#don’t make direct eye contact with the dogs or they’ll bite

[b1ngethinking]

austin’s the name, writing sad bangers is the game.

I can’t think of anything else other than stream fortnight on spotify 😎👉👉

@ fxckstuartlittle

[lovelybarnes]

dog tags- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: breaking laws and doing crimes, mentions of cracking heads open and murder but it’s humor i swear (at least meant to be) about: PF12 "committing crimes" + DH8 "how dumb can you be?" a/n: reuploaded because posting from my computer is apparently different lol

“we’re going to get caught,” bucky taunts, and you frown, not looking at him as you concentrate on not falling and cracking your head open. “we are not going to get caught,” you respond once you’re on the ground, not sticking the landing and toppling over. cursing, you get up, and bucky shakes his head, jumping over the gate and landing gracefully. you scowl at him and he ignores you, “we’re going to go to jail,” he says negatively. you smack his shoulder in response, which does nothing to his super soldier self but makes you feel better. “we are not going to jail, god-”

bucky’s hand is suddenly over your mouth, muffling your words, and you flail as he practically manhandles you to behind a shrub. he shushes you as a woman walks out of the house, car keys dangling from her fingers as her other hand pulls open her car door, phone shoved between the crook of her neck. she’s muttering angry words into the phone, too distracted to note the build of bucky’s six foot one self and you, pressed up against bucky.

bucky waits until she’s gone for a minute to let you go, and you wipe at your mouth, “when was the last time you washed your hands, that’s disgusti-”

he cuts you off with a frustrated whisper, “you said she’d be gone by now. if it had been just you, you’d be arrested by now!” you shrug, peeking above the leaves before standing fully. bucky pulls you back down again, making you yelp. “ow-”

“shut up, if anything else goes wrong or contradicts your information, i’m leaving,” he promises, and you shrug, rolling your shoulders. “i don’t need your help, anyways. you’re the one who just followed me.”

bucky’s eyes thin, “to make sure you didn’t die- do you know how many times i’ve had to pull you out of some near death situation?”

you shrug, “i was handling it.” bucky breathes in and counts to three, shutting his eyes for a second- a second- and when he opens them, you’re at the house’s front porch, tiptoeing like an idiot into the house and leaving the door open. how the hell are you an avenger?

he huffs angrily as he goes inside the house, thankful for the privacy gate surrounding the house. shutting the door, his eyes nearly pop out of his head. you’re snooping in a cabinet, a huge dog you don’t seem to notice growling at you.

he stops, trying to look at you as loudly as possible. it’s only when you drop a file and he wonders for the eighth time today how he can possibly be in love with you that you notice him. “oh, bucky, you finally came in-”

“there’s a dog,” he cuts you off, trying to calculate his moves so that the drooling thing won’t attack either of you and ruin this idiotic mission you seem to be set on. “really?! i didn’t-” you stop yourself, remembering his past words. “i knew that. i have a plan for that,” you lie. you’re moving your hands, and the dog only seems to get more agitated, and all bucky wants to do is make you stop moving so your arm doesn’t get bitten off, but an actual idea seems to come to you and you turn, crouching down to the dog.

bucky eyes widen as you make the incredibly sudden movement of spinning and he feels like attacking you. in all of your years of being careless have you ever been so stupid. he’s frozen for a second, and he expects to be drawn out by growls and penitent shrieks, not your voice, higher pitched than usual, babbling about good boys. he blinks, startled to see your hands scratching behind the dog’s ears, baby talking to it, “who’s a good boy, huh? protecting the house from evil intruders, you are, yes!” the dog seems to be enjoying your attention, head nuzzling into your hand.

what the fuck.

you hum quietly, ignoring bucky when he pushes you with his foot, and he squints at the dog when it growls the moment he comes in contact with you. “fellow evil intruder, she’s gonna be back at some point. leave the thing alone.”

you glare at him, petting the dog’s head one more time. “brutus is not a thing, bucky. and she’s not going to be back for at least another hour. i made sure emily had her boyfriend wrapped around her finger,” bucky’s eyes narrow, “how do you know she won’t come back?” he tested.

“i told her to casually mention a new hotel opening for when they make up,” you shrug, but stand anyways as his face contorts. “what are we looking for, anyways?” bucky asks as you look in between books and couch cushions, humming distractedly. “don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, buck.”

bucky’s cheeks heat up without his permission, and he shakes it off, following you as you head into another room, the dog trailing after you as well, curious.

“y/n, you kind of need to tell me so i can help you find it,” bucky reminds. you ignore him, throwing random items over your shoulder. he catches all of them amidst his frustration, “how dumb are you?- you’re going to break these and they’ll know we were in here and we’ll-”

“go to jail, yes i know, yada yada yada,” you say distractedly, grumbling as you kick a chair. “i’m going to look in the other room,” you say and take off, leaving a grumpy bucky to organize the objects you’d left him.

bucky still hasn’t finished when you get to the next room, and after a quick scan, you can tell it’ll be your last. you ha, immediately recognizing the safe covered by a hideous painting. you pull it off easily, leaning it carefully against the wall. you count silently while you unlock the safe, laughing in triumph when you beat natasha’s record, and remind yourself to tell her when you get back. rifling around in the safe, you find what you’re looking for quickly, a small smile settling on your face as you tuck it away. your hands are in the safe again, fingers searching for something shiny to throw in sam’s face when bucky bursts in, “they’re here.”

you curse, taking your hands out and beginning to close the safe, bucky shoving you aside to do it himself, much quicker. he’s walking out the door, pausing when he notices you crouching down. “y/n, we have a minute to get out of here.”

you nod, “i know, just-” you hang the painting where it had resided before, standing back to squint at it and straightening it. “there,” you whisper, and then bucky’s pulling you by the hand, eventually throwing you over his shoulder when you decide to give up trying to run with him.

bucky manages to squeeze both of you through the barely open gate without being seen, and he’s huffing when he puts you down. “i thought you had extremely high stamina or something,” you tease, and bucky glares at you. you shrug innocently, grabbing his hand, “c’mon, let’s go home.”

bucky peers at you, “what?”

“we’re going home, i’m tired and hungry. do you think we can stop by mcdonalds or something?” you ask, tugging his hand as you walk in the compound’s direction. “breaking and entering really wears me out.”

“and that’s not even including how stressed you seemed to be,” bucky remarks sarcastically, and you nod, “exactly.” bucky pauses his movements, and you groan, pulling at him. “bucky,” you drag out, but he quiets you. “what was it you needed so badly?” he asks. 

your eyes slant, biting your lip in contemplation. “i’ll tell you if you give me a piggyback ride,” you bribe after a moment, and bucky rolls his eyes but crouches down, back to you. before getting on, you reach into the pouch on your suit, taking out the chain and wrapping it around your fingers delicately. you jump on bucky’s back right after, making sure to be careful with the item in your hand.

bucky’s walking now, and you lean your head on his, drawing letters with your free fingers on bucky’s chest. “so, what is it?” bucky asks, and you trace the tags in your hand with your thumb. “you remember how disappointed you were when you came back and your dog tags had been auctioned off?” you query quietly, and feel bucky nod beneath you. “well, i found out who bought them a month ago and asked them if i could buy it back from them. they said no, because of stupid reasons and called you things that i could’ve murdered them right then and there for-”

bucky can tell what you’re talking about and looks down, “y/n,” he mutters, and you cut yourself off, “right- anyways, so i tracked them down and since they rejected the first offer, i did the obvious thing: break into their house to get it back,” you say like it’s obvious, “it’s not like it’s theirs, anyways.”

“wait, you- you did all this to get my dog tags?” bucky asks, stopping to put you down. you whine, “yes, why’d you put me down-”

bucky’s arms are around you and pulling you to him before you can finish. you’re taken aback before hugging him back, kissing his shoulder. “thank you,” he mumbles, “i’m sorry you didn’t get it back after you went through all that trouble.”

you pull away, “you think i didn’t get it?” you show him your hand, dog tags dangling, “your faith in me is shocking.” bucky grabs the tags, his fingers skimming over the words. “i can’t believe you did this for me.”

“i love you, doll,” bucky replies, pressing a kiss to your lips and remembering this. this is why i’m in love with you.

“of course,” you say softly, “i love you, buck.”

[ratmonky]

After The Storm

Word Count: 5.3K

Warnings: choking, breeding, biting, mild knife-play, smoking, munkey’s self indulgent ass

AO3 Link

@kingtamakimurder​ thank you for always inspiring me and making me smile ((; pls accept this as your early birthday gift

The downpour came after the peal of thunder almost instantly, it was heavy and rapid.

People around cursed and started running around to take shelter from the heavy rain. 

One man stood there calmly, unresponsive to the rain droplets falling soaking his clothes. He clicked his tongue before opening the umbrella he had been holding onto.

The weather report was right as always, the channel he had watched this morning had reported that there would be heavy rain around the evening time.

Lines of rainwater from the top of his umbrella dripped down in front of his gaze as he brought a cigarette up to his lips. Using his cheap spark wheel lighter, he lit his cigarette with a deep inhale. His eyes were trained on the exit of an apartment building as he was putting away his lighter, waiting for someone who fit the description.

The cigarette smoke he blew left a stale taste in his mouth. He had been standing here for a while, hadn’t eaten or anything. It was boring but he knew it wouldn’t be long until something interesting happened.

The calm before the storm.

Then, finally, after a long time of waiting, the target was in his view. A young woman entered the building, clothes soaked with rain, carrying a bag of groceries.

He watched the code the woman pressed into the lock and crushed his cigarette under his shoe.

Time to move.

~~~

You stared at your phone screen to check the time and walked inside your apartment building. There were a lot of unread text messages from people you knew but you tried your best to ignore them.

When you pushed the elevator button, you were fantasizing about how you were going to strip your clothes off as soon as you got inside your apartment and fill up the bathtub with warm water. There was an open bottle of white wine from a couple of days ago, you could eat the grapes you had just bought too. 

Today would be your pamper day, you decided.

After a long week of working, it was only natural that you deserved to do a little bit of self-care.

If you remembered it right there was an unopened pack of your favorite chocolate bar in the kitchen cabinet too! Ugh, today was going to be perfect! 

You got on the elevator while trying to decide which show you would watch after your much-needed bath, omitting the man who had entered the apartment building with your code.

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime. You looked down to your feet to notice how water had pooled under you. You had probably left a puddle of water on the main floor as well while waiting for the elevator. The janitor was going to be really mad, you should have listened to the weather reporters who had warned the citizens about the heavy rain. 

Internally apologizing to the janitor, you left the elevator on your floor, heading straight to your apartment. Water droplets falling from your clothes left a trail after you. A loud groan left your lips, the janitor would definitely know you were the culprit.

You unlocked your door and entered your apartment, rubbing at your eyes. You were feeling a little drained. Nights had been more sleepless than usual but you knew as soon as you got in the tub full of hot water and bath salts, the heavy feeling would lift, and you would be renewed. 

Kicking off your shoes, you started getting rid of your clothes by the doorway to avoid soaking the floorboards with water. Your clothes were sticking to your skin and peeling them off took you a minute longer than usual but once you were only in your underwear, you carried the grocery bag to the kitchen. 

Quickly making your way to the bathroom, you turned on the faucet to let the bathtub fill. You grabbed your wet clothes and ran into the bathroom with them, squeezing the excess water before hanging them on the clothing rack for them to dry. 

The bathtub had only filled halfway when you went inside your room to put on your favorite robe. It felt a little weird walking around in your undergarments even if you were alone. 

Back in the bathroom, you checked the temperature of the water with the glass of white wine you filled earlier. You opened one of the big bath bombs you had, using it instead of bath salts felt like a better idea. You could stand and watch the satisfying colors emerge from the bath bomb. It was always mesmerizing to see. 

Your thoughts were interfered with by a heavy knock on your door. You weren’t expecting any guests. In a hurried motion, you tightened your robe using the string around your waist before walking out to the doorway. 

Getting on your tiptoes, you looked through the peephole to see who it was. It was a man with his dipped low. He banged on the door this time, startling you enough to gasp. 

Now, unlike your old apartment, the door didn’t have a chain lock on it. You had actually bought that specific lock a couple of months ago but you had been procrastinating on installing it and today you cursed yourself for always leaving the things you actually needed to do for tomorrow.

You grabbed the door handle hesitantly and opened the door to see what the man wanted. Your free hand was clutching the fabric on your chest. The door only opened until there was enough space for you to peek out but not enough space for the man to see inside.

“Can I help you?” you asked, voice flat, kind of annoyed. How dare he disturb your pamper routine. 

“That’s why I’m here,” he replied. He was tall and muscular, which irked you. “A colleague gave me your name, and said you treated people who couldn’t go to a hospital-”

You suddenly opened the door wider and shushed him. He raised a brow and glowered down at you, with the way his eyes squinted at you, you felt like an insignificant pebble on a crosswalk.

“I-I don’t do it h-here,” you explained, a hundred names crossed your mind and you tried to remember which one of your contacts was stupid enough to give this man your name but you couldn’t think of anyone. Even if you did… nobody knew where you lived, meaning, this man had found you all by himself. “You should leave, I’ll come by that bar in Shibuya next week, as usual, I’ll see you there.”

You made a move to close the door.

“Hold up.” The man put his hand on the door, blocking you from closing it. “I can’t wait that long.” His grip on the door tightened, you could swear you saw his veins pop up. 

“I-I can’t help you right now, sir!” You tried slamming the door closed by using your entire weight to push it but the door seemed to just open wider. Yelping, you looked at the large man in horror. 

“Why is that?” he demanded, his voice sounded terrifying, there was an underlying tone of rage as if he was ready to snap. Right now, he was technically standing by the door frame, if he took one step forward, the door would be wide open and he would invade your home.

“It’s not an appropriate time,” you said honestly. 

“You’re lying,” he called you out immediately, narrowing his eyes at you. “Some stitching, once it’s done I’ll be gone,” he insisted.

“Sir, please, if you don’t leave I will scream,” you replied, simple and to the point. 

“I thought you people swore on an oath or whatever to help those in need? Like; patients will be my first consideration yada yada.”

“We pledge to service!” you corrected, “And you seem perfectly fine to me! Leave before I call the police!”

He moved away from the door and you almost fell face forward onto the tile floor. You were getting ready to cuss him out when he lifted his shirt. 

Quite unlike a nurse, your mouth gaped at the sight, quickly you looked away.

He scoffed at your reaction, “Not very professional, are ya?”

You heard your next-door neighbor open their door, knowing what the view would look like to them, in a wave of panic you grabbed the man, pulling him inside the cramped doorway. It wouldn’t have been that jarring to have a man lift his shirt up in front of your door if it wasn't for the evening hour, which permitted a lot of gossip for your neighbors.

Getting on your tiptoes, you looked through the peephole, your neighbor walked past your door with their dog without a glance in your direction. 

You heard the soft thuds of footsteps moving further away and suddenly remembered the unknown man you had inside your apartment. By the time you whipped your head around to see what he was doing, he had already disappeared into your living room.

“Sir,” you called, crossing your arms on your chest. “I need you to leave.”

He threw himself on the couch, putting his foot up on your coffee table. “You invited me inside.”

“N-no, it was just because I didn’t want any misunderstandings between me and my neighbors.” 

While you were busy explaining yourself he found the remote control and turned on the television, flicking through the channels.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” You stomped your foot, “I’ll call the police if you don’t leave my house right now!”

Unresponsive, he continued flicking through the channels until he found a rerun of a thriller movie. 

With a grumble, you went to grab your phone from the bathroom and walked back to the living room. “I’m serious!”

He was still unfazed.

“Okay, that’s it!” Your fingers fumbled on the screen, trembling as you dialed in the number. You lifted the phone up to your ear, it was on the first ringing beep when the man spoke.

“Don’t you think that they’ll ask me why I’m here?” He turned his head to look at you with a mocking look on his face. “What makes you think that I won’t tell them about your underground hospital?”

Your blood ran cold. It took you less than a second to hang up the call. 

He scoffed.

The money you got from your usual job didn’t pay well but criminals… they paid more than well. As long as you kept your mouth shut, didn’t ask too many questions, and treated them, you got paid your monthly income per patient. 

You needed the money.

“You’ll leave once I’ve treated you?”

A nod.

You let out a sigh and disappeared into the bathroom to grab your medical kit. You pulled a chair next to the dinner table and placed some tools on the table. “Sir,” you called, “Sit here.”

“Toji,” he said, turning off the television before walking to the chair. 

There was no need for you to know his name, you weren’t going to see him ever again.

Toji reached to his back, his fingers dragged the fabric up, once he managed to hook a finger under it, he pulled his shirt up and over his head. He stood shirtless in front of you, his muscles flexed as he draped his shirt over the chair. 

“Enjoying the view?”

You weren’t moving, eyes trained on Toji intently when he called you out. You breathed slowly through your mouth only, internally begging yourself to calm down. You grabbed a damp cotton pad soaked in alcohol and pressed it against a gash on his abdomen. He didn’t wince or flinch. While you were cleaning the gashes and the dried blood to get a clean canvas to work with, you noticed many different scars on his body. 

Some were faint, some were improperly healed.

His ribcage was covered with those scars, the ragged rip in his flesh was going to be only one another story to tell like any other of his scars.

“Wanna tell me how this happened? Who did it?”

“A curse.”

“A curse,” you echoed. It made you snicker which also gave him the answer to something he had been wondering.

Putting the cotton pad down, you grabbed the sterilized needle and a thread before kneeling in front of him. You pushed the needle through his skin and pulled it out on the other side of the gash. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked abruptly.

“N-no,” you stuttered, confused as to why he had asked you this question. He wasn’t trying to flirt, was he? “Why did you ask?”

“The way you’re dressed, it’s like you’re waiting for your man.” His voice had an edge to it as if he was saying each word after careful thought, knowing what your reaction would be. 

Your cheeks flushed bright pink, not helping the situation and giving him the reaction he was looking for. You would have covered more of your chest but you were busy stitching his wound. 

There was a need to change the subject but you found yourself asking him the same question. “What about you? Do you have someone?” Your voice died out quietly when you noticed what you were asking could imply that you were interested in him.

“Divorced.” Was his answer.

“Oh.” The needle sunk into his flesh one last time, you pulled it from the other side of the wound, done with your stitching. “Any kids?”

“Probably.”

The way he answered made the question you jolt but you didn’t dig it any further. Instead, you grabbed another damp cotton pad to clean his stitches before putting a bandage over them. 

“Done, don’t shower until next week,” you paused, realizing that you were going to see him next week. “I’ll have to take the stitches out once they’re healed.”

“No need,” he replied, smirking while looking down at you. He was simply enjoying the view of you on your knees. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Ah… okay.” You removed your latex gloves and tidied up the floor. “That’ll be around 12 000 Yen.”

Toji barked out in a laugh.

“W-what?”

“That much for sewing some skin together? I could’ve done it myself if I had taken some sewing classes.” He leaned forward on the chair, his biceps flexed hypnotizingly as his hand reached for your face. You didn’t move away, it was happening too fast. He squeezed your cheeks together until your lips puckered, his eyes sparkled with dark amusement. “Why not lower your price, whaddaya say, kitten?”

Something in your body switched.

Your head shook, you tried speaking but the words came out weird. “It’s ‘cause you invaded my home and forced me into this.”

Toji was still able to understand what you were saying. Your response annoyed him, for some reason he couldn’t articulate. He sighed heavily after cocking his head to the side. “How about I pay you back with something else?”

His eyes wandered down on your chest and then lower and lower and lower-

You closed your eyes shut, what was happening to you? This… He made you feel weird, no matter how attractive Toji was, he was still a stranger! What are you doing? Say no.

“N-no, I want the money.”

“Hmm, really?” He leaned in closer, you could feel his hot breath on your face. “Is that really what you want?”

“I need the money.” I need you to fuck me.

You heard the chair creak as he leaned even closer, then you felt his lips brush against your earlobe.

“(name).” 

Ahh, the way he whispered your name into your ear made you tremble. You couldn’t help shuddering at the contact. You were falling to pieces. You were losing yourself. 

“Toji,” you echoed, opening your eyes. His hazy gaze was already on you. 

He released your cheeks and leaned back on the chair, placing a hand on his crotch, gripping his bulge, smirking.

Your mouth was gaped open, watching his hand as he palmed himself through his jeans. 

“Wanna take a closer look?”

You mindlessly nodded. 

Toji patted a free hand on his knee, urging you to sit on it. You weren’t thinking when you climbed up on his knee, your mind was blank, only the need to be filled by something firm and large filled your senses.

Eyes trained on Toji’s hard cock, trapped in the rough fabric, you settled on his knee. He grabbed your hand and slowly placed it on his bulge, instructing you to squeeze it to feel how large it actually was. His jeans didn’t do much justice, the size you felt by cupping his bulge wasn’t at all visible through them.

“It’s big.” Your eyes stared unblinkingly down at his clothed cock. Would it fit inside me?

Toji hummed, his size wasn’t any news to him. He placed his hands on your waist, feeling you up while you were busy rubbing your small hands on his growing erection. God, it keeps getting bigger.

“Are ya gonna keep playing with it over the pants?” he asked, moving his knee side to side for whatever reason. You didn’t pay much attention. “Are ya listening?”

A sound escaped you when his knee pressed against your pussy. Was that what he was trying to do just now?

One look at Toji’s face gave you the answer.

Toji bounced his leg gently, your legs trembled and you held onto him.

“You’re more sensitive than I thought,” he said, placing his hands on your hips, gripping harshly to move them along his knee.

Your eyes were starting to roll and flutter as he pressed you down on his knee, the friction was mind-numbingly ecstatic, and his wandering hands were just adding to the pleasure. It was all too much, the heat from Toji, large hands teasing your body over your robe with slowly paced strokes, and his overwhelming musky scent. 

All of your senses were rearing up, telling you to get on all fours and let this man you met barely an hour ago fuck you silly. The attraction was undeniable and clearly mutual yet unpredictable. 

“Ahh, I wanna mess you up so badly,” he said suddenly, his hands went under your robe, hiking the fabric up to see more of the supple flesh of your thighs.

You mewled in response. 

He leaned to put his head on your shoulder, “If I were to,” -he grabbed a chunk of your ass, “-tell you that I wanna see you on top of me, what would ya do?”

Your breath hitched. 

“I-I don’t know,” you managed, her voice quivering. I wanna feel your weight on top of me.

He noticed your discomfort. “I think you'd want me to be on top, am I right?” 

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“You’re being too vulgar.” You tried sounding serious.

His hand left your hip, he reached to your face instead. You gasped softly when he tucked your hair behind your ear. “I can feel your pussy throbbing on my knee.”

Stunned, your eyes widened and you stumbled on your words. “N-no-” you protested, voice trembling. 

The intense look he gave you with a raised eyebrow made you blush furiously.

“I m-mean-” You meekly looked up at him. “When you say it like that, you make me look like a… like a…-”

“A slut?” he filled in. He let out a sigh, placing a hand behind your head and pulling you towards his face. “Isn’t it a little too late to reintroduce yourself?”

“I’m just not like this.” You pouted at him. “I’ve never been like this before.” 

A grin broke out on his face and he laughed, rubbing the back of your head. “I find that hard to believe, you were trying to seduce me from the moment you opened the door.”

You gasped suddenly, “I would never-”

“You’ve soaked my pants with your cunt, young lady.” Toji teased with a smile. “I can’t do or say anything more vulgar than that.”

A momentary silence hung between the two of you, your face had turned beet red. “With that settled... Do you know the name of the thing you were touching?”

Your body trembled at his blunt approach, oblivious to how close he had gotten.

“It’s a cock,” he breathed. “Say it.”

He leaned in closer and as he got closer you could see his features more clearly. Your eyes were on the scar on his lip, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to trace it with your tongue. “C-c-clock-” you gave up.

He put an arm around your waist, pulling you a lot closer. “Unless you say what you want from me, I won’t be able to pay you back,” he murmured, his eyes hazy.

You gave him a shaky smirk to cover your own embarrassment. “I--I want you to touch me.” I want you to fill all my holes.

“Be more specific.”

You wanted his large hands to cup your breasts and slide down, down down until they found your sacred place. You wanted him to rest the weight of his cock on your face, you wanted his lips on your slick heat, and you... You-

The longer you looked at him, the more you wanted him to touch you.

Toji looked at you as if he knew what you were thinking and bit his lip. “Come on, say it.”

“I want,” you started, body trembling with anticipation. “I want you to ruin me with your cock.”

He pressed a hand on the small of your back, bringing you even closer to him. Instantly, his lips crashed onto yours, he snaked his tongue inside your mouth savoring your sweet taste.

You lifted your leg and crossed it over his leg to sit on his lap. He pressed you down onto his crotch, you could feel the enormous erection underneath the rough fabric, pushing against your own clothed entrance. He could slip his cock right inside your pussy if you were both naked.

Desperate and needier than ever, you started grinding on his erection, humping him like a bitch in heat.

He growled into the kiss, his strong hands bouncing you harder on his erection. He was getting impatient, just like you. He needed to feel your walls clamp on his cock right at this moment or he would literally snap--

His large hands grabbed you firmly by your ass and he stood up from the chair. You yelped in panic before wrapping your arms around his neck to avoid falling. (As if Toji would drop you.) 

He carried you to your bedroom, dropping you hard against the mattress. Within barely a second, he was on top of you, hastily pulling his pants down. You followed his example and hooked a finger under your panties but Toji growled at you to leave them be.

“I’ll take them off,” he demanded in a low keen tone, his hand tightly gripping onto something.

Dumbfounded, all you could do was to nod and wait for him. 

Toji was completely naked when he flicked his pocket knife open. A wave of panic washed over you as he pressed the dull part of the knife on your chest. He was smirking encouragingly to put you at ease. He looked far too confident in what he was planning to do.

You yelped when he cut your bra off by the middle. Your tits gave a single bounce while Toji’s eyes feasted on the sight of them.

His hand cupped your breast and as he kneaded the soft flesh, he sliced a part of your panties. You lifted your torso up from the bed to shimmy out of your bra and robe. You threw them out of the way. Having your tit in his reach again, Toji pinched your perky nipple, put the knife down, and then brought both of his hands on your panties to rip the rest of the fabric off.

He brought the fabric up to his nose and took a deep inhale, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Decidedly, Toji grabbed you by the hips and pulled you completely under him, his rock-hard cock threateningly loomed over your leaking pussy.

Like he said, you liked him on top. It was a mesmerizing sight to see, his hair stuck to his forehead because of sweat, his eyes hazy with lust, lips agape to the sight of you under him. You could tell he was admiring the sight just as you were. You blushed faintly. 

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, resting his fingers on your lips. 

You obliged right away.

He pushed his fingers inside your mouth, covering the digits with your saliva before taking them out to grab his cock. His eyes didn’t leave yours even for a second, he gave a couple of pumps to his shaft and pressed the tip on your clit. 

With a mewl, you bit your lip. 

Toji dragged his cock along your folds as you started moving your hips impatiently. He was clearly teasing you but he cut it short, inserting the tip of his large cock in your pussy.

“It hurts, take it out!” you tried to move away from his cock but he held you in place.

“It’s just the tip.”

Although it was only the tip, you felt it stretch your walls and fill you up to the brim. The feeling didn’t go away either. Each time you thought he had inserted the entire length of his cock, he kept pushing his hips forward.

When his hips finally met yours, there were tears in your eyes, your chest heaved as your lips trembled. 

“You’re so tight.” It’s you who’s got the enormous dick.

Toji pulled his hips back and slammed into your pussy with enough force to make your bed frame bang on the wall. You basically yelled out a moan and he started fucking you at an animalistic pace. His thrusts were brutal, you kept sliding up on your bed and he followed you to plant his cock to the deepest part of your cunt. Your fingers grasped onto the sheets under you, trying to stay where you were but it felt useless. His weight was more than enough to fuck you frantically at the same time he continued to punch a hole into your wall with your bed frame.

He slapped a hand on your neck to hold you in place, he stretched his fingers before wrapping them around you, his single hand was big enough to wrap around your neck. Your hands immediately went to grab on his wrist, you weren’t sure if you were trying to hold onto him for support or because he was practically crushing your windpipe but you couldn’t think properly.

Using his other hand, he forced your legs on his shoulders so he could shove his cock even deeper inside of your pussy. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix and your mouth opened in a silent scream.

Your walls clamped on his cock as you started to panic over not being able to breathe. You kept getting tighter and tighter. Trying to greedily milk Toji’s cock of his seed.

The thought of fucking you until your abused hole overflowed almost made him cum. Toji spat in your open mouth in the heat of the moment, how dare you try to cut the fun short with your clenching gummy walls! He placed his second hand on your neck as well. “Swallow it,” he snarled, his pace slowed.

You couldn’t. 

He was putting too much pressure on your neck, you felt like you forgot how to use your tongue to swallow the simple liquid. 

In a wave of panic, both of your hands went to your neck. You dug your nails on his hands, scratching the skin for him to let you breathe. Your vision was getting blurry and it wouldn’t be long until you passed out.

Unamused, Toji lifted the pressure off of your neck to instead pick up his slackened pace with his face buried in your neck.

You hadn’t even got to take a deep breath when you choked on both your and his spit. He was rougher than you thought he would be, like an untamed animal.

“I forgot how fragile women are.” Audibly talking to himself, Toji snapped his hips forward, making your toes curl. His teeth sank hard into your neck, enough to make it bleed. He sucked and licked on your neck, steadily nibbling on it while you moaned. The pain was pleasurable, you were going insane. This was it, you were about to see the stars. Weird, he hadn’t even touched you there yet you were already a mess. You wondered what you looked like. Had your makeup melted from your tears and spit? 

“I’m close,” he informed, his voice huskier than before. Your legs started to shake, you reached your arms to him wanting to hold onto him. He leaned closer, letting you put your hands wherever they could reach as one of his hands reached between your legs to rub on your clit. Your tight walls clenched on his cock at once.

His vigorous pace and speed slackened, unable to resist your gummy walls any longer. Toji slammed his hips into yours, his balls slapped against your ass with a loud clap and his thick cock twitched. He was all the way inside you, from tip to the base. Your high came first, his finger flicked on your clit as your walls squeezed around him, you wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping that the euphoria would last a lifetime. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head while your orgasm shook you to your core. You hadn’t come this hard before with anyone else. Everything felt unreal.

Toji spilled his thick and creamy seed deep inside your fertile womb with a groan. He continued moving his hips to fuck his seed into your pussy. You could feel his hot seed run down from your pussy to your ass, leaving a sticky feeling.

Once satisfied, he pulled out and threw himself on the bed next to you. His bandages were bleeding through, you noticed at the same time you were trying to catch your breath.

It was silent for a while. 

The only noises in your room were the two of your breathing sounds. He managed to get his breathing in control quicker than you.

Without speaking, Toji sat up and grabbed his jeans from the edge of the bed. You watched him take a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jeans. He then laid next to you, putting a cigarette between his lips. He offered you one as well and you accepted out of courtesy.

You were far too tired to tell him to not smoke inside so you had joined him.

He lit your cigarette first, you inhaled the smoke as deep as you could before letting it go. Your muscles were spasming everywhere, your legs hadn’t stopped shaking but the nicotine helped bring your senses back. Your nerves eased with each inhale.

“Did the payment go through?” he joked, chuckling softly. His hair was a mess, he noticed your stare and ran his fingers through his hair to comb it.

“Definitely,” you snickered. 

Toji pulled you closer to himself until you settled to his side, with your head on his chest and your arm over his torso. You two kept on smoking in the bed like that.

“When I come back to have my stitches removed, will you take the same payment method?” His tone was flirty, full of promises. “Huh, kitten?”

“I thought you were going to remove them yourself?” A genuine laugh escaped from your lips. 

“What can I say, I liked your treatment style.” It was just an excuse to see you again. “So, whaddaya say?”

“Absolutely no! Not after all that choking stuff!”

Nevertheless, when Toji came back to your place the day after, a lot sooner than he should have, you didn’t say anything about the toothbrush he brought with him.

[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.

[george-mackay-macfine]

Lets Play A Game - CH.2

Chapter 2 of let's play a game. Imagine who you wish as Jude.

“Okay, well, if we’re going to do this, we need rules.”

“Rules?”

“Rules.” I pushed the heavy-bodied oaf off me and stood up, “You know, like the Geneva contract….”

“This isn’t a world war, Edwards.”

“Oh really?” I spun on my heel, “Because I’m treating it as war.” I motioned between the two of us, “If I’m going to be playing dirty with the enemy, then I need to make sure there are no casualties, apart from you, of course.” I dipped my head to the side, sending him a cheeky smirk.

“Fine,” He rolled his eyes. “We’ll make some rules then.”

“Okay, first rule.”

“No one but us get’s to know about the game,” He pointed at me. “No mothers, no friends, no one.”

“Like I’d want anyone to know I was doing anything with you.” I agreed. “PDA?”

“Obviously,” He rolled his eyes. “No one will believe we’re dating if we don’t show some PDA.”

“Right, sorry, I forgot I was dealing with a man whore.” I threw at him. “Handholding.”

“Scared you’ll get cooties.” I shot him a glare. “Kissing.”

“Ugh,” I shrivelled my nose in disgust. “If we must,”

“You liked it.”

“No, not really.” He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The feeling of his eyes on me began to make my chest feel warm.

“Then why are you still here, in my shirt, this close to falling back into my bed.”

“I’m not close to ‘falling back into your bed’, Hastings.”

“Oh really?” His hand grabbed at the bottom of his shirt, pulling me greedily towards him.

“I don’t have time for this again. I have to go.” The skin of his knuckles brushed the skin of my thighs as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

“C’mon Edwards. Admit it, you like this.” His fingers pushed up the shirt again, causing a sharp intake of breath from me. “And that.” He looked up at me through his eyelashes. “Shows me just how much you want me.”

“For God’s sake, Hastings. You’re insane.” My hands gripped onto his wrists fruitlessly, trying to stop him. “I have to leave.” In an instant, his hands had reached around my thighs and pulled me down onto his lap. His right hand rested on the curve of my ass—his left hand wandering up underneath his shirt, running along the skin of my stomach.

And when he looked at me with his stupid lips twisting into that cunning smirk. Dear God. If only his personality matched how attractive he was.

“You really want to leave?” I looked up to the ceiling, averting my eyes, so I didn’t make any more mistakes. “Stop me touching you, in the same way I was touching you last night” His hands went to the button on my pants, fiddling with it. “Admit it, I already know exactly what you like, Darcy.” His hand returned to my shirt, pushing the material upwards. I felt his lips on my skin next. Kissing along the exposed flesh. “There’s still one rule we need to decide on.”

“Mhhm.” Oh god, his hands touching me felt like it left a trail of fire in its wake, and maybe if I just pretend it was someone else, maybe Chris Evans, I could let this happen again.

“Sex,”

“What.”

“Sex, Will we have it through this little game?”

“God no,”

“Oh, come on. Tell me you don’t want it,” He whispered against my skin. I shook my head, biting my lip, hands going to his shoulders, holding on for dear life. “I need you to tell me.”

“I have to go,” I pulled my head down from the clouds and pushed him away. He fell back onto the bed with an exasperated huff. “I have brunch with my parents, and thanks to some cocky asshole, I’m going to have to sit through it without underwear.”

“Well, I’m going to have to get through today without my favourite shirt, So we’ll call it even.”

“You poor baby,” I straightened the jacket. “I hope you don’t die without it.” I walked towards the door, stopping just shy of it turning back to look at him. “Or, ya know… you can… do whatever suits you best, really.” I stepped through the threshold out into the unfamiliar hallway. “Shit,”

“Lost?” His ever so irritating voice whispered in my ear after I stood a moment, deciding what way to go.

“Of course not,”

“Then lead the way to the door, Honey.” I turned to face him at the nickname. He was still shirtless, now a pair of tracksuit bottoms covering his lower half.

“Honey?” He grinned, both top and bottom teeth on display, leaning back casually on the doorframe as he watched me. “That’s the nickname your going with? Really?”

“What?” He laughed, and God, he’d always had the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh with him. “I’m trying it out.”

“Try another one.” I looked left then to the right, trying to recollect what way Hastings had pulled me from last night.

“Need help?”

“No.” I stepped forward, then spun to the left, taking a tentative step forward, stopping when he cleared his throat. I turned to face him. His head shook no. “Mother ducker.” I muttered, spinning on my heel and walking back past him.

“You could have just asked for directions,”

“Shut up.” I growled as I stormed down the hallway and out into the living room. Surprisingly it was cleaner than I’d ever expected from Jude Hastings. “Have you seen my purse?”

“Hanging on the doorknob.”

“Great,” I walked to the door, grabbing the black shoulder bag I’d spent my morning looking for all over his bedroom. “Well,” I turned to look at my own personal demon. “This has been a ride…” A dirty smile broke out on his face. “Stop it.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll call you,”

“You don’t have my number,”

“Are you sure about that?”

“If you do have it,” I took a deep breath, pulling the door open. “Lose it.”

“Backing out already?”

“Never!” I shut the door behind me, ending the conversation. “What is wrong with me.” I muttered to myself as I began the walk to the cafe.

I had just agreed to potentially - doubtfully - fall in love with Jude Hastings, my mortal enemy. It may be dramatic, but he was the absolute worst, at least whenever he opens his mouth. Maybe I can just put a bag over his personality and gag him… then I would happily reinstigate what happened last night. Can you bag someone’s personality?

Not important right now, Darcy.

I had to formulate a plan, a way to make Hastings fall in love with me so I could crush his heart in my hands. A quick google as I walked told me most of what I already knew.

THE EASY FAULT FREE SIX STEPS TO MAKE YOUR WORST

NIGHTMARE FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU!!

A dissertation by Darcy Alice Edwards

1. Maintain eye contact.

This was already a problem for me. Looking into Jude Hastings eyes for too long was known to induce nausea.

2. Be interested in who they are as a person and listen to everything they have to say.

Another problem for me, as I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say or anything he was interested in. Not only that, but the sound of his voice was often like the sound of nails on a chalkboard for me.

3. Make them feel appreciated and special.

Make Jude Hastings feel appreciated. How can I even manage to do this with a straight face?

4. Smile a lot.

This one maybe I could do. If I think of happy thoughts and pretend it was anyone but Hastings.

5. Embrace what the other person is most passionate about.

For Jude, this was beer pong and margaritas. I could embrace them.

6. Touch them more often.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

“Darcy, sweetheart, there you are.” The high pitched tone of my moms’ voice broke me from my research. She and my father sat at a table by the front door. The pair of them had a half-drunk coffee in front of them. Crap, they’ve been waiting, and by the frown lines on my mom’s face, it was longer than five minutes. “We’re been waiting for you.” There it was, three seconds into brunch, and she was already chastising me.

“Sorry,” I pushed my phone into my back pocket and took a seat across from her and my father. “Hi Dad,”

“Hi kitten,” Out of my two parents, my dad had always been my favourite. When my mom was harsh, my dad was kind. When mom drilled into me about my life, my dad made sure I felt loved. He was always the one to parent me, not just order me around.

“You couldn’t have dressed nicer for Sunday brunch?” Mom looked over Hastings crinkled shirt with an upturned nose. “What will people think?”

“Can I please order a mimosa.” I grabbed the nearby waitress with a pleading smile. “I’m sure they’ll think there’s Darcy Edwards.”

“Drinking already?”

“Extra champagne.” I called after the waitress.

“Darcy…”

“So what are we thinking of getting.” I ignored my mothers’ warning tone, picking up the menu. “Egg’s sound good.”

“I had the eggs last time. They were good.” Dad added. “I think I’ll have sausage and eggs, maybe some bacon.”

“Bacon sounds good.”

“You need to watch your cholesterol.” I was vaguely paying attention as my parents began to argue about my father can and can’t eat, but mostly I was dying for the mimosa to hurry up and arrive,

“There you are.”

“I don’t know if I want eggs anymore, maybe pancakes.” I muttered, poking the page with my finger. Syrup soaked pancakes did sound amazing right now, or maybe waffles.

“Baby,”

“Jude?” My head snapped up at the mention of his name. Standing beside me was Hastings dressed in his police uniform. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?” It was totally the man in uniform kink making my heart rate spike, not just Jude Hastings in a uniform.

“I just came to drop this off to Darcy.” He waved my wallet in the air. “She left it in my apartment when she rushed off this morning.”

“Oh, is that right?” Jude Hastings, you dirty dog. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast, Jude?” Mom smiled happily at him, she’d always loved him.

“He can’t-“

“I’d love to.” The seat was pulled out roughly, and his body flopped into the chair, his arm coming to rest on my shoulders. I turned to look at him. He was smirking. Of course, he was. “Hi.” He leaned in and kissed my lips.

“So.” I could hear the smile in my mom’s voice. “When did this all happen?”

“Two months ago.” I blurted, looking at Hastings’s eyes. “Right, Jude.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, turning to my parents. “We ran into each other one night at a bar, and we began talking, like civilised adults, finally, and it just started from there.” He shrugged as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“And you didn’t tell me, Darcy?” I heard the edge on my mothers’ voice, oh boy. I was in big trouble.

“Well, we wanted to see exactly where things were going before we announced it to the whole town.”

I honestly believed that half the town would roll over and die when they find out Jude Hastings and Darcy Edwards were ‘dating’. Considering we’d nearly pulled the town apart with our pranks.

“Given our history,” Hastings added.

“Well, I think it’s wonderful.” My dad smiled at us. “You know I’ve always liked you, Jude.”

“Thank you, sir,”

“Kiss arse,” I let out under my breath.

“What was that sweetheart,” Hastings looked down at me with that fucking shit-eating grin.

“I said how sweet.”

“Mimosa,” The waitress reappeared.

“Please.” I held up my hand partly, mouth practically salivating at the idea of my alcohol in my bloodstream helping me get through this brunch. “Thank you.” I smiled as she placed the champagne flute in front of me.

“Mimosa, huh.” Hastings’s voice sounded teasing, but I knew him well enough to know this was no innocent observation. “You’d think she’d had enough to drink last night.”

“You went out last night?” My mother’s eyebrows shot up before a look of displeasure replaced the shock. “Is that why you’re dressed so…” We reached this part of breakfast quicker than I thought we would. Sit back, ladies and gents, the shows about the start. Act one; My mother judging my life choices as if I hadn’t been of legal age for the last six years.

“So what? Mother?” I picked up the flute and sat back in my chair, waiting for my mother to go off about my appearance.

“Messily.”

“No.” I deadpanned. “I’m dressed so messily because I was up early grading papers for my fourth-grade class.”

“Darcy, you surely don’t believe that I would believe-“

“It’s true. Darcy was up around dawn and began working.” As soon as my mother heard Hastings testimony for my ragged appearance, she sat back in her seat, a sweet smile replacing the devil horns.

Classic mom, always willing to believe the perfect Jude Hastings.

Speaking of the demon man himself. I don’t know if Hastings saved me because he felt terrible for the verbal ass-whooping my mother was about to give me or because he wanted to hold it over my head at a later date.

Probably the second one.

“See,” I took a long swig of the mimosa and looked at dad. “What are you getting, dad?”

“Waffles,” He smiled widely. God, he was a good man to put up with both my mother and I’s fighting. “With a side of fruit salad.”

“Sounds delicious.” I felt Hastings fingers fiddle and tap on the back of the chair, occasionally brushing my skin as they moved. “Mrs. Edwards, what are you going to get?”

I ignored the polite conversation trying to fight the feeling of nausea in my stomach as I watched my parents interact with Hastings and him with them. He was good at this, a borderline professional, but then again, what could you expect from a man who’d had more girlfriends than Keeping up with the Kardashians had seasons. I swear, in high school, it was like he had a new girl every week. I thought it was going to end up a category in our yearbook.

Most Girlfriends in a single year: Jude Hastings.

“Babe, your mother asked you a question.” His shoulder nudged mine, breaking me from my daze.

“I’m sorry, I was reading.” I looked between the demon and my mother. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying, sweetheart, that perhaps we should go out to dinner with the Hastings soon, all of us together to celebrate you and Jude finally getting over that childhood tiff of yours.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” I mumbled, picking up the champagne flute.

“Wonderful,” My mother clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll call Francine.”

“She’ll be excited to hear from you.”

“How’s work, Jude?” My dad distracted Hastings, pulling him into a conversation, only this allowed Hastings to work his dark magic in seducing them into thinking he was a good person.

He wasn’t. No way.

As I listened to my parents both fawn over him, I had one goal in mind. Make him fall in love with me so hard I can watch him crash and burn in a flaming pit of fire, and I will go down in history as the one girl who broke Jude Hastings heart.

[xmyshya]

Told you so

summary: Atsumu wants to propose. But the universe has different plans. genre: fluff, crack warnings: none​ special thanks: my wifey for giving me the general idea and help with coming up with these ideas, I love you so so so much! a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day! wc: 975

If one was to describe Miya Atsumu in one word, it would be flashy. Everything about him stands out, from bleached hair, to his overbearing aura, to grand gestures. He loves having all eyes on him, as if he is the lone performer and the whole world is his audience, demanding to be entertained at all times. And obviously, despite you being an “it’s all in small things” kind of person, he has to proclaim his undying love to you in a form proportional to the weight of his feeling. And it’s enormous.

“Yer an idiot, ya don’t hafta do that.” Osamu shoots down each one of his ideas. “I’m pretty sure y/n would rather have somethin’ quiet.”

“What do ya know, ‘Samu? Everyone wishes to be declared as the one to the whole world, no?”

“As a matter of fact, no.”

Atsumu scoffs. His brother clearly knows nothing, right?

--------------------

His first plan is to propose after a match. A victorious match, but he’s so sure they’ll win, that it goes without saying. He has a little velvety box tucked safely right next to his water bottle, eliciting weird glances from his teammates, but he couldn’t care less. He could care more about the present though, because his distraction and excitement cost MSBY the game. Shut up, Atsumu barks at the tiny treasure chest, feeling its mocking gaze.

--------------------

One of the perks of being a famous (as he wants to believe) athlete is contacts. So upon hearing that one of your beloved (and not so famous) bands announced a concert, another lightbulb lit up in his head. He met them at one of the official parties he attended and in a drunken haze ended up with members’ phone numbers.

They agreed to give Miya a moment right before encores, an extra gift from the band - being on stage during their last phase of the performance. But when you faint in the morning, he can feel the breath of anxiety on his nape. By noon your fever skyrockets, and in his panicked state Atsumu doesn’t know if he should call an ambulance or the band first.

--------------------

One beautiful Saturday he offers walking your dog and meeting at the park you work near, before going back to your place. The blonde waits impatiently by the fountain, eyeing his watch every few seconds, huge ball of fur observing him closely.

He’s so focused on trying to make (dog’s name) keep the small box in its teeth without biting into it, that he doesn’t notice you in an alley. But the dog does and runs in your direction, completely disregarding the leash tangled around Atsumu’s ankle.

One strong pull and the man lands in a fountain, watching as your furry friend gets distracted by a wild squirrel, carrying his velvety treasure god knows where. Rest of the afternoon is filled with your laughter, as he searches for the tiny cube, praying he finds it before you.

--------------------

Being Osamu’s brother has one fundamental benefit, which is food. Not always cooked by him, the twin also knows the best restaurants in most of Japan’s cities. Atsumu is sitting at the table, with you on the other side of it, and he thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful than this. Than you.

In your dress that compliments your figure and the colour of your eyes, with your diamond earrings he bought for you last year, with your bright smile as you take in the luxurious interior. A gentle pat on his shoulder drags him away from you, way too brutally for his liking, and he feels his stomach sink. No. No no no, this can’t go wrong, but he already knows it can as he follows the man away from the table.

“I’m sorry, senor Miya, but as you can see our strings broke, and we don’t have that many on us, we will transfer the money back”

He doesn’t care about money. All he cares about is a ring he’s going to take home in his pocket again, instead of your finger.

--------------------

“‘Tsumu, let’s gooooooo.” You’ve been asking him for the past 2 hours, but he really isn’t in the mood. “Please? It’s been so long since we went to Sakura viewing!”

He doesn’t want to do this. He really doesn’t. His recent failures took a toll, and now all he can think of is how the world he once ruled is now ridiculing him. But somehow, he realises, the disappointment in your eyes hurts him billion times more, so he packs a blanket, snacks, and grabs your hand. That’s the least he could do.

You’re sitting at a riverbank, under a shedding tree. Hanami has always attracted crowds, but for some miraculous reason you’re alone. He’s feeding you onigiri brought by Osamu, and finds it so easy to smile when you’re right there in front of him, so easy to laugh when you bite his finger along with the rice ball, so easy to just be.

He’s holding your hand, absentmindedly wrapping a flower plucked from a nearby spot around your finger. Wind blows a few stray petals and they land in your hair, your clothes, one even on your nose. You look like a flower goddess, he wants to say.

“Marry me.” He says instead.

Your eyes open wide, tears threatening to fall and for a moment he’s terrified. But then you smile the most beautiful of your smiles, and hug him as if he was your whole world, and whisper,

“Yes, oh my god, yes.”

He manages to find his voice many minutes later.

“I’ll give ya a real ring later, princess.”

“Hm? But I like this one.”

--------------------

When he tells Osamu about all the failed plans, and what succeeded in the end, his twin can’t stop himself.

“Idiot. I told ya to keep it simple.”

[socialwriter]

Good for you

Gif by @sci-fi​

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Requested by anon:  May i send a JJ Maybank x reader request!! with her confessing she loves him and he rejects but then slowly falls inlove with her after a while and its all a tad angsty with jealousy and fluff at the end please!!

TW: Cursing, sadness, underage drinking

1.4k+ words

A/n: hope you enjoy, I tweaked the request slightly, hope you don’t mind <33

“I’m in love with you JJ.” 

Those 6 words you had been terrified to speak all this time came tumbling out of your mouth, but now you wished that they hadn’t. In your head, your fantasies, JJ would repeat the words back to you. He would sweep you off your feet, dip you, and press a passionate kiss against your lips. He would love you back. No fantasy of yours involved a look of pity or a nervous chuckle from JJ. 

“Listen, y/n, I’m sorry but I just don’t feel that way about you. You’re a great friend, but that’s really it.”

You felt like he had ripped your heart right out of your chest and stomped all over it. You could feel the tears in your eyes that threatened to spill, but it wasn’t until John B walked into the room that you ran off, not wanting two people you were close to to see you so emotional. You hopped in your car and drove all the way home, tears streaming down your face the entire time. 

“What was that all about?” John B questioned his best friend, who had a guilty look on his face. “Ah shit man, what did you do?”

“I told her that I didn’t love her.”

“But JJ-”

Said blond held up his hand, the look on his face saying ‘don’t push it’. “I know man, I just couldn’t.” 

The problem was JJ Maybank did have a little crush on Y/n L/n. He did have feelings for her. But she deserved more than a little crush or feelings. She deserved passion, romance, and all the things that he knew he didn’t have to give her.

----

You hadn’t seen the light of day in almost a week now, wallowing in your own self-pity after having been humiliated for having feelings for a friend. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Kie, your best friend, told you, trying to console your broken heart and bruised ego. 

“You weren’t there, Kiara, it was mortifying. He looked at me with so much pity, like I was a stray dog on the streets begging for food that he didn’t have. I don’t think I can face him ever again.” You moved to hide under the covers, hoping that they’ll somehow shield you from the embarrassment that you’re feeling. They don’t.

“Hun, JJ is just a stupid boy. If he can’t see what a smoke bomb you are, that’s his loss. There will be other guys, guys better than JJ and better for you than JJ. Just give it time and you’ll forget all about this. Just a blip in your life.” Kie peels the covers off your body, eliciting a whine from you. “No whining, you need to get up and get yourself out there.”

“The only way that's happening is with alcohol in my system.” You quip, pulling your knees up to your chest so that you’re in a fetal position.

“Well lucky for you there’s a kegger at the boneyard tonight.”

“...no”

“Aw come on Y/n, you said yourself it's what you need.”

You huff, shaking your head at her. “I do not need to see JJ with his arm around some touron girl, tipsy at best. No ma’am, not today.”

Kie sighs, pulling you up into a sitting position. “Who says that it has to happen like that? What if you’re a little tipsy, with your arm around some touron, the name Maybank not even on your mind?”

You raise a brow, slowly nodding at Kie. “I like the way you’re talking, continue.”

“We’re gonna make JJ regret ever rejecting you, y/n, cuz you sure as heck are a whole lot to lose.”

---

JJ’s condition the past week had not been much better than yours. Sleeping all day, smoking to pass the time, and not going outside once, he was miserable. The only reason he was at this kegger in the first place was because John B and Pope had practically dragged him out of the house, going on and on about how their summer days were limited, and you only live once and blah blah blah. JJ didn’t really care. He moped about the entire kegger, his typical flirting nature forgotten. That is until he saw you. 

Instead of the typical jeans and a t-shirt you usually donned to these parties, you wore a mini skirt and a tight crop top, showing off more to the boys around you than you typically would have. You clearly had gone all out for this party, and JJ didn’t know what for. Whatever the reasoning, he liked the change of pace, and it just made him regret rejecting you even more. You both made eye contact, causing you to send him a tight lipped smile and a curt nod before walking off into the crowd, out of JJ field of vision. Man, why was he so stupid?

---

About an hour had passed since you’d arrived at the kegger with Kie, and you had found a touron you found particularly cute to flirt with for the majority of that time. You couldn’t remember his name, but you didn’t really need to. He was nothing more than a distraction, a rebound, someone to have a good time with. Right when you lean up to kiss him, however, the two of you are interrupted by someone clearing their throat. JJ. 

“Can I help you, Maybank?” You question, you voice laced with venom that causes JJ to flinch slightly. 

“Yea, I um..” JJ trails off, realizing that he actually hadn’t come up with an excuse to come and talk to you when he saw you getting a little too close to the guy you were standing next to. 

“Look bro, we’re just trying to have a good time, back off.” The touron tells JJ, pulling you into his side. JJ clenches his fists at that, and you can tell that this is not going to end well.

“Can I not talk to my friend, bro?” JJ spits back, eyeing the touron up and down.

“I think its clear to see we’re in the middle of something so back off.”

Before the situation can escalate any further you step in between the two boys, holding up your hands. “Ok calm down everyone, I’m going to go talk to JJ for a minute and I’ll be right back…” You trail off, not remembering the tourons name.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, stomping off to find some other girl who actually would care about him. You groan, crossing your arms before glaring at JJ. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry.” JJ mumbles, staring at the floor. You scoff, fed up with him pitying you.

“I don’t need this. I have feelings for you, yes. It's a normal part of life. I’ll get over them, like I always do. But I sure as hell don’t need you pity because I told y-” You’re cut off by JJ smashing his lips into yours, moving his hands up to cup your face. It takes you a few moments to realize what's happening, but when you do you shove him back, leaving JJ with a hurt expression on his face. 

“I don’t want your pity kiss Maybank.”

JJ sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to think of the right words to say. He’d never been good with expressing his emotions, always having them bottled up inside, but if he didn’t tell you how he felt, he would lose you forever. “I love you. I’m in love with you, y/n. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like. I don’t know how to talk about all the little things in my head. The only thing I do know in all of this is you. How you bite your lip when you’re nervous. How you snort while you laugh when you think a joke is really funny. How you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know I’m not good enough for you. I know that. But if you’ll have me, I’d like to try and be good for you.”

You’re left speechless at JJ’s little speech, mouth left slightly ajar. “You really mean that J?” You murmur, unsure if he’d heard you until he takes a step towards you, cupping your cheeks once more. 

“Course I do.” JJ whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

“Well good, cuz I’d like to try and be good for you too J.”

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[mafia-nct]

Like Magnets (Part 1)

Genre: Mafia!AU, Mafia member Taeil, Street racer Taeil, Fluff, Angst Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of illegal activities, Mentions of guns and drugs Word Count: 4.5k Description: When a mission goes south, Taeil is obligated to use a different kind of racing to save himself. Luckily for him, he meets his saviour who’ll occupy his mind for the rest of his life.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3

TAEIL’S POV

The air burned his throat as he pushed his body to go faster than it ever did before. He needed to lose those guys following him and fast. He’d been running for four blocks now, he knew he couldn’t go much longer especially at the speed he was pushing his body. He turned right, hoping it’ll buy him some time to find a place to hide. All of this wouldn’t be happening if he’d been behind the wheel.

It was supposed to be an easy mission: “Get the drugs from the supplier, then come back to the mansion.” Had said Taeyong. That’s why Taeil agreed to take Johnny’s place. His underboss showed up, a day before the mission, sick like a dog. He couldn’t stand up straight and could barely breathe silently. Johnny had to stand back, he hated it, but he had to. For the sake of the mission.

Shake the supplier’s hand, pay him, take the drugs and come back. It was an easy job, easier than driving a car, Taeil could do it. Car races were more complicated; this was a walk in the park. That’s what he thought, that’s what everyone thought. Unfortunately, there was a rat on the supplier’s side. A rat that sold information belonging to the network and to the supplier, to a rival gang. They showed up in the middle of the deal, shooting left and right, clearly over powering both sides. They tried to fight them for a while, until Taeyong’s voice had rung in their earpieces: “127 back down. They’re more prepared than us. Don’t come back to the mansion in case you’re followed. Run boys, run.”

Taeil looked behind him. Sure enough, the two guys were still following him. He needed a miracle to get out of this or else he was dead - or worse he was going to be held captive.

“Go to the safe houses,” he heard Taeyong say in his earpiece, “and call me when you get there.”

Taeil grunted, he’d have to get rid of his two pursuers before going to a safe house. Even then, the closest one was miles away. He should’ve let somebody else take Johnny’s place. That way, he would’ve been a getaway driver and he wouldn’t be stuck running all night long to save his ass. He turned left, finally facing his saving grace: a park. He smirked; he could easily lose them in there. Using what was left of his energy; he sprinted past the park’s gate.

Y/N’S POV

Like most nights, the park was deserted bringing you the peace of mind your daily life lacked. Balancing school, your job, your internship and your social life didn’t allow you to have time for yourself. Which left you with only the middle night to wind down; and Vision Park was your go to place. Some people are able to wind down in their home, which, sadly, isn’t the case for you. The emptiness of your apartment reminded you of your loneliness, it’s small size only making it worse. All of your friends were in relationships, or getting married, or having their first child. Meanwhile, your dating life was a mess of failed Tinder dates and disappointing ex-boyfriends.

You leaned your head on the bench’s backrest breathing out loudly. You closed your eyes focusing on the sounds surrounding you; enjoying them like you did every night. The music they made relaxing you: the wind blowing in between the leaves, the crickets chirping, the running water of the fountain and the heavy footsteps of someone running. You opened your eyes, eyebrows furrowing. That wasn’t a usual sound, it wasn’t supposed to be there. It interrupted your symphony. You looked around trying to find the culprit and spotted a silhouette running towards your direction.

What was that person doing running at full speed in the middle of the night? The person quickly looked behind them before passing you. You quickly turned around to follow the moving blur; they stopped running and looked around them before jumping in a bush to hide.

It took you a minute to realize what happened, the weirdness of it all throwing you off. A random person ran, full speed, in the park in the middle of the night and then, jumped in a bush. You should probably check if they were ok. You slowly pushed yourself off of the bench and tiptoed towards the bush that served as a hiding place. The person’s laboured breaths grew louder the closer you got.

“Go away!” You heard them whisper. Were they talking to you?

“What?” You asked, still moving towards the bush.

“You heard me, it’s dangerous. Go away!”

You opened the bush with both of your hands, and finally got a good look at them. There, crouched down in a ball trying to make itself as tiny as possible, was a man. He had black hair styled in an undercut that shined in the moonlight. The style looked great on him if it weren’t for the fact that his hair was dishevelled from his run. He was handsome. He had soft features, apart from his eyes, annoyance coursing through them, as he looked up at you from under his eyebrows. “You clearly need help. I’m not leaving!” You stated.

He rolled his eyes. “Listen princess, if you don’t leave they’ll kill you too.”

Your gaze left the man to look around the park. Not far from the entrance were two guys. They were too far to make out their faces or what they were wearing, but from their stature you could tell they meant trouble. They looked around the park and you made the connection. He was running, and now hiding, from them.

You turned back to the man and pointed towards the two at the entrance of the park. “Are you talking about them?”

The hiding man raised his head just above the bush keeping most of his body hidden. “Shit!” He snarled before looking back at you. “You really need to leave.”

You glanced at the entrance. You couldn’t leave him here; you needed to help him. The men were approaching. Something clicked in your mind. “No, I have an idea.” It was crazy, but it’s all you could come up with the limited time you had.

“What don’t you unders-”

“Have you ever watched Captain America: The Winter Soldier?”

His eyes grew wide. “Now is not the time to talk about Captain America!”

You grabbed him by the collar bringing him up to his feet. “PDA makes people uncomfortable.” You said before crashing your lips with his.

TAEIL’S POV

It felt right. After the initial shock that a random girl, who’s name he didn’t even know, was kissing him to save him melted away. He closed his eyes. It felt right, so he kissed her back.

Lips fitting, tongues fighting and mouths moulding. From one kiss, he saw stars. He never felt that before. He had kissed plenty of people in his life and never was it like that. This was something else.

He felt like he was on fire. Like every cell of his body had woken up. He felt at peace. He knew bad guys were after him, but if he died, right now kissing this girl, he’d be alright with it. He felt like everything in his life made sense. Every question had been answered and every thing he’d been through led to this exact moment. He felt his heart speed up with every movement of lips and his brain short-circuit with one thought repeating itself over and over again. Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.

One of his arms wrapped around her waist pulling her closer to him. His other hand snaked up her back to hold the back of her neck to deepen the kiss. He felt her hands, which were previously grabbing the front of his shirt, climb up his chest. Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck pulling him closer. He couldn’t help but smile in the kiss. Taeil was in heaven, he was high in the sky and didn’t want to come down.

Then, someone cleared their throat.

Y/N’S POV

This wasn’t right. You didn’t even know the guy; he could be a psychopath or a puppy killer. Kissing him wasn’t right, because it shouldn’t feel so good. His lips were soft and they were addictive as if they were covered with the most powerful drug. His hands felt like they belonged on your body, grabbing you and pulling you close into him. When he kissed you back, it felt like every nerve in your body exploded. Your heart only had one thing on its mind: “kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.” Your brain, the only logical part of your body at the moment, had one thought on repeat: stop, this isn’t right, stop. Your heart retaliated: “if this is so wrong, why does it feel so right.” So you let yourself melt in his arms, in his embrace. You let yourself free fall into the feeling of him as dangerous as it was. He was a stranger, but it felt so good. It felt so right.

Someone clearing their throat brought you back to reality, stopping you from melting on the spot. You stopped kissing him. Remembering why you were suddenly kissing a random stranger, you grabbed the back of his head and quickly hid his face in your neck hoping they didn’t have time to recognize him.

“What?” You snapped eyeing the person who interrupted you. Even if this was a death or life situation for both you and the stranger hiding in your neck, you were still annoyed they interrupted what definitely was the best kiss of your life.

The two muscular guys were standing in front of you. From their body language, you could tell your plan worked; they were shifting from one foot to the other, both of them avoided making eye contact, they were uncomfortable.  

“Eum, did you see a guy run and hide here?” Asked one of them.

As you were about to answer him, the man you were trying to protect started to kiss your shoulder. Pulling your skin in between his teeth and biting it lightly. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling, before clearing your throat. It shouldn’t feel this good, it never felt this good.

“No I haven’t.” His kisses climbed up. His lips on your neck were fogging your mind.

“Are you sure because-” Started the other words rushing out of his mouth.

You opened your mouth ready to answer, but he kissed your sweet spot. You let out a moan as he bit your skin. “Pretty sure.” You breathed out.

They slowly backed away, clearly more than uncomfortable. “Whatever.” Mumbled one of them as they made their way towards the other side of the park.

You kept your eyes on them; you needed to make sure they left the park before lifting his head from your neck. He kept kissing it, switching to the other side. His hand tilting your head to give him access and control.

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing out. It shouldn’t feel this good. Kissed never felt this good. You watched them exit the park and placed your hands on his chest pushing him off.

“They’re gone.” You whispered.

He blinked once, twice. Before shaking his head, clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

You nodded. A little silence following before he extended his hand towards you.

“I’m Taeil!”

You gladly accepted his hand shaking it. “I’m Y/N”

He smiled and you smiled back.

The next words formed in your mouth not even thinking before saying them out loud.

“Why don’t you stay at my place tonight? That way I’ll know you’ll be safe.”

TAEIL’S POV

He walked beside her. His hands in his pocket reminiscing about the kiss they shared. He’d been lost in the feeling, lost in her lips against his. He’d forgotten his enemies were chasing him. He’d thought he was dreaming, because these kisses couldn’t be real. They were too good to be real.

“I know it’s not of my business,” she started breaking the silence, “and you’re not obligated to tell me, but why were they chasing you?”

“Well,” he breathed. He couldn’t tell her the truth, but he didn’t want to lie to her. You couldn’t lie to someone you’ve shared the most mind-blowing kiss with. So he watered down the truth to its basics. “Let's just say I angered them.”

“I figured that out!” She chuckled. His heart skipped a beat. “You don’t have to tell me.”

She smiled at him and he couldn’t help but smile back. Her smile was contagious, it was addicting. He was lost in her. The way her hair bounced as she walked, the way her eyes held stars in them under the street's neon lights, the way her presence calmed him. He was completely, utterly lost in her. Until the ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze.

He stopped walking to take his phone out of the side pocket of his cargo pants. He wondered who could be calling him. Calls were for emergencies only. He flipped his phone to see his home screen where Taeyong’s name flashed.

Taeil looked at his night saviour. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” He said motioning towards his phone.

She nodded stepping aside, letting him have some privacy. Taeil stared at his phone and breathed out before answering.

“Where, the fuck, are you?” Screamed Taeyong on the other end. Taeil winced, moving the phone away from his ear. “I got calls from everyone telling me they were in a safe house and I got nothing from you. I’ve been waiting for twenty fucking minutes. Now answer my question!”

“I had a bit of a situation, but I’m fine now.”

“That doesn’t answer my question Taeil.”

“Euh,” he hesitated looking at the girl who saved his ass. He couldn’t tell Taeyong, who knew what his boss would do to her just for getting involved. And with Taeyong’s girlfriend gone on a girls’ trip, no one could calm him if he went on a rampage. No, Taeil couldn’t risk it, “I can’t tell you, but I promise I’ll be back tomorrow.” He confessed voice shaking. Taeyong could be scary sometimes.

Taeyong huffed loudly.“I trust you Taeil,” grunted his boss, “that’s why I’m letting you off the hook.”

He breathed out. A breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Thanks boss!”

“But if you’re not back by 9PM tomorrow, there’ll be consequences.” And with that, his boss hung up.

Taeil shoved his phone back in his pocket and moved to stand next to his night saviour who was busy looking at the night sky. “So, where’s your place?”

Y/N’S POV

The way to your apartment wasn’t too far away from the park, the only perk of living on your side of the city. Run down buildings lined the sides of your street attracting students from every university close by. The buildings were cheap and so was the rent.

You went up the stairs that led to your building and looked behind you. Sure enough, the handsome stranger - Taeil - was still following you. Looking around, eyes holding a trace of concern as he scanned the street, the buildings. You opened the door for him and he whispered a small thank you as he entered the building.

A vibration could be heard coming from the first floor tenant’s door, a music major you once learned. No matter what time of the day - or what hour - music was blasting from his place. Luckily, you lived on the fourth floor far away from the noise. You motioned to Taeil to follow you up the stairs. His shoulders dropped, probably relieved that you didn’t live close to the wannabe DJ. You couldn’t help but chuckle. You climbed the stairs as the yellow light of the staircase flashed randomly as it lit the way to your apartment and soon your front door.

“It’s not much,” you said opening the door, “but it’s home.”

Entering your apartment felt like a breath of fresh air after the night you had. And with your guest, your one room apartment never felt so small. Right after entering, on your left, there was the bathroom and on your right was the shared wall with the neighbour. Past the entrance, the apartment opened up: the kitchen area on the wall shared with the bathroom with a little two-seat table. Separating the kitchen and the bedroom was a two shelves bookshelf and on the opposite wall there was your desk.

Taeil entered slowly, taking in every detail. “It’s not bad.” He said breaking the silence.

You knew he was referring to the furniture that wasn’t falling apart or the paint that wasn’t chipping as opposed to the hallway.

“At university last year, I found an interior design student crying his eyes out in the middle of the hallway.” You started to explain. “So I went up to him and asked what was going on. He told me they just received an assignment where they had to redesign a room from A to Z. They had to randomly pick a theme; he picked ‘one-room apartment’ and knew no one that lived in one or would even allow him to redesign their place. Luckily for both of us, this apartment needed a breath of fresh air, so I lended him my place. We’ve been friends ever since.”

A corner of Taeil’s mouth rose in a smile. “So you’re a natural saviour?”

You laughed. “Yes, I guess I can say that!”

He leaned on the kitchen counter. “What do you study?”

“Psychology.”

“There it is, natural saviour again!”

You shook your head laughing. “Want to eat something?” You offered opening a cabinet.

The rest of the night was filled with conversation that varied from topic to topic. It was light and it flowed easily between both of you. The kiss you shared still lingered in your mind, but talking with him and getting to know him was easy and as pleasurable. That man really was something. You shared the bed that night: “we just made out, I don’t think sharing a bed is a big deal after that.” You had said. Taeil had thrown his head back, laughing as he agreed. When you woke up the next morning, you expected to see him there - lying next to you, but you were greeted by an empty bed. And a note on the fridge that said: “Thank you for saving my ass little saviour!”

He didn’t even leave his phone number.

TAEIL’S POV

He sat at the conference table; his elbows resting on it, fingers intertwined and his mouth leaning on his fingers. He knew what the meeting was about, as Taeyong put it in the beginning: “What the fuck happened last night?” He knew Yuta was trying to explain the entire mission to their boss from the way his mouth was moving. Taeil could also hear Johnny’s non-stop dry cough from the other side of the table. His underboss was in bad shape and Taeil knew from the moment he saw him that he probably should’ve stayed in bed another day. But Johnny was prideful, especially when it came to his job and his position, he would never miss two days in a row, even on his deathbed.

Although Taeil knew where he was, knew what was happening, knew what was going on around him. He couldn’t focus; the only thing on his mind was Y/N. Her smile, her eyes, her voice and most importantly her kisses. Everything that happened last night felt surreal. Never in his life did kissing someone felt like it did with her and never did speaking with someone ‘til the early hours of the morning was as easy as it was. That woman was something else. He hoped he'd be able to see her again, and hoped she'd be safe after last night.

“Taeil,” firmly said Taeyong, bringing him back to reality, “are you with us?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes boss, I am.”

“Good.” Nodded his boss, continuing with the meeting, “As I was saying, I want security to be increased in the mansion. They knew about the mission and knew we were going to be unarmed. Until we find out where our breach is, I’m not taking any chances so I want security and surveillance to be tripled in the apartment building. I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you in your homes or worse if something happened to our loved ones.” Taeyong looked over at Jungwoo who’s head hung low to hide the blush of his cheek and the growing smile on his lips.

The younger member had recently met a girl he was head over heels for and, luckily for him, she was head over heels for him. They were young, deeply in love and Taeil would be lying if he said they weren’t adorable.

Haechan, who was sitting in front of Taeil, rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. The boy had a lot of love to give and was jealous of other members finding loved ones when his dating life was pretty much non-existent. Taeil knew all about this from the amount of times the young boy came in his office to evacuate his frustrations. The day Jungwoo announced he met someone; he had to sit through an hour of Haechan ranting about how unfair life was.

Taeyong continued. “Mark, I want you to check with the Dream Team. Heighten security and try to find the breach and fix it. The rest stay vigilant, stay on your toes until this problem is fixed.”

Mark.

Something clicked in Taeil’s brain. That was his solution. Mark was the best hacker in the network; he could hack in the park’s cameras. Y/N had told him how she went to the park every night to unwind. That way, Taeil could make sure she was safe and sound. After all, she got dragged into this mess because of him. So when Taeyong dismissed everyone with a clap of hands, Taeil waited for Mark to grab his things, pretending he had important texts to answer, so he could leave right behind him. They were the last ones to exit the room. Everyone was already long gone. As soon as they stepped foot in the hallway, Taeil grabbed Mark by the back of his collar.

“Hey!” Protested Mark trying to get out of Taeil’s grib.

He dragged the younger boy to a nearby room where he knew no one went. He couldn’t risk anyone knowing about his plan. Especially not Taeyong, who knew what his boss could do. No, Taeil couldn’t let anyone else know about this. She already was in danger just because she helped him. If the whole network knew about her, her safety could be compromised. Taeil released Mark before closing the door shut.

“What the hell Taeil?” Screamed Mark fixing his shirt’s collar.

“I need your help and I don’t want everyone to know about this so please stop screaming.” He explained, cracking the door open to see if anyone heard them. The coast was clear; he closed the door.

“You could’ve just said so instead of dragging me away like a ragdoll.” Huffed the young boy ruffling his dark purple hair.  “What do you need?”

So he explained everything. From the moment he met you to how you saved his life and even made sure he was safe for the night. He laid his feelings bare for Mark who only nodded as Taeil went on.

“I don’t want to be rude,” started Mark, “but, in my opinion, trying to see her again is a bad idea. Especially right now.”

“I know that.” Spat Taeil. “Which is why I need your help. You will hack the cameras of the park just so I can make sure she’s ok. After that, I’ll find a way to approach her again.”

“Alright, I’ll do it!”

“Thank you!” Said Taeil clasping his hands together.

“I can’t believe everyone’s falling in love.” Stated Mark as he exited the room and led Taeil to what they called the hacking room. “First boss, then Johnny, Jungwoo, Xiaojun, WinWin, Jisung and now you.”

“First of all, I’m not in love. She blew my mind away and she made me feel things that no one else ever has, but I’m not in love. Second, Johnny’s going to break up with his girl. I can feel it.”

Mark chuckled. “Chenle, Jisung and I have a bet going on. I say he ends it in one week.” He opened the door to the hacking room. There were a dozen computers. Some had two screens while others didn’t. They were wires everywhere, going from one place to the other and three, gaming style, chairs. Seeing the state of the room, Taeil was happy he was a race car driver. “Chenle and Jisung think that Johnny will leave her in two weeks,” continued Mark sitting in one of the chairs in front of a double screened computer, “but I don’t know if you’ve seen his face recently. He is done with her.”

“Yeah I have,” answered Taeil, “Johnny has always been the heartbreaker of the network.”

It took Mark a second. Taeil only looked away to stare at the different posters that lined the walls and when he stared back at the screen on the right, there you were. Sitting on one of the park’s benches just like you had the night before. Taeil breathed out, you were safe. He would wait a bit before trying to see you again at least, for now, you were safe.

“She looks fine!” Said Mark, gaining Taeil’s attention.

“Yeah she does.” Movement in the corner of the screen caught his attention. He had a vague feeling that something was going on, but he prayed he was wrong for once. “Hold on. Zoom in,” he pointed at the screen, “I saw something move.”

“I think it’s a squirrel.”

“I said,” snarled Taeil, “Zoom in.”

Mark shrugged his shoulders obeying his capo’s orders. And in the corner on the screen, there was no squirrel. Hidden in the bush, in your blind spot, there was the silhouette of a man.

“Zoom out.” Ordered Taeil, why does his suspicions always turn out to be true? He scanned the screen, just like the hacker was. Now engage in whatever was going on the screen in front of him. Taeil spotted something first. He had an advantage over Mark; he was there last night and knew exactly what to look for. Taeil pointed at an SUV.

“Run the plate.”

The hacker did, and in a matter of seconds, the vehicle's entire record popped on the left screen. And Taeil recognized the owner’s name immediately.

He ran his hands through his hair before cursing. “Shit!”

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Tagged: @lovelymlee @theredcarat @immasoftiee @johnnyseosabs @na-na-nakita @atinystray @mooneylooney1 @thestral-balerion @beefchippp @akakasvx @uncontainedsmiles @cloudychannieee @tulszepemlekvagy @renjunluvr119 @si-totusi @fruityutas​ @yeaimfishboi​

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 7.5 OR Chapter 8

➜ Words: 2.7k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

You thought about it over Winter break.   While baking and laying around your dorm room, you’ve come to a self-revelation. You spent only a week in Jungkook’s hometown before coming back for the other two, not wanting to intrude on his family too much, and during that time, you’ve re-discovered a strengthened will. You’ve decided to abandon your unproductive heartache in favour of nurturing a new ambition, a new eagerness to flourish and thrive, and make the most out of your time here.   And Jungkook is surprised to see this fresh enthusiasm.   “You’re here early.” He steps into the kitchen to see you crouched over the counter with notebooks and textbooks sprawled out, already studying at the beginning of the semester.   “I know.” You lift your head to grin at him. “Just thought I’d get a head start. Don’t slack just cause we’re in the same class, Jeon. I won’t always give you notes when you skip.”   He approaches with a small smile. “I’m guessing the rest of your Winter break was good.”   “It was alright. It’s nice to sleep in. How was yours?”   “Lia and Eunbi kept crying when you left. I swear my family likes you more than they like me.”   “Naturally,” you taunt while batting your lashes. “I’m just so likable.”   “Uh-huh.” But that still doesn’t explain why you’re humming and smiling to yourself. It’s only eight in the morning and he wonders where the usual Little Miss Cranky went. “Did something good happen?”   “What do you mean?”   “You’re giggling to yourself.”   “I’m not giggling.” You feign a glare. “I’ve just...found new motivation to work harder. I thought about it a lot and….”   “And?”   “I’m going to get back with Seokjin,” you declare. Jungkook’s eyes are wide and you smile. “I’m going to catch up and become someone worthy of him. Someone he won’t be able to let go. I’m going to work my hardest, so he can be proud of me.”   “Huh.” The boy nods. “Well, good for you.”   “Psh, what’s with the bland response. Listen, you better look out, Jeon. I’m going to make the best portfolio ever to submit at the end of the semester.”   He grins. “Okay.”   You return to your work, finishing up reading the section while humming to yourself.    Jungkook glad you found a new vigour to strive and do your best — but he can’t help feeling unsure of your reasoning. He’s pretty sure that this isn’t it.   //   The lectures and hands-on workshops at the very start of the semester are always the blandest. Introductions are done, course outlines are looked at, and the professor drones on and on about the course’s expectations and what the assignments and examinations will look like. Jungkook isn’t exactly enthused to hear what he’ll have to get done in the coming weeks.   And it’s in this very boredom that he knows he doesn’t need to say anything about your new-found determination. Eventually class will wear you down like it does for everyone, and you’ll become indifferent again. You’ll come to your senses one way or another.   But to his surprise, you’re still very much jolly after classes.   “It hasn’t been one day and classes are already fucking me in the ass,” Taehyung groans.   “Hey, guys!” You plop down with Jungkook beside you. “I missed you. How was Christmas break?”   “It was good.” Hoseok looks up, appearing utterly exhausted with dark circles lining the area beneath his eyes.    Yoongi actively glares at you. “You’re chirpy.”   Much to his dismay, you laugh. If Yoongi was a dog, he’d probably bite you.   Jimin smiles. “Did something good happen, Y/N?”   “Actually, yeah. I just realized some things over the break and I just have more motivation to work hard, you know?”   “Can you give me some of that motivation?” Taehyung groans. “What does it take?”   “A fear of flunking and getting kicked out should be more than enough motivation,” Yoongi deadpans.   “What’s your motivation, Y/N?” Hoseok asks, the corner of his mouth curling.   “I…” You glance at Jungkook, not sure if you should tell them the truth. But after a moment of hesitation, you go for it. There’s nothing to hide. “I’m going to try to get back together with Jin.”   At once, you receive mixed reaction — Jimin goes blank, Taehyung lifts his head off to the table and Hoseok’s brows are raised, lips tight. He’s the one who breaks the silence. “Wow, that’s great, Y/N.”   You grin. “I know, right?”   “How are you going to do that?” Taehyung looks at you. “If I can ask…”   “I’m going to improve myself and become someone he wants, someone worth him.”   “But is it really up for you to decide?” Yoongi asks out of the blue, piping up as he chews some chicken in his cheek. The black-haired man looks at you lazily. “It takes two.”   “Yeah, but I can try, right?” You shrug your shoulders, wearing a small smile.   But Yoongi doesn’t accept what he hears, not in the way you want him to. “He dumped you, didn’t he? What makes you think he’ll want you back?”   “I—”   Taehyung steps in before the situation can escalate. “Yoongi.”   But the tired man ignores him, his eyes piercing, even if he gazes at you languidly. “You think you can change him or change what happened?”   “I love him.” Your eyes are glossy and there’s an overwhelming urge to block out your ears.   Yet Yoongi scoffs. “Okay. So what? Who says you won’t be dumped again?”   “Yoongi, chill it, dude,” Taehyung intervenes and Hoseok is also alert, trying to change the topic to no avail. In the meanwhile, Jimin is caught in the conflict and rendered speechless, but what hurts most is that Jungkook doesn’t defend you. He doesn’t utter a single word of support.   “Is it so bad to want him back?”   “Yeah. If he doesn’t want you back.” He shrugs. “It would be more productive if you get on with your life, got better and showed him what he missed out on. Trying to get back together with him makes you look desperate.”   “I never asked for your opinion, Yoongi.”   “Fair, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hear what I have to say. Plus, I’m just asking you questions and as of yet, I haven’t heard any answers, Y/N,” Yoongi bites back. It’s not like the friendly banter that you have with Jungkook. What Yoongi says is painful to hear, heavy on your heart. It’s argumentative with intentions to prove himself right, confrontational in a way you’ve always avoided. “Why are you setting yourself up to be hurt again? Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”   The group falls into strained silence. The tension wraps itself around your throat, robbing your breath from your lungs. Nothing is spoken, no one utters a word. They stare at you as if they’re waiting for a response, for your justifications. But they don’t need to hear it — it’ll sound like a broken record.   They’ll never don’t get it — how much you love Seokjin. How much you miss him. How much you want him back in your life. Someone who used to be your best friend, who was your entire world, your person, and how he’s turned into a complete stranger.   “Alright, guys. Let’s just agree to disagree, okay?” Taehyung laughs stiffly, trying to dial it back. But you abruptly stand, grabbing your tray of food.   “Y/N.” Jungkook grabs your arm before you can walk away.   You don’t face him. “I have some stuff to do. Catch you guys later.” After dumping the tray, you walk out of the building before they can see the tears in your eyes. And they watch your backside until you’ve disappeared from the dining center.   “You’ve really done it now,” Hoseok chides Yoongi.   The male shrugs. “Was I wrong? She needed to hear it from someone and apparently I’m the only one willing to be the bad guy.”   //   You continue to march across campus with no destination in mind, merely attempting to find some peace and quiet. You tear open the door to the west wing, sniffling as your breath heaves, and at your hasty pace, you fail to notice another person walking in the opposite direction until your shoulders collide with one another.   “S-Sorry.”   The rounded, short girl regards you with bright eyes, wearing a white apron and jeans. “It’s okay—oh, Y/N, right?”    “Do I….know you?”   “I’m Yoo Aeri. We met each other on orientation day, remember?”   “Oh my god.” It was four months ago, but you can vaguely recall the first person you befriended. You were so happy that you met someone friendly that you told Seokjin right away, even if you forgot to exchange contact information. “I remember now. I’m so sorry I forgot, my mind lately is just…”   She laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I actually switched into the culinary program recently.”   “Oh, really? That’s super cool. I heard it was hard.”   “It is a little, but the Baking and Pastry Arts program is a lot more competitive. I just found it wasn’t for me.”   “I know what you mean. I can get pretty tough.”   Aeri smiles and you realize she’s holding a plastic wrapped plate when she thrusts it towards you. “I’m actually walking around right now to see if someone wants to eat this — It’s seared salmon I made in class, but I made too much. As usual. Do you want to have lunch with me?”   You’ve never had such a proposition before. “I’d love to.”   //   8:12 pm. Jungkook: is the plan still on?   Every so often when Jungkook’s sick of you complaining about the vile food at the dining hall, the both of you go out to grab a bite to eat off-campus. His wallet cries but he has to admit that it’s fun.   Tonight though, you haven’t knocked on his dorm room yet and he hasn’t been in contact with you since lunch. Jungkook wonders passingly if you’ve permanently ghosted him — if so, he doesn’t know why he’s being punished for Yoongi’s actions.   8:14 pm. Y/N: oh yeah sorry 8:14 pm. Y/N: not tonight   The moment he gets the message, his brows shoot to his hairline. Jungkook audibly groans.    You should’ve told him sooner. He can’t get a good meal in the dining center when it closes in just fifteen minutes. But Jungkook wonders if you’re underneath your covers crying, if you’re really that weak willed to be broken down so easily by a few words from Yoongi, but then—   8:16 pm. Y/N: made a new friend   Wow. So you ditched his ass for someone else — now Jungkook has zero sympathy for you.   With the annoyance of a lifetime, he grabs his coat and decides to go out anyways. He doesn’t need you. He can enjoy a perfectly good meal off-campus by himself.   It takes Jungkook fifteen minutes by bus to get to the bustling street. He enters the cozy pizza restaurant down the block that you’ve both gone to a few times and orders takeout. He waits at the front playing a game on his phone to pass the time, hoping he can get home soon and enjoy the food in the comfort of his own bed.   But Jungkook’s ears perk when it catches loud voices that draw his attention. He naturally lifts his head. It’s a mistake.   He can’t even act that he doesn’t know them, that he didn’t see them, not when his eyes connect directly with Jin’s and they look at each other.   Yet, to Jungkook’s surprise, the older man stops with a smile. “Hey!”   The best way to describe his relationship with Seokjin was that they are acquaintances — similar to how he would’ve called you, excluding the recent months. Jungkook knows Jin from high school, saw him in the halls but they seldom spoke to each other. They hear things about one another but that’s the furthest extent of their interactions.   Until now.   “Are you here alone?”   “Yeah I’m just grabbing some takeout.” Jungkook awkwardly hitches a thumb over his shoulder.   Seokjin nods, plump lips naturally pouted. “Were you in the area?”   “Not really. I came from school.”   “Oh, that’s actually pretty far. I’m surprised you didn’t just do delivery.”   Jungkook’s doe eyes double. He feels like an idiot. “Oh shit, actually?! I didn’t know they had delivery!” He could’ve saved himself half an hour.   Seokjin grins. “Yeah, but it costs an extra two dollars.”   “Guess I’m saving money then.” He feels bitter. Sincerely, you are the curse of his life. Jungkook would’ve never been in this situation if he didn’t feel a need to imaginarily prove you wrong in his mind.   “Jin!” One of his male friends calls out, signaling him over as the waitress shows the rest of his friends to a table.   “I’ll be there in a minute.”   Jungkook can kind of understand the sad state you were in after the breakup. Aside from Seokjin’s handsomeness that even renders Jungkook speechless at some angles, it’s evident that Jin has a good personality. He’s friendly and warm, despite being an acquaintance. And Jin never once treated him poorly even back when he had his feud with you.   “Want to step outside for a minute?” Jungkook asks. “It’s kind of loud in here.”   “Sure.”   The two of them exit the restaurant and become enveloped in the chilly air. It is quiet out here, almost too quiet. They can finally hear each other properly but Jungkook finds his thoughts are deafeningly loud.    “So, what did you end up ordering?”   “Three sausage and two pepperoni.” Jungkook’s fond of the way you always call him a meathead as he stuffs his face with it. “It’s my favourite.”   “Oh really? I’m more of a pineapple man, myself.”   “I’ll admit, I hated pineapple myself until Y/N changed my mind.”   Seokjin grins. “She did for me too. How is she, by the way?”   “She’s...fine. Enough to drive me crazy.” Jungkook sighs with the force of his entire being and Jin nods with the corner of his mouth quirked.    “I'll admit, I was pretty surprised when I heard through the grapevine that you guys became friends. But I’m glad she has someone with her.”   “We’re not like that.”   Jin hums. “Doesn’t change the fact that she has someone to support her.”   There’s a pause. “Can I ask you something?”   It’s the reason Jungkook went out of his way to ask him to come outside. He’s curious and maybe it’s not his place to be, but he’s always felt more involved than he should be. Jungkook wants to understand, to clear his confusion, to hear the other side of the story.   “Depends on what it is.” Seokjin smiles.   “Why did you break up with Y/N?”   You had never really told him the reasoning, and he’ll admit it was bizarre when the two of you split. Jungkook always thought you were one of those irritating high-school sweetheart couples that would eventually get married and settle down with one another. The kind of couple that would get their love story posted in the newspaper after their seventy year anniversary.    A picture-perfect happily ever after.   Seokjin sighs, a cloud of condensation emitted through his parted lips. He leans against the brick wall and looks up at the night sky. “Sometimes...there doesn’t need to be a bad reason or a red flag or some kind of deal breaker.”   “Then why?”   Seokjin shrugs. “I always felt like Y/N loved me a lot more than I loved her. Always.”   “Sometimes, it felt like she put me on a pedestal. Other times, I think I made her feel inadequate. But she was always willing to give up everything for me.” Their eyes connect, Jin’s sheepish and soft. “And for me, I constantly felt like I had to play the part of a good boyfriend, rather than be one because it came naturally. It made me feel guilty. She didn’t do anything wrong. I think I just realized sooner that we weren’t the ones for each other.”   A disconnect. Jin liked you — he adored you — but you loved him wholeheartedly with your entire soul. Even now you still earnestly love Jin.   Jungkook isn’t sure what to do with the new information. But he suddenly feels bad for you. More than he ever has.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (11/16)

In which Death Watch enter the enemy ship, and Asajj gets her shot at freedom.

Zombie Savage AU | 2.5k | warning for body horror

For the first time in weeks, Asajj feels light. It’s almost offensive, how quickly she slipped from world-devouring grief and heartburn and eternal nightmares into mission planning and execution mode, but then again: she enjoys bounty hunting. Pursuit and infiltration are basically her comfort zone, and even the present company cannot spoil her thrill.

She finally has solid ground under her feet again. The swamp that broils and laps at her with every dream and with every wriggling fleshworm that fucking Savage Opress sends her way is receding, and soon enough, when she gets her chance, she’ll kill it off—kill him—for good.

Asajj’s sisters and Mother Talzin may have accidentally landed her in a malignant trap when they tried to help her fight Dooku, but Asajj will chew her way free.

That’s why she volunteered to be ground troop today. She needs to rescue herself. She needs to cut off this bond, cut off the mate, cut off the drowning boulder. She’d been prepared to argue and fight for the opportunity, since it’s not like anybody trusts her here, but it was surprisingly easy. Not even a doubtful look—no, the only response she’d received was appreciation for her fearlessness in the face of certain death. Well, maybe it is. Maul keeps insisting that Savage’s torture is a trap laid by Sidious, his past shadowy Sith Master, and that setting a foot on Entralla means getting fried and disappeared and tortured. He himself is going down still, obviously—by now it doesn’t even appear to be bravado or tending to his image before his following but genuine mushy affection for that dumb creature, and if Asajj wasn’t busy she might almost be curious—Maul is coming down with her, as are Kast and Saxon and three dozen other supercommandos. That’s what they’d settled on, once their advance droid surveillance footage yesterday had revealed their target to be a small spaceship surrounded by a hundred medium-sized tents.

Maul, Kast and Saxon at once, who as far as she’s observed are the three highest-ranking members of Death Watch, and on what all of them believe is a suicide mission—Asajj would call them brain-dead, but actually, she doesn’t care. Either Maul is every inch the scared wretch of a cast-off Sith plaything he appears and is making mountains out of skrant-hills, or she’ll, most likely, be dead too. Looks like that gamorrean sow Kast likes to suck face with will soon inherit the whole sorry rest of their terrorist crew.

Most of Death Watch, though, is inside three hundred small Kom’rk-class fighters or the two stolen Separatist dreadnaughts, standing by to intercept any fleeing ship with gravity wells or sheer violence. Well. That’s one of the reasons. Every ground Mando is in periodic radio contact with one of their motherships, and should they go silent when Sidious gets them… if the mission goes sour, dead man’s switch. Asajj doesn’t know about the exact logistics of how many have to miss check-in before the omnicidal aerial bombardment begins… but she’s starting to understand Maul’s paranoia regarding this ‘Sidious’ well enough to know they’re going to risk killing their Mand’alor sooner rather than later. It’s reassuring, almost. They’ll kill Sidious no matter what.

Well. And her, too.

But Asajj knew when she allowed that Mando to think she’d captured her that this wasn’t going to be easy. Up until know she’s always found a way to make it out alive. She’ll manage. And Sidious killed her sisters. Killed Talzin. Killed Dathomir.

Sidious will die, and so will Opress. Anything else is secondary.

She’s wearing a set of scavenged armor over her clothes and a jetpack and a gas mask, nothing more. Most of the ground team have massive tanks mounted on their back, too, full of some quick heavyweight airborne soporific Death Watch managed to procure on short notice.

(“If it’s taking this long to cook something up, we could just use poison,” Asajj had suggested, entirely not for selfless reasons. “We’re using the weedkiller tanks you Mandos use for farming, after all. We could just keep the weedkiller.”

“This is still a rescue mission,” Kast had replied severely. Unfortunately, despite being a fanatic terrorist and obeying Maul of all people and a habit of throwing tantrums about the horrible plight of Savage Opress, she wasn’t entirely braindead. “Damage is acceptable, but we won’t kill our brother.”

Maul had looked on, silent.)

Maul and Asajj are going to enter the ship first. That makes sense—both of them are assassins more than soldiers, they’re better than the Mandos at keeping quiet—and even if Maul will be a hindrance when they find Savage, she can use him as a distraction before that.

It feels weird, somehow, touching ground in front of the enemy’s ship. The unconscious guards on the ground are wearing clone trooper armor, which means that—yes, it means Death Watch got the drop on them and it means the soporific gas is effective, which is great, but Asajj didn’t expect this mission against Sidious to include a Grand Army of the Republic protection detail, and neither did Maul, though he appears far less perturbed by this information than Asajj is. Nothing before has linked Sidious to the Republic. She trusts the magicks she used to find this location, though. This is where the bondmate is being held.

Maul opens a control panel next to the ship’s door and plays around with a couple of screwdrivers, while Mando supercommandos direct their sedative gas into the ship’s pried-open air vents.

And… they’re in.

Too easy.

This was far too easy for a secret prison of the illusive Sith Lord, and Maul, apparently, thinks so too. He keeps glancing sideways at her while the supercommandos tie up the sedated soldiers outside and while they enter the ship’s galley, and he insists they shouldn’t split up.

“This location does not appear my Master’s—my former Master’s style,” he whispers in his clipped accent. “It’s neither desolate, nor are there plush red carpets. It’s not a torture dungeon.” Maul looks at Asajj, and his eyes gleam with suspicion. “If you have lied to me, you are dead. If this hurts my brother, you’ll wish you were.”

“This is the place. My sisters’ magicks are never wrong,” Asajj replies haughtily. It won’t do any good if both of them admit to their unease.

(Maul’s been vibrating faintly ever since Asajj broke into his brain to find Opress. It’s probably fear and anticipation, and most of all the superfluous awareness of him that she’s gained ever since exploiting both their bonds. Maybe he was always this high-strung.

“Someone’s attacking him,” he’d whispered to her just minutes before they reached Entralla, as if by joining their minds she had proven she cared. His eyes had been dark, agonized. In a movement that appeared entirely involuntary, he’d gripped at his neck as if looking for a pendant, and then he’d hugged himself, holding onto his torso and stomach as if his slippery entrails were ready to leak out.

Asajj had looked down and realized she was mirroring him.

When she slid her eyes half-shut, she could see the shadows of undulating metal cables.)

The ship, on the inside, just appears a standard Republic cruiser. It has a single long hallway that Asajj is pulled down by the worms in her gut, and Maul, frowning and broadcasting dread, follows.

They pass unconscious Republic clones at uneven intervals.

It’s so—ordinary. Asajj knows these ships. And there are no traps at all, just that pulsing connection drawing her forwards, shading and twisting, the memory of desolation and grief and that orange boy getting chocked (Kast’s eyes were so hard when she said, “He tried to give me his lightsaber, too, so I would have an easy time of killing him, if—when, he said, when he was used again to hurt his little brother,” that Asajj almost felt guilty) and everyone on Dathomir is dead and—

There.

She stops, and Maul comes to a halt behind her, ‘saber raised.

An open doorway, half-blocked by an armored redhead that seems vaguely familiar, and the beckoning hand of her sisters, and if Sidious doesn’t have the heart to provide a distraction for Maul then Asajj will just improvise.

“Back there, I think,” Asajj whispers, pointing at a random closed door to her left. “I can feel your brother in there.”

Maul’s eyes are wide. “I do not feel—are you sure?” he whispers, and he looks so young and hopeful bathed in the green glow he doesn’t understand and never had a right to wear that Asajj almost dares to believe her plan will work.

“I know these magicks,” Asajj drawls. “I don’t mind double-checking, but I thought you wanted him as alive as possible. He’s not doing well. Might get deep-fried at any moment, that’s not healthy for such a weak brain.”

It works. Maul bites back whatever kind of response he might have had, and he starts frantically working on slicing the door that was—her sisters are smiling upon Asajj—thankfully locked.

Asajj, meanwhile, tiptoes hurriedly forward and past the redhead—almost a decent glimpse of his head, why does she feel she knows him and—and inside the room she looks at a monster. The scene is arranged as if to mock her, a single bare cot in the middle of the room approximating a stone slab and the dimmed red electric lights a stand-in for the fire on the day she was tied to the boulder that tries to drown her. On the cot, as he was supine on the slab back then, lies unconscious Savage Opress.

Well. The used dog toy formerly known as Opress.

He’s always made her uncomfortable, even when they met. First, it was his silent bruised obsequiousness and the glances he’d shoot her after that arena fight, like he expected her to ravish him then and there just because she’d beaten him up. The sense that she’d stumbled into a world she didn’t understand drawn in silent rules and violence and sex—and Asajj has never liked that anxiety born of ignorance though she can and will tough it out and persevere, and only with the bond strangling her did she realize her stupid mistake—the sense that there was something hiding below her feet ready to devour her. He only got more obsequious and annoying after the ritual that tied Asajj to him, with his empty brainless eyes that somehow simultaneously said do whatever you want with me and I’ll kill you. She was happy to use him, if it got her traitorous ex-Master Dooku off her back, but she was at least as happy that the plan included Opress staying at Dooku’s side, not hers. Well, in the end, he was as useless as he was stupid and creepy, and Asajj had to fight Dooku on her own while Opress escaped his leash and used the power gifted to him by Talzin to harass innocent villagers and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He doesn’t have the body that Mother Talzin gave him anymore. Not that he ever deserved it.

Savage Opress, who is bound by ancient magicks to Asajj, looks like someone took his corpse and stuffed it full of a crashed spaceship debris in a desperately poor attempt at covering up an accident. The body Mother Talzin’s Dathomiri magicks gave him was stout, forceful, architected and executed with a keen eye and deep control, while whoever did this was a careless butcher. Asajj has seen carnage and pain, she’s fought and killed and maimed, and yet she has never seen anything as bestial as the body before her.

Savage Opress, who is making her share his torture through a telepathic bond, looks like a gutted carcass. This is what became of one of the three last survivors of Dathomir: worms writhe in and out of him, the things she’s been feeling like phantom maggots burrowing into her heart made real and she can see them feasting and seaming up his raw mottled shoulders and lap at the empty spots where someone tore out his hearts. He’s still conscious, though, just asleep. She can feel him feeling the worms. She can see him breathing, though he doesn’t need to, not without an intact torso. Not without hearts. She feels sick. So this is what has been calling out to her. What has been sliding into her mind, unstoppable and unwanted. This has violated her dreams.

Savage Opress, the bondmate Asajj came here to covertly murder, looks like death would be a mercy.

“Ventress, what are you playing at? The room was empty and Kenobi is here,” Maul hisses from somewhere behind her. “I told you. You’ll die for your betrayal—Savage…”

Asajj turns, expecting a fight, but Maul looks like the air was punched out of him, and he’s rooted to the doorway. The air around him tastes of abhorrence and dawning dread. He could have reached Savage before her, in her stupor—he could have jammed his ‘saber into her back—but now she’s jolted loose and ready to take her one chance at freedom.

To take mercy on Savage, for once in her life.

She drives her lightsaber into his right eye socket.

Maul’s scream behind her is vile, deeply inhuman and guttural and echoing over and over and over in the small room. It’s so loud her eye starts to hurt. His howl is the storm and the cave and the first drink in a lifetime. It’s green. It’s gentleness and sympathy he thought his Master had long driven out of the apprentice, but in teaching Savage he can’t help but refrain from using the techniques he once had endured himself. He doesn’t understand the reason—he is Sith and if he does not teach his apprentice to draw power from pain, he will have failed him. He doesn’t understand, but he feels something quake when he is called brother and when he notices he turned his back to Savage and never even expected to get hurt—he doesn’t understand, but somehow, he does. He loves Savage. Savage loves him. Maul was never meant for love, was made a weapon to be used and abused and discarded by a Master wielding power he’ll never attain, but somehow, Maul found this one person who loves him. Maul lost the person who loves him. Maul just lost him again. Maul won’t lose the person who loves him. He won’t. He can’t. He refuses. He loves—

And desperate love paints the room acid green. Greedy love tears the cot to tiny metal shreds. Unconditional love presses hot and painful into Asajj’s right eye, and she’s taking tiny measured steps toward Savage, in rhythmic unison with Maul and unstoppable no matter how hard she tries to take back her body.

Love, no matter what it takes, and both their green-bathed hands touch Savage.

All goes black.

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (4/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack at Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 2100. Square filled: “They’re on the roof. I’m compromised.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing (three sh*t’s to be exact)

A/N: Not really feeling this one, but okay. Please let me know what you think...

The sound of sirens starts a chain reaction. Bucky hurriedly takes both mugs of hot chocolate and pours them down the sink, and she grabs her bag and hands him his before they run out of the back door. His heartbeat grows louder in his ears just as the sirens do. Police have no business for miles around -- they can only be here for one thing. Capturing them.

“Down the path, go straight through the fork in the trail,” she says, Bucky realizes she must have studied the map, and they stumble down the trodden track behind the cabin, displacing mushrooms and twigs along the way. Coniferous needles whip at his cheeks, cold of the night biting his nose.

“There’s no path going straight. Left or right?” He hisses through his teeth, coming to a dead stop at the fork. She almost bumps into him, and braces her hands against his shoulders to avoid tipping over. 

“That’s the point, Barnes. Go.” Taking the lead, she stomps into the thick foliage, looking back when she sees he isn't following. She’s about to emerge from the bush when he looks up at the inky sky, stars swimming in its surface. 

“Helicopters.” A thump sounds from the cabin, now at a healthy distance above them. Battering ram. That’s enough to convince him, and he joins her off the beaten path, but she has no time to celebrate before a searchlight skims over the forest, missing them by nary a hair’s breadth. 

“We need to get under deeper cover. They’ll start searching the woods soon.” She tells him over her shoulder, going as fast as the dense undergrowth will allow, littered with tree roots, blueberry bushes, and the occasional porcupine. Bucky follows closely, eyes on her swinging ponytail and the brief glimpses of her lip between her teeth as she tries not to fall. We can’t outrun them, he wants to say, keenly aware that they will have realized that they were in the cabin, and hence also deduced that they cannot be far off. However, he says nothing, permits himself to be guided deeper into the woods -- as if he has a choice -- trusting her apparent knowledge of the region.

For several minutes, there is no sound except that of the crunching twigs underfoot. As long as he blocks out the drone of the helicopters, that is. Even the crickets have gone silent, as if holding their breath for the intruders of their peace. 

Her breaths come in short pants as she navigates the terrain in front of them, until she stops, abruptly, and he has to grip her waist so as to not fall into her and push her over. That’s when he notices there’s something in her ear, and he can hear a male voice emerging from what he presumes to be a communications device.

“They’re on the roof. I’m compromised. Get out and mind the choppers.”

Before Bucky can ask her what the hell that was, and before he comes to his senses enough to take his hands off her waist, she has turned around and begun to look back towards the general direction they came from. Panicked, she takes her bag off her back. “Shit, shit, I’m an idiot,” she mutters furiously, dropping it and kneeling on the forest floor as she rummages through it. Bucky stares down at her and then looks back nervously, surveys their proximity, his mind initiating a countdown for when this pause will become dangerous. Eventually, she produces two cloaks, both a strange, camouflage material, dotted with holes. Something in his mind clicks as he remembers, but the confusion must show, because she rushes to explain.

“Anti-infrared fabric. It’ll keep us hidden from the thermal imaging cameras. Thank God I remembered in time.” She drapes it over her shoulders, and he mimics her, tucking his hair under the hood as they continue.

The green of the woods blurs into the sight of the same green fabric cloaking armored Soviet vehicles lying in wait for the enemy. Siberian snow contrasting against its green, him observing both in the cold of winter as the world would go quiet. Still, patient, watching.

Stubbing his toe against a tree root the size of his arm sends a lighting bolt of pain through his foot. The sound of his stumble prompts a curious glance from her, eyes falling under the shadow of her hood. She faces forward and marches on, picking up speed as the helicopters hover above the cabin, which is now barely visible as a speck of light between the forest canopy. Bucky thinks he can make out a few bodies, bustling like the anthills around his feet. Can imagine people talking into radios and contacting headquarters.

“There’s a cavern under a cliff half a mile further,” she murmurs, as if to herself, and Bucky’s about to ask her how she intends to get down said cliff when a chorus of barks tears through the forest, ensnaring them like a lasso.

“Sniffer dogs. Run,” Bucky says, grabbing her left hand in his right, metal one stretched in front of him to push aside branches and shrubbery, the downhill motion aiding their efforts. More barking ensues and their panting grows heavier, louder, drowned out by a helicopter soaring overhead. Bucky’s senses pick apart his surroundings, informing him that the other helicopter has also stopped hovering, and is headed east. The chase is on.

He spares her a brief glance between paces, their hands firmly clasped together, her eyes wide and fearful. Shimmering pools of determination, they meet his icy blues before returning to the path ahead. Her heart is pounding so hard she is sure it will break out of her ribcage, pulse roaring deafeningly in her ears, nothing break through but the barks of the dogs that seem to come ever closer. 

She gasps when they pass a landmark - a particular pile of rocks - and pulls them both to a stop. Bucky’s hand is clammy with cold sweat but hers -- just as slippery, calloused, perhaps from guns and knives like his, yet so much warmer and so soft -- does not let go of him. 

They turn to the left, but the faint beam of a flashlight shines past them. The dogs’ running is audible now, in addition to their barks; Bucky estimates at least six, a proper squad. Looking at each other, they know they can’t outrun them. She pivots on the spot frantically, searching for escape, her eyes lighting up at the sight of something. A chance at getting away.

“Come on.” She tugs at his hand, dragging him towards a large plant with purple flowers. “Get in.” He looks at her incredulously, as if to say you’re shitting me.

“Dead serious. There’s a gap right there. Try not to disturb the shape of the bush too much,” she says, practically pushing him in. The bush is spread around the base of a tree, and she crawls in after him, so they’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder against the tree trunk.

Her whole side is pressed against him - he can feel her pulse throbbing through her body, panic tangible. Her profile comes into stunning focus as she leans across to see if the hunters have caught up. Cheek so close to his nose that he feels his exhale reflected back, if he dares to breathe at all. They are frozen in time, his eyes fixed on hers although she is not looking at him, then moving to the bridge of her nose, the movement of her bitten-pink lips as she breathes. 

She pulls back and covers her mouth with a now-free hand as the dogs run past them, then halt, turning on the spot, and yapping incessantly. Bucky feels he might vomit his heart out of his chest; his hands clench around the tree roots he’s sitting between and he bites his tongue, fear seeping into his mouth along with the taste of blood.

The dogs circle, moving in and out of sight, unsure whether to continue because the scent is right there. Bewildered, Bucky looks at her questioningly, asking silently why they haven’t been torn to shreds. She shakes her head, holds a finger against pillow-cloud lips in a hush motion, then point to the flashlights as the owners catch up to their dogs. The helicopter seems to have gotten the memo as well. The purple flowered bushes flicker, but don’t betray them, shielding against the searchlights. She pulls her hood tighter around her head.

The dog trainers are yelling to each other now, clipping on leashes as they patrol the area. One -- their leader, presumably -- speaks into a radio.

“We’ve lost the trail, but they weren’t definitely here. Dogs aren’t going mad for nothing. They can’t have gone far.” A colleague’s flashlight illuminates the words Joint Terrorism Task Force on his jacket. 

A dog stops a few feet away from their hiding place. Sniffs at the ground. Lifts it head and turns, smells at the air around, almost looking her in the eyes. She shuts them, and Bucky can hear her try to bring the crescendo of the drumbeat her heart is playing to a full stop.

“There’s nothing more here. Let’s head back to the cabin, regroup. Maybe try to get a tip out of one of the captain’s buddies,” the man in charge calls, so everyone pulls their dogs closer, and they begin to go back the way they came. Bucky looks at her as she opens her eyes, watering from how tightly she had closed them. She holds up ten fingers, hands shaking, and Bucky nods. Begins counting.

597, 598, 599, 600 seconds -- ten minutes -- later, and he lifts his head from where it had been resting on the tree behind them, and taps her shoulder.

“Why didn’t they find us?” He asks. She motions towards the purple flowers around them. 

“Bittersweet bush. Also known as woody nightshade. Poisonous if ingested for humans, but just the smell is enough to confuse dogs. It hid our scent,” she says. A leaf tickles her face and she wrinkles her nose while adjusting the bag on her shoulder. Bucky is dumbstruck, fairly certain the awe is as prominent as a neon sign on his face, as he watches her check her pockets. He has to physically shake the shock off him, as they creep out of the plant they owe their lives to.

“This way.” She starts moving. Ears peeled for threatening movement, he imitates her cautious footsteps. They can’t risk another dog chase, although she is certain they’re far enough to no longer be able to hear or smell them. The woods have fallen silent once again, and he thinks he can hear a nightingale’s song ahead.

He treads so lightly she has to look to ensure he’s still there, and she finds comfort when his eyes look back. 

As they draw closer to their destination, she holds out a hand to stop him. 

“Careful. It’s steep, and the rocks can come loose.” She points down, and he sees only darkness below.  They begin their descent slowly, steadily, kicking up pine needles and dirt as they move. It’s going fine until Bucky slips on a mossy stone, tumbles forward, and into her. She latches onto him as they fall, landing on top of him and they roll down. Instinctively, Bucky tucks her head against his chest with one hand -- the other belting around her waist -- and tucks his own chin down into his collarbone so neither of them split their heads open on a rock. Her small hands, now bleeding, hold his biceps as they fall, fall, fall.

Then, as suddenly as they started, they stop, coming to rest on a flat ledge on the steep mountainside. Right in front of the mouth of a cavern. He can’t believe their luck, feels the adrenaline bubbling in his spine after the night they’ve had. She pushes herself off of Bucky, coughing up soil and spitting out leaves. Chest heaving for air, he stays where he is, on the forest floor, bag digging into his aching back.

It’s a small shelter, sufficient for the scarce remainder of night, as it’s unadvisable to keep travelling right now, but rest is the last thing on his mind, while he gets up to join her where she is spreading out a sleeping bag. “Who’s talking in your ear?” He asks, gruffly, and she stops. Freezes, and turns slowly with a sigh. 

“Sam Wilson. One of the captain’s buddies.”

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Sunshine After Rain-- Connor (RK800) x Reader (Part 2)

Summary; After the death of your little brother, Cole, your dad hated androids. He blamed them for Cole's death. Hank couldn't stand to be around them. How the hell are you supposed to tell him that your soulmate is an android?

Warnings; swearing, terrible writing

Word Count; 3.2k

Notes;

Part One

Your mind felt heavy. How could your soulmate possibly be an android? There was no way you could tell Hank, not at the moment, at least. You glanced over at him. He was sitting at his desk, pouting over whatever Fowler just told him. You knocked on the captain's office door. Fowler looked up from his paperwork and motioned for you to enter. "I gotta get some air. I'll be back at some point this afternoon." You started to leave, but he called you back in.

"Actually, I'm gonna need you to stick around. An AX400 attacked its owner and kidnapped the guy's daughter. It was spotted down in the Raven Dale district." He reached into a bin and pulled out a sealed bag containing a pink sweater. "I want you to go down there with Hank and Connor to help them track down the kid. Her dad brought this by this morning." You carefully took the bag and examined it. "You'll be able to get some air in the Raven Dale district, right?" You sighed, nodding.

As you walked out of Fowler's office, you saw Hank shove Connor against a wall. Hank yelled at Connor to stop pissing him off. Another officer politely got Hank's attention back to the case at hand. "Hey, dad, Fowler wants me to tag along to see if I can help track the kid down." You called out, catching up to his retreating form.

"Good, I'll have someone to help me keep that plastic bastard in check." You rolled your eyes.

"I'm sure he's not that bad." Hank shot you a disgusted look.

"You've obviously hardly been around the thing. It's fucking annoying."

To save time, the three of you rode together in Hank's car. No one said a word. Awkward silence reigned until Hank started blasting heavy metal. Every once in a while, you would accidentally make eye contact with Connor in the rearview mirror, but you would both quickly look away. You tried to keep you attention on your dog and the case, but your mind kept roaming to the incident with Connor. Sure, he was pretty handsome, but how would a relationship with an android even work? You shook your head in an attempt to clear all the thoughts that were cluttering your mind.

As soon as the car stopped, you clamored out. Hank raised a brow at you but didn't say anything. He walked over to another officer, and the two started questioning the nearby witness. You attached the leash to your dog's collar and led it out of the car. A hand wrapped around your arm, and color exploded before your eyes. You gasped, turning to face Connor. "I do not understand what is happening every time we make contact. My programing is unable to process the circumstances. I feel it is best to remind you, (y/n), that I am an android. I am not a living being capable of having a soulmate." You pulled away from his grip.

"I never said you were," you retorted. Connor nodded.

"I am glad we can agree on that." You rolled your eyes and snatched the evidence bag from the car. Hank walked over to the two of you. He and Connor started talking about deviants having emotions. You opened the bag and carefully pulled out a corner of the soft fabric, holding it out to your dog's direction. It sniffed the sweater before turning its nose to the air.

"It's been raining a lot. Hopefully we can still track it down." Hank crossed his arms, watching the dog sniff around. The dog barked, leading you across the street. You pushed open a gate, allowing your dog to investigate a broken down car. It then made its way to a hole in a chainlink fence separating the lot from an abandoned house. The dog barked again, pawing at the fence. "We got a lead!" You called out. You got down on your knees and crawled through the hole. Moments later, Connor was following suit.

Hank and the other officers used bolt cutters to remove the lock on the front gate. Your dog tugged on its leash, trying to go towards the house. You looked at Connor and nodded. He went in front of you and knocked on the door. "Anybody home?" He shouted. The two of your waited a moment. You could hear shuffling inside. Connor swung the door open and marched inside. You stood in the doorway. Your eyes scanned the area, and your hand hovered over the pistol in your belt. Connor approached the damaged android that was sitting at a table in the middle of the room. The other android, Ralph, swore that he had not seen anyone. Your dog sniffed the floor then snorted. You loosened the leash, allowing the dog to follow the scent trail. You slowly crept closer to the staircase while Connor looked around the main threshold.

Without warning, Ralph leapt from the table and grabbed you. His arms tightened around you. You hardly breathe, let alone move from his grasp. He yelled at the AX400 to run. Your dog snarled and barked wildly. "Down!" You shouted at the animal. The last thing you needed was for it to attack one of the androids or the little girl. The dog laid on the ground as commanded but continued to snarl at Ralph. Connor pulled Ralph away from him, shoving Ralph to the ground. Hank jogged into the house.

"What the hell is going on?"

"It's here. Call it in!" Connor shouted before dashing out the door. You picked up the leash and went to follow him, but Hank blocked your path.

"Are you okay? You've been acting weird all morning."

"Dad, I'm fine. Shouldn't we focus on the task at hand?" You huffed, moving around him. You ran out of the house. Another officer told you what direction they went. "Then why the hell are you just standing here?" you muttered, dashing down the sidewalk. You dodged civilians as you thundered down the street with your dog at your side. You saw an officer dash down an alleyway and followed. He aimed his gun at the deviant, but Connor stopped him from shooting. You all watched as the deviant and the little girl slid down to the highway. Hank came up from behind, clearly out of breath.

"Oh, fuck. That's insane."

"There's no way they'll make it across alive." Connor started to scale the fence, but Hank pulled him back down. They started arguing about whether he should go after them or not. Connor decided to ignore Hank and continue to climb the fence. You reached up and grabbed his arm. He looked down into your eyes. "Come on, Connor. We don't need you getting destroyed again. It'll just slow down the investigation,” you tried to reason. He looked out onto the highway, and you followed his gaze. You watched the different colored vehicles zip down the road. You glanced back up at him. "Connor, please, just get down from there. We found them once, I'm sure we'll be able to find them again." Connor blinked slowly.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY

He slowly climbed back down, and you removed your hand from his arm, sighing as the color drained from your vision.

You and Hank started walking back to the car. "How the hell did you do that?" he inquired with raised brows. You shot him a confused look. Hank scoffed. "How did you get it to listen to you? The damn thing seems to never hear a word I say." You shrugged.

"I don't know. Probably because of my charming personality, which is something you seem to lack." You playfully elbowed his side. Hank gave an exasperated laugh.

"Oh yeah, very funny." He stopped, putting a hand over his stomach. "I'm starving. We should grab a bite before heading back to the station." You smiled, already knowing where he was thinking about going.

"Hell yeah!" You climbed in the backseat, letting Connor sit shotgun. Hank turned up the music as soon as the engine sputtered to life. You gasped and gently shook Hank's shoulder. "Dad, play Killer Queen!" Hank rolled his eyes at your childish antics but complied, reaching up to adjust the stereo. You smiled and sang along to the music that was blasting from the old car's speakers. You poked Hank's shoulder until he finally started to sing too. "Connor, join in! You're the only one not singing." He stared at you with furrowed brows. "Quit being a party pooper and sing!" He turned his gaze to Hank, who just shrugged.

"Might as well give in Connor, they'll just keep buggin' ya until you do." Connor sighed. He mouthed along to the words. You lightly thumped his temple.

"That's not singing," you teased. Connor rolled his eyes and finally joined in. The three of you sang without a care in the world. It took him a while to warm up, but Connor eventually started singing as loud as you. "She's a killer queen! Gunpowder, gelatin dynamite with a laser beam-- guaranteed to blow your mind!"

"I swear, sometimes you act like you're still a child," Hank said as he parked the car. When he climbed out, you leaned forward to look at Connor. He was smiling.

"See, wasn't that fun?" He slightly tilted his head with a hum.

"Yes, I suppose it was." You smiled back at him before climbing out of the car. Connor stared at his lap. His brows knitted together. He wasn't supposed to develop emotions. He wasn't supposed to have a soulmate. He's an android, not a living being. He wouldn't let himself become a deviant.

You caught up with Hank at the counter of the little food truck. Although it wasn't the healthiest of choices, Chicken Feed made one damn good burger. You weren't too hungry, so you just ordered some tater tots and a soda. The owner, Gary, was a good friend of Hank's. He usually didn't charge either of you for your food, which you were very grateful for. As the two of you waited for your orders, Connor came to stand beside Hank. "Look, you don't have to follow me around look a poodle," he huffed. Connor tried to apologize to Hank, which made him laugh. You thanked Gary when he handed over your food. You followed Hank over to one of the tall tables nearby, and Connor followed behind you. The android made a snarky comment about how you both shouldn't eat your meals because it was unhealthy. Hank shrugged and continued to eat his burger, while you threw a tater tot at Connor.

"Unlike you, we only live once. So I will continue to eat whatever the hell I want." Hank snorted, and Connor looked slightly offended by the fact that you threw a tater tot at him. There were a few brief moments of silence before Connor spoke again.

"Is there anything you'd like to know about me?" Hank wrinkled his nose.

"Hell no.. Well, yeah, why did they make you look so goofy and give you that weird voice?" You laughed aloud but quickly covered your mouth to stifle your giggles. Hank looked slightly proud at his joke while Connor just raised a brow. He then explained that he was specifically designed to work harmoniously with humans. Hank nodded, as if he understood. "Well, they fucked up." You snorted.

"Leave him alone, dad. You're not the best looking either." Hank scoffed and rolled his eyes. A wide smile crossed your face.

"Don't you fucking dare say it."

"You're giving him grief about having a weird voice when you're the one that sounds like Mr. Krabs from SpongeBob!" you said in between laughs. Hank nudged you with his elbow, and you retaliated by throwing a tater tot at him. Connor cleared his throat and suggested that they reconvene by discussing the deviant cases. You sipped on your soda as they talked. You were only half paying attention, glancing at the two in between bites.

"Adapting to human unpredictability is one of my key features," he said with a wink. You started choking on your drink. Hank looked at you quizzically. You grimaced and cleared your throat. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

"Sorry, it went down the wrong way." You coughed before popping the last tater tot into your mouth.

Connor started to blink rapidly. His LED indicator flashed. He alerted the two that he had just received information concerning a deviant case not far from their current location. Connor suggested that they go investigate once you two finished your meals. With that, he turned on his heel and headed back to the car. Hank turned to face you. "So, what was all that about?" You feigned confusion, and he just raised a brow at you, waiting for you to answer.

"Nothing, dad. Like I said earlier, I'm fine." Hank hummed and sipped on his drink, clearly not believing you. You rolled your eyes and threw your trash in a nearby trashcan. "Well, since you've got another case, I guess I'll be sticking around a little while longer."

You followed Hank out of the elevator. Casting a glance over your shoulder, you saw Connor still standing in the elevator with his eyes closed. "What is he doing?" You looked over at Hank. He threw his hands up.

"I don't understand half the things he does. Hey, Connor!" The android opened his eyes to see the two of you staring at him. "Did you run out of batteries or what?" He apologized, stating that he was making a report to CyberLife. You raised your brows in awe.

"You can do that just by closing your eyes?" Connor nodded. "That's so cool! I wish I could do that. It would make paperwork hella easier." Hank snorted.

"You got that right." He started walking down the hall, and you motioned for Connor to follow. Hank grumbled about having to investigate a strange noise. Connor walked around the hall, analyzing everything. You squinted at a large pile of feathers near the apartment door.

"That's a lot of feathers. I wonder if the deviant has a pet bird or two."

Connor knocked on the door but received no answer. He looked to you and Hank, and you just shrugged in response. He knocked louder. Still no answer. He knocked one last time, announcing that they were with the Detroit Police Department. A loud crash sounded from the other side. Within seconds, Hank had his gun out and was standing in front of you. "You two, stay behind me." You pulled out your own weapon. Connor swept you behind himself.

"Connor, I can take care of myself ya know," you muttered.

"I can be replaced, and as you pointed out earlier, you only live once. Having someone injured could be detrimental to the investigation."

"Fine," you huffed. Hank kicked the door in. He led the way inside the apartment, making sure that no one was hiding around a corner before entering a room.

The three of you separated into different rooms. You walked into the living room. You frowned as pigeons flew all around the room upon your entrance. You made sure to watch your step, not wanting to get shit all over your shoes. A large drawing on one of the walls caught your eye. You made your way to it and traced its details with your finger. Connor came to stand beside you. He seemed more interested in an urban farm poster than the drawings. He peeled back the poster, discovering a hole in the wall that was hiding a journal. Connor pulled it out and flipped through the pages. You leaned over to look at it and furrowed your brows. "Do you have a program that can decode it?" Connor tucked the journal in a pocket inside his jacket.

"No, it's indecipherable." You hummed, turning to face the closet next to you. You swung open the doors and screeched. Hank and Connor swirled around to face you. You swung your arms wildly as a flock of pigeons flew out of the closet.

"Fucking rats with wings!" you hissed. Hank's laughter filled the air as you scowled at him. Even Connor seemed amused. "You would've screamed too if they were coming for you!" You turned to Connor. "If you don't wipe that smug smile off your face, I'm gonna shove a pigeon in your face." He tilted his head.

"How can I wipe away a facial expression?"

"You have so much to learn about slang," you sighed. The three of you continued to search around the small apartment. Hank would randomly make a smartass comment about the pigeons just to annoy you, and you would retaliate by flipping him off.

Without warning, someone fell from the ceiling and knocked Connor over. When the deviant ran out of the apartment, Hank shouted something about chasing it. Connor was the first to dash out of the door, and you attempted to keep up until they stared doing parkour type shit. You and Hank gaped at the two androids as they started jumping on to moving trains. The two of you somehow managed to find another way around and made it to the greenhouses. The deviant ran into Hank, and he fell over the ledge. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. Your heart skipped a beat as you lunged forward in attempt to help pull him back to safety. Connor was stuck between chasing after the deviant or helping you. "Connor, get your ass over here and help me!" You shouted, cutting through his analysis.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.

He clinched his jaw as he stepped forward. Connor reached over and helped you pull Hank back onto the roof. You sighed in relief. Hank got to his feet and ranted about how they would have caught it if it wasn't for him.

"Dad, don't say that. It'll be okay. We know what it looks like, and I'm sure we'll be able to track it down again. Right, Connor?" The android nodded.

"It wasn't your fault, Lieutenant. I should've been faster."

"Both of you need to quit being so hard on yourselves. We did good today." Hank nodded and started walking back through the greenhouses.

You gently grabbed Connor's arm to stop him. When he turned to face you, you wrapped your arms around him in an embrace. He stiffened, unsure of what to do. Connor's LED flashed yellow until it settled on blue as he returned the embrace. "I know your main goal is to complete your mission with capturing deviants, but I just.." You paused, sighing. "I just wanted to thank you for what you did back there." You pulled away from the embrace, but kept a hand on his arm so you could see the color in his eyes. "My dad's the only family I have left. I would go batshit crazy if something bad happened to him and there was something that could've been done to prevent it." Connor's eyes softened as he looked over your facial features. He went to move his hand but hesitated. He took a breath before reaching up to touch a strand of your (h/l), (h/c) hair.

"Of course, (y/n)."

Hank turned around and saw the two of you. At first he scowled, but then he saw how gentle Connor was with you. He hummed, deep in thought. Hank turned on his heel and continued walking.

~*~*~

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[flufflebones]

some more fun hcs about delphine [mc 1.... closest 2 my heart since ive used her in various settings for a While]! it’s a little long so im slapping it under a cut but its all sfw and all very much in good fun.

you know, mostly. i only really got two headcanons down and one is brief/about michael and the other is about pets in the devildom

- can and will fight michael do you think they saw the angel/anni event and were ok with it? yeah? no! just going to kick him hard enough in the shin to....... probably bust their own foot but its FINE 

- has an approximate accumulated f*ckton of devildom native and possibly (definitely) magical pets

[The list:

Sosig / Sausage - Hellhound - Gift from Beelzebub!:

A beast of considerable size and [reportedly] god awful temperament, bearing charcoal fur and the lingering [faint] scent of sulphur. More vulpine than canine, their frames are typically gaunt, with the flames that fuel their bodies licking out from the ends of their tails, their ankles and wrists [on their normal quadrupedal legs], the inner portions of their ears [leaving them at a disadvantage when it comes to hearing], their somewhat visible / open ribcage, and the corners of their mouth. 

Despite this general introduction, hellhounds are wildly varied and have a number of breeds and variations in recent history, typically intended for one of three purposes.

Companionship - These hellhounds are typically smaller in stature and less sturdy, with a tendency to bond strongly to one or two masters [with some consideration/leeway for those close to their master: See- Cerberus]. Arguably the most docile of any class of hellhound, they are still dangerous if not raised correctly, and have a nasty bite. Though not a true classification and with no formal means of training a hound to do so naturally, some companion hellhounds serve as a psuedo service dog, heavily attuned to the needs and potential problems unique to their primary master. This isn’t to say that they are an alternative to service animals, or anywhere near as well trained, *of course*, but the devildom is hardly the safest place for a regular human realm animal; And sometimes, you’ve just got to work with what you’ve got.

Sport / Show - Typically very much breed standard. While raised to tolerate handling and grooming, these traditionally built hellhounds are temperamental at best and borderline terrifying when their willful nature comes in direct conflict with a demonic handler who bit off more than they can chew. Heavily regulated, and typically owned by the elite.

Protection - The devildom is dangerous, and nobody is questioning that. Demons with a knack for animal handling [or demons who can afford to hire someone skilled with animals, of course!] breed and train these creatures to guard many things; People, places, objects, etc. They’re typically territorial and hard to train as a rule, as one cannot allow for a beast such as this to be tempted by treats or good petting from *anyone*, yfm?

Sausage is a bit of a mixed bag. Born from protective stock and bought by Beelzebub after overhearing Mammon trying to convince Lucifer to get Delphine/my mc a pet [who lays eggs, we’ll get there, that he can sell for a massive profit]. Being the youngest present brother at the time, anything capturing his interest other than food is both welcomed and encouraged in an attempt to positively reinforce him to not put the devildom at risk of a famine.

Delphine unintentionally raised this brick house of a hellhound puppy into a sort of in-between of companion and protector, with him being very social, very sweet, and *fairly* defensive and willful if things aren’t going his way. He’s typically the one to step in most successfully to motivate her to move around [yes, moreso than the brothers!] and do her day to day tasks, and is probably the best way to find out if something’s wrong with her-- Past being able to just kind of drag her off due to their size differential, his general wit and ability to communicate his needs and wants have led to unexpected food deliveries, blankets spread over her shoulders, and human world medicines arriving a few days before she shows any real signs of illness that she can see.

He’s also spoiled as all get out. If you’re sharing a bed/couch/blanket/etc with her, you can bet Sausage is soon to follow. Sorry, Mammon! He loooves table scraps and is almost as bad as Beel when it comes to eating things he shouldn’t [and looking too cute to be scolded about it too heavily].

Rocky - ... That’s just a rock, dude. - Gift from Belphegor:

It’s really hard to tell if Belphegor is messing around when he presents Delphine with a rough hewn black rock bearing two googly eyes, a pair of hilariously out of place crystalized horns, and a pair of similarly out of place crystal wings, but I swear on all things unholy, he’s doing it for a reason.

Though not... Really sentient, initially, Rocky just needs a good, possibly year long charging. Soulstones are sort of... Weird, in that they are inert and lifeless for as long as they remain with the boulders from which they are harvested. but typically-- After being exposed to a single party’s magical runoff and signature for a year or so-- absorb enough energy to come to life, their coloration and mineral makeup adjusting to fit the nature of the being they owe their life to. Delphine’s takes the form of a celestine and blue goldstone peryton; A winged stag. With crystalized wings and antlers, Rocky would almost look majestic; If it weren’t for the fact that the googly eyes have remained a feature that she has never been able to figure out how to remove. Soulstones are typically quiet observers, not requiring active care to thrive but delighting in contact [especially immediately post spell casting or magic use]. They are attuned to the needs of their magic bound masters, and typically exude an air of-- if not positive-- reassurance.

In Delphines Little Canon Divergence Corner, it’s likely that rocky coming into her care is one of the first of many attempts at reconciliation that Belphegor makes with her post chapter 16; And it honestly really, really sets him back, like, even when she returns to the human realm. Forgotten but included in her luggage, it’s a few weeks into her settling down on Earth that she finds the dinky little stone, and an overload of magic-- Possibly emotionally sourced, possibly due to unresolved tension/a discussion that never got to happen because he was being a little jerk about it-- sets off the transformation, which occurs overnight.

She recognizes the little stone figure when it approaches her in the morning, and one of her first texts about it is a simple, succinct “WTF” + an image attachment sent to Belphegor, specifically in the dead of night with the intention to wake him.

Henry “Pogchampion” 6.0, 7.0, and 8.0, A.K.A: “Pip! Minette! Beans!” - Infernal rats - Gift from Leviathan:

A note: If you don’t care for rats or you’re more familiar with their popular association with illness or disease/classification as vermin, and are only capable of thinking of them in that context, I don’t care. I am specifically talking about rats in the context of them being pets-- And good pets, at that. If you want to talk about how much you wish they were dead/didn’t exist, thats not my problem. Just don’t do it on a post discussing them as a pet, or I will block you!

Anyway!

Leviathan is probably the most appropriate person for them to get pet recommendations from, but her asking never winds up a necessity; When he finds out that he’s got another pet enthusiast in the house, he’s *all* about it, and when he finally [very unsubtly] weasels his way into the information he needs, he gets them to come along with him to what’s supposed to be a routine supply trip for Henry that just *CAN’T* be accomplished online. It’s a trip to *a* shop, but not what she’s expecting, especially when she gets to meet a handful of very curious, very playful, larger than a medium sized dog mice and rats. These guys are very much pests turned pets, with a small niche of hobbyists raising them and breeding them for temperament and overall health and disease resistance. Very social and very intelligent, they tend to thrive best in groups if one is not devoting all of their time to them as an individual. The type Leviathan recommends are on the smaller side, with cloudy, soft fur and sweet temperaments. And massive teeth, nubby horns, spade tipped tails, and very large, typically bony or leathery wings.

Levi is... Probably the one who wanted them, really. They get a little big, and tend to like to roughhouse, and they chew like nobody’s business-- And while he can’t risk his figures or merch or other Otaku Trappings or wires for everything in his room, he *CAN* risk Delphine’s. Plus, Sausage needs a friend, right? Or three?

They pick up three, all of whom are sisters, and all of whom on paper are named Henry “Pogchamp”, 6.0, 7.0, and 8.0, since he *is* technically the one paying for them and at least gets to do that much. Even when they start being named Pip, Minette, and Beans, in casual conversation, he can still hold on to the fact that they’ll always be Henries in his heart of hearts.

Sausage loves them to bits, for the record, but their interactions tend to be supervised/very brief even without the worry of him being able to harm any of them due to the general (and very appropriate) ill advisement of large predators interacting with smaller prey animals. It’s cute, sure, but it can be dangerous, and Delphine (and Levi, to a lesser extent, because he’s using the excuse of them being friends to keep Lucifer off of his ass for adding another animal to her menagerie) isn’t about to risk it.

Sweets - .... A black cat? That glitters? - Gift from Satan and Asmodeus:

Small, sleek, and independent, Sweets is probably the pet people see the least of all of Delphine’s little collection-- Though that doesn’t mean she’s not well loved. A pet project between Satan and Asmodeus, Sweets isn’t *technically* a cat; They’re a being comprised of shadow, somewhat similar in nature to a familiar without the connotation of them technically being a demon slash demonic. Who just so happens to have been enchanted to appear like and generally function in their day to day life as a cat. That sparkles, the only concession Satan was willing to grant Asmodeus in return for his help obtaining the materials necessary to create  the little beast (and in return for him taking the heat when Lucifer inevitably got pissy about it). Given its unique nature, very little is actually known about the little being of shadow past basic care and assumptions based on its generally feline behavioral patterns. The rats scare the hell out of it, however, and it tends to be out of sight except when called, hiding in shadows and only occasionally emerging on its own.

... Oh, and be careful. Satan hasn’t told Del yet, but it seems that the belly rubs this shadowy kitty offers tend  to bite off more than they can chew if they’re not careful. Asmodeus thinks its horrible. Who wants a pet with a massive maw of teeth in their stomach? Satan desperately wants to use this quirk in Sweets’ nature for a prank. Delphine already knows, but is playing dumb for the sake of faking surprise when its formally revealed.

Elysia - Gilded Crow - Gift from Lucifer and Mammon:

SO, i”M going to keep this short because i’ve been writing this for several hours at this point on and off and i really really want to be ready for my dinner when its ready, but!

Elysia is a sort of... Special circumstance. Literally. Devotees to Mammon-- And yes, there *are* people who think he’s a legitimate demon lord, the only people really allowed to treat him like garbage are his brothers and a few choice officials too strong to be eradicated as any lesser demon might have been-- with a background in magical augmentation specifically enchanted this line of crows to reflect that which is most valued by their Lord; Riches. They’re technically not legal due to their status as something of an organic money generator, but a select few in a small flockare kept under the watchful eyes of the Demon Lord and his immediate family, and those who have been trusted by his family members. This is where Lucifer comes in.

Understandably, Mammon is not allowed to have care of his flock, though he certainly wouldn’t be the worst at caring for them. He’d just also be selling their products illegally, and you can’t have that!

Elysia wears a small enchanted band comprised of dull, unimpressive iron-- The kind of thing Mammon would neither notice nor have interest in. This band is enchanted, and serves as a sort of storage space for any of Ely’s dropped organic components. Talons, feathers, eggs-- Everything is automatically absorbed into the band, rendering the bird borderline useless outside of being a gorgeous pet, and a gigantic nuisance. 

Lucifer hates to admit it, but he really is a fan of the large, intelligent, gorgeous creature; And Mammon thinks it’s really funny to teach her to take shiny things (like grimm, loose jewelry, gum wrappers, etc), even past the sentimental value of the bird itself and what her kind represents to him. 

Delphine adores her, too, and is about as good an influence on her as Mammon is-- Teaching her to speak, in some capacity, simply by repeating certain words or phrases to herself as she does things in the day to day, especially during feeding time. It’s all fun and games, until this pretty golden bird calls Lucifer a ‘motherf*cker’ while she thinks he’s out of the room while visiting with Diavolo for an update on her health.

[bnha-dumpster]

Shattering: Chapter 3

FIRST | PREVIOUS | Chapter 3 | NEXT 

Shattering: A TodoBakuDeku x Reader fic (more TodoBaku with hints of Deku) Plot: After losing Deku and your two best friends, you didn’t think much more could be taken away from you. You’ve never been more wrong. Word count: 1.9K

a/n: chapter 3 babyyyyyy! i meant to post this yesterday oof

Musutafu: a place you’ve been avoiding for nearly four years. Along with that are the people you left behind and tried to forget about. Bile rises in your throat but Momo squeezes your hand. She’s been kind enough to sit next to you and reassure you the entire way there. You’ve never appreciated her personality more.

“Bakugou’s parents have agreed to let you stay with them for the next three days. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you again. We’ll drop by before heading to the Ground Zero agency. Everyone’s there waiting for you.” Iida’s equally reassuring. They both provide you with a calm atmosphere, one that makes you feel much more at ease. Out of anyone to bring you back to Musutafu, you’re glad it’s them. Anyone else would probably create more anxiety than you’ve ever felt since high school.

You’re quiet when you pull up to the house. Mitsuki is standing outside, waiting for you. She still looks distraught but when you get out of the car and meet her gaze, her eyes light up just a little. 

“I’m glad you decided to come back for a little, Y/N.” She ruffles your hair and grins as much as she can manage. “I was really surprised to see you the other day. You took a trip all the way from Akita City to see how I was doing. It’s really sweet of you.”

“It was the first thing I did when I heard about what happened. I just had to come here.” 

“Masaru and I will take your bags so you can go see everyone. We’ll be here waiting for you.” She gives you a little more hair ruffling. “Smile, he’d want you to.”

“Right.”

“Alright, let’s go Y/N.” Momo tugs you back into the car. You let her tug you back in, waving at Mitsuki and Masaru as Iida drives away. You watch the buildings go by. Most of them are familiar, there’s a few that seem new, but it’s still Musutafu. It still feels like the place where you made so many good memories. 

The Ground Zero agency looks like something that only Bakugou could ever come up with. The cheesy explosion graphics on the walls of the building paired with the color scheme of his costume remind you of him. You’re just thankful there isn’t anything involving the hero name he tried to use in his first year. It screams Bakugou, it really does. If you weren’t so nervous about seeing everyone again, you might’ve taken time to admire the building. 

You let yourself be led out of the car and through the doors of the agency. Momo’s grip on your hand is tight as ever. It’s the only thing keeping you where you are. If it weren’t for Momo and her comforting smile, you’d be far away from the building. The door to the conference room is intimidating and your nervousness rises again. 

“Don’t worry. They’re all excited to see you again.” Iida’s voice drags you out of your thoughts. He pushes the door open. The first thing you see is the red hair that made you run away when you tried to visit Bakugou’s parents. Kirishima’s eyes meet yours and you freeze in the doorway. Momo pushes you into the room before you can bolt- she can tell that’s what you want to do. The former classmates behind you block your only escape route. 

“... I was supposed to give Bakugou a message from Midoriya all those years ago.” You don’t know why you said it, why those are the first words out of your mouth. It catches everyone off guard, naturally.

“Mi… Midoriya…” You watched it happen. Midoriya wasn’t acting right, so you had to follow him. You followed him up a few stories of the dorm building and watched helplessly as he used his Quirk to completely decimate a load bearing wall of the building. How you ended up on a ledge, slowly bleeding out as you hold on for dear life, is unclear. 

You’re far too scared to look down. It’s unbecoming of a hero in training, it really is. The screams, the cries and confusion below you keep you from moving your gaze. In the middle of your vision, you can make out Midoriya’s form. He appears to be unharmed by what happened. It makes sense, he was the one who caused it all.

“Midoriya!” Your voice cracks hideously. But it catches his attention. 

When he turns to face you, all you can see is the twisted grin. It’s an expression you’ve never seen before on him. The only way you can really describe his face is evil, sinister, disgusting- it makes you shudder. He walks over to where you hang on for dear life. There’s some flash of despair, maybe even regret. It’s there for only a second, but you can see it clear as day. Whatever personality that’s been revealed, there’s still a bit of him that cares for you- for everyone. 

“Y/N…” Midoriya coos and kneels down in front of you. His rough hand holds your cheek far too gently for the way he’s acting. “Tell Kaachan something for me, okay?”

“What are you talking about...?” 

He shushes you like you’re a small child having a tantrum. “Don’t waste your strength, Y/N. Just tell Kaachan that he was right, okay? I’m not a hero and I never will be, just like he said.” 

“Midoriya, please…” 

“Shh…” His hand leaves your cheek and he stands, letting his foot land on your hand. Barely any pressure needs to be put down for you to lose your grip. 

You look down at your hands, thinking back to it.

“I never got the chance to, though… I’m sure he’s said it himself by now.” You don’t notice the way everyone tenses when you imply that Midoriya took him. Looking down at your hands, you sigh. There’s no way that it was anyone other than your former classmate who took Bakugou and Todoroki. Who else would be able to? Midoriya had always been fascinating with other people’s Quirks. The many notebooks he has detailing Quirks are more than enough proof. 

“Do you really think it was Midoriya, Y/N?” 

“Of course,” you answer Kirishima without hesitation. “Midoriya took notes on all of our Quirks when we were in UA. He grew up with Bakugou. There’s no one else who would know Bakugou’s Quirk so well. I mean, think about it. Who would be able to catch Bakugou and Todoroki off guard? He’s the only one.”

“You’re not wrong…” 

The room is dark and it has a light smell of blood. If one were to light up the room, dried blood would be the first thing you’d notice. But it’s kept in the dark for one reason: the two people kept in the room.

Bakugou is reminded of when he was taken by the League in his first year at UA. Tied to a chair with chains, the hefty Quirk-Cancelling cuffs around his wrists. The only new addition is the metal muzzle, one that reminds him of the first year Sport’s Festival and his undesirable victory. He feels like a dog, muzzled and chained to a fence for bad behavior. Whenever he lurches against them, the metal digs into his skin. 

Todoroki is the same, and yet, not. While the Quirk-Cancelling cuffs are on him as well and he’s chained quite similarly to his blond companion. The only real difference is the lack of a metal muzzle. Perhaps it’s due to the hero’s calmer temperament compared to Bakugou. At least, most of the time.

Neither of them are sure of how close they are to each other. Even with their eyes adjusted to the dark, it’s hard to make out anything. Besides the two of them, nothing else seems to be present in the room. It's a situation meant to deprive them of any material to escape. No windows, no light, only the darkness and the clanking of chains.

The lock of the door clicks and they both look in the direction of the door. It creaks open, revealing the person they want to see the least. 

“I have some interesting news.” Midoriya’s silhouette is all they can really see, but they have a feeling that he’s grinning. “Y/N is back! Apparently, he’s staying at your mom’s house, Kaachan. Maybe I should pay them a visit? I’d love to see Y/N again.”

Lunging towards Midoriya, Bakugou growls. It’s animalistic, barely human. He’s pissed. There’s a good chance that the person in front of him would actually do that. 

“Now, now, Kaachan. I’m just joking! I’m sure he’s only come back since you two have gone missing. That’s sad, isn’t it? Being abandoned by him all these years and only when you’re in trouble, he shows up. Though, he did look a little hesitant to go in, supposedly. I was told that Momo was leading Y/N by hand like taking a little kid somewhere they’ve never been before,” Midoriya rambles, something that’s managed to remain the same throughout the years. 

“Leave Y/N alone.” Hostility is clear in Todoroki’s tone. He glares at Midoriya and looks like he might try to bite the villain’s head off. “Y/N stopped training to be a hero because of you. He left because of you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Midoriya leans and gives the hero a little pat on the head. “No one knows what happened except for him.”

Todoroki and Bakugou watch as he turns around and leaves the room, the lock on the door clicking once again. They’re left in the room with each other now. 

“Do you really think Y/N came to Musutafu for us?” It’s one of the few times Bakugou’s voice isn’t angry. He even sounds hesitant.

“If he is in Musutafu, I really wonder why. No contact in four years and now he’s seen with Momo? It doesn’t make sense.” Todoroki sighs. “I doubt he’ll be around very long, though.”

“Fuck. I wish I could see him.”

“Me too, Bakugou.”

“Heh, I haven’t thought about the Sport’s Festival in forever.” On a wall in the Bakugou household there’s a framed picture of the Sport’s Festival from your second year. You ended up getting eliminated in the first round along with a few others. The first round involved a portion of ice and extremely cold temperatures. Both you and Tsuyu couldn’t make it past the portion. The two of you spent the rest of the festival cheering on your classmates. Your parents had traveled up to watch you and kindly lent you their camera to take pictures of everyone. A good portion of them were funny looking, taken at silly types. You made private copies of those for everyone and gave parents the more serious ones. Though, you gave Mitsuki a framed picture of Bakugou yelling angrily on the third place podium.

“It does feel like forever ago.” The woman mentioned wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to ruffle your hair. “I wish that third place humbled him a bit.”

“I doubt anything would really humble Bakugou.” You laugh to yourself. “Everything just made him more and more stubborn. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hiding a bit longer to avoid your scolding.” 

“Of course he is.” She has a hopeful smile on her face. 

“It’s all going to be okay, I know it.” 

“I hope you’re right, Y/N.”

[queen-scribbles]

A Good Idea

“I do” Kiss prompt for @rannadylin turned into a full oneshot. :D

---

Aloth was lost in thought. Again.

“Must be a real puzzler,” Tavi commented as she plunked down next to him and handed over a bowl of the stew she’d just made. “Careful, it’s still fuckin’ hot.”

He nodded gratitude for the warning as he took the bowl. “What is?”

“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about that’s had you even quieter’n usual for three fuckin’ days,” she replied with a teasing nudge.

“I wouldn’t have thought it was that obvious,” he deadpanned, poking at the stew as steam rose from the bowl.

“I just know you too well, city slicker.” She kissed his cheek. “And you’ve been starin’ at the same page since I started dinner.”

That side of Aloth’s mouth tipped up in a smile as he set aside the book. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just... a small internal debate.”

Tavi raised a brow, well-aware how not-small his internal debates tended to be.  “You sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure.” They lapsed into silence, both blowing on their dinner to hasten its cooling. It was only a few moments before Aloth cleared his throat.  “...Tavi?”

Knew it. “Mm-hm,” she mumbled around a (technically too-hot) mouthful of stew.

He twisted one of his rings, working it up and down his finger, and bit his lip. “I just.... We’ve been doing this for a while now.”

“Huntin’ down Key influence? Yeah, we have.” How long had they been at this? If she was honest, she’d stopped keeping track after five years. It didn’t really matter. “What’re you gettin’ at?”

“I...” Aloth sighed, let go of the ring to instead pick at a scar on the back of his finger. “...realized I haven’t thanked you recently for staying with me so long, especially given this task’s distinct lack of the excitement you so enjoy.”

Tavi snorted a laugh. “I’m also stubborn as fuck, city slicker. No way I’m leavin’ somethin’ halfway done if I get a blazin’ say in the matter.” She shot him a grin.  “And I like your company.”

His cheeks tinged ever so faintly pink. He was used to her casual, playful flirting, but it was fun that she could still get reactions like that. “As do I.” Another hesitated beat. “Tavi...”

“Food’s gonna get cold, Corfiser,” she reminded him playfully, before catching something in his eye that made her sober. “What?”

That something flickered, but after a moment’s pause, Aloth simply shook his head. “It will keep,” he said, and took a bite of stew.

“Oh, come on, Aloth, don’t fuckin’ do that!” Tavi protested, internally debating the merits of shoving him off the log. “You know curiosity’ll drive me crazy!”

He smiled, leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek. “It will keep,” he repeated.

Tavi growled, and while she didn’t push him off the log, she did peel away a chunk of bark and throw it at him before they turned their full attention to their meal.

                                                 ---

The morning did not go at all as planned. The contact they’d meant to meet never showed, checking revealed he’d turned up dead the night before, and doing their own investigating had gotten them here.

Running up the stairs fast as they could go, several suspected Leaden Key operatives in dogged pursuit.

“So much for them being subtle,” Tavi grumbled between heavy breaths.

“We could blow their cover,” Aloth pointed out, breathing just as hard. “In that circumstances, it’s more about speed dealing with the problem than remaining subtle.”

“Oh-” There was a loud crackle behind them and Tavi yelped as a lightning bolt skimmed the back of her shoulder and made her stumble on its way up the staircase.

Aloth grabbed her arm to yank her up. “We need to find a room,” he grit out as they reached a landing. There were no options here, but the next one up had at least two doors visible. He jerked his chin up toward them. “See if one’s unlocked,” he panted, reaching for his grimoire.

“And what the fuck are you gonna be doin’?”  Tavi demanded between clenched teeth. Her shoulder hurt like the blazes, and no way was she letting him make the sacrifice play here--

“Slowing them down.” He pushed her toward the steps. “I’ll be right behind you, go!”

With a final growl of frustration she she complied, scrambling up to check the doors. She recognized the spell he was chanting and smirked despite the pain. Some of those copperfuckers were about to have an even shittier day than the two of them. The crackle of a rolling fire filled her ears--along with dismayed yells--as she checked the doors.

Both were locked, but one had a rattle to it, so Tavi backed up far as she could and threw herself into that one. The lock snapped with barely any resistance and she stumbled into the--thankfully empty--room. Aloth was, as promised, not far behind her, and they slammed the door closed.

“How much time didja buy us, city slicker?” she asked, bracing her uninjured shoulder against the door while he looked for something to block it closed.

“A minute or so,” he said with grim satisfaction. That was a veritable eternity in a situation like this, and somehow still just the blink of an eye. “They’ll have to wait for the flames to die down at least. However many of them are still alive. Ah.” He untangled a chair out of the corner and dragged it over to brace under the doorknob.

Tavi stepped away and winced when she looked out the window. “Still don’t like our odds, Corfiser.” They were a long way up. And on this side, at least, it was a sheer drop all the way to the ground. She looked around the room, but didn’t see anything that could help, and with minimal options for cover in such close quarters, this would likely go very poorly when they got in. “Y’know, when I figured on doin’ this with you the rest of my life, I wasn’t thinkin’ it would be this fuckin’ short,” she groused, dragging one hand through her hair.

Aloth’s lips curved into a wry smile and he huffed a soft laugh.

Tavi narrowed her eyes as she tested the mobility of a sheet-draped desk.  “What? Help me with this.”

It wasn’t until they’d dragged the desk to barricade the door that he answered.  “You remember our conversation last night.”

“Yeah. The one you said would keep.”

“Yes. I’d been thinking along those same lines; that this might take the remainder of our lifetime, and...” He hesitated.

“Corfiser, we’re kinda pressed for time here,” Tavi nudged as she started toward the other window. 

“And I was thinking I wouldn’t mind that so terribly if we were doing it together, and I...”

She stopped in her tracks and spun to look at him as his silence made the pieces click. “City slicker. Were you gonna propose?!”

He nodded, jaw tense, and twisted one of his rings.”At some point.”

With supreme effort, she swallowed the laugh bubbling up her throat because she knew he’d take it the wrong way, and resumed course toward the window.  “You know you don’t have to do that to keep me around, right? You’re already stuck with me.”

“And quite happy that way,” Aloth said, leaning his weight against their makeshift barricade as the footsteps outside reached the door and fists or bodies pounded against the wood. “I just thought-” The door  shuddered enough to make the desk rock forward and he cut himself off as he spun to push back in earnest. “I feel our roles in this situation should be switched...”

“Gotta roll with what life gives ya,” Tavi muttered distractedly as she looked out the other window. Still not great, but steep as the angle was, there were a pair of roofs over here they could--in theory--slide down. “Speakin’ of, think I found our way out.”

Whatever he started to say was cut off by the ungodly screech of the desk’s legs skidding against floor tiles.

“Come on!” She shoved the window the rest of the way open, eyeing the way the roofs joined. This was going to be fucking tricky, not to mention dangerous, but they were out of other options. 

Aloth pushed the desk back, started toward her, then stopped and spun back, grimoire in hand.

“Aloth-!” Her impatient (panicked) urging died in her throat as he hastily cast his spell and a shimmering wall of brilliantly-colored energy filled the space between them and the door. “Alright, good idea, come on!!”. She grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him toward the window with her as a splintering sound came from the door.

He didn’t hesitate, but Tavi saw the trepidation flicker in his eyes mid-clambering out the window. “Tavi, this is insane!”

Insane’s all we fuckin’ got, she thought as she dropped the foot and a half to the roof and immediately started to slide. She picked up speed much faster than she’d anticipated, despite digging in her heels. ShitshitSHIT She let up with one heel and dug the other in harder to partially turn as she reached the juncture with the neighboring roof, hit it with shoulder and hip rather than risk getting spun around. The impact still hurt--especially her already-injured shoulder--but it kept her feet first as she changed direction and skidded toward the blessedly low eaves.

Tavi just managed to snag the edge and check her momentum before she dropped the remaining distance to the ground. Despite her efforts, she still tumbled upon impact, air escaping, her lungs in a rush. Hylea’s blazing feathered--

Aloth landed on top of her.

By some miracle they avoided knocking heads, but his elbow did jam hard into her ribs and she heard him grunt as his breath was knocked out like hers.

A few seconds later came the sharp gasp and mumbled string of still-breathless apology as it registered where he’d landed and he rolled off. “Are you alright?!” he demanded.

Tavi groaned as she pushed up on hands and knees. “I will be, if we have a gods-damned minute to catch our breath...”

Aloth nodded, sitting back to lean against the wall, still breathing hard. “I pulled the window closed behind me; unless one of them survived the spell and managed to look out to witness our, ah, rapid descent, it’s likely they’ve no idea where we went.” His brow furrowed when she hissed as she sat back on her heels. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather this over you kissin’ the ground hard as I fuckin’ did. Think that woulda done more damage to you than you did to me,” she panted as she crawled over to join him. Her ribs ached. He didn’t need to know that part.

For a long minute they sat there in silence, backs pressed to the stone wall, knees drawn up to keep out of sight from above, as they tried to catch their breath.

“So,” Tavi finally began. “You still plannin’... plannin’ to ask your question, city slicker?”

Aloth rolled his head against the stone to look over at her, brows raised. “I’ll... think about it,” he said after a long pause. 

Tavi scoffed a small laugh--Trust him to over-analyze something, even now--and shifted close enough she could bump her shoulder to his. “If or when you do, y’know, ask, I’ll say yes.”

His expression shifted to an elated yet curious grin. “What happened to me being stuck with you regardless?”

She shrugged, grinned back. “I know that, and you know that, but I kinda like the idea of showin’ everyone else we mean business on this commitment thing.”

Aloth chuckled and laced his fingers between hers. “Well, then, maybe we should.”

She raised a brow. “Didn’t hafta think about that long,” she teased.

“I’ve been thinking about it for years,” he corrected softly. “Just never seemed the right time.”

“And this does?!” Tavi laughed.

“Maybe I’m just tired of waiting,” Aloth murmured. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Marry me?”

She grinned and pushed off the wall to kiss him properly. “Abso-fucking-lutely. But nothin’ fancy. An’ I’m not wearing a dress.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” Aloth chuckled, and kissed her again. “Just a visit to the local chancellor’s office?” Both of them hissed as a variety of tender spots made themselves known with the passion of the kiss. “Perhaps after a visit to the nearest healer?” he mumbled, gingerly brushing his fingertips against her scorched shoulder.

“Good idea,” Tavi agreed, but stole one last kiss before she pushed to her feet. Aloth’s leg gave out when he went to follow suit.

“I... banged my knee on the turn,” he explained, wincing. “Must’ve been harder than I realized.”

“Need a piggyback ride?” Tavi snarked, and he shot her a distinctly unamused look.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’m sure it will be fine once I get to my feet.”:

Here.” Tavi held out a hand, and when he took it, hauled him up and draped his arm around her shoulders. “I need you in good shape later,” she winked, cutting off his protest. “Not takin’ any chances.”

He barely blushed, which made her grin, but didn’t attempt to protest further. With how heavily he was leaning on her when they started walking, she was pretty sure she knew why. 

But battered as they were, they were still walking away alive(and engaged, however the fuck that had happened), so it counted as a win in her book.

                                               ---

Tavi felt the looks they drew as they entered the city chancellor’s offices a few hours later, her with bandages visible under the collar of her shirt, Aloth still limping thanks to how badly he’d bruised his knee. She didn’t care.

She didn’t care about the looks, she didn’t care about the clerk’s disparaging snort at the brevity of their engagement period(”We’ve been in love for years, postenago. Don’t need a long engagement when you have that.”).  All she cared about was Aloth’s arm linked through hers, and the look in his eyes that said he was just as giddy about this as she was.

Apparently the chancellor didn’t care, either; upon hearing they were there to get married, he simply nodded and pulled out the appropriate certificate. “It needs to be completed and signed in my presence to count as a legally witness and binding agreement,”: he explained as he set the parchment in front of them.

“Well, Corfiser, last chance,” she teased, heart pounding. “D’you really wanna go through w-”

Aloth cupped one hand around the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss. “I do,” he said with a smirk that made plain he knew exactly what she was doing. “I absolutely do.”

“Just checking,” Tavi grinned giddily, resting her forehead against his. “I walked right in to that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes you did.” He leaned in to press a lighter, almost chaste kiss to her lips. “As if you did it on purpose. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“City slicker, that’s your best idea yet.”

It only took a moment to fill out the certificate--complete with internal smirk at the contrast between his elegant script and her careless scrawl--thus making things official.

“So,” Aloth said, taking her hands in his as the chancellor turned to file the certificate, “despite its rough start, and our lack of progress on our true goal, I consider today a success, don’t you?”

And Tavi grinned so wide it hurt her face, tugged her husband forward into a hungry kiss by their joined hands, then slipped hers free to instead tangle in his hair. “I do,” she mumbled against his mouth. “I absolutely do.”

[tasmyn-pearce]

Smoke on the Water, Fire in the Sky || Tasmyn & Ulfric

TIMING: 5/24/2020 (Last Sunday)  PARTIES:  @big-bad-ulf​ SUMMARY: Two Non-Humans attempt to go moongazing and have a bonfire picnic at Hanging Rock. What could go wrong? (Smoke Monsters, smoke monsters could go wrong.)

Ulfric took in the scene he’d set up along the edge of Hanging Rock with satisfaction, although truthfully nature had done most of the work for him. The uninterrupted night sky sparkled brightly over the bonfire pit and picnic spread, and the sound of waves lapping against the cliffs below was only vaguely reminiscent of distant, muffled screaming and both things set the mood for… whatever this was supposed to be. People didn’t generally take him up on offers to go moongazing, at least not in human form, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed or how to classify the meeting. Regardless, it would be nice to spend some one on one time with an adult who wasn’t the spawn of his sworn enemies. He heard footsteps along the cliff path, and fiddled with the thick blanket he’d laid out to straighten it before turning to greet the approaching woman. “Tasmyn? It’s good to meet you properly,” He offered her his hand to shake with a smile. Her proximity didn’t trigger a reaction that signalled recognition of one of his kind, but after the incident with Morgan he was more careful about getting his hopes up in that regard, so the disappointment bore softer edges.  “I thought we could enjoy a bonfire picnic along with the view.” Leaving her side for a moment, he retrieved a small tupperware container from a wicker picnic basket and presented it to her unceremoniously. “I managed to find some of those strawberries you asked about. Stubborn things grow in abundance around train tracks, human plans be damned.”

Tasmyn was looking forward to seeing the moon, and the stars of course! They deserved equal recognition, equal respect. After all, human scientists claim that the light we see is from stars that have already exploded. That was insane, and very metal. She followed the directions that the internet man gave her, she thought about looking up a map beforehand, but this wasn’t her first time in a forest, she was confident she’d be able to figure it out. After getting a bit turned around a few times, she finally made it to the clearing. “Yes, hi! Ulfric?” Usually she tried to take people’s names whenever she could, but he was being nice and offered to show her a good moon spot, so she was paying forward some kindness, even if he might be human. “Oh my! A Moonlit picnic? Bonfire? Do you know how to start a fire? Cause I don’t. And strawberries??” Tasmyn was pretty shocked at how lovely the set up was, so she decided without any real evidence that this man must not really be human. No human could do something this lovely. In fact, it might be the nicest thing anyone had done for her in years. “This is all truly wonderful. Thank you, genuinely.” She told him, looking up to make eye contact with him and grinning. “And you went on train tracks for the berries! How marvelous!” She grabbed the container and immediately took the lid off, picking up one of the berries and putting it in her mouth. “MMmmm, you want one?” She asked, picking one up and offering it to him.

“You make it sound a lot more daring than it was,” Ulfric chuckled, “I knew the next train wasn’t coming through for at least an hour, they have these handy things called timetables they’ll just give you at the station.” He left out the part where his presence on the tracks did still technically count as trespassing. “But yes, I’ll bite,” the werewolf accepted Tasmyn’s offering, warmed by her excitement. The small red berry was tarter and earthier than the kind you’d find in a grocery store, but all tastier for it. “The complicated part is the assembly,” he surveyed the conical, balanced structure of the bonfire with pride. Digging a pit beneath it, finding stones to place around it to prevent the fire spreading as well the materials to build the actual fire had been physically demanding, but it had made for quite a peaceful afternoon on the cliffside with only his thoughts and the waves. He was glad someone appreciated the effort. “Lighting it is quite easy,” he pulled a book of matches from his coat, motioning towards the gap between the logs which exposed the kindling, before holding them out to her. “If you’d like to do the honors?”

“People always take the fun out of things. I’m sure it was a fun adventure even if the danger level was low.” Tasmyn replied, wondering suddenly if this man was a warden who lured her to her doom. People did say she would learn to be more careful online. The thought passed almost as quickly as it formed, as her eyes widened slightly at his comment. “You built this?” She had foolishly presumed that the structure was already there made for anyone who happened to be out here, but no - Ulfric had taken his time and come out here to build this. A soft blush crept over her face as she grabbed the matches from him. “Yes, absolutely.” She held the matches in her hand and made her way over to the bonfire pit. “Right here?” She asked to verify, then pulled a match out and struck it against the matchbook. She admired the flame for a moment before carefully placing the flame against the kindling, letting it light then dropping the matchstick into the fire. Almost immediately she reached her hands out to feel the warmth of the new flames.

Ulfric nodded encouragingly as the flame sparked to life. “Yes, like that. You should make a wish too, it’s the right time for it.” His eyes drifted out over the ocean and up towards the glowing main attraction that had brought them both there. “Waxing crescent moon; the phase for planting your intentions and desires so that they’ll grow over the next cycle.” He sighed and lowered himself onto the picnic blanket, and then onto his back with his arms crossed behind his head. Strategically, he’d taken up the position to shield his eyes from the bonfire’s light, so they wouldn’t reflect it back at her (Tasmyn seemed unfazed by the sordid history of Hanging Rock, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react if her companion suddenly looked possessed), but he found he was also surprisingly relaxed. It had been awhile since he’d spent time with someone who didn’t depend on or at least expect something from him, and as sacred as his duties were, it was a relief to shrug off some of that weight for a moment. “Do you know any constellations? That bright star just to the west of the moon is Canis Minor, the lesser dog.” Ulfric traced a line from the centre of the moon to the star with one finger so that she could follow. “And then all the way on the horizon its companion the great dog, Canis Major is leading all the stars in setting for the night.” He left out the propaganda about the celestial beasts supposedly belonging to hunters, so as not to spoil the mood.  

“I didn’t know the moon phases had certain things you’re supposed to do with them.” Tasmyn said with some excitement in her voice. That sounded so fun, such a wonderful way to honor the nature of it all. After taking another moment by the flames, she made her way over to the blanket that was laid out and took up the spot next to Ulfric just in time for him to start pointing out constellations. Maybe she was lying down a bit too close, but she wanted to be able to see what he was pointing at - and she never was very good at giving people personal space. “I know a few, ones that were over the town I grew up in. This is maybe a silly question - but would they be the same ones above us now?” Sometimes Tasmyn was embarrassed at her lack of booksmarts, chalked it up to years of Spriggan-only education. But she was comfortable around Ulfric, comfortable enough to ask a potentially stupid question. “Canis Minor.” She repeated, her eyes following his hand as he traced out the star formation. “Wow. That’s such a beautiful story. I didn’t know they all had stories with them. How’d you learn so much about all of this?” Tasmyn heard the fire crack slightly and the noise startled her, her body tensed up and she looked over towards the flames. But it was nothing, the fire was just growing and the sparks were crackling as they do. After watching smoke start to form at the tip of the flames, she turned her attention back to her picnic buddy. “What else do you know about the sky?”

Ulfric held back a laugh in case she took it as a slight against her lack of knowledge in the subject, rather than just being amused at her earnest enthusiasm. “It’s not silly, they’re mostly the same in the northern hemisphere, it’s just their positions and the times that they appear that change.” It was thought that had brought him a lot of comfort when he’d first been forced to leave his home, that he could still look up and find the same bright point in the sky as his family members who remained. “I grew up in a small village where there was much to do but listen to old stories.” He answered in fond remembrance. “Well that, and fight with my siblings but that doesn’t impress people as much.” He noticed Tasmyn tense listened in for any sound of an intruder making their way up to the clifftop, but heard nothing but the waves, though the flames did seem to be burning brighter. “Well, not much that can be backed up scientifically, but where I grew up they used to say the moon is chased across the sky every night by a wolf called Hati, and the sun is chased during the day by another wolf named Sköll. Some even say if they ever catch up they’ll swallow the heavenly bodies whole and cause the end of the world, but, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure that part was just added for dramatic effect.”

Tasmyn looked up longingly at the stars as he spoke. She liked that the stars she was seeing were likely the same as her parents and loved ones. She liked less that her not-so-loved ones were under the same stars, but she pushed those thoughts for the time being. “I grew up in a very small village too! We were quite isolated, only some people went into the other towns and it always sounded like a dangerous trek.” Naturally she left out the part that her village was Spriggan-Only. But that wasn’t necessary information. She didn’t want him to think she was a freak. Ulfric had a nice way of speaking, as he explained the story of the sky to her she felt like she could really see it all written out there in the stars. Spriggans in her colony were known to be creative in their truths and half-truths, but making up stories was never their strong suit. “Nothing wrong with a bit of dramatic effect. It makes it that much more…” She paused briefly, searching for the right word. “That much more interesting, that much more comforting.” Just then Tasmyn heard the fire crack again. She wasn’t startled this time, but she did look over towards the flames. At first she thought the smoke was just growing very rapidly, but then she saw… were those arms? Arms of smoke reaching out towards her. Quickly she stood up, taking several steps backwards away from the fire, almost tripping over a few rocks as she moved. “What! Why! Oh my god are the witches mad at us? For disturbing them? It’s okay witches! We aren’t here to disturb you.” Trying to reason with a smoke monster wasn’t her finest moment.

Ulfric was surprised at Tasmyn’s description of how she grew up. Human communities who live that kind of self-sufficient lifestyle were increasingly rare, what were the chances that two people from such similar situations would end up in the same small Northwestern town? The spirits of his ancestors must have had some hand in guiding them together, though he wasn’t sure if his efforts to protect the wolves of White Crest so far had been enough to warrant such a reward. He was about to gently argue that comforting maybe wasn’t the right word for a tale of Ragnarök when she suddenly jumped up. “What? What’s wrong?” He leapt up as well into a defensive stance, but could neither see nor hear any trace of what had her so startled. “If I did something to offend you, you can just—” He coughed to clear his throat, tasting smoke. Odd, since the breeze wasn’t blowing in their direction. “You can just leave.” Maybe she had caught a glimpse of the firelight bouncing off his eyes after all, since she seemed so scared and hadn’t been able to think of a better excuse to get away from him than ‘witch ghosts’. “I won’t stop you, and nothing’s—” His speech was interrupted with more coughing. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Tasmyn was beyond confused about what was going on, and felt awful that he thought he had done something to offend her. “You’ve been lovely… it’s that thing that’s ruining things!” She exclaimed, pointing towards the cloud of smoke that was heading towards them. Tasmyn didn’t understand why Ulfric didn’t seem to see the increasingly growing smoke monster that had begun to form. To her, having never seen a creature like this before, that could only mean one thing. This thing was sent to kill her and that’s why she was the only one who could see it. “No! No! Stay away from him!” She yelled at the creature, hesitantly moving closer to it to try and grab it off him or shoo it away. But as her hands tried to make contact with it, they went right through. The creature seemed to dissipate then reform where her hand had gone through. “It’s not hurting me, it’s hurting you! Can’t you see it?? Stop breathing in it’s smoke!” Tasmyn picked up a few small rocks from the ground and threw them through the monster, but every time something went through it, it always just re-formed.

Ulfric tensed and pivoted in the direction that Tasmyn pointed, poised to fend off an attack, but none came, at least not in the form he was expecting. The taste of smoke on the air was getting stronger, and he soon found himself subjected to another coughing fit, all the while groping blindly around him whatever thing or creature had set her off, but his fingers slipped uselessly through the air. In all the coughing and flailing he lost his balance and failed to dodge one of the rocks she hurled at the invisible menace, which smacked him firmly in the temple. “Ow, hey! I don’t see anything, and I don’t think that’s helping!” He called out, rubbing the bruised area, though it came out considerably raspier, and less calm than he’d intended. The mention of smoke stood out to him though, as despite the relatively clean appearance the air around him appeared to all his other senses to be thick with it, a vile ashen sensation coating his mouth and nostrils and stinging his eyes. “Water cooler—With the basket,” he managed to splutter, “We’ll put it out.” If there was something wrong with the smoke their best bet would be to stop it at its source.

Admittedly the idea to throw rocks at a smoke monster wasn’t Tasmyn’s finest moment. But it had been all that she could think of at the moment. “I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, immediately stopping what she was doing. Her breath became so heavy, she evidently had gotten too close to the smoke and breathed some in. She coughed heavily, then nodded at his suggestion. “Okay! Okay!” Tasmyn ran over to where the basket was and found the water cooler. Quickly she unscrewed the top of the cooler and made her way over to the fire, dumping the contents of the container onto the flames then stomped out the remaining hot coals. As soon as she felt confident the flames were out she turned back to see if the monster had in fact disappeared with the elimination of the fire. A sigh of relief passed through her lips as she saw that nothing was attacking Ulfric anymore. “I am so sorry,” she told him, small tears beginning to form in her eyes. “I don’t know what that thing was, but it had to have been here to get me. My god he must’ve found me…” She trailed off, looking around them to see if anything was out there in the woods near them. “This is all my fault.”

Much to Ulfric’s gratitude once the flames were thoroughly quenched the choking sensation dissipated, though he was left hunched over, humbled, and hacking his lungs out by the time it did. Not a position he was used to being in, but one he took advantage of to heap handfuls of soil onto the remains of the bonfire, to make sure any surviving embers were smothered. “I think it’s mine actually,” he managed to retort once his airways had become less obstructed. “This spot is reported to be cursed, but in my defence, I doubt there are many places in the world where something tragic or bloody hasn’t occurred at some point in history.” He covered his mouth and cleared his throat, and when he pulled it away in the moonlight he thought he could make out a dark smudge of ash. Even if he never saw what caused it, he couldn’t deny he’d felt something real. “What did you see anyway? Why would someone be after you?” He asked, finally registering what Tasmyn had said, eyes darting in every direction in anticipation of another threat.

Even though the monster had dissipated with the flames, Tasmyn still felt on edge. Could he be right? Was this just the work of the witchy spirits that had been brutally killed on this very cliff? She thought she had been careful in her last move. Stole a random name, took the passport, made her way to America as someone other than Tasmyn. Maybe witch ghosts was the reason they were attacked… but that didn’t explain why she was the only one who could see it. “No, no, the witches wouldn’t make only one of us see it.” She mumbled, without fully realizing she had said it outloud. “I-I should go… If he’s here, I can’t let him…” Tasmyn turned to run away from where they were, then she stopped herself briefly. She looked back and then picked up the container of strawberries that Ulfric had picked. Even though she had little proof, she was convinced that her husband was behind this attack. She turned again, this time actually running away. “I’m so sorry!” She shouted as she left. She had an awful pit in her stomach, feeling awful for getting him attacked and then running away, but it felt like the safest option? He had been so nice to her, she didn’t want to be the reason he got hurt.