#//Listen bugs are cool and they are sick as hell but I DO have to be honest I would be too much of a baby to get the spider 😔

[balloonboyismyson]

"Need somethin?"

Yeagh there's a bug in my room and I need it outside but I'm too short to reach it :(

You got it friend ('o, ' )b !

#Clownie honks #asks #//Listen bugs are cool and they are sick as hell but I DO have to be honest I would be too much of a baby to get the spider 😔 #//I should have drawn me picking you up to get the spider but I! forgot I was gonna do that eklrgnjkejken #MyArt

[bellysoupset]

ok max request

i know you said he has a pretty sensitive stomach that gets irritated by a lot of things, so what about him overindulging on something that usually sits well, only for him to start feeling sick after (i also really enjoy burps 😳😳)

Here you go anon! Burpy Max with an upset stomach!

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

"Okay, I want all of you gremlins sitting down right now!" Max exclaimed, jokingly glaring at the one kid still standing, "that includes you, Elliot. Sit your ass down."

The eight year old boy blushed and hurried to sit down and Max rolled his eyes, just as he saw Vince walking to the bus, with a kid draped all over him.

"Bus rules," Max raised a hand to start listing, "everyone wears a seat belt, no standing when the bus is moving. This includes when it just stopped in a red light. No sticking your heads out of the windows-" honestly, he hated the fact the windows weren't sealed shut, that always gave him anxiety after watching Hereditary - "no eating smelly things in the bus. If anyone feels sick, please call me up before you barf everywhere and I'll go get you so we can work this out. Ah, and use your inside voices, will you?"

He was pretty sure only 5% of what he had just said filtered through the kids. In truth, Max's favorite age to teach was teenagers, who actually listened, just opted for not doing what he asked sometimes. All he had to do was convince the older kids he was someone worth of listening, while the younger ones... They simply, plainly, didn't hear a word he said.

"Alright," Max sighed, turning around as Vince entered the bus, "nice of you to join us, Monacelli."

"We had an emergency pee break," Vince ignored him, not bothered in the least as he buckled in the six year old that was clinging to him, "you finished with the rules?"

"Yeah, we can go."

"Alright."

They were going on a field trip for the next town's science museum. It wasn't a long trip, only about 1 hour to get there, then they'd have a tour and a lunch break and come back before sunset. Still, these type of trips always made Max uneasy because so many things could go wrong surrounded by tiny, curious kids.

He settled down on his seat in the front, next to Monacelli. The other teacher was wearing a short sleeved polo, straining against his chest, and a baseball cap on top of his mop of black curls.

"You want anything?" Vince asked, not raising his eyes from his phone. Max sneaked a glance at the screen. The man was checking football scores, that made sense. He looked the type.

"No, just bored out of my mind," Max shrugged, glancing past his shoulder as the bus started to move and there was a general squeal, the volume increasing considerably. Field trips were never quiet.

Vince shrugged, ignored him and Max sat correctly in his seat, grabbing a bag of chips in his backpack. He stuffed a handful in his mouth, before tipping the bag in Monacelli's direction to wordlessly ask if he wanted any.

"Pass, thanks," Vince said, "still not feeling a 100% after the stomach bug from hell that you gave me."

Max snorted, rolling his eyes, "it's been ten days, get over it."

"Like you got over it?" The other man needled him and Max wrinkled his nose. In truth the flu had taken him out of commission for 4 whole days and when he finally managed to come back to the school, he had to take on some extra hours since Vince was down for the count.

And that was not even touching the fact he had to win his seniors all over again. Thankfully the bug had been harsh enough and he had a cemented enough position that he didn't become an immediate meme among the students, but that didn't mean they were cool with him again.

Max sulked, sliding down his seat a little more and continuing to eat. The chips were bland, because he wouldn't risk trying salt&vinegar during a field trip, since those always upset his stomach, and soon enough he finished up the whole bag, muffling a burp against his fist and crumpling the plastic.

Next to him, he watched as Vince took a sandwich from his bag and bit on it. Of course it was in homemade bread and huge. Max glared at the sandwich for such a long time, that Vince frowned and held it up for him.

"You want a bite? Or are you gonna hold me upside down by the ankles for my lunch money?"

Fuck this guy entirely, Max thought, scoffing, "I never did that."

"No, you just shoved me so hard from the monkey bars that I broke my arm," Vince rolled his eyes, "and for no reason too."

"I'm sure I had some reason," Max mumbled under his breath, even though he knew he really didn't. Twelve year old him had been a demon, smack right in the middle of his parents divorce and trying to get everyone's attention through whatever means he could.

Vince rolled his eyes, taking another bite and getting up from his seat to check on the kids.

The other teacher sighed, sliding further down his seat and crossing his arms to his chest, pissed off. He really didn't like remembering how much of a prick he once was, it burned a hole in his stomach.

Talking about his stomach... He could feel it pressing against his jeans, bloating up. He was the king of bloating, easily looking pregnant over any meal, but really? Over bland chips?

Another airy burp forced up and he blew it out under his breath, massaging his chest and cursing softly. It was like his body was adamant on humiliating him in front of Monacelli.

"We're probably almost there already," Vince said, startling Max, and causing him to sit up correctly. The other man slid in the small space between the front of the bus and Max' legs, so he could sit on the empty seat near the window, "no kid is carsick, we should count our stars."

"Uhm," Max nodded, scratching at his beard nervously and muffling yet another burp. He fidgeted on his seat, trying to find a comfortable position, "so why did you come back to Doveport? People don't come back here."

Vince shrugged, making a silly face to a kid who was watching them from another seat, then keeping the lighthearted smile on as he answered, "my family is here. I wanted to be closer to them. Besides, I like the town."

Insufferable.

"You like the town?" Max scoffed, then another burp snuck up, this one louder and bringing with it a hiccup that shook his whole body. Vince raised his eyebrows.

"You good?" he asked, not waiting for an answer to continue, "yeah, I like the people, I like the fact its peaceful."

"I'm-HIC!" The blonde let out a loud groan when another hicc-urp interrupted him, loud enough the kids sitting across the hallway from them started to giggle, "shit."

"Language," Vince said, seemingly out of habit, the corner of his mouth quirking up, "did you eat too much for your tummy, Daniels?"

Maybe he had a reason to break this guy's arm, Max thought darkly, glaring at him, "I'm fine," he stressed, wrapping an arm around his stomach and huffing as yet another hiccup shook him, "fu-duuuck."

He heard Vince chuckle at the switch of the insult, then a huge hand came to rest on his back, "maybe get up? It might help."

It wouldn't, Max already knew. Once he got the hiccup-burps, he was done for and it was really only a matter of time before his belly started churning and maybe nausea joined the mix later on. Still, just to get away from Vince, he got up and walked the hallway using the seats on each side of him as support to keep from wooblying.

Vaguely he thought they were setting up a terrible example, telling the kids to stay put and then walking all over.

He counted the children, just to have something to do, and then paused as the bus shook and his stomach flipped, going from unsettled to upset and sour. Max squinted, removing a hand from the seat in order to plant it on his belly and groaning as he could feel the bloat pushing against his t-shirt.

"Mr. Daniels?" a kid asked, confused as of why he had stopped right next to their seat. It was a little girl, with long box braids and dark skin, big brown eyes, "is your tummy sick?"

God.

"I'm fine, Jess," he forced a smile at the kid, winking at her, "what are you drawing there?"

"The dinosaurs!" Jess perked up, holding her coloring page. It was a bit messy, but overall he thought it was pretty nice. A T-rex in the middle of the woods. They wouldn't be seeing any t-rexes today, but oh well.

"That's so cool," he grinned, crouching down and immediately regretting it when the movement caused another burp to rush up, this one followed by three hiccups in quick succession that he could do nothing about. Jess started to giggle at him and Max' cheeks turned red. He swallowed some air, forcing up a thick, low burp against his fist and she wrinkled her nose.

"Eeewww..." The little girl whined and he blushed even more, his whole face ablaze.

"Sorry, sorry-" he grabbed one of her crayons, "I think your t-rex is missing a hat. It's sunny outside, is it not?"

Happily diverted, the kid turned to her drawing and studied it, "maybe sunblock," she decided, "or a cap like Mr. Mo's?"

Who the fuck was Mr. Mo?

It took Max a second to realize the girl couldn't pronounce Monacelli and had settled for the second best thing. He snorted, "yeah, give him a baseball cap-"

"Her," Jess glared at him, "It's a girl t-rex, like in the movies."

"Ah... Yeah, then give her a cap," he squeezed the little girl's shoulder, then got up once more, the movement causing the bag of chips in his belly to churn a little harder and the push up a wet burp that he muffled with a hand. This one he could just taste the potatoes.

"Fuck," Max sighed, falling back on his seat up in the front and folding in half, pressing his forehead to the front wall that separated the common area of the bus from the driver's.

"What's up?" Vince looked up from his phone once more. Now he was texting someone.

"I think I'm gonna barf," Max groaned, keeping his voice low, "how much until we stop?"

"About twenty minutes," Vince dug through the cooler that was at his feet, with water bottles, juice boxes, bags, snack bars - "here," he handed him a water bottle, "are you carsick or did you really eat too much with just a measly bag of chips?"

"My gut is a bit of a bitch," Max sighed, closing his eyes, "temperamental as fuck. I thought I was in the clear with the bland chips, but..." he trailed off, making his point by muffling a sickly little burp against his hand and shuddering when vomit splashed the back of his throat. He swallowed in, "fuck my entire fucking life."

"Stop fucking swearing," Vince whispered to him, "you're gonna startle the kids. Twenty minutes, alright? Just take deep breaths and stop leaning forward like that, you're not helping yourself."

"You're such a snotty know-it-all," Max glared at him, as Vince planted a hand on his chest and pushed him against the seats, "what's up? You're a med school reject?"

Vince frowned, "you're such a prick. Are you hellbent on puking in front of every class you teach?"

Max' ears burned and he looked away from the man, taking a large gulp of water, "you're never gonna let that go?"

"Not for another month at least," Vince huffed and then pushed the window next to him wide open.

The rush of chill air helped a lot, but Max was not about to congratulate Vince for doing the barest minimum. He breathed out slowly through his mouth, sneaking a hand under his t-shirt and pressing on his belly. It was warm to the touch and gurgling non stop.

"How much more?"

"Nineteen minutes," Vince said and he could hear the man's amusement at his plight. Max groaned, staring at the ceiling as yet another hiccup hit him and made his ribs ache, his whole chest squeeze.

The water had been a mistake, as it rocketed up his throat, forcing him to gulp down.

"I really don't wanna be sick in front of them," Max whispered, allowing a glimpse of vulnerability to the other teacher. He knew at least with that Vince could sympathize, "just- Do something? Please."

There was a pause, then Vince squeezed his knee in an amiable way and pushed Max's legs out of the way as he got up once more. He clapped his hands loudly.

"Alright kids, each one of you know the bus song?" he exclaimed, his voice all cheery and Max groaned, scooting so he could occupy Vince's now empty seat next to the window and shoving his head out, so he could breathe.

Now with the noisy bus, he could burp openly, and a string of belches pushed up, intercalated with hiccups, rattling in his chest. He let out a groan and spat the saliva pooling in his mouth, but the burps helped, a little, the ache in his gut.

He lowered his head to the windowsill, listening as Vince continued to sing. They had ruined the peace and quiet and the bus was chaos, but at least Max knew not a soul was paying attention to him, as he let out a moan and squeezed his tummy, urging it to settle down.

Eventually the bus came to stop and Max removed his head from the window, wiping the cold sweat that was clinging to his upper lip and catching Vince's eye as the man shepherded the kids into a queue in front of the museum.

"Thanks," he whispered, passing him by once they were all outside, "uhm- You can handle them for another fifteen? I'm gonna go hurl, but then I can take 'em."

Vince's eyebrows jumped up, a sudden, startled chuckle slipping past his lips. He nodded, "Uh yeah- yeah, sure, go ahead-" then his attention slipped away as one of the boys tried to run ahead, "Elliot give me your hand!"

#sickfic #max daniels #mywriting #eructo #tummyache #belly ache #⭐️ anon

[faggotbenry]

I'm sharing my Frenry spotify playlist. these are songs personal to my taste and my idea of Frenry, so if u dont like it, too funkin bad i suppose. the playlist will keep growing as long as i keep liking Frenry and listening to music i am taking suggestions if u have songs that fit the vibe 👍

list of current tracks, in no particular order, under the cut (will probably update as i remember to)

To My Enemies - Saint Motel

How I Survived Bobby Mackey's Personal Hell - Lincoln

Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge

Bad Ideas - Tessa Violet

I Love Hating You - FrankJavCee

Robbin' a Bank - Bug Hunter

hedonic treadmill - KevinKempt

Easy To Hate - Waterparks

Deadlines (Hostile) - Car Seat Headrest

Want You Gone - Portal 2 OST

Blah Blah Blah - The Oozes

Turtleneck Sweater - marinelli

Pigeon - Cavetown

Backstabber - Kesha

Bad Romance - Halestorm

Rory - Foxing

Drunken Lament - Ludo

Worry - Mother Mother

Banks - Lincoln

Ghosting - Mother Mother

Cause for Concern - Lovejoy

It's All Futile! It's All Pointless! - Lovejoy

...well, better than the alternative - Will Wood

Animal - Sir Chloe

Absence - Rio Romeo

Love Me Dead - Ludo

Stalker's Tango - Autoheart

Soft Bitch - Rio Romeo

Sweet - Phemiec

Butch 4 Butch - Rio Romeo

Microwave - Ricky Jamaraz

despair - leo.

So Alright, Cool, Whatever - The Happy Fits

Diet Soda - Starbenders

The Room Is Filled With People That Love You - Foresight

Wet - Dazey and the Scouts

Bloody Mary, Kate and Ashley - PUP

You Make Me Feel - Archive

Platonic Best Friend - Bug Hunter

Doing Things That Artists Do - The I.L.Y's

Boys Club - Ivory Hours

Do You Want To Die Together? - Stars

So Beautiful - Creative Differences

VR - CreepP, Disko Warp, Michaela Laws

we've got history - The Garages

Sick - Barcelona

FUCK ABOUT IT - Waterparks, blackbear

[Reboot] - Waterparks

Arizona - Kevin Creel

The Edge - Panicland

Honeywell - Clem Turner

Need You here - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Problems - Mother Mother

This Is Love - Air Traffic Controller

Arms Tonite - Mother Mother

Let's Fall In Love - Mother Mother

Two Time - Jack Stauber's Micropop

Gossamer - Fashion Jackson

Champagne - Machinery of the Human Heart

WasteUrTime - Kevin Walkman

Benjamin Alphabet - Super Whatevr

FIGURE IN THE BACKGROUND - SNAKE POOL

Normal People Things - Lovejoy

Fall - The Terrordactyls

3:30am - Kevin Walkman

Needs - Verzache

Kiss With A Fist - Florence + The Machine

Under My Skin - Jukebox The Ghost

You Give Love A Bad Name - Bon Jovi

Said the Spider to the Fly - The Paper Chase

Don't Tell Me You Love Me - Follies & Vices

Knives, Guns & Bed - Rare Americans, Clare Twiddy

I Hate You So Much - Anarbor

Who Said Anything About Falling in Love - Within Ruins

Virus - Andrew Stein

Potential Breakup Song - Aly & AJ

Super Psycho Love - Simon Curtis

Call Me What You Like - Lovejoy

Breezeblocks - alt-J

Orange - Alex Unknown

Blast Doors - Everything Everything

Oleander - Mother Mother

Community Gardens - The Scary Jokes, Louie Zong

Obsession - OK Go

Foolishly Wrong - Autoheart

Bugbear - chloe moriondo

Your Stupid Face - Kaden MacKay

#hlvrai #frenrey #frenry #benry #benrey #gordon feetman #apparently this is the first time ive tagged a post with frenry. wild #anyways i hope yall do enjoy. this playlist is a labor of love and faggotry #also gonna make this my pinned post #look at my playlist boy

[queenofbaws]

Hi~! How are you? I hope everything is fine!♡

I'm here asking for something with Conrad and Fliss because I miss them so much! Thank you!!

at-least-but-not-exactly-six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

---

Jules and Alex thought they were sooooo slick, didn’t they? They’d seriously singled him out to go get the rest of the beer, when Brad had been sitting right there, and they expected him to, what, not take that to heart? He wasn’t an idiot, he knew what an order as pointed as that meant - ‘I’m sick of your shit, Connie,’ was what JJ had actually meant; ‘Dude, please, just...stop talking for two minutes’ was what Alex had actually meant. He was annoying them. Bugging them. Getting on their last nerves.

Good.

He’d agreed to this little boating vacay for one reason and one reason alone: To hassle the boyfriend and count how many different shades of red his precious sister’s face could turn in the process. At his last count? Five.

He snickered as he headed below deck, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darker interior of the boat. It wasn’t pitch-black or anything, but it still took him the better part of a minute to find the damn beer, stubbing his toe something wicked in the process. “Motherf - ”

“So which was it?” asked a voice from behind him, his stubbed toe forgotten as he all but jumped right out of his skin. “Did you decide you needed to get away from them, or were you kicked out of the fun and games?”

Once he was absolutely positive he wasn’t making the Home Alone face, Conrad glanced over his shoulder to find Fliss sitting at the table cool as could be, her head resting against the wall and her long (long, long) legs stretched out along the rest of the booth-seat. There was no way she hadn’t seen him jam his whole-ass foot into the cabinet where they’d stowed the beer - no way in hell.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t pretend she hadn’t.

“A little of column A, a little of column B, you know how it goes,” he said, acting like the whole ordeal was really putting him out. “Your sister invites you on a tropical vacation and you think to yourself, ‘Ah, clearly she’s going to want to spend some quality sibling bonding time together!’ Then you actually get there and find out she prefers, y’know, getting proposed to. And not listening to your super engaging stories.”

“Tale as old as time.” Fliss stretched her arms up over her head for a moment, rolling her shoulders for good measure, and then slid out from behind the table. “I mean, you do see the silver lining there, don’t you?”

“Silver lining, silver lining...” he joked, tapping his chin before pointing downwards. “I mean, more beer, for sure. That’s always a plus. Mmm...I don’t have to watch her and Alex get all schmoopy about ‘being in love’ or whatever...” He’d hooked a couple air-quotes with his fingers as he’d said it, but slowly let his hands drop as Fliss walked up to him, closing the distance between them until she was close enough to smooth down the collar of his shirt.

Had he said before that he’d come on this trip to bug Jules? Yeah, yeah that had been mission objective number one for sure, but man oh man if his priorities weren’t starting to shift.

“Those are both true,” Fliss said, not exactly nodding and not exactly smirking, but her tone somehow suggesting both. “Neither were the silver lining I was thinking of.”

“No, huh?” And shit, if they handed out Oscars for acting cool, calm, and collected, he was ready to pick his up at any time. For someone who’d just absolutely wrecked his own foot barely a minute ago, he thought he was doing pretty good in terms of sounding aloof and mysterious and acting like he wasn’t keenly fucking aware of the warmth of Fliss’s palms against his chest and she worked at the first button still fastened there. “Well, captain, I’m...very, very open to suggestions, so I’d love to hear any feedback you have.”

That time her mouth did twitch up into a sly little smile, her eyes sliding from the collar of his shirt up to his. “I was just thinking,” she began, also acting cool, calm, and collected, but actually pulling it off like the consummate professional she was. “Them telling you to get lost does sort of mean we can continue that conversation we were having earlier, doesn’t it?”

“They didn’t tell me to - ” Thankfully, he wasn’t enough of a dumbass to let that one fly over his head. “Oh,” he said, the picture of eloquence. “Oh. Ohoho. I guess that is what it means, isn’t it?”

And because of who he was as a person, he went to say something else, to add another witty quip as punctuation...but Fliss was already kissing him by then, her hands balled up in his shirt and her lips soft against his.

#torahime #six sentence weekend #queenie writes supermassive #hey there!! ;D it's a lovely stormy night here where i am so im in a real good mood hehehe #hope youve been having a nice weekend!! :)

[mywifeleftme]

315c: Various Artists // Top Teen Bands Vol. 3

Top Teen Bands Vol. 3 Various Artists 1966, Bud-Jet

Doing a three-for-one today on this trio of Minneapolis-St. Paul garage rock compilations originally issued in 1966 on the Bud-Jet label, and mysteriously bootlegged on CD and vinyl around 2005. With the exception of bluesman George “Mojo” Buford (on Vol. 2), none of these acts ever managed to cut an LP, and a few barely managed to get a single out. The Twin Cities had a decent little rock scene, and these comps give us 16 bands across 36 tracks, good, bad, and bluhgly. First time opening these guys that have been sitting on my shelf for ages, let’s see what we’ve got.

Top Teen Bands, Vol. 3

Gregory Dee & the Avanties — Nervous Breakdown (Maybe a shade of the Who in that quavering vocal; one of those nearly-blitzing, nearly-heavy numbers the Avanties’ might've really figured out how to tear into if they'd made it to a post-MC5 America.)

Underbeats — Route 66 (A Holly/Berry-ized version of the Nat King Cole chestnut, totally fine, though the drums are practically inaudible, both on my pressing and the version on YouTube—there's basically just a faint clattering of cymbals in the background, like steam hissing in a distant room.)

Canadian Lady Bugs — Tra-La-La-La-La (A complete rip off of "What'd I Say," though it would've been fun enough to twist to at a sock hop.)

Deacons — Candy Man (Bit of a low energy recording for what it is, but that guitarist really throws it down on the lengthy solo—imagine if someone could’ve told them a little feedback would drive the kids nuts?)

Accents — Road Runner (Sick guitar tone on this one; teenage boy attempts bluesman Blaccent with mixed results; let's say "inspired" by the Jr. Walker song.)

Bandits — The Crusher [actually King Krusher and the Turkeynecks – King Krusher] (Oh hell fucking yes, where do I even begin with this? So, in 1964 the Novas [who are themselves all over this compilation series] had a national #88 hit with a novelty song called "The Crusher" in honour of the Wisconsinite wrestler Reginald "The Crusher" Lisowski, including vocalist Bob Nolan's memorable impression of the gravel-voiced grappler. What we have here is ANOTHER Minnesota band, the aptly named Bandits, ripping off the Novas' tune later the same year with "King Krusher" (issued under the name King Krusher and the Turkeynecks), only this time the track seems to feature the actual Crusher on guest vocals. Lisowski (or a good soundalike) gives probably the closest thing you're going to hear to a death metal vocal on an early '60s recording, and while the track isn't as catchy as the Novas' original, it certainly weaves a more elaborately eye-gouging narrative.)

Rave-Ons — I Want You to Love Me (Not very sneakily rips off at least three massive hits, including "La Bamba" and the Beatles’ version of “Twist and Shout”; unsurprisingly, the result is decently catchy.)

Satisfactions — Bad Times (Kind of Animals-y, one of the few things on here that I would say has a sense of Cool to it; this is really on the cusp of that long-haired late '60s sound that was taking shape. It's not a classic, but it's right on the cusp of Nuggets-quality.)

Novas — Novas Coaster (Speak of the devil, it's the Novas with a semi-instrumental that won't change your life, but suggests it was probably between these guys and the Avanties for the title of best live act in the Twin Cities at the time.)

Bandits — Downtown (Fun, peculiar, faintly Tiny Tim-ish take on Petula Clark's "Downtown"; sounds like me doing Brian Ferry at karaoke.)

Only Ones — The Party's Over (Still not any of those Only Ones, but this is a really fun doomed teenage death wish track in the classic style—a great song to close a night with, for anyn vintage wax DJs reading this.)

Gregory Dee & the Avanties — Olds-Mo-William (I read this title for the first time immediately before listening to the track and clocked the dumbshit pun [Oldsmobile, the beel pronounced like "Bill" in a certain type of Southern accent] just as the band kicked in. Decided right then and there that I was all in for whatever. Some Dr. Demento-quality Chuck Berry worship here, chaos, great way to end the comps.)

Overall: I’d say Vol. 3 gives you the best bang for your buck of the three sets, with King Krusher and the Turkeynecks’ “King Krusher”; Satisfactions’ “Bad Times”; Only Ones’ “The Party’s Over”; and the Avanties’ “Olds-Mo-William" being some of the highlights of '60s Twin Cities garage rock. Some of them haven't even been uploaded to YouTube, so if you want 'em this is one of the few places they can be heard.

See also: Vol. 1 / Vol. 2

315c/365

#garage rock #midwestern music #twin cities #minneapolis music #rock #only ones #king krusher and the turkeynecks #bandits #da crusher #crusher #crusher lisowski #wrestling #awa #gregory dee and the avanties #underbeats #satisfactions #novas #rave-ons #accents #deacons #canadian love bugs #music review #vinyl record #'60s music

[imagine-a-dream]

Ghosts taking care of you when you have a cold

platonic Ghosts x alive!reader

Requested by anon: Hello! How are you? Please could I get a general ghosts x reader where she feels horrid, loke a cold (I feel like shit) and the ghosts just bug Alison to get stuff for you (even Fanny and Julian are concerned) ❤

Hello! Sorry for the delay, I hope you feel better soon, dear anon! Hope you like it ♥

Another pit of coughing made your lungs and throat hurt. You took a tissue to clean your nose and a hoarse whine of pain escaped you. You felt like shit, not only from the sudden cold, but also because it ruined your plans to hang out with your dear friends Alison and Mike. Just after you arrived at the Button’s house and Alison invited you to the kitchen, you felt a chill run down your spine. She told you it’s because of the ‘ghosts’ and you both laughed at that (although you’ve noticed her strange look somewhere behind your back).

But now all your reassurance about ‘just being tired’ crumbled like a house of cards. You were lying in Alison’s guest room bed and with a fever and a terrible cough. Even though you were left alone for a few hours, as Alison went to deal with some things about their business and Mike went to the nearest shop for medications, you never felt truly alone. Maybe there were ghosts, after all? No, you’re just starting to lose your mind. Ghosts are not real.

With those thoughts tiredness finally overpowered you and you fell asleep. not having a clue about all of the long-dead members of the house fussing around you.

***

“Poor thing...” mumbled Pat, looking with pity at your small form, curled into the fetal position under the thick blanket.

“We need to call Alison, this is irresponsible to leave this poor child to suffer like this alone!”

Discordant choir of voices agreed with Lady Button’s suggestion.

Julian and Robb went to the phone and all of the others followed the two discussing all of the things you needed to feel better.

***

When you woke up you still felt terrible and your throat felt dry and your head was pounding. You checked your phone, it was well past 10 pm. You sighed and reached out a hand to pull down the blanket, but the door to your room opened swiftly. You jumped a little, startled. The bright light from the corridor blinded you and you hoarse an uncertain “Alison?”

When a pair of cool hands cupped your face you let out a sigh.

“Yes, love, it’s me. You have a fever, you need to lay down. How do you feel?”

“Like shit…”

She chuckled. “Yeah, figured.”

Finally your vision focused on her concerned face. Her eyes flickered to the end of your bed and she nodded.

“Yeah, listen, you need to eat something. How about chicken soup? And a tea, hmm?”

***

“Chicken soup will do nothing, Alison, don’t be ridiculous. You need to rubdown their body with vodka and ground pepper. I remember Mayor Jameson, who had quite a strong pair of hands by the way, was fighting…”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Hon, you need to eat something to gather your strength.”

“Do they look like they’re fighting hypothermia?” Julian scoffed. “If we’re talking about vodka it’s better be taking inside of the body, not wasted on some stupid…”

You thought about it for a moment, not noticing your friend’s face. If you weren’t sick, you would see her gaze flickering from one spot of the room to another.

“Yeah, okay.”

She smiled at you. “Great then! You just lay here, I will be back in a few minutes with tea and pills, and then Mike will bring you soup.”

You nodded and sent her a grateful but tired smile.

“You’re an angel, Ali.”

She waved her hand dismissively.

“Please. Rest, love.”

When she was about to step out of the room you heard her whispering “No, I won’t perform an exorsism on them, Mary, what even…” and she closed the door.

You were so confused that even your headache felt less painful for a moment.

“What the hell?” You mumbled to yourself, but were cut off by another pit of cough.

***

Meanwhile in the kitchen there was chaos. All of the ghosts bombarded poor Alison with suggestions of their time and preference on how to fight your sickness.

“I’m telling you, vodka is the best option. They will be on their feet in an instance.” — Captain.

“Yeah, or will die of intoxication, genius. I’m telling you it’s...” — Julian.

“Cake! Ohh I would love to eat a cake, papa would give me a big slice when I was ill.” — Kitty.

“You all wrong, they need meat.” — Robin.

“Why don’t you even consider the idea of poetry? The power of a good poem is one of the best medicines in the world, it heals the very soul…” — Thomas.

“Or maybe give them real medicine?” — Pat.

Silens. Alison sighed, feeling a headache creeping slowly. On the other hand, she was grateful that Y/n didn’t hear them all, it definitely would not help them.

“Guys, thank you all for your suggestions, but I stick with Pat. But you can watch over them and tell me about their current condition.”

After a few days you were feeling much better and started to pack your things to finally go home. You were grateful for Alison’s care, even though at some point you started to suspect she had some sort of supernatural abilities. When you ran out of tissues, she was there within a minute. When your throat felt dry, not 5 minutes later she’d brought you water. But you didn’t question it much, she did more than you could ask.

And Alison didn’t know how to tell you that there were a bunch of very caring and concerned ghosts that were looking after you the whole time. Maybe one day you’ll know, but for now it’s best to keep it secret. At least until you’ll feel better.

masterlist | request rules

#Ghosts #Ghosts BBC #Ghosts imagine #Ghosts x reader #humphrey bone #Pat Butcher #Alison Cooper #Mike Cooper #Kitty #Kitty ghosts #Mary ghosts #Thomas Thorne #Julian Fawcett #Lady Fanny Button #Fanny Button #robin the caveman #six idiots #The Captain #gender neutral reader

[ellienettie]

Maotif and Scarlet luck pt.2

Marinette: Listen, bug boy, all I'm saying is-

Adrien: all your saying is you'd rather intensify the already intense paranoia of an old man who dresses up as a bat.

Marinette: *pouting* well when you put it that way instead of 'playing a prank on batman' it's less fun.

Jason: *smirking* It sounds fun to me.

Adrien: You're sick.

Marinette: But he says it's fun so it should be!

Adrien: Cat, he's not the best person to judge whether something is fun or not.

Marinette: For you. Killjoy. We have the same definition of fun, so of course I'll have him as a judge!

_________________________

Adrien: Mari, gotta go. Akuma.

Marinette: which one?

Adrien: Pigeon

Marinette: Ha! sucks to be you.

Tim: What's wrong with Mr.Pigeon?

Adrien: *shivering* we don't talk about Mr. Pigeon.

Marinette: Adribug here hates him cause of all the feathers.

Tim: Be safe!

Marinette: No guarantee!

Tim: Don't go and sacrifice yourself again.

Marinette: Again, no guarantee!

Tim: I'm serious, I care about you.

Marinette: I care about you too, pretty bird.

Adrien: faster lovebugs! The less time I deal with that stupid pigeon the better

Tim and Marinette simultaneously: *dramatic gasp* How dare you insult Recardo/Julyo like that!

Adrien: *groans*

___________________________

Adrien: You know, with how careless you are as a hero I'm seriously amazed at how much work you can do. You could be a better bug than me.

Marinette: *downing her 5th cup of coffee* remember that time when we switched miraculous? I AM a better bug.

Adrien: *inching the 6th cup of coffee away* Yeah but you need less responsibility in life

Marinette: That's what maotif is for.

Adrien: Why can't you just tell Bustier that you're tired of doing her job?

Marinette: *grinning while snatching the 6th cup* at this point, it's a matter of pride.

Tim: *other side of her, downing a cup of coffee* And spite. I'm helping her compile evidence as to why she's a horrible teacher.

Marinette: *humming as she finishes part of her work* I'm going to sue her ass so hard.

_____________________________

(In this au Marinette still makes all of the plans. Basically it's now they both really need each other. Adrien has the lucky charm and the cure while Marinette makes the plan) (This is how they met Lila btw)

Lila: *talking to Adrien* I'm friends with both of the heroes!! They're so cool, Maotif even told me that she's in love with Scarlet luck! It's just such a shame that Scarlet and I are dating...

Adrien: *tired* Maotif likes birds, not bugs. Not to mention, Scarlet luck is too focused on beating the akumas to pay attention to love.

Lila: That's not true! Maotif and Scarlet told me themselves!

Marinette: Scarlet luck and Maotif stops by my house a lot, hell they even let Alya interview them when I asked. I don't think they mentioned you?

Lila: *spluttering* I'm so sorry! This was a mistake! *runs away to avoid them*

Adrien: That was weird

Marinette: Yeah...

(I don't plan on having Lila lie here a lot, a tiny bit of bluffs here and there but over all she's quiet because Marinette and Adrien are in her class)

_________________________

Adrien: *stepping in through the portal to the batcave* You will not believe the day I had

Marinette: *sits on Tim's lap* Suck it up whiny bug

Adrien: Suck it up?! You don't have to go through being Chloe's target!

Marinette: Uh, yeah I did. So suck. it. up.

Tim: Chloe?

Marinette: Bourgeois

Tim: *Scrunching his nose* I don't really like her

Adrien: Nobody does

Marinette: That's not even a lie!

Adrien: Oh! Before we forget, can you make a file about a girl named Lila Rossi? She's kinda suspicious

Marinette: *leans close to Tim's neck* She was talking about knowing us in front of us

Tim: Superhero to civilians or?

Adrien: Superhero to civilians plus civilians to civilians for Mari

Marinette: Such is the pain of being an anonymous celebrity!

Tim: *boops her nose* I don't think she's that suspicious. As long as she isn't doing any real harm, or manipulating someone.

Marinette: *rolls her eyes* that's what I keep telling him, but he's so insistent.

Adrien: She just has the whole...vibes

Marinette: *murmuring so only Tim can hear* I swear I'm the one who looks like a wayne but if anything he's the one who acts like one

Tim: *whispering so only she can hear* think Damian will fight him when Bruce adopts him?

Marinette: *giggles* definitely

Adrien: Don't ignore me!

#scarlet luck and maotif #maribat #timinette #tim x marinette #marinette x tim #miraculous marinette #miraculous adrien #platonic adrienette #platonic jasonette #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladynoir #mlb #mlb au #mlb fandom #bustier salt #sort of?? Lila redemption #mlb x dc #dc x mlb

[terzos-edibles]

Silver Linings

1. Gotta Keep On, Keepin' On

Summary: No kid, no tribe, and avoiding his responsibilities, Din Djarin has gone back to bounty hunting and mercenary work under the watchful eye of Boba Fett. After a job on Ibaar goes very wrong in more ways than Din would like to count, he is forced to flee with a very peculiar New Republic doctor. He is determined to get enough credits and fuel to drop the doctor off on her home planet and be done with it. But will he be able to part ways with her after she finds all the right and wrong ways to push his buttons?

Words: 1.8k

Rated Mature: language, canonical violence, depression, mentions of suicidal behavior.

“I don't know if I'm scared of dying But I'm scared of living too fast, too slow Regret, remorse, hold on, oh no I've got to go There’s no starting over No new beginnings time races on.” - My Silver Lining, First Aid Kit

Ibaar-

The fist of the Empire reached far, sweeping across the farthest reaches of the Galaxy; the deepest corners seemed to have felt its influences. Even the smallest, poorest planets had Stormtroopers deployed to them - a formality to further oppress the planets’ occupants and show their might - and dissuade any sort of rebellion from sparking. The destruction of the second Death Star and subsequent death of Emperor Palpatine at the hands of the Rebellion had shown that plan hadn’t, well, panned out. Still, in the five years or so after the fall of the Empire, the New Republic was just now starting to finally make its way into the Outer Rim Territories after ensuring that the more strategically essential planets were well taken care of. Remnants of the Empire still clung to those planets, holding out hope that the Empire would somehow revive itself and their loyalty would be rewarded. Many felt that the New Republic had abandoned them, that things hadn’t gotten any better since the Empire had fallen. It would be the same as it had always been. The Outer Rim would continue to be forgotten, continued to be terrorized by Remnant Stormtroopers, continued to be terrorized by pirates, and continued to be terrorized by gangsters. People had given up hope once again.

But, aid was coming. Slowly, but it was coming. New Republic troops were starting to make their way back out towards planets that needed them, bringing with them much-needed supplies and rations. Marshals were installed in the major cities and villages to help keep the peace and bring a sense of law to an otherwise lawless territory. Medical teams were dispatched to provide much-needed tautology assistance to planets that were unable to get the care they needed.

Doctor Gertrude Ásketill was the first in line to sign up for those peace operations. She was coming hot off of her time as a rebel medic. She was bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and full of hope as they deployed her to the first assignment. She had an entire team - plenty of assistants and droids to ensure that everyone got the proper care they needed. They were able to start a proper clinic, train the locals, and establish a line to the core planets to ensure they could get all the medicine and vaccines they would need. Trudy felt good when she left that planet for the second.

The second planet saw fewer supplies and resources. She thought maybe it might have been a mistake. This planet had a bigger population than the last. Perhaps they didn't realize they needed to send more supplies, but then the third and fourth planets came. Supplies and resources were stripped as funding got cut, and slowly her team was redistributed to other projects.

And that left Trudy on the fifth planet - Ibaar.

It was just her and a few other doctors spread across the Outer Rim that was left of the program. She was sure that they would be recalled back to Chandrila - the capital of the Republic, but that had been almost a year ago. She had been on Ibaar for about as long. She was alone; at least, it felt that way. The only other two in her clinic with her was an older model R4-7 droid named A9-C that had been reprogrammed to help in the medical field. The humanoid-shaped, bug-eyed droid was built in the early days of the Empire and complained more than he assisted. The other was a teenager named Max, who had taken an interest in medicine. Whether it was because he liked Trudy or wanted to become a medic was to be answered. He was a good assistant and listened.

The only other Republic representative on Ibaar with Trudy was the Marshal: Baxley Morgan. How that man ever got the job of Republic Marshal was beyond her. It was probably why he ended up out here. He had a good heart, but the boy was dumb as a brick, and while she was no fighter - she could at least shoot a blaster well enough to hit whatever she was pointing at. It might not have been where she wanted it to go, but at least it’d hit its target.

The Empire had put blockades up to punish the Ibaarians for being sympathetic to the rebel cause. The aid that had been promised to the Ibaarians had finally come, and it was a little lackluster. The locals were friendly enough, but they felt a little betrayed. Trudy couldn’t blame them.

Trudy had become jaded herself; things were back to the status quo. There weren’t any more Imperial blockades, but with the lack of resources and supplies coming in - there might as well have been.

Ibaar, all-in-all, wasn’t a bad planet. It was a mountainous, temperate planet. The capital village, and the one that Trudy was in, was nestled in a valley - built into the side of the mountain while the rest of the land in the valley was used for farming. The natural cliffs that reached their stony fingertips to the sky provided a natural defense for the village, and the hundreds of waterfalls that cascaded down their sides gave the village and farms much-needed water. On a clear day, you could see for miles around. Though for all of Ibaar’s beauty, the weather was the worst. They could be lucky to see the sun one, maybe twice, per month. The rest of the month was plagued with overcast clouds, fog, daily rain, and nightly thunderstorms. It took some getting used to, and Trudy had ordered extra vitamins to help with the lack of sun.

Despite being the capital village of Ibaar, Laakso Village didn’t even have its own docking bay within the village’s boundaries, especially - making already scarce supplies harder to get. Luckily speeders made that journey a bit less complicated, though it was still rough going. A local warlord and his gang - a former Imperial commander and his troopers - had taken it upon themselves to decide that the Ibaarian Mountains were a great place to hide and run their smuggling business out of, using the old rebel tunnels from the war.

It made things dangerous.

Unsuspecting travelers going to and from the port or any of the other smaller villages in the mountains would be ambushed. Those lucky to survive had their property stolen. The bandits would look for anything from blasters, food, credits, various forms of technology they could get their hands on, and medical supplies. Trudy didn’t know how many villagers and travelers she had patched up in her time there, injured by ambushes. While the gang kept the locals terrified, they still hadn’t been bold enough to make their way into Laasko Village, choosing instead to raid the smaller outer villages - ones not protected by a marshal.

Baxley was having a hell of a time dealing with it himself and had brought up hiring some extra help. Trudy had nipped that in the bud; hiding behind hired mercenaries wasn’t going to do anyone any good - that he really needed to call in support from the Republic. The conversation tapered off after that, and the emergency seemed to have died down. However, as it always did, there was no downtime. The newest crisis cropped up - the report of the flu on a neighboring planet in the same system. A planet Ibaar happened to trade with. Which meant Trudy had to work to get vaccines to Ibaar before everyone was sick. She had ordered them about a month ago. Thank the stars someone was on her side, and the vaccines only took a month to get to her. Someone had made the shipment hastily, and they were currently waiting for someone to pick them up. Trudy couldn’t pull her boots on fast enough when the docking attendant called her to report they had been dropped off. Within fifteen minutes, she was in a speeder with a blaster and Max in the passenger seat. They would get there by nightfall - if they were lucky. Trudy just hoped to the stars above that nothing happened on their way.

----

It seemed as though Trudy’s silent prayers were answered. She pulled the speeder around to the docking bay and left it idling as Max hopped out of it, striding up to the attendant’s office and rapping his knuckles on the glass. He had grown like a sprout since Trudy had been there, now easily towering over her - though that wasn’t exactly hard to do. Brownish red shaggy hair constantly fell into his eyes, much to his mother’s dismay, and he was a lot less intimidating than he liked to think he was, especially with those freckles. Trudy waited as they exchanged words, waving a hand as the attendant poked his head out of his office and motioned to where the vaccines were - clearly annoyed he had been interrupted from his dinner and whatever wrestling match was on the holo. Trudy moved towards the vaccines, scanning them in with the datapad she pulled from her pack and happy to see that they didn’t have to quite rush back with them. Their cooling system had enough charge to allow them to rest a little bit - though they would still have to make the trip back by night. Max helped her load the crates into the back of the speeder and went out front to buy them both some roasted tip-yip and drinks from the food cart out front. Trudy turned around, eyeing the gunship docked in the bay the vaccines had been stored in. Annoyance twisted in her stomach that the valuable vaccines were stored where some random visitor to the planet could just poke through them. Though, the presence of the gunship made her raise an eyebrow. Not many ships like this made their way out here; either the owner was here for a quick refuel, or they were up to something no good. She scowled at it as Max returned with the tip-yip on a stick and a couple of cool bottles of water. “We didn’t get harassed today,” Max observed as he sat down on the roof of the speeder, and Trudy took a seat inside. “You think somethin’ is goin’ on?”

She nibbled at the meat on the stick and offered a shrug, turning to look back at the gunship. “Who knows. I just hope they keep whatever they’ve got going on out of the village. I want to sleep peacefully when we get back.”

You know the phrase famous last words? Those were Trudy’s.

--- Miles away, a Mandalorian clad in beskar armor was about to attempt to take down a stronghold of bandits and remnant stormtroopers all on his own. Maybe Fennec Shand was right. Maybe he was suicidal. ** Chapter 2: But I Ain't Dead Yet Taglist: @novemberrain221, @blackdogdesignuk, @mistyfur5, @thepoisonofgod

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x oc #boba fett #fennec shand #din djarin x female oc #oc characters #oc character #grogu #the mandalorian x female oc #let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

[peachscribe]

peach’s summer book list

i had a lot of fun compiling the list of books i read during the 20-21 winter, so i decided i would do a summer one as well! i still have a lot of books i own but haven’t read, so im definitely not lacking in material

if you didn’t see my winter list, how my book list works is basically like this: i read a book that i own but have not previously read, write a short summary immediately after finishing the book, write down my thoughts on the book, and then provide a rating for the book. i also might include background info on why i read this particular book/feelings about the author, but that depends on the book. that’s how each entry works

without further ado, let’s get started!

1. Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith

okay so i absolutely adore another book by andrew smith (written after grasshopper jungle) called the alex crow. it’s one of my favorite books of all time, so naturally i wanted to see if grasshopper jungle would make me feel similarly. just like the alex crow, grasshopper jungle’s plot is. so fucking weird. it stars austin szerba, a teenage polish kid who lives in ealing, iowa, and is often sexually confused regarding his girlfriend shann and his best friend robby. and in ealing, iowa, austin and robby accidentally and unknowingly unleash an unstoppable army of huge six-foot-tall praying mantis bugs that only want to do two things: fuck and eat. and i just have to say: andrew smith’s got an absolutely dynamo writing style. alex crow is similar, where it’s a book about kind of everything all at once, framed in a moment centering around teenage boys. it’s fantastic, and it’s more than a little gross, and i love it. this book made me feel so many things, and i thought austin was such an amazing narrator and main character to identify with. this book has it all: shitty teenage boy humor, fucked up science experiments, and poetic imagery that will make you want to cry. and explicit lgbt characters.

412/10 andrew smith what do you put in your water i just want to know

2. Burn by Patrick Ness

patrick ness has written a plethora of some of my favorite books (such as a monster calls, the chaos walking trilogy, and the rest of us just live here) so when i saw this one in the store i knew it would be a great one. burn is an alternate history fantasy that takes place in 1957 frome, washington, during the height of the cold war, and it begins with a girl named sarah and her father hiring a dragon to help out on their farm. but there’s not just dragons, farm living, and cold war tensions; there’s also a really shitty small town cop, a cult of dragon worshippers and their deadly teenage assassin, a pair of fbi agents, and a prophecy that sarah’s newly hired dragon claims she’s a part of. i think eoin colfer’s highfire was on my winter list, which also featured a story that included dragons and shitty cops, so when i first began burn i thought it was funny to have two books that had both things. you know, if you had a nickel etc etc. but that’s really where the similarities end because burn is entirely it’s own monster (dragon). burn is entirely invested in its world, and its fascinating. not only that, i had no clue where the book would take me next. there were so many surprises and amazing twists that honestly just blew me away. this book also includes beautifully written complicated discussions on family, race, and love - it features interracial and queer romances as the two most prominent romance plots which was such a nice surprise from a book i wasn’t expecting to have that kind of representation. this book is witty, fast-paced, and a very heartening read - i absolutely adored it.

9/10 dragons and becoming motivated by the power of love and friendship are so fucking cool

3. As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann

i hate this book! as meat loves salt is a historical fiction novel which takes place in seventeenth century england, which is going through a grisly civil war. the protagonist, jacob cullen, is a servant for a wealthy household and is engaged to another servant in the house. but due to certain events that are almost entirely jacob’s fault, he flees the house and is separated from his wife. from there, he joins the royal army and meets a kind soldier, ferris, and the two become fast friends. jacob and ferris’s relationship begins to bridge past friendly, and jacob struggles with his homoerotic feelings as well as the growing obsession and violence inside him. also, they try to start a colony. listen, i don’t know how to describe the book because so much happens, but it basically just follows jacob and all the terrible decisions he makes because he is, truly, a terrible person. ferris is kind and good, and jacob is scum of the earth. he sucks so bad. the entire time i was reading this book (which took absolutely so long), all i wanted was for jacob to just get his ass handed to him. i wanted to see him suffer. and it’s not like i just personally don’t like him - i believe the book purposefully depicts him as unsympathetic even though he is the narrator. i did enjoy the very in depth and accurate portrayal of what life would’ve been like in seventeenth century england, and i think it was interesting to read a character that is just the absolute worst person you’ve ever encountered and see him try and justify his actions, so if you enjoy that kind of thorough writing, then this book would be perfect for you. however, i did not see that bitch ass motherfucker jacob cullen suffer enough. i’d kill him with my bare hands.

2/10 diversity win! the worst man on earth is mlm!

4. This Savage Song by Victoria Schwab

i know ive had a friend tell me how great one of schwab’s other book series is, but truthfully i bought this book because the cover is sick as hell and it was on a table in the store that advertised for buy two get one free, i think. something like that. anyway, this savage song takes place in a future in which monsters, for whatever reason, suddenly became real and out for blood in a mysterious event nicknamed the phenomenon. august flynn is one of these monsters, but he takes no pride in that fact and only wants to feel human. kate harker is the daughter of a ruthless man and is trying her hardest to be ruthless, too, but deep down she knows it’s just an act. their city, verity, stands divided, and kate and august stand on either side - but when august is sent on a mission to befriend kate in the hopes of stopping an all out war, the lines begin to blur. this book rules. august and kate are such interesting and dynamic characters, and the narrative is familiar while still being capable of twisting the story around and taking the feet out from under you in really compelling ways. this savage song is part of the monsters of verity duology, and i can’t wait to dive into how the story continues and finishes.

11/10 sometimes you can judge a book by it’s cover

4a. Our Dark Duet by Victorian Schwab

this is the sequel and finale for this savage song and i’d figure i’d update everyone: fantastic ending, beautiful, showstopping, painful.

12/10 loved it and will definitely be keeping an eye out for schwab’s other books

5. White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

oh boy. okay. white is for witching is about a house, and it is about the women who have lived inside of it. when her mother dies abroad, miranda silver begins to act strangely, and there’s nothing her father or her twin brother seem to be able to do about it. she develops an eating disorder and begins to hear voices in the silver family house, converted to a bed and breakfast by miranda’s dad; and she begins to lose herself in the house and the persistent presence of her family legacy. white is for witching switches perspective dizzingly and disorientingly between miranda, her twin eliot, miranda’s friend from school named ore, and the house itself. this story is a horror story as much as it as a tragedy as much as it is a romance as much as it is a bunch of other things. oyeyemi brings race, sexuality, nationality, and family into this story and forces you not to look away. this book is poetry.

(like i mentioned briefly, this book heavily deals with topics of race and closely follows miranda’s eating disorder. read responsibly, and take care of yourselves)

15/10 this book consumed me and i think i’ll have to read it another 10 more times to feel it properly

6. These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

okay. okay. strap in for a ride. these violent delights is a romeo and juliet style story, taking place in glittering 1920’s shanghai. the city stands divided - not only between the foreign powers encroaching on chinese land, but also between the scarlet gang and the white flowers, who are at the height of a generations-long blood feud. juliette cai, heir to the scarlets, has recently returned from four years abroad and is determined to prove herself ruthless enough to lead. roma montagov, heir to the white flowers, is standing strenuously on his place as next in line due to a slip up four years prior and is desperate to keep hold of his title. and in the midst of juliette and roma’s burning history with each other threatening to combust, an unnatural monster lurks in the waters of shanghai, loosing a madness on scarlets and white flowers alike. this book has it all - scorned ex lovers, political intrigue, deadly monsters, and all set on a glamorous backdrop of the roaring twenties. i absolutely was enraptured by this book and the way it plays around the story of romeo and juliet so well that it easily became it’s own monster, but with the punches and embraces of something classically shakespearan. gong does just an absolutely breathtaking job of fitting this fantastical story amid the larger world of shanghai and the real life historical events that had shaken the city to its core. completely immersive and outstandingly heart racing.

17/10 i was chewing on my fingernails for the last thirty pages and will continue to do so until the sequel is released (our violent ends, 16 nov 21)

7. The Antiques by Kris D’Agostino

you ever heard of the american dysfunctional family story? this is most definitely that. at the same time george westfall’s cancer takes a turn for the worse, a hurricane hits the east coast, and suddenly all at once the issues of his health, the hurricane, and all three of his children’s achingly dysfunctional adult lives are crashing into each other. reunited by george’s death, the westfall siblings have to face their grief, each other, and the problems in their own lives they attempted to put on hold while planning their father’s memorial. this is a nice story about grief and loss and love and somehow finding the humor amidst it all.

(this book does include a depiction of an autistic child who does experience several pretty bad meltdowns due to ignorant people around him not understanding how to cater to his needs. im not an authority on what depictions are or are not harmful, but i do believe this depiction is ultimately loving and well-intended.)

7/10 it made me laugh and cry and was generally one of those books that somehow hit you close to home

8. Fierce Fairytales by Nikita Gill

fierce fairytales is a poetry anthology that reimagines classic fairytales from a modern, feminist viewpoint, acknowledging that the line between hero and villain, monster and damsel, are not as clear cut as the classics try to make you believe. this book also includes illustrations done by the author herself, which i think is really cool. my personal favorite story reimagining was the story of peter pan and captain hook, called ‘boy lost’ which looked at how peter and hook’s relationship began and rotted. all in all, i think this collection of stories had a lot of important things to say and said them in frank, easy to understand poetry and prose.

7/10 beautiful message and pretty prose, but at times a little cliche

and that’s all from the summer! my fall semester starts tomorrow, and overall i feel very good about all the reading i did this summer. i even read four other books not on this list for work! so i definitely feel like i made the most out of my time, and im really glad i was able to read so many stories that made me feel a variety of different things

thanks so much for reading this list, and let me know if you read or have read any of these books and tell me what you think of them!

happy reading<3

#book recs #book rec #book rec list #grasshopper jungle #burn #as meat loves salt #this savage song #monsters of verity #white is for witching #these violent delights #the antiques #fierce fairytales #just like my winter list i did write ever review immediately after finishing the book and i think. #i think here you can really tell what my immediate reactions were based on how the review is written fbfjfjd

[r0tten-brainz]

hey do you want my carrie fix it au? no?

too bad!!!

Everything seemed to stop when the blood was dumped on Carrie. All the cheers and applause was cut off by shocked gasps and silence. Wide eyes stared upon the stage at their prom queen, now drenched in red sludge, her beautiful dress ruined.

Tommy Ross, the prom king, was staring at his date, some of the liquid (blood, literal blood, he realizes in horror) splashing all over his rental tuxedo. After the initial shock, anger bubbled in his chest so quickly his ears turned red and he turned to the crowd, searching for who could’ve done something so awful, his shouts of “What the hell?!” cutting through the quiet.

In the front row, George Dawson seemed to have the same reaction, he always was quick to anger but now he had a fair reason to. He was disgusted someone would do this, and almost everyone around him agreed. Almost.

It only took a minute for Norma to snort, and double over to quiet her laughter. A few others chuckled but otherwise they were alone in finding this funny.

The only one who hadn’t moved was Carrie. She was frozen, mouth agape and eyes wide. She only moved when the bucket itself came crashing down, right onto Tommy. She tried to catch him but he just collapsed onto the stage, groaning in pain.

People knew immediately something was off when she stood up straight, shoulders back and arms extending out at her sides. The ones who were laughing decided they wanted to leave, the pungent smell of the stale blood getting gross and killing their good time.

There were a few shouts of confusion and fear when the doors suddenly slammed shut and the room was flooded in red light. When one of the jocks tried to open it, he yelled in pain, like the door handle burned him.

That’s what made Tommy stir on the ground, his head aching and warmth trailing down his face. When he looked up the gym was in chaos, people screaming and trampling each other to find a way out. One guy, someone Tommy knew, had climbed up to try the window, but he was flung off like a bug. A squeaking noise made him look up and the fire sprinklers flipped on.

Murky water fell over everyone, only adding to the rotten smell permeating what with the blood also having its own stench. Tommy’s breath caught as he looked around, his eyes finally landing on Carrie.

She seemed unresponsive, barely even blinking as the chaos unfolded around her, like she was in the middle, stirring up the misfortune herself.

“Carrie- huff,” Tommy started, pulling himself up off the ground. His head spun and he nearly got sick with everything mixing around him, his stomach was never the strongest. “Carrie, we have to get you out of here.”

She didn’t move, didn’t even look at him, just tilted her chin up indignantly. The lights above them suddenly sparked, clearly not mixing well with the water. That frightened Tommy a lot, they could all die, and it seemed that’s probably what Carrie was aiming for.

“Carrie!” Tommy tried again, grabbing onto her shoulders. His breath was getting more frantic as he looked around behind him. “Carrie, listen to me. Look at me, Carrie.”

She blinked then, eyes focusing on the boy in front of her. She looked like she was on the brink of tears. When she noticed the blood flowing down his face it only made her feel worse.

“Is this why?” Her voice was quiet, if Tommy had been any further away he wouldn’t have been able to hear. “Is this why you asked me to go with you?”

A devastated look crossed over Carrie’s face. “So you could laugh at me?” Tommy gulped, really starting to feel sick now, realizing that in some sick way this was partially his fault. “She was right, I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have-”

“No! Carrie, if I knew it wouldn’t have happened! I didn’t know- I swear whoever did this is dead.” He shouted, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “Please, you need to calm down. Just breathe, we can get you out of here.”

Flames caught his eye, the curtain behind them was on fire. They needed to go, now. Carrie sniffled, the tears finally falling. “They all laughed at me, they laughed…”

Tommy looked back at the crowd then back to Carrie. “No one laughed, no one did Carrie.” She let out a breath like she’d been holding it. The heat from the fire was getting unbearable.

“Do you swear?” Carrie whispered, looking up at him. She was in agony, he could see it clear on her face.

“Carrie, I swear.” Tommy holds out his arms for her, finally stepping back to lead her away from the gym. He could hear sirens approaching.

Carrie looked out a final time before the doors swung open and the students flooded out. The air was cool which was relieving to everyone. She took his hands then, and he led her off the stage out to the cool evening air.

Sue Snell pushed her way through everyone, Frank Green (notoriously known as the Beak) and George at her side, searching through the scared faces for Tommy and Carrie. “There they are!” She shouts, grabbing her friends and making their way over to the pair.

Tommy perked up at the sound of Sue’s voice, carefully leading Carrie to the grass so they could sit. Further away from everyone. Sue ran over and pulled Tommy down into a hug. Beak and George made their way over a second after, clearly left behind in the madness behind them.

Whispers were exchanged between the group, everyone sparing sympathetic glances to Carrie every once in a while. Carrie just sunk in on herself, Trying to calm herself down enough so she could walk home, figuring she messed up their night enough.

It surprised her all when they all sat around her, Tommy to her left and Sue on the other side. Beak and George settled across from them.

They didn’t talk, no one really knew what to say. It was Carrie who broke the silence. “I ruined your plans with your friends, didn’t I?”

Tommy just shook his head as he shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. “No,” he assured her. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all, actually.”

Carrie blinked up at him, tears threatening to fall again but she willed them away and sank into the coat. If it was salvageable before, it’s definitely ruined now. Tommy wondered if the rental place had it in their hearts to cut them some slack.

“Carrie I- we- are so sorry,” Sue spoke up, reaching to hold her hand. “I tried to stop it, if I knew they were planning something I wouldn’t have asked, that was so cruel.” She whispered the end of her apology, like she couldn’t believe it had happened.

Carrie ducks her head. “I shouldn’t have come,” she says back. “Mama was right I shouldn’t have.” The group share worried glances, but they’ll unpack that later.

George sneers. “Don’t you think like that, it was fun at the beginning right?” Carrie glances up to him and nods. “Right! Don’t you worry, whoever did this will pay.” Frank nods along beside him, patting him on the shoulder encouragingly. “So inspiring.” Beak always did like to make a joke, to lighten the mood when things were heavy.

Tommy’s arm tucks around her, pulling Carrie closer to comfort her. “Even if it all ended bad, we’re all together, right?” He looked down to her, waiting for the response. Even now he’s pushing her gently, to get her out there. Maybe this is Tommy’s super power. She had telekinesis and he was good at making anyone comfortable, even Carrie White.

“Right,” she finished for him, which made Tommy smile. In return it made Carrie smile. Sue reached and brushed some bloody hair out of Carrie’s face.

“Wow, Sue,” Beak starts. “Before too long Carrie might steal Tommy from you curled up to him like that. Sue laughed and Carrie smiled, cheeks flushing red under the caked up blood.

Tommy grinned and shot him a look. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you beat her to it and steal me yourself, smart guy?”

Beak opened his mouth but was quickly cut off by George. “Oi! Don’t be comin’ onto my man y’ hear?” He shot back, elbowing Frank with a grin.

Tommy felt Carrie’s shoulders bouncing, but when he looked to her to see if she was crying, a small grin graced her face and quiet giggles bubbled up. Despite it all she was laughing. It made something twist in Tommy’s chest, he had to make himself look away.

“It isn’t much,” Sue starts. “But if you all wanted to stop by my house to get cleaned up, maybe we could still go to the Hive.” Carrie perks up, of course Sue was invited, why wouldn’t she be?

George whooped excitedly. “You’re a lifesaver, Susan, I really need a shake after all this.” Everyone cheered in agreement.

“Carrie?” Tommy said quietly. She looked up to him, still smiling a little. “Would that be okay?” He was so patient with her.

Commotion caught her attention though and she looked past Tommy towards the gym. The flames had been dealt with it’d seem, but that’s not what she’s looking at.

Two police officers were taking Chris Hargensen and Billy Nolan out of the school, Chris kicking and shouting the whole way to the car. Miss Collins watched them go, nothing but anger in her eyes. It only made Carrie’s smile widen. She hoped she’d never have to see Chris ever again after this.

“Yes,” she finally replied. “That seems fun.” Tommy grinned and stood, offering his hands to Carrie first to help her stand, then to Sue. “No help for me?” Frank joked. “Shut up, Beak,” Tommy joked back.

The rest of the night was filled with similar jokes, everything being kept lighthearted (lucky for Carrie, she may fall apart if anything else bad happened). The Hive was so much better than she imagined. They had delicious waffle fries, and soda flavors she didn’t know existed, she and Sue even shared an ice cream. Everything was perfect. She prayed to God that come Monday morning she wouldn’t be forgotten by Tommy Ross, or any of them.

#carrie 1976 #carrie white #tommy ross #sue snell #george dawson #frank green #the beak #fic #au #fix it fic

[petite-ely]

Afraid // JJ Maybank

Six - Too much to risk

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: Mention gun, being shot at, swearing, slight mention of death, maybe some mistakes oopsie, tell me if I missed something

Description: A small improvised visits by Petekin leads to a hectic afternoon in the marsh.

A/n : Hellooo guys, gals and pals, this is quite a long part. I really wanted to finish the first episode. also I really don’t know how to had a little read mor thing I don’t know how. Sorry! hope you like it!

Previously next

Afraid masterlist

gif by @robinsbuckly

Song recommendation

It was now far later in the morning, meaning the sun had fully risen and it was a much more reasonable hour to be up at. JJ had left a while ago and John B was still peacefully sleeping (and loudly snoring). Y/n hadn’t been able to go to sleep after her talk with the blond boy and she was now sitting on the couch reading her book (actually reading this time). So, when she heard the front door open, she didn’t bother looking up, assuming it was one of her friends. Who else would just come in like that anyway?

"Hey, there’s coffee made in the kitchen if you want any,” she said, still not pulling her gaze of off her book.

“That’s kind of you to offer, but I’ve already had two cups this morning, I don’t think it would be reasonable for me to have more.” Y/n’s book fell to the ground.  

“Sheriff Peterkin, I’m so sorry. I-I thought you were someone else-” she got up from her seat, “-do you, do you need anything, water or uh-”

“You don’t have to bother sweetheart, I’m not planning on staying that long. I just want to talk for a bit,” answered the adult.

“Okay,” she took a pause to swallow. “I’ll go get John B.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go get him myself.” Y/n nodded, watching as she disappeared into the hallway leading to her brother’s room.  

She started pacing around the living room, ferociously biting the nails on her left hand. It wasn’t every day a cop showed up in your house. She had absolutely no idea why Peterkin would want to talk. Actually, she had about 25 different ideas, starting with the fact her uncle hadn’t been on the island for about 3 months. And the party last night, what if she knew about the gun? Would JJ be in trouble? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good, that she was certain of it.

>>

The conversation went on for much longer than expected. Basically, Peterkin knew about their uncle being awol and she offered to help get  dcs off of their back for a while if they helped her in return. She had also mentioned that it wouldn’t be good if they had seen a shipwreck, which of course they denied despite that being actually true. Y/n didn’t fully understand what Peterkin meant. But she knew that it meant there was something valuable in that boat. And Jonh B knew it too. Yet, he was afraid, which was understandable, considering everything. They were pretty much guaranteed to be put in foster care if they got caught. Not good at all.

“You know what? I'm calling it off,” announced John B.

Y/n raised her head from her sketchbook, dropping her pencil on the low table in front of her to listen to what her brother had to say. She had been drawing silently while the other pogues, all sitting in different ridiculous positions across the backyard, talked and did their own things. She was only half listening to what they were saying, sketching messily the outline of the château. It wasn't very good, but it was calming to do. When she heard the seriousness in her brother’s tone, she closed her sketchbook, otherwise she’d be too distracted.

“Peterkin told us that if we stayed out of the marsh, she’d help with dcs.” The girl grimaced remembering the woman’s words.  

“And you believed her?” “Yes, JJ I believed her.”

“You really think that she’d help us?” asked y/n. “It’s been more than 6 months, bird. If she really wanted to help, she would have helped earlier, no?”  

“Yeah, she’s a cop, an actual cop. And you think she’s telling the truth?” added JJ.

“Look,” John B glanced at y/n. “All we gotta do is stay out of the marsh for a couple days and she’ll help us.”

“I know, I was there.” Kiara snickered softly at her friend’s words. “But I don’t know, I feel like we’re getting tricked or something. What if she’s like trying to lure us out of there-” she gestured to the water behind them, “-because there’s something she doesn’t want us to see, uh? What if it’s about dad?”  

J.B rubbed the back of his neck before turning his body slightly to face the ocean. “Look,” he addressed his sister. “I get that you’re curious and you want to know what’s down there, but I'm only trying to do what’s best for us. And I think it would be better if we listened to Peterkin. I’m just trying to keep you safe, to protect you, bug.” His voice softened as he finished his sentence.

“And it didn’t help that JJ was shooting a gun last night!” Y/n raised her eyebrows at Pope, her face clearly showing intrigue. She wondered where this conversation would lead, a fight between the two boys most likely. Her gaze shifted to JJ who seemed annoyed at the Routledge boy’s words.

“You know what, I should’ve let Topper drown your ass.” John B laughed. “Topper was gonna drown me?” “Sure looked like it.”

“Boys can you plea-” Y/n tried to stop the small bickers, miserably failing as her brother interrupted her. “Funny.” A loud sigh escaped the girl’s lips and Kiara beside her pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Have you looked in a mirror?” “Tell me some more. Come on.” “They always win don’t they, man?”

“Kooks versus pogues. They always, always win!” You could hear the frustration dripping from his voice. Which was understandable. He had a point, kooks always won, it was time for a change.

“Goddamn!” “Look, it’s okay!” Kie tried to reassure him. “No, it’s not okay!”

“He’s right,” agreed y/n. “They always win, or find a way to avoid the consequences.”

“Exactly, they don’t want us to go down into the marsh, that means there's something valuable down there and you know it.” He said to John B. “I know you do.”

“And I understand why you wouldn’t want to go,” he pointed to Pope. “You’re the golden boy, you got way too much to risk. And you,” he turned to Kiara. “I mean you’re already rich as fuck anyway.” Okay, that was an exaggeration.

“Why would you bother.”

“But us, you, me and y/n, we’ve got nothing to lose!” His eyes glowed with something y/n hadn’t seen in him in a long time. Hope. It made her sad to think about how JJ really had nothing in his life besides the pogues. But if he was hopeful, then maybe, maybe...

“We really don’t.” “Yes, we do have something to lose.”

“If something goes wrong and dcs comes in, y/n and I would be brought to the mainland in foster care. That means placed with families who probably only care about the check that comes in every month and her and I getting separated from one another and from you guys.”

Y/n thought about what her brother had just said. He had a point, if things went wrong, they could lose everything. Each other mainly and the pogues. It was the worst-case scenario. But if they didn’t get caught, it would make their life so much better. Was it worth all the risk though? That was the question.

“Do you understand what that means? How horrible it would be?” The girl got up from her seat and went to stand next to her brother. “I do,” she said. “I understand, bird.”

“I know that you’re scared and so am I.  It’s a pretty big risk. If we get caught, we’re fucked, but listen to what JJ has to say. I think that it might be worth the risk. And if we do get caught-,” she put her hand on his shoulder and turned him around so that he faced her, “we’ll find a way to find each other again. We’re Routledges, we always find a way to solve our problems, don’t we?” Her hand squeezed his shoulder softly. “We’re gonna be alright, bird.”

A small smile drew itself on John B’s lips. “So, what’s the plan,” he said to JJ.

“You got the key to Cameron’s big boat, right?” “No,” J. B’s face scrunched in disagreement.

“There’s scuba gear. We borrow that and then we go down to the wreck this afternoon and that’s what’s gonna save you, man,” exclaimed JJ. “You don’t see rich kids going into foster care, do you?”

Y/n breathed out loudly. She was scared as hell. This was going to be pretty tricky, but she knew something was down there. And if it wasn’t money or something like that, then it was something related to her dad’s disappearance. She could feel it deep into her soul.

>>>

“This is empty, you took empty tanks,” announced Kiara to the group as she furrowed through the bag of oxygen tanks.

Y/n put her head in her hands. Their plan had seemed so perfect and now they didn’t have the one thing they needed for it to work.

“Okay this one’s a quarter full. It’s enough for one of us.” “Love it when a plan comes together.”

“Does anybody know how to dive?” asked the brunette but only to be answered by a chorus of shrugs and denying nods. “Anybody?”

“It’s kind of a kook sport,” JJ looked at her.

“I, … I read about it,” tried Pope.  

“Great, Pope read about it, now someone’s gonna die,” exclaimed Kie dramatically.

“Look.” JJ’s gaze circled the group of friends.  “You put the thing in your mouth and you breathe. How hard can it be?”  

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” confessed y/n.

“Yeah,” agreed Pope. “If you come up too fast, Nitrogen gets in your blood and you get the bends.”

The girl’s eyes widened. She remembered a book she had read a while ago where one of the characters had the decompression sickness (and how tragic their death was).  

“Bends like bend over?” JJ joked as he bent his body in a way to stick his butt up in the air. Typical JJ joke, weird and somehow always a bit sexual. Y/n slapped his arm as a way to tell him off.  

“JJ, the bends is deadly,” she had a stern expression, “it kills you.” “Oh, right.”

“I can- I can dive,” announced J.B. “Yeah, you can dive I’m cool with that.” “Since when can you dive?”  

“No, you can’t dive,” scoffed his sister. “I’ll do it, it’s fine.” “What? The hell?”

“Let’s do some calculations real quick.” Pope pulled out a pen and started writing some numbers. Y/n got up from her seat and went to stand beside him. “So, that boat’s about 30 feet down.” “okay.” “So, it’ll take about 25 minutes at most at that depth.” “Twenty-five.” “Which means you need to make your safety stop at about... 10 feet. Alright? For two minutes.” “Ten feet, two minutes got it.”

They all watched as Kiara jumped straight into the water, her shirt already removed. “Uh, what was that all about?” “I don’t know, but I liked it, a lot.” y/n nudged her brother on the shoulder to get him to stop staring. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, so.” “All righty.”

She sat down on the edge of the boat, waiting for her friend to resurface from underwater. “Yeah. Uh, when you- when you’re down there, you look for the cargo hold. You stick this thing inside and you twist and pull, okay,” explained JJ. “Stick it in, twist and pull.”

“You okay?” asked y/n, while the boys kept on rambling. “Needed a swim?” Kiara rolled her eyes, a small smile on her face.  

“Hey!” she called to guys, John b more specifically. “I tied my t-shirt to the anchor about ten feet down. It’s where you need to do your safety stop.”

The Routledge girl admired her friend in the water. Her body moving gracefully as she swam back towards the boat. She seemed so, at ease. It used to be that way for her too, but now, even looking into the darkest part of the water gave her a feeling of vertigo. She wondered if she could still swim as good as she used to. It had been almost a year since the last time she had dove right into the marsh. It felt so far away. If only she was braver.

She hadn’t realised she had completely zoned out until she heard JJ speak. “Zen. Think Zen, you know.” She joined the group on the other side of the hms, her brother already suited for his dive.

“Hey, if we get caught out here in the marsh we’re basically screwed, so,” reminded Pope, “better get a move on.” “Copy that.”

Kiara got up and planted a small kiss on J. B’s cheek. Y/n looked at the two boys next to her with a confused expression. They both shrugged in answer, clearly just as confused as she was. “Diver down?” “Diver down.” She watched as his figure disappeared slowly into the water.

“All right.” “See ya, dude.”

She went to sit next to Kie. “I only love him as a brother,” she mocked her friend. “Yeah right, my ass.”  

“It’s just a small kiss y/n/n, it doesn’t mean anything. I still mean what I said yesterday. It’s just that,” she took a pause, her eyes squinting at the sun, “I’m just worried for him, you know he’s going through a lot and then there’s the shipwreck and all.”

“Uh huh, I totally get what you mean,” ironized y/n. “Shut up,” Kie nudged her with her elbow. “No, but seriously-” started the girl before being interrupted by the sound of a police siren behind her.

“Shit, guys.” “Guys, that’s the police.”

“Oh no, no, no, no, no, that is not good. Not good at all.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Yep that’s the police.” “Just act fricking normal.”

Anxiety bubbled at the pit of y/n’s stomach. Hopefully he wouldn’t recognize her, otherwise she was dead. So dead. She sat down beside Kiara in a somewhat natural position, her legs crossed to keep them from bouncing.

The police boat parked itself beside the hms. Officer Shoupe behind the wheel. “Evenin’ officers,” greeted Pope. “Evening.”

“How you kids doin’ ,” asked Shoupe. “You know the marsh is closed.”

“No.” “No.” “No, wow.” “I didn’t know that.” They all feigned ignorance, hoping to fool the two adults. “Why- why is it closed?” questioned Pope, adjusting his cap nervously.

“Well, we’re conducting a search out here,” informed the man. “Boat went down.” “Oh.” “Oh, no.”

“Seen’ anything?” asked the deputy.

“No.” “No, boats. No.” Y/n’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the boat, trying to keep herself from looking at her brother in the water.

“Where’s your friend you always hang with?” The pace of the rhythm fastened. “He here?” She opened her mouth, trying to think of a good excuse for the missing presence of her brother, but nothing came out.

“He’s working,” lied Kie. All of their heads nodded softly.

“I’m gonna check your little boat out,” announced Shoupe before hopping on the hms. “Yeah.” “Yeah, hop aboard.” The rhythm stopped, y/n’s nails digging into her palms.

He picked up a safety jacket. “You got another one of these?” “Yeah, yeah.”

“Of course, it’s uh, it’s in the hold,” JJ pointed to where the girls were seated. They both got up quickly. “Show him,” instructed Kie. Y/n’s joints were turning white.

“Okay.” JJ opened the hold and pulled out one of the jackets. “Yeah, here we go.” “All right.” The latch closed loudly. Shoupe’s gaze inspected the teens suspiciously. The tension could be cut with a knife.

He climbed on the flat part of the boat. “Be careful.” “Be careful out there, you don’t want to slip.”

He put his sunglasses on, staring at the exact place where John B and the ship were. The pogues exchanged worried glances. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see anything. He stood on the very edge of the boat, his figure towering over the water of the marsh.

“All right,” he finally turned around. Y/n breathed again. “All right.” “All right.”

“Beautiful day, innit?” “Sure is.”

“You let us know if you see anything on your way out,” he ordered as he started the engine. “Will do, will do.”

“We’ll be gone soon, sir.” “Yes, you will,” finally said the man before he vogued away.

Once he was far enough, the group hurried to the side of the boat, all worried about their friend. He’d been under for quite a long time now, there was no way he had any air left.

“He’s definitely out of air,” declared Pope.

At that exact moment, John B surged out of the water. Y/n felt relief take over her body. She felt her whole body unclench and let go of the grip her nails had in her hand.

“There he is!” Exclaimed JJ. “Oh god, Jesus Christ.”

“God damn it, Bird. I’m so glad you’re okay,” spoke y/n.

“Don’t scare us like that!” All of the pogues exclaimed, all so happy that their friend was all right.

“How’d it go down there?” wondered JJ. “Uh,” John b groaned and his sister hurried to the side of the boat to help him get in.

“Did you find anything?”

“Did I find anything?” He repeated throwing a large duffel bag onto the boat.

“Yeah there we go, that’s my boy!” JJ exclaimed excitedly.

“Are you okay?” Y/n asked as he coughed rather loudly. “Yeah, I’m good, but I ran out of air.” Her eyebrows scrunched together on her forehead. God, they were so lucky, what if J.B had ran out of air earlier? Or what if Shoupe had figured out what they were doing? Things could have gotten so bad.

But they didn’t, the girl reminded herself.

“You scared the shit out of me,” confessed Kiara, though it sounded more like a reproach.

“Yeah, same for me,” replied y/n. “Need a hand?” she stuck her hand out at him which he gladly took. The contact of the water with the cuts her nails had made in her hands burned, but she clenched her jaw and ignored the pain. She didn’t want to bother anyone.

“Yeah, the cops were up here but uh, took care of ‘em,” informed Pope.

“My bad.” “You’re all good.” “Yeah, you kinda missed the show, brother.”

“Hey guys?” Kiara’s voice was tinted with worry. “Guys, bogey, two o-clock.”

“What?” They all turned in the direction she was referring to. In the distance they noticed a strange looking boat heading towards them.

“Do you recognize that boat?”

“I’ve never seen it.” Kie put her hand above her eyes to hide herself from the sun. “What are they doing back here? The marsh is closed.”

“Honestly, they could ask us the same thing,” pointed y/n.

“Well, I think it would be better if we didn’t stick around and find out,” said JJ.

“JJ, get the bowline.” “Yeah.”

“Should we wait on ‘em?” asked Pope.

“Uh, I don’t think that would be a great idea,” responded y/n. The boat was coming in very fast and the people driving it looked angry and dangerous. It was much safer to just leave. “Go get the stern, go!” Hurried John B.

The blonde pulled the rope as fast as he possibly could. “Guys, don’t wait for me. Go,” he said. Y/n inspected the unknown boat in the distance, nothing about it seemed familiar. Who could these people be? And what did they want from them? “Let’s go.”

She kept her eyes glued to it as the motor started. “I have a really bad feeling about this,” she confessed, turning her head to John B. behind the wheel. “Yeah, I don’t like this either,” agreed Pope.

“Are they coming for us?” asked JJ. “Sure looks like it.”  

“Maybe they’re fishing?” proposed Pope. Y/n’s gaze paused on the two men. They were intimidating, to say the least. And their eyes, both had looks filled with something threatening. It wasn’t anger or hatred, no, it was the eyes of people who would do anything to get what they wanted and that was scary.

“Go, go, go, go!” “Go into the marsh.” “Let’s go!”

“I’m going. Act natural,” stated John B as he directed the hms towards the nearest channel.  

The white boat sped up, the motor roaring loudly. “Hey guys, they’re following us,” announced y/n. “Oh, this can’t be good.” “Shit”

“Dude, you gotta go faster!” “I’m going!” “Gun it!”

The sound of a gun shooting in the air echoed in the silence of the marsh. The pogues all went down instinctively. “Holy shit, guys!” “Oh my fucking god, what the fuck!”

JJ grabbed the back of y/n’s shirt with his hand, bringing her closer to him. “John b get down!” almost hissed the girl. Another shot fired, y/n clung onto JJ.

“Oh my god, we’re gonna die!” yelled Pope. A third shot fired. Y/n’s eyes caught the net at the back of the boat and an idea sparked in her head. She looked at Kiara, who clearly had thought of the same thing.

“Pope, move,” ordered the brunette as her friend stood to go grab the green net. Another shot flew into the air beside her, the bullet barely missing her.  

“Get down, y/n!” shouted her brother desperately. She headed towards the back of the boat and threw the net into the water. It slid down the current and got caught right into the motor of the men’s boat, making the engine come to a halt abruptly. It clanged loudly and the two men shouted in anger. A sigh of relief left the girl’s lips. Her plan had worked.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” hurried Pope. A last gunshot was heard but the hms was too far away to be reached.

“Oh my god!” “Whew!” The pogues all cheered and laughed at their small victory. They were all so glad to be away from these men and all in one piece. Kiara pulled y/n into a hug.

“Y/n, don’t you ever do something like that again. You fucking scared the crap out of me,” said John B as they approached the dock of the château. “I can’t promise anything. Who knows when someone else will shoot at us?”

They all hurried themselves onto the dock, excited to know the content of the bag. “What do you guys think it is?” “Maybe it’s like jewelry? Would be a weird place to keep it but who knows?” “Gotta be money, right?”  

“That or a couple of keys with street value to the low- to mid-mils!” JJ’s eyes glistened with excitement. Y/n smiled softly.

“Can we please just open the bag?” burst Pope. The group all started at him.

“Wow Pope,” y/n giggled. “That was a rare outburst of emotions.”

“You guys are literally killing me with anticipation. Open the bag. We almost died over this.”

John B. pulled out a smaller bag which contained a metal canister. Every pair of eyes was fixed onto it as he pried it open and revealed a compass. Y/n kneeled next to her brother not believing what she was seeing. They exchanged a look, neither of them saying anything. They both knew what that object was and what it meant to their father, but what the hell was it doing there?

“Oh, wow. Yup, that’s about right.” Pope was clearly disappointed by their findings. “Good job, everybody. We found a compass.” Y/n raised a trembling hand to the compass, carefully taking it into her own hands to examine it. Was this really what she thought it was? How could it be? It didn’t make any sense.

JJ removed his hat in frustration. “Dude, what? It’s not worth anything.”

A small smile creeped on Jonh b’s face, his eyes still not looking away from the compass. “This was,” he started.

“This was our father’s,” completed y/n.

Taglist:

 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @poguestyle17 @im-a-stranger-thing @lasnaro @thoughtsofthestars @briandaflores19 @lunaposey @allycat449-blog @ifilwtmfc @kitty084 @coloradogirl07 @ponyboys-sunsets @chaoticbisous @p0gue420 @sloaneemily @babygal-babygal

Tell me if you wanna be added or removed!

#jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #john b #john b routledge #obx #outer banks #outerbanks #outerbanks imagine #jj outer banks #obx fic #outer banks imagine #obx fanfiction #afraid! jj maybank series #john b outer banks #jj x reader #jj x you #jj x y/n #jj maybank #jj #john b x sister!reader #jj x routledge!reader #jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank obx fanfiction

[keijislove]

I missed you: Embry Call X Reader

A/N: Woo hoo first ever Twilight fic! Let me know what you think!

This wasn't supposed to be happening. You and Embry had been best friends since kindergarten. You were inseparable. People always called you his shadow or him yours, but you never really minded since you had each other.

You had contracted feelings a short while ago, while you were out with him on the beach. He'd held your hand, a common occurrence between the two of you, but this time, it felt different. Your stomach twisted into a mess and butterflies erupted the moment his skin made contact with yours. And then you realised it. You were in love with your best friend.

You weren't sure how he'd take it. Probably not in the best way, since you were best friends. There had been occasions in the past during elementary school where he'd told you about some girl he liked or whatever, but it just didn't seem possible. You couldn't see it working out in any way.

You were not sure how this had happened. It started out as an ordinary night out, you and Embry doing some stupid shit while eating the all time favourite - pizza. It was then that he had started acting strange. He seemed slightly sick, and when you touched his hand, it was burning at an abnormal temperature. So was the rest of him. Yep, he was definitely sick.

You'd asked him what was wrong, but he just snapped at you in anger, asking you to drop it. That was weird. He had never acted like this before. What was wrong?

With a brief goodbye, he disappeared.

And then he never came back.

You tried calling him, but it always went straight to the answering machine. You tried asking his parents what was wrong, but they just told you he needed to be alone.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. Embry was avoiding you, and no matter how hard you racked your brains, you couldn't seem to place what you had done to make him react this way.

Deciding that enough was enough, you marched up to his house.

To your surprise, you saw Sam Uley along with a bunch of other kids you'd seen around I think Forks standing in his backyard. Where was he?

Almost immediately, something clicked into place. Embry had always told you how Sam creeped him out and kept bugging him to hang out with the rest of them. He'd told you how something always seemed off about Sam and his group. And now they were here in his backyard, as if waiting for him.

"What are you doing here?" you walked up to Sam, ignoring the height difference.

"We could ask you the same thing." said one boy whom you thought was called Paul.

"Paul." Sam said warningly, "We're waiting for Embry. And we'd appreciate if you leave, Y/N."

"No!" you said, "You did something to him. What did you do?!"

"it might interest you to know that Embry has found things more worth his time than you." Paul said with a smirk.

Losing your cool, you punched him straight in the jaw. Paul snarled at you in fury: he looked livid.

He started twisting, as if transforming into something else.

"Y/N, get back." Sam ordered sharply.

You didn't need to be told twice. The livid, crazy look in Paul's eyes was enough for you to run. You looked back, screaming as you saw an enormous wolf standing exactly where Paul had been seconds ago.

The back door of the house opened and you saw your best friend run outside.

"EMBRY! RUN!!" you yelled. He kept running towards the wolf.

"RUN YOU IDIOT!" you screamed at the top of your lungs.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you saw Embry phase into an animal of the same kind.

"Quil, get Y/N out of here." Sam instructed.

Quil nodded understandingly, before grabbing your arm and leading you away from the scene you were gaping at.

~~~~

You were trying to wrap your head around what the heck had just happened while munching on an enormous muffin that the nice girl, Emily, had given you, when the door burst open and the remaining two boys came inside.

Embry looked furious. He approached you with so much anger, you could practically feel his aura burning you alive, before snapping, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Excuse me?" you asked, "I didn't know that it was a crime to visit your friend and see how he's doing if he suddenly fell sick and left without explaining!"

"Why did you come?!" he asked.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?!" you shot back.

"Leave, Y/N. You don't belong with us." he spat.

"If this is about the 'I want to keep you safe', then drop it, Embry! I don't care whatever you are, wolf or not." you said desperately.

"It's not about keeping you safe," Embry said quietly, "I don't want you around."

"What?" you could almost feel your heart shatter, "You... Don't want to be friends with me?"

"No."

You let out a shaky breath, "Okay. Fine. Bye"

You turned around abruptly so that he wouldn't see your tears, before walking away from your former best friend.

~~~~

"You have called me here, why exactly?" you demanded Jacob as he led you into the familiar La Push Beach a few weeks later.

"What, I can't hang out with one of my friends?" he asked you.

You clicked an eyebrow as he sighed, "We need to talk. About Embry."

"Jake, there's nothing to talk about. He doesn't want to be friends with me, then fine. I'm okay with that."

"Are you?" Jake asked quietly.

"Urgh, no!" you admitted.

"Look Y/N, he's depressed. All he thinks about is you."

"You know that's not true, Jake. You're just saying that to make me feel better. You don't have to." you shook your head.

"No, seriously." Jake insisted, "Wolf telepathy, remember?"

"Can we talk about something else?" you whined.

"No, seriously!" Jake said again, "What do you think about this whole situation?"

You groaned, "Fine. I want him back, even if as just a friend. Because I don't know about you, but 13 years of being with someone means something. Happy?"

"Am I hallucinating or did you just tell me you liked Embry?" Jacob asked you incredulously.

"Oh my god." you stumbled slightly, "Oh god, no! Now he's gonna find out anyway, with your whole 'wolf telepathy' thing."

"Wait, I'm confused." Jacob frowned. "Can you clarify that?"

You sighed, "I, Y/N L/N, am in love with my best friend, Embry Call. Great. I'm running away from Forks."

"Sorry, Y/N. Too late." Jacob grinned, "Em, come out."

You gasped out loud, "You. Absolute. IDIOT! YOU BROUGHT HIM HERE! YOU KNEW HE WAS LISTENING! I'M GONNA KILL YOU, JAKE!"

You grabbed wildly at him.

"Whoa, whoa Y/N." Jacob struggled to rip you off, "Maybe hear him out?"

"Oh, hear him out?" you whispered in anger, "Where is he anyway? Wait, I don't want to know. Embry, wherever the hell you are, I understand if you're angry. I guess you don't want to be friends with me after all. You're probably embarrassed to even know me."

"Or maybe I'm embarrassed because I like you too?" a voice shyly said from behind you.

You whipped around, and who should be standing there but Embry Call?

"Wh-What?" you asked in confusion.

"I, Embry Call, am in lovr with my best friend, Y Y/N L/N." he said seriously.

There was a deafening silence between you.

"Oh." you finally managed to squeak out. "Uhm.."

Embry nervously scratched the back of his neck, "Can... Can I kiss you?"

You shakily let out a breath you didn't k ke you were holding before nodding slowly.

Your lips collided and started moving in sync, as if this was meant to happen from the first day you met in kindergarten.

"Guys." you realised that Jacob was still there when he disgustedly spoke, "Care to do that later? I'm getting nauseated here."

You both pulled apart in embarrassment.

Resting your forehead against his, Embry whispered, "I missed you."

"I missed you too." you smiled.

Turning to the other boy, you scowled.

"By the way Jake." you began, "I'm still killing you."

#Twilight #Embry Call #Embry Call X reader #Embry Call X you #Twilight x reader #Twilight x you #Embry Call X yn #Embry Call imagine #Twilight imagine

[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.

#writin stuff #please clap.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

But What If, Instead

Decided to give a go to posting my horribly named but hopefully very fun Beetlejuice fic to tumblr as well. This is an au where BJ is adopted by the Deetz family at a young age.

He’s twelve when he’s left on his own in the upperworld.

He doesn’t know he’s twelve, because he’s never celebrated a birthday, but that timeline seems to fit, later, when he thinks back on it. So he’s twelve. His mother has promised him a special treat that day, and though he’s skeptical to trust her, he follows her quietly through the door she’s drawn, the bone white stick of chalk a blaring contrast to the dark hallways of the netherworld reception office. She’d knocked, and the drawing was more than a drawing, suddenly, with white light and noise spilling through into his little corner of hell as it opened, and when he steps through, Betelgeuse sees blue skies and green grass for the first time in his unlife. He’d turned back to look at Juno, confused, curious, his big orange snake eyes watching her, waiting for the catch, for her to yank him back and punish him for being naive, and trusting her, but all the demoness had done was billow smoke from her slit throat, and nod encouragingly to him. He takes another step, and another and another, and suddenly he’s running and laughing and jumping and the air up here is different, but good, and he takes breaths he doesn't need because it feels nice, and he turns to her again to try and entice her to play with him- And the door is gone. He stands there, staring at the nothingness where she and it had been, and realization hits him hard, because he’s twelve, and he’s been left on his own.

He doesn't cry, both because he can’t, and because he knows it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take him long to find them. Pre ghosts. Breathers. Humans. The place is lousy with them, and the smell of them irritates his sensitive nose. He’s a dumb kid, sure, but he’s got some survival instincts, so he hides from them as they go about their lives, strolling around this place, completely oblivious to the little demon now crashing their dimension. Breathers look so weird, all flushed with blood and bright eyed and hearts beating, no signs of death or rot or decay on them. It’s a lot to ask a kid to get used to. The ghosts back home, the ones workin in Ma’s office, tell him stories about the world up here, sometimes, usually in exchange for him going away, and leaving them the hell alone. (Their words) If there was one thing he learned from them, it was that humans, living or dead, didn’t like things that were strange or unusual. He wanders the wilds of wherever he is for an hour before he finds a body of water, and stooping to peer into it, takes a look at himself.

His skin is pale, but not pink. The undercolor is purple, maybe, which he would have thought would be close enough, but compared to the living, breathing people walking around this place, he knows is too different. There’s not much he can do about that. His hair is a bushy mess, sticking up all over the place, but at least the color is currently green. It’s the eyes, teeth, and ears that really stand out. Yellow snake-like slits stare back at him, long pointed ears flick in the direction of distant sounds, and when he tries to smile down at his reflection, those too many too sharp teeth are all he can see. He’s not the best at magic, yet, mostly using it to play pranks around the office (and hey, maybe that’s why Ma left him here in the first place?) but he does what he can. He throws a glamour over himself, and it’s far from perfect, but the three big problems are taken care of. He looks more human than he did a minute ago, at least, and that’s something.

He’s less afraid to take the main paths, after that, and with that worry out of the way, he finds himself enjoying the afternoon again. So, ma left him here. So what? She’s done him a favor, probably the first she’s ever done anybody, because now he doesn't have to be around her just as much as she doesn’t have to be around him. It’s a win-win, Betelgeuse thinks stubbornly, trotting along the winding pathways lined with benches and garbage cans and other silly human things. He’s starting to get a bit tired of all the green when he reaches, quite unexpectedly, the end of it. There’s a big arched sign, and he can’t understand the language written over head, even though he’s squinting and tilting his head. Someone at some point had sat him down and tried to teach him letters, and he’d gotten far enough to read through the first page of the Handbook, but then that person had been reassigned, and was gone, and no one had cared to keep teaching him.

He’s holding his hands up at his sides, rubbing his red tipped claws against the palms of his hands, top teeth biting over his bottom lip, head tilted to one side in an extreme, when he hears a snort and then a soft giggle.

There’s a woman standing in front of him. Her hair is a sunny yellow color, but her clothing is dark and dramatic, and there are roosting bats dangling from her ears. She’s laughing at him. They stare at each other for a long moment, her hand raised in front of her mouth, her eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and he finally breaks the silence by pointing at the sign, and speaking. “Wazzat say?” She blinks in surprise at his grating little voice, and then glances back at the sign. “Krap Lartnec,” she tells him. “Which is flipped around and backwards for “Central Park.” He’s been staring at the sign the wrong way. Of course. He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Oh. Got it. Park. Right, yeah.” She lets out another laugh, and it’s so different from the sounds his mother makes when she’s guffawing at him, shaming him, that it almost doesn’t register as a laugh at first. There’s no cruelty to it, just amusement, and maybe curiosity. “Are you here alone?” she asks him, and he shrugs easily. “I guess.” She moves closer to him, cautiously, like he’s going to bite her, or bolt, but he doesn’t really feel the need to be worried over one breather. He knows he could rip out her throat if he needs to. The glamour only hides his demonic features, not takes them away. He’s still plenty capable of taking care of himself. “Where are your parents?” She's crouched down next to him now, one knee on the pavement, big brown eyes all sweet and worried, and he shrugs again. “Don’t have a dad. Mom’s downstairs.” She squints at that, and he gestures down with a pointed red claw tip. “Ya know. Downstairs.” The way he emphasizes it is meaningful, and when her eyes show understanding, he assumes she gets it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m havin’ a good time.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she expects, but she just nods thoughtfully. “Are you staying someplace?” He can’t, for the undeath of him, figure out why she’s asking, and why she cares. He shrugs again, because things feel better in threes, and says vaguely, “I guess I’m stayin’ here.” That also doesn’t seem to be a good answer. “You can’t stay in the park overnight. There’s creeps around here.” He bites back the urge to explain that he’s the creepiest thing here, because suddenly she’s taking his hand, and she feels cool to the touch. “Good god, kiddo, you’re burning up!” she puts her other hand on his forehead, all the play gone from her voice, clearly concerned. “You might have a fever. Listen…” she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, smudging the dark color there, before she makes a decision. “Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll give you something to eat, make sure you’re alright, and we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” He isn’t sick, and he’s pretty sure he can’t get sick. It’s the hellfire in his veins that makes him hot, because he’s not like her, not even close, but the idea of following her seems like a fine one to him, so he just nods. “Kay. You got bugs where you live?” She snorts again, and stands, brushing off her dark, rose patterned tights. “Sure, what New York apartment doesn’t have a few roaches lurking around. You like bugs?” “Yeah, I like em. They’re crunchy an’ they skitter around an’ stuff.” “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Bugs kick ass.” It’s his turn to snort, and then laugh, because she’d sounded so serious that it strikes him as funny. His hand is still in her’s, and she gives it a squeeze. “What’s your name, little buddy?” “Betelguese.” He expects a pause, or a comment, because no newly dead has ever heard his name without wrinkling their nose and looking vaguely sick, but her smile just grows wider. “Far out. I’m Emily.” And hand in hand, they leave the park.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Beetlejuice decides quickly Emily might be the nicest breather who ever breathed. It’s a decision he makes only moments after they’ve left the park. Normally he’d be talking, and talking a lot, and his ma might throw something at him, a curse or a bottle, to try and shut him up. So he’s giving silence a try, here, even though it feels like it hangs like a weight around his neck. But Emily is the one instead filling the silence with sound, and he’s never had such unfiltered attention from an adult before. She’s talking about the park, then his hair, then his name, and everything she says is just… sunshine. She likes his hair. She likes his name. She even likes the loose fitting and filthy black and white striped shirt he’s got on, she says it’s deadlyvoo, whatever the hell that means, but it must be good, because Emily said it.

They’re walking down the street, his little hand still in her’s, when a smell hits his sensitive nose. It’s unlike anything he’s ever smelled before and if he wasn't tethered to her, he would have floated after it. As it is, he does feel his feet lift off the ground briefly, and he has to remind his body to obey gravity, before someone notices. Luckily, Emily only sees part of his reaction, namely the way he’s sniffing the air like a dog and drooling. “Hotdogs!” she grins, and she leads him over towards the smell before he can even ask what that word means.

There’s a little cart set up, and a short, fat woman is fussing over a fire. He quickly finds the source of the smell, those little weird shapes of meat she’s turning over, and he goes to reach for one, only stopped by Emily’s other hand over his. “Not so fast, little bug. To unlock lunch, you need the power of capitalism.” She nods gravely. He nods back, clueless, but after a moment he has the source of the smell in his hands, and he wastes no time in scarfing it down. It’s good. He wants more, instantly, and tugs at her sleeve. Emily has hardly put her wallet away before it’s back out again, and she’s bought two more hotdogs. He eats them just as quickly, but before he can ask for more he realizes she’s led him away from the woman and her meats and her fire. Clever breather.

The walk to her home isn’t so bad, and it gives him time to take in his surroundings. The park had been jarring enough- what little plants grow in the netherworld are perpetually gray and withered, sad little scraggly weeds that struggle and choke each other out for the privilege of what miniscule sunshine permeates through the perpetual overcast. But there’s enough sunlight and water and everything to go around here, and it all grows green and vibrant. The city feels the same way, sort of. Like there’s plenty of space to stretch out and grow, and so they did. In the netherworld, everything is short and cramped, but bigger on the inside, with long, winding hallways meant to confuse and trap the dead. The buildings here are so tall looking up at them makes him dizzy, but he hardly has time to admire them before Emily is guiding him this way and that, and finally, to another door. She presses a button and they’re let inside, and he experiences another first as they ride the elevator up a few floors.

They ride the first few floors up in relative silence, until - “Get ready to jump!” Emily says suddenly, crouching, and he follows her lead, and jumps when she does. There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before gravity catches up with them, and their feet hit the elevator floor again, in time for the doors to open. “Good job, Beetlejuice!” she praises, pushing that long sun colored hair out of her face, and he beams up at her. “Feels like flyin, kinda!” “Right?” she enthuses loudly, and he’s about to ask her how a breather knows what flying feels like, but a door down the hall opens, and the biggest man Betelguese has ever seen steps out. “Thought I heard you rattling the elevator,” he’s chiding Emily, who only gives her snort and smile in return. “Lydia isn’t even with you, do you really play that game when you’re-” his eyes fall on Betelgeuse. “Alone?”

“Charles, I made a new friend!” Emily tells him simply, leading the little demon into their apartment. The interior is dim, but he can see fine. He knows his amber eyes are glowing a little in the gloom, and he closes them, just for a moment, as Emily leads him down the hall and into a sunny, well lit kitchen. The big man, Charles, is tailing behind, looking mystified. “Where on earth did you find him?” a hint of nerves creeps into the breather’s voice. “You didn’t… steal him.. Right?” “Charles!” Emily laughs, like it’s an absurd question. Betelgeuse can’t tell if it is or not. Emily doesn’t seem like a child snatching witch, but he doesn’t know enough about such things to be sure. “I didn’t steal him,” she clarifies, busying herself with getting the boy a cup of ice water, and stopping by for a moment to touch the back of her hand to his forehead again. “I found him wandering around Central Park. He said he doesn’t have any folks, and he was all alone, and he feels feverish. I’m being responsible! I’m a responsible adult!” “A responsible adult who still plays the elevator game, despite being told by maintenance you might throw the whole elevator out of whack?” Charles askes, but he doesn’t look angry, more amused.

“I was teaching Beetlejuice how to play.” The pause he was expecting with Emily finds its home with Charles. Charles glances at the boy. Betelguese stares back with big amber eyes, sipping quietly at his ice water. Charles looks to Emily, who seems to be waiting expectantly. The silence stretches for another beat before Charles asks, baffled, “Is that… his name?”

Emily throws her hands up like he’s asked if the sky is really blue. “Of course it’s his name! Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. I’m respecting it. Respectful and responsible, that’s me.” She turns and winks at Betelgeuse. He returns the strange breather gesture because he likes Emily more than he’s ever liked anyone before.

The water cup is empty, and he simply lets it go, no longer interested in holding it. It bounces and rolls across the floor, and Charles wrinkles his brow at the boy. “Wh-” Before he can say much more, Betelgeuse is sniffing at the air, and he crouches on all fours, nose to the ground, like a dog in a cartoon. He’s caught the scent of some kind of upperworld bug, and despite all the hotted dogs, he’s still hungry. He’s on the prowl around the kitchen, weaving under the little dining table and three chairs, and then back down the hall, into the living room. Charles and Emily poke their heads out of the kitchen to watch him.

“I think you brought a feral child into the house, Em.”

She makes a psshaw sound and rolls her eyes, smacking gently at his lapels. “He’s a kid. Kids are weird. I was doing weird kid stuff when I was his age, too.” “And you never stopped,” comes the dry response. “Charles, I know you worry, but he’s a little kid, lost in New York. I mean, my god, it’s like a movie! I couldn’t just leave him, and I wasn’t just going to give him to some cop, he’s probably an undocumented runaway or something-” and the rest of her rambling is drown out by Charles gasping and grabbing her, and her own muffled gasps of shock, because Betelgeuse has caught the bug. And also, he’s on the ceiling. He may have been trying to blend in, but the second he caught the scent of that delicious crunchy upperworld bug meat, everything else was out of mind. He’d spotted it on the ceiling, and had followed it up there, ignoring gravity to get what he wanted, and right as he pounced on it, nearly catlike, Charles and Emily had gasped. Their breather noises distract him long enough for the bug to skitter away, and he loses his concentration, and drops to the living room floor with a sickening crunch. Emily shrieks, and Charles panics, sprinting for the boy, certain he’ll find a dead child with a broken neck. Instead Betelguise sits up, his glamour disturbed from the fall, and the breathers get an eyeful of what he really looks like. There’s a beat. They’re all staring at each other for a long moment. “I… I might have brought a feral child into the house,” Emily admits sheepishly. You can read the entire thing, right now, over here

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice fic #emily deetz #charles deetz #lydia deetz #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice found family

[im-frickin-trying-okay]

Random BNHA Headcanons

(This is my first time doing this 😭)

Summary: A bunch of random BNHA headcanons. So, basically the title. The only reason I’m adding a read more is because I want it to be easier to navigate my page, lol

Bakugo is oddly nice when he first wakes up, but he's not exactly a morning person. He's less "I hate the world, why am I awake???" And more like "I'm extremely comfortable and the only thing that can ruin my mood is becoming less comfortable." He likes hovering between awake and asleep, y'know? Which is why if he's sleepy, his guard drops. When leaving the dorms, if he hasn't fully woken up, he goes from "outta my way, shitty-hair," to "mornin' Eijirou," and by the time he's actually aware of what he said, Kiri's already freaking out. If he's in bed all day for any reason other than being sick, he's probably soft for at least a few hours.

Kaminari's the type to wake up at 2 AM with an idea, go to jot it down, and then realize that he wrote a ten chapter book and now he's late for class. He'll probably put it into a google doc or something, so he can continue to add onto it throughout the day. I also feel like he probably will also randomly get a question and then spend hours researching it and any surrounding topics, before rambling to Kiri about "bro, if I went to the beach, I could make a bunch of glass! Probably! Maybe!" And then have to try and convince his friends that he can just make windows if anyone needs them.

Sero had added moves to his skill set, and practiced particular actions, with the sole intention of mimicking Spiderman. When Kirishima questions him on it, he compares Spiderman to Crimson Riot. They have a conversation that's essentially fanboying, both of them saying "we are not bringing All Might into this," and then more fanboying.

Jirou has an extremely eclectic music taste. If you can name a song, she probably knows it. She can memorize full melodies and all the lyrics within two or three listens, because she's just that good. Some people call her the human Shazam, because if you play the first five seconds of a song she likes, she'll immediately know what it is. She's also called out artists if they made a clear rip-off of a much better song. Her music taste is all over the place, which therefore makes it superior. However. This does not stop her from listening to the same six songs on repeat for a week. The six change a lot, though.

Koda has trouble with bugs, especially big ones. They scare him. But he has pretty much no issues with tigers, lions, horses, or even wolves. He loves animals, he really does. If you just showed up at his doorstep and shoved a bear cub in his arms, he wouldn't really question it, because he'd be happy to have a cute animal to play with.

Todoroki believes himself to be the opposite of moody. His definition of moody is switching emotions for no reason. He, personally, doesn't feel any emotion until something happens that day, be it a thought or an event, and his emotions stay fixed like that until something else happens. He could be having a great day, and then suddenly, it's a horrible day, and he can't figure out how people just "get over it." He does, however, find that unless something REALLY bad or REALLY good happens, his brain does a little emotional reset when he goes to sleep. Like, go to sleep feeling down, wake up feeling kinda meh.

Kirishima has considered re-dying his hair. Come on, hot pink is so manly! How could he not consider it? But he eventually resigns himself, because red just is his color now. Also, I feel like once, before dorms, he was really out of it, so he went to class with his hair down, and this was the first time anyone had seen him like that, and everyone was just confused as hell. Especially Bakugo. "Your hair's less shitty today. What the fuck."

Uraraka takes part in stupid bets all the time. Partially for the fun, and partially for the profit. She once floated Bakugo to the ceiling for 26 minutes before she had to put him down, because Kiri said that if she survived, he'd give her a dollar per minute. She ended up having to go to the recovery girl's office, but at least she got her money.

Mina is one of the few people who can understand and keep up with Deku's mumbling. This is not because she specifically tries to, (like Uraraka) or because she's known him long enough, (like Bakugo.) She's just used to gossipping with Hagakure at 4 AM, and therefore can understand high-speed low-volume speech. She's called him out on things before, but only when she's interested. She completely tunes out things about All Might and heroes and whatnot, but if he ever has anything to say about his classmates, specifically about Uraraka, Todoroki, and Bakugo, (because she, Hagakure, and Denki placed bets,) she hears every word.

Iida secretly loves to break the rules. He acts strict in front of anyone who he respects, or wants respect from, but after he thinks everyone's asleep, he relaxes, doing things that he considers rule-breaking without any remorse. Denki heard someone walking around outside while on one of his late-night internet searches. After finally willing himself to break away from an article about pandas, he popped his head out of the door to find Iida sneaking around. After some silent observation, Denki realized that not only did Iida just get back from breaking curfew, but he casually stole Hot Cheetos from Bakugo's room on the way back to his dorm. He said nothing the next day, at least not directly, but he sorta shoved Sero and Iida in the same room so that they could be bad influences on each other.

Despite it being a major part of her quirk, Hagakure almost never feels invisible. She has a lot of friends to talk to, she can wear cool outfits to stand out, and she is always talking. The only time she's not talking is during stealth training, and when she's using said stealth training to spy on people.

Tsu's little "ribbit" thing is actually just for fun. It feels right to do it, so she does it. Nothing wrong with that. However, pretty much everyone else assumed it was a part of her quirk. It took an insane amount of convincing to get that idea out of their heads. Deku was proud to be one of the few who never actually associated it with her quirk. He could prove it if he wanted to, actually, but that would require showing someone his notebook, which would open a whole other can of worms.

Oh yeah, speaking of Deku's notebook, he has multiple. Six to be exact. One is on his fellow classmates, one is on most pros, one is on the LOV, one is specifically on All Might, one is on his own quirk development, and the last one is a narrative of what's happening in his life, which is why he's constantly thinking as if he's telling a story. He mentally narrates everything that happens in his life, although he sometimes wonders if he's dramatizing things because of that. His internal monologue is constantly running its mouth, and sometimes he ends up speaking over it.

Tokoyami really likes plague doctors. He just does. He wants a plague doctor mask so he can walk around with less judgement, or maybe more, who knows? He just loved the concept. He claims that they're just really cool, which most people agree with, but he's never told any of them that he likes them because he saw a plague doctor mask for the first time at the age of six, and immediately thought bird man.

Sato likes baking, but he can't cook normally to save his life. Well, he can, but he can't. He hasn't burned water, and he knows how to do the very basics, but he can't function without a recipe, not to mention the fact that he's googled how to saute mushrooms three times and still doesn't get it. Baking comes pretty naturally. Exact measurements, precise times and temperatures. Cooking does not. Eyeballing ingredient amounts, guessing if the flame is high enough, trying to figure out how often 'stir occasionally' is. He actually once asked Bakugo if he had advice, to which he responded, "Why the hell are you asking me?!"

#bakugo headcanons #kirishima headcanon #deku headcanons #uraraka headcanons #todoroki headcanons #denki headcanons #iida headcanons #class 1-A #bnha #mha #mina headcanons #tsu headcanons #bnha headcanons #my hero academia #jirou headcanons #sero headcanons #hagakure headcanons #koda headcanons #tokoyami headcanons #sato headcanons

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Bruises

Prompt: DID SOMONE SAY ENEMIES TO LOVERS FRED WEASLEY SMUT??? NO??? Well here you go anyway! You and Fred have hated each other for a while, you’re constantly getting on each others nerves, and constantly bickering, it doesn’t help that you’re on the same quidditch team. One day during practice, you accidently get hurt because Fred wasn’t paying attention, which ends in a VERY sincere apology

AN: I suck at writing smut so I apologize in advance :)

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: SMUT!!!! Enemies to lovers, Fred being a jerk for a second, mentions of reader getting hurt, swearing, did I say smut?

To say you hated Fred Weasley would be an understatement. You weren't sure what it was, whether it was his obsessive need to constantly annoy you, or make you a victim or one of his pranks, or just his existence, it didn’t matter, you hated him, and he hated you. 

It was early in the morning, you had gotten up early for quidditch practice, which you unfortunately had with Fred seeing you were on the same team. You practically dragged yourself to the pitch, your uniform askew due to you only having woken a few minutes earlier, only having time to brush your teeth before you were on the field.

“Jesus Y/N what happened to you?” Fred asked sarcastically. It was too fucking early for this, so you just rolled your eyes and flipped him off, not giving him another glance as you walked by the bleachers, throwing your bag and broom down, lightly stretching before Oliver arrived.

You looked to your right to see your best friend Hermione sitting on the bleachers reading a book. It wasn’t uncommon to find her out here reading or doing homework, since its usually empty this time of day. You walked over plopping yourself next to her, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Yes Y/N?” she asked not looking up from her book.

“I’m going to kill him” You said, leaning back so your elbows were resting on the seats behind you.

“You say that every day” She said, putting her book down to give you her full attention.

“I mean it. Today is the day” You mumbled, causing her to laugh a bit.

“Why do you hate him so much again?” She asked,

“You know why, he’s annoying as hell, he’s constantly making fun of me, and I’m still picking glitter out of my clothes from his last prank. He’s the worst” You stated, causing Hermione to stifle a laugh beside you, causing you to glare.

“It was a little funny” She said

“Say you, you weren't the victim” you shot back, causing her to roll her eyes, she opened her mouth to continue her conversation, but just then Oliver walked in, signaling the start of practice.

A few hours later and you were completely awake, it was a pretty easy day, just running some chaser drills as the beaters worked with the keeper and so on, well it was supposed to be easy. It was a little hard to focus when Fred was constantly trying to bug you.

“Y/N!” Fred suddenly yelled, causing you to jump, almost dropping the quaffle you were throwing to your teammate.

“What!” You yelled back, looking over to see the tall red head smiling at you.

“Nothing, just wanted to see if I could get you to miss” He said, turning back to his own round of drills. You rolled your eyes, looking back at your team mate to see her trying not to laugh.

“Its not that funny, just throw back the-” You started but you weren't able to finish your sentence,  a blunt object hitting your shoulder with enough force to send you falling off your broom. You weren't that far off the ground, so it didn’t hurt to much when you landed, but you still had the wind knocked out of you for a second, having landed on your back.

You quickly shook out of your dazed state, taking in a few deep breaths before looking on your right to see what hit you. A quaffle ball. And of course, who do you see when you look up to find out who hit you with the bloody thing. That fucking idiot.

“Y/N are you ok! Is anything broken?” Hermione said, having watched the whole thing, running over to you. You however were already getting up.

“No I'm fine” You said, Hermione’s eyes widening at the tone of your voice, which came as a surprise, until she saw Fred fly down to meet you on the ground.

“Sorry, the ball got away from me and-” He started, getting off his broom to stand in front of you.

“You fucking asshole!” You yelled, lunging at Fred and shoving his chest. He may have been quite a bit taller than you, but you were still able to catch him by surprise and send him falling back a bit.

“What, constantly tormenting me and making me feel like a fucking idiot every day isn’t enough? Now you have to knock me off my fucking broom?” You stormed forward, going to shove him again but before you could Oliver and Hermione grabbed your arms, holding you back and causing the new pain in you back to flare up.

“Y/N, go cool off, you’re done for today” Oliver said sternly, causing you to look back at him angrily.

“I’m done for today? He hit me!” You defended.

“It was an accident Y/N jeez just relax” Fred said, and if Oliver wasn’t still holding your wrist, you were sure you would have punched him right then and there.

“Shut it Weasley you’re off too! Both of you go cool off and figure out whatever the hell is going on between you too because I can’t have two of my best players constantly trying to kill each other!” Oliver yelled, finally releasing you before storming off to the rest of the players, who had all started watching the fight.

“Here I’ll walk you back” Hermione said

“I said I’m fine” you grumbled, shaking her off your shoulder before storming off to the women's locker room to change.

“I didn’t mean to hit her” Fred said once you were out of ear shot, surprising Hermione. His voice wasn’t as confident as it usually was, but it still had a hint of sarcasm.

“You better go apologize, I mean it” Hermione said, stopping when he opened his mouth to interject, before turning and walking back to where she was originally sitting, gathering her stuff so she could go back to her room.

“She's right you know” George said, having landed behind Fred to see the incident. “You gotta stop whatever this is, the both of you” He said, before getting on his broom and flying off to the rest of the players, leaving Fred dreading the conversation he needed to have.

Meanwhile in the locker room, you had taken off your shirt, leaving you in leggings and a bra to examine you back, where a deep purple bruise was starting to bloom on your shoulder blade.

You moved your arm to get a better look, and pain shot up you shoulder, not enough to really affect you, but it was sure as hell annoying.

“Merlin that looks bad” A familiar voice suddenly said from behind you, causing you to jump out of you skin.

“Fucking... Fred this is the girls locker room get out!” You yelled, throwing the closest thing to you at his head, which happened to be your shirt, which hit his chest before falling to a heap at his feet.

“No can do Y/n, I’m here to apologize, and I am not allowed to leave unless I’m forgiven.” He said crossing his arms and leaning on the wall next to him, trying not to let his eyes wander off your face.

“Great, guess we’ll die in here�� you said, going to your bag to get your shirt, back now facing Fred.

“You should probably get that looked at” Fred said, coming farther into the room to sit on one of the benches.

“Wow, fucking brilliant, I would have never thunk it!” You said sarcastically, finding your shirt, moving to put it on but as you lifted your arms that pain was shooting down your shoulder again, making you chuck it on the floor frustrated.

“I said I was sorry!” Fred said, not understanding why you were so mad.

“Actually, you haven't Fred!” You shot back causing his eyes to widen. Had he really not actually apologized.

“Well I’m sorry” Fred said, keeping up his sarcastic façade

“No you’re not!” You suddenly yelled, finally coming to your breaking point. “You weren't sorry for all the pranks you played on me, you weren't sorry for humiliating me in class, you weren't sorry for constantly teasing me, and you most certainly aren't sorry for this!” You yelled, throwing your things in your bag so you could leave.

“You’re such an idiot!” Fred said, suddenly standing and storming over to you. “You think I want to hurt your feelings? I started pranking you because it was the only way to get your attention! Before it was like interacting with a fucking wall!” He said, causing your face to heat up.

You were going to be honest. Before you two started hating each other, you may have had a teeny tiny barely there crush on the older twin. You would never admit it out loud, especially after everything that's happened, but still, there was some little piece of your heart that wished things had worked out differently between you too.

“Well gee Fred, I didn’t realize I was such a bore to be around” You said, trying to hide the hurt his words left behind.

“That's not what I meant” Fred said, his voice suddenly softer than before.

“Than what do you mean Fred? Because I’m honestly sick of playing whatever sick game you’re tying to pull me into” You shot back

“Would you just shut up and listen!” Fred said

“Or what Fred? You gonna prank me, or knock me down again or-” Your yelling was suddenly cut off when Fred closed the space between you two slamming his lips to yours. 

You were expecting a lot of things, some more yelling, a lot more swearing, pretty much anything than what just happened. But suddenly, he was pressing his lips to yours, and all you could think of was how badly you wanted to kiss him back. So you did.

The kiss was intense, lips sloppily moving against each other before you were suddenly feeling his tongue against your bottom lip, opening them to allow him to explore your mouth.

Fred suddenly bent his knees, allowing him to grab the backs of your thighs and lift you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his hips before he backed you into the wall, causing a jolt of pain to shoot through your shoulder, but you barely felt it. All you could feel was Fred. His tongue in your mouth, his red hair in between your fingers, and his now obvious hard on pressed against your core.

Your hands moved from his hair to the front of his Jersey, running your hands beneath it to feel his toned stomach, pushing up the fabric to get it off. Fred quickly broke the kiss, quickly removing his shirt before re attaching your lips, his right hand holding you up while the other went to squeeze your breast while his lips moved down your neck, marking the skin there.

“Fuck Fred, stop teasing” You said, wanting him to do something, anything to help the friction between your legs.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll do it” Fred mumbled, lips barely leaving your skin. The cheeky fucker.

“Please, just fuck me already!” You practically yelled, causing Fred to stop the attack on your neck and meet your eyes, smiling wide.

“As you wish” He said, before suddenly putting you down, grabbing his wand and casting a spell to lock the door.

“Wouldn’t want to get interrupted” He said cockily, before going to work on taking off his belt, you following suit and pulling off the rest of your clothes leaving you in your panties, while Fred's pants were pulled down just enough to let his cock spring free.

“These need to come off” He said, grabbing the waist band of your panties before pulling them down roughly, allowing you to kick out of them before you were suddenly against the wall again, with Fred’s lips attaching to your neck once again.

You suddenly felt Fred's hand move down your stomach before reaching your core, dipping a finger in your entrance and causing you to throw your head back.

“So wet for me already?” Fred teased, moving to suck a mark just behind your ear. You only nodded in response, not fully trusting your voice.

Fred hiked up your left leg to wrap around his waist, pressing his cock between your folds before slowly pushing in, giving you time to adjust to his size as he filled you up completely, staying like this for a few seconds.

“You ok?” Fred asked, his soft tone throwing you a bit off guard, but you quickly moved past it, nodding your head.

“Yes just... god please move” You moaned, causing him to smirk before he slowly pulled out half way, before ramming his hips into yours, causing you to gasp.

Fred hiked up your other leg, you now fully off the ground with your legs around his waist once again before reconnecting your lips. He thrust upwards into you, knowing exactly how to hit that one spot that made you roll your head spin. You moved your hand to grip onto his back trying to find something to hold onto, leaving marks running across his back from your nails and making him groan into your mouth, moving his lips to attack your neck and collar bone. 

Fred began to pick up the pace, gripping your left thigh tightly as he used his hand and the wall to keep you up, his other hand moving between your bodies to start moving circles around your clit, almost sending you over the edge and causing you to gasp, which only made Fred move his hand faster.

“Fuck Fred... I’m gonna... fuck” you tried to say, coming close to your orgasm but your couldn’t find the words.

“Come for me, I’m right behind you” Fred said, suddenly thrusting into you harder, making the tension in your stomach to release, your orgasm washing over you and causing you to see stars.

Fred thrusted into you a few more times before he came undone himself, grunting as he emptied himself into you. You both stood like that for a moment, your head resting in the crook of his neck while he softly peppered kisses along your shoulders. 

After a moment he let you down, helping you find your footing so that you wouldn’t fall, your legs exhausted from holding onto him. A silence fell over you two as you went to put your clothes back on, wincing as you went to secure the hooks on your bra, having forgotten about the welt on your back from earlier. Fred noticed your grimace and walked over to you, gently resting his hand next to the mark.

“Let me” He said, moving his hands to gently clasp the fabric together, before moving his hand to rest near the bruise, his cool fingertips helping to ease the pain.

“I’m so sorry” Fred said, causing you to turn around, smiling up at him softly as you read the guilt on his face.

“Its ok, I know it wasn’t on purpose” You said, leaning in to hug him, which he accepted, wrapping your arms around you.

“I’m actually kind of glad it happened” you said, pulling away and digging through your bag to pull out your shirt, putting it on. “If you hadn’t knocked me on my ass this probably wouldn’t have happened” You said, causing Fred to chuckle.

“Remind me to knock you over more often” Fred joked, pulling on his shoes before standing next to you.

“Or we could just keep fucking, not in the locker room though” You said causing the both of you to laugh.

“Ok, what about... in twenty minutes when we get back to the school?” Fred asked, causing you to slap his shoulder playfully.

“You could at least by me dinner first! I’m not that easy” You joked, causing Fred to chuckle before turning to face you, putting both of your hands in his.

“I could... this weekend? Hogsmeade’s?” He asked, causing your face to heat up, before you smiled brightly.

“Its a date” You said

“Good” He said smiling back, letting go of one of your hands so you could walk out of the locker room. “I mean its the least I could do, seeing I just made you scream my name for the last twenty minute. I am a gentleman”

“Shut up” You said, but you were smiling, and you could not wait for the weekend.

BONUS:

You walked back into your dorm room, a stupid grin still plastered on your face as you went to sit on your bed. you still had a few minutes before your next class so you could shower and get a new change of clothes.

“What are you so smiley about? Oh god, did you kill him?” Hermione asked, sitting across the room on her own bed, having been reading a book before you entered.

“Hmm?” You asked, not fully paying attention “Oh no, we just... Talked” you said, trying to come up with something on the spot.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, not believing your story before her eyes landed just above the collar of your shirt. “Y/N... Is that a fucking hickey!?” She practically yelled, causing you to quickly run to the mirror on the side of the room, moving your shirt to see your neck more clearly, and sure enough, there was a purple spot right below your ear.

“That fucker” you mumbled to yourself, causing Hermione's head to practically explode.

“When I told him to apologize I didn’t mean like that!” Hermione exclaimed, causing you to laugh. The bruise on your back may not have been nice to receive, but this one, this is one on your neck you could live with getting more often.

BONUS BONUS:

Fred Weasley walked into the common room finding an empty couch before plopping down into it, laying back with a grin on his face. He barely noticed Oliver and George sitting on the couch opposite of him, having interrupted some conversation they were having.

“Hey Fred, you alright mate?” Oliver said, looking at the older Weasley who had a happily drunk look on his face.

“Never better why?” Fred asked, looking over at the two, who looked back at him with the same suspicious expression.

“Because you were supposed to apologies to Y/N almost half an hour ago and... wait” George said, suddenly putting the pieces together “Did you and y/n-” George yelled, before quickly getting cut off by Fred.

“Keep your voice down you git! I don't want all of Hogwarts knowing... well... yet” Fred said, causing George to grow a giant smile on his face, and Oliver's eyes to basically roll out of his head.

“So, are you two good now? Like I don’t have to worry about you killing each other” Oliver said after a moment, collecting his thoughts while George giggled like a school girl.

“No were not going to kill each other” Fred said, rolling his eyes at his friends dramatic reactions.

“Well its about damn time you told her, I personally would have waited for more romantic timing but still, nice effort” George teased, earning a whack to the shoulder from his brother.

“Shut it” Fred said, but he didn’t have the energy to stay angry, too excited about the events that just happened, and for the upcoming weekend.

____________________________________________________________

A/N: Heeeeey! This is my first time writing Fred Weasley smut so pls be gentle, also feel free to leave me any critiques or feed back or whatever. Hope you enjoyed!

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley headcannon #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley smut