#cos i got stuff planned goddamn it

[gherkinlizard]

oh how indeed ezra... how indeed

[mokulule]

A Pinch of Salt - Part 4

First | Masterpost

The final part of the first installment of the Salt in the Bones series which is a project co-created with @clockwayswrites, you can see the other stuff written for it in the masterpost link above or go to the first part.

-

John looked at the kid, who just stepped inside the fucking binding circle. His mouth fell open in shock.

“What is wrong with you!?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an exclamation, and John didn’t wait for any answer. “Of all the sodding, daft, goddamn tossers - what were you bloody thinking? No, you weren’t thinking. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fucking done that. You DO NOT go into the blasted circle!”

“Are you done?”

“Am I-“ John spluttered.

Are you done? He asked, as if John was the unreasonable one here! “Oh you’re right chuffed, aren’t you mate? Well, you cocked up, you’re about to be banished right alongside the storm, you little git!”

“Then stop the banishing or banish us both. It’s your choice.” Kid stood, back straight, jaw clenched stubbornly and a frown over those wide blue eyes. His hair and clothes whipped violently from the storm, but he didn’t care, just kept his eyes on John.

John raised his hands in frustration, words dying on his tongue. It would serve him right!

It would serve him right; he stepped into the bloody circle. It wasn’t John’s fault. Everything was going fine for once and maybe that should have been John’s warning. Whatever was up with the kid he apparently had a soft spot for ghosts - even after John had told him several times that the spirit was gone. It’d gone nova. No coming back. The end. It would continue it’s rampage until it burned out. It would hurt and destroy indiscriminately.

And yet he still-

It would serve him right to get sent to Hell alongside it. It wouldn’t even be the first time someone John worked with got sent to Hell for their trouble. John Constantine was bad luck for everyone around him. It happened.

But it was different when John held the reins of the spell that did it, when he had the choice to stop it.

Still John was at his wits end. If he stopped the banishing, the kid was still trapped in the circle with the spectral storm. If he broke the circle they were back at square one except they were in the center of the storm’s power and it was even angrier.

It was easier, safer, to just continue the banishing. Kid had made his stupid arse decision. John wasn’t a good person. He did what was necessary. Ends and means and all that.

But he was a bloody kid - a teenager - they were basically obligated to do stupid shit. Didn’t mean he deserved to get sent to Hell for it. John had seen and done a lot of shit, but when it came right down to it he didn’t want to add sending a kid to Hell.

John had seen enough dead kids to last him a lifetime.

“Oh bollocks.” John let his arms fall and cut the feed to the banishing spell, wincing slightly at the backlash. “You better have a plan kid.”

The kid had to have some sort of abilities with that aura, maybe all hope was not lost? The kid grimaced and John’s forced optimism crumbled like so much sand.

“I-“ the kid winced as something in the storm hit the back of his head. He rubbed the spot, and looked almost apologetic, “I figured I’d try talking to them.”

John stared.

And stared.

“Or-“ the kid backtracked, “just calm them down somehow?”

“You cannot ‘calm down’ a spectral storm!” John felt like a broken record on repeat. “It’s impossible.”

He threw up his hands and walked exactly three steps away counting his breaths all the while wracking his brain for a different solution. There weren’t any good ones. Heck it was a miracle the kid hadn’t already been torn to pieces being inside the circle.

“We’re dead,” he lamented dramatically.

“Half-dead.”

John’s head snapped around at the weird response.

“I mean,” the kid tried for a smile, “I’m the only one in the circle.”

John stared in despair. The kid’s sense of humor needed serious work.

“I’m not gonna leave you in the bloody circle, kid.”

Danny stood struck wide eyed at the admission. That was- He didn’t know how to deal with that. There was a pang in his chest. He felt too open, too vulnerable. He swallowed before finding his voice.

“Just let me try something, okay?”

Danny turned around to face the center of the storm, he instantly had to squeeze his eyes near shut, from all the dust. Instinctively he took a breath and coughed. Okay breathing not good. Too bad he was human right now.

He had to get closer, closer to that screaming grief. He might be human right now, but he was also a ghost and the anger from earlier was just a thin veneer on top of grief on top of a cry for help. He felt it in his core like scrabbling hands desperately looking for purchase.

He took a step forward, hands up to shield his face, pushing against the wind. Another step. Then another.

How was he gonna calm them down?

Danny didn’t know. He knew fighting. He’d even sometimes recently had luck with talking. But this? It was way beyond talking, until they were calm there would be no such thing. Danny didn’t know what to do. He could only press on and hope an idea came to him.

The grief was stronger the closer he got to the center, it tore into him. Tears trickled down his cheeks and turned into gunk from the dust. Something sharp cut into his bare arms. Danny frowned, kept his head down and pushed forward.

Another step and the grief sunk sharp claws into his core. He screamed clutching his chest and gasping for breath that would do nothing. But the claws were gone as soon as they’d come, retreated as if they’d touched fire.

“Are you alright kid?!”

Danny spared a quick glance back to Trenchcoat who stood all the way up to the edge of the circle, face white as if he’d seen a ghost. Danny couldn’t help smiling at that. Something that alarmed Trenchcoat even further.

“I’m breaking the circle.”

“Don’t,” Danny coughed clearing his throat.

Danny looked back up, squinting through the swirling dust. It may not be visible, but something had changed. There was still the anger and grief, but something else too. A sense of waiting. Waiting to see what Danny would do. They had tried tearing him, the trespasser, apart down to his core, but in doing so they had felt him. They had felt his intention to help and retreated.

Trenchcoat was wrong, there was still a sentience there. Danny found himself grinning in triumph.

But even better Danny had an idea. His core vibrated giddily in his chest. He was a bit sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear. He just needed to reach out and connect with the ghost, he felt sure he could calm them. He just he needed a distraction, he didn’t need Trenchcoat to realize he was the one doing anything ghostly. He wracked his brain, something that made noise, drew attention, was maybe a bit ridiculous, but didn’t take much of his attention from the real work-

That was it!

“Twinkle-“ his voice broke on the first word but gained strength as he continued- “twinkle little star,” Danny sang. He didn’t need to look back to see the incredulous look on Trenchcoat’s face.

He kept singing, he knew that song by heart. His mom used to sing it to him, back when she actually put him to bed. There was a stab of melancholy, but Danny clutched on to the positive aspect of the memory and reached out with his core, its hum getting stronger.

It’s okay, he told the ghost, help. Safe. Peace. Calm.

He took step by step further into the calming storm. And all the while he sung them a lullaby.

John stared.

Then he stared some more. He was doing a lot of staring today.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing.

The kid was was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm. And that wasn’t even the most baffling thing. No, the kid was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm and it was bloody working.

The storm gradually calmed until suddenly it was gone. The silence was loud in the sudden emotional void. John staggered from the sudden lack of pressure. All that malice gone in an instant. All that was left was a gently cupped ball of light in the kids hands.

“There you are,” the kid said softly in a slightly scratchy voice.

John couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. It was impossible and yet here they were.

There was a flash of light and suddenly they stood in a house. Built brick by brick by two pairs of hands. Children ran through the rooms. They grew up. They had kids of their own, who had kids of their own. They lived and they loved and they were protected.

Then they were gone.

The door shut for the last time. The house was empty.

A large metal ball slammed through the walls, spreading dust and splintering the doorframe that had measured the growth of generations. It was torn down.

It had stood here, right in what would be the plaza.

The translucent shade of an old women, bent and bony from a life of hard work, hovered in front of the kid. She warbled sadly at him. John couldn’t understand anything but the deep sadness, but it seemed the kid did.

“It’s okay,” he said embracing the spirit, somehow managing to do so despite her definitely not being solid. “You’ve done your best, nobody could ask more of you.”

He paused and his voice softened further, “it’s time to let go.”

The old lady looked over at John and gave him a stern look that had him frozen in place. She was the type of grandma that would wack his fingers if she caught him going for the cookie jar. He wasn’t entirely sure what the look he got meant. Only that it felt like an admonishment.

She looked back on the kid and her features softened, smoothed and in the next moment she turned to mist in his arms, dispersing in the waning light coming from the overhead windows.

John couldn’t entirely believe what he’d just witnessed. Calling a spirit back once they’d gone nova, it was impossible. Unheard of. Banishment was how you dealt with spirits like that. It was a tried and tested method. Yet-

John shivered.

Death magic. It was the only explanation.

The kid reeked of it, to the point John had thought he was the ghost he was here to deal with. He’d thought he was some kind of creature, but he was just a kid. A kid with a very specific magical affinity who’d just done the impossible. He was filled with a sense of awe and dread he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He felt shaken. Like he’d stood right next to a bell who’d been rung to herald change.

John was no prophet, at most he’d get vague premonitions and he far preferred to be in the moment rather then dwell on the future or the past. He most definitely did not want to even contemplate this kid’s future. He swallowed.

Magic, in John’s experience, always came with a cost.

The kid promptly sat down on his butt. John had broken the circle and was running over before he even realized.

“You okay, kid?” He asked breathlessly.

The kid looked up, eyes a bit dazed as he blinked at John. John couldn’t really tell if his complexion was grey or it was just the dust covering every inch of him. Several places, particularly his hands, the dust was dark from blood where he’d been cut in the storm. He looked unfocused.

“How many occult detectives are you seeing?” He asked unable to hide the note of worry.

“Too many,” Kid said tiredly with a shake of his head that had cement dust falling all over. Then he looked back up and elaborated with a smirk, “one.”

John huffed a laugh. If he could joke he couldn’t be that bad off.

“How does burgers and fries sound?”

-

The kid now dusted off to the point where you could almost tell his hair was black rather than grey sunk his teeth into the burger with a pleased hum. He chewed and swallowed.

“This is almost as good as Nasty Burger.”

John paused fry halfway to his mouth. “That sounds disgusting.”

Kid laughed. “I forget how it sounds to outsiders. It used to be Tasty Burger way back when they first opened, but someone vandalized the sign and it kinda stuck.”

John hummed thoughtfully, he could appreciate the joke. Kid’s use of the phrase outsiders made it sound like he came from an insular town. Probably best for him if he stayed there.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Instantly the blue eyes narrowed on him in suspicion.

“What’s yours, Trenchcoat?” He challenged.

John huffed at the nickname and reached a hand across the table. “John Constantine.”

The kid looked suspiciously at the offered hand, then reached out and took it. “Nightingale.”

John nodded and shook his hand before letting go. Smart of him to give him a codename, he wasn’t apparently completely without sense. “Because of the singing.”

For a moment the kid looked confused to the point where John actually thought maybe he’d given him his real name.

“Singing? Ah-“ He blushed looking down and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “No, that just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

John shook his head, fuck it if he didn’t like the kid. He picked up his milkshake and raised it. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“If it works…”

The kid, Nightingale, grinned ferally and raised his own shake to clink it against John’s.

“If it works.”

-

After filling up the near bottomless stomach of the teenager, they parted ways in an alley. John’s mind was already on his next case - people going missing in a forest in Germany that had a distinct this-is-not-just-a-GPS-dead-zone flavor to it - so he only absently noted the strange look on the kid’s face when he opened the portal. It was morning in Germany, he could start looking into things before calling the House for a proper sleep.

“Take care, kid.”

With those words he stepped into the portal and let it close behind him.

Danny was left looking at the portal. He shook his head, jaw tight. With real magic apparently portals were just easy. It didn’t do him any good to think about. He glanced around and when he found the alley just as empty as before he jumped into the air transforming as he went.

There were better things to think about, like the concept of an occult detective, he thought as he flew in the direction of Amity. It sounded like it could almost be an acceptable profession in his parents’ eyes.

And it probably didn’t require good high school grades either, he thought with a grimace as he remembered he had an essay due tomorrow.

-

Hope you enjoyed this story which explored how Danny and Constantine first met in this AU. Next step is letting it sit for a while, then do a thorough editing and putting it up on ao3 as a oneshot. (And then maybe talk to Clock about starting writing on the main story proper? We'll see). Comments are greatly appreciated :D

Another link to the masterpost if you wanna see the other bits of writing and/or subscribe to the series

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 1

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships.* Abusive relationship, getting *out* of an abusive relationship, alcoholism, alcohol, mention of sleeping in a car. Summary: One of the worst days of your life takes a sharp right turn into the unexpected when you learn of the death of a long-lost relative. Notes: It's heeeere! Spooky season has officially arrived and with it comes our annual spooky-themed soulmate story! Bringing our two canonical vampires together is going to be endless shenanigans. 🧛‍♂️🧡 Since this story is mostly set inside one of the mansions that I work in, we're planning on using photos of the house as chapter headers some of the time. Visual reference fun!

"Hurry up and get your shit." The drunken bellow from downstairs is followed up by a loud crash, another curse and a thump as your boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – continues to throw the equivalent of a temper tantrum. It hadn't been the first time you've fought, or that the asshole had threatened to throw you out on your ass, but the fist sized hole in the wall that had only been an inch from your face was new, escalating violence.

"Lazy, good for nothing cunt! I work all goddamn day and you couldn't even fucking do what I asked!"

It's not that you don't work. Or that you didn't work. But after getting fired four days ago following yet another day calling out of work to clean up some mess caused by your boyfriend, your manager had said it was the final straw and sent you packing. Since then you had tried to clean up the house, get the back-log of laundry out of the way, and at least make a nice dinner while you applied for new jobs. It isn't your fault that the neighbor's dog got into your yard and ripped a hole in one of his shirts on the clothesline. There is absolutely no way you could have done anything about it. But it is the thing that sent him over the deep end this time and has him screaming at you yet again.

Running upstairs was the best thing you could do to get away from his fist, and now you're just praying that you have enough trash bags in the house to cram your stuff into before he decides to come after you again. You'll be sleeping in your car tonight, but at least all the locks on the doors work. You can manage a few nights in a securely locked car. It's just...that you're not quite sure where you'll go after that.

The sound of the top to a Natural Light beer being cracked open sounds from the base of the stairwell and he takes several loud gulps. Belching from drinking too fast and hitting the wall with the flat of his hand. "Come on, bitch!" He calls out. "I ain't got all night!"

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you pace back to the top of the stairwell and lean down so you can actually see him. Ten goddamn years with this man and this is how it ends. "I'll be gone by the time you get home," you promise him, the resignation obvious in your voice. He'll go to the bar to see his friends like he does after he eats dinner almost every night. You've never been the kind of girlfriend to stop him from seeing his friends, so they have had a routine for almost as many years as you've been together.

"Good." He glares up at you and points a finger. "You better not take any of my shit either." He warns you. "Tired of taking care of your stupid ass. You're in for a rude wake up call. Shit's not easy out there." He burps again and turns around to stumble down the hall. "You are such a disappointment." He yells out before opening the front door and letting it slam behind him, rattling the windows.

"Yeah." You sigh, shaking your head with one of those cheap fleece throw blankets in your hand. It has ballet slippers on it, a relic of a childhood long dream long forgotten. "I know I am." Holding up the blanket to look at it more closely, you debate throwing the damn thing out entirely, but it will keep you warm in the car tonight. It will go into a trash bag along with everything else.

As soon as the blanket is shoved in with your two miniature throw pillows, your phone goes off in your pocket. Expecting it to be Derek, ready to yell at you some more, you're surprised to see Private splashed across the screen instead. If you don't answer it and it is him for any reason, there will be hell to pay. "Hello?"

The smooth, cultured voice on the other end of the line is slightly raspy. As if the person has spent a lifetime swallowing brandy and smoking cigars, or had spent all day talking. In actuality, both of those things are true. Your name is spoken in the form of a question. Asking if he had reached the right person.

"Speaking." The automatic answer doesn't make you feel any less confused, but at least they aren't yelling at you. "Can I ask who's calling, please?"

"Antonio Colette," He tells you quickly. "With Colette and Dupree. I am calling about your late, great aunt, Etienne Brown." He shuffles through the papers to bring up the will that had been laid out, along with the investigators report on you. It was how he had found your current number. "I am executing her estate and quite frankly, it has been a search to find you."

"I'm sorry," you shake your head against the phone as though the man could possibly see you. "I don't know anyone by that name. My, um...I don't know a lot of my family. But that isn't a name I recognize. Maybe you have the wrong person?" There is no reason that any family member you've never heard of would have left you anything in a will, so he must have the wrong number. That's the only explanation you can think of.

"No, ma'am." He tells you. "I don't think I have the wrong person. Is this not a good time to talk?" He can hear something in your voice, and while most were always happy to inherit something, you might have pressing matters to attend to.

Hesitating for a reason you can't quite put your finger on, you glance out the window in the corner of your now former bedroom, the one that overlooks the driveway. Derek's truck is gone, and your shoulders slump a little. You have hours until he comes home now. Usually it's not until after last call. "No...no it's okay. I'm just...not having a great day. What did you want to speak to me about?"

"Ms. Brown was very particular about her will. As executor of the estate, it is my duty to make sure that her last wishes are carried out. As there is no other living relative on your mother's side, she decided that you would be the sole heir of her estate." He explains. "This includes the eight-bedroom mansion and the trust that has been established to pay for the manor. Her private accounts. The total combined monetary worth of twelve point two million dollars."

The crash that he hears from your side of the phone call is you falling over – a product of your legs giving out the second he said the word mansion and then losing your balance all over again at the sum total of the estate. "Wh—what?" You manage to breathe, barely managing not to break down in tears all over again. For an entirely different reason, this time.

"Of course, there is one issue that you must be made aware of." He's used to people being surprised, so he doesn't try to explain. You will soon be holding paperwork that you can read again and again if needed. "There are two tenants in the mansion. Ms. Brown has given them a lifetime estate on the rooms they occupy." He tells you. "Meaning they live there for as long as they wish."

"O—okay..." As fast as your mind can possibly turn, you still feel like you can't quite keep up with it, and you end up curled up at the foot of your bed hugging the throw blanket that was still in your hands when your phone rang. "So...I just...get a mansion? And twe—twelve million dollars? And the only caveat is that I have two tenants?" None of it makes any sense, but you'll be damned if it doesn't sound like the perfect way out of the hell that you've found yourself in.

“Pretty much.” Antonio agrees. “When would you be available to tour the property and sign some paperwork?” He asks, flipping over to his calendar to pencil you in.

"I—" Stumbling again, your forehead drops onto the pillow clutched against your chest before you tip your head back and stare up at the mottled ceiling. "I guess...as soon as I can get there?" It's not as though you have anything else to do at the moment. Or even anyone to tell where you're going. "But, can I ask? Um...where exactly is this house?"

“Newport, Rhode Island.” He supplies. “I must confess that I could not find a current address for you, just this phone number, so I am not quite sure where you are traveling from.

"Dandridge, Tennessee." Six years you've lived in this town and it never felt like home, but maybe now that's for the best. With a sigh, you try to think if you've ever even heard of Newport, Rhode Island and come up entirely blank other than knowing that Rhode Island is in New England. Which is a pretty decent drive away. "It might take me a few days to drive up there. Maybe two days? Depending on how late into the night I drive."

“That’s fine.” Colette agrees. “I will give you my number. If you find yourself here quicker than you anticipate, give me a call and I can meet you with the keys.”

"Okay." For a second the brief fear that your car might not even last a two-day drive flashes through your mind but you push it aside and let out a sigh in favor of sitting up to grab the pen off your nearby desk so you can take down the lawyer's phone number. "I...um...thank you, Mr. Colette. This is..." It's insane. It's completely insane and you can't even wrap your head around it. "It's life changing."

“I will see you in two days.” Mr. Colette responds and then ends the call before he sighs. Dropping his head into his hand, he rubs his temple. Whoever you are, he feels sorry for you. No way you know what the hell you are getting into.

******

The first night you're honestly exhausted, and you end up sleeping in your packed-full car behind the twenty-four-hour diner with the really nice waitresses that don't get upset that you need a safe place to park for one night. Telling them that you're moving had done the trick, and the extremely kind pair of women had gotten their line cook to whip you up a sandwich for dinner and one more to take with you when you left town in the morning.

The gps on your phone – thank god the bill is in your name – says that it will take thirteen hours and thirty-seven minutes of driving. Deciding to go, go, go as best you can, you leave town at sunrise and end up crossing the border into Rhode Island at almost eleven that same night. Stopping for bathroom breaks and to gas up the car – plus traffic, of course – has cost some time, but you made it. Now all you had to do was make the last leg of the journey out to Newport. Surprised to find that Newport is actually on an island (didn't you learn at one point that Rhode Island isn't an island?) you pull into a truck stop to finally sleep for the night. You'll do the last forty-five minutes of the drive in the morning.

******

Feeling and probably looking like shit the next morning is the price you pay for getting here quickly, but you call the lawyer at nine in the morning when his office's website says it opens and arrange to meet him at the address he gives you. Bellevue Avenue just sounds fancy, and when you get to the island you realize why. This entire town seems filled to the brim with mansions, expensive shops, and swanky restaurants.

Antonio had been surprised that you had driven through the night, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. He gives you the address to his offices and tells his secretary to make sure that there is a good selection of bagels and muffins out this morning in case you would like something while you go over the paperwork. You are a very important client, and he would like to keep you if possible.

Tired and more than a little ragged, you pull your car up to the office on Thames Street and cut the engine with a sigh. There’s a lot of touristy stuff around, especially on this part of the island, and that means you haven’t seen a single dingy diner or fast food drive-up since you got here. Everything is expensive cafes and fancy restaurants. The thought that you might have to skip breakfast is discouraging until you walk into the lawyer’s office tentatively and smell coffee.

"Good morning." Raquel stands from behind her desk and smooths her pencil skirt down before she walks around the desk. Antonio and his partner prefer that she personally greet each client and she doesn't let her facial expression change from one of welcome when she sees the tired, beaten down appearance of the woman who walked into the door. Her heart clenches at the sight and even if you are not the client that he had been expecting, she will invite you to have some coffee and pastries while she waits for someone to work you into their calendar. "May I help you?" She asks as she offers her manicured hand to shake.

“I—I’m here to see Mr. Colette.” You give her your name along with the handshake she obviously expects, and try to shake the feeling that that smile of hers is probably plastered on. Of course it is. It’s first thing in the morning and she works in a law office.

"Of course." You are the important client, so she immediately waves you to the glass doors. "Please follow me." She tells you. "Mr. Colette is getting all the necessary documents together, but we have tea, coffee, bagels, and some delicious pastries available while you wait?" She wants you to feel comfortable as she walks you down the short hall to the smaller conference room where she had set everything up for the meeting.

“Thank you.” It doesn’t make one single bit of sense to you that they’ve gone through all this trouble, but this long-lost great aunt of yours must have been an important client. Maybe they think you’re important too? Well – they’ll be disabused of that idea pretty soon.

"Please let me know if there is anything I can get you." She senses that you aren't comfortable and she doesn't want to crowd you or do anything to upset you. "I'll let Mr. Colette know you are here."

There are a few minutes to wait, sitting in that conference room surrounded by food that you don’t dare touch, and you end up staring blankly at a photograph on the wall of a yacht on the ocean. It’s almost trance-like, how you sit there and stare, and you end up nearly jumping out of your seat when the heavy wooden doors open again and an elegant looking, well-dressed man walks through flanked by the woman who greeted you.

“Good morning.” Antonio smiles as he assesses the woman who had inherited a fortune and more. He is aware of the details of the will and the history behind it, so he feels like this is personal. “We will have quite a few things to go through, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to make myself a plate.” He chuckles. “No breakfast yet and I’m hungry.”

“Of course.” It’s a little bit like permission, and you feel comfortable enough pouring a cup of black coffee and putting a croissant on a plate for yourself when Mr. Colette motions for you to join him. In a few mere moments the three of you are sitting down at the conference table and Raquel presents her boss with a thick folder of paperwork in a leather sleeve and takes out her own notebook in turn.

“Now.” Antonio looks down at the paperwork and then back up at you. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” He starts off with. “Hopefully this transition will be seamless for you and perhaps after this I can show you around your new home?”

“It still doesn’t feel very real,” you admit, carefully sipping your hot coffee and looking down at the papers in front of him. “And you said there’s two other people…already living there?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Family friends of Ms. Brown.” He tells you vaguely.

“Alright.” Already you’ve made up your mind not to bother them, these people who live in a house that you’re inheriting out of nowhere. Who are you to intrude in their lives? “I assume there’s a lot of paperwork? I’ve never owned a house before so this is all new to me.”

“The taxes and the maintenance for the home are paid out of the trust. So you do not need to worry about that. If anything happens, call and we will take care of getting the bill paid.” He explains. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering you debit cards and credit cards.” He pulls out an envelope and slides it over to you. “All of them are active and ready to use.”

So people really live like this, huh? is all you can think to yourself as the lawyer’s secretary also sets a card down in front of you that has a man’s name and phone number with the title of caretaker listed on it. That along with the cards already has your head spinning, but then a set of keys is set down on the table as well. Front door. Kitchen door. Terrace doors. Each antique key is labeled carefully with a tag in elegant handwriting. Closets. Attic storage. Utility closet. It’s so much to take in — too much, arguably — and then a set of car keys is added to the pile. “What’s this?” You ask, already starting to feel your head spin a little.

“This is the car.” Antonio tells you. “The 1963 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray that Ms. Brown also willed to you.” He hums. “I have all the maintenance records for the car here as well. Her other cars were sold or given away before she died, but this one conveyed with her other belongings to you. I believe she said, ‘it goes with the house’.”

“I—um—wow…” Not that you know much about cars, but it sounds impressive and you’re momentarily thankful that you’ve been driving stick for the last few years, since your broken-down third-hand Volvo came into your life. “Are there any more surprises I should be aware of?”

“I’m not exactly sure what you will consider surprises.” The lawyer chuckles and slides a scrap of paper towards you. “The combination to the safe. It’s where the collection of Ms. Brown’s jewelry is.”

A safe full of jewels, a presumably fancy vintage car, a mansion, and a literal fortune? Frankly, it’s all a surprise. “If this house comes with servants I might black out,” you warn jokingly, staring at the slip of paper with the safe combination like it’s a foreign language.

“Well, the staff is paid from the trust.” He tells you seriously. “If you wish to make changes, please let me know. Right now….” He shuffles some papers. “There is the housekeeper and her assistant, the gardener, the pool company, and the window washer.” He looks up. “The pool company and window washer come by once a week. The gardener, the housekeeper and her assistant are all full time employees.”

The dead pan stare you have for the man is completely slack, and it takes far longer than you’re proud of to shake off the embarrassment of staring at him like an imbecile. “You’re serious?” You ask in equal parts confusion and awe. “I was kidding.”

“I assure you, the help is needed.” He tells you seriously. “A house of this size could not possibly be managed by one person alone.”

“Right.” The best you can do is nod vaguely and try not to have a panic attack over the responsibility landing in your lap, and you look between the lawyer and his clerk again. “You said it’s…eight bedrooms?” That place must be a palace…

“That is…the main bedrooms.” Antonio admits. “That doesn’t include the old servants’ quarters, although they are not occupied now.”

“Fuuuuck…” Even mumbling under your breath is obvious, and the paper that is slid in front of you is a clearly labeled blueprint of the house. Four floors, distinctly marked 38,000 square feet, and with more doorways, closets, and stairwells than you can shake a stick at.

“I can understand that it is overwhelming, but the staff is prepared for your arrival.” You look panicked and he doesn’t think that’s a good thing. It’s almost as if you feel…guilty.

“Can I ask…?” Swallowing down the dear at how daunting all of this feels, you abandon your small breakfast and sit back in the uncomfortable padded chair you’re seated in. “Anything about Ms. Brown? What did she do? How did she pass?” Where did all her money come from? The fact is, you had never even heard of her, but she left you an entire life.

“Ms. Brown died at 91.” He’s a little surprised that you are curious, but you don’t seem to be the type of person that is overly greedy. “Complications of old age.”

“I see.” Jittery fingers curl the edge of one page and you bite your lip, trying to see if anything doesn’t fit. But it all seems to knit together properly, in a way that just accidentally benefits you in the craziest way possible. “And she was just…independently wealthy?” It seems unlikely considering your family has so little, but who knows? Anything is possible.

“Some of it was leftover from her wealthy soulmate.” He admits. “They never had children. Some of it was from investments. She was a smart lady.”

“She must have been.” It’s easy to just waste money, you’ve seen that firsthand too many times. “Well…I assume I need to sign things? Make the ownership…official?”

“Absolutely.” He cracks a small smile. “Sign your life away, is the saying.”

Raquel slides a stack of papers over towards you. “All the places for you to sigh are indicated with a tab.”

A dozen different signatures and initials go by like lightning and before you know it, Raquel is excusing herself with the stack of papers to make copies and file things away. “Is there…anything else?” You ask, tentative about what else there could even be.

“Nothing that I can think of.” Mr. Colette hums. “I had the housekeeper stock the pantry and kitchen with basic items.” He tells you.

“That was very kind of you.” Since you aren’t really sure what else to say, you take a determined look at the pile of keys in front of you and muster a smile. “Would you mind showing me the house? The drive was long and it would be nice to settle in.” The further you get from Derek and his reach, the better off you know you will be. Even if you had loved him as best as you could — it had never been enough. Maybe these next people won’t be too disappointed in you. Not the way he was, at least.

“Of course.” He would make sure that you are comfortable before he turns you loose on the house. Or perhaps abandoning you to it would be a more apt phrasing. “Whenever you wish to leave here. I’ve cleared my schedule for the morning.”

“There’s no time like the present, I guess? I can follow you in my car.” You have half a mind to ask if the other occupants will be there, but you can’t see how he would possibly know that so you put the question aside in your mind.

“Of course.” He can’t think of anything else that needs to be address. “We will file all of the paperwork with the probate court and you will be receiving new registration for the car and a title to the house in four to six weeks. Sometimes it does take a few months.” He warns.

“I can’t imagine I’ll need them with any kind of speed.” After all, you have no plans to do anything of importance. In fact, if you never do anything besides sit in your little corner of this town for the rest of your life and remain unnoticed by everyone, you’ll be happier for it.

“Well.” He hands off the papers to the assistant and stands. “Shall we?” He asks, motioning towards the door.

******

Even with the heavy traffic of downtown Newport, the drive from the Law Offices of Colette & Dupree over to Bellevue Avenue takes under ten minutes. You drive by a grocery store and a drug store on the way – both good things to know the location of – as well as numerous high end shops, restaurants, and cafes. There is a bustling town here and it looks like students, too. Young adults with stuffed-full backpacks wearing all manner of paraphernalia that reads Salve Regina University seem to dominate certain areas.

After what seems like dozens of affluent homes, Mr. Colette’s blinker turns on before one of many stone walls and turns left into a driveway. When you follow suit and drive through the front gate, you’re glad to be alone because the gasp you let out is audible. Chateau-sur-Mer rises up and peeks out from behind trees like a monument. More massive than you ever would have dreamed of, the stone-faced house points north with a beautiful, multifaceted landscape surrounding it in every direction. Three stories, with a beautiful back porch, and spires and a tower to boot, the house is offset by a gigantic weeping tree that you don’t recognize and an otherwise reasonably sized house in one corner of the property that seems utterly dwarfed by the mansion it otherwise guards. Caretaker, you remember after a second. There is a caretaker…and presumably that is where he lives? It’s just…you had already had trouble wrapping your head around it. But now that you see it? It’s just…beautiful.

The sleek Jaguar comes to a stop and Antonio steps out and turns towards the older, slightly perilous looking Volvo. He hopes that you will get rid of it, or replace it now that you have the means. He had watched it seemingly buck several times while stopped at traffic lights.

“This is it?” If your question sounds dubious, it isn’t meant to. Honestly you’re almost too flabbergasted to really wrap your head around everything. There are a few cars parked under a structure to the left of the house that you assume used to be stables, from the look of it. Now the small windows that show you inside give a peak at bumpers and break lights instead of manes and carriages. There are a half dozen cars inside that you assume must belong to the other occupants and the staff, with more empty spaces standing open before the gorgeous black and chrome sports car that you now hold the keys to. “I mean it’s…it’s so much room. I’m almost glad there’s other people who will be around a lot.”

“The property is safe.” He assures you. “There’s a surveillance system that you can access and a security system that nothing in the world can rival.” He chuckles at his own joke and motions towards the house. “Shall we go inside?”

“Sure.” Not that you understand why one little old lady would need such a hardcore security system, but you nod anyway and let the lawyer – your lawyer? – lead the way. The house looms, almost daring you to come inside, but you are faced with an ordinary carved wooden door when you actually get close.

"It was built in 1852. Or completed in that year." Mr. Colette tells you as he takes the large keyring from you to unlock the front door and hands the keys back to you with a small grin. "It was once considered a ‘cottage’." He scoffs. "Although I tend to think of something a little smaller as a cottage."

“This is about four cottages all stacked on top of each other.” Walking through the front door cloaks you in near-darkness immediately. When your eyes adjust you stumble up a half-dozen wide marble steps into a front hall that grows up and up and up into an atrium taller than any you’ve ever seen before. The staircase behind you looks like it belongs to the set of a BBC drama and the thick red velvet curtains hanging in the entryway feel more like an old proscenium theater than a house. But the warm carved wood everywhere and colorfully painted forest scenes on the walls are immediately cozy in their own right. “Oh wow…” Your eyes are wide as you look around. It’s…it’s stunning.”

“Any changes you want to make, you are perfectly able to.” The lawyer reminds you, although he couldn’t imagine wanting to change anything about this estate. The mixture of Victorian and Gilded age architecture is a perfect combination to make a gorgeous house.

“I really don’t think that will be necessary.” After all, people already live here. The last thing you want to do is intrude on other people’s lives. “So this is the Great Hall, I guess?” The floor plan that Raquel gave you at the lawyer’s office is going to end up being invaluable, you think, as you pull it out and inspect the drawing of the first floor.

“Yes.” While he’s happy you don’t want to change anything, your tone makes it sound like it would be rude to do so. “The kitchens have been completely remodeled, modern appliances, but they still kept the charm of the rest of the house.”

“And that’s…” You consult the floor plan when there isn’t an obvious appliance anywhere in sight. “In the basement?”

“It is on the lower level.” Guiding you into the house, he explains. “Heat caused by the kitchens was unwanted so after the kitchens being in a different building fell out of fashion, they decided to make sure the kitchen was in the basement to keep the rest of the house cooler during the summer months. There’s the elevator over here, if you wish to use that instead of taking the stairs?”

Mr. Colette motions to the left of the main stairwell, to a portion of the first floor with red and black patterned flooring, and down a hallway. Curious enough to be led around by the suggestion and also noting that the floor plan in your hands says Servants’ Hall for this portion of the house, you follow him tentatively and watch him open what appeared to be a regular closet door. Instead there is a metal grating behind it, which is also opened, and a carved dark wood elevator car stands waiting for you. The kind of thing that would absolutely get you killed in a horror movie, it’s surprisingly sturdy when you step into it and Colette closes the door and gate easily. He presses the ‘B’ button before you can even ask about stairs and the antique elevator jolts to life, headed downstairs.

“Don’t worry,” he sends you a reassuring smile. “The elevator is safe.” He listens to the clanking and feels the carriage start to slow down.

The basement of this house is not like any basement you’ve ever been in before. The enormously long hallway with red and black flooring identical to the hall upstairs seems to stretch and stretch, and there are more doors down here than you could ever fathom needing. But there are voices coming from a room just a few yards away and that is both comforting and nerve-wracking at once. Other people means you won’t be lonely, but it also means new needs, new demands, and potentially new people to disappoint.

“Mr. Colette?” A woman’s voice sounds, loud and clear with a thick Rhode Island accent, from the room and only half a second later a tall, slim woman with gray and silver peppered through her brown hair and glasses attached to a beaded chain appears in the hall. “We weren’t sure when to expect you,” she says with a thin smile. “And this must be the new owner.”

“Yes.” The lawyer who has spent many hours in this house smiles at the housekeeper and waves your forward. Introducing you by your first and last name. “This is Marjorie Taylor and Renee Green. They are the ones who keep the house sparkling and the linens fresh.” He explains. “Mrs. Taylor would also cook for you if you would like.”

“I insist on it,” Mrs. Taylor informs you, smiling in a sort of polite-but-curious way and she shakes your hand when you offer it. “It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.” When you falter and repeat your first name, thinking that maybe she had forgotten it or something, she shakes her head and gives you that same amused, thin-lipped smile. “There are a couple of things we stay old fashioned about here,” she tells you. But leaves out that the contract she signed with the rather suave gentleman who hired her specified it. “I’m Mrs. Taylor. This is Renee. The caretaker is Mr. Taylor, and the gardener is Mr. Finchley. The whole staff live in the caretaker’s cottage on the grounds and we are always reachable except for our day off each week. The schedule is written out for you. I left it on the desk in the library along with the necessary phone numbers and other important information.

“You’re very thorough, Mrs. Taylor.” It comes out with a note of surprise and you drop your eyes to the floor, embarrassed. “I mean — thank you. It is very much appreciated.”

“It is my pleasure.” She assures you with a soft smile. “It will be good to have people in the home again.” The others that were here kept to themselves and were often not around.

“I’m just one person,” you assure her, as if to say that you won’t cause trouble or get in the way. Those were things that Derek accused you of far too often. Even if it is the job that these people have taken on — the job not cleaning and cooking and taking care — you would never want to be a burden or a strain on them. “And…I tend to be fairly low key.”

“Well, I hope that you will let us take care of you.” Mrs. Taylor hums. “We have been delighted to hear that you had been located and were coming. I am sure that we will find a way to rub along together.”

“I’m sure.” You say, trying to smile and be reassuring. These people seem to be expecting a boss, not a wallflower, and that isn’t what you are. “I’m very glad to have gotten the call.” That, at least, is true.

“Would you like breakfast after the tour?” She asks. “I can have a tray brought up to whatever room you choose, and Mr. Taylor would be happy to bring up any luggage and boxes you have.”

Renee nods. “I would be happy to help you unpack.” She offers.

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” You protest immediately, but both women give you such placid, polite smiles that you swallow your anxiety about butting into the house and replace it with fear of being rude. “I—I mean…thank you. That actually sounds very nice.”

“Our pleasure.” The elder woman assures you. “Perhaps later on, once you have settled in, we can go over your preferences.” She tilts her head. “For now, do you have any food allergies I should make note of?”

“None.” Just as soon as you shake your head though, something in your gut churns and the smell of Derek’s cheap beer somehow overtakes you out of nowhere. It’s like a sense memory you never needed, and you stammer inelegantly. “But I—I, um…I don’t drink. Alcohol, I mean.” You did before. A long time ago. But seeing what it did to the man you thought you were going to spend your life with has ruined it for you. Soulmate or not, you had really thought Derek was the one. But his one comes in a can.

“Yes ma’am.” If it sounds odd to her, she doesn’t make it visible, just nodding politely. “I will make sure you have a nice tray sent up, I know you will be tired from travel.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor.” “I’ll show our new resident The call buttons after she chooses a bedroom, so you’ll know where to bring her tray.” Colette assures the housekeeper with a smile. “We’ll just head back upstairs.”

“Perfect.” She smiles at the lawyer. “Oh, Max and Eddie aren’t here right now, so if you show her their rooms, just go right in.”

You thank both women again and follow Mr. Colette back upstairs, where he motions to the left of the hallway where the elevator is hidden and you end up in a room that is wall-to-wall cabinets. There are beautiful serving pieces and sets of China in those cases, as well as stunning crystal and glassware. If you ever throw a Victorian themed dinner party, it looks like you’ll be all set for dishes.

“The preservation society on the island has been itching to get their hands on this estate.” Antonio muses as he slows down to let you take in the vastness of the collection. “Ms. Brown always enjoyed thumbing her nose at them.” He chuckles quietly. “I believe that you would have liked her. She was a firecracker.”

“She had great taste.” There is a set of China in the cases that you keep coming back to — the intricate gilding and beautifully painted flowers utterly mesmerizing you for a few moments. There seem to be three different full sets of China here and two full sets of glassware. Every different size dish or glass you can think of is here.

“Now it is yours to keep and use however you wish.” He reminds you as he moves towards the display of real silverware.

“I think it’s actually harder to wrap my head around that now that I’m in the house,” you admit, trying for a laugh and just sort of letting out a huffed breath instead. On the floor plan, the door to the left of you is marked Butler’s Pantry and that seems like someplace you shouldn’t go. To the right, though, the plan says Dining Room. “This way next?” You guess? The door looks innocuous enough — it’s just a dining room. It can’t be that crazy.

“Wherever you would like to go.” Antonio insists as he pushes open the swinging double doors silently. The large dining room table with the massive set of three chandeliers dominates the room.

The gasp from your lips has you pretty sure that you’re going to be saying “Wow” a hell of a lot in this house, and every room just makes the feeling grow. From the forest green walls of the dining room outfitted with ornate carvings in dark wood – to the silver painted walls of the ballroom with its six foot high mirrors and gilt relief work on every wall panel. A parlor room off one end of the ballroom is all decorated in green silk fabric – even the walls – with clean white accents. Beyond that is a hallway with a stained-glass ceiling and a white marble floor that is decked in red leather sofas and contains huge white marble statues and paintings on the walls that are nearly life sized. The library is the most ornate yet, with carvings on every single wooden surface, lush carpeting and sitting space, and even a hidden door built into one bookcase. “Where does that go?” You ask immediately, too tentative to open it yourself.

“This, I believe, goes to the morning room.” He tells you, cocking his head as he thinks. “It has been some time since I have completely gone through the house.” He admits.

“Is it okay to go through? I mean the house is old but it’s not so old that it’s unsafe, right?” The idea of a door in a book axe is too good for anyone to pass up, especially you.

“Absolutely.” Antonio pulls the leaver to open the door. “Ms. Brown and her soulmate would spend quite I bit of time in this room. I believe it was her favorite.”

The middle section of the bookcase pulls toward you smoothly, allowing you and Mr. Colette to pass into a large corner room with enormous picture windows on two sides and built in bookcases on every other wall. Like an extension of the library there are books everywhere, a red leather windows seat that matches the sofas in the marble hall, and even intricate wooden shutters that close over the windows in sections to regulate how much light is let in. One side of the room is dominated by a large fireplace with yet one more large mirror set in the wall above it, and there are small statues all along the mantle. A billiard table takes up most of the space in the middle of the room, but a table and chairs and a desk also fit neatly with plenty of room to move.

“This house goes on forever,” you observe with a laugh of disbelief.

“It is one of the larger cottages.” He agrees. “In fact, it was the largest house until the Vanderbilts built the Breakers.” He imparts that little fact with a smirk as he looks around the room. “But I’ve always been fond of this estate.”

“It’s beautiful.” Having seen it up close and personal, you can imagine that photos don’t do it justice. It must seem crowded or busy in pictures. But in person? It’s like the house is hugging you. After another minute looking around the morning room, you follow Colette back out to the entryway and head upstairs. There is fabric, not wallpaper, hanging on the walls around the master staircase and it is painted with a forest scene that seems reminiscent of folk tales. Like magic could be lurking behind any corner or a satyr just might come out from behind a bush. There is a tree painted on the underside of the enormous staircase, trunk and branches extending upward to sprout leaves and welcome birds, and it crawls all the way up the stairwell to extend out to the ceiling of the second-floor landing and atrium. Dozens of little painted songbirds light on branches everywhere to make you feel like you have climbed into the forest that is painted on the walls.

“Every room has its own theme.” He explains at the top of the stairwell looking down the hallway at the doors. “If you don’t mind. I will step away to make a call.”

"Of course." Far be it from you to stop him from attending to his business, and you follow along the railing in the hallway to make your way into a different hall. This one is just a rectangular room with the now familiar built-in cases along the walls, paintings and intricate light fixtures above the cases, and six doors to choose from. To open them one by one seems like a massive intrusion, but you can't figure out any other way to see what else is up here. The floor plan marks four bedrooms on this floor as well as a sitting room and a nursery, though you can't understand why there is a nursery if there were never any children living here. Maybe your great-aunt and her soulmate wanted children but just could never have them? That's a far sadder thought than you can muster at the moment.

Hoping that you're facing the right direction, you open the door on the opposite wall from where you are standing and – yes, you had it right – the sitting room is full of plush chairs and love seats with a petite fireplace that has a huge flatscreen television over it where you assume a mirror once stood. The fireplace has a small stand inside it that obviously prevents fires from ever being laid, but more importantly seems to be the storage rack for multiple video game systems. Whoever Max and Eddie are, these other occupants of the house seem to thoroughly enjoy video games.

To the right of that room is a beautifully laid bedroom with honey colored furniture and homey gray and white pinstripe wallpaper. A writing desk stands at the ready between a window trimmed in lace curtains and a white marble fireplace, and it feels like exactly the kind of room that you would love to be brought to if you were a guest in someone's house. As much as it is sweet, inviting, and unexpectedly friendly, it feels…spoken for somehow. It’s nothing you can describe fully, but it makes you think that you shouldn’t disturb the room. Like whoever had claimed it originally might still come back one day to curl up in that bed or sit down at that desk.

There are two more bedrooms – one with furniture made of a wood that is somehow remarkably the same shade as roasted butternut squash and the other with a luxurious, if slightly gothic, yellow velvet and dark walnut loveseat and red upholstered chairs in it that all beg to be read in – but both rooms very obviously are occupied. These must be the rooms that Max and Eddie claimed whenever it was that they arrived. The next door to the left of Max's room yields a large, airy bedroom decorated in all sorts of shades and textures of blue with dark wood furniture and soft pink silk and lace curtains over the windows. A painting of a smiling young woman hangs above the fireplace with two lamps in the shapes of cherubs holding the light source aloft. Two cream-colored chairs sit by a small table and two more blue velvet chairs flank another. You could have a whole party in this spick-and-span room without any effort whatsoever.

“This is the one, I see.” Antonio has returned. Lingering in the doorway as he watches you move from Knick knack to knick knack with an almost dreamy expression on your face. “Let me show you the call system.” He gives you an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that I am needed in court.”

A set of buttons by the door to what you very accidentally have apparently selected as your room will summon a member of the house's small staff, Mr. Colette tells you, and there is a similar button on a handle by your bed, almost like the call button for a nurse in the hospital. "Don't let me keep you," you murmur, waving off another apology from the man who has literally swept into your life and changed everything about it. The last thing you want is to stand in the way of anything he has to do. "I'll, um...I guess I'll unpack."

As if on a secret cue, the door to the elevator opens on the other side of the hall and an ornate rolling cart, much like the ones at the posh hotels, rolls out. Your trash bags are all neatly stacked with the few boxes and the one bag you had managed to take from your ex's house. The older, stately looking man pushing it does not judge, his sharp eyes looking for the room where the new owner has decided to take up residence so he can help in any way possible. Renee is behind him, a fully ladened tray on another rolling cart.

You can hear them rolling down the hallway before you see them, and Mr. Colette smiles in satisfaction. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, looking toward the doorway as the source of the noise comes into view. “If you need anything, you have your staff here, and my number. Please don’t hesitate.”

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Colette.” As soon as you say his name he disappears from view, and you’re left face-to-face with the embarrassing sight of your trash bags in this gorgeous home.

“I took the liberty of moving your car into the carriage house.” Mr. Taylor tells you. In addition to being the caretaker, he also maintains all the vehicles here. Your car is in sore need of some TLC and he is already itching to get to it.

“That’s very kind of you. You really don’t have to go through any extra trouble.” The sight of garbage bags just feels wrong in a house this old and grand, and it just makes you feel like apologizing for that, too. “As you can see it…it really shouldn’t take me too long to get settled in.”

“It just means you can rest.” Renee offers with a smile as she rolls the tray over to the couches and table. “Here, ma’am?” She asks politely.

"Hopefully it won't take too long to find a new job." The offhanded and automatic thought doesn't even phase you, although you don't enjoy the fact that you'll have to explain why your last place let you go. At least you can assure them that it won't happen anymore – since Derek isn't in your life there won't be any erratic or unexpected phone calls to have to respond to immediately. "Thank you, Renee. It...it all looks wonderful." Laden with a steaming silver coffeepot and fresh pastries with butter, jam, and fruit, the delicate China on the tray looks like it has been laid for a queen.

“My pleasure, ma’am.” Mr. Taylor quietly excuses himself, and Renee turns towards the cart with an eagerness to begin. “Do you have some specific organization for your things?” She asks, hoping to know how you would like things. “Or shall I organize them for you?”

Even if you had specific organization, it would no longer apply to this house. The feeling that everything should be in a specific place and that rooms have specific functions is very different from how you were living before. "I'm sure you'll know just where things are supposed to go," you tell her, with a definite air of 'because I don't have any clue'.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods and immediately whirls around to start wheeling the cart into the dressing room just off to the side of the bathroom.

"Renee?" Following her just a few steps and sticking your head into the dressing room, you have to swallow yet another sigh over how beautiful this house is and how grand everything seems at first blush. You shake it away, though, when her head pops up expectantly. "I don't suppose I could ask any of you to call me by my name, could I? Mrs. Taylor seemed rather set on using a title..."

“It— it’s not done.” Renee admits with a bashful smile. “Although Mrs. Taylor did call Ms. Brown by her nickname at Ms. Brown’s insistence.”

"She had a nickname?" For some reason that intrigues you, even though she had an unusual name to begin with. You've never heard of a woman named Etienne before.

“Cookie.” Renee smiles fondly. “She went by Cookie for as long as she could remember.”

"That's very sweet." And actually makes you smile too, though you can't quite figure out why it warms you through the way it does.

“Do you have a nickname, ma’am?” She asks curiously. “I am sure that Mrs. Taylor would have no issue using a nickname for you.”

"I—" About to protest that you really don't, or at least that you can't think of one, a long-lost memory gets dredged up from the bottom of your mind that you haven't given any thought to in a long time. "I used to like being called Dolly. Quite a lot."

“Yes Ms. Dolly.” The nickname is no more unusual than ‘Cookie’ and the smile that thinking of your nickname is soft and real as it makes you light up.

"Thank you, Renee." It actually relaxes you measurably just to have a little bit less formality, and you offer the girl another genuine, if small, smile.

"My pleasure." She turns back to the bag that is opened and starts to carefully remove all of the clothes to sort and organize into piles before she can fold or hang them. "I should have all of this sorted in just an hour or so."

"Please don't feel like you need to rush. It isn't like I have anywhere to go." The fact that someone else is doing your laundry makes you more than a little embarrassed but you try to remember that it's literally her job. "But...again...thank you."

She doesn't bother to remind you that it's her job, just humming quietly as she continues to make note of what you have that needs pressing.

"Renee?" Even after you've walked away, you double back to look into the dressing room where she is sorting through the things you brought from Tennessee. "Was, this...um...was this Ms. Brown's room?"

"It was, Dolly." She stands up and moves towards the door. "Does that upset you?"

"I...don't really know," you admit after a moment of thinking about it. "I think it's more that...I don't want to disturb it? Like if she had a favourite chair, or painting, or lamp or something, then I wouldn't ever want to move it." Saying it out loud makes you sigh, and you huff a laugh at yourself. "That probably sounds silly."

Her own laugh is slightly ironic. "Please don't worry about that." She assures you. "Ms. Brown loved to rearrange her furniture based off of how she was feeling that week." She tells you. "It drove Mrs. Taylor up the wall, but she would almost insist on moving most of it herself. Even up until a few years ago."

"Wasn't she in her 90s?" You ask, surprised to hear anything so active about the old woman who had lived here.

"She was spry." Renee can sense that you are eager for information about the older lady that had lived in this house. "She did love to pull the chaise in front of the windows and read." She tells you. "Especially on rainy days where the storm raged outside. She would sit with a pot of tea or hot chocolate for hours."

"God, that sounds so relaxing." And in a house full of books, who could blame her? You can't even imagine actually having the time to read every book you saw in the house while you were walking around. " I might have to follow suit for a little while. Just...until I find a new job."

Renee frowns slightly and tilts her head. "A job?" She asks. "Are you someone who likes to keep busy?"

"I guess—" It hadn't occurred to you that you could just not have a job, and that makes you frown far deeper than Renee is at the moment. "I guess so? I didn't really think...I've just always had a job. I didn't really think I'd ever be able to not have one..."

"Perhaps you have something you enjoy doing?" She asks. "Forgive me for being so forward, but you have the means to do whatever you wish now, Dolly."

"I guess I haven't really given it a lot of thought." That makes you frown again, this one considerably more confused, and you shrug your shoulders. "I won't bother you anymore. Thank you, Renee." It's a heady thought to chew over while you eat your breakfast, but it's something that you're going to have to think about. What did you dream about when you used to dream of growing up? You can barely remember anymore.

She doesn't want to pry, so she nods again and turns back towards the dressing room again. It's obvious that you are kind of lost and her heart goes out to you. Hopefully being here will make the sadness in your eyes disappear.

______

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[leelei1980]

Loving Mr. Munson

Part 9

Welcome Home

Taglist: @tlclick73 @fairymunson @micheledawn1975 @elegantkoalapaper @goth-cowgirl-03 @bmunson86 @retrorage86 @hideoutside @veemoon @emmyshortcake @oneforthemunny @erinekc @babyloutattoo89

🛑 Smut Warning ! Mature Content- 18 + Minors DNI🛑

Tw: Talk of masturbation, sex toys, Oral ( Female receiving) unprotected sex P in V- always wrap it up peeps!

Reader POV:

It had been a month since your Father had tried his best to ruin your relationship with Eddie, it had resulted in a break up, then a make up and now your relationship was stronger than ever. Your Mother apologized for your Father's behavior but your old man, still would not, he hadn't spoken to you since that day that he tried to turn your world upside down. That was fine, you didn't need his negativity in your life. His plan had backfired, instead of driving you apart, it brought you closer together. You were on the same page, you knew you didn't want to live without each other, and now you were going to live together.

When he asked you accepted immediately, there was nothing that you wanted more than to move in with Eddie Munson. The two of you had been inseparable, spending every weekend together since you first hooked up. When you weren't with him , all you could think about was being with him, and now it was going to be a reality.

As much as you wanted to you couldn't move out immediately, that wasn't fair to Lisa, you told her that you would stay until she found a suitable roommate, told her to take her time with the screening process, there were a lot of weirdo's out there and she was your best friend. Luckily one of her co-workers was looking for an apartment so it all ended up working out. Leaving the apartment was bittersweet, the two of you had been through some shit in that apartment, had made some memories in that apartment and there was a part of you that was going to miss it. You would miss Lisa as well, you had been roommates since College, but it wasn't like you were a million miles apart. She was your best friend and she was happy for you.

And now it was officially move in day. You really didn't have many possessions and had been bringing small boxes over a little at a time, books , CDs etc so that it wouldn't be so much at once. Eddie, the sweet man that he was had been very accommodating, cleaning out closet space for you, shelves and shuffling things around to make room for your vanity and dresser.

" I was thinking," he said as he leaned against the doorway, hair in a messy bun, wearing an old t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and tight, faded jeans, how was it possible that he looked so goddamn good all the time? "I was thinking that your bureau could go over there, " he pointed to the space he had created under a window , " And your vanity, could go over here, in this section ," he pointed to an empty space opposite the foot of the bed. He smiled.

" I think that sounds perfect. Thank you soo much baby-"

" You don't have to thank me Doll, this is your place now-"

You walked up to him," Our place," you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing against him.

" Our place, our home." He smiled down at you, his hands skimming down your waist to your hips, then sliding back to grab ahold of your ass. He squeezed it and pulled you closer.

" Ooh, I like the sound of that." You stood on your tip toes and brought your mouth to his, kissing him deeply, then nibbling on his lip.

Eddie slowly pulled away. " As much as I want to back you up against that doorframe and fuck your brains out, we have work to do Princess. The quicker we get your stuff moved in and put away the quicker we can open a bottle of champagne and celebrate."

You smiled." You got champagne?"

" Of course I did Sweetheart. The countdown is over. Your here, your home."

" God I love you Eddie Munson."

" I love you more Darlin." He kissed your forehead then slapped your ass. "Let's get to work."

It took a majority of the day to get things moved in and put away. It seemed so strange to see your 'business attire' and floral dresses hanging up in a closet next to Eddie's ripped jeans and leather jacket, your high heels and pumps next to his sneakers and boots.

" I like it, I like how your things look in this room." Eddie smiled as he opened up a box labeled 'bedroom' . " It's a perfect mixture of us. "

You smiled. " It is, let me know if I'm taking up too much space." You neatly placed your clothes in your bureau drawers.

" Sweetheart, half a closet and a dresser is nothing." He paused. " I was thinking that maybe at some point we could go shopping, maybe pick out a new comforter set, get some fancy fucking little pillows, some throw blankets for the back of the couch, candles, you know, stuff to give the place a little bit more of a feminine feel. I want you to really feel at home."

" Your so fucking sweet baby," your body feeling warm and fuzzy inside from his thoughtfulness." But I don't want you to feel like you need to change anything about this place, I love it just how it is."

" It could use a facelift, so seriously we will pick up a few things, paint some walls-" he lifted a purple cosmetic case out of the box and you gasped.

" I'll take that Eds." You felt your face get hot.

He looked between you and the case and he smirked. " What's in here Sweetheart?" He lightly shook it, "Doesn't sound like makeup Dollface."

" It's not."

" Can I open it?"

" If you must." You sighed.

He smiled slyly and rubbed his hands together. " Let's see what's inside shall we?"

" I know what's inside dork," you rolled your eyes dramatically and you watched him unzip the bag, your heart skipped a beat.

" Holy shit! It's an arsenal of sex toys!"

" I wouldn't call it an arsenal it's just a couple vibrat-"

" It's a sexy bag of tricks!" Eddie raised his eyebrows. " Fuck, Angel, why didn't you tell me you had these?"

" Its kind of embarrassing-"

" What? Why would you be embarrassed? Baby, it's me, we have no secrets, this is a judgement free zone."

You sigh. " You know my parents, they are prudes, we didn't openly talk about sex in my family, it was a very hush hush , Masturbation , a totally taboo topic. I had a boyfriend in high school, I lost my virginity to him, he was awful at sex, I never really.. finished, if you know what I mean." you shrugged. " It wasn't until I was out of the house, in college I experimented a little more, my friends bought me a vibrator for my birthday as a gag gift. It took me the longest time to even use it, I felt dirty, like I was doing something wrong, that feeling instilled in me from my upbringing. When I finally got the courage to use it, it was the first time I had an orgasm. I was fucking blown away. Even with Robbie I didn't always....get there. I never told Robbie , I just faked it sometimes, I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I thought it was just me, like I was broken . Then you, you sexy bastard came along and rocked my fucking world, I haven't needed to use my ' bag of tricks', almost forgot I had it until I packed it up. You are a fucking sex god, I've told you before that no one has ever made me cum like you do."

A wide Cheshire Cat smile spread across his face. " I'm happy to be of service, M'lady." Eddie took your hand and kissed it then squeezed it." Young men are very selfish, they only care about getting themselves off, they don't know how to be gentlemen. A true gentleman ALWAYS makes sure that his lady's pleasure comes before his own, hence the saying'Ladies first.' " He sighed. "Its a rule I have always tried to live by, with the exception of my first time, I was so fucking overwhelmed I busted in about two seconds, so pathetic."

You laughed, " I can't ever imagine you as pathetic in the bedroom."

" Oh it was sad. Three pumps in and it was all over." Eddie chuckled then wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. " I want you to know Baby, that it's important to be honest and open about what you like. So far," He smiled wickedly, " You seem to like everything I'm doing but if you ever want to change it, try something new , TELL me. There is absolutely no need to be embarrassed ok? It's not dirty or taboo here. On the flip side of that, if there is ever anything you DONT want to do, tell me, I will NEVER make you do or try something you don't want."

He ran a hand along your cheek," Ok? "

You smiled and leaned forward to lightly kiss his lips. " I'm so lucky to have you."

" It's the other way around Sweetheart." Eddie kissed you again."Looks like we are almost done, we can finish up, I can call and order take out, we'll pop open that champagne and I'll show you just how much fun we can have together with your toys." He winked and you got back to work.

There was a great sense of accomplishment knowing that the two of you had gotten everything done, it was wonderful yet bizarre seeing your romance novels on the shelf next to Eddie's old D&D strategy guides and his copies of the lord of the rings series.  You loved this house, you loved being a part of this house.

" Dinner is on it's way Darling." You watched as Eddie opened up the bottle of champagne with a pop and poured the sparkling bubbly liquid into a couple of champagne flutes. He handed you a glass, smile so wide on his face that his eye crinkled in the corners. "Welcome home Sweetheart."

You smiled and clinked your glass with his. " I'm happy to be here." You took a big sip and then kissed him.

The two of you had polished off the entire bottle of champagne by the time the food arrived, you were starving, you were giddy and you were horny. Champagne, wine, had this affect on you, not that just looking at the man sitting across from you at the dinner table didn't already do that to you.

He had a smile on his face as he ate and he talked about things he wanted to do to the house now that you were there, maybe he could build some window boxes and you could plant some flowers in them, you nodded and smiled and only half paid attention because you couldn't stop staring at his eyes, his jaw, his lips.

" Did the bubbly hit you a little hard Princess? We should have taken a break and eaten something for lunch-"

" I'm fine Eddie," You said staring at his mouth, biting your lower lip and slowly running your foot up the inside of his leg.

" Ahhhh, I see what's going on here." He wiped his lips with a napkin than leaned across the table. " I think my Sweet Girl needs some attention, are you feeling a little worked up, Princess?"

You leaned forward, your face just inches from his. " I have been thinking about fucking you in our bed all day."

He smirked." Is that so?"

You leaned forward just a little bit further and kissed the tip of his nose."Yes, all-" you kissed the left corner of his mouth." Fucking-" you kissed the right corner now, his lips slowly spreading into a smile." Day." You lightly took his lower lip between your teeth and gave it a gentle tug than released it.

He moaned, practically crawling on top of the table just to reach you better. "Fuck Darlin, why didn't you just tell me? Remember our discussion earlier? You need to tell me," he kissed your forehead, " What-," he kissed your nose and you smiled. "You fucking-" he kissed your lips, " Want." He kissed your neck. " If you want to fuck , Angel, all you have to do is ask ." He whispered in your ear.

" Mr. Munson, Sir, will you please take me to our room and fuck me? " You pulled away from him and batted your eyelashes .

A wicked smile spread across his face. "See, was that so hard?" He backed away and walked around the table , scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

You giggled as he carried you into the bedroom then squealed when he threw you onto the bed with a bounce.

He crawled on top of you and was kissing you in an instant, hot and sloppy , all tongues and teeth. You tugged at his hair and he groaned , you could feel his hardness already pressing into you, he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him.

" Would you be a dear and kindly get undressed for me Doll?" He whispered in your ear.

" Of course Baby."

Eddie rolled off you and you watched him walk over to the closet and pull out your purple 'Bag of tricks'.

Your heart started pounding as you tore your clothes off. You had a feeling he was about to do wicked things to you.

He unzipped the bag and rifled through it, the whole time you sat there biting your lip. You watched as he pulled out a vibrator and set it on the bed beside you.

" I've got to tell you Princess, just the thought of you using these on yourself has got me fucking hot." He pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it to the floor. " Do you want to show me how you use it, or do you want me to use it on you? "  He unbuttoned his jeans and slowly slid them off, along with his boxers, his erection on full display.

" I, uh, I'd like for you to use it on me. "

"  Alright Darling, and remember I need feedback, I want to know if there is anything you don't like ok? Promise me that you will always tell me ok?"

You nodded as you watched him crawl onto the bed, the anticipation about to kill you.

" Words, Sweetheart. " he ran a finger down your cheek .

" I promise Eddie."

He gently took your face in his hands . "And Sweetheart, promise me you won't ever fake it with me. I want to know if what I'm doing isn't working for you, because you better fucking believe I'm not going to cum until you do . I will do whatever is necessary to make sure that you get off ok?" He ran his thumbs over your lips.

You playfully bit his thumb and heard a rumble in his chest, you smiled." I promise baby, but I really don't see that ever happening. Not when my panties get wet just looking at you."

" God I fucking love you." His lips crashed into yours and he straddled you, pressing his body into yours. He ran his hand through your hair, down your neck , down your chest where he cupped your breast, running a thumb over your hard nipple.

You broke away from his kiss  and whined into his mouth, " More, "

His mouth ravaged you, moving down , down, down your body, nipping, licking at your sensitive skin, causing your body to light up.

" May I?" He asked , looking up at you from between your legs, placing light sweet kisses on you inner thigh.

" Please." You whispered , drawing in a shaky breath.

He reached up beside you and grabbed your vibrator, turning the dial to the lowest setting to start. He ran it along your slick slit slowly, lightly nudging your clit with the tip and causing you to gasp. You obviously knew what it felt like, but the anticipation, the fact that he was in control, made you so excited.

" You ok Doll?" He asked looking up.

" Yes, please don't stop."

He went back to work , teasing you, going back and forth between his tongue and the vibrations and at times both causing a sensation you had never felt before. Your body thrummed, small whimpers spilled from your lips as he worked his magic.

" I love to hear you Sweetheart, don't be shy. I love to hear how good I'm making you feel. Those pretty little noises, they make me so fucking hard-"

You groaned as he slowly inserted the toy into your wet core, then kitten licked your clit. It sent you over the edge. " Oh god Eddie, it feels so, so-" your body shuddered as your orgasm crashed through you.

" That's it my love, " he cooed as you panted." That's my girl." He kissed the soft skin of your thighs, then your hips. He discarded the vibrator on the bed and crawled up beside you, back against the headboard, wrapping you in his arms.

" That was, amazing." You breathed, as you looked at him.

A cocky smirk spread across his face. " I aim to please."

" Your so fucking good at what you do." You kissed his neck, than the soft spot below his ear that drove him crazy. You felt him hum." Now it's my turn to make you feel good." You whispered. "Tell me what you want Eddie."

" I want you to ride my cock, fucking use me, use me like I'm your fucking toy."

You straddled him, slowly lowering yourself down on his shaft until he was buried deep inside you.

" Fuck Sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. That perfect pussy, taking me in, just like it was made for me." He grabbed your hips and you started to move, rocking back and forth, still sensitive and stimulated from before. So good, he felt so good.

You rolled your hips, lightly ran your fingertips down his taut chest, and you watched his breath hitch. You leaned forward so that your lips were barely touching and asked ," Does that feel good Baby?" You loved him in this position, back against the headboard, your bodies plastered together, your knees on either side of his hips as you bounced up and down on his cock, his gorgeous face right there infront of you to admire, because nothing was sexier than the face he made when he came.

" Your so fucking, fuck -," he tipped his head back , biting his lip and you licked his neck. He moaned.

" Do you like that baby?" You held onto the headboard behind him, " You like it when I fuck you? "  You rode him with reckless abandon, your pace relentless.

" I fucking love it-" he growled, burying his face into you neck, breathing hard, his hands digging into your hips. He thrusted up into you and you cried out. It wouldn't take long.

He was so deep, he did it again , hitting that sweet spot inside you. You felt your walls tighten around him, you felt yourself let go again for the second time that night, a euphoric wave washing over you ,making you dizzy with pleasure. You threw your head back.

" Oh god, oh god,Eddie-"

" I'm cumming, Fuck!" He was right there with you, panting, holding you close, his body shaking.

You rested your forehead on his , completely spent.” Was that good?” You smiled.

" Your so fucking good, " he murmured into your lips, hands sliding up your back and into your hair." I can't get enough. Your mine, and your here, and now I don't have to say goodbye because your already home."

" As long as I'm in your arms, Baby, I'm home."

As always thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to the Taglist please let me know!Comments, feedback and re-blogs are everything to me❤️ Thank you❤️

Photo courtesy of @eddiesxangel - thank you!

[punsmaster69]

10/NOV/20XX

"Sans."

"Sans."

"SANS."

"SANS, STOP THROWING ME, GODDAMN IT!!"

"We're not getting ANYWHERE like this!"

"you look like you need a hand."

"I don't!"

"I REALLY don't!!"

"....."

"alphys, stop grabbing me."

"It's only fair."

"c'mon. we're not getting 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 like this."

"Oh, shut UP!!"

i'm at undyne and alphys' place, playing co-op games.

(i'm really helpful, as you can tell.)

papyrus was playing with us, but he apparently made plans with flowey.

sorry, 'flowery'.

that's what paps calls him.

must be a nickname of sorts,

'cuz when paps is real serious, he'll say 'flowey'.

..which is to say, almost never.

that weed's got a big soft spot for papyrus.

and tori.

and despite the squabbles, i think he really cares about frisk, too.

——

"Undyne..."

"Let me-"

"I'm gonna make this jump by myself if it's the last thing I do!!"

"Y-you're losing all your lives.."

"I'm GONNA make it!"

she did not.

i'm already out myself, after undyne got pissed and threw me into a pit a few times.

now it's just alphys vs. the clock.

"GO, Alphy, GO!!"

——

"YEAAAAHHH!!!!"

i whispered, "(epic dub.)"

alphys slowly turned to me with a look of disgust.

"(You are... so cringe.)"

"(you're just jealous of my hip-ness. i'm totally epic.)"

"(Stop??)"

——

"Yo, Sans."

"Wanna have one with us before you leave?"

undyne shook a cup noodle.

"sure."

been a while since i had ramen for dinner, since paps usually cooks. stopped having them as often because they're not really substantial enough for me anymore.

oh, to go back to being a teen who could live off noodles forever.

——

sometime while we were eating, it really started coming down.

"When'd it start raining THIS hard?"

"You might have to stay here until it clears, Sans."

"if i pull my hood up i'll be fine getting home."

"Dude, no way we're letting you go out like that."

alphys squinted out the window.

"It's getting dark, too. You're not gonna be able to see a thing!"

they've got a point, but paps is gonna be worried.

——

"STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!!"

"ok"

"i am"

"did you get home before the rain?"

"NO, I'M AT MS. TORIEL'S."

"ANY IDEA WHEN IT'LL CLEAR?"

"looks like it might be all night."

"SO IT'S AN IMPROMPTU SLEEPOVER, NOW?"

"guess so"

"DO THEY HAVE SPARE BLANKETS AND WHATNOT FOR YOU TO USE?"

"lemme ask"

"ok"

"one pillow"

"but no sheets"

"THAT'S.. NOT GREAT."

"eh"

"good enough"

"how's it for you at tori's?"

"MS. TORIEL IS DEFINITELY ALWAYS PREPARED."

"HER COUCH IS QUITE COMFORTABLE!"

"BY THE"

"huh"

"SORRY. I HIT SEND TOO EARLY."

"I MEANT:

BY THE WAY, DID YOU EAT ALREADY?"

"cup noodles"

he took a long time to respond.

"HM."

"what"

"IS THAT REALLY NUTRITIONAL ENOUGH?"

"survived off the stuff before"

"AND YOU WERE ALWAYS TERRIBLY SHAKY, BEFORE."

"if that was all i'd eaten"

"....IS THAT ALL YOU'VE EATEN?"

"the cereal and coffee this morning"

"UGH."

"I AGREED TO CEREAL ON THE CONDITION THAT YOU HAD SOMETHING MORE SUBSTANTIAL LATER."

"corn flakes are substantial"

"NOT*"

"i'll lie"

"lice"

"libe"

"live"

"jeez"

"sorry"

"WHAT HAPPENED THERE??"

"fuzzy vision+hands stuff"

"WHAT."

"maybe i stared too hard at the screen or somethin"

"AND THE HANDS??"

"dunno"

"OKAY."

"THAT'S."

"I WAS RIGHT ABOUT YOUR POOR DIETARY CHOICES TODAY, THEN."

"I SEE YOU TYPING AND IF IT'S AT ALL REMINISCENT OF A 'IT'S FINE' I WANT YOU TO STOP."

"...REALLY?"

"OKAY. OKAY."

"SO YOU'RE:"

"RUNNING ON CAFFEINE, SUGAR, AND CARBS."

"SLEEPING WITH NO BLANKETS DURING A COLD RAINSTORM."

"SUFFERING VARIOUS HEALTH COMPLICATIONS."

"AND I'M... THERE FOR NONE OF IT."

"DON'T EVEN SAY IT."

"ok"

"bro?"

"you still there?"

"..HOLD ON. GIVE ME A MINUTE."

"what's going on?"

"....paps???"

——

oh my god.

really papyrus, what the hell?

now you're worrying 𝘮𝘦.

he marched through that storm out there just to bring me home?

"Not even an umbrella..?"

"I.. DIDN'T THINK ABOUT IT."

"HOLD ON, LET ME GO OUT AND GET A BIG ONE SO SANS-"

"Like hell you are!!"

"I HAVE TO TAKE SANS HOME!"

"you're soaked, paps..."

"A LITTLE RAIN CAN'T STOP THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

——

the weather eventually let up enough for us to borrow umbrellas and walk home.

i'm still worried about him, though. he sat in those cold, soaked clothes for a while.

says he feels fine...

but he's been trembling a little since he came in.

"ONCE I WARM UP MORE, I'LL BE A-OKAY!"

——

"ISN'T IT TOO LATE FOR YOU TO BE WRITING ANY MORE? ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE NOT FEELING GREAT!"

"paps, you are-"

"PLEASE GO TO BED. STOP WORRYING ABOUT ME!"

"i'm only going if you do."

"..ALRIGHT, FAIR ENOUGH. I'LL GO AS WELL."

"goodnight, bro."

"GOODNIGHT, SANS!!"

"throw on a couple more blankets tonight, ok? maybe put on a sweater."

"I DON'T NEED-"

he shivered.

"......."

"WILL DO."

[radiantlyrey]

Thoughts on Uprising ep13 “The Stranger”

- cold open: welp, it wouldn’t be an episode of Uprising if Beck didn’t make a Bad Decision, now would it? (also I’m more interested in the city names than the actual beats of the cold open!!! my basic go-to for Grid city names has been using the noble gases; in my fic The Outpost a Xenon City is mentioned, for instance. interesting that they decided to use other elements as well. love the choice of Gallium, tho; it’s a cool metal with a low melting point—if you hold it in your hand, it’ll start to melt from a solid!!) (new headcanon: all the big cities—excepting Tron City—are named after noble gases; maybe the smaller cities are named after other elements?)

- and then under the energy whirlpool Beck finds a weird mirror that HE SHOULD HAVE LEFT ALONE. like, if I found my hand was able to go into a weird mirror I found in the middle of nowhere, I would simply pull my hand out and walk the opposite direction. that is what I would do, but Beck does not! and he gets fucking choked out and dragged away by a mysterious figure!! THAT’S NOT HORRIFIC AT ALL.

- meanwhile in the B plot: Tron is basically the Batman of the Grid, I’m calling it now. But like… the older Batman from Batman Beyond, kind of? it’s not a 1:1 fit, okay? ANYWAY. he freaks the fuck out of Able, who is worried about Beck, and they have another Dad fight about Beck, that Able wins again. anyway. apparently Dyson is back in town and up to no fucking good, as usual, and Tron needs someone to look into it. so Able volunteers. cos that won’t go badly at all!!!!!!

- okay, I will say this about Cyrus’s domain: it’s weird as shit and I’m glad the designers and animators were able to sort of go off with it! it’s got more color than most of Argon, and it’s just plan WEIRD and I love it a little bit??? like Cryus makes the whole thing creepy as FUCK, but whatever??? it’s really neat design stuff going on, with gears and clocks and all that, and kind of reminds me of the inside of a computer or watch. it’s quite neat, and I love it.

- that aside: BECK HAS FUCKED THE FUCK UP. DUDE GOT HIS DISC STOLE AND HIS SECRET FOUND OUT AND JUST. FUCK. I’M SORRY KIDDO.

- meanwhile in the B plot, Able’s going undercover at some secret government work project! and there’s Dyson and fuck this isn’t going to end well at all fuck FUCk FUCK FUCK

- meanwhile Cyrus (who I don’t think identifies himself in this episode at all???? I could be wrong; the captions didn’t shy away from his name, tho) is being a goddamn A-grade CREEPAZOID and I DO NOT LIKE HIM. like he is trying so hard to play the “we’re not so different, you and I” card and it’s not really working on Beck at all, which GOOD, but STILL. HE MAKES MY SKIN CRAWL. FUCK.

- and the Able goes snooping and DYSON FINDS HIM FUCK FUCK FUCK thankfully Able’s supervisor catches him just in time because god fucking DAMN I WAS ABOUT TO FAINT DEAD AWAY FUCKKKKKKK

- I mean. my experience of this episode is perhaps best summed up as “FUCK FUCK FUCK DO NOT WANT STOP STOP PLEASE STOP HOLY GOD FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK” this was both a delight and a terror, ngl

- and then it turns out Cyrus has a plan! a grand plan to free everyone—from the burden of existence, it turns out!!!!! (tho now I’m suddenly wondering—if his device HAD worked and taken the grid offline…….. what the fuck would have happened to Flynn???????? would the Portal have spat him out even tho it’s not open? would he have just died??? I’m suddenly extremely curious about this!!!!) Cyrus is a bona fide omnicidal maniac, and he thinks he’s figured out fate and all that and he’s gonna use Beck to power his device and “free” everyone by destroying the Grid!!! THAT’S NOT CREEPY AT ALL. FUCK.

- in the B plot, Able gets caught snooping AGAIN and then it turns out he was expecting Tron this whole time, and they beat up a whole bunch of Black Guards while Dyson makes his escape…. in a giant-ass Recognizer??? that apparently Tesler is NOT supposed to know about ???? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE. that said, I love that the show is taking on a slightly more serialized storytelling style, where some things are not fully answered by the end of each episode

- in the main plot, Cyrus and Beck break free of the compressed space and Beck nearly passes out but sees Tron (and Clu??!!? WHAT THE FUCK, SERIOUSLY, WHAT IS GOING ON?!?!?) and snaps out of it and manages to escape and stop Cyrus’s plan and apparently* trap Cyrus back in his little dimension with the creepy mirror now broken. and then Beck sometime later shows up at Tron’s and SAYS NOTHING ABOUT CYRUS BECAUSE OF COURSE NOT. (I know, I know, there wouldn’t be a show if they just talked about it, but STILL.) also I am MAJORLY freaked out by the circuits still visible on Beck’s wrist(s) when he applies pressure. that’s not creepy at all. holy SHIT.

- * and of course, the broken mirror DIDN’T FUCKING TAKE and Cyrus has escaped and FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKKKKKKKKKK this is gonna end BADLY I just KNOW IT

- also Cyrus’s whole thing about fate and things being set in stone and all that got me thinking about a short story I read back in uni called “The Algorithms for Love” by Ken Liu, which is basically about a programmer who creates a speech algorithm for a line of talking dolls. The programmer eventually comes to the (perhaps erroneous) conclusion that human behavior is just an algorithm: “ “What if,” I said, struggling to find the words, “we are just following some algorithm from day to day? What if our brain cells are just looking up signals from other signals? What if we are not thinking at all? What if what I’m saying to you now is just a predetermined response, the result of mindless physics?” “ like, Cyrus seems to be set on the idea that there’s no point in trying to change things or make things better for anyone, because it’s fate that it’s like this, and the best way to deal with a tyrant is to simply destroy the whole world. (the short story is really creepy and really good, btw, highly recommend it)

- all in all: GOOD EP. as I said in my previous post, I haven’t cussed that much at the TV since Hannibal Season One!!

[dragon30125]

Hey I haven’t been here in a LOOOONG time, but I need somewhere to just vent where there isn’t really much chance of a pity party or me freaking out some people.

It’s just, really fucking hard right now. This year has ducking sucked, hell most of my life sucks. Some of these are my own fault, some are no ones. Imma just list shit and bare my feelings cos like I need to get things off my chest.

The year started and I was working my ass off, then I got run off the road riding an EScooter and broke my hand, I was able to get 2 days off then back to work I went, I got punched by a customer that was beating the shit out of another customer when I intervened (With my broken hand btw) then I got sick, then my friend died, then I didn’t get to properly celebrate my 30th birthday with my friends cause they all had these plans come up, so I only really had 2 friends actually like celebrate with me (which hey better than my 19th or 22nd birthday when no one came to my party’s right?) then I worked for like 40 days straight then my grandma died, and hey straight off to the Gold Coast whilst my Dad, Aung and Uncle all fought over the Fucked up shit my Uncle did that came to light. Then work got busy and I still couldn’t get time off, even now it’s just a constant fucking fight to have an hour to myself, then dating opht.

So I’m 30, and despite all the different ways I have tried I just cannot succeed at any version of the partners/dating/boyfriend/girlfriend game. I’ve gone to bars, clubs, out with friends, out alone, OkCupid, Tinder, Hinge, Bumble, Feeld and a slew of other apps. Paid for some of them at some point just to see and try but have come up empty. I’ve gotten dates! Not a lot of them, and even less second ones. I’ve never had a third. It fucking sucks. NOTE I don’t blame anyone for this, no one owes me a date or anything if the sort, and the only common factor to these dates is me so it’s obviously something I fuck up. But damn does it hurt. I bloomed late, got comfy with being bi, but just can’t get out of the gate.

And it’s just, the older I get the more I run into the question on these sites “Would you date someone who has never had a relationship?” And Goddamn does it hurt to see more and more people in the pool of people I could date answer more and more “No” to that every year. Again no one owes me anything but like I think I’m allowed to feel sadness that people won’t even give me a chance because of that, can’t I?

Then there’s the whole gender thing. Like the more and more that time goes on the more and more convinced I become that in probably a Trans woman, but then I still have those days that I feel like Andrew again. And then I see all the stuff that Andrew did and does and I don’t think Andi fits into those spaces or with those people even though all of me loves those spaces. Hell even work doesn’t seem like it will be ok to do there. And it just adds to this feeling of defeat that seems to be my daily life now.

I lost all this weight back in 2014/2015 and then I just slowly put it all back on again because I just lost interest in it and now every time I try to start again it feels like it just can’t happen and then that makes me give up even faster.

And I know I KNOW that I’m depressed and that actually going to see a therapist or a counselled or a psychiatrist would help but I literally cannot afford one, and I can’t find one that will take me and actually have me at an office cos I know I can’t do it online, at my apartment where I just want to let go and hide away.

Hell even work sucks for all of these reasons, I keep wanting to go do stuff and have me time, go to events and party’s that I know people at and where I know I can find some release and relief and just some fleeting happiness yet I just can’t get away from there for even 2 hours, having to cover peoples shifts because they’re sick when I’m also sick and it’s just ARGH.

I just don’t know what to do at this point, how to get out of this hole and all I can do is keep walking up this steep path, trudging along whilst finding the bodies of friends who couldn’t fight more, trying to take them with me even though they’re gone, whist some asshole keeps putting more and more arrows of shit into my back, so much that I just have to keep walking though, and just yeah

Look if you read all this thanks, again I don’t want any pity or anything I just needed somewhere to vent to just I dunno put out into the world and see if the universe will just give me a tiny break somewhere. So hopefully it does. I’ll be ok, I’m always ok, every now and then I just need to like pull out those arrows I mentioned so I can keep going so yeah thanks

[clusterbungle]

I need a quick (rambly) vent. I apologise now if liberal swearing offends you, might want to scroll on by-

Several years ago I opted to sacrifice a day's pay and reduce my work hours from 5 days a week to 4. It was a health decision, MS means I just don't have the energy to work full time and still get anything else done. I'm not even talking fun stuff, I would be so fecking drained by the weekend I would have to pick 1 or 2 of the very necessary chores I needed to do (e.g. cook myself a meal, do laundry, go buy food if I'd run out, hoover, etc) because I was way too drained to do any more than that. Notice how "going out and doing fun stuff" doesn't feature on the list? Yeah.

So my day off is Wednesday. It breaks up the week, gives me a chance to "catch up" on sleep (which is a fallacy but y'know what I mean) if the insomnia has been especially bad, do a couple of necessary chores so I have a smaller list at the weekend and therefore can actually get more things done. Maybe I'll even have enough energy to do something i actually enjoy at the weekend!

Wednesday is not a day for fun times, partly because that was never the point and also WTF am I gonna do on a Wednesday that's super interesting? Literally everyone else is working, I'm basically restricted to my home town since I don't drive and trains are effing expensive so no, and the whole goddamn reason for my Wednesday off work is to rest so I can get through the rest of the work week so overexherting myself defeats the point!

And yet every week, either Tuesday afternoon or Thursday morning, my dick bag co-worker asks me "what have you got planned/did you do for your day off?"

I don't really have words for it but it just makes me so angry. Maybe "ableist bullshit" is the phrase I'm looking for because it clearly doesn't even enter this twat's brain that I only need the day off because my disabled self can't fucking handle the alternative!

And then today when I mentioned I'll be getting my boiler repaired he was like "more sensible adult stuff!" referencing something i said when I'd first mentioned the boiler was broken.

...yes. More sensible fucking adult stuff because I'm a fucking adult? Because this shit needs to get done? Because it wasn't exactly fun when I was literally without heating and hot water??? BECAUSE MY DAY OFF THAT I SACRIFICED PAY FOR IS NOT ABOUT GOING ON WACKY ADVENTURES FOR THE SAKE OF GIVING YOU INTERESTING ANECDOTES!!???!!!!

[eriathalia]

I wonder if it's just me being a whiny b***h, but since yesterday I've been thinking really hard about the positive things connected to the relationship between my boss and me over the last 7 1/2 years.

We were asked on whether we wanted to participate in a clip compilation for his retirement in January.

Being one of those that have been working under him for the longest in the whole unit by now, I of course agreed.

But the task given, "which pleasant memories to share" is almost impossible to fulfill for me.

Thinking back I even have a surprisingly hard time to even remember an instance where he thanked me for anything.

All I can recall is all the times he

- rolled his eyes at me

- frowned at me

- was annoyed by me showing up in his office

- all the times I basically had to plead to get a day off that had not been planned for a year in advance (like many other colleagues, may I add)

- the fact he treats people in a vastly different way based on looks and boot licking instead of accomplishment

- the fact, that at one point he kept a list of my mistakes

- being shouted at for things that would merely cause a shrug if his favorites did the same thing

- his utter ungratefulness for all the extra work to keep the goddamn unit running and shining (for instance working till 10 pm to answer an interview for a student and then, instead of a thank you, being told to delete several pages of answers to questions he did not like, and the being told he doesn't even understand why I bothered to do it that thoroughly; somtimes doing the files of 4 people while teaching students, preparing 60 appointmens and being the one helping out most of the newer colleagues at the same time)

- his utter ungratefulness towards other colleagues who basically had to re-invent the wheel for presentations forced upon yhem, since the stuff he provided has been outdated since the beginning of time

- his constant suspicion that many hours in overtime meant sitting around doing nothing on Fridays to get more days off

- him always asking me to fill the gaps when people called in sick and then still telling me off

- managing to get his personal friends promoted, even though everyone around saw they were constantly slacking off and leaving others to pick up after them

- "accidentally" having a slip up in evaluations so a colleague who had been doing a higher qualified job without the actual payment got skipped *twice* when it came finally promote someone to that exact position, all in order to help the people who were prettier than her (even though she is brilliant and one of the most competent co-workers I know and has often done the work of 3-5 people when we were super short staffed, plus tons and tons and tons of other helpful things)

The list could go on for a long time, but yeah...

What the heck am I about to say?!

[liesoverthec]

I know this wasn’t a popular opinion for a while but I give Kristen Reidl a 10000/10 on the co-show runner job this season.

I’ve been reading through all of her post-mortem interviews after the finale, and seeing her SAY all of the things I got from the episode, just really cements home for me how well the writing room did this season on portraying those ideas. I got exactly what she wanted us to get - and what’s more, I believed it was true for who the characters were. I feel like she knows them WELL and she gave them stories that fit that I, as an audience member, got the exact emotional imprint that she wanted me to get.

Maybe you didn’t agree with her every decision, but from what I can glean, she got promoted p much at the exact same moment that Tim just bailed for LS, and then immediately she was dealing with a mom on maternity leave, an anti-vaxxer to give a goodbye to, and several more vulnerable people to keep safe during a still-happening pandemic. It was a lot on her plate, and seeing the entire end result for the first time? I think she did really good.

Not to mention how goddamn sick I was of reading interviews from Tim where he bragged about rewriting scripts and everything being last minute cuz he had no idea where he was going or what he wanted. Listening to KReidl talk about how much of this stuff she/the writers thought about, how they planned these arcs and the endings for the characters so we ended up exactly where she wanted us? Now THATS the kind of love and care I want for this show and these amazing characters.

It makes me look forward to s6 that much more! Thank you, KReidl, for s5!

[djarrex]

I was just rewatching the “Battle Scars” episode of TBB, and I was internally squealing at Rex looking at Omega so affectionately, helping her across that rift, just all of his sweet little interactions with her! 🥰 While watching I couldn’t help but think of your fic and think, “Goddamn! This man DOES have baby fever!” Lmao! So, this all kinda made me wonder if you have any thoughts on how the Bad Batch (and Omega) would react to Rex suddenly having a wife and Priya? (Or if any of that even fits into your fics’ timelines? Lol!)

Hey there!

Hell yeah he's got it bad for babies and the making of the babies. Priya was born mere months ago and mans is ready for #2 😏

I was definitely planning on having the guys travel to Dantooine to visit the Gayiyla's! I'm thinking following the events of the season 1 finale - maybe they're going there to inform Rex of what happened/lay low for a couple nights/let Omega chillax for a lil while without pure chaos surrounding them.

Some thoughts I had for a future installment under the cut: (sfw)

They all, especially Echo, would be extremely happy for Rex. They've met his lady in the past only a couple of times (the most recent being when she was in the early stages of pregnancy - in the fic Insatiable), and were glad the Captain had something bright to hold onto in the darkening galaxy. Maybe they stop in town to grab a little wedding/house warming trinket (Omega's and Wrecker’s idea) on the way.

Omega loved Rex's partner from when she stuck with her on Bracca, and would be totally in awe with Priya and it would be just so adorable to see them interact. She'd ask right away if she can hold her, and Uncle Wrecker would be next in line! 🥰 *imagines Wrecker holding a very smol bean*. She'd end up falling asleep next to Priya's crib - curled up with a toy in her hand.

Hunter has grown a soft spot for children and even though he doesn't trust himself to hold the baby, he'd try to make her giggle by wiggling something in her face to elicit a reaction, but would snap back to his normal sabacc face when someone catches him being all 'vulnerable'.

Echo would be sort of nervous to hold her because she's too delicate and he's worried about the possibility of gripping too hard with his cybernetic arm, but after a million assurances from Rex and the wifey, Echo gives it a shot. And he loves it. Echo can't believe his brother created such a precious thing, and can't help but think back to his first meeting of Rex on Rishi. Even though Rex was his CO, Echo is just so proud of him for getting this far in life and allowing himself to settle down. "Wow... she looks like you, brother." and Rex's heart would explode just as it did when his wife said the same thing on the day of his daughter's birth.

Tech is... Tech. He wouldn’t play with the baby nor does he possess a desire to hold her, but that doesn't mean he's anything but happy for a fellow brother for getting to live a life like this. Truthfully, he's intrigued by Priya and her creation - a clone, created in a lab, has a child of his own? Does his offspring share the same kind of features and traits that made the clones so efficient on the battlefield? Will she age as the clones do, or will she take on the 'nat-born' trait from her mother? Rex would ask Tech to please stop inquiring about his daughter's genetic makeup (affectionate) telling him how she's not a science experiment like them, and shouldn't be inquired about like one.

After hours of entertaining Priya until she fell asleep, Wrecker would break out his poncho and hat to help Rex with the crops like he did on Saleucami with Cut. Meanwhile, Echo and Hunter would be going over what the next moves are for the squad as a whole on the Maurader, while Tech works on some random ship stuff.

I haven't figured out all the details - the next thing I'm working on for Post-Order 66 Rex is a lil smutty smut action (gotta stay true to the origins of this series) but there will be interaction with CF99 in the future!

Thank you for this! It makes me so happy that people enjoy this little series of sorts and are wanting to talk to me about it 😭💙

Please ask me all about the Gayiyla's and this series I love it so much 🥰

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 20, part three(!)

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

This episode has so much crucially important stuff in it I had to write 3 posts about it! Part one is here, part two is here. 

Don't Start None, Won't Be None

Lan Wangji has never had a real fight with Wei Wuxian before--remember, in their rooftop fight Wei Wuxian never even drew his sword. And since this is going to be a verbal fight, Lan Wangji is going to lose, badly. He's an elegant and articulate speaker, but he's not quick with words, and he speaks directly and sincerely. Weaponized speech is not his area at all, so he's pretty much bringing a knife to a gunfight. A guqin to a flute fight. Whatever. He tries to turn it into a physical confrontation, twice, but Jiang Cheng holds him back.

This throwdown is 100% about religion and orthodoxy; something that is fundamental to both of these young men's lives. Lan Wangji has made it his mission to be as orthodox as possible, doing shit like volunteering to be beaten for drinking when he didn't choose to drink. He's constantly overwhelmed by emotion, and the Lan rules are a source of regulation and safety for him. His emotions around Wei Wuxian are among the most overwhelming he's got, possibly only second to his feelings about his mom.

Right now his feelings are extra overwhelming. 

It's complicated because his relationship with Wei Wuxian literally started off with him punishing Wei Wuxian for heterodoxy. All that time they spent together in the library? Was because Wei Wuxian talked--JUST talked--about using resentful energy for cultivation. Which is precisely the ability he's just shown them, along with a style of killing enemies that's borderline evil and definitely, DEFINITELY unsportsmanlike.

So this is not, Lan Wangji is lovingly worried about Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian is pushing him away to avoid an uncomfortable conversation. This is Lan Wangji freaking out because his entire system of belief is being challenged and he's in love with the person who's challenging it.  

Wei Wuxian has shown up to the party wearing an International Mr. Leather tee shirt with a enamel pin stuck to it that says "I get my kicks on route 666" and Lan Wangji just. cannot. deal.  

Never Start a Fight But Always Finish One

Wei Wuxian has a couple of options here. One is to accept, kindly, that he and his friend can't be friends any more because of religion. In this option, in order to preserve his friend's comfortable sense of being right, he would have to tacitly accept that he himself is bad in some way, and allow his friend to keep having his value system, while walking away from him.  

The other choice is to hit so hard that he makes his friend feel really, really bad, and potentially rocks him off of his comfortable foundation. In the short term, the friendship breaks, but if it forces him to actually question his value system, it might lay the groundwork for a new, more accepting friendship.  Anyone who is queer with an anti-queer-religious best friend is probably familiar with this dilemma.

Wei Wuxian chooses the second option, and goes all in from the first moment, calling Lan Wangji "Lan Er Gongzi" and then upgrading to "Hanguang Jun" and even bowing. If it's possible to bow sarcastically, that's what Wei Wuxian is doing. Then he meets his eyes and sticks his chin out, essentially saying "how do you like them apples?"

(more after the cut!)

Lan Wangji's feelings are probably hurt, but he's too busy being mad to show it, and he goes straight to grilling Wei Wuxian, asking him about the killing, the talismans, and giving up the sword, all while Jiang Cheng stands by and wonders what the fuck is happening. 

Lan Wangji is making a fundamental error here, which is he's speaking as if he's an authority instead of as a peer. Wei Wuxian has only ever accepted one authority in his entire life, and that was Jiang Fengmian. Jiang Cheng is the one who, for a change, is approaching as a worried friend, while Lan Wangji approaches as if he has the right to call Wei Wuxian to account.  

Wei Wuxian won't answer his questions and is getting in his face, provoking him in a very quiet and controlled way, and Lan Wangji responds by just being really aggressive. It's interesting to see Wei Wuxian completely mastering his emotions while Lan Wangji is completely....not.  Wei Wuxian pushes harder, saying he's being rude, saying he's being a bad friend.  Which doesn't make any difference to Lan Wanji, who keeps pressing for an answer while Jiang Cheng wonders what the fuck is happening.

Come to Gusu

Wei Wuxian says he already explained, that it's complicated, it will take time to explain, so then Lan Wangji makes the utterly dumbassed demand that Wei Wuxian return to Gusu with him to explain it. What, exactly, is his plan? Bring Wei Wuxian to Gusu and have Lan Xichen (at the very least) and probably also Lan Qiren help him to convince Wei Wuxian that resentful cultivation is bad? How is that likely to work out? Let's have our own flashback, to that classroom interaction that led to the punishment in the library.

Lan Qiren: How will you make sure the resentful energy will only listen to you and not harm others? [Note: he's not wrong, Wei Wuxian] Wei Wuxian: I haven't figured that out yet ["details," as OP's dad used to say] Lan Qiren: If you did, the cultivation world would not allow your existence [i.e. we, the Lan Clan of Gusu, will kill your ass]

Lan Wangji probably doesn't think he's threatening Wei Wuxian with death by inviting him to Gusu, but he kinda is, if Lan Qiren was serious back then.  Lan Wangji is so upset and fearful that he's not really thinking clearly at this point. He loves Wei Wuxian and he's certain that cultivating with resentful energy will destroy him. [Note: he's not wrong, Wei Wuxian]  But Wei Wuxian is beyond fear. He's already been destroyed once.

Wei Wuxian rips on Gusu and then says, in a super-provocative way, that he prefers Yunmeng, which prompts Lan Wangji to say "don't joke around" as angrily as possible. 

This part of the interaction always confuses me because...shouldn't he prefer Yunmeng? He's actually from there and lives there and belongs there and stuff? He's just saying "I think I'll go with my brother" yet WWX and LWJ both act like he said he'd rather go to Demon City.

Lan Wangji takes a big step forward and Jiang Cheng blocks him while Wei Wuxian continues to act unperturbed and puzzled while holding his demon flute out in between them. 

Finally, FINALLY, Wei Wuxian calls him Lan Zhan, and asks him a serious question: What do you really want. Lan Wangji calms down for a second--although he keeps leaning into Jiang Cheng's sword block--and gets to the point, which is that the unorthodox path is dangerous, and harmful to his temperament.  

Kill one turtle together and you think you're the boss of me

So, these dudes are talking about 2 different levels of unacceptable cultivation, in this episode and the next few. Netflix translates these as "wicked tricks" and "crafty tricks," which both sound absolutely ludicrous in English, so I'm going to use my own preferred terms, going forward.  

I think what they are calling "Wicked Tricks," which includes spirit snatching and feeding people to the murder turtle on purpose in order to harvest their resentment could be translated as Heresy--adhering to a forbidden belief or practice; standing in opposition to Orthodoxy.  

Edit: After rewatching Episode 35, in which Nie Huaisang explains why their whole blade thing doesn’t count as “wicked tricks,” I’ve changed my mind about what to call this. NHS says that “wicked tricks” specifically involve the use of humans & human spirits (killing, sacrificing, etc.). Which means Necromancy is probably the better term for this particular type of cultivation, although it is still (also) Heresy. 

"Crafty Tricks," which is using resentful energy to raise and control already-dead people (ghosts and zombies) as well as just generally using resentment for basic stuff like beating Jin Zixuan's ass, could be translated as Heterodoxy--deviating from the accepted belief or practice, but not to the point of complete opposition.

Wei Wuxian laughs while Lan Wangji tries to be convincing, but since Lan Wangji is just repeating what he's been taught, he's not making much headway. Instead of saying "there's no exception throughout history" he could have, instead, gone with his own actual observations, such as "you are acting like a sadistic prick" or "you seem amazingly miserable" or "you aren't hugging your brother, what the fuck is that about?" But no.

Wei Wuxian responds to the charge of heresy by saying nuh-uh, and explains his methods, sort of, while going back to calling him Lan Er Gongzi. Lan Er Gongzi responds by actually literally yelling at him, and saying he's not allowed to decide for himself about what he's doing, as if the words "allowed to" have ever meant a goddamn thing to Wei Wuxian.

Temperament

At this point Wei Wuxian is done. He goes and gets right up in Lan Wangji's face and sticks a metaphorical knife right in his heart, smiling as he does it. "How do others know my temperament?" he asks; "and why should it be their concern?" i.e. you are not in my heart. 

This makes Lan Wangji so mad he calls Wei Wuxian "Wei Wuxian" for possibly the only time in the show, and he also flashes a whole bunch of angry teeth. (Gifset here). In a callback to the JFM-YZY fight back in Lotus Pier before the war, Wei Wuxian just calmly says "Lan Wangji" back at him, and then tells him to go fuck himself.

Jiang Cheng still doesn't understand what the fuck is happening, but this is a sentiment he understands, so he also tells Lan Wangji to go fuck himself, reminding him that Wei Wuxian is Jiang clan property and it's not the Lans' place to discipline him. Adding "and I'm not going to discipline him any way, look how good he is at killing people!"

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji continue to stare into each others' eyes from a distance so close that it really should lead to making out, but they are both much too angry for that. 

Wei Wuxian is as cold as we ever see him, smiling as he silently confirms: I do not belong to you. Lan Wangji glares back, his anger maybe finally giving way, a little bit, to being hurt.

Finish Him!

Wen Chao picks this moment to wake up and crawl over to the trio, begging Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng to save his life, since he presumably knows it's pointless to beg Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian turns around and gives him the EXACT SAME dead-eyed smile he just gave Lan Wangji, and kicks him.

Then he tells Lan Wangji to please leave so he and his brother can finish torturing this dude to death, and caps it with an official Jiang Clan eye roll.  

Lan Wangji, poor bb, just throws in the towel, and turns and leaves, the anger finally starting to leave his face and be replaced with something else...chagrin, maybe? Or maybe just softer anger, for the moment. 

After he's out of sight Wei Wuxian turns and looks after him sadly, all of the cruelty and hardness gone from his expression, while Wen Chao says "forgive me,"  possibly voicing what Wei Wuxian is thinking.

Lan Wangji walks out the front gate, troubled, and hears Wen Chao scream. He stops and replays the most pointed part of the fight in his head - the part where Wei Wuxian asked him, "who do you think you are?" Lan Wangji went into the fight believing he was completely right and was entitled to judge Wei Wuxian, but he's come out of it with his certainty shaken. 

Family Time

The Yunmeng brothers go to the ancestral shrine in Lotus Pier even though the whole "reclaiming Lotus Pier" scene doesn't happen until Episode 24. So apparently they just kind of sneak into the the shrine, and then sneak back out. Or, you know, continuity error.  Anyway Wei Wuxian is nothing if not adept at sneaking around death-related places.

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng bow and offer incense. It's nice that the Wens didn't fuck up everybody's name plaques when they were in control of the place...or the tassels, candles, etc. 

Wei Wuxian quietly tells Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian that he did what they asked--taking care of Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli--and they can rest now. Nosy parker Jiang Cheng wants to know what he's saying, but Wei Wuxian just changes the subject. 

They talk about going to Qinghe for the final combat of the Sunshot Campaign. Wei Wuxian says that's why he returned, which...dude, you can't even pretend you came back to be with your loved ones? Ouch. Jiang Cheng doesn't really react to that, but he's happy when Wei Wuxian says he wants to see Jiang Yanli. Wei Wuxian wants to know if she's ok and if she's mad at him, and Jiang Cheng says wait and see, because direct answers are not the Jiang Clan way.

Jiang Yanli is helping tend to the wounded, and we see her telling a particularly fussy wounded dude to suck it up and stop complaining. 

When Wei Wuxian shows up she totally stops paying attention to the wounded dude so that she can smile at Wei Wuxian. 

He looks back at her tearfully, briefly managing to smile but then just trying to hold it together. He has been to hell and back, and doing his very best to hide it, but when he sees the person who loves him most--the person who will NOT spend 20 minutes yelling at him as soon as they see him--he starts to crack open.

[tigerdrop]

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

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

anyway, here it is: Gordon Gets A Xen Bath

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Food? Nap? Bath?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Benrey blinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> "Huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> "Cool."

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

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

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

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

> Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Lower back.

> His ass.

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

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

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

> "Cute."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, God.

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

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

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

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

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

> "Wha?"

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

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

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

> Wait.

> "Privacy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> And...

> "Cute."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> The words come out before he can stop them.

> Goddammit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cute. Fun size.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> He is not a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

> Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> "Uh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did he stop himself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Bathing Gordon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> So he doubles down. His voice grows louder.

> "Holy shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Wait. Was that...?

> Was that admission?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> A pause.

> "Laugh, please."

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

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

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

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

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

> Their own secret language of want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And--

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

"You know," he finishes weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he wants to be wrangled into submission.

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

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

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

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

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

> Yeah. He feels wanted.

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

> Their game.

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

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

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

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

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

> His mouth snaps shut.

> Awkward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> He sounds unconvincing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can't--

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

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

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

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

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

> Benrey likes to play with his food.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

He's hard.

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

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

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

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

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

> "Huh?"

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

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

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

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

> A pause, a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

[bokukawas]

All yours

pairing; Hanamaki Takahiro x Reader 

warnings; stalking, anxiety attack, nsfw mentions, fluff & mutual pining

a/n; I enjoyed writing Makki as a lovesick fool way too much

summary; working at a coffee shop, you get a customer that’s a little too interested in you, same as your friend who doesn’t realize you like him just as much

word count; nearly 10k ok I’m sorry I can’t write short fics

 “Makki, he’s here again what do I do!?”

Freaking out a little, you gently massage the bridge of your nose, waiting for your best friend to respond. You had fled to the toilet the second you had put your eyes on the man standing outside the coffee shop door, leaving your co-worker to deal with him.

Working part time as a barista had seemed a good idea to earn some money. After all, you loved making coffee, not only for yourself, but for others as well and just whole-heartily enjoyed the atmosphere of coffee shops. Well that was before you realized how creepy some of the customers could be. Normally they could tell and accept that you were not interested in the least, but that one particularly obtrusive customer just didn’t seem to get it. Or he didn’t want to.

It had started with blatant flirting at the cash register. Then a scribbled phone number with a suggestive message attached to it. After that, he had only started showing up when you were working. Your co-workers had told you he never was there when you weren’t. So to put it short: he was a stalker. A very creepy one. Fuck, why wasn’t Makki answering? Then you remember: he had an interview today. He probably had shut his phone off or put it on silent not to be disturbed. Fuck.

Trying to calm your breathing, you stare at the bathroom door, then at the tiles, counting them in your head to keep your thoughts form circling. It was getting late and you had to close the store alone today. You had noticed it weeks ago, that he was starting to come in later and later in the day, as if he was waiting for the right time to get to you alone. Which would be today. Normally your co-workers stayed longer or even changed shifts with you when they saw he was loitering around, but that wasn’t possible today.

A silent knock pulled you out of your thoughts. “Y/n? Are you all right? He left.”

Clenching your hands into fists, you take a deep breath and steel yourself for what has to be done. You couldn’t just leave and go home now after all.

“Yeah I’m fine, thank you. I’m coming, just give me a second.”

“Take your time” was the silent response to that. Without your co-workers you would have been screwed weeks ago.

Sighing you stand up slowly and walk over to the washbasin, looking in the mirror hanging right above it. You looked ghastly. Everyone could probably tell from miles away how spooked you were over this. You just wished you could do something about this situation, but in fact you couldn’t and the feeling of being powerless made you feel even more on edge.

You send another quick message to Mattsun, Iwaizumi and Oikawa, hoping that at least one of them would look at their phone in the next few minutes. Your co-worker had to leave in a little bit and you would be utterly alone then. And who could guarantee that that creep wouldn’t come back right then, right? He was probably waiting around somewhere, hoping for that exact scenario to happen.

When you step out of the bathroom and rejoin your co-worker behind the counter, she musters you with concern, eyebrows raised.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can try and cancel my plans for later and stay with you…,” she suggests, waiting for your response. She seemed sincere enough with her offer, but you didn’t want to ruin yet another date for her. You were a grown up after all.

Circling your shoulders to get a little tension out, you shake your head slightly. “No I’m fine, thanks. It’s gonna be alright, he left after all.”

“In fact he didn’t even come in today; he turned around the second he saw you leave for the bathroom when you spotted him.”

“Maybe he finally took the hint.”

Sighing you start to polish the counter and clean up a little. Starting early will only allow you a head start later when you have to close the store.

Your co-worker still didn’t seem reassured.

“Hey… Y/N are you sure about this? I am not mad, I swear, I’d rather know you’re safe than enjoy my date and read about a horrible murder tomorrow morning. What about your boyfriend, can’t he come and pick you up today as well?”

Throwing her a quick glance, you correct her once again. “He is not my boyfriend”, you sigh, “and no, he’s got a job interview right now, I’m not sure when he’s finished.”

“He basically is your boyfriend. And it’s clear as day that you wish him to be”, she laughs, nudging you in the side to take the edge off. Jokingly you shove her away. “He doesn’t seem to notice though. What is it with men not being able to take a hint anyway?” you chuckle.

Well to Hanamakis defense, you never actually implied to him that your feelings had changed, even though they had, long ago. But you were content enough with him as your best friend. That was better than a ruined friendship because of unrequired feelings after all.

“I never told him” you feel obliged to say. “How could he know?”

Your co-worker just raised her eyebrows. “The way you look at him with literal heart eyes sometimes should be enough of a clue for him. Also I’m pretty sure your other friend knows.”

Wincing you shoot her another glance. “Which one?” you ask, panicking. If it was Mattsun you had a problem, because he definitely would have told Makki.

“The one in Argentina.”

Thank god. Oikawa could be a blabbermouth as well, but he was decent in regard of matters like this.

“Through my FaceTime’s?” you ask.

She just nods at that. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice his shit-eating grin every time you talk about Hanamaki to him. It was pretty obvious.” She laughs. “He’s living miles and miles away and he still figured it out right away, I don’t get how Hanamaki hasn’t figured you out already.”

Shrugging, you continue to clean all the surfaces. There were no customers left here, so all you had to do now was close the store, put the money in the safe, clean everything and lock the door behind you. Your eye finds the clock.

“C’mon Kaori, get your pretty ass to your date, I’ve been cockblocking you long enough now.”

She just laughs at that and strips off her apron. “Fine, if you say so.”

“I can just lock the door right behind you and then clean everything in peace, I’ll be fine, I promise. And this way you can tell me about a hopefully more successful love story than my own on Friday.” Winking at her, you shove her into the locker room so that she can get her stuff and be gone.

While she changes and slips out of her work clothes, you check your phone again. Mattsun had answered.

“Are you alright? Did he leave? I can’t come over to walk you home, but call me if you leave, please.”

You type out a quick message to him and put your phone back in your back pocket as Kaori steps out of the locker room.

“Wow. You look stunning,” examining her from head to toe you nod approvingly.

She just laughs at that and punches you in the shoulder. “You’re such a sweet-talker! That comes from you always hanging out with those boys of yours.”

Holding up two lipsticks, she lets you choose. You decide for the slightly darker red, it fits her outfit well and makes her seem mature.

A figure appears in front of the door and your heart violently skips a beat, before Kaori squeals and you realize it must be her date.

“You didn’t tell me he would come and get you!” you laugh as your heart resumes its normal beating pattern.

“Well, what do you think?” she asks as she slowly makes her way to the door, already waving at him.

Pulling a face, you just give her thumbs up. “Nice. I hope he treats you right… well he IS fetching you from work, so that’s a good start right there. Now don’t leave him waiting.” Shoving her outside, you give her another small wave, before you pull the door closed behind her and immediately lock it.

Sighing, you watch her lock her arms with her date and slender down the street. It’s gotten dark outside already. The utter silence of the now empty coffee shop suddenly creeps you out. Fishing your phone out of your back pocket again, you call Mattsun. He answers his phone almost immediately.

“Are you alright?” was the first question he shot at you. You chuckle. When had they gotten so protective over you?

“I’m fine Mattsun. I just got creeped out for a second because it’s so silent now that everyone is gone.”

Explaining to him what has happened earlier, you bring the money to the safe. After that, you start doing your chores and clean the counter, before turning to the coffee machines and putting everything in the dishwasher before turning it on. You could hear him work as well as he quietly chats with you about this and that.

Going into the locker room you notice someone standing in front of the closed coffee shop door and your heart nearly stops as the phone slips from your hand and crashes to the counter.

After taking a double take, you realize it was actually Hanamaki standing there, waving at you with a dumb grin plastered on his face.

“Fuck” you exclaim as you try to calm down again and grab your phone, where Mattsun was currently freaking out. “Y/N? Y/N!? Did something happen? Goddamn answer me!”

Bringing the phone to your ear again, you take in a deep breath before answering. “Sorry Mattsun, Makki just showed up and made me lose my shit.”

You go to the door, keys already in your hand when you spot another figure a little down the street. “Oh shit.”

Turning the key quickly, to let Makki in, who was already starting to talk like a waterfall about the job interview, you pull him in quickly, before throwing the door shut again, frantically trying to get the keys in again to turn it around. Your hands were shaking too much, though.

Hanamaki stops in his track when he realizes you were freaking out, keys in your violently shaking hand, the phone forgotten in the other. He just guides your hand back to your ear, so you could hear Mattsun, who was freaking out again, while simultaneously taking the keys from your other hand, to lock the door behind you.

“Sorry Mattsun. Makki scared the living shit out of me and while letting him in I saw that the freak actually really waited down the street.”

Hanamaki grows rigid upon hearing that, casting a quick glance outside the window to get his eyes on the guy who has been bothering you for months now. He couldn’t find him. That bastard had probably left the second he saw you weren’t alone anymore.

Handing the phone over to Makki, as Mattsun had wanted to talk to him, you glide down onto a chair. Wow. If Makki hadn’t showed up in that instance that could have seriously gone wrong.

Zoning out completely to your worst-case scenarios, you don’t notice the way Hanamaki looks at you. Like you’re the most precious thing to him. Like his life depended on your well-being. He was mad at himself for not checking his phone quicker when he had finished his job interview. He just had been so happy that it had worked out well this time that he had simply jumped right onto the next bus to tell you in person, he knew when you had to work out of his head after all.

His eyes crinkle with concern as you start to breathe more and more quickly.

“Mattsun, I’ll call you back later, okay?” and with that he simply ends the call before kneeling down in front of you.

“Y/N. Look at me.” He puts his hands on your knees and squeezes slightly to get your attention. Your eyes flick to his face and you see that his lips are moving, but you can’t quite make out what he’s telling you over the sudden ringing in your ears.

“Hey.” He takes one of your hands, which both lay limp in your lap, in his before putting it gently onto his chest as he gives your knee another squeeze. “Breathe with me.” And even though you still can’t quite make out the words leaving his mouth, you get what he’s trying to do and just follow his lead. As you could feel the breath flow in and out of his chest, you breathe in and out slowly as well. It makes you calm down after a while and the ringing in your ears starts to recede before vanishing completely.

Hanamakis eyes never leave your face for the whole situation. When he could tell you had calmed down enough, he lifts his hand from your knee to your face and wipes at your cheek. You hadn’t even realized the tears falling. You did now, though, as they were welling in your eyes rapidly and spilling down your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s alright, I’m here now.” Hanamaki stands up next to you and pulls your head flush against his stomach, holding you against him as he gently wipes your tears away.

“I’m scared Hiro” you mutter out after a while. “He was waiting for me to leave.”

“I know. Don’t worry about that now, I’ll take you home from now on every time. And we will go to the police tomorrow. That man is stalking you.”

Nodding against his tummy, you wrap both your arms around him and just focus on relaxing for now.

Hanamakis heart clenches painful in his chest. He’s glad that you can’t feel that, but after all you have been pretty oblivious to his feelings for you. He should have told you he liked you months ago. Seeing you like this and feel you cling to him as if he was the only solid thing in your life right now made his mind spin out of control.

That asshole would need a good punching. No one would ever lay their hands on you if he could prevent it. Looking a little impassive and soft was working in his favor when it came to things like that. No one expected his punch before it was already in their face.

After a while, when he could tell you were relaxing for real now, he took your face in both hands and tilted it up so you were looking at him.

“Are you finished here?” he asks while looking around the empty coffee shop. You only nod in response.

“I was just about to get my stuff when you appeared.”

“Alright. Let’s get you home then.” He pulls you to your feet and joins you in the locker room, watching you open your locker and get your jacket and bag out of it. A smile pulls at his lips as he could see that your whole locker was plastered with Polaroids of him and his friends.

“Let’s go” he repeats and takes the keys from your hand. He lets you switch off the light and pulls the door close behind you, locking it, before giving you back the keys so you could put them in your bag. He didn’t miss the nervous glances you were throwing over your shoulder.

He was not sure if this was a good idea, but he wanted to reassure you that he was there now and you didn’t need to worry anymore, so he reached out for your hand and intertwined your fingers, squeezing lightly. You throw him a surprised glance, but squeeze right back, thankful for his little gesture. Only then do you realize he is still wearing his job interview outfit. Letting your eyes wander from head to toe, you nod approvingly for a second time that day.

“Damn Makki, you look fine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a suit before.”

He chuckles at that and just pulls you forward, getting you walking.

“You want to hear about it?” he silently asks. You could tell he was eager to report on this interview and feel bad immediately for cutting him off so harshly earlier. You nod and give his hand another squeeze, trying not to focus on the fact that your hand seemed to fit perfectly into his. This felt excessively nice.

Makki starts talking about his interview immediately and you listen closely, laughing when he tells you he nearly choked on the water they gave him because he was so nervous. He could be a little shy sometimes; especially if he really wanted something and you could tell that he really, really wanted that job, after his last one had been such a disaster. It seems like this time the job interview went really well though and it made you happy to think that your friend would maybe soon be working at a job that he really enjoys. After a while, he had started to brush his thumb over yours absentmindedly and you tried your best to ignore the warm feeling that was currently spreading inside of you. He only held your hand to comfort you after all, you reminded yourself and there was no need to interpret things into this gesture that were not real.

When you turned the next corner and wanted to turn left, a surprised Hanamaki, who had turned right, pulled you back.

“Oh sorry, I thought you’d maybe want to come over and stay with me tonight”, he scratched his head awkwardly, “just to be sure, you know.”

You hadn’t even thought about that. After all there was a chance that your stalker had followed you before and knew where you lived. Breathing suddenly felt extraordinary hard again and you swallowed loudly. You didn’t even want to think about that possibility and just looked up at Makki, who was studying your face with alert in his eyes again.

“I didn’t want to freak you out, sorry” he apologizes, after he grasped that that had been a stupid thing to say to someone, who has had a panic attack only minutes before.

Shaking your head slightly you exhale slowly. “You’re probably right. Is that okay for you? I don’t want to intrude…”

He flicked your forehead in an instance then. “You know you’re not intruding. We could watch a film later, to get that creep out of your head. Maybe some Ghibli?” An inquiring glance in your direction followed. “Or rather Disney?”

The overwhelming urge to cry again hit you like a brick right then. How could he be so perfect? How could he still not know that you loved him with all your heart? You were sure that Kaori had been right; you probably really looked at your best friend with hearts in your eyes sometimes, but alas how could you not if he was this fucking perfect. Realizing you had stopped walking and blatantly stared at his face, you manage to give him a crooked grin. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Makki on the other hand had stopped breathing for a moment as he thought he finally overstepped the boundary of your friendship. It wasn’t your fault after all that he couldn’t manage feeling normal towards you. He sincerely hoped that inviting you to stay with him wouldn’t backfire at him horribly. Don’t act like a lovesick puppy Makki, he repeated over and over in his head again. Act normal. You’ve done this a thousand times before, you can handle it one more time.

Only this time he wasn’t sure he could. The way your hand felt in his was divine and he didn’t want to let go of it ever again. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do right now was give you a bone-crushing hug, so he could feel your body pressed against his. He wanted to bury his nose in the crook of your neck, inhale, and forget about everything else, because nothing else seemed to matter at that moment.

Slightly shaking his head as he realized he was letting his mind wander, he found you staring at him again. You of course couldn’t know what was going on in your friends head, but you didn’t miss the blush that was spreading on his cheeks. “You okay Makki? You zoned out pretty bad” you laugh as his blush deepens.

“Nah I’m fine. Have you decided yet? Ghibli or Disney? Or something else? We could watch a horror movie?” he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows, which earned him a punch in the side from you.

“No way! My whole day has been a horror movie. I don’t need more horror. Also I won’t forget that one time we watched “The Ring” and both you and Mattsun fell asleep and Tooru and I were freaking out alone, because Iwa wasn’t there. I couldn’t use the tub for months after that because I was so scared!”

Hanamaki just snorted as he remembered that night. Both he and Matsukawa were pretty chill when it came to horror movies. Iwaizumi was nonchalant about them, but you and Oikawa were the biggest scaredy-cats in the world. That had been the first and last time they could convince you to watch a horror movie. The fond smile on his face grew even bigger as he remembered how they had woken up to find you and Oikawa cling to each other as if your dear life was depending on it.

Sighing, he voiced what was going through his head. “Damn, I miss Shittykawa. Who would’ve thought, right?”

Clenching his hand in yours, you make him look down at you. “I would. I miss him, too.” You sigh as well. “Hopefully he’s coming back to visit soon.”

“Yeah… hopefully.” And with that you finally reached his home. It wasn’t much, just a very small apartment in a more than unimpressive high-rise, but to you it somehow felt more like home than your own flat. Following him closely as he punches the button to get the elevator down, you notice that he still hasn’t let go of your hand. He also hadn’t ceased the brushing of his thumb over yours. It was endearing that he didn’t even notice he was doing it. When the elevator arrived and you stepped inside, you follow a sudden urge and step even closer to him and rest your head against his arm, closing your eyes.

Hanamakis heart does a double beat in his chest as you snuggle into his arm. “Are you tired? We can go straight to bed if you’d prefer that.”

“Mhh no. I think I’ve settled for Disney.”

“Which one?” he asks, even though he could guess your answer.

“Tangled.”

Giving you a surprised look, he tries to calm down his heart yet again as it pounds heavily in his chest. “Why tangled? I thought you’d say Aladdin.”

You open your eyes again as the little ping of the elevator indicates that you arrived at the right floor. “It’s your favorite Disney movie.” You shrug. “We also watched Aladdin the last time.”

Makki wanted to groan. It was annoying that you were so attentive with his likes and dislikes, yet you didn’t see how much he yearned to be with you. To touch you. To love you.

Smirking down at you instead, he chuckles. “Attentive, aren’t you?”, before he finally lets go of your hand to open the door to his flat. Throwing it wide open for you, you tag along and pull off your shoes, striding right into the living room, your friend right behind you.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back, I just can’t wait get rid of this” he points at his suit, “shit.” Laughing you nod and throw yourself on his couch, sinking into his soft pillows at once. Makki usually had a horrible fashion sense, but in the end, he somehow made it work and looked endearing in his mismatched colors and shapes. Well at least he looked endearing to you. When he came back, he had changed into a pale purple sleeveless hoodie and black sweatpants. Your mouth felt really dry suddenly, as you took in the defined muscle of his arms. Noticing then, that he had something in his hands you raise your eyebrows inquiringly.

“I figured you might want to wear something more comfy as well?”

He throws another pair of seriously washed out black joggers at you, which you promptly fail to catch and get hit by square in the face. “Makki!” you complain as he laughs. “Want the Tee for now, or the Hoodie?” he asks as he holds up both options.

“Oh my god, that’s got to be the most hideous T-Shirt you could find!” You cry out as you start laughing at the green T-Shirt with bright neon strawberries on it in different colors. “Give me that.” He obliges and hands it over, hanging the hoodie over the back of the couch nonetheless. He knew you; you would probably get cold later and need it anyways. As you get up to change, he also hands you a pair of big wooly socks.

Fuck, he was so perfect for you, you could cry. He knew you like no one else did.

“Thanks Hiro”, you mumble as you make your way to his bathroom to change. At the first glance in the mirror, you shriek. “MAKKI!? How could you let me walk around like this? Oh my god I look like I’ve just rediscovered my emo-phase.”

You could hear him laugh in the living room. “I thought you looked cute.”

“Fuck you!” you shout as you take in the utter mess that once had been your mascara. It makes you crack up, though. In some way, it looked hilarious and the fact that Makki could look you in the face while you looked like this without starting to laugh somehow made you feel warm inside.

After freshening up and fully removing your make up, you put on his clothes. His familiar scent soon engulfs you and you put your nose into the shirt and give it a good sniff. Thank god, no one could see this, but it just felt comforting to you. Of course, everything was way too big on you and you had to roll the sweatpants up a good bit, before deciding that you could just stuff them into the likewise too big wool socks. You must look utterly ridiculous, but the fact that he had given you clothes of his own so you could feel more comfortable made you unreasonably happy.

The second you stepped out of his bathroom, Makki knew that today was going to be a test for his patience. How could someone look so utterly cute in the most hideous clothes he could find? Because yes, you had been right: he had searched for the most revolting clothing he had to offer so that he wouldn’t be too tempted. Boy had he been wrong. He wanted to grab you, kiss you stupid, and finally find out how your lips would feel against his. Violently slapping that thought right out of his head, he lifts his hands, showing you what he was holding this time. It was a piece of cake, with two forks already embedded in it.

“I bought this earlier as a treat to myself if the interview went well… or as comfort food if it didn’t.”

“Basically you just wanted cake Hiro.”

“Yeah. Wanna share?”

“No thanks, it’s all yours.”

While trying to make your way to the couch again, you promptly slip with the too large socks on your feet and nearly fall face down. You manage to get back in balance while doing a stupid little flaying dance and you could hear Makki start laughing frantically.

“Oh my god that looked fantastic, do that again” he laugh-snorts as he picks up his phone from the table and puts the camera on you.

“No Makki, fuck you” you respond, but fail to hold in your own laughter. That must have looked seriously stupid. “What are you so goddamn tall for anyway? I’m getting lost in these clothes.”

Still laughing he only holds up his phone. “You look ridiculous” and fucking cute “strike a pose for the guys.”

So you do. Then you go and glance at the picture and start laughing again. You really did look ridiculous. A few seconds later, you hear the little pling from your phone, indicating that he’d sent the photo in the group chat. They were going to die laughing at how stupid you looked.

Finally, you flop down on his couch again as he sets down his cake in front of it and gets his TV started. “Hey, Y/n?”

“Hmh?”

“Want some hot chocolate instead?”

Snapping your head up, you look at your friends face with literal heart eyes. Since Makki also has a very sweet tooth, he has perfected his hot coco and it was seriously the best you ever had. Eagerly nodding you get up to help him, but he gently pushes you back down.

“No, you served enough people today, let me do this for you. I’ll be right back.” And with that he left you sitting a little speechless on his couch. Could he get any more perfect?

In fact, Hanamaki had left your side to take a quick breather. He seriously had underestimated the effect you would have on him, wearing his clothes. Even if it were the ugliest he could find. His fingers were itching to touch you, his whole body heating at the thought of holding you in his arms. Oh boy, he had it bad. Wearing his clothes made you look like his girlfriend and his brain was simply short-circuiting at that. Trying to get his thoughts off you and onto something else, he started preparing his special hot chocolate. He knew you loved it and the way you had looked at him when he suggested making it proved him right. It had also proved his knees to be really weak. Inwardly cursing himself for being such a mess for you, he poured the hot chocolate in your favorite cup and topped it with some cream, before sprinkling a few chocolate drops on top. When he came back in his living room, you were already stretched out on his couch, blanket loosely thrown over your legs, leaving him his usual corner free so he could settle as well. Makki couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face.

“Here. Careful, it’s still hot.” He handed over the cup cautiously, holding it so you could take the handle and not burn your hands immediately.

“Thanks Makki, you’re the best.” Being a little too greedy, you ignore his warning and directly burn your tongue.

“Mhhhh hot hot hot.”

“I told you so”, he snorts as he dims the lights before he flops down next to you and sets up the movie. Throwing you a glance, he asks: “Ready?” to which you simply nod.

You watched in silence, thoughts drifting through various scenarios of the day as you sip your hot chocolate. At one point you glance at Hanamaki next to you, happily munching away on his piece of cake, his eyes fixed on the TV, before finally being able to focus on the movie yourself. When the film slowly came to that special scene, you didn’t even have to look over to your friend, you just knew he was starting to smirk. You lift your finger warningly. “Don’t you say it, don’t you dare say it,” you state as you start crying when the lanterns are put into the air.

“Aww you’re such a crybaby.” He laughs, but puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him, while simultaneously reaching over to give you a tissue box. “I knew this would happen.”

Sniffing you just take a tissue and rest your head against his shoulder, not missing that he wasn’t taking his arm off of you as he usually would have. After the movie was over, Makki threw you an inquiring glance to which you only nodded, so he started playing another one. You could tell he was going soft on you today, because his choice was Mulan this time. As the movie continues, your eyes were starting to get droopy, the day finally catching up on you. You didn’t want to tell Makki, but you were seriously exhausted. He could guess though, as you were starting to lean against him more and more heavily, eyes closed, head slowly slipping from his shoulder down to his chest. Leaning his head against the back, he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, because fuck you were actually falling asleep on him. And you looked damn cute while doing so. He skidded down on the couch a little; making the position you were in a little less straining for your neck. To his uttermost dismay that prompted you to nuzzle your head into his chest a little more while peacefully sleeping.

Violently slapping his free hand to his forehead, he tried not to groan out loud. This was torture. Absolute fucking torture. Forcefully driving his eyes away from your face, he decided that he would just have to sit this one out.

As soon as you wrapped your arm around his middle though, he decided that no, actually he didn’t have to sit this one out. He would have to get you off him this instance or he would snap and do something stupid, which he surely would regret later. He just couldn’t take it anymore. Lifting you a little off his chest, he edged out beneath you, so he could get both his arms under you and carry you to bed. He tried his best to be careful and not shake you too much, but you were briefly waking up nonetheless.

Sleepily you rest your head against his shoulder again before mumbling. “Sorry for falling asleep…guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“s’ okay, keep sleeping.” Hearing the smile in his voice, you smile as well. Then you were put down onto his soft mattress. “Here you go”, he says as he pulls his blanket up to your nose and tugs you in properly. “Good night Y/N.”

That was suspicious. It sounded as if he didn’t want to go to bed as well, or at least not in his own bed.

“Are you not sleeping here?” you voice your thoughts. “I can make myself small. We’ve slept in this bed with three people before…” You were actually sounding disappointed.

There goes his escape plan. He couldn’t blatantly say to your face that he was going to lose his mind if he was so close to you any longer, could he? So he put on a brave face. “Just going to the bathroom. Sleep now, I’ll be right back.”

With that, he turned around and vanished. You knew he’d come back to bed then, he never did break his promises after all, so you got even more comfortable, breathing in the scent of him which was lingering all around you now. It had been a while since you had a sleepover with him. Grinning into the pillow because you were just happy in that moment, you promptly fall asleep again.

Makki on the other hand was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth and contemplating to just jump off his balcony. That would probably be less painful than lying down next to you without being able to touch you. The fact that you’d seen right through his plan to sleep on the couch even though you were half asleep had him shook. Finally letting out a groan, he spit out and splashes some cold water in his face. For a second he actually contemplated to take a cold shower, he sure as hell needed one, but alas he would need that shower tomorrow morning as well.

Hoping that his body wouldn’t betray him, he made his way back to his bedroom. Upon seeing you already fast asleep again, he let out a relieved sigh. Finally some luck on his side. Carefully climbing in next to you, he turns his back to you at once. He sure as hell wouldn’t fall asleep if he kept staring at your sleeping form in front of him. Not that he was expecting much sleep after all in this situation. You blissfully slept through his struggle, clutching his blanket in your hands and surprisingly Hanamaki had been wrong, too, because he fell asleep rather quickly as well.

The next morning when you were slowly coming to your senses again, the sun was just going up, bathing Hanamakis room in a lovely hue of rose and orange, illuminating the chaos he had not been able to put away before you arrived. And how could he? He probably hadn’t planned on inviting you over.

You realized two things then. One: the blanket was barely even covering you anymore and two: despite that, you were not freezing. In fact, you were very warm and comfortable.

Goose bumps rose on your whole body, as you felt your friends’ breath ghost against you, his nose pressed against your neck. Actually, there was not a spot on your body where he wasn’t touching you at the moment. You were quite literally pressed against him everywhere you could. Or he more likely he was pressed against you, as he was spooning you from behind. His whole body was embracing you. No wonder you weren’t cold despite the blanket lying uselessly next to you, Makki was spreading heat all over your body from behind. Your legs were entangled with his and he had one arm thrown over your side, cradling you against him. The slow rise and fall of his chest against your back tells you he was still fast asleep.

Trying very hard not to freak out, you close your eyes again. Was this the reason he hadn’t wanted to sleep next to you last night? Because he knew, this would happen and he didn’t want to? That has to be it. But you had slept with him in the same bed so often before, why was it a problem suddenly? Maybe he had developed this habit during one of his relationships with his ex-girlfriends? His last relationship hadn’t even been that long ago you remember. Could it be that he still likes her and sleeping in one bed with you reminds him of her, so he didn’t want to? He hadn’t seemed very sad when they had broken off though… Feeling a headache creep up on you, you slightly shift as you put your hand against your temple. Makki moves at that motion as well, nuzzling his nose even more against your neck, arm enclosing you a little firmer as he sighs right against the nape of your neck in his sleep.

Warmth spread all in your body, rising to your cheeks as you try to calm your rapidly beating heart. However, your body didn’t want to calm down yet, stomach doing somersaults and dropping as if you’d miss a few steps on a stair at the same time. Not to mention the butterflies erupting as well. Shit you were so in love with your friend. Overly attentive to his hand resting against your tummy, you had to restrain yourself to just put your hand right over his. He was so warm and soft against you your mind was spinning. Makki starts moving then, his hips pressing into you as he sighs again, trying to get even closer to you than he already was which, of course, was impossible. You could pinpoint the exact moment he woke up, because as he had been soft and warm against you before, he now turned to stone. Closing your eyes, you try to fake being asleep to him, but you were sure your rapidly beating heart was exposing you as his hand was resting awfully close to it after all. So he really was despising this. You wanted to cry. Of course, you couldn’t know what was going on in his head. Which was quite the opposite of despising. Fuck fuck fuck, was all Hanamaki could think as he slowly came to. He knew his body was a goddamn traitor, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. He was practically glued to you; his goddamn hand was on your stomach, his legs entangled with yours. This was a mess. A disaster even, because he didn’t want to let go of you at all. There was only one way to get out of this with a little dignity…

“Sorry, guess my body decided to get a little warmth from somewhere, because someone was hogging the blanket.” His voice was still a little rough from just waking up and your whole body constricted with want for him upon hearing it. But he was giving you a chance to get out of this without it being too awkward, you should be lucky.

“My bad”, you snicker, “I’m not used to sharing my blanket, unlike someone else.”

He snorts against your neck and pokes your tummy where his hand had rested before, slowly but surely retracting his body from yours. “Mean. I can’t help that women are going crazy for me.”

Yeah, and sadly you were not an exception to that, but he couldn’t know that. That secret would be buried with you someday.

Rolling a safe distance away from you, he stretches and yawns loudly, before watching you as you turn around and face him. Was he imagining things or did you look sad. His heart clenches painfully in his chest. His body was urging him to just crawl closer to you and pull you against him again, this time up front, but he knew that would have been a bad idea. And since his brain was actually active this time, he decided against it, giving you a lopsided smile instead.

“Breakfast?”

“Breakfast!” you respond as you wriggle to the edge of the bed and get up, following your friend to his tiny kitchen. On your way there, you pick up his hoodie, which was still thrown over the couch, because now that his body wasn’t providing warmth for you anymore, you felt awfully cold.

After putting it on, you join Makki in the kitchen. He was facing away from you and you had to physically restrain yourself from just going and hugging him from behind. Rubbing your eyes and massaging your temples a little, you step beside him and help him set up breakfast silently. Then you eat and fall back into your usual cheeky banter and not very serious conversations.

Hanamaki didn’t miss that you’d put on his sweater as soon as you’d stepped out of his bedroom. He didn’t know what to make of it, though. It was only making things hard for him again. How did other men do this? How did they not die immediately when they saw their girlfriends wear their clothes? And why was this affecting him so much. They were only clothes after all. When you got up to freshen up in the bathroom, he clears away everything except for your mug. He knew you’d need another coffee to function, so he poured you one before sitting down on his couch again, putting on his playstation. He figured you could do a lazy day before going to the police station later. Besides, he really wanted to kick your ass in Mario Cart once again. You were always so cute when you got angry because of a game. Hanamaki snickered just by thinking about it. The day flew by after that, as you couldn’t stop battling each other. Every time someone won, the other was pleading for a rematch. So by the time you actually got up to go to the police station it was late afternoon. You switched into your own jeans before going out, but asked if you could keep wearing his shirt and hoodie. Supposedly you had stained your own shirt at the coffee shop yesterday. Makki only smiled and nodded, he knew that was a lie. But if his clothes made you feel more comfortable who was he to judge. Despite his heart exploding at the sight, he found it endearing. Hanamaki could tell you were getting anxious the closer you got to the police station. Were you maybe overreacting and he wasn’t even stalking you? Maybe it had been a coincidence that he had been there after you’d closed down the store…

“Hey, you alright?” Makkis’ voice rips you out of your thoughts. Giving him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes you nod. “Just thinking… you don’t think I’m overreacting right?”

“You’re kidding right? Of course you’re not overreacting. That man has been stalking you for weeks now.” You just stare at your feet then. So you weren’t overreacting. That didn’t make you feel better. Sighing you continue to walk on, Makki right beside you. He could tell you were overthinking this, so he nudged your shoulder to make you look up at him. “I’m here with you, okay.” And then he holds out his hand again, wiggling his eyebrows at you. He was a little sad that this didn’t mean the same to you as it did to him, but if he could hold your hand this way and make you calm down a little, he would endure it. When you reach out and accept the offer, he regards it with a “Good girl.” Laughing, you start swinging your hands slightly, while answering. “What am I Hiro, your dog?”

He only chuckles in return. “Want a treat then?” Your heart skips a beat at that offer. Of course you’d take any treat you could get from him, but you were pretty sure you were thinking of very different things than he was. Trying not to focus on his lips, you stare ahead. “I wouldn’t say no to that hot coco again.”

Then you were finally standing in front of the police station. Anxiously stopping and taking a few quick breaths, Hanamaki detangles your hands, before putting his hands at your shoulders, slightly massaging them while gently pushing you forward.

“C’mon, let’s get this over with. And then I’ll promise, I’ll make you another hot chocolate soon.”

Snorting, you let your friend move you inside. He was right, you thought, I should just get this over with. The police luckily didn’t think you were overreacting and started taking actions for you immediately, so that when you left the station later you actually felt a little relieved. You would have to inform them again when that freak turned up at your job so they could help you for real, but it was a start. Feeling very thankful for Makki, who had guided that conversation whenever he could feel you falter, you reach out on your own this time to take his hand. He looked a little surprised, but to your relief he didn’t pull away. You walked in silence until you reached your home. Hanamaki decided then that he’d make sure you were as safe as you could be, so he got on the elevator with you.

When you were standing in front of your door, you let go of his hand as he stood in front of you. Looking up at him you feel another wave of want rush over you. Following your sudden urge, you get on your tiptoes and pull him into a hug. You could tell he was a little stunned, but after a second he embraces you was well, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Thank you Hiro… I don’t know what I would have done without you the last two days.”

“For you, always. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you lean back and break the hug, because you could tell the time for a normal friends hug was running rather thin.

And then you get bold and stand on your tiptoes again to plant a firm kiss on his cheek, before turning around and vanishing in your flat, leaving your friend standing there with a dumbfounded expression and a deep blush on his face.

Fuck that had been stupid. You shouldn’t have done that. Throwing your bag in a corner you cram for your phone, you needed to talk to someone about the last two days and you knew exactly whom to call for that. Sitting down on your floor, you face call him. Hopefully he was already up. When his tired face flashes on your display you let out a sigh. Thank god.

“Morning Y/n. Calling me rather early, aren’t you?” He was having breakfast, you could tell as he munches on some kind of cereal, coffee in his other hand. He looked tired and exhausted, but you would be as well at barely 7am. You always forgot the huge time difference.

“Yeah sorry about that Tooru. Listen.” You brush your fingers over your hair agitated. “My co-worker said you knew I like Makki. Is that right?”

Oh, he liked that, there was immediately a little mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans a little forward, attention spiked. “Yeah I know about that. Why? Did something happen?” he asks nonchalantly, while sipping on his coffee.

“I slept with Makki.”

As soon as Oikawa started choking on said coffee, you realized that you probably should have phrased that a little differently.

“Oh my god, not like that Tooru.”

“What the hell was I supposed to think if you put it like that!?” he coughs.

“Good point.” You laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine, now tell me what happened. And please be precice this time.”

So you give him a quick summary of the last two days and what had happened between you and Hanamaki. Which in retrospect didn’t seem like much, but Oikawas shit eating grin told you otherwise.

“You kissed him?” he asks, while stuffing his face with another spoonful of cereal.

Nodding, you wait for what he was about to tell you. Probably that you were an idiot and just ruined your friendship.

“When was that?”

Well you hadn’t expected that question. Throwing a quick glance at the clock you answer him. “Around 5 minutes ago?”

“Go outside then, if you’re lucky he’s still there.”

Scrunching up your face, you only stare at your phone disbelievingly. “Didn’t you listen to what I just said? That was over 5 minutes ago. He’s long gone.”

“Oh my god Y/n, Makki has had the hots for you for months now, probably longer, if you just kissed him on the cheek out of the blue he was probably blown away. Chances are good he’s still standing in front of your door. Check it at least. If I’m wrong we can continue talking.”

Hanamaki still standing in front of your door? Impossible. And you were going to prove it to him. “You’re insufferable Oikawa, I swear. I don’t even know why I miss you so much sometimes.” You stood up and went for your door, already pushing down the handle. “Also how would you know Makki has the hots for……me” you finish as you open the door and there he was, standing in front of you with a flabbergasted look on his face: Hanamaki.

“He’s there isn’t he?” Oikawas’ smug voice came from your phone, forgotten in your hand as you stared into your friends face. “Good luck then.” And then there was only the sound of a disconnected call. That bastard had just hung up on you.

The seconds dragged as you two stood there, staring each other in the face. Makki couldn’t bear it any longer after a while. “Well…. This is awkward.”

You crack a smile as you still muster his face and step a little bit closer. He seriously had still been standing in front of your door. That was a good sign, right? Maybe Oikawa was right and he really liked you. Maybe you had misinterpreted everything that had happened the last two days and he was really into you. Only one way to find out, right?

“Hiro. Do you like me by any chance?” You could feel your own face heat up at that very direct question.

He sighs in response and ruffles his hair, looking everywhere except you, before he found the courage to look you in the eyes. It was over now, was it not? Except there was a hopeful look in your eyes. That and your hand had unconsciously reached out and clawed at the front of his hoodie. A slow smile spread on his lips. Maybe this wasn’t the end, but the beginning.

“Yes I like you. A lot.” He steps a little closer, eyes not straying from your face, seizing your reaction. “I should have told you sooner.” He takes another step to you and your other hand finds his hoodie as well, clutching it in your hands and tugging on it slightly, your stomach dropping at his confession. He liked you. He liked you, too. And then he completely closes the gap between you as he reaches for your face, tilts it up and finally kisses you. His lips were soft on yours and the kiss was a little clumsy and very short, but you could feel his lips pull into a smile as he breaks it.

“So as I’m not getting punched in the face right now, does that mean you like me, too?”

You can’t help it then, you laugh and rest your forehead against his chest.

“Yes. I like you, too.” Pulling on his hoodie a little again and looking up into his eyes you frown. “Say, how long have you liked me?”

He chuckles at that. “Embarrassingly long. Why?”

You pinch him in the side. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner!? I was slowly dying inside this whole time.” Makki actually flinches at that, before answering: “Well I didn’t know you liked me, too? I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Well you could understand that… it had been the exact reason why you hadn’t told him either.

“C’mon, let’s get inside” you suggest and pull him into your flat. “I think we need to talk.”

“Ugh I don’t want to talk.” He complains, but follows you nonetheless. There were many other things on his mind now that he knew you liked him, too, many of them far more exciting than talking.

Throwing him a glance over your shoulder while you close the door behind him you ask: “What do you want to do then? Don’t you think we sho-“

You were cut short then as he presses you against the door behind you and kisses you again. His hand was cradling your neck as his other found the way around your hip to pull you closer against him. He was a little rougher this time and your hands moved on their own, one going around him for leverage as the other tangles in the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan against your lips, followed by a low mumbled “fuck” against your mouth before crushing his lips on yours again immediately. You get a hold of one of his belt loops and pull him even closer, feeling lightheaded as he graces his tongue over your lower lip before gently nibbling on it. Your knees were getting seriously weak at that point, so you push him away from you, earning an apologizing half smile from him. “Too much? Sorry…”

A little breathless you shake your head and just continue to shove him into your living room before pushing him down on your couch and promptly flopping down on him.

He started smirking then. “Oh? I thought you wanted to talk?”

You punch him in the chest.

“Shut up. We can do that later.” You protest, putting your arms around his neck and lowering your face. “Now do that again.”

Makki only snorts at that, before letting one hand wander to your neck and pulling you in again. “Gladly.”

And then his lips were on yours again, a little firmer, a little more daring, a little more confident.

 Ok Bonus Scene because I’m a sucker for teasing this boy:

Later that night when you were lying on his chest, lips swollen, eyes tired, but entirely happy you snort while thinking of something. “Hiro? You’ll have to be a good boyfriend to me.”

“Mh? Why?” he asks as he nuzzles his nose against your head.

“Because if you’re not, I will tell Mattsun that you got a boner from just kissing me,” you state before snickering devilishly. “And he will never let you forget about it.”

You could feel him laugh under you as well as he hides his face behind his hand, even though you were not looking at him. “I feared you noticed that.”

Grinning, you put your head up a little, letting your eyes roam over his face as he peeked out between his spread fingers. “Well… it only means you really like me right? I’m honored.” Resting your chin on his shoulder again, you murmur: “Also you’re already a perfect boyfriend, so I don’t think you need to be scared.”

“Awww.” He fake coos at your sentiment, but brushes his fingers over your back in gentle circles either way. Suddenly jerking, he sits up a little. “That makes me think of… have I ever told you how my ex-girlfriend broke off with me?”

“Makki are we seriously cuddling for the first time and you want to tell me about your ex-girlfriend?”

“You’re gonna love this” he promises, already laughing, “I believe after she slapped me, her actual wording was ‘Maybe you should date and fuck your friend Y/n since you’re being a better boyfriend to her already than you are to me’.”

You chuckle against his neck. “Seriously?”

Nodding, he rests his head against yours. “Guess she was right, after all. That was actually the time I decided trying to date someone else was pointless…”

“You’re simping Makki.”

“You have no idea.” He presses a kiss against your forehead. “Yesterday evening I was contemplating to jump from the balcony because I thought that would have been less painful than not being able to touch you.”

Grinning broadly, you peck him on his cheek. “You can touch me all you want now. I’m all yours.”

“Yes, you’re mine now.”

A second later you could feel his hands sneakily move under your, or more likely

his shirt that you were still wearing, continuing to caress your skin.

[cblgblog]

So my issues with Irondad are well documented at this point, starting from their very first scenes. Specifically the utter tone deafness of Peter’s recruitment, by both Tony and the writers. Tony starts the movie being blamed for the death of a 20-year-old kid who was in the wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. That accidental death that can be put down to negligence on his part, is pivotal to what happens next. So pivotal he uses it in his pitch for why the other Avengers need to sign the Accords.

Tony, midway through the movie, deliberately brings a 15-year-old child into this conflict. A child he blackmails into going with him, because if you don’t, I will tell your aunt.

Charles Spencer was an innocent civilian, wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. He died. That tears Tony up, as it rightfully should. And yet, in the midst of his crusade about following laws and accountability, he lies to May Parker about taking her 15-year-old nephew out of the country and into a warzone. Ignoring some well-established laws about child soldiers.

Tony blackmailing a child who’s had his powers for 6 months into participating in this conflict makes no sense. Ever. It especially makes no sense in the context of Charles Spencer and his mother. Yet neither Tony nor the writers seem to comprehend this. Which is why Irondad has been bullshit from the start. Blackmail and kidnapping are not sweet, father-son moments, even if you ignore the fact, as the MCU wants to, that Peter had a father already, in Ben Parker. He has a loving adult parental figure in May Parker. Both of whom cared about him before he had spider powers that might be helpful to them.

All of this, I’ve said before, so have others. And then I realized that I actually hate Irondad more than I thought. That Feige and co. mishandled it even more than I thought, and why? Because of this.

We know the story. Peter was, supposedly, this kid Tony saved at the Stark Expo in Iron Man 2. Started out as a fan theory, and then was confirmed that yes, this is true, this is exactly what we intended.

Now, we know Civil War had different writers/directors than Homecoming or FFH did. We also know that, for all the lip service of, ‘It’s all connected,’ we know that the creatives in these different franchises do not always talk to each other, and that they often blatantly contradict each other.

Taking all that into account, acknowledging that…the dumbasses at Marvel did not think up the idea of Peter being the Iron Man 2 kid. They heard the theory, thought it was cool, then took credit for having meant that the entire time, yes, that was totally us.

We know this because it is never mentioned in canon. All those Tony and Peter interactions, all those times of yes, Mr. Stark, I just want to be like you, Mr. Stark, and Peter never mentions that? When Tony takes he suit from him in Homecoming and Peter says that he just wants another chance, wants to be like Tony, would he not mention that hey, you saved my life, Mr. Stark. You saved my life and I just wanted to be like you, and now I can be, now I can save lives like you, just please give me another chance.

If the Iron Man 2 theory were true, would he not say that? In FFH, when he’s all guilt-ridden, I didn’t save him, would he not mention that hey, he saved my life before I was Spider-man, before I was special, before I was anyone?

Now I know what you’re thinking. The Iron Man 2 thing isn’t that big a deal. It’s not a crucial thing. And you know what, you’re right. It isn’t, it’s just always annoyed me, in an eyeroll way, that the same people who couldn’t count properly between 2012 and 2017 (8 years later flashing in giant letters across our screens means that Homecoming was meant to take place in 2020), that these same people who let something so blatantly timeline breaking get through then took credit for a kind of cool, kind of clever fan theory. It’s annoying.

I’ve now realized, however, that it is far more than annoying to me. Because TPTB at Marvel did not think of that idea for themselves, but if they had, and if they’d run with that idea? If they had, it would’ve made Peter’s recruitment in Civil War so much more fucked up than it already is, but so much more interesting. So, so, so much more interesting.

I’ve talked about why Spidey’s own movies (as much as you can call them that given the level of Tony infiltration) prove that the theory isn’t true. Now let’s go to Civil War. Different writers, yes, but let’s talk anyway about why we can tell from CW that Peter was not that kid.

He gets home. May is like, look who it is, Tony Stark. Not, look who it is, the hero who literally saved your life. When Tony locks himself in Peter’s room with him (still fucking gross, Jesus Christ), Peter is just, nope, I got no idea what you’re talking about. That’s—no, I’m not a superhero, no. He’s defensive. He’s apprehensive. He’s trying to figure out what fresh hell this is. He’s trying to hide stuff from Tony. If this is the guy who saved him at the Stark Expo, why this reaction? Why not, oh my god, you saved my life, I thought I’d never see you again, not, not up close I mean. When Tony asks him to do a thing, why is it not, well yeah, duh , you saved my life, where do we start? Or even, okay, I don’t really wanna do this, but, you saved my life, I owe you?

So, nobody wrote a fucking word of any of Peter and Tony’s interactions under the theory that he was the Stark Expo kid.

But what if they had?

Tony shows up at May’s place. He does not know who Peter is, in relation to their “meeting” before. He’s expecting to have to do some level of smooth talk to get in here but, nope. May’s just, oh my god, you saved my boy’s life, come in, come in!

We don’t know for sure that Peter was orphaned by the time of the Expo, but if we base it on comics and prior films, he likely was. Most versions seem to have him fall under Ben and May’s care between 2 and 6.  O1’ birthday means he would’ve been around 9 at the Expo. So, more than likely, Ben or May or both were the ones there with him. They may credit Tony with saving their lives as well.

So, Tony starts the movie being called out by a grieving mother. Going down this route, we’re at the midpoint…and here’s a different mother telling him how great he is. How he saved the most important thing in her life. How if Ben were here (May’s wearing her wedding ring around her neck btw, you can see it in the scene), Ben would say the same thing. Shake his hand. Hug him.

Now, Tony’s got a sharp ass mind, when it’s not clouded with booze or drugs or the like. Since he wasn’t wasted at the Expo, there’s a good chance that, given some details, he remembers saving this kid. He remembers how small this little boy actually was. He remembers how light this kid was when he grabbed him. It was a few seconds in a long ass night, that he hasn’t thought about in years, but to May Parker, it’s everything.

So maybe at this point Tony’s rethinking this. He’s remembering that little boy, realizing how young he still is. He pulled that boy from danger. And now here’s this woman who invited him into her house, told him how her husband just passed recently, things have been hard, especially for Peter but God, he’ll love to see you. Maybe Tony’s rethinking this, coming up with a way out, when Peter shows up. And then, aw hell. The kid’s just a mess of excitement and shock, possibly tears…okay now it’s just gotten harder to make an exit.

Let’s pause here to say that May Parker is not fucking dumb (“Cut the bullshit. I know you left detention. I know you left the hotel room in Washington. I know you sneak out of this house every night.”).

May is not dumb. Letting the 50-year-old dude go into her nephew’s room with him, alone? Arguably dumb, even if it is Iron Man. Letting him grab the kid for some Stark…thing, and take him wherever Tony said he was taking him on 12 seconds notice? Even more arguably dumb.  CW as it’s written dumbs down May’s character for the sake of an already questionable plot point. Especially since she literally says she’s not a fan of Tony in Homecoming. Yes, her comment there comes after the “internship,” her noting Peter’s distraction and stress because of it. But still, it’s fucking weird that she’d let this man take her kid out of the country, alone, in CW. It makes her dumb for the sake of plot.

But if Stark saved Peter’s life not so long ago? It at least makes a bit more sense. He’s a hero. Peter literally wouldn’t be here without him. Why would Tony hurt him now?

So, back to the scene. Peter’s probably less paranoid about showing his stuff to Tony. Probably not spilling everything himself, but when Tony notices things, Peter’s probably less panicked over it, more willing to confirm. Yes, he’s got these powers, okay? And he hasn’t had them for long, but he’s trying to do good, like Tony. He’s trying to do the right thing, like Tony.

Now, this kid has such literal hero worship going, and he’s so damn inexperienced, he admits that. And Tony’s still got Charles Spencer’s mom in his head. He’s dead, Stark. And I blame you.

Can Tony really take this kid—actual minor kid younger than Charles was—take him and put him on the field against the goddamn Avengers? That woman out there with the dead husband and the ring around her neck, what’s he going to say if Peter gets hurt, or worse? Sure the kid obviously has skills but, can he risk another grieving mom?

So, maybe Tony’s rethinking this. Maybe he can still get out of this, improvise a Plan B. But then there’s a text from Nat or Ross. Where are you? We’ve only got a few hours, what’s the play?

Special circumstances, nobody in that group is really gonna fight to kill…it’s special circumstances, and he can keep the kid mostly sidelined.

This time, he doesn’t have to blackmail Peter. He doesn’t have to threaten to expose his secret. Peter’s willing, either because he genuinely wants to, or he feels he owes Tony a debt. So there goes the dick factor of Tony literally blackmailing a child. And the lack of questions Peter seems to ask about what he’s fighting for, the acceptance of vague answers, that’d also make more sense in this context.

In this version, Tony is both more and less of a dick. He’s doing less active threatening and manipulation…but he’s also being doubly manipulative. His genuinely good deed gives him an easy in with the Parkers. He’s playing on the credibility of an earlier, at least somewhat better version of himself. One who saved Peter Parker and hadn’t yet ended Charles Spencer.

Look, I won’t lie, I legit don’t know what I’m saying anymore, except that Marvel sucks for taking credit for a thing that they definitely do not have credit for. Which isn’t particularly new for them, and wouldn’t particularly matter if the thing they took credit for (and didn’t do anything with) could’ve offered some interesting story possibilities.

[rason-rodd]

The Boy Who Didn’t Like Christmas - Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You decide to surprise Jason with a Christmas tree but things don’t go as planed. Did he really just call you a friend? 

Warning : Fluff, Humor, Slight Angst  

Author’s note: A new Bat-Christmas one shot, this time with Jason (the last one will be with Dick). I tried to make Reader as general neutral as possible. Hope you’ll like it

“You’re clearly not from the Hill … or the Narrows.” You were pretty certain the rebuke would have hurt ten times more if Dana Harlowe had said everything she was keeping well hidden in her badass heart. But there was no need to say more. It was clear she didn’t hold you close to her heart.       To her, you were the pain in the ass from Uptown Gotham, the one who certainly knew nothing about striving to get out of the dirt and who had certainly always get what she wanted by simply twitching her nose. In a nutshell, everything she was happy not to be. But you had one thing in common. Or at least, one person. Jason Todd.         Dana had known him for over a decade. You had known him for a couple of months. But you as well as she had learned to deeply care about him, except that one of you had let things go way beyond friendship quite a couple of times. That one being you.     “I was just suggesting bringing Jason a Christmas tree to decorate his apartment, Dana. That’s it.” You tried to defend yourself as you buried you hands in your pocket.           “And how many times should I tell you that Jason hates Christmas?” You sighed as you both could barely keep your annoyance to yourself anymore. “No one really hates Christmas.” “So what you’re going to show up to his place with a goddamn tree, all dolled up, flutter your eyelashes and hope he won’t be mad at you?”     You shrugged. “That’s an idea”

***

And Dana hadn’t been able to stop you. So, one Sunday afternoon you showed up to Jason’s place with a bag filled with brand new Christmas decorations and a heavy tree that had made you sweat streams to carry in the old staircases and, with a tired sigh, you rang at Jason’s door. He opened it without waiting or looking through the spyhole, apparently not thinking (or caring) about the possibility of a lunatic waiting on his doorstep with a deadly weapon. “You know I could have been a very angry elf with a gun. You should use that little peephole”     “ Y/N” He looked astonished to see you here, especially with all that Christmas stuff “I…” “By the way, you should also write your co-ownership trustee and ask for an elevator. Yours stairs are a living hell.” You declared to make sure he wouldn’t have time to realise or protest against what you were planning to do. “Give me a hand, would you?” You asked as you tried to drag the tree by the crown inside the apartment, sprinkling the ancient wooden floor with pine needles.     “Explain.” Jason demanded as he helped you carry the Christmas tree to the corner of his living room and erect it. “There! Perfect.” You clapped your hands, proud that the tree was still looking good despite the mistreatment you have given it and also because it was standing in Jason’s apartment, contradicting all of Dana’s sayings that “a Christmas tree will never cross Jason Todd’s doorstep”. “Suck it, Dana!”         “Alright. You’re weird today. What’s with the tree?” Jason’s face seemed a bit twisted, as he didn’t know if he should smile or be worried. “Next week, it’s Christmas. You can’t celebrate Christmas without a Christmas tree.”       He frowned, definitely looking for the right words in his beautiful yet tortured head of his to be sure he would not kill your excitement or hurt your feelings. “Y/N. I wasn’t planning on celebrating Christmas this year.” “I know. Dana told me about you being Scrooge Jr.” You joked, not caring at all, as you opened the plastic bag full of decorations to empty it on the couch. “That’s a bit overstating things.” Jason scratched his head. He had never heard anyone compare him to Dicken’s famous character. “I mean. Not liking Christmas doesn’t make me a miserly bitter old man.”       “Were you planning on spending Christmas alone sitting on your couch with cold noodles, watching Netflix and calling Christmas humbug?” He waited before answering, trying to see how he could debunk you little argument. But there was no way. “Not Netflix. Cutthroat Kitchen.”           “Oh my god. You’re Scrooge.” You sighed, exasperated before showing a beautiful transparent Christmas ball with little snowflakes inside. “Look how cute!” Your enthusiasm made him smile discreetly but not discreetly enough to go unnoticed. “I guess there’s no way I’m gonna stop you, right?” You shook your head. “You can still try but no. I’m going to give you some Christmas spirit, choke you with it if I must and I won’t leave this place until you love it. And mark my word, I will use string lights if needed” You threatened as you showed him the lights. “You would really tie me up to the tree? You know BDSM is not my thing.”           “ No I would tie myself to the tree. Because as much as I know you can throw that tree away once I’m gone, I’m sure you won’t be able do so if I’m tied to it.”             “And why so?” He smirked, curious to know your reason. “Cause you like me too much.” Was he really an open book? He never thought so but there was something with you, something weird and unusual that could make him act in strange ways. Perhaps was he getting soft. “And also, because you wouldn’t get my very special gift if you kick me out.” Jason squinted and you played with your eyebrows as you bit your lower lip so that he would get the naughty message. That eventually made him laugh and he tried to remember when was the last time he thought sexy could be funny.         “Ah. The things I would do for you.” He kissed the top of your head softly, making your shiver and close your eyes and for a second you tried to resist the sudden urge to catch him by the neck and kiss him on the lips. Not that he would have minded, you thought. But there was a difference between occasional sex and displays of affection. “Let’s do this. Before you decide to make me sing Mariah Carey.”       “Oh …” You pretended to think about the idea with a finger over your lips. “Don’t push it.”

And so you ended up decorating the Christmas together, laughing and chatting about some random stuff until you dared ask. “Why don’t you like Christmas?” Jason froze for a moment and you saw him close his eyes to take a deep breath. “Well it’s difficult to like Christmas when you’ve got a family like mine.” He finally declared as he hung a Christmas ball on a branch.         “You mean Bruce …” You supposed though you were not sure of you should continue this conversation. “If only there was just Bruce.” You decided to be quiet when you noticed his sudden bitterness but he chose to keep talking. “I never had a proper Christmas as a kid. When mum wasn’t completely stoned on the bathroom floor, dad was in jail. And when we were finally together, well … Let’s say Christmas spirit wasn’t something the Todd family knew about.”             “I’m sorry.” You said, wondering if you should hug him or at least caress his arm as a sign of comfort. “Don’t be. Plus, it’s not like I cared that much about Christmas as a kid anyway.” You could tell it was a lie, a huge bad lie only made to mask some deep-rooted wound, a lie Jason had learned by heart as if it was a mere line and had probably served to anyone around him for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t hard to guess. You just had to see how hurt he looked deep down in his beautiful tortured eyes. “I mean, there are other days to offer gifts.”       “Sure.” You had a light smile and you focused again on the decoration of your tree. “But I appreciate what you’re doing, Y/N”       “By what I’m doing, you mean … making you celebrate the event you hate the most without complaining?” You tried to joke. “That.” He chuckled. “And being a good friend.” A friend? Was friend really the right word? Well, maybe … in a way … or not. After all, what friends occasionally end up fucking when the sexual tension becomes too hard to handle?     “I know you’re doing this because of your permanent worry about me. But you don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”           “I’m sure you are.” You sighed and Jason caught your hands in his. “Hey. I’m a tough guy. I’ve got thunder thighs and sharp abs. You said it yourself”. You chuckled briefly, remembering the time when you told him this. Pretty sure you were naked and drunk by the way.           “I know you’re tough Jason. Actually, you’re certainly the toughest person I know. But I’m not stupid. And I know there are things that you’re hiding from me.” He suddenly frowned and you felt his grip around your hands loosening, as if he was ready to run away from you. “And I’m not asking you to tell me what it is. I understand that you have your secrets. I do to. I just … I just want you to be honest with me, to tell me when you feel low, when you need me.” You added as you grabbed his arms to keep him close. “We’re … friends after all, aren’t we?” You hated that argument but you decided to use anyway, just to see his reaction.     “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Jason whispered after a second of heavy silence. “We’re friends.” Not the reaction you wanted.   “Good.” You let go of him and went back to hanging Christmas balls but you both could feel the weird tension, the awkwardness and you couldn’t help but blame yourself for ruining that moment which had begun so well. You should have listened to Dana. “Maybe I should go.” You declared as you resigned yourself to get the hell out of here before making things worse between you two.     “No!” Jason almost shouted. “No. We … Let’s finish the tree first okay? Please” You sighed. “Plus you mentioned a gift, right?” Normally that comment would have made you smirk but not today, not now. “That’s not a gift you give friends, Jason”

***

“You played the friends card? Not cool.” Jason suddenly remembered the little mental note he had left for himself the last time he had talked to Dick about his love life. ‘Never again.’ But Roy was gone and so were Artemis and Bizarro or any other friends he could have confessed to. “But we are friends.” He tried to justify himself. “I think.”     Dick shook his head, slightly exasperated yet amused by his little brother. “You saying ‘I think’ makes me believe you don’t see Y/N as a friend.”             “Why does it have to be so complicated?” Jason sighed as he tried to remember when was the last time he had seen you as merely a friend.       “Because it’s love and nothing is ever simple when it comes to love. No need to be a relationship expert to know this.” Jason glanced at Dick who was smiling at him. “I hope you don’t consider yourself an expert considering the failure that is your love life and your on and off relationship with Babs.” Dick shrugged. Yes, apparently he was. Cocky boy wonder. “I’m expert enough to know you don’t call someone you have sex with a friend.” “Oh come on! Ever heard of friends with benefits?” Jason harrumphed, slightly annoyed by his predecessor’s judgemental attitude right now.   “Jason please. You guys are not friends with benefits and you know why? Cause your relationship is not platonic at all. You like Y/N and Y/N likes you. But you are too unconfident or too scared to admit it so you end up having sex when you don’t know how to handle your feelings anymore. Now can we take care of that bunch of lousy criminals before they escape with the money?”             As much as it hurt Jason to admit it, Dick was right. He liked you. He liked you a lot. Maybe he was in love with you even, he didn’t know. But what he really knew right now was that he had screwed up, bad, and that he wanted to fix things between you two.

***

You turned your key in the keyhole, exhausted by your long day at work and blaming the snow that had literally frozen your toes and fingers on your way back home. “Maybe I should ask for a ugly pair of Uggs for Christ…mas”           You couldn’t move, your limbs as frozen as your fingers and toes or maybe worse. Eyes widened you looked around you and at the thousands colourful lights illuminating your entire apartment and the Christmas decorations scattered all over the furniture. “What the hell happened here?”             “Do you like it?” You yelled and jumped and, out of pure reflex and fear, punched hard the person standing right behind you before you could realise it was actually Jason. “Oh my god, Jay.” He groaned and put a hand over his nose to calm the pain. “Damn. I think you broke it.”   “Let me see.” You tried to remove his hand from his face to see how badly injured he was. “No! Don’t touch it. Don’t touch it.” He cried out as a sign of protest but eventually let you take him inside right to your couch where you left him an instant to go fetch some ice in the freezer. “What are you doing here that late?” You asked as you came back to sit by his side. “I wanted to surprise you. I guess it worked.” He hissed as you finally put the small bag of ice against his nose.             “You did this?” You asked as you looked again around you. There were probably at least dozens of flickering string lights hanging from the ceiling above your head as well as fake snow all over the floor of the living room and miniature Christmas trees and other lovely decorations carefully placed on the furniture. “Yeah.”           “How? When?” You couldn’t believe he had done this.             “This afternoon while you were gone. I entered by the window. You know you should check if they’re close before leaving.” You smile when you understood the nod to what you had told him last you saw each other. “Why?”     “ Well. Because it’s dangerous of course. I mean a lunatic could enter and turn your place into a Christmas shop. Oops too late.”     “ No, I mean. Why did you do this?” You asked again, not really in the mood to laugh at his joke right now. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? … And I like you” He said while looking at you right in the eye. “And not as a friend. Cause clearly we’re not friends and we’re not …” You dropped the bag of ice to catch Jason by the neck and kiss him passionately. How long have you waited for him to finally say it. “Ow. Ow. Easy.” Jason complained right against your lips when your nose pressed too hard against his. “Sorry.” You whispered with a smile. “Don’t smile at my pain. I’m really hurt.”   “Aren’t you a tough guy?” You teased, using his own arguments against him.         “Not when I’m with you.” He confessed and approached your face again, slowly and carefully, to kiss your soft lips with a delicacy that made you shiver. “There are so many things I want to tell you, Y/N.”       “ Then say them.” You whispered still close to his face, feeling his hot breath against your skin. “It would ruin Christmas’ spirit.”   “I thought you didn’t like Christmas.”       “I lied.”