#Grip Truck Rental

[rainrot4me]

Outrun, Undone

Summary: Your body hurt, heaving and clawing to escape. They were catching up, laughter echoing through the dense trees as you ran, praying for your stamina to hold. But you knew you weren’t fast enough, and so did they…

Characters: Masky & Hoodie x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Chasing, predator and prey, primal sex, blood, injury, fear, threesome, double penetration, vaginal fingering, anal, blowjob, vaginal, overstimulation, power play, fighting, aggression, mocking, degradation, forced submission, pussy spanking, oral fixation

Words: 8.2k

Fight or flight is described as an instinctual reaction that occurs when the body perceives a threat, rallying for survival. Psychologically, it changes you, gripping for any out or sense of security as it pushes its own comfortability. It’s primal, animalistic, and desperate; mind clawing for any serenity. Your mind and body were screaming, like every inch of your consciousness was being ripped apart the harder you fought. You wanted to cry and scream and get away, but they wouldn’t let you. They were going to make sure you lost this bet.

The ground was damp, mulch and rocks lodged into your knees as you clattered to the dirt, heaving for breath. You didn’t remember which direction you were trying to go, but it didn’t matter as you pushed your aching body up, lunging back into a sprint. Rain and fog blurred your senses, the stout smell of wet earth suffocating you with every labored gasp. 

The woods felt like they went on forever, large pines and ominous maples cutting off your direction and forcing you into a maze, the schlick of mud under your shoes echoing with every quick step. You were soaked with sweat and rain, hair clinging annoyingly to your face and blocking your vision. Your clothes felt heavy on your skin, making it hard not to get overstimulated and tired. “Fuck-” You gasped, rounding a mound of roots to find a patch of brambles, head spinning and looking for another direction. The loud thumping of boots was heavy behind you, branches and leaves snapping as you heard hollers paired with eager laughter calling out your name, searching for you. There was no other direction. You hauled forward.

It was your fault, really. You roused them on, claiming stealth and agility were better tactics for a killer than brute force and power. The boys chuckled, arms crossed and stupid grins shining as they teased. It was always so odd to see them without their masks, especially in such good moods. 

“Oh yeah? And who says that?” Masky poked at you, leaning back into the door of the rental truck you had all lived in for the past week. This mission was exhausting, another hitman job for the Operator that you really couldn’t bring yourself to be passionate about. The boys weren’t too thrilled either. Sleeping cramped into a single cab as the only girl was devastating. The smell of no showers and lack of proper meals was getting to you now, a two-day headache pounding at the base of your skull and making you nauseous. At least they let you have the back seat to yourself.

“Uh, says the one who’s gunned down more than both of you?” You scoffed, kicking some gravel from the campsite parking lot. “Don’t you ever notice how I’m the one having to pick off the stragglers when you two come in guns blazing? I swear, you two only think with your revolvers instead of your actual brains.” 

Hoodie chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the truck bed. “These brains don’t do much thinking anymore anyways.” You rolled your eyes, “Obviously.” Looking out across the field meant for hunting, a dense treeline hung just over the clearing as the sun began to set, deep oranges and pinks pushing through the leaves. You couldn’t remember what state you were in, somewhere north and cold, early autumn setting in as the breeze whipped against your cheeks. It was going to rain tonight, you could see it in the way the leaves upturned, the thick smell of distant downpours on the bark stirring in the air. “Just saying. I could outrun you both and still have the energy to take down someone. You two wouldn’t last a second without your precious little weapons strapped to your hip.”

The boys tensed, eyes narrowing as they looked at each other, a silent challenge welling up. “How about a game then? Put your little stealth tactic to the test.” Masky huffed, a stupid grin matching the eagerness in his eyes. Hoodie nodded along, pushing off the truck bed as he stepped closer, his boots crunching into the gravel. 

“The woods out there. It’s only about fifty acres worth, but it’s dense. Good enough for hide and seek, huh?” Hoodie’s voice sounded a little more chipper than his usual monotonous one, laced with excitement and almost giddy. “We’ll give you ten minutes, put your money where your mouth is. If we can’t find you, we’ll buy you a hotel room for the rest of the trip.” You glared, heart thumping at the idea of finally getting a shower and some heat, fingers fidgeting at your sides. “But, when we catch you, and we will, who knows what we’ll ask for?” Masky shrugged cockily. “Guess we’ll be thinking about it while you’re runnin’.”

The boys pressed forward, shoulder to shoulder as they stared down at you, nauseating smiles making your heartache. You glanced back to the tree line. Crossing your arms, you rolled your eyes, stupidly accepting their bet. You were going to win, you knew you were, but all they could do was smile. “Ten minutes starts now, sweetheart.” Hoodie fiddled with his old-style military wristwatch, wiping the glass as he clicked some buttons to start a timer.

“So I just… start runni-”

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…” You tensed, taking steps back before spinning on your heels, zipping your jacket up as you began to run, slipping into the trees.

-

When you began to run, that’s when the excitement truly swept in. 

The ten minutes had long passed, your feet carrying you deep into an unfamiliar forest where every tree looked the same. But you had to keep going, if for nothing else, then to create distance.

It was getting too dark to see, the sun hanging low on the horizon and dense night setting in. The silhouettes of trees stretched ahead, endless in every direction. There was no trail or path to follow, only the thick underbrush and ferns that whipped at your legs as you ran, branches scratching your skin. You had no clue where you were going.

The rain had begun as well, thick droplets soaking your clothes and face, making your hair cling to your skin. Your legs burned, muscles tensing as you dodged trees, mud clinging to your shoes the further you went, your breath already quickening. When you reached a small clearing, you paused, catching your breath as you searched the shadows, listening intently for any signs of movement. Nothing caught your attention besides the heavy patterns of rainfall, leaves, and branches whipping in the wind as you set off again, catching your pace. 

Adrenaline couldn’t differentiate this from real danger. You dealt with these boys every day, watching how they worked and killed, studying their every move. But now that you were on the other side of the fight, there was no clue just how real they were going to make it. You knew they wouldn’t kill you. They were all for bets, but they weren’t sore losers. They might catch you, they might hurt you, but they wouldn’t kill you. And, somehow, that excited you.

There was something so rousing about playing the victim for once. It made you feel vulnerable and small, but oh did it make you desperate.

Climbing over a fallen pine and sliding down the short ridge beyond it, you crouched close to the ground, pressing close to the roots and bushes as you caught your breath again. You had to think one step ahead, had to conserve your energy; any chance for a break was a good one. They wanted a chance, so you’d give them a chase. But you had to be smart too.

Snap.

You froze, slow breaths shaking as the condensation fogged at your mouth. You clenched close to the ground, careful not to move as you heard the thumps of boots more clearly now, a matching pair. You clenched your jaw, bracing your hands against the side of a tree as their voices grew too.

“Come on, little mouse,” Masky called out, the giddiness in his voice making you cringe. “You’re not very good at hiding your tracks.” Shit. The rainfall had roused the ground with mud, your imprints being left everywhere and leading right to where you crouched. You had to move.

Rain and sweat dripped off your nose, teeth clenched as you shook, the cold breeze cutting against your skin. Your pupils blew wide as you scanned the ground, snaking your body up quietly as you took eager steps in the opposite direction of the boys. The mud squelched, your body aching as you pushed off the tree, steadying your pace back into a jog to not make too much noise. You heaved, letting your pace grow the further you got, the small steps turning into a desperate sprint as you whipped through the trees, the wind burning your cheeks raw. You were panting, sucking deep breaths of air, and fighting against the strain in your chest.

“There!” You cursed, Hoodie’s voice ringing through the trees as you sprinted, fists clenched as you dug your feet into the ground. In your attempt to get away, you had done exactly what you wanted to avoid, catching their attention. You heard the sound of their boots taking heavy steps in the distance, far enough but definitely still too close for comfort. Your heart thumped, adrenaline pumping. You tried to look back, to gauge just how far they were, just how fast you needed to run. You couldn’t see when your ankle snapped against a root popped from the ground, flinging your body down.

The ground was damp, mulch and rocks lodged into your knees as you clattered to the dirt, heaving for breath. You didn’t remember which direction you were trying to go, but it didn’t matter as you pushed your aching body up, lunging back into a sprint. Rain and fog blurred your senses, the stout smell of wet earth suffocating you with every labored gasp. You groaned, palms and clothes covered in mud and grass, your chest aching from the abrupt contact. The boys howled with excitement, their chanting and loud laughs making you nervous, and desperate to get away. The worst part, however, was the fact they had now put on their masks.

The three of you had grown comfortable, there was no desire to cover their faces around each other, saving the covers for jobs. But now, the stupid masks were snugged on, concealing their expression and making this situation all the more terrifying. Now, you realize they saw you as a job, a mission to catch and take, no longer just a little game. You wanted to cry, the anger shooting through your veins as you ran, heaving for air and distance, your brain screaming to get away. They were going to catch you.

You were so used to being on the other side. You were the one chasing, the one seizing runaways. But, something about being the one having to get away, the thought of you fighting within an inch of your life against your friends. It got you stirred in the worst kind of way.

You sprinted, half-running half-sliding down the steepening slope, your shoes catching on vines and mud as you went. You had no clue where you were going or why the terrain was suddenly changing, but you continued to press forward, feet flinging out from under you as you sprinted. The slope picked up, rocks and thicker soil breaking under your steps, clattering down the side of the hill you were pressing down, leaning back to claw into the mud as you lost your footing, pummeling down. Your foot caught on a root, hauling your shoe off your foot and snapping your body with it.

You met the clearing at the bottom face-first.

You landed hard, a thick stream of water splashing against your face as you gasped. The air knocked from your lungs, rolling onto your back as the water flowed around you, the tiny stream picking up from the rain. Rocks and moss stuck to your clothes, your teeth grit as your chest ached. You had to get up, you had to keep running.

But the chuckles from above you made you whine, footsteps crunching down the muddy slope as they paced just out of your sight. “Aww, think before you run. Don’t go panicking now.” You could hear the smile in Hoodie’s voice despite your dizziness. 

Out of pure adrenaline, you shoved yourself up, looking towards the slope, but finding nothing there. You spun on your heels, surveying the trees and sides of the hill, nothing sticking out. You hissed, looking down towards your hands as dirt sunk into the cuts, your palms torn and bleeding down your wrists, mixing with the rain. Your socks were soaked with mud, your feet aching and pounding with pain as your foot had been welted raw. But you couldn’t find them. For how large and annoying they were, you couldn't find them. You had to keep moving.

Turning away from the slope, you dug your heels in, pushing away from the stream. It was hard to focus, hard to keep your mind from spinning as you clawed, legs burning every step they ran. Your head felt light, too nauseated to notice the flash of yellow in your direction. 

A hand seized around your throat from behind, the other gripping into your hair as you cried out. You flung, fighting back against the tight grasp Masky held, kicking your knees. How the hell had he gotten to you? You swung your arms, reaching back to claw at the fists wrapped around you, elbow flying back to make contact with his ribs.

Masky gasped, grunting heavily as how grip loosened, reaching for his side. You slammed back hard, taking the opportunity to shove your shoulders back, knocking the brunette off balance and releasing you. In the process, you took the chance, sprinting away and pressing through the rain, gasping as you heard his yells behind you.

Gripping the side of another steep hill, you clawed at the roots and rocks protruding from the side, launching yourself up the side of the ravine and scrambling up onto flat ground above. Your socked foot caught on a rock, slicing through the fabric and through to your skin too, making you hiss and clench your jaw. Don’t look back, don’t stop, don’t be afraid-

Hoodie grunted as you slammed into him, chest knocking against him so hard you landed flat on your ass. He wasn’t so easy, not allowing you to get back up as the taller man pinned you down. You thrashed wildly, arms and legs flailing as his fists gripped your jacket, raising your chest to slam you back down against the ground, knocking the breath from your lungs. You gasped, tired arms reaching up to claw at his hoodie, tugging the soaked cloth, and trying to reach his skin. Hoodie laughed, his fingers digging into your sides as you groaned, panting your exhaustion. Masky was following behind, grappling up the side of the hill and chuckling his amusement. You were panicking, flailing under the man as you whined. 

“Didn’t last very long at all, huh?” Hoodie mocked, pushing your legs out of the way as you tried to kick him, your hands still clawing. The man just pressed harder, reaching up to clench your jaw, angling your head closer to the ground and into the mud. It was disgusting, your pants and whines making him smile as you gripped his hoodie, feeling for anything you could use.

When your fingers brushed his pistol holstered snugly against his side, you strained your jaw, reaching as far as you could. Hoodie was focused, eyes locked onto your face as his fingers clenched around your throat, tightening excruciatingly as you gasped, head already spinning. Your breathing was labored, the intensity of his grasp faltering your reach as you strained, the eagerness in his grasp making you dizzy.

You whined, pressing your shoulder down as you finally wrapped a finger around the end, tugging the weapon out of its holster. Masky was close now too, boots crunching in the mud as your vision blurred, rain and lack of oxygen snaking a darkness into the edges of your sight. You snagged a finger around the cold metal of the gun, hauling it up and bringing it down quickly, slamming against the side of Hoodie’s skull. His groan rang, his grasp on your throat letting free as he hauled back, gripping at the side of his head. 

You scrambled up, panting breaths of moist air as you pushed back in the mud, hauling yourself up. Masky tried to press in, your hands were quick to shoot up and aim the pistol, a finger placed steadily on the trigger. The man stopped, mockingly holding his hands up and laughing, angling his head to the side in amusement.

“What? Is the little mouse scared now? What happened to all that big talk earlier?” You cringed, panting loudly as puffs of condensation clouded around your mouth. You were shaking wildly, mud and rain crusted deep into your clothes and skin, soaking you to your core. “I thought this was some game, not a real chase.” You grit your teeth, snarling your desperation through angered words. 

Hoodie was up now, looming close to Masky’s side as he watched, an expression showing he was ready to pounce. He wanted more, you could see it in the way his fingers flexed and palmed against his jeans. You shook, keeping the pistol aimed between both of them. You didn’t give them a chance to get to you again. Turning on your heels, you lunged into another sprint, chest, and legs aching at the sudden burst. The boys latched on, not giving a second thought before chasing behind you, desperately trying to match your pace. You were faster than them, but there was no way you would be able to beat them again physically. With a hurt foot and weakened body, they would overpower you in an instant.

Mocking chants and laughs echoed loudly behind you, the rain and wind snapping at your skin. You limped through every step, trying to keep a good pace as the pain began to sink in, mud clinging against your cuts. Your mind was racing, excitement and pent-up energy exerting themselves in every ache and stretch. So many times on missions you were forced into uncomfortable situations, clawing and begging to prove yourself, to show just how useful you were. 

But now, you weren’t chasing anymore. You were the one running, the one begging and sobbing to be shown mercy. Masky and Hoodie weren’t capable of mercy, they didn't know the meaning of the word. So now, the role flipped on its head, you were truly aware of just how much you needed to get away.

You swung your arm around as you felt bodies close in, gripping the pistol tight and aiming high as you took a shot. An ear-piercing ricochet rang through the trees. Curses shouted, loud gasps as the bullet whizzed past their heads, and maniacal laughter soon followed. “Shit, Hood! Mouse’s got some bite!” Masky panted, exhausted tone showing as he continued to run. Hoodie growled his approval, grappling off of trees and closing in again. You’d been a fool to think they’d scare so easily. Of course, your violence would just get them more excited.

Clattering across a stretch of gravel and mud, you cursed, the gash in your foot screaming with pain. The limp caused you to be ill-timed, Masky taking the falter and seizing you, your bodies clattering to the nasty ground.

Masky chuckled, your hair knotted in his hand as he forced you onto your chest. Your fingers dug into the mud, desperately trying to push yourself up as you flailed, pistol gripped tight. Limbs burned, lungs gasping for air as you felt a knee press between your shoulder blades before you could move. He crushed you against the gravel harder and harder. Masky pressed down close, dragging your head to the side so he could groan into your ear. Hoodie was already on you too, the sole of his boot crushed atop your hand to pry the pistol away, tossing it a few feet away. Masky’s knee pressed hard, the mask covering his expression, but you could hear his excitement all too well.

“All that running just for us to still catch you, little mouse. I say we deserve some compensation for all that work.” You clenched your teeth, tears welling in your eyes not only from the exhaustion that was creeping in but from the terrible pain shooting through your body. Everything hurt, sleepiness hanging on every limb. They must have noticed as the Hoodie knelt down beside your head.

He caressed his fingers over your skin, marveling at the softness of your cheeks cool with the rain, before nudging your jaw with his fist. “I think I know a pretty good reward, eh?” His hoodie was soaked, the usual mustard color a dark brown as Masky loosened his grip on your hair, tugging your shoulder over as his knee lifted. You tried to gauge their expressions and understand what they were so giddy about as you lay on your back, face, and clothes splattered with mud and rain. “I’d say I have to agree with you there, man.”

As Masky stood, you tried to sit up before large pairs of hands shoved you back to the ground. Your bodies pressed close, Hoodie wedging himself against your side as Masky gripped your arms, pressing them down against the rocks. That’s when you felt it, the heat in his jeans pressed against your hip, your skin exploding with warmth. You tried to look through his mask into his eyes, shimmying your hips as Hoodie did the same, gripping the side of your face to keep your head down. They were overpowering you, binding you down to submit, forcing you to stop. You didn’t want to. They wanted a fight, and you weren’t so willing to lay down and take it.

“Keep moving your hips like that and watch what happens.” Masky barked, snaking a knee between your legs as he pressed close, breathing muffled as he held you. Your body was useless, their arms and hands gripping tight and hauling you close, gasps ringing at every fist tightening. “You’ve lost, alright? Just fuckin’ give up.” Hoodie jerked your jaw, pressing your shoulder to the ground as you kicked your legs, Masky’s knee slid up against your core and held it there even when you squirmed. “Even after all that runnin’ you’ve still got energy? Fuck.” Masky angrily laughed, tugging at your jeans and undoing the buttons, your heart immediately jumping from your chest.

“Masky-” Hoodie clasped a hand over your mouth, tugging your body up against his own as he pressed beside you. Masky let go of your hands, Hoodie quick to take them in one hand, and hold them above your head as the latter worked on shimmying your pants off of your thighs. The rain made you twitch as drops hit your bare skin. “We won, remember? Gonna have to show you just what girls with big egos get, yeah? You could use a little humbling…” The hooded man smiled, snaking a hand around your throat and clamping down, your airway choking closed as you gasped. It felt like a rush, every inch of your body overwhelmed as they gripped at your skin. You were falling apart, fighting and fear leaving your body, anxiousness and excitement slowly creeping in the lower Masky’s hands dipped against your thighs.

“Every inch of you is a tease.” He snapped, your muddy jeans discarded as fingers dug into your skin. The man acted ravenous, fingernails clawing against your damp skin as he nudged himself between your legs, your head swaying lightly as Hoodie pushed his grip on your throat harder. “Been dying to get a good look.”

You couldn’t deny how many times you caught them staring. Every time you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in the creek or laid out in the truck's backseat to get some rest, their eyes lingered, awkward silence hanging in the air. It was obvious now. That same ravenous look was caught behind the eyeholes of their masks, your heart skipping as Masky hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties. Jerking against Hoodie’s grasp on your wrists, you let your back arch off the ground, panting against the fingers gripped onto your throat as Masky slowly slid the cloth down. 

Rain soaked your face as Hoodie took his time sliding a hand up your shirt, palming at your moist skin and dragging your jacket off of your shoulders. “You’ve always had such a loud mouth, y’know that? It’d be nice to see it occupied with other things.” Hoodie chuckled, letting his fist off of your throat to slide up to your lips, your gasps and coughs music to his ears. He was quick to slide two fingers past your teeth, shoving them down to the knuckle and pushing down your tongue. You gagged, head rearing back but his fingers followed, pressing down into your throat with a cough. He let go of your wrists, snaking a fist into your hair as he held his fingers still, your throat constricting around the digits as you reached back to grip his hoodie, tugging him closer. Masky watched close, your warm cunt throbbing as the cold air ran goosebumps across your skin.

“Christ.” Masky hummed, pressing your knees apart as he adjusted himself between them, his cock constricting tight against his jeans. He slid your folds apart with his thumb, swiping the digit through your wetness and spreading it, smiling at the way your hips instinctively jerked. You whined, senses overwhelmed as you choked again, gagging as Hoodie began to pump his fingers. “If you can’t even take my fingers, how are you supposed to take my cock? Do better.” Hoodie was so much more gruff than Masky, barking his command and pushing you further than you knew he could go. The man was always the quieter of the two, his shadow-like demeanor starkly contrasting Masky’s. So when it came to primal instincts, the two flipped like a coin. Masky took a much more silent authoritative stance, while Hoodie was all bark and bite. The two worked perfectly together, you realized, in murder and sex. Perfect contrasts no matter the circumstances.

Your cheeks shot red, your eyes watering the louder you heard him huff. You tried to let your throat relax, you tried to breathe steady. But when you felt a finger screw into your cunt, forcing its way into your hardly prepped warmth, you cried out. 

Masky’s nails dug into your thighs, his knees shoving your legs open as he twisted his middle finger, angling to press up against the gumminess of your walls. “So warm, damn…” He grunted, letting his thumb press against your clit and rub aching circles against the nub. Hoodie didn’t give you a moment, however. His fingers were soon tugged from your lips as he snagged your hair back, pushing your cheek against his jeans, face-to-face with his boner. How were you going to take that? You tried to stammer, tried to press your hands on his legs, but he was already undoing his belt. “Hoodie-” You hissed, your sentence cut off as you jerked your hips up when another finger crammed itself into your tight cunt, digits spreading and scissoring you loose. Your eyes shot back and forth, focused on fingers tugging down their zipper but also on the hungry way fingers dug into your folds.

You were overwhelmed, the rain and wind snapping at every naked part of your body and sending chills. And the boys were eating you alive. 

“Wait, please- I’m sorry! Ah! I was wrong okay-” Hoodie’s palm was back around your mouth, your pants and whines muffled behind the hand as he tugged his jeans down with his boxers. Your eyes shot wide when he tugged his cock out, shoving his waistband below his balls and giving his length a few good tugs. Masky chuckled, pressing the heel of his palm down onto your clit as he rhythmically curled his fingers up, your cunt soaking them. “If you’re so sorry, then show it, sweetheart.” You gawked at the girth wrapped in Hoodie’s fist, unsure of how you were even supposed to take half of that in your mouth. But take it you would. It didn’t matter if you screamed, bled, or passed out, Hoodie was going to make sure you would melt on it.

You were trembling, as vicious as you were, you were excited. Hoodie and Masky could see it. They had no intention of hurting you, but they had every intention of breaking the little ego you held onto. You held their gaze, rain streaming down your face as you whined. “Open up.” The brunette didn’t give you much of a choice as he pressed his cock to your lips. You gasped around the tip, his hands wrapping into the back of your hair and pressing your head closer. Hoodie groaned as he went deeper, your throat convulsing around him with a barely suppressed gag. You felt like you were losing air, taking a last deep breath before Hoodie stopped, your lips wrapping tight around the middle of his girth. 

He held steady, Masky keeping you distracted with his fingers, but you couldn't fight the dizziness in your head. Hoodie drank up the way your eyes slammed shut, the way your hands gripped into his clothes and pawed for release; he couldn’t stand it. Masky couldn’t either.

When you caressed your tongue along the bottom side of his cockhead, Hoodie growled, fisting your hair tight. He snapped your head closer, pushing your throat open around his girth and tugging you back off quickly, snapping his hips back again to set a sickening pace. You choked, slobber pooling around your lips and glistening on his length as he fucked into your throat, giving you no time to breathe. You dug your nails into his hoodie, clawing for something to hold onto as he rattled your head. Every squeeze of your throat just spurred him on, the resistance only making him more eager to fuck you open and raw. “God, you must be real sorry, huh?” Hoodie growled, letting one hand shove up your shirt up and tug your bra off of your tits, gripping onto the mounds.

Masky watched, smiling wildly behind the mask as his cock throbbed against his jeans. Your cunt had soaked his fingers loose enough to slip another in, his free hand shimmying his belt undone and tugging his zipper down. The man took a shaky breath when his cock met the cold air, twitching and eager as he unscrewed his fingers from your cunt, surprised at the way your hips tried to follow them. The loud sound of slobber and gagging on Hoodie’s cock made Masky excited to hear more, pumping his cock in his fist covered with your arousal as he pressed a free hand back to your folds. “Don’t pass out now, little mouse.” 

You couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own head roaring, throat tensing and convulsing at every press of Hoodie length into your mouth. He was so rough, so aggressive in his actions, desperately clawing for more as if he had been begging for this for forever. You finally felt like you could get the hang of it, finding a good position for your mouth until-

Smack!

You nearly screamed when you felt a palm slap down on your cunt, snapping against your cunt and sending your hips shooting off of the muddy ground. Masky laughed, his fist jerking his cock as your eyes shot open, trying to pull your head back off of Hoodie’s length. He growled, snapping your head back down onto his cock and shoving your nose into his pubes, snapping at you to stay still. 

Masky raised his hand again, your stomach tightening as you watched through tear-beaded eyes when his palm made contact with your clit again. It stung, your throat grunting and sobbing as Hoodie gripped either side of your head in his hands, fucking his hips into your warm mouth. You tried to press your thighs shut, Masky shoving them apart as he slapped again, spanking your cunt and grinning at the squelch. Pained whines muffled around Hoodie’s cock as he rubbed his fingers against your clit before hauling his hand up, smacking back down to watch your hips jerk. You dug your heels into the dirt, trying to press away, but Masky’s hands were already gripped around your hips and tugging you back.

Your head was light, oxygen barely seeping through as Hoodie completely ignored your wails, hips jerking, and balls slapping against the side of your face the deeper you drank his cock down. “So good…” He muttered, gasping as he hunched over your head, driving his hips at an exhausting pace. Your jaw hurt, eyes raw with tears as you lulled your tongue against the underside of his length to desperately hurry his orgasm along.

Your mouth was so full, so warm and tight, and took the brunette the best you could. Hoodie whined when he felt his balls tighten and abdomen tense, ecstasy shooting through his body as he throbbed in your mouth and spilled down your throat. You clung to his hoodie, unable to swallow as quickly as he pumped into you, cum and slobber dribbling down your chin. You gasped as you felt the intrusion leave your mouth, desperately trying to catch your breath as seed dripped down your chin. Masky didn’t give you time, barely able to swallow before you felt a tension pushing into your cunt.

“I think you still owe me an apology, right?” The man between your legs chuckled, pushing your hips down to the soaked ground as he slowly sunk in, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. Hoodie was panting, wringing the last of his orgasm from his cock as he hauled your head up, craning your neck to face him. He shoved his mask up, the fabric bunching at his brow as his flushed cheeks glistened with sweat. You whined as you felt Masky’s cock press deeper, your walls throbbing around him as Hoodie caught your lips, breathing deep as he panted into your mouth.

“Mmn, fuck-” Masky chirped, raising your ass off the ground as he pressed against your tightness, sinking into your gooey warmth. Hoodie ravaged, gripping your jacket and shaking it off your arms, fingers tugging at your shirt until you could hear the seams popping and snapping. Masky bottomed out, you gasp giving Hoodie enough access to shove his tongue past your lips and suck on your own. Groans and whines swapped, Masky watched, stomach twirling with arousal.

He slowly tugged his hips back, your thighs trembling as you peeked out, groaning when you watched Masky slide his own mask off of his face, the object clattering into the mud. His hips didn’t get far before they snapped back, nails tugging your hips back to meet with a stifled moan. Hoodie shuffled behind you, adjusting himself to your back pressed against his chest as Masky started his drowsy pace into your puffy cunt. You whimpered with every inch, panting desperately. Your pussy gripped him tightly as Masky pressed all the way inside—before withdrawing completely and plunging back in again. You screamed, the sound choked with frantic need as Hoodie replaced his lips with his fingers again. Masky pulled your hips back, fucking mindlessly until your knees tightened around his sides. He snaked a hand between your legs and rubbed your clit, grinning as you shook from head to toe and went limp against Hoodie’s chest, the pleasure shattering you.

“Too much, little mouse?" You managed to shake your head, defiant little thing. Masky snapped his hips again, pace slowly and sickeningly increasing, thrusts getting harder but not faster. You mewled, sucking on Hoodie’s digits as he played with your nipples, massaging your tits with every heave of your chest. “Don’t get needy now, sweetheart,” Hoodie noted the way your hips craned to meet Masky’s every move, stomach tightening to get a better grip around his cock. You groaned, flexing your hands as they both laughed at your desperation. You were irritated. They wanted badly to ruin you, to make you theirs. But when it finally comes time for you to enjoy their part, they won’t let you. You felt yourself snap as you hauled your bodies forward.

Masky grunted as you shoved your hands against his chest, kicking your feet free from his hands and slamming the big guy on his back. Hoodie was quick to follow, stunned at the sudden movement but sure to find his place snagged onto your back as you straddled Masky again.

“You’re a fucking prick.” You groaned, pressing your nails into his face as your knees dug into the rocky mud-caked ground. You all were nasty, sweat and rain dripping from your brows but you were so horny it didn’t matter. 

Masky pressed back, tugging at your wrists to let off of his face. It was only when he shoved your jaw back did you saw the gleam of metal in the rain, the dark pistol smeared with mud but close enough to grasp. You pressed forward, shoving Masky’s forehead down as he snapped, Hoodie gripping your hips to drag you back.

You tried to claw, to reach the gun, but the boys were stronger. “Little cunt. You never learn, huh?” Masky barked, gripping his cock tight as Hoodie angled your hips to sink back onto the length. You choked out when they slammed your hips together, Masky setting a brutal pace up into your cunt as Hoodie pressed you down, jerking his own growing cock now.

“I don’t know where you- ah- where you get this attitude from,” Masky growled into your ear, your chest pressing down against his as he quickly tugged his cock in and out of your drenched warmth. You whined through every echoed slap, the rain, and sweat making you both slippery, and every thrust of his hips reverberating off the density of the trees. You reached out, stretching your shoulder as far as it would go to reach the pistol just at your fingertips. You groaned, pressing your sore hands into the mud for one final stretch, your index brushing the metal and tugging it in your direction. 

“Fuck you.” You growled out, tugging the gun into your hand and turning to aim it at the side of Masky’s temple. You wanted a reaction, for his pace to hesitate or his eyes to stutter, but they never did. He just kept tugging your hips down, mercilessly shoving the air from your lungs with every press of his cock against your sore walls. Your noses brushed as you stared deep into the other’s eyes, a silent challenge. If anything, he went faster.

Hoodie chuckled behind you, letting his cock slide between your ass cheeks every time they bounced in Masky’s cock. He was grunting, pressing your lower back down to get a better arch out of you. “Cute.” He smiled.

Masky glanced, acknowledging the weapon pressed so aggressively against the side of his head, but keeping his attention on you. You wanted to yell, to tug the trigger just enough to watch fear creep in, but your thoughts got abruptly lost.

Masky let your hips go, tugging a fist into your hair as he slammed your lips together. You grunted into the kiss, anger fuming between the two of you and tearing your resilience apart. The kiss was aggressive, teeth snagging on lips and tongues shoving against cheeks as Hoodie took his chance to rest his hands on your hips. “Shit.”

Hoodie tugged his cock back, your hips riding Masky on their own and setting your own pace, cunt gushing and squelching at every move. You hadn’t even cum yet, and the desperation was getting to you. 

“Stick your tongue out.” Hoodie reached between you two, cutting your kiss short as he selfishly shoved two fingers into your mouth, Masky growling at the loss. The brunette just laughed, a cheeky grin flashing as he tugged his fingers back, swiping them between your asscheeks.

You hissed, hips stuttering their pace as you felt Hoodie press his index finger against your asshole, swirling the muscle eagerly. “Hoodie.” You grit, craning your neck to look back at him, Masky letting his hand fall to your upper thighs. The brunette smiled, slowly nudging his index finger through the tight ring and making you sit up straight. Masky growled, reaching up to wrap his arm around you, tugging your shoulders back down, your neck in a headlock against his chest.

He slowly began to thrust his hips up again, achingly slow to distract from the feeling of Hoodie stretching your asshole. You wanted to growl, to fight back, but your eyes just rolled. Masky smiled as he watched the pistol slowly slip from your grasp, clattering back against the gravel as he fucked lazily up into your cunt, the warmth a lot more gooey than before. You could feel your abdomen flutter, clit brushing against Masky and sending your thighs tensing. “Please…" you moaned. "Coming… make me come…”

Hoodie craned his index, stretching the rim of your asshole and jerking your ass apart. Masky’s breath startled, resilience cracking as you came on his cock, cunt tightening and throbbing around his length. You convulsed, breath hitching as they brought you to your peak, shuddering violently in Masky’s arms. He couldn’t take it, he had to pull out.

You moaned out, whining when Masky slipped from your cunt and groaned loud, regaining his composure. Hoodie still worked your ass, the sting and stretch were painful but strangely so addicting. He let a second finger tease the rim, your hips sensitively jerking against the feeling as another finger slowly sunk into your ass. Your cunt clenched on nothing, tensing through your orgasm before Masky realigned himself, squeezing his cock back in. He could’ve come from how warm and gummy your walls were after cumming. 

“You ready for both, mouse?” You felt dizzy, head straining as Masky kept a hold on your neck, locking you down against his chest. You tried to nod, mumbling your eagerness as Hoodie successfully pressed another finger past your rim, your whine making them grin. The brunette gave you a few good tugs before pulling his fingers out, stroking his length as he pressed the tip to your rim. You groaned against Masky’s chest, biting into the cloth of his shirt as he thrust his hips, trying to give you a good duality as Hoodie slowly pressed in.

It stung, the stretch and fullness making your fingers grip into anything you could get, nails indenting into Masky’s sides. Hoodie cursed, fingers digging into the mounds of your ass and tugging them apart, trying his best to sink in through the constraint. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re tight as hell- shit-” You sobbed through the tension, trying your best to relax as both of your holes slowly filled, your abdomen swirling with waves of arousal. You felt dizzy, panting in Masky’s scent as Hoodie finally snapped in the rest of the way, the stretch making tears spill down your cheeks.

“Fu… Fuck me…” You choked out, craning your hips just enough to make Hoodie whine, nails cutting into your hips. The boys got the hint, Masky slowing down his pace to match Hoodie’s stuttered one, the brunette fighting against the constraint of your ass while he bluntly thrust. You moaned anyways, Masky’s cock snagging your g-spot and ramming there, his grin telling. He couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a kiss again, biting into your plump lips. 

Hoodie couldn’t get over your mouth, however. He needed to be in that warmth again. So, he leaned forward, pressing his fingers against the side of your cheek and pressing them into the corner of your mouth, Masky tensing at the foreign taste. He looked like he was going to say something, but you shut him up with a plop of your hips, raising your ass up to fuck against Hoodie’s cock and ride right back down onto Masky’s. “Be nice.” You gasped as Hoodie curled his finger into the side of your cheek, tugging the skin back to make drool pool against your lips. Masky growled, rolling his eyes before snagging your lips again, loud groans and hisses panted into the other’s mouth. You felt so full, holes stuffed so nauseatingly well you could feel the way their cocks brushed together inside of you.

You could feel it again, the way your gut clenched. Masky clenched your thighs, his cock aching inside of you as Hoodie snapped his hips, riding close to the edge again. You tried your best to angle your hips back, giving them both the best angle to tug their cocks in and out. “‘M coming- Fuck! Please, please, please…” You panted through every snap of their hips, their cocks squeezing and stretching your holes so wide you knew you were ruined for anyone else. Your head was so tired, cunt throbbing and aching for release the harder they went, chasing their own.

“Pull out, Hoodie…” Masky choked, getting the last few thrusts he could as he felt you tightening, his cock teetering dangerously close to the edge. Hoodie whined, the tip of his cock popping in and out past your rim and dragging him closer too, both of the boys a whining grunting mess with you sandwiched between them. “Ma- Masky… Hoodie…”

Both of your holes clenched down as you came, the intensity of your orgasm washing over you so strongly that your eyes lulled to the back of your head. Your stomach twisted, the knot unraveling as you released on their cocks. Masky moaned lowly, biting into his lip as he forced his cock out of your swelled cunt, ropes of cum dripping from his tip as he stole your lips. Hoodie followed quickly, pushing your ass off of his cock as he started fisting his length quickly, pumping tight at the base to shoot his seed across your back. He whined through his orgasm, smearing his cum across your ass and lazily smiling at his work.

You all panted, shoulders slumped and bodies sore. You felt like you couldn’t move, every muscle inside and out aching from the exertion you had gone through.

Rain still poured, the chill seeping into your bones as you shook, water and sweat dripping from your nose. You felt so spent, cunt and ass ruined and throbbing wildly as you let your head go limp on Masky’s chest, the man grunting underneath you. “Fuck…alright, mouse.”

You were far too sleepy to care much as they shoved their limp cocks back into their jeans, everyone’s clothes soaked and cold as Hoodie wrapped his arms under your limbs, hauling you up. “C’mon, sweetheart…” Even they sounded tired. 

-

You slipped in and out of sleep on the way back to the truck, Masky collecting your items as they went and tossing everything into the bed as the engine roared. Hoodie laid you in the backseat, climbing into the passenger as Masky peeled back towards the interstate. You were too tired to ask where you were going.

You only stirred back when the obnoxious luminescent lights showed into the truck window, blinding you. You squinted, tossing your hand in front of the light as you sat up, the backseat suddenly opening.

“Don’t make me regret buyin’ this,” Masky growled as he tossed a blanket towards you, you just now realizing how nasty with mud you all were. You smiled as Hoodie helped you out, shuffling you close to his side as the boys dragged you around to the shabby door of the motel they had found. You flinched as you remembered your foot, the crusted blood and mud staining the underside of your sock as you limped through the rusty door.

It wasn’t anything nice, definitely not five stars.

But as you three tugged off your clothes and cleaned as much of the mud off as possible, it didn’t matter. The boys cringed at your cuts, mumbling their apologies and helping you clean them up, too. Exhausted, the three of you crawled into the way-too-small bed, the boys on either side of you as they cradled in, sticky and sore body parts finding their comfortable spaces. 

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was better than sleeping in the back of the truck. You smiled when their breathing labored, faces cradled into your shoulders while you slowly blinked your sleepiness away. You didn’t want to acknowledge what this night might mean for the future, at least not tonight. You’d much rather sleep.

But as Masky and Hoodie slid their arms around your torso, legs interlocking as you all finally relaxed, maybe it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

You’d have to learn to watch your tongue, though. For your sake.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thank you to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[griptruckrentalslosangeles]

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[visionarystoryteller]

Samoan Dessert || Jey Uso

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Part 2 to He Knows

X/Reader - YOU

Jey Uso - Joshua Fatu

Warnings: Minors DNI, NSFW, Smuttttt

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Later that night after the show had closed out, you walked the halls to find Josh. You had found him just as he and Cody were coming out of the locker room. He was freshly showered and smelled divine, you knew it wasnt Cody because he used a different product that was as potent. You looked Josh up and down and bit your lip, man was he fine as hell. He had on white joggers and a black t-shirt that accentuated his very lean and fit body, his bag slung across his shoulder. Josh was doing the same to you. Even though you were still dressed how you came, in a skirt and a blouse with heels, he still couldnt get over how well you made it look. His eyes roaming your body made you very warm and cheeks heat to a red hue. You looked over a Cody and he was smirking at the two of you. You gave him a scowl, still a little annoyed that he had told Josh about your crush on him.

“Runnels” you said with a scowl. Cody pretended to look offended, while Josh stepped up and pulled you to him.

“Damn y/n, it’s like that” Cody fakes hurt. Josh holds you to him.

“Chill ma, you got me, dont need to rip his head off,” Josh whispers in your ear. You looked up at Josh pouting a little, which only drove Josh crazy, you looked so innocent and sexy pouting to him.

“But he took something private and told” you pouted. Josh took his one and and put his thumb on your lips.

“I know ma, but look what happened, your about to go and have dinner a dessert with me, so stop your pouting, he did it out of love for his best friend, which is you” he tells you quietly and he points to your chest to emphasize that Cody was looking out for you in some weird way. Which you guess worked. You took a deep breath and nodded. You looked over at Cody and shook your head.

“Im still annoyed but i guess you where just doing it or me, in your own weird way” you say letting out a sigh. Cody smiled at you sympathetically.

“I did, i didnt mean to break your trust, honest, but i knew Josh had been always looking at you and I Knew…im sorry” he says. You look at Josh then Cody.

“Your forgiven, but your still an ass” you laughed. He stepped toward and pulled you into a hug.

“I know, Brandi tells me all the time, trust me. You two have a good night” Cody says as he pulls away and slaps up Josh. Once Cody is gone Josh looks down at you and licks his lips.

“I believe we have some food to get” Josh smirks. You look up at him and nod.

“As long as i get to have you for dessert” you wink. Josh lets out a low growl, pulling you back into him, kissing behind your ear, driving a shiver down your spine.

“Try and stop that from happening” he growls out into your ear. You let out a small giggle.

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The two of you had dinner at both of y’all favorite place, the Waffle House. When you both were walking to the car, he had his arm was around you, holding your hand. His warmth was so comforting to you. When you guys got to his rental, he opened the door for you, like he’d been doing the whole night, and smacked your ass to get in. Once you were seated you turned to him and put both of your hands on his face and pulled him into a kiss. After a few minutes of kissing, Josh pulled your hands off his face and held them in his.

“Let’s get to the hotel so we can have dessert” he says almost out of breath. You nod and he straps your seatbelt, kisses your cheek, then closes the door going to his side of the truck.

While Josh was driving, he had his hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin every few minutes creating a delicious tingle on your skin. His other hand was gripping the steering wheel, his forearm muscles constricting and contracting with each movement. He looked sexy as fuck, all focused on driving. When Josh stopped at a red light he looked over at you and gave a sexy smirk. You took the opportunity and leaned over the console and put your lips on his. You proded your tongue in his mouth, the kiss growing slipping quick. His hand that was on your thigh squeezed your thigh but you both were broken from your kiss when a car behind yous honked. Josh focused back on the road but let out a short breath.

“Mamas, wait till we get to the hotel” Josh says straining himself. You put your hand on his, that was still on your thigh and caressed it. The drive was silent for a few before he pulled into the hotel parking lot. Josh shut off the engine and looked over at you.

“Just one thing we should talk about before we continue” Josh says. You nod a little nervous. Cody had said he had been feeling you, but was it only sexual?

“What’s up?” You ask a little hesitant. Josh looks at you and bites his lip.

“You may not think I’m the type of guy that commits to just one person or has a bunch of people…whatever the case…that’s not me. If we wanna continue this, I wanna know we gone be exclusive, just us. No one else on the side for either of us. I don’t think you’re the type of girl to have more than one man, hell I’m positive you ain’t like that…but I gotta know we gone be an us” Josh says laying it all out. You look at him a little shocked about his bluntness but relaxed that the feeling was mutual.

“So exclusive like dating?” You ask almost timidly. He looks at you and nods.

“Yea mamas, like I said earlier, if I wasn’t on smackdown so long, we woulda happened sooner” Josh says.

“I’m down with that” you say almost immediately. Josh leans over the console and puts a hand on your cheek to pull you to him. You two begin a slow kiss that turns wet and full of tongue. He still tasted of whipped cream and syrup and it made you dizzy. You unbuckled your seatbelt and climbed over the console, your lips still attached to yours. You straddled his lap, your skirt hiking up, showing a peak of your laced underwear. Josh brought his other hand up to your neck and held you close by your jaw and his other hand tangled into your hair. You wanted Josh to swallow you whole. He lips felt so good in yours. He leaned forward a little and you bent into the steering wheel, causing the horn to go off, scaring you two into pulling apart. Josh let out a sexy chuckle and moved a hand down to your waist.

“Let’s go feast on some dessert” Josh growls out. You nod. He opens his car door and lifts you off his lap and sets you on the ground, then he gets out as well. He goes to the truck to grab y’all’s bags and you two walk into the hotel. Once you two were in the elevator, you looked across at him. He quickly moved to be in front of you and took his hand to lift your head up to bring his lips to yours. You let out a tiny moan into the kiss and wrapped your leg around his thigh. Josh growled as he moved closer and pressed himself into you.

“I can’t wait to taste you” Josh growls between kisses. You moan again and he lets out a deep chuckle. He turns his head and sees that you guys are almost to his floor. He backs away and grabs your hand. Once the elevator stops, he pulls you out of elevator, quickly making it down the hall to his room. He takes out his key and unlocks the door, opening it. You’re about to walk in but he grabs you by your waist pulling you back in.

“I want you on that bed, undressed, and spread eagle for me. Got it mamas?” Josh growled out. You look back at him letting out a small squeak at his assertiveness but nodding. He lets you go with a smack on your ass and you walk into the room.

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You had undressed with your back to the door, your heart beating out of your chest. Josh stood in the doorway quietly, watching as your got naked and he nearly growled out and took a few steps to throw you on the bed. You yelped as you felt Josh turn you and throw you on the mattress. He hovered over the top of you, caressing your face with his hand.

“Mamas you where taking to long for my liking.” He says.

“I-I’m sorry” you squeak. He chuckles and plants a kiss on your lips.

“I know mamas. Now lay back and relax, papis got you” he growled. You tried to close your legs to get some relief and let out a small moan but Josh wasn’t having it. Josh kissed, licked and sucked down your body, till he got to your sensitive bud. He blew some air on your folds before bringing his fingers to them. He ran his fingers through them, collecting the wetness that had accumulated.

“Mmmm mamas your sooo wet for me, I bet you taste delicious.” He says. He immediately dives his head in and lick a long stripe through your folds with his tongue. You let out a long moan, closing your eyes in pleasure. Josh looked up and smacked your thigh before pulling away.

“Look at me mamas…wanna see your beautiful eyes watching me” he says. You nod your head weakly and open your eyes to look down at him. He dove back in, his eyes piercing yours. He moaned as he got more licks and sucks in. Your moans spurring him on, eyes trying hard to stay on his. He reach a hand up and grabbed your hand for you to hold and you squeezed his hand as he sucked your sensitive bud.

“J-Josh….fuck PAPI!” You nearly scream out. He smiles deviously as he licks through your folds again and pulls himself out. You looked up at him and he quickly shredded off his shirt, joggers and boxers. Your eyes scanned over his physique nearly drooling out.

“Mmm papi you’re so sexy” you almost sobbed out looking up and down at him. Everything about him was perfect. He chuckled and moved back closer to you. You sat up quickly and took a hold of his girthy long appendage. He moaned at your touch. You looked up at him.

“I get to taste you too remember, Samoan dessert” you pouted. He looked down at you, his hand coming to caress your cheek and jaw.

“Yes mamas” he breathes out. You take your opportunity and bring your face to his dick. You take a long lick from his head to his base and moan out at the taste. Josh also moaned, moving your hair to the back of you and holding it lightly in his hands.

You take him whole in your mouth, shoving him as far as you can and you feel Josh’s hips stutter.

“Fuck mamas” he moans out. He gently tugs your hair back and pulls you off him. You look at him and he breathes before chuckling.

“I have to feel you mamas” he says. You nod and he lays you back caressing your sides as he hovers over you, position in himself between your legs. He looks down at you and you look up at him and nod. He takes his dick in his hand puts it to your folds, running up and through them a few times. You both moaned out feeling so good. He poked his tip at your entrance and slowly pushed in. He held your hips tight in one hand as he pulled one of your legs up to his hip and around it. He continues to push in, your walls squeezing and sucking him in.

“Fuck mamas” he says when he’s halfway in.

“Feels so good papi, please go deeper” you moan out needily. He moans out and continues to push in again. He looks down at you and sees you looking up at him trying not to close your eyes. He takes both of your hands in both of his and pins them to the mattress. He finally pushes all the way in and you let out a small scream. He plants kisses all on your cheeks, forehead and lips.

“Mamas, fuck” Josh moaned. He pulled out a little and thrust back in a few times before he decided to take longer strokes. Your moans had grown louder as he deep dicked you.

“Papppiii faster!” You say as he hits your g spot. He throws his hips back and forward faster, hearing the squelching sound of your juices coating him, his tip always hitting your spongy spot with each fast, deep thrust. Your hands squeezed his, back arching forward so your torsos where touching. Your chest heaving and your eyes trying not to close. Josh looks at you and leans down into your neck and sucks on your neck, earning a scream of pleasure from you. You started feeling the coil within you, tighten.

“Papi!” You try not scream.

“I know mamas, I feel you squeezing, I’m close to, we gonna cum together okay mamas” Josh moans. You let out a moan in response and Josh lays his forehead on your, your eyes locking on each others. His thrusts deep and sloppy. He take one of his hands back and brings to behind your back to arch up into him more, foreheads still together. Your eyes brimming with tears of your impending orgasim.

“Josh, fuck! Papi! I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum!” You sob out, tears escaping the sides of your eyes. Josh leans down and kisses your lips.

“Fuck, mamas, cum, cum all over this dick baby. Fuck, milk me mamas, I’m gonna cum” he moans on your lips. Your coil and his both snap at the same time and it’s like hell broke loose. You arch so far up into him letting out such a loud and long scream as your body shook and convulsed. You and josh both looked at each other as it happened his moan deep and loud as his dick released long strands of hot cum into you, his thighs weakening just a little. Once both of your body’s calm down from convulsing, Josh slowly pulls out of you, looking down at you, caressing your face. Your eyes flutter closed as you tried to gain your breathing back. You were still squeezing Josh’s one hand.

“Mamas…holy fuck” Josh says, giving your hand a squeeze. You reopen your eyes and let your hand slowly let go of Josh’s. He was still hovering above you, watching you come back to earth.

“I’ve never, fuck, I’ve never had an orgasim that good before Josh” you breathe out. Josh put both his hands on your face and wiped the tears that had fallen down your face.

“Me either mamas, me either. God you sounded so beautiful. Fuck mamas” Josh says leaning his forehead back on yours before going in for another kiss. It was a slow sloppy kiss but was still amazing.

“I’m gonna run us a bath and then we going to bed, okay mamas” he asks running his hands up and down your body.

“Sounds nice” you say.

“Okay I’ll come get you when it’s ready. Relax for a few” he says, getting up and walking into the hotels suite bathroom.

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Seven

Day: Wednesday, January 17th Time: 8:18 PM EST

"Have you heard back from the shop?" Neil asked, dragging his attention back to Andrew. "Matt got a call this morning saying his truck would be ready for pickup tomorrow. Allison should have hers back Saturday morning. Can they fix yours?" Andrew flipped his phone open, pressed a couple buttons, and handed it over. Neil waited, mystified, until Andrew's voicemail started playing on speaker. A mechanical voice announced Tuesday's date, and a sobering message followed. The damage was even more extensive than it'd appeared; the garbage in back had hidden whatever the Raven fans did to the backseat cushions, and none of them had looked in the trunk before the car was towed. The shop wanted Andrew to call them back to talk about his options and discuss what it would take to restore the car to its former glory. Andrew hoisted himself onto the rental car's trunk and dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He lit two and traded Neil one for his phone. Neil cupped a hand around his to shield it from the breeze. He studied Andrew's face as Andrew put his phone and cigarettes away, but Andrew gave no sign he was bothered by the bad news. "You're going to have to replace it," Neil guessed. "If the insurance company won't cover a replacement for your car, take the difference from me. You know I have enough for it." Andrew slid him a cool look. "I'm uninterested in your charity." "It isn't charity," Neil said. "It's revenge. It wasn't my money in the first place, remember? I told you my father skimmed it from the Moriyamas. If you take some for your car, you're making Riko replace what his fans destroyed." "Revenge is a motivator only for the weak-willed," Andrew said. "If you believed that you wouldn't be planning how to kill Proust." The doctor's name still tasted like acid, burning Neil's tongue and throat, but it wasn't enough to put a dent in Andrew's calm expression. Andrew gazed at him in silence for what felt like an eternity, then propped his cigarette between his lips and motioned Neil closer. Neil was sure he was stepping forward into a knife for bringing Proust up again, but he obediently closed the short space between them. Andrew caught the back of Neil's neck in a bruising grip to keep him from retreating. He pulled Neil's head toward him and blew smoke in Neil's face. "This is not revenge," Andrew said. "I warned him what I would do to him if he touched me. This is me keeping my word." He waited a beat to make sure Neil understood, then let go. The next time he raised his cigarette to his mouth Neil took it from him. Neil broke it between his fingers and let it fall to the asphalt by their feet. Andrew watched the halves roll away from each other and turned an unimpressed look on Neil. "Ninety-one percent," Andrew said.

Art used with permission by Midgart. Thank you @midgart!

[likesunsetorange]

“mikasa and eren are antisocial af so they probably end up talking bc they’re little losers lol, and eren probably can tell mikasa is bored and here’s this gorgeous model, so he’s gonna whisk her away and they go to his ranch they have a romantic night under the stars and all that but he’s dumb and doesn’t get her number and she goes back home to ny without it”

DORKS!LOSERS!*AFFECTIONATE*

them slipping out of the room all giddy!!!!!!!!!! him not getting her number is sooodooooso my doodoo head…….. he’s already resigned himself to being a notch on her post, a lover if one may (can he call himself that? he will in his head anyways!)

like a global model would’ve never taken a relationship with him seriously so he’s should just treasure the moment then boom she shows up! and if we’re really leaning into the romcom of it all it’s during like crazy rain, her car gets stuck, she trucks herself to his doorstep by foot, and he stares slack jawed when he opens the door to se her <3

omg anon i was using your ask to draft a drabble and then this little incident of mikasa showing up to eren’s house has since spiraled further so we will be compiling all the ideas into one and since i had already been writing on this one we’re still gonna use yours lol!

also very much enjoying the dramatics and hallmark vibes here like is that just the energy i exude? extreme unseriousness and hallmark level corniness lol??

but fuck it drabble let’s go 🦅🦅🦅

(this actually ended up being so long lol 1.6k so enjoy!)

The rain only started falling harder every minute longer Mikasa continued to drive down the gravel road, the pitch black of the country sky only adding to the lack of visibility. She gripped the steering wheel hard, trying to focus on what little bit of the road she could see. The high beams of the rental car were doing little to nothing to help her see, only adding to her anxiety.

Her only saving grace was the fact that the GPS was telling her she was only five minutes away from Eren’s house—the last place she should be on a Wednesday night in the middle of April—not to mention she was halfway across the country, in the middle of nowhere, driving down a country road to see a man who’d she had only seen once. 

Had it been her best idea? No. Was she still doing it? Absolutely.

There had been few times in her life when she had run off pure spontaneity, and she would allow herself this one instance of a lack of sensibility. It certainly wasn’t wise to book a flight in the act of impulse after finding out said man would be free all week, a pause in his hectic schedule, a schedule she had acquired by coercing her assistant to do some potentially not-so-legal things. 

But the ticket had been bought. The rental car reservation had been made. So there was no turning back. (There certainly was opportunity to turn around, but Mikasa didn’t want to give herself any potential out or else she wouldn’t ever commit to doing so.)

So here she was, 0.75 miles from his house, running off pure adrenaline, rehearsing the speech she and Sasha had prepared.

“Hi, Eren. I know this is sudden, but I probably should’ve asked you for your number before leaving. I had to come back to Texas for another shoot, so I thought I would stop by.”

Maybe it was partially based on a lie, but tomato, tomato. It would be fine, she would be fine, and she told herself that all of this certainly wouldn’t blow up in her face.

Until that was precisely what happened.

She had been driving down the curve that led up to Eren’s ranch house when she felt the car jerk, suddenly drifting off the road, before halting to a stop, the Low-Pressure light immediately flashing on. As soon as she saw the lights flash on, she immediately knew one of the tires had blown out, leaving her stranded in the pouring rain just outside of Eren’s house.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. Mikasa leaned her head against the steering wheel, her stomach beginning to pool with regret.

“Do you think it would be weird if I just showed up at his house?”

Yes, Mikasa. It would be weird—it’s fucking insane of you, she thought to herself. And you certainly wouldn’t be in the fucking predicament you are in now if you just called him like any sane other sane person.

Mikasa glanced at her phone, the GPS alerting her she was only 0.25 miles from his house, and the weather app telling her the rain wouldn’t stop for at least the next four hours. 

She sat there weighing her options. 

Call a tow truck, and stick out the wait in her car

Walk to Eren’s house 

Mikasa could see the lights of his house shining through the rain like a lighthouse in a stormy sea, signaling a potential safe return. At this point, she had already risked so much—her pride, her sanity, and almost her life had the tire incident gone any worse—what more did she have to lose?

She shut off the car, grabbed the keys and her phone—leaving her other belongings so if she needed to do a walk of shame back to her car, at least she’d be traveling light—and shoved on a jacket, thankful to whatever higher power she decided to bring one with her on the plane that day. 

Mikasa told herself that if she ran as fast as she could, she would be there quickly, but she didn’t anticipate having to trek through mud, puddles, and essentially pitch black to make it to his front porch. By the time she made it up the steps, her white shoes were ruined, her white tank top was practically see-through, showing every lace detail of her black bra, and her bangs were plastered to her face. (Suddenly, there didn’t seem to be any point in asking how she should do her hair.)

There wasn’t much left to do but ring the doorbell, and at this point, she didn’t have anything left to lose, so she jammed her finger against it, giving herself no opportunity to back out. She heard the chime echo through his house while she stood there fiddling with her thumbs, trying to ring out as much water as she could from her hair, trying to make herself look the least bit presentable.

She heard the low timbre of a man from the other side of the door before the fumbling of the lock and doorknob snapped her attention forward. Mikasa felt her heart get stuck in her stomach as she saw the door pull back, Eren’s tall frame coming into view.

Mikasa had to stop herself from letting her jaw drop when she saw him; the first time she saw him practically paling in comparison to how he looked right now. From the fact that he had no shirt on, allowing her to see just how much muscle he had from all those days he spent working hard, to the sweats that hung low on his hips, leaving little to her imagination. He even looked prettier when he was home, as if the sense of comfort it brought him added an extra glow to his face. 

His hand was clenched around his phone, holding it to his ear when he finally spoke, breaking Mikasa out of her ogling.

“Hey mom, I’m gonna have to call you back later… No ma’am… Yes ma’am, I will. I promise… I love you too… Okay, bye. Talk to you tomorrow.” His voice was velvety when he spoke, something about the way he spoke sweet and rich, a sound Mikasa didn’t think she’d ever get tired of.

Eren stared at her blankly once he hung up the phone, dumbfounded that she was standing on his front porch, not to mention that she was muddy and drenched from the rain. 

The two of them were stuck in a staring contest, neither of them able to formulate words—all of Mikasa’s confidence had suddenly flown out the window, leaving her at a loss for words, because as soon as she opened her mouth, she knew she would be babbling like an idiot.

“Umm… Hi?” Eren said, his greeting coming out more like a question than anything.

“Hi,” Mikasa somehow managed to squeak out. 

“Umm…” He repeated, still at a loss for words.

Mikasa’s mind, a jumbled mess, opted to go for it, knowing her babbling would be better than whatever awkward mess this was. 

“You forgot something,” she said blankly.

Eren looked at her confused, his brows furrowing, “What?”

“You didn’t ask for my number the last time we saw each other. You forgot to ask me for it when I left here,” she said, stepping closer to where he stood in the doorway.

“You wanted me to ask you for your number?” Eren stared at her in disbelief, whether it was because he was shocked at her words or that she dared to show up and say them; Mikasa didn’t know.

“You brought me to your ranch, took me on a ride on horseback underneath the stars, called me beautiful, and then still didn’t ask me for my number. You didn’t even try to kiss me.”

“Did you want me to?” Eren said as his eyes flickered to her lips.

“Do you really think I would fly across the country on a whim and walk a quarter mile in the rain if I didn’t want you to ask me for my number or kiss me, Eren?” Mikasa asked. 

She stood before him, glancing up at him, her face merely inches away from his. She could see how long his lashes looked beneath the porch light, the strands of gold and bronze within his hair, and the plush pink of his lips—right where she could kiss him.

“Mikasa, you walked a quarter mile in the pouring—” 

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before Mikasa pushed herself upward, so her lips met his, her hand steadying itself on his broad chest. He tasted like sweet tea and a touch of Chapstick, his lips as soft as she could have imagined. His hands steadied on her waist, bringing her closer to him. She relished in the way he felt before the reality of the situation began to plague her mind—clarity being her cruelest enemy.

Maybe it was the second-guessing running through her head, but the sudden urge to pull away instantly flooded through her mind before she jerked herself back.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Eren’s voice immediately rang through her ears as she pulled away. “Who said I wanted you to stop?”

“Oh, did you not?”

“You show up on my doorstep with all these questions, then kiss me, and now you’re surprised I wanted to kiss you back?”

“Umm… maybe?”

Eren didn’t give her much time to think before he picked her up and walked her into his house. “How about I let you into my house so you don’t end up sick from being drenched in the rain, get you some dry clothes, and you can ask me all the questions you want?”

“Okay,” she responded shyly, her face flushing red at his directness.

“Never met a girl so pretty and bold before, surely I have to keep you around.”

[rokhal]

Ghost Rider/RE7 AU fanfic: Skills

Follows directly from this fic. Set in @wazzappp's Ghost Rider/RE7 fusion AU, during the period that Robbie and Gabe are living in an isolated BSAA-provided safe-house, watched by intelligence agents and also by Chris Redfield.

At least until the thing with Mia, Ethan Winters and Chris Redfield seemed to be friends, and Ethan seems to have looked up to Chris. I don't see this happening with Robbie. Not to say anything bad about Chris -- I'm not familiar enough with his character -- but his wiki page has his full career and this man has spent twenty years professionally shooting things. I just don't see Robbie getting that cozy with him, not without a long adjustment period.

Anyway, here Chris is being friendly. He's got a soft spot for orphans.

Mr. Redfield (like hell was Robbie going to call the private military contractor on whose word they had been extrajudicially deported to a Spanish-speaking country under false Mexican passports, and who had probably trained the guys who trained the guys who disappeared people for the cartels down south, “Chris”) showed up a couple times a month to supervise Robbie practicing with his illegal BSAA-issued firearms and make nice with Gabe. Gabe liked Chris. Robbie had to let them think he liked Chris, because if Chris ever decided that Robbie and Gabe were more trouble than they were worth, presumably as witnesses against Cutting-Edge Health Connections or whoever it actually was that had snatched Gabe up for his life-saving experimental “therapy,” then Chris would probably dismember them both and cremate them in an oil drum. Heck, he could probably skip the cremation step and just leave their corpses in the house. No one would find them for years.

Career-choice aside, Mr. Redfield seemed like he wanted to appear harmless. He generally arrived in a nondescript rental car, biceps straining the sleeves of his polo shirt, bearing some comics or Cholula hot sauce or something else he thought would endear him to them. Today, he trundled down the miles-long gravel drive to the house in a Toyota Tacoma. Robbie didn’t know they sold those in Spain. As he approached, Robbie spotted something mechanical and spindly in the truck bed, which resolved itself into a pair of bicycles.

“Got something for you two,” Mr. Redfield announced, getting out and lowering the tailgate. He vaulted into the bed, and motioned for Robbie to grab the bicycles as he handed them down. Robbie had to take a moment to identify a secure place to grip them; bicycles were about 80% moving parts. Robbie steadied them both awkwardly by the handles to keep them from toppling over, and Mr. Redfield jumped down with a large brightly printed box under each arm. “Casco para Bici de Montaña” and “Casco Juvenil para Bici,” the glossy boxes read. The price stickers were still in place; the helmets had each cost over fifty euros.

Mr. Redfield waved for Gabe to come over, and Gabe ran up and grabbed his helmet with both hands—“Is that for me? Do I have to give it back? Does Robbie get one?”—while Mr. Redfield used his foot to depress a metal brace near the bottom of the frames that allowed each bike to stand upright so Robbie could let go of them.

“They’re a little old-fashioned and I had to guess on the sizes,” Mr. Redfield apologized, gesturing to the bikes. “I figure they should be good enough to have some fun on, though.”

Robbie couldn’t guess what about these bikes was old-fashioned; the paint and seats had a few scrapes and there were stickers plastered to the frame of the smaller bike, but they both had actual shocks with springs and pistons and everything. Each handle had its own cluster of levers and cables. Robbie wasn’t stupid, he knew a bike was basically a big pair of gyroscopes that steadied you as they rotated and he could deduce that the levers and gears and chain served the same purpose as a manual transmission for whatever fraction of a horsepower a human’s legs produced, but understanding how one worked and actually operating one were very different. These weren’t the small one-speed bikes his peers back home might meander along the city sidewalks or pull wheelies on; these looked like the kind grinning sweaty white people rode down mountains on TV commercials for allergy medication. The saddle on the larger bike was taller than Robbie’s hip. If he tried to sit on it, neither of his feet would touch the ground. “It’s big,” he remarked.

“The seat’s not hard to adjust.”

Crap. Mr. Redfield must think Robbie was complaining. Robbie had no opinions about bicycles—no, maybe he did. Bikes were quiet, inexpensive to operate, difficult to conceal tracking devices on, simple to repair, and while they couldn’t compete with cars on the freeway, they were the next best thing for long-distance travel. And they didn’t require ID or registration. If the BSAA had meant to trap Robbie and Gabe in this off-grid house, maybe Mr. Redfield was offering them a plausibly deniable escape. Or maybe he was just irresponsible. That left only the major problem. “Gabe doesn’t know how to ride a bike.”

Mr. Redfield made as though to punch Robbie in the shoulder, and Robbie flinched before he could stop himself. Redfield completed the punch slower, lightly, the same way he insisted on manually adjusting Robbie’s posture when he supervised firearms practice, like he was doing Robbie some kind of favor by pushing his tactile boundaries. “Well, lucky he’s got you for a big bro, huh?”

“Uh, about that,” Robbie started, then froze when he heard a crumbly hiss of tires on sand, and a scream moving rapidly downhill. “¡Ay! Gabe!”

“Thought you said he didn’t know—” Mr. Redfield started, but Robbie was already sprinting around the Tacoma, between the endless shrubs, down the rocky slope after Gabe, who was hurtling toward the ocean at ten, fifteen, twenty miles an hour—toward the ocean and the rough cliffs that led down to it.

“Gabe! Stop!” Robbie stumbled on a loose rock and gasped for air. “Gabe!”

“Whoa, little dude, safety first,” Mr. Redfield called, waving the boxed helmet in one hand as he overtook Robbie without obvious effort. Maybe he was some kind of bioweapon. “Come on back here, let’s get this fitted.”

Gabe arrested his headlong course toward certain death by some kind of miracle, and turned his bike around a mere five hundred yards from the cliff. (It looked closer from Robbie’s perspective.) He stood up on the pedals to put his weight into climbing back up the hill, just like he’d had full use of his legs his entire life, before swinging down off the bike and walking the rest of the way, panting. Robbie wheezed and braced his hands on his knees when they reached each-other.

“Cliff,” Robbie managed. “Gabe. Don’t go down the cliff.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Gabe protested. “That’d be stupid.”

“I know, I know you’re not stupid. But.” Robbie grasped desperately for some way to explain his panic besides, every time you show me something new you can do I get scared you’re possessed again. “This ground is a bad surface for braking. You could skid and lose control at high speeds.”

“I want to try on my helmet,” Gabe said, passing his bike to Robbie as he jogged up to where Mr. Redfield was opening the box. Robbie watched closely as Redfield set the helmet on Gabe and stuck little strips of foam to the inner rim wherever Gabe said it chafed him. Gabe kept trying to loosen the chinstrap until Robbie admonished, “If you cracked your head open I’d be so sad I might die.” Then Gabe slumped and let Redfield tighten the chinstrap according to the diagrams. Redfield was following the English language instructions, but Robbie noticed that he’d had to turn to the middle of the guide pamphlet to find them. The front pages were all in Spanish.

“Thought he didn’t know how,” Mr. Redfield remarked, not bothering to lower his voice despite Gabe being right there.

“Uh,” Robbie said. He still knew almost nothing of what Gabe’s life had been like while the Connections had had him, but he doubted it had included many outdoor activities. Gabe was looking away, picking at a sticker on his bike’s handlebars. “He was...away...for a while.”

“Daddy Baker taught me,” Gabe explained. His voice was quiet. “He taught Evie first. Then me. She really liked it, she made me ride for her after she got too old.”

Robbie swallowed. “You, uh. Are you happy to have your own bike now?”

“Yeah.” Gabe was still absorbed peeling off the previous owner’s stickers, but Robbie watched Mr. Redfield watching his brother with a blank, analytical expression. “Evie was really sad she couldn’t play with her real body anymore. She was nicer when I let her play with me.”

Did Gabe mean play together or play with, like a toy? Hopefully Mr. Redfield would assume Gabe meant the first one, because the second option might have left traces that might require more aggressive decontamination. “I’m really proud of you for learning how to do this,” Robbie said, trying to change the subject. “But you gotta tell me before you go out riding, okay? And stay where I can see you. I don’t want you getting lost again.”

“I wasn’t lost, I was turned around,” Gabe protested.

Mr. Redfield laughed. “Great comeback. Okay, dude. To keep from getting turned around, you just look for your major landmarks. Right here, that’s the water, that’s always gonna be South. You climb up the nearest hill, and you look for either a downhill slope, a river, or the sea itself, and you can figure it out from there.”

“See?” Gabe said, raising one eyebrow at Robbie.

Are you fucking kidding me. Robbie glared helplessly at Mr. Redfield. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now you two can do some sight-seeing. Or,” he said, winking, “zip into town for groceries in an emergency.” What was that wink for. Was Redfield trying to warn and prepare Robbie for something, or just playing Friendly Paramilitary Babysitter? “Don’t act too excited, now.”

“Right, thanks,” Robbie said. “I, uh. I rode a motorcycle once. Bike can’t be that different?”

Redfield frowned. “You never rode a bike?”

Why was he acting shocked. He’d read their file. Foster kids couldn’t haul bikes from home to home. “Who was gonna teach me?”

“Me,” Redfield muttered. “Now. Apparently.”

“Is it a requirement?” Robbie checked.

“No, not like firearms training,” Redfield said, confirming one of Robbie’s previous suspicions and raising more questions at the same time. “But I figure you want to keep up with him.”

“Yeah.” Ahead of them, Gabe mounted his new bike again and squiggled back and forth up the hill toward the driveway. “Thanks.”

[millerflintstone]

My only time falling down stairs -

Our second apartment was garden level so we had to take a flight of stairs down. I was sneaking Diva in because we weren't going to pay pet rent. Unfriendly put her carrier where she was chilling in a big CRT monitor box. I carried her down but missed the last step, dropped her, and twisted my right foot really badly. I saw it turn all the way in and then all the way out when I landed at the foot of the stairs.

Our apartment was diagonal to the stairs to my left. I thought I broke it. Unfriendly called 911, got Diva out and put her in the bathroom in our bedroom and followed the ambulance.

It was just badly sprained but it was so painful. I was on crutches for a week. Poor Unfriendly had to unload the rest of the rental truck by himself. This was during the summer of 2000. I think the ambulance bill was $200 but insurance paid for most of it.

Diva was ok. She was such a chill cat, even when young. She was almost 2 then

I have a death grip on hand rails now. I refuse to fall down stairs again

[sweetfirebird]

Wishing For--the modern ASB au

Wishing For

I know some of you haven’t met them yet, but since this is a contemporary and magicless AU of A Suitable Bodyguard, know that they look and act a little different here than they do in the original.

AND NOW YOU WILL UNDERSTAND WHAT I MEAN when I say, it turns out that once you remove the fantasy elements and the ‘save the world/our home’ plot stuff, what you are left with is troubled nerds who really need a cuddle (and some therapy). I was going for epic romance in the contemporary world, but then I took the epic out. Tahlen is trying his best to be a knight in shining armor though.

Content tags: anxiety, sheltered and virginal character, abandonment issues, toxic relatives, absent relatives, references to: drinking, recreational drug use, overly pushy drug users, overly pushy possible sexual advances, past parental death, therapy.  Also, unfortunately, rich people. But Zelli only works as a rich person, bless his heart.

Tahlen and Zelli belong to me. (Mine! All mine! muahahaha!)

12:45 AM

So sorry to disturb your evening, Tahlen, but do you know how to use Uber? Or Lyft? Perhaps it’s the service here but I can’t seem to finish downloading an app.

12:46 AM

Sorry to bother you.

12:46 AM

Sorry to bother you *again* I meant to say

12:47 AM

It’s all right if you don’t answer this. You are under no obligation to.

12:50 AM

What’s going on

12:50 AM

Where are you

12:50 AM

It’s 1 am and you’re out

12:51 AM

It’s your cousins isn’t it

12:52 AM

They insisted I should go out. It’s fine. I probably should. Really, you should go back to sleep.

12:52 AM

Or whatever you were doing. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Sorry.

12:53 AM

Where are you

12:53 AM

Your location or I’ll use your phone tracker to get it

12:54 AM

Since when can you do that?

12:56 AM

Your grandmother allowed it the last time your cousins visited and dragged you out

Omw don’t move

12:55 AM

Tahlen?

12:56 AM

You really don’t have to

12:59 AM

Tahlen?

1:01 AM

Sorry. You’re probably driving. Sorry.

Not wanting to drain the battery on his phone anymore, Zelli had it in his lap and had let the screen go dark. He had no idea how much time had passed, or how quickly Tahlen had gotten into his truck after Zelli had disturbed him. Tahlen was probably still driving. The house Zelli was in was on the outskirts of the town proper, but Tahlen would have to drive across the valley to get there. Traffic was lighter at night, but Tahlen was hardly going to be racing over here and risking a ticket.

Zelli should have figured it out himself instead of bothering Tahlen. At worst, Zelli might have spent a few boring, slightly uncomfortable hours before his cousins remembered him. Or he could have walked back toward town until he had more phone service and then downloaded one of those apps.

His friends online were going to tease him relentlessly about this if he told them, especially if he mentioned his rescue. Which meant he’d better not.

He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and then turned his head, trying to distract himself with the bland, pastel picture of a vase of flowers on the wall, and then the equally pastel curtains, opened to reveal the yard full of revelers.

The house was probably a rental for short or longer-term visitors to wine country, close enough to town for convenience and amenities, far enough away for there not to be neighbors to complain about parties. The décor also suggested a hotel more than a private dwelling.

Zelli was in a guest room, either way. There was nothing personal in the room save for an unpacked suitcase sticking out of the open closet door. Hopefully, the person staying here was more interested in the ruckus downstairs than a good night’s sleep.

Or sex, Zelli’s mind unhelpfully reminded him. A lot of people would use a party like this as a way to have sex, or to try to have sex.

He gripped his phone tighter and bit his lip a little harder. Silly of him not to think of that first. That was one of the reasons his cousins had claimed they were taking him out with them, after all.

The music playing downstairs was loud enough to bump through the floor and the walls, but the different music someone was playing outside was audible as well, mostly snatches of lyrics from car speakers. Zelli did not know the songs. He hadn’t really expected to.

Pieces of conversation once in a while made their way up from the yard along with the music. He spent a while imagining his grandmother complaining again about how all the houses now being used as rentals led to neighborhoods of this instead of real communities.

He flipped his phone around nervously. The service was terrible here. He was surprised the texts had gone through, and considered texts versus the messaging app his cousin Whitman said he ought to get for ‘privacy.’ Zelli got what he meant, but he didn’t really need ‘privacy.’ They all knew Zelli had no social life, not like theirs.

He didn’t see the need for one like theirs. This house and this party didn’t feel real. They felt like Zelli was trapped in a movie about a high school or a wealthy college with a party scene meant to show the audience who the drunken asshole antagonists were. Although most of the people here were far older than high school or even college years. Zelli was that age, just old enough to go to clubs now, legally, and to buy alcohol—

He could almost hear Tahlen questioning whether or not that was the reason Zelli’s cousins had brought Zelli along—to pay for everything.

It isn’t like your cousins give much of a shit about you the rest of the time, Tahlen would say. Or rather, wouldn’t say, but his disdain for Zelli’s relatives would be painfully apparent, so much so that even Zelli’s cousin Bethany, constantly on her phone as well as several unprescribed medications, would notice. And then pout, because she wanted Tahlen to like her, among the many other things she wanted from Tahlen.

Tahlen’s smiles were not frequent, but got especially rare when the rest of Zelli’s family were around or even mentioned. But it was a lovely smile, and Zelli tried his best to make it happen, in whatever ways he didn’t think were too inappropriate.

Tahlen, understandably, took family seriously, and most of Zelli’s relatives didn’t. That was all. There was no changing them. Zelli avoided his extended family except for times like this week, when they descended on Grandmother’s house without being invited, and he was torn between being polite and hiding from them. Normally, he might have risked irritating Tahlen by staying with Tahlen while he worked, but Tahlen had been more or less out of sight for the past two weeks.

After his first drink earlier that evening, Zelli had even considered texting Tahlen to ask what had Tahlen so busy, as if that was any of Zelli’s business. Luckily, Zelli had not had much more after that, so he hadn’t done it. Just the “pregame” at the house, then a drink at the club they had first gone to. He’d gotten a sip of something else at the bar they’d gone to after that, but then his cousins had pulled him into a car to come here, and he hadn’t had anything else.

He'd like some water, actually. Or some tea. If he could figure out where he was exactly, he might be able to ask Tahlen to stop at a drive-thru or convenience store for something on the way home. He could also venture down to this house’s kitchen, where they ought to have at least water. Then he could wait outside for Tahlen.

Zelli supposed that he ought to be grateful to his grandmother for worrying about him, even if she had put that worry onto Tahlen, who should not have had to ruin his night to track Zelli down. It would be easier for him if he arrived to find Zelli in the driveway, or even out in the street. But Zelli would rather not spend any more time around the people here than he had to. He’d leave his sanctuary when he was sure Tahlen was near. 

The awkwardness Zelli had felt in the club was somehow worse in this house. Zelli was more out of place here in his borrowed t-shirt—which was supposed to be tight for the club, according to Whitman, which Zelli’s regular shirts were definitely not, but even Whitman’s smallest shirt was loose on Zelli and only made Zelli seem shorter and skinnier and weaker than he already was. The darkest jeans Zelli had, which were still not very tight, combined with dress shoes he didn’t like, and a suit jacket that was now missing, felt ill-fitting and unnatural. He regretted the loss of the jacket but was happy to at least still have his wallet and phone.

He looked at his phone again, decided to venture another text.

1:25 AM

If you changed your mind, please let me know. It’s no trouble.

He waited, watching minutes tick by, but there was no answer. Maybe Tahlen had gone back to bed… whose bed Zelli didn’t know, but it was—had been—Saturday night, and Tahlen was very attractive, and it wasn’t unlikely that he’d been out or with someone.

Tahlen was very fond of Grandmother and reasonably tolerant of Zelli. But really, Grandmother shouldn’t have asked him to do this. Tahlen already felt he owed her too much.

Since the Vallithi estate was only a few miles down the road in their corner of the valley, Tahlen’s family and Grandmother had long been friends. But Tahlen’s parents, unlike the previous generation of Vallithis, had not been naturally gifted at handling the business side of their grape-growing operation. That, combined with the creeping corporate takeover of much of the valley, meant their business had been hurting even before Tahlen’s parents had died in a boating accident while on vacation elsewhere. Their deaths had left the property and the business in the hands of their two children, Tahlen and Esrin, who had been just teenagers at the time. Zelli, about twelve then, had sat with them at the memorial service. Esrin had scowled at the world but made sure Zelli ate from the provided food. Tahlen had looked blank and tired and hadn’t said a word.

They still had some property—the house, essentially—but the land around it was owned or leased for corporate grape growing. Tahlen had barely graduated high school and then started to work, first for anyone, then for Grandmother after Grandmother had had enough of whatever stubborn nonsense Tahlen had been up to. Tahlen was guaranteed good pay, decent hours, and a place to stay in Grandmother’s estate—Zelli suspected so Tahlen didn’t have to go to an empty house at night. The money from the leases went to help Esrin get through cooking school and then to help her expenses and debt while she worked in a fancy restaurant in town.

The restaurant industry should pay their workers better, in Zelli’s opinion.

Tahlen was now taking classes again, at Grandmother’s insistence, but honestly, Tahlen seemed more than content just working for her. He went out to inspect things at her side, and talked to people about the land and harvests and things Zelli didn’t touch, as that wasn’t the area of interest Zelli shared with his grandmother.

Grandmother did not actually need the income from the wine. The label was something of a hobby for her, but it was nonetheless highly sought after, and she loved the whole business. Which was probably why Tahlen was a dream come true for her. She adored and respected him, and since she detested most of the rest of the family and knew Zelli didn’t care about wine, Zelli suspected she was training Tahlen to take over for her when she could no longer do it.

That might also have been another reason Bethany chased after Tahlen when she was around, Zelli realized thoughtfully. His cousins could be perceptive and clever when it suited them to be.

Zelli’s strengths were really more in line with the rest of the family’s interests. Well, his interests and grandmother’s. He did not give much thought to the rest of the family, as he was sure they didn’t give any thought to him. His father certainly didn’t. They all generally only spoke to Grandmother when it involved some aspect of the family trust. Everything else, everything pertaining to Grandmother’s private money and investments, which were considerable, Zelli kept an eye on, as well their household expenses and some of the financials of the winery.

He didn’t really do much, but he at least did more than the cousins and aunts and uncles living off the trust who did nothing, then showed up once in a while to try to get on Grandmother’s good side.

She had no control over the family trust, but her business was hers, and it had done very well. She didn’t say so directly but had once or twice implied they were all just trying to get a mention in her will.

And to hit up Zelli for money, since Zelli didn’t have nearly the same expenditures as the rest of them and only tried to earn enough from everything else he did to pay for his gaming equipment and things like that.

Somewhere, Tahlen was scowling, Zelli just knew it. He sighed.

Zelli’s cousins, the only members of his family remotely close to Zelli in age, did not understand LEGO sets or supporting creators and streamers. They’d had a low opinion of the Spirited Away shirt Zelli had been wearing when they’d found him… and also of Zelli’s hair. He’d recently gotten an ill-advised haircut to try to deal with his uncontrollable, multitextured hair, wherein he had learned that without the weight to hold his hair down, his hair got even wilder.

Maybe Zelli was spoiled, as they’d suggested. He didn’t have to do anything for himself, that was true. Grandmother had a housekeeper and a cook. There was cleaning and gardening staff. And he had Grandmother to coddle him and keep him from the real world. Now, here he was. He couldn’t figure out how to Uber, and even if he looked up a cab company, he didn’t have an address to give them.

He checked his phone, nearly dropping it when he saw a message waiting for him.

1:30 AM

Tell me you are not here

A picture of the front of the house was attached: a yard now destroyed by someone’s crookedly parked car, some people standing around, smoking, and a couple on the hood of the car who were…

“Oh.” Zelli hoped that wasn’t one of his cousins.

1:34 AM

I’ll come out

1:34 AM

Just tell me where you are

He could practically see Tahlen’s stiff disapproval as he probably despaired over Zelli’s lack of sense and social skills and answered quickly so as not to inconvenience Tahlen more.  

1:35 AM

Second floor, one of the back bedrooms.

He put his phone in his pocket and got up to peer out the window, hoping to see Tahlen’s tall form stalking toward the house. He didn’t, which meant Tahlen had been in the house when he’d sent the last text. Zelli spun around to face the door only a second before the sound of a gentle knock.

“Zelli?” Tahlen called softly through the door.

Zelli flew across the room to undo the lock and let Tahlen in.

“You had to lock the door?” Tahlen demanded in a low, unhappy voice, turning to glare down the hallway before coming in and shutting the door behind him. He studied Zelli intently for several seconds while Zelli tried not to fidget, then asked, even quieter than before, “Who scared you?”

Tahlen was not looming over Zelli, but he did loom. Nearly everyone could loom over Zelli, who tried not to take it personally. Friends online assured him he was a “short king” but Zelli didn’t feel very kingly. Tahlen was about six feet, tall, but not exceptionally so. He did, however, carry himself with the physical confidence of someone who had been an athlete in high school and had spent most of his life learning various martial arts “to relax.”

Zelli did not know how kendo or kenpō could be relaxing, but Tahlen felt the same way about some of Zelli’s games.

Tahlen also rode his horse often, stabled at Grandmother’s estate in an arrangement that Tahlen felt he ought to pay for while Grandmother ignored his protests because Tahlen often rode with Zelli when Zelli did, and she claimed Tahlen was Zelli’s security. As if they were in the 1920s and someone was going to kidnap Zelli for ransom.

Zelli had spent several months trying to convince Tahlen that no matter what his grandmother thought, Tahlen wasn’t obligated to spend time with him, with Tahlen glowering and going more silent until Zelli had finally given up.

Despite the time of night and the seasonal chill, Tahlen was in a t-shirt, leaving the tattoos on his forearms visible. Each arm had a mural for one of his parents and their interests: chess and horses on his left, flowers and wine and grapes on the right. He also had a constellation on the side of his neck. Zelli didn’t know the reason for that one, but it had sent him into a brief astronomy and then astrology phase in his teen years, at the height of his Tahlen crush. Tahlen probably had more ink. Zelli didn’t know where, though, if he did.  

“Zelli?” Tahlen promptly unhappily, drawing Zelli’s eyes up from Tahlen’s bare skin.

Tahlen sometimes wore his hair longer, but it was short at the moment, a lovely, rich brown, like sable, or how Zelli imagined sable would look in person. Tahlen’s eyes were nearly the same color. Dressed like he was, in jeans that were worn and tight in the right places, unlike Zelli’s, he’d probably gotten stares as he’d come in. Possibly some for not dressing like the others here, but also for being so, well, remarkable. Handsome. Pretty.

Zelli’s poufy short hair was an indistinct brown, though he had tried dyeing it often as a teenager. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten beat up at the high school for the rainbow attempt actually, but then, Grandmother had sent Tahlen to pick him up every day by then. Tahlen’s glares were effective.

Zelli peered up at Tahlen, aware that he was sober all these hours after his first drinks, and that he had no excuse for staring except, “You came?” he asked in confusion. “For me? Really?”

Even in the dim bedroom, with only the light from outside to illuminate him, Tahlen’s surprise at the question was evident.

Zelli blinked eyes of undramatic hazel green. Eyes set in a freckled face that would darken in the sun, if Zelli would ever spend more time outside. He was ordinary, tiny, boring, nerdy Zelli, who did nothing and had achieved nothing, and who had once been so over-the-top about his teen feelings for Tahlen that it was a wonder Tahlen still talked to him.

“Are you drunk?” Tahlen leaned down to inspect Zelli from a better angle. His face was suddenly close, startling Zelli, who parted his lips but at least held in his gasp. “High?” Tahlen went on, disgruntled and concerned. “Did someone slip you something?”

Zelli stepped back on shaky legs. “It’s fine,” he assured Tahlen in strained voice. He coughed and tried again, taking another step back to clear his head. “Sorry.” He ignored how Tahlen’s mouth tightened at the word. “I’m fine. I had a drink at the club, and one at the bar I barely started, and whatever is downstairs didn’t look appealing. I’d really love some tea, to be honest. Ah.” It was no wonder Tahlen thought Zelli was high. He was babbling. About tea. “It’s obvious I spend most of my time with my grandmother, isn’t it?” He tried to be light. “It’s ridiculous that they dragged me out.”

Tahlen crossed his arms. “Why did you let them?” Again, was implied.

Zelli met Tahlen’s frustrated gaze, then had to look away. He shrugged. “I… thought I should try again. To be a regular person.” He bit his lip, which was going to chap. “Maybe I ought to try the community college, just to get out more. I could… I could get to know people my own age. In person and not online. Maybe learn to draw or something. I do think, at least Whitman, is genuinely concerned for me, in his way.”

“Oh yeah?” Tahlen challenged, still keeping his voice soft. “When was the last time any of them contacted you to ask how you are?”  

Zelli had no answer for that, which Tahlen knew.

Tahlen let his voice rise, just a fraction. “Do they even know where you are right now?” An Or care? was implied as well.

Zelli didn’t know if he was reassuring himself or Tahlen. “I’m sure they’ll look for me whenever it’s time to leave. They did last time.”  

“And they didn’t find you last time, as I recall.” Tahlen was fed up with the whole family and Zelli couldn’t blame him.

The last time had involved a trip to the city with Grandmother, and once the cousins had realized Zelli was there, they’d badgered him to go out with them, then shown him how to set up a tab at a bar with his credit card. They’d all disappeared at some point after that. Zelli had finally walked several city blocks back to the house and sat on the porch of his aunt and uncle’s house, waiting for Bethany or one of the others to come back to let him in.

He wasn’t aware Tahlen had known the details, but when Grandmother had given Tahlen the permissions to track Zelli’s iPhone, she must have told him. She’d only told Zelli to call Tahlen if he couldn’t reach her or didn’t want to bother her.

Zelli lifted his chin but couldn’t quite meet Tahlen’s eye. “Well, I think I enjoyed the night on the porch more than the bar anyway.” But a sigh followed his joke. “I’m just not meant for these sorts of things.”

“You’re more of a movie and a visit to a late-night café sort of person,” Tahlen agreed.

“I….” Zelli forgot what he’d been about to say. Tahlen regarded him seriously. Zelli regarded him in amazement. “Yes,” he finally answered, “if I must go out.”

“Or for a ride on Lemon Blossom,” Tahlen went on evenly, as if he didn’t think there was anything odd about Zelli’s few out-of-the-house activities.

“I’m boring, I know,” Zelli said anyway, more confused than he could ever remember being. “My interests are not sophisticated and I have no real passions.”

“It’s someone else streaming Minecraft, then. Or building those elaborate LEGO sets. Or playing around with numbers and figures in their head while watching TV.” Tahlen uncrossed his arms. “And someone else making whatever money it is you make as easily as you do. That seems sophisticated to me.”

Zelli scoffed quietly. “I couldn’t do nearly the amount of work you do, and you keep all that information in your head as well. Your interests are far more….” Tahlen’s expression said Zelli was deflecting. Zelli didn’t know when he’d learned to read Tahlen so well. Others, like Bethany, certainly couldn’t. But maybe if she really looked at Tahlen once in a while. He wondered if most people did. Or if they just saw Grandmother’s employee. Or an extremely attractive and hot person glaring at them. Though people seemed to like that, so maybe Tahlen didn’t mind that last one. “Sorry,” Zelli said abruptly. “I must have ruined your night.”

Tahlen was indeed glaring at the moment. “It’s not ruined.”

Zelli gestured loosely. “Interrupted, then.”

“Zelli.” Tahlen said his name on a sigh. “You’re always apologizing when you’ve no need to.”

“No need?” Zelli demanded in disbelief. “Grandmother insisting you do this for me? It’s too much. You shouldn’t have to….”

Tahlen was making a very strange face. Rather pained. Like when Zelli had spent several days nervously bouncing around the house while waiting for one of his online friends to visit. The friend had been coming to the area for something else and the two of them had planned to get lunch, but then something had come up so nothing had come of it anyway. Tahlen had probably thought Zelli was meeting up with a serial killer but had been doing his best to be supportive.

That was the face he was making right now. Which was to say, his face did not actually do much, a slight tightening of his lips, a glance away, but to Zelli his discomfort was clear as day.

“Maybe she didn’t insist?” Zelli amended his statement. “She just asked and you felt you shouldn’t say no?”

“I asked,” Tahlen corrected stiffly. “They left you on the porch.” Tahlen sounded as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. “In a strange city—a new-to-you city,” he added when Zelli started to object.

Zelli stared, his mouth definitely hanging open for a moment before he closed it. Something warm carried through him the way alcohol was supposed to, and like with alcohol, it made him say the first thing that came to mind. “It was really more of a stoop. I wouldn’t have made you drive all the way into the city to sit with me on a stoop.”

It wasn’t a joke, and Tahlen didn’t react as if it had been. “I could’ve stayed on the phone with you while you waited,” he explained patient and furious. “You shouldn’t have been alone.”

“Oh.” Zelli studied the tops of his dress shoes. He was warmed again, and yet felt like a dumbass in some way he couldn’t explain. As if he should have known that. It was insulting to Tahlen, really, that Zelli would assume he didn’t care, or that he felt obligated to. Tahlen took family seriously. Perhaps Zelli was more that than a friend or annoying sort-of housemate to him. “You’re very kind,” Zelli said to the shoes, in the voice of someone who spent all of his time around a senior citizen who had been raised with old-fashioned etiquette rules and had once attended an all-girls boarding school in Switzerland. “Thank you. I’ll think of that in the future… or not.” He peeked up at the sound of Tahlen’s annoyed little exhale. “I won’t let my cousins kidnap me again, but I will remember your concern.” That was better. “We should go, so you can at least have some of your night to yourself.”

“Why did you lock the door?”  

Of course, Tahlen wasn’t going to let that go.

“Nothing. No reason,” Zelli said immediately. He looked up again, fully aware Tahlen wouldn’t believe that. “They’re loud,” he admitted, to Tahlen’s shoulder this time, instead of to his shoes. “And bigger than me. And some of them kept offering me things. I suppose it’s meant to be friendly. But they are also not really inclined to listen to no’s and one had a grip on my jacket that I couldn’t… so I slipped out of it and came up here.” He grew quieter and quieter the longer he went on. “And locked the door while I tried to figure out how to leave. Really, though,” he cleared his throat, “nothing happened and there’s no need to do anything about it. We can just go home.”

“Sit down, Zelli,” Tahlen ordered, gentle.  

Zelli huffed. “Really, I…”

“You’re shaking,” Tahlen interrupted to inform him and then came forward.

Zelli stepped back, then bumped into the bed and sat. Tahlen was in front of him, too tall, and then kneeled down and put his hands on Zelli’s knees while he gazed at Zelli with concern and worry in his expression for anyone, even Bethany, to read.  

Zelli stared blankly at him, at his hands, his forearms, the stars at his throat and his dark, warm eyes, which were so close.

Several years ago, Zelli had become aware that his feelings for Tahlen had gone far beyond a crush, but there hadn’t been anything to do about it, so he’d done his best to not think about them. He always had things to do, or could find things to do. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, because Zelli was Zelli and he was not the sort of person to have feelings like that reciprocated, and never by someone like Tahlen. Grandmother had spotted them anyway, Zelli’s feelings, and advised him to be respectful, and to stay kind to Tahlen. So that was what Zelli had done. He had tried to stay out of Tahlen’s way, and to apologize when he messed up, and to only devote some of his time to making Tahlen smile.

Now this. He was tired and anxious. He was going to ruin it.

He did his best to look away, but Tahlen’s gaze was steady and demanded Zelli return it. Zelli couldn’t be rude, so he looked back, and released a long sigh. Tahlen was even more beautiful up close.

“It’s probably just that I never leave the house,” Zelli offered nervously. He was shaking. He hadn’t realized. “Maybe I should also… buy clothes more appropriate for going out. I don’t dress up… spend the money how I should.” His voice had a tremor too. “I’ve seen TikToks; I know how I could dress. Though it’s not going to make me anything but a permanent… a permanent twink as far as the world is concerned.”

He'd never said that word aloud to Tahlen before, but presumably, from Zelli’s rainbow hair and all of his teenage staring, Tahlen was well aware of Zelli’s queerness.

“Although not an especially pretty one,” Zelli added quickly, his face hot. “You’re going to tell me to breathe, aren’t you?” Tahlen’s eyes seemed to have lights in them. That should have been impossible. “I am breathing.” Zelli demonstrated that a few times. “Did Grandmother tell you about my go at therapy too?” He wasn’t resentful, merely curious. “I don’t really think I need it. My family, including my father, has no interest in me. That’s just a fact. I was raised by my grandmother away from town so my interests don’t match most in my age group. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

“Zelli,” Tahlen said his name so softly, “is that why you let them do this to you again?”

The heat from his hands was distracting.

Zelli breathed.

“I’m on my way to twenty-two and I’ve never done anything,” he blurted, embarrassed. “With anyone,” he added, because why not make his humiliation as clear as possible? “Though I want to. Well, nothing outside of a few online flirtations when I was younger, which went nowhere, of course. Because it doesn’t take much for people to realize I’m not….” Zelli shut his eyes. “You’re sexy and interesting and beautiful, so you don’t understand. But it’s…. My cousins don’t care about me. I know that. They want to use my money. But I’m alone all the time. It’s me, and everyone in the staff, and Grandmother.”

“And me.”

Zelli opened his eyes, then immediately dropped his head to look at Tahlen’s hands instead of into his eyes. Zelli was supposed to be better than his creepy staring by now. “I just annoy you. Don’t pretend I don’t. My teen years… I am sorry about that.”

Tahlen took a second. “That was a while ago. You don’t need to keep apologizing for it. You didn’t actually do anything.”

“I was inappropriate,” Zelli insisted unhappily, mumbling.

Tahlen inched in closer, bringing Zelli’s gaze back to his frowning face. “You weren’t. And it was years ago. I was also… I was not in a good place at the time, regardless, but you never annoyed me. For fuck’s sake, Zelli,” Tahlen said it with the same softness as before, “I grew up next to your house, to you and your grandmother. I never thought you were spoiled or a brat or creepy. To be honest, I didn’t think of you much at all, then.”

Zelli heaved a sigh, but nodded. “I should be grateful for that.”

Tahlen didn’t budge. “But your grandmother was so worried about you. It made me start to worry about you. It’s second nature now.”

Zelli gave him a sad shrug.  

Frustration flickered through Tahlen’s expression. “Not because you’re helpless—although we are downloading Uber for you when we get home.” He waited, apparently wanting to be certain Zelli was listening, then went on. “Because you care a lot, and the world can be harsh and cold.”

“You really are wonderful, Tahlen.” The tremor hadn’t left Zelli’s voice. Tahlen looked comically startled for a moment, then his frown returned. Zelli hurried away from the careless compliment. “Would you say we’re friends?”

The pinched, pained, vexed look returned to Tahlen’s face. The music downstairs was louder, the silence heavier.

Zelli tried to correct his faux pas. “I’m not very good at people. I’m sorry. Oh, I’m apologizing again—sorry.” He winced and stopped.

Tahlen seemed to be processing. Maybe he’d forgotten his hands were on Zelli. Zelli wondered if he ought to be remind him, worrying he would cause more offense if he did, then that it was creepy not to. That was overthinking, he knew that, and rushed past it.

“I like being your friend.” He meant it. “Though, other than people I might not ever meet in person, that might make you my best friend. Which is,” probably sad, “perhaps uncomfortable for you? Obviously, I don’t expect to be your best friend. That would be presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous,” Tahlen echoed flatly. Displeased.

“We do spend a lot of time together these days,” Zelli realized out loud. They went riding. They shared meals in the kitchen. Grandmother would go to bed early, and many nights, Tahlen stayed up with Zelli in the living room, one or both of them working or reading or on their phone, or not doing anything but watching TV together.

Zelli’s internet friends kept demanding pictures of Tahlen, insisting Zelli had feelings that he had denied to them, despite all the time he spent in Tahlen’s company.

“But I don’t even know if you’re seeing anyone,” Zelli finished, “or bestie things like that.”

“Bestie,” Tahlen repeated, looking at Zelli incredulously before tossing his head to dismiss that. “If I’m not working, I’m generally with you.” He said it like he was spelling something out, which was also how it felt to Zelli, so that must have been what Tahlen was doing. “Because I like spending time with you. Even though you are….” He made an impatient, irritated sound in his throat. Then, raising his eyes, watched Zelli closely, “I invited you out two weeks ago, to see that cartoon movie you wanted to see, in the little movie theater in town.”

“It’s anime, not a cartoon,” Zelli corrected out of habit from a dozen conversations with Tahlen about it. Then he shut his mouth.

Tahlen’s lips were soft, his eyes narrowed but bright. Defiant or worried, Zelli couldn’t decide; it was a new expression and he wasn’t sure of it.

“So,” Tahlen ignored Zelli’s correction, “why say yes to your cousins but not that?”

“I’d make it weird.” Zelli waved his hands around on the word ‘weird’ to show what he meant. “You almost never go to the movies.” Zelli went alone, when he did go, or with Grandmother if she approved of whatever it was. But Tahlen almost never saw anything in theaters. “So, if we went to that, I’d want to make sure you enjoyed yourself, even though you’ll make a face for the story—you know you will, don’t pretend you wouldn’t—and I’d get you soda, and peanut M&Ms, and popcorn, and even those orangey-yellow nachos if you wanted. And I’d probably sit too close to you or stare if you laughed or…” Zelli gulped. “I should stop talking now. I’m not drunk. I’m just… tired. And anxious. I get anxious sometimes. It’s not a big deal. Sorry.”  

“Even the nachos?” Tahlen wondered, his tone also new to Zelli. “You think movie theater nachos are gross.”

“I think they look gross.” Zelli absently wrinkled his nose. “I’ve never had them.” He glanced to Tahlen’s face, his eyes, lit up and not angry. “They serve beer and wine at the little theater. I’d probably try to get you that, too,” Zelli admitted quietly, “and then you’d worry about driving me home, so we’d have to walk for a while or go get coffee or something afterward. And I’d do something stupid, you see, because I don’t know any better. I’d,” he darted his gaze away again, “think it was a date, or feel like it was romantic, and I don’t know what I would say, but it would…”

He stopped as Tahlen leaned in, his face tilted up, his eyes intent. His breath was soft against Zelli’s mouth. His lips looked as if they would also be soft.

“I’d…” Zelli tried again to speak, but forgot what he’d been saying. “Tahlen,” he complained quietly, “it’s 1:30 in the morning. I’m confused. If you don’t stop, I’ll think you want to…”

“Kiss you?” Tahlen finished for him, then did precisely that.

Tahlen’s palm and fingertips grazed the side of Zelli’s face, his thumb brushing Zelli’s abused bottom lip. His lips were soft. His breath was light. His mouth fit easily to Zelli’s. Zelli’s eyes fell closed without his conscious direction. He shivered and didn’t know why, because he was more than warm, more than content, floating despite the heavy rush of his pulse.  

Tahlen eased back, leaving Zelli flushed hot and breathing too hard. Zelli made a small sound of protest and was immediately flustered to hear himself, but Tahlen brought his hand up again before Zelli could try to apologize. He gently urged Zelli to tilt his head to the side and then Tahlen was kissing him again, still careful though not as soft, as if he had tasted Zelli’s mouth was now savoring it, a thought to make Zelli clutch Tahlen’s shoulders and whine for more.

“It would have been a date, Zelli,” Tahlen explained after giving Zelli innumerable breathless, lingering kisses, each of them hotter than the last and hitting Zelli in places Tahlen’s hands never touched. Tahlen sighed the words as though he had been waiting to say them. “That’s why I asked you.”

Zelli forced his eyes open. He leaned away, only enough to find his breath, but Tahlen dropped his hand. It landed back on Zelli’s knee.

The music from downstairs, from outside, was muted. Zelli’s heartbeat was loud.

“Peanut M&Ms are my favorite,” Tahlen revealed quietly.

Zelli’s nod was weak. “I know. I want to give you all your favorite things.” Tahlen’s eyebrows went up as if this was a surprise. Zelli had hidden more than he’d thought he had. “I didn’t because… it would be weird. Wouldn’t it?”

Zelli had just been kissed. Many times. By Tahlen. It was the middle of the night. He wasn’t thinking clearly.

Tahlen eased down onto his knees in front of Zelli once again, his gaze steadying the longer Zelli studied him.

“Wouldn’t it?” Zelli asked again.

“Maybe.” Tahlen quirked a corner of his lips. The lips that just had been on Zelli’s. The lips that kept stealing Zelli’s attention. “But I wouldn’t mind. I…. There’s no one in the whole world, except possibly my sister, who would ever think about giving me all of my favorite things.” He frowned. “Which I am not demanding. But the M&Ms… I’d accept those from you, if you gave them to me.”

“I could do better?” The offer slipped out. “Better than candy and popcorn, I mean. I have money. That zombie show you like… I saw a mug for it the other day and I wanted to get it for you.”  

Tahlen’s frown disappeared. The slight curve returned to his mouth, then a wider one, until Tahlen’s smile was unmistakable.

“Smiling like that for me. What am I supposed to do with that?” Zelli asked helplessly, distantly worried that someone had slipped him something and he was imagining this. The worry became less distant when he saw his hand reaching out and felt the tips of his fingers falling to rest on Tahlen’s lips.

Tahlen closed his eyes.

“Lovely.” Zelli meant it, though he hiccupped when it made Tahlen look at him. “But I don’t know what to do.”  

Tahlen curled his hand around Zelli’s wrist and gently pulled it down to his neck. Zelli splayed his fingers to cover the blue and black ink of the constellation. Tahlen took his hand away, leaving Zelli to overthink petting him or not petting him. It felt good, touching Tahlen. Warming, deep inside, but also physically, practically warm on his skin.   

“Did my grandmother know about this?” The question came out sharp as the possibility occurred to Zelli, but he swept his thumb beneath Tahlen’s ear and Tahlen’s eyes closed again. A slight shiver ran through him. “Oh.” Zelli wasn’t shaking anymore but his heart was pounding. Someone far away, hopefully very far away, was arguing with her boyfriend. He didn’t like the sound. He didn’t want anything to make Tahlen open his eyes to frown. “We should go home. I’ll text my cousins so they’ll know where I got to.” But after he and Tahlen had gone, he decided, so his cousins couldn’t hitch a ride with them. They could find their own ways back.  

Despite Zelli’s meager protective efforts, Tahlen opened his eyes, then tightened his jaw: displeased, but not going to argue. “If you want to,” he said, meaning he wouldn’t have told Zelli’s cousins a damn thing. “It’s your decision.”

“I suppose it is.” Zelli looked from his hand on Tahlen to Tahlen’s face.

“You seem better now,” Tahlen observed. “You scared me when I first saw you. It scared me to get your text. But I’m glad you sent it.”

Zelli pulled his hand back almost guiltily. “Are you? I just told you I’d never done anything and that I’ve been trying not to creep on you, which implies that I wanted to. Which I did. Not be creepy—that’s not what I meant. It’s just… there is no one else like you. I obviously think you’re wonderful. People who’ve never even met you know that.”

Nonplussed was the emotional state conveyed by the twitch of Tahlen’s eyebrows and general stillness. But then Tahlen forced his confusion away and looked to Zelli. “Can I take you home now?”

“All right,” Zelli agreed shyly, even though they both would have gone home anyway, whatever his answer. Then he realized he had no idea what would happen once they got there. “Did I interrupt your night? Until my family showed up, I was looking forward to finishing The Fae and Dragon Chronicles on HBO Max with you. Not that I assumed you’d be watching with me. The past two weeks, you were away a lot…” Tahlen’s eyebrows went up, pointed. “Oh, I see.” Zelli did see. “I’m sorry. I would have said yes. Well, if I’d believed you really wanted to….” The air left him. He took a moment, stunned as the truth sank in. “You really wanted to go on a date with me.”

Tahlen sat up, sliding a hand to the back of Zelli’s neck while leaning in to offer another kiss, less careful, a little harder in a way that had Zelli whining again.

Zelli finally pulled away to bite his tingling bottom lip and stare at Tahlen. At least Tahlen was out of breath too.

“Are you really sure?” Zelli asked, despite the warmth all through him and the smile on Tahlen’s face. “I’m not very attractive, and I’m not as rich as Grandmother, and I am sort of useless around the house.”

Tahlen’s smile slipped. “Mizel.”

“Sorry.” Zelli shook his head. “I do perhaps need the therapy. I know. My father….” He didn’t want to talk about his father now. Or ever, really. He slid ungracefully down to his knees but his tumble made Tahlen’s smile return, and Tahlen put an arm around him before standing up and tugging Zelli to his feet with him. Tahlen’s arm was warm too, and solid, and very steady. Zelli was going to like having it around him too much and make it weird.

No. He stopped that thought there. Tahlen was smiling. It wasn’t weird—or, if it was, Tahlen didn’t mind.

“When we get home” –around 2am by then, but Zelli was hardly going to sleep now— “we might have time for at least one episode. And some tea. Or… we could kiss some more?”

Tahlen kissed him again right there, as if he couldn’t wait.

Zelli wrapped his arms around Tahlen too, worrying over it despite himself.

Tahlen allowed it, in any case. “Tea, and an episode, and kissing,” he agreed, though he might have work to do in the morning. It didn’t seem much of a date, since it was what they might have done anyway, except for the kissing.

At the thought, Zelli frowned thoughtfully, inching back to gaze up into Tahlen’s handsome, flushed face. “Did you feel lonely, sitting with me in the living room in different chairs, on opposite sides of the couch, wishing for… wishing? Because I wished, but I’ve never felt lonely around you. It’s why I…. Of all my Tahlen-feelings, that has never been one of them.”

Tahlen’s gaze met his, nearly glowing from within.

“Oh,” Zelli said, bashfully pleased. He supposed anything else, more questions, more kissing, whatever might follow the kissing, even the tea, could wait. He wasn’t looking forward to the walk back through this house, but the rest made him want to hide his face against Tahlen’s arm or kiss Tahlen harder than Tahlen had kissed him. Which, thankfully, he did not know how to do, and he couldn’t reach Tahlen’s mouth without Tahlen’s help anyway.

“Then I’ve had enough of being out for one night.” He thought Tahlen understood what he meant and agreed, because he took Zelli’s hand to lead him from the room, his post-kiss face hardening into something fierce and unhappy before he opened the door. But his hold on Zelli’s hand did not change, and he kept Zelli close as they made their escape.  

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[eliaskahtri]

A Reunion Over Peascake || Elias & Regan

TIMING: October 7th, during the day (Current)

LOCATION: Downtown Wicked’s Rest

PARTIES: Elias (@eliaskahtri ) & Regan (@kadavernagh)

SUMMARY: Regan sees a familiar face, but that can't be... Elias, could it?

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of prescription medication use

The Office of Medical Examiner vans had moved out, body in transit, and Regan departed the scene, thankful for the chill of fall air against her hot winter coat when she stepped outside. It had been an accident… probably. A bad fall on the slippery floor of a kitchen met with a cracked skull. Quick. Easy. She’d give this one to Rickers; it held little interest to her. But as she stepped away from The Peascake Factory (with a purchase of a peascake to-go in hand, the last thing her decedent would ever cook), deja vu hit her like a wall. This street… night time. Regan looked down the road and realized what it was – that place, the fae pub, was nearby. Where she’d initially met Elias.

She had set up a Google alert for his name, hoping she could track his whereabouts and at least determine whether or not he was alright. Or alive. Would she know if he had died, even if he were halfway around the world? She wasn’t sure. Cliodhna had told her that if a bond were forged deep enough, she would still scream, no matter the distance. But, of course, humans were not worthy of such a connection. It didn’t matter. He seemed fine, from what she’d read. She hadn’t been expecting to find anything, but a few weeks after Elias left, the headlines started rolling in. “Cybernetic breakthrough spearheaded by genius upstart” and “The revolution in prosthetics is here”. On paper, it matched what she’d known about Elias’s background, the research he was involved in back in California, but the whole thing felt spun out of some alternate reality, and Regan eventually needed to silence the alert.

Rather than go near the place, she turned in the other direction to walk toward the busy intersection. Fewer fae. It suited her better. The plastic Peascake Factory bag crinkled in her tightening grip. She still nearly dropped it when she saw a tall, slender figure crossing the street, dressed for business. His back was to her, but his hair – and when he turned, she saw the beard. There was a woman with him. She had an elegant and easy sort of beauty, her dark hair appearing professionally styled, though she probably woke up that way. Her attire matched his – curt and professional. Doubt flooded her. There was no way that could have been Elias. She had just been thinking about him. She snuffed out the phrase wishful thinking from her thoughts, obliterating any trace of it.

This was curiosity. That was all. “Elias?” Regan called out, confusion creasing her forehead. She tried one more time. “Elias!” 

It had been a very busy past few months for Elias. Between telling his father he was getting his old job back (which he had been quite thrilled about) and finishing the project that was destined to fail, and fail it had, without him, he found himself in the limelight. A light he didn’t want. The things that had happened in Wicked’s Rest had blessingly turned into a distant memory he didn’t dwell on save for late at night right as he was about to fall asleep. The friends he had abandoned so readily just as he had abandoned his previous life like it was nothing. He felt like everything he had acquired wasn’t deserved. 

He finished the prosthetic arm, and it worked. Well, of course it worked. He was a genius, after all (not that he acted like it). When he had received an offer to work on further research at the hospital in Wicked’s Rest, he had almost immediately declined. But a chance to continue doing what he was good at as well as go back to the life he had started to carve out for himself? It was almost too good to pass up. So before he knew it, he was driving across the country with a moving truck full of his stuff and into a rental apartment in the heart of downtown. Thanks to Naya, his assistant. An assistant. He had an assistant. In all his life he never would have expected this to happen to him.

After grabbing lunch with Naya, they walked through downtown Wicked’s Rest, mostly to show her around than reacquaint himself with the area. He had purposely avoided getting close to that damn bar, the bar that had blown a hole in reality for him. It left him stumbling out of that house in the middle of the night and driving off. No note, nothing. He was just gone. He changed his number and pretended that faeries didn’t exist. Nope, they definitely don’t exist and it was just a lapse in sanity. Good thing those new meds the doctor got him on were working. Nothing but a case of delusions and hallucinations. Good ol’ medication, that one.

“I start interviews for the open positions on Monday,” he was telling her as he heard a very familiar voice call out to him. He froze where he stood, eyes going wide as he whispered for Naya to wait for him at the car. He didn’t want to turn around. He wanted to keep moving and go about his day, he had to continue setting up his office in his apartment. Naya had been lucky enough to secure the unit across the hall, so she was available at all hours to him whether he wanted her to be or not. Very dedicated, that one. He hoped she wouldn’t burn out as hard as he had. Burn out enough to believe that faeries were real and get himself on some heavy duty psychiatric medication. 

Closing his eyes tightly and letting out a sigh, Elias finally turned around to see Regan. He expected himself to be awkward and uncomfortable, but instead, his face went from deer in the headlights to softened and relieved. “Regan.” He said back, quickly hurrying over to her with a bright smile on his face. Whether he wanted to or not, he cared deeply about the woman that refused to call him her friend. They had shared bad yogurt together, dead rats in yogurt together, she had hired him when he needed it, they had seen an eldritch otherworldly being at the other yogurt shop together… Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she was kind. She was… Regan. “I, uh…” he sighed, shaking his head. “I owe you an explanation.” His shoulders drooped, the weight of what he had done finally hitting him like a load of bricks.

“I thought that faeries were real, and ran back home to California.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair as he stared over her shoulder, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. “And that landed me in hot water with a therapist, and now I’m medicated. And then I finished my prosthesis and that got me way more success than I wanted and now I’m here. Working out of the hospital.” He shrugged his shoulders, in a what-can-you-do manner. “And I didn’t say a damn word to you.” His face fell, realizing how badly he had screwed everything up. “And I’m so sorry.”

Regan was not sure she had seen Elias’s eyes swell to this size before. They were big, brown, and growing softer by the second… and part of Regan wished she could scoop her own eyes – probably just as large – from her skull so she didn’t need to look at him. Her eyes would betray her. She realized almost immediately after calling his name that it was probably a mistake. She was leaving. Why intrude on whatever peace Elias had found only to be the one to leave this time? Hard-won peace, probably. “I don’t – sorry, I shouldn’t have – I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Again. Ever again.” Her mouth went dry but as Elias said he owed the explanation, she didn’t feel quite so intrusive. “You look – I mean, you could be dressed for court right now. Not that – I know you left the job. Obviously. At the Medical Examiner’s Office. But you’re wearing – nevermind. Also, who is the woman? What are you doing h– are you visiting? Coming back? I – right.” She shut up and let him explain.

Almost immediately, he mentioned the faeries. And Regan’s keyed up energy deflated like a punctured bladder. The Peascake Factory bag drooped almost down to the sidewalk. The way the two of them had left things was not right. Although, Elias leaving town – and leaving his employment – without warning cemented that she had been correct to want to keep him away from that case. He could not handle it. Humans could not. No human could, however capable they thought themselves. What she didn’t know was whether or not he had internalized anything; had he truly realized what he was looking at, that his suspicions were correct… or had he shed it just as easily as everything else? Regan dared to hope it was the latter. If he told anyone else about the case, about the bar, things could get even worse. And Elias would be inextricably involved, pulled back into what he tried to run from. 

Guilt tinged the inside of her mouth like acid when he mentioned therapy, medication. Neuroleptics were not the answer to his problem; iron was. But Elias had clearly put it behind himself enough to find success exactly where he wanted to. And for that, Regan could absolve herself of a lot. “Don’t… don’t worry about it. I know you ran. You left your planner behind. The one with all of those colonial women on it.” She hesitated for a second but then admitted it. “I checked. There was nothing in there about you planning to leave. I’ll, um, give that back to you, by the way.” She rubbed the back of her neck through the coat. “I know about your success, too. I found it. You can set up alerts on the internet. For example, if you want to know about any nearby endangered bog lemming carcasses that have been found, you can set up an alert for ‘endangered bog lemming carcass Maine’. Nothing there yet, though.” She waved a hand. Didn’t matter. “Congratulations. I am… pleased for you.” There was a question she desperately wanted to ask. The mention of the hospital gave her hope the answer would be no. She shuffled a little off to the side so they were closer to one of the buildings, not so near the street and pedestrian crosswalk. “The bar. You’re not going back there, are you? You’re only working at the hospital now?”

Regan’s questions were valid, Elias knew that. After all, who came back to the place they ran away in terror from? His gaze cast downward at the sidewalk, tapping his foot at a rapid pace, anxiety building before he took a deep breath and willed the panic away. He couldn’t let himself get worked up, not again. “I’m heading a research team at the hospital for the cybernetic I created. That woman you saw, Naya, she’s my assistant.” He frowned, hating the fact that he even needed one of those. “Unfortunately, medical breakthroughs come with a high amount of fame. She handles my day to day and fields interviews.” He let a deep sigh out, suddenly looking tired. 

“Between you and me, I didn’t want this. At all.” He admitted, a hand pressed against his chest as he spoke. “But my father said I could take my position back, and at that point I needed to just go back on autopilot.” He sucked air through his teeth, eyes going a bit glossy as he got lost in thought. Sure, his head was on straighter thanks to Dr. Rogers and her brilliant psychotherapetuic intervention skills, but he was still bouncing from one extreme to another. And he hated it. He wanted to have a job and a life outside of it, but he just didn’t know how. 

His brows furrowed at the mention of colonial women. What? What did that- oh. “You mean the fellowship of the ring? A group of all men?” He gave her an incredulous look. “Lord of the Rings. A trilogy of so many characters and only, like, two of them are women?” He shook his head at her, as if deeply disappointed. “Now that I’m back in town, I’m going to make you watch them. In exchange I’ll give you plain yogurt and bones.” He gave her a sly smile, knowing it would be a tempting offer. “I’ll even go easy on you and not make you watch the extended editions.” At least, not right away. Though, he didn’t say that part out loud. 

He smiled at her, though it was a sad one. “I’m sorry I left without saying anything, or not reaching out to you afterwards. But my mind was in such a spiral I couldn’t even talk to my family without having a breakdown. So I did what I had to do to regulate myself again. I’m not like you, I have emotions that I feel far too deeply. And I was one soft breeze away from checking myself into a psychiatric hospital and not looking back.” He bit on his lower lip, eyes getting a faraway look again. He had left everyone behind without saying anything. It wasn’t just Regan. Shit, being back in town was more trouble than it was worth. The money was almost not worth it. 

Heading up a research team at a hospital was no small thing, especially for a non-physician. Regan could barely understand cybernetics (she could if she tried, she thought), but whatever Elias’s breakthrough was, it had clearly made enough waves to part the sea for him. And out of all the hospitals that were vying for him, he chose Wicked’s Rest… the very origin of his mental breakdown. Regan tensed her lip nervously between her teeth. Something was off. Not just Elias’s intended stay here, but Elias himself. In a certain light, when she studied him, it was as though something inside him had been strangled. He had achieved some hopes and dreams and traded others for them. Didn’t even want this. Fame was rarely so extravagant as people thought. He could spend his day doing photoshoots for medical journal covers but by the time night fell his thoughts would spiral as his head hit the pillow just like any other damn person. And then he would die.

But Regan said, “That’s wonderful.” And she tried to mean it. Mostly, she did. Elias deserved success. He needed to get out of that bar, the morgue was not where he belonged, and he had the wits to make something of his life. “You must be busy.” Too busy to be stalled by a crosswalk talking to his old boss who was leaving town anyway. “I had always wondered what compelled you to come here, to trade everything you had over there for…” She pointed vaguely in the direction of the bar. “But it sounds like you have achieved some mental clarity and reaped the benefits. Does that mean… you’re staying here, then.” I’m not. The confession burned her mouth as she refrained from speaking it. Part of her wished he had just been flitting in and out, a brief pivot back to Wicked’s Rest as he conquered conferences along the eastern seaboard. Given the finely-tailored clothes and the assistant, she had to wonder if his ego outswelled his brain, but he seemed like himself.

Especially where nerd paraphernalia was concerned. So maybe they weren’t colonial women. She didn’t care about this franchise of jewelry gods. But… Elias did. “Bás síoraí,” Regan mumbled; she already had a feeling she knew what that would mean for her. “You know I don’t do entertainment. I get nothing from it. There would be no purpose.” Except, of course, to engage in something Elias enjoyed because it would mean something to him, but was that really enou– oh, bones. And yogurt. She ran a hand through her hair, the Peascake Factory bag rustling at the movement. “Perhaps someday.” If she ever returned. But by then, she suspected, she would not even recognize Elias. He would be nothing but a formless, shapeless human, identical as the next. And she should be glad for it.

She swallowed at his apology. It was probably owed. Certainly the Medical Examiner’s Office deserved one as an entity. But if they were to have that conversation, the one Elias so badly wanted to have when the autopsy had gone banjanxed, his head would have popped off right then and there, she was sure of it now. So it was good he left. Good he found some peace. Good he was leaving all of his suspicions behind. Unless he’d said anything reckless to the fae at the bar when he was let go. Did he have a target on him? Did he – no, don’t think about that right now. Regan realized that, at some point, she’d paced semicircle around him. “So why come back here? It can’t just be the hospital. You could find work at a dozen others.”

In truth, Elias didn’t know if he was going to stay at all. Of course, he had to dedicate himself to this project. Whether or not he actually saw the full thing out instead of replacing himself with someone far more capable was a different question all together. “I… for a while, at least.” He answered, posture deflating a little at the idea. He liked Maine, well and truly he did. He had dealer’s choice of where he could have gone, of course, but he chose here. He had moved there months ago to prove a point that his life could change, and by God did it change. But now, he had something to prove to himself. What he was proving exactly, he didn’t know. That he wasn’t crazy, maybe? That there is something afoot that medication isn’t the answer to? It gnawed at the back of his mind, he knew the truth. He just refused to believe it. He knew that there was a great secret that Regan was hiding from him, and if his suspicions were correct, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself. But he’d have to test that theory in time. If he could at all, he didn’t know if he had the guts. 

“Something death,” he then translated automatically. Although it was embarrassing to admit, the Irish she spoke here and there was enough to make him try to learn the language. Duolingo, his beloved. Well, at least he translated the death part. He quirked a smile. He felt his phone buzz, probably Naya. Or his mother, who was always worrying about him. He ignored it. “I’ll hold you to it then.” He spoke with a smile, wiggling his brows as if playfully issuing her a challenge. “You may say you don’t do entertainment, but I know there’s a part of you deep down that wants to understand my references if nothing else.”

Then she asked the question he was hoping she wouldn’t. Of course, it was a perfectly valid question that Elias would have asked if he were in her shoes, so he wasn’t surprised by it. “Because…” his voice trailed off, expression turning to one of discomfort. He was embarrassed. “If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t like it.” He then said in a soft, almost weak voice. He let his gaze fall to his feet, realizing he didn’t have the guts to say it. No, he had to say it. Hell, he could get hit by a bus tomorrow and he’d never have admitted it. “Because I missed you.” He then said, daring himself to meet her gaze. “Because you’re a good person, whether you want to see it or not. Because, as much as you hate the word, you’re my friend.” He nodded his head once, as if telling off the anxious voice in his head that called him a coward. 

When Elias mentioned death – quickly, seemingly without thought – Regan looked as if she had been struck. Her reply was just as swift. “How did you…? An bhfuil Gaeilge ar eolas agat an t-am seo ar fad?” No, he couldn’t have known the language before. He probably picked some up at the bar. There were, Regan had learned, numerous Irish fae out there, and many of them stayed close to their roots. Still, she looked up, studying him as though he were new and unfamiliar; in a way, he kind of was. She held the tilt-headed look like he’d just spoken the language right back to her. The only person she’d encountered in town who spoke Irish was Siobhan. And Regan wasn’t exactly looking forward to conversing with that woman, regardless of what tongue was used. She knew what this meant. She had to learn about the screadaíl rings. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said quietly, too noncommittal, because, well… she did not want to tell him. There’s something you should know. Once more, her mouth burned with what remained unsaid.

Elias would have no such problem. He said whatever was on his mind when it was on his mind. There was something admirable about it, but right now, Regan wished she could pile the truth back into his mouth and stitch his lips shut. He was right. She didn’t like it.

I missed you. 

The words were heavy and thick and fell on top of her like a foul layer of plaque on a tooth or sheet of pollen on a clean window. Regan wanted to scrape them off her skin. Smooth out every sulcus in her brain if it eradicated the sentiment from her mind. She shrunk inside of her coat and this time, the Peascake Factory bag actually fell. Fortunately, it didn’t spill over. Elias couldn’t have meant that. Perhaps she was some small fraction of a reason he wanted to come back. Seeing her would be a consolation prize or a bonus, depending on how he otherwise felt about this place. Her eyes snapped away from his and she closed them; they stung a little, and when she opened them she could not meet his eyes again. The truth came banging up her throat once again. She couldn’t tell him. Gael had tried to intervene and ended up hurt. Elias would do the same, and be even more in over his head. He had only just barely managed to tear himself away from the fae. She could not involve him. Never. She would not. “I’m sorry to hear that.” The words were uncharacteristically small when she said them, her voice weak to her own ears. She hated it.

She could argue with him, that she was not a person, that she could not be missed, that they were certainly not friends, but there was no point to any of it now. All she could do was be sorry he thought and felt any of that. 

Regan sighed and scooped up the bag. It seemed okay. She looked down at it, then across the street where Elias’s assistant had brisked off to (he had an assistant). Back at the bag. “Look, I – one of the chefs over at The Peascake Factory died, and I was just there at the scene, and they still had the peascake he was making right before he died, so I bought it. It’s too big of a peascake for me to eat.” She shuffled between her feet. This was stupid. Elias clearly had other places to be, and Regan knew she should be ashamed of herself. This behavior – trying to eke a few more minutes out of someone before departing to Ireland – was disgustingly human. Tá an baile seo ag piocadh mo chnámha glan. Cliodhna would smell it on her. Regan wanted to pull her own hair out by the bulbs but, slowly, a rationalization settled in. If she gave herself and Elias closure, the guy might end up satisfied enough to not dare go looking for answers. It would allow her to better assess whether Elias had truly left that body on the autopsy table. She could ensure he would not chase after her when she left. Yes. That was the reason. “I have… a few minutes, if you want to engage in the necessary human behavior of food consumption.”

To say Elias was surprised by Regan’s offer to eat peascake (whatever in God’s name that was) with her was an understatement. Still, it was a welcomed one. Even if idea of eating a dead guy’s baked goods made him feel a little weird. He knew that for Regan, it was perfect. He fired off a text to Naya that simply read “Go ahead home, I’ll walk.” He tucked his phone away, nodding his head toward her. “A human behavior driven by a desire for closeness and companionship. Or when making a business deal.” Elias responded, eyeing over his totally not friend with an accusatory stare. 

He knew there was something she was hiding, it didn’t take much to figure that out. Still, he was the one that had left. He was the one that decided he couldn’t handle whatever was going on his life and fled like the feelings of those he had formed connections with hadn’t mattered. He was a coward. First he ran away from his old life, then he went running back. Now, he found that they were converging together. A twisted sort of fate that whatever power was out there had decided that they weren’t done with him yet. 

In truth, he has come to Wicked’s Rest because deep down, he needed to know the truth. As terrified as he was of it, he knew he would find the answer within the town. Sure, he now had more responsibility, but he knew he wasn’t crazy. He couldn’t be crazy. He felt a sudden urge to apologize, rising up in his throat, which he squelched down. “My apartment isn’t too far from here, if you want to eat there.” He offered, gesturing in the vague direction of the building. 

He fidgeted with his hands, a certain discomfort in being near Regan, as much as he had missed her. The knowledge that she held something back, something that clearly bothered her. Made her uncomfortable. Maybe it wasn’t that, and he made her uncomfortable. He felt uncomfortable being in the city himself, afraid to run into Regan, which he now had. He was afraid to run into Gael, too. 

He thought back to when he had told his brother all that had happened in the throes of his very real breakdown. “A right bastard you are,” his brother had said while laughing, then had clapped him on the back and walked away from him. That was right before he sought help. But his brother was right. “You can’t keep running away from everything, Eli. Whether you want it to or not, your past will come back to you.” He had said to him. As he thought of what his brother had said to him, his gaze unfocused. He was just an asshole and a coward, wasn’t he?

Regan bit back the rebuttal she wanted to make, the one stretching up her throat: I am not human, I do not have desires, and I have no use for closeness and companionship. At least one piece of that statement was not as true as she wished, and another would possibly have Elias end up in a psychiatric ward given his previous mental breakdown. So instead, Regan crossed her arms, her eyes ticking to the side. “I can come up with a business deal. We have some things to settle, actually. Some paperwork. Not that I have it with me. We could draw up a contract for the splitting of the peascake. I think this one is New York-style, by the way. Still warm. The decedent was too. It had just happened.” 

She shook her head at his well-meaning suggestion. “I won’t go to your apartment. That’s your space.” Though, if Regan were being honest, curiosity nagged at her. She imagined Elias would fill his space with more colonial women (no, the ring gods), Star Wars, and video games. Perhaps with a Silicon Valley flair now that he had undergone a transformation of some kind. “We’re, uh, not far from the Common. Let’s go there. It will afford us more space to unroll the peascake.” Regan shrugged her shoulder to the left, in the direction she was fairly sure they needed to walk. She could navigate the town well by now, but Elias being back made everything feel tilted on its axis. Like a dream, except, inexplicably, her ex-colleague was here instead of Bill Nye and instead of sexual intercourse she was going to have some of her questions answered, which was even better, really.  

She circled in front of him, studying him for a moment before continuing toward the park. “What is it? You look contemplative. No, that’s not quite it…” And it wasn’t the first time within the last few minutes she’d seen a similar expression on his face. Her emotional vocabulary may have been small, but she knew this one: lost. “Being back must be complicated for you. Change is a terrible thing. And sometimes one place infects you so deeply you no longer fit anywhere at all.” Her free hand flexed into a fist and she tightened it, fingernails pitting against her scars. “I do hope this was your choice.” 

Elias blinked at Regan. He wasn’t sure what kind of contract was needed for a piece of cake he wasn’t sure he wanted in the first place. “New York style… peascake.” The man stared at the ground, feeling Deja Vu washing over him. This wasn’t the first time that Regan had stricken him with the feeling of dread and deep confusion at the same time. “The fuck is peascake?” He finally asked, an incredulous expression taking form across his face. “I know cheesecake. And if it’s made out of peas, I’ll cry.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. He was a hair’s breadth away from crying on a good day. Peascake, though? Forget it.

He blinked at Regan’s words, that same dread and horrified feeling bubbling to the surface. “Still warm.” He echoed, staring blankly at the sidewalk. “Do you know what the cause of death was?” Elias asked, wondering if the horrific baked good was the man’s last act among the land of the living. What a horrific thought. Or absolutely wonderful one if you were Regan, he thought. He sighed, knowing it was an excuse to reconnect with someone in this city instead of isolating himself. Working was all he knew, sometimes. He had to break that habit. 

He nodded his head as she suggested the commons. He was glad she had rejected the offer. His apartment completely lacked personality. Naya had arranged for a company to move furniture before getting there, and he hadn’t bothered to put up any of the things he owned. Instead of it being a reflection of who he was, it felt wrong, just like everything felt to him lately.

Frowning, 

Elias stared at the ground again at Regan’s questions. “I…” he trailed off, unsure how to word it. “It’s complicated. I didn’t want to come back.” He confessed, knowing she deserved to know why he returned. “Naya’s from Wicked’s Rest.” He explained, unable to look up at Regan. “She saw the offer first and got excited about having an excuse to move back to her hometown.” In truth, Elias had been getting offers from all over the country. Some places were even out of the country. “I almost went to Germany,” he then said, rubbing at his arm. “But the whole not speaking German part really held me back.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She just got so excited to move here, and I just… couldn’t say no to her.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “So no, it wasn’t my choice.”

“You don’t know what a peascake is?” She tilted her head, giving him a narrow look. Sometimes Elias asked the strangest questions. Perhaps they didn’t have peascakes on the west coast. “There are no peas in peascakes. Do not be absurd.” Regan corrected him, but did not elaborate. She still suspected he was being deliberately obtuse. “And do not cry. I don’t want to see that. You’re so full of tears and feelings, one could pop you with a needle and you would burst like a salt-filled water balloon.” She was better. And he knew it. She didn’t need to remind him. “Nothing to do with the peascake, if that’s what you’re wondering. Judging by the accounts of the other chefs, it sounded like he slipped on the floor and fell backwards. Obviously, he has not received an autopsy yet, but his injuries are consistent with that. I cannot rule out that someone didn’t trip him, though.” Yet. when she had him on her table, had privacy, then she would see.

As the Common came into view, Regan found herself clutching the bag more tightly. Part of this felt like a mistake. Elias had managed to disentangle himself from the town but now it was reeling him back, and she had been part of what he needed to escape. Was it right for her to receive him like this? He was familiar, disturbingly so, almost inoffensive to be near, which she could not say for most people. A reminder of what she would be leaving behind and that it wasn’t as easy as she wanted to think. He could not do it. Cliodhna’s harsh voice filled her ears. Is leanbh trua, sentimental thú. 

“It’s hard to be in a country and not speak the language.” Regan’s eyes sank down to the cracked sidewalk for a moment. She tried not to remember those days, where the others refused to even speak a word of English to her, forcing her to adapt. As Irish became a natural tongue for her, Cliodhna became more willing to mix in some English. By then, it sounded practically foreign to Regan. “Immersion can solve that problem, however. It is how I learned. If you’re willful enough, you will learn it and learn it well; if not, you will perish.” She paused, realizing she was being a bit extreme, even for her, and shrugged. “Or move, I suppose. Is cuma leis na cuileoga cá dtiteann an corp.” She gave him a frown laced with understanding she didn’t want to begin to dissect for herself. “I’m sorry it was not your choice. That wasn’t what I was hoping to hear. It was kind of you to do that for your assistant, but we cannot live for others.” She wondered, for a moment, whether she was referring to her grandmother who she was prepared to dedicate centuries of her life to satisfying, or the wishes of her brother that brought her here to begin with. Where did she want to be?

Want. The word raked harshly across her skin. Right now, she was content here. But Siobhan would claw for her. Or if not for her, for anything that obstructed her. And, eventually, Regan knew, her own failures would pile up enough that even if she evaded Siobhan, she would need her. Regan tried hard to push it all back once more. She still did not want to tell him. “So… when did you get back?” She looked between him and one of the benches. Then shook her head at it. Not that one. The one further to the right felt better. And as she approached, she gave an approving nod toward a decomposing mole by one of the bench’s legs. A good omen, some would say. “And what is your plan? I mean, are you… you’re really just back? That’s it?”

Elias stared at the bag that Regan held in her hand, deciding it was a better place to look than at someone he once considered a friend before his world went to shit. “Right.” That was all he said in response to him being too emotional. Something about the remarks left him feeling angry, annoyed even. “Well, if that’s all you have to say?” He spoke, raising his brows as if to tell her to shut up with his eyes.

These emotions flitted through Elias's mind, from dreading seeing her to being happy to see her to wishing he had never seen her. It was bad enough, Gael, but now her? He really wasn’t getting lucky this week. “Couldn’t have been a death by chocolate cake? Now, that would have been a coincidence.” Elias waggled his brows, deciding to bury down the foul mood to worry about later. Or never, never sounded even better, honestly. Regan was talking to him, but the words turned into static, and all he could think about was the woman's body with horns and deer legs and… 

Elias reached into his pocket, pulled out his prescription, and took a dose. He said nothing about it and hoped that Regan wouldn’t either. He took a deep breath and willed those thoughts away, too. “It wasn’t my choice, but I’m a slave to my work.” Elias shrugged his shoulders as if that was all there was to say on the matter. And honestly, it was. Work kept his mind occupied. He couldn’t think about faeries if he didn’t have the time. It was too much if he had to manage a team and work on his project, field questions from curious scientists, and manage a now-growing social media following. His ears were ringing again, incessant and loud. He shook his head as he neared a bench in the commons, and Elias plopped down on it, clutching his head to regulate himself. 

After taking deep breaths, the ringing slowly subsided, leaving him with the noise of a busy downtown area. “If it were up to me, I’d move to another country and write a comic or something.” Elias shook his head, leaning back in his seat with a deep, defeated sigh. “I’m not… I’m not better. Not yet.” He admitted, biting at his lower lip. He couldn’t look up at Regan. It was embarrassing to admit that he wasn’t okay. 

“I’m here to do my job, nothing else.” He then said, his tone clipped. It surprised even him. “I did it for Naya. And now I can-” he stopped, brows furrowing. And now he could what? Undo all the progress he had made in turning his life around? As terrified as he was, he needed answers. “Why iron?” He then asked, finally looking up at her with a steely gaze. “Why were you so keen on protecting me from something?” He shook his head, running his tongue along his teeth as he thought about the possibilities. “I’m not strong enough to know the truth,” he muttered. “I saw it and ran from it, quite literally.” He stuffed the prescription bottle back into his pocket. “Work, maybe research other things, keep to myself.” He shrugged. “Might as well do something now that I’m stuck here for a while.”

Something changed in Elias. His eyes grew frantic, his body stiffening. He looked like a man being chased by bears (or fae). Regan gave him a sideways look, but the moment passed quickly as he clung to an orange prescription bottle, opening it with a shaky but practiced hand. She raised a brow. It would be something fast-acting, probably for anxiety. A benzodiazepine, most likely. She didn’t approve, but would refrain from commenting. She wondered if it had been her words that stirred him into this frenzy or his own terror nipping at his heels. How often did he think of that day in the autopsy suite? What he saw at the bar? The conversation they never got to have?

Regan took a delicate seat on the bench, leaving ample room for Elias to sit near her but not too close. The coat made her look bigger than she was and she appreciated it as a barrier, in moments like this. “I was also here only to do my job.” And yet. Something kept her here, kept her from fully resigning herself back to Saol Eile, and it was not her job. Not just her job, anyway. “You could still write your comic. You told me about the “fan fiction”. Could that be a prosperous career? Not that you’re looking for an alternative… you just landed in this one.” But he wasn’t happy. And that bothered her. It was stupid. She would not even recognize happiness in herself, anymore; was not capable of it. But others deserved what she had forfeited, did they not? Their lives were so short and simple. Best to fill them with joy.

Regan set the peascake bag down and gave Elias her full attention. He was on the verge of saying something, and it had the sound of something important. But there was only a stark pause as words seemed to pile up in his throat.

Iron.

He was asking about iron? Regan concealed her surprise as best she could and shook her head. “You know you don’t want to know, so do not ask me.” She raked through her hair with a sigh. She was normally better at hiding signs of being tense, but she hadn’t expected to ever be speaking about this with Elias again. He was in no state for it, either. The sound of rattling pills still held her thoughts. Perhaps someday. But by then, Regan was sure she’d be gone. “If you change your mind, bring me that ring I gave you. But until then… you are only here to do your job, are you not?” 

Snorting out a laugh at the idea of fanfiction, Elias shook his head. “No, definitely not.” Anxiety forgotten for a moment, he couldn’t help but laugh at the idea of him holed away in his apartment writing God knows what. “No, I’m definitely not one to read or write fanfiction.” He explained, waving his hands in front of him. “I’m good at what I do,” he explained as she sat beside her, leaving plenty of room between them. “Combining robotics and medical prostheses. It’s practical.” He shrugged a shoulder. It was clear he was only half-heartedly into his career. 

Elias wiped a hand over his face, letting out a sigh. She was right. He didn’t want to know. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready. Still, the nagging to prove himself right was strong. Of course, he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t crazy, that these meds weren’t doing anything but giving him a false sense of security that it would keep the things that went bump in the night at bay. He knew what he had seen; it was so real, and people around him, like Regan, seemed to know more than they let on. 

“You’re right.” He spoke, deflated and tired. Elias thought of the ring she had given him; he had kept it in his pocket after he left until his psychiatrist had convinced him that he was holding onto something that gave him delusions. He had since discarded it in a drawer somewhere in California. When he packed up to move, it had been a last-minute decision to take it in a box and bring it with him. 

“Only a job.” He echoed, though his voice sounded hollow and worn down. “Yes, you’re right.” He said as he let out an exhale. “Prosthetics and exoskeletons for people with nerve damage.” He crossed a leg over the other, shaking his head.

“I’m nearly always right, remember?” But Elias’s agreement seemed… dazed, resigned, and Regan could tell it was not truthful; the real question was whether he could identify it as such. She eyed the distance between them, the open expanse on the bench, and though initially she thought it was there for her benefit, now she wondered if it wasn’t for his, too. “You don’t seem…” He was here only reluctantly, guarding his sanity against the town’s constant onslaught of the unknown, and no matter how distant he tried to keep himself, she could tell he was destined for failure. It did not take precognition for her to feel that in her bones. She chose to stay silent on the matter, cutting herself off.

And, once more, Regan wanted both to protect him and protect the knowledge she unfortunately possessed. Elias would not go digging for answers this time. But they would find him anyway, they always did, and they might just break him for good. On the day that happened, Regan would be gone, overseas. All she could offer him now was some small, current kindness. Something squirmed in her chest at the thought, but when she decided it was a mercy, not compassion, the sensation stopped. “Come on, help me unroll the peascake. I have a lighter and some straws for it.”

[visionarystoryteller]

Us|| Love For Noella Levesque

*part of the ‘Love For Noella Levesque’ OC World*

Noella ended up staying in Connecticut for a few more days as her grandfather had a stroke. She was currently sitting in her room at her apartment, watching Dynamite. Max was just finishing up a win and called Austin during his interview, but Austin kept telling him to call someone else. Max smirked and ended his call with Austin and dialed Noella.

Noella started shaking her head laughing when she saw Maxs name pop across her screen. She picked up her phone and answered it.

“Hi Mush” Noella giggles into the phone. Max shakes his head with an embarrassed laugh.

“Hi sweetheart, listen did you watch the match?” Max asks.

“Yes I did and I’m so so proud of you” Noella says. Max felt his cheeks redden, Renee watching with a smile on her face.

“It’s nice to see you smiling a lot more Max, congrats again on your win” Renee says ending the interview. Anyone who watched the interview could see how taken max was with the ‘caller’, not everyone knowing her voice on the phone. Max nods and thanks her before walking away still on the phone with Noella.

“Glad that’s done” Max sighed out.

“Oh stop Renee is sweet.” Noella says.

“No sweetheart I’m just tired. That match wore me out.” Max sighed getting to his locker room, sitting on the bench.

“So then I guess I’ll take a cab to the hotel then?” Noella shyly asks. Max was about to talk again but then her statement stopped him like a truck.

“What?” Max asks.

“Gramps is home and fine…So I’m on my flight out” Noella says. Max feels a smile grow on his face.

“What time does your flight get here?” Max asks, eager to see the one thing that makes him smile a lot more.

“12am landing, which I know is a little late but I can get a cab as long as you leave me a key to the room or at least tell me the room” Noella babbles. Max chuckles, running his fingers through his curls.

“I’ll be there to get you sweetheart just tell me the gate and I’ll be there” Max says.

“Okay I’ll text it to you, I’ll let you go get changed and washed up. I miss you Mush” Noella says.

“I miss you too Sweetheart, have a safe flight I’ll see you later” Max says. Noella smooches through the phone and hangs up.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Max parked his rental and walked into the airport. Of course some people recognized him and stopped him for pics. Max was beyond tired but indulged a few fans. Once that was finished, he made his way to Noellas gate and waited, leaning against a pillar. While waiting max received a text from Noella.

My Sweet Noella:these people move so slow, I get it but don’t y’all want to sleep in a real bed????

Mush:marks 🙄

My Sweet Noella:I’m coming now

Max smiled at his phone and put it away. He looked up and saw Noella behind a few people. She looked tired. Once the way cleared a little, Noella looked up and saw Max. She gave him a tired smile and moved quickly to him. Max saw her fast pace and braced himself. Noella launched herself at Max once she was close enough, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Max gripped under her thighs to keep her from falling, and buried his head in her neck, her doing to the same to him.

“Mush” Noella sighs contentedly.

“Sweetheart” max says back. They stay there embracing for a moment before max puts her down. Max keeps his head close and puts his hand on Noellas cheek, pulling her up for a kiss. The kiss lasted a few seconds before max pulled away. He reached for her hand and the pair made their way to baggage claim for Noellas bag. Once they got her bag they made their way to the rental and Max put her bag in the trunk, then made his way around to the passenger door and opened it for Noella. Noella gets in and he closes the door before getting in himself. Noella relaxed in the seat.

“Those airplane seats sucked” Noella says.

“My lap would’ve been better” Max says, pulling out of the airport parking lot. Noella giggles.

“Honestly yes, your thighs are very comfortable” Noella says. Max looks over at her with a smirk.

“You can sit on them anytime you want sweetheart” Max says.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Max and Noella spent the next few days chilling out in the hotel room, exploring the city and getting ready for the next show. The wrestling world had seemed to be filled with everything Max and Noella. Pictures had been circulating of Max and Noella at the airport embracing each other, even kissing and being seen together almost everyday after that. It was all that could be talked about. Max didn’t really care what anyone thought about him but when it came to Noella, he was more protective. So when Max got fed up reading yet another comment about how somehow she was going to fuck up his life or how the pair just didn’t seem right for each other, he finally decided he was going to speak out on social media. Noella keyed herself into their shared hotel room and saw Max stewing on the bed typing away on his phone. Noella had been in a meeting with Tony and a few of the production heads, talking about promoting Noella to production manager as the current one was going out for surgery. Of course Noella accepted and was so excited to tell max. She toed off her shoes and set her sweater on the back of one of chairs in the room and made her way to the bed. She crawled up on the bed and sat up on her knees and looked at Max. Max typed away his thought in his notes before he looked up seeing Noella look at him with hopeful eyes. Max took a breath and put his phone down, then looked up at Noella. Noella scrunched her eyebrows together and looked at Max.

“What’s wrong Mush?” She asked.

“Just sick of seeing these marks knock on my girl” Max says frustratedly. Noellas demeanor flattens. She just nods her head, looking down at her hands. Max watched and decided to change the topic.

“How was your meeting?” Max asked Noella. She looked up at him and gave a small smile that slowly became wider.

“I got a promotion “ she smiles brightly at him.

“What! That’s awesome sweetheart! What did you get promoted to?” Max asks her.

“Production manager” she beams. Max pulls her into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart” Max says holding her to him. She burries her face in his neck and taking in his scent and warmth. They stayed like that for a few minutes before she pulled back.

“So what were they saying this time” Noella nods down to his phone. Max sighs and runs a hand down his face.

“No sweetheart, we are not even going to read those out. You are better than they are-“

“And I know it” Noella finishes for him. Max nods.

“Exactly. You are sooo much better than them. I promise you” Max says.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Noella took a few minutes before full gear was supposed to go start, to go see Maxwell. Before they had left the hotel he seemed a little nervous. Noella knocked on his locker room. She heard the faint annoyance of a ‘what’ come through and opened the door slowly.

“Hey mush” Noella says softly. Max looked over his shoulder at Noella and relaxed a little seeing her.

“Hey sweetheart” Max says. Noella walks over to him and he pulls her into his lap as he’s sitting in a chair.

“You okay mush?”

“Yea I’ll be good knowing you’re here” max says nuzzling into Noellas neck. Noella giggles as his beard tickles her neck. Max pulls away.

“God I love that sound” max says looking at Noella. Noel smiles at him.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Noella sat in production a nervous wreck. Max had been sent back to medical to get checked out and Adam was in the ring. She was listening to all the commands through her ear piece but she was just zoned in on what she was feeling. A few moments later she hears yelling from the hall and sees Max limo his way out to the tunnels. Noella wanted to scream at Max to go back and sit down, she could see his hobble. Noella put her thumb into her mouth, biting at the nails.

“What is he doing” she quietly whines at the monitor. She presses her button and coms the referee.

“Check Max please” she coms through.

“He said he’s fine right now” the ref coms back. Noella sighs. She closed her eyes for a mere moment before screams erupted. She looked up to the monitors to see Max had in fact retained his championship. Noellas heart was pounding in her chest with relief. Max rushed back to the tunnels and through them, the cameras following him as he made his way over to production. Noella turned her chair just a bit after seeing him coming. Max approaches her and pulls her up from the chair, tossing the championship on the floor, picking her up into his arms, his hands supporting her thighs.

“Mush..” Noella says quietly, now looking down a little as max held her up.

“I’m gonna kiss you so shut up” max remarks. Noella gasped playfully but was cut off when Maxs lips covered her, his hand in her hair controlling her head positions. Little hoots and hollers from around them erupted and the crowd out in the arena did too as the cameras caught everything. The kiss last a few more seconds before max pulls away. His nose brushes against hers before he started to set her down.

“I’m so proud of you but mush please go get checked out before scrum please” Noella whines, looking down at his leg that he was putting minimal amounts of pressure on. Max pulls her close and kisses her head.

“For you, fine.” Max agrees. Noella breathes out.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Noella couldn’t help but have tears in her eyes as Maxwell was giving a speech at the media scrum. She could tell he was in pain but wasn’t the worst he had. His heartfelt comments about the company that brought him so much made Noellas heart swell, and then he mentioned her.

“This company has really brought me so much, between friends, mentors, it’s also brought me this beautiful amazing girl who I can’t believe is by my side. Noella please come here, just please” max practically sobs. Noella took a breath and got up from production and made her way to the area of the media scrum. She walked in and Max tried to stand up, so she fast walked to him so he could sit. Once she’s close enough, Max pulls her close.

“This women right here has been everything to me and I’m so glad to have her by my side.” Max says looking up her. Noella looks down at him with a smile and tears in her eyes.

“I love you” Noella mouths out. Maxs face lights up and he mouth it back.

When the scrum was done max and Noella where in his locker room and he was just standing there hugging her.

“I love you” max says.

“I love you Mush” Noella says pulling him closer.

“Now go get cleaned up so we can go relax” Noella says pushing away after a moment. Max chuckles and goes as she says.

[mrdelorian]

The Killer Klowns from Outer Space; An Essay and Review of the BIZZARE, but FANTASTIC 1988 Classic

Pizza? No, klowns. On May 27th, 1988, Stephen Chiodo unleashed the killer klowns from outer space, a bizarre story of two lovers and some of their friends battling the clowns, and trying to stop their siege of their small town. Where do these clowns come from you may ask? Well, outer space of course. What do they want? Well, it’s hard to say. They abduct humans and…drink their blood?? All else that can be said about them is they’re scary and come armed with many fun weapons, including balloon dogs, popcorn, and an iconic cotton candy gun, which they use to abduct their victims.

The film stars Grant Cramer as Mike Tobacco, Suzanna Synder as Debbie Stone, and John Allen Nelson as Dave Hanson, which round out our main cast, Mike and Debbie being our couple, and Dave being Debbi’s ex, although a cool one. The film also has a list of side characters that are either hilarious or make up for some awesome kills…or scary moments. Peter Licassi, who plays Paul, and Michael Siegel, who plays Rich are the town's odd and a bit dumb ice cream guys, who drive around in a ridiculous, although funny truck. They make up for some funny comic relief. John Vernon plays hardass, ball-busting cop Curtis Mooney, who doesn’t seem to love our protagonist, and also doesn’t believe in the Klown invasion, which pretty much seals his demise, and probably didn’t help the town’s chances. He also has a pretty cool death, which also delivers one of the film's more creepy moments when Mike comes into the police station to find one of the clowns using him as a ventriloquist doll. It’s quite unsettling. Also, who can forget another one of the movie’s most unsettling moments where a little girl, played by actress Claire Bartle is lured away from her parents by one of the clowns, likely to be killed. It’s one of the film's most unsettling scenes, right up there with the ventriloquist scene. Although on the topic of cool and fun kills, the shadow puppet kill, where one of our star clowns shows off some of his shadow puppet skills to a group of normal citizens, and in the end, uses his skills to make a monster puppet that eats them in an awesome scene. “What are you gonna do? Knock my block off?”…famous last words for Michael Halton’s biker character, who gets his head punched off by one of the film's most iconic klowns, Shorty. What about Karla Sue Krull, who has a small scene as Tracy and again, one of the film's most iconic moments, when she opens the door to a knock and is welcomed by clowns, and as soon as she asks “pizza”, she learns this is no normal pizza delivery, as she’s zapped into cotton candy. Now, what are you gonna do with those pies boys? Another bit of famous last words from a carnival security guard, played by actor David Piel, who witnesses loads of klowns getting out of a clown car, and after asking his iconic question is pied to death, by……ACIDIC PIES!?

These klowns mean business. Although, so does the ending. After maneuvering their way through the town, our characters wind up at a carnival, ready to take on the klowns and destroy them once and for all. Although the klowns won’t make it easy on them, as they must run through a gauntlet of creative carnival sections like colorful swinging door frames, through monster's mouths, down a fire station poll, nearly into a monster's mouth, and the killer klowns cotton candy factory or storage, etc. The finale takes place in a big arena with the king (or queen) Klown, Klownzilla, or Jojo. When it appears, in its monstrous size, the other klowns seem to back away in fear as if it is some form of leader, and the battle begins. After dodging its attacks, attempted gunshots, and a fakeout death of the two ice cream truckers…because the truck was a rental or whatever, Mike and Debbie make it out alive, with Dave staying back to finish off the massive final boss of a klown. After it’s got Dave in its grips, just when we think it’s over for him, he removes his police badge to give it one fatal blow to the nose, causing it to spin out of control, and explode. Now, us, Mike, and Debbie thinking he, and the two ice cream truck drivers, Paul and Rich are dead, in comes a klown car hurling in from the skies, and its…DAVE, RICH, AND PAUL!? Yes, they’re alive. It’s an all-in-one, fun reunion, with some funny stuff from Paul and Rich and a tear-jerking reunion of Dave, Mike, and Debbie. The Klowns ship, however, isn’t so alive, as it explodes in midair, and at first calmly rains down…cotton candy? Popcorn? Who knows. Debbie asks the one important question though…is it over? Mike answers as any person who experienced this would…I don’t know. Until pies hail down from the sky, pieing them all in the face, with the classic tune Killer Klowns from Outer Space by The Dickies, for a funny and classic ending to this bizarre, pretty scary, funny, and crazy journey, and film/movie we call Killer Klowns from Outer Space.

Some special groups I wanted to mention are the fantastic set designers, costume designers, stunt men, actors, actresses, for the normal people, and the killer wacky klowns, the fantastic performances given by our lead and supporting cast of actors and actresses, the special effects team, etc.

Also, almost forgot to mention…who are the main klowns? Well, you got Jumbo, Fatso, Shorty, Rudy, Spikey, Slim, Bibbo, Chubby, and last, but certainly not least…Klownzilla…or Jojo. There are obviously other klowns too, too many to name, but all are masterfully designed with their own unique quirks and looks. Lastly, what’s their weakness? Well, as I said earlier…a simple blow to the nose. Yep. And they spin around a bit till they explode. Quite a good way to kill them, pretty creative, and really funny actually.

So…that is Killer Klowns from Outer Space. What are your thoughts? When did you first see Killer Klowns? Did you like it or dislike it? Let us know.

[youngestdaughtersyndrome]

DONT TALK ABOUT THE JACKIE ME AND THIS LADY TOUR THATS WHAT IM SENSITIVE ABOUT

I should never be trusted to drive a vehicle of any kind; not because I am a lousy driver, but because I tighten my grip of the wheel with every passing truck. I look in the newspaper every day for that one headline of a car crash where they simply don’t know what happened. Maybe the driver lost control of the car. Suffered a seizure. Was trying to dodge a child running across the street. Something to explain why his car and insides ended up painting the front of a Canadian frozen goods truck on its way from Montreal to Detroit.

I drove from Portland to Los Angeles once. It was a pleasant trip, heading south, the air getting warmer and the people more tanned. It took me four days to drive because I kept getting distracted and took a small detour in Nevada where I got drunk as hell with a guy who had worked as a circus clown all of his life. We were exactly alike, me and him. It’s easy to distract me because I never know what I should be paying attention to. Is it a new guitar model, the glimpse of something better and more dignified, a pair of brown eyes that always amplified the smile on perfectly shaped lips? During my West Coast road trip, I lost count of the times I saw an oncoming car and considered twisting the wheel to the left. Crash. Bang. Smoke.

I don’t know if anyone else has these thoughts when they drive. I’ve never asked. When I crashed the tour bus back in ’74, I found myself wondering if it was on purpose or not. I didn’t mean to do it, but maybe I subconsciously wanted to.

For a while, we thought Joe would never walk again.

Now I’m driving in a Chevy rental, navigating from O’Hare to an address scribbled on a napkin in messy handwriting that isn’t mine. The car is brown, a light brown that resembles baby shit. It was the only one they had left. The wipers make a wheezing sound as they try to battle away the heavy, wet snowfall.

“Are you nervous?”

I don’t bother looking at the kid on the passenger seat. “No.”

“Brent said,” he begins, launching into yet another lie someone has said about me. People love to talk and talk and talk about me, “that, during Jackie, you were so nervous that you got drunk before every show.”

“He flatters me,” I note, annoyed that this one isn’t a lie at all – the only way I could deal with the pressure of a ten thousand-headed crowd was alcohol. Thanks, Brent, that one will make me look good. No. It will make me look like a victim. Maybe that’s a good thing.

“He also said that it got better during the second leg. You drank less, were more focused. You know, after you met him,” he points out obnoxiously. I resist the urge to steer the car off the road just to shut him up, and when he takes in his dying breath, mouthing an anguished ‘Why?’, I’ll tell him why: because he couldn’t hold his damn tongue. The white snow turns an ugly shade of traffic fume black when it hits the ground, making the surface of the road slippery, but I keep us on the road for now. “Now Gabe. He said that you were never nervous during the Pearl tour. I suppose you changed.”

“You love the sound of your own voice, huh?”

“Yup,” he beams, light brown locks falling in front of his enthusiastic eyes. He has got a young, good-natured face he tries to mature with stubble, but it’s still irrevocably made childlike by the bright energy that’s always there in his words and actions. He’s got slightly hollow cheeks and narrow line-like lips, and a forehead just a fraction tall enough to look like a mismatch. I concentrate on driving, and he falls silent for a while. When he speaks, he sounds troubled. “What if he’s forgotten? Or what if he’s still mad at you?”

“What if I’m still mad at him?”

“You’re not,” he says knowingly. I hate it when he’s right. The snowfall is slowing down, and I shift in my seat uncomfortably and feel the seatbelt scraping the side of my neck. “I’m nervous for you,” he concludes, the excitement now back. I don’t need his nerves, support or shoulder to cry on. He has no idea how much his enthusiasm wears me out. He looks at the map in his lap. “Take the next left,” he commands, and I change lanes. “You know, I wonder what he’s like. I’ve heard so much about him. It’s slightly surreal to meet a stranger that you’ve pictured naked a dozen times. Well, actually, I found this one picture in your house where he was in the nude, so –”

I pull up to the curb, coming to a fast stop. He tenses up, eyes wild as he looks around. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve told you not to touch my fucking stuff,” I say again. Again. The nosy little bastard. “Here, your stop,” I tell him and point out of his window to a shop door that has green, cursive letters: C-A-F-É. “Go get yourself coffee.” Like he needs to be more hyper.

His mouth drops open dramatically. “I’m coming with you!”

I grit my teeth and smile. “No, you’re not.” I glare at him, and he glares back. “Out, Sisky! Out!”

Sisky throws his hands up into the air. “You’re seriously not letting me witness the reunion that would make Romeo and Juliet seem like –”

“There was no reunion for those two – they died.”

“Oh.” Sisky pulls on his bottom lip uncertainly, but recovers quickly. “I never finished the movie, truth be told. They spoke English in such a weird way.”

I unbuckle myself and get out of the car. Chicago is cold, snowflakes landing on my black coat and melting into it. I round the Chevy and open Sisky’s door.

“Okay, okay!” the kid shouts, lifting up his hands. “I’m out! See! Look at how out I am!” He scrunches his nose at the cold, looking more comic than hurt as he shoots me a nasty look.

“I’ll come get you later,” I promise.

“If you don’t, I know where he lives!” He has taken out his black leather notebook and is scribbling in it furiously, completely ignoring the sleet.

I stop at my open door and give him a disbelieving look. “Don’t take notes now.”

“As the infamous Ryan Ross nervously re-entered the car, dumping his devoted and loyal companion by the side of the road like yet another groupie he had loved then abandoned like an unwanted kitten –”

I don’t hear the rest as the door slams shut and I take off. Sisky’s reflection sulks into the café in the rear-view mirror, and I glance at the map on his now empty seat. It doesn’t take me long to get where I’m going.

The car on the driveway is black and classy, this year’s model, a ‘79. It’s much more tasteful than what I park in front of the house, and for a wild moment, I hope none of the Chicagoans living on Brendon’s street notice the has-been rock star arriving in such a tacky excuse of four tyres and a wheel. If it is Brendon’s house, which I have my doubts about. A young man with a guitar case is coming down the street, and I wait for him to pass. It’s paranoia to fear he’d recognise me, but I never did know what to say to the fans to begin with.

Music is not about the man behind it, and therefore any interest people have in me is unwarranted. All they need to know, all they should want to know, is already there in the music. And no one ever understood that apart from me. They never –

But I don’t want to think about it anymore.

I take my bag to the door with me. It’s presumptuous, but with the final shows being local, I’m assuming Brendon is staying at home. I shouldn’t assume anything when it comes to him. I learned that the hard way.

The door opens on the fifth ring.

“Ye –”

The rest of Brendon’s sentence fades away as his eyes land on me. Brendon looks a little older, which makes me realise how overdue I am. He has a slightly off look that comes with his line of work, bags under his brown eyes. I would know how that life throws anyone off balance. But if anything, he looks more like a man, more mature. He keeps doing that to me. I don’t mind.

“Heard you’re shacking up in Chicago now,” I explain and state it like a fact I have as much interest in as the heart rate of a mouse, the melting point of silver. None at all.

“Yeah,” he nods tiredly, eyes averting, the cornered prey after an exhausting hunt where he is the deer and I am the wolf. After a long, long time, neither one of us seems to be running. Brendon doesn’t look surprised to see me. I am not a predictable man; he could at least gasp a little. The tiniest bit. Just to amuse me. I’m fucking surprised that I’m here.

“So much for being old friends,” I note and don’t give him a chance to reply. “Invite me in for a beer.”

Brendon shakes his head. “I’m busy.”

Sisky was right. He is still mad.

“I’m busy too, but here I am anyway.”

I stare him down. My stomach curls up now that I am in his presence, but he doesn’t sense it.

Brendon sighs and holds the door open, and I step into the living room, throw my bag onto the couch. Being here, travelling across the country for the one guy, the only guy who ever came out to look at the night sky with me and invent new constellations, and I – Fucking hell. I will stand my ground and act my best to convince myself that it means nothing to me. I lick my lips, remember what he tastes like.

“One beer, but then I have to go,” Brendon mutters and heads for the kitchen, and I stare after him quietly. He slows down and turns back around, a hesitating look on his face. “Are you coming to the show tonight?”

“I was counting on it.”

He looks straight at me, and I am right back there in Ottawa, outside Civic Center where we kissed next to the tour bus that I had not yet smashed. I’m in the cabin up in Bismarck where I handed him some part of me that he politely declined. I’m in San Francisco picking a fight with him, in New York watching him go through records he doesn’t plan on buying as he sneaks glances at me working behind the counter, and then we are on the backroom floor, hoping to god Eric doesn’t come early for his shift. Brendon says, “I can get you a backstage pass.”

“Could you get two? I came with this kid.”

“What kid?” His voice is tense.

“My stalker.”

He makes a disbelieving ‘tut’ with his tongue. “You sure know how to pick your friends.”

“And lovers, though he’s not one of those,” I say calculatedly.

Brendon doesn’t deny that that’s what he was asking. “I can get two.”

“Thanks.”

He points at my bag. “You staying here tonight?”

“Sure,” I shrug. He nods nervously and heads for the kitchen.

I have swerved my car onto his lane, and we have collided yet again.

Crash.

Bang.

Smoke.