#im still hopped up on adrenaline but im going to try to get some sleep

[jaarijani]

Käärijä Antwerp gig recap!!!

I HAVE THOUGHTS of course i do i dont shut the hell up ever you should know this about me by now

i arrived there at around 9 am bc of train delays but there were only 10 people there then and for the longest time it was just the 15 of us so 15 gang ily sm!!! i loved sitting and chatting with all of you you made those 10+ hours go by SO FAST ❤️❤️❤️

the tour bus arrived at around 12ish and we all stood around for a while until they finally came out

häärijä BEELINED to Ed, ignoring us completely, it was so funny

he was so sweet oh my god i love him 💛

while he distracted us Jere sneaked off the bus

as Jere walked back to the bus i saw him wave so i waved back and he came over to say hi!!! right in front of me!!! he was so sweet too 😭💚

you cannot comprehend how beautiful this man is irl oh my god

sidenote: he was SO surprised some of us woke up super early to travel all the way from the Netherlands

people started giving gifts and asking for pics and he said to form a line so we could all have a pic and he called himself santa claus lmao

i have the forbidden knowledge of Jeres height as he's exactly as tall as me 😈

OKAY THE ACTUAL GIG

it was so amazing???

his energy is so good and the audience matched him SO well today

he was CLEARLY feeling so much better today he was so happy and smiley and he seemed genuinely surprised by how crazy we were

we chanted käärijä after almost every song

VOITTAJA CHANT

i blacked out during hirttää kinni???? it was so good and its my fav at he moment and suddenly we were done??? no wait take me back

he talked about huhhahhei and said "when two guys go on a love boat together" paraphrasing but sIR!!!

AND THEN he did a whole bit about bojan again? he sang a little song wondering where he was and that he misses him and JERE PLEASE I CANT TAKE THIS ANYMORE

i have a video of this btw

Emilia fucking SLAPPED icip again holy shit she matched his energy perfectly

i feel like he didnt want to go again!!! he just stayed and talked about doing what you love and being true to youself WHILE the reggae mix was playing

it was so fun so good i had an amazing time 💚💚💚💚💚 and am low key considering going to finland next year

also shout out to Ed @submariini and his amazing Häärijadar bc we share the same birthday??!!!! october 29 babeyy

[felixscorset]

Could I please have some headcanons for when the MC shows up at the main 4's door. Bloody and injured after being attacked?

This has been in my drafts im so sorry i never had the energy to finish it so the rest is up to the imagination

Okay so-

TW angst

The scenario is the Mc decides to go take a walk around town by themselves, they are confident in their ability to use the Astrolabe enough to be alone for a nightly stroll. But, of course they weren’t expecting attackers to get them right when they relaxed and let their guard down. Mc managed to summon the astrolabe and knock them down long enough to run away.

Felix

• You managed to make it away from them, panting trying to catch your breath in the alley you ran into. looking down at your side you wince, there’s a deep cut. The adrenaline from the situation is fading and you feel like you’re about to collapse from the blood loss.

• To add to your troubles it seems you sprained your ankle while trying to get away, sighing hot tears form in your eyes, you want Felix.

• you notice a door next to you and a spark of hope sends you rummaging through your pockets. Your trembling fingers find it. The key Felix gave you to his study, you push it into the doors key hole and twist it. ‘Please work, please work, please work,”

• You push the door open and tumble in, the sudden noise causes Felix to look up from the book laid in front of him on his desk. “Mc? Is that you?” He asks looking up but as so as he catches sight of you, his jaw slackens.

• You slump against the shelf by the door and Felix hops up quickly and hurries to your side just in time. You’re knees buckled and you fall forward and Felix catches you as the last of your adrenaline leaves your body.

•You feel safe in Felix’s arms and safe enough to only think about falling asleep there. you drift but Felix immediately snaps you out of your drowsiness. “Mc? Can you hear me? Bleeding hells..” He walks you over to the couch and lays you there.

• “Felix…?” you manage, “It’ll be okay.” He tries to reassure you but honestly he’s so worried he can’t keep his hands still. He’s not good at healing but he can try his best.

• He runs his trembling fingers over you cheek, pushing the hair away from your face and kisses your brow. It takes time of course but he manages to get you all fixed up enough at least enough so you don’t bleed out.

• Letting you drift to sleep he stares at you with so much concern and love in his eyes as he strokes your hair, he ends up falling asleep next to you with his other hand holding yours tight.

Sage

• You manage to run all the way to the tavern he was waiting for you at, as soon as you make it into the tavern you look at the bustle of people in there.

• “Sage,” you squeak out. He’s laughing with a few people by the bar when he catches sight of you, “Mc! Come on, I’ve been waiting all-“ he gets a better look at you bent over holding your side.

•”Mc!” he rushes over, already pissed at whoever decided hurting you was a good idea. “What happened? Who hurt you?”

• You look up at him and the pain in your eyes grounds him. You first. Kicking some ass? Later.

• He helps bandage you up to the best of his ability so he can bring you somewhere safer.

• Good luck trying to go for walks alone at night after that because he either won’t let you or he’ll go with you.

Anisa

• Running longer than your legs or lungs could keep up while your legs and lungs burned, you kept going. Making it to Anisa’s door.

• Knocking as hard as you could in her apartment door, “Nisa?!” he whimpered and you hear movement and then the door opens suddenly. Anisa on high alert already from the loud knocking. “Mc! You’re hurt! What happened?!” She drags you in and lays you down, already trying to attend to your wounds.

• She figured you were attacked even if you can’t form the words to tells her she can already tell. She is trembling a bit but manages to tend to all your injuries.

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Take Care of Me

Pairing = Santiago x reader

Words = 5.5k

Summary = A discussion about sex toys turns into something more … concrete

Warnings = Swearing, talk/description of mild anxiety. SMUT (18+ only), use of handcuffs in a sexy way, oral, piv sex

A/N = Prompt no.8 requested by @itspdameronthings​ as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself” w/santi and bolded in text. Also 3 things; 1 = Tom doesn’t exist in this AU, 2 = this is basically pure smut im so sorry, and 3 = I did do head hopping in this, which I know you’re not like supposed to do but also fuck the rules y’know?

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

It’s always easy to be loose after one of Benny’s fights.

It’s a heady mix of adrenaline, beer and testosterone, swirling together into a mix that makes you forget your normal boundaries. You’re normally quite brazen about your sex life anyway, but there is a line. You respect your partners, and there’s no need for your teammates to know too much.  

You’re all packed into a half-moon booth, Benny straddling a chair that he pulled up to the table after he spent too long chatting up the bartender.

It’s a small comment from Benny (because of course it’s Benny), saying that you haven’t got laid in a while, and you’re honestly surprised he noticed. But then, that’s the only predictable thing about Benny, that he is unpredictable.

Your surprise means you take a little too long actually thinking about it, which confirms Benny’s statement. You lean back a little in your seat, desperately ignoring Santi, who’s sat to your left. It also means you bite back a little harder in defence.

“Well maybe if you guys didn’t look like you’re about to murder anyone who even dares ask for my number maybe I’d have better luck.” That’s a lie, but there’s no way you’re going to tell them the truth. No way you’re going to tell Santi-

Your thoughts are interrupted by Will, sat to your right. “So you’re asking for our help?”

You scoff, hitting him up the head. “No, thank you.” Will knows why. Because of course he does. One of your oldest friends, he’d been the one who convinced you to join the team in the first place. “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself.”

You send a wink down to the table to Benny, who’s the first to catch on, hollering, and you try not to react to Santi leaning forward, suddenly interested, as though you’re not already hyper-aware of every body movement of his.

You continue, deciding you’re quite enjoying the effect you’ve had. “What do I need some stranger for when I can give myself a better orgasm than he could ever dream of?” You take a sip of your drink to hide your grin, as both Benny and Will holler, gaining a few glares from the pub’s other patrons.

That sip means you’re unprepared for Santi to lean in closer to you, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel his breath. “Maybe ‘stranger’ is where you’re going wrong.”

You swallow, unprepared for the sudden flare of attraction shooting through you and turning your head, just as he says, “I could take care of you.”

You catch a glimpse of Santi’s fuck me eyes when Benny (the dickhead) interrupts. Crossing his arms on the sticky table in front of him, he asks, “Does that mean you have toys?”

Frankie’s hat somehow tips lower on his head, if that’s possible.

Will twitches towards his brother, like he wants to strangle Benny for being so uncouth, but you put your hand on his upper arm. “Of course.” The best course of action is to just act like this is normal, so add a bit of air to your voice. This was normal. “Who doesn’t?”

There’s a blush rising on Benny’s cheeks and you can’t help but stoke it, grinning at him, and attempting your best bedroom eyes. He’s still not too ashamed to ask though. “What kinds?”

Will decides he’s had enough, glancing at Santi behind you with a frown and hitting Benny over the head in an imitation of the way you’d hit him. You laugh, unexpectedly pleased at the reaction you’ve gotten. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Benny nods, eager, even as Will stands, grabbing a hold of him, and steering him towards the bar. “Yes! Yes I would!” He manages to throw back at you and you laugh again, twisting your body to face Santi and Frankie, bringing your left leg onto the bench.

***

Meanwhile Santiago is in hell. He’s been in multiple hellish situations before, most similar to this one, in that it was always the 5 of you, bullets flying around your heads, rifles in your arms, weighed down by heat and sweat and tac vests.

And yet somehow, he thinks this might be the worst. Your foot next to his thigh, your knee bent, pulling your jeans up your leg and exposing your ankle to him. Watching you flirt with Benny, talking about sex, and toys, and masturbation. When that's all he wants to do with you. He just has to get the courage to tell you.

With you, there was a before in Santi’s life, and an after.

Before he knew you; and after he knew you.

Before he loved you; and after he loved you.

Except Santi’s not quite sure when he fell in love with you.

It started when Will introduced you as the newest member of the team, one of his childhood friends. He didn’t mean for it to happen, he treated you like he treated anyone else, quickly discovering that you weren’t like anyone else.

He welcomed you into his life with open arms, starting off innocently - he wanted to spend time with you. You were Will’s friend, which meant that there must be something good about you. You made him laugh, made him feel safe (even when he wasn’t). He’d wanted to do the same for you and thought he did a pretty good job.

He became your friend, until one day the two of you were watching a film. He can’t remember what it was, just that you were at his house, drinking and laughing and talking, huddled in one of his blankets, and looking like you belonged there, forever.

Falling in love with you was so easy, Santi didn’t even realise he was doing it.

Santi’s still impressed with himself that he didn’t just blurt out the words then and there. I love you.

How long had he been in love with you for? He couldn’t pinpoint down a specific moment. He remembered the night when you’d become friends - the last two around the bonfire, toasting marshmallows, making that awkward small-talk that occurs between acquaintances.

You’d made him laugh, playing chubby-bunny and teasing him until he’d had a go. You’d talked and talked, and Santi can’t even remember what about. Nothing, probably. The basics. Boring stuff, but filled with details that he’d used to keep the conversation going the next day.

He knows when he became your friend. Recognised when you trusted him more than the others, with the exception of maybe Will.

But he didn’t know when he fell in love with you. Just the day that the love became so overwhelming in his chest that he realised it.

The real nail in his metaphorical coffin was the night afterwards. The 5 of you had gone to a bar, and a girl had started talking to him as he was buying drinks. She was pretty, but she wasn’t you. And like a flashbulb, all of Santi’s previous partners flew through his mind and he realised that nothing had ever come out of them because they weren’t you.

They didn’t know how he liked his coffee, or why he had joined the military. They didn’t know the story behind his callsign, or what his favourite song was.

You did. What you weren’t there for, you asked about. You remembered. You made him feel important, like he mattered. In ways that he didn’t even really know existed.

You were the one that started him on decaf without telling him. That had been a conversation and a half. Before morning briefings, you’d started bringing him coffees. He hadn’t noticed much of a taste difference, and shamefully, had come to expect them.

Until, a month later, you weren’t there. A small trip home to visit your family, everyone knew you’d be back in a couple of days. Regardless, Santi had ordered what he’d thought was his usual coffee.

And found his anxiety rearing up again. It was subtle, making him more jumpy, less able to sleep, but it was there. He wasn’t sure what the cause was, definitely hadn’t linked it to the coffee, instead assuming that maybe he just missed you. Maybe because his anxiety hadn’t disappeared all the way, even with decaf. Maybe it was because it was your presence that helped him too.

He hadn’t even really noticed when the caffeine was gone, hadn’t noticed the absence of something wrong, only seeing the contrast when it returned. Maybe because it was gradual, the weaning off the caffeinated coffee, whereas the return, with his request of additional shot, had been too sharp for him.

You hadn’t noticed at first, assuming that Santi’s bear hug when he’d first seen you had just been because he missed you. But after lunch you pulled him to one side.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes are slightly wider with worry, and you’re chewing slightly on your bottom lip.

He hates that he’s the one to do that to you, and he tries to brush it off. “I’m fine.” That was his first mistake. His second was trying to push past you.

“Santiago!” He’s pulled up short, and there’s that tension, pulling at his shoulders, his eyebrows. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Your tone of voice hasn’t changed, but this time it’s a command.

Exhausted, hating himself, Santi drags his hands across his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t...I don’t know.” He takes a breath, and it shudders through him. “I don’t know.” He sounds defeated, and he hopes you can’t hear it. “I just...I feel…” How does he feel? “Jittery.” Is what he finally settles on, but the word still feels wrong somehow.

You frown, looking him up and down like you’ve never seen him before. In fact, you’re silent for so long, Santi starts to be worried that you’re going to tell him to stop being so fucking ridiculous.

You don’t, but you ask questions.

Has he been sleeping? “Not really.”

Does he have something big coming up? “Just the usual.”

Has his daily routine changed at all? “No, I don’t think so. I get myself a coffee in the morning and the-”

You interrupt him with a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.” And now it’s wrong, because now you’re looking at him like it’s your fault, when it definitely isn’t. “Santi I’m sorry. It’s your coffee.”

Santi frowns. His coffee? And you sound so apologetic, and he doesn’t understand why. “I switched you to decaf.” You can’t meet his eyes any more, gaze skittering to his shoulder with nerves. And you’re not shutting up. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, or asked if I could, I just... I knew you were getting nightmares, and decaf helped me so I thought it might help y-”

Santi cuts you off with a hug.

And now, the three of you sat in the booth, he hates himself for agreeing with Benny. He would like to know. He has a sneaking suspicion, odd little comments you’ve made throughout the years that when pieced together, paint a picture. A very vivid picture that he sometimes uses to torture himself, late at night in bed, imagining what you’d look like with your hands between your legs and wrapping a hand around his-

Santi shakes his head. Now is not the time. There’s never really a good time to fantasise about one of your best friends, but in public when they’re sitting next to you, is definitely one of the worst.

And why did he have to offer to take care of you? Did he think he was in some kind of cheesy porno? What if you hated him-

In the end, it’s you who breaks him out of his thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed Pope.” You push out with your foot, lightly kicking his thigh, unable to read his stony face.

Throughout all of this, Frankie has kept quiet, and now the conversation seems like it’ll be returning to safer ground, he rubs a hand over his face, lifting his hat slightly. “No.” Santi protests, although he says it too fast for it to be sincere. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“Good,” you reply, and Santi can see the moment a thought pops into your head that you can’t resist, he can see it in the way your eyes light up with mischief. “Out of all the boys, I figured you’d be the most likely to use toys.”

Frankie quickly slides out from his seat, muttering something about going to the toilet, his cheeks aflame, as Santi chokes a little on his beer. “Or maybe Will,” you muse, and Santi coughs again. “Shit, are you alright?” You ask, rocking forward to lean on your knee so you can rub Santi’s back for a second.

He concentrates on getting himself back under control, on not focusing how warm your hand is against his back. He takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm his heart down, praying that the room is dark enough that you won’t see him blush.  

Santi nods, his eyes watering a little, and you laugh, but it’s not unkind, not even when one of your thumbs wipes at his lower lash line, brushing away his tears with the pad. It’s so unexpectedly soft, another sharp contrast to this sticky, seedy bar they’re all in, where the booth seats are cracked and the most complicated drink they make is a rum and coke.

“Good,” you say, voice quiet, scooting back on the bench, your foot closer to his thigh this time, and Santi hates himself for wanting to follow you.

Instead, he pretends everyone else is still here, even as he watches Will whisper something into Benny’s ear as they stand, drinking next to the bar, with no clear intention of returning. Suddenly Benny punches Will’s upper arm, and Santi’s eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion. Benny looks ecstatic, and for what?

“I’ve used handcuffs,” he says casually, half of his mind taken up with Benny and Will acting like lunatics at the bar behind you. He’s wrenched back to you when you raise an eyebrow, and he’s reminded what it feels like to be the centre of your world.

Fuck, you’re sexy though.

***

Your heart beat speeds up, suddenly sounding loud in your chest. Your mind is screaming Danger! at you - but how can it be? This is Santiago. You would trust him with your life. You have.

I could take care of you, flashes through your mind again. Maybe-

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to act calm when there’s a steady thrumming under your skin. “And are you the tied up person, or do you do the tying?”

Santi scoffs, like he thinks the answer is obvious. Maybe it is.

“I do the tying.”

You smirk, dragging an exaggerated eye up and down his body. “Sure about that?”

He looks relaxed, like he can take up more space now Frankie has gone. One of his hands is on your calf, gently trailing up and down, slowly setting you on fire, and you don’t even think he realises he’s doing it. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t recognise, darker, although it seems familiar. That’s been happening more and more lately, especially when it’s just the two of you. You like it.

“You want to test me babygirl?”

You feel breathless. “Maybe I’d like to try.”

You’ve never spoken with Santi like this before. You flirt with him more than the other boys, but this is new. This feels...real, somehow. More dangerous. And he’s closer now, shifting, so your foot is over his lap, his hand wrapped around your ankle, on your bare skin and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You watch his hand move on your leg and you feel like you could evaporate.  

“That’s not what good girls do.” Fuck, his voice.

“Good girls don’t do a lot of things I do.”

And you’re not sure what gives you the sudden confidence, but you lean forwards, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. It’s a horrible angle, your legs in the way, but you don’t care.

And then you’re retreating, opening your eyes again, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. Your mouth feels tingly, where you can still feel Santi against you. His grip has tightened on your leg, no longer moving.

And then his hand is tugging at you a little, and there’s a smile threatening to take over his face.

Come here.

You scoot up, so your left leg is fully over him, your right leg tangling with his under the table and you can smell him now, beer and - as weird as it sounds - like a man. It’s familiar. Nice. Breathless, you shoot him a little grin, suddenly unsure.

And then he’s kissing you again and it’s everything you ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, but firm, moving against your mouth, contrasting with the slight stubble growing on his face. His free hand moves to your waist and you let out a small sound.

You break apart after a second, both of you breathless. You’ve slung your arms around his neck, fingers idly playing with his chain, and you’re the first to speak.

“So do you use those handcuffs on anyone?”

Santi kisses you again, short and sweet, before he answers, his lips mumbling against yours. “Hmm, just on girls I really like.”

You kiss again, neither of you really wanting to stop. “Can I use them on you?” Santi asks, moving to kiss along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe. You feel surrounded by him, he’s all you care about, all you can feel.

Your eyes snap open, desire pooling in your belly. Is this really happening? “Yes.”

“Good.” Santi’s voice is still low in your ear, before he moves down your neck, soft lips a stark contrast to his stubble catching on your skin. “How do you feel about a date, too?”

“Yeah?” You lean back slightly so you can see his face. He’s beautiful in this light, face half hidden in the shadows, eyes dark.

His lips are brushing yours again.

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up, take you somewhere nice, do it properly.”

“Good,” you mumble against him, “that sounds really good.” Your fingers are still playing with his chain, lightly brushing against the scar on his neck. “Shall we go?”

Before you know it, the two of you are sitting in a cab, having said a quick goodbye to the others, Will asking if it was safe for them to sit back in the booth. You’d responded with the finger, not bothering with a proper reply.

Santi leans over to you, whispering into your ear. “Can I really tie you up?”

You clench your thighs together, closing your eyes in an effort not to physically respond. The pause is enough for Santi to hesitate, hand shyly holding yours. “It’s ok, if you don’t want to, that’s fine, it was just a-”

You stop him with a kiss, moving your hand so you can squeeze him in reassurance. When you answer, it’s a mumble against his mouth so the driver doesn’t hear. “Break out the handcuffs, and we’ll see if you’re as tough as you act, big boy.”

Santi groans when you lean away from him.

Getting inside Santi’s flat is a feat in itself, and you’re honestly a little proud of the restraint both of you showed by not fucking in the stairwell, stopping every couple of meters to kiss each other senseless, hips clumsily knocking together as you rile each other up.

You’ve been inside his flat before, so when Santi kicks the door closed, walking you backwards into his bedroom, kissing you all the while, you don’t protest. It’s so nice to finally kiss Santi like you’ve wanted to for a while now, so nice to feel his hands on your waist, pushing you backwards while his hips press into yours, steady now, purposeful.

His fingers are playing with the waist of your trousers, and you help him, shimmying your jeans off, pushing them down your thighs and letting them fall to the floor. Then he surprises you, dropping to his knees in front of you, pulling your knickers down your legs.

Looking down, you feel dizzy from the rush of power this brings you. Santi looks like he’s about to worship you, his face close to your pussy. His hands are on your waist and he pushes at you, encouraging you to step back.

When you don’t he tips his head back, exposing his neck to you. “Step back.” His voice is dangerous and you can feel more wetness gathering between your legs. You grin down at him, still not moving.

In response Santi nips at your thigh, grinning when you gasp, hands flying to his hair. He pushes at you again, and this time you let him, stepping back until you hit his bed, sitting down.

Santi presses his hand against your stomach, and you allow yourself to be pushed back, falling back onto your elbows so you can watch him. He presses his nose to your mound and you squirm, impatient, as Santi spreads your knees so he can fit between your legs.

You watch him press his nose to your pussy, burying his nose in you, feeling yourself grow wetter. “You taste so good,” he groans, “Sweetest pussy I’ve tasted.” As he begins to explore you with his tongue, your hips lift off the bed with a groan and it takes you a second to recognise your own voice, broken with need. Santi’s arm reaches out, pressing you down as he explores your folds. Stubble is scratching your thighs, a pleasantly rough feeling compared to the soft wetness, the pliability of Santi’s tongue. Your clit is the first thing he concentrates on, his tongue practically lapping at you, and it all feels so good.

One hand is desperately fisting the sheets to the side of you as you try to hold on to reality, the other knotted in Santi’s short curls, nails scraping ever so slightly along his scalp even as he lifts you higher and higher. Broken pleas of his name fall from your lips when he inserts two fingers into you, gently pumping in and out, with a strangely satisfying squelch under your cries.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow and unsuspecting. One second your chest is heaving, breaths short and shallow, the next you’ve tensed up as you fall apart under Santi.

He keeps kissing you, gently pressing his lips over your thighs, hips, stomach as you stare at his ceiling, willing rational thought to return to you. He’s murmuring praises into your skin, telling you how good you are for him, what a good job you’ve done, how pretty you look when you come, how he wants to make you do it again, and all the while you float somewhere above your body, hardly daring to believe this is real. Santi keeps kissing you, any skin he can get his mouth on, desperate to keep tasting you. Gradually he moves up your body, even as you lie there, panting, letting him push your top up, bunching under your arms and around your neck.

Your hands fly to his hair when he bites the soft skin of your breast peeking out from your bra, and you arch your back towards him slightly, letting out a small whine. You can feel his smirk against you, so you wrap your legs around his waist, canting your hips up, grinding against where you can feel him, hard and aching in his jeans.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, slow and lazy when Santi lets out a low growl in response. He tips his head up so he can look at you, his eyes soft as he smiles at you. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

And then his body weight is gone and he’s standing next to the bed, taking his top off and it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, of course it isn’t, but it’s the first time you’ve seen him and been allowed to look, and Santi’s all shadows and soft muscle, pale scars highlighted on his skin.

You sit up, and it takes you a second to fight your way out of your top, quickly sliding the straps of your bra off, and dropping your clothes to the side of the bed as you watch Santi cross his room, and fish out a pair of handcuffs from a box with a couple of other objects inside, as well as what you’re pretty sure looks like a strap-on. And maybe it’s because his ass is currently in your eye-line, maybe it’s the surprise, but the image of you wearing it, teasing Santi with your dick while he waits on all fours on his bed, begging for you to touch him, suddenly pops into your head, and you have to work to hold back a moan at the mental image. Oh my god.

When Santi turns back to you, he’s opened the cuffs. “Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

You suddenly feel nervous, your mouth dry, and you don’t know why, this is Santi. He’s made it clear that you don’t have to do this, and anyway you want to. “Green is good, orange is slow down, red is stop,” you recite easily, and Santi nods in satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he says and his words hit deep in your stomach, unfurling something you hadn’t known existed. “You say something and I’ll untie you.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back on your hands, eyeing up the way Santi’s jeans are still on, now hanging low on his hips, exposing a small trail of hair down from his bellybutton. “What if I don’t want you to untie me?” You ask.

You can see how his eyes darken, but he doesn’t move. “Tell me you understand,” he says, voice stern and you shiver.

“I understand,” you parrot. Santi nods, pleased at you doing as he says, and steps out of his jeans, pulling his boxers off at the same time, releasing his cock. He’s hard, curving up towards his stomach and leaking pre-cum.

Almost on instinct, you lean forwards to lick it off, and Santi lets out a groan of satisfaction at the sensation of your mouth just wrapping around his head, your hands on his thighs. Before you can take him any further, he’s stepping back, shaking his head.

“Lie back,” he instructs, and you obey. Santi kneels next to you, tugging your wrists up, above your head, looping the handcuffs through his headboard and clicking them on around you. You give them an experimental tug, biting back a moan when they hold fast. “Colour?” Santi asks, and you grin up at him.

“Green.” Your voice already sounds broken. “Santi, please.”

Santi just kneels back, looking at you with those hungry eyes. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out, hands running up and down your body, ignoring how you squirm as best you can under him.

“Oh yeah?” You ask. “Why don’t you come down here then, instead of just watching me?” Santi’s hands reach your breasts, squeezing and gently massaging and you arch your back towards him.

“You’re unhappy with my hands?” Santi returns, and stops touching you. You can’t help it, letting out a whine and straining to move your arms towards him, before remembering you can’t, your attempted movement jangling the chain a little.

“No, Santi,” you’re desperate for him to touch you again, especially now you can’t touch him,“Santi please, touch me again, touch me more.” Begging has never come so easily to you. And then Santi’s moving between your legs, gripping your hips and thrusting up, but not into you, just along your folds. You moan, shifting as best as you can while Santi coats himself with your slick, the head of his cock just pushing your clit, teasing you and riling you up further.

You suddenly really want to touch him, to rake your hands through his hair, to scratch your nails down his back, to be able to suck a purple hickey into his skin. You let your head fall back to the bed, pushing your hips towards him, desperate for more, desperate for him.

It’s only when you open your mouth in a desperate plea, a whine of his name, “Santi, Santi please,” that he begins to push into you.

Your mouth falls open in silent pleasure, just as Santi begins to talk. “Fuck, baby.” The stretch of him is delicious. “I wanted this for so long.” Now fully seated in you, he rests on his forearms, kissing you softly, first on the forehead, then on your lips. “Colour?” he asks softly.

You nearly cry from how sweet it is, how sweet he is, before responding, a mumble against his lips. “Green.” You feel full, like this is how you’re supposed to feel all the time, this is your base state, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life trying to achieve this specific feeling.

“Good girl,” Santi murmurs and you keen at the praise, feeling insatiable, wanting more, clenching around him. He grins, registering your response. “You liked that? You like being told what a good job you’re doing, how good you feel around me..” he breaks off with a gasp, and your eyes close as Santi begins to move in time with his words, long, slow thrusts as he begins to put you together again, building you up, further and further, his thrusts speeding up gradually, the sound of his dick sliding into your wetness, and the slap of skin-on-skin loud in his room, mixing with your moans.

You lift your legs up, wrapping them around his waist, hooking one of your feet around Santi’s butt. They don’t stay there for long, one of Santi’s arms pushing one leg up your body, hand under your knee as he splits you open. The new angle hits something deeper in you, and you gasp, unable to move and at the mercy of Santiago.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, coming out of nowhere, your lower body suddenly clenching around Santi, arms straining against the handcuffs, as you try in vain to touch him. You tumble through it, muscles spasming as you fall under him. He keeps moving into you as you shudder below him, pulling you through with murmured praise and encouragement as another broken cry leaves your throat.

His thrusts start to get sloppier as he goes faster, losing his rhythm slightly and you can tell he’s near his end. As best you can, you start moving your own hips, grinding up to meet him, words of encouragement slipping past your lips. “Santi, you feel so good, are you gonna fill me up?” You coo, pouting a little, tugging your wrists a little for emphasis. “Please Santi, I want to feel you, come in me, please-”

You stop when Santi snaps his hips once more, with a groan of finality and you can feel his cum inside of you as he holds himself there, his cock pulsing within you. He presses a couple more gentle kisses to your neck before sliding out, and you hiss slightly at the pull on your sensitive folds of your pussy.

He leaves for a second, returning with a key and gently releasing your wrists. “Good girl,” he murmurs, massaging your skin. “You did so good for me.”

He helps you sit up, kissing your cheek before leaving again. This time when he returns, he has a wet rag, and a glass of water, which you take a sip from, not having realised how thirsty you were. He gently dabs the rag on the inside of your thighs first, and the two of you watch in slightly morbid fascination as Santi’s cum leaks out of you onto the rag.

“That’s kinda hot,” you comment idly, wondering if Santi fucked all sense of you.

He only laughs, wiping the mess away and cuddling up next to you. “Do you want me to do it again?” he asks as you lean into his arms, his hands wrapping around your wrists to rub circles into your skin.

“Yes,” you answer, probably too quickly but beyond caring.

“Good.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Santi wants to ask you something, so you twist in his arms, kissing along his shoulder. The act feels small, and innocent somehow, despite your states of undress, as you try to reassure him.

“You were right,” you murmur near his ear, “Stranger was where I was going wrong.”

It takes him a second to piece your reference together, but then he grins, and it’s like he hung the sun in the sky. “Yeah? I took care of you?”

You kiss him again, this time on the lips, biting back your own identical grin. “Yeah.”

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Tags: @fantasticcopeaglepasta​

[tigerdrop]

so. this is my attempt at posting a 20k-word-long g/t frenrey RP that kogo and i were doing at the start of this year. its not finished and im not sure when were gonna pick it back up, since we are currently working on co-op game theory instead of a filthy RP that takes place like 100k words down the line of co-op game theory. but ive been sitting on it long enough so here u go

i never really planned on posting this anywhere so its really self-indulgent and not as polished as our usual stuff but look. this is a ludicrous amount of erotica im dropping here. cut me a lil slack

anyway, here it is: Gordon Gets A Xen Bath

Gordon tries to keep moving, but eventually his pace slows to a stop, his legs growing heavier and heavier until he can't bring himself to lift them.

"Okay. Okay," he pants, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. "I can't fucking do this anymore, man! I'm tapped out! We've been walking all day - or, well, I have, I don't know about you. We can't... can't all be alien god fuckers, floating around or whatever." He pauses to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body aches from the strain of hopping around Xen in the HEV suit. Sure, gravity doesn't have quite as strong a hold here as it did back on Earth, and that makes all that metal easier to lug around, but it seems like time doesn't work the same way, either. Gordon can't tell how long it's been. Feels like days.

Smells like it, too, now that he's got a moment to breathe. He's covered in dirt and slime and congealed alien blood and God know what else.  In short, he needs a fucking break. And Gordon aggressively takes one right then and there, dropping to his feet. What's the rush, anyway? "Like we're ever gonna find out way out of this fucking place," he mutters.

> Benrey watches as Gordon collapses, a pile of metal and smells. Odors. Sweat and dirt and tangled hair. His head tilts to the side but his expression remains flat as he lifts his head and gazes out into the vastness of Xen, before turning back to Gordon and furrowing his brow. They hadn't even gotten far, not really, so it doesn't really make sense that he'd just crumple like this.

> He sniffs, shuffling in a circle on his feet as Gordon bitches behind him--something about never escaping Xen, as if Benrey hadn't traveled from one end to the other to find him in the first place--and chews his lip in deep concentration, trying to think of literally anything that would maybe make the guy stop. Stop with the, uh, whining and whinging and "blah blah, we're not all alien god fuckers" or whatever.

> (Though, well, technically, Gordon was an alien god fucker anymore. Their time back with the space maggots and the gun bugs and that skinny doppelganger had seen them in a couple of situations where Gordon happily fucked an "alien god.")

> But. Wait. No. Mind wandering. Wandering to fun places, places more fun than being lost in Xen (though he's not lost; they'll find their way out eventually), but not anywhere useful. And, for once, he has to think along those boring terms. Being, you know, reliable or whatever.

> What matters is making Gordon go. The hamster wheel in his head turns and turns until the rodent is slung clear off and, with a slow blink, Benrey accepts defeat. Ideas are not his forte when he's actually trying to be helpful. He turns to his human, he tilts his head in the other direction, and he waits for his human to look up at him. Then, he speaks without even waiting for eye contact.

> "So, uh... what can best friend Benrey do to... make you. I dunno. Less dumb?"

> Nailed it. Benrey is getting good at this "empathy" thing.

Gordon drags his gaze up from the ground to Benrey, and immediately scrunches his eyebrows up. "Wow, that was almost nice of you," he says, a touch of genuine surprise in his voice. It doesn't outweigh the disdain, though. "You know what? Just don't do anything. The best thing you can do right now is to stand right there and do absolutely nothing... and let me just... catch my breath."

He hopes against hope that, for once, Benrey will do what he says. Despite all the evidence that suggests otherwise. His internal monologue turns a bit haggard. Well, it's not like there's anything he could do about it, anyway. Even if he was fit as a fiddle, if Benrey wanted to fuck off and get lost, there was no stopping him.

He can't hold Benrey's stare for long, though. It's-- it's always harder to look him right in the eye like this. Something about the size of him makes it uncomfortable, like he's staring right through Gordon. So he darts his eyes away, scanning his surroundings. The perils of an alien landscape: all the little islands and chunks of earth start to look the same after awhile. Rocks and strange, angry plants and pools of mysterious fluids. He's seen it all. There's a number of all these things and more around him, but the one thing he finds himself wishing for is something to eat. You can't trust anything out here.

"I just want a burger, man," Gordon groans. "Sick of jumping around like I'm playing some kind of platformer. You know, they never tell you how exhausting this shit is! My heart's-- my heart's racing-- like, adrenaline? Hate fucking jumping over these big-ass pits, I'm tellin' you."

Or, failing that, like, a nap. Or a bath. He vocalizes both of these things before burying his head in his hands. Maybe he could get one of those microsleeps going. If he can just calm the fuck down, anyway.

> Food? Nap? Bath?

> Benrey's mouth curls into a jagged smile. Of course Gordon would just need some of that weird, seemingly pointless human stuff. You would think after two grand adventures of dragging this sad sack around and listening to him complain every two meters, he'd have picked up on the human necessities. Things like 'burger" and "bed time" and "smelling like preferred smells, and not the natural smells that are apparently 'bad.'"

> A huge sigh heaves out of Benrey and he watches in amusement as it makes Gordon's hair puff out of his face. Small little tiny man, curled up on a chunk of rock, not able to embiggen and make things easier. It's sad and pathetic, almost as sad and pathetic as Gordon looks, but Benrey knows he's capable of being a good enough guy for the both of them. A real bro. A best friend.

> Because he knows Xen inside and out for some reason. And he's observant. He's seen things and can do the mental math necessary to figure out how to problem solve, sort of. He's spent enough time floating around Xen to figure out what those sparkly puddles do, and he's seen enough of those people back in the Wrong World eat the not-Lamarrs (or, at least the Vorti-bros did, which were close enough).

> And, well, Gordon could literally sleep anywhere. There was dirt for days, lots of rocks to align the spine. Fun nap places. Good for Gordon.

> With a burst of pride and dagger-toothed grin, Benrey propped his elbow on the island where Gordon was whining and held out his hand, palm up and flat, extended as an open invitation.

> "Oh. Uh. That it? That's, uh... that's a cool I can do. Big cool for you."

He stares, eyes narrowed in confusion. "What? What do you mean, that's a-- What are you doing?"

> "I'm doing a cool," Benrey responds. Though his voice is still fairly flat, there is a bite to it, hidden almost completely under his monotone. As if to emphasize the point, he lifts his hand and slaps it back down into the earth once more in a way he thought was light. Judging from the way the ground shook and the island rocked, perhaps not as light as he'd imagined.

> "Gonna, uh... help. Or somethin'. You gettin' on or you gonna be a babyman about it?"

Gordon yelps as the ground shakes around him, even though he's (relatively) safe on the ground. "Jesus, Benrey! Watch it!"

What the hell is he doing? His eyes dart between Benrey's hand and face as the gears struggle to turn. It's been a long fucking day, all right, and Benrey's... Benrey-isms are hard enough to understand at the best of times. This is supposed to help, somehow. So, scratch the burger. And the nap, too, probably. So, does that mean he wants to--

No. That's stupid. He's stupid for thinking it. Gordon steadfastly ignores the way his ears prickle and shakes his head, like a dog ridding itself of water.

"Please tell me you're gonna just carry me the rest of the way," Gordon sighs. It's a visible effort for him to get back to his feet. "Hey, actually, why didn't you just do that from the get-go? You're not even breaking a sweat!"

He complains, sure, but it doesn't stop him from dizzily shuffling forward and stepping on. Better late than never. He'll have plenty of time to chew Benrey out for this once he's out of this alien hellscape and back in his own goddamn bed.

> Benrey blinks.

> Oh. Yeah. He probably could have carried Gordon, huh? The thought never really occurred to him at first because, well, why would it? Was he a bad guy--a bad friend--for believing that his bestest buddy was a capable man? Color him insensitive for actually expecting things of Gordon, but he'd just watched the guy win Space Invaders in real life.

> After that, traipsing through Xen should have been a walk in the park.

> Best not to point that out, though. Gordon may take offense and, for once in his life, he isn't out to make him mad. He's trying to be good, trying to carry that camaraderie they built from Shit World Without Sony Products back to Good World With Heavenly Sword. Highlighting Gordon's stupid human failings would only work to reset the karma he'd worked so hard to build up in their social link. Or, you know, however humans fucking worked.

> Instead, he lets Gordon crawl onto his hand and then turns away, wracking his mind for the last place he saw a good puddle. After all, it made sense to start with a bath, right? Eating while gross would make Gordon complain, and sleeping while gross wouldn't be much better. Drifting past island after island, his head swivels to see if maybe there are some good candidates going forward.

> And there's... really not. Testicle stalks. Pointy rocks. Less pointy rocks. Tit-on-stilts that is aggressively spitting little Lamarrs over the edge of a rock chunk that looks like Swiss cheese. Benrey isn't sure what it's hoping to accomplish, but it's sure as fuck not accomplishing it.

> Then, he sees it, in the distance: A glittering pool of blue that sparks like electricity and glitters like cheap body mist. A strange smell, not unlike Sweet Voice, wafts from its direction. It's certainly one of the Good Smells Humans Like. Gordon will love it.

> Wordlessly, he glides toward it. Gordon's smart. He'll know what he's getting at.

Benrey's not saying anything, which is mildly concerning, but he is looking around like he knows what he's looking for. And when Benrey fucks off, Gordon in tow - held in a grip that's a little looser than he likes - Gordon lets his brain wind down for the first time in... a long while. Flying around Xen like this is nervewracking, yeah, but in a way he's more equipped to handle. Benrey's chest at his back helps. It's solid as a wall and deceptively warm, and if he keeps himself pressed flat against it, he can almost forget about these bottomless pits they're flying over.

He lets Benrey go like that for an indeterminable amount of time. (He may have dozed off a little.) But Gordon comes back to himself once Benrey's velocity changes. Gets a bit more pointed. Eventually, Gordon puzzles out that he's heading for one island in particular, one with a shimmering pool on its surface. Not exactly what the endgame was.

Wait. Gordon's brain chugs. He was looking for... some kind of water? Oh, Christ.

"Wait, were you being serious about the bath thing?" he asks as they approach. "I-- I wasn't being that serious about it! Getting out of here kind of seems like the more important thing!"

> "Huh?"

> The word falls off of Benrey's lips despite the fact he actually heard everything Gordon said. He heard him and even registered him, but he just didn't get him. After all, he's fairly certain that Gordon wants a bath considering it was one of the big things that spewed out of his mouth when he was being all needlessly fussy before, so why isn't he just saying it? Owning up to it?

> Was it because it was a detour? Slowing them down? Or was it just Gordon being whatever-the-hell-Gordon-was?

> Yeah, that had to be it. Gordon just doesn't want to get side-tracked. That's fair, he supposes. Or, at the very least, he assumes that's what a human would consider fair, considering how obsessed with "time" and "schedules" and "fast" they all were.

> "Real quick dip," Benrey promises, hoping to put Gordon's mind at ease; it was a far cry from what he typically did, so he could only hope it landed properly, that he was saying the right things and had the right inflections. "Real fast. Get'cha all nice. Wet. Uh. Soaps and hygiene. You know."

"Oh my God, man, it's gonna be a whole fuckin' production!" Gordon agonizes as Benrey brings them to that strange, glittering watering hole. "Saving the world's kinda time-sensitive, you know? And it's always such a hassle getting in and out of this thing! And-- Okay, hold on, you actually want to-- Okay. Fine. Look, I'm just saying, this is weird even for you, Benrey!"

Soaps. Hygiene. You know. Letting his best frenemy peel him out of his suit so he can scrub him clean, like normal people do. A shiver runs down the back of Gordon's neck. There's gotta be some kind of catch, but honestly, he's having a hard enough time keeping up with events as they're written. If there's some kind of malicious subtext to this whole thing, well, that's not his problem. He's got more important things to worry about, like convincing Benrey that it would be a little more prudent to just keep forging on rather than waste valuable time on a bath.

...Unfortunately, he's close enough to smell whatever it is that wafts off the surface in waves, and it makes Gordon's resolve waver. It's a clean smell, warm and vaguely fruity, with an undercurrent of salinity. Like a shower that's just been used, almost. God, he'd really like that, wouldn't he.

> The words don't really have weight to them anymore. If Benrey had a nickel for every time Gordon called him "weird" or told him he was endangering the world by taking detours, he'd have enough nickels to melt them down and make a big-ass nickel. And, judging from the way even Gordon's mouth wasn't running anymore, it didn't seem like Gordon had put any weight into his own words, either.

> Which was good. Real good. It meant Benrey was doing a nice job of not pressing every one of Gordon's buttons like a kid in an elevator, and being a proper friend. Best friend. More than friend? God, he fucking wished.

> And he'd shut up right in the nick of time, too, because the urge to tease is building up inside of Benrey like pressure in a flaming aerosol can. It's hard not to want to pick at him when Gordon is griping like this, just goading him on with his (strangely cute) bullshit. Benrey mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done as he glides to the edge of the island and leans carefully over the tiny expanse of mottled dirt and glittering water.

> "S'fine. You're fine. S'gonna be fine. Just cleanin' you up, makin' you pretty. Like a good friend. Best friend."

> The water bubbles against the back of his hand as he extends it, dangling Gordon over the surface so he can get a good look at it himself. Maybe, with the proper viewing, he'll realize that this will be a pleasant time all around. Good for him. Fun for Benrey. Bonding experience.

> "Gonna make you, uh, real shiny. Polished.  A, ah, regular... Casa... Casa del Nova."

> With that, he hooks a nail under one of the thigh pieces of the HEV suit and waits, eyes resting on Gordon's face in search of approval. Approval he selfishly hopes comes quick, before reflex takes over and he pops it off regardless.

Gordon peers over the edge of Benrey's hand to look down at the water, where it lies placid and clear and a vivid blue-green. Mysterious bubbles aside. It's... it's like one of those pools at Yellowstone, he thinks dizzily. They look so warm and inviting and then you step in and suddenly your flesh is deciding to melt right off of you. Gordon's stomach swoops unpleasantly.

Then Benrey offhandedly mentions making him pretty, as if he were just trying to sell Gordon on a new restaurant, and it swoops for an entirely different reason. An irritating reason.

"Don't just fucking say things like that," he says hotly, his voice pitching up and cracking from nerves.

But it becomes an afterthought in short order when Gordon feels Benrey's nail tugging at his HEV suit, and he realizes that Benrey's very, very serious about this. Especially when he fixes Gordon with that intent stare. Like he's waiting for something. Permission? It must be, since he's not making any moves to pop off the armor on his thigh. Gordon looks down at Benrey's finger, chipped black paint peeking out from the corners, then back up at Benrey.

Oh, fuck this. He hates when Benrey does this. It's one of those mind games, or something. Make Gordon be the one to make the call, like it's a game of chicken and Benrey's trying to get him to lose. Instead of, you know, not derailing his entire fucking journey in the first place with the suggestion of a bath. One where, well, it does smell really nice. And he can feel the ambient heat from the water from his perch on Benrey's palm. And Benrey's offering to pry him out of his suit and, presumably, do the washing for him. So Gordon doesn't have to move a muscle. Or even think about it.

His face twists and turns its way through a melange of emotions before he decides, fuck it. Even if this is weird, and Benrey's probably playing some kind of 4-dimensional chess, his mind's already sold itself on the idea. So Gordon's tongue darts out to wet his lips, mouth unexpectedly dry.

"I-- Okay-- You know what, fine. We're already here. Just... no, fucking, tricks or jokes or whatever, man. If you leave me on some fucking rock with my dick out, I'm going to kill you," Gordon tells Benrey.

> What Benrey wants to say is that Gordon is being a baby. A bitch, even. There's no reason for him to get all flustered and pissy when they've already done so many things together. Things that only the closest of bros do, like take down a hostile invading force and push their dicks together and make out. But instead, Benrey takes a deep and steady breath as he works his nails deeper under the chassis of the HEV suit and tugs up with a satisfying click as the latches come undone and the thigh piece flops uselessly off of Gordon.

> "Cool."

> He moves onto the next section, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting above his nose as he looks down at Gordon and tries to focus. Head empty, aside from trying to figure out how in the hell he's actually supposed to undo all the delicate bits with fingers as big as his human. It was easier when he was small, and he supposes he could be small again, but that would be no fun. Perhaps he could just rip it off of Gordon with his teeth like the top of a sardine can, but it would be even less fun to deal with the little guy yelling at him for hours.

> Getting Gordon's goat was fun and all, but god, did the guy know how to harp on a subject like no other person he'd ever met.

> Instead, Benrey's tongue pokes out between his fangs as he presses the tip of his finger against the inside of Gordon's other thigh and lets his fingernail search for the seam, the latch. He cocks his head like an owl and leans down close enough that Gordon could touch his face, heaving out a huge and uncharacteristically irritated breath. From here, he can smell the musky odor of sweat and dirt and grime and alien goo, and it's strangely nice. Earthy. Very Gordon.

> He'd smelled it before, when he wasn't quite this big, when Gordon was unzipping his suit and climbing into his lap and drool pools at the corner of Benrey's mouth, equal parts saliva and lusty Sweet Voice and--

> Click.

> The other piece of thigh armor falls away. The noise shakes Benrey to his senses.

> "Turn please," he orders mindlessly. His voice is a bit more husky and demanding than it had been a moment before.

Gordon watches as Benrey pops off his armor like it's nothing, like Gordon hasn't spent hours fruitlessly trying to do the same himself. It would have saved him the constant indignity of relying on Benrey to get him in and out of the fucking thing. He tries really hard not to think about the indignity of this, too - Benrey's face so close to his, a hot, irritable breath fanning over him, and fingers at his--

Oh. Gordon jumps a little at the insistent press of a fingertip against his inner thigh, and heat rushes to his face. This part's mildly embarrassing at the best of times, when Benrey's smaller and more human-sized, but now? With fingers much too big for the job? Spreading his legs apart where he sits, rubbing insistently against his inner thigh... He can't help the shaky breath that forces its way out of him.

Jesus Christ, his hands are big, Gordon thinks, mind racing. Sure, yes, he's had this thought before, when Benrey was using them to slap gunships out of the air, but it's a little more pointed when they're prodding him like this. He tenses. Not entertaining these thoughts today, thank you. The whole point of this, presumably, was for a normal, ordinary bath. In a pool of mysterious alien water. With his rival stripping him down and scrubbing him. While he's so big that he could squish Gordon like a bug, if he wanted... or pick Gordon up and maneuver him around, broad fingers all over him, sizing him up. If he wanted.

He comes back to himself when he hears a command. Turn please. Quick and insistent. Gordon's eyes jerk away from where they'd been staring at Benrey's finger.

"Turn? Like, fucking-- God, ow--" Gordon hisses through his teeth as the motion twists one of his aching muscles the wrong way. "I don't even know why I'm doing this. It's not like this was stopping you... You know, I'm starting to think you just like bossing people around for no fucking reason." Despite his bitching, he does as he's told.

> Maybe he does like it. The bossing, that is. Benrey isn't sure. It's one of the few human things he knows--his job back at Black Mesa--and it's one of those things he's good at. Usually. At least now he feels good at it, with Gordon actually listening to him.

> He watches as Gordon turns, head shifting to tilt in the other direction, watching as his human trustingly turns his back to him and displays himself in a way that makes more Sweet Voice seep from between his teeth. He sniffs, he uses the back of his free hand to wipe away a trickle of fluorescent fluid trailing from his lips, and quickly wipes his hands off on his pants. His eyes never leaves Gordon's back.

> Lower back.

> His ass.

> Benrey had told him before that it was a nice one, and it was still true... uh, even if he can't really see it with Gordon sitting and all. He can imagine it in its entirety, though, nice and small, even as he fumbles with the latches on the back of the chest piece. He hardly notices as he clicks it open and the front hits the pad of his palm with an audible slap of metal against skin. He reaches around to pluck it away, the side of his hand brushing against Gordon's front.

> Gordon's heaving chest. His soft midsection. His...

> Benrey shakes his head as if snapping himself out of a trance. An involuntary laugh snorts out of his nose as he leans down, peeking over Gordon's shoulder like a creeping dragon, breath hot against the back of Gordon's neck.

> "Cute."

> And with that, he grabs the next part of Gordon: his arm, raising it up effortlessly like a doll's and carefully searching for the next latch.

Maybe facing away from Benrey wasn't the smartest idea, in retrospect. It feels like he's closer, somehow, his breath coming hotter and faster against Gordon's back. Benrey breathing down his neck should be, like, gross. Creepy. Gordon knows by now that Benrey likes to make a big deal about keeping them clean, but it's not like he knows when Benrey brushed last. It shouldn't smell... like that. Sweet. A distinct chemical note on the underside. Like ketones on his breath, but nothing that Gordon can place for certain.

Sweet Voice, probably. It's muted and subtle. He's not belting it out like he usually does, so Gordon can only guess what Benrey's feeling. Unfortunately, he's all too aware of what he's feeling: goosebumps, pebbling his skin from the neck down. A little frisson. They crawl all the way down his arms and make him shiver.  He can practically feel Benrey's eyes on him, too, all up close and personal. Don't break a sweat, he wills himself, because he knows Benrey's watching him like a hawk.

It doesn't stop a bead from pooling at the back of his hairline, then losing the fight against gravity and slowly trickling down his neck.

Benrey snorts, and Gordon flinches, cursing under his breath. He couldn't even have that, huh. Then Benrey has the audacity to call him cute. And that makes his blood pulse, briefly flashing his skin with heat, before receding just as quickly and leaving a chill in its wake.

"Wh-- Whoa, okay," Gordon starts. His indignant response is temporarily cut off by Benrey lifting his arm between a thumb and forefinger. He offers about as much resistance as a fucking action figure, even creaking a little for good measure, and it's distracting, okay?

After a few moments, though, he regains his bearings. "Shut up, man," he says, flustered. "I'm not even-- Just-- Quit being weird, okay?" Because, frankly, this is weird. He's not used to Benrey being so... accommodating. Helpful. Nice. And he doesn't know what Benrey's endgame is, here. So it just leaves Gordon feeling off-kilter. Uncertain. A little hot in the face.

> Benrey's eyes flick up like a lizard that's spotted its next meal when he hears Gordon's words, conveniently at the same time as he finds the latch with his nail. The armor on his upper arm falls away with a clonk and his fingers move down to the much-easier-to-remove gloves and wrist pieces, which come undone with a light twist and an even lighter yank. But his gaze isn't even looking at what he's doing, instead resting on the back of Gordon's hair, now wet with sweat and the dampness of his own breath.

> His skin is raised up in little bumps, and so are his hackles. Something bright and violet and base, fluorescent, builds at the back of Benrey's tongue, and he swallows it down. He has to focus, keep his composure. Get the other arm with a few quick clicks, fingers now more adventurous than they were before. The pads trail across Gordon's back, the undersuit bunching with his touch, pressing into his side for no reason other than the urge to feel. Then, when the second arm is freed, he remembers he forgot the boots.

> "Not being weird," Benrey protests as he wrangles Gordon in his grip, sighing heavily as he pinches him lightly in his grasp and rolls him in his hand like some kind of trinket. Until they're face to face once again and Gordon is flat on his back in his palm. He takes a moment to idly scratch his chin before reaching for the metal encasing his lower legs and feet.

> "Not weird to, uh, help a bro out. Be a friend. Friends call friends cute. All the time. Every day. S'pre... pre-requi... prere..." He pauses and stills and, then, with unwarranted confidence, forces the word out and continues fiddling. "It's pre-registered to, uh, do that. Yeah."

Blunt fingers at his arm, his back, his sides, prodding and rolling him around - each investigatory touch makes Gordon cognizant of just how much he's holding his breath. Until Benrey manhandles him into laying flat on his back, that is. A startled noise bursts out of him, and then Gordon's looking straight up at Benrey, with nowhere to go to escape him. Even without a hand pinning him down, he can't help but feel like he's stuck in place, anyway.

At least Gordon can sit up on his elbows a little. Less like he's some kind of specimen that way. And he lets Benrey fiddle with the boots, the strange feeling that curls in his stomach easing up on him the longer Benrey messes with something other than his soft, fleshy, vulnerable bits. He lets out a shaky breath of... relief. Let's go with that.

"IIII don't know about that," he says. "I'll be real with you, I'm not the kind of guy who does that... Uh. Well. Except there was that one time in high school? But it kind of weirded her out and she stopped talking to me."

Gordon pauses for a moment, brows wrinkling in thought. Then he shakes himself. "Anyway, that's not even the point. The point is," Gordon emphasizes, feeling like he's trying to present a convincing legal argument to a judge with all the size and breadth of (and possibly, the powers of) some ancient Greek god, "I think you have a, uh, tenuous grasp of what friendship entails, buddy. My friends don't call me cute."

As an afterthought, under his breath, he adds, "Nobody calls me cute." It comes out more bitter than he expects.

> The boots come off, one after another. The shin guards, too. Politely, Benrey scoops up all the miscellaneous pieces piled in his palm between his free fingers and puts them to rest next to the pool of... well, "water." Liquid. Something, though he's hard pressed to tell you exactly what it is. "The Bath."

> He listens as he does so, to Gordon squawking and muttering and saying, well, things. Things that he's not really listening to as he brings his hands back up to Gordon and tries to figure out where the zipper to the bodysuit is. Technically, he knows where it is, but his fingers are huge and the zippy-uppy part is so small, and he's prodding and poking with gentle strokes along Gordon's chest and belly where he saw the seam once-upon-a-time. He feels his nail click against the metal and it's... uh, well, it's aggravating.

> And Benrey isn't used to this kind of aggravation. Fuck's sake, he just wants to see some dic... ah. He just wants to help his best friend get a nice bath and feel better. Because he is a good guy who does good things like kill gun bugs for tiny dudes who can't shoot straight and not drive off with vehicles when Gordon leaves him alone. He's a good guy who doesn't want to be bad and--

> "Uh," he drawls, his mouth moving before he can really catch himself, "fuckin'... maybe people would call you cute if you, uh, weren't such a, uh, mean. So mean about it. Mean to me, just trying to say nices. To my best friend. Being such a good and a cool."

> His voice dies as he misses the zipper again. Fuck. When he speaks again, it darkens.

> "Please unzip suit? Please? Thank-you."

Soon enough Benrey's got him down to that reinforced bodysuit, the last piece of armor sliding off his hand with little resistance. Usually, this is where this process stops: Benrey gets him out of the armor, and Gordon fucks off and does whatever it is he needs to do. Change. Wash up. Sleep. The part where Benrey starts tugging at the fabric in search of the zipper? That's new. And it catches Gordon so unawares that he can't even speak.

That fingertip strokes him, almost, warm even through the black fabric, and a harsh breath whistles through Gordon's nose. It feels him up from his chest to his belly, a warm and insistent pressure. All the words in Gordon's brain get trapped in a mental sieve. In their place is a single, repeating thought:

Oh, God.

Benrey keeps trying, again and again, fingernails scraping uselessly against Gordon's belly. And his eyebrows furrow harder with the effort, frustration evident in his frown. And his fingers. Their grasping grows rough and imprecise and Gordon's trying so hard to bite his lip because there's an ugly noise threatening to punch his way out of him and Benrey's saying something to him that he can barely focus on and then finally, finally, he's giving up and pulling away. Christ.

It takes a moment for his mental fog to clear and for Benrey's words to sink in. Unzip? Himself? Oh, no. Somehow that's worse.

"Can you, like... give me some privacy, maybe?" Gordon complains.

He immediately feels stupid afterward. It trickles down from his scalp like something cold and slimy. So he clears his throat, and admits, begrudging, "I, uh... I'm not trying to be mean. It's been a long fucking day, okay? You're... uh... Well. Thanks. I guess. For trying to be nice."

There's a beat before the silence gets to be too uncomfortable, and Gordon hurriedly follows it up by saying, "Don't take this the wrong way. I think you could still use a few pointers on being 'nice' to 'humans', you know."

> "Wha?"

> In a second, the irritation is gone. Benrey's expression turns flat. He leans in close to Gordon and inhales deeply (yup, still smells like Gordon) and exhales just as hard.

> "I'm nice," he defends, eyes flicking down the pile of HEV parts on the island. "Fuckin', ah, Mother Tuh-ree-sah. You're the one who is bein'--"

> A pause. Nice. He was being nice, and he wasn't going to pick at Gordon. He wasn't going to point out that he was the one being snippy, while he was out here undressing him, and carrying him around, and getting ready to give him a bath, and maybe touch his--

> Wait.

> "Privacy?"

> The word tastes bad, real bad. The kind of bad that makes Benrey want to scrape his tongue off on his teeth. That isn't how they'd played these games before. Is this even still a game, though? Did "nice" contradict "games" too much? He isn't sure and he doesn't even give himself a chance to think about it as he nudges Gordon encouragingly with a finger and the words just start rolling out of his mouth.

> "No? No place to private at, bro. Maybe gonna have to just, ah, suck it up, friend. Besides--"

> Benrey leans forward on the island on his elbow, chin resting in his hand. As his body tilts, Gordon raises higher up due to his shifting of positions.

> "Can't, ah, can't not look. Dinosaurs and, uh, zombies out here. Ghosts. Gotta keep my eye on you. Safe-tee."

Safety. Right. As much as Gordon doesn't want to admit it, Benrey has a point. He's... vulnerable like this. And it would be just his luck that he gets beset by a peeper puppy with his dick hanging out. More to the point, he knows that it's stupid to develop a sense of modesty all of a sudden when Benrey's seen his dick before. It's just, you know, the size. The scrutiny.

Heat lodges itself in Gordon's face and makes a home there as Benrey brings him all the closer. As if to see him better. "Dinosaurs and zombies," he snorts. He can't believe that's the justification Benrey's giving him. And he can't believe he's buying it.

"Just... fucking, okay. Don't stare, at least," Gordon tells him, as if it will help.

The zipper's nestled in the seam at his neck, right in the center. Gordon fishes it out with shaky fingers. And then, slowly, he drags it down his front.

As he does, his flesh starts to spill from the suit in a creamy sliver. He's paler underneath, skin shielded from the sun for so long that his characteristic tan has all but faded. Consequences of running around in a HEV suit in the middle of Bulgaria. The rattle of the zipper rings in Gordon's ears, louder than life. First his chest, then his stomach, prickling with goosebumps in turn as they're revealed.

Finally, he pulls it down to its endpoint, just under his navel. Gordon's face burns with embarrassment.

> That... was easier than Benrey anticipated. Usually there's more resistance or, you know, playing involved whenever he asked Gordon to do something like that. Usually he had something a little more snide to say. Something in the air has changed, though, and he dimly wonders if maybe all of that advice he'd taken from the Resistors (Resistance? Transistors? Alyx, basically) has actually paid off.

> Learning how to human does, in fact, make interacting with Gordon easier.

> His pupils widen as he stares, mouth slightly agape, as more and more of Gordon's skin is revealed to him, a pretty porcelain color that looks incredibly soft and as delicate as a china doll. Usually he's darker, tanner; Benrey didn't know humans could change colors like that, but it's an interesting development and one that requires further investigation.

> So he leans closer, head tilted, watching the zipper come undone. Curiosity grips him as he gingerly reaches up and hooks his nails into the open edges of the suit and tugs, enough to jostle Gordon and peel away the wrapper but not enough to actually knock Gordon off his feet. As he does so, he ignores the sounds of protests, mouth opening wider and lifting in a sharkish grin.

> He's so pale now, but he's just as soft as Benrey remembers. Just as warm. Hair's still in all the right places, muscles in his arms growing visible as Benrey tugs the sleeves down, then the rest, leaving the top half of the bodysuit dangling from around his still-covered waist.

> He waits a moment, drinking in the sight. He could almost see his--

> No. No. No dick thinking, not now. No. He wasn't going to say anything because he was seriously just trying to be nice. And make Gordon shut up. And...

> And...

> "Cute."

> The word comes out while his brain is still arguing with himself. For a moment, he considers apologizing, or trying to pretend he never said it, but ultimately decides to stand by what he said.

> His eyes lift to rest on Gordon's face as he silently doubles down, waiting for a reply.

"Hey, careful," Gordon yelps, caught off-guard by fingers at the edges of his open suit. "You don't have to fucking-- Benrey, I can do this myself!" But there's no fighting him off before Benrey's tugging it down his shoulders, baring him from the waist up.

Impatient. That's the word that comes to mind. Benrey's itching to get him out of this thing, Gordon realizes. If it wasn't already obvious by that insistent scrape of nails against his jumpsuit, or the way Benrey's looking at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted. That heat in Gordon's cheeks crawls down to his chest. He's staring at Gordon like he's hungry, and all the pasty skin being revealed to him may as well be a juicy T-bone steak. Being half-naked ought to be making him pretty chilly in a place like this, but for some reason, it feels way too fucking hot right now.

Thankfully, Benrey stops there, which gives him a moment to get his bearings. On the other hand, Benrey's calling him fucking cute again, and Gordon was having a bad enough time handling that earlier. Now? Jesus, the guy's barely paying attention to him. Mumbling it like it's an afterthought. He doesn't know what it means.

"I-- I'm not fucking cute, dude, we already established this," he insists, doing his level best not to meet Benrey's stare. Gordon folds his arms, irritable and flushed a bright red. "I'm too mean or whatever. I got the picture. You don't have to keep fucking with me."

> Oh, he's changing colors again. Red now, from the tips of his ears down to his chest, and Benrey snorts a laugh. Of course humans can change colors. He'd seen him do this before. A few times actually.

> But he's just turning red, and being snippy, and he's not making a move to take off the rest of the suit. Benrey's eyes flick from Gordon to the water and, with a low chuckle, he decides to take the cue. Which... was a cue, right? He's pretty sure it's a cue, but humans were weird to begin with and Gordon was odder than most.

> Has to be a cue, he decides after a moment of silence wherein Gordon doesn't budge. He grabs the draping top of the suit and gently peels it downwards towards Gordon's feet, watching it pull away from sweaty, dirty skin. Watching it expose dark curls of hair just below his stomach, and watching Gordon's dick spill out into the open air. Benrey's teeth dig into his lips as he watches, even as his hands move clumsily to strip the rest of the rubbery material off of his legs.

> He's touched that before. Wants to touch it again, wants to say something about it. But he can't because apparently it was bad form to say shit about your best bro's average-but-good meat when he wasn't specifically asking, or at least that's what his stupid, skinny doppelganger had said and--

> God. Wait. No. He shakes his head. Best to focus on anything else.

> What else had the Resist-y Squad said? To listen? Humans liked listening? Even when they were being bitchy little drama-snots?

> Then he should... listen, right? But... what had Gordon said? He wasn't actually paying attention. He furrows his brow and his stare intensifies as he tries to piece together enough of the words he did hear to paint a picture. It takes a moment, but soon, it clicks.

> Oh. Yeah. Not cute. Blah, blah. Something, something "mean."

> Benrey's mouth snaps shut as he struggles to tear his eyes away from Gordon's cock, instead keeping a trained eye on his face. His mind is a machine running on fumes with rattling parts, but he struggles through the distraction. He's going to be reassuring. He's a good friend.

> "Uh... yeah? Mean? Cute? You can be both. Bratty little, ah, Gordon Meanman with his nice... cute. Cute little hog."

> The words come out before he can stop them.

> Goddammit.

Oh, God, okay, so none of what he said got through, clearly. He squawks out as much. Gordon's mind spins into overdrive as Benrey manifestly does not let him take care of it himself, instead peeling the jumpsuit clean off his hips and legs and exposing him from top to bottom. His heart thunders in his chest, and he presses his legs tightly together in a futile attempt at modesty.

"My-- my cute little-- Jesus Christ, Benrey, you can not say shit like like that!" Gordon snaps. He jams his hands between his legs to cover himself, humiliation boiling over.

Fucking Benrey. Always saying the worst possible shit, the most embarrassing shit. Gordon thinks this as furiously as he can, because if he acknowledges that there's anything other than purestrain embarrassment and indignation at play, he's gonna snap like a twig. That's all it is. He's a normal guy, and normal guys don't feel their dicks twitch when their best friend calls their dick cute. And... little. That's worse. Much worse.

The thing that Gordon's still failing to understand is why Benrey's still calling him cute. Yeah, it gets his goat, but it's not like Benrey was in the habit of pulling this shit before. And... And Gordon doesn't know why it's getting to him so much, either.

The first time seemed like a prank. A bad joke. The second time, an accident. And the third - fourth - fifth? The times after that, he's not sure anymore. But each time it gets his skin burning hotter and his heart skipping a beat and Gordon's still pissed off but he's not sure exactly why. (Well, in the general sense. This time, it's because Benrey's straight up insulting his dick, thank you.)

"Why did I even agree to this," he moans, head hanging between his shoulders. "Everything's always gotta be a big fucking ordeal for Gordon. You know what, just put me down if you're gonna-- gonna make fun of my meat or whatever! I'll get myself a bath and then we can go and forget this ever happened."

> There is something about the way Gordon fusses at him that makes Benrey's heart skip a beat, though it also awakens something in the back of his mind that he's been consciously trying to tamp down. The urge to pick at him grows as large as his smile as he hooks two fingers under Gordon's arms and lifts him up and out of his palm like a claw in a skill crane. Words dance on the tip of his tongue, ones better fit for a schoolyard bully, and he rumbles a dark laugh as he contemplates what to say.

> It seems the crack about his hog got him all worked up in a delicious sort of way, judging from the way he's still bright crimson and his dick seems appreciative of Benrey's attention. He could double down on that. Then again, he was supposed to be nice in this situation, wasn't he? He'd been doing so good up until this point, and he could imagine the Resist-y People would be proud if they could see him now.

> But the reaction. It's... it's good. Seeing Gordon's dick twitch, seeing him bright as a tomato, seeing him sweating and nervously dodging his gaze. All were signs that he was interested, that he may just be thinking the same things Benrey has been trying not to think and... fuck, them's good thoughts. Great thoughts.

> Maybe there's a line to walk between. Play the game and still be "nice." Benrey wets his lips and huffs a sweet-scented laugh into Gordon's face, before gently lowering him into the water. The surface of the pool practically sparks as Gordon's bare feet make contact, and a shimmering azure mist billows into the air.

> "Nuh-uh. Nope," Benrey replies with a pop of the p. "You're, uh, tired. Gonna, y'know, get you sparkly. Clean. Squeaky. Pretty. Make you feel so good you'll, uh, wanna buy BFF necklaces after."

> Once Gordon is nestled in the pool, he leans down close and presses down on his shoulders to urge him into a seated position.

> "'Sides, ah. Not making fun. S'nice. Cute. Fun size."

> Emphasis on "fun," Benrey thinks, and his smile widens.

A tingle effervesces across Gordon's skin as Benrey slowly lowers him into the water, something like carbonation but not quite. For one, bubbles aren't nucleating on him so much as drifting toward the surface, sluggish and small. But the effect is as curiously refreshing as a cold glass of Pepsi.

In contrast, the water itself is warm and clear, and the humidity fogs up his glasses in short order. Makes it hard to see Benrey before he's firmly suggesting that Gordon sit down. With his hand. He's not expecting it, and he sinks to his knees with a splash and a quiet "whoa, shit".

Gordon rights himself, sitting back against the edge of the pool. And he opens his mouth to say-- well, something, you know, there was a lot to unpack in whatever the fuck Benrey just said to him, but he barely gets it out before Benrey's talking over him.

Cute. Fun size.

"Stop, okay, just stop talking about my meat! Can we please move on? Any other topic?" He crosses his arms in front of his face.

This is, it's too fucking much, okay, there's-- it's just-- the word was already starting to crawl under his skin, and he's just an average American male! You're not supposed to say this shit to another dude! And you're not supposed to, fucking, swallow and shudder when you hear that shit, either. Not supposed to like being talked down to like that. By... by such a big guy. Who probably does think he's a fun size right now. Probably wants to...

Gordon splashes his face with water. Then he takes off his glasses after the fact, feeling like an idiot. See, this is why he's got to get Benrey to knock it off. Too much. Gets him lost in his own head. Gets his blood pumping. And the last thing he wants is to embarrass himself by looking a gift horse in the mouth, getting a boner when Benrey's just trying to do him a solid.

Well. At least that's what he's saying he's doing. The jury's still out on that one. But either way, the most likely outcome is that Benrey never lets him live it down, and Gordon doesn't know if he can handle the psychological devastation right now. So.

"Here, look, I'll even... okay, so, what is this stuff, anyway? It feels like I'm taking a bath in a... a hot energy drink. But like, in a good way?" He cups some in his hand and lets it spill through his fingers. "Last time I jumped in this stuff, I think it fixed a bone. Is that normal? Weirdest fucking thing I ever felt, man."

> "I 'unno," Benrey answers honestly. Because, well, he doesn't know what this stuff is. Even if he knows a lot about Xen (and would be hard-pressed to tell you exactly how he knows these things), it's not like he knew much more than "this thing will eat you" and "this thing won't." All he knows is that these pools feel good and smell good and do things that are good, and could more than likely get Gordon clean. Make him have a more agreeable scent than the already agreeable people-odor he's already wearing.

> The Gordon smell. It's... a nice smell.

> "It's water. Uh. Bubbles." Benrey dips his fingertips in the pool to wet them and feels the curious, sparkling sensation around his skin; it's warm and cold and fizzy and, honestly? Yeah, kind of refreshing. Like caffeinated Pop Rocks or something. He dimly wonders what it tastes like, but ultimately decides not to drink the bath water.

> "Doesn't matter. You're thinking a lot. About wrong things. Need to focus on, uh, getting you ready. For the ball. Gordo-rella." He pauses, scowling. That was bad even for him. Quickly, he recovers, as if it never happened. "So, quiet? Please? Relax?"

> With that, Benrey extends one wet finger and presses against Gordon's chest, as carefully as he can, working in the glittering water and scrubbing gingerly at his chest hair. He works his muscles with a care he didn't know he possessed, and then maneuvers to his shoulders. He feels Gordon's muscles loosening underneath his touch and it makes him feel... accomplished.

> But his eyes keep straying down, down into the water where Gordon's dick should be, obscured by bubbles and blue. And he exhales, fighting the urge to press a button, to raise him up and see if it's still twitching in anticipation, wondering if he'll see it break the surface and greet him.

> Benrey's eyes screw shut and his fingers still as he takes a moment to force himself to be, as Gordon would say, "normal." It is a foreign feeling.

> He is not a fan.

"G-Gordo-rella?" Gordon bursts out laughing despite himself. "That's so bad, I know you can do better than that!" And the funny thing is, he does know. Benrey's got jokes. He's... good at making Gordon laugh. Even when he's clearly phoning it in.

The laughter sets him at ease for the first time since they'd set out the day before. And when Benrey reaches out to start scrubbing, Gordon flinches, but does as Benrey suggests and eventually relaxes into it.

Benrey's strangely quiet as he does it. Doesn't make any dumb quips. Doesn't start talking about video games or whatever. So Gordon doesn't feel inclined to break the silence, either. The meaner part of him insists that it's just because he doesn't want to set Benrey off on some dipshit tangent, but the truth is, it's kind of nice. The quiet. Even if it's bordering on surreal. All he can hear is the quiet sound of Benrey washing his skin, dipping his fingers into the water. His breathing, measured but heavy. And the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.

The bath itself isn't half-bad, either. He didn't expect Benrey to be this... careful. Not a word Gordon really associates with the guy. But Benrey's fingers work his muscles in tight circles, slow and firm, washing off however many days of sweat and dirt and blood, and Gordon's finds himself melting a little. Letting his eyes drift shut.

He groans when Benrey works his thumb into his back just right, dislodging a knot in the muscle he wasn't even aware of until it was gone. "Oh my God, how did you do that," Gordon breathes.

> Oh. Oh.

> That noise was a... nice one. A pleasant one. One that makes Benrey hesitate for a second and lose his smile before quickly regaining it and pretending he'd never misplaced it in the first place. And he figures Gordon likely didn't notice--his human can't see without the glasses--so he says nothing as he dips his fingers yet again and massages into Gordon's shoulders, exploring every inch and feeling how bizarre every groove and curve is underneath the pad of his finger.

> It's odd, but not a bad odd. The kind of odd that requires further investigation because, while he's had his hands on Gordon before, this feels different. Better, even, in some ways. Motivated by equal parts curiosity and mounting desire, he continues to glide across Gordon's skin and work his muscles and feel them loosen and pause to take in the rapid thudding of Gordon's tiny, tiny pulse against his skin.

> Benrey swallows the Sweet Voice pooling in the back of his mouth. He gags. He coughs into his shoulder. His voice breaks a bit as his normally flat demeanor begins to falter amid a mob of intrusive thoughts that march right into his brain like little soldiers.

> "Can do it 'cause 'm not human. Got magic fingers. Call now. For $19.99, we'll throw in a second one free," Benrey recites, but his eyes are still looking for a hint of cock. But not just that--

> "Limited time offer. Supplies going fast. Better, uh, pick up that phone."

> -- his chest, bits of leg sticking out of the water, that pretty neck, that long hair--

> "Call in, uh, next fifteen minutes and I'll... uh..."

> --that stomach, slightly soft around the middle, and arms that were too strong for somebody of his persuasion--

> "Uh."

> -- every inch that HEV suit wouldn't let him see. Gordon would look so much better in something more... breezy. Clingy. Revealing.

> "Fuck," he says breathily. Something roils inside him, and a lot of it is unfortunately roiling below the belt. So much for subtlety. So much for "nice."

Benrey keeps scrubbing, keeps rubbing his sore muscles between thumbs and index fingers, and it takes a conscious effort for Gordon not to doze off. Even the prickling of fizzy bubbles against his skin fights an upward battle to keep him awake. It's just, he's been on the go for way too long, now, and days of tension are leaching out of him, and Benrey's, like, weirdly good at this. For once, Gordon doesn't have to be thinking about parallel universes and the end of the fucking world or whatever. Somebody else can do the thinking for him.

And then he starts rambling about magic fingers like he's hosting some kind of infomercial and Gordon's laugh comes easier and harder than it has any right to. But Benrey's trailing off now, distracted. Swearing under his breath. Gordon blinks open his eyes and glances up at him.

Despite his lack of glasses, Benrey's big enough (and close enough) that Gordon can make out most of his expression, even if it's fuzzy and indistinct. His mouth hangs open a little, and his brows are knotted up under the cast shadow of his helmet. Like he's thinking about something.

"Free shipping?" Gordon finishes his joke for him. Benrey must have lost his train of thought again. Gordon's mostly used to it... mostly.

He shrugs and rolls his shoulders from side to side, grunting and making small, quiet noises as he stretches. Man, that feels good. There must be something in the water, even if Benrey was, as usual, unhelpful as to what.

Finally, Gordon decides to tug out the band from his hair, spilling it loose over his shoulders. He snaps it around his wrist for safekeeping, then runs his hands through his hair to shake it out.

"Uh. While we're at it. Think you could get my hair later? Like, I don't know where you got the soap from, but I'm assuming you can just, like, magic up some conditioner or something, too."

> Benrey doesn't know how to tell Gordon he didn't actually have soaps. He said so, but he... he didn't. If not for Gordon pointing out that he could "magic" some up, he might have been really stuck, but with a quick shake of his head to bring himself back to his senses, his face lights up once more with a teasing smile and his tone eases back into his typical taunting monotone.

> "Uh. Yeahs. Soaps and, uh, condo-stuff. Got'cha."

> There is a flash of green as he lifts his hand above him (in a dramatic way that he hopes is as cool and impressive as it looks in his head), and feels something slimy manifest in his hands. Slimy and, well, scented like a Glade plug-in. Like flowers and "summer breezes" and things that are a lot more Earth-y than the Sweet Voice. It's a nice color, too, but one that doesn't match how he feels it should look, because it smells more like blue than it does white and...

> ... You know what? It doesn't matter.

> Benrey dips a fingertip in the soap like a child about to paint and, tongue poking out between his teeth once more, sets to work giving Gordon a once-over yet again. He hopes that maybe Gordon won't notice or point out the fact he hadn't even used soap in the first place, as distracted as he was, and just accept the fact that Benrey is once more rubbing his shoulders, his chest, his arms, his legs. Lifting up limbs and maneuvering them to get into hard-to-reach places. Pushing a little firmer than before to feel for that fluttering pulse.

> God, his own heart is beginning to match it beat for beat.

> "Yeah," Benrey mutters at long last as his tongue darts back into his mouth, "I can. Do that. Get your hair."

> His hair. His hair is so pretty when it's down, already having grown out after he cut it in the Bad Ending World. Silky and nice with bits of gray that make him look like he's as smart as he thinks he is--

> No, no. Nice. Nice. He is grappling with the idea of being nice!

> "Get your hair with, uh, real shit. Good shampoo. Actual soaps and stuff that ain't, uh, the stuff. Your stuff. Head and Shoulders. Make you look real good, real nice. Nice for m--uh."

> He pauses. He snaps his mouth shut. He pauses over Gordon's body and thinks for a moment. He wants to say it, he wants to tease and pick and make Gordon flush bright red and play their stupid goddamn game, but now isn't the time. He doesn't think so, at least? Maybe it is?

> Does Gordon think it is? He hopes so, but he doesn't know how to tell. And, apparently, humans didn't like it when their alien best friends played games they didn't want to play.

> "... Mandatory hair inspection," he recovers. "Black Mesa, uh, protocol. Already fucked up the passport. Don't... don't fuck up hair day."

Blood doesn't so much rush to Gordon's face as it crawls, moving as sluggishly as his mind does, processing this. He knows what Benrey was gonna say before he snapped his mouth shut like a mousetrap. Gordon swore he could even hear the teeth click.

Maybe he didn't actually say it, but Gordon's entire system reacts as though he has, because, fucking, he did! For all intents and purposes! A bright, prickling heat surges down his spine that has nothing to do with the water. Why does he talk like that?! Fucking cooing at him, like Benrey's taking some kind of sick pleasure in teasing him in the most embarrassing way possible... but that's about what Gordon expects at this point.

So why did he stop himself?

When Benrey marshals his voice into something more flat and toneless, Gordon frowns. He's... he's really trying, isn't he. Trying to do something decent without turning it into one of their fucked up little games. Some of the mental furniture rearranges itself in Gordon's head, pictures straightened and doorways unjammed.

Unfortunately, all the dusting and clearing in the world can't change the fact that the foundation in his head is wired to make him a paranoid little fucker. And Benrey's always playing some kind of 4th-dimensional chess with him, anyway, right? He's just being rational. Wary.

That said... he's already here. He might as well relax and deal with the consequences later. Especially when... oh.

Benrey's washing him in earnest, fingers pressing into him and manipulating him. They're all over him, probing him without direction, and now Gordon's not sure if "relaxed" is the best descriptor for himself. There's just, there's a lot of touching happening, and Benrey's hands are so, so big, and Gordon can just make out the tip of Benrey's tongue poking through his teeth and something about that intense focus - on him - makes Gordon's breathing go shallow.

Christ. He can't-- He shouldn't think about this. This is the kind of sick shit that only happens in his head, not in real life. Gordon's just a normal guy with something very wrong with him, and that "something" makes him more prone than most to awful little fantasies, intrusive thoughts.

That's all this is. There's gotta be something wrong with him to want somebody ten times his size to touch him like this, but in, like, a horny way. Like some kind of freakjob doing gross shit with an action figure. Maybe it doesn't make him a bad person. So long as he keeps it to himself. He'll keep all his weird little fantasies right next to his heart, and then he'll die. That's that.

It's almost over, Gordon tells himself furiously, willing his blood to stop rushing to his dick and his stomach to stop coiling with heat. If he can just focus, he can will his boner down before he has to get out of the pool and then Benrey will be none the wiser.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't fuck up the passport," Gordon blusters, in an attempt to power through it. "I never needed one before! If anything, I think you fucked up, man. Never told me about Black Mesa Picture Day or whatever."

> Benrey's fingers do not pause as Gordon fusses at him, but his eyes can't stay focused on his own work. He's too busy watching Gordon's throat bob as he swallows around a lump, or how his blush is darkening and spreading. He's gauging the look in his eyes, looking for any indication that he can go ahead and make it weird, but--even though he's sweating and nervous and fidgety and acting just like he does when they're playing--Benrey is too nervous to make a move.

> And "nervous" wasn't a part of his vocabulary until that Alyx lady and Gordon's own downhill slide made it obvious that he actually had to think human to interact with humans. His human specifically.

> So, even though he sees the signs, he decides to bite his tongue. It is foreign, it is uncomfortable, and it's almost painful to choke down. To redirect his alien brain into more terrestrial channels. To try to figure out what a human person would do in his situation and, barring that, just continuing to do what he was supposed to be doing in the first place.

> Bathing Gordon.

> "Shouldn't have to tell you. S'in the, ah, employee handbook. Welcome packet. Folder. Right next to Warhammer 401k and, uh, ensure-ants."

> He cups a small amount of water in his palm and trickles it over Gordon's body, watching it drain down his form in sparkling rivulets. They trace his contours, weaving into every nook and cranny and crease that Benrey couldn't reach, and he watches them with an intensity that even he can feel. A warmth in his gut, a twitch of his dick. His tongue laps at his lips like a hungry animal; he wants to lick every droplet off of Gordon and explore ever inch of him as thoroughly as the bathwater.

> But... no. No, no. He's normal. He's normal and human and he's being nice, and Gordon hasn't said anything so he's going to close his eyes, huff angrily, and then continue on his merry way.

> "Everyone knows about, uh, Hair Inspection Day. And Passport Inspection. You, ah, you're just... uh."

> Benrey breathes heavily out of his nose as his eyes lock on Gordon yet again. Staring up at him, red-faced. Hair now adhered to his skin from the water. Chest heaving. He reaches out in spite of himself and presses a fingertip to Gordon's torso once more, feeling that rapid pulse and feeling it rise and fall with each breath. Knowing he could make Gordon's heart race faster and really put his lungs to work.

> He wants to feel him pant, wants to hear each heavy breath accompanied with his name and...

> No. God, it's getting so fucking hard to resist the game, but Benrey is good! Good for his best friend! He's learned and he's going to stay good. He's just being nice. He can be nice without being--

> "Missed a spot," Benrey lies as he pulls his finger away. He pretends to rinse Gordon off once more and sputters a cough. "Now, let's get those, ah, locks. Clean and brushed. Shiny. Barbie Girl, Barbie World, am I right?"

Gordon ducks his head instinctively as Benrey douses him with water, shielding his face. There's a huff from above him, and then another, breath hot and heavy on Gordon's neck. The closest comparable experience is... it's like being trapped under some kind of big fucking animal. A bear, maybe, snorting at the nape of his neck before it decides to eat him. Violently.

Cool. He loves thoughts like that. A pleasant reminder that they don't exactly carry fucking risperidone in the aftermath of a fascist takeover.

He shakes his head again to rid himself of it, then looks at Benrey in surprise when he presses a fingertip to his chest. It just rests there, warm and steady. Not pulling or pinching or shoving or any of the things Gordon expects. Gears whir to life in his head. Benrey's being-- he's being kind of fucking weird, but not in the ways Gordon's grown accustomed to, and when he's spent the entirety of their working relationship trying to get his sea legs, it throws him off just as badly when the boat stops rocking.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but it's not just Barbies who have to wash their hair," Gordon snorts at him. "You got me all worried now, man, I don't even know if you know the basics. It's shampoo, then conditioner, okay?"

After a moment, he slicks his hair back out of his face, too. For good measure. "And try not to get it in my eyes, either... Actually, uh, I'm kind of having second thoughts about this. Maybe you should just let me handle it. No offense."

> "Know what I'm doin'. I got hair. Nice hair. Better than... uh, Mr. 2-in-1," Benrey protests, masking the sudden wave of panic that just roiled up inside of him. Just the idea of not touching Gordon is too much, and he inwardly crinkles at the thought of missing his chance to feel his human again. And again. And again. Petting and scrubbing and massaging and imagining what it would be like to get Gordon close enough to his face that he could taste him.

> But... he can't do that. He's not allowed. This isn't The Game. This is A Nice Favor for His Person and, well, he's got to be normal. And chill. And calm. And this is all really too fucking hard.

> However, as long as he plays by the rules, he still gets a chance to touch Gordon, and he supposes that is a small victory. It's what spurs him on to press his thighs together and shift his weight to hide his burgeoning boner behind the Xenian island so that Gordon can't be alarmed or scandalized or angry or accusatory. It's what prompts him to summon from the ether, yet again, a new supply of nice-smelling soaps and an equally pleasant conditioner that still don't match the color his brain tells him they should be.

> And, with fangs pressed into his bottom lip, he dips his finger into the shampoo freshly spawned in his palm and swirls it gently, watching as Gordon regards him with a mixture of curiosity and what he hopes isn't disdain. He's been working so hard to try to not make the guy angry, and he's struggling not to slip.

> Slowly, he drips a dollop of soap onto Gordon's head--towards the back, since he is honestly trying to obey the request not to blind him--followed by a few drops of glittering, warm water. He monitors the way Gordon's expression changes as he presses against his head as gently as he can and begins to work it into a lather.

> It's... nice. It's not the usual rough stuff and bullying he's used to, but there is something undeniably pleasant about watching Gordon melt into his touch as he works, careful and light, his body rocking with the movements in a way that makes Benrey feel both strangely aroused and, well... warm. As warm as the pool of water, all on the inside like a badly heated burrito. It's new, and uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, and he savors it by trying to make the moment stretch.

> From the scalp and downwards, until his finger is stroking the side of Gordon's cheek and reaching under his chin as if trying to tilt his head up for a kiss he was way too big to give. Like a true romantic that he knew, in his gut, he wasn't actually anywhere close to being. But it felt right, and the dazed and pleasant look in Gordon's eyes shatter the alien armor around his heart in one powerful blow.

> Benrey swallows hard and says nothing. He just scrubs and stares. And scrubs. And stares.

> Slow, precise, delicate circles. Enjoying the moment, and buying time as he tries to untangle this utterly alien knot of feelings that is twisting around in his gut. Feelings he isn't sure he understands or particularly wants, but addictive all the same.

"Oh, that's kinda nice, actually," Gordon mumbles distantly, as Benrey starts to lather up his hair.

It's impressive, honestly, just how delicate Benrey's capable of being when he puts his mind to it. The pressure's firm enough that it feels good against his scalp, but he's not being knocked around or given a headache or anything. It's... pleasant. His eyes drift shut again, now that he's pretty sure Benrey's got the hang of it.

That finger slips lower, lower, stroking the side of Gordon's jaw, and Gordon leans into it. Lets him work soap into the underside of his facial hair. (And that's nice, too. It's the kind of thing he figured Benrey would miss.) And if Benrey rubs a bit slower, tilts his head up just a little so that Gordon has to peer up at him through slowly-blinking eyes, well, he's not going to complain.

Benrey's eyes are so big, so close to his and so intently focused that-- that he's sweating a little, just visible at the edge of Gordon's vision. Gordon's heart beats faster, and a strange tension begins to wind itself tight in him. It's like Benrey's trying to scan him. All that attention focused directly on him gins up butterflies in his stomach.

Gordon's suddenly hit by the awareness that nobody's done anything like this for him in a long, long time. Maybe ever. And here he is, letting his frenemy (best frenemy, whispers an annoying little voice that sounds suspiciously like Benrey) scrub him clean. Take care of him. How in the fuck did he end up here? And, more importantly, why is he so comfortable with this? This is the guy who got his arm cut off, not, fucking, not his live-in girlfriend. That broke up with him a couple years ago, citing the fact that he was "a puffed-up MIT asshole". Whatever. Details.

After a long stretch of silence, Gordon breaks it by saying, "I, uh, I think that's good. Yeah. Lemme just..."

And he pushes Benrey's finger away before ducking his head under the water, hoping Benrey doesn't notice the way his voice cracks.

> It... almost feels like he's being spurned when his finger is pushed away. There's a quaver in Gordon's voice and he isn't sure if it's nerves or rejection. In an instant, a long-dormant part of Benrey's brain flares to life, leaving him mentally bouncing theories as to why his person had sounded so off. It could have been that he was having the same sorts of thoughts Benrey had been having the whole time, or it could have been that he had done something wrong. Getting advice on how to handle Gordon came with the unpredictable side effect of giving him a lot to worry about in terms of "boundaries" and "behaving," which he honestly wasn't comfortable or keen on dealing with.

> These insecurities melt away as he watches Gordon duck under the water, however. It creates a hiccup in the system, a blue screen that necessitates a reboot. There's something distracting about the way his back arches forward, muscles moving, head dipping beneath the surface. On his knees, ass lifting up slightly so he has a touch more leverage. Hair floating to the top, and then clinging tightly to his skin as he emerges with a gasp and throws his head back and slicks it out of his face and...

> ... His face is dripping. Sopping. Water trailing from his mouth and down his beard. Running down his temples, his cheeks. Like sweat. Like... something else.

> "Holy shit," Benrey mutters with the barest hint of voice. He pauses, he tries to think of something to say that would mask the fact he's not being "normal," and he's been playing The Game the whole time, regardless of what he's been telling himself. The hamster is running, the gears are whirring, but Windows is still updating and he's at a loss for anything better to say.

> So he doubles down. His voice grows louder.

> "Holy shit."

Gordon winches his eyes shut as he wipes water from them, slinging his hair back out of his face for good measure. God, he can feel how much less greasy it is now, and it's like taking off an itchy sweater for the first time. Makes him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, man, that's honestly really... uh..."

He slows to a stop, thrown off by Benrey muttering something. Almost inaudible. It gets him to crane his neck to look up at Benrey properly, about to ask, before Benrey says it again. Louder. Okay, yeah, he did catch that right the first time, huh.

Even though he's out of focus, Gordon can still see how wide his eyes are. How slack his face is. He doesn't need the finer details to notice Benrey's hand hovering in midair, like he's been interrupted in the middle of a thought. Staring at him like... like...

Heat crashes over Gordon in a violent wave, from the crown of his head to the pit of his belly. He's not even-- he's not even doing anything. He's sopping wet, and he can't fucking stand the way his hair looks when it's laying flat and slick against his head like this, and he can't exactly hide all the unseemly scars and and stretch marks and soft spots and all the other issues he's poked at in the mirror time and time again. (He had a growth spurt as a teenager, okay, and stretching him out an extra foot and a half so quickly didn't give his skin a lot of time to adapt.)

In short, he feels more naked and exposed now, half-covered by the foamy surface of this shallow pool, than he did when Benrey had him in his palm with his entire dick out. And it makes Gordon fucking throb under the surface of the water.

He's gotta be making fun of me, Gordon desperately tells himself. Defense mechanism. It's not working as well as it usually does, and he subconsciously presses his thighs tighter together.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, suddenly dry despite the water carding down his face.

"What," starts Gordon. But he doesn't know where to take that question, and it dies as quick as it came.

> Game over. It's done. Benrey's used his final life and lost it in a valiant attempt to beat the final boss, but now he's gawking down at Gordon who is gawking right back up at him with a tell-tale look on his face that makes Benrey almost positive that he's playing just as hard. His own breath quickens as once complicated thoughts congeal into something more comfortable, something more streamlined, something more natural.

> Something that Alyx would have been disappointed to hear, especially after how good he had been doing.

> He inhales sharply through his nose and leans in close, the air coming back out at a low laugh as his mouth twists into a hungry grin. A finger extends and he presses it against the side of Gordon's face, an almost loving stroke. He can feel a burst of heat in his cheeks and he knows, glasses or not, that Gordon can probably see how red he's getting. He shifts his legs as he floats beside the island, trying to accommodate a cock that is now frighteningly hard and twitching against his stomach.

> "What 'what?'" Benrey asks, his voice monotonous but still somehow teasing. "Can't a bro, uh, admire his bro? Have a look-see? Look nice. Pretty."

> His finger drops to the water and stirs it a bit, creating a roil of bubbles that send a pleasant, tingling sensation up his hand, his arm. It seems to travel straight to his heart, which is pounding furiously in his chest.

> "You, uh... you good? Need anymore help? Getting clean? Hard to reach places?"

> A pause. He feels his stomach twist into knots. This has never really happened before while playing this game, but it's powerful. Makes him feel desperate. Needy. Makes him feel guilty and he hates it because he never feels guilty.

> As quickly as the mask breaks, he picks up the pieces and puts them back together. He slides it back on. He takes a deep breath, fumbling with his words.

> "Want to, uh... pla... pretty? Want to pretty? Want best friend Benrey to make you, uh, cleaner? Prettier? Help you? Please? Thank-you."

Two paths emerge before Gordon. On the one, well-worn and well-lit, he would tell Benrey, "No thanks, I'm good," and he would tell Benrey to turn around so he can dry off and crawl back into the jumpsuit. And then he would let Benrey fit him in the armor again, trying his best to ignore those fingers on his skin, and later he would duck away and jerk himself raw thinking about it. Swearing at himself. Wishing he could be normal for once in his fucking life and not develop questionable new fantasies about the one guy who's as out of place in this world as he is.

On the other, bracketed by brambles and dark, uncharted woods, Gordon would... He would...

He'd get it through his head that he's not the only little fucking weirdo in this relationship. That Benrey keeps staring at him like that for a reason.

And that Benrey's trying so fucking hard to play nice because... well... Gordon hasn't wrapped his head around that one yet, but he has his suspicions. Some of them more worrying than others. But the point is, Benrey's not taking the bait. He's got Gordon in a highly vulnerable position, and he could be pushing Gordon around if he wanted, playing their little game and driving him up the wall.

But he isn't. He keeps choking it back. It's unsettling. Gordon doesn't know how to handle it. He kind of wishes, in the back of his mind, that Benrey would tack on his 'schoolyard bully' demeanor again. At least that Gordon understands on some level. Push, pull, tussle.

And most unsettling of all is that downright tender way that Benrey drags a finger along his cheek. Anxiety thrums to life in Gordon's blood. No, no, that's not-- This is weird. This is so weird. There's something roiling and ugly churning in his stomach, and he doesn't like it one bit. He's not coping with it, he needs to-- to wrangle this situation, get some control over it, steer it back to familiar territory.

And in doing so, Gordon floors it directly into the woods.

He looks back at Benrey, taking in the hot flush crawling up his skin. The awkward shifting. I'm not the only freak here, Gordon reminds himself, blood pounding in his ears.

So he shifts himself. Sits back, draws his legs up so that his knees peek out of the water. Lets them fall to the sides, just a little. And he says, tucking a strand of wet hair behind his ear,

"What, and you're not even gonna-- That's some low-hanging fruit you're leaving on the vine. Startin' to get worried about you, man. You haven't gone this long without making fun of me in... uh, ever."

> Wait. Was that...?

> Was that admission?

> Benrey's pupils grow wide at the words, and his smile threatens to falter as he feels the cogs creaking inside of his head. Connecting the dots with all the newfound information he has on human people is like doing the advanced science stuff Gordon seemed to believe he was so special for knowing. There's emotional equations, rechecking the data, counter-arguments for every theory he comes up with, but in the end a little lightbulb flickers to life. The lights are on, somebody is home, and by god does that somebody want to play ball already.

> Benrey's finger stills on Gordon's cheek and he feels an uncharacteristic lump grow in his throat as his face grows redder and sweat beads at his brow. That weird emotion that once wrapped itself around its siblings, Worry and Guilt, finally cut itself loose and tangles itself in his stomach. He doesn't like it--it's too warm, and it's not the horny kind of heat that he's used to--but he allows it to stay. It feels like it may turn into something good if he just lets it incubate.

> "Uh, what? Not gonna... huh?"

> Benrey's voice cracks just like Gordon's had a moment before. He pretends it never happened and seamlessly continues.

> "Not gonna, ah, make fun of you. Gonna... gonna pick that fruit, though."

> His finger trails down Gordon's chin, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest. It rests dangerously low on his belly, threatening to dip lower. He grins at Gordon, leans in close, and huffs a laugh that's less malicious than it is honestly amused with its own cleverness.

> "Uh, get it? Fruit? Picked? You're, ah, you're the fruit, bro."

> A pause.

> "Laugh, please."

Gordon swallows, hard. The implications hit him like a bowling ball. That somebody's dropping on him. Maybe from an overpass or something. He's spinning out a little, alright, and losing his grip on the metaphor.

Benrey's fingertip leaves goosebumps in its wake, and his breathing goes shallow as the nail lightly catches on the crook of his neck. Lower, lower, slipping just below the surface of the water to rest on his belly, and Gordon thanks every deity he can imagine (and some he can't) that the bubbles hide... well. This, feeling it throb where it lies heavy against his hip.

Despite himself, he does actually laugh when Benrey prompts it. It comes out high and way louder than he intended, but still. Now that's a metaphor he's got a good grasp on, he thinks wildly. Oh, Christ.

"That's-- that's not really what I meant," Gordon tries to argue, but not with very much conviction. "But, uh, ha ha! Great joke! Fucking love jokes, man!"

> Benrey doesn't really hear what Gordon is saying. He does know that tone, though, from times they've played The Game before. It's a tone that speaks of permission, a sort of polite denial without the force. The kind of arguing that Benrey knows he can get away with ignoring because it's not sincere. Game talk. A challenge.

> Their own secret language of want.

> "Thank-you," Benrey purrs when Gordon forces a laugh, and his finger rubs a slow, slow circle into Gordon's stomach. He's sure Gordon notices when it bumps a bit too low, because he can feel something tell-tale just beneath the surface of the water. His grin grows at the realization that he was on the right track, tongue slipping out from between his teeth and running along his lips. A show, given to Gordon.

> A show he desperately wants Gordon to notice is meant for him. A tech demo. A promise.

> "But, uh... if that ain't what you meant. What did you mean? 'Cause you seem to be enjoyin' this, best friend."

A noise threatens to burst from Gordon's chest when Benrey starts to rub, slow and insistent, and grazes against-- Oh, God. But he clamps his lips tight, and all that escapes him is a harsh puff of air through his nose. He knows now, he knows, and it's written all over his face, a raised eyebrow and a smug smile and the slow, deliberate movement of his tongue over his lower lip.

It's fucking cartoonish, is what it is. Gordon should laugh. Gordon does laugh, again, another nervous little titter that doesn't communicate "amusement" so much as "flustered hysteria".

"I don't know," he blurts out, and it's the most honest thing he's said all day. "Fucking, God, I'm not-- This isn't what it looks like, okay, you just-- you keep looking at me like that, and I don't know what your fucking game is, man!"

He can't look at Benrey, not right now, not when he knows Benrey's looking at him like that, and so he looks down and oh, no, that's a bad idea. Because Benrey's still drawing tight little circles into his skin, unnervingly gentle. And so Gordon's eyes keep darting around, finding nowhere suitable to land.

At least Benrey's taking the bait. He's not doing that weird sappy shit anymore, and Gordon's in more familiar territory: the push and pull. The teasing. So he pulls harder, in hopes that Benrey will knock it off for good.

"If anybody's 'enjoying this', it's you, buddy! I'm just a, uh, innocent bystander, you know?"

> He doesn't sound convincing. There's fractures in his voice, and his words are stumbling like they fell down the stairs. He's looking everywhere but at Benrey, his face red and his eyes nervously darting from thing to thing to thing. But, in the end, they always come back to him, in one way or another.

> It's tells like this that let Benrey know that he's playing. The Game is afoot, he's been given the go-ahead. It's time to take the ball and run.

> "Uh-huh. Sure. Innocent. Lessee what you're hidin', bro."

> And with that, Benrey removes his finger from Gordon's stomach, instead parting his fingers into a V-shape and hooking Gordon underneath his arms. It's like a claw in a skill crane and, with a snort, he lifts Gordon out of the water. Naked, wet, and standing at attention from the looks of it; his human apparently had been playing along a lot longer than Benrey knew. He watches Gordon dangling a few feet from the pool at the end of his hand and smirks.

> But there's something different now, isn't there? Something Benrey sees in his human that makes that weird feeling he's been fighting twirl and twist. He's barely even noticing Gordon's boner more than he's looking at the way his hair is clinging to his face, and the way his eyes are flicking up at him expectantly, and how warm and small and cute he looks. He looks delicate and handsome and he wants to touch him, but he wants to touch all of him, and his heart is thumping so hard he starts to worry because... fuck. Is he dying? Is Gordon killing him just by being cute?

> Benrey swallows hard. He hopes his expression didn't falter. He broadens his grin in case it did, until the muscles in his cheeks honestly hurt. And he inhales deeply and forces a mocking laugh and squeezes his fingers around Gordon gently in an attempt to further mock him.

> "I 'unno, bro. Looks like you're, uh... you're carrying without a permit. That's... uh, an infract... fracta... infection. You're a bad boy, aren't'cha?"

Gordon yelps as those fingers hook under his arms and drag him out of the water. Oh, God, his legs are kicking out from underneath him, and his hands scrabble at Benrey's, and Benrey's just smirking at him all up close and personal and he's fucked, he's really, really fucked. His fucking dick bobs in the air like-- like-- he doesn't know, he doesn't have a simile for this! Gordon's never been in this situation before! But bob it does, until he comes to a stop right in front of Benrey's face.

"It's infraction, dude!" Gordon snaps, his mind jumping to the least important thing Benrey said. "Fucking 'infraction'! And I don't-- I don't know what you expect when you're all, fucking--"

He's cut off by a gasp when Benrey squeezes him, just a little. Makes Gordon keenly aware of those big fingers. He can just... he can do whatever he fucking wants, huh? Pick Gordon up like it's nothing? Wrap those fingers around him, so big and hot and rough against his skin, and move all his limbs around just like he was doing earlier and--

And--

Gordon blinks, coming back to himself. Face hot. Mouth dry. And Benrey's grin looks impossibly wider.

"You know," he finishes weakly.

> "Maybe I do," Benrey responds, jostling Gordon lightly. "Maybe I don't. Maybe you should tell me, bro. When I'm all fuckin' what?"

> He lifts Gordon higher, and closer. Really gets a good look at him, leaning in and running his tongue along his jagged teeth. Like a predator, like something that wants to swallow Gordon whole, though that's the last thing on his mind. He wants to taste Gordon, that's for sure, but there's... there's more to it.

> He wants to reel him in. Follow this weird feeling. Press his lips against Gordon and--

> Benrey inhales sharply through his nose. Gordon smells positively delicious. Like something fruity and sweet and earthly. And he looks delicious, too, all soft and supple and soaked to the bone, smooth skin glistening in the alien lights.

> His dick twitches, straining against his pants. He's so hard it hurts. He wonders if Gordon can see, but can't imagine he can miss it.

> "C'mon," he teases, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me what I am, bro. Tell best friend Benrey what's on your mind. Bonding experience. Bros being bros."

He wrenches his eyes shut, breath coming harder and faster despite his efforts to control it. When Benrey fucking talks like that, he can't help it, okay? All-- all smug and condescending and all the shit that should get under his skin-- and does, yeah, it drives him up the wall, but. But. There must be something wrong with him, Gordon thinks desperately. Something warped in the fabric of his mind that makes a shiver race down his spine.

Then he feels warm breath puffing against his face, and he opens his eyes again. Just in time to see a broad tongue run across sharp, sharp teeth. A naked suggestion. Gordon's mouth falls open a little and hangs there, stunned speechless.

Until Benrey mutters, c'mooon, voice low and heated in a way that goes straight to Gordon's belly. And his dick twitches in the open air, fully visible this time. Fuck.

"You're," he starts, staring at his own fingertips, where they're digging into Benrey's hand.

God, this is humiliating! And he should, he should tell Benrey to fuck off and put him down, but he doesn't. That same warp in his fabric goes all the way down to his autonomic nervous system. Heart racing, blood pumping, pupils dilating and sweat beading and every other unconscious reaction he can't wrangle into submission.

Because he wants to be wrangled into submission.

Okay, Christ! He gets it! He doesn't need the color commentary from his own fucking brain!

Gordon takes a deep breath to steel himself, and then he starts again, choked and hesitant, "When you're... God, fucking, touching me and breathing on me and shit, man! Like you'd be doing any better if you had somebody's big fucking hands all over you! Okay?"

As soon as the words leave him, a fresh wave of embarrassment crests and crashes over him. Stupid, stupid, he shouldn't have said it.

> Oh. Well. That was new. Usually, there's a bit more arguing, a bit more resistance, a bit more of Benrey getting called things like "weirdo" and "freak" before they have a good "haha" about it and touch dicks. But Gordon is being so earnest and honest and talking about how he's touching him, about big hands, about doing this same thing to Benrey (sort of talking about it, anyway), and...

> ... And Benrey feels... wanted? Was that the word? Wanted?

> Yeah. He feels wanted.

> And that foreign, alien, hot-cold emotion twisting inside of him balloons and explodes, and there is a sudden, pulse-pounding sensation of want and warmth that courses through his body like a poison. He can feel drool pooling under his tongue and he swallows hard, his smile fading into something more earnest as he tries to maintain a mocking, bullying stare. Tries to keep his head in the game.

> Their game.

> "Oh. You, uh. You like it when I breathe on you? Fuckin'... secret alien power. Uh, blow dryer." He pauses and chuckles. "Heh. Blow."

> He inches Gordon closer to his face, and the closer he brings him, the more he can feel the little bit of warmth radiating off of him. Welcoming him. Blazing hot, like he is on the inside, and flushed so red he looked burned. And that warm, weird, unwelcome emotion surges again as he lets out a sigh and sits Gordon in his palm, plopping him down unceremoniously like a captured bug.

> Only he's not watching him with a childlike curiosity. He's really examining him, trying to wiggle the wrench out of the gears in his brain. With some effort, he pops it loose, and the words pour out of his mouth without any restraint.

> "Bet'cha you'd like it if I, uh... dried you off. Gentle breeze. Pick a scent. Have eight exciting flavors. Blue. Watermelon. Other blue. Tropical, uh, kiss."

> Even he isn't sure why he stressed that last word. The weird emotion spoke for him.

> His mouth snaps shut.

> Awkward.

Whatever Gordon was expecting, it wasn't "being dropped buck-naked onto Benrey's palm". His legs splay out in front of him, and he instinctively tries to draw his knees up. Doesn't change the fact that he's got his boner out in front of God and everybody.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Despite himself, he bursts out laughing. He does his best to choke it back down. "You really, uh, gotta work on your dirty talk, man."

Gordon doesn't manage to catch himself before he all but admits that, yeah, that was dirty talk. This is a situation where Benrey should be trying to talk dirty to him. It's breaking the rules a little. Breaking kayfabe. But it's hard to resist bringing it up when Benrey's trying to get him hot by talking about blowing on him like a spoonful of soup.

Then he actually thinks about what Benrey said. Tropical kiss. That's not-- that's not anything. That's not real. Benrey's just talking about kissing him, in whatever weird fucking roundabout way he usually does. A small part of him softens. It's... almost cute. If he were inclined to ever describe Benrey that way. Which he isn't.

But Gordon plays along anyway. "What are you talking about? Scents? Dude, I smelled your breath earlier, and lemme tell you, it wasn't any kind of fucking tropical kiss."

> "Uh, no. S'one of the other flavors," Benrey responds indignantly, façade breaking for a moment. "That flavor was, uh... Glade Plug-in."

> As he speaks, he reels Gordon in closer, sitting in his palm and still sopping wet. He looks so small, so delicate, so... cute, and the thought makes his heart flutter again. It grabs his tongue and twists it into an awkward knot that takes a moment to untie. He works fast, hoping to save face. Get back in the game.

> But it's hard. Harder than before, and as Gordon stares at him expectantly, he's suddenly floundering. While he is externally stiff, flat, and monotonous, on the inside he is scrambling to pick up his scattered index cards during a speech. He wants to play, but he wants to taste. He wants to stroke Gordon's head as much as his dick and he doesn't know why. He wants to say something naughty and nice all at the same time and...

> "Lemme, uh. Demo. Demon-stray-shun," Benrey says, interrupting his own thoughts. "Tropical kiss. Free sample. Here we go."

> And with that, he brings Gordon to his mouth. He presses the smaller man into his lips, a small and chaste kiss being planted in the first place he can reach: Gordon's throat. Only it's... not just his throat. It's basically his whole shoulder, and throat, and beneath his jaw. He practically envelops him, could literally swallow him if he wanted to, but pulls away and snorts a laugh as though this spontaneous act was premeditated as a joke.

> He sounds unconvincing.

> Even more so when he chuckles, "See? Coconut. Sea breeze. Lime. Seagulls. All the classic smells."

Lips press against Gordon's skin before he's fully prepared for it, and he lets out a surprised little sound. Jaw and throat alike find themselves enveloped, a heat and softness and moisture the likes of which he's never felt quite like this. And then it's over. Gordon's still left dizzily processing this as Benrey draws back.

"Did you just kiss me?" Gordon asks, stupidly. He touches a hand to his jaw, where there's a hint of moisture lingering.

The longer Gordon thinks about it, the more disoriented he becomes. Benrey's never kissed him like that before. All, fucking, sweet and tender. Those aren't words in his vocab. Like, yeah, sure, they've kissed before, but only in frantic, snarling bursts. This is strange and new.

But... at the same time... that's not all it is, is it. At this scale, chasteness is impossible. Gordon's so small in his hand, wet and splayed like some kind of foal, and those hands could wrap around every inch of him at once just to touch him. Lips, kissing wide swathes of skin. Hot breaths of air forced through Benrey's nose and spurring the hairs on the back of Gordon's neck to stand up. The unpleasant realization that Benrey is very, very big, and could probably just swallow Gordon whole if he so chose. You know. Normal things to worry about.

But he doesn't. He just lets Gordon go with a kiss. And Gordon flushes up to his ears, still a little dumbstruck.

> That was... new. That wasn't like the lust-fueled, rushed kisses he'd given Gordon while trying to get fingers around his cock, but it wasn't bad. It was something that scratched an itch he didn't know he had, something that made his lips tingle, something that milked an incredibly good feeling out of that foreign emotion swirling inside of him. It's intoxicating in a way human substances never could quite pull off, and Benrey feels an addiction already forming.

> It takes him a moment to realize that Gordon has spoken. It's just a tiny sound to his colossal ears, one he nearly misses from the full-body throb of lust and affection. It's not just his dick anymore. His heart is thundering against every bone, every inch of skin, and he feels almost overwhelmed. Again, like he's dying. This is new, it's intense.

> He wets his lips and furrows his brow, and with a surprising amount of clarity, rattles, "Yeah... uh. I guess I did, huh?"

> His tongue continues to run over his lips. His teeth. His eyes dart to Gordon. He's struggling to play the game properly, but there's a sudden bout of nerves involved. He can't help but wonder if this is how Gordon feels all the time, and the realization clonks him like a clawhammer.

> If this is how Gordon feels all the time, then no wonder he's always such a mess. It's latching onto his jaw and holding it shut like an invisible muzzle, it's pumping him full of drugs that don't exist, it's making him feel small despite being absolutely batshit levels of huge. And, it feels like he's learning... god, what had Alyx called it? Empathy? He's not sure how much he likes it, but it mingles well with the now-welcome warmth following the kiss in a way that feels positively, cathartically self-destructive.

> Benrey coughs. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tease. He looks to Gordon with an intensity even he's surprised he can pull off.

> "You, uh. Like it? Wan' another one? I got, uh, plenty. Warehouses full. Best Friend Special. BOGO."

Gordon watches Benrey's tongue slide over his teeth like it's in slow motion, a reminder of what lies just underneath the surface. And he freezes under the intensity of Benrey's stare, anticipatory sweat beading on his forehead.

"What, you mean you want to..." He trails off with a nervous laugh. "C'mon, man, put me down! I know you get a kick out of, fucking, making fun of me or whatever, but I don't know what you're getting out of this!"

> Unfortunately, Benrey knows exactly what he was getting out of this. A feeling, strong and tingly that's now full of a primal need that he understands quite a bit better. And, beyond that, he was getting permission. Full permission in every movement Gordon made, every lilt of his voice, every glance up at him that was filled with a hunger that his human never got quite got the hang of voicing. It's a look that Benrey knows good and well, though, from the other time they've played their little games.

> He says nothing. He just smiles, moves Gordon to his mouth again, and pushes his lips gently against his collar bone, though it stretches down to his chest. He can feel Gordon's nipple brush against the corner of his lip, hair brushing against his mouth, the taste of the strange, glittering water and skin as he parts his lips and rumbles a laugh into Gordon.

> He pulls away. He maneuvers his human. He presses his mouth against him again, brushing his stomach with a feather-light kiss that nearly encompasses his dick. He can feel it pressing against him, feel it twitch as he pokes a tongue out between his teeth and presses the very tip into his soft flesh.

> His eyes angle up to Gordon's in a silent bid for a sign. The lick intensifies, nimbly avoiding the cock poking at the very corner of his mouth.

> He continues to say nothing. He has a feeling he doesn't have to. Gordon isn't the only one who can get away with communicating silent intent in their back-and-forth.

Of course Benrey's not gonna answer him. Of course Benrey's just gonna grin at him - like an asshole - and kiss him again, lips soft against his chest. Right over his heart. It's cartoonish, is what it is. And, unfortunately, it's also more ticklish than Gordon expects, and he snorts aloud.

"What are you doing? You're being weird, dude."

When Benrey laughs back at him, his huffed breath ruffles Gordon's body hair, and it just makes that whole "sensitivity" problem worse. Gordon tries to choke down a giggle and fails. Despite himself, it's... it's nice. He almost feels light-headed.

And then Benrey's doing it again, a soft kiss against his middle, shifting him bodily into position, and Gordon laughs again, shoving at his face. Playful. Roughhousing. Their usual.

And again. "That-- That tickles, man, c'mon!"

And again, hot against his belly. Mouth parted. Benrey's chin grazes his dick, which he'd all but forgotten about in his reflexive urge to kick Benrey away. A peal of laughter bleeds into a gasp. All the worse when Gordon feels the wet-hot tip of a tongue push into his skin.

Oh God. It feels just like he thought it would. In that dream, that fucking dream, the one he can't get out of his mind. The one that's made Gordon look twice every time Benrey grins at him, teeth sharp and glossy. He freezes, afraid even to breathe too heavily and press himself all the more against Benrey's tongue.

"What are you doing," he asks again, this time less of a playful rebuff and more of a high squeak. Then it's hotter, wetter, more of the broad side of Benrey's tongue flattening against him, and his dick twitches, hard.

Fuck.

> Alyx would be disappointed, Benrey thinks. He was doing so good and playing so nice, and now he's licking a hot, wet stripe across Gordon's belly, feeling the hairs and skin against his tongue, teeth barely grazing against sensitive flesh. But, he knows things she doesn't and will never know, about the game and the language that he and Gordon have built. He squeaks in defiance, but with a tone that shows only polite refusal: Oh, I couldn't possibly, but if you insist.

> Gordon isn't pressing against his face. He isn't pushing him away. He isn't snarling and cursing, and he hasn't made any move to extricate himself. He's parting his legs invitingly, his voice is getting higher in want and anticipation, and his dick is so hard. As hard as Benrey's, to be honest, and twitching almost as if its beckoning.

> "What'm I doing?" Benrey purrs, and he can see Gordon's body tremble at the way it rumbles through him. "M'helpin'. S'what best friends do."

> With that, his jaw opens wide, his tongue slithering out and the tip dipping lower. Low enough to catch his cock, his legs, the entire bottom of his stomach. It presses hard against Gordon and then creeps upward before coiling up politely behind Benrey's jagged smile. Drool pools at the corner of his lips and he swipes it away with his spare hand.

> He opens his mouth and dives back in again, the faintest hint of flesh and salt and soap and glittering, sweet Xen water dancing across his tongue. It fills him with another burst of primal want, though it's watching the flush on Gordon grow deeper that satiates that other, newer beast nesting inside of him.

Hot, wet, sinuous, pressing against his belly like a snake, making him gasp and jerk instinctively - Gordon's head spins on contact. And Benrey's eyes keep flicking up to meet his, like he's gauging Gordon's reaction. Looking for the go-ahead. Like-- Like they haven't been playing this fucking game for hours, glorified foreplay, you know, like he hadn't let Benrey practically feel him up behind the bleachers while he was (is) stripped down to nothing.

When Gordon's legs jerk open, though, he doesn't snap them closed again. He lets them fall open, leaving room for Benrey's face. If he wanted. To put his face anywhere around there. It's embarrassing as soon as the thought hits his conscious mind, and Gordon burns a bright red down to his shoulders.

"I-I don't know if this is what every 'best friend' is supposed to d-- oh-- oh God, Benrey--"

His voice pitches up, raw and hoarse, as Benrey's tongue flattens itself against his thighs and dick. No more games. Just what this was always building up to, this whole time, if Gordon had just paid a little more attention, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and seen the hunger in Benrey's eyes. And the full knowledge of it cracks over his skull like an egg.

His chest heaves desperately to catch his breath, but it's so much, he can't--

He can't--

Benrey's going back for more, licking him in slow, deliberate strokes and chuffing like a big cat against him, and Gordon can't fucking think. His hands clench at Benrey's, then, finding that inadequate, at his own face. His hair.

"Benrey," he chokes out again. "You're gonna-- oh-- you just gave me a bath and you're gonna get me all fuckin' nasty again, man!"

It comes out as a whine that belies just how fucking stupid he sounds.

> "I'll, uh, just bathe you again. No biggie."

> Benrey's voice is low, dismissive. There is a dark and teasing chuckle hidden just under the surface, as much of a predator as the rest of him. Waiting for a moment to strike, to snag his prey and drag it beneath the surface. But not now, not now.

> Benrey likes to play with his food.

> His alien tongue is strangely dexterous, encircling Gordon's thighs and tracing wet lines into the crease where they met his body. Faint trails of Sweet Voice-tainted saliva leave visible marks of where he's been, allowing Gordon to ogle at exactly when Benrey is doing to him even after he's moved on. Even after he's moved from one leg to the other, to his belly, to his cock.

> His own aches as he flattens his tongue against his dick and licks upwards, like an animal lapping water. His tongue curls delicately and folds back into his mouth, scraping against pointed teeth before emerging again. Hungry, tasting, teasing and growing faster, more deliberate. The taste of Gordon swirl in his mouth and he feels a heat building in his belly so hot and dangerous that it almost makes him feel ill.

> And it intensifies with every squeak Gordon makes, every pant that falls out of his mouth. It drives him onward, a leopard on the prowl, gradually cornering its next meal. His own breath is becoming ragged, his mind a messy whorl of emotions and thoughts that make time seem as though it hardly matters. He's long forgotten how long he's been teasing, eyes nearly crossed to focus on Gordon. Benrey has long been lost in the sounds he makes, the way he writhes.

> It's almost like divine inspiration when it strikes him that he should maybe push him a bit harder.

> Delicately, and uncharacteristically slow, he rolls his tongue back into his mouth. He parts his lips and fits them around Gordon's length. He can't suck, not at this size, but he hums in satisfaction, the vibrations pulsing straight from him and into his human.

> If he wasn't so afraid of doing damage, he'd have smiled.

"We don't have time to--" Gordon breaks off in a moan, that compulsive need to worry stopped in its tracks by Benrey's tongue.

He shivers from his neck down to his toes when it worms around his thighs, digging into those sensitive creases in his skin. Something like a laugh bubbles out of him, but it's also something like a whimper, with a hint of a plea.

"You can't," he gasps, fighting for breath, "you can't do this to me, man, you don't even-- ah! Fuck! Don't even know!"

Gordon turns his face to the side and buries a noise into Benrey's hand. Makes it easier to cope when Benrey licks up to his chest and swirls his tongue, his own breath loud and hot around it. Tasting everywhere he can get to.  Benrey just keeps going, salivating and groaning for the sheer thrill of it, and it makes heat pulse off Gordon's skin in waves.

Faster, harder, enveloping him in ways he had only dreamed possible, something only he can do - Benrey - just for him, he doesn't do this shit with anyone else, how could he. Gordon squirms and gasps in his grip, legs straining to arch into that wet heat.

Agony creeps into his voice, low and haggard. "Benrey," he whines, "how are you so fucking... good at this, why are you even--"

He doesn't get to finish that thought before Benrey's lips wrap around him, and he hums, smug as a cat that's gotten the cream, and Gordon cries out so hard that some winged thing bursts out from a nearby outcropping. How is-- Why is he-- what does he even get out of this, he thinks wildly, brain desperately clinging to neuroticism even in the face of sexual obliteration.

> Every time Gordon shifts his weight, whines, looks away, says a word, Benrey feels that warm, weird emotion surge through him in a way that defies explanation. A feeling he thinks he can now identify, but is hesitant to verbalize, lest he somehow break the rules. But, it's so much stronger than before, especially after everything they'd been through, especially with the way Gordon is finally saying what he really means. Instead of snapping that he's being weird, he's whimpering praise and the words hang crookedly in his head like paintings in a forgotten room.

> "Benrey, how are you so fucking... good at this?"

> The boner he'd been ignoring for what seemed like millennia is now aching, and he pushes his hips against the side of the island and grinds upwards in hopes of finding something resembling relief. Unsurprisingly, what he finds is a crotch full of rocks, and he winces even as he continues to lavish Gordon with attention, breath hot out of his nose as he continues to hum and mouth at his dick. As he unfurls his tongue once more and presses it against his entire body and pushes Gordon against the palm of his hand, something akin to a wet hug. As the tip once again finds Gordon's cock and greedily laps at it, mesmerized by how prominent it is compared to the rest of his soft body.

> There is no give. Just hardness, sinking into the sensitive muscle.

> As he continues on--gently sucking on entire hands, tracing circles into the wet skin of his stomach, tasting the inside of his thighs while grazing his junk with the side of his tongue--he grunts. He feels his hips rocking just out of Gordon's sight. He clenches his free hand when its not in use pulling Gordon's legs apart for easier access or fiddling with his arm to get access to his fingers.

> It's instinctual, and impossible to ignore. He aches, and he knows Gordon can see he's losing himself to this as much as his prey.

> He waits to see if Gordon will have anything to say about it.

Gordon grabs desperately at Benrey's face, a nasal noise forced out of him on every exhale. It's more than a blowjob, it's, it's Benrey humming through his entire fucking body, okay? He can feel it down to his bones, and the inside of Benrey's mouth is achingly warm and so, so wet, and Benrey just keeps mouthing at him, tongue unfurling behind his teeth to lap up Gordon's length in a hot stripe.

It's... it's good. It's so good. Gordon closes his eyes tight and moans aloud.

Benrey moans, too, as his lips part from Gordon's dick to envelop his fingers instead. He pants through his nose and shuffles awkwardly, and the uncomfortable motion gets Gordon to open his eyes again. And he really looks, this time.

Oh.

He's hard.

Benrey's hard, and he's rocking his hips forward into the barren earth. And he's got his hands on Gordon instead of himself. Thumbing his chest and spreading him open. The burden of that knowledge makes Gordon pant like a dog.

"Oh my God," he warbles, voice cracking as Benrey draws patterns into his stomach with his tongue, "are you-- are you not gonna--"

Gordon slaps his hands over his mouth, suddenly regretting his words. No, he's not going to ask if Benrey's gonna touch his own dick, Jesus Christ. That's none of his business. What does he even care, anyway. It's not like he wants to see it. Not like he's curious about how big it would look once Benrey whipped it out. Gordon's aware of the general, you know, size and girth, proportionally, but it looks so much bigger down there, even in the confines of his work pants. It's not really fair.

And then Benrey grunts against him and flicks the tip of his tongue against his dick even faster, and Gordon can't stop the agonized whine that forces its way out of him.

> Benrey's tongue rolls up Gordon's body yet again, and again, and again. It envelops his dick, his thighs, his stomach, and everything in between. He watches, he waits, and eventually he hears Gordon's voice small and broken from his palm. It is enough to make him recoil, to open the floodgates in his mind. That warm feeling floods the inside of his skull and drowns out every thought out but lust, who is gasping for air defiantly.

> "Huh?"

> Benrey pauses, looking down at Gordon--soaked and slimy and oh-so-small--laying with his legs parted, his face flushed, his eyes locked on the very prominent erection straining against his pants. His own trail down to it and he smirks as the weight of Gordon's almost-question hits him.

> "Oh... huh? Wha? Touch myself? Is, uh, is that what you were gonna say?"

> He leans down over Gordon, tongue sticking out between sharp teeth but frustratingly distant from his body. The hand he'd once used to manhandle his human pulled away, fingers slipping into his waistband behind his belt. He sneers, but there is no actual malice behind it. Feigned mockery, just to make Gordon grow brighter. Redder.

> "You... seem to like the idea. You, uh. You... you wanna see? That what you want? Wanna see best friend Benrey's massive hog? Wanna... wanna touch it?"

> A pause, a laugh.

> "Want me to touch it? Seems you like the idea. I can do it. Just, uh, gotta say so."

Gordon mumbles a quiet plea into his hands, begging for some higher power to-- to do something. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that Benrey's sticking his tongue between his teeth, now, looking at him as if he's some problem to be solved or some piece of furniture to wrangle into place. Instead of keeping that tongue right where he had it. Gordon squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose. He's not disappointed, actually. That would involve caring about what Benrey was doing at all. Which he doesn't.

"You can... you can do whatever you want, man. It's your life," he says, not meeting Benrey's eyes.

Not like he wants to... oh, God. That's Benrey's hand in his pants, isn't it? Slipping under the waistband before Gordon’s even finished his sentence. A sound escapes him that he really wishes wouldn't. He’s really into this, huh, Gordon thinks distantly, just as surprised by the realization as he has been all the previous times he’s figured out that, yes, Benrey actually is pretty hot for him. Like he’s still waiting for the Band-Aid to be ripped off, even now. Even after Benrey’s sucked his dick in a fucking dumpster. (You take what you can get.)

And-- And there it is, huh. Larger than life. Gordon swallows, a little intimidated. Then he wants to curse himself out for feeling intimidated by Benrey’s dick. Freud would have a field day with him.

[fandomsonrequests]

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 11]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 3.6k+

summary:  It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: part 11!! whew- i think its almost halfway? im sorry if the series is taking too long ;^; but thank you to those as well to whoever enjoys this so far! i really appreciate it! <3 

taglist: @iwanttohitmyself​ @minihongjoong @i-purrple-u @taetae123094 @jeonartemis @barcelona-sergei  @theoinkypiglet @sparklychangbin @krystal-cole @mangotexts @tooweirdforyou 

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The skies today were as blue as the crystal seas as fluffy white clouds filled the heavenly bodies. The sun peeks over The Capitol, basking the townsfolk in its bright but warm rays. The city village teemed with life as people went about their business. 

Today was actually a good day. But not for the delegates- today was the day of elimination.

The small dining hall the young delegates ate in was quiet. No one said a word, if they did it was done in tones no louder than a whisper. Only the ear-piercing sound of utensils scraping against the ceramic plate was heard along with the occasional clinking of mugs against the wooden table. 

The atmosphere was thick with tension. Each one of these young people felt as if they were Atlas, bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders. No one and nothing could ease them of the uncertainty on whether who gets to stay or not. Even the cockiest person among you was quiet.

You on the other hand felt as if the weight was doubled. You didn’t know how you would be questioned regarding the chapter you had painstakingly read. You had wasted so many nights and lost so much sleep over that you could only hope you didn’t fail whatever task Hae-seong had in mind. 

Breakfast passed by quickly and you soon found yourself lined up by the courtyard. Haeseong stood in front of you as Byron, and a few other knights, stood by the duke’s left. A rack of training swords was soon rolled in, the inanimate object seemingly taunting you. You knew the final exam was about to take place. 

“Delegates,” Haeseong called out in his annoyingly nasal voice. “Today is the day of elimination. We’ve reviewed your grades from training and academics and unfortunately, half of you are going home.”

A few gasps erupt from around you. You could feel your palms sweat with anxiousness and the fabric of the uniform seemed to itch more. You tighten your hands into a fist, silently praying that you’d pass this first set of eliminations.

“This just proves how incompetent you people are.” Haesong continued to earn a disappointed sigh from the large man beside him. 

“Nevertheless, it didn’t mean you didn’t try your best,” Byron interjected and sent a tiny glare to the duke who brushed it off nonchalantly. “Anyway, as your final exam- you’d be partnered off randomly to duel with the training swords.

“And for safety precautions, we shall be putting each of you in light armor.” 

You tense at that. Though you weren’t helpless when it came to swordsmanship- you weren’t sure if you were good enough either. Nevertheless, you just hoped you’d make it far. You glance to your right to see Siyeon’s lip quivering with nervousness. Your fingers discreetly tangled with hers, receiving a grateful squeeze of your hand in return. You send her a small smile to encourage her. Although she was still tense, she had relaxed a bit and had steadier breathing.

As you were all being suited up for the exam, a few of the royal court had come to watch. Among them were two of Hae-seong’s sons- the eldest who was a couple of years older than you and his youngest son who was only eighteen. You’ve seen them around the castle a few times. The younger, Minjae, was a bit spoiled but respectful nonetheless. He could be a little boisterous but you chalked that off to his teenage hormones. 

The eldest, on the other hand, Beom-seok, was just as nasty as his father or not worse. Not only was he prideful or an elitist, oh no- he had no respect in general. He would eye some of the female delegates like they were pieces of meat and pick on the castle servants when he walked around. What was worse is that whenever no higher-ups in the court were around, he’d strut along the palace as if he owned the place. He was disgusting but not many seemed to care because of his charming looks and stature in life. He had a strong jaw, a sharp nose, and fierce eyes. But his aura was just so repulsive not many really stayed friends with him. 

You saw him whisper to his brother as he glanced over at all of you. The pair snickered but the younger seemed to do so just to get his brother to shut up. Beom-seok must have been spewing some hateful stuff again so you chose to ignore him. Instead, you glance up the large window of the palace in the middle of the courtyard, hoping to see the prince. 

Seonghwa managed to plague your thoughts often ever since he had met you. He was just so different than you imagined- you didn’t think you’d grow fond of him in the way you do with your friends. You hoped that you do succeed in becoming his bodyguard because that way, you could still maintain your friendship with him.

As your gaze lands on the window, you see the prince looking down at all of you with interest. But beside him was Lady Ayeong, looking as ethereal as ever. A gentle yet curious smile was settled on her delicate lips as she surveyed over all of you. You found it hard to believe that an angel like her was the daughter of the devil. 

Seonghwa’s eyes meet yours and he sends you a subtle wink. You roll your eyes in amusement but nodded your head at him before focusing your attention on the knight in front of you to start donning the armor for the final exams. 

“Is it really this serious that light armor is needed?” Ayeong asks Seonghwa, looking up at him with a concerned glint in her eye. 

The prince merely nodded but gave her a reassuring smile in return. “Don’t worry. No one gets seriously injured during these. It may hurt but nothing that could kill.” 

Once you were all settled with the armor and the weapons, you were all ushered to the side as Byron called out two people’s names to duel. One was Julian- a city dweller with a flamboyant personality. His bouncy auburn hair glinted under the afternoon sun as he strolled up to the middle. His confidence was outstanding, it was his biggest asset. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be his biggest downfall either. 

The other was Gahyeon. You and Siyeon, as well as other folks from Trelark, sent her silent cheers. You all watched as both delegates took their positions across each other, arms raised and weapons held firmly in their hands. 

This was it.

Everyone watched earnestly as Gahyeon struck first, clashing her sword against Julian’s. The sound of wood on wood was heard throughout the courtyard. Several cries rang out and the nasty sound of splinters cracking soon joined in. 

By the end of the first duel, Gahyeon ended up with her back flat against the cobble and the wooden sword pressed to her chin. Julian was panting heavily and looked like he could collapse at any moment. Gahyeon proved that if she was going down, she was going to do so with a fight. 

Hae-seong says nothing, just dismissing the two and making them return to their spots in the line. “Julian wills the duel!” Byron announces before calling up the next two. 

Several more pairs came up. Some of the cockiest delegates had karma coming and lost the duel. Others surprised you like the quiet girl, Ursula, from the farming village in the South. She generally kept out of everyone’s business and was shorter than the average woman your age but she was quick on her feet and managed to take down her much bigger opponent pretty quickly. 

You were still marveling over Ursula’s assassin-like skill when Byron called your name. You snap out of your thoughts and head over to the middle where your opponent was already waiting. It was one of the bigger boys from the mining villages. You gulp nervously as you take your training sword from Byron and face your partner. 

You could feel your palms clam up and your heartbeat rapidly against your chest. The two of you assumed duel stances, swords in hand, waiting patiently for the signal to start. By this time, more of the royal court had come out to watch. You saw two young men that often accompanied Seonghwa stand off to the side. Maybe they were his friends but their presence just added some pressure to you. 

You inhale deeply and let out a shaky sigh right before Byron gives the signal. You make the first move, dispelling all your nerves with a short yell and bringing down your sword against your opponent’s. You managed to catch him off guard as he stumbled with his weapon, clearly not anticipating your strength. 

And for a short moment, you felt a bout of victory— that was until he pulled back his sword and swung at you. You stepped off to the side and blocked his blow, the force of the impact shot up your arms and to your shoulders. It was a rather harsh one, leaving you to grit your teeth to keep them from chattering. 

You step back when he swings at you again and you retaliate by blocking it off and swiftly following up with a slash near his middle. He narrowly avoids your move, hopping backward to do so. Your movements came right after the other, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You could practically hear your heartbeat thrum in your ears. Dust kicks up around you as you advance towards him, giving him blow after blow. Your opponent was left to defend rather than attack, his bigger stature causing himself to slow down at your faster movements. 

You felt confident that you’d win this duel. That is until Hae-seong calls out your name and distracts you. Your foot hooks against your ankle as you mean to step forward, causing you to trip. Your opponent takes this moment to swing his sword at your foot, making you fall onto your front. Several gasps were heard around you along with a ferocious cry. You look up to see your opponent actually bring down his sword against you. 

Luckily, you manage to roll away in time and the training sword lands against the spot you were on. “Are you crazy??” You exclaim. That blow could’ve killed you. You stumble back onto your feet, now weaponless as your sword had fallen out of your grip when you tripped. Your opponent takes a moment to kick away your sword and advance towards you.

You dodge another swing from him, shifting your feet to help you avoid him. “Aren’t you going to stop him?” You ask Byron and Hae-seong. The former remains silent but there’s a glint of sympathy in his eyes. The nobleman on the other hand simply grinned and shrugged.

“This is part of your test, _____. Remember the book I made you memorize? Well, I decided to quiz you— right now. I want to see how focused you really are.” He sneers. His eldest son laughs at his father’s words, making your blood boil. 

You eye your sword that was only a few steps away. Your opponent wasn’t an idiot— he knew what you were trying to do; he was doing everything to keep you from getting it back. But you were determined and stubborn as a mule. 

“First question, ______,” Hae-seong calls out as you step to the side and dodge another hit. “Name all seven kingdoms and what each are known for,” 

“The Nessa Empire: the kingdom near the sea,” You start out, trying your best to focus on the man in front of you while answering correctly. “Our kingdom of Sarem: the kingdom of the earth; the Kingdom of Velaris..” You continue on with the list and successfully manage to answer his questions.

This goes on— Hae-seong throwing question after question at you while you respond correctly- much to the duke’s annoyance. Of course, you would stumble every now and then, fatigue slowly creeping up on you, but you push through it. And finally, you see an opening. 

Your sword lay a couple of steps away and your opponent was far enough for you to reach over and grab it. You briefly glance over to the weapon and keep your gaze trained ahead of you. You patiently wait for Hae-seong to ask you another question, slowly inching towards your sword.

“Final question,” The nobleman huffed, trying to get you to mess up. “Sarem takes pride in our trade in grains and precious stones; true or false?” 

You almost answered “true” but you remembered what the prince had said the first night you met. 

“Don’t believe everything that book says— especially the part about how our kingdom trade works. It says something about grain or stones but that section is terribly inaccurate.”

You thought it was nasty on Hae-seong’s part to pull that trick out on you but you didn’t pay any attention to that. 

“False!” You answered just as your opponent was about to bring his sword down on you.  You rushed to pick up your own and swing it up to block his strike. This caught him off guard, allowing you to kick your foot out under him and make him lose balance. He falls flat against his back and you scramble to kick his own weapon away, pointing your sword against his throat. 

Byron takes this as a chance to end the duel seeing as both of you were tired. Your turn went longer than anticipated. “_____ wins this duel.” He announces, earning a few applause from the bystanders. 

You almost collapse to the ground in relief as victory floods your system. Thank the heavens. You helped your opponent up and gave him a bow of your head to which he responded in kind. You were still pretty banged and up and bruised since he got more hits in but it was all worth it to be able to make it past this final exam and to see the annoyance on Hae-seong’s face. 

It was obvious he hoped you would mess up but at least he knew to give credit when it’s due, even if it hurt his pride. He turned his pointy nose up and waved the two of you away to return to your spots and allow other delegates to go. “Moving on—“

You plop down onto your original spot, Siyeon shaking your shoulder excitedly. “You killed it!” She cheers quietly, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m so proud of you, Yellow.” 

“Thanks, Wolfie.” You reply, giving her hand a squeeze. 

You tear your gaze away from your friend and up to the window to where Seonghwa and Ayeong were watching. From your spot on the ground, it was clear that he had the brightest smile on his face.

“Her fighting spirit is commendable,” Ayeong praises, referring to you. She turns to her husband to be with a curious tilt of her head. “Don’t you think so?”

The prince felt his chest swell his pride, a warm feeling running through his veins. Though you two had met recently, he felt as if he was your friend for his whole life. He couldn’t help but feel proud of what you had achieved today. He nods in response to his companion. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The final dueling exams ended late into the afternoon. It felt exhausting to watch and go through- after all there were 20 pairs that had to go through this. Despite that- tensions were still high as everyone anxiously waited for their results. 

Some looked hopeful while others remained dejected. It was clear to some that they were convinced that they would be eliminated; regrets of not trying hard enough during the first few days due to their reluctance flooded their thoughts. Only hushed whispers and silent sobs were heard through the courtyard as everyone let their frustrations out.

Amihan scoots over to you as she clutches her splinted hand to her chest; she had fallen down during her duel causing her wrist to be sprained. Her face had dejection written all over it; it was far from her usually laid back look. Raviv follows behind her like a concerned mother hen, brows furrowed. 

“I think I’m going to be sent home,” She admits quietly to your group, eyes glazed over with tears that were threatening to fall. Both you and Siyeon immediately move to comfort her, taking her hands in yours. “I should’ve tried harder,” 

“Ami, you did your best. That’s what’s important,” Siyeon says as she comforts the older girl. “You’re such a fierce fighter Amihan. Maybe you’d pass.”

You nod in response as you offer your friend a comforting smile. “Just shout it out to the world and think of it, it's sure to happen.” 

Amihan only shrugged in response but thanked both of you nonetheless. She sat back on her heels and sighed, looking down to her palms. “Thank you for comforting me… but think it’s useless either way. I’m injured so I can’t go on with training.”

“Maybe they’ll excuse you,” Raviv interjects and settles a hand over her shoulder. “Please don’t be so down on yourself, Ami..”

Before any of you can say anything more, the duke clears his throat and catches all of your attention. He had a roll of parchment in his hand, most likely containing the list of all delegates who made it past the first half of elimination. Right now, there were fifty of you, twenty females and thirty males. All that could change after tonight. 

“I shall now be announcing the delegates who passed.”

Tension rises and a pregnant silence fills the atmosphere. It was absolutely suffocating. You could feel your heart beat erratically against your chest as you laced your fingers with both Siyeon’s and Amihan’s hands. You didn’t want to go home— not when you were this far. The weight of the pendant your father gave you seemed heavy against your chest, a constant reminder of why you were here in the first place. 

“Abel,” Hae-seong started listing out. One by one, a name was called followed by a deep sigh of relief. Stifled tears and quiet sobs were soon heard when the duke failed to call their name. 

One of those unfortunate ones was Amihan. When Duke Hae-seong continued on with the list, the names now starting with B, your heart fell. You look over to your friend who had a resigned yet accepting look in her eyes. You couldn’t believe it. Your friend was no longer going to be with you. 

“Ami..” You mutter quietly, chest heavy with grief. She only smiles at you, cupping your cheek and brushing away a hair that stuck to your face.

I’ll be okay. She whispers to you before doing the same for both Raviv and Siyeon. You felt numb. It was such a short time since you’ve known her but you’ve created a deep bond with her since your stay— it would be hard to see her go. 

The names went on and luckily, you, Siyeon, and Raviv was still safe. For a moment your solemn thoughts turned into relief. At least you were safe, you were still in the game. You still had the chance to win this thing. 

“That’s all, you are now dismissed. You may return to your rooms. To those who were eliminated, we thank you for trying your best,” Hae-seong drawls out, oddly chipper. Maybe he was just glad that he didn’t have to deal with any more “brats.” “A carriage awaits you tomorrow morning so I suggest you start packing up.”

Usually, the walk to the rooms would be lively and full of playful banter. Now it was just glum and filled with frustrated cries. Whispers of comfort floated through the air as the group parted ways to head to their respective rooms. But before Raviv could part with the rest of you, he walks over to Amihan and gives her a tight embrace. They exchange a few words, only whispered between the two of them, before separating ways. 

You and Siyeon were on either side of Amihan’s side as you walked down the hall, trying to make the most of your last moments with her. Your friend had long stopped crying, her tears turning down to sniffles. She was quick to accept her fate. 

“Well, at least I got to live in a palace for 2 and a half months.” She jokes in hopes to lighten the mood. “Even though it was a short period of time, I’m glad I was able to make friends with you two…”

She turns to both of you, pulling you to the side to allow others to enter the room without blocking the way. “I’ll miss you both.. better write to me or else I’m coming back here to hunt your asses down.” 

She managed to pull some laughs out of you and Siyeon before bringing you into a group hug. It was a bittersweet moment and none of you could stop the tears from falling. It was kind of cathartic to be able to cry after a long while, even if they were grieving their separation from each other. It was Amihan once again who pulled herself together and straightened up. 

“I hope one of you wins. And I know one of you will.” She says with such conviction in her voice it was hard to not believe her. 

As you help her keep her things for her leave tomorrow, you couldn’t help but allow this moment to fuel something within you. You had another person to fight for, and that’s exactly what you needed. If things were hard now, they were surely going to get harder. 

[dexaroth]

had a dream about a portal gun that allows u to travel back (blue) or forward (orange) in time (very long desc so I'll hide it in the read more thingy)

it started in an entirely new concept of my apartment where everything was new. i had to deal with some weird neighbours that were evicted and looked off to me but this section's highlight was a parrot that i cant for the life of me remember what they did since this part formed like right after i started my deep sleep phase. brain certainly lifted this from the kakapo/green parrot post i rbed but they looked very different in my dream. they were big and had like a black coat of feathers on top and only their belly was green so points for originality i guess

not as interesting so, proceeding. the middle phase was me getting bored/angry of whatever happened there and so i picked up the portal gun (somehow from somewhere, cant tell) and went back to when i was in school (i guess u just think of where u wanna go and it goes there in the past)

in today's version of the dream it was so long after I dreamed about it that i forgot how exactly it worked so I looked at the bottom of iy and the company's name seems to have russian characters, I can't recall what it was called but it was like tyrenyykyy or something with those letters. i didnt have the manual so i went to their website and the most powerful version (which was the one i was using) just cost $250. the company also sells.. clip art for ppl that make candy?

the gun itself has a constant receipt printer that describes the time u are in (like, [cafeteria - right before jonh left]) which i discover later that controls where in the timeline u wanna be in since at that point i just hopped in the past portal once and got to meet one of those human-apes that r our ancestors and double checked the website so thats how i figured why there was a scroll wheel next to the blue and orange portal buttons

AUGH ITS FADING ALLREADY AAAA

ok so i did some shenanigans that tied in with previous dreams i had in the same places (to me thats incredible. it doesnt happen often but when it does i go ecstatic and remember it while im dreaming, its like a half-controllable dream) but the most interesting part was when.. obama was in the school (completely made up im not american, that came from me watching mr. robot and noticing he was there) and i like went to him like hey old man look what i got. and he was impressed and i was trying to say 'i can go back more than 20 years back!' but i forgot how to say it in the form of 'decades' (i still dont know lol) and he laughed in a condescending way bc how stupid i was and tried to take it away so i immediatelly used it and went in the past again and realized how i could use this to stalk an entire person's life which i promptly forgot about and went to try to climb a place where some adults didnt let me go when i was a kid

the most fun in that was feeling like u were a criminal and should be stopped so it got u adrenaline but when i got there nobody gave a shit. didnt even acknowledge me existing there (which in my mind should have been even worse bc i was all grown up and idk, invading a place. it should have been even more interesting then when i was just at recess being watched) so i just layed in there like i died and woke up disappointed lol

alright uh this does not sound even near the fun i had dreaming about it.. fuck. i legit cant remember anything else but to me it was amazing to experience. u could alter the size of the portal too and that affects how far or forward u go and u also just go through a void when ur transitioning like in a way a game would do. it also had no handles just some plastic knobs u were supposed to put ur fingers in between but i remember i had to hold it like a baby bc it was so incvenient. also looked nothing like the og besides being made of white plating and looking like a peanut shell in shape

idk how interesting dream journals are to yall but its been a long time since ive had one of these complex story dreams. ones that u can separate into chapters and you wake up with an ending. i used to see more ppl posting them a while ago but i think that was a google+ thing so eeeehhh

i must be forgetting some very important details bci woke up like 'i gotta tell tumblr about obama. i gotta tell tumblr about obama' and i had just realized some stuff happened before the portal (the appartment part) part so i was like sheesh i lost like 80% of what happened there :[

i guess to me the bulk of the fun was going past and present and seeing which kinds of ppl were there. which kind of events. if i was still recognized as a student (which now that i think of it, i was wearing my uniform the moment i portaled to there.. huh.). none of the people i saw as friends were my irl friends, none of the events that happened there happened irl. it was all a re-use of a previous, already distorted dream i had. same scenario, same actions. i mustve thought this was what made the highlight (obama being there) just that much groudnbreaking lmao. "here's an entire new reimagining of your previous awesome dreams, with a way YOU can control them in whatever way you wish.................. AND, here's obama. bc u saw him appearing in that series. ur welcome" said my brain and i just pogged so hard at that

genuinely love so much when ppl share their dreams. its such an awesome thing to read about, its like trying to figure out how a machine works and then the machine reworks you instead

uh anyways. the dream has already faded out by this point, i usually just go wow!! i dreamt that?? at most after 5 minutes of the dream and then i put it in the back of my mind inside the 'epic dreams i had' catalog. i cant recall anything else interesting so hope this was a somewhat worth read lol

[zanesgirlfriend]

Sucker | David Dobrik

Description: David gets in his feels for the reader, based off the song Sucker by the Jonas Brothers

Requested?: yes but okay so i accidentally deleted the original request but i know it was about the new jo bros song and i love them with my whole heart so im sorry if i didnt do what you asked im a dumb bitch

A//N: This came in my inbox before i stopped taking song requests pls dont be mad at me I have one more song thing after this and then im done with songs forever okay bye also i dont have the spanish n key on my computer so dont @ me

_____

David’s song of the week came about randomly. Rich Girl popped in his brain as soon as he put on those Cartier rings. The Pina Colada song happened when Natalie made everyone Pina Coladas before a party. Dancing Queen was stuck in his head for months when he heard it one night at a party. 

Sucker, however, was all y/n’s fault.

Natalie had spent the night at Cass’ house, and all of David’s friend’s had come and gone. He was alone, in the living room editing away. 

Are you awake?

She texted him, bored out of her mind and not able to fall asleep.

Yeah, why are you up so late?

His heart fluttered a bit as he awaited her response. His crush on her seemed to grow and grow the more they hung out, and the chance to finally be alone with her was very appealing.

I can’t sleep, but if you’re editing I don’t wanna distract you!

She didn’t want to bother him, but something inside of her was urging her to text him more.

It’s okay hahaha I don’t have to post tonight anyway

He subtly was asking her to come over.

Do you wanna go get ice cream or something?

She asked him.

Is anything open this late? We can drive around and look for something if you want

He saved his edit and got his keys, already making up his mind. He drove to her apartment and appreciated how quiet everything seemed to be.

“Hey.” He said to her as she opened the door.

“Hey.” She stepped outside and locked her door behind her. He noticed her body as she was wearing little thin pajama shorts and a light sweater. The pair made their way to David’s Tesla and they started to drive.

“I didn’t see anything open on the way here, but we can go into the city a little more.” He spoke softly, as if he didn’t really want to wake up the world. He glanced over at her and saw that her arms were wrapped around her legs and she was shiving. “Are you cold?” He asked, already putting the Tesla in autopilot.

“Yeah, it was kind of dumb not to change out of my pj’s, huh.” She laughed at herself as she watched him take his sweatshirt off and hand it to her. “Oh, I don’t want you to be cold!” 

“I’m fine, this is nothing compared to Chicago.” He leaned over and turned the heat up. She threw his sweatshirt on and settled into her heated seat.

“Ooh! That place is open!” She pointed up ahead of them and he quickly turned on his blinker. They pulled up to the little store and went to get ice cream. They sat inside the Tesla as they ate it and discussed what to do next.

“Where are we going now?” He asked her, hoping that the ice cream wasn’t the end of the line.

“I wanna have an adventure. Like, the city is so quiet for some ungodly reason, so I feel like we have to make the most of it.” She shook off any sense of tiredness and was ready to just go have fun with the cute boy she liked so much.

“I have an idea.” David smirked and put the car in drive.

They drove around the city all night, finally finding what he was looking for. He helped her jump the fence and held her hand tight as they looked around for security guards.

“David, turn the flashlight off, I think someone’s coming!” She whisper yelled in his ear. He turned it off and the two of them giggled for a minute before stumbling in the dark through the pool area of a very fancy hotel.

“I found the pool, okay don’t look!” He joked as he started to strip his clothes off.

“David, how am I supposed to look if all the lights are off?” She joked back and removed his sweatshirt from her body. They held hands and jumped into the pool together. The lights in the bottom of the pool clicked on as if they were motion activated, scaring the naked couple.

“Shit, shit, shit!” David whispered as he grabbed onto her shoulders.

“I think they’re automatic, oh my God don’t look at my boobs!” She whispered back at him. They giggled together, trying to stay as quiet as possible, but to no avail. The pair skinny dipped for a while, sneaking glances at each other before y/n finally had the guts to make a move.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shirtless.” She told him as she swam closer.

“I definitely haven’t seen you shirtless before either.” He joked, rousing a laugh from both of them. He swam towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She wrapped he arms around his neck and slowly started to kiss his jaw as his hands explored her body. Just as she made her way to his lips, the door to the pool area opened.

“Hey!” The guard yelled, causing them to scramble to jump out of the pool. David threw his underwear on and scooped up the rest of his clothes before running back to the fence. Y/n was more bold, however, and just picked everything up and ran for it. David got quite the view as she climbed down the other side of the fence. Their laughs got louder and louder as they ran for his car.

“Oh my God!” She screamed as their dripping wet bodies hopped in the car. David sped off to an empty parking lot nearby so the guard wouldn’t catch them.

“That was crazy!” He laughed with her as he parked the car. They hopped out and attempted to dry off. Y/n was still naked.

“I’ve never done anything like that. Like, ever.” She used her sweater as a towel before slipping on her shorts and David’s sweatshirt.

“How am I supposed to dry off? I really didn’t think that through.” He laughed and laid his jeans on the hood of the car.

“I wanna dance. That’ll dry us off.” She was pumped full of adrenaline and wanted to move her body. David smiled and played some random music through the speakers of his Tesla. They danced together for a few minutes before the Jonas Brothers new song started playing.

I've been dancing on top of cars and stumbling out of bars I follow you through the dark, can't get enough

“Can we dance on your car?” She asked him as soon as she heard the lyrics. He nodded and helped her up onto the hood. They jammed out, doing small movements and holding onto each other as to not fall off. A slow song was next, so the laid down on the hood and took a moment to breathe.

“I’m really glad you texted me.” He looked over at her and pushed his shaggy wet hair out of his eyes.

“I’m really glad you wanted to go on an adventure.” She laced her fingers through his and smiled at him. She leaned over, finally giving him a real kiss.

[toofadedtofight]

just imagine you and duke on facetime with cal cause you miss him so much already even tho he’s not gone that long yet :(

okay this has me all types of emo but you pick up the phone and its like 7am on a sunday but he’s on the other side of the world and you can tell by the way he’s out of breath and all sweaty that he just got off stage. “BABY, I miss yOU” he’s probably screaming, still has his in-ears in or something and he’s trying to find his was back to his change room so he can hear you. As soon as duke hears cal’s voice he’s running with the little “pit-pat” of his paws and the jingle of his collar, hopping onto the bed to see what’s going on. “hi bubs, how was the show?” your sleepy voice peeking through. “it was goods, some fans had a sign tonight saying that they loved you and i just couldn’t wait to tell you!” he’d be smiling so wide it probably hurt. “awe that’s so cute!”you spent the next few minutes chatting just catching up over the last few days and duke continually tried to get closer and closer to the screen to see cal. “Baby i gotta head to sleep it’s almost two here,” you could see the adrenaline wearing off and his getting sleepier. “Cal baby, call more often we miss you,” “I know baby we only got two more months of this then I’ll be home.” It was bittersweet talking to him because when it ended you always remembered that he wasn’t there in bed with you, and that you had to wait some period of time for him to come home. “goodnight bubba, love you.” and then he would like blow kisses to you and duke literally kiss me through the phone typa shit ugh ugh im emo

[turtle-steverogers]

Rumble (1/2)

mmmm greasers and socs we stan

also its like 1:40 so uh yah be gentle ik my writing ain’t thriving rn

warnings: homophobic slurs, heated make out seshes, uhhh knives/stabbing, bad 1 am writing im sorry

ship: sprace

word count: 2600

-

Electricity coursed through Race’s veins as Spot reached up, tangling his fingers in his blonde curls and tilting his head, deepening the kiss even further.  Race hummed, tightening his grip on Spot’s waist and pushing him further against the wall, smirking against Spot’s lips when the breath of a moan escaped him.

It was thrilling, the leather of his own jacket combating the blue boiled wool of Spot’s letterman one.  They weren’t supposed to be doing this, the long standing rivalry between the Greasers and the Socs holding strong.  But Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins had never been known to stick to the status quo.  

It had started as a heated fling.  Adrenaline riding high after a particularly intense rumble one evening led them to Race’s dingy bedroom, where they had spent the night on his mattress, words scarce and breaths heavy.  They’d played around like that for a while, stealing kisses when no one was looking, holding teasing eye contact across classrooms.  It drove Race crazy, though.  He wanted more, his passion for Spot giving way to love, care for the Soc worming its way into his stomach and seizing hold of his heart.

This internal conflict, however, was quickly resolved when Spot had pulled him into the boy’s restroom between periods, leading him into a stall and kissing him gentler Race could have imagined.  He’d whispered his love onto Race’s lips, insisting that they become something closer than what they were.  

Race had agreed, but they had a reputation to uphold.  For as long as anyone could remember, they hated each other.  A childhood bond breaking awfully when Spot’s dad got a decent job and moved their family to the other side of town, instilling a jarring pretentiousness within Spot and damaging his friendship with Race.  

So, although the hateful feelings had ceased, the snide remarks and nasty sneers remained ever present when they were in public.  It was a painful mask to wear, biting names at each other and digging into known insecurities for the sake of their act.  It worked, though, because no one suspected a thing.

Race ducked his head down, pressing a bruising kiss to Spot’s neck, allowing his teeth to graze the skin.  He began to suck a hickey into the sensitive area, but stopped when Spot nudged him away.

“Mm, the last one just faded,” he breathed, watching Race through lidded eyes.

Race just smiled, “All the more reason to leave another,” he kissed Spot briefly, reaching around to grasp Spot’s ass, squeezing it playfully, “gotta let everyone know you’re unavailable.”

Spot narrowed his eyes, though there was no hint of malice in them, “Fine, but if you’re gonna leave one, go lower.  Bumlets noticed last time.”

Race swallowed, alarm spreading through his veins, “Did he ask you anythin’?  What’d ya tell ‘im?”

“Relax,” Spot said, easily, playing with the curls at the nape of Race’s neck, sending a jolt down his spine, “Told ‘im I made out with Sarah Jacobs.”

Race’s eyes widened momentarily before he cracked a grin, a laugh forcing its way out of his stomach, “Sarah Jacobs?  That David kid’s sis?”

“That’s the one.”

Race snickered, “Did Bumlets buy it?”

Spot shrugged, “Guess so, he was off my ass after that.”

Race whistled, “Does Sarah know you two apparently made out?”

“I told her I needed a cover,” Spot said, looking mildly uncomfortable, “But I didn’t say what for.”

“Did she ask?”

Spot shook his head, “Just went with it.”

“Good friend,” Race said, nodding approvingly.  His eyes flicked down to Spot’s lips, “Now where were we?”

Spot laughed, leaning in to kiss him, “So eager.”

“Yeah well,” Race fisted Spot’s jacket, tearing it off his shoulders and making Spot gasp, “You’re irresistible.”

Race left their little escapade with Spot’s jacket still held loosely in his grip and a bounce in his step.  The sun was completely set by the time he ventured back to his neighborhood, wandering down the street freely until he came up to his house.  

“Where were ya?”

Race froze, the blood draining from his face as he turned to the side, shoving Spot’s jacket behind his back.  Seated on the rickety armchair that had always resided on the front porch was Race’s brother, Albert, arms crossed at his chest.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt and a pair of their other brother, Jack’s, old pajama pants hung casually on his hips.  It was obvious that he was about to go to bed.  

“And what did you just try to hide from me?” Albert pushed, raising his eyebrows and nodding to Race’s arm, which was still behind his back.

“Mind your own business,” Race snarled, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

Albert studied him for a moment, his gaze landing on Race’s hair, “Why is your hair all fucked- oh my god,” his expression changed from one of skepticism to pure shock, “You’re hookin’ up with someone, ain’t ya?”

Race spluttered for a moment, feeling his blush deepen, “No,” he sounded entirely unconvincing.

Albert smiled, hopping up with way too much fervor for Race’s liking, “You are! Who is she?”

Race grit his teeth, eyes shifting away from Albert.  He couldn’t lie to him- he’d never been able to- but he couldn’t tell the truth either.

“No one,” he mumbled, “‘M goin’ ta bed.”

He hurried inside, briefly glancing down the hallway to where he could see Jack reading on their ratty sofa, before bounding up the stairs.  He slammed his bedroom door, locking it behind him and slumping down on his matress, kicking off his shoes along the way.  He wriggled out of his jacket and jeans and pulled his blankets up to his chest, tucking Spot’s jacket under his head, breathing in the comforting and familiar smell.  

He allowed it to lull him to sleep, calming his nerves as he was pulled under.

XXX

“Higgins, where’d ya get those jeans?”  Race set his jaw, fighting the urge to smile as Spot’s voice entered his auditory, “Did your mother buy them for you?  Oh wait,” Spot clicked his tongue, “Guess she can’t now that she’s what, six feet under?  If you could even afford to get her properly buried.”

Race turned towards him, noting the apologetic undertone in his voice, “Nah, got them from your parent’s closet when I was visiting your mom last week,” he leaned against his locker, “I must say, she’s really brilliant when she’s-”

Spot lunged forward, slamming him against the locker and biting his lip to keep from laughing, “Don’t you dare speak about my mother like that, Higgins,” he growled.  Race had to give him credit, his acting was brilliant.  

“Or what?” Race countered, reluctantly shoving him back and taking note of the small crowd that had circled around them.  Spot pretended to flounder for a moment and Race took the opportunity, “You Socs are honest pussies when it comes to fights,” he scoffed, “Suck my dick, Conlon.”

Spot’s eyes flashed and he grabbed Race’s ear, yanking him down to his level and whispering, “Better meet me out behind the school after last period,” he pulled away, raising his voice once more, “And that’s a promise, Higgins,” the crowd around them hooted, obviously expecting some sort of threat to be fulfilled, “Watch your back.”

Race watched him leave with his posse, letting his guard down.  Faux fights with Spot always instilled some sort of excitement in him, the lie a fast wave to ride.

The school day crept by painfully.  Race sat restlessly in his classes, bouncing his leg vigorously as he watched the clock tick excruciatingly slow.  He was out of his seat, backpack slung haphazardly on his back the moment the bell rang, He walked faster than strictly necessary to the back of the school, where Spot was already waiting.  A cigarette hung lazily from his lips and he looked up as Race approached, plucking it from his mouth and holding it out in a silent offer.

Race took it blindly, pulling a deep drag before chucking it to the ground and stepping on it as he moved forward, pinning Spot to the wall and pressing their mouths together.  The taste of the cigarette melded between them, adding a certain heat to their already intense session.  Spot gasped against his lips, whining when Race reached down, unzipping his fly and unbuttoning his khakis.  

“Aye, Conlon, there you-”

Spot drove Race away from him, fumbling to fix his pants as Hotshot approached, looking both confused and furious.

“What, are you two fucking or something?” He barked, rounding on Spot, “Thought you wanted nothing to do with this Greaser scum.”

Spot seemed to regain his composure, “I don’t,” he said, voice low, “He came onto me, I was just about to beat the shit out of his faggot ass.”

Race winced, mentally forcing himself to remember Spot was pretending.

Hotshot frowned, nose scrunched in disgust, “Yeah?  Kinda looked like you were enjoying it.”

Spot rolled his eyes, attempting to shoulder past Hotshot, “Whatever.”

Hotshot grabbed his bicep, holding him in place, “You two really wanna prove your little rendezvous wasn’t what it looked like? Be at the lot tonight at sundown.  Shouldn’t matter what happens if these little fairy flings are fake.”

Hotshot threw Spot to the ground, spitting next to him before leaving.  Race watched him go, making sure he was out of sight before reaching down a hand to help Spot up.  Spot shook his head, his chest heaving as he hoisted himself to his feet.

“We could run,” Race said, “Leave before tonight.”  He was trembling, certain that his face matched Spot’s pale expression.

Spot looked like he was having some sort of aneurysm as he backed away, “No, I, uh-” he sounded breathless, scared, “I gotta go, I’ll see you...tonight, yeah, uh.  Be there,” he finally looked at Race, “Please.”

Race shook his head, dumbfounded, “Spot, we don’t have ta-”

But Spot was gone, footsteps echoing as he ran in the opposite direction.

XXX

Race sat on his mattress, nausea turning in his stomach as he watched the sky change through his window.  There was probably homework he could be doing, but what did it matter if he was just going to be killed this evening.  Rumbles were unpredictable; a nasty throttle of blood and animosity.  It was rare that anyone actually died, but that didn’t stop the worst possible outcome from crawling into his brain.

These things were huge, large sums of both sides turning up for each one.  Race usually liked them to a degree, finding the exhilarating atmosphere entertaining, but that was when he wasn’t the center of the conflict.  Now, it was just sickening.

“Aye, if you’re coming to the rumble, we should get goin’ now.”  Jack peeked his head into his room.  

Race forced himself to look at his older brother, trying to smile as convincingly as he could.  He hadn’t told Jack and Albert that he was a key contender in the rumble, just that there was one.  Though, in hindsight, he should’ve refrained from talking about it at all- not that it would have stopped them from finding out.  Word gets around fast.

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” Race said, clearing his throat and scooting forward to pull on his shoes, “Al comin?”

“You know the kid,” Jack leaned against his doorframe, holding out Race’s jacket for him, “Could never pass up the chance ta watch a fight.”

Race choked out a laugh, though it sounded more like a whimper, “Yeah,” he flinched as his voice cracked.

Albert was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, shoes tied and jean jacket on, “C’mon guys, the sun’s settin’!” he exclaimed, reaching out and pulling Race out the door, “It’s gonna start soon.”

With each step Race took towards the lot, it felt like he was approaching his doom.  He wanted nothing more than to curl up with Spot and find comfort in their closeness, but he couldn’t have that now.  Besides, Spot was clearly mortified, there was no way he was up for cuddling right now.

The mass of people in the lot was visible even from a distance, already divided seamlessly into two sides.  The three boys approached, naturally fusing into the side that housed the Greasers, blending in with the hoard of rowdy looking boys.  Race’s eyes scanned the other group, immediately finding Spot at the head of the crowd, clad in his favorite red sweater.  He was jeering at someone from the Greasers, though Race could sense the apprehension emanating from him.  

He tried to blend in, staying purposefully towards the back, but it was no use.  He made piercing eye contact with Hotshot and felt the blood drain from his face as the Soc’s face morphed into one of triumph.  He shoved his way to the middle of the split and held his fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly enough to gain everyone’s attention.  Race looked back at Spot, who was staring at Hotshot, lips parted slightly.  

“We’re gathered here this fine evening,” Hotshot began, his tone innocent, but eyes fiery, “Because I had the pleasure of witnessing something extraordinary,” he had everyone’s apt attention now, “See, I was walking after school, looking for our favorite shorty here,” he yanked Spot out of the crowd and Spot grimaced, looking like he wanted to disappear, “When I found him behind the school,” he paused for affect, “Pants unbuttoned and tongue down the throat of-” Murmurs were already rippling through the crowd, “Racetrack fucking Higgins.”

Race shut his eyes as he felt every head turn towards him.  Somewhere to his left, he could hear Albert mumble, ‘what the fuck’, along with a few confused hoots from other people.  He wanted to run.  He wanted to grab Spot and skip town and pretend that none of this was happening- that they were okay.  But his feet were glued to the spot.

“Now, I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding,” Hotshot spoke again, “Seeing as it is common knowledge that these two cannot stand each other,” Race gasped as someone pushed him to the middle, “I’m sure this little debacle can be cleared up.”

Race opened his eyes, sucking in a breath when he realized how close he was to Hotshot and Spot.

“You two hate each other, yes?” Hotshot hissed, leaning in close to him.

Race nodded vigorously.

“Prove it, then,” Hotshot jabbed, producing a switchblade from his back pocket, “Stab him.”

Race choked, “Stab Spot?  You want me to stab your best friend?”

Hotshot laughed, “He’s not my best friend,” he said, “Not as long as he’s okay with kissing on other men,” he pressed the knife into Race’s hand, “Now go.”

Race stared at the blade, turning it over in shaking hands before flipping it open.  He could feel the crowd watching him with baited breath and he spared a glance at Spot, who was watching him with desperation written on his face.  Race focused his eyes, making a split second decision.

He lunged forward, tackling Spot away from Hotshot and pinning him to the ground, driving his knee into his side.  He flipped open the knife and held it between them, watching as Spot’s expression calmed.

“I love you,” Spot murmured, breaths evening out, “Do what you have to, it’s okay.”

Race drank in his expression, bathing in the warmth of his rich brown eyes and cherishing the beauty in his hard features.

“I love you, too,” He muttered back, “I’m sorry.”

He took a deep breath, plunging the blade into his own stomach.

-

nnng yeah im gonna write a pt 2 dw dw we’re not jus leavin it there

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[sleeping-graves]

Healing Him - V/Reader - Part 1/??

It was just another day of watching the kids. Although its tiresome, you still love taking care of the youth. Luckily for you, you aren't doing this alone. You were helping out at an orphanage with your sister Kyrie, and boy are you grateful for her help. The kids liked you of course but they just seem to gravitate towards her.

"Hey (Y/N), do you mind handing over those cereal boxes?" Kyrie asked you as she stood on a ladder. You both were tidying up kitchen as the kids were playing outside. "Oh yeah sure!" you grab the box and hop over to her. You both give each other a little smile before interrupted by crying.

Locking eyes, you two hurriedly made your way outside to see some children circled around another who was on the ground clutching his leg and sobbing. Being visibly confused, a kid filled you in. "Miss (Y/N), Miss Kyrie! Noct fell off the tree and hit his leg really hard!" You thank them and looked over at your sibling. "You know what to do (Y/N)."

"Yes of course." you immediately went over to the boy, holding him close to you. From what you can examine, he must have sprained knee real bad. You place you hand gently on the injured area, closing your eyes. "Everything will be alright now. Do no worry Noct.." Just then, a glow and a sigil appeared under your hand. After only a couple of moments, the injury was back to normal as though it never happened. Noct slowly stopped crying and gave you the biggest smile. "Thank you Miss (Y/N)!" And with that he have you a slight peck on the cheek and ran off into the playground with his friends again.

"Be careful ok boys?" Kyrie yells over at them as she comes closer to you. "Thanks again. I don't know what I would do without you." You get up and give her a smile of glee. "Its no problem Kyrie. Its the least I can die for these kids." Patting down your clothes from the dirty, you let out a huff. "Now, we should get back to tidying up the kitchen. Shall we?"

Time passes and its quiet throughout the orphanage. Kyrie was putting the last kid to sleep as you were resting up from the eventful day with some hot chocolate. "Man.. can this day get any crazier?.." There was the jinx.

"Kyrie! (Y/N)!" you heard shouts coming from the main hallway, echoing through the building. You immediately recognized the voice, Nico? Adrenaline coursed through you as you raced over and bumped into the two females.

"W-what's wrong? What's going on Nico?!" you practically screamed at her. "Its Nero and V! They've been bad up badly, we really need your powers (Y/N)!" Nero was a familiar name of course, but not the other person, V. But now its not the time to ask questions. You and Kyrie looked at each other and nodded and agreement, and proceeded to head to the hospital.

Even though it was a rough bumpy ride, you don't blame the driver for wanting to get there was fast of possible. The three of you bolted to the ER where you saw the two badly injured men laying in agony. The doctors try to tell you to back off but Nico immediately cuts them off informing them about your healing powers. They hesitate, but cave in and let you three in.

Seeing their pained faces made a pit form in your stomach, but you knew you had to be there for them. "They are both pretty banged up but I advise you to heal Nero first. He took quite a hit for V." Nico informs you quickly as she holds a terrified Kyrie. " A-Alright ..um.." Pacing over to the said boy, you noticed countless bruises and the such. Just to double check you looked over at the other male. He was a thin fragile goth that was covered in tattoos, and while it looked like he took a couple of good hits it was no where close to as bad as Neros so you set your priorities.

You daintily place your hands on his chest, closing your eyes so you can focus. In a second the sigil summons under your hands again, glowing brightly. Letting out slow breaths, you let your powers do its job. Ever so slowly, Neros injuries started reversing, wounds closing and bruises disappearing.

While you were working, Nero slightly cracked his eyes open before letting out a groan and shifting his head a little in his pillow. Kyrie let out a soft gasp and went over the his bedside, gently placing her hand on his cheek. "Oh Nero.. what did I tell you about being safe?.."

He lets out a ragged couple of coughs before he slowly looked up at her sorrowfully. " Im sorry Kyrie, but we were ambushed... I took the brunt of the force because Shakespeare over there can't take alot of hits..." She sniffs as she carefully held his head close, just grateful for his safety. You took a deep breath as you finally finished, drawing back your hands. Healing the body as damaged as his really drains your energy but you had to push through.

Nico taps on your shoulder. " Hey um im not rushin, but now Mr Tattoos needs your help.." Agreeing, you head over to the bed next to you. When you get to his bedside, you finally take in the sight of this V person. He seemed a little roughed up but due to his fragile stature was enough to put a dent on him. He had a slight pained expression but his dark locks covered it with grace. You were almost entranced by all his beautiful markings that almost covered his entire body. Ugh snap out of it you need to help this man!

Papping your cheeks a bit, you straighten your back and let out another huff, getting your body ready once again. You slip through his vest and place your hands on his covered chest, closing your eyes as the sigil appears. Like with Nero, his wounds began to disappear as well, body refreshed.

You hear a deep grunt followed by a noise of movement. Opening your eyes, they lock with the males jaded eyes, not wanting to let go. It seemed like eternity before Nico let out a awkward cough. "O-Oh sorry! You should um, be better now." you respond as you pull back your hands to your sides.

The man attempted to sit up, letting out audible signs of discomfort before you helped him along. He took a second to breath. "I must thank you little healer, although I must apologize for putting strain on you for fixing me." he lets out as soft as a whisper. You panic as those words, " No no its fine I promise! Its worth it to make others feel much better." you really didn't want to make him feel guilty. Yes you were pushing your energy more then you should right now but this was an emergency. "If you say so, but can I be graced by your name?" he lets out a little smirk. "You can call me V." Oh boy did his voice and smirk do wonders to your body. You flushed up, blood rushing to your cheeks. "M-My name is (Y/N).."

"(Y/N).." Your name just rolls off his tounge. "It's a beautiful name. I thank fate for bringing me to you." Your heart was pounding in your chest, everything becoming a second thought. That was until Nico came and wrapped a arm around your shoulder.

"Alright alright, V stop being flirt towards your savior and get some rest. You too (Y/N). Don't think I don't notice you're taking deeper breaths." That's Nico for you. Caring and quick to notice the details.

"Thanks Nico. I think I will." you responded as you fixed your hair. "You get some good sleep V. Glad I helped you." He let out a "hmm" with a smile as a response, "I hope that we get to know each other on a better foot. May the stars align in our favor." You smile back shyly as you and Nico start to head back to her van, her telling you that she'll pick up Kyrie later as she needs time alone with Nero.

As you sit in the van as it drives through the streets, you start to think about the most wholesome couple you've ever known, Kyrie and Nero. As much as his hardheadedness scares you, you know how much they love each other. You would always see them showing such compassion to each other and honestly, every time you would feel a tang of jealousy.

You were not lucky with love so you've been single practically your entire life. So when you locked eyes with that poetic male, your body felt a whole new feeling. Clutching your chest a bit, your face flushes up when remembering the moment. When were you going to meet him again? Hopefully like he said, that the stars would align in your favor.

And aligned they did, couple days later. With all the demons around and the Qliphoth infestation getting worse they needed all the help you can get. Nero came to the orphanage and asked for your hand in joining their party. They couldn't waste time by sitting around the hospital whenever they got injured, they needed a healer on hand. Despite Kyrie pleading you to not go out of fear you'll get killed, you wanted to help along side the demon hunters. You had to.

You say your goodbyes to your sister and the kids, then you were off.

"V and Dante are already off clearing some areas." Nico informs you as she drives you and Nero over to them. "Just be prepared when we get there because they may need your powers, those idiots always get banged up badly all the time." She huffs out some cigarette smoke, keeping focused on the road. "Of course." you reply.

You rest your back against the couch, letting your body get the rest it needs for your upcoming task. You were honestly anxious to be dipping into demon territory but you had faith in the hunters to protect you.

Oh right, V is one of them. You're finally going to meet him again.. Closing your eyes, you smile from excitement. Is he going to remember you? Hopefully he does, you want to get to know him better even if this isn't the best of settings.

After a long bumpy drive, the van finally arrived at a rural area. The buildings weren't as broken down and collapsed as the structures you saw on your way before. The van pulls up to one that had the lights on on the first floor, catching your interest. Guess this was their meetup place or base.

"Alright, here we are." Nico states from her driver seat. "Might wanna show (Y/N) around the base ya know? Get her settled in. I gotta go pick up Shakespeare and Dante real quick." "Yeah yeah I heard ya." Nero replies annoyingly, being woken up from his nap. You both hop out from the van before she skids off into the distance.

Nero shows you the inners of the base, and it was better looking than you thought it was going to be. Of course there was the occasional hole in the wall or floorboards creaking, but it was pretty lively with all the equipment and decor. He even introduced you to two new faces, Lady and Trish. After that was over with, he flopped onto a couch in the living room, immediately falling asleep. Man he must really like sleeping. You sit on another couch parallel to his, patting your hands on your thighs, impatiently awaiting the others. Nervousness takes over your mind, further enhancing your worrying. Will he remember you? Maybe he forgot? Oh god hopefully he wont be annoyed that him and the others are gonna have to protect you. Are you being a bother being here?

As if it wasn't painfully obvious from your loud patting, Lady noticed your sour mood. She goes over and sits next to you, handing you one of two hot chocolates. "Want one? You seem like you really need it." she says with a giggle. "Oh, thank you!" you reply as you gently take the drink from her, staring at the liquid within the glass. "Yeah.. Im just nervous i'm gonna be a bother to you guys since i'm gonna need the be protected.." you spill out with a sad smile. Lady blinks before letting out a small laugh. "You don't need to worry about that! You're fine, we really need you so we don't mind doing a little more fighting for you. We can handle it, trust me." she says with a confident tone. You felt so refreshed hearing her confidence, letting out a sigh. "Thank you, I needed that.."

Lady pats your back, nodding. "Hey, its no problem (Y/N). Besides, can't have you being down if wanna get closer to V." Huh? You blush a bit looking at her with a confused face before she lets out a childish giggle and walks off sipping her drink. Did.. Nico tell everyone about how you got so flustered around V? You were so going to chew her out later.

Some time passes before you hear the creak of a door opening before hearing multiple footsteps. You hear a new voice which you assumed was Dante. They made their way to the door frame to the living room before said male noticed you. "Oh hey you must be (Y/N), our healer!" he strides his way over to you, holding out his hand. "Names Dante. Devil hunter by day, pizza lover by night." he continues with a playful wink. You let out a snort before completing the hand gesture. "Yes that's me, nice to meet you Dante."

"And i hope you remember mine?" a deep voice cuts through the conversation. You recognized it to be him. You turn your head and there he was. V. He has a smirk on his face, walking over to your side on the couch. You stammer up, clutching the edge of your shirt from nervousness and happiness. Nervous hes in front of you again but you're honestly super happy he didn't shove the memory of you out of his head.

"V! Of course I remember you." you reply letting out shy smile. "How can I not? Pretty impossible." He lets out a satisfied "hmm" before heading out of the room. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You were gonna have to eventually not be such a mess around him, you thought to yourself.

Everyone chatted and socialized a bit , later on getting some rest for the next day. As you lay down on the tattered bed in your room, you think to yourself. Tomorrow will be your first mission with the hunters. You'll need to be on your toes or you'll be demon dinner. You're ready for this. Feeling confident, you finally close your eyes and let your body dream.

"Mornin' time (Y/N)! Gotta get up and prepare yourself!" Nico says with a muffled voice behind the door, knocking the door twice before walking away. You groan, stretching your limbs as you yawn. Looking over at the small window tells you that the sun is barely rising. Man they really like to get it done early don't they? After you get dressed, you head down to the dinning room and see V sipping some coffee while reading from a small book and Nico tinkering around with one of her projects. You catch the goths eye and see him smile at you, closing his book in one swift motion.

"Good morning to you (Y/N). Hope you're doing well." him greeting you. "I am, though I am nervous about my first mission.." you scratch the back on your neck, letting out a laugh. He sips again and sets his cup down gently, toying with his cane. "There's no need to worry, rest assured I will protect you." he finished with yet another one of his smirks. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you fidget with your clothing. Jesus this man knows how to make your heart flutter.

Satisfied with your reaction, he makes his way out of the dinning room to the front door. When the door closed behind him, you hear Nico snicker. "V and (Y/N) sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-"

"Nico!" you embarrassingly shouted. She snickered some more and went back to her experimenting. You pinch the bridge of nose while walking over to the cupboards. "I swear you're so childish sometimes.." you say as you let out a pout.

After some breakfast and some pep talk from Nico, you were ready for this. You, Nico, Dante, Nero and V huddled in front of the van, making plans. "Ok so here's how its gonna be today. Since (Y/N) is here with us now, we need to keep more eyes out for those pests. Dante, Nero you can do your thing. V, you're taking (Y/N) alongside you. Not to be rude but since you're weaker compared to the white hair bros, you need her next to you more than them." You look over at her and see her give you a wink before turning back to talk more to V. You're not sure whether to be glad or mad. Mixture of both.

"Well, looks like the stars align for us again." V's sultry voice draws you out of your thoughts. "I-I guess they did." you reply shyly. You felt like such a shy dork around him. He clanked the bottom end of his cane onto the ground with a metallic "clang" and leans on it. "Well, shall we?" he gestures to the rubbled road to the right of you out to danger.

You gulp, but shake your head. No, you shouldn't be scared. You have V by your side. You have to put faith in him.

You nod at him, and proceed to walk towards the area, him pacing himself beside you.

This was it, your first mission. Clenching and stretching your hand makes you pumped. You were gonna help make a difference. Lets just hope you being a flustered mess around this male doesn't make the mission harder. Who are you kidding of course it is.

[girlbattled]

hola m’angels , i’m min ! twenty-two ( aka gettin old ) , from the gmt timezone ( aka will be awake when everyone’s sleeping ) , and i use she/her mainly but i don’t mind anythin else . if anyone happens to wanna go wild with me over anime, robert pattinson / zoe kravitz as batcat, or riot games dropping way too much shit on us on the 10th anniversary pls hop into my ims or give me a little ping over on discord at 𝖓𝖔𝖊𝖑 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓#0252 .

* drum roll pls * i present to you sloane janeway !

underneath the cut is a little bit about my baby gorl. her bio, fun facts, some wanted stuff, etc etc. if you fancy plotting w her it’d be super cool if you liked this or if u came to me, either in my ims or discord ! i’m super down for anything & loan is a total mess so pls throw stuff at me . ♡ ♡ ♡

trigger warnings     :     abuse,  physical  abuse,  neglect,  destructive  behaviours,  alcohol,  drugs,  sex,  overdose.  if  i’ve  missed  any,  please  forgive  me  and  let  me  know.

the new york janeway’s, you’re sure you’ve heard of them before. cyrus janeway, a stockbroker with far too little time on his hands, flanked by estrella janeway, his personal assistant turned life partner. they gave birth not longer after the wedding of the century to their eldest son, their pride and joy, cole janeway. he was to be the golden child, the heir to the estate... that was, until sloane came along.

from birth, sloane was a vicious departure from her family. she was unplanned, unexpected, perhaps unwanted was a stretch but it certainly wouldn’t have been far off the mark. her birth nearly destroyed the reputation the janeway’s had so carefully cultivated for themselves, nobody could quite believe cyrus and estrella would be so stupid, but along she came regardless. a spanner in the cogs.

for the first few years, sloane didn’t feel the difference between herself and cole. whilst he kept his distance, which she had always assumed was because she was five years younger and a girl, she never believed there to be bad blood. she was dressed up in countless fancy dresses, her golden locks repeatedly brushed and subjected to numerous chemical treatments, and even her skin somewhat speckled with makeup even as a toddler. estrella always seemed like she was trying to make up for something. it didn’t take long for sloane to notice.

she began acting out at the age of six, when she realised acting the pretty and perfect princess did not get her what she wanted. when she was quiet, she was ignored, but when she was loud? at least the help scurried to her, at least her nanny cradled her in her arms, at least cole’s personal butler gave her a look full of love rather than scorn. it wasn’t long before she was hanging out in the kitchen rather than the dining hall, the quarters rather than her own room.

as she grew older, however, her acts grew. countless times her mother woke to find her dressing room trashed, her father’s hunting trophies ripped to shreds, her brother’s endless awards from school all in the garbage. they tried to discipline her, cyrus even hit sloane a few times, but all it did was make her angry. instilled a fire within her. when they locked her doors, she climbed out of the window. when they barred her windows, she broke the door into splinters. when they replaced the door, she ripped up the floorboards. sloane was a loose cannon. and things were only about to get worse.

for the most part, she’d kept her nuisances to the confines of her “home”, only wishing to get back at her parents for neglecting her for so long. only one night, when she was fourteen years old and had finished her latest act of malcontent, it was cole who chose to deal with her. he, as a nineteen year old male who’d grown a considerable amount of bulk as star of his college football team, proceeded to beat the shit out of her. 

turns out, the brother she thought had simply never been on her wavelength had never been on the same planet as her at all. he despised sloane. despised everything she was and stood for, and made sure she knew as she was spitting up blood on their pristine carpets. 

the next day, sloane strolled into school. no makeup. joint hanging from her lips. typical upper class attire replaced with torn jeans and a shirt far too inappropriate. when people asked her what had happened, she had simply replied, ‘ you should see the other guy. ’ and birthed a new persona.

sloane’s way of coping with what her brother had done to her, and what her family had allowed him to do, was to fall deep into the cesspits of teenagedom. drugs, sex, alcohol – she’d done it all by the age of eighteen. yet somehow, the part of sloane before, the part that was simply a bratty child with a short fuse, was gone. now she was a danger. she held a wicked grin and too many scrapes to count. she knew no bounds, understood no loyalties, screamed at the top of her lungs as if she were attending the world’s wildest rager. on top of it all, sloane was the maximum party girl. nobody cared what she was going home to, because all they cared about was where she’d be at 1am on a friday night. she became the family wild child. photos of her strewn over the papers. consistent beatings and beratings from the men in her family did nothing to drown out the buzz she received from the attention she’d craved her entire life. sloane was finally getting everything she ever wanted, why did it matter where it was coming from?

as a final resort, her family shipped her off to hollingsworth. here, away from the prying eyes and judgemental glares of the horrid new yorkers, sloane somewhat thrived. forced into economics by her shithead father, but enjoying every test she aced and spat in his face, she fell quickly into gamma rho alpha and, by the time she had finished her freshman year, she was well in line to be vice president. she was still a wreck, still doing anything she could for the attention and limelight she craved, still bouncing off the walls in an attempt to get her desired adrenaline rush, but what little responsibility she’d been given allowed her to finally form connections. friends, best friends, but anything more than that? things like love, compassion, altruism? she wasn’t even sure what those were.

♡     personality.

uncritical. if there’s anything sloane is, it’s uncritical. she’s never held judgement against anyone in her life, and would never hold judgement against anyone who came to her to admit a heinous or strange deed. she’s heard all sorts, from strange sexscapades to near deaths, and to each of them she often has the same reaction – a loud chortle, followed by disbelief and a desire to know way too many details.

venturesome. to try and stop the blonde from heading out on an adventure is a task mortals would find impossible. a true ‘yes girl’, sloane has never been one to say no to anything, and to never back out of something she said yes to, no matter how bizarre or dangerous the situation might become. she’s always first into the fray, first in line of all the girls to beat the burglar up with a hair straightener, first in line into the abandoned building, first to jump off the roof into the pool.

allegiant. whilst sloane’s loyalty is almost as rare as unicorn blood, it’s possible to receive it, and when you do it’s something you’ll never lose. she sticks by those who have managed to put up with her, unable to let them go even when they do her dirty. 

graceless. a. clumsy. bitch. if you’re expecting sloane’s etiquette lessons to have stuck with her, you’re very wrong. the girl trips over her own feet more times than she can count in a day, always has at least something broken, fractured, or sprained, and has certainly won the award in gamma rho alpha for ‘most freak accidents in a single day’.

chaotic. everything about sloane is a nightmare come to life. she drags people down, deep into the depths of places they never thought they’d be, wishes for them to destroy their lives like she’s destroyed hers. to say she loves to see the world burn would be an understatement. she loves starting and watching drama, getting into fights, smashing up homes and belongings, getting into relationships she shouldn’t be in. trying to stop is nigh impossible, the chaos is almost an addiction, and she’s not ready to give it up.

needy. despite it all, she’s still the same girl who was never loved. not truly, not by anyone, and perhaps somewhere deep down she still craves that. she’ll leave you on read for days but god forbid you do the same to her. she’ll have a one night stand and dip right after but never lets her flings leave her life without something to remember her by. she drunk calls the exes she let get away, tells them she loves them and calls them a pussy in the same sentence. no matter how much she tries, she can’t hide the part of her she thinks is ugliest at all, her desire for others.

♡     fun facts.

an avid skateboarder, she picked it up in an attempt to ruin the family image even further when she was fifteen but it stuck in a surprising way. she now tends to ride it over campus, and has broken at least three in her time here.

massive stoner. whilst sloane openly dabbles in most drugs, weed’s the one that’s stuck with her, and it’s the only thing that slows her down. she’s a much nicer person when she smokes and she tends to have a preference for indica over sativa.

fucking bosses her major. economics, despite all its complexities, is something sloane is just naturally adept at. she takes a picture of every grade she gets with her middle finger in front of it, posts it on facebook and tags her father. he blocked her over a year ago.

besides that tho she’s stupid af. a lot of people think she puts it on bc of her grades and bc . . . she does everything for kicks, but no, she’s just kinda ditzy. a lot of people also think she’s just a straight up cheater and hasn’t gotten her grades herself.

nicknames are loan or jane, jane’s reserved for those she’s closest to tho!

♡     wanteds.

fellow  sorority  sisters     0/?     ⟶     self-explanatory! positive, negative, etc etc etc. i wanna plot w all her gals so bad lmao. besties, literal sisters, clothes sharers, secret smokers, party gals, enemies, girls who’ve slept w each other’s exes, all of it bABY.

economics  pal     0/1     ⟶     i’m thinking this person goes to sloane for help with everything and sloane pretty much does all their work for them. she doesn’t care bc it’s easy, and the other person blesses her and thanks her all the time. it’s a quiet agreement, so whilst it’s no secret bc sloane hates keeping them, it’s def hush hush. this person is one of the few who actually believes sloane’s as smart as they say. can also be a business student or smthn with similar classes!

super  soft  bestie     0/1     ⟶     ok so this is male only for a dumb reason i’m rly sorry. i had this plot before where my old muse sloane’s based off had a really sweet, selfless soft pal who was a dude, but they’d never slept together, she’d never even flirted somehow, and he was the one person in sloane’s life who always had her best interests at heart, and she defended him tooth and nail against anybody. the most unlikely duo ever and i want it back. she knew he never wanted anything else from her and that’s why it was so easy for her to attach, but bc this other person deals well with affection and is very reassuring, she never feels needy around them.

people  she  skates  with     0/2     ⟶     people she met down the skatepark or at a typical hangout before meeting them at hollingsworth. when she’s with them she’s pretty chill, though they’ve def been responsible for saving her ass and driving her to the ER a few times.

people  she  smokes  with     1/3     ⟶     oh shit whaddup stoner gang? lmao sorry anyway, yeah, again self-explanatory but! a lil more interesting because sloane’s very different when she’s stoned. she’s calmer, talks slower, and lets people get a word in and doesn’t try and get everyone involved w her hare brained schemes. these people probably actually enjoy her company! how wild?

new  yorkers     0/?     ⟶     sloane’s underwear has been plastered on the front page of most nyc tabloids and she’s the daughter of two massives in the industry, new york natives will know her somewhat. they can use that against her, they can empathize, or we can concoct some real dramatic shit. people who helped her fuck someone up, and now theyre keeping it quiet? someone she slept with who’s come to hollingsworth with their girlfriend/boyfriend? an addict she started on pills? yikes, lots of opportunity tho.

exes     0/2     ⟶     whew boy. we all know by now sloane’s a hot mess, right gang? so let’s see some people she’s messed up in the past. tOTALLY open to more exes and the more crazy the plot u bring me, the better. i lov angst just like anyone else does.

the  one  she  didn’t  ruin     1/1     ⟶     the one person in her life sloane walked away from without destroying, aka, the one she let get away because she realised she was going to harm someone she severely card about. she would’ve ended things with this person rather than pushing their buttons, would’ve been faithful and honest in their relationship, but dipped bc she’d let herself get involved too fast, too soon. definitely a name she’s forbidden her friends from bringing up.

lifeline     1/1     ⟶     let’s be real for a second about drug use, you can do it responsibly, but when you don’t, you can get in some serious fucking trouble. this person has always been there to stop sloane from od’ing. she only does hard drugs at ragers, so her risk is a bit lower than expected, but when she does them she does them. she’s a serious risk, and for some reason this gentle soul has taken it upon themselves to get her stomach pumped, take her home, clean her up, and give her a warm bed to stay in. they don’t speak much away from these nights where she has this vulnerability (she’s definitely mumbled things about her past to them), but that could very well change.

[whycantihavemorethan32characters]

Sweet Child O’ Mine

@just-get-all-the-butterflies

Pairings: Platonic moxiety

Trigger warnings: gun violence, death, blood, gunshot wound, homophobia, angst. Oh so much angst. No happy ending, it’s just sad

AUs: Human AU

Word Count: 2120

   They heard heavy breathing in the distance, Patton immediately perking up and looking through the trees, trying to find the source of the noise. “Virgil! Kiddo! Is that you?!” he called out, desperately hoping for a reply. The others followed suit, yelling until their lungs were about to burst and their vocal chords felt like they could tear in half. It was the middle of the night, Logan having lost his glasses, and Patton not being able to see through his tears, Roman was leading the group, being the eyes for both of them. Luckily, those eyes had 20/20 vision, because he suddenly stopped the group in favor of staring at the ground.

   “What is it? Why did you stop?” Logan’s confused tone echoed through the empty park. “There’s-there’s footprints. I think” He crouched down, and tried to feel for a break in the dirt, or whatever was causing the dark ovular shape on the path. His fingers felt liquid. He hoped and prayed that it was just water. That he had just stuck his hand in a small puddle. But it was sticky, and warm, and half congealed. Water doesn’t usually congeal.

Three hours earlier

   Pride was almost over. It was 8:00 pm sharp, and the boys were about ready to head home. Roman wanted to stay out all night drinking and celebrating...well, himself. However, Logan deemed it unwise, Virgil deemed it unsafe, and Patton was practically falling asleep where he stood. He had been up all night baking rainbow cakes, and pancakes, and cupcakes, and virtually any other thing with the word “cake” in it. After much persuasion, Roman conceded and they started to get back in the car, Roman in shotgun, Logan driving, Virgil and Patton in the backseat.

   “Virgil, are you showing Patton more of that PG-13 music again?” Roman loved to tease Virgil for his music tastes, as if listening to Broadway and Disney 24/7 was normal. “No,” Virgil sneered, “Patton’s pretty much out cold.” Logan began to pull out of his parking space, leaving the festivities behind. “Well that’s good. A proper sleeping schedule is im-” He was cut off by a strange, almost explosion-like sound from far away. “What was that?!” Virgil’s eyes immediately went wide in fear. “Probably just fireworks.” Roman explained it away. “People set them off all the time, it’s fine.”

   “Yeah.” Logan agreed. “Fireworks.” Patton had been woken up by the sound and Virgil was trying to console him, even though he himself was obviously in a state of panic. He was trying to do his breathing exercises and was furiously pulling his sleeve zipper up and down. It was noticeable that Logan was driving just slightly above the speed limit, which he had never done, and vowed never to do. The sound came again, but louder, ergo closer this time. The car in front of them crashed.

11:05

   “Pa-.” Patton heard from what sounded like just a few yards way. Immediately, he started sprinting towards the noise, leaving the other two behind. They ran after him, but halted at the scene before them. Patton was on his knees, leaning over a bleeding Virgil who was breathing much too heavily. Patton looked down at him, sobbing and trying to put pressure on the wound. Virgil grabbed his wrist and made eye contact. He started singing, soft and high, which was unusual seeing as he was always so self conscious about his voice.

   “I did exactly as you said, pa. I held my head up high.” Patton recognized the melody and sang the accompanying part. “I know, I know. You did everything just right.” He sniffled. “But now isn’t the time for Hamilton.” Virgil chuckled, and winced at the discomfort in his torso, “Nah,” he whispered, shaking his head. “More like Guns N’ Roses.” He lifted both their hands and peeked at the bloody bullet wound.

Three hours earlier

   Logan swerved onto the sidewalk, almost crashing the car into a tree, but narrowly avoiding the accident in front of them. They all hopped out of the car to see what was going on. That noise, which had been confirmed to be a gunshot, kept repeating. People were screaming, police sirens were wailing, and the four held onto each other tightly, Patton now fully awake and praying that his friends would be safe, swearing to himself to take a bullet for them if need be. The other three were doing the same.

   “Okay. Um, everyone back in the car. We need to leave, now.” Logan opened Roman’s door and went around to his side. Patton took Virgil by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I need you to try to stay calm, alright? I know it’s scary; I’m scared too. But you need to hold your head up high and get through this, okay?” Virgil nodded, the rest of him convulsing in fear. “Patton, we need to go now! Get in the-”

   A bullet just narrowly missed Roman, nestling itself into the hood of the car. Virgil spooked at the loud noise and danger, immediately bolting in the opposite direction, into a thickly wooded park. Patton screamed his name and ran after him; Logan tried to get out of the car, only to trip in his frantic haze and fall face forward, smashing his glasses and causing his nose to bleed. Roman picked him up and started running with him towards Patton, who was a few yards ahead of them, Virgil just a speck in the distance.

11:13

   Logan covered his mouth, understanding what was going on even though he couldn’t see it. Roman started crying rageful tears, kicking the bushes and trees. “Who? Who did it? Virgil, did you see?!” He yelled into the otherwise vacant woods. “No. He ran past me. Some skinhead with shitty tattoos.” Patton continued to try to comfort him. “Shh, shh. Okay, it’s okay, kiddo. Just keep breathing, And stay awake. You’re gonna be okay.” He took Virgil into his arms, sitting them upright, and getting blood on his clothes and hands. “Liar liar” Virgil started, in between coughs, “pants on fire, Popstar.”

   Roman knelt down next to them and pet Virgil’s hair. “Hold on, hot topic. Just for a little longer. Logan’s calling 911, just stay with us for a little longer. Hold on.” The wounded man smiled. “Aww, you think i’m hot.” Roman smiled back and continued to comfort him. Logan kneeled, trying to pry Virgil from Patton as to see the wound better. “Patton, we need to put pressure on the wound. I need you to let go so I can help.” Patton laid Virgil down on the ground and Logan winced at the state of just Virgil’s shirt, let alone his bare abdomen. Even though it was blurry, he could tell the copious amount of blood was mixed with sand and dirt. He borrowed Patton’s glasses and assessed the situation.

   “Roman, you have a water bottle, right? Or alcohol of some sort? There’s dirt everywhere, and it’s just going to make this worse.” Roman nodded, getting his water bottle and handing it to Logan, who then lifted Virgil’s shirt to see the mess of dirt, sweat, and blood cluttering a gaping bullet wound. “I am by no means a doctor,” Logan began, “but I’m trying to go on common sense here, along with what medical knowledge I may have. And I would suppose that making sure the wound is clean and putting pressure on it would be two very high priorities.” He poured the water over Virgil’s torso, and watched as the muscles squirmed underneath the skin in pain, dirt, sweat, and dried blood giving way to pale skin and fresh, liquid crimson pouring from the lesion.

   “Who has a cloth? Preferably a steril one.” Patton pulled his rainbow beach towel from his tote bag, almost dropping it. “How about this?” Logan nodded, and held out his hand. Patton tossed it with perfect accuracy, and Logan put it on Virgil, pressing down hard. “Just try to breath, Virgil. The ambulance will be here in ten minutes. Deep breaths, please try to regulate your respiratory system.”

Three hours earlier

   The three of them had made it into the small patch of forest, Logan refusing to use his flashlight to conserve battery so they could call someone, and desperately looking for Virgil in the dark. Logan couldn’t see that well and was having to breathe through his mouth, Patton was stumbling over every other root and stone, and Roman was trying to apply what he and Logan remembered from being  boy scouts together, seeing if they could maybe track Virgil, even in the dark.

   To their mutual horror and heartbreak, another gunshot ripped through the air. It came from the forest this time instead of the road. A familiar “Agh” and accompanying groan fell on the group’s ears.“Virgil!” Patton screamed, tripping his way along the crude path towards the sound.

   Meanwhile, Virgil had doubled over in pain at the same spot, now on his knees, crawling in the dark and clutching his side, searching for safety. The adrenaline was still running on high, pumping through his body at an alarming rate, dulling the pain and distracting him from his friends, who he heard shouting in the distance. Eventually, he just slumped up against a tree in a patch of dirt, looking at his blood stained shirt. One of his hands was caked in moist black dirt, and he could see the blood he had left behind where grass and dirt met manufactured sand pathway. As the adrenaline rush dulled, the pain increased, and he groaned, pressing down with both hands at the splitting pain.

11:17

   Virgil was having water bottles pressed to his mouth, forcing him to take in as many fluids as possible. His shirt had been taken off and discarded, and Patton was behind him, holding him and crying. Just six minutes till the ambulance came. His friends were gathered around him, as if they were gathering around his corpse. He had a foreboding feeling, and for whatever reason, this vague emotion set his body and mind back into a state of panic. Death had the vantage point right now, and Virgil started hyperventilating at the thought.

   “Vir-Virgil. Calm down. Regulate your breathing, deep and slow. In for four, hold of seven, out for eight. Patton, please help him calm down.” Patton looked down at Virgil, holding his hand and trying his best to smile and be calming. “Virgil, we need you to breathe. What would help you breathe? Do you want me to sing, like after you have nightmares?” The panic-stricken man nodded, trying to slow his breathing the best he could, squeezing Patton’s hand, holding on for, literally, dear life.

   “Yes? Yes. Okay, I can sing for you. I can do that.” Patton took a deep breath, then started pouring out a soft, sweet melody. “He’s got a smile, it seems to me. Reminds me of childhood” he choked up “memories. Where everything. Was as fresh as the bright blue sky. Now and then when I see his face. He takes me away to that special place. And if I’d stare too long I’d probably break down and cry. Oh, oh, oh, sweet child o’ mine.” He paused and looked down, almost smiling, to see that Virgil’s eyes were closed, and Patton realized that he was no longer squeezing his hand. His face fell.

   “Virgil?” he patted the younger man’s cheek. “Virgil get up, you have to stay awake, remember? Remember you need to be awake until the ambulance gets here. Remember? Virgil?” Logan took one of his arms, and put two fingers against his wrist, then against his neck. Looking at Patton, he let one single tear roll down his cheek, and just stared at his friend. Patton rushed his ear to Virgil’s chest. What followed was the loudest silence to ever pierce his eardrum.

   He stopped breathing. He couldn’t breathe. He just looked into the distance, held Virgil tight in his arms, petting his hair, and rocking them both back and forth, singing all the while. “Oh, oh, oh, sweet child o’ mine.” He repeated the same phrase over and over again. “Oh, oh, oh, sweet child o’ mine.” Sirens sounded in the distance, and they could see flashing lights in their peripheral. “Oh, oh, oh, sweet child o’ mine.” Logan checked his watch. 11:24. The ambulance had taken eleven minutes to arrive.

      “Oh, oh, oh, sweet child o’ mine.”

[wiener-soldiers]

hallelujah (i) - steve trevor

summary: Learning how to steal from a young age, you used this skill to help provide for your family. However, after trying to steal a watch from a certain Air Force Pilot/Spy, he comes to with a proposal.

pairing: Steve Trevor x Fem!Reader

words: 2,080 (whoop im back in the +2k zone)

warnings: stealing (dont steal kids), mentions of drinking

taglist: @sebastianstanfoundmymixtape

a/n: it’s been a while, sorry guys. but we finally have an imagine other than marvel! this is gonna be a mini series, im thinking like three parts. i’ll try to have this series finished before school. remember y’all that imagines are open and so is tagging if you wanna be on the tag list!

I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord.

But you don't really care for music, do you?

Well, it goes like this; the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift.

The baffled king composing: Hallelujah.

You didn't care how dangerous your job was, it was important. Not many people, let alone women, would grow up to become a spy.

However, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), are different from other women.

Before the war broke out, you and your family immigrated from (Y/H/T) to London. In your hometown, you were quite the scholar, despite you being a girl. You learned a lot about science in school, but you also learned how to steal, fight, and survive in the streets.

That's how Steve Trevor found you. Or rather, you found him.

After immigrating to England, your family sacrificed more than you could've ever imagined. Long story short; promises were broken, money was lost, and the landlord evicted your family from your small apartment. Now, both of your parents and your younger brother Jack lived on the dingy top floor to the three story building that housed a bakery that both your parents worked in on the bottom floor. They didn't bring much loot home, only whatever they were tipped, the nearly stale loafs of bread that weren't sold the past three days, and a couple of fruits if they were lucky. They don't even get paid regularly, but the bakery owner assured your family that you could stay on the third floor of their building as long as they worked.

Believe it or not, that was the most generous anyone has been to your family since you've arrived in London.

So, being the scrappy, deceiving girl you were, you sneaked out during the day while your parents were working and your brother was learning to read from some old books you brought from your old house, and during the night while everyone was asleep to steal whatever you could find.

Like today.

After double checking that your parents were asleep in their small room, you tiptoed to your brother who lays on his cot in your shared room. Snuggled in his cheap, ratty sleeping bag, his head pokes out to look at you as  you pull own your long khaki coloured trench coat, thrifted from a thrift shop down the street. Jack was the only person who knows what you do while you sneak out of the house. The first time you brought home goods (a couple of dollars and a pocket watch), your mother had questioned the source. You told her that you were working as a tailor's apprentice.

As you put on a wide brimmed hat to cover your eyes (it was stolen of course), Jack props himself up with his elbows.

"What are you gonna come back with this time?" Jack says with wide, innocent eyes.

You walk closer to him and press a soft kiss on the top of his forehead. You whisper back, "Dunno yet, Jack. I actually got someone's extra change, so maybe I'll get you some more ink so you can practise writing. I might even stop by the pub and flatter some of the lads up and maybe get a few bucks, maybe a watch."

He frowns a bit, "But your coming back, right?"

You smile at him before slipping on some plain black flats, "I always come back, don't I?"

You blow a kiss to Jack one last time before sliding open the window and hopping onto the fire escape. You slide the window shut behind you and you begin to climb down the creaky steps of the fire escape.

After reaching the ground, you head in the direction of the market. During the day, it's filled with vendors selling goods, but at night, it's pub's are filled with people of all ages, very drunk. It's not the safest place for girls, but it was the perfect place to coax a few drinks out of some younger men and pick up some extra cash, or some watches. You walk into your first pub, one of the nicer pubs on the block. The dimly lit pub was filled people of all ages; some seniors having drinks with their friends, couples going on late night dates, and of course, lonely, moping men.

That's how you had met Steve.

He was sitting in a table alone, head hung low while he rolled a glass of whiskey on rocks. Your heart ached for him, as he looked very sad. But you needed the money.

So you approached him.

You slid in the seat in front of him, placing your arms on the table. He doesn't notice you at first, so you decide to speak. "Are you all right?" you ask in a mock British accent. After trial and error, you found that using an accent makes people trust you faster.

The man looks up and you stare in a pair of the bluest eyes you have ever seen. His dirty blonde messily falls on top of his forehead as he moves.

He's very handsome, you note.

The man looks at you, dumbfounded. "Who are you?" he questions.

"Megan Danning. At your service," you blurt out. It was the first fake name that popped into your head.

"Steve, Steve Trevor. What's a pretty dame like you doing in a place like this alone at night?" he inquires while leaning forward.

"Well Mr. Trevor, who ever said I was alone?" you say while smirking slightly. You had silently wished you had applied some of that cheap red lipstick you had stolen from the store on the corner of the block. You rest your hand on top of his and bite your lip. You fiddle with the clasp on the his watch. You manage to unclasp it and you slide it into you coat sleeve without him noticing.

Steve scoffs, but stares you down anyways. "Late night, pretty girl targeting a lonely lad like me, hand on top of mine. You think I'm stupid, but I know what you're doing." He finishes while pulling his hand away from underneath yours. He pulls down his wrist and reveals empty skin where a watch would normally be.

He smirks a little, "My watch please, Megan Danning. But that isn't your name, is it?"

Shit, you think to yourself. No one has caught you before, so you were beyond surprised.

Without warning, you stand up and bolt. Without looking back, you sprint out of the pub. You can't tell if Steve (if that even is his real name) is following or not. Your flats make a little tapping sound as you sprint down the cobblestone streets, trying to avoid cars.

"Hey!" you hear someone call out from behind you. You immediately recognise it as Steve's voice.  

Quickly, you slip into the alley closest to you, hoping that he didn't see you. You slightly peak your head from the wall of the alley that your back is pressed on to see Steve standing a few blocks away in the middle of the street. You watch as he cups his hand around his mouth and lets out a scream.

"I'll find you, Megan Danning! I promise you," he finishes, getting strange looks from passersby.

You furrow your eyebrows and watch him turn around and walk back to the pub. Only after he became out of sight, you slip back onto the road and saunter in the shadows until you reach the house. You silently climb the fire escape, slipping the watch into your coat pocket. Once you reach the third floor, you slide the window open and step inside the room. Jack is still wrapped in his sleeping bag in his corner of the room, but this time he is asleep. You place a kiss on top of his head before stripping yourself from your attire before changing into sleepwear and climbing into bed.

You lay wide awake for what seems like hours, still high on adrenaline. Finally, you succumb to your exhaustion and fall asleep.

When morning came around, you found yourself groggy. You sat up on your ratty cot and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

"Morning (Y/N)," Jack says from the other side of the room. He had put on some trousers and an old blue button up.

"Morning Jacky," you say while rolling out of bed.

"Ma and Pa went down to the bakery already, but the brought up some jam and bread for breakfast." he says before walking out the room, probably to get food.

You find a plain yellow dress made from old fabric. It's the only thing left in your closet so you slip it on along with your flats. You pull your (Y/H/C) in a low ponytail as you walk out of the room into the kitchen.

"I made some toast for you," Jack says.

"Thanks, Jack."

As you munch on the nearly stale bread with the strawberry, Jack finishes his slice and asks, "Did you get anything last night?"

You nearly choke on your bread.

"No, I didn't," you lie. You didn't want your little brother worrying about you.

"That's too bad. Are you going again this afternoon?" The afternoon was usually the time were you would usually go into the market and slip fruits and vegetables into your purse and jacket.

"I don't think so. We still got a little bit of potatoes from yesterday. Besides, I haven't read with in a while."

Jack's mouth goes wide, a smile forming on his face. He leaps up from his seat and hugs you. "That would be nice," he mumbles into you. You laugh at the boy's enthusiasm.

"I'll clean this up, and you go find a book to read." He nods and runs of to the bookshelf in the corner of the room, eyes scanning for a book.

You finish washing up the dishes as Jack already begins to read his book. As you dry the dishes, you hear someone knock on the door. Assuming it's your mother (she makes visits throughout the day) you yell out, "Coming Ma! Just finishing up the dishes." Instead of a reply, the person at the door knocks again.

You sigh but walk to the door anyways and open it. "Sorry Ma, if you were in a rush. I was ju--"

"Hello."

Your eyes widen in utter shock and your jaw drops.

It was Steve.

Steve Trevor.

"(Y/N)? Who's at the door?" you hear Jack say from behind.

Steve smiles a little, "So your name is (Y/N), huh?"

You push him into the hallway and call out, "Jack, stay inside."

You slam the door shut and spin to face Steve. "How do you know where I live? Did you follow me home? If you like your watch so much, I'll give it back to you. Just, don't hurt my brother."

Steve furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head rapidly, "No, no! You got it all wrong. I'm not here to hurt anyone! You can keep the watch, you probably need it more than I do." he says while gesturing to you.

You scoff, "Excuse me?! What's that supposed to mean?!"

His eyes widen, "Nothing! That's not the point. The point is, I have a proposal."

"I don't care about your damn proposal! Is your name really Steve Trevor? How do you know where I live!?"

"Listen, I'm Captain Steve Trevor of  the United States Air Force."

"Then what are you doing in London? I don't know if you've noticed, but a war is about to break out."

"That's why I'm here. They sent me here as a spy for the British, that's how I found out where you lived. They needed all the help they could get."

"So?!" you screech. "That doesn't explain why you're at my house."

"Like I said, they need all the help they can get. That's where you come in."

"Huh?"

"You're really skilled. You almost sneaked away with my watch last night without me noticing. We could really use someone like you, they'd never see it coming."

You cross your arms, "What's in it for me?"

"Security for your family when the war breaks out, a stable job and income, serving your country, y'know, the whole nine yards."

"One request, though."

"Huh?"

"I have one request, and I'll do it."

"Your not really in the position to request anythi--"

"Put my brother in school. Not a bad one, a private one. He deserves an education."

Steve inhales deeply, "I'll see what I can do."

You smile a little, "Great."

Steve smiles slightly and sticks his hand out to shake, "Let's try that introduction again. Steve Trevor."

You smile back and shake his hand, "(Y/N) (Y/L/N). Nice to meet you."

That's when it all began.

[xxaliencuddlesxx]

The walking dead - Together

Hey, this is my first post and its about Carl Grimes x Reader.

You wake up to the sound of the door being shoved open, your heart is pounding and you have a headache you wipe your eyes even though your'e wide awake the window is cracked open a little so the chilling wind of Feburary tickles your neck, you sneak of the bed hoping not to make any noise, you grab your knife and pistol (which is beside a half empty water bottle) off of the nightstand beside you

You peer open the door and your eyes instantly locks onto one man coming up the stairs, you quickly ditch under the queen size bed you were just sleeping in

The man is talking to two other people downstairs "I bet you i'm gonna find at least one water bottle up here" "Ive already found one, you better pay up" from a distance another man yells, your heart is still racing but you've cooled your breath to a minimum

The door to the room your in swings open as the man searches for any supplies that are hidden, he's wearing dark brown boots that have been stained with more than just dirt, there's blood on his boots, as his feet slowly walk up to the nightstand he grabs the half-empty waterbottle that you had been drinking before, he instantly yells to the men downstairs "guess who found water!" "This guy" he walks away downstairs to the other men

You stop holding your breath and get up from under the bed, you quickly but silently grab your backpack that was underneath the bed and go out the door into the hall, the wallpaper is stained and peeling of wall, you look for a way out and see a window toward the front, you remember there is a roof just outside, you hop out the window with no hesatation and drop down off the roof

To your surprise there was a man on the porch, he agressively yells to the other's "GUY'S, WE HAVE A VISITOR" while he is yelling he is scrambling over to you, you try to run but he grabs you by the arm and pulls you towards the house, you get loose and try to run but you fall to the ground because your feet slipped on the gravel road, when you fell you slamed your head on the ground and you slowly black out

You wake up and your head hurts even more than it did before you're tied up and on a hard wooden chair, there are 3 men infront of you, the leader steps forward and says in a raspy voice "So darlin, what's your name?" "Dont have one" you snap back "Well you gotta have a name, maybe we can come up with one" He says in a patient but strict tone "Dont want one" you quietly partake "Fine i'll just call you Baby then" he vouchers "I aint your Baby" You snap "You are now" He aggresivly says as he waves the other two men out of the room, when they leave he says "Now what to do with you"

He walks to a table in the corner of the room, you're in a bedroom downstairs, you remember the furniture, he grabs a knife that has a leather handle with grooves to fit your fingers the blade is long and sharp, he plays with the knife while he slowly walks towards you, when he reaches the edge of the chair your sitting on he croutches down to meet your eyes and says "Now I know"

As he breaths those words your heart is pounding as fast as a speeding bullet but you try to act cool, when he finishes his sentance he plundges his knife into your Left thigh, you scream in pain and try not to cry but you do, he doesnt just stop there he drags the blade and cuts you flesh all the way down to your knee, he then stops get's up and leaves closing the door behind him

Your still badly hurt but work through the pain, you bend over to try and pick up the knife that is still in your thigh with your teeth, you know its going to hurt and your already bleeding alot but its worth it, you successfully pull the knife out wimpering while you do, you then cut the binds of rope on your left hand and then your right, you do the same for your ankles, you try to stand up but fall to the ground, you are determined, you pick yourself up and limp towards some drawers in hope to find some bandages, you find a towel and cling wrap in the desk drawer, you bandage your wound then crawl out the window on the right wall

You drop down and put all your weight on the right leg, you try limping for the woods to lose them there but one of they guys catch up to you and trys to take you down but you move ut of the way and grab his guy while hes down, you shoot him in the head without hesitation, the other two guy's run out but you shoot them, the one guy you shot in the shoulder then the head and the last guy got a head shot

The leader finally comes out and says "Okay i give up" you see him with his hands up slowly walking towards you, you try and shoot him but the pistol has no ammo, he pulls out his gun from his holster and shoots you in the hip, you fall crashing to the ground in even more pain than you were before, he's standing above you with his gun pointed at your face, "Do it" you whimper out confidently

BANG

The man Crashes to the ground beside you and you look up to see who shot him but before you could your vision goes blurry and you pass out

You wake up in a room with bright lights, you look down at your leg and see it has been bandaged, same goes for the bullet wound, your eyes then adjust to the light and you can see your in what looks to be a hospital of some sort, your laying on a bed and out of adrenaline you jump to your feet limping over to your backpack and you pull out a Colt M1911, a young boy around your age walks into the room with a plater of food, you point your gun and yell "Where am I" the boy responds "This is Alexandria, its a community" "How did i get here?" you ask "I found you, and brought you back" he replies calmingly "What's your name" You ask "Carl Grimes, what's yours" Carl answer's

"Im (Y/N)"

[jodounzebulon]

My Real Deer Story

By Jedi Foun Sive

----- Any and all names and locations have been changed or screened out. If you happen to know who I am please keep it to yourself. Thank you. -----

I had been riding a bicycle to and from work all year. An eight-mile round trip, opening the store around 4 A.M. five-six days a week. After a hot and humid summer, the ride had gotten to be a breeze even over all the hills. On Oct. 13th while leisurely riding along I made the four-mile ride to work in roughly 12 minutes, and thought to myself, “Oh damn, I wasn’t even trying, I could probably make that ride in 10 minutes!”, I then spent the rest of the day bragging about my time and how I was going to beat it! I had to stay late so I just rode home at my normal pace, 12 hours on my feet had left me exhausted. As I got to my home hill I hopped off my bike and walked it to the top sweating, and eager for a shower.  

2:45 AM Oct 14th, 2014

I go through my morning rituals but leave all the haste out of my actions. “If I can leave just a little late today that’s all the more motivation to make this ride in just ten minutes”, I tell myself as I futz around for a bit longer. Several minutes before I must leave, I grab my backpack, and march down stairs to get my bike from the garage. I remember I’d gotten in trouble several days before with my grandmother. She was worried because I’d ride through the early morning darkness without a light of any kind. It had never been anything I’d been worried about, but I bought a light for my bikes handle bars and I’d remembered to grab my blaze orange hunting beanie which also had a light. Affixing and turning them both on let me light up my drive way with its trees claustrophobically reaching from my left and the open yard to my right.  

Wheeling out onto the road, I steadied myself for a hard ride. I checked my watch, 3:48 A.M., it was time. I started powering downhill with all my might. It was exceptionally steep with a slight hump around the middle and over a quarter mile long. It ended with a sharp turn south at its base to get to my work. I could knock off a whole quarter mile easy by just pushing as hard as I could to get it out of the way. I could feel the wind stinging my eyes at the corners, and my legs pumping below me. I’m unsure of how fast I managed to go, but I am a pretty big guy, and I had been riding all year, whatever speed I was going it was too much for me to react more than a slight jerking of the handle bars to the left, as I reached the bottom of the hill and a Deer came careening into my right side.  

I remember quite vividly his head went under my leg and I was thrown leftwards, the bike ripped out of my hand as it traveled away from me. I wasn’t aware of my spinning, but my right hip hit the ground first dragging on the road. With the next roll my forehead slammed the asphalt and grew warm, I pulled my arms up defensively and with the next roll my major joints began taking the remaining hits and slowing me down. As I came to a stop I thought, “Are You F@#$!ng Kidding Me!”, then the pain washed over me. The lights on my bike and beanie had gone out. I lay in the dark swearing for several moments, screaming obscenities into the night, until I heard something breathing over my left shoulder. It was right there next to me. I’d seen the videos and pictures, I knew what kind of damage those hooves could do. I would be damned if I’d be on the ground when he got up!

I rolled onto my stomach, everything in me protesting any movement at all. Pushing myself to my feet I realized I couldn’t put any weight on my left leg. It didn’t matter, if he got up, I was going to be ready, I pulled out my pocket knife. My eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the darkness as I began backing away from the grey form on the road. I was lucky that morning, when the deer began making a sound I’d only heard when they had been hit by cars. Hearing that grotesque flopping and scraping sound of the deer struggling to get up for about a minute set my mind at ease and killed the flow of adrenaline pumping through me. The pain renewed as I placed my knife back in my pocket and realized I’m no longer wearing my backpack. Limping in the dark I managed to find it and retrieve my phone. I dial my then roommate.  

Ringing... answered.

<Me> Ted... (pained breathing)

<Ted> (barely audible mumble) What.

<Me> I need you to come and get me from the bottom... of the hill... (more pained breathing, and scrabbling sounds)

<Ted> Okay –Click-

-Several minutes later-

As I see the lights at the top of the hill pull out of our driveway, they flash down the hill and the deer began desperately dragging itself to the tree line, the truck approaches much too quickly down the hill and comes to a screeching halt as Ted swings open his door exclaiming, “What the hell was that!”. Seeing me awash in the headlights covered in road rash, blood, and dirt, disheveled and limping towards the truck with my back pack clutched in one hand my phone in the other. Ted steps to the edge of the road to get a better look at the deer now laying in the brush exhausted from trying to escape after our collision and now dragging itself into the woods about 15 feet. “Did you hit a deer?!?!”, he asks, I pull myself into the passenger seat of the truck as Ted spots my bike a ways down the road, he returns with it and places it into the bed of the truck. Hopping into the driver's seat he asks, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”, I replied with a shaky, “yeah”, and we made our way back up the hill to wake my sleeping niece since she couldn’t be left home alone. As we descend the hill on the way to the hospital Ted suggests I let my boss know I won't be coming in to work today.  

Ringing... answered.

<Boss> (barely audible mumble) hello

<Me> (pained breathing) Boss you have to open the store I got hit by a deer and I'm going to the hospital.

<Boss> (still not really understanding) You what? Ok, I’ll head in then.  

<Me> Thanks Boss. -Click  

Thankfully a new hospital had been built not too far from our home just a couple years earlier, and the ride was short, “Do you need any help in?” Ted asked. Feeling a little more in control of my faculties and able to grit my teeth to the pain I said, “Nah I got it, but we may want to call the wardens and check out that deer, it may have broken it’s neck.” I open the door and ease myself onto the sidewalk of the emergency entrance. After I close the door Ted drives away and I limp into the hospital where the woman behind the counter was seemingly unconcerned by my appearance and posture. Looking up from her reading material for a moment she pointed and said, “Take one of those and fill it out someone will be with you shortly”, she then returned to her magazine. Filling out the card I sat down and had a moment to come to grips with the situation. I began drilling myself for memory to be sure I hadn’t sustained a concussion in the fall.  

After several hours of doctors and nurses poking and prodding me and finding and treating the sore spots and road rash. I was sent into a room to get some images of my knee which was pained with each movement. While I was laying on the table, I found myself explaining my circumstances for the first time at length to someone that morning. He reacted differently, more human. He said, “So maybe not today or tomorrow, but give it about a week and this’ll be about the funniest story you’ve ever told!”, and right then I cracked up. I love a good joke and I take life's hits as they come, and I remembered the humor to be found in such a ludicrous situation. I found out not long after that Ted had called the wardens and they determined that the deer would not have survived due to its injuries. To save it a slow death by exposure he terminated it, and let Ted keep the animal. It was gutted and at the butchers by the time I made it home a couple hours later.  

I’ve told this story countless times since then. There is a little more I’m leaving out for another time. It has been added to my repertoire of stories I can tell of my life that no one else can say they have done, I became known as the Deer Slayer after that, and most hear the tale and think I’m full of it. I really couldn’t care less what they believe. I was there I felt the road, the pain. I was approached several days later by a neighbor on that road who had cleaned away my blood, so the kids wouldn’t get curious, or worse some coyotes or something coming to our neck of the woods sniffing for trouble. This is the story I chose to start this off. I hope to add more regularly, as I have lived an eventful 28 years. Given the nature of human memory I will never say that my recollections are 100% accurate, but I will try to recall them as accurately as I am able.  

May the Force Be with You.

[glorykrp]

SHOWING RESULTS FOR: ZEN.

✩ Im Sungho                            ✩ December 25th, 1995      ✩ Los Angeles, USA                 ✩ HEX

LATEST RESULTS ON THE TOPIC.

Im Seungho – Artist Profile. Zen is HEX’s main rapper. He trained for 3.5 years prior to debut.

HEX “SOLARIS” Music Video – Youtube. Feb. 18, 2015. Watch the official music video for HEX’s debut song.

HEX’s Zen Releases Song For Time Machine II OST – Naver. ❬ +2,988; -194 ❭ Sungho-yah, Charm are always cheering you on!

RELATED SEARCHES.

» Nebula Silver          » HEXAGON Album          » Zen OST

PERSONAL LIFE.

tw: car accidents

sungho’s four years old when he realizes he wants to be a star.

born in the heart of l.a to a family of four (followed by two more), sungho grew up loved. at first everyone cheers him on when he tells them his aspirations. ‘it’s just a dream,’ they tell themselves afterwards, ‘he’ll get over it and become something more respectable.’ his dad thinks maybe an accountant like him. his mom thinks maybe a doctor like her. his older brother laughs when he tells him and ruffles his hair playfully. ‘i’ll support you no matter what you do, sunghoie.’

his family moves (back) to seoul when he’s eight. his dad takes the fall for a company-wide scandal and his life as an accountant is quickly over and a cloud of dread settles over the household (although sungho would be first to admit he doesn’t understand it much, but as long as he gets to meet his vastly mentioned grandmother in the new country, he doesn’t think it matters). he’s enrolled into a new school and it takes a little while but eventually he makes friends and settles into the new way of things. he starts off singing (although badly) for his sick grandmother, and learning the piano from a fellow neighbour. soon after, the im’s lose the eldest to cancer and sungho mourns. he soon switches out to rapping as time passes and listens more to american music. (in order to preserve his comprehension of the language, his older siblings try to keep their conversations solely in english for most of his life).

he’s fifteen when the accident happens.

it only takes one distracted moment and a truck spiraling out of the way before he’s lost his older brother for good. he’s out for days and awakens to numbing pain and suffering to come, tears and loud cries surrounding him from the rest of his family and sungho’s heart shatters. it takes six months before he feels like he can breathe again and even then he feels like he’s walking on eggshells, blame easy to let consume his heart. he drinks, he fights, he smokes — he’s a walking nightmare. he surrounds himself with the toxicity he thinks he deserves and slowly numbs the pain with things he finds don’t help in the long run, he’s stuck.

it takes a while for him to get back in what he loves, finding an old recording of him on his brother’s laptop and after a few days of tearful memories, his resolution to try again hits him. he doesn’t burden his parents by asking for lessons — money is tight and they already sacrifice enough of their own needs to get by. it takes a while, falling in and out of bad crowds for a few months until he finds friends with the same interests and thanks to his cousin, starts rapping in the underground scene whenever he can tag along him. the spotlight leaves him awake at night, adrenaline still seemingly pumping through his veins six hours after he’s come home from a show.

he’s an ordinary guy and quickly finds himself enthralled with the idea of fame — (anything to keep himself distracted).

his parents are disappointed when he gets scouted a little later but worn down by the life they’ve been given, let him go, hoping he finds his path. sungho works himself to his bones during the day, and goes back to his dorm room to write lyrics through the night until he passes out at his desk, pencil still in hand. he focuses on his rap, his skill and delivery and dancing, leaving singing to the bottom feat of rehearsals. there’s days when he’s ready to give up and then there’s days he’s so excited he can’t sleep, waiting in agony for the date of his debut to arrive.

and then suddenly, it does.

‘i made it,’ he tells the stars every night before bed. ‘i did it, hyung.’

STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES.

singing: at first, sungho’s singing style was something he didn’t work on developing although people have muttered the existence of something that could become a skill if he worked on fleshing it out. but other than belting out a tune at a norebang, sungho was overall uninterested in singing. deep down, he just thinks he won’t ever be good enough to let his singing do the talking until one day, everyone takes a chance. it’s intense vocals training for a while and although not so confident, next he knows, he’s featuring his singing voice on tracks and tacking a (small) ‘vocal’ to his profile. he’s still got a long way to go.

dancing: he started off rather sloppy but sungho devoted his a lot of his trainee time to discovering how far he can push himself in improving his dancing. he’s a little slow at first in getting into the groove of things but once he gets the hang of it, he usually catches on fast and memorizes moves easily. although he’ll admit it’s still tricky and struggles often (dancing’s not at all his speciality) he’s come a long way and isn’t too bad of a dancer now.

rapping: sungho’s devoted his a lot of his trainee time to discovering how far he can push himself in improving his rap delivery, hip hop grows to be sungho’s entire life. from his childhood days to growing up listening to n.w.a, eminem, and later kanye and drake, he’s always trying to keep up with the hottest trends. he works at bettering his lyrics and improving his rap flow although he’ll be the first to admit he falls into ruts often when it comes to his lyrics and he often works himself to the point his throat hurts.

2017 INTERVIEW.

“you know the moment you’re sure you’re stuck in a dream and you just want to slap yourself hard and see if you’ll wake up? it’s like that, being on stage and knowing all those fans are screaming your name, giving you their love and support. scary sure, having so many people counting on you but it’s liking flying while your feet are still planted on the floor. all you know is all those hours, days, weeks spent in the studio and practice rooms come down to these precious moments. then, when it’s over and you come down from the high and realize it’s again time to sweat buckets and move till your body’s past the brink of exhaustion while your throat is screaming with this unquenchable thirst that won’t go away — you know you’ll do it all again if it means you’ll be back up there with another chance to shine. for a performer, being onstage is like being home. there’s no place else you would rather be.”

to sungho, the idol life is the only life worth living — constantly training to get better in all areas and working on music that (hopefully) may one day see the light. although it can get difficult in terms of keeping relationships/friendships outside of the long hours of idol life and sometimes wanting some peace and quiet away from the limelight, not to mention constantly missing his family, sungho’s sure he wouldn’t change it for the world. he dedicates each and everyday to his brother, keeping him in his heart as a muse.