#spent the whole time listening to post rock

[tgcg]

this is my element (+ album)

asking me to pick my fave album is like asking an orphan matron to pick her favorite baby boy

thats some weird and cruel circumstances to put upon me i feel like it changes every damn week like a rota

i mean what if my beats misbehave and i gotta put 'em in time out i cant play permanent on that theyre too cute

but yknow what i can show you one thing thats been on my mind lately

===

so when i was a kid we had this skateboard vid by "element skateboards" on DVD

they were this skateboard kit slash apparel company that was all about progressivism and shit and they did these much lauded comp tapes of dudes riding around on their boards and doing the dopest of macho tricks on the shit

flipping it turnways

putting the rock in the house like a big man

we had some of their merch actually

===

so anyways the one we had back then was This Is My Element

released 2007

mostly clips from cali i think and i mean the camerawork is fucking insane on some of those shots

this is gonna sound lame as fuck but i prob spent so many cumulative hours just peelin through the footage and ogling the shit outta it

that framing was tight

===

so you may be asking yourself or me

dave you genuine dicksucker i asked about your fav album not your favorite sordid ass display of smooth dudes hardcore riding and grinding them boards in public dude you have a problem

ok well that wasnt a question first of all so jot that down

but anyways to THAT i say

listen to the music

the whole thing has an original soundtrack of ambient beats

got some abstract hip hop jams, got some more indie stuff, lots of acoustic sampling

HELLA underground

and basically every track minus one is done by sampler beast david p. madson AKA "odd nosdam"

dude is my hero seriously

he is the master of the beat machine i shit you not hes always been kinda my idol on this stuff

aside from bro obviously

===

obviously.

===

anyways he had an E-mu SP-1200 which is a really oldschool sampler invented by dave rossum in the late 80s

revolutionary to the hip hop scene

nosdam had this mega distinct sound to his music that i always wanted to replicate on my own beats

still do

i dont know for sure if he used it on T.I.M.E. but he uses some of the same samples from "vol. 9" which was exclusively SP-1200 so im gonna get a lil j’accuzi on that

it couldve been a boss dr sampler SP-202 though idk

he had one of those

===

so aside from beating the shit out of the pause/resume button to flip my whole cranium at the cinematography or whatever i would also kinda play it on loop to listen to the soundtrack and space out at 2am

the lonely broner seemed to free his mind at night

ok shit broner is good but i didnt mean it like that

that was goofy lets just keep movin

it was the only way i had to listen to it back then but i mean the video is 50 mins long so its basically just an odd nosdam album with accompanying ambient skater sounds and random expletives and whatever

random car sequence

yknow what i dont think people respect enough?

the dude who catches all the "mad stunts yo" on camera

i swear to god at least half the time hes ALSO on a board and that shit is bananas to me

bros gotta be on some whole other level of zen to skate good AND catch all them glamor shots of his fellow skater

thats like an express ticket to the ER imo

the ambulance is already on the scene watching you like an eager crow watches a half dead dog

===

ok gonna go ahead and lay it out flat

not great on a board myself

kinda dogshit at it actually

so maybe im not exactly an arbitrator of skateboard heinousness

but i always kinda liked watching THEM do it i mean who doesnt?

whats an even crazier layer to stack on the "dave" cake is

and dirk told me this because unfortunately it kinda happened post-2009

he would do all these collabs with one of my childhood favorite underground rappers david cohn aka serengeti

surrounded by daves left and right dude even before all the time travel horseshit

thats like

serendipitous as fuck i think!

===

if sburb was just a revolving door of artists called dave that i could bump fists with

instead of other mes in various states of aliveness tending toward extremely dead

i wouldve probably given it something higher than 2 stars on my TGN review

===

so yeah you ask me my favorite album its T.I.M.E. by odd nosdam i guess

bump that shit on a walk your mind will go places unknown to man

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

loml

Request: absolutely need u to write a fic about roy kent’s controversially young ex gf writing so long, london about him and the teams reaction to the realization. happy ending or not 👀

Roy Kent x Popstar

1.7k words

Warnings: Language, angst, age gap, did I mention angst?

A/N: It's been a minute since I posted anything! This definitely put me deep in my feelings, not gonna lie. Enjoy all the emotions 😝

Roy clenched his jaw as he rounded the corner to head towards the changing room and his office. There wasn’t the usual ruckus that greeted him before training; instead, he followed the sound of what he realized was music. And it wasn’t the usual rap or energetic pop the lads usually blasted and sang along with, either. No, this was slow, haunting, something that left Roy tightening his grip around his black duffel bag.

Thinkin, how much sad did you think I had

Did you think I had in me?

Oh, the tragedy ...

So long, London

You'll find someone ...

The breath caught in Roy’s throat as he came to a skidding stop outside the changing room door. He knew that voice. He’d heard that voice humming in his kitchen. Giggling in his ear. Whispering into his chest. Sighing in his bed. For almost two years, that voice had filled his home and his heart, bringing warmth and joy to both places. And the lips that voice came from always formed the most beautiful smile, the smile he always wanted to kiss right off that pretty face- and fuck, he sure tried his best every chance he got.

Gritting his teeth, Roy took one step into the changing room, doing his best to ignore the immediate stares of his squad. He hated the looks on their faces, all filled with sympathy, reminding him way too much of the faces he saw after his retirement. He swore he saw guilt in some of their expressions, too.

Of course they felt guilty. They’d been caught listening to his ex-girlfriend’s new album. The album that had skyrocketed to the top of the charts since its release over the weekend. The album Roy couldn’t quite bring himself to listen to yet. The album, he knew, that she had written about him.

Refusing to meet anyone’s eye, Roy stalked into his office, closing the door firmly behind him. Beard and Nate were nowhere to be found; they were probably on the pitch, he reasoned. He ignored the feeling that they’d probably want to give him some space with the album’s release.

Everything had started off innocently enough. He’d taken Phoebe to one of her concerts, motivated purely by his desire to be a good uncle. Keeley had been kind enough to arrange a meet-and-greet before the show. And, while Pheebs was definitely thrilled to be meeting the popstar, it was Roy who was left completely starstruck. She was beautiful and charming, not to mention down-to-earth and so kind to his niece. He spent the whole concert enchanted, jaw slacking slightly as he watched her strut around the stage with a magnetism he wasn’t sure he’d ever encountered before.

Fuck the almost two decades between them; Roy Kent was smitten.

Apparently the feeling was mutual, because the next thing he knew he and Phoebe were invited backstage after the concert, where the young singer had shyly thanked them for coming and asked if she could come watch the Greyhounds sometime. She was so timid for someone who had just rocked a stadium filled to the brim with thousands of screaming fans; Roy found her bashful, blushing face nothing short of endearing. How could he ever say no to her?

So he didn't. For two years, he never said no to her. He wanted to adore and spoil her the way no one else ever had, and she let him. The only condition was he had to let her do the same. So, for the first time in goodness knows how long, Roy Kent let himself be loved.

It was perfect. She was perfect. Roy found himself laughing and smiling more than he ever had in his entire miserable life, and it was all her fault. Never mind the articles and tweets about their age difference, condemning him for being with what they called a “twenty-year-old girl”. (They never could differentiate between twenty and mid-twenties, Roy had thought as he rolled his eyes at yet another opinion piece about his relationship.) They had both agreed that the abundance of affection and respect between them was more than enough to ignore what she always called the “haters”, and he called “wankers with nothing better to do”.

After about a year together, Roy found himself thinking about houses. And rings. And babies. And forever. And less and less about their age difference. While he never said flat-out that he wanted to marry her, they both seemed to know where things were headed. And, thanks to her songwriting, so did her fans. Not that Roy minded; for once, he was in a relationship where he didn’t mind having his business paraded around for the world to see. Hell, he even did some of the parading from time to time.

But, like every other good thing in Roy Kent’s life, it didn’t last forever.

He could deal with the judgy headlines. He could deal with the invasive paparazzi. He could deal with the ribbing from his friends and family. He could even deal with being the subject of pretty love songs. But just as he was starting to look at engagement rings, an article came across his newsfeed. And this one, unlike the million others he’d ignored and rolled his eyes at, gave him pause.

It was about her. It was about how young she was, how in the prime of her career she was. About how Roy was going to tie her down and take her out of the spotlight. About how she could say goodbye to the already legendary career she’d spent the better part of a decade building. About how all that hard work, all that potential, would be swept away the moment he put a ring on her finger.

About how it would be all Roy’s fault.

He couldn’t do that. Not to her. So, he made up some shit about not being ready to settle down, about how he didn’t think marriage was for him, about how he didn’t want to waste her time. And she’d listened, with those understanding eyes and her mouth in a straight line. While she wasn’t afraid to shed a couple of tears in front of him, she didn’t shout or fight him. All she did was lean close and ask one little question:

“Are you sure?”

No. No, Roy wasn’t fucking sure. He had never been less sure in his entire fucking life. As she gathered her things in stony silence, Roy had to stop himself from telling her to stop, that he’d made a mistake and that of course he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But, like the idiot he was, he just watched silently. And he watched as she disappeared from the public eye, as the papers reported their breakup, as she reemerged at the fabulous parties thrown by her fabulous friends, as her outings with various men sparked rumors of new romances; in short, Roy watched as she moved on from him.

And now, a little less than a year after their breakup, with the release of this new album, he was sure she’d cemented how over him she was.

Despite knowing he had a football team waiting out on the pitch, Roy decided he needed to listen. To one song, at least, he reasoned with himself as he opened the music app on his mobile. Beard and Nate could handle the team for a few minutes, couldn’t they?

As he skimmed the track titles, he spotted one that caught his eye: So Long, London. He’d heard that phrase in the song the guys were playing; surely this had to be the same song, right? With a trembling breath, he clicked on the song and closed his eyes.

I stopped trying to make him laugh.

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use. The spirit was gone, we would never come to.

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

I'll find someone.

Just how low did you think I'd go?

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof.

For so long, London… Had a good run… A moment of warm sun… But I'm not the one.

Every word stabbed at the heart Roy hadn’t realized was still so fucking raw. All that regret that he’d buried away under football and bottles of beer finally bubbled back to the surface, reminding him of how deeply he wished he could go back in time and stop himself from letting her go. He somehow felt even more gutted than he did the day he lied and said he didn’t want to be with her anymore.

“Fuck,” he growled, stopping the music and opening his texts. He typed that familiar name, pulling up texts that he hadn’t looked at in months. He gulped, remembering all the memes, all the texts about what to have for dinner.

She’d probably ignore his text, he warned himself as he started typing. Hell, she probably already had him blocked. Part of him hoped she did; it would be a lot better than the absolute dressing down he deserved after breaking her lovely heart.

Still. That stupid little part of him that was willing to admit that he was still completely in love with her emboldened him.

She’d always made fun of him for signing his texts, he recalled with a reflexive smirk. She’d made fun of him for lots of things; fuck, he missed her teasing, the way she’d raise an eyebrow when he growled at her to fuck off. The way she’d lean close and hum, “Make me.” The way-

Hey, just listened to ‘London’. Incredible as always. I’m sure the rest is too.

-Roy

The whistle from the mobile in his hand dragged Roy out of his reminiscing. With another gulp he looked down at the first message she’d sent in months.

Thanks, Roy! I’ll actually be in London next week. Maybe we could catch up while I’m in town.

Despite himself, a smile broke out across his face. He wasn’t much of a believer in second chances, or fate, or happily ever afters. He was so sure all good things had to come to an end eventually.

But maybe, just maybe, some things could begin again.

Tags: @i-am-mrsreckless

[screeblees]

Angry ! Yandere x Comfort ! Reader Headcanons

Angry ! Yandere is Male and Reader is Gender Neutral

I used three quotes from @aonungstoefungus post “Yandere Prompts” you can see here. I really liked all their prompts!

Find my Masterlist here !

Please enjoy!! <33

❥ Angry ! Yandere who spent his life filled with anger always raging just beneath the surface of his skin, resting right under the boiling point.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who blew up rather often in his youth, fighting his peers like there’s no tomorrow, swinging fists and rocks and gripping his opponents hair in his hands. By the time they were pulled apart, the other was almost always left with a black eye or a broken nose at the least.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who tried every breathing exercise, every meditation method, every mindfulness activity, every health coping habit, every anger management program, every “calming” drug he could get, every single thing he could find. Yet nothing, nothing, ever helped.

Until you came along…

❥ Angry ! Yandere who felt a blanket of soothing fall over him the very first time he heard you speak in your almost melodic voice - melodic to him at least, it worked on him so why would anyone else’s opinion matter?

❥ Angry ! Yandere who feels the overwhelming need to be in your presence otherwise risking himself only becoming more irritable (than he normally is). Even if you don’t know he’s there, it still helps to just listen.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who became aware that it isn’t just your voice but you, as a whole; your scent, your voice, your tone, your kind demeanour, your actions, your expressions, just you in your entirety. And he can’t get enough.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who is known for his barbarian behaviour at any perceived slight done towards him. This infamous reputation helping to ensure most steer clear of him, even you, at first. Although you tried to avoid him, it seemed like he was everywhere you went, even places he’d never dared to go before, even out-of-character for him to be in. ( “What’re you lookin’ at?” )

❥ Angry ! Yandere who was pleased when you eventually accepted that he was just everywhere you went and weren’t even cold towards him when he approached you for himself instead of eavesdropping on all your conversations or creepily watching from afar! Or maybe you were just too scared to talk back to him in fear of pissing him off and being at the receiving end of his violence. Oh well, you’d accepted him now.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who realises it isn’t just tranquillity that he feels around you - his heart now feels like it would burst out his chest and for once it wouldn’t be in anger, but in absolute obsession. Of course he’d like to call it love but he knows it is more than that, you are the air he had gone so long without and had now taken a breath of, you are the balance and stability he had never had in his life, in fact, you are his life, his whole world. He’s even waxing poetica in his head for you, that’s how lovesick you make him.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who began recording you talk whenever he’s close enough for a microphone to pick up. Listening to his library of you to keep his head level all day, and to get to sleep at night (among other nightly activities).

❥ Angry ! Yandere who is very forward about wanting to be your friend, inserting himself into conversations and making a point to talk to you at some point every day - the times you speak directly to him helping them feel the most soothed he’d been in a long time.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who’s volatile mood is entirely dependent on you; if you give him your full attention and maybe even a smile then he’ll go about like he’s the most peaceful, untroubled soul around, barely anything will change his mood (other than you, of course) - on the other hand, if you give him minimum attention or he can’t find you, he’ll be twice as furious and violent as his worst day before you came along. So although you could make him seem like a steady, quiet person and bring out the best in him, you also have the potential to turn him into hell’s own with the suffering that will be caused by him for the rest of the day, maybe even the rest of the week.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who scared most of your friends away, leaving you rather isolated from your peers and only more open to him hanging out with you during the school day. Your remaining friends either being entirely online or skittering away at the sight of him, neither of which he really minded as they made way for him.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who was ecstatic to find that you even talk in your sleep, taking great joy in visiting you when you’re deep in REM sleep just to listen to your sleepy mumbles, and if he’s feeling brave he may hold your hand. He found comfort in knowing that no-one else got to listen to you whisper what he likes to call sweet nothings. (They’re for him and only him.)

❥ Angry ! Yandere who seethed when he saw someone take interest in you. Who the fuck did they think they were. The next time you saw them they’d been beaten black and blue and avoided you like you’d give them the plague. (No-one gets to have you but him.)

❥ Angry ! Yandere who eventually realises the only way for him to really have you is to take you.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who follows you home one night and just sweeps you off the street, he’s truly sorry for being rough with you but it was for your own good, you needed to be home with them and there was no way you’d come willingly and you would not want to see how irritated that would make him.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who’s furnished basement was just the perfect place to keep you, he’d cleaned up the place and made sure it was escape-proofed and child-proofed. He wouldn’t want his sole source of comfort going through unnecessary harm (or having the tools to leave him).

❥ Angry ! Yandere who was on a high after bringing you home knocked-out, tied up and blindfolded for extra safety, which broke almost as soon as you woke up. Your scared, timid voice was endearing at first, but he grew irritated once you began screaming and crying and making your throat go hoarse (despite your intense fear).

❥ Angry ! Yandere who had previously planned to be lenient with you realised that was not going to work. Clearly you needed strict rules, boundaries and schedule and so he would supply you that, some of said rules being;

Speak when spoken to

No even trying to escape

Be respectful

Don’t dare hide anything

Speak like you did before

Answer calls on the first ring

If you want something, ask for it

Don’t flinch away

Stop fucking shaking

Accept your punishments

Don’t run.

❥ Angry ! Yandere who grows sharp with you, finding himself having to punish you far more than he’d thought within your first few weeks together. Maybe being even a little sadistic in his retaliation… ( “What, you thought you were just gonna get away with that?” )

❥ Angry ! Yandere who found himself mocking and insulting you in response to your shying away from him or showing your fear of him, especially before and during punishments in which you would shake. ( “Aw, you gonna cry? Go ahead, its not gonna change anything.” )

❥ Angry ! Yandere who always felt much better after taking his anger out on you during punishments, then lovebombed you with his gifts and touch. The gifts could range anywhere from something he stole from your house to something really nice he bought with his own (partially stolen) money. He really enjoys having an arm around your waist or shoulders or a hand on your wrist or thigh (or even your neck), he loves you being in reach of him and it makes him feel secure to grasp onto you, to have you grounding him. (Even if he’s a little strong on the grasping).

❥ Angry ! Yandere who believed himself to have semi-successfully trained you to behave for him, to stop trying to hide and escape and rebel, but still, any hint of your mind straying from being a good soother for him pushed him to the boiling point, spitting threats promises at you of what would happen if you continued that line of thinking. ( “Don’t even fucking look at the door. I am trying to have some faith in you after all.” )

❥ Angry ! Yandere who enjoys spending hours downloading content for you to consume and talk to him about (once you’d accepted your situation). He asks probing questions just to hear you talk more and loves having you as his own personal sleep aid asmr and podcast throughout the day, urging you to rant to him once he comes home each night as he cuddles you in your chosen seating, whether that be the couch, the bed or even the floor. 

❥ Angry ! Yandere who finds classmates remarking on the consistent calmness he presents in himself now that he has you all to himself all safe at home with your melody on speed-dial. After all, you and your calming aura is all for him and only him to enjoy, how much happier could he be…?

[pinkanonwrites]

HI same anon from last night I’ve been going absolutely bonkers over you rambling about Bee since you posted it. I love that guy… 😭. If you want more specific (and this is only if you wanna!) do you wanna expand on maybe g1, animated or earthspark? how they’d be in a relationship, maybe? it’s totally up to you. i’m just excited to be fed good content about my favorite guy 🙏

Yes yes yes of course! I covered what Earthspark Bee would be like if he had a crush in the last ask, so I'll gladly go over what these Bees would be like in a relationship!

G1 Bumblebee

Of these three, I think G1 Bee is the shyest, even when the two of you are already in a relationship. The puppy love doesn't wear off when you start dating with him. If he had it his way he'd trail behind you wherever you went, dopey and lovesick and unbelievably fond.

He's incredibly gentle with you, never picking you up without asking first, always checking in on you to make sure you're comfortable when he takes you for a drive. He's also a much more careful driver than the other two versions of Bee when you're riding with him. As much as he loves to feel the wind between his plates and tear up the road, he's a lot more hesitant to do so when you're his ride-along.

He loves the human cliche of getting your partner flowers, and he especially loves the way your whole face lights up when he presents them to you, even if he just spent an hour delicately picking them out of the nearby woods. He'd be a complete, flustered mess if you ever returned the favor or, better yet, went out of your way to court him in a way more familiar to Cybertronians. Bring him a cool rock or pretty gemstone you found at a hobby shop and he'll fall to pieces right there in front of you.

Whether you're a alone or in public, he absolutely melts under any affection from you. Even a kiss on the cheek can turn his processor to a staticky mess. He's so whipped for you and he absolutely loves it.

Animated Bumblebee

Even in a relationship, he still loves to tease and play with you. Teasing is your shared love language, he shows his affection best when you're calling him a giant dork and he's responding 'Yeah, but you love this giant dork!' The only times he gets really soft and embarrassed are when you genuinely compliment him or tell him how much you love him without some silly goof to cushion the blow. You can practically see his whole faceplate glowing with the force of his blush.

Anything fun is doubly fun when he's doing it with you. Listening to music, ripping around downtown Detroit, or even just vegging out on the couch playing video games. Having you there makes everything ten times better. Even things that you enjoy that he isn't as fond of are better with you. He'll gladly watch a documentary or go stargazing if it makes you happy. Besides, you can still bounce jokes off of each other, so he'll enjoy it no matter what.

He's such a showoff about you it's adorable. He brags about you whenever the chance comes up, and NOBODY gets away with talking smack about you if he's around. Especially other bots that don't like organics, that's when he gets to his most protective.

He's not always the best at reading the room, so you need to be pretty up front with him if he ever says or does anything that genuinely upsets you. After all, teasing isn't very fun if it's something that you're genuinely self-conscious about. And he knows you'd never tease him for stuff like his height, so all you have to do is point out the lines that you don't want crossed, and he'll never let himself or anyone else cross them.

Earthspark Bumblebee

Like Animated Bee, Earthspark be loves loves loves to go racing with you. But he's also painfully aware of how much more fragile humans are than Cybertronians, so he saves it for routes he knows like the back of his hand, or racetracks where there's absolutely no chance of you getting hurt. It makes his spark sing whenever you cheer around a tight turn, warm hands gripping his steering wheel like you never want to let go.

He's not a bragger by any definition of the word, but the people around him that know him well can tell just how proud he is of you. He gets this incredibly fond, dreamy look on his face whenever he sees you teaching the Terrans something new, like it's taking everything in him not to scoop you up and smooch you right then and there.

He's okay with casual displays of affection, hugs and chaste kisses and carrying you around in his arms or on his shoulder. But he does get pretty embarrassed if he ever gets caught in a more affectionate position with you. He can handle the teasing from the Maltobots just fine, but Primus forbid Optimus or Megatron start ribbing him for how cuddly he likes to be with you when no one else is around.

Speaking of cuddly, I think ES Bee is the MOST touchstarved out of these three. He's incredibly tactile and if he could he'd literally always be touching you, but he's been on his own for so long that he doesn't really know how to voice when he needs that kind of casual physical affection. He loves to cuddle but almost never brings it up. After all, a soft, gentle human like yourself can't possibly get as much out of cuddling a angular slab of metal as he gets out of cuddling you. Please cuddle the man, he needs it so bad.

[ghostlychief]

I gasped really loudly when I saw your post, can I request a thing with our baby girl, Master Chief? Like something cute with him reuniting with his s/o, or just something with him getting all the love?

i'm so glad we are on the same page about master chief being baby girl <3

--

goodnight n go

(you should listen to the slow version of goodnight n go by ariana)

master chief, John 117 x gen!reader

wc: 1473

warnings: none, just excruciating fluff

~*~*~*~

You were used to the wait.

You were used to the constant pining and apprehension that would seep through you every time you watched John walk into those battle ships, never knowing if the glimmer of his armor would be the last thing you would see of him.

Every time he left, you would just hope that he would return, and that you would be in his arms sooner rather than later. You could say that it has gotten slightly easier over the years, since John seemed to be made of luck. He always came back in one piece. Maybe a couple of scratches here or there, but he always came back to you.

Typically, when John was on his missions, you would keep yourself busy by overworking yourself in order to keep your rambling thoughts at bay. At first, your supervisors were wary about how much you were working yourself. But over time, they either gave up trying to convince you to go home, or realized how much it helped you to stay busy, to stay moving. You had to, otherwise you would go crazy just thinking about all of the danger John puts himself in every day. It didn’t matter if he was gone a few days, a week, or even a month. The time he spent away from you always felt like an eternity.

You were now standing in the loading dock, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, hands clasped behind your back, looking out at the runway.

Homecoming days were always your favorite, and you always arrived at the dock much earlier than needed in order to greet the Blue team just as they arrived back on Reach. You’re pretty sure the other Spartans poke fun at John for it, but you couldn’t care less.  

You’ve probably been waiting for a little over forty-five minutes when you finally see that familiar pelican flying towards you. You know it’s him and his team because of the bright red Firebird painted on the nose of the ship.

The ship starts to land and gusts of wind make your hair ruffle, ruining all of the time and effort you put into it to look presentable. You quickly forget about your hair state when the door of the pelican slides open and those familiar Mjolnir shoes peak out, and begin descending the ramp.

John is always the last to exit, so as the other Spartan start to pass you, you briefly acknowledge them with a slight nod, but your eyes never leave the ship. They’re only looking for him.

Finally, finally you see the gold tint of his helmet’s visor and the infamous green glint of his armor.

Your feet have a mind of their own when they start moving towards him, breaking into a light job. Your face breaks into a breathtaking smile and when you finally reach John, you basically crash into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. You hear him slightly laugh through the comms from his helmet, and he returns your hug, lifting you off the ground with ease as he holds you tight.

“Hey, bug.” He sets you down gently, and runs a gloved hand down your head, cupping your cheek. His thumb softly moving back and forth on your warm skin.

You bring your hand up to his, and grasp it as you smile up at him, “Hey, you.”

~*~*~*~

A few hours later you find yourself in front of John’s door, waiting for him to let you in. It’s been a few hours since he touched down on Reach. You gave him some time to un-suit from his armor, debrief HQ, among other things. He’s a busy man, and there’s always at least one official that needs to talk to him.

Luckily for you, the mission he was just on wasn’t super long, and also not as critical as his past missions. Therefore, the debriefs didn’t take up the whole day like they usually do, and he was back at his apartment at a reasonable time (for once).

Which leads you to now, standing at his door, once again rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

The door finally swings open, revealing a smiling John, and he ushers you inside. He places his hand on the small of your back as you walk into his living room, making small talk about your walk over to his place.

It’s evening now, and John has the low lights turned on in his living room, giving the impression that his home is glowing. The comforting atmosphere wraps around you like a blanket as you go to sit down on his couch.

“So, what do you want to do? I have dinner made for us, but afterwards is completely up to you.” You run your hand down his arm, touched that he thought to make dinner for you. He was surprisingly a great chef, something you weren’t expecting when you first started dating.

“That’s an after-dinner worry, let’s eat then figure it out.” John lightly laughs and agrees.

You spend most of dinner asking him about his mission and he tells you all that he can (seeing that most of his missions are classified). It’s one of your favorite pastimes. He’s been all over the galaxy, to so many different planets and places and you love to hear all about these adventures through his eyes. You sometimes wish he would take you with him to these far-off places, no matter how unrealistic that is.

You guys decide to keep it simple and watch a movie after dinner, so you wrap yourselves under two big blankets, and John tucks you under his arm, your head resting on his chest. You can feel the rhythm of his breathing as his chest moves up and down. His steady heartbeat thrums through his chest, once again reminding you that he’s real and not a figment of your imagination. The laundry detergent that lingers on his clothes makes a feeling of ease wash over you because it always reminds you that you’re safe and that he’s here with you and that he’s okay, alive.

Your hand rests on his upper abdomen, and you can feel the taught ridges of his abs underneath his black t-shirt. You absentmindedly trace circles on him with your fingers and you feel his hand do the same on your shoulder. Your leg is thrown over his lap, and there is no inch of you that is not pressed up against John. You are completely and utterly wrapped up in each other, not even a piece of paper could fit between you guys. His hand comes up to rub your hair, and you feel him kiss the crown of your head.

“I missed you a lot, you know.” His chest rumbles as he confesses this and your heart warms at the sentiment, a slight smile pulls at your lips.

You squeeze him, and feel his arm tighten around you. You move to sit up straighter so you can look at him and your hand cups his face, your thumb brushing over the slight stubble that’s grown since he’s been gone.

You confess, “Me too,” then lean in to kiss him.

He deepens the kiss as his hand gently cups the back of your head. You and John exist in this diminutive pocket of time where it’s just you two, and nothing else. You find yourself slipping into this space whenever you’re with him, and never wanting your time here to end. Never wanting to enter the reality in which he leaves again. You push those thoughts away for now though, and just continue to exist as you are with him.

You finally break away from each other, and you smile at him, taking in every detail of his face. Your thumb traces over the scar that starts above his left eye, and continues down the side of his temple. You leave a kiss there.

Next, your eyes flit over to the jagged scar in the hollow of his cheek. Your lips softly press down there, tracing the line of the wound he got many years ago. When you reach the end of it, your lips are at the corner of his, and you place one last kiss there.

You break away, and quietly say, “I’m glad you’re here.” He gives you a longing look, his eyes flitting to yours and his hand smooths down your hair as he replies, “Me too.”

~*~*~*

You and John spend the remainder of the night wrapped up in each other, getting lost in each other’s touches and confessions, finding simple pleasure in just being able to be close to one another.

You think to yourself, the wait is always worth it for moments like these.

[whenyoufellfromheaven]

WHEN YOU FELL FROM HEAVEN

by Alyson Greaves

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One

THE BOY WITH THE RUBBER BAND IN HIS HAIR

He thought there would be more palm trees.

The car bounces off a pothole and wakes him from a restless sleep, and Max’s first thought, when he pushes himself up in the back seat and stares out the window, is that California doesn’t look like California. His whole life, California’s been a near-mythical paradise, drenched in sun, scattered with palm trees and populated entirely by beautiful people. But all he sees is just more America. More of the same suburbs they’ve seen, on and off, for the five days of their journey. It looks almost exactly like Rock Falls, the nowhere town in the middle of the country they spent a whole day walking around because Dad needed a break from driving. The same strip malls, the same absurdly wide streets, the same endless sky.

It’s just brighter here. More painful to look at.

After everything that happened, Max never expected to miss New York, but for the whole drive across the country he’s been feeling increasingly like an animal bred in captivity let suddenly out into the wild. Where’s the density? Where are the people?

All in their fucking cars, apparently. Same as him.

Screw this. He needs music.

His headphones must have slipped off while he was sleeping, because Clay’s holding them out for him. Max takes them, smiles at his brother in silent thanks, and thumbs blindly at his Discman until the first track starts again. The throaty rumble of someone seriously abusing a bass guitar immediately shuts out the rattle of the trailer and the hum of tires on asphalt, and Max turns back to the window to watch building after bleached building glide slowly by as they head for their new home, for his new life.

He doesn’t exactly have high hopes.

* * *

Taking the stairs two at a time—but sometimes jumping back up one just because she can—Taylor revels in her first Saturday alone in the house. Her parents are away all week! And that means she can do whatever she wants! Sure, she normally does whatever she wants anyway, but now she can do it without her mom complaining about the noise.

She sticks the landing in the front hall, bounces right into the living room, and collects the remote from its little holster on the side of Dad’s armchair without slowing down. The CD changer opens for her, prompting the whole stereo setup to light up like a space shuttle control board, and Taylor gets to work dumping out all of Mom and Dad’s boring old crap so she can listen to something good down here for a change. She’s got a handful of favorites on her, but she’s also got something that came out almost a month ago that she still hasn’t gotten to listen to on anything better than the crappy little portable stereo in her room. And as the speakers shake with the opening bars of Beyoncé’s Crazy in Love, Taylor readies the remote like a microphone and prepares to strut.

Holy shizz, she loves this song. She turns it up until the floor hums along.

Gordo should have been the one to get her this CD. She was excited about it for, like, ever, and he knows she loves Destiny’s Child, but did he remember? Nope with a big fat N, O, P and E. So she got it for herself a week late.

Freaking Gordo! He was supposed to come over today, help her take advantage of the parentals being away, but he’s flaked, which is more and more like him lately. Five texts on her Sidekick when she woke up, and not one of them was an apology! He’s preparing for college; he has football camp coming up; she wouldn’t understand.

Taylor scowls. It’s a sore point: no cheer camp this year. But Mom and Dad had the vacation booked anyway, and Garrett barely inhabits any part of the house that isn’t his room, the couch or the kitchen, so at least she has some time to relax.

Time in which she should stop thinking about her disappointing boyfriend.

Leaning into the beat, Taylor lets it lift her mood again, and when the final chorus comes around, she times her, “Yeah!” with a precise kick to the latch on the patio doors, opening the house to the summer breeze. As she dances out into the backyard, she points the remote back into the house and ups the volume another couple of notches.

Taylor lets the album play as she does some of her warm-up stretches. She’s not planning to go through her whole routine right now, but she can’t start the day without moving just a bit, and today she gets to do so to some loud music.

There’s a reason she always practices to music. Nothing gets her going like a beat and lyrics she can yell. And under any other circumstances, she might be a bit embarrassed, because her singing voice isn’t exactly great and it’s worse when she’s stretching a leg up over her head, but their neighbors on the right can’t get out into their backyard anymore without help from their grandchildren, and the house on the left’s been empty since—

Wait. It got sold, right? Isn’t someone moving in soon? Really soon? Like, today, maybe?

Shoot!

Given Taylor’s luck, they probably already moved in yesterday, and right now, cute boys are watching her out of their upstairs windows and laughing at how she almost fell flat on her face when she tried to do a handstand and sing Naughty Girl at the same time.

She shuts off the music, throws the remote down into the grass, and runs to the fence. There won’t be anybody there, she’s sure, but paranoia requires that she check.

Every house on this street is the same—on the outside, at least—and that means Taylor’s house has the same row of stubby trees against the privacy fence as their (potential) new neighbors. They’re staggered, so no tree interferes with any other, but together they provide enough cover that Taylor can stand on a lawn chair and peer over the fence and be pretty sure she can’t be seen.

Nobody in the rooms upstairs. And nobody in the backyard. Except now she’s switched off the music, she can hear noises from the front of the neighboring house, faint but growing louder: the growl of a large engine (a truck? or a regular car, towing a trailer?) and raised, bickering voices (boys?).

Then there’s movement inside the house. Curtains being swept aside, doors being propped open. People milling around. Taylor’s pretty sure she just saw someone dad-sized and -shaped staggering along with a huge box.

The back door opens, and Taylor lowers her head a little. Her blonde hair doesn’t exactly help with the whole camouflage thing, but what are the chances anybody’ll glance over at this exact section of fence? The backyards here are the size of football fields!

A figure emerges. Gotta be the mom. Looks like a mom, standard model, Italian-American variant: kinda tall, kinda middle-aged stocky, and her hair is incredible! She’s got it pinned but the volume! It’s straining to be set free, like a caged tiger, if a tiger was jet black and sort of lurked.

More like a caged panther, maybe.

The mom yells something back into the house—a New York accent! cool!—and the dad of the family comes out to meet her, and whoa. He’s not super tall, maybe an inch or two taller than his wife, but he is wide. Like if you took two people, trimmed off all the excess limbs, and smooshed them together. He’s like if puberty didn’t stop until you’re forty, and you just kept getting stockier and more hairy.

They talk a little, pointing out different things in the yard—none of them Taylor—and then they kiss, except they don’t just kiss, he dips her!

“Oh my goodness,” Taylor whispers. She can’t help herself; that was just so romantic! Married with kids and they still do that!

She remembers them now: they came looking around the neighborhood right at the start of the holidays. Mom offered them iced tea and they asked for regular coffee, and Taylor saw them for approximately three seconds, on her way through the kitchen to the front door. On second inspection, she likes them.

What was their name again? Something Italian, something with a G… Giordano, that was it! She remembers clearly now: when Taylor got back that night, Mom was going on about finally getting some ‘Italian flavor’ in the neighborhood, and Dad asked her what that meant, and she said something about tomatoes. Garrett, who was having one of his rare moments of consciousness, told them their heads would explode if they ever saw any actual diversity, and Taylor told him he smelled like weed again.

Another fun night in the Scott household.

Mom Giordano kisses Dad Giordano again and they both set off for the house. When they get to the door, Mom Giordano sticks her head inside and yells, “Boys! Stop messing around and unpack! We’ve been in California five minutes and you’re already driving me crazy!” She shrugs at her husband, and they both vanish into what Taylor assumes is the kitchen.

Then there’s nothing for a bit. Shame, because this is the most exciting thing to happen in Vista Primavera in years. She’s about to step down from her lawn chair and get back to her routine when someone new comes out the same door, and he’s… yum. Like his dad, he’s not exactly tall, maybe five-ten, five-eleven, but he’s built. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and jeans, and Taylor can see enough of him to know that there’s a good shape under all that. And he’s not shaped like a bodybuilder, either; nor is he shaped like her boyfriend, like a football player. He’s shaped like a guy who works for a living. He’s got the family black hair, cut short and kinda curly, and thick eyebrows and a mess of stubble, and if it weren’t for her stupid boyfriend and also for the fact that he’s probably at least twenty-one, she’d hop the fence right now and ask very politely if she could eat him up with a spoon and maybe some non-fat ice cream on the side.

Guys like that look good on her.

“Hey!” he yells back into the house. “Max! Come check this out! You can see a mountain from the backyard!”

Taylor doesn’t laugh, though she kinda wants to. That’s not a mountain! Not like the real ones; you have to go north for those. Here in Vista Primavera they have, well, they have hills, hills with delusions of grandeur, and they look kinda blasted and scrappy most of the time, except for two months in the spring. She makes a mental note to really admire them when they get green again. To genuinely try to appreciate them, because people in other parts of the country don’t have crappy hills to look at.

And then the last member of the Giordano clan steps out of the kitchen door. Max. And he’s nothing like his dad or his brother. He’s closer to Taylor’s height, maybe five-eight, definitely a good couple inches shorter than his jacked brother. His features are similar, though, just softer, like if his brother is maybe twenty-five percent through the family forty-year puberty, Max is at five percent. Maybe ten; he does have a little dark hair on his upper lip. He wears his black hair long and a little greasy, tied in a messy ponytail with what looks like a rubber band! Ick! She shudders to think what it’s like to get that mess straight in the morning. Maybe there are brushes still lost in there!

Maybe he doesn’t brush it, like, at all.

Max is clearly the younger brother, but he’s not young, he’s just kind of… hard to place. He’s wearing board shorts and a shirt with a band she’s never heard of on it, both of which are too big for him, and— Hmm. He is sort of toned, actually. He’s not covered in muscles, not like his brother or like Gordo, but they’re there, lurking in his slender limbs. He’s built like a swimmer. A swimmer on a starvation diet, maybe, whose hair hasn’t known the cleansing kiss of water in far too long, but a swimmer nonetheless.

And then Max high fives his brother, sways his arms, steps into a ready stance, and performs the most perfect sequences of handsprings, somersaults and flips Taylor’s ever seen. The form! The confidence! The sheer height he achieves! He finishes with a double full, and he’s barely panting at all!

Not built like a swimmer, then. Built like a gymnast.

Interesting…

“Show off!” his brother shouts.

“I’m just stiff!” Max yells back at him. “From the drive! I needed to stretch my legs!”

“Whatever.” His brother grins at him. “Just come help me unpack the kitchen stuff before Mom goes ballistic, okay?”

“Fine.”

His brother goes inside, but Max apparently can’t resist one more tumble, even more elaborate than before, and although Taylor’s inner cheerleader wants to scold him for not stretching properly and for just going for it on a lawn he’s never even seen before, which could have hidden rocks or loose stones or unexpected divots, she can’t help applauding.

Because he’s amazing. She’s only seen moves like that at the Olympics! And at, well, at the annual cheerleading competition. The one she’s been wanting the squad to at least try to qualify for. The one she always has to settle for watching on TV.

Oh.

Oh no!

He’s seen her.

Well, obviously he has: she’s still clapping like an idiot. Like a performing seal. He’s frowning in her direction, but before she can wave and say hi and maybe apologize, he takes off, running back to the house with impressive speed.

He glances at her one more time, and then he slams the kitchen door.

Shoot.

* * *

Max drops onto his brand-new bed, too tired and too annoyed to unpack his own shit. He helped with the kitchen stuff, he helped with the living room stuff, he even helped Clay put together those stupid ‘couch in a box’ things and almost got his fingers trapped, and none of it was strenuous enough to forget the fact that he’s been in California just a few hours and already he’s humiliated himself in front of a pretty girl.

A pretty girl who is his neighbor. And it’s not something she’s likely to forget. In a year, when they graduate, she’ll still be telling the story of the loner boy who moved in next door and immediately started prancing around the backyard like a—

Careful, Max. You hate it when they say it; why use it on yourself?

Ugh. It was supposed to be different here. Stupid thing to let himself think. It was always going to be exactly the same.

And why California, anyway? Everything’s too damn big here.

His bed included. He’s stretching to his fullest extent—he’s still sore from the car—and he can’t reach all four corners of the bed at once. Not like in his old bed. No, back home in Queens, when he and Avery lay in bed, talking, it would sometimes be a challenge not to knock each other off. But the money Mom and Dad got for the old place bought a fucking mansion here; he and Avery could probably host three other people on this monster-sized mattress before it got awkward.

At least the yard is super-sized, too. A genuine California bonus. One that he instantly wrecked, of course; he can’t go out there now. The neighbor girl might see him.

His phone buzzes again. He’s been ignoring it the last hour or so, but he can’t keep pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. After all, there’s so much of it here.

Max flicks open the pocket of his board shorts and digs around in the fluff until he finds his phone. Last year’s model, but when Clay upgrades again next year, he’ll have this year’s model, and until then, he’s fine with his Nokia 3410. It’s not like phones are any different year on year, anyway; they get a bit smaller and a bit rounder, and sometimes you don’t get Snake.

Avery’s been texting him. So far, he hasn’t wanted to respond. Too final. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how little they’re going to be in each other’s lives from now on.

Avery: Maxxy! Have fun in sunny California! Don’t forget about me! Avery: You’ve forgotten about me, haven’t you Avery: Crying real tears right now Avery: Max, you’re supposed to reply when someone texts you. That’s how it works. It’s called Textiquette. I read it in a magazine at the dentist. Avery: WHAT STATE ARE YOU EVEN IN RIGHT NOW? DID YOU MAKE IT TO SO-CAL? OR ARE YOU STUCK IN FLYOVER HELL? Avery: Sorry for caps Avery: I’m so bored Avery: Maxxxxxxxxxy

Unfair that he had to leave her behind. Unfair that he had to leave at all, but he couldn’t very well tell Dad he wanted to stay in Queens, not after everything. When your whole family sacrifices everything they’ve ever known and moves across the country just for you—even if they don’t say it—it’s bad form to bitch too hard about it.

Avery, though. An impossible goodbye. She cried a lot; he tried really hard to join in. But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe she’s better off with him out of her life, attached to him by only the thinnest and lengthiest of threads. She’s going places, after all; to the Olympics, almost definitely. He was never as good as her, even before he quit.

So she can get over him. Make other friends. Start her senior year without the baggage he brings unavoidably with him wherever he goes.

Avery: Max Max Max Max Max Max Max

He should probably reply before she texts again.

Max: Hey Avery: Max! Get on AIM nowwwwwwww Max: How do you even have the energy to hit the 9 key that many times Avery: Because I do my warm ups Max Avery: Unlike some of us Avery: Now get on AIM I’m booooooored Max: I can’t, sorry. I don’t think we have internet yet Avery: Not even dial up? Max: I saw the phone line when I was helping Dad unpack downstairs. Is it supposed to have a bunch of bare wires coming out of it? Avery: Boooo Avery: I don’t have infinite texts Max Max: You could have fooled me Avery: So I’m going to wish you a happy California and a very get on AIM as soon as you have ANY kind of internet Max: I will. Miss you Avery: You BETTER

Max drops his phone onto the nightstand and allows the low battery indicator to motivate him into doing something useful. He rolls out of bed—he has to roll twice to actually accomplish this—and starts rummaging through boxes, looking for his charger. Once he has it, he looks around for an outlet and plugs it in.

There. Now he has a bed and a phone charger! The place looks more like home already. And now that he’s out of bed again, he might as well have a shower and wash off the gunk from traveling all night. He digs around until he finds the box marked Max’s Bathroom and just takes the whole damn thing in with him.

Another California bonus: he doesn’t have to share a bathroom with three other people anymore.

* * *

Garrett’s finally crawled out of his room and slugged his way down the stairs to take up residence on the couch. Ick. Just three hours ago, this would have been bad because he would have made Taylor turn down her music or beg her to go to the store for more Doritos or something, and that would have been annoying enough. But now she’s on a mission, and the thing about being on a mission is that your goal is greatly hampered by anyone knowing what it is or having reason to guess.

So she’s trying to make smoothies as subtly as she can, and maybe he won’t get up from his cartoons and ask—

“Hey, Tay, whatya doing?”

Taylor stamps a foot in irritation. “None of your beeswax, Gar‑rat.”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbles, rolling off from his precarious position against the dividing wall and returning to the living room. Moments later, he turns up the volume on the TV.

Well! That went okay. Obviously he’s still too wasted to have more than two consecutive coherent thoughts, and that suits Taylor just fine. He can waste away the day in front of his cartoons if he wants to. She checks interact civilly with my gross brother off her mental list and throws the rest of the ingredients into the blender.

They really should have grown out of the sibling thing, the way the other girls she knows with older brothers mostly have. But it’s absence that makes the heart grow fonder, and he’s always around! Worse, he’ll always be around! Mom and Dad won’t kick him out, not after he paid them rent on his room for the next five years, which means she’s stuck with him.

When the blender gets done, she pours the contents into two metal cups and screws on the lids, throwing them both into a plastic bag. In the mirror by the side door, she gives herself a final check, and she looks perfect: pink cargo pants, pink crop top, and a white shirt thrown over the top, for modesty. She looks sporty but fashionable; exactly the impression she wants to give to the new boy next door. She even left her hair up!

As she steps into her white sneakers she throws a final glare through the kitchen wall at Garrett. He won’t see it, but he might feel it, and it might spoil his cartoons by like one percent.

She has to admit, they’d probably also get along better if he wasn’t such a tech prodigy. And without even trying! It’s bullcrap. Computers are supposed to be Taylor’s backup, in the very likely event that cheerleading isn’t enough to take her to college, but she’ll always have to live in the shadow of her older brother, who started a dot-com when he was fifteen and sold it for literal millions when he was barely older than Taylor is now. So even if she does go to college for computer science, she’ll always be the cheerleader little sister to the guy who created Munchie Portal, the Portal for Munchies.

It has a new name now that Yahoo! owns it, but everyone still calls it that.

Ick. Forget Garrett. She’s here for one reason, and she squares it in her mind as she skips the short distance between the houses and knocks on the Giordanos’ door. A few seconds later, Mom Giordano opens it and smiles down at her.

“Well, hello!” she says. “Who do we have here? Wait, don’t tell me; you’re the neighbor girl, aren’t you!”

Taylor puts on her most dazzling smile. “Guilty!”

“Well, do come in. And what do you have there?”

Hefting her bag, Taylor says, “Actually, these are for Max. Or one of them is, anyway.”

Mom Giordano’s welcoming smile contorts somewhat. “You know Max?”

“I don’t know him,” Taylor says quickly, sensing she might already have stepped on some hidden motherly landmine, “but I think I sort of embarrassed him earlier? I saw him practicing out in the yard and I thought he was really good, so I clapped, and then I didn’t have a chance to tell him it was a sincere clap and not, like, a sarcastic clap, so—” she lifts one of the cups out of the bag, “—I brought an apology present.”

“Aren’t you a sweet girl?” And then Mom Giordano does the classic mom move, which New York Italian moms apparently do just as well as WASPy Californian moms: it’s when they lean back, away from the teen in front of them, and yell at the top of their voice up the stairs. Taylor’s never known why any of them do this, because the extra foot or so of distance doesn’t moderate the extreme volume even slightly. “Maxwell! You got a visitor!” When there’s no answer, she looks back at Taylor. “Why don’t you go on up? Third door on the right.”

“Thanks, Mrs Giordano!” Taylor says in her peppiest voice. She starts up the stairs.

As she ascends, she hears Mom Giordano say to her husband, “Well, look at that! She even remembers our names. And that outfit! This one might not be so bad…”

Taylor slows as she reaches the top of the stairs, and counts doors, quickly identifying Max’s as the half-open one on the end. There’s another mirror up here—just a little one hanging on the wall, filling one of the many preinstalled picture hooks, most of which are still empty—and she checks herself again: not a hair out of place, and her outfit still looks good. She could have worn her cheer uniform, since it tends to make a good impression on guys and parents alike, but she knows the reputation cheerleaders have at some schools; he might have cheer-TSD.

She knocks on his door, and though there’s no answer, the door swings all the way open at her touch, so she takes a half-step inside.

And immediately she sees a door on the other side of the room open up.

Before Taylor can react, Maxwell Giordano, loosely robed, with long wet hair draped over half his face down to his shoulders, and with a slice of his toned but almost skeletally thin body on display through the open top half of the robe… steps out of his bathroom and meets her eyes.

“Fuck!” he yells, and immediately turns around and slams the bathroom door behind him.

Shoot!

* * *

“I’ll be outside!” the Peeping Tom neighbor girl yells, and it has to be her, because, yeah, he didn’t get a good look at her before, but the girl hanging over the fence was blonde like her and—more pertinently—she clapped at him like a perky idiot, and only a perky idiot would walk into the bedroom of someone she doesn’t know, uninvited, so, yeah, it’s her. “I’ll let you get dressed! I’ll just… I’m sorry! I’ll be outside.”

He probably can’t wait her out, then. Not unless he gets lucky and the sun explodes before she gets bored, or Mom comes up to yell at him for being rude.

The first thing Max does when he leaves the bathroom again is check to make sure that Peeping Tom neighbor girl did, in fact, close his bedroom door; she did. Thank fuck. He leaves her out there while he sorts through boxes, trying to put together something presentable, eventually ending up with three options.

They all suck.

Whatever! None of his shit actually fits him, but that’s not exactly a new problem, and if the neighbor girl doesn’t like it, she should learn not to show up unexpectedly in people’s rooms. Shit, what even is the protocol in this situation? Should he make her a coffee or something? What do Californians drink? Orange juice? No, that’s Floridians. Iced tea? Pulped palm trees? That would explain why there aren’t as many around as he expected.

If only Avery were here. She might not know what to do either, but at least she’d be funny about it, and at least having another girl around might stop things getting awkward.

Fuck it. He’s eighteen. He can do what he wants. Including embarrass himself in front of local girls. What can she do, make his life worse?

He picks the least awful set of clothes, throws it on, and stuffs the others back into the nearest box. A quick glance in the closet mirror is enough to confirm that he looks adequate, so he ties up his hair in a rubber band and opens the door. On the other side, the neighbor girl smiles sheepishly at him.

“Sorry,” she says. “Twice. Sorry for that, and sorry for earlier, in the yard. Can I come in?” She holds up a plastic bag. “I have a peace offering.”

She might be intrusive and forward, but she’s also gorgeous. California blonde and dressed for a run, just like any number of other girls he saw out of the car window this morning, and there’s enough individuality to her face to make her attractive, not merely pretty. Like, very attractive. To him. Personally. And her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and her eyes are apologetic so he can’t be all that mad at her. She reminds him of Avery, a bit; she couldn’t look more different, but the expression on her face is uncannily like when Avery came rushing over at six in the morning to tell him she finally kissed Rebecca and that it was just as magical as she always hoped.

And it’s a cute expression. On both of them.

“Sure,” he says. “Come in.”

“Wow,” she says, craning her neck, making a show of looking around. “Nice room! Lots of boxes! And… a guitar! You play?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t do anything with it. I just kinda pick it up and put it down again.”

“Still. Pretty cool.” Then she shakes her head and pulls out of her plastic bag a metal cup with a straw poking through its lid. “Behold: my custom smoothies. No fat, plenty of protein, and a hundred percent delicious!”

“No fat, huh,” he says, a smile riding unbidden on his lips.

“I promise. Athlete to athlete.”

She’s still holding it out, so he takes it from her and tries a sip and, yeah, okay, it’s actually good. In fact, it’s excellent. It’s better than the smoothies Coach used to hand out back home, a long, long time ago.

Best not to think about that.

“Wow,” he says.

“Can I cook, or can I cook?”

“Yes. You can cook.”

He steps backward and drops onto his bed, still holding the smoothie. She takes it as an invitation and sits cross-legged on the floor, sucking on her own cup and looking around again.

“I think your house is the same as mine inside,” she says thoughtfully. “Like, I was pretty sure it would be? Since all the places on this street are kinda the same. But I’ve never been inside another one before. This? This is actually my room. Just—” she crosses her arms at the wrist, “—flipped.”

“Oh,” Max says, grinning. “Sorry for imposing.”

“Forgiven.”

“So, you’re an athlete?”

She perks up. “I am!”

“Um, this would be the point where you tell me what kind of athlete.”

“Cheerleader,” she says with a slight wince, like she’s expecting him to laugh. And that would be a dick move, so he doesn’t, but he is a little offended that she would compare what he does to what she does.

Still a dick move, Max, even in your own head. At least she’s probably still active. Probably doesn’t neglect her stretches, either.

“That’s cool!” he says, injecting the proper enthusiasm.

“It is cool,” she says, very seriously.

“Okay, neighbor girl, what’s your name? I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘the Peeping Tom girl’ forever.”

She giggles. “Sorry about that. I really did think you were good, though. That’s why I clapped. And I’m Taylor. Taylor Scott.”

She’s holding out a hand, so he takes it and they shake. He doesn’t linger on it, pulling his hand away immediately. It’s always a little embarrassing to shake hands with people: with men, they want to do that insane test-of-strength thing—Max tends to think of it as a Business Armwrestle—and he’s terrible at it; with women, he finds they both just sort of limply clutch each other for a moment.

At least with girls, his hands don’t get lost inside theirs. His brother’s hands are huge, multiple glove sizes above Max’s, though to Clay’s credit, he hasn’t teased him about it. He’s just promised Max that his growth spurt is coming, and that if he starts, like, actually eating again, he’ll soon be as big as the rest of the Giordano men. And Max is ambivalent about that, because as much as it would be nice to no longer be so scrawny, if he becomes suddenly Clay-sized, his gymnastic career—his primary passion since he was a kid—is definitely over, not just probably over as it is now. He’d have to relearn everything: how to move, how to jump, where his center of gravity is, all of it. And after the way things ended before, he’s not sure he can take instruction again.

He might finally have an impressive handshake, though.

“Hey, Max?” Taylor says. “You okay? You zoned out a bit.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head and rubs at the back of his neck, where he’s the most sore. “I’m tired. I slept in the car but not well, you know?”

She nods, then looks around again and giggles. “Max,” she says, scandalized, “the door’s closed!”

So it is. Must have springs on the hinges or something. “Yeah?”

“Your parents aren’t going to yell at you?”

“Oh,” he says, laughing a little, “no, probably not. I had a friend back in New York— That’s where I’m from, by the way.”

“I guessed.”

“My accent?”

“Your mom’s actually. And you do look kinda… New York-ish.”

“I do? Huh. Anyway, me and my friend were in and out of each other’s rooms all the time. I liked hers better, actually; mine was always too hot in the summer. Our parents got used to it. They didn’t have much of a choice.”

Her eyes wide, Taylor says, “But a guy and a girl in a bedroom together? My mom and dad would not be happy about that.”

“Avery’s gay,” Max says, shrugging. “And even before she came out, I think her parents knew. And mine guessed. So they knew we weren’t going to do anything.”

“You’ve got a lesbian best friend?” Taylor says, almost shrieking. “That is so cool.”

“I’ll make sure and tell her you said that.”

“And you really never did anything together?”

“Well…” He can feel himself start to blush.

God damn Avery. Around guys—even around his brother these days—he keeps himself locked tight for his own good, but Avery never put up with that when he tried it with her. He kept closing himself off and she kept jamming that crowbar back in. Thanks to her, he’s used to letting his guard down around girls his age. And now Taylor, who’s been in his life for all of ten minutes, is able to open him up like a clam.

“Go on…” she says, leaning in with a smile and touching his hand, a maneuver that demolishes any chance he might have had at defending against her.

“We practiced kissing,” he says into his shirt. “Quite a few times. First she wanted to know what it was like and then she wanted to get good for this girl she liked, so I’d, um…” Helplessly he mimes something, his fingers vaguely grasping at each other.

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

“She was your first?” Taylor guesses.

His cheeks are burning now. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“It wasn’t obvious until you lit up like a Christmas tree!” she says, delighted. “You blush worse than I do. You really didn’t have a girl back in New York? A non-lesbian girl, I mean.”

He shrugs again. “Guys on the gymnastics team come in two types,” he starts, and then he hesitates, and Taylor takes over.

“Right,” she says. “Big built guys like your brother, and slim quick ones like you. And it’s the big ones who get the girls. And the slim ones...”

She doesn’t have to finish the thought. They both know what everybody at school thinks of the little guys on the gymnastics team. But she doesn’t seem to be judging. It’s just like before, when she saw him messing around in the backyard: she could have mocked him, and she didn’t. And it’s all right there for her to pick up and use against him! In his experience, nobody leaves an opening like that alone around him.

Nobody except Avery.

Huh. Maybe Taylor can be a friend. Like Avery.

“Hey,” he says, remembering how they got onto this topic, “do your parents know you came over to see a boy?”

“Oh, they’re on a trip,” she says, waving a hand. “And I’m eighteen in, like, a month, so what can they do?”

“What can they do?”

She sags. “They’d yell. A lot. But what they don’t know can't hurt me, right?”

He returns her grin. “Right.”

* * *

Taylor practically skips out of Max’s house. Wow, she’s almost high! For some reason, when Max spoke, it felt like every word he said was the most important thing in the world. And he’s so cool! He’s from New York, he plays guitar, and on this morning’s evidence, he’s also the best gymnast she’s ever met. He just might be the answer to all her prayers.

And he has the prettiest brown eyes…

It took some doing, but she managed to persuade him to come over tomorrow morning to spot her while she runs through her routines. He was nice enough not to say it, or even show it, but he almost definitely thinks cheerleading isn’t as challenging as what he’s used to; she’s going to show him how wrong he is. And she confirmed that he’s her age—eighteen, actually, so older, but only by like a month; his mom must have held him back at preschool or something—and he’s going to Vista Primavera High for senior year, same as her. So all she has to do, once she’s shown him how awesome cheerleading can be, is ask him to join the squad.

Ick, and then talk the other girls into accepting another guy on the squad. That might be the tricky part; it’s not that guys on the squad are a problem, but all the guys they have are, well, big. And they have to be, since they anchor and they catch a lot. Max, who is barely an inch taller than her—she checked when they said goodbye—doesn’t fit in there.

Whatever! She’ll work it out. She’ll make the squad see what he can do, and they’ll have to accept him. And then they might finally have a shot at regionals!

And that means she gets to spend a lot more time with Max Giordano.

She swings the plastic bag with the metal cups in her hand as she opens the front door, and she’s about to go straight to the kitchen to wash them when Garrett yells out from the couch, “Hey! Tay! Gordo’s here!”

And, rising from the other couch, where he’s been watching cartoons with her loser older brother, is her boyfriend.

Oh yeah. She has a boyfriend. Shoot.

Two

I CAN FIX HIM

Max can’t remember the last time he spent so long in the shower. Usually he just kinda jumps in, soaps up everywhere he can reach and jumps out again, but today he’s making an effort. He even snuck into the main bathroom, the one that has pride of place at the center of the upstairs hallway—the one nobody’s ever going to use, because every bedroom bar the guest room in this insanely massive house has a bathroom of its own—and stole the fancy shampoo, conditioner and body wash. He’s got no idea why Mom put that stuff out; it’s not like they’re expecting guests on their second day in Vista Primavera. But he’s got the matching blue bottles lined up on the side and he’s working his way through them, one by one. In a surge of diligence, he’s even been reading the instructions on the bottles for the first time in his life.

Apparently you’re supposed to leave the conditioner in! For several minutes! Does everyone know that? Is that why his hair’s always gotten so tangled? Because nobody ever told him?

He lathers up and cleans almost every other part of his body twice—skipping over the burn scars on his ribs, same as always—and then washes out the conditioner, running his hands through his locks as he does so. His hair parts cleanly between his fingers and doesn’t even clump up when he squeezes the water out of it. It feels kind of amazing, actually.

But yeah. He’s trying. This morning, he’s really trying. Sue him.

There’s no point to it, really. Taylor’s a cheerleader, and cheerleaders never go for guys like him, and she’s probably got a quarterback boyfriend or something. But Avery was always trying to get him to take more care of himself, like he used to, so what the hell, right? New city, new state; new Max. Mostly the same as the old Max, but cleaner and with detangled hair.

Besides, Taylor’s nice. And a nice cheerleader is so far out of Max’s experience that there’s no way he can’t take advantage of the opportunity she represents. To see how the other half lives: the popular half, the half that wears bright colors and has pep.

He should take notes. For posterity. There might be a book in it.

Opening the door between his bathroom and bedroom, he checks to make sure the drapes are still shut—of course they are; he hasn’t opened them since he got here—and follows the misty air out into his room, toweling his hair and dripping on the carpet. When he’s more or less dry, he throws his towel onto the bed and starts looking through his closet. Last night, in another uncharacteristic burst of diligence, he actually put all his clothes away. Hung up his shirts and pants and balled up his socks and shit. While he looks, he slaps at his CD player, and fills the room with music from whatever the last CD he had loaded was.

Knowledge by Operation Ivy. Cool.

Catching himself in the mirror as he walks around, his eyes flicker, as they always do, to the triad of scars on his right-side ribs. His fingers brush momentarily over them, from the base of his pectoral to the top of his belly, feeling the bumps and the distressed skin, reading his burns like a relief map.

They’re dry. And kinda rough to the touch.

Shit, he’s been neglecting himself in every possible way, hasn’t he? Habitually forgetting the dermatologist’s instructions is just another symptom.

Well. New state, better habits.

He remembers dumping the aloe moisturizer his mom’s been buying him in the same box as all his other bathroom crap, back when they packed everything up, so that means it must be… ah! Bathroom cabinet.

Still not used to having his own bathroom.

He spreads the moisturizer over the scars, and then over the rest of his torso and along his arms, because it smells nice, all the while looking through his clothes. In the end, he picks basically at random; he’s making an effort, sure, but he has no idea what Taylor likes. More to the point, he has no idea what kind of guy she likes, except what he assumes: massive, hung like a horse, and with a football instead of a brain that bounces around inside his head like a DVD screensaver. And he can’t ever be that, not unless the long-delayed growth spurt Clay’s been promising decides to show up, so why not just pick whatever? All that matters is whether he can move in it, since she invited him over this morning explicitly to work out with her or to help her practice her cheer routines or something. She wasn’t entirely clear about it.

Maybe she was and he just wasn’t paying attention. Too distracted by those bright blue eyes.

Anyway.

An old band shirt.

A pair of board shorts.

Mismatched socks.

And a belt. In which he already poked an extra hole. Because, yeah, shit, he lost weight, and a lot of it. Turns out, if you don’t really eat for over a year and you continue—halfheartedly—to exercise, you lose mass, and a lot of it. All his jeans look like cargo pants now, and his cargo pants are basically unwearable.

Today’s shirt—one of the many he inherited from Clay when he cleared out his closet—is baggy as hell, but it covers his scars and it hides how thin he’s gotten, and the belt holds up his board shorts, and that’s enough. He can exercise in this. He can stand on his hands in this. Hell, he can do cartwheels and somersaults and basically anything you ask of him in this, and he can do the fucking splits, too.

A quick look in the mirror. Yeah, there’s Max. Same as the old Max, the one from New York. But moisturized, and with nicer hair.

It’s fine.

Let’s go see the cheerleader.

* * *

Taylor never wears makeup to work out. Some of the other cheerleaders do, but some of the other cheerleaders are silly bee-yotches who’ve spent the last several years meticulously blocking every pore, and now they have no choice but to slap on the foundation half a tube at a time, lest anyone get a look at their real skin! Taylor, meanwhile, wears it light and only when appropriate, and she cleanses every morning, every evening and after practice, and that’s why she still has the skin of an angel while Meredith looks like the dark side of the moon.

So she doesn’t know why she’s doing her face this morning, except that maybe she still feels gross from last night and wants to look her best. Pretty face, empty mind, like Robyn, her old cheer captain, used to say.

Last night…

Last night!

Ick.

Taylor reaches over and yanks up the volume on her little CD player until J.Lo’s Love Don’t Cost a Thing starts to crackle and distort.

Stupid Gordo! He tried to get her to touch it again, and she’s beyond fed up with telling him she’s waiting until she’s eighteen. And that’s, like, only a month away! She doesn’t know why he’s being so impatient; she’s clearly relayed her parents’ rules around sex, which are that Garrett can do whatever he wants, because he’s an adult—legally, if not mentally—and Taylor cannot, because she is still a child. Also, and this comes specifically from her mom, because nobody wants to have to fight through the anti-choice weirdos outside the family planning clinic. And because good girls are not sluts.

And, no, Gordo, she doesn’t care that the other girls have all done it, because a) if Meredith’s done it, Taylor’ll eat her own pompoms and b) if the other cheerleaders jumped off a cliff, she’d only follow them if they’d managed to form a pyramid at the bottom, and would catch her.

But still he insisted! Ick! It’s like he wants her to get disowned by her parents and have to live under a bridge selling cheers for money, or something.

He insisted and he made her feel gross and she told him to leave and now she’s putting on lipstick, because if he can’t see her, then she’s going to look extra pretty.

It makes sense. Sort of. If you tilt your head and squint. Anyway, he’s off to football camp this week, so she doesn’t have to deal with him again for a while. Maybe he’ll find someone there to touch his thingie, some girl football player who shares his interests. Maybe she can make him come, and he can yell ‘Hut! Hut! Hut!’ at the moment of climax.

The song ends and she stabs irritably at the pause button before the next one starts. This morning’s gone wrong already, and it’s all because she’s sitting here, staring at herself, applying and reapplying lipstick until by rights her lips ought to stick out several miles from her face, and thinking about her stupid boyfriend and the stupid things he wants her to do and—

Reset.

Taylor closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly. Opens her eyes again.

It’s a new day. Gordo’s a part of yesterday, and she doesn’t have to see him for a week. A new friend is coming over and she’s going to get to show him what she can do and find out what makes him tick.

She blots most of the lipstick onto a tissue, ties her hair in a practical ponytail, and skips out of her room. Same room as Max, she remembers, though not precisely. Their houses are identical but mirrored; their bedrooms even face each other! What sucks, though, is that even if they become friends, they won’t be able to do the teen movie thing of talking to each other through their windows; they’re kinda far apart. If Max ever opens his drapes, though, they ought to be able to wave to each other. And maybe yell.

She checks: his drapes are still closed. No wonder he’s so pale.

No, wait; he’s from New York. Don’t they have like five days of sun per year? Obviously he’s just not used to it. Well, that’s job one, then, isn’t it? Get Max used to the Southern California sun! The whole Southern California lifestyle!

He’s going to love it here, she’s certain.

* * *

Christ, even the mornings here are too hot. Good thing he covered himself in deodorant before he left the house, even if it did mean getting gently ribbed by his brother about the effort he’s obviously putting in for this Taylor girl.

He’s not putting in any effort, not really. Not for her specifically. He’s just stopped neglecting himself.

Yeah. That’s it exactly.

He rings the bell, and when the door opens, he’s presented with a face he doesn’t expect. Taylor didn’t talk about her brother much yesterday, except to say he’s a stoner and the most annoying man in the world, but here’s a clean-cut guy with a toothy grin and slicked-back blond hair. If not for his shorts and logo shirt, he could be an office worker, though from what he’s seen, casualwear is de rigueur enough around here that maybe people do go to work in shorts.

But then he comes close enough for Max to see his bloodshot eyes, and it all makes sense.

“Hey,” Garrett says. “You’re the, uh, the, uh, the dude from next door, aren’t you?”

“I’m Max. Garrett, yeah?”

Getting Garrett’s name right seems to delight him. “Yeah! Yeah, that’s me!” He leans down to whisper in Max’s ear, flooding Max’s senses with the smell of stale weed and cool ranch chips. “You’re not fucking my sister, are you? Because if you are… Be careful, dude. Big boyfriend. Big.”

“No plans, dude,” Max says. Yeah. She’s got a boyfriend. Obviously.

“That’s a ‘maybe’, then. Cool. Cool. Cool.” Garrett folds his arms, satisfied that he’s relayed his oh-so-important message. “So come on in! Mi casa es su casa. Mi… sister es su sister.”

Alright. Kinda gross.

Taylor appears from behind Garrett, whacking him with the flat of her hand. “Oh my gosh, Garrett, you slime!” she yells, whacking him again. “Don’t say things like that! And move. Move! Ick!”

She keeps slapping him on the shoulder until Garrett finally catches on, and with a roll of his eyes at Max, he steps aside and walks slowly over to a split square of couches in the living room. He falls into one and stops moving.

“Hi, Max,” Taylor says, huffing a displaced strand of hair out of her face. “I see you’ve met my brother.”

She grabs Max by the wrist and leads him inside, but Max is distracted: Garrett still isn’t moving.

“Is he… okay?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Taylor says without looking, dragging Max into the kitchen.

“He looks dead.”

“Yeah, he does! Unfortunately, it never lasts. Check it out: I made you a smoothie!”

Max’s view of Taylor’s allegedly alive brother is cut off as he enters the kitchen, so he turns his attention to her and finds her posing in front of the open fridge like a game show assistant. Two more of the same metal cups from yesterday are waiting in the door, and now that she has his attention, she pulls one out and hands it to him. He takes it from her, but she doesn’t pull away; instead, she squints at him, leans closer, steadies herself on his shoulder, and bats at his ponytail.

“Max?” she says slowly. “Why is your hair in a rubber band? Correction—” she raises an impertinent first finger right in front of him, “—why is your hair in a rubber band again?”

“Because I don’t want it in my face? And what do you mean, again?”

She snatches the smoothie back from him, re-fridges it, and beckons him. “C’mon,” she says, walking back around the dividing wall. “We’re fixing it.”

* * *

He comments on the way up the stairs that, oh yeah, their houses are the same, just flipped, and Taylor’s about to agree with him—and talk about the extra rooms that were built over the garages that he won’t have at home—before she realizes that, shoot, she just invited Max up to her room! She invited him up to her room and he’s a guy! A guy who isn’t Gordo!

Isn’t that, like, adultery or something?

Eh. Maybe in Utah.

She pauses, her hand on the doorknob, and thinks quickly, thinks like she’s about to be thrown and she’s just realized it’s Meredith who’s going to catch her:

It’s different, right? It’s not like Max is a guy like Gordo, right? He doesn’t seem the type to put his hand on the back of a not-quite-eighteen-year-old’s head and push her down toward his pants.

Because he’s nice. Okay, so they didn’t talk for all that long yesterday, but he is nice, right? A little sad, a little snarky, and a bit of a fixer-upper, but he’s nice. And does she even know any nice guys? Any guys who haven’t openly lusted after her since she joined the squad? Correction: does she know any nice guys who aren’t already (sort of but not really) dating her best friend?

Well, now she knows Max.

And they do share an interest, don’t they?

So there’s no harm, she decides, and lets him into her room.

“Wow,” he says, following her inside, “pink.”

“It’s not that pink,” she says, wondering why she instantly feels defensive about it. She points to the accent wall, the one her computer desk is pushed up against, which she had Dad paint pastel blue because she read that blue is conducive to memory retention. Plus, she’s wanted a skylight ever since she saw one in a movie. Something about looking up at those California-blue skies every morning being super romantic. Unfortunately, because of the attic and all, she had to make do with a not-very-big window and a very blue wall. “See?”

“I stand corrected,” Max says, holding up his hands in surrender. Gosh, he has a sweet smile. Teeth are a little faded looking, though. Don’t they have whitener in New York?

She can fix that. She can fix everything! And that starts with the way his smile fades too quickly, like he can’t have a positive emotion without something in his brain showing up and reminding him, hey, dude, you’re supposed to be miserable. Must be why he likes all those punk bands he was telling her about.

Anyway. She can fix him. Make him happy. Whiten his teeth. Get him to stop tangling up his hair with rubber bands. Get him a girlfriend.

At that last thought, it’s like she borrows Max’s sadness demon. Ick! Shoo! She chases it away and bobs up to him, confirming once again how close in height they are, and then puts a hand on each shoulder and turns him round. He doesn’t resist. Gently, she hooks a finger inside the first ring of the looped rubber band and starts to tease out the hair.

“I can’t believe you use this,” she says as she works and, gosh, his hair is so silky! Yesterday, when he first got here, it was really greasy, like, greasy enough that she could tell from halfway down the backyard—understandable, though, after driving the entire width of the continental United States!—and after his shower it was still only, like, passably clean. Did he wash it especially for her?

She’s not sure she’s allowed the level of excitement that thought generates in her. Kills the sadness demon right off, though.

“What’s wrong with a rubber band?” he says, speaking slowly like he’s in a trance, and it takes Taylor a second to guess why. When she does, she’s glad she’s behind him, or he’d see the huge, adulterous smile that temporarily takes over her whole face. She’s got her hands in his hair. And she is, no need to be modest, super pretty. What guy wouldn’t enjoy it?

Gordo. Gordo wouldn’t enjoy it. He just wants her to touch it.

Ick.

She returns to the task at hand, carefully extracting layer after layer of soft, sweet-smelling jet-black hair from its rubber band prison. To distract herself, because she’s enjoying this a bit too much, she concentrates on answering his question.

“Rubber bands are grippy, Max,” she says. “Your hair will get caught up in it and it’ll get stripped apart. It’ll completely destroy your hair.”

“Oh,” he says. It seems to be all he can manage, so before Taylor lets out the final loop, she gives herself a moment to smile again.

Why is she so loopy around him? He’s just another long-haired punk guy; she could throw a rock from the front room and hit a dozen of them as they drift lazily by on their stickered-up skateboards.

Whatever. A puzzle for later. She turns him round again and takes a step back to admire her handiwork. Smoothing out his locks, billowing them out around his face, she almost forgets to breathe. There really is something about him, something those other rando guys don’t have. Something she thinks Gordo would probably kill to avoid. And it’s more exciting to Taylor than a hundred sweaty football guys. It’s more exciting to her than the memory of Max’s own older brother, whose thick arms and tree-trunk waist had previously seemed so enticing.

In a way, it’s a shame that Clay is Max’s brother. If Clay’s anything to go by, Max is going to gain a good few inches, he’s going to thicken up, he’s going to be a man. And it’s going to happen soon.

So? So that makes this Max special, dummy! A firefly isn’t beautiful because it lasts forever.

“Taylor,” he says, “what’s up?”

Shoot! He noticed! And his hand’s halfway to hers, like he wants to comfort her but doesn’t want to cross a boundary. Which, again, her decision to let him up into her room: vindicated! She shakes her head, grins at him—wow, it’s easy to find a smile when he’s so close to her—and turns him ninety degrees, toward the mirror.

“Why do you tie your hair up, Max?” she asks. “It’s way too gorgeous to not show it off.”

He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror, not for more than a second. Instead he starts gathering up his hair, pulling it tight, away from his face. “It’s not supposed to be gorgeous,” he says. Huh; cryptic! “Do you have a hair tie for me?”

She turns around and quickly finds one on her nightstand. “Here,” she says, pressing it into his hand.

“Taylor,” he says, holding it up, “this is a scrunchie.”

“Yes,” she confirms.

“It’s a scrunchie.”

“And?”

“It’s— Taylor. It’s a scrunchie. A pink scrunchie. Those are for girls?”

“Don’t be a baby,” she says, taking it back. Before he can stop her, she steps behind him, gathers his hair up, and ties a ponytail for him. She twitches her nose in concentration as she adjusts it, making sure it’s dead center, and then taps him on the top of his head. “You can look now.”

“Wow,” he says, turning his head. “That is definitely a pink scrunchie in my hair. And isn’t it a little high?” He reaches up to adjust it, and she bats his hand away.

“Leave it!” she commands, leaning into her cheer captain voice. And, yeah, it is a little higher than he usually ties his hair, but high is better, right? For cheering?

Oh right! They’re supposed to be exercising!

* * *

The Scotts’ backyard is, unsurprisingly, exactly the same dimensions as the one behind Max’s house, except theirs has a pool close to the house and way more intentionality to the foliage. Dad’s already been complaining about the weekends he’s going to lose getting theirs into shape, and Clay wasn’t fast enough getting out of the room when he was looking for volunteers to help out.

It’s nice, though. It’s like a preview of what their place will look like when it’s done. Taylor’s entire house is, actually. Even her room, fully furnished as it is and not merely looming around a single desk and a corner with a guitar in it, is a preview of what his might be like once he’s lived here more than ten minutes. Minus the pink walls, obviously. And all the televisions. The very boxy, very beige televisions.

Huh.

“I just realized,” he says, as he stretches his arms over his head, “you have three computers in your room. Which seems excessive.”

“You just realized?” she replies. She’s got her feet on the grass and her head between them, and either she’s showing off and she’s going to feel that tomorrow, or she’s limber as hell. “We’ve been in the yard for like two minutes and you just realized.” She straightens up and, despite her critical tone, she’s grinning at him, so he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“I thought they were TVs. I was trying to think if I’d seen a TV that exact shade of beige before.” He copies her move, just to show her he can, and she laughs at him.

Christ. She’s so cute.

“And?” she prompts.

“Yeah,” he says, “no. Which led me to the obvious conclusion: three computers.”

“Well,” she says, “for your information, I have four computers.” When he straightens, to stare incredulously at her, she starts listing them. “I’ve got my main PC and some older ones for testing. I also have a laptop; I wanted to mess with OSX so Dad got me an iBook for Christmas. Don’t give me that look! It’s not fancy. It’s just the base model.”

Max snorts. “That’s not what the look was for, Taylor.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, Max,” she says, sounding suddenly surprisingly pompous. “If you don’t know how to use a computer, you’re going to be left behind.”

“I know how to use a computer; I don’t know how to use four computers.”

“It’s not like it’s hard.”

“Oh my God,” Max exclaims in fake wonder. “Four computers. You’re a nerd!”

“I’m captain of the cheerleading squad. I can’t be a nerd. All I have are esoteric interests.”

“You’re a nerd,” he giggles.

The levity he feels around her! Avery’s the only other person who ever made him feel like this: understood and appreciated. But there’s more here, something he never felt before. Maybe it’s because Taylor’s straight, and therefore, despite her boyfriend, despite Garrett’s assessment of her boyfriend—big—some incredibly stupid part of his brain thinks he has a chance?

Doesn’t matter. He feels good! He’ll take the win.

“I like your shirt,” she says, when they’re done warming up. “Is that your band?”

He laughs, pulling at it to show it off fully. “Not my band,” he says. “This is Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. They’re, uh, well, it’s kind of hard to explain.”

Taylor bounces over, takes the hem of the shirt out of his hands and stretches it out all the way, so she can look at it more closely.

“Try me,” she says.

He can smell her perfume or her shampoo or her body lotion or something, and it’s intoxicating, and distracting as hell. Which might be why he babbles a bit.

“Okay, so they’re a punk rock supergroup, formed in San Francisco circa 1995 and still going today. They only do covers, and that’s because they all have their own projects outside the group, like, Chris Shiflett is also in No Use for a Name. Have you heard of him? You haven’t heard of him. Anyway, their first album was all songs from the sixties, seventies and eighties, stuff like Uptown Girl and Rocket Man, and their second album is all show tunes. They did Don’t Cry for Me Argentina from Evita and Science Fiction Double Feature from Rocky Horror, and… What?”

She’s looking at him with the most peculiar smirk on her face, and when he shuts up she broadens it into a delighted smile and says, “And you called me a nerd!”

Wow. Her smile is incredible.

“Uh…” he says, his retort dying on his lips, which he’s suddenly biting, for some reason. God, he’s losing control here.

“I think you were going to say something like, punk rockers can’t be nerds,” she says. “They just have esoteric interests. And then I was going to say something like, you just proved yourself wrong, you’re the biggest nerd that ever nerded, and then you were going to blush even harder than you are right now, and insist we start doing what we came here to do.”

In a daze, he says, “Which is…?”

She lets go of his shirt and prances backward, ultimately transforming her momentum into a perfect backflip and segueing into a full sequence.

“This!” she says, as she lands and spreads her arms out.

Holy shit.

She’s an actual athlete.

And she’s really good.

* * *

On their way back in, Taylor collects the smoothies she prepared for them both, and in her room she digs out her TV—her actual TV; she doesn’t know how Max could have mistaken her computer monitors for televisions since they’re so completely different-looking—from under a discarded pair of jeans and puts on the Disney Channel. Chores done, she flops onto the bed and starts sucking earnestly on her straw. Max, meanwhile…

Max looks adorably about the room for something he can sit on that isn’t her bed. Vindicated, vindicated, vindicated! She’s known him for a day and she’s never felt so safe with a guy. She points with her toe at one of her computer chairs and, moving slowly, he drags it over near to the bed and drops into it, cupping his smoothie with both hands and sipping from it, his eyes on the Boy Meets World rerun. As his exhaustion starts to fade, he makes himself more comfortable, dragging one leg up under his butt and propping the other high enough that he can rest his chin on his knee. Which, like, wow, flexible.

He’s still breathing heavily. But then, so is she.

What a workout! He challenged her like nobody on the squad ever has, like Coach Dale never has, like not even Robyn did, and she challenged him right back! She never knew she could move like that!

She never knew a guy could move like that. The guys on the squad, they’re talented and they work hard, but they’re all kinda bulky, whereas Max moves like…

Okay. So she can never say it to him, ever, because she knows what boys are like, but Max moves like a girl. He’s got grace and speed and just enough power to accomplish everything he needs to and not a drop more. And maybe that’s just what pro gymnasts are like, but Taylor watches every Olympics and she doesn’t think so. He’s just not built like those guys.

Except he will be one day.

Maybe, anyway. Thinking about it, she got a good look at Mom Giordano yesterday, and a decent glimpse at Dad Giordano and the older brother, Clay, and Max takes much more after his mom while Clay looks like a younger and less wide version of his dad. So maybe that means he won’t grow into something like Clay. Maybe that means he’ll stay just as he is. After all, he’s eighteen, and aren’t you basically done at eighteen? Like, sure, other stuff happens, like you lose your puppy fat, and if you’re a guy you start getting hair everywhere—ick—but at eighteen, you’re finished growing, right?

“How tall are you, Max?” she says without thinking.

“Five-eight,” he says automatically.

Well, that’s a lie. “Are you sure?” she asks, reaching out with her foot and rotating his chair to face her.

“I’m five-eight… if I go up on my toes a little,” he admits.

“I knew it!” she exclaims. “You can’t lie to me, Max. You’re an inch taller than me at most, and I’m five foot six and three-quarters.”

“Three-quarters?” he confirms weakly.

She nods at the door frame. “Check the marks.”

Humoring her, he stands, slightly stiffly, and carefully puts his cup on the floor. He walks over to her bedroom door and runs his finger over the notches in the frame. There’s a notch for every one of her first seventeen years, but she doesn’t expect to be making a new one on her next birthday in September, since she’s basically done, too. It’s kinda sad, really; always is, when a yearly ritual ends.

Following an impulse, she jumps up and joins him. She turns him around by the shoulders, the way she did in the backyard, until he’s facing her with his back to the door. She pushes him until he bumps against it, and then she prods at his feet with hers until he’s standing straight.

Without taking her eyes off him, she reaches for the craft knife on her chest of drawers, flicks out the blade, and places her hand on top of his head, to create a straight line to the door frame.

“You stick out your tongue when you’re concentrating, you know that?” he says. She shushes him and carves his notch into the frame.

She doesn’t know why she’s doing this. She barely knows him. They might not end up friends at all. They might not speak to each other after school starts. They might turn out to hate each other! But this feels important. And if there’s one thing she’s learned as a cheerleader, it’s that when something feels right, she should trust it.

“Step away,” she says, and he does so.

The craft knife goes back on the mess of junk, and she opens a drawer—her underwear drawer, which she’s curiously unembarrassed to open around Max—and pulls out her tailor’s tape measure. She unravels it, presses the end against the wall with her toe, and smooths it up the door frame until it reaches Max’s notch.

“There’s a Sharpie on my desk,” she says, keeping everything in place. “Can you get it for me?”

“Sure.”

Moments later, a Sharpie—uncapped; how thoughtful—drops into her waiting hand, and she writes Max, August 3, 2003 — 5 foot 7½ inches on the wall, just above Taylor, September 13, 2002 — 5 foot 6¾ inches.

“There,” she says. “Immortalized.”

She twists around to smile at him, expecting one of his shy smiles in return, but instead he’s retreated back to her desk, he’s got his fists clenched at his side, and he’s standing very still.

“Max?” she asks.

“Shit,” he says, turning away. A hand goes up to his face, as if he’s covering his eyes or something, and that’s just so confusing that she takes three whole steps toward him before she realizes he’s not one of her girlfriends and she can’t just manhandle him because she doesn’t know how he’ll react. And, oh yeah, he’s a guy, and he’s in her room, and he’s been careful not to even touch her so far, and as nice as he’s been, she doesn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

“Did I do something wrong?” she says. She’s making her voice small on purpose, which is a little manipulative, but it is appropriate to how she feels. Max is special, and she doesn’t want to lose him as a friend before she figures out why.

It gets him to turn around, at least. And his eyes aren’t red and his cheeks aren’t wet, so it can’t be that bad. “No,” he says, forcing a smile. “Sorry. It’s just… It’s a me thing.”

“It’s just a stupid mark,” Taylor says. “I can fill it in if you want. I know where Dad keeps the filler.”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I like it. If you don’t mind it there… I like it.”

Okay. Okay. He has an issue about this. But as much as she wants to probe it, as much as she wants to know everything, she refrains. If there’s one thing she’s learned as a cheerleader, it’s when to give a girl her space. Still applies here, even though Max isn’t a girl.

“Let’s keep it, then,” she says, matching his smile. It has the effect she hoped for, which is that his smile becomes warmer and more genuine, and she has to fight very hard not to just bounce forward and hug him. “Hey, Max,” she adds, “you wanna go out? We could go to the mall or something.” She pulls playfully at the hem of his shirt again. “We could even buy you some clothes that aren’t black and don’t have bands on them. And that are maybe your size?”

He laughs, and it seems almost real. “No thanks,” he says. “I’m tired out. Maybe I’ll just go home.”

“Oh, no you don’t, mister,” she says, mom-voicing him hard enough that he steps back. “I have nothing to do today, so you’re going to keep me company. Deal?”

He surrenders instantly. “Deal.”

“So. You smoke weed?”

Darn; she should have waited until he had a drink or something, because the look on his face is absolutely priceless, and she definitely could have gotten him to spray water if she timed it right.

“Uh,” he says, floundering. “Uh. Yeah? I guess so?”

She bounces on her toes. Flustering him is fun. “You wanna smoke weed and get takeout?”

“Sure?”

It’ll be good for him. He needs to talk, get whatever this is off his chest, and Taylor, she needs to listen. And maybe look at him a bit. Maybe look at him a lot. And if there’s one thing she’s learned as a cheerleader, it’s when to stay sober and when to get high.

“Wait one second,” she says, holding up a finger. Then she skips over to her door, yanks it open, leans out, and yells down the stairs, “GARRETT! I’M TAKING SOME OF YOUR WEED! IF YOU TELL MOM I’LL RIP YOUR BALLS OFF AND DROP THEM IN YOUR FISH TANK!”

She turns back to Max, grinning and waggling her eyebrows at him, her hand cupped around her ear for the rejoinder.

“I WON’T TELL MOM IF YOU BRING ME ANOTHER BAG OF DORITOS!” Garrett yells back, probably from the same dumb couch they left him on. “See?” Taylor says to Max. “Told you he wasn’t dead.”

Three

LEGIT AIR

“Look at that,” Taylor’s pointing at the screen. “Look at the air they’re getting! It’s good, right? It’s legit.”

Max nods. It’s not been enough to admit to Taylor that, yes, she’s an incredible athlete and, yes, cheerleading’s legit, and, wow, no shit, captain of the squad, that’s really impressive; she wants to show him, and beyond summoning the rest of the squad and running through their routines right in front of him, the best way to do that turns out to be to drag him over to her computer desk and call up video after video of competitive cheerleading.

The trouble is, he’s having trouble concentrating. It’s not that the weed’s hit him all that hard, because it hasn’t, but between it, the takeout, the exercises this morning and the lingering fatigue from spending almost a week, on and off, in Dad’s cramped car, a portion of his brain keeps insisting it would rather just fall face-first into bed, and resents having to squint at a sequence of blocky videos recorded off of ESPN2.

He’s aware enough, though, to be seriously impressed by what he’s seeing. The shit the girls—and guys; a lot of the squads are mixed—are pulling off is downright incredible.

“It’s legit,” he says, passing the joint.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Taylor says, taking it from him and taking a lengthy drag. “Last one, I promise. See these guys?” She cues up another video. “Their routine is amazing. Just wait until you see the throws at the end!”

On the screen, a squad in green uniforms performs a tightly choreographed routine, and the more he watches them, the more he can’t believe they’re a high-school-age cheerleader squad.

“Tay,” he says, “this shit is ridiculous!”

She beams at him. He’s noticed she likes it when he calls her Tay. Almost makes him want an even shorter version of his name, so they can trade. But only his grandparents call him Maxwell—and his mom when she’s pissed.

“This is from two or three years ago,” she says, grinding the end of the joint into dust in the ashtray. “It was a huge controversy: another squad turned out to’ve been stealing their routines for, like, years, and winning trophies with them. Winning this trophy!” The video shows them being announced as the winners of the tournament, and Taylor stabs emphatically at the screen. “They just never had the money to compete for themselves. But they got the money together, they went all in, and they won. It’s like something out of a movie!”

“That’s… actually cool.”

“Right? It’s inspirational!”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon,” she says, abruptly switching off the monitor. Then she puts both feet on the seat of Max’s chair and pushes him away with enough force that the casters trip on the rug, tipping him right off onto the bed. Judging by the glee on her face, she planned it exactly that way, and it came off perfectly. “Max!” she exclaims, forming her mouth into a perfect O of shock. “I thought you were a gymnast! But there you go, falling off of chairs…”

“I would have been fine—” he starts to protest, but he has to cut himself off when Taylor launches herself at the bed. She lands next to him, bounces a couple of times, and comes to rest leaning on her elbow, grinning at him. “I would have been fine,” he tries again, “if I wasn’t so tired.”

“Jet-lagged?” she says. “No, wait; car-lagged?”

“I hate cars,” he says, counting on his fingers, “I hate motels, I hate small towns in the middle of the country, I hate my dad’s music, I hate how Clay takes up all the space in the back seat…”

“How come you didn’t fly? There are people who can move boxes across the country for you.”

“Money. Cheaper to do it ourselves than pay movers, or so Dad said. Hey, um, Taylor…” He shuffles away from her a little. “Should I be on your bed with you like this? Is this really okay?”

“Why?” she asks, pretending to be afraid. “Are you going to molest me, Max Giordano?”

“What? No!” He recoils even farther just at the thought of it, but she reaches out and rolls him over, bringing him closer again.

“So, chill,” she says. She leans over him—Max tries to compress himself into the mattress so she doesn’t actually touch him—and retrieves the remote for her CD player. She switches it on and dumps the remote on the floor. Something by Alanis Morissette comes on, but he’s only heard that one album of hers, the one that got really big; he doesn’t know this one. Next to him, facing up and with her hands clasped on her belly, Taylor sighs contentedly. “You want to smoke another?” she asks after a short while.

“Sure.”

She nods, sits up just enough to retrieve the baggie of pre-rolled joints she stole from Garrett’s room, and lights one up. She passes it to Max, who takes a deep drag, and when he looks again, she’s gotten another ashtray out from somewhere and placed it between them.

“How many of those do you have?”

“Enough,” she says, and accepts the joint from him. “Mom never cleans in here because I do it myself, and she can’t smell it in here because Garrett’s room always stinks of it, so…” She shrugs.

“Weird to be smoking weed with a cheerleader,” Max says, feeling sufficiently loosened up—by the weed, by his exhaustion, by Taylor’s apparent belief that he’s not the kind of guy who might try to hurt her—to just say shit. “I always thought you guys lived on mineral water and pep and calling all the other girls sluts.”

“Max,” Taylor says, passing back, “I’m going to say something very rude now, and you’ve got to promise me it won’t leave this room. I have a reputation to upkeep.”

Max crosses his heart. “Promise.”

“Your New York cheerleaders sound like stuck-up bee-yotches.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, they kinda were.”

“What about your friend? Avery?”

He laughs. “Yeah, she thinks New York cheerleaders are stuck-up bee-yotches, too.”

“I mean,” she says, giggling, “what kind of girl is she?”

“Gymnast. Lesbian. Oh, and she’s a huge nerd, too.”

“Like you, then,” Taylor says.

“Like you,” Max counters.

A little while later, when the second joint is done and they’re lying on their backs together, looking up at the star stickers on her ceiling, and when Max is feeling more relaxed than he has at any point in at least the last year, Taylor goes and ruins it all—or complicates it all, anyway—by asking the question he’d been hoping she wouldn’t.

“Hey, Max? Where did you get those scars?”

“You saw those, huh?”

Of course she did. You can’t throw yourself around the way he did this morning without your shirt flying all over the place, especially when it’s too big for you by several sizes. He ought to take a leaf out of her book and wear a tight crop top or something. The thought of it, of his belly sticking out of one of Taylor’s pink gym tops, is almost funny enough to make him laugh.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says. “Really, you don’t.”

He shrugs. He ought to lie, or claim it’s a secret, or otherwise keep it from her, because it isn’t exactly the kind of story you tell to make yourself seem cool in front of a pretty girl, but if she’s going to be his friend, she should know. And if she laughs or thinks less of him, then it’s better to know now, right? Better to be rejected by someone you just met than by someone you’ve known for a long time.

“It was last year,” he says, settling his head into the pillow. He might be telling the story, but he doesn’t want to look at her while he does. He wants to get her reaction all at once, when he’s done. In case it’s bad. Rip off the Band-Aid, etc. “End of the spring semester. I’d never been that popular, but I was never unpopular, either, you know? I was just another kid. And I’d been dabbling in gymnastics a long time already, but high school was where I started really getting into it. Coach thought I had real promise. I wasn’t as good as Avery—she started before me—but I was good. And Coach said I could be great. And I’d never been great at anything before, so I let her talk me into taking private classes. Mom was against it but Dad, in a fit of unexpected parental involvement, persuaded her. And then that was it. School, home, life, it was all about gymnastics. Me and Avery and gymnastics. It was everything to us. Anyway, Coach was right: I was great.”

“I’ve seen it,” Taylor says quietly. “You are.”

“And you’ve seen me after a year of doing nothing more than backyard stuff,” he says. “And we didn’t even have a big yard back home. Since then, since what happened, I’ve lost weight, I’ve lost muscle. I don’t have the stamina I used to. Compared to back then, I’m— Ugh. Sorry. Hard to lose something like that, you know?”

“What happened to you, Max?”

“It was inevitable, really. At school, I wasn’t just some kid anymore. I was a gym fag. I had my special fag gym clothes and I walked like a gym fag and— Well, you know what people are like. Shit written on my locker, guys bumping into me on the stairs and trying to get me to trip and fall. You’ve seen it, I bet.”

“Yeah,” she says. “There are a-holes like that in every school.”

“So, it’s the end of the spring semester last year,” he says briskly, moving the story along as quickly as he can, “and three guys corner me. I thought they were just going to beat the shit out of me, which would have been an escalation, but still, something I could deal with.” His voice is shaking. Huh. “No. Christ, I wish they had. What actually happened was that two of them grabbed me and held me down on the ground and the third, he had this beat-up old Volvo, and he got the cigarette lighter—”

“Oh no,” Taylor breathes.

“Yeah. Pushed it into me three times. And he wasn’t quick, either. He held it there each time. If you’re wondering: incredibly painful.”

“What did you do?”

He can’t help it. He sits up, earlier than he planned, unable to wait for her judgment, but she’s just lying there, watching him, no cruelty or satisfaction evident on her face. She feels for him. It’s obvious. And if it weren’t, the hand that reaches for his would make it pretty clear.

Still, he’s not done with the story yet.

“I didn’t do anything. At first it was because I was in pain, like, monumental amounts of pain, and then I just didn’t want to get up. They didn’t stick around. Just kicked me a bit, taunted me, and ran off. They left me there and ran off. And lying there, Tay, I think I already knew they’d broken me. I think I knew that was it, you know?” He shakes his head. Too much. “Anyway, I didn’t tell the cops or the principal or anything because I still had to go to school for another two years with those assholes and they could have made it even worse for me. So I just… went home. Swallowed Tylenol like candy and wrapped my chest in gauze. Mom eventually saw the burns and freaked and took me to, like, a gajillion doctors, but the best they could do by that point was just tell me to use lotion on them.”

“Does it help?”

“No. Not really.”

Taylor pushes up on her elbows, bringing herself closer, and she lets go of his hand and reaches for the hem of his shirt. “May I?” she asks, and waits for his nod.

It’s light and airy in Taylor’s room, and a breeze ripples over his chest as Taylor lifts up his shirt. He expects her to pull it up only enough to see, but she raises it higher and shoots him a questioning glance, which he interprets—correctly—as a request to raise his arms. She slides his shirt all the way off and drops it on the bed.

“I know,” he says, “I’m skinny.”

Taylor smiles sadly. “No skinnier than me,” she says, which is generous of her. “And I’d say ‘toned’, anyway. Um. Do they hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

He knows how they look in the light; three angry, deep-red scars burned into his chest. Three concentric circles, the skin at its worst where they join. Each one is a memory, a humiliation.

Taylor doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Caught with one hand halfway to his chest and another halfway to her mouth, she’s frozen in place, her eyes searching him for the answer to a question she seems scared to ask. He nods again, and she touches him. Gently, almost nervously. She traces the outline of the scars.

And then he’s too self-conscious. Not just because of the scars, but because his skin is sallow after so long without sun; because whatever she says about how toned he is, he can see his weakness in her eyes. So he snatches up his shirt and slips it back on.

It breaks the spell.

“I’m so sorry, Max,” she says.

He struggles to regather his usual emotional state, to find again the ol’ reliable ‘Max’ persona, the guy who doesn’t care too much about anything, not the burn scars on his ribs or the friends he’s lost or the fact that his one remaining real friend is now thousands of miles away.

“We used to know each other,” he says, casually tossing it at her like it’s a factoid his mom just read in the Style section of the newspaper. “The guy who burned me. Grew up together.” He knows he sounds flippant, but better that than bare himself again. And she seems to understand. A guy needs his emotional space. “We used to be close. Like kids are, I mean. Back in New York, there’s a room with both of our heights marked on the wall, just like that. Him and me. It was him and me, and then we drifted apart, and when he came back, he did this to me.”

“Oh,” Taylor says, eyes wide. “Oh! That’s why you, uh, when we marked your height, uh…”

“Yeah,” he says, his cheeks reddening. So much for ol’ reliable, emotionless Max. “That’s why it hit me so hard. Kinda brought him back, you know?” He laughs. “I thought I was better at hiding my shit than that. Turns out, I’m really not.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I see everything, anyway. So you’re just going to have to get used to that.”

* * *

Those burns are vicious. And that level of bullying is something else! Vista Primavera High has its problems, yes, but the worst she’s heard of lately is just normal bullcrap like freshmen getting dumped in the trash or having their lockers vandalized. And that it was done by someone he used to be friends with…

Max Giordano is going to need good friends from now on. Of that, Taylor is absolutely certain.

It hurt him so much to tell her, too. She saw him clam up after. And that’s so accurate, actually! He opened up, just a little bit, just enough for her to see, and then he snapped shut! It took her almost an hour to restore the innocent, fun, almost flirty attitude he had out in the yard, and she wonders if the weed was a bad idea; Max seems like one of those people who get melancholy when they’re high.

It was probably just because she made him relive the memories, though.

He’s also moved farther away from her on the bed. He’s practically falling off! Inevitable, probably. Honestly, you get a guy to admit to having one (1) emotion, and they immediately stop talking at all!

No, actually. That’s unfair. That’s not Max she’s thinking of, that’s Gordo, a teenage boy who can’t wait to be a man, who already considers himself to be what a man ought to be, and Taylor’s not in a rush to spend time socially with people who remind her of her father, thank you very much! She’s tried to tell him, over and over, to just talk to her like he used to. If he did, maybe she’d even get to the bottom of his obsession with sex!

No, wait; that’s also because Gordo is a teenage boy. In a way Max, somehow, is not.

“Hey,” she says, “talk to me, Max.”

“I’m okay,” he insists. He’s regained a little of the slight swagger he had before, the sense that he knows who he is, what he wants. Yes, it’s a lie, or at best a coping mechanism, but it’s a comforting one, for Taylor. There’s a real Max under the front he puts up, and she got to see it.

“Are you sure?” she says.

“Yeah. It’s just… I think you’re the only person I’ve talked to about what happened. Apart from my family. And doctors. And Avery, obviously. You’re the first person since her I’ve chosen to talk to about it. Which is kinda confusing, because I’ve known you for, what, twenty-nine hours?”

“More like thirty-one,” Taylor says, and she bounces on the mattress to bring herself closer. “Avery. You miss her, huh?”

He smiles, and that’s good, right? That’s a genuine smile on his face! Not one of the fake ones he puts on when he knows he ought to be smiling at something.

“I do. She’s been bugging me to talk to her online, but we don’t have internet yet, so—”

“Oh!” Well, there’s a good deed she can do! “I have internet. You want to talk to her right now? I can set it up! It’ll be really quick. Will she be at home on a Sunday afternoon?”

“Um, yeah, I think so,” he says, recoiling a little. Taylor reels herself in a bit. Too much enthusiasm for someone who just finished being a huge downer.

“Come on, then,” she says, bouncing the rest of the way over to his side of the bed—her thigh momentarily grazing his; just an accident!—and hopping off onto the floor. She rolls his chair back over to the computer desk and boots up her main PC again. The fans whirr gently into life—she spent a whole afternoon making sure her computer doesn’t sound like a jet engine, unlike Garrett’s—and by the time Max joins her, she’s looking at the desktop again. “Which client?”

“Which, uh…?”

“AIM, MSN, ICQ…?”

“Oh. AIM.”

Taylor opens AIM, logs herself out, and wheels herself away so Max can sit in front of the keyboard. When he maneuvers himself into position, she swings her chair around behind his and rests her forearms on its back, with her chin atop them. She can see the screen over his shoulder.

It must be a slow Sunday over in New York—three hours ahead, she remembers; Avery’s probably going to be called for dinner in the not-too-distant future—because the AIM window lights up almost instantly with a response.

Maximillion: Hey Avery A-Very-Nice-Person: Holy shit you got internet A-Very-Nice-Person: Did you get cable? Is it fast? A-Very-Nice-Person: We’re stuck on DSL and it’s not fucking dial up at least but I hate it A-Very-Nice-Person: Dad says we can’t get cable again until we pay our cable bill A-Very-Nice-Person: And he is ideologically opposed to paying cable bills as you know A-Very-Nice-Person: Anyway it’s so cool you’re back online I was DYING without you to talk to A-Very-Nice-Person: Max? Are you there? Maximillion: I’m here Maximillion: You just type really fast Maximillion: Chill A-Very-Nice-Person: I refuse A-Very-Nice-Person: ONE of us has to talk

“I like her already,” Taylor says.

“Why does that not surprise me?” Max replies.

Maximillion: Anyway I don’t have internet yet Maximillion: I’m at a friend’s house A-Very-Nice-Person: You made a friend already! That rules A-Very-Nice-Person: Can I embarrass you in front of him yet or are you still in the delicate getting to know you phase A-Very-Nice-Person: Circling the cave and grunting at each other until you establish a firm enough masculine bond to roast and eat a dead stag without trying to kill each other A-Very-Nice-Person: I think that’s how it works with boys anyway Maximillion: When have I ever grunted? A-Very-Nice-Person: I think you could grunt A-Very-Nice-Person: I’m not saying it wouldn’t be under duress A-Very-Nice-Person: But I AM saying it would be adorable Maximillion: Well Avery Maximillion: You’ll be happy to know you’ve already embarrassed me in front of HER A-Very-Nice-Person: ROFL A-Very-Nice-Person: Sorry Max’s friend if you can see this A-Very-Nice-Person: But I’m about to get even worse A-Very-Nice-Person: Deep breath A-Very-Nice-Person: What’s her name is she pretty is she prettier THAN ME and if she is does she like girls and is she open to a long distance relationship Maximillion: You have a girlfriend Avery A-Very-Nice-Person: SHE doesn’t know that

Taylor leans over Max’s shoulder and borrows the keyboard.

Maximillion: Hi! Max’s friend here, Avery, and I’m sorry, but I very much do know that now. Maximillion: Ya blew it. Maximillion: Sorreeeeeeee!!!!! A-Very-Nice-Person: Hey look Max your friend likes punctuation Maximillion: I’ll have you know I have a 4.3 average. Maximillion: I love punctuation. A-Very-Nice-Person: Holy shit Max a 4.3, hitch your wagon to this girl A-Very-Nice-Person: She’ll take you places Maximillion: Okay it’s me again, and I’m doing fine thank you Avery Maximillion: I’ll keep my wagon where it belongs.

“You’re a menace,” Max tells Taylor. She beams at him, and then twists around to get out of her chair.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she says. “You want something to drink? We have iced tea or water or—”

“Iced tea is fine, unless you have anything like Dr Pepper.”

“I think we might actually have Dr Pepper. You want? Okay! Be right ba-aaack!”

She sings the last word as she skips out of the room, and then she’s down the stairs in a flash. She can’t resist putting a little flourish into it as she rounds the bend from the bottom of the stairs into the living room, because Garrett’s probably still in there, and it annoys him to see her expending so much excess energy. Or moving fast, like, at all.

And there he is, wasting whole days away on the couch. As usual. She sticks her tongue out at him; he gives her the finger. She escapes to look for sodas, but by the time she’s dug them out of the fridge, he’s leaning against the arch that separates the kitchen from the rest of the rooms downstairs.

“Make sure you put the baggie back in my room,” he says.

“Yeah,” she says. “Duh.”

“Make sure you reseal it.”

“Obviously.”

“And make sure you air out your room and—”

“I know, Garrett!”

“Okay! Jesus! I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re starting to get cranky,” she says, maneuvering around him as she exits the kitchen, a Diet Dr Pepper in each hand. “Maybe you should smoke some more.” On her way back up the stairs, she turns and yells, “And then maybe you’ll get turbo cancer and die!”

“I’m your big brother, Taylor!” he shouts after her. “I’m looking out for you!”

“You’re a big pain in my ass!” she shouts back, leaning over the railing so her voice echoes properly. She swoops back into her room, ignoring the grumbling from downstairs, and as she closes the door with her butt, she’s delighted to see Max laughing at something on the screen.

Well, mostly delighted. It would have been nice if it had been her who made him laugh, not this Avery girl, but it’s still good to see.

“Drink up,” she says, placing the can in front of him.

“Diet,” he observes, before opening it and taking a swig.

“I’m an athlete!” She opens hers and presses the cold can against his bare forearm, making him wince and pull away. “And so are you!”

“Thanks, Tay,” he says, grinning at her.

“So? How’s she doing?”

“Avery? She’s good. Same as normal.” He points to the screen, and Taylor swings her chair around behind again, so she can look properly. As she drinks, Max goes back to typing.

A-Very-Nice-Person: It’s going to be weird going back to school without you A-Very-Nice-Person: I’m going to have to get a new best friend Maximillion: At least you won’t have to have the locker next to the one that always has FAG on it anymore A-Very-Nice-Person: What if I befriend a new fag A-Very-Nice-Person: Oh shit am I allowed to say that Maximillion: No but neither am I

Taylor hides her smile behind her Diet Dr Pepper. Definitely not gay, then. Just checking!

A-Very-Nice-Person: Have you seen your new school yet Maximillion: No but I figure any school is like any other school right? Maximillion: Different color metal detectors maybe A-Very-Nice-Person: ROFL depressing A-Very-Nice-Person: Rolling on the floor sobbing my eyes out A-Very-Nice-Person: Leave New York and see the sights in sunny California! A-Very-Nice-Person: Get violated by entirely new rentacops!

“It’s not too bad, actually,” Taylor says, having drained her Dr Pepper already. “We’ve got a couple security guys, but no metal detectors. They keep saying they’re going to beef up security, but so far…” She crosses her fingers.

Maximillion: Taylor says no metal detectors

Taylor borrows the keyboard again.

Maximillion: Taylor here, AND our security guys have cute little name tags and they get fired if they get too handsy. Which HAS happened, so that’s not great, but at least they got fired. A-Very-Nice-Person: You’re leading the nation A-Very-Nice-Person: Also hi Taylor! A-Very-Nice-Person: Max won’t say if you’re prettier than me Maximillion: Just a second, Avery. I can solve that conundrum.

Taylor surrenders the keyboard to Max, but before he can type anything else, she claims the mouse and loads the webcam application. The little camera is still positioned on top of the monitor, pointing down at them, covering what Taylor’s always considered her most flattering angle. “Say cheese,” she says, and puts on a peppy smile, pressing her cheek against Max’s.

In the preview, he looks adorably startled and she looks great, so she saves the picture and drags it into the AIM window.

A-Very-Nice-Person: Oh shit she IS prettier than me A-Very-Nice-Person: How depressing A-Very-Nice-Person: You see it right Max A-Very-Nice-Person: You see how she’s prettier than me Maximillion: Avery Maximillion: You realize I’m stuck now don’t you? Maximillion: I can’t say you’re prettier than Taylor because she’s right here Maximillion: And I can’t say the opposite either Maximillion: Whatever I say I’m doomed

“Duh,” Taylor says, giggling. “You say we’re both beautiful.”

A-Very-Nice-Person: Repeat after me, Maxxy: “You’re both pretty.”

“She makes a good point,” Taylor says.

Maximillion: There’s an echo in here. Maximillion: Taylor said the exact same thing you did. A-Very-Nice-Person: Well yeah A-Very-Nice-Person: All of us are taught this as children A-Very-Nice-Person: We get secret classes A-Very-Nice-Person: How to make boys uncomfortable is like the first lesson A-Very-Nice-Person: It’s our main weapon in the battle of the sexes A-Very-Nice-Person: That and mace

“I have some Mace,” Taylor whispers, “if you ever need some. I have spare, I mean.”

“Why would I need Mace?”

“Don’t know. But just in case. I’ll bring some over.”

“Don’t bring me Mace, Taylor.”

“Just in case!”

* * *

Max isn’t exactly late for dinner, but he needs to shower to get rid of the weed stink, and since it’s also his turn to set the table, he’s going to be cutting it really close. So he barges in through the front door at full speed, yells out that he’s here, that he’ll be down in a minute, that he just needs a shower, and he makes it to the stairs without either of his parents getting a chance to intercept him and yell at him about timekeeping, about the watch his Aunt Gabriele got him, about how it keeps perfect time, about how he should wear it more, and about how he knows when dinner is and when to be home for it.

See? He doesn’t even need to be yelled at; he’s got the script memorized.

He doesn’t make it to his bedroom entirely unscathed, though. Clay’s in his room with his door open, and he calls out as Max passes. Panting, Max stops in the doorway, leaning on the frame with both hands.

“Yeah?” Max says.

“Nice girl, is she?”

“Yeah.”

“Girlfriend?”

“What? No. Clay, we’ve been here a day.”

“You moved on Avery pretty quick back home.”

“We weren’t— Never mind. I need a shower.”

“Good idea.” Clay wafts a hand in front of his nose. “And wash those clothes yourself.”

“Uh, yeah, I will.”

As Max turns to leave, Clay says, “Nice scrunchie, Max.”

“What? Oh. Shit.”

“You wearing it to dinner? So Mom and Dad can get a good look at it?”

“Uh. No. Definitely not.”

“Okay then.”

Max makes his escape.

It’s annoying to have to wash his hair twice in one day, but hair’s worse than clothes for retaining weed stink, and as much as he could pass it off as an unfortunate byproduct of existing in the presence of Taylor’s stoner brother, he doesn’t want to take the risk; Mom’d probably go over there to complain about Garrett’s corrupting influence. And the shower gives him the opportunity to think, too.

About Taylor.

He let her touch his scars. And something about that felt right. Felt like it demystified them somehow. Like Taylor claimed them, and in doing so, released their hold on him just a little. He’s not going to start going topless, but maybe by bringing them so completely into his new life, into a new friendship, she’s begun a process which might eventually sever their connection to his past.

Yeah. He kinda likes that.

He also likes that Taylor and Avery get along. They chatted for a while, switching the keyboard back and forth, until Avery had to go for dinner. She and Taylor exchanged details, and then it was just Max and Taylor again. Watching TV. Talking about nothing. Talking about everything.

She’s relaxing to be around. She’s a lot smarter than he originally assumed she would be, which is on him. Making assumptions. Like a girl can’t be bubbly and peppy and test well!

He smiles as he soaps himself up. Her words in her voice. Different to Avery’s—basically two exact opposite points of the female vocal range—but not shrill and whining like he always expects cheerleaders’ voices to be.

“Wow,” he says to himself, imitating Taylor. “Prejudiced much?”

They talked about birthdays. She has one coming up, and he is of course invited to her eighteenth on September 13. He told her he had a birthday recently, but that he didn’t really celebrate it, just hung out with Avery as usual. The confession brought the mood down again. It didn’t last, though, and to change the subject, she showed him her hand-annotated copy of the squad routine book and talked him through what cheerleaders do that gymnasts don’t. When it was finally time for him to go home for dinner, it was with the knowledge of what flyers, bases and spotters are, what they do, and how disastrous it can be when any of them fuck up.

In all, his second day in California could have gone a lot worse. Though it’s weird that Taylor hasn’t mentioned her boyfriend even once yet.

* * *

He’s so dumb! So adorably, annoyingly dumb! He wants to do gymnastics. He’s desperate to get back to it! She could see it in the way he hungrily watched the cheer routines she played for him, and in the rapt attention he paid when she was showing him the cheer book, but he won’t do anything about it! And, okay, Vista Primavera High doesn’t have a gymnastics team, so he can’t do it at school, but he can take classes or something! He can do it on his own time! But no, instead he’s just going to try to keep up with the basics in his backyard—or in hers—and leave it at that.

But he’s also not dumb, and she knows why. He doesn’t want to be the ‘gym eff ay gee’ at another school. He wants to keep his head down and graduate and go to college. And eventually, it went unsaid, he’ll become more like his brother—because he will, Taylor’s wishful thinking notwithstanding—and he’ll either have to learn everything again from scratch—and never again be as good as he was—or he’ll give it up forever.

It was itching on the tip of her tongue all afternoon: join the squad! She wanted so much to say it! And he’d be amazing! He’s better than her at the technical stuff, even if she’s fitter and can last longer, and the other stuff, the cheer-specific stuff, she could teach him, no trouble. Eddie could teach him the guys’ role in the squad. And he’d make them better in turn! They could learn so much from each other!

But she didn’t say it, because she can’t. Because he’s the wrong size and shape. Their routines—their very squad—assume a certain size and shape of guy. Eddie is six foot one and closer to Gordo than Max in physique, and the other guys on the squad are similar; there’s no role for Max there. And while in theory he could take up the same role as one of the girl bases, or even be a flyer if he starts working on his core again, since he can already land like a champ… he’d never agree to it. Being a guy doing girl stuff on the cheer squad is probably significantly worse than being a gym eff ay gee.

Shoot. She’s so close to a solution that helps them both, but there’s no way she can make it work!

Taylor shakes her head and jumps up from her bed, aiming to call for takeout before Garrett gets a chance to order the greasiest and most disgusting food he can find in the big pile of menus in the kitchen. On her way past the computer desk, the picture of her and Max, the one she took with her webcam and sent to Avery, catches her eye.

It makes her smile. Warms her stomach. Because they look like such good friends already!

But what’s weird is that with the low resolution of the webcam, with the fat pixels obscuring the finer details of his face, with the angle the picture was taken from, he looks kinda like a girl.

He looks kinda like a pretty girl.

Taylor stares.

Like a really pretty—

“Taylor!” Garrett calls from downstairs. “I’m ordering food!”

Shoot!

She shakes her head and runs to the door. “Oh no you don’t!” she yells, and starts down the stairs, flexing her fingers, preparing to rip the phone right out of his stupid stoner hands before he orders something with more oil by volume than an entire KFC, and kick him if that doesn’t seem like enough.

* * *

Monday goes by quickly. Max showers, dresses in loose clothing he can move in, and goes over to Taylor’s. They exercise together. Taylor shows him more of her cheerleader moves and tries to give him an idea of how they work with more than one person, but it’s difficult to imagine. She says she should get her friend Willa over, because she’s on the squad and can help Taylor show him, if he’s interested. He says he’s fine just imagining for now.

Then it’s back upstairs to chat and watch TV. She will take him shopping one day, she says, but she’s going to give him more time to get acclimated before she subjects him to the malls here. They hang out, they talk to Avery a little more together, Taylor still doesn’t mention that she has a boyfriend—he’s been noticing more and more how she doesn’t talk about him—and then it’s dinner time and he’s got to go home.

And just when he’s getting excited at the thought of doing it all over again tomorrow—and reveling in the feeling of actually looking forward to something for once—his mom drops the bombshell: on Tuesday, they’re having a family day. They’re going to go out together and look around the stores and have a nice lunch somewhere, so he needs to get his sunscreen and some nice clothes and be ready to go out at nine in the morning sharp.

As Taylor would say, ick!

They got the cable TV and internet connected while he was out, though, so after dinner he sets up his aging computer and messages Taylor on AIM to tell her he can’t come over tomorrow. She’s sad—and annoyed that it’s not going to be her who introduces him to the shopping here—but she gets over it, and they end up talking well into the night.

* * *

“Yeah, and he can’t come over today. His parents want a ‘family day’, which basically means they’ve kidnapped him and his enormous brother and they’re going to drive all over town and go shopping and eat out and because they’re from New York they’re probably all going to die of heatstroke on the steps of Spring View Mall twenty feet away from the air conditioning and I’m bored, Willa!”

“Whoa! Okay. Take it easy, Tay. Start again. Who is Max?”

Taylor winds the phone cord around her little finger. “He’s this boy—”

“No, no, I understood that part. I mean, why are you so into him?”

“I’m not into him! He’s just— He’s nice, Willa. He’s a nice guy. Do you know any nice guys? Apart from Eddie, I mean.”

“Apart from Eddie? No. I know plenty of only mildly offputting guys, if that helps.”

“It extremely does not.”

“Fair,” Willa says.

“Willa, he’s super sweet and you have to meet him! So what I was thinking is, he had his eighteenth like a week ago, just over, and he didn’t even do anything for it! So I thought about a surprise party—you know how much I love surprises—but he’s kinda gunshy. So then I thought, what about us? Like, the four of us? You and Eddie and me and Max. Tomorrow night. Over here. Garrett can get us drinks and we’ll have a little birthday party! For Max!”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh-huh’?”

“Me and my boyfriend and you and your…”

“Max, yes.”

“You and your Max.”

“No! Just me and Max. He’s not mine…” She probably shouldn’t sound so wistful.

“You have a boyfriend, Taylor! Remember Gordo? Big guy. Linebacker. Very straight nose.” Over the line, Willa giggles. “Very straight guy in general.”

“Max isn’t like that.”

“Didn’t you say he’s not gay?”

“He’s not! He said so!”

“He just, like, came out and said it?”

On her kitchen stool, Taylor squirms. “Not directly. But we were talking to his friend from New York and they were talking like he’s not gay. He even said he’s ‘not allowed’ to say the word; you know, um, eff, ay—”

“You don’t need to spell it, Tay.” Willa breathes heavily into the phone. “So. He’s not gay. And he’s not like Gordo. What is he like?”

“I don’t know, Willa! He’s… He’s sweet and he’s sensitive and he’s kinda… He’s Max, Willa. Max.”

“You’re saying his name like you think it’s helping your ‘not into him’ case.”

“Is it?”

“No.”

“No fair,” Taylor whines.

“You’re lusting, Tay.”

“Am not!”

“Does he know he’s got no chance?”

“…No? Yes? Maybe? But I don’t want that from him, Willa. I want a friend. I want him to be more like how you are with me, not like how Gordo is with me. I think. Shoot, I don’t know. Stop asking confusing questions.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I’ll come to your party, Tay. I’ll wear something nice and I’ll bring Eddie and I’ll meet your new best friend and we can do the birthday thing. Just promise me it won’t be weird.”

“Zero weirdness. I promise. Willa, you’re the best.”

“I know. And—”

“Shoot! Doorbell! Gotta go!”

She could probably have made it to the front door without having to hang up, because the kitchen phone has a really long cord, but if she kept Willa on the line she was going to keep asking those uncomfortable questions, and they’re not anything Taylor wants to address right now. She’s on the fourth day of her friendship with Max and she still doesn’t know exactly what she wants from him, only that she wants something, and it’s definitely not what she wants from Gordo.

She’s still frowning at the thought of it when the doorbell goes again, reminding her why she hung up in the first place. Irritably she rushes to the front door and yanks it open.

Shoot.

“Gordo!”

“Hey, babe!”

He yanks her into an embrace she has no chance of getting out of unless she wants to get violent, so she waits for him to get done before she says anything else. And then he plants a kiss on her mouth as he releases her, so she has to wait that out, too.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, when finally she can. “I thought football camp was—”

“It’s not ‘football camp’, Tay, I keep telling you.” He starts taking the stairs two at a time, and Taylor has to admit that for all that he can be, well, annoying and persistent, he has a great body. And it’s a reactive body, too. He moves a muscle in his arm and it’s like a butterfly flapping its wings; somewhere on the other end of his body, another muscle moves with it. “It’s an intensive week-long training regimen overseen by—”

“If it’s so intensive,” she says, climbing the stairs after him, “then why are you here?”

“I missed you, Tay!”

He punctuates her name by swinging open the door to her room. She follows him inside, allows him to shut the door, and when he sits down on the end of her bed she chooses one of the computer chairs, rolling it into the center of the room.

“No, seriously,” she says. “Why are you here?”

“Coach gave us the afternoon off and it’s only sixty miles and I wanted to surprise you, Tay!”

She reaches forward to swat him on the knee. “Gordo! You know I hate surprises!”

“I know, I know,” he says, “you like everything to be organized and in its place—” he mimes typing on an invisible typewriter, which is seemingly how Gordo thinks you organize yourself, “—but you’re not doing anything today, are you?”

“No,” she admits.

“So?”

“Fine,” she says, stepping up from her chair and over to him. He rises to meet her, circles an arm around her waist and dips her, and the shiver that involuntarily passes through her isn’t entirely unwelcome. Enough that when she comes up, flushed, she’s ready for more. But she has to set the ground rules, first. “No sex stuff, though.” She holds a finger up to his face, which is tricky because of how close he’s holding her. “Okay?”

He kisses her again and releases her. “Yeah, Tay, I got it. I can wait a month. Hey, you wanna go out on your birthday, just the two of us, and celebrate?”

“I have a party on my birthday, Gordo. You know that!”

“Okay. Day after?”

“That’s a Sunday, and we have school the next day. We’ll do something the Friday after, okay?”

Gordo nods, grinning expansively. “Perfect, Tay, just perfect. I can’t wait. I mean, I can wait. And I will wait. But I can’t.”

“Understood, Gordo.”

“And— Oh, hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

And that’s when Taylor realizes she should have been so much more careful, that she shouldn’t have let Gordo come up here—not that she had much chance of stopping him—and that maybe she should start applying the same ruthless organization and forward planning she uses for school, cheerleading and Gordo to the rest of her personal life, because he’s over at the door, looking at the latest addition to the height marks carved into the frame.

“Tay,” he says slowly, “who’s Max? Is he a guy? Did you have a guy in your room?”

Strangely, he doesn’t sound mad. At least, he doesn’t sound like he usually sounds when he’s mad. His voice is too steady. Somehow that’s even scarier.

“No guys, Gordo,” she says quickly, because it’s what he needs to hear. “Promise.”

“So who is he?”

Looking quickly around her room for inspiration, Taylor’s eyes land briefly on the computer, and she remembers the webcam photo she took. How the low-quality camera basically erased the wispy dark hairs on Max’s upper lip and softened his features. Made him look different.

“Max is a girl,” she says. “Maxine. She’s a friend and she was visiting. We were just messing around.”

“I don’t know a Maxine,” Gordo says, still frowning.

Taylor quickly reaches for some facts she can use to anchor the lie. “She just moved here. She starts at our school in the fall. She’s nice, Gordo.”

“Cool,” he says, nodding. “Cool.” And then his grin returns as if it had never left. “Is she hot?”

“Yes,” Taylor says, “she’s hot, but you’re taken, you idiot!”

He holds up his hands in fake surrender and edges around the room, pretending to back away from her. “I get it, I get it, don’t attack me!”

Gordo’s still backing away, and he bumps into the computer desk, knocking the mouse and deactivating the screensaver, and Taylor wishes desperately for a do-over of the last few days, or at the very least, the last few minutes.

She left the webcam picture up on the screen. She had it up last night when they were talking—just to look at—and she never turned off her stupid computer because she was too tired, and she couldn’t even hear it when she woke up because it’s so freaking quiet, and now Gordo’s looking at Max, and—

“Oh, hey,” he says. “Is that Maxine? She is hot.”

How to Fly, book one of When You Fell from Heaven, which comprises the first ten chapters of the story, is available:

On Amazon, for Kindle and in Paperback.

As an ebook from these online stores.

Or from Itch.io.

Or you can read all current chapters on my Patreon! Subscribing to my Patreon at the $5 tier will get you all fifteen chapters (so far) of When You Fell from Heaven. You will also get access to my ongoing stories The Catch, a forced-fem riff on Fifty Shades with illustrations by Emory Ahlberg, and Kimmy, a horrifying take on the Halloween costume that won’t let you out. And you’ll get the full epub of the revised version of Show Girl, my egg-cracking trans romance, and access to chapters of The Sisters of Dorley two weeks early!

[joffyworld]

COTL Freaky Tierlist

ALRIGHT LISTEN UP CHUCKLEFUCKS

I'm about to drop some life changing lore and if you can't handle it, that's tough titties my brothers, sisters and theys. If you don't agree with this tier list, you're either a normal person (in which case why are you here run for the hills) or you're so damn freaky that God forgot that was possible when he made me.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, FROM LEAST TO MOST FREAKY:

F:

Kallamar - Need I say more? This loveable twink is soft as his husbands knickers and by God would we not have him any other way. This fucker can't even fathom anything beyond the most painfully dull missionary imaginable, and that's just as an excuse to cuddle more afterwards. "But Joffy" I hear you say, "He's a renowned slut he should be in A!" Wrong. He couldn't be more vanilla, it's all an act and anyone with more than 3 spouses is just fucking lying at that point. Cmon, he may be a God, but deep inside that cowards octopussy is a love for the mundane.

D:

Heket - Controversial I know. But hear me out here. Heket has spent all her life getting fucked by life, she has literally no time for your stupid fleshy appendages, and to top it off she's the most desperately useless lesbian this side of the lands of the old faith. Renowned from Darkwood to Anchordeep, this bitch is fucking stupid when it comes to "rizzing a shawty" and it shows because she spends all her time yapping about the good ol' days. She's only slightly freakier than Kallamar because she's probably into being burned by cigarettes or some shit, but let's face facts. Inexperience guides this poor phrog into the D tier, despite her aversion to "D" to begin with.

Leshy - This stupid dumb stupid worm barely knows that sex exists, and if you asked him what his favourite position is he'd say "1st" and then promptly challenge you to a footrace. The God of Chaos has no time for ropes and rails, but he's at least got a good heart and is pretty gay for that cat. I've watched this stupid fucker get divorced in two different AU's because he couldn't live with the guilt, you think he's surviving post-nut clarity? No. Enough said, he's keeping it clean and calm in the bedroom, and that cat couldn't be happier about that considering his daily life is fucking mental. Keep the Chaos outside, inside? Domestic worm only.

C:

Goat - Now this is where it gets tricky, you might think that the gruff exterior of a mass murdering psychopath is enough to demonstrate a willingness to get tied upside down and spank the monkey till the sun don't shine. But brother, let me tell you, it ain't fuckin true. Don't get me wrong, this goat can fuck, and boy does he, but most of the time it's all bark no bite in the flirting department. Easily flustered, puts up an external image of punk-rock to hide that he's an utter cinnamon bun, the whole works. That being said, with a long term partner? Buckle up. That crown isn't dildo-purple for no reason, prepare for bliss and potential bliss-ters.

B:

Lamb - OKAY HOLD YOUR HORSES this is gonna be a tough one. You've gotta be thinking, that's either wayyy too high for this silly lil fella, or wayyy to low for this absolute cock devouring demon, but let me remind you, this one here is subjective. This is the only character I've seen written as everything from an asexual to a violent and sadistic cannibal, so what fairer rating than the exact middle? It truly does depends, if you're on your "cannibalism is routine and fun" shit then you're gonna be rocketing right up there, straight to S baby, unless you have some kind of twisted mentality you need checked by a licensed psychiatrist to somehow think that's tame; not to shame it mind you. But if you're more on the side of the lamb's that typically get posted by a cuter artist, than you're gonna be rocking a D or even an F. This little fuzzy fucker is traumatized, some type of gay no matter what, and certainly a wildcard, and what better way to celebrate that then with a middle-of-the-road approach? Besides, their most famous partner is certainly a bit more repressed, which leads us to:

A:

Narinder - Are we surprised? This fuzzy little furball has been trapped in prison for 1000 years with his two kids and NOTHING ELSE to do except hope he can get back on the market. The moment he's freed, it's gonna be hell unleashed, but thankfully 99% of the time he's either so angry or so oblivious it turns into a slowburn of passion with his fuzzy lil sheepguy that he definitely "doesn't" have a thing for. But, as the well versed know, this motherfucker has seen shit, and being the God of Death is gonna give you a weird taste in, well, "tastes" than a normal life will. I mean really, the guys fuckin surrounded by miserable dead people all day, he needs stress relief and his enthusiasm for revenge borders on the horny-sided. This guy fucks, but mostly gets fucked, and remains The One Who Bottoms in almost every AU. Cmon people, if you've read this far you've fuckin seen it with your own eyes, do I really to lecture about it more?

S:

The Mura™ - The fucker that started it all. I bet until now you thought I wouldn't include this loveable spider and awful mother-sibling of 4, but here we are. This goddamn spider has single-parented a family of genocidal psychopaths since history started being recorded, and to match that then had to almost literally kill one of their own brother-kid-things to save the others. Stressed and in need of relief? Check. You know what makes a motherfucker freaky? Repression, and this spider is goddamn dripping in it (pun intended) and is ready to burst. I myself may be a Shamura aroace truther, but if I have to put a letter on it, it's 100% in the universes where this spider fucks. Copulates, eats your head, kills your family mid-coitus, the whole shebang, but boy is that gonna be the best last nut you'll ever bust. This spider's an expert, literally the God of War and by God are they gonna wage war on your holes, not to mention ALSO being the God of Wisdom? I mean come on, somebody had to write the Kama Sutra, and it was this horny bastard

And that's it

You may have questions, you may have alternative takes, to be honest I'll probably change my mind the moment I hit post and remember that actually Heket deepthroated a glizzy on the 5th of October last year, but honestly? Who gives a shit. These gods be gay people, that's all that matters.

Goodnight, Lamb Bless, and may you never encounter The Mura during ovulation. Godspeed soldiers, amen.

[misshoneyimhome]

I am really feeling a whole situation with like Joseph Woll where the reader is like his friend and is trying to get his attention with a new outfit. Maybe it’s a bit hot and heavy and I’m definitely feeling it being set to “dress” by taylor swift….

Oh, absolutely, bb! 🤍 Friends to lovers with Woller - yes, please 😉 This also goes out to the anon who asked for soft smut with this cutie!

Joe's such a Prince Charming, and I'm def here for it! I hope I've managed to convey your vision, with just a hint of heartache and a whole lot of romance, spiced up with a touch of smut 🤭 Please, enjoy 💓

Warnings; 18+ smut; f masturbating, fingering, unprotected sex (p in v); 🤍

Word count; 4.4K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

Dress - “I don’t want you like a best friend” I Joseph Woll 🖋️🌺⚡️

"WOAH! What a save from Woll! The game's flipping like crazy, and the Leafs are battling the Islanders! Who'd have thought it, eh? The home team was cruising with a 4-0 lead halfway through the second period!"

You found yourself holding your breath, listening to the commentators bellowing on the telly. The Leafs had been trailing for most of the game, but out of nowhere, the tables had turned, and now they were tied 4-4 going into overtime.

It was another Thursday night, glued to the TV for the Leafs' away game, and another night spent cheering on your best friend Joseph Woll as he pulled off incredible saves. And to everyone’s surprise, the game ended 4-5, all thanks to his amazing comeback. 

-

No one could’ve prepared you.

When you first met Joseph Woll, you never expected the whirlwind that would follow. Not only was he a goaltender for the Toronto Maple Leafs, but he was also the kindest, most charming, and good-looking guy you'd ever met. His smile could effortlessly light up a room and his personality had you smitten right from the start. And life just wasn't the same after that.

Because Joe seemed miles out of your league. Despite the laughs and friendly banter, he never showed any romantic interest beyond friendship. So, you instead accepted your role and stood by him as his best friend.

Truth be told, navigating your feelings wasn't easy. Ever since you became friends through mutual connections, you'd been riding waves of highs and lows. You were nothing but an ordinary person, getting on with life after finishing your studies, figuring out this whole adulting thing. And he was a pro athlete, admired by many, especially the ladies.

However, his last relationship, which nearly turned serious, had ended painfully, so you remained the steadfast friend, always there to listen and support him as he concentrated on his career and avoided getting emotionally entangled.

Little did he know, his heartache only served to deepen your own feelings for him. Now that he was single, a spark of hope ignited within you, despite knowing it was ill-timed while he was still healing.

Despite the ache in your heart, you continued to be his rock, offering your shoulder whenever he needed it, whether it was about hockey or his personal struggles.

-

Watching Joseph from the comfort of your sofa in your small studio apartment, a glass of red wine in hand, was a balm for your soul. His infectious smile as the final horn sounded, and his teammates surrounded him with pats on the head and hugs for his stellar performance, warmed your heart deeply. Yet, it also stirred something more intimate within you.

You almost felt a pang of guilt as you watched the post-game interview on your phone from your bed, your hand gradually finding its way under the duvet to your lacy underwear, gently exploring your sensitive spot.

Allowing the video to loop, you listened to his voice as you increased the intensity, edging yourself closer to pleasure. 

Part of you wished to stop, to redirect your thoughts away from him as you indulged in self-pleasure. However, even after switching off the interview, his image lingered in your mind, haunting your thoughts as you closed your eyes.

You pictured his long, dexterous fingers teasing your most sensitive areas, his hands exploring and stimulating you with care and desire. Imagining how he would make love to you, with tender motions and passionate kisses, filled your mind with longing.

But it was only you, your own touch, yet with thoughts of him filling your mind, you reached the peak of pleasure, his name slipping from your lips as you released a sigh of satisfaction.

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you. Only the thought that you were the only one privy to this intimate moment provided some comfort, but it didn't fully alleviate the feeling. As you gradually opened your eyes and returned to the reality of your own apartment, a soft "shit" escaped your lips, acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation.

The boys were returning from their short road trip with a renewed vigour, just in time for the annual ‘A Night with Blue & White’ gala. A night that promised to be a dazzling affair, with the venue adorned in the team's colours, heartfelt speeches about community outreach and opportunities for children filling the air, and the Toronto Maple Leafs players dressed to the nines in their finest suits.

And to your great surprise, Joseph had asked you to be his date for the night just before they went on the road. At first, you couldn't quite believe it. He wanted you to accompany him alongside his teammates and friends for the evening, to which you naturally, eagerly accepted, the words almost tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. You had to apologise for your overzealous response, but Joe, always so sweet, simply chuckled and flashed you his charming smile.

"Don’t worry, it's just as friends, so you don’t have to be nervous, y/n," he reassured you.

As if that was supposed to ease your mind? If anything, it only made the sting sharper. Yet, with your knack for putting on a brave face, you brushed it off with a friendly smile.

"Well, I can’t help it, Joe… now I have to find a dress! I mean, I don’t have anything to wear for a gala!"

There was a moment of shared laughter as you enjoyed a quick dinner together, catching up on a few episodes of your favourite TV show.

"Oh, no need to panic! Y/n, you'll look beautiful in anything!" 

Joseph's words echoed in your mind for days, accompanied by his laughter and broad grin. Did he truly mean that you'd look good in anything? Even beautiful?

You tried to push the thought aside. You knew you had to let go of the hope for his romantic affection, as he consistently reinforced that you were just his friend.

However, you couldn't resist one last attempt. Seizing the chance to dress to impress, you searched for the perfect outfit to catch Joe's eye. And if this didn't work, you resolved to find a way to move on from your unrequited feelings.

So, as the event was only a day away, you settled on what you deemed the perfect combination of elegance and allure: a long, silky black dress, with a chic neckline and a hint of skin. It struck the balance between sophistication and allure, hoping to capture Joseph's attention, as you promised yourself to go all out, bring your best self – and if Joe still saw you as just a friend, at least you could say you gave it your all. Well, except for directly telling him how you felt; but you weren't quite that bold.

Yet as the night approached, you felt nothing but confident and radiant, putting the finishing touches on your hair and makeup. Tonight, you hoped to gain clarity on your deep feelings, whether for better or worse, and you were prepared to face whatever came your way.

You allowed yourself a few minutes to pep-talk yourself and make a few power poses in the mirror, however, interrupting your thoughts, a knock sounded at your door. Joseph, as expected, had come to pick you up, and when you met him at the doorway, a smile automatically spread across your face.

"Wow, love the look, Mr. Caveman," you chuckled lightly, noticing how he'd let his dark beard grow out.

"Yeah, well, all the boys were doing it, so I thought I'd give it a shot as well," Joe laughed, running his hand over the scruff.

As always, he looked impeccably handsome in his dark grey checkered suit, his hair perfectly styled with just the right touch of ruggedness from the beard. Which only made it harder to accept the possibility that he didn't share your feelings.

"Well, it suits you," you merely replied, flashing him a sweet smile.

There was a moment of silence as you both exchanged smiles, until Joe shook his head, his eyes widening slightly as he took in your outfit.

"Oh, and wow, you look…" he struggled to find the words to describe your appearance. "Wow…"

It was the exact reaction you'd hoped for.

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment," you chuckled in response.

"It... it definitely is."

And after a few more moments of sharing admiring glances, Joe, ever the gentleman, offered you his arm as you walked to his car, ready to embark on the evening ahead.

To describe the venue as breathtakingly beautiful would be an understatement, as the blue and white lights illuminated the Fairmont Royal York Hotel, casting an elegant glow and creating a stunning atmosphere.

Everything about the night seemed perfect, except for the reaction you longed for from Joseph. Despite his proximity in the crowded room, he felt simultaneously near yet distant, leaving you yearning for more. You wanted him to see you, to truly see you.

And as the evening slowly wore on, you felt your hands tremble and your heart race as you watched him softly play tunes on the piano in the dim light. Thankfully, it seemed no one else noticed the depth of your connection to the goalie, but as everyone stood in awe of his talent, you reached your breaking point.

You'd held back for so long, the patience and desperate longing eating away at you. So, taking a large sip of the expensive champagne, you excused yourself to catch some fresh air. Perhaps you weren't quite ready to confront your own emotions, to face the truth of whether Joe felt the same for you.

So, you resolved to let it go. That was, until Joseph caught up with you just outside in the yard.

"Hey, y/n, are you okay?" he gently took hold of your hand, causing you to turn halfway to meet his gaze. But you couldn't muster the cheerful smile you usually wore. You had surrendered to defeat, allowing tears to well in your eyes and trickle down your cheek as you looked up at the tall man before you. "Oh damn, what's wrong?"

Under the starlit night sky, your gaze locked with Joe's, his hand resting gently on your arm. Despite the cold January air causing a light shiver, your mind was too preoccupied to notice. And with a final mental push, you mustered the courage to speak your truth.

"I don't want you like a best friend, Joe..."

Joseph seemed taken aback, his concerned expression shifting to one of stunned surprise. "What?"

"I can't keep doing this..." your voice trembled, struggling to hold back tears. Instead, you offered him a smile, though your eyes betrayed nothing but defeat. "I can't pretend to be just your best friend when... when I'm in love with you."

The words hung in the air, your heart laid bare and open, as your deepest secret was exposed. Now, you would discover whether it would all come crashing down or if there was still hope.

But Joseph remained silent, his deep brown eyes reflecting the shimmering lights of the evening.

Meanwhile, tears welled in your eyes. With each passing moment, the ache in your heart intensified, as if a knife were being twisted, digging deeper and deeper.

The pain was unbearable.

You couldn't fathom what was going through Joseph's mind. And just as you were on the brink of giving up all hope, he finally broke the silence.

"Y/n, I..."

"It's okay," you interjected quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand..."

Just like that, the knife was pulled out, leaving your heart shattered into a million pieces.

"No, you don't understand..." Joseph's words cut through the air, his hands reaching out for yours, holding them tightly as his eyes bore into yours. "Y/n... I'm in love with you too."

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You had already resigned yourself to your fate, but Joseph suddenly turned everything on its head.

"What?" you gasped, barely able to comprehend what he was saying.

"Yeah, I... I think I've been in love with you for... God knows how long," he admitted with a mixture of laughter and sigh, running his fingers through his hair as if he were just realising the depth of his feelings.

"Wait... You're in love with me?” 

You were utterly stunned; your head spinning as you tried to process what Joseph was confessing to you.

"Well, yeah! I was just worried you didn't feel the same... Every time I tried to flirt with you, you just... laughed it off and carried on with a joke or something," he admitted. "And... truthfully, I was afraid you wouldn’t want, you know, this kind of life, one with me and my career."

It was all too much to take in. You felt like your heart was bleeding, yet Joseph was slowly piecing it back together with his own admission of feelings. And suddenly, a rush of joy swept over you, as if all wounds had been healed, and you almost couldn't resist throwing yourself into his arms.

Closing the distance between you, you reached up to wrap your hand around the back of his neck, leaning in to connect your lips with his. You felt a hint of embarrassment at how eager you must have seemed, but in that moment, you didn't care. Finally, you were free, and Joseph shared the same desire as you.

Breaking apart from the kiss, you couldn't help but chuckle, the sound mingling with Joseph's laughter. "Shit, I'm so sorry... I just... I've wanted to do that for so long," you confessed, briefly looking down.

But Joseph's hand under your chin gently lifted your head, allowing your eyes to meet his once again.

"Don't worry... so have I," he murmured before leaning in to place another kiss on your lips, this time with more depth, his hand tangling in your hair as yours rested on his chest.

Both of you were lost in the moment, oblivious to the biting cold that surrounded you. And as you slowly pulled apart once more, your reverie was interrupted by cheers from some of the players who had come to find you.

"GO JOE!"

"Woohooo Woller!"

"Now you can finally stop whining about her!"

You and Joe turned to face the teammates, both of you unable to suppress your laughter.

"Oh, this is embarrassing..." Joe chuckled, a blush rising on his already pink cheeks from the chilly weather.

"Well, at least you haven't been crying..." you laughed along, still feeling the remnants of tears on your cheeks.

"Hmm, you're right about that, but then it's lucky that you're a lot more beautiful than me when you cry," Joe said with a sweet smile, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Yeah, that's probably a good thing." Another tender moment lingered between you as the other players began making their way back inside, and suddenly your body shivered uncontrollably. "Maybe we should head inside..." you suggested, giving Joe a pleading look, to which he nodded in agreement.

And true to his gentlemanly nature, Joe first removed his blazer and draped it around your shoulders, his arm still around you as he guided you indoors.

"How about we get out of here?" he softly suggested, and you couldn't agree more. The event was winding down anyway, and right now all you wanted was to be alone with your newfound love.

-

There were no words that could adequately capture the overwhelming joy coursing through your body, the sparkling endorphins igniting every nerve as Joe drove you home and walked you to the door.

There was so much you wanted to express, so many feelings you longed to articulate. Yet, in that moment, as he leaned in and your lips met in another heartfelt kiss, words became unnecessary.

Well, perhaps except for, "Want to come inside?"

Your voice was low and soft, cautious not to betray your eagerness. But you knew your desire for Joe was shining like the brightest star on a cloudless night. And thankfully, he shared the same longing.

The air in your small apartment felt heavy and charged as you both entered. Skipping the formalities, you simply took his hand and led him towards the bed. The sensual tension hanging thick in the air, as Joseph's eyes were locked onto yours, his breaths heavy with anticipation.

He could feel the rush of blood to his member as his mind raced with thoughts of finally making love to you. And as you turned around, your back to him, pulling your hair to one side, he understood the unspoken invitation.

"Take it off?" you whispered softly, and without hesitation, he let his long fingers find the fabric wrapped around your neck, gently untying it to reveal your naked breasts. Then slowly moving further down, he delicately unzipped the small zipper holding the dress to your curvy figure, letting it fall to the floor around your heels.

Left in nothing but a delicate pair of knickers, you turned around slowly, letting him admire your nude figure.

Joe had to swallow hard as he looked at you, his eyes tracing every curve before meeting yours again. "You're stunning," he murmured softly, before tangling his hands in your hair and drawing you into a passionate kiss.

You easily melted into his embrace, your tongues moving sensually as you shared the warmth of your mouths. Meanwhile, your hand automatically sought him out in the dim light, starting to loosen his tie. And Joseph felt the eagerness and desire rising within him, deftly assisting you in removing his blazer and tie.

With each passing moment, the air grew hotter, your lips seeking each other in between deep breaths, as Joe guided you backwards until the backs of your knees met the mattress. With gentle motions, he encouraged you to lie down, lifting your legs into the air, before he tenderly removed one of your heels, placing a soft kiss on your ankle, then repeating the gesture on the other foot.

You couldn't help but smile. Joe's touch felt amazing, and you hadn't even fully experienced it yet.

Standing there, your legs on either side of him, the tall goaltender admired the sight of your nearly naked body before him. It was everything he had fantasised about for months; your skin shimmering in the moonlight, adorned with tiny droplets of sweat from the chemistry between you.

And Joe felt the same warmth coursing through him. So, while maintaining eye contact, he slowly undressed in front of you.

You had to bite your lip, propping yourself up on your elbows as you admired his face and physique. And what particularly caught your eye was the growing hardness in his boxers, a clear sign of his desire for you. Merely seeing it made your pulse quicken, your cunt pulsating even without his touch.

Your heart pounded in your chest again, but this time, it wasn't from anxiety or fear of heartbreak. No, this time, it was your intense longing for Joseph about to be fulfilled. And as he gently let his fingers find the waistband of your knickers, effortlessly pulling them off, before kneeling on the mattress, prompting you to shift so he could settle between your legs, you found yourself craving more.

It was a moment both of you had been anticipating, yearning for so long.

Yet Joseph took his time. Although neither of you were novices in intimacy, he wanted to ensure it was nothing short of incredible for you. So, as you lay there, your legs slightly bent and spread open for him, he let his fingers delicately explore your sensitive heat, eliciting a soft gasp from you.

Reclining on your back once more, your hands resting on either side of your head, your body surrendered to his deliberate touch, your mind focusing on your breathing. However, it was futile as he gently pressed a finger against your entrance before slowly sliding it inside.

His movements were unhurried and cautious, causing you to softly plead for more. And your wish was his command. Adding a second finger, Joe tenderly stimulated your inner walls, feeling the wetness of your cunt as he savoured the soft sounds of your pleasure. He felt his member almost throbbing with anticipation as he let his fingers glide in and out of your centre, watching your expressions of pure pleasure, while he couldn't help the small patch of pre-cum forming on his boxers.

"Mmm, yes Joe…" you softly moaned as his fingers worked their magic, sending waves of pleasure through you, occasionally causing your eyes to roll back in ecstasy.

The atmosphere grew hotter and heavier, your moans growing louder with each passing moment, filling the room. But you couldn't contain yourself. You'd been dreaming of Joe's touch for so long, and now that it was finally happening, it surpassed all your expectations.

His fingers alone were steadily bringing you closer to the brink of orgasm, yet you yearned for more; to feel Joseph inside you, filling you completely and holding you close.

"Joe," you breathed out softly. "Please, I need you inside me…"

And you didn't have to ask him twice. His pulsing cock was already eager to be enveloped by your tight walls. So, with careful movements, Joe withdrew his fingers, leaving you with a sense of anticipation. Yet, you knew what was about to happen would feel even better.

Stepping back onto the floor, Joseph kept his eyes on you as he gently lowered his boxers, revealing his proudly erect length. You almost wanted to call it beautiful, if such a term could be applied to a penis. Your mouth almost watered as he returned to the mattress, positioning himself between your legs, his larger frame hovering over your smaller one, before descending into another deep kiss.

Your hands quickly moved to grasp his brown locks as you felt the tip of his manhood teasing your entrance. And as you sensed the pressure of his length, you instinctively pressed your body against his, urging him to penetrate you.

"Oh yes…" you moaned, breaking the kiss as Joe stretched your core, filling you completely as your tight muscles embraced his member.

"Damn, y/n/n… you feel incredible," he muttered softly upon reaching the depths of your walls.

It was an overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation, but what truly sent your mind spinning was when he began to withdraw, only to thrust back in and establish a steady rhythm.

Moans grew louder as you shared this intense intimacy, the heat radiating from your bodies with each thrust and movement. Your hands couldn't stay still, yet eventually settling on his broad shoulders, while your legs instinctively wrapped around his lower back. The lift from your hips provided him with the space he needed, and as the intensity increased, so did his actions.

"Mmm, yes…" Joe moaned as he picked up the pace, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath you as he felt the waves of pleasure building within him.

"Shi- Joe, you feel… oh, yes…" You couldn't even manage a coherent sentence in the heat of the moment.

It surpassed all your wildest dreams. The perfect combination of desire and passion intertwined with deep, romantic feelings hung in the air. And as Joe maintained his steady rhythm, the sound of your bodies colliding with each thrust, you felt yourself edging closer to climax.

And Joe could sense it too, feeling your walls gently tightening around his shaft, bringing him closer to the edge as well. "Oh… fu-" he hummed between moans. You felt absolutely wonderful, and he worried he might reach his climax too soon.

So, observing you close your eyes, he slid an arm down between your bodies, supporting himself on the other arm as his hand found your clit. And as he could sense your nails lightly digging into his skin, he knew you were close. Then slowly circling your bud of nerves with his skilled fingers, he watched as your breaths became erratic and desperate, your moans disjointed, and your back arching, causing your head to fall back onto the pillow.

"Oh yes! Joe, yes, I'm coming…" you cried out, as he continued to stimulate your clit.

"Yes, come for me…" he whispered along with your moans. And within seconds, you let out a loud cry, holding your breath for a moment as you reached climax.

It was intense few seconds as time seemed to stand still, your mind soaring while Joe made love to you through the rush.

And the sight of you reaching climax almost pushed Joe over the edge, causing him to thrust harder and faster, driving himself towards his own release. And it didn't take long before his motions became desperate, his need for release matching the intensity while your muscles clenched around him.

So, with a final loud groan and a few deep breaths, Joe allowed himself to let go, releasing as he spilled into your depths.

It was intensely passionate, both of you sharing loud moans, surrounded by sweat and the heat of your bodies as you gradually calmed yourselves, slowly returning from your euphoric states. You didn't even realise how long the two of you remained still in that position, your core still pulsating around his shaft as Joe caught his breath and regained his strength, eventually lifting his head to place a soft kiss on your lips.

Satisfied smiles graced your faces as you shared light chuckles, and Joe gently withdrew his cock from within you, coming to rest beside you and wrapping an arm under your head, pulling you close for a cuddle.

"That was…" he breathed out softly.

Turning your body towards his, you placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him. "Perfection?"

Joe chuckled again at your sweet word, his other arm resting behind his head as he gazed down at you. "Perfection, indeed."

It was the perfect conclusion to a perfect night, yet also the beginning of something deeper and more profound.

[oksurethisismyname]

Trans!masc Sanji who spent years dreaming about having a baby, despite the body dysmorphia he knew he would risk.

Sanji who spent his whole life dreaming of starting a family, planning to be a better father than his shitty sperm donor and to also be a bit more gentle than Zeff. Sanji who knows his calling (after being a chef and finding the all blue) is to give love unconditionally. He gives love to so many, people constantly say he’s going to make a great father and he believes it.

Sanji who has the most difficult pregnancy. Everything hurts, standing for so long in the kitchen sucks, his ankles are sore, he’s not allowed to spar anymore, he’s not able to wear a binder anymore, but he knows, he just knows that he was born to be a parent, that one of the best things he could do in his life is to raise a child with his marimo (IM A ZOSAN FAN I CANT HELP IT)

Sanji who finally FINALLY goes into labor and has the baby, everything goes as smooth as it can… so why doesn’t this baby feel like HIS baby? Why does it feel like he’s babysitting someone else’s kid? Wasn’t he supposed to feel some instant bond, some overwhelming love? He can’t sleep more than 2 hours at a time without waking up in a cold sweat and rushing to check the baby is alive, only to desperately wish he could just go back in time and not have to do this anymore.

Nami and Robin who get together and make padcicles for Sanji post partum and hold the baby so he can just make himself a cup of tea and breath.

Brooke who plays soothing lullabies for the baby and does his best to drown out the cries so Sanji doesn’t wake up from a nap.

Franky and Usopp who create a bassinet that gently rocks the baby to sleep if it detects motion or crying

Jimbei who is so big and squishy and does contact naps with the baby so Zoro and Sanji can have a nap just the two of them

Luffy who is a human weighted blanket, grabbing Sanji and forcing him to listen to affirmations of how he IS a good dad, he loves his baby even if his brain is being dumb, no baby is as lucky as his baby is and no baby has a better set of dads

Zoro who holds his partner while he cries, reassuring him that it’s ok to feel this way, that this isn’t some Vinsmoke thing, it’s a “you just had a baby and your body and brain are totally different now”

Sanji who suffers from severe post partum depression and anxiety but has an entire crew to uplift and support him as he heals

Sanji who wakes up one morning, turning to Zoro and says “I think I finally feel like myself again”

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Much Needed Break

A/n: this was gonna be longer but I got tired. Also, I know I haven’t been posting a whole lot recently, I probably won’t for the next few weeks. I have a lot of asks rn, some are from, like, March. I’m not ignoring them, I swear, I’ll get to them in a bit so if you requested something a while ago and it hasn’t been posted yet it’s coming it’s just taking a while and I apologize for that

Warnings: smut, age gap, idk I’m tired gn

Your University recently accepted a new student, and it was hot information all over campus. The one and only Duff McKagan of infamous rock band Guns N Roses studying in the same place as you.

Girls all over campus were throwing themselves at him. One after one they dropped like flies when he didn’t return their feelings. Seeing all this go down you didn’t feel like getting your heart broken so you stayed away from him, which got a lot harder when you had a class with him.

You were sitting in the library getting some work down when someone sat beside you. Usually unless there were no other available seats people wouldn’t sit beside random people, you were shocked when you looked over to see Duff. “We have a class together, right?” He asked with a smile. You nodded silently. “You mind helping me out with this thing?” He asked as he pulled an assignment up on his laptop.

You spent some time working together, helping each other out and when the library was closing he offered to get you dinner. Being a broke student you agreed in a heartbeat.

You’d not expected that dinner to be at his house in the mountains.

He made sure you were comfortable the whole time as you got in his car and he drove you to an excluded area, he understood there would be concerns but you weren’t all too worried about that.

He made you food, just pasta but it was the best meal you’ve had in a while. He was funny and sweet and listened. More than you could say for anyone else at the university.

When you were done eating he took your plate. You offered to help him with the dishes but he had a dishwasher so it wasn’t all that necessary.

You sat there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do now. Was he supposed to drive you back down to the university?

As if he read your mind he said “do you want a ride back or are you ok with staying here the night?” He turned the corner with a smile.

“Staying here’s fine, I don’t have any early classes tomorrow” you said, glancing around. “So, just the couch or..?” Duffs brows raised as he neared you.

“Couch is fine, unless…” he trailed, hand coming to your waist.

“Unless..?” You repeated, needing to hear him say it himself. In the end he didn’t. He leaned down until his lips pressed against yours, his hands slowly making their way around you until he was holding you in a tight embrace.

His whole demeaned changed when he heard a soft moan leaving you, the sweet sound landing on his tongue. He went from sweet and gentle touches to groping, pushing and shoving.

He picked you up with ease, holding you so your legs wrapped around him and he could easily grind into you. He carried you carelessly to his bedroom, pushing you up against the nearest surface every time his patience slipped before he could get you pinned to the bed.

You couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, all you knew was that you were naked and Duffs head was between your thighs as he lapped at your already slick folds. You couldn’t stop your thighs from clamping around his head, he didn’t seem to mind as ever time you did a deep groan would leave him.

His long fingers hit spots you’d never been able yo hit yourself. They moved fast, drawing louder and whinier moans from you. Your hands buried in his hair, locking on the spiky blond strands as his nose bumped against your clit.

“Hah- fuck! ‘M close, ‘m so fucking close!” After hearing that Duff sucked on your clit, swirling his tongue around your sensitive nub until your back arched off the mattress and your mouth dropped open in lewd moans while Duff helped you ride out your high on his face and fingers.

He moved over top of your, breathing almost as heavy as you were. He kissed you, it was needy and passionate, a sense of desperation lingering in in. “Fuck, I needed that.” He said as he sat back to take off his shirt.

“Hah, you needed that?” You asked with a soft chuckle. Duff got out of his pants and underwear, his hard and leaky cock springing free of its confines.

“You kidding? I can’t take my eyes off of you half the time” he gleamed, getting back between your legs “had to study more just so I could keep the good grade.” His hands trailed over your torso, gently groping your chest, hips and ass “you’re like… an itch I had to scratch” he said as he pushed into you, eliciting a drawn out moan from you.

He pulled your hips into his lap, making it easier for him to go harder and faster. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, couldn’t formulate a single sentence either, the only words leaving you were pleads for more and fumbled curses.

You were ready to cum for the nth time and Duff had yet to cum once. Your eyes crossed and your tongue lolled out as your body bounced up and down the bed with every thrust which were only just starting to lose rhythm.

“Oh, fuck, feels so good~” He mumbled, a string of curses leaving him as his movements got hastier, needier the closer he got until he finally came in you, letting out a moan like honey, heavy and sweet and so, so beautiful to your ears.

He laid down beside you and pulled you close, letting you rest your head on his chest. “Thank you” he hummed, kissing your forehead.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, your mind like puddy, your legs still quaking. You were asleep before you knew it with Duff muttering praises in your ears, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

tsamsiyu ta'em - healing and closure part one

Masterlist - part thirteen

Summary: In the aftermath of the battle, some tensions are high, and the Sullys have to learn how to let go.

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: canon-compliant, mature language, slow burn, polyamory, found family, cool aunt agenda, rushed, time skips, fluff, angst, major character death, child endangerment, etc.

Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @motheroffae @undeniableadrenaline @mooniequeen @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @heart-an0n @amiets2 @slutforsmut4ever @yeosxxx​ @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @sucker4angstt @inolaphoenix @ilovechickenwings @tojisleftarm @andyfromku @ivysully @lightandshadow31

A/N: As Anakin Skywalker once said, "This is where the fun begins." 😈

I had to split this chapter into two parts because it was getting to be over 15k words... so expect the second one soon!

Smoke continued to fill the air well into the new day after the eclipse was spent in nothing but war and bloodshed. Ronal could still smell it all in her nose, making her stomach churn but she stomped down her disgust and continued her duties as tsahik. While the Sully family sat around their dead son and brother, quiet and in shock, too tired to move from their spots on the rock surface, she tended to any of their treatable wounds. For the most part, Toruk Makto was the worst out of all of them, with several cuts and bruises littered across his face and body, likely sporting broken ribs on top of that. He insisted on waiting for Ronal to heal him, however, in exchange for his daughter and his sister to be treated before him.

Young Kiri had knife marks on her neck and when Ronal provided a salve, the young girl reverted to her own healing knowledge as a tsakaremand treated the wound herself without saying a word. Meanwhile, Makayla was sporting matching knife wounds on her neck, a bruised tswin, as well as a cut-up, twisted ankle. Ronal took her time treating the female avatar, using long, leisurely strokes of her fingers along Kayla's throat, spreading the salve across the thin slice. She did her best to be gentle around Kayla's queue braid, prodding gently around the base at the back of her skull. Kayla never spoke a word, shivering under Ronal's touch and simply nodding her head in gratitude once the tsahik finally wrapped her foot up. Ronal nods her head in return and moves away to treat Jakesully.

He had placed himself beside his sister while Ronal tended to her, and when it was his turn to be inspected for injuries, he took the time to explain to Kayla everything that happened and filled her in on moments she missed during the fight. Ronal wasn't fluent in the Sky People's language, but she caught a name called 'Quaritch' falling from Toruk Makto's mouth, and the word 'dead' followed it.

"He's gone," Jake told Kayla grimly, "I made sure of it."

"Alright," his sister croaked quietly, her voice shot from all the screaming and crying she had done throughout the whole battle. She didn't say anything else.

Meanwhile, Kiri and Lo'ak were gathered around Spider, listening to him as the human boy told his friends what had happened to him after Quaritch captured him. It was clear that he was leaving some parts out and simplifying certain moments, but neither of the Sully siblings questioned it, knowing that it had been a long, trying day and everyone was exhausted. Kiri and Lo'ak will eventually want to learn every little thing that happened to their friend but today was not one of those days. Those kids had been through enough as of late.

Spider informed Jake and Kayla of the more important details of his escapades, mentioning one of his masks had a tracker in it, but he wasn't sure if the exo-pack that had been thrown to him while abandoning the sinking ship had one as well. Jake and Kayla exchange a silent look between siblings and already, they were making plans for any upcoming battles, reverting to their old, military ways and as children of war.

Once Ronal appeared satisfied with everyone's wounds, she carefully stood up and returned to Tonowari and their children, who had stood off to the side to give the Sullys their respective space, "I have done all that I can from here, but I will need to tend to the rest of our people, and preferably from the healing huts where I have all of my supplies."

Tonowari nods in agreement before turning his eyes to Jake, who meets his gaze as the chief gently speaks, "We must return to the village to tend to our wounded and mourn our losses."

Jake gives Tonowari a solemn nod, two fathers who were exhausted both physically and mentally, drained from what they endured trying to protect their families. With very few words, Tonowari gathered his wife and children to follow him back into the water, but not without some tear-filled expressions as Tsireya and Ao'nung were hesitant to leave their friends in their sorrow. Rotxo appeared to be their voice of reason until finally, the three reef children dove back into the ocean to summon their ilu.

Toruk Makto watches the olo'eyktan and his family leave before turning to his own wife and children, "We should head back, too. Let's go, everyone."

Neytiri merely nods, her silence holding a heavy chill throughout the whole family. Her eyes stared off into the distance, far away from her mind while still holding onto Neteyam with all the strength she still had left. It was only after Jake bent down to pick up their son's body that she was able to shakily stand herself, letting go of Neteyam's cold hand in exchange for Tuk's warm, little one.

Kiri and Lo'ak stood once their mother did so, the latter of the two beckoning their human friend to follow them, "Come on, Spider."

Spider nods and dutifully stands, only to freeze right in his tracks when Neytiri's yellow eyes flick onto him. The entire family froze alongside him, watching Neytiri with caution as if the scene where she held a knife to Spider was still fresh in the back of their minds. Only Lo'ak seemed to be confused, looking around at his family after they had all appeared to turn to stone the moment Spider moved. Spider visibly stopped breathing, a small wave of fear returning when those same eyes he had witnessed become unhinged and animalistic continued to size him up. Neytiri didn't appear as threatening as before, however, now more defeated than enraged in the heat of battle and after the loss of her child. Before, she looked at Spider as a means of killing Quaritch's spirit in exchange for Neteyam's death and Kiri's freedom. Now, she looked at the human boy as if he was a dead pest left in front of her marui.

When Neytiri finally spoke, her voice was no better than Kayla's, hoarse and broken, but still capable of stabbing Spider in the chest like ice, "No. We cannot take him back to the village, or we risk giving away the Metkayina's home to the Sky People."

Lo'ak reared back at his mother's words, immediately defensive, "What are you talking about?"

"We can't just leave him here." Tuk whimpered.

"And we cannot bring him back to the village," Neytiri told her children firmly, still glaring down at Spider, "Or we risk him telling those demons where we are."

"Neytiri--"

Jake's word of warning is interrupted by none other than Spider, the teen's words falling out of his mouth before he could stop them, "Why would you believe I'd do that?"

The world stills and the Sullys are just as equally shocked by him speaking up against Neytiri of all people before he continued without much thought, hurt by her accusation after everything he's been through for her family, "What have I ever done to make you believe I would betray the Na'vi?"

Her yellow eyes simply narrowed, "You've been the demons' prisoner for so long. We don't know what you told them."

"I didn't tell them anything!" He shouts back, but not to be angry or feared. His shout was broken as if he was crying and begging. He was shouting to be heard, to be seen, "I never cracked!"

"Why were they flying ikran?" Neytiri argues back with nothing but more accusations, "Who showed them how?"

"I was buying time for someone to save me!"

"Why would we? You were finally with your own kind!" She shrieked, drawing Spider to pull away and full-body flinch.

"Mom, stop it!" Kiri cried out.

Jake tries reaching out for his wife, "Neytiri..."

Her own yelling had triggered the tears of anguish to return, Neytiri's eyes immediately spilling her grief once more as she looked back at her husband. Jake froze where he stood, feeling as though he was brought back in time as he stared at the same expression Neytiri bore when she first lost her father and Hometree all those years ago, forcing Jake to be reminded of his past mistakes, 

"These demons..." she shuddered in hatred and distress, "They learned our ways. They learned the will of Eywa, and yet they still hurt our Great Mother and our children. We can't teach them. They cannot be taught. It's like what my mother told you. It is hard to fill a cup that is already full."

The words were thrown back in his face, Neytiri might as well have slapped him. Jake looked down when he couldn't bear to look her in the eyes anymore, only to fall onto the sight of Neteyam's body nestled safely in his arms as if still an infant. The mental image only drove Jake into biting the inside of his cheek, fresh tears spilling out of his eyes but he refused to release a sound. His left ear twitches at the sound of someone stepping up beside him, his sister's voice coming to his defense.

"'They' are the people Jake and I were born into," Kayla finally spoke up, stepping forward with only a little bit of difficulty no thanks to her ankle. Her eyes were stone when looking directly at her sister-in-law, "You forget that, Neytiri. You forget where Jake and I come from."

"That is different," the Na'vi woman shook her head defiantly, "You've learned to love and respect our ways."

"And Spider has done nothing but love and respect your ways his whole life!" Kayla shouted back, causing all the children around her to flinch and lower their eyes. Neytiri turns to stone, solidifying her stance and refusing to back down. Kayla was huffing out pent-up anger and exhaustion, her voice like gravel as she gritted out, "I've easily killed more people today than Spider ever has in his lifetime. Why am I more deserving of your respect than he is?"

"Enough," all eyes -except for Kayla's- turn to Jake, his own voice broken and not strong enough to command as easily as he's used to. Jake cleared his throat to correct his voice before pointedly staring between Neytiri and Kayla, "You two, not now, please. Kayla... Kayla."

She finally looks away from Neytiri at the sound of her brother addressing her. Jake continued, "Spider was mentioning a tracker in one of the masks he was wearing. This one's different but it wouldn't hurt to be extra cautious. Do you have a spare?"

Kayla shrugs, looking away to continue carefully watching Neytiri while responding, "I might. But if we're really worried about the RDA tracking us down, I'll try to see what I can do to detect a tracker in his mask from here. You guys head back to the village without us. We'll catch up. Jake, you should probably radio High Camp when you get back and let them know what happened."

"You're not breaking your link tonight?"

"I don't want to... I'm needed here right now." When she peered back at Jake, he didn't look very soothed by her response, his eyes full of doubt, aging by the second and so she was quick to reassure him, "It's alright. I was there the other night. I'll just wait until things quiet down here."

The Sullys appear satisfied by her words and begin to move slowly, sluggish and heavy from today's events, their loss still weighing down their postures. Lo'ak and Kiri occasionally looked back at Spider as they departed as if they were worried this would be the last time they ever saw him. Neytiri was the last to break away with her family, her eyes also still wary of Kayla from their little stand-off before the Na'vi woman finally turned her back on the avatar and returned to her ikran. She only took flight until after Jake and the children sunk into the ocean, Jake's tsurak carrying Neteyam's body back to the village.

Once the Sullys had disappeared, all that was left was Kayla and Spider, along with the sounds of distant fire crackling and waves surrounding them. Kayla's ikran squawks irritably, breaking Kayla's trance. The avatar turns to look down at Spider, inspecting him quietly before beckoning him to follow her, "Come with me, kid."

He silently does so, now more exhausted and suspicious than before, guarded as they both walk over to Thena. Spider's eyes briefly light up with that familiar love of Pandora he always openly shared, amazed by Kayla's ikran and impressed with how much the avatar had managed to accomplish in his absence, "She's awesome."

"I wouldn't go telling her that," Kayla snorts while patting Thena's snout and ducking under her neck. Kayla rifles through the pouches she had sewn onto her ikran's��saddle until she found what she was looking for, revealing small human tools she had packed for her long journey across the ocean. She was nothing if not careful, and her preparedness was proven useful in this instance.

Spider noticed the tools in her hand and peered up at her skeptically, "You don't have a spare mask, do you?"

"No. But I have tools. I'll try to remove the tracker if there is one."

"Why didn't you just tell Jake you didn't have a spare pack?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, "I thought you needed a break from the interrogation."

He paused, unprepared for that answer. Exuding a look that expressed he felt a little bashful and appreciative, he flashed a small smile before it quickly vanished and he glanced down at his feet while muttering, "Thanks."

"You bet."

Kayla had Spider sit down while she knelt behind him, inspecting his mask and poking and prodding to make sure he'll still be able to breathe while she worked. They sat in silence, the stench of smoke still prominent in Kayla's nose, but she felt relieved to know that Spider wouldn't be able to smell the death and decay around them with a filter in his mask.

Spider fiddled with a pebble in his hands, longingly staring over the ocean while quietly admitting, "I don't wanna go back."

He felt Kayla's hands pause while inspecting his mask, but otherwise couldn't see her reaction as she sighed, "I know you don't. But the RDA knows where you are now."

"They know where I am in the mountains, too." He muttered.

"If there's a tracker in here, I'll disarm it, and you could go back to the mountains and Ardmore will be none the wiser. She'll still think you're here. You'll be safe from all of them... for a little while at least."

"Why does it matter if I go or stay?" Spider questions with a slight jeer, tired from adults continuously telling him they know better than him. He points out the obvious, "They want you and Jake. This place is as much a target as home is."

"Which is why being far from us might be what's best for you. Besides, Ardmore doesn't have the manpower to track us down at the moment. All her Recoms are dead. She won't have any avatars on her side any time soon."

Spider's spine stiffens, his blood running cold. If Kayla had noticed his uncharacteristic silence, she didn't mention it or just coughed it up to the amount of stress and trauma the teen had just gone through. They reverted to silence once more while Kayla worked, and eventually, once she announced that there wasn't any tracker, she almost missed what Spider was saying as the wind began to pick up,

"One. She still has one..."

Kayla's hands pause again and pull away, leaving Spider cold, "Who?"

"Quaritch." His voice caught in his throat and he had to cough, hiding the shame in his hand.

When he bravely turned to see Kayla's reaction, she bore a look of disbelief while looking out in the distance, "But Jake said he--"

Spider shakes his head, "He didn't drown."

He didn't need to elaborate. As the silence lingered, Kayla fit all of the puzzle pieces in her head and figured it out herself. Spider noticed the dawning of realization on her face and panicked over the idea of her leaving him here on this rock, stranded. He immediately began to ramble as the fear of being abandoned took over him, "I'm sorry. I saw him and-- I couldn't leave him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

"Spider. Look at me."

When he does so, albeit terrified by her tone of voice, all he sees is determination instead of doubt or disgust. She waited until the kid was looking directly at her before she leveled him with a stern look, "No one can know. Alright? Don't tell anyone else about this. Promise me that this stays between us. I mean it. If anyone else found out, they would definitely send you away, or worse, do you understand?"

He quickly nods, trying to remember to breathe through his panic, but the relief that flowed through him was quickly replaced with dread. The shock wore off and he suddenly realized Kayla was willing to protect him and his secret. His chest squeezed painfully at the thought of the kind of consequences she could go through for something like that.

"Are you mad?"

She took a moment to collect her thoughts before exhaling a deep sigh through her nose and shaking her head, "No. I get it, kid. He's your dad. And... and you gave him something he's never given anyone. Mercy. I hope he doesn't forget that."

Spider's whole form began to shake and when Kayla initially thought he was cold, she looked closer only to realize he was fighting back tears behind his mask, likely shaking from adrenaline and holding back sobs. He lowered his head to hide his face as he whispered, "Please don't let them send me away."

Pity for this child came in full force as Kayla struggled to find the right words. Her thoughts were racing with a war of their own, conflicted about what she should do. The thought of keeping a secret from Jake and his family made her stomach turn uncomfortably, but another part of her knew, deep down, that it was the only solution. Kayla had watched Jake and Neytiri do unspeakable things for the sake of their children, and today alone Neytiri proved she wasn't above harming a child if she thought it would protect her family. As for Jake... Kayla wasn't entirely sure what her brother was capable of anymore, and in her mind, that made him dangerous. She couldn't trust anyone dangerous around Spider if they knew the truth about Quaritch. Besides, it's not like her suspicion of her brother was unwarranted. After all, he wasn't above abandoning Spider when he needed help the most.

"... Alright. I'll try," she decides to quickly change the subject before another word or any regret could be said about her decision, "So do you have any idea how they found us?"

Spider fixed her a small look of doubt before slowly answering, "They only found out where you were when a rogue gunship was spotted coming this way."

Kayla hissed through her teeth, wincing at hers and Norm's stupidity, "Shit."

"But they don't know where the village is exactly-- only that you're among the many islands around in the area," Spider reassured her before curiosity took over, "Why did you guys bring a gunship out here?"

Kayla rolled her lips before answering, "Jake radioed in and begged us to come and find them because Kiri needed medical attention," the moment she saw a shift of concern begin to grow on Spider's face, she held a hand up to stop him before he could ask, "It's okay. She's fine now."

Spider relaxed, replaying Kayla's story before confusion took over, "So wait, you weren't with them the whole time?"

Kayla stiffened, "No. Jake thought it'd be best if I stayed behind."

Deciding not to explain any further, Kayla points down to the cut on his chest, "Let's tend to that. We don't want it to get infected."

At the reminder of the wound, Spider's expression darkens and he simply nods. Kayla grabbed her small trauma kit from one of Thena's pouches and knelt down in front of the human teen this time, inspecting the cut before getting to work. It was superficial, not very deep, just long and thin. Nevertheless, Kayla remembers Neytiri using that same knife to draw blood countless times before using it on Spider... and the avatar woman didn't even want to think about whatever disease or infection Spider would have to suffer on top of the trauma Neytiri likely gave him if it wasn't properly cleaned and dressed. Kayla hadn't missed the way Ronal purposely avoided Spider when going around and healing whoever she could. She only hoped that Spider hadn't noticed... or worse, he did notice but just felt resigned to the usual neglect and mistreatment.

Kayla couldn't imagine what must be going on through Spider's head right now. Having someone's knife to your throat and still begging for Kiri's life instead of your own? Kayla had to wonder if Spider ever had someone who would put him above life itself like that.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He winced, "No."

"Okay," she immediately shuts down whatever she was going to originally say, "But just so you know, she'll never do that again. I'll make sure of it."

He didn't look as though he believed her, shrugging it off with a small, hesitant smile, "Yeah, okay... It's good to see you, Kayla."

She smiled back, although not as wide or as relieved as she had liked to feel, but no one could blame her after everything she's been through today, "You, too, kiddo. I'm glad you're safe."

Once she's satisfied with how the bandage around Spider's chest will hold, she helps him up onto Thena and forms tsaheylu, hiking herself up onto the ikran's back before taking off to the skies. The fly felt shorter than it initially felt when she first flew out with the Metkayina to fight the Sky People and save the children. Once the village was in sight, Spider's jaw had opened in awe of its beauty, eyes sparkling in wonder. As Kayla descends lower to the ground, she sees the number of Metkayina who had come out to fight. The numbers have dwindled, but for the most part, they were whole and hovered close to the healing huts. Kayla noticed some heads turn up at her arrival but otherwise did nothing. They were either used to the ikrans' presence, or they were too tired to care after such a long battle.

The only time the Metkayina appeared concerned was when Kayla landed Thena on the beach, where all eyes could clearly see the small demon child riding with her. Waves of gasps and whispers can be heard, a crowd slowly beginning to gather but Kayla pointedly doesn't wait or stand around, steering Spider toward the direction of the Sully marui right away to not make the teenager a village spectacle. Spider looked around the village as they walked, but didn't really get a good look at everything with how urgent Kayla was leading him away, despite the pain in her ankle.

But the Metkayina had already gotten a good look at him, and the hushed whispers were already spreading around until they got to their olo'eyktan. Tonowari and Ronal were conversing outside the healing huts when word got to them about a human child among their ranks. When they peered up to see the commotion, they briefly saw a glimpse of the demon boy's blond hair, followed by Kayla, a towering pillar of protection as she quickly led him through the maze of pathways winding through the village, mothers quickly pulling away their children if the demon boy walked too close. It was a curious sight to see someone so small being shielded by another Na'vi so large. Ronal hissed at the sight of Kayla putting weight on her injured ankle but otherwise said nothing.

Tonowari's expression shrivels up to one of concern before promptly turning back to his mate, "Do you remember when I told you Makayla te Suli considers the demon boy her responsibility?"

~~~~~~~~~

When the avatar and teenager got to the edge of the pods, looking out over the lagoon, Spider noticed Jake and Lo'ak sitting outside a marui that must be the Sullys' new home. Toruk Makto looked up once Kayla and the boy drew closer and quickly stood to greet them, Lo'ak quickly following to do the same. The Forest boy beelined for Spider, firmly grasping his friend's shoulder and gently shoving him toward the pod.

"Come on, bro. Kiri's got some food started for you."

Spider follows inside without a word, glancing back at Kayla from over his shoulder before disappearing. Kayla remained outside once Jake made it clear he needed to talk to her.

"I radioed Norm." He explains.

"And?"

"I told him what he needed to know. I..." Jake swallowed and folded his arms, finding it difficult to speak when his throat began to close up, "I couldn't tell him all of it. 'Couldn't tell him about Neteyam. I..."

He was struggling for words without getting all choked up or shutting down. Kayla immediately takes over the talking, placing a hand on her brother's arm, "Jake... it's okay."

He peered up and she offered him a small, sad smile, "You did good. I'll let High Camp know when I eventually have to go back. Or Mo'at will tell everyone. I mean, she is the tsahik. Wouldn't she connect to the Tree of Souls and instantly know?"

He shook his head, "Not if she wasn't looking for something specific."

Kayla's nose scrunches before relaxing. She'll never get used to how Eywa functions at this rate, "Alright. Well, we'll just go with the flow and deal with it once it comes back around. Where's Neytiri?"

"With Neteyam. The Metkayina placed him in a healing hut so she and I could... could..." He cleared his throat, "So we can clean him up and prep for the burial tonight."

"Okay. You go," she whispers gently while tilting her head toward the marui, "I'll stay with the kids."

Jake's eyes were cloudy but grateful, "Thank you."

~~~~~~~~~

As day turned into night, the village began to grow quiet but not because the hour was late. To mourn and respect the loss of their loved ones, the Metkayina either sang the songcords of those who were slain in battle or opted into saying nothing at all. Soon the Na'vi will all leave their respective homes to gather together in a ceremonial send-off, ready to let the bodies of their loved ones return to the ocean and their Great Mother.

The Sullys were among those ready to send their loved one off. By the time Jake and Neytiri returned to their marui, Kayla had the children washed up and prepared for the ceremony. They all -except Spider- bore white face paint, brushed over their skin in a specific pattern to symbolize their loss. Neytiri and Jake also bore white paint, parts of which covered Jake's stitched-up and bruised face now that Ronal had the time to properly heal him. Neytiri bore the same white face paint but also added black around her eyes to signify her tears and grief as a mother, a white, veil-like material hung around her face from the top of her head. No one said anything, but they all noticed a familiar necklace that once belonged to Neteyam now wrapped around Neytiri's neck.

Before going out to join the village, Neytiri started the tradition of singing the deceased's songcord, her fingers counting each bead, and each milestone in Neteyam's short life, all expressed through her song. The lyrics, designed by Neytiri, described her son's life, from birth until recent events, moments that Neteyam deemed worthy to be remembered, recorded as history in his waytelem. 

Lie si oe neteyamur Nawma sa'nokur mìfa oeyä Atanti ngal molunge Mipa tìreyti, mipa 'itanti Lawnol a mì te'lan Lawnol a mì te'lan

Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe Tonìri tìreyä Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe Srrìri tìreyä Ma Eywa, ma Eywa 

The family clings to the song, willing themselves to remember it, before heading out into the village and retrieving Neteyam's body.

He was clean and wrapped to rest in the fetal position, eyes closed as if he was only sleeping. His braids were pulled back and tied into a hairband, a detail of Lo'ak's doing. The Sullys summon ilu and tie a floating leaf-made carrier behind Jake's as a means of transporting Neteyam. The Metkayina all follow the Sullys out to the Cove of the Ancestors, where they lay their dead to rest eternally at Eywa's breast, leaving Neteyam for last. Jake leads his family away from the other Na'vi, who all stay behind to witness the family return their son, brother, nephew, and friend back to the ocean and back to Eywa. Behind Neteyam's carrier was a trail of flower petals, floating on the ocean surface, creating a path of the young warrior's last journey. Once his family reaches the perfect spot to let Neteyam go, they all slip from their ilu and into the water, padding over to the leaf carrier and helping one another get Neteyam out.

Below the surface, toward the bottom of the cove, was a beautiful field of some sort of coral plant, gently moving back and forth against the current like it was wind, glowing like a golden field of grain under the water. Tuk and Lo'ak briefly touch Neteyam's face, one last time, tears still fresh in their eyes, before Neytiri and Jake take deep breaths and plunge underwater, bringing Neteyam down with them. The remaining Sullys and Spider stay on the surface but lower their heads into the water to watch Jake and Neytiri bury their son. Kiri and Spider held hands in comfort while Tuk reached for her aunt's. Kayla gladly holds onto Tuk's hand, gently squeezing it to reassure the child.

Jake and Neytiri dive deep, close enough to reach the fields of glowing coral before finally letting go of Neteyam. They start floating back up to the surface but never once let their eyes leave Neteyam's body as the coral slowly envelopes him, welcoming him with open arms that is Eywa. Lo'ak had to be one of the first to lean back up for air when he accidentally breathed underwater after letting out a mournful cry, and slowly, the rest of his family followed suit, swimming close to one another until all the Sullys huddled together, crying over their loss.

Before they headed back to the village, there was just one last thing Jake and Neytiri needed to do. They sunk back into the water and swam toward the Spirit Tree, intending on seeing Neteyam once more, alive, if only but a memory. Lo'ak and Tuk go with... And for obvious reasons, Spider and Kiri could not follow. The young Na'vi girl had told her dear friend what happened to her after he asked about the medical attention she needed prompting Norm, Max, and Kayla to come out to the ocean. Spider was sad to learn that Kiri was more like him now more than ever, unable to connect with Eywa but Kiri wouldn't listen to his pity. She had only shaken her head and reassured Spider that she would be fine... but this would be proven difficult after burying her brother. Spider felt the same, sad that he was unable to properly say goodbye to Neteyam. But they weren't alone.

Kayla opted to stay with the two teens, astride a separate ilu while Kiri shared hers with Spider. Kiri watched her family depart for the Spirit Tree with a heavy heart, grieving over the fact she couldn't say goodbye to her brother, let alone connect to Eywa, while Spider simply gripped her arm in comfort. When he briefly glances back at Kayla, he sees a woman whose gaze looks far away, distant from the present, not actually seeing anything. She only had one white stripe of face paint down her nose that she had Tuk do to distract the little girl from the events of the day, but otherwise wore the same thing she always wears, her red crop top and cargo shorts, now dirty from a long-winded battle. Given that it was a cool night, she could've worn a jacket... but the one she had packed was burned at the first chance she got, unable to fathom the idea of wearing something caked in her nephew's blood ever again.

Spider tilted his head toward the Spirit Tree, his mask hissing quietly as he breathed, "You should go say goodbye."

Kayla blinked and then returned to the present time, looking over where she had heard Spider's voice. If he had blinked, he would've missed the fast change in expression, her face suddenly morphing into something soft and kind. It was as if she had just placed a mask over her facial features, hiding whatever she was truly feeling behind it. Kiri hadn't noticed, but Spider did.

Kayla shakes her head, "There's time for that later. Come on. Let's wait for them back at home."

~~~~~~~~~

How long had Kayla been on Pandora? Months? Years? It certainly felt like it. If she had to guess, rounding it up, it would be close to two years now. Two years... and finally she understood why the Na'vi could dress so little and still be kept warm at night.

She had never been a part of those group sleeps the Na'vi were so fond of. Now she was nearly in the center of one. That night after all the horror the Sullys had gone through, a group huddle whilst they slept was inevitable, not wanting to let go of each other so soon after losing one.

Kayla was pressed up against Lo'ak's side, the young Na'vi boy curling his whole form into his mother's back as much as he possibly could. Neytiri was trapped between her son and her husband, Jake doing his very best to get his arms around his whole family even in his sleep. Tuk was sprawled over almost everyone like a blanket. She was spread over her parents and snuggling her cold nose around Lo'ak's head, near Kayla's ear. On the other side of Kayla was Kiri, who originally fell asleep and curled close to her aunt but has since moved, and then there was Spider. At first, he had gone to bed a few feet away, giving the family as much space as possible. That is, of course, until Kiri unconsciously turned around, pulled him into her space, and refused to let go. Apparently, Kiri is an aggressive snuggler. 

Kayla knew she couldn't move even if she wanted to, trapped by the teenagers on either side of her, and perhaps they had done so intentionally so she couldn't escape to her campsite. It wasn't a bad experience, but she usually needed to toss and turn before getting comfortable, and she was starting to get hot tucked within such a large pile of body heat.

There's a soft whimper of crying in her ear, and when Kayla turns her head, she notices Tuk, her face scrunched up in distress, but still deep in sleep. As the child squirmed and cried unconsciously, her parents also began to stir, and then finally, the other children as well. Once the rest of the Sullys were awake and moving, Kayla wasn't worried about waking anyone when she reached a hand out to touch Tuk's cheek in an attempt to wake her, "Tuk? It's alright, Tuk. Wake up."

Neytiri took the initiative and sat up straight to tend to her child, gathering the little girl up in her arms like she was still a baby. The movement was enough to finally wake Tuk and immediately, she began to openly cry once she recognized her surroundings. Kiri sat up once she heard her sister consciously crying and crawled over Kayla and Lo'ak to get to her, "What is wrong, Tuk?"

Neytiri shushes both of her daughters quietly, "Shh, shh, ma 'itetsyìp. It is alright. Mama is here."

Tuk furiously shook her head as she began to wail, louder and more distraught than before as she cried out, "I want Neteyam! I-- I want Neteyam--"

The whole marui tenses as they all wait for Neytiri's reaction. Understandably, she didn't react well. Neytiri's eyes immediately began to cloud and well up with tears, ears pinning back against her skull. Her pupils flick wildly about, no longer able to focus on the child in her arms. Her breaths were irregular, her mind visibly spiraling out of control. She looked like a cornered animal, trapped without any means of escape.

The first one to move was Kayla, sluggishly moving until she was crouching in front of Neytiri, gently prying poor Tuk out of her mother's arms and into her own. Neytiri breaks out of her trance for a moment, blinking once and taking in the sight of Tuk crying in Kayla's chest. She peers up and nods once in gratitude before swiftly standing and leaving the pod before her children can see another moment of her vulnerability.

Kayla continues to put on a brave face and quietly shush Tuk, gently rocking the little girl until her cries revert to soft hiccups and sniffles. No one else says a word and they try their best to go back to sleep, but the grief is heavy in the air along with worry for their wife and mother. Jake stays awake the whole time Kayla comforts his daughter, watching the entrance of his home with longing and concern. He forced himself to stomp down the urge to run after Neytiri when his role as a father took over. He shifted until he had his arms around Lo'ak and Kiri, whispering words of encouragement and trying to get them to go back to sleep as if they were still little. The teenagers didn't appear to mind being coddled, given the circumstances, and together, Lo'ak and Kiri gathered Spider and decided on sharing a nivi together, off to the side of the pod. Jake watches the teens crawl up into the large hammock together and fall asleep before resuming his post at the entrance of the marui, waiting for Neytiri while occasionally glancing back at Kayla and Tuk. Eventually, even Tuk managed to fall back asleep and Kayla carefully lifted her up and brought the little girl to the nivi to join her siblings. Tuk sleepily clings onto Spider and doesn't move for the rest of the night.

When Neytiri returned, she didn't look any better from when she initially left, her eyes bloodshot with drying tear tracks engraved into her face like the stripes that littered her body. It was chilling to see the mighty Neytiri, fierce and stronger than anyone in her clan, so shattered and forlorn. Jake stood and opened his mouth to soothe her, but she simply shook her head, her face speaking more than words could at that moment. There wasn't anything he or anyone could say that could comfort her right now. Jake read her meaning loud and clear and simply watched as his wife looked around for their children. She saw them all huddled together in their nivi, and she was too tired to comment on Spider being among them. And even if she wanted to, Kayla made sure to distract her long enough to forget about it.

The female avatar gently urged her sister-in-law to lie down and try to rest, and if she was shocked that Neytiri decided on using her leg as a pillow, Kayla didn't mention it. Instinctively, Kayla's fingers weave through Neytiri's braids to calm her as if she were comforting a child. Not wanting to wake her nieces and nephew, Kayla did her best to sing quietly, raspy, as best as she could so Neytiri could hear and understand her. The avatar decided on the lyrics to Neteyam's songcord, and even though it wasn't as practiced or accurate coming out of her voice, it still calmed Neytiri's aching heart.

Singing helped Kayla not to think about it. Instead, it helped her focus on the lyrics and the proper pronunciation. Her accent was still a little shaky and too formal at times, so as she tried to focus and perfect the lyrics, she didn't have to think about the meaning or the child behind the lines and how he had been taken too soon. She sang the whole song and repeated it a few times before she realized Neytiri had fallen asleep, albeit a bit restlessly.

Jake felt utterly helpless while listening to his sister sing to Neytiri, but didn't hesitate to express his gratitude once he noticed his mate had finally begun to rest, "Thank you." He whispered.

Kayla had been helping adjust the sleeping Neytiri until she was lying down on the nearest cot. She simply nodded in response to Jake before lying down further away from the rest of the family and turning her back so she was facing the wall of the marui. The air was significantly colder without any body heat to keep her warm, but she didn't dare move from where she lay. She wanted her much-needed space, where she could cry silently by herself and where no one could see or hear her. She desperately wished she had slept in her own hammock on the outskirts of the village, but she didn't want to leave anyone in her brother's family alone with their thoughts... and a guilty part of her admits that she couldn't afford to leave Spider anywhere near her sister-in-law at this time.

Listening until she was positive that Jake had laid down beside Neytiri for the rest of the night, Kayla let the tears silently flow out of her eyes, biting her cheek to refrain from making any sounds that would give her away. She could feel her body begin to shake. Whether it was from the cold or her pent-up emotions, she wasn't sure. Either way, it would be a long, restless night for Makayla as she lay awake and listened to the sounds of her family around her.

A/N: Can I respectfully ask people to stop flooding my dms and inbox with specific questions regarding the future of the fic? I already know how I want the fic to pan out, and if I answered your questions, it could be spoiling it 😇 You are more than welcome to ask questions regarding past decisions or anything regarding Kayla from her past, but from here on out-- I'm locking down ALL future-related questions! Thank you for understanding.

The second part of this chapter will be out soon! It was mostly written before I was forced to split the chapter in half, so stay tuned!

Check out AI Generated art of Kayla!

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me

Spawn! Astarion x F! Ghost Reader

Chapter One: Music, Regrets, and Party Tricks

 Synopsis: (3 months post Netherbrain) You ask Astarion to take you to see a violinist in a park and end up having a heart to heart. You begin to have very peopley feelings towards Astarion. Someone from Astarion's past makes an unwelcome fourth appearance and you help Astarion get revenge.

CW: Mentions of SA (Astarion), violence, revenge, brief mentions of suicidal ideation, a tad bit fluffy

Note: The first couple chapters will have time skips because it is meant to set up the main plot- more chaos is on it's way!

Disclaimer- I put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. Birdie is a stock image. I will not describe the readers body in detail- she is just merely on the banner for ✨drama✨. I believe the picture of Astarion is from @cheekylittlepupp . And then the symbol of Orcus in the back is a free image off the internet.

Prologue : Chapter Two: AO3

You wait anxiously by the door as Astarion takes his sweet time bathing in the other room. You have both been staying in a room in Elfsong Tavern since the Netherbrain was defeated about 3 months ago.

  You and Astarion usually spend your days in Szarr palace looking for any information on Sunwalking. You’ve found lots of promising leads, but they are all very very far away- the first lead is in some mountain in Amn and you’re excited to see more of the world.

 Tonight is your last night in Baldur’s Gate for a while and you had overheard some tavern goers talking about a Violinist playing in the park tonight. You had felt your entire body perk up at the idea. 

 The only obstacle was getting Astarion to take you. 

  The man pretty much abandons you at nighttime- leaving you alone and lonely. He used to pet you to sleep every night, talk with you and laugh with his companions, and then he lost his ability to walk in the sun. 

 Recently Astarion has been falling into some habits that haven’t been great for his mental health. He’s usually picking you up for a hug after some terrible tryst he had and pretends to joke about the whole thing like it was just a bad fuck, but you knew better.

 You could see the regret in his eyes and the worthless feeling in his soul. It broke your heart to see him go from being on top of the world to rock bottom again. The one time you tried to talk about it with him- he disappeared for a day and you were sure he had abandoned you. 

  Astarion eventually came back and he had actually spent the entire day with you. It was in silence and with many tears, but eventually he told you that he had been pressured into having sex and he felt pathetic. You reassured him a thousand times he’s not and he began bringing them to your room instead so if they are a problem- you would be the solution. You have sent many people screaming out the door with claw marks across their scalps- you even lost a claw in someone’s head! 

 “I can defend myself, Darling,” Astarion said as he cleaned up the mess your broken claw left on your paw, “you don’t need to be my Cat in Shining Armor.” 

 “I know, but isn’t this just so much more entertaining for both of us?”

 Astarion smiled widely, “that is a very good point.” 

  He began spending more time with you at night, but there are still days where he falls into his old habits and is sucked in by his despair. 

 You are really hoping today isn’t one of those days because you really want to go listen to the Violinist. 

 You jolt to life when the door creaks open and Astarion walks out without a shirt while toweling off his hair. He freezes instantly when he sees you sitting there with wide eyes and limbs ready to pounce. 

 “Uh oh, what did I do now?” 

 “It’s about what you are going to do.” 

  Astarion raises an eyebrow at you and you jump up onto the empty desk next to the door so you feel slightly more equal and powerful in the situation.

 “I want to go to the park tonight,” you say, “there is going to be a violinist playing and I want to hear them.” 

 “Oh, so you just need me to leave the window open tonight?” 

  You blink a few times and try to fight the hurt that flits in your chest. Yes, you could go alone and just do that, but you were kind of hoping you could go together as friends and have a normal time together again like you used to. 

 “I was actually hoping you might come with me?” 

   Astarion looks at you like you’ve grown a third head.

 “It’s our last night in Baldur’s Gate and you want me to go with you to listen to a violinist in the park?” 

  His voice is on the border of amusement and irritation. Your heart cracks ever so slightly more. 

 “Yes,” you squeak.

  “That’s ridiculous, Darling,” Astarion says with a dismissive wave, “I would much rather spend my last night in Baldur’s Gate indulging in sinful activities- not some violin concert.” 

 You don’t know why you even try to push it.

 “It shouldn’t be all night,” you say quickly, “you could easil-“

 “No offense,” he interrupts you, “but I would rather spend my night with a person and not my cat.” 

  That shatters something so deep within you that you don’t even know what to do with yourself. You are possessing a cat, but you are still a person and your feelings matter to you. 

  You’ve been nothing but respectful of Astarion and his feelings. You’ve been there for him because that’s what friends do. Obviously- you aren’t his friend, you are just ‘his cat’.

 You aren’t his cat though. You would be able to survive just fine on your own- you will go back to gardening and befowling Donella’s home.

 “I am NOT YOUR CAT!” You scream at the top of your lungs- Astarion takes a step back in surprise, “I am a person! A person with feelings! I am a person first, ghost second, and then cat third! 

“And you know what!? Enjoy your sins and your adventure to find some stupid solution for the sun- I’m done!” 

 You bound out the window in two quick leaps and you can hear Astarion calling from the dark of the room. The fading sunlight warms your fur and is an unwelcome reminder of the wretched form you threw yourself into. You’ve really come to feel terrible for cats- everyone thinks they can just pick you up Willy Nilly or disrespect you as they please. A few children have learned the hard way that you are not to be fucked with.

  Your trek to the park is easy and you get there just in time. Couples stroll around the park and the violinist is tuning up his violin. The moment is so peaceful, but the excitement you had felt previously had disappeared. 

  A couple laughs and another gives each other a lingering kiss. Others are laughing with each other and holding hands. They all look ridiculously in love and so happy- it makes your body hurt and your stomach turn.

  You never had the opportunity to have a partner (which is a sore spot for you) and the moment the violinist strikes the first note of one of your favorite love songs- you find yourself miserably wandering to the only place you could think of, the Rothwell Crypt. 

 You slide through the grates with ease and you jump up onto your mother’s coffin with your head on your paws. Tears fall out of your eyes- a new quirk you didn’t know you could do. 

 You sniff the air tepidly and a choked sob escapes your mouth. Not a single trace of her perfume is around- not that you expected it to be, but you had so hoped. 

  She would have gone with you- cat, person, or ghost. She used to love taking you to see violinists in the park as a child and she would tell you grand love stories that you hoped to one day experience. 

 The worst part? Your mother is long gone. You are no longer the happy-go-lucky 10 year old with the spontaneous, enthusiastic mother who had a sense of adventure. She will never cheer you on at a street corner ever again and you will never smile brightly at her when she put a gold piece in your case- it always made others feel like they should do it too. Your life was happy and warm.

 Now? You are a ghost doomed to be trapped in this form until it dies and then what? Will you even be able to move on? You couldn’t last time so why would it be any different now? It all makes you so angry you could tear your fur out.

 You will never see a violinist with her again. You will never know what it means to truly love someone and to be loved in return. You will never be able to play the Violin again all because Donella thought you were ‘promising’.

  If you hadn’t died, would you have been one of those violinists in the park? Would your parents be there cheering you on? Would you have had full blooded siblings? Gotten married? Become famous? 

 The thoughts cause you to cry harder and you decide you are going to take control of your own fate for once- you will lay here until you eventually starve to death. That seems like a full proof solution. 

  You hear the gate to the crypt open, but you don’t bother to look. Whoever it is better put you out of your misery sooner rather than later. 

 “Gods below, you are much faster than I thought you were,” Astarion exclaims as he practically clammers down the stairs, “come on- that violinist of yours is still playing and - what’s wrong?” 

 “Go away,” you say weakly.

 “But your violinis-“

 “I don’t care anymore.” 

   You expect him to yell at you and to be angry, but instead he walks over and kneels down until he’s at eye level with you.

 “I’m sorry, Darling,” Astarion pleads, “you’re right- you are a per-“ 

 “No,” you choke, “I don’t want your apology. You’re right. I’m just a cat now. So please, leave me alone.” 

 “No.” 

  You finally take the opportunity to look at him and your own misery fades a little when you see his own tear stained face. You both just stare at each other like you so frequently do when you are at a verbal crossroads. 

  Astarion gets up and you expect him to leave, but instead, you are being swung up into his arms and marched out of the crypt. 

  You don’t bother to protest- what does it matter? You’re a lower class citizen in this social situation. Quite literally too- no one will open a bank account for a cat. You and Astarion tried one time and the banker looked like she was going to call the City Watch to detain a lunatic. 

  The last place you expected Astarion to take you was the park. He finds a bench as close to the violinist as he can and puts your defeated form down on the bench. Astarion begins to hesitantly pet you and you can’t help but lean in a bit- your sadness still a weight in your heart. 

 Astarion comments on the music and asks if you have ever played it before. At first your answers are plain and generic, but he somehow pulls the old part of you out from deep within your soul.

  You chatter about what you would do differently, why certain songs aren’t frequently played, etc, etc. and it actually seemed like Astarion was enjoying himself for once.

    The music floats through the air and your heart soars as you hear another song you were extremely familiar with- ‘Meleth’. It’s a slightly darker love song and not one that is popularly played in places where there are a multitude of settled down couples.

  The song itself is about the pining a man has for a woman who is out of his reach at every turn. She isn’t trying to elude him, but the circumstances are just never right. Then, one day, he gets the courage to tell her and she’s been in love with him the entire time as well. It ends with the two of them together- the notes brighter as they flit through the night air. 

  “I always liked that song,” Astarion says absentmindedly. 

 “It’s a pretty one,” you agree, “I wouldn’t personally play this song for the environment, but no one seems too perturbed.” 

  Astarion looks around and notices the couples all enjoying each other’s company. 

 “I guess I didn’t notice.”

 “Really?” You say in surprise, “it’s the first thing I noticed.” 

 “Is that why you didn’t stay?” 

  You freeze and you know for a fact your heart stopped momentarily.

  It’s a fair question to ask, but you try to avoid talking about… you. You will tell him you were just so disgusted by all the love in the air- a lie is better than the truth and he doesn’t need to worry about this. 

 Except, when you finally make eye contact with him, his eyes are soft and inviting. Astarion seems genuinely invested in what you have to say. The look is sweet and it causes a warm feeling to glow in your chest. Maybe it would be safe to divulge this information. 

 “It was,” you say with a sigh, “I dedicated basically my entire life to the violin. It’s insane- looking back on it now. 

“I died never knowing what it felt like to have my hand held or to be kissed. I didn’t even have the chance to fall in love because I didn’t bother to think about it! I was rarely pursued by anyone because I had my head in my music sheets and never made the time to talk to anyone outside of my parents. 

“All of that hard work was gone in less than two minutes and the last thing I remember thinking about was how devastated I was to lose my first consistent gig- as if that was the most important thing I was losing at the time. It’s- it’s dumb that I lost my future because Donella thought I was ‘promising’ and had some sick idea in her head that she would mentor me. Her and her ego- she just had to try to create a fucking vampire spawn with little to no knowledge on the topic. 

“She wanted to mentor young women and try to prove to the higher ups that women were just as capable as men- which is something I strongly believed in! I was all for destroying the patriarchy! Hells- I would have been happy to just have her as a mentor, she was very well known for being a woman of poise, but no! Turns out, Donella was a gods damn Vampire Lord. She wanted a spawn and instead she damned me to a horribly lonely and sad existence in that fucking PALACE! 

“I wish I had been a cat while she was still alive. I would absolutely piss on her head and destroy her curtains. I wonder if pee is considered running water- that would have been very entertaining.” 

 You leer at the tower standing tall in the distance. At least you can destroy the curtains and piss on her grave. Astarion is laughing at your last sentence, but his eyes also tell a different story. He looks sad for you- heartbroken even. 

  Neither one of you speaks for the rest of the violinist’s concert. You’ve watched Astarion’s gears crank away in his head for at least a good hour now and they are still going as the two of you head back to Elfsong Tavern. There is practically smoke pouring out of his ears by the time he sets you down on the bed and lays in his usual spot on the bed. 

  You want to ask him what he is thinking about, but you are also afraid to ask and have it be something dismissive so instead you curl up in your usual spot at the top right of the bed, up against the wall like you so adore. Your fluffy pillow is still waiting for you like it had been before you stomped off and you definitely note the closed windows. 

 “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

 “For?” 

 “For forgetting that you were also very much a prisoner there,” Astarion says quietly, “and for not treating you like my equal. I haven’t been a very good companion lately and I’ve…. Admittedly been trying to push you away. I suppose I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want that until you leaped out of the window- which by the way- you could have died so please just ask me to open the door if you intend on storming off next time, Darling.”

 You roll your eyes.

 “I landed on my paws!”

 “You seem to forget the several thousand other times where you have belly flopped into those rose bushes or onto the cobblestone,” Astarion says through narrowed eyes and pouty lips, “you were terrible to live with when your ribs were broken- you sounded like you were about to keel over at a moments notice.”

 “You seem awful hyperfixated on me dying,” you say slowly, “I’ve died before- it’s not like it’s that scary. Well it is, but I would be fine. I would just be… quieter!” 

  Astarion looks at you and his mouth drops into a frown while he shakes his head.

 “I need you,” Astarion says quietly, “more than I care to admit. I enjoy your company- you make me happy and I would even say you are my friend. I don’t want you to ‘just be in the background’ of my life ever again.”

  You’re stunned by his words and he is actively avoiding eye contact with you. He must have fed recently because a nice rosy blush crawls up his neck and paints his cheeks. 

  You’re grateful cats can’t blush because you would be a sputtering mess- you would get red as a tomato when you were embarrassed. 

 You’re his friend! You are really his friend! 

 “I need you too,” you say brightly, “I’m very little, terrible at hunting, and prone to injury, but I also very much enjoy your company too. I share the same sentiment, if that helps. I prefer being on the forefront of your life.” 

 Astarion looks both relieved and elated at the same time. He picks you up into a hug that you gladly sink into. This feels like three months ago and you silently curse your cat body for purring in delight.

  That warm feeling in your chest is back again and you can’t help but feel intoxicated by the way he smells, how beautiful he is, and how complex his mind is. You really do lov-

 Oh no. Those thoughts need to be put away- not that you would know anyway. Love? Naw. That’s impossible. Your heart can’t possibly be so stupid as to fall in love with a man who will only ever see you as his friend trapped in a cat. Your situation doesn’t necessarily scream romance.

  Except it does make sense because it does break your heart to know he’s off with other people and you will never be able to be one of those people. 

 Well, you’d prefer to be a lot more to him than those people, but that’s not in the cards for you. Being a cat is okay- you get all the love in the world from him, even if it’s not the love you would prefer. 

  You push the thought away and reground yourself by listening to the phantom heartbeat that rings through his chest. He must have fed very recently. 

   You remain there for a while until a loud knock on the door gets both of your attention. 

 “Astarion? Are you in there?” A woman with a high pitched, sickly sweet voice calls out, “are we still going to have a drink together?”

  You and Astarion both look at each other then back to the door. She knocks again and calls out louder. You blink at him a few times and he very awkwardly puts you down before giving you a, “Gods, help me please” face, motions for you to hide, and he opens the door. You turn invisible instead- you may need to commit some major inconveniences and you enjoy using the little bits of magic that are accessible to you. Being a cat with ghost powers is pretty freaking phenomenal if you do say so yourself. 

 “Astarion!” 

  The Tiefling woman is very very pretty, but something is off about her and you don’t like it. She smells wrong and from the way Astarion’s posture changes- it’s obvious that your suspicions are correct and something is off. 

“I apologize, um,” Astarion pauses. 

  By the Gods he doesn’t even remember her name. 

 “Morgana,” she says with a slightly annoyed tone,” it’s okay though, you can make it up to me by buying me a drink.” 

  Astarion agrees to this nonsense and follows her down to the bar. It makes you bristle- something really isn’t right so that must be why the door is cracked ever so slightly. 

  You quietly squeeze through the door and stay close to the wall as you watch Astarion and the mysterious woman walk down the steps. You catch Astarion looking behind him at the door with worry. Your heart once again catches in your chest and is filled with that stupid, unfair glow. 

FOCUS BIRDIE!

 You shake your head and rake your own paw over your ear as if to chastise yourself. You put your adorable pink nose in the air and take a big whiff- the putrid odor from the woman is coming from a room down the hall and the closer you get to it, the worse it becomes. The scent has an underlying metallic smell so you are almost positive something is wrong with her blood. 

  You peek under the doorway and use Misty Steps to enter the room- you immediately throw up upon entering. 

  The room is scattered with papers and it looks borderline manic. There is a dead woman laying out on the bed and all of her blood is completely drained. It’s the same woman that Astarion had left with except she smells normal enough. 

  You reluctantly hop up on the bed- finding, to your horror, that the woman has multiple stab wounds in the chest and her eyes are wide in horror. It takes every last bit of your strength to swallow the nausea that threatens to consume you as you cast Speak with the Dead. She regards you, but she’s not nearly as lifeless as you thought she would be. 

  In fact, she screams, “ARAJ NO!” the moment she reanimates which causes you to leap at least 10 feet in the air with your tail puffed up. You clench your teeth and take a deep breath through your mouth before talking- you don’t want to begin cussing the corpse out. That is not a good way to start an interrogation. 

  “Why did you say, ‘Araj, no’?” You ask sheepishly.

   You know Araj- she’s the person you lost a claw to. She had come to your room in the middle of the day and demanded he bite her. She would not stop asking and wouldn’t take no for an answer until you forced her to accept it. 

  “Araj… paralyze… force herself… Astarion.” 

  Oh that woman is dead.

  “Why!?” 

 “Anything… to be… bitten.” 

  You are sprinting towards the door and smack into it from going too fast. You pop back up, your head now throbbing, and use misty steps once again to exit the room. Turning the corner, you see Tavern goers begin to aww at you, but you hiss loudly and scare them off.

  This feels even worse than Cazador for some reason. At least you knew the bastard was a sadistic, evil man, but Araj just seemed like a minor inconvenience. Now she’s a really big inconvenience. 

  You spot them quickly in a secluded corner of the bar and weave through the tavern goers. You can sense Astarion’s anxiety, but you hear him talking as if he has not a single care in the world. She flirts with him, but he deflects it which seems to upset her- you’d be upset too if your piss poor plan was going to the grave. 

  Adrenaline fills your body as you get closer and see the little paralytic bottle peeking out of her pocket. You race forward and skid to a halt underneath the table. Neither one of them has seemed to notice your appearance so you go straight for the bottle in question. 

 “Has anyone ever told you how incredibly handsome you are?” Araj says, “you look like you have walked out of a poem.” 

  Disgusting.

  “I have heard that before, yes.”

 HA! Take that lady! He could not be more interested and her plan really won’t work if he isn’t interested and her bottle of paralytic disappears.

  You put your teeth around the neck of the bottle and slowly pull it out of her pocket. Your teeth are able to get a solid grip in the cork, but it definitely has some residual paralysis potion on it because your body begins to tingle painfully. However, you continue with your mission and you are able to get the bottle out of her pocket; Only for it to crash to the floor when you drop like a dead weight. One thing is for sure- that’s a hell of a paralytic. 

  The sound gets both Araj’s and Astarion’s attention- Astarion is quickly picking you up off the ground.

 “What’s happening?” He asks you in his panic, “are you hurt? Are you dying? What-“ 

  You see how panicked Araj is as she looks from you to the broken bottle on the floor. Astarion is so distracted with you that he doesn’t see her frantic mind trying to piece together a reason for this to be happening. At least she’s smart enough to realize saying, “I made that paralytic to roofie you so I could force you to drink my blood and it looks like your cat ruined my plan” would not end well for her.

 “Oh your poor kitty must have found someone’s bottle of paralytic,” Araj says while feigning innocence, “I have an antidote I can give her- do you want to continue this upstairs.”

  Astarion nods, but mostly because he just wants you to be okay. You are infuriated right now- this woman is taking advantage of the fact that you can’t talk and you doubt she has an antidote. She’s probably going to poison you and then attempt to assault Astarion. 

  She parts ways with you both so that she can grab the antidote. You want to scream- Astarion needs to follow her and see the nightmare that has been created. However, he brings you into your shared room and begins digging through his pack. A sigh of relief leaves his mouth when he finds an antidote bottle. 

 “I don’t trust that woman,” he grumbles, “and I have a feeling you found a lot in your investigation.” 

  You gladly drink the entire bottle as fast as possible before popping up and looking Astarion dead in the eyes with your tail puffy and tall.

 “Thatsarajandsheisgoingtotrytoforceherselfonyou,” you shout all too fast. 

  Astarion looks positively perplexed, “I’m sorry Darling, but I think I may have misheard you- Araj is a Drow woman and this woman is a tiefling.”

 “YES but she killed her friend or assistant- the details are fuzzy, but I cast Speak with the Dead and Araj was going to give you the paralytic so she could force you to bite her,” you pause for a moment, “which now that I think about it- probably isn’t possible for her to do.”

   Astarion appears to go through the five stages of grief almost instantaneously while he thinks. You wonder what’s going on in that beautiful head of his. Is he sad that she isn’t really the person she was pretending to be? Your heart hurts at the thought and you once again bat yourself over the ear- earning a weird look from Astarion before he goes back to contemplating.

  The shit eating grin that threatens to break his face throws out your non-feline and non-ghost thoughts.

 “It appears we have a problem on our hands,” Astarion says with a mischievous grin, “whatever should we do? We don’t want such filth contaminating our space!”

You nod in agreement, flicking your tail back and forth. You think hard and long about the best course of action. There has to be at least a billion things you could- WAIT!

                    *************************************

  You and Astarion snicker as he sets up Godey’s destroyed bones next to Araj who he had put in the cuffs hanging from the wall. She’s fast asleep- Astarion had asked her to go on a walk with him and then casted sleep on her when he was just outside Szarr palace. You served as the distraction so she couldn’t counter it by popping out of the corner and scaring the woman out of her illusion. The look on Araj’s face was priceless when she realized Astarion knew exactly who she was prior to the big reveal. 

  The last part of your masterful plan wasn’t your idea, but Astarion insisted. He dragged Cazador’s disgusting, rotting corpse up from the dungeons and sat it up in a coffin. He had opened the man’s eyes (how they are still intact is beyond you) and maneuvered him so that it looks like Cazador is staring at Araj. 

  A stirring from behind you causes Astarion to pick you up before casting invisibility. You are going to do a quick body jump- as much as it horrifies you. 

  Possessing a dead, rotting person is absolutely disgusting- you think you’ll stick to being a cat until you can find another solution. However, Astarion promised you that he would take you to the beach when you reach Amn and let you teach him how to read music in return for your discomfort. 

  Cazador’s rotting limbs move uncomfortably and Araj begins to scream in terror as you descend upon her. 

 She did say she would do anything to be bitten.

*********************************************************

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @spacebarbarianweird

[readychilledwine]

Eris Week Day 7 - Free Day

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Happy Day 7 of @erisweek2023. It is a double post day. 💙

Summary - Ophelia Archeron, the youngest of the Archeron sisters, is forced to meet with Eris and the Batboys, causing her to miss a day in the Summer Court with Amren That doesn't stop her from finding some fun in the water, though.

Warnings - Giving into intrusive thoughts and kissing strangers, OC tries to do the math for angles and trajectory, but the brains behind the OC hates math, angles, and formulations OC's thoughts are choatic and all over the place. Ophelia is an OC one of my close RL friend's asked for. She had wanted to know how sophisticated Eris would have handled a wild and carefree OC, so she has a few hidden pieces from me based on our book club coffee dates, but she said I could share this one. Also, she was listening to Geronimo by Sheppard when she asked me to write this.

Word count - 1203

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

"I don't know what the Littlest Archeron is thinking, but I would consider speaking with her, Rhysand." I continued staring through the red-haired heir of Autumn, grinning at the close distance from the edge of the waterfall he was. This wasn't a great first impression, but I really didn't care.

If I just get a good running start and jump….. 

I felt Rhysand's eyes drift to me again before refocusing on the important meeting he and the other two bat boys had brought me to.

Azriel had ignored my protests, arguments, and pleads for Nesta to go instead of me. I understood the whole seeing and ripping people's souls was a rare gift, and Rhysand was always super excited to try to use to intimidate people, but I had been promised a day in the sun and surf with Amren. I was missing Tarquin, and Tarquin's beautiful beaches, and oceans for this.

He's approximately 2 feet from the ledge. If I hit him running fast enough, we would land approximately… far away from any potential rocks. Maybe. 

Azriel looked over at me with his eyes narrowed as he watched me do math on my fingers. Eris also began to narrow his eyes at Rhysand. Cassian, though? His smile had grown. Being the bat I had spent the most time with, he knew the second I saw Eris on that ledge overlooking the waterfall, exactly what I was thinking.

Do I yell "Geronimo?" No. That'd be dumb. Focus, Ophelia. 

Eris took a step closer to the ledge and made eye contact with me for the first time. For a brief second the aloof higher than thou expression left his face in favor of something softer. The conversation between him and Rhysand came to a full pause. Rhysand  was holding back his grin the best he could while trying not to laugh as he entered my mind and quickly left after figuring out what I was thinking. I felt Azriel's shadows begin to steal my hidden daggers. 

Maybe I should make sure I land first so he doesn't potentially get hurt. Lucien would laugh at that, though. And Lucien's laugh is my favorite.

Rhysand began the conversation again with his eyes meeting mine every so often. Mischief was shining in them like the reflection of the sun on the waterfall. It was almost as if he was daring me to do it.

Am I even fast enough to do this? I'm totally fast enough. Cassian makes me run everyday. I can do this. 

"Enough! What is the little brat plotting?" Eris began to glare and move another step away from me. A few inches. 4 inches was maybe all that remained between him and that ledge. "I swear on the Cauldron itself, if you so much as look at my soul, I will -"

Fuck it.

I didn't hear the rest of Eris's threat as I broke into a full sprint directly at him. I jumped straddling his torso, effectively pushing him back hard enough for us to fall off the ledge. I felt his arms grab onto me tightly as we fell. Something inside of me snapped as he placed a hand on my head and cradled me for my protection.

His hands are so warm. He'd be wonderful to snuggle. This should be terrifying. Wait. He's laughing. Eris is laughing.

The collision with the pool of water came before I could process the sound of his deep laughter or even brace myself for how badly this could hurt. I felt him grab my hand in the cold, deep waters swimming us to the surface. When we emerged, he pulled me to him by my waist. He was smiling, and I felt myself melt under his gaze. His amber eyes searched my blue ones before he began to laugh again.

No one should look this perfect with hair stuck to their face.

Laughter rang from the ledge above us. Eris and I both looked up to see the bat boys leaned over the ledge. Cassian had his head thrown back, "Did you see his face?!" 

Rhys was smirking down at us, "You never said she couldn't physically attack you, Eris!"

Azriel was shaking his head trying to hide his amusement, "You know, Ophelia, if you wanted Eris to take you for a swim, you could have nicely asked."

I heard Eris hum next to me as his warm arm kept me close to him by my waist, "Ophelia. So the Littlest Cauldron Made does have a name."

My brain desprstely wanted to respond. To answer him and talk to him, but shadows and light dancing had caught my attention. The waterfall seemed to sparkle from down here against a dark background. What's BEHIND the waterfall?

I wiggled from his grasp before ducking back under the waterfall. I surfaced in a small cove and pulled myself up onto the rock. Eris appeared behind me and pulled himself up on the rock beside me. I heard Rhys yell for me before seeing two winged males land on the bank across the water. Rhys appeared beside them seconds later.

He's so warm. 

I felt a hand come to my chin as Eris moved my face to look at him. "Well, little Archeron, do you have something to say for yourself?" I followed the glittering silver thread that attached Eris and I at the heart. I felt it tug, so I tugged it back causing warmth to spread throughout my body and soul. A soft smile came to his face. The hand on my chin moved to the back of my head. Inches separated my lips from his.

Can he feel my heartbeat? Is my face getting really red? Is he about to kiss me?

"I can, yes, and only if you want me to." My eyes widened at the sound of his voice. "Mating bond," his voice was soft and warm as his other hand came, and his thumb began to brush my lower lip. The intensity of his stare began to set my soul alight. 

Kiss me.

He pulled me to him the second the thought came. His lips were as warm as the rest of his body and so soft. I sighed deeply as he deepened the kiss and pulled me onto his lap. My hands came to his face, holding him to me. We broke apart at the sound of Rhysand yelling for me again.

"It would appear that big brother is no longer enjoying your antics."

My only response was to kiss him again. I felt my legs wrap around his waist as we sat chest to chest. He took control and dominance over the kiss quickly. One hand tangled into my soaking hair, and the other held me around my waist, locking me where he wanted me. A shadow pulled me from Eris before taking me to Rhysand leaving Eris and Azriel alone in the small alcove. 

Rhysand snapped and changed me into dry leathers as he studied my face. I averted eye contact from him as a single brow raised. He stated softly, "You have got to be fucking joking."

Pain radiated down the bond, causing me to grip my jaw. Cassian's eyebrows shot up. He stared at Rhys, eyes slightly glazed over before muttering softly. "Ness is going to kill me."

Eris and Azriel appeared in front of the three of us. Eris was rubbing his jaw, smiling at me softly until a growl came from Az. Rhysand snapped his fingers to also give Eris dry clothing before leaning his head against a nearby tree. Eris smirked at me as the 3 Night Court males moved away to discuss the situation.

"Can we do it again?" I looked over at him, studying his red hair, angled face, and soft smile.

He rose his chin towards the ledge and looked my direction, "Jump from the waterfall?"

"No. Kiss."

Eris moved to me, a warm hand gently gripping my face and angling my head towards him, "I would kiss you until my dying breath left my body, Ophelia Archeron."

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

The Jealous One pt 9

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,196

The third time's a charm. 

Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE, unedited

<Previous - Next>

“Woah… Didn’t know you were cool.” Tuffnut scoffed and laughed, his shoulders bouncing as he laughed from his throat.

“Shut up,” You grumbled. You hadn’t wanted them to follow you down in the first place.

You were under a dark niche, an overhang on the opposite end of the spire to the one that faced the village, on the side where Mildew lived but this bit was much closer to the base.

The air underneath was moist and heavy.

You’d come down with Hiccup, once. You’d spent the time loitering and listening to him rant, his neutral greens and warm browns looking out of place against the dark rock, while you did your own thing, leaning against the side of a dripping rock wall. 

You’d thought this place used to be something that belonged to both of you, but now it was more just a you thing… or maybe not.

You’d been feeling confused since you’d woken up in Hiccup’s hut in a spare set of your own sleepwear -when did he have the time to go get your sleep wear? 

You hadn’t even known he’d had it in him to care for anyone like that, in such an intimate fashion. You remembered a point in your teenhood in which he would have insisted you hand yourself off to Gothi- Really, the whole event had woken up a large number of twisty curly things and mixed with the slightly sour feeling in your gut- you were almost sure you’d never recovered from your violent illness.

You could still feel it tickling at your periphery, the sickness- It really would suck if you’d gotten sick again.

It had been a cold night last night and so some of the mud below crunch beneath your feet, thawing frost coating some patches and melting snow wetting others so thoroughly that you’d been up to your ankles in the sludge.

Your boots had a thick wadding of it even now, standing in the sanctity of your own secret cave- you own cave secret no longer.

You had your hands on your elbows and your shoulders hunched, and although it was true that you were mad, you were also incredibly cold.

“Don’t be lame,” Snotlout scoffed.

“Those who live in twig houses should not be swinging axes,” You grumbled, “And so I’d rather you keep all your stones to yourself.”

“What? What does that even mean?” Snotlout puffed up his chest from where he stood in front of you- he was closest to the exit of your little overhang, the one you now wanted very much to leave, though you loathed the idea of stepping out into the mud, much more liquid than it had been earlier, when you had stepped down into your crevasse and it had been still too dark out to cause any real melting.

“I called you dumb, dipstick,” You grumbled, knowing he would never take the time to pull that sentence apart on his own. 

He was stubborn and talking to him sometimes was like throwing knives at an impenetrable wall -the harder to work at it, the more likely you were going to hurt yourself- and you cursed him for it.

You also cursed his father for being such a dud- Snotlout would really be better off if he just thought, but wishful thinking could never be anything but wishful thinking and Snotlout was an old hunting dog- no new tricks for him.

“Downer,” Tuffnut scoffed as he hobbled outside for reasons unknown to you though not unwelcome.

“You know what would solve all your problems?” Snotlout asked. He responded right after, without waiting for you to ask, “Get pretty. Pretty ugly.”

You felt immediately more sour, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

You were even more sour as you felt something smack against the side of your leg.

You looked down just to be greeted by a thick wad of wet ground staining already dark grays darker- and at his squealing, you realized that the trajectory and force of Tuffnut’s throw meant that Snotlout had gotten splashed too.

“Yeesh,” You snapped, “You couldn’t have chosen a better time for a mud fight, could you?”

Mud against your skirt, you followed after Snotlout as he fled, shouting something squirrlish and manly about ‘stuff’ on his coat and yak dung.

He stopped right at the entrance of the cave and you ran straight into his back, rushing out after him, which had the unintended effect of shoving him roughly into the mud in front of him.

You nearly burst a lung with your laughter, half doubling over before whipping your head back as a large glob of mud slammed into your face with all the force inertia allowed.

You gawped, using both hands to pull the mud away from your eyes and wipe it off your face, flinging small spatters of it  against the rock walls and floor.

“That one was meant for Snotlout, but ‘eh,” Ruffnut, the obvious culprit, shrugged, her hands muddied, “I guess you’re good too.”

“Oh, Hel! Chief’s kid! Run!” Snotlout shouted. In the way they did when you were all kids and they’d been mocking you and Hiccup in different ways.

At the word ‘Chief,’ the Twins startled suddenly like bucking sheep, tripping over their feet to sprint away and make for the forest as fast as they could, jumping down ledges and bolting.

You gaped and watched as they all ran off, staying standing where you were, then you began to laugh nearly hysterically as Tuffnut tripped over a long slip of mud before falling violently on his face. 

He only just barely made it back into a scramble a moment longer.

Hiccup stood straight just before the clearly-made-worse field of mud, clearly caught off guard.

“Hi,” You said, with what must have been a dopey grin on your face and mud all over your being.

The others- you were slightly annoyed by how they’d run at the sight of the Chief’s son despite being his almost good friends.

From the chilly walk up the Chief’s hill and into his dwelling, which was dark and slightly cold, which must have meant that the Chief himself was still blessedly absent, off on some overseas trip or other.

“I should… Probably go.” You said, turning. You weren’t sure why you’d come up in the first place, the walk you took spent in silence- you’d need to hurry back to bathe so that your waning cold didn’t spike once more.

“You don’t have to.” Hiccup said then, “I was- I mean, I was- You can, then me? Or I can, then you- No- I had Toothless heat up the bathwater, earlier, and I-”

You tilted your head to the side, looking at him, greasy brown hair and all- Toothless’s fire always ran hot and so, ah, he must have gone for some herbs, then- Gothi planted a few at the base of the mountain, and for those with scarring and the right knowledge of plants, they made for an okay blams, which was the point. The old healer had probably gotten tired of the rabble crawling up to her hut over nothing and making their irritations worse.

“We can... Split the water,” You suggested weakly, shrugging crusting shoulders, tilting your head to a large wooden bucket of water off to your side- nearly large enough to hold a person.

You stayed huddled by the fire, your hands to a mug, your lips teasing the edge of it.

You wore a tunic that wasn’t yours, that hadn’t fit Hiccup by multiple sizes but still smelt like Hiccup anyways flopping over your hands- he’d probably used it to stuff his pillow or the like, because it smelt a lot like residual smoke and him.

You borrowed from him a pair of undershorts, too, and they remained the only thing keeping your bottom half from the grained wood floor- besides the soles of your feet, your knees being pushed up nearly to your chin.

The bath bucket, Hiccup had placed up in his room, probably intending to enjoy the luxury of being able to bathe up in the loft. Unfortunately, he’d conceded the right to bathe up there to you, settling for a bucket and washcloth.

The water, Hiccup was too lazy to bring it down as he’d brought it up.

You figured you would figure it out later as you dried, but by the sounds of it Hiccup had probably just ended up tilting the whole bath out his window, dumping the water that way- There was a stain on the side of his house from when he’d done it before and a gouge where he’d cut out some suspicious looking rot, probably a consequence of the undue moisture and fading waterproofing. 

You wanted to puff at it, but you knew you were much too lazy to pail up any water for yourself.

You looked to the side but remained no less stationary as you heard him come down the stairs and settle, standing an appropriate distance away. He was nearly looking at you but his eyes were angled in a way which said ‘not quite.’ 

You couldn’t fathom why, however, unless he was being shy about your dress, though you couldn’t see why he would be concerned or avoidant- he’d put you in his things, after all.

By the light of the fireplace flickering warmly at the fronts of your legs, his hair was more than auburn in the light, looking lighter and fluffier than normal now that he’d washed out the grime, probably with a slight bit more fervor than usual, though you were slightly aghast by it and confused as to why.

You’d definitely felt softer about him since he’d cared for you, sick as you were, though you were surely unsure of where the two of you stood.

“Hello,” You said, breaking the silence which felt heady and warm.

“...Would now be a good time to apologize?” Hiccup started, his prosthetic and the floorboards squeaking as he shuffled.

You blinked your eyes open, staring at Hiccup for a moment. He looked almost earnest. “...I guess so.”

“I’m sorry.” Hiccup started, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

You shrugged.

“Are you free? I mean, I could start… I could start bringing you on trips with the Riders?”

You startled slightly, the peaceful atmosphere between the two of your disrupted slightly- and suddenly you could feel again where spots of Hiccup’s tunic were damp, mostly in parts you’d done a poor job of drying, you could feel the few bits of grain that dug into your rump through its fabric and you could feel how the room was still a smidge too cold against your back, except it wasn’t anything you thought of fondly, more something that sent uncomfortably shivers running up your spine.

That was the exact opposite of what you wanted- it would be a  reminder of all the ways you didn’t belong between them, bearing witness to exactly how you always would mess up their rhythm. 

You didn’t like the idea at all. You struggled to come up with a way to explain it to him.

“I don’t… I would just be dragging you guys down. It’s not like I have a dragon, or anything, and you guys have… years,” You said self consciously. You tried to keep your voice from cracking at this part, though you couldn’t really tell if you minded, “-Of experience, together. I think I’ve only been there for a few, you know, before everything.”

Hiccup started and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it.

“That’s my fault.” Hiccup said guiltily, “I should’ve… I trained dragons for the others.”

You knew that especially then as you turned further to the side, the meat of your leg coming to rest against the Haddock’s wooden floor. You could feel all the grooves in it against fresh, just recently damp skin.

“And I… I left you.”

“Yeah,” You said, curling your knees up and refusing to look at him, “You did. But that was in dragon training and I wasn’t there. I didn’t make the cut, I guess.”

 Admittedly, you were a little upset, but as it always went, you hadn’t done much to let it show until now.

They didn’t hide it or anything, but still. Even if the others didn’t hang out much outside of Dragon Riding, they still had tons of experience together. 

You hated being together with everyone at once even in the Great Hall. being there had been a hard reminder, one you’d shake off soon enough.

“It’s different now.” Hiccup protested, taking a step forward.

You wondered if his stump hurt, still. You felt bad about distracting him- you hoped he hadn’t caused himself pain, foregoing the nice bath and hauling all the water out of his window anyways.

“Is it? I mean,” You demurred, slightly out of it, “I still don’t… I don’t have a dragon, so. I can’t fly with you or anything and I know that’s really important. Isn’t that why…?”

“What? No, no, even if it was, we can work on that.” Hiccup smiled awkwardly, “I can- Toothless and I can do all the heavy lifting- not that you’re heavy, I mean… If- if you’re not sure, then-”

“I don’t know.” You started, looking down, “Maybe. But… Why? Seriously, Why now? I don’t understand…”

And you refused to look, not deeply. You didn’t want to, knowing that it usually hurt. Instead you chose to believe that he was either deathly ill or mad- two likely culprits, the last one foremostly. 

You settled your mug to the floor, standing and moving close up to him, one hand grasping his arm as you pressed yourself closer, your other hand coming up to feel at his forehead.

It was wonderful- to feel, to hold, to touch- but you didn’t focus on that, on the uneven feeling of his skin in one parts and the lumps under others and you didn’t focus nearly enough as you probably should have on the light, damp sheen over his forehead, or how nice the burning under his skin was against your palm, nearly oppressive despite the fact that you were the one to make the first move.

You couldn’t tell if it was burning or not to an unreasonable extent -not just by touch- and any redness that must have shown itself, clutched against peach skin, was obscured by the red light of fire and the darkness of shadow.

“You’re not sick now, are you?” You mumbled with some vague concern.

“Ah- N-no.” Hiccup said, his hovering, twitchy hand coming to rest along your waist.

With his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the fire, contrasting against brighter greens and baby colors, you thought that this moment that you’d found yourself in- It was like something out of a dream you’d had when you were younger.

You’d wandered into it unintentionally, and past your musings you’d nearly expected to wake up in your bed at fifteen years of age once again, sleep interrupted by the furious screaming of a bloodthirsty dragon. It would be nice if you did.

This moment, you knew, was not as kind or as dream-like as it seemed, for if it was, there would be more than a broken friendship and hesitant camaraderie between the two of you- a great deal more.

You kept your face blank as you slipped away slightly, ready for the warm, solid grip of Hiccup’s palm on your waist to become something colder and more absent. However, you paused- You hadn’t so much as tugged yourself away from his palm as you’d let it lay there, coming quickly to notice the sureness by which he held it against you, not at all giving as it should naturally be when someone was pulling away, nearly unwilling to let go.

“You’re not trying to win me over anymore,” You asked suddenly, “Not in the typical sense?”

“I-” Hiccup started before his eyes flickered away, his other hand sliding against your waist. “No.”

You did your best not to think of how he might have held Astrid- how you were sure you’d seen him touch Astrid in the same way, which sent twinges up and down your spine and touched your bruising ego, covered in irritating, old, slightly raw burn marks.

None of that mattered, though, because this wasn’t what that was- of course it wasn’t because he’d never treated you that way, and wasn’t that nearly a problem? It wasn’t that you couldn’t look beyond yourself to know, but to treat it in that way- to find it, to know it to be fake or even real or to entertain the fantasy would also hurt- it might sting and rage at your softer parts in a way that made you want to cower, and so you pushed all yearnings and musings and other sad things farther away.

“What are you doing?” You leaned in slightly closer, eyes searching, feeling more serious than not, even as your bare knee brushed lightly against his clothed one.

Hiccup sighed breathily. You could almost call what he did a wheeze.

“...I’m sorry.” Hiccup said, and in an action that surprised you and had your neck straightening and your eyes opening wider by a slight margin, he placed his face securely into your shoulder.

You could nearly feel his lips against your neck, in the place where collar bone met shoulder, and you resisted your own urge to shudder and sigh, all your shaky breaths held deeply inwards.

You mumbled softly, leaning back into him and resting your head against his neck, “I forgive you. I really- really forgive you. And… And I’m sorry too.”

Sorry for dumping water on his head, for being so crass, even if he deserved it- and sorry for everything you’d lost, too, along the way and before the journey.

You tightened your arms slightly, your eyelids shutting tighter as you took in the shape of him, how he felt, ever so warm against you, his hands moving from your waist to your back, his arms pushing and wrapping against your sides, constraining and nice made nicer as the heat of the hearth in the floor beat and flickered steadily on.

Hiccup smelt fresh, like river-washed clothes and a bit like mildew all mixed in with something that was surely Hiccup, something heavy growing finer, much different to the scent you were sure had belongs to him, noted down when you were nothing but young teens tussling and chittering around in forests and along village pathways. 

You hummed into his neck, your eyelashes grazing gently against the skin and baby hairs there and sighed, your voice thick and catching, raspy and muffled by the parts of his skin pressing into your cheek and the seam of fabric warm and almost scratchy against one side of your nose.

You knew  on some level that this might never happen again. So, you desired to enjoy it before you couldn’t- before, once again, you became bitter, before you felt rupturing-ly petty and frustrated and sad.

[livingsspecter]

𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚅𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚝: 𝙼𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝙰𝚄 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜.ᐟ ✧₊⁺

I’m in need of Gregory content, and if there isn’t any, Im making it lol (also if you have any requests, tell me!)

₊⊹ Is low profile on social media, mostly posting his art and beautiful scenery he took pictures of

₊⊹ Has a pretty expensive drawing pad he always carries around with him

₊⊹ Listen to mostly gothic music (new wave, dark wave, gothic rock), indie rock and ambient and classical when he’s drawing

₊⊹ Has tried every single tea, italian soda, milkshake and lemonade flavor ever

₊⊹ Also probably the kind of person to dip french fries in milkshake ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

₊⊹ If he decides to venture outside the dark of his room, he hangs around in cemeteries, cozy cafes and museums

₊⊹ It’s always a fight to go out and find clothes because his entire closet is black (saved for a few purples and a bit of white here and there)

₊⊹ The rest of the P4 and Cheslock try to throw him surprise parties every single year but he always finds out first

₊⊹ Likes feeding stray cats

₊⊹ Always has a way to avoid people on the street, usually headphones or pretending he’s typing on his phone

₊⊹ Used to getting stared at because of his sense of style, he will stare back inside your soul

₊⊹ Loves watching horror movies with the rest of the P4, having a completely blank face the entire time (he’s enjoying it)

₊⊹ They have a group chat and he lurks, observing all the gossip but rarely saying anything (sometimes he reacts with ironic emojis)

₊⊹ Types as dry as he speaks

₊⊹ Chuckles at dark, nonsensical memes

₊⊹ Only went to a party once (forced) and spent the whole evening hiding in the bathroom drawing

₊⊹ The only parties he can stand are halloween ones, he likes decorating his room whenever the spooky season is arriving

₊⊹ His phone is always on no disturb mode, dark mode and brightness almost at zero

₊⊹ Always with sunglasses on when it’s summer

₊⊹ Wears chokers, lots of rings and probably has a few ear piercings as well (got some together with Cheslock)

₊⊹ Is chronically offline but probably hangs around Pinterest

[seenoversundown]

Allure : Part One

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: Fluff, Flirting, Mentions of Alcohol, A lot of yearning and pining, some sexy insinuations, wholesome family time (crazy to put that right after a sex warning but-) and your favorite: pirate references.

Word Count: 3.3k (it's 3333 to be exact and I couldn't stop giggling over it)

Summary: It's a family lake day! Spending a day at the lake with everyone means getting to laugh and have fun together, but for Charlotte it means watching Jake longingly from a distance until she can get him alone.

Author's Note: I know I said there was no For Death Or Glory this week, so I felt like I owed it to you by letting these two be posted first! Happy Holiday Week!

1901 - Phoenix (No lyrics this time- the song is just a good summery vibe!)

Charlotte POV:

The chaos that ensues when we spend time with his family will never cease to amaze me. 

Danny told us about the lake day plans, and I had to remind Jacob that he was allowed to take days away from the bar. Finally, having a few successful bartenders actually stick around, he’s been able to sneak away every so often. Even though that usually involves checking his phone four hundred times throughout the day, progress is progress. 

The boys are all cracking open beers together while I’m sitting on a blanket with Quinn, Willa, and Mel, listening to Josh splash around with Iris. At least they’ll both be tuckered out later, giggling to myself at the thought. 

It’s a blessing and curse being with Jacob. That sounds terrible but walk with me. He is the most kind and gentle man I have ever met, but to a fault. He loves nothing more than to be around his brothers and help them out with whatever he can. The problem is that he forgets about himself, or in this case, me as well. 

Naturally, when we heard about the lake day, he volunteered to make food for everyone. As he would. So now that we’re here, I’m watching him from afar deal with that, while Sam continuously fumbles around with everything. Sometimes, I don’t believe Sam is actually that clumsy and just does it to get under Jake’s skin. Honestly, it is fun for me to watch some days. He’s so patient with everything, but I can see his jaw clench from a mile away when Sam about knocks over all the food into the sand. 

My eyes stay on him as I wander over, his shirt open, which really isn’t different from most days, but with the little shorts he’s decided to wear today, I swear I could eat him whole. 

Once he looks over to me, his face softens, holding his arm out for me to come in close. I slide my hands around his waist as he presses a kiss to the side of my head. 

“Hey you,” I whisper, “you okay?” Letting my eyes scan his face, knowing that he was trying not to be irritated. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” 

Reaching my hand up and holding his chin in my hand, quietly telling him, “It’s okay to tell him to leave you alone. He’s just trying to be helpful, but I bet he would gladly go off with Danny if you told him to.” 

His sweet little laugh escaped, “You’re right, I’ll tell him to kick rocks.” 

“Jacob, that’s not what I said,” I can’t hold back my laugh. His shit-eating grin grows; leaning in, he plants a kiss on my lips. 

“Gross, get a room,” Sam teases. 

Jacob quickly rebuttals, “All of you wanted this, don’t forget that,” kissing me again, and then whispers, “Go enjoy your book. I’ll bring you some food when it’s ready.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Between reading and chatting with everyone, I spent a while just watching my gorgeously tanned boyfriend living his best little life. He finally took his shirt off, so he’s just been walking around in the shortest swim trunks I think he could find. I’ll never complain about it, though. 

We’ve been together for a little while now, and I’m still fully obsessed with him, but seeing him since the warm weather hit has really been a treat for me. His shirts are always a little more open, he wears his hair up in little messy buns, and these shorts have been killing me. Never thought there would be a day that I’d be excited over seeing a man’s legs, but I guess there’s a first for everything. 

“Iris has requested that you come play,” Josh’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. Glancing over at the two of them, dripping wet but hand in hand and cuter than a button. I can’t say no to her. 

“Oh, of course,” I tell him. Quickly standing up and sliding off my shorts, I tuck all my things into my bag. Without turning around, I know that someone is staring, and maybe, I did that on purpose by wearing my bathing suit that shows a tasteful amount of ass. Peeking over my shoulder to see him with his eyebrows raised, looking back at me, as I walk over to where Iris and Josh have been. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t rope Quinn into playing,” I quietly say to Josh as I’m being handed a bucket to hold. 

He looks over at them for a moment, “They deserve a little break. Between working with kids and then coming home to me, I’m sure relaxing in the sun is exactly what they need. Like a little plant.” 

I’ve spent a lot of time with Josh at this point, considering everything, so we’ve gotten comfortable with each other. And I’ve learned how to understand how he speaks. She takes the bucket, flipping it over and creating the saddest tower I’ve ever seen, but when her face lights up, we follow suit. 

“Hopefully, you didn’t plan to spend time with him today,” he says with a laugh, glancing over at Jacob. 

A sigh comes from me before I can even pretend to stop it, making us both laugh. Iris looks up and sees us, so she giggles along with us. Sitting on Josh’s lap while she digs up more sand, piling it up on our legs. 

“At least he means well,” I let slip out while gazing over at him. His shorts hung low on his hips, leaving the little trail of hair visible and hip bones on full display. Does he even realize how hot he is? I really didn’t know what I was in for, meeting him in late October. 

Josh gently touches my arm before telling me, “he would drop everything for you, dear. Just say the word.” It makes my heart swell because I know he would. 

“He looks too happy right now. I can’t stop him,” the smile grew on my face. “Plus, it’s nice to see everyone in one place finally.” 

“Not at the bar,” he mutters, chuckling to himself. “I’ll say it so you don’t have to.” 

I hold a finger up to my lips, silently shushing him with a wink. 

“Trust me, we’re all glad you’re forcing him out of his little dungeon.” He admits. Josh and I have spent plenty of time discussing him over the past few months,  it will always make me laugh when he reminds me how antisocial Jacob was before I came in. 

He’s still quite the homebody, but I’ve managed to convince him to occasionally take a full day out of the bar to do things. It’s good for both of us, honestly. 

“I’ve been sent to tell you that food is ready,” Sam says as he walks towards us. Squatting down and waving Iris over to him. She runs full speed ahead at him as he scoops her up, hoisting her up to sit on his shoulders for the walk back. Watching her hold onto the bun on top of his head making both Josh and I laugh.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I let everyone grab their food before me, mostly so I could steal his attention for a second. He watches as I walk up to him, his stare will always give me butterflies. 

“Well, hi there,” he mumbles. My hand found its place on his stomach, glancing at his lips for a second before leaning in. 

“Hi,” I squeak out, feeling his hand slide over my ass, “Watch your hands there, Captain.” Squinting at him as he giggles. 

“You never told me about this one,” he says quietly, knowing we’re within earshot of everyone. “Didn’t know I was gonna get a show today.” 

“To be fair,” I giggle, “I was hoping to surprise you a little.” 

“Honey, I about had a heart attack,” he fiddles with the strings holding my top together. “I’ll always think you’re gorgeous. I mean, come on.”  His head dropped back dramatically. 

“Alright, you two,” Danny hollers, “you guys have all the time in the world to flirt with each other. Come sit!” My head falls forward into him as we both laugh. Neither of us had gotten used to the fact everyone can see us; it’s like we’re in our own world when we talk to each other. Or in the middle of the sea, as he would want to say.   ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was a fleeting moment I got to spend with him, as the moment we sat down with everyone, I lost him again. Immediately, he’s chatting and giggling with his brothers. He constantly grabs things for everybody, making sure everyone is happy. For such a calm human, he sure has his moments of chaos, reminding me that he is definitely Josh’s twin. 

The boys and Iris take off, back to making sandcastles and splashing in the lake. Well, three of them, while my sweet boy decided to pick up a little before hanging out.  It’s like he doesn’t know how to not be at work. Can’t clean at the bar? He’ll just clean wherever he is, apparently. 

“They’re all so cute together,” Willa pipes up as the rest of us look over. The boys run away from Iris as she splashes them, pulling out all the stops to make her laugh. 

“Some would say too cute,” Quinn says, their face flushed a little, as Josh falls over while Iris “attacks” him. 

Willa looks over, laughing at Quinn, “Oh my god, Q. Keep it together.” 

“What?! It’s not my fault I’m not afraid to admit my partner is hot.” 

“Excuse me! That was about the only thing I was willing to admit about Sam for a while,” Willa says before mumbling, “It’s just the rest of the emotions I wasn’t too excited to accept.” 

I listen to the two of them go back and forth for a few minutes like an old married couple, which is pretty typical when you get the two of them together. I look over at Mel, who is just fully zoned out, watching the boys with her child. 

“Good daydream over there?” I tease. She looks over with a little grin on her face. 

“You have no idea,” she wiggles her eyebrows, laughing as it comes out.  

Looking back over to Jacob for a second, the perfect second really. He stretches his arms up, making that trail of hair on his belly even more visible, and the little ab muscles that he hides so well pop out. 

“I don’t know I might.” 

All four of us laughing together. It really was nice when we all got to spend time together without the boys. It usually turned into us all catching each other up on things. Even if we talk to each other almost daily and see each other more often than not. The perks of dating someone who’s close with their family; you immediately are gifted new friends when they have partners. And I am very lucky in that department. 

“How’s your day going while we’re asking-“ Quinn asks, glancing over. I let my head drop back before looking back at them. 

“Other than barely seeing him- I can’t complain.” Everybody laughing with me because they’re all aware of how he functions. 

“Just go get him!” 

“Go seduce him, girl!” 

“He’s just a boy, and you’re practically naked. He’ll pay attention to you.” 

I stand up, fixing my top and pulling up my bottoms a smidge more. I do a little twirl as the rest of them gas me up. I wander over towards him. I’ll just really lay it on thick, and it’ll distract him. It works every time. 

Sneaking up behind him, I wrap my arms around him, leaning my face against him. Enjoying the moment, just getting to touch him, makes me realize that I miss him sometimes, even if he’s just busy. 

His hands grabbed my arms, pulling them off him so he could turn around but letting me snake them back around his waist. 

“Enjoying the sun?” He asks, tucking some hair behind my ear.

“Mhm,” my hands moved to hold his sides, “I wish you would come to enjoy it with me.” Leaning into him a little more, pouting my lip at him. May as well just be a bit dramatic. 

“Oohhhh,” he coos, as his index finger so gently pulls my face closer so he can press a small kiss onto my pouty lip. “Are we so sad?” His smile slowly crept onto his face. 

With an obviously sad ‘mhm’ and a small nod, I fight the smile that is threatening to come out as I mumble, “I’ve just missed you, baby.” 

“Oh, don’t do that to me,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “I’m sorry, honey. Give me like two more minutes, and then I’m all yours.” 

Turning my face to press a kiss against his cheek, thinking I finally won his attention, we both look down as water drips down our legs. 

Sweet baby Iris stood there, lightly tapping his leg for his attention. He lets go of me, squatting down to her level. She walks in close to him, a big cheesy grin on her face. She loves her uncle so much. 

‘Come play?’ She asks him. 

He looks up at me, and I just nod, knowing he can’t say no to her. 

He picks her up, and off they go.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I sat back on the blanket for a bit, just watching them play together. It really is precious how much she loves all the boys. I probably will never get used to seeing him interact with her, though. I’ll be calling him Daddy later, that’s for sure. 

He’s stuck in the same position I was; holding a bucket as she fills it with sand. The way he just beams at her the whole time would make anybody melt. Even when she’s splashing him with water, he’s just so happy to play with her. 

I’ve never seen him move faster than when she took off running along the water. Catching up to her but letting her think she was faster. He just jogs behind her as she looks back at him, giggling and toddling along. She’s weaving in and out of the water, trying to splash him, and of course, he’s being dramatic about it to make her laugh even more. 

“Well, look at those two having fun,” Quinn says, sitting back on the blanket with me. 

I glance over at them. “I know. It’s so-“ 

We both whip our heads over when we hear the first cry. He��s already squatting down to help her stand up; she must have toppled over into the water. Her little arms reach out as she stands up, walking into him. He wraps her in a hug, standing up with her in his arms still. Walking towards Daniel, I can see him pressing kisses into the top of her head and rubbing her back the whole time.  

I can see her sweet, sad face resting against him as they get closer. Danny walked over to steal her away from him. 

“Oh, come here, babe,” Danny says as she reaches out to him. “She’s a runner, and she’ll never learn. Thank you, bud.” They chuckle together before Jake walks over to me, holding his hands out. 

“Is it finally my turn?” I tease. 

“Actually, Jake, could you-“ Quinn starts, making me turn my head faster than the speed of light. They let out a belly laugh, “I’m so kidding. Please spend time with Miss Lottie before she withers away!” 

Taking his hands, he pulls me up into him, placing a kiss on my forehead. “I’m all yours now, honey.” 

My heart swells as he tells me. Grabbing his hand and pulling him away from everyone, we spent a few minutes just walking along the water. 

“I missed you today,” I admit, which feels a bit silly. 

He lets go of my hand, pulling me into him, “I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbles in between little kisses on the side of my head. 

“I did enjoy watching you all day, though. When were you going to tell me you had these?” I ask, tugging on his shorts gently. 

“Oh, you like these?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. 

I nod quickly, turning to face him. I dance my fingertips along his waistband. 

“As soon as we get home,” I start, tugging him a little closer, “I’ll show you how much I like them.” His face flushes at my comment. 

“We can leave now?” He smirks, running his hand over my ass again, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Not yet,” I giggle at his eagerness. “I was looking forward to seeing you wet today.” 

With no hesitation, he scoops me up bridal style. 

“What are you doing?” I ask. 

“Making your dream come true,” he says, “plus if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna need a minute before we walk back over there.”

“What do you mean?” I whisper in his ear. He picks up his pace into the water as I watch his face. “Baaaaby-“ 

“Charlotte,” he warns me. 

“Jacob,” I rebuttal. 

“I can’t wait to see you soaked,” he says, cocking his eyebrow up. My teeth pull my lip in; he’s usually not so forward- wait.

My smile falls quickly. “Jake, you better not—” He starts laughing before I can even finish the thought, readjusting his hands underneath me. 

“Jacob, don’t you dare.” 

“I’m sorry, honey,” his voice sounds so sweet as he tosses me into the water. 

The water felt nice after being in the sun all day, so I couldn’t even be that mad at him. I look at him, still just standing there, watching as I struggle to get all my hair out of my face. 

“What?” I ask, moving closer to him. 

He shakes his head, and a soft smile laces his lips. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

I wrap my arms around him in a hug, wishing there was a way to be even closer to him but enjoying what I can get in the moment. 

“I still can’t believe you’re dry,” I mumble against him, waiting for it to process. His little laugh fills the air, and I start pulling him further into the water. 

His hands found their place on my hips, holding on tight as we moved deeper into the water. He caves after a minute, going under the water, not without running his hands down my legs, of course. 

His body glistened from the water as he stood in front of me. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I swim close to him, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling his face in for a kiss. 

“My little siren today, huh? Luring me into the water,” his low voice sent little shivers through my body. My legs tightened around him, knowing I gave myself away. Leaving little kisses down his neck, in between droplets of water. Every moment that goes by is more torturous than the last, but I need to make it worse. 

I let my legs detach from his hips, knowing I was going to need to make a break for it. Pressing my lips into his one more time before leaning into his ear to whisper, “Just think about it.” 

He pulls back to look at me, “Think about what?” His eyebrows pulled in, but the smirk on his face tells me that he knows I’m being a little shit. 

I gently run my hand down the length of him through his now-soaked swim trunks, with a shit-eating grin on my face when I tell him, “All the booty you’ll get when we get home, Captain.” Shooting him a wink as I back away from him, watching his eyes go from happy to hungry as he starts chasing after me. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I may be cooking up a part 2 if you guys are interested in that 👀

edit: Part Two 😘

FDOG Masterpost | Masterlist | The Caravel Tavern Series

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