#his whole thing is breaking boxes what do you mean he's worn grey and brown the entire show

[joshslater]

Werehick

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I don’t know when it actually started. I had been aware of time slipping for me occasionally. I might have thought it was Sunday and it turned out to be Monday, but I had shrugged them off as a result of stress. The alternative would have been some mental disorder, and you really don’t want to go there in your self diagnosing. It wasn’t until after the “break in” it started to become a regular occurrence. A serious one as well. Best I knew I woke up Saturday morning to a trashed apartment. Well, not totally trashed, but a few items broken, lots of things moved around, empty beer cans on the floor, some money missing.

I was shocked I managed to sleep through whatever had transpired in my apartment, and a little scared to what could have happened, what could have been done to me. Perhaps something had been done to me? Perhaps that was why I slept through it all. I couldn’t figure out any reason for it. Sneak into someones apartment, at great risk, tranquilize the sleeping resident, and then throw a party. Did they use sleep gas, like they do when they rob truckers sleeping at truck stops?

It was when I decided to call the cops I got the chills. The phone said it was Monday morning. The whole weekend gone! I decided the police had to wait, as I hurried to work. I got there enough on time to not be suspicious, but obviously I spent the entire day thinking of little else. As a creative writer at an ad agency my hours are flexible, and as long as I deliver in time and at quality no one cares, but it would still be weird to not show up at all. But I barely managed to do anything useful while there. I felt tired, mentally drain, and sore in my muscles, as if the adrenaline of the morning had a lingering effect. Above all, questions and thoughts kept popping up. Do I need to change locks? Are there now drugs stashed in my apartment? Did they do something else to me? Is that why I feel funny? Do I need to schedule a doctors appointment? What would I say that wouldn’t lock me up?

Cleaning up in the apartment took less time than I had feared, and once done I realized there was even less for the police to do. What was the crime? Where was the evidence? As the days passed, it was almost like it hadn’t happened. Oh, how wrong I was.

A couple of weeks later it happened again, only this time I woke up wearing someone else’s clothes. It smelled like sweat and auto repair shop even before I opened my eyes, and I practically jumped out of bed when I looked at myself. A worn under armour hoodie, filthy, threadbare jeans, and workers boots, splattered with caked mud. There was a light brown outline on the sheets where my body had rubbed dust into the fabric.

I could feel my heard pounding, as I ran through the rooms of my apartment to see if anyone was still there. Only later did I realize I didn’t have a plan for what to do if I had found someone. As before the place was a mess, but I sensed more things were missing.

I rushed into the bathroom and started to rip off the clothes. I smelled like someone else, I looked like someone else, and I hated it. I felt violated, somehow. This wasn’t just drawing a dick with a sharpie on someone drunk. I threw the hoodie on the floor. I tried to pull off the boots, heel against toe, but it didn’t work. I almost felt trapped that I couldn’t just throw off all the shit that was on me. I sat down on the toilet and frantically tried to untie the knots on the boots. It for sure took longer than if I had been calm. It didn’t help that I saw dirt under my finger nails. Once the first boot was off I reeled back from the smell of stale foot juice. Someone else’s warm boot smell, and on my foot, a thick, grey sock. I yanked it off, fast as I could, and did the same on the other foot.

Though the end was near, I just felt more and more trapped. The jeans had a belt with a belt buckle large as my hand. I undid it, and undid the buttons. The worst for last. Under the jeans I wore a jockstrap. Not any of the sexualized neon-pink ones from a pride parade. No, some disgusting, once white jockstrap with a few blue and red lines on the waist band. I got out of the jeans, and then as quickly as possible pulled off the jockstrap and thew it in the heap with the other shit.

My heart was still racing, the room smelled of feet and sweat and diesel, and my sight was transfixed on the pile of clothes on the floor. It took probably a minute to calm down. I looked in the mirror. There was a clear dirt line where the hoodie ended and my neck started. Determined I walk out of the bathroom to the kitchen to get a plastic bag. I needed to put all of the clothes away before I started to shower. I shuddered to imagine what damp air would to do them and the smell they would give off.

It started out brownish and took a while until the water running into the shower drain was clear. Only then did I start with soap. One full body pass with hard soap and one with some liquid soap. Then two thorough shampooings and finally one pass conditioner, something I rarely use. But I felt like I needed it this time.

I wasn’t at all surprised to find that it was again Monday, not Saturday, when I checked my smartphone. I made a deal with my project manager on Slack to work from home. I needed to vacuum and wet wipe the entire apartment to get the dirt out, figure out what was missing, and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

Assessing the damage I could immediately see that my hunch of things missing was true. A few art pieces were gone, and most of my formal clothes as well. It was just bizarre. The state of my apartment didn’t make sense either. It didn’t look like someone had thrown a party, but rather as if they had squatted there. Rifled through my stuff like a burglar, but also lounged around, dragging dirt all over my carpets and furniture. I was trying to think back to the last time it happened, what was different from then. This was like a serial killer story on CSI. They keep getting bolder and bolder after each kill, at least in the show. Did this guy, whoever he was, think his method was perfected enough that he could come and go as he wished. Even mock me by dressing me up. Who knows when he’ll...

I dropped everything and checked my phone calendar. This was the last weekend of the month, and last time it had happened was also the last weekend of the month. I flipped back through the month in the calendar, desperately trying to remember anything about the previous times I had lost track of time. For all the ones I could remember anything about, they had all been the last weekend of the month. So that was his pattern. How had I not seen that before? All I needed was some go pro or something. Motion activated, long battery time. I was doing some of my best work in a long time that afternoon. “Perhaps you should work from home more often” my project lead told me on slack.

It was such a roller coaster of a day, I reflected, as I took my second shower. Despite having thrown away the clothes, that smell of sweat lingered. Probably my imagination, but I had also spent several hours scrubbing floors, so my body was sore all over. I felt like I’ve had quite a workout, which probably was true. As I let the water wash over me I was thinking of all the different places to put cameras in the apartment. I wanted as few as possible, for cost reasons of course, but have as wide and good coverage as possible, yet be hard to find.

Something had not gone according to plan. I had purchased the cameras well in advance, tried them out, and checked the footage. All great. I had put limits on my credit cards. Made backups of my computer. Hid away some of the more valuable items. Everything was set when I went to bed. I was nervous, sure, but fully expected to wake up with the face of my tormentor recorded. At least I had expected to wake up at home.

This looked like a scrap yard, and my bed had been a bunch of cut up cardboard boxes. It took some minutes to get my bearings. My entire body felt stiff. I must have slept here, in the cold, on the hard surface all night, and I didn’t have much clothes on either. A tattered T-shirt, just as distressed jeans, and a pair of OK jogging shoes. I smelled like I hadn’t showered all week. Looking to my left I could see a camera on a rack of junk, looking back at me. It might even be one of the ones I bought and hid. So much for that attempt.

As I got up to get it, I something more than just soreness, and looked again at myself. Since when was I this ripped? My arms were way larger than when I went to sleep. My work is sitting with a lap top, writing almost the same thing over and over. I don’t have veins that pops. There is nothing that bulges when I bend my arms. Apparently I do now. Even without a mirror I could tell the rest of the body had changed just as much as well. What the hell is going on?

I stood up and walked a step to the camera. Everything felt wrong. My center of gravity was somehow off. My pose was different. My gait was different. It’s like my newly gotten muscles forced me to move differently, or they would rub against my body, stopping them. The small camera was recording, but I had no means to view it here, wherever I was. I stopped it, grabbed it and started to look for an exit.

After a few minutes of random turns in the heaps of trash I found a clearing and an open gate. An older man in a neat, but worn, blue coverall sat in a plastic chair, reading some papers and drinking coffee from a cup of out of place fancy china.

- Kyle! Here this early? I didn’t even know you were here.

Kyle? Who is this man mistaking me for? No time to figure that out. I have no idea where I am, what time it is, or how to get home, and I need to get there before anyone gets suspicious.

- The early bird. What time is it anyway? - It’s 5... 48.

I thanked him and exited. Once outside of the gates I started to recognize where I were. This was the industrial park south-west of the city. Lots of small and medium companies have lots there. The other kind of “lots”. God, and I’m a copywriter. It would be almost an hour walk to get home from here. I started to pat my pockets to see if I had any money or anything on me, and almost jumped and yelped.

I have a monster cock. It’s huge! You don’t just suddenly grow a large penis in your twenties. Certainly not while sleeping through a weekend. I just realized that perhaps I was wrong there too. It could be a year later for all I knew. I might not even have an apartment to come back to. I found my keys in my right front pocket and some wrinkled cash in my left.

I managed to find a bus stop at the outskirts of the park, with a bus passing every 30 minutes according to the posted schedule. I reckoned that even if I had just missed a bus, it would still be faster to wait for the next. Thankfully it was deserted. People would be travelling to their work at this hour, and most would come by car anyway. So I got to stand there and be self conscious all by myself. What a crude and obscene sight I must be, perhaps less so out here with literal blue collar workers, but at least pushing it. I couldn’t wait to incinerate these tattered clothes, and scrub myself an hour in the shower to get rid of this stench of man and machine parts. I just realized I would be on public transport in this state. Perhaps walking would be preferable after all.

At that moment the bus just rounded the bend in the distance. It would be weird to not take it now. The bus came to a stop just in front of me, and two hispanic looking men stepped off at the rear and I stepped on. I picked up my wad of cash and asked the driver how much for a single to town center.

- Travel card or travel app only.

I didn’t move, trying to come up with something to convince him to take me anyway. Pay him personally perhaps.

- Just take a seat.

The bus took a depressing sight seeing tour of our declining manufacturing industries before heading back into town. I can see from the time, date and temperature a gas station sign that it is just Monday two days later from when I went to sleep. Whatever had happened, happened during those 72 or so hours. My normally noisy mind was quiet. I couldn’t come up with any explanation for what was going on. Some 24 minutes later, according to the bus clock, I was reasonably close to home to walk.

Predictably my home was in a mess when I opened the door. On the floor were pieces of smashed surveillance cameras mixed with dried dirt, ripped papers, shredded clothes and other parts of my life smashed to bits. At least my laptop was unharmed, sitting on the living room table. I would have to deal with the rest of the apartment later, but my immediate concern was the camera I brought with me. I connected a USB cable between it and the laptop, and the vendor app started automatically.

The software showed the final frame of the video, with me pressing the off button at the junkyard. Fuck, I looked terrible, and almost unrecognizably different. I clicked at the start of the progress bar and the image switched to an interior view of my apartment, from what I thought had been a clever place in the bookcase to hide the camera. Into view walked me, in only underwear. Was I sleepwalking? What was this? The me in the video looked like how I remembered myself from this Friday, but he walked “looser”, for lack of a better term. He, I, looked furious.

- What the fuck is this shit? Yo spying on me now, fucking lib? Making your own fucking government spy program?

He was holding another camera in his hand, and threw it at the wall, showering the room with cheap, Chinese plastic shards.

- Just typical of you people, ain’t it? Can’t stay out of honest folks lives. I’ll fucking show you then. All this bullshit has to go. “Ooooo! Look at mee! I type on a compuuuter for living!”

He spat a large glob of spit somewhere on the floor off camera.

- I’ll butt into your life then. See how you like that? I’ll show you what a real fucking american looks like.

And he reached out to the camera and pressed the off button. It instantly cut to almost complete darkness. He could just barely make out the outline of a man moving, illuminated by the far distant sodium light. The camera then did cuts after cuts, as the motion detection turned on and off recording. As I fast forwarded It became apparent this was the camera setup recording me as I was sleeping on a stack of cardboard.

I didn’t even watch to the end, but just threw the laptop on the table and looked around in disbelief. “Schizophrenic” was all I could think. That was the only explanation that made sense. Somehow I was switching between me and this douchebag on a set schedule. Or was that imagined also? What about the body? Did I imagine that? Or did I imagine my old body and this was the real one? No, schizophrenic isn’t the word. What’s the real medical one... Multiple Personality Disorder! That’s the one! Fuck! I’ve been off my game all morning. Did my mind change too, and not just the body?

I picked through the devastation of my home. Almost all of my clothes were gone, replaced with distressed and dirty clothes that looked like it belonged to a teenager, mechanic and/or farmer. Most of it off brand, but some fox racing and carhartt stuff looked almost new. Where was all this shit coming from? This time I didn’t just dump everything in a trash bag, but tried to sort through the mess. If this really was a Dr. Jekyll and Kyle situation, perhaps it was best to keep as much of this shit as possible, or he would just drag in more. All of my broken stuff had to go though.

As I got rid of the last torn book pages and shredded tie, I realized that I didn’t actually miss all my stuff. I was more upset with how I lost it. I was just about to head out for lunch when I saw myself in the mirror. I’d spent all morning in that shitty T-shirt, jeans and shoes without thinking about changing. Suddenly I felt dirty again. Damn him!

This time the surprise was that there wasn’t any surprise. I stepped out of the shoes and found I had no socks on me, which felt icky to me. As I started to pull down my jeans I found I didn’t have any underwear either. I stopped at the knees and was transfixed with what I saw. My dick and balls where probably twice my old size. The legs looked stronger than before. I undressed the last part of the jeans just with my legs, and could clearly hear them rip further. Then I grabbed the T-shirt and pulled it off in one motion, and got a good whiff of really strong body odor. The upper body was something else. I had abs. I had pecs. Not huge ones, but well defined. My body had never looked this good before, and probably never would if it had been only up to me. I spent a really long time cleaning myself in the shower. How the fuck was this possible?

Andy was the first one to say something, perhaps even the first one to recognize me.

- Wow! What the hell happened here?! - Morning Andy. Just some workout that paid off. - Bulk payment? Well, you look great. I like the hipster look.

I had washed a pair of carhartt pants and a plaid shirt, brushed some boots clean, and managed to dress close to what one of our art directors looked like, but with muscles. As much as I hated all the crap in my apartment, it did fit my body, and it would take both time and money to replace it all, so I gathered I would use what I could. There was no hiding this body anyway.

It was a weird day in many ways. In one way it was like I was a new employee, with looks and outright stares from women, and a few guys, I didn’t know very well. Some people I had barely talked to before, mostly quite fit men, chatted with me to assess if I would fit in their social circle. And those I worked with the most couldn’t stop giving remarks about my body, some flattering, some jokes, many subtly envious, and several hurtful in the line of meathead and jockywriter.

I was obviously self conscious all the time. Even when I didn’t have eyes glued on me, or remarks woven into every dialogue, I could feel my body in a way I had never done before. I couldn’t sit the same as before. My legs were different. My junk was way different. My arms rubbed against my body in a new way. I felt restless as soon as I begun a task. And above all it felt like all my talent had left the building. I was not being very productive.

It pretty much dragged on like that. Perhaps less with the staring and the remarks, but certainly with my confidence and performance at an all time low. It was self reinforcing. The worse I performed the more certain I was that this was my new peak. As good as it gets. I didn’t bother to buy any new clothes. It felt pointless. At least I was always showing up with clean clothes. I kind of had to, because after a day they stunk.

After two weeks Jared, my boss, took me aside for a lunch meeting in his office. I knew things were going piss poor, and that I hadn’t been upfront with him about it. I made the decision to tell him everything I knew. The lost times, the “break ins”, the abduction to the junk yard, the sudden body changes, and my theory of multiple personality disorder, despite it not explaining everything.

He didn’t say a word while I spoke, and carefully consumed his Vietnamese BBQ baguette, making the appearance of almost not listening at all. Once my story was up to date with the last few days. He was just silently nodding and remained quiet for too many seconds.

- Can I meet him? - Who? - Kyle.

I was surprised. Somehow I hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. I could never meet him, of course, but someone else could.

- When’s the next full moon? - The what? - The next time Kyle emerge? - Last weekend of the month. Week and a half from now. - We are way behind on cataloging. Boring and non-creative work, I know, but... you know... - Yeah, I know. - Well, you shouldn’t have any problems lifting the boxes at least.

It felt weird having my boss doing an all nighter binging Netflix content in my living room, while I was going to bed in the bedroom, but he was adamant he wanted to do this. So I fell asleep and strangely nothing appeared to be different when I woke up.

I quickly got dressed, blue jeans and fox racing shirt, and found Jared sleeping in my living room. It was 6:41 Monday morning according to my phone. Had he been here the whole weekend? I had a look around in the apartment. Some things had moved around, but it looked neat and clean enough.

- Hey... Hey Jared.. - Mmmmm - Hey, what happened?

Jared made a big yawn and sat up in the couch.

- Mmm. We certainly had too much to drink. - We? - You don’t feel it? I guess Kyle was right. - Right about what? - Well, it’s certainly more than just a mental thing, but we already knew that. I think I may have brokered a truce. - A truce? - Just trust me on this one. Don’t go to a doctor or anything. Keep his stuff in the apartment somewhere. - And me? What do I get.

Jared had a wry smile. Why was he so stingy with details?

- You get to be the message lead for our Chrysler commercial. - WHAT?! That’s huge. Wait... Why are you giving it to me? If someone asked a few days ago I would have said for sure I would be fired very soon. - I think you’ll do great. I’ll think you’ll manage to craft exactly the right message for heartland consumers. I have it from a good source that you’ll be just the right blend of creative writer and redneck for the job.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Welcome to Oblivion-Ch. 31

Chapter 31

           Sonya looked me over as I rolled out of bed. The spring semester had started a week ago, and I was still getting back into the swing of a functional schedule. My roommate grinned and pushed her ever-present box of donuts toward me.

           “Morning, sleepy head,” she said as she pulled on her shoes. “You’ve got twenty minutes before your first class starts.”

           It took a moment for the words to sink in. Then, I sat bolt upright and scrubbed my hands over my face. “Shit,” I groaned, stumbling toward the bathroom. My first class was on the far side of campus. It took fifteen minutes to get there on a good day.

           “Oh,” Sonya added as she shrugged into a warm jacket. “It’s snowing.”

           In the next moment, she had her bag and had already slipped out of the room. I growled and shoved into the bathroom. Thank goodness Dana and Ember weren’t taking up counter space.

           “That’s it,” I said to my reflection. “I have to stop going over to the boys’ place during the week.”

           My thoughts raced as I ran a brush through my hair and brushed my teeth. They were a rush and jumble of the memories and moments that I’d lived during the break. The drive back to see my parents for Christmas. Slipping and sliding in the snow with Dean. Driving up the mountain in the warmth of Roman’s truck. Watching the ball drop on the sofa smushed between the two of them, Seth hovering in the background like a shadow.

           I tugged on some jeans and a warm grey thermal shirt. Thick socks and my best pair of boots. I slipped Roman’s worn Pirate’s hoodie on and snatched up my backpack. I only barely thought to check for my key before I slammed the door shut behind me.

           “There you are,” Drew called from the other end of the hallway. His accent seemed thicker since he’d come back from Scotland. I liked the way it sounded. For some reason, it made me think of home. “Where’ve you been hiding, lass?”

           I smiled, even though my heart was racing with anxiety. “New semester business, McIntyre. And I’m going to be late for class.”

           He fell into step beside me, his loping pace matching mine. “What class?”

           “Philosophy of Religion with Professor Michaels.”

           “Shit. In Hardy Hall?”

           I nodded. “Even if I ran, I’d never make it on time. This is a great way to start the semester.” We were at the steps that lead up the hill toward north campus. I rolled my eyes and grunted. “I’m blaming all of it on Ro and Dean.”

           Drew looked up the steep stairway and grinned. “Of course you wouldn’t make it. Your legs are too short. Come on.”

           He turned and snatched me up onto his back. I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t listen. He just rumbled with laughter and took the steps two at a time. “Drew! Put me down!”

           What felt like half a second later, he deposited me back on my feet at the top of the stairs. “Cut through the basement level of Andre Hall, make a left onto the skybridge into Piper Hall. Down the stairs on the right and you’ll come out right behind Hardy. Walk fast, lass.”

           Drew grinned and gave me a gentle push in the shoulder. I grinned back and took off across the icy sidewalk.

***

           The snow continued into the early afternoon, the flurries turning into fat flakes that drifted down and settled into piles and mounds along the ground. I picked my way along the sidewalk and slipped into the student center, shaking snow out of my hair. The ground floor was packed with people, practically every seat filled with students and staff desperate for some warmth and a refuge from the snow drifting down outside.

           I fell into the line in the coffee shop as I checked my watch. It was just after one in the afternoon, and I was free for a few hours before I had to tramp over to the Cove for practice. My knee ached faintly from the cold and the walking. I wondered what Coach Helmsley would say if I dropped out of practice for today. Football season was over. Competition season didn’t pick up until the end of February.

           Keeping one eye on the line, I dug my phone out of my pocket and opened my email. I tapped out a quick message to Coach Helmsley and sighed in relief that I would be able to go back to my room, take a hot shower, and then crash in my bed with a heat pack on my knee.

           “Hey, Addy,” said a familiar voice. I looked up to see Seth behind the counter. He grinned. “What’ll it be?”

           It took me a moment to realize that this was his job, working in the school coffee shop. Of course, it shouldn’t surprise me the way that he chugged caffeine as if it were oxygen. I looked up at the menu and frowned.

           “You know what, I’ve got just the thing,” he said with a wink. He grabbed a cup and started bustling around behind the hot bar, mixing up a coffee like it was a chemistry experiment. I watched, trying to keep track of everything he used. But it was so involved that it was nearly impossible to keep up.

           A few moments later, he slid the cup across the counter. “Give it a try,” he said, looking sheepish and innocently hopeful. I held the cup with both hands, letting the warmth sink into my skin. I blew across the top of the liquid before taking a small sip. Heat and sugar and caffeine spilled into me in the perfect mix. I grinned. “You like it?”

           I felt my whole body relax. “This is heaven in a cup, Rollins. You’ll have to teach me how to make it.”

           He grinned broader and I could have sworn that he blushed. “Can’t do that, Ads. If you know the secret, you’ll won’t come back again.”

           I leaned against the counter, oblivious to the line piling up behind me. “I doubt it. Seems like there’s more reasons for me to come by more often.” I felt the heat rush into my cheeks as I dug out my ID card. I cleared my throat. “How much?”

           Seth smiled, showing off a slight gap in his front teeth. His brown eyes were bright as he waved his hand dismissively. “It’s on me.”

           I smiled sheepishly and ducked my head. “Thanks, Seth,” I replied, stuffing the card back into my pocket. “Hey, tell Ro and Dean that I’ll be over Friday night. No more weeknights hanging out with you guys. I almost missed my first class this morning. Again.”

           He nodded, glancing sideways to check the line. He sighed and stepped back toward the register. “I’ll let them know. Dean’ll be crushed.”

           I backed away, holding the coffee as if it was a precious. “He’ll get over it. See you this weekend!”

           I climbed the stairs to the second floor. The cafeteria was packed with people and the scent of food drifted out every time someone opened the doors. I peered through the glass walls, trying to find Roman’s dark hair or Dean’s black beanie. When I couldn’t find either one of them, I took another flight of stairs up to the top floor of the student center. A row of tables lined the edge of the balcony—two tops that were cluttered with textbooks, laptops, lunch wrappers. I passed by, all of them taken. There were a few study rooms that overlooked the courtyard, and luckily one of them was open.

           It was one of the ones with one wall made of nothing but windows. I pulled the table as far from the window as I could, and tucked myself into the corner. It only took a moment to spread out my books and my laptop, the coffee Seth made sitting close by. Only a week into the semester, and I was already drowning in homework.

***

           “Hey,” Seth said from the doorway of the study room. “You found my hideaway.”

           I looked around, slightly bewildered. I’d lost track of time reading and working on a paper for English. “Sorry,” I replied, grabbing at my books and papers and starting to shove them into my backpack. “I’ll head out.”

           “Nah,” he said as he tossed his bag on the table and sank down in a chair right across from me. “Not many people use this room, so I come here after work. I can get more things done here than I can at home.”

           I grinned softly, thinking about Roman and Dean. My body filled with warmth at the thought of them. “Yeah, I can see how difficult it would be to focus with Dean around.”

           “Put the two of us together and we go nuts,” Seth added with a chuckle. “I’m surprised Roman’s put up with us as long as he has.”

           “You guys are his brothers,” I replied, pulling a stack of notes from my bag. “So… too bad we don’t have a class together this semester.”

           Seth’s brown eyes went slightly sad. “Yeah, I had to track my major. Business classes suck.”

           I laughed quietly. “Then why are you a business major?”

           “I want to open my own business someday. A coffee shop maybe.”

           “Well,” I picked up the now empty cup from earlier, “if it all tastes like this, you’ll make a killing.”

           “Thanks, Addy,” Seth whispered. “That means a lot.”

           He smiled and dipped his head toward his laptop.

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it​ @vebner37​ @lilred​ 91 @not-that-kinda-gurl08​ @maelleoute​ @missjenniferb @librathephoenix13

[slothgiirl]

shadowplay part 17

“I think I’ll stick to sewing,” you utter, frowning as you look over the wall you’d finished painting. It wasn’t. . .bad. It just wasn’t amazing. Not a thing like the sample squared you’d seen in the store.

Alex laughs, blue jeans cuffed half way up his calves, paint staining the once grey sweatshirt. Most of the house had been painted. Your bedroom was done, with your sofa in the guest bedroom as you still had the living room to finish.

“I’m definitely getting someone to do the bathroom,” you tell him. “As fun. . .or well actually diy’s are frustrating. They never look as good as the picture. I’m starting to suspect I’m just not very handy.”

Alex wraps an arm around you, leaving the paint brush soaking in this side closer to mint green paint. White was too sterile for a living room. And you could always repaint the living room. It had been a fun weekend. Once you had figured out the floral stencils for the bedrooms.

“I would say I’d do it,” Alex says, planting a chaste kiss on your lips, “but me and Miles are actually . . .we’ve got something. Not sure what type of something. Yet”

“Baby number two,” you ask, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his, kissing him deeply, his mouth opening up to yours.

“Eh. . .we’ve got to do a pregnancy test to be sure. Play with the song a bit more. . .see where it leads if anywhere. ”

You laugh, padding your way to the kitchen. The kitchen you definitely hated but had to figure out what the hell you wanted to do with it. Architectural digest had become your friend. It was just so tack, with an awful shade of eyesore orange.

But you were leaving that for august. Probably crash at Alex’s while work finished.

You drink your cuppa coffee, long gone cold from this morning. And take a seat on the countertop that was for sure going to get replaced. “Does that mean you’ll go on tour then?” You ask Alex, watching as he pours himself a glass of cold water from the pitcher, a housewarming gift from Katie. He might live with you, but lately, he’d been spending just as much time with Miles between working on music and them being two peas in a pod.

Alex was still here, hair starting to curl around his ears, and you were already missing him, the thought of tour on your mind. On the road for months while you sat around in London. Not that you’d be wasting away like Miss Havisham, but it was Alex. You loved him. You could never get enough of him.

As if reading your thoughts, Alex walks over to you, settling between your legs, his hands on your thighs, “dunno. That’s still a ways away, love.” He kisses your jaw. “Right now we ‘ave . . .maybe one song.”

“You’re right,” you giggle as Alex nips at your throat, “besides. . .I think it’ll be nice to see you play. But let’s get away from the paint fumes for now.”

“You hear me play all the time,” Alex counters with a whine, leaning back.

“Mm, you and Miles taking the piss out of everything while strumming a guitar doesn’t count.”

“It’s worth at least a Brit or two,” Alex retorts with a naughty grin.

“The fame’s gone to your ego,” you groan, pulling him back to you, pulling his lips against yours, your hands bunching up the soft fabric of his shirt, as you lazily kiss. His feel of his body you know so well, pressing against you in the afternoon. In the home you’re both slowly making your own.

“I’ve got you to knock me down a peg,” he says breathlessly against your lips, his hands tightening their grip on your thighs, before capturing your lips once more.

It’s obvious where this is going, as you wrap your legs around his waist, having spent the last week having more sex than unpacking boxes. Finishing moving was nothing compared to having Alex’s cock filling you up, kissing you until you came undone.

“Someone has too,” you joke, reaching for the button of his jeans, palming over his hardening cock.

Alex laughs.

You take off your shirt, a very ancient t-shirt you used as pijamas, bleach stained and worn out. Now paint stained as well. You toss it aside without a thought, moaning as Alex takes your breasts in his hands, massaging them gently, running his thumbs over your hardened nipples. His trails kisses around your neck.

And you can do nothing, eyes fluttering shut in bliss, your fingers threaded through his hair.

Your grip in his brown locks tightens, dragging him up to your, wanting to kiss him again. “We’ve probably breathed in way too many toxic fumes this week,” you whisper teasingly.

“Can’t be worse than smoking,” Alex jokes, his hands deftly tugging your shorts from back when you had done actual exercise, down. You lift your hips, steading yourself on his shoulders, leaving you naked on the counter top.

“Alex, love,” you whine, “you’ve got too much on!”

He chuckles, your eyes on him as he takes his shirt off. Shamelessly admiring his body. The toned muscles of his abdomen. The trail of hair leading down to

-you push his jeans and boxers down his hips, freeing his hard cock. Wrapping a hand around his cock, watching him through hooded eyes as his moans, “fuck, babeh.” You stroke him again for the hell of it, already wet with anticipation. “just like that,” Alex stamers out.

Your skin, burning with desire, in the warm spring afternoon.

You suck open mouth kisses into the crook of his neck, whimpering as Alex pinches your nipple between his fingers, his other hand digging into your hip. Pleasure and pain mixing into a delicious combination. Your hand guides his cock to your entrance, as Alex thrusts into you.

“Fuck, Alex,” you moan, fingers digging into his shoulders, as he ffills you up.

“You’re so fucking wet for me aren’t you,” Alex whispers agaisnt your lips, trusting into you, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, hips snapping against yours.

The groan of the ancient countertop.

“Fuck yeah,” you reply breathlessly. “I want your cock so bad Alexander. Just like this. Filling me up.” You kiss his jaw. Take his bottom lip between your teeth. Kiss him hard enough to bruise. His tongue in your mouth.

Your fingers threading hard through his hair, as Alex sinks into your core, filling you up perfectly in this position. Your legs around his waist, wanting more. Alex always left you wanting more, like a craving you could never fully satiate.

He’d already fucked you this morning, taking you on all fours, morning light streaming in. Not that you noticed, Eyes pressed shut as you orgasmed.

And here you were again, heat relentless in your core, so goddamn close.

The counter creaks.

Alex digs his fingers into the back of your neck, rocking into you feverishly. “ ‘m close,” he moans.

You clench your tight. Clench your walls, Feel like your whole body’s gone-a rush of heat like a fireball in your core before bonelessness. Before sweet oblivion and your thoughts being wiped out.

Alex thrusts deeply once more before coming. Coming undone. His body resting against yours.

Breathless.

Fucked out of your mind. The sharp smell of paint wafts in from the other room.

Alex rests his forehead against yours, smiling softly down at you. “I bloody love you.”

You laugh, looking up at him with a lovesick smile on your lips. About to reply, thinking about something snarky, but feeling out of it. Feeling like matching his sappiness. When the counter cracks.

The counter cracks in half. A chunk breaking off for good measure under your legs. Sending you falling into Alex.

Sending you both tumbling to the ground.

“Fuck this kitchen,” you groan out, rolling your eyes before bursting into laughter. Getting up, ready to go shower before going out.

“They just had to ruin it in the 70s,” Alex hums in agreement. “Fucking particle board. Bloody wankers.”

“Join me for a shower?”

“Do ya even need to ask me love,” Alex smiles, eyes crinkling up with joy.

[breathinginthevapor]

Blank canvas

Summary: You are still in the process of figuring out who you are after a messy break up with famous band member Ashton Irwin, but then you run into him at a paint store. (wow i suck at summaries)

A/N: eeeekk i love angst. so. much. Perhaps I have dark soul lol. I’m working on a lot of different pieces at the moment so keep yourselves updated! 

TW: None, I think? Language, perhaps?

Masterlist

I don’t own the picture, it’s from Ashton’s instagram.

You push the button on the coffee machine and enjoys the way it breaks the dead silence in your apartment. Never in your whole life have you been this happy for something material but then again, it isn’t just a coffee machine that makes insanely good coffee: it’s also a step towards freeing yourself.

The brown liquor pours into your favourite cup on which the faces of you and your best friend are placed. She gave it you for your 17th birthday and although five years have passed, you still drink your coffee from it every morning.

You like how comforting it is to have habits. You’ve learned that even the smallest things can make you feel more at home, and since your apartment is all bare at the moment, you’ll take anything that makes it feel more like home.

All your belongings are boxed up in your hallway, but you haven’t had the energy to unpack yet so right now, it’s just you, a madras on the floor and your coffee machine. It’s been like this for the past week and you’re almost considering just to live like this forever. Life hasn’t felt this simple in a long time and every day that goes, you catch yourself smiling wider to the cashier at Walmart, sleeping better and longer and breathing a little easier. You’re making progress.

The bitterness has been sweetened by cream, and so the delicious taste fills your mouth as you take a sip of your drink.

He always preferred it jet black and tried everything to convince you that coffee shouldn’t be drunk any other way but as black and made-from-scratch as possible. He even went to new specialist stores to get the best coffee beans possible and never let you even pour a tiny drop of milk in it, insisting that it was a “disgrace” to lessen the taste.

So now, it feels like a small victory every time the machine makes the sweetest cup possible.

You smile at the thought, feeling a little petty but whatever. He won’t know, anyway.

You don’t have any plans for today and it feels like the world is full of possibilities and offers. Perhaps you could try out the sushi place around the corner or call that friend you haven’t spoken to in months or just unpack a little and then find a new TV-show to watch, letting yourself get caught up in other’s fictional problems instead of your own.

You lean against the kitchen counter, looking around and taking everything in while drinking the rest of your coffee. It’s nothing compared to your former apartment, but you feel at home in the neighbourhood and there’s a cozy vibe to the apartment you’re fond of. The walls could use some colour, though. Perhaps it would look good with a dark blue wall in your bedroom? Or painting the bathroom pink? No one’s stopping you. And so, you throw on an old pair of sneakers and a worn-out denim jacket before you lock the door behind you.

You only know of one shop that sells good quality paint for a fair price and although it’s in your old neighbourhood half an hour drive from here, you don’t hesitate to go.

Lately, you’ve taken great joy in just driving by yourself, singing falsely at the top of your longs to whatever bad pop song the radio played. It’s not that he was judgemental or that you weren’t comfortable around him, but when your boyfriend is a member of one of the most popular bands in the world, there’s a certain pressure to at least hitting some of the notes when you sing. But well, you don’t have to care about that anymore.

After having a concert in the front seat for half an hour, you park your car outside the paint shop and jump out, humming the song you just sung.

It’s the first time in years you’ve gone out without sunglasses or a hat to cover at least some of your face from the paparazzies but to be honest, you forgot while being so caught up in the euphoria of being able to do whatever you want and you’re pretty sure it’s been long enough since the breakup that most magazines have stopped caring what you’re doing on a day off.

A bell rings when you step through the door, and the dark-skinned woman behind the cash register nods in your direction before looking down at her phone again.

The shop seems empty today, most people probably being too busy with work to bother buying new paint.

You look around, trying to figure out where the pink and blue paint is located when a hunched figure snaps your attention. He’s wearing a loose grey hoodie and joggers, but you’d be able to recognize his body anywhere. It used to be the place where you felt most at home, after all.

You stand there paralyzed, so shocked seeing him that you’ve lost all ability to move when he picks up a bucket of white paint and turns around, facing you. It looks like he stops breathing, and you think you do the same, but you’re too focused on him to be sure.

He just stands there, staring you in the eye, hair flat and greasy and prominent bags under his once beautiful hazel eyes that now looks almost empty.

And right in this moment, being able to sing out of key and sweeten your coffee seems like the least of your worries because all you want to do is jump into his arms and beg him to take you back.

“Y/N,” he greets with a voice so low you wouldn’t have heard if it wasn’t for the fact that every fibre of your body is focused on him.

“Hi Ashton.” Your voice cracks when you mention his name and you suddenly become terribly self-aware. Although you’ve missed him so such you feared going insane, you really hadn’t hoped to meet him like this, dressed in night wear, slippers and an old jacket.

Actually, you would have preferred not meeting him at all for at least a couple more months, but the world is not a wish-granting factory, after all. You’ve known that for years, thanks to John Green.  

“I-I… What are you doing here? Thought you moved to the other side of town,” he stutters, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him be this nervous. He used to radiate confidence, like being covered in a silky-smooth layer of it.

However, there’s not much of that confidence left right now.

“Yeah, I did, but… I don’t know, the walls are all white and it makes everything seem so impersonal and this is the only shop I know that sells good paint so…” You’re not even sure your explanation makes any sense, but he nods like he gets what you mean and then again, he knows you better than anyone else in the entire world so it’s probably not that hard for him to get you. When you were together, you didn’t even need words to understand each other. Sometimes it almost felt like your brains were connected because you were so in sync.

“What about you, what are you doing here?”

He takes two steps towards you and the closer he gets, the more you realize how bad he looks. “The thing is, Y/N, that I’ve been sitting in our- my bedroom for the last two months, staring at the wall you painted orange when you first moved in. And I keep thinking that I didn’t even like that colour until you came into my life with your orange sundresses and painted walls and honestly, I don’t even know who I am without you.” He pauses, takes a deep breath and looks away for a few seconds, clearly trying to blink away tears. “I feel like a fucking blank canvas so I guess it’s only suitable that my walls will be too.”

The lump in your throat is impossible to swallow, and you can feel your hands grow sweaty. “Sometimes a blank canvas is nice, Ashton. It doesn’t have a lot of baggage,” you mutter, staring at your feet. “Gives you a chance to figure out who you wanna be.”

You can see his feet come closer, but you don’t dare to look up. “I know who I wanna be, Y/N.” He reaches out for your cheek, and finally, you force yourself to look up, instantly loosing yourself in his auburn orbs. “I wanna be your future. The person you depend on when everything’s shit. The man waiting for you at the altar. Not the idiot who broke your heart.”

You feel the tears stream down your cheeks, the saltwater a well-known companion considering how much time you’ve spent crying the last half year. You lean in until your lips collide with his, but it doesn’t feel like it used to. It doesn’t feel like home.

“Come home, Y/N. We’ll work this out,” he begs when your lips have parted, but you shake your head and take a small step back.

“I’m so sorry, Ashton. But it wouldn’t be right.” He looks surprised. Perhaps he thought the kiss meant something else. That it was a make-up-kiss instead of a goodbye-kiss. “I love you, don’t ever doubt that. I love you like I’ve never loved anybody else but our relationship and your lifestyle, it wasn’t healthy for me. I need stability and I need someone who is there for me and who supports me in every decision I make, even if it is drinking my coffee with milk and cream.”

You try to smile at him, but it only makes you cry harder, so you gather everything in you to continue your explanation. “And I like being a blank canvas right now. I like getting a do-over, a chance to reconsider if I even like orange anymore. Because this past year has changed me. After being left all alone, even when you were home, feeling like shit and doubting myself because I felt like you’d stopped loving me, I’ve changed. I need to get to know the new me. And you don’t fit in that equation, Ashton.”

You take a deep breath after your long flow of speech, your stomach turning. He looks completely, utterly broken, but it’s not your place to comfort him anymore. His friends, the people he has actually prioritized and been there for, will have to repay that favour now. “I’m sorry, Ashton,” you whisper, and then you turn on your heel and walk out of the store, finally firmly closing the door to your past with Ashton. You’ll buy paint another day, you decide. Right now, it’s time for a drink.

And while you get into your car, smiling through tears and feeling like a heavy weight has been lifted from your chest, Ashton falls down on the floor, salt water clouding his vision and hands trembling. He knows he has fucked up, but he always thought you’d be there, granting him your forgiveness and mending his pain with your presence. Nevertheless, you’re gone now, and he can do nothing but blame himself for letting this be your only choice. If only he had treated you better.

[crimsonbluemoon]

Unforgettable- Ohmtoonz Oneshot

So this week is always a hard week for me emotionally, and I needed some fluff to make my heart feel a little better. I heard this song the other day and I knew I wanted to write something for it. So I hope you enjoy. <3

Here is the song this story is based off of

Unforgettable

“Toonzy, where did you put the extra boxes?” The brunette popped his head out of the closet that he was rummaging through, blinking his hazel eyes when not receiving a response from his loud boyfriend. Ryan’s first thought was that the other man had distracted himself again during their packing. The two men had been working on tossing their entire apartment into boxes all day, the day fading into the night before the brunette had even realized it. They probably would have been done with the tedious task hours earlier, if Luke could stay focused. Ohm had always been the one in the couple that kept the train rolling, whether it was making dinner or preparing the next step in their life. Cartoonz seemed to prefer just going with the motion, never planning more than a few hours in advance. Sometimes it made Ohm laugh, while other moments could cause the younger man to roll his eyes in annoyance. Just once, Ryan would have liked his flitty boyfriend to stay on-task.

But that wasn’t the man he had fallen in love with.  

“I swear if he’s looking through his cd collection from high school again…” The hazel-eyed man gave a glance to the bed when a soft meow replied to his statement, Ryan smiling at the pretty long-haired cat now peering up at him. She looked elegant and fully judgemental of Ohm’s lack of organization, but he was used to the feline giving the snooty look. He simply smiled as hopped up to his feet, patting her twice before leaving the bedroom. He didn’t have to look long for his boyfriend, the bearded man sitting on the couch in their living room. And just as he suspected, his eyes were roaming something small in his grasp, Ryan pressing his hands to his hips as he sighed. “Luke.”

“Huh?” The brown gaze lifted from the object to glance up to Ryan, blinking twice to show he hadn’t heard Ohm’s earlier call of his name. Groaning to exaggerate his annoyance, Ryan walked over to the southern man, his head shaking in time to his ‘tsk’ noises.

“If you keep getting distracted, we’re never going to move.”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” The shove on his arm had Ryan laughing, his hand covering his giggles while he leaned his head onto the taller man’s shoulder. Though he knew he would regret wasting the packing time, the brunet couldn’t help himself from snuggling into the warmth at his side. A break wouldn’t kill them, even if they had to be out of the apartment by 5pm the next day. Not focusing on the encroaching deadline, Ohm glanced down to the large hands of his lover, catching a glimpse of what had caught his interest.

“Hey, is that...my wristband?” The black rope was worn and losing its dark color, the silver rabbit pendant less shiny than Ryan remembered it. It took him a moment to identify the jewelry as his own, having lost where he’d left it years ago. Where had Cartoonz re-discovered it? As if reading Ryan’s mind, the bearded lover smirked, swinging the black cord around his finger as he spoke.

“Found it behind the stack of books I was packing up. Princess probably brought it up there thinking it was her toy or something.”

“Now I know why they call them cat burglars,” Ryan mumbled, remembering the smug look of the fluff ball curled up on their bed.

“And Buddy’s the reason whiny, needy people are called bitches,” Was Luke’s reply, making Ohm raise his voice in protest.

“Hey, don’t be talking about Buddy like that!” The terrier in question was sleeping in the corner of the living room, though he ears flicked at the mention of his name. Not wanting to disturb the pup, Ryan snatched the bracelet from Cartoonz’s grasp, slipping it back onto his wrist. The weight of the rope against his skin felt nice, a tiny smile rising on his lips as he glanced at the rabbit. “I’m glad you found this; it’s my-”

“Favorite thing you got from your trip to Spain.” The way that Luke finished the sentence made Ryan blink, glancing back up at the man who shrugged and grinned at the look of confusion. “You told me the whole story the first night we met in person.”

“How did you remember my story? That was four years ago!”

“Because I remember everything about that night, Ohmie.” Luke’s tap on his nose paired with the old nickname made Ryan blush, glancing away from his boyfriend to fiddle with the worn out wristband.

“What are you talking about? We weren’t even dating back then.” It had taken the two a year to confess their feelings, a fact that everyone in their group seemed to already know. The men had been far too stubborn for their own good, pretending faster heartbeats and losses of breaths were meaningless. So the fact that Toonz was claiming to have a photographic memory of their first night was impossible for Ryan.

“So what? Are you calling me a liar?”

“...Not exactly.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” The explosion returned the smile to Ryan’s lips, laughing at the look of pure betrayal plastered over Luke’s face. Trying to soothe his lover, Ryan turned to face him on the couch, one leg curling under the other while his hands linked slowly behind the strong neck in front of him.

“It’s just impossible to remember everything about a night that neither of us knew would change our lives. I mean, I can’t even remember the name of the bar we went to-”

“St. Claire’s.” The instant answer had Ryan blinking, taken aback by the ease that was reflected in the knowledge Luke provided. But he didn’t seem to be done, taking the moment to flesh out the answer. “It was a dingy bar that didn’t have my favorite beer, so I had to settle for some shitty Miller Coors. You didn’t give a fuck because they had a bunch of fruity margaritas and you had to try the mango one, which also tasted like shit.”

“The mango one was fantastic,” Ryan replied, though he knew it was less about the taste and more about the pleasant buzz it gave him after downing it in nerves. Though his memory wasn’t as sharp as Luke was claiming his was, Ohm had some memories of the night they shared.

“Bet it tasted even better when that guy with the weird mole under his eye bought you one across the bar.” The sour look that came over his boyfriend’s expression helped Ryan remember the moment. Though the face was missing some factors, the mole was very vivid in Ohm’s memory, making him shiver in disgust.

“How do you remember all of this?” Ryan asked, trying to erase the picture from his mind. Luke’s quiet gaze caught the hazel-eyed man’s attention, surprised by how serious the other man’s face had become. It was rare for his boyfriend to fall silent, especially when knowing he had the upper hand in a conversation. Normally, Cartoonz would be rubbing his superior memory in Ohm’s face, bragging about his brain’s mental strength with enough bravado to make Ryan tackle him. But this moment felt different, and Ryan’s stomach started to flutter the longer it lingered. The sudden rush of heat on his face wasn’t as common as it had been the first year they dated, when they were still new and unsure of their love. And yet here, the Chicago native felt like he was being dragged back on their first date, thumbs nervously rubbing against the back of Luke’s hairline to try and calm himself.

“We met on October 14th.” The soft voice that Luke used when speaking about the night was rare, jolting Ryan’s heartbeat into a rapid pace despite the serenity of the story-telling. “You wore that grey hoodie you love because you said you wanted to still be Ohm, even if we were meeting in person. I’d already had three beers before you got there, but you caught up pretty fast with how many girly drinks you tossed back. We sat at the bar because Delirious had told me that getting a table would look too much like a ‘date’. You reeked of Axe. Like, I swore you took a fucking bath in it or something.”

“I’d been on a plane all day, give me a break.” He did recall his panic over smelling like sweat and vomit, the woman next to him on the plane suffering from motion sickness. Ohm’s defense made the edge of Luke’s lift twitch up, leaning closer to continue the story.

“The start of the night was stupid; you made me try and guess your middle name, and made me buy you the most disgusting fried green beans as an appetizer. You couldn’t look me in the eye for the first hour. Not until your fourth drink, when mole guy sent over his flirty offering, and you started to panic. So you grabbed my hand and begged me to come dance with you so he’d think we were together.” The memory flashed through Ohm’s mind like a picture reel, watching his younger self drag the snickering Cartoonz onto the dancefloor of the crowded bar. The music was a lost memory to Ryan, but the way that Luke let him link their fingers and sway to the random beat mad his hands tingle from the flashback.  

“What song was it?” Ryan asked, closing his eyes when Luke pressed their foreheads together and gave his signature soft chuckle.

“Marry you, by Bruno Mars.” There was no hesitation in the answer, the warm air from Cartoonz’s mouth brushing over Ohm’s lips. “You said it made you wanna fall in love with someone who’d make you homemade breakfast and wouldn’t judge you for watching the Puppy Bowl every year. And when I told you I could make a mean bowl of cheerios, you declared we were gonna get married. ”

“I was...very drunk.” Which probably explained why he couldn’t remember nearly as much of the night as his boyfriend. But hearing the story from Luke’s point of view made up for it, the details filling in murky parts of his memory.  

“Yeah, you were. Which is probably why you kissed me.” The new piece of information had Ohm’s eyes opening wide, glancing into the warm brown gaze that was lined with humor. “Yup, gave me a big old kiss on the cheek in the middle of the dance floor.”

“I did not,” Ohm protested instantly, wanting to bury his face into Luke’s chest when he nodded their heads together through their forehead contact before tapping his right cheek.

“Yes sir, you did. Right here.”

“Why would you let me do that?” The miserable groan Ryan released was loud, and he expected a snicker or a teasing remark from his boyfriend. But when none came, Ohm had to look at the face his lover was making, not expecting the range of emotions flashing over the older man’s face.

“You really didn’t know back then, huh?”

“Know what?”      

“Ohm, I almost got us a table. I didn’t hesitate to pay for your nasty green beans. I wanted to dance like a fool with you. I...okay, I totally still judge you for the Puppy bowl obsession; I’m learning to accept it. I didn’t know shit about cooking before that night. But I learned how to make pancakes and home fries from scratch because you drunkenly said you loved breakfast. And when you said we were gonna get married?” The question had Ryan’s eyes widening, his breath hitching when Luke reached behind him to grab the hands shaking on the back of his neck. The paler, small hands were held in Luke’s, dropping between them on the couch. And throughout the movement, brown eyes never left hazel, stealing any words that Ryan thought to speak. “You kissed me because I said yes. And it wasn’t just to stop that dude from hitting on you or because we’d been drinking. I wasn’t just going with the motions. It was because for years, I...fuck it.”

“Cartoonz-” And then the man was moving, Ryan’s stomach flipping when his boyfriend sunk onto his knee on the floor. Hands squeezed around his own before one pulled away, shoving into the loose pocket of the sweatpants Luke wore.

“I had a whole fucking plan for this.”

“You never plan,” Ohm answered weakly, not wanting to rush to conclusions at the pose. Luke didn’t look up to his boyfriend when he switched hands, checking the other pocket of his pants.

“Fuck you, Ohm, I had everything ready for tomorrow but I had to find that damn bracelet-” Luke’s muttering to himself was cut off when he pulled out the item he’d been searching for, the small velvet box leaving Ohm breathless.

“Oh, my God.” Ryan’s whisper seemed to send a wave of relief over the older man, who gave an easy grin when flipping the case open. The silver gleam of the ring in the box made the brunet’s throat dry out, while his eyes couldn’t blink back the tears now sprouting in them. “Oh my God.”

“Delirious is gonna kill me for asking you early, because I promised he could be there...fuck, we’ll just do it again or something. He’s stupid and won’t know. Uh, I mean, if you say-”

“Yes.” Ryan couldn’t stop his lips from blubbering out his answer, a grin splitting his face as his hands reached out to grab the scruffy face in front of him. Ohm used his leverage to yank Luke up onto the couch, barely waiting for the other’s knees to find purchase on the edge of the sofa before kissing him. He enjoyed the way Luke’s shoulders relaxed instantly, kissing back without hesitation. Their lips always melded perfectly together, but this kiss felt different. It was full of their love, from years of being together. Of years they spent pining. The pain both went through when thinking the other could never be theirs to hold. It had all been leading to this, Ryan knew it somewhere in his soul. Feeling Cartoonz cup his face, tilting him back to better access his lips, was like finding home. The kiss didn’t intensify, but stayed simmering with potential when the two pulled back slowly. Their eyes met as Ryan caught his breath, his smile rising again when seeing the relieved look on Luke’s face.

“Don’t sound too eager, God damn.” But the jest was lacking sass, too full of joy to let any other emotion show. It was infectious, Ryan giggling when Luke started to kiss down his jawline.

“All because of a bracelet,” he murmured, voice hitching when Luke’s mouth skimmed a sensitive spot on his neck.

“All because of you.” Then the southern man was pulling back, his eyes shining with the love Ryan never expected he’d deserve.

“Why me?” But he took it willingly, knowing he’d never be able to love another soul as much as the one now whispering his answer against Ryan’s lips.

“Because you’re unforgettable.”

And thats the end of this purely fluffy mess. I haven't written much for them lately so I felt they deserved it. I hope that it makes your day bright, too. Thank you for reading. As always, like, reblog, and let me know what you think! ^.^

[asaseya]

Princess of the Court :Chapter One

This isn't the first original story I've written but it will be the first one that I’ve posted. However, the only thing keeping this story from being a fanfic is the fact that its an original story...I’ll try to explain. I watch too much anime, and lately I’ve been on a slice of life/romance/sports anime kick. And that has bleed out to create this story. It’s been fun to write so hopefully It will be fun to read. Link to Chapter Two

AO3

Chapter one.

“Where are you going?” a teacher asked, tapping the shoulder of a wayward student.

Majida sighed loudly and then turned around. She glared at the teacher, only softening her gaze when she saw how it distressed him. She didn’t mean to be so snippy, it had just been a troubling morning.

The teacher looked smug as he straightened his tie. “I’m sorry. Can you understand me?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, I can understand.” she answered, resisting the urge to glare again. She couldn't glare at every person who assumed she didn’t speak Japanese or else she’d never smile. “I’m lining up,” She pointed the the girls in her class.

“That’s the girls line,” the teacher explained. “You belong in this one,” He gestured to the line of boy’s.

Majida opened her mouth then closed it. She choose Akahoshi high school partly because of its uniform. Not that the uniform from the all girls school down the way wasn't cute. If anything it was too cute, she wanted neat and smart, not cute. The girls uniform for Akahoshi High paired a grey blazer with a maroon and grey plaid skirt. The bow was a solid maroon, so was the tie that came with the boy’s uniform. The boy’s wore a grey blazer with maroon and grey plaid slacks. Guess which uniform she found herself in.

The manufacturers informed Majida via email that they assumed her form was incorrectly marked female. The height recorded was 178 cm and that was unheard of for a female high school freshman. Her weight didn’t help either, though in her defence she was practically all muscle. Yeah, its not common. She wanted to write back. So? At least call or email to check first! But arguing wouldn’t solve anything, besides, the manufacturers agreed to do a rush order free of charge. She’d have her new uniform by the end of this week. But for now she was stuck with this.

Majida tried to work around the problem. She arrived much earlier than the opening ceremony in a dress suit and styled her dark hair into a neat french braid. That dress suit was now in her locker. The principal insisted that she wear a uniform like everyone else.  It wasn’t, however, possible to take his “rules are rules” statement seriously when he giggled while saying it.

Majida sighed again. She had half  a mind to flash this teacher as proof but didn’t want more trouble. “Yes, yes, whatever you say,” she said as she trudged to the boy’s line.

“Only one yes! And take off those earrings!” He said, sounding bolder now that she was following his directions. He muttered under his breath about how Majida should cut her hair as well.

Majida ignored him. She had worn her favorite pair, studds shaped like red roses, in hopes that some good luck would come her way. Black studs occupied the other two holes he had in each ear. And what idiot asks a girl to cut her hair?... The type of idiot that confuses a girl for a boy just because she’s wearing the wrong uniform, she realized. She resisted the urge to look down her shirt to check that her boobs were still there.

Adding insult to injury she was second to the last person in the boy’s line for her class. The boy behind her looked completely bored. Or rather it was that he had the air of someone who felt all this was beneath him. His hands were tucked into his pockets and he slouched. His dark blond  hair flopped over his eyes. He could be handsome, Majida thought, very handsome if he didn’t look like he was about to fall asleep. That didn’t seem to matter to the girls nearby. He was already the subject of discussion.  The girls also seemed to notice her.

“You all suck at whispering,” Majida said to no one in particular, causing her year mates to immediately pretend that they were listening to the principal's speech.

Majida was used to catching other’s attention. Sometimes it was because of her height. Or how curly her hair was. Sometimes she would get trapped by well meaning folks who wanted to guess what she was, or where she was really from because her darker skin tone didn’t stereotypically match her facial features. But that was in the States. In Japan apparently people didn’t ask, they just stared when they thought she wasn’t looking. She hadn’t had enough experience living in Japan to know which form of rudeness she preferred yet.

Her home room teacher couldn’t pronounce her first name. She couldn’t blame him.She was told that her mother randomly picked it from one of those baby name websites. It was supposed to mean glorious in Arabic or whatever. Most thought it was made up. She low key agreed with them.

“Don’t worry about it.” she said with a smile.

Her homeroom teacher looked sheepish. He was a younger teacher with a pleasant disposition. A welcome change from the jerk of a teacher she met earlier. “I feel as if it would have been rude not to try. Can you pronounce it for me?”

“Ma-gee-da”

He looked at the roll again. “Ok got it . Mikami Majida-kun?”

“Uh...No chan is fine. Chan.”

The teacher tilted his head “Mikami-chan?” He squinted at her for a moment before his mouth formed a silent oh. “That explains some things. Mikami-chan it is then. And you’re from America originally, correct?”

Finally, she thought, A break through! She knew she didn’t look like a boy. Was everyone just seeing the uniform and going from there? “I was born there, yes,” she answered

“We are happy to have you here then,” the teacher said before moving on to the next name on the roll.

“Mikami-kun?” a girl asked shortly after the lunch bell rang. She was average height, making her much shorter than Majida. She kept her chin length dark brown hair back with a maroon headband. She blushed when Majida turned to her. “Sorry. I haven’t called a boy chan since elementary school.”

Majida sighed. She stood and took off her blazer. The blouse she wore underneath showed her figure more clearly. There was an audible gasp and suddenly everyone was looking at her. “You don’t have to use chan on a boy because I’m not a boy. They just sent me the wrong uniform.”

“I knew something was off,” a boy interjected.His loud voice carried over from the other side of the classroom. “Your voice was too light.”

Majida plopped back down and slumped in her chair. “You couldn’t tell by my face?” she pouted a bit, and the class laughed. It wasn’t exactly funny to her.

“Your face is wasted on a girl!” the girl who spoke first wailed. She covered her mouth with her hands immediately.

“Hina-chan! Aiming for the new guy already?” the loud boy called out again.

“Shut it Hayashi-kun,” Hina said sourly. Her disposition brightened as she turned her attention back to Majida. “But they really made you wear that Mikami-ku...chan?”

“The principal did” Majida explained. “He seems to think the situation is funny.”

Several students groaned.

“So the rumors are true,” said another girl who came to stand by Hina’s side. She was a bit taller than Hina with sharp eyes. Her long black hair was in a high ponytail. “We do have a crackpot for a principal.”

“Is this something I should have heard about about before enrolling here?” Majida asked.

The girl shrugged. “I guess we all have to get used to it.” She offered her hand to Majida. “You can call me Airi. No need to be all formal. And you’ve already meet Hina”

Majida shook her her hand. “Just call me Majida. Or Jida. I’m not really used to just being called by my last name.”

The other girls in class took their turn introducing themselves. Majida wasn’t confident that she’d remember all the names but it felt nice to get a warm welcome.

A boy puffed out his chest. “Well then. I guess it’s good you aren’t a boy. Now there is a bit less competition.”

Hayashi-kun scoffed. “You’re forgetting pretty boy over here.” He jerked his thumb to the tall boy that Majida stood in front of in the line up. Everyone looked over at the “pretty boy”. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the attention. His eyes flicked over to the class before returning to gaze out the window. The room became quiet again.

“Well then... now that this mix up is settled.” Majida said, breaking the ice. “I do look forward to attending classes with you all.”

“Yes!” Hina took a seat in the desk nearest to Majida. “And if you need help clearing up the whole boy-girl thing you can rely on me.”

Majida smirked a little. “I’m in your care then.” She pulled out her lunch box and began to unwrap it.

“Did you make that?” Hina asked. He had her lunch in her hands but seemed a lot more interested in what Majida had going on.

Airi gave Hina a little shove before pulling up a desk. “No you can’t have any of her lunch. What happened to that diet you were on?”

“Airi” Hina hissed.

Airi looked a bit smug as she reveled in Hina’s annoyance. “That does look good though.”

Majida lifted her lunch box to offer it to the girls. She’d made croquettes and a salad the night before.  Airi took a croquette and broke it in two in order to share with Hina. Hina didn’t hesitate to take her portion.

The girls ate for a while before Majida broke the silence once again. “So...I figure its best to do this now rather than wait for more rumours to start. Anyone have any questions?”

The two girls looked to each other.

“So...we can ask?” Hayashi- kun asked.

“As long as it’s reasonable sure.”

Another boy snorted. “Sounds like the perfect trap for you Hayashi.”

“You ask then Minami,” Hayashi said.

Majida smiled as she shrugged.

“Ok I’ll bite.” Minami started. “How come you can speak Japanese so well?”

“My dad’s Japanese,” Majida pulled out her phone and pulled up a family picture that was taken on their trip to Disney world last year. She held up her phone so that her classmates could see. Her dad stood on the left side. He was a bit taller than her back then but she had caught up to him quickly. Majida really liked pictures like this of him. Pictures where he smiled broadly and wasn’t standing stock straight. Where his hair wasn’t perfectly parted and slicked back. When he looked like more than some stuffy heir to an international company. His thin rimmed glasses were even replaced with neon colored sunglasses.  

Her mother looked as perfect as she always did. Her skin was darker than Majida’s and her hair was expertly strightend even in the summer heat and humidity. The only hint that she was on vacation was that she wore a sundress instead of the blouse and tailored pants she normally wore. She and Majida were the same height in this picture. Majida stood beside her mom leaning against her a little. She wore a pair of purple mickey mouse ears to match her purple romper. Her hair was long enough to reach her back. The humidity made it look frizzier than normal. Majdia was glad that she cropped her hair to shoulder length before moving abroad. It was such a pain when it was longer. Her little brother stood in the middle making a goofy face while wearing a pair of black mickey ears.  

“Is that your little brother?” a girl asked. “He’s adorable!”

“He’s ten, he’s not adorable at all,” Majida countered.

“Oh… yeah my little brother is ten,” another girl chimed in. “He’s a total terror.”

A boy whistled. “Your mom’s hot.”

A nearby girl swiped at the whistler.

“Ha! Got it!” Hayashi held up his phone with a triumphant grin. “That’s who she looks like, Gabrielle Union.”

The other students murmured as they agreed or disagreed.

“Well, my mom’s no actress,” Majida said as she began to type on her phone. “But she does perform.”She held up her phone again showing a picture of her mom from one of her ballet performances.

“Oh cool! She’s a pro.” a boy said as he pointed.”Do you dance too?”

“I do,” Majida answered. “But I prefer basketball.”

“Basketball?” the pretty boy spoke for the first time.

The class looked to him. Some showed their skepticism on their faces. He had been silent for so long they wondered if they were hearing things.

Majida narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

“What position?” he asked.

“Point guard mostly, but I play shooting guard in a pinch” she answered. “ You?”

“Power forward.” He said as he turned fully to face her.

Majida’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” she looked him up and down. He certainly was tall but and could get taller but he didn’t look particularly powerful. “Not a small forward?”

The pretty boy bristled. “No,” he said sharply.

Majida raised her hands in surrender. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t-”

“What are you doing here?” the pretty boy interrupted her. “There’s no girls team at this school.”

“What!” Majida yelled in english. She shook her head then switched back to Japanese. “No I checked. They didn’t go all the way last year but there definitely is a team.”

The pretty boy shook his head. “They were disbanded after last season.”

Majida stood up abruptly, her chair squeaking with the force. She marched out of the room ignoring the calls from the other students. She didn’t care that the next class was about to start soon. She needed to know right now if there was team at this school or not.

[ravenvsfox]

Oh! If i can get kind of specific, and.. not andriel for once.. (clutches heart i love those boys though) would you be willing to do 34 with jerejean, as like, jeremy introducing jean to the rest of the team maybe?

34: “I’d like to apologize in advance for my crazy family”

He has these serious grey eyes, dull like pebbles blazed by heat. There’s the other stuff too, the broken hitch sideways of his nose, the spidering scars all over, like they’re coming straight from the hurt in his brain. 

Jeremy sees them and tucks his burning questions away for later. There are more important things to notice. Like how Jean has a very pretty mouth, an overfull upper lip that makes him look like he’s perpetually pouting. It matches the frown line that cuts his brow in two.

He’s seen Jean before, for minutes at most, passing ships at Exy banquets, one intense first meeting when Jean was hastily smuggled onto the USC lineup and Jeremy was asked to do some reconnaissance and a cursory meet and greet.

He’d gone to see Jean, carrying a USC sweater he’d stolen from the bin of spares at the court as a peace offering. Jeremy hadn’t been prepared for the single saddest looking person he had ever seen, stripped of the bravado he’d worn at Riko’s side, cut off from some sort of threat but clearly not from the fear. 

Jeremy had pressed the bundle of red and gold into Jean’s hands and Jean had suppressed a jump, worried his torn lip and accepted it gently, gently, as if Jeremy was handing him a bomb for disposal.

Jeremy was nervous, but he fought to scrape the waver from his voice. He’d ignored Jean’s fresh wounds, ignored the look on his face like he was going to get hit or lied to.

They’d spoken briefly about how they’d handle the media, about the superficial scheduling concerns but also the bone-deep concern for Jean’s life that hummed underneath, sickening and obvious. Jeremy was frighteningly aware of the game running adjacent to Exy, always, something deadly eating at their community. The way they were handling Jean’s transfer like it was an illegal exchange of goods, Neil and Kevin in the news with a new bandage every few months, Jean in front of him looking like someone’s make up practice for a horror movie. It was all unmistakable.

And those eyes. He’s worried they’re never going to have anything in them.

They’re on him now, unflinching, and Jean’s less of a twitchy raw wound then he had been that first time the two of them had spoken. Jeremy’s trying to keep his smile pinned up at both sides but he feels like one end keeps sagging. The airport is a streaky spill of reunions and rolled luggage and Jean hoists his single duffle bag and waits for Jeremy to move first.

“How was your flight?” Jeremy asks nervously, trying to steer them out towards the car without getting too close or asking too much.

“How are they usually?”

Jeremy shrugs, offset. “Uhh, I mean. Good or bad is usually the measure. No turbulence and free pudding versus babies and vomit.”

“I don’t like pudding,” Jean says, dead serious, and Jeremy smiles for real.

“Well I like babies, so. It was a flawed example.”

Jean accepts this, looking around delicately, favouring one leg just a little. “My flight was fine. I sat alone because the person next to me was afraid of my face and asked to be relocated.”

“God. I’m sorry, Jean. That’s very uncool of them.”

“Oh,” Jean says, as they break out into the sunshine through sliding doors. “I prefer to be alone.”

“No,” Jeremy jokes weakly. “You’re so personable!”

Jean’s gaze slants over to him and sweeps down: a clean, exposing glance. “Are you mocking me?”

“I’m teasing you,” Jeremy corrects. “You’re going to have to get used to it, now that you’re a Trojan.”

“I am not a Trojan. I am a Raven in a galea,” he says. Jeremy’s lips purse and Jean sighs. “A helmet,” he explains, exhausted.

“I’ve taken history too,” Jeremy says gently. “I just—I don’t think you’re a raven. I don’t think you ever were.”

“You don’t know me,” Jean says curtly.

Jeremy unlocks the car, moving carefully out of Jean’s way, feeling a little pulse of embarrassment warring with his understanding. “I don’t think they did, either,” he tells him.

Jean puts his bag in the trunk gently, not looking at him, overexposed in the sunlight.

“Jean?”

He swallows and looks up.

“I’d like to,” he says. “Know you, I mean.”

_____

The trek to the dorms is a little awkward, but Jeremy fills the car up with bubblegum pop and stacks of questions. Jean only answers half of them, but Jeremy likes when he can startle some attitude out of him.

When they’re walking up to the squat, modern looking box of apartments, he tells him about the practice regimen, because that seems to be what interests Jean the most.

“Three hours in the evening, on a regular day. A full hour of warm-ups and drills and then we switch it up, play some games, you know, cycles of three on three then full blown. If it’s warm out we go play in the fields. One time we cranked Josh’s obnoxious gym mix and played dodgeball for warm-up,” he laughs. Jean looks sick.

“I do not understand how you got to finals every year.”

“Hey,” Jeremy says, wounded. “Dodgeball can be brutal.”

“I’m not here to play dodgeball.”

Jeremy watches him anxiously fingering his floppy brown bangs, stopped in front of the door and waiting, again, to be led. He’s such a strange combination of nervous energy and grit.

“Tough,” Jeremy says. “We’re gonna make you have fun whether you want to or not.”

Jean rolls his eyes. “Open the door, please.” The please is a little clipped by his accent. 

Jeremy flips him a key, and Jean scrambles to catch it. “All yours. Welcome home.”

Jean looks far away when he unlocks the door, caught in a current and building a dam behind him so Jeremy can’t follow.

They walk quietly over maroon carpeting, listening to the buzzing of the lights and their own footsteps. The silence is becoming comfortable for Jeremy like silences usually aren’t. They’re a whole different language, with Jean.

“Sara and Laila live here, and so do Trent and Nat, but a lot of the team lives off campus. Although I think Coach would love to have us all eating and sleeping on the court.”

Jean nods. “And you?”

Jeremy grins. “You sure you wanna know?”

Jean gives him a look as Jeremy turns on the spot at the end of the hall, forcing Jean to stop as well. “That’s why I asked.”

“Hmm, I’m not getting a lot of conviction. Ask like you mean it,” he teases, but Jean flinches.

“If it’s not my place, say so.”

Jeremy steps closer and grimaces when Jean steps back. “Hey.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “I’ve gotta get a handle on my joking, sorry. I know I’m not funny. Laila tells me every day.”

Jean looks at something beyond Jeremy’s head and frowns when he says, “you’re funny.”

“I’m also your roommate. I asked to transfer so I could keep an eye on you.”

Jean’s eyes bulge. “You what?”

“I asked to transfer so I could—“

“No, I heard, I—“ he breaks off and says something fierce and unintelligible. Possibly french. “Did you hear me when I said I liked to be alone?”

Jeremy goes sheepish. “Yeah, well. You kind of told me after the arrangements had been made. Besides, what we want and what we need are two very different things.” Jean still looks upset so Jeremy lowers his voice, steps back to give him some space. He offers him a second key with his palm up and unthreatening. “I’ll leave you alone. I read people pretty well. I just want to be a resource if you need. It can’t be easy to adjust to all of this alone.”

“It is—” Jean stops, swallows. “It’s much easier than what I have been doing for the rest of my life.”

It’s the realest thing he’s said for as long as they’ve been skirting around each other. Jeremy flushes with something topsy turvy proud before he can really understand what that might mean.

“Good. Easy. Done. Roommates.” He holds his hand out higher, until Jean gets the hint and takes the key, eyes rolling again. It’s quickly starting to look more sweet than exasperated. Jeremy doesn’t bother to tamp down his smile the whole time they’re delegating sides of the room and bickering over bathroom routines. Jean very slowly puts his precious few possessions on his bed, blinking at the blue swell of thread patterning the bare mattress.

Jeremy’s heart hurts. “We’re gonna go buy you some furniture this weekend. Maybe a lava lamp. Definitely a mini fridge.”

Jean looks at him, no longer lost in whatever keeps trying to blunt his eyes and eat his hard-earned fair mood. Jeremy smiles.

“Come on. Let’s meet the team.”

_____

He knows the court looks impressive the first time you see it, massive and yellow that’s supposed to be gold. Jean’s seen it before at games, of course, but Jeremy can see the glint in his eye that means it’s different now. It’s where he’ll be making a new life, learning to accept help, maybe playing some dodgeball. It’s where they’re going to win.

He hands him his third key of the day and laughs when Jean looks suspicious. He tells him, “I’m captain, and that means I’m key master too.”

Jean starts to get jittery when they’re inside, and Jeremy hopes it’s excitement. It’s the most three dimensional he’s seemed all day.

“By the way, I’d like to apologize in advance for my crazy family,” Jeremy says. “They can be very in your face, and I know you— well. I know you’re not a fan of that.”

Jean shrugs. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can, but Jean—” He pulls him up short by the wrist and feels terrible when Jean’s hummingbird pulse hammers against his fingers. He lets go instantly. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Stop being sorry,” Jean says, annoyed. “I don’t know what to do with your sorrys.”

“Accept them, maybe?” Jeremy says earnestly. He breathes out hard on a dry laugh. “Or throw them in the trash, whatever, I honestly—“ he goes quiet. “I just want you to know that I mean them. My team functions when everyone is comfortable. You push too hard, you make mistakes, you lose finals. That’s where Edgar Allan always went wrong.”

“We always won.”

“Not always,” Jeremy says. He bites at the inside of his lip. “And not for free.”

Jean looks away, and Jeremy considers that it might have been an extraordinarily insensitive thing to say. Like Jean wasn’t intimately aware of the price the Moriyamas forced every raven to pay.

“Sorry,” he says again, uselessly.

Jean is very still. He glances at the door to the actual court and his shoulders level out. “I want to see the court.”

“Right,” Jeremy breathes. “We can do that. You should know that Alvarez is planning a team-wide sleepover at centre court.” Jean swears in precise french, and Jeremy laughs. “It’s going to be a very long and heartfelt welcome.”

They push into the court and there’s an immediate chorus of cheers, red and gold memorabilia strewn over the court’s rich brown and plexiglass. Jean looks split in two, familiar in the court but narrowly confused, perhaps by the way they inhabit it like it belongs equally to all of them.

“Welcome to better days, Jean Moreau!” Sara calls, flapping a wave around her plastic cup. Laila puts an arm around her and smacks a kiss on her cheek. Jeremy wonders idly if they’ve spiked the lemonade yet.

“Um. Thank you,” Jean says, visibly uncomfortable.

“Oh! Wait,” Sara says, tapping thoughtfully at Laila’s arm. “I got this. Uhh de rien?”

“Yes,” Jean replies, as if humouring a child.

Jeremy’s chest swamps with affection. “Can I?” he asks, hand hovering over Jean’s back. Jean frowns, scrunches, considers.

“Yes,” he says again, clearly, and Jeremy slings a gentle arm around his shoulders.

“Kudos for not cussing them out yet,” he whispers, and Jean shivers just slightly under the weight of his arm.

“I’m not a monster,” Jean says, and his eyes flash. Jeremy ducks his head. The team is pouring champagne into some sort of gold painted chalice, and Sara has resorted to miming throwing a lasso at Jean and Jeremy so they’ll come join the festivities.

“No. You’re really not.”

[nicrt]

(rub a dub dub, two boys in a tub) - a haven apartments oneshot

For @goddamnminyard , in response to destroying my feels one too many times.  Don’t think this is enough fluff to balance out the angst fest you and the cfha crew are currently doing though.

There’s a bathroom on each level of the apartment building, shared among the occupants of the floor. It’s as old-fashioned as the rest of the building – brick walls and pipes exposed, vintage cabinets and out-of-date rugs – but Ardyn’s a meticulous person; so, as landlord he keeps everything in top form or up to date at least. The heater, shower and sink are all in mint and working condition; it’s more than enough to keep the residents from complaining.

The fact that it’s a shared space means that there’s always a piece of personal item stored away at one nook or cranny of the room, a catastrophic mixture of the residents’ eccentricity showing. It means that there’s a list of general rules to be adhered to when utilising the place – like don’t leave wet towels on the floor, who’s turn it is to wash the bathtub, and then some. It means that there’s a schedule written out for everyone on when was the best time for them to take their turn in the bathroom.

But for the next few hours, Noctis has the whole bathroom to himself.

The bath’s running, hot water pouring into the old thing, causing the bathroom to steam up a little. Noctis drops the jacket he’d worn today on to the tiled floor, stretching himself out as he tries to rid the soreness from his muscles. There’s traces of sweat still trailing down his skin and drenched into his shirt; he feels dirt and grime all over his arms and face. He looks out of the window to watch the rain fall for a moment until the cold makes him shiver and he’s on the move again.

He’d been trekking with Gladio and Iris for a good portion of the day. They took one of the hiking trails meant for the public to use, through one of the reserves close to the city. Solheim was known for her mountains and forests, beautiful wildlife surrounding urban developments, a clash of old and new that worked harmoniously in a way. It screams of Solheim and it’s probably why Ardyn is the way he is, Noctis thinks.

Gladiolus had burst through his apartment door, calling dibs on Noct’s free time for the day, so that they can meet up with Iris. She’s visiting the city with her dad, and while her dad was on official business, she’s free to explore the capital. ‘Explore’ meant ‘trekking’ in Gladio’s dictionary. Though Noctis will opt for lying in bed all day long, it doesn’t mean he’s not able to endure a good long hike. And it had been a long time since he last saw Iris, so it’s nice to see her again, the little girl he’d grown up with. Accompanying the two siblings had been fun; watching Gladio lead the way, talking with Iris on what her plans are after high school, catching his breath after a particularly difficult climb. Thrilling and satisfying, as Gladio puts it.

But right now, Noctis just wants to sink himself into a refreshing and warm bath for the evening. Seated on the edge of the tub – the nice, warm heat a pleasant sensation on his skin – he kicks off his boots, then shrugs off his t-shirt and wiggles out of the trousers he likes to use for long walks. There’s a few streaks of mud on his skin, marring the white with tinges of black and brown. Noctis can’t wait to wash it all off. His socks and underwear join the rest of his clothes in the corner, the cold a little more prominent now, before he immerses himself into the warm water.

He recalls Stella once telling him that the bathbombs she uses, do wonders in relaxing her muscles while she takes a bath. Ignis mentioned to him once that a nice amount of Epsom salt would work just as well. Noctis glances at the packaging sitting atop of the vanity, double checking if the amount he’s put in when the bath first ran was right. Then, he twists around to dip a hand into the water; hot, but not bordering on scalding, almost two-thirds full now. He reaches for the tap, turning it counter-clockwise to turn the water off.

With most of the other floor residents out for the evening, Noctis thought to indulge himself in something. It’s rare for him to do so nowadays, what with running on a student’s budget and a hectic schedule. Though he has his dad’s monthly funding, he hasn’t touched it since he first moved to Solheim. And with classes at the local university in session, working at Weskham’s restaurant outlet, and studying and revising his course materials, there just wasn’t enough time for slow and steady.

The water sloshes around a bit as he puts a toe in and then jerks back at the sudden heat. He puts his foot back in, before placing his leg in, the water level barely reaching his knee. Carefully manoeuvring himself, he manages to get his other leg in before gently setting himself down into the tub. The first thing that really hits him is how comfortably warm it is, and that it instantly gives his sore muscles relief. Then it’s how nice it is to submerge himself into the water, as if he was about to float in one of the pools back in Insomnia.

Noctis sighs, relaxing in the warm water. He uncurls his legs, letting them stretch until the end of the tub. Small as he is – and not that he’s admitting he’s short – the bathtub’s only big enough to let a portion of his body be submerged. The water only reaches up to his chest, and then his collarbones if he leans back on the tub. He lifts an arm out of the water, watches the liquid trails dripping off his limb. Parts of the dirt were already washed off, disappearing and disintegrating as soon as it hit water.

His face suddenly feels sticky and itchy at this observation; lifting his feet and using his hands for balance, Noctis pulls himself downwards into the tub. He holds his breath when his face hits the surface; he feels pressure around his head, ears blocked from any sound save for whatever white noise being underwater gives. Noctis opens his eyes, and while it wasn’t blue or clear like the lakes of Duscae or the seas by Cleigne, it was still otherworldly to see underwater. His feet were above the surface, so he can only see the rest of his legs and abdomen. His hair floats around him freely, the result of the one day he decides not to style it up with hair gel.

Bubbles of air escape him as he breathes out of his nose. Closing his eyes, he pushes himself back up and inhales deeply for air as he breaks the surface. His eyes start stinging, feels strands of his hair getting caught beneath his eyelids and plastered onto his cheeks. Noctis had placed a towel nearby beforehand, so he blindly tries to find it, an arm pulling out of the water to feel around for it.

“Looking for something?”

Something soft hits his hand. Noctis grunts out his thanks, taking the towel in his hand and using it to wipe at his eyes. When he’s able to blink them open without any pain, he looks to his side to see a roguish smile being directed at him. Noctis returns it with his own smile, a light huff escaping him.

“Hey Nyx,” he greets back, hanging the towel off the side of the tub.

The bartender’s grin widens. He’s crouching next to the tub, still in his work clothes. The leather jacket Nyx likes to wear is hanging on one of the hooks on the wall. An appreciative hum leaves Noctis as his eyes roves over Nyx. He’s wearing the grey shirt today, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the collar unbuttoned. He’s also wearing his black suspenders instead of his usual black vest, and that’s a different sort of sexy going on for the older man already. And while Noctis prefers seeing him in his leather pants, his work trousers were tapered so they look nice on him too.

“Eyes are up here, Noct,” Nyx says, and there’s a smug intonation in his voice.

“So they are.” Noctis replies. “Off work already? When did you get back?”

“About an hour ago, and I just got back. Libs is on duty tonight.” He tucks his arm together on the edge of the bathtub and perches his chin on them. “Tired?

Noctis chuckles. “Gladio. His sis is in town, thought it’d be fun to drag me out for a nature walk. He won’t be back tonight, staying with his family at a hotel.”

“You? And nature?” Nyx raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “And walking?”

Noctis splashes water at him, causing the other man to yelp, sputter and fall back on his butt. Nyx glares up at Noctis, to which he lets out a laugh.

“Not my fault you’re not dressed for the occasion.” Noctis waggles his eyebrows at Nyx. “Or rather, you’re overdressed.”

Nyx huffs, but a smile stretches across his face. “Down boy. I’m sorry, but I’m too tired to do anything much tonight.”

This causes Noctis to pause and take a closer look at the man. True enough, Nyx does look more tired than usual. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, his smile lacks the same cockiness it usually has and instead of sitting back on his haunches to continue talking, he’s staying seated on the floor rug.

“Drautos overworking you?” Noctis asks.

“Just the usual, kid. No worries.” Nyx answers. “Though I have been working nights all week.”

“I know. You’re usually dead asleep by the time I leave.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to miss your morning kisses, darling.”

Noctis shakes his head. “’s no big deal. You’re cute when you snore.”

“I do not.”

Noctis imitates the snore he usually hears from Nyx, exaggerating it just a tiny bit. Nyx lets loose a tired laughter, leaning back on his hands while his legs spread out. The front of his shirt is wet now since Noctis splashed at him. Nyx really is overdressed for this conversation. And as much as Noctis likes to see a wet Nyx – in both contexts – he doesn’t want to ruin one of the few nice shirts Nyx owned. An idea pops up in Noctis’ head then.

He pats the water's surface around him. “Get in Nyx.”

Nyx cocks an eyebrow at him.

“I'm serious, get in. I added in some Epsom salt.” He jerks his head at the box on the vanity. “Doing wonders to my sore muscles right now.”

Noctis watches Nyx as consideration crosses the man’s face. “You sure it'll fit the two of us?”

“Does it matter?” Noctis smiles.

“Heh...you're right about that. But aren’t you dirty from all the hiking?”

“Nyx...”

Nyx shakes his head at Noctis’ pout. But he stands up anyways, taking off his shoes and socks, tossing them nearby the pile of clothes Noctis left behind. He hooks a thumb each under the straps of the suspenders, pulling them down and shrugging them off his shoulders. Follows up by unzipping his trousers, Nyx managing one naughty glance at Noctis, before he shimmies them off his legs. It’s hilarious to see him kick them off from around his ankles, and Noctis can’t help a little giggle escape him. But as they come off, and his tanned skin is revealed, a low hum of appreciation leaves Noctis. He doesn’t hide his staring at Nyx’s thighs either, watching them flex as Nyx kept moving.

For all his talk about being too tired for anything more tonight, Nyx has enough energy to pull off a strip tease for Noctis apparently. He's slow when unbuttoning his shirt, pulling one button out at a time while holding Noctis’ attention with a heated gaze. He knows Noctis likes the shirt off him just as much as it’s on him.

Noctis lets out an approving whimper, hiding half his face underwater. Nyx laughs at that, and then laughs harder as Noctis blows out bubbles in the water.

Nyx finally gets his shirt off, leaving him in a singlet and underwear. He takes the singlet off with ease, dropping it off to one side. Nyx is all lean muscle and brown skin underneath his clothes, tufts of dark hair mapping out on his chest, abdomen clenching as he shivers, the cold hitting him.

Noctis’ gaze wanders all over Nyx’s body, drinking in all and everything beautiful about this man. Nyx is like some godsent gift to Noctis, a revelation only meant for his eyes. The only piece of clothing left is the black briefs that clung tightly around Nyx, the pair that Noct really likes to see on him, seeing as it accentuates his shapely ass.

With one last playful look, Nyx pulls off his underwear and tosses it at Noctis. Noctis shrieks when the clothing hits him in the face. He casts it aside, turning away before looking back in time to see Nyx getting ready to plop himself into the tub.

“Nyx, what are you-”

There's a lot of splashing, yelling and laughing as Nyx drops himself into the water, back first. Water rises and sloshes around, a good amount falling out of the tub now that more mass fills the space. They’re a tangle of limbs squeezed together, Noctis the one complaining about how he feels squashed under Nyx’s weight and Nyx telling him to ‘quit whining and make some room’. In the end, Nyx has his head resting on Noctis’ shoulder, comfortably sitting between the younger’s legs. Nyx has to tuck in his own legs, too long to keep it all inside the tub. Noctis has his arms around Nyx’s shoulders, hands rubbing against his chest while in the water. They make soothing motions, small arcs on the skin, fingers tracing little circles.

Nyx closes his eyes and sighs, finally relaxing. He feels the tension in his shoulders leave, a calm warmth seeping into his muscles, as if it loosens them from whatever coiled position they were in. The ache in his feet is relieved and while he wishes he to stretch his legs out, he’s still rather comfortable in his current position.

“Better?” Noctis whispers, lips pressing against the shell of his ear.

Nyx hums contently in response.

“Hope you don’t fall asleep on me,” Nyx feels Noctis smile.

“’m sorry if I do…” Nyx tilts his head towards where Noctis lips are at.

Noctis leans down to press his lips on Nyx’s, in an oddly-working-positioned kiss. It’s good though, a good kiss. It’s long and lazy, relaxed and wanted. Nyx’s arm reaches around behind Noctis’ head, fingers treading into his wet hair, gripping him by the nape to hold him there. Noctis has Nyx’s bottom lip between his own lips, alternating between gentle sucking and hard presses. The angle works, they’re able to catch and touch more skin, slip their tongues cheekily into each other’s mouth, take more than what a chaste kiss can offer.

They stop for a breath, eyes fluttering open. They’re staring at each other, deep blue eyes looking into bright grey ones; precious steel adoring the ocean. They’re noticing the other’s swollen lips and flushed cheeks. They’re feeling the warmth of the bath and the heat of each other’s naked bodies, clashing with the cold of the outside world.

“You’re right…” Nyx breathes out. “It is relaxing.”

Noctis chuckles. “Good to know. Can’t do this all the time, unfortunately.”

“Mmm, maybe the next time everyone else is out again then.” Nyx rolls his head away, pulling his arm back into the water.

“I’d like that,” Noctis whispers, even though he knows Nyx has probably fallen asleep.

His hands take Nyx’s own and holds them in his grasp. He intertwines their fingers together, brushing upon the ring Nyx has on his middle finger. He rubs circles in Nyx’s palms with his thumbs. He hears Nyx’s deep breathing; the light snore he makes when he sleeps. He presses a soft kiss at Nyx’s temple, inhales a salty scent mixing together with something unique to Nyx. His head drops gently atop of Nyx’s, hair tickling his cheek. His heart clenches in such love and fondness for the older man, in a way he hadn’t been sure about once, but knows now that everything about this is right. He holds the other man tighter in his arms, savouring another moment that’s only between them.

“I’d really like that…”

wordcount: 2771 (aww I wanted to hit 3k) type: alternate universe verse: haven apartments playlist: expectation/lean on me – seventeen, chase me – dreamcatchers, beautiful – monsta x, to all of you – syd matters, coffee shop – bap, spring day – bangtan