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bluemerakis · 20 days ago

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┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ nothing left to lose ❞

⤷ Word count: 5.2k

It’s that time of the month (yippeee) and my hormones are all over the place. And then I found this gif and I just need this man to hold me this way because I feel like it could solve a world crisis. Thank you.

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WARNINGS:

Cussing, fluff, mentions of reader on her period, tame cutesie stuff

SYNOPSIS:

It had been another fairly quiet day as you lounged about the Sanctuary, your mood only dampened by the first day of your period. You were perfectly content to dwell in your bed and rot away for the remainder of the week, not so eager to do much else when the twisting and contracting of your stomach was so prominent, but those plans are set awry when Negan makes a stop at your room with his usual request for a good time.

When you enlighten him on your situation, he decides he’d like to stay regardless and indulge in your company, revealing a side to him you weren’t aware he had.

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It had been roughly a month since a group of saviours had scavenged you from your pathetic life of living off the woods. You’d been practically half-starved when the saviours had found you, a pitiful amalgamation of skin and bones that served no purpose other than to earn their ridicule. They’d have put you down and served you up as walker deterrent for their borders had it not been for one of the men recognising your face.

You’d been tracking the Sanctuary’s dealings for quite some time then, successfully managing to map out their routines and planning sparse trips to steal a few supplies from the pick up points. You’d had a few close calls, but even then you were like a goddamn shadow, in and out quicker than a blink. The men had never managed to catch you—up until that day, at least. The man had insisted you be dragged back to the Sanctuary, where Negan would hear of your actions and decide the best manner to make you atone for them.

Much to everybody’s surprise, though, he’d been oddly impressed with your skill—despite it being a massive leech on their supplies. His anger was more directed at the inability for his men to contain your posed threat, especially since you were no more than ‘a ghost of a woman’. You’d decided to ignore the implied misogyny in his words, instead focusing on the relief in his decision to spare your life—tied to the condition that you become his wife, of course. You’d reluctantly obliged, acutely aware of how the title would come to violate your own morals at some point, but he’d promised good treatment and up until now, he’d been nothing but true to his word.

The murmur of a light rain trailed through the crack of your partially opened window, infusing the atmosphere of your dim room with a further sense of serenity. You were curled up between the sheets of your bed, lounging on your aching stomach as you paged through your book of the week—a one thousand-paged hardcover on the tragedy of wars. It didn’t play into your usual tastes—it was far from it, actually, but there were so few options available that you couldn’t afford to be picky. It was amazing, really, what things you could convince yourself to indulge in when you were burdened with nothing but free time.

When you’d decidedly punished your stomach—and your mind—enough, you sluggishly rolled onto your side with a groan, flipping the book closed in the process. You didn’t think you could endure another mention of forced cannibalism, and you were only two hundred-odd pages into the historical hell. You doubted you’d find the strength to power through this pick, never having been much of a history fan to begin with.

Your back was turned on the book now, and there it stayed out of sight and out of mind as your eyes fluttered closed around a pressing series of cramps. You instinctively tucked into the foetal position, as though it would somehow lovingly cradle your stomach cramps and encourage it to ease off its painful hold. When the sensation didn’t budge, you opted for resting your eyes, allowing darkness to consume you as you fried to focus on the pattering of the rain against your window. In a way, nature had always been a mother, the rain her very own gentle lullaby that encouraged warmth and a long, peaceful sleep. You’d never get tired of that particular song.

A string of impatient knocks booted your door. You’d barely managed to open your eyes and give permission to enter before you heard the wood creek open, heavy footsteps striking the floor for only a few moments before silence re-emerged. Your head remained pressed against your pillow, your eyes squinting against the dim air as you managed to make out the tall figure of Simon. His arms were crossed against his chest as he glared at you motionlessly through the haze. You didn’t offer the courtesy of sitting up to greet him, which is as much as he’d offered by not waiting for your answer at the door.

“What?” You demanded, the echo of your voice damped by the downfall of rain.

“You know what,” Simon answered bluntly with that coarse annoyance edging his tone. “I don’t make a habit of visiting you for fun. If I’m here, it’s cause Negan’s in the mood for your goods.”

“God,” you groaned, finally lifting your head to properly glare at Simon. “Don’t ever say that again.” You settled for turning onto your back, your head upturned to face the white ceiling. There was a brief moment of silence before you sighed and said, “tell Negan that I’ll be unavailable for the next week.”

“Unavailable?” Simon echoed with a scoff. “You got some other plans we don’t know about?”

“Just my period, dipshit,” you responded thinly before lifting your hand in a shooing gesture. “Now scoot.”

Much to your dismay, Simon’s footsteps seemed to grow closer instead of further, and moments later his silhouette appeared at the foot of your bed. You felt a spark of annoyance at his insistence—the blood that quite literally poured from your insides left you little patience for social interactions.

“You think a little blood’s gonna deter Negan?” The man asked you, his tone mocking at the idea that you could be so stupid. “You’ve seen the guy, he can’t go a single day without that shit smeared all over him. Matters little to him how the blood is obtained—you know?”

You did. Murder and women, the two things Negan couldn’t absolutely ever have his fill of. But you also knew that you’d never been the one to frolic around while on your period, a fact that Negan would have to make peace with. Not only did you find it unappealing, but needlessly messy, too, and you’d rather not spend the aftermath of it all wringing your sheets out. No, your answer was final.

“You’re ruining my peace,” you told Simon pointedly, your eyes still studying the beams that reached between the walls of your room and upheld your pointed ceiling. When he didn’t seem to falter from his position, you sat yourself up with a huff, your fingers clutching your propped up knees. “Tell Negan that I politely decline his request—that is, if you have the balls to. Clearly you’ve got some reservations since you’re still loitering in my room after my many invitations for you to take your leave.”

Simon ignored your jest, running his hand across his hair to tame rogue strands. “He ain’t gon’ take nicely to your answer, sweetheart,” he said.

The pet name made your stomach curl beyond the cramps. “He’ll get over it when he gets on-top of the next wife.”

“Nah,” the man disagreed, rubbing a hand across his moustache. “You know he’s got some special obsession with you. You’ve been here for what—less than a month? Yet you’ve already left quite a mark on the boss-man.” He paused as his gaze lowered across you. “Can’t say I get the charm beyond your beckoning tits and ass.”

You glowered at his crudeness. “Gross, Simon. This is why you’re going to die alone, and the only hint of action you’ll ever experience is the caress of that explosion of bad taste stuck beneath your nose.”

Simon looked briefly offended by your dig at his stash, his jaw evidently clenched around his reckless temper, but he didn’t dare to unleash his fist or tongue. One of the few perks of being Negan’s wife was that you were awarded the opportunities to condescend his men time and time again, yet they were completely helpless in returning the sentiment—that is if they wanted to remain in goodwill at Negan’s side as opposed to being plastered along Lucille’s length.

“I’ll let Negan know,” was all that Simon offered before he departed your room, clearly eager to preserve what little dignity he had left. He made a point to slam the door behind him, which only made you chuckle.

Oh men and their fragile egos.

You could hardly believe they’d been made to rule the earth when their entire masculinity could so easily collapse at their rejected cock. You eased yourself back against the mattress, unable to help the faint smirk spread across your lips as your eyes fluttered closed once more. You were prepared for your second attempt at a nap, the rain growing progressively louder beyond a light drizzle. You remembered seeing the swath of grey clouds stretched across the horizon like an impending doom when you’d opened your windows this morning. It seemed that they’d finally arrived to deliver their promise of a heavy downpour.

It wasn’t long before the hum of the rain became distorted by your amassing fatigue, sleep arriving hastily to claim what remnants of your consciousness remained. You had surrendered all control, so eager to melt into the peaceful expanse of black where you could leave behind your mortal pain. You’d barely been gifted half an hour of that haven before Negan’s voice tethered you and withdrew you from the dark breaches of your mind, your eyes flickering open. You hadn’t even even heard him enter the bedroom.

“Holdin’ up there, sweetheart?”

The second greeting of his presence came at the menacing outline of Lucille, remarkably propped along his broad shoulder as he idled a few steps from the foot of your bed. You drew a clumsy palm across your tired eyes, attempting to chase away the drowsiness that clung heavily to your lids.

“Did something get lost in translation?” You managed to say, your voice slightly abraded by grogginess.

“Not the warm greeting a man expects to hear from his wife after a long and shit-filled day,” Negan said with a sultry gruffness, moving to take up a seat beside your torso.

The mattress dipped beside you, prompting you to turn your head and glance at him. “I’m sure one of the other girls can pick up my slack,” you suggested bluntly.

Your disinterest only seemed to earn that all-knowing smirk from Negan. “Goddammit, woman, you’ve got balls,” he remarked though that wide grin, his head slightly cocked to properly glimpse your face. He lowered Lucille from his shoulder, his hands propping onto the hilt as he planted the bat against the ground and leaned his weight onto it. “And that’s exactly why you’re my favourite wife. Hell, you even got me to walk the extra mile just to come and see you.”

“Not on purpose,” you sighed dejectedly, your eyes wandering along the glinting folds of his leather jacket. He did look good in that jacket—not that you’d ever milk his ego by admitting it. “If Simon truly had the nerve to refer my answer, you’d know that coming here was a waste of time. You’re going to have to fill your blood quota elsewhere.”

“Ah, come on,” he drawled, his gaze unrelenting through those darn hypnotising eyes of his. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but ain’t a good poking of the colons a great way to relieve some of the pain?” He asked pointedly. “In other words, you ought to let me fuck those asshole cramps right outta you. What’s a little blood, anyways?”

At that statement, you couldn’t help the flit of your eyes toward Lucille, the object always so menacing even when benched on the sidelines. You dragged your attention back to Negan’s expectant expression with a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t care what you get off on, Negan,” you told him. “Have your bloody fill of it anywhere else, but not here. I said no, and I meant it.”

You half expected him to further knead at the angle he was currently working, eventually wearing you down to a state that could almost be called consent—what more could you expect from a sadistic, murderous fanatic? A sudden cramp displaced that particular trail of thought, causing you to discreetly tense your lower half, inside of your lip taken into bite as an instinctual coping mechanism.

Negan’s head tilted back slightly with a trace of a chuckle, his tongue then poking through to glide along his lower lip as he gazed at you through narrowly thoughtful eyes. “All right,” he relented—much to your surprise. Had somebody knocked Negan out cold on the way here and taken his place? “If you’re going to deny my very eager balls a pleasurable time, the least you can do is entertain me with a conversation.”

You challenged the weight of his stare—ever so flirtatious regardless of the circumstances. “You’ve literally enslaved an entire selection of women,” you pointed out crassly. “Go bother one of them instead.”

“Enslaved?” He repeated, his eyebrows perched on a look of incredulity. “I didn’t enslave any one of those women. I’m a fair man—I believe in free will and I always honour my word. I weigh the options, I offer a choice—” he lifted one hand to gesture to himself, “—and they made their choice.”

“After you coerced them,” you said around a thick yawn, blinking away the moisture along your eyes as you focused your growing alertness on him. You sat yourself up with a muffled grunt, ignoring the sharp pains that struck your stomach with the movements. “You’re not a democrat. You’re just a bully with an unhealthy attachment to a bat. It’s like Negan’s version of Bonnie and Clyde.”

Negan fixated you with a long look, his expression ever so unrelenting on what thoughts were passing through that tainted mind of his. “You’ve got an awful lotta spunk for somebody actin’ like she’s on her deathbed,” he deflected, a short moment of silence following shortly after. “What about you—girl who knows what she wants and doesn’t take shit from the next gapin’ asshole?”

“What about me?”

“Did I coerce you, too?” He inquired huskily, his eyes narrowing in an almost dare for you to answer honestly.

You hadn’t ever needed much convincing to speak your mind. “Absolutely,” you answered simply, then paused before adding, “have you honestly managed to convince yourself that either one of your wives want to be here?” Your head was slightly tilted out of sheer curiosity, amazed at how painfully naive he appeared to be—for once.

Negan’s lips were spread thin with a smirk, parting as he said, “I appreciate your honesty. Although I’d be lying if I said I ain’t a tad bit hurt.”

A severe cramp seized your stomach, causing you to throw your face into your pillow. “Oh, you don’t know hurt, Negan,” you groaned. “If you truly had the capacity to feel, please be so kind as to spare me your company so that I can rot away in peace.”

He straightened up from the Lucille’s prop, his expression becoming inquisitive. “All right, I’ll leave,” he eased off, attention dropping to his lap, where he carefully rested the bat and stroked suggestively at her barbwire-infused wooden length. “And I guess I’ll be takin’ these with me,” he added, one hand dipping into his leather jacket to pull out a small, plastic cylinder labelled ibuprofen.

Your eyes practically bulged at the offering. Pain medication was strictly reserved for post-surgical cases and the physically wounded—those marred by gunshot wounds, blades, or even brute fists—you name it. That was Negan’s self-imposed rule. In this dying world, pain medication certainly wasn’t a medical luxury extended to lesser problems like a woman’s period pains—despite the entire gender technically being a victim of the repeated assault of severe period cramps. For at least a week of every month. For at least five decades of their lives.

“The fuck?” You murmured, hand reaching for the medication as though needing to feel it’s physical form to believe it’s existence.

Negan plucked it out of reach with a shit-eating grin. “You want it?” He taunted, propping his elbow onto his knee as he rattled the container between his fingers.

Your hand hesitated mid-air, expression becoming bleary as you hesitantly asked, “what’s it gonna cost me?”

“Question of the century,” he answered vaguely, intense stare beating down on you. He looked almost scheming, and that wasn’t a strange mask to wear—not for Negan Smith. But for once, his actions surprised you in a way that wasn’t coupled by repulsion. “Y’know, you’re a pain in my ass, ‘cause I can’t help but have a soft spot for girls like you—all feisty and opinionated and sure as hell ready to give my big balls a real good talking to.” The hand which clutched the medication gravitated toward you, offering it up without the tether of debt. “On the house, since I’m the boss man around here callin’ all the big, bloody shots.”

Your eyes narrowed cautiously, your hand slowly reaching to acquire your personal saving grace. You half expected Negan to yank it away as a feat of ridicule, but his hand remained steadfast, his expression eerily intense as he overlooked your internal war with a light undertone of amusement quirking the corner of his lips.

“Ya want it, or not?”

You took it from his grasp, bringing it closer to examine the legitimacy of the label. “I’m the only thorn in your foot because everybody else is scared of you,” you said distractedly, eyes then flickering from the medication to meet his idling stare.

Negan adjusted his torso to appear taller, Lucille slipping between his thighs to prod the floor under his guiding grip. “But not you,” he reaffirmed.

“I used to be.”

“Yeah?” He husked, eyes narrowed interestedly, tongue momentarily poking through his grin—as it so often did. “The hell’s changed? Real world toughen you up? Ya got a pair o’ steel down there now?”

You brushed aside his snark. “Nothing’s changed, really,” you admitted, attention drifting as you popped open the lid of the container. “But I’ve got nothing left to lose, and the worst you could do is make jam out of my brains.” You dispensed a tablet into your palm, then clicked the lid closed. “But you won’t,” you stated, meeting his gaze boldly.

Negan’s head tilted with a far too entertained air. “Why’s that?”

“Same reason you’re here. I’m your favourite wife, apparently—and what’s a man like you to do without his wife? You might just implode without a place to stick it,” you jabbed. “I’m always the one you come running to with all your shit—god knows why.”

“I gotta say, that’s mighty cocky of you,” he drawled through a grin, hand moving to whisk across his bearded jaw. “And that’s comin’ from me.”

You offered him the ibuprofen, a ghost of a cheeky-lipped grin setting in. “Force of habit when I’m obliged to be at your side every other hour of the day. Honestly, you only have yourself to blame.”

His grin widened, eyes leering you over before dipping to the container you re-offered him. “Nah,” he murmured. “Keep it. And not a word ‘bout it—I ain’t got time for ants up my ass when the other gals get wind of the shit I ain’t doin’ for them.”

“That supposed to make me feel special?” You jested. “Or just a threat?”

Negan’s lip hitched with a smirk—silent ambiguity, and reached a hand into his pocket to procure a fresh orange, bottled water and a packet of chips—your favourite chips. “That shit’ll put ya in a grave on an empty stomach,” he averted, chin jutting to the pill in your palm. He leaned over to place the snacks on the bedside table, offering you a sidelong glance. “I know your panties get all hot for this stale sack of shit,” he said, beckoning to your chips, then added, “and the orange will keep up that energy of yours—y’know, boost the spirit and fuel that friskiness o’ yours.”

You scowled indignantly as he took a swipe at your taste in chips. “Those aren’t my favourite chips,” you lied defensively, moving to place the pill beside your newly acquired snacks. “It’s practically the only brand that’s left in the midst of this dying world—so none of us can afford to be picky, can we?”

Honestly, you’d have to admit it to yourself that the chips being spared even in the midst of the apocalypse didn’t bode well for your case, but why go down without a meaningless fight?

Negan chuckled all-knowingly, settling Lucille onto the ground before he leaned his elbow onto the mattress beside you and brought his lips into the proximity of your face. “Tasteless or not, I’m willin’ to bet my dick that you’ll be back asking for more,” he murmured, hazel eyes glazed with that bedroom sex-haze as he delicately searched between your eyes.

Your attention flickered between him and the flashy, grit teeth poking through the lips you’d tasted countless times, his words so open-ended for interpretation—because Negan Smith loved playing games. “Are we still talking about the chips?” You asked softly, eyebrow hitched expectantly.

“We can talk about whatever you goddamn want,” he grumbled huskily, lips making an advance for yours, but you brought your hand up to press an index finger into the divot of his chin.

“I told you,” you began, “not happening—not today. So, off you scamper to the next wife for a good tickle.”

“Cut that crap,” Negan chided levelly, then reached for your hand and pried it from his chin. “The others can wait, let’s just get you up and runnin’ because it’s been a goddamn buzzkill on my dick.”

“Oh, how terrible for you,” you sniped, brows furrowing at his nerve.

He seized your hand in a tight grip to place a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes narrowed around an intense gaze as he maintained eye contact throughout the gesture. You fought the urge to yank your hand free out of spite. Once his lips retracted from your skin, he tucked your hand between your bodies as he leant down to place a kiss on your forehead instead. It was a rather gentle touch—the most intimate one he’s ever bestowed on you, but it didn’t linger long before he pulled back and released your hand.

“Jesus, burnin’ up all for me?” He remarked, pressing the backside of his fingers to your forehead before they caressed the expanse and moved to push back the loose strands of hair that cascaded around your view. “You’re hot as shit.”

“I am, thank you,” you said suggestively, adding more earnestly, “it happens sometimes—I think my body is literally trying to kill me.”

He pulled back his hand from your hair, finger trailing down the angle of your jaw before he withdrew his touch entirely. “Yeah, well, you’re tough as nails, so tell the biological bitch to dial it down a notch.”

“Duly noted,” you murmured, reaching for the orange atop the bedside stand, your attention deliberately downturned to the fruit in clutch as you began to peel it while simultaneously reflecting on the situation presented before you.

You were thankful for the medication, but it felt odd to hold a sense of gratitude for a man like Negan, and you had not the slightest idea on how to handle the foreign phenomenon. Even a month ago, when he’d quite literally plucked you from death’s claws, there was no gratitude to behold—his motives in sparing you had always been selfish. But this instance? This was an action you thought beyond his emotional capacity. You’d thought his better conscious had been so far lost to a history of bad and reckless decisions that there was not a slither of DNA left still capable of holding regard for others—but this action alone prompted you to reconsider that notion. After all, he owed you nothing, and you owed him everything, yet it was him that had come to settle.

A manipulative tactic? Possibly. You weren’t all that naive to allow this instance alone to so easily sway your opinion on him. He was still of questionable character—and that moral debate could ricochet for an endless amount of hours. You spared yourself the turmoil and brought yourself to it, lifting your head to meet his stare once more. He’d been watching you enigmatically, without his usual running commentary to fill the void—it felt uncomfortable to have a silence so long settle between the two of you.

You decided to settle for a simple, “thanks, by the way,” as you set aside the discarded orange peels and began to thumb at the centre to separate the slices. “For the medication,” you clarified, popping a slice into your mouth. The first bite was an explosion of sultry sweetness, a true pleasure to behold.

Negan gave somewhat of an accomplished smirk. “I got ya,” he answered, his gaze lingering incoherently on you before he blinked away the haze and straightened himself from the bed with a grunt. “Take a hot bath—” he suggested, hoisting up Lucille from her position on the ground, “—hopefully that Lady Uterus o’ yours will let loose for a bit.”

He strung the bat across his shoulder—the rightful queen atop her throne, and turned to begin his amble toward the door.

“Are you going to draw it for me?” You asked him hopefully, which made him halt and partially turn his torso to face you.

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “What’re you, ten?” He jested.

“If only,” you retorted wistfully. “The only stomach ache ten year old me ever got was because of one too many bags of chips.” You caught yourself at the mention of chips, then felt the need to clarify, “the good kind, not these ones.”

Negan lips spread with amusement. “What a goddamn time to be alive,” he stated.

“I’ll say,” you murmured, then turned your attention back to your diminishing orange. “Anyway, if you’re done bothering me now, I’ll draw that bath.”

“Damn, I stick my neck out for you and I don’t even get to stay for the show?”

“You’re always getting a show,” you retorted. “Let a girl have some alone time, for once. Besides, there’s no such thing as you sticking your neck out, seeing as you’re the one usually holding the guillotine.”

Negan chuckled, his eyes holding a mischievous glint. “Touché,” was all he offered. “I’ll draw you that bath.”

You perked with surprise, the last orange slice popped between your lips. “Only enough water for one,” you mumbled around the sweet, stringy flesh, brows lifted with implication. “Just in case you were getting any ideas.”

“Oh, I got ideas,” he hummed, scheming grin on his lips. “The meds I got ya? On the house. This? This’ll cost ya a little something. And once you’re feeling right as rain, I’ll come and collect.”

You gave a slight flicker of your eyes. “Okay, tax man,” you said, reaching for the bottled water and pill. “Whatever Negan wants.”

“Atta girl,” he praised, hand raised to point an index finger in your direction. “Now you’re startin’ to sound like a commendable wife—almost enough to make good ol’ Lucille here jealous.”

“Leave your weird bat out of this,” you said before splitting open the seam of the sealed bottle and taking an eager swig at the liquid. You popped the pill into your mouth shortly after and gave a hard swallow, your expression furrowing in disgust when it momentarily lodged itself against your tongue with the kiss of a bitter tang. After another gulp of water, it slid down uninterrupted.

“Somebody’s parched,” Negan remarked. “Never seen you take my seed that eagerly.”

You gave him a hearty middle finger, to which he scoffed amusedly and disappeared a short distance into your offside en-suite. “How hot?” He called back to you. “Three quarters to the hottest?”

“Sounds right,” you called back to him. “And add the bath oils, too!”

“Useless shit.”

“Let a girl indulge, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, settling against the mattress while you listened to the sound of the drawing bath. You noted the calm of the weather beyond the window, where a barely perceptible drizzle thrummed down gently.

It wasn’t long before Negan reappeared at your side, Lucille carefully discarded onto the foot of the bed before he inched his way onto the mattress and you felt his frame curl around your backside. Heat radiated from his body and flushed your back with a sense of comfort, his lips then finding the nape of your neck. He pressed a kiss there, his hand gently curling around your abdomen, as though he knew to take precaution around your sensitive area.

You shifted your neck away from his teasing lips, casting him a glance over your shoulder. “Why are you doing this?” You felt compelled to ask—this tender facade of his was disconcerting.

Negan’s held your stare levelly. “You’re my wife,” he stated simply. “A real man takes care of his wife.”

“Yeah, but that’s not real,” you said. “None of this is real—it’s all a made up, a twisted way for you to pass time. Us wives? We’re nothing but entertainment to you—so why all this effort?”

There was a brief pause from his side before he answered you with a sense of solemnity that you’d never truly seen him possess. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” He asked. “Hell, I know what desperation feels like. She’s a stone cold bitch, and you were nothin’ more than a husk of a person when we picked you up in those woods. You’re a fighter—death ain’t got a fuckin’ lead on you. I mean, shit, that deserves some respect—and I give that only where it’s due. So, call it respect, call it whatever you’d like, but just take the goddamn win, won’t ya?”

You listened intently, an emotion of something other than annoyance settling within your chest at his somewhat glorified image of you. For the first time ever, you didn’t know how to respond. It was easy to strike back when most of the conversation shared between the two of you was shallow, bitter banter, but as of this moment, this situation-ship was starting to feel as though the foundation was being built on something other than debt, and that thought was daunting.

“Bath should be drawn by now,” you said eventually, settling your head back into the pillow, glad to displace the view of Negan’s face.

The hand at your abdomen slid away as he lifted himself up with a grunt of effort. “Then you best go and dip your toes,” he said.

You took a moment to heave a breath before rolling over and sitting yourself up from the bed, to which Negan stepped a pace back to allow you the room to stand up. You straightened from the mattress that had held you captive for the entirety of the morning, offering Negan a long stare, who returned it with a grin that felt as though your thoughts were transparent to him.

You shouldn’t, but you wanted to. Fuck it, you would—you’d said it yourself, nothing left to lose, right? You brushed past him and hoisted a beckoning hand over your shoulder, followed by a sparse, cheeky glance.

“Come with me,” you told him.

“I like the sound of that,” Negan chuckled, trailing after you with a confident charisma. “Looks like I’m gettin’ that show after all.”

“Shut up about it.”

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Tags: @bohemianblasphemy @violent-darkness @gibson-g1rl

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stevieswhore · 1 year ago

Text

lavender haze

word count: 1.2k words

think *reader, steve, and eddie are three best friends who are way too touchy to be just friends, and getting high just makes it so much worse...* (aka, steddie shotgun session)

content warnings: getting high & makin out w steddie

you lay in between steve and eddie, taking a drag from the joint, and holding the smoke in your mouth for a beat before exhaling slowly.

“princess, let me try something..” eddie says, gesturing for you to hand him the blunt as he sits up some.

you look up at him, and feel steve do the same, from his head's place on your chest, with his arm lazily wrapped around you. steve got extra touchy when he was high but you didn’t mind in the slightest.

eddie inhales slowly, while keeping eye contact with you. he motions you forward with his fingers and you quickly catch onto his goal.

you smile and sit up a little, to meet his lips. he holds your cheek and slowly lets the smoke past his lips and into your mouth. you hold it in your mouth and smile at him with heavy eyes.

“mm.. good girl- now give pretty boy a taste..” eddie mumbles with a smirk, jutting his chin up.

your eyes widen slightly as you look down at steve. he's completely out of it but still manages a loopy smile as he gazes up at you. you smile and grab his face, pulling him into you.

his eyes are wide as you press your lips to his and slowly blow the smoke into his mouth. he holds it for a bit before abruptly bursting into a coughing fit, making you giggle as you kiss his temple.

eddie passes you the water bottle to hand to him. steve slowly drinks from it before burrowing his face into your neck.

“good job baby..” you mumble, kissing his hand as he intertwines your fingers.

“alright hey- it was my idea..” eddie teases, rolling his eyes. you look up at him and giggle, making him smile. “cmere eds..” you breathe.

he leans down and kisses you slowly. you feel steve kiss your neck softly and smile. when you pull away from the kiss, you lay down again as eddie cuddles into your side after putting out the joint.

“my boys..” you slur, with a sleepy smile. you feel steve hum against you as eddie smirks again.

“mm.. imagine if nancy n rob caught wind of this one..” he laughs. “i would never hear the end of it..” you groan. steve giggles softly, and hugs you tighter.

“stevie.. let’s go put our pajamas on.. b’fore you fall asleep..” you say gently. “too tired..” he slurs against your neck. you sigh and sit up slightly, so he has to move his head. he groans and finally looks at you with his puppy eyes.

“cmon baby..” you whisper, pushing his hair out of his eyes. he nods and starts to stand up, stumbling in the process. you smile and sit up to help him, feeling eddie’s hand fall down your back as you stand.

the three of you are in steve’s house, so it's easy to find a sleep shirt and sweatpants for all of you.

“here eds..” you say softly, tossing him some pajamas. “thank you princess.” he says with a smile, as he takes his shirt off to start changing.

steve stumbles again and you catch him. “alright.. m gonna help you ok?” you say, looking at his sleepy red eyes. he nods slowly and lets you lift up his polo.

you pull on his sleep shirt and kiss his lips quickly, making him smile. you help him step out of his pants and giggle as he trips a little. you then help him step into his pajama pants, as he holds onto your shoulder to steady himself. you smile when he's successfully dressed.

“there we go..” you coo, kissing him one more time. he smiles against your lips and falls onto the bed, pulling you with him. you giggle and fall on top of him, deepening the kiss a little.

“oh you guys are cute..” eddie teases, only half joking. steve looks up at him and smiles dopily. you kiss his jaw quickly and just watch the two boys have their little stare off.

“why don’t you come down here munson..” steve speaks after a moment, his voice raspy from all the smoke.

oh.

eddie looks taken aback but quickly collects himself with a smirk before moving down to the end of the bed with the two of you.

“what’re you gettin' at, harrington?” he smirks, dangerously close to steve’s face. you just continue to watch as steve pulls him down into a harsh kiss. your eyes widen as you quickly get off of steve, so that eddie could have a better hold of him.

you watch the two makeout sloppily for a little before pushing your hands through eddie’s hair. “alright boys.. now i’m feelin a little left out..” you giggle. eddie is the the first to pull away, to look at you, leaving steve to chase his lips with his own red swollen ones.

eddie looks down at steve again and smirks.

“not bad pretty boy..” he teases. “mm..” steve hums, pulling him back into another kiss. you giggle as they move up the bed a little and eddie pulls you with them.

eddie kisses you passionately and runs his hands up and down you body. you glance down at steve who is just watching you makeout in complete awe.

“baby..” you coo, turning your head to kiss him slowly. he kisses you back hungrily and whimpers softly.

“harrrington you’re so cute when you’re all touchy like this..” eddie says softly, only a hint of teasing in his voice. steve moans softly and intertwines his fingers with eddie’s.

“dy'wanna kiss him?” you ask softly, already knowing the answer. “yeah- yes- please..” he breathes quickly. you turn both of their heads to face each other and look down at them as they smile at each other. “cmere..” eddie whispers, pulling steve in for yet another kiss.

you let them makeout for minutes on end until you both can tell steve is about to pass out from exhaustion.

“alright pretty boy.. time for bed.” eddie breathes, pulling away. steve pouts with those damn puppy eyes and eddie almost gives in, leaning in to give him another quick kiss. then eddie looks up at you as he sits up.

“princess.. go put on some pjs.. can't have you sleeping in that..” he says softly. you nod and kiss him quickly before getting up.

you throw on a big t-shirt and head back into bed after washing your face in steve's bathroom.

eddie is running his hands through steve’s hair as he dozes off and you smile. “aw.. my boys..” you coo, settling in between them. steve shifts slightly until he is comfortable again as eddie wraps his arm around you.

“pass me the water eds..” you whisper softly. he takes a sip and then hands the bottle to you. “stevie.. one more thing before you fall asleep. drink a little water..” you say so softly. he groans into your neck.

“baby c'mon.. please..” you say again. he slowly looks up at you and opens his mouth. you giggle and pour it slowly into his mouth, letting him swallow before pouring some more.

once he's had enough, you pass the bottle back to eddie with a kiss.

“goodnight sweetheart..” he whispers to you. “night baby..” you mumble with a smile.

“g'night pretty boy.” eddie says over you, to steve, reaching over to nudge him softly. “hmm.” steve groans.

eddie winks at you and lays back down. “night stevie..” you whisper, kissing his temple.

he's out.

eddie turns out the light and you quickly pass out in their arms.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #steddie #steddie x reader #stranger things #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson x reader #steve x eddie x reader #bestfriend!steve x reader #bestfriend!eddie x reader

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xuchiya · 4 months ago

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"CHAPTER TWO: Love Language Activated" || kim hongjoong || [a mini-series]

| genre: non!idol hongjoong. ceo! reader. angst. fluff. slice of life | mentions: different language. Korean (Hangul). Tagalog. unfair treatment. love language list

When the sun sips in between the cold dark room, Hongjoong snores away the sleepiness, an evidence of a drool going down the side of his lips as his cheeks were mashed between his underpillow and the pillow on top of his head. The sound of the alarm blaring yet it only goes on his deaf sleepy ears as he mumbles incoherent words as he shifts and turns around on his previous position before drifting off to sleep again.

The door of his bedroom burst open, banging loudly against the wall and the tall figure—similar features of Hongjoong is breathing rather angrily, hair all over as if he just woke up; well it does look like he just woke up as he is still in his pajamas and the bed sheet prints were on his face. As Bumjoong marches towards the nightstand where the alarm clock was screaming,he smacks the alarm clock off.

“Yah! You are late for your interview paboya!” and yanks the blanket away from Hongjoong. He manages to successfully wake him up. He groggily sat up, yawning and staring off into space before he realised that his older brother was still glaring at him, “Hyung, what’s wrong?”

Bumjoong rolled his eyes, tossing the blanket to his face, walking towards the door, “You’re late!” His voice trails into the distance as he returns to his room, Hongjoong still dazed and confused from his sleep that it took a while for him to understand what his brother told him and when it processed in his head, his entire body jolted in panic as his head whipped towards his alarm.

7:15am

Hongjoong scrambles out of his bed, only to tangle his feet on his blanket. He yelped as he fell on the floor with a loud thud before he finally sent himself free and rushed towards his bathroom and started getting ready.

The kitchen is peaceful. Their mom— Hyerin cooks breakfast for her eldest as he chews delightly on his kimchi fried rice whilst his dad— Won-Chul reads the newspaper, sipping on his first coffee in the morning. It is calm with the sound of the sizzling egg on the pan and the coffee maker grinding until crash sounds from the entrance of the kitchen and the sound of their cat crying loudly as Hongjoong stomps on her tail.

“Sorry Byul! Morning eomma, morning appa!” As if on instinct, his mom raises her arm to take the sugar from the top shelf as she flips the egg and Hongjoong hurriedly takes the sugar as he pours himself a cup of coffee. His dad slid the tissue box across the table when Hongjoong spun to take the milk from the fridge, bumping his cup of coffee. Hongjoong yelps, again, and pulls after pulls on the tissue as he wipes it off the table.

Below the table is a floor mat that catches the spilled coffee. Hongjoong cried and took another glass and drank the milk instead. Bumjoong yawns, as he finishes his bowl and places them on the sink. Pulling his mom for a quick kiss on top of her head, “Bye eomma!” He hugs his dad, “See ya’ later pops!” He took his keys from the hook, taking his sweet time knowing he knew what was coming.

“Hyung, please drive me to my work! Please please please!” On queue after he finishes putting on his shoes, Hongjoong slides next to him as he rubs his hand together, pleading. Bumjoong doesn’t need to be told twice as he knew it would take another 30 minutes for the next bus to come and Hongjoong would be late or worse, won’t make it in his interview.

He took his bag and swung it over his shoulder, Hongjoong felt his stomach churning as the thought of not getting the job because of his tardiness (although it’s his fault for staying up late to finish his project) and not being able to accomplish his task. To get a financially stable job. To help out his parents.

Bumjoong look at his sulking brother, laughing quietly as he reaches over and ruffle his hair, “Come on, I’ll be late to my work too.”

You were inside your office, reading through a stack of resumes from applicants eager to fill positions within the company. Each one represented a hopeful individual aiming to secure a spot in a department they aspired to join. Significantly, you had an opening for those who wished to work as administrative support, a role that required both versatility and meticulous attention to detail.

As you reviewed the candidates' qualifications, you found yourself methodically sorting through their experiences and skill sets, comparing them against the needs of the team. Some resumes were impressive, boasting years of experience and glowing references, while others showed potential but lacked the polish you were looking for.

“Ma’am, someone is here for the interview.” You look up, to see one of the employees across your office announce. You nodded, smiling at them, “Please tell them to get ready in 15 minutes. I have to finish this one first.”

They nodded, bowing, “Yes ma’am.” before closing the door. When you finally settled the stack, only one resume remained. This one was for the position of secretary or assistant. As you picked it up, the name at the top caught your attention— Kim Hongjoong. You scanned the document, taking in the details of his background, head tilting to the side in curiosity.

Hongjoong was a relatively young candidate based on the two by two picture attached at the far left corner, but his resume reflected a surprising depth of experience for someone of his age. He had a strong educational background, with a degree in business administration, and had completed several internships at well-known firms. His skill set was broad, ranging from advanced proficiency in office software to fluency in both Korean and Japanese, though there was no mention of English nor Tagalog, a language commonly used by your visitors and alliance members.

What stood out most, however, was the impression of his adaptability and willingness to learn. Despite having only a few years of professional experience, Hongjoong had already worked in fast-paced environments that require quick thinking and effective communication. His references described him as diligent, resourceful, and unafraid to take on challenges—qualities that were essential for the role you were looking to fill.

As you read through his resume, you couldn't help but notice his youthful enthusiasm mixed with a sense of responsibility. His application was neatly organized, with every section thoughtfully laid out, reflecting a mind that appreciated order and efficiency. Though he lacked extensive experience as a secretary, his determination to succeed and his eagerness to grow in the role were evident.

Hongjoong seemed like someone who could bring fresh energy to the office, someone who might still have a lot to learn but who had the potential to become an indispensable part of the team. You nodded subconsciously, your finger hovering on the call button to ring up your staff who is responsible for the list of interviewees.

“Please send him in.” If you were gonna be honest, being a secretary has multiple tasks. On the contrary, the skills and adaptability with smooth performance are top requirements.It is not an easy job to be a secretary as they do the outside jobs of chief executive officers, to help them sort out their schedules and what or who wants to collaborate with the company, etc. It is a challenging role that only few apply for the role yet did not reach the standard.

“Ma’am he is here.” As you watch the person thank your staff with a stiff bow, you take in their appearance and almost chuckle. You took in his well-iron white polo with a midnight blue tie although you were not expecting the art-design black pants and his high sole converse shoes.

You stood up as he reached the end of your table, you stuck out your hand giving him a small smile, “Hello sir, please take a seat.” He shakes your hand, surprisingly firm yet gentle. You both sat down, clearing your throat as you eyed him, “Well, let me first introduce myself.”

“I am Kang Ae-Cha, the chief executive officer of Treasure. Do not worry too much about your details here in the resume, I want you to be honest with yourself and why you want to be part of this corporation and take this position.”

The man’s world seemed to crash down the moment you started speaking the same language as the organizer outside. Out of instinct, he switched to Japanese, and to his relief, the organizer understood and nodded in response.

It was only a matter of time before he gathered the courage to speak, exhaling the anxiety from his chest. He straightened his posture, giving himself a mental pep talk, simple and scripted, before clearing his throat and greeting you with a polite smile. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Kim Hongjoong.”

To say the least, you were utterly drained. The day had dragged on with a handful of interviews, and now the sun had dipped below the horizon. Most of your employees had clocked out and were leaving the premises, chatting with coworkers about dinner plans and sharing stories about their day. Meanwhile, you were left alone, once again. You were busy typing up reports and emails when a knock on your office door interrupted your thoughts.

The door opened slightly, and a familiar face peeked in. You smiled and sighed softly, “Hello, Yunho.”

“You seem occupied again, ma’am,” Yunho remarked as he entered the room. He’d been your bodyguard for a year now. It was amusing how he ended up applying for this job—he had initially mistaken your company for a gaming organization recruiting esports players. He had shown up dressed in a simple shirt and pants, with worn-out Adidas shoes.

You vividly remembered the moment when his invisible puppy ears seemed to droop when you explained the mix-up. He had confessed, eventually realizing it on the spot, that he had been scammed by an online recruiter, who convinced him to pay a hundred dollars for a profile and other miscellaneous, promising him a spot on an esports team.

To make up for his mistake, he offered to be your driver. Although you initially rejected the idea, not wanting him to feel bad, it was clear he had thought long and hard about his decision to move to the big city. He had driven all the way here in his grandfather’s beat-up old truck, determined to help his grandmother by finding work.

In the end, you both decided that he would be your bodyguard—and your driver when you clocked out. He made a habit of visiting your office whenever the clock struck thirty past the hour, bringing you dinner. It wasn’t part of his job, but it was his way of showing gratitude for the kindness you had shown him and his family. Of course, you were both stubborn; he protected you, and you cared for him in return.

“Have you eaten, ma’am?” Yunho asked, placing a plastic bag on the makeshift dinner table by your side. You shook your head, still engrossed in your iPad as you reviewed employee reports on potential hires and rejections.

The scent of ramyeon soon filled the air, pulling you away from your work. You settled into your chair, placing the iPad aside, and thanked Yunho for the food. Just as you were about to pick up your chopsticks, Yunho playfully smacked your hand. You yelped, glaring at him.

“It’s way past working hours, and it’s time to eat. If you don’t, I’ll feed you that iPad instead. Now go wash your hands.” That was the thing about Yunho—he was a gentleman and sweet, but beneath that, he had a playful side that he didn’t show to many. You pouted but complied, washing your hands before returning to your meal.

When you came back, Yunho smiled, handing you your chopsticks. You playfully rolled your eyes and began digging into the food. It had been a long time since someone treated you with such care and warmth. You were thankful for your former secretary, who had brought Yunho into your life, adding a spark to your otherwise lonely days.

Ever since then, Yunho had looked after you—not just as your bodyguard, but as how he looked after his cousins.

“So, how were the interviews? Did you find anyone suitable for the secretary position?” Yunho asked, biting into a piece of Korean beef.

You sighed, taking a sip of your drink before picking up your iPad again. “Honestly, today was hectic. I’ve never seen so many applicants, not even during last year’s hiring round. But some of them were talented—they’ve really worked hard to get where they are.”

Yunho nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “It is expected as there are more fresh graduates today than last year's rate. It’s quite tense to be honest but I’m curious, what about the secretary?”

You paused as you scrolled through the digital copies of the resumes. You stopped at Hongjoong’s profile, his face bringing you back to the one-on-one interview earlier. You remembered watching him struggle to speak in English until you switched to a language he preferred to use, to help him out. It was your father’s language, Korean, one that you rarely used because of your mother’s dislike for it.

“Oh, is he the new one?” Yunho’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You hummed in response. “He does fit all the criteria…”

Yunho glanced at you, sensing your hesitation. “But?”

“But he can’t speak English well. If he struggles with the language, he might not last long in this role, especially since it’s crucial for communicating with most of our clients.” Yunho could see the dilemma written all over your face—it was a tough spot, as speaking English was a key requirement for the position.

“But despite that, he fits in. There’s nothing more you need to worry about.” Yunho watched as you bit your lip, deep in thought. He reached over and gently patted your head. “Ma’am, remember how you helped Mrs. Monreal when she could barely type a sentence in under a minute?”

“Or when Samantha barely knows how to use the typewriter but when you step in and give her advice and tutorials? Now that thing, it’s like a computer to her!” You chuckled, playfully smacking his hand away, and Yunho laughed along with you.

“Or when you offer me a hand to expand my knowledge in technology by letting me study for a year.” You look up at Yunho, his eyes filled with sincerity. You sigh, looking down.

“My point is, you never leave your people behind. You do whatever it takes to help them become the best version of themselves. So, taking Hongjoong in won’t be a problem for you.”

His words resonated with you, and suddenly, everything seemed to make sense.

Hongjoong had been working with you for three months now, officially becoming your new secretary, and though new to the role, he carried out his tasks as if he’d been doing them for years which you find impressive as he did live up to what he wrote in his resume. Days passed in a routine of paperwork and administrative duties when you received a phone call from Jackson Wang, your other alliance, about the collaboration with the next project to launch next year.

“Okay, okay, we’ll meet at the Silver Light,” you agreed, rolling your eyes even though Jackson couldn’t see it. You balanced your phone between your ear and shoulder while gathering the project documents spread across your desk. “Jackson, it’s 10 in the morning. Are you seriously planning to be drunk during working hours?”

He chuckled on the other end as you zipped up your bag, slipping your phone back into your hand. As you exited your office, a few employees passed by with polite greetings, and you returned them with a nod, heading toward Hongjoong’s office.

You knocked on his door, muting your call. “Hongjoong, I’m meeting Mr. Wang at the Silver Light, just down the street.”

Hongjoong stood up immediately, smoothing the dark blue suit he wore so perfectly, his polished black leather shoes catching the light. He reached for his notepad and iPad, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“No, no, Hongjoong. No need to come. It’s just a quick meeting one block away.”

“But ma’am, I should be present at your meetings,” he insisted, his tone professional but concerned. You chuckled, leaning against the doorframe.

“I know, but this is just a casual meetup.” You lowered your voice playfully, covering your mouth as if sharing a secret. “Besides, Jackson probably just wants to ask me out.”

Hongjoong laughed along with you, though the laughter was tinged with a hint of reluctance. He nodded, bowing slightly. “Of course. Please be safe, ma’am.”

You smiled, unmuting your call as you walked away, your heart skipping a beat at his words. It wasn’t unusual for your employees to express concern, but why did it feel different coming from him? You shook off the thought and resumed your conversation with Jackson as you pressed the elevator button.

Everything seemed to be running smoothly, but the quick meeting with Jackson stretched into hours as he elaborated on his ideas. Eventually, you had to call Hongjoong.

“I’m not sure what time I’ll be back, but let me know if there are any urgent meetings or if someone from the board is looking for me,” you said softly into the phone.

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll keep you updated,” Hongjoong replied, placing the phone back on its holder as soon as you hung up. To him, the day’s work was nearly done; in just three hours, he had completed everything and organized it neatly on your desk, ready for your signature.

It was all running smoothly—until a visitor arrived at the office.

A staff member knocked on his door with a concerned look. “Hey Hongjoong, is Ma’am Kang here yet?” Hongjoong noticed the slight panic in their voice. Though he didn’t catch every word, the mention of your last name and the staff’s anxious demeanor made it clear they were looking for you.

Rising slowly from his seat, he walked over to the staff member and shook his head. The staff sighed in frustration, muttering, “Oh god, this is bad,” before quickly walking away. Hongjoong frowned, watching them leave, but then returned to his desk to review the papers he had just finished, checking for any errors.

A few minutes later, muffled voices and the sound of hurried footsteps on the carpeted floor reached his ears. Hongjoong looked up from his work as a voice echoed through his quiet room.

“Huh … So it’s true the old lady retired. Good. What’s your name, ijo?” He was not expecting a person would barge in his office, despite the protest of the staff but they were ignored by the person and also the visitor spoke in Tagalog, a language Hongjoong didn’t understand. Anxiety welled up inside him, but he knew he had to handle the situation. Instinctively, he reached for his phone to seek help, but a company rule flashed in his mind: No using phones during work hours. He was instantly frozen as his hand hovered over his handphone.

The visitor, clearly frustrated by Hongjoong’s silence, began speaking louder, his tone harsh and impatient, startling Hongjoong. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying? How can you work here and not know even the basics? For heaven sake, this is the Philippines as much as possible, learn the language and not only limited to one! This is why you people don’t get far. You don’t bother to learn.”

Despite not understanding their words, Hongjoong felt his face flush with embarrassment as the visitor continued to lecture him, not just for a few minutes, but for nearly two hours. His coworkers passed by, some pausing to watch the scene unfold, their eyes filled with pity. But no one intervened. The visitor’s words stung, each one a reminder of the language barrier that separated Hongjoong from fully integrating into the workplace. “You’re in a professional setting, and you can’t even communicate properly. How do you expect to succeed? And, you’re the new secretary?! Himala, what was your CEO even thinking?! This is unacceptable!”

“S-Sir please …”

“Silence! You are working here and should know the rules and requirements! You don’t just apply here, this is no longer school or something to just enroll and expect to learn how to speak! One, single mistake can make your entire career here vanish!”

Hongjoong stood there, his hands clenched at his sides, his mind racing but unable to form a response. He had never felt so humiliated, so exposed in front of everyone in the company. His coworkers exchanged glances, some murmuring to each other, but the office atmosphere remained tense, with no one daring to step in.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the visitor huffed in exasperation and turned to leave, muttering something under his breath. Hongjoong remained rooted to the spot, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling of shame, the weight of the experience pressing down on him. He had encountered several customers or other visitors like him but with the unknown language to him felt as if he had not been outside the world a little too long.

Hongjoong's eyes were slowly welling up, but he quickly brushed the tears away, determined to maintain his professionalism. By the time you arrived, just minutes after the visitor had left, he had already composed himself. Walking beside you, he gave a concise update, carefully omitting any mention of the earlier incident.

You placed your bag down and settled into your recliner chair, letting out a deep sigh as you felt the softness of the cushion against your back. But the moment of relaxation was brief. You sat up straight again, skimming through the reports Hongjoong had prepared. As you reviewed the documents, you couldn't help but notice a strange tension lingering in the air.

Frowning, you glanced up at Hongjoong. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

Your question seemed to jolt him out of his thoughts. He looked up, slightly surprised, before quickly nodding. “Y-Yes, ma’am.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk and interlocking your fingers. “Oh, that’s good. What did you order?”

“I bought … from the café,” he stammered.

Something in his tone, paired with the slight hesitation in his response, piqued your curiosity. His body language was off—his usually composed demeanor seemed strained, and you noticed the faint dampness on his eyelashes and the redness at the corners of his eyes. It was subtle, but enough for you to sense that something had happened. It might be nothing, you thought—perhaps just fatigue—but as you well knew, the body often betrays what words try to conceal.

“Okay Hong joong, by the way your english is much better now.” You notice his cheeks reddend before nodding his head, “You can go now.” With a small bow, he exits the office. You waited for a solid minute before grabbing your phone, dialing a number you know well.

When the line answers, “Hey Hwa~ You free tomorrow for some tea?”

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wintaerbaer · 1 year ago

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things we don't say: the before, drabble 1 (kth)

summary: After a night of drinking, you make some comments to Taehyung that makes him reconsider his relationship with you.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader

rating: sfw (for the drabble, series is 18+)

genres: best friends to lovers, fluff, angst

word count: 2.9k

warnings: alcohol use, unrequited love, jungkook isn't physically present in this one yet still manages to throw in some nonsense

a/n: this is the first drabble for my things we don't say series! shoutout to @btsborahaee for asking me if tae had ever taken care of oc while drunk and sparking this entire idea. not mandatory reading for the series per se, but definitely gives a lot of insight for some upcoming events <3 (can probably be read on its own for new folks, but you'll likely be missing some context)

SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

He probably should’ve stopped you.

Should’ve stopped you when Jimin offered you tequila shots at the beginning of the night (he knows that you always complain about the crash).

Should’ve stopped you when Jungkook challenged you to a round of beer pong and you surprisingly agreed (Jungkook is an ace, and you’ve always been a lousy shot).

Definitely should’ve stopped you when your friends began a game of truth or dare, and you convinced him to play with puppy dog eyes and a pouty lower lip (you looked so cute that he pretended he would’ve been able to resist you in the first place just to see you keep making that face).

Still, he tries to remind himself that you’re a grown woman and can make your own decisions as he heaves you through the doorway into the three-bedroom apartment the two of you share with Jimin.

“Congratulations, you’ve successfully made it home,” he says, gingerly helping you settle into a spot on the couch. You immediately pull a throw pillow into your lap and hug it tight, slumping against the arm rest. “How are you feeling?”

“We live in a pool now,” you mumble, the pillow muffling your voice.

“What?”

“Everything swimming.”

He laughs, propping the other throw pillow against your side in a feeble attempt to ensure you stay upright before he heads to the kitchen to get you some water. “I know you may not believe me right now, but I can assure you we don’t live in a pool.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Your face has slipped further into the pillow. “I’m a scientist. I know things.”

“You’re majoring in Communications.”

“That’s a science.”

“A social science.”

“I say it counts, so it counts.”

“Well I won’t argue with that.” He makes his way back to you with quiet steps, crouching down so he’s at your eye level. “So, Miss Scientist--” A glass of water appears right in front of your nose. “—what does the science say about water intake after a long night of drinking?”

You giggle, pulling the glass from his hands so you can peer through it at him. “See? Pool.” He can’t hold back the grin that spreads across his face as he watches you snort-laugh over your own joke and cackle, “You’re a merman.”

“Yah,” he protests. “I don’t know that I’m pretty enough to be a merman. Mermen are pretty, yeah?”

And even louder snort. “Tae, you’re plenty pretty.”

His heart rebels with the tiniest pause. “Huh?”

“Plenty pretty. Also alliterative.” You burst out laughing at that one, rocking your body so suddenly that Taehyung worries you might spill your water. He reaches out to stabilize your hand, crushing down the teensy marble of hope that just plopped into his chest—a process that he’s well used to by now.

“You’re not seeing right or thinking right,” he says. “Just focus on drinking your water.”

One final giggle as you bring the glass to your lips, slurping loudly. “Chef Kim, you’ve done it again!” you declare, putting on a fake accent. “This is the finest glass of water I have ever had the pleasure of drinking! Three Michelin Stars!” Then you go back to slurping the water, two hands wrapped around the glass like a child.

Taehyung watches you tenderly, his right hand betraying him and drifting upwards to lightly skim your knee as you drink. Frankly, he’s just pleased that you’re managing to get it all in your mouth, and once you’ve swallowed the last drops (your head tilted all the way back), you gaze at him with hooded eyes.

“I sleepy.”

“I’m sure you are.” He takes the glass from your hands and sets it down on the coffee table before moving the pillows from your lap so he can help you up again, placing a steadying hand at your lower back. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you to your bedroom where you immediately face plant onto the bed with a huff.

“Careful,” he warns. “Don’t want to jolt yourself and make yourself sick.”

“I do not fear vomit,” you say dramatically. “Only when it’s a stranger’s.” You pause to burp. “And only on Sundays.”

“Today is Sunday.”

You flip onto your back with a gasp. “SAY IT ISN’T SO.”

“It’s so.” He nods at you somberly, playing into the bit. “It’s past midnight, which means it is, in fact, Sunday.”

An arm is thrown across your eyes as you groan, "Oh noooooooo."

Taehyung chuckles to himself, rummaging through your dresser until he locates a pair of sleep shorts and a drawer full of t-shirts (he quickly closes another drawer when he catches a glimpse of panties). He picks through them, grinning at how many are souvenirs of events you've been to with him—concerts, festivals, and even a team shirt for a basketball game you'd accompanied him to freshman year. It'd been his idea, wanting to experience more of the city you'd moved to for school; you'd been skeptical at first but willing to go with him so he wasn't alone.

Two minutes in and your enthusiasm had quickly changed. Feeding off the energy of the crowd and the excitement of the game, you spent most of the time on your feet, bouncing up and down and cheering with every basket that was made. And though the game had been his idea, Taehyung found himself far less interested in what was happening on the court and instead spent the evening watching you, smiling from ear-to-ear every time you clapped your hands or yelled in delight. You’d pulled him by the hand to the team store afterwards, insistent on buying a shirt for your newfound team.

He grabs that shirt from the drawer and turns to find you lying in the same position on the bed, still as a stone. Your chest rises and falls with slow steady breaths, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep at first until you peek an eye out at him as he sets the clothes down next to you on the bed.

“Think you can get dressed by yourself?”

You raise yourself onto your palms, throwing him what seems to be your best drunken attempt at a sultry look. “You don’t want to help me?”

Taehyung’s body goes into an instant panic, half of his blood rushing to his face and the other half seeking a straight path south. “You—I—uh—“ he stammers before you burst into hysterical laughter.

“I’m kidding!” you gasp, wrapping your arms around your middle and tilting sideways on the bed as you’re overcome with giggles. “You should see the look on your face!”

He feels the relief work through slowly, even as his heart continues to pound. “You really had a lot to drink tonight, huh?”

“Hmm, a lot,” you hiccup. “Not so much that I missed your look of horror when Kook dared us to kiss.”

It was during the game of truth or dare that you’d roped him into. Rather juvenile for a group of third-year college students, perhaps, but your group had gotten to the point of mindless drunken entertainment. On your turn, you’d asked for a dare, only for Jungkook to challenge you to make out with Taehyung for thirty seconds (“Minimum,” he’d added with a wiggle of his eyebrows). His blood pressure had spiked then too as he glared daggers at Jungkook, praying that you would refuse. It wasn’t that he was opposed to the concept of kissing you per se, but definitely not under those circumstances. And definitely not when you didn’t feel that way about him.

He was flooded with relief when you opted to take a shot instead.

“You looked terrified so I drank,” you say in the present, pushing out your lower lip in a pout. “Would kissing me really have been that bad?”

Yes, he thinks. But for reasons you wouldn’t understand. I wouldn’t have survived it.

“Kook was just messing with us. It was a stupid joke, and you knew it. That’s why you drank.”

“I drank because you looked angry,” you press, and Taehyung worries that you’re genuinely hurt by the implied rejection. But that would mean— “We could kiss, and it would be fine. Here, look.” You sit up straight again, closing your eyes and puckering your lips in his direction.

Heat rushes to his face for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. “What are you doing?”

“Kiss me.”

He’s shaking his head immediately. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Y/N.” He laughs gently at your pouting face, lifting the clothes again so he can drop them into your lap this time. “I’m not going to kiss you when you’re drunk. Like I said, you’re not thinking right. I wouldn’t do that.” He taps your chin, directing your attention down. “Get yourself dressed. I’ll find you a bucket and more water.”

You grumble something he doesn’t understand on his way out of your room, still a little flustered from your conversation. It wasn’t like you to flirt with him. And suggesting he kiss you? No. That definitely must’ve been the alcohol talking. Over a decade’s worth of friendship with you, and it’s never seemed like you’ve even entertained the thought.

Still, he thinks to himself as he grabs you another glass of water before making a stop to the bathroom, could it be that drunk words are sober thoughts? Could this be his sign to try and see if there may be something more lingering under the surface of your friendsh—

He crushes down the idea as it occurs. He’s been through this line of thought before and, as always, knows that no good can come of it. There’s no doubt in his mind that you don’t feel for him like that. And he’ll be damned if he burdens you with his own feelings. It’s his own problem; he’s not going to put that on you to solve.

He retrieves a small pail, make-up wipe, and bottle of painkillers from the bathroom before making his way back to your bedroom. Not only have you changed into your pajamas, but you’ve also crawled into bed, the blanket pulled over your head with you huddled beneath it in a heap.

Taehyung sets down the water and medicine on your side table and places the pail on the floor beside your bed. Nudging at the covers, he says, “Poke your head out. We gotta get your makeup off.”

You roll onto your back, sticking your head out with a groan. “It’s fiiiiine,” you whine. “Jus’ leave it.”

“Your eyes will get irritated. I’ve got it.”

He wipes delicately at your face, a caress hidden in every sweep of his fingers. And once your skin has been wiped clean, he tucks you in properly, curled up on your side so he doesn’t need to worry about you rolling onto your back.

“There’s water and medicine here” he tells you. “And a bucket on the floor in case you need to throw up. Do you need anything else right now?”

“No,” you sigh.

“Okay, if you need anything at all just shout. I’ll leave my door open.”

He’s turning to leave, thinking that’s the end of it when your voice calls out. Tiny.

“Tae?”

His focus is back on you in an instant, crouching down at your side ready to help. “What’s up?”

Your eyes are closed and you hum dreamily, fingers on the bed curling towards him. “You take such good care of me.”

Something wraps around his heart, squeezes. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Mmmm.” You’re halfway asleep, breaths evening out. “You’ll be an incredible dad someday.”

His whole world stops, your words rocking him to his core. Because how do you just lay that on him so suddenly? So casually? One of his greatest fears and insecurities, eased instantly by the sound of your reassurances.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, tears stinging his eyes. But you’re already out, blissfully unaware of the effect you’ve just had on him.

He can’t help but watch you for a few minutes, gaze studiously tracing over your face like he may need to one day draw you from memory. You look so beautiful, so peaceful—every bit the angel he forever sees you as. Unable to help himself, he raises his hand to gently stroke a finger one, two, three times through your hair before tucking it back behind your ear. And something may just have grabbed ahold of him tonight because before he stands back up, he leans in to press the softest kiss to your forehead, lips lingering against your skin until he forces himself to pull away.

He leaves the room quietly, with one last peek over his shoulder at your sleeping form. Crossing the hall, he begins settling into his own bed wrangling a hurricane of thoughts: you, him, how he feels about you, the years you’ve spent together and how he desperately wants them to continue. And, with everything you’ve said tonight, he thinks that maybe—maybe—there wouldn’t be harm in testing the waters to see if you might want something more too. Throw a bit of that flirtatiousness back at you and see what happens.

He falls asleep smiling. Tomorrow is a new day.

The sound of chatter rouses Taehyung from his sleep the next morning as does the smell of bacon. He sits up, groggily runs a hand through his hair, and pads down the hall to find you, Jimin, and Maya sat around the dining room table.

“Oh yay, you’re alive,” Maya teases.

He gives her a quick raise of his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “So it would seem. Why are you here?”

“Alright, going to pretend that was way more enthusiastic and ignore the tone,” she responds, leaning back in her chair. “We’re supposed to go down to the park to work on that project for Dr. Kwon’s class, remember?”

“Ah shit, that’s today.” He rubs a hand over his face, trying to wipe away more sleep. “Ok, let me eat and get dressed, and we can go.”

There's a crash in the kitchen, and Jimin, standing at the stove, calls out, "Uhhhh a little help?"

Maya rolls her eyes and stands to assist. "See, this is why we usually leave cooking to the professionals."

Taehyung laughs at their antics. Never a dull moment in this apartment. "Didn't feel like cooking this morning?" he asks, settling into the chair next to you.

You shake your head as you take a sip from the coffee mug in front of you. "No, Jimin wanted to do it. Said he wants to practice so he can impress that girl he's been seeing."

"Ah." He studies your face, suddenly remembering the way you'd asked him to kiss you last night.

"What?"

Your voice startles him out of the memory. "What?"

"You're looking at me funny," you say and take a swipe at one of your cheeks. "Something on my face?"

He's suddenly nervous, second-guessing his plan to test the waters with you. "No. Just wondering how you're feeling. You were...very drunk last night."

You blush. "Yeah, I don't remember much after I took that last shot, and you said it was time to go home." Scratching absent-mindedly behind your ear, you say, "I hope I didn't say anything too embarrassing after that."

"No, you were fine," Taehyung says, before quickly rethinking his words. It seems like it's now or never. "Actually, there were a couple things you said that I wanted to ask about."

"Oh no." Your eyes widen. "What'd I do?"

"Nothing bad," he chuckles. "Just that—"

Your phone chimes loudly, and your gaze shoots to it, immediately snatching it into your hand as Maya bolts back over and squeals, “Is that him?!”

“Yes!” you exclaim, eyes roaming across the screen excitedly.

Taehyung licks his lips, caught entirely off-guard by this development. “Who is this?”

“Jace from my Marketing Psych class,” you say quickly, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“He asked her out this morning!” Maya adds with a pointed look at Taehyung that he doesn’t know how to interpret. His stomach twists, chest burns as every hope he’d had of asking you about last night dies on his tongue.

“Okay,” you say, looking up at Maya, completely oblivious to the suffering happening on your right. “Friday at that fancy Italian place on Fifth.” You slap a hand to your forehead. “We need to go shopping!”

“Of course we will!” Maya trills just as you turn back to Taehyung looking mildly apologetic.

“Sorry, Tae. You were saying something?”

He licks his lips again, internally cringing at the bitter taste. “No,” he says. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Your brow creases. “You can always ask me anything.”

“It’s really nothing,” he insists. “I already forgot what it was.”

You’re clearly not convinced but you relent, giving a tiny, “Okay,” as you watch him stand from the table, eyes now directed at Maya.

“Just give me five minutes to get dressed and grab my stuff, and we can go.”

“But you didn’t even eat,” you say.

He glances at you from under his lashes as he backpedals towards his bedroom, heart in his throat. “I’m not hungry.”

It’s a sign from the universe, he thinks. A final killing blow to the hopes that have long lingered inside of him. And at this point, it’s best he accepts it.

You’re just not meant to be.

a/n: part 5 is my next focus, i promise <33 and if anyone would be interested in an ask game, pls let me know! it might help the gears turn faster :)

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fic #bts fanfic

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gnreadergames · 9 months ago

Text

Weird Science

Egon Spengler x Named FTM!Male Oc

Content warnings: Some sexual tension leading into non-graphic sexual content, mostly sickeningly sweet shit, Egon’s a lil crazy, Alex likes em cooky, doctor kink?? Is that a thing? Idk, either way a PHD title is used in a way no one should use a PHD title. Unless they are freaks like me :3

A/N: Crawling out of my hole I’ve been in for *checks watch* like almost a year to bring you this. I have no excuses guys I just rewatched my favorite movie and wanted to fuck the science man again. Super self indulgent, also for my trans readers because I’ve noticed a lot of yall thirsting after this man are trans. Congratulations my niche little subjects, here’s some food.

Word count: 13,971. - Yes you read that right. I just really wanted to write some gooey porn about the science man okay?

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Egon Spengler sat alone in the firehouse, surrounded by the various specimen he had collected from a bust and the various machines created to catch and contain ghosts. He had just finished running diagnostics on the Proton Packs, fixing a bug that Peter had showed him on his, and was in the process of cataloging and tagging some new samples he had collected on their last bust of a succubus in a hotel.

Alex was quiet about accessing the stairs. The door to the bottom always squeaked but he made sure to pull it open extra slowly this time, and somehow successfully managed to make it all the way up to the top of the 2nd floor completely silently. Egon was perched at the main table in the kitchen up top. Its circular surface was covered with bagged petri-dishes, spore samples, and various robotic gadgets he guessed were for ghost hunting. He deftly approached from behind.

Egon’s head was down, nose intently tucked into whatever journal he was writing in now as Alex tiptoed up behind him and every so suddenly crouched down beside him to ear level and said, in a level inside voice, ‘Whatcha’ up to Spengs’?”.

Egon startled. It was Alex. It was rare for anyone to just come up behind him at the firehouse, but given recent events, he wasn't really surprised. He put down his pen, looking to get a better look at Alex.

"Hm? Oh, just going over the findings from our last bust. And the latest samples. It's all pretty...standard stuff, really. Nothing worth getting excited about."

“Yeah? Thought molds spores and fungi were your type of fun, guy-“ Alex laughed a little at his own joke, hand brushing the back of the chair and inadvertently brushing ever so briefly against Egon’s bare neck. Alex blushed slightly and hoped Egon was too focused to have noticed as he took a seat next to him.

Egon glanced up from his notes. Despite Alex making his presence very obvious, Egon had been so engrossed in his work that he barely noticed. Now, he was caught, and clearly flustered.

"Right. It's not that this sort of stuff isn't interesting. It's just..." He paused, trying to come up with the right words. "It's less exciting than seeing ghosts, you know? There's much less danger to it."

Alex cocked his head, curious. ”So is that why you do it?” He asked.

He thought for a moment, considering how to answer this question.

"In a sense, I suppose. There is always the hope that when I'm out investigating, I might encounter something truly new. Something unexpected and unpredictable. Something that could turn the whole study of ghosts on its head. And believe me, it's been a long time since we've had a true breakthrough in ghost related research."

“Is it the danger or is it the superiority? The control?” Alex blurted out without really thinking. When he realized what he said and how odd of a question it was “I just mean…” he stammered, “Do you think you like the danger, or do you like being in control? Do you like feeling powerful over the ghosts? Do you like the chase and the win? Kinda like a game…” Alex mumbled off, blushing. He felt like he only further incriminated himself into his line of thinking.

Egon laughed quietly. Clearly he wasn't offended by the question, even if it was a rather strange one. He was also more than a little intrigued.

"There is certainly an element of control, I must admit. I do like to think that I know what I'm doing out there." He paused, still smiling. "But at the same time, I'm also just as much at the mercy of the ghosts. There's always a certain...risk that I think I enjoy."

“Hm. You work in interesting ways ‘Spengs…” Alex hummed thoughtfully. His posture became a little more relaxed as he rested forward, chin on his elbow watching Egon tag samples and hum along to a janky radio he had sitting on an adjacent counter of the kitchen.

"Doctor Spengler, if you don't mind," Egon corrected, his tone only half-joking.

He glanced back down at his notes, making a few more small adjustments before finally setting the pen down.

"So you just...came over here to bother me while I work?"

“Mostly. It is my favorite pastime as you know.” Alex smirked, almost cat-like. Egon rolled his eyes, he knew the gentle teasing Alex put him through.

“Also, Doctor Spengler? What am I, one of your patients? Or do you just get a kick out of making people call you that?” Alex teased again, this time dropping his voice a little in a lusty tone that made him laugh trying to get it out in one piece.

Egon smirked, rolling his eyes in return. Alex's teasing was one of the things he actually did kind of enjoy.

”The latter, if I'm being perfectly honest. Not that I'll ever admit it."

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"But you have to admit, Doctor is a much nicer title than Mr. Or even Professor. That title's always been a little too pretentious for its own good," he continued to banter.

I like Mr. in…” Alex paused, looking pensively upwards, “certain contexts. Like if you were to get married. Mr. And Mrs. Or er, Mr. And Mr…” Alex said casually. He hadn’t formally come out to Egon but he knew Venkman’s little vermin hands had background checked him enough to know his dating preferences already and his gender. And to be fully honest, he liked Egon more than anybody else here, even if he’d only admit it under extreme duress, or maybe too much alcohol.

So he deserved to know.

Or maybe Alex was a little desperate to share practically anything about himself in hopes of getting closer to the other man.

Egon's eyebrow raised slightly, hearing this. Alex hadn't come out to him directly, but this felt pretty obvious. It wasn't an issue to Egon anyway, but he was curious to know now.

"Alex...are you telling me you're interested in...men?"

He cleared his throat, his tone a bit nervous. He wasn't sure how to react.

“Oh-“ Alex hadn’t expected Egon to ask him so directly. But then again, he never was one for taking hints. “Yeah, I am.”

His face was redder than usual and it was obvious Egon’s bluntness had caught him slightly off guard and flustered him.

“I hope that isn’t a problem with you. I really like…spending time with you Egon.” Alex said. He wanted to leave it vague, for now at least. He didn’t even know if Egon was into men, let alone if Egon considered him a friend let alone a potential romantic interest. He didn’t want to jump the guns too fast here.

Egon looked at him, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Alex...I have no problem with it. I'm very happy to spend time with you as well. I just...wasn't expecting you to say that."

For a moment, he seemed like he was going to say something more. But he held back, thinking better of it, clearly not sure what to actually say right now.

"Just didn't have you pegged as one who...preferred men's company."

“Oh really?” Alex laughed, he could lighten the mood up a bit hopefully. “What did you have me pegged for then, ‘Spengs?” he asked, leaning forward on his elbows curiously.

Egon laughed quietly as well.

"Well, you seem like you'd have an eye for the ladies." He grinned, still in an obviously good-natured way. "If you're into guys, then you're not exactly...what I would call 'typically gay' looking."

“Well…thanks?” Alex laughed. “I’m into women too, so I guess I would be in the middle of whatever spectrum you’re thinking of.”

He crumpled up a loose straw wrapper from Egon’s ginger ale and started to flick it back and forth between his fingers, nervously.

Egon nodded. He didn't seem all that surprised by this; if anything he had always got the sense that Alex was at least a little bit bi-curious, given some of the conversations they'd had.

"Right. The ol' 'bisexual' thing." He joked.

Suddenly he looked at Alex again, with an expression of sudden realization.

"Wait. Wait a minute. Are you...are you saying..."

His eyes widened slightly.

“What? Not so blunt now Egon?” Alex questioned.

“Are you...hitting on me?”

Egon looked at him, and this time his tone seemed to be one of genuine curiosity, mixed with amusement.

“Who said anything about hitting on you? Just thought you should know.” Alex was very clearly red around the apples of his cheeks and ears. He was at least embarrassed, if not caught.

Egon felt something warm and vulnerable flutter underneath one of his ribs. He swallowed.

Alex was stubborn and obviously determined not to be caught this fast in this little game they had been playing, the roughly 3 weeks of back and forth bantering, the casual drink after work when everyone else had already left, and of course, decidedly ignoring whatever happened after the attack on New York when he saw Egon exit the building safely, if not covered in goo.

Even though he, and he’s pretty sure Egon too, both remember it, neither of them have brought it up in a serious manner.

Egon laughed quietly, shaking his head. He was surprised sure, but he certainly wasn't upset. If anything, the opposite.

They were alone together, no one to hear or see anything. No one to interrupt them. Egon took a deep breath.

"Okay. I'll be honest," he said, looking Alex directly in the eye. "If you were trying to get me to figure out you're interested in me, then that definitely did the trick."

Alex smiled. It was different from his usually sly cat-like grin. This time, it was a softer, less slick looking smile with some genuine warmth behind it.

“And why would somebody as astute as the doctor Egon Spengler care about such a thing?” Alex asked, feigning being coy.

Egon had to laugh at that, shaking his head. Alex was a lot of things, but one thing he most certainly was not was subtle.

"I care because..." he paused, his smile becoming a bit broader. Despite their teasing back and forth, he was suddenly being completely genuine.

"Actually, this is probably pretty obvious, but..." He let the rest go unsaid for a moment. He didn't know what he wanted to come next. If he actually wanted to stay casual, or if he wanted more.

Alex swallowed audibly with how quiet the room had gotten suddenly.

“Egon….do you….like me?” Alex asked softly. He felt like he was dreaming, like he would wake up at any moment and this would all have been some fevered imagination of a sickly brain, a brain obsessed with this gorgeous brainiac.

Egon's face was a shade of pink now...a very noticeable pink. He shifted in his seat, clearly a bit flustered.

"I..." he said quietly. "...yes." He raised his hands up slightly, as if trying to steady himself.

"I mean...if you're okay with what that means and all that...is it...alright if I'm honest with you?"

“Please” Alex begged, voice wavering. He wanted this so much he didn’t know how to ask with words. He had practiced this scenario a thousand times over in his head as he tried to fall asleep night after night and still, he didn’t know how to respond to this. “Be honest.”

Egon swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts and his breath.

"Okay...well...I...I don't think I could have made it through the last few months without you." His words came out in spurts, each sentence broken up by pauses as he lost himself in his thoughts.

"There's always been something about you. Something I've found...really irresistible. Your mind, your energy...your...your...ahem...your...um...your...looks" He smirked softly as he finished that last sentence.

Alex flushed bright red.

Up until 10 minutes ago he had doubts the doctor even had the capabilities to be attracted to anybody, much less a man, and to hear that he had potentially been being discreetly checked out around the office made a slight sweat break out under his collared shirt and tie.

Not that he hadn’t been doing the same thing to Egon a few times when he worked… who can blame him? He flushed even harder thinking about one specific time and broke eye contact, embarrassed.

Egon couldn't help but chuckle at this. He could tell that he'd caught a very sensitive nerve. A grin spread across his face as he shook his head, still laughing a bit.

"God you're cute when you get like this," Egon said, almost teasingly.

His tone became more serious again, as he leaned forward a bit closer towards Alex.

"Can I ask you something?"

“Y-“ Alex had to swallow, mouth suddenly becoming dry as Egon leaned ever closer. “Yeah.” His eyes couldn’t look anywhere by Egon now, and he was sure his face was visibly red by now if it wasn’t before.

Egon took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"Before, you said you hadn't formally told me...about...your preferences. Was there a specific reason for this? Because I'd like to know if..."

He stopped there, looking into Alex's warm brown eyes. He took another deep breath.

"Was it because you weren't sure about my preferences?"

Alex caught a nervous laugh. He didn’t want Egon to think he was laughing at him, he was just so relieved they might possibly be on the same page and that this wasn’t another time Alex would be head over heels for another guy that would leave him the first chance he got a hotter woman to look at him.

“Yeah…I was just… curious is all.” Alex looked down at the floor, nervous and a bit embarrassed to be that easy to read. “Took you long enough…I think the others were starting to think I was just weird.”

Egon smirked, letting out an amused sigh.

"Well, they're not necessarily...wrong about that." He said, teasingly as always. But it was clear that he didn't mean it in an offensive way.

When Alex said he was curious, Egon understood. He had always wondered why Alex had never talked much about personal subjects like that. He was starting to see why now.

"Right. Well, I think it's my turn to be honest, yeah?"

“I think it is, doctor.” Alex teased back. Now that he knew Egon liked using that little word he was going to be sure to make it difficult. Especially if this conversation was going the way he thought it was.

Egon grinned, playing along for now.

"Okay. My turn to be honest, then."

He looked at Alex, his expression more serious again.

"I'm still confused on one thing, though. Can I ask you a personal question?"

”Go ahead” Alex said. He supposed he could be honest about it all now since he’d been pretty much found out.

Egon breathed. "Alright. I can't help but notice that after every time we have a bust, something happens between us...how do I say this? More than before. Have you ever...noticed that too?”

Egon paused to take a deep breath, still holding his eye contact. This was the moment of truth. He'd known that for some time now, the two of them were beginning to develop feelings for each other. But he'd held back, not wanting to push it too fast. But now he couldn't hold back anymore. He needed to know if Alex had noticed too.

”I’ve…” Alex had to choose his words carefully. “I’ve noticed it too. When I started working here last year…” Alex shifted nervously and then suddenly became more serious, sitting up and placing his hands on the table. “When I started working here last year I didn’t think much about it. It was supposed to just be a stepping stone to bigger things, being the Ghostbusters official PR manager is nothing to sneeze at and I thought if I just hung out here long enough I could get a job somewhere on Wall Street, bigger things, better pay…” Alex swallowed. “But then I started to like hanging out with you guys. And then we became friends, and suddenly it became a lot harder to see it as just a job. And then after…well to be honest right before the New York attack, that night you walked me home after we were the last two here, I think I sort of thought about you differently than the rest of them.”

Alex didn’t know how to explain it, it was difficult putting it into words. “I think I realized I cared about you more. In a different way I mean. Sure I’m friends with Venkmen and Stanz and Zeddemore, but I didn’t see you like I saw them. I wanted to get to know you more, I knew it when I said goodnight to you and it was snowing on my doorstep. And you smiled at me. I think I knew then. And then of course right after that big attack happened and I thought for sure you were dead, we had no clue how anything was going to play out and I just remembered feeling like I could die of happiness seeing you walk out of that building, and…I guess before I knew it I was already moving to you. I don’t really know why I hugged you, I was just…glad you were okay. I was glad I hadn’t missed my chance with you, I guess. I hadn’t realized how special you were to me.”

Egon's eyes were locked on Alex's every breath, every word. It was like he was seeing him in an entirely different light right now. They'd flirted and teased back and forth before, but everything here sounded so much more genuine and sincere. Like they weren't even playing a game anymore, they were being very real with each other. It was a beautiful thing.

Egon swallowed, his heart pounding inside his chest. He felt like...like this was it.

"Can I be honest with you about something, too?"

“Anything.” Alex breathed. He felt like he was going to explode admitting all of that.

Egon swallowed, his heart pounding even faster. Just like Alex he was ready to explode. But he had to get this off his chest. Now that they'd started, he couldn't think of a reason to stop.

"I've never...I've never felt the way about anyone before the way that I feel about you. I didn't even realize it at first but I've been..." He couldn't believe he was saying all this. "...I've been thinking about you a lot. Too damn much of the time, actually."

Alex smiled, giddy and carefree. He felt a little dizzy with nerves.

“Really?” He breathed, excitedly. “I’m so glad. I can’t stop thinking about you, I felt like I was going crazy. I think even Venkman picked up on it this past month when you went on that blind date Stanz set you up on.”

Egon chuckled, a wide grin on his face.

"Yeah...can't say it was a successful date."

He thought back to the disaster of a date he'd been set up with a few weeks ago. It was pretty damn clear to even Venkman. So maybe they were a little more transparent than they should have been with their feelings of late towards their friend’s attempts to set them up with other people.

"I feel stupid for letting it take this long to acknowledge any of this."

“Maybe we’re both stupid.” Alex thought, dumbly. But he couldn’t let anything dampen his mood right now. He felt like he was floating, almost drunk with happiness.

“So Mr. Scientist,” he said, balancing his chin on his hand and reaching an index finger to fiddle around with the lid of an empty Petri dish in front of him, “tell me about what you think about me. What’s been on that big brain of yours?” He purred.

Egon felt his heart skip a beat when Alex started flirting with him. He wasn't used to it, but he really liked it. What he liked even more was the idea that someone as brilliant and attractive as Alex thought this way about him.

Egon chuckled, his lips curling up into a smirk. "You want me to be honest about what I think about you?"

“Honesty is the best policy” Alex nodded, intrigued.

"Yeah...yeah it definitely is." Egon leaned forward, his gaze even more intense than before.

"I think you're absolutely brilliant. Not just in terms of your science...but your mind itself. That sharp, witty mind of yours is such a...turn on." His smirk became a bit more mischievous as he spoke. "I love it when you try to outwit a person in conversation, when you get all riled up and competitive.... I love even more that I've never seen you lose."

“You have such a way with your stupid words.” Alex giggled. He was sure he was making a fool of himself but he couldn’t believe somebody like the Egon Spengler found him attractive. He could count on one hand the times he’d been this lucky in his entire life.

“You really know how to flatter a guy,” Alex admitted, tracing the rim of the Petri dish with the same finger absentmindedly.

Egon smiled, chuckling at that, but not denying the accuracy.

"I wasn't kidding when I said your mind turns me on."

He leaned in even closer, his gaze burning into Alex's. He looked at the way Alex was tracing the rim of his empty petri dish and had an idea.

"I have a suggestion..."

“Shoot.” Alex said, sharpening the ‘T’ sound, almost bitingly.

Egon swallowed, almost nervous looking. But he thought this would be the perfect way to test the waters, to see just how interested Alex really was before he took it a step further.

"Close your eyes..."

“Okay.” Alex said, cautiously but trusting. He knew Egon wouldn’t hurt him and if anything, not knowing what was coming next and being completely at the will of the other man kind of made him feel safe. It was nice. It made his heart race a little.

He shut his eyes gently, waiting.

Egon smirked, enjoying the game he was playing. He stood up, and slowly started moving behind Alex, his movements very subtle and patient. When he got behind him, he took the same index finger that Alex had been tracing the edge of the Petri dish with and ran it softly, delicately over the back of Alex's neck, sliding it into his hair and slowly running it through.

Alex shivered at the touch.

Christ.

Okay.

He hadn’t been expecting this. Egon wasn’t a touchy person, not even in the throes of victory, so this was new, and honestly thrilling for Alex.

“Egon…” Alex practically purred, keening towards the touch. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

Egon smiled, pleased with the way Alex reacted to it. He decided to go a step further, and slowly, still using only his one index finger, started stroking Alex's hair down his neck, and eventually down his shoulders as he continued to trace a line down Alex's back.

Alex shivered and twitched with every vertebrae that Egon ran his finger past.

“This another one of your experiments, doctor?” Alex teased with a voice lower and slower than normal, but this time the air was thicker with something unspoken and unseen. But it could be very, very felt. Distantly, Alex was glad everyone else had taken this Saturday off.

Egon smirked. He loved that he was making Alex squirm, that he was clearly enjoying this so much. Alex's lower and slower voice made his chest tremble with a mix of emotion. A mix of excitement and fear. He was enjoying this, this flirtatious back and forth, but now he was feeling more daring…

"No experiment...this is something...much more personal."

“And what exactly are you testing here?” Alex asked. He still hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but now he thought he couldn’t bear not being able to see Egon for a second longer. He opened his eyes, and titled his head slightly back and was met with an angled view of his affections.

His heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t expecting Egon to look anything less than well…perfect. But this was new. Egon’s once soft brown eyes looked almost black with how dilated his pupils were, and his olive completion was a richer red tone around his face and ears. He may be more cognitively in control of the situation, but it was good to see that he was just as affected by Alex as he was by Egon.

Egon smirked and stepped even closer, their mouths finally just inches away from one another. He watched as the corners of Alex's lips quivered ever so slightly, and he couldn't help but feel a wave of joy sweep over him.

"My test..." Egon's voice was lower, and more seductive than ever. "...is to see exactly how far I can push it before you can't take it anymore."

As he spoke, he leaned just a tiny bit closer. Their lips were almost touching…

“Egon,” Alex’s voice was barely a whisper but it somehow only came out as a strung out whimper. He titled his head back ever so slightly more and he felt Egon’s breath hot on his lips.

Alex would beg for mercy if he had to. He just wanted Egon. He was so happy he could cry. His entire body felt like it was vibrating with how wired and nervous he was.

Egon knew at this point he couldn't hold back anymore. It was obvious he was just as nervous as Alex was. And in this intense moment, he needed to let him know that. His hands fell to Alex's shoulders and he pulled him even closer, so their chests were pressing sharply up against one another.

Egon's voice was lower than the lowest, as he began to whisper right back.

"God do you know how badly I want you, right now? What I would do to you if I could right this second?"

Alex’s head spun. Who was this? His Egon was quiet and professional, but he couldn’t deny that he hadn’t thought of this side of Egon, better said, dreamed of Egon having a side like this. He knew Egon was a man of control, and rules, but he also knew Egon, like every man, had buttons.

And buttons, could be pressed.

“We’re alone for the day.” Alex reminded. Egon was so close their foreheads were pressed together. Eyes locked.

Egon froze at that, the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing. He felt Alex's body pressed up against him, his heart pounding in his ears. His lips were mere centimeters apart, now. And he was suddenly hit with a wave of...nerve? Fear? Excitement?

Finally, Egon's mind won the war within.

"God damn it, it's taking every ounce of self control I have right now not to just start ripping you apart with my teeth..." he said, eyes darker than before.

Oh.

A little crazy.

Alex could work with a little crazy.

“Please-” let it never be said that Alex was above begging, because he wasn’t. Especially not for Egon. He would beg for Egon to call him worthless and pathetic. He would beg for Egon to spit on him. Egon being nice to him? Practically as strong as cocaine straight to the brain.

Alex leaned forward and clumsily brushed his lips against Egon’s for a mere second before pulling back, mouth slightly open, eyes lidded. He wanted Egon to want this as much as him. He wanted Egon to want him.

Egon stared into Alex's eyes, his heart racing a thousand miles a minute. Just seeing Alex's lips meet his, even for just one brief contact, sent a jolt of pure euphoria through his entire body. He'd never realized just how much he'd wanted this...how much he'd wanted Alex, until this very moment.

Finally, he did it. Before he had a chance to second guess his actions, Egon let his instincts take over. He leaned forward and pulled Alex back into him with one firm and quick motion. He then proceeded to take over this kiss…

Alex gasped into the kiss. He wasn’t expecting Egon to be this rough, but he guessed there was a certain aspect of desperation on both of their ends. Egon felt like he was devouring him. Alex’s knees felt like they were going to buckle, and he was lowering slowly, slowly, with pathetic little noises as Egon kissed the breath out of him.

He broke for a second, as Egon leaned over him, pushing his back into the chair, legs straddling it weakly. “Eg-“ he gasped as Egon went in for another kiss, just as hungry as the last. Alex broke away again, more determinedly “I’ve wanted this for so long. So, so, long…” his legs still weak, he leaned into Egon’s chest and arms, holding him.

Egon was in almost as much of a stupor as Alex, that little bit he'd tasted of him before had sent his heart soaring to new heights. His whole body felt alive, every single nerve. He couldn't believe how much he had wanted this, how badly he'd want to take it even further. But right now, was just the two of them, alone, the downstairs door locked.

As Alex spoke, Egon squeezed him harder by instinct alone. It was only making him yearn for much, much more…

“How long?” Alex asked between kisses. His right knee gave out and he felt Egon pull away. He made a weak noise of protest as Egon’s body pulled from his, until he realized he was being pulled with it and spun around. Suddenly, he found himself being picked up by the hips and sat gingerly and quickly onto the edge of the table, legs straddled and Egon standing in between. He kissed Alex again, tongue slipping into his mouth. He obviously didn’t seem content with the position though, too far, as he broke apart again soon after to grab Alex’s hips and yank him toward Egon’s standing ones, legs locking behind his back.

“Since when?” Alex asked again. “When did you know?” He felt drunk as Egon moved to kiss his jawline.

Egon smirked when he realized what Alex was actually asking him. To have someone this sharp, this witty being so...weak in your hands was an incredibly intoxicating experience. But the time to pick was over, now was all about play.

"God I don't know...it's been a while." Egon moved back in to capture Alex's mouth once again, holding onto his hips for dear life. "Since I started to want to see the sides of you that weren't professional, that weren't strictly business...I wanted to see exactly how human you could be."

“I’ve wanted you since that day in January. The one where we had the poltergeist in the-ah!” Alex winced as Egon moved to his neck and bit at a sensitive spot just under his ear, soft tender flesh. “S-since, that day- when- when you came back to the lab in your- your lab clothes all-” Alex’s left hand, the stronger of the two, came up to grasp at the dress shirt stretched over Egon’s back, “and th-they were all singed and dusty, and you were covered in- mmhp- sweat, and you didn’t even look at me when you-you” Egon kissed Alex to shut him up briefly, and for a moment there was nothing but the noise of soft, labored breathing and the creaking of the wooden table as they pressed against one another, but eventually Egon let him go in favor of biting at his neck again. “You- you didn’t even look at me, just rolled, rolled up your sleeves and went to work in your lab. All serious, brow furrowed, covered in grime but still wanting to get data while- ah- it’s fresh-“ Alex smiled remembering it. He still felt fuzzy and the memory was still fresh. “You’re incredibly toned for a scientist did- did you know that?” Alex asked in a breathy voice. “You have a great- great body.”

Egon huffed a laugh against his neck.

Egon couldn't help but feel his ego inflate and his cheek turn red from Alex's compliment. He'd never considered just how toned his body was, especially with his lack of exercise and all his nerdy, intellectual pursuits. As Alex rambled on, Egon couldn't help but get more turned on.

He smirked as he bit down on Alex's neck again and felt his lips twitch against it, as if Alex was moaning.

"I think you might be the first person in a while who's actually taken the time to notice..."

“How could I not?” Alex asked. Egon had momentarily paused his nipping and chewing to lift his head and look up at Alex. His big, dark eyes were even darker than usual and it was hard to see where his pupil and iris even separated.

He looked, almost animal with it.

Alex had never seen a not very methodically, almost scientifically, controlled side of Egon. This made some part of Alex’s hindbrain flicker with a warmth he had only felt on lonely nights he spent fantasizing with his own hand and brain.

Egon smirked and tilted his head up as he looked at Alex's face, that perfect, beautiful, wonderful face that had eluded him and teased him for so long. He just couldn't get enough. Every part of his body was tingling with pleasure and desire. He wanted nothing more than to take Alex right here and right now.

"You look beautiful." Egon said it sincerely, truly believing every word of it. But then he leaned up and whispered, his voice a mischievous and enticing husk. "I'm going to make you even more beautiful..."

Alex complied limply. Whatever Egon wanted. Alex felt himself slipping quietly under into that mindset he loved so much. He didn’t need control. He trusted Egon. Whatever he wanted. He knew best. He wanted to make him proud. He wanted to do whatever would make Egon happy.

Alex reached his neck desperately towards Egon and caught one last desperate kiss with a small sound before he finally gave in and let Egon do whatever he wished.

As he watched Alex willingly yield to him, Egon couldn't help but smirk. The look on his face was just as he pictured: submissive, trusting, almost worshiping. He couldn't wait to push the limits of this power and see just how desperate his new lab assistant and lover was.

So Egon did just that, pushing Alex's shirt up and kissing his collarbone, slowly making his way up to his neck again. He bit and nibbled at his collar bone, all while rubbing his hands along Alex's back and hips.

“Ah!” Alex gasped. He was particularly sensitive on his hips, and once Egon knew, he used it devilishly. His thumb ran a steady back and forth rhythm over a ridge in his V-line, making Alex shiver. Another hand curled possessively over Alex’s back and made him preen with a particularly fiery feeling in his chest. Alex continued making weak and steady noises as Egon worked over his collarbone, biting and kissing everywhere he could reach, hands moving to grasp the skin he couldn’t cover with his mouth.

The power and the control that he was asserting over Alex was making Egon feel like he was in some kind of haze, like he was just floating around in a sea of bliss, a euphoric dream that he didn't want to ever end.

The way Alex reacted to his touch made his own heart skip a beat, hearing him make those soft little sounds as he nibbled just so slightly harder on his neck and collarbone. It was pushing all his buttons, making him want so much more…

“Please-” Alex begged, not entirely sure what exactly he was begging for. Whatever Egon would give him. Whatever Egon thought he deserved. Alex’s hands, at one point limp around Egon’s waist, now were clenched tightly into his shirt and his hair, respectively, as Alex’s body curled into Egon’s.

Egon shivered again as he heard Alex beg him, heard him pleading for more.

This was exactly what he had been dreaming of. A completely submissive Alex, one who would let Egon take control completely, one who would gladly turn over every inch of his body to Egon for...for whatever Egon wanted.

It was such a turn on that Egon couldn't even form whole sentences, his thoughts were getting the best of him and his body was ready to take...no, to take control.

“Whatever you want.” Alex wanted more. Whatever Egon would give him. He laid flat on the table as Egon pulled away and surveyed him quickly, eyes flitting across his body as a whole, flushed, shirt pushed up, hands clutching feverishly at the flat table finding nothing to grab on to.

Egon smirked, loving the look of desperation on Alex's face, knowing that he was completely and utterly at his mercy now. And as Egon looked over him, his eyes trailing up and down his body, it was like Alex's features became bolder, brighter, more handsome. He looked like a perfect specimen to him, to the point where Egon almost couldn't take his eyes off of him.

"I'm going to make your day today..."

“What are you going to do?” Alex asked, although he really didn’t need to know. He was okay with whatever. As long as Egon was happy with him, he’d do it.

Egon brushed a hand along the side of Alex’s stomach and Alex made a little hurt, punched out noise from his gut and curled into the touch, but it was gone almost as fast as it appeared.

"Just...just close your eyes for me and stay still for a minute." Egon's voice was heavy, and slightly out of breath. He was almost desperate himself, he needed this just as much as Alex, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make Alex want him and love him for the rest of his life.

Alex could almost physically feel Egon's desire in the air, his need for more, seeping off from him as it grew with every passing second. Egon's body was trembling, his breath quick and shallow.

”Okay…” Alex swallowed for the first time in a while, finding his mouth dry but his lips slick with spit. He felt slightly debauched, but he preened at the knowledge that it was Egon who made him this way. Only for Egon.

He sat patiently and waited for whatever Egon had next.

Egon watched as Alex closed his eyes, watching him with baited breath and a deep seated hunger his lips were practically quivering with desire. And as he watched, the hunger inside him only grew more intense.

Quickly, his hands traced along the top of Alex's body, down his sides, all the way down to his thighs, caressing and teasing his body, making sure there wasn't a single inch missed.

Alex whimpered. He felt crazed. Egon’s hands felt so large and warm, almost feverish. Everywhere he touched felt like it was melting. Alex was practically drunk off the feeling as he squirmed with every new press into tender flesh that Egon figured out could make him writhe.

Just the sound of Alex's squirms was enough for Egon to get worked up even more, each touch and each squeeze of his body had him trembling with desire, his body quivering with excitement, ready to explode out in a fit of sheer pleasure.

Egon's hands moved faster, his touches more firm. He was determined to tease every last ounce of sound out of him that he could.

“Please, enough teasing!” Alex begged. He was almost crying now. His heart has been racing this entire time. He still had one more secret to tell Egon and the longer the foreplay went on, the more nervous he got about telling him.

Hearing that voice break out in tears in response to his touches only sparked more hunger in Egon's chest, but when he heard the pleading come from Alex's mouth, that was enough to cause the last pieces of resistance to crumble. He had to. No more teasing, no more playing, this was the real deal. He needed him now.

"All right, yes, I will, just...just let me-" Egon said, but his words were cut short by his own mouth coming down hard against Alex's.

Alex moaned loudly. Perhaps the loudest one yet as Egon’s hands grabbed his hips and seared him against his pelvis firm. He could feel…a certain hardness against his leg as Egon’s tongue explored his mouth and practically stole his oxygen away.

Egon groaned into the kiss, the sound rumbling up from deep in his chest. He couldn't hold himself back much longer now, the only thing on his mind was getting more. More of this perfect body, more of the sound of his pleas and whimpers.

Egon's hand moved downwards, squeezing firmly and squeezing Alex tighter against him. It was all he could do to keep himself from pushing him down and taking what he wanted right then and there.

As Egon’s hand moved downward, Alex’s hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his wrist in a moment of blind panic and clarity. It shocked Alex as much as it did Egon and for a moment they both simply stared at one another, panting, flushed.

“Egon…Eg-I’m…” Alex started, trying to word something but seemingly choking on it. “I need to tell you something before…before we do anything else.” Alex’s heart was in his throat. He thought he wouldn’t even get past the admission of him being bisexual, he didn’t know how to breech this. “Egon…I’m transgender.” Alex swallowed, throat tight with want as much as it was with fear.

Egon froze, hand still in mid air when he heard the words coming out of Alex's mouth. His breathing stopped, his heart beating out of his chest, it was a miracle that he didn't fall off of the table he was sitting on. Egon just stared, his mind whirring a million miles a second, trying to process what Alex had just told him.

All movement stopped.

God.

He’d ruined it.

Ruined it.

Alex’s face burned with embarrassment. He knew Egon wouldn’t want him after this. He just thought…he doesn’t know what he thought…that in some miracle Egon would accept him?

His face burns with more than embarrassment, with shame.

He gets ready for Egon to push off and potentially even hit him. For baiting him. For being…a freak.

"Say that again."

It wasn't the reply Alex expected. It wasn't words that expressed disgust or anger or shame, but something deeper- something that spoke volumes to the depth of his emotions for him. Egon was breathless, his mind a million miles a second, but the intensity of the words in his throat were only getting stronger. He needed to hear it one more time to make sure he wasn't just hearing things.

Alex swallowed.

“I’m…I’m transgender.” He said, voice barely above a whisper.

His hand gripped the table’s edge, he could reach it from where Egon had pulled him closer to his hips. He was sweating, both from being hot, so so hot, pressed up against Egon, but also from nerves and anxiety chewing at his gut.

Egon's stomach flipped, his heart racing as blood rushed to every inch of his body. His mind was completely overwhelmed by the news he was just told, and he felt the heat and the intensity growing inside him again. But this time it was mixed with something new, with a hunger that he's never experienced before.

"Just one question..." Egon asked, his voice thick and heavy with desire and love. His body was trembling with need now, his heart ready to explode into sparks and flames.

”Yeah?” Alex whimpered.

Egon reached forward, grabbing Alex's wrist, pulling him closer, almost into a hug so he could whisper something in his ear.

"Are you a man?"

”Yes” Alex squeezed his eyes shut and whispered. Egon was so close.

"That's all I care about."

Egon's breath was so hot and heavy as he spoke, it felt like his words were igniting the room. He finally let go of Alex's wrist, his body trembling uncontrollably as all the desire he felt before seemed to have reached its peak. He was ready to take him, to mold him into whatever shape he found most desirable.

Jesus.

Alex felt like he was going to pass out. Or die. Maybe both.

His head was practically spinning. Egon’s hands grabbed his hips harder and slid down, brushing the waistband of his pants slightly further, exposing his hips and the beginning of a small happy trail.

He could cry.

He was so happy.

He was crying he realized. Tears slipped from his eyes as Egon began biting at his collarbone again.

Egon was like a heat seeking missile, his mouth, his lips, his teeth moving to whatever place he could find that would generate the most response out of Alex. He couldn't get enough of him, his lips trailing down his neck, down to his shoulders, his hand caressing his hips as he slowly pulled him even closer so he could bite, and bite, and scratch, and maul, and love every inch of him like he was a starving animal after the meal that had been denied him for months on end.

”Egon-“ Alex whimpered. His hands clawed at the thin fabric stretched over Egon’s back. He had money to afford the expensive thick type, Alex knew exactly what he was getting paid, but he also knew Egon preferred practical. Something he loved about him. He wasn’t afraid to come back to the lab dripping in ectoplasm or singed with soot.

In fact, maybe now Alex would finally have an excuse to get all those ruined cheap shirts off him.

Alex kissed at Egon’s mouth when he could. Brief, wet, desperate kisses.

Egon's mind was filled with nothing but Alex now, the sweet sound of his cries, the feel of his fingernails digging into his back, the way his body fit so neatly against his own....he couldn't go back, he didn't want to, he didn't intend on letting go of him until he finally saw him broken, broken and his, his alone.

Egon's desire continued to grow with every passing second, his breath getting heavier, his movements becoming more aggressive. He needed more.

“Whatever you want. Do whatever- I Just- ah - I need more” Alex pleaded. He knew it was pathetic. Begging to be taken, especially by someone he admired so much. He wanted Egon to think he was an equal, someone to be taken seriously. Not just some…whore. Something cheap to be broken.

But…maybe…just maybe…

He would like to be Egon’s anything.

He could be Egon’s plaything if he wanted. He’d bend.

He’s submit. He’d even let Egon break him, as long as he put him back together at the end.

And he would.

Because he knew Egon.

He trusted Egon.

So…

“More” he begged.

Egon's mind was just pure adrenaline now, thoughts coming one after another like a machine gun firing. Thoughts of him, of how he made this boy want him so desperately, how he trusted him so much that he'd let him do anything, even let him break him...it was everything he'd ever dreamed of and now that it was actually a reality it was all he could think about.

Egon's hands slid down to his back, gripping him harder, pulling him closer as his breath got heavier and heavier…

Alex bucked his hips against Egon, and the sweet friction that was there for less than a second lit a spark in his mind. He felt like goo. He was a specimen. All for Egon.

Now that he thought about it…he wouldn’t mind being examined like a subject. Put on display for the doctor.

Alex shivered at the thought.

“I really-really want you” Alex breathed, clutching at him.

Egon's movements slowed down as he saw how much he was affecting Alex now, how his actions were making the man absolutely tremble with desire and need. He savored the feeling, enjoying the feeling of his own dominance and the power it gave him. He could make Alex do anything, make him do anything he wanted…

"I want you bad..." Egon breathed, his voice heavy and thick with need as his mouth came down to Alex's neck, kissing and nipping along the way. Egon was trembling all over now.

”Then do something about it,” Alex bit, and leaned back baring his neck to Egon who bit it with a feverish intensity.

Egon moaned, the sound echoing in his ears as he bit and nicked along the sensitive areas on Alex's neck.

"What do you think I'm doing right now?"

Egon's grip on him had begun to loosen, but it was only so he could move one of his hands around to push Alex's hips forward and make him buck even harder against him.

“AH!” Alex jumped as one of Egon’s hands slid down his back and into the back of his pants. It cupped flesh, squeezing. Alex rocked against the touch, his front brushing against Egon’s feeling just how excited he was by this.

“I want more though…” Alex pawed at Egon’s neatly tucked shirt, finally managing to ruck the back up enough to grab skin just on the small of his back. He tried to pull him closer. “There are beds just a few rooms away you know…” Alex bit at Egon’s ear and got an almost growl-like sound in response.

Egon's mouth left his neck as he heard his ear being nipped on, making his grip on him tight again. He'd been thinking the same thing, the pull of their bodies together was too much to pass up.

"You know what? You're right..." Egon murmured, the only sound the deep breathing of the both of them as Egon began to push Alex towards the beds, eager for the chance to give him everything he wanted.

Alex stumbled blindly, stupidly, towards the bunk room. He knew which bed was Egon’s, and was suddenly thankful for the twin size, as it meant they would have to be as close as possible.

“Egon…” Alex breathed as he stumbled backwards onto the bed, Egon’s hands cupping his jaw. Alex begun to work on pulling the front of Egon’s shirt out of his slacks.

Egon's heart was pounding in his chest, the sound just loud and heavy in his head as he watched Alex start to pull down his shirt. His mouth was dry as all of the blood had rushed to his lower half at this point, making his entire body feel hot all over. He was practically shaking with every touch of Alex's hands as he held himself back at the moment. He could let himself go later, he had to wait just a few more seconds…

”Can I?” Alex asked, practically doe eyed as he looked up at Egon, flushed with lips wet with spit.

His hands fumbled with the zipper of Egon’s pants and the buckle of his belt. This was the only time he cursed how perfectly dressed Egon was. It got in his way of what he really wanted right now.

"Oh... oh yes.”

Egon's entire body was trembling in anticipation, his entire being was just craving for anything he could get from Alex and now to think that he was going to let him take off his pants to get to him....he was not going to last long if this continued.

Alex deftly and quickly undid Egon’s belt and zipper with a speed that told Egon he had done this before, and a primal, stupid part of Egon’s brain flared with jealousy. He wanted to kill whoever taught Alex that. Alex was his.

Alex yanked Egon’s slacks down and his briefs along with it. Quickly, he nosed along the V of Egon’s hips with the ferocity of a starved animal. He licked and kissed anywhere he could get his mouth to.

Egon couldn't stop the guttural sound of pleasure that came from his mouth, his legs wobbling with every touch of Alex's tongue and mouth. His breath was heavy and sharp, his body trembling with the intense desire now coursing through him.

Alex’s hands moved to cover whatever he couldn’t get with his mouth. He wanted this to be good for Egon. He wanted to be good for Egon. He made sure to keep his teeth out of the way, using his tongue mostly. He was still shy, new at this despite the fever with which he undressed Egon.

Suddenly, he felt a heavy pressure on the back of his head.

Egon’s hand.

Egon shoved ever so lightly, forcing Alex to go lower. He had to breathe through his nose now, which was new. His eyes watered up again, threatening to spill.

He liked this Egon though. This new, dominant, side. He liked the pressure of his hand, he liked being told what to do.

Egon's breathing was hot and heavy as he pushed Alex lower to him, his breath rushing out of his mouth with a guttural hiss as he pushed him lower and lower and lower. He needed what Alex was giving him now more than anything he had felt before. He wanted it, needed it, his entire body was trembling in a mixture of anticipation and pleasure, he was close, and he was close very very quickly.

Alex could feel Egon tensing up. He didn’t want this to end so soon but he didn’t know whether or not Egon wanted to go…that far with him.

Egon’s hand released up on his head slightly. Gently, the same hand came to brush sweaty hair behind Alex’s ear.

Egon was hot in Alex’s mouth. Like melting velvet. Alex could stay here forever, warm and fuzzy, doing whatever Egon says. Whatever makes him make the sounds he’s making now.

"Stop..." Egon breathed, his voice was thick and heavy as it was hard for him to get the words out. He was too close now, he needed to keep control of himself for just a little longer, to hold back a bit before he blew this early.

"Look at me." Egon hissed through his teeth as he grabbed Alex's hair and pulled him back up to his face like a demanding master grabbing his pet's leash.

Alex almost choked, pulling quickly off of Egon. His hands were strong, and huge compared to Alex’s face. It was a pretty picture for Egon. A flushed and hazed Alex, back arched, shirt ruffled and pushed up, midriff showing.

“Egon-“ Alex’s voice was hoarse. There was still spit connecting him to Egon.

Alex’s hands drifted to Egon’s thighs. He felt bad, he’d have to wash these slacks for Egon later. He was pretty sure he was going to have to wash this entire bed later.

"Put your hair back" Egon demanded, using all his strength to keep himself from grabbing Alex and pulling him back down for more.

He couldn't see anything else right now other than Alex. He wanted him. He needed him to be his.

Alex’s hair was short so he simply tucked it behind his ear. He blinked up at Egon and got the cue as Egon began tearing at the buttons of Alex’s shirt.

“Ah!-“ Alex tried to protest his shirt being destroyed but Egon simply kissed him and pushed him further up the bed towards his pillows.

“I’ll buy you a new one-“ Egon mended as he pulled the scrap off of Alex’s back and began working to undo his pants, still almost fully dressed himself.

Egon was now barely thinking, he'd let his desire take absolute control of him. He was practically ripping off Alex's pants out of the pure desire to be able to see more of his body. It was almost animalistic the way he was moving now, he couldn't even see straight. All he knew was that it was time to take Alex as his own, to possess him completely.

“Please-“ Alex coughed as he broke away from Egon to paw weakly at his pants, slug around his hips.

Egon kissed him animalistically.

”Baby,” Alex whined. The blood rushed straight to Egon’s lower half.

"Please what?" Egon said, his hands moving to pin down Alex's hands, taking charge of the situation now. He knew a guy like this didn't want to be in charge. The way Alex had been acting so shyly earlier, the way he'd begged Egon to take control made it clear he was just too…overwhelmed to have any kind of power in this situation. Egon let his mouth roam over his neck, gently scratching and biting wherever he thought would get a reaction out of him.

Alex’s breath was coming in shallow puffs now. His eyes rolled back in his head as Egon continued to make dark marks around his neck. He wouldn’t be able to cover them, they’d know. They’d know he was Egon’s.

“Please- doctor!” Alex begged. Egon’s hand roamed up Alex’s lower half, now completely open to him.

Egon stopped, his hands drifting down to his hips again to grip them. He liked how Alex's eyes rolled back into his head as he called him doctor. It made his heart beat to think that Alex would want him to be his doctor, even if it was just for this moment, because that was exactly the title he wanted right now. He wanted to do experiments on him, to see the inside of him, to break him down into all of his pieces, then putting him together again like a puzzle to make him exactly what he needed.

“Take me…” Alex swallowed, mouth dry, “Take me apart…” He finally managed to pull his lovers pants completely off and his shirt as well, leaving him in the same state as Alex.

He was glad the fire house was warm. Hot, even.

Maybe that was just them two.

Egon's entire body shivered at that one sentence. It was as though he could feel the heat radiate off of his own body, his heart beating so quickly that it almost hurt him.

This boy, Alex, he was exactly what Egon needed. Maybe not just for a few nights, but for forever.

"Then I will take you apart..." Egon said, it was almost a threat. No one else was getting him, he was his.

“Please,” Alex kissed Egon as he felt him move. This position was similar to the table, except now Egon towered even more-so over him.

They hadn’t grabbed any sort of…help…for this. It was just them. Bare. Alex hoped Egon was fine with that. He was on the pill after all.

“I want you-“ Egon kissed Alex to shut him up and moved. He felt hot. Much hotter than anything or anybody Alex had been with before. And his body was, larger. He covered Alex’s whole chest, and he could feel one of Egon’s hands tracing one of his top surgery scars.

Egon shivered again, his body shaking with both the desire he was feeling and the thought that there was nothing to stop them from going all the way, no condoms or contraception, nothing at all. He wanted to take Alex and to make him his, on every level.

Alex's scars were just a bonus to him, something he liked to see on another's body as it told more about who they were. He would always appreciate the scars Alex got, because it made him know Alex even more.

“I don’t need…prep,” Alex breathed. He flushed with the admission but it was true. He watched as the realization suck into Egon’s face and he grinned, devilish.

“Yeah?” Egon asked, petting Alex’s side sweetly. It amazed him how even in such heated moments like this Egon could be so sweet and shy.

“Was thinking of you while I…” Alex admitted in a breathy, sort of out of control voice before he could even think about what he was saying.

"You were?" Egon whispered back, his voice full of shock, it seemed almost impossible that Alex would think of him at all when he was alone.

"Just me?"

Egon's hands began to make their way over Alex's body again, stroking down his sides as he watched for his reaction.

“Only you.” Alex moaned as Egon’s hand teased him.

“Wanted to be Yours” Alex purred. He kissed the bridge of Egon’s nose, something he knew the other man was sensitive about, but to Alex, he loved it, it was strong and regal just like the man it was attached to.

"Oh..." Egon breathed as he heard Alex moaning and kissing his nose, he could feel his heart skipping a beat at that admission. No one had ever said anything like that to him before, he didn't expect anyone to ever tell him that they wanted him, let alone only him. His entire body was trembling now as he felt a rush of emotions all at once.

He lowered his face back to Alex's and kissed him deeply, unable to help himself at all.

“Please, please need you now, needed you yesterday,” Alex began to whine, clawing at Egon’s back freely now. He was sure he would leave faint red marks in his wake. He wanted to mark Egon as much as Egon wanted to mark him.

He drew his legs around Egon’s back and pulled him closer into his hips, barely pulling him in.

Alex grit his teeth. He was so hot. He felt like he had a fever.

Egon groaned at that as his grip on Alex tightened, his breath coming out sharp and heavy as he pressed himself into him with everything he had. His heart was racing and he could feel his vision blurring at the heat now, he was so worked up that it was becoming difficult to keep steady because everything that Alex was doing was sending him straight to the breaking point.

Alex’s whines and moans took a sharp turn into a higher register as Egon pushed home. It felt insane. He felt like he was full to his throat. He wanted to spend and entire eon here in Egon’s arms.

Egon’s moans took a lower register however, as he braced one arm bracketing Alex’s head, hair flung widely out onto the pillow behind him. Alex’s arm flew up to claw at Egon’s nape.

It reminded him of how this started, Egon’s finger slowly drawing up and down his head.

Alex felt drunk. Egon felt powerful.

Egon could feel Alex's back arching as he pushed deeper and deeper, each movement making Egon feel more and more dominant, more and more in control of Alex. He could hear the other man growling and moaning with each thrust as it drove him close to his limit, but Egon couldn't stop himself, he wanted even more.

”Egon- Doctor- I’m so close” Alex breathed. His eyes were brimmed with tears as Egon pushed against a spot inside him that made him see stars. His hand gripped into Egon’s back further, and he was sure his nails were breaking skin as he dug into him and pulled him closer, kissing him harder, teeth biting lips and clacking into each other.

Egon's lips were still locked to his, his mouth moving even as his body shivered at the pressure from Alex's hand. He was on the verge of losing it completely, he needed this release more than anything right now because he had come so far. He'd be lying if he said his actions weren't a bit selfish, but no matter what his intentions were, his mind wasn't thinking like that right now, all he could think about was taking more and more.

“Egon.” Alex’s voice tumbled into a softer tone without even meaning to. “I thi-uh-” he made stupid little punched out noises with every movement. Egon gripped his hand that was on his back and pinned it to the pillows behind his head with his own. He felt just as hot as Alex, if not more so.

“I think- think I’m in-“ Alex gasped and made a long pathetic cry as Egon slowly moved and held his position against him. “ITHINKIMINLOVEWITHYOU-” Alex jumbled out in a moment of happiness and haze induced fog as Egon, the man of his dreams, the guy he’s wanted for so so long, holds him and kisses him and presses into him.

Egon shivered at that admission, his chest feeling as though it were being crushed from the sudden rush of emotions that came from Alex's words. He couldn't even think right now, he wasn't thinking of anything other than this moment, this man he had wanted for so long was in his arms telling him that he loved him. Egon squeezed the boy tighter as he finally released him from the pressure and finally allowed himself to just rest his weight on top of Alex, holding him close.

Alex felt Egon tense, and one of his large hands came to grip Alex’s lower half. He pulled, and a few strokes later Alex’s back bowed and his eyes rolled and he made an absolutely pathetic whimper as he folded.

He was Egon’s.

Egon shivered again, his jaw was clenched tight as he tried to get everything under control and stop his entire world from shaking. Now that he had Alex here, he wasn't going to let him go. He was only his, he was finally his and Egon had never felt this good before as he felt a rush of pride flow through him. He would have to wait to ask if it was just a heat-of-the-situation statement or if it was the real thing, but right now it didn't matter. All he could think of was that he had him.

Egon felt heavy on top of Alex as he laid there after the fact. Alex didn’t have the strength to move him. He really didn’t think he wanted to move him. He felt… warm and full and he really had never been happier. He had the man he loved in bed with him…shit, he had just made love to the man he loved. Alex felt like he may explode despite being so wrung out.

He could still feel Egon’s hands rubbing softly at his hips, even despite him being exhausted. Alex felt a different part of him warm, his heart. Even despite everything Egon was still thinking of him first.

Egon didn't try to move either, he felt so incredibly content just laying on top of Alex, his body pressed firmly against him. Egon's fingers were still tracing over his hips, he couldn't get enough of the boy beneath him. He'd never felt like this before, Alex had a hold on him he didn't think he would ever have over anyone, in this moment he had finally been taken by someone, he had finally been possessed and he wanted nothing more than to just fall asleep with Alex in his arms.

”Egon.” Alex whispered a few minutes after their breathing had calmed down. Egon had shifted slightly to get off of Alex’s chest.

“I love you.” Alex breathed as Egon played with his hair.

He felt Egon smile against his shoulder.

"I love you too."

Egon's reply was simple, but he meant it with all his heart as he shifted off of him, laying beside him now. He was so comfortable and so content with him, he wanted to hold him this way for the rest of his life and he honestly didn't want to be anywhere else right now. His arm snaked around and wrapped tightly around him as he brought him closer to himself, holding him close while his finger played with the hair at the back of his head.

Alex nuzzled into Egon’s neck. He shivered as the last of Egon pulled out.

“Do ya’ think we could sleep here?” Alex asked, already sleepy. Egon had tired him out, and he was still partially in that fuzzy state in between conscious and pliable.

Egon’s hand wrapped further around him. He was warm and still slightly tacky with sweat.

Egon shivered as he felt Alex nuzzle into him again, he couldn't help but give a soft chuckle when he heard his request to sleep together, he was already getting used to being Alex's pillow.

"Yes, I do."

He was tired too and he let himself drift off with his body pressed against Alex's, his arm keeping him close even when his eyes were starting to shut and his heart was trying to slow back down.

Alex fell asleep peacefully and quickly that night. It was nice. He felt completely comfortable for once. He had half the mind to pull his boxers and Egon’s shirt on before completely drifting off and forcing Egon to at least pull his boxers on as well.

He was glad he did, because somehow both of them forgot to set any sort of clock beside any bedside table, and by the time Venkman got to the firehouse the next day, they had just enough time to hear the door on the first floor open to be able to wake up and rush to get things ready.

Egon sat up slowly when he heard the firehouse door slam open from the lower floor. He looked around, seeing Alex pull on his boxers next to him.

He had to be dreaming still because Alex had spent the entire night with him. Egon was already slipping on pants by then and Alex was up as well.

They both looked half dressed but it was enough to not raise suspicions that they had been with each other. For all Peter knew, Egon had simply spent the night in the lab and Alex had had a particularly good date. They shuffled blearily into the kitchenette, and belatedly, Alex realized all of Egon’s work was still across the table. He hoped it could survive a night of no refrigeration, he would’ve hated to have ruined all of his hard work. He didn’t look worried, so Alex was not panicked just yet.

Instead, Egon headed to the kitchen and started pulling down some pancake mix and a bowl from a higher shelf than Alex couldn’t usually get to without going on his tip-toes, and grabbing a pan from under the sink.

Alex sat at the same chair he had been accosted in last night and watched intensely. Egon looked so domestic. He had to borrow extra sweats and an old college hoodie in his locker here since his clothes were ruined last night. He was lucky enough to have another work outfit in his locker. So he didn’t have the luxury of pretending like the two of them had truly spent a night together like a real couple.

Even though they did.

Finally.

Instead, he was already internally preparing to make up some story about someone else if Peter asked about his neck. Thankfully, Alex was smart enough to keep any marks he left on Egon where only he could see them.

Egon was focused on his cooking, he'd made pancakes here a few times before but he was determined to make this a good breakfast for Alex, now that they were actually official.

He was too focused on that to notice just how much Alex was staring at him, watching him like a predator would prey.

It was a nice feeling to know he had this kind of attention. He finally looked over at him though and smirked at the sight before going back to cooking.

Alex knew he had to tear his attention away before Venkman came up here and caught on to something. He was half worried that the place still reeked of sex.

He had quickly thrown the sheets of his and every other bed into the washer with the help of Egon, along with their clothes.

In all terms, nothing was left of evidence.

But Alex kinda wanted there to be.

He really, really liked Egon.

Watching him cook pancakes, for him and Alex, providing like this without being asked, warmed his heart a little bit and he had to catch himself before his brain took off with the thought and started imagining 10 years in the future, to mornings just like this, except maybe with a few little feet running around.

Egon was actually feeling warm at the looks Alex was giving him, it made him feel good that Alex was looking at him like this, that he could make this guy so happy. Egon didn't think of the future, he was just focused on this moment, on making these pancakes. Once he had the batter properly mixed he set the bowl down and pulled out the frying pan, beginning to heat it with grease.

Alex didn’t think anything could ruin his mood today.

That was, almost.

After Egon had finished his pancakes, they had both eaten just as Peter finally came upstairs to see them. Apparently he had stopped to check on the car before coming up, so they had more time than they thought.

They conversed casually, and sure enough, as Alex bit into another bite of his pancakes, he watched Peter eye his neck suspiciously.

“WHO gave you those things newsboy?” He asked, smirking.

Alex felt Egon’s leg tense against his, but he didn’t stop eating or show any other sign of being startled, so that was good.

“Just some girl from the bar…” Alex mumbled.

He didn’t know if Egon wanted to be open about it. He wished he had gotten to talk about it with him before everyone had shown up for work the next day. They had a scheduled go over of what they were going to do with the vault and its size soon.

But it was interrupted.

As soon as everyone had crowded around the breakfast nook upstairs, the alarms rang and Janine was yelling from downstairs about some high level poltergeist at the manhattan library. Suddenly, just as fast as they arrived, the boys had taken off in the van, all suited up.

Egon spared him a fleeting glance, and it was packed with a lot, before he had shuffled in and they had flipped the sirens on and pulled off.

Well.

He may as well get some work done for the rest of the day while they were gone.

Egon had caught an expression out of the corner of his eye from Peter and Alex's exchange that he didn't like, his jaw was clenching as they were interrupted, but there was no chance to dwell on it right now. He was more worried about Alex, hoping he wouldn't get into any kind of trouble from the lie he'd told. As Egon was going into the van he gave Alex a glimpse of a look that said 'I'll talk to you about it later' before being shut into the van with the rest of the team.

Alex had busied himself until the van had pulled up again late in the day.

It was a bad bust. At least a rough one.

There was a loud noise of the garage opening and the van pulled in with the boys in tow. They hoped out one by one.

Peter looked tired, already smoking. Ray was talking frantically to Winston who didn’t seem to be paying that much attention, talking about dinner. And finally, Egon folded himself out of the tight door and seemed to be almost…smoking.

Not, like. Attractive-ness wise.

Like, legitimately smoking.

As in on fire.

Alex rushed over to see what was wrong, but as he approached Egon simply held up the smoking ecto-trap, still steaming from a big catch. He smiled tiredly and looked down at Alex.

Egon looked exhausted and in need of a good shower at the moment, sweat and ash covered him and Alex couldn't find a clean spot on him if he tried. He was panting heavily the moment he made it out of the van since the last ghost they had encountered had been one hell of a fight. His eyes immediately locked with Alex's when he started running over towards him and his face lit up with that tired, sweet smile. He was grateful that the one person he actually wanted to see right now was there to see him.

Alex looked towards the rest of the boys. “Okay boys, beds are freshly made. Go shower and while you do that I’ll order your favorite Chinese takeout!” Alex declared and he could practically feel Egon melt under his touch on his back with his words.

With that, everyone scuddled off to busy themselves.

Egon's shoulders sagged the moment he heard that, his expression suddenly becoming much more relaxed and calm. As soon as the rest of the guys left the room he had wrapped his arms tightly around him again, burying his face down into the crook of his neck.

"I don't feel like you give yourself enough credit Alex, I'm always fed well here."

His words were tired and scratchy, but he was still smiling as he squeezed him tight.

Alex nuzzled back, only slightly bothered by the singed smell of his uniform. That would have to be fixed later.

“Go shower, big guy.” Alex shoved Egon gently off him and towards the showers with the rest of the guys. He wanted him to be clean and feeling good before he gave him a warm meal.

Egon reluctantly let himself be pushed away but he still made good use of the rest room as he stripped off his sweaty clothes and headed into the shower. It wasn't easy to wash the thick layer of sweat and ash from his skin this far in but he was able to at least get it to the point where he didn't smell like he'd been standing next to someone on fire. He got out of the shower after about 20 minutes and put on a clean set of clothes he had kept up here.

As he searched for clothes, he realized a sweater from earlier was missing. He’d have to ask Alex if he’d seen where it had gone, maybe in with the clothes that they ruined last night.

Egon smiled smugly at the thought.

And here everyone thought he had no game.

He shook his head.

It was more than that.

He really, really liked Alex. He felt connected to him, on a deeper level than he did with anybody else on the team. He wanted to come home to him after a long day of kicking ass and saving the world, knowing he was safe and happy.

Egon smiled at the thought happily as he appeared back in the kitchenette, empty save for you even though everyone else had gone off to shower before him.

Egon was content with this moment right now, he was home and he didn't have to worry about his team for a little while longer. And even if Alex was still going through his stuff, and stealing it to wear home, he didn't have any concerns.

"I'm back, how have you been holding up here?" He asked, walking into the kitchenette with a small, gentle smile as he leaned up against the counter. Egon just wanted to keep talking with Alex for a little while longer before they had to actually get busy with work things.

Alex opened one of 3 bags of Chinese food he had ordered while the rest of them were showering.

“I’m okay. That bust looked rough. Wanna’ talk about it?”

Alex asked, bumping his hip playfully against Egon’s in an attempt to keep the mood light even though he knew sometimes talking about scary or close-call busts made Egon get antsy.

Egon's face was still a little bit strained after the bust but he couldn't help but smile when he noticed Alex was trying to keep the mood light, Egon liked that part of him. He couldn't help but chuckle as Alex bumped his hip against him, he knew Alex was trying to help. When the topic of the bust came up, Egon tried to dismiss it.

"Oh it was nothing, the ghost was just a bit stronger than expected but it turned out fine. Don't worry about it."

Alex could tell he was dodging him, but he wasn’t going to push. Egon would come to him when he was ready.

Or, he maybe he could take out his stress with busts a different way now.

Either way, Alex didn’t mind for now.

Presently, he focused on getting the food out of the bags and cleaning Egon’s makeshift science lab off the and onto the counter.

Alex was glad. It looked like they had all survived the night and were doing fine. Egon didn’t seem fussed with him moving them either. Just watched, enraptured, leaning over the rest of the kitchen with arms folded as Alex moved methodically.

Egon's eyes kept on moving from his food to Alex and back again, that sweet smile never leaving his face as he admired the way he went about his work. Egon's stomach was rumbling now that that sweet smell was filling the kitchenette, the smell of the fresh food just making his stomach growl. His hand reached out to try and grab a piece of the food but each time he reached his hand out he stopped himself, not wanting to eat until Alex had a chance to eat something too.

Alex playfully batted at his hand. “Let me grab the others, they went to grab beers from the basement freezer.”

Alex swung himself quickly around the fire pole a few yards away and Egon watched him quickly drop out of view rolling his eyes.

Always dramatic.

Alex was the one that used that silly pole the most despite only being a desk jockey and a PR Princess for the team.

Egon chuckled a little bit as he watched Alex take the fire pole, as much as he thought it was a bit much he was more impressed that Alex could actually pull it off. Egon got too lost in his own thoughts to notice that Alex had left until he was back in just a minute or two with the other guys in tow.

Alex bounded up the stairs and gleefully placed a cold 6 pack down in the center. Janine was even in tow behind the rest of the guys.

Egon smiled gently. It was perfect. All his favorite people.

Alex brushed up against him, smiling with a specific warmth meant only for him.

He clapped his hands together happily. “Okay guys!” He addressed everyone and gestured to the wide spread of Chinese food in the center of the table, with the beer as the centerpiece. “Dig in!”

Egon felt like something had suddenly and unexpectedly popped into place in his life. Like something was just ever so slightly out of alignment, and in this particular moment it all became very, blindingly clear.

It was all perfect.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Final notes: woah!! Okay so that was a long story sorry everyone I have brainrot. Not responsible for my own actions but honestly we need more good ftm shit on this website so I took it upon myself. Hope everyone enjoyed but look out for more stuff soon because I finally feel like actually writing yayyyy :333

#x male reader #x male oc #x male character #x transmasc reader #x trans male reader #x trans reader #x reader #egon spengler #Egon Spengler x reader #Egon Spengler x male oc #ghostbusters #ghostbusters x reader #x gn reader #mad scientist #scientist x reader #doctor kink #medical kink #Spoz writes

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summercourtship · 2 months ago

Note

About the Kiss Drabble!!!

Can i ask for Vulpes Inculta? If yes can you do number 14?

14 - A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished

Of course you can ask for Vulpes!! Generally, I’ll accept requests for any character I’ve written before. And I’m like… super excited to write him more, especially in an objectively sillier context than my actual vulpes x courier fic. This ended up being slightly longer than the drabble length I had said but that’s okay lmao, I had a SCENARIO (it's like 1200 words). Anyway I love like... companion!vulpes scenarios/fics.

KISS DRABBLE PROMPTS

Vulpes was watching you struggle to climb over a fence, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. He’d suggested multiple times that the two of you kept moving, although you knew that his motivation was to try and subtly corral you towards Cottonwood Cove without you noticing. You’d been successfully avoiding his attempts to get you to visit Caesar, but you could feel his patience wearing thin with every passing day that you continued to dodge his request. He just didn’t seem to understand why you didn’t want to visit the man whose entire ideology said that your only purpose in life was to have children.

With a huff you swung your leg over the top of the not-particularly-tall fence, pulling yourself onto the other side before dropping onto the ground.

“I think it would have been easier for you to try to find a hole.” He remarked. You waved your hand dismissively behind you, not bothering to look back at him.

“That would take up too much time, I just want to check out these boxes.” You began walking to a gutted pre-war van not a few yards from the fence, with what was clearly an abandoned camp in front of it. The remains of a fire, an old bedroll, some crates, and a few ominous bloodstains sat in the shadow of the van, waiting for you to loot them.

“So you said.” You ignored his comment, instead crouching by one of the crates and pulling out a bobby pin to try and open it.

You had barely bent over when a force pushed you down, using the shift in your balance to easily knock you to the ground. You yelped, more from surprise than any pain, scrambling to pull out your weapon. But your assailant had the advantage over you and kicked it from your hand as soon as you had grabbed it. Distantly, you registered Vulpes cursing, though you were preoccupied with the woman above you.

It appeared that a raider had been hiding in the van and decided to take the opportunity you presented. Luckily she was only carrying a rusty pipe as a weapon, which you were able to wrap your hands around and try to pull from her grasp.

Then, as she yanked the pipe back from your hold, she sputtered and choked, looking down to where Vulpes was now pressing his ripper into her gut. You barely managed to roll away before she collapsed, dead.

Shocked, you looked from the corpse to Vulpes. You didn’t even have it in you to make a snarky remark about how you could’ve handled her yourself. Instead, you could only muster a small laugh. “You saved me.”

He put the ripper away and the desert was silent without it's mechanical whirring.

“Caesar wants to see you.” He shifted slightly, almost uncomfortable as he looked down at you. “He would be disappointed if I let you die. Especially to a lowlife like that.”

You stared at him for a moment longer before sighing and standing, brushing the dirt off of your pants. You grabbed your gun from where it had landed when the raider kicked it, placing it back at your side. “Well. I guess we should find somewhere to sleep, right?”

Vulpes scaled the fence easily, landing on the other side in the matter of seconds. He turned back to look at you through the fence, frowning. “You cannot avoid Caesar forever.”

“Once I have an actual reason to go down that way, I’ll pop by for a visit.” You began to climb again, the process slightly easier now that you had done it once. You could see him watching you, rolling his eyes.

“You’ve been saying that for almost two weeks.”

“And I haven’t had a reason to go down that way.” You dropped down from the fence. “You don’t have to travel with me.”

“I was told to bring you to Caesar.”

“Then we’ll go on my time.” It was a conversation you’d had at least three times with him already, and it always played out the same.

You walked with him, letting him lead the way (slightly) as you fiddled with your pip-boy and tried to grapple with your thoughts. Vulpes had killed someone for you. And even if his only motivation for doing so was because of Caesar, he still deemed your survival more important than anything.

Despite your desire to, you didn't dare sneak a look at him, sure that he would be able to feel your stare on his skin.

You only realized he had stopped walking when you almost ran into him. He was looking at you, expectantly, and you struggled to figure out what he had said before giving up and asking him to repeat himself.

“Will this do?” He gestured behind him to a small shack. You nodded, pulling your gun and approaching. Once you had ensured that the inside was clear of any creatures or humans, you let yourself sit on the single dusty cot. Leaning back, you rested your head against the wall, letting your eyes shut.

You could hear Vulpes moving around, placing his things down and investigating the cupboards and lockers, before his footsteps came to a stop. Then the cot dipped beside you. Startled, you opened your eyes to see him sitting in the exact same position as you, his head turned towards you.

“I don’t like you-” You began, only to frown when he interrupted you.

“I’ve heard much worse.”

“I’m not done.” You sighed, closing your eyes again. “I don’t like you, but I wanted to say thank you for saving me earlier.”

“Like I said, it was for Caesar.”

“Oh really?” You opened your eyes again, leaning to look at him only to find him facing forward. He had a nice profile, you supposed, with strong features.

“Yes, profligate.” He turned to look at you again, that same expression of annoyance that seemed to be on his face a lot when it came to you replaced by something that you weren’t able to discern. His eyes briefly looked down to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. But you’d seen it.

And then you leaned forward, acting faster than your thoughts which were screaming at you that this was a bad idea, crashing your lips onto his. For a moment, he tensed and seemed like he was going to pull away from you before he pushed back against your lips, returning the kiss with a desperation you hadn’t expected. His hands rose to hold the sides of your head, threading through your hair to dip your face backwards as he shifted to practically drink you in.

Maybe you would regret this when you parted, maybe you wouldn’t. You knew that this would have consequences- there was no way you made out with one of Caesar’s closest men and didn’t pay for it later. But right now, with his hands in your hair and your tongue swiping against his lips, begging for entrance, you couldn’t care less.

You shifted, moving so you straddled his waist to deepen the kiss even further, opening your mouth and inviting him in. His tongue flicked against yours, pulling a whimper from your throat that you would certainly deny later. He groaned in response, moving his hands from where they’d landed on the sides of your face to wrap around your back, pulling you closer to him until your chest was pressed entirely against his. Your hands gripping his head, and you momentarily mourned the fact that his hair wasn’t long enough for you to pull or really grab onto.

With a final gasp, you parted to catch your breath, panting. Despite no longer kissing, you stayed within a few inches of him as you breathed each other in, sitting in silence for a moment before he spoke.

“Will you let me take you to Caesar now?”

“No.”

#vulpes inculta x courier #vulpes inculta x reader #my fic #ask #anon #prompt #request #fallout x reader

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janedoecreations · 11 months ago

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The Dutton Ranch glowed with the beauty of the morning on your very first day there. Determined to make a good impression and avoid any disruptions, you woke up early and headed to the barn to tackle the biggest task on your list. As you stepped inside, the serene and peaceful atmosphere enveloped you, accompanied only by the gentle sounds of the countryside drifting through the open doors. The scent of hay and animals filled the air, creating a comforting and familiar aura. Without wasting a moment, you plugged in your earbuds, queued up an upbeat playlist, and found your rhythm. The music transported you into a world of focus and determination, as you swayed and hummed along, totally absorbed in your work.

Unbeknownst to you, Rip Wheeler had quietly entered the barn, observing your dedication with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. Wanting to catch your attention, he greeted you with a friendly "Hello there." Unfortunately, the music blasting through your earbuds prevented you from hearing his words, and you continued working, oblivious to his presence. Intrigued by your commitment, Rip decided to make himself known in a more direct way. He tilted his head, a mischievous smile forming on his lips, and approached you from behind. Out of the blue, Rip blew a soft puff of air through your hair, successfully startling you. As you turned around, your eyes met his, and a bewildered expression crossed your face as you struggled to process the unexpected interruption.

Your heart raced as you took in Rip's rugged features and piercing gaze. His mischievous blue eyes sparkled, causing a warmth to spread through your body despite the initial shock. It took a moment for words to form, but eventually, you managed to stutter out a greeting, "Oh… uh, hi. Sorry, I didn't hear you." Rip chuckled at your flustered response and took a step back, giving you some space. His deep, confident voice filled the barn as he assured you, "No need to apologize. I couldn't help but notice your enthusiasm. You really know how to put in the work."

Blushing, you quickly looked away, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pride at his words. You hadn't expected anyone, let alone the formidable foreman of the ranch, to witness your routine. Gathering your composure, you replied, "Thank you. I wanted to make a good impression." Rip's lips curled into a reassuring smile as the warm morning light streamed through the barn windows, softening his features. "Consider that mission accomplished. You've definitely caught my attention."

Your heart skipped a beat, unsure if his words were meant as a simple compliment or something more. Before you had a chance to dwell on it, Rip continued, his voice filled with genuine interest, "So, what brings you to the Dutton Ranch? Are you planning to stay long?" Pausing to gather your thoughts, you explained, "I just graduated from college, I needed a change of pace and my father just happens to be friends with Mr. Dutton and he thought me getting a job here would be an opportunity I was lucky enough to land a job here."

As you spoke, Rip's unwavering gaze remained fixed on you, intensifying your emotions. His interest felt genuine, and you couldn't help but feel grateful to your father for opening the doors to this incredible opportunity. The Dutton Ranch was a legendary place, and being a part of it was a dream come true. "Your father has excellent taste," Rip expressed, a hint of admiration lacing his words. "Working on this ranch is not just an ordinary job. It requires dedication and a love for the land. Do you have that love?"

You nodded, a small smile gracing your lips. "Absolutely. Nature's beauty and the peace that comes from working the land have captivated me since childhood. The Dutton Ranch provides the perfect opportunity to fully immerse myself in that way of life." Rip's eyes sparkled with understanding as he listened intently to your words. He admired the passion in your voice, knowing firsthand the profound fulfillment that could be found in ranching. As a trusted hand on the ranch and a friend to the Dutton family, he felt a responsibility to ensure that those who joined the ranch possessed the same devotion and connection to the land.

"Good," Rip replied, firmly nodding in agreement. "Working on the Dutton Ranch is more than just a job. It's about preserving a legacy, a way of life that has been passed down through generations." As you stood there, captivated by Rip's passionate speech about the ranch's significance, it suddenly dawned on you the true weight of his role on this land. He wasn't just another worker; he was the foreman, entrusted with overseeing every aspect of the ranch and ensuring its lasting prosperity.

A playful smile danced across your lips as you cast a teasing gaze down at Rip and remarked, "So, you're the foreman, huh? That means you're supervising me right now. And, if I'm not mistaken, you're actually giving me a lecture because you want me to grasp how important this land is to you. Am I close?" Rip couldn't contain his laughter at your playful comment, his ruggedly handsome face breaking into a wide grin. "Damn right you are," he replied, his eyes sparkling with warmth and affection.

You found yourself drawn to Rip's easy smile and genuine laughter, feeling a connection with him that you hadn't expected. His presence exuded strength and determination, but there was also a vulnerability hidden beneath the surface. It was as if he carried the weight of the land on his broad shoulders, shouldering the responsibility of preserving the ranch's heritage. Rip's eyes locked with yours as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "You have to understand," he began, his voice laced with emotion, "that this land, this ranch, it's more than just a job or a way of life. It's a part of who we are. It's in our blood, our very souls."

You could feel the intensity of his words resonating within you, awakening a sense of purpose that you hadn't yet realized existed. The Dutton Ranch was more than just a dream come true; it was a chance to be a part of something greater, to contribute to a legacy that stretched back through generations. Rip paused for a moment, studying your face with a mixture of curiosity and awe. "You have that fire in you," he murmured, his voice tinged with both admiration and a hint of skepticism. "But it remains to be seen if you have the grit and resilience required to survive in this harsh, beautiful land."

You found yourself lost in Rip Wheeler's deep, intense gaze as you locked eyes with him. There was an indescribable magnetism between the two of you that seemed to draw you closer together. As you continued to stare up into his piercing eyes, your own gaze gradually shifted downwards, causing a slight blush to spread across your cheeks. With each passing moment, you became acutely aware of just how close his face was to yours.

A sudden rush of nervousness and anticipation coursed through your veins, forcing your heart to beat a little faster. The cacophony of thoughts in your head intensified as you desperately tried to regain your composure. Amidst the chaos, one singular thought echoed over and over again like a broken record: keep it professional. Realizing the need to break the tension and refocus your attention, you cleared your throat, the sound cutting through the charged atmosphere. "Yeah, sure," you managed to stammer, attempting to compose yourself. "Whatever you say, Rip… I mean, sir."

The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rushed, breathless manner, betraying your inner turmoil. Despite your attempt to maintain a professional tone, the slip of calling him by his first name did not go unnoticed. Rip's rugged features softened slightly, revealing a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky timbre. "You can call me Rip, if you'd like," he replied, his words laden with an unspoken invitation. The sound of your own breath caught in your throat as you processed his unexpected response.

You stood there, face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement, as you took a step back from Rip Wheeler. The name seemed to have caught your attention, and you couldn't help but flash him a smile. "Rip! That's a really interesting name!" you exclaimed, trying to make conversation and perhaps distract yourself from the awkwardness of the situation. Rip raised an eyebrow at your comment, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. He studied you curiously, his piercing gaze leaving you slightly flustered. Your attempt to create some distance only seemed to entertain him more, and you couldn't help feeling slightly self-conscious under his scrutiny.

Just as you turned to walk away, your foot caught on something unseen, causing you to lose your balance. Before you knew it, you found yourself falling backward, much to your surprise, and landed hard on your ass with a resounding thud. The shock of the impact made you grunt involuntarily, unable to suppress the exclamation that slipped from your lips. "Fuck me running!" you blurted out, wincing at the realization of the inappropriate choice of words. Your eyes widened, mortified that such a phrase had escaped you in the presence of the enigmatic Rip Wheeler. The combination of shock, embarrassment, and pain made you want to sink into the ground as you prayed for it to all just disappear.

As you lay there, your heart racing and your cheeks flaming red, you could feel Rip's gaze on you. You braced yourself for his reaction, expecting him to either laugh or scold you. But instead, he simply smiled and extended a hand to help you up. "You okay there?" he asked, his voice low and soothing. You took his hand gratefully, feeling a jolt of electricity run through you as your fingers brushed against his rough skin. As he helped you to your feet, your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You could see the amusement in his eyes, but there was also something else there - something that made your heart skip a beat. You tried to look away, but his gaze was too intense, too captivating. And then, without warning, he leaned in closer and whispered in your ear, "I think we're going to get along just fine."

Your heart pounded in your chest as his warm breath caressed your ear, sending shivers down your spine. The world around you seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you in that suspended moment of connection. It was as if an invisible bond had formed between you, drawing you closer together in ways you couldn't quite comprehend. His words hung in the air, the implications both thrilling and terrifying. What did he mean by "we're going to get along?" Was this just a friendly gesture or something more? You could feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his presence, and it made your mind race with possibilities.

As you stood there, the intensity of the moment enveloping you, a small smile began to tug at the corners of Rip's lips. It was a smile filled with promises and secrets, a smile that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. It was a smile that suggested this encounter was no mere coincidence. Rip released your hand, but the electric connection between you remained palpable and unbroken. His eyes traced over your flushed face, lingering on your lips for a fleeting moment before meeting your gaze once again. In his eyes, you could see a glimmer of challenge, a silent invitation that stirred something deep within you.

As a surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt a hitch in your breath. The ground beneath you felt unsteady, defying the laws of gravity. The world around you faded away, leaving only Rip's presence and the cacophony of your racing thoughts. In that moment, the air crackled with an intense energy, an unspoken tension that pulled you closer together. You took a hesitant step forward, unable to resist the magnetic force that Rip exuded. Anticipation spread through your body, mingling with the lingering pain from your recent fall.

Moving closer, your eyes locked once more, drawn to the magnetic pull between you like two celestial bodies in perfect orbit. Rip's gaze bore into yours, intense and unyielding, seemingly capable of penetrating through the barriers you had carefully constructed. It was a vulnerability that both thrilled and terrified you. Without breaking eye contact, Rip reached up, his hand coming to rest gently against your cheek. His touch was surprisingly tender, sending sparks of desire trailing along your skin. The world around you seemed to dissipate entirely, replaced only by the electricity of his touch and the magnetic pull between you.

The weight of his hand on your cheek called for a response, and instinctively, you leaned into his touch. A surge of heat spread through your body, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you. In this suspended moment, time stood still as you savored the tantalizing possibilities that hung in the air. But, as if on cue, the moment shattered with Jimmy's oblivious smile as he entered the barn. The air instantly became tense, disrupted by his presence and breaking the intimate atmosphere between Rip and you.

You tore your gaze away from Rip, feeling a pang of disappointment and confusion as reality crashed back in. It was as if a spell had been broken, and the world rushed back in with all its noise and chaos. Jimmy's obliviousness to the charged atmosphere between you and Rip only added to your frustration. He walked over to you, completely unaware of the connection you had just shared. "Hey, what's going on here? Did I interrupt something?" Jimmy asked, his brows furrowing with genuine concern. You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of desire that still clung to your thoughts. "No, nothing, just lost my footing for a moment. Rip was helping me up."

Jimmy gave a nod of understanding, though you could tell he still had a lingering suspicion that something had transpired. As he began to talk about the day's tasks and plans, you could hardly concentrate. Your mind was still spinning, replaying the intense moment between you and Rip. Were you reading too much into it? Or was there something more between you? Throughout the day, while completing your usual chores around the ranch, your mind kept wandering back to that electric moment in the barn. The memory of Rip's touch lingered on your skin, sending sparks of longing through your veins. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was unfinished business between the two of you.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, you found yourself standing by the horse stable, lost in your thoughts. Dusk painted a romantic backdrop, amplifying the emotions swirling within you. Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, and before you could turn around, a deep voice filled the air. "I hope I didn't scare you away earlier," Rip said, his voice rough and soothing all at once. You felt a thrill run down your spine at the sound of his voice, turning around to find Rip leaning against a wooden beam of the stable. His dark hair was tousled from the wind, and his strong arms were crossed casually over his chest. There was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, as if he too was grappling with the same magnetic pull between you.

A blush stained your cheeks as you met Rip's gaze, unable to form words in response. The electricity between the two of you crackled in the air, making it hard to breathe. Time seemed to stand still, as the world around you faded into the background. Breaking the silence, Rip took a step closer, his steady footsteps resonating with purpose. "I've been thinking about you all day," he confessed softly, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. As Rip's words hung in the air, you couldn't help but feel your heart quicken its pace. Each beat echoed in your ears, syncing with the rhythm of the moment. His honesty washed over you like a gentle breeze, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. The vulnerability in his voice only served to deepen your connection.

You found it difficult to tear your gaze away from his mesmerizing eyes, which held a depth and intensity that drew you in. The setting sun cast a warm glow upon his features, accentuating the subtle contours of his face. As his lips curved into a tender smile, a surge of warmth flooded your chest. Step by step, Rip closed the distance between you, his movements deliberate and deliberate, almost as if he was afraid to shatter the fragile tension that hung delicately in the air. The wooden beam creaked slightly under his weight as he leaned against it, creating a symphony of sounds that further added to the atmosphere.

As his hand gently reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a shiver coursed through your body. His touch was warm and reassuring, radiating a tenderness that felt both comforting and exhilarating. Time seemed to stand still, suspended in the gentle ebb and flow of the moment. His fingers trailed delicately down the curve of your cheek, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. You couldn't help but lean into his touch, craving more of his gentle caress. His hand then cupped your face, his thumb softly caressing your cheekbone, and your breath hitched in your throat. The weight of his touch was electrifying, sending a jolt of desire rippling through your body.

The proximity between the two of you became almost unbearable, yet you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, as if the slightest movement could send everything toppling over the edge. In this moment, it felt as though the whole world revolved around the two of you, locked in an intimate dance of emotions. Rip's eyes absorbed every detail of your face, as if he was committing it to memory. His gaze was so intense that it felt like he was unraveling every secret you held within, every hidden desire and vulnerability. It was both thrilling and terrifying, to have someone see you so completely, yet it was also a rare and beautiful gift.

In a breathless whisper, Rip's voice filled with a fiery passion. "I cannot resist you any longer," he murmured, his words igniting a blazing inferno in your heart. Anticipation crackled in the air, his lips drawing closer to yours, as you found yourself unable to resist the magnetic force between you. Just as his lips were about to meet yours, Lloyd's voice shattered the moment as he called out to Rip, breaking the spell that held you both captive. Both of you were abruptly taken aback, startled by the sudden interruption. Rip's hand swiftly fell from your face, and the charged atmosphere dissipated instantly. Lloyd's untroubled presence invaded the previously sacred space that had been established between you and Rip. His obliviousness to the gravity of the moment left you feeling frustrated and a bit embarrassed.

Rip swiftly regained his composure, his features returning to their usual stoic expression. "Yeah, Lloyd?" he replied, his voice giving away no hint of the desire that had recently consumed him. A pang of disappointment washed over you as you observed how easily he shifted gears, seemingly brushing off the connection that had formed between the two of you. Unaware of the lingering tension in the air, Lloyd moved closer. "Just wanted to let you know that dinner's ready," he cheerfully announced, oblivious to the emotional turbulence that lay just beneath the surface. With great effort, you nodded, fighting to regain your composure. "Thanks, Lloyd. We'll be there shortly," you managed to say, your voice revealing a slight tremor.

As Lloyd departed towards the main house, you turned to face Rip, desperately searching his eyes for any indication that he shared the same intensity that you felt. However, all you found was a guarded expression and a fleeting hint of regret that quickly vanished. "We should go," Rip suggested, his voice sounding distant and detached. It was as if the spell had been abruptly shattered, forcing the harsh reality of the world to come crashing back in. You nodded, unable to muster any words as you stood there, feeling the weight of missed opportunity and the ache of unfulfilled longing. But you knew that Rip was right—they had to go. Slowly, you both made your way back to the main house, where the fragrant aroma of a home-cooked meal filled the air.

As you entered the dining room, John glanced up and observed Rip and you as you made your way towards the table. Sitting beside each other, you cleared your throat and apologized for your tardiness. Explaining the situation, you shared, "Apologies for our delay; I had some chores to complete, and Rip kindly assisted me in finishing them, as I was struggling with a particular task. Isn't that right, Rip?" Rip nodded in agreement, his eyes briefly locking with yours as he confirmed your explanation. "Yes, that's right," he replied, his voice cool and collected. "It took longer than anticipated, but we managed to get it done."

John raised an eyebrow, his playful smile hinting at a knowingness that made your cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Well, glad you two could collaborate so efficiently," he chuckled, causing a ripple of laughter to pass through the rest of the group gathered around the table. It felt like a strange mixture of relief and discomfort, knowing that your secret rendezvous had been exposed, albeit in a lighthearted manner. Unable to shake off the lingering tension, you found it difficult to focus on the meal. Each bite seemed to stick in your throat, reminding you of the missed opportunity and the unspoken desires that were still lurking beneath the surface. The conversation at the table buzzed around you, but your mind kept drifting back to Rip, replaying the moment over and over again.

As the conversation around the dining room table continued, your mind wandered to Rip Wheeler, the rugged and handsome ranch hand who sat beside you. You couldn't help but notice the way his muscles bulged beneath his shirt as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the conversation. Your heart skipped a beat as your gaze lingered on him, and a smile crept up on your face. Without thinking twice, you placed your hand on Rip's lap, and he turned his head to look at you.

You quickly unbuttoned his pants, and he raised an eyebrow, unsure of what was happening. Without a word, you slid your hand into his pants and wrapped it around his dick. Rip let out a low moan as you began to stroke him slowly and steadily. John Dutton regaled the group with a story, oblivious to the intimate act taking place right under his nose. Rip's dick was thick and hard in your hand, and you could feel his breath catching in his throat as you stroked him. You leaned in close to his ear, whispering words of encouragement and desire. "You're so big," you murmured, "I want to taste you."

As your hand continued to move up and down Rip's cock, you could feel his body tense and his breathing become more erratic. His eyes closed tightly as he let out a soft groan, his head tilting slightly to the side as he surrendered himself to the pleasure you were providing. You couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement and desire as you watched him lose control, his body responding to your touch in a way that left you breathless.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against Rip's ear as you whispered, "I want to feel you inside me. I want to be filled by your strength and your power." Rip's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with yours as he realized the true nature of your request. As you turned your head and looked at John, you noticed the slight furrow in his brow and the curiosity in his eyes as he continued recounting his story. Taking a moment to clear your throat, you couldn't help but interrupt him. "I'm sorry, John," you began hesitantly, "for interrupting your, uh, story, but where's your bathroom? I, uh, have to use it."

John paused mid-sentence, his attention now fully focused on you. He contemplated your request for a moment before a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Oh, it's just down the hall to the left," he replied, his voice warm and accommodating. "First door on your right, can't miss it." As you turned your head and caught John's gaze, a mischievous smile played on your lips. You couldn't resist teasing him a little, especially since you knew Rip was watching. Clearing your throat you faked a perplexed expression and innocently asked, "Third door on the left, you say?"

John paused once again, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of your words. "No," he finally replied, shaking his head. "First door on the right." You pretended to suddenly understand, realizing that you had made a mistake. "Oh! The fifth door on the left," you declared confidently, causing a burst of laughter to escape from Rip. John looked at you, completely bewildered. He couldn't help but chuckle awkwardly "Uh, no, Rip," he said, gesturing towards you. "How about you show her where the bathroom is?"

Rip stood up, his voice laced with amusement as he replied, "Sure thing, John. I'll take her there." As he led you down the hall, your heart pounding in your chest, you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. You wanted Rip more than anything in that moment, and you knew that once you were alone with him, there was no stopping what would happen next. Jimmy suddenly looked up from his plate and said, “Hey Rip, I can show (Y/N) where the bathroom is.” Rip narrowed his eyes at Jimmy, immediately killing the friendly atmosphere at the table. "Shut the fuck up, Jimmy," he growled. Lloyd's eyes shifted from Rip to you, trying to figure out what was going on. But as he watched the exchange between the two, something suddenly clicked in his mind. "Uh, you know what Jimmy, how about you let Rip show (Y/N) where the bathroom is," Lloyd suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.

As Rip led you down the hallway, your heart pounded in your chest, and your mind raced with anticipation. You couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as you followed him, every step bringing you closer to the fulfillment of your desires. The hallway was dimly lit, and the only sounds were the soft creaking of the floorboards beneath your feet and the faint hum of the air conditioning unit. As you reached the door at the end of the hall, Rip turned to face you, his eyes locked onto yours. You could see the desire and hunger in his gaze, and it sent shivers down your spine. Without a word, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, beckoning you to follow.

The bathroom was small and cramped, but it was enough to satisfy your needs. The walls were a dull gray, and the floor was tiled in a mosaic pattern that sparkled in the dim light. Rip closed the door behind you, his back pressed against it as he looked down at you. You could see the hunger in his eyes as he took in your appearance, his gaze lingering on your curves and your full lips. Without a word, Rip reached out and pulled you closer, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you into him. His lips met yours in a fierce kiss, his tongue darting into your mouth as he deepened the embrace. You could feel his arousal pressing against your thighs as he ground himself against you, his hands roaming over your body as he explored every inch of you.

As he lifted you up onto the sink counter, Rip's hands traveled down to your thighs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your skin. You moaned softly as he slid one finger between your legs, his touch sending shivers through your body. He continued to explore every inch of you with his fingers, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you with each passing moment. As Rip's fingers moved faster and faster, you could feel yourself nearing the brink of ecstasy. You wrapped your legs around him tightly, pulling him closer as he continued to explore every inch of you with his fingers. Suddenly, Rip's lips found their way back to yours as he kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth as he brought you over the edge.

With a sudden urgency, Rip lifted you up and set you down on the floor, his hands moving quickly to unfasten his pants. You watched in anticipation as he stepped out of them, revealing his arousal in all its glory. Without a word, Rip took hold of your hips and pulled you closer, his arousal pressing against your core. You could feel the heat between your bodies as he entered you, his movements slow and deliberate at first before picking up speed. As Rip's movements grew more frenzied, you could feel yourself nearing the brink once again. You wrapped your legs around him tightly, pulling him closer as he continued to move within you. Suddenly, Rip's body stiffened, and he let out a loud groan as he came within you. You felt his body shudder against yours as he collapsed onto the floor beside you, spent and satisfied.

#yellowstone #rip wheeler #rip wheeler x reader #cole hauser

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auroragehenna · 2 months ago

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AI-less Whumptober

Day 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday (Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”)

TW/CW: Interrogations, truth serum Word count: (585)

Imagine though. Imagine Whumpee had been torture for hours. Possibly days-weeks or even months. They’ve been interrogated restlessly and mercilessly. But now their Whumper has let off of them. Suddenly they‘re being left alone. It was unnerving. Had they finally given up?! But then Whumper opens the Whumpees door again and ruins the sweet tensed illusion…:

Whumpees head lifted at the sound of their cell door opening. They hadn‘t heard it in a few days, only the sound of the little food tray.

Whumper entered the room, their usual cat-like predatory behavior passively set. With casual steps they approached Whumpee.

All they could do was stare up at them through matted hair, too tired and too scared to actively fight back they again resulted to their words: „I won‘t tell you what you want to know. Just give up already. I will die with this information, I‘ve proven it time after time.“

Whumper hunched down on their knees in front of their victim. Deceptively gentle they pushed the matted hair out of their scarred face. „That you have.“, they mused. „And you did truly a miraculous job at keeping the secrets, I will personally make it my duty to ensure your friends learn of your loyalty. Alongside a little videos.“, they added more quietly. „And I’m not here to torture it out of you this time, you‘ve successfully proven that that won‘t work. Noo I‘m here for another reason.“, Whumper explains sweetly. They hold up a small glass vile filled with an unnaturally blue fluid. „Drink up, sugar cube.“

Whumpee‘s eyes widened at the elixir, they had no idea what it was but they surely couldn‘t trust it! They couldn’t trust Whumper! They started to panic, lips pressed together to a thin line.

Whumper sighed but their face portrayed more amusment rather than irritation. They hammered their hand onto a button in the stone wall and Whumpees chains shortened drastically, effectively getting pulled back into the wall. Then they grabbed their face and hit it against the dark, stone brick wall, pressing their nose closed with their fingers.

Whumpee’s scrambling was reduced drastically by the length of the chains now but that only enhanced their panic. The sheer fear of the unknown and Whumper(‘s demeanor) bringing tears to their eyes. The threat of more pain or an excruciating death. Then they couldn’t breathe, they couldn’t breathe, and the secrets they‘ve been guarding for so long burned inside their body like the burning of their lungs. Eventually they had to surrender and gasp for air and instantly Whumper shoved the veil inside their mouth and forced them to gulp all of it down.

Whumper smiled satisfied at Whumpees horror and their chocked coughing. It shouldn’t take long now.

„What-What did you give me?!“, they managed to choke out between coughs.

Whumper stretched out a hand to ghost fingertips over Whumpees bare arm and delighted in the terrified whimper it drew out. „Oh its just a little serum, it took me a while to get though. And what its gonna do…“ They moved their fingers to Whumpees mouth and brushed their thumb over their dry and broken up lips. „It will simply…loosen your precious tongue a little for me…“ They smiled sadistically and watched the information process in their little prey‘s mind.

Loosen their tongue. But…That couldn’t mean…No! It couldn‘t possibly be a…All that they…Everything they sacrificed. All that they endured only for it to mean Nothing!? Only for their will to be removed by a few drops of chemicals!? It couldn’t be! Not after everything. Why? The universe couldn’t possibly be this cruel…! They opened their mouth subconsciously as if to say something even if they woudln’t even know what but Whumper put a single finger onto their lips, effectively silencing them.

„Now…What were you going to tell me, again?“

Taglist: @ailesswhumptober , @yourlocalgaefae33 , @princessofhe11 , @greatkittencloud , @bisexuawolfsalt

@shattermind-8

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awkwardtickleetoo · 1 year ago

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Warden’s Revenge

WARDEN 2 IS FINALLY HERE!! very VERY long awaited sequel to this fic here, from over a year ago <33 whoopsies <33 i guess taking a year to write sequels is my specialty or something 🤷‍♂️

i wanna give a huuuuge shoutout to @mushiewrites and @wishitweresummer for helping so much with this!! thank you summer for giving me hcs on bad because i didn’t have much in mind for him, that was a major help!! and thank you mushie for being there for literally everything just like you always are, and for discussing hcs about both bad and sap with me to use for this <3 very very grateful for the help from both of you guys

lee!badboyhalo, lee!sapnap, ler!warden, feat. george and dream, 3.9k words

hope everyone enjoys!!

After the… interesting chain of events that had transpired during their first meeting with the Warden, all four members of the group agreed that they definitely needed more practice with the new mob before the next official manhunt. The group in question, of course, being Dream, George, Sapnap, and BadBoyHalo.

They spent some time gathering information on the creature they’d encountered, finding some pretty fascinating things in the process. It was completely blind, relying solely on its senses of smell and touch, as well as any vibrations let off by surrounding players or the frequencies from the sensors that were scattered absolutely everywhere around the cave the creature resided in. It had a melee attack as well, using its long arms to swing and swipe at any threats and dealing more damage than any mob any of them had ever dealt with before, but its preferred form of attack was the shock wave that had taken both Dream and George by storm on that day. They found that the only way to block that shock wave was with a very specific potion of resistance, which none of them deemed worthy enough to stock up on when it had so few other uses and the shock was so avoidable if they played their cards right.

All in all, the creature was very easy to evade, but simultaneously extremely easy to attract if a player wasn’t quite careful enough.

Or, in this case, if a player was setting the creature's sensors off on purpose as revenge on other members of their party.

The group had gone through several different practice attempts at taking on the Warden, wanting to try out every strategy and combination of moves they could think of to make sure they were truly confident in their ability to take the creature on in a real challenge. They tried stealth, they tried breaking off into pairs or trios or any combination of their number, they tried attacking the creature head on to see the melee attacks in action and test how close they could get to killing it on that situation– although the last option did have a few near-casualties, so they tended to veer away from that approach– but each plan had one underlying goal.

Don’t get hit by the shock wave. No matter what.

And this goal was reached successfully almost every single time. There were a few close calls, as they expected there to be— there were times where they heard the shockwave echo through the cave just barely after making it out, times where the vines were barely inches from catching one of their wrists or ankles (usually George, who would freak out over the sensation every single time). There was one specifically scary time where Sapnap had tripped over one of the vines that had slithered across the floor and George had to run back to catch them, ending up with both of them almost being caught in the vibrations. Luckily, they’d still managed to make it out unscathed, apart from Sapnap’s bruised knee and George’s exaggerated grumpiness at having to “put himself in danger to save you, idiot” as he so eloquently put it, but the most important thing to all of them was that they felt confident in their new set of skills.

They decided to take two more days to practice, to really hone in on their strategies, before scheduling a rematch manhunt with Jimmy for the end of that week.

And that day, the second to last day of practice, is precisely when Dream and George decided to put their revenge plan into action. They were determined to subject Sapnap and Bad to the same fate that both of them had been so cruelly subjected to the previous time.

The practice started off relatively simple– take off running, collect resources, craft weapons and armor, mentally map out any strategies, so on and so forth– and seemed to be just a normal day of manhunt practice. Around forty five minutes in, however, is when the hunters finally caught up to Dream and saw him at the opening of a cave.

This could only mean one thing, and before they’d even hit the one hour mark, all four of them had made it down to the entrance of the Warden’s lair, the three hunters stealthily following behind Dream as he tiptoed in. They each took small steps forward as the other man came closer to the middle of the room, assuming it was safe to watch him from the same distance as each other time, right at the cusp of the dropoff of the cave floor.

“Are we ready to go?” Sapnap whispered, staring sharply forward into the room. “Do we have everything we need?”

“I think so,” Bad replied, whispering as well, squeezing his hand around the hilt of the half broken axe he held. He seemed to debate on switching it out, before smiling softly and turning the weapon in his hands, deciding it would do just fine. “We each have weapons, I think we’re all full on hunger and HP, we have armor… I have a really good feeling about this one, guys,” He said positively, extending his smile to the other two next to him, and both of them looked back at him and smiled softly as well.

“Hm…” George turned his head back first, leaning over Bad’s shoulder to see into the cave, letting his hand gently rest on Sapnap’s arm to keep himself steady. He shifted his eyes a few times; between sensors, up to the stalactites on the ceiling, across the walls, moving his head side to side along with his intense scanning of his surroundings. Sapnap and Bad simply assumed he was searching for the Warden, as George had a tendency to prefer knowing exactly where his enemy was when he was about to strike it, but George knew what he was actually searching for. Seconds later, he seemed to find it.

He locked eyes with Dream, who had turned to face them just subtly enough that it wouldn’t be obvious but that George would know to bring his gaze over. They held eye contact, and the cue was given. A quick nod of his head, and a swipe on the tip of his nose with his index finger.

It was time. Dream was ready. George would push forward.

“Hey, can I go in last this time?” He asked softly, leaning back and grabbing his bow out of its holder. “We’ve been trying out all different orders but I, uh… wanna practice shooting at it a bit from the back. My aim has been kinda trash the last few practice rounds and I think it might help.”

“Yeah, of course!” Bad assured quickly, an understanding nod and smile following it, “Practice is practice, right, Gogy? No better time than now. Okay, uh, Sap, why don’t you go first, then? I’ll cover your back and stay between you two, you stay on Dream, George stays on the Warden. Good?”

“Sounds good,” Sapnap replied, gripping his newly crafted axe between his fists and waiting for the opportunity to strike.

“Call it, Sap,” Bad whispered, and Sapnap nodded, counting down from three and whispering a giddy ‘now!’ as they scrambled in.

Immediately, there was chaos.

“Oh, Dream!” Sapnap yelled when Dream’s head flew over to look at them. Both boys sprung into action, drawing their weapons and aiming them towards each other.

As the other two fought, Bad and George watched carefully from a distance, and Bad turned around just in time to see George ready his bow and fire an arrow at the Warden before turning back around to keep an eye on Sapnap and Dream. The arrow hit, striking the monstrous creature right in the shoulder, and it immediately whipped around towards them. George’s eyes widened as he watched the creature take three booming steps towards them, and it seemed that no one else was noticing it’s movements.

Perfect.

“Bad,” George spoke softly, still keeping his eyes on the Warden. He saw a sensor out of the corner of his eye, watching as it started to glow and vibrate slightly. He got no response. “Bad?” He said again, slightly louder this time, turning his head towards Bad but keeping his eyes still. Again, nothing, and he flicked his eyes to follow the direction of his head and saw Bad holding onto his axe like he was ready to jump in at any moment, completely distracted from the creature they were fighting. The sounds from the sensors were louder now. It was time. “BAD!” He yelled, catching not only Bad’s attention, but Dream and Sapnap’s as well. The fight paused, with their weapons colliding between them and scraping against each other, and suddenly all eyes were on George. “Bad– guys, look!” George said, as frantic as he could muster, pointing at the Warden who was very obviously preparing to send out the shockwave.

“Oh shit,” Sapnap muttered, realizing they were all pretty much perfectly in the middle of its range, and they did not have a lot of time to get out of it. He dropped his weapon, making Dream’s slip out of his hand as well, both of them clattering to the ground and echoing through the cave, only making it more apparent where they were. “Fuck–“ He let out, and he was cut off when there was a sudden arm around his shoulders and another whipping him around, and suddenly his back was against Dream’s chest. “FUCK–“ He yelled again, before clamping his lips shut, trying to be quieter so the Warden wouldn’t focus on him.

“Shhhh,” Dream whispered, and slowly stepped backwards with Sapnap in his grip, towards the wall of the cave and away from the Warden’s line of sight, narrowly avoiding one of the vines that had begun creeping up on the floor between their feet. Sapnap let Dream pull him away, gently holding onto Dream’s wrist to stay close to him, watching Bad and George to make sure they were safe as well.

George had lowered his bow, still glancing between Bad and the Warden, before he gently tapped Bad’s arm with the tip of the weapon. Bad looked over at him, and George began walking backwards in the opposite direction, motioning for Bad to follow. They took a few steps back, hoping desperately to make it out as they watched the Warden take a massive, powerful breath in. Everything seemed fine…

Until Bad tripped on one of the vines, which then wrapped itself around his ankle and kept him tethered to the ground, right in the center of the cave, right as it had done to George the first time.

Or, more accurately… George had tripped him first. If the rest just kind of fell into place, that wasn’t George’s fault, was it?

“BAD, NO–“ Sapnap yelled, but Dream used his free hand to slap it over his mouth, tightening his grip on his shoulders as he squirmed nervously in his grip. “MM– HM?!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dream whispered in his ear, making him groan and pull at Dream’s wrists, but he held strong. “You don’t want it to come over here too, do you? You have to be quiet,” He explained, earning a whine and a roll of Sapnap’s eyes, but a nod nonetheless.

“NO!” Bad also yelled, before biting down on his bottom lip to keep quiet, looking up at the warden as he pulled at the vine around his leg uselessly.

Then, as if the scene moved in slow motion, all four heads turned to the creature as it let out the bone chilling, ear piercing shriek they were all very familiar with and very much dreading. And, without any shadow of a doubt, it was headed straight for BadBoyHalo.

“Oh, god,” Dream mumbled, and Sapnap made a small noise of sympathy behind Dream’s hand, and they both watched Bad’s sudden reaction as the wave hit him.

“AH–“ He squealed, slamming his hands over his ears to block out the noise before immediately curling in on himself as soon as it became quieter. “Oh, nohoho!”

“Bad?” George called out, taking a tentative step closer to the boy on the cave floor. “Are you okay?”

“NOHO, Geohohorge, I’m nohohot okahahay!” Bad giggled out, yanking at his trapped ankle once more, able to finally pull it out of where the vine was previously wrapped around it. The tingling moved up his torso and down his legs, reaching his knees and making him tense his legs, curling them up towards his chest even further. “Ah–! Nohoho!” He continued laughing through his protests, shaking his head wildly as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. The tingles spread over to his hips, circling around his hip bones, shooting down the backs of his thighs, swirling the backs of his knees. He kicked his legs out, scraping the heels of his shoes against the floor and trying to shake the unbearable ticklish feeling from his legs, but it didn’t budge at all. He curled his hands around his hips, squeezing tightly, trying to press hard enough to dispel the tickles there as well, but once again, they didn’t budge. In fact, pressing in with his fingers only made the sensation grow more fierce, tingling in the spots his fingers pressed into and feeling like a continuous squeezing into the most deeply sensitive areas around his hips, making him scream out in another round of helpless laughter. “OH GOHOHOHOSH–“

“Bad!” Sapnap yelled, yanking Dream’s hand away from his mouth, pushing forward against his hold to try and break free from it. He was successful enough to make it up to Bad, standing the same safe distance from him as George but on the opposite side. Dream quickly followed behind, pressing himself against Sapnap’s back and holding onto him gently, fingers gripping both of his shoulders firmly. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“NOHOHO, yohohohou m-muhuffihinhehead!” Bad scolded through his laughter, squealing and arching his back as the sensation spread to his tummy. “Ihihit juhust tihihickles!”

“I just wanted to be sure!” Sapnap defended, shrugging his shoulders, smiling when Dream’s arm came to wrap back around him.

“Wait, hold on, hold on, hold on…” George interrupted, holding his hand out in front of him as if waiting for a cue. Seconds later, all four boys heard another set of booming footsteps, and they watched in horror as the Warden turned back to them once again, opening its terrifying mouth. “Oh, Sapnap…” George teased as he stepped back again, out of the Warden’s shock range once again.

“Wh-what?” Sapnap muttered nervously, tightening his fists by his sides, ready to break out of Dream’s grasp again if he needed.

“Oh, no, Sap… I think the Warden is looking for a second target…” Dream whispered in Sapnap’s ear, holding tighter as he began squirming

“Oh fuck, no, nononono–“ He tried to take a step backwards, then forwards, then to either side, but Dream just held him more firmly in place. “NO! No, no, Dream, please–“ Sapnap whined, gasping when he heard the creature suck in a breath, grabbing Dream’s wrists and pulling as hard as he could. “DREAM, come on, let go, you have to let go, you HAVE TO–“

“Let go? Alright!” Dream said, letting go at the very last second and pushing Sapnap forward as he ran backwards toward the wall again. Sapnap squealed as he was pushed, losing his balance and falling onto his knees barely a few feet away from Bad, who was still giggling and kicking from the residual tingles.

Then, just as dreadful and horrifying as the first screech, another mind blowing shriek emitted from the Warden, and Sapnap didn’t even need to question who it was heading for before the overwhelming tickling spread through every nerve ending in his entire body.

“NOHOHOHO, FUHUCK–“ Sapnap yelled, wrapping his arms around himself, grabbing onto his opposite shoulders and holding tightly as he scrunched up his face to try and hide his reactions.

Unfortunately for him, this did not go over well with Dream and George, who were back over by the two of them in seconds.

“Aww, Sappy, what’s wrong?” Dream asked, his tone obviously condescending, and Sapnap would’ve taken him out at the knees if he wasn’t preoccupied. He groaned instead, making both boys chuckle, and George took another step closer to Bad, now close enough that his leg was resting right against Bad’s shoulder.

“C’mon, Sapnap, don’t fight it. We’ve both been through it before, we know how excruciating this feels. Why can’t you be more like Bad, huh?” He said, gesturing to the boy who was still curled up and laughing beside him, much softer now, as the tickles had migrated to his neck, and the base of his tail and horns– all spots which melted him almost instantly. “He’s having the time of his life over here, just look at his tail swaying! He loves it!”

“Oh gohohohosh, Geohorge, plehehehease–“ Bad whined, covering his face in embarrassment at being called out, but his tail didn’t stop swaying and he didn’t stop melting into the leftover tickles. “Ihihit tihihickles so bahahahad, Gohogy– hehe– plehehease, plehease mahahake ihit stohohohop!” He leaned into George, his forehead colliding with George's thigh as he wrapped his arms around his leg for comfort, hugging tightly. George chuckled, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, but he let his hand drop to Bad’s hood and lightly rub the crown of his head with his thumb, soothing him through the end of the attack.

“It’s almost over, Bad, you can stick it out, we promise,” Dream reassured, making Bad nod softly against George’s leg and squeeze him tighter. He chuckled slightly, before leaning down to speak to Sapnap again. “As for you, my baby boy…”

“Fuhuck ohoff!” Sapnap pushed out through gritted teeth, shaking his head.

“As for you, the fun has only just started.”

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” Sapnap whined, unable to bite back his laughter any longer. The tingles spread down his legs, sparking sporadically over his thighs and the jutting bones of his ankles inside his boots, before spreading more prominently up his torso.

Right under his arms.

“Oh– GOHOHOHOD, NOHOHO!” Sapnap protested, his voice rising in pitch and laughter growing more frantic. He gripped his shoulders even tighter, pinching his elbows in towards his sides, curling forward and trying anything he could think of to rid himself of the maddening tickling sensation in his armpits.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Ihihihit wohohon’t STOHOHOP!” Sapnap whined, desperately shaking his head. “Mahahahake ihihit stohohop!”

“Aww, Sap, I’m sorry,” Dream sympathized,genuinely understanding how torturous it was to feel a tickling sensation that was literally impossible to stop. “The only way to make it stop is to ride it out.”

“F-fuhuhuhuck…” Sapnap whimpered, his laughter calming down for a few seconds before a new round began again. Only this time, it was caused by Dream reaching down and grabbing his elbows– pretty harshly, if Sapnap said so himself– and began forcing Sapnap’s arms away from his sides and up in the air. “NAHAHAHA– nohohoho, noho! No, nonono, NOHOHO, DREHEHEHEAM–“ Sapnap complained, pulling at his arms as hard as he could manage, but between being weakened from fighting, as well as from laughing so hard, it didn’t work very well.

“Relax, Sap!” Dream scolded, standing up straighter to pull Sapnap up with him, making the younger boy squeal and arch his back. He shook his head frantically, his eyes squeezed shut and nose scrunched, squirming wildly through desperate laughter. The more Dream pulled his arms up, and the longer he held them there, the stronger the tingles grew under his skin. The sensation was vicious, swirling in undetermined shapes and swirls in the hollows of his underarms, up and down his top ribs, over his chest and up to his neck, and then settling despicably back under his arms.

It was torture. He wasn’t sure how any of the other three even made it out alive.

“STOHOHOP, PLEHEHEHEASE!” Sapnap pleaded, losing any remaining strength he had to pull at his arms and only lightly shifting them now to see if he could loosen Dream’s strong grip. “FUHUHUCK– STOHOP!”

“You know I can’t do that, Sap. It’s not anyone here that’s tickling you. You just gotta suck it up and wait it out, it’s almost over.”

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!” His cheeks burned, and he had no doubts that he was bright red, wanting nothing more than to hide his face somehow, but Dream simply would not let him go. “DREHEHEAM, gehehehet ohohoff mehehehe!” He whined through his laughter. The sensation was filling slightly, and the burn in his chest from laughing so hard was calming, but the feeling was still unbearable, ticklish enough that it kept his squeaky giggles up.

“Hmm… maybe if you surrender and say I win.”

“Yohohohohou wihihihin! Yohou wihihin, you wihin, juhuhust– plehehehease!” Sapnap nodded along with his words, immediately pressing his arms to his sides and wrapping them around himself when Dream loosened his grip and let go. He stayed like that, curled up and hugging himself and hiding as much as he could manage, as the tickling started to fade away. He breathed heavily, residual giggles and squeaks making their way out every so often as he calmed down. He let out a whine after a few minutes of this, falling onto his side before rolling onto his back and throwing his arms over his face in embarrassment.

“Aww, Sap,” Dream cooed, slowly sitting down next to the boy, crossing his legs. “Is someone a little flustered?”

“Shuhut the fuck up,” Sapnap replied, dropping one hand next to his head while the other rubbed at his eyes, resting his palm over them after. “That was soho awfuhul.”

“Aww,” Dream cooed again. He gently took Sapnap’s hand and pulled it back, revealing his flushed face and sleepy, slightly teary eyes. He placed a gentle kiss on the back of Sapnap’s knuckles, before shifting over to pull Sapnap’s head into his lap, gently carding his fingers through his messy hair to help him relax. “I know, angel, it’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”

“Sooo bad.”

“Mhm, poor thing. But you’re okay now, right? And so is Bad, aren’t you, Bad?”

“Hm?” The older boy perked up at the mention of his name, lifting his head up from George’s shoulder– Dream gathered that George had sat down and let him rest there while he was distracted with Sapnap, slightly embarrassed that he was too preoccupied to notice that– and smiling at Dream kindly. “Yeah, I’m great,” Bad confirmed, placing his head back against George and letting him continue to rub gently at the base of his horns like he’d been doing to soothe him the entire time.

“Good. See? You’ll be okay, Sapnap,” Dream reassured, earning a hum and a smile from the youngest laying in his lap. “How about we all go back to the house and relax, okay? We still have another day of practice before the real manhunt. Plus, I think you both deserve a nap after that.”

“God, yes, please, I am exhausted,” George replied, smiling giddily at Dream when he scoffed at him.

“I meant the two that were just tickled into oblivion, idiot,” He replied, earning a soft giggle from Bad and an immediate whiny protest from Sapnap. “C’mon. Let’s head up,” Dream said with a chuckle, gently patting Sapnap’s cheek before helping him to stand up.

He let the smaller boy cling to him as they walked, making sure George and Bad were following, as they all made their way out of the cave and back to their base to unwind and prepare for the next day.

#lee!badboyhalo #lee!sapnap #ler!warden #cals writing

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chronic-ghost · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 10 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 31K (part 1: 14K + part 2: 17K)

chapter summary: how they find each other again . . . and everything else

chapter warnings/tags: discussions of mental health, medication discussions, therapy (so much therapy), everything about theater and theatre production is nothing but fake lies, and yes lots of smut

a/n: there's a longer, sappy-er reblog coming but i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who came along with me on this journey. this wouldn't have been possible without you and i hope to see you again soon!

▲ Series Masterlist | Previous | Part 2 + Epilogue

▲ AO3 Link (posted there as a single chapter if you like to read it all at once)

▲ Taglist Form

“Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.” - Jane Austen, Persuasion

SEPTEMBER

“And so we can see that with the abstract paintings, color theory, as well as a fundamental understanding of color under light, is more important than ever. We can have a more immediate reaction to abstract art precisely because it digs at our unconscious thought. We see what we want to see and that can give us perspective on our own lives as well as that of the artist.”

One hand jumps up from the back of the crowd.

“Yes?”

“Is it true that Van Gogh ate yellow paint because he thought it would make him happier?”

You nod. “He did. But Van Gogh was a deeply disturbed man and while many of his best works come from his Yellow period, art historians have debated for decades about whether or not the madness was worth the beauty.”

The same boy in the back, blonde, lanky, frowns out of frustration, not boredom.

“So he ate yellow paint and then painted yellow things?”

“It could be said that he wanted to literally take what he was feeling inside and put it on the canvas.”

Another boy, bigger than the first and clearly used to all eyes on him, snickers. He points to a frame at the end of the salon wall.

“So, what, the artist who did that one wanted to get their blood all over everything?”

You cross your arms, unphased by yet another teenage smartass. “What does color theory tell us about the color red?”

“It’s associated with anger,” a young girl at the front says with confidence. “Or more often, love. Intense emotions.”

The same jokester in the back chuckles, louder this time. “Wow, so that guy must have really been in luuuurve to paint that.” He pinches the waist of a girl next to him and she wriggles away, giggling.

“Actually,” you say, straightening up, “I had just come out of a horrific break up and was trying to process grief, trauma, and heartbreak unlike anything I’d experienced before.”

That successfully manages to silence them all. It usually does.

“You painted that, miss?” The girl at the front asks again, her eyes wide in awe.

You smile at her. You remember being her age, fourteen, and thinking the world of art, theater was all so exciting.

“I did. Am I a vain bitch for putting my own paintings in my gallery? Probably, but for some reason, people like to buy them and I’m not going to turn down an opportunity to fund another kitchen renovation in my home.”

There’s a surprised chuckle amongst the students. Nothing endeared you faster to teenagers by some light cursing.

“What other paintings are yours, miss?” The blonde boy asks, eyes suddenly leaping from wall to wall, trying to spot similar brush strokes. You don’t miss when the girl looks at him, her cheeks red.

“Miss Lorraine only has a handful of her paintings in this gallery.” Marie steps forward from around one of the salon walls, her trusty iPad clutched against her chest. “If you are really interested in her work, I highly recommend going to see her charcoal sketches upfront. But this is the end of the tour. Your teacher has given you fifteen more minutes to view any last pieces or purchase a souvenir, but then it’s back on the bus. ”

The gaggle of high school students disperses, an excitement buzzing as a few surge towards the charcoal exhibit.

You roll your eyes, as bodies flow around you, and flick your best friend of the past ten years on her earlobe.

“That was supposed to be a secret.”

“Oh, whatever.” Marie bats your hand away. “It’s honestly some of your best work. You should be proud.”

“This is meant to be a business, not a housing facility for my ego.”

“Well, the second your ego starts to suck money out of this place, I’ll let you know.” She taps her iPad with her stylus. “Speaking of which, Andrew should be by in about ten minutes to discuss that piece he wants for his new show.”

You groan, falling behind Marie as she leads you to the front desk, where some of the students are purchasing posters of the art they liked. You watch as the sales girl rings up a few posters and some postcards, as Marie continues to scroll through her tablet, always thinking of the next thing, the next move.

“This had better be the last one,” you sigh, particularly pleased when you see someone buy a postcard of your red painting. “Why am I starting to think this damn show is going to be the death of me?”

Marie scoffs as she leans forward onto the corner of the sales counter, your bark always worse than your bite. “If you’re so concerned, think about what the notoriety of designing a set for an off-broadway production will do for this gallery.”

“Does it always have to come back to this dump?” You smile at her, knowing you are the only one who is allowed to tease her precious child.

“Duh.” Marie sticks out her tongue at you.

Despite the absolute horror you felt about starting your own gallery three years ago, you can’t say it hasn’t been a success. A reasonably-priced gallery in Brooklyn, you worked to showcase small local artists who needed a leg-up in the industry. Not that breaking into the art world yourself had come easy, but with your old connections in Hollywood and Marie’s in the music scene, you recognized the sheer number of doors open and available to the both of you. The community received the opening of the gallery better than expected, given that it was occasionally used as a center and study hall. It was small, quiet, and unassuming, but it was yours. Yours and Marie’s. You wouldn’t be here without her. Quite literally.

“Once you’re done sulking, we have a meeting with a local council member about expanding the property at two, then that new artist from the Bronx is coming by to measure his space.” She scrolls through your day, with the sharp eye of someone who never missed a beat. You told her she didn’t have to wear that crisp white shirt and pleated black pants, but she rolled her eyes at that: “I’m going to be thirty-three in two weeks. I cannot wear plaid shirts to work every day.”

Same old Marie. Using any small excuse to dress up. Unlike her, you had zero compunctions against wearing old concert shirts and paint-splattered jeans to “the office”. Except, you conceded, on days like this where it was tour after tour, client after client. You attempted something “professional” for her sake, but these heels pinched your feet and the emerald green top seemed to draw the eye of every teenage boy who walked by you.

“Ah, shoot,” Marie says suddenly, standing up right from her iPad. She glances at her watch. “Andrew asked to see a print of King Square and I totally forgot to grab it.”

“Want me to get it?”

She waves you away. “Nah, mingle. I’ll be out in a second.”

You smile as she struts away. Again you wonder what you possibly did to earn a friend like her, what you did to earn her devotion for a decade of friendship. It was as if the universe had been steering you away from all other friendships, keeping you a friend-virgin, until you met Marie. The One. The girl, now woman, who had saved your life more times than you could count, even before she became the manager of the gallery. You hoped to spend the rest of your life proving to her that she had chosen well.

The class of teenagers has thinned. Only a few remain to chat with friends, or check out one last piece they might have missed, a plastic bag with a rolled-up poster in their hands. The noise in the gallery dulls, as the patter of feet against the wood grain and the sound of eager voices falls away. You hear the front door swing close and the room goes silent. You inhale, the saw-dust smell of the space always soothing to you, even before you turned it into a gallery.

This place felt like a destination, a culmination, a breakthrough after so many dark nights. You poured your heart and soul and nearly every dime you had into building this space and its community. You could wander through the salon walls, easily identifying the artwork done from different points in your life, what each of them meant to you, by the colors or mediums used. You experimented a lot after rehab, trying every creative outlet you could find until something stuck. Hell, you even attempted cross-stitching – Marie still laughed herself silly every time it was brought up.

Early on, you processed a lot through clay, through sculpture. It wasn’t very good, but it gave you somewhere to put your rage, your frustration, those hot emotions that made you want to squish warm goo. You could never make bowls or vases – instead just absurd creations with teeth and wide eyes.

Next came the paintings that covered entire walls. You’d come home after spending hours in a rented workspace, covered in paint, hot and tired and teary, but relieved. The scratchy ball in your chest loosened after those hours of working yourself into exhaustion. That was also around the time when you had started to process decade old feelings and memories regarding your parents with your therapist. It all went hand in hand.

It was only recently that you’d turned to charcoal and your canvases shrunk. There was something hypnotic about charcoal as a medium, the stark contrast of black and white, of the delicate shading required to give depth and offer light, the way it stuck to your palms, your forearms as if the subject you sketched lingered on you.

You turn a corner and are welcomed by the sketchings of dozens of artists who also worked in charcoal. The exhibit is called The After Effects of Flame and the artists had completely risen to the challenge. The soft paper, the light etching, it makes the space beautiful, quiet, warm.

But your eyes fall to a single piece across the room, your heart thrumming in your chest.

He had shown up in your work in prior years, of course, as much as you tried to swallow him and the memories down. A flash of the curve of his chin, the sharp angle of his nose, the endless brown of his eyes – they were there as you sorted through the cracked pieces of your life in rehab and continued on in therapy. As you moved on from that night in the hospital.

As you moved away from him.

But you still found slivers of him, splinters that dug into your skin against the wood grain. Marie said it wasn’t noticeable, that only you saw those flashes because of what you had been through, what he had meant to you. But he was there, inside you somewhere, after ten years, and he became a different sort of ache. What he had been to you was never clear, never given structure or form, and perhaps that was why closure had been so hard to find: there was no road map to moving past whatever Dieter Bravo had meant to you. What he had become. What he still, in the fitful state between dreaming and awake, was to you.

He wasn’t haunting you; you had never known a silent ghost. But he lingered, like the remnants of last night’s perfume or the body warmth of a loved one after they’ve left the bed. You saw him in everyone and in everything and, simply put, Dieter wasn’t going away.

Much like with grief, you learn to hold this part of you that held him and let the memories, the good and the bad, pass over you without judgment.

The world is hard enough on you as it is, your therapist told you, don’t add to it by beating yourself up.

So you let him stop by, hang around if he wanted to. He kept you company as you sketched and drew and created in a way you had never experienced as an actress. This is what you were meant to do. It just took you twenty-two years and a decade of heartbreak to get here.

You stepped closer to the centerpiece of the exhibit.

A simple sketch, nothing outwardly advanced or difficult, but it is detailed. Thoughtful, introspective. It comes from an image that appears to you in the morning light of your empty bed, or as you fade into the welcoming arms of sleep. It feels like it should be a memory, but if it is, you don’t know when or where it sits in your history. Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel real. Other times, it’s too real, the added weight in your bed almost palpable – you can smell him in the air, you could reach out and touch the curve of his shoulder – and you blink, the image is gone and you’re alone. Your outstretched hand floats through empty air, the tears stinging so sharply in your throat you can’t breathe for a moment.

To anyone else, the sketch is that of a man, naked, sleeping partially on his stomach, partially on his side, turned away from the viewer. His arm curls beneath his head, under the pillow, and the sheet slips low on his hips, the turn of the light dictating whether or not the exposure is playful or sensual. The waves of his hair fan out across the pillow, tuck around the back of his neck in a way that begs to be teased, tugged on. To everyone else, it’s a loving image of relaxation, of peace, of quiet, joy.

To you, it’s the image of Dieter that visits you most frequently.

You stand before it now and try to find that solace, that imaginary morning where domesticity dripped into your bed with him, the tension it takes from your bones. But you can’t find it. The day is coming up again, the first blush of fall breathing down the New York streets, and like a thready hangnail you forget to cut, you find pain with every movement.

He sits, melancholic, in your heart. I know, darling, I know.

Unconsciously, you rub a hand up your shoulder, unease mounting. You rub again, and something catches in the corner of your eye.

Someone is still here.

Tan coat nearly the same color as the floorboards, the man somehow blended in amongst the cream paper of the charcoal sketches. His knee-length coat looks expensive, the white Converse do not. His head is tilted back, looking up, inspecting one of the pieces.

Okay, yes, you saw him in passing on the streets – a flash there, a blur here – but this is getting ridiculous.

You stare, immobile and silent, at the dark curls that catch against his collar. At the broad shoulders that curl inwards. This is not a ghost, a specter. This is not a haunting. He even stands, holds his weight, just like – no, no, this is just desperation, you’re overworked and tired and –

Oh, fuck, the black rings –

“Darling!”

Your head snaps to the front of the gallery, seconds before you are nearly tackled to the ground by your friend and long-time benefactor Andrew Young. He had started to go gray at twenty-five, and never to be outdone by the ravages of time, he dyed his entire head silver. It’s been this color for years, blinding and shining, the only thing he changed was how it was styled. Nearly forty, he’s shaved the sides and let the top grow long. It flops in his face as he pulls back, grinning from ear to ear.

“This looks fantastic!” He beams around your latest exhibit. “Baby girl, I am so proud of you!”

You drag out a smile, your lips catching on your teeth, the buzzing in the back of your mind at a low hum.

“T-thank you, Andrew. I– uh,” you blink up at him, “sorry, it’s been a day and I haven’t eaten. I’m just a little dizzy.”

Andrew frowns and throws an arm over you. “You work too hard – has anyone told you that? And that, quite frankly, I simply cannot have. You see, I can’t do the set without you, and then I can’t do blocking and stage production, and then the damn thing itself is off the rails. Do you see my problem?” The designs you had been planning are back in your office, some initial sketches drawn up and laid out based on Andrew’s requests over the phone. You smile, settle, that gnawing sense of panic easing. Andrew watches you visibly relax in his arms and he taps your nose with a bright blue nail. “Besides, it’s up to you, you New York native, to help me show my star a good time around town.”

He steps back, arm thrown out wide, and your heart plummets.

You know who he is before he turns that thick head of hair, before you see that aquiline nose in his profile, before you are swallowed up by those endless, warm brown eyes that flicker in the corners of your heart.

“My dear, I’d like you to meet –,”

“Natalie?”

The noise is barely human, a punched out groan from a hit that maybe broke a rib, popped an organ loose.

The gallery has gone silent, or maybe it’s just you’re so suddenly stuffed full of memories, of rage and joy, grief and giddiness, that there’s no room for any sound.

He’s not a ghost, not a haunting, but he is pale, the whites of his eyes bright and round and staring.

He is not the Dieter that curls up against your neck at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, no, this one’s different. The lines marking his eyes are deeper, more pronounced – laugh lines, you remember, he’s clearly laughed a lot in the time that he’s been gone. His beard is speckled with gray, here and there, drawing your gaze to that lovely bare spot where the hair refuses to grow. His hair is longer, unkempt, and wild, and in his ear sits a small silver ring. This is not the Dieter you remember.

He’s older and so are you.

The coffee cup drops from his loose fingers and splatters against the ground, light brown liquid splashing everywhere. It rolls towards his shoes, but he doesn’t move. Neither do you. You couldn’t, really, even if you wanted to.

To cope, in the beginning, in the cold, sick days in the hospital, you told yourself that he had died. That’s why he left you, why he abandoned you to get the drugs out of your system alone. To get him out of your system. It was childish and petty and completely irrational, but it soothed you in a way that made living manageable. You could walk around those long white hallways, talk, eat, exist without a giant gaping bloody hole in your chest.

Consciously, you knew he was out there, somewhere, but in all the chunks inside of you that made up his lingering presence, the old idea, the old comfort, embedded itself.

Seeing him now, seeing him ten years older, it’s like he had come back from the dead. You could not have made up a more surreal dream.

“Oh, hey, Andrew, I got your print and I –,”

Marie stiffens the instant she sees who’s in your line of sight. Her mouth drops open and the poster joins the spilled coffee on the ground.

“Holy fucking shit.”

Andrew’s perfectly manicured eyebrows eject into his hair. “What? You’ve met before?”

“W-we . . .” the rest of the sentence dies in your mouth, catches fire and turns to ash. “We – I . . .”

“We used to . . .” his voice is raspy, deep, as though scraping through a wet crevice. “We used to work together.”

It doesn’t sting, the casual distance in his words, because he’s right. All of you met a decade ago for work.

Marie swallows as her eyes slide to you.

His have traced every line of your body, once, twice, and three times over. They stay on the bridge of your nose, the crook of your neck, the arch of your cheek. He’s not looked at Marie once. Given the circumstances of your last meeting, perhaps it should have been you to appear as a ghost from beyond the grave.

“Uh, Andrew, do you mind if we give Dieter and Natalie some time alone to –,”

“No!” You both bark, a sufficient reason to tear your gaze away from the other.

He sounds genuinely frightened. Your stomach twists. Your gaze flickers to the spill at Dieter’s feet.

“Marie, would you get some towels for that?” She nods, completely forgetting the print and nearly sprinting for the bathroom. You swallow, set your shoulders, and turn to Andrew. “I’ve got the designs in my office. If you’d – if you’d both – like to–,”

“Natalie.” He tries again and you flinch as though his voice is a physical force that has pressed roughly against an internal bruise. At his side his hands clench over and over, mouth opening and closing, brow furrowed as if he’s scrambling through every word he knows and can’t find the right one.

Your chest suddenly squeezes so tightly you have to put a hand over your sternum to keep your ribs from collapsing into your spine. You can feel the blush breakout across your cheeks, down your chest, and you’re so confused as to why, a hot bloom of anger overwhelms everything else.

Andrew’s eyebrows are in danger of falling off his forehead. Dieter still hasn’t looked away.

“Okay, what am I missing here?”

“We dated.” You say. You keep your gaze on Andrew, knowing your knees would buckle if you look anywhere else. “While we worked together. We dated about ten years ago on the set of one of our movies. But,” you swallow, your knees shaking in these stupid fucking slacks, “that was a long time a-ago.” Your voice cracks and you hate it. You want to hear him say your name again, just to make sure he got it right.

“Are you sure you don’t want a second?” You nod. “Then, uh, let’s see this design.”

Dieter doesn’t follow you and Andrew. Small miracles, you suppose. As you walk Andrew through the designs, you can see out the clear office door that Dieter had taken off that rich tan coat and is using it to soak up the spill. You can’t tell by the twist in his mouth if he’s regretting that particular decision, or regretting something else, but Marie appears a moment later with a rag. His expression changes as she hands it to him, softens, that wind-swept, knocked-back-on-his-ass surprise creeping into the opening of his mouth. She says something to him – her back is to you – and his mouth flatlines. He nods and Marie turns on her heel towards the office.

You avert your eyes from her and look back at Andrew.

“So what do you think?”

He grins, completely obvious to the exchange outside, as he shuffles through a few papers. “As always, darling, you’ve managed to somehow crawl into my brain and recreate exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

You won’t be designing the actual set pieces, but more of the backdrop, what the audience will see through the open windows and around stairs. Most productions use lights to fill in their backdrop, but Andrew described wanting to make the stage feel as claustrophobic as possible. “Nothing breathes in here,” he had said over the phone. “We need something sturdier than lights.”

You have never felt claustrophobic in your office, but staring at Dieter, an older Dieter, a different Dieter, absurdly scrubbing your gallery floor spotless, the walls nestle tighter, the air stagnant and stale. You feel like you’re seeing the entire place with new eyes and you realize how dingy it is. You can’t look Marie in the eye as she opens the office door.

“How goes it in here?” She says, surprisingly breathless.

“Fantastic!” Andrew claps his hands together. “The theater has given us access to the space starting Monday, so I’d like to get to building this as soon as possible. The back lot is huge so I’m hoping to do all painting onsite.”

You nod, the request somewhat expected – Andrew was a bit of a micromanager.

Behind you, Marie is humming with unfocused energy, but only in a way you can pick up on after ten years of knowing her. To Andrew, she calmly asks,

“Would you like us to bring out those other pieces you won at the fundraiser? We can have them loaded up, if you’d like.”

Andrew’s eyes widen. “Oh god, yes, please. I’m so sorry – I told you I’d pick those up weeks ago! I’ll go get the car.”

Marie’s gaze latches onto you as he jogs past her.

“What do you want me to do with . . .”

You can’t find him through the window, but the floor is spotless.

You shake your head, that slightly dizzy feeling returning. “Go help Andrew. I’ll . . .” you shrug. “Actually, I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to be alone with him if you don’t want to.”

You feel your back muscles tighten. “No, no – I want – I mean, it’s fine. If I’m going to help Andrew with the designs, then we’ll have to see each other, right?”

Her look is apprehensive but she gives in. “Alright. I’ll be just a minute.”

The second the door closes, you push your palms into your eyes and groan. What the fuck is happening?

You spot him again in the charcoal exhibit, as if this is the area he is confined to. He holds his coat over his arm, the bottom half of it damp and a different color, as he slowly roves from piece to piece. He’s on the opposite side of the room from your contribution, but a part of you wants to yank it down and shove it under the floorboards. A very large part of you.

“Dieter,” you say, hands up, but your voice startles him anyway. His stark white t-shirt matches his converse, and you vaguely think, he’s going to be cold without a jacket.

He physically steps back the closer you come. You don’t know if that hurts or if you feel relieved.

“Andrew went to get the car,” you say, your focus going in and out as you stare at his earring. “He has some paintings he won at an auction here and he hasn’t picked them up so Marie is bringing them out to the curb to load up.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Yeah.” You lose track of the earring as you meet his gaze. Terror, in his eyes. Concern, worry.

Sadness. Yeah, you definitely know that one.

Without a single coherent thought in your head, you head for the front doors, feeling him fall in step behind you.

You can almost hear the storm brewing in his head.

“Natalie, wait.”

Just in front of the glass doors, you stop. On the other side, Marie and another backend worker load wrapped canvases into a Black Escalade. Even without the faint howl of wind, it looks cold outside.

He stands in front of you, older after ten years, but no less beautiful. He’s thickened over the years, more solid, an oak instead of a stretchy willow. The thought of what it would be like to wrap yourself around his chest, feel the warmth of his stomach against yours, comes crashing down on you. The inclination is to yank it back, submerge it, but you don’t do that anymore.

You look into his eyes and the old ache hums. You thought it was gone, despite the many times you think about him, the many versions of him that live in your memory. But it’s there. You’ve missed him.

“Look, I’m sorry – for, um, the surprise visit.” Voice low and quiet, like trying to pass on a secret, his thumb spins through his rings distractedly. “Andrew said he had some errands to run around the city a-and the names didn’t register with me . . . a-after all this time.” He swallows, glancing at your shoulder for a second before finding your eyes again. “Had I known it was yours, I would have . . . I’d . . .”

“You’d what?” You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Shake him until he speaks, until he explains himself for showing up and cracking your world in half.

His mouth crumbles, stricken with regret, and he shakes his head. “I – I –,”

Someone taps on the glass beside you and it’s your turn to jump ten feet in the air. Marie waves to you and Dieter, her arms wrapped around her chest to stave off the cold. On the street, Andrew gets into the Escalade as the worker heads for the warehouse around back.

“For what it’s worth, it was really, really good to see you.”

Your head snaps back to him. No stutter, no unease. Confidence. This is what he feels. This is what he means to say.

And then Dieter Bravo smiles at you. Genuinely, gently, full of wonder. He is . . . relieved.

You nod, dumbstruck, as he pushes through the glass doors and you’re following him before you know what you’re doing. The air has a bite to it, the threat of winter swirling in the gray clouds above the city streets. A particularly rough gust of wind barrels down and Marie staggers into you. Wrapping her up in your arms, you watch as he climbs into the Escalade and the passenger window rolls down.

Of course Andrew hired a driver. He leans out, his silver flop fluttering in the wind.

“We’re having a party tomorrow, my place. A little kick-off party before production and rehearsals begin. You two should come.”

You can’t see Dieter behind the tinted glass but you know for a fact he just tensed up. Beside you, Marie is shivering, the little thing.

“Maybe, you know? We’ve got a lot to do around the gallery before the weekend,” you say as you rub her shoulders. “It’s kind of a bad time.”

“Well, the art director is going to be there, so it might be nice to get to know him before we get started.” Andrew shrugs, seriously, unaware of the consequences of his simple request.

Nothing about this feels like a good idea. You nod. “Lemme get Marie here back inside before her lips go blue. I’ll text you tonight about it.”

You both step back from the curb as the Escalade eases its way into New York traffic. Your eyes stay pinned to the window until you can no longer see it in the distance. Holding her close, you kiss Marie’s cold forehead.

“C’mon, Frosty, I think we both deserve the biggest cup of coffee our Kerig can make.”

The hum of the potter’s wheel is loud in your concrete basement. Cold air curls in from the small open window at ground level, chilling the floor and the walls. It stings your bare toes just a bit to keep you awake and focused, your arms and hands already chilled by wet clay. You pump the wheel a bit faster as you try to thin the edge of this bowl – or what may be a bowl. This rarely ever works out, but at least the concentration forces out everything else in your brain. And, as an added bonus, the sound of the wheel also blocks the incessant buzzing of your phone.

Andrew and Marie had not stopped trying to call or text you since the gallery closed. Marie was not above simply barging into your brownstone if you had been quiet for too long, but this was a special case and she knew it.

Hands wet, back aching from your hunched position, fingers as steady as they’ll ever be, you smooth the rippling clay as it spins. You pump the pedal steadily – too fast and the clay will spin off, but too slow and you’re basically playing with playdough.

To your enormous surprise, the clay curves, molds between your finger tips. With every rotation, there comes a clear, distinct solid edge to this unfinished ceramic.

Yes! Okay, just a little bit to round things out and –

Your phone alarm goes off, you jump, and the maybe-bowl deflates into a pile of squishy goo.

“Damn it,” you mutter, even though you have only yourself to blame. You set this alarm because you needed two extra minutes to clean off before accepting the incoming Facetime.

You just finish rinsing clay out of your nails when you hear the familiar chimes from your phone. Switching between your phone and a dry rag, you accept the call and smile into the face of a sixty-five year old woman. Blue tips on the edges of her gray hair, oversized cat-wing glasses, Dr. Carla Holstein always reminded you of Ms. Frizzle’s evil twin sister, in appearance only.

“Natalie, how the fuck are you doing?”

Her non-existent brain-to-mouth filter was one of the things that initially endeared you to her. Talking to a shrink about your childhood trauma felt less embarrassing when the woman taking notes had electric blue nails.

“I’d say I’m good, doc,” you smirk at her as you head up the wooden stairs of your basement, “but then I probably wouldn’t be calling you.”

“It’s like you only wanna talk about the bad things with your therapist,” she shakes her head mockingly. “As if I wouldn’t appreciate you calling with good news.”

You chuckle as you drop onto the floor of the living room, mindful of any furniture that might get smeared with errant clay from you overalls. “I’ll save those for our weekly meetings, alright?”

“Which brings me to my next question – what the fuck is going on? You haven’t made an emergency appointment in years. What gives?”

You set your phone up against a stack of books on the wooden table you lugged here all the way from 42nd street. Frowning, you lean against the redbrick fireplace, in a home you decorated with ugly little trinkets and overused furniture. Tidy and messy, this place holds everything that over-spilled from your brain, a place that feels like what the inside of your heart might look like, if you could see it.

“Seriously, Natalie, what is it? You’re kinda freakin’ me out.”

“It’s Dieter.”

Those perfectly drawn on eyebrows arch into that silvery hairline. “What? He called you?”

“He showed up at the gallery this morning.” A motormouth when left unchecked, Carla is a fantastic therapist, first and foremost. She knows exactly when to shut up and let everything pour out of you. And you hated when she did that. You scrubbed your face with your hands, groaning. “Not like that, but he’s the lead role in Andrew’s new production. I don’t know how the fuck he even found out about the part in the first place, but he swears he didn’t know that Andrew and I know each other. I know it wasn’t an intentional ambush but . . .”

“But it still feels like one?” You nod, your bottom lip snagged between your teeth.

“It’s just . . . it doesn’t feel real, you know? Like, what are the fucking chances that everything has to line up perfectly in the universe for him to come stumbling into my gallery after ten years?”

I really thought I’d never see him again.

“Was he actually stumbling? Is he sober?”

“No to the stumbling part, but I have no idea. I mean, I don’t think Andrew would hire someone so coked out they couldn’t remember their lines . . . but he was always so good at hiding it.”

The desperate anger in your voice makes you cringe. Even after all these years, you hate when you confess something you didn’t mean to. Dieter’s ability to mask how high or drunk he was used to scare you. Like you were never quite sure which version of him you were going to get. But then again, you were also so high and drunk you never really cared. Which was entirely the point.

“Well, that’s his shit to work out,” Carla scoffs. “I wanna talk about you. What did you feel at the time?”

“Nervous. Shocked. Surprised. Angry.”

“Talk to me about the anger.”

“I’m angry that I couldn’t think of a single fucking thing to say to him. Not even a good ol’ ‘fuck you’ or a ‘hello’. I’m angry that he’s back in my life in a way where I’ll have to see him again and again. And I’m fucking pissed that after all these years, after all this work, I see my ex for thirty minutes and I’m running scared to my therapist.”

Carla’s face softens. If you were in person with her, this would be the part where she lowers her clipboard and looks at you with warmth you are barely accustomed to.

“But did you run for a drink?”

“No.”

“Did you run to the nearest street corner and pick up a bag of coke?”

“No.”

“Then the process is working. The tools we built to manage your anxiety, to find healthy outlets for your emotions, they held up under scrutiny. You can be pissed all you want but you should also be fucking proud as hell.”

Something hot and sharp threatens to choke you, your cheeks flushing. The word “pride” and you in the same sentence always fucking did that to you. You cough, clearing your throat.

“Okay, then what do I do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how do I act around him? Do I treat him like a stranger? A friend? Can I be his friend? Should I?”

“Is that what you want? Don’t forget you always get to set the boundaries of any relationship you have. He doesn’t get to decide that for you.”

Your toes squeeze into the plush forest green carpet beneath you, thumb pressed into your palm.

“I . . . don’t know.” The truth of what you want sears the back of your throat, a vomit-burn on your tongue, but you keep it to yourself. “But I shouldn’t be around him, at the very least, right? Isn’t rule number one for ex-addicts to keep away from contacts in their past lives?”

“Sure,” Carla nods sagely. “Old friends can bring back old patterns. But are you saying that because you are genuinely concerned about what would happen if you reconnect or because you feel like it’s what’s expected of you as a recovering addict?”

You bite your lip harder. “I don’t know, Carla. It just seems stupid to willingly let someone like Dieter back into my life.”

“And I’m saying you don’t have to. This is a hard case because not only is he an ex, but he was also your dealer and fellow addict.” Carla leans into the camera – this is the part where she put away her clipboard entirely. “But whether or not you let Dieter back in is irrelevant. I want you to go through life with the security in yourself that your past doesn’t have to own you. You have come so far and done so well. You’re on medication and in therapy. You’ve built a great life for yourself, in spite of everything. There will always be temptations, cravings to go back, and I’m not saying you should be overconfident and assume nothing can go wrong, because it absolutely can. But you are not the old Natalie anymore, have faith in yourself. You get to decide your life.”

Once again, you are reminded of all the people who let you forget that. The anger, the hurt, decades in the making, it’s still there. But its bite is no longer cruel.

You nod. “Thank you, Carla. I needed to hear that.”

“I know that,” she smirks. “I’m a damn good therapist.”

“As if you’d let me forget.”

You thank her and end the call. With a sigh you lean back, staring into your living room. Back then, you grew spikes to keep back a world intent on consuming you. Dieter had been the only one to not mind the spikes, even mold around them.

If he’s still a fuckhead, I’m gonna kick his ass.

Your stomach makes a displeased noise, irritated at being empty for so long, so you stand, taking your phone with you as you head for the kitchen.

You bring up his contact and type out your message:

Hey Andrew! Would love to come to your party. What time?

Marie did not want to go to the party for a variety of reasons.

Too busy at the gallery. Invoicing. Nothing to wear. Straight up tired.

All valid reasons. Except they weren’t and it was bullshit and you made her go anyway.

Groaning all the way on the subway, she won’t even look at you as the elevator doors open to Andrew’s hallway. She’s gone uncharacteristically silent as you near the party. This is not her usual “I’d rather be in my Snuggie” scowl, but something else. Her eyes are sharp, hard.

“What?” You bump her with your elbow. “You look like you’re plotting murder.”

“Maybe I am.”

You still and she does too. It’s like you can see inside her brain. “This is about Dieter?”

“Andrew’s a good guy,” she huffs, waving at the shut door. “He doesn’t deserve Dieter’s drama and bullshit . . . and neither do you.”

About a foot shorter than you, Marie carries enough spitfire to fill someone twice her size. You’ve never actually seen her in a fight, but you really don’t want to. Her cold pink nose from the wind outside does nothing to deter her rage.

“If it makes you feel any better, I was cleared by my therapist to be around him.”

She harumphs.

“Look, if I can make this much progress, this much change, shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt? Maybe he can too?”

Her scowl deepens, but the murderous glint in her eyes fade as she knocks on Andrew’s door. “You are too nice for your own good.”

You mock-gasp. “You take that back!”

Just like every other party you’ve ever been to hosted by Andrew, the vibe is intimate, warm, and friendly. You run into and greet a few of the costume designers and lighting techs he’s used in the past, ones you’ve met before by way of just hanging around Andrew during rehearsals. Andrew is very fond of adopting creatives like pets and if he likes your work, chances are he’ll use you again – something uncommon in the industry, but very welcome to those whose paychecks are never steady. However, you notice how small the gathering is. You’ve seen this open-floor plan apartment full of people, partygoers nearly stacked on top of each other during Halloween parties or on New Years Eve. But this production team is a fraction of that size.

Private. That was the other word Andrew mentioned over the phone for the backdrop design. He wanted the space to feel private, as though you were staring into something that was none of your business.

That feeling doesn’t persist here. Here, everyone is welcome.

Everyone, including –

“So, are you going to tell me what the fuck is up with you and him, or am I going to have to think up a very elaborate con to get you to confess?” Andrew snakes an arm over your shoulder, a glass of sparkling water in his hand. His green eyes are full of mischief, the faint lines around his eyes crinkled with glee, as he watches for any change in your expression. Dieter sits on a chair across the room from you, leaning in to listen to a story a man on the center couch cushion is animatedly telling with his hands. To his right, and nearly touching Dieter, is a blonde, beautiful, twenty-year old actress who everyone is telling you will be on Broadway any day now. You know someone told her your name, but you can’t remember it. You swat away your annoyance.

“C’mon, I’ve never seen you look at someone like that. I’m dying to know –,”

“Is he sober?” Your frown falls on Andrew who takes a step back, his own thick eyebrows scrunched together.

“Who, Dieter?”

“No, the man on the moon.”

Andrew shrugs, the lilac pullover he wears looking soft enough to eat. “As far as I know, yeah. We met when Toby and I went to that yoga retreat in Oregon last year. It was a substance-free commune so unless he was getting drunk off the atmosphere –,”

“You’ve known him for a year?” You gape at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I tell you about some actor guy I met out on a co-op in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere? I didn’t know you knew him! We didn’t reconnect until I asked him to come read for the part.”

“And why did you ask him?”

“I . . . dunno,” Andrew says, clearly ruffled. “I liked his vibe. Matched what I had in my head for the role of Sam. And he’s got the best puppy dog eyes of anyone I’ve ever seen.”

It’s not like you can disagree so you turn away from him, scowl on the verge of pouting.

“Oh, no, the conversation does not end here, not after you’ve given me the third degree. Who the fuck was this guy to you?”

Across the room, the blonde’s knee knocks against Dieter’s and something acidic like bile claws the back of your stomach. You take the cup of water from Andrew, other hand digging into your purse.

“We dated. It didn’t end well. In fact, just watch Recovery Road – kinda says the whole thing.” You know Andrew doesn’t deserve your ire and you’ll apologize with coffee and a biscuit from his favorite bakery, but right now, if you don’t leave right now, you’re liable to pop something. “I heard it even won an Oscar.”

It’s stupid and childish and wrong to get jealous every time he talks to a woman.

Okay, notice the thought. Observe it. And let it go.

You inhale, the orange ring immolating the paper around the tobacco, and exhale smoke over the railing of Andrew’s balcony. It’s a nice balcony, as far as metal balconies go in New York. It’s private, sturdy, and a perfect place to contemplate the insanity of your own life. The sunset bleeds rapturous colors, bright and loud, across the city, light reflecting like stars in the glass windows of the buildings. The sight and the smoke is enough to ease the burden in your chest, just for a moment.

It’s not like you are even really jealous. You know that feeling and this isn’t it. The pain is farther away than the immediate nip of jealousy. You follow the feeling, careful not to nick yourself too hard on old memories as you use your toolbox to sort through the undulating waves of feeling.

But therein lies the problem. You remember.

You remember when that girl curled up next to Dieter, eyes full of adoration, used to be you.

You tap the ash against the metal railing, feeling terribly sorry for yourself, when the door to the balcony slides back. A few people had come and gone, shared a smoke, then went back inside. You know you are probably being a party pooper, gazing alone and wistful at the sunset, and you promise yourself this is the last one. It’s officially getting cold the lower the sun falls. But then you turn to the person who just came outside.

“Ah, shit.” He blinks at you as the noise from the party inside is muffled behind the closing door. “I mean, uh. Hi. Um. I didn’t know . . . look, I’ll just come back later –,”

“Andrew says you’re sober. Have been for at least a year. Is that true?”

Maybe you should have just brought a police hat and badge if you were going to grill everyone like this. You lean your hips back against the rail, the burn of the smoke forcing you to breathe slowly.

The autumn wind tugs at his hair, threatens to pull that black sweater out of his pants, as he stares, a lighter and a packet of cigarettes in his clenched fists.

“Um, yeah. He’s right. I’m . . . I’m sober. Have been, for a while.”

You nod, reeling in that invisible electric fence you kept him at the edge of. He senses it and hesitantly, cautiously, he takes a few steps forward and joins you at the railing, but at least two arms lengths away. Eying you, he taps out a cigarette and lights it. He smokes, a full inhale and exhale, before continuing.

“Going on about ten years now.”

The way he says it knots your stomach. His tone of voice. You know exactly what he means. How could you not?

You sip slowly, unable to look at him.

“You haven’t had a drop of alcohol or smoked a single joint in ten years?”

He shrugs. “Doc says weed’s actually good for unfucking my brain.” He swallows and props himself up against the railing. “But, uh, I did go to therapy in rehab again and for the first time, I continued going after I got out. Turns out risk taking behaviors and mood swings are not things normal people experience. Looked lot at my anxiety around self-acceptance too. Triggers included feelings of inadequacy. I even got a new syndrome named after me in the DSM. Baffled my therapist for months.”

“Really?” You stand up right, mouth parted.

“No.” And there’s that Dieter grin. After a decade, it blooms across his face without any hesitation. Your heartbeat pounds rough against your throat for a second. But then his expression grows heavy. “But, uh, I was serious about the therapy part. It’s helped with the depression and anxiety attacks.”

You roll your cigarette between your forefinger and thumb as another wind blows by. You nip at your lower lip.

“Personally, I found Buspar was really good at keeping me from wanting to claw my skin off. Anxiety’s never been better.”

His eyebrows jump and he shuffles a bit closer.

“Oh, yeah? Used to give me the worst headaches, but we fucked around with the dosage and it helped.”

You nod, remembering those weeks of trial and error. You don’t know what to say, what else to admit. His gaze flutters up your shoulder to the side of your jaw and he leans forward with you.

“Did they, uh, put you on Campral too? Wish they had that the first time I went to rehab.”

You shift your weight as you glance over your shoulder. “Yeah. Makes coming to shit like this easier. I, um, don’t feel so overwhelmed to fight the urges, you know?”

“Yeah. I fuckin’ do.”

You blame the catch in your breath on a particular rough gust of smoke. He taps out that cigarette and eagerly lights another one. Yours is barely holding on. He must think of something, remember a joke, because he smirks again.

“They also tried to put me on Metoprolol, but I told them to fuck off.”

You frown at him. “What’s that for?”

Dieter shakes his head, barely containing the smile on his face. “Fucking blood pressure medication. You turn forty-five and they wanna put you on Centrum fucking Silver.”

“Centrum? Isn’t that for –?”

His look dares you to tease him for it, all low eyes and curling lips, but you can’t swallow the fit of giggles. You snort, which makes him laugh, and then you do too.

You laugh with him, until you remember you shouldn’t. You swallow your giggles, sipping more fervently on your cigarette, hoping your abrupt end wasn’t too obvious.

But if Dieter notices, he doesn’t say. He watches the city skyline, contemplative.

“But of all that, therapy seems to be the thing that sticks the best.”

You groan, smacking your palm against the railing, hunching your shoulders. “God, doesn’t that fucking suck? The one thing that actually helps is talking about your stupid fucking feelings?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “yeah, it really does.”

Grinning, you flick your cigarette into the concrete pot Andrew has specifically out here for that sort of thing and go to light another one, but your packet is empty. You both stare at the empty box and then each other.

Dieter pulls on his cigarette, with a big inhale. “Well, I guess you, um, gotta go back –,”

Your past does not own you. You decide what you want.

“Do you wanna get lunch sometime?” That is not how you should have asked that question. His eyes go wide and he’s consumed by a coughing fit. You realize your mistake only seconds too late. “That’s not a line, I swear–,”

He bats your concern away, eyes watering, shaking his head.

“No, I know–,” he croaks. “Yes, I’d like — to catch up. No – I didn’t think it was – a line.”

He barely gets his breathing right, your own hands knotted together, as the balcony door opens for a second time.

“There you are!” Marie tsks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere and –,”

She frowns at the hunched-over coughing man in the shadows. He tries to smile at her, cheeks red, eyes wet.

“Hi, Marie, how are–,”

“Andrew wants to make a speech.” She talks like she didn’t hear him. “Come on.”

She all but takes you by the scruff of your neck and hauls you back inside. You wave over your shoulder to Dieter and realize you don’t have his number anymore. Haven’t had it for years. You no longer have any way of contacting him, even if you wanted to.

As speeches go, Andrew was always very good at them. Short, sweet, and to the point. He thanks everyone for coming as he stands on his dining room table, thanks the caterers and the staff. You stand in the corner with Marie, chatting with the art director you finally met until Andrew started his speech. You focus entirely on Andrew, resolutely not searching the crowd or the balcony, as he continues to welcome everyone to New York, cracking a few jokes here and there. But then the perfunctory part of his speech is over, when something thoughtful comes over his face.

“I know you’ve all got better things to do than listen to me rant and rave, but I know each of you personally, and I’d like to say I’m so happy you’re in my life. I’d like to think everyone touches each other’s lives for a purpose. Not to sound utilitarian, because those purposes can be healing an emotional wound, or filling a hole you didn’t know was there. Or, in Jack’s case, the best damn audio technician I’ve ever seen. Thanks, Jack.” He holds up his glass as the crowd laughs. Andrew smiles and shifts his weight. He had never done any sort of acting himself, always more content to be the conductor of the chaos, but you always think he would have done well. He has a presence and it’s comforting. “Every day we interact with each other in ways that we can’t foresee and leave lasting consequences we can’t explain. That’s what’s at the heart of this story, this play we’re about to create. The effects we have on each other, how those chance meetings can have lasting consequences.” He grins across the crowd, to where you know his husband, Toby, stands. “How love is the only thing that matters in this fucking world. I really hope you remember that as we start production. If nothing we do matters, then love is the most important thing we’ll ever do.” He holds his glass high and everyone follows. “To love.”

“To love,” the chorus chants.

You’ve never been good at sitting still but this is getting ridiculous. Beneath the table, your toes curl and uncurl in your boots, rubbing blisters with your thick socks. Your teeth nibble the thinnest piece of skin behind your lip, chomping constantly like an uneasy horse chewing at its bit. You stare at the menu and read absolutely nothing. It could be written in French for all that you retain.

This is such a dumb fucking idea.

The restaurant is nice. Too nice for something like this. They have glass cups and plates that clink together when stacked on top of each other. The lighting feels low, even for the middle of the day. The paneled wooden walls are too stuffy, too old money. When you asked Andrew for a brunch suggestion, you never should have trusted the recommendation of someone whose idea of loungewear is a pair of hot pink Puma track pants. You loosen your grip on the leather-bound menu out of fear of breaking it in half.

“This is so weird.”

Your eyes snap across the table to your lunch companion. Sunglasses pushed up and nestled inside his long hair, Dieter distractedly tugs at his earring, frowning at the cream-colored menu. Everything about this is wrong. The location. The vibe. The white fucking table cloth. The fact that he’s here, sitting with you, like this is some chat with a business acquaintance –

“This is so fucking weird,” he says again, slowly. “Not a single thing on this menu looks good.”

He pauses for a moment, letting it settle, before he grins up at you. With a sigh, all the air rushes out of your chest. You smile back.

“There’s this really good hot dog cart down the road.”

He snaps his menu shut with glee. “Lead the fucking way.”

Ten minutes later, Dieter groans into a steaming chili cheese dog. You’ve found a concrete bench overlooking a small nearby park. It’s Saturday so the park is full of children and their parents, dogs and their owners. It’s . . . normal.

“Holy shit, this is good.” He licks melted cheese off the space between his thumb and forefinger and goes back in for seconds.

You suck a drop of chili off your thumb and grin. “Found this place when Marie and I first moved here. We lived just down the road and Tony with his cart became our guardian angel. And even now, even though I live across town, I’ll still come by just for his hot dogs.”

The man, round as he was tall, waves over his shoulder, heat rising from his chunky yellow cart, and you both wave back.

“Can Tony adopt me? Please? I clean the dishes every time, I swear.”

You chuckle as Dieter continues to slurp every errant stream of meat juice careening down his wrist.

“I think his other kids would object, but you can try.”

He chews slowly, suddenly thoughtful, glancing over the cold autumn air at the vendor. “You told me once you felt like it was hard to make friends. Guess that’s not the case anymore.”

He glances at you and you finish off your hot dog in two bites, your mouth dry. You shrug. “I do a lot of things now that I didn’t back then.”

He nods – rather, moves his head up and down rigidly – and finishes his lunch as well. You hand him a napkin and he takes it gratefully.

“But, uh, speaking of friends, how’s Heidi? Do you still keep in touch?”

Dieter’s eyes light up. He tosses away the napkin as he takes out his phone. “They just adopted another little kid.” He scrolls through his pictures before handing it off to you.

And once again you’re struck with the weight of memories that had been at the bottom of the box for years. Heidi’s older too, her hair now completely sheared off, cut shorter even than Dieter’s, but she’s smiling. She and another woman hold up a boy who looks to be about six, while two others, another boy and a girl, sit in front of the couch. All of them smile up happily for the camera. It tugs at a soft place inside of you.

The thing that’s been circling your mind for days lifts its head out of the churning mixture of your thoughts, sniffing the air, knowing it’s almost time.

“Oh wow! He’s adorable!” You grin genuinely.

Dieter smirks as he closes his phone. “Carlos. Heidi asked me to help him practice his Spanish, but I’m pretty sure he knows more English than I do.”

“So they’re happy?”

His brown eyes fall on you like autumn leaves and your toes curl again. “Yeah, they’re happy.”

“And Mark? Do you still keep up with him?”

Dieter glances away, biting his lip. “Um, no, actually. It’s kind of hard to hang out with someone after you’ve punched them in the face and called them a liar while being so coked out you’re hallucinating.” He picks at a callus on his palm. “Wouldn’t be the first time I lost a friend because I did dumb shit while I was high.”

You nod, the shame and embarrassment all too familiar. Plus, every memory you have of that hotel you handle with radiation tongs and chemical-resistant gloves.

“But, uh, what about you?” He leans back against the bench, hands in his lap. Behind him, children run and scream in the cool sunlight. “Were you and Marie always friends, even back then?”

“That’s a complicated question.” You sigh and tuck your hands up into your jacket pocket, matching his position on the bench. His legs sprawl out far longer than yours. “I wanted to be her friend back then, and I tried, but then things got . . . intense, with you, and the drugs, and I stopped responding to her calls and texts. For weeks at a time.” His gaze flickers to you as you talk, between your face and your pockets. “But she was also there for me . . . afterwards. She says Heidi called her and told her what happened and she immediately came to the hospital. She just fucking forgave me. Forgave all the shitty things I had done to her, just like that. To this day, she doesn’t hold it over me and I don’t know why but I’m so grateful for her . . .” Your voice cracks and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. You can feel the wind on your cheeks, your unspilled tears sitting in your eyes.

You have to get this thing off your chest.

“Dieter, I’m so sorry.” With a gasp to stifle your tears, you turn to him to look him in the eyes. “For the first two years of my rehab, I thought about writing to you, or calling you. Just to say how sorry I was. I had no idea what it was like on the other side of sobriety, how every day is a such a fucking struggle, and I rubbed that in your face, over and over again until you snapped. I’m so sorry.”

He studies you for a moment, arms crossed, dark eyes almost black in the thin light. You can hear children yelling and shrieking with glee. Faint, distant. He taps his teeth together twice before finding his answer, his jaw tight.

“That’s not why I snapped and you know it.”

His voice holds like iron in the wispy wind. Everything blurs around you but not that. Not him. He shakes his head gently, eyes falling to the scarf around your neck.

“And please don’t apologize to me. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it.”

He meets your eyes and you swear they’re damp. A shade brighter than they were before. You stare at each other, on that park bench in Brooklyn, on a cold autumn day, for a long, long time.

You have to ask it now. You can’t avoid it any longer.

“You wanna get coffee?” You pass the tremble in your hands off as a shiver. He nods, still chewing on his mouth, and you gather your trash.

It slips out of you as casually as you slip your napkins into the trash bin.

“How’s Chloe?”

You barely have turned around when his hand seizes your upper arm. His grip is almost too tight, his eyes wide and manic.

“Oh, shit.” He blinks as though he’d been slapped. “Natalie, I never told you – I didn’t even think – fuck –,”

“What, Dieter?” You want to pull away, but the touch around your arm is warm, thick. You peer up at him from furrowed eyebrows. “What didn’t you tell me?”

He swallows.

“The baby – it’s not – it wasn’t mine.”

Your entire body goes slack as your mouth drops open. The hold he has on you is welcomed; the entire park is in danger of spinning sideways.

Somehow he has the good sense to pull you both back onto the bench. Your knees buckle the second you move and you all but collapse into the concrete. Dieter releases you and rubs his hands together, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes still wide and blank.

“How do I say this?” He murmurs and that old hurt turns to panic, to anger.

“How to say what, Dieter?” You snap, hotly. “Just start at the beginning. Please.”

He shakes his head, tongue up against his molars, finally turning to look at you. “Chloe and I got divorced. Years ago.” He takes a steadying breath, thumbnail absent-mindedly against the black ring on his third finger on his left hand, as if to remind himself what was there. This is why no one over the age of twenty-five needs to wear this many rings, Dieter!

“Look, Chloe and I – our marriage was shit from the get-go. I didn’t want to admit it back then, but it’s true,” he says, still soothing himself with gentle strokes. “I used Chloe, like all the people in my life, like a crutch and she felt it. I was smothering her and she couldn’t get far enough away from me, even halfway around the world. She started seeing someone in Portugal and I think she was happy there. I hope so. But, uh, she didn’t want it to get to the papers that she’d cheated on her movie-star husband and got knocked up as a result, so she passed the baby off as mine. We were about seven months in when she finally told me. I don’t know if she could tell I was coming apart at the seams or she was finally ready to be happy, but she confessed. And I confessed to her – the drugs, the affair with you – all of it. I think I just wanted it to be over, done. We weren’t going to come back from something like that and I think we were both okay with it.” He stops spinning the ring and, against all expectations, grins. “This is probably kind of fucked up of me but we kept in touch for a while. She married the baby’s dad about a month after we divorced. He’s actually a really nice guy. I was even invited to the wedding, if you can imagine.”

There must be something wrong with your hearing. He’s stopped speaking but there’s a high pitched whine nestled between your ears.

“So you don’t . . . you aren’t . . .”

“No, I don’t have some ten year old kid running around out there,” he huffs, shaking his head. “And no, I’m not a father. Or a husband. Not anymore.”

You say the first thing you think of.

“Dee, that’s fucking crazy.” His old nickname slips out while your brain is offline. “That’s, like, soap opera levels of insane. That’s . . . I can’t believe . . .”

With a massive inhale, where you can see the hot steam of breath enter into his mouth and nostrils, he sits back, hands limp in his lap.

“I don’t blame her, you know. After what I had done, to her, to you, I didn’t have the right to be angry that she cheated on me. In some fucked up way, it made sense and it wasn’t just my paranoid, druggy brain telling me something was off. I was never a good husband, was never going to be a good father. When I think about it, the kindest thing she ever did was agree to leave me, even when that seemed impossible.”

His massive palms smooth across his thighs, his soft hair tugged on by the wind. His fingertips stop just short of touching yours, inches from your own lap.

“Natalie, I’m sorry I never reached out after that night. Or even years later. I lost hours of sleep thinking about what I was going to say to you if you ever let me see you again. I had all these grand plans of finding you and showing you how sorry I was. But then,” he swallows, “I realized what damage that would do and I . . . I thought it would be better if we just never saw each other again.”

Your ribs expand out into your chest, just once, just enough for it to hurt, before everything settles.

“I didn’t try and find you for the same reasons. I wanted to, though.”

If that counts for anything.

Back then, Dieter always had a fascination with your hands. Holding them, inspecting them, drawing invisible artwork across your palms and over your veins. He even sketched them on notebook paper and post-it notes from time to time, when you sat still long enough to let him.

You can see it in his eyes that he wants to touch you, to hold your hand, but he doesn’t. Instead, he puts his own back into his pockets.

Anxiety churns in your stomach. There’s more he wants to say and so do you, but for now, you’re content to let the confessions of the day settle.

It’s funny, the little things that you pull together in your mind to create an image of someone. You didn’t think of it often, but when you did, you tried to imagine him happy, with his wife and child. And now you know that’s all they were, imaginings. You wonder if you thought about it more than he did.

The label of father for Dieter was gone, after ten long, insufferable years. You had no idea what would take its place.

“Can I ask you something?”

When you look at him, the intensity in his gaze is lifted. Something lighter has taken its place.

“Sure.”

“Why were they called The Sixers?”

The whiplash between conversation topics is colder and sharper than the air around you. You suddenly remember you’re in a park full of children with Dieter Bravo inches from you.

You grin at him.

“Because it sounds like the sex-ers. Like sex-havers but said fast.”

That press of skin, the dimple on his right cheek, deepens and he smiles. “Nick came up with that one, didn’t he?”

You giggle. “Yeah, but the rest of them signed off on it.”

He nods, eyebrows arching as he shrugs. “But I actually meant why are they called The Sixers when there’s only five of them?”

Not once, after a decade, after millions of memories you shifted through, pulled out and examined and held up to the light – after shifting weight and blame and shame, putting your entire life under scrutiny – after sobriety and founding the gallery and finding Marie as the best friend in your whole world –

Not once, had you ever stopped to consider that.

It starts low in your stomach, expanding rapidly, arching up your spine, pulling your lips open, your head back until it bursts out of your mouth so absurdly loud, you clap a hand over your lips to keep from drawing attention.

You laugh so hard, you cry.

Dieter is bent over, howling alongside you.

When he orders your coffee, he remembers how you take it.

“Cream, no sugar, right?” He smiles as he hands you the steaming cup.

What else of you still lives inside of him? You hesitate to wonder.

You nod, thanking him, and follow him down the street.

A brisk evening settles between the high rises and rows of brownstones. The air has a mean bite to it now, a chill that nips at the bone. But you don’t really notice it. Not with his warm shoulder pressed up against yours, the warm styrofoam keeping your fingers from numbing. You’d brought up Andrew and the discussion quickly turned to the play. Dieter gestures wildly, chatting about this role, something so different from Hollywood.

Not that he had done much in the way of the public eye after Recovery Road. Smaller stuff, indie films, a few local LA plays. Then when all that became insufferable, he wrote a few treatments for some films, scripts to movies that never saw the light of day, and sold off the rights of those scripts to keep himself busy. He even directed a short film or two, but still felt a restlessness you were all too familiar with.

“So when Andrew called, I got the next flight out. This is the first part I’ve been excited about in years.”

You smile at him as you sip your coffee. “I’m really glad to hear that. Andrew’s a great director, I think you’ll have fun with him.”

As you led him near and nearer to your street, the conversation wove between artistic inclinations, production management, set design, character work – things you thought you’d forgotten about for the most part, but came back all too easily. You laughed easily too.

You were laughing when you stopped in front of your brownstone, but then instantly sobered when you saw who was waiting for you on the steps. Which was intentional because she absolutely had a set of keys.

“Oh, uh, hey, Marie.”

“Dieter.” But she’s looking at you, her jaw set and eyes blazing. “I just came by to get those invoices. Did I interrupt something?”

The back of your neck warms and you put more space between your shoulder and his. “No, i-it’s fine. Dieter was just walking me home. The invoices are in my kitchen.”

The chill of the air settles around you, tapping against the bubble you’d found yourself in after the park. You have him at arm’s length and you don’t know whether to shake his hand or give him a hug. You go with neither.

“It was good catching up. I’ll see you Monday?”

He nods, grinning in that silly way that makes him look like a fourteen year old dumbass. “For sure. See you Monday.”

It’s not the way you wanted your afternoon with him to go, but in honesty, it was probably the best way it could have gone. Dieter waves at Marie as he heads back the way you came, towards the subway station.

He’s not entirely out of earshot when Marie turns on you.

“So, what the fuck was that?”

You don’t meet her eyes as you fumble for your keys, your fingers numb from the cold. The door to your brownstone creaks as you stumble inside, as if irritated with you that you’re letting all the warm air out.

“What are you talking about? We were just catching up.”

She’s hot on your heels as you slide off your jacket, almost running for the kitchen.

“You don’t just catch up with someone like Dieter Bravo. He knows all your weaknesses, Nat.”

You scowl as you toss your purse onto the kitchen island. You face off with her, your hands on your hips. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s your blindspot,” she says, carefully watching your face. “Always has been. He’s not just some guy and you know it. He broke your fucking heart.”

It had been all smiles and laughing and remembering the good this afternoon. But she isn’t wrong. She rarely was.

She can see the understanding cross over your face.

“Where’s his wife anyway? Chloe?”

“They’re divorced, okay?”

Marie’s mouth falls open in disgust and you cringe. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.

“So he’s back in your life for five minutes, single, and you’re getting coffee with him?”

“I didn’t know he was single when I asked him — you know what, it’s fine. I asked if he wanted to get lunch and that turned into coffee and we spent a lot of time talking about the play. That’s it.”

She crosses her arms, reading every line in your body for secrets, as if he might have slipped you a bag of Oxy. You stare back. You have done nothing wrong and neither did he.

(You store away the fact that this was the first time you hung out with Dieter Bravo in a capacity that didn’t have you both hiding in shadows, ready to examine later alone in bed.)

“And you can honestly say you didn’t feel anything for him?” Marie arches an eyebrow, waiting for your stony face to crack. “No flicker? Nothing after ten years of radio silence?

“It’s not like it was before,” you answer as honestly as you can. “Even if it was, I can’t imagine he feels anything but guilt over me, which isn’t a great starting point for a relationship. You saw his face in the gallery – he looked petrified, not in love.”

When she nods, it stings, just a bit. She eyes the paperwork, knowing the income and good word coming from Andrew’s production would benefit the gallery for years to come. And of course she knew – she was the one who came up with it. Would she have said yes if she knew Dieter was attached to it? Would you have?

“Are you going to see him again?”

You wave a sweeping hand at the invoices, as if to show how the gallery and Andrew’s show are completely intertwined.

“I have to, right?”

Marie frowns at you, angry but not at you, and then her face softens, all fight gone, and she goes around the island to hug you. This is what saved you. This is what kept you going.

“I know my boundaries, Marie,” you say to the crook of her neck, unwilling to look her in the eyes while you say this. “And I know what happened in the past. I’m not going to make the same mistakes.”

She kisses your cheek. “Good because I really can’t run the gallery by myself.”

You laugh, pulling apart, and you shuffle the invoices together. “Yeah, who would you have to cart all this paperwork around?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

You wave her goodbye from your porch, locking the door after her.

You want to google his name and “divorce” to see if it’s true. If anything he told you today was real. You want to curl up in bed, with your head under the sheets and try and piece his life without you together. But you don’t.

That was the thing with Dieter. You want things, but you can’t have them. You have this indescribable urge, but it must be tempered. The obsession is lesser, a blindspot more than anything, now that you know your next hit and how you felt about him had been horrifically tied up into one, incessant, painful need. It would never be as bad, you assure yourself because now that you don’t have that overwhelming urge to get high; whatever you would be feeling is just good plain old human brain chemicals. And if you survived being coked out for nearly a year straight, you’d probably survive your own stupid emotions.

You would survive Dieter Bravo. All you have to do now is be his friend.

OCTOBER

A sharp chill had descended over the city, bringing with it an explosion of color. A consolation prize for the painful nip in the air. It was too early in the season for snow, or anything to prevent the wind from being so cruel, so everyone had to bustle from one structure to the next, careful to avoid the cold that hounded them like dogs. Teeth clenched, hands clutching scarves, the streets were filled with scowls and pink cheeks, raw knuckles and frozen ears. The crowds moved faster, eager to get where they’re going, out of this cold, out of this wind that pressed unsuspecting bodies together with the force of it. It made getting out of bed, leaving the cozy warmth of duvets and covers, planting your feet on the freezing wood, almost a monumentally impossible task. Especially for those who hated mornings anyway.

As much as you tried – really, truly, desperately tried as you sorted through the mosaic of your life, shining up as much as you could – you simply could not turn yourself into a morning person. Yawning widely, you stirred the cup of terrible coffee aimlessly, as if with enough glaring it would not only taste better, but startle you awake.

No such luck.

“Hey, miss, where would you like us to put these?”

You grimace as you choke down the black sludge, pointing the workman to a far wall at the back of the stage. Six in the morning and you already know it was going to be a long day. There are supplies to organize, materials to sort out, work to delegate, but you can’t seem to climb out of that sleepy haze. It had been a while since you’d been on the set of a production but if you don’t plant your feet now, you are liable to get swept up into the chaos.

You shake your head and blink. Focus.

Your designs had mapped out six separate moveable pieces of extra thick balsa wood. Attached to wheels, stage hands could rearrange the pieces as needed, depending on the scene. The “walls” are light enough for Andrew’s skeleton crew, but with some shadows and shading, you could give them depth and visual weight. You just had to build the damn things first, but Andrew assured you that all of his stagehands are basically master carpenters. By the confused but eager looks on their faces, you doubt that’s entirely true. Maybe by the end of this you’ll all be master carpenters.

Smiling to yourself, you go to help them unpack the planks of wood, but freeze when you hear Andrew’s voice unexpectedly. Assuming he’d come by when most of the work is nearly done, you poke your head around the thick black curtains.

Andrew stands facing the house, his arms wide and mobile. You smirk at the Lululemon sweats – his version of dressing down – as he addresses the small crowd in front of him. It’s the cast, you realize, only about seven of them and in the center is, of course, Dieter, with dark circles under his eyes. He’d never been a morning person either. He has his arms crossed over a thin black shirt and he’s focused entirely on Andrew, thick brows furrowed.

And focused entirely on him, is Emily (you finally remember her name), the cute blonde twenty-something.

Friends help friends get dates, right? Maybe this would be a good first step.

Getting Dieter Bravo laid.

Lunch arrives well past noon, leaving everyone tired, hungry, and a little irritable. Cast and crew go off into their separate corners, looking for peace and quiet and somewhere the pounding of hammers isn’t audible.

You’re deciding between a ham or turkey sandwich when he sidles up next to you. His plate is half a sandwich, three strawberries, and four cookies. Good to see his voracious sweet tooth hadn’t dulled even a little bit.

You glance over your shoulder. Emily sits on the edge of the stage, munching on a bag of chips and reading over her script. With your elbow, you nudge Dieter and he turns to look.

“She likes you,” you grin.

He frowns, glancing back between you and the girl on stage. “Who? Emily?”

“Duh. She has eyes, doesn’t she?”

Dieter’s mouth goes tight and he turns back to the craft’s table, suddenly interested in adding something healthy to his plate.

“She flirts with everyone. Besides, I’m kind of out of practice.”

“What do you mean?”

He picks at a melon, noses through the box of chips. “Rehab makes dating kinda hard. Unless . . .” he pauses and puts down his plate, “unless you’ve figured out the secret to dating in rehab.”

Your neck heats again. “Um, no, definitely not. It’s been a while, for me too.”

“How long is a while?” His eyes darken as he asks.

You are completely baffled at how quickly this conversation spiraled out of your control.

“Dieter – I – it’s been – you —,”

He spares you and bites the corner of his cheek. He glances over to Emily as she swings a long, bare leg over the edge of the stage.

“I’m not sleeping with her.” You nod, dumbstruck by this complete and total opposite reaction you thought he’d have. He works his jaw before looking back at you. “Her or anyone else. Okay?”

Andrew calls the cast to the stage to review blocking before the buzz saws start up again, so Dieter is pulled away before you can sputter incoherent consonants at him. He leaves his plate with you.

“Don’t let anyone steal my cookies,” he says very seriously before wiping his hands on his jeans and heading back to work.

What you said is true. You didn’t date anyone in rehab, the practice actually rather forbidden, and didn’t really have the inclination once you got out. It had been years before you actually tried to date anyone, but most of them ended after the first awkward hug goodbye or when he tried to put his hand up your skirt at dinner.

You hadn’t been a nun this whole time – you weren’t a fucking saint – but there hadn’t been anyone, anyone who really mattered in, years. For the first time, that struck you as odd. There wasn’t time, you reason with yourself as you watch him cross the stage on Andrew’s direction and jot notes in his script, his hair sticking up in all directions as if a cat’s tongue had licked him up the back of his neck. With moving to New York and starting the gallery and then running it, expanding it, there just simply wasn’t time to find something to fill that giant, gaping hole in your life. A hole you didn’t seem to mind or even notice, until Dieter came back.

Okay, maybe, friends didn’t need to help friends pick up dates. He didn’t seem interested anyway.

You pick up his plate, careful to not spill his precious sweets, only vaguely aware that his first inclination after loading up his lunch was to come find you.

🤍 Next: Part 2 + Epilogue

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble 2016 #dieter bravo/f!reader #dieter bravo/you #dieter bravo/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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kisses-from-crows · 1 year ago

Text

Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain - Ch 3.

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!femReader

Summary: Campbell is ready to get some answers, but is Y/N ready to give them?

Genre: enemies to lovers, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings

Word count: 3,286

CW: mentions of mental illness, vague allusions to a past ED, panic attack

Chapter 3

Beginning | Previous | Next

- PopCrave: Is it about time for a rematch? Fans speculate with Y/N’s return to the public eye, a new heated interview with Campbell Bain can’t be too far behind. So we’re counting down the Top 10 Bain vs L/N moments!

Posted: 10 min ago -

When Campbell’s alarm went off, his bloodshot eyes had already been wide open. He’d hardly slept a wink, up all night just thinking. His mind did this often, running around in circles dragging his remaining sanity uselessly behind it.

Months ago when he had selected ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’ as his alarm, he had thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Now he was considering how much it would cost to replace his phone if he smashed it to bits. It seemed that the sun had risen against his will once again and it was time to face the music.

Quite literally face the music, his phone was charging across the room and the only way to turn the blasted song off would be to get out of his nice warm bed. Yet again another one of his brilliant ideas come back to bite him in the ass.

Just as his toes touched down on the cold wooden floor of his bedroom, the song stopped of it own accord. Campbell winced knowing what was next, a call was coming through. Through the busted speakers of his phone came blasting the most deep-fried version of ‘Ding Dong The Witch is Dead’. At full volume. If he hadn’t been awake before, he sure was now.

Campbell scrambled frantically across the room looking like Bambi on ice, ignoring the way his body groaned in protest at the sudden movement. Anything to make the damn phone stop ringing. The last thing he needed was yet another noise complaint from his cranky downstairs neighbor.

The phone slipped through his fingers as he attempted to snatch it off his desk and fell to the floor. The words: ‘ITS THE DEVIL’S HENCHMAN, DINNAE ANSWER IT’ stared up at him from the ground as if to mock him. With a deep sigh, Campbell managed to answer the phone successfully.

“My driver will be there in five minutes. Get your chronically late ass out of bed.” Y/N ground out before immediately hanging up. Campbell blinked at the screen, the lack of sleep making his brain lag behind. It took about ten whole seconds for him to process what she said.

“Good morning to ye too, ya royal pain in my arse” He said to no one but the air. So the call last night hadn’t been a bizarre nightmare, just his luck. The last thing he wanted to do today, much less any other day, was another interview with F/N L/N. ‘This one’s different.’ Her words from last night had echoed though his head into the wee hours of the morning.

Now the words ‘be there in five minutes’ were making the rounds inside his skull as Campbell scrambled to put together something suitable to wear. Dirty and clean clothes alike were strewn across the floor. It took about five tries to find something that didn’t smell completely appalling. Just as he was hopping around trying to get his left shoe on, the buzzer to his apartment complex rang out.

He nearly broke his neck racing down the stairs to make it to the car. If there was one thing Y/N hated more than Campbell Bain, it was people making her wait. She was already going to tear him to shreds, Campbell didn’t need to make it any easier for her.

Even with his color block hoodie on, Campbell could still feel the bite of the autumn air. October was just around the corner and the yellow, reds, and oranges were just beginning to creep into the edges of the trees. He loved this time of year. The heat of the summer always made him a bit irritable. Plus with the weather in the 60’s he was able to pull out his favorite sweaters and hoodies.

In front of his apartment was a black town car and stern looking man in a black suit and sunglasses. Right on time, just like Y/N said they would be. Campbell strode his way up to the driver and stuck out a hand for him to shake.

“Campbell Bain, pleased to make yer acquaintance.” he said with a crooked smile.

The driver looked down at Campbell’s hand before grunting and offering a curt, “Get in the car.” Before opening rear passenger door and marching over to the driver’s seat without waiting to see if Campbell got in or not.

“Well aren’t you just a ray o’ sunshine” Campbell grumbled as he climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.

On the ride over he tried to come up with every possible reason she wanted to meet with him like this. Other than their somewhat yearly interviews, they only ever bumped into each other at various album wrap parties or some odd studio function. Event’s like the station Christmas party which was almost always tragic. Too much booze and a pathetic round of Secret Santa. Even then, they spent the whole night pointedly ignoring each other. Stealing loathing glances across the room as some remix of Jingle bells desecrated what was once a hallowed hall of music.

As the car rolled to a stop in front the french bistro, Campbell felt like a lamb to slaughter. He attempted to swallow the lump in his throat, while he procrastinated getting out. In no time at all the driver had walked around the car and opened the door for him. Impatiently ushering him out. God when did his life get so weird? Had it always been this weird? Maybe just a different kind of weird. The driver said something into his little ear piece before getting back in the town car and driving off. Likely just circling the block, unwilling to leave Y/N by herself with Campbell for too long.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he worked hard to get where he is. This was just another business meeting. There was no need for his heart to be pounding and his hands to be sweating. Though you could hardly blame fight or flight for merely doing its job. Especially when Campbell was walking straight into the den of a predator, one who would eat his heart without a second thought.

He donned his patented ‘Devil May Care’ attitude and sauntered his way into the restaurant. Only to be stopped immediately by the hostess.

“Sir, you need a reservation to be in here” She said in a patronizing tone. Nearly a decade now of rubbing elbows with these yuppy rich people and he still couldn’t get over the condescending way they talked. Like he had a head full of lead and loose cotton swabs.

“I haaave a reservation,” Campbell said obnoxiously dragging out the syllables, letting his accent garble the enunciation just a bit. “I’m meeting with someone.”

The hostess flushed, seemingly embarrassed. “My apologies, you must be Mr. Bain. Right this way, she has been waiting for you.” The hostess said quickly. Campbell suppressed a wince, Y/N had been waiting, and he was never going to hear the end of it.

He followed the hostess as she scurried to a table tucked in the back corner. In the booth sat a feminine figure, donning comically large sunglasses and a silk scarf wrapped around her head. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought she was some infamous mafia boss’s grandmama.

“Aye, good morning babooshka. Any chance you’ve seen global pop sensation F/N L/N wandering around here?” Campbell said, sarcasm dripping from his shit eating grin. Y/N shushed him quickly, tilting her sunglasses down to level him with a glare so cold that the tiniest shiver ran down his spine. He half-wondered if it had turned him to stone. Ah, but there was that wrinkle, mission accomplished.

“Someone could hear you, you know?!” She hissed under her breath. “Are you just going to stand there looking like an unemployed scarecrow all day?” Y/N allowed a practiced tone of disinterest to seep into her voice. Campbell ignored the jab, feeling quite satisfied that it only took one well aimed sentence to bring out that adorable little crinkle in her brow. Adorable like a Tasmanian devil, of course.

He plopped himself unceremoniously into the booth besides Y/N. His long legs struggled to fit comfortably under the short clothed table. His knees crashed into the table legs, causing the silverware to clatter, water to spill from the crystal water glasses, and several other patrons to whip their head toward the pair of them distastefully.

“Aye learn to mind yer business, why don’t ya” Campbell shouted, attempting to stand up from the booth and knocking into table once more. Y/N rubbed a hand over her exasperated brow, as if trying to rub out an incoming headache.

“Dear god, is this your first time in public?” She said, her shoulders now folded forward to hide from the judgmental eyes of the other patrons.

“Nae,” Campbell said “but it looks like it’s your first time out of the 1950’s. What’s up with the ridiculous disguise, you look like my granny”

“I suppose you may be right about that” Y/N said, letting a small huff of air out her nose in a amusement. A laugh and admitting he was right about something? That was proof, Y/N had been murdered and replaced with a clone. Clearly, they were in the twilight zone. As he was pondering the universe and the fact it was currently flipping itself inside out, Y/N began her removing her disguise piece by piece. First the silk scarf revealing her signature H/T - H/C hair, then a fake beauty mark he hadn’t even noticed before, and finally the unreasonably large sunglasses.

For the first time in nearly two years (a year and eights months but who was counting) Campbell had taken a good look at Y/N. She looked… different? Her cheeks were a little fuller, her skin looked warmer, and… had her eyes always been that color? He took in her appearance piece by piece. By the time the stretch of silence had started to become just a bit uncomfortable, he decided that getting the hell out of dodge agreed with her.

He hadn’t realized he was staring until Y/N cleared her throat and took an awkwardly long sip from her nearly empty water glass.

“So, did you have any trouble finding the place?” she said with a small smirk. Campbell rolled his eyes.

“Nae, but yer rather rude driver looked like he was two seconds away from taking my head clean off my shoulders. Ye should watch out for him, he is clearly a serial killer in the making, just you wait” Campbell said, waving his arms about indignantly. “That and the hostess damn near threw me out on the street.”

“Oh Gustavo? He’s nothing but a kitten. He just gets a little protective, that’s all. You’re being such a big baby. And the hostess was just doing her job. I told her I was waiting for the man who looked like Gumby and sounded like Scrooge McDuck. And look! Here you are right before my eyes” Y/N responded a quick, a slightly menacing grin slowly sliding across her face. She was trying to get a rise out of him. He was not about to let her win.

“Funny, I just plugged in ‘Wicked Witch of the West’ into my GPS and-“Just as Campbell was winding up to deliver the most immature tirade, light reflecting off a passing car filled the room with a quick flash. Y/N flinched, her hands moving instinctively to cover her face. A moment later when no second flash came, she looked up at him, cheeks slowly turning red.

“What was that?” Campbell said, more curious than judgmental. Y/N straightened herself up and slid a palpable wall up to cover whatever vulnerability she had accidentally revealed. She flipped through the menu absently, hoping he would just stop looking at her like that.

“Paps have been ruthless lately. Guess that’s what happens when deprive them of anything for so long…” Y/N eyes looked a little distant. “they start acting like they’re starving.” The light that had been in her eyes earlier had dulled. She looked as though her mind had gone wondering off without her. Only for moment, before blinking and coming back into her body. “Hence the russian grandma special.” She joked flippantly holding up her pathetic disguise like nothing happened.

She turned her attention back to the menu. “Ooh the quiche lorraine looks good, what are you going to get?” Campbell looked at Y/N like she had three heads. Something was definitely wrong. He been around the block enough times to know when something was off. And he’d had enough of the games.

“What are we doing here Y/N?” Campbell said, not waiting for a response. “Why are you having me meet you in some stuffy bistro like yer on the run from the law? If ya wanted an interview with me that badly, which I highly doubt, why not just have yer team arrange it through the station?”

“The station doesn’t need to know about this.” Y/N said, unable to look him in the eye. She flagged down the waitress and put in an order for the both of them.

“Hey wait I didn’t even tell ye what I wanted!” Campbell said indignantly with a small pout. Y/N gave him a crooked smile that couldn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Just trust me.” She said. And for one of the very few times in Campbell’s life, he was speechless.

The moment the food hit the table he tore into it. He was basically starving due to the fact Y/N had cruelly denied him time to eat breakfast before basically kidnapping him. For a reason he still didn’t know yet. At the point where the food had hit his stomach and he could actually start to taste it, Campbell felt like he had died and gone to heaven. Maybe she had been right about the food. Maybe.

“Enjoying yourself?” Y/N asked smugly, tearing off a piece of croissant and popping it into her mouth. Campbell shot her glare, mouth too full to attempt any sort of dignified comeback. Not without spitting food out all over the table, and he was not about to waste it.

As the his hunger-driven delirium subsided, he noticed the way Y/N was so focused on eating, she had barely said a word. Basked in an emotion he had never seen from her, she looked content. It felt a bit weird to see her eating, but Campbell could quite put his finger on why. Surely he’d seen her eating before, they’d known each for years. Every function they were forced to attend together were stuffed to the brim with a damn near gluttonous amount of food.

Y/N felt his eyes on her and stiffened. He was staring again. He really needed to get a handle on that. She put down her fork and turned to address Campbell. She took a deep inhale and let out a shaky breath.

“Campbell,” there was his name again, “I know that we haven’t always gotten along-“

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the understatement of the century!” Campbell interrupted. Y/N glared him and clenched her jaw.

“Will you just shut up for one minute, and let me get through this!” Y/N seethed. Campbell’s eyes widened. He comically mimed zipping up his mouth, locking it up, and tossing the key over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes at his antics, but his delusions swore there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“I need your help” Y/N admitted, her eyes fixed firmly on her lap. “A lot has happened, things that are difficult to explain and even more difficult for me say out loud.” She began twisting the rings on her fingers. “It wasn’t my choice to leave… to disappear like that” Campbell found himself leaning closer to hear her voice as it got quieter and quieter. He wondered if she had always looked this small. “Most people don’t really understand but I thought maybe… well I was hoping that you might-“

In the middle of what seemed to be a kind of confession, sounds of commotion came from outside. Y/N paused and slowly looked up, as if afraid of what she might see. Slowly and then all at once, camera flashes filled the once quiet restaurant. Reporters gathered outside the windows of the bistro, shouting over each other like a flock of seagulls. Cutting each off in a second creating an overlapping onslaught of noise.

“Y/N-“ “LOOK OVER HERE” “WHY DID YOU LEA-“ “Y/N” “Y/N” “LOOK THIS WA-“ “DID RODGER REALLY DUMP YO-“ “CAN YOU GIVE A COMMEN-“ “WHERE DID YOU G-“ “Y/N!” “IS IT TRUE YOU WERE IN REHA-“ “LOOK OVER HERE!” “HAVE YOU SEEN MR. DEL REY’S NEW FIANCÉ!” “Y/N!” “LOOK” “LOOK!” “LOOK!” “LOOK!”

The lights became blinding in an instant. Campbell was covering his eyes and trying to make sense of the commotion. The crowd outside was growing. The noise from them becoming louder and louder and more nonsensical. A few of the reporters had managed to make it in, only being held back by the ill-prepared waitstaff.

Y/N had dealing with this for years, she would know what to do. Campbell turned to her for an answer. And found her paralyzed. Eyes wide and glassy. Mouth hanging open slightly pushing tiny quick puffs of air in and out. None of them large enough count as an actual breath. Like a wounded deer staring down a man with a knife come to put it out of its misery.

“Y/N?” He said softly. She began shake her head ever slightly. The tiny puffs of breath of air almost sounded like a word, just barely: no. Campbell touched her hand, lightly trying to her attention but she was entranced. Staring at the lights and the shouting and the commotion. All of those people hoping to tear off just tiny little piece of her.

Campbell wasn’t stupid. He recognized that look. He’d seen it on Rosalie’s face a million times. She was having a panic attack, not the loud screaming kind. The kind that pulled you inside your own mind and made you a prisoner. Watching the world around yourself though a tiny little window, unable to do a thing. It was in that moment Campbell made a decision. A decision that went against years of bitter resentment and petty rivalry. She had asked him for help. And he was going to do just that.

Campbell stood up, gathered up all of Y/N’s things, and snatched the last croissant off the table. He was going to get her out of here. He took off his jacket and held it up with one hand, blocking the light from her face. He grabbed her hand and tugged on it slightly.

“Let’s get you out of here” Campbell said, a silent proposition hanging in the air. ‘Just trust me’. An invisible echo of those three little words she said to him not too long ago. Y/N looked up at him, still panicked but clinging to his hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. He was happy to ignore the way it hurt his knuckles. She bravely stood up from the booth with shaky legs. And he smiled so wide it scrunched up his nose and nearly took over his whole face.

“Now, we run.”

_________________________________________________

Next Chapter

A/N: so i finally finished chapter three, not gonna lie this one fought me every step of the way, but we got here! i decided i’m gonna to try to post a new chapter weekly on wednesdays! thank you so much for reading, love you! have a good week!

(how do we feel about the paragraph breaks? i can’t tell if they’re obnoxious or if they make it easier to read. I can make them smaller if need be. if anyone has any strong opinions about it lmk!)

#david tennant #campbell bain #campbell bain x reader #fanfic #fanfic writing #kisses-from-crows #modern au #enemies to friends to lovers #enjoy!#takin’ over the asylum

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