutes before deciding he wasn’t going to get any more sleep. Whenever Michael left his brain, he was going to be taking a trazodone and he was going to knock into a relatively dreamless sleep for 12 hours. He at least had that to look forward to.

Alex climbed out of bed and reached for his crutches. When he got upright, it made it just that much more prevalent how tired his body was. This whole thing was draining and exhausting. His leg was sore, his head hurt, his stomach felt like he’d gotten a rather extensive core workout.

He spent his morning going through his regular routine, only this time with mindless Michael commentary. Alex had definitely understood Michael had a rather busy thought process and he struggled with silence, but he hadn’t realized how much. It was almost concerning.

Still, he listened and brushed his teeth, listened and washed his face, listened and took his meds, listened and put his prosthetic on, forced himself to eat breakfast, etc, etc, etc. Midway through his third cup of coffee, Alex started making his way down to the bunker. He held the mug between his teeth and focused on the ladder instead of Michael’s rambling.

When he looked at Michael’s body, it was exactly the way he left it. Alex walked over slowly and put his hand on his bicep, massaging it carefully and making sure it wasn’t getting stiff. He looked dead, he didn’t want him to feel dead.

Michael in his mind, however, went actually silent for a moment. Even the buzzing stopped.

‘What are you doing?’ Michael asked carefully.

“Sorry, I won’t touch you,” Alex said, taking his hand away. His eyes were harder to remove.

‘You can.’ He was speaking slowly, the buzzing returning at an all-time loud. ‘I just… didn’t think you would want to touch me. That’s pretty gross. Haven’t bathed.’

“Neither have I,” Alex said simply, “I pretty much always want to touch you.”

The buzzing, somehow, amplified.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut in response, the headache he had worsening because of it. Michael hadn’t mentioned the headache and Alex was beginning to wonder if he just always had a headache and that’s why it wasn’t phasing him. It would make sense if his brain was really that full all the time.

Instead of thinking too much about that, Alex took a big sip of his coffee and then sat it on the table.

“Alright, let’s get to work.”

The two of them got to work brainstorming which was much easier than it would’ve been if Michael was on the outside because Michael’s ideas that were hard to verbalize came across to Alex in concepts. Well‒easier in theory because Alex only had so much knowledge within Michael’s specialty.

But, nonetheless, they worked. And they worked. And hours went by and Michael was still stuck in his head and no matter how hard they worked, nothing happened.

By lunchtime, Alex was exhausted all over again and he was beginning to feel more than a bit frustrated. He just wanted Michael in his own body. Why couldn’t the universe just give him that one thing? That should be an easy fucking request.

“I hate this piece of shit,” Alex grumbled, carefully setting the alien tech down instead of throwing it across the room because that would presumably be very bad. He tilted his head back from where he was sitting on the floor by the couch, the back of his head resting against Michael’s thigh.

‘Maybe we should call Liz,’ Michael in his head suggested, not mentioning a single thing about where his head was. Alex’s hands rested carefully on his own thighs, pressing down each finger one at a time starting from his left pinky all the way to his right. This was fine.

“What do I say? That I accidentally robbed you of your subconscious and that you’re stuck in my brain and she’s basically lost her science partner because he’s in my fucking head and I’m not him and I’m useless and‒”

‘Alex,’ Michael said softly, in the same way Alex had said his name when he got to rambling, ‘You’re not useless. And this isn’t your fault. It’s not one’s fault, we didn’t know this was going to happen. So let’s just call her and see if she can come help.’

Alex breathed in deep and nodded slowly. He sat there unmoving for a moment after that. Michael’s buzzing was incessant and it was very clearly worried. It gave off the same energy that Michael had so many times before, just much different because it was in Alex’s head rather than on Michael’s face.

“I wish you could hug me,” Alex said softly. It felt like a simple, easy statement all things considered. Michael’s worried buzzing tapered off just a little.

‘I wish I could too.’

And they sat there, taking a break before they called Liz. She wasn’t in California anymore, having come back because there was just something about Roswell that refused to let you fucking leave. Or she missed her dad and her sister. One of the two options. So, at least they had that going for them.

Alex pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts and found Liz Ortecho sitting in his short list of 25 contacts. He hadn’t actually spoken to her in a while, not over the phone and not just the two of them. Once upon a time it would’ve upset him, but they were adults and they hadn’t been each other’s first priorities in a very long time. Alex wasn’t sure he’d ever been hers. But that was fine too because that’s what friendship was sometimes.

“Alex?” Liz answered like she was extremely confused to see him calling. Alex huffed a laugh despite nothing about his situation being funny. Not in the fucking slightest.

“So, I have a little situation that I don’t feel comfortable telling you over the phone,” Alex said. He knew she was rather easygoing about what she shared over the phone, but he wasn’t as trusting. Hell, he barely liked having his phone on him when he was doing things like this at all even with all of his protective shit on it. He knew how easy it was to be tracked, to be listened to. The only one who took his concerns seriously was Michael and Kyle. “Can you be at the cabin in less than an hour?”

“...what cabin?”

Alex sighed, “The old Valenti hunting cabin? Come on, I know you and Kyle probably hooked up here a lot when we were in high school.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. I’ll be there. Should I bring anything?”

“Kyle.”

“Got it.”

Alex sighed as the call ended and dropped his phone. His eyes drifted over to Michael’s body, still and cold and catatonic. He reached out for his hand mindlessly and started to massage it carefully, working into all the muscles he knew still got sore on bad days. Not like they were sore now.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ Michael said, ‘You don’t have to…’

There was an implication, one that was rather insulting if Alex was asked. He never allowed his feelings to go unknown, not since his rather embarrassing display at the Wild Pony. It was Michael who needed to catch up; Alex hadn’t been hiding it.

“Do you want me to stop?” Alex asked again.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I just hate that I can’t feel it.’

“You will when you get back. You’ll be able to feel it then,” Alex said, a quiet promise that he would continue. He hoped that was good enough for Michael to understand.

They sat, waiting for Liz to show up and staying as calm as they physically could. Alex considered crawling beside him more than once but he felt that would just be too much. Too much whatever. Alex waited until he felt as at peace as he physically could be.

“Michael,” Alex called, “How did you take over my hand last night? You tried to explain it but I didn’t really understand.”

‘Basically, from my understanding, I just connected those parts of my psyche to your arm. Like when you’re laying in bed and you need to get up and so your brain tells your body to move. Like that, I guess, and I guess it was enough to take over yours.’

Alex blinked and breathed steadily, rolling his shoulders back and steeling himself.

“Try again,” Alex suggested.

‘What? No. No, I’m not doing that. You didn’t like that, I’m not doing that to you again.’

“You’re cooped up in my brain. Don’t you want to stretch out? I feel guilty that you’re trapped there. As long as you don’t take over my whole body and I know what you’re going to do, I think I’ll be okay,” Alex urged. Michael didn’t say anything right away. “I just feel bad. Just tell me what you’re going to do before you do it, okay?”

‘Are you sure?’

Alex nodded and kept his breaths steady, waiting for the moment Michael would decide to act. Maybe this was stupid and maybe he’d freak out again, but…

‘Okay, it’s gonna be your left arm, elbow down.’ Alex kept his breathing steady and used his right hand to continue holding onto Michael’s. He wasn’t clutching back and that made it feel a bit hollow, but that was alright. Michael was in him. One day when this was over, he’d probably make a joke about it. ‘Okay, ready?’

“Ready,” Alex agreed.

He swallowed as he felt his arm go numb and tingly as Michael took over. He kept his breathing even and held onto his hand and watched as Michael moved his fingers carefully, just stretching them around.

‘I’m gonna raise it, alright?’

“Alright.”

‘You’re doing so good, thank you for this.’

Alex nodded as watched as his hand rose and his wrist rolled. He could feel a bit of panic edging in him, but he held out. Michael used Alex’s thumb to trace each finger on his hand.

‘Can I touch you?’ Michael asked. Alex took a shaky breath and nodded again, not really trusting his voice. This whole thing was weird and slightly terrifying and slightly exhilarating at the same time. He’d never felt something quite like this before. He was pretty sure not many had. ‘Okay.’

His hand moved to his face, gently tracing over his nose and his cheek. Alex’s lips twitched and let out a heavy breath. Michael guided his hand over his jaw and to his neck, sliding over his shoulder and down his arm until he got to where Alex was holding Michael’s body’s hand. The hand Michael was controlling layered over them, squeezing the hand Alex still had.

‘Squeeze back,’ Michael requested. Alex did. It must’ve looked insane that he was just holding his own hand, but his heart was thudding in his chest at the reality of it.

“You know we’ve never held hands,” Alex pointed out, “Not for real.”

‘Yeah,’ Michael said softly, ‘We’re gonna.’

“We’re gonna?” Alex wondered, watching as the thumb Michael was controlling rubbed against the back of the hand he could feel.

‘We’re gonna. This doesn’t count.’

“Okay.”

Alex startled as his phone went off, alerting him that someone was within a half-mile of the cabin. Slowly, feeling came back to his hand and Michael was no longer in control of it. Alex took a few breaths to reset himself before putting Michael’s hand back on his side.

“We should go upstairs,” Alex said.

‘Do you feel okay?’

“Yeah,” Alex said even though he knew Michael could literally feel him. It was nice that he asked nonetheless.

Alex pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his empty mug before going to climb the ladder again. He needed to put stairs in or something because this was just getting annoying.

‘I’ll build you stairs,’ Michael offered. Alex tried not to get that warm and fuzzy feeling in response to that because this was very much not the time.

“Not necessary.”

‘I’m gonna.’

They got up to the cabin and Alex walked over to the kitchen, rinsing out his mug. He stared at the coffee maker for a few seconds before he reached over and dumped the grinds out and rinsed the mesh. Michael rambled about coffee grinds being good for compost or something and Alex nodded along, agreeing to wherever his train of thought was headed. He started another pot and then waited.

By the time Liz and Kyle showed up, Alex had already poured himself another cup and went to unlock the door. If he looked like he hadn’t slept (which he knew he did), they didn’t say anything as he let them in. Kyle did, however, reach to give him a short hug because they did that now. Alex still thought it was a little weird, but he appreciated the effort and sometimes he actively wanted the affection.

“So, what’s going on? Is Michael here? Because if not, you should’ve had me bring him,” Liz said. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, he’s definitely present,” he said. It wasn’t funny. Michael seemed amused anyway. “There’s no point in me beating around the bush or anything, so basically Michael fucked with a piece of tech, got stuck in it, and when I touched it he got stuck in my head.”

They stared at him.

“Like… you can’t stop thinking about him stuck or…” Liz trailed off. Alex snorted.

“No, like his entire psyche is currently existing in my head. He says hi and to tell you your haircut looks nice,” Alex said. He didn’t notice she even got a haircut. Their eyes widened. “We’ve messed around with the piece for hours and nothing is working, so we called you over.”

“Okay, um,” Liz breathed, nodding her head, “Yeah, absolutely. Just, like, give me a minute. This is insane. He’s really in your head? Where’s his body?”

“Downstairs. And, yeah, he’s really in my head,” Alex said.

A warm feeling started to burn in Alex’s stomach, one that he was rather certain didn’t belong to him. It still took him a minute to realize it was Michael’s and that was… a lot. Apparently, every other feeling of his Alex had felt was one they were sharing at the same time. Good to know that they were both guilty and existential as hell.

“Okay. Wow. Right. I’m going downstairs. I wish you would’ve warned me! I could’ve brought some more stuff,” Liz said as if she didn’t have a backpack full of things already. She headed down the ladder with no hesitation.

“And you’re okay?” Kyle asked, keeping his voice low. His eyebrows were pulled together in concern as he searched Alex’s face. “That’s like a major invasion of privacy. Are you sure he didn’t do this on purpose?”

‘Dude, what the fuck.’

Alex snorted, “You know he can hear you, right?”

Kyle blinked a few times and then very clearly decided he didn’t care because he eyed him very deliberately.

“Tell me if you need anything. I’ll get you some sedatives or whatever if we can’t figure this out because I know you haven’t slept,” Kyle said, squeezing his arm. Alex nodded in appreciation, but they both knew he wouldn’t be accepting anything. “Coffee fresh?”

“Yep, just brewed it.”

“And you’ve eaten lunch?”

“I will,” Alex said. Kyle raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “I will!”

“I’ll make you some toast and meet you down there with Liz,�� Kyle decided and then headed into the kitchen. Alex rolled his eyes, but he listened without argument.

‘It still freaks me out how close you two are. It’s so weird. He’s still so punchable.’

“His jaws way more chiseled now, though, so it might hurt,” Alex pointed out, his words muffled around his coffee mug as he carefully made his way down the ladder.

“Huh?” Liz answered.

“Was talking to Michael,” Alex said and chose not to be embarrassed by it as he hit the floor. If he was, that would just be more than he could physically handle right now.

“Oh. Okay. Right,” Liz said, blinking as she stood up straighter, “Sorry, this is just so weird.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird for me too,” Alex said.

His eyes drifted to Michael’s body where Liz had clearly already gotten started. She was questionably comfortable with his body, having already taken a blood sample and written down his current state in detail in her notebook. Sometimes she worried Alex with this whole thing, but Michael didn’t seem to have any arguments.

‘She’s basically like my best friend after you. We’ve done a million experiments on each other, so I don’t really care what she does to me,’ Michael explained anyway. Alex nodded and let him continue to think about what she was going to do. He could tell this was going to be rather exhausting having to play translator, but he supposed it was worth it.

“Okay, so, he’s stable. It’s obviously a different kind of stasis than the pod, but he is in stasis. I checked his blood under his microscope and all of his blood cells are basically frozen in time. Oh, I need to check his hair and his skin cells. This is insane,” Liz rambled. Alex could feel Michael’s residual excitement start to build in his body. He almost felt bad he couldn’t enjoy this with her.

For Michael’s benefit, even though it made him uncomfortable, Alex looked under the microscope at the frozen cells. His skin cells were equally frozen and his hair‒well, his hair looked like all hair does, but Michael seemed to think it looked different and he would just accept that.

Liz picked up the piece and marveled at it for a moment, grinning wildly. Alex felt himself doing the same solely based on Michael’s emotions which was, honestly, too much. He tried not to think about it too much. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure anything would get done.

Alex very quickly realized that he couldn’t keep up with Michael’s thoughts and his headache was strengthening by the second even after he ate the toast Kyle decided to force-feed him. He, however, kept that to a minimum and tried to carry a conversation with Liz by repeating Michael. He made it a good thirty minutes before he hit a point where he wasn’t making sense due to Michael’s brain saying three different things while Alex was talking.

“Okay, wait, stop,” Alex said, dropping his head in his hand. It was throbbing and Michael hadn’t said anything. “What the fuck, does your head hurt all the time?”

‘More times than not, yeah,’ Michael answered. Alex shook his head and rubbed his temples. ‘I’m sorry. Do you have medicine? Nothing usually works on me outside of acetone and that only dulls it. I’m sure something works on you, though, right? Do you have ibuprofen? I know you have Tylenol upstairs in the bathroom, but I’m not sure if that would work and maybe it’d make you tired and you’re already tired enough which would make things a little bit more difficult since we’re trying to‒’

“Michael. Please,” Alex whispered. He stopped rambling where Alex could hear, but the buzzing never stopped. Liz and Kyle, on the other hand, were silent. “Kyle, can you go get my Aleve from upstairs?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Kyle said, his footsteps rather quickly heading up the ladder.

Alex sat there for a moment, rubbing his temples and breathing. This time, he could feel the separation from his own guilt and nerves and Michael’s guilt and nerves and he could feel where they blended. He needed a fucking nap.

“Alex, do you need a break?” Liz asked. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Are you going to figure it without me translating for him?” he asked. Liz didn’t answer and that was answer enough.

Alex took a deep breath and lowered himself to the floor beside the couch. He could feel the guilty, yet restless energy burning within him that all belonged to Michael. He wished he was out and so he could watch him ramble, watch him pace, just watch.

‘What can I do?’ Michael asked.

“Nothing,” Alex responded. Liz, by now, caught on that he was simply talking to himself.

Kyle returned with a glass of water and a doctor-approved tweak of Aleve. Alex took it graciously, downed the rest of the water, and then returned his head to his hands.

They’d barely made any progress, namely because they didn’t know where to start other than the piece which Alex and Michael had already worked with. Alex, under Michael’s instruction, had gotten out the other pieces in hopes that would solve the problem, but that hadn’t made a difference.

Maybe they were stuck like this.

‘We aren’t stuck,’ Michael said, ‘I’m getting my body back.’

Alex felt when his breath hitched and felt when tears pricked his eyes. He brought his knee in closer and bowed his head against it so he could at least pretend he wasn’t losing it. But he was. He was overwhelmed and fucking terrified and he wanted Michael.

‘Alex,’ Michael said, ‘If anyone can figure this out, it’s us, alright? Just take a breath and I’ll try to dial it back. I’m sorry.’

‘You shouldn’t have to apologize for just existing as yourself. This just isn’t fair,’ Alex thought back at him, not really eager to let Kyle and Liz in on their conversation. Part of him was still scared this would make it harder to keep his thoughts to himself, but, after their dreams, he was beginning to feel like it didn’t matter.

‘It’s not fair. Not at all. But maybe there’s a reason for it? Like, why would this exist if there wasn’t a reason for it, you know? Why would they make it if it was just a torture mechanism?’ Michael asked. Alex bit the inside of his cheek. ‘I’m trying to think of what use this could have.’

‘Couples therapy?’ Alex offered. Michael’s amusement lit him up for a moment, a silent acknowledgment that he’d probably laugh if he had a body to do it with. ‘Missions, maybe? Or coaching. It’s an effective communication device.’

‘Maybe when they were coming here they only had space for so many people, so they had some people leave their body on their planet,’ Michael suggested.

‘Maybe. We probably won’t ever know. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ Michael said, but they were both keenly aware that it wasn’t actually okay that they knew so little, ‘I just need to get back into my own body.’

“What’s the next step?” Alex asked.

‘Give us the rest of the day to try and figure this out and, if not, then we might have to call Isobel in,’ Michael said at the same time Liz responded with, “I think we should keep trying and if we can’t figure it out by tonight, we get Max and Isobel to see if they can think of anything.”

Alex huffed a laugh and raised his head.

“Okay. Let’s keep trying.”

Hours later, Alex found himself in his bathroom again. This time he was a little more determined to actually bathe. He felt gross and just needed something to make him feel better. The food and medicine Kyle gave him only helped so much and their constant stream of failures didn’t make any of it better.

Kyle and Liz with apologetic faces, but they had a clear determination to want to continue trying to figure it out. However, the four of them agreed to bring in Isobel and Max because this very clearly was going to need some more alien reinforcement.

“I’m really not looking forward to Isobel being in my head,” Alex sighed, leaning over to turn on the faucet. He felt until the water was hot before plugging the drain and sat himself down on his stool to wait for the tub to fill.

‘I know, but I’m hoping she’ll be able to see something we can’t. We aren’t really in a mindscape right now. Maybe she’ll see a way to put me back,’ Michael encouraged. Alex sighed and unbuttoned his jeans.

“I get why we need her, I just don’t know what I’m going to have control over. And, no offense, but I don’t really trust Isobel to be respectful or quiet about anything she does see,” Alex admitted. Michael’s instant understanding and agreement was palpable.

‘I’ll try to make sure she keeps it to herself. She’s getting better,’ Michael said. Alex sighed and hoped he was right.

Alex pulled off his jeans and tossed them into his hamper and went to his prosthetic. Thinking about his hesitation from last night almost felt ridiculous‒as if Michael would say anything about him bathing‒but he knew the circumstances tonight were a little different. He felt different.

Once his prosthetic was removed completely, he put it outside the bathroom door and then closed it. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed that with his jeans and then closed his eyes. His head still hurt and he was exhausted, but he needed to bathe. He was gross. Michael, for his part, stayed quiet for the first time since that morning. It was honestly a blessing though he felt guilty about it.

The bathtub got to where Alex wanted it and he shut off the water, moved to take off his boxers. He threw them alongside his other clothes and then skillfully moved himself onto the ledge of the tub. Alex swiveled around and put his foot in the bath before slowly lowering himself in. He could feel his muscles instantly reacting to the warm water. He needed this.

Alex sunk into the water until it touched his chin and closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth of it. There was something endlessly lonely about having someone you love stuck in your brain and not being able to touch them. It was cruel, almost.

Michael’s buzzing seemed to calm a bit as they sat there in nothing but the hot water and each other’s company. Alex had imagined bathing with him more than once and never had it crossed his mind that the first time he would get the chance, Michael’s body wouldn’t be there to experience it. They were having too many firsts this way.

All of them led right back to being too close, too much, too aware. He hated it and yet he had never felt more seen by Michael Guerin in his entire life.

Cruel and laughable.

‘Alex,’ Michael said, soft and warm like he had late the night before, ‘Can I use your hand? The same one as earlier. I just… wanna try something.’

Alex’s heart picked up speed in the same way it had when he held his hand and he nodded without hesitation.

His left arm tingled and then went numb as Michael took over. The hand Michael was in control of glided across the top of the water and then rested over his heart. He rubbed his hand into his skin, slowly making his way up to his neck and over his jaw. Michael felt over his features again, only this time focusing on his lips.

His thumb pressed into Alex’s bottom lip and slowly dragged his mouth open. Alex huffed a laugh and opened it further, letting Michael press the pad of his thumb against his tongue. Alex bit down gently and felt a burst of adoration flood through him. It stole his breath for a moment.

Michael pulled out of his mouth slowly and slid back down to his chest and then to the arm Alex still had control over. He felt over his bicep and his forearm, feeling each muscle as if they were something to behold on their own which really only had Alex’s picking up speed.

‘Why have I never taken my time with you before?’ Michael asked. They both knew. Neither of them said anything.

Alex tilted his head back and closed his eyes as Michael’s fingers dragged over his neck and then dipped beneath the water. He traced over his chest and his stomach, slow and curious despite the familiarity of it. Michael touched his thigh and dragged his fingertips up and down before sliding between his thighs.

Alex caught his wrist and Michael obediently paused.

“Michael,” Alex whispered, his breathing noticeably heavier as he tried his damnedest to ignore the tight, warm feeling in his stomach, “Michael.”

‘Yeah?’

“What happens if we can’t figure it out?” Alex asked, “What happens if you’re stuck?”

‘Don’t think like that,’ Michael answered.

“We have to think like that. Eventually, we’re going to have to go back to work, eventually, we’re going to have to pretend to carry on. What happens if you’re still stuck in my head?” Alex demanded.

‘Don’t think like that,’ Michael repeated, ‘It won’t come to that. We will fix it.’

“But what if we can’t?”

‘Alex, listen to me. No matter what happens, I won’t be stuck in your head for the rest of your life. This is temporary regardless of what that means for me. I’m not making your life miserable.’

Alex breathed out like he’d been hit. He didn’t ask what that meant. He didn’t ask how long Michael was willing to try. He didn’t ask anything.

“I miss you,” Alex breathed, “I want… I want‒”

‘I know. Me too.’

They sat there for a moment with that and Alex wanted to say he loved him, just in case. But they had time. They had to have time.

And he didn’t want any more firsts this way.

Alex let go of his wrist and Michael’s hand rested on his legs. He let his eyes close again and tried to relax as Michael moved again. Alex almost expected him to reach between his thighs again, and yet Michael just rested his hand on his face.

Michael cradled his jaw in his hand and rubbed his thumb over his cheek slow and methodically. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into the touch. If he kept his eyes closed and if he focused hard enough, he could almost feel his breath on the back of his neck.

‘I’m here. I’ve got you.’

Alex woke up long before his alarm again.

Dreams of angry foster parents bled into dreams of angry drill sergeants bled into active battle bled into his father with any object he could get his hand on. It was miserable and Alex had to wonder why they couldn’t have a nice dream. Just one. On where Alex could pretend to touch him again and he’d be warm.

Despite having Michael in his head, Alex couldn’t help but feel even more lonely than he had when he climbed into bed. They’d tried to shut off the lights with his telekinesis again before bed and it was a little more painful than the first time and Michael vowed not to use it again and he’d gone quiet. And Alex was lonely.

“You know what’s crazy? It’s only been, like, 36 hours. Why does it feel so much longer?” Alex whispered, voice deep from sleep.

‘Because it has been longer. I was practically living in your house and yet I didn’t do anything. I wasted so much time,’ Michael said. Alex wanted to argue, but he found himself not having much to add. They had wasted so much time and now they weren’t even sure what time they would have.

“Me too.”

‘No, Alex, you’ve known what you wanted for a year now at least. You’ve made it clear. I kept trying to wait for, like, a moment when it felt right. And I’m beginning to think it just never felt right because I wasn’t with you. Self-defeating cycle or whatever,’ Michael said, very clearly annoyed in the emotions that filled him.

“You’re allowed to take your time.”

‘But I was never going to be perfectly ready. I’m always going to struggle. But I could’ve had you. God, I was so lonely and you were right there.’

“I’m here now,” Alex whispered. Michael’s self-deprecation was louder than Alex was willing to take.

He laid in bed for a few seconds longer before he got up and reached for his crutches. He was lonely. Michael was lonely. This was so stupid and ridiculous and he hated every goddamn thing about it. He just wanted him back. Was that such a hard request?

Clearly, it was. The universe didn’t want them to have anything.

Alex made his way to the bunker and ignored the worry Michael was experiencing as he slid his crutches down the ladder. He made sure they landed out of the way before heading down himself, hopping down one rung at a time while having his arms carry the brunt of his weight. Michael managed not to say anything.

Once he hit the ground, Alex picked up his crutches again and made his way to the couch where Michael’s body was. He rested his crutches down on the floor and then gently pulled the alien tech off of Michael to put it on the counter. Then he pulled the corner of the blanket up and crawled inside.

‘Alex,’ Michael whispered, sounding almost pitiful. Alex just cuddled closer. He was cold and unbreathing and it was unsettling as hell, but it was Michael.

Of all the things they hadn’t done, they had done this. Alex had slept with his head on his shoulder or his chest more than once. Michael had slept fully on top of him even more. They always slept well together. Even when the nightmares came, there was a safety in having another body to hold. And so Alex held him.

He tugged Michael’s limp arm around him and layered his hand over his to keep it on his hip. He rested his head on his chest and draped his leg over Michael’s thighs. Then Alex closed his eyes.

‘Get some sleep, Alex,’ Michael said, ‘I’ll hold you for real soon.’

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Alex murmured.

‘I fully plan to keep it. Get some rest.’

And Alex did. He never actually fell asleep hard enough to actually dream which was both great and terrible. He was still tired when he opened his eyes again, but he didn’t have any dreams to add to the list and that in itself was refreshing. Michael was still a cold, unmoving rock beneath him. Alex didn’t move.

He laid there for a long time, rubbing circles in his chest with his thumb.

Eventually, Alex made his way upstairs to get presentable whenever he realized Liz, Kyle, Max, and Isobel were probably on their way. Michael was quiet in his mind, but the ever-present buzzing wasn’t gone so he took that as a good sign.

Alex got dressed and brushed his teeth and got his prosthetic on and managed to even eat breakfast by the time they pulled up.

‘It’s gonna be okay. Hopefully, we’ll figure it out today,’ Michael said. Alex sighed and nodded, sipping his coffee as he unlocked the door.

“Hopefully.”

“So you trapped my brother in your brain?” Isobel greeted. Alex managed a smile.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Can he hear us?” she wondered, eyeing Alex. He nodded easily. “Michael, this was a really weird way for you to try and get a boyfriend.”

‘That’s not what happened!’

“He said that’s not what happened,” Alex repeated. Isobel rolled her eyes like she didn’t buy it. Alex was too ready to get this over with to argue. “Let’s go downstairs and you can see what you need to do. There’s coffee in the kitchen if you guys want any.”

No one went and got coffee.

By the time they made it down to the bunker and Alex sat on the floor beside the couch, he found himself feeling like a spectacle. They were all staring at him and Michael with confusion and fear and pity‒and he was more than slightly miserable about it. Michael murmured encouraging words, but it only did so much.

“I hate seeing him like that,” Isobel said, suddenly a lot less flippant now that she was actually seeing Michael laid out and unbreathing and cold. Alex watched a series of emotions cross her face and couldn’t help but think about how this was the second brother she was seeing look dead.

‘I’m not dead. I’m going to be okay,’ Michael insisted. Alex nodded. He hoped he was right.

“Me too. Can we get started?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Isobel said. She quickly knelt beside him and beside the couch.

‘Wait, before she starts, we all three should be holding the piece,’ Michael said quickly. Alex licked his lips and nodded.

“Michael says we should hold the piece. And, Kyle, stand by to check vitals whenever he comes to. Max, just be ready to do your little healing thing just in case,” Alex instructed. Kyle nodded and Max opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was immediately shut down by Liz and Isobel simultaneously glaring at him. Then he nodded.

Alex took a deep breath as grabbed the piece. He pulled Michael’s hand off the couch to touch it as well and Isobel grabbed onto the other end. Alex locked eyes with Isobel and instantly started to feel her trying to pry. Instinct and training told him not to let her.

‘Alex. Relax. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay,’ Michael coaxed. He kept whispering sweet words of encouragement and Alex did his best to let himself go as he started at Isobel.

Slowly but surely, he phased out of consciousness and into where she wanted him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is this?”

Alex was sitting cross-legged on a bench of some sort and everything around them was pitch black. Well, mostly. Isobel was far to his right and across from him was Michael. To his left, the piece floated and lit the empty space well enough that he could see their faces. Isobel was fully mobile and aware, but Michael seemed to be just as catatonic as he was in real life.

“Why does he look like that?” Alex asked, “He’s obviously awake, I’ve been hearing him in my head.”

“I don’t know, why does your mindscape look like this? I’ve never been in one that’s all black before,” Isobel commented.

Alex could barely give her the time of day as he stared at Michael. It took him a moment but he eventually realized he was vibrating so quickly it was hard to catch. No wonder there was incessant buzzing. Alex wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but he couldn’t seem to move.

“Jesus, this place is ridiculous, I feel like I’m walking in tar,” Isobel said. Alex finally looked at her and she was moving, but it was in slow motion. It was really fucking frustrating.

“I think it’s because I don’t want you to see anything,” Alex admitted. Isobel scoffed.

“Well, will you let up enough for me to try and fix this?” she demanded. Alex swallowed and looked at Michael and then to the piece. He really didn’t want to.

“Tell me what the plan is first,” Alex said. Despite how irritated she very clearly was, Isobel gave him an answer.

“I’m going to lead Michael to the piece and then I’m going to get out of your mindscape and then go into his and lead him away. That sounds like the easiest route,” Isobel said. Alex bit his bottom lip as he stared at Michael. That did sound like the easiest route. And that’s primarily what made him nervous.

He didn’t like doing this without hearing Michael’s opinion.

“Listen, Alex, maybe if you let up, he’ll be more aware and we can ask what he thinks we should do,” Isobel said. Alex stayed quiet for a moment.

He made his decision quietly while staring at the blurred outline of Michael’s body. Light started to filter into the space and Isobel’s movement was made a bit easier as she headed to Michael. As the light flooded in, so did memories.

Michael’s voice‒never with someone I like as much as I like you. Alex’s voice‒you’re mine. His father’s voice‒too many to pick out anything in particular. Isobel glanced over at him as his father’s voice started to overpower Alex’s own thoughts.

“Stop it, focus on him,” Alex said. Isobel took a breath and nodded.

Michael’s blurred figure slowly opened his eyes, blinking and tired. Alive. The sight alone was enough to bring him a bit of comfort. Alex listened as Isobel ran her plan by him and he nodded, glancing over at Alex. He gave a smile and Alex couldn’t help but give one right back.

In the background, his own voice and Michael’s voice overpowered his father’s.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Michael told him, echo-y and honest. Alex nodded.

“And I’ll see you.”

Michael took Isobel’s hand and she swiftly led him over to the piece with practiced ease. She gave one more glance around Alex’s mindscape before she waved and everything went black again.

Alex opened his eyes to see both Isobel and Michael still out of it. Michael’s buzzing no longer filled his head.

Alex gave a breath of relief and slumped back, his hands bracing against the floor as he waited.

It was painfully quiet as they all watched Isobel and Michael hold onto the piece with bated breaths. It worked. Hopefully. It was working. Michael wasn’t in his head. That was good. This was good. Things were going in the right direction.

Or he thought that until Isobel opened her eyes and let go of the piece. She didn’t look satisfied or relieved as she stared at Michael’s body. His still, cold, unbreathing body. They all waited.

“Where is he?” Alex asked after a moment, “Why isn’t he waking up?”

“He… He said he could do it on his own. I thought he had it…” Isobel said softly. Alex choked on air and stared at her with wide eyes.

“Well go back in and see where he’s at! Maybe he got lost!” Alex demanded. She didn’t look his way as she stared at her brother.

“No, I saw him leave. If he’s not there, then I don’t know…” Isobel trailed off.

In an instant, Alex was on his knees and trying his best to avoid the piece as he shook Michael’s shoulders.

“Wake up,” he told him, “Wake up, you promised me you’d see me.”

A few more seconds passed without him and Isobel scrambled back to grab Max’s arm, tugging him forward. She was snapping at him to do something, but Alex could barely hear as he shook him. He needed him to wake up.

“Alex, move, I’m gonna try to get up, but if you’re touching him it could hurt you,” Max said. Alex moved away faster than he logically should’ve, but Max quickly stepped in and put his hand over his heart.

Before any funky alien healing could happen, though, Michael’s eyes opened and he took a deep breath.

“Fuck, my head hurts.”

And for the first time in days, Alex laughed.

After Michael insisted he was fine, let Liz and Kyle take vitals, and insisted he was fine some more, they eventually gave them some space under the condition that Michael had to get lunch with Isobel after he got some rest.

The house was quiet, the doors were locked, and the sun was shining through the windows as Alex sat on his bed and Michael sat across from him. They were both changed into nightclothes and staring at each other, feeling familiar in a completely new way. Alex had no doubt that his joy was nothing but his own.

It was nice to have quiet in his mind again. Nicer to have Michael here. Even nicer than that, to have Michael be on the same page.

“Alex,” Michael said, slowly like he was testing the word in his mouth again. Alex found himself smiling a bit too wide.

“Michael,” Alex said back. Michael smiled just as wide. “In the nicest way possible, I never want to get near your brain ever again.”

Michael laughed softly and, fuck, it was a nice sound. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

“And in the nicest way possible, I never want to be stuck inside you ever again,” Michael said. His tongue pressed behind his teeth as he smirked. “I mean, not in that way, at least.”

Alex shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“When are you going to touch me with your own hands?” Alex asked. Michael sat up a little straighter.

“I thought we were meant to take a nap.”

“Why can’t we do both?”

Michael didn’t need to be asked a second time as he lunged forward, easily pressing Alex into the mattress. For the first time in a long time, Alex was kissed without hesitation and without a time limit and without restrictions. He was kissed like he was known and loved by someone he knew and loved.

Michael’s hands gripped his sides and slowly slid up, feeling him and gripping him tightly. He settled between Alex’s thighs and kissed him breathless and touched him anywhere he could reach. Even the way he grabbed his knee and his elbows felt like gentle caresses, carefully and deliberately.

“I am going to take my time with you,” Michael whispered into his mouth, “And I am going to savor every minute of it.”

Alex grinned and tugged him closer, wanting to have every inch of himself pressed against every inch of Michael. He was warm and breathing and his heart was beating. All things Alex would never take for granted.

“I’m going to put in the work this time, Alex,” Michael promised, pulling Alex off the bed just enough to grab the blanket and throw it over them. With a tilt of the head and no ridiculous reaction at all, the light shut off and the curtains closed and it was just them. Separate, but together. “This time I’m not wasting time.”

“Me neither,” Alex hummed. Michael’s hands slid beneath his shirt, over his bare stomach and chest, and breathed him in.

“I love you,” Michael said, honest and out loud, “And I know you know that I love you, but I love you. So much.”

“I love you too,” Alex said, “And I know you know that I love you, but I love you.”

Michael grinned and wrapped his arms around him, slowly lowering himself as he left a trail of kisses from his mouth to his neck. His head hit Alex’s shoulder and his body relaxed on top of his. Fully and completely.

Because he was here. And he was breathing. And he was his.

And Alex finally fell asleep.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #alex + body

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ot3tropetober · 4 years ago

Photo

Eliot and Hardison are travel journalists for rival publications who keep showing up in the same places

Fic for this (~3500 words) is below the read more! Some notes:

[backstory on why Hardison is writing these comes from this post]

[Eliot, Parker, and Hardison are all commenting on this document, think of it like the chat in Google drive? In-document comments from Eliot are italicized, from Hardison are in bold, and from Parker are plain text]

By the time Will Coffey stepped off the plane in Dallas, all he wanted was a nice long shower and to sleep in his own bed for once. Being a travel journalist for a leading travel magazine had its perks– a month-long trip across Mexico, for example, all expenses paid or at least reimbursed – but after a month on the road he was dead tired and ready to be home.

Is this supposed to be me? Why am I living in Dallas?

Yes, and also, you don’t actually live in Dallas, Eliot, you live here, in Portland, with us.

I know that, I just– you know what, never mind.

Well, Will Coffey likes Dallas.

I am Will Coffey!!

That’s the spirit.

The other thing about being on the road for a living was that sometimes it felt kinda lonely, and as relieved as he was to be home, the first couple of minutes after he walked in, turned on the lights, and looked around at an empty place, that was always a little bittersweet. But the only other person he’d really seen in any kind of serious capacity the whole time he’d had this gig was a fellow traveler who spent just as much time on the road as he did, so it just kinda was what it was. He set his keys and his bag down and headed to the kitchen for a beer, but he hadn’t even opened his fridge when his phone buzzed a couple times. It was a text from Sarah, his editor. He’d known her forever– they shared a couple classes in college. Now they shared the stress of managing a print publication in an increasingly digital world.

“Did you see this?” she had written. There was a link in the next message. “How does this guy get this stuff up so fast?“

Will already knew what he was gonna find before he clicked the link, and sure enough, it directed him to a popular travel blog called The Travel Geek, which was a ridiculous name for a travel blog but people absolutely went wild for it. Will liked it too, not that he would ever really admit it, but that probably had more to do with the guy who ran it than anything else. They had…not a thing, exactly? It was hard to explain whatever was going on with Jeremy Edwards, who by rights Will should probably hate for stealing his stories and his audience. But the problem with that was mainly that the guy was so goddamn likeable.

I’m guessing that’s you.

You would be correct.

You think I think you’re likeable?

No, I know it.

he is pretty likeable

Yeah, yeah.

Will had met Jeremy a couple of years ago, right when he was just starting out with his blog. Jeremy said he’d been reading Will’s stuff for a while and would love some advice from a pro. It wasn’t like Will didn’t know it was a little bit of flattery, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know it was a little bit of flirting, either. It also wasn’t like Jeremy was bad to look at. So Will said sure, he’d be glad to, and they were in Belgium, so they shared some beers, ate fries from a baraque at one in the morning on a park bench, shoulders pressed together, while Will tipsily rhapsodized about gaufre de Liège while Jeremy laughed and laughed.

I have never *rhapsodized* about anything in my damn life.

Have you heard you talk about food? This is not a criticism. I could listen to that all day.

Nothing really happened, in the end, just a good conversation and the promise to keep in touch. That turned out to be easier than it should have been, because they started covering the same damn things, all the time. One big world, and somehow they were always sharing part of it: Will was in India on a camel safari through the Thar Desert, and Jeremy was there, keeping Will up at night tappity tapping on his keyboard. Or Will was in Oatman, Arizona, for a piece on Route 66, and there was Jeremy, taking selfies with the wild burros roaming the streets of the town. Or Will was traveling around Japan, doing a feature on onsens, and Jeremy was there, too, acting like he wasn’t looking in Will’s direction while they sat, very naked, in the soothing hot water. It went on like that for a while until finally one night in Barcelona, in front of Sagrada Familia, he looked at Jeremy, tall and handsome in this absurd brightly patterned scarf, and said, “This is ridiculous, man,” and pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss.

Do you honestly think it would have taken me that long?

I don’t know, baby, it took your cowboy ass five years in real time, so Will’s doing a lot better than you.

OoooooooOooo

We had a lot goin on!!! And what is that supposed to be, parker? are you some kind of ghost?

it made more sense in person

I’ll take your word for it.

It wasn’t a relationship, exactly. It was just something they did, sometimes, if they happened to run into each other on the road. It wasn’t like he was getting invited home for the holidays, or anything, and he was fine with that, really. The long and short of it was, they’d basically been circling each other for years now, professionally, personally, whatever, but the professional stuff was definitely getting in the way of anything else. Because Will would sit down and write out his long, detailed articles with carefully selected photographs that would look just right on the page, while Jeremy had already turned out quick blog entry after quick blog entry, listing off places people should visit with witty little one sentence summaries, and people just ate it right up with a spoon while Adventure., Will’s magazine, slowly saw its sales circling the drain. It stung a little. Maybe more than a little. It wasn’t like he could say the guy wasn’t working hard, but damn. Hell, the best selling issue they’d had in a couple years was the one where Sarah had masterminded a collaboration between Will and Jeremy. Blogging was definitely here to stay.

That night in Belgium was five years ago, and at the time it seemed impossible that the internet would ever really fully overtake print. But bloggers and phones had both gotten smarter over the last five years, and now everyone wanted their news in little chunks that they could read on a screen during their commute, so travel blogs were the hot new thing. Will grimaced as he looked at the blog entries Jeremy already had up from Mexico, where they’d run into each other at least half a dozen times.

Five Reasons You Need to Visit Mexico City Right Now; What You’re Missing Because You’re Not in Monterrey; Everything You Wanted to Know About Agave But Were Too Afraid to Ask

“You gotta be kidding me with this,” he muttered, staring at his phone and thinking about the half-written article he had saved on his laptop detailing the history of agave and how to experience Jalisco as more than just the birthplace of tequila.

He pulled up Sarah’s number and dialed.

“I don’t know how we can compete with this,” he sighed, when she picked up.

“We’re going to have to adapt,” she said. “You know that. I can hear you making a face."

"I don’t want to blog,” he complained. “I like print."

"I know,” she sighed. “I’m working on it. Anyway, I’m glad you called, I was going to call you. I need you to go to Italy. Flight leaves tomorrow."

"No way. Not interested,” he told her. “I just got back to my apartment, Sarah, I’ve been in Mexico for a month. I’m beat."

"It’s not my fault that you spend half your time on extracurricular activities,” she teased.

“You can just say sex,” he said. “I won’t be offended. And it’s not half my time. Like, maybe twenty-five percent. Anyway, I get the job done."

"Yeah, and you’re very good at it, which is why I need you to go to Italy,” she said.

“I’m not saying yes,” he told her, “and I’m not interested. But what’s in Italy that’s so important for me to get to?"

"You’ll love this one,” Sarah promised. “It’s a food festival."

Okay, maybe he was a little interested. "Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said. His phone buzzed in his ear. “I just emailed you the details. Including your flight info."

"Dammit, Sarah–"

"Oops, emergency, the printer’s on fire, gotta go!” she chirped, and the line disconnected.

Yeah okay that’s Parker huh

Yep!

I do know y'all a little bit.

“Dammit,” Will said again, and opened Sarah’s email to read up on his next destination.

The food festival turned out to be a week long international celebration of local food from around the world. It only happened once every few years in October, when a world of people descended on the city of Torino, and more specifically the park by the River Po, where they set up tents and stands and served pretty much every kind of food you could imagine, and Will loved food and could imagine a lot, so that was saying something. It was pretty cool, seeing all these people from all over the planet showing off food that was important to them, sharing it with strangers. It really was the whole planet, too, the way the park was set up you could walk through a continent at a time, with all the countries on it represented at their own space. He figured he’d pay his respects to the hosts first and start with Italy, which was definitely the largest section. Halfway through the displays he found a stall with some folks from Campania selling fresh mozzarella di bufala the size of his fist for a Euro. It was speared on a stick like a candy apple so he could walk around with it, nibbling on the sweet cheese as he checked out the festival’s other offerings. Aged cheeses covered in mud and straw from a little town in France. A swanky tent with wood plank floors where the Filipino agriculture offices had a set up with big displays dedicated to traditional food and heirloom crops. Six different kinds of wild rice were layered in a glass display bottle in the booth dedicated to Indigenous agriculture in North America. There were folks from the Yucatan peninsula displaying cured meats and wild honey. There was a whole series of displays about preserving, protecting, and raising Maasai red sheep, from Kenya. The whole event was really impressive, actually, and even though his body had no idea what time zone he was in, he didn’t feel too tired– although that might have been more because he’d been downing every cup of coffee from anyone selling it.

Okay, this actually sounds pretty cool. But now you gotta fake a whole food festival like this if we ever use these aliases.

I don’t have to. That’s a real thing. Happens every couple of years. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the next one. Parker can probably find us a job after, anyway.

I’d love– like that.

Hardison. HARDISON.

Why isn’t this deleting the things I tell it to delete???

Ooh, forgot to tell y'all, this chat records your keystrokes? You know. Just in case you happen to type something sappy about how much you love me, and then delete it before you send it in the chat. Pretty much exactly what just happened.

Dammit Hardison I’m gonna delete YOU

Baby, that doesn’t even make any sense.

im w hardison on this 1. it’s ok if u love things eliot. especially food . or us

Just let me finish reading Hardison’s make believe story so I can get back to dinner prep, ok?

(he loves us)

I know :)

Will strolled around the park, snapping photos here and there, jotting down notes. He talked to folks from all over who came here to run their country’s booths, locals who had come out to enjoy the day, and people who had traveled long distances to be there. After a couple of hours and a really good lunch, he found an unoccupied bench near the river and posted up there for a while, notebook open next to him as he flipped through photos on his phone, the story he could tell about this event already starting to take shape in his head, and he had to admit, at least to himself, that Sarah had been right about this one. Nobody else on their staff knew food enough to get this right. But even though he had a good idea where to start, he couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed, too. You could spend two weeks here and still not talk to everybody, and it seemed important to try, somehow.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice, and Will looked up from his phone and his notes to see the tall form of none other than Jeremy Edwards.

“Dammit, Edwards,” Will swore. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Again?"

Yeah it’s pretty much EXACTLY like that every time

Mmmhmm. You talk a big game, man, but no one here believes you.

What he said ur like that stuff u put on the dessert u made 4 us last wk

Stuff on dessert– the Italian meringue? You really comparing me to Italian meringue?!

Is that the stuff that was kinda hard and crunchy on the outside but actually really soft and sweet inside?

Yep that’s the stuff

This is the worst conversation we’ve ever had.

It’s weird how I can hear you smiling right now, though.

Shut up, Hardison, I’m reading.

Got him! XD

"Looks like it,” Jeremy said. He took a seat next to Will on the bench, despite the fact that Will had absolutely not fucking offered it to him. He grinned. Will looked back at his notes before he smiled back. “We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this."

"Yeah, well, trust me, I’m working on it,” Will grumbled, and risked a look at Jeremy again. Still handsome, and still smiling, unfortunately. He thought about the blog a little and made himself frown. “So, you’re here to blog about this, huh? How many blog posts have you done already?"

"None so far,” Jeremy said, scratching his chin, “but I am working on one right now. Tentative title, How to Tell The Guy You’re Casually Seeing And Have Been Chasing All Over the Globe That His Boss Sent Me Here To Work With Him."

Well, there was a lot of information there, but Will decided maybe sticking with the professional stuff was better for now. "I’m sorry, you’re here for what?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Sarah really liked that collaboration thing she got us to do last year, I guess, wanted to try it again for this. I said yes. It’s good for your magazine and it gives my blog some credibility with all you snooty print folks."

"We’re not snooty,” Will said, although that wasn’t exactly true. Maybe they were, a little. He unlocked his phone and saw the email from Sarah, the subject line of which read: “DON’T ARGUE IT WILL BE GOOD FOR YOU/US/THE MAGAZINE.” He sighed and looked back at Jeremy. “I can’t believe she sent you to a food thing."

"I’m offended,” Jeremy said, although it didn’t much sound like it. “I know food."

"Oh really? So last year when we were in Beijing and you were looking for a McDonald’s that was just you knowing food, huh,” Will drawled.

“Sometimes you just really want a Happy Meal,” Jeremy joked, and Will just shook his head.

“I guess we should figure out what we’re doing, then,” he said, and Jeremy raised his eyebrows.

“About the story,” he said, “right?"

"Yeah, about the story,” Will grumbled.

“Whatever you say,” Jeremy said affably, just like always.

It was actually pretty easy to figure out how to cover the festival now that he had a partner in crime. They worked out a plan that afternoon, sketched out a couple of pieces, a collab for Adventure., a short guest piece for Will on The Travel Geek, and a short story in the magazine for Jeremy. Sarah signed off on everything from afar– “What time is it where she is? Does that woman ever sleep?” Jeremy asked, as they both got email after email. “I don’t think she does, man,” Will laughed– and they got to work pretty quick. There was plenty to do and they were both here for a few days, so they wandered through the park as they worked, stopping occasionally to sample food or take photos. Eventually they walked all the way out of the park and into the city, up to a big plaza, Piazza Castello, in the center of the historic part of town. They got gelato from one of the many carts set up nearby for the festival, and sat outside, eating and talking as the sun set.

It was nice. It was always nice, when they ran into each other. That wasn’t the problem. But they’d been stuck in the same routine for years now: they’d find themselves in the same place, Jeremy would laugh, Will would pretend he was annoyed, and then they’d spend a good chunk of their time together enjoying each other’s company in as many ways as they could find, and then they’d head to the airport and go their separate ways. And that was that. This shouldn’t be any different, but somehow it was. Maybe it was the sunset lighting up Jeremy’s skin, or maybe he’d just been lonely too long, but maybe they needed to figure out what they were doing with more than just the stories they were here to tell.

“You wanna get dinner?” Will said, before he could talk himself out of it.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, smiling again, and this time Will let himself smile back. Just a little.

They asked around for recommendations and ended up at a little restaurant in the city, a few blocks from the Piazza. They split a bottle of wine, a margherita pizza, and some perfectly fried fish, and they didn’t really talk about work at all.

“You know,” Jeremy said, about halfway through the wine, “not for nothing, but I’ve gotta say, this looks and feels a lot like a date."

"I wasn’t under the impression that you’d be opposed to that,” Will said.

“Oh, I’m not opposed,” Jeremy told him, “I’m just a little surprised you’re asking. I figured at this point it was gonna have to be me who said something."

Will eyed him carefully, thought back to a lot of nights on a lot of trips. "How long exactly have you been waiting around?"

"I mean, don’t get the wrong idea, here, I haven’t been pining away for you like some Victorian in a bad novel,” Jeremy said, and Will snorted. “But yeah. I played a long game, man. I gotta say, though, after that fishing boat incident in Guyana I really thought you figured out we had a thing."

"Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to notice, I was too busy taking pictures of you hiding behind that skinny British guy when that big old fish jumped out of the water,” Will snickered.

“Big old– that thing was two-hundred and thirty-four pounds of ichthyological torpedo headed straight for yours truly,” Jeremy said, and Will chuckled. “Big doesn’t really describe it.”

“Hmm. It was kinda wild he thought we were gonna get in the water with it,” Will mused. He winked. “Glad you finally remembered you owed me dinner for keeping him from pushing us into the river."

"Ha. You know Sarah wants us to work with that guy again, right?"

"Aw, hell,” Will said. “Really?"

"Yeah,” Jeremy confirmed. “She said she was gonna talk to you about it when we got back from this. Canada this time, so when Mister Fisherman tries to throw me in the water at least the hypothermia will probably get me before the monster fish does."

"Nah,” Will said. “Don’t worry about that. Nobody throws you off a fishing boat. Except maybe me. No. Well. Maybe. No,” he concluded.

Hah. I mean, okay, that does sound like me.

Oh, I am aware, trust me.

“Sarah maybe also mentioned we might do a few more of these little…collaborative things,” Jeremy said, drawing invisible circles on the table. “Maybe even in a more formal capacity."

Will raised his eyebrows. "No way she talked you into giving up the blog."

"Oh, definitely not,” Jeremy said. “But funnily enough, people keep sending me emails about wanting a print version of some of my photographs? But I don’t really have the publishing connections. A magazine, though…” he shrugged. “Me and Sarah figured we might come to some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement, somehow. Might be seeing more of you, is what I’m trying to say."

"Can’t say I mind that,” Will said, and reached out across the table to cover Jeremy’s hand with his.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Jeremy answered, and this time Will didn’t try to hide his smile.

/end

Okay?

Okay, what?

Well where the hell is the rest of it?

What rest of it? It’s clearly implied that they’re dating now. They’re dating, they’re happy, they’re gonna work together for real, happily ever after, et cetera.

they should have at least kissed. i would be into that

This is what I’m saying. Where’s the resolution, here?

Baby, anytime you want a kiss, you know where to find me.

What I want is for you to take this seriously since you’re making us read all of it.

Wow, okay. Here:

They walked around the city for a long time after dinner, still holding hands, and the kiss they shared later under the moonlight felt like a promise. The Actual End.

Y'all happy?

too sappy 4 me but idk what eliot thinks

Not your best work but it’ll do, I guess.

Are you still in the kitchen?

Yeah, why?

I’m gonna come give you a demonstration of my best work, that’s why.

Bring it on, man.

do i get a demo too

You know it.

#author: coffeesuperhero #leverage ot3 #parker x hardison x eliot #hardison x eliot #leverage #ot3tropetober #submission

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slade-neko · 3 years ago

Text

Saw this video game tag thing pop up on my dash a few days ago. Wanted to do it.

1. First game you played obsessively? Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, I believe I was 5yo. Still waiting on that FF7 Remake treatment.

2. A game that has influenced you creatively? Writing, drawing, etc. Well if I play a game and like it, then I'll create sims of it. Does that count?

3. Who did you play with as a kid? My brother from the day I was born.

4. Who do you play with now? My brother FROM THE DAY I WAS BORN.

5. Ever use cheat codes? I wasn't lying when I made this post. {link}

6. Ever buy strategy guides? Yes! Mainly to look at the artwork though. (Don't need no guide!)

7. Any games you have multiple copies of? Lots of games, most being Left 4 Dead with 6 copies (3 Xbox 360, 1 PC case, 2 PC digitally.) What can I say, its a GOOD GAME!

8. Rarest/Most expensive game in your collection? Gold cartridge Legend of Zelda Ocarina of Time (maybe that's rare?)

9. Most regrettable purchase? I don't regret my purchases, but I have received games I have never played like Cubix (PS2) no clue where that game came from, but I have it somehow. Madagascar (Xbox 360) came with my Xbox 360, never opened it from its case. And Monsters Inc. Scream Arena (Gamecube) or something... it was a gift.

10. Ever go to a midnight game release or stand in line for hours? No, because then I'd have to interact with people.

11. Have you ever made new friends from playing video games? I'm only friends with people BECAUSE of video games, so yes.

12. Ever get picked on for liking games? No, that'd be ridiculous.

13. A game you’ve never played that everyone else has? Probably a lot, I'd say Call of Duty, but I technically played CoD 1, 2, and 4. The campaign mode was alright, but I don't really care for CoD games at ALL.

14. Favorite game music? Koji Kondo and Grant Kirkhope are two BIG ones.

15. If it was a requirement to get a game related tattoo, what would you pick? Triforce is the most basic option, but I'd rather not get a tattoo.

16. Favorite game to play with your friends IRL? Super Smash Bros. Brawl with hacks, but that was over a decade ago.

17. Ever lose a friend over a game? No, that'd be ridiculous.

18. Would you date someone that hates gaming? No, that'd be RIDICULOUS.

19. Favorite handheld console? PSP. 3DS is great, but PSP Monster Hunter has ALL of my portable gaming memories. Like playing in school after End of Grade tests with my friend.

20. Game that you know like the back of your hand? Sims 4 I like to think I know everything about Left 4 Dead. Quite a bit about Monster Hunter, more so of a series though than a specific game.

21. Game that you didn’t like or understand as a kid but love now? I'd say Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic. I loved it as a kid, but had a lot of complex pen & paper RPG mechanics that I never understood. I understand a lot more of it now, but its still complex as all heck. I just know you hit things, they die.

22. Do you wear game related clothing/accessories? That's the only thing I wear.

23. The game that you’ve logged the most hours into? Not sure so I'll list a few. Sims 4, Smash Bros. Brawl, Monster Hunter (its a series though), or Left 4 Dead

24. First Pokemon game? Leaf Green

25. Were you ever an arcade game player? No, don't like paying to play.

26. Ever form any gaming rivalries? No.

27. Game that makes you rage? I don't get mad at games, but I had a custom modded Hard Eight mutation in Left 4 Dead that is absolute bullsh*t!

28. Ever play in a tournament? No, because then I'd have to interact with people.

29. What is your gaming set up? A giant wall of video game consoles spanning from NES to Switch, 4 TVs, but I sit at a desk with a PC.

30. How many consoles do you own? "I own every console that's ever existed." - I Don't Play Games When I Play Games (My STRENTH) original song by Smooth McGroove BUT no seriously I own 32 consoles including handhelds.

31. Does the 3DS and/or Virtual Boy hurt your eyes or give you headaches? Yes. 3DS gave me headaches though I only really played with the 3D feature in Ocarina of Time 3D. I think my eyes broke because I couldn't get my 3D to work very well after.

32. Did you ever play a game based on your favorite show/cartoon/movie/comic? Sure I play games based on a lot of things. Literally any anime game. If I had to pick Dragon Ball Xenoverse is kinda like a dream Dragon Ball game. Oh, Attack on Titan 2 is pretty neat too!

33. Did you ever have any bootleg games or plug-n-play games? Some SEGA plug-n-play thing once. Played it like once and now its lost to time (or my closet.)

34. Do either of your parents play video games? Yes. Mom and Dad played NES Super Mario Bros. My Dad went HARD at that game until he saved the Princess. Then he quit forever.

35. Ever work in a game store? Or do you have a favorite game shop? "Hi. Welcome to Gamestop!"I never want to hear that again, but it was my main store until I went full digital/ online orders.

36. Have you ever shed actual blood, sweat or tears over a game? No, I don't tend to get upset or emotional, but Bill dying in Left 4 Dead made me pretty pissed.

37. Have you played E.T. for the Atari 2600? Do you think that’s the worst game ever, or do you have another nomination? Never played it. I don't really play "bad" games, but maybe Sims 4.

38. A game you’re ashamed to admit that you like? The Sims 4

39. A sequel that you would die for them to make? Dragon's Dogma 2 WHICH I think is actually in development, so I'd have to say Fallout New Vegas 2. C'mon Bethesda you cowards, hand the keys back over to Obsidian so they can make another good Fallout game!

40. What to you think of virtual reality headsets or motion controls? Two part question, two answers. VR Headset to immerse in world, yes. Motion Controls, no.

41. A genre that you just can’t get into? MOBAs and MMOs. I don't like paying to keep playing.

42. Maybe it wasn’t your first game, but what was the game that started you on your path to nerdiness? Nintendo 64 opened me up to what video games could be as a kid. Sad to say my parents' NES didn't really do that for me. And years later Fallout 3 was a big game changer for me too.

43. Ever play games when you really should have been concentrating on something else? Every day of my LIFE.

44. Arcade machine that has consumed the most of your quarters? None. I'd rather emulate.

45. How are you at Mario Kart? Pretty dang good. 3-STARS MARIO KART WII, BABY!

46. Do you like relaxing games like Animal Crossing or Harvest Moon? Yes, both of those. I preferred when Animal Crossing had more character to it. New Horizons looks so pretty, but feels so bland compared to classic AC.

47. Do you like competitive games? No. Not really. Usually amongst friends or if I can get competitive against AI Bots. I love my machine bot friends cause they don't cry like 10 year olds when they lose.

48. How long does it take your to customize your player character? Too long. I've seriously restarted games because I wasn't happy with my character's appearance.

49. In games where you can pick your class, do you always tend to go for the same type of character? Yes, I am always the magic man, my brother is always brute warrior, and my friend is the ranger.

50. If you were a game designer, what masterpiece would you create? I don't really know. Honestly, I'd rather mod already good games to make them better than create something completely new.

51. Have you ever played a game for so long that you forgot to eat or sleep? No, that'd be ridiculous. But I've had a friend fall asleep playing games at my house 3 different times and currently dozes off during our Minecraft sessions. So, maybe that's not a completely ridiculous thing after all.

52. A game that you begged your parents for as a kid? Kirby 64 apparently. My brother tells me we had to count out pennies to buy it. I must've been too young with no recollection, but I believe it.

53. What’s your opinion on DLC these days? It's good if its not in the game's files from the beginning and is actually developed AFTER launch... and pre-order bonuses should be standard DLC a month or two later. Some games have content lost to time because of that pre-order bullsh*t.

54. Do you give in to Steam sales? Of course. If you want a game and its on sale then why not? I typically wait just for Steam sales to get games.

55. Did you ever make someone you hated in the Sims and did mean stuff to them? No? I typically make people and characters I like in Sims. I've made villains like Dio, but he's an anime villain and I don't really HATE him despite the horrible things he's done.

56. Did you ever play Roller Coaster Tycoon and kill off your guests? No. Never played that game.

57. Did you ever play a game to 100% or get all of the achievements? I try to for all the games I really like.

58. If you can only play 3 games for the rest of your life, which ones do you pick? The Sims 4, Skyrim, & Fallout: New Vegas. Mods make them live forever. Left 4 Dead and Monster Hunter are good choices too.

59. Do you play any cell phone games? Those aren't games.

60. Do you know the Konami Code? No? But I'll take a guess. Is it make an IP and forget it exists?

61. Do you trade in your games or keep them forever? Keep forever... even the bad ones.

62. Ever buy a console specifically to play one game? PS4 Pro for Monster Hunter World. It was basically for early access since the PC version was being developed and releasing after PS4, but I don't like waiting.

63. Ever go to a gaming convention or tournament? Sort of. Been to anime cons and walked into the gaming tournament rooms only to walk out less than 10 minutes later.

64. Ever make a TV or monitor purchase based on what would be best for gaming? No, but I'm going to be doing that soon, hopefully.

65. Ever have a Game Genie, Game Shark or Action Replay? Did it ever mess up your game’s save file? GameShark for N64, PS2, Gameboy, and Action Replay for Gamecube, DS, 3DS. And no not really, I would cheat responsibly... but there was this one time at school my friend and I borrowed another friend's Gameboy game, loaded it up with my Gameshark, tried playing, it crashed, loaded it back up, save file corrupted... we just stared at each other jaws dropped, "Here's your game back, dude. Make sure you don't play it til you get back home!"

66. Did you ever have have an old Nokia with Snake on it? No, but I remember seeing them on billboards in the game DRIV3R on PS2.

67. Do you have a happy gaming-related childhood memory you want to share? Every game I play is filled with happy memories (mostly.)

68. Ever save up a ton of tickets in an arcade to get something cool? These tiger plushes. My brother got white and I got orange. They were the coolest. Got a butt load of tickets from some jackpot spinning light game thing as I was good at the timing with repeated jackpot hits.

69. In your opinion, best game ever made? I've played quite a few masterpiece games, but to pick one, I'd say Fallout: New Vegas

70. Very first game you ever beat? Super Mario 64. I was a mere child on a Sunday morning and ate celebratory pancakes made by my Dad.

Wow, that was long... I get the feeling this was supposed to be a "send me ask with numbers" thing, but answering all at once is more fun.

#personal #video games

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theconfusedartist · 4 years ago

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alright, it’s the end of the year so imma be honest

being in quarantine has made me realize how little nonblack people care about black lives. like. I only ever reblog posts with radical statements without tags bc I don’t want anyone to feel like I’m personally attacking them and sometimes bc though I agree with the general post, there might be things that I disagree with but don’t have the spoons to really sit down and put in the tags why the phrasing/usage of certain words or phrases upset me. so I just like and move on

but after seeing that Black Lives Matter is trending on tumblr at #20 all the seething rage I’ve been holding in my chest kinda bubbles over. why? Because this year, nonblack people have proven, whether we’re talking on a large scale like corporations, businesses, and larger financial institutions or if we’re taking on a smaller scale like person to person or even just seeing someone’s post on whatever social media, that they don’t are about black people

It really was unnerving. Seeing these ads or hearing them say “Black Lives Matter! As long as they contribute to our sales!Buy now! And feel like a better person because you shopped at a store that was unafraid to say BLM!” and then looking up and seeing they weren’t donating a cent to any movements or even giving money to the black people who’s posts had skyrocketed asking for money due to COVID

“I think BLM!” proclaims a nonblack blogger, puts it in their bio and then talks over black people in issues that have nothing to do with them

It’s like seeing the whole ‘I have a black friend’ trope being commodisized in real time as people clamored to claim their anti-racism but in the next breath talked about how we should wait or things aren’t as bad as they say they are.

It always was a hit, another kick to the ribs, another post to turn away from as nonblack people started sharing pictures of black bodies with “hashtag BLM” as though to them the statement held no more weight than “I prefer cats over dogs”

It hurt, hearing about another black person who’d been killed for just existing in a space where someone took offense, then not only having to deal with the fact that their death and photos of their bodies are going to be spread around but also the fact that there would be people claiming that person deserved their death. why? well, it must’ve been some reason if they were killed for it (but there never actually is)

but this? seeing tumblr our BLM on trending as if it’s some pop culture reference or something silly that will pass once the year end infuriated and enrages me. my life will not end at the end of this year, I will still matter, all the black people living and dead will still matter whether they get acknowledged or not

Black people are people. Even when our worth is assigned and considered lesser than, we will still matter and what you think or believe on the subjec will not EVER change the fact that OIR LIVES MATTER

We have WORTH. Not just as a punching bag, a token friend, a cautionary tale, or something big and scary to gawk at, not just as much as what we are able to produce

BLACK LIVES MATTER NO MATTER WHAT WORTH NONBLACK PEOPLE TRY TO IGNORE IT, NO MATTER HOW HARD THEY TRY AND HOW OFTEN WE’RE REMINDED THAT YOU ONLY VALUE US FOR OUR LABOR, WE WILL STILL MATTER

no amount of hate, racism, or ignorance will ever change that and honestly? I pity you.

All over the world, we are told that we are nothing and don’t matter when we know it isn’t true, even as were verbally or metaphorically spit on, and yet this world wouldn’t be as it is without us

After all, if we weren’t out here creating history, making waves in our own spaces, and radicalizing the world simply by existing to the point that all we touch and create is so much better than what others create that they have to steal what we make and create and are too embarrassed to admit their lack of imagination and respond with indignation for their cultural appropriation, where would they be? So much of the basis other cultures have are stolen off the backs of black people and their creations, as much as that galls me, but without us you’d be less than nothing

So thank you, 2020. For showing me even if we and our lives don’t matter to nonblack people that we will always remain not only relevant but will continue to thrive even under the worst circumstances as everyone else falters because we’ve been here so long that all we can do is continue to stay winning

#and that’s on that!#black lives matter #no I’m not apologizing #I had to deal with this racist shit for years #and people have only been emboldened #I have no sympathy for whatever tears I cause

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fantasyinvader · 4 years ago

Text

I’m going to do something a little different here today.

I was a 90′s kid, and it really was a different time. Like a few year’s back I was talking to the daughter of one of my cousins, and she mentioned that for her generation there wasn’t any really scary shows on. Like as a kid there was all sorts of horror anthology. Some of it was well done, others were more gross out. I loved this stuff as a kid, and as I grew older I grew to love horror anthology movies and the odd show targetted towards older audiences. There’s copies of Tales from the Crypt that have been calling to me at Walmart for a long time now, just I keep putting it off until I see them on sale.

So, today I want to talk about the horror anthology shows I grew up with. Just what kinda shaped me, so you all know who to blame. I want to rank these, but aside from the first two being at the bottom the rest were up in the air for various reasons. So, let me show you what hurt me.

Grisly Tales for Gruesome Kids. Ahh yes, this quaint little gem from the British Isles...fuck this shit was dark. Like so fucking dark and cynical. It really had the tone of those stories parents tell their kids to get them to behavior while mommy is nursing a hangover. I really hated this one as a kid, but I was always kinda drawn to it. I mean, kids were meeting horrific fates in these stories, sometimes over issues I felt were overblown. It basically answered the question of how dark can you make a children’s show. Love the stop motion though, and still can hear the intro in the back of my mind.

Goosebumps.As a 90′s kid, I was required to either watch the show or read the books. Since I was young when the show started with it’s Y-7 warning to parents, I mostly did the former. It had really good production values for the time, but looking back I feel it was rather tame. In comparison to the other live-action show on this list, I feel like it had better production values but the stories were way weaker. As a kid who grew up with Goosebumps, whenever I hear “What a Twist!” I don’t think of Shamalyan, I think of RL Stein. Some twists were good, others just existed to screw over the leads at the last second. There was also this one episode where the neighbor was a monster that always made me throw up when he ate bugs. Every fucking time.

Freaky Stories. Ahh man, a Canadian classic. Part of YTV’s “Keep it Weird” era, I remember this originally being like a holiday thing around Halloween but then it got it’s own series. It was retellings of various urban legends. Some scary, some just gross. The art style changed in each short to suit the story, every one was told by a narrator starting with “This is a true story. Happened to a friend of a friend of mine...” Some were made sci-fi, others more noir. And between bits there were the antics of Larry the cockroach and Maurice the maggot. It is definitely a product of the 90′s and I loved it so much.

Are You Afraid of the Dark? I always felt like this was the better version of Goosebumps. Sure, the acting was worse at times but the stories were way more original. I was afraid of chameleons for so long because on one episode. But the one thing I really liked was how it could go either way. Some stories could end with the protagonists winning, others end with them being defeated. And some of the designs were really creepy looking. It kept it fresh. And what kid wouldn’t want to be part of a group like the Midnight Society, meeting up in the woods to tell scary stories by the campfire. That my my dream as a kid...or being Batman’s sidekick. Either or. This is probably the one I would want to show my niece when she gets older.

Tales from the Cryptkeeper. The animated series. I first met the Cryptkeeper through this show and the tie-in kid’s game show. Honestly, this was probably the best one of the bunch. It had good stories, it had good art. I’m a little more distant to it because it wasn’t on one of the channels I regularly watched, so when I did catch it felt more like a treat but it just never fully clicked for me. The whole series is officially on youtube, so at times it’s tempting to go back and check it out.

#Horror #Cartoons #Memories

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tenglows · 5 years ago

Note

Could I request # 8 and enemies to lovers with fluff with Ten from the prompts? Thank you💛 Tried to send one yday, but i think it got cut after hi hi 😅

[ 8: kiss me again and you’ll see ] i loved this so much i got a little bit carried away and made it kind of long. i'm sorry jsjd

the prompts

you were one of the best bakers in town. one of them, not the actual best. although you believed you deserved to be the only one with that title.

you had never considered yourself a competitive person until you met ten. the town’ sweetheart who for your misfortune, owned the other most claimed bakery.

for a while, you did take the cake for making the best pastries and desserts. you had always loved cooking, and having your store filled with your satisfied neighbors every day was all you could ever ask for. you lived in a small town too, so acclamation flew fast and soon there was not a single villager that wasn’t obsessed with your patisserie.

that lasted until there was a new baker in town. it was never a drastic popularity loss that caused your shop being completely empty and your sales crashing down, but you were totally sharing the praise that was previously merely yours with ten’ stupid sweet eyes.

therefore, it was an understanding that you hadn’t stepped out of your kitchen ever since the town mayor announced the yearly municipal contest. it consisted on the food professionals exhibiting their specialities, people trying everything so at the end of the day, they could vote who was their favorite.

every year in a row you had been given the medal of the bakery position, but for the first time in your life you now had your doubts. could you really win against ten?

hibernating in your kitchen resulted in you going over your recipes, modifying everything a hundred times until you found the perfect design. your friends and family adored you, but you were honestly driving them a little nuts, filling their mouths with cakes every second and asking which they liked better. only for you to not listen to their thoughts and start another recipe from scratch.

it was almost midnight when you were convinced you had finally figured the exact and right amount of ingredients you needed to make the winning cake. you wrote it down so you wouldn’t forget, on the roughed notebook that had the instructions of all the supposedly winning cakes.

after frantically opening the fridge, you almost broke down to tears when you couldn’t find anymore eggs. how could you have ran out of eggs???

you glanced at the clock before storming out of your house, running to the small market down the street. everything was closed now, but you knew old patty kept her store open until midnight.

“hi patty” you sighed and sprant inside, heading to the egg’s shelf.

there was no one in sight until, of course, in front of you, there was ten. holding the last egg carton.

you looked daggers at him. trying to step back so you wouldn’t end up physically harming him.

“ten” you spoke slowly, containing yourself from exploding. “i really need those eggs”

“i need them too, y/n. this is simply a matter of who got here first”

he smiled at you, almost looking nice, and left you there.

when you got back to your place you were a mess. you pulled your hair while you screamed all the words you would like to say to ten. his comment had annoyed you more than you could explain. if it truly was a matter of who got there first, this had always been your town. he was the intruder, the one who got here last. hence, he should have given you the eggs.

you were doodling on your journal when there was a knock on the door. you furrowed your eyebrows, wondering who of the people you knew would show up at one in the morning.

seeing ten with a basket full of eggs was an image you couldn’t wrap your mind around when you opened the door.

“these are better than the ones at the market”

“where are they from?”

“from my chickens. i raise and take care of them myself, i assure you won’t find better eggs than these ones”

you looked at him distrustfully, still not taking the box from his hands.

“why are you being nice to me?”

ten ignored your question and looked around your house, solely what he could observe from your doorstep, since it didn’t seem you would let him in.

he beamed sincerely at you when he noticed all the various cakes spreaded around your furniture.

“don’t be too hard on yourself, y/n” you didn’t know what to say, specially because those were the words you needed to hear at this time of pure self-criticism.

“hey, the cake of yours that is white chocolate mousse with lemon cream inside is mind blowing. totally contest worthy. i think it was called blanc?”

that comment took you aback.

“when on earth have you bought one of my cakes?” you didn’t recall the boy ever coming to your shop, you would probably have kicked him out if he had.

“my mom got it for her birthday” he shrugged and put the basket on your door mat. “goodnight, y/n”

ten walked away after that, and now you were staring at the eggs in your kitchen counter. you had never seen ones so fresh since forever, they were in impeccable condition.

you shook your head and stored them in the fridge. you couldn’t accept help from the competition, that was just plain weak.

you got ready for bed and reminded yourself to get eggs at patty’s first thing in the morning. you also crossed out “blanc!!!! winning cake!!!!! (for real this time)” from the notebook.

it was finally the day from the contest, the town had been beautifully adorned, garlands hanging from the food stands.

you were currently at your stall, serving people the cake with a big smile even though you were a nervous wreck. you had barely left your spot to try the other delicious stuff that was going around.

“i see you settled on that one. it must be delicious. can i try?”

ten spoke softly with a smile on his lips. like he always had.

“just so you know, i had already made up my mind before you came by” you cut a piece and passed it to him.

of course you didn’t trust ten’s recommendation to go for that exact cake. what if he was planning to do the same and then accuse you of plagiarism? you never knew. but after asking around and confirming that he had prepared a chocolate cake, you were safe.

“mm, this is great. seriously. really tasty and the right amount of sweet”

“thank you”

ten arched his eyebrows at that.

“what did you say?”

“thank you” you repeated a little louder, still mumbling, not wanting him to actually hear you.

“wow, the y/n thanking me?? her archenemy???? must be my lucky day”

you couldn't help but giggle. the truth was that ten wasn't a bad person or anything for that matter. he was actually really nice and sweet, maybe that was made you hate him even more.

“did you use my eggs?”

“not really”

“what, why?”

“i wasn't sure if you had poisoned them”

you spoke in such serious and confident tone now it was his turn to burst into laughter.

“you really think i would modify my chickens just so i could give you poisoned eggs”

“better safe than sorry”

“you are something else” you wondered how he never appeared without a smile. it was like his signature. but you kinda didn't mind it today.

“do you want to try mine?”

you nodded and he guided you towards his stand. the cake was delightful, and you became aware that you had never actually tried ten's cooking before.

suddenly, you heard the mayor's voice through a megaphone saying they would announce the winner soon. ten and you went together to the town square, before parting ways to your respective friends. he didn't leave without wishing you luck first.

your mom wrapped her arms around you as the winning names were told. the bakery category was left for last, and your nails were suffering the effect of your nerves.

“and the winner for this years best baker goes to...”

you shut your eyes.

“y/n!!!!”

your family and friends cheered noisier than everyone else, but your eyes glowed when seeing the entire reunited town applauding and complimenting you. all that energy and hard work had reaped its fruits and it made you more than happy. you only wished you could have enjoyed the process a bit more, after all, you loved baking and you loved this town. you shouldn't need much more.

you were thanking someone when you saw ten making his way towards you. he waited aside for you to finish, a radiant smile on his face.

“congrats”

“thanks a lot, ten. your cake was great as well”

the boy moved closer and fixed his eyes on yours. your arms shivered. you had never let him be this close to you, and you could sense he was testing the waters by the way he hesitated sluggishly.

honestly, you weren't even conscious of your surroundings when ten kissed you. this was a scenario you had never given thought to before, but it didn't bother you, not one bit. you liked it, his lips on top of yours. his mouth was so warm from all the smiles he gifted.

he pulled away and looked at you once again. he had expected you to run away, scream at him, hell, maybe even punch him, but you didn't. you just stayed there, beautiful as ever. and he thanked all the gods above for that.

“here, i made you a congratulations cupcake. i always knew you would win” you hadn't noted he had an arm behind his back, which was now handing you a cupcake with flawless buttercream icing.

“how can i know this is not poisoned?”

ten eyed you before taking a bite out the pastry, watching you as he did, humming in satisfaction.

“there's only one way to find out. kiss me again and you’ll see”.

#ten au #ten scenarios #wayv ten #nct ten #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #ten fluff #ten #fluff #enemies to lovers #ten imagines

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quickspinner · 5 years ago

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Second Chance - Ch 2 Second Chance at a First Date

“Luka, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” Marinette pouted when the chauffeur helped her into the car next to him. “I asked you out, I should have planned the date.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But this way we have a chance of keeping at least this one date out of the tabloids.”

“I hardly ever see you in the tabloids,” Marinette remarked. “Why is that?”

Luka chuckled. “One of my friends from lycée works for a legitimate entertainment magazine, so I make sure all the news goes to him first and that heads off some of it, but honestly, for a rock star, I’m boring. Juleka and I wanted to retain as much control as possible over our brand, so I work a lot. I don’t drink or party, I don’t date all that much. I’m not really hard to find because I eat at the same places and work out at the same gym every day, so mostly they show up and take a few invasive pictures and then get bored and leave. I don’t get mobbed at the door everywhere I go unless there’s an album release or something big like that. The last time the tabloids really cared about me was when I was dating Clara.”

Marinette gasped. “That’s right, I forgot you dated Clara Nightingale!”

Luka ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. “Yeah, I can’t actually believe I had to guts to hit on her in the first place, but we were on the same tour and she’s so sweet, I’d developed this massive crush on her, and when you’ve been up for thirty-seven hours straight a lot of stupid things get said.” He blushed a bit at the memory, putting a hand to his forehead. “Man, I was so awkward, but she was really nice about it. She was even sweet when she dumped me, although I think we had both realized by then that neither of us were invested enough in the relationship to overcome the challenges once the tour was over. It’s bad enough trying to date with my schedule but you add hers into the mix and it was—” He shook his head. “We parted on good terms and we still keep in touch when we’re both in town, despite what the gossip rags tried to make it. When I didn’t spiral into drunken despair, they moved on pretty quick. Way more profitable to follow someone like Jagged who makes a scene everywhere he goes, or someone like XY that people love to hate.”

“How inconsiderate of you not to go on a bender and be found in a ditch on the side of the road,” Marinette giggled.

“Very. I’m terrible for magazine sales.” Luka took her hand. “Anyway, I figured if we used the car service and went to a restaurant with a covered entrance we’d squeak by without ending up in the papers. I can’t guarantee that, though.”

“I figured,” Marinette shrugged. “I kinda got used to it while I was with Adrien. I’ll get used to it again if I have to.”

There were thrilling implications there he didn’t want to think about too hard just yet. “You look beautiful. Is that one of yours?”

“Thank you. It’s actually not,” Marinette admitted, looking down at her dress. “One of my friends made it for me a few months ago as part of a trade. It’s lovely, though, isn’t it? He did a great job. He’s going to be huge once his line debuts next summer, I’m sure of it.”

Luka smiled. “And when does your line debut?”

“Oh,” Marinette sighed, and made a face. “That’s kind of the hard thing about coming off of this internship. I’ve had two years where everything was sort of laid out and planned for me, and now I have to figure out what the next step is on my own. Although before even that, I have to put together a mini show and presentation for the awards committee to demonstrate what I’ve taken away from the experience. There will be a lot of really important people in the industry, I’m hoping to make an impression and see what opportunities develop from there.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is,” Marinette shrugged, “But it’s worth it, and I’m certainly not lacking for inspiration material. I’ll get it done.”

“And you still made time to go out with me.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “I’m flattered.”

Marinette smiled at him. “Prioritizing is definitely something I’ve gotten better at while I was away.” She laced her fingers through his and darted a glance up through her lashes that hit him like a punch to the gut. “I missed you a lot while I was gone, Luka. I’m not about to miss you while we’re both right here.”

“Well,” he said, hoping his sudden inability to breathe wasn’t too obvious, “We’re in total agreement on that one.”

Luka was relieved that he managed to make it to their table without tripping over himself (Marinette wasn’t so lucky, but that was normal for her, and he was there to catch her). He rubbed his hand on his knee as he sat down, reassuring himself that he was in fact wearing pants, since he was getting increasingly worried he might be dreaming.

Except if he were, wouldn’t he be dreaming about the sweet, stuttering, blushing, beautiful mess he remembered? Not this confident, flirty, undeniably hot woman.

He was in so much trouble.

“Thanks for taking me out, Luka,” Marinette said once they were settled. “Honestly I didn’t even know if you would want to see me after all this time, and...everything.” Marinette’s cheeks reddened, and Luka found himself relaxing at the familiar flush. “I probably owe you an apology for everything that happened back then.”

Luka shook his head. “You didn’t hurt me on purpose. We were all young, you were in love. I knew it; I think everyone did but Adrien.”

Marinette groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I’m still sorry. I could have handled it better. I could have handled you better. Sometimes I want to die when I think about how I was back then.”

“Well, we all have some memories like that,” Luka chuckled. “I don’t hold any of it against you. How is Adrien?”

“He’s doing well. Things were hard for him for a while, especially right after we broke up, but he’s in a better place now. He...I don’t want to say too much or speak out of turn, but he’s had some long-standing issues and he’s finally seeing someone about them, and he’s made a lot of progress.”

“That’s good to hear, I’m glad he’s getting some help.” Luka glanced away. “The way he grew up would have messed up anybody. But I’m sorry it took losing you to make him realize he needed it.”

Marinette shrugged, and her smile was crooked. “I’d really rather not get into it.”

Luka winced. “Of course, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

Marinette shook her head. “It was messy for a while, but we’re both in good places now, both individually and in our friendship, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“Right,” Luka agreed. “So tell me more about this presentation you have to do, it sounds interesting.”

“In a little bit,” Marinette smiled, leaning on the table towards him. “We talked so much about me last time, I want to hear more about you. Is being a rock star everything you dreamed it would be?”

“Yes and no,” Luka admitted. “It’s awesome, don’t get me wrong, and it blows me away how many people want to hear my music, but—hang on, let me think about how to say this right.” He frowned as he considered his words. “It’s great bringing my music to more people,” he said slowly. “I don’t regret anything and I’m so grateful. But…”

“Take your time,” Marinette encouraged, putting her hand over his on the table, and he flashed her a grateful smile.

“I miss the deeper connections, I guess. I miss looking in someone’s eyes and playing something that’s meaningful for just that person, or for just the two of us.”

“Like the day we met,” Marinette agreed softly, and he nodded, smiling fondly at her.

“I don’t get to do that often any more, and I miss that.”

“Can I ask you something?” Marinette said, cheeks tinting pink again. “That song you wrote the first year you hit it big…”

Luka didn’t even need her to finish. The whole album had been about moving on, letting go, and several of the singles had hit big, but he knew exactly which song she meant. “It was about you, yeah. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“I cried when I heard it,” she admitted. “To this day, it’s the only one of your songs I can’t listen to.”

“I’m sorry. I kind of hoped you wouldn’t figure it out, but I should have known you would.”

Marinette shook her head. “Don’t be. Clearly it was something you needed to write, and I think it was something I needed to hear.”

Luka smiled. “So you listen to my music, huh?”

“Of course I do,” she exclaimed. “I have every album you’ve released, physical and digital copies.”

“You’d do that even if you didn’t like it,” he teased, though he was touched.

“That’s true. But I do like it,” she leaned in, and the fingers covering his hand brushed over his knuckles in slow strokes. “I like the music, and I like the man who makes it.”

“Careful, angel,” he told her, voice deepening slightly as thrills danced through him from her touch. “You’ll make me blush.”

“Luka, that voice is dangerous,” she laughed breathlessly, cheeks a bright pink.

“Mmm, so I’ve been told,” he grinned slyly, pleased to find he affected her. She’d had him off balance since he’d laid eyes on her at the concert. “I think there was even a magazine vote about it once. But I think your eyes are what’s dangerous. I could get lost in them forever.”

Once upon a time Marinette would have combusted on the spot, sputtering and stammering until she literally fell over. Tonight Marinette just blinked those beautiful eyes and asked softly, “Would that be so bad?”

Luka moved his hand to thread his fingers through hers. She remained solid in his grip. Still not a dream. “It sounds like heaven to me.”

***

Luka was feeling a little thunderstruck as he walked Marinette back up to Alya’s apartment, where she was staying for the time being. On the one hand, he’d been burned badly by Marinette once before, whether she’d intended to or not, and if she’d been fire then, she was something infinitely more dangerous now. On the other hand, she’d made her interest in him clear, and he wanted very much to explore what they could be together. The chemistry between them was as strong as it had always been, and just the way she’d been looking at him tonight was enough to make him feel weak. Add in the flirty banter and soft touches and he was perilously close to melting at her feet.

The old saying about things that seem too good to be true was in his mind as she turned to face him outside the apartment door. Luka flattened one hand against the door and leaned in, keeping his hand in his coat pocket. Marinette raised her face to meet him and he pressed his mouth to hers softly. He felt her fingers tangle in the front of his shirt to pull him closer. He took her hands and detached them gently.

“Next time,” he said softly into the space between them, and then he had to clear his throat. “Can there be a next time, Marinette?”

“I’d like that,” she said, and then, more hesitantly, “You don’t have to hold back so much, you know. I’m not delicate.”

He took her hand in his and flattened her palm over his heart so she could feel how it pounded in his chest. “I know that, but right now, I am. My life already goes so fast I feel like I can hardly keep up. I’d really like to take things slow between us, if that’s okay.”

The smile she gave him was slow and soft. “Definitely.”

“And part of it is that…” he paused, thinking over his words. “Sorry, it’s just I don’t want to say this wrong.”

“Take your time.”

“I still have a lot of past Marinette in my head,” he said, running his thumb along her cheekbone. “The girl I was in love with all through lycée.” Her breath caught and he gave her a moment to absorb that as he considered his next words. “I want us to get to know each other again, if that makes sense. I don’t want to be blinded to who you are now by a bunch of memories and unresolved feelings. I want be sure I’m really seeing you, and I want to make sure you’re really seeing me too. So...can we start like strangers?” He huffed in frustration. “No, that’s not what I mean, exactly…”

“It’s okay, I think I understand, and you’re right.” Marinette curled her hand lightly around his wrist. “I know I probably put you through a lot back then and I’m not trying to rush you into anything.”

“Marinette,” Luka said gently, “If we’re going to have anything in the here and now, you need to let that go.” He smiled. “I was never angry with you, and you don’t owe me anything. Clean slate, okay?” He bit his lip and looked away. “I’m not asking you for anything, but for my own peace of mind, I want you to know that I won’t be seeing anyone else, casually or otherwise, until we figure out what we want us to be.” He gave a lopsided grin. “I know that there are all these preconceptions that people have about rock stars, but I have to be honest, I’m not very good at casual anyway. Just not my thing, you know?”

“I wondered,” Marinette admitted. “It didn’t seem like you, but it’s like you said, about rock stars and you always look really hot on stage and—“ she buried her face in her hands. “And why haven’t you stopped me yet, oh my God…”

Luka lost his battle against laughter and he pulled her to him, hugging her even as she punched his arm. “Ow, you’re strong,” he laughed, squeezing her tight.

“So are you, that was like punching a wall,” she said, her tone grumpy, but she slid her fingers down his arm with appreciation, leaving goosebumps in her wake even through his dress shirt.

“My personal trainer thanks you for the compliment,” Luka grinned, and then he sighed, loosening his arms and taking half a step back. “I’m supposed to be saying good night here before I get carried away.”

Marinette slid her arms up around his neck, and the smirk she gave him nearly killed him on the spot. “It wouldn’t hurt to get a little carried away, would it?”

Resistance crumbling, Luka let her pull him down into another kiss, fuller and deeper than before, taking a moment to really savor the feel and the taste of her and the way she moved against him, and then he pulled back and kissed her cheek. “Goodnight, Marinette. I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll call?”

“You better.”

***

Juleka was sitting on his couch when he got home with his guitar in her lap, playing Seven Year Ache at half tempo with a morose expression. Subtle as a funeral dirge, he thought, rolling his eyes as he hung his keys on the rack by the door and took off his suit coat. “I’m gonna take my key back if you start waiting up for me every time I’m on a date,” he called.

Juleka took one look at his face when he walked into the living room and groaned, letting her head fall back. “I thought you were over this, you absolute idiot.”

“It was a lie,” he sighed, flopping on his back on the loveseat and propping his long legs on the arm. “I was never over it.”

“Luka, she wrecked you for years.”

“No, she didn’t,” he protested. “One, it wasn’t her fault, and two, I was fine.”

“You were heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken and fine, Juleka.”

“Fine is not the same thing as happy,” Juleka snorted, folding her arms.

“I’m happy now,” he replied, grinning at the ceiling like a loon.

“You could at least string her along for a bit,” Juleka grumbled. “Make her suffer just a little.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong, Jule, cut her some slack.”

“I don’t need to, you give her plenty for both of us.” Juleka pursed her lips. “She picked someone else over you.”

“That was her right. I don’t hold it against her, why do you?”

“She hurt you.”

“Yeah, well that hurt went platinum, so I think you can forgive her now.” Luka scowled and tossed a throw pillow at her. “Considering we paid for these apartments with the money from that album.”

“There’s no amount of money that can make up for what she put you through,” Juleka groused.

“Come on Jule, she was your friend.”

“She was, until you went and fell in love with her like an idiot and she broke your heart.” Juleka looked at him and rolled her eyes with a sigh that meant she was giving up. “But you’re obviously going to date her whether I think it’s a good idea or not, so I’ll save my breath.” She pushed off the couch and dumped his guitar on his stomach.

“I sure as hell am,” Luka agreed happily, and Juleka groaned as she opened the door to go back across the hall to her own apartment.

“You’re disgusting, you know that right?” she called, and the door slammed before he could answer her.

Luka rolled his eyes and pulled the guitar into place, strumming lightly as he grinned at the ceiling.

#quickspins #backlog #second chance #lukanette #luka couffaine #i am lukanette trash i admit it #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #mlfics

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