#live day trading chat room

[teaboot]

I do not have Boy Knowledge to trade, but can I ask for dinner party hosting tips???

Sure!

I grew up broke but the great-grandparents passed on all their old etiquette, so *fart noise* got a lot of old fashioned shit kickin around, this is what we'd do

PREP:

Clean the house in advance. And not just common areas- the whole place. Minimum the kitchen, living room, bathroom, entrance. Take out all the trash, no dirty dishes, scrub out the toilet. (This is less vital with super casual close friends and family.)

Have snacks ready before arrival. Ask in advance about any allergies and accommodate. Same for actual food.

Aim for business-casual clothing. Jeans are okay if they're well-fitted and clean, with no holes, but nothing acid-wash. Sleeveless shirts should be at least three fingers wide, typically women-only but fuck gender conformity I don't give a shit.

Put coffee or the kettle on a minute or two before you expect people to arrive. Coffee should be fresh and kettle should be boiled around the same time folks arrive.

Have a place for people to put their coats and shoes. An area rug works for shoes, ans if you don't have a coat rack or closet for jackets it's handy to have a bedroom cleaned out and a bed made so people can keep coats, scarves, bags, and purses somewhere.

In some cultures cooking doesn't start until guests arrive. The way I was raised, cooking starts much earlier, and things should be coming out of the oven after they've been there a few minutes and had time to chat.

Set the table before guests arrive: Typical setting when I was younger was matching placemats at every seat, plate next. Fork on the left, knife and then spoon on the right. Wine glass on the right, saucer on the right, cup on saucer for hot drinks. Cloth napkin under the spoon and knife on the right, unless rolled with a napkin ring, in which case it could be set at the top of the plate, on the plate, or on the right hand side. Salt, pepper, and a butter dish is to be set out- one of each for every four to six seats is a decent rule of thumb.

DURING:

Guests are expected to announce themselves by knocking or ringing the bell. When this happens, usually a younger member of the family is sent to answer the door and let them in. Hosts follow shortly after, and hugs and greetings take place. The host offers to take people's coats and bags, or otherwise indicates where they can be placed. Shoes come off and are left at the door.

Tour of the house. This doesn't happen every time, but a quick, "let me show you around" may happen if you expect to be there a full day or longer, or if someone needs to politely stall for time, or if the host is especially happy to have you there or to show you something. This usually skips bedrooms, but a nod will usually be given to indicate adult's rooms, and kid's rooms may be peeked at to show off or do introductions with small children.

Offering seats. Usually starts in the living room, where, "can I get you anything?" Is asked. Options usually include wine, beer, water, some kind of juice, coffee, or tea. Possibly ginger ale or cola, but not usually much in the way of sodas.

At this point, a tray of cookies, biscuits, crackers, or other small snacks might be set our to be shared. Here, it's polite to eat a little and join in on smalltalk.

Dinner. When food is ready to come out of the oven, someone in the host's home will announce that dinner is ready, and guests and hosts will relocate to the dinner table and pick seats. (If there is not enough room at the dinner table for everybody, children's plates will be set at a folding table elsewhere, or in the vacated living room area.)

Some hosts will have guests line up in the kitchen and serve their own food one at a time. The way I was taught, hosts bring food and serving utensils to the table and sit once everything is placed. Dishes are then passed in a circle from person to person as people fill their own plates. It is generally assumed that you will take your portion in such volume that everyone else can receive the same amount as you, or more.

Meal usually includes a meat-based dish, a starch like rice or potato, one to three vegetable dishes, and a bread like a bun or roll that may be buttered.

It is here preferred that you ask for something to be passed rather than reach over food. "Could you pass me the..." or "may I borrow the ..." are good ways to ask.

Elbows stay off the table. You may rest your forearms on the edge if you like, depending on how formal we're talking, but no elbows.

Napkin is spread out flat on your lap to catch anything that may drop or spill. Some people may choose to tuck I into their shirt collar to protect their suit or tie, but I've only really ever seen old folks do that, or people doing it to babies and small children.

It is polite to eat everything on your plate, especially if you served yourself. Once everyone has eaten their plate, seconds may be offered or mentioned. It's considered rude to go in for second servings if others haven't finished their firsts yet. This is a good place for conversation to pick up.

Once everyone is finished eating, a member of the hosts' house (usually a kid, sometimes a volunteer guest assisting) will clear the table, gathering empty plates and such from the guests and taking them to the kitchen to be cleaned. Drinks might be refilled now, and dessert forks or spoons might be brought in.

Dessert usually happens. While the meal itself is traditionally homemade, it is perfectly normal for dessert to be store-bought.

The serving of dessert is much less communal than dinner. The person dishing dessert will normally take a stack of plates and send a runner (again, usually a kid) to take stock of who wants dessert and carry theirs to them.

After dessert, dishes will again be gathered and removed, with the exception of cups. Coffee and tea is customary at this point, and alcohol will disappear. This is when conversation comes back in full swing- talking and unwinding is the goal here, and letting any liquor digest so drivers who may have had a sip will be safe to drive afterwards.

END:

Someone will sigh and take note of the time. This is different depending on the group, but a second round of hugs will be in order. Farewells will be made at the door. If there are plenty of leftovers, the host may insist the guest take some. Borrowed dishes and containers will ostensibly be returned at a casual future meeting, possibly as an excuse to meet up and chat over coffee.

It is polite of the guest to offer a hand with cleaning up. It is polite of the host to insist they not. If they are an acquaintance or someone to be impressed, the guest will not be allowed to help clean unless they make it clear that offense will be taken otherwise. If they're a close friend or family member, they may be accepted with some minimal pushback.

The host might start cleaning while the guest is still at the table. This is not intended as an insult.

It is polite to leave around the same time that children begin getting ready for best- usually around 8, 8:30, 9-9:30 on special occasions.

If the weather is especially terrible, or driving conditions are poor, the host might offer the guest a bed for the night. If this is done, it is best to fetch them clean sheets and blankets, a fresh towel, and whatever else they might need. They will be expected to stay no later than breakfast the following morning, unless further plans have been agreed upon. An especially prepared host might have a spare set of pajamas (close friends and family only, usually) and a new toothbrush ready for use.

I think that's everything? A lot of it is weird unspoken shit but yeah lol that's most of what I remember.

I'd love to hear what everyone else grew up with!! Share with me your food culturrrrrrre

[verstappen-cult]

Could you do a Lestappen one where they act as her voice after reader is advised not to speak due to a sore throat that has left her hoarse

Your phone lights up with an incoming facetime call from your mother, Charles is grabbing it before you can even reach for it.

“Charles?” Your mother’s voice cuts through the air. “Hello, darling. Where’s my daughter? What did the doctor say?”

“He advised her not to speak or it may get worse. He also prescribed her some medicine.” That’s when Max enters the living room, a glass of water and your pills on his palm. You see him waving at your mother before joining you on the couch.

“Take this, baby. It will make you feel better.” You kiss Max’s cheek before accepting the pills and water. “Good girl.” He says, making you blush. You mouth to him to stop, pouting to your phone. You’re definitely never going to be facing your mother again if she heard him. But she doesn’t say anything, so you relax.

Charles chats animatedly with your mother for a few minutes while you cuddle next to Max and look for something to watch on the TV.

“How is work going, darling?” Your mother asks. You’re going to open your mouth to answer her, but Max beats you to it.

“Everything’s good. Next week she’s going to Paris for a meeting,” Max explains, hand on your knee. “something about making some changes to one of the last projects.” He shrugs and you feel your heart hammering in your chest.

It’s unbelievable how much they care about you. Ever since you’ve been like this they have not leave your side. And it is not like they don’t do that every day but now it’s just extra special. And kinda funny because you can talk, the doctor said you can��t raise your voice and need to drink lots of water, but can communicate verbally. It’s them that won’t let you.

The call ends with your mother telling you to take care and thanking your boyfriends for being so attentive with you.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asks and, knowing they will scold you if you talk, you give him a thumbs up. Your throat doesn’t hurt that much anymore.

The bell rings and Max is up in no time, when he comes back there’s a smiling Lando by his side.

He waves at you and Charles before handing you a bag. “I got you this. They bullied me into buying it because it is my fault you can’t talk now.” Lando looks down when he meets Max intense gaze, he looks like a scolded child.

When you open the bag you find a whiteboard and a pen. It makes you laugh and decide to use it. They wait patiently as you take your time to write, making them believe you’re actually writing something important. Once you finished you turn it around to reveal a ‘you’re all idiots’.

You know you will be using the whiteboard a lot around them because it’s impossible to get them to understand that you are fine. It may be a little annoying but you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

[postracehair]

say again

george russell x reader | 3.9k

three times george curses. or, a beginning, a middle, and a future.

cw: george cursing. a few scrapes and a little bit of blood, some kissing, and a love confession to boot.

a/n: this kind of ran away from me, especially in the middle but every time george russell says fuck an angel gets its wings. written ages ago but posting in honor of Las Vegas.

---

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

The door buzzes and you let yourself into the building.

You've only been here a few times, but a match day spent with your coworker and some of her friends is better than sitting on your couch alone, right? Wine and cookies in hand, you trudge up two flights of stairs to her flat. By the time you reach the landing, you can already hear the chatter and the TV.

No one seems to hear your knock so you push the door open and gingerly step in. The kitchen is on the other side of the flat, and you assume everyone is somewhere between there and the television.

But when you pass the living room where the TV actually is, there's just one guy on the couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees watching a penalty get called.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he says to no one.

You snicker. He whirls around. "Hello," you say.

"Sorry," he says, standing immedietly. Wow, he's tall. "Sorry, hello."

Oh, and he's familiar. You know him, kind of. He's -- god, he races cars, right? Shit, what is his name? Your coworker has social connections you barely understand so it's not really a surprise to find someone who is probably famous in her flat.

"It is just you, then?" you ask. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Dressed in jeans and a team jumper, his casual outfit is at odds with the severe cut of his jaw, his cheekbones. He just looks expensive.

"No," he says. "No, everyone is putting plates together. I'm afraid I might be the one most interested in watching the match."

"Not going well?" you say lightly.

He rounds the sofa, hand out. "Could be better," he says. "I'm George."

You readjust the items in your hands to shake his and tell him your name. He repeats it, and you smile.

"Let me go put these down," you say, "and then, um. Do you want some company, George?"

Honestly, you're not sure where that came from. But, though you came here to escape the smothering loneliness of your own flat, something about him makes you want to stay here rather than go into the kitchen with everyone else.

"'Course I do," he says. "I promise to tighten up my language. Won't do for that to be my first impression."

You wave him away though your cheeks feel a little hot and head for the kitchen.

Your coworker brightens at seeing you and takes your hostess gifts with ease.

"The match is on in the other room," she tells you, "but most of us are drinking in here."

"I saw," you say. "I met George."

She hears something in your tone that turns her expression something between amused and calculating. "You did, did you?"

You just nod, loading up a plate with the various nibbles. "How do you know him, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Oh, you know." No, you don't, but she plows on. "What did you think?"

"Taller than he seems on TV," you mutter. "But very polite. He shook my hand."

That gets her to laugh. "Oh, of course he did. Well, don't stand around in here with us. Go chat up a Formula 1 driver!"

George is back on the couch when you return, arm stretched over the back of it, brows furrowed.

"Has anything exciting happened?" you ask him, sitting down with a perfectly responsible distance between you.

He grimaces. "Nothing good. Wolverhampton, bless 'em, are quite bad."

That might explain why no one is watching this match with him, but you keep that to yourself.

"I see," you say, solemnly. "But loyalty is loyalty, I suppose, if they're your club."

"Exactly," George says. "It's suffering but it has to be done." Someone on the screen triggers a free kick and George leans in until it's over. He starts talking about one of the players being traded, or his contract being renegotiated, or something. You nibble on your plate and just watch. He's animated, this man. Fringe falling over his forehead the more he gestures, blue eyes wide and serious. It's all very endearing.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm being so rude. You don't want to hear about all of this, do you?"

You smile at him. "I don't mind. I came over for some company more than anything else."

He sinks back into the couch a little, hand running through his hair again. "Well, lucky for me that you did," he says.

Your face feels hot and you don't want to mistake this for flirting if it's not. He is a world-famous athlete, after all, but here you are on the couch next to him. "Lucky for you, indeed."

He laughs, delighted.

OH, SHIT!

This is not how you saw your life going, but maybe that's just the nature of it. Big moments happen just the same as small ones and we have to handle them regardless. The trajectory of your life shifted just a little bit when you sat down on someone else's couch to watch a football match with a stranger.

Because that stranger -- George -- is now much more than that. He asked for your number that day before he had to leave earlier than everyone else, and has been speaking to you ever since. Texts, phone calls, FaceTimes. And, when he's not driving hundreds of miles an hour halfway across the world, he likes to spend time with you.

They're dates, you know they are. But things are still casual, immensely so. Coffee, dinner, long walks through the park. It's probably past due that you ask him what he'd like out of this, but your friends tell you to just have fun for the time being. You've learned a lot about him in the last month or so, both from him directly and by doing your research.

You'd watched a few Grand Prix before meeting him but not with any kind of rapt attention. Now, obviously, you watch with purpose. See him zip around the track, read his radio messages, hope desperately that he'll be alright. He's a big mix of things, George Russell. Witty but determined, thorough but reactionary, polite but intense. You want to keep getting to know him on a personal level and measure that up to how he appears to the world.

Today, you're on one of those long walks. George is recounting the last race at your request. It's always more interesting to hear him talk about what happened than watching it, though you're really growing to love that part, too.

It's a bit chilly and he's got a scarf on in addition to a nondescript hat pulled down low over his eyes. You're used to this by now, though you wish you could see his face more fully.

"And then -- well, I'm sure you saw this bit -- he turned right into me like I wasn't even there!"

"But you avoided it," you remind him. "I saw that, too." A cold wind blows down the path and you shiver a bit.

"You alright?" he asks. "Nippy, huh?" He stops walking and turns to you, his huge hands coming to rest on your shoulders before he rubs them up and down your arms.

"A bit," you agree, a little breathless. God, you really need to talk to him about what this is. You're thinking about him all the time, which is a bit of a nuisance, as you're not sure he's feeling the same. But, a small voice in your head tells you, you can't be too far off in thinking that it might be based on the way he's looking at you right now.

Even under the cap, you can see the soft set of his brow, the way his eyes are shining. The gentle quirk up of his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he let you?

George stops his warming efforts, catching your hands in his. "Better?"

All you can do is nod. He grins, looking a bit too pleased, and starts walking again, you in tow. This is something else you've learned about him -- he really can be a cheeky bastard. He must have more than some idea as to how he affects you and enjoys it. It's somewhere between a game and a challenge.

You're thinking about ways you can get him back, ways you can flirt mercilessly. His hand is in yours and he's half a step ahead of you when suddenly your fingers are ripped from his and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a gasp.

George is immediately there with you.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I--" You're a bit too stunned to say anything. George rarely curses, which is funny given how you met, but it unsettles you a little bit as much as it warms you. "I think I tripped?"

"Let me see your hands," he says, gently tugging at your wrists with his long fingers. He sucks on his teeth when he sees your palms. "Not too bad, but a little scratched."

You rearrange yourself so you're flat on your bum, legs in front of you. Your hands might be alright but your knees are another story. The fabric of your jeans isn't ripped but you can see the bloodstains already.

"Oh," you say. You look up at George, feeling a bit pathetic. "This is embarrassing."

He scoffs. "No, it's not," he says. "I do think we should get you cleaned up, though."

"We can go to my place," you suggest. The sting sets in a little more, but mingles with your chagrin and you just set your jaw. "Help me up?"

"Brave girl," George says. He presses his lips to the base of your wrist and stands, tugging you up as he goes. "Have you got first aid things at your flat?"

You nod, running through the contents of your bathroom in your mind. It occurs to you that George has not been to your place before, and you did not mentally prepare yourself to bring him there today.

George gently says your name. "Let's get a cab, shall we?"

It takes no time at all to flag one down. George removes his hat in what you can clearly see as an effort to get the cabbie to hurry along a bit, but it seems to work. He takes one look at you, one more at George, and steps on it.

"Let me get your belt," George mutters, making quick work of the buckle.

"I don't think I've ever worn a seatbelt in a cab in my life, George," you reply. He just pats your thigh.

"Think we've had enough injuries for one day, don't you?"

George and the cabbie chat about the race season, about how hot it really is in Singapore, about one of George's recent podiums. He keeps you tucked into his side the whole time -- he's ignored his own seatbelt, you notice -- hand on your thigh. You keep your palms turned up on your knees and wonder how on earth you got here.

The city flies by and you lean your head on his shoulder. You can feel something shifting between you, something clicking into place that wasn't entirely settled before. It's scary, it's exciting, it's big. It's something you're going to have to talk about.

George pays the driver in some large bills and helps you out of the cab and up the steps of your building.

"Where are your keys?" he asks.

"Front right pocket of my jeans."

"Pardon my reach," he jokes, and lightly rests on palm on your hip and slides the other into your pocket to find them. He tugs the keyring out and winks at you before unlocking the door. Up the stairs, into the flat. Shoes toed off, coats on the hook after George helps you out of yours.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," you tell him. He clicks his tongue.

"We don't want blood on this nice coat of yours, do we?"

You roll your eyes. George glances around your flat and smiles. "This is very you."

Dishes on the counter, the pillows a mess on the couch, your books and trinkets on every flat surface -- you suppose he's right.

"Thank you?" you say. He taps your chin with his knuckle.

"It feels like a home, I mean." Your cheeks feel warm and your heart sighs. God, the things he says.

"Oh," you breathe. "That's kind."

"And does this home have a first aid kit?" The reminder brings the dull sting of your scraped skin back to the forefront of your mind.

"Bathroom cabinet," you tell him. George nods.

"I'll get that. Why don't you change into something loose so I can get to your knees?"

In your room, you tug carefully tug on some sweatpants, mindful of your palms, and let yourself marvel at how today has gone. You expected to have George here someday, but certainly not like this. Will he want to see your bedroom? You shove some dirty laundry into the hamper and thank past you for making the bed this morning.

"I think you should sit on the counter," George calls. "Whenever you're ready."

You pad out to meet him in socked feet. It's quite the sight, him in your kitchen. He's bent over your sink, washing his hands. His sweater has been tossed over a chair and you can see the lines of his back under his t-shirt.

"Do you need help getting up?" he asks. You nod. Together, you get yourself on the counter, making you about eye level.

"Hello," you say. His hat is gone, too, so his fringe falls across his forehead in slightly curled strands. When you've cleaned yourself up, maybe you'll work up the courage to run your hand through them.

"Hello yourself. Right hand, please." You hold out your palm and George gets to work. He cleans it, getting all the bits from your skin, and then uses an alcohol wipe.

"Do you have a special interest in first aid, or something?" you ask to distract yourself from the sting. His thumb strokes your pulse point as he works.

"I guess you get beat up a bit in karting when you're young," he says. He wraps one palm in gauze and moves onto the other. "I suppose i just like knowing how to take care of people."

"God," you groan. "Is there anything wrong with you?"

He looks at you then, hair falling into his blue, blue eyes. "Oh," he smirks. "Plenty, darling." He finishes up on your other palm and holds it in his for a moment longer than you expect. Then he slowly brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the bandage.

You might gasp, You're not entirely sure, eyes glued to his lips like nothing else exists. Then he kisses the other palm. Your gaze flicks up and George is looking right at you.

"Knees," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Alright?"

"Alright," you breathe. You stick one leg out just to see what he'll do. You're learning that he rises to the occasion, and that's exactly what happens. He cups your ankle, places your foot on his thigh, and slides your sweatpants up above your joint.

"That's gnarly," he says, breaking the tension. You laugh and tap his leg with your other foot. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

He makes quick work on it. One hand on your calf, the other gently cleaning and bandaging. The silence is comfortable, familiar, though you've not been in this situation before. It's not until George is almost done with your other knee that he speaks.

"You know," He says, lightly. "If you wanted me to touch you, all you had to do was ask. The tripping wasn't entirely necessary."

"George!" you gasp. He squeezes your calf.

"I'm just saying, darling."

He ties off the gauze and rolls down your pant leg. You widen your knees and he steps between them immediately, hands resting gently on your thighs. It's absolutely electric -- going from shy, appropriate touches to being in your flat together, his hands all over you. How are you going to go back?

Maybe you can't.

George's eyes rake over your face. You inhale his exhales, feeling them on your lips. His pupils dilate.

"What is this, George?" you whisper. His fingers press into your thighs a little harder.

"Well," he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What would you like it to be?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. He is not dissuaded, does not back away. He must know that this is hard for you -- his life is so different from yours. As it is, you avoid social media so you don't see pictures of you splashed across gossip accounts. It's impossible to totally stay away from it but you try, because you really like being with him.

"Shall I tell you what it is for me?" George says.

You nod.

He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking the delicate skin under your eyes.

"Every second I am not with you I am thinking about when I'll see you next," he says. "I store up things to tell you and take photos to show you and I have a bag full of things I've bought you but been too afraid to give you. Beautiful things, things that remind me of you."

"George--"

"I worry about fucking up your life," he continues, and you fall silent. "This is a lot. I am a lot. My life is not simple, and you've already seen that. But I want you in it. I want you in it however you want to be there, though I have my suggestions. I promise that if you let me, I'll treat you so well, because you deserve everything, and --"

Your heart is going to explode if he goes on any longer, so you close the gap between you and kiss him. Finally.

It's just the press of your lips against his for a few seconds, your eyes fluttering shut, before George catches up to what's happening and angles your faces a little bit to make it deeper. Your bandaged hands rest on his elbows and you swallow a sound from deep in his throat, something that lights a fire in your belly.

"Blimey," George says, leaning your foreheads together.

"What, no curse for me?"

His eyes sparkle and he wrinkles his nose at you. "Fuck," he says. "I've been thinking about that for weeks."

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's more like it."

BLOODY HELL

What the fuck was that? Is he serious? Keep focused, George. This is fucking ridiculous. Head down.

It's a bad day. Not as bad as it could be -- George does not end up in the wall. But he ends up way further down the pack than he should, barely scraping together a few points. It's the car and everyone knows it. The bouncing, the drag, the understeer. A showing far too poor for this late in the season.

And George is pissed. It's not often that you see him this way -- he's fairly levelheaded, even when things get tough. Something about him causes conflict to lull, things to fall into place, but even that can't fix the silver arrow.

You slip out of the garage during the last lap to sit in his driver's room and wait.

This isn't your first race. Far from it, by now. Things got official halfway through the season after that day in your flat, and you've been coming to as many as you can. It's a rush, really, to see him work. Scarier than anything, but when it's good? It's amazing. You love the energy of the garage and everyone seems to have taken to you, too.

So much so that they know to send George right to his room before the media pen so you can calm him down.

You sit on the bench and wait.

He comes in, closing the door firmly but never slamming it, and sighs. All the tension melts from his body and he looks defeated. Sweaty, annoyed, and defeated.

"Hello," you say, lightly.

He smiles wryly. "Shit day, huh?"

You love how George looks after a race. Hair a mess from his helmet, skin beaded with sweat. He unzips his race suit and lets it hang at his hips and you can see the outline of his muscles through his fireproofs. It's genuinely swoonworthy, even with his visibly bad mood.

"Are you alright?" you ask. He shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and winces.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "My back is killing me."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. "You're perfect just as you are."

It's a reflex he has -- not to ask for things. You're still working it out, poking and prodding to find the cracks. Maybe, with time, he'll loosen this grip he has on his desire to make your life as comfortable and wonderful as possible without thinking of himself. There are moments when it's best to just let him fuss, but right now you think you can push back a little.

"George," you sigh. "Come on."

He hides his face behind a sweat towel for a breath, then tosses it aside. "Alright," he says. "Just sit with me for a bit."

You scoot over on the bench and he flops next to you, head back against the wall and eyes closed. His hand fumbles around for yours, pinching your thigh when he overshoots, which makes you laugh. He cracks a smile and opens one eye just enough to see your grin before settling back into his rest.

He breathes deeply, fingers entwined with yours. The line of his jaw is pronounced in the awful lighting of the room and the shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. A few more races and then he can rest. What will you do in the off season? Maybe a vacation. Hopefully a vacation. You imagine George in swim trunks on a beach somewhere, dozing in the sand. Rubbing sun tan lotion on his back and his shoulders and his nose, reading books for hours until he convinces you to run into the water. Lazy days on a balcony or in a bed with all the windows open, never being far from each other --

Someone knocks on the door.

"Christ," George mutters. "Let's ignore it."

"You need to go to the pen, darling," you whisper back. He squeezes your hand and presses your legs together.

"Just a few more minutes," he says. "Eventually they'll just come in."

"If you say so."

You press a kiss to his tacky cheek and lean your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

George takes a deep breath. "I love you," he says.

The words stretch into the silence that comes after, the moments it takes for you to process it. They fill the small room, sneak their way into your bloodstream, your lungs, all the way to your heart.

Part of you is waiting for the follow-up. I know it's too early, I know it's a lot, You don't have you say it back. But George doesn't deal in excuses. He feels it, so he says it.

You lift your head to look at him and find him already staring at you. Not expectant, just looking to look.

"I love you, George," you say.

He grins bigger than you've ever seen, bigger than after your first kiss, than the days when he's on the podium.

Someone knocks on the door again.

"Oh, piss off," he mutters and leans in to kiss you.

[swappermanent]

Freckles

Being a closeted trans guy isn’t easy for anyone these days. Trust me, I’ve got the scars—metaphorical ones, at least—to prove it. But when it comes to my family, the challenge isn’t what you might expect. They’re not exactly waving rainbow flags at every Pride parade, but they’re not storming drag shows with pitchforks either. They’re comfortably, frustratingly middle-of-the-road when it comes to identity politics. You know the type—“We support you as long as it’s not too inconvenient.”

So, no, the problem isn’t their politics. The problem is the Elber Family Reunion Swap.

Let me explain. Every summer, my grandparents rent this massive villa somewhere in the world—we’re talking infinity pools, tennis courts, and a “staff quarters” vibe. It’s fancy. During this week of forced family bonding, Grandpa Elber breaks out his magic for what he calls “the ultimate empathy exercise.”

Yeah, magic. Real magic. My grandpa is an actual wizard, and no, I don’t know why he isn’t out saving the world or something. He claims this is his legacy, his gift to the family. And the gift? A body swap. Each of us trades bodies with another family member for the week to “better understand” their perspective. Sounds wholesome in theory, right? Sure. Except it comes with rules.

The first rule: you can only swap with someone of the same gender. According to Grandpa, this is because “genders have different energies” or some other magical nonsense he uses to justify it. The second rule: while in someone else’s body, you must act like that person. It’s considered bad form—borderline taboo, even—to behave “out of character.” The goal is to fully immerse yourself and live as them for the week.

This is the part that fucking sucks for me.

Growing up, I naturally got shoved into the women’s group. It didn’t matter that my hair was short or that I always would hang out with my male cousins all the time. When swap week rolled around, I was guaranteed to end up in the most hyper-feminine body available. Cousin Leah, with her long curly hair and pastel sundresses. Aunt Beth, whose shoe collection was a stiletto-filled nightmare. Once, I even got swapped into Great Aunt Carol, whose hobbies include flower arranging and oversharing about her cats.

It was torture. Absolute, unfiltered dysphoria. Butvery year, I’d smile through gritted teeth as relatives gushed about “seeing life from a different perspective,” counting the minutes until I could escape back to my flawed, but familiar, body.

But this year was different.

Nine months ago, I started taking T and told my family I wanted to use he/him pronouns. While their reactions ranged from awkward to mildly confused, they mostly rolled with it. And over time, my voice got deeper voice, the angles of my face sharpened a bit, and I started carrying myself more like a guy. Sure, I wasn’t "there" yet, whatever that meant: I hadn’t had top surgery, and my voice still cracked when I tried to lower it too much. But for this year’s reunion, I was cautiously optimistic that there was a chance—however slim—that I might finally swap with a guy.

The thought alone made my pulse race. Grandpa said he had no idea what would happen, that the magic would sort itself out. But if it worked—if the spell actually recognized who I was, not who I’d been forced to be—it would be life-changing. For once, I might not have to endure a week of floral prints and makeup. For once, I might get to experience a body that offered a glimpse into my future as a man.

---

On the evening of the swap, the family gathered in the villa’s massive living room, the air thick with incense from whatever mystical preparation Grandpa had cooked up. I sat cross-legged on the floor, trying not to look too eager. Across the room, Uncle Marco—rugged, broad-shouldered, and looking like he belonged on the cover of Men’s Health—was chatting with Cousin Dylan, who somehow made even a hoodie and jeans look effortlessly cool. If the magic did swap me with a guy, I hoped for one of them.

Grandpa raised his hands, muttered something in an unrecognizable language, and completed the spell. A wave of dizziness hit me like a truck, and everything went dark.

When I came to, the world felt... different.

Looking down, I saw strong, freckled arms with pale skin peppered by coppery freckles. The faint lines of veins ran beneath the surface, threading down to hands that felt capable, solid, real. My breath quickened. A quick glance at the mirror across the room confirmed what I already realized: I was in Theo’s body.

Theo. My cousin Theo was the only other openly gay member of our family. He was always unapologetically himself, and—if I was being honest—so effortlessly masculine it made my chest ache.

I tried not to stare too long in the mirror across the room—tried not to make it obvious—but I couldn’t help but take in the details. My hands shifted tentatively, brushing over the flat expanse of his chest. I could feel the firm definition of his pecs under my fingertips, the strength that lay just beneath the skin. A shiver ran through me as I slid my hands up to his shoulders, savoring the way they tapered down to his arms. My fingers traced his biceps, squeezing lightly, marveling at the power there.

My throat tightened as I flexed one arm, watching the muscle shift and ripple under the skin. For the first time in my life, I looked at a reflection that didn’t feel foreign. This was it. This was who I was supposed to be.

I feel a stirring in my pants, an undeniable reaction to the overwhelming experience of feeling up my own muscles. For the first time in my life, I have a dick. Hesitantly, I let my hand drift lower, subtly pressing against the fabric of Theo’s jeans. The weight of it, the reality of it, is electric.

Across the room, Grandpa—now in Dylan’s body—continues explaining the rules of the swap. His deep voice fills the air, and I catch myself half-listening. My attention flickers to Dylan’s slumped form, unlucky enough to be swapped with Grandpa for the third year in a row. Poor guy. I thought the swaps were supposed to be random, but maybe Grandpa has a knack for landing in his sexy body every summer.

I glance over at my former body. Dysphoria is etched into his—my—features. Theo’s jaw is tight, his hands clutching at my chest as if trying to make sense of the reality he’s been thrown into. It hits like a punch to the gut. I know that feeling all too well, and it sucks to see it written so clearly on my face. Worse still, it’s a stark reminder that I don’t fully look like a guy yet. Not the way I want to.

Grandpa’s voice booms as he finishes his speech. “Let’s all have a fun week!” he declares, his tone lighthearted but commanding.

I turn back to the mirror, drawn to my reflection like a magnet. My smirk curls naturally, unbidden. For once, the face looking back at me feels real, tangible, mine. And damn, does it feel good. Fuck I hope this week never ends

[jamneuromain]

Stalker Lady pt. 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (You)

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warning: Mean!Simon Riley, Voice (PORN) actor!Simon Riley, patron!reader, neighbor!AU, description of audio porn and stalking behavior. bad language word people we're talking about audio porn here

Summary: You meet Simon unexpectedly. Unfortunately, he thinks you are a stalker.

A/N: This fic is my rehab-going-back-into-writing fic. And it's the first time I'm writing for "Ghost" I've honestly never played COD. But here's my idea of the scary (not really lol) simon ghost riley :3

After enduring your rented noisy flat for nearly six months, the construction of your new house is finally completed, which is a total relief. You now have a house of your own.

It’s a small place in the suburbs, with a handful of neighbors on the same block, and a decent lawn that you need not pay too much attention to besides mowing occasionally. More importantly, the quietness.

You’ve settled for this house because of the friendly neighbors and the quietness around the place. Most houses are properly wrapped up in thick walls and heavy planks so no noises would escape. The only sounds that constantly appear from outside of the window are the birds chirping and the laughs and talks from family and friends.

This.

This is the perfect place for you.

You met the Pinewood Residential Community Committee (Really? A community committee? You could be in tears) the day you moved in. A group of five that consisted of three of the actual committee and two of your neighbors. The house to your right lives a delightful family whose wife Sarah came to visit and brought you homemade cookies. The house to your left harbors a tall silent man called Simon who has dark circles under his eyes (You doubt the house was enough for him because he looked like a Tall-nut that could poke through the roof). Most of the time he just nodded to whatever the rest of them were chatting about. He gave you a brand-new Bluetooth speaker about the size of your palm, saying that it might come in handy if you want to play music without carrying your phone around the house.

You were grateful.

For the committee. For the friendly neighbors. For the speaker, even.

Until the day you decide to try this speaker out.

Present day, today, this very hour, you have been fighting with this unruly speaker.

You have pushed buttons. Connecting it to the charger and unplugged it twice. Flipped the on/off switch. Turned the volume thingy at the top to the maximum. Turned up the phone volume, too.

Nothing.

No sound coming out.

While your phone mocks at you by showing you that you have already connected it and no sound is coming out.

You googled, searched, and tried reading the instructions, but nothing helped.

You sigh. Snatch the speaker and the small piece of paper with instructions and head to your neighbor’s place.

Simon is just finishing up his work for today.

It’s not a job, per se, but trades his time and patience for some of the allowances.

Actually, scratch that, he has been making more from this not-job job than spending time in the military, which says something.

He has been considering making this job a little permanent, aside from his part-time work to deliver posts and mails.

He starts the day early, driving his van to the local post office, loading the bunch of stuff onto his backseat, and finishing driving around the blocks at around 1 pm. Works a little on his side job, goes to bed at 9 or 10, simple as that.

He leaves the recording room of his house, only pausing his steps to the showers when he hears something coming from his living room…?

He heads back to the recording room, making sure his laptop is turned off, his phone is on airplane mode (which has stayed that way for a while, he must add, to prevent it from interrupting his recording), and his iPad certainly has not connected to his Bluetooth. Which is … odd?

Because why is one of his recordings playing on his Bluetooth speaker?

Simon winces at his own grunts and moans from the speaker. He’s not particularly proud of it, okay, that he is a member of an audio porn production team. He takes time recording himself reading various scripts of monologues that end up taking the imaginative figure of a woman to bed.

Yes, he records himself twice a week.

Yes, he makes male-for-female porn.

Yes, he never shows his face and has a silly stage name called “Ghost”.

Yes, he does (very occasionally) custom-made fan audio for those generous patrons.

Yes, this is a custom-made audio playing on his Bluetooth – wait what?

A few soft knocks land on his door before he can comprehend what mystical force is toying with his speaker.

“Brilliant.” He grumbles to himself under his breath, “Fucking brilliant.”

Now he has another thing to tend to besides figuring out his haunted speaker.

He turns the volume down, shoving the small gadget into the sofa cushions before it can be haunted again.

Opening the door.

And there you are.

“Oh! Um, hi!” You are stepping down the porch, thinking that he must be busy, but the noise of the locks startles you a little, turn around to see your neighbor Simon, “Hi, I live next door. Uh, I moved here about a week ago?”

Cute.

He thinks to himself.

Technically, his first impression was supposed to be a week ago when he visited your place for the first time, but he missed his nap time so the thirty minutes spent there consisted of him keeping himself awake – hardly, more like keeping his head straight and eyes open, which he failed, for at least a dozen times or so.

Rude. He knows. But he is not the kind of social butterfly either, so you kinda get what you deserve by moving in next to him.

“Yeah.” He grunts, his mind still on the fucking Bluetooth, “Wha’d you need, luv?”

“I think this speaker is … I don’t know what’s wrong with it, it just … no sound coming out of it.” You chew on your lower lip sheepishly, “Would you mind helping out, please?”

“Tried to dial the volume on your phone louder?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah, I did, I-” You fumble with your phone, giving him a moment to look at the speaker under your arm.

One glance at the Bluetooth speaker in your hand, same brand, same model, but different color, connects the dots for Simon in his mind.

It is obvious as daylight that you accidentally connected to his speaker.

“I’ll try turn it up-” You push the buttons on the side of your phone, turning the volume up to the loudest.

And a guttural groan comes from his couch.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweet’art.” His couch moans loudly, “You’re killin’ me with that sweet cunny-”

Simon acts quickly, yanks you inside the house by the arm, and slams the door shut.

“That’s my speaker.” He says, quietly.

Your stupid fingers finally manage to turn the volume down. You completely forgot about the audio playing on your phone – your favorite audio, the one you have listened to and cummed to for at least a handful of times. Your face instantly goes aflame. You were planning some quality time with your toy, but not this! You are not connecting to your neighbor’s speaker and standing at his doorstep!

The deadly silence is eating you up.

“Um. Guess it’s not … wrong?” You let out a dry chuckle, your mind a puddle of jellyfish that zaps your neurons into firing the wrong sparks, “I’ll, um, go upstairs – my home, my place, I mean. Thank you for tonight.” Your face scrunches together out of sheer embarrassment.

His iron grasp on your arm is unwavering.

He has some patrons online, but the fact that you are one of them and live next door is … a bit too much of a coincidence.

“You a stalker or wha’?” He growls at you. His eyes flash a dangerous glint as he recalls what had happened to one of his friends, John, with the stage name “Soap”. Soap works with Simon in the small group of audio porn production called “Team 141”. Soap was careless about his whereabouts, leading to a crazy woman piecing together information and ambushing him when he gets home from his day job.

“Wha- what?” You sound completely baffled. “What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, sweet’art. Doesn’t work like ‘at.” Simon eyes at the now-silent speaker on his couch, before returning his gaze to your startled expression, which is indeed fright, but for different reasons than he’d think of – the fear of being found that you stalked to his house. “Peachy? Peach? ‘s that your Discord name? Coz this is a specialized piece, custom-made. An’ I made it myself.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. Your Discord name is indeed, Peachyyy,with two extra Y, and it hits you that this man you are confronting, who is confronting you, might be the one who sent this audio as a special gift to you, their patron.

Every patron for the Team 141 could designate a voice actor for their custom-made audio. When you were notified that you could also participate in deciding the actor of the audio, without a second to stop and think, you chose your favorite one of “Team 141”.

“Ghost”.

Simon “Ghost” Riley let out a cold smirk. He believes he has this all figured out.

“I won’t report you. Not yet. But if I find you ten feet within my vicin’ty,” His teeth bared, sharp canines ready to rip something apart, throat rumbling like a true animal, “I’ll get your pretty arse locked up and thrown into jail. Run along now, stalker lady.”

Monster! You shriek. Or perhaps that’s a pitiful whimper under his massive shadow, and flee from his grasp.

Part 2

[acowardinmordor]

You Left Me - You Miss Me - 4

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Hi, time for more, arguably making things better, but also arguably making things much worse.

----

There was a diner a block and a half from their apartment. Steve found it when the sky opened up during his jog one morning. Snow, he could have handled, he was dressed for it. Slushy sleet mixed with hail was another matter. He ducked inside to hide until it passed, chatted with the owner for a bit, and brought Robin with him the next day because they had an amazing spread of waffle toppings, including crumbled bacon, and Steve knew she’d go crazy about it.

He was correct, and it was their go to spot, not just for breakfast. 

At the end of January, Rebecca sat down to join them, and handed Steve an application. 

Steve was already working at a JC Penny in the stock room, and picked up a few hours at a roller rink filling in when someone called out. They had enough money to live. Not decadently, but they could cover all their bills, and keep gas in the car, and buy supplies for Robin’s classes.  

“Uh, Rebecca, I’m- thank you? But. My memory sucks, and my hearing isn’t great, and if someone starts getting rude, I’m going to get rude back to them, and --”

“This is a diner, hun,” she stopped him, “You write the orders down, you can always tell someone to say it again, and the fact you can shut down anyone that gives you lip is why I think you’ll be good at it. Like I said, it’s a diner. We don’t have to be all sunshine and daisies here.”

“I’m working at another--”

“Over at the mall and the rink, I know. And I know you’re free Monday through Wednesday mornings. And,” she stressed, “staff gets free meals and first dibs on the day olds.”

“Dingus!" Robin gasped and grabbed his arm. "Do it, do it. Stevie. Please, oh my god, please, you have to take it. You can bring me the brioche buns. And that apple butter. And that thing with the nuts! Steeevveee, don’t you love your soulmate? Please? I cou--”

So Steve took the job, and worked a few mornings a week. By the third week of February, he stopped feeling like he was going to fuck up any second. He understood why Rebecca liked his ability to get bitchy in the face of difficult customers, and he and Robin had cupboards well stocked with random take homes. 

He liked it. Starting at five in the morning took some getting used to, but he was done by one, and traded off with a middle aged mom named Susan after the lunch rush settled down. Was it a ton of money? No. But he got more tips than he expected to, and the brioche really was delicious. 

The last week of February, he was working alone on a Tuesday, at the start of the lunch rush, expecting Susan to arrive soon, and an easy day. 

“Be with you in a minute,” he called to whoever just came inside, bussing half a dozen empty plates from table two after dropping off more creamer at table four. He looped back, ducking behind the counter to put the plates on the pass through for Nick to grab. 

He dropped the entire stack before he got there.

His hands clenched down, his muscles locked, and even though it should have made him hold harder, everything slipped, and either shattered on the tiles or banged into his feet.

Jim Hopper winced from his seat at the counter. “Sorry, kid.”

The couple of other diners glanced up to check on him, and John looked around the window from the kitchen. Steve didn’t move. Couldn't. Could barely breathe.

“Is it back?”

“No.”

His exhale shook out of him before he shoved down the panic.

“Then whatever this is can wait.” 

“I’m just here to talk.”

“And I said it can wait.”

He swept up the broken dishes, shrugged off John’s silent offer to throw Hopper out, and reminded himself there was no reason to think that the Upside Down was back. That meant this was going to be more awkward and less dangerous, and he was going to hate it, but it was still the better version of the day. 

“What’ll you have?” 

“Kid, I’m here to talk cause I didn’t think you’d want me at your place.”

“And I’m at work, and this is a diner, so what’ll you have?”

“Steve--”

“I’ll bring you coffee. I’m not talking about this while I’m working.”

“Coffee’s good. When are you off?”

Steve gave his bitchiest smile, didn’t answer, and went to seat the couple that just walked in. 

The lunch rush was a mercy. Susan handled Hopper, and gave him the iciest service anyone had ever gotten under that roof. Hopper took it gracefully, but he didn’t shift, or push, or give any indication that he wasn’t willing to sit there til midnight if he had to. 

Normally, Steve would get some lunch to go and head home. If the weather was bad, he ate at the booth in the corner to wait it out. With the way his stomach was twisting, unable to separate Hopper from what his arrival could mean, he wasn’t going to keep food down. He filled a glass of water, then silently gestured Hop to follow. 

“Good to see you, Steve,” he said when they sat. “You and Robin doing okay up here?”

“We’re fine. Why are you here? If it isn’t something to do with, you know, then why are you here?”

“Maybe I just came up to check on you.”

“Did you?” Steve snorted into his drink when that question made Hopper’s face twist up. “So what is this?”

“I am here to check on you. There’s something else, but I came here because I’m checking on you. Me and you weren’t all that close, but you had Mrs Buckley give me your info so I’d know where you were.”

“Yeah, in case of an emergency. And you said there wasn’t any emergency. Plus, you had my phone number, so you could have called, which would be way less weird than showing up while I’m at work, you know?”

Hopper scratched at his cheek. “It’s not an emergency compared to all the reasons you wanted me to be able to find you, but if you ask those kids, this may as well be the end of the world again.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, well. Henderson is gonna get himself arrested if he keeps trying to steal the mail and find something addressed to you. Max keeps pushing El to try and find you. The only reason they haven’t gone completely crazy is because of the Buckleys telling them that you’re fine. She gave me your address and number, and she talked for a little bit about the kids.” 

Steve smiled at that. Mrs Buckley had never talked a ‘little bit’ about anything in her life. Either she was holding the line on being rude to anyone that might bother them, or Hop was pretending he hadn’t listened to a solid hour of rambling.  

“Still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“Want to ask if I can -- shit, I don’t know. I can route mail back and forth so they never have your address or something. I’d rather give them your info so I don’t have to be involved, but I already know you won’t agree to that.”

Steve ignored the pause that Hopper left there. Conversation and good manners said he should concede to something so he wouldn’t inconvenience the man too much. The last month with Robin supporting his choice kept his mouth shut. She’d be pissed at him if he folded, and worse, she’d help him get through all the pain it caused if he did talk to the kids again. Then he’d feel guilty and sad. 

“Alright,” Hopper grumbled, “Didn’t think you would, but you know how those kids can be. Can’t fault me for trying.”

“So, we’re done? You sat here all this time just to talk for three minutes?”

“Almost.” 

“So….” At least Steve could enjoy the fact that neither of them were enjoying this.  Hopper winced a bit before he spoke. 

“I didn’t tell any of the kids I was coming up to see you. None of them knew, and none of them are gonna know. Didn’t even tell Joyce why, just that I was driving up to Indy. Already had a plan in case they tried to tail me up here. So, had a surprise this morning when I got to my truck. it might change your answer.”

“Didn’t know you were so dramatic about stuff.”

“Side effect of two hours with that surprise, I guess. Eddie Munson came up with me.”

Any of the kids would have hurt. 

Henderson might have made him cry. 

Eddie Munson? That didn’t make sense. 

They weren’t friends, never had been. The Upside Down meant they were connected, but they were never more than acquaintances, even when Steve was desperately trying to keep them all close. Sure, he’d taken over as the chauffeur for the kids, and everyone’s new best friend, but that didn’t explain why he’d bother to come up to talk to Steve. 

“What the hell? Why?”

“He asked.”

“And you said yes.”

“He said please.”

That was not the whole story. There was something getting skipped over, left out. Hopper tolerated Munson, but he wouldn’t do him a favor if there wasn’t some kind of monster involved. 

“Wait, you’ve been here for two hours.”

“Yep.”

“Did you just leave him in your truck this whole time? That front came through overnight. The high is thirty four today.”

“Yeah, I did,” Hopper said flatly. “He told me he wanted to come up so he could talk to you. Told me a little bit about why. And I said yes and I let him come, but I told him that I was gonna talk to you first. If you said no, he was gonna stay in that seat clear back to Hawkins, and keep his mouth shut about this whole thing.”

“How’d he know what you were doing?”

“No clue.”

“What does he want to talk about?”

“Not gonna say it for him.” Hopper shifted towards the edge of the booth. “So, want me to tell him to buckle back up, or tell him to get his ass in here?”

A quick consult with the imaginary Robin in his head left him just as confused, but curious as hell. He agreed, and fidgeted with a napkin, struggling to think of any reason why Eddie Munson would want to talk to him, or what the hell he said that the kids hadn’t that convinced Hopper to drive him up. 

Stuck in his head, Steve jumped when a mess of a man in denim and leather slid shivering into the seat opposite. The scars on his face and hands were less vivid than they were last time they saw each other, but they still worked as a thermometer. Steve's did the same.

“Why the hell were you sitting in the cold, man?”

Eddie blinked, and froze where he was rubbing his hands together trying to get feeling back. “Hopper took the keys.”

Steve’s turn to blink. This was the guy taking care of his kids. 

“Susan?” He called, gesturing for two when she lifted the coffee carafe in a question.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here or why you care or what the hell is happening, but I’m not gonna let you sit there shaking cause you’re a dumbass who doesn’t know what gloves are.”

Steve watched packet after packet of sugar pour into Eddie’s, while he stirred a splash of half and half into his own cup. Eddie took a gulp, hissed at the heat, and clutched at the mug, eyes glued to the nicked surface of the table. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For rotting your teeth out? That’s your choice, Munson.”

“No,” Eddie insisted, voice hoarse, “I’m sorry about the kids.”

Steve took a breath, took a sip, took another breath. “Look, man, that’s not on you. You play D&D with them, and you like all their nerdy shit. I was -- They grew up. We got through everything, all of that, we won, and they grew up. It’s not your fault that they like you more than they liked me. So, thanks, I guess, but--”

“Steve. No. They didn’t. They -- those kids did not suddenly grow up and decide they didn’t like you anymore. You are their favorite person anywhere, ever, you will be for the rest of eternity, and they don’t understand why no one will tell them how to reach you. They put on a really good show about being mad about it, but, come on, you know what they’re like. They want to apologize cause they know they hurt you, and they want to fix it, and just, you gotta let them try, Steve. You gotta let them talk to you. They miss you so fucking much.”

“Look, I know how they get, and I know how dramatic they are, but it’s still not your fault--”

“It is. Steve. It is my fault. That’s - That’s why you have to talk to them. Cause they didn’t grow up and get over you or decide they didn’t care about you. Those kids are crazy about you, and they never stopped, and they’re hurt right now cause they don’t understand why you left them, and you gotta fix it with them, please.”

Something pinged weird in his ear when he heard the way Munson’s voice cracked. Not just worry, not just helping, not just caring about the kids. Guilt. He was taking the blame for it, even though that didn’t make any sense. The kids were - brats, gremlins, terrors, the most stubborn people he’d ever met, and he knew Nancy Wheeler. If they wanted to be around him, they would be around him. 

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, or anyone’s fault. It hurt like hell, and Steve wished it wasn’t true, but this was just life. Kids grew up, their interests moved. Friendships changed and ended. 

But that crack of guilt…

“How is it your fault and not theirs that they stopped wanting to ever see me?”

Eddie’s hands stopped shaking from the cold before he got the coffee. 

His hands were shaking again.

Trembled in the time between Steve asking, and Eddie managing to respond.  

“I, uh, I asked them to.”

----

Don't be too mad at him yet. He has a lot more to say.

Part Five >>>

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 10

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

August 1983

Night falls onto Hawkins. The street lamps flicker on. A hopeful Eddie sits amongst the clutter of his living room. One of those street lamps illuminate the Forest Hills Trailer park just enough to cast shadow across each of the tiny trailers littered across the property. Your trailer is the only one of interest to Eddie.

The trailer has been quiet almost all day. In the morning, Eddie recalls Robin’s mother picking you up. There’s no clue what the two of you get up too when you’re together. Shopping. Chatting. Drinking coffee. Coffee is just about as bitter as Eddie feels right about now.

You must have come home for a moment when Eddie wasn’t watching your house, just to take your mom's car out for a joyride. That couldn’t have come off any creepier. Eddie doesn’t normally watch your house. He just waits for the opportunity to come by, since Gareth has already rejected the suggestions that he’s called him about earlier. He won’t say, but Gareth is busy this evening.

Jeff’s line goes straight to his answering machine, so he sighed loudly into the phone and hung up. Hopefully, Jeff hears the message before his mom does. She’ll cry that someone is out to get her. If only she would put away the fiction that these newspapers are printing these days. The Devil hasn’t touched Hawkins, and nor does he exist.

It becomes clear to Eddie that you are also busy this evening. What are you up too? Your mom’s car is gone, so either she has come home quietly for once or you’ve taken the car. Taking lessons from Eddie has boldened your actions. If the cops were to catch you, you would be thrown a heavy fine. The cops don’t pay much attention unless you’re a Munson, it seems.

Eddie kicks a couple empty soda cans trying to plant his feet on the coffee table. It doesn’t bother him any. The remote for the television is just out of his reach, despite having longer limbs. Something he got from his father, Wayne would say. There are a lot of similarities between the two men that Eddie avoids breaking down.

Al Munson is a waste of oxygen. The bastard can’t even be bothered to give him a phone call. He can’t blame Eddie either. Eddie doesn’t have his number. Hell, he doesn’t even know where Al is. Maybe he’ll visit his mom’s grave. Yeah, he found out she’s taking a dirt nap a few months back. It surprised him that this news doesn’t affect him as much. Maybe she should have tried showing up for a birthday.

Eddie dwells until he becomes apart of the living room furniture. The dimness of the room helps rock him into a meditative state. Although, his eyes draw to the parted curtain that he can peak through to see if you’ve come home yet.

The trailer is still dark.

Lights begin to flood the trailer park, and the familiar crunch of gravel has Eddie’s ears perked up. You could be home.

It is not you.

Uncle Wayne is home from a day at the plant. This would be a short visit. He has plans with his coworker, who stays in his car to keep the engine warm.

Ugh.

Eddie sinks back into position on the living room couch. A metal spring prods him in the rear.

Wayne stomps up the front steps of the home, before jangling his key in the lock. His nephew surprises him on the couch. The home is dark enough to be empty. Yet, Eddie sits unsettled amongst the dirt of the living room. Damn. He could have at least cleaned up.

“What are you doing, son?” Wayne begins to shred his work boots to trade them for something less filthy.

“My friends have abandoned me,” Eddie says through a haze of smoke from the joint he had earlier.

Wayne has never reprimanded Eddie for smoking weed in the home because every once in a while Wayne too needs to relax. It’s an unspoken rule between the men to never speak about weed. As long as Wayne doesn’t catch Eddie with a joint, he can ignore the smell, then Eddie is free to do as he pleases. It doesn’t cause him too many problems, and that’s all that matters.

However, if Wayne has the cops at his door for something Eddie has done at two in the morning, Wayne will rain hellfire on the tiny trailer home. Eddie will not become his father.

The theatrics have become normal to Wayne, so when the boy throws his gangly limbs across all parts of the couch, he snorts. You must have plans.

Eddie doesn’t have much of a brain when it comes to you. The thoughts are crumbled into a pile of mush. If he’s not careful, Eddie’s tongue might drop from between his lips. When he starts panting, Wayne will have cause for concern.

“You’re never home on a Saturday,” Wayne points out.

“I have nothing to do,” he sighs.

His uncle mutters, “so you’re sitting in the dark?”

“Are you going senile on me, old man?” Eddie lifts his head.

“Watch it, boy,” uncle Wayne points a thick finger at him. “I’m heading out. Long day at the plant. Er- clean something. Would you?”

Eddie groans.

“Love you too,” Wayne stacks a ball cap over his head, before leaving his nephew. There’s no way that he’ll actually clean. But, Wayne tries.

It’s his boredom that Eddie does get up, and he does begin to wipe the coffee table of beer cans, soda cans and old cups that never made their way to the sink. He doesn’t enjoy living in a pigsty, but the maid is away on a vacation. Chuckling to himself, Eddie finds the letter from his school that he’s been hiding from Wayne. Granted, underneath a stack of other mail isn’t the best hiding spot. Eddie was in a rush when he saw the blasted letter. It had come flat and obscene. Bold red lettering spells out ‘IMPORTANT’ then follows ‘To the Guardian of Eddie Munson,’ as if they don’t know Wayne Munson by now. Everyone knows the soiled Munson name.

Honestly the town humors him. Even pretending to have an ounce of care for Eddie is laughable. They just want to bend his mind into something socially acceptable. The long hours behind a school desk, bouncing from classroom to classroom has left Eddie enough time to think. If he ends up behind a corporate desk, twiddling his thumbs as the hours creep by and worrying that his typing speed will get him the boot from tight wad boss, Eddie might just loose his mind.

This year he might not graduate. It’s too soon to tell, but his teachers all give him the gray stare. Eddie’s dad brought an estranged relationship to the halls of Hawkins High School when he attended. All of the Munson’s to follow would be the least impressive to them. Lucky for Eddie, he’s the only burden that Hawkins will ever have to deal with. Well, unless his dad was able to charm himself into another woman’s pants and she produces another Munson. That’s one step closer to world domination.

There is a knock coming from the front door leading Eddie to believe that Wayne has forgotten his keys. He arms himself with a crass joke about Wayne’s age. When he swings the door open, however, Eddie finds his friend Jeff bouncing at his heels about something.

“What’s up?”

Jeff allows himself into the trailer knowing that Eddie doesn’t mind hosting. After all, he’s come all this way just to be told to go home? Please!

“You got food?” Jeff beelines for the kitchen. He doesn’t have to open the fridge to know it’s empty. Neither Eddie nor his uncle are famous for their cooking. No, he opens the freezer where there are stacks upon stacks of frozen meals. It begins to get a bit sad to Jeff that Eddie hardly gets the chance to sit down to a warm family meal.

That’s the privilege his own family holds. Mom works a nine to five at a beauty salon, and dad delivers papers. They hardly get a moment to see each other, but when they do the family is exactly what you see on television. Well, maybe not exactly. Hey! That’s what he gets for being Black in America.

“Turkey dinner,” Jeff finds the meal he wants, and before turning on the microwave he calls to Eddie, “roll up a joint! Turn on the tv!”

Eddie only lets Jeff boss him around because he’s inside the home. There’s no need to rip his head off. Or, maybe Eddie likes that Jeff is so comfortable in his little shack. They’ve only known each other for a few years. Shorter than Gareth. He still has to tell Gareth that it’s alright to poke around for food, or that there are extra blankets in the cubby down the hall.

“I’m gonna use your bathroom,” Jeff turns the corner. “That one in the microwave is for you. I know you ain’t eat. I’ll warm up another one for me.”

This makes Eddie roll his eyes. But, his stomach disagrees. The fact is Eddie hasn’t eaten much today. If not for watching your house, Eddie might have paid more attention to his own surroundings.

Eddie pops in a movie that he’s seen a dozen and a half times. It’s a comedy. That pairs well with how high they are about to be within the hour.

The faucet switches on in the bathroom, and Eddie has perfected a joint for them to share. He races to the kitchen to pull out the dinner in the microwave. Hissing as the tips of his fingers sear across the tin dish. You’d think he’d know better by how many of these things he’s eaten in his past seventeen years of living, but Eddie would be one to burn his fingers off.

Eddie does slide in another frozen meal after he takes the one that Jeff has warmed for himself.

By the time he makes rounds back to the couch, Jeff has taken a lighter to the joint. A cloud of thick gray smoke passes through the air. The joint is handed to Eddie.

“Any word from Gareth? He’s missing a great night,” Eddie half jokes.

Jeff shakes his head, “I called the house, but his mom says that he’s on a date.”

“A date?” Eddie scrunches his nose in thinking. “He told me he was busy.”

“Yeah, on a date.”

“He lied to me?” He didn’t know whether he should feel hurt, angry or maybe a bit of pride. To lie to Eddie is the greatest sin.

“Who cares? Pass that to me,” Jeff says with an open palm.

For the sass, Eddie takes a second hit. The weed will make him forget this conversation even happened. But, while he can plant his two feet on earth.

“‘s busy too,” he throws your name in the ring, “you don’t think they. . .?”

Jeff tilts his head at Eddie. Indeed, your home is quiet for a Saturday. Even Jeff knows you favor Saturday’s for their potential. You like reading as many books as you can get your hands on. Saturday’s are prime real estate for book reading according to you.

The idea has crossed his mind. How Gareth has been acting towards you? You haven’t exactly shot him down. Since coming home from the camping trip this summer, you’ve been much quieter, whether during band rehearsals or whenever the guys get together. You have a misty glow about you too. It’s possible, but- would you really go as far as to date Gareth?

Something blasts on television. The characters are swarming each other in clouds of dust, and ridiculous plots. Jeff and Eddie throw themselves back in a fit of laughs. The plant they’ve been sucking on begins to coat their skin, and bathe in their blood. They’ve forgotten their conversation, and everything becomes quite silly just then.

-> <-

A bowling ally to you, always meant spending a fair time with your mother. She taught you how to hold the ball in your little fingers, and she helped guide you down the right lane. You could feel how cherry your cheeks would get when you knocked even one pin down. Success! Now, years later, the same nostalgia washes over you. Even though you don’t have your mother to play with anymore, you find a new companion in Gareth. He’s much handsomer than your mother too.

When you came back from the camping trip, you couldn’t stop your mind from racing about him. It’s silly to have such a school girl crush on the one person you thought despised you. He admitted to his jealously over the phone one night, and asked if you wanted to go bowling with him the following weekend.

You’ve now forgotten about the tornado that zipped through your room tonight. The perfect outfit couldn’t be described, nor could it be found. Although, Gareth disagrees. You’ve never looked more beautiful to him.

Gareth holds his breath as you throw your last ball down the lane. If you hit both pins down now, you win the round. Clack! The pins scrape the lane.

The dance you do at the end of the lane warms Gareth’s heart like hot chocolate in the winter. You spin around gleefully.

“Great game,” he says.

Your stomach growls, “pizza break?”

The pizza parlor is just a step off the bowling lanes. Crowds are thick at this time, and Gareth slots his hand into yours to keep from losing you. Hopefully, he misses how pink you’ve gone. He doesn’t.

Gareth orders your favorite slice of pizza, but not without a rebuttal of how plain a cheese slice of pizza can be. You disagree. There’s something soothing about eating just the cheese and the bread. Especially, if they’ve seasoned the crust right.

To be honest, the pizza isn’t even warm. Gareth can read that on your face the moment you take your first bite. Then, he suggests you head somewhere different for dinner that isn’t this cheap pizza crap. You convince him that it’s perfectly fine - not wanting to spend money neither of you have. Just getting into the bowling alley alone is expensive. The dollars ran you each six bucks that Gareth happily forked over. You’re priceless.

This might be the first date, but Gareth already wants the dates to continue. If you’ll have him. You spend the evening getting to know each other a bit better, while avoiding the family question. Gareth is the only child between his mother and his absent father. Unlike you and your father, Gareth regularly visits his in Indianapolis. Gareth’s mother and father split on the difference of opinions about where to live. She wanted to be in a small town, and he didn’t want to leave his corporate position.

“Two Christmases,” Gareth lightens the mood.

You snicker, even though you hardly get one Christmas. Would your mom even be home this year? It may be another Christmas spent with the Munson’s. Last year, Wayne brought you over since your mom was passed out on the couch and had completely forgotten the holiday. You shared laughs over a roast that Wayne worked extra hours for. It was one of the best holidays in years.

“I’m really into journaling,” you tell Gareth when he asks about what you want to do with your life. Honestly, the thought has crossed your mind. Nothing creases your brows more than when you have a pen and a piece of paper between your fingers.

Gareth finishes off a bite of his last slice, wipes his hands on a napkin and then asks, “is that why you’re always nose deep in those diary looking things?”

You flush. It’s true. Wherever you are - school or home - you always carry around a notebook to jot down - well, anything. Although, you didn’t know you had been so obvious about it. Humans are so interesting in their average life. Do we ever really stop to think about what we are doing? The emotions that we have? You’re quick to jot this moment in your head to put on paper later.

“No one has ever asked about my writing before,” you smile at this, “but, it’s all silly. I don’t know if any of it’s important.”

“I’d love to read them someday,” he offers.

“It’s not done yet,” you shy.

Gareth nods understandingly, “when it’s finished.”

Gareth knows that Eddie is fond of getting those journals for you to write in. The exchange is polite and friendly. Some of them are more colorful and more loud than others. They come in all colors. Gareth can see when you’re getting close to being done with them when the pages gain weight with the ink from your pen. He’s always been curious to read between the lines if the written word wasn’t so private.

The end to your writing has yet to fall into your lap. Pieces of the puzzle you’ve begun can’t seem to fall directly into place. It will take years for you to sort through just the corner pieces. The center is what really matters. It’s the glue that holds the story together. The pages open to your inner most deep thoughts. You’ve hardly begun to untangle the web that lives inside your brain.

Life might be much easier for you if you could reach between your ears to prod at the sticky flesh that your brain has to offer. Along the muscle, you might find the words that you’re desperately trying to say. That goes the same for paper, and for real life.

Anxieties creep against your spine about the future. You won’t let them rattle you for long. The boy in front of you distracts these thoughts from surfacing when he dashes his fingers across the back ridges along your hand. Your face softens, though you’re not sure when it got so stiff.

Gareth can read you well. Something he’s picked up on over the years. Your face gets so tight in the middle. Even your nose gets scrunched when you’re overthinking. To distract you, Gareth doesn’t want to scare you by word of mouth. He’s much gentler to you. He cares for you. Already, you’ve made a mark on him that no other blonde, brunette or - well - anyone could. You’ve known each other for so long, yet this past summer Gareth has really opened his eyes.

The way you smell captivates him. He’s entranced by the way that vanilla could become so intricate and intimate along your skin. You’ve certainly sprayed yourself with just enough perfume before you met him here tonight. Not only this, but you’ve freshly washed. The skin on your hands is still soft and plush. Your bracelet jangles against the surface of the table. When it does, you adjust the heart charm facing the ceiling, so to not interfere on your date.

Date. Gareth could have done summersaults when you agreed to tonight. It won’t be something he admits to you, but he did a few laps in his living room. His mom caught him. Surely something that will be brought up in the future.

The date continues. Eventually, the slices of pizza disappear leaving only sad crumpled plates. Gareth folds his in half, before throwing his and yours away. Another round of bowling follows.

“I want a rematch!” Gareth declares in a teasing and a joking sort of tone.

You play along, and challenge, “I can’t wait to kick your ass twice!”

“Bring it on!”

This round is different. Gareth has his eye locked on first prize. The technique he uses to swing the ball back is focused and precise. You want to ask if he’s ever bowled on a team. But, soon you’re up. Maybe you’re out of your element. Perhaps you quicken your shot, just so you can watch the way Gareth moves during his turn. The muscles in his arm strain and flex in his swing. When did he get those?

You have to pull away, and start thinking with your head.

The score is set. Either knock these pins down and win, or- Clang! Crash! Bang! You droop your head in defeat. Gareth has taken the win!

“Woohoo!” Gareth victory laps in front of the lane. The dance is a bit corny and embarrassing, but he likes to see the look on your face. Twisting your false frown into a congratulatory smile, you can’t help but join him.

Gareth slows down when you get close to gun. The faint Italian seasoning still bites your taste buds from the pizza you had earlier. Hot breath hits his lips. He initiates a kiss.

Your hands find the zipper of his open sweater on either side. Pulling him closer, he stumbles before finding perchase at your hips. You couldn’t stay there for long too engrossed in each other. A round of hollers break the moment. They’re some of the jerky popular kids from school.

Their hollers are sarcastic and mean.

Gareth doesn’t want to let them spoil the night, so he holds onto your hand before squeezing his way through the crowd. There is also an arcade buried in the bowling alley. Somewhere just the left of the mediocre cafeteria.

The arcade is much less popular - surprising. As soon as you step to the first machine, you understand why.

“It needs quarters,” you tap the buttons.

Gareth ransacks his wallet, “I’ll be right back.”

Gareth zips off to the half-alert teen behind the register where they got the pizza from. You wait patiently observing. The way Gareth tips his head to him, and accepts the change. He even passes a genuine ‘thank you’ that sits just right inside your head as a lasting memory of why you like him.

The arcade games are quite fun. You’re not good at any of them. Gareth says with practice you could be a real pro.

“Is that your way of telling me there is a second date,” you guide yourself deeper and deeper through the maze. This is your second attempt at Dragon’s Lair. One of Gareth’s favorites - go figure.

Gareth points to the screen, “watch out!”

The knight you play as becomes quickly squashed and buried by a thick layer of stone. He’s not going to make it out of that one with a few stitches.

Gareth shares a hearty laugh with you that warms you up. He surprises you by pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then following this by whispering your ear.

“A second date would be nice.”

You blush, “we haven’t finished the first one.”

Gareth hums. “I know. And, I miss you already.”

When he reaches back into his pocket, he comes to find that you’re all out of quarters. The night has been more than fun than any night before. Your cheeks burn from the smile that couldn’t be swiped off your face.

As you leave the building, hand in hand, Gareth tilts the watch band on his wrist. The time reads exactly nine in the evening. You’re supposed to be home soon.

“I had fun tonight,” he kicks the ground of it’s loose gravel.

You nod in agreement, “I did too. Thank you for this. And, I’ll call you.”

Tonight, you had brought your mom’s station wagon. You want to offer Gareth a ride, but he insists his mom will pick him up shortly. Saying this has Gareth going pink in the face. As soon as he can, he will learn to drive. He likes the image of him behind the wheel, while you sit comfortably in the passenger seat.

Before his mom can pull up to the bowling alley to embarrass him through and through, Gareth presses one more kiss to your lips. Your hands reach for the back of his head, just slightly. The pair break off in time for a familiar face to show up this evening.

Out of anyone this evening, neither of you wanted to be drilled and questioned by your shared friend Eddie Munson. The man who could squash Gareth under his thumb like a bug. You didn’t want to hide your blossoming relationship with Gareth from him. You just wanted time to yourself. There isn’t anything to talk about yet. Although, you could give Robin a call tonight and chat her ear off about how much of a gentleman Gareth has been. She is of the belief that this might become a bad idea because to her neither of you have anything in common. Nonetheless, she’s supportive of your experiments.

Anyway, the man you find yourself running into is probably the second worse case scenario because he could easily let it slip that he’s seen you at the bowling alley. Eddie’s uncle Wayne stops his conversation with his coworker John. The men were sharing work stories when he spots you making eyes at the boy next to you.

Ah, he remembers date nights well. Wayne could prattle on about the times he took out fare Rosie Davis in his younger days. They went to hot spots like the bowling alley too, or the diner. He couldn’t call her the one that got away though. That spot remains for dear Cloudy. Ah, Cloudy. Of course, he will spare the details. The woman was like a dream to him - she still reaches parts of his memory that he loves to pry out every once in a while.

Wayne pulls back a bit when he recognizes Eddie’s friend Gareth standing beside you. The two are usually together on Saturdays, which makes more sense as to why his young nephew is taking over his living room in the dark. Had he known you were out . . . together? Bah! None of his buisness. You kids are hard to keep track of these days.

“Well,” Wayne acknowledges, “good evening, you two.”

You fumble nervously, “hi, Wayne.”

Gareth flicks his wrist to wave hello. “Hey, Wayne.”

“Oh, John,” Wayne politely introduces the man. “These are a couple of Eddie’s friends.”

“Nice to meet you!” The man beside him is Wayne’s age. He has a hat perched askew atop of his head to hide the balding patch missing of course curly hair that’s throwing off his age. It’s not doing its job, but that’s not for you to point out.

Wayne flicks his gaze to the bowling alley, “it’s crowded in there tonight?”

“It is,” the parking lot is nearly full, and people are starting to park on the street.

This causes the man to lift his eyebrow, and dips his head to your height. A flimsy smile rests on his face.

“It’s probably so crowded that I’ve forgotten the faces I’ve seen tonight, hm?”

Wayne already has the clue by the stiffness of your back that Eddie probably has no idea that you’re here tonight. Especially, that you’re together. He’s getting old, but he’s not any stupider now than he was yesterday. Besides, there may be a day that you will return the favor to him. Not that he expects you too.

Your faces twist into something of gratitude.

“Have a good evening, you two,” Wayne turns to John, and with a pat on his back they walk into the bowling alley.

Gareth sighs, “that was close.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Well, bye Gareth.”

“Bye,” he waves.

Just as you step off the curb to make your way through the parking lot, a blue sedan pulls in beside you carefully. The window rolls down, and Gareth’s mom shouts to you.

“You look so pretty tonight!”

You turn on your heel, “thank you, Miss Jones.”

Gareth’s worst nightmare has come true. His mom’s best trait has become his worst enemy. She does well at her job where her spunk and toothy grin do her well amongst her coworkers. Even people she sees on the street, she’ll make new friends in mere moments. While he adores her theatrics, he does wish she could know when to pipe down.

“Did you kids have fun tonight?” She whips her head back and forth between her son slotting into the front seat of her car, and you dancing on your heels and toes in the parking lot. “Oh! You should come by tomorrow. We’re making ziti! Ever heard of it? I was watching the television. I love my cooking television shows. I learn so much. Anyway, this lady says something about her Italian dog - or maybe it was her grandma - no, it had to be her grandma. Dogs can’t cook,” she only pauses to belt out a loud and nasally sort of laugh. “Can you imagine? The hysteria!”

If anything, Gareth was trying to spare you the ongoing rambles that his mother could go through. The woman didn’t have an off button. When he told her that he could use a ride to the bowling alley, she was extremely ecstatic to be having a mother and son night out. He disclosed that he would be meeting a friend there, and she responded with a suggestive ‘oh!’ The questions began. She asks if you’re a girl, then asks if he knows what condoms are. Hell, by the end of the conversation you and he were already married and making her grandchildren.

The woman is colorful to say the least.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie!” Gareth didn’t listen in very closely, but by the sounds of it, you’re coming over tomorrow.

Gareth couldn’t be more thrilled that his mom hasn’t scared you off.

You wave one more time, before taking off towards your car that’s parked just a few spots away from the front of the bowling alley.

“I’ll have to find those photo albums,” she mutters to herself.

“Mom,” Gareth whines, “no!”

“What? I can’t show your girlfriend how cute you were as a baby? This is going to be so much fun!” She taps the steering wheel in front of her, then coos. “My baby has a girlfriend!”

“We’ve been on one date!”

“She’s going to look gorgeous in white one day, don’t you think? Is she more of an ivory or a cream? I’m just so excited!”

-> <-

[to be continued]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur @naatggeo

[latenightreadingpdf]

Jealousy - Sirius Black

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: When Y/N excitedly announces her first date with Amos Diggory, Sirius Black’s jealousy quickly gets the better of him.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with its usual chaos. The Marauders lounged on their favorite couch, trading jokes and stories, while Lily Evans and her group of friends sat by the fire, discussing the latest gossip. The evening was comfortably familiar—until the door burst open.

You came running in, breathless and wide-eyed, as if you had just sprinted across the entire castle.

"What's wrong?" Lily asked, concern knitting her brows.

But your beaming smile quickly dispelled any worry. "Nothing's wrong!" you said, your voice practically trembling with excitement. "I just had to tell you all—Amos Diggory asked me out!"

Gasps and squeals erupted from the girls. They immediately crowded around you, peppering you with questions.

“When?” “Where?” “What did he say?” “What are you going to wear?”

You laughed, flustered but enjoying the attention. "He asked me after Potions today. We're going to Hogsmeade tomorrow night!"

The boys exchanged confused glances. James, ever the spokesperson, called out, “Hold on, hold on—Amos Diggory? Since when do you fancy anyone?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Since he’s nice, smart, and, you know... handsome," you admitted.

James nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Fair enough.”

“Good for you,” Remus added warmly.

Peter gave you a thumbs-up. "Amos is decent."

Sirius, however, leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "Amos Diggory? Really? Of all people, him?"

Your smile faltered. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you could do a lot better,” Sirius said, his tone sharp. “He’s... dull. And too nice. Suspiciously nice.”

"Sirius!" Lily snapped, glaring at him.

Mary chimed in indignantly, “Amos Diggory is the dream guy. He’s polite, smart, and incredibly handsome.”

The other girls nodded in agreement, giggling again as they tugged you toward the staircase to the girls’ dorms. "Come on, we have to pick out your outfit!"

You cast a hesitant glance back at Sirius, but his stormy expression didn’t change. Shrugging it off, you let the girls drag you away.

The room fell quiet as the boys stared at Sirius.

“What?” Sirius grumbled, leaning back in his seat.

Remus slapped his arm. “Ow!” Sirius yelped, rubbing the spot.

“What the hell was that for?”

“For being an arse,” Remus said, whisper-yelling. “Why would you say that to her? She looked so happy!”

Sirius scowled. "I just think there’s something off about him."

“Rubbish,” James shot back. “You didn’t have to be so mean about it, though.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, mate. You kind of ruined the moment.”

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

“Good,” Remus said firmly. “But not just because we’re telling you to. You’re jealous.”

Sirius’ head snapped toward him. “I am not!”

James snorted. “You’re jealous.”

Peter grinned. “Definitely jealous.”

Sirius groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. “I hate all of you.”

“Not as much as you hate Amos Diggory,” James quipped, dodging the pillow Sirius threw at him.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The next day was a whirlwind of excitement. After hours of trying on different outfits with the girls, you finally settled on one that everyone agreed made you look stunning. Their compliments gave you a confidence boost as you descended the staircase to the common room.

Amos was waiting for you, looking polished yet approachable in his casual Hogsmeade attire. His smile widened as he saw you.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice warm.

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Thank you. You look nice too.”

He extended his arm. “Shall we?”

With a shy smile, you took his arm, and the two of you headed off toward Hogsmeade.

The Three Broomsticks was lively but not too crowded, the perfect spot for a cozy first date. Over butterbeers, you and Amos chatted easily, laughter punctuating your conversation. He was charming and surprisingly funny, keeping you giggling throughout.

What you didn’t realize was that someone else had spotted you from outside the pub.

Sirius Black, with the rest of the Marauders in tow, was in Hogsmeade to stock up on their usual supplies: prank items and enough sweets to fuel their mischief. While the others were distracted by Zonko’s display, Sirius had spotted you through the window, laughing with Amos Diggory.

The sight made his stomach twist. “Come on,” Sirius said, feigning nonchalance. “Let’s get a butterbeer.”

James raised a brow. “Now? I thought we were going to Honeydukes next.”

“Just one,” Sirius insisted, already heading for the door.

The bell above the door chimed as the boys entered, and your laughter stopped abruptly. You glanced toward the door and spotted them. Your eyes narrowed, immediately honing in on Sirius.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you muttered under your breath.

Amos noticed your expression and turned to look. “Are those your friends?” he asked curiously.

You hesitated. “Not really. Give me a second.”

Sliding out of your chair, you made your way to the Marauders. Sirius’ face lit up with exaggerated surprise as you approached.

“Y/N! What are you doing here? Oh my gosh, are you on your date right now?”

You rolled your eyes, unamused. “Leave. Now.”

James and Remus exchanged guilty glances. “Sorry, Y/N,” James said quickly. “We didn’t know—”

Sirius interrupted, “I’m just here for a butterbeer! By the way, you look really lovely—”

“Out!” you snapped, glaring at him.

Peter tugged on Sirius’ sleeve. “Come on, mate. Let’s go.”

Grumbling under his breath, Sirius allowed himself to be dragged out. You turned back to Amos, forcing a smile.

“Sorry about that,” you said, sitting down.

Amos studied you for a moment. “Are you and Sirius... a thing?”

“Godric, no!” you said, horrified. “He’s just... a jerk.”

Amos tilted his head thoughtfully. “He likes you, you know.”

You frowned. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He does,” Amos insisted. “And I don’t want to get in the middle of that. But I’d like us to stay friends. I really enjoy hanging out with you.”

You tried to hide your disappointment and nodded. “Sure. Friends.”

Amos smiled gently and walked you back to the Gryffindor common room. Before leaving, he gave you a soft kiss on the cheek.

When you stepped into the common room, all eyes turned to you.

“How’d it go?” James asked, grinning.

“Horrible,” you snapped, glaring pointedly at Sirius.

He raised his hands in defense. “I barely did anything!”

“Barely?” you repeated, incredulous. “Thanks to you, Amos thinks you like me, and now we’re just going to ‘stay friends’ because he doesn’t want to come between us!”

The room went silent. Sirius’ mouth opened, but no words came out.

“You what?” Lily hissed, rounding on Sirius.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’m going to bed,” you said sharply, cutting him off. The girls immediately followed, throwing Sirius matching death glares as they escorted you upstairs.

Once you were gone, James shook his head. “You really messed up, mate.”

“I know,” Sirius muttered, guilt tugging at him. “I’ll fix it.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Later that night, a hesitant knock echoed at your dorm door. Lily answered, her sharp glare softening only slightly when she saw Sirius standing there, his usual confidence replaced with a sheepish, almost boyish look.

“She doesn’t want to see you, Sirius,” Lily said, crossing her arms.

“Please, Lily,” Sirius begged, his voice uncharacteristically earnest. “I just want to apologize. I feel awful about everything.”

Before Lily could shut the door in his face, your voice called from inside, soft but firm, “Let him in.”

Lily rolled her eyes but opened the door wider. “Fine. But if you make her cry again, I’ll hex you into next week.”

Sirius gave her a faint nod of understanding and stepped inside. The sight of you made his heart clench. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, hugging a pillow to your chest. Your cheeks were streaked with dried tears, your eyes red from crying.

“What do you want, Sirius?” you asked, your tone weary.

He stood awkwardly for a moment before kneeling down in front of you. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of your favorite candies, placing them in your lap.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice unusually quiet. “For everything. I didn’t mean to ruin your date or make you cry. That was never my intention. I just...” He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the words. “I screwed up. Big time.”

You stared down at the bag of sweets in your lap, your fingers brushing against the crinkling paper. “Why did you do it, Sirius?”

He sighed deeply, tilting his head back like he was searching for courage in the ceiling. Then, he looked at you, his gray eyes vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“Because Amos was right,” he admitted softly. “I was jealous.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “Jealous?”

He nodded, his voice shaking slightly. “I hated seeing you with him. I wanted to be the one sitting across from you, making you laugh. I wanted to be the one you were excited to see. The truth is... I like you, Y/N. A lot. And I have for ages. But I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared. Scared that you’d laugh at me or that you wouldn’t feel the same.”

The room was thick with silence. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, his usual cocky demeanor completely gone, replaced with raw sincerity.

“I ruined it for you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I needed you to know. Even if it doesn’t change anything, even if you hate me now.”

Sirius stood slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

He turned and began walking toward the door.

“Wait,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sirius froze mid-step. He turned back around, his expression unreadable, and found you standing just a few feet away. Your pillow had fallen to the floor, forgotten.

Before he could say anything, you stepped closer, rising onto your toes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was quick and tentative, but enough to make Sirius’ breath hitch.

When you pulled back, you smiled faintly. “I like you too, you idiot.”

His eyes widened in surprise before a grin broke across his face—a genuine, boyish grin that made your heart flutter. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice almost disbelieving.

You nodded, your own smile growing. “Yeah.”

Without hesitation, Sirius reached out, cupping your face gently in his hands. His thumb brushed your cheek as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a deeper, more passionate kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the overwhelming warmth of finally crossing the line between friends and something so much more.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Sirius rested his forehead against yours, his grin never fading.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then why didn’t you?” you teased lightly, your cheeks warm.

“Because I’m a coward,” he said with a chuckle. “But I promise I’ll make up for it.”

You laughed softly, and Sirius kissed you again, as if to prove his point.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ guys I’m running out of ideas, please feel free to send requests!!!

[justastraymoa]

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 4

Masterlist taglist

Things get cleared up.

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl

While we worked, he asked me about myself and told me funny stories about his career.  Including several iconic moments.  I was laughing so hard I had to cross my legs so I wouldn’t wet myself.

The noise attracted Chan.  “JYP.  I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I was helping y/n clean up from dinner.”  JYP responded.  Was it my imagination or did he sound mad?

Chan blinked over at me like he just realized I was in the room.  “Oh.  I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine.  It’s my duty.  Go do business.  I’m almost done here.”  I shood both males.  Neither moved.

Chan looked shocked and confused.  Like he had no idea what was going on.  “No, it’s-it’s Bins day for dishes.”  He shoved a thumb in the direction of the living room where I presumed Changbin was.

“Should I have left everything on the table?”

“She isn’t your maid or slave.  Using her to clean and care for you without anything in return makes you-us-no better than the Alpha slave traders!  We even have her locked up in here!”  JYP snapped throwing the sponge into the sink.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t even realize.”  Chan started, running a hand through his hair.  “I was working on lyrics all day and just assumed-let Changbin finish.”  He gently ushered me to the living room with JYP following.

As soon as I entered the room all the chatting and laughing stopped.  Han, Lee Know, Changbin, And Felix looked up at us.

“Jeongin, Seungmin, Hyunjin, come to the living room.”  JYP called out.

Oh great.  “It’s really fine.  Theres no need to make this a thing.  I’ll leave the rest to Changbin.”  The last thing I needed was to have them all more upset with me.

I was ignored.  The others joined us in the living room, all looking expectantly at JYP.

“Last I heard, you were all sure y/n was the Alpha for you.”  JYP began.  I shifted, uncomfortable.  “Now I come today to her thinking she is only here to be your Alpha slave and smelling of nothing but despair.  What is going on?”

Seungmin spoke up first.  “She doesn’t want to be here.  She doesn’t want to be our Alpha.  Of course she’s sad.  She can’t wait to leave us.”

“Well, if she didn’t then, she certainly does now!  You were supposed to be using this week to convince her to stay!”

“Hyung told us leave her alone.”  I.N pointed out.

Hurt, I looked over at Chan.  He told them to treat me like this?  He went through all the trouble of getting me here just to hurt me!

The tears dropped before I even registered them.  Before I could stop them.

“No!”  Chan, wide eyes at seeing my tears, quickly used his sleeve to wipe them away.  More just replaced them.  The dam was broken, there was no stopping the flood now.

“No, I didn’t say that!  I promise!”  he insisted.  I stepped out of his reach.

“You told us not to bug her.  So, we left her alone.”  I.N explained.  He kept glancing at me, wringing his hands.  In fact, everyone was fidgeting.

“I said not to bug her about staying!  I wanted us to get to know her!  Bring her into our circle with no expectations!”

“So…we don’t have to leave her alone?”

“Not completely-no!”

I.Ns steps landed heavily as he ran over and nearly body slammed me as he wrapped me in a right hug.  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to make you cry!”  He anxiously wiped at my tear-stained cheeks.

“So, all of you just ignored her all day and made her clean up after you?”  JYP asked.

“The second one was an accident, but still my fault.  I forgot it was my day to clean up.  I didn’t realize she was doing it.”  Changbin spoke up looking contrite.

“I’m so disappointed in all of you.  I entrusted her to you because I thought you would treat her kindly whether she was your Alpha or not!  I have half a mind to send her home right now!”

“It was a misunderstanding.”  Hyunjin pointed out.

“We will treat her better.”  Felix promised.

“I’ll keep a closer eye on everything.”  Chan put in.

I.N rested his forehead against mine.  “I’m so sorry, y/n.”  He whispered to me.

I was hiccupping from crying so much, but I nodded against him, accepting his apology.  I was finally starting to calm down.

“You all take better care of her.  Y/n, unblock me and tell me if anything else happens.  Or doesn’t happen.”  JYP ordered.  He patted my hair soothingly in a very fatherly fashion, then stormed out with one last glare at the Omegas.

For a man I only met a couple days ago he sure was protective of me.  But then again if he had been keeping tabs on me all my life, I guess he would have developed protective feelings.  Or resentment.  I’m glad it isn’t resentment.  Even if protective feels a bit weird.

I.N moved back, away from me as Han came up with a box of tissues.  He offered me the box with a small attempt at a smile.

“I’m sorry.  I’m overreacting.”  I sniffed as I grabbed a couple tissues and blew my nose.

“No, it’s us who are sorry.  We made you feel like this.”  Hyunjin disagreed.

Han stepped a bit closer.  “Can I hug you?”  He asked quietly.

Nodding I opened my arms in invitation.  He immediately stepped into them with a deep breath of my undiluted scent.  He snuggled under my chin and started twisting us both from left to right.

Chan stepped into my field of vision.  “Y/n.  This all got way out of hand.  You aren’t our slave, we aren’t trying to hold you captive.  We never meant to make you feel that way.”

Still holding Han with one arm, I reached the other out to Chan.  He gripped my hand.  “I believe you.  I think most of what I was feeling was my own fear.  I grew up on horror stories about how Alphas are treated.”  I explained.

Chan squeezed my hand.  “I would understand if you want to leave early.  I can take you to the airport if you want.”  Though he looked like even saying it pained him.

I grunted as a body collided with me from behind.  Felixs scent rushed over me, mingling with Han’s sunshine warm scent.  Both reminded me of a soft summer storm.

Chan was offering me a guilt free out.  I could take my suppressant, wait for it to kick in, then go home.  Put all this behind me and hope no one finds out my subgender.

It was honestly so tempting.  It sounded so good.  I should take the out.  Get back to normalcy and safety.

I couldn’t bring myself to.  “Thank you, but I’ll stick this out.”

“Then let’s start over.  Let’s do this right.”  Lee Know suggested.  I nodded.

“In that case.”  Hyunjin started looking shy but determined.  “I pained something for you today.”

He left the room briefly and came back with a mounted canvas about 8X10 if I were to guess.  The actual painting was turned away from my view as Hyunjin fidgeted a bit, face getting progressively redder.

I tapped gently at Felix and Han and they both reluctantly let me go.  I smiled gently at Hyunjin, letting him take his time-even if my anxiety surged at the thought of receiving a gift.

Not just any gift.  A gift from one of my Omegas.  And he was acting so cute and shy about giving it to me.  I really wanted to coo and pinch his cheeks while baby talking at him.

And I haven’t even mentioned how it was a painting done by Hyunjin of Stray Kids.  How freaking full is my fangirl heart right now!

“It’s-um…it’s not very good.  But I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day and your scent is calming.  Like lavender.  So, I wanted to paint you some lavender.”  He rambled before finally thrusting the canvas at me.  I flipped it over to reveal a breathtaking depiction of a bushel of dried lavender.  Flowers are the perfect shade of purple and the details on the petals and stems awe inspiring.

“You did this in a day?!”  I asked.  Hyunjin shrugged.  “This is amazing, holy fuck!  You are amazing!  Thank you, Hyunjin!”

I couldn’t wait to put it up in the guest room for my stay here.  It would bring a wonderful and beautiful pop of color to the plain room.

Reaching out, I pulled Hyunjin in for a hug, standing on my toes to wrap my arms around his neck.  He only hesitated a moment before wrapping around my ribs.

He still smelled of paint.  His scent was something I could only describe as dark, steady, strong colors.  He himself was a painting.  A piece of art from his scent and beyond.  And he was warm.  A pleasant crackling campfire on a cool fall night.

“After practicing on so many Alphas, you think we’d be better at this.”  Changbin noted.

“Theres no other Alphas like Y/n.”  Lee Know stated plainly.

I swatted at Lee Know Playfully, face turning red.  “Stop that!  My god!”  Lee Know saying shit like that will kill me.

“Not good at taking compliments.  Noted.  Challenge accepted.”

“No.  There is no challenge!  Lee Know, I swear to god!”

But he was already smiling maniacally.  I am never going to survive this.  I will die of embarrassment before the week was up, I just know it.

“Bin, go finish cleaning up dinner.”  Chan ordered.

Changbin nodded and immediately left the room.

“I’ll go help him.”  I stated.  After all, I already started it, and it was unfair for him to take the blame for me doing it.  I assumed it was expected of me instead of asking about it.

“Nope, you’ve done enough work today.”  Chan said catching me as I walked by.

He easily picked me up with one arm and deposited me onto the couch.  Once there I was immediately pinned by 2 bodies cuddling up to me, effectively keeping me from moving.

“No fair!”

Felix and Han didn’t seem the least bit repentant.

“I’ve been dying to cuddle you all day long.  No one is going to stop me now.”  Felix sighed, getting more comfortable.

Chan was smiling, dimples on full display.  “I told you they were clingy.”  He shrugged, finding a seat of his own.

“I wasn’t complaining that they are clingy!  I was complaining that they weaponized it!”

This made everyone in the room laugh, lightening the tense atmosphere a little bit.

But Chan grew serious again, leaning forward in his seat and facing me.

“What would you like to watch?”  He spoke gravely.

It made the last of the tension break.  I smiled and shook my head at him.  He failed to hold back a smile of his own, breaking character.

“Just do whatever you were doing before.  Honestly, I’m just going to fall asleep.”  It was true.  Between my sleep schedule being on a different continent and exhausting myself by crying, I was feeling very sleepy.  The pleasant scents and weights of Han and Felix only made me sleepier.

Chan nodded and flipped the game console back on.  They all settled in to play some more while I distracted myself by playing with Han’s hair and gently rubbing my fingers up and down Felixs arm.  The entire time I felt my eyelids getting heavy.

“What did you do today.”  Han asked suddenly, bringing me back to alertness.

I half shrugged.  “Cleaned.  Worked.”  It had not been a good or exciting day.

“What’s your job?”

“Photography.  Videography.  Editing them both.  Today I edited a maternity shoot.”  Currently only 2 of us edit, me and the owner, so there was a lot to edit for the popular little photography business.

“Can I see some?”

“I have some on my phone I can show you later.  Its currently inaccessible.”  The phone in question was in my back pocket.  I was unwilling to move the 3 of us to get it.

Changbin joined us again, sitting by my feet, head resting on my knee.  I reached over to playfully muss his hair.  He looked over and smiled before looking back to the game on the screen.

“Maybe you can do a photoshoot here.  I’m itching to work.  We’ve been on hiatus forever!”  Hyunjin suggested.

I could.  I was going to Korea and meeting Stray Kids so of course I brought my basic equipment.  I hadn’t planned on a big shoot though.  And nothing like Stray Kids caliber photos.

“We could.”  Chan popped in.  “We are allowed to post on our socials.”

It’s true.  It was the one thing about this hiatus that was slightly different.  They didn’t just disappear.  They were on insta, on bubble, and doing lives interacting with fans.

Of course they didn’t elaborate on their search for an Alpha.  Just stated that the search was ongoing.  No matter how pushy some fans got about getting more information.  And some did get way out of line.

Seungmin scoffed.  “Yeah.  Great.  One last photo shoot before Stray Kids die.”

“Seungmin.”  Chan warned.

“What?  Am I wrong?”  Seungmin snapped.  “She’s going to leave at the end of the week, and we will never find another Alpha.  You’re all getting all cozy with her, and she is just going to break your hearts!”

“Enough, Seungmin!”  Chan ordered firmly looking up from the fame to glare at him.  “You are not helping the situation by being a brat about it.”

Seungmin glared right back at Chan, jaw flexing in anger.

I sighed softly.  “Its fine, Chris.  He is entitled to his opinions.  If he wants me to leave him alone, I can do that.”

Seungmin turned to me.  “What I want you to do is stay!  Give us an actual chance!  Instead of just stringing us along!”

“It’s not just as simple as that, Seungmin.  My reasons for not being able to be your Alpha are valid.”

“And what are these valid reasons?”

“Besides the danger that comes with the entire world knowing I’m Alpha?  Theres the fact that I am not meant to be in your world.”  I explained.  “I am a camera person.  Im meant to be behind the camera-not in front of it.”

“Then stay behind your camera!  No one said you had to become an idol!”

“You really think they will be okay with me just being me?  They will force me to change.  It will be slow.  A mandatory haircut here, a selected wardrobe, then a small photoshoot.  I would slowly lose everything I am now.  Everything I worked for – what I made of myself – would be gone.”

This seemed to bring Seungmin up short.  Like this never occurred to him before I pointed it out.

“I never thought of it like that.”  He admitted.

“Of course you didn’t.  Because to you this is the best thing all around.  You like being an idol.  Everyone around you likes being an idol or dreams of being one.  And to you having an Alpha solves a lot of your current and most pressing problems.  So naturally you wouldn’t even consider there being a downside.”

The room was silent for a full minute while they let everything really sink in.  Let all our new realities permeate.  And attempt to find a solution to the issues to make everyone happy.

I let them work through it.  Maybe one of them would find a solution.  A loophole to the law.  But I wasn’t holding my breath.  Instead, I braided small sections of Changbins hair.  Small short braids, just to keep my hands busy and mind occupied.  Felix nuzzled his face into my upper arm and stayed there.

“Us and our security team can keep you safe, but…”  Chan began

“But you can’t stop them from changing me.  Not forever.”  I finished for him.  It was just the facts.  Sad facts, but true.

“What if what you become with us is better?  What you were truly meant to be?”  I.N asked quietly.

And wasn’t that the question of the week?  “That’s a risk I must decide whether to take.  If it’s worth losing who I am to potentially become someone better.”

“In the meantime, we will all continue as planned.  No guilting or pressuring y/n to stay.”  Chan concluded with a pointed look at Seungmin.

With a growl Seungmin stood and stormed from the room.  A door slammed a couple seconds later making me jump slightly.

Sighing heavily, I let my head fall back and hit the couch.  I didn’t blame Seungmin for acting the way he was.  I understand where he is coming from both personally and professionally.

“We are still searching for other Alphas, but our efforts are coming up short.  We have exhausted every avenue we know.  However, we are not in any way giving up.”  Chan told the others before he stood and followed after Seungmin.

A few seconds passed before Felix spoke up.  “So, do you game?”

I chuckled and shook my head.  “Not the kind you lay.  I’m terrible at them.  I’m good just watching, promise.”

“So, you play like Felix then.”  Lee Know teased.  Felix chucked a throw pillow at him that Lee Know promptly caught with his lightning-fast reflexes.

I was right about falling asleep.  I don’t even remember closing my eyes.  I was watching the boys play some shooter game, and then suddenly Changbin was cradling me in his arms and carrying me to my bed. I woke myself up enough to wiggle out of my jeans – ignoring Changbins protest about waiting until he was gone – and cocoon myself in the blanket.  I was asleep again in seconds.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb @hityoulikebahng @juju-227592 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @royal-shinigami @bangchansfavoritenoona @straykidslvr

[juanbodyswapstfs]

Fair Trade

David was a hard working father trying to provide enough to maintain his son. The downside to this was he wasn’t spending a lot of time with his son martin.

Martin was an attractive young man but doesn’t know the potential he has in his body. It pained David that Martin wouldn’t use his body to its full potential.

One day, David came home early from work. “Hey Martin, im home early!” Said David. David didn’t get a response and headed upstairs. He saw the door to his bathroom opened and saw Martin jerking off to his briefs. “Dad!” Martin proceeds to slam the door in a hurry.

A few hours later..

Hey bud, You doing alright? “Dad, please go away.” Said Martin. “Son, I know how you feel, when I was your-“ “Dad just stop it! you don’t know how I feel.” Said Martin angrily. “Alright, Ill give you some time to calm down, when your done, come to the living room and we’ll have a chat.” Said David.

A few minutes later..

“Hey dad, Im sorry for how I talked to you..” Said Martin. “Don’t worry bud, I get your sexual desires hehe.” David said. “I love you but sometimes I just wish we could feel more connected.” Martin said. “Yeah, Hehe I wish you knew how good and strong your body is martin.” David said. “And I wish I could spend more time with you dad.” Martin said. “Well, goodnight my son.” David said. They both head to bed and sleep until the next morning.

In the morning

Martin wakes up feeling a bit sore and clumsy. “Woah why do I feel so big all of a sudden.” Martin opens his eyes and sees a huge bulge in his briefs. “Oh my god dad, why didn’t I know you had such a huge package.” Davids package was girthy and long with his balls big and manly. “Damn my armpits smell fucking good.” Martin whips out his new package and starts jerking off. “Ooohh yeah that shits good.” Martin then cums all over his dads chest.

On davids side..

David woke up and already knew something was wrong. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror, “Hey handsome, Im gonna treat this body how it should be treated.” David Takes off his socks and smells them, “Mmmm” David takes out his package and jerks off. “Oooo fuck yeah im your country boy.” His hot steamy sperm squirts on the mirror. Martin then knocks on the door, “Hey Dad, you like your new body?” Martin says. “Dad?” “Im your son Dad.” David says in a cheeky tone. “Oh dad, im gonna use this body to its full potential.” David says. “Hahaha son, me too.” Martin says. “Alright im going to work” Martin says then leaves.

At the construction site..

Martin was trying his hardest to fit in as his father, He had to take a leak and went to the restroom. At the restroom there was an attractive construction worker guy pissing next to him. “Mind If I give you a hand haha.” Martin said. “Uh David?” The man said. “Just joking with ya haha.” Martin said a bit disappointed. The guy zipped up and left the restroom in a hurry. When Martin finally finished he walked out and saw his manager. “Hey david, Im sorry to say this but, your fired.” “Wait what?” “You harassed one of your coworkers.” The manager said. Defeated, Martin headed back home.

At Martins school.

David was having a blast in his sons body, winning every game and scoring a lot in gym class! “Haha beat that suckers!” David says. “You changed so much martin..” says martins crush. “People change my dude.” David says says. Martins Crush walks away sad. The bell rings and David runs home in his new youthful body.

At home

David and Martin arrived home in each others bodies. “Im sorry Dad, I got fired.” Martin said. “Oh thats fine, its your body now anyways.” David said. “Im doing well in school so fair trade haha.” David Said. Both Martin and David were satisfied with their bodies, David joined football and graduated with a athletes scholarship and Martin got a job as a Gay stripper.

So sorry for not posting stories in a while, I was kinda blocked on what to do next.. Message me if you have requests! peace out.

[moodymisty]

You hosing down your space marine because he returned from a battle completely covered in dirt? Okay, pretty funny. But how about the opposite?

Let’s imagine that before the heresy, during the time when Fulgrim was trying to domesticate his brother Konrad, there were also some interactions going on between their two legions. Some marines would be a little curious about what their cousins are up to, and after a while of chatting about their respective battles and planets, some trades would occur. It’s simple really, like trading pretty looking pokemon cards at the school playground. A night lord talks about how he stole a knife from a dying nobleman, and an emperor’s child likes the knife enough to trade it for a handsewn quilt that he also stole from a nobleman. When you’re a space marine you only really get to interact with your own legion, so anything new is always going to be met with a lot of interest. And not to mention it forms a(n albeit small) sense of camaraderie between them, so Fulgrim lets it slide.

So at one point a night lord takes interest in something an emperor’s child has, a book with a large collection of sewing and embroidery diagrams meant for leatherwork. And while the emperor’s child lost interest in it years ago the night lord really wants it, saying that he’s always looking for new ways to embellish his skin cloaks. So while a little disgusted, the emperor’s child lets him have it in exchange for… you.

You are… not someone he expected. When his cousin told him that he would be getting a serf in exchange for the book he considered him stupid, how could an entire mortal cost as much as a handbook? But when he saw you he was taken aback. If all the serfs on the nightfall looked like that then he could see why the night lords didn’t value mortal lives. You were unkempt, underfed, the clothes you wore were far too big for you. It didn’t help that the night lord decided the best way to present you to him was by tying you to his bedpost, like you were an animal at the slaughterhouse.

You do your job well, he will admit. His room is cleaner than ever before, but the same can’t be said about you. Despite you trying to cower and hide every time he gets close to you, he can still see how much you’re covered in grime. Your hair is clumped together with grease and dirt, the wounds (that you keep scratching) on your arms and legs are covered in dried blood, and you smell awful. Did no one teach the night lord’s serfs about basic hygiene? He can’t ask you, since you can’t speak Gothic. But he assumes that’s the case, because every time you have the option to bathe you instead decide to hide in a vent somewhere.

After a few days of living like this your marine decides that he’s had enough. You look bad, you smell terrible, and if you’re not going to take a shower he’s going to make you take one. So when you’re busy cleaning his room he storms in and picks you up, taking you to the communal shower area. And the entire time he’s carrying you he can hear as you cry and plead about.. something, he doesnt speak your language, but from the way you’re clawing at his armour you’re probably demanding to be let go. And sorry, that’s not gonna happen. He prefers his serfs without any infections thank you very much. He carries you to a smaller area of the baths and into one of the private rooms reserved for diplomatic guests. When he gestures for you to take your clothes off you’re too frozen in fear to react, so he undoes your filthy robes to reveal-

Oh.. Oh.

This entire time he’s assumed that the night lord had given him some wretch from the lower decks as an exchange. But now he sees the patchworks upon patchworks upon patchworks of scars across your entire body. He can also see chunks of partially healed skin on your back and thighs that eerily resemble the flesh on that night lords cloak. You weren’t insane or feral, you were trained to act like that. A small prey animal beaten into subjugation over and over again until all it knew was how to stay quiet and submissive. Thats why you cowered when he approached, that’s why you never even attempted to speak to him. You were terrified of him.. and he didn’t even notice.

And here ladies and gentlemen, is the moment a space marine feels empathy instead of his usual entitlement. Because now he’s gently guiding you into the bath, trying to ask you what temperature feels the most comfortable for you. He angles your head so the shampoo won’t irritate your eyes, he puts scented oils into your hair, he washes your body with such care that you would think you were made of glass. The entire time hes speaking to you in the most comforting tone he can, you don’t understand him but he thinks it’s better than awkward silence. When he towels you off he notices that you’ve visibly relaxed, and you’re also very tired. And the moment he puts you in new clean clothes you once again start crying, but this time it’s different. Happy tears. No one has ever treated you this kindly before, and you nearly fall asleep in his arms when he carries you back to his quarters. So he decides to let you rest for today, and the day after, and the day after that. Have fun with your new (nicer) space marine husband.

Sorry that this is so long and angsty lol. I just got inspired

I love how this started out as a meme sentence, and then descended into a legit sad story. I love my new Emperor's Children husband;; I have nothing to add to this, bravo

[susiekern]

6. the one with the dm

a/n: hi so I'm dumb and forgot to add the small text part to chapter 4 so if anyone's interested, check it out! it's not really that important so it doesn't change much if you don't

warnings: swearing

word count: 755 (but with quite few texts that I don't count in)

lyrics from: Rain - Sleep Token

masterlist

For the past month, you’ve only seen Megumi during your regular meetings on the rooftop or passing him in the corridor. When asked about it, he simply said he spends most of the days at the studio, recording music for some artist who hired him as a guitarist for their new album. Between the rooftop and corridor, the only signs he was still alive were a few messages and sounds of him practicing behind your wall. Sounds that you got used to and started to enjoy. At least for the most part.

“Sorry for the noise, guys, he’s just wrapping it up.” You say to your viewers and focus back on choosing the game for tonight’s stream. “Should we do that card trading sim? It looked fun when we played the demo.”

With the game chosen and in the process of installing, you fill the time answering the chat and drinking your coffee.

zeyde_: hot neighbor back at it

sammie: is hot neighbor actually hot, tho

y/nsmarshmalow: she never confirmed, no?

sammie: Y/N IS HE HOTTT?

“Well, I can’t say he’s bad-looking. Depends how you define hot.” Shrugging, you smile a little. They’d flip if they knew.

sammie: okay miss avoiding the answer.

eleffa32: am I flipping, or is that the same sound from Yuji’s stream

rooney_: hot neighbor reveal pls pls pls

sammie: @/eleffa32 no literally, my bf is watching his stream next to me and IT’S THE SAME

eleffa32: stfu are you guys living together?

plumbobo: YUJI X Y/N CONFIRMED?!

You almost spit your coffee all over the desk reading this, and you don’t know whether you should laugh or cry. Not again.

“Yuji and y/n neighbors confirmed, guys; the hot one you like so much is his roommate. Chill out.” Deciding to laugh, you inform the chat and wipe the coffee from your chin. A few moments later, your game is ready to be turned on, and miraculously, Megumi stops playing right when you click on it. Typing a quick thanks to him, you tune back into the stream for the next three hours. The game turns out to be a nice one, perfect for a calm Sunday evening. You decide to slowly finish the night when Nobara texts you that she’s going back home with food for the both of you, so you go through the last few questions.

sammie: y/nnn, have you heard that new song The Fallen released yesterday???

“Yes, I’ve listened to it like twenty times already!”

When you woke up on Saturday, the last thing you expected was a notification about your beloved band releasing a new song. There was no forecast about it on their social media, not even one post; it just randomly showed up on Spotify, and the fandom went crazy. Was it planned? Leaked? Does this mean the new album is coming soon?

“It’s amazing, like everything they released. I swear, Zenin was chosen by gods to be the scribe, because how could a mortal human write something as good as their lyrics? There’s this part, ‘I know what I am, the mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb.’ I got chills hearing it, seriously. I would do anything to talk to this man about his lyrical genius.” You sigh and lean back in the chair, reading messages from your followers who express their opinions on the song. There’s a knock on the door, and Kugisaki peeks into your room.

“I got dinner, you nerd.” She says and comes closer, waving to the camera.

rooney_: NOBARA HIIII

eleffa32: omg hi queen

zeyde_: QUICK QUESTION

zeyde_: IS THE HOT NEIGHBOR ACTUALLY HOT???

“Hi, guys! Eh, I would say he’s okay. Not my type.” She shakes her head and leans on your chair back. “Sorry for busting in, but I need to feed this one, since she won’t do it herself.”

“You’ve heard the boss. Thank you for joining me tonight, and I’ll see you on Tuesday!” You smile and wave to the camera before turning off the stream. Nobara goes to the kitchen to prep the food, and you stay back to turn off your setup. Soon you’re both splayed on the couch, eating the takeout of her choice and paying half-mind to some rom-com she turned on the TV. Finishing your meal, you put the bowl on the coffee table and grab your phone for the first time since finishing the stream. There are a few notifications, but only two catch your eye. Texts from Yuji and a DM on Instagram.

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115

[ladylooch]

Bones - Part 4 [Mack x David]

A/N: *inhales and exhales heavily* Here we go.

I'm sorry...... & good luck. Would love it if you came to talk to me in my asks about this one.

Word Count: 5.1k

Rangers Looking To Make Moves, David Carlson could be one of them.

Insider Sources Hint at Huge Deal Between Stars and Rangers.

Rangers In Search Of Forward Depth: Potential Move Involving David Carlson?

“Mack? Ready in about five?” Her editor, Sonja, asks as she power walks by Mack’s cubicle. 

“Yep.” Mack answers back absentmindedly. She is currently scrolling through her newsfeed, scanning the ballooning elephant of David’s trade rumors. 

Mack tried to talk herself out of looking, but she hasn’t been able to put her phone away. Social media is a dangerous drug. Mack considers herself an expert navigator, but these rumors involve her life outside of 280 characters. The line between reality and rumor has begun to blur. While this happens in her brain, David says nothing. He probably has his reasons, but Mack can’t help but feel betrayed. Why isn’t he talking to her about this? Doesn’t he trust her? This feels like something they should be talking about, even Lucie said as much at breakfast last week.

Mack finishes reading over the comments of speculation. The rumors seem to be trending towards Dallas or Seattle. Mack’s stomach drops out when she realizes how far away both those options are.

“Ready?” Andrew, her colleague asks. Mack nods, putting her phone into her desk and gathering her notebook. The entire walk to the glass enclosed conference room, Mack tries to shed her personal life. Normally, she steps over that threshold and she can become whoever she needs to be to tell a story. Not today.

Today, Mack is quiet, listening to her team members add productive discussion for next quarters issues. Several locations are floated around that should make Mack excited and jumping to go for them. None of them do. Instead, she finds her focus trailing out the window to the building across the street. The world moves around her, but Mack feels stuck in place. Her least favorite thing.

“Mack, how is your hand not up?” Cecilia, another team member, asks. Mack turns back to her.

“What? Sorry?” Mack’s eyes divert to Sonja who looks back at Mack with a neutral face.

“Would you like to volunteer for Ireland?” Sonja repeats.

Mack has been dying to go to Ireland. There is so much to do there, so many different directions she could take her story, and although she has lived in and traveled all over Europe, she hasn’t made it there yet. She is constantly chatting with her coworkers about how she wants to do a story there. But now her hand stays in her lap. How could she leave the country with it being such tumultuous times at home? What if she leaves and David is traded? Coming back to New York and him not being here would slice her open. 

“When?” 

“Three weeks, but you could go as early as Thursday if you want more exploring time.”

“Oh. Um.” She anxiously rubs at her thighs. “I-”

“You could go after Cabo too.” Sonja answers. Cabo is the Allstar trip she has put together for the Rangers with recommendations from her colleagues. Everything is scheduled including a huge house right on the water. It has multiple pools, a hot tub, a private beach, and exclusive access to the Yacht club. 

“I’m gonna have to say no.” She hears herself say. WHAT!?She shakes off her inner demon who wants to launch a ‘just kidding’. Her whole team looks back at her with surprise. “I just need to stick around here right now. If that’s okay? I’ll take something close.” 

“We have that story on hidden gems in America? A lot of them are on the East Coast. Easily day trips.”

“Yeah, that sounds great!” Mack answers with enthusiasm she doesn’t actually feel.

The meeting moves on, but Mack can’t. Did she really just turn down Ireland for New Hampshire? With everyone’s assignments in hand, the meeting ends. Again, Mack is slow to react. Sonja stays behind.

“Are you okay?” She asks when it’s only the two of them. “You are not yourself.”

“I am a bit distracted.” 

“Anything I can help with?”

“Nope. Thanks for letting me stick around though.” Sonja laughs, shrugging.

“Something is definitely up if you’re missing out on Ireland. Let me know how I can support you, okay?”

Mack nods then Sonja power walks off to her next meeting. After swiping her phone from her drawer, Mack avoids sitting down at her cubical and heads straight to the bathroom at the back of the office. She walks into the last stall, letting her back hit the cool tile. Mack’s head finds her hands, awkwardly shoving her nose to the side due to her phone.

What the hell is happening to me?

Her phone starts to vibrate against her face. She pulls back, seeing David’s picture.

“Hello?” She answers quickly.

“Hi, are you home?”

“No.” Worry settles into her voice.

“Oh okay, no worries. I left my wallet at your place. Just figured it out, now Woody is buying me lunch.” He chuckles. 

“Oh, you can go grab it after lunch?”

“Okay, can I wait for you to get home too? Kinda miss ya.” 

“Yeah.” Mack smiles to herself. 

“I’ll take a look at your bathroom sink too. The water pressure is horseshit.”

“I put in a maintenance request.”

“Why? They didn’t fix it right last time? I hope they come up while I’m working on it so I can teach them what to do.”

“Please don’t.” Mack sighs, but she can’t help a little giggle.

“When will you be home?” He asks her. Mack can hear traffic whizzing by him as he presumably walks along a sidewalk.

“Probably a few hours.” She mumbles. 

“Alright. I’ll entertain myself.” He assures her.

When Mack gets home, she realizes that means he cleaned her entire apartment, fixed her sink, and has dinner in the oven. 

“Wow…” Mack trails off as she walks in. She puts her work bag on the counter and smiles at him by the stove. “Thank you. I haven’t had much time to clean.” She murmurs.

“I know.” He nods, toweling off his hands with the one over this shoulder. “I’ve been keeping you at my place a lot. I figure if I created the problem, I should clean it up.” He puckers his lips for her. “Hi.” He greets her after their kiss.

“Hi.” She smiles. It doesn’t quite brighten up her face or reach her eyes, which David takes notice of.

“You okay?” He tilts his head at her.

“Yeah. Tired.” She lies. 

Well, maybe not fully. She is tired, but the things that are keeping her up at night are things she could be discussing with him. Yet, Mack believes that if he wanted to talk to her about any of this, he would have already. She swallows hard, trying to will the anxious energy in her body away. David’s hands on her hips hold her in place when she tries to move around him. 

“I’m not believing that.” He smiles sympathetically. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” Mack nods. She brushes her hand over his stomach as she walks past. She heads to the fridge to grab a sparkling water from inside. David watches her as she cracks the cap open, taking down a few gulps. She hiccups as she pulls the bottle down from her lips. “Why don’t you go change? That outfit looks great, but you should be comfy with the weather we are having.” He points to the window where sheets of snow fall down. 

“Oh that escalated.” Mack murmurs. She walks to the window, looking out at the droves of swirling snow flakes. She sighs, happy to be in here watching it than still commuting home.

“Mack.” David calls softly to her. She looks over her shoulder at him. “Go.” He encourages her, head tilted towards the hallway. She nods again, doing as he asks and wandering down to her bedroom. 

She knows she is spacey and acting weird. But she isn’t quite sure how to act with him right now. A giant elephant is sitting on her chest and he is behaving like everything is normal. Mack quickly changes into a soft sweatsuit in a sage color. She pulls her hair back into a pony tail, then pulls on new, warm socks with reindeer faces on them that her mom put into her Christmas stocking.  When she walks into the main area again, the TV is playing local news. The sports section is on but it rolls through without any mention of David, other than his goal a few nights ago, the last time the team played.

“It’s weird you’ve had so many days off.” Mack says, leaning against the counter by the bar stools. 

“Yeah. I hate it.” David shakes his head. He pulls the towel off his shoulder, tossing it onto the counter.

“What are we having?”

“Spatchcock chicken and asparagus.”

“Fancy.” Mack smiles at him. He stares back at her. 

“Why are you over there? C’mere.”

“You’re so sensitive today.” Mack rolls her eyes. “If you wanna cuddle just ask. No need to get grumpy that I’m standing across the room from you.” She tries to keep her tone light, but it’s a little snippy.

“Kay, get over here I want to cuddle.” He begrudges. Him and Mack both know she is deflecting. She doesn’t want him looking at her too closely right now.

Mack walks across the kitchen, sliding her arms around his waist. David crushes her into his chest and she can’t help but melt into him. Her shoulders drop, jaw unclenches, and mind quiets completely. The trade rumors dissipate. The worry about what could happen to them floats away. It’s just the two of them holding each other in her kitchen. David’s hand smooths over her pony tail, then begins to rub long strokes up and down her back. Mack turns her nose more into his chest. David tightens his grip on her, then drops his mouth to her hair.

It’s clear they both needed this hug. 

They don’t break away until the timer for the chicken goes off. David pulls it out. As it rests, he roasts the asparagus. Mack puts together a salad with leftover vegetables in the fridge. Then they sit down and eat dinner together with a glass of wine each. When it’s over, Mack and David move through the apartment in sync, cleaning up the main space. As the dishwasher roars to life, Mack flips all the lights off and takes David’s hand to lead him down to her room. 

There, they make love to each other. It’s soft and slow, filled with gentle smooches and quiet moans of pleasure. Afterwards, they tangle their limbs together. David falls asleep first, surprising to Mack. She studies his face as he sleeps, seeing the lines on his face soften in his slumber. With David out, a familiar monster begins to awaken inside of her. 

It comes out in the quiet, darkness of night. It confuses her and brings back all the things that had melted away when she was in David’s arms. A huge lump fills her throat. She rolls over to her other side. Doing so makes David’s hand fall off her hip. A cold shiver rolls through Mack as she buries her nose into the pillow case beneath her face. 

During sex tonight, David had murmured really sweet things to her. He told her he loved her. He told her how beautiful she looked today. He told her how much he missed her while they ran through their different, separate days, that the world gets quiet when she is in his arms. But he didn’t say anything about the rumors that swirl around him in his professional life. Every time he has an opportunity to tell her and he doesn’t, Mack can feel herself retreat a little more. 

Right before he drifted to sleep, David had sleepily murmured that he couldn’t wait until they find a place together. The memory of that now has a single tear dragging down Mack’s cheek.

Because for the first time, she doesn’t feel like her and David are on the same page. He is already thinking about them moving in together. She’s never thought of that. She’s never thought of anything beyond the current day with him. Now he sees a future for them that Mack isn’t sure she wants this way. A future outside of New York isn’t of interest to her. If David isn’t in New York, there is nothing tying them together anymore, therefore if he leaves New York nothing ties him to her anymore. 

Meanwhile, she has stupidly turned down assignments to stay with him. Her brain is consumed of thoughts of him even when she is away. Panic begins to thread through Mack’s body. She’s too in love with him. This is all way more than she signed up for. She never wanted this. He’s changed her entire life and she went along with it.

How could she have let this happen? How could she have let it go this far?

Mack rolls to her back, staring up at the ceiling. Tears race from the corners of her eyes, falling into her ear canals. This has gone too far. She can’t do this with him. With perfect timing as always, her monster starts to whisper:

You’ll never be able to keep him. You can’t pretend all the time to be good enough for him anyway.

Mack shudders at the words that slice deep into her soul. She wipes her tears then wills herself to sleep. 

In the morning, this will all look different. She is sure of that. 

Long before the sunlight streams into her room, David awakens her to make love again. He is above her, dragging his cock through her core with soft strokes that set her on fire. When she shudders through her orgasm, he fills her up with his own, then collapses into the bed next to her. As his breathing evens out, he brings her into his side, holding her close to him.

“I’m excited about our future.” David murmurs, fingers getting slower. “We’re gonna give Lucie and Connor a run for their money.” He kisses the top of her head. 

Guilt swirls through Mack’s body. 

David continues planning for a future with her while she is choking in fight or flight. 

A tear slides silently down her cheek. David’s soft breathing behind her tells her he has fallen back to sleep. 

Mack blinks more tears down her cheeks, bottom lip trembling.

He deserves so much better than this. So much better than her. Those words are no longer the dark monster from before. Instead they’re just the truth.

And she’s going to make sure he is free to find what he deserves.

In his arms, attempting to memorize his touch, she starts to make her plans. The Ireland assignment comes to mind.

On Thursday, she’ll go there. Do what she was always going to do.

Run.

Or fly… like the humming bird he compares her to.

He won’t be surprised. He’ll be hurt, sure. But he’ll move on. He has to.

She tells herself this is all for his freedom. 

But deep down, the monster reminders her its for her own.

- - - & - - -

(David)

On Thursday, David looks down at the burger he ordered, mouth salivating at the big, half pound patty dripping cheese and bacon grease. Now this is a damn burger. One he might even find in his home state. Props to the place for sticking to the owner’s midwestern roots. He assess the sandwich, deciding two hands on this one would probably be best.

“That looks fire.” Connor murmurs. He opted for a French Dip sandwich and fries. 

Between the two of them, there isn’t a green vegetable in sight. 

“I’m going to crush this.” David confirms. He unrolls his silverware set, putting the napkin in his lap just in case some drippage misses his plate. Connor does the same.

“I’m so excited to have beef. Haven’t been able to have it at home since…” Connor trails off. David raises an eyebrow. Connor grins then shakes his head. “I can’t tell ya.”

“Slut.”

“Can’t get enough of her, man. Don’t act like you don’t get it.” 

David smirks. He does get it. In fact, he almost cancelled on this lunch so he could stay home and bury himself between Mack’s thighs again and again. But Mack said she had to get some work done, so here he is for the second time in two days eating lunch with his D partner. Mack and David had transitioned over to his place last night to meet up with the Woods. He loves that she is comfortable working from his place when he isn’t there.

David swipes a tater tot through some ketchup then pops it into his mouth. He hopes by the time he gets home Mack is doing better. She was weird when he left this morning, weird last night too. He is glad they have some time together before he goes on the road this weekend. Mack has an assignment in New York that is keeping her home with him during that time. All he wants to do is go to the rink, order glutinous take out and fuck. 

Connor hulks down a huge bite of his sandwich as David digs into his burger. He needs his napkin immediately, swiping it across his covered lips. 

“So how you doing with everything, man?” 

David swallows.

“What do you mean?” He asks, then goes in for a second bite.

“With the rumors.”

“Oh. I’m not listen.” David dismisses. “I can’t worry about that shit and play. It’s too hard.”

“Yeah, I get it. I was the same. Where are you at with your contract?”

“Doug said we would talk about it after the season. My agent doesn’t think here is any concern. It’s not like I’m gonna ask for the bank.”

“No, but get what you’re worth. I need you around here with me. Can’t handle the Hischier girls by myself.” David chuckles. Silence fills the space between them as they both take a few more bites. “How is Mack taking it all?”

David pauses mid-chew. He shakes his head slightly, then answers when he swallows.

“We haven’t talked about it since none of it is true.”

Connor looks up quickly from his fries. They hover in his pile of ketchup as alarming blue eyes look across the table at David.

“Yeah, but you warned her and everything right?”

David’s tongue runs along his back molars as an awkward silence fills the table.

No, he didn’t.

“I mean, no? She knows that shit out there isn’t true.”

“Sure, but you told her that right?” Connor clarifies, pointing at the center of David’s chest.

David stares back at his defensive partner. Slowly, Connor’s mouth falls into a cringe.

“That is not the person to leave in the dark on those rumors, man.”

As if Connor’s words are the final puzzle, it all clicks for David. The way Mack was this morning. How she turned away from him immediately after sex last night. How quiet she has been, almost to the point of calculated. His heart hammers to a stop in his chest then a big intake of air raises his huge shoulders.

“Oh FUCK!” He yells. 

She’s running.

He knows it and the awareness cools his blood, sending a chill down his spine.

“What?” Connor asks, concern etching his brows together.

“She wanted me to go to lunch with you so she can run. I’ve gotta go, Woody.”

In a calmer moment, David would pull out his wallet and throw down a few bills. But a glance at his phone tells him he doesn’t have time. He’s been gone for over a half hour. She might already be packed and he’s gotta stop her. His long, athletic stride carries him the five blocks back to his place. He rushes by Philip without a greeting, then pounds the up button on the elevator.

“Come on!” He shouts when it takes too long. He eyes the stairwell, but his heart might explode if he runs up all those flights of stairs. The doors open and he almost barrels over a couple and their kid as he rushes in. “Sorry.” He mumbles, pushing the button for his floor, then the ‘close door’ one repeatedly until it does. He bounces on his feet, heart pounding in his ears as he attempts to catch his breath. The doors open, he flies into the hallway, not seeing her. He tries the door on his place and finds it open. 

Fuck, he hopes she is still here. 

“Mack!” He yells. 

No answer. 

His sneakers slap hard against the wood floors as he heads down the hallway. He can see her pony tail floating in the doorway. Instant relief flowing through him.

She’s still here. 

His relief is short lived when he walks forward and sees her packed suitcase on the bed.

- - - & - - -

(Mack)

Mack is zipping up her suitcase when she hears the apartment door open. Her gaze snaps to the doorway. David’s hurried foot steps rush down the hallway. She frowns, then goes back to stuffing her phone charger into the side pocket. This is not ideal, but she planned for it. She is ready for this interaction. Ready for him to beg her to stay here with him and prepared with an army of reasons why they are never going to work, now or in the future. 

“Mack, stop packing.” He calls to her from the hallway. Mack freezes. Of course he already knows. She keeps going, putting the suitcase on its wheels. They meet at the door of his bedroom. “Babe, I’m not going anywhere. I talked to management. None of this is real. I’m not being traded.” Disappointment has Mack sighing internally. She wishes he had told her this days ago.

“Okay.” Mack shrugs, keeping a blank face. David frowns. His eyes move to the right, looking over his room. Every single thing of hers is gone, down to the collection of hair ties on her side of the bed. “I’m heading out of town for awhile on a long assignment. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” David chews on the inside of his cheek, searching her face. He shakes his head slightly, looking confused and hurt.

“Mack, what are you doing?”

“I’m packing.” She swallows hard, hating the way her voice wobbles slightly.

“You’re going out of town. Why do you need your house slippers?” He motions to where they used to sit by the door.

“Because I want them at my place.”

“So, you going out of town means you aren’t going to keep anything here either?”

“I don’t see the point to that.” Mack shrugs. “Like I said, I am heading out on a long assignment. I’m going to be gone for awhile. I’m not sure when I will be back, so I’m taking everything with me.” 

“What?” He questions. “Where are you going?”

“Ireland.”

“Since when? You just told me two nights ago you were here in New York through the Allstar break, and suddenly you’re leaving for an undetermined amount of time?”

“Yeah. That’s this business.” She says flatly, unemotional. David shakes his head.

“What is happening?” He whispers, getting closer to her. He reaches out for her cheek and Mack immediately pulls away. “Is this about a few nights ago? I didn’t mean-“

“No. It’s not. But that was a reminder to me how… different we are. And I think we should be realistic about our shelf life.” David’s eyebrows furrow together. That hurt him. Mack looks away, not wanting to see the sting on his face.

This is inevitable, the monster reminds herself. She’s just pulling the plug before they go back to hating each other and make this harder for everyone around them.

“Shelf life?” He sighs heavily, stepping aside for her to pass by him. He is hot on her heels into the main area of his place. “What the fuck, Mack? We love each other.” 

“For now.” She shrugs her shoulder, going to her purse and double checking she grabbed everything she needed from the main area. She finds her water bottle and phone where she put them a few minutes ago. She’s officially packed. Mack grabs the key to his place, trying to ignoring the light up, corn key chain and the way it burns her skin in her hand. “I can give you your key back.”

“Stop.” David snaps, enclosing her hand with his. He grabs the keys out of her hands. He shakes his head, looking at her, panic all over his face. “Just…” He licks his lips, looking out at the city. “Talk to me.” 

“I am. You don’t like what I’m saying.” She retorts. 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. We literally had an incredible night and I make a comment about how I’m excited to move in together someday, and you’re running now? What are you afraid of?” He emphasizes the last line at her, pausing with his hands out to the side. The Iowa keychain in his hand is blinking red, green and blue. Mack stares at it, pursing her lips. A huge lump swells in her throat. She tries to swallow but can’t. 

“I just don’t think this is going to work.”

“What?”

“You and me. So I think we should.” She moves her hands apart. “Go in different directions.” 

Stunned, David straightens. He blinks, trying to absorb the blow of her words. He runs the hand without her keys in it through his hair then blows out a heavy sigh. His hand roughly rubs at the stubble from where he shaved his beard off yesterday, leaving only his signature mustache. Mack blinks off the slight hitch of his breathing on the inhale. 

“Okay.” He nods his head, taking another deep breath. 

David stands on the other side of the island, green eyes intense with emotion as he pins her to the cabinets behind her. He shakes his head then stands to his full height. The keys in his hand slide across the counter to her. They skid to a stop next to her right hand. His arms cross over his chest.

“Okay, I’ll see you when you get back then.”

“David.” Mack rolls her eyes, throwing the keys into her purse.

Why won’t he let her go easily? How can’t he see what she sees? How different they are? How this started with them hating each other and grew into this thing that was never supposed to happen? How she isn’t meant for this WAG, farm wife, American lifestyle that he wants? She needs to be free- wings wide open so she can breathe. Not turning down assignments and worrying about moving to Dallas.

David doesn’t say anything else to her, just stares her down. Mack can tell he is holding everything he can inside. For her benefit or his, she can’t tell.

“I don’t know when I’m coming back.” She reiterates.

“Okay.” He is eerily calm now.

“So we should go separate ways.” 

“No.” He says clearly and assertively. “You wanna run from me, baby? Then just run. Go. But when you’re done with that, and you come back home, I’ll still be here, loving you. You can move your shit back in then too.”

Mack swallows, looping her arm through the handles of her bags, looking down at them because she can’t look at him. 

“It’s for the best.” She repeats. 

“Mack. I love you. So much.” He whispers, words rough and callused like his hands from working the farm his whole life. The words sound painful as if they rip up his body when he says them. Nothing like the ones he whispered to her last night when they made love. 

It almost gets her to stay.

She hesitates for three more seconds, but her mind screams go. So she does.

“Goodbye, David.” 

He puts his head in his hands as she turns to walk out of the kitchen. She can hear his heavy, uncontrolled breathing behind her until the closed door cuts them off. 

Mack doesn’t breathe the entire ride down the elevator. A numbness comes over her as she tries to convince herself to keep moving forward. She thought she would feel better after doing this. That she was holding them back, him mostly, and cutting the tie would give her back that feeling of freedom she craves. The freedom that he deserves too.

All she feels now is dead inside.

Mack walks out of the building, strutting across the sidewalk with her hand high in the air to hail down a cab. She isn’t sure how her feet are moving so fluidly with how violently she shakes.

“Goodnight, Ms. Hischier.” Philip calls cheerfully behind her.

“Bye!” She calls, waving over her shoulder. She can’t turn around. If she turns around, her feet are going to go right back through that door. 

And she just can’t.

This is not who she is.

She isn’t a WAG. She isn’t a farmer’s girlfriend. She isn’t anywhere close to wife material or a forever kind of girl.

She is a runner. A lone wolf. Who should have taken that elevator home a year ago instead of jumping into bed with her brother-in-law’s teammate. 

The words continue on like a self-deprecating mantra she can’t silence. 

David deserves better. He deserves a wife. Someone who wants to settle into that small country life with him, or in Dallas, and stands next to him through the storm. Not someone who can only see this working if all the cards are stacked in their favor.

Mack, I love you. So much. His voice rings through her brain.

“Fuck.” Mack sobs, shakily trying to breathe in the back of the cab as it pulls away from him. 

Over her heart, her fingers clutch his number on her neck. She pulls, snapping the necklace off her body.

“Ow.” She whispers to herself as her head falls back to the head rest.

If this was what she needed to do, then why does it hurt this damn bad?

Read more Mack and David here.

[marjoch]

YOU’VE GOT MAIL

a jayvik au!

early updates on ao3 @ josmarch

CHAPTER THREE!!

Christmas came and went. Jayce spent the holiday home with Mel, who hosted her mother in town for two nights. Mel insisted on redecorating the guest bedroom just beforehand, so Jayce had been in charge of putting together the furniture, and therefore he was behind on his project.

It was harder to keep up with AIM while the festivities were going on, but Jayce did his best to sneak away in the evenings and continue the ongoing conversation with Tinkerman. Things went back to normal by Monday. While Mel was working late, Jayce was on AIM.

I hope your holiday season is going well. It has been hectic on my end, but I have missed our conversations. NY1972

Tinkerman was on the computer, because a message came through shortly after.

It’s been the same for me, and I have also missed our conversations. Do you have any New Year’s resolutions? Tinkerman

I hope I can achieve some of my goals this coming year. I have a lot of potential growth, if I utilize it. I’ve got a great opportunity that I can’t let slip through my fingers. As much as New York gets on my nerves, I am not going back to Seattle. What about you? NY1972

I find I have a hard time speaking my mind. It has always been easier to be passive, but I know I could lose my business if I don’t stand my ground. Tinkerman

Jayce read over the messages, and thought of what to say. He never had a problem with assertiveness — he was confident in his beliefs, and he would defend both those he cared for and himself the same.

I think I speak my mind too much. Maybe I can give you some of my ability, and you can say whatever you like, and I can keep quiet when it would benefit me. NY1972

Tell me how to make the trade, and I’m there. Tinkerman

The wording made Jayce ponder once more who this internet stranger was. Jayce decided to test the waters of their growing friendship, holding his breath as he typed and barely breathing after it was sent.

Would you want to meet? NY1972

On the other side of the screen, Viktor was at the computer in his living room. He immediately closed the chat window, staring at the now-blank computer background. He stood up and went to feed Rain, giving her pets in response to her rubbing up against his legs. Then he took a deep breath, went back to the computer, and logged back into AIM.

When are you free? Tinkerman

With effort, he was up again. He leaned on his cane as he looking through the bookshelf on the opposite wall, as if a new book would appear and stand out beyond the others.

The notification came through. He didn’t even sit down, peering down at the screen.

I could do tomorrow evening. 6pm? You pick the place. NY1972

Like it or not, Viktor’s stomach turned, and not in a negative way. He’d never felt like this before, and he certainly didn’t expect it over an internet stranger. He lowered himself back into his chair, thinking. Too much time had passed before he had a coherent response, but he figured it was better late than never.

6pm is great. There’s a local coffee shop I like, I’ll send you the address. Tinkerman

He followed up the message with the address to the coffee shop, and waited idly for a response. When he didn’t get an answer, he logged out of the chat and pushed down his feeling of disappointment. He spent the rest of the evening going over his research, constantly working despite his need for rest.

In the Upper West Side, Jayce was already in bed next to Mel, having sent his final message before she came in through the door. He felt bad being on the computer around her, and he was still trying to decide if it was a general respect for her presence or some sort of guilt for the feelings he couldn’t deny. He found it hard to sleep, so he poured himself extra coffee in the morning, rising before Mel had already left. He never saw her these days.

He had the news on in the morning, playing from the kitchen as he got dressed for work. He could faintly hear something about his father’s recent business successes in Seattle.

The address for the coffee shop Tinkerman chose was somewhere in Brooklyn. Jayce felt relieved, because it would ensure he could make it on time without worrying about crossing half of the city during rush hour. There was a second message waiting for him:

Heading to work early. I’m not sure if you got my message, but I’ll be there tonight. Bringing a red book so you know how to find me. Tinkerman

I’ll be there. NY1972

Viktor wouldn’t see the last message, because he was dutifully working away on his current project. He was stuck on the neuroscience aspect of it — he could make mobility devices all day every day, but if he didn’t know how to connect one’s brain to the structures, it was useless. At this point, he didn’t need more funding, he needed a better facility.

“Planning to take a break anytime soon?” came Sky’s voice from the office doorway. Viktor didn’t so much as look up.

“In a little bit,” he responded, oblivious to Sky’s concern.

“You’re not working at home again, are you?”

Viktor shrugged, still focused. Sky had grown used to his conversational indifference. When he was working, he was impossible to crack. “I can’t work tonight anyway, I’m going out.”

“Oh really?” Sky’s tone changed, curious. “Is it this man you’ve been talking to on instant messenger?”

“No,” said Viktor, too quickly. He realized his error and sighed, finally looking away from his work and turning to Sky. “Maybe.”

“Ooo, Viktor’s got a date,” said Sky in a sing-song voice.

“It’s just coffee, not a date,” said Viktor, rolling his eyes as he went back to his equations.

“Coffee in the evening? He must like you a lot.”

“He has a girlfriend, I’ve told you this.”

“So? Plenty of closeted gay men have girlfriends.”

“Thank you, Sky,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

She shrugged, still amused. “Alright then.” She turned and left the doorway, pulling the door almost-shut behind her, and going back to work at the counter.

Viktor continued to work steadfastly until closing time came. Sky was ready to leave at 5, but Viktor decided to hang back.

“The coffee shop is just a few minutes from here, I’ll just work until then.”

Sky sighed in exasperation. “Sounds like an excuse for you to fall asleep here again, ‘on accident’.” She used air quotes for emphasis. “You have to stop overworking yourself. It doesn’t do you any good.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said, shaking his head. Sky left with that prompt, and Viktor returned to his desk until it was time for him to pull on his coat, grab the red book, and head down the street.

6pm came and went, and Viktor sat at a table in view of the window. He saw many faces come and go, and wondered if each entering patron may be NY1972. He found himself becoming anxious over different possible outcomes. But what did any of them matter? He was an internet stranger.

Jayce was on time, palms sweating more than he would admit. He looked through the big window in front of the coffee shop, eyes searching for the red book that signified the presence of Tinkerman. He found it: on the table of a brunette man who was all too familiar.

Taken by surprise at the sight of Viktor, Jayce made the controversial split-second decision to continue hiding his identity as NY1972. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to talk to Viktor, though.

Viktor had heard the bell on the front door ring. He looked up see none other than Jayce Talis, who seemed to be casually queueing to order. Viktor immediately opened his book and tried to hide behind, pretending to be interested in the pages. His act failed, because Jayce’s voice was close when he interrupted.

“Is anyone sitting here?” Jayce asked, hand on the back of the chair on the opposite side of Viktor’s table.

“Yes, actually—” began Viktor, but Jayce was already sitting down.

“I’ll just hang around until they get here.”

Viktor was annoyed. “I’m actually busy.”

“Busy reading a book?” Jayce said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” responded Viktor, still feigning interest in the book. He flipped the page as if to prove his point, not making eye contact with Jayce, who took the book out of his hands and closed it. Viktor was visibly frustrated, taking it back and flipping through the pages. “You made me lose my place,” he huffed.

“Do you regularly come read at coffee shops at 6pm?”

“Do you regularly bother people who don’t enjoy being in your presence? Or am I special in that regard?”

Jayce scoffed. “What is it about my presence that you dislike?”

Viktor closed the book, and made direct eye contact with Jayce.

“I think you think you’re better than me. Maybe you think you’re better than everyone else. You act as if you’re owed something, but you’re new in town. You’re out of your league, and it’s bringing the rest of us down.”

Both of them sat in silence after that: Jayce stunned by the accusations, and Viktor finished with his explanation. When the silence was broken, it was by Jayce. “Alright then,” he said, standing up. He pushed his chair back in on his side of the table. “Good night.”

Nothing else from either of them before Jayce turned and left. Viktor remained at the shop for another hour, expectantly waiting, and left when they started to close.

Upon getting home, Viktor started up the computer. There had to have been a valid reason why NY1972 wasn’t there. Disappointingly, there was nothing waiting his return.

In the Upper West Side, Jayce was intercepted by his girlfriend, who was intent on having a serious conversation. During the course of this conversation, Mel explained that her job was taking away from their relationship, and she was planning to campaign for re-election. When she suggested they put their romance on hold, Jayce felt a surprising lack of disappointment, instead filled by a sense of freedom.

The next morning, Viktor went to work without logging into his computer. He was determined to focus today, because he had a growing list of tasks to complete before his invention progressed. He must have seemed different despite his attempts, because Sky sighed when she saw him.

“How did it go?” she asked, with obviously low expectations.

“It didn’t go,’” Viktor was monotonous as he unlocked the front door. Sky pushed it open and held it for him.

“He didn’t show up?” Sky said, sighing. “I’m sorry, Viktor.”

“It’s not a big deal. He’s just a stranger on the internet.” No efforts could make Sky believe him.

“Maybe he got into a car accident,” she offered. “Or maybe he got sick, and his internet went down, and he couldn’t message you.” She got out the duster and started cleaning the shelves. “Maybe he’s super ugly, and was scared to meet you because you’re hot.”

“He doesn’t know what I look like.” Viktor shook his head. “I’m going to work.”

The work day flew by. He spent the entirety of his time tirelessly researching. Sky insisted on locking The Shop up herself to ensure he went home and rested. He let her have the keys for the night, just to get her off his case.

When he got home, he spent time with Rain, and ate his first meal of the day. He couldn’t resist the urge to check AIM, despite his persistent frustration about last night. There was a message awaiting him, much to his surprise.

I’m sorry about last night. I’ve caught some sort of illness, and I didn’t want to spread it to you. I should have let you know, and for that, I apologize. I hope you don’t hate me for my absence. NY1972

Viktor felt relief. While a message would have been nice, he had feared NY1972 was done speaking to him. He typed out a response.

It happens. I hope you are feeling better today. Tinkerman

Jayce sensed the tension in the short response, and did his best to make up for it by continuing the conversation.

How have you been? Hopefully you are doing better than I am. NY1972

I’m as healthy as I can be. I think my New Year’s resolution is coming to fruition early. Yesterday, I was able to say exactly what I meant, and it didn’t feel like I expected. I think I much prefer keeping my thoughts to myself. Tinkerman

Assertiveness is a double-edged sword. You are very level-headed, from what I have gathered. You shouldn’t feel bad, I’m sure whoever it was deserved it. NY1972

That made Viktor feel better about his exchange with Jayce last night. It was nice to have someone on his side for once. He appreciated Sky, but she was about all he had before this internet stranger.

I have work to finish, but I’m glad to hear from you. I must admit your absence caused me to wonder if you wanted to continue messaging. Tinkerman

Working late proves you are as dedicated as I have imagined. Best of luck, and let me know if you need anything. NY1972

Viktor logged out of AIM, then. He spent the rest of his night doing just as said, falling asleep at the dining room table with his work littered about the table. He dreamt of Jayce Talis again, except this time Jayce was on the other side of the computer screen. When he woke up to Rain purring and nudging his hand for her breakfast, he couldn’t put the thought out of his mind.

[luxstring]

Written by the lovely @ceruleancattail , thank you so much for doing this art trade with me, it was a pleasure doing this with you. You were easy to chat with, direct & a fast worker [my god ur speed]. I hope to do another trade with you in the future ^v^. Now I feast.

The abundance of the stars in the sky isn’t something that’s celebrated often enough.

Pollution has congested the sparkling lights above, rendering the night sky as a void rather than the divine sight that our ancestors once behold, many an age ago. If you’re lucky, you’ll see the moon. Maybe the North Star.

That’s about it.

Not that most people notice, either way. Children of men were always so absorbed in their own lives, bustling around here and there in order to strive to make a living. Working, studying, all in a flustered rush.

No one really has time to take it slow and look up anymore. It’s a pity, truly.

For taking it slow is all that Malleus knows.

It’s an unfortunate characteristic of someone of his lifespan. Why rush about when you have quite literally almost all the time in the world? The Fae have long laughed in the face of time, prancing around on earth’s time-worn surfaces still as youthful as the day they were born.

Unfortunately that sort of existence tends to get... lonely, sometimes. Knowing that everyone you meet is flowing in a different time as compared to you. He’s gotten to know many, over the years... he doesn’t know how they’re doing, anymore. Malleus has never been too overly fond of goodbyes.

He loathes them, in fact.

If he had it his way, everyone would last forever, in this picture perfect fairytale with him. Happily ever after, as most stories go. Yet life doesn’t work out that way, does it? So Malleus resigns himself to walking at his own pace, exchanging brief moments of time with the short-lived.

However, it’s surprising to have someone who’s able walk through life the same

“Draconia.”

A soft, gentle voice rung out, as sonorous as a church's bell. It echoed through the silent landscape, a wonderful sound so familiar to Malleus himself. Something he's heard, over and over again, through the flow of time.

A finger pokes Malleus' cheek gently, the touch much like a refreshing night breeze.

"Spacing out again, are we, my prince?"

Chuckling, Malleus shoots the newcomer a gentle smile.

"No. I was simply... appreciating beauty."

A twinkling laugh, as bright as the stars in the sky. A tall figure slides through the foliage, every footstep as light as dewdrops on grass. Grey hair flowed down his scalp, framing his face perfectly. Clear azure eyes peered at Malleus somewhat curiously, a faint amusement twinkling deep within.

The entire world seemed to fall silent when Stolas spoke. As if they were waiting with bated breath just for the sound of his voice. Sometimes, Malleus felt the same way.

It was an odd feeling, really. Malleus wasn't ever one to wait on others. Others waited for him, made allowances for him, as a member of the Draconia family.

His heavy name came with pressure. Malleus was rather accustomed to the weight on his shoulders. A regal mantle laid upon him, to be borne by his body until the day he finally breathes his last. Every single one of his movements was calculated, was done with purpose. Scrutinised by all eyes in the room, whispers echoing off the walls.

However, whenever he was with Stolas, he didn't feel that pressure. There was something about Stolas' manner that set Malleus to ease. Almost like being blanketed by the swirl of stars in the night sky, gently embraced by the night's breeze.

Perhaps it's the maturity of Stolas' age. Malleus admits that it's a comfort to have someone who's lived as long as he has by his side. Perhaps.

The ghost of a grin playing on his lips, Stolas withdraws his finger, chuckling softly.

"You jest. I am not one of your precious gargoyles."

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Malleus regards Stolas with a renewed interest.

"You wouldn't be a gargoyle, Stolas Minci."

Blinking in surprise, Stolas asks:

"Oh? Then do pray tell, what exactly would I be, my dear prince?"

Pausing for a moment, Malleus hums to himself. Carefully thinking about what exactly Stolas was. What he was, to Malleus himself.

Stolas was the faint glow of the stars, pinpricks of light in the night sky. He was the North Star, always within view, ready to guide the lost back home. A reliable presence of stability, a trustworthy being. Someone who's lasted for millennia, still glowing as brightly as he did, decades ago.

Stolas was gentle touches, careful brushing of fingertips against each other then they walked side by side.

Stolas was midnight walks done around campus, silently observing the beauty hidden by the dark shawl of night.

Stolas was... someone Malleus loved, truly and deeply.

Muttering softly, Malleus let those words of truth slip from his lips.

"You are Stolas Minci. Nothing more, nothing less. I wish not for you to change.

You are....precious to me, after all."