#screams into a pillow. anyway working on the new one today

[hugejk]

2 years.

due to high demand part 2 !!!! feedback is also very much appreciated <3

cw: addiction mentioned, rehab

||_________________||

After getting settled into your temporary home, you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Being woken up to the bright orange sun. You get up. You still didn’t know what to do with yourself. I guess the comments were right. You really do need some professional help.

you just didn’t know where to start, rehab? therapy? checking yourself into a psych ward? You sit at the small work desk at the hotel, clicking the pen and scooting the small writing pad they provided. You assume the best place to start was the addiction problems. You go on your phone and look for places. You find the highest rated one, and call it.

“hi.uhm. i was just uhm… wondering if i can check in? like check myself into rehab.”

the man on the other line told you the process of checking yourself in. You had to go in person and stay there until they think you were better than you had started. This process might take a while. But you’re willing to do it.

You gather your things, planning what you were going to tell the lady downstairs,

“my flight got rescheduled for today.”

“my friend is back at their house i don’t need the room anymore.”

“my parents have a room for me at their place.”

heading out the room and towards the elevator. Spamming the down button to hurry and get to the place. You didn’t care to wear the disguise you had packed. Nobody would see you for a couple more months anyways. At least that’s what you thought.

as the doors opened up, you look up from your shoes and see two young men. One of them wearing a dark beard and the other…well he looks like a kid. Clean shaven face, big brown eyes, short brunette hair.

“that’s exactly what i- wait aren’t you y/n?”

the one with the dark beard said as he pointed at you.

fuck.

“…do you want a picture?…”

you couldn’t even deny it, people recognized you so much now that you can’t say no to pictures, or else people would think your a rude arrogant celeb. And them boom there goes the grammy nomination, the awards, the money. everything you had worked so hard for.

you were so stuck in your head that you didn’t realize he was as talking to the younger one.

“this is the singer i was telling you about just the other day! you know…the one you said was-“

he was cut off by the brunette slapping his arm, giving him the “don’t you dare” look.

“look, i don’t have the time for this, do you want something? i have to be somewhere.”

you didn’t mean to be rude, but you just wanted to be fixed already. You didn’t have time to stop and talk with these guys. You notice the small badge on their nike sweaters.

“oh sorry——you know our football club is sponsored by spotify? you could totally be this years sponsor.”

the beard said to you, side eyeing the brunette and wiggling his eyebrows. Something was up. You just didn’t care enough to ask.

“uhm.yeah. sure whatever.”

you weren’t even planning on making new music anytime soon. you brush it off and push the down button for the other elevator. You didn’t want to be anywhere near a person right now.

now that you were alone in the elevator, you started to wonder and replay how the beard and the brunette were acting. As you got downstairs to the lobby, your worst fear. A packed lobby with screaming people and more guys all wearing the same nike hoodie, that logo.

you make a pit stop at the bathrooms to put on your glasses and mask, there was no way you couldn’t get away from this one. You blend back into the crowd, asking the nearest person,

“what’s this all about?”

“do you live under a rock? this is the best football club of all time right in front of us! FC barcelona!”

that’s when it finally hit you, the logo seemed so familiar. You remember watching a few el classicos with your dad when you were little. How could you forget?

But you had more important things to do that day. You thanked the person who reminded you of the club and went on with your day. Walking with your head down and airpods in, you arrived to your new home for a few months.

you open the door and walk up to the front desk,

“uhm..hi. id like to check myself in..”

you say with your head down, feeing ashamed that you were asking for help. You could’ve done this on your own but here you are.

“okay! before we check you in we’re gonna have to have you fill these papers out, and i hope you know what your doing right now is brave and your in good hands.”

crazy. It’s like the lady behind the desk could read your unsure mind. Her words repeat and bounce around in your head. Taking the papers and taking a seat in the lobby. It was small, and empty.

You have no idea what’s to come but surely it’ll be the best for you.

||_____________________||

tags: @pabl0andm3 @spidybaby @htpssgavi @alexis1taylorr

[gomu-fer]

one piece men react to you screaming their full name

ft. Ace, Zoro, Sanji

SFW, mentions of alcohol and smoking, gn reader

Masterlist

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩

Ace

“PORTGAS D. ACE” your voice resonates through all the walls, rooms and every nook and cranny from the Moby Dick. The mentioned stood frozen at the dinner table fork still full of food, he knew better than to run away

“What did you do now?” Marco asked eyes wide open

“Nothing!… that I remember” Ace scratched the back of his head trying to make memory of his recent activities, searching for whatever may had upset you

Marco laughed in disbelief “You’re a dead man” he said before taking another sip of his drink

You entered the room, stomping your way to your clueless boyfriend “May I have a word with you?” The tone and the politeness of the sentence made Marco fear for his dear friend. Ace nodded before he stood up and followed behind smile beaming in hopes you’ll have some mercy. A chorus of teasing ‘UUUUH’s were heard as you exited the dining room.

“Have I told you how radiant you look today?” Ace leaned over to kiss your cheek but you ducked making him loose his balance

“Don’t start with me Portgas” a shiver ran down Ace’s back, both from fear and… something else.

“You did this” you held a pillow cover in front of his face “You burned my only bed sheets, and you’re getting me new ones even if you end up in debt with everyone on this ship”

Ace was attracted to you all the time, but there was something in the way you would always stand your ground and how gorgeous you looked right now that was knocking him out of his feet. He placed his hand in the one were you held the pillow cover and pulled you in for a hug

“Im sorry sweetheart I’d get you new ones on the next island, you can borrow mine for now” you rolled your eyes and sighed, he got you wrapped all around his finger and he knew it, you couldn’t be mad at him for long

“Of course I’m taking yours, you sleep at my bed every night anyways… but wash them first” Ace picked you up and pampered your face with kisses “You look so hot when you’re angry

Zoro

“RORONOA ZORO” you screamed while exiting to the deck where he was working out, all of the straw hats looked back at Zoro in fear, Sanji holding in a laugh

Few things made this man flinch but he couldn’t help but catch himself lose balance when he heard his full name exit your lips in such an angry tone followed by your big stumps getting louder as you got closer

Everyone wrapped up whatever they were doing and ran off to the kitchen, leaving Zoro to face his demise alone

“What now?” He played it off trying to sound as nonchalant as he could not even looking your direction

“How many times have I asked you to not leave your sake around my desk?” If looks could kill your boyfriend would be a dead man

“Where am I supposed to put it then?” He scoffed crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looked at you for a second and his heart clenched at the cute way your brows furrowed and your arms rested on your hips

“Oh! I don’t know maybe, just getting silly here, IN THE PANTRY WHERE IT BELONGS!” Zoros condecency was driving you insane making your tone scale

The swordsman noticed how you were getting tense and teardrops threaten to run down your cheeks, he sighed a little embarrassed he had made you this upset. He cupped your cheeks while he apologized in that soft tone he reserved just for you

“I’m sorry I forgot to put it away last night, it won’t happen again I promise” he drew comforting circles around your cheek as he whispered

“It got all over my notebooks” oh so that’s why you were so shaken up

“I’ll clean it up baby” your boyfriend kissed your forehead as he made his way to the kitchen for a towel, as he opened the door every crew member fell comically on top of each other, they were ears dropping as they do.

Before Zoro could complain, your sweet laugh was heard at the distance which made him smile a little “You should listen to her mosshead” Sanji muttered which made the swordsman’s smile drop and scream back at him

Sanji

“BLACK LEG SANJI” even though you were screaming at him, the cook couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter at the way you wouldn’t use his birth last name as you knew he despised it and what it stand for, instead raging while using his public name.

You stormed in the kitchen eyes fixed on him, even angry Sanji thought you were breathtaking

“Yes my world?” he beamed a smile at you which you didn’t know if it annoyed or charmed you

“What have I said about smoking indoors?” Sanji felt the air get stuck in his throat, his eyes drifted from yours in shame

“I uhm-“ he laughed nervously as you got closer and closer cornering him against the counter, both hands caging him while they rested on said counter

“You know damn well I hate when my clothes smell like cigarettes, now imagine how I feel when my whole room stinks” you grabbed Sanjis tie to move his face closer to yours without breaking eye contact, you knew exactly what to do to make him a nervous wreck

The blondes heart couldn’t help but skip several beats at the way you were acting right now, he felt bad about upsetting you but he could get used to this side of you

“My apologies love, you know I cant manage to go without a smoke and sometimes I don’t want to leave your side” he twitched when his gaze met yours as he tried to explain himself

“Well you better start to manage” with a torturous slow move you took the cigarette that hanged from your boyfriends lips and threw it on the floor before stepping on it to take it out “Or I’ll move out of the room” you smiled teasingly while exploring his handsome features, stopping at his lips.

The cook turned all shades of red and pink breathing heavily, squirming a “Yes ma’m” before you kissed him passionately and breaking it abruptly

You winked at him before leaving the poor poor man absolutely stunted and a hot mess

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩

Hi! This is my first time doing this type of format so tell me what you think and feel free to request. English is not my first language so correct me if I made any mistakes.

[yournowheregirl]

@eddiemonth day 4: rejection

rating: T | wc: 913 | cw: hurt/comfort, general & UD related anxiety, hoh!Steve, pre-Steddie

Eddie flops down on his bed with a load groan.

He blindly reaches for a pillow and once he’s found one, he uses it to muffle his screams. It barely dampens the sound, but he's home alone anyway. He screams and screams until his throat starts to hurt and the tears he tried so hard to ignore, finally well up in his eyes.

Another rejection.

Another place that didn't want to hire him.

Even with all the strings Hopper and those government guys had pulled to clear his name, Eddie can't escape his brand-new reputation of local satanist and serial killer. There was a press conference and everything, and a personal apology from the police department, but it still wasn't enough to sway the public's opinion of him.

But he has to get a job, like yesterday. They'll run out of that government money sooner or later and he can't expect Wayne to continue cleaning up his mess. Wayne's done enough of that already.

Eddie's tried almost every place in town. His first instinct was the record store and the garage, because that's what where his interests and experience lie. They turned him away as soon as he came in to drop off his resume.

When he told his friends about his job search, Steve immediately offered to put a good word in for him at Family Video. Robin would ask their parents if they knew about any job openings and Nancy would do the same, though she'd avoid Eddie's name while talking to her father. Gareth, Jeff and Frank suggested he'd ask for a job at The Hideout, while Jonathan and Argyle suggested the local pizza place, because of course they would.

None of those jobs ever got back to him.

Today was one of his last resorts. The diner on the other side of town had an opening for a dishwasher. Not exactly the kind of job Eddie wanted, but it meant keeping a low profile and it would pay the bills. He'd take the job in a heartbeat, but the restaurant manager took one good look at him and sent him away before she even took one good look at his resume.

"We don't hire murderers." She'd sneered.

Any other day, Eddie would've maybe stand up for himself, made a whole scene, maybe even called the cops to prove his innocence yet again. But he was so burnt out from rejection after rejection, that he just shrugged, got into his van and drove all the way back home.

Even though the screaming helped a little, Eddie can still feel his mind buzzing, thoughts of anxiety swirling around and threatening to swallow him whole if he doesn't do something quick. He rolls off the bed, put whatever tape he can get his hands on into his boombox and turns up the volume to the loudest setting.

Other people might listen to soothing music to calm down, but Eddie needs the loudest, most aggressive music to drown out the thoughts in his head. The thoughts of never getting a job and leaving it up to Wayne to pick up the pieces, driving him to work harder and longer, until his brittle body can't take it anymore. Thoughts of losing their home again, being forced to call Rick again

It's all his fault. Everything is his fault.

Tears slowly roll down his cheeks as the music continues playing, so loud that he doesn't hear Wayne coming home. So loud that he doesn't hear Wayne picking up the phone to call someone. So loud that he doesn't hear the knock on his bedroom door twenty minutes later.

It's not until his bedroom goes completely quiet that Eddie finally notices he's not alone. For a second he thinks it's Wayne, but when he hears a muffled "oh thank God" from the other side of the trailer, he realizes that it must be someone else.

"Y'know, if you were so jealous of my new accessories, you could've just said so. No reason to shatter your eardrums like this." Steve says with a teasing grin. The sunlight reflects on the hearing aids he'd gotten a few months ago and of course, he pulls it off like he's a goddamn Calvin Klein model.

"Sorry."

Eddie's voice is small, barely recognizable to his own ears and Steve immediately picks up on it. His teasing smile fades away as he walks over to the bed and sit down next to Eddie. He shuffles around a bit to find a comfortable seat against the headboard and pats his lap.

Completely drained from his terrible day, Eddie doesn't even try to fight it and cuddles up next to Steve. He rests his head in Steve's lap and lets out a sigh of relief when Steve's hands find their way to his scalp.

"What's going on?" Steve asks softly.

"Another fucking job didn't want me." Eddie mutters against the fabric of his polo.

Steve hums in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry. You wanna talk about it or do you want some quiet time?"

"Quiet, please."

"Alright."

See, with Steve around, Eddie doesn't need the music to drown out his bad thoughts. They float away on their own as soon as Steve cuddles with him and starts massaging his scalp. Or, on other occasions, they float away when Steve distracts him by talking about Robin's hopeless love life.

Steve being there for him just helps, in general.

Eddie doesn't wanna look into that realization too much.

[kalims]

˃ ᵕ ˂ . . "who i like? do you seriously think I'm gonna tell you that? anyways its—"

大好き

premise. someone asks who you like.. and you respond with their name—said person right beside you!

characters. all dorms and their prominent students

includes. gn reader

note. after a long wait! and the almost month this has been on my 'to be added' category it's hereeee.. fun fact.. I actually finished another work because I liked the idea of it more even though this was my prioritized.

was 20 mins late because I was fixing my posts aksbja

heartslabyul

looks at you like you're insane. I'm confident everyone can envision riddle's face like that. it's in between the verge of being flustered and being appalled by your lack of filter. heat practically steams out of riddle's ears as his movements stutters, clearly struggling to comprehend what you said. maybe you should get ready for an earful but you're pleasantly suprised when riddle sets aside his.. passionate emotions to shyly ask a confirmation. (with admitted aggression as if he's in denial)

trey's eyebrows shoot up but the action looks way more casual than it should be. I mean, surprisingly he's pretty calm on taking it into account but he ends up just being a smiling fool beside you as you continue your conversation with your friend. he's like... ‎◜◡◝ beside you as your friend looks between the two of you in a hurry before breaking into a laugh. should be be worried that you're this bold..? well, it did work in his favor so he can't say a thing.

happy go luck cater looks even more happy than you've ever seen him in your life. hanging lowly by his sides, his hands twitch and he itches to pull out his phone to basically renounce to the world that his feelings are very much reciprocated and probably lowkey shitting on the people with one sided loves because, ha! he wins!! you bet he's gonna settle for screaming in his private account and then proceeding to scream in his pillow.

before he could foster up a grin and break out of the 'calm and responsible' honor student, deuce had to keep his lower lips under his teeth lest he looks like a weirdo smiling uncontrollably tinged in flush. the whole time he was just staring at you goofily.. like he's on cloud nine, which I concur. because he is. the one who gets gaslighted (not by you) into thinking that you both now are in a relationship like.. deuce be for real you didn't even ask me on a fate. (actually both of you might think you're in a relationship because of the way you're acting like yall are)

contrary to beliefs I think ace would be on the more casual side. you know? throwing an arm around your shoulder and shattering whatever personal space criteria there was. clearly there's no need when you 'like' him so much. he's using your words as an excuse to do whatever he wants, like leaning strangely close, letting a hand linger longer than it should. whatever restraint he had before is gone now because now he's moving onto a new level of personal. you'd either hate or secretly like the change. hate because ace wtf we're in class and like because,, who wouldn't want your crush to be overly affectionate with you?

savanaclaw

you'd think leona wasn't listening at all just from the indifferent look on his face but you know better just from the way his eyes perk up, tail sticking up in dormant but still a signal of alert and attention. for once he doesn't quip a tease, or a smart-ass remark that would want you to shovel your way to the ground on embarrassment. he just.. sits there, staring seemingly into the void of thin air itself. maybe it's because he's feeling particularly sentimental or sensitive today that his heart feels like it's encased in warmth. it feels good.

a laugh too shaky for his preferences, ruggie hopes he didn't look too nervous for his sake. I mean, this is literally his suprise of the century and when I tell you that it's a big shock to him, it's an understatement. come on, if he did think you had feelings for him ruggie imagined the confession going normally. either buttering him up or going straight to the point—the latter, which he prefers but when he said to be direct he certainly didn't expect this! the hyena runs away with jitters and a skip to his steps but he comes back a few minutes later looking more relaxed than you've ever seen him.

once again. contrary to expectations which the savanclaw boys had practically shattered those, many would think jack would go all shy. from the previous savanaclaw boys you'd think I'd go against expectations again but you're.. wrong hehe. i don't know how to explain other than he wills himself to show a reaction other than fluster, maybe it's just in his pride to now show you an ounce of weakness but literally how could be when you're the weakness? he doesn't know if you making him soft is good or not.

octavinelle

if it was real and possible to actually happen without a third party force, azul's glasses would've definitely shattered the moment you said the direct confession. he's torn between wanting to excuse himself to scream like a school girl or intent to not let the fluster show. well, either way he does both. keeping his emotions hardly in check, sometimes slipping up multiple times but when the time comes where you both part ways you know he's silently smiling to himself when he turns round a corner. the twins are suspicious and curious as to why azul had been in a good mood nowadays..

either jade maintains his cool, natural closed eyed smile or he crinkles his eyes when he breaks into a large sharp toothed grin. of course both has the lingering ominous feeling around it because it's jade.. and even you have to agree that him openly cracking a grin isn't exactly a good sign of peace, rather so a harbinger of trouble. if you were bold enough to say that in his presence I wonder how that previous confidence will fare when he's practically picking at your earlier words to gouge a reaction. no jade, I only said like. not love (yet).

no one other than floyd would be more than ecstatic. he didn't hear it at first, blinking then tilting his head to the side when he pauses to register it. so when he finally processes it you bet he's giggling in his head but in real time? he's practically sweeping you off your feet to hug you in the air. figures with the strange merman strength.. you find out that floyd is quite clingy when he's immensely happy, he even refused to let you go through classes and when you insisted he just sat down next to your seat and promptly kicked out whoever sat there before! floyd atleast hide! I mean the professor would surely notice the eel that's not in supposed to be in their class.

scarabia

if there was an option where he could purchase everything in the world then giving it to you without expecting anything back kalim would surely choose it. you got him so happy to the fact that he's willing to do practically anything that you ask. he doesn't mean to be over the top but.. he just wants to make you happy, which is more than you deserve. no matter how many times you tell him that you don't need any gifts but rather him only, it seemed like it only did worse since he practically fell a hundred times harder which brings us to the conclusion that he wants to give you the world a whole lot more now..

a complete opposite of kalim. jamil merely blinks and casts you a side eye. for the record, he is a little impressed you're that bold because if it was him he would've just brushed this person away or claimed that he liked no one but here you are. completely obliterating the concept of secrets. perhaps that's why he likes you in the first place, your personality is certainly a force to reckon with.. but sometimes you just have to tone down the chaos.. *please* 😐

pomefiore

vil is no stranger to bold proclamations but he can't deny he's a little startled. well, he didn't pick you out to be that type of person. either way usually he'd plaster a quick smile, the words not hitting anything other than the skin of his heart. strangely enough he can't keep the smile wider than he'd like off his face, he's immensely pleased by your words and pomefiore has never been so happy by the obvious good mood their dorm leader had. cause he left them alone for the whole day to practice stick to your side.

his eyes immediately crinkle in joy, rook has to look away and cover the lower part of his face to shy away the flush in his cheeks that would give away his thoughts. rook wouldn't mind if you knew how he felt, but this time he feels as though he's doing this to contain the excitement off his face. you can practically hear the tremble in his voice as he giggles out. "oh tricheur ! mon coeur bat pour toi dans ma poitrine!" it looks like rook completely forgot to existence of the person right next to you. if he got madol from the amount of times he practically sang of his love for you rook would be rich.

just like any other time where you say something off handed epel quickly goes out of character and nearly screams. asking, shaking your shoulders, out of breath by the amount of times he aggressively shook you for the answer of "really?!" his voice becomes that of a boy you aren't used to, but if he's really that willing to show you the person he truly is it makes you like him more. if you do agree, admittedly with your surroundings growing distorted he yells out a happy "YESSS." then coughs and resumes to his soft persona like he wasn't the complete opposite a minute ago. (the person that asked was shook)

ignihyde

it's hard to say if idia is actually gonna be next to you since,, he's idia and do you really think he'd entertain the thought of being in a conversation with someone who he doesn't know? so let's just pretend his tablet is floating next to you, it's better than nothing you guess. you spared a glance to the electronic when you literally confessed your type, idia himself fitting the category perfectly. you swore you heard a squeak but ehh.. maybe it was a rat or something.

meanwhile. ortho comes inside idia's room expecting his elder brother to just be sitting on his bed, gaming chair or something but no. idia shroud is on the floor, with his headphones hazzardly over the floor like it fell over when he did. his hair is sprawled around the floor, heating into a concerning passionate pink as he rolls around and... squeals..? just from the headphones ortho can vaguely hear a "my type..? oh you know idia? I'd kill to have a boyfriend like him." playing on repeat.

diasomnia

he would be like: ˘ ˘ and then: ‎◜◡◝ after he hears you. if there a sound for a big, happy dragon malleus would be excluding them. when I tell you he wishes nothing but to just whisk you away on spot he's not kidding, unlike everyone else who unintentionally forgot the person who asked. this man forgets them intentionally because he can't keep his eyes off you like.. 'hey other human. me and my child of man are having a moment here. will you please leave now. did you not get the sign'

giggles but with his deep voice it sounds kinda weird, but nice to the ears nonetheless. lilia labels you as his main target now, perhaps scaring you shitless at the random times is his love languange because he does it a lot. don't worry though, he always says a half hearted apology with a smile and showers you with affection right after. how could you be mad with how he treats you? even though he cares for you after you can't help but pray that the glint you saw in the ceiling was just some shiny thing.. maybe malleus got it from him because he doesn't care for the other person too.

sebek scolds you period. not only have you mentioned his name (which he's embarrassingly torn between being disgusted and fluster) but you've also mentioned that he's your type?? but I honestly think he approves your taste. "OF COURSE I am the ideal man! I applaud you for once human. not everyone can see the value of loyalty and devotion to waka-sama!" he says but with the increasing pink in his face you know better than to think that it's for the sole reason of malleus.

with the increasing time you've both spent together, silver has practically devoted himself to following you around whenever he's awake. (sebek says something about him always needing to be by malleus' side but quickly shuts up after silver comments that sebek is more than capable to look after him) the surroundings are growing hazy when you say it but he hears it nonetheless. he's happy to say that he dreamt a pleasing dream he's ever gotten in a long time. and since you were in it, it's safe to say that he's positively infatuated now.

clarifications

translation for rook is,, "oh trickster! my heart beats for you in my chest!"

I connected ignihyde parts since I REFUSE to leave out ortho!!

I really liked how those ^ parts came out. my favorite actor cause I think it's cute for idia to be freaking out like that lolol. especially with the idea of recording of your voices to listen to cause he's that down bad

[surelynotaspider]

Losing interest

Al-Haitham x gn!reader

-> IN WHICH Al-Haitham loses interest in you and you can't stand it anymore.

-> Wordcount: ~1.1k

Masterlist

Alhaitham has lost interest in you. You knew that. He never confirmed this theory, but you noticed the hints.

Your lover never came home for dinner for the last few months. He's always late, always so late that even after 11pm he's not home. You spent days in your bed alone, even though you two were sharing it. Not even in the morning he had the time to greet you and say goodbye.

He just left. Without a word.

You two didn't have normal conversations either. When you do see him (which would be considered a miracle) he brushes you off. Saying you could talk later. You never did. You never will. He doesn't have time. He has more important stuff to do (What is more important than the love of your life?).

Through your pain you shrugged it off.

He's just stressed.

He doesn't mean it.

Soon everything will be like before.

It's okay, I'm overreacting.

It never did. Matter how much hope you had. It never got any better.

Even the most hopeless romantics lose hope someday.

"Can we talk? It's important." You try your best to communicate with your lover. You woke up before your usual routine just to have a chance of meeting him.

"Can it wait? I have to go to work." Alhaitham again brushes you off with his (now) usual monotone voice. Like he doesn't pay attention to a word you're saying. Just perceive that you're mentioning something not worth listening to.

"No it cannot-" You couldn't even finish your sentence as your partner has already left the house.

It took everything for you to not scream out of frustration. Instead, tears rolled down your face. Uncontrollable sobs escaped your mouth. You covered your eyes with both of your hands as you fell on your knees. What seemed like hours and hours with no end were probably only a few minutes. What happened?

Were you not enough?

Were you a burden?

Did you annoy him too much?

All these things did not matter anymore. You got a new job offer in Liyue a few months ago. Just as Alhaitham's weird behaviour started. You first hesitated. Why would you leave everything you had?

It took everything in you to finally accept the job offer. A break is what you need right now. A new country, a new area and maybe many new friends.

Who wanted you here in Sumeru anyway? It's not like you had any friends.

It was just you and Alhaitham.

Now it's just you and your pain.

Clearly, Alhaitham didn't want you here, so you being gone for a few months shouldn't hurt, right? You leave in 2 days. That's why you wanted to talk to Alhaitham today, but he seemed... busy.

You lay down on your bed and cried into your pillow. Hours passed and you haven't moved an inch. Not even to go drink or eat something. You just laid there and did nothing, but cry.

For the last 2 days you tried to talk to Alhaitham about your leave.

And for 2 days you failed to talk to Alhaitham about your leave.

It was just like the last months. Not one glance. Not one word. Not one conversation. Just you. Alone. Crying yourself to sleep.

You have packed your items for your trip and your transportation was just a short walk away. You didn't bother trying to tell Alhaitham about it.

He clearly doesn't care.

You closed your eyes. Took a deep breath and stepped out of your shared home.

Goodbye, Sumeru. I will see you in 6 months.

And hello Liyue. My new home for the next 6 months.

Alhaitham sighed in relief.

Finally.

He has been busy with so many different tasks and missions of utmost importance for the past months. As the Acting Grand Sage he had now new responsibilities which didn't make it easy for him. Especially after the whole chaos.

But now he was finished. Now he could spend some quality time with his lover. Oh, how he missed you.

He didn't want to tell you about it. He thought it would bring you unnecessary stress and worry. He didn't want that. He loves you with all his being and seeing you sad or mad makes his heart ache to the point it's unbearable. You, his precious angel.

He knew he had been neglecting you for the last weeks. He missed being near you as well. Your touch, your voice, your delicious cooking. Everything.

He was about to make it up to you with a nice date. He knew one date couldn't compensate for all the wrongs he did the past months. But he planned the best date you could even imagine. He even bought tickets for one of Nilou's shows. They were hard to get but Alhaitham knew you liked her so much and used his position and power as the Acting Grand Sage to get the VIP tickets.

"[Name]?" Alhaitham yelled through the house. "Sweetheart I'm home!" No answer.

The Sage looked confused. It was Saturday, you should be free.

Maybe you were asleep? Yeah, that's probably it. You looked very tired the last few times he saw you.

He quickly checked your bedroom. Empty. Weird. You would tell him if you had appointments or meet-up with friends. But you didn't...

In all his worries he asked Kaveh. His beloved roommate.

"Kaveh?" He knocked on the door. As he got permission to enter he opened the door.

"What?" Said roommate looked at him annoyed. Alhaitham however ignored that. It's nothing new between them.

"Have you seen [Name]? They aren't home and I'm quite worried." He announced his worries.

Kaveh stared at him blankly. "Are you serious?"

Alhaitham blinked in confusion. "... Yes? Have I missed a certain appointment today? Was it important?"

The architect couldn't believe it. Was he serious? You left to Liyue and Alhaitham didn't know? He didn't even notice?

"Alhaitham. You're telling me you didn't notice [Name] leaving about a month ago? A month?! Are you serious?!" Neither of them could believe what they were witnessing.

"W-What? [Name] left? Without telling me?" Why wouldn't you tell him? Have you perhaps forgotten him?

"Without telling you?! Are you hearing yourself? [Name] has been trying for weeks to get your attention, but you were oh so busy with work, that you completely neglected them! They left for Liyue about a month ago because they got a pretty good job offer. They tried to tell you but you were so dense you didn't care. Don't come to me and whine about how they didn't tell you because they tried. You can apologise to them in 5 months when they come back. If they even want to anymore." Kaveh scoffed and closed the door right in front of his face.

You left a month ago and he didn't notice?

You will come back in 5 months?

Part 2

Not proofread.

[laviefantasie]

“Just A Girl” : 01

“ GOJO SATORU X PRESIDENT’S DAUGHTER READER ”

SYNOPSIS: After insisting so much, you’re finally given the opportunity to attend college away from home and feel like a normal girl. It is there that you meet Gojo Satoru, another undergraduate student, and for the first time in your life are shown what having a true connection feels like. Or at least that’s what you think…

SERIES MASTERLIST

| next >

I never thought my life was anything but ordinary. Never did I ever think it was weird that most of my birthday parties were mostly full of adults, nor did I question why unless I was at a tea party organized by one of my mother’s friends my friends were mostly my stuff animals

It was what I had always known as a child. Even as a teenager my world were only my parents, my teacher, my nanny, and the staff that constantly followed me around.

What I never got used to? The flashes.

I roll my eyes and turn off the TV abruptly, throwing myself backwards in my king bed. Another day, another news reporter judging my image. Tale as old as time.

Grabbing the nearest pillow, I cover my face and scream.

“Miss,” a knock on the door makes me stop self- pitying, “your breakfast is served”

Inhaling, I stand up and grab my phone from my nightstand before leaving my bedroom. Outside stood Yuki Tsukumo, father’s trusting secretary that has also worked as a bridge for us whenever we are president and first daughter instead of father and daughter.

“Not ready for the day yet?”

“It’s 5:26 in the morning” I smile softly, “I’m just in time for breakfast from 5:30 to 5:50, digesting from 5:50 to 6:00, running from 6:00 to 6:30, and then showering before the real schedule begins”

“That’s my girl” smiles Yuki.

As soon as we arrive at the dining room I sit down besides my father, whose already reading through the notes sent to his iPad. My mother at his other side is reviewing her schedule for the day.

Another normal day for the Y/L/N family.

“Good morning, mom, dad”

“Morning pumpkin” smiles my father, turning off his iPad, “Ready for today?”

I nod smiling before taking a bite of the waffle in front of me. What was in schedule for today anyways?

My mom laughs softly before snapping her fingers, which makes Yuki leave my own iPad beside my plate of food. Schedule for the day already opened.

Fitting at 7:30: Alexander McQueen

Family interview at 9:00

Father’s speech at 10:00

Lunch with the vice president’s family at 12:00…

A sigh escaped my lips as I keep on reading the never ending list of things to do for the day. Most of which consisted of me smiling perfectly for pictures without moving a muscle, or speaking for the matter.

No surprise there. This had been my life the last four years and even before that, it had been all I’ve known.

The price to pay for having parents in politics.

“Do we really have to have lunch with the Zenin’s?” You groan.

Your father sighs, “They may not be the best company, but the matriarch is the best vice president I could’ve wished for. So, yes, we have to”

Your father was right and you knew that. Mrs. Zenin was probably the only good thing of that family that had only been known for corruption. She turned it all around, she even went against their sexist claims and became the matriarch.

She was someone to look up to. Her son though? Not so much. He was 100% his father, maybe only getting his mother’s looks.

“It’s the time for appearances, honey” your mother reminds you, “Reelections are soon. Once that’s over things will go back to normal”

Normal, you sigh.

Normal means new schedules to be followed to build your image. Normal means attending different events and parties according to convenience.

Normal means not normal at all.

“Miss Y/L/N” Yuki calls.

You turn to ask hear her only to see her pointing at her watch. You look at your iPad to see the time.

5:46 a.m.

You curse in your head realizing you had only four minutes to finish your still full plate of food, that if you wanted to stay on time. Which you had to.

Sighing, you clean your mouth before excusing yourself from the table.

Just four more days, you remind yourself, four more days and your new life starts. With that thought a smile graces your features and you run upstairs to start the rest of your day.

⛊ ☼ ⛉ ☼ ⛊ ☼ ⛉ ☼ ⛊

You sighed for the millionth time as you say on your bed, ordered to sit still and watch as your staff packed your belongings. One of the fantasies you had when imagining the start of your normal life was packing by yourself.

I guess that was too greedy of you.

A knock on your door snaps you out of your boredom, your father soon entering making a smile grow on your face.

“Dad!”

You run towards your father and hug him, feeling a warm envelop your chest as you feel him kiss the top of your head.

“Ready for the big day?”

“Oh, God, please don’t” you groan, “I’m starting at Magus Pugnate University tomorrow like a normal girl. Which means no grand parade!”

Your father sighs, “Do you know your mom, honey? Impossible. It’s go big or go home”

You groan out loud making your father laugh and his hold on you tighten.

“I swear I’ll scream if they play ‘Hail to the Chief’, dad” he laughs.

“Come on, let’s go” he starts guiding me to the Oval Office, “Tomorrow is a big day. Law school isn’t easy, munchkin”

“I’m ready” you assure him.

He smile, proud, “I know”

“There you are! Finally”

You both turn with guilty looks towards your mother, in her all First Lady glory, as she glares at you both.

“We don’t have all day, i thought you knew that already” she shakes her head, “Yuki start with the itinerary”

Yuki nods, smiling softly towards you before starting to list the absolutely ridiculous schedule that you had ahead of you—flying on Air Force 1, driving up to Magus Pugnate University where a parade would lead all of you to a quad for a press conference, and then, dropping you off in your university’s private dorm suite after securing it.

You were slightly annoyed as you listened. You dreamt of getting on a commercial flight and driving yourself to university where you’d settle in your dorm with a roommate as normal people do.

But you weren’t normal, and lately that was a really tough pill to swallow.

“They won't ask you about policy. They'll probably ask you about…” you zone out, “…Yaga will accompany you there to make sure everything is secured before leaving you with Sukuna, Higuruma, Nanami and Nitta with you at all times”

“W-wait, what?” You stuttered, “Not only is the Head of Security going but also the four of them? With me? And what you mean at all times? You mean the four of them?”

Your father nods, “Of course, as usual”

“Usual is me going out to events or public spaces” you continue, “I’m going to university, a private one even. A university that is very strict on who they accept. Why do I need that many security?”

“Because you’re my daughter”

That sentence is meat to make you understand. That sentence is enough for him to consider the conversation over and continue with the next subject.

The heavy weight that being the First Daughter carries is one that makes you shake under it, hoping soon you’ll crumble.

Inhale, exhale, you remind yourself.

You’re going to university. For the first time in forever you’re doing something you want. Take it a step at a time.

That night, you tiptoe all through the White House until you make it to the main kitchen. There you open the fridge and get out the Blueberry Cheesecake the Head Chef had made. With no hesitation you grab two plates, cut two pieces and serve them, before grabbing two forks.

Grabbing one of the cakes, you start eating. Moaning in delight at the flavor.

“Ugh, I lost?” You hear your father groan behind you.

“Not blaming you, mom is hard to trick”

“She’d have my head for sure if she saw us right now” he grabs his own cake and takes a bite, “totally worth it though”

“Who would’ve thought Mr. President’s weakness would be Blueberry Cheesecake?” You gasp with humor, “Have I uncovered one of the country’s top secrets?!”

You father laughs with a roll of his eyes, taking another bite off his cake.

“Excited for tomorrow?”

You nod while eating, “I really hope it all goes well”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

You play around with the piece of cheesecake you had cut, debating whether you should voice your feelings or not.

“It’s just… I’m the First Daughter, you know?” You sigh, “Loved by many, hated by many more. Hard to approach, yet never ignored. I’m anxious to see how that’ll work out at university”

“You’ll be fine”

“I know… I hope” you sigh again, “I just really want it to be fun. I want to make friend who like me for me. I want to go out, maybe drink—”

“Excuse me?!”

You laugh, “Kidding. I just want to feel like a teenager for once”

“You will, sweetheart” he kisses the top of your head lovingly, hugging you from your side, “I promise you will”

You wanted to believe he was right. You hoped he was.

⛊ ☼ ⛉ ☼ ⛊ ☼ ⛉ ☼ ⛊

“So, remember, you're just like any other American family. Whose daughter is heading off to college” you repeat again inside the limo, “Remember, today you're not just the First Lady, but you're also a mom”

Your mom frowns slightly, “I'd like to think I'm both women every day”

You sigh, “In short, you're just a proud dad. Like every other dad…watching his little girl head off to University in another state”

Your father groans, “Ugh, don’t remind me. Why did you have to choose somewhere so far away?”

“The distance did influence my decision” you accept, “But MPU is the University for law”

Your father opens his mouth to possibly fight your argument, but the limo stops and soon enough Hail to the Chief starts being played by the band.

“Show time” you mutter to yourself.

Soon enough you’re being blinded by flashes as questions are being screamed at your family.

“Mr. President, how do you feel about your only child going to school so far away?” One says.

“Well, I’m suggesting moving the nation’s capitol”

Your father’s joke makes all of them laugh, even bringing a sincere smile to your face.

“Y/N, will you miss the capital?” Another asks, “Better yet, what will you miss the least?”

Your practices polite smile is once again on.

“Uh, tough question” you laugh politely, “Not sure on what I would miss least, so I can’t answer that… but I can answer what I’ll miss the most: my friends and family. But I’m very excited to experience life as everybody else, and have the famous college experience I’ve read so much about”

Thankfully soon after that the interviews are over and your family is being guided to the place you’ll be staying.

“Nitta is at the end of the hall, Higuruma in the middle, and Sukuna and Nanami will stay at your door” Yuki explains.

It’s the third time she’s said it in the last ten minutes since you’ve arrived.

You roll your eyes and focus once again on looking over your private suite. It was stunning. Big enough for one person, already with all the furniture one may need (although that probably was Yuki’s doing since it was decorated just as you’d wish for).

“Shining Star on site” you hear Nanami murmur into his microphone yet decide to ignore it.

“Not to late to turn back” you mother reminds you softly.

“I love it” you smile, “I’m so excited! Have any of the neighbors arrived?”

“Who are the neighbors?” Your father asks.

“Ieiri Shoko across, Geto Suguru at the end, and Gojo Satoru across from him” Nanami answers, “Miss Ieri is a senior in Psychology, parents still together and strong supporters in the polls; Geto Suguru senior in Law, divorced parents who also are strong supporters, childhood friend with Gojo Satoru who is also a senior in Law. Widowed mother, well-known law firm soon-to-be heir. All of them have been born and raised here, went to the same high school together”

Your eyes widen at the amount of information given. You feel slightly uncomfortable at knowing so much from the people sharing floor with you when they don’t even know you’re here yet.

“Have they arrived yet?”

“All of them have already settled down and are currently eating at the cafeteria across the street” Nanami continues checking his phone, “E.T.A. is 15 minutes”

Okay, scratch slightly uncomfortable, this was an invasion of privacy! It’s illegal!

Well, it was information given to the president…

You shake your head, deciding to focus on anything other than the guilt swallowing you whole.

“Did you check your itinerary with Yuki?”

You frown, “why?”

“Well, there are just a few small functions…”, your mother starts, “your father and I thought you might enjoy attending”

“Uh… do I have a choice?” Your parents shake their head, “Great”

Yaga comes inside, signaling to your parents that it’s time to leave.

“Already?” You ask with a slight pout.

“As if you aren’t dying to see us get out of here” your father jokes.

“Well, the President and the First Lady, totally” you nod, “Mom and dad? Not at all”

With teary eyes your mom holds your hand, guiding you outside your building where the cars are waiting for them to escort them.

You were really doing this, you were really leaving your perfect life behind and achieving one of your dreams. You’d have a normal experience just like everybody else.

“Okay” you mom takes a deep breath, trying to stop her tears, “Remember, a full load of laundry dries faster than half a load. Always take the stairs. Don't sweat the petty things”

“Yes, mom”

“Your father will be here all week campaigning in case…” her voice breaks “If you need anything, anything, call Yuki”

You nod softly, “I will, mom. But I’ll be okay”

Your mom hugs you tightly, letting some tears fall as she kisses your head, then letting go. Next comes your father, who holds your face in his hands softly as he stares at you as if trying to engrave your face in his memories.

“I…”

You sigh, smiling at the way your father blinks faster than normally as he tries to stop his eyes from getting teary.

“Just say you’ll miss me, dad”

“I’ll miss you, munchkin” he hugs you tightly, “As soon as elections are over, we’ll have a father-daughter day. And I mean the 24 whole hours”

“In a row?” You ask laughing.

“It’s a promise. If you dare try to reject my offer I’ll just kidnap you, I can do that” you laugh at his words, “Be good and have fun, okay?

You nod and stay there as they get inside the limo. Drying the tears that had fallen from your eyes as you watch them go.

“Are you guys gonna at least talk to me?” You ask them once you start making your way back inside, “I mean, since you’ll be following 24/7”

Sukuna stays quiet, barely even reacting to your voice, while Nanamo gives you a small nod of acknowledgment with what appears to be a fond look.

“Maybe as a thank you for not choosing to major in something like premed”

You let out a laugh as you arrive to the floor of your studio, although your laugh fades as your eyes connect to the prettiest shade of blue you’d ever seen at the end of the hall. 

TAG LIST: @aishies-stuff @kouyoumarryme @mikyapixie @simbaaas-stuff @ichikanu

[colesluvr]

hey! i saw u were taking reqs and was very excited because the ninjago x reader fandom is so small and nobody weites for it that isn’t like 9😭

so i hope you wouldn’t mind writing lloyd garmadon x gn/fem reader who is a normal civilian who befriended him and they had an oblivious best friends to lovers trope headcanons or scenario? sorry if thats way too specific lmao

anyways have a good day, xoxo <3

The Boy Dressed In Green | Lloyd Garmadon x GN Reader

(Part One)

HI ANON!! tysm for requesting, I really hope this is somewhat of what you wanted. I decided to make this into two parts where in part two Lloyd will confess to Y/N. It's just there's so many words here already, I don't want to bored anybody half way, lmao. ENJOY READING! COMMENTS AN REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED! 🫶

M/N = mothers name

F/N = fathers name

This wasn't like you at all.

Ok. That's a lie.

This is you.

The early morning sunlight shines though your closed window curtains, a line of light reflected itself on the floor. Soft snores escaped your lips as you were fast asleep on the bed in your small, roomy bedroom. Blankets and pillows were everywhere and your mouth was gaped open as you snored.

Very slowly your body turned to the side by the edge of the bed. You're fingers twitched as you slowly rolled off. A sudden force of adreniline forced you to wake up as you fell to the floor, a "AH!" escaped your lips as you stood up in a fighting position.

You blew your bang sout of your eyes as you tried to find your alarm clock. It was on your dresser beside your bed, but you know morning eyes?

You're more blinder then a drunk driver at night.

Your eyes soon met the alarm clock and you read the numbers. "6:45..." You whispered to yourself, rubbing your eyes until you paused to think.

"6: 45?!" You cried out, now fully awake as you climbed over your bed and rumaged through your dressers. You grabbed a basic t-shirt and a pair of denium jeans before throwing your top off and struggled to take your pants off as you were trying to take off and put on different clothes at the same time.

"MOOOM!"

Your mother smiled to herself hearing you scream her name from upstairs as she sat on the couch in the living room of your small apartment/house you managed to call home for 16 years.

"YOU TOLD ME YOU'LL WAKE ME UP IN TIME FOR SCHOOL!"

Your mum, M/N, placed her cup of coffee/tea/water on the coffee table and swtiched on the teleivision, scrolling through various of channels to choose.

You ran from your bedroom to the bathroom as your yelled at your mother, who still had a smile on her face as she replied over your cry as you fell to the floor, but quickly got up and ran around upstairs in a panicked state.

"You told me you'll be waking yourself today, hun."

"AND YOU BELEIVED ME?!"

Suddenly, your father stepped out of his bedroom he and your mum shared wearing his suit and tie with black dress pants, ready to drive to work. You were caught off guard by this and yelped as you almost ran into him, but he reacted quickly by lifting you off the ground and twirled around, placing your feet back on the ground as you ran back into the bathroom with your toothbrush in mouth and toothpaste in hand with a cup.

"Watch where your going, sweetheart. Almost made me mess up my beautiful tie work." He pouts, but chuckles hearing your muffled 'SORRY' from the other side of the door.

"My reflexes were so quick, I could be one of those 'Ninja's' you keep talking on and on about, Y/N." Your dad joked and laughed hearing your groan from the bathroom.

His wife's laughter caused him to look down the staircase to see M/N by the end of the railing looking up at her husband. "Believe me, F/N. If you were ever to become a Ninja you'll be in a hospital bed because someone threw your back out."

"It was that one time, M/N. And those kids were ruthless!" Your dad argued as your mum chuckled softly. You finally ran out of the bathroom with a new clothes on, brushed hair, and a pair of fresh clean teeth.

You pushed past your father as he walked down the stairs to give your mum a quick 'good morning' kiss on the lips before going to the kitchen.

You ran back into your room. Grabbed your backpack, stuffed it with your laptop, binders, notebooks, notes and your pencil case. You grabbed your phone charger and phone, running out of your room not even bothering to close the door, make your bed, or turn off your TV/lights.

You ran down the stairs, well more like slid down the railing, and ran into the kitchen to try and find some food. Meanwhile your father was waiting for the water to boil to make his morning coffee. "This is the 3rd time, Y/N." He teased as you grabbed some leftover pizza from the fridge and threw it microwave for 1 min. You bounced your leg as you replied and waited for the food.

"Yeah, I know. I asked mum to wake me up in time but apparently he believes me when I say I'll wake myself up. HAVE EITHER OF YOU MET ME?"

The beeping of the microwave didn't even have time to stop as you opened the door and grabbed the pizza. You kissed your dad on the cheek, and ran to your mum to kiss her cheek as you ran to the front,

With the pizza in your mouth you put on your shoes and unlocked the door. "Uh, hun. I could drive you if you'd like-" "Nope. To much traffic. I'll run. Love you both, cya later! MWAH!"

And in less then two seconds the door was closed and both your parents looked at eahc other. "What are we going to do with them." Your mum joked as your dad shrugged, pouring his water in his cup. "Listen to them when they say they'll wake themselves on time for school?"

M/N looked at her husband with an unamused face before going to wash her plate.

-

The summer breezed hits your face like a train as you raced the streets to get to school. Normally it takes you 15 mins to get to school on wheels, but on foot? Takes you 25 mins at the lastes. Maybe you should have taken your mum's offer driving you. School starts at 7 and it was 6: 58. Not really the best time to leave for school.

You were already out of breath when you made it to the main street of your neighborhood. You passed many other's walking and staring at you with confusion, but some didn't pay much attention.

Your backpack was barely on your shoulder, hell it was only supported on one as you ran. You had to keep pulling it back up as you ran.

The main street was long, so it took you around 10 min's to reach the end where the traffic lights were. The light was green so you had to wait in order to continue running to school. You jogged on the spot, ready to start running once more.

When the light turned red you started to run down the road. You reached the middle and that's when many things for you changed.

A noodle truck not to far down the road was driving at full speed. The only time you saw it was when a horn honked. You looked to the sound to see the truck race it way towards you, not planning on stopping for you.

You felt your stomach drop.

Your legs froze.

Why the fuck am I not moving?! You mentally swore to yourself as the truck got closer.

You felt like a deer in headlights.

Suddenly you heard a voice, possibly telling you to watch out but to you it was incoherent. You felt someone's arm wrap around your waist as you were dragged to the ground on the sidewalk.

It was all a blur. Who the heck- What just happened?

You watched as the truck drove off, two figures on the top of it that wore blue and red outfits, and then another vechile zoomed by leaving a dust trail. An aircraft flew above, following the run-a-way truck.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

You composed yourself long enough to look up at your savor. Your eyes made eye contact with green eyes. Bright, neon green eyes. The rest of the person's face was covered by a green mask.

Wait a second-

"Lloyd? Lloyd, are you there?" A voice was heard but it was only loud enough for the two to hear.

"Kai? Yeah, yeah. I'm here."

Kai? You thought as the boy dressed in green stood up.

"Are you alright?" He asked again, ignoring his teammates shouting over his com, and this time you answered hesitantly. "I-uh. Yeah, yeah. I'm good." You stood to your feet, wiping the dirt off your clothes. To th best of your ability.

"You're-You're the Green Ninja....I was just saved by the Green fucking Ninja!" You were astonhised. You'd never thought in forever you would meet your favorite Ninja of the team.

"Omg- I- This is not how I- I mean you just saved my life- I thought I would like meet you in a different way- I don't mean that in a weird way- I mean I don't know- I'm not weird- You're weird. Fuck-"

"Hey." The Ninja placed a hand on your shouler, and your eyes once again met his green eyes that stared deep into your's. "As long as your alright, I'm always glad to meet a fan."

You smiled to yourself, 'no fucking way this is actually happening right now' Your thoughts were interuppted by another voice. "Lloyd! We gotta split. Police are here to pick up the Mechanic and once again the Commisioner want's to congratulate us personally. I mean seriously, he does this all the tiem. I mean thank you for the praise, but I just want to go hooome. My feet are sore. I chased after a a truck going full speed, and I'm so tired I could just-"

"Don't worry, Jay. I'll be there in a sec'."

The Blue Ninja, which made you want to squeal your entire lungs out, groaned as he walked back to the Ninja group. The Green Ninja, Lloyd, looked back at you. "What's your name?" He smiled under the mask, but the way he sounded made you think he was smiling. "Y/N." You felt your stomach flutter with butterfiles as he pulled his hood down.

"Lloyd."

-

Ever since that day, you occasionally run into Lloyd every now and then during school lunches at after school. At first you found it out of the ordinary, but now you kinda got used to it. Of course there were some days where he isn't there but that never bothered you too much.

You've know Lloyd for 2 months now and your life has been getting secreter by the second. Your parents asked where you've been after school and why you come home later then usual but you just say you were studying with friends.....of course one of your friends being the legendary Green Ninja, but lets not go into any detail about who's friends with who.

It wasn't only your family questioning you, Lloyd had his own problems with the Ninja about you. They didn't know anything about you and because Lloyd's hanging out with you alot they're worried he'll get you hurt or himself hurt. Who know's what you will do to him, you could be a villain. Or worse, you could just be using him to get what you want.

No one can be for sure.

He told his friends you seem like a nice person, and if he catches you doing something sketchy he'll say something right away. Even Master Wu questioned Lloyd's actions but know's he knows what Lloyd is doing when making new friends.

You never actually met any of the other Ninja, other then hearing facts from your other friends who are fans of them, but Lloyd told you stories nobody but he knows about and it leaves you both laughing your asses off for days.

You never knew your savor's of Ninjago could be this funny, They all seem so focused and serious under their masks but once you take the mask off, it's like there entierly new people. Espicially Lloyd.

He was most childish of the group, matching Jay's energy, but you notice he's been acting more himself when he's around you. He talks more, laughs more, shares things with you. You liked it.

5 months now went by, and over the months you were finally able to meet the Ninja team. They grew closer to you over time, but it did take some time for them to fully earn your trust, But they still talked and asked how your day's been going.

Master Wu once time assumed you and Lloyd were both dating, causing you both to blush a deep shade of red and the others to snicker. He aplogized for the miscommunication and no body spoke of that again.

That was now weeks ago.

You and Lloyd have know each other for 8 months now, and have also gotten much closer.

Until one evening, when Lloyd and Kai had a chance to talk. At first it was a normal bro to bro conversation until it went quiet, and Lloyd was unsure if this was the great time to bring this up.

Kai noticed, and seriously couldn't help but know the deets. He knows it's about you and him, he can see it by the way Lloyd reacts when the others talk about you.

"How's Y/N been, Lloyd? Haven't seen them in a while." Cole asked and Lloyd began to stummer, "I-uh. They-They're okay. I-I saw them couple days ago, yeah, the seem fine." Lloyd replied and ran, causing Cole to ask the others if they know if something happened between Lloyd and you.

They all said they didn't know, but Kai had a gut feeling something deeper was going down then just 'something happened'. He's been in this situation with other people before, so he's pretty skilled with the 'relationship' slopes. Even if he does get rejected or does the rejecting.

"This is about Y/N, ain't it?" Kai whispered over to Lloyd as the Green Ninja fiddled with his thumbs while the TV was playing. Kai had a grin on his face as he ate his snack while Lloyd started to blush softly and stummer. "I-uh- Is-Is what about Y-Y/N?"

"This, dude!" Kai laughed, motioning Lloyd's actions. "You're nervousness, shyness, this 'blushyness?' and the way you act when people even mention their name!"

Lloyd blushed a deeper shade of red as he tired to his hismelf under his mask and the pillows on the couch. "Ah, younge love. WHo hasn't been through it before...besides Lloyd." Kai spoke aloud to nobody, but still it caused Lloyd to grumble as he pulled his knees to his chest.

"I just..I feel...more happy when I'm around them. I mean, of course you guys makes me happy, but Y/N just makes me feel...happy?" Lloyd paused to think before groaning in embarrassment, "GAH! This is too confusing!"

Kai sighed, putting his feet down from the table, turned the TV off, put his snack to the side and stood to his feet. He stood in front of Lloyd and stayed like that for a couple of seconds.

"What?" Lloyd muffled voice was heard from under his mask and Kai pulled him up, still sitting on the couch, and pulled his mask down.

"I'm about to teach you a few things about asking somebody to be with them!"

Lloyd stared at him with a confused look...Moments of silence went by and Kai spoke embarrassingly,

"Okay. Yeah, there was a better way to phrase that but you know what I mean. When we're done, you'll be The Master of Flirting instead of Of The Master of Energy-"

"Okay. Stop talking. This is embarrassing enough already, let's just get this over with." Lloyd's face showed annoyance but on the inside he was bouncing all over the place.

This will end horribly. Lloyd told himself as Kai followed him to the courtyard with his hands behind his head.

[juanarc-thethird]

Yang's Birthday Spankings:

Before they knew it, 2pm rang the clocks, followed by a very insisted knocking on the door. Seems like Yang's little sign worked like a charm!

However, instead of a new playmate the duo is greeted by a very authoritarian looking Glynda Goodwitch, whilst several Beacon ladies can be seen scrambling around a corner to get away from the professor.

For what reason could the whip-wielding instructor possibly be there, one wonders.

Ok, I admit that I haven't worked much on Yang's version, (a lot of things in my life and lack of motivation), but before it's Ruby's birthday I'll do what I can. So send your "Ask" about Yang's birthday spankings. --------------------

Yang is on all fours, face on the pillow. Moaning without meaning as Jaune grabs her waist and fucks her non-stop.

Yang: Oh yeah!~💕 That's how I like it! Get in there nice and deep!!~💕

KNOCK KNOCK!

A loud knock was heard at the door.

Yang: *Stops* What the fuck? *She glances at her clock on the table* Oh shit, it's already 2pm.

Jaune: I'm going to drink some water while you answer the door. Maybe I'll go to the bathroom too.

Yang: Ok

The two separate and go to their respective tasks. Yang excitedly goes to the door and opens it energetically.

Yang: Welcome ladies to the breeding se- PROF. GOODWITCH!!!

She screams. Using the door, she covers her own naked body, try to find an excuse, but nothing came to mind.

Yang: W-What brings you here, ma'am?

Glynda: I was doing my rounds when suddenly I saw a group of girls in front of your door. When I did, they all ran out and I found this note. *She says showing the note Yang put on her door*

Yang: Whut?! I do not know nothing about that.

She says as she angrily sees the other girls watching from the safety of their own rooms, denying any involvement with said note.

Yang: Anyways, since I have nothing to do with that. I'm going to close the door now.

Glynda: *Stop her* Hold it right there. Where is he?

Yang: I really don't know what you are talking about.

Glynda: Do you think I'm stupid? You and your team have done obscene things in this great academy, but I never had evidence to punish you girls, until now.

Yang: What?!

Glynda: I discovered that when you girls do this it is one of your birthdays. And today is your birthday, Miss Xiao-long. *Gets closer*

Yang: *Moves back* U-Um...

Glynda: *She enters the room and closes the door* I also know that Jaune is involved in all of this. So where is he?

Jaune: *Comes out of the bathroom still naked* What's going on? Prof. Goodwitch!!!

He says in panic, as he grabs a piece of clothing from the floor to cover his member.

Glynda: And there you are, the person who started all this.

She begins to walk towards him slowly while Jaune walks away from her without losing eye contact.

Jaune: I swear, this wasn't my idea. B-Blake was the one who seduced me first and then Weiss…

For walking without seeing where you are going. Jaune's back came to rest against the wall behind him with no where to go.

Jaune: Please don't hurt me.

Glynda: Jaune, you have two options. You and Team RWBY will be grounded by taking missions with Prof. Port for a month or…

Jaune: O-Or...

Glynda's slams her hand on the wall near his head.

Glynda: Or you let me be part of the celebration.

Jaune: W-Well, it's Yang's birthday so…

Glynda and Jaune look at Yang, waiting for an answer.

Yang: Fuck yes!~💕 *She says with a big smile and a nose bleeding*

Moments later...

Glynda is naked hugging Jaune while he is lifting her under her legs and fucking her hard.

Glynda: Fuuuuucccckkkk!!!💕 It feels sooo good!!~💕

Yang: *Sitting on her bed watching the show while touching herself* Fuck~💕 best birthday ever.

Blake: *Watching from the ceiling and taking notes for her fanfic* Indeed~💕

[achaotichuman]

Mama's Boy

Day four of Tamlin Week! Today's prompt- Calanmai.

Tamlin is preparing for another celebration of Calanmai. As the blue is painted into his skin, Lucien asks an question that reminds him of his first time celebrating the Spring holiday.

"How was that the first time?"

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Laughter rang from the other side of the room, Tamlin glanced over his shoulder to see Lucien lounging on the chair in the corner of his room. One leg kicked up over the arm of the chair, Andras sitting on the window sill. Both giggling over something whilst making side-long glances at the High lord being painted in whorls of blue. 

“So, Taaam.” Lucien drawled, Tamlin let out a sigh at the tone, turning his head away from the fox, which Alis and the servant boy painting him both snorted at. 

“What is it now, Lucien?” Tamlin said.

“Are you excited for tonight?” He asked, the fox was clearly excited himself. Lucien had been in the Spring Court ten years now, and whilst he had seen Calanmai he had refrained from joining in on the celebrations. This year however, he had decided too. 

“I’m a part of this Court now.” He said with a shrug and a smile, “I want to be there.”

Tamlin had asked repeatedly if he was sure, and all he was met with was a grin and laughter, as well as the fox nodding his head. 

“Excited" is a strong word.” Tamlin answered. 

Truly he wasn’t, he never was, it was a chore he had to complete, and he would. The fertility magic sparking tonight would restore the land, and that would be his job complete. He would then join in on the happy celebrations and drink himself to oblivion. Before dragging himself back to the manor and collapse wherever the nearest soft place was. Whether that be a bed or the carpet flooring. 

“A night where you get to fuck whoever you want. Pretty good deal to me.” Lucien laughed, tossing Andras a smirk who returned it with glee. 

“Not entirely though.” Andras said, despite the smirk on his face, “The magic chooses.”

“I heard. How does that even work?” Lucien asked. 

Tamlin groaned low, not wanting to think about it just yet. He already had to experience it. Let alone explain it. 

“The Forest Spirit possesses him and takes over his body. Chooses a person to generate the fertility magic with, then they make love on a stone altar while everyone dances around the fires and makes their own fertility magic.” Andras thankfully answered for him. 

“They fuck on rocks?” Lucien asked incredulously.

“Yes, Lucien.” Tamlin answered deadpan, “I fuck on a rock.”

“Is it the same rock for every High lord?” Lucien asked. Tamlin groaned loudly and Alis had to step away, lest her snickering led her to messing the paint up. Not that it would be perfect for very long tonight. 

“Yes, Lucien.” Tamlin answered. 

“Gods.” The fox murmured, “How was that the first time? I don’t think I could fuck in the exact same place I knew my father did.” As he said the words, Lucien visibly shuddered at the thought. To which Andras cackled. 

But Tamlin didn’t laugh, stuck on what Lucien said to laugh. 

How was that the first time?

He was sitting in amongst the sheets, now new and clean, unscented and horribly, horrible clean. All clean, not a drop of crimson along the green thread, so clean. Not a single smell on them besides his own. 

He clutched onto a pillow like it was a real person. Knees bent up and his face buried in the emerald silk. He had cried so much he started dry heaving. Heh had cried so much blood ran down his face along with his tears. Entire face red and puffy. 

“Please come back.” He choked out, voice raw and gutteral, “I can’t do this. I can’t-” His voice was cut out by another sob racking through him. 

There was a timid knock on the door, which Tamlin ignored in favour of sobbing harder into the tear stained fabric. 

“Tamlin.” A muffled voice called out, “I’m coming in.”

“Get out!” He screamed, but Alis unlocked the door with her master key and went inside anyway. 

Any other would have run when they met the High lord’s furious eyes. But Alis’ face just softened. 

“I said, leave!” He shouted again, claws pricking against his fingertips. 

Alis closed the door, and walked up to the bed. Tamlin shoved away, baring his teeth at her, eyes with an animalistic glint to them. 

She sat on the edge, and then…

She opened her arms and whispered, “Come here baby.”

Every ounce of hatred and anger crumpled to dust. Another cry, adding to many, shook through Tamlin’s body as he lunged forward and fell into Alis’ arms. Breaking apart at the seams and shattering in her arms. Feeling like he was turning back into the little six year old who skinned his knee and ran straight to his nanny who tended to him in his mother’s absence. 

“Hush now, it’s okay.” Alis whispered, running her rough hands up and down his back. Kissing the top of his head whilst he cried and cried and cried. 

“I can’t do this, mom.” He whispered, “I can’t do this.”

She didn’t say anything. Alis just remained quiet and held him until he fell asleep. 

When he awoke later it was too Alis shaking him, the look on her face, one of utter pity, was enough to tell him it was time. 

He smudged the paint on his chest and neck when tears fell down his face as he stared at himself in the mirror. Shirtless, with low hanging trousers, only Alis painted him even thought it was customary to have two to speed up the process. He was grateful that for at least this first year it was only the woman he considered as much a mother as his actual mom. 

When she finished the final brush stroke, Tamlin felt himself slipping from his own body, as if he were watching everything as a bystander. Floating away from himself, the tears stopped pouring and he looked resolutely ahead. 

Alis said something he didn’t hear. When they took him out to the ritual, a crown of flowers was put on his head, and hands tried to reach out to touch him. He didn’t know when the spirit possessed him, he blacked out before it did. Whether from the sheer stress, or his own magic having pity on him, he didn’t know.

When he awoke the next morning his entire body was aching and he felt sick to his stomach. He vomited until there was nothing left in his stomach and spent the rest of the day sitting by his window, a cup of mint and honey tea in his hands that he never touched. Alis came to check on him by the hour. Always putting a hand on his shoulder, but he never looked at her, couldn’t bear to look at her. 

So he just stared at the rose gardens below, at the place his mother used to take him. Used to teach him to garden, to write poems, to just walk and have fun for a little while together. 

He had fulfilled his job, and he supposed it wasn’t as bad as he thought it might have been. Still he couldn’t look in the direction of the forest, without feeling the satiated spirit gazing upon its chosen King. 

“-Tamlin! Spring to Tamlin!” Lucien threw his shoe at the back of his head, or tried too. Tamlin caught it in a single hand and chucked it back. It hit him in the arm, Lucien told him to go fuck himself with a laugh. Andras nearly doubled over at the scene. 

Tamlin smiled at them both, then looked at Alis. 

She smiled, though it was small. She put the paint brush down and cradled his face between her hands, “How you’ve grown.”

“I had the best teacher and friend a boy could ask for,” Tamlin whispered. 

Tears welled in Alis’ brown eyes. She blinked them away as fast as she could, but gently pulled him down so she could kiss the top of his head, then murmured, “You will be okay.”

“I know.” He told her. He wasn’t the scared, confused, young boy he had been back then. She was right, he had grown. And whilst none of this had been his plan, he would make the most of it. He swore to himself the day he first came out of Hybern with his father, skin still burning from where she had laid hands, that he would never allow another to be enslaved. That he would fight against all tyranny, no matter whose freedom he was defending. 

He had the perfect opportunity here. Maybe the Mother wasn’t so wrong in her decision. Tamlin didn’t think it would have even crossed the minds of either of his brothers to do anything of the sort. 

“You ready Tam?” Andras asked, and he and Lucien stood up, the red headed male stretching out his stiff muscles. 

Tamlin turned to face both of them, the last drops of the sun beginning to disappear, and the drums beginning to stir. 

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

@tamlinweek

[nonstoplover]

a reason to stay ~ sebastian vettel (sv5)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: sebastian vettel x fem!reader

song inspiration: reason to stay ~ brett young

summary: just a small drabble about sebastian not wanting the love of his life to get up and leave for work in the morning

words: 2.08K

a/n: this song is literally one of my all time fave songs, brett's genius lyrics can always reach very deep into my heart. i always wanted to write about the situation depicted in the song, and when i listened to it yesterday, i accidentally looked at one of the pictures i have of seb on my wall, and i just knew that it's got to be him i write this about. this song screams sebastian vettel for me. anyway, enjoy!

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb! any feedback is well appreciated!

Saturdays are Sebastian's favourite days since his retirement from Formula One. You may ask, why? It's simple. Those are the days when his wife finally doesn't have to go to work, those days he can have her all to himself. The whole damn day. And without any stupid housework coming up that she just needs to do, as it always is with Sundays.

It's not like he hasn't tried to convince her to stop working, at least for a while. Or okay, fine, just do part-time. He has enough money for them to lead a comfortable life for now. And then he – or they – will figure out the rest in time.

But she loves her job, so what can he really do? She doesn't want to stop, or even go part-time. She enjoys waking up early in the morning, sip her morning coffee while swiftly skimming through the news on her phone. She doesn't mind getting dressed and then leave for work – leaving him alone for the rest of the day, right up until she comes back in the late afternoon. It isn't nearly enough of her for him. He wants more time. He needs more.

But today isn't Saturday. Not yet. It's just a regular Friday, nothing else. One more day of suffering at home, by himself.

Sebastian softly groans to himself, trying to come up with a new idea to keep himself entertained. There are days when he just can't seem to find anything that he would enjoy doing. The days when his mind keeps on straying back to driving race cars, and almost regretting his choice to retire. But only almost. He knows it was the right decision at that very moment. He always wanted to leave the sport when he's still at the top, and who is he kidding? These past seasons he's never had a car capable to win the championship. And anyway, he wanted to spend more time with his wife finally. The only time they have for themselves, just the two of them, are the weekends, and when he was still racing, sometimes those very weekends have been taken away from them just the same. As his mind – mind you, still half asleep as he's just woken up – slowly spins with thoughts, his eyes stray to her sleeping form right next to him.

A beam of early morning sun is sneaking in through the crack in the curtain, casting a glowing, golden orange line on the pillow, leading straight to her face. She's facing him, thankfully, so the light doesn't shine right onto her closed eyelids, waking her up. She's told him so many times to be careful when closing the curtains in the evenings. It's just one of those tiny things she can not stand – waking up to the sun shining in her eyes. 'That's why there's a curtain there in the first place', he can hear the gently scolding tone of her voice in his ears still.

But as the sunlight creeps up onto her laying body, he can't help but notice how it looks just like a halo, as it makes her (y/h/c) strands glow beautifully. She looks like a real life angel – and it's only further proof to what he's already been suspecting. That she's been sent from heaven only to make his life brighter, lovelier, calmer, and in general, more perfect than he ever expected his life to ever be.

He concludes to himself that he just really likes waking up before her as it gives him the chance to watch her sleep looking so peaceful and trouble-less. It must be one of his all time favourite sights. He'll never admit it to her though, he knows well enough that she doesn't like it, when he's watching her sleep. Even when it's in the car on a long journey and they stop at a red light and he turns to find her sleeping soundly by his side. Even when it's in a hotel room that he arrived back late to from a meeting on a Saturday night of a race weekend back when he was still racing. She seems to think she looks ridiculous when sleeping, which eventually led to him having to try his best to keep all his photos of her sleeping a secret.

In the calm silence of the room he can hear all the tiniest of sounds coming from their surroundings – the birds already chirping their morning songs on the other side of the windows, the manual clocks ticking away the precious seconds. Sebastian glances at the clock as his mind registers the sound coming from it, and internally groans with a roll of his eyes as his eyes take in the time. Just five more minutes left before it goes off. He dreads that very moment. The harsh ringing of the alarm breaking the quiet and the peace, ruining everything, ruining these sweet moments he can enjoy without her knowledge.

Out of nowhere a new thought pops in his head. Maybe he could convince her to stay. He has very good ways to do just that. He can be very convincing if he wants to be, and he knows it.

She stirs in her sleep, and his eyes snap back to her face, just in case her eyes flutter open. He loves watching her wake up, even if it means that the dreaded moment came. But no, she just moves until her head rests on his shoulder and her arms over his waist, then lets out a tiny whimper – something that sounds vaguely like his name – and then continues sleeping just as calmly as she's been doing up until then. He got a few more precious minutes.

His hand softly moves to rest on her upper back, unconsciously twirling a strand of her silk-like hair around his fingers. His own eyes close lightly again, enjoying the gentle press of their heads together. If he could, he would stay like this forever.

But then the alarm clock actually goes off, making Sebastian think one or two swear words in his mind as his arm shoots out in the direction of the device to make it silent again, while shifting his head a bit to be able to see his lover better. Her fingers twitch, he can feel it on the skin of his waist, and then her eyes eventually open – just for a second, before they close again, only to repeat the same notion a few times in the following seconds. Her body fights against waking up.

A smile makes its way onto his face, just as her eyelids open for the last time, revealing those sparkling (y/e/c) orbs to him, the ones he could easily get lost in every time she flashes them at him. Her lips lazily curve similarly to his as she takes in the sight of him.

"Morning," her slightly raspy voice fills the air of their bedroom in a whisper.

"Good morning, angel."

"You been awake for long?" she tightens her arm around him for a second, making him press a peck on top of her head in return.

"No, just woke up at the alarm." Small white lies like this never hurt anyone – especially if it means he doesn't have to stop watching her sleep and take pictures of her while doing so.

Then her fingers leave his skin, and he can feel her start moving further from his body. His arm doesn't loosen though, not even a bit, trying to keep her where she's been. "I gotta make my coffee, Seb," she lets out a giggle, feeling his hold remain on her.

"No," comes his simple reply.

"What do you mean, no?" her giggle grows into a somewhat louder chuckle.

"If you have your coffee, you will just leave sooner."

"Darling, I'll have to leave sooner or later, and you know it."

"I don't want you to."

Her body shifts in his arms, resulting in two things. His arms tighten around her torso even more, and her face turns entirely towards him, to be able to gaze into his eyes deeply and comfortably.

"We've been through this, Sebastian, please," she smiles. "I have to go to work."

He pouts, eyes boring into hers with an unspoken plead.

"You're behaving like a baby again."

Her words are familiar to his ears, since not more than two mornings prior they had a conversation almost exactly the same as this one. With a sigh he lets the muscles in his face move back to their natural state, just watching her with adoring eyes. "Okay, I stop. In exchange, can I at least kiss you?

Attentive icy blue orbs snap down towards her lips just as she bites into the bottom one, the cheeky, flirty grin painted on all his features. She nods, and that's all it takes for the man to lean in, capturing her in a breathtaking kiss. He pours all his thoughts and emotions into the action, letting her feel it in the taste of his lips, in the small gasps of air leaving him, in the way his eyelashes brush against her cheek every once in a while.

He's determined.

He wants to make her get lost in the kiss like she did so many times before. To get so lost that she completely forgets where she is, what their previous conversation was about, and most importantly, what time of what day it was. He kisses her to make her think it's already Saturday.

At her still mumbled words, he admits defeat. His kisses didn't work. Not this time. With a sigh audible enough to make her feel just a tiny bit guilty, he lets his arms slacken around her and his upper body to fall down, his back reconnecting with the mattress along with the sound of a soft thud.

With the help of his arms, he presses her warm body tightly into his, entirely engulfing her in his embrace. This is all he ever wants to do.

"Seb," she mumbles against his lips after a few minutes pass by. He pretends not to hear her, just keeps on stealing the oxygen from her lungs, hoping that just these few more moments are going to be enough to get what he wants. "Seb." Her voice comes louder and more certain the second time, as she tenderly forces her hands in-between their upper bodies to apply pressure to his chest, trying to push him off of her. "I really do need to get up."

"Oh, come on, love, don't look so heartbroken. I'll be back at five," she reaches out to caress his cheek before moving her legs from where they were tangled with his all throughout the night. "It's not the end of the world."

"Maybe to you, it isn't," he grumbles, knowing just how childish he sounds right now.

She shakes her head with another giggle, cute and angelic as always, making his heart skip a beat, and all of a sudden he can't help himself, just got to steal another kiss from her lips. He crashes into her with such force that this time it's her back that thuds against the mattress, and a surprised gasp of air leaves her lungs, right into his mouth. She kisses him back with just the same passion still, getting over her surprise in a short moment.

Another few minutes pass in relative silence – only the sounds of their lips moving along each other can be heard.

"Sebastian, you can't make me late," her weak attempt comes once more not to his surprise.

"Says who?" he mumbles back without a skip, not moving the tiniest bit further away from her, instead just pressing his knee right into the space between her legs, technically sticking her to the mattress. Only when he can feel their position being secure is when he lets their lips disconnect, just to be able to properly look into her eyes with a mischievous glint. "I bet I can make what you just said a lie."

"Do you?" she raises an eyebrow, knowing full well that it's enough for him to feel challenged. And when he smells challenge, there's nothing that can stop him or make him back down.

Sebastian nods, his nose brushing against hers in the process. "I'll give you a reason to stay."

And maybe now, just this once, she can call in sick to work.

.::the end::.

taglist: formulapierre

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

[strangersatellites]

i’ve been missing the universe from my first fic lately, so enjoy this snippet (my best comedic work yet) from tip of my tongue, he’s pulling my hair; i’d do what he wants anywhere

“Henderson, please do not get pizza sauce on my carpet!” Steve yells across his house at the man-child balancing boxes reaching higher than his head.

“Geez, Steve, relax, would you?” Dustin chides, “Why are you freaking out anyways? I have never once seen your house this clean.”

Steve spares a moment to feel a bit caught out. “He’s right,” he thinks.

He follows Dustin into the living room carrying a stack of plates. He is met with a sight he has grown all too familiar with over the years of the kids using his home as their designated hang out. Coffee table pulled out to the middle of the floor so there is optimal seating around its perimeter; Lucas, Mike, and Will already seated and bickering about Will’s campaign; Max and El on his couch trying to choose a movie to watch; and more D&D paraphernalia then he even understands or knows what to do with. The only thing currently missing are the rest of the adults of the group, all of whom are en route, hopefully with beer and other substances so that Steve can get through another night of fifteen year olds screaming until three in the morning.

“No seriously dude, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, what the hell are you being so weird for?” Mike asks about the time Steve realizes he’s moved the cups around the table three times.

Moving to stand at the head of the table Steve claps his hands together and places his hands on his hips in what the kids call his “mom pose”, deciding to make an announcement. They had originally planned on just introducing Eddie as a friend, and then getting a read from the kids before they told them anything more. But now that they have seemed to figure out that something is up, Steve is loath to keep the secret from them.

“Oh here we go,” Lucas whines.

Mike groans and Max and El perk up in their seats.

“Watch it Sinclair. Don't make me put you on trash duty.”

Lucas mimes zipping his lips shut.

“Thank you. Okay gang. I don’t usually ask you guys to be on your best behavior because my home is your home and all that shit. But today Robs is bringing over this guy that I have been talking to so I really need you guys to be cool.” Steve pleads with the group, feeling irrationally jittery even though he knows they can tell he’s nervous and would never do anything to actually jeopardize or invalidate his worries.

The girls on the couch both look like this is the best news they have ever heard. Meanwhile, Will, Lucas, and Mike all look shellshocked. Dustin is the only one who maintains some sense of a calm demeanor. Immediately diffusing the shock with an “Okay.. well we’re missing a D20, does anyone have a spare in a backpack or something?”

Steve just laughs as his panic is so quickly relieved with the normalcy of these kids, who all immediately take to looking under the table and under pillows for the missing dice. He takes a second to be grateful they all are so quick to support one another, himself included.

Steve, shaking off his shock, responds, “You know what? I think you guys actually left some here last time you came over to play, let me go grab them.”

“Sweet, thanks mom!” Lucas says to Steve’s retreating form, earning himself a middle finger over the shoulder.

On his way down the hall he hears the doorbell and the sounds of Jonathan, Nancy, and Argyle joining the party and making themselves at home. Steve thinks the most home this house has ever felt is when it is full of these kids and these friends.

Walking into his spare room Steve rifles through the top dresser drawer that has turned into some kind of makeshift lost and found, letting out a victorious “aha!” when he lays his hands on Dustin’s missing D20 and the various other matching D-something’s.

He stops in front of the mirror one last time on his way out to give himself a pep talk before Eddie comes over. It's not that he’s nervous to see him, but the fact that Eddie is essentially meeting his family today, and everyone that's important to him. Logically, he knows there is literally no way they won't like him, but a little bit of fear permanently stays lodged in his chest these days and today it's chosen to take root in this situation.

Making his way back to the rowdy table he drops the dice in Dustin’s hand with a flourish and goes to check his phone to see if the rest of the group are almost here. He is broken out of his task to Dustin’s “What the fuck?”

Turning to see Dustin still standing stock still with the dice in his hand Steve makes to reprimand him for his language before getting cut off with “These are Eddie’s.”

Steve freezes. Approximately a million thoughts and questions start running through his head, the most prominent he asks aloud, “How do you guys know Eddie?”

By now the rest of the party has clued into the situation, Lucas chiming in, “Eddie’s our DM when we play at Hellfire. How do you know Eddie?”

Steve stutters, trying to connect the dots.

“Oh my god,” Dustin screeches, “Eddie said he lost his customs after he was playing with a hookup. Was it you?”

Steve has about three seconds to be offended that Eddie referred to him as a “hookup” and to think that he needs to text Eddie a warning before the doorbell rings.

This time, everyone freezes, Steve sees the moment that the kids all suddenly remember that Steve said Robin was bringing a guy over.

Steve, still in shock, is rooted to his spot while Mike runs to the door, flinging it open to reveal Robin and Eddie. If Steve had his wits about him, he would be most interested in the fact that Eddie looks really fucking good in his worn old Black Sabbath tee and ripped jeans with his hair up, but as it is he is too busy reeling.

Steve watches with bated breath as Eddie’s eyes flit to all of the people in the room and connect the same dots that Steve did only moments ago. Eddie’s eyes finally land on Dustin’s open palm with his apparently custom DM dice and he goes to say “Oh shit! You found-”

“Your dice.” Steve finishes for him.

Again, he sees the moment Eddie remembers what he told the kids happened to his dice.

“My dice... Yeah.” He brings a hand up the scratch at the back of his neck.

All of the kids shake out of their shock at once with shouts and jeers of, “STEVE was the hookup?” and “Oh my god I can’t believe this is happening,” and from the girls, hushed giggles, the remaining adults all putting two and two together themselves.

Robin breaks the panic with, “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

Rather than rehash the entire event in front of the kids, Steve finally launches back into action and grabs Eddie and Robin and drags them into the kitchen.

“Oh my fucking god!” Steve screeches, dragging his hands down his face.

He feels Eddie’s presence behind him and feels one arm snake around his waist and another come to rest where his thigh meets his hip, and warm lips dropping a kiss to his neck.

“Why are you freaking out, baby? This is honestly the best case scenario. I’ve been so nervous all day about meeting your kids, come to find out your kids are my kids,” Eddie speaks lowly into Steve’s ear and honestly? He does have a point. But-

“I think I’m mostly freaked out that they figured it out before I got to tell them. I was fully prepared to make an awkward introduction and wait for you guys to hit it off. I was not prepared for all of them staring at me asking if I was the hookup you left your dice with.” And now that he thinks about it, maybe the world hookup is the part that is bothering him the most.

Robin seems to have finally pieced together the puzzle, “Ohhh, shit. These are the kids that always come to your D&D nights. You know, I honestly should have put this together earlier. Especially after that time you came into work talking about your dice getting you into some super kinky sh-”

“Robs!” Steve cuts her off.

“Sorry!” She squeaks. “This is just all so funny to me. Like how did none of us put together that the obnoxious kids that play at your house are the same obnoxious kids that play at Hellfire?”

Eddie laughs over Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t even have an argument for that one. This seems like a massive oversight.” He says rubbing circles into Steve’s hips. “Well, at least we know your kids love your new boyfriend already,” and Steve just rolls his eyes, able to hear the smirk in Eddie's voice, “Nice save, Master.”

Steve shakes off a slack-jawed Eddie and makes to go back to join the kids. “Well, we may as well rejoin the kids and suffer through the impending torment.”

Robin and Eddie cackle behind him as they make their way into the living room.

Upon seeing the kids already in the throes of their game Steve just stands and looks out over the room at all of the people he loves and is once again, so grateful for each and every one of them and their ability to make him feel so effortlessly comfortable even at his most nervous.

He should’ve known better than to think Eddie would ever let him win though. He’s struck from his reverie, when he hears Eddie, in what is undoubtedly his dramatic DM voice, say, “Hey anklebiters! Do you guys need a Dad? I’m trying to un-single your mom!”

[crushedgraham]

Hey there! Can you do a D.va x fem!reader smut where Dva rides her soft masc gf in her gamer chair? Maybe a little specific but anyways lol

Paused

D.va x Soft Masc gf

Being specific always helps! I hope you enjoy :D

It was late and Hana’s screams could be heard bouncing off of the walls of your shared apartment. You groan, tossing your phone aside onto the cushion next to you. Hana had been streaming for well over 8 hours now even though she had promised to keep it short. You had been looking forward to spending time with her since she’s been so busy with missions and working on her mech. Now, 8 hours later, you feel pretty disheartened. She had missed the plans and meals you had prepped for her free day.

You lean your head back, shutting your eyes with a sigh. You love Hana but dating a celebrity can be a pain in the ass sometimes. You wait another 10 minutes but her shouts don’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.

Defeated, you throw a blanket loosely over your waist and you clutch a pillow to your chest wishing it was Hana. But right as you're about to fall asleep, you hear soft thumps of footsteps and a quiet:

“Oh Jagi…”

You sleepily open your eyes just enough so you can see Hana standing over you in one of your shirts (that looks a lot more like a dress on her).

“Mm, you finally done?”

Your voice is low and scratchy from exhaustion which makes you miss the small blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah, I’m sorry baby I got caught up trying to beat this new game”

“It’s fine, jus’ wanna hold you”

Her eyes soften and she whispers a soft “Of course”, before grabbing your hand and leading you to your shared bedroom. Your eyes are set on the haven of your comfortable bed but Hana’s hand leads you to her desk, the paused screen from her game still glowing on the large monitors. At this point, exhaustion has settled deep into your bones and you’re too tired to protest when she pushes you to sit in her gaming chair. Though you’re content to just sleep in that chair when Hana straddles your lap, arms wrapping around the back of your neck to place little kisses across your face.

“‘M sorry, I know you had a lot planned today…I promise to make it up to you”

Her breath brushes against your ear and you shiver a little. Your hands run down her waist to rest on her hips, holding her close.

“We can just do it tomorrow, it’s no big de-”

She cuts you off with a gentle press of her lips against yours (you can taste the remnants of doritos and mountain dew on her lips, romantic right?). One of her hands slides up the back of your neck to tug lighty at the roots of your hair and she tugs at your bottom lip with her teeth at the same time. You groan against her lips, all the fatigue melting away from her little touches. Ignited with lust, you surge upwards to deepen the kiss - your tongue glides against her lip before slipping into her mouth to run along her own.

Hana’s hectic schedule has kept the two of you away from each other sexually for an ungodly amount of time. The built up sexual frustration leads to a greater neediness in both of you. Her hips grind down against yours and she whimpers against your lips when she feels the familiar bulge in your sweats.

Your hands reach underneath the large shirt to come in contact with thin panties. You pull away from Hana’s swollen lips to chuckle,

“No shorts even when you’re streaming?”

“Shut up and fuck me”

You giggle some more as she kisses you again while fumbling with the waistband of your sweats, trying to push them down as fast as possible. You let her struggle for a bit before raising your hips to help her out. She ruts her soaked panties against the underside of your strap, desperate for any kind of friction she can get.

“H-hahh…Need you Jagi please..!”

“Such a needy bunny, I wonder if you could cum like this?”

You grin devilishly when she lets out an annoyed whine into the crook of your neck.

“No! …Mngh…N-need you inside!”

As much as you want to make her beg for it, you’re just as desperate to be inside of her. You quickly slide her panties to the side and you slide in easily. The moan she lets out is angelic, she nuzzles into your neck with tightly shut eyes. Hana starts rolling her hips desperately: front to back then down and up and repeat. You let her have her fun, content to just listen to her moans and watch her fuck herself on your cock.

“Fuck! I need m-more, please Jagi please!”

Your hips snap up at the sound of her pleas which makes her bite roughly into your shoulder to conceal her loud moan. You set a rough pace, picking her up and down by the hips to meet your thrusts like a little doll. Her moans and the squelching of her wet pussy mix together louder than her screams from her stream, thank god for her sound-proofed set up.

And when you shift so that the tip of the strap brushes against her g-spot? Her pussy’s gushing, slick coating the insides of her thighs and making a mess of your sweats. Hana grips onto your shoulder and bicep like her life depends on it, tears mixed with mascara running down her flushed cheeks - making her look so pretty and fucked out.

“S-so..Ah! hah..Close!”

Your hand leaves one side of her hip to reach between your bodies to rub over her swollen clit. She chokes out a sobbed moan, and her thighs shake from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Cum for me bunny, be my good girl and cum for me.”

Fuck. That’s the final push she needed, she cums on command - her sensitive cunt twitching and cumming on your thick strap. She mewls quietly from the aftershocks and she slumps against your body tiredly.

“You okay?”

You murmur while kissing her hairline, your hands already massaging her thighs knowing they were going to be sore in the morning. Hana nods and makes a small noise of approval. You stand up with her in your arms and you set her down on the bed.

“I’ll be right back okay? Just gotta get some things for you”

She grunts in disagreement while holding you close, she wraps her legs around your waist to trap you in her embrace.

“Don’t leave me…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Hana”

[kitthepurplepotato]

Shenanigans Part 10

Part 10/ Bakugou Katsuki and the case of the fortune teller

Warnings: Swear words. That’s it.

Summary: Best Jeanist wants to go to a fortune teller. Bakugou hates the idea.

New to the story? Click here for the first part!

Check out the Master List for more content!

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Mr. Katsuki wakes up in a hospital.

It’s loud and cold and it smells like shit.

Mr. Katsuki wants to go back to sleep.

“Katsuki!” Kirishima’s loud and annoying voice comes through the haze in his brain, giving him a new kind of headache. “Are you okay?!”

“I was okay until you started yapping.” The blonde mumbles, definitely not ready for this shit yet.

First of all, he was absolutely manhandled by the Menace.

Second of all, he kinda liked being manhandled by the Menace.

He’s not sure which statement is worse. He really hopes these are only the side effects of his concussion, even though he wasn’t concussed when he first thought about them. Fuck.

“Thank god.” Shitty Hair sighs and looks at him with the look Katsuki hates the most; the look of pity. “Don’t fret too much, she was unfair. I can’t believe she…” Kirishima couldn’t finish the sentence as Bakugou’s palm crackled under the covers, leaving an unpleasant burning smell behind.

“What the fuck, Shitty hair!” The blonde screams. “She won fair and square. She distracted me and it worked. Yes, I fucking hate to lose but I know defeat when I see one.”

Even Katsuki can’t believe he just said these words. Maybe he does need to sleep a bit longer. A few hours maybe. Or a few weeks. Or he will just hibernate until the menace dies of old age so he never has to face his stupid shitty feelings.

“I’m really not sure if I should be proud of you for saying this or be concerned that you might have been brain washed by Y/N.”

“That’s it!” Comes the excited voice of Dynamight, his eyes sparkling with joy like he’s not in a hospital room after being beaten up by a girl half his size. “She brainwashed me! That’s why I feel all these weird things, like my heart can’t stop beating when I think of her stupid, flushed face looking down at me…”

“Well thank fuck it doesn’t, you would be dead, bruh.” Comments the redhead but his response remains unheard.

“And the way I don’t even feel bad for losing because she earned my respect! Yeah, fuck that, I was just brain washed!”

Kirishima’s best friend looks absolutely insane right now; his hair is tousled from the hospital pillow, his face is pale and there are massive bags under his eyes and a few bruises around his chin. He looks like the conspiracy theorist from that old meme. It’s hilarious and disturbing at the same time.

“… just… sleep a bit more, will ya? I think you are still not completely yourself.” Kirishima mumbles and leaves the room quicker than he does a burning building.

What the fuck did he just listen to?!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You really considered resigning at this point.

You made all the possible mistakes; you kicked your boss in the balls, you flirted with him in front of the whole office and made it absolutely obvious that you secretly have the hots for him and you also talked back to your other boss who only wanted to reprimand you for being an absolute ass.

You brought in a small box to put your stuff in, just in case you get fired today because fuck, you definitely will be.

Hm. You might as well start packing.

You start to put your knick knacks into your small little box one by one. You are so zoned out you don’t even realize when the door opens up with a loud bang.

“What the fuck are you doing, shithead?!” You can’t help but look up at the voice; you were absolutely sure you’ll never hear it again after what you’ve done.

“Mr. Dynamight, I’m…”

What the fuck are you supposed to say now?!

Hey, no need to fire me I’m on my way out anyway. Oh, also, here’s my number, call me, maybe? No? No worries, love you, bye.

“I don’t fucking care anyway, just stop it and get your jacket, we are going out with the stringy hoe.” The blonde says nonchalantly, like the last 2 days didn’t happen at all. Okay, now you are even more confused.

“Uhm, yes, I’m coming, yeah, no worries, really, I wasn’t about to resign anyway. Absolutely not.” You mumble with a red face and grab your jacket without asking more questions; if this is his way to lure you out of the building and kill you, so be it. It’s still better than being alone with him in the office.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Best Jeanist is a really weird person. He loves people and he cares about them, but at the same time; thanks to all the shit he has been through; he doesn’t really know what’s appropriate and what’s not. Shortly; he can’t read the room. At all. Like Shouto fucking bacon face Todoroki times 10. Hence why, a day after Mr. Katsuki gets his ass handed to him, his sexual frustration clear and obvious to everyone after the the shit they’ve pulled in the training room, Best Jeanist decides this is the right time to ask Katsuki, Kirishima and Menace out to a….

“…Trip to that famous fortune teller!” Best Jeanist finishes his sentence. There was probably something before that last part, but fuck if Katsuki knows, he was too busy thinking about… well… everything.

“The fuck?” Katsuki and the Menace barks into the awkward silence in unison.

So apparently there is this famous fortune teller in Japan who is able to tell your future with his quirk. Not the whole thing, but bits and pieces. Katsuki doesn’t really understand why is this such a big thing; he really doesn’t care about shit like that and he certainly doesn’t care about his sore knee at the age of 53 or about his 50 cats when he’s 70.

By the look on the Menace’s face, she’s going through the same thought process; they look at each other questioningly for a second before deciding to look away with a slight blush on their faces, like two fucking teenagers. They really need to get their shit together. They fought, Y/N won. End of the story. Nothing has changed, they still hate each other. They just had a moment in the middle of the battle. No biggie.

“Yeah, Mr. Jeanist, we can come with you!” Kirishima - as always - saves the day. Best Jeanist has a mischievous smirk on his face; Bakugou is not sure what makes the other blonde so excited about this, but at least he won’t be forced to talk to the menace today.

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People think Best Jeanist has nothing in his head but strings and clothing designs, but the truth is; he is a sucker for a good romance story.

Hence why he came up with the perfect plan to get his two favorite students together as soon as possible.

“So what’s the plan?” He asks Masato, the famous fortune teller, his hand holding out a thick envelope. The guy reaches out to take the envelope then looks inside; there is enough money to feed his 3 kids for at least a year. He has mouths to feed, so self-respect be damned.

“I’ll tell those two they are meant to be.” Mr. Masato smirks.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

This needs to be a scam.

The whole place just screams “fake”; the dark purple walls, the over-decorated tables, the massive amount of stones and crystals available for purchase at the counter, the crystal ball in front of the guy who looks like he’s cosplaying a magician from an MMO game; it’s so over the top it’s actually disgusting.

“Let’s get over with this, I have paperwork to finish.” The blonde mumbles, absolutely uninterested in this whole shenanigan.

Kirishima looks like a kid in a candy store; he’s all over the place, looking at every single crystal and right now he’s bothering the poor sales person with random questions about them. To be fair, he is absolutely adorable from afar, leaping around the room with an excited spark in his eyes. Kirishima is a precious little fuck.

“Kiri is so sweet, isn’t he? You just want to put him in your back pocket and keep him there to cuddle him when you’re lonely.”

Well, you didn’t want to say this out loud, but oh well. It’s out there now.

Apparently, this wasn’t the right thing to say as Dynamight’s palms sparked up and his eyes went even more red than usual.

“Oh yeah? Go and fuck him then, he’s single.” The blonde pouts angrily, stomping towards the confused fortune teller guy to sit down. Kirishima stares at you with a red face, like this is the first time someone complimented him in his sad life.

“Aww, you are so sweet when you pout, Mr.Katsuki!” You put your hands on your chest to dramatize your words. “I do have two back pockets, you can both take one, if you want!”

“I don’t share.” The blonde responds with a straight face and now it’s your time to blush like a teenager; did he just… flirt back?!

… or he might have the hots for Kirishima and he doesn’t want to share them.

What? It’s an option.

“I’m really confused by the relationship of you three.” The long forgotten Best Jeanist speaks up and sits down next to Katsuki.

“Well, you are at the right place to get answers for your questions!” The fortune teller guy speaks up and if you weren’t sure about this being a scam, now you are. He sounds like those guys in the TV advertisements, which is definitely a good thing when you work in the industry but it’s a little bit too much when you are only a fortune teller in a shitty tent.

“Let’s start with the blonde young man with the threatening aura!” The guy perks up, locking his eyes with Dynamight without an explanation. His eyes go blank and there are tiny pictures scrolling though his eyeballs, too small for a normal person to actually see. You cheekily start up your magnifying quirk to get a closer look at the pictures; there is one with you in it, kneeling in front of the crying Dynamight, cupping his cheek with teary eyes.

Okay, what the fuck?! That’s way to out of character for you two to actually happen.

There is another picture that makes you smile; Katsuki in his cute little glasses taking your hand in the middle of the city while rain pours all over you. He looks like the Katsuki from the other dimension, so he will probably find you in their own world, just how he promised.

Ahh, you miss that fucker so-so much. You really hope your other self will appreciate the boy the way you would appreciate him.

“No snooping, this is not your future! Well… technically.” The guy winks at you as he comes back to reality. “Mr. Bakugou Katsuki. You are a lucky little sod.” The guy smiles at the blonde. “I don’t want to go into too much details in case it changes the future, but… “ He sighs dramatically. “I can see you are a really strong and passionate person, kind of aggressive, hard to be around for a long amount of time.”

“No shit, Sherlock, everyone who owns a TV knows that.” The blonde scoffs, clearly unimpressed.

“That’s true. But would I know how much you seek comprehension and how much you secretly wonder if there will ever be a person romantically loving you for who you are?”

Well, one thing for sure, you are not going to question the guy’s abilities when it’s your turn, he clearly knows how to fight back.

“This is a fucking scam, I don’t think about any of those things! I’m absolutely fine by myself!” The blonde grumbles with his face all red, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, if you enjoy solitude, I have bad news for you; you won’t be alone for long.” The guy smiles and looks right at you as he winks again. You really want to tell him off for his bullshit, but you saw the pictures. If this is actually a scam then it’s a really good one at that, and you can’t help but respect his shenanigans.

For your surprise, Dynamight doesn’t scream at the guy again, instead he asks a question.

“So who’s the fucker who ruins my perfect life?” Katsuki almost whispers to the guy, who can’t help but smile at that.

“The one you’ve been constantly thinking about for the last two days.”

Katsuki grunts in response but doesn’t say anything else. The guy moves to the next person without a word while you wonder about the meaning of his reading; yes, you saw yourself in the pictures but non of them were romantic; you might have missed something, there might be someone else in Dynamight’s life. There is no way he is thinking about you so much, especially not after all the drama in the training room. He’s probably doing his best to forget those few hours so you can’t be the one the guy was talking about… right?

Kirishima is the next, the guy praises him for being the best friend and the best boyfriend the world has ever seen - Kirishima perks up from the sound of having a significant other in his future and he can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. For Jeanist, his future isn’t as fluffy as the young one’s, the guy insist he needs to go on a vacation, but he gets some good news as well.

“Last one!” The guy moves to face you properly, and fuck, you are sooo not ready for this shit.

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“Last one!”

Oh. Katsuki zoned out for the entirety of Kirishima’s and Best Jeanist’s reading.

He has so much to think about; this whole reading sounded like the biggest scam until the guy laid him bare in front of his friends like a bitch. Katsuki didn’t lie when he said he’s happy being alone, but deep inside he always felt like there is something missing. The new feelings in his heart only made the void deeper; he can lie as much as he wants, but he absolutely loved the way his heart beat out of his chest from the sight of Y/N on the battle field. This doesn’t mean the Menace is the one though; she might have been at the right place at the right time to wake something up in Katsuki, sure, but it doesn’t mean she’s the one the guy was talking about.

“I will love you in every single universe.” Katsuki wakes up from his stupor to the future teller’s voice resonating in the small room. “I’m not sure what this means but it was a part of your reading and I really liked it.” He smiles at Y/N who’s red as a tomato. “You have quite a life story, miss Y/N. Or should I call you the Menace? As much as you insist hating that nickname your heart rate goes up every time you hear it, why is that, I wonder?” The guy does that fake chin touching/deep thinking face, and it’s extremely annoying. The menace doesn’t say a word, she’s clearly mortified. “You almost lost your life on the battle field…”

“That’s the past, not the future, you dimwit.” Katsuki interrupts.

“The past and the future are connected. I can see them both.” He responds, clearly tense from being interrupted in the middle of his reading. He takes a deep breath and continues. “…then you got dragged to another universe. You found something there you cherish, but let me tell you something; if you live in the past, you won’t see the bright future that’s ahead of you. Stop comparing those two and just look around; the path is clear and obvious, paved out for you to step on, yet you still stumble on the dirty, uneven grass.” He sighs again with his back hitting the back of his chair as an indication that the reading is done. “Also, there is a wedding in the future for all of you. Not yours, though. Someone else’s. But you’ll see when you get back to your office.”

A wedding? Another lie. There is no one around Bakugou who’s about to marry, this needs to be another bullshit.

“Thank you for your service, Mister!” Kirishima perks up and makes his way out of the building, skipping around like a lovesick fool. He clearly doesn’t care if it’s fake or not. He’s really easy to please.

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You were just about to leave the building when you felt a shoulder bumping into your own.

“Oii, fuckstick.” Bakugou speaks up, but instead of his usual fury, his voice is calm and subtle. You look up at the blonde; he is looking at you with hesitation in his eyes. “It was a good fight. Thanks… for doing that.” The blonde mumbles, his shoulders bumping into you again affectionately. “Can we stop being weird about it? It’s really annoying. I can’t fucking focus.”

Okay, what the hell is happening?! First the unintentional (or intentional?) flirting, now the shoulder touches and if that’s not enough to lose your shit, Bakugou just said the work “thanks”.

You died and this is your personal heaven. That needs to be it. This can’t be happening right now. If you need to look at his blushing face another second you’re going to propose.

If this is real life, then this needs to be temporary. Don’t get your hopes up. This is just a moment of weakness from the blonde. The sudden rising of your heart rate has nothing to do with your feelings, you probably just had way too much coffee in the morning.

“Yeah, it was really nice….” Oh fuck, those are not the right words! “I mean, it was a good fight. You are great. In fighting, I mean. Thanks. Yeah. Let’s do it again?” Jesus fuck, why did you say that?!

“You want a rematch?” The blonde laughs while he walks towards his car. “Yeah, I don’t mind pinning you to the floor again….” The blonde’s eyes open wide in a surprise when he realizes what he’d just said. His blush gets even deeper. It’s absolutely adorable. “I mean, I will definitely win next time. Yeah. I will clean the floor with your blood while using you as a mop…head. Yeah.” He stutters and opens the door for you to jump in. “Want a ride, Number One?”

“Y-yeah, Number Two.” You grin at the blonde as his face contorts into an angry frown.

“I hate you so much.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The ride was absolutely exhilarating. Katsuki drives like a badass and he also has a good taste in music; that didn’t stop you from making fun of his taste though. You were bickering the whole time like two dumb teenagers and thankfully, this cleared the air enough to get rid of all the tension between you two. Everything is back to normal, thank fuck.

As you make your way into your shared office you find 2 envelopes on Bakugou’s desk; one for him and one for you. It’s gold and sparkly and smells like a fancy perfume.

It’s a wedding invitation.

“Fuck, that bloke was right.” Bakugou’s surprised voice fills the room. “But wait, I thought Denki and Jirou broke up again a few weeks ago?” The blonde asks, confused by the whole situation. The wedding invitation clearly states their name, so…

“Well, apparently I give great love advice.” You answer proudly; Denki did message you a few weeks after your meet up to say thank you, so you are not lying.

“Yeah, you are that middle aged person who hooks everyone up but can’t get a bitch herself.” Dynamight fucking giggles, the area around his eyes wrinkle happily with every movement. Who is this person and what happened to Dynadick?!

“Bakugou, we are far from being middle aged!” You snicker, with a slight blush on your face. “And also, low blow!” You try your best to look offended. “You know what, it’s fine, I won’t be lonely, because you’ll be there with me, you forever alone dipshit.”

Was it always this easy to fuck around with him or is this just a special occasion?

Why is it so hot in here?

Oh lord, this is bad.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“I had a really weird day.” Mr. Masato tells his assistant while he drinks his beer like it’s water. “So this guy gave me a shit load of money to lie to these two people about their future; to make it look like they belong together and shit.” The jug knocks on the table aggressively as he continues his rant. “So the two came in, they literally looked like they hated each other, so I started to feel really bad about this prank… but then I read them and… they were actually connected by fate. They can literally fuck up every single thing and they’ll end up with each other anyway. I’ve never seen a bond so unbreakable. So I got this shit load of money and I didn’t even have to lie. I feel like I won the lottery.”

The assistant stares at him like this is the first time he heard human speech then throws up on the floor. Just like that.

“Good talk.” Mr. Masato sighs and stares into the space with dead eyes.

Mr. Masato feels like this is a great time to finally retire.

-> Next Part

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Yes, I know I said I’ll be working on another project, but I’m in love with this story so much!

So, how are you guys feeling about the budding romance? I am absolutely thrilled! I literally want to cry from happiness!

Also, you won’t need to wait long for the next part as it’s already done! Might post it sooner if I see some comments under this part! No pressure. Really. 🙄 💜

As always,reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated, they make my day 💜

Thank you for reading! 💥💜

Taglist: @ibkg @chuugarettes @lilmaimai

@nonomesupposedto @sozainturpal @luleck @notplutos

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[hauntedjpegcollection]

most of freedom and of pleasure

wc: 18,571 au: band au ch: benny, maran

Benny’s alarm wakes him up at 5:35 AM precisely. It’s not hard to get out of bed—maybe he’s always secretly been a morning person. Maybe it’s easy because he’s not that good at sleeping.

Either way, pale, tattooed legs swing out of his bed. Bare feet land on a messy floor and he stands. Yawning, stretching, slapping a hand down on his desk for the phone squawking incessantly. Weak city light, polluted fat with fog, streams in from his cracked window and he blinks at it. The silence feels unearthly, a subtle ringing in his left ear making it worse. It’s early enough even New York City is asleep, it seems. A cooing pigeon rests on his windowsill, fat off the sunflower seeds he sprinkles there.

He has a simple routine, usually. He’s up and into the bathroom to brush his teeth and frown at the yellowing stains from nicotine, the crooked bottom row that make his smile creepy. He showers in a brutally efficient way, double washing his hair and still managing to get angry later when it’s greasy and messy no matter what he does. Then he’s dressing in his bedroom, going down to the bodega on the street corner to get a breakfast sandwich and shoot shit with Rupesh until the sandwich is nothing but crumbs on his fingertips. Finally, Benny will clock in at whatever menial job the security agency has stuck him with between tours.

This morning is different. Instead, Benny’s toiletries are packed. He grimaces and rinses with mouthwash, unable to shake the fuzzy feeling on his teeth. Mentally apologizes for anyone he has to interact with today. He dresses in travel clothes; comfortable sweatpants and an oversized crewneck sweater he’s almost certain he stole from Xavier since he’s not from Boston and he doesn’t give a fuck about the Bruins.

The living room is a lonely bachelor’s disaster. Paperback books sit everywhere, fraying with broken spines and dog eared pages. DVD’s stack up beside a TV that is slightly crooked and if on, would have a little cluster of dead pixels. His clothes are tossed haphazardly because Benny has always been the worst about actually putting them into the hamper, no matter how diligent he was about washing them. The couch sags on one end, overstuffed with pillows and a blanket that’s worn through with use. Sometimes he sleeps there instead of his own bed; not like it matters, no one was ever there to share anyway.

Benny stands in it all for a moment, surveying the scene with an almost odd detachment. He wanders to a shelf on the wall, slowly petting two fingers on a statue of a cat he’d stolen on a date with Isaac. The paint has flaked off completely between the ears, right where he ritualistically pets it every single time he comes or goes. There’s dust on the shelves that he should clean.

Benny shoulders a duffle bag he’d left out the night before, yanks a half broken suitcase out into the hallway with him.

“You were too damn loud last night!” His neighbor screams at him, sitting in a plastic chair out front her unit. She’s an absolute crone, with beady eyes and a hateful expression and probably not a single person in her life who loves her. In her lap is a dying potted plant that must never see any light other than the fluorescents above them in the apartment complex hallway. Benny ruminates that even she has something living with her and finds it in himself to be bitter about it.

His usual retort would be to tell Angelica to go fuck herself, crazy old fucking bat. But, it’s not a usual day. Instead, he waves her off, already tapping a cigarette from his pack and sliding it behind his ear for safe keeping as he avoids the lift that never works. Benny struggles his way down the stairs and into the lobby that always reeks of wet dog. He uses his phone to call a car, routes it for the airport. Fully prepares to expense that to his agency.

It’s time to go back on tour and leave New York behind.

He feels like a ghost lingering there on the sidewalk and indeed he looks like one too. With his pale hair and his pale skin and his pale eyes—even his shadow stretches long and gray on the sidewalk, instead of black.

— THE BEGINNING OF TOUR —

“Benji’s friend is gonna be our temp guitarist.”

Mouse is filthy drunk—which means he has to carry her. For a girl who couldn’t weigh more than one-thirty soaking wet, she’s an awful handful. Looking down at her—at the mop of her brown hair, at the smattering of freckles on her nose, the wetness of past tears on her pinked cheeks—Benny cannot help the desire to bury his face into her, to hold her and squeeze her and keep her safe. He doesn’t, thankfully but he supposes he’s a little drunk himself (she had been buying at the bar after all, and seemed convinced there was no limit on her credit card), but he’d also just done his re-clearance test for the security agency, so he’s also drunk off being the one they let protect these fragile little musicians.

“Benji’s got f-friends?”

“Hah!” Mouse cackles as she squirms. His arm underneath the crux of her knees barely keeps her still, his other clamped tight around her shoulders. She’s monstrous about her wiggling, determined and vicious. He does not budge at all. “Fuck you—put me down—you—you fucking cracker.”

It’s his turn to cackle, stumbling his way back toward the hotel Bunny had sprung for this spoiled crew. If anyone saw them maybe they’d think he was kidnapping a disgruntled teenager; but he doesn’t really care. The night seems endlessly dark and effortlessly long and just for the two of them. Mouse was one of his favorites, next to Matilda. And she’d tucked in early for the night, which was probably translatable to, sorry have to go fuck my exceedingly hot, talented, emo boyfriend in our hotel room.

It was nice to be alone, just the two of them. Mouse wasn’t fully recovered from whatever had happened last tour—or half the tour, since it had ended early. And he didn’t want her alone, alone, as in actually alone and drunk in a bar just by herself. Seemed like trouble—and he was the only security who was actually there yet. Tino would be in tomorrow and Xavier wouldn’t be there until the first show in Massachusetts, opening night. Besides, he liked listening to her ramble.

“Pero, fuck that guy, you know? I swear, I’m off guys forever—no offense.”

“None t-taken, I dunno if I qualify s-sometimes.”

When they make it into the hotel, the night auditor blinks at them. Benny jostles Mouse around in his arms enough to lift a lanyard that says SECURITY on it, which surely doesn’t look too suspicious. The night auditor, who has better things to be doing—like writing a novel or playing Tetris or watching Love Island—does not seem to care at all and swiftly proceeds to ignore them. Benny gets Mouse into the elevator, where he finally drops her onto her unsteady feet.

“Tell me about the friend,” Benny says, mostly to give her a distraction. The come down from a bar crawl is something he is all too familiar with. She sags against the side of the elevator, hiccups and rubs at her eyes. Makeup smears across her light brown skin. She looks as young as she is and sometimes Benny is terrified of the fact that they let a kid like her get famous. Twenty five was such a precarious age, straddling between youth and the sudden realization that life sort of just keeps going and you have to keep up.

Mouse swats at her tangled hair, patting it down in an attempt to sober herself.

“Mm,” she hums. “Plays guitar.”

“Shocking.”

“And he’s hot.” Mouse holds a finger up to the side of her nose, closing one eye, looking devious. The effect is a bit lost because of the streaks of mascara from the healthy crying she’d done on his shoulder in the bar. “He’s like—he’s really hot.”

Benny snorts and wraps an arm around her shoulders as the elevator makes it slow crawl upward. He’s not on the same floor as her, but he’ll steer her into her room, into her bed and then probably smoke through an entire pack of cigarettes sitting outside because the anxiety of being the only security presence is making his bones jittery.

“Shaves his head,” Mouse continues her description as she gets out the elevator. Her gait is no longer as wobbly, so Benny doesn’t prop her up. “Dyes it. So fuzzy.”

“Anyth-thing to report b-besides his looks?”

“What else matters?”

“Romantic.”

“I am not,” she raises a finger immediately, swerving to face him. Her eyes are glossy and furious. “Fucking him again. I told you—no more guys.” Benny stares at the finger and then back to Mouse.

“You fucked Maran?”

“You know Maran?” Her eyes pop innocently. Benny’s never met anyone with actual heterochromia, just people who photo edit themselves on the internet to look prettier. It’s much more subtle in person, but underneath the stark hotel lighting, the hazel is shockingly pale and the green is stunningly clear. He’s about to tell Mouse that Maran had stuck around that last tour, a hanger on with Benji and yes, they’d met. They’d…met. Benny had started a bar fight over him embarrassingly enough.

But he didn’t have two different colored eyes, so he probably was not Maran’s type.

Before he gets a chance to tease her about it, Mouse’s face crumples, tears sliding down her cheeks again. They drip off her chin, black with the makeup.

“Do you think—” She sucks in a breath. “Was that cheating? I wasn’t really dating—I didn’t want to be dating—it was just like, he thought we were dating and he was so—so like, obsessed with me—and Benji too and he was so—so fucking weird because Benji slept with him back before and I didn’t even know that—but—but if I was—that makes me the bad person then doesn’t it—”

He shushes her immediately with a soothing sound and a hand on her cheek. Mouse melts into him, arms around his middle, huffing along a wet sob into his already very ruined shirt. Benny pets down her curly hair, tucking his chin to the top of her head. She smells like the cigarettes he’d shared with her, like honey and jasmine. Something feels uncomfortable inside his chest as he makes continued soft sounds to her, like he’s placating a little sister that had skinned her knee. Something he’s not sure he likes, something that sort of scares him a little.

Benny offers to carry her again to make her laugh, which she thankfully does. But instead, he’s pushed back toward the elevator, her cheeks red once more. Mouse tells him to sleep, as if he’s the one who needs it and rather than insisting, rather than playing the security angle and making her let him help, he steps backward into the open elevator. It closes her morose face from view. He’s taken down a few floors.

The room they’d given him was a double, so one bed would never get used, the ghost of possibility in the room with him. Benny lays down on the other that he plans to sleep in, staring at the ceiling, hands resting on his stomach. He itches for a cigarette. Maybe to jerk off and force himself to sleep. Instead, he rummages his own pockets for his phone, finding himself a little more drunk than he’d initially thought he was. Once he does, he opens a text chain he’s admittedly been paying more attention to than he usually would anything else involving his phone.

[02:04 AM] You’re filling in Ratspits guitar spot?

… … …

[02:05 AM] ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ nooooo someone ruined the surprise !!

The phone is cool against his cheek as he rests it there, staring at the popcorn beige ceiling above him. The fire alarm isn’t even on. No red light blinks there. Surprise? He thinks, feeling a strange warmth crawl up his neck and to his cheeks. The phone buzzes several more times, but he closes his eyes, thinking, surprise…

—

“I’m gonna toss my lunch.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am, Ben—I’m gonna hurl.”

Underneath the back stage lights, Maran is paler than usual.

Benny grunts and sets aside the soda he’d pulled from a cooler backstage. Hand properly freezing and a little wet, he slides it around the back of Maran’s neck and squeezes. The younger man all but falls forward onto him, groaning a sound that Benny’s unfortunately never going to forget. He kneads the tight muscle there and Maran lets his forehead thump onto the security guards shoulder, making continued pathetic sounds. His arms dangle at his sides, but Benny imagines them moving. Imagines them slinking around him and holding. He thinks it’d be nice. He thinks Maran would hold him differently than others have before, that he’d have a reserved, gentle touch.

“You d-don’t have big shoes to fill, man.”

“He was tall as fuck?”

“No, I mean—” Benny laughs, smoothing his cold, wet hand across Maran’s shoulder. He squeezes there too, maybe a little harsher than he means to because the new temporary Ratspit guitarist jumps. But Maran is finally grinning, instead of looking like warmed over death. Staring at him, with big, glossy eyes. “I mean, h-he was a shit musician. Hated listening to him.”

“Oh,” Maran pulls the word out long, bobbing his head. He folds his arms over his chest. Which does something to Benny’s, looking at his biceps. Makes him want a cigarette or four. “Saying it like that implies maybe you like listening to someone else play then, yeah? G’on. Wanna compliment me a little? Could use it, Ben, m’so serious, right at the edge of throwing it up all over the fans—could say something a little nice, tell me I’m good at it, please—”

Benny slaps his hand across Maran’s mouth. His pretty brown eyes go wide, lashes fluttering.

“Shut up.” Benny walks behind him, closing hands around Maran’s shoulders. He begins steering the guitarist toward the rest of his band mates, as they prepare for opening. “You’re good, baby. You’re very good. I’m going to enjoy being security tonight. Alright?”

“Okay.” Maran sounds dazed, even stumbles into Benji—who glares, tired and annoyed but Benny isn’t sure if that’s tired and annoyed default (hot) or tired and annoyed pre-show nerves (where’s Xavier, then?). He doesn’t stick around to find out, because Benny suddenly can’t make eye contact with any of the band. Certainly not with Maran standing beside him looking like he’s been woken from a two hour floor nap, blinking dizzily.

As he leaves, a hurried walk with hands shoved into his pockets, Benny glances back. Maran’s silhouette is bright from the on stage lights as a tech gives him the guitar he’ll be using for the first half of the set. Looks like a proper little angel like that.

***

“I am not dating a fucking cop.”

“Dude.”

“Don’t ‘dude’ me, man.” Isaac throws hands into the air, furious. His handsome features are arranged all wrong, anger sitting incorrectly on his full lips and his big eyes. “You’re the one being stupid as fuck. Soldiers are cops.”

Jonny stares down at the Air Force pamphlet in his pale hands, instead of looking up at his boyfriend. His best friend. He’s seated on Isaac’s bed, while the other boy does circuits around his small room. The windows are thrown open, New York’s wet summer heat pouring in and making this entire conversation worse for it. The pamphlet crinkles as Jonny holds it tighter, tries to gather something coherent he can say that’ll make Isaac understand.

“I can’t stay with my dad,” he lands on lamely.

“Don’t do that,” Isaac replies instantly. He stops pacing. He never likes when JB is mentioned, always makes a tendon in his neck stand out as if he’s suppressing something painful. “Mom said you could move in and she’s good for it. She loves you.”

“Loves me now,” Jonny says, slowly narrowing his ghostly pale eyes. Isaac flinches as if he knows what’s coming. “Until she finds out I’m fucking her son.” They both flick a glance to the shut door that separates them from the rest of the Williams family. The irony isn’t lost on either of them that Isaac’s little sister can’t close her door when her boyfriend is over. This semblance of privacy is afforded only because of a continued lie.

Silence fills the room, neither of them breathing for a long moment, caught in the terror of what would happen to them. The cruel possibilities seem endless—and the kind ones are a fantasy.

“You could go to school,” Isaac mumbles. “You’re fucking smart, J. Like really smart. Don’t waste it.” He’s so close and yet so far away, standing just outside Jonny’s reach. He wants him closer, wants to pull him between his knees and bury his face into his stomach and ask him if everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay, isn’t it? His birthday looms so close that each day feels like a marching death sentence.

“I’m sorry.” He says it and Isaac looks at him and understands that it’s final then because Jonny doesn’t apologize for anything. Isaac makes an audible sound as he swallows, looking at the floor. Hands on his hips for a moment. Then one reaches out and Jonny leans instantly for it, letting it touch his cheek. Letting Isaac brush a hand through his long blond hair, tuck it behind his ear. He closes his eyes and enjoys it. They’ll shave his head in basic training. He wants to hold onto this feeling while he can.

“You’re going somewhere I can’t follow, J. I love you, man. But we’re breaking up.”

“Okay.”

They stay like that, Isaac holding Jonny’s face, Jonny’s hands wrapped around the backs of Isaac’s thighs. In that melancholic moment, he can still clearly remember the day they’d become friends at the playground because an older kid wouldn’t stop stealing Jonny’s basketball.

He yanks them together, falling onto the bed.

“Can we be boyfriends for the rest of the night?” Jonny asks, smiling as wide as he possibly can while he’s still seventeen and everything is still alright. Isaac laughs and they kiss, even if it’s quick and even if it’s a little sad. They resolve to break up in the morning instead.

You’re going to be lonely, Jonny. It’s going to be really fucking lonely, man.

But that’s nothing he hasn’t survived before.

***

One night, on a rest day, they do an experiment.

The band is on the first leg of the tour—that means everyone is still in high spirits. No ones gotten the flu from malnutrition, no injuries, no broken equipment, Bunny hasn’t made anyone cry yet. Things are still fun, like the entire band is made of hibernating creatures that come alive during these stints. They run the first half of the tour with another band they get along with; have known for a time now, even before they were in magazine spreads or recognized getting coffee, asked for pictures and cried over autographs.

Benny watches because everyone is anticipating a fail. It seems like an impossible task, to be sure, but Xavier stands at the edge of the stage confidently.

“Feels unfair,” the lead singer of the other band mumbles to Benny. He nudges their elbows together, like they’re in on a secret. Sandy brown hair and narrow grey eyes and he’s tall as Xavier, waif thin though like a reedy cattail sticking up in a pond. Benny figures it’s sort of obvious why he keeps standing so close and talking directly to him. Thinks the singer is lucky Maran is taking a nap on the tour bus—boy’s far more nasty with people hitting on him than Benny had ever anticipated.

Not that he didn’t enjoy it. His heart squeezes when he imagines that sleepy, freckled face waiting for him.

“He’s heard Benji drum more than he’s heard Ryan.”

“We d-don’t hear shit,” Benny replies, pointing to his ear. “Wear muffs the whole show.”

“You watch them practice though, don’t you?”

Of course Xavier does. And Benny too. More so than he ever did before. Still, Benny reacts to the overt friendliness with frosty indifference until the singer wanders away to bother Mouse instead.

The drummer begins, launches into a song that is neither Ratspit nor Basement Mom (or whatever the bands name is). Benny can’t recognize it by tempo alone, but by the way Lark sways beside him and Matilda hums, it’s clear that it’s some sort of staple among their music genre. Xavier stands a distance in front of the drum set, hands flexing at his side. He has a glassy look about his eyes—same kind of look he gets during trivia, when he already knows the answer.

Benji approaches next. To Benny, there is no real difference. The tempo sounds the exact same; nearly hypnotic with how precise it is, hearing it replicated. Makes him wonder which of them is the natural—Ryan or Benji. Certainly, Benji looks more passionate, eyes closed as he enjoys himself. They don’t need to wait for him to finish. Xavier reacts full body. Arms thrown into the air, head back, barking a laugh. He spins around, darting for the drum set and his still drumming boyfriend.

In a rare display of public affection, Xavier wraps arms around Benji’s middle, swinging him onto the ground. They land into a tangled pile as Xavier yells, over and over, “I knew it! I knew it!”

Benny and the lead singer who keeps hitting on him stare in amazement as the entire band rushes in then. As Benji is covered by bodies.

“Wow. That was impressive.”

Xavier’s doggish laughter is the loudest in the whole group. The love can be felt in that sound alone.

***

The community center smells like stale coffee and cigarettes, both of which Benny has already thoroughly indulged in. He’d stolen more than a few of the free (very dry) donuts as well, before throwing himself into the creaky metal folding chair. He’s always early to these things, which is saying something. The military had ingrained in him, ten minutes early or you’re late—and the rest of these sad fucks are military too, so he isn’t sure why they aren’t more on time.

It usually gives him a moment alone with the sponsor of the meetings; handsome woman named Casey who he was pretty sure would sleep with him if she wasn’t running the Veterans Mental Health meetings herself. As it were, it usually just let him ignore the buzzing in the back of his head for a few extra minutes. She’s too busy tonight, trying to help her newest aide figure out how the community center doors stay open.

Benny closes his eyes and crosses his arms over his stomach, legs thrown in front of him as he slouches in the chair and fancies himself a snippet of a nap. The military had also royally fucked his circadian rhythm; so now he sleeps in microdoses. Milliseconds of sleep here and there, nothing substantial. A ringing in his left ear makes it more than a little difficult to sleep at all. Benny shoves a pinky finger into it, knowing that won’t make any difference.

The chair beside him scrapes across the ground. He peers sideways at the sudden appearance of someone new.

“Man, I’m nervous,” the stranger immediately says, staring at him with pretty, green eyes. They’re a sort of mellow, watery sage, set deep in a pale and freckly face.

Benny lets himself look, salacious eyes raking from top to bottom, then top to bottom again. When he finally settles on the mans handsome face once more, Benny is stunned that he hasn’t scared him away with that look alone. He’s not found many friends in these circles; they didn’t like that Benny spoke mostly negative at every chance he got toward the institution that had fucked their brains into being here. They also rarely appreciated his callous flirting, especially with the men in attendance. It had most certainly gotten him punched in the face before, but he’d been getting punched in the face since he was twelve years old so that was nothing new.

Instead of quickly shuffling over a few chairs, the red head is still staring at him.

“Is it normal to be this nervous?” he asks, fidgety hands lacing in front of him. He has classic scar build up on his knuckles. Boxer, then. Maybe he was infantry.

“No.”

“Really?”

Benny sighs and closes his eyes once more. He can’t reach for the anger that’s usually sitting right there easy for the taking, instead just feels a small twinge of guilt. It isn’t true—he’d been just as nervous, sitting there the first time, knowing they were going to make him talk. Make him say something. Maybe more nervous. He wasn’t popular at these things for a reason, after all.

“You’re fine, kid.”

The circle finally gathers. Men and women sit like they’re still in the military, hands cupping coffee, blowing on steam. They have the same sort of hollow stare that greets Benny in the mornings, when he’s brushing his teeth. The kid gets called on to talk and he pops up from his chair as if the request if coming from a drill sergeant. Benny almost expects a parade rest stance, but instead, he’s got his hands in front of him again. Plucking anxiously at the ends of his sleeves to hide his knuckles.

“I’m Xavier. Uh. Wolffe. Xavier Wolffe. Marine. Was—I was a marine. I was honorably discharged for combat injury—Humvee got—” He makes a garish exploding sound with his mouth, sucking on teeth as he smashes his hands together. It lasts for what feels like an entire minute. Then he stands there, staring around at blank faces.

There is nothing but silence until Benny breaks it with high pitched laughter.

—

“Hey.”

Xavier’s puffing and out of breath as he catches up with him on the sidewalk. Benny doesn’t slow down, but one of them has stupidly long legs it seems and it’s not Benny, so Xavier manages to stay caught up with him anyway.

“I liked what you said back there.” He’s less out of breath as he says it, but a hand lingers on his side, as if protecting some weakness there or nursing a pain already embedded.

What Benny had said was a rant about the military being a hydra; no matter how many heads were cut off, there’d only be more, with open maws ready to scoop up unsuspecting teenagers—mostly from poverty stricken neighborhoods—and chew on them until they were nothing but bloody bones and mental illness that sat around in circles on Saturday nights talking to each others echo chamber. Also, he’d gone off on another tirade about how the VA’s office hours kept changing every time he called about his tinnitus.

“Wh-what do you want?”

It’s late at night, so the streets are busy with people who have actual lives. They dodge around the two broken toy soldiers, their laughter loud, their conversations airy and wispy at the edges. The sweetness is diminished by the orange street lamps that make everything too saturated and harsh. Xavier stares at him—though a stranger, Benny feels it far too easy to read the vulnerable sheen to his pond colored eyes. He taps a cigarette from his pack and those eyes go from vulnerably soft to delightfully hungry in a second.

No more words are exchanged—or needed, in that moment anyway—as Benny lights his own and then passes the pack and Zippo to the younger man. His big, scarred hands are shaky with excitement to get one lit.

“Really got to y-you, huh?”

“My sister said it would make me feel better,” Xavier explains, exhaling a long stream of smoke into the air. They naturally tuck themselves closer to the street, so people can avoid them easier. Parked cars separate them from the terrible downtown traffic. Benny takes a risk leaning on one, pleased when an alarm doesn’t go off. “But it felt—Dunno. It felt fake, right? It felt…weird.”

“Sure.” Benny takes a long drag on his own cigarette, bobbing his head like a hungry bird. “It’s because it is. The military t-takes us and puts us all in th-this little family, right? And th-they say that these are your brothers and sisters and th-there’s no one in the whole wo-world that’s going to get you like them. And then y-you go off and something terrible happens and you come h-home and so you try and f-find that family again that the military made you think was the most im-imp-important thing in the world—and you find it here, in these sh-shit groups and realize, wait, fuuuuuck—” Benny slaps his forehead in an exaggerated gesture that makes Xavier laugh.

“I don’t even like these people!” They’re both laughing then, grinning at each other. “Wait, fuck, I never actually g-got along with them—I never believed these—these fucking ideologies they worship, I never fit in at all—and just compromised m-my integrity for what? My values for what?” Benny finishes the cigarette and tosses the butt out into the street. Xavier is staring at him like an intensely curious dog, head tilted endearingly.

“All I got was a broken ear drum a-and—well, I’m good at handjobs now.”

Xavier sputters into an bewildered burst of laughter, dropping his half finished cigarette and stamping it out.

“Jesus, you’re—you’re kind of weird, you know that?”

“No,” Benny steps back up onto the sidewalk, slinging an arm around Xavier like they’ve known each other for years. “Never heard it before. Want to get shitty p-pub nachos with me?”

***

“Wanna know how I knew?”

It’s just them, sitting in the back of the bar together. Close enough that Benny can smell the almost sea like tint of Xavier’s cologne or whatever makes him smell like sun and the ocean and the color of summer. He’s grinning, ear to ear, and drunker than he probably should be when they have to be up early in the morning.

Xavier’s still nursing his last beer, both paws around it like the pint might wander off. Benny sucks foam off the top of his own, trying hard not to think about the sleeping boy on the tour bus and how bad he wants to be there. To wake him up with a gentle kiss to his jawline and hear him mumble ‘Ben?’ like its natural to just wake up saying his name.

But Benny is interested. How did Xavier know the difference between Ryan and Benji’s drumming? Plus, it feels like sometimes it’s hard to get Xavier alone. Hard to just be two guys, two friends, at a pub together, eating very shit food on their per diems when there’s a whole circus going on around them that they’re tangentially part of. He feels steadier somehow, even toasted as he is. Xavier radiates an undeniable feeling of safety—not just because he’s gotten Benny out of more than a few bar fights. Xavier is…well, he’s Xavier.

The giant red head unfolds, going slack against the bar booth and looking up at the ceiling with an even wider smile. The chip in his tooth doesn’t diminish his looks, handsome asshole.

“Benji does this thing, before he starts drumming.” Xavier pantomimes holding sticks, closing his eyes as he does. Seems to sink into a memory, or maybe multiple. Of watching Benji play, hours of it on repeat. His smile softens, but goes no less goofy and crooked. “He slides the drumstick across the edge of the drum before he starts.” Xavier’s hand follows an imaginary path, slow and dream like. “And it feels like he does it just for me. It feels like he’s doing it, and knows I can feel it.”

Xavier must realize how silly that is—likely Benji picked up the habit young when he was still learning to drum. That it’s just some ingrained muscle memory and yet, in that moment, Xavier looks to be glowing with the idea of it. That this small, simple touch, this routine, Benji’s ritual of sorts, is something that he’s part of now. Simply for remembering, simply for imagining that Benji is running a finger along him instead of a drumstick along his kit. Benny believes the entire thing is true, that Benji does it every single time just for Xavier now, because it’s magical.

Because sometimes, when he watches Maran practice, he envisions those brown hands on him instead. Every time Maran plucks a string, tunes the guitar and goes again, to test it—Benny is thinking of those fingertips brushing along his lips, dipping and touching his tongue. Every time Maran adjusts the strap of his guitar, pats a pedal with the tip of a dirty converse, Benny is hawk eyed and watching and without realizing, he’s memorizing. Someday, Maran wont be up there, someday they’ll find a permanent replacement.

And Benny wants to have what Xavier has now. He wants to be able to close his eyes and confidently say, yes, that’s Maran. That��s my Maran.

—

He waits for the third song because it has a guitar solo.

Nothing big, Benny’s not even sure if he should call it that (he’s shit at the industry terms, he is not a musician and would never care to be one—looks miserable, genuinely). But it’s not necessarily how the band works, either. Their music loops within itself, a sort of beast that only makes sense with all legs present and functioning. Benny—who is a strict listener of mostly R&B and old hip hop—can actually appreciate the puzzle piece nature of Ratspit. They ultimately always form a better picture when they’re together; even fractured as they are now, with a substitute piece haphazardly slung in.

Benny thinks they look even better with that substitute piece.

They play music like a group of friends, not like the professionals vying for fan attention. No one seems too highlighted, nor left behind; they crash into each other sometimes, Lark’s wild energy like waves over them all. Yet there is a moment in this particular song where Maran gets to shine—where he gets to show Ratspit’s cut throat audience that there’s a reason he’s filling in and it’s not just because he’s pretty—and that’s what Benny cares about.

He stands at the front, arms crossed but prepared. It’s become one of his favorite places to be posted; he took joy in getting to shove back the fans, who he did not like in the first place and found little respect for. The band got to see them at their best. Worshipping at their feet with posters to sign, crying into hugs, faces bright and flushed with excitement. Benny, Xavier and Tino saw them at their worst, at their nastiest, at their pushiest and ugliest. Tossing them back into the masses, where they writhe together like drunken worms, while the musicians stay safe just up there on the stage, that was when Benny felt his most useful.

He knows the part is coming because of the lighting change from a garish pink to a soft yellow. The color makes sense for Maran. His energy feels similar to the sun on a lazy summer day, warming skin and feeding plants. Not too bright, but just enough to see even with your eyes closed, through thin lids, popping day time constellations. Benny can hear through the protective gear—he’s too close not to hear—but it’s as though he’s underwater at the same time. It’s hazy, waterlogged, nothing distinct or clear. Benny lifts a hand and subtly shoves the ear muff to the side.

Then the noise explodes. Even just his one ear uncovered makes everything sharp and brutal. Lark’s voice, Matilda’s keys, Benji’s drumming, Mouse’s low bass notes strumming everything together. Then the distinct opening notes of a guitar that will carry the song through to the end. Benny closes his eyes, not something he’d usually ever do while working, and tries to imagine what Xavier had said; that Maran’s hands are instead around him, not the neck of a guitar.

He thinks of Maran’s calloused fingers finger walking down his chest, touching the spider beneath his belly button, smoothing over his skin. He thinks of hands cupping his ribs, of Maran’s lips brushing his own while they both breathe the same air. The playful hint of a kiss. He can sort of feel it then, the connection of music and pleasure. Music, Maran, touching, sensation, just for him.

The guitar squawks, notes going painfully high—then cutting into something pitchy and strained that makes Benny’s ear sting.

A discordant jumble follows and then what Benny hears mostly over the ringing, is stomping feet on the stage. Lark’s awkward attempt to keep the song moving with lyrics, Matilda’s laughter of all things (as he is right underneath where she stands most nights). The ear muff snaps back into place, a suction cupped sound slurping away the remaining music and Benny, bewildered, can do nothing but glance behind him. Right into Maran’s glowering face.

It’s an expression he’s never actually seen on him. Maran, who smiles almost all the time, whether those smiles are real or not. Maran, whose grin is so permanent that Benny has the curve of his lips memorized and could see them with his eyes closed. Beautiful, smiling Maran, staring at him with slitted, furious eyes. They stay like that for half a second—then the guitarist is dancing back into place, readjusting the guitar around his shoulder and slamming into the next note.

The song continues in a hurried rush. The audience roars to life with it, content to see the music continue after a little side show.

And Benny is left standing there like a tornado victim; eyes widened, hair messy, hands slack at his sides. When he looks left, Tino is grinning underneath his twitching mustache with hands on his hips.

—

“What were you thinkin’?”

“Uh?”

The hallway Benny has been roughly tugged down is humid and moderately dark, with lights flickering on and off in a morse code that maybe only the ghosts understand. It’s the end of a food run to a shitty two grill kitchen, where bar food gets concocted to feed the audience tumbling out of the main stage venue. The atmosphere is seemingly perfect for their first ever couples argument (because that is undeniably what it is). It smells like badly burnt fries and day old hamburger and even worse, Maran looks atrociously handsome with his face screwed up into a mixture of confusion and pure fury.

Benny is fairly sure whatever emotion he’s meant to be having at Maran man handling him away from the rest of the crew, it’s not this odd sense of giddiness. He can’t tamp down the smile on his face, the way it keeps twitching back to life, even as Maran glares at it and him. His pretty, dark eyes keep flickering up and down, up and down. As if assessing that smile and how much Benny was worth yelling at.

“Baby, c’mon,” Ben finally says and is rewarded with an indignant sound.

“Don’t do that,” Maran seethes, hands fisting into Benny’s black security shirt. The guitar, the offending instrument that is taking all of Maran’s attention, all of his touch, is still strapped to his back. It swings loosely with every animated gesture. Benny has an incredibly stupid impulse to take it and smash it against the wall. Instead he sags backward against the concrete instead, chin tilted down, but eyes still forward.

“You’re this close to an amp,” Maran pinches fingers together, hissing his words. “And you go and do that? And think I’m not goin’ to catch you either, Ben? Like I’m not up there watchin’ you.”

“Watching me?”

“Watching you! Course!” The guitarist blows out an exasperated breath through clenched teeth, eyes rolling. “Course I am and you’re distractin’ as hell sometimes. Bob your head along to the drumming—makes me stupid jealous Benji gets that out of you—” Benny’s bubbled up laughter stops Maran. His face goes blank and then, if at all possible, even angrier. And hurt. His brown eyes are shiny with it. Benny springs forward quickly, cupping Maran’s cheeks, feeling the tension in his jawline.

“Mar—”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not—”

“Y’just did.”

“No,” Benny says firmly, pulling them closer. That god damn guitar bumps around on Maran’s back. His brows twist upward, the hurt bleeding into vulnerability to be comforted. Benny is there for that, he wants nothing more than to do just that. He’ll take getting yelled at; he might even like Maran yelling at him a little bit. Worrying about him. But he doesn’t want this—Maran sad. Never that.

“I’m—I m-mean I laughed at—Mar, I am not—Jesus. Trust m-me, I’m not listening to Benji drumming. Alright? I don’t g-give a fuck about drumming.”

“Well,” Maran’s cheeks puff with attitude. He rolls his eyes. “Don’t go that far, he’s a good drummer.”

“I’m practically playing Su-Sudoku in my head the whole set, Mar. You know I do-don’t listen to this kind of music.” They’d spent a whole night actually, passing Maran’s phone back and forth, filling a playlist with music they both liked. And none of it was Deftones or…whatever else was inspiring Benji and Lark at fourteen years old. “I w-wa-wanted to hear you, that’s all.” He soothes thumbs back and forth across Maran’s cheeks, touching freckles. “And I’m sorry I fucked up your part. I didn’t know you w-were going to catch me.”

“What?” Maran’s face crinkles in adorable confusion again. He curls a lip, shakes his head. “Nah—Ben, please. I don’t care about the part. I’ll just do it again in a week, right?”

“Maybe you can do it for me,” Benny murmurs, leaning in. His hands have moved from Maran’s face to his throat. His touch is gentle, a thumb rubbing the hollow of his neck, another finger touching his wildly beating pulse. “Just for me? Private show for your bad boyfriend?”

Maran twists away at first.

Then he leans greedily into the affection, huffing about it and melting for it all the same. His arms wind around Benny’s midsection; strong, warm arms that Benny dreams about and imagines placing bites across from forearm to deltoid, possessive markings joining freckles so everyone knows Maran belongs to the sun and to Benny and nothing and no one else. Maran’s face angles down, brows still crinkled, cheeks still puffed with his dwindling annoyance. Benny skates lips across his brow, buries a kiss into his temple and then to his neck where he bites softly.

“Don’t do that at a show again.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it!”

“Mmmhm.”

Maran interrupts the heavy mouthing Benny’s placing to his neck to grab onto his face. He yanks them closer and inexplicably places several kisses to each of Benny’s ears, messy, playful, uncoordinated. Benny can feel the blush creeping from his cheeks all the way to the tips of those half deaf ears.

***

“Dating you is like dating a fucking mannequin sometimes.”

“I can find a w-way to make that sexy,” Benny declares lazily from the bed, hands tucked behind his head. Cael stands at the foot of it, looking violent with their anger. They’re actually strikingly beautiful when mad; Benny thinks it’s probably a bad thing, but he likes it about them so much. That the tug of arousal in his stomach outweighs any fear toward that anger—or maybe it doesn’t and that’s what makes it so much better. They have fierce features, an aquiline nose that demands attention and high, piercing eyes. They’d dyed their hair the sort of yellow that made valley girls jealous a few days ago and wisps cling to their sweaty skin.

Benny and Cael seem to argue more in the summer, in the unbearable heat of their apartment. Benny’s last paycheck went to new tires and Cael’s last paycheck went entirely to the car insurance (that didn’t cover tires?) and so no paychecks went to window units to cool down their hellish NYC shoebox.

“It’s not fucking sexy,” Cael snaps, hands clawed and furious in front of them. “I could get more emotional depth out of a fucking boxers dummy.” And it’d be your new emotional punching bag too, Benny thinks, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Mold grows in the corner—he briefly wonders if it’s black mold causing them both to go slowly insane. Or if this is just the inevitable decline of his first major relationship after discharge. It feels poetic that everything after that moment would be tainted, something predicted by his first major relationship years and years ago.

It’s going to be lonely.

“What do you w-want me to say?” Benny finally asks, standing from the bed.

“That you feel real human emotions sometimes—and then you express them!” Cael’s voice rises to what could be considered a scream. When they step toward him, Benny flinches. An old muscle memory he never forgets to feel ashamed of. Cael either doesn’t notice, or in that moment doesn’t care. A part of Benny is thankful for either; it means he wont have to explain the twitch on the examiners table with them. They wont have to dissect through the bloody emotions at all. Benny can fake this for them, he can figure it out, so long as they never find the actual root.

He takes them by the wrists, holding them up and staring them down. Cael’s only a few inches shorter than him. It makes them lift their nose in a defiant pose, bump their chest into Benny’s in challenge. He can see it in their eyes, though, how badly they need something from him. Something.

“You piss me off. That’s an emotion.”

“You’re such an ass,” Cael mumbles, but the tilt of their head becomes less vicious and more welcoming, like their throat is now open for Benny if he decides to want it. The touch of their chests is no longer a spark for an argument, and more of a suggestion. It was inevitable to come to this conclusion rather than the one Cael might have wanted—if that was truly their intention at all. Sometimes Benny wasn’t sure, sometimes it felt like they started arguments so they could end up here after all. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure if this was the only intimacy he was capable of at all.

So he kisses them. They kiss him back. It’s immediately hungry and a little mean; he likes that about them. Cael is a collection of sharp edges and a slightly wicked tongue and it almost feels comfortable being around someone like that. Caring about someone like that. He grabs them hard by the hips, swings them down onto the bed. They’re already in the act of tugging off their tank top to reveal olive skin that’s easy to bruise with his teeth. Benny feels somewhat in auto pilot as he goes to his knees and yanks them closer, so his mouth can please them.

They’re a rough connection in the bed, sheets ripped off corners, pillows and blankets shoved aside. They nearly dent the wall with the harsh bang, bang, bang of the head board—thankful they’re a corner unit with no neighbors. They even manage to laugh at that, together, after when they’re sweaty and stuck together and Cael is forgiving Benny for whatever it was he did wrong. Not feel enough or know what to say or not say anything, or maybe they were just tired from their double at the diner and it didn’t really matter. The sex sort of made up for everything else.

So they don’t break up that night, but rather three weeks later.

And it’s shockingly amicable. As amicable as a break up with Benny can be. It’s Cael talking mostly, in the end. Explaining, apologizing, getting angry just to deflate from the emotions and apologize again. They even touch one last time, a soft gentle slide of their hands together as Cael gives Benny the keys—this break up had been in the making on their end for longer than they’re willing to admit, since Cael has a new place already. The dishonesty stings something deep beneath the layer of ice Benny has managed to cave himself in, but he says nothing.

He’s left to sit there on the couch alone, to stare at the out dated TV as it plays reruns of some show he doesn’t even like. Left sitting there thinking, what is it? What is it anyone wants from me? Why can’t he find it in himself to give? Was he born without it, or did it get stolen from him, or was it lost along the way?

Benny decides not to care. He opens a beer and sits lower on the couch and stares at the ceiling, at the spotted black here and there, and he thinks, this is lonely.

***

Maran sprints into the hotel room and is on the bed, jumping like a kid, before Benny even has the door closed behind him. He locks it with the deadbolt, because he doesn’t trust anyone, let alone underpaid workers that can make keys to any room at any time. A duffle bag slings off his shoulder, filled with his own clothes and some of Maran’s they’d stuffed in on the tour bus once they all realized they’d be treated to lodging tonight.

This was meant to be a room he’d share with Tino, hence two beds, but Tino—being a man of both God and also insane empathy—had decided to give Benny a little privacy. By that, he really meant, the Ratspit stand in guitarist was welcome to the second bed (Tino knew the second bed was not where Maran would be sleeping, of course).

“This is fucking ace, Ben,” Maran says, his voice hopping around as much as he is. Arms spread open wide, surveying the mid tier hotel room. To Benny, it was a room and a bed (or two) and nothing to be impressed by. These sort of places had stopped feeling liminal and strange and exciting to him. But for Maran, this was an adventure, something new to experience and gawk at happily. Benny gets to the end of the bed and stands there, unable to stop smiling up at him.

“Got shoes on th-the bed.”

“Oops!” Maran drops onto his ass, simple as. Before he can kick them off himself, Benny stoops and catches his ankle. He pulls himself closer, resting the heel of Maran’s converse on his thigh. His fingers touch lazily, brushing across ankle and calf and feeling his short, fuzzy body hair. Maran’s cheeks darken a bit pink, his smile going lopsided and almost shy—but still, there’s a hint of something bemused.

“What?”

“Bit weird for this one is all,” Maran says, wiggling brows, looking from his foot to Benny. The security guard huffs and begins unlacing the shoe slowly, enjoying himself. Benny tugs the shoe away and tosses it, lingering a hand on the arch of Maran’s foot. He gives a suggestive squeeze that elicits a giggle. “C’mon—probably got dirt in this bed. Let’s—wanna move to the other one?”

His voice lilts hopefully, nervously. Benny pauses in the act of unlacing the second shoe. He yanks it free and tosses it aside the same time as he glances over. Maran uses that small moment to spring back up. Their bodies bump together, either because Maran doesn’t realize they’re so close, or wanted them that close to begin with. Benny steadies himself with hands around Maran’s biceps, appreciating the feel of them as he always does. He’s surprised when Maran leans forward and kisses him, hands tucking behind his neck and pulling them closer.

And Maran is a good kisser, too. Not gentle, but not hard, the pressure of his mouth just perfect; his tongue isn’t a darting, anxious thing, but a soft rolling, sensual touch. He moves against Benny in a way that a well practiced lover would, pushing their hips together, hands running appreciatively over his shoulders, the tops of his arms, the front of his chest. Sometimes Benny finds himself stunned that his often shy, relatively carefree boyfriend kisses like this. Experienced and enthusiastic. It melts a part of Benny, makes him ease into it.

Has them falling onto the bed, parts of them twisting together. One of his legs shoved Between Maran’s, one of his hands spreading up underneath his shirt to touch his stomach, his side, scratch up along his back to cause a moan. Kissing is something Maran can do for a while, Benny has pleasantly found out. Kissing, for Maran, is never just foreplay, but rather an act itself. One where he usually comes up for air, happily panting and asking if they want to sneak away to a gas station together for snacks.

Except now the kissing becomes a little more urgent. And Maran’s hands move with intention. First, down Benny’s chest. Then to the front of his jeans, were fingers pop open a button and begin unzipping. A surge of warmth makes Benny groan, shiver and then pull away. He blinks blurry eyes at Maran.

“I thought,” Maran starts, finger tracing the teeth of Benny’s zipper and making it very hard to concentrate. “Well, y’know…Since, we’re alone? Like, actually alone. And there’s a bed.” He raises his eyebrows a few times, cheeks delightfully red, lips spread into a hopeful and shy smile. Benny’s heart convulses, sending a twitch down his arm. His hand grips Maran’s hip so hard he feels unmoored for a second.

Then nervousness descends.

He could mean other things; things they’ve already done. But the way Maran says it, breathy and excited. How fast he moves, the way Maran always moves when he’s nervous about something and trying to conquer it. Like he was forcing excitement into his veins alongside the anxiety, combining in something shivery and too quick. Benny chews the inside of his lip—right on a little tattoo of a bunny he’d gotten in his early twenties—and looks down at him.

Maran, post show, tired, a smudge of make up at the corner of his eyes. Sweaty and still exhilarated, glowing and pretty. Benny’s thought of fucking Maran in every single way a person can fuck imaginable; bent over something, up against a wall, spooning on the floor in a tangle of blankets, he’s imagined every single scenario possible, touched himself to the thought of it, imagined it even when they were touching each other in the new ways Maran got to be touched. He thought of it with every hand job, with every private moment, sometimes in a way that felt a little obsessive.

And yet…

“Uh,” Benny sits up on the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. There’s prickling all over him, uncomfortable and familiar in it’s terror. “Not tonight.”

Silence. And then, “Oh.”

Benny tries to turn toward him, but is surprised at Maran rising as well, sitting up with an embarrassed sheen to his eyes. The clear hurt makes him withdraw, a coldness radiating from him. Everything begins spinning for Benny then, the anxiety between his lungs like a pole wedging itself inside him and pushing, pushing, pushing until his chest hurts. Feels like bursting into splinters.

“Is there like, a reason then? That you don’t wanna have sex with me?”

“No, but—”

“You’re makin’ me feel like I’m—” Maran gestures to himself, the fatigue from the show incredibly apparent then in the dark smudges beneath his big, brown eyes. They’re wounded and dark. “Like I’m bein’—I’m askin’ for something and I’m being pushy—”

“You’re not—”

“All the other things we do, yeah? Right? Like the signs are pointing toward it—you want me, right?”

“Jesus,” Benny blows out air hotly, threading fingers into his own messy mop of hair. “Maran, yes. I do, I f-fucking really do.”

“Well then it’s something else, innit?” Maran tosses his legs over the edge of the bed, staring down at the shitty hotel floor carpeting. The room had felt magical to him only a few moments ago; one of those firsts he was getting to experience with this tour. Being here, with the band, with his best friend. Benny’s heart thuds painfully against his rib cage, working up to his throat. He’s light headed with a nervous energy he wasn’t expecting.

“You’re making me feel like I’m—yunno. Childish. Like you’re patronizing me, sometimes. Treating me like I dunno what I’m doing. I know some fucking things, Ben, alright.”

Benny says nothing. He lets the statements fall and expand and swell into the room and fill up everything with pressure. His hands drop into his lap and he doesn’t know how to tell Maran, in that moment, that he is so fucking thankful for him. The bluntness of what he’s saying, the directness, even if it cuts into him like a hot knife.

Everything before Maran had felt like some fight he was navigating half blind (or half deaf, if he wanted to be funny about it). People never said what they really meant, they fought and laughed and snapped and always left Benny to struggle to figure out what was actually wrong; what he was actually doing wrong. Maran says it. He always says what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Benny never has to dig, and he’s so tired of digging. He sucks in a wet sounding breath, not realizing how hard his throat has closed up for a moment.

He realizes, awkwardly, that he’d not even removed his combat boots. So Benny takes a moment to tug them off and toss them into the corner of the room. Then he turns and kneels at the foot of the bed, so he can stare up at Maran.

“I d-don’t think you’re childish.” Maran levels a flat stare at him that conveys what he thinks of that statement. Benny squeezes Maran’s thighs, harsh in a way that gets his attention and snaps him from his petulance. Maran’s warm, calloused hands wrap around Benny’s forearms and it soothes a part of Benny’s animalistic anxiety. “I’m being an asshole. I sh-should say what I’m thinking. It;s just—it’s hard fo-for me to do that sometimes.”

It’s Maran’s turn to stay silent, though Benny can see that’s difficult. Words puff up his cheeks, as though he’s holding them back. Benny loves him so much for it, for giving him a moment to breathe and talk, when it is so hard to speak at all.

“I want to. I just don’t want t-to do it here.”

“In The Marriott?”

“No. Mar,” Benny laughs and hangs his head for a moment. “On tour.”

“Oh.” Maran pauses and adjusts slightly. He slopes, so that his legs spread further, allow Benny room between them more. He leans back on the bed, on his elbows. He looks devastating. The length of his torso, the small definition of his chest seen underneath the way his oversized shirt drapes on him. He tilts his head, smiling just slightly, cautiously and clearly with some annoyance still. “Trying to make it special? Ben. I’m not a virgin, you know that, right?”

Benny groans and immediately buries his face into Maran’s lap, pushing his cheek into the younger mans hip. A hand falls into his hair. He shudders at the affection, gripping hands around Maran that much tighter.

“D-Don’t say that. When I th-think of you fucking other people it makes me jealous and angry.”

“Maybe I wanna make you a little angry too, huh?”

“I don’t want to fuck you,” Benny says, into Maran’s skin. “And then share you with everyone else.” There’s a long pause. The body underneath him shifts. Their breathing seems louder. The room around them smaller. Benny squeezes his eyes shut. Forces somewhere inside himself to come up with words. “It would d-drive me fucking insane, if we slept together and then everyone else g-got more of you tomorrow. The band or fans, or the crew.” Some selfish part of him rises up like a creature, hungry for blood, snuffling at the vein on Maran’s hip.

“I want yo-you so bad and I want—really want—this to be something.” And they hadn’t defined that something in words yet. And those words catch on his teeth brutally, but Benny still lifts his head, chin resting on Maran’s torso, staring at him. Because for once, Benny thinks, he doesn’t want to stumble into sex like it’s something casual, something easy, something to remedy things. The only intimacy he’s able. “Like. Boyfriends, alright? I’m asking you to be my fucking boyfriend.”

Maran’s sudden smile is dazzling. The sort of smile that people take pictures of. That stop people dead in their tracks and wonder how a smile like that exists. The sort of smile that makes Benny feel light headed and unworthy. He swallows, eyes flickering self consciously away until his face is snatched—he’s pulled closer. Stumbling, he goes, onto the bed, chest to chest with Maran.

“Now we’re fighting as boyfriends,” Maran declares, grinning lopsidedly. Benny sneers, rolling his eyes, but slips arms around the other man, tightening until he gets a groan out of him. “Still a bit peeved, just lettin’ y’know.”

“That’s pa-part of being my boyfriend. Make it up to you when I bring breakfast up tomorrow.” Benny pulls away to turn and find the remote to the fancy TV in the corner. It flickers to life with a click; nicer definition than anything he’d probably ever own. Benny stands up, groaning and stretching tired arms above his head, as Maran looks at the TV with confused upturned brows.

“There’s always c-cartoons on in America at this t-time of night.” He gestures and walks toward the other end of the room. “Gonna take a shower. P-Pretty sure some fan spit on me at some point.”

And predictably, it’s only a few minutes into the shower, before Maran is creeping in. Is stripping down, sliding into the hotel shower, underneath the burning hot spray of water. They’re kissing, bodies notched together in a way that makes everything warmer and sensual.

And it feels more intimate than anything Benny has ever done when Maran grabs the soap and laughs as he runs it across Benny’s chest.

— THE END OF TOUR —

“I’m not even jet lagged,” Maran lies, boldly, as the elevator slowly rises. It’s miraculously working, the one week out of a month when it does and it’s the very week Benny’s taking Maran home.

Not Maran’s home. Naturally. But, Benny’s. When he’d proposed New York City to Maran, as an after treat from the tour, he’d had to brace as one-hundred-eighty pounds of pink haired boy was suddenly in his arms. He’d not stopped his excited chatter about it since—not on the bus ride to the air port, the plane from Los Angeles to New York. Not even the baggage claim, where he’d stood behind Benny, hugging him with his chin to his shoulder, peppering odd facts he’d learned about NYC in some article he’d read online.

Maran bounces on his heels, dirty white converses squeaking on the equally scuffed tile floor. Benny—who is jet lagged—hums and slips a hand around the back of Maran’s neck. The guitarist sags into the gesture, draping forward against Benny. The backpack he holds knocks against Benny’s tattooed hip a few times until it’s ultimately dropped to the floor. He wasn’t necessarily prepped for the length of trip Benny had planned, but it wasn’t as though Maran couldn’t get the authentic New York experience and go to a laundry mat with him.

Not like Benny wouldn’t mind letting him borrow some clothes, either. In fact, a little spark of hot arousal swirls in his lower abdomen imagining Maran in one of his ratty t-shirts and nothing else.

He shoves the feeling down as they make it to his floor. Then Benny’s scooping the bags up and leading Maran out.

“Who’s that?” Angelica screams as they get closer to Benny’s door. She sits as iron clad as usual, unmoving and uncaring, thin and gangly in her nightgown. A light flickers at the end of the hallway where someone keeps the stairwell door propped open to chat with a shadowy figure within.

“That’s a snake plant,” Maran comments, his voice suddenly effervescent, charming and light. He points to the dying plant on the old womans lap. It’s yellowing, curling and looking drearier than when Benny had left. “You should really water that, love.” Benny’s mean old neighbor blinks as though hypnotized by Maran, clutching the potted plant with her gnarled hands. He isn’t sure if it’s the voice or the accent or if it’s been long enough since anyone’s said anything other than ‘shut up, Angelica’ but it manages to silence her far better than anything else.

He gives her a small, polite wave as Benny struggles with his door and then yanks him inside.

—

There’s a pause, naturally, for them to kiss.

Benny traps Maran in the entryway, two hands to his face as their mouths press together. It’s warm and breathy, their heads tilting back and forth to capture new angles. Benny can feel his boy’s smile, can taste the happiness on his tongue as it touches his own. He gets shoved back against the door for that blatant pleasure, pinned to be kissed harder and deeper. When they pull away, Maran looks dizzy with it, panting happily, arms draped over Benny’s shoulders. His eyes shine delightfully, crinkled at the edges, where crows feet might one day stamp with old age.

“Great start to the tour,” he chirps, pressing forward.

“Not m-much to tour,” Benny replies, with a lame cringe as he steps back and gestures.

He’d been thinking of this part for most of the plane ride, where he was largely alone with his thoughts between Maran passing out (near immediately) and then waking up to chat happily (and bribe the flight attendant for more than one packet of cookies). The part where Maran steps into his apartment and sees the way he lives. Benny isn’t stupid, he knows that too much can be gleaned from a persons home and finds it easy to be embarrassed by his own. He lives in a cramped apartment, six stories high in an apartment complex stacked between more housing. It gets too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter, he pays too much for it and it’s never particularly clean.

Still, Maran turns himself in a circle in the kitchen. He pokes through everything he wants to see—cabinets, the fridge, drawers. Benny lets him, a silent hovering presence as Maran touches everything, nerves prickling along his pale skin, an energy similar to right before lightning cracks. Maran pauses to pet the cat statue, his fingers touching where Benny’s have a thousand times. He wanders into the living room, where he takes a great pause and then points to the couch. Benny stares at it nervously, wondering what’s wrong with it besides the obvious; heaped with a blanket and pillows, it looks like a makeshift bed.

“Ben, that looks so fucking comfortable,” Maran declares and then throws himself onto the couch. A pillow jumps from it and lands on the floor—he quickly scoops it back up and to himself, wiggling further onto it, sighing happily. “No shot. Ah.” He smiles, eyes closed.

“What?”

“Smells like you, s’all.”

Benny’s face warms almost painfully. He treks back for the bags and starts hefting them. As he gets to his bedroom door, Maran sprints off the couch, tumbling beside him. They share a look—Maran, excited, Benny, humored—and then he opens the door.

He’s surprised Maran doesn’t launch at the bed immediately and spread out and seduce him right then and there. Instead, he steps inside and spins around like he had in the kitchen and the living room. He walks to a wall and touches a poster that’s fraying and curling around the thumb tacks at the edges. He stops in front of a dresser, piled with things, a baseball bat leaned against it. He opens the closet and looks inside, finds the mess that Benny puts there instead of clothes. He makes his way over to the small excuse for a desk where magazines are spread out, a journal that he doesn’t poke through, but instead closes respectfully.

Maran pauses at the window and stares at the pigeon hooting there.

“Th-There’s sunflower seeds,” Benny says, pointing to his desk. “In the drawer.” Instead of feeding the bird, Maran turns around and walks back to Benny. His eyes are shiny at the edges, even though he’s smiling. Benny scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and then flicks the light switch off and points to the ceiling. Milky white stars explode across the ceiling from wall to wall.

“Oh?” Maran says it like theres something caught in his throat.

“Yeah, I—uh, I tried to m-map some of my favorite constellations. I know it’s l-lame, but I didn’t want you to be surprised when—” Benny squawks when he’s suddenly scooped up into an embrace. It’s so hard and swift for a moment, all he can do is blink until he feels Maran’s chest shaking against him. “Mar, are you fucking crying?”

“No!” Maran laughs, but it does sound notably wet. His face is buried into Benny’s neck, his arms squeezing a little harder. His breath is warming, tickling. Benny has to laugh just to keep himself sane, cupping the back of Maran’s head, soothing it down his neck, over his shoulder. “No—s’just the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, Ben. The cutest, I’m serious. I love it. I want you to tell me them. Alright? Tell me which is which. Tell me their names.”

There’s a distant memory that threatens the edge of Benny’s vision; a grown man kicking a stolen textbook from a little boys hands, drunk laughter, boot stomping on illustrations of space nebulae, galaxies, stars, crying. Who gives a shit? Who? You think you’re so smart? And above that, Maran’s callused fingers brushing the space between Benny’s shirt and the edge of his jeans, a touch so gentle it feels like it has to be misguided. So soft and tender, while his head stays tilted back, staring at the stick on, glow in the dark stars. Benny clears his throat and takes Maran’s hand and leaves his room.

—

“Coney Island is a tourist trap,” Benny explains while the subway car sways around them. “You’re going to love it.”

Maran sits with a map on his lap. He studies it with a pinched, concentrated expression. Turns it this way and that, freckles crinkled prettily across his wrinkled nose. Benny stands. Deliberately. He stands in front of Maran, a hand holding the top rail. Feet slightly spread, other hand lingering lightly in his bomber jacket, wrapped around his keys. An elbow could easily become a weapon, a sharp bone to the point of someone’s nose—quick too, if anyone were to approach them from behind. Maran is shrouded safely by the curve of Benny’s body in front of him, nearly closing him off from everyone else. He’d objected at first (“I have taken public transport, y’know.”) but given up when he realized there were some things Benny simply did not budge on.

Maran’s knees brush his own occasionally as the subway map is perused, a cute pink tongue tucked between teeth.

“Wish Xavier were here,” he sighs. Cold jealousy fills Benny up to the brim for a moment, before Maran exhales once more and begins to shove the map into his back pocket. He has to lift his hips to get to it, drawing Benny’s eyes to a sliver of exposed brown skin. “He’s just better at those, yeah? Crazy good memory. Does Boston have subways like this, then?” The jealousy drains as quickly as it had come on, a feeling of intense affection replacing.

“Nothing compares to the NYC su-subway.”

“Smells a bit.” Maran’s grin is wicked and sly. He crosses his arms over his chest, legs kicked out between Benny’s shins. “Any part of New York smell good?”

“Y-You’re gonna eat your fucking words, Mar.” Benny leans down, half menacing, half affectionately. And despite the rather full train they ride, he gives Maran a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips and when he withdraws, is pleased to find that sly grin turned bashful and soft.

—

Coney Island is, as promised, a place for tourists. Benny never planned on taking Maran anywhere that would appear on a ‘Fifteen Must Sees in NYC!’ article online. He’d planned the pizza place he’d gone to his entire life growing up, the library that had been his safe haven, the small parts that made New York big for Benny; but Coney is different. Times Square could burn for all Benny cared, but an amusement park would come alive under Maran’s eyes. And it does.

There is something near magical about the experience of watching someone else experience something for the first time. Maran’s excitement begins in his hands, which raise involuntarily into the air in front of him. Continues to his eyes, that are bright and starry under the neon park lighting. His shoulders bunch, his mouth slackens and then—he turns to Benny and grabs him by the biceps, asking; what first, I want to try a corn dog, can we play that punching game, look at the size of the fucking drink, Ben, I love this place.

And as he enjoys it—as he eats a greasy plate of funnel cake and finishes it off with a slurp from a fizzy drink—as Maran plays a GUESS YOUR WEIGHT game and comes off looking sheepish—as he dodges around authentic New Yorkers that don’t move out of the way for anyone—and as he slings his arm around Benny’s waist and tucks himself closer and smells like sugar and the sea directly beside them and looks at him with those big, beautiful brown eyes and steals a kiss, all Benny is thinking is; I love you.

So Coney Island is worth it.

“And you!” A man in front of a game yells into his bedazzled microphone, pointing directly at Maran. “And do you think you have what it takes to conquer the Kong?”

“Conquer the what?” Maran sputters, laughing, near drunk off the food and the energy. The sun’s dwindled to absolutely nothing, painting the sky black with not a single star. It’s gotten cold enough that Benny’s jacket has switched to Maran and it hangs off slightly loose around his shoulders. He tosses the empty soda (his third) into a nearby overstuffed waste bin. Benny catches him by the elbow.

“It’s a s-scam, Mar.”

“Aw, sounds like someones been bested by the Kong before and can’t handle the embarrassment of it all!”

“You throw b-baseballs at King Kong as he climbs the Empire State Building,” Benny explains, even as he’s tugged closer to the game. It’s lit up dramatically, prizes hung around the foundation. The game master sits on a stool, looking smug about his antics; he’d managed to mark Maran fairly easily. Benny has grudging respect for con artists. It was a living. “Except, you’re n-never gonna knock Kong off.”

“A sore loser and a liar!” The man announces into his microphone, voice bellowing eagerly. A gaggle of college aged girls laugh behind them, stumbling together. They hoot encouragement as Maran picks up a baseball and he flushes under their attention. Benny doesn’t have it in him to be bitter; the flush makes him look sweet and youthful.

“Hey, hey! Money first, man.”

Benny slaps a ten dollar bill onto the counter, leaning against it. He levels a flat, arctic gaze on the owner, who clears his throat and looks to Maran. As he does, Benny notices the oversized, floppy eared rabbit stuffed animal, hanging haphazardly by the top of the game. As anything rabbit theme tends to do, it makes Benny smile. Just an upturn of the corner of his mouth. But Maran notices Benny noticing and Benny then realizes that nothing will stop Maran from attempting to win the damn thing. It tilts something in him for a moment, a strange off balanced feeling.

It’s a slim role reversal for the night; Maran’s chivalrous side, his charming side, his boyfriend side. Benny has to hide his smile into his shoulder, sunglasses nearly falling from the top of his head.

It does not stop Maran from losing.

“What the fuck?” he throws hands into the air, as the last baseball disappears. Kong remains on the skyscraper, red eyes blinking, a guttural laugh track playing behind the electronic music pumping from the tinny speakers. “Mad. I hit it like four times!”

“Scam,” Benny reminds him, winding arms around Maran’s waist. The girls had disappeared after realizing that Maran and Benny were not friends prowling the amusement park together. They’d been cute, though; offering encouragement, complimenting Maran’s accent, rambling on the sidelines and one had even inquired on Benny’s tattoos.

“Bastard,” Maran mumbles. He pauses, rocking on his heels, giving Benny a brief look from under his lashes. “Why don’t you try?”

“Scam,” Benny repeats.

“Right, well.” A warm brown hand slowly brushes up and down Benny’s arm. There’s a gentle squeeze to his bicep (and that squeeze feels transplanted straight to Benny’s cock when Maran is looking at him the way he is). “Wouldn’t mind watching you throw a baseball for a bit, even if we can’t win.” There’s actually no world where Benny would deny that stroke to his ego, so he slaps another bill onto the counter right away.

Of course there’s no winning. But Benny supposes it isn’t about winning.

He’d played baseball as a kid, in his neighborhood borough. As kids did. He was never that good at it, but it wasn’t about being good, just like the game isn’t really about winning. It was, for him, at that tender age, about not being home. It was about being with friends and feeling alive for a brief moment of time between the spaces where he wanted to die as a child. The grit of the baseball feels nice under his fingers. He realizes, in that moment, it’s been a very long time since he woke up wishing he hadn’t.

It would be a startling enough thought if Maran wasn’t already making him jump—his hand lashing out to snatch the rabbit off the clip and run.

“Hey! Hey—you fucker! You get back here, you fucking British fuck!”

“Oh fuck! Oh! Fuck!” Maran’s collapsing on himself laughing, scrambling through the crowd as Benny follows and they’re not too far a distance away to realize the game master hadn’t actually run after them. One rabbit was not worth abandoning his entire stall. They collide together, the laughter cackling in the air around them, hands grabbing at each other. They bump against a storefront, giggling and jostling the prize between them. Benny feels like a kid again, for a moment, a kid in the soft space of safety and excitement, an immortal feeling that stretches out endless.

“You f-fucking thief,” Benny squeaks between a laugh, grabbing the rabbit from Maran and holding it aloft. “Oh, yo-you’re getting kicked back to Liverpool, baby. The police are on their way.”

“Take me,” Maran intones dramatically, hands lifted, wrists together. “A crime of passion, officer. I needed that rabbit. See how happy it’s made my boyfriend?” His lips slip into a dizzied smile at the word, freckles bunching around his cheeks. Makes himself happy just to say it and Benny feels floored by that. He tucks the rabbit under his arm and cups a hand behind Maran’s neck, pulling them close. He doesn’t know the time, it’s slipped away entirely. Could be midnight, could be four AM.

“Only place I’m taking you is home.”

— TWO DAYS BEFORE THE END OF TOUR —

“Hey.”

“J!”

Isaac’s voice cuts through the chatter of the bar. The noise dies entirely as Benny manages to get outside, shouldering through a group of men who give him nasty stares but don’t actually start anything.

The tour bus sits at an awkward angle, propped up on the strangest (and probably strongest) looking jack he’s ever seen. The tire had blown in a dramatic way, but since there were so many other tires, no accidents had actually happened. They’d limped to the side, the entire beast of the tour derailed. Xavier sits with a group of specialized mechanics as they peruse the line of back tires—he’s utterly comfortable with them. Benny can hear his loud laughter, even as Happy stands at the back looking like a blot of misery with a credit card.

At least they’d landed at a place with alcohol so half the crew could wet their tongues while the other half entertained themselves in the parking lot. Maran was part of that entertainment, skateboard out, teaching Mouse tricks. He holds her by the waist as she attempts to stabilize, the board slipping out from under her endlessly. Nomi’s laugh is distinct, a loud snort that echoes and makes Maran puffed up with importance.

For Benny, this was a long time coming conversation that seemed as perfect as any other time to have.

“How’s th-the play?”

“Oh shut up, you hate theater.” Isaac’s voice is soothing in it’s familiarity, in the way it’s rooted to Benny’s very childhood. Some of the first memories he has and doesn’t hate, include a child like version of that voice. And while, once upon a time, hearing Isaac had only made him end the phone call in tears, now his steps are light and excited as he gets behind the bar. A lonely, flickering flood light is his only company as he leans against the brick wall. A dumpster manages to make everything smell acrid and sour. His heart still races.

“Dunno. Midsummer is gay. I like th-the gay ones.”

“All theater is gay. It’s theater,” Isaac drawls. Benny can hear his cast mates in the background, just as loud as the bar had been. There’s a rustling noise and then it’s silent over the line except for Isaac clearing his throat. “Stop stalling. Tell me about him.”

Most would describe Benny as quiet, if they were strangers. He often elected not to talk in front of groups; half out of fear and half out of shame. Fear that everything would go wrong, shame for the fear itself. Shame again, for the stutter he could never go more than a few sentences without. And even those that knew Benny, were aware of how easy it was for him to let conversation roll around him instead. But faced with Isaac, it’s easy to talk. It’s easy to suddenly spill everything he’s thinking.

“Isaac, I’m—I’m fucking doomed, man.”

“Oh, fuck?”

Benny laughs, sliding a hand across his forehead, letting the back of his head hit the wall. His breath catches in the air, dissipating into the night. He closes his eyes.

“He’s s-so good. He’s so sweet and—and just fucking kind. God, you’d fucking love him, Isaac. He’s funny, he’s hilarious.”

“Exact opposite of you.”

“Fuck you.” Benny pauses, chewing at his lip. “I can tell he’s sort of lonely too. You know? That uh, th-that lonely that’s underneath it all. That you’re trying to hide so no one notices and c-calls you on it.” Isaac hums and doesn’t interrupt even as Benny lingers in silence for a moment. He thinks of Maran, thinks of that big, sweet smile and how it’ll slip infinitesimally if no ones looking directly at him. “It feels crazy t-talking to him, just never running out of shit to say. You’re right, exact opposite. F-Feels like we have nothing in common. Except music.”

“Tupac fan?”

“Shut up,” Benny laughs, but it’s a vulnerable sort of sound, softer than it usually is. “We spent an h-hour reading th-the endings to scary movies he doesn’t want to watch. Fucking adorable. Squeamish. Doesn’t wanna s-see them, but can’t help but wanna know. I think he l-liked scaring himself so I’d sleep in his cot with him. Do I sound stupid right now?”

“No,” Isaac answers quickly and Benny strives to hear any dishonesty. It isn’t there. He settles down onto his haunches, phone crooked in between his ear and shoulders, arms resting on his knees.

“And he’s beautiful.”

“Oh yeah?”

Benny closes his eyes again, shifting a hand through messy blond hair.

“He’s s-so beautiful. He’s got these freckles. On his face and his knuckles. On his fucking knees. And the most amazing arms. I mean, muscular a-and soft—that combination. And his skin is so smooth. He’s so cute, but he’s also so—so fucking sexy.” And his mouth, Benny wants to add. His mouth, the shape of his lips, the warmth of it, the way his tongue tastes, the way he moans into kisses like they’re as good as orgasms. Benny pauses to stare at a drip coming off the dumpster.

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Twenty-six!”

“It’s not that young,” Benny mumbles defensively, voice thick and gravelly. “I was thinking…” He waits for Isaac to make a quip; to tell him ‘thats rare!’ or to laugh, or to stop him. But he doesn’t. There’s an infinite patience on the other end of the line, a love that is eternal and now wholly platonic and entirely too supportive. Benny digs his fist into his eye, loosing a shaky breath.

“W-Would you maybe—if y-you can—save us a seat for your play? He’s gonna be with me for a few weeks.”

There is a swell of silence. The dripping from the garbage seems unfairly loud. Benny’s knuckle presses just a bit harder into his eye.

“You’ve literally never introduced a single person you’re dating to me.”

“I know.”

“Like ever.”

“Well. So-sometimes it’s awkward, because you’re technically someone I dated.”

Isaac sighs and it crackles over the phone. Benny presses it to his forehead. He tries to breathe deeply, but his lungs fill with the scent of refuse from the bar and he coughs a few times to clear it. Isaac is still quiet for a moment longer, before his soft laugh makes every part of Benny relax.

“I’ll get you tickets.”

Benny jumps to a stand when the subject of the conversation rounds the corner. His big eyes searching, face plastered with worry until he sees Benny. And then—like he always does—Maran bursts into an ecstatic smile. The spill becomes an incessant drizzle and they’re both fascinated, watching as an entire bags worth of liquid spills out onto the ground, shiny like an oil patch. Benny dances away from it, slinging an arm around Maran and pulling him back as well.

“J? Hey, man, you there?”

“Yes!” Benny yells into the phone, Maran glancing and—

“Oh, sorry! I was lookin’ for you, Xavier almost got crushed by the tour bus, fuckin’ believe that? So Benji’s proper mad now and—Oh, sorry, right, phone call! Phone call, right!” Maran does a hop around him, further from the spilling unknown substance, his hands still smoothly cupped over Benny’s ribs.

“Oh, wow. Christ. He does sound cute.”

“Thank you!” Benny yelps into the phone. Maran covers his mouth with both hands, eyes innocently wide as he takes a few steps back. He peels away those freckled, beautiful hands and mouths ‘sorry’. He’s grinning so hard it’s almost unreadable. “I’ll—uh, I’ll c-call you back. Later.”

“Much later, probably.”

“Yeah.”

“Love you, J.”

Benny, standing there, feels lighter than he ever has. His world feels bright and strange and beautiful; garbage spill not withstanding. He smiles at Maran, who ducks his head, rocks on his heels and glances around the building to wherever the chaos is. Benny, smiling, says to his best friend, “You too.”

— NOW —

However small the apartment is, it suddenly feels that much smaller now. The red number on the oven blinks rapidly, 3:12 AM. There’s a pot sitting on a barely working eye, clean but never having made it from sink to proper place. The ambient droning sound of the heater, pumping lukewarm air that poorly circulates rumbles in the background. Benny’s hands sweat, tingle at the tips of his fingers. He feels oddly exposed without his jacket, his arms bare of anything but tattoos.

The rabbit gets placed onto the couch amongst the blankets and the pillows. It’s ears are so top heavy that it immediately falls over. Benny can already tell it will become a permanent fixture. That if a fire broke out, he would be saving his extensive paperback collection and that fucking rabbit.

Maran retreats back into the kitchen, where Benny waits for him.

“Are you tired?” he asks, his voice curling at the question underneath his question. Do you want to go to bed? Bed with me, maybe? His eyes are round and bright, not a hint of sleepiness. For a brief second Benny is stunned Maran is really there, in his messy apartment, three in the morning, and asking if Benny wants to fuck him.

“Maran, I…” he trails off, searching for words that don’t come to him. The inside of his head feels similar to Coney Island; too many lights on with nothing of actual substance. It feels like a con artist; he feels like this might have been a mistake. Not this, nothing about Maran, being here, three in the morning, stolen rabbit stuffed animal on the couch, could be a mistake. But this—this waiting. Building it up to something special—but could it be special, like this? Like Maran was a boy he’d smuggled away for one thing and one thing only. There’s a screw in Benny’s chest, tightening, pinning him to the floor.

Maran doesn’t say anything. Blessedly, he doesn’t say anything. He lets things rearrange in Benny’s frantic head space, until it has no choice but to calm. 

“I don’t w-want you to think,” Benny starts. He glances around his tiny kitchen. He forces himself to continue. “I didn’t bring you h-here just to have sex.” He leans with a hand on his counter and regrets the mess. The old mail piled up, a science magazine that he’d embarrassingly put sticky notes and tabs in, the numerous take out menus that he cycles through when he’s here alone. Maran stands at the opposite end of the kitchen, which is not a long distance, but he still feels far away.

There’s more silence, and that starts to feel less like Maran is giving him space and more like something is wrong. Until Maran’s fingers start fidgeting with the zipper on his stolen jacket. He’s glancing around, eyes roving the disarray of the apartment he’d already examined. He’s trying to fight a grin on his face, which makes Benny’s heart warm into a new sort of rhythm, something hard. Something that pulses. When Maran finally does get the zipper, he pulls it down in a way that looks agonizingly attractive. The layer peels away, making Benny’s mouth go dry.

“Uh,” Maran starts and then laughs. “What if we did have sex, though?” His smile is so sweet, so inviting and so pretty that the mail under Benny’s hand scatters. He takes the three short steps between them in one single stride and catch’s Maran’s face to kiss him.

—

They crash into the bedroom together in a tangle of limbs and kisses. Clothes getting jerkily discarded, yanked and thrown away. They’re both bare chested, and that cute belt Maran wears has been torn clean off and tossed aside. Benny shoves hard until Maran is back against the wall, a soft sound leaving him as he connects. The lights haven’t been turned on yet, just the dull stars above them and a never ending neon light outside the window illuminating the room. Maran makes sounds that he tries to bite off at the ends, his head thrown back as Benny descends his chest, leaving bites and kisses.

When he makes it to his knees, Maran is gasping, hands threaded into his hair.

“Wait—Ben.”

The pause is so immediate he feels shaky with it. Like driving for hours on end and finally stepping out of a car, body still reeling with the momentum of moving, never stopping. Benny kneels there, hands on Maran’s jean clad thighs, staring up at him. It’s too dark to see his expression, so he slaps at his wall until he finds the switch and the room bursts alight.

Seeing Maran’s smile makes the nervous part of his rabbity heart slow.

“Okay?” Benny checks, hands making soft movements up and down Maran’s thighs.

“Yeah—Oh, no, yeah—better than,” Maran laughs, brushing a free strand of blond hair out of Benny’s face. His fingers curl, touching more, brushing over the bridge of his nose, over a cheekbone, down to his lips. Maran’s face has gone pinkish and sweet. “Just…like, if you do that…feels really good and…” He breaks off his sentence, mouth tilting awkwardly. “I’ll cum too fast, Ben. Don’t wanna end it early, s’all.”

The radiator gurgles in the corner of the room. Benny continues kneeling, staring up at Maran, who has now started petting back those loose strands of blond hair. His smile is curved anxious and sweet and Benny realizes that Maran’s never been with a man before, but he also has never really enjoyed himself before. No, Maran’s had sex and he’s liked it and he’s probably had plenty of fun but it all ended there, didn’t it? That he cums once and everything is wrapped up, neat and tidy. Benny tilts his head, a meanness to his features then.

He slinks a finger into Maran’s waist band, languidly running his finger underneath it. He listens to the sharp inhale it elicits. It makes him smile, narrow his eyes.

“Sex doesn’t end after you cum once, Maran,” he says, voice breathy and low as the boxers are peeled further down. He exposes dark pubic hair, a smattering of freckles on a hip bone that he wants to kiss with tongue. He keeps pulling, revealing the prize his mouth wants. Maran’s hard cock threatens to hypnotize him, to silence whatever he was saying so it can be in his mouth, on his tongue. Benny remains on his knees, looking up as Maran’s eyes dilate further and further. As his hands fight to remain steady, holding Benny’s cheeks. “I’m going to make you cum as many times as I can tonight—might even make it hurt a little.”

He isn’t sure if the whimper is for the statement, or because he punctuates it by wrapping lips around the head of Maran’s cock.

—

For Benny, foreplay had always been some of the most enjoyable parts of sex. There was something about himself he never denied, a pleasure that derived from someone else’s pleasure being center. Benny could leave himself untouched entirely, could simply watch someone else come undone over and over; he’d like there to be tears and writhing and begging. He’d like it to be messy and lengthy and for the shuddering end release to be loud. It’d be enough for him, it’d feel just as good as if it were done to himself.

Maran stumbles through the foreplay, unused to being on the receiving end. He lets Benny direct him, glossy eyed with happiness to be free of decisions. Benny arranges him on the bed, puts him on his stomach, crooks one of Maran’s legs up and fucks him with his tongue. Maran pants and squirms and bites into Benny’s pillow in an attempt to stop the sobbing noises of excitement; lets himself slip a few high whimpered moans when fingers join tongue and he’s cumming hard, for the second time. Once in Benny’s mouth and now again on the bed.

“Sorry about the bed sheets,” he pants, voice shaky.

“I don’t give a fuck about these sheets,” Benny grunts, leaving a trail of kisses from the delicious curve of Maran’s ass to the top of his shoulder. “Get on your back.”

When he does, everything stops. The momentum up until then had been frantic and fast and hungry; there’d likely be little finger print sized bruises on Maran from how hard he’d been pulled around, how his thighs had been parted roughly for Benny’s mouth. The excitement in Benny’s hands had translated to holding hard and watching Maran’s cheeks bloom with color and his eyes brim with pleasure. Now, with Maran under him, everything seems too real. Too present. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his pretty lashes wet.

“Good?” Benny asks. He slips hands down Maran’s body, tucking them around his thighs, moving them closer.

“Yes,” Maran answers quickly, head bobbing. Benny takes his chin in his hand, holding it. Not roughly, not as hard as before, but firm. He leans in, their faces close. Maran rises, as if for a kiss, but Benny holds him still.

“Good?” he repeats, staring down into gorgeous brown eyes, deeply pooled with lust and happiness and fucking love. It’s too hard to meet Maran’s gaze, to see all that reflected, but he does anyway. He stares and feels Maran’s chest heaving, feels his cock hardening for a third time against his own stomach. The excitement thrumming through Maran feels electric where parts of them touch and there’s few parts of them left not touching.

“So good,” Maran replies in a breathy, throaty voice that makes Benny wish he’d let himself cum at least once. He’s smiling as he’s reaching for his bedside table, barely looking, fingers scrabbling to find the little plastic square he’s looking for. As he does, Maran lifts himself boldly, captures him in a kiss. And it’s a good kiss because Maran’s a good kisser, leaving Benny breathless, making him groan, making him use his other hand to push the boy flat on his back.

When he’s located the condom—finally, after many small interrupting distractions from Maran’s lips—he leans back on his knees.

“Oh.”

“What?” Benny gets the corner between his teeth, ripping.

“Well,” Maran drags the word out, laughing. He rests his hands slightly above his head, displaying the generous curves of his biceps. Benny drinks in the site of him, hungry and angry all at the same time. There’s bruises already forming from hard sucked hickies at his throat and pecs. He works the condom free from the package. “I mean, we don’t have to use one, right?”

Benny pauses then, staring down at him. Maran squirms, hips lifting, their cocks rubbing together for a moment so brief it feels almost painful instead of pleasurable.

“Not like I can get pregnant, Ben.” His following laugh is sweet, his smile pretty and his eyes glassy with mischief. In the space of a second Benny allows himself to recognize what Maran is implying and then imagine it. He thinks of Maran’s knees to his chest, of fucking into him like a mad person, until his thighs are sore with the force of his thrusts. His mind wanders to the delectable vision of filling Maran, to breeding him into the fucking bed like he’s asking.

Benny has to blink a few times to make himself see clearly.

“It’s easier for clean up,” he explains. Then he winds a hand around Maran’s throat, stopping whatever next bratty, seductive thing he’d say before it can drive Benny into a frenzy. Instead, he places the condom in Maran’s hand, grinning ear to ear in a way that makes Benny’s face look like a knife’s edge. “Put it on for me.” He’s rewarded with a deepening blush on Maran’s cheeks, the color dark and red underneath his pretty freckles. Benny stays hovering, hands on either side of him, indenting the bed with his weight.

There’s something deeply erotic about watching Maran fumble a bit with it. Not just that it feels good—hands on his cock, always feel good—but the newness of it. The way Maran’s fingers stumble through rolling the condom down. Benny watches with shark hungry eyes as he lingers, fingers brushing the spider underneath his belly button. And then he’s laying there, ready for it.

And underneath the excitement is a nervousness. His smile flickering, eyebrows tucking upward. Maran’s hands lift, awkward in their movement, almost jerky.

“Dunno where to put these,” he mumbles.

Benny could tell him anywhere because Maran could touch him in any place and it would feel like heaven, like a gift. But Benny knows that Maran isn’t asking where, he’s saying, please. Please, tell me what to do. I want to be told what to do. So Benny takes one of his hands and softly tucks it behind his neck, where fingers will splay across a font tattoo of the word PAIN. He takes Maran’s other hand and guides it to his lower back, feeling fingers pressing lightly.

There’s more lube, generously added.

The press of himself into Maran is almost too much at first. The tight warmth, the body underneath him going tense, a heavy, shaky exhale. A hand at his neck, the other at his back, points of encouraging pressure and then Benny is momentarily absolutely lost in the sensation of penetration. Synapses firing on high, calf muscles bunching, his teeth snapping together. He puts his face into Maran’s neck, groaning with the base pleasure of it all; the relief of it, like being thirsty for so long and finally having a glass of ice water, sweating with condensation.

It’s slow at first, which is good. Is so good. The drag and the warm friction, feeling every inch of Maran. The desire to possess him feels so overwhelming that it becomes a physical need, the thrusting becoming harder at the mere thought of it. Mine, a chanting pulse in his brain. Mine, mine, mine—and his obsessive desire must reflect not just in the way he bites into Maran’s shoulder, but something he says. It makes Maran whimper (“yes”) and roll his body upward.

And then it stops being something slow and starts becoming something searingly passionate and hard. Benny gathers Maran’s legs closer, hooking an arm under one of his knees. Sweat slides down his back as Maran’s hand does the same, digging blunted nails into his skin. His thrusts then are snapping, are almost a mean tempo. It’s obscene, to watch himself, to see the shine of lube on his cock as his body pounds back and forth. Maran’s hands scramble for anything to hold onto. His head tosses to the side, mouth slack and open and wet and inviting and pretty.

“Knew you’d look good like this,” Benny grunts, pulling Maran’s lifted leg closer. “Taking it hard. Good boy.”

Glossy brown eyes swim to meet his own frozen stare. Maran’s flushed across his face, down his neck, sweat gathering in the hollow of his throat like a treat that should be savored, licked. Benny’s hand gropes forward across his chest, squeezing hard around his pec and making Maran whimper. He bites his plush lip, his hand frantic to hold onto Benny’s wrist. Not to move it away, but to keep it there. He’s trembling, cock bouncing on several hard thrusts, cum leaking onto his stomach.

“That’s it,” Benny groans, dropping the leg he’s been clutching, bearing his weight forward. Maran’s voice goes higher then than it has the entire night, a strangled sort of moan, head thrown back on the pillow. The desire to make Maran cum again, to make him cum with his own cock buried in him makes Benny feel maddened. He grits teeth together, concentrated, his hand sliding across Maran’s beautiful brown stomach, feeling the tackiness of cum already there.

Maran gasps at the pressure of Benny’s palm, his legs twitching as they lock around pale hips. His hands scramble and hold onto anything they can find.

“Oh fuck, Ben,” he manages in a raspy voice. “When you touch there, I can feel your—”

“Maran,” Benny moans, frantically shoving fingers into his mouth. He laughs around the digits, a wet, pleasured laugh. His body is shuddering. His eyes are shut, little tears at the corners pretty like gems. “Don’t fucking say that.” Benny’s thrusts become a frenzied, quick thing then, everything driven out of him. He can’t keep any sort of rhythm, his mind blank except for repeating those words over and over, when you touch there, I can feel, when you touch there, I can feel—

And then Maran’s teeth graze Benny’s fingers and he whimpers and his hand shoots down between them. He doesn’t need encouragement, but Benny talks him through it anyway, eyes watching as Maran’s cock twitches and jerks in his grasp. Maran jerks himself to a fast paced finish. His entire body shivering underneath him. He makes whimpering sounds and Benny removes his hand to be able to hear them better, fingers wet with Maran’s spit. He grins as he puts them into his own mouth, watching Maran’s face tremble, slack jaw and beautiful.

Benny’s own end takes him by surprise, punching through his stomach and making him go rigid. He holds Maran by the back of the neck, body arched as he cums. It leaves stars in his visions, like the ones on his ceiling. It makes him feel depleted in every way, drained of energy and everything coherent. He drops onto Maran, their chests sliding together. Sweat and cum makes them messy, but none of it matters. Face tilted, he stares at Maran, who stares back at him.

They stay like that.

Maran cups Benny’s cheek and leans in. It’s not a kiss; they’re both too exhausted for it. But their lips brush regardless, a shared breath between them. He can feel the callus on the tip of Maran’s finger, where it’s built from playing guitar over the last year. Benny closes his eyes, smiling because he knows that touch now, he has it memorized and it will always be his.

—

Ben, are you awake?

Mm.

Sorry, I thought you were.

Hm?

You’re talking in your sleep.

About?

Said somethin’—like scared, maybe. Dunno, sounded worried. Sorry.

Mm.

Are you scared?

Maran, I love you. Go back to sleep.

Oh!

—

There’s a strange, familiar ache in his abdomen and his legs when Benny wakes up. He comes to, blinking, vision obscured by the pillow he’s face down in. It’s cold, his shoulders exposed, blanket low on his back. Benny groans, searching for it, to pull himself underneath it’s warm safety. Instead, his hand lands on skin. Smooth, warm skin.

He sits up, staring down as Maran stares up at him.

“Mornin’,” he says, in a cheery voice. His phone sits on his chest; Maran looks wide awake, as though he has been for hours. And probably has, knowing him. Benny doesn’t know what time it is, won’t know until he finds wherever the fuck he’d left his phone last night, but he can tell it’s early. The sounds of morning traffic are muffled outside his window, someones car alarm already blaring, an ambulance wailing. Two pigeons have gathered now, a tale of sunflower seeds clearly having spread.

“Watching me sleep?” Benny’s voice is raspy and low, rumbling out of him. Maran’s cheeks go pink.

“Was not.” He rolls onto his side as well, phone sliding and getting lost amongst the blanket and the sheets. He doesn’t seem to care as he inches himself closer. He looks tormentingly beautiful in the yellow morning light. There’s a bruise on his collarbone, in the shape of Benny’s mouth. He smells like sex, the tang of it arousing. He’s grinning, bashful and sly as he slinks closer and closer, until they’re up against each other. His hand moves over Benny’s side. Pauses on a tattoo he likes, trailing fingers over it. Benny wants to grab him, wants to tell him how insane he feels.

He wants to scream it; he wants to say I love you so much I would fucking kill someone for you, I would literally do anything for you, do you know how much I love you, you can’t begin to fucking believe how much I love you, you’re mine, mine, mine.

Instead he yawns, tucking a lazy arm around Maran and scooping him close.

They lay together for a while, in the morning light and the cold of his apartment. Everything feels very distant, the idea of touring again, the band, even breakfast. Nothing seems to really matter, their bodies so close that their breathing becomes one inhale and one exhale. Benny can nearly feel himself dozing again, muscles finally relaxed and content.

“So, I was thinking,” Maran begins, nose nuzzling under Benny’s jaw. “I, uh, I’d really like to do that again.”

“Aren’t you f-fucking sore?”

“No.”

Benny’s hand sinks under the blankets, grasping the meat of Maran’s ass and squeezing. His lover gasps, bucking forward against him, ending it with a squeak.

“Right, well, a little sore.”

“You know what cures that?” Benny’s fingers slide, touching, teasing. Maran’s breathing quickens. “A shower.”

“Fuck you? Are you saying I smell?” Maran rears back, grinning, hands on Benny’s chest. In reply, they wrestle, laughing, Benny pinning the guitarist to the bed. He shakes him, puts his mouth to his skin, trails those kisses under Maran’s arm and into the sweet, concentrated smell of him. It makes Maran erupt into giggles, legs kicking the blankets off the bed. And finally they untangle, sufficiently warmed by each other.

It’s hard, watching Maran go, nude as he is.

But as the door to the bathroom closes behind him, Benny finally stands and scoops his phone from the floor. Their clothes are scattered everywhere, but he has a feeling they wont be getting dressed any time soon. Maybe for the entire day. He’d like that; the entire day, naked in his bed, Maran’s body pressed against his own.

Benny lays back down, a nervous energy propelling him forward. His chest feels tight and his breathing a little difficult as he opens the browser on his phone. His tongue sits awkwardly in his mouth, his thumbs pausing before typing into the search bar:

fiancé visa immigration process ??

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 8

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. PSA!! I re-worked the last scene in the previous chapter! (It's just different dialogue and a lot of it was cut to fix the pacing.)

Anyway. Very excited to share this chapter! :)

We spend all day scavenging.

Apparently some people want to start heading to Fort Benning, but Rick wants to stock up before we even think about it. We can't really drive across half the state when we don't even got toilet paper, after all; let alone food or gas.

He leads us from town to town, stopping at random shops, houses, and doctor's offices along the way, in search of supplies. Everybody stays behind in the cars, keeping watch, while the men drag themselves into building after building, coming back more empty-handed each time. I can tell it's starting to weigh on Rick. The last thing anyone ate was that potato salad, and our water bottles are all pretty much empty. We're hungry, tired; miserable — A group made up of growling stomachs and parched mouths.

Ahead of us on the road, Rick honks once and sticks his arm out the driver's window, pointing to a small supermarket he wants to loot.

He takes a left turn, and we all follow him into the parking lot, ready to rinse and repeat.

Everybody parks in front of the store.

My Dad shuts the engine off.

"I'll be back in a bit." He gruffly tells me, pocketing the keys. "Be good. Don't go nowhere unless it's with Dale."

"Okay, Dad."

"And if a walker comes up to the truck, what're you gonna do?"

I sigh. "Scream real loud."

We've been having this exact exchange all day, every time he leaves. We don't talk about nothin' else.

We're not really on good terms, but we're not really arguing, neither.

I think we're at a truce.

That's what happens when two people really want to fight but are deciding not to.

He slowly nods.

Then he grabs his crossbow, hops out, and slams the door behind him.

I watch him re-group with the other men, and they walk off together for the fifteenth time today. It's a pretty dismal routine.

I pass the time waiting for them to come back by reading my book. Dad found it for me back at the book shop. I've been reading it all day. It's about a scruffy cartoon dog named Hairy Maclary, and back home, I used to have almost the entire collection. I think it's why he picked this one. Reading it gives me a familiar comfort that he can't give me right now. It even makes me forget about how hungry I am after a while.

Beside me on the middle seat, there's a pile of other things my Dad's scavenged so far.

On the bottom is an ocean-themed blanket, two pillows, and an armful of clothes that he found in a stranger's house. When we sifted through them, I found a pair of socks that fit me. I slipped them on underneath my new boots. I also found some black jean-shorts and a big, green shirt with a purple frog on it. Frogs are pretty cool. I shimmied them both on to replace my pyjamas. Dad found himself a new pair of steel-toe boots, grey jeans, and a button-up that he ripped the sleeves off. We kept the rest of the clothes as spares.

There's also a half-empty box of bullets, a hammer, craft scissors, and one battery, which took him all morning to accumulate.

My tummy gurgles as I turn the page.

Nobody's found any food yet.

If we could eat batteries or bullets, we wouldn't be so hungry right now, but that's not how it works.

Sighing, I continue re-reading Hairy Maclary for the fifth time today, savouring it by painstakingly studying each picture.

It wastes about ten minutes.

"Whatchu readin'?"

I jump.

Whipping my head to the right, I see Shane walking toward the truck. Oh, God. He just might be the last person I wanna talk to right now.

He reaches the open window and casually crosses his arms over it, but his cheerful demeanour doesn't rub off on me. I try to scoot backward, but the pile of clothes quickly gets in the way. He's standing way too close to me. If he leaned forward just a little, the brim of his cap would touch the side of my head. I don't like that. His military dog tag twinkles innocently in the sunlight. Walsh, it winks at me.

Randomly, I become aware of the fact that there's nobody else around. Something about that isn't right.

"What are you doin'?" I ask.

Don't he know my Dad will shoot him for talkin' to me?

"Oh, you know." He shrugs, smiling. "Thought I'd clock out for a bit, maybe take a lil' break. Nothin' crazy."

Uh... sure.

I don't think Rick would let anybody take a quick break. Not in the sorry state we're in right now. No way. I think he's out here in secret.

He nods toward my book. "So? Whatchu readin'?"

Silence.

"Looks good." He jokes. "I'm a lil' jealous, actually. Maybe once you're done, I'll have to borrow it off ya, huh?"

More silence.

I fold the book in my lap, shielding it from his eyes. I wish I could do the same to my entire body. I don't wanna be doin' this right now. It's like being in the CDC again, that awkward stand-off cloaked in darkness — Only this time, we're in broad daylight.

He clears his throat.

"Your, uh—? Your Dad find that for you?"

"I—"

This is makin' me mad, now. Don't he remember how angry my Dad got before? Does he wanna get shot?

He might be acting stupid, but I won't make the same mistake twice.

Shane is not my friend. Shane is a bastard cop, and I hate him, 'cause I hate bastard cops. I really, really hate bastard cops. Looking at him makes me angry. It makes me even angrier than lookin' at Rick made me, and Rick killed my Uncle Merle, but Shane — Shane ruined everything. He's the reason the car rides are silent now. He's the reason my Dad doesn't feel like the same person no more. He's the reason I couldn't just get belted and be done with it. He just had to walk in. Bastard cop.

He's supposed to save people, but I don't feel very saved.

I just feel angry.

"I ain't talkin' to you." I muster up the dirtiest, nastiest glare I got. "You're a cop. A bastard cop."

His eyes widen.

He wasn't expecting that.

"I'm—" His brows shoot up, and he lifts one hand in surrender. "Harley, I'm just a friend. I'm just here talkin' to you as a friend, okay?"

"You ain't my friend."

"Well, I like to think that you're my friend. And... friends worry 'bout each other, don't they?"

He's worried about me?

I see where this is going.

I don't wanna talk about what happened at the CDC.

"You ain't," I sneer, "My friend. How many times I gotta tell ya?"

I pretend to go back to reading my book, 'cause I want him to go away — just like I wanted him to go away when we were in the CDC. When he talks to me like this, Shane makes me feel like a wobbly tower of cards, ready to fall. He makes me feel like everything I ever knew was just a fairytale, or a straight up lie, like Santa Claus and the Easter bunny. He makes me feel like I'm someone worth feeling sorry for; someone who needs saving.

Well, I don't need saving. He's just gonna have to go save someone else if he wants to do it so bad.

I've been staring at the same word for a whole minute, puffing angrily out my nostrils. I hold the book so tightly that the pages start to crinkle under my thumbs, stretching thin, thin, thin, until they're about to rip under the pressure.

Leave me alone, I wanna scream in his face.

"Can I ask you a question, Harley?" 

I take a deep breath, glowering up at him through my bangs.

He glowers right back.

"Is your Daddy your friend?"

"Wh—?"

The page rips.

"'Cause I can tell you what friends don't do." He raises his brows, leaning closer. "I can tell you that friends don't pin ya down 'till you're crying, Harley. I can tell you friends don't shout; don't make ya feel scared. They don't whip ya with belts, Harley. Is that what you think friends do?"

I struggle to speak. I feel like I'm being accused of somethin' I didn't even do.

"I don't kn—"

"Yes, you do. Lemme ask you again." Shane cuts me off. "Your Dad. Is he your friend?"

Yes, is my immediate thought, and I'm— I'm angry again, 'cause this is exactly what I'm talkin' about when I say Shane makes me feel like everything is a confusing trick. I don't like this question. I don't like that he's even asking it. Yes, my Dad is my friend.

I'm overwhelmed with the sudden urge to defend everything he's ever done.

I open my mouth to answ—

"No." He answers for me — Sharp, like a scolding. "No, Harley. He is not your friend."

"Yeah, he is." I'm shocked. "He is my friend."

I love him. If Shane thinks he can just walk over here and start bad-mouthing my Dad, then he's wrong, 'cause it's not gonna work.

"No. He's not." Shane scolds again, but I refuse to listen to him. I'm reminded of my old teachers again. Whenever I was flunking a simple math question, they'd get angry at me, but they couldn't show it 'cause that's not very nice, so they'd settle for sighing and speaking to me very slowly, instead. That's what Shane does. "I know you think he's your friend. I know you think you love him. I'm not saying you don't, sweetheart, okay? I'm not saying that. I'm saying sometimes friends hurt us, Harley, and we need to have a good, hard think about whether or not we want 'em to keep hurtin' us."

"Well—? I—?"

I realize I don't have anything to say. I have a good, hard think about what he means, instead. A friend? A friend hurting me? I think he means my Dad. Yeah. My Dad's my friend and he hurts me, sometimes. It not that hard to understand. At least it wasn't, not until Shane came along and started lookin' at my Dad like he was some type of monster. The dead people, they're monsters, but not my Dad. I swear it's that simple.

"I don't wanna talk about this." I grumble, glaring down at Hairy Maclary as he chases a butterfly.

"Well, I think we gotta, Harley." Shane insists. "This is important. I'm tryna to help you here."

"I don't need your help."

"Why's that?" He asks patiently.

"Because I don't care 'bout any of that stuff." I'm hating all of this. "I ain't scared'a him."

"You see, I don't believe that." He squints. "I don't think you believe that, either."

I am not afraid. I just have to believe this.

"Yeah, I do." I argue.

"Harley—"

"Yeah, I do."

He gets frustrated, gripping the windowsill.

"'Dad, I'm scared'." He quotes. "That's what you said. That's what you said to him, Harley."

Oh. He heard that. Of course he heard that.

"Well, y-yeah, 'cause I was scared of the dark." I dismiss. "It didn't mean anything. Who cares?"

"You're scared—? You're scared of the dark? You're scared of the dark. Okay. Okay." He takes a step back, rubbing his hands down his face, collecting himself. He laughs but he's not finding anything about this funny. He grabs the window again, harder this time. "You really think I don't remember how you ran off in'a them woods and we all had to high-tail it after you, that night camp got over-run? How it was pitch-black, and you didn't even hesitate? You're not scared of the dark, Harley. Don't lie to me. I don't want my friends to lie to me."

"You're ain't my friend." I groan. "Sophia is my friend. Glenn is my friend. My Dad is my friend. Not you."

"You know what?" Shane gives the door a shake. "Why is that, I wonder? Why am I not your friend, but he is?"

Finally, a question that isn't confusing.

"Because he's my Dad, that's why."

I expect Shane to answer straight away, but he doesn't. He just stands there, raising his brows higher and higher with each second that passes. I frown at him, waiting for him to do something. Eventually, he just shrugs. "That's it?" He sasses me. "That's all you got?"

Well... Yeah.

He's my Dad. Is that not enough?

"He protects me." I'm quick to add. "He makes sure I'm safe. He cares about me. He does up my buttons."

"Anybody can do that." He scoffs. "I can do that."

"No. No, you can't."

"Gimme one good reason why."

"'Cause you're a—"

"And don't gimme any more of that bastard cop nonsense, 'cause I don't wanna hear it. Gimme something real." He makes a fist and beats his knuckles against his breast pocket. "Somethin' from in here. Somethin' from the heart, Harley. Somethin' you haven't heard anybody else say first."

Stumped for words, I try wracking my brain. He's a bastard cop. No, I can't say that.

"Come on." Shane pressures me. "Somethin'. Gimme somethin'."

I go through all the reasons I shouldn't want Shane as a friend.

He's mean? No, Shane isn't mean. I had fun catching frogs with him, and he was even gonna build me a tyre swing before we got forced out of the quarry. He constantly puts himself in danger to provide for the group. He looked after Carl and Lori when Rick couldn't. No. He's not mean, but my Dad doesn't want me to be friends with him. My Dad's word is law. That's a good reason. Yeah. I'll say that.

"It's not allowed." I tell him. "That's why."

"What does that mean?" Shane scoffs. "Do you even know, or is this just him speaking again?"

Oh. It is. I'm just recycling things I've heard before.

Why am I doin' that?

Whatever. I'll think of something else.

"Uh—" I struggle. "You-? You're—?"

I can't come up with anything.

Shane shrugs. "You don't have anythin' else for me?"

"You're—"

A bastard cop.

It all comes down to those three same words.

"You're-You're-You're—" Shane mocks me. "Come on, girl. Think."

I give up.

"I can't, okay?" I finally snap, and in one big huff of anger, I throw my book at his chest. He was right. I can't think of any reason why I should hate him. Not even one. All my thoughts are my Dad's thoughts, and when I try to create new ones, it's just a twisted mess of words and ideas that have never even come outta my own mouth before, only in through my ears. It's just a trick. It's impossible. "You win, okay? There's no reason for me to hate you. S'that what you wanna hear?"

"Finally." He chuckles, picking my book up off the ground. "Good. Good girl. That's what I'm talkin' about."

He holds it out to me.

I snatch it off him.

"I don't hate you." I grouch. "Never did. You win."

"Nah, I think you won." Shane rests his hip against the door with his arms crossed. "You learnt somethin' new just now."

"What?"

He looks like he's proud of me when he says, "How to think for yourself."

How to think for yourself.

What does that mean?

My Dad never taught me how to do that, I don't think. He's taught me everything else I know, like how to skin fish, use a compass, and do up my laces, but he hasn't taught me this. Shane taught me this. I guess I've graduated from learning how to catch frogs. This is a little trickier, but I think I understand. Thinking for myself is like a game — Say something Dad has never told me to say. I don't think I'm very good at it.

I must look a little unsure, 'cause he reassures me, "This is good. This is the first step of somethin' really good for you, okay?"

"Really?" I ask.

Shane seems to know a lot about this.

"Really." He smiles. "Now does this mean you're gonna drop that whole I-hate-your-guts act?"

"Oh. Um..."

I really want to hate Shane. It makes everything so much easier. If we're not friends, then that means I don't have to listen to him talk about what happened at the CDC, and I never wanna talk about that again. But I said it myself, just now. There is no good reason to hate him. He ain't mean, he ain't bad at protecting people, and he definitely doesn't hate me back. He wants to be my friend.

If I don't accept, I'll just be making myself look like an idiot.

I guess he tricked me into becoming friends. I don't know how he did that, but it worked.

"Fine. I'll be your friend." I give in, smiling lightly. It feels a little like admitting defeat, but also like breaking free of something I was stuck in. I don't like hating people. If Dad didn't do it first, I don't think would have ever hated Shane. "But on one condition."

I hold up a finger, putting on a serious face.

Shane smiles, "Shoot."

He's looking at me like no matter what I say right now, he's already gotten what he wants.

"My Dad can't know."

This is very important. I might not hate Shane, even if I am still annoyed with him, but my Dad hates him. He also hated Ronnie, and Ronnie ended up in a grassy ditch in the woods behind our house, with his face beaten to a lumpy, sticky pulp. I don't want that to happen to Shane.

"You know, you're a very smart girl, Harley." Shane lowers his voice. "That's right. Your Dad can't know."

I nervously pick at the skin on my lip. "I've never kept a secret from my Dad before."

"That's alright." Shane soothes. "That's good. That means you're a good person. I'm a good person, too. But this here is our secret now, okay?"

"So, we're friends now? You promise not to tell?"

"That's right." He says. "I promise. You know why?"

"Why?"

"'Cause I won't ever do anythin' to put you in danger, Harley. I want you to remember that."

He puts his hand on my shoulder.

I won't let anything happen to you.

That's somethin' Dads say to kids. That's something my Dad's said to me. But Shane's not my Dad. He's not anybody's Dad.

When we first arrived at the quarry, I remember thinking that Shane and Lori were Carl's parents. Whenever the other kids wanted to play with Carl, they would always go ask permission from them, just like they'd ask permission from Carol if they wanted to play with Sophia. They'd also hover around him all day, making sure he wasn't getting into trouble, and put him in time-out when he was.

Only parents are allowed to do those things. 

I think Shane also thought he was Carl's Dad, 'cause when Rick returned and he wasn't allowed to do those things anymore, he seemed sad.

"Like... how you protected Carl?" I guess.

He gives me a squeeze before letting go.

"Yeah. A little like that."

"But why? Why do you wanna be friends so bad?"

He thinks about it for a minute.

Eventually, he settles on an answer.

"Because we both know it wasn't the dark you were afraid of, sweetheart." He tells me, sighing. "That's why."

I look down at my boots, embarrassed.

It wasn't the dark I was scared of. It was my Dad.

I guess Shane figured it out faster than I thought he would.

I hate that I can't lie to Shane like I can lie to myself. He must've been real good at interrogating people.

"Earlier, you asked me why I'm out here — Why I'm talking to you." Shane says now. I look up at him. "I'm doing it because no one else will. Not Rick. Not Lori. Not Glenn. Not Sophia. Not even your Dad. None of your other friends can help you the way I can, Harley, because they didn't see what happened in that room. They don't know, but I do. And that's very special to me, okay? It's special to me because it means I can help you. And I needed to make sure you were my friend before that can happen."

I start to frown. I do not want his help. That wasn't part of the deal.

Shane gives me a serious look, like he can tell what I want to say. "I know you don't want my help. I know you're angry. You're confused, and I get that. That's okay. But you need to understand that as your friend, I want what's best for you. And what's best for you, right now, is for you to realize that there is someone here who knows what you're going through. Someone who... just wants to help. Someone who's on your side."

I don't know how he plans on helping me. I don't wanna know, either. Cops puts people in jail. There's no jail anymore, but there is rope, and there are places to tie people up — Like shopping cart bays. Jim. I remember how he thrashed. I remember his screaming. I don't want Shane to get beaten, but I also don't want my Dad to get left. I have to choose one. I'm sick of choosing, but I have to. I know who I'm gonna pick.

"Shane, I know we're friends now, but my Dad is my number one friend." I really hope he understands. "Please don't do nothin'. Please don't help."

This makes Shane angry.

He licks his teeth; works his jaw.

I can tell he's already tryna puzzle out how he's gonna trick me into agreeing to this next.

"Please." I ask nicely. "We can still be friends. We can color together. I don't have my crayons no more, but I think Rick found some pencils, before. We can use those. I'll let you do my hair, too, if you want. We can even play tag. Just please don't take my Dad away."

When my Dad got taken away for killing Ronnie, I was sad almost every single day until he came back.

"I need him." I tell Shane. "I love him. Please don't help."

He just keeps giving me that angry look.

I recognize this look, I realize.

It's the look he gave my Dad at the CDC.

Blood-lust.

I realize I'm begging for the wrong thing.

Shane's not gonna take my Dad away.

He's gonna kill him, just like I thought. That's how he thinks he's gonna help.

"Wait." I frown. "I didn't mea—"

"What is going on here?"

I snap my mouth shut.

I look out the window. It's Dale, near the RV. He quirks one hairy eyebrow at us. I glance at Shane. I watch as he slowly re-directs that murderous look onto Dale, and I worry that something bad is going to happen. His veins pop out from his forearms as he grips the window.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Dale asks, disgusted. "Don't you realize what Daryl would do to you if he saw this?"

Shane's jaw muscle ticks.

"It's okay." I quickly intervene, holding up my book. "He was just askin' about my book."

It's true, he was.

At least, he was at first.

Dale ignores me.

"I'm sure he won't appreciate you sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, I can tell you that much for free."

Wow. He's pretty brave for sticking up to Shane like that.

"Welp. I wasn't askin', Dale." Shane laughs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head. He seems to think Dale's nothing more than a pesky little bug that he doesn't wanna deal with. He drops his hand. "You know what? I ain't doin' this. I got more important places to be."

He pushes himself off the truck.

"Nice shirt, kiddo." He mutters.

We watch him walk all the way back to the supermarket, one hand on his gun.

That didn't go so well.

As soon as Shane is back inside, Dale turns his suspicious eye on me. "What did he say to you?"

He wants to kill my Dad because he cares about me.

"Um. Nothin'."

"Are you sure?"

Aw, man. I don't like lying to Dale. He's so nice.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Okay," He lilts. "As long as it's not anything me or your Dad should know about."

Oh, God.

"Nope."

I put on my most convincing smile, like I'm posing for a picture.

He eyeballs me for what feels like forever, trying to decide if he believes me or not. I don't think he does. I know I should tell him the truth, but I can't. If Dale tells my Dad that Shane wants to kill him, he's gonna ask how he knows. He's gonna have to tell him that I was talking to Shane, and that just means I'm gonna get belted again. I'm tryna forget all about that, not have it happen all over again.

Besides, Dad already knows Shane wants to kill him, and he's not gonna do anything to put our new friendship at risk, anyway.

It's fine for now.

After a while, Dale gets sick of studying me, and he nods.

"Well, how about you come read your book in the RV? It's getting pretty hot out here."

He's not wrong. It's hot today.

"Oh, did you got that fan working?" I ask hopefully.

Like I said, we've found just about everything except for food — Even a new table fan, thanks to T-Dog.

"Sure did." Dale smiles. "It's working like a charm. Come check it out."

I hop out of the truck and into the soupy, summer heat.

"Can you read my book to me?"

He ruffles my hair. "Sure thing."

"You gotta do a funny voice for Scarface Claw. He's the evil cat."

He laughs.

Dale's a little different than Shane.

He doesn't have to ask to be my friend.

An hour later, the RV door opens.

I lift my head, the cool breeze from the fan fluttering across my face. I watch Rick stumble inside. He's drenched in so much sweat that it looks like he just took a long, hot bath in his clothes. He steals a rag from the drying rack and smothers his face in it. The little fan whirrs politely.

"Any luck out there?" Dale shakes out his newspaper, peering at Rick over his spectacles.

Rick tweaks the faucet on, shoves his head underneath it, and licks up the five little drips that come trickling out, moaning.

Gross.

"Doesn't look like you struck gold in the water department." Dale deadpans. "Any food, at least?"

Rick slides onto the floor, panting heavily.

When he peeks one eye open to glance at me, I belatedly turn the fan towards him, and he sighs in bliss.

"I just need a minute."

I'm literally fanning Rick off. I'm not sure if that's funny or not.

The RV door opens again.

My Dad walks in with Morales, both of them glistening like cuts of oily pork. Dad dumps his crossbow against the wall and crouches in front of the table. He turns his face this way and that against the breeze of the fan, ruffling out his wet hair. He gives my knee two pat, pats, to thank me. I smile just the littlest bit. Morales slumps on the kitchen, huffing and puffing.

Dale laughs at this weirdly entertaining sight. "So? Talk to me, here. What'd we find?"

Rick nudges my Dad out the way to feel the fan better.

"Scoured everythin'," He gulps, wiping his dripping brow. "Top to bottom, left to right. Hell, we even broke open the damn registers, but nothin'. Not even a chocolate coin. Cans were busted all over the floor. Rats were shittin' in the rice. Glenn almost got bit. Shane disappeared for a while; said he got cornered in the break room. Full-scale disaster, is what I'm tryna say."

Shane disappeared, alright, I think, glancing at Dale to try gauge his thoughts.

He just shakes his head.

"I take it we're not considering rat-casserole, yet?" He asks.

"Nah. Trust me, we would'a." My Dad scoffs. "But the dead ones were already chewin' on 'em."

Ew.

I think I'd rather eat frog legs.

Morales gestures My turn now, so I pivot the fan onto him next.

"I don't see how we're gonna make it to Fort Benning the way things are," Rick says. "But we can't keep doin' this."

"What's the plan, then?"

"We do what Shane suggested." He shrugs, looking around for objections. There aren't any, so he makes a cutting gesture with his open palm. "We power our way through to Fort Benning — Straight shot. We wipe our assess with leaves. We eat whatever game Daryl can find. We boil river water. We sleep in the cars. I'on care. I'm not risking our lives for this anymore. It's not worth it."

"Fan's pretty worth it." Morales sighs wistfully.

Dad side-eyes him, as if to say, You serious?

"And when we run out of gas?" Dale chimes in again. "RV's only gonna make it three more days, tops. And I don't even want to look at the radiator hose. It's hanging on by a thread, and barely, at that."

"We siphon." Rick simply says. "We drive and we don't stop unless it's to siphon or sleep. That's how it's gotta be from now on."

Drive, siphon, sleep.

Drive, siphon, sleep.

It don't sound fun or nothin', but it sure beats scavenge, scavenge, die.

"As for the hose," Rick rubs his sweaty, stubbly chin, before pointing at my Dad. "You're sittin' next to a mechanic. Daryl can do check-ups every few miles, and if somethin' really goes side-ways, we can just pull one from another car. There's a solution to every problem. Problems, I can handle. Full-scale disasters — Not so much. That's why I'm choosin' this. I believe we can do it."

This group is strong. It's like a glue that won't let up.

"As long as we don't gotta make more jerky." I mumble.

One by one, they all chuckle.

It's been a long day.

"Alright... Let's get a move on, then." Rick shakes his head tiredly as he stands back up again, against all odds, his smile a beacon.

The sun clips through the window like a golden floodlight, slowly sinking; slowly burning.

"We're runnin' outta daylight."

The fan continues to whirr like a happy kitten.

Author's Note.

Shane... the master manipulator!

That was one jam-packed conversation I had to get down, ahaha.

And Rick... I just love clowning on him every now and then. He's so corny and fun. The last scene in this chapter might be my favorite in the entire story so far, it's just so random and simple.

Please let me know what you thought about this chapter!!!

Sending love! :)

[space-mermaid-writing]

Wednesday [IronStrange]

Summary:Tony fights Strange and his weird wizards on a regular basis. So when he is woken up by Jarvis and being told Strange is sitting in his kitchen, waiting to talk to him, Tony just knows that something is not right. What he does not know yet is that it will be a string of very long days.

Relationship: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange

Tags:enemies to lovers, time loop, time shenanigans, hero/villain, hero Tony Stark, villain Stephen Strange, morally gray Stephen Strange, being a villain is a point of view, protecting the timeline, suicide but it has no consequences whatsoever, open ending, hopeful ending, Stephen needs a hug, Stephen and the never ending day, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, all the stuff you love

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 4.3k | Previous | Next

Chapter 6: Soul-Bonded

Stephen woke up and stared at the ceiling. He was in his Sanctum’s bedroom in his own bed. He hadn’t been fast enough to finish the spell.

How could he forget? He had been too captivated by Tony; too distracted. Now he paid the price for not focusing on the task.

Without the bond, Tony wouldn’t remember, and Stephen had to start anew, trying to convince the Avenger to help him.

They were back at square one.

His fingers stroked the crook of his neck where he had felt a bruise building yesterday when Tony had been too enthusiastic with his teeth.

There was nothing now. No mark. He didn’t feel sore.This body had never been touched this way by Tony. Never tasted him.All that was left was the memory. And Stephen was the only one who had it.

Frustrated, he turned onto his belly and shoved his face into his pillow. He refrained from screaming into it, but just barely.

When he finally got up, his movements felt mechanical. As if rehearsed. His mornings always followed the same pattern. He changed into his robes and went into the kitchen, like every morning. There he met Wong, with whom he had the same interactions as every Wednesday. Stephen could predict everything.

He realized that he couldn't go to the Avenger’s tower today. He wouldn't be able to stand Tony. Not if he didn’t remember. More than that; he was being hostile towards him. Not after what happened yesterday.

Another day off wouldn’t harm anyone.

He should work on a solution, but there was no one left to judge. He was all alone in the vastness of people.

He disguised the cloak as a scarf and left the Sanctum through a portal.

~~

Stephen wasn’t a sentimental man. Neither had he been when he grew up nor later in his career. He wasn’t one for dwelling in the past, for seeking out places or people he grew apart with.

A lot had changed when he joined the Mystic Arts. He became a different man – or maybe he broke down to his core – his essence – the thing that defined him. And he was built anew.

He had found his roots. Partly old traits, partly new.

So, he didn’t know why, but after some wandering around and going to random places, he found himself outside a small town in Nebraska.

It was raining in Nebraska that Wednesday. And he knew if he went to the farm a mile in the north he would find his father outside anyway, looking after the horses.

Stephen hadn’t been here since he graduated college. And then only to pack the last of his belongings. Maybe it had been a last attempt to fix things with his parents too. But that had failed and he had never looked back.

He turned the other direction and walked through a small forest that was close to the lake that had been so very cruel to him; taking what had been dearest to his heart when he was young.

Stephen knew he only tortured himself coming here, but it felt like he deserved five minutes of self-pity.

A spell prevented him from getting wet. It floated like an invisible disc above his head.

The smell of damp forest was something he had almost forgotten living in a big city. It felt rural, earthy on his tongue. The steady pitter-patter of drops on the leaves was calming in a different way.Stephen wasn’t the typical nature lover but he acknowledged the beauty of it.

The path led him uphill to a cliff that bordered the forest. He had an indescribable view over the landscape from there. No houses, no roads, no humans.

He used to go there with his siblings when they were young. It had always been a place to reflect and to be quiet. To be just together.Today Stephen’s only company was the cloak – and Stephen was thankful to have it.

As if it had read his thoughts, the cloak-scarf patted his cheek.

Returning to this place after all these years, made Stephen wonder what would have been if he hadn’t walked away from his parent’s house. If he would have had a similar career, maybe as a country doctor. Or if he would have taken over the farm.He couldn't see himself there, though. Never had been a fan of that life.

But if he had stayed, he might never have lost his hands. Had never found his way to Kamar-Taj.Had the Ancient One seen that possibility?

Thinking back, Stephen always wanted to become a doctor. After what happened to Donna he had just worked on it with more determination. But the event had also been the reason that Stephen and his parents drifted apart. It had made it easy for Stephen to leave.

It had been an event that set a path for many things.

What if it had only been a means to an end?

Anger rose in Stephen, thinking about that. Surely there had been other ways for him to join the order other than losing his sister!

It was pointless to think about it; it was in the past. There was no way to reverse it.

But still, his inner child that never got completely over it, made him question his role in the order now.

Stephen had spoken the truth when he told Tony that the power he held by directing the timeline was something he didn’t ask for nor he particularly wanted. He accepted it as it was – but sometimes he wondered how different his life could have been.

He wouldn’t have met Tony though. That would have been a shame.

Or maybe they would have met under different circumstances. Not as enemies.

In another lifetime Stephen could imagine that he would have brought Tony to this place to enjoy the view. He had missed his chance in this one.

Stephen wasn’t sure if he could go through everything again, explaining to the Avenger what was going on. Pretending not to know the man the way he did. He wasn’t sure if he could even convince the man to join the loop again anyway. Last time had been an exception. One in a million. Stephen didn’t know how he managed to do it. It had been sheer luck.

The sound of an engine disrupted his thoughts and he looked up, expecting to see a plane in the sky. But instead he noticed something way smaller, that was heading straight towards him.Next thing he knew was the Iron Man armor hovering in front of him.

Stephen looked at him in surprise, especially when the faceplate opened and revealed the Avenger.

“Fancy seeing you here, doc. I didn’t take you for the hit and run type.”

The sorcerer breathed in sharply. Could it be?

“Do you…?” he asked breathlessly, because it shouldn’t be possible. They didn’t manage to place the bond in time.

“Yes, I do. Everything.” Tony found it irritating to talk to him from midair, so he landed on the cliff and stepped out of the armor.

He immediately regretted it, because the rain hit his face. So he ducked under Stephen’s invisible umbrella. “Make some room, will ya? Do you know how long it took-…”

Stephen cupped his face and pressed a kiss on his lips, before he hugged the engineer. His hands were shaking badly, taking in the familiar scent of workshop Tony – Soap, machine oil and coffee.

“I thought I lost you.”

Tony felt a little overwhelmed by this greeting.

He had also been glad that when he woke up it was still Wednesday and that he’d remembered what happened. When the wizard hadn’t shown up he had been worried and set out in search of him. Tony was relieved to find him well and uninjured.This reaction just now just held a lot of emotion he decided to analyze later. Instead, he returned the hug and patted the sorcerer's back, because he felt that the man needed it.

He waited until Stephen pulled back.

“Sorry, I…” Stephen wasn’t exactly sure what he was sorry for. A lot probably.

“It’s fine.” Tony cleared his throat. “So… I’m not complaining, but why do I still have all of my memories?”

That was a good question.

Stephen drew from his magic and a big mandala appeared under their feet, moving upwards and through them; scanning them.

Tony staggered; he still wasn’t comfortable with spells he didn’t recognize. “Hey!”

“It’s just a quick diagnostic spell,” Stephen explained, his focus on the faint glowing on their wrists where the bond normally would manifest. “It seems like the bond is still in place.”

Tony saw it too. “But we didn’t do it. You said we had to redo it daily.”

“Yes, under normal circumstances this is necessary.” The sorcerer made a thoughtful face. “The bond can become stronger if repeated frequently over a longer term. That shouldn’t be the case here since the reset is both physical and magical. But apparently it happened nevertheless.”

“Fortunately, or I would be back to square one. What are the consequences though? Are we bonded permanently now?” Tony sounded way less concerned about it than Stephen would have thought. It was more like an off handed question, simply because he was curious.

“I don’t think so. The link is weak and will still fade over time. It just needs longer for it.”

“Good.” Tony took a look around. “Let's go home, okay? I’m not a fan of the rain,” he complained although he seemed perfectly fine pressed to Stephen under the spell.

The sorcerer could extend its radius, but he liked the way Tony lingered in his personal space.

“Yes,” he agreed anyway. “Just… how did you find me? I never talked about this place?”

Tony chuckled as if he had made a good joke. “Please,” he said, stepping back into his suit. “I’ve been studying your signature for weeks, and I own a satellite. I can track you down anywhere on this planet.

In the past his words would have been a threat, but now they were reassuring.

_____________________

Curious, Tony looked around the Sanctum. Somehow it was exactly as he had expected; and yet different.The cloak slapped his fingers as he tried to take a closer look at a crystal ball on a chest of drawers in the hallway.

“Hey!” He glared at the cloak.

“I told you not to touch anything,” Stephen warned him, who had already gone ahead but now turned to face him.

“Why? Is this thing cursed?”

“No, but that’s the drawer where Wong stashes his secret snacks.”

“It’s not so secret if you know about it.”

But Stephen was already moving again. “And don’t talk to the snakes in the living room.”

Tony hurried to follow him. “You have pet snakes?”

“They are neither pets nor do I ‘have’ them. They just live there.”

The engineer decided to store follow up questions away for later because Wong crossed their way, stepping out of a door. As soon as he saw Tony he stopped and scowled at Stephen.

“You better have a good explanation for why Stark is here.”

Tony found it interesting that the man’s first instinct was to scold Stephen and not threaten Tony.

Stephen remained calm. He had had this conversation a few times before.

“I invited him.”

“Care to explain why?”

Tony intervened because he wasn’t one to stand by in any conversation about his person. “We’re currently experiencing a time loop and trying to break it.”

There were various emotions in a short time on Wong’s usually so stoic face; above all he was surprised and alarmed. He scrutinized both men carefully and their lack of urgency seemed to reassure him that there was no immediate danger.

“I’ll take it, you already-…”

“Discussed this with you and the council of elders? Yes, we browsed all libraries known to us. I even consulted Doctor Voodoo, Doom and Mordo.”

Wong’s eyebrows went up. “How did that go?” he asked at the same time as Tony blurted out, “You know Victor?”

Stephen looked from Wong to Tony and answered the engineer first. “Of course I do. He’s a respected member of the Mystic Arts. Why are you on a first name basis with him?”

Tony snorted. ‘Respected’ wasn’t a word he would use in the same sentence as Victor von Doom. And was that jealousy he heard?

“Because he’s a pain in my ass, that’s why,” he answered.

Stephen looked at Tony sourly, not convinced by it.

Wong clapped his hands once to get their attention and back to the topic. “How did the meeting with Mordo go?” he repeated his prior question.

“Exactly how you would think it would go.” Mediocre at best. He noticed Wong’s eyes wandering to the Eye on his chest. “I tried the time stone. It’s no use,” Stephen said before the other sorcerer could even open his mouth.

“That’s highly-…”

“Concerning, yes. But I also had several hundred reruns without any signs of the universe collapsing, so I think we’re good on that end for now.”

“You could go and-…”

“Nope, we tried that. And also that other thing you have in mind. Several times actually.”

Wong pressed his lips together, somewhat irritated.

There was the hint of a smirk on Stephen’s lips; riling up Wong was still fun. He hadn’t done it in a while.

“I’m going to see if any relic shows interest in Tony. He’s a variable that changed since he joined the loop,” he finally explained why the Avenger was in the Sanctum. He gestured to Tony to follow him and they continued their way to the second floor.

“Wait!” Wong called after them a moment later. “He joined you? He wasn’t involved from the beginning? Strange, what did you do?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Stephen yelled back, because he wasn’t having that conversation right now.

Tony chuckled at his side. “You know, being on this side of these conversations where you know what they are going to say is way more fun.”

The second floor was where the relics were on display. Stephen told him to just walk through the room and look around. He followed a step behind and watched for any reactions.

Tony took advantage of finally being allowed to inspect anything in this weird house that was definitely bigger on the inside, and took his sweet time.

“So, you guys have a council of elders. Are they calling the shots?” It was a casual attempt to make conversation. At least that was what it seemed like.

Stephen wasn't sure what he was getting at and answered evasively. "They have some influence, but technically they respond to the Sorcerer Supreme. And that’s me.”

“I heard that term before. What does it mean exactly?”

Stephen recited from a book, “‘Sorcerer Supreme is a title granted to the practitioner of the mystic or magic arts who has greater skills than all others or commands a greater portion of the ambient magical energies than any other organism on a given world or dimension’.”

That made Tony look up from the showcase with armor parts. “Wow okay, Gandalf. That’s quite the flex. Does that mean you have no boss that might have a solution to this? A manager? A mysterious, wise hermit that gives his answers only in riddles?”

“I did have a mentor.” There was sadness resonating in Stephen's voice. “She would have known what to do. Unfortunately, she died and her responsibilities fell to me." With a nod he told Tony to focus back on the relics and Tony did that.

"Isn't there a spell to consult her spirit?" he asked nonetheless. “C’mon, you literally have magic at your disposal.”

“The magic you have in mind is highly frowned upon and has dire consequences I do not wish to evoke.”

Sometimes the wizard really sounded like he came straight out of a fantasy novel. But Tony didn’t comment on it this time since he was all for not evoking dire, magical consequences. But still… “Are you really telling me you have all this stuff here and there’s nothing that can help? Like a phone to the afterworld. A strand of their hair that will answer simple yes or no questions. Maybe they left a secret diary with answers.”

Stephen rolled his eyes because Tony was talking nonsense. “If there was a personal item of hers she put a lot of her essence into, we might use that. But she only left a few belongings behind and none of them qualify.”

The Ancient One had really lived detached from material. If she really had been as old as Mordo had told him, maybe belongings hadn’t mattered anymore.

The cloak moved around him and he looked down when it tapped on the Eye of Agamotto.

“What?” Stephen asked, because the time stone was no use in this.

The cloak tapped again and it dawned to Stephen what it was trying to say.

Tony watched them. “I like that face. It’s your face when you get an idea.”

“My mentor was the keeper of the Eye of Agamotto before me.” He took the bronze necklace in his palm. “She used it to guard the timeline; and put a lot of time and energy in it.”

Tony was on board immediately. “You think that’s our personal item?”

“In a way. It’s not really personal, but maybe there’s enough of her aura left in it.” He couldn't use the time stone to look into the future. But a phone that didn’t have service could still be used to look at the gallery. Maybe he would find something in it. It was an infinity stone after all. “It’s worth a try.”

Tony agreed and followed the sorcerer to another room. This one was barely furnished and had more of an Asian temple vibe. The floor was covered with bast mats and reminded Tony of a yoga studio that Pepper had once dragged him to. Tony was proud to say that he tried everything at least once, but he had quickly realized that he wouldn’t give yoga a second try.

Stephen sat down in the middle of the room, his legs crossed. Tony was a fan of chairs – it felt like his back was too old for this. But he didn’t want to complain and settled on the mat next to the sorcerer’s, albeit less elegantly.

“This might take a while,” Stephen warned him. Normally when he used the time stone to look into the future, he needed mere seconds to minutes. His body also went into this weird twitching state.For what he was about to do he wasn’t sure about the physical effect.

Tony just nodded, having no idea what to expect at all. He watched Stephen as he opened the necklace with a gesture.

The green stone that rested in it had just a faint shimmer instead of glowing brightly like it would normally do when activated.

Stephen recalled the spell's instruction in his mind, the various components he needed for it, while moving his fingers through the air. He had to draw magic from different dimensions. It wasn’t an easy spell by far; mastered only by few. It was to be seen if he was among them.

He drew a big circle with his hands, before he rested them on his knees – as if he was meditating; his eyes closed. The sensation was similar to astral projecting. He felt the moment he left his body and was now floating two inches in the air, invisible to the normal eye.

At first he thought something went wrong. He didn’t mean to astral project. But when he turned around, he saw the Ancient One’s projection standing on the other side of his body, looking at him. She appeared translucent and very greenish.

“Hello Stephen.” Her smile was as inscrutable as ever.

Seeing her like this; like not a day had passed made Stephen tear up. “The spell worked.”

“Of course it did. I never doubted you.” She sounded like a proud mother.

Stephen stepped past his forward slumped physical body, closer to her. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Few things are truly permanent.”

Stephen felt transported back to when he was just a student of the Mystic Arts, seeking answers. And he had no trouble admitting it. “I need your help. We’re trapped and I can’t find a way out.”

“I know.” There was sorrow on her face, but it was gone as fast. Her gaze turned to Tony. “This is a conversation Mister Stark should join.”

She walked over to the man, who had leaned closer to Stephen's body to inspect him, but didn’t quite dare to touch him. The Ancient One took his hand that lingered halfway in the air towards the sorcerer – and she pulled.

“No!” As soon as he realized what she was about to do, Stephen was alarmed. Tony wouldn’t appreciate it to be forced into magic unexpectedly.

But it was too late.

The surprised form of astral Tony appeared while the engineer’s body toppled over onto the mat.

“What the…?”

He panicked when he noticed his own ghost-like appearance and his body lying on the floor deathlike. He gasped for air – and immediately realized that astral projections could not breathe.

In an instant Stephen was in front of him, using magic to manifest his hands on the engineer’s shoulders without reaching through him. “Tony, it’s fine. Your mind left the physical world for a moment, but it won’t do you any harm, okay? I’m here. You’re fine. Everything is fine.”

His voice calmed the man down, but he was still on edge.

“Okay,” he mumbled because he trusted Stephen. Then he noticed the other figure and turned his head to the bald woman who watched them with interest. “Who are you?” His sharp voice could be taken as rude but he was only five seconds away from an anxiety attack and Stephen's presence and his soothingly rubbing fingers on his shoulder were currently the only things preventing that.

The woman didn’t seem to mind anyway. “I am Stephen's former mentor. The one he came to when he needed guidance. Back when he thought he had to fix his hands, and now when he thinks he is stranded in a time loop.”

“Am I not?” Stephen asked her, startled.

“In a way you are.”

The sorcerer had completely forgotten how cryptic her advice and answers always had been and how quickly he got annoyed by them.

For Tony the conversation helped him to distract him from the fact that he was a ghost, and he focused on the lady. She definitely knew something. “Care to elaborate on that?”

The Ancient One was clearly amused about his manner. The way a parent was with an impatient child. Tony didn't like that, nor the fact that he had an unusual amount of respect for her – and didn't even know exactly why.

She turned back to Stephen. “I didn’t have time to teach you how to look into the futures safely, and for that I’m sorry. The timeline didn’t offer it. Which is ironic if you think about what we carry in there.” Her eyes were on the Eye of Agamotto that she had guarded for centuries. Then pulled herself out of whatever thought she just had and stepped between the two men’s physical bodies, looking down on them. “You lost yourself, Stephen. You are too much in your head.”

“I’m too much in this time loop,” the sorcerer complained. “The stone didn’t offer any solution. I can’t even use it properly.”

“And why is that?” She gave Stephen time to think about it; like the patient teacher she was.

“I don’t know.” It frustrated Stephen. “Is it because time is involved?”

The smile was back on her lips. “Exactly. You ask different questions that all have the same answer.”

“What is the answer?”

His eyes met the Ancient One’s. She was waiting, maybe contemplating how much she should tell him. He wasn’t sure what she saw in him – he had always had the feeling that she could look directly into his soul – but finally she gave in.

“You aren’t trapped in a time loop, Stephen. You are trapped in the time stone, looking into the future.”

For a moment, Stephen was too stunned to speak. How could that be? Usually he had a good instinct when he watched the timeline. He knew the feeling and could pull himself out at any time. But this here was different.

“Is this… what will happen in the future?” He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to go through it a second time.

“Everything is possible. But since you accidentally created this loop it is highly unlikely that it will happen in your timeline. As for you, Mister Stark,” she addressed the engineer who was listening to all of this, “I am afraid this potential timeline you are currently experimenting will cease to exist as soon as Stephen steps out of it.”

Tony understood the consequences. There wouldn’t be a happy ever after for him. “Will I… remember? Out there?”

The Ancient One shook her head. “No.” The word was so simple, yet so much empathy swung in it.

Tony breathed raggedly, realizing the implication. He turned away and walked a few steps, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

“Tony…” Stephen wanted to comfort him, to wrap his arms around him, but Tony stopped him by raising a hand.

“Just… give me a moment.”

Stephen stood helplessly next to his mentor. “Why did you tell him?” he asked her. He saw the engineer’s anguish, and it hurt him even more to know he caused this.

“Because you were right that he will help you break out of this.”