#well not all of them but a good chunk for awhile before i got bored w them and stopped

[toytulini]

Why did you have to read Ben Carson's book to get access to the twilight books? What was stopping you from just getting the twilight books? I'm confused and curious

BKGDJWVIVE oh my god i just saw this sorry. my mom made me read the ben carson book before she was willing to buy me the last 2 books while i was in middle school. it was dumb but in retrospect its so ridiculous its funny.

[ava-imagines]

Sorry for how long this is. I realize after I was done writing but I have to explain it. Hope you can do her even if you just did one. If not then it’s understandable. Like the others said keep up the great work.

How can I forgot about Sonia? Hmmm then again I didn’t see her for awhile until your post. On a side note thinking about Sonia got me thinking on how a good chunk of scientist we see in game are evil. So how about this sort of scenario for Sonia x Reader head cannons? The reader was apart of one of the evil teams. Though you know they loose, so the reader goes to the International Police to strike a deal. Information for protection. The ol witness protection shtick. You’re in Galar now with a new identity and settled in your new life with Sonia. The thing is you never talk about your past. This being all the more stranger to her as you’re well versed in all matters Pokémon but when trying to search you nothing pops up. Then one day you come back to find Sonia with a file you forgot to bring to Looker detailing some sketchy stuff. Saw this type of scenario done before but I wanted to add my own twist to the request.

Wow, interesting idea Anon!

Sonia x Ex Team Rocket Member! Reader: Your past..? 🧡📙

Back in the Kanto region, you used to be part of the Team Rocket organisation

You stole Pokèmon, kidnapped people and pretty much did anything to support Giovanni, your ex boss

However often in battles, you lost alot of times to kids that didn't agree with what you were doing, and it just made you bored of being on Team Rocket.

So one day, you decided to go down to the International Police Station to ditch your old life and to start anew

Eventually after a few weeks, you're now in Galar as an assistant for Sonia, the new professor for Galar

You were really happy to be out of your old life and to be in a new one. You liked playing with Pokèmon instead of kidnapping them, you liked socializing with the other people instead of being rude and most of all, you liked Sonia. Alot.

Sonia seemed to like you too, as you both would sometimes stay behind at the lab to chat and have a laugh

Sonia talked to you about her past alot, but when she asked about your past, you went quiet and didn't say anything about it. Slowly making her grow suspicious.

However, one day when you went home, you forgot to hide the files of your old life (The people back in Kanto said you had to carry that stuff around for some reason)

Sonia was just tidying some things up, until she saw a small corner of a file peek out from one of your drawers.

Curious, she opened the drawer and looked at the file. When she opened the file, her eyes widened. She was on the page about your old identity.

Sonia never knew you used to work for a criminal organisation like Team Rocket. But how? You seemed so nice.

Reading more into your files, she saw that despite getting money for it, you were growing sick of it, so you went to get an identity change

Sonia really didn't know how to feel about this, one part of her was mad that you used to be evil.

But the other part of her felt happy for you in a way? Happy like, she's glad you quit and found something else you enjoyed doing

Sonia decided she wouldn't tell you that she found the file, as she put it back where she found it

Nowadays when you're in the lab, Sonia still talks to you, but she stops mentioning your past. Now knowing the truth about the old you.

And done! Sorry if it's short but I hope you like it!

[thebookreader12345]

My Girls

Pairing: Jay Halstead x reader

Summary: Y/N is on leave from work because she’s 9-months pregnant, but since she’s got nothing to do at home, she decides to go visit her husband at work 

Requested: No

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 1,230 Words

“Look at you. You’re glowing,” Platt said to me as I entered the lobby, stomping the snow off of my boots.

“Thanks, Sergeant. Would you mind buzzing me up?” I ask.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on leave? You look like you’re about to pop,” Platt exclaimed and pointed to my stomach.

“I had nothing to do at home, so I figured I’d pick up some lunch for the team” I answer. “And don’t worry, Sarge. I didn’t forget about you.” I set the bags I was holding on the floor and picked out two items from one of them, setting them on the desk.

Platt smiled. “Two tamales from Portillos! You’re the best, Y/N. Let me get you upstairs.”

Platt unlocked the gate for me, and I thanked her, beginning my trek up the stairs. When I got to the bullpen, I saw that everyone was looking bored either typing slowly at their keyboards or flipping through files. Now was the perfect time for them to eat something.

“Hey everyone,” I announce.

Jay looked up at the sound of my voice, and he smiled when he saw me. “Hey, babe. What are you doing here?”

“I was bored at home, so I figured I’d swing by. I brought Portillos,” I state and hold up the bags.

“You are the best,” Adam declared and walked over, taking the bags from my hands. He walked over to his desk and set them down, and everyone walked over to get their food except for Jay, who walked over to me.

“How’s baby girl doing?” Jay asked and placed his hands on either side of my 8-months pregnant stomach.

“She’s kicking non-stop” I admit. “We’ve got ourselves a soccer player.” Just then, the baby kicked again, this time right where one of Jay’s hands was resting. He smiled as I took off my hat, shoving it into my coat pocket. I had hoped that our baby would be born before it started snowing, since walking on regular ground was tough enough with another human being growing inside of me, but I had no luck because it had started snowing a few weeks ago.

“He Y/N, is there any word on when that baby is coming yet? Cause Hailey and I need you back up here,” Kim said.

“My due date is in 3 weeks, but you guys do know that I’m taking 3 months of maternity leave, right?” I ask.

“Uh. Jay, you suck,” Hailey pointed out.

“What? Why?” Jay questioned.

“Well, you could’ve just kept it in your pants,” I answer. “If you did, I could be at work instead of sitting around the house all day doing nothing. I can only listen to my mother talking about baby names for so long.”

“Okay, Y/N wanted a kid just as much as me, so therefore she is half at fault,” Jay explained.

“That is also true. Go on and eat,” I tell Jay. “I brought the food for a reason.”

Jay raised his hands in the air. “All right. I’ll eat. Did you buy anything for yourself?”

“I ate before I came over,” I answer.

“Thank you for the food, Y/N,” Adam exclaimed as he stuffed a few fries in his mouth.

“You’re welcome,” I say. 

“So Y/N, have you and Jay decided godparents yet? Cause I mean, I’m a valuable contender,” Kevin spoke.

“Oh jeez,” Kim laughed.

“We’re not getting into that right now,” Jay said and sat down at his desk. I followed suit and snatched one of the fries from his meal. “Hey!”

“After the amount of times you’ve stolen my food, I have the right to steal yours,” I confess.

“Have you guys picked out any baby names yet?” Hailey asked and took a sip from her water bottle.

“Yes, but we’re not sharing. Its going to be a surprise,” I say and glance up at the clock. “Well, I should get going. You guys probably have tons of work.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later, babe,” Jay spoke. Before I left, I poked my head into Voight’s office to see him glancing down at some paperwork.

“Hey, Sarge,” I greet.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” Voight asked.

“I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I also brought you something,” I respond and set a bag down on his desk.

“A steak from Mastro’s? Don’t tell anyone this, but you’re my favorite on the team,” Voight informed me.

“I won’t say a word. Have a nice night, Sarge,” I say and leave his office.

That night at home, I was sitting on the couch wearing a pair of Jay’s sweatpants and a t-shirt. I had just gotten off of the phone with my mom, which was the second time I had spoken to her today, and I was now skimming through the photo album I kept in the living room. As I took in the pictures littering the pages, I smiled. Most were of Jay and I, but a good chunk contained us with the rest of the team. They were like my second family, and while I wanted to get back to work, I was ready to start a family with Jay. Just then, the front door opened, and Jay stepped inside, shaking the snow off of his clothes.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jay said and walked over to me, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just looking at pictures. Sit down. I just got to the best part,” I inform him. Jay took a seat next to me as I flipped the page, revealing all of our wedding pictures. I remembered our wedding day like it was yesterday. We decided to have the wedding in the spring, so our colors were light blue and pastel pink. Everyone looked amazing, especially Jay. My favorite picture had to be of Jay and I along with the rest of the team. All of us were standing together, smiling at the camera. It was hard to believe that our wedding was over 2 years ago. 

The next page made me grin even more, seeing as it started out with the first ultrasound I got, which confirmed that I was pregnant. Then of course you had our gender reveal picture. We wanted it to be simple, so we just cut a cake. When we cut into the frosting and revealed pink cake, Jay was over the moon. The other pictures were just random ones from throughout my pregnancy, but they all brought back amazing memories. I shut the book and leaned into Jay, who wrapped his arms around me.

“How was work?” I ask him.

“Fine. I’m glad to be home though. I missed my girls,” Jay spoke and placed a hand on my stomach, causing the baby to kick.

“She missed you too,” I respond. “Can you believe we’ll be parents soon?”

“It all feels so surreal. But I’m ready to meet my baby girl,” Jay murmured.

“Me too, Jay. You ready to head to bed?” I question.

“Do you mind if we just sit here for awhile? I’m not quite ready to go to bed yet,” Jay informed me.

“Not at all,” I mumble and lay my head on Jay’s shoulder.

“I love you both,” Jay spoke and rubbed his hand over my stomach.

“We love you too,” I exclaim and press my lips to his.

____________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13​ @dreamingmanip @campingmonkey @winterberryfox @nevertoofarfromivar @anotherfan07 @giagma @mrspeacem1nusone @i-like-sparkly-things

[tigerdrop]

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

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

anyway, here it is: Gordon Gets A Xen Bath

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Food? Nap? Bath?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Benrey blinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> "Huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> "Cool."

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

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

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

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

> Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Lower back.

> His ass.

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

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

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

> "Cute."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, God.

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

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

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

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

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

> "Wha?"

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

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

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

> Wait.

> "Privacy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> And...

> "Cute."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> The words come out before he can stop them.

> Goddammit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cute. Fun size.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> He is not a fan.

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

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

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

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

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

> Oh. Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> "Uh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did he stop himself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Bathing Gordon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> So he doubles down. His voice grows louder.

> "Holy shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Wait. Was that...?

> Was that admission?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> A pause.

> "Laugh, please."

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

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

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

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

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

> Their own secret language of want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's infraction, dude!" Gordon snaps, his mind jumping to the least important thing Benrey said. "Fucking 'infraction'! And I don't-- I don't know what you expect when you're all, fucking--"

He's cut off by a gasp when Benrey squeezes him, just a little. Makes Gordon keenly aware of those big fingers. He can just... he can do whatever he fucking wants, huh? Pick Gordon up like it's nothing? Wrap those fingers around him, so big and hot and rough against his skin, and move all his limbs around just like he was doing earlier and--

And--

Gordon blinks, coming back to himself. Face hot. Mouth dry. And Benrey's grin looks impossibly wider.

"You know," he finishes weakly.

> "Maybe I do," Benrey responds, jostling Gordon lightly. "Maybe I don't. Maybe you should tell me, bro. When I'm all fuckin' what?"

> He lifts Gordon higher, and closer. Really gets a good look at him, leaning in and running his tongue along his jagged teeth. Like a predator, like something that wants to swallow Gordon whole, though that's the last thing on his mind. He wants to taste Gordon, that's for sure, but there's... there's more to it.

> He wants to reel him in. Follow this weird feeling. Press his lips against Gordon and--

> Benrey inhales sharply through his nose. Gordon smells positively delicious. Like something fruity and sweet and earthly. And he looks delicious, too, all soft and supple and soaked to the bone, smooth skin glistening in the alien lights.

> His dick twitches, straining against his pants. He's so hard it hurts. He wonders if Gordon can see, but can't imagine he can miss it.

> "C'mon," he teases, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me what I am, bro. Tell best friend Benrey what's on your mind. Bonding experience. Bros being bros."

He wrenches his eyes shut, breath coming harder and faster despite his efforts to control it. When Benrey fucking talks like that, he can't help it, okay? All-- all smug and condescending and all the shit that should get under his skin-- and does, yeah, it drives him up the wall, but. But. There must be something wrong with him, Gordon thinks desperately. Something warped in the fabric of his mind that makes a shiver race down his spine.

Then he feels warm breath puffing against his face, and he opens his eyes again. Just in time to see a broad tongue run across sharp, sharp teeth. A naked suggestion. Gordon's mouth falls open a little and hangs there, stunned speechless.

Until Benrey mutters, c'mooon, voice low and heated in a way that goes straight to Gordon's belly. And his dick twitches in the open air, fully visible this time. Fuck.

"You're," he starts, staring at his own fingertips, where they're digging into Benrey's hand.

God, this is humiliating! And he should, he should tell Benrey to fuck off and put him down, but he doesn't. That same warp in his fabric goes all the way down to his autonomic nervous system. Heart racing, blood pumping, pupils dilating and sweat beading and every other unconscious reaction he can't wrangle into submission.

Because he wants to be wrangled into submission.

Okay, Christ! He gets it! He doesn't need the color commentary from his own fucking brain!

Gordon takes a deep breath to steel himself, and then he starts again, choked and hesitant, "When you're... God, fucking, touching me and breathing on me and shit, man! Like you'd be doing any better if you had somebody's big fucking hands all over you! Okay?"

As soon as the words leave him, a fresh wave of embarrassment crests and crashes over him. Stupid, stupid, he shouldn't have said it.

> Oh. Well. That was new. Usually, there's a bit more arguing, a bit more resistance, a bit more of Benrey getting called things like "weirdo" and "freak" before they have a good "haha" about it and touch dicks. But Gordon is being so earnest and honest and talking about how he's touching him, about big hands, about doing this same thing to Benrey (sort of talking about it, anyway), and...

> ... And Benrey feels... wanted? Was that the word? Wanted?

> Yeah. He feels wanted.

> And that foreign, alien, hot-cold emotion twisting inside of him balloons and explodes, and there is a sudden, pulse-pounding sensation of want and warmth that courses through his body like a poison. He can feel drool pooling under his tongue and he swallows hard, his smile fading into something more earnest as he tries to maintain a mocking, bullying stare. Tries to keep his head in the game.

> Their game.

> "Oh. You, uh. You like it when I breathe on you? Fuckin'... secret alien power. Uh, blow dryer." He pauses and chuckles. "Heh. Blow."

> He inches Gordon closer to his face, and the closer he brings him, the more he can feel the little bit of warmth radiating off of him. Welcoming him. Blazing hot, like he is on the inside, and flushed so red he looked burned. And that warm, weird, unwelcome emotion surges again as he lets out a sigh and sits Gordon in his palm, plopping him down unceremoniously like a captured bug.

> Only he's not watching him with a childlike curiosity. He's really examining him, trying to wiggle the wrench out of the gears in his brain. With some effort, he pops it loose, and the words pour out of his mouth without any restraint.

> "Bet'cha you'd like it if I, uh... dried you off. Gentle breeze. Pick a scent. Have eight exciting flavors. Blue. Watermelon. Other blue. Tropical, uh, kiss."

> Even he isn't sure why he stressed that last word. The weird emotion spoke for him.

> His mouth snaps shut.

> Awkward.

Whatever Gordon was expecting, it wasn't "being dropped buck-naked onto Benrey's palm". His legs splay out in front of him, and he instinctively tries to draw his knees up. Doesn't change the fact that he's got his boner out in front of God and everybody.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Despite himself, he bursts out laughing. He does his best to choke it back down. "You really, uh, gotta work on your dirty talk, man."

Gordon doesn't manage to catch himself before he all but admits that, yeah, that was dirty talk. This is a situation where Benrey should be trying to talk dirty to him. It's breaking the rules a little. Breaking kayfabe. But it's hard to resist bringing it up when Benrey's trying to get him hot by talking about blowing on him like a spoonful of soup.

Then he actually thinks about what Benrey said. Tropical kiss. That's not-- that's not anything. That's not real. Benrey's just talking about kissing him, in whatever weird fucking roundabout way he usually does. A small part of him softens. It's... almost cute. If he were inclined to ever describe Benrey that way. Which he isn't.

But Gordon plays along anyway. "What are you talking about? Scents? Dude, I smelled your breath earlier, and lemme tell you, it wasn't any kind of fucking tropical kiss."

> "Uh, no. S'one of the other flavors," Benrey responds indignantly, façade breaking for a moment. "That flavor was, uh... Glade Plug-in."

> As he speaks, he reels Gordon in closer, sitting in his palm and still sopping wet. He looks so small, so delicate, so... cute, and the thought makes his heart flutter again. It grabs his tongue and twists it into an awkward knot that takes a moment to untie. He works fast, hoping to save face. Get back in the game.

> But it's hard. Harder than before, and as Gordon stares at him expectantly, he's suddenly floundering. While he is externally stiff, flat, and monotonous, on the inside he is scrambling to pick up his scattered index cards during a speech. He wants to play, but he wants to taste. He wants to stroke Gordon's head as much as his dick and he doesn't know why. He wants to say something naughty and nice all at the same time and...

> "Lemme, uh. Demo. Demon-stray-shun," Benrey says, interrupting his own thoughts. "Tropical kiss. Free sample. Here we go."

> And with that, he brings Gordon to his mouth. He presses the smaller man into his lips, a small and chaste kiss being planted in the first place he can reach: Gordon's throat. Only it's... not just his throat. It's basically his whole shoulder, and throat, and beneath his jaw. He practically envelops him, could literally swallow him if he wanted to, but pulls away and snorts a laugh as though this spontaneous act was premeditated as a joke.

> He sounds unconvincing.

> Even more so when he chuckles, "See? Coconut. Sea breeze. Lime. Seagulls. All the classic smells."

Lips press against Gordon's skin before he's fully prepared for it, and he lets out a surprised little sound. Jaw and throat alike find themselves enveloped, a heat and softness and moisture the likes of which he's never felt quite like this. And then it's over. Gordon's still left dizzily processing this as Benrey draws back.

"Did you just kiss me?" Gordon asks, stupidly. He touches a hand to his jaw, where there's a hint of moisture lingering.

The longer Gordon thinks about it, the more disoriented he becomes. Benrey's never kissed him like that before. All, fucking, sweet and tender. Those aren't words in his vocab. Like, yeah, sure, they've kissed before, but only in frantic, snarling bursts. This is strange and new.

But... at the same time... that's not all it is, is it. At this scale, chasteness is impossible. Gordon's so small in his hand, wet and splayed like some kind of foal, and those hands could wrap around every inch of him at once just to touch him. Lips, kissing wide swathes of skin. Hot breaths of air forced through Benrey's nose and spurring the hairs on the back of Gordon's neck to stand up. The unpleasant realization that Benrey is very, very big, and could probably just swallow Gordon whole if he so chose. You know. Normal things to worry about.

But he doesn't. He just lets Gordon go with a kiss. And Gordon flushes up to his ears, still a little dumbstruck.

> That was... new. That wasn't like the lust-fueled, rushed kisses he'd given Gordon while trying to get fingers around his cock, but it wasn't bad. It was something that scratched an itch he didn't know he had, something that made his lips tingle, something that milked an incredibly good feeling out of that foreign emotion swirling inside of him. It's intoxicating in a way human substances never could quite pull off, and Benrey feels an addiction already forming.

> It takes him a moment to realize that Gordon has spoken. It's just a tiny sound to his colossal ears, one he nearly misses from the full-body throb of lust and affection. It's not just his dick anymore. His heart is thundering against every bone, every inch of skin, and he feels almost overwhelmed. Again, like he's dying. This is new, it's intense.

> He wets his lips and furrows his brow, and with a surprising amount of clarity, rattles, "Yeah... uh. I guess I did, huh?"

> His tongue continues to run over his lips. His teeth. His eyes dart to Gordon. He's struggling to play the game properly, but there's a sudden bout of nerves involved. He can't help but wonder if this is how Gordon feels all the time, and the realization clonks him like a clawhammer.

> If this is how Gordon feels all the time, then no wonder he's always such a mess. It's latching onto his jaw and holding it shut like an invisible muzzle, it's pumping him full of drugs that don't exist, it's making him feel small despite being absolutely batshit levels of huge. And, it feels like he's learning... god, what had Alyx called it? Empathy? He's not sure how much he likes it, but it mingles well with the now-welcome warmth following the kiss in a way that feels positively, cathartically self-destructive.

> Benrey coughs. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tease. He looks to Gordon with an intensity even he's surprised he can pull off.

> "You, uh. Like it? Wan' another one? I got, uh, plenty. Warehouses full. Best Friend Special. BOGO."

Gordon watches Benrey's tongue slide over his teeth like it's in slow motion, a reminder of what lies just underneath the surface. And he freezes under the intensity of Benrey's stare, anticipatory sweat beading on his forehead.

"What, you mean you want to..." He trails off with a nervous laugh. "C'mon, man, put me down! I know you get a kick out of, fucking, making fun of me or whatever, but I don't know what you're getting out of this!"

> Unfortunately, Benrey knows exactly what he was getting out of this. A feeling, strong and tingly that's now full of a primal need that he understands quite a bit better. And, beyond that, he was getting permission. Full permission in every movement Gordon made, every lilt of his voice, every glance up at him that was filled with a hunger that his human never got quite got the hang of voicing. It's a look that Benrey knows good and well, though, from the other time they've played their little games.

> He says nothing. He just smiles, moves Gordon to his mouth again, and pushes his lips gently against his collar bone, though it stretches down to his chest. He can feel Gordon's nipple brush against the corner of his lip, hair brushing against his mouth, the taste of the strange, glittering water and skin as he parts his lips and rumbles a laugh into Gordon.

> He pulls away. He maneuvers his human. He presses his mouth against him again, brushing his stomach with a feather-light kiss that nearly encompasses his dick. He can feel it pressing against him, feel it twitch as he pokes a tongue out between his teeth and presses the very tip into his soft flesh.

> His eyes angle up to Gordon's in a silent bid for a sign. The lick intensifies, nimbly avoiding the cock poking at the very corner of his mouth.

> He continues to say nothing. He has a feeling he doesn't have to. Gordon isn't the only one who can get away with communicating silent intent in their back-and-forth.

Of course Benrey's not gonna answer him. Of course Benrey's just gonna grin at him - like an asshole - and kiss him again, lips soft against his chest. Right over his heart. It's cartoonish, is what it is. And, unfortunately, it's also more ticklish than Gordon expects, and he snorts aloud.

"What are you doing? You're being weird, dude."

When Benrey laughs back at him, his huffed breath ruffles Gordon's body hair, and it just makes that whole "sensitivity" problem worse. Gordon tries to choke down a giggle and fails. Despite himself, it's... it's nice. He almost feels light-headed.

And then Benrey's doing it again, a soft kiss against his middle, shifting him bodily into position, and Gordon laughs again, shoving at his face. Playful. Roughhousing. Their usual.

And again. "That-- That tickles, man, c'mon!"

And again, hot against his belly. Mouth parted. Benrey's chin grazes his dick, which he'd all but forgotten about in his reflexive urge to kick Benrey away. A peal of laughter bleeds into a gasp. All the worse when Gordon feels the wet-hot tip of a tongue push into his skin.

Oh God. It feels just like he thought it would. In that dream, that fucking dream, the one he can't get out of his mind. The one that's made Gordon look twice every time Benrey grins at him, teeth sharp and glossy. He freezes, afraid even to breathe too heavily and press himself all the more against Benrey's tongue.

"What are you doing," he asks again, this time less of a playful rebuff and more of a high squeak. Then it's hotter, wetter, more of the broad side of Benrey's tongue flattening against him, and his dick twitches, hard.

Fuck.

> Alyx would be disappointed, Benrey thinks. He was doing so good and playing so nice, and now he's licking a hot, wet stripe across Gordon's belly, feeling the hairs and skin against his tongue, teeth barely grazing against sensitive flesh. But, he knows things she doesn't and will never know, about the game and the language that he and Gordon have built. He squeaks in defiance, but with a tone that shows only polite refusal: Oh, I couldn't possibly, but if you insist.

> Gordon isn't pressing against his face. He isn't pushing him away. He isn't snarling and cursing, and he hasn't made any move to extricate himself. He's parting his legs invitingly, his voice is getting higher in want and anticipation, and his dick is so hard. As hard as Benrey's, to be honest, and twitching almost as if its beckoning.

> "What'm I doing?" Benrey purrs, and he can see Gordon's body tremble at the way it rumbles through him. "M'helpin'. S'what best friends do."

> With that, his jaw opens wide, his tongue slithering out and the tip dipping lower. Low enough to catch his cock, his legs, the entire bottom of his stomach. It presses hard against Gordon and then creeps upward before coiling up politely behind Benrey's jagged smile. Drool pools at the corner of his lips and he swipes it away with his spare hand.

> He opens his mouth and dives back in again, the faintest hint of flesh and salt and soap and glittering, sweet Xen water dancing across his tongue. It fills him with another burst of primal want, though it's watching the flush on Gordon grow deeper that satiates that other, newer beast nesting inside of him.

Hot, wet, sinuous, pressing against his belly like a snake, making him gasp and jerk instinctively - Gordon's head spins on contact. And Benrey's eyes keep flicking up to meet his, like he's gauging Gordon's reaction. Looking for the go-ahead. Like-- Like they haven't been playing this fucking game for hours, glorified foreplay, you know, like he hadn't let Benrey practically feel him up behind the bleachers while he was (is) stripped down to nothing.

When Gordon's legs jerk open, though, he doesn't snap them closed again. He lets them fall open, leaving room for Benrey's face. If he wanted. To put his face anywhere around there. It's embarrassing as soon as the thought hits his conscious mind, and Gordon burns a bright red down to his shoulders.

"I-I don't know if this is what every 'best friend' is supposed to d-- oh-- oh God, Benrey--"

His voice pitches up, raw and hoarse, as Benrey's tongue flattens itself against his thighs and dick. No more games. Just what this was always building up to, this whole time, if Gordon had just paid a little more attention, pushed his glasses back up on his nose and seen the hunger in Benrey's eyes. And the full knowledge of it cracks over his skull like an egg.

His chest heaves desperately to catch his breath, but it's so much, he can't--

He can't--

Benrey's going back for more, licking him in slow, deliberate strokes and chuffing like a big cat against him, and Gordon can't fucking think. His hands clench at Benrey's, then, finding that inadequate, at his own face. His hair.

"Benrey," he chokes out again. "You're gonna-- oh-- you just gave me a bath and you're gonna get me all fuckin' nasty again, man!"

It comes out as a whine that belies just how fucking stupid he sounds.

> "I'll, uh, just bathe you again. No biggie."

> Benrey's voice is low, dismissive. There is a dark and teasing chuckle hidden just under the surface, as much of a predator as the rest of him. Waiting for a moment to strike, to snag his prey and drag it beneath the surface. But not now, not now.

> Benrey likes to play with his food.

> His alien tongue is strangely dexterous, encircling Gordon's thighs and tracing wet lines into the crease where they met his body. Faint trails of Sweet Voice-tainted saliva leave visible marks of where he's been, allowing Gordon to ogle at exactly when Benrey is doing to him even after he's moved on. Even after he's moved from one leg to the other, to his belly, to his cock.

> His own aches as he flattens his tongue against his dick and licks upwards, like an animal lapping water. His tongue curls delicately and folds back into his mouth, scraping against pointed teeth before emerging again. Hungry, tasting, teasing and growing faster, more deliberate. The taste of Gordon swirl in his mouth and he feels a heat building in his belly so hot and dangerous that it almost makes him feel ill.

> And it intensifies with every squeak Gordon makes, every pant that falls out of his mouth. It drives him onward, a leopard on the prowl, gradually cornering its next meal. His own breath is becoming ragged, his mind a messy whorl of emotions and thoughts that make time seem as though it hardly matters. He's long forgotten how long he's been teasing, eyes nearly crossed to focus on Gordon. Benrey has long been lost in the sounds he makes, the way he writhes.

> It's almost like divine inspiration when it strikes him that he should maybe push him a bit harder.

> Delicately, and uncharacteristically slow, he rolls his tongue back into his mouth. He parts his lips and fits them around Gordon's length. He can't suck, not at this size, but he hums in satisfaction, the vibrations pulsing straight from him and into his human.

> If he wasn't so afraid of doing damage, he'd have smiled.

"We don't have time to--" Gordon breaks off in a moan, that compulsive need to worry stopped in its tracks by Benrey's tongue.

He shivers from his neck down to his toes when it worms around his thighs, digging into those sensitive creases in his skin. Something like a laugh bubbles out of him, but it's also something like a whimper, with a hint of a plea.

"You can't," he gasps, fighting for breath, "you can't do this to me, man, you don't even-- ah! Fuck! Don't even know!"

Gordon turns his face to the side and buries a noise into Benrey's hand. Makes it easier to cope when Benrey licks up to his chest and swirls his tongue, his own breath loud and hot around it. Tasting everywhere he can get to.  Benrey just keeps going, salivating and groaning for the sheer thrill of it, and it makes heat pulse off Gordon's skin in waves.

Faster, harder, enveloping him in ways he had only dreamed possible, something only he can do - Benrey - just for him, he doesn't do this shit with anyone else, how could he. Gordon squirms and gasps in his grip, legs straining to arch into that wet heat.

Agony creeps into his voice, low and haggard. "Benrey," he whines, "how are you so fucking... good at this, why are you even--"

He doesn't get to finish that thought before Benrey's lips wrap around him, and he hums, smug as a cat that's gotten the cream, and Gordon cries out so hard that some winged thing bursts out from a nearby outcropping. How is-- Why is he-- what does he even get out of this, he thinks wildly, brain desperately clinging to neuroticism even in the face of sexual obliteration.

> Every time Gordon shifts his weight, whines, looks away, says a word, Benrey feels that warm, weird emotion surge through him in a way that defies explanation. A feeling he thinks he can now identify, but is hesitant to verbalize, lest he somehow break the rules. But, it's so much stronger than before, especially after everything they'd been through, especially with the way Gordon is finally saying what he really means. Instead of snapping that he's being weird, he's whimpering praise and the words hang crookedly in his head like paintings in a forgotten room.

> "Benrey, how are you so fucking... good at this?"

> The boner he'd been ignoring for what seemed like millennia is now aching, and he pushes his hips against the side of the island and grinds upwards in hopes of finding something resembling relief. Unsurprisingly, what he finds is a crotch full of rocks, and he winces even as he continues to lavish Gordon with attention, breath hot out of his nose as he continues to hum and mouth at his dick. As he unfurls his tongue once more and presses it against his entire body and pushes Gordon against the palm of his hand, something akin to a wet hug. As the tip once again finds Gordon's cock and greedily laps at it, mesmerized by how prominent it is compared to the rest of his soft body.

> There is no give. Just hardness, sinking into the sensitive muscle.

> As he continues on--gently sucking on entire hands, tracing circles into the wet skin of his stomach, tasting the inside of his thighs while grazing his junk with the side of his tongue--he grunts. He feels his hips rocking just out of Gordon's sight. He clenches his free hand when its not in use pulling Gordon's legs apart for easier access or fiddling with his arm to get access to his fingers.

> It's instinctual, and impossible to ignore. He aches, and he knows Gordon can see he's losing himself to this as much as his prey.

> He waits to see if Gordon will have anything to say about it.

Gordon grabs desperately at Benrey's face, a nasal noise forced out of him on every exhale. It's more than a blowjob, it's, it's Benrey humming through his entire fucking body, okay? He can feel it down to his bones, and the inside of Benrey's mouth is achingly warm and so, so wet, and Benrey just keeps mouthing at him, tongue unfurling behind his teeth to lap up Gordon's length in a hot stripe.

It's... it's good. It's so good. Gordon closes his eyes tight and moans aloud.

Benrey moans, too, as his lips part from Gordon's dick to envelop his fingers instead. He pants through his nose and shuffles awkwardly, and the uncomfortable motion gets Gordon to open his eyes again. And he really looks, this time.

Oh.

He's hard.

Benrey's hard, and he's rocking his hips forward into the barren earth. And he's got his hands on Gordon instead of himself. Thumbing his chest and spreading him open. The burden of that knowledge makes Gordon pant like a dog.

"Oh my God," he warbles, voice cracking as Benrey draws patterns into his stomach with his tongue, "are you-- are you not gonna--"

Gordon slaps his hands over his mouth, suddenly regretting his words. No, he's not going to ask if Benrey's gonna touch his own dick, Jesus Christ. That's none of his business. What does he even care, anyway. It's not like he wants to see it. Not like he's curious about how big it would look once Benrey whipped it out. Gordon's aware of the general, you know, size and girth, proportionally, but it looks so much bigger down there, even in the confines of his work pants. It's not really fair.

And then Benrey grunts against him and flicks the tip of his tongue against his dick even faster, and Gordon can't stop the agonized whine that forces its way out of him.

> Benrey's tongue rolls up Gordon's body yet again, and again, and again. It envelops his dick, his thighs, his stomach, and everything in between. He watches, he waits, and eventually he hears Gordon's voice small and broken from his palm. It is enough to make him recoil, to open the floodgates in his mind. That warm feeling floods the inside of his skull and drowns out every thought out but lust, who is gasping for air defiantly.

> "Huh?"

> Benrey pauses, looking down at Gordon--soaked and slimy and oh-so-small--laying with his legs parted, his face flushed, his eyes locked on the very prominent erection straining against his pants. His own trail down to it and he smirks as the weight of Gordon's almost-question hits him.

> "Oh... huh? Wha? Touch myself? Is, uh, is that what you were gonna say?"

> He leans down over Gordon, tongue sticking out between sharp teeth but frustratingly distant from his body. The hand he'd once used to manhandle his human pulled away, fingers slipping into his waistband behind his belt. He sneers, but there is no actual malice behind it. Feigned mockery, just to make Gordon grow brighter. Redder.

> "You... seem to like the idea. You, uh. You... you wanna see? That what you want? Wanna see best friend Benrey's massive hog? Wanna... wanna touch it?"

> A pause, a laugh.

> "Want me to touch it? Seems you like the idea. I can do it. Just, uh, gotta say so."

Gordon mumbles a quiet plea into his hands, begging for some higher power to-- to do something. He doesn't know what. All he knows is that Benrey's sticking his tongue between his teeth, now, looking at him as if he's some problem to be solved or some piece of furniture to wrangle into place. Instead of keeping that tongue right where he had it. Gordon squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose. He's not disappointed, actually. That would involve caring about what Benrey was doing at all. Which he doesn't.

"You can... you can do whatever you want, man. It's your life," he says, not meeting Benrey's eyes.

Not like he wants to... oh, God. That's Benrey's hand in his pants, isn't it? Slipping under the waistband before Gordon’s even finished his sentence. A sound escapes him that he really wishes wouldn't. He’s really into this, huh, Gordon thinks distantly, just as surprised by the realization as he has been all the previous times he’s figured out that, yes, Benrey actually is pretty hot for him. Like he’s still waiting for the Band-Aid to be ripped off, even now. Even after Benrey’s sucked his dick in a fucking dumpster. (You take what you can get.)

And-- And there it is, huh. Larger than life. Gordon swallows, a little intimidated. Then he wants to curse himself out for feeling intimidated by Benrey’s dick. Freud would have a field day with him.

[seat-safety-switch]

Maybe this is just me, but I find that when I’ve taken apart some complex object and put it (mostly) back together again, it’s no longer an imposing, discrete object in my mind. Having had the experience of seeing what each bit, chunk, wire, and bolt is doing, I now must treat it as an assembly, which is French for “pile of bullshit.” This is one of many reasons why I can’t be a surgeon.

Last year, I had the privilege of hanging out with a couple of high-end subatomic particle scientists. It was their weekend retreat, and I was staying at the same hotel. I had taken a self-driving car (an Uber on someone else’s credit card) all the way up there in order to buy a Ramcharger. Said Dodge barely made it back down the mountain before erupting into a fireworks display consisting mostly of water pump impeller, but them’s the breaks sometimes. Anyway, after our shared bitch fest in the bar, they decided in their drunken haze that I must also be some kind of scientist-type, and invited me to come tour their lab later.

Back at home, I decided I would take them up on it. One of the reasons is that I find it hard in my adult age to retain friends due to my pattern of sabotaging relationships for cheap or free parts. The other reason is that labs are often very inefficient, and throw out perfectly good parts for cheap or free, and I’m sure my new friends wouldn’t mind me going through their junkpile after I travelled all that way. So I put on my cleanest college-engineering-department t-shirt, headed over to the lab, and soon I was being given a tour of their cool new particle accelerator. It turns out that the old one was a bit shit, and this one could do numbers that started with “giga,” made my hair (and other extremities) stand on end when it cranked up, and looked like the large intestine of a German Shepherd after you threw it into an electrical substation.

As these things do, the tour soon moved on, but I kept thinking about the accelerator. If that thing could whack particles apart, then I could finally hold one over on my rival, Steve “Nipples” Hemingway, at being the better dismantler. I faked a stomach-ache and ran to the nearest bathroom – or so my new friends thought. It took awhile to figure out the control panel for the particle accelerator, but I eventually decided upon the standard-issue “squint and then push every green button” technique that had served me well up until this point.

All this is not to say that I take culpability for plunging Earth into the Hell Dimension. That’s up to my lawyer, who may also literally be Satan, to argue. What I am going to admit to is that I now find the concept of interdimensional travel extremely boring. It’s just a bunch of gluons and shit all shook up and put into a bag. Whoa, hey, is that a Game Boy you’ve got there? Let me at that thing. I still don’t know how they managed to cram Italians in there.

[angelicmark]

pairing: sniper!renjun x runaway!reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff?

warnings: gun use, fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, sad

wc: 7.5k

summary: he’s a sniper, you’re a runaway. how could that possibly work?

➣ apart of the narcissistic lovers series

↳ masterlist

eyes closed. focus.

the air was heavy, almost hard to breathe as you stood, listening at every angle you could. you could feel someone watching you, everyone was watching for you but this presence was different. you could almost taste them. you smile softly to yourself, eyes still shut lightly. you lick your lips, the air being different and a lot cooler on your skin sitting on top of a roof. that’s when you hear it, the click and trigger you were waiting for. your smile grows as you turn your head in the direction of the person chasing you down. they hold a gun in their hands, a sniper to be exact. the second they look into the scope, they back away slightly as they see you looking directly into it. you wave a little, your teeth showing in a bright smile.

“got you,” you whisper to yourself with gritted teeth. this was a play of power and money. everyone wanted your head chopped off or with a bullet in the back of it. did everyone really think you were that careless to let your guard down? they couldn’t be that stupid. your raise your glasses, “zoom in, vera.” immediately, your glasses react to your demand and you get a close, lovely look of your rival.

he was beautiful. his hair was fluffy and his eyes were piercing right through you, dark under the soft glow of the streetlight. all black clothes, as predicted, and black gloves covering his hands. he had an innocent look on his face, and you were almost uncertain he was the one out to get you, but seeing the sniper in his hands and being caught red-handed makes all the difference. he was going to kill you. well, was.

you sigh, taking off the glasses and tilting your head with the same smile from earlier. you won’t forget that pretty face for awhile, how sad the two of you couldn’t have met on other circumstances. you would have loved to have him beneath you, or maybe even above you in bed. you shake your head, chuckling to yourself. how sad.

you decide to let him live, opting for a quick smile as you run off. he gapes at how fast you move, trying to gain strength inside his body to just.. shoot you. get the job done. the reward was high, he wouldn’t have to worry about another bill ever again. and yet, he chose to let you run. he watched as you left, seeing the way your smile charmed the way through his head. he cursed, how could he let that happen? he has never once missed, let alone let anyone run off like that.

he’ll get you, next time for sure.

you were exhausted. with a large price over your head, you couldn’t exactly go out and enjoy your day to a nice meal and a walk in the park. you had to either steal your food, or dress in overly heavy clothes. you sigh, taking a bite of your nicely heated noodles. at least you had ramen when all else failed. you didn’t have friends, considering they were all after you, too. but, you guessed that was just common sense. you would probably want the money, too. especially in these circumstances. but no one knew what they were fighting for. they just saw you as a price tag they deeply wanted to steal.

you had a specific hide out, opting to stay there only some nights in case someone discovered you. this was one of those nights. it wasn’t the easiest spot to sleep, nor the warmest. but it was the safest. you smile to yourself as you blow on your ramen, taking a large bite. people were so gullible when it came to a large chunk of money. you were honestly surprised you weren’t killed yet, but you were once an assassin too. and you were damn good at it, too. nothing went over your head that easily. and you were grateful for it.

finishing up, you clean away the mess you had made. the air had a chilling bite to it, but you were lucky enough to have some heavy blankets just in case. you look out your small window, the space being very limited. a part of you wished for a normal life outside of this one. but, who would you be without all of this? you couldn’t imagine it. not one bit.

stretching, you smirk a bit. another day of running around had you tired out, but never tired enough. you made sure of it. if you did end up getting way too tired, you always slept uneasily. nightmare after nightmare, hour after hour. when it came to sleeping deeply, you would always wake up in a fearish sweat, checking the clock with shaky eyes and a trembling body. you had your downfalls, too. you weren’t perfect, far from it. nightmares were definitely one of them.

but you get to sleep easy that night, another day awaiting you and begging to come sooner. what a relief.

you huff out a breath of air, anger seeping through your teeth. you were normally calm, quiet, easy to the heart. but you were honestly pissed off at this point. you knew your circumstances, but if these idiots don’t piss off soon, they were going to be killed first before they even got to lay a hand on you.

“piss off!” you yell, and there’s a snarl in your voice. you weren’t like this. no, not one bit. you breathe in a deep refreshing breath of air. you need to calm down. when you open your eyes again, you’re met with a different pair of glowering eyes. you raise an eyebrow, “and who might you be?”

“not going to matter once you’re dead,” he tilts his head, a smile creeping on his pretty face.

then it dawns on you. he was the man from that one night, fluffy black hair dude. you smile, you just couldn’t help yourself, “aw, why not?” you pout, this was too fun for you.

he feels his chest tighten at the look in your eyes, “you really don’t care, do you?” he shows his sniper, the head of the gun resting on the ground as he leans on it slightly.

“or i know you’re not going to kill me,” you place your hands behind your back, your hands creeping into your satchel and baring a knife. “but, yeah, i kind of don’t care.” you shrug your shoulders, a smile playing on your lips with ease. “what’s the point of living when you have a price over your head? if someone does get me, they win. fair game. i just like playing while i can.”

he scowls, “you’re sick.” but he likes it. why does he like it? you had blood lust in your bones, he didn’t. he was just a man trying to live and provide for everyone he cared about. you were just a woman playing a game, a game that included your life.

“if i’m sick,” you clutch your knife behind your back, a smile still on your face, “then you’re sicker.” suddenly, you kick back his gun, shoving it on the ground as far away as you can.

he’s shocked, eyebrows creasing in anger, “what the fuck-” he’s on the ground in seconds. he wasn’t as sharp as he thought he was. and, soon, you have a knife to his neck, straddling his waist with smiling eyes.

“aw,” you coo, a fake pout on your features, “i thought you were going to kill me?” the alleyway gave you such a pretty look. the moonlight was truly doing you justice right now. why was he admiring you?! you had a fucking knife to his neck! you shift on him, pressing the knife a little deeper. “you know, this is actually the closest someone has gotten to killing me.” your voice was filled with admiration for the man beneath you. but the knife on his neck still didn’t waver, “i actually almost want to keep you.”

“fuck off,” he spits back, anger deep in his eyes. no fucking way would he let you keep him. he wasn’t made for you, fuck no.

you laugh a little, “careful,” you lean closer to his face, your breaths starting to mix in the cold air, “you still haven’t killed me.”

“yet,” he replies.

you smile while nodding your head, “yet.”

you get off of him with ease, and you know he’s going to reach for his sniper, so you step on the hand that was closest to it. he snarls in your direction as you stand above him. he’s quick to grab your ankle, but not fast enough. you easily kick it back with a roll of your eyes and a glare. he was really testing your patience.

“give it up, pretty boy,” you scoff, going to pick up the gun yourself. you look through the small lense before whistling softly, “she’s a keeper.”

he lays down, slightly defeated, “yeah, now can i have her back?”

you trace your fingertips along the cold, biting metal. you smile, “of course. it’s no fun if i take away your only weapon.” you place it down softly, before scooting it away with your foot, “but i can’t have you trying to kill me while i run away.”

you reach into your small satchel, grinning wildly as you pull out rope. the man scoffs at you, “typical.”

you easily tie him up, well, without the ocassional kicks and hits he tried to land on you. but soon enough, you were done and he was leaning against the brick wall with a sour face.

you toss him the knife that was previously against his neck, “here, use this to get out.” you smile at him with warm eyes, “you know, you’re actually really fucking hot. if this was any other time, maybe we could get to know each other. but, i see we both have different motives.” you nod your head at him, gesturing to the gun, “see you later, pretty boy.”

and, once again, you were gone.

your mind was a little off the next day. but you did your best to stay sharp and on guard, you had to. you breathe out, resting your head in your hand while sitting on top of some random rooftop. you were bored, but wildly distracted. the male with dark hair was strikingly beautiful and for some reason he was taking up your brain. you huff out, scoffing to yourself and cursing. he wasn’t worth the time you were spending thinking of him. he had one thing in mind, and it was killing you for the money.

you were level-headed, sure. but that didn’t mean you didn’t have weak points. much to everyone’s disbelief, you were quite the hopeless romantic. but nothing could ever work out for you. you were crazy, off the rails. plus your name was everywhere imaginable. no one wanted you, unless it was your dead body for the large amount of money. and that’s why you couldn’t trust anyone, never ever going to be able to live even a fraction of a normal life.

hearing a click behind your head was what caught you by surprise, freezing in your spot. your shoulders tense, before you smirk and put on a brave face all over again. here you go.

the cold metal of the gun sticks to the back of your head, “can i at least know your name?” you pout, knowing the person behind you could hear it.

they scoff, “why? you’re going to be dead anyway.”

ah, so it was him.

“wow, you’re back,” you smile, “most people don’t come back for this many tries, you know. now i have to know your name.” you feign excitement. it was true, not many people tried this hard. there’s silence after awhile, and you start to think you’ve ticked him off, before he breaks it again.

“renjun.”

it was brief, not much to discuss. your eyes widen in surprise, and you make quick work of turning yourself around so the head of the gun was pressing into your forehead. it was a different one this time. you sigh dreamily at him, looking at him with pretty, innocent eyes.

“such a fitting name, renjun,” you lick your lips, and he grunts at you, his jaw ticking as the hold on the gun tightens. you so desperately wanted to lick along it, but knew you wouldn’t have that chance in a million years.

why was his heart beating so fast? he could hear it in his ears, begging to slow down. the way his name sounded coming out of your mouth was so pretty, he almost wanted more. was he sick for wanting more? was he fucking creepy?

you tilt your head at him, “why haven’t you clicked the trigger yet, renjun?” your voice was so damn pretty. “don’t you want to kill me? just like everyone else?” your voice was sweet, but your eyes were glaring. you had a bitter look, and he hated the thought that you were thinking of him as everyone else. but, wasn’t he? he was here, trying to kill you. just like everyone else. just as you said.

slowly, he lowers the gun.

your eyes run wide, your body starting to shake and your eyes examining his every move. what the hell was he doing? there is no way he could have grown a soft spot for you over such a short amount of time. you were worth so much money, he could have it all. why was he doing this?

to be honest, he didn’t know why. he wanted to know why. he desperately wanted to just raise that gun back up and.. kill you. but, he couldn’t. his body wasn’t moving, and his bones were starting to give out. he could do it right now, get all the money to himself and help everyone he loved. but, the second he looks back into your eyes, he finds himself dropping the gun onto the ground. it makes a loud noise as it hits the concrete, filling your ears in the silence. the wind blows chills down your back as the two of you look at each other. you were shocked, and he was internally battling himself.

“is this..” you swallow, your voice growing shaky, “is this some kind of sick joke?!” your voice raises a bit, anger starting to surface as he looks at you with mild confusion, “i mean, come on, you could have easily shot me! is there something wrong with your head right now?!”

he watches as you start to lose your cool, but he can’t seem to respond properly. he was losing his mind, but stood in silence as he took your screaming and swallowed it down like a pill. your eyes were growing blurry, tears starting to cover them. you huff, turning away from him so he doesn’t see them. why were you fucking crying? were you disappointed he didn’t do it? or were you relieved he didn’t? you didn’t know. but you so desperately wanted to.

“yeah, i think so.” he answers after awhile, and you’re about to ask him what the hell he meant before he continues, “i think there is something wrong with my head right now.”

you whip back around, your demeanor more cool-headed now that you had a chance to catch your breath. his eyes were dark under the faded lights, but he still looked extremely beautiful from where you stood. he was too close, yet too far. he hadn’t moved an inch since getting there, like his feet couldn’t move and were glued to the ground. you sigh, eyes looking towards the night sky.

“can’t blame you,” you shrug your shoulders with a casual intent, “i think there’s something wrong with mine, too.” you look back into his confused eyes with a gleaming smile. you were pretty, too perfect in his eyes. dressed in all black, you looked even more appealing to him. you could say the same for him.

he awkwardly shifts around before responding, “why is everyone even chasing you?”

you stiffen in your spot, looking at him with a stoic expression. and he’s about to take his question back, before you answer him, “father. i tried killing him because he was abusive towards both my mother and me. then he suddenly put a price over my head for my dead body.” your answer was vague, but it was all he needed in order to understand. you haven’t told anyone, nor has anyone asked. it was new. did you appreciate it?

he nods, “right.” he doesn’t say much, and you’re grateful for it. you didn’t need sympathy, anything but that. and a part of him understood that.

you start to walk towards him, and he wants to move away, but he doesn’t. he wants to curse at the way your scent starts to make his body start to go a bit rigid, but he stays put. you were beautiful, the moon shining over your features as he drunk in your appearance. you had such a pretty little smile stretching on your face, so close to his. you stood directly in front of him, your breaths starting to mix together. and you notice the small hitch in his as you lean in.

“you’re really pretty, you know,” your voice struck him like lightning. the jolt he got down his spine was almost embarrassing.

he gulps, his hands starting to claw at the ends of his sweater, “the fuck?” his words were harsh as he tilts his head a bit, but you could tell he was only putting up a front. you grin wickedly.

“you were so close to killing me,” your eyes scan all across his face, “but you didn’t.”

he scoffs, “thanks for pointing out the obvious. i could pick up the gun again-”

“but you won’t,” you state. and he shuts his mouth closed. you smile again at the look on his face, annoyance starting to resurface there. “i like you.” you blurt out, his words catching you by surprise.

his eyes widen, before he scowls, “i keep trying to kill you, why would you-”

you cut him off again, “but you didn’t do it.” you lean closer, a hand coming up to trail along his jaw and he tenses visibly. you drop your hand with a chuckle, “i like you.” you repeat the sentence, your eyes intensely searching his, “i want to keep you. for myself.”

just how crazy were you? and just how fucking crazy was he for liking the idea?

“that’s fucking weird,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t resist the idea. and you grin, not missing the small detail.

“let me show you something,” you say with a small swing in your body. you had a cute expression on your face, excitement visable. he huffs, hating the fact that he liked it so much.

“like what?” he was still cautious, but you couldn’t blame him. you could be quite scary when you wanted to be.

“come with me,” you hold your hand out.

it takes him awhile of switching his gaze between your hand and your pretty smile, before slowly taking it. the walk was quite silent, but the grip you had on his hand never let up. even when your hands both got sweaty, you would only look at him with a curious look when he tried to break away. and he couldn’t bring it in himself to let go after that.

when you finally reach the small house you had set up, you grin as you unlock the door. the both of you step in, and he looks around cautiously as he drinks in the atmosphere. it was extremely clean, and surprisingly sleek. you kept yourself together, he could see. was this where you lived?

“i live here,” you answer for him, as if you could read his mind. he looks at you with uneasy eyes, “don’t worry, i’m not killing you. that’s not my job anymore. everyone’s out for me this time.” you shrug your shoulders, hanging up your coat. he eases into the idea of being in your home, but not moving from his spot. you smile warmly, eyes searching his, “calm down, i like you. i don’t have any intent on hurting you.”

he nods his head, “but why?”

you pause for a moment, thinking it over, “i told you why. you didn’t kill me, even though you could have. that’s worth something, right? or am i wrongfully judging you? i noticed you pick up the gun on the way over here before we left.”

he swallows, “no, you’re not wrong.” he takes the gun out, placing it on your kitchen counter that was right next to him. the cute grin on your face that appears makes his heart race.

“i knew i wasn’t,” you lean against the counter, crossing one leg over another. he drinks in your appearance again, his body wanting to fall at your feet all over again. his whole entire body was aching for you, terribly so, too. “why won’t you kill me?”

he looks into your eyes, “i don’t know.” and it’s true, he didn’t know. he really didn’t.

you nod your head, “can i kiss you?”

he chokes on his spit, eyes wide as he coughs a bit, “w- what the fuck?!”

you grin wildly again, “i didn’t hear a no,” you sing out, and he blushes softly.

“that’s such an odd quest-”

before he could finish his sentence, you were already leaning in and kissing him softly. your lips were soft, and his were heaven. he was hesitant, only slowly starting to ease into it. his hands latched onto your sides as fast as they could, fingernails digging into you. you sigh into the kiss, and it was a lot less eager than you expected. it wasn’t as sexually frustrated as you assumed. it was sweet, soft, slow. something you weren’t used to. it was such a nice feeling, though. making you lean even closer to his body as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. you never wanted to move away from him, never wanted to forget this moment.

your hands traveled from his shoulders up to his scalp, tangling into his soft black hair that you knew him so well for. it was a lot softer than you imagined, making you hum in his mouth. he licks along your bottom lip, and you were quick to grant him access. he grins a bit in delight, a noise of approval bubbling in his chest. he tasted like mint, and you tasted like strawberry. it was such a pretty contrast, much to his pleasure. he groans when you pull a little harder on his strands, backing you into the counter and smirking when you let out a small whine.

you smelled so sweet, like soft lavender and raspberries. he didn’t really know why, but he loved it. he could smell your shampoo, your laundry soap, and the candles in the room. you were intoxicating for him, just as much as he was for you. his kisses were growing more and more aggressive, until there was no more room to argue the fact that the two of you were heated more than you should be. his tongue explored yours, easily taking the lead with no problem. you let him, but as the two of you pull away, you suck on his tongue and grin at him when the two of you part with panting breaths. your chests were heaving, and he stares at you with deep concentration.

“what the hell is it about you?” he questions, brows furrowing, “i shouldn’t be in the slightest attracted to you, but i am.”

you trail a hand along his cheek, thumb rubbing soothing circles. you smile when he leans into your soft touches, “i shouldn’t be attracted to you either, but i am.”

he sighs, head falling onto your shoulder as he places kisses there, sucking and making you gasp when he bites softly. he grins at that, placing his kisses along your neck and jaw, peppering you in sweet pecks. you ease into his arms, one of your hands clutching onto his shoulder while the other stays in his hair. he makes quick work to lift you onto the counter, and you raise an eyebrow as he leans back and studies you for a minute.

“can i fuck you?” he tilts his head, eyebrows starting to furrow again. you chuckle at his blunt question.

you place your hands on his shoulders before you start to swivel your hips against the buldge in his pants, “why ask?”

this was all he needed before he grips tightly onto your hips, pulling you against him and attacking your neck again. these kisses were rougher than the last, and you sigh at the feeling of his tongue swiping over your sweet spot. you clutch tighter onto his shoulders, moaning very quietly when he bites down. he wants more of those noises, the small sound sending blood rushing to his cock. you were so pretty, even the smallest noises had him going and wanting more and more.

his hand is quick to unbutton your pants, sliding them off with ease. he smiles to himself when he sees the small wet patch between your legs, “how long have you wanted this?” he tsked, “so naughty, baby.”

you let out a soft gasp mixed with a moan when he rubs you through your panties, eyes starting to pleade him when he rubs vicious on your clit. it was so good, so warm, but definitely not enough. you needed more.

“please, renjun,” you whine his name, clutching onto the hand that’s rubbing you. he let’s you guide his hand to reach beneath the constricting fabric, his fingers feeling just how wet you really were for him. “please touch me.”

your eyes were begging for him, and he couldn’t deny you for any longer. he inserts two fingers suddenly, making your mouth hang open in a long moan. he relishes in the way your eyes start to roll back with lust, the expression good enough to eat. he curls his fingers up immediately, wanting more of your sweet sounds. and he got them, the sound echoing off the walls and traveling right into his ears. his thumb was working just as feverishly on your clit as his fingers were that were inside of you. it felt so fucking good, his fingers working deliciously on you.

“fuck,” you breathe out, looking at him with such a pretty expression, “feels so good, renjun.”

he’s quick to pull his fingers out, making you whine and watch as he slips them into his mouth, “want you to cum on my cock,” he says simply. you nod and smile eagerly. he can’t help the smile that creeps up on his face. “do you have any condoms? i wasn’t expecting-”

“cum inside me,” you pull him back towards you as you see him start to back away, “please? really want you to fill me up.”

he gulps at the expression on your face, “shit,” he breathes out, “fuck, yeah, okay.”

you grin at him, watching as he starts to undress and you help him with his shirt as he takes off his pants and boxers. when he’s fully naked, he slips your panties off along with your shirt and bra. everything was moving so fast, but you weren’t complaining. not after seeing his long, pretty girth practically begging you to take him. he smiles at you admiring him, and you pull him in for another kiss. this one was more eager than the last, teeth clashing and tongues meeting incredibly fast.

you groan when you feel him start to push in the tip of his cock, and you have to break away as he slams into you all of a sudden, making you lose your breath. his hips were moving in no time, making you moan and whine in his ear and he chuckles at the sweet noises he’s granting out of you.

“fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he licks the shell of your ear before biting down on it. you moan again, biting down onto his shoulder as your nails start to scrape at his back. “i can feel you clenching around me, practically begging me to fucking take you.” he was pounding into you at this point, his words making you throw your head back with your mouth open in a silent scream. he licks his lips, kissing along your neck and biting down more harshly than before.

“renjun,” you whine, fingernails digging into his skin so deliciously, “fuck, you’re so fucking good.”

“yeah?” he pants, a groan of his own surfacing when he feels you clench again, “such a good girl you are, taking my cock so well, princess.”

you whine at the same, and he’s working his hips so well that when he starts to press his thumb against your clit again, your body starts to spasm against him, moaning and mewling for him.

“please, oh fuck,” he was so deep inside of you, making you whine out and curl your toes in pleasure, “gonna cum soon, please.”

his dick pulses inside of you at the noises you make, “come on, baby. you can cum,” he breathes out, leaning back to take a long look at your face, “but don’t fucking close your eyes. keep your eyes on me when you cum, let me see just how pretty you really are.” he licks his lips when your walls flutter again, “cum on my cock, angel.”

and you lose it, wailing out and struggling to keep your eyes open and focused on him as you cum around him and dig the heels of your feet into his back while your nails dig into his shoulders again. he groans at the feeling of you significantly getting tighter and tighter. he rides you through your orgasm, huffing and watching the way your eyes start to flutter when you finish. he stays still for a little bit, letting you enjoy your afterglow before starting to move again.

“s- sensitive,” you try to push him back, but you struggle a bit and end up pulling him back in when you start to feel just how good the curve of his dick feels when he moves inside of you again.

he snaps into you, “i haven’t cum yet, sweetheart.” he kisses along your jaw, and you whine when he swivels his hips into yours, your abused clit more sensitive than the rest of your body. you unintentionally tighten around him and he grins as he picks up the pace again, going at it and wanting to see you fall apart for the second time. “i know you can take one more for me, can’t you, baby?”

you nod your head eagerly, “yes, yes. i can, renjun.” your name sounds so sweet coming from you, and he grins all the same. “i can.”

“good girl,” he sighs, and he picks up the original pace and sets his thumb right against your swollen bud all over again. the extra sensitivity makes you mewl and wail against him, so close to cumming already when he barely even did anything. “fuck, already, baby? that’s okay, cum for me again. such a good fucking girl.”

you whine, cumming for the second time that night and he doesn’t stop his pace as he feels your pussy start to milk him of his cum, “fuck, please, fill me up, renjun. would love your cum inside of me.” your voice eggs him on, and soon enough, he’s releasing inside of you with a long groan, his white sticky cum filling you up impossibly deep.

“oh, fuck,” he shudders a bit, his body going stiff as he clutches tightly onto your hips with both hands. he sighs, letting out a long breath of air as you groggily look at him step away and pull out of you. both of you wince at the loss of contact, but his eyes quickly advert to the way his cum drips out of you. he hums in satisfaction before looking up at you again. your eyes were droopy and you looked exhausted. “need sleep?” he asks, pulling on his boxers with ease and handing you his shirt.

you grin and take his shirt as you slip it over your head, “mm, yeah..”

he chuckles a bit before scooping you up and placing you in your room and on your bed as you guide him to where it was. you yawn happily, a smile on your face. he rushes to grab a wash cloth, and when he’s done cleaning you, he looks unsure of what to do, worrily looking at you and debating on whether he should lay next to you or not.

“you can stay,” you say, grabbing onto his hand and pulling him down with you. “don’t leave, not yet.” you whisper, curling into his arms with such a natural vice that he has no other option than to stay. not that he wanted to anyway.

“okay,” he whispers back, “i won’t.”

he’s quickly eased into sleep when he notices the rise and fall in your chest against his, smiling softly as he admires your sleeping form.

what the hell did he just get himself into?

when morning rises, you expect him to be gone. but he’s not. he’s still asleep, his eyes fluttering while in a deep sleep. how is it possible for him to sleep more than you? you certainly didn’t get as much as he did. but you admired the way he looked anyway. he was beautiful, so innocent when in a deep rest. and it aches your poor heart. because there isn’t a single way the two of you could stay together in this universe. definitely not this one, at least.

he can feel your gaze on him the moment he opens his eyes, and you smile sweetly at him. his bed head and the sunlight shining in on the two of you felt almost unreal. he was way too pretty in the mornings, it was almost unfair.

“morning,” he groggily says, his voice creaking just a bit. and you admire it all the same.

“morning,” you answer back, a smile gracing your delicate features. you’re normally drawn in some kind of twisted smile or grin, so seeing you in such a sleepy haze makes his chest tighten just a bit. you were incredibly beautiful, how could he ever resist you? why did you have to have such a complicated backstory? it made his head hurt, an eager mind on finishing off your father for you. you didn’t deserve this, not one bit.

he catches sight of the glasses held in an expensive case, his eyebrows furrowing as he grabs them, “what are these?”

you smile, “that’s vera, she’s good at zooming in on things when they’re too far. like enemies and stuff like that. she’s pretty useful, i designed her myself.” you pride yourself as you lay next to him. he smiles a bit, enjoying the overflowing pride that hung over your shoulders. “you can try them on. just say, ‘zoom in, vera’ and she does exactly that.”

he slips them on easily, the glasses covering his eyes nicely. they were a little bright, but he assumed they were mostly made for nighttime, “zoom in, vera.” and the glasses suddenly become extremely close to the vase that rested on your desk. they held no flowers, but the intricate details the glasses displayed made a low whistle come out, “woah,” he chuckles a bit before taking them off, his head growing a bit dizzy, “those are really fucking cool.”

you grin, “right?! and super useful for me.” he loves how excited you were. the way your eyes would gleam so prettily under the rising sunlight. you were surely a genius, a lot smarter than him. he admired your work, admired how strong you really were.

you were truly a sight to be reckon with.

it felt like he had known you his whole life. the days pass and pass between the two of you. and he constantly visits you, always around you. it’s like you have an invisible leash on him. he wants to always be with you. and an undeniable glow grows between you two. it’s like it blossoms into a bright spring, making his heart flutter any time he had the pleasure of hearing you laugh, seeing you smile, all caused by him.

you were on the couch, his arms loosely hanging around you as you sat on his lap. it was so comfortable around him. he didn’t judge you, even stopped seeing you as a valuable price tag like everyone else. it was like you were almost living a normal life.

but you weren’t.

and reality always knew a way to strike you right back in the face.

“i’m not normal, renjun.” you break the silence that fell over the two of you, and he stares at you with a questioning look. “i don’t get a happy ending.”

he looks away for a moment. he knows that. do you think he doesn’t know that? in all honesty, it’s all he can think about at night when he holds you tight in his arms before falling asleep. it was painful to think about. but he couldn’t help himself, and it seemed you couldn’t either.

“i want to make you happy while i can.” and he means it. he really does.

you smile sadly at him, looking at him with guilt written deep in your eyes, “i don’t deserve you. you don’t deserve this mess.”

“but i’m here, aren’t i?” he says, and his eyes are desperately trying to pull you out of whatever bad headspace you were in. “i don’t care what i deserve. i want you. that’s it.”

you brush a strand of hair out of his face, “i want you too. you do make me happy. i haven’t felt like this in a really, really long time.”

“you make me happy, too.” he states with ease. and you bite your lower lip before pressing a soft kiss to his pretty lips. he was too good for you. he deserved someone who could go out on dates with him, someone who could really cherish him without having to run away from everything, someone who could always be there. that wasn’t you. none of those things were you.

“i can’t go out with you. i can’t watch movies or walk around the park with you at night. i can’t hold your hand and go shopping. i can’t be in public.” you start, going to kiss his cheek as your voice starts to grow shaky and your eyes turn heavy, “i can’t give you the normal, cheesy romance that everyone dreams of. i can’t give you the love i know you deserve..” you pause, looking away for a moment, “i’m not the type of person anyone can love, or deserves to love. i don’t deserve that kind of love. least of all, from you. you deserve the cheesy romance. the kind that sweeps you off of your feet. i can’t give you that. i’ll never, ever be able to give you that.”

his eyes fill with tears, some falling down his cheeks as he stares at you with slight frustration, “i don’t care! i don’t fucking care for that kind of shit, i-”

“but i do,” you were speaking so softly, so calm. you ease off of his lap onto the spot next to him, “i do, renjun. and that’s what hurts.”

he’s silent. for what feels like the longest time, he’s silent. and he now knows what he’s going to do. he’s going to get you out of this.

days pass after that discussion, and renjun doesn’t contact you or even tries to visit you anymore. and you assume he’s moving on, but you don’t blame him. you would too if you were him. you’ll never forget the memories he had given you in such a short amount of time. the feeling he managed to give you. it was remarkable. he was beautiful. inside and out, you meant it.

so, when he barges through your door, catching you by complete surprise, your heart leaps out of your chest when he hands you a large amount of paper. you furrow your eyebrows, seeing a fake ID, flight tickets, and hotel check ins. you stare at the papers, then him. what the fuck?

“renjun-”

“i don’t want to hear it,” he seethes, his teeth clenching as his voice grows deep, “i managed to get you a flight out of here, with a fake ID. you’ll be going with a personal escort and wear these clothes i bought for you,” he drops the duffle bag around his shoulder, “no one should notice. i bought them according to when it’s the less crowded time. i have friends who work at the airport, so don’t worry. it’s all quite fucking convenient, really.” he huffs, his shoulders finally slouching, “i grew attached to you too quickly. i was afraid of losing you, so i stayed by your side through it all. i figured if i was there, nothing would happen. but i can’t always be here, can i?” the question was rhetorical as he looks away for a moment, eyes seemingly more focused on the floor beneath your feet, “these past few weeks with you, they were nothing i’ve ever experienced before. but neither of us can keeping going like this. i know that now.

“when you told me that you cared for those kinds of things, i knew i had to get you out of here. so that you could live those dreams of yours. you deserve that much. and, even though i know it can’t be me, i just want you happy. i want you to feel that, with at least someone.” he looks at you with glossy eyes, and you’re stuck in a state of shock as tears start to flood your own eyes. “i was selfish thinking i could keep you here.”

the air turns cold. and you feel a shiver run down your spine as you break into a fit of tears. you were breaking apart, feeling like you were finally able to get an ending you’ve always wanted. but, was it worth it if the ending didn’t involve renjun? you really didn’t think so.

“i can’t leave, not without-”

“yes, you can. and you will,” he brushes his thumb along your cheek, and you’re suddenly aware of how close he had gotten, “chase your weird, cliché dreams i know you love to think about, angel. promise me, you’ll never forget about me, though.”

and you do. you do promise him, because you know it’s impossible to forget someone who went through hell and back to make such silly dreams of yours come true. he wanted you happy. he knew you were tired, knew you were running a very thin rope. it was either this, or one day someone ends up killing you. he couldn’t go with, and you knew this. you knew he had other things to take care of here before he could really move forward. he wasn’t ready. but he needed you to be.

and when the day comes to leave, you remember kissing him. you remember kissing him, all while knowing it would be the very last time. knowing you wouldn’t be able to have him like this, not until the two of you meet in a less fucked up universe that wasn’t this one.

“one day,” he says, “i know we’ll be together. maybe not now, or in this world, or in this universe.” he pauses, resting his forehead on yours, “but i know, one way or another, we will find each other.” he smiles softly at you.

your eyes well up, “thank you, renjun. for everything.”

he shakes his head with a sad chuckle, “don’t. you deserve this.” a kiss on the cheek, and he was finally easing you out of his grip.

and you were walking away.

“i love you.” you whisper, and you know he couldn’t hear it the farther you start to walk away. tears were undeniably falling at this point, sniffling could probably be heard if someone was standing too close.

you managed to love him like some kind of summer romance. and even though it wasn’t something straight out of a movie, and even though it didn’t have the happy ending you were hoping for. it was enough for you.

your love for renjun, was enough for you.

and his love for you, was enough for him.

“goodbye, renjun. thank you.”

i like to think that somewhere out there, on a planet exactly like ours, two people exactly like you and me made totally different choices and that, somewhere, we’re still together. that’s enough for me.

a/n: hope you liked it!

[words-for-holland]

Quarantine Series: Movie Night

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: A glimpse of what Movie Night is like for Tom & Y/N

A/N: I’ve been missing our fave couple from Quarantine Series 😩 and Fluff in general lol.

Check the Rest: Burnt Out | A New Look | Secret Cuts & Kisses | Breaking Friendships |The Birthday Week | Silence is Golden?|

Many may not know this, but at the start of Y/N & Tom’s relationship they made a couple of promises. To always be honest with each other, communicate as much as they can, and tell each other “I love you” everyday. But there was one promise they loved the most, Movie Nights every Wednesday...no exceptions! Of course, this was just a promise they made to each other at the start of Quarantine. Nonethless, it’s a Wednesday Night and the show must go on...literally.

Y/N’s alarm went off at 6 P.M., alerting her it was time to drop all her work. As she started logging off and rearranging her notes, she felt a pair of strong hands placed gently on her shoulders. “It’s Wednesday Night.” Her boyfriend whispered in her ear with a smile of excitement plastered on his face. “You know what that means.”

Y/N placed her small hands on his as she turned to give his a quick kiss. “Movie Nights with a side of cuddles?” She answered, sighing deeply in comfort. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

“Darling, I’ve waited all week.” Tom fired back, chuckling lightly. He helped her out of her seat, as he led her to the living room. “So, I’ll grab the snacks and you pick out the movie?”

Y/N looked at him, cocking her eyebrow in suspicion. “Babe, you know how long it takes for me to find a movie to watch.” It’s true. If there was one thing Y/N was well known for, it was for her indecisiveness. For Y/N, picking a movie wasn’t the kind where you could pick the first one off the self or what was in the Top 10. It had to be a movie that set the mood, had adventure, had nostalgia, with a hint of darkness and entertainment.

“I know, and I’m hoping by the time I get all the food and stuff ready, you’d find a movie by then.” Tom explained, kissing away her suspicion. “Plus I already did ask you to marry me. Im out of the surprises at the moment.”

Y/N smiled at his comment, looking at her ring and thinking about that day. “True. Im just saying it’s gonna be awhile.”

“Well, hopefully you find one within the hour.” Tom kisses the top of Y/N’s head one more time before he leaves for the kitchen. As Y/N sets up Netflix on the screen and starts her search, Harrison, Harry and Tuwaine make their way into the living room. Their faces dropping when they see Y/N, picking out a movie.

“Well lads, we picked the wrong week for Movie Night.” Harrison joked around. “Damn, I thought Tom was picking out the movie.”

“Hey! I know I take forever but I dont take THAT long.” Y/N argues as she stucks her tongue out playfully.

“Y/N, I could probably finish our movie script by the time you find one.” Harry joins in as he sits down on his usual seat at the far left corner.

“Yeah mate and I can probably do my laundry too and finish Call of Duty by the time shes done.” Tuwaine laughs, as he takes his seat.

“Look Y/N, I’ll make a bet with you. If you can find a movie in the next ten minutes I’ll give you 20 quid. How much is that in American dollars” Harrison says, with no sign of bluff.

“I think $20” Tuwaine says, when he comes to the realization of what Harrison was offering. “Oi, wait! You’re gonna give this girl 20 quid if she just picks a lousy movie?!”

“Relax you div. He knows Y/N wont just pick any movie thats why he’s betting a good chunk.” Harry says as he watches Y/N scroll through the same page for a movie.

Y/N looks back at the boys, as she smirks slightly. “Okay fine. Start the clock.”

The moment they started the timer, Y/N immediately yells, “Done! We’re watching Series of Unfortunate Events.”

Harry and Tuwain groan in unision as they look at Harrison. “Mate, now you gotta pay her 20 quid.” Tuwain whispers to him.

“Yeah, but at least you’re not waiting for another 8 hours before she picks one.” Harrison whispers back to which Tuwaine nods in agreement.

“A clever div, you are.” Tuwaine responds.

Tom enters the living room with freshley popped popcorn, Crunch bars, and Oreos. It was their usual every week and both swore they couldn’t finish Movie Night without it. “Oh cmon! I thought you’d guys wouldn’t join this week.” Tom groaned as he sees his best mates all hogging the couch with Y/N.

“Sorry mate, but Y/N picked a classic, so we’re staying....and I lost 20 quid for this.” Harrison mumbled as he sunk further into the couch.

Tom rolls his eyes as he walks past the filled couch only to stop at Y/N. He quickly scoops her up bridal style, as she squeaks at the sudden moment. Soon after, he drops her off on to the next couch, and wraps his strong arms around her tummy. Intaking her cocoa butter scent, which smelled like chocolate, he nuzzles his head into her neck. “Not the Movie Night I imagined, but as long as I get to cuddle you...it’s just as perfect.” He confesses as they watch the screen.

“Hmm...it’s always perfect with you.” Y/N mumbles as she struggles to open her eyes. It was a habit of hers to fall asleep when watching the movies she picked. Not because they were boring, but because of how comforting they were. The mood of the film, the dark atmosphere with only the television lighting up the room, Tom holding her and leaving soft kisses...how could she not?

“It’s okay darling, if you want to sleep. I got you.” He whispers, smiling into her hair. Y/N tilts her head back to look at Tom. “I know you do. I love you.” She whispers back, as Tom leans into to peck her small lips. Within minutes, Y/N falls fast asleep and so do the other boys. Tom looks around and smiles, thinking of how incredible it is to genuinely feel like he’s home. He shuts off the television once the movie ends, and places a blanket on the boys so they keep warm. For Y/N, he gently carries her off to their bedroom as he tucks both of them in, falling back asleep after yet another successful Movie Night.

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl @parkerspillow

[writing-with-olive]

Dealing With Writer’s Block! (yes, the exclamation mark is sarcastic, writer’s block sucks)

So in the past few weeks, I've been going through what is probably my worst bout of writer's block since the summer of 2019. It started from burnout from school, where I had to write about 7 times the words I normally write in a day for three days straight (~700 words per day to ~5000). It was a wreck, and I didn't do any writing for the rest of the week once I turned that in. Unfortunately, this much-needed break created some of its own problems; a feeling of "I don't know where to start" was the big one at first, and that time stretched on and I got disconnected from the story, and for a little while, straight-up indifferent toward it. Which terrified me.

Since I've really hated dealing with writer's block, I've been working on steps that can get me close enough to the story again so I can actually write, even if I can't jump into writing right away. They appear to be helping, so I decided I'd share them.

1 - I've started just by reading through some of my work that I've done for my WIP. I'm about two-thirds of the way through my first dev edits pass, so I've got a lot of content that's, well, I don't think it's great yet, but it's still pretty good. It's really low commitment right now, and it's something that doesn't take a lot of brainpower - just reading through scenes I haven't worked on in days or months, and letting myself enjoy them. This has DEFINITELY helped with reconnecting with the story and caring again.

2 - Adding something related to my WIP on my to-do list each day. One of the issues I started facing was just forgetting that my WIP was something I wanted to work on. Even if I didn't make it to whatever the thing was, having that constant reminder has been helpful in putting it back in my head that my WIP is a thing that I want to work on and make progress on.

3 - Reading through the last couple chapters, and my outline. This is more active, as the goal of it is to start thinking about what needs to happen next in my story, and how to continue off of what I've already written

4 - Write down the things that need to happen in the short term regarding my WIP. This is also action-oriented and helps me figure out in a more manageable way what needs to happen next. For example, moving things over from the documents I have on 4thewords to my draft on Google Docs, or writing X scene, or updating my outline so it reflects what I've written. These are a lot more specific than "Work on my WIP" and I've actually been able to do some of them, even if I'm not completely on the other side of this round of writer's block.

And some other things that I've learned to avoid this:

1 - Spread other things out. If you try to write a LOT more than you usually do, you're likely to end up feeling burnt out, which crushes motivation and productivity.

2 - Do the tedious work all along instead of letting it pile up. Basically, transferring my work from one platform to another is boring and takes awhile (it's useful though becuase I find issues I might not otherwise notice, and it's also when I update my outline). Becuase I found myself burnt out right before I was planning on duing a HUGE amount of transferring, I'm stuck with it now, and it's not the most motivational of tasks.

So.... yeah! 

Long story short - break it into little chunks - it's a lot more manageable.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Six

Ao3,   Masterpost,   C.1   C.2   C.3   C.4   C.5

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality. platonic dukeceit, creativitwins, and dlampr.

Yet again there are no italics. its new years eve sue me. oh also happy 2021 nobody question my priorities thanks <3

Warnings: so much softness, implications of self-isolation, swearing, Lots of Feelings, sympathetic everybody, descriptions of the sides having non-human features.

Word Count: 3,962

Something Remus came to realize was that he, a bit paradoxically, was not used to people being in his space.

It was weird. Not weird in the way that people usually felt when he was the one interrupting- he wasn’t scared by it, or disgusted, or even really annoyed. It was just… surprising, to have somebody else hanging around him, unprompted by anything. 

Remus wasn’t known for having boundaries- or respecting them, for that matter- but he’d at least been attempting to restrain himself just a bit after being accepted by the others. Out of courtesy, if nothing else. 

And apparently he didn’t need to. Not after what happened with Patton, anyway. Now that Patton had deemed the two of them ‘close’- something he was absolutely happy to agree with, for the record- Remus’ world had flipped sort of around. Back to no boundaries, only he wasn’t the one crossing those lines, and nobody was running screaming. Least of all Patton!

Remus ran the thoughts over in his head, feeling like that day was shaping up to be a great example of the change:

He and Patton were sitting side-by-side in the living room, content, with the rest of the sides spread around in different seats and configurations just the same. The unlikely pair were at the fringe of the circle, close enough to be part of things but far enough to zone in and out at will (as both were prone to do). It was nice, amiable.

 But minutes before- forty of them at most- Remus had been up in his own room, happily dissecting some gooish creations and only vaguely aware that there was a meeting that day. His attendance to group meetings varied from week to week- sometimes he was bored and could use an argument, and other times he was having fun on his own and knew that it wouldn’t be all that important if he ditched. He joined more often than he used to, sometimes he was even asked for, but he was optional still. A favored option, suggestions taken now, sure- but still not mandatory. 

He was going to stay upstairs for that one, but Patton had come to get him. Had dragged him down in that sweet, puppy-dog way of convincing that worked so well and, knowing him, was totally unintentional. And even if Remus didn’t care about arguing his way through content production right then, Patton had promised that it was important for him to be there.

That was the word he’d used for Remus. Important.

How the hell could Remus say no to that?

At least the meeting was going by without a hitch, for once. He assumed it was- Remus was honestly paying very little attention- but the lack of anger or tension was practically palpable. These things were usually so spiteful that even Remus, renowned lover of chaos, could almost taste his headache when everybody started shouting and hissing and fighting. It just got sad.

But not that time, apparently.

As Logan went on his third ramble of the evening, smiling widely at a surprising lack of interruption, Remus turned to Patton. He whispered:

“Okay, when are they gonna snap? Did they all finally get lobotomized?”

Patton frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean where’s all the screaming and crying? Specs and Prince Priss haven’t had a single one of their horny yelling matches, what gives?”

Patton smiled in a way that said he was trying very hard not to laugh, rolling his eyes.

  “These meetings have calmed down a bit, I guess,” he shrugged.

Remus glanced around the room with narrowed eyes. While that certainly seemed like the truth, he couldn’t buy it. 

“Yeah, I give it until one of them vaguely insults the others,  and then everybody’s gonna shut down for the next week. That kinda tension doesn’t just go.”

Patton didn’t say anything. Half-gazing at the carpet, he didn’t look like he’d even heard. He was smiling, but it was one of those jumbled up expressions, the type that tried to span a hundred different feelings. He had so many expressions like that, that seemed bottomless and swirling and so intricate on a humanoid face that, in reality, wasn’t built to display something like that. It was uncanny- not like an eerie doll, but like something with unearthly beauty. This face, though, had tones of upset.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been around everybody,” Patton said.

It wasn’t a question and it didn’t need to be. While Remus wasn’t exactly known for keeping to himself, he couldn't be called sociable either. He dropped in to say something, usually random, and then he was gone as soon as he’d visited. Even before the first Patton incident, fuck, it had been weeks since he’d actually stuck around through something.

Since The Acceptance, now that Remus thought of it, he’d been spending more time alone than ever. Not all of  his time- he remembered being surprised at Logan talking to him, willingly, like friends, and after that had even come Virgil and Roman. He saw people, talked to them, yeah. The time spent was friendlier, more welcoming, but it was so much less. 

Well, it was obvious why: they visited him, but- like he’d mentioned, he’d been trying to give them some space.

“Sure, it's been awhile,” Remus admitted, “But I never expected shit to change so much around here, still.”

The haze on Patton’s face thickened like fog on the moors, a soft and sympathetic mist over his eyes that Remus knew was aimed at him (even if it was pointed more to a sort of middle distance). 

“I don’t think I did, either,” Patton’s mouth barely moved, his voice less of a whisper and moreso a fragile breath. “I was hoping for it, but… I’m still trying to get used to stuff being allowed to change, you know?” He picked at a loose thread along the seam of the couch. “I haven’t done this stuff in a while, either.” 

Remus’ head shot up, and he almost forgot that they weren’t the only two in the room. Somehow, he stopped himself from shouting:

“You- it has?”

A tiny smile. Something built up behind Patton’s eyes; a wave, dark and lonely and filling his bright blues with cloudy gray. “I just needed some alone time, after everything changed so much so fast. I still feel, I dunno, weird. I don’t know what’s wrong with me- but…” he swallowed, his head lifting. “I’m really happy for them,” he was staring- so very loving- first at Logan, then Roman, then Virgil and Janus. It was a wonder none of them felt his gaze on them, Remus thought, because he was sure if anyone looked at him that way, he’d burn up like a fae upon iron. “They deserve it so much. I know that not everything is perfect still, but, I’m just so proud of us anyways. I- I think maybe-”

He cut himself off, blinking rapidly. Remus gave the room a quick once over to make sure nobody was looking their way- and nobody was: Virgil was very resolutely trying to get everyone to stay on topic despite Janus and Logan’s continued tangenting, and Roman was scribing furiously on several different pieces of paper- before he inched close enough to curve his arm around Patton. Touching like that had steadily become familiar to both of them, and it didn’t take long for Patton to fall untense against his side. He leaned into him, muttering: “I mean, they’re all doing a lot better than me, that’s for sure. I- I don’t even know what I’m for anymore. Maybe that’s why I’ve been… ditching, really.”

Remus squeezed his shoulder. There were so many things he could’ve said and done, but all of them loud and fervent and definitely not subtle enough to go unnoticed by everyone. So, for the sake of Patton’s privacy, he settled on this:

“That makes two of us, Morey.”

 The meeting that was planned to take two or three hours took the entire day, just as always. Hours and hours were spent in a room filled with excited conversation, of which the subject oscillated wildly between relevant topics and complete nonsense- which Remus and Patton did, eventually, tune back into (and contribute to as well, mainly in the nonsense department). Eventually, even Virgil gave up on trying to keep anything in order. 

But the meeting ended on a good note anyway. Lots of good notes, actually, if the stacks upon stacks of paper they’d scribbled up were any indication. Mess, the sides had come to believe, was usually a measure of their productivity: if crumpled pages were strayed across the room, if forgotten pens and pencils balanced on every surface from coffee table to TV stand, and if- in the process of snacking- they’d accumulated enough dishes to fill the sink for days on end? Shit. Got. Done.

Remus stared over the chaos with unfocused eyes. He felt distantly proud of the stormish state the living room was in. Draped over the back of the sectional, he gnawed idly on a wood pencil, stripping its yellow into beige. The paint fell off in bitter chunks, and the taste made him think of grabbing some non-acrylic dinner before closing the night off. Maybe he’d steal some of whatever saccharine sweet Patton usually made in the late evenings, and then spend the rest of the night with him, anyway. Remus debated what would be the most fun (or if he was tired enough to sleep yet), partially aware as he did so that he’d chewed and swallowed the metal-eraser end of his pencil.

“Ugh,” a drawn out groan broke his thoughts, petulant and whiny. “Do you have any intention of helping us clean up this, the common area?” 

Roman was kneeling beside Janus on the carpet, the pair surrounded by papers and binders and trashbags, the former of which they were sorting into either of the latter two, depending on how useful each page was. Roman had stopped working, however, to stare up at Remus indignantly. Remus glared right back.

“I’ve never had an intention in my life,” he answered.

Janus shrugged, smiling in that I-told-you-so way at Roman. But Roman, ever the nuisance, wasn’t letting it go. 

“Come on! It’s not like you’re even doing anything!”

“I’m doing something,” Remus’ words were wide and wobbly as he stripped another line of paint off the pencil, breaking some splinters off into his teeth.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” another chunk of wood, down the hatch. “I’m flaying all these leftover pencils until they’re lead-sticks.”

Roman hopped up from the floor and dropped himself onto the couch, shoving himself into the way so jarringly that it reminded Remus of himself. 

“Well, now you’re going to help us clean.” 

Janus rolled his eyes, not even glancing up. “Roman, just leave it alone, we-”

“We are all parts of this whole now, including him! Remus-” Roman rounded on him again, “If you’re going to come down here and help us make all this mess, with all of your numerous contributions that we have to write down, you’ll help clean it like anybody else. Do you think that I like any of- of-” he gestured, flamboyantly, at the room, “This? Ugh, please, I’m a prince! But, fair is fair, and fair means everybody.” 

And that was the point of the conversation in which Remus would cackle, push Roman backwards off the couch, and proclaim how much it’d go against his very being to clean a mess instead of cause it. He’d tell Roman how funny it was that he thought he could boss him around, because it always had been- that full-of-it Older Brother kind of attitude that had never worked. The Prince had never once managed to get him to do anything, and each attempt only got funnier than the last. 

He didn’t say any of that, though. 

Roman was bitching at him, not to go away this time, but to stay. Stay and help the group, because he was a part of said group. So he was asked to help them, the group that he was a part of, because he was part of it. That group. 

“Okay,” he blurted, “Okay, I’ll- alright.”

Roman blinked at him, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “You- oh!” he smiled, utterly baffled. “That was- very easy?”

Janus, too, was looking up at Remus with bewilderment, his task of paper-sorting all but forgotten. Remus couldn’t blame either of them, but he still huffed, trying very hard not to be embarrassed by that whole… moment.

He shook it off, rolling off the couch and standing up, jittery. 

“Whatever, just- tell me what to pick up, okay?” 

They seemed not to hear him, the gawking continuing on until he started working unprompted, and longer than that still. Each time he (begrudgingly) shoved something into a trashbag, it earned him another Exchange of Glances from the pair. 

They got over it eventually, though, because there was a fuck-load more to clean than there was room to stare. So they cleaned.

Remus thought it would get old after a minute, and he’d finally gather up the guts to bail on them, but it just… never happened. It felt unnatural to be getting rid of a mess- like an animal having its fur brushed the wrong way, continuously- but by some point the sensation was distant. The rest of him was still busy processing, experiencing, maybe possibly overthinking this kind of recognition he’d never gotten before. It was handed to him now like it was something normal. The three of them worked together, and it was normal. 

Acceptance, as it turned out, wasn’t synonymous with ‘soulless assimilation’. In fact, it was pretty fucking great, getting to watch his brother and best friend find documents from the floor with his ideas on them, then tucking them into a binder marked important, instead of a trashcan marked to burn. It was… surreal. 

But the tidying was over in just an hour and a half- oh wow, never in a million years would Remus have thought an hour and a half of cleaning would be too little for him. He made a note to absolutely destroy something big and important later, to balance the universe out again. 

Roman sank through the floor as soon as they were done, complaining loudly about how very exhausted he was. Remus teased him on his way out, but it was just for the habit- he was way too mushy to think of anything properly mean at the moment. 

Janus watched him go, silent. He sat beside Remus on the couch, and despite his obvious tiredness, he waited a good few minutes before saying anything. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

Remus shivered. Janus pulled him up into a hug (one that maybe dragged on for a little too long, but who was counting?), and it spelled out all the pride and care that he’d never been good at verbalizing. With that, he gave Remus a short nod, and then was gone as well. 

Which made everyone else upstairs, probably in their rooms and halfway asleep. Then there was Remus, antsy in the living room, itchy with feelings. 

Everyone but Patton, of course, who could still be heard humming in the kitchen; who never went up until he knew everyone else was in their rooms, true to the protective parent persona. Remus suddenly didn’t think he wanted anything else but to see Patton after what had happened, to talk to him, to… 

He walked to the kitchen.

“Pat.”

Patton looked over his shoulder at Remus, up to his elbow in sudsy sink water. A smile fell naturally across his face.

“Hi,” his voice was low, delicate. “You about to head up?”

Remus watched his friend work, trailing into the room slowly.  He grinned, “Are you kidding? I could stay up all night, if I wanted.”

“Do you want to?” Patton asked him.

Remus thought on it for a moment. He shrugged, iunno, leaned against the counter by the sink. Patton turned away again.

It was so quiet. No wind. No footsteps. Not a muffled voice upstairs, even- just the sound of water and ceramic hitting ceramic. Everything was still.

Remus hated it. Silence was fragile, and he crawled with the need to break it. He felt it get tense as it stretched out, and he just wanted to tear the air apart with sound. It felt like nothing mattered anymore, when peace was so easily able to drown it all out. Cold and alone. He hated it.

Sometimes, Remus imagined that if the silence went too long, he’d never be able to make a noise again. There were few things that made him so unhappy, but the quiet… 

“What’s on your mind?” Patton asked.

Remus jolted. Patton was staring, concern gathering in his eyes the longer he did. Remus took a deep breath- he remembered something, something small and unimportant that Janus had told him once. 

When one is so intensely happy, they can fall to agonizing upset even quicker than if they’d been mildly perturbed in the first place, because of the ferocity of the feelings. Something like that. 

“A lot more than I’m willing to throw on your shoulders, Pops.”

Patton pouted. Actually. Fucken. Pouted. The worst part was, his puppy-face was actually working.

“Ugh,” Remus rolled his eyes, “Just- could I- I dunno, have a hug, or some shit?”

If Patton was surprised, he hid it well. God knew, that wasn’t exactly the kind of thing Remus would ask for. He almost never asked to get attention- taking it was much easier, and much more entertaining. Besides, if he’d ever asked before that point… well, he already knew what answer he would’ve gotten. 

Patton’s smile only widened, until it was positively melting. “Of course you can,” he shut the sink off. “Of course.”

He reached haphazardly for a hand towel, to dry his arms. Remus, riding the high of that enthusiastic permission, absolutely could not wait that long. He latched his arms around Patton’s middle before the side had even finished talking, burying his face between his shoulder blades and hugging tight. 

Patton went still, like he didn’t know what to do. After it became clear that Remus had no intention to move, Patton laughed, dreamy and soft, and shook his hands as dry as he could. He patted Remus’ forearm; bead-bracelets clattered under the Duke’s sleeves. 

“Hey,” Patton said.

“Mmh?”

“Not that this isn’t lovely,” he laced his fingers with Remus’, squeezed them, “But I’d like it better if I could hug you back, ya know?”

Remus let go, reluctantly. In the true fashion of intrusive thoughts, there was a second he was so convinced Patton would run, now that he was freed. Make an escape from him, an escape from his claws.

He didn’t. He spun right around and pulled Remus against his chest- one arm linked around his torso, the other winding into his tangled hair. Anyone, at a glance, could see that Patton was huge- but up close the difference was dizzying: his wide chest, encircling arms that seemed to be made of nothing but muscle and padding, and that height, all made him so… comforting. Big and strong, a body that disguised power in soft edges and fat. If he squeezed just a little too tight, in fact, Remus wouldn’t be surprised if Patton could make splinters out of his bones. Which Remus definitely, definitely wouldn’t mind, but the knowledge that Patton not only could do that but also wouldn’t ever do that- that was what really did him in. 

And he’d hugged Patton before- months ago, and somehow Patton had seemed so small then, when everything had started- but being hugged? Properly, too, not underwater while one of them was drowning- it was a world of difference. No panic, no breakdowns, just a real, solid hug.

He could just ask for this and then have it. He could smell sugar cookies and candle wax, and feel somebody- a willing body- pressing in. It was weird. He thought that someday, he might get used to it. He wanted a chance to get used to it. 

“Do you wanna talk now?” Patton prompted, forcibly reminding Remus that he had a bloodhound’s nose for emotional distress. 

“I don’t know.”

Patton hummed, his fingers scratching through Remus’ hair. “Today went better than I thought it would.”

“You didn’t have to bring me, if you thought it was gonna be bad.”

“I wasn’t worried because of you! I was worried because of me. Things have been… a lot for me, lately.”

“Oh,” Remus angled his head to the side, looking up at him. “Yeah. I feel ya.”

“But they were all so much more patient, weren’t they,” Patton’s eyes went a little misty, the way they always did when he talked about his family. “Everything’s different now, and I guess that scared me, but I think that now… it’s a good different, you know?” 

“Like us, right?” Remus laughed, “This is the craziest difference, if ya think about it.”

Patton chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest so that Remus felt it more than heard it. 

“I don’t think I would’ve gotten through with today without you, you know that?” 

It was deeply honest. There was a beat. 

“I-” Oh fuck, Remus was choked up, when did that happen? “I wouldn’t have even had a day like today, without you, so. Do with that what you want.” 

Remus buried his face in Patton’s sternum, just to avoid the sad understanding in his eyes. 

He- he wasn’t exactly made for the care he was getting, not the kind of softness in that face. Not when Patton was still patiently untangling his matt of hair while they hovered in the stillness of the dark, empty kitchen, and Remus desperately didn’t want to cry. 

Patton gave him a minute to breathe, at the very least, before:

“They like you, though. Janus loves you.”

“Yeah, okay, but it’s not-”

“I know how you feel,” said Patton, and did. “Like they couldn’t actually care about us, even though it doesn’t make sense for them not to. It’s one of those things that’s easy to forget,” Remus could hear the smile in his voice. “So it’s good we have each other, when we need to get out of our own heads. At least, it’s like that for me, I don’t know if you even-”

“No,” Remus curled his claws in the back of Patton’s shirt, something dark and emotional flooding like tar through his chest. “Nah, you’re right, Morey. This is good for us.” 

Remus shook his head at nothing in particular. He forced his hands unballed, pulled back, and wormed his way out of Patton’s hug after way too long. 

His skin felt like paper from the affection, like he’d been electrocuted, and while that was fun- was amazing- for a while, he didn’t think he could handle much more in one sitting. 

Patton let him go, smiling warmly, leaning back against the counter. His eyes were shiny and wet, but he was content. 

“Thanks,” Remus said.

“What for? The hug?”

“No- I mean, that too, but I was saying ‘thanks, for caring’. For giving enough of a shit about me to try and help.”

Patton smiled, solemnly.

“I told you so,” he breathed, “I promised I would like you when I got to know you, and then I did. I do!” 

Remus felt a grin returning to his face, sliding across his lips more naturally than anything else he’d had to deal with that night.

“Yeah. You aren’t too bad yourself, Pat.”

Chapter Seven

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls  @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[adrianasunderworld]

More headcanons for the boys +romance

Piers

Piers is secretly a sap for old movies. Black and white ones to be more specific. He not only finds them aesthetically pleasing, but also with their own charm. Theres a small theater in Spikemuth that exclusively airs vintage movies, and visits whenever he has time.

His and Marnies biggest bonding activity is hair night. She'll help him redye the white streaks in his hair(which is no small task). Piers will blow dry and straighten hers. They'll put on a bad movie from netflix, order take out and have a night. 

Piers can play guitar. But it's more for personal use than anything. He finds it relaxing to just sit an play while he writes songs. It's only for very specific songs that he'll play in stage. They're usually the very emotional ones that mean a great deal to him. Every piers fan knows, if he's holding a guitar, the crowds tears will follow.

Ever see that video of a dog relaxing while his owner plays the pokemon theme on an acoustic guitar? That's Piers and his pokemon.

Obstagoon is like a big bratty dog. Always wants treats, always wants attention. And will whine when it does not get them. When it was a zigzagoon, it would give big pouty eyes for treats and table scraps, and it always worked on young piers. He was a chubby little thing back then.

When skuntank was a stunky, it was biter. Nothing was safe. Furniture, clothes, fingers. Piers always had little red mark's from the teething pokemon. A quarter of all his money always went to replacing toys Stunky had destroyed.

Romance

 Piers has always been bashful around  people he genuinely likes. *coughraihancough* he'll do his damndest to play it off. But he's always been terrible at hiding a crush. Especially if he blushes around them. He's so pale any color on his face will be very evident.

Half the time he always assumes the other person has no interest in him. But he isn't dense enough to not be able to tell when he's being flirted with. He feels better talking to someone when he knows/feels like his attention is wanted. It makes him less nervous.

Isn't one for initiating pda, but is not opposed to it. He likes having his arm around his s/o shoulders though. 

Has written breakup songs before. No you can't hear them. They're private and locked away in his desk. He has just enough self respect to not air his relationship drama on stage.

Play with his hair, he'll be putty in your hands. 

Has never understood people who stay in relationships with someone who does not get along with their loved ones. Marnie is all Piers has, and if someone cannot get along with her or makes her uncomfortable, they are out. Plain and simple. Unless Marnie says it's ok to keep seeing them, Piers won't pick a relationship over his sister.

Piers is always busy with gym responsibilities or performances and practice. As fun as it can be to bring his s/o to events, his favorite date night activity is to stay home with them. He'll make them a nice meal, put on a movie and relax on the couch. 

Is actually a big cuddle bug. He loves snuggling on the couch. His head on your lap. Holding them in bed. Piers is touch starved and needs attention, please give it to him.

Start giving him good luck kisses before a performance, it'll be his favorite thing.

Raihan 

Raihan acknowledges he can be very vain at times. But the one being that out vains him at every turn is Duraludun. If it sees Raihan filming or taking a photo, it will butt in and try to take over the whole shot. It has become very good friends with the Rotom in his phone. When they get bored they'll stage a hostile takeover of his instagram andTwitter. It become a monthly thing.

Not so secretly a bookstagramer. Raihan always ends up in the vaults and libraries of Hammerlocke. He saw one of his gym trainers, Camilla, taking pictures of the books she was reading and asked about it. She showed him a lot of aesthetically pleasing pictures of books, and libraries, and artfully cluttered desk and wanted to try. It's not a secret, but he does try to keep it separate from his hyper dragon man gym persona. Sort of business vs. Personal deal.

He dresses very well. Despite that more often than not he is in his favorite hoodie and gym uniform, when Raihan wants to dress up,damn son. He spends a lot of time online and is friends with Nessa and Sonia, he knows what's up in fashion and what looks good on him.

He and Gordie are the Meme Team. Everytime they have a conversation it will descend into quoting and reenacting vines. Only the younger gym leaders know what they're saying, they just refuse to encourage it. Except Alister. Hes a little kid that hears these cooler older dudes being funny and try to join them. Hes they're third member now. Poor Bea, she couldn't save him.

Out of all his pokemon, he's had flygon the longest. Raised it from a trapinch when he was a kid. That's why he wears that orange hat/headband thing, to honor his buddy. 

Takes very good care of his skin. Partially because his face is always on camera, but also because his skin dries out easily and always need moisturizers. Nessa showed him all her favorite brands. He likes chilling out with a face mask, it's very soothing.

Romance 

Raihan is a very confident, attractive, and friendly guy, he pretty much never has trouble getting a date.

That being said, sometimes he gets a bit too confident and ends up coming on too strong for some people. 

This was definitely a problem in his teen years. He would just say the wrong thing with all the bravado he could muster and whoever he liked would scoff and walk away. He grew out of it, but it could be downright painful to watch young Raihan flirt.

Raihan is pretty laid back and generally takes rejection very well. Only when it was someone that he REALLY liked and had for awhile is when he gets truly upset. And when that happens he just hangs out at home for a bit or go out to the wild area, Spends time with his pokemon. Generally just wants be alone with his thoughts till he can bounce back. 

When Raihan is dating someone, he surprisingly doesn't want to post about it for awhile. If they're still together after a few months is when he'll post selfies and cute couple pictures. He's learned the hard way how certain types of fans will react to him dating, and once they go public they wont have as much privacy. He likes to have that grace period of just being a couple without all eyes on them.But once that initial hurtle is over. Its photo city with him.

Is a big fan of "good morning" and "good night" texts. Also loves falling asleep over the phone when you can't spend the night together.

Honestly just text him a lot in general. A lot of gym things take up a large chunk of his time. Text that you miss him, or a picture of one of your pokemon sleeping on the couch, ask if he wants pizza later. Literally anything will brighten his day. He'll definitely return the favor. 

Loves taking s/o out on the town. From league events, to friends parties, or just dinner and shopping. He wants to show them off. If you aren't comfortable with it, tell him sooner rather than later. 

Is a giant tease. Loves to whisper whatever he can in your ear or send something risque over text to make you blush and then act completely innocent.

Leon

Has a room in his house just for Hop. Hop used to love visiting him every summer in Wyndon. Otherwise he would never see his brother. The visits got less frequent over the years. But Hop always has a place to stay with Leon.

After he had been champion for a couple years was when the merch train really got rolling. Tshirts, posters, stationery. You name it, it had Leon's face on it. As a kid he lost his shit over it and but over the years got less enamored. Although he does have a soft for the Leon toys. After all, who doesn't want an action figure or doll made of them?

Leon does his best to keep himself and his pokemon in shape and on a daily routine. That all gets thrown out the window when he visits home or family comes to see him. All his pokemon get treated like spoiled house pets. FromHaHaxrus  being a test taster for his mom to Hop flying around the neighborhood with charzard. Its takes over a week to get everything back on track after.

Charzard is obviously the leader of all the pokemon next to Leon. All the newer pokemon always look up to them for guidance and charzard is always friendly and helpful. They are also very fond of kids, it loves events like visiting schools or children's hospitals. He's like a drampa in charzard skin.

Haxorus is a diva. She loves attention and shiny things. She adores Sonia because when she was just an Axew, Sonia always gave her a little trinkets, like sparkly hair pins or a pretty rock. She also loves to be complimented, Leon always calls her his pretty girl. Theres pile of shiny stuff that no one is allowed to touch at Leon's house unless she allows it. 

Whenever leon visits home, he always tries to go out with his old friends. Usually they have a few drinks at the local pub and have dinner. Oddly enough, Leon can get lost going next door, but can stumble home no problem when he's drunk. Go figure.

Ever heard of a sneaker head? Well Leon is a hat head. Whenever his favorite brands come out with a new hat design, you can bet your ass he'll be line for the release or online waiting for the listing to show up. The wall of caps at his moms house is but a humble sample of his collection.

Played softball as a kid. He throws his pokeball the way he was taught to pitch. As a kid leon liked to think if he couldn't be a trainer, he would like the be a baseball player. 

Romance 

Leon can't flirt for shit,and I mean this in the nicest way possible. His idea of breaking the ice is asking if you want a battle. 

Leon was especially hopeless as a teenager. He spent so much time with the league, an environment of mostly adults, being around anyone his age was a damn miracle. 

Sonia and Raihan would always take him to parties to socialize. But anytime someone tried to make a move on him, Leon would just think they were being friendly. 

Raihan has always been his wingman.

Raihan: My friend over there thinks you're cute. *points at the damn champion waving awkwardly from across the room.*

Even Now, they still do this. And it still has 50/50 shot of working.

Has been in a couple relationships, but both have ended badly. They were ultimately with Leon for his title and not him.

Leon wants to be with someone, he just finds it's harder for him than he realised. When he does find someone, it's going to be a bit of a slow go to know them and be sure they aren't using him. When that wall breaks he going to be the happiest man around.

Leon is affectionate and will always find a way to touch his s/o. From a kiss on the cheek, to random hugs, to lightly touching their back as he passes.

This man has never half Assed anything in his life. Leon's a go big or go home kind of guy, so when he wants to make a romantic gesture, he'll put his all into it. From picnics on the stadium field, to a special camping spot in the wild area, dinner on the top floor of the battle tower. Even just flowers will be from the best florist in in the city. Leon wants to show how much he loves you and nothing but his 110% best effort will do. 

As extra as Leon is, it's always the small quiet moments that get him. He'll wake up early and see his s/o peacefully asleep, and he'll just melt and stay there for awhile.

 You could try to make his favorite meal and burn everything and he'll still be touched. It's very much the thought that counts for Leon, because it shows you care enough to put the effort in.

King of cheesy lines. Will say the lamest pick up lines or something he heard in a movie to try and make you laugh. It usually works because he always says it with a straight face.

[thegreatyin]

I'm not very good at mmos but I love final fantasy, do you have any tips or advice? Your character is cute!

i don't actually know much about a good chunk of the game- i'm only at early heavensward context (the second expansion) so take my advice with a tiny pinch of salt.

having said that, sure, i can try to give advice! also please note that ffxiv is my first final fantasy game, but i'm experienced with mmos, so it's like... the opposite outlook.

if you look up literally anything about ffxiv, it'll be veterans saying that the current base game (a realm reborn) is slow and largely boring. i disagree for a number of reasons, but... it certainly does drag on for awhile. as i said, i don't know how this compares to other games in the franchise, but this one is a slowburn- well worth the payoff, but still slow as hell.

a single character can play all of the classes! this means, for example, rigel (my oc-turned-player-character) can be a black mage, white mage, warrior, dark knight, ninja... basically, alts (mmo-speak for alternate characters, basically any character you create and play outside of your "main") are effectively useless, but still fun to do if you don't mind a grind.

for the sake of all that is holy, when you unlock a job quest, drop everything and do it. these almost always give new abilities that become an essential part of your toolkit, and when they don't, they're leading up to one. i don't care if you're about to do a main story quest and think you can pass by without it, just do it and save yourself the trouble later.

you get your first mount at level 20, the grand company chocobo. however, due to the stupid amount of exp early quests give you/depending on if you're in a favored server or not, you'll likely be far above that when you finally get your bird. rigel was around 27 when he got bird-riding rights. said rights are tied to the main story quests, as is everything, so make sure to do those too.

red mage is really really fun i highly recommend it

at early levels the 2.5 second gcd (global cooldown, a timer where you can't use any abilities for a period of time) will seem agonizing. it gets better. by level 50 as a black mage i felt like it was too short.

i don't know how to navigate square enix's terrible site but be warned it is certainly something that needs mental preparation before attempting. buying this game is a nightmare.

so don't! the free trial goes up to level 60 and includes the entirety of the first and second expansions (first is actually the base game but that's a whole other can of worms) and lasts indefinitely. you can be a free trial player for years and never stop. just be warned that once you buy the game you can't return to free-trial status so once ur sins are committed, they're committed for good.

love yourself. don't play a healer class. or do, if you're into masochism.

housing is a fucking NIGHTMARE i haven't touched it with a ten foot pole

you can use FATES (open-world multiplayer events, basically) to grind extra classes in a pinch. it's not much, but you can do it.

you know that starting mount i mentioned? the grand company chocobo? you can nickname it. and dress it up. and change its colors. and eventually summon it to fight alongside you as a bird pet/companion/best friend and legitimately why would you use any other mount

seriously rigel's bird is named luhmel and i cherish him SO much i spent all my gil on outfits for him birb my BELOVED

i'd honestly recommend ignoring the gold/normal sidequests after the first few levels- they usually don't offer much, and don't give much back. it's only worth doing the blue "plus" quests (which always unlock something for you/your character) and the main story quests (which. are main story, lol. they're marked with a fire symbol around the edge of the icon)

oh hey whatcha know your job quests are blue plus quests maybe that means something

if you want to take Aesthetic Screenshots™ there's a thing called group pose (aka gpose) that you can use to loop an emote and modify lighting and everything to make some really nice pictures. i haven't used it much because i unironically discovered it two hours ago but i sure will use it in the future

once/if you hit levels 50/60/70, you should start hoarding poetics/tombestones! these can be used to buy fresh new gear that not only looks stylish but also will legitimately last you for half of the next expansion. i'm not joking. these are absolutely worth the investment.

if you play lalafell you WILL be pat on the head. it's normal. let it happen.

y'shtola best girl

new players are called sprouts, and are given a little sprout icon beside their name to represent that! this actually stays for a while- 168 total hours played and completion of stormblood (3rd expansion), iirc. i'm still a sprout. rigel's a little sprout boy.

once you unlock the waking sands, i highly recommend going into the side room and talking to all the npcs there! they have different/new dialogue every time the main story quests tell you to return there, and getting to know them all... well, let's just say that it'll make some parts hit harder, y'know? it pays off.

i haven't personally done them but i've heard the hildibrad sidequests are really funny i recommend those

there's a gambling cactus to gamble your life away and the parkour minigame infuriates me beyond reasonable definition

the community as a whole is super nice, and way better at giving advice on the spot than i am! for an anime game where i can play my depressed edgy angsty angel boy as a walking disaster gay catboy, it's really wholesome. not for everyone, but definitely a good time if it is your kinda thing.

okay but seriously do your class/job quests

[thiswasinevitableid]

Apology Flowers (Indruck)

@cyborgrabbit  requested 63 from the meet uglies:  “sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “[person] is [attractive] enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard.” They added, “If it wasn't a personal Garden but like a large private/public outdoor Garden that Duck was the main care giver for he absolutely would verbally attack anyone who touched his flowers”

Indrid considers the plants before him carefully; he wants variety, but he also wants flowers that fit the occasion and the setting. Roses would be nice, but as a human he can’t get them off the plant easily. He needs his mandibles for that.

He picks snapdragons, some lilies, some foxglove, and a smattering of pink and orange blossoms he can’t quite identify, wrapping them all in one big bouquet in a few sheets of USA Today. He’s so busy preparing himself for the hour ahead that he misses a change in the future and the figure stepping around the bushes. 

“Hey man, you know you ain’t supposed to pick those, right?”

He whirls, ill-gotten blossoms clutched to his chest.

“I, ah, I, yes, I, I am aware it is frowned upon in a public garden but none of the ones in the store quite, ah, suited my needs.”

The man, clearly an employee, crosses his arms, “so you decided to take some from the botanical gardens?”

“Yes. You have so may, I assumed a few would not be missed.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t, but if everyone gets it into their heads to take just a few, suddenly whole chunks of the garden are missing and all our hard work is for nothin’. Besides, average folks can’t tell the difference between a common plant that’s easy to replace and one that was a pain in the ass to grow.” He doesn’t sound angry so much as tired, as if he’s had this conversation dozens of times.

“I see your point. I, ah, I can’t really put them back though. May I keep these?”

The man smirks, “sure thing. I’m comin’ with you though. I wanna see if the person you’re given ‘em too is good-lookin enough to warrant flower theft.”

Indrid has zero desire to admit where he’s actually going.

“Ah, but, you are clearly at work. And I’m in a hurry.”

“Lucky for you I just got off and can walk pretty fast.”

Indrid sighs, defeated, “Very well. And no need to walk, I have a car.”

The man follows him to the little sedan he’s been towing behind the ‘Bago. Indrid opens the doors, pausing before he gets in, “are you certain you wish to come with me, Duck Newton? It’s not going to be very entertaining.”

“I’m sure. And how’d you know my name?”

“Name-tag.” Indrid replies automatically, hoping the man is actually wearing one.

Duck shrugs, and climbs into the car. As Indrid turns onto the main road, the gardener asks, “you been to Point Pleasant before?”

“A few times.”

“You got family here?”

“No. My family lives rather far away. Ah, what about you?” His distracted state is a blessing, as it keeps him from accidentally saying Duck’s words along with him.

“I’m from Kepler originally, moved out here for this job. Uh-” Duck turns, looking back at the arch they just drove under, “you sure we’re goin’ the right way?”

“Yes.” He says tightly, pulling into the cemetery parking lot.   

“Fuuck” Duck groans, smacking a hand onto his face in embarrassment, “why didn’t you tell me those were for this? Woulda eased up on you a little.”

“I wasn’t sure how to explain it.” He opens the door, “will you be joining me, or do you wish to wait here?”

“I’ll come help you pay your respects, seems the polite thing to do.” 

They enter the grounds, Duck removing his hat as they do. There are a few other visitors scattered about, the sky blue above them and the grass pleasantly fresh cut. 

Indrid finds the first grave, removes a snapdragon from the bouquet and sets it atop the stone. Stares at the name a moment, long enough to think the words he’d usually say aloud, then walks to the next grave he needs to visit. He knows their order by heart. 

He’s expecting Duck to become bored with his wandering, or try to talk with him, or offer some thoughtful but useless platitudes. But the human simply follows him from grave to grave, keeping a respectful distance between them.

Indrid doesn’t cry, he never does during this. But with Duck near him, he feels like he should. A human would cry, would they not? Only a monster would remain so unmoved. 

Not all of them are buried here, and so after a half hour they return to the car. 

Indrid stares at the wheel, “I have one more stop to take flowers to. I can drop you somewhere else if you’d like.”

“I’ll come with you. Come this far. But uh…”

“Indrid. You were about to ask my name. It’s Indrid.”

“Right, yeah. Look, Indrid, you seem like you’re dealin with somethin heavy and, well, I don’t feel quite right leavin you to deal with it alone. But if you need me gone, I can go.”

“I’d very much like your company on this next part.” 

“You got it.” 

They drive in silence, and Indrid turns on the radio because human music is one of his favorite things. Duck hums along at one point, the noise off-key and charming enough to make Indrid forget what’s ahead of him. 

When they approach the memorial, Duck says softly, “ah, thought I recognized some of the names, couldn’t place where. The Silver Bridge Collapse.”

“Yes.” Indrid sits down on the ground near the first row of bricks inscribed with names of those he failed to save. He sets the remaining flowers on a nearby stone, so it will be clear what they are for. 

A scuff as Duck sits down next to him.

“Did you know someone on the bridge.”

“Not exactly, no” Indrid sets his hands on his knees, focuses his gaze on cracked ground.

“I, uh, I think what you doin’ is real noble. Most folks come and just visit the Mothman statue.”

“I’ve seen Mothman plenty of times, I do not need to see him anymore.”

“Nicest ass in West Virginia.”

Indrid snorts in surprise, glancing over at Duck.

“Sorry, tend to goof when I’m feelin’ awkward.”

“It’s alright. My actions are less noble than you perhaps think. I, ah, I was there. The day it happened. I suppose you could say I have a, ah, a very intense case of survivors guilt.”

“Oh, Indrid, I’m so fuckin sorry. That must have been terrifyin.” Duck rests his hand on his knee and Indrid starts. He hasn’t been touched on purpose in two years, maybe more.

“It was. I come back whenever I can, to, to pay my respects. To say I’m sorry. Sorry that I couldn’t save them. Sorry that I failed.”

“Hold up now, you didn’t fail no one. Bridge collapse was an accident.”

“But-”

“Let’s say even if you, I dunno, had some way of seein’ it comin, you’re just one guy. One guy can do a lot, but he can only do so much. Trust me, I know. Whatever happened on the bridge, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I…” no one’s ever said that to him so sincerely, so plainly. But as the story he’s told himself all these years starts to crumble, emotion seeps through the cracks. 

He shudders, head collapsing into his hands. The strong arm wraps around his shoulders and he crumples, falling against Duck’s chest. Through the silent, sharp tears, he tries to be polite, tries not to make the man feel Indrid is any strnager than he already must. 

“I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t, you don’t need to-”

“Hush now” Duck murmurs, hugging him, “just get it all out.”

Indrid does, streaking his face with and wetting Duck’s shirt with tears. When they finally abate, his mind is pleasingly clear, save for one question.

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because it seems like someone needs to be. Plus, was kinda a dick earlier.”

Indrid snickers at his candor, “You were right to scold me for picking those flowers. Perhaps I should grow my own. There must be a way to do so inside a small space.”

“Can think of a few.” 

In all the futures, Duck clears his throat and says that even so, he should be going and that it was nice to meet Indrid.

“If you, uh, if you want, could brainstorm so with you over dinner.” A warm hand rubs his upper arm, soothing and protective. 

He sits up but stays in Duck’s arms, looking down at him, “I would, but you do not need to ruin your evening for my sake.”

“Wouldn’t call gettin’ to know you more ‘ruinin’ somethin’. Plus, you’re still in a raw spot. You telling me you wanna spent the rest of your evenin’ with your own thou-”

“No, no I do not.” Indrid says flatly. 

“C’mon, some friends of mine have a real nice place to eat near the gardens. French Onion Soup is to die for.”

“I have never had it.”

“Fuck, really? Well now we gotta go.” Duck smiles, his mellow enthusiasm contagious, and by the time they’re in the car Indrid is smiling too. 

Dinner really is delicious, though Indrid prefers the pie to the soup (though he must admit he enjoys watching the pleasure on Duck’s face as he eats said soup). Duck asks him about his travels, eagerly shares stories about the garden, and shows him pictures of his cat. When Indrid mentions he draws, Duck asks to see the little pocket sketchbook he carries, and proceeds to tell him a half-dozen times how amazing it is. He also hears Duck laugh for the first time, a ridiculous sound that he wants to hear a hundred times more. 

They talk until closing time, no longer across from each other but side by side, as Duck had hopped around to Indrid’s booth to show him more pictures of the gardens. The human offers his arm, and they walk at a leisurely pace. When he reaches the car he hesitates, then hugs Duck. The shorter man hugs him back.

“Thank you, Duck, for everything.”

“You’re welcome. You stayin in town?”

“For awhile, yes.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you around.” Duck slowly retracts from the hug, tips his hat with a wink and heads to his car. Indrid gets into his own, watches Duck drive away before heading towards the trailer park. As he reaches into his pocket for his keys, he finds a folded slip of paper with the words “dinner and movie tomorrow?” followed by a phone number.

He grabs his phone, and hurriedly dials. 

And in every future, including the one that comes to pass, Duck answers the phone with a smile.  

[ziracona]

Hi! I just realised I havn't popped in in awhile. Do you have any headcanons u feel like sharing about the newer survivors?? (I love them all, they're so cool but I think imma have to say cheryl is my bby gurl. she's tired. let her rest.) also. i am. going insane. from a toothache :) - Sleepy

Hey! Hope your tooth pain clears up! I’m so sorry—that’s one of the worst. : /

Hmmm, I do, but I’m trying to think of ones I haven’t said in asks before. 😬 Unfortunately my memory of fictional characters is great, and my memory of what I said in asks is shitty. :’-]

I don’t know the newer survivors—except Nancy and Steve—as well as I do the older ones, because I’ve never written them, and I haven’t played Silent Hill. I like Zarina, Yui, and Cheryl a lot though. Poor fkn Cheryl can join Quentin in the “Please God, just one good day?” Existence. Rip to them both. 😭

Poor kid gets out of hell once, and ya throw her back in. :’-]

Let’s see—headcanon I am fairly sure I haven’t already shared. I think Yui and Min would get along really well, and Jane and Zarina would too.

Yui hates the serial killers especially, from her own personal experience, and goes to bat hard against them every time.

Ash flirts with everyone to a point it’s even more than Ace does, and for a while it becomes a competition between them to see who can flirt more and better than the other (not in a shitty way—everybody knows they have the competition going on and it’s more a ‘I can act better than you’ than a ‘I can win more hearts’ one.) Ace is declared the winner in class, Ash the winner in sheer quantity he’s able to churn out, and they agree to call it a semi-draw. It’s actually a really fun week for everyone, because they’re all constantly being complemented and flirted with in a way they know is performative and seeks 0 real actions from them in return, so essentially they are just showererd with ‘drunk girl in a bar bathroom’ levels of praise for seven days.

Felix and Nancy are the only two with significant others waiting back home, and they bond over talking about their wife/boyfriend and sharing stories and having someone around who understands that specific brand of pain and can encourage them that they’ll make it back home.

Tapp is a dad, so he gives Felix a lot of advice on stuff since he was an expecting father. Not so much “do this” advice, since his relationship with his family didn’t go so well, and he feels like he’s in absolutely no position to teach—more like “It’s okay. Women have been giving birth for thousands of years. She’s gonna make it just fine even if you’re not home yet, and you’ll get back to them. And I’m gonna teach you some of the tricks so you’ll be ready when you do. You can even surprise her by already knowing how to change a diaper and warm a formula bottle. I’ll show you how to do it,” and talking him through some of the stuff he would have been able to learn from infant care books. It’s sweet, but Tapp almost dies when Jane says its “Very heartwarming” and teases him, so they cut him some slack. Felix is really appreciative. Laurie has taken care of a ton of kids, and gives him some advice too, and so does Nancy, who had two younger siblings.

Steve is a disaster who suffers from “I like you and you are a girl, so *pigeon meme* Is this falling in love?” syndrome. Gets shot down hard by Laurie, who is ridiculously pissed at him for bringing it up during a trial when their lives are on the line, but after he gets over being super awkward around her, and she reaches out to be like, ‘Look, dumbass, why did you even like me?’ And he’s like ‘...because you’re, uh, really cool? A-and pretty? And...’ and eventually she’s like ‘Buddy, you don’t even really know me. You’re just lonely. You’re not in love with me, you just want to be, because you want to be in love with somebody, and that’s not gonna cut it, for me, or anyone. Be in love with a person—not with the concept of being in love. And for that to happen, you have to know them first.” And since Steve is good af self-improvement, he realizes she’s got a real point, and tries to find his worth outside of needing a girlfriend, and becomes both a lot happier, and one of Laurie’s closer friends. (Side note—this extends probably only to my initial Steve ideas. I had the idea batted around that in that universe, Stranger Things /is/ an existing show, but it’s based on a mix of urban legend and history from the 80s, and Nancy and Steve are the version from the actual 80s, and I think in that pitch Steve is dating Barb, who is still alive, and already worked through this specific issue, because many things happened differently for wild comedic ‘But in the show’ effect, becuase both them repeatedly going “WELL REALITY WAS A LITTLE DIFFERENT” when like, monster hunting shit from the show won’t work on the Demogorgan, and *Spit take* “THEY HAD ME HIT ON ROBIN?” “Ewwww” “YEAH ewww! She’s basically my lesbian little sister! We’ve been best friends since grade school! What the fuck :’-]” make for amazing joke potential. )

Cheryl starts having nightmares where she sees things from the Entity’s eyes she was never meant to see, and finding out dangerous amounts of information this way. The Entity decides at some point this is too big a threat, but because it’s proud, it doesn’t want to just kill her, as that would be admitting a human is a threat, so it starts having killers gun for her mercilessly to try to get her to give up, and the poor girl is in agony.

Zarina documents stuff form the realm constantly, and has a careful scrapbook collection of all notes and paraphernalia from past survivors. She also keeps conspiracy pages tacked together trying to figure out who they were becuase they deserve at least the justice of people somehow knowing how they died and what they went through. Laurie is a big help with this, and so is Claudette, who has been keeping stuff for a long time.

Yui is very no-nonsense, and protective. She gives off strong big sister vibes. She especially also loves board games/puzzles/other games like Shogi or Go and such, and Dwight and Adam create game pieces for her to play Go with when she mentions how much she used to like that kind of thing, and Yui is incredibly touched, and makes several other ones for people to play with too, and it becomes a very enjoyed pastime between trials. It’s engaging and competitive, but much more relaxed and low energy than sports or training or going for a run, so it’s a great alternative. Meg gets super into making puzzles, and all the artists do too, and take turns painting pictures on boards, cutting them into puzzle pieces with extreme painstakingly slow care, and then doing puzzles together. Jake is invaluable in the actual cutting pieces out area, but actually enjoys to do it.

Felix knows a lot more than anyone else about the Entity when he’s taken, so he spends a bunch of time with the research team trying to recall whatever he can from his childhood and sharing any information he has, then just stays on it because he wants to. He’s desperate to meet Benedict Baker someday himself, becuase that man seems to get around, and he really wants to know what happend to his father.

Everyone becomes protective as fuck of Cheryl when the Entity starts targeting her, and someone—I think Kate and or Meg—probably both together—as a one-off joke call themselves her knights at some point, becuase they’re running such dedicated protection detail, but it becomes a whole thing, and several more start to do it. They’ll like ‘fist clasped arm across chest at attention, quick bow’ when they see her, and it’s goofy as fuck, but it helps a lot making Cheryl’s reality more bearable. Plus, it’s really sweet. Nea gets in on this and comes back one day with a little daisy chain she made cause she was bored, sees Cheryl, it clicks, runs over and offers it as a ‘favor’. Zarina sees and comes back later that day from a trial and kneels and presents Cheryl with a rescued toolbox with a brand new part. This becomes increasingly common and extravagant, and Cheryl /cannot/ deal, but it’s like, genius, becuase it takes exactly this level of surreal goofy friend bullshit to distract from the hell she is living. She ends up just regularly having someone come back from a trial or trip to the woods, salute with an arm across their chest, bow, and present her with anything from a pinecone or pretty rock, to flowers or a medkit, to a salt statue or key, to a painting or hand made bracelet, to a makeshift weapon or a pillow. Everyone always tries to outdo each other, so the gifts tend to be extravagant. Zarina considers herself Cheryl’s righthand woman/personal knight by chocie, because she wanted a cause to fight for and has found one she truly loves, and she makes Cheryl her favorite gift so far, coming up to her at the end of a long day, after a very bad trial where Cheryl was mercilessly and slowly killed by the Pig, kneeling, and offering a thick shard of stained glass from the chapel, made sturdy and held in place with a few chunks of soldered and wrapped iron along the blade and down the grip, forming a razor sharp and reinforced stained glass knife.

[lovelyrhink]

i’ll try everything once

a few years after graduating college, rhett and link explore an everlasting playfulness through their mid-twenties. it’s late into the evening, at house party down the street, when rhett starts giving link eyes like he’s never before.

they’re roommates in a ‘burban house with two other guys, but as they sit across from each other now, they’re surrounded by a ring of ten. music pulses low under the hum of drunken murmurings, and the space feels loose and comfortable like it does when men treat each other like brothers. link sips his ~nth beer, sets his gaze on rhett, and studies him in a manner anything but. 

he’s laughing, nudging the guys next to him. his thighs are splashed with beer and link admires how pink his face gets when he’s pissed, sloppy-happy. all but link slip into a curious and slurry dialogue, and he stays quiet as the guys start talking about drugs. someone asks if anyone’s tried coke, or acid, and some of link’s friends titter a positive, offering their stories. it goes like that, guys telling each other what and what not to take, planning dates for mushroom trips.

the party teases into the night, bypassing a drunken truth-or-dare with a biting, we’re not teenage girls! someone rolls a joint, and after two rounds of puff-n-pass, one of the twelve asks another question. link likes him. noah, he thinks, the noah that’s nice and a little bit shy. when he asks, “would you ever suck a dick for drugs? or money?” link’s belly lurches. 

that’s when rhett says it. he pipes up, “i’ll try everything once,” and over-emphasizes a wink. the two on his sides shove him, but a few of the other laughing boys nod or shrug. rhett’s laughing, too, a beautiful sound to match the pretty of his face. his cute little teeth flash an unabashed confidence, but then he fixes his eyes on link. he sits up goes a little softer in the brows.

link’s breath catches at the strange mischief in his face, but it’s his cock that twitches when rhett wraps his lips on the head of his beer, unwavering stare. he lingers as he sips, keeping his eyes on link as heat floods through the boy at the receiving end. rhett finishes his bottle and alerts the boys for another round, leaving link fizzling. link swallows the lump in his throat and blinks, stupid.

after the party, link offers the tipsy confession that rhett had charmed everyone at the kickback. you had everyone whipped, link says, and you look good. he always looks good in red, link thinks. matches the redness of his lips. rhett grins, slaps a thank you into link’s shoulder. they’re too drunk to say anything else as they stumble the streets under a warm june night, back to their house and straight into bed. link doesn’t dream, but thinks rhett’s mouth one.

fortunately, their hangover isn’t as bad as it should be, and they recover quickly and return to work. they go off independently in the morning, but when they’re both back in the house after five, rhett starts acting... weird. he sidles up to link in the kitchen and hip-checks him. he buys them beer for no reason and starts playin’ like he’s got an inside joke with himself. he’s cheeky, sneaky, and link catches his eyes go soft and dark like they do often over the following days. 

rhett says naught else, but gives link the same weird look when they meet at the fridge at midnight and he goes for a frozen butterfinger. again, link’s body flushes with confused heat, simmering into the tingles he’s felt for rhett all his life. he grabs a pint of peanut butter chunk ice cream and makes his escape as he mutters, “why are you looking at me like that?” knowing for sure rhett won’t answer. it’s another few days before rhett does it again. with a banana.

link huffs. he hates this, even if his body doesn’t. rhett’s a joker, a prankster, and link can’t let his lifelong crush drown him in lust just cuz rhett’s lips look really good when he puts them on something. link ignores him, but the time after that, rhett’s insistent. he leans in the doorway of link’s bedroom, tells him that richard and gregg are still out at the show, and gives link the look™

“okay,” link grunts. the teasing has made him tense and just a bit irked. rhett’s put something in him that he can’t jerk out, and it eats him up. 

rhett cocks his head, admires link’s devotion to his magazine. it goes quiet, and rhett comes farther into the room and shuts the door. link’s feet are up on his desk, but his eyes are down. he can’t look at rhett anymore, not when his hips are swaggering like that, eyes on link. he’ll dent his magazine if he does. 

“stay curious,” rhett states. “that’s what i say. i consider myself a pretty curious guy, you know that.” goddamn his sexy smirk. “and i’m always up for a challenge. if i could take on every unanswered question of the universe, i would, even if i had to make up the solution. i’m pretty flexible that way.” 

link says nothing, so rhett pouts and kicks him. link snarls and sets his magazine aside. rhett’s arms are folded so link mirrors him. “what are you even talking about? leave me alone.” 

rhett shrugs, twist in his hips, and link takes his feet off the desk. he goes far from rhett at the other side of the room, but rhett follows. he’s got something in mind, link’s body knows it, but link’s slow and keyed-up and again, stupid. he turns and lets rhett consume him with his handsome features and indiscernible expression. rhett looks like he needs to say something, so link prompts, “well?”

“you know how kasey dumped me a few weeks ago?”

“sure.”

“she said i was distracted. like i got bored of her and didn’t want her.”

link doesn’t respond. he hates this whole conversation. rhett waits, then commands him silently. link sighs, defeated. “did you?”

rhett shrugs again.

ugh! this man is infuriating! link’s body temp rises and he breathes through his nose in frustration. without a clue of what’s to come, link closes his eyes and grunts, “do you need somethin’ from me, or...?”

“wanna try suckin’ a dick. actually, wanna try suckin’ your dick.”

critical hit! link stumbles back and bumps into the foot of the bed. his whole body goes red-hot, and he flutters his eyes as he replays the last few seconds, rhett’s filthy little grin and the pop of tongue in his cheek. link swallows the tightness in his throat, yet it does nothing as he squeaks out a, “what?!”

“you heard me.” the teasing flirtation in his face twists into a deepening lust, and he takes a few steps towards link. 

link stays fixed, trying to un-hear what his dick is throbbing to live out. rhett comes close enough for link feel his warmth and he backs into whatever is behind him, hot and trembling, effectively wigging out. rhett puts his mouth close to link’s ear but doesn’t touch him. “can i suck you? please?”

attraction thrumming in a huge rolling wave of heat, link’s body cries out for him, “yes!” and rhett grabs him by the waist. 

rhett kisses link’s mouth once to try it, then pulls back and does the same to every inch of him. a smooch everywhere there’s never been one, from link’s neck to his pecs and ribs, over his soft t-shirt and down his belly, nuzzling into his torso. link’s dumbstruck, gripping onto the foot of the bed behind him, eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on his breathing, calm and shallow. 

when rhett yoinks link’s shirt up and does the same to his bare skin, scraping his beardy mouth along link’s clavicle, link fizzles and his knees go weak. rhett makes quick work of suckin’ on his nipples and link eeks out a helpless, whimpery noise. he moves down to gnaw sloppy kisses on link’s jutting hipbones, and link’s cock weeps. the feeling overwhelms - the scrappy beard that rhett’s been growing out, his soft and plush little mouth, his teasing tongue. wanting to be admired, rhett taps link’s hip to get his attention.

rhett’s hunched over to get his mouth near link’s belly and his eyes are darker than they’ve ever been. his cheeks are stained rose pink and his eyebrows are creased like he’s withholding something deeply aroused inside. link’s mouth is dry at the sight: rhett’s handsome face next to the tautest erection he’s ever had. wasting no time, rhett tugs at link’s basketball shorts and reveals it. 

link winces at the feeling of himself exposed, but keeps his gaze down as rhett looks at it with those same soft eyes, then grabs it with little fear and starts workin’ it and jerkin’ it however he pleases. link digs his nails into his wooden lifeline and leans all his weight. his thighs trembling into numbness, his whole body hot and weak and wanting. bold now, he watches rhett and snaps,

“come on, put it in your mouth.”

rhett chuckles, “you want it,” and obeys his roommate’s gruff demand. 

“fuck!” link shouts when rhett sinks his mouth. he sucks the pink head of link’s cock into his even pinker mouth, pillowy lips parting in a round ‘O’ around the thickness. he’s gone, but then lust sends him to hell when rhett grabs him by the hips, pins him back against the bed frame behind him, and starts suckin’.

eyes squeezed shut once again, link lets rhett learn everything he can from his cock. how to cup his balls and bite his thighs, how to tease the head with his pointy tongue, and how to hollow his gaunt cheeks, really sucking on link for all he has. delirious, link doesn’t know how long rhett’s been on him. he’s sweaty in his crumpled shirt and his thighs are prickled with gooseflesh, he’s overly warm and the hot wet suction on his cock sending shivers through every nerve. 

when rhett pulls off, his words sound thick with cream. “look at me.”

link looks, and rhett’s eyes shine like the devil’s pool of tar. his perfect brows are knit and his cheeks are flush. the beard is slick and his posture has curled in on itself, one hand disappearing between his legs. he looks horny, feels needy on link’s cock, and link ventures one trembling hand to cup his face. 

“thanks for lettin’ me do this,” he purrs. “been achin’ for awhile.” link pushes his thumb into rhett’s lip as he sinks his perfect mouth again, finishing him off. 

[winchester-fantasies]

Backtrack - Summer of ‘98: Chapter 4

Backtrack Masterlist

Series Summary:  What if you were the one Dean came to instead of Lisa? Rewrite of “Swan Song” and some of S6.

Word Count: 3520

Warnings: fluff, light sexual tension, some swearing

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

A/N: Chapter 4′s Song: Montreal Rock Band Somewhere by Happyness.

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

You groaned as a loud and incessant ringing broke through your sleep. You rolled over and covered your head with your blanket, hoping someone would answer the phone and stop the intrusive noise. But after another three rings you’d had enough.

“Leah!” you shouted, your voice ringing throughout the room. 

“Shut up,” Andrea groaned in annoyance, rolling over and turning her back to you.

The phone continued to ring so you threw off the covers and jumped out of bed with a huff. You stomped downstairs, your heavy footsteps reverberating through the the stairs. “Leah!” you clipped again, only to be met with silence. “Mom? Dad?” 

You grumbled at having to get up so early in the morning to answer the damn phone as you marched into the kitchen and over to the landline, ripping the receiver from its cradle. “What?” you barked.

“(Y/N)?” Dean’s voice came through the phone.

Your eyes widened and your cheeks flushed at the realization of what you must have sounded like. “Dean?” you asked.

“Uh, hi,” he said almost timidly. “Is...is this a bad time?”

“Oh, uh, no,” you huffed out. “Um, I...I just…” you trailed off, unable to think of a plausible answer. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I should call back later…” Dean said, his voice uncertain.

“No!” you snapped, your words coming out harsher than you’d intended. You closed your eyes and berated yourself before taking a deep breath and plastering on a grin, even though he obviously couldn’t see you. “No,” you repeated, this time softer and adding a light chuckle for good measure. “Tell me what you called about.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “I just…. Well, I saw there was a band playing at Smitty’s tomorrow night, and I was wondering…. You wanna go?”

You stomach flipped at the thought of seeing him again, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling. “Uh, yeah. Sure,” you said nonchalantly. 

“Okay, awesome,” Dean said, his tone significantly lighter. “It starts at 7:00, but I thought we could grab some tacos from that food truck you were telling me about first. So...5 o’clock a good time to pick you up?”

“Yeah, sounds great!” you said.

“Okay, awesome!” Dean said again. An awkward silence fell between you both as you sought to figure out what else to say. Finally Dean broke the silence, clearing his throat. “Okay, well…. See you tomorrow night.”

“Yep!” you said, holding the receiver to your ear until you’d heard the click of him hanging up on his end. 

You stood at the kitchen counter even after you’d put the phone back on the wall. Your stomach was doing somersaults at the thought of getting to see him so soon, and the fact that it was going to be your second date just added nerves to your already nervous state. 

You couldn’t help but squeal as you finally rushed out of the kitchen and sprinted up the stairs to your bedroom. You burst through the door, jumping on the bed and essentially tackling Andrea. 

“(Y/N)!” she shrieked, scurrying out from under the covers, her puffy eyes wide with alarm. “What the hell?” 

“Dean asked me out again!” you exclaimed, getting to your feet and jumping up and down on your bed, the springs of your mattress creaking under your weight. 

Andrea rubbed her eyes and yawned before she looked up at you. “Look I’m happy for you and all, and I really wanna hear every juicy detail, but not until I’m awake and have coffee coursing through my veins.”

You giggled as you dropped to the mattress, your chest heaving and cheeks flushed from excitement and exertion. “Let’s go downstairs then! I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

Andrea sighed, but she was smiling as she got out of bed and threw her hair up into a ponytail. “Okay, fine.”

You grinned as you jumped out of bed and  grabbed her hand, practically dragging her down the stairs to the kitchen. “Mom made coffee cake this morning,” you said, gesturing to the cake still sitting out on the stovetop. 

“Cool,” Andrea said, voice still coated with sleep. You tried not to laugh as Andrea went to the coffee pot, feet dragging before taking the biggest mug in the cabinet and pouring herself a cup of the dark liquid. Your best friend was not a morning person by any means and although you felt bad for waking her the way you had, your excitement and need to tell her was too great.

You took two plates from the cabinet next to the sink, cutting and scooping out two large chunks of the cinnamony goodness. You carried them over to the high top where Andrea was already seated, sipping her coffee. You sat one of the plates in front of her before going to pour yourself a mug before joining your friend.

You ate in silence for a bit until Andrea seemed a little more awake. When she glanced at you, you took that as your cue. With bubbling excitement you relayed everything that happened. By the time you were done talking, your cheeks were rosy. 

Andrea’s blue eyes were sparkling as she grinned. “That’s so exciting, (Y/N)!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a quick hug. “Any idea what band it is?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “Guess I’ll just have to find out.” 

After breakfast, you and Andrea decided to walk downtown and browse some of the shops. You had heard some of the girls around town ooing and aahing over the new clothing boutique that had just opened up and you wanted to check it out. 

Two hours later, you and Andrea were strolling down Main Street, arm in arm. You felt Andrea tense as she spied the guy she’d had her eyes set on and even dated for a few months during senior year. Tim was planning on going to Texas State, and even though Andrea had initially thought about trying to get in, too, she finally decided to stay at home and work on her associates degree at the local community college. They had split on good terms, but you knew that didn’t make seeing him any easier for her.

“Let’s go in here,” you said, tugging her inside one of the thrift stores that lined the street. She was reluctant, gazing behind her at Tim before you gently prodded her to follow after you.

You both browsed for awhile before heading out again. “You hungry?” you asked as you stepped out into the sidewalk once more.

“I know I am,” a deep voice answered. You spun around to find Dean, standing not three feet away.

Your stomach flipped and smiled shyly. “Oh, hey, Dean,” you said quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Dean tore his eyes away from you long enough to look at Andrea beside you. “Don’t believe we’ve met,” Dean said. 

“Oh, sorry,” you chuckled sheepishly. “This is my best friend, Andrea. And Andrea...this is Dean.”

“Hey, good to meet you,” Dean said with a wide grin, reaching out and shaking her hand.

She smiled in return before turning to you. “Hey, uh, listen. I just remembered I had an errand my mom wanted me to run. I hate to leave, but….” She bit her lip and you almost laughed at the over-exaggerated and innocent look she sent your way. You gave her a silent look letting her know you knew exactly what she was doing before you nodded your head.

“No, it’s okay!” you reassured. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

Andrea agreed before saying goodbye to both you and Dean and walking back towards her house. You turned back to Dean, butterflies filling your stomach when you found him watching you. 

“So you still hungry?” he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“I’m starving!” you said with a laugh.

Dean grinned. “Pizza okay?” 

“Heck yeah! I love pizza!” you said a little more enthusiastically than you probably should have.

“Awesome,” Dean commented with a wide grin. He jerked his head for you to follow him, surprising you when he reached out and laced his fingers with yours. 

A few minutes later you arrived at the pizza parlor down the street. Dean held the door open for you before following you and the waitress to a table by the window. 

“So what’re you in the mood for?” Dean asked, scanning the menu. “Cheese, pepperoni, meat lover’s?”

“Actually my go-to is their green olive and banana pepper pizza,” you said with a half-smile.

“What?” Dean asked, his eyes widening. “That sounds disgusting.”

“It’s not!” you laughed. “You order what you want, but when my pizza comes, I’ll prove you wrong.”

Dean sent you a skeptical look just as the waitress came back to take your orders. Once she had given your orders to the cook and brought your drinks, you leaned back in the booth and admired the way the sun filtered through the window, making Dean’s eyes almost look like two jade orbs. 

You cleared your throat when you felt your stomach clench in desire. “So,” you said. “Any more...assignments?” you asked, picking up your Pepsi and taking a sip.

“Uh, yeah, a few,” Dean said vaguely, picking up his own drink.

“Oh, that’s good. I guess?” you said with a chuckle.

Dean smiled. “Yeah….”

You could tell Dean was feeling a little uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed, so you decided to change the subject. “So have you or Sam made any friends yet?”

Dean’s shoulders physically relaxed and he grinned. “A few. Especially Sammy. Me...well, I have you.”

You blushed at his words, but found yourself smiling. “I’m glad you have me,” you said. “You know, you can always come hang out at my house if you’re bored. And if you ever wanna tag along with me to see my friends you can, too. We usually hang out at the library once or twice a week.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” Dean said with a soft smirk. “What do you usually do at the library?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Discuss books we’re currently reading, share poetry we’ve written...talk about boys,” you added with a playfully coy smile.

Dean laughed. “Boys, huh? Anyone I should be worried about?” he asked with a cock of his eyebrow.

It was your turn to laugh. But the next second you sobered as you shook your head. And before you could censor yourself, you spoke. “No, your competition left a long time ago,” you said quietly, sweeping your eyes around the parlor and hoping Dean would go on and change the subject. You should’ve known you’d have no such luck.

Dean frowned, studying you for a moment before responding. “Wh...what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked cautiously.

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and staring at your hands folded on the tabletop.

“(Y/N),” Dean said gently, causing you to meet his gaze. “You know you can tell me anything.”

You sighed as you questioned if you really wanted to tell him or not. Finally, your shoulders slumped and you shook your head again. “I...I had this boyfriend - Caleb. We met in middle school and dated from sophomore to just the beginning of senior year. I...well, I fell in love with him,” you said, fighting back the tears that still rose up when you thought about it. “But he...he didn’t, I guess. I caught him in a...compromising position under the bleachers with the most popular girl in school - one of the cheerleaders. We broke up after that.”

Dean’s eyes were serious as he listened intently as you finished up your story. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he said softly. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “It was his loss. He was a dumbass that couldn’t see what was in front of him. He didn’t deserve you…. But that just means I get the treasure he threw away.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you stared into his sincere and tender gaze. You’d never had someone look at you or talk to you the way Dean was. And you couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant.

**********

The rest of the day flew by and before you knew it Friday evening rolled around. You fixed your oversized t-shirt, tucking the front into your mom jeans before throwing your hair up into a ponytail and adding a scrunchy to your wrist. You pulled on a pair of your Converse and then you were ready to go.

It was a quarter to 5:00; Dean would be there any minute. You hurried downstairs, finding Leah lounging on the couch, bubble gum popping in her mouth. “Hey, sis,” she greeted lazily, looking up at you, her eyes sweeping over your outfit. “Where’re you going?” she asked.

“To a concert,” you said, picking up your change purse from the coffee table. 

“Alone?” she asked incredulously.

“No…” you said. “With Dean.”

Leah’s expression grew hard at the mention of you and Dean going out, but nevertheless she sent you a tight-lipped smile. “Have fun,” she said, sounding less than happy for you.

“Oh, we will,” you said, sending her your best shit eating grin. 

Just then the doorbell rang and you hurried to the door, flinging it open to find Dean standing on the other side. His eyes lit up when he saw you and he grinned widely as he stepped inside. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, surprising you once again by wrapping his arm around your waist and placing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Hey, Deano,” Leah purred, smirking and twirling a piece of her hair around her finger and popping another bubble.

“Oh, hey,” Dean said, his eyes subconsciously falling to where the tops of her breasts peeked out from the neckline of her shirt. 

Your heart sank at his reaction and you found yourself placing your hand on his shoulder possessively. Dean tore his gaze away from Leah, glancing down at you, his eyes softening and his arm around your waist tightening a bit. “Well, see ya,” Dean said to Leah with a thin-lipped smile. “Ready, sweetheart?” he asked you.

You nodded before letting him lead you out the door. You glanced behind you, seeing Leah’s gaze sweep over him, eyes stopping at his backside and biting her lip. Nausea twisted your stomach and you couldn’t help but wonder if your days as the girl who had caught Dean’s eye were numbered.

**********

“So who’s playing?” you asked as you settled back into Baby’s front seat. You and Dean had just gotten done eating at the food truck. Dean had loved the place, claiming it had the best tacos he’d ever eaten. You had just chuckled, your heart filling with contentment as you watched him devour his food with fervor.

“I’m not sure actually,” Dean said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Some garage band I think.”

“Oh, okay,” you said with a slight nod. You turned to look out the window, the events from earlier still weighing heavily on your mind.

You jumped when you felt Dean’s hand touch yours, linking your fingers together and holding your hand in his lap. “Hey, you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to look over at you.

You sent him a thin-lipped smile and nodded. “Yeah,” you said vaguely.

“Did...did I do or say something wrong?” Dean asked sincerely.

Your heart seized up at his concern and you squeezed his hand as you shook your head. “No, no you didn’t. I promise,” you said. “It’s just me.”

Dean’s face was serious as he studied you carefully as if trying to solve the mysteries of the universe. “Okay,” he finally said, although he sounded less than convinced. “It’s really nice being able to do this - going out on dates and everything. And I’m really glad I get to do it with you…. You know that, right?”

You smiled, bringing his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I know. And I’m really happy I get to do it with you, too.” 

You and Dean pulled up in front of the small venue, Dean coming around and opening your door. You smiled your thanks before alighting. He closed the door behind you before taking your hand and led you up to the door. 

The place was already bustling with activity and the band was starting to set up. Dean led you over to a table situated in a secluded corner, pulling out your seat for you before settling down beside you. 

“I’ve never been here before,” you commented, looking around at the neon lights, old 70’s records lining the walls, and jukebox sitting on the other side of the building.

“Really?” Dean asked, surprised. 

“Nope, never,” you said with a shake of your head.

“I thought you grew up here,” Dean said.

“I did,” you said with a soft chuckle. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve been to every single place. My parents never liked this place much anyway. Always said it was ‘shady’.”

“Fair enough,” Dean said good-naturedly, glancing around. 

After awhile, Dean ordered both of you a couple of sodas and some appetizers. You had just started to dig into the nachos when the band began playing. It wasn’t exactly what you had expected from a garage band, and you found yourself actually enjoying the music.

Dean scooted in closer to you, his arm coming to rest on the back of your chair. His action surprised you, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it, and you found yourself leaning into him a little more, the inside of his shoulder pressing into yours.

“You enjoying it?” Dean asked, his warm breath fanning across your ear and sending shivers running down your spine.

You nodded, turning to look at him, startled to find his face mere inches from your own. You looked at one another carefully before his gaze broke away from yours, his eyes searching your face before darting to your lips.

Your heartbeat picked up as the tension grew thicker, the sounds of the music fading into the background. Dean leaned forward, his eyes flashing back and forth between yours and your lips. He parted his full lips slightly, his breath rushing across your mouth. You closed your eyes, waiting for the press of his lips against your own. 

Hand clapping suddenly echoed throughout the building and you and Dean both jerked away. The band had just finished their final song, but you had both been so wrapped up in one another neither of you had kept track.

Your face was hot, Dean’s own cheeks flushed as you sat back. Dean removed his arm from around your chair and cleared his throat awkwardly. After a few minutes, you and Dean got up, settling the bill and making your way back to the Impala. 

The ride back to your house was silent, the obvious sexual tension from earlier still permeating the air. You dared a glance over at Dean, his eyes focused on the road, one hand gripped tightly around the steering wheel, the other clasped in his lap.

You swallowed and looked out the window, but the next second you gasped as Dean suddenly veered to the right onto a side road, the pavement soon transitioning into dirt. 

“Where are we going?” you asked nervously, looking back to Dean. He met your gaze for a moment before looking back to the road, not answering your question.

You settled back into your seat, a mixture of curiosity and nerves filling your stomach. A few moments later Dean pulled off the road before stopping at the edge of a field.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, looking around at the thick grass blanketed in darkness.

“You’ll see,” Dean smirked, sending you a wink before climbing out and opening your door. He took your hand before leading you to the front of the vehicle, leaning back against Baby’s hood. 

You looked up at the star-speckled sky, the tiny balls of light twinkling like a million diamonds. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed.

“Yeah. It is,” Dean murmured beside you. You turned your head, finding him staring at you. Your stomach flipped and your breath hitched as he moved closer, his arm coming around you securely.

He raised his hand to your face, cupping your cheek in his rough and calloused palm. “I’m not very good with words,” he whispered. “But I’d like to show you...how I feel. If you’ll let me.”

You paused, your eyes darting between his. You nodded slightly, licking your lips nervously. Something shifted in his eyes then, a look you couldn’t quite place radiating from their mossy depths. His arm tightened around your waist and your heart skipped a beat as he slowly leaned towards you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[nelllraiser]

do you wanna summon a demon? | nora & nell

TIMING: awhile ago ?? time isn’t real. LOCATION: the forest near the outskirts. PARTIES: @nelllraiser and @fearfordinner SUMMARY: nora tries to make friends with a demon and gets put on timeout.

It was a very beautiful day to go on a nice long walk in the woods. The birds were chirping, the wolves were howling and in the distance she could just smell a monster of unknown name prancing around. For a few miles Nora followed the unknown monster deep and deeper, never catching up to it but definitely feeling like she was getting closer. She would have kept following the unknown beast farther and farther, but a new scent caught her attention. A human. Nora followed her nose until she walked into a clearing and right onto a circle drawn on the ground. “Oh, sorry I stepped on your circle.” Nora announced in her boring old monotone voice, before considering if she should speak or not. 

It was a very beautiful day to summon a demon in the woods. The birds were chirping, the wolves were howling, and the way the morning fog had left a nice dew over all the plants made an excellent conduit for all the magic she was about to perform. Nell’s splendid stag that she’d lured and killed lay just inside the circle’s boundary where she’d placed it, an offering for whatever demon was willing to form for her today. Her eyes were closed when the magical perimeter she’d set up to tell her of anyone getting near went off in her mind, but she was already too deep in her summoning to stop now. She’d just wipe the memory of whoever it was once she was done, unable to tend to it now. She still hadn’t lifted her gaze when she heard a voice, the words it said making her eyes snapped wide open. “You what?!” Her outrage most likely seemed sudden and out of place, but with the circle demolished, there would be nothing to keep a demon in place, leaving it free to run amok.

Oh. She sounded angry. Nora quickly started using her foot to push dirt into place to fix the circle. “It’s fine. I fixed it.” She pointed down at her patched part of the circle. Now that she wasn’t looking at the ground Nora had a chance to look around. A stag was dead in the circle, the woman who’d yelled at her seemed to be knee deep in something interesting. “Is this a summoning circle?” Nora asked, pulling out a chunk of ham from one of her pockets and taking a bite. Seeing the killed stag had made her hungry. “What are we summoning?”

“No, no, it’s definitely not fine,” Nell said as she crouched by the part of the circle that had been distrubed, trying to patch it as best and as quickly as she could with an influx of magic. But whatever had been planning to come through seemed to be forming, a dark mist pooling in midair in the center of the circle. But the recognition of her summoning circle caught Penelope’s attention. “You know summoning circles? Are you a witch?” Spellcaster, sorcerer, whatever. She was too focused on fixing what had been ruined to find whichever name it was that the other person might prefer. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the ham. Damn it, now she was hungry.

Mouth full of ham Nora stared at the dark mist solidifying in the center of the circle. “Hello. I’m Nora. I’m here to be your friend demon.” Nora has conveniently not answered if she was a witch or not. Blanche seemed to think Nora was, but Nora was on the fence, because she still thought she was fear itself. Because she figured she was fear itself, she also figured that whatever was coming through, a demon she presumed, was going to be her friend. Demons and fear got along hand and hand right? “That is a demon right?” Nora asked in her dull monotone before taking another bite. 

For a moment, Nell thought the woman was trying to tell Penelope her name at a time like this, while a demon was on the verge of escaping. But no....she was trying to say hello to the demon. Though...come to think of it— Penelope couldn’t deny that she wouldn’t also probably make introductions with a demon rather readily, she’d done such a thing on numerous occasions in the past. “Can’t guarantee the demon wants to be your friend back, unfortunately.” Nell was deciding that maybe this whole summoning should go into the books as botched, and renewed her chanting to try and send the demon back into the hole she’d pulled it through. Slowly, the mist began to reverse on itself. “Are you just going to stand there? Actually- that’s probably better- yeah- just stand there.”

The other woman told Nora the demon didn’t want to be her friend then started chanting. Nora’s gaze steadily drifted from disappearing mist to chanting woman while eating ham from her pocket like a person eating popcorn in the theater. Now that she was being directly told to just stand there, Nora didn’t feel like standing there. “I’ll help summon more demons.” Nora said, starting to mumble some complete mumbo jumbo under her breath. Deep within her, she tapped into the magical powers granted to her upon birth and started crafting perfect illusion replicas of the mist, slowly materializing around the circle, but out of its bounds. 

“What?” was Nell’s high-pitched and strained reply. “No, we don’t need more!” Not right now at least. Maybe they could compare demon summoning notes and thoughts later, though. But her shoulders relaxed as the supposed witch began to chant something that didn’t make a single lick of sense, and Nell began to wonder if this other woman was...well...entirely sane. So focused on diminishing the demon in the circle, she didn’t realize until a few moments later that there seemed to be more mist balls forming around the circle. What the fuck? That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. “What are you doing?”

“Summoning more demons.” Nora said in her calm monotone, staring blankly at the illusioned beings. They were looking good, it was about time to solidify them and have them start waddling around. Making direct eye contact with the woman in the circle, Nora casually slipped her foot forward and broke the circle again. “Oops.” Her voice, tone and face didn’t match what it said. Everything was blank, bored and bland despite the excitement she knew she was about to cause. Each illusioned demon stopped being see-through and started looking solid. Then they started waddling towards the original demon summoner. 

Nell sent out a wayward blast of magic towards one of the ‘demons’, and was mystified momentarily as the magic passed right through. It was as if...nothing was there. But she didn’t have all that much time to think on it as she let out a frustrated near screech when the stranger messed up her circle once again. Without warning, she sent out another pulse of magic, but this one was meant to stick the other woman up against one of the nearby trees. “Stay,” she commanded simply as she tried to fix the newest hole in her circle. 

The other woman was not pleased with Nora’s antics. Nora could tell as she found herself flung to and stuck against a tree. This, Nora decided, was not something she would call ‘an ideal situation.’ It was in times like this she had to ask, what would Jesus do? Nora wasn’t close to being a religious person, but everyone was always asking what he would do and since he was capable of walking on water and coming back from the dead she figured he’d also be capable of freeing her from a tree. She also concluded that he would probably do some religious magic thing that Nora wasn’t capable of doing. Casually Nora peeled off her jacket, letting it drop to the ground before turning into a bear that was attached to a tree. She did all of this while the other woman was hopefully not looking at her. It was more fun that way. Now, safely in bearformation, Nora let out her loudest yodel as if to say “What did you do! I’m a bear! How could you do this to me! Change me back!” 

Nell shot a few more blasts of magic towards the apparitions, and after a few continued to pass through them- it’s wasn’t the hardest thing to guess what was going on. Fucking illusions. Of course. Growling a bit in frustration, she stopped paying the faux demons any mind, focusing only on mending her circle as the demon trying to form in the middle stayed stagnant, neither growing nor shrinking back into whatever world it had come from. But then...what the fuck was that sound? She looked back over her shoulder to be greeted by a fucking bear, and another sound of annoyance was wrenched from her lips. Of course a bugbear had decided to come in and fuck her shit up and try to make a meal of her fear. “Joke’s on you! I’m not scared! I’m just annoyed!” 

“Joke’s on you! I’m not scared! I’m just annoyed!” That declaration of bravery really put a bee in Nora’s perverberal bonnet. Well, maybe she should have been prepared for a witch currently in the middle of summoning something wouldn’t be easily provoked into fear by a few simple tricks. Maybe she was one of those people who needed an actual near death experience to make a difference. So Nora shifted back, in her full nude glory, and hung there attached to the tree without saying anything. Occasionally she would kick her feet, but it wasn’t a ‘I’m trying to escape’ motion. It was a ‘I’m bored and just hanging here so…. Eh.’ motion. “Can I come down yet?” Nora asked after a few minutes of waiting for the witch to salvage her summoning. 

The bugbear went back to her human form, and Nell finally got a grasp on her summoning, driving the thing back from whence it came rather than bringing it into this world like she’d intended. Her sacrifice and magic...wasted thanks to this infernal bugbear. The shadows were gone, and Nell stayed on the forest floor, a great scowl on her features as she turned back towards the person who’d seen fit to completely ruin her casting. “No. You’re on timeout,” she insisted. “You can’t just come into a summoning, and ruin it! You could have set a demon loose! So you can sit there and think about what you’ve done,” Nell finished stubbornly. They could be here all night for all she cared.