#he had his roadside breakdown but NO WAY IS THAT ENOUGH

[swan2swan]

Kenji and Yaz as soon as they're settled in on the boat and are able to process what they saw the past few days:

[klausinamarink]

One Kid Gone, Another Up and Vanished (part 10)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 next: Part 11 | ao3

time for shenanigans.

Jim’s frustrated.

This whole week has been a major event after another; Joyce’s son vanishes on Sunday, the same happened with Eddie Munson the day after, and the Hollands’ daughter going poof the other day. And then Will’s body had been found in the quarry, which was a cherry pick top on with Benny’s sudden death and the damned MK Ultra stories he can’t get out of his head-

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. Takes a deep breath. Exhales it out. Yeah, Jimmy boy, exhale some of that shit out.

He’s sitting in his vehicle on the roadside, just at the intersection of Cherry Ave and Cornwallis Road. He doesn’t really have much to do. Theoretically, he should be sitting his ass behind his desk at the station but what is he going to do?

The goddamn suits and rangers of the state had shown up right after Will’s body was recovered and told him to relax because they got it all covered.

Yeah, right.

In a different time, Jim wouldn’t mind shouldering off the responsibility and leave the big hats to finish it. But he’s not that kind of cop. He doesn’t trust the state to place their greasy hands over the cases. At best, they’re going to fuck it all up.

But it seems that they really aren’t kidding about being involved. When Jim had tried to get into the morgue last night to do a better autopsy on Will’s body, the doors were guarded by, not one, but three rangers. He almost punched them all out, but he had simply shared the most polite conversation he can with them before they politely kicked him out.

He had thought about seeing Joyce earlier this morning, but he would be a heartless jackass to accidentally send her to a public breakdown at her son’s funeral.

Now he’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, staring at nothing on the road, unsure what to do and where to start.

His mind wanders to the notebook sitting in the glovebox. Having already read it front to back, he can admit that Wayne really has a sharp eye for everything. There’s one particular point about Eddie being last seen with a cut on his hand that’s nagging the back of Jim’s memory cave. But nothing solid comes up so he brushes it aside for now.

“How long it’ll take for you to even care out what happened to my nephew before his body turns up next?”

Jim stops his tapping on the wheel and drops his forehead against it, sighing heavily. Wayne really knows exactly what to say that haunts you for the rest of your damned life.

Not so different to what Joyce had fired back at him few days ago.

Will’s body comes back to his mind again. He hadn’t seen him up-close, not with the coroner being defensive on preventing contamination. But Jim’s not an idiot. He had seen enough of Will’s perfectly intact body to call bullshit on the accepted belief the kid fell into the quarry.

Suddenly, he gets a sinking feeling in his gut.

Jim looks up towards the direction of the laboratory. He’s too far to actually see the building but he feels its presence nonetheless. Enough to conjure up the image of Martin Brenner’s polite smile when he said no, we haven’t seen a child here on these grounds.

He starts the engine.

—

From the way Wayne keeps glancing up at Joyce, she senses that her pacing is getting to his nerves.

It’s fair for him to think that. She’s been practically burning through his kitchen floor for the past thirty minutes. Or she thinks it’s been thirty minutes. Hours were quickly slipping and the sun’s already setting outside. 

Hours without any word from Will or Eddie. Not even a tiniest flicker from the lightbulbs. 

Despite her empty stomach, she can feel bile climbing up her throat. She swallows it down, daring a glance back to Wayne. 

He looks up at her again, his hand rubbing the side of his temple. Joyce tenses when she catches his mouth opening as if he’s ready to say something. She’s already had enough listening to the hauntings of her mother’s scolding in her ear and whispers from the townsfolk (including Lonnie and Jonathan) right behind her back. She doesn’t want to hear another one to her face from Wayne.

Just then, through her anxiety, she gets struck by a realization.

“Of course!” Joyce snaps her fingers in a feign of excitement. “They probably went back to my house!”

Wayne gives her a bemused look. “Your house?”

She nods quickly, already pulling the older man up as she reminds him through a long-winded explanation of how she manages to establish communication with Will and later Eddie at her home. Wayne looks all the more confused, but he hurries along with her to his truck. It’s a quicker drive from the trailers to Cornwallis. Wayne follows her brief directions, soon parking on the driveway. Before he even stops, Joyce jumps out and runs to the front door. 

She realizes a second too late that she should give him a warning about the current state of her living room. But whatever words she’s about to say withers in her mouth when she steps into the house.

The Christmas lights are gone. 

Every one of them that she’s strung up, even a few she had reluctantly pushed to the corners this morning, are nowhere to be seen now. Her only way to speak to her baby, gone.

As she gapes around the room, her eyes land on the suspect, who’s kneeling on the couch and methodically replacing a new layer of wallpaper above it. Right were the letters used to be.

“Lonnie.” She doesn’t know how she finds her voice, but it doesn’t sound like herself. It’s too calm to match the anger burning within her chest.

Lonnie looks over his shoulder, unfazed. “There you are. Thought I had to call the cops when you disappeared this morning. Like mother, like son, huh?”

Joyce clenches her jaw tight at the normalcy of his tone. She glares at him, making Lonnie mockingly throw his hands up. 

“Oh, sorry. Never meant to say that. I was just worried about where you went.” Lonnie chuckles. Then he looks over her shoulder and his expression falls. Joyce dares a quick glance and sees Wayne standing awkwardly in the doorway. She cringes inwardly, motioning at the other man to leave. But Wayne doesn’t move. He just crosses his arms and stares back evenly at Lonnie.

When Joyce peers back at Lonnie, his eyes are darkened. She can hear his teeth grinding as he gets off the couch and towers over her. “Seriously? We just buried our son and you run off to-”

“What did you do to the lights?” Joyce cuts him off. Her voice is still and quiet.

Lonnie raises his eyebrows, his temper briefly quelshed with confusion. “What?”

“The lights, Lonnie. Why did you take them off? And why are you ruining the wallpaper?”

He has the audacity to sigh and shake his head as if his heart is breaking. That liar. “I threw them out.”

It feels like the world just stopped. “What?”

“Because your mind’s not right, Joyce. I can’t see you act like this, pretending that Will’s trapped in the walls-”

“Since when have you ever cared?” Frost drips out of her voice. She hopes it turns into icicles and stabs into her ex-husband’s heart.  “You never gave two shits about me when I had to bust your ass out of jail countless times and take up the night shifts because you couldn’t hold a job anymore. You never cared how hard or loud you’ve hurt me in front of Jonathan. You never, never cared about Will until you thought about hitting him too.”

“Joyce-”

“And now you show your face up, acting like the grieving husband and father so you can make everyone believe you’ve cared. But you never did. Because I bet it’s because of that sweet money the state’s going to donate to your pocket for acting like the way you are. So what gave you the fucking right to take down all of my lights, tear my wallpaper off, and act like it’s for the sake of my sanity?”

Lonnie throws his arms up, his face looming closer like he always does when they fight. “Because you’re sick, Joyce! You’re acting completely irrational and ruining this house-”

“I’m ruining the house? Is that what you care for now?!”

“Yes! Because this is where you and your son live in-”

“If you fucking dare to move back in here-”

Amidst their arguing, Joyce barely remembers Wayne. She just hopes that he had just left already, seeing no point in watching a couple’s dispute. It’ll hurt, but it would be the best for him. He doesn’t deserve being dragged into more of her messes.

Lonnie’s hand suddenly shoots towards her in a blur. Joyce instinctively flinches away, already feeling the phantom stinging of the previous slaps. 

But she doesn’t feel her head snapping to her side or taste sharp copper in her teeth. She peeks her eyes open (she doesn’t realize she had shut them) and sees Lonnie’s arm being held in the air by Wayne’s tight grip.

“If your way to end an argument is to hurt someone, then you’re better to take the loss and leave.” Wayne speaks to Lonnie’s face so softly that his usual gruff tone vanishes for a moment. Oh. Joyce realizes. That’s how his anger sounds.

Lonnie stares at him wide-eyed, a drop of sweat trailing down his cheek. His forearm whitens around Wayne’s fingers the longer they grip into the skin. Finally, Wayne leans away with a curt nod and lets him go, making Lonnie stumble back. He looks at them both before the familiar snarl of displeasure returns. 

“You’re both fucking crazy. You both deserve it together.” He spits just before he storms out, loudly slamming the front door shut. 

Trembling, Joyce glares through the still-open window as Lonnie starts up his car and promptly drives off. 

Wayne scoffs quietly, “Serves him right.”

It should be enough to let her relax and breathe again. But there’s so much of her anger boiling her veins that Joyce grabs her head and curls her fingers into her hair, pulling it harshly so that several strands get ripped out.

This should be enough. But there’s so much of her anger boiling her veins that Joyce grabs her head and curls her fingers into her hair, pulling it harshly so that several strands are ripped off.

She can hear Wayne calling her name. But she doesn’t listen or look at him. She just turns around and stomps her way down into the house. And then there’s a blast of cold air and heavy crunching of leaves under her feet. Before she knows it, Joyce yanks the shed’s door open.

The first thing she sees is a pair of shovels. She grabs them, only for both tools to be somehow tangled with each other. It makes her more mad as she struggles to separate them. But once they’re freed, they get caught against the other tools in the shed.

“You’re kidding me.” She says to nobody in particular except this stupid shed and whatever god is up in the sky who likes making her life miserable. She tries to shove her anger down, but the shovels are stuck again and they’re just banging against the shed, doing nothing but make the buzzing in her head louder and louder and she can’t think of anything other than-

“Joyce.” 

She jumps, her shoulders up to her ears. She whirls around, expecting to see Lonnie crawling back to her. But it’s only Wayne, standing just a few feet away.

She glares up at him. “What?” 

He looks wearily at her and at the shovels in her hands. “What are you doing right now?” Wayne asks, sounding too gentle like he’s trying to coax a scared animal. Thinking of that comparison makes Joyce even more mad.

“None of your damned business.” She hisses. She turns back to what she’s trapped herself in doing and tries to free the shovels. How is it this hard to get a couple shovels out?! 

But she still senses Wayne behind her, even approaching closer. She whips her head back to him, “Leave.”

Just after she says it, the shovels she’s been holding bang against some equipment inside, creating a cascade of metallic crashes.

Her frustration explodes. She drops the handles and kicks at the wall several times hard enough that it almost surprises her it doesn’t collapse. Her hands dig back into her hair as she yells up at the sky. And because Wayne is still here for some godforsaken reason, she yells at him too. 

“Just go! You already know how goddamn sick I am! Just go and spit on me after wasting your fucking time for sitting around and waiting for your nephew-”

Wayne takes another step forward and-

He hugs her. 

Joyce stiffens at first, a second of shock overcoming her. Then she lets go of her hair just so she can pound her fists onto his chest, attempting to twist away from his embrace. Bad women like her don’t deserve hugs like this.

“What did I tell you about using others to comfort your pain, Joyce? Now I’m going to feel awful for wanting to give you a hug. You see what you’ve done? To your own mother, no else?”

Wayne doesn’t let her go. Instead, he smooths her hair down, careful at the aching patches where she’d just abused her scalp. Something about that motion makes Joyce to drop her arms down. Her breath shudders as she lets her face be buried into Wayne’s cardigan. It smells like cigarettes, old oak leaves, and flour oddly enough.

It sends a crack somewhere through her heart.

She doesn’t recognize the wretched sound coming out of her mouth. It sounds like a dying animal, too rough and guttural as if it wants to cut through her throat. Her small body wracks violently with every sob like it’s desperate to rattle her soul out to leave this earth. She wants to leave, but Wayne isn’t letting her. He keeps her arms tight around her, slightly rocking them side to side like a father does to a child. Just like how Joyce does to Will and Jonathan after a bad day and night. 

Thinking about it restarts the cycle of tears again.

After she feels her tears are spent and regains control of her breathing, Joyce taps on Wayne’s arm. He gets the message and unwraps himself from her, though he keeps a hand on her shoulder. The front of his cardigan is nearly soaked through but he doesn’t raise a complaint.

Joyce’s eyes feel swollen. There’s snot and tears running down her face, which she’s quick to wipe away. Once she’s sure she can speak without another threat of tears, she mumbles, “Sorry about that..” 

“No need to apologize. Seems you really needed that.” Wayne tells her softly. She looks up at him and there’s a small sincere quirk of his lips. Not a single ounce of malice or pity is shining out of his doe eyes, just complete reassurance and comfort. 

It almost makes Joyce cry again, but she holds it together and just sniffs her snot back in. 

Silence falls between them, but it’s not as awkward or tense as Joyce expects. It’s more comforting. Maybe breaking down in front of someone who doesn’t immediately taunt her does more wonders than she thinks.

“Do you want to explain why you were wrestling with these shovels?” Wayne asks. A flush of shame comes over Joyce and she looks down to the ground again. Crosses her arms as if it’ll prevent herself from answering.

“Joyce?”

She lets out a shaky sigh. Fuck it. Wayne’s been with her this far.

“I want to go back to the cemetery.” 

There’s a pause. She doesn’t look up as Wayne asks, “Come again?”

She sighs again. Flicks her eyes up to stare directly at Wayne. “I want to see who was that boy they buried as Will.”

Wayne furrows his brows. Then the realization comes over him. “You-”

“I know it’s stupid and very illegal.” Joyce keeps her hands to herself so they don’t flail around, takes a step away from him. There’s something wrong with her in which every time she wants to be taken seriously, another thing happens that keeps testing Wayne’s patience for her.

She continues, “But I can’t stand it. I know in my heart and soul that whoever they found in that quarry just looks like Will, but it’s not him! If it was, they would’ve allowed an open casket or let me stay with him for a bit before-” Her breath shudders again. “I just want to know what the hell is going on!”

Joyce tears her gaze away from Wayne, staring at the ground as if it’ll rip open and spit Will back to her. “If you want to throw me into jail or Pennhurst for this, then go ahead. If you’re fed up with my ‘delusions’-” she spat the word, “then leave and forget about me.”

The silence drags for a horribly long time that Joyce can see their shadows extending before her eyes. Then Wayne’s feet shuffle out of her view. She closes her eyes, shivering from the cold catching up to her.

Then there’s a little nudge on her arm along with Wayne’s gruff voice speaking, “Alright, better now than later.”

Joyce blinks her eyes open, her jaw falling open at the sight of Wayne back to her side and holding out a shovel to her. While carrying the second, no less. “W-Wha-?”

“You’re right on a couple things.” Wayne interjects her kindly. “There’s some strange stuff happening around here these past few days. It has to do with our boys going missing and we both know they’re alive somewhere. If you’re beyond certain that the kid you saw being buried isn’t Will, then nothing hurts to check.”

Joyce almost wants to laugh. She almost asks Wayne if he’s losing it. But she sees that look in his eyes, the hard determination she’s seen in herself too. It gives her a spark of hope again.

She takes the offered shovel. She has to bite the insides of her cheek to keep some hysterical giddiness from showing. Staring into Wayne’s eyes, she says, “If you’re in this with me, for what we’re about to do, then you need to also help me out if we get caught by Hopper.”

Wayne gives out an exasperated sigh, but his mouth quirks up something resembling a smirk. “Let me double check my bail money first.”

—

As they drive up into the cemetery, it’s gotten dark enough that all of the headstones look like lumps. Undead potato lumps. A morbid joke that his sister Suzanna once shared with Wayne when they were kids and has somewhat stayed in his vocabulary. Once he slipped and said it around Eddie few years ago, who had gladly adopted the phrase.

“The grave’s over there.” Joyce frowns, pointing over to a direction behind them.

“And we’re going to stop here.” Wayne says, parking the truck at the very end of the road where the oldest areas of the cemetery start embracing the woods. “Wouldn’t want to park near your boy’s grave and get caught too soon.”

Joyce makes a small ah sound. Wayne cuts the engine and headlights off and they both get out. He takes the shovels from the truck’s back, along with a crowbar and a flashlight. Joyce raises an eyebrow at the crowbar but says nothing as she takes the flashlight and the lead to their destination.

They hurry further in half-crouches, carefully weaving around the other gravestones. The groundskeeper has night shifts for a reason and lord forbid if there’s any sneaking reporters hungry for pictures.

“Here.” Joyce whispers. There’s almost no need for her to point it out with the too-new marble headstone and bouquets of flowers are placed on the recently-buried dirt.

They stand together on the side, staring down at the ground. A little adrenaline rush of I am actually doing this comes down onto Wayne. He should feel ashamed of himself. That he should have listened to his logical side of not helping a grieving woman’s delusions and now it’ll start a landslide effect of following Al’s forbidden footsteps.

But he doesn’t feel anything. A little nerves, sure. But otherwise? He’s just calm. Nothing towards himself or Joyce.

Maybe he’s like this because a part of him already wants to dig up Eddie’s grave in the future just to hold his boy close for the last time.

Or it’s just the Munson thing.

He breathes slowly, repositioning his grip of his shovel and handing the other to Joyce.

She doesn’t take it. She stares down at the still-fresh dirt with a lost expression. “But what if I’m wrong? That all this time, this is Will and everyone was right but I’ve been denying it?”

“Then you’ll cry.”

She looks up, shooting him a baffled look.

“You’ll cry, either out of relief or grief.” He continues, nudging the shovel’s handle to her. “It’s the best any of us can do. And what happens next is up to you.”

Joyce’s eyes well up again but she shuts them tight, her expression shifting to the hard determination Wayne is already familiar with. She opens her eyes and takes the shovel in her hands. Then she gives him a single nod.

Wayne nods back and plunges the shovel’s blade into the dirt.

It’s less back-breaking than he expects. Benefits of growing up south and spending years at the plant, he supposes. The soil’s still loose enough so it might’ve helped easing their efforts. But his arms and knees start to ache after one and half feet in. Joyce’s already trembling at this point, pausing to catch her breath every minute or two.

“I’m not sitting down until we get to the damn casket.” Joyce pants out before Wayne opens his mouth. He wisely keeps it shut.

By the time their shovels hit polished wood, it’s fully dark and a absolute miracle that any groundskeeper hasn’t heard them. Yet. Wayne snatches the flashlight and kneels down to sweep the soil off while Joyce collapses to her feet.

“God.” She tilts her head back, seemingly regretting the motion as it brings some dirt falling on her hair. “I’d almost prefer Mr. Turlington’s gym classes to this.”

“If this was his grave, we would’ve made him proud. Hold this.” Wayne hands the flashlight to her.

“I can barely lift my arms!” Joyce protests, but she takes the flashlight, keeping the beam aimed at the head of the casket. Wayne feels his hands around the edges, shuffling more of the tightly pressed earth away.

He stands up, reaching out for the crowbar above. He moves slowly, feeling conscious of the fact that there is a young boy’s body inside. Any more quicker and heavier movement he and Joyce make might just break the casket itself.

“Did ya get the casket sealed?” He asks.

“No, finding the right casket itself was expensive enough.” Joyce winces right after she says it, as if paying for a casket by itself is the most shameful thing in the world. She eyes at the crowbar in his hands. “Why do you ask?”

“From what I heard, unsealed caskets are easier to reopen.” Wayne kneels back down, roughly scooping out a few handfuls of one wall so there’s a small pocket of space. He looks again at Joyce, silently asking are you sure about this?

She gives him an unwavering stare that all but replies with yes, get on with it.

Wayne wedges the crowbar to the side of the lid. He silently prays that this action won’t taint his memory for eternity and then pushes down on the crowbar with all of his might.

It takes about what feels like hours before a crack resounds and the casket opens. Wayne grabs onto the newly freed lid, pushing it up until the top hits the earthy wall.

Joyce makes a choked noise, almost close to a sob. Wayne himself recoils at the sight of Will Byers’ too-pale face, eyes softly shut as if he was just sleeping.

But the smell…

Wayne sniffs the air. Continues for a moment, unsure if his senses are messing with him. With his eyes still on the boy’s face, he asks, “Do you smell anything?”

A strained chuckle comes out of Joyce. “What?”

“Do you smell anything?”

Joyce falls silent before she starts sniffing. Then again with more consideration. “..No. Just the dirt.”

Wayne manages to tear his gaze away from the boy and back to Joyce. “Doesn’t matter how much chemicals you put in a body for preservation, the smell of rot comes back as soon it’s buried.”

Realization dawns on her face. Then she carefully crawls over next to him, ducking under Wayne’s arm as he still holds the lid up. Joyce looks down at the body and slowly reaches a hand out to the face of her son. She gently cups the cheek, bringing a terrified expression upon her before it shifts into a frown of doubt.

“Do- Do bodies always feel like plastic?” She asks slowly. Wayne looks at her with shared confusion and reaches out to touch the boy’s face. However, his hand must have been too slow or too quick because it instead brushes against Joyce’s.

She gives out a too-loud startled squeal, her head bumping hard against Wayne’s chin. He falls back, hearing a small groan from Joyce. In the process, he loses his grip on the lid and barely stops it from slamming shut by kicking his leg out and holding it up halfway. The weight’s gonna bruise it for days.

“Ow, oh, Wayne!” Joyce is suddenly fretting above him, rubbing the back of her head. “I’m so sorry! You didn’t mean to startle me that bad, it’s just the nerves and-”

“I’m alright.” Wayne means it, even if his chin and leg might not. He’s had worse than beginner’s level grave-robbing. “It’s my fault I scared ya.”

Joyce’s shaking her head. “No, really, I’m sorry-”

Wayne grunts as he slowly pushes himself up. “Would ya get the lid off my leg first?”

“Oh, of course!” Joyce scampers back, groaning with effort as she pushes the lid off. Wayne pulls his leg back to him, rubbing the bone carefully. Yep, he can feel a bruise coming.

“Wayne.” Joyce’s voice is very still.

He sits up more upright. “What’s wrong?”

Joyce doesn’t answer. Her back’s toward him, the flashlight still shining inside the casket. Wayne scoots closer, peering down to see-

Will’s head turned on the side, no longer attached to his body.

It feels like Wayne’s soul is exhumed out of his body all at once. His first thought is, oh lord I just decapitated a dead kid in front of his mother. But somehow through his panic, he notices that despite the damage, there’s not a spot of blood anywhere.

Joyce reaches her hand in again and picks up something. Holds it up close to the flashlight for a closer look.

It’s a wad of cotton.

Wayne checks the head and neck of the body. Thick wads of cotton sticks out of both ends.

“I knew this wasn’t Will.” Joyce whispers, her tone devoid of anything save a hint of triumph somewhere. “None of his moles match and there wasn’t even a birthmark.”

Wayne stays silent, staring down at the body that is not Will Byers. Who that half of the town came and mourned for just hours ago. All of this for a fake body.

“Wayne?”

Joyce’s looking at him, concerned. It feels terribly juxtaposed. A grieving mother sitting atop of her son’s fake body wanting to know if he’s alright.

“Did they tell ya who found the body?”

Joyce thinks for a moment before replying, “Not anyone specific. I think Hopper said it was somebody from the state.”

Wayne swallows but his throat’s too dry. He lifts his gaze up towards the sky at last. The stars are coming out. “Chief told me that the state’s taking over Eddie’s case.”

They both become quiet for a long time. Until they both catch a faint whistling tune of the groundskeeper. Then it’s a mad careful scramble out of there.

—

Brenner studies the new dummy on the table, taking a glance at the reference photographs laid out on the desk besides McNeil, who stands on the opposite side and poorly hiding his fidgeting.

There’s nothing wrong with McNeil’s works. It’s a masterpiece, much like the previous. Anyone who never touched a human body or kept on his payroll wouldn’t notice the difference.

But Brenner always sees flaws in perfection. That’s the duty in being a scientist. Running through the tests over and over until the subjects are one hundred plus ten percent faultless.

It always leaves a bitter taste on his tongue when he skips over a mistake, even for the sake of studying. He’s being more considerate these days after the disastrous cases with Henry and Eleven.

“Is this accurate to the boy’s measurements?” He asks. McNeil stops fidgeting and straightens up with an air of confidence that should be permanent.

“Yes, sir.”

Brenner eyes the small flock of bats and devilish marionette inked on the right arm. “Is this the only tattoos he has?”

“No, sir.”

“Then where are they?”

McNeil clears his throat, almost looking away from Brenner. “It’s difficult to perfect the other designs when there’s bare references of what they exactly look like. Tattoos are heavily variable, sir.”

Brenner sighs quietly in disappointment. He’ll save this discussion of incompetence much later, preferably once Eleven returns. “Then find the exact designs and make sure they match.” He looks down at the blank intimation of Eddie Munson’s face, thinking for a moment. “And give it the impression that it’s been deceased for longer than Will Byers-”

The door suddenly opens and Agent Sterling walks in with an annoyed expression. “We have an intruder.”

Brenner frowns. “I beg your pardon?”

She gestures for him to follow and he’s lead to the screening room of their security footage. One of them shows the police chief Jim Hopper cautiously walking through the basement level, undoubtedly heading to the room with Eleven’s gate.

Brenner can’t help but chuckle. That man truly wants to know more about what they are doing.

“Should we eliminate him?” Agent Sterling asks.

He shakes his head, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “No. Just tranquilize him and send him back home. Place our listening device somewhere in his residence as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

—

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[lasenbyphoenix]

Unshakable Faith (2023)

Episode 37 Breakdown

In the nurses station Nurse Bai snaps at Nurse Zhang Ling for mentioning Secretary Lu and is outwardly upset. Later, Nurse Bai lures Ji Danyang to meet her in private and drugs him.

The police find barbiturates in Secretary Lu's bloodwork and they look into who had access to those drugs. The police team decode more notes and find remnants of Secretary Lu's confession that names Nurse Bai and they finally can link enough evidence to arrest her. They go to the hospital only to be told that she has overdosed in response to Secretary Lu's death, and Nurse Zhang Ling has taken her by ambulance to the city hospital. The ambulance stops due to a broken down cart on the road and Liu Simao kills the driver while Nurse Bai kills Nurse Zhang Ling, and they take the hidden unconscious Ji Danyang away.

Expert Chief Chu finds that his camera with the data photos has been swapped for fake Li Qiuchen's camera and the police find the ambulance driver at the roadside. Fake Li Qiuchen says goodbye to Nurse Leader Ge and gives her the task to try and kill Expert Chief Chu before he leaves Lumen.

Ji Danyang wakes, tied to a tree and Nurse Bai tells him she wants to take him to Taiwan. She apologises, admitting to altering his calculations and he yells at her until Liu Simao threatens him to be quiet.

Officer Hongmei arrives at Dr Bai's house to find it deserted with a chest sitting on the table, containing the coded music notes, and his security bureau ID and a note "3 Jumps Gorge". She sends the evidence back with one officer and she goes ahead to search 3 Jumps Gorge. The police find evidence in Dr Bai's belongings that confirms he was working with Officer Hongmei's father, but was also Ghost Owl for the KMT.

In the forest Dr Bai meets Nurse Bai and argues with her about going to Taiwan. He is distraught to learn that she was saved by General Kou and recruited to the Nanshen Training Class when she was kidnapped and tells her that General Kou is the reason her parents are dead but she doesn't want to believe it. She says she can't turn back and threatens to take a poison if he doesn't come to Taiwan with her. Ji Danyang runs in to interrupt, chased by Liu Simao, and the fake Li Qiuchen arrives, reveals his true KMT identity and orders them to comply.

Officer Hongmei finds needles pointing the way through 3 Jump Gorge left by Dr Bai.

Fake Li Qiuchen takes the group to a cave once used to hide soldiers during the liberation and meet his contacts. They have to bed down in the cave for the night and Dr Bai uses the time to slowly convince Liu Simao that the other spies will likely kill the two of them as they are expendable and the ferry they're going to wont be big enough to take everyone. Nurse Bai offers food to Ji Danyang and he tries to appeal to her conscience not to turn over the camera, but she tells him she took a different path and can't turn back but hopes to put it all behind her when they get to Taiwan.

.........................................................

Our math man literally stabbed in the back by Nurse Bai! Wtf sister! And then faking her own overdose! Ok the logistics of getting an unconscious math man into the bottom of the same gurney that you yourself would be taken into an ambulance on after you overdose is very tricky to ensure by yourself, so I was highly expecting Nurse Zhang Ling to be in cahoots to have arranged that. But now I'm realising maybe it was Nurse Leader Ge who assisted, as Nurse Bai recovered too quickly to have actually drugged herself, but Zhang Ling didn't notice anything weird while in the ambulance?

Dr Bai must be planning to run with Nurse Bai if he can convince her not to go to Taiwan, because he's left his secrets behind for Hongmei. I think that if he didn't have Nurse Bai to try and protect, he might have turned himself in once he'd found Hongmei's father's body. And he is wrecked knowing that she's fully committed in the spy things. I feel so bad for him watching her coldly threaten to kill the contact for disrespecting him, that isn't the daughter he raised.

I called it on the KMT being the cause of Nurse Bai's parents deaths, but as I said a couple of episodes ago, Nurse Bai has now down too much to turn around even if she knows this.

But now that it's down to this, will Dr Bai still try to save Nurse Bai or will he have to try and save Ji Danyang instead?

Nurse Bai do you really think you'll get to have a nice quiet life with your dad and your pet math man when all this is done? I can't tell if she's really that naive or is using it to delude herself.

I wonder if would still have kidnapped our math man if Secretary Lu was still alive to run away with her.

Hah. Dr Bai psyching out Liu Simao by pointing out they are expendable is not only true but a good way to make him turn on fake Li and the contacts. Lets hope it works.

1 episode to go!

[sgtjamesrogers]

ok i gotta know, what's going on with lord of the flies but tomgreg ghfdjsk

AHAHA thank you caitlin it is... somehow That, at some point after i finished season three i thought to myself 'wow i love their fucked up dynamic and off putting vibes... what if they got stranded on a deserted island after a plane crash <3' which will have it all: two men that should have more wilderness knowledge than they actually have, fear of death and mortal injury, an illness that would have been easily curable with antibiotics, and tomgreg finally fighting like chickens

It’s funny, how Tom has always known objectively, logically, that Greg is a quote-unquote, ‘lengthy man’, and yet this feels like the first moment he’s been truly aware of it. Of course he, and truthfully every single Roy sibling has found a way to badger him over it, but watching him drag their life raft ashore somehow hammers the point home in a way Tom hadn’t conceptualized before.

With another half-successful yank of the corded nylon rope wrapped around the raft, the bedraggled pop-up tent above it collapses inward, encasing Tom in the salty embrace of lightweight polyester. He doesn’t move; he simply lifts one hand up to raise the tent from his face to continue watching Greg flounder in the damp sand like a two-legged ferret. 

“You know, this, this would be—” Greg gives the raft another hard yank, “—you could, you know, get out and this wouldn’t take so long.” His voice is hoarse, and he gives a wheezy little cough as he pauses with his hands on his knees. 

Smoke inhalation, Tom thinks absently. Then he giggles, and feels his eyes attempt to well up as the sound rasps out of him. Somehow, he doesn’t seem to have enough moisture in his body for that. He thinks maybe, maybe he might be losing it. But that’s also a thought he’s had before. Tom decides briefly that he should climb out, but before he can move Greg bends down into the raft; not unlike a particularly long-necked goat in search of extra feed pellets at the petting zoo. 

He tears a damp canvas bag from the corner with a harsh velcro rip, tossing it out behind him before he cups the side of Tom’s head like he’s checking a melon at the grocery store. Tom grimaces away from his damp, sandy palm. 

“Hey, stop, stop, you uh…” Greg lowers his voice, as if there’s anyfuckingbody else that can possibly hear him right now. Then Tom imagines that they washed up on a crowded beach on O’ahu, and he’s having a nervous breakdown surrounded by sunbathers covered in Coppertone. A nervous breakdown within five hundred feet of a goddamned Sandals Resort. “You seemed like you were, that you might have gotten somewhat concussed when we—”

Tom cuts him off simply by way of grabbing Greg by the shoulders to hoist himself up; grunting with annoyance as his vision swims for a minute. Maybe he was concussed. Swimming in wet fabric, it feels uncomfortably yonic as he climbs out, eyes squeezing shut against the harshly bright sun overhead. The heat is so much worse out here; Tom can almost imagine it drifting up from the sand in waves. 

His eyelashes, his eyelids themselves already feel crusty with salt as he rubs at them punishingly with the heels of his hands. Fuck, did his eyes hurt. Come to think of it (which was difficult; the thinking part, at present) his whole head hurt. Shielding his eyes with the flat of one hand he peers up at Greg first, who is worrying his chapped bottom lip with his teeth as he watches. 

That familiar friend of Tom’s, the irrational anger that wells up inside of him like a restless old lion at a shitty roadside tourist trap, rattles feebly against the cage where Tom keeps it. Sometimes with greater success than on other occasions. He opens his mouth to snarl at Greg for looking at him with that wounded expression, like his cat just had kittens and Tom was the runt who just wasn’t going to make it. As his eyes adjust properly, the noise temporarily dies in his throat, a flame blown out by an ominously building wind. 

To either side of the raft, as far as Tom can see to his left or his right is simply sand; bare right up to the rocky treeline that seems to be slowly growing consumed by the long hungry roots of the shockingly tall trees looming there. As he looks, a flock of some pacific birds breaks out of the tree line and wheel overhead for the briefest moment before turning back inland; the aviary version of a Lincoln Navigator doing a three-point turn. No beachgoers, no Sandals resort. 

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Tom breathes out, hoarse and reeling. Greg nods clumsily; a marionette whose puppeteer is very exhausted by all of this. 

“That’s- that’s exactly it,” he says, bleak resignation in his tone, in the sloping line of his shoulders. “Yeah, Tom, it’s…it’s fuck alright.”

[thelikesofus]

Everything Is Going Wrong (But We're So Happy)

Buddie | 9-1-1 on Fox | Mature Rated for Implied Sexual Content

2112 words | car breakdown, stranded, bickering, domestic fluff, making out

Read on AO3

"Where is your sense of adventure, Eds?"

"This is not an adventure, Buck. This is a disaster." Eddie's chest is burning with heaving breaths and the dust scratching at the back of his throat, making their trek along the roadside almost unbearable. The California heat is unforgiving and Eddie can feel it scorching across his back, and although it isn't dark yet, at the rate that they're traveling, it will be before they reach the motel. 

Buck shucked off his over shirt a mile or so back, leaving his ridiculous arms on full display in just his singlet. Look, Eddie is only one man. One recently reformed and previously severely repressed man, and now that his brain knows that looking isn't a bad thing, all he can do is look. 

And what a beautiful view it is. 

"Come on, old man." Buck laughs, bright and easy as he walks ahead of Eddie. He has his own duffle bag slug comfortably over one shoulder while Eddie's is gripped in his opposite hand. Buck only had it because Eddie complained once about how annoying carrying it was and Buck had taken it off him and refused to give it back. "It's only a couple more miles."

"A couple more miles, he says," Eddie mutters under his breath, and Buck giggles at him like a gleeful child.

"Oh, quit your complaining." Buck glances back to catch Eddie's eye. He stops for a moment and waits for him to fall into step beside him before they keep walking, their strides matched and arms swinging side by side. 

He knows he's being whiny. Thank God Christopher isn't here to see his Dad make a fuss over a bit of dust and a long walk, but this was supposed to be a fun weekend. A break they both desperately needed after the turbulent year they had had. Karen and Hen had offered to take Christopher from Friday till Sunday night and Bobby had shuffled the roster around to give them both the same weekend free.

"Hiking was your idea." Buck reminds him and Eddie levels him with an unimpressed glare.

"This is not quite what I had in mind and you know it." An accusatory finger is pointed in Buck's direction and he just grins in response. Eddie rolls his eyes in exasperation. "The Hike was supposed to be a nice sheltered trail, some trees, a nice view even. Not five miles along the highway in the middle of the afternoon!"

"Did you put sunscreen on this morning?"

Again, the flat look is directed at Buck but Eddie is thrown by the genuinely concerned expression on Buck's face and he relents a little bit, his shoulders sagging.

"Yes, I put sunscreen on, Buck. You only reminded me about fourteen times." Eddie's smile is more fond than he wants it to be but he really can't help it, it's Buck, who really is the most genuinely compassionate person Eddie has ever met. "Still, this was not the plan." 

"I know." Buck glances away, adjusting the way his bag hangs across his shoulders and Eddie tries not to gawk at the way the muscles of his shoulders shift beneath his skin. "I'm sorry, really. I was so sure that we had enough gas. I swear I checked it."

"I know, Buck." Eddie tries to reach out and grab his bag from Buck's grasp but Buck just swings it out of reach and switches it to his other hand where Eddie can't get to it.

The Jeep had run out of gas, that was the first of their issues, the second being that they were stranded on one of the less populated highways between Los Angeles and their destination, almost exactly halfway between their accommodation and the nearest gas station. After much debate, the decision was made that they would walk to the accommodation rather than back to the gas station and then try and get a lift back to the Jeep in the morning.

"Would it make you feel better if I held your hand?" Buck reaches his now empty hand towards Eddie's, cheeky grin firmly in place but Eddie quickly swings his hand away and crosses his arms in front of himself.

"Don't even think about it!" Just the thought of how sweaty and gritty their hands must be right now made Eddie's stomach roll.

"Oh, babe," Buck laughs, his hand now pressed against his chest as if Eddie's rejection had physically wounded him. "I am hurt." 

Eddie tries to roll his eyes again but just finds himself grinning back at Buck, both of them staring into each other's eyes and smiling like idiots. It is sickeningly sweet really, especially now that they really are together in all the ways that they have been teased to be over the years, inseparable and living in each other's pockets, acceptingly codependent and no longer oblivious to the less than platonic nature of their friendship turned relationship. It's barely been two months and yet Eddie still can't quite believe that he gets to have this, to have Buck, in the way that he never thought he would have another person again. Eddie can see that Buck is thinking along the same lines if the way his eyes soften is any indication. 

The moment is broken when Buck trips over a rock and almost goes tumbling down into the dirt beneath the weight of their luggage. Once Eddie has finished laughing his ass off, he finally manages to convince Buck to return his bag to him, lest they actually end up with one of them injured and unable to make the rest of the trip. 

They do eventually arrive at the motel, a tiny roadside joint with peeling paint and a neon sign that is missing half of its bulbs. They had picked it because of its proximity to the trails, but in the soft glow of the sunset and with the forest stretching up into the mountains beyond, even as underwhelming as the motel is, it manages to look picturesque. Postcard perfect to Eddie's aching feet.

After checking into their room Buck gifts Eddie the first shower in his umpteenth attempt to apologize for causing their predicament. Eddie has already told him that he forgives him every time but he certainly won't say no to the shower when his shirt is sticking uncomfortably to his back and he can feel the grit of the Californian desert behind his teeth.

When he steps back out into the main room, towel wrapped around his waist he is greeted by the sight of Buck lounging out across this bed with his phone in hand. Eddie has a good mind to tell him off for dirtying their sheets with his own dusty clothes but the giggling sounding from the speaker of Buck's phone and the wide grin on his boyfriend's ( boyfriend!) face as he chats away to Christopher distracts him enough to let it be for now. 

He at least has the good mind to throw on a t-shirt before perching himself on the edge of the bed next to Buck and watching the way his son's grin only grows when Eddie appears next to him on the camera.

"Hi, Dad!" 

"Hey, Buddy." And God does Eddie's heart melt at the sight of his son, and the fact that not even six hours after they left Los Angeles, Buck felt the need to call Eddie's son and check in on him. He takes the phone when Buck hands it to him but makes sure the angle is right so that Christopher can still see them both. "Are you and Denny having fun?"

Christopher's glasses almost slip off his nose with the force of his nodding as he excitedly starts to tell him and Buck about the blanket fort he and Denny had spent the afternoon building and the popcorn Karen had made for them to eat while watching a movie in their new structure. 

"Hen even said we could have ice cream after dinner! But only if Denny eats all of his broccoli." 

"Sounds like you've had a lot more fun than your Buck and I have!" Eddie elbows Buck's shoulder only to get a returning elbow to his ribs as Buck steals the phone back off Eddie and turns it so that only he is in the frame and he levels Christopher with a very serious look.

"Don't listen to your Dad, Bud. He's just grumpy because his old man legs aren't up to walking that far anymore." 

Eddie can't see his son's face anymore but he can imagine his gleeful expression as he laughs brightly again, a matching grin spreading across Buck's face which he points cheekily at Eddie. Eddie pinches Buck's thigh but smiles too.

Buck does turn the camera back to get them both in the frame so that they can say goodbye as Hen calls Christopher for dinner in the background.

"Goodnight, Superman!" Eddie blows him a kiss which Chris screws his face up at but still smiles back just as brightly.

"Goodnight, Dad." Chris waves at the camera. "Night Buck!"

"Goodnight Buddy, enjoy your ice cream!" Buck waves back from where he is leaning comfortably against a stack of pillows.

"I will!"

"Okay, Bud," Eddie watching the way Chris bounces in his seat on the couch, obviously keen to run off to dinner. "We'll call you again tomorrow, okay? I love you."

"Love you too, Dad." Chris' expression softens just a little bit and he leans closer to the camera like he's telling them a secret. "Love you too, Buck."

Eddie watches the astounded look spread across Buck's face before it melts into one of pure joy. 

"Love you, Chris." He replies, barely containing the flood of emotions that Eddie can see washing over him. Even now it still floors Eddie the way that Buck loves his son. Eddie really could not have asked for a more perfect little family and he is so proud of what he and Buck have built and have been building for as long as they have known each other.  

“Bye!” Chris waves as Hen calls out to him again, her voice cut off by Chris ending the call.

Eddie wastes no time in turning himself towards Buck and pushing right up into his face. Eddie kisses him softly once he hears Buck put the phone down on the mattress beside him and Buck grips Eddie's arms and holds him against his chest as he arches up into the kiss, kissing back harder and not letting Eddie roll off him when he tries.

"You need a shower." Eddie accuses him but he doesn't try to pull away from the kiss again, instead, he pushes Buck back against the mattress and leans over him.

"I don't hear you complaining." Buck grins against his mouth and nips at Eddie's bottom lip.

"I will be if you've made our sheets all gross." 

Buck's hand travels up Eddie's back and treads through the short hair at the base of his head and Eddie groans at the sensation of the pads of Buck's fingers digging into his skull. Buck hums against Eddie's lips in return as Eddie licks into his mouth and cups the side of his face in one hand, using his other hand to push into the mattress next to Buck's head and stop himself from collapsing on top of him.

"In fact," Eddie leans back with a grin, pressing his forehead to Buck's and going a bit cross-eyed trying to hold eye contact. "You're getting me all dusty again too."

Buck bursts out in a hearty chuckle and wraps his arms around Eddie's waist, pulling him tightly against him and not letting him pull away as Eddie tries to sit up. Buck just grins at him.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to have another shower then." He shrugs as if to say that there really isn't anything else to be done. "Care to join me?" 

Buck's eyes sparkle playfully and Eddie can't help but lean down and capture his lips in another searing kiss.

"Hmm, maybe I can think of a way you really can apologize for making me walk all the way here." He moves to pull away again but Buck surges up to meet him, holding Eddie's hips as he leverages them both to their feet with impressive speed and coordination. 

Buck walks backwards towards the bathroom, dragging Eddie along with him. Their mouths never part but they are barely kissing at this point. Their grins are too wide and their teeth click awkwardly as they laugh and stumble their way across the room.

[keelywolfe]

FIC:  Someone to Drive ch.2 (standalone)

Summary: The road trip continues!

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Melancholy, Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Developing Relationship

Part 1

~*~

Read Part 2 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

That first day, Stretch slept through most of it. Curled up in the passenger seat, he didn’t bear witness to the movement of the sun overhead, traveling across the sky the same way they were traveling along the highway. Signs passed by, billboards for luxury apartments and advertisements for the closest fast food drive-thru, along with more esoteric restaurants offering old fashioned family meals and fun.

They stopped for gas twice. The first time Edge paid at the pump and the second, he went inside the convenience store where he ignored the stares of the other patrons as he purchased drinks and a selection of pastries and snacks with expiration dates that might well extend into the next decade. There wasn’t time to inspect them too closely. The car was locked but he was deeply uncomfortable leaving Stretch sleeping in it alone and surrounded by unfamiliar Humans.

In the brief time it took him to gather up supplies, Edge kept the car in sight, waiting impatiently in the line while the Humans in front of him purchased gas and cigarettes and lottery tickets. No one approached the car, or him for that matter, and the clerk at the register hardly stammered when she gave him the total.

The bag went into the backseat, except for the drinks that ended up in the holders in the middle console; unsweetened green tea for him and lemonade for Stretch. Both were room temperature before Stretch woke. By then, they were through the remainder of this state and well past the ‘Welcome to the Pacific Wonderland’ sign to the next one.

They were as far away from every place Edge considered home as he’d ever been when Stretch stirred in a waking up sort of way rather than the sleepy rearranging of the past few hours. He sat up, his hood sliding half-off, and blinked owlishly as he looked around at the car. When his eye lights landed on Edge, he seemed to wake up a little more, slumping back into his seat.

Edge only glanced at him out of the corner of his socket and kept his gaze on the road.

“where are we?” Stretch asked. His voice was hoarse from sleep, rasping dryly.

“Somewhere in Oregon,” Edge said. He picked up the lemonade from the console without looking at it and held it out in offering. “According to the sign, they hope we enjoy our visit.”

The lemonade was nearly snatched from his hand and he listened as Stretch drank thirstily. The bottle was empty by the time he sighed out a grateful, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” That passed as the only conversation between them. There was no questioning the direction they were headed, no wheedling requests to stop at the next exit to a ridiculous roadside attraction. Edge only drove on, keeping the radio low because it seemed like the thing to do when your not-really-a-friend looked to be on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

The only other sound was the occasional vibration of Stretch’s phone. He glanced at it a few times but never seemed to reply to any texts.

Edge already texted Undyne when they’d first stopped for gas, along with his own brother. Undyne replied with several obscenities and an agreement to feed the cat. Red did not reply at all and no one else tried to contact him. There weren’t many who would.

Mostly, Stretch sat slouched in his seat, watching the blur of passing landscape outside the window. His hands occasionally tapped on his knees to the rhythm of whatever was playing on the radio and he sometimes sang along under his breath, almost too soft to be heard.

Eventually he discovered the bag of food in the backseat and scrounged through its offerings, selecting a cellophane-wrapped cheese danish for himself. The banana nut muffin was given to Edge with its plastic packaging removed, carefully wrapped in a napkin from the bag to keep crumbs from scattering over the car interior. It was surprisingly thoughtful, and Edge took his eye lights from the road long enough to murmur a thank you.

Stretch didn’t reply, already wolfing down his own pastry, though he was careful to keep the crumbs contained.

When he finished, he tucked the wrappers back into the paper bag, bringing back out with him the bottles of water Edge purchased. They replaced the empty tea and lemonade ones and both of them settled back into a much briefer silence, broken when Stretch abruptly said, “advertising.”

Edge blinked, glancing at him, “I beg your pardon?”

Stretch nodded towards the window. “that billboard. it said ‘advertising.”

“Yes?” Edge asked, cautiously. “That is what billboards do.”

“uh huh. benefit!” Stretch said triumphantly. Edge was beginning to worry about what sort of chemicals the ‘Kum and Go’ station was adding to their pastries when Stretch added, “cold!”

The point of the game clicked and Edge looked out at the approaching signs, searching. “Diesel,” Edge said, firmly.

“aw, come on,” Stretch moaned. He flopped back dramatically into his seat or at least as much as the seat belt allowed. “street signs don’t count, only billboards!”

“If that was a rule, you should have specified before you began,” Edge said, then added, “East.”

The competition began in earnest after that and the next few hours passed in a flurry of exchanged words in careful alphabetical order, peppered with the occasional out of place curse and if Stretch used ‘Qdoba’ from the green exit sign rather than a billboard in defiance of his own rules, Edge was too relieved for the dreaded ‘q’ to be vanquished to offer any protest.

It was nice, in a way, the dappled green of the passing trees around them, the billboards, and the sunshine pouring in through the windows as they quarreled, only laughingly instead the real arguments they’d had in the past.

Edge still didn’t know why they were here at all, but he was finding it didn’t really matter. Not yet.

~*~

It was barely dark when Edge pulled off into the rest stop that evening. Normally he wouldn’t have considered sleeping before midnight, but then, normally he wouldn’t have been up at three am in the morning, nor would he have spent the entire day driving. The billboard game petered out with the encroaching darkness concealing far too many words, and Stretch was half-drowsing next to him, rousing as Edge put the car into park.

“huh?” Stretch asked, drowsily. Despite all the sleep he’d had, there were still darkened smudges beneath his sockers, as if the slumber only glanced over him instead of settling in. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, blinking too hard and confused. “we stopping here?” Stretch sat up and got a better look at their surroundings. “a rest stop?” he asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” Edge agreed, unfastening his seat belt. “I may not need a bathroom, but I do need a rest.”

“a rest stop,” Stretch repeated. "we're gonna sleep at a rest stop?"

"I believe it’s traditional for road trips." Edge opened his door and stepped out into the cooling air, groaning as his aching joints basked in the chance to extend his long limbs to their fullest.

Stretch followed him, asking nervously, "isn't that illegal?"

"Not in this state. Besides,” Edge circled around to the back of his car and opened the hatchback, “no one will be able to see us back here.”

His brother had mocked him when he’d purchased an SUV, rambling on about soccer moms and incels. Edge had ignored him. Much as he would have enjoyed a convertible like Papyrus’s, practically demanded that at least one of them own something with more space and a bright red paint job was an invitation to police for a traffic stop. His face was already invitation enough, in Edge’s opinion, and when he’d bought the SUV, he’d gone with plain black.

In the back, he kept a small emergency kit stored away. Years of living in Snowdin taught him to be prepared and it was, with road flares, small traffic cones, and a neatly folded-up blanket. Edge moved the box of supplies to the front seat, out of the way, then took out the blanket and shook it out. He frowned at the size of it. “I’m sorry, I only have the one.”

Stretch only shrugged. He was gathering up the trash from the last of their snacks and the empty drink bottles, tossing them all into a nearby bin. “it’s fine, it’s not that cold.”

Very quickly they figured out that a larger blanket would have only been of minor assistance. The SUV was excellent for moving boxes and small furniture, less so for sleeping arrangements. Even with the back seats folded down, there was only enough room for them to both lay full-length if they stretched out at a diagonal. It meant sleeping far closer than he usually ever was to Stretch, both of them pressed up against each other with the musty shared blanket spread over them.

Stretch didn’t seem to mind, offering no protest to the close quarters. Point of fact, he settled in close with a sort of muted enthusiasm, as if craving the contact. Edge didn’t deny him, only sliding his arm under Stretch’s head in a very narrow makeshift pillow.

They lay together in the silent dark and as tired as he was, sleep was slow in coming. Headlights would cut through the windows as other cars pulled in and left, the traffic sounds too close, and the car interior too quiet, in a way his apartment was not, showcasing their mutual breathing. Stretch shifted next to him, his long legs bumping into Edge’s.

“i heard you moved out,” Stretch said suddenly. His voice was soft and still too loud in the quiet.

“I did,” Edge agreed and nothing more.

Stretch didn’t ask why, which was good because Edge was tired of not being able to explain, even to Red. Beneath his careless attitude and bluster, Edge knew his brother was hurt by him leaving, worried that there was no one to watch his back. Monsters often lived several generations in one home and Red surely wondered why Edge didn’t want to live in his. He wasn’t sure how to make his brother understand that he wanted a chance at something else, that simply being on the surface wasn’t enough to chase away the ghosts of Underfell. He wanted to live on his own, to figure out something that he didn’t have the words to express.

Not that he needed them, he supposed. Red always had more than enough words for both of them.

Stretch hummed curiously, “how’s that going? i mean, having your own place?”

“It’s—” Edge’s breath caught as Stretch’s pelvis shifted against his own, bumping up against his hip in what was certainly a deliberate little grind. It was distracting and not nearly as alarming as it should be. His mouth filled with soft magic almost unconsciously as it happened again. Belatedly, Edge finished on, “fine,” though he no longer remembered the question. His focus was on the slender body pressed close to his own, the surge of warmth rising underneath the threadbare blanket.

They'd kissed once before, a long time ago when they’d all still been underground. The self-proclaimed skeleton clan made up of, well, themselves, meeting for movie nights. On that night, his brother brought over a few jars of his latest batch of moonshine, the clear liquid deceptively tasteless and enormously strong. A small glass that would normally only ease the reality around them instead turned it into a blurred whirlwind, and by the next day Edge had a killer headache and few memories of the night before, save one.

Of him and Stretch, and as it turned out, their antagonism was easily muted behind the mask of hard liquor. They’d bumped into each other in the kitchen entryway, Stretch going in and Edge coming out, and their faces were so close together that to Edge’s alcohol-soaked thoughts, a kiss seemed to be the only reasonable solution.

He couldn’t recall if it was a good kiss or not, only that Stretch accepted it and that his mouth was as filled with honeyed sweetness as his words never were. But when Edge tried for another, Stretch held him back. He’d offered a lopsided smile and said with uncommon gentleness, “sorry, edgelord, i’m not really interested in sleeping with you tonight.”

Edge hadn't bothered to point out that he hadn’t offered to sleep with him. It seemed churlish when he'd already been rather kindly brushed off and neither of them ever mentioned it again. He’d long since written it off as a moment of drunken foolishness and nothing more.

He wondered if that statement still stood. The leg sliding up his own and the knee teasingly pressing almost between Edge’s femurs seemed to indicate it did not.

Edge didn’t move as a hand settled on his ribcage, beneath the blanket but over his t-shirt. He only inhaled sharply through his nasal cavity and waited. He wasn’t sure what to feel when that hand did not move, fingers only flexing, the tips briefly digging in as their warmth bled slowly through thin cotton.

"is this…all right?" Stretch asked uncertainly.

Edge closed his sockets, took in a long shaky breath and let it out in a hiss of, "Yes."

The word barely finished before a mouth caught his own. As sweet as his blurred memories, stuttering nervously before firming as Edge turned towards Stretch and their bodies slotted together easily, like pieces from the same puzzle.

Fumbling in the backseat of a car was a stage he’d skipped when it came to his sexual awakening, mostly for lack of a car. The environment lacked a great deal, room, comfort, privacy, and yet, it was difficult to care. How could he care when Stretch was shivering against him, little moans and pants escaping him as Edge let his hands wander, finding sensitive joints and cartilage to stroke and tweak, nibbling along his mandible to explore the delicate cavern of his audial canal.

It was less awkward than he might have thought, their past arguments were as distant as their home. There was only here in this car, with the occasional flash of headlights illuminating them and offering glimpses of barely exposed bone and wide sockets. Edge only tensed when Stretch fumbled with his belt buckle, wary when a hand wormed its way down the front of his pants. People were often surprised by his preference for a vulva over a penis, a few were even offended, acting as if he’d misled them or perhaps that it was beneath him to prefer being penetrated during sex. More than one sexual encounter had been ruined by the assumption that he would be the one using his cock and he couldn’t help tensing as he waited to see if this would be one of them.

But Stretch didn’t comment, his slender fingers moving with no emotion other than eagerness. When Stretch tugged impatiently at the waistband of Edge’s tight jeans, he helped shove them down, only to startle as Stretch followed their downward path, slithering lower with bony fingertips, then the wet heat of his mouth.

Edge clapped both hands over his own mouth, choking off a cry at the slippery touch of a tongue against bone and ectoflesh. He stared up the fabric ceiling of his car as it was briefly illuminated in the flash of headlamps, his pants caught around his knees and Stretch’s face buried between his femurs, only closing his sockets when the rising pleasure and that clever tongue became too much, sending him shuddering over a gloriously toe-curling peak.

All too soon Stretch crawled back up over him, his eye lights overbright and his mouth wet as he stuttered out, “god, you—you’re so—”

Edge never got to hear exactly what he was. He opened his mouth to the slick press of Stretch’s against it and tasted himself on his stroking tongue. There in the stuttering darkness, he never did find out why they were here, but he did learn a few things about Stretch and about himself.

He thought perhaps the soft, deep cry Stretch made when he came was his best discovery on this trip so far.

tbc

[jingabitch]

Lit Up

Summary: Christmas drabble in the Fucked Up verse, in which you leave the house to prepare a Christmas surprise for the boys, who come home early and discover you gone.

Warnings: yandere | explicit language | explicit descriptions of sexual acts | dark shit | reader has major issues

Rating: E

Pairings: mainly Yoongi x reader; bg ot7 x reader

Word count: 4.3k

Series index

Christmas is one of your favourite times of the year. It always has been, since you were a child. You have few fond memories of your childhood, but Christmas had always been nice, and you remember spending time with your family. Back before the drinking and debt and screaming, but even after all that had started, at least at the beginning, your parents had made an effort to have nice Christmas celebrations.

This Christmas, the boys are back home - and so are you. It doesn’t mean that they have the day off, much to your displeasure, but they’d promised to be back in time for dinner. Seokjin bought a ham and there are ingredients for all sorts of delicious side dishes in the fridge. It’s going to be a feast, and you can’t wait.

Still, though. Food does not a Christmas party make. With the boys so busy, you hadn’t dared broach the subject of gifts or decorations, knowing there was no way any of them had the time to accompany you to various stores to pick up everything. Sure, you could order whatever it is you wanted online, but part of the fun of Christmas is the actual shopping, and it’s something you so badly want to share with them.

Fantasies of them coming home to a Christmas tree, all ready for you to decorate together, and prettily wrapped gifts, fill you with delight. It’ll be so much fun, you think, almost clapping your hands with excitement. They aren’t supposed to be home till six, were going to have a late dinner since Seokjin wanted to cook even though he was going to be arriving back at the same time as them… you have plenty of time. You know they would worry if they come back and find you missing, but they won’t be mad if you’re already back, and they see that nothing bad happened to you.

With that thought in mind, you get ready for your first solo trip outside the apartment since you arrived here. As much as you love this place, the thought of going out alone, like you used to, is a heady one. You’ve not even really explored the streets in your neighbourhood, and you used to like taking long walks.

Well, they became a lot more fun when you knew Yoongi was walking with you.

Dressing in your warmest clothes (and filching Yoongi’s scarf because you like the way he smells, okay?) you grab all of the emergency cash in the drawer on your way out, and the keys to Jeongguk’s car. Driving in Seoul isn’t the easiest, but you don’t see any other way to get all the ornaments and gifts, not to mention the tree.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, your overcoat carelessly tossed into the passenger seat, you unlock your phone and deactivate the spyware they’d installed to keep tabs on what you search and where you are. Won’t do to have them figuring out your surprise from you using Google Maps to navigate the city, after all.

Humming under your breath, you turn on the radio absently as you key in the name of the shop you want to go to. You’ve gotten your ornaments from this little hole in the wall since before the boys, since your first Christmas alone in Seoul. It hadn’t been as much fun only buying enough decorations for just your mini-tree and studio apartment, but it had been all right. The handmade items made by the kindly middle-aged lady were pretty enough to make up for it.

As you make your way to the store, the radio starts playing a radio interview with BTS and you giggle to yourself. Your boys are so prim and proper on the air, no one would ever guess that Namjoon wrote half the songs of their latest comeback with his cock tucked inside you, or that Jimin and Taehyung’s friendship is based on commonalities far greater (and kinkier) than both being members of the 95 line.

All those secrets are yours and yours alone, and you smile contentedly as you listen to their nonsensical answers to the question of what their ideal type is, because it’s all bullshit. You know what their ideal type is; because you’ve put in a lot of effort to be that for every one of them.

Parking the car in a roadside lot, you get out and grab all your stuff, spending a minute putting your coat and scarf back on, before locking the door and walking the few doors down to the shop.

“Good morning, aunty!” you say cheerily as you duck slightly to avoid hitting your head on the wind chimes she’d hung over the door.

“Ah, Y/N, hello, sweetheart. I haven’t seen you around recently; you didn’t even come to buy Christmas ornaments last year.” As your eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the store after being outside in the sun, you spot the shopkeeper standing behind the counter.

“Yeah, I was travelling last Christmas, aunty. I came to get new ones this year, though! I moved into a bigger place and need more this time,” you inform her delightedly, looking around the store. Spotting some delicate crystal ornaments, you move closer to them, and pick one up, a pretty snowflake.

The shopkeeper, seeing what caught your fancy, smiles. “I should have known you’d go for those,” she says. “You might like these to go with that too,” she directs your attention to some sparkly baubles and a wreath that’s white and black instead of the usual green.

Once you’ve bought almost all the snow- and winter-themed decorations in stock, you go all over Seoul buying presents for the boys - an expensive kitchen knife with his initials carved into the handle for Seokjin, a first-edition of one of Namjoon’s favourite books, accessories, clothing and shoes for the more fashion-oriented boys, and so on.

For Yoongi, though, your precious Yoongi, regular gifts will not be enough. What do you buy for the man who gave you everything?

Humming in deep thought, you spin in a circle in the middle of Myeongdong. What should you get? You check the time - it’s already three in the afternoon, and you only have three hours to get his gift, the Christmas tree, and haul ass back to the apartment.

Sighing, you head dejectedly back to the car. There has to be something special you can get for him.

There’s a place that sells Christmas trees near the outskirts of Seoul, and you drive there, humming along to the radio. Christmas really is your favourite time of the year, you think, smiling at the cover of Jingle Bell Rock currently playing. Maybe you’ll be able to persuade some of the boys to serenade you tonight, not that it’s ever difficult to.

On your way to the store, you drive past a tattoo and piercing store and inspiration suddenly strikes you. On a whim, you decide to get your ears pierced to match Yoongi’s. It’s not much, but it’ll be cute, you think, matching his accessories. It can be your little thing, even if no one will ever know since you’ll never be seen in public together.

You only have the basic lobe piercings, so you end up getting three additional holes punched into your earlobes, although thankfully he let his helix piercing close up so you don’t have to do anything like that.

It doesn’t take too long, and before you know it you’re back on track, going to pick up a Christmas tree. You’re just pulling into the parking lot when your phone dies, and you huff. It’s been long enough not going out for a long time, or alone, that you’ve completely forgotten basic things like bringing along a power bank, so you suppose you’ll just have to make do until you get home.

It won’t be that bad - you know the way home, at least - but it makes you a little antsy not being contactable, so you resolve to hurry up so you can go home soon.

There’s just one hitch in your plans, though - the boys got home two hours early. Which you didn’t know, because your phone died and you had no idea they were even blowing it up.

While you were excitedly choosing a pretty tree that you genuinely had no idea how you would muscle up from the garage into the apartment, the boys are walking into said apartment, full of anticipation for your delighted response to them coming back early to spend more of Christmas with you, because of course they know of your love for the holiday.

Yoongi tries (and fails) to hide his excitement as he toes off his shoes before opening the door to the apartment. The others follow more sedately, content to let Yoongi be the one to announce their arrival.

The moment he steps into the apartment, though, he can tell that something is wrong. You don’t appear from behind a corner, or even call out a greeting, as is usual for you. It’s the middle of the day, so you haven’t gone to sleep yet.

Yeontan comes bounding out to greet the boys, but he’s conspicuously alone.

“Y/N?” Yoongi calls, unease slithering down his spine. Yeontan barks, turning around in a circle, and Taehyung picks the dog up.

“Hyung, why are you just standing there?” Hoseok asks, and Yoongi takes a few steps forward so that the rest of the boys can come into the apartment too.

He calls your name again as he walks through the hallway to the living room, then, not finding you, pops his head into the kitchen and then to the bedrooms. The others cotton on fairly quickly to the issue, and help out, opening the doors to their own bedrooms to see if you’re in there.

It becomes obvious that you’re not in the apartment, and this results in chaos and panic among the boys. Yoongi is, of course, the worst off, barely able to comprehend that you would leave. You’d given no indication of being unhappy or dissatisfied, and things had been going great recently. Your relationship is, in every aspect, unusual, but it works for all parties involved - or so he’d thought.

Namjoon, seeing that Yoongi is on the verge of a breakdown, quickly intervenes, guiding the older man to the couch and sitting him down on it.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures him. “We’ll find her, okay? There’s no way she can get away from us all.”

Indeed, the others are already leaping into action. Jeongguk, the one who installed the spy software on your phone, is already booting up his computer to track your location, and the other boys are tearing the apartment apart searching for clues.

“Shit, she took all the money in the drawer,” Hoseok curses as he opens said drawer in the kitchen to check.

“How much was in there?” Jimin asks, looking over his roommate’s shoulder.

Hoseok shrugs and looks over at Namjoon. “I don’t know… I just put some in whenever I had cash on me that I didn’t want to bring out,” he says, and the other boys nod and murmur their agreement.

Concluding that this means you have a lot of cash at your disposal, they sigh heavily and stare despondently at each other. Yoongi looks like he’s about to burst into tears, and Jimin and Taehyung sit next to each other, sulking.

The bad news isn’t done coming, though. Jeongguk stumbles out of his bedroom in shock. “I can’t track her phone,” he breathes, blinking in bewilderment. The others’ gazes snap towards him immediately.

“What do you mean, you can’t track her?” Namjoon demands, hurrying over to push Jeongguk back into his room so they can see his computer.

“Look, the last traced location of her phone is the apartment complex, and that was in the morning,” he explains. “She’s gone off the grid all day.”

“Is the phone off? Did she manage to disable it?” Hoseok asks, peering over the maknae’s shoulder.

“I’ll need to ask my friend, he’s the one who would know how to check.”

“All right, let’s go then.”

Before long, all of them have their marching orders. Jeongguk is going to seek out the friend that wrote the software for him, Namjoon, Hoseok and Jin are going to the bus and train terminals and the airport to see if she left by any of those means, and Taehyung and Jimin are going to review the footage on all the CCTVs installed in and around their apartment complex to see if they have any clues about where you went.

As for Yoongi - Namjoon tells him to stay in the apartment and try to find any clues as to what happened to cause her to suddenly take flight, since he’s the one who knows her best, but really, he looks like such utter shit, barely able to keep himself together, that none of them think it’s a good idea for him to be out in public right now.

Blissfully unaware of all the chaos you’ve caused in your home, you hum along to the song playing on the radio as you return to the apartment complex, zipping neatly into Jeongguk’s designated parking lot. As you climb out of the car, you hum thoughtfully to yourself as you eye the tree shoved into the backseat and think about all the packages in the boot. There’s no way you’ll be able to bring it all up in one go, and you sigh as you wish for a moment that the boys had come with you, because all that muscle would sure come in handy right about now.

With a sigh, you yank open the car door and wrestle the tree out of the backseat, bumping the door shut with your hip after. Somehow managing to get it to the lift lobby, you heave out a breath and press the button for the elevator. 

By the time you push, pull and pivot your way back to the apartment, you’ve broken out in a sweat and your muscles are screaming. Putting the tree down, you key in the code for the lock, taking the opportunity to lean against the door. When the lock makes that little jingle and you hear the door unlock, you pull it open and push it carefully so it stays that way, retrieving the tree and bringing it into the entryway.

You’re taking your shoes off and getting ready to open the door into the apartment proper when it bursts open unexpectedly. With a little squeak of surprise, you take a step back, looking up with wide eyes.

“Yoongi-oppa…” you greet him out of habit, although your voice trails off uncertainly as you take in the expression on his face. “What are you doing home so early?”

He glares at you, his arms crossed over his chest, although when you look closer, you can see that although he tries to look steely and furious, his hair is a mess from his hands running through it, parts of his shirt are soaked through with sweat, and it looks like there are tear streaks on his face.

“Are you okay?” you ask in concern, letting go of the tree to take a step towards him.

“Where have you been?” he spits out instead of answering your question, in a tone you’ve never heard from him before. It’s husky and soft, almost wavering like he’s in anguish, but dangerous, a thread of steel running through it. 

Shit. You don’t know what happened while you were gone, but with the way he looks and sounds, you can tell you’re going to be in for a rough time. “Oppa - ” you say, holding your hands out placatingly, but he’s having none of it as he grabs your wrist and yanks you to him. You stumble up the step leading into the apartment and crash ungracefully into him, your free hand going to his waist to stabilize yourself.

“Who told you you could leave without permission?” he grinds out, the hand that doesn’t have a death grip on your wrist going to grasp your face, his long fingers stretching over your jawline as he holds you fast, making sure you couldn’t look away from him if you tried.

“I… I wanted to surprise you, oppa, with Christmas gifts and a tree for everyone,” you try to explain meekly, although your words come out a little muffled because he’s still gripping your jaw. His grip tightens a little, and you wince. “Oppa, you’re hurting me,” you protest.

“I’m hurting you?!” he exclaims incredulously. “Do you fucking know what you’ve done? Everyone is out there looking for you, because you vanished without a word. Do you know how…” he pulls you further into the apartment, into the hallway just past the entrance, “worried,” he pushes you to the floor roughly, “we all were?!” His hands on your hips flip you around so you’re on all fours, desperately craning your neck back to see him.

His expression is pinched as he glares down at you, his throat working convulsively as he swallows. His eyes, though - they make you clench down on yourself almost involuntarily. His gaze is so intense, swirling with anger and something like despair, and yet another emotion that you can’t quite place. The lust, though, is extremely evident in both his eyes and the set of his jaw.

Rooting in his pocket for his phone, he slides it across the floor to you. “Call Namjoon now and tell him where you’ve been,” he orders tightly.

You’re confused - everything has been happening so damn quickly - but the way he unbuckles his belt clarifies things for you real quick. It feels a little wrong for you to be reacting so quickly and viscerally, especially when you know that Yoongi isn’t in the best state emotionally, but you can’t help it.

“I don’t hear you calling him,” he bites out, fighting with the layers of clothing you have on. It must be a comical sight, you’re sure - the long coat half flipped over your back, your upper half still completely clothed and looking like a puffy dumpling as he fiercely tugs the pants and leggings over your legs. It’s getting a little warm, and you balance yourself with one hand as you unwrap Yoongi’s scarf with the other, dropping it carelessly on the ground next to you. You try to fiddle with the overcoat, but before you have a chance to do anything more than unzip it, Yoongi yanks the clothing covering your legs all the way off and you squeal in surprise as your knees go flying, causing your entire body to drop to the ground.

You barely have time to register the pain, however, because the next thing you know, Yoongi’s fingers are thrusting harshly into you. As wet as you are, you aren’t quite ready and the pain ricochets through your body, causing you to clamp down hard as your brow furrows in discomfort.

“Why are you so wet, hmm? Does it turn you on to run away from me?” Yoongi hisses, fingering you roughly to open you up even as he knocks your knees apart further and gets into position behind you.

“I - what?” Bewildered, you try to sit back to ask him why he was so upset, but he pushes you back down with his hand between your shoulder blades, sliding it up to grip the back of your neck as he lines himself up and thrusts savagely into you, bottoming out in one stroke.

You cry out, your hands clenching into fists as you turn to press your face against the smooth material of your jacket. With your face buried in your shoulder like that, your cries are muffled, but he’s not having any of it, gripping your hair into a loose ponytail with the hand that was on your neck and yanking your head back.

“Call. Namjoon,” he orders, punctuating every word with a snap of his hips. Bracing yourself by lowering your elbows onto the ground, you fiddle with his phone with shaky hands, barely able to handle it with the punishing pace he’s set, jostling you around like that.

When you finally manage to call Namjoon, you drop it on the floor between your fists, letting the phone ring on speaker.

“Hyung, what’s up?” comes Namjoon’s harried voice.

If you thought that Yoongi would let up on you a little, so you could actually speak to Namjoon the way he seemed to want, you’re wrong.

“Joonie-oppa, I- agh.” Whatever you were about to say cuts off in a garbled moan as Yoongi takes the opportunity to slam into you, harder than ever before. You skid across the floor, not helped by the fact that you’re still wrapped up in your coat which doesn’t allow you to get a good grip on the marble.

“Y/N?! Is that you?” Namjoon demands.

“Ye - ngh - yes.” Your mewl, coupled with the rhythmic grunts and groans Yoongi is releasing as he presses his chest to your back, sucking livid marks into your neck, give Namjoon a fairly clear idea of what’s going on.

“Jesus, Y/N, are you at home? Where the hell have you been?”

Your attempt to reply is foiled by Yoongi sneaking a hand down your body to strum at your clit, causing your mind to blank as you clench down on him, causing both of you to groan in unison.

“Jesus,” Namjoon mutters. “I’ll talk to you when I get home,” he says before hanging up.

With that out of the way, Yoongi redoubles his efforts to work you over, fucking you hard and fast even as he continues his ministrations on your clit. “No one else can fuck you this good, can they? Only I can make you feel like this,” he growls in your ear.

You’re so lost in the onslaught of sensation he’s forcing onto you that you don’t answer him fast enough for his liking, and he retaliates with a pinch to your clit. “Can they?!” he repeats in a hard voice, and you cry, “No, only you!”

That seems to satisfy him, and he rewards you by driving you up to orgasm faster than has ever happened before, but right before you’re about to tumble headfirst into ecstasy, he slows down, so the orgasm hovers right out of your grasp. Holding you still as you writhe and cry in protest, he asks, in the same harsh tone as before, but with a strange note of vulnerability threaded through it, “You won’t leave me again, will you? You’ll stay with me always?”

Confused again, and barely able to marshal your senses to figure out why he was being like that, you sob in frustration. If he wants to have a serious conversation, why now? Why does he sound so pained, desperate, anguished?

“Y/N!” he cries out, and you can physically feel him holding his orgasm back as he waits for your response.

“No, I won’t leave,” you finally force out, and immediately he slams back into you, biting down savagely on your neck as he comes harder than you ever recall. Feeling him release into you triggers your own orgasm, and you press your cheek to the ground as you keen.

When it’s over, you slump to the ground, now uncomfortably sticky in your clothes but lacking the coordination and strength to remove the layers. Yoongi, still breathing hard, helps flip you over onto your back and pushes the coat off your shoulders, holding it still while you wriggle your arms out of it.

Now far more comfortable, you shed the other layers you were wearing, only stopping when you’re lying nude on the floor, blinking up at Yoongi, who’s still fully dressed. He stares down at you with an inscrutable gaze, and you hold your arms out for him, inviting him to cuddle.

He looks hesitant, but ultimately can’t resist and lies down on the ground next to you, reaching over to pull you closer into his side.

“I’m sorry I was so rough earlier,” he apologizes. “I just got a little crazy at the thought that you had run away.”

Your heart breaks at that. “Oh, sweetie - I never wanted to run away. I was just getting presents and a tree so we could have a nice Christmas celebration,” you explain. “Besides, it’s nothing I couldn’t handle,” you reassure him with a squeeze of his hand, referencing some of the other boys’ rougher proclivities.

“Still,” he persists, brushing your sweaty hair away from your forehead. “You were just gone when we came back, and all the money in the drawer was too, and then Jeongguk said he couldn’t trace-” Suddenly aware that he’s said too much, he clams up.

“Oh, I had to deactivate the tracker or else it wouldn’t have been a surprise, then my phone died,” you explain with a little wave of your hand. “Speaking of which-” You sit up and dig around in your purse, which had been dropped carelessly on the ground. Finding your phone, you get up and go to the bedroom you share with Yoongi to plug it in.

He follows you, looking slightly lost. “You knew about the tracker?”

You turn and smirk at him. “Have you forgotten what my job was?” A former programmer, you’d realised the day they installed the software that it was there.

“Oh,” was all he could think to say.

You can hear his busy little brain buzzing as you fuss with the items on your bedside table, but it’s still completely unexpected when you turn around to find him on one knee, holding a ring in his hands.

“Will you marry us?”

[crazycat-88]

Male Aqrabuamelu Adymn x Female Reader (NSFW)

This one is part of my modern monsters in the city series, though there is no mention of any previously featured characters. 

Features a male aqrabuamelu (scorpion-man or scorpion drider) and a female reader. NSFW content at the very end.

Words: 5,241

Normally you loved your job, working as a manager in a small fashion boutique certainly had its benefits. Your boss Charlotte, a butterfly Lepidoptera, was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside, and gave her employees a very generous staff discount. Your colleagues were great and while the customers could be snobbish and demanding, they were for the most part, easily placated. It was the kind of job, that on a good day, you never wanted to leave.

Today was not a good day. First, your alarm hadn’t gone off, meaning you were late to work. Then you had completely bungled a stock order and spent most of the morning on the phone with suppliers trying to fix it. You spent the afternoon dealing with irate customers, who had decided to start their Christmas shopping early but couldn’t find what they were looking for. Then finally you had to stay late, to do the paperwork and filing that you were meant to have done that morning but couldn’t because you were stuck on the phone.

You really couldn't wait for Charlotte to return from her holiday. While you were incredibly happy that she felt you were competent enough to leave her store in your hands, the extra workload was really causing you nothing but stress. Sighing as you finally lock up the shop and make your way to the car park, you notice just how late it has gotten. All the other shops are closed and as you reach the car park you see that it is eerily quiet with very few cars still parked. Walking faster to where you left your car, you warily gaze around, feeling incredibly tense.

Breathing in relief as you reach your battered old car, you find the key at the bottom of your handbag and struggle to get the key in the door as per usual. ‘‘Come on, work! Stupid car,’’ you say, trying to get the key to turn. Gaping in astonishment when the key breaks in the door, you curse and bang your head against the door in frustration. Today really wasn’t your day, you weren’t sure which deity you’d managed to piss off, but they were surely having a laugh at your expense right now.

You knew you should have invested in a new car, instead of keeping this old pile of junk which you’d bought second hand when you’d first gotten your license. Instead you’d invested all your money on a property in the ‘posh’ part of the city. It also didn’t help that you spent a far too large percentage of your earnings on various clothing items and shoes that came in to the boutique.

Close to tears, you curse again, unable to think clearly. You're suddenly startled, when you hear someone clearing their throat behind you. Spinning around, you gasp in astonishment, when your gaze lands on the creature in front of you. Huge! Is your first thought upon seeing him and you automatically take a step back, bumping into your car. As you take in the eight legs, the long segmented tail and the large pincers, you recognise him to be a scorpion drider. A rare sight in the city.

His face is all sharp angles, which gives him a severe look, with eight black eyes and prominent cheekbones. Dark hair sits high on his head, tied in a thick bun, which makes you wonder just how long his hair is. His human chest and arms are tanned and muscular, and the simple black shirt he’s wearing looks overly stretched. His scorpion half is black, with brownish-red tints in places. His tail is thin but long and it arches high behind his head, you notice however that the stinger is capped for safety. You're so busy studying him that when he speaks, you miss what he’s said.

‘‘I’m sorry… what did you say?’’ You ask nervously.

‘‘I asked if you were alright?’’ He says, tilting his head questionly. His voice is deep and gravelly, the sound sending pleasant shivers down your back.

‘‘Not really… The car key broke off in the door,’’ you say, sighing and gesturing to your car.

‘‘Damn. That’s unlucky…’’ he says, studying your car with an expression that says that he isn’t very surprised. ‘‘Do you have breakdown cover with roadside assistance or anything?’’

‘‘No…’’ you reply, grudgingly. That was something else you had decided to skip in favour of saving money.

‘‘Well it’s too late to call anyone out now, it will have to wait until morning…’’ he says. ‘‘You got anybody you can call to come pick you up?’’

‘‘No, but I can walk… I don’t live far from here.’’

‘‘Where are you headed? I’ll walk with you,’’ he says, smiling and shifting his weight.

‘‘That’s not necessary, but thank you,’’ you say, shaking your head. He may have a handsome face and kind eyes but you refused to tell a complete stranger where you live.

‘‘I’d feel a lot better if I saw you home safe but I understand… At least let me walk you out of here and as far as we are going in the same direction?’’

Considering his offer, you eventually nod. You would feel much safer with someone his size by your side. The city wasn’t always the safest place after all, especially at this time of night. Though one thing is still bothering you.

‘‘Why were you in the car park if you don’t drive?’’ You ask him curiously, as the two of you make your way out of the building.

‘‘Oh. I thought I’d just search the car park looking for damsels in distress,’’ he says grinning, showing a mouth full of very sharp teeth. When you frown at him dubiously, he laughs. ‘‘Honestly, a friend of mine quit their job today, so I was helping them load their things in their car… I was just making my way out of here when I heard you cursing up a storm.’’

‘‘I’ve had a very bad day,’’ you say, groaning in embarrassment.

‘‘That’s a shame, bad day at work?’’ He asks, looking at you curiously.

‘‘You could say that... Between uncooperative suppliers and demanding customers, the car thing was the last straw…’’

‘‘Sounds rough... You want to get a drink before going home?’’ He asks, grinning and gesturing to the bar across the road.

‘‘Rain check? I just want to go home and sleep,’’ you say, smiling at him tentatively.

‘‘I’ll hold you to that,’’ he says grinning, then sighs, ‘‘I can totally relate on the customer front though. I work in the phone shop in the centre and you wouldn't believe half the questions and requests I get from customers.’’

‘‘Nothing surprises me when it comes to customers,’’ you say, surprised to learn he works in the same building as you. He’s not someone you would miss you think, eyeing him again.

‘‘Do you work in the centre to?’’ he asks.

To busy watching his tail swaying, you nod absently. ‘‘I work in the boutique on top floor, ‘Free to Fly’,’’ you say, a minute later.

‘‘Ah. Charlotte’s place, that’s cool.’’

You nod absently again with a wry smile. Of course he knew who Charlotte was, you sigh internally. Was there a single Male in the city who didn’t know your boss. Like moths to a flame, everyone seemed to be drawn to Charlotte. Not that you could blame them, she was a rare butterfly type with vibrant colours, who moved fluidly with incredible elegance.

‘‘I’m Adymn, by the way,’’ he says, breaking the silence. When you tell him your name in reply, he repeats it softly before smiling.

Noticing that you are now only a couple of blocks away from your home, you eye Adymn suspiciously. ‘‘Do you actually live out this way or are you discreetly following me?’’ You ask.

‘‘I really live out this way,’’ he replies grinning. When you eye him dubiously, he laughs. ‘‘Honestly. I live in Colton Mains.’’

‘‘Really? I’m in the Avenue,’’ you say, surprised he lives only a block from you. The fact you hadn’t seen him before was astonishing, though you weren’t always the most observant of people.

‘‘We’re practically neighbours,’’ he replies, grinning.

‘‘Apparently so.’’

‘‘Are you working tomorrow?’’ he asks, as you are approaching the junction of both streets.

‘‘No, I’m off now until Monday,’’ you reply. ‘‘Thanks for walking me home, it was really nice meeting you.’’

‘‘Your welcome,’’ he grins. ‘‘It was nice meeting you too, and… I look forward to getting that drink with you,’’ he says laughing, while backing away towards his street.

You laugh. ‘‘Goodnight Adymn’’ you say, walking towards home.

You hear him call goodnight from behind you and lift your hand in a wave. That was an unexpectedly pleasant end to your day, and you wonder if he was serious about going out for a drink. Probably not, you think sighing, it was likely that he was just being friendly. You weren’t that lucky, men like him weren’t interested in girls like you.

When Monday rolls around, you are happy to go into work. Charlotte returns today, which means business as usual for you. Now without a car, you end up walking to work and are disappointed not to see Adymn on your route. Passing the phone shop, you peer in to check if you can see him, but there’s no sign of him. Chastising yourself for acting like a teenage girl with a crush, you high tail it into work.

The day goes slowly, but there’s no terrible customers or awful phone calls to make. You catch Charlotte up on what’s she missed and watch as she flutters around the store ignoring the customers that have only come in to gawk at her. You honestly didn’t envy her, it must get incredibly frustrating to be gawked at all day and to know people are only interested in you because of your looks. You really wish you could have half of her confidence and elegance though.

Just as you’re finishing up and collecting your belongings, preparing yourself for the walk home, Charlotte flutters into the back room with a cheeky smirk on her face.

‘‘You have a really hot male out front asking for you,’’ she squeals, her voice even more higher pitched than normal.

‘‘I do?’’ you ask, feeling surprised. ‘‘Are you sure they're asking for me?’’

‘‘Of course I’m sure. He asked for you by name.’’

‘‘Well, what does he look like?’’ you ask, zipping up your bag and putting it over your shoulder.

‘‘Tall, muscular, eight eyes and legs, oh, and a stinger in his tail,’’ she replies smirking.

Adymn? Feeling your stomach flutter, you peer around the door of the back room and see that it is in fact Adymn. He’s standing beside the counter eyeing the shoes on display with what looks like mild interest, no doubt trying to ignore the gawking stare of your fellow colleague Amy. As you leave the back room, you see his head swivel in your direction and he grins widely upon seeing you.

‘‘Adymn. What are you doing here?’’ You ask him curiously.

‘‘I wasn’t sure if you had gotten your car fixed... Thought you might need company to walk you home again,’’ he replies.

‘‘Aww, isn’t he a gentleman,’’ Charlotte whispers behind you.

You know that Adymn has heard her though as he grins widely again, flashing his sharp teeth. Feeling yourself blush, you say, ‘‘No car. I’ll be walking for the foreseeable future.’’

‘‘Let me walk you home then,’’ he says.

Nodding, you say goodbye to Charlotte and Amy, and lead him out of the store, hearing them giggle behind you.

‘‘Thanks for this. You really didn’t have to though.’’ You say, looking at Adymn.

‘‘I know, but I wanted to… we’re going in the same direction anyway,’’ he says smiling. ‘‘So… what happened with your car?’’

‘‘Nothing,’’ you huff. ‘‘Turns out it would cost more than the car is worth to get it fixed, so I decided to scrap it. I’ve thought about saving for a new one but living in the city, a car really isn’t necessary.’’

‘‘Well, I’m happy to walk you home from work any time.’’

Thanking him again, you make light conversation during the rest of your walk home. He tells you how his day at work has gone and you tell him about yours. As you part he reminds you that he still expects to go out for that drink at some point. You mumble and nod in agreement but still aren’t sure if he’s serious.

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

Over the next two weeks you follow the same pattern, you go to work and Adymn walks you home, where you then flop on to the sofa watching crappy television and tucking in to whatever you’ve decided to make for dinner. Adymn hasn’t mentioned going for a drink again which, for you, confirms your thoughts that he was just being friendly. It’s disappointing though as the more time you spend getting to know him, the more you find you like him. Not only is he both sweet and cheeky, but you actually have a fair bit in common and it doesn’t hurt that he looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine.

Your colleagues aren’t helping matters either, as they keep asking if he’s asked you out yet, despite your objections that he doesn’t look at you in that way. As Friday rolls around and you're at work tidying the shop floor, you hear Charlotte flutter up beside you. Crossing all four of her arms, she looks at you expectantly.

‘‘What?’’ You ask, looking down at the display you’re fixing, wondering if you’ve missed something.

‘‘What do you think?’’ she says, wiggling her antennae. When you just shrug, she scoffs. ‘‘Please tell me you’ve jumped that tall glass of sweet nectar already.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘I’m talking of Adymn, darling,’’ she replies with a sigh.

Blushing, you hear Amy giggling at the counter. ‘‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’’ you say, fiddling with the display trying to avoid her seeing your blush.

‘‘Your not that dense, darling. That man is crazy about you, he walks you home from work everyday for goodness sake… I just don’t understand why you haven’t done anything about it.’’

‘‘He’s just being nice, we’re practically neighbours. It’s kind of him but not that much of a hardship, doesn’t mean he’s interested in me,’’ you say confidently.

‘‘Girl you are dense!’’ She replies, flicking you on your nose.

‘‘Ow!’’ You exclaim. ‘‘What was that for?’’

‘‘For being so stupid,’’ she replies, you know if she could roll her eyes she would be doing it now. ‘‘I know for a fact that man waits for you to finish up here everyday, and even comes in on his days off just so he can walk you home.’’

Feeling shocked by this bombshell, you let her usher you towards the back room, staring at her in disbelief. Your not sure what expression is on your face, but you assume it must be amusing as Amy giggles as you pass her.

‘‘Wh-what? How do you know all this?’’ You ask.

‘‘I’m very good at getting information out of people, darling... So I spoke to his boss,’’ she replies, handing you your bag.

‘‘You did what?’’ You splutter.

‘‘I spoke to his boss. Darling, if you thought I’d just let some stranger walk my best employee home every night without trying to find out everything about him… then you don’t know me at all,’’ she titters.

Feeling touched and just a little bit annoyed, you let her usher you back through the shop.

‘‘Now you are going to go get your man and take him home, where you are to keep him all weekend... I fully expect you to phone in sick on Monday unable to walk properly,’’ she says, practically pushing you out of the shop.

Feeling overwhelmed, you slowly walk in a daze down to the phone shop. Through the glass you see Adymn helping a customer and decide to take a seat on the bench outside of the shop. As you watch him work, you think about what Charlotte said about jumping him and feel yourself blush. Was it even possible for the two of you to be intimate you think frowning, you had no idea what kind of equipment he was packing. Judging on his size it must be huge though.

Cursing Charlotte for even putting those thoughts in your head, you try in vain to calm yourself down and think of something else. You still weren’t convinced Adymn thought of you in that way and even if he did it still wouldn’t do for him to find you sitting here all flustered. Thankfully by the time Adymn leaves work you’re much more composed. Standing up, you watch as he spots you and grins widely.

‘‘Hi,’’ you smile.

‘‘Hey. You’re finished early,’’ he says questionly, coming to stand beside you.

‘‘Yeah, we were quiet so Charlotte let me go early.’’

‘‘Lucky you. I wish I’d gotten out early. I don’t know what’s gotten into people today but our customers have been a nightmare,’’ he says with a sigh.

Leaping on this opportunity, feeling just a little nervous, you say, ‘‘Sounds like you’re in need of a drink.’’

‘‘Definitely… Will you join me? You did promise after all,’’ he says, back to grinning again.

‘‘I don’t remember promising… but sure, I could go for a drink,’’ you reply, smiling at him.

‘‘Awesome. Want to go home first and eat or shall we eat out?’’

‘‘I don’t mind,’’ you say, looking down at your clothes checking if you’re still presentable.

‘‘Let’s eat out,’’ he says, taking your arm and leading you in a direction opposite from home. ‘‘Have you ever been to Bennys?’’

When you shake your head in the negative, he tells you that Bennys serves the best Italian food in the city though it also serves other types of food. Letting him lead you in the right direction, you just listen to him talk about the restaurant, overjoyed that going for a drink has somehow turned into a dinner date.

When you get to the restaurant the host, a pretty tiefling girl, greets Adymn by name. After leading you to a table and taking your drink order, she tells Adymn that she’ll let Benny know that he’s here, before dashing off with a smile. Raising a brow in question at Adymn, you feel your stomach flutter when he laughs heartily.

‘‘I spent a lot of time here as a student,’’ he explains, still laughing whilst adjusting his legs so that he’s in a somewhat seated position.

‘‘Enough time that you know the owner?’’ you ask curiously as you scan the menu.

‘‘Not exactly. Me and Benny go way back, we were friends at school but we don’t get to see much of each other any more… He’s so busy running this place he rarely has any free time,’’ he says, smiling fondly.

A minotaur, with the largest horns you’ve ever seen, soon comes out of the kitchen and rushes over hugging Adymn tightly. Assuming him to be Benny, you smile politely as they greet each other. Benny soon turns to you beaming and shaking your hand so enthusiastically when Adymn introduces you, that you lose all feeling in your fingers.

‘‘Adymn, I'm honoured you’ve brought a date here but what does she see in a runt like you?’’ Benny guffaws.

Runt? You wonder curiously. Adymn just laughs with Benny though and doesn’t address the date statement which pleases you. They talk for a minute before Benny excuses himself, returning to the kitchen and Adymn smiles at you bashfully.

‘‘Sorry about that… I know Benny can be… overwhelming,’’ he says jokingly, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘‘Nothing to be sorry for, he seemed nice. Though I have to ask, why would he call you a runt?’’ You ask, eyeing him. Runt, would be the last word you’d ever use to describe him.

‘‘That was his nickname for me in school. I was a lot smaller back then and Benny towered over me. Despite the fact I soon caught up, he never stopped using the name,’’ he replies, smiling.

That was kinda sweet, though you struggle to imagine Adymn ever being that small. The waitress comes over to take your food order and you and Adymn discuss your school experiences before moving on to how you both got into the jobs you currently have. When dinner is done, you move on to a bar close by where you spend most of the evening dancing rather than drinking. Adymn dances surprisingly well for a creature with eight legs but he’s very well coordinated and spins you and tips you over his arm so often you end up getting dizzy. Still, you don’t think you have laughed as often or as hard in years.

Outside, it has gotten cold, and you shiver as you leave the bar to return home. Adymn tucks you in to his side to try and shield you from the biting breeze, and you shiver for a different reason when his claws scrape gently over you arm. As he rubs his hand across your arm trying to keep you warm, you can’t help but blush remembering Charlotte's suggestion earlier today.

‘‘It’s starting to get really cold at night now,’’ you say to him, hoping he doesn’t notice your pink cheeks.

‘‘Mmm… Yeah,’’ he says, sounding distracted before smiling. ‘‘Autumns nearly over, soon enough it will be Christmas.’’

‘‘Do you have plans for Christmas?’’

‘‘Not yet... You?’’ He asks, smiling down at you.

‘‘Not really,’’ you reply. ‘‘What’s got you so distracted?’’

‘‘Mmm… Oh. I was just thinking is all,’’ he says, smiling awkwardly, searching your eyes. When you press him, he laughs. ‘‘I was just wondering what made you finally agree to go for a drink with me.’’

‘‘Well… the first couple of times you mentioned it, I wasn’t sure if you were actually serious, then you never asked again, but after some… encouragement from my boss, I…’’ you say, breaking off and laughing self-consciously.

‘‘Ah. I’ll need to remember to thank her on Monday then.’’

‘‘Please don’t. Seriously, she does not need any more encouragement,’’ you say, laughing.

Laughing, he gives your hand a squeeze. ‘‘Well I’m still glad she did. Honestly, after you brushed me off the first time and didn’t acknowledge it the second time, I just figured you weren’t interested.’’

‘‘No… I’m definitely interested,’’ you say, grasping his hand more firmly.

Adymn smiles. ‘‘That’s good. Now I know I’m not the only one.’’

You walk the rest of the way home in silence, stopping when you get to the junction between your two streets, where Adymn turns to look at you. ‘‘I’ll walk you to your door tonight, I mean unless you want to come back to mine for coffee? I know it’s technically our first date…’’ he says rambling, until you laugh softly.

‘‘I’d love a coffee,’’ you say laughing, and directing him in the direction of his street. ‘‘We can call this our eleventh date.’’

‘‘Eleventh?’’ He asks questionly.

‘‘This is the eleventh time you’ve walked me home.’’

‘‘So it is,’’ he smiles.

You gaze around curiously inside his home, seeing he has a lot of pictures of friends scattered around. You pick up one of him and you assume Benny as children from the mantle, looking at it curiously. You can see now why Benny called him a runt, he was half his size back then. Putting it back down, you gaze at the picture beside it in interest. It’s a picture of Adymn as a young boy, and he’s being held by two orc women.

‘‘Those are my mums, I was adopted,’’ he explains, smiling fondly.

Smiling back at him gently, you start to ask him something before getting distracted by the guitar sitting in the corner. ‘‘I didn’t know you could play guitar?’’ You say curiously.

‘‘I used to, I don’t play very often any more but I think I could still serenade you,’’ he laughs.

‘‘That’s not necessary but I would like to hear you play some time,’’ you say, smiling at him.

‘‘I think that could be arranged. Do you… actually want a coffee?’’ He asks, looking at you curiously.

‘‘No,’’ you whisper, shaking your head.

Smiling he takes your face in his hands and leans down to place a soft kiss on your lips which turns your legs to jelly. Pulling away slightly, he looks at you questioningly, his eight eyed gaze intense. Seeing the answer in your expression, he kisses you again, moving his hands down to your waist. His pincers, which have been clasped together up until this point suddenly grasp at your thighs and he uses them to raise you higher. You gasp as your feet leave the floor, but you feel totally secure with his arms around your waist and his pincers around your thighs.

As the kiss deepens, Adymn backs you against the wall, groaning. Feeling completely surrounded, your arousal grows and you moan against his lips. Managing to slip a hand between your bodies, you start stripping him of his shirt and he moves his lips down to your neck nibbling and scraping at it with his teeth. Shirt off, you run your hands down his chest and when your hands stroke at the point his human torso meets the hard smoothness of his scorpion part he draws away from your neck gasping harshly.

Kissing you again and nipping at your lips, he carries you through to his bedroom, flicking the light switch on and putting you down to start stripping off your clothes. Unsteady on your feet, you rush to help him get all your clothes off. Adymn gives you no time to feel self conscious as he tips you back to lie on the bed and starts playing with your breasts while kissing and nipping at your collar bone. Carefully he runs a clawed finger gently across your folds causing you to moan.

‘‘Your so wet for me,’’ he growls. ‘‘Can I taste you?’’

‘‘Please,’’ you moan, trying to pull him down to you impatiently.

Chuckling, he lowers his body to the floor and leaning over watching you carefully, runs his tongue just once across your clit. ‘‘Adymn please,’’ you gasp, grasping at his hair. Taking mercy, his hands knead your thighs while his tongue works over and over your clit until he has you gasping and writhing on the bed. Holding your thighs down now, he starts sucking at your clit, feeling close to coming you let go of his hair, to grasp at the bed. ‘‘Adymn,’’ you cry out, coming hard with your body convulsing and vision going white.

Adymn continues to lick you as you come down from your high, pulling away with a small chuckle when you gasp and buck against him. ‘‘You taste delicious,’’ he groans, rising up to stand. You can see his cock has dropped down from the space in between his pincers. It’s black, long and segmented with varying degrees of thickness, thickest at the base with a pointed tip.

Sitting up, you take it in your hand studying it intently. It’s not dissimilar to his tail you think amusedly, giving him an experimental squeeze. Hearing him groan you look up at him to see his stomach muscles have tensed and his tail is thrashing behind him. Leaning forward you lick the tip of his cock tasting him, he tastes bitter like black coffee with a hint of sweetness, and you moan taking his tip in your mouth sucking gently.

Cursing, he gathers your hair in hand, pulling at it slightly. ‘‘Is this is okay?’’ He asks you groaning, bucking gently working his cock further into your mouth. You hum in agreement around him and hear the claws of his pincers knock together. He plays with your breasts with his other hand as you suck at him, pinching and pulling at your nipples, causing you to moan around him. He lets you suck him for awhile, mumbling incoherently before pulling you back, breathing heavily. ‘‘Please,’’ he gasps. ‘‘Can I come inside you?’’

Meeting his eyes, you see they look glazed and unfocused. ‘‘Yes… please,’’ you moan lying back on the bed. He rears up on the bed with his front legs and gently gripping your thighs with his pincers, he pushes them up to your chest before taking your hands in his own. Moaning as his cocks rubs against your folds, you meet his gaze as he slowly works inside of you. He rolls his hips lazily to begin with, biting his lip, his gaze finally leaving yours to look down at where your joined.

Following his gaze down, you see that he has yet to put the last segment of his cock inside of you and you groan in wonder. You already feel so full and he isn’t even all the way in yet. Adymn picks up the pace slightly but still remains focused, wanting him to lose control you squeeze and tighten around him. When he gasps sharply and slows rather than go faster, you plead, ‘‘Please Adymn, faster.’’

You moan when he picks up speed and works the rest of his cock inside of you, inhaling deeply as the last segment pops inside. It’s a tight fit and you feel it pinch slightly, but that’s soon forgotten as he works faster inside of you starting to lose control. ‘‘Your so tight. You feel incredible,’’ he growls, rutting harder.

Seeing stars you moan and gasp, crying out as you come, tightening around his cock. Adymn cries out and growls coming deep inside of you, drawing out your own orgasm. Breathing heavily, he lets his tail clatter to the floor, before slowly pulling out of you. His pincers let go of your thighs and he drops his body to the floor, resting his arms and head against bed. Turning to lie diagonally across the bottom of the bed, you stroke his hair while trying to catch your breath. Adymn gasps suddenly taking your thighs in hands.

‘‘I’m so sorry,’’ he gasps, rubbing at your thighs gently.

‘‘What for?’’ You ask confused.

‘‘I’ve hurt you,’’ he says, clearly upset.

Looking down, you see that he has left deep red marks where his pincers gripped at your thighs. ‘‘I didn’t even feel it... It doesn’t hurt.’’ You assure him, giving him a kiss. ‘‘Now, get up here and get some sleep. You’ll need your strength for later,’’ you giggle.

Chuckling, he stands up, wobbling slightly, his legs still unsteady. ‘‘Let me clean you up first,’’ he says, leaving the room briefly. He returns with a damp cloth and two bottles of water, one of which he hands to you before using the cloth to clean you. He chuckles as you moan when the cloth passes over your clit. Tossing the cloth aside and after turning the light off, he arranges himself on the bed, and you wait for him to get comfortable before settling beside him. ‘‘I’m really glad I was in the car park that day,’’ he says, stroking your hair.

‘‘Me too,’’ you chuckle before yawning tiredly. You're also really glad Charlotte told you to take Monday off because you just might need to you think, before falling asleep.

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Thanks for reading folks! As always, if you enjoyed it please reblog it. (It really helps writers reach a wider audience and helps readers find new writers.) Likes/Comments are also much appreciated :D

My Masterlist

[bobbyyoungsworld]

UBER FOR TOW TRUCKS – THE SEAMLESS MOBILE APPLICATION FOR ON-DEMAND TOWING AND ROAD SIDE ASSISTANCE!

Streamline your towing business operations right away with the adoption of on-demand tow truck app solutions from our side…

Getting stuck with a situation that our car breaks down in the middle of a journey is quite normal and of course everybody has to cross it at any point. Yet, there is no need to worry or getting anxious about the situation; we have to remind one thing that we are now living in such a world where any kind of service can be opted out online and getting your car towed will not be actually a big deal.

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Uber for tow trucks is basically a towing service app available in the market to get on-demand roadside assistance at ease.They are the mobile versions supporting the on-demand culture and have come up to help the people who are in need of towing service. They provide a seamless towing experience to the users who are taking the on-demand roadside assistance at times of their vehicle breakdowns.

Why need on-demand mobile apps like uber for tow trucks?

Uber’s on-demand towing business model uber for tow trucks is the best solution for adopting quality rich towing service right at a reasonable budget ever. It is pretty hard for any start-up to introduce a long-lasting connect between the customers and the trucking service providers to enable towing to be getting done at times when there are unexpected breakdowns.

Here is where the towing mobile apps like uber for tow trucks come in with a significant advantage of providing reliable road side assistance in an efficient cum simple way. The tow truck mobile apps help the customers in reaching out to a towing service provider whenever and wherever they want just in one or two clicks in the app.

A single mobile application can have the scope of attracting a huge targeted customer base. It is usually available in the form of a robust towing software solution that can drive the entrepreneurs crazy towards getting ample profit in no time.

Features of on-demand road side assistance apps:

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· Addition of vehicle types: the customers can add vehicles of their choice as much as they want. Say for example, a bike, a car or a truck and so on. They can add the respective model and reg.no of the added vehicles in the list. This in turn will help the towing service providers get to know about the customers and the services that they are in need of.

· Sharing of locations: This feature permits the customers to share their vehicle pick up points or locations to the service providers so that the service providers can get into the shared location for providing the on-demand towing services that the customers require.

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· Charges info: the charges appropriate to the towing services that the customers have availed in the app are shown in detail via this feature.

· Pay-out options: the customers can have the facility of making pay-outs via multiple payment modes or gateways including credit or debit card payments, cash payments and wallet payments. If the customer is having enough funds in his wallet to pay right for a service he opted out for in the app, then he can make use of it; else he can go out for making payments either via cash or cards.

· Service ratings: Here, the customers are allowed to rate the app and the service that they get. By the way, they have the opportunity to share their feedback about the seamless experience they had with the app and the relevant service provider.This can boost up the overall quality of the services provided by the app thus resulting in an enhanced user base.

2. For the towing service providers:

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· Status of availability: the availability toggle within the app depicts the status of the truck drivers whether they are online or offline. If the toggle is on, then the driver is in the online state and is ready to accept the requests raised from the customers’ side and vice versa.

· Service info: This feature provides the service providers with the overall service details like the type of the vehicle, location of pick up and some others once upon getting the requests from the customers.

· Route map: This helps the drivers navigate the exact routes (in-built route navigation) with which they are going to provide the towing services.

· Payouts in hand: Here is where the drivers can collect their service delivery payouts on time by having the invoice summary generated for the service opted by the customer.

3. For the admins:

· Safer sign-in with 2FA: As the admin dashboard is the responsible section for the entire app and the service maintenance, it needs to be logged in securely only by the authorized admins. Hence the login option is designed in a very safe and secure way ever to meet the security issues that are about to raise here.

· Admin dashboard: This feature reveals the overall highlights, service listings and key business metrics to be maintained and managed effectively in the app.

· Fleet management: the admins can efficiently manage the tow truck fleets in the app in real time. Additions or deletions are also entertained in this section for frequent updates to be made. On-Demand Roadside Assistance app

· Maintenance of customer details: This feature helps the admins keep track of the record of all the customer info including their order request details, request status, payout details and ratings/reviews.

· Maintenance of service provider details: Here, the admins are allowed to have a track record of all the driver info including their service adoption and completion details, feedbacks and payments accepted and so on.

· Management of promos: Every business today avails some coupon codes or promo offers to the customers to gain their trust and attention. This feature makes the admins send such promos to the customers as and when needed and those can be sent either in the form of push notifications or messages or emails and so on.

· Fixing of rates: This is the feature that helps in setting the service fares so that both the customers and the service providers can get to know about the details of the pricings for every service listed out in the app. The pricings usually depend on the type and nature of the service, vehicle pickup points and distances, total time consumption for service recoveries and so on. On Demand Towing App Development like uber

· Analytics: the maintenance of the overall business analytics is of vital importance and this is what this feature offers.

[thegeneralsnotebook]

Adventures in Deckbuilding #190: Spike, The Brave and Glorious (Orange/Pink Control) [Harmony]

Spike, The Brave and Glorious

Desert Roadside Attractions

Sideboard Convention: Trade-off between very hard control and slightly more midrange-y

I had a couple of interesting thoughts coming into building for Spike this week. I’m not entirely where the desire to build Orange/Pink originally came from, because even before I had really put any thought into the Mane, I knew that those two colours were where I wanted to work. Part of it I think is that I feel like over the course of the whole of Adventure I’ve never really crafted a deck that properly put these two colours together. They are absolutely strong colours when put together, but my decks had almost always focused on gimmicks that didn’t turn out to be particularly useful at all. For that reason I’ve tended to avoid pairing the colours together in the past, but this week I decided that I wanted to try to rectify that.

Now, I was speaking about gimmicks. While the role in which this Spike found all of his infamy was one that relied entirely on the Start side of the card, that synergy is now gone, and the Boosted side isn’t so bad either. Funnily enough though, whereas a few years it seemed like dismissal was all over the place, these days it actually isn’t the way that most Friends will leave play. Even in Harmony, Yellow is the ruler of the roost right now, and as we all know it gets rid of Friends by returning them to hand, and that is an attack that Spike offers no defense against. But, even so, the part of his text that mentions Resources can still be very useful, as most Resources leave play by getting dismissed. When it comes to Resources that Spike will want to defend, Desert Road is the #1 on the list.

That opened the door to a control deck very easily. With Desert Road in play, almost all Friend-based forms of Resource removal are countered, as is our old friend Mage Meadowbrook. With Spike, even Event-based Resource removal will only work if the opponent has multiple cards to use up, as the first will only get absorbed by our Mane. Maybe not such a big deal, at least until we manage to get one or two Mimics out, and now the opponent has to use an extreme amount of AT just to deal with our one card, or accept that all of their enters-play Friends are moot so long as Desert Road stays out. A gimmick it may be, but for once this feels like a strong one.

Now flipping Spike over in the first place is an important consideration, but luckily for us he only requires that we play cards, not something more restrictive like Friends. Therefore, our early Troublemaker plays will go a long way toward getting our Mane flipped over. Singing Barrel is also a big help for Spike, as it’s a card that can be played as many times as we like when needed. Acting essentially as a 1-AT do nothing card isn’t great, but the fact that it can be returned to hand and replayed means that later in the game it will be very easy for us to keep Spike on the right side all of the time.

So as far as threats to control go, we’ve now dealt with the big Friends, what about Dilemmas? Well, luckily Orange and Pink do have pretty good removal answers when paired together. Breakdown remains an amazing removal tool, especially when paired with the exhaustion tools that Orange still has access to. The colours combined together have a good suite of Immediate-speed Events as well, so that if the opponent sets up a Dilemma and wants to bust through, we can put a stop to it. And then on our turn their assets get whittled away by our removal, and we’re sitting just as secure as ever.

I’d wonder if perhaps a deck could use a little bit of card draw. Given a chance to experiment, that could easily be determined, and luckily we’re already in the right colour to make that happen. Otherwise though, I feel pretty good about this list. It has the longevity to survive a long game, and that ability to stick a Desert Road and nearly guarantee its survival should be debilitating to enemy aggro decks. Spike’s time in the spotlight may have passed, but I think he deserves more play than he sees at the moment. He’s still a fine card, and just maybe with some of the better tools that Orange will be getting in New Dawn, Harmony may see a bit more of him.

Next week will be another Pauper list. For those unaware, every week when I roll a new Mane, so long as the Mane itself is Pauper legal, there is also a 20% chance the deck will have to be Pauper. And this time, that roll has come up for Octavia, Standing Ovation!

[entry-85-blog]

4

These are things Toby thought about when he tried to fall asleep and it certainly never helped him and his vivid dreams. Dreams filled with slamming, slapping and tearing of his garments. Dreams to real and true and blended into reality like the trees blended into the facade of the roadside wired fences, woven with vines and ivy. Dreams he didn’t like talking about with his therapist. If he had friends he wouldn’t tell them about them either. Dream which could only be described as pungent and foul. Dreams that made him dread sleep and ever since he could dictate safely his own bed time, he became a self pronounced insomniac. His sick comforts like that hazy and mindless feeling as he would “play pretend” and “wake up” to do home-school work and shove dry cereal in his mouth only to then type at his keyboard, words to the computer screen. He had to finish his quota of 2 hours of work. He would then vegetate on his Tourettes medication for a few hours, like of like a sleepless nap and then he would go hiking in the woods for the rest of the day. He had more hobbies when he was less stressed. When his father was nicer and less terse with him. When he had to protect Connie and Lyrah less and as he watched the ceiling fan make yet another spin he heard the fragile voice of his mother call him down for dinner. Awfully late for dinner he thought as he grabbed the crutches to give him stability to stand and make his way down the stairs and then to the kitchen table. Wearing a pair of grippy socks with a few holes in them, bright yellow with white tread, which made a soft little squeaky noise on the hardwood floor. He then sat down and adjusted himself. Looking down at a plate of waffles and then looking towards his mother and father confused. He looked at them with a face of disgust his father didn’t expect. Connie stood up and left the room knowing why Toby was bothered. “Y-you made this, right dad?” Toby asked as calmly as he could. “Mom doesn’t know how to use the iron pan…” His father gave him a jeering smile which was enough of an answer to Toby’s question, if not a full on in his face confirmation. A silent mocking ‘YES TOBY!’. “I don’t like these because they would make them every morning at the psych place… they didn’t treat me nicely… you know that right?” His voice was slurred and a bit spitty as he spoke. He tried to clear it up as best as he could to make some kind of attempt to be taken seriously by his father, but in the end Toby knew this wouldn’t end well. His father burped and drunkenly laughed afterward. By then Connie left the room avoiding the situation. Toby looked at his father and stood up and left the table to go back to his bedroom to avoid the conflict. There was no reason for his father to do that other than instigation. After Lyrah, after his mother's breakdown in the hospital, and his father only speaking of money. It was rather clear his father was out to get him. Always neglecting his children. Remembering Lyrah needed glasses and the family had a history of bad eyes and neurological conditions. Connie always felt bad and never wanted kids because she would inevitably pass that down to them. “Lyrah is developing Cataracts and surgery is really expensive Toby… Your dad and I have to manage the funds to be able to afford it but for the time being we are going to get her special glasses, okay?” Standing up and leaving the room was a statement of him acknowledging his father’s disrespect towards him. His neglect and show of knowing what he’s done and showing it off like some kind of trophy. Connie left because she didn’t want to get hurt and Toby left because he wanted to avoid conflict so he hobbled up without the crutches with is snapped ankles up to the stairway. His father quickly tailing after. “Don’t you want to eat Toby? You must be hungry…” “I’d… really rather not-” “Come on I made it for you!” His father said almost too sugary and sweet. “Dad the syrup is going to make my mouth infection worse. Please no.” Toby made a step up the stairs when his father shoved a hand forward crossing the banister blocking Toby’s path. Toby looked behind him at his father's wide grin and squinted eyes and kicked him backward and frantically dashed up the stairs to his room running on his broken ankles and then closed the door on him, locking it afterward.

[darklightsworld]

Okay, so once again a Lanyon book is keeping my mind busy… The fourth book in The Art of Murder series was released a few days ago, I devoured it immediately, and now I’m trying to figure it out while dreading the fact that the final book will take more than a year. Below is a long (I mean loooooong) gushing and rant with spoilers, and it doesn’t really make sense for non-readers, so the J key is your friend. I just want to get this out of my system XD;

I like The Art of Murder series, I like hot-and-cold behavioral analyst Sam Kennedy (45-46) and not-just-a-pretty-face, devoted-to-protect-art Jason West (33-34), I like them together, I like how they try to make their relationship work (when they do), I like how they change. Sure, there are still a lot of reasons for shaking my head, like Jason doing stupid things, being too stubborn and irresponsible, and being really angry with Sam usually makes him pretty blind and prone to more stupid actions. And Sam is just Sam, set in his ways, lone ranger, totally inept at making a relationship work, even fights it with all he has, black and white views, great at his job but unable to understand his and Jason’s feelings in many conflicts and prone to shut off completely. But I love them nonetheless.

Now, how does it look like as a series? The first book, The Mermaid Murders, was amazing! Intriguing crime and mystery, it had to do with Jason’s past, so we got to know him a bit, while Sam was a mystery and generally a difficult guy. Dislike at first sight for both, but they can’t keep their paws off each other, and regardless of how Sam fights it, it does not end in his usually “catch and release”. The way they got closed was fascinating. All round a gripping read from the first pages till the very end.

The second book, The Monet Murders, was equally exciting. Interesting mystery, we learned more about Jason, his work and also his family. The mystery/crime was interesting and complex, and the overarching plots were set in motion. Relationship-wise it was an intense book. The boys had a long-distance phone relationship for eight months (wow 0_0), but Sam decided to end it - without telling Jason about it ^^;;; The boys weren’t together in the first half of the book, but it was still interesting, because regardless of Sam ending it, he couldn’t let go at all, and he’s willing to go at great lengths for Jason - even when he claimed he wanted to break up. He’s reactions are so telling - except for Jason ^^; (Best quote in relation to that: “Dōmo arigatō, Mr. Roboto” XDDD) Extra fun: the story runs parallel to Winter Kill (I still have some grievance about how that book and the Roadside Ripper case was wrapped up - especially because it was important for Sam too)

Third book, The Magician Murders. It was different, but still very good. The murder case of the book wasn’t all that exciting, but the book was more relationship centric. The boys were together a lot, and despite the problems they and their relationship grew a lot, and most importantly we got to know more about Sam, his family, background, motivations and his tragic first love. The overarching stalker plot had important twists and an evil, goose bump-inducing ending. There were two main conflicts: Jason not realizing/admitting, that he’s under shock and his judgment is not the best. The other is that Sam withholds some information and tries to make decisions about Jason without consulting him - which is mostly because he’s aware of Jason’s limited abilities after his trauma, so the main point was that he could not communicate it. I always thought Jason was overreacting to this (”It feels like I don’t know you” - WTF?!), but they resolved it and they came out stronger.

So how was the fourth book, The Monuments Men Murders after these? Interestingly after reading I liked it (although it was clear it was by far not as good as the previous ones), but the more time passed the more confused I was about it. The good: the boys are happily together in the first half of the book, it’s totally loving, nice, Sam is happier, totally deredere, it’s just right - although the sex scene is a major lackluster and only two pages long, which is a huge change from the previous books. Okay, we get cuddles and talking in bed, sleeping together and stuff, but still, it’s not enough. I only realized after skimming through the previous books again, but there are a lot of references to previous things (aside from the outright mentioned first sex and others), like now Sam leaves a note when he goes jogging in the morning, and he also won’t bother trying to wake Jason with knocking, because he’s a deep sleeper. Sam was also once again expecting Jason to call him when he was in a dangerous situation regardless of the catastrophic state of their relationship, and once again he didn’t understand why Jason didn’t want his help XD;;;; They have come a long way... and not XD;;;

The problem even with the happy first half is, that everything is overshadowed by Jason’s idiotic actions, because you know it from the first pages that it will blow up. It’s like watching a train wreck... Jason’s current case implies his grandfather might have had been part of a crime, and instead of pulling out of the case, he takes the morally and ethically wrong choice and investigates himself compromising the case. Tbh this time I could not sympathize with Jason on any level. His reasoning to himself, the way he convinces himself it’s okay what he does, the way he doesn’t see he’s wrong even when it blows up with Sam is irritating, and I have no understanding for him - except for the fact that his judgment might be influenced by the stress from the ongoing stalker issue. But yeah, that would be an exaggerated repetition of the third book’s conflict. All in all this whole thing made me like Jason less, and I kind of hope he gets his ass kicked for everything he has done.

I could totally understand that Sam was very angry and disappointed, and also that he didn’t want to see him for a while (although it was a bit extreme that he questioned the foundations of their relationship - we got a deja vu for the “It feels like I don’t know you“, and it didn’t make more sense this time either). On the other hand what I couldn’t really understand was how Jason assumed Sam was shutting him out and turning his feelings off again when Sam was clearly suffering??? And how he was once again eager to throw the relationship away saying they can’t go on like this - like, heh??? You fucked up, but you’re fed up, when you only gave Sam one-two days to tackle it??? And Sam has to come to you and literally beg you??? The thing is, we already had all this before, and it didn’t make any sense to do it once again. Of course they will be even stronger after another crisis like this, but it was completely unnecessary.

The case itself was also a lackluster. For instance it was just one murder, not murders, and it was very simple, not like the complex (or seemingly complex) cases from before. Sure, the art rescuing tidbits and the Vermeer stuff was interesting, but there should have been much more. Btw, the book was very short, less than 200 pages, so that also explains the simplicity, but it does not make it good. More pages, more complex case. Since the previous books all allowed us to learn more about the boys and their pasts I was expecting the same here, for example many memories about Jason and his grandfather, but we got nothing, and this was a problem with the book too. And speaking of investigation... that was a wreck too. Many important facts were found off screen by JJ, and more often than not Jason was absentminded and preoccupied with clearing his grandfather’s name to really do the investigation (so yeah, Sam was right). Yeah, this whole thing was not necessary, or it would have been better if Jason has a breakdown or something to explain or give it a reason, but in the end his issues aren’t even mentioned in relation to his blowup. It was also a pity/mistake that Sam and Jason did not take part in each others cases in any way, also because Sam wasn’t even there for solving a case...

A pleasant surprise was JJ, though, ongoing asshole since Winter Kill, but here he redeemed himself quite a bit, and it was nice to see the partnership between him and Jason getting better. Unpleasant surprise was one of Sam’s previous “mission only“ bed partners. Yeah, we knew he had many of those and it was unavoidable, but aside from the meeting and talking about it with Sam once it was unnecessary. Jason knows, we know Sam doesn’t care, there was no dangerous development, so further mention was useless.

All in all, while I liked to have more about Sam and Jason, because I love them (I don’t do patreon but I’m considering to pay one month for their extras...), this book was not really necessary for them, and yeah, it could have, should have been much-much better. After reading it I skimmed over the previous three books, and once again I re-confirmed just how amazing they are and re-readable all the time - while I’m less inclined to re-read the fourth one. Now I only hope the final volume will be a good one. No more relationship crisis, and I want to have a solution for the stalker issue, the forgery case (tbh one of these should have been resolved in the fourth book, preferably the forgery one) and a realistic plan for Sam and Jason’s future.

Btw the images are from the sample of the Japanese edition of The Mermaid Murders. First it seemed strange, but it grew on me. I would love to see he other illustrations as well *__*

[president-frankenstein]

Atsubita 1-15 pls and thank!

thanks dude! and im just letting yall know im still taking these! (the fandoms are osomatsu san, ducktales 2017, camp lazlo, regular show, duckman, and maybe whatever else people ask for!)

1. Who cooks?

They take turns, I’d say!

Chibita of course makes some killer oden, but he’ll make other things like miso soup and teriyaki salmon at home too.

Atsushi does a lot of travelling in his job, so he’s learned a lot of recipes and they come from all parts of the world.

And they’re both super appreciative of each other’s cooking.

Chibita remarks that American-style pancakes are basically dessert, but that doesn’t stop him from eating them, lol.

2. Who’s the messiest? The cleanest?

Chibita’s very clean by nature, he can’t even throw a shirt on the bed without unnecessarily feeling guilty and folding it up.

Atsushi was surrounded by nannies and cleaning ladies as a child, but picks up the pace as soon as possible so Chibita doesn’t get to clean after him first, as he knows Chibita will try.

(Chibita puts on a bandanna and sings when he mops, Atsushi thinks it’s the cutest thing.)

3. Who fixes the vehicle after a breakdown

Chibita, much as Atsushi would like to call for roadside assistance.

He’s actually needed to fix his little moped himself before, and he sees Atsushi’s Prius basically as an enlarged version of that.

Atsushi will stand by the sidelines, wringing his hands awkwardly and asking if Chibita would like him to help, even if it’s already well-established that Atsushi wouldn’t know what to do.

4. Living space has a leak! Who fixes it?

Atsushi would insist on fixing it, even though he almost never works with his hands and Chibita has, and Chibita doesn’t want it to look like he does nothing around the house himself.

This always ends with a minor argument, Atsushi tries to get his hands dirty and makes things worse, and in the end they just get a plumber.

5. Who buys the groceries?

They both have their day off on Sunday, and they try to maximize the time spent together, so they go together.

They get up to all kind of shenanigans, too, knocking over displays by speeding with the cart and stuff.

6. Going out to eat: Who pays? Who orders the most food? And who has dessert?

Atsushi refuses point blank for Chibita to pay, and honestly he should, considering their vastly different backgrounds.

Still, Chibita doesn’t want to look like he’s milking the guy, and only orders more in addition to what he first asks for only at Atsushi’s insistence it’s okay.

They both have dessert: Chibita has had a demanding sweet tooth his whole life, and up until they’d been dating, Atsushi placed himself on a very bland, very unfulfilling diet.

7. Would they go to the beach?

The beach is pretty much Chibita’s favorite place, and while Atsushi has been to beaches before dating Chibita, he’ll readily admit that his little hubby helped him really understand the magic of them.

I’m sure a lot of their most important moments take place at the beach, from their proposal to their pretty impromptu wedding.

My friend and I have a really long, really sweet headcanon for that, but I’ll just leave it at this for now.

8. Who knows how to swim? Who doesn’t?

They’re both fairly avid swimmers.

Chibita taught himself from a very early age, and Atsushi’s mother, (who I headcanon to be stuffy and overprotective,) insisted that he learn as soon as possible too.

9. Is someone multilingual? Do they try to teach another language to the other? How does it go?

Atsushi knows a handful of languages from all the business trips he makes.

Chibita has been shown to know bits and pieces of English, iirc.

I don’t think Chibita would have much interest in learning another language, but if he and Atsushi were away somewhere long enough, he’d feel compelled to ask.

Chibita’s a quick learner by the looks of things, so I’m sure Atsushi would have a really easy time with it.

That said, he’d much rather order room-service for Chibita around the clock, (nothing but the best for his Oden-san,) and while he’d make a show of not liking to be waited on hand-and-foot, Chibita would actually revel in this, haha.

10. Any pets? Or plants?

They have a cactus named “Prickleass.”

He is their boy, and they are blessed.

11. Baths or showers? Together or separate? Any bubbles or bubble fights?

Showers, they can be together or separate depending on the day.

Neither really has much time to stay in for long. Atsushi has to get to work, and Chibita has to buy ingredients and clean up the cart before setting up shop.

But if they can manage it, they’ll make going in together a priority.

You can’t really have bubble fights in the shower, and they definitely don’t have the time to, but they get to squeeze in some fun as Chibita feverishly shampoos Atsushi’s hair, and Atsushi massages Chibita’s head with body wash lol.

12. Can they stand silence? Who talks the most? Who talks the least?

Chibita’s perfectly fine with just vegging on the couch in silence, but Atsushi would worry, wrongly, that it looks like he’s ignoring Chibita, and throws in a comment every so often if they’re just watching tv.

13. Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most? Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up?

14. Who is the highest maintenance? Does the other mind?

Chibita is low maintenance almost to a fault. He thinks the slightest gesture is “making a fuss” and insists on receiving the bare minimum.

Atsushi has made leaps and bounds in coming down to earth since dating Chibita, but he still struggles to do things with Chibita that are romantic and practical at once.

He’s the exact opposite of Chibita that way: he does too much for fear of looking cheap.

It’s usually what they conflict over the most.

15. Vacation ideas: who decides them? Where would they go, if anywhere?

Now, throughout this whole question I’ve been saying Chibita hates being spent on.

That said, he’ll gladly pounce at any opportunity to go to Hawaii, and the minute he suggests it, Atsushi’s on board.

They’d be on the beach and the boardwalk much of the time, Chibita insisting they stay out of the hotel as much as possible.

Atsushi hates the thought of chemicals in sunscreen, and gets a little burned on his nose.

Simultaneously messing with him and trying to make him feel better, Chibita kisses him on the nose constantly afterwards.

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

Chapter 11: Novel Ideas Summary: Exhausted, Stan is finally set free and rushes the surgery center. Ford struggles to come to terms with the reality he's been avoiding. Stan employs a solid coping mechanism in an attempt to help.

Notes: Warnings: emotional breakdown, restraints, arguing, nightmares

Thanks to everyone for your comments, questions, and input. It's all an inspiration and a huge help in building this AU. :D

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven (with illustration) Part Eight Part Nine (With link to more art!) Part Ten More fics An illustration (from part one) Stan wanted to wrap Dipper and Mabel in a crushing hug when they released him from public imprisonment.  But, he held back, mostly, because he figured they wouldn't want to be smothered in bits of tomato and old man sweat, but partly, because his back teeth had been floating for the past few hours and the slightest squeeze could be disastrous.  He jogged to the nearest bathroom as fast as his simultaneously numb and aching legs would carry him.  Every step sent a jolt through his sore soles but he made it to an outhouse and not a moment too soon. Once relieved, he pumped a bucket of water from a Pioneer Day prop and dumped it over his head, half amazed that the pump functioned and half unsurprised, given the town's obsession with the event.  He pumped and poured another bucketful, despite his rubbery arms, scrubbing dried tomato from his hair, brows, and stubble.  He mentally thanked Soos for stopping by that afternoon and cleaning the bulk of the tomato mess off before it could bake in the sun (and, he had to admit, for keeping him company for a while).  After drying his glasses with a cloth from his pocket, he rushed back to the car and kids. "We gotta get out of here!" he said, both out of sheer desperation to leave and because, by this point, he'd broken his promise to Ford.  Visit in the morning?  It's going to be night by the time I get there at this rate.  Once buckled in the driver's seat, he cranked up the heat, shivering as cold water dripped from his hair and soaked through his coat. On the way home, he spun a story about how he had been planning to take photos of creepy looking things in the woods for a new exhibit in the shack and how he'd have to go out tonight to do it since this was their only day off for the rest of the week.  "Heh, might be better anyway," he embellished his lie, "Things look a lot spookier at night." "Oh can I come with you?!" Dipper asked, his seatbelt stretching as he leaned forward in his seat.  "There are so many weird things out there, and I have this book that can probably help us find some of them!" "Thanks, kid, but no thanks.  I-uh..." Stan pondered a minute, knowing very well that if these kids were anything like he and his brother were, giving them a flat no would only make them more determined to follow him.  "Hey, maybe next time," he reasoned, "but this time I could really use your help making banners and decorations for the shack's fair this weekend.  Mabel, you think you're up for that?" "Are you kidding?!  I have buckets of paint just waiting for a project like this!  Dipper, can we?!" she begged, grabbing Dipper's vest and shaking him.  "Please please pleeeeaaaase?!" "Yeah.  Alright, I guess," he answered, tipping his hat back into place only to have it knocked off when she stretched over to hug him. "Great," Stan said with a relieved sigh, "Give Soos a call when I drop you off.  He's got the plans for everything.  Tell him I'll let him rig up the dunk machine if he comes over to help you." ****   With the kids safely back at the shack, Stan careened through the wooded roads.  Shit shit shit shit shit, his mind chanted, his heart thumping in double-time to the rhythm.  His eyes squinted in the setting sun's glare but he plowed forward, the Stanmobile practically flying off the peaks of hills as he left Gravity Falls and the valley behind.  He sped around corners, nearly tipping up on two wheels, his hands crushing the steering wheel in his grip. The sky shifted from hues of orange and pink to electric blue while buildings replaced towering trees along the roadside.  Ten minutes into the city, Stan searched for 5th street and the distinct, domed roof of the surgery center.  He cursed as he passed the turn anyway.  I like this doctor's style, though, he thought, hiding in plain sight.  He pulled an illegal u-turn in front of a honking pickup truck that he swore wasn't there a second ago.  As he swerved into the parking lot, the surgery center's neon sign lit up against the darkening sky.  He spun the wheel, parking haphazardly next to one of two other cars in the lot, Dr, Braum's SUV. "Ugh.  Ow!  Son of a-"  He moaned as he climbed out of the car.  His back cracked as he straightened it, muscles protesting from his shoulders straight down through his to thighs and calves.  It felt like the soles of his feet were bruised and bleeding from being stuck on them all day.  In the car's heat, it seemed like his hair and coat had nearly dried but the evening breeze cut through him as if he'd just dumped a pitcher of ice water over himself. In a series of grunts and groans, he hobbled to the sliding glass door.  When it refused to open, he pounded on the glass, hoping someone would hear him.  The janitor looked up from cleaning behind the reception desk and nodded.  She hurried to the door and unlocked it, sliding it open manually.  Stan sped through the moment he could fit. "Dr. Braum told me you might show up tonight," She said, closing and locking the doors. Stan pushed, pulled, and tried to slide open the double doors leading back to the surgery and recovery rooms but they refused to move. "Hold on and I'll let her know you're here." The janitor said, stepping behind the reception desk.  She picked up the phone's headset, her gloved fingers prodding at the phone's buttons. Dr. Braum picked up on the first ring. "He's here," the janitor explained, "Yeah, the old guy in a suit and fez.  Yeah.  Alright.  I'll buzz him through."  She pulled off the headset and pressed a button behind the desk.  "You can go on through now," she instructed.   Stan rushed into the back hall, past dark and empty rooms, prepped for surgery the next morning.  He nearly ran into the door that opened on the hall's left side, his shoes' soles squeaking against the hardwood floor as he stopped.  The door closed revealing a woman nearly larger than it with rainbow streaked hair pulled into a bun. "Oh, Dr. Braum.  I-" "Where the HELL have you been?" she reprimanded, her arms perched on her hips as she towered above him.  "You said you'd be here as soon as you could!" "This IS as soon as I could!"  He retorted, looking up to her with bloodshot eyes. "When you told my assistant that this morning, we assumed it meant less than thirteen hours later." "It did-" "We called you twelve times today and couldn't get a hold of you." "Why?  What's going on?  Is Ford alright?" Stan blurted, shifting his body to peek down the hall past Dr. Braum.  "Did he do something?" "Your brother's been having some nightmares that are affecting his heart rate and blood pressure," Dr. Braum explained, her hands lowering from her hips, one settling in her lab coat's pocket.  "The few times one of our nurses caught him awake and tried to talk to him, he told us to go away and, to be honest, she doesn't know him well enough to determine if it was him saying that or...  the other him." Nightmares were normal for both Ford and Stan, himself.  That was no surprise, though, he figured, it might be alarming to someone who's not used to it...  And even more alarming to him as he realized that he and Ford were used to it.  How had things gotten to the point where nightly nightmares were just a part of life?  Stan sighed and said, "Look, this has been one of the worst days of my life," he exaggerated, though not by much, "and, believe me, that's saying something, so can you let me by so I can see my brother, already?"  With a determined wrinkling of his nose, he bumped past the doctor, unsure of where he was going but willing to find out. "Wait, there's something I need to tell-" Before she could finish her sentence, Stan spotted a door on the right marked "maintenance" and grabbed the latch, rattling it when it wouldn't budge. Dr. Braum sighed and said, "Hold on.  I have to unlock it from the nurses station."  Her lab coat billowed behind her as she stepped around the desk and pressed a button.  The door buzzed and Stan was inside before she could say another word. The room was notably smaller than the others and smelled of disinfectant.  Darkness set in as the door closed behind him, the room lit solely by the strip of light under the door and illuminated numbers on a screen to the right.  From what Stan could tell, there were cabinets, a wash station, and a door standing ajar to his left.  To his right was Ford's bed, a rolling table, and various machines and monitors.  Beside the bed was a blocky chair.  As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Stan stepped forward, reaching for the nearest arm of the chair. "Ford," he said in a husky whisper, using the chair to guide him to the bed.  "Stanford?" No answer came aside from the rise and fall of breaths.  The back of the bed was raised about halfway and a blanket covered his brother's body up to his shoulders.  As Stan's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see Ford's head was turned away, his unbandaged eye clenched closed. "Ford.  I can tell you're not asleep," Stan said, with a muffled moan as he eased himself into the chair.  "I got here as soon as I could.  What happened?  How are you?" "Nothing.  I'm fine," he answered flatly.  "Are you alright?" he muttered in a detached tone, "And the kids?" "The kids are fine but it's been a Hell of a day for me.  I'm a bit sore but otherwise alright." "Good.  That's good." "Ford.  What's wrong?"  Stan asked, the wooden legs of his chair scraping as he angled it closer to the bed. "Nothing.  I was just worried about you when you didn't...  Nevermind." "Ford, I can explain-" "I said it's nothing!" He snapped, his limbs tensing against the restraints beneath his blanket.  "Just go away.  Please." Stan sighed, placing a hand on the bedside bar.  "No.  I'm not leaving until you talk to me.  What happened during surgery?  They said Bill didn't make it easy for them.  What did he do?  Has he been bothering you today?" Stan rattled off questions, his tone becoming more on edge as he spoke until a grim chuckle silenced him. "Oh sure," Ford said, "You're fine not being here all day and now you won't leave." "That wasn't my fault!  I-" "Get out," he demanded.  "Leave me alone!" "Bill...?  Or me?" "Both of you!" "Ford..." "Where were you all day?!" he shouted, his eye closed tight as if to prevent the flood of emotions.  "You promised...  And I TRUSTED you!  And you just left me here alone.  With him!" "Ford, I'm sorry!" Stan shouted, bolting up from his chair.  "I tried to get here but I got arrested!" "Arrested?" Ford, asked, concern woven into his inflection, as he turned to face Stan.  His hand reached for the light switch on the bedside rail and he pressed it once for its dimmest setting.  "For what?" he asked, the machine beside him registering his quickening pulse as he dreaded the answer.  Did Rico turn him in?  Did one of his aliases catch up with him?  I never even considered- "Ironically, for trying to get here faster," Stan explained. "What?"  Ford asked, his shoulders relaxing and pulse slowing.  His head lulled back against the pillow, nausea and sleepiness draining him. "I tried to drop the kids off in town but it was Pioneer day.  My car got stuck in the mud and when the mechanic wouldn't help me, I got angry and the cops thought it would be cute to lock me in the stocks all day." In a groggy half-yawn, his inhibitions obliterated, Ford corrected, "Pillories." "Huh?" "Stocks are for your ankles.  Unless it's changed over the years, the ones they use on Pioneer Day are-"  Ford's slurred words trailed off into another yawn. "And here I was worried about you all day, you pretentious-!"  Stan paused as his brother's eye slipped shut, his breaths deep and rhythmic.  "Did you seriously just fall sleep?"  Stan whispered in annoyance.  Exasperated, he flopped back into his chair, massaging his eyelids as he listened to the beeps of the monitor behind him.  In less than a minute their pace quickened again, nearly blurring together.  Stan leapt up, turning to look- "Wait..."  Ford mumbled, drawing Stan's attention back to him, "Why can't I...?  I can't...  I can't move!"  He jolted awake, his breath coming in heavy pants, sweat drenching his face. "It's alright," Stan said, using the bed rail to lift himself out of the chair.  "Ford, it's alright.  It was another nightmare.  It's alright," he reassured him in as calm a tone as he could muster, his hands reaching over the bedside bar to wrap around Ford's. The door slammed open and Dr. Braum rushed in.  "Dr. Pines?!"  She blurted, jogging to his bedside. "Another nightmare," Stan explained, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced in the dim light as he looked up to her. "It's him," Ford panted, "He won't let me sleep.  He keeps-.  Every time I fall asleep, he-." "Wait," said Dr. Braum, leaning over the bed, "How can that be?  Lottie and the nurses said you were mostly sleeping today." She flinched back as Ford opened his eye, yellow and slit down the center by black.  "He's almost as good of an actor as the con man, here," Bill answered, nodding to Stan.  "Funny.  This whole set-up is too good to be true!  All I had to do was make sure he was awake for it all." Stan's eyes widened at the implication.  "All?  What do you mean, all?" "That surgery thing was an interesting experience," Bill said with a laugh, "Pretty great, I thought.  But I didn't want to hog all the fun so I just dropped in from time to time to make sure Fordsy, here, didn't miss anything." "I had a feeling," Dr. Braum whispered, shaking her head.  "We warned him there was a possibility he could wake up, especially under his circumstances, but he still said to go through with it. "Wait.  You're telling me he was awake during surgery?!" Stan barked.  As Ford's eye dimmed and closed, his head tipping to the side in slumber, Stan hushed himself to an angry hiss, "And you didn't know it?!" "We could tell when that demon showed up for a split second every so often and accommodated it the best we could but otherwise, it's nearly impossible to tell in any patient.  The paralytic in the anesthesia immobilizes the body and maintains a lower heart rate and blood pressure." "That's what your assistant meant when she said he didn't make it easy, then?"  Stan asked, pinching his nose. "Yes.  We didn't want to mention it to you over the phone since we weren't actually sure.  It made no sense to worry you since we thought you were pretty much on your way."  She paused, finally taking in the sorry sight of the man standing before her.  "What happened to you, anyway.  You look like you need a few stiff drinks and about a week's worth of sleep." "A cuppa coffee would be a life saver right n-" "No..." Ford croaked.  "No.  Please!  Stanley, I'm sorry!"  He thrashed under his blanket, bucking against his bonds.  His eye peeled open, his breath coming in short bursts. "Ford, it's alright.  I'm alright," Stan assured him, "I'm safe."  He looked up to Dr. Braum and requested, "Can you give us a minute?" "Of course," she said, her steps nearly silent as she approached the door.  "I'll be in my office finishing up some dictation if you need me." The door clicked against it's frame, its motorized lock latching behind her. "I can't do this anymore," Ford croaked,  looking up to him with dampness welling in the corner of his eye, "I'm tired.  I'm so tired." "Yeah.  You've been through Hell," Stan empathized. "More than that," he said, turning his head away, "I'm tired of all of this.  It's gone, Stanley.  My eye is gone.  It's GONE!  I'm tied to a bed because a demon might make me hurt myself or someone else.  I've destroyed thirty years of both of our lives!  Probably forty of yours-" "Ford, you can't blame yourself for that," Stan's words went unheard as Ford continued. "And now, I finally get to be someplace other than the house for the first time in twenty of those years and all I want to do is go back to the basement.  And to top it all off, I don't want to do this because I can't even wipe my own damn nose!"  His breath hitched, coming in ragged gasps.  He sniffled, his face burning as he fought the impending flood.  "I just want to sleep." "I wish I knew what would help you get some rest," Stan mumbled, uncertain of what else to say. Ford turned his head to face his twin, his cheeks flushed and eye bloodshot.  His voice trembled as he asked, "Stanley, do...  Do we look anything like each other anymore?" Stan thought for a moment.  Their ears were the same size and shape, but Ford's left ear now had two notches cut into its helix thanks to an unexpected nap more than twenty-five years ago.  At one time, their noses were identical, now they'd both been misshapen by breaks, scars, and old age.  As for everything else, well...  There were few similarities anymore.  Ford's hair had turned a darker shade of gray, streaked with the near-white of Stan's.  Stan's arms grew muscular and his tummy, round, but Ford's legs retained muscle while the rest of him thinned. After considering it all, he answered, "We're still the same height, I guess.  But, no amount of differences is gonna change that we're still family.  If it bugs you, though, do you want to try the shave and hair cut idea?" "Maybe..." Ford debated aloud, sniffling and stifling his outburst.  "Yes.  Probably." "Ford," Stan said, resting his hands over his brother's, "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you today." "I'm sorry you had such a terrible day." "Says the man still going through Hell." "It's not like it's a shitty day contest," Ford said, forcing a crocked smile. "I guess," Stan said with a shrug. "Well, you know about my day," Ford said, leaning his head back in the search for comfort and prying for the distractions he'd sorely missed all day, "Tell me about yours?" "Sure," Stan said, his aching back forcing him down into the chair with a grunt.  He animated the story of his day through exaggerated hand motions and expressions in true showmanship style.  Ford sneered at the mention of Gideon, mentioning that the kid still creeped him out.  He gasped over the first tomato pelting and almost laughed when Stan revealed he kept a bobby pin under his fez for emergencies. His eyes widened as Stan spun the tale of nearly picking the lock and losing the pin, and he gasped audibly, "Oh no!" "Yup.  Tumbled right to the ground.  And of all people, Preston's kid, Pacifica, happened to be standing right there to see the whole thing.  She offered me a deal to get the pin back; said I had to say her family is the best." "Stanley, you didn't.  Not after how she treated Mabel at the party." "Hell no!" He bellowed, his hands slapping his knees, "I asked if she wanted it in writing and wrote 'You stink' with a pen stuck in my mouth!" Ford managed a laugh, "Excellent.  I'm proud of you, holding your ground like that.  But, I'm not surprised.  You've always been-" "A stubborn old fool?" "Stubborn.  Yes.  But that's not a bad thing.  I have your stubbornness to thank for you sticking around, after all." "Heh.  Yeah.  I guess.  Anyway, I'd say it was worth the extra tomato pelting." "Oh, Stanley..." he said with a sympathetic lilt. "Eh, it's alright.  Soos came by and kept me company for a bit then the kids showed up later and broke me out with some magical key they found during the day.  Mabel, heh, her and her imagination, I tell ya.  She had on this top hat and said it was 'cause she's a senator now.  But, hey, she 'pardoned' me and the town didn't object so, whatever, I guess." "She sounds like quite a pistol, alright." "Sure is.  I think you two will get along well," Stan added, his tone showing nothing but absolute certainty that they'd meet someday. Ford's answer, however, was not so certain.  "I hope so." "Well, enough about me, how about you?  With all this time stuck alone like this, you got any new ideas for that novel of yours for me to write down?" he asked, digging in his coat pocket for a battered notepad with a dripping, black question mark on the cover and a What is the Mystery Shack? pen. "... Yes.  Actually." "Alright," Stan said, clicking the pen and holding it above an empty page, "ready whenever you are." Ford cleared his throat, thankful that the smolder of his cheeks had dulled to an awkward stiffness but annoyed at the headache setting in.  Even so, he breathed deeply and began, picking up at a seemingly random point in a story inspired by nearly being dragged into the portal all those years ago, by his own fears, and by imagination; the story of a man traveling between dimensions. "In his journey, he stumbled upon a world of two dimensional beings.  He found himself stuck in an uncomfortable position, his eyes above their dimensional plane but his mouth below, rendering him unable to explain his circumstances and barely able to perceive the edges of the startled shapes surrounding him.  Fearing his presence, the residents attacked.   Their razor sharp edges sliced into his flesh repeatedly, but he was trapped, utterly helpless, his pleas for mercy bellowing outside of their frame of existence until his vision darkened and he lost consciousness. He awoke seemingly moments later laying among plush pillows and soft blankets, his wounds cleaned and bandaged.  An unearthly woman towered above him, her seven stunning eyes filled with concern as they gazed down to him.  Though his experiences had left him on edge, something about her set his mind at ease.  Perhaps it was her posture, proper but not too stiff, the way her hands folded gently over her lap as she sat beside him, or the kindness in her voice as she welcomed him to her mountaintop shrine.  She introduced herself as an oracle and claimed he would be safe by her side.  His instincts screamed for him to get up and run, that no one could be trusted, yet, he remained a resident in the shrine as he recovered."  Ford yawned, his eyelid drooping as his words trailed off, "Eventually, he realized, the oracle had earned his trust... Stan looked up from his scrawled writing, leaning forward to the edge of his seat as he awaited the rapid beeps and panicked pleas of the next nightmare. Several minutes passed and nothing happened.   He stood, his own heart picking up tempo in place of Ford's as he leaned over the bed.  "Gah!"  He jumped back as Ford's eye flew open, yellow glare piercing through.  His head and limbs thrashed against the restraints, blanket flapping over his body. Bill growled and huffed, "Guess I tired him out too much.  Human bodies have so little endurance.  Yeesh.  A bit of trauma and a night or two without sleep and they're useless." Stan gave a deep sigh, falling back into his chair.  His hands draped over his knees, barely keeping hold of the notepad and pen.  Embittered, he asked, "Don't you have anything better to do, Bill?" "Thanks you you two, no.  Not at the moment.  You really have no idea how boring it can get being immortal and stuck in only one dimension, do you?  But, I've got my eye on some new prospects.  Aw, don't think that means I'll neglect you two.  But for now, Sweet dreams!  Hope those restraints hold up.  Wouldn't want anything bad happening, now would you?" With that, Ford's eye dimmed, the lid slipping closed as he slept.  Stan breathed deeply, leaning back in his chair.  "Hope you get some rest, Ford," he whispered. In his own exhaustion, Stan fell asleep before his head hit the chair's padded back, the notebook resting on his chest and pen clattering to the floor.

Notes:

Wkdw Jlghrq nlg lv suhwwb fuhhsb, lvq'w kh?

Don't worry, Ford isn't holding anything against Dr. Braum. If anything, she was a kind and comforting presence to him during the whole ordeal.

Personal note: Apparently I'm such an insomniac that I woke up under general anesthesia once. The incredibly vivid memories I have of it are partly what inspired this. Thing is, I didn't realize it was something that can profoundly affect your life until reading up more on it for research for this. I never even told anyone about it because I didn't realize it was something I should tell. So yeah, my doctors didn't even know about it. Reading up on it is already explaining a lot but I probably haven't even scratched the surface yet. I just never related anything to it before, possibly because the one effect I don't have is nightmares (about that in particular). (Also, sorry, but I don't want to go into detail at the moment because even that is an issue wrapped up in it that I haven't solved yet. It wasn't a serious procedure or surgery, though, so no worries. Anyway, I just wanted to mention where the inspiration came from and show that writing like this actually *is* therapeutic and can uncover real life issues.)

[sholiofic]

Ficlet: Roadside Assistants

Written for the "Breakdown" challenge at fan_flashworks. 

Also posted on AO3.

"Dude, no, try pulling on that wire there, the one that's attached to the -- thing."

"Shut up about the wires. It's obviously the carburetor."

"Do you even know what a carburetor is, Lucas?"

"I helped my uncle rebuild his old Mustang last year. I know more about cars than the rest of you morons put together --"

"I bet you don't know more than me." Max sounded annoyed.

Dustin's curly head suddenly interposed itself into Steve's view of the mostly incomprehensible and completely non-working engine. "Jiggle that wire," said the ball of curly hair. "It's probably a loose wire. That's what it always is with the radio equipment at the AV club."

"Do you actually know anything about cars," Steve wanted to know, "because otherwise, get out of my face."

"Like you know anything about cars," said Lucas loudly from behind him. "Move and let me look."

Steve groaned and stepped out of the way. Instantly a flock of eighth-graders swarmed into the space under the open hood of the station wagon. Steve let them have fun -- hell, maybe they would fix it -- and looked up and down the narrow rural highway. Not a car in sight, nothing but farm fields, greening up with spring but still looking severe and chilly.

"Sure, Mrs. Wheeler, I'll drive them to the museum in Indianapolis, I said," he muttered under his breath. "It'll be fun, I said."

He leaned a hip against the car, ready to put his thumb out if a truck driver came along, and trying not to wonder how they were going to stuff five kids plus one dumbass sucker of a high school senior into whatever vehicle was unwise enough to stop and pick them up. Maybe it would help if he hid the kids in the car ...

After a moment he looked down from gazing stoically into the middle distance, and discovered he wasn't alone.

"Hey," Will said quietly.

"Hey, kiddo." From the engine end of Mrs. Wheeler's station wagon, a vehement argument had broken out under the hood. "Not getting in on the fun?"

Will shook his head. "I don't know much about cars." He shrugged and looked down.

"Just between you, me, and that tree there," Steve said, "me neither. But don't tell anyone."

"We already know!" came a shout from under the hood. Steve contemplated walking off and leaving them there.

But Will glanced up and flashed him a shy grin. "Thanks for taking us to Indianapolis," he said softly. "I'm sorry it turned out to be such a pain."

"Awww ... damn ... it's not like it's your fault or anything." Steve awkwardly put an arm around him and found himself being hugged back. He had forgotten how huggy kids this age were, right on the edge of turning into teenagers and deciding they were too cool for it. "It's nice to get out of Hawkins for a day."

"Even broke down on the side of the road," Will said into Steve's jacket.

"Sure. Even that. It'll be an adventure. We'll look back on this and laugh someday."

Someoneup there was certainly laughing, because it started raining five minutes later.

[namjoonchronicles]

Rage - [BTS] Boyfie!Taehyung Au

[A/N] The disrespect. The pink headband and the little chest is so contradicting, save me from this boi goodness.

He couldn't believe what he saw. The most recent Instagram post had him sweating. Profusely. It's been a long time since he has acted like this. Taehyung fidgets his eyes to the side, one hand holding the phone, shakily; another hand on his knee. He tries to control his breathing, his composure, anything, but he couldn't help gulping nervously. If this is what it is, he has to clean this mess up and quick.

He couldn't shake the uneasiness in his guts as he dashed to the kitchen and start hopping in place to get the things down from the shelf. But his instincts proved to be correct because as he was panicking, the main door beeped unlocked, and the handle twists, then time slows down. You reached home. "I brought you some cakes, and muffins. Seokjin was upset you couldn't come so he asked me--no, forced me to bring these souvenirs he got from Vietnam." Kicking your shoes away and fixing them in place, next to Taehyung's Puma pair, you slipped on indoor slippers and set the things on the counter while Taehyung froze.

He had both hands upwards to the cabinets, appearing to reach something, standing on his tip toes. You blinked at him and he passed a blank but surprised look.

There was pajamas hanging above the top cabinet, a legging on the fridge, your secret snack stash clearly rummaged thoroughly, and when you snapped your head to the living room that is equally messy, you saw your bra hanging from the ceiling fan. The human-sized teddy bear you loved very much is laying face down by the glass door to the balcony, with its legs folded unnaturally. The things that were laying all around are undoubtedly, yours. Taehyung's lips gone dry and he gulped as he set his hands down to each side. He couldn't even meet your gaze. His eyeballs fidgets side to side and the whole room was filled with an eerie silent. Something that is very odd in this 'fun house' you shared with boyfriend (soon-to-be husband), Taehyung.

A few seconds later, Taehyung is seated on the couch, lacing his fingers together a la prayer, watching you march left and right with your arms crossed. He opens his mouth to speak but before he could say anything, you dashed, "Don't say a word." To which he locks his jaw together and pressing lips together, in an obedient mode. There wasn't even a climb in your voice, you just went straight risen vocals in your exasperation, "I can't believe you would think that I would..." you couldn't even bring yourself to say it, without taking a deep breath, "...With Seokjin!" Taehyung knitted his brows together, expressing his whole guilt with his body and every muscle on his face, itching to explain but not knowing what to say. "It was Namjoon last week, and Yoongi, the month before, and now, Seokjin!?"

You were clearly upset. Taehyung had his elbow rested on his knees and cover his face with both of his hands while grunting softly. The kind that someone lets out when they are guilty of something. "I can't believe you can't trust me." End game.

Let's take time to go a few hours back, perhaps before all of your clothes and things gets thrown all over, or even to the time where you were just leaving the house, or better... to the time when you just woke up next to Taehyung.

He was burying his face in your stomach, hugging possessively. The tip of his nose digging into your flesh and you could feel his soft breathing on your skin, his pillow is thrown off the bed and his limbs draped over your body like a koala clinging on a tree. Taehyung is...needy. Very. Needy. And as if he has heard you thoughts, he moans silently in his sleep and nuzzled more. It made you dragged your eyes to the floor where your phone was. Praying that no one calls you because, you've been 'confined' by this huge boy, 'attached' to you by skin, making it impossible for any movements to be made. Then you heard buzzing. Buzzing from him? Buzzing from his side of the bed. Buzzing from underneath him. Taehyung groaned and dipped his hand underneath the blanket, taking out his phone.

He slide the 'answer' button and place his phone on his ear on its own before letting out a groggy deep voice to whomever that was calling,

"The number you have dialled is unavailable. Please call again. Never." He even added the beeping tone at the end. You were peering at his entire act under your nose, judging him, silently. "I can't believe he just imitated a voicemail message. In his sleep."

Staring widely at his broad shoulders you couldn't help feeling shocked at the entire ordeal. Unbelievable. You did this once too. Can two people be so alike? Taehyung rolls to his back, and resumed sleeping, and you took the chance to see who was calling. It was Seokjin. And he was actually still on the line. You grabbed it as fast as you could and let out a groggy hello. "...Don't tell me you're still in bed." Seokjin sounded really pissed off. "Did Taehyung blocked my number on your phone again? Because I think he did. I called and called, and it went straight to voicemail." Seokjin exhales hard, and you could hear the sound of a van passing through. He must standing by the roadside. "...I can explain." You started, springing up in your bed, running your fingers through your hair. "Save it. You kids can never hold it in long enough for anything."

And it offended you, greatly. Especially when Taehyung and you spent the whole night, deciding what to buy for his birthday party and having to take chicken deliveries because you both were too excited to choose out of the many things they sell online. "That's not very nice. You know nothing." Already circling the bed, dragging your feet on the floor to the bathroom, Taehyung flutter his eyes open from the stir you made, running your hand up and down his upper arm, while planting a kiss on his temples while he grumbles and stretched. "How is it that you don't catch his cold?" Seokjin contorts his handsome face and at the exact moment, Taehyung followed you sleepily to the bathroom. He washes his face with some cold water and watch you on the phone with Seokjin through the reflection. Then he brushes his teeth while you leaned your back on the counter.

"I was about to, but I wallowed in 10 tablets of Vitamin C chewables." Basic medical knowledge could really help. And with that, Seokjin's phone call ended and you got dressed while Taehyung prepared simple breakfast. A sugarless coffee and some toast. You had to leave early to help Seokjin set up everything needed for the party. Taehyung was initially invited but since he recently got a vaccine shot that triggered the cold, Seokjin advised him to stay home, instead. Taehyung's attention was drawn to a cluster of picture frames on the wall. With a mug in one hand, he sips the coffee in a relaxed and calm manner, fixing one tilted frame to perfection. It was pictures of you and him. His family and yours, his pet dogs and your graduation picture. He zooms into your face and smiled proudly, "Mine." Patting his butt on your way out, Taehyung jumped a little. But you made it clear that you won't leave until you get a kiss.

But what really led to Taehyung's breakdown was not when you left. It was what you did there that ticks him off.

Regularly, Jimin would update your Instagram account for you all the while preparing for the party. Seokjin was lingering around you, all the time. Helping you get the decorations done, deciding where to put the cake, placing name cards on the seating as planned previously. Since Taehyung isn't around, Seokjin put you next to him because where else would you put the one that made all of this possible? But Seokjin was insensitive to how Taehyung would have felt. Therefore, when Taehyung's last straw was piqued, he went all out (childishly) take your things and scatter them around in rage. Before he curls into a ball and ugly-crying then, angry-eating your secret snack stash in the bottom left cabinet. That was before he saw you made a miniature-sized clay man, sitting on the table next to your fork. Jimin took the picture of you smiling next to it, and it has a little name card: Kim Taehyung; then you posted it on Instagram.

The caption reads: Shout out to my bae, Taetae. Wish you were here. Can't wait to have a little party of our own.

And that was when Taehyung knew, he was fucked.

He turns to face the TV cabinet, while you sat cross-legged on the sofa he sat on, earlier. He glanced to the side and stammered the words out, "M-must I really do this." An evil grin on your lips was the only answer you gave him and watching intently, (with perverted gaze), you watch him held the brim of his shirt, slowly lifting it, to reveal his marvellous back and hip. It got passed his middle back and he hesitate a little. "Go on, don't stop." You licked your lower lips as your boyfriend gets super embarrassed. Which was funny, because you've seen more than this. It's amusing to see him acting coy. Maybe because there's too much light around. He gets self-conscious. Taehyung pull his shirt through his head and let out an annoyed and shy, (but sexy) sigh. "Turn around." You commanded and leaned back to the chair, extending your arms to each side like a powerful queen you are.

Taehyung covers himself with his arms and hands after you told him to leave the shirt on the floor, feeling severely exposed. "Can I put them back on, now?" He begged, with a cute pout on his lips. And you grinned, shaking your head lazily. "Please..." He pleaded. His words had you tipping your head back and you groaned, "...You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this." And Taehyung is just full blown a scared-pup now. He watched you beckoning him over by curling your index finger inward and being the obedient one now, he couldn't protest even if he wanted to. He is to make breakfast every morning and decide dinner dressed in nothing but his spiderman boxers, for one whole week. And if there were guests around?

"...Either tell them what you did, or say you like to walk around in your own house like this." Running your finger down his chest to his abs while he gulps nervously. "...People will think we're weird." He stutters and you beamed up at him, "...Well, that means we'll have more time," You stopped just above the hem of his boxers and hooked you finger around the waist band, licking your lips at him, "...together." Your fearless eyes met his frightened pair, and oh what a night it was.

Taehyung couldn't stop screaming your name. His voice was all hoarse, the next morning. Not that you would complaint.