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marvel-m-lee · 3 years

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Alone, Bored and Mischievous~

Words- 2034

Fandom- Rick and Morty

Focus Characters- you, Jerry, Rick

Summary- You were bored in the house and in the house bored, everyone else was out apart from Jerry so you decided to hang out with your favourite dad.

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You were bored as fuck. You wondered around the house, unsure if what to do. Everyone seemed to be doing their own things; summer had gone to the mall with Beth- your adopted mother- Jerry was reading a newspaper in his 'man cave', Morty was out and you had no clue where Rick had gone so you assumed the two were on an adventure.

You wandered around the house aimlessly. Usually you'd go out with friends or have plans but everyone else had plan today with family or dates or other shit. So you were left alone.

You looked at the couch, sitting down and wondering if you should watch some interdimentional tv, you turned the tv on and grabbed a remote, sitting on the couch.

You were wearing some pretty lazy stuff although it was hot out. It wasn't burning but it was definitely hot enough, you wore an over sized baby blue t-shirt with a little bee on the breast saying 'bee-kind' and some casual black leggings with no socks or shoes. Your hair was down and partly messy, thought you had brushed it prior.

You flicked through a variety of shows, ranging from cartoons to 4th Dimensional shit. But nothing grabbed your interest, you mostly just wanted to do something, not just sit around. You looked at the nintendo, perhaps you could play some games? But the idea quickly faded as you just weren't interested in it right now.

You got up and turned off the TV, putting the remote back. You even thought about eating, but you were just bored so there was no point.

You then decided to go nose around the house, no one was hone so it couldn't hurt right? You'd already nosed around in the main areas so you decided to go to Rick's room.

Ah what a genius you are.

Fucking nutcase.

Anyways you slopped off to his room, you wandered down the downstairs hall behind the stairs and quickly found the old farts room. You peeked inside, no one around, you looked around to make sure no one was around either, Jerry would have been to busy to notice anyway.

You stepped into the room and looked around, a messy bed, messy floors, his notes covered his walls, boxes were stacked upon each other filled with whatever Rick collected, his draws were slightly open and random clothing and paper falling down and more. You looked over the mans bed, questioning how he could sleep on a bed so low and so unsteady.

Even this bored you, you really had nothing catching your interest, even mischief was killing you.

You left the room, though before you did, you left a little surprise for Rick under his bed.

You left and trotted down the halls, finding your way to Jerry's man cave. Maybe you could hang out with him, he was like your dad after all.

You entered the room to see him sitting on a recliner chair watching some show about you had no clue, nor did you take any interest.

"Hey J" you rhyme, smiling at him. Jerry paused the show quickly and sat up smiling too. He waved pathetically but appreciated the nickname. You usually did this anyway, and he had a nickname for you too.

"Hey Mischief" he said, one of the best nicknames he'd come up with in a while, though he'd been calling you it for years. You usually caused mischief in the family, earning you the appropriate title.

You wandered over to Jerry, standing next to the recliner and looking at the TV. "What cha watching?"

"Nothing, what cha doing?" Jerry asked, brushing off his show. You raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"I'm just hanging out with my favourite dad"

Jerry's face went sick and tears filled his eyes at the thought.

"Awwww y/n!" Jerry got up and pulled you into a hug making you laugh, you swatted him away, pulling out of it.

"Alright sap king" you laughed, Jerry just rolled his eyes.

"Anyway what are really up too?" Jerry asked, knowing your mischievous ways. You shrugged with a slight smirk, you really wanted to cause some mischief right now.

"Uh-huh... okay-" Jerry eyes you but the two of you left to go to the kitchen to grab a drink. You chatted about some strange things and then about a job for Jerry.

"Yeah I found this job application" you explained, leaning over the kitchen's side as he got you both a drunk from the sink.

"No way really?!" He asked excitedly. "What about?"

"Its nothing fancy, just a couple of ads" you shrugged as if it was nothing, taking the water Jerry had poured out for you.

"Thank you y/n! Thank you thank you thank you!" Jerry jumped with joy as the two of you headed into the living room to watch TV. And seeing a way to cause mischief you jumped over the couch and slid right under where Jerry was about to sit.

"Y/n!"

"Jerry!"

Then when he went to sit next to you you just laid across the whole couch.

"Jerry I'm trying to watch TV!" You whined, pointing at the black screen. Jerry loomed at the TV to see if you actually were, but obviously you weren't, just pulling his leg. You burst out laughing and he mocked you.

"Ha ha! Very funny. Now move" he ordered, though it was in his own pathetic Jerry way.

"Nah, I'm quite comfortable here" you explained, placing the drink on the table and stretching out with your arms under your head like when someone was sunbathing.

"Oh really now?" Jerry asked, putting his drink down too. A slight teasing in his voice.

"Mhm! You should try this out- oh wait" you laughed in mockery, only joking around as not to hurt his feelings. But quickly your laughter turned slient as he fluttered his hands over your open armpits. Your eyes opened wide and you stared st the Jerry looking down at you, glaring at him.

You had closed your armpits now, looking a little silly on the couch having lost your confidence. Jerry noticed this and smirked, smiling as though he had no clue what was going on.

"Is everything okay?" He taunted. He was a dumbass, a pain in the ass, pathetic, but a great dad for the most part. He knew in every way to embarrass his kids and loved to do it together it was on purpose or just his pathetic ways.

You glared at him, staying in the same position.

"Jerry."

"Y/n?"

The smirk on his face only grew as he acted more and more stupid. He reached his hand down and squeezed your belly, making you jerk and almost fall off the sofa though you didnt due to him being there.

"Jeherry. Jerry dont" you ordered, though it partly sounded like pleading, your hidden laughter mixing with your words. Jerry only answered with a little squeeze in the centre of your belly making a dumb smile break through on your mouth before you quickly got rid of it.

"What's wong y/n?" Jerry teased in a babys voice. You always hated when he did that, making you giggle even more but trying to act tough you tried your hardest not to laugh.

"N-nothing. Move ya big ball sack!" You told him, pushing him out of your face, holding back giggles. You always sounded like such a baby when you giggled, especially nervously. Not like the strong independent wOmAn you are on missions who can fight and comprehend almost anything.

"Hehey! Watch it" Jerry laughed as he was pushed backwards. You chuckled as he fell backwards a little bit but stay stood up over you. He had a wide smirk on his mouth and you were doubting whether or not you should have caused mischief in the first place.

"Y/n?" He asked, stepping closer sl you couldn't run.

"W-what?" You stuttered, a bit nervous now.

"I have a question"

"I don't think I wanna hear it-" you muttered slightly, looking for a way of escapism.

"Please! Just one tiny little question." He begged as he crouched down, trying to hide his smirk. You never minded when Jerry tickled you, you didn't hate being tickled either, you actually enjoyed the memories but you hated the taunting, the taughtig was terrible. You'd go all ready and squeal, unable to talk from being flustered so much.

But you knew there was no escape from this.

"Jerrryyyyy" you begged silently.

"Pleaseeeeee?"

You sighed, looking down in defeat.

"What..."

"Y/n?"

"What Jerry!" You whined, pooking up into his eyes. Though it was a horrible mistake, full of mischief and taunting, a large smirk on his face.

His hands darted to your sides as he threw you back.

"Are you ticklish?" He knew the answer, darting his hands up your sides making you squeal suddenly and then giggle like a child as you were slammed into the couch. You desperately pushed at his hands as your face turned a light pink.

"Jeheherry! Nohoho" you giggled, pushing and wiggling out of his grip. He grabbed you though and threw you onto the couch slightly, you were a great fighter, slippery and incredible but you were light as a feather no matter what. Even Jerry could swoop you up for a quick moment.

He stood over you as his hands squeezed and dances over the skin, slowly making their way up your ribs making you kick out as you tried to hide tour laughter, clamming your mouth shut so no one would hear, though no one was home and everyone knew except Rick.

"MmMHMm!" You muffled and tried to compel your laughter, wiggling as Jerry straddled you between his legs, dancing his fingers up your ribs. Weak bitch in fighting but tickle fights? It was such a Jerry thing.

He even fir a quick moment brought a hand to your neck, light tickles causing you to tuck in as he brought it back down to your side and ribs. You pushed and pulled at his wrists but nothing worked. You were dying behind a clenched smile.

Jerry skillfully shot his hands into your armpits making you squeal extremely loud, almost rolling off the couch with giggly screeching laughter. It wasn't even your worst spot, you were just surprised.

You rolled off the couch and ran to the kitchen, standing over the counter so Jerry couldn't get you easily, and good thing too, you both heard a voice call out if everything was alright in there and Rick stood outside the garage door with his casual light blue shirt on and pants having working on something in the garage this whole time.

You turned around for a split second to see if Rick was actually there, Jerry detracted too. You quickly span around though and pointed a finger from him to Rick.

"HE CAN NEVER FIND OUT!" You yelled particularly loud, a slight bit out of breath from the attack. Your face was bright red by now and your hair a bit messy. Jerry was smiling wide and laughing at your reaction. Rick just gave it a weird ass look.

"What uurrp-" Rick questioned before being interrupted by his own burp. You only snapped your neck to look at him so he could see your bright red and flustered face.

"What the-"

"SHUT UP"

"She's really-" you snapped your head and glared at Jerry, screaming.

"SHUT UP JERRY!" You really never minded the tickles, but once more, having to watch someone let out your secret of being tickled? It only meant the other person would tickle you more. It was human. And embarrassing.

You didnt care if Rick knew, but you really did. You didnt wanna seem weak, or babish. You didn't want him to know you actually enjoyed the tournament, not that anyone did know. Still.

"FUCK YOU ALL" You yelled, walking out of the room, bright and flustered.

Rick gave you a look and then Jerry, Jerry put up a hand to talk.

"She's really-" he whispered slightly but you leaned back into the room and yelled at him to shut up.

"NO!"

#tickle community #rick and morty #sfw tickles #writing #rick sanchez #jerry smith #tickle rick and morty #y/n #y/n and rick n morty #jerry love #lmao idk #tickle session #tickles #tickle fic

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metaphorical-love-for-a-car · 5 years

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Marry You-- Joe Mazzello x Reader

Request; “How about a joe mazzello based on the song marry you by Bruno Mars? Idk” ( @hi-i-dont-know )

Warnings; some language, the song is fem! specific but the story itself isn’t

Word Count; 1.8k

Notes; sorry it's taken me so long to get around to this lol

You couldn’t believe it. You had worked so hard for so long, and you finally did it. Here you were, standing on a stage, accepting an award at a prestigious ceremony. People were clapping, and cameras were everywhere. Never in a million years did you expect this to happen.

You stuttered through your acceptance speech before scurrying back to your seat. The rest of the awards ceremony seemed to go by in a haze as you continued to try to wrap your mind around the evening. You were in desperate need of a drink, and the after party couldn’t come soon enough.

Dozens of people came up to congratulate you, and you only recognized about half of them. You quickly gulped down your drinks in an attempt to make yourself calm down. It wasn’t the wisest idea, but it was all you could do besides leaving the party, which you obviously didn’t want to do. You were tipsy, borderline drunk, and still feeling overwhelmed. That’s when he decided to approach you. The last thing you needed was your childhood celebrity crush to show up, but that’s exactly what happened.

Your first introduction to Joe Mazzello was when you watched Radio Flyer shortly after it came out, then you saw him again in Jurassic Park. Your younger self thought he was cute, thus your childhood crush formed. As years went on and the two of you started to become more successful in the world of entertainment, you had met each other once or twice, but it was always in passing. Neither of you really spoke to each other much. The most interaction the two of you had was via social media, occasionally liking each other’s posts.

Needless to say, you were worried about embarrassing yourself because you had too much alcohol in your system for your mind to properly function, and it didn’t help that you continued to drink. “I’m sure you’re going to be sick of hearing this by the end of the night, but congratulations!” Joe flashed you a bright smile. You laughed before thanking him. “Mind if I sit?” He nodded his head towards the empty stool next to yours. You shook your head.

“No, not at all!” Joe sat, and the two of you chatted about basic stuff, like ‘Have you tried the shrimp? It’s pretty good!’ or ‘I’ve been going ninety-to-nothing tonight and can’t wait to finally get home.’ You normally felt awkward during small talk, but this was nice. Maybe it was just the alcohol that was making this feel so comfortable. Maybe it was just his charming personality. Either way, you didn’t care. You were enjoying it.

“Hope I’m not bothering you. I’m sure a ton of other people would like to talk to you.” You scoffed at Joe’s comment and dramatically rolled your eyes.

“Oh, please! I’m having way more fun talking to you than I would have if I were talking to some of them. Besides, it’s not every day that you get to hang out with your age-old celebrity crush.” You brought your glass to your lips and froze. Did you seriously just say that out loud? No, surely not. You weren’t that drunk, right? You slowly lowered the glass, glancing over at Joe. Shit. You did say it out loud. His mouth was open, looking shocked. And his cheeks were red.

“You... wait. I’m your celebrity crush?” You felt the heat rising to your face and nodded. He ran a hand through his hair. “No fucking way. This is crazy. You’ve been my celebrity crush since we first met at that movie premiere a few years ago,” Joe said enthusiastically, very much resembling a child telling their friends about the cool toy they got for Christmas. You covered your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter. Joe’s brows knitted together, but his goofy grin remained. “I’m serious!”

“This is too good to be true. It sounds like something out of a fanfiction book on Wattpad or Tumblr.” Joe laughed, stating his agreement. He suddenly grabbed your hand. His eyes were wide and mischief danced across his features.

“I’ve got an awesome idea, and it’ll really make life like a fanfic.” You pursed your lips, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What’re you planning, Joe?”

“It’s a surprise! Now, where’s the closest Walmart?”

Who cares if we're trashed Got a pocket full of cash we can blow Shots of Patron And it's on girl

The two of you managed to find an Uber at the ungodly hour of the morning it was. People gave you odd looks when you first walked into the store. Some because they recognized the two of you, and some because you were both in incredibly formal attire... while drunk shopping in Walmart. You headed straight towards the candy, and Joe disappeared. As you were paying for the mountain of candy in your arms, you felt someone tap on your shoulder. It was Joe, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You okay?” you snickered, grabbing the plastic bag from the worker before thanking her.

'Cause it's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you Is it the look in your eyes or is it this dancing juice Who cares baby, I think I wanna marry you

“Actually, there’s something important I want to ask you.” You raised a brow at him, and he took a deep breath. When Joe got down on one knee, your jaw dropped. He pulled out a ring that had a little silver frog on top, its back made of a green gem. “Let’s continue with the fanfiction themed night, shall we?” You laughed, nodding. Joe beamed up at you and slid the ring onto your finger.

“Is this actually happening right now?” you asked in between laughs. Joe shrugged.

“Dunno. That sounds like something for our sober selves to figure out. Wanna check out the Redbox movies?”

I'll go get a ring Let the choir bell sing like ooh So what you wanna do Let's just run girl If we wake up and you want to break up That's cool No, I won't blame you It was fun girl

Your head was pounding. Bringing a hand to your face, you rubbed your eyes before squinting them open. How much did you drink last night? You could hardly remember a thing... that is until you realized you weren’t in your hotel room, nor were you alone. An arm was wrapped around your waist, and the person’s head was nuzzled against your back. Fucking shit. Your mind was reeling, trying to remember what had happened. A part of your mind tried to rationalize that maybe you didn’t hook up with someone. After all, you were still dressed. Then again... the sweats and baggy shirt didn’t belong to you.

You were worried about waking whoever was beside you. You were desperate to avoid any awkward and embarrassing interactions. Slowly reaching out, you went to pull your phone off of the bedside table. That’s when you noticed the ring. Your breath got caught in your throat as a sudden sense of urgency flooded your system. You tried to turn your phone on, but a black screen stared back at you. Of course, it was dead. Well, there was only one thing you could do. You started peeling yourself from the person’s grasp. As you did, the person stirred. When you were finally able to turn and look at them, it felt like someone dumped a bucket of rocks into your stomach. “Damn... my head’s killin’ me,” Joe groaned while rubbing his face. Your mouth open and closed. You couldn’t think of anything to say. Joe removed his hands, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes widened. “Oh my god...” was all the could muster up.

“Joe, what the hell happened last night?” You showed him your hand, and his face reddened.

“Well... I-- uh-- don’t remember much. I don’t think we had sex, but I don’t know about that.” He pointed at the ring. Joe quickly sat up, snatching his phone from the floor. Thankfully, it had been charging.

He had multiple missed calls and unopened text messages from his friends, most of which said something along the lines of ‘Joe, what the hell is going on? Is this real?’ Joe swiped through his camera roll, but most of the pictures were goofy selfies or short videos of the two of you wandering around Walmart. It didn’t really offer much information. You suggested looking through your social media accounts. Lo and behold, it was the jackpot. Your twitter was filled with cringe-worthy levels of cheesy and sappy pickup lines, all of which had Joe tagged in them. He responded to a few, but his replies only consisted of various heart emojis. Joe’s Instagram story had dozens of photos and videos of you two, most of which you had already seen in his camera roll. Then there was one post that had the caption ‘I liked it so I put a ring on it (guess we’re engaged now)’, and you had commented ‘#couplegoals’. You decided to take a look into your own Instagram account, clicking through the story photos you remembered posting. When it finally got to something new, you couldn’t help the butterflies that formed in your chest.

It was a video of Joe, laying in bed next to you. Your head was on his chest, and you had an arm draped across his torso. You were out cold, and Joe had a soft smile on his face. “(Y/N) fell asleep in the middle of our Night At The Museum marathon, so I decided to hack their insta.” He glanced down at you, his smile growing even wider. “They’re so adorable, even when they’re snoring like a freight train. But don’t let them know that I told you guys that,” he said the last part with a serious expression. Joe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then the video ended.

“So I guess we got engaged,” you mumbled, examining the little frog ring on your finger. “We know that much happened.”

“What now?” Joe asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You glanced at him, and he was idly tracing a pattern into the bed’s comforter.

“Well, first, I think we should get some breakfast. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Then maybe we could start with a date and see how that goes?” Joe looked up, meeting your gaze. A smile spread across his lips.

“I like that plan.”

Don't say no no no no no Just say yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah And we'll go go go go go If you're ready, like I'm ready

Just say I do Tell me right now baby Tell me right now baby, baby Just say I do Tell me right now baby Tell me right now baby, baby

Tag List;

@mothermercuryy @mmmmmitslikeadiseaseson

#request #joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody x reader

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retro-rezz-the-est · 5 years

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Opposites Attract pt. 1 (Balor/Reader)

Summary: Reader is Balor’s complete opposite, and yet he finds himself drawn to her gentle and angelic behavior. He takes her back to his kingdom one night and discovers that she’s not as innocent as she claims to be.

(A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day to you all! I hope you all have found love on this day in any form it may be in. And if not, I hope that this will bring some into your life ^^. There will be a second part to this and yes, it will include smut XD)

(Y/n): your name

Bolded text is Balor speaking.

Finn could feel Balor’s jealousy begin to flow through his veins as he watched Drew approach your table, Dolph flanking his left side. You were absorbed in your conversation with Natalya and Alicia before the Scottish man’s large hand slammed down harshly onto the table, startling the three of you and drawing your eyes to his own lingering ones.

“Hello, (Y/n),” he breathed, his gaze raking down chest in your sleeveless RAW tee. Finn could see how uncomfortable you where, noting how your arms gave way to slight shakes and how you began to scratch at your palm.

“H-Heya, Drew,” you said as you moved your chair back slightly. His dominating aura was not what you expected to encounter that Monday, especially so early in the afternoon. Glancing at the two women next to you, you could see their eyes narrow and twitch in the direction of the Scotsman and his blonde friend. For once, you thanked them for how protective of you they were.

You gave him a meek wave and brushed some hair in front of your face to hide yourself from his stare, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he pulled up his own chair, spinning it around and throwing himself down onto it without breaking eye contact. Alicia’s grip on your thigh tightened as a sly grin made its way onto his face, and you could feel the tension between your two girls and him grow immensely.

Drew’s breath reeked of stale beer, and you wondered about how far you could lean back before the chair you sat in gave out and you fell on your ass. He leaned forward and raised his eyebrows at the three of you, making a show out of glancing at your disgusted faces.

He turned his attention to you and asked, “Say, (Y/n), why don’t you an’ I get th’ hell outta here with me an’ Dolph over here and go have some real fun? Just th’ three of us.”

He tried to make a move towards you but you moved away, attempting to hide yourself inside your shirt. The two men gave a roar of laughter at your meekness and sighed, your hold on Alicia’s wrist slipping.

At last, her anger burst through the folds. “Listen here, you drunk motherfu-”

“I think that’s enough outta you, McIntyre.”

The five of you went silent as a hand fell onto the Scot’s shoulder and turned him around. There stood an angry Finn, eyebrows furrowed with rage and veins almost bursting out of his biceps. His aura spread across the entire room, rendering everyone else to their metaphorical knees.

Dolph, being the brave but stupid foot soldier that he is, felt the need to step up to the angry Irishman and poke his finger into his chest. “Oh yeah? What are you, of all people, gonna do about it?”

Lashing his own hand out, he pulled the blonde’s arm away from him and gripped his wrist tight. The twist he gave his arm made him scream out in pain, his face being slammed into the table. The shock made you, Alicia, and Nattie jump out of fear and surprise.

“That’s what I’m gonna do about it,” he uttered in a cold voice. “Now, get him and yourself outta here before I do some real damage.”

He released Ziggler’s arm and stepped back, allowing him to stand back up and lead Drew out of catering before throwing a nasty look his way. As soon as the duo was gone, he pivoted and overlooked the three of you. “Are you all alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Nattie answered, taking a hold of one of your shaking hands. “Thanks for coming when you did. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

Alicia pouted, crossing her arms and huffing. “I know what I would have done. I would have punched him and Dolph in their smug faces.”

“Oh, you would so do that,” Nattie teased, getting up and brushing off her legs. The two of them said their goodbyes to both you and Finn and kissed your forehead, waving as they headed to their locker rooms to change. It felt like hours had gone by when they left until he cleared his throat, garnering your attention.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)? They didn’t hurt ya in any way, did they?”

You were quick to shoot down his second question, shaking your head rapidly as your hair swished in front of your face. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

He continued to stand there for a few moments until he said, “I could walk ya to your locker room, if ya want.”

You could see him scratch at the nape of his neck and blush like a teenager, and that made you do the same. Getting up, you pushed in your chair and shuffled to the door, glancing behind you and giving him the signal to follow you. The two of you exited the room and you cradled your elbow in your free hand as he followed closely behind.

As the two of you made your way to the door with your name marked onto it, you stopped and felt his presence radiating from behind you. You turned and looked up at him, your eyes soft and gentle.

“Thanks again for walking me here, Finn,” you whispered, reaching up and and twirling a strand of your hair around your finger. The coloring in your cheeks didn’t seem to want to cease, and you were desperate for an exit.

He brushed a hand over his face, replying, “Don’t mention it, (Y/n). Just didn’t want anyone else coming onto ya like Drew did.”

Ask her out, you fool.

“Shut it before I lock you out again.”

You peered up at him, asking, “Where you talking to me?”

He chuckled nervously, running a hand through his beard again as he commented, “Not at all, darling. I’m just gonna head back and watch the rest of the show. I’ll see ya around (Y/n).”

And with that, he spun around and began walking back to catering, leaving you stunned.

He… he called me “darling”…

He waited for you near the curtain as you walked up the ramp after your win against Sarah Logan. You could feel the adrenaline running through your veins when you passed the curtain, but as soon as you saw him, it all ran ice cold. The feeling of him brushing against your arm sent goosebumps flying across the flesh.

“(Y/n)! I was hoping to catch you here.”

You couldn’t stop the stutter in your voice as you spoke. “Y’Yeah, Finn. What’d you n-need?”

“I wanted to ask you… uh….” The words just wouldn’t come out of his mouth, even though he had practiced them right after he had left you at your locker room. “I wanted to… to know if you-”

Oh for fuck’s sake, you poor, stuttering fool. Move aside.

The shudder that zapped into his body didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you saw the blacks of his pupils absorb the blues and whites of his eyes, leaving behind inky pools of dark. His back straightened and he straightened the “Balor Club Worldwide” tee that he was wearing.

Carding his fingers together, he said, “I wanted to know if you were free this weekend. I wanted to take you out to eat. Will you join me?”

Something took over your body and through his bluntness, you nodded and he smirked.

“That’s great, (Y/n). I’ll meet you at your place. Text me the address, will you?”

He walked away directly after, leaving you stunned for the second time in a row that night, and then reality walked into your mind and hit you with a sack of bricks.

“I have a fucking date with… holy shit!” you exclaimed, rushing as fast as you could back to your locker room to grab your things and head out for the night.

The following Saturday, you paced anxiously in front of your apartment door as you waited for him to arrive, running your hands through your hair another time. Trying to heed your friends’ advice was difficult as is, but you weren’t going on a date with just anybody. This was Finn Balor: a man that exuded confidence and sexual prowess with every step. And with Balor inside of his body...

Your fingers continued to pick at the cuffs of your white off-the-shoulder top and your thoughts continued to roam down a narrow path.

You were just… you. You were nothing special, especially compared to someone like him. The majority of your dates seemed to make fun of your apparent shy and good-hearted nature, and you weren’t sure it you could handle that coming from the man who held your heart in his hands.

You’ll be fine, you thought, looking at your phone. He should be here soon. He might be your complete, utter opposite but that’s ok. Doesn’t that trope always work out on TV?

A knock on your door pulled you away from your head and you picked at your black leggings, giving yourself a quick look in a nearby mirror before slipping on a pair of flats. Opening the door slowly, there stood the man himself, clad in a black and red silk suit jacket and some black dress pants. The first few buttons of his crisp white dress shirt where unbuttoned, and in that moment you felt severely under-dressed.

Looking down at your choice of attire, you uttered, “Y-You told me to dress casually for tonight, but I can go back upstairs and change into something more fancy if we’re going someplace nicer than what I pictured. Not that you’re gonna take me anywhere gross, because I know you have standards and oh God, now I’m rambling and I sound like a complete fo-”

You felt a finger press to your lips gently. Removing it, he used it to then lift your chin and look you in the eye with his cold, but comforting lighter ones.

“You don’t have to change for anything, sweetheart,” he spoke, his breath fanning out across your face. “This is fine for now. Everything will be taken care of when we get there.”

You didn’t realize how close he was until he was leaning down to look at you, and you took a moment to gaze over the softness in his face and the slight redness flushing his cheeks, paired with those perfectly shaped lips of his…

“Wait, where are we going? You never specified.”

A laugh was heard as he placed two finger against your temple. “You’ll find out soon enough. After all, you did want to get to know me better.”

A wave of nauseousness rolled over you as you felt your legs buckle underneath you. Your vision soon grew blurrier and blurrier, and the sounds around you became more warbled and joined together. Before the darkness claimed you, you felt a soft pair of arms wrap around your torso and hold you close to a solid chest. You peered up at Finn’s face to see twin black eyes staring directly back at you. A grin slid onto his face and he let out a small chuckle.

“This is going to be a very interesting night,” he spoke, the tone of his voice echoing in your ear as you faded to black…

…

...

...until you abruptly woke up, sputtering out a gasp and holding your chest. Wiping the sweat from your forehead with your hand, you looked down to see your clothes and your shoes still on. But, a closer look around the room proved that you were not anywhere you knew.

The bedroom around you contained various shades of grey, black, and red, including some of the most lavish items you’d ever seen. You splayed your fingers out onto the soft sheets below and held them, turning around to see the vast seat of pillows behind you.

Where am I? you wondered as you slid from the wine colored bedspread, your feet softly hitting the grey carpet below you. Another quick look around the room led you to one of the chairs near the door, a long black and red dress hanging from its back. Attached to the seat was a note and you gingerly unfolded it, taking in a breath at the name on the bottom.

Dearest (Y/n),

I’m sorry that I made you black out earlier in your apartment. The way to my home isn’t… conventional, so I had to shield you from it.I hope you can forgive me. I can assure you nothing happened to you during the time from your apartment to now. You have my word.

Along the sides of this chair lies an new ensemble for you to wear for dinner tonight. Don’t worry, everything is in your size. I got a little help from a few of your friends. Please join me downstairs whenever you are ready. I can’t wait to see where the night takes us, darling.

Yours truly, Balor

The note fluttered out of your hands and onto the ground as you felt your head start to spin. “Well, that explains the black eyes… and me passing out…” you mumbled, glancing at the chair draped over the ornate wooden seat. Lifting it revealed it to be a floor length blood red gown with a sheer black lace top, complete with a black belt holding the two to each other. Underneath the chair was a pair of sleek black heels, and you wondered how much all of this costed him.

Thank God for strapless bras, you thought, slipping off your shirt and out of you leggings and folding them. Placing them on the bed behind you, you unzipped the back of the dress and slid it on. The lace was surprisingly soft against the skin of your arms, and the dress itself fit perfectly. The shoes did as well, moving them from underneath the chair and sitting back down on the bed to put them on. A large floor-to-ceiling mirror was placed conveniently next to you, and you hesitate to take a look at yourself.

You looked… good. You felt good. All your best features were shown, and you loved it. You felt sexy, powerful, and ready to take on the man waiting for you downstairs.

You felt dominant.

Spinning around to get another angle, you said, “Never thought this would be the thing to make me feel this way but hey, I’ll take it.”

With a quick drag of your fingers through your hair, you left the room, the soft clacking of the heels echoed throughout the dark and empty hallway as you stepped outside. Suddenly, the candles lining the walls around you came to life, giving the area a surprisingly soft glow. As you started your voyage to the stairs, you dragged your fingertips along the carvings of the dark oak walls near you and the shining silver candelabras that held the lights.

“Ah, you’re finally here. I was beginning to worry.”

The deep voice drew your head towards the bottom of the stairs and you saw him, still clad in the suit from earlier. You could feel the blood rush to your cheeks as you slowly walked down to Balor and his eyes roamed down your body. Taking the hand he outstretched to you, you looked away from his lingering gaze and the two of you made your way to the dining room. He could see your fascination with his home, and loved how wide your eyes got when you saw something you liked on the walls.

Finally, a large wooden door opened to reveal his dining area, complete with a long black marble table that held even more candles, a bouquet of roses near one of the seats, plates of food, and two glasses of red wine ready for you.

He squeezed your hand and pointed up, directing you to the glass roof that exposed the most clear night sky you’ve ever had the beauty of seeing. You felt your mouth open slightly as you gasped and saw the millions of stars shine above you.

His hand grazed your jaw, and you turned to face him. “The stars in the sky tonight don’t even shine half as bright as you do, my dear,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “And close your mouth, (Y/n). You might catch flies.”

He chuckled at his little jab and moved towards the head of the table, you wiping your now sweaty palms on the sides of your gown. Pulling out the chair next to him, you sat down and looked down at your lap, the emptiness of the room seeming to seep into your skin.

“So, it is true. Was he okay with it?”

He raised his eyebrow. “What’s true, darling?”

Lifting your hands, you gestured towards Balor and the midnight pools that were his eyes. His posture was too straight, his actions too flirty. This was Balor: a manipulator at heart and a piece of the man you loved. The man before you grinned slyly, placing his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Yes, it’s true, and he’s fine with me taking the wheels for our little get-together tonight. We are very much alike, him and I.”

Your chair suddenly scooched forward and you were face to face with him, the look in his eyes a mischievous one. “But, unlike him, I had the balls to ask you out first.”

Another faint gasp left your lips and he began to roar with laughter. “What, you actually believed he planned all of this? Please, you’re in my kingdom now, (Y/n).”

His smile seemed to stretch for miles, his blinding white teeth looking as if they were growing and becoming sharper. You don’t know why but him looking at you in such a manner made your core wet, causing you to squirm in your seat. The room soon fell quiet after a few moments until a loud growling came from your stomach, your face growing as hot as the candles around you.

“Eat, dear,” he said, the smell of the food in front of you now too enticing to ignore. “We can continue our conversations as the night goes on. After all, I do want to get to know you better.”

And talk you did. In between bites of food and sips of wine, you shared small stories about yourself and your interests, throwing some things about your personal life as well. Throughout it, Balor said very few words - only commenting a few times - but was very attentive to the little movements you made while you spoke of your home.

He noticed how your shoulders would vibrate with energy as you talked about subjects you loved, and how your eyebrows furrowed when discussing topics that gave you distaste. He saw you eyes sparkle when you began speaking about your family and how you got to the WWE. You were too into your thoughts, but he listened to you and saw the little things.

And all of those little things made his cold heart a little bit warmer.

Time seemed to slow down in the dining room as the two of you continued to chat, laughter and jabs pouring out of you both. Over time, your hand drifted onto and across the table, slipping into one of his free ones. Balor closed his hand around your much smaller one and looked up, seeing how worked up and buoyant you became.

At that moment, a loud chime was heard from down the hall and you stopped mid-sentence. Looking up at the ceiling, you were able to see the stars much more clearly. They seemed to shine even more like celestial diamonds as you rose from your seat, removing your hand from Balor’s soft hold and clasping them together.

Glancing at the door, you asked, “The clock chime… what did it mean? How long have we been in here?”

He snapped his fingers and the dishes and the decor that littered the table was gone, save for a single red rose in front of your chair. “Oh, that? That means that it’s midnight, darling.”

“Midnight?! I didn’t realize we were talking for so long!”

You placed a hand to your chest and felt your heart beat faster, turning your head to face him. He picked up the rose from the table and placed it behind your ear before moving his hand to caress your jaw.

“There, there, sweetheart. The conversations we had were an amazing way to pass the time. They only made me fall for you even harder than before.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist as he dragged the tips of his fingers along the grooves of the lace on your dress. Leaning forward, you caught a whiff of a smell that was undeniably his and felt his lips press against your forehead, his beard brushing against your nose and cheek.

“There’s a choice to make here, (Y/n). I won’t force you to stay, but I would love to continue this little rendezvous of ours,” he whispered against your temple, pulling you close. “Would you like to stay the night with me?”

Throughout the entirety of your dinner, you could feel a voice pounding at the back of your head. You had silenced it before but now it was getting louder, almost as if it was screaming through a megaphone connected to a billion speakers.

Take him.

Claim his heart just as he claimed yours.

Make him yours.

Show him how much you care for him.

Make him beg for you.

Show him who’s in charge.

Dominate him.

Stay. The. Night.

You slid your hands up his chest and gripped the lapels of his twin colored suit jacket. You could feel a newfound surge of confidence roll through your body like a wave, and you could see his shock as your eyes grew dark with lust.

“You got yourself a deal, Balor. I’ll stay the night. Let’s see where this ‘rendezvous’ takes us now.”

Tagging: @crossfitjesusinskinnyjeans @theneverendingthirst @tacoshu @gold--gucciempress @i-have-saracasm @littledeadrottinghood @liampaynesartist @writing-reigns @wrestlingxbalorxrollins @wrestlingfae @hardcorewwetrash @wrestlingbabe @aj-mac21 @the-carter-mob-don @melinated-moon-goddess @luciddrreamss @justsimplevicky @meremaidqueen @missjenniferb @wwevampireamongkpop @rosequartz-ext @wrestlingbabe @wrestlingxbalorxrollins @spacemansam @thelifeofmely

#finn balor x reader #finn balor fanfic #finn balor fanfiction #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #finn balor imagine #rezz writes some bullshit #happy valentine's day everyone ^^ <3

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fatrainbowmermaidunicorn · 6 years

Text

3AM Drive - Thru (JJK x You x The8/Minghao) //Chapter 8

MASTERLIST

(Feat. The ‘97 liner of the male squad idol)

“Hey Y/N, my idol friends wants to meet you. Would you like to?”

“Oh, you mean your group members?”

“Nope. My 97 liner friends. Hey, you are a 97 liner too! You can join the squad!”

“You have a 'squad’ now?” Y/N giggled. “Sure. I would love to meet them. But who’s them again?”

“My own group members, DK and Mingyu, Got 7’s Bam Bam and Yugyeom, NCT’s Jaehyun and the most popular idol of course… Jungkook from BTS,”

———————————————————–

“Jung…Jungkook?” She stuttered.

“Yes. From BTS,” Minghao looks up from his food and turned to Y/N. “Why do you sound so shocked? Are you a fan? Omg, are you secretly an ARMY?” He fake gasps. Y/N smacked his shoulders.

“Yah! No…no! You know I’m not into these k-pop things,” Y/N gave a nervous laugh. “The only group I know is yours, and that’s only because you make me listen to it almost everyday!”

“Hey, you should be thankful I’m blessing your ears AND eyes with our songs and performances,” Minghao defended himself. It is true that he had made Y/N watch every single Seventeen’s performance video out there. The only thing left is to actually get her to the concert. Which he will, soon.

“You are right. My eyes are blessed,” Minghao quirked an eyebrow to that. Is Y/N talking about him? “That Wonwoo guy is ridiculously hot. He’s really a sight of sore eyes. Especially with you around in the videos!”

Minghao eyes turned sad but starts to sparkle again when he realized that Y/N is only teasing because she laughs so hard looking at his reaction until she teared up. Minghao smiles and shoved her shoulders playfully, his heart calming down. “Yah, you should be grateful this most wanted star is actually willing to wake up just to eat some ridiculously early breakfast with you!”

Y/N, who is still laughing just nodded, “Yeah, yeah,”

“So, will you meet them?”

Y/N, finally able to compose herself nodded. “Yeah, why not. You know I will do anything for you, especially if its important to you Minghao,” she smiles and continue digging into her waffles. Just one simple smile and one simple statement, and Minghao’s heart is pounding so loudly that he’s sure people from across the world can hear him.

God, Minghao. You really have to do something about these feelings. Minghao reminds himself while patting his chest.

—————–

“They are still not here yet?” Bambam kept on glancing at the door of the cafe. After a lot of planning, they finally manage to set a date where everyone is available to meet Y/N.

“Why the hell are you so excited?” DK raised his eyebrows at Bambam’s giddyness.

“I’m just excited to meet the girl who is currently the talk of the town. And also, for your information, its getting kind of boring when its always just us guys hanging out,” he pokes DK’s chest while explaining.

Jungkook just sits quietly and sipped his coffee, looking calm, but in the inside he is no way near being calm. He’s definitely nervous. He wonders if Y/N knows that she’s meeting him tonight? And if she does, is she looking forward to it? Is she still angry at him? Did she really moved on? Does Minghao knows about them? So many questions lingered on his mind.

“They are here!” Jungkook turn to look at the door. His heart starts to beat even faster, out of excitement or nervousness, he himself is not sure.

He saw Minghao entered first, one hand holding the door for Y/N and the other clasping hers tightly. He was smiling widely and she was laughing at something he said. To anyone who is watching the scene, they sure look like a couple. A very much in love and happy couple. Jungkook huffed at his own thoughts and turned back to his seat, waiting for their arrival.

“Gosh she is even hotter in real life,”

“Now I really wants her to join our squad,”

“I cant wait to mock the hell out of Minghao later. Look at his stupid grinning face! That boy is in love for sure!”

“Yikes, you are right. She looks more like a celebrity than we do!”

Jungkook can hear the chatter of his friends but all he can focus on is Y/N. She caught his stare and after more than two years, they finally made eye contact. And she smiles.

——————

Laughter and cackles can be heard around the table. It has been hours since they were introduced to Y/N and apparently the boys not only thinks she’s hot, but funny, witty and interesting. They enjoyed her company very much.

Jungkook did join the conversation here and there but most of the time he just keeps on staring at her. Thank God he is known for being akward to new people, so the other boys thought he is just quiet because he is meeting her for the first time. Y/N, who is too busy chatting with boys didnt notice the staring.

They bumped into each other when Jungkook came back from taking a breather outside and Y/N from the ladies’ room. They stand there akward with each other.

“Hello, Jungkook,” Y/N smiles at him. That beautiful smile that he miss so much.

“Hello Y/N,” Jungkook managed to stutter out. It feels so weird to hear her calls him Jungkook and not Kookie like she usually does. Y/N nod at him and start to make her way back to the table. “Hey, why dont we go out and talk for a bit? Its been so long since we last seen each other,” Jungkook caught her wrist before she could get away.

“Sure, why not,”

“So how are you?” Jungkook starts. He is grateful that the cafe have an outdoor section that is cozy and filled with sparkling fairy lights. It makes the environment more warm and… romantic?

“I’m so much better now. I feel better,” Y/N replied, full of sincerity.

“I saw on the news that you had chosen to reveal your identity. I’m glad you finally decide to do it,”

“Yeah. I think I’m ready now. Its about time anyway. I cant hide who I am for so long. I feel like I’m in a better place now. Happier and stronger,” with that, an akward silence seems to come between them. Jungkook spoke up after a while.

“Y/N… are we… are we okay now?” Y/N looks at him, her eyes staring holes into his soul.

“Yeah. I think we are Jungkook. I think I have finally overcome my weakness,” Jungkook dont know how to feel about that. He should be happy. He should be glad that Y/N has overcome her weakness. Her weakness of loving him too much. But his heart cant seem to be happy for her. “I never thought I can do it. But Minghao came into my life like a blessing. I dont think I can be as happy as I am today without him,”

Jungkook felt a little ached in his heart but decides to smile anyway. “That’s…. good. Are you two…?” He put two of his fingers close together, implying that he is asking if they are together.

“Oh no, no,” Y/N shakes her head. Then she smiles. “Not right now at least,” she laughs at that. “I dont think Minghao feels that way about me. But he is the best bestfriend I could ever ask for. And he is such an amazing man,”

Jungkook can hear the adoration and awe in Y/N’s words that makes him wonder if she herself didnt know that she is indeed already fallen in love with Minghao. The word best friend felt like a slapped to Jungkook’s face. That title use to be his.

“And how about you? How do you feel about him?” too curious, he decides to ask. Jungkook knows for sure that Minghao definitely has feelings for Y/N and he will say yes in the blink of an eye if she ever asks him to be with her.

“I dont know, to be honest. During the two years we have been together, I dont think I have ever felt happier. He takes care of me and he’s always there for me. I might not know exactly how I feel but all I know is I want to see him happy all the time. I cant imagibe anything bad to happen to him. I think I will die if that ever happens,”

Jungkook ponders on her words. He can feel his heart clenching. He asks the only thing he can think of. The only way that can ensure that she will atleast be in his life again. “Hey Y/N? Can we be friends again?”

“Yes. I dont see what’s wrong with it,”

————– Inside the cafe, Minghao is curious. He saw Y/N and Jungkook went out and talk at the outdoor portion of the cafe. He finds it weird that they took so long as he knows that Jungkook is usually uncomfortable with new people. Especially girls. Minghao finally decides to just let it go and trust Y/N. Afterall they are not together for him to be jealous or angry. For all he knows, Y/N might really be an ARMY and she’s fangirling on Jungkook like crazy right now. He chuckle to that thought.

“Hey, why are laughing?” Y/N whisper to his ear while she slipped back into the seat beside him

“Oh, you are back,” out from the corner of his eyes he can see Jungkook taking his seat too. He has some kind of glow on him. Like he’s happy. Too happy. He wonders what did they talk about.

“Yeah, sorry. Jungkook and I talked,” she smiles. A smile that is enough to not make Minghao asks about their conversation. “Hey, its almost 2am,” she glanced at her watch. Minghao laughed loudly, understanding what she meant.

“Hey guys, its running late. I think Y/N and I will make a move first,” Minghao told his loud friends who are still busy chattering.

“Awhhh come on. Its the weekend. Y/N doesnt have work tomorrow! We thought about catching the last wave at that new bar nearby. Join us!” Yugyeom excitedly exclaimed.

“Nah, maybe next time. Besides, Y/N doesnt drink anyway,” Minghao explain.

“What? Really?!”

“Amazing! I’ve never met anyone our age who doesnt drink,”

“Ahh, no wonder Minghao drinks less now. Y/N, you are seriously a good influence on him. Please take care of our Minghao better,” DK winks.

Jungkook just kept his mouth shut. Y/N not drinking is one of her qualities that he love best, unlike Minji who gets insanely drunk any chance that she can. His feelings are like a tornado today. His been feeling a lot of things tonight; happy, giddy, butterflies in his stomach, heart clenching, anger, proud and the two most confusing ones are jealousy and the feeling of being in love…

“Shut up,” Minghao smacked DK. “We have another place to be anyway. Its almost 2am,”

“Ahhhhh okay we get it. Go ahead then,” Bambam smirked, suggestively and wiggling his eyebrow. “We didnt know you guys have that kind of relationship,”

Y/N turned red in the face at what Bambam is suggesting and Jungkook feels like he’s dying. He knows he has Minji now and he did way more with her, but the thoughts of Y/N and Minghao… he just feels like punching everyone.

“Yah! Its not like that you ass!” Minghao exclaimed. “See, now you are embarassing Y/N!” The boys laugh. “We are going to the drive thru to get some chicken nuggets,”

The boys laughs even harder. “Whatttt? At almost 3 am?”

“Its Y/N’s habit okay! And apparently I am always the sacrificial lamb that has to do it with her,” Minghao grabbed Y/N’s hand and rubbed its back, an act that didnt go unnoticed by Jungkook.

“Yah! Shut up! If its not because of this habit we might never have met!”

Jungkook clenched his hands into fists under the table without realizing. He really really dont understand why he is feeling this way. It should be him that's supposed to take her to the drive thru. Him and only him.

So I guess you did find someone else who is willing to do it with you. I really wish its still me though…

———————————————————- Chapter 9 Preview

Jungkook grab her hand.

“Y/N I need to talk to you. Please,” he then turned to Minghao who starts to stand up. “And it would be wise if you do not interfere. This is between me and her,”

////////

“Yah Y/N. Why are you talking to MY Kookie and his oppas like that, you psychotic fan!? Dont you know who he is? Who they are? Who I am?”

“Minji, stop it. Just-”

“Its okay Jungkook-ssi. Minji-ssi, I apologize. I will asks someone else to assist all of you for the broadcast,”

“Y/N, you dont have to-”

“Let go of my hand Jungkook-ssi. Please respect Minji-ssi’s feelings. Afterall, I am not of importance to you,”

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

for all the honest world to feel (trixya) (5/8) - dare

Brian stared down at his screen, trying to understand what he was seeing – the mild frown on Katya’s face, and the other queen, hands raised, standing just out of frame beyond the gap in the bus bunk curtain.

(AN: so this is… long and sad. finally-throwing-in-an-angst-tag-at-the-bottom levels of sad. warnings for unsafe alcohol use and overdrinking; as usual, “she/her” for adore and “he/him” for trixie (brian) and katya. also, this might read a little weird, but i made the executive decision not to name the weho queen who’s been giving trixie shit because (contrary to, uh, all other signs, i guess) i don’t actually want to speculate on who’s a douche and who isn’t in the ru girl community. so that’s also a thing.

(OH, and, there’s more lyrics in this one, please don’t judge me, it’s very hard to try to measure up to trixie’s irl songwriting chops lmao)

this week on honest world: shit’s sad. shit’s real sad.)

| ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 |

FROM: SHEA - 9:57 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

[Attachment: IMG_3782.MOV]

Girl.

If you dont wife her up I will.

FROM: KIM - 10:03 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

holy shit

i don’t think i’ve ever seen her mad. like for real

FROM: SHEA - 10:04 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

This was some WWF shit girl. That bitch will be feeling it for a while.

FROM: KIM - 10:05 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

katya’s from boston. she’s 90% salt, 5% feelings, 5% inner saboteur and 100% ready to fight

FROM: SHEA - 10:05 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

Thats a lot of math, Kimberley

FROM: KIM - 10:05 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

are you being racist? don’t be racist shea. omg.

someone had to count trixie’s tips for her when she was passed out drunk in my bed

FROM: SHEA - 10:07 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

*Steal trixie’s tips from her.

FROM: SHEA - 10:15 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

Trisha baby if you’re out there we love you girl okay? call us any time xxxx

“You know,” Katya was saying, perfectly conversational, “I found it kind of cute at first? Like a puppy trying to fight itself in the mirror – or one that can’t, you know. Stop pissing itself. You know what I mean? Funny but sad. But I don’t think I find it funny anymore.”

The other queen laughed nervously. “Come on, Katya –”

“I’m not laughing. Why are you laughing?” said Katya, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not laughing.”

The laughter stuttered into silence. Over the mic, Brian heard Shea expel a slow, cautious breath.

Katya tilted his head, and the expression on his face darkened like a spring storm. “I want to make it really clear to you how far you’ve managed to over-reach yourself, that you’ve actually crossed my limits. ‘Cause I don’t care how you run things in your club, how you treat your friends, whatever – that’s none of my business, since I don’t work in your club and I’m not your friend. Oh, in case you hadn’t noticed – I’m not your friend. FYI. Because you’ve been acting like I am, and I think it’s time for that to stop.”

The raised hands dropped out of sight. “Jesus. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel.”

And that – Brian winced despite himself. That was a mistake.

Katya grinned, showing too many teeth. “Can I? I’d like that, thanks.” He tapped his fingers rapidly against the side of his thigh. “I feel like you’ve gotten a little too comfortable as top dog in your scene, and when Trixie showed up and didn’t line up to eat you out like everyone else does, your ego plummeted out of your ass. And what we’ve been seeing for the past half a year – can I repeat that? It’s been half a year, which is beyond pathetic – what we’ve been seeing is some kind of hemorrhoidal psychosis, as you take obsessive potshots at someone who couldn’t give less of a fuck about you. It’s not just pathetic – it’s harassment. You’re showing your whole ass right now but guess what, girl? We’ve seen it.”

“You said yourself you’re not in my scene, so don’t talk like you know shit,” the queen snapped back. Her voice tightened like a screw being ground into drywall. “The bitch could have tried to be friendly, for fuck’s sake –”

“You aren’t being very smart right now,” Katya interrupted, with all the force of a tire iron punching through a sheet of glass. “This might be a good time to consider your word choice, if there ever was one. That would be the smart thing here.” Teeth again, manic. “You want friendly? I can do friendly. We have another week on tour – you want me to do friendly. Because the alternative is that I freeze you out, publicly and professionally, and I make your life and your career outside of that fucked up, incestuous bubble of a scene you’ve pissed all over very difficult. Am I – am I being clear? I want to be very clear. You’ve messed up enough shit in my life, and I want this over with.”

There was a pause and a shift in the shadows beyond the curtain – nodding.

“Good. So here’s how this is going to go.” A wooden sound, rap, Katya’s knuckles against the bunk frame. Brian could make out the rise and fall of Katya’s chest, shallow and too fast, in the gap between the curtains. “You don’t post about Trixie. You don’t talk about her. If, God forbid, the opportunity arises, you don’t talk to her. That last one is for you – I’m a lover, not a fighter, but it is my strong suspicion that if you pull this to her face one more time, she will beat the ever-loving shit out of you. Just a – a pro-tip, let’s call it. An insight.”

There was a weak laugh. “She can try it. Jesus, Katya, come the fuck on –”

Slam – an open-handed palm against the wood. “Do you think I’m fucking around here? I’m not. Don’t fucking push me on this.”

Brian had heard Katya angry a handful of times in his life. He’d never heard him like this. This wasn’t Katya out of control; this was Katya very near the end of his rope, and aware of every inch he had left, making them count.

The sick feeling in Brian’s stomach crept higher. He pressed his knuckles against his mouth.

“You stop coming for Trixie,” Katya was saying. “No more posts on facebook, no more whispers at shows. No more shit-talking to promoters – yeah, I asked around, I heard about that. Not that it did you much good. It has to hurt, I think – does it? Knowing that Trixie’s booking is worth more than your word? That’s gotta sting. But I’m not sure how much of a hold your word even has anymore, you bitter fucking cunt.”

Shea, behind the camera, drew in a shocked breath at the pure vitriol in Katya’s voice.

There was a stillness to the air for a long moment, like the silence after a hurricane has swept the earth bare and ragged. Then the other queen laughed again; louder this time, acidic, but with a definite note of finality – of defeat.

“If everyone could see you now,” she said.

Katya barked a laugh of his own. “Girl, they wouldn’t care. I’m America’s fucking sweetheart.” He stepped back and waved a hand in the space visible between the curtains; it was shaking finely, Brian could see it. “Get the fuck out of here. I’m not dealing with you today. Call back tomorrow – I’ll be friendly again.”

The curtains fluttered as hurried footsteps passed by and receded out of the room, the door to the common lounge sliding open and then shut.

Katya’s shadow shifted. Back and forth, like he was caught up on a decision; then he said, quiet, muffled: “fuck.” Footsteps rang in the opposite direction – towards, Brian assumed, his own bunk, as there was the fumbling sound of feet on rungs and then the rattle of metal rings as the curtains were pulled shut.

The camera reversed. Shea stared up at it, her eyes filling most of the screen, hilariously wide and scandalized. Then the video went black – and flicked back to that first still, frozen, the anger on Katya’s face deepening the hollows of his cheeks, his eyes throwing sparks through the screen.

Brian stared down at the rictus of his face, then pressed the phone down screen-first beside him into his mattress. The hard lines of its body bit into the insides of his fingers.

Fuck. What the fuck.

He could stop the video, but he couldn’t make his brain put away the tired lines that had cut into Katya’s face, or the ragged edge of his voice, or how the sound of his palm hitting solid wood had rung through Shea’s bunk, bouncing thickly off the walls.

The room was too small. Brian dragged himself up and went out into the living room, phone in his fist tucked into his pocket, but out there it was too big, and his skin felt all wrong, and he wanted to call Katya but he couldn’t make himself do it.

Katya hadn’t called or texted since the night of the pageant, when Brian had waited and waited all night but the internet – and that fan in the bar who’d clocked him – had stayed miraculously silent. Katya hadn’t called, or texted, or tweeted, or even updated his fucking instagram.

God.

Brian’s phone buzzed suddenly in his pocket and he almost threw it at the balcony doors in his haste to get it out. He fumbled it awake – and then he saw the name on the screen, and his shoulders slumped again.

FROM: ADORE - 10:28 AM - Sunday August 24th, 2017

I forgot to ask but can u water my plants??? this is the longest ive gone without killing any of them :(

LA sucks.

it’s like *jaws theme* all the time. and i forgot my sunglasses

He swiped his phone unlocked and read through the texts, mouth twitching feebly towards an almost-smile. It buzzed in his palm again and a picture appeared – Adore, nose scrunched, squinting into the sky.

Brian typed back, i promise, you can definitely afford another pair of sunglasses. and yes, your plants are safe in my hands.

The answer came quickly, every letter infused with the kind of wry snark that Adore was so good at: dont make promises my lawyers can’t keep

Brian huffed a quiet laugh. The sound was swallowed up in the space of the apartment, a small rock dropped in a large lake, not even reaching far enough to touch the walls.

Adore had come out the morning after that night to find him on the couch, his guitar abandoned on the coffee table, staring out into the thin morning light. It wasn’t even 7 AM. He’d gotten four or so hours of restless sleep before giving up on it; the room was lit such a soft grey that he might as well have wrapped in a dream anyway. He’d been staring out at the clouds and the inkstain crows flecked along the telephone wires for so long that they’d blurred, like an impressionistic painting – barely real.

Adore had gone and sat beside him. Then she’d leaned over, carefully, and rested her head on his shoulder. He’d shuddered – one long wave through his whole body. She was warm. When she breathed her chest expanded against his arm, slow and steady like waves coming into the shore. He’d only been able to bear it for a few minutes before he’d had to get up, fingers twitching at his side; he’d given her an apologetic smile, and she’d watched him walk back to his room with her chin on her wrist, her forearm braced against the back of the couch.

He’d checked twitter one more time, and then fallen into deep, exhausting sleep.

“That’ll be thirty-two dollars and forty cents, please,” said the bored young woman behind the till, eyeing his – genuinely embarrassing – collection of groceries: ramen noodles, tomato sauce from a jar, the kind of shitty white wine he’d drunk in senior year of college, and stuff to make a salad, out of the idealistic hope that he might actually make a salad.

“I’ll just put that on my credit card,” Brian said. He watched her surreptitiously as she entered the amount onto the card reader. Adore had brought him here a few times, but he didn’t recognize her.

“This your first day?” he said, then winced.

“Huh?”

“I mean. Are you new?”

Now she was eyeing him, even less impressed than she’d been by his groceries. “No…”

“Oh.” He ran a hand over his head awkwardly. He’d forgotten his cap at home. “I just, I haven’t seen you here before. I thought…”

Her mouth twitched, and she popped her gum, a sharp snap in the air. The sound was somehow scornful. “Listen, mister – I’m working, you know, and even if I weren’t, I don’t go out with the kind of guy that bothers –”

“Oh my god, no,” Brian said, flushing, “Oh my god, no, I’m gay. What? No.”

“Oh,” she said. She started turning red too. “Oh. Shit – uh, I mean –”

He laughed awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry for being, uh, super weird and stuff.”

The lights overhead were the sickly fluorescent yellow of small-time grocery stores everywhere. He could have been anywhere – east coast or west, north or south, any timezone, any city, any tour. His shoes squeaked on the floor when he shifted from heel to heel.

How was it less than a week ago that he’d felt so at home in this city he didn’t know at all?

“Your receipt,” the cashier said. She held it out towards him, then hesitated visibly. “Listen, uh… are you okay, man?”

He shrugged, stilted, and took the receipt, then grabbed the bags by their handles. “Oh, you know. More of the same,” he said.

It was awful to realize he meant it.

Touring was a little bit like being a ghost in your own body. You were breathing and eating and sleeping, but you might as well have been walking through walls, the way you drifted from place to place, squinting at google maps on your phone, talking to people whose names you’d either forget within five minutes or never knew in the first place. You could be anywhere at all; you might as well be nowhere.

Brian drank shitty wine and played into the night, the notes echoing hollowly across the big empty space of Adore’s living room. Music usually anchored him into his body on the road. Every chord brought him a little closer, the muscles, tendons, bones of his hands all tuned in to the melody with the ease of years. He could close his eyes and wherever he was, he was home.

But each time he opened his eyes again he was someplace new.

Seattle wasn’t a tour stop, but its grey skies, the neighbours he ran into on the staircase, the people he saw in the grocery store – none of them were home. But, fuck it, neither was LA, where he spent a few days every month or two and sometimes found himself waking up wondering whose walls he was looking at. And where the fuck did that leave him?

He played a sour note, paused, and corrected himself. Breathed. Tried to bring Emmylou’s lilting refrain back under his fingers.

Without Adore’s voice in the next room livestreaming her way out of boredom, the apartment grew stale and shadowed; without Katya’s calls every night, the days seemed endless, a pale stretch of hours where he did nothing and saw no one. And as each hour ticked past on the clock it became more and more obvious that the veneer of sunshine he’d pasted over Seattle with Adore’s friendly warmth and the sound of Katya’s smile was just that – a veneer.

Another sour note. He stopped and lay his guitar flat in his lap, then picked up his glass on the coffee table and drained it.

His phone lay still and silent beside the wet ring his glass had left on the wood.

He flicked a bit of lint from the couch off his boxers and took up his guitar again, tracing out the melody that he’d been chasing these past weeks on automatic. The sky outside was ripening, edging into evening. It was almost fall. He’d been in Seattle for three weeks, and it seemed he really hadn’t moved an inch.

He could call Katya. He could suck it the fuck up and call Katya, because maybe Katya was waiting for him to call. Maybe this whole ‘respecting Katya’s space’ thing he was doing was totally misguided, and Katya was waiting beside the phone every minute that he wasn’t out there defending Brian’s honour or whatever that was.

I fucked you up, he could say. I was so busy pretending that everything was fine now and my problems were gone because they weren’t yelling in my face every two seconds that I didn’t realize I was setting us both up to get hurt. I was so fucking stupid, Katya, and I’m so – I’m so sorry.

And Katya would say…

What?

I just want you to be okay, if he was feeling self-sacrificial; it’s your irrepressible Virgo energy, if he was feeling avoidant. Maybe, maybe, I thought you said you didn’t lie to me, and you weren’t going to start, if he was feeling particularly honest.

Katya was always honest, more or less. It was just that the truth was flexible, more conversation than monologue, and irony always had to have the last word. Brian, meanwhile, was just a bit of a liar.

Not with Katya, though. Not before. And he hadn’t meant to – he really hadn’t meant to, not even for a second; it was just –

Fuck.

It’s worse than I was letting myself feel, Brian could say. There’s things I don’t know how to tell you. Because it is about you.

His throat tightened; he let go of the frets. He grabbed for his drink blindly and for his notebook with his other hand. Resting it against the body of his guitar, he opened to a blank page and scrawled,

You fought yourself to bring all your feelings down to heel,

and if you stopped yourself from looking, was it ever really real

but everyone’s been looking

and you –

Something inside of him was drifting dangerously, thin tethers tied to his ribs all that held it in place, like a threadbare sail on fraying ropes. The words on the page blurred in front of his eyes. He raised his glass to his mouth but the rim bumped against his teeth and nothing came out. Empty.

He frowned down at his cup. Like, fuck that nonsense. He’d put good money down on those teeth.

The wine sloshing into the glass when he poured himself another sounded like the ocean creeping onto the shore on a windless day. Like Provincetown – another place he’d gone to hide; another town full of strangers. He set the bottle back on the table, cap off, and picked up his guitar again.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday he went running in the morning like nothing had changed. Before, Adore would be waking up when he got back; one of them would make breakfast, then they’d jam for a while, and then Adore would smoke up and Brian would text Katya, if he hadn’t already done so.

Now Brian just jogged. Further and further each day, until Thursday found him running along the seaside, pounding the pavement with salt stinging the inside of his mouth on every inhale. The sky was a soft feather blue, the ocean a deep silk bedsheet wavering in his peripheral vision – and then the mass of Pike Place rose up in front of him. Before he could think about it, his feet were carrying him inside; past the florists, past the bursting orange and red arrays of fresh fruit, and down the stairs to the magic shop’s door.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the collar of his tank top, grimaced, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was just-opened quiet on the floor. No customers, no music; just a vague shuffling from behind the counter. “Just a minute,” the shuffler called. “If this accursed speaker breaks on me one more time…”

There was a crackling sound from the speakers set high in the walls, like a cheap firework skidding along cement, and then a whole storm of swearing below the counter.

“Uh,” Brian said. He approached cautiously. “Can I take a look? I might be able to help.”

“No, it’s really fine –” A frazzled head popped up from behind the register. “Oh! It’s you! I know you. You think you can fix it? The damn thing goes off all the time, the wiring’s too old –”

Brian shrugged. “I work in clubs and theatres and stuff, so I’ve picked up a thing or two. Let me see.”

Steph – that was her name, he remembered – was as curly-haired and strangely-dressed as when they’d met, with a sprig of rosemary tucked behind the large crow-shaped brooch pinned to her blouse and dust all over her knees. He crouched down beside her and squinted at the mess of wires and cords, poking a hesitant finger around and hoping he wouldn’t get fried. That sound had not been good.

“I think,” he said after a minute, “I think it’s this. Hang on. I’m gonna – if I die, tell my momma I loved her, and tell my dad –” he ducked further under the desk. “Well, whatever you like, if you can find him.”

She barked a laugh behind him.

He didn’t die, although he did burn his fingers a little bit, and when the music started playing (some kind of witchy Swedish wailing, possibly Bjork, Katya – Katya would know –) he let out a “Hah!” of triumph. Eat that, three years on the road and four years of theatre school and thousands of dollars funnelled directly into the University of Wisconsin’s incredibly deep pockets. Eat the shit out of that.

Steph helped him out with two hands around his forearm, shaking him delightedly once he was more or less standing. “You’re a miracle worker,” she said with a bright smile. “I should hire you on the spot, because clearly you’re the real magic here.”

He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his free arm and grinned down at her. Clear bright light was streaming through the high windows in the walls, glinting off her brooch, her earrings, the silver in her hair. Her smile and easy warmth was the same as it had been before, and, god, that was nice. “I’ve got greasepaint coming out of ears,” he said, shrugging modestly. “You can’t really call yourself a theatre kid until you’ve nearly died a dozen different ways trying to string up the speakers on the janitor’s old ladder. ”

“Different ways?”

He waved a hand. “You know, falling, electrocution – so boring. A good old-fashioned garrotte is where it’s at.”

Her eyes scrunched at the corners when she laughed. “I like you,” she said, grinning, “you’re strange,” and he grinned back, feeling lighter than he had all week.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. Then: “Oh, hey, the book you sold me is great. Who knew reading about the end of the world could make you feel better about life?”

“That’s right, the apocalypse poems, you…” Steph said, then paused. “God, I’m so sorry, I don’t remember your name. But you’re Danny’s friend, right?”

Brian blinked. Swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said; it came out forced, like he was overcompensating for something. “Yeah, sorry, it’s Brian. Yeah. I took some time off work and I’ve been staying with Danny.”

“Oh, do you work together?” she said, brightly and obliviously twisting the knife. “I know he does something or other with clubs and theatres and whatnot too. He’s very private about those things, but such a sweetheart. I haven’t seen him around in a while, though, how he is?”

“Away on business,” Brian said, “and, you know, we’ve been keeping busy otherwise. I’ll tell him you asked.” He wiped his palms against the sides of his shorts. “Listen, I actually – I should probably be going, actually. I’m supposed to be skyping him in about half an hour.”

An absolute lie, but Steph swallowed it without a flicker of suspicion. She smiled and pressed a hand to his arm. “Tell him I send my love. And thanks again for your help, Brian. I don’t know how many more shocks my old heart could take.”

“Oh stop,” he said, chuckling, and gave a little wave. “See you around, I guess?”

The polite small talk of strangers. Preferable to a slow death, but not by, like, a lot.

Brian took the stairs back up to the ground level slowly, although his heart rate was well back to normal by this point. He wandered out of the arcade, and turned, and walked, and turned, and then he was on a raised dock, leaning against a wooden rail next to a locked gate, which guarded the ramp down to the boats. The wood pressed into the front of his ribs. He curled his palms around the rail, ignoring the bite of splinters.

A light breeze ruffled his shirt and cooled his pink cheeks. The ocean stretched out before him, golden sunshine catching in the crests and troughs of the waves.

He closed his eyes.

At home, he typed, i hope you’re doing okay. i love you.

Deleted it.

Typed, today someone didnt recognize me and THAT made me sad. i think i need an intervention.

Deleted it.

Typed, went to the beach to sea what all the commocean was about but idk im still not shore

Deleted it.

Sighed, stared out the window, looked down at his feet.

Typed, i’m sorry. katya, i’m so sorry.

Deleted it.

“You’re so white from these shadowed winter months,” Katya crowed, shielding his eyes dramatically. “I don’t know if I can be seen with you.”

“You’re real white from being born, you know, caucasian and unfortunate, but I’ve suffered your company for years,” said Brian. He frowned and wiped at his nose where something wet was dripping – sweat or sunscreen, he didn’t know. “If you really can’t bear it, I’m sure I can find one of these tanned, strapping, oiled-up hunks of meat who’d be willing to walk with me –”

Katya grabbed his arm mid-gesture. “No no no, don’t you dare!”

“I’m just saying,” Brian continued, “you invited me, bitch –”

The shine of Katya’s grin, open-mouthed and laughing, was enough to blow his whole awful night out of the water.

They walked. The sun drew rippling air waves out of the too-hot cement; the ocean crashed beautifully green into the white shore. But it somehow wasn’t too crowded, for all that it was the dead of summer, the very peak of beach days. They moved in blissful anonymity. At one point, Katya bought him an ice cream. Brian ate it one-handed, making panicked noises and laughing as it dripped closer and closer to his hand. His other hand was – well. He’d taken Katya’s as they stood waiting for the cone, and he hadn’t let go yet. His stomach flipped giddily every time their steps fell out of sync – their palms would drag against each other, just for a moment, each time making him newly aware again of the calluses on Katya’s palm.

He traced his index finger along the big tendon on the back of Katya’s hand, and Katya glanced at him sideways, quick, lips parting on a short intake of breath. Brian licked at his ice cream and said nothing, warm and smug all over.

Sea breeze and the sting of salt. They leaned over the wooden rail, right into it, shoulders and hips pressed together. The blue stretched endless.

Katya started to turn red in the cheeks around four so they ducked for shade. Brian slouched back against the blush pink wall of some souvenir shop, under the awning, and Katya stood in front of him to block the sun from his eyes. One moment Brian was looking over Katya’s shoulder at the white gulls darting and dipping over the sea; the next, he was blinking up, and Katya was closer, leaning in, one hand on the wall beside his head, his gaze flickering over Brian’s face with the same combination of lazy ease and breathless flight as the birds in the air.

Brian blinked, processing, then licked his lips to wet them. “Feeling tall?” he said.

“Feeling lots of things,” said Katya, smiling faintly. “Tall may or may not be one of them. No one’s ever accused me of a Napoleon complex, Tracy – and my psychological rap sheet is longer than the Mariana Trench. You always take me to new and exciting places, did you know that? That’s why we’re friends.”

“I thought it was for the free therapy and life coaching.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, mama. What’s newer or more exciting than uncertified therapy and dubious life coaching?”

Brian laughed. “I don’t know that ‘new’ and ‘exciting’ are words that many people have applied to me – out of drag, at least.” His mouth twitched. “You might be du-biased.”

He expected Katya to throw back his head, lean away and laugh, but instead – Katya leaned closer, his eyes glinting with mirth. “I’m gonna kill you,” he said, “I’m gonna kill you right here and dump your body into the ocean in front of the tourists, God, and everybody, and no one will punish me when they hear about the years of pun-spewing bullshit you’ve put me through.”

He was so close. Brian’s stomach flipped again; he could feel Katya’s warmth all along him, make out the freckles on his nose. “Kill me?” he said, mouth dry.

Katya blinked. Something about the set of his jaw, the small lines around his eyes, seemed suddenly vulnerable, intense and somehow opened wide.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Or, I dunno. Maybe that other thing.”

Brian held his breath. All he could hear was the crashing of the waves, loud and close – or maybe that was the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He reached up and brushed the tips of his fingers along the sharp line of Katya’s cheek.

Katya’s chest hitched.

The breeze chased the sunlight through the empty pier, stirring the sand across the wood, and Katya leaned in, slow enough that Brian could stop him if he wanted. Brian didn’t. He lifted his face, eyes slipping shut; and Katya’s mouth fell on the corner of his, once, soft, then warm against his right cheekbone, and again on his left. Brian exhaled shakily.

“What,” he said, unsteady. “Can’t kiss me when the cameras aren’t on?”

Katya huffed a laugh, the breath warm on Brian’s face. He curled a hand below Brian’s ribs; his fingers dipped into the hollow in his tank top to brush against bare skin. Brian shivered. Voice barely louder than the wind in the distance, Katya said, “My life would be so much simpler if that were true.”

Brian opened his eyes. He looked up and met Katya’s gaze, and his mouth twitched, almost a smile. Katya’s stubble scratched at his fingertips as he settled his palm more firmly along the curve of his jaw. “Well, you’re not really a simple woman,” Brian said, and Katya was laughing when he leaned down and kissed him properly.

When he opened his eyes, the sun’s lowest rays had dipped below the edge of the awning, lighting Katya up in gold, and he tipped his head back to rest against the wall, wrapped his free arm around Katya’s waist, and said, “Come home with me.”

Except that’s not what happened at all.

When he opened his eyes, the sun was shining, and Katya was lit with gold, and he tipped his head back against the wall and thought about saying it –

– then smiled crookedly, and said instead, “You kiss like you have heat stroke.” And Katya threw back his head and laughed, wheezed, “no, just heat rash,” while the sun caught in his hair and lashes.

It’s not what happened, but it could have been. He could have taken Katya home, and pressed him up against the hallway inside his door, all that sun-warm skin under his hands. He could have kissed him the way he wanted to. He could have blown him right there with his knees sore against the hardwood, or taken his hand again and drawn him back into the bedroom, kissing him all the way. And after – Brian could have asked him to stay.

That wasn’t how it happened, but, crashed out on the couch in Seattle after his run, Brian dreamed every moment of it. Every inch of hot skin and the rasp of sheets and falling asleep together and waking up together. And when he woke up – alone – he pressed his hands flat against his stomach, feeling like something had been taken out of him. Feeling ill, feeling exhausted, feeling like his head was buzzing and his mind was five feet outside of his body.

Eventually he dragged himself up and fumbled for his phone. He wiped at the inner corners of his eyes with his knuckle as he thumbed it awake; then he pressed his palm over his face, exhaling shakily.

No new messages. Of course.

His whole body hummed feverishly, the twinned effect of the sun on his morning run and the one in his dream. Maybe that was what fucked over his self-control, that sick feeling like he was out of his head, or maybe he was just giving in to the inevitable – but, whatever it was, he opened his messages and, despite all his better judgement, typed out: check in?

Hating himself a little, he hit send.

When there was no response thirty minutes later, despite the read receipt that had popped up almost immediately, he left to go find something to drink.

“Oh hey, it’s you,” said the girl behind the counter. She eyed his purchases. “Wow. I didn’t think it could get sadder than last time…”

Brian huffed a short laugh. “Still gay, don’t worry.”

“Uh huh,” she said. She ran the first wine bottle – yes, first, thanks so much – under the scanner and hit a few buttons. “So is the whole sad and gay deal an aesthetic thing? How much Lana have you listened to in the past three days? I’m trying to decide if I should be staging an intervention that I’m – full disclosure – not really qualified for.”

“Do sad gays get a discount at this establishment?”

“Nope,” she said, popping it like bubblegum. “Sorry.”

She finished ringing him, his three bottles of wine, his pack of sour key candies, and his thoroughly depleted dignity through the machine.

“Credit,” he said, offering it over.

He was threading his hands through the bag handles, waiting for his card back, when she said, “Hey. What’s your name, man?”

He blinked. “It says on the card.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said, handing it over wrapped in his receipt with an eye-roll. “So what is it?”

“Brian,” he said, and looked at the sallow lights on her face, wondering where she was going with this.

“Brian,” she repeated. “Hi, Brian, I’m Mariam.”

Her tone was conversational but somehow serious, weighted, and Brian – Brian swallowed against the sudden and unexpected feeling of his throat going tight.

“Now who’s hitting on who?” he managed, and she chuckled, but didn’t lose that look in her eyes.

“Brian. Take care of yourself, hey?” she said.

The lights glared brightly across the empty floor, the rows upon rows of no-name brands and the scuff marks on the shitty linoleum. She was watching Brian like maybe he needed watching. He swallowed again, and nodded, and left without another word.

Dust motes floated in the slowly draining sunlight when he returned to the apartment. The whole space of it echoed with the closing of the door. He kicked off his shoes, cracked open the first bottle, and went to get his guitar, glass in hand.

Hours passed. He drank more. He scribbled in his notebook, crossed things out, scrawled corrections in the margins. There was too much in his head. Words tumbled out like a hole had been torn somewhere, all the loose change and lint of his brain escaping despite his best efforts to plug the gap. His writing got sloppier, slanted; he wiped wine from his mouth with the back of his hand and turned the page.

The beach, the dream, the night before. The months of build-up, the moment of release. Wanting, wanting, he wanted so much and he had told himself, when he was a kid, that someday he would be able to have all the things he wanted. If he was smart enough and good enough, quick enough on his feet, he could make anything happen. But here he was: trapped into stillness as the path under his feet cut off abruptly. Because how could he have all the things he wanted when they existed at such cross-purposes?

Or was it just him? Not the fame, not the fans, not the industry, and certainly not Katya – maybe it was Brian at cross-purposes with all of it, putting himself in his own way, selfish and stubborn and cowardly, refusing to accept with good grace what the universe was offering him.

The sun dipped below the blocky Seattle skyline, the buildings across the road cast in radiant red, as he stumbled into the kitchen to open the third bottle. His hands slipped on the cap; he blinked wearily down at it, then out the window at the purples and pinks of the sky, dappled and streaked like watercolours. The sun was just a winking and burnished glare over the lip of the buildings. He inhaled deeply and it almost seemed like he could still taste salt in the air.

The skyline blurred before his eyes, replaced by the memory of the things his dream had omitted. Walking the long way back down the pier, Katya with one arm hooked around his elbow and the other hand clutching at his bicep like an ingenue, twitching with laughter every minute or so because apparently this was the most heterosexual he’d ever felt. Which, Katya had definitely licked at least one pussy in his day, so. What he meant was probably that it was dumb, and romantic, and brought them so much closer together than held hands as they made their way between the shadows of the tall lights that lined the boardwalk. The sun set in brilliant gold in the distance. Brian remembered the warmth of Katya’s chest against his arm; he remembered looking at Katya’s lips, then away, and wash, rinse, repeat; he remembered the sign they passed, jutting up out of the middle of the boardwalk: END OF THE TRAIL.

He remembered going home alone, flushed and giddy with the heat of the day, and turning on his phone to see a new notification from his facebook messages. date night tracy?, it said, captioning a photo of him and Katya on the boardwalk, arm in arm, the soft look on his face all too bare in the deep amber light of the sun setting over the ocean.

Brian shook his head, and poured himself another drink.

The night after that was all in flashes. His fingers sliding along the strings of his guitar. Losing his pen under the couch; hunting through Adore’s drawers for another one. Sweet sad notes filling the room, lingering in the air like sea salt. Fumbling with his phone; his guitar; his own hands.

Love’s the kind of feeling that’s not easy to derail, that was good, that was fine, but I find that I’ve been tryin’ ‘cause, ‘cause what, ‘cause what –

He lost another pen. After that… he didn’t remember much after that.

Brian woke to a splitting headache and a buzzing phone.

The phone was on his stomach; his head was on the arm of the couch. He blinked into the bright morning light and groaned, covering his eyes.

His phone buzzed again.

Whatever it was, it could fucking wait. He let it fall to the side as he rolled over, taking in the mess of paper and pens – what the fuck, where did he get so many pens – on the coffee table, the empty wine bottles, his guitar abandoned carelessly on the floor. The glass doors to the balcony were open, though he didn’t remember opening them, and the harsh cawing of the crows outside made his eyes water.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He stood unsteadily and made his way to the kitchen, where a bag of sour key candies lay splayed open and empty on the counter and a plate with the mysterious remnants of what might be a drunken midnight snack lay beside the sink. He stared at one, then the other, then turned decisively to get a glass out of the cupboards and fill it from the tap. He downed it in one go and poured himself another.

Back by the couch, his phone was buzzing again.

Katya, he realized through the groggy fullness in his head. That could be Katya.

He returned to the couch and lowered himself gingerly, full glass clutched in one hand. He fumbled the phone trying to grab it, which probably said bad things about the balance of alcohol to water in his system at that moment; then he thumbed it awake and scanned it as quickly as he could through the low-burning nausea of his hangover.

There was, in fact, a notification from Katya. A missed call at 2:23 AM. Brian’s heart leapt and his mouth went dry; but then he looked past that, at the avalanche of notifications from twitter and instagram, and his whole body turned cold, shoved into full wakefulness and unholy sobriety.

What the fuck had happened last night?

He unlocked his phone and opened instagram to see notifications in the thousands. Thumbing over to his profile, he found a post he didn’t remember making, dated 1:57 AM. That was – he looked at the little clock at the top of his screen: 7:13 AM – barely five hours before. The little thumbnail showed his shoulders over his guitar; when he opened it, he saw it was a video.

Brian stared at the post in horror for a long moment. Then – because there was literally no other choice – he flexed his fingers, which had gone numb, and he hit play.

The screen cut to his face, frowning blearily and too close, as he tried to prop his phone up. He looked – exhausted. Shit. Dark circles under his eyes, a tight, stressed set to his mouth, which twisted down as he failed to make the phone stand steady a third time. Finally he – the Brian on screen – muttered a sharp fuck, and just leaned the phone back against something or other, putting his glass of wine in front of it to hold it upright, so the rim blurred out the bottom of the frame.

He stepped back, sat down, and pulled his guitar into his lap.

Brian, the Brian watching, took shallow breaths against a rising nausea. His pulse thrummed loudly under the thin skin of his neck.

The camera captured the body of his guitar, the slouch of his shoulders, and part of his mouth, which he wiped at with the back of his hand, pick balanced easily between his fingers. Then he sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders and sliding his other hand up the neck of the guitar into place – Brian remembered that, cool smooth wood under his palm, he remembered glancing at the camera and thinking fuck it, fuck this –

The Brian on screen played an open chord and then set into the melody that made up the verses, the tumbling notes, middle finger – pinky finger – ring finger, and, watching, his brain cut through the fog to focus on that, ring finger, ring finger, the song he’d been working on all this past month coming together despite the drunken way he slid between the metal frets.

And then he started to sing, and Brian went from feeling slightly nauseous to being absolutely certain he was about to throw up.

It wasn’t the verses, thank god. Not the harried scribbles that filled pages upon pages in his notebook, most of them awful, all of them never to be fucking revealed to the world at large because they were his, ugly and sincere and too personal. All the moments that made him want to try; all the things that made him afraid. But this –

“Love’s the kind of feeling that’s not easy to derail

But I find that I’ve been trying ‘cause

I can’t see the when and where –”

A chorus is a vague thesis; but, watching, he still felt stripped wholly bare.

“I hear waves in my dreams at night,

Feel the sunlight and your stare,

So maybe it’s to no avail –

And maybe ‘stay’ won’t turn out stale –”

Brian swallowed, fumbled for his glass of water, tried to hear anything but the roaring in his ears, see anything but his face dipping into frame as he bent lower over the guitar, eyes closed, face pained as he sang stay. And he was sliding through the notes like a drunk stumbling through a door, graceless but functional and – worst of all – far too honest.

“But I still don’t know if I can go

Off-road at the end of the trail.”

Fuck.

The video didn’t end abruptly – apparently, when drunk, he couldn’t make the crop function work for him – but with an agonizing slowness, the last, aching note from his guitar hanging hollowly in the air. His shoulders on-screen rose, then fell; then finally he reached forward for his phone. A flash of his mouth, his cheek, his eyes squinting – and then it went dark, and looped back to the beginning.

He jabbed at the screen to stop it, and stared down at his phone in mute horror, jaw slack and mouth dry.

First things first, he deleted the video. It wouldn’t shut people up, but he couldn’t just let it sit there, all of him laid out in the bare daylight. The raw sound of his voice, scratchy with exhaustion, on his shitty phone mic; that one glimpse of his face, like opening a door you’re not supposed to by accident, the kind of door you can’t close again or back away from. All a room’s quiet secrets, the small ones that cut deepest, framed starkly by the open doorframe.

He wasn’t going to load twitter, or look at the texts that had come in from his friends who’d seen, but then a new one appeared at the top of his screen as his phone buzzed in his hand. It was Shea – a youtube link. His phone buzzed again with a second message, a third, more, all from Shea. He thumbed messenger open, still numb all the way through, and scanned the group chat dispassionately. Then he stopped, and read it again.

FROM: SHEA - 7:17 AM - Friday August 29th, 2017

youtube.com/watch?v=Jf1L34kn0

Please watch this, get your collective shit together, and stop making me feel sad for both of you

Ive got better shit to do with my time

And PLEASE reach out to us, jesus, brian, we care so much and i know youre doing your own thing but we’re really, really worried.

Well. I cant speak for kim. Im worried; that bitch is probably just hungry

He huffed a laugh, but it didn’t feel like one. It felt like something was cracking open inside of him.

His phone buzzed again.

FROM: KIM - 7:18 AM - Friday August 29th, 2017

i can be hungry and worried at the same time cunt

but sheas not wrong, bri.

please.

Brian swallowed, then swallowed again, throat tight and eyes stinging. He took another gulp of his water, then, after a moment’s hesitation, typed, i’m here. i’ll watch it in a minute. i love you guys and im sorry

He wasn’t sure what he was sorry for. There was a whole laundry list of reasons he should be; he might as well cover his bases.

It wasn’t – it wasn’t that he’d been wrong to leave. It wasn’t that he’d been wrong to want out or to go silent. It was just that it could be right for him and wrong for them, and he could be sorry for that, even if he wasn’t sure yet that he regretted it.

He hit send all the same.

His phone buzzed almost instantly with their replies, but he didn’t look, pulling up the youtube link instead. Then: for the second time that morning, his heart stopped and his body went cold.

“help me i’m not dying fast enough”, said the title under the loading video. “Katya Zamolodchikova Periscope (August 29, 2017 @ 2:40 AM)”.

He didn’t want to click – he knew he didn’t want to, and also that he shouldn’t – but he did anyway, because sometimes he was a masochist like that. Lately, especially.

Katya, on-screen, stubbed out a cigarette and lit another one, inhaling deeply.

“I’m not going to tell you how many of these I’ve had tonight,” he said to the camera. “Because it’s none of your business what hell cycle of ideating and ovulating I may or may not be going through right now. That’s first of all.”

He looked… gaunt. Unkempt. Worse than in the video Shea had taken a week earlier.

“It’s a funny thing, to have – kind of – resolved myself to wanting something, and always having it sort-of in reach, and then to realise maybe I can’t have it at all. I could have, but maybe I missed my moment, maybe I didn’t lay out my thesis convincingly enough – maybe maybe maybe. Maybe what I wanted isn’t on the proverbial table anymore. That’s harder, I think, than knowing all along you can’t ever have it. It’s a different kind of wanting. I don’t know.”

He flicked his fingers in the air by his ear, ash falling grey and soft like snow from a rooftop.

“I’ve never been good at wanting things. That’s funny, right? From an addict, I mean. It’s funny. You can laugh – I’m laughing. Maybe you are, I don’t know, I can’t see you. I don’t care.

I’ve never been good at wanting things – I’ve had them, or not had them. It all seemed kind of –” he paused, then laughed, a hoarse bark. “You know, insignificant in the face of the rapid decay of the environment, our bodies, society as a whole, and ultimately the universe itself. The universe is dying, by the way, in case you hadn’t heard. I took a first year physics class, girl, so I know what I’m talking about.”

You read Neil Degrasse Tyson’s book once, you fucking idiot, Brian thought; it rung hollow, as if it came from someplace a good distance from his own body.

“So I’ve never been good at wanting stuff. Drugs isn’t want, drugs is need. And that’s not – I know I look like a mess right now, but a) not on drugs, and b) still not about need. I’m not in some kind of I’ll-die-without-you pseudo-love psycho-abusive Nicholas Sparks kinda bullshit. I’m just – I’m just sad. I’m just really fucking sad. And I’ll delete this tomorrow, and anyway –” Katya looked sharply into the camera, and for a moment, Brian felt seen – “I figure it’s only fair.”

“So anyway,” Katya continued. He turned away, towards the road; his eyes lit up with amber streetlight, glass-green and shadowed. “We’re all dying. I know, Brenda, I’m a broken record over here about it, but we’re all dying, and that’s kind of a big deal. And I love it! In some strange, existential way, it’s liberating, it’s electrifying, it brings you closer to your own body and soul and maybe even God, if, I don’t know, that’s your thing sometimes – ‘your’ being mine – but then –”

He stopped himself. Brian watched as his fingers tapped frenetically against the side of his cigarette for a moment, then he raised it, pursed his mouth, inhaled. Exhaled. He lifted his face to watch the smoke rise and disappear.

When he looked back down, he was smiling, crooked at the edges, like it hurt. “But then something comes into your life, and suddenly, it’s like, wait. Hang on. I want to see more of that – let’s stop the death train, maybe. Let’s put a hold on this dying shit. Because whatever it is I’m feeling, I want that, and – and – and why the fuck am I wasting time killing myself when this has been here, maybe all along. Self-indulgent fatalism suddenly starts to feel – selfish.”

“I mean,” he interrupted himself, suddenly and obviously changing tacks as a thought struck him, “please still come to my show. It’ll be so good. All these questions and more will be addressed – not answered, because who cares about answers, but asked? Yes. More questions than you ever wanted. Please come.”

He flashed a smile, plastic-white, but it melted away too quickly into the same tired pallor.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if anything I’m saying is true. I want all sorts of things all the time, but it’s always a little bit – intellectual. Like, wow, I wonder what having that would be like? Feel like? I’ve never experienced this kind of wanting that doesn’t have an endpoint – it won’t just stop once I get it. It goes forward. It has a future. What the fuck is up with that, you know?

But it’s not – you don’t just get to have things.”

His voice cracked.

“No. Okay. One second,” he said, and then he disappeared around the camera. Brian could still hear him breathing, though, quiet in the night air, an eerie echo of so many phone calls over the past month.

When Katya returned, he lit himself another cigarette, and this one didn’t shake between his fingers. “I’m going to delete this the minute it ends, for the record. I don’t know why I’m even doing it. I guess I’m just lonely. I know, I’ve been on tour, and that’s great, but – I dunno. It’s lonely. Work is lonely. Dying is lonely. And there’s one thing I want and I thought I could have it but – turns out – I probably can’t, and that’s – that’s lonely too.”

His mouth twisted, an almost-smile.

“I always thought that was such a cliché: to feel alone in the middle of a crowded room. And I love a cliché when it’s not played straight, but. Maybe, sometimes, the crowd doesn’t matter when one person’s not in it.

Anyway. I’m doing a lot of whining for someone with not a lot of problems, comparatively. And this problem isn’t even really mine. Not at its core. Selfish, right? But hey – no one’s making you tune in, Elizabeth.”

He took a final, decisive drag on his cigarette.

“Okay. I’m gonna go listen to some ambient noise and try to sleep.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Ocean sounds, track four: a classic. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Bye.”

The streetlight blanketing his face in fragile white, he looked into the screen again, directly, as if he could see Brian there looking back at him, heart sore in his throat. Then the video went dark.

Brian sat and stared down at the phone in his hands. Between the low buzzing nausea of his hangover and the Seattle morning greyness, the world around him felt – distant. Not quite real. Not as real or as close as that twitch of Katya’s mouth, or the wry, exhausted humour in his voice. The frustration and sadness and longing in every line of his body.

They were both so stupid. And so fucked.

He tapped out of Safari and into his messages, where he typed again, check in?

Knees tucked into his chest, he waited, and a minute later the reply came in – the little OK emoji, thumb pinched to index finger.

He exhaled loudly and pressed his hand over his eyes.

The phone buzzed against his thigh a moment later and he looked down again. It wasn’t from Shea or Kim like he thought it might be – it was, unexpectedly, another text from Katya. All it said was: you?

He bit his lip, thinking about it. He wasn’t going to let himself lie, to himself, to Katya, not again. He wasn’t going to do that to them. But the honest answer was – yes. He wasn’t good. He wasn’t better. But he was okay, for all the values of okay that the check-in had meant since the first time Katya had needed it: I’m alive, I’m safe, I’m here.

Yeah, he typed and sent, that’s about right.

He looked up from his phone at a sudden noise beyond the front door – a thump, like something heavy had been dropped.

It could have been one of Adore’s neighbours, so he dragged himself up and started to walk over, ready to offer assistance if needed. The woman upstairs was older, and generally bought more groceries than she could carry. But as he was approaching the door he heard the scrape of a key in the lock, and then the handle began to turn.

Adore wasn’t supposed to be back until that evening.

“Hello?” he started to ask, but then the door swung open, and he was staring into a pair of very tired, very startled eyes that definitely weren’t Adore’s.

“What the fuck,” said Bianca del Rio.

To his own surprise, a burst of laughter punched out of Brian’s stomach. “Yeah,” he said, staring back at Bianca, at the douchey sneakers on his feet, the Shangela shirt he was wearing, and the small duffel he’d dropped behind him. Brian found himself smiling, just a little. “Same.”

#I've said this to u already but… why #trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #dare #angst #submission #fathwtf #canon compliant

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